Returning to Normal
Moments of peace were becoming favorable to Legolas. Unfortunately, those times were also becoming more and more rare. The silence and serenity that he had experienced while living with Adras had become so overwhelming. The need to know who and what he was screaming at him, from deep inside, begging him for action. Imploring him to remain dormant no longer. Whispers in his mind warring with screaming in his heart. Search out his true existence or stay with the man who had created a happy, comfortable sanctuary for him.
Things had gone dramatically downhill from there and Legolas kicked himself for his slovenly ways at the time. Granted, he was held down my injuries but now he questioned if that was a good enough excuse.
Once arriving in Imladris Legolas’ life returned to the quiet nature that he had grown to love with Adras. Nearly. The eager, imploring eyes of Angrod and the Lords of Imladris became unnerving and Legolas felt almost as though he were letting them down by his inability to remember the things they spoke of or questioned. He had heard many stories, always with the anticipating, sorrow filled expressions of his friends looking on in hopes that he would declare that he recalled the events narrated. Then, no matter how hard they tried, the disappointment that each felt at his inability to do so was so evident that it still haunted Legolas’ thoughts.
When he had arrived home and into his Father’s arms Legolas thought that things were about to improve. Thranduil had whisked him away from the courtyard and inquiring eyes of the elves of Mirkwood and taken him to the private chambers of his family. A large fire was burning, even though the day was quite warm. Multiple, overstuffed chairs were set about the room, several surrounding a low, dark wooden table upon which sat a silver tray with wine filled goblets.
After the pair had shared a glass of wine and a few words, Legolas was shown to his room and left to reacquaint himself with his own personal affects. His own small sitting room resembled that of the family room he had just come from. The same overstuffed chairs, table, wine and fire but on a smaller scale. Off to the right of this room were two oversized doors which lead to Legolas’ sleeping chambers. A double-sized bed with thick blankets and full pillows strewn atop, sat center room. A clothing bureau to one side and a wide desk to the other. All in the same dark wood as the table outside. Across the room, again to the right, was another set of oversized doors which lead to his veranda and the most exquisite view of the trees of Mirkwood he could have ever conjured up in his most wild of imaginings.
That had been one week ago and that had been the last of the quiet that he had experienced. Since arriving home he had been the recipient of many visitors and well wishers all of whom wore the same expression that he had seen originally in Imladris. First, anticipation and sorrow. Then, disappointment at his inability to remember. He was only able to find comfort in Angrod, who had shared many stories on the trip home and who seemed to have it out of his system. And his Father who treated him as though nothing had happened and threw him back into, what he was told, were his typical daily activities.
Now, as he put pen to paper in a letter to Estel of Imladris, he was being waited on by his valet who was attempting to usher him to the Grand Ballroom for a celebration in his honor. A celebration for his safe return home and for a speedy recovery. A recovery, which in Legolas’ opinion, wasn’t coming quickly enough.
“Master Legolas your guests are waiting.” Calorthil fidgeted with a long, cream robe with silver trim from where he stood by the doorway.
Legolas hid a smirk as he finished up the last few sentences of the letter he wrote. He enjoyed Calorthil’s company as well. The young elf was always too preoccupied with making Legolas look presentable to bother him with memories and stories. For his part Legolas seemed to fall right back into the role of annoying the valet with his unwillingness to cooperate.
“Please My Prince.” Calorthil seemed to be breaking into a sweat now and he made continual glances to the doorway. “Your Father will have my head if you are late to another feast.”
“I most certainly will not have your head Calorthil.” Thranduil had snuck into the room without either of the younger elves’ knowledge and both spun around to face him. “I stopped taking the heads of attendants just before your birth. We were running low.”
Legolas snorted at the remark and the small mischievous smile that graced his Father’s handsome face. He turned back to the letter, signed his name, folded the parchment then rose from his desk and turned to greet his Father. Thranduil now stood where Calorthil had once been, holding the robe and watching Legolas with impatient eyes.
“You really should hurry Legolas. It would not do to have your guests waiting long.” Thranduil smiled warmly then stepped forward to meet his son.
“I know. I was just finishing a letter to Estel.” Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment then held the robe out in an effort to assist Legolas into the impressive garment. Stepping forward Legolas turned his back to his Father then slipped his arms into the sleeves as Thranduil lifted the robe onto his shoulders. As he turned and made to follow the King from the room he was grasped by the elbow and spun to face his Father. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Legolas found himself in a tight hug. Thranduil then released the embrace and extended his arms so that Legolas was held before him. He looked deep into his son’s eyes and Legolas felt himself shying away from the gaze.
“I know that times have been difficult for you lately my son.” Thranduil released his son and stepped away and Legolas felt his stomach sink at what he knew was coming. “I have tried to not pry and give you time to heal and remember on your own. But, my curiosity and concern has gotten the better of me and I must ask. How goes your healing? Is your memory returning at all?”
Legolas released the breath that he had been holding and turned from his Father. He paced across the room and stood at the doors which lead to his veranda. He stood for a moment thinking. How was he to deliver the news that his Father sought? Thranduil would probably be upset that he hadn’t been informed sooner. If that were the case then would he feel disappointment in his son for his dishonesty or would he be happy for what he was about to hear. The thoughts that ran through his head were evidence that his memory hadn’t returned fully. He turned back to his Father and smiled.
“Yes.”
Thranduil blanched at the admittance and he stepped forward to grasp the back of a chair. “Yes?”
Legolas moved forward quickly and grabbed his Father’s hands. “Do not be angry. I did not want to say anything until I had worked this out in my head. It has not come like I had thought or hoped.”
Thranduil released Legolas’ hands and moved around the chair then slid, very un-Kinglike into the seat. “Explain.”
Legolas grimaced at the reaction. But then brushed it aside and followed Thranduil around the chair. He swept his long robe out of the way and then bent to his knees on the floor before the chair and his Father.
“Whispers in the dark.” The words were barely above a whisper and had Legolas not know what he had spoken he would not have been able to understand upon hearing them alone. He saw Thranduil dip his chin in confusion and look more intently at his son.
“I can hear them and sense them but I can not always find them.” Legolas began and he knew Thranduil was all ears. “I hear a story or see an object and I feel a little nagging at the back of my mind begging me to remember. A voice in my mind, an ache in my heart, a tickling in my ear.
“I remembered you almost on sight. I remembered Mother in the woods with Adras. It is not a complete remembrance though. It is a word or a flash. Something that was said or done. Each time I think on them or you I gain a little more. Each time I see the trees outside my window I get a small piece of something I did or something that occurred within them.
“They are returning to me but they are like whispers in the dark. I just need to find them once the clue or hint returns to me.” Legolas looked upon his Father’s saddened face and could see that the words hurt. “I am sorry that they are not coming quicker Father but they are coming.”
Thranduil’s regal head shot up at the declaration and he smiled brightly at Legolas. “Oh my Son. You have naught to apologize for. I am not saddened that the memories return slowly. I am ecstatic that they are returning at all. I am saddened that you have had to endure this. That you do not remember your mother fully. You and I can make new memories. We can have new adventures, new laughs and new arguments.” He said the last words with a smirk upon his face. “Your mother is lost to you. All that was left were your memories and those were stolen from you.”
Legolas squeezed his Father’s hand and Thranduil returned the comforting grasp. “Not lost to me. Hidden. But I am finding them. They are returning to me more quickly since I have returned home. It is just taking time to sort through the rubbish to find the gems.”
Thranduil smiled at his son’s wise words and then rose from the seat. “We should head to the Ballroom before Calorthil becomes overly distressed at your absence.” The pair laughed and began walking down the long corridor toward the room where all the elves of Mirkwood had gathered to celebrate Legolas’ return. “I understand that Angrod has been filling your head with stories and reminiscence of past adventures.”
Legolas looked to his father inquisitively. “Aye.”
“Then I will speak to him of the many fables and exaggerations that I know he is feeling your head full of.” Legolas suppressed the laughter that he felt building up within him. “I am sure that he is telling you of his great feats and what a wonderful warrior he is. Nonsense. All of it.”
At that moment the aforementioned elf sprung around the corner, a look of stress firmly upon his brow and Legolas could contain himself no longer. He burst into laughter and it wasn’t long before tears of mirth sprung to his eyes.
“What?” Angrod’s stressed expression quickly turned to one of confusion and soon Legolas’ musical laughter was joined by that of Thranduil’s. “What is so hilarious?”
The two Royals of Mirkwood pulled themselves together, straightening their robes and brushing the tears from their face as the door to the Grand Ballroom swung open. With every ounce of regal bearing they could muster up in the wake of their conversation and laughter, Father and Son entered the room with a confused Angrod on their heels.
Friend Estel,
My time is short so I do not have much time to write and I apologize for my briefness in this letter. Father has planned a grand feast celebrating my return and Calorthil is now standing over my shoulder begging me to write faster.
This is okay for I have not much to tell you at this time. Not much has changed. The scar upon my head has lessened dramatically and I think that it will be completely gone by the time I see you next.
Which brings me to my next topic. Angrod, while traveling with Elladan and Elrohir, seemed to think it necessary to recount the tale of our tart adventure when you were young. You may tell Elladan and Elrohir that the tarts that I made were quite horrible to the taste but I think that you and I remember quite differently. I seem to recall them being quite tasty and although I am loathe to repeat my baking experience I think it would be a rather humorous sight to see the twins shamed into eating some pastry especially made for them with a little added ingredients. Say thimbleweed. This shall be our little secret.
However, mayhap I shall save one for you as well. I do not recall ever getting my revenge for you little expedition into the kitchens. This shall be my little secret.
I look forward to our next meeting.
Ever your friend,
Legolas
Estel laughed as he refolded the letter. He is back.