The Sylvanus

by Oliver McBride

  No!

  The wind died and the leaves slowly floated to the forest floor, coating her lifeless body, her lovely face, and the spirit in the tree fled it's wooden vessel, gone perhaps, in search of the one it had protected all this time.

  As consciousness came back to him, he realised he had cried out aloud, indeed Elladan now crouched before him, his eyes momentarily landing on the open book on his chest, before returning to his friend, searching for signs of continued distress.

  "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

  "Aye, forgive me…" he whispered.

  The were close to the fortress now, with just one more night on the road before they would enjoy the city barracks, or in the case of Legolas and Elladan, their own rooms at the Fortress.

  They had eaten and now sat silently before the crackling fire. Legolas fingered the book lovingly. He had finished it, read all there was to read of his mother's final months upon Arda. He had learned much, but confirmed more for there was little he had not already known, except for the Norhad Clan who Lassiel said had been responsible for staining her good name; that, and the growing suspicion that he had received a message he had yet to interpret.

  Yet he had learned new things too. He learned of how loved he had been, of Lassiel's deep love for Thranduil, and he had discovered the rough emerald that seemed to hold great emotional significance to his parents.

  Flipping the book, he opened the back cover and then startled, for there upon the last page was a sketch. His blood froze as his eyes roved over the red hair, the strange blue eyes and the expression of a mother that looks upon her creation. Kementári … just as he had seen her, drawn her. There could be no doubt; they had not dreamed of the elf in the tree - she had come to them both, looked over them both, saved him, shielded him from certain death, even though his mother had been lost.

  His breathing accelerated and he flipped the page, only to find another sketch - Thranduil. It was his father only younger, more carefree, lighter than Legolas had ever seen him. His eyes looked on in adoration, a soft smile upon his face and although he knew it was him - the king was unrecognisable.

  He turned the page again, his hand shaking as his eyes sought the next drawing - Amareth. And then the next, Erthoron.

  He smiled and yet he shook in wonder, turning another page and then freezing for there, was the face of a babe with large green eyes that sparkled strangely, one, chubby hand reaching out to touch what lay beyond the beholder. It was himself, reaching for the tree and tears leaked from his eyes.

  He put the book down and turned his face to the stars, knowing that his brothers looked on in silence.

  Sniffling, he opened is watery eyes, and then chuckled as he swiped at his tears.

  "Any of that grass liqueur left, Rhrawthir?" he smiled.

  "Here," he said, handing him the leather container.

  Legolas reached out and took a long drink from the Silvan brew, gasping at its fiery heat as it rushed down his gullet.

  "Ohh," he croaked and the others chuckled, the tension finally breaking.

  "What happened, Hwindo?" asked Lindohtar carefully after a few moments of silence.

  Legolas turned his face to the Bard Warrior and smiled.

  "I learned all there was left for me to know, Lindo. I know what happened, why it happened. I know my mother's face, and I know her heart. I know how she loved my father, and the sacrifice she made for me. I know - " he hesitated, wondering if he should disclose the information. "I know that Kementári saved me that day, shielded me from Bandorion's black heart. Perhaps she made me a Protege in payment for her service, or perhaps she had already chosen me - who can say?"

  "There are truly no more questions?" asked Elladan. Are you content now? Are you at peace?"

  Legolas met his friend's penetrating gaze with his own, full of confidence and resolve.

  "Yes my friend, I am at peace, at last."

  The following day, they arrived at the Fortress and Legolas bid goodbye to The Company for the rest of the day, for he would be busy. And so, together with Elladan, they stabled their mounts and sought their respective rooms.

  Legolas' soul was perched upon the edge of the world, or so it seemed to him at the time. He felt as if something life-changing lurked just around the corner, something that would once more, shake his world, just like when Handir had told him who his father was.

  He knew what it was, for he had unravelled the message, and the time had come for him to speak with his father - he would delay that no more. The family had gathered in the king's private suite, together with a few of their closest friends. He would bath, change, and then seek them out and the Valar knew he would not be deterred, not by anyone.

  He chose a pair of light grey breeches and a deep blue tunic with a lovely silver belt that Handir had gifted him with. He looked lordly, he reckoned as he straightened his tunic and tied his locks upon his head.

  Closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath, he picked up his small, cloth bag and left his room, collecting Elladan along the way.

  "Legolas! You are back!" called Maeneth as they entered the room. Smiling, he approached his sister and kissed her upon the cheek, before briefly hugging Handir, and sharing a forearm clasp with Rinion, but his elder brother kept hold of his arms before Legolas could pull them back.

  The cold blue eyes penetrated his own and Legolas stared back, unperturbed. "There is a new light in your eyes," murmured the Crown Prince. "You found what you were looking for … " it was not a question, and Legolas simply nodded, before asking the question he knew Rinion would be able to answer.

  "Who was Norhad?"

  Rinion's eyes sharpened. "Norhad is my grandfather, on my mother's side."

  "He has committed crimes against our father, Rinion. I must see justice done."

  "Justice has already been done, Legolas. He died, many years ago. His only remaining family is a councillor by the name of Draugole - a distant cousin."

  "He would have known, known of the injustice done to my mother."

  "That I cannot say- but you are free to explore it- I have no sympathy for the elf at all."

  Legolas nodded curtly, and Rinion smiled tightly, and then gestured to the king, who stood on the other side of the room, only half listening to the music and the chatter around him.

  Legolas spared one, last, grateful smile at his elder brother, for truth be told he was surprised it had been him to see the change that had come over Legolas. He was far more receptive, infinitely more perceptive than he let on, and Legolas stored the information for future use.

  He smiled as he was greeted by familiar faces, his heart soothing with the soft music. He even accepted a glass of cool wine which he sipped on as he looked around, but the heavy weight of his father's gaze was upon him and he turned to return it.

  A wave of sadness washed over him, for although the king was imposing, magnificent, beautiful to look upon, Legolas could now better understand that cleverly veiled haze of grief that lay beneath his father's bright blue eyes.

  Slowly, he walked forwards and then stopped, bowing formally and then offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

  "Father," began Legolas.

  "My son," answered Thranduil, eyes searching, desperate for the news Legolas brought from the deep forest, yet perhaps afraid to ask.

  Legolas' eyes strayed to the open study off to one side and the king turned, leading the way. Leaving the double doors open, they each sat upon a comfortable, winged chair, one before the other and Legolas deposited his bag on the floor beside him.

  "Legolas. You will tell me whatever you see fit, of course, but I must know - are you content with what you have found? Are you at peace with your past?"

  Legolas held the king's gaze admirably, for his conviction was absolute. "Aye - I am content, father, and I would tell it all, if you would hear it?"

  Thranduil's eyes were, for just a moment, a reflection of his emotions and Legolas saw vulnerability, apprehension, before it
was ruthlessly wiped away.

  "Tell me then."

  Legolas looked to the floor, before meeting his father's eyes once more.

  "I will, but first, I must ask you a question, one that has plagued my mind, that must be answered."

  "Go on."

  "King Oropher - he forbade your marriage to Lassiel, and his reasoning would have been known to you. I need to know - why did you accept that fate?"

  Thranduil had always expected this question to rise, and so he steeled himself against the possibility that his son would not understand his motives.

  "I had no choice in the matter. I knew my father had taken that decision against his own judgement. It was a political decision, one he knew he had to take for the sake of the many thousands who needed a strong, just leader, not a seeker of personal power, a dominating dictator that would have crushed the Silvan people no sooner he was given leave."

  "You speak of Bandorion?"

  "Yes - of him. You see why I did not hesitate when I thrust your spear through his dead heart…it was him that ripped my heart in two."

  "Truth be told, had I known what I know now, I would never have hesitated, in spite of Barathon's grief," said Legolas.

  "There is no more to it, Legolas. It was either me, my happiness and that of Lassiel, or the entire kingdom - I could not, in all conscience, go against my father's dictates."

  "I understand. And yet the consequences… it was not a personal decision, it was a decision of state."

  "Yes, that is it, exactly. Yet we both held to hope, that in Valinor we would be reunited."

  "Yes…"

  "It is your turn," prompted the king.

  "It is hard, to know where to begin. I will surely ramble…" he lamented, rising to his feet and walking about the room.

  "Then ramble, the words will come to you."

  Taking a long drink from his wine, he began.

  "I found the tree…"

  "What tree?" asked Thranduil, sitting forwards in his chair, watching as his son paced.

  "Where my mother spent the last months of her life, the tree of my birth."

  "How did you know where to look, what to look for?"

  "I have spoken to Amareth, and Erthoron, yet more than this I have seen it in my dreams."

  Thranduil scowled, and then took a sip of his wine. "Go on."

  "I was overjoyed, until I realised that its spirit had fled, and when I climbed upwards, into the flet, I found the remnants of a humble abode, two chairs, one table, other such things, half rotten, long gone, just like her…" he trailed off, and Thranduil closed his eyes in misery.

  "My hope was lost for I had thought to speak with the tree, that it may show me the answers to my questions but that was not to be. I," he hesitated, "I do not know why but I reached for my diary and began to draw the tree - here," he said, placing his wine upon a low table and reaching into his bag for his own diary. "Look," he pointed, showing his father the sketch he had made.

  "Thranduil took it and then looked up at his son. "You have inherited her skill, and her wont for scribbling in a diary," he smiled. "This is very good."

  "Thank you," said Legolas. "I drew this," he pointed at the trunk, "and yet I had not seen it…"

  Thranduil squinted at the parchment. "This hollow was not visible?" he asked.

  "Nay, and yet I drew it, and when I ran my hands over the area, the bark fell away…"

  Thranduil started, something akin to panic flitting over his face.

  "There was something inside?" he asked softly and Legolas turned towards him from where he stood.

  "Oh yes," he said softly, his eyes connecting once more with those of his father's, a warm ache instilling itself in his chest.

  Turning once more to his bag, he pulled out another diary, his mother's.

  "I found this," he said, opening it and then glancing at his father, whose eyes were fixed on the object in his hands.

  "What is it?" he asked softly.

  "It is my mother's diary - this was inside the hollow, father."

  His head snapped up to Legolas in alarm. "What?" he whispered. "Her diary - her - her words, her sketches…" he trailed off, for his voice had become unsteady.

  "Yes," said Legolas wistfully. "I have learned of her final months in exile, there in the deep forest. She spent her time amidst nature, with the occasional visit from Amareth and Erthoron. And yet she dreamed, and in her dreams, she was an elf in her tree - she drew her… look."

  Thranduil stood slowly, and then looked to where Legolas held out the sketch of Yavanna.

  "Who is she?" asked the king.

  "The question, father, is that I too, had seen this face, here - see?" he pointed to his own sketch in his own diary - see the similarity?"

  "Aye - 'tis the same elf, there can be no doubt."

  "Father - this is no elf, is Kementári - Yavanna, the Vala I serve as a Protege."

  Thranduil's eyes were wide as the information slowly registered, and Legolas turned away, the two diaries in his hands.

  "We both had the same dreams, or in my case, memories - I can only deduce that they were not dreams - that she was there, protecting me, whether that then led to her choosing me as a Protege, or whether she had already chosen me and hence protected me I cannot say…"

  His father remained silent, and so Legolas pressed on.

  "The day Bandorion came for her, she knew why, and so she descended to the forest floor and led him away from the tree, my blanket in her arms. I saw her fall, saw the forest as it tried to cover her dead body, as if by doing so it would render the deed false. I saw the tree as its will, its very spirit fled, as if it could follow her as she flew away …" he stopped abruptly, his last words strangled and barely audible.

  Collecting himself, Legolas breathed deeply and then turned to face his father, who now stood behind him.

  "Yet what struck me in all this, is that her diary is written - to you. She speaks to you, father, she drew for you," he said softly, moving towards the king and then opening Lassiel's diary from the back, and then holding it out for him to take.

  Thranduil rose a shaking hand and took the diary reverently, peering at the first drawing, and then the second. The one of himself, much younger, when hope still shone in his eyes. A tear fell unchecked and Legolas saw him - for the first time he glimpsed at his father's soul, watched the complete transformation of this king as, sketch by sketch, his lost love tore away his mask and stripped him bare for his son to contemplate.

  "Lassiel," he sobbed, and then took a shuddering breath.

  Legolas' own eyes had filled with tears as he watched, and when the face of the infant Legolas was revealed upon the page, the king froze, except for one hand that came up to trace the soft, round features of his new-born son. His mask of indifference shattered into a thousand shards of past grief and regret, and before Legolas could react, the king was reaching blindly for him, grappling with his tunic and pulling his son's strong body towards him, burying his face in his hair, hands kneading into the fabric of his clothes.

  Legolas' own arms reached up and surrounded his father's shoulders. Thranduil felt the strong, archer hands as they clutched desperately at his robes, and then looked at them - they seemed to change before his very eyes, into small, chubby fingers and soft nails - the babe he had never known - the fruit of his eternal love for Lassiel.

  They stayed that way for many long moments, before Legolas pulled back and stared at his father, his hands still clutching at his robes.

  "I told myself you were dead; I thought you an exile, dishonoured, expelled. I cursed you and I reviled you and I denied I was part Sinda because that was what you were. I grieved when you were not there the day I took my vows, the day I became a Master Archer. I pitied myself so very much because I hated you, and I hated you because I never had you, because I had been denied. Yet now, now that I know, now that I understand," he shook his head and his green eyes brimmed with the tears of seven hundred and forty five years. "I love you�
��" he whispered.

  Thranduil pulled his child towards him once more, crushing him to his chest desperately.

  "I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted that for you. I only wanted to preserve her life, and then join you in paradise. It was a dream, Legolas, our dream, the only way that we could live our lives, for with that dream came hope, and without hope, one cannot live."

  He held his son at arm's length then, unashamed of the tears that flowed down his cheeks.

  "We failed, and she was lost, but you - you are here, and you make me so very proud."

  Legolas smiled through his tears, and then turned, out of his father's clutch and back to his bag and Thranduil watched him from across the room.

  "There was something else in that hollow, father. Something that now must be returned to you. Perhaps with it, your heart will be whole once more for I wonder, you see, at the ways of the Valar. They can be cruel, they can be so very giving, and they can be confoundedly - cryptic - in their messages…"

  Thranduil remained silent as he watched, because his son was now holding his arm straight out at him, palm turned upwards and upon it, sat a large, uncut emerald. He stared at it in confusion, and then his eyes snapped up to his son, mind working furiously to understand what it was he was trying to say.

  But Legolas simply smiled, his arm stretched out before him and Thranduil reached up to take the stone carefully in his hands, and then hold it to the one that sat upon his finger. The two halves fit perfectly and a warmth infused his soul, so suddenly it stole his breath and he understood. His heart was whole once more, and so was hers. He was free to love again - and she was free to accept it, one day - across the sea.

  And so it was, that through the open doors of the king's office, as music played softly around them, and elves danced merrily behind, Rinion, Handir and Maeneth watched as Legolas found his father, and their father became whole once more.

  It had been a long, arduous path, yet how sweet the reward. The Greenwood stood reunited once more, a strong and powerful king upon her throne, free now, of the intrigues that had brought such suffering in its wake.