Title: Where Destiny Lies

Author with email addy: Cheyenne Dancer (cheyenedgr@aol.com)

Websites: http://www.slashcity.org/~cheyene/

Rating: PG-13

Pairing / Main characters: Gandalf/Legolas

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: After the Mines of Moria, Legolas reflects on the past.

Disclaimer: This is a loving tribute to the works of JRR Tolkien, who created a world of elves and hobbits that gave me much pleasure in my youth and to Peter Jackson, who brought the books to life, much as I imagined them. This is purely a work of fiction and I make no profit from it's production.

Archive/Distribution: Yes, to any who wish, just let me know where and please keep my e-mail attached.

Date: March 2002

Notes: This story first came to mind after watching the expressions flit rapidly across Legolas's face outside the Mines of Moria, in conjunction with the line from Lothlorien, where he says he cannot intrepret the lament for Gandalf. Shortly afterwards, on one of the lists one of the sibs said they couldn't ever imagine Gandalf with anyone - much less Legolas. And a story was born. There is a slight blending between movie-verse and book-verse. I liked one scene that PJ left out, so I put it back in. However briefly.

BETAS: Special thanks to both Jo and Bast for their excellent betas and their wonderful suggestions. Also thanks to Mary who read the story and gave me encouragement. Any errors in the story are mine, as I listened to most of what was suggested, willfully ignored some, and made a very few changes after all their hard work.

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Where Destiny Lies

By Cheyenne Dancer

 

Mithrandir was gone. The words sliced deep as a Morgul blade thrust into the heart, pouring ice from that wounded organ to spread like a chill poison through his veins. Oh, Mithrandir. With each laborious beat of his heart, Legolas heard the echo of the words.

Blinking back tears, he strode cat-quick away from the rest of the company. The mens' sorrow was a low dull throb against his sensitive nerves. He wished fervently that he could leave them all behind, if only for a short span of time.

He could hear Pippin's heart wrenching sobs and the hushed words of consolation being murmured by Meriadoc. Legolas could feel Peregrin's grief, as well, and knew that there would be no consoling the little one. A sense of the halfling's horror and self-imposed guilt grew grim like a dark shadow on the borders of Mirkwood and battered like an orc against Legolas's mind. The young one's feelings of shame weighed so heavily that it was a dark burden being broadcast to any who were sensitive.

Legolas thought that perhaps he should ease Pippin's heart, but soft words of hope and mourning were lost to him, now. Perhaps, later, when he could forgive all that had come to pass. Perhaps, when the pain was not so near.

Sam's tears were much quieter, though they were as a fanfare to sensitive elven ears. Gimli wandered erratically about the rock-strewn promontory, blustering in usual dwarfish fashion, yet Legolas knew that the dwarf's grief was no less deep than that of the periannath.

Even here, perched atop a boulder overlooking the wooded valleys below, Legolas could feel the grief rolling off of Frodo. Legolas spared the young one a glance. The halfling hunched his shoulders as if in defeat, and trudged aimlessly away.

He wished that he could walk away, too. Rapidly blinking his eyes to hide his own sorrow, he turned his back again upon the seven remaining members of the fellowship, wishing bitterly for Elrond's wise counsel.

How could love hurt so? Deep burrowed his grief, for Elven mourning was not a light thing, nor intended for the eyes of outsiders. This, too, would need to be borne alone. For he was far from his beloved Greenwood and he had no hope of succor in the mythic lands of Lothlorien.

And how could any of them understand? Mithrandir had bid him not speak of his love, their relationship. And he had not. Why had he listened? Would not there now be solace for him, if any knew that he had lost not just a friend, but one with whom he had shared his heart?

When the ancient Maiar first visited the hidden halls of Greenwood the Great, Legolas had been but a stripling, all coltish grace and youthful enthusiasms. Before even had the wizard gone before Thranduil, he had graced the elflings with tricks of magic and light and kindly jokes and gifts of laughter.

Legolas could remember peering around the bole of an ancient oak, feeling a bit left out but grown too serious with his knowledge of his position and his age, being just a few short seasons from his majority. He had had it drummed into him over his few short years what was appropriate for a Prince of Mirkwood and what was not. And though he longed to run free with laughter as the other young ones, he dared not.

His was oft in a lonely state, his brothers and Father too busy to spare him much time, too old for his tutors and it being unseemly for a youth of his age to company his Mother in the nursery. Though while he was there, Mithrandir said nothing of these things to the young prince, he often came to sit with him and tell him tales of the Great World of Men and of Imladris and Lorien. .

That summer had been the best in his memory. And it was with great sadness that he had bade the old wizard good-bye.

Subsequent visits flitted equally pleasantly through his mind, time spent with Mithrandir an easing balm against the bastions of loneliness and responsibility. The gentle teasing sparkle in compassionate blue eyes and benevolent smile bespelled Legolas, when Mithrandir was near, he felt a kindred spirit It had not taken much for the isolated elf to find himself in love.

As his majority neared, his preoccupation with the wizard came under note to his Father. And though Thranduil made mention of it and had looked somewhat worried, he had pushed it off as a fancy of a young child and said no more.

Legolas remembered well the choosing ceremony, for it was a custom among the Sindar, that when a youth or maid had reached an age, they could choose a companion, one to teach and guide them in the ways of the body and of tenderness and passion. And when the time came to discuss with his Father those that Legolas might choose from, Legolas had asked only after Mithrandir. Thranduil listened to Legolas's desires and bade him choose another.

Thranduil warned him of the folly of choosing a lover among Men, yet Legolas had, in the blissful ignorance of his youth, ignored him.

For he had chosen not just any man of Numenor, but rather Mithrandir of the Istari, one of the Maiar. And though they did not live forever, as do the elves, they were long-lived, and Legolas had believed he would be well passed his middle years before he need fear losing his lover.

Long had Legolas loved Mithrandir, the wizard whom Men called Gandalf the Grey. He was much infatuated with the crinkle of lines about mouth and eyes, showing a lifetime of laughter and joy. As an elfling, Gandalf's gentle ways and kindly sense of humor had often enthralled him, and so, when Mithrandir had appeared in their midst just a seven day before his choosing ceremony, he had begged the boon of his Father, to choose the Istari.

Thranduil had not been happy with his youngest son's choice. Knowing that his Father had sought to only spare him pain, still, it had made the quarrels no less bitter. Yet, in the end, Thranduil had yielded, as Legolas had hoped he would--known he would--in his impetuous youngling heart. For though Thranduil was a firm and upright sovereign to the woodland elves, he held his own guilt of the little time he had to spare his youngest ever close to his heart. Thus Thranduil found he was unable to deny Legolas aught.

That first night, Legolas remembered well - he had taken Mithrandir's hand, a man not young, even then, yet much desired, by the young prince, and led the wizard away from the even' fires and towards the great trees that surrounded his chosen trysting place.

A small stream bubbled over stone, and he had made a bed of soft, sweet grasses and bright colored flowers. Glowstones were set upon a flat boulder, as was a vial of scented oil. Mithrandir had stilled, sharp eyed glance roving about the small glen, before skewering Legolas with a piercing blue gaze.

"I am flattered, young Prince, yet I would urge you to choose again."

Legolas had been downcast, a shy color touching his fair cheeks as he searched for the words to convince the Istari that only he would suit to teach him of the ways of love between males.

So deep in thought was he, that when the wizard gently touched his cheek with but two fingers he started like a deer at the hunter's scent.

Shifting from foot to foot, he had glanced beneath his lashes at the tall man, his voice coming out in a quiet lilt: "I wish no other, Mithrandir. I would give my love to you... "

Smiling kindly, Mithrandir had traced his lips, "What know you of love to a mere man, Prince among the Sindar?"

"You are no mere man, Mithrandir. You are of the Maiar and will dwell forever upon this world, as do the Valar."

"Unlike the Valar, the Maiar are as butterflies, we change and grow and pass from body to body, lifetime to lifetime. Though long-lived, we are not immortal, as are the firstborn of Iluvatar. I age in a way you cannot know. And it would but sorrow you to see my body become frail, weighted with years of passing ages, even as my mind ascends in the paths of learning."

"I care not! I would give you my soul-gem and bind myself to you, if you but ask it!"

"Shhh, child of the Greenwood, make no vows to me. I am not your destiny."

"Then would I forfeit my destiny!"

"Speak no foolishness, for you are not a stupid child."

He had blushed at the harsh rebuke, but still lifted his chin stubbornly. "If you would not grant me your love, nor receive mine, will you not, at the least give to me your knowledge? For I feel you to be a kind and passionate man, and I would know kindness in this, above all things."

And then Gandalf had chuckled, a smile breaking from behind his frowning visage, like the sun, reaching deep into a clearing, suddenly bringing each blade of grass into bright relief. With a soft touch to Legolas' face, he had brushed his fingers along his cheek, to lightly twine in his hair, tugging teasingly at a braid that Legolas' had adorned with a few simple love knots.

"Stubborn elf." The wizard's tone belied his words, and Legolas would swear by all the Valar and the songs of the First-born that love-light did shine in the cool blue of the Istari's kindly regard.

Legolas had answered Mithrandir's smile, then, with a shy, anxious one of his own, and stood upon his tiptoes, raising his face to the Man, sure that his hope and love must shine from his eyes like Earendil, brightest star of the night sky.

Mithrandir had taken Legolas's face between his palms, staring deep into his eyes and slowly lowered his head until he brushed Legolas's lips with a surpassing gentleness that stole the young elflord's breath away. That first kiss had been teasing and sweet--a light touch of soft lips and wiry beard brushing his smooth face.

And so the night had passed, and many a night after during the seven-day that Gandalf remained, with Mithrandir whispering to Legolas of worldly delights and elven beauty. The Istari teased Legolas's young flesh until the elf prince writhed and called his name, begging for release long before Mithrandir would take pity upon him and Legolas's world would spin away to dance among the stars of the night sky.

Afterwards, the great wizard would hold him, whilst he shivered in the strong armed embrace, curling closer to the heat of the Man, head pillowed upon Gandalf's wide chest, Legolas's long blonde hair spilling about them like a curtain of silk.

With soft, tender caress and loving whispers, Legolas had felt all the heady promise of young love fulfilled, e'en with no spoken vow. Each time they came together, Mithrandir steadfastly refused to speak of love or binding. Yet by his every caress and whispered endearments, he did betray how cherished and beloved Legolas was to him. A sadness touched Legolas as their time grew close, and he answered it with feverish abandon in the wizard's arms, as if to store up a lifetime of memories in so short a span of time.

Mithrandir could sense the melancholy in the elven prince and answered the fierceness with a tenderness that was beyond the ken of men.

Their parting at the end of the seven-day was bittersweet for Legolas. From the bleak look in his love's eyes, which had been the calm of a gray winter's day rather than the brilliant blue of passion's fire; he would take oath that Mithrandir felt the same. Surely, it was no easy thing for the Istari to leave the Greenwood, nor the pleasures of the elf prince's bed. Or so he told himself and wistfully hoped that the wizard would not stay away. For even then, he longed to reach out and beg shamelessly as a child, that Mithrandir not leave.

Many a long year had passed since, and though Legolas had taken companions to warm his body, none had yet touched his heart. And though the pain of parting had grown and faded, still he longed for the beauty, laughter and tenderness he had felt with the wizard. He grew to love the tales of the wizard's exploits and would beg an audience with every bard that braved the Greenwood's darkening borders.

Many things were changing in Middle Earth and the tidings of the third age grew fearsome. Legolas became restless within the deepening gloom Greenwood. Perhaps he did not know love, and perhaps Mithrandir was not to be his destiny, neither did he feel that his destiny lay here within the towering forests of his beloved home.

Soon enough, his Father tried to sway him to take a wife. It was not so important that he wed. Of this, he was certain. But perhaps, his Father had sensed the restlessness staining his spirit and sought to give solace and tie him tighter to his homeland. He felt that his Father feared he would take his leave and follow his brethren to the Havens, rather than remain at his side, and so sought to bind him with familial duty.

It was then when Smeagol had escaped, that Legolas had volunteered to take the grim news to Imladris, that bright city Men called Rivendell. Lord Elrond had called a council, and all the nations of Middle-Earth had been summoned to send a representative. Shadows from the South were feared to be Sauron-touched and there were rumors that the Ring... the One Ring had been found. If it had, then the council would need to know that Gollum was now free and in search of his precious. And what mischief that poor twisted dark creature could work, none knew.

Thranduil desired a messenger to run to Rivendell and inform the Elf Lords of Gollum's untimely disappearance. Though no love was lost betwixt the Noldor and the Sindar, yet in this time of growing unease; it was meet that they join forces. If only to delay the gathering of dark powers long enough that the rumors of the One Ring could be put to rest--or found and finally destroyed, thus breaking Sauron's hold over Middle-Earth for all time.

Unsure why it was so, Legolas volunteered to company the small group that his Father chose to send to Imladris. Perhaps to end his restless surging, or to give himself time to think upon a more permanent joining, his Father had granted his request.

Though the trip from the Greenwood to Imladris was not uneventful, for darkness once again touched the paths of Mirkwood, and evil men lurked hidden in the Wilderlands. Yet quick as light and life, did they defeat any that tried to stand in their path, orcs fell to the singing of their bows and shadows slunk away from their company. The days flowed over the elves like quicksilver, ever touching but never changing.

Legolas found his pace quickening as he crossed the borders into the valley of the Bruinen. Even so far from the borders of Imladris, he could hear the Elven City calling him. Whispered secrets borne upon the wind, for elven ears open to hearing, crept in song and breeze, teasing through his hair and whipping about his cloak.

Strange music lay upon the playful breezes. Songs of halflings and the Nazgul, a would-be king and the Son of Gondor, of quests on the dawning of embarking and the sorrow of the ending of an age, all mixed in the valley's siren song of greeting. Hidden deep within the complicated rhythm of life, he imagined the ancient wind spirits playing tricks upon him, yet the song of the valley had woven Mithrandir's unmistakable melody into its harmonies of greeting and homecoming.

Shadows fell away from him, as soil from the spring rains, his steps lightened as he lifted his voice to thread his own welcoming melody in the symphony of the valley. Upon his arrival in Imladris, he sought among the leafy gardens and flower bedecked terraces for the one that he held most dear. And though he could feel that the Istari was there, he failed to find him and sank disconsolately upon a stone-carved bench, awaiting what would surely be a most unhappy audience with the Lord Elrond.

It was thus that Gandalf found him in the setting of the sun. Soft rays of light flitted between the leaves of the trees as if seeking out their like in the youthful elf. "Legolas. There, before me, shines light and beauty, the youngest son of Thranduil, son of Oropher. It has been far too long."

"Mithrandir!" Legolas had leapt to his feet, a myriad of expressions washing across his face and leaving behind joy. He flung himself at the ancient wizard, for though by Men's age, the Istari could be counted old, still Legolas could see the light that was actually Mithrandir, and loved him all the more for it.

Gandalf encompassed him in an unexpectedly strong embrace and Legolas buried his face against the rough sacking of Mithrandir's gray robes. "I've missed you sorely these long years. The trees have lost their leaves near 200 times and there has been no word from you, save to hear the tales the bards sing. And even that is far and few between! Too many fear the dark paths through the Greenwood these days."

A light kiss brushed across the top of Legolas head and he turned his face up to stare at the wizard with glowing eyes.

"Do not tell me that you have stayed alone for all of this time, you, such a star upon your wood? I find it hard to believe you would find no solace among your kind."

Though Gandalf's words were gently teasing, Legolas bristled still. "No. I have not waited like some poor besotted human maid for her warrior to attend her in her rooms. And though I would have given you... " Legolas bit off what he had been about to say, turning in Mithrandir's embrace to stare up at the stars peering down upon them. "I meant no recrimination. May I not stay with you, this night? A seven-day and one in 200 years surely cannot be overmuch?"

"Come with me, beloved of the Sindar, and I will, indeed, attend to you." Gandalf stroked his wide square hands through Legolas' golden locks. "For though I know that we are not meant to be, I, too, have missed your warm embrace and carefree gifts."

Legolas turned into the caress, rubbing his cheek against Mithrandir's callused palm. Disliking the plaintive sound of his voice, yet he could not refrain from asking, "Why can it not? In all these long, lonely years, I have found none with whom I share such fond regard, and what of you, Mithrandir? Have you found any that could hold, nor sway your attention nor even share your bed for more than a seven-day?" Legolas blushed at the slight taint of bitterness his words painted.

"Shhh--guraerlinn*...do not sully what we can have." Gandalf wrapped his hand in one gold tress and pulled Legolas around to face him again. A tender smile hovered about the Istari's mouth as sad-touched eyes searched Legolas's deep violet gaze. "There are none who come close to you, since that is what you truly wish to know. And still, I would not--could not--have it. You are meant for other things and, as for that, I cannot interfere. But for tonight," Gandalf brushed his lips lightly across Legolas' upraised brow, his other hand grasping the elven prince about the waist and guiding him until their two bodies were pressed against each other. "Let us not play beneath Lord Elrond's balcony. I would this night be ours alone."

And he had followed the Maiar out and away from Elrond's home, out into the nearby forest and into a glade made beauteous by starlight and fair flowers. Upon the soft green grasses, beneath the light of Earendil, Mithrandir had taken him with both tenderness and passion, as if the wizard knew his days were now numbered less than a few handfuls.

He had been ecstatic, the next morning, when after the council had met, his petition to join with the fellowship had been accepted. To adventure with Mithrandir was beyond his wildest hope. Mithrandir, as if reading his mind had sent him a quelling gaze, yet, even in such a grim venture, the hope that sprang joyful into his breast could not be supressed.

Yet fear had been a near constant companion by the time they attempted the passes of Caradhras. Legolas could feel the glimmer of a shadow growing in his mind, and his eyes often strayed between Boromir, Frodo and Mithrandir. He remembered clasping Mithrandir closely to him when he had jumped the chasm on the bridge at Khazad-dum. His own heart beat in rapid counterpoint to the thunderous pulse of the wizard's as he held him tight, releasing him quickly to aid the rest, too quickly. There had not been enough time. There would never have been enough time. And his heart ached.

"Ai... Mithrandir... melethron*... " The words were pulled deep from within the fires of his heart to sigh upon the wind. No time. No time now...

"Legolas... Boromir... get them up and moving."

Legolas stiffened, turning slow, his natural grace stiff and awkward as he glanced about the small group. He wanted to protest--no, not yet, it was too soon. He wished to scream his grief to the rising winds, until his song of anguish was torn from his lips and twined into the harmonies lamented by wood and dale, for even now, he could hear the change in the songs that wove the world together. Though his love had been gone but a short while, he could hear his passing upon the wind.

Still, he understood what Aragorn wanted... and why.

Boromir's agonized voice broke across Legolas's turmoiled heart. "Give them time to grieve, for pity's sake!"

Stricken, Aragorn replied, his voice throbbing with the grief of the loss of a lifetime friend, "We cannot stay here. At sunset, these mountains will be crawling with Orcs!"

There was no denying the truth of this, and Legolas turned, leaping from the boulder to help Merry with Pippin, as Boromir turned to Sam. The rest of the trip to Lorien was a blur to the elf. He had little need of rest and the necessity of maintaining constant vigilance over the small troop gave him little time to grieve.

The danger of his preoccupation was brought home sharply when Haldir and his brothers waylaid them. Even though his response had been swift, still, had they been orcs rather than elves sent by The Lady, more of the company would have fallen. Even as Legolas had shifted from target to target, Haldir's lips had lifted in a supercilious sneer. Shame flooded Legolas at his negligence and Haldir's arrogance pricked at him.

Ill grace sat him as he was blindfolded for the benefit of the dwarf and his irritation multiplied as Haldir deigned to appoint himself Legolas's guide.

The guardian of Lothlorien slid his hand beneath the Prince's arm and cupped his elbow with a casual familiarity. "It is strange to see one so lovely in such rough company."

Haldir's softly spoken words, with the gentle squeeze upon his arm caused Legolas to flush. Haldir restrained Legolas's instinctive pull away from him by tightening his grip on the Prince's arm. "It would be folly to stumble blindly through the Golden Wood. Why deny me the pleasure of your company, young prince?"

With quiet dignity, Legolas refused to be bated further and allowed the other elf to lead him to Caras Galdhon to meet with the Lady Galadriel. The meeting had been more than he had anticipated. Celeborn's quietly spoken inquiry after Gandalf nearly unmade him and Galadriel's announcement to the company at large that Gandalf had fallen into shadow had caused his heart to clench painfully.

When the Lady's knowing eyes had pierced his soul, Legolas had turned his head, but could not hide from the words that echoed softly in his mind. //You grieve harsh and deep, yet this was not to be... this sorrow will be borne... for your destiny lies elsewhere young Prince, you will not waste away, nor pass into the West. Take heart and joy in what you have shared. All is not an ending, though the futures are in shadow.//

He turned from her, then and eluding Haldir's outstretched hand walked away. How heartily he was tired of hearing of destinies. He could almost understand the aggravation upon men's faces when they say: 'Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.'

In his sorrow, he wandered, seeking to commune with the great mallorns and perhaps, ease his torment. He came to a glade filled with birdsong and soft whispering breezes. Stray beams of sunlight glanced through the thick, leafy trees to play with the dust motes in the air, making all seem bright and golden. A lovingly crafted bridge of shining mallorn spanned a bubbling brook that jumped and leaped over and around gleaming white river-stones.

Crossing the bridge halfway, Legolas leaned over, propping his elbows on the carved railing, staring blindly into the water, letting the laughter of the water and the teasing kiss of the wind wrap around him and soothe his troubled nature. It was with a start, he realized he was not alone.

He turned only in time to see Haldir approach him. The cool elf eyed him aloofly, blue eyed gaze traveling with slow deliberation from his groin to his face.

Legolas found a slow anger roiling beneath the surface. "What do you want?"

Haldir's brows rose and a small smile quirked the thin lips. "I feel your grief, Legolas of the Greenwood." His voice was soft and placating and the older elf placed his hand in a most proprietary way upon Legolas' shoulder, guiding him around to face Haldir. "I thought to share your sorrow... "

Haldir brushed back a stray strand of Legolas's hair with the back of his hand, slowly trailing his knuckles across Legolas's high cheekbone to his jaw. "And offer you... comfort... "

Legolas pushed away from Haldir abruptly, his nostrils flaring with held back anger. Though his gaze was fixed upon the Lorien elf, he caught sight of Gimli coming down the path towards them. "I need no comfort from you!"

Making as if to follow, Haldir took another step towards Legolas, he had the look of a hunter spotting his prey. He lightly touched Legolas shoulder, sliding his hand down to his wrist in a feather light caress, his fingers encircling the slender wrist in a firm grip. "Everyone needs something from someone, Legolas."

Legolas snorted, yanking inelegantly away, "I would sooner kiss a dwarf!"

"Ah. There you are Master Elf. I had wondered where you had got off to. Aragorn asked me to show you to our resting places."

Legolas cast Haldir one final look of loathing before turning towards Gimli, taking his arm in a friendly clasp. "Thank you, friend Gimli."

Songs filled the trees, soft and sad. Legolas stood, poised, head canted in a listening attitude. His eyes fluttered closed and his mouth firmed as if to keep the words he would add held within.

"What is that?" Pippin spoke with a hushed reverence.

Clearing his throat quietly, Legolas replied, "It is a lament. For Gandalf."

"What does it say?"

Finally the pain blossomed and overwhelmed him and he knew he could say nothing more. In a quiet choked voice, "I can not, for me the grief is still too near"

 

END

 

Notes:

*guraerlinn - heartsong
*melthron - lover

Composite words and definition gotten from here: http://www.oocities.org/almacq.geo/sindar/index.html