Disclaimer: See default chapter

Chapter 1: I want to remember  

*~*~*

The door quietly opened and closed. It was past the noon hour and the king wanted to make sure his patient had had eaten. If he had, it would be the first time he had willingly eaten since he had been carried semi-conscious through the doors of the Houses of Healing, bleeding from multiple wounds.

Aragorn searched the bed but found it empty. He quickly scanned the room only to rest upon the open balcony doors. Quietly walking to the doors he finally spotted the figure he was looking for, a rather forlorn and pitiful looking figure, worn thin from the weeks of lying in bed and throwing up most of the food fed to him.

It was a beautiful day out, the sun shone brightly while the birds chirped merrily in the distance, but there was something obviously burdening the figure for no ready smile was upon the fair lips, and there was a shadow in his blue-gray eyes that stared to the North.

The slender figure was clad in loose leggings and a too large shirt that made sure it didn’t press against any of the bandages around his torso. Though the lacings in the front had been tied, it was large enough for the one side to slide off the white shoulder revealing the bandages, which were still white, much to Aragorn’s relief.

Unconsciously a slim hand reached up and over, dragging the shirt back on the shoulder only to have it slide off again. The blonde haired head shook in mild frustration and heaved a sigh.

“Troubled?” Aragorn smiled briefly, a wave of protectiveness rising up within him startling him. Though Legolas was many years his senior, perhaps it was his youthful appearance that made Aragorn look after the elf like a younger sibling.

“Aragorn.” Legolas greeted, a smile touching his lips before disappearing as quickly as it had come. “Don’t worry.” He opened the top part of the lacing. “They didn’t bleed through.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Aragorn seated himself on the balcony ledge enabling him to study the elf before him.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Legolas broke it. “You’re wondering why I haven’t sent word to my Adar aren’t you.” He said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. His hair was not in his usual warrior braids, but hung in a single braid down his back.

“Yes.” Aragorn nodded. “Among other things. Do you wish to talk?” He asked neutrally. 

Legolas briefly closed his eyes, fighting off a wave of nausea. Because of the wounds to his head and stomach mainly, it had been hard for him to even stand because the room would swim around him. It had only been by hanging onto the wall that he had been able to get to the balcony.   

It had been exactly three weeks and four days since his arrival in the White City. Most of those days he did not remember because of the pain of his wounds and the haze of the high fever. A few elves had stayed with him because of their own wounds and a few more stayed just because he was their lord and heaven knew what humans would do.

He had dismissed his overprotective guards and sent them back to Ithilien; he knew he had no need of them here. Not with Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn visiting him almost daily and guards posted at his door.

As the silence drew on, Legolas became aware that he had not answered Aragorn’s question and his probing gaze. He gave a wan smile. “My mind wanders.” He said softly. “My heart aches Aragorn.” He began slowly. “The reason for not notifying my Adar is this.” He cast his gaze downward. “We no longer are on speaking terms.”

“What!” Aragorn stood up shocked. Ever since he had known Legolas and Thranduil he had found their relationship, though strained a loving and kind one. What had happened since then?

Legolas bit his lip, fighting the ache in his heart and the tears in his eyes. It still hurt even after nearly five years of cold silence. He could still hear the anger in his Adar’s voice as they argued. The chilling coldness between them when around others still remained ever present in his mind. He had lost a part of himself on that day, in more ways then one.

“Tell me about it.” Aragorn prodded gently.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas started his story.

“It all began when orcs attacked us and Gollum escaped….”

*~* Flashback *~*

The elven prince knelt in the wet grass holding his best friend to his chest. His heart no longer beat, the fair lips were no longer turned upward in a ready smile, and the eyes that were once so full of life were now blank and empty, but all Legolas could think of, could remember was only a few moments earlier when Tarion’s laughter had rang out, then arrows had flown thudding into the elf’s body.

Then the space between there seemed to slow. Orcs screaming, shooting arrows at them, his own screams and his own arrows flying at the enemy, the slow realization that Tarion was dead and the dull aching pain that Gollum had escaped and he had failed. Again.

It was because of him that an elf was dead. Not for the first time either. He dreaded having to tell Tarion’s parents and even worse telling his Adar and king what had happened, of his failure to protect the realm.

He became aware of someone shaking him, trying to make him focus. He blinked tears from his eyes and looked up into the face of his guardian, Meldar.

“Come Legolas.” He said quietly. “There is nothing more you can do.”

‘No.’ Legolas thought desolately. ‘There was nothing more he could do.’ He very carefully stood with Tarion in his arms and they began the slow procession back to the palace.

In the dizzying haze that surrounded him afterwards, he forgot about the sword wound in his side and because of the blood from Tarion no one else noticed it either.

He bathed and changed in a daze, everything blurring around him because of the tears in his eyes. He dressed in his formal robes and placed the small circlet signifying his royal status upon his carefully combed hair. There was only a few times when he did not wear his hair in the traditional warrior braids and this report somehow seemed fitting that he wore his hair down.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and strode down the hallway.

The guards all stood a little taller, their shoulders thrown back a little more as their prince strode by. They dearly loved their prince and each wished that they could ease the pain in those clear gray blue eyes just a little, but knowing they couldn’t they sent up a silent prayer to the Valar in hopes that his ache would ease.

Standing outside the throne room door, Legolas took a deep breath trying to focus on what he needed to do. He nodded for the guard to announce him, and with his head held high he strode into the room and stood before his king.

The moment he saw his king, his heart sank. He was livid.

With a single gesture, Thranduil ordered the court to be emptied. After the last elf left and the silence once more reigned Thranduil lashed out a question. “What were you thinking?” He shouted.

Legolas flinched involuntarily. “I am sorry my lord.” He whispered.

“Sorry.” Thranduil scoffed. He was angry, far angrier than he had been in a long while. “You are always sorry.” He stood with a sudden movement that made Legolas take a step backward. “Well sorry won’t bring back Tarion.” He hissed.

 The words were like a cold knife to Legolas’ heart. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

Thranduil sighed suddenly and sank into his chair and gestured for Legolas to make his report.

Legolas did so, quietly and with his voice breaking every so often as the pain of his friend’s death threatened to overwhelm him. Once finished he requested permission to follow Gollum and capture him once more.

Thranduil snorted. “Do you honestly think I would allow more warriors to die under your care?” He snapped. The moment he said the words he immediately regretted them, but there was no turning back.

“You may not know it.” Legolas snapped back. “But I am one of the best archers in your realm.”

Thranduil snorted, too angry to actually think upon what he was saying and what devastating impact it would have. “So good that your best friend died when on watch with you?”

Thranduil watched horrified as a wall slammed between them. The love and affection they once held openly was now shut. His son was no longer his son but one of his warriors to command. But his pride, his stubborn pride refused to allow him to back up and apologize for the devastating words.

“I’m going after Gollum.” Legolas stated calmly.

“You will do no such thing.” Thranduil lashed back. “I will not allow it. You are far too young to lead anything; your childish actions this afternoon have already proved it.”  

I’m not a child anymore!” Legolas blew up.

“By the Valar!” Thranduil yelled back. “You’re my child!”

With a look that would haunt his father’s heart for the rest of his life, Legolas turned and walked defiantly away.

Thranduil sank back in his chair after the door slammed behind his son, and buried his face in his hands, cursing his stubborn pride and the stubborn pride that was also in his son.

*~*~*

“Legolas!” Meldar ran to catch up with him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going after him.” Legolas replied tersely.

“Recapturing Gollum and killing orcs will not bring back Tarion.” Meldar said quietly.

Legolas halted, surprising his guardian who almost toppled over trying not to run into his charge.

Turning suspiciously bright blue-gray eyes upon Meldar, he replied in a low whisper. “I know, which is exactly why I am going.”

Meldar sighed. “You had an argument again didn’t you?” He knew very well of the frequent arguments and the lost tempers between the royal father and son.

“It’s none of your business.” Legolas replied flatly, continuing onward to his room. He jerked open the door and stormed in, ripping the robe from his shoulders revealing a loose under tunic that had been hastily thrown on, so hastily that Meldar saw that Legolas had not even tied the lacing together to keep it on his shoulders, and one side of the shirt had fallen down revealing a white shoulder.

Legolas angrily jerked the shirt up and quickly tied the lacings together. He threw on a dark gray tunic that would blend well with the growing shadows of night. He easily unstrung his bow and secured behind his back after he also secured his quiver and knives.

He would be running to catch up with the orcs and would not stop until he had killed every last one of the foul breed. There was a fierce determination that startled Meldar, a strange light shone in the blue-gray eyes of his charge that he had never seen before and it frankly scared him.

“Legolas.” Meldar tried to get the attention of the prince. “Legolas.”

The prince paid no attention to him and pulling on his tall black boots used for when he was on patrol, stormed out the door.

“Legolas!” Meldar ran after him, his concern raises several notches. He had only seen Legolas like this once before… A long while ago when the queen had been on her way with Legolas to Rivendell. They had been ambushed and Legolas had been forced to watch the orcs brutally rape then murder her.

It was a rather strange ordeal even now… No one exactly knew what had happened that fateful day, part of the reason because the prince and queen had been purposely captured then moved taken to a small cave away from the guards and the other part was due to the fact that Legolas never spoke about that day. Only the guards only knew what they had found, the queen dead along with the small band of orcs that had captured them. They had found Legolas a short distance away in a small muddle of mostly mud and a small amount of water, scrubbing at his skin, tears pouring down his face. But he made not a single sound, his skin nearly rubbed off in several places and bleeding.

It had taken six warriors to calm him down, and in the end they ended up using a drug to pacify him. For three years he didn’t speak a single word. He obeyed every order from the healers and from his Adar. He always stayed within arms reach of Thranduil almost as if he was terrified to lose sight of him for just a few seconds.

It had been in the first of those three long years of silence that Meldar had been assigned to the prince. It had been Meldar who had coaxed the prince to start speaking again and it had been he who had trained Legolas in his skills as a warrior.

Legolas never said a single word about what had happened on that fateful day when the queen had died. No one knew what had really happened and none really wanted to press the already heartbroken prince for the details. So it remained a mystery, left buried in the past much to the relief of the prince and the curiosity of everyone else.

No one, not even Lord Elrond could pry into the prince’s heart and reveal what had happened. It remained tightly closed and locked to all.

“Legolas!!! Answer me!” Meldar called again frantically. He managed to catch up with the nearly running elf and jerked his arm back to make him stop.

Legolas yanked his arm back. “What!”

“What are you planning?” Meldar hissed. He still had on his sword and his knives but had taken off his bow when he had entered the palace.

“I am going to kill the orcs that killed Tarion.” Legolas said quietly but with such a force that it shook the other elf, chilling his heart.

“What are you trying to prove?” Meldar questioned forcefully. 

“I’m not trying to prove anything.” Legolas ground out, frustrated with his guardian who held him back from his chase.

“You cannot win his love Legolas.” Meldar said quietly.

The elven prince froze.

“You cannot win his respect nor his pride Legolas.” Meldar continued. “It is something freely given and freely returned. Not something to be won.” He placed his hand on the other’s shoulder comfortingly.

He was surprised when Legolas jerked himself away. “I do not wish to hear of it.” He said shakily.

He had hit a vital spot, Meldar saw sadly.

“He does not hate you Legolas.” Meldar said quietly.

Legolas whirled around, tears in the blue-gray eyes.” I want him to hate me!” He yelled. He suddenly paused, remembering that fateful day, he closed his eyes and repeated quietly but just as forceful, "I want him to hate me."

“Why?” Meldar questioned incredulously.

“Because I killed her.” Legolas said brokenly. “I killed her.” He wiped tears that were falling too fast. “I want him to hate me for killing her.”

Meldar was startled. “Who did you kill Legolas?” 

“My Naneth.” Legolas whispered his once tall proud figure seemed to wilt.   

Meldar sucked in a breath. He hadn’t been expecting that of all things.

“I killed her.” He keened as the tears poured down even faster.

Oh Legolas.” Meldar whispered, wrapping his arms around him.

Legolas held on to him like a drowning man to a lifesaving raft. It was in the moment that the emotional walls that Legolas had built up so strong shattered in an instant. His knees buckled and he took Meldar down with him. His agony was a raw pain that left his guardian half in pain as well.

The prince’s keening cries were heard and healers were immediately sent for. Grief was a dangerous thing in an elf, but even more so for Legolas. His grief had been kept secret for a long time and in doing so, it was like a hidden wound, slowly festering until there was nothing more one could do about it.

His breath soon came in gasps as he struggled to keep his hold on his fraying emotions….

*~*~*

Thranduil rushed towards the hall where his son was… Though he could easily command thousands of warriors, a simple healer summoning him was enough for him to lose all control.

He stumbled to a halt at the sight of his son holding onto his guardian, sobbing as if his heart would break.

Meldar looked up.

‘You should be the one in my place.’ The guardian’s gaze bore through Thranduil’s heart.

Legolas gave a shuddering sob then suddenly went limp.

Terrified Thranduil pulled his son away from Meldar, needing to know but not wanting to know what condition his son was in.

His face was ashen in color, his eyelids were closed and his breath shallow. His wound that hadn’t yet been attended to suddenly ripped further open and blood gushed out. Horrified, Thranduil carefully gathered his son in his arms then with Meldar behind him walked to the healer’s ward.

Legolas never knew that in those first three days of anxious waiting for him to wake up, it was his father that was at his side. Not a healer, not his guardian but his Adar.

All he knew was that the first face he glimpsed was of his guardian. He didn’t know that the healers had drugged his Adar to get him away fro his son’s bed. All he knew was that his Adar wasn’t there.

In the next few days as he rested and recovered, he never once saw his Adar enter the healers ward, but what he didn’t know was that his Adar did indeed visit him. But it was as he slept, often in the darkest hour of night, Thranduil would creep in holding a small candle up to look upon his son’s face.

He would sooth away the marred brow that reflected the prince’s inner turmoil and then would press a tender kiss upon his forehead.

He would then stand and with a sigh would leave, knowing that Legolas would never remember his nocturnal visits, but he couldn’t bring himself to face the blue-gray eyes so like his own, yet not.

There was a deep agony, a shame, self-torture and misery in the blue-gray eyes that stared back at him. And it literally pained his father’s heart to know that his son was in pain, but there was nothing he could really do about it.