Post by Admin on Jul 5, 2021 18:22:33 GMT
Author: Cassie Hughes
Summary: Sometimes a prince needs to find the light regardless of his king’s orders.
Rating: K
“Cut it down!”
Authority spoke louder than the words themselves as the Elven king issued the curt order to the chestnut-haired elf standing beside the open window before them.
“And have the smiths bar the window as well.” With a final, furious glance at the tendrils of ivy snaking around the stone edging of the offending aperture Thranduil swept out through the door and the pair of elves left behind visibly relaxed.
“He has gone too far this time.” One elf whispered to the other as his brow creased with worry.
“You know to ignore those orders Dýrion.” The second replied wearily. “Thranduil will realise his folly before the day is out.”
“I was not speaking of the King,” Dýrion smiled ruefully at his friend. “But the scamp we are tasked with guarding. If only I had realised just what I was in for I would never have agreed…”
“Yes,yes,yes.” His companion interjected with a chuckle. “We all know how you would have refused the Kings request if you hadn’t been distracted by a pretty elleth and failed to listen to what it was you were agreeing to.”
“I was not distracted!” The chestnut-haired warrior replied indignantly. “I was merely deliberating the next pattern shift for the home guard and misheard the King’s question.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Anyway Curuberio, you were not so quick to refuse yourself if memory serve me correct.”
“Aye, and we all know what would have happened should we have done so,” Curuberio replied with a meaningful look. “I for one had no wish to see the inside of one of our deep cells thank you very much.”
Both elves supressed a shudder at the thought of the dark dungeon below the rocky stronghold in which they dwelt, then turned to the window again, through which echoed the strident tones of their King as he bellowed orders and threats in the same breath.
“Where do you suppose he has gone this time?” Curuberio asked as he leaned out to peer over the tangle of ivy clinging to the wall at the guards rushing to and fro, his relaxed attitude at odds with the fevered antics on show in the garden beneath.
“I’m sure you can enlighten me.” His friend said wryly. “You are far too composed for one whose charge has supposedly gone missing.” He tilted his head as the warrior turned from the window, a knowing look in his eyes.
“I may have some idea.”
Without sparing a glance back Curuberio led the way out of the pristine room, registering the lack of weapons in sight absently as his mind turned over a recent conversation had with its erstwhile occupant.
“Come, my friend. Let us go and track our young miscreant down.”
Moving swiftly through the trees Legolas revelled in the sense of freedom. To be out of the fortress alone was a heady experience and one he never managed often enough to his mind, although his destination was not too far away from the stronghold this time. The wait for his wounds to heal sufficiently for the healers, and his father for that matter, to allow him back to his own rooms had seemed interminable and the need for this escape almost overwhelming but he had bided his time, acquiescing to their every treatment and order so as to speed his discharge from their care and make this journey.
Slowing down he began to take more notice of the surrounding area. He had only been this way once previously but had committed it to memory with the knowledge that he would return and with the help of the trees would have no difficulty in locating the place he sought once more. Feeling more weary than any elf should after such a brief journey he picked his way from one tree to the next until his ears caught the gleeful murmur of water over stone, then followed the sound until reaching a large beech who dipped its branches helpfully to assist him down to the forest floor. With a sigh of contentment, the prince then allowed his feet to carry him across the small clearing he now found himself in to where a small stream, sparkling in the pale moonlight, threaded its way through the centre. The ragged stump of a blasted oak, long felled by a lightning strike, stood like a gnarled sentinel beside the water and it was to this relic that Legolas moved, reaching out a tender hand to caress the dried out bark, feeling for any sign of life.
At first, he could detect nothing, an emptiness which felt as deep as the sky was high but then, a small spark, the merest hint of a thought that may only have been a wishful hope which dissolved like mist as his mind tried to bring it to the surface. He smiled softly, removed his weapons, laying them within easy reach, then lowered himself gently to the forest floor, leaned back against the aged remains and raised his face to stare up at the stars framed by the dark canopy, as if it were a window on the world.
Peace filled his heart for the first time in months as Legolas basked in the starlight and allowed the babble of water to flow over him, carrying away all the pain, weariness and grief of recent battles fought to keep their people safe as darkness spread through his father’s realm. Trusting the trees to give him fair warning of any approaching danger he allowed his mind to drift, wandering through memory and time as he walked the path of elven dreams.
Dýrion followed Curuberio through the forest, noting how he was silently acknowledged by occasional hidden warriors along the way, who moved just enough to make their presence known, silently indicate the path they should take then merged back into the greenery again as if they were not there. Knowing that there were far more in the trees than had shown themselves made his own shoulders relax somewhat, although he would not truly be at ease until the young elf they were sworn to protect was back within his care. Curuberio was a master warrior and tactician who had been commander of the king’s armies for centuries and Dýrion trusted his friend implicitly but knew he still had an impish sense of humour and was not beyond encouraging Legolas in some of his ill-conceived antics or, as was the case in point, assisting the prince covertly, although there had been times in the past where disaster had only just been avoided by such a course of action. He could not, in all truth blame his friend though as his own heart sometimes ached for the young prince who had been trained for a life of conflict from being a mere elfling. Who knew his father hated to send him out to battle the evil spreading through their beloved forest but whose king was forced to do so lest he be called to account by others who lost their own family members to the fight. All of which had contributed to making Legolas push himself harder than any other in Thranduil’s army yet still feel as if he did not do enough. Dýrion knew the young elf took their losses hard and sometimes personally, too commonly feeling blame where there was none, so could not begrudge those times when he sought peace and solitude but as a father himself also understood Thranduil’s fear whenever his son disappeared without a bye your leave. A smile curled the edges of his lips as he wondered if the king had yet calmed himself after his earlier outburst and knew that however much he railed at the youngster on his return there would be no rancour in it, they would soon be seated side by side, sharing a flagon of wine and laughing over the latest court gossip. Moving forward he began to look forward to catching his wayward sprite of a charge unawares and teaching him a lesson on the folly of his ways.
The whispers of the trees brought Legolas back to the here and now but as there was no worry or fear in their communications, he neither moved from his spot nor reached for his weapons. Holding his gaze upon the stars as if still resting he allowed his own senses to reach out into the surrounding area and discerned that two elves were making their way cautiously through the trees towards his little haven. It would appear that his tranquil seclusion was about to broken and he had a feeling that he knew exactly by whom. Holding his position, he mentally tracked the pair as they approached, noting the soft swish of steel against leather as the silent warriors grew closer and holding an internal wager on which of them had drawn his weapon. He settled upon Dýrion as the most likely as the weapons master was ever only too happy to emphasise the potential harms that could come his way if he were not always alert to danger, even when safely ensconced within the fortress itself or surrounded by their best warriors. He kept his gaze unfocused even as he felt the soft movement of air heralding the descent of an approaching weapon and it was not until the very last moment that those bright blue eyes sharpened and his hand reached, caught and lifted his own blade, in one swift move, to block that which was now mere inches from his own neck.
“You would seek to decapitate me in my repose, Dýrion?”
Tinkling laughter accompanied the statement as Legolas saw the flicker of annoyed admiration cross the older elf’s eyes as he quickly pulled his long knife away and re-sheathed it at his belt.
“If I had been an orc…”
“But you were not.” Legolas cut off the irritated reply, smiling widely as he stood and sheathed his own weapon in one smooth movement.
“Curuberio, Dýrion.” He acknowledged each with an inclination of the head and a rise of one eyebrow. “As you can see, I have not forgotten your frequent discussions on being alert at all times.”
“But if you had really taken our lessons to heart, we would not be here to reinforce them and your father would not be bellowing at everyone in the stronghold.” Curuberio replied with a wry smile.
“Aie.” Legolas sighed repentantly. “Is he truly angered this time?”
“What did you expect elfling?” Dýrion answered pointedly. “You have barely been allowed out of the healers halls after being carried in close to death yet again and you run off into the forest alone!”
“But…”
“Nay!” The warrior broke in sharply and moved forwards until his nose almost touched that of the younger elf.
“There can be no excuse this time. You must learn that your actions have consequences. I have a good mind to allow your fathers order to stand, in fact I may just take an axe to that blasted ivy myself!”
His voice had risen to a shout and an ominous groan echoed through the small clearing as the trees gave voice to their displeasure of this last statement causing Dýrion to take a step back and raise his hands before turning away in frustration.
“We almost lost you Legolas.” Curuberio moved between the pair.
“Your father almost lost you.” He stressed. “You do not realise just what that would do to him, what it would mean for the Greenwood should that happen.”
“I just needed to be alone.” Legolas replied quietly. “I could not stand the constant fuss and mollycoddling any longer, I…”
His voice tailed off as his gaze fell to the ground and his fingers began to worry at a small loose thread on the edge of his tunic.
The older warriors shared a glance then Dýrion, with a barely noticeable nod, retreated to one of the tall beeches, placed a hand onto its trunk, whispering softly to calm it after his outburst, before disappearing into its branches to keep watch whilst Curuberio moved over to the old stump they had found Legolas relaxing against and eased himself to the ground, noting the single green shoot sprouting from its base.
“Come Legolas.” He spoke gently as if to a nervous colt. “Sit with me if you will.”
Resting his head back against the rough bark the warrior did not allow his eyes to fall upon the young prince but instead directed his gaze up to the night sky as if he did not care whether Legolas joined him or not. For a brief moment he wondered if he had made the right choice but then, with barely a sound, felt the younger elf settle beside him and knew that he had.
“It is truly a peaceful place, youngling.”
A single quietly spoken sentence then silence spread over the clearing as Curuberio waited for the words he knew would come. A close friendship had blossomed over the many years since he had first been appointed as a personal guard to the young prince by a doting father who was fearful of any harm coming to his little miracle. Years that had over time often found him between the over-protective, stubborn, imperious King and his increasingly frustrated, determined and equally strong-willed son. Thranduil and Legolas were so much alike, yet they did not see it and the love they held for each other ran deep and strong, too strong some would say when the palace rang with the might of their arguments, although they never lasted long and forgiveness was always complete.
So, the warrior waited and eventually was rewarded for his patience.
“’tis not simply the peace.” Legolas began softly.
“Sometimes, it all becomes too much.” He continued in subdued tones, his gaze never wavering from the stars above.
“The battles, the persistent slaughter and loss. It begins to overwhelm me and then…then I find I am unable to bear it. I want to run, to run and never stop.” He paused, breathless as if he had indeed been rushing through the trees.
“All I can see is darkness and it begins to feel as if there is no more light left in the world.”
He turned his head at last to look at Curuberio, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
“This place is more than just peace, Curuberio.” He raised his eyes and nodded towards the sky as he continued.
“When I look up there, at the stars captured within the dark window above, I can remember that light still exists if we only seek it out. There are places yet to fall, that may never fall and people who will give their all so that evil will not prevail. Our forest may be growing darker, the world outside becoming more dangerous, but we will hold true, I will hold true. The dark may be spreading but it does not yet outweigh the light and the proof is right up there.”
Daylight found Thranduil standing beside a certain open window once more. There were no bars, and tendrils of ivy still clung to the stone opening and in his heart he knew they always would. To see Legolas calm and relaxed in his own bed, eyes glazed as he walked the path of elven dreams, was a balm to his own weary heart. He had spoken with Curuberio and learned of the small clearing and the conversation that had transpired there. How he wished that he could turn back time, to have his son remain the carefree, sweet elfling he had been, unaware of orcs and spiders and battles, collecting ‘pets’ and charming sweet treats from the cooks, but that was the father in him and sometimes he needed to be the king. The king needed all of his warriors to fight and could not send the young elves from other families and spare his own, especially when his own was shaping up to be one of the best, if not the best, archer the Greenwood had ever produced.
So, the window would remain unencumbered, and guards would be discreetly posted along the path which led to the clearing. He would continue to order Legolas and his company into battle and hope that he would return at least mostly intact and try to understand the need when his son disappeared into the forest alone. He would never cease to worry though. His son meant more to him than life itself, but he would try. It was the least he could do for someone who put his life on the line whenever his king required, who fought the encroaching shadow without complaint or question, even if his father would hide him away if he could. Legolas would never hide, never shirk from what he believed to be his duty, would give his life for others to be safe and return to their families and for this Thranduil would try his best to let him find his light. In these ever darkening times It was the least he could do for his beloved son.
*Cesta Lim O In Fuin = Seeking light from the darkness
Summary: Sometimes a prince needs to find the light regardless of his king’s orders.
Rating: K
“Cut it down!”
Authority spoke louder than the words themselves as the Elven king issued the curt order to the chestnut-haired elf standing beside the open window before them.
“And have the smiths bar the window as well.” With a final, furious glance at the tendrils of ivy snaking around the stone edging of the offending aperture Thranduil swept out through the door and the pair of elves left behind visibly relaxed.
“He has gone too far this time.” One elf whispered to the other as his brow creased with worry.
“You know to ignore those orders Dýrion.” The second replied wearily. “Thranduil will realise his folly before the day is out.”
“I was not speaking of the King,” Dýrion smiled ruefully at his friend. “But the scamp we are tasked with guarding. If only I had realised just what I was in for I would never have agreed…”
“Yes,yes,yes.” His companion interjected with a chuckle. “We all know how you would have refused the Kings request if you hadn’t been distracted by a pretty elleth and failed to listen to what it was you were agreeing to.”
“I was not distracted!” The chestnut-haired warrior replied indignantly. “I was merely deliberating the next pattern shift for the home guard and misheard the King’s question.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Anyway Curuberio, you were not so quick to refuse yourself if memory serve me correct.”
“Aye, and we all know what would have happened should we have done so,” Curuberio replied with a meaningful look. “I for one had no wish to see the inside of one of our deep cells thank you very much.”
Both elves supressed a shudder at the thought of the dark dungeon below the rocky stronghold in which they dwelt, then turned to the window again, through which echoed the strident tones of their King as he bellowed orders and threats in the same breath.
“Where do you suppose he has gone this time?” Curuberio asked as he leaned out to peer over the tangle of ivy clinging to the wall at the guards rushing to and fro, his relaxed attitude at odds with the fevered antics on show in the garden beneath.
“I’m sure you can enlighten me.” His friend said wryly. “You are far too composed for one whose charge has supposedly gone missing.” He tilted his head as the warrior turned from the window, a knowing look in his eyes.
“I may have some idea.”
Without sparing a glance back Curuberio led the way out of the pristine room, registering the lack of weapons in sight absently as his mind turned over a recent conversation had with its erstwhile occupant.
“Come, my friend. Let us go and track our young miscreant down.”
Moving swiftly through the trees Legolas revelled in the sense of freedom. To be out of the fortress alone was a heady experience and one he never managed often enough to his mind, although his destination was not too far away from the stronghold this time. The wait for his wounds to heal sufficiently for the healers, and his father for that matter, to allow him back to his own rooms had seemed interminable and the need for this escape almost overwhelming but he had bided his time, acquiescing to their every treatment and order so as to speed his discharge from their care and make this journey.
Slowing down he began to take more notice of the surrounding area. He had only been this way once previously but had committed it to memory with the knowledge that he would return and with the help of the trees would have no difficulty in locating the place he sought once more. Feeling more weary than any elf should after such a brief journey he picked his way from one tree to the next until his ears caught the gleeful murmur of water over stone, then followed the sound until reaching a large beech who dipped its branches helpfully to assist him down to the forest floor. With a sigh of contentment, the prince then allowed his feet to carry him across the small clearing he now found himself in to where a small stream, sparkling in the pale moonlight, threaded its way through the centre. The ragged stump of a blasted oak, long felled by a lightning strike, stood like a gnarled sentinel beside the water and it was to this relic that Legolas moved, reaching out a tender hand to caress the dried out bark, feeling for any sign of life.
At first, he could detect nothing, an emptiness which felt as deep as the sky was high but then, a small spark, the merest hint of a thought that may only have been a wishful hope which dissolved like mist as his mind tried to bring it to the surface. He smiled softly, removed his weapons, laying them within easy reach, then lowered himself gently to the forest floor, leaned back against the aged remains and raised his face to stare up at the stars framed by the dark canopy, as if it were a window on the world.
Peace filled his heart for the first time in months as Legolas basked in the starlight and allowed the babble of water to flow over him, carrying away all the pain, weariness and grief of recent battles fought to keep their people safe as darkness spread through his father’s realm. Trusting the trees to give him fair warning of any approaching danger he allowed his mind to drift, wandering through memory and time as he walked the path of elven dreams.
Dýrion followed Curuberio through the forest, noting how he was silently acknowledged by occasional hidden warriors along the way, who moved just enough to make their presence known, silently indicate the path they should take then merged back into the greenery again as if they were not there. Knowing that there were far more in the trees than had shown themselves made his own shoulders relax somewhat, although he would not truly be at ease until the young elf they were sworn to protect was back within his care. Curuberio was a master warrior and tactician who had been commander of the king’s armies for centuries and Dýrion trusted his friend implicitly but knew he still had an impish sense of humour and was not beyond encouraging Legolas in some of his ill-conceived antics or, as was the case in point, assisting the prince covertly, although there had been times in the past where disaster had only just been avoided by such a course of action. He could not, in all truth blame his friend though as his own heart sometimes ached for the young prince who had been trained for a life of conflict from being a mere elfling. Who knew his father hated to send him out to battle the evil spreading through their beloved forest but whose king was forced to do so lest he be called to account by others who lost their own family members to the fight. All of which had contributed to making Legolas push himself harder than any other in Thranduil’s army yet still feel as if he did not do enough. Dýrion knew the young elf took their losses hard and sometimes personally, too commonly feeling blame where there was none, so could not begrudge those times when he sought peace and solitude but as a father himself also understood Thranduil’s fear whenever his son disappeared without a bye your leave. A smile curled the edges of his lips as he wondered if the king had yet calmed himself after his earlier outburst and knew that however much he railed at the youngster on his return there would be no rancour in it, they would soon be seated side by side, sharing a flagon of wine and laughing over the latest court gossip. Moving forward he began to look forward to catching his wayward sprite of a charge unawares and teaching him a lesson on the folly of his ways.
The whispers of the trees brought Legolas back to the here and now but as there was no worry or fear in their communications, he neither moved from his spot nor reached for his weapons. Holding his gaze upon the stars as if still resting he allowed his own senses to reach out into the surrounding area and discerned that two elves were making their way cautiously through the trees towards his little haven. It would appear that his tranquil seclusion was about to broken and he had a feeling that he knew exactly by whom. Holding his position, he mentally tracked the pair as they approached, noting the soft swish of steel against leather as the silent warriors grew closer and holding an internal wager on which of them had drawn his weapon. He settled upon Dýrion as the most likely as the weapons master was ever only too happy to emphasise the potential harms that could come his way if he were not always alert to danger, even when safely ensconced within the fortress itself or surrounded by their best warriors. He kept his gaze unfocused even as he felt the soft movement of air heralding the descent of an approaching weapon and it was not until the very last moment that those bright blue eyes sharpened and his hand reached, caught and lifted his own blade, in one swift move, to block that which was now mere inches from his own neck.
“You would seek to decapitate me in my repose, Dýrion?”
Tinkling laughter accompanied the statement as Legolas saw the flicker of annoyed admiration cross the older elf’s eyes as he quickly pulled his long knife away and re-sheathed it at his belt.
“If I had been an orc…”
“But you were not.” Legolas cut off the irritated reply, smiling widely as he stood and sheathed his own weapon in one smooth movement.
“Curuberio, Dýrion.” He acknowledged each with an inclination of the head and a rise of one eyebrow. “As you can see, I have not forgotten your frequent discussions on being alert at all times.”
“But if you had really taken our lessons to heart, we would not be here to reinforce them and your father would not be bellowing at everyone in the stronghold.” Curuberio replied with a wry smile.
“Aie.” Legolas sighed repentantly. “Is he truly angered this time?”
“What did you expect elfling?” Dýrion answered pointedly. “You have barely been allowed out of the healers halls after being carried in close to death yet again and you run off into the forest alone!”
“But…”
“Nay!” The warrior broke in sharply and moved forwards until his nose almost touched that of the younger elf.
“There can be no excuse this time. You must learn that your actions have consequences. I have a good mind to allow your fathers order to stand, in fact I may just take an axe to that blasted ivy myself!”
His voice had risen to a shout and an ominous groan echoed through the small clearing as the trees gave voice to their displeasure of this last statement causing Dýrion to take a step back and raise his hands before turning away in frustration.
“We almost lost you Legolas.” Curuberio moved between the pair.
“Your father almost lost you.” He stressed. “You do not realise just what that would do to him, what it would mean for the Greenwood should that happen.”
“I just needed to be alone.” Legolas replied quietly. “I could not stand the constant fuss and mollycoddling any longer, I…”
His voice tailed off as his gaze fell to the ground and his fingers began to worry at a small loose thread on the edge of his tunic.
The older warriors shared a glance then Dýrion, with a barely noticeable nod, retreated to one of the tall beeches, placed a hand onto its trunk, whispering softly to calm it after his outburst, before disappearing into its branches to keep watch whilst Curuberio moved over to the old stump they had found Legolas relaxing against and eased himself to the ground, noting the single green shoot sprouting from its base.
“Come Legolas.” He spoke gently as if to a nervous colt. “Sit with me if you will.”
Resting his head back against the rough bark the warrior did not allow his eyes to fall upon the young prince but instead directed his gaze up to the night sky as if he did not care whether Legolas joined him or not. For a brief moment he wondered if he had made the right choice but then, with barely a sound, felt the younger elf settle beside him and knew that he had.
“It is truly a peaceful place, youngling.”
A single quietly spoken sentence then silence spread over the clearing as Curuberio waited for the words he knew would come. A close friendship had blossomed over the many years since he had first been appointed as a personal guard to the young prince by a doting father who was fearful of any harm coming to his little miracle. Years that had over time often found him between the over-protective, stubborn, imperious King and his increasingly frustrated, determined and equally strong-willed son. Thranduil and Legolas were so much alike, yet they did not see it and the love they held for each other ran deep and strong, too strong some would say when the palace rang with the might of their arguments, although they never lasted long and forgiveness was always complete.
So, the warrior waited and eventually was rewarded for his patience.
“’tis not simply the peace.” Legolas began softly.
“Sometimes, it all becomes too much.” He continued in subdued tones, his gaze never wavering from the stars above.
“The battles, the persistent slaughter and loss. It begins to overwhelm me and then…then I find I am unable to bear it. I want to run, to run and never stop.” He paused, breathless as if he had indeed been rushing through the trees.
“All I can see is darkness and it begins to feel as if there is no more light left in the world.”
He turned his head at last to look at Curuberio, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
“This place is more than just peace, Curuberio.” He raised his eyes and nodded towards the sky as he continued.
“When I look up there, at the stars captured within the dark window above, I can remember that light still exists if we only seek it out. There are places yet to fall, that may never fall and people who will give their all so that evil will not prevail. Our forest may be growing darker, the world outside becoming more dangerous, but we will hold true, I will hold true. The dark may be spreading but it does not yet outweigh the light and the proof is right up there.”
Daylight found Thranduil standing beside a certain open window once more. There were no bars, and tendrils of ivy still clung to the stone opening and in his heart he knew they always would. To see Legolas calm and relaxed in his own bed, eyes glazed as he walked the path of elven dreams, was a balm to his own weary heart. He had spoken with Curuberio and learned of the small clearing and the conversation that had transpired there. How he wished that he could turn back time, to have his son remain the carefree, sweet elfling he had been, unaware of orcs and spiders and battles, collecting ‘pets’ and charming sweet treats from the cooks, but that was the father in him and sometimes he needed to be the king. The king needed all of his warriors to fight and could not send the young elves from other families and spare his own, especially when his own was shaping up to be one of the best, if not the best, archer the Greenwood had ever produced.
So, the window would remain unencumbered, and guards would be discreetly posted along the path which led to the clearing. He would continue to order Legolas and his company into battle and hope that he would return at least mostly intact and try to understand the need when his son disappeared into the forest alone. He would never cease to worry though. His son meant more to him than life itself, but he would try. It was the least he could do for someone who put his life on the line whenever his king required, who fought the encroaching shadow without complaint or question, even if his father would hide him away if he could. Legolas would never hide, never shirk from what he believed to be his duty, would give his life for others to be safe and return to their families and for this Thranduil would try his best to let him find his light. In these ever darkening times It was the least he could do for his beloved son.
*Cesta Lim O In Fuin = Seeking light from the darkness