Legolas continued to stare back at him blankly, but the rest of the company clearly could not believe what Lainion was saying, for their eyes bulged and their nostrils flared, and they had moved to kneel now, for sitting upon the ground was proving too difficult for them, except for Legolas, who remained seated.
"Lainion, you don't understand," said Legolas, his voice so soft and sweet he sounded like a child once more, and Ram en Ondo's eyes filled with unshed tears.
"He's dead, Lainion. I have no father…"
"Everyone has a father, Legolas, and yours is alive."
"This cannot…" began Legolas, but Lainion held up his hand before speaking once more, his eyes darting for a passing moment to the others, a silent plea for help in his eyes.
"Legolas. Believe me, please. There is no mistake. I know, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, who your father is."
Silence, and Legolas shifted upon the ground so that he too, knelt upon his knees, his shaking hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was something, mused Lainion, a reaction at least and not the frozen disbelief of just moments before.
"You will tell me then," that voice again, so soft, so vulnerable and Lainion resisted the urge to embrace him, run his hand over his hair and kiss his forehead but he could not. Now was a time for strength - there would be comfort enough to be had later.
Silence now descended upon the small group of warriors and Lainion lent forward until he could almost reach out and touch the child's face.
"Legolas, your father - your father is Thranduil, king of Greenwood the Great."
Ram en cried out, before slapping his hand across his mouth. Idhreno gasped and Lindo sat frozen in shock, but Legolas stared back at Lainion, his eyes bright and round. And then he chuckled.
"Legolas," said Lainion.
"Thranduil…" repeated Legolas, before chuckling again and Lainion liked it not.
"Legolas, your father is Thranduil."
The boy would have laughed once more, but Lainion suddenly cupped his cheek, startling him into silence.
"Child. You are Thranduil's son, a son he had with a Silvan woman, outside the sanctity of marriage."
The transformation was quick, but not quick enough to miss. Round, shaking green eyes turned down, slanting dangerously and his lovely features hardened until they were ridges of pure stone. He sat ramrod straight of a sudden, his next words spat into the cold air, dripping with contempt and wrath.
"How dare you…" he said quietly.
"I dare because it is true, and Prince Handir knows it. It is why he was there that day you became a novice. He too, could not believe what he had been told that very same day. His curiosity led him to seek you out."
"No," he said quietly, and Lainion wondered what it was he said 'no' to. To the fact itself, or the implications it brought with it.
"No!" he said louder now, his ire mounting and Ram en placed a comforting hand on his arm. Legolas, however, yanked his arm free of it and then stood, swaying slightly as the others stood with him, their stances now those of warriors on full alert.
"He would not! Our king would not - not," he swayed dangerously and then yelled at Idhreno who tried to steady him.
"Leave me!" he shouted, and then fell awkwardly onto his backside. A tear escaped his furious eyes and he struggled to his feet once more.
"He would not do that. He is honourable, he…"
"Legolas. I have a long story to tell you, one that will help you to understand. But for now you must accept this one truth. It is true, child. Our king loved your mother beyond all rational thought and you are the consequence of that love, one that was never meant to be, could never be."
Lainion saw the moment the truth was finally granted access into his shocked mind, and watched in anguish as his charge struggled to accommodate it, for tears welled in his beautiful eyes and his face crumpled into a horrific mask of pure anger, grief, frustration and pity, self-pity. All those years of childish curiosity, and later, years of hatred and denial, followed by the partial acceptance of his illegitimacy and with it, his claims to no longer care who his father had been. It had all been strategy, a way to make his existence acceptable to his own mind. Lies, merciful lies because he did care, it was important; Lainion had always known that and it teared at his heart.
Throwing his head back, Legolas screamed his heart to the heavens, his voice hoarse and broken and when there was no breath left inside him he stopped and gasped for air.
Falling to his knees his head lowered and he grew silent once more, kneeling amongst his friends that dared not touch him. There was an air of volatility about him, and not even Lainion, with all his experience, dared approach him.
It was when Legolas raised his head once more, that Idhreno swore in Quenya and Ram en gasped, stepping backwards in utter fright. Lainion and Lindo crouched into a fighting stance, their shock and horror frozen on their faces and their hands grasping the hilt of their knives.
There, kneeling before them, was Legolas, his green irises so bright a mist had formed before them, partially obscuring his eyes, but not enough, for they saw that he wept, and in spite of their fright and horror, they did not run, not even when the trees began to groan and creak, and a strange wind began to blow through their boughs …
"Here," said Aradan as he handed a skin of wine to his friend. It had been centuries since Aradan had seen Thranduil like this, relaxed, sprawled against the trunk of a tree sipping wine. It was strange, for in spite of the strange message from the trees just the day before, the king seemed more alive than he had done in long long time, and despite the potential for political strife over the appearance of this, strange lord, he seemed - relaxed. Aradan could not quite fathom it, and so he proceeded with caution, as was befitting a Chief Councillor to a king.
"I have missed this," said the councillor.
Thranduil watched his friend and then smiled. "You are a good councillor, Aradan, but a better friend. I know of your sorrow these past years, I can see it in your eyes and I am sorry for that."
What miracle had brought this about Aradan could not rightly say. Aye Thranduil had a measure of skill as a listener of trees, just as his father had, but it was not comparable in any way, it would seem, to the abilities his Silvan son had developed. Nevertheless, what the king had heard had been enough it seemed, to draw him out, at least enough to be here, as he was now, relaxed and reminiscent of bygone times. The king's grief was still there, in his eyes, firmly anchored behind the extraordinary blue grey eyes but something had been awoken.
"The trees have reached you in a way I have not been able," Aradan, hoping to prompt the king into a sustained conversation.
"Have I been that absent, my friend? Have I neglected my land so much?"
"Yes," said Aradan frankly. "I knew, I knew you were not, perhaps aware, but while you have administered the lands you have not ruled as such. One of the consequences is your uncle's rise in popularity, him and his vision of how this land should be ruled, a vision that is not yours, nor mine. He has taken advantage of your apparent, despondence."
"You believe his following has become - troublesome?" asked the king thoughtfully.
"Yes, although perhaps not to the point of no return. If we react now, it can be undone, at least so that it becomes - irrelevant."
"And what of the damage to my family, Aradan? I see Rinion every day, his descent into bitterness. His heart is still there but I cannot reach it."
"You have not tried, Thranduil. You were too much inside yourself, inside your thoughts and emotions…"
"Wallowing in self-pity, you mean?"
"No, not that. I do believe you lost your self-esteem, somewhere along the line. True you have not tried to pull Rinion back, but neither has he tried to reach you. Handir, however, is different."
Thranduil smiled as he thought on his second son. "Yes, he is more like the queen, whereas Rinion is - he looks more like me, yet in character he reminds me so much of my own father."
"Y
ou are right in that, Thranduil. And yet Bandorion's influence on Rinion is worrying - it is turning him bitter - fuelling his negative emotions towards you. That too, needs to be addressed. He is a Captain, but if he continues in this way, Commander Hûron will never allow him to be anything more, all that he is Sindar."
Thrandui's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I did not know that…"
"It is not common knowledge, just comments here and there that have led me to believe this. I am close to Hûron, as you know. It is Handir that is progressing well. He has excelled in his calling as a statesman, and with Erestor's guidance in Imladris, you will have a valuable councillor at your side, Thranduil -he is a fine, loyal son."
Thranduil's eyes were far away, although he did smile at Aradan's praise of his second son.
"What are you thinking on?" asked Aradan softly, taking a swig of wine to quell his mounting nerves, his eyes searching his friend for any clues as to his mindset.
"Can you imagine, at all, Aradan? Can you read my thoughts?" asked the king wistfully, as if he were far, far away.
"I could guess…"
"And," prompted the king quietly, absently.
"You dwell on Lassiel …" said Aradan, resisting the urge to close his eyes. But then he realised he must have done, for when he opened them, Thranduil's face was before him, startling the advisor so that his breath caught in his throat.
"Aradan. I am king, I have a measure of ability with the trees and in these last centuries, I have listened to them more than I have to the elves that I dwell amongst. I cannot hear their words but I feel their emotions, sometimes better than others when they simply confuse me." He chuckled weakly then. "I often seek comfort in their song, for around me I find only suffering, and my own memories." His face turned back to Aradan then, and for a moment he seemed to feel pity for the councillor.
"Say what it is you have kept from me, Aradan, say what my heart already believes…"
Aradan, partially recovered from his shock, now furrowed his brows. Was Thranduil truly saying he had suspected them all this time? That he had an inkling as to the news Aradan would give him? It could not be, surely. Nay he would not make the mistake of believing Thranduil had even the slightest suspicion of the nature of it and so, he plunged into it head first, with the courage that was on the point of failing him.
"Thranduil. We believe Lassiel may be - may be dead, my friend …"
Aradan watched his friend's face which was, as yet, as blank as it had been for many years, and for many moments it stayed that way, until the king looked to the floor, and then nodded his understanding. Rising to his feet slowly, he tilted his face to the full white moon, and for a moment allowed her soft rays to illuminate his face - a blank face that slowly turned to sadness, grief, and acceptance, and with this last emotion, his milky white skin regained its lost glory of elder days, his spirit shining a little stronger than it had just moments before. His words, when he finally did speak, were soft, yet they carried upon the air so clearly Aradan wondered if there was magic in them, if perhaps Thranduil had spelled them so that they would carry, as far away as she surely was now.
"Lassiel. Sweet Lassiel." Thranduil paused for a moment, surprised, thought Aradan, at the power that one name had when spoken aloud. "Do you rest in the arms of Mandos? Do you sleep in the gardens of Lorien? Do you dwell once more in the lands of the Valar? Will I ever see your face once more?"
Aradan's own eyes closed, and when he opened them once more the world was a blur and he blinked furiously. He had not expected this reaction from his friend, and he certainly had not expected Thranduil to have already suspected his lover was dead.
The king turned back to Aradan, his face no longer blank and rigid but pliant and expressive. "I have not felt her presence for seven hundred and thirty three years, Aradan, and although I hoped and prayed that it was my grief at her absence that sought to believe the worst of all the possibilities, now that you have told me - I know I was simply deceiving myself. I have been lost for all those years, lost in my endeavour to find her, to place her on the map of my imagination… Thank you for telling me," he said kindly, with a soft smile. "I know this must have been difficult for you to do, my friend. I have finally lost her, and the child we both thought would save her …."
Aradan's eyes widened for a moment, for he had not realised the king had come to that conclusion. Indeed he berated himself for not having clarified that point earlier.
"Thranduil. You may ask how I came about this knowledge…"
The king's head cocked to the side, and then he nodded.
"Lieutenant Lainion and Captain Tirion came to me after an incursion in the South, an incursion with the novices - remember the plan we devised?"
"I do, go on," said the king, sitting once more to listen to Aradan's tale.
"They came to me in confidence because one of those warriors had, inadvertently, drawn attention to himself. You may remember one day at the breakfast table with Rinion. We spoke of one they call The Silvan…"
"Aye, Rinion wanted to meet him."
"I could not allow that, Thranduil. That boy, that child has, or so they say, the face of a Sinda and the heart of a Silvan. Thranduil, his eyes are the brightest green I have ever seen, and his face - his face is that of your father's - he is your son, Thranduil, The Silvan is Lassion.."
Thranduil's eyes rounded and suddenly became too bright. His shock was not masked now as his jaw opened slightly, as if he would speak, but he did not and looked back to Aradan, as if pleading for him to anticipate the questions that would not leave his frozen mouth.
"The first thing I will say is that there can be no mistake. He is seven hundred and thirty-three years old, a newly appointed warrior and has lived all his life, until last year, in a village called Broadtree, under the tutorship of Amareth - sister of Lassiel…"
"What if he is Amareth's child? I mean…"
"No, by her own admission, this child is the son of Lassiel - she knows the truth but she has not disclosed Lassiel's fate, she will not speak of it."
There was shocked silence and still, Thranduil could not seem to form the words he needed for so many questions Aradan knew would be overwhelming him.
"Thranduil - do I stop or shall I continue?" Aradan needed a sign, a sign that the news was welcome else he give away too much."
"This is why you assume she is dead? Because the child is here on Arda?"
Aradan simply nodded and Thranduil looked away for a moment, before speaking once more.
"She would never have left him behind. She would not have done what the queen did to her own children," he mused quietly, before his face changed and the question was out of his mouth almost before he could consider it.
"What is his name?" asked the king softly.
Aradan smiled tentatively, the seed of hope starting to germinate in his mind. "Do you remember, that special day when you first told me of her? When we were both still so young and full of ideals? She had gifted you with one small thing, something I know you kept."
The king looked down for a moment, and Aradan knew the battle that waged in his friend's mind, only his iron will stilling the tears from falling.
"She remembered that, Thranduil. "It was the most precious thing to her I would wager, for she named her son after that one, small act, that proclamation of love for you…"
Thranduil smiled back at Aradan, through the silent tears that would no longer be restrained.
"Green leaf - she called him Greenleaf…" whispered the King, and Aradan smiled.
The blackness of night gave way to the deep blue of the sun's slow awakening. Not yet dawn, not quite time to return to their camp and their duties.
Legolas remained where he had fallen the night before, only now he sat cross-legged, his long hair falling around him, as if it could somehow shield him from the onslaught of his own emotions, or perhaps from the worried eyes of his friends.
Even now, he could not bring himself to remember the words, could not
say the name of his father, his mother, not even in his own mind. He felt inadequate, unable to administer his own emotions, ashamed for not being able to hold his own, for being a weakling.
It was absurd and a part of him still could not grasp the truth, not entirely. Yet Lainion would not have told him this unless he had been sure. Indeed it all fit, and he thought back to the day they had returned from the South; the elf that had hailed him as 'Lord, or Narosén the Spirit Herder and his cryptic words, Lainion's friend Calen, who had assumed he was Lassiel's son. Lassiel, his mother… And finally he thought back to the day he became a novice, to those blue eyes that had stared back at him in as much shock as he himself had felt - his brother.
There was a battle raging in his mind. He knew the truth of it but he simply could not bring himself to believe it, to say it, to put it into words. He could not even fathom how he felt about it all.
He heaved a mighty breath and raised his head to the early morning light, his eyes still closed. It was cold, and that was the first thought that slowly, began to pull him from his introspection.
His muscles ached, his head felt too heavy and a dull ache pressed on the back of his neck, but he opened his eyes nonetheless, and then wondered what colour they would be, whether they still shone as if a demon were inside him. He had frightened them all, and then he mentally scoffed at himself and his stupid words. He had terrified himself! He was still terrified…
Funny, he mused. For the first time in his life, that ever present question was no longer there, on his lips, in his mind, scratching at his heart.
'Who am I?'
He was Legolas, Legolas Lassion, bastard son of Thranduil.
His heart skipped and fluttered and he breathed through the odd rhythm until it beat steadily once more.
Looking around him now, he saw three elves, still asleep upon the ground, but Idhrenohtar knelt before him, watching quietly, silent save for the friendship that shone in his grey eyes.
Legolas could not speak, not yet.
His eyes strayed to the trees that surrounded them and he wondered what he would feel should he reach out and touch them. No, don't, he said to himself. Too many emotions, too much to feel. If he had learned anything at all about himself last night, it was that he was still a child in this one thing; he was still not able to completely control his emotions.
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