His eyes swivelled back to Maeneth of their own accord and he realised she had sought Legolas with her own eyes, bright with curiosity and, perhaps, admiration. He could not be sure, yet one thing was certain, she did not share Rinion's instant aversion to his half-brother and his heart swelled even more than it had the first time his eyes had fallen upon her. He smiled stupidly, blissfully unaware of the expression that had taken up residence on his undoubtedly Noldorin features. A loud snort and ensuing chuckles broke the magic and Elladan closed his eyes in utter frustration and exasperation.
The sound of choirs and music was becoming louder as they approached the outlying Silvan camp. It was massive in its expanse, and Rinion's head was close to Maeneth's again as he explained their presence and the imminent festivities. Her eyes slipped briefly to Legolas once more before turning back to her brother.
Haldir and Thoron hung back now, allowing the two royal siblings to ride at the fore with a smile and a bow and the warriors sat straighter, taller as they rode behind them.
Filing into the Silvan camp, they smiled and Maeneth waved as they passed the excited elves who waved back and threw wild flowers at the returning princess, who laughed as they fell upon her. Rinion's face melted as he picked some of them from her dress and stuck them into her hair with an adoring smile.
He had insulted these people once, not so long ago. Had discarded them as necessary allies and nothing more. He had fallen into the habit of repeating his great uncle's intolerance with pejorative words for it had felt good to do so - not because he actually believed what he said, for truth be told he had not even thought too much on it - nay he had done it because the anger had made him feel good - he had needed that excuse to vent it, reduce the pressure in his own mind so that it did not burst into a thousand pieces.
And yet now, as he watched them, watched the adoration in their eyes as Maeneth passed them, the flowers they regaled her with, the songs of welcome they sang to her - he felt ashamed - of himself and his cruelty towards these, delightful beings, ashamed that he had lost himself so utterly and his eyes glanced over his brother. His face was straight, and there was a hint of pain behind his extraordinary eyes. So young, so vulnerable if you knew how to look… and how Rinion had taken advantage of that to vent his own suffering. He had asked the boy to prove himself and he had, he had told the boy he meant nothing to him and he had lied, he had laughed at his predicaments, scoffed at his skills, and although he had not said as much to his sister, he knew that she knew.
His own joy at his sister's homecoming was still there, but it had been tempered with the wanderings of his mind and so he stopped himself. There would be time enough to mend the damage and although Rinion was not one to show his emotions freely, he would, at least, cease to cause his brother the suffering he knew he had.
Maeneth's soft, warm hand took the one that rested on his thigh as he rode and Rinion startled for a moment, and then allowed his eyes to sink into her lovely face, submit himself to her knowing eyes and she smiled as she squeezed. Yes she knew, she knew his mind, she always had and still - she loved him.
The mighty gates of the fortress groaned as they slowly opened, revealing what seemed to be the entire Sindarin population, standing stock still in the courtyard. Even the healers stood outside their building, watching as the patrol entered, their prince and princess at the fore.
Upon the steps that led inside, was the mighty Sindarin king, Thranduil, and at his shoulder, Prince Handir and Lord Aradan and behind them the entire Permanent Council together with Mithrandir and Glorfindel.
The silence was in stark opposition to the still singing Silvans that stood just outside, and Elladan thought they might not stop at all now.
Slowing to a halt, he jumped to the ground and approached Nestaron with a nod.
"Nestaron, we have eight arrow wounds, one stab to the side and multiple contusions," he reported. The Sindarin Master Healer nodded, eyes roving over Elladan himself to ensure he was not injured.
"I am fine, come, we have work," he said, turning to the wounded.
"No, Elladan, I have work, you must rest. I do not need you - go," he said. Bathe, eat and rest and if you feel the need to return after that, then do so."
There was no room for argument and so Elladan nodded, and then returned to the Company, who had already relinquished their mounts and stood together, watching from afar as Thranduil's children were reunited….
A woman, his daughter was a woman and her beauty overwhelmed him. It was Aglareb before him and yet not so, for the look in her eyes was that of Rinion, of Handir, of himself. She was strong, confident, happy. His daughter did not share the childhood traumas of her brothers, he realised and his joy was twofold.
Soft skin shone in the afternoon sun, pale and pure, rosy and luminescent, her features angular and her lovely eyes of pale blue, surrounded lovingly by dark lashes and strong eyebrows. This was not the child that had left them seven centuries ago, this was a silver-haired princess of Greenwood the Great, and he could not quite believe that she was his.
She smiled as her eyes explored the imposing figure of her father and Thranduil watched her in fascination, but protocol was screaming to be heeded and so, with a bow and a brilliant smile, the king spoke.
"Welcome to Greenwood the Great, Princess Maeneth Thranduiliel. Our joy is indescribable, you have been sorely missed."
He paused as he waited for the words she would utter in response, wondering what her voice would sound like, and when she spoke it was deep and soft.
"Thank you, my King. I am home, at last…" she said triumphantly and then smiled a brilliant smile that melted Thranduil's awakening heart. He wanted to pull her into his arms and crush her against him but he could not - not here.
Handir stepped forward with a smile, his eyes registering every detail of her face, her hair, her clothes, her hands… reaching for one, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "My heart sings, sister," he said softly, and then stepped back reluctantly.
The king gestured for Maeneth to take his arm and together, they walked inside. Rinion hesitated, turning one last time before entering the fortress, his eyes seeking and finding Legolas who looked back at him from afar.
With a subtle cock of his head, he extended a silent invitation for Legolas to join them, but with an equally subtle shake of his head, Legolas declined. The boy's face was sad and Rinion thought he understood him. He would feel like an intruder, an outsider - it was not, perhaps the time. But he would find him later, he vowed. When Maeneth had settled and they had spoken, he would bring Legolas to the fortress to better meet his sister.
Ducking inside, he followed his family towards the king's private suite, under the shocked, admiring eyes of Greenwood's lords and ladies, who smiled and bowed as they passed, for Greenwood's Royal family were reunited at last. The small party bore it stiffly, watching as Sindarin nobility watched, and the cogs of their agile minds began to turn faster. Thranduil's daughter was home - and eligible.
Finally though, the great oaken doors of the king's rooms slid shut and Thranduil whirled on his heel, his expression so intense it made Rinion want to step back. Advancing almost predatorily upon his daughter, he stopped just a step away from her.
Her smile was gone as she stared up at her father's burning eyes and shining crown and Rinion knew she saw what he himself did, what Handir surely did it. He saw his father, open and threadbare, an expression upon his face that, if one did not know better, may have been described as shock for his mouth was open and his eyes wide, his breathing too quick and his eyes searching, searching for signs of hesitance from Maeneth, of resentment but there was none, and before Rinion could blink, Thranduil was crushing the body of his daughter to his chest, arms wrapped fiercely around her shoulders, her silver head tucked under his strong chin.
Thranduil's eyes sought the ceiling, wide and shaking, and tears spilled from his light blue eyes, before he screwed them shut and rested his cheek against the crown of her head. R
inion felt his own eyes fill rebelliously but he would not let his tears fall and so he breathed through the emotion and watched as the moment stretched on and still, Thranduil clung to her as if his life depended on her, and perhaps it did, for should she reject him now she would surely be the end of him. But no, Rinion knew that was not the case. She had solved her own issues many years ago, was free of the bitterness that Rinion still harboured, indeed when she finally pulled back, she smiled serenely and then kissed her father upon the cheek.
It was a simple kiss, innocent and heart-felt, but to Rinion it seemed as though the fogs of Valinor had opened up before his father's eyes, revealing to him true happiness for the first time. In that, one kiss, Maeneth seemed to finish what Legolas had started two years previously. His father was alive, vibrant, complete, an elf of great strength and wisdom - powerful and commanding - loving.
Rinion's mind detached itself, turning inwards upon itself and he remembered…
'…what would you know…'
'… stay out of my life!'
'I will do what I think is right…'
'…Silvan bastard…'
'…do not ask me to accept him…'
'…you are weak!'
'… I loved you once…'
I still love you…
His mind lingered and Maeneth's soft hand came to rest on his forearm, her concerned eyes asking silently what ailed him.
He turned to his father but, unlike himself, there was no confusion on the king's face, he seemed to understand and Rinion took a hesitant step towards him, frowning as he did so, for his mind had yet to understand what his heart bid him do.
Another step forward and another tear escaped the mighty king as he watched patiently but still, Rinion frowned and he walked, stilted and clumsy, for something had broken inside him but it was not his heart. He felt light-headed, dizzy and a low buzz hummed in his ears and soon he was so close to his father he could feel his heat, see the light reflect off the tear that rolled over his bottom eyelid - he watched it in fascination as it slowly slipped down his father's perfect skin, down to the corner of his mouth and then he looked up again, into the ancient eyes.
It was not his heart that had broken, it was his defences - they had first cracked, and then shattered into a thousand pieces with a simple kiss, for he no longer needed them - there was nothing to defend himself against any more - the danger had gone.
One more step forward and he walked into his father, arms still at his sides for he did not know what to do anymore, but his father did, and with a strangled gasp he flung his arms around his first-born.
"Rinion, my child," he gasped desperately, and Maeneth covered her mouth as she cried freely.
But Rinion could not speak. His cheek rested on his father's strong shoulder and his mouth hung open, eyes unfocussed, lost in the depths of his own mind for the sensations, the feelings that came to him were so intense he felt paralysed, unable to react save for the tears that rolled down his own face, onto his father's tunic.
Finally, he slowly closed his eyes and when he opened them again he had returned, and with his return came exhaustion beyond anything he had ever felt. He stepped back, and with a brief glance at his father, he turned and sat, rubbing one hand somewhat compulsively over his thigh. Maeneth saw it and turned to the sideboard, retrieving four glasses and pouring her father's Darwinion she was now old enough to drink.
Handing her father and brothers a glass, she took her own and observed them both through her tears.
"Well then," she chuckled, and then drank, but no one else spoke and Maeneth was old and wise enough to understand that it was not the moment for words, only to feel, and to heal.
It had taken some time to get the wounded inside and in bed and now, the Greenwood's healers were beginning their treatment and care of their warriors.
Nestaron was busy with the more serious cases, and his head healers were tasked with stitching and disinfecting. The junior healers were seeing to the cuts and bruises and slowly, the Halls began to fill with family members in search of their wounded, especially the Silvan's who even brought food from their own hearths so that their sons and daughters could thoroughly nourish themselves.
Legolas, still bloodied and filthy himself, limped from one room to the next, visiting the warriors. He was received with radiant smiles and reverent bows, and the Silvan mothers would offer him cakes and sweet biscuits. He refused them with a smile and a bow, asking them to save their delicacies for their brave sons and daughters.
An hour later he had finished, strangely content with the work he had carried out. He had refused to return with the rest of the Company, had even refused their presence and so they had left the fortress, bound for their tent in the Silvan camp.
Sighing, he turned in search of a water pitcher and a clean towel with which to make himself minimally presentable, but the only thing he found was Llyniel's concerned gaze.
"If you stay, you allow me to treat you here. The alternative is to leave now, go to your family and rest Legolas, you are tired and sore, I can see it in your eyes."
He stared back at her for a moment, and then smiled in defeat. "Aye, I would not not gainsay you," he began and then added, almost as an afterthought. "Llyniel, I wonder - I was thinking - would you like to accompany me - to the celebration I mean?" he asked a little unsure of himself, of what her answer would be.
She stared blankly at him, until his meaning clicked and her eyebrows rose. "Accompany you? as your - companion?"
"Yes," he answered somewhat defensively. "I still do not know how it will be, but us being Silvans, I am sure there will be much revelry later - I would like to escort you, if you would allow it?" he pressed, feeling minimally satisfied it had come out the right way, and that his nerves had not betrayed him.
She smiled and then stepped towards him. "You would have to ask my father, but should he accede, I would be honoured," she murmured, her eyes losing a little of their focus.
"Your father?"
"Yes - you see," she stepped even closer, "I am Silvan at heart, but I am only half Silvan in blood.
Legolas was surprised, he had thought her Silvan, but he was even gladder that she was like him and he smiled. "And where can I find your father?" he asked almost absently.
"Well," she smirked as one hand reached up to ghost over the bruise on his face, "find your own father, and you will find mine…" she smiled mischievously.
Legolas frowned for he did not understand.
"My father - is Lord Aradan, Legolas."
His eyes bulged and his mouth opened. "What?!"
Llyniel chuckled and then looked back up at him and he suddenly realised how lovely she was. It was not only her features but the expression in her eyes, open and inviting, natural and - adoring.
He smiled and then moved closer, resting his filthy hand over her cheek and then slowly moving towards her, his mouth opening…
"Legolas?" came the deep, ironic voice of Marhen, and Legolas closed his eyes in frustration as Llyniel spun around in shock, her hair whipping him in the face.
"I was just leaving," she said hurriedly, casting one last glance at Legolas. "Speak with my father, my Lord, and send word?"
"Of course, thank you, Llyniel," he nodded formally and then turned to Marhen, who watched him with a wry smile. Amareth appeared behind her then and her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of him.
"Child, what have you done," she muttered as she walked forwards.
"Mother, it is nothing. I just want to return with you and rest, if I may."
"Oh you will return with us, and you will let us care for you as you do not seem capable yourself," she rambled, taking him by the arm and pulling him along. She slowed her pace though, when she realised he limped and Marhen walked on his other side, looking up at him worriedly.
"Come," she said calmly and Legolas had no intention of gainsaying her.
Leaving the Halls of healing, the two Silvan ladies escorted their soon to be Warlord, smil
ing and nodding as the warriors saluted and Legolas answered, his face carefully schooled, his limp almost imperceptible and thus they entered the Silvan camp and finally, Amareth's tent.
Gesturing authoritatively to the pallet in one corner, Legolas gingerly lowered himself with a groan, and then stretched his legs out before him, for it hurt to sit up, he realised.
Marhen turned to Amareth, murmuring something to her before she turned back to Legolas and knelt upon the rug beside the bed.
"Here, let me help you," she said, reaching for the buckles of his armour.
"I can do it, Marhen," he answered, reaching up with filthy hands to the leather straps. Just then, Elladan ducked into the tent, walking straight to the pallet and crouching beside Marhen.
"I knew it - that hip of yours - take your breeches off," he said as he rose and took off his own over tunic. "Better still, take everything off, I don't trust you," he murmured and Legolas smiled wryly.
Soon, his clothes and stained armour were taken away by Amareth, and Legolas sat awkwardly with nothing but a thin sheet pooled around his waist.
"Lay back, Legolas, I know it must pain you to sit up."
"How do you know?" he asked, perplexed.
"Because I can read your face, my friend. I am an experienced healer, I know the signs of pain when I see them. Now come, lay back," he said, his hand pressing down on Legolas' chest until he lay flat.
Lifting the sheet on one side, he pursed his lips and frowned. "Stubborn fool," he murmured and then turned to his pack and rummaged through it - he still had not had time to order it after his work on the field earlier. However, he found what he needed and unscrewed the top.
"Can you turn onto your side?"
"Umm," said Legolas as he turned towards Elladan, the sheet covering his front but exposing the entire side of his body from head to foot. Dipping his fingers into the cream, Elladan applied it to the rapidly bruising hip, rubbing it in vigorously until most of it had been absorbed. Reaching for a cloth he wiped his hands and then looked at Legolas' face.
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