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Influence; Chapter 3: Mourning Without Tears

June 30th, 2006 (08:53 pm)

current mood: okay

Story Info

Title: Influence
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Era: Third Age of the Sun
Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Angst
Rating: M / FRM
Characters: Legolas, Thranduil (, OCs)
Summary: Dark creatures get even closer to Thranduil’s stronghold – with fatal consequences. Legolas witnesses death for the first time in his life, but when a terrible accident faces the royal family, the pain of the youngest is easily forgotten.
Part of the history of “The Last Journey.” Takes place a few years after “Guardian”. Complete.
Warnings: Character’s death, evil, darkness, violence, etc.

~ ~ ~

Chapter 3: Mourning Without Tears

A few days after

Legolas stood still as Rafél tied his tunic, staring before him with an empty look. He raised his hand when Rafél tugged at it, letting the other to guide him to a chair. He sat down, staring at his image from the mirror. There was no longer blood on his face, but he felt it still. Warm and sticky, slowly cooling down…

Rafél looked at his protege as he found a brush and some small stripes of cloth to tie Legolas’ hair with. To him, the youth looked far too pale and worn. “Shannai asked when you are coming to the training fields again,” the guardian said softly, trying to get a response from Legolas. The youth hadn’t said a word since he had been brought back home from the field where the attack had happened. They had all tried, but Legolas refused to make a sound.

For once more Rafél cursed their evil fate. If he had stayed with Legolas… But he hadn’t, and there was nothing to do about it now. All he could do was to comfort the child, and to make him live again. At the moment, Legolas was more like a ghost than a living creature. So much like his father, Rafél mused. Thranduil’s sorrow is only too understandable: he lost his bound one, the one who had shared his life and heart for years. I fear for him. For us all.

Stepping behind Legolas, Rafél gently brushed his hair, his hands braiding the hair with experience of years. All this time Legolas sat quiet, staring at his mirror image. At times his eyes shifted, staring at Rafél’s image behind him. It made him feel safe when being with the older Elf. Something in the manner how Rafél treated him made him feel secured and comforted, yet today he couldn’t feel that as he usually did.

Legolas wanted to cry. He wanted to hide beneath a blanket and be there until all was well again. But he knew that things would stay as they were: Nana would not come back. She was dead. And today, they would bury her. Tirifëa had said that she was now in a better place, and Legolas wondered why Nana hadn’t taken him there with her. He wanted to be with her.

Rafél put the brush down, soothing Legolas’ hair one more time. They were both ready – or as ready as they could be. Taking Legolas’ hand he guided the youth out of the room, and together they walked in silence along the hushed corridors. The Elves bowed their heads as they passed, sympathetic eyes following the young Prince.

As they arrived to the burial place Legolas stopped, watching the Elves that were already gathered around the mound. Rafél took a step forward, urging Legolas on, but the youth stood on his place as though rooted.

“Come, Legolas, your family is waiting for you,” Rafél said quietly and at last Legolas allowed himself to be led forward. They walked through the crowd, and when they reached the royal family Rafél left Legolas to his father’s care, taking his own place beside Aduifan and Mîrfanya.

Thranduil merely placed Legolas beside his brothers, not saying a word. As Legolas raised his head to meet his father’s eyes, he saw empty grey pools there, no emotion shining in them. It seemed to Legolas as if he was staring in the eyes of one dead, and he turned his gaze away, afraid to look at his father again.

The funeral was only one of the many held that day, but the Queen’s burial gathered most of the Elves of Woodland Realm together. Some of the Elves sang beautiful laments, their voices filling the air with music that made the entire forest fall silent. The Elves would sing all night for the memory of their dead, a custom that was as old as Arda.

Legolas stood beside his brothers, listening to the singing with little interest. Quick glances at his side told him that both Tirifëa and Lossaurion stood in silence, their faces grave but otherwise emotionless. But yet they looked alive: opposite to their father, their eyes burned with fire that made Legolas shudder in fear. And even if there was plain sadness upon their fair features, neither of them cried. As Legolas watched the warriors salute their Queen, he saw no tears there either. So he steeled himself, bringing his own grief under his command: no warrior cried. He would not cry, either.

As Galenrosiel was laid to rest, her family said their the last goodbyes. Thranduil took his time, none of the others hurrying him. The King said no words, as if they were no longer important. After him Tirifëa and Lossaurion both went to stand beside their mother, saying to her something too soft for Legolas to hear. And when Legolas’ time came, he didn’t move. And no one pushed him forward.

Soon the Elves scattered elsewhere, Thranduil still standing unmoving. Tirifëa gave his father’s shoulder a quick squeeze, and then left, Aduifan following him. Lossaurion came to Legolas, escorting his younger brother away. It was their father’s right alone to send her wife to her last journey.

“Legolas, would you go to your room?” Lossaurion asked and Legolas nodded, throwing one final look at his parents. As Legolas walked away Rafél made as to follow him, but Lossaurion halted him. “We meet with the warriors: the enemy is far too close to our borders, and we must act soon.” Throwing a remorseful glance at Legolas’ direction, Rafél nodded, going with Lossaurion and Mîrfanya.

Reaching his own room, Legolas shut the door, walking to his bed slowly. He crawled under the coverlet, staring at the darkening room. His mind played again and again the events of the of the attack day. Time after time he remembered the laments of Elves, his mother laying pale and unmoving on a marble stone, like a beautifully carved statue.

Hours passed by, the room turning dark as the night fell. Legolas shifted under the blanket, his eyes fixed on the door. It hadn’t opened since he had come in. No one had come. Where is Rafél? Why hasn’t he come? Or Ada. Legolas didn’t want to be alone. He wanted someone to come, to take him into a warm embrace and tell him all was well.

But the door remained closed and no one came.

And Legolas waited, still refusing to cry.

to be continued…

Sindarin: - Westron:
Ada – Affectionate form of father (Adar)

Story Info