Archive of Our Own ^beta

TA 3018 - October

“Ai, Valar. What have I done?”

“You did not mean to offer your bow in service to the Ringbearer?”

Legolas looked up at Glorfindel, who was watching him carefully,
“No, I…I felt it was right, that is not what I meant,” He straightened up and swallowed a little, “I will not turn aside from my path.”

Glorfindel frowned,
“Then what did you mean?”

Legolas grimaced,
“I have bound my fate to the Ring, I shall follow where its Bearer leads, as far as the Song shall guide me thus,” He bit his lip, “But to this end, I might walk into the very fires of Mordor, and I cannot say farewell to my kin before I go.”

“Your siblings are here, and those of the Archer Guard who accompanied you,” Glorfindel said gently, “And I am here also.”

Legolas smiled a little,
“I am grateful for your company, gwadornín, but you are not my cousin,” He sighed, “And you are not my king.”

Glorfindel laughed softly,
“And thank the Valar for that, for I am quite happy without my crown this time around.”

He meant it, being the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had been his life and his calling in his first life in Gondolin, but he was quite content just being Lord Glorfindel of nowhere-in-particular nowadays.

Legolas snickered quietly,
“If only we could all shed ourselves of our lordly mantle so easily.”

Privately, Glorfindel did not think that most folk, even elves, would instantly pick Legolas as being a prince. He stood tall with the regal bearing of his father, but he dressed in simple greens and greys most of the time, always blending into the background as was the Archer Guard’s way. And although he spoke confidently, with the air of a born leader, he was quiet and soft-spoken.

With a little sigh, Legolas drifted aimlessly away from the main house, clearly intending to disappear off into the gardens and possibly even the woods beyond. Glorfindel followed him at a distance, observing the younger elf.

“You don’t think you’re the right choice?”

Legolas hummed softly,
“I do not know, and there is no other choice now.”

Glorfindel guided them towards a bench and sat, patting the spot next to him,
“I have never known you to falter or turn back from your path, no matter how much distress it may cause you in the undertaking. But I will confess, I worry about you, little brother.”

Legolas didn’t say anything, but he laid his head gently against Glorfindel’s shoulder and reached over to squeeze his hand.

“I have never asked, and you are entitled to keep your secrets,” Glorfindel said carefully, “But you vanished from all sight for twenty years and you refuse to talk about it to anyone, the way your father tells it.”

He rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of the prince’s hand, turning to press a gentle kiss into Legolas’ soft gold hair.

Legolas shrugged,
“What is there to talk about?”

Glorfindel sighed softly,
“If you wished to bear your soul to anyone, gwadornín, you know I would listen to you.”

“You ask without asking, and yet I feel the time has come. If I do not break my silence soon, I fear I never will.”

Glorfindel glanced sideways at him. Legolas was sitting cross-legged on the bench, staring at his hands where they were folded in his lap. He didn’t look anxious or upset, he seemed calm and at peace with his decision to finally tell someone what had happened to him all those years ago.

“I…I don’t remember much of it,” Legolas began, his voice soft, “I remember leaving Lothlórien in the early evening, and having tea with Radagast in the late afternoon the following day. It was only when I crossed out of Rhosgobel that I realised I had left my knives behind, though something in me said it was the right thing to have done, so I did not go back for them.”

He paused then, and Glorfindel reached over to squeeze his hands,
“Breathe, Las. Take all the time you need.”

Legolas sighed deeply,
“The enemy ambushed me just beyond the Old Forest Road, I had spent all my arrows, and my bow was lost in the fight. They took me to Dol Guldur, this you know…”

“Did they hurt you?” Glorfindel asked quietly.

“I don’t remember…” Legolas said, “I remember them taking me to a cell, I felt the Darkness closing in around me, then there’s just gold and the Song and nothing…”

Glorfindel frowned,
“When I fought the Balrog, when I fell…I passed through starlight and into the arms of Mandos. It was not like that for you?”

Legolas was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, his voice even softer,
“If I died and passed into the Halls of Mandos…I know I have Lord Námo’s favour, but that he would bend the rules for me…”

“You have his favour?”

“In a way…”

Glorfindel did not know how to interpret that, so he stayed silent, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of Legolas’ hand in a way he hoped was comforting. Legolas raised his head from Glorfindel’s shoulder, his silver-grey eyes meeting the older elf’s. And deep in those starshine eyes, Glorfindel glimpsed the distinctive gold shine of the Song.

“Tell me, Las. How came you by such favour, for the Lord of Mandos is not one easily given to kindness, or so our history says?”

Legolas smiled faintly,
“Ruscion…he took a tainted blade to the abdomen in a skirmish some three hundred years ago. I did not truly understand the depth of my feelings for him at the time, but I knew…”

“You knew?” Glorfindel prompted gently after a long moment of silence.

“I knew…I knew that I could not lose him,” Legolas said quietly, “I knew even then that to lose Ruscion would be to lose myself. Lord Námo was kind enough to answer my prayers and give me a Gift that could save Ruscion’s life.”

It was clear that the telling of this tale was distressing to the prince, for his hands trembled where Glorfindel still held them, and his gaze remained faraway and distant.

“I did not know that such a Gift could be given, even by the Valar.”

Legolas huffed a breathless laugh,
“Nor did I, but if any may grant it, I suppose it would be the Lord and Judge of the Dead. And for all the pressure that accepting it may place on me, without it, Ruscion would have been lost,” He smiled a little, “I can manage Lord Námo’s Gift if it might let me keep Ruscion.”

Glorfindel had not ever had much to do with the Lord of Mandos, at least until his death at the Balrog’s hands, but he was beginning to understand just what the Gift might be. And the thought that the prince held that kind of power in his hands could have terrified him, but he knew his little brother better than that.

Legolas had a Gift with the Song like nothing Glorfindel had ever seen, and he and Elrond had both long suspected that there was deeper power in King Thranduil’s bloodline than the Elvenking would admit, but Mirkwood’s Crown Prince never used his Gift for his own gain, only to help and protect his kingdom, his king, his kin.

If power like that could ever be called safe in anyone’s hands but the Valar’s, Glorfindel would call it safe in the hands of Legolas Thranduilion.

He leaned in and pressed another soft kiss into the prince’s hair,
“Well, if Lord Námo trusts you with his Gift, who are we to say otherwise? And if Lord Elrond believes that you are the right person to walk this path, might we not say the same?”

Legolas sighed,
“I suppose,” He looked up into Glorfindel’s face, his silver eyes questioning, “You will not ask of me what it was, his Gift to me?”

Glorfindel shook his head,
“Keep your secrets, as long as you can promise me that you will not let it change you.”

Legolas wriggled closer, tucking himself into Glorfindel’s embrace,
“As long as I have power over my own spirit, my own heart, that I can promise.”

Glorfindel kissed his head again,
“Then that is good enough for me, Las.”

He meant it, it distressed him greatly that Legolas had all but died at the hands of the Enemy, kept alive only by the Grace of the Valar, sinking him so far into the Song that he remembered nothing of those twenty years. But it seemed not to have changed his beloved little brother, had not dimmed the sunlight in his soul, and for that, Glorfindel was very grateful.

Whatever the road to Mordor might throw into the Fellowship’s path, Legolas would see it through to whatever end…