For ignoblebard: Starlight by Aliensouldream

[aliensouldream.livejournal.com]

Author name: aliensouldream
Recipient's name: ignoblebard
Title: Starlight
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Legolas/Elrohir
Request: Winter festival in Mirkwood from the point of view of a stranger to the realm.
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations from Tolkien.



'It is time,' said Lord Elrond, 'for you to learn the responsibilities of your birthright other than that of warfare. You will attend the Centenniel Winter Gathering as my emissary. Take your place among those whom you must understand in order to truly preserve the peace of this realm.'

'I cannot leave my divisions now, Father,' said Elrohir. 'You said yourself that orc incursions are worsening of late. Strong leadership is required to maintain the keen vigilance we need along our borders. Send Elladan, he's far more suited to pomp and ceremony. He's the diplomatist. I am all soldier.'

'That is exactly why I am sending you,' said Elrond. 'There are other arts equally important than soldiering. The allies you make in your youth may determine the Fate of our people. I will direct your divisions in your absence. I fancy I have not lost that skill.'

'But Father-'

'I have spoken!' The reverberant imperial tone was final. Elrond swept aside and stopping at his balcony gazed out upon the heart of Rivendell. The conversation was over.

Elrond paused only a moment in frustration, but his martial training took over. Saluting with a gauntleted arm across his chest, he turned on his heel and left his father's presence.

Mirkwood! It was said to be a dreary place in a frozen climate, filled with reclusive cave-dwelling elves who now preferred to hide rather than fight. His contempt could not be greater. Now he must endure the grey ones' ancient tales of valour rather than create his own. It was almost more than he could bear. But if this was a test, he would triumph over it like all the others and prove himself worthy of his father's respect.


****


The journey north with his small entourage was as irksome as Elrohir could have imagined. Past the ancient woodlands, the wind turned fierce and cold. Rain lashed at their faces. The horses had to be rested more frequently in this rough uphill territory. He would gladly have sent the horses home, but their saddlebags were filled with gifts for their hosts which must be guarded night and day. It was almost a relief when at last they reached the borders of Mirkwood when daylight was seeping fast away.

An unwholesome miasma seemed to lie all across this fell place. Strange shadows and creeping mists which made the horses whiny and shiver. Tangles of thorny undergrowth halted their progress at every turn, forcing them to cross and recross their own path. At last, vexed and cursing, Elrohir drew his sword and began to slash at the thick rope-like brambles from horseback.

An arrow whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in a tree bole. Elrohir jumped, his horse wheeled and reared. 'Who's there?' he cried. 'How dare you fire upon us when we have shown no violence?'

'Keep brandishing your sword, stranger, and the next will find your heart.' The voice was made of ice, and the scorn reserved for criminals.

As furious as he was, Elrohir kept his head. He sheathed his sword, burning inside. 'You're making a mistake,' he said. 'We are here by invitation of the King. Show yourself, and lead us to the Royal Household, and you may yet escape serious consequences.'

'Indeed.' The voice was mocking. 'By what token shall I know you are not spies of a foul enemy?'

'Spies!' Elrohir spluttered. He could not expose the rich royal gifts to one who may be a common robber. 'I am Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I demand to know to whom I speak!'

Almost soundlessly, an Elf captain and two companions stepped from the shadows. Their tunics and leggings were brown and stained with forest living. Their hair was tied back like warriors and they bore the mark of an army on leather breastplates and scabbards. A perimeter security detail, probably junior ranking officers.

'I am called Galwain,' said the owner of the voice, their leader, coming forward. 'Your token, if you please.'

Mustering all his dignity, Elrohir presented his ring, given to him by Elrond. After a glance, Galwain nodded. 'Very well,' he said, 'I will escort you myself. There are fell beasts in this forest whose appetites cleanse our borders and they are no respecters of rank.' He seemed to relish this fact.

It seemed a weary time before they emerged from the entangling brush and strangely shapen trees to a narrow delf where they dismounted and entered the Caves of Mirkwood. Elrohir's misgivings at being led underground gradually gave way to an awestruck realisation of the caves' crystalline beauty. The height and curves of the hollowed out passages shimmered with mineral colours and glittering ores. Grottoes filled with stalactite crystals formed a series of ever-descending passages. They were not cold, on the contrary they had warmth from some source deep underground. Light from burning torch sconces refracted from gem-crusted walls and danced on golden roofs. There was a low humming sound which eventually grew more distinct and Elrohir realised that it came from many voices singing. When they emerged, it was to the shores of an underground lake on which were many leaf-shaped boats filled with singers holding candle lanterns. Many people had already gathered around the lake and Elrohir realised that there were parties of elves from different realms and tribes, all dressed differently and gazing expectantly at a raised platform at the far end of the lake. They were led around to just in front of this coveted place and a hush descended as the song completed.

Heralds raised long silver trumpets and blew long, sweet, triumphant notes. From the wings emerged the most extraordinary creature that Elrohir had ever seen. Taller than any elf he had ever known, as aged white as the bones of the mountains yet with a face as untrammelled as a child's, King Thranduil - it had to be - floated across the dias and ascended the steps to his carved throne. The crown of state was on his head, silver with a flashing star-like gem at the front. He wore silver too, robes that seemed made of moonlight and yet strong as iron. He was altogether like a elf-sword, long, beautiful and elegant, with the promise of sudden cold death in his heart.

The next hour was a blur. Elder statesmen were led forward and presented to the King. Elrohir listened amazed to the names, especially those from Lothlorian and Forochel, and other wonderful places with so much meaning for his people. Suddenly Galwain was back beside him, beckoning strongly. Elrohir followed him and found himself approaching the presence of the King, which was even more humbling and unsettling than he imagined. His gaze was caught and held fast in a pair of eyes that were palest wintergreen and as devoid of warmth as the moon.

'You are welcome,' said the King, 'Elrohir, son of Elrond. Your father will be missed but we are glad that you are here. We have many traditions and much knowledge to share with you. I see you have met my son, Legolas.'

Elrohir blinked, not knowing. Galwain approached the throne and made a low obediance bow before stepping down and glancing at Elrohir, who felt his face heating. 'On patrol, I have a forest name,' murmured Legolas to him. 'It comes in handy for finding out about stangers before they find out about me.'

'And what did you find out about me?' asked Elrohir coldly.

'I've yet to make up my mind.' said Legolas, a smile on his lips.


****


Despite the awkwardness of their introduction, Elrohir found that he was to spend much time with Legolas in the coming weeks. Few other elves of their age appeared at the gathering. The Caves of Mirkwood encompassed mansions, barracks, storehouses and workrooms and Legolas seemed to take pleasure from showing off everything. Hunting expeditions and riding competitions were undertaken to keep their spider-like reflexes sharp. At night, in the Great Halls, there was feasting, song, wine and celebration. But instead of reminiscing on the long dead past, the younger elves preferred to speak of the future and the challenges ahead.

'Why is it,' asked Elrohir delicately,' that Mirkwood elves are so seldom seen abroad?'

Legolas winced faintly. 'That is my father's policy, not mine. He has kept our people safe and created his own myth, which other races fear. He is still a great warrior and I respect him, but when I am master of my own fate, I will see and be a part of the world.'

'That's my wish too,' said Elrohir eagerly, 'to know the world beyond our borders of Rivendell. I have learned so long to be a soldier that I know nothing else. I wasn't even sure I wanted to come here when my father sent me.'

'And now?'

'My father can be smart sometimes.'



****


Time passed quickly. Mindful of his father's intentions, Elrohir met and formed a personal alliance with several tribes of the ancient families, many of whom were sadly being bred out. There was a change in the wind, many said, a shifting in the landscapes of power. Elrohir bore with their kindly wisdom as much as he could but at last his young blood grew impatient with these prognostications of doom. The world was opening to him, rich with possibility. His own offspring would re-people his tribe with vigour and optimism, turning the tide of fate again in their favour. Peoples so ancient, cultures so rich, could not pass away without the greatest struggle ever known.

He missed his home, he missed his brother, but something new had happened to him here. He had formed a friendship with Legolas. For the first time, he was not required to lead by example or hold himself aloof. Legolas jokingly mocked him and challenged him in all sorts of ways. It was impossible to remember that Legolas was a Prince because Legolas himself forgot. He lived in woodland garb and ate cross-legged on the ground with his guards. When not leading his guard patrols, Legolas shared with him the prized horses of Thranduil's stable, led him through hidden flets to the tree canopy of Mirkwood on clear nights when the stars were close enough to reach. They talked for hours, setting the world to rights, and promised laughingly to always remain friends.

'Mirkwood is ten leagues from Rivendell but only two nights by dove-flight. If I send you a white dove on each Solstice, it means all's well.'

'If it were not, I could offer nothing for aid but myself, not while my father rules here.'

'I ask for nothing else. And offer the same.'



****



Before Elrohir knew it, it was Solstice and the final night. All the celebrations and preparations had been leading to this. It was the Festival of Starlight and the Farewell to Court. Now that it was so nearly over, Elrohir could not believe this only happened once a Centennial. He could not bear that it should be so long till he might come here again and be with his friend. He must find a way to invite Legolas to Rivendell, perhaps for a year.

At the appointed time, he assembled in the Great Upper Hall with the rest of the gathered tribes. His tribute has long since been offered and accepted. He had no formal duties but to bear witness to something known as the Calling of Starlight, an ancient rite of Mirkwood. Then he would sleep once more in his crystal cave bedroom before reluctantly taking the road home.

The start of the ceremony was announced with thrilling music on pipes and harp. He had looked around for Legolas but he was nowhere to be seen.

The herald notes were played for the royal family and complete hush descended on everyone.

A tall elf wearing the finest gold spun robes was walking slowly down the central aisle. Elrohir had to look twice, blinking, to realise that, yes, this was Legolas. A sudden sense of dismay seized him. Legolas, his friend, was gone. In his place was a Prince of Mirkwood. His hair, instead of being tightly caught back in a warrior's knot, was brushed out and flowing down his back like silver, crowned with a diamond coronet. Gone were the woodland clothes. His tunic was stitched in pure silver thread and covered with tiny seed pearls and white and gold gemstones. As Elrohir watched, Legolas walked slowly forward, carrying a silver staff and went to stand beside Thranduil's throne.

Thranduil himself, if he had made a magnificent figure before, now created awe. His robes were dazzling, with a train so long it required four elves to carry it. His gauntlets and breastplate were pure silver, with the emblem of his house embossed on them in gold. Having ascended the steps, Thranduil turned and addressed the assembled elves.

'Friends. We are glad you have come to be with us during this festival. We have been honoured by your presence as our guests and now invite you to share one last important ritual with us. It is the time of renewal and to us this means the Calling of the Starlight. Our astronomers have calculated the moment precisely so let us begin.' He nodded to his aides who gave a signal and the roof was slowly parted, revealing a perfect night sky, streaked with an eerie dancing green light.

Murmurs began around the Hall, of excitement and nervousness. As everyone watched, the room began to fill with green shimmering light. It caught every shard of crystal embedded in the walls of the chamber, which began to glow.

'At this moment,' said Thranduil, 'the North Star is exactly above Mirkwood. For centuries we have been capturing the light of the North Star in our precious stones. It is this which gives them a healing power unmatched anywhere else.

Thranduil took up a large white stone from a cushion. He took the staff from Legolas and put the jewel into the silver clasp at the top and held it up. He spoke a few words in an Elvish dialect unfamiliar to Elrohir. There was a flash like lightning and a ray of pure white light appeared to come straight down from the sky and pour itself into the jewel, which shone just like a star into the eyes and hearts of all assembled. Then in another flash it was all over. The jewel appeared normal again, save for a slight evanesance. But the power of the star was locked inside it. Star magic was not new to anyone there, but never had they seen such a dramatic and powerful demonstration of it. It was no longer a mystery to Elrohir how Thranduil had kept a thriving community of elves flourishing in such difficult territory. He knew the ancient arts and used them to advantage, both to impress and to create practical sources of healing and power.

There were more speeches and feasting but Elrohir had no heart for any of it. He wanted nothing more now but to slip away unnoticed.

'Bit dramatic, isn't it,' said a voice at his ear, making him turn. Legolas smiled. 'But have you seen my father?'

Elrohir smiled, grappling for the right words. 'You look like a true prince tonight.'

Legolas' smile faded. 'And never felt less like one. I do all this because he wishes it. But I am who you met the first time.'

Elrohir wished deeply that it was so. Perhaps one day he could forget again that Legolas was a prince.

'You must come to Rivendell one day, when your father can spare you.'

'Of course I will. And you will write to me.' Legolas said quietly, 'I do not have many friends.'

They embraced then. When they parted, Legolas was holding out a white jewel. 'I want you to have this.'

Elrohir was astonished. 'Not the jewel that was just blessed?'

'No, not that one. Much older, and more powerful for that reason. It was given to me and now I want to give it to you.'

Despite his protests, the jewel was pushed into Elrohir's hand. Then Legolas was gone.

Elrohir ever after wore the jewel in a small muslin bag worn under his jacket next to his heart. It reminded him of a time of peace and friendship and the power of hope.


-the end-

Comments

[ignoblebard.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is everything I asked for and more. First Elrohir's mission and his not wanting to go to Mirkwood is a great hook. I like how you delineate between the twins, Elrohir the soldier and Elladan the diplomat sets up the situation nicely. Second, I like the portrayal of Legolas, the down to earth reluctant prince and warrior. Third, I love the description of the Mirkwood caves and the rituals, and the meeting of different tribes of Elves. The final star magic ritual is so cool, and the relationship between Legolas and Elrohir as young elves "setting the world to rights" makes for a very satisfying pairing.

This story was a great way to spend Christmas Eve. Thanks so much for writing it for me.

[talullahred.livejournal.com]

I love how you built Elrohir and Legolas and how they relate to one another. The ritual was also very vivid and interesting. :)