The Sylvanus

by Oliver McBride

  Thranduil could almost feel the anxiety emanating from his son and the rigid stance of the warrior at his back, absently wondering why a Noldo would be with him.

  "You are Legolas," he said simply, it was not a question.

  "Yes," he answered, a lingering tone of defeat in his voice.

  "I," said the other, as he reached for the hood of his cloak and pulled it back, "am Thranduil," he said slowly, purposefully omitting his title.

  The cloaked figure stood stock still, frozen it seemed, until he finally spoke. "How? How did you recognise me?" he asked.

  "I recognised your soul, Legolas. It was your presence, not your face, that gave you away," he said kindly. "And then there is that name; I do not know many elves called the Whirling Warrior," he said ironically, a soft smile on his face.

  There was a prolonged silence, one born of utter confusion no doubt, realised the king, and so he softly continued.

  "Will you lower your hood, Legolas? Allow me to look upon you?" he prompted, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He had been told of the resemblance to Oropher, his green eyes and had seen the tip of a braid last night, but everything else remained a mystery to Thranduil. He could feel his muscles shake, his eyes as they moved too quickly over the shrouded form and his breath that came too frequently.

  He felt the familiar warm feeling in his soul, the one that had told him just yesterday, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that he stood before his son, for there was a part of the king that recognised the essence of his soul mate, that part of Lassiel that resided in this elf, in the son they had created together so that she may live, if only so that she could deliver herself to the undying lands and await the years of separation before they could finally be together.

  The wait became almost unbearable and Thranduil knew that his own state of agitation would become apparent if Legolas did not soon comply.

  He did, and with one hand, he flipped the hood away from his bowed head, and then slowly lifted his face and looked upon his father.

  Thranduil's heart stopped and his eyes bulged, blood rushing to his face and ears as hot tears filled his eyes. His mind was paralysed and a gasp wrangled its way past his vocal chords. He covered his treacherous mouth with a jewelled hand and turned abruptly away.

  Closing his eyes he breathed hard, his harsh breaths the only sound in the room. Legolas stared at his father's back and Dorhinen, in turn, stared at Legolas with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  The agonisingly uncomfortable silence stretched on until Thranduil whirled around once more. His stunned features were slowly returning to at least a semblance of normalcy, but they were still clearly pulled tight in disbelief.

  "How is this possible…" he whispered as his feet slowly brought him closer to the Silvan, the great king's head tilted to one side in confusion. "I was told there was a resemblance but I had never imagined…. this!" he trailed off as one hand reached up and then softly touched his son's chest.

  The contact was fleeting, as if he had simply wanted to ensure it was flesh and blood that stood before him, not the ghost of his dead father.

  Legolas remained silent, staring back at the floundering king.

  "I have - no words," he breathed again, his eyes roving desperately over his son's body, his face, his hands and then his bright green eyes.

  "Lassiel…" he whispered reverently, and then suddenly, forcefully jolted himself out of his strange trance for he knew the emotion would overwhelm him if he did not stop it now, while he still could. There would be time enough later, when he was alone and free to feel.

  With a deep breath, he stepped back and Legolas seemed to visibly sag as the distance between them was increased.

  "You were wounded, are you alright?" he asked, his voice now steadier than it had been, no longer a soft whisper, almost as if he had become another person.

  "I am well enough, my King," answered Legolas obediently as Thranduil continued to watch him closely. One arm was held against his chest and he still wore the clothing of the Healing Halls. His face was bruised on one side and there was a tiredness in his eyes that spoke of exhaustion.

  "Dorhinen, and you," gestured Thranduil to the Noldo behind his son.

  "Melven Hadorion," he said curtly, unaware of the flinch that had visibly moved the Sindarin warrior behind the king.

  "Leave us," he commanded, waiting as the two guards left, each with a lingering stare for Legolas, who stood now as if one condemned before the hangman.

  With a soft click, the door closed and they were alone.

  Silence was their only companion for a while, before the king's soft voice shattered it.

  "Legolas," began the king slowly, "I came here to meet you on your terms, not mine. It is not my intention to intimidate or antagonise you. I wish only for us to talk, before duty takes its course and we are no longer able to speak freely. Here, I am an elf, not a king."

  But his words were met with stiff silence.

  "Child," frowned Thranduil, stepping forward. "Say what you will - but say something…"

  The impertinent silence was back and Thranduil wished he could strike it down. Before long though, Legolas did speak, so quietly, as if he spoke to himself.

  "I do not know what to say," came the soft reply.

  It was Thranduil's turn then, to remain silent, until, with a heavy sigh, he turned and raked a hand through his hair.

  "I want you to know," he began, using a different tactic now, in the hopes that he would at least, get the elf to speak to him. "I have publicly recognised you as my son to the court of the Greenwood, and ruled that you are to be addressed as Lord Legolas, but this you already know," he said, turning to look at his son, his face open and expectant and still, no reaction.

  "I want you to be on equal terms with my other children, I would like you - to be a part of this family - if you so wish it," he said carefully now, his eyes riveted on the bright green eyes that stared back at him, eyes he had once loved, still did, always would.

  "Have you nothing at all to say?" asked Thranduil, softly, pleadingly almost.

  "I do not know what to say - and I do not know what to feel…" and with that last word, Thranduil at last heard emotion. 'Feel…'

  "Tell me then, what you wish to feel, even if you do not," he prompted, thinking perhaps he had finally found a way to evoke the child's emotional state. He had not been wrong.

  "What I wish…" he said almost absently, his eyes dropping to the side and Thranduil knew he remembered, was wading through his memories of long ago.

  "What I wished, when I was a child, was to have a father; dead or alive but a father of which I could speak, one I could put a face and a name to, and a place either in Valinor or Mandos' Halls," he muttered, a soft smile on his face, an expression of wistful childish dreams, and it brought hot tears to Thranduil's eyes, tears he held back as he so often had.

  His son's voice was far, far away, and the words dripped now with sadness and suffering, and Thranduil's heart constricted painfully as he forced himself to listen.

  "I wished, that I could name my father in pride for I was sure he was dead - why else would I be alone? I would reason. But as time passed and my mind matured I came to realise there was some dark, family secret, one no one would speak of and I was sure, sure," he emphasised, that my father had died in shame, exiled perhaps," he trailed off, and then turned so abruptly the king startled, for his child's green eyes were unnerving him, the brightness of his aura and the frown now firmly in place on his inexplicably beautiful face - the sad child had gone and in his place was a bitter adolescent.

  "And I hated myself then," he hissed, "for not deserving a family, for not being wanted, for being forgotten and being different - the half-breed bastard of an exile!" he shouted vehemently, his eyes but hinting at the pent up fury behind them.

  Legolas checked himself and closed his eyes, slowly bringing his accelerated breathing under control.

  "Don't stop, Legolas…" pleaded the king urgently,
you need to tell me this, for yourself…"

  "Need?" he asked. "I speak of the past," he said, and then laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I do not even know what to call you, damn it!" he said.

  "Thranduil, just call me Thranduil…" he said softly.

  "Thranduil - what I needed, I never had, and that cannot be changed, even though I wish it could," he said meaningfully, his face now but inches from Thranduil's, the strange green eyes focussing sharply on his own blue irises. This was not the face of a sad child, nor that of a bitter adolescent…

  "You are so sure of that? That things do not change?" he urged. "I understand your words, and respect them and I will not contest them. I know I cannot change the past, but I can change the future, Legolas, and so can you. It is but a question of desiring it."

  Legolas held his gaze and Thranduil was sure the boy was listening, was reasoning his words. Aye he was young but he was not unwise, realised the king.

  "Mere months ago I would have said you are wrong, but after all that has happened - I can no longer assume to guess at the future," said Legolas somewhat absently and something in his tone gave Thranduil food for thought - what had happened in Imladris that his son had seen fit to mention it for a second time…

  "Perhaps," said the king as he turned towards the window, "perhaps you would consider working for the good of the Greenwood, as the Lord that you are. Perhaps, through this, shared objective, we may come closer than what mere duty would dictate. And," he added, "perhaps that will never happen. But know this, Legolas, you will find my heart open to you," he said, struggling now to keep his own emotions in check. "You ask what you should call me, but I have no such doubt, Legolas, I call you my son because that is what you are, and you cannot change that, even if you wished to," he said, a note of defensiveness had crept into his tone, a bitterness born of frustration that he had not been able to hold back.

  Legolas seemed to have sensed it, for his face softened with his next words. "I do not wish to," he whispered, the beautiful, moss green eyes full with unshed tears, "but I cannot overcome centuries of absence simply because I wish it, Thranduil, and yet I do - wish it."

  The king's eyes were wide in nascent understanding. His son wanted what he himself did but he could not feel it. It was a minute, flickering light on a stormy horizon, and he was suddenly filled with tempered hope.

  "It may confuse you Legolas, to know that I am proud of who you have become. Perhaps one day, that will matter to you. I am not leaving, I will always be here."

  "I can give you no more than this, Thranduil. I do not hate you, not any more. I have learned to control my anger and bitterness for the most part, but having achieved this, does not make the opposite true. I cannot love you simply because you are my father…"

  "I know," he said with a smile. "I accept that and I will not push you beyond your limits. In public, we are king and lord, and in private, time will tell. 'Tis enough that I have hope."

  He stared at his son once more and cocked his head to one side. "Tis truly unnerving - how much you resemble your grandfather…. I understand your reticence to uncloak yourself."

  "I saw a portrait of him, in Imladris. It was the first time I had seen him."

  Thranduil frowned. "Do they not have libraries in Broadtree?" he asked somewhat ironically.

  "Aye we do. But you see, it seems my identity is not a surprise to many. Those books must have been confiscated - I have spent my entire life surrounded by intrigues, Thranduil. Even those of my own village so you see - trust - is a difficult concept for me to grasp. The only people I truly trust, those I know without doubt will stand beside me, are those of the Company, and Glorfindel."

  "Legolas," he said, his tone changing a little for it was no longer so deep and wishful. "We must speak of many things, of recent events here in the Greenwood and the role others would have you play and I must now ask you," he said, watching his son carefully now for his reaction. "Are you willing to take up your place as a lord of this realm? Will you serve our people?"

  Legolas stared into his father's piercing blue eyes and when he answered, his voice was strong and resolute. "I have only ever wished for that - I will serve our people, and I am loyal to my King. But there are things I must also discuss with you, for while I am aware there has been an important summit here, so too, have there been events in Imladris, of which you must be briefed."

  Thranduil nodded curtly. "I am glad then, that we have had this conversation, Legolas. Remember my words though. Do not think me unapproachable - come to me if you need answers, if you have questions and if you do not, then at least we are both joined in the pledge of our service to this land.

  "So be it," murmured Legolas.

  "Legolas. The next time we speak will be formally, at the fortress. I will be King and you will be Lord and I will know your loyalty. Know, though, that there are those that will oppose your presence…"

  "You speak of Rinion? my brother?"

  "Him, and others. Your great uncle Bandorion and his son, your second cousin. Have a care, Legolas, and to this end I have assigned Dorhinen for your safety, at least until the danger has passed."

  "I had imagined as much," said Legolas. "Handir and I have spoken extensively of the political situation here, I am not unlearned in the dynamics at large."

  "Then I am truly glad," smiled Thranduil sincerely, "glad that at least you have gained a brother in all this - this mess," he said and Legolas actually smiled then. It transformed his face and Thranduil was mesmerised once more at his loveliness.

  "It is a mess, is it not?" said Legolas rhetorically. "And yes. Handir has become dear to me. He and I are brothers in the true sense of the word," he smiled. "I am grateful for that."

  A long silence stretched between them then, until the king finally broke it, turning to face to his son, his expression no longer guarded but graced with an openness that spoke of his wish to truly show himself for what he was. A father who wanted nothing more than to redeem himself with a son he had never known, but that wanted to, with all that he was.

  "My heart is heavy for the pain you have suffered, and because I can do nothing to remedy that. It saddens me that we cannot embrace as father and son, that you cannot call me father and yet," he hesitated as a smile began to stretch his lips, "I am strangely heartened that you do not reject me, that you do not turn from our people and the responsibility inherent in the son of a king."

  Legolas held his father's gaze as he considered the words he had spoken and then nodded slowly. "And I am glad that you understand, that you do not force me into thinking or feeling what you would wish. I am glad you count on me and that you know of my loyalty to you as king. I cannot guarantee there will be no bitterness, and I cannot guarantee that I will ever feel anything more towards you than the love of a Lord for his king - can you accept this?"

  "I am content with that, Legolas. But I will always hope for more…"

  Legolas smiled again, not a smile of joy but one of understanding, of good will.

  "I confess," said Legolas, a little worriedly, "that I am at a loss as to what to do now, how to act, where to go even…" he said with a deep frown.

  "Let Dorhinen guide you, Legolas. He will take you to your rooms, show you the fortress, accompany you to meals…"

  Legolas closed his eyes as he listened and Thranduil could clearly see the anxiety in his eyes. He would be put on display now, and there was nothing Thranduil could do to change that.

  "I know what you are thinking and I will not say it will not be hard, for it will. There are issues such as meeting Rinion, the councillors, and not all will be kind to you. It is just like any other battle you have fought, Legolas, save this one rages between these walls. You have Melven with you, and Handir when he recovers sufficiently."

  "And I have The Company," he said. "They will arrive later today."

  "The Company?"

  "They, are the people I most trust, Thranduil, and although Dorhinen is assigned to me, I will not be
parted from my brothers. Dimaethor you know - although not by that name but as Lainion - he was sorely wounded protecting Handir in battle - if not for him my brother would be dead. I must be there to receive them, Thranduil."

  "Alright. You will have my leave, Legolas. Is there anything else I need to know?" he asked in curiosity now.

  "Yes, one more thing."

  "What is it?"

  "There are dignitaries in our escort; Elladan Elrondion and Mithrandir ride with the Company, and leading our warriors, is Lord Glorfindel…" he finished, watching his father for a reaction.

  "Glorfindel," he repeated. "Elbereth…"

  "I know of his friendship with King Oropher," said Legolas carefully.

  "Friendship? Nay - they were brothers, Legolas. Inseparable, of like mind. Two mighty whirlwinds of strength and power. That was a legendary friendship," he smiled in remembrance.

  "Then I must tell you, that Glorfindel has become dear to me, and I to him," he said softly with a smile.

  Thranduil watched his son carefully. There was a hint of worry there, quickly hidden by millennia of experience. Glorfindel had been a constant in Thranduil's younger years, when the reborn warrior had leave to visit, which was admittedly rare. He had fond memories of those times, before he had met Lassiel and everything had changed.

  "The rest of Prince Handir's escort will arrive this evening." I will not ask you to dine with us this day for I know you will not, and of course you have not yet met Rinion. Tomorrow, perhaps," he said, and then added, "remember then. Come to me with your worries, either as my son or as a servant of this realm, and look to Dorhinen for guidance."

  "Of course," said Legolas, moving to replace his hood.

  "Leave it. There is no point."

  Legolas' hand froze, and then he nodded and drew a deep breath. He was anxious and Thranduil could not blame him for that. The boy was stunning to look upon and that in itself would garner him much unwanted attention. It also marked him unmistakably as a scion of the House of Oropher and that meant he was the king's bastard child, for some a blessing and for others, a shameful mockery that would bring insult, and perhaps more. No, Thranduil could not blame him for his apprehension, but it was a necessary step if anything was to be achieved.