Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

8: Thranduilion and a Gift

With the sound of the twin's laughter and Wren's inquiries behind him, Legolas quickly made a hasty a retreat out into the winter sunlight. There were a fair number of people about, including a few whom he recognized and greeted him with a nod or a smile. Rodorin was sitting outside one of the houses, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he chatted with a young woman in the middle of sewing. Nerwen, whom he now knew to be Wren's mother, could be seen through a window bent over a hearth, and Beringil was up on his rooftop patching a leak. It was remarkable, how fast the Dúnedain could go from Rangers of the north to simple folk living life.

"Do you need help carrying anything, Master Legolas?" A young voice piped up at the elf's elbow, coming surprisingly close to startling him. Gelwin, the young girl whom Legolas had 'escorted' to dinner that first evening, stood looking up at him with bright eyes, a helpful smile stretching her rosy cheeks.

Legolas looked down at the small bundle in his arms and wondered at the sense in the girl's request. He could easily carry what he had, under one arm.

"No, thank you." He answered as politely as possible, still slightly ruffled from his conversation with the twins. Despite the lack of encouragement in Legolas's non-committal response, she was tenacious and followed him all the way to Strider's doorstep, talking the whole way. When Strider opened the door of his house, he turned to Gelwin, with a gaze of thinly concealed amusement.

"Thank you for seeing our guest safely here Gelwin. But is that your father I hear calling for you?"

With a squeak, the girl was off running back through the village on skinny adolescent legs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas paused in the central room with his bag tucked under an arm. Strider chuckled, shutting the door.

"Careful my friend, I do believe you have an admirer."

Unable to say much to that but shrug helplessly, Legolas set down his bag on a bench set against the wall. Looking now at the honest, open gaze of his host, the elf prince felt profoundly uncomfortable. Elladan and Elrohir were right; he had no right to be keeping his identity from this mortal who was offering him a place in his village and even his own home. As much as he might want to forget whom he was for a short time, it was time for the truth to come out, even if it meant offering another apology, his second one in a few weeks.

"Strider?" Legolas said uncertainly, not sure how to begin. "There is something that I must tell you..."

Strider gestured to a seat by the hearth, he waited for Legolas to sit before doing so himself. "Of course, Legolas. What is it?" Seeming to sense that a confession of some gravity was about to be forthcoming, the man spoke no more, allowing the elf to gather his thoughts.

With a deep breath, Legolas began.

"There is something about myself that I had not yet shared with you. You have been generous to me, since my arrival, and I can no longer in good conscience keep you ignorant of it." Strider remained silent, bidding the elf continue without need of words. "I admit that I have been enjoying some degree of anonymity, here among your folk. It helps to calm the mind, and has in some measure freed me from that which I came here seeking to leave behind."

"And that is?" Strider spoke in a low tone, his grey-blue eyes watching Legolas.

"Myself."

For some reason, the answer had got to the present moment, ahead of its speaker. It was true though. In so much as Legolas had told himself that he needed time away from grief. Time away from the freshness of Tauriel's grief and the hundreds of years of Thranduil's. It was actually his own identity that he had been hoping to forget. The lingering loss of his mother, which Thranduil could never properly put to rest, had hardened the king and embittered his heart. Perhaps in the process it had begun to do the same to his son. He had seen himself hardening like clay in a mold made in Thranduil's image. Perhaps that was why Tauriel had been unable to return his affection for her. Legolas liked to hope he was not near as imprisoned behind his own eyes as his father was. Continuing, Legolas did not notice the beginnings of the slightest fracture about the edges of his mask of self-defence.