After examining and dressing Legolas' wound for the final time, Glorfindel helped the prince readjust into a position of comfort, a smile of satisfaction upon his lips. "Your eagerness to return to Rivendell seems to be speeding your recovery. If you continue to rest as you are told and do not risk reopening the wound until it is fully healed, you will arrive at the Bruinen well before the leaves unfurl."
"That would greatly gladden my heart," Legolas cheerfully replied, a brilliant smile upon his lips. "But until I return, I have something for Lord Elrond." Reaching beneath his blankets, he pulled out a small, well-worn deerskin pouch. "It does not appear to be much, but do not judge the contents by their wrapping," he warned, handing over the hand-sized item. "It is worth more to me than you know."
"Then I will treat it as a part of myself." Tucking the pouch safely inside his shirt, close to his body, Glorfindel raised a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. "May the stars smile upon you until you again grace Rivendell with your presence."
"Safe and swift travels, Glorfindel." Legolas paused, a hint of a smirk tucking at the corners of his lips. "Be sure to report that I am now in good health before you tell him of 'this'," he warned, gesturing to his leg. "If you do not, he may not hear you clearly when you say I am in no danger."
Raising an eyebrow, Glorfindel nodded slowly. "You indeed know him better than your brief time at Imladris would suggest. I will be certain to allay his fears, as best I can. But only the sight of you on his doorstep will calm all his concerns."
"As soon as I am able," Legolas solemnly swore.
The road home through Mirkwood proved serene and mercifully uneventful, and Glorfindel and company swiftly returned to the cascade-curtained valley. Notified by the sentries of the war party's arrival home, Elrond and his subjects met the soldiers at the main bridge with joyous song and open embraces. Glorfindel swiftly and succinctly delivered the news of Mirkwood's success in routing the orcs, and the lack of serious injury to any of Rivendell's force, or Thranduil's family. That latter bit of news instantly smoothed the deep creases of dread from Elrond's brow.
"He bade me give you this," Glorfindel privately whispered to Elrond, sliding the leather pouch discretely into the Lord's hand.
With an arched eyebrow, Elrond silently slid the bag into a pocket in his robe and dispensed with the formalities of welcoming his warriors home as swiftly as decorum would allow.
Safely secreted away in the solitude of his bedchamber, Elrond withdrew the mysterious package from his pocket. It weighed far too little and was contained in a parcel far too small to make it anything of obvious consequence. That both worried and delighted Elrond. He should not think he need give me gifts as cumbersome as my journal. And yet, he was absolutely certain that whatever was contained within this pouch was of immense value to the golden prince. Such was the beauty of his heart -- to give of himself without boundaries, and without expectations.
His fingers nearly trembling with anticipation, Elrond deftly untied the knot in the pouch's thong ties and reached inside, instantly finding a small piece of folded parchment. With held breath he unfolded the note, the pouch still clutched tightly in one hand. The elegance of the script as well as the beauty of the carefully chosen words wisked the very breath from his lips. He read them silently, then had no choice but to give them audible articulation. The sound of his spoken words intertwined with the other's voice echoing in his head in a way he so longed to feel their bodies joined in his bed.
"Ithilas -- celu-nin, melethron-nin, aerlinn-nin. The green leaves will return to the trees of Imladris before long, and I shall be among them. Until then, here is something to brush your hair from your face, when my fingers cannot."
With a thrilling thrum of delight and boundless adoration rolling through him, Elrond smiled broadly. He smiled not only at the promise of Legolas' swift return, but also the obvious affection in the message, and the clever yet reverent turnabout of his own journal's postscript. 'My spring, my lover, my song.' He would claim I am all these things to him, yet he is the very same, and more, to me. Carefully setting aside the note for repeated future rereading, he slid two fingers into the leather pouch and extracted the remaining contents. A petite, slender bundle emerged into the light, carefully wrapped in a tattered piece of silver colored material. Recognizing it as the very same hue and texture as the shirt he had last seen the prince wear upon departing from Imladris, he raised the fabric to his nose and closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. Memories sweeter than the honey of Lothlorien flooded through him, borne on the instantly recognized scent of long-missed flesh.
Lingering in the fragrance flamed sensations of vivid memory coursing through his body, Elrond finally opened his eyes and carefully unwound the cloth. There, hidden in its center, he found the gift of which Legolas had written. It was a silver clasp, barely large enough to secure the single ornamental braid Elrond usually wore down the back of his hair. Turning the carefully crafted fastening over in his fingers, he smiled at the design. Only Legolas would believe a butterfly to be appropriate for the Lord of Rivendell to wear in his hair. But then, none other knew him so well, nor loved him so dearly, it seemed. With a bittersweet sigh of contentment fused with ever deepening longing, he removed the barrette he wore in his hair and cast it aside, then affixed the much appreciated gift around the top of his braid. There, let anyone make laughter about this behind my back, for I care not. They have never had the joy of being loved by a creature of such beauty.
A sly demi-smile of understanding brushed his lips, the memory of a conversation replaying in his mind. "Did Arwen refer to me as a butterfly?" Legolas had been so confused by Arwen's comment, and had somehow managed to drag out from Elrond the meaning behind the private joke between father and daughter. Not somehow -- with kisses not even a troll could resist. This one does not fight fair. The smile deepened on his face, its warmth radiating throughout his flesh, and settling in his heart. "Perhaps I will need to 'take him over my knee,' as the humans say, and teach him to respect his elders," he softly murmured under his breath. Perhaps, or, more likely, he would continue to cherish every bit of brashness, each exquisite hint of innocence, and bask in the radiant splendor of his very own golden star.
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The Folly of Starlight 11. Though I Am Young and Cannot Tell by AC
Chapter end notes: - The damned silver colored barrette Elrond wore on the back of his head in the Council scene has been the topic of considerable debate. Consensus seems to be forming on a butterfly (at least among the people I've bugged to look at the picture -- no pun intended.) If this turns out to be later proven wrong, so be it. It won't change the story, it just mean that he's not wearing Legolas' gift in that scene. I'll have to deal with sullen muses, but they'll get over it *G*. I really liked the symbolism of the butterfly, the beautiful, delicate creature that emerges from its chrysalis after metamorphosing from the lowly caterpillar. It seemed appropriate.
- Thranduil, son of Oropher and father of Legolas, was the Elf King of "The Hobbit." His palace was described in Chapter 8: "In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood on its eastern side there lived at this time their greatest king. Before his huge doors of stone a river ran out of the heights of the forest and flowed on and out into the marshes at the feet of the high wooded lands. This great cave, from which countless smaller ones opened out on every side, wound far underground and had many passages and wide halls; but it was lighter and more wholesome than any goblin-dwelling, and neither so deep nor so dangerous. In fact the subjects of the king mostly lived and hunted in the open woods, and had house or huts on the ground and in the branches. The beeches were their favorite trees. The king's cave was his palace, and the strong place of his treasure, and the fortress if his people against their enemies."
- In keeping with Michael Martinez's scholarly discussion of Legolas' apparent age in canon (http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/36517), I have placed him as being relatively young at the time of the Ring War.
- My source for Sindarin is, as always, http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/
- Refer back to "When Dream and Day Unite" for the butterfly reference.
- The only note in canon about Legolas' family is that his father was Thranduil, son of Oropher. Martinez makes a strong case in the above mentioned article that Legolas was the younger son of Thranduil and not the "crown prince," as it were. I have fleshed out Legolas' family here, and will continue to paint the details in the next story.
- One final note -- I know that the quote I used mentions "human hearts," but since Elrond is half-human, it still fits in a strange sense *G*.
