He had never seen Elves before. Not until this day. He had told himself he would not be afraid of them, he had told himself he would not feel inferior to them. He had not thought to tell himself he would not be enchanted by them. Perhaps he should have. Every individual he had seen since arriving in Rivendell that evening had their own startling beauty and grace, the males no less than the females, and every face he had looked upon had given him cause to force himself not to gape or gulp. He had been greeted by Elrond's daughter, a maid so fair that to look upon her with lust would be evil, and shown to a room to rest. But rest had not come easily to him among the ebbing sounds of elven laughter and river water. He had asked to be allowed to wander alone for a while and his request had been granted. He had walked into the woods but there he was not alone. A figure stood in a clearing, bathed in moonlight, looking like something out of a childhood fairy tale.

A picture of ethereal elegance, Boromir thought, in a rare poetic moment, before he laughed at himself.

As he stepped closer, he could see they were dressed only in a pair of dark coloured leggings and riding boots. The broad shoulders and muscled arms showed him that the person was definitely male, and more than likely a warrior at that. From a distance, his eyes had been dangerously close to deceiving him; and he had, for a short second, been looking down at the being with something that resembled lust.

"Curse these Elves and their androgyny," he muttered to himself as he trod further down the bank, intending on taking the long way round into the trees to avoid interrupting the Elf's stargazing.

"Do you not find it alluring?" the Elf called back, catching him off guard. "Some men do." His voice carried the depth and silk of honey. "Do come down here. Your lurking is bothersome to me." He beckoned to Boromir with a wave of the hand.

Flushing with embarrassment, though he could not say why, Boromir walked to the Elf's side, clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders to try to rid himself of the sudden tension that had gripped him. "I do not find it particularly alluring, no," he finally replied.

"Really?" the Elf turned to face him. "Very well, if you say so." He shrugged and smiled at the Man, apparently content with the answer and looking like he didn't believe it at all.

Boromir studied the face before him, high cheekbones were emphasized in the shadows, silver-grey eyes sparkled with subdued amusement, their gaze never leaving his; a small smirk curled the corners of a full lower lip. A river of black hair cascaded over strong shoulders from behind a delicately pointed ear, catching highlights of midnight blue and contrasting sharply with the paleness of the skin it lay upon. The face reminded him of Lady Arwen, he realised. Perhaps they were kin?

"Are you not cold without a shirt?" he asked in a roundabout way of trying to find out just why the Elf was half naked.

He shook his head, tossing his hair back from his face as a sudden gust of wind blew between the trees. "I do not feel the cold as a Man would."

Boromir's eyes now wandered down the Elf's lithe body, over firm muscles that twitched in protest of the cold breeze, over pale skin that tightened with goosebumps. His eyes paused at the Elf's chest, studying dark nipples that stood up against the cold. He did not know what made him do it, and he cursed the action for the rest of his days, but he reached out to brush one rosy teat with his fingertips. "Your flesh lets down your lie, Elf," he smiled in triumph.

"I do have some mortal blood in me, that may be to blame."

"Then you are Elrond's son," Boromir realised, feeling shaken at the thought of his own discourtesy.

The Elf looked sharply at him and curled his fingers around Boromir's wrist. "So you realise, you could be punished severely for touching me like that." His words were soft, but icy cold. Like melting snow, and just as treacherous.

"I do beg your pardon, my Lord." As he lowered his head in respect, he tried to pull his hand free but the Elf held it firmly to his chest.

"I am Elrohir, the middle child," the Elf told him, tightening his grip. "Had you touched my sister, my father would have murdered you for it. And had you taken that impudence with my brother he would have murdered you himself. Think yourself lucky that you met me." He dropped his hand, not giving him a chance to recover. "And you are...?" He slid a hand under Boromir's chin, raising his face to look at him.

"I am Boromir, elder son of the Steward of Gondor," he replied hoarsely, swallowing as hard as he was able to with the Elf's hand cupping his jaw.

"Oh, I see." He smirked as if to himself. "Have you met my foster brother yet? He is a Man. A ranger, known by the name of Strider. Estel to the Elves."

Boromir thought back over the names and faces of those he had encountered that eve. He had met a Man, a Man who had only introduced himself as 'a friend to Gandalf the Grey'. "I may have. I am not sure. Why?" He wondered why the Elf seemed so amused at the prospect.

The Elf – Elrohir – shook his head and smiled, looking forward into the trees. "Relax, dear Boromir," he said. "And please do not ever call me 'my Lord' again, I cannot bear it." He gave his guest a friendly smile, but it carried no warmth and did nothing to help him to relax. "I am the son of a ruler, like yourself, but I do not care for such titles. I am a warrior and a hunter."

"As you wish." Boromir found himself following Elrohir's gaze into the trees, though he could see nothing but dark shadows. Half his mind was telling him to ask to be excused and continue his walk, but the stronger, more curious half was keeping him at Elrohir's side. He wondered, for what seemed like the hundredth time, why the Elf was standing apparently all alone minus his shirt. And he wondered just what in Middle Earth was making his eyes keep straying back to the Elf's fine body and fair face.

An owl screeched somewhere overhead, startling him, though Elrohir did not flinch at the shrill noise.

"It is only an owl," he said softly. "There is nothing to be afraid of out here. The borders are protected. There are only owls, and foxes, rabbits..."

Boromir found himself following the movement of the soft lips as the melodious voice listed the wildlife, and lost in the strange spell the Elf seemed to be weaving about him, he flinched again as a hand closed around his forearm.

"Badgers, maybe." That smile again. "Oh, and me of course."

Boromir suddenly felt almost threatened by the deep grey eyes that bore into him. "Why do you stand in the woods half-dressed?" his words were out before he could stop them. He always was too direct.

Elrohir's smile grew wider, creasing the corners of his eyes. It was like he had been expecting the question. "That is my business."

"You wait for someone?" Boromir tensed as the fingers traced through the cloth of his shirt. Elrohir was a swordsman, he considered by the location of calluses upon the palm.

"Maybe." The hand closed around his, twining their fingers. "Maybe they are already here." He studied Boromir's face intently, as if he was trying to read his thoughts through his eyes. "You cursed Elves' androgyny as you came down the bank. Did you mistake my gender?"

"It was hard to tell in the light," Boromir answered carefully, glancing down to the Elf's hands to try and rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling that his mind was being probed. "I was unsure." He took a quick step back as Elrohir took a step towards him.

As fast as lightning, and burning just as hot, Elrohir's hand shot out to lie against the small of his back to stop him moving any further away. "Do you think I look like a female?" he leaned closer, so their noses were nearly touching, his eyes were an inch away from Boromir's, his breath was fanning his mouth.

"I would not say you do, no," Boromir gulped, his clammy hand groping at his belt to clutch the hilt of his knife. He would not use it; it was merely a comforting instinct that had formed whenever he had felt threatened on his journeys. And he felt far more at risk now than he had by any beast he had encountered. The Elf was about to kiss him, he was sure of it. And he was sure as soon as that perfect mouth touched his lips he would not be able to stop until the Elf had had his way with him, and he did not want to have to deal with those sort of feelings.

"You favour my sister?" Elrohir whispered, pulling Boromir impossibly closer. "Am I not as fair as she?"

Panic rising in his chest, Boromir tried to pull from the grasp. How could one hand hold him so firmly? The heat radiating from that trivial touch was beyond belief, stronger than the heat coming from the rest of the Elf's body as it pressed tightly against his front. He tried to move his eyes away from Elrohir's invading stare, but they could move no further than to the moist pink lips.

"Am I not?" Elrohir repeated, his lips brushing Boromir's. "If you have such reason to curse our androgyny, surely you would desire me as much as her? For you did desire her, didn't you? All men do; though none can have her. She is betrothed to a King."

"And she deserves no less." Boromir tried to move his head back from the imposing presence of Elrohir's lips, but found a hand fisted in his hair. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in unsteady gasps as lust settled heavily in his groin. Almost in answer, he felt a demanding twitch of warmth against his thigh as Elrohir pressed himself against it.

"So, you think yourself beneath her. That is good." Elrohir pulled back a fraction of an inch to look at him better. "But I am not so fussy about titles and privileges, as you know." He blinked softly, dark lashes fluttering against cheeks that were now slightly flushed. "You still have not answered my question." He leaned forward suddenly, his lips less than a breath away from Boromir's, parted in anticipation. Then he stood still ... Watching ... Waiting. His hands dropped from Boromir's hair and back to lie at his sides.

Afraid of what may happen if he did not, Boromir took a sudden step backwards, clouting the Elf's hands away from him although they no longer had a hold on him. He was gasping as though he had not been able to breathe while Elrohir was over him and he was shamefully aware of the evidence of his desire showing in his trousers.

Elrohir chuckled softly to himself as his eyes sought out the tense bulge. "Men!" he muttered contemptuously, rolling his eyes skyward before turning his back dismissively.

"What of us?" Boromir asked, attempting to compose himself, the stubborn half of his person once again keeping him from leaving even though he knew it would have been better to.

"My father says Men are weak," Elrohir said, his voice thick with disgust. "I think he is right."

"You think me weak?" Boromir took a step towards him, determined not to be provoked by him, yet unable to hold back his anger. His fingers gripped the hilt of his knife again.

"You are afraid of me," Elrohir stated, only glancing quickly back at him. "I know you have a ---" his words were cut short as Boromir closed in behind him and pressed the blade to his neck. "A knife in your hand," he whispered.

Boromir closed his free arm around Elrohir's chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He felt the elven heartbeat flutter nervously into a harder rhythm. "Perhaps we Men are not as weak as you would think," he whispered.

To Boromir's dismay, Elrohir only smirked complacently and leaned back, pressing his rear tightly against his groin. "Oh, I think you are every bit as weak as I would think," he taunted. "What were you afraid of? That you might like this?"

Boromir forced himself not to get aroused further by the feeling of the firm buttocks rubbing against his erection. "Perhaps you are the weak one?" He noticed how the Elf shuddered as his breath fanned the tip of his ear, and how the delicate point blushed in the wake of the light caress. His hand roamed across Elrohir's chest to pinch his nipple, feeling it harden between his fingertips. "Perhaps you were not cold at all."

"You flatter yourself," he gasped, leaning back against Boromir's chest, his knees obviously turning weak.

"You approached me, not I you." Seeing victory ahead, he ran his tongue along the edge of the pointed ear, eliciting a shuddering moan from his captive. "So what if I did desire you at a first glance, tricked by the light? You desired me as I stood beside you. You very nearly threw yourself at me. If you were a woman, I would call you a harlot."

Silence hung in the air for what seemed like hours, though in truth it was mere seconds. Boromir, though he was not the one with a knife to his throat, felt his anxiety building with each thudding heartbeat. He could feel tension rise through Elrohir's body, though he knew it was only the tension of suppressed laughter. The Elf was mocking him, and he was allowing him to, walking straight into the honey-baited trap that had been set for him.

With a coy smile, Elrohir arched his neck dangerously close to the blade to turn his sparkling eyes on Boromir. "Are you flirting with me, Boromir of Gondor?" he asked in the softest of whispers, shifting his rear unrelentingly against Boromir's groin.

The more sensible part of his mind finally took control. "I most certainly am not!" Pulling the knife back sharply enough to make a small cut on the pale neck, he stumbled backwards, falling on his backside to the floor in a daze of desire and confusion.

"Oh, were you not?" Elrohir whispered, allowing the blood to run freely in a crimson line down his chest as if the nick did not pain him at all. "Well, that is a shame." And, blowing a kiss in the Gondorian's direction, he stepped back into the trees and melted into the darkness like a shadow, his mocking peals of laughter the only reminder of his presence.

---

Breakfast had been laid out for the guests on long tables out on a terrace. Boromir sat alone from the other folk on a stone bench overlooking the gardens. He wondered at the amount of folk there seemed to be passing through Rivendell; Dwarves, Men, and Halflings unless he was hallucinating! He had only heard of them in tales. But he had more pressing issues on his mind to wonder too much about them.

He yawned again as he took a sip of sweet tea. Sleep had only come to him as the sky had started getting light. He had lain wide awake most of the night, arguing with himself over his encounter with Elrohir, first regretting that he had turned him down then rebuking himself for even thinking such a thing. At one moment he was telling himself that he thought Elrohir was the most beautiful man he had ever laid his eyes on and that his beauty rivalled any woman, then the next moment he was trying to convince himself that he'd been put under some Elvish spell of enchantment. And now, in the cold light of the morning, he had no further idea of where his feelings lay than he had in the woods.

"You are Boromir, yes?"

A voice that he felt he should have recognised broke into his thoughts. "Yes, I am he," he replied without looking up, still lost somewhere between images of arrogant smirks and lust-filled grey eyes.

"I have been asked to bring to you to Lord Elrond. I trust you slept well? Some strangers find Imladris a little noisy for the first few nights."

"No, I --- " he raised his head to look at the Elf who had greeted him and found himself staring into the very eyes that haunted his imagination. "Yes, I slept fine," he replied tersely. "Despite the disturbance you tried to cause my mind, Lord Elrohir."

Elrohir frowned at him for some seconds, blinking in confusion. "I beg your pardon? I know not what you speak of. How do you know my name?"

"Do not play innocent before your subjects," Boromir spat, rising to oppose the Elf. "I care not for you now anymore than I did last night in the woods, and it would not grieve me to announce what you tried to do to me---"

To his horror Elrohir started to laugh, merrily, not arrogantly as he had last night. "I think I understand," he said, laying a light hand on Boromir's shoulder. "I was not in the woods last night---"

"Well, the Elf I met last night used your name," Boromir interjected. He would not be made to look like a fool twice by this Elf.

Elrohir continued to laugh openly. "Oh, he would!"

"And I suppose he wears your face too?" Boromir argued, growing angrier by the second. The taunting was very different to the treatment he had received in the woods, but served to anger him just as much.

"He does wear my face." Elrohir nodded. "I take it you have not met my twin brother?" He indicated in the direction of an Elf who bore the very same face and stature as himself. "Elladan, come over here!" he called, waiting until his twin moved to a distance where he did not have to shout to ask him: "What were you doing tormenting our Gondorian guest last night?"

"You lie, dear sibling," Elladan gaped incredulously. "Ever you do this, try to seduce some poor Man then lay the blame upon me when it falls through." He bowed his head to Boromir. "Do accept my apologies on my younger twin's behalf," he said sincerely. "He still has not learned to control these lustful urges of his." He grinned back at Elrohir. "Do not take it personally, he would have jumped on a Dwarf if one had been passing through rather than yourself."

"Elladan!" Elrohir cried, his cheeks reddening as he smacked his brother across the arm. "You are the most dreadful cad!"

Boromir nodded to Elladan though his thoughts were not on accepting the apology. That smirk was familiar. Very familiar. He dropped back into his seat and stared between the twins as they squabbled amongst themselves. They were alike in every way; face, eyes, smile, posture. It was only the different colours of their robes that enabled him to tell them apart. He studied Elladan closer, but still he could not tell if he had encountered him or Elrohir. He felt Elladan study him just as closely in a gaze that was so familiar and so uncomfortable, but he held his eyes for as long as he was able to.

"I was entertaining the Mirkwood prince, Elrohir, as you well know," Elladan reached for the hand of a handsome blond Elf who had been standing nearby, watching the debate with an amused smile. "He can confirm it if you ask him." He winked in the blond's direction. "And a most entertaining evening it was," he added in a low voice.

The tone made Boromir shiver. That tone had been used on him. It had to be Elladan. He turned a questioning look on the blond Elf.

"Well, one of them was with me," the blond said, with a chuckle, moving to sit beside Boromir to regard both twins. "But who can tell them apart in the dark?! It is hard enough in the light."

"It's hard enough in dark or light, my dear Legolas," Elrohir winked naughtily at the blond. "And mine no less than his, and his no less than mine. We are twins, after all."

"You are both quite terrible!" the blond sniggered.

"He could tell us apart in bed," Elladan taunted his twin, not lowering his voice a bit. "I would outlast you, my dear brother."

"Which one of you was it?" Boromir asked impatiently interrupting the banter.

Elladan smiled at him. "I suppose you'll never know." He stripped back his robe and pulled Elrohir's from his shoulders, handing both garments to the blond Elf. "I mean, do you really know which of us is which now?" Now clad in just leggings and a tunic of the same hue as Elrohir's he turned and switched places with his brother a few times. "You would not tell us apart naked, either," he added softly.

Trying not to be stirred by the comment, Boromir looked at one, then the other, then back again. He thought over things that had been said, reason taking over. Elladan's tone and mood was that of the Elf he had encountered, but something made him think it was not him. "I cannot tell you apart," he said, standing to face Elrohir, "but I would say it was you."

"Why?" Elrohir smiled sweetly at him, as he shrugged back into his robe, handing Elladan's to him.

Boromir knew they were making him play their game, and that they – and their blond companion – were silently laughing at him, but he was determined not to be bested. "You knew my name, and that I was from Gondor."

"That is because my father told me," Elrohir replied. "He asked me to bring you to him. Which I will do once I have spoken with my brother." He grasped his brother's elbow, turning him sharply. "Come, Elladan, I must have words with you."

"I disagree, Elrohir, I believe it is I who must have words with you!" Elladan argued as he was pulled away by the arm.

Boromir flopped back into his seat, perplexed. Twins! Damn twins! He would find out, one way or another. Even if he did have to find his way into their beds to find out. He glanced at the blond Elf – 'Legolas' Elrohir had called him. 'The Mirkwood prince' Elladan had called him, but Boromir was too confounded to care about manners.

"I suppose you are just as confused as I am," he said curtly to him, not believing for one second that he had not known which twin he had been with. He was obviously friends with both of them.

"The truth is, neither were with me last night," Legolas replied. "It could have been either of them with you, though it was certainly the work of both of them." He laid a cool hand on Boromir's knee. "Please pardon our jests, my friends often like to fool people with their likeness. They can be a little silly at times. I hope we caused you no offence."

"No, none at all," Boromir said in a half-lie. "Just a great amount of confusion."

"They are good at causing that!" With a smile, Legolas stood and walked to the table to pour a glass of water. "They stir things in you that you do not altogether like, don't they?" he said only loud enough for Boromir's ears when he returned to his side. "They are good at that too. We Elves have long known that if we chose to, we can bewitch Men quite easily." He turned his crystal blue eyes on Boromir, and they burned into his soul even harder than the stormy eyes of Elrohir had; or Elladan, whichever it was.

"The twins seem to have honed that skill well," Boromir muttered, with an uncontrolled shiver.

"They are very beautiful individuals, and somehow more so when they are together." Legolas's hand found his knee again and clasped it in what was meant to look like a comforting squeeze. "I can understand how one could be easily seduced by either of them."

"And what effect do these magical twins have on Elves?" Boromir looked askance at him, wondering if the Elf spoke from personal experience beneath his superior pity for this poor Man at his side. "And how well-honed are your skills with us poor weak mortal Men?"

"I was corrupt enough long before I met them!" Legolas laughed. "And I consider myself just as skilled as them, if I chose to be."

"I am sure you would be better at stalking your prey than they," Boromir unclasped the hand that held his knee. "You are far more subtle."

Legolas smiled slowly at him, before he laid his hand back in his own lap. "Well, just consider yourself lucky you did not meet both of them at once last night," he told him, openly diverting the subject.

Tricky. Very tricky. Very sly. He wanted to push Boromir just so far, then pull back and make it look like the Man had chosen to pursue the conversation himself. No, at a first glance he looked sweet enough, but Boromir thought this Elf could be more trouble to his already troubled mind than both those twins together.

"Why? What would they have done to me?" he asked with a grin. He would go along with him in the detour of topic for now. "Ravished me then eaten me for supper?"

"They would have eaten you for supper," Legolas said quietly, licking his lips as though he could imagine the taste himself, "and then chewed over what was left for breakfast."

Boromir could feel himself start to become captivated by the blond's sweet smile and ordered himself not to go down that path again. "And what if you had been there?" he asked. "Would you have insisted on a bite yourself?"

"I would have rescued you from them," Legolas leaned close to him and whispered. "Though I'm sure I would not have needed to."

He met his eyes, reaching out to clasp the fair hand that was about to find it's way back to his knee. "And would I have been safe then? After you had got me?"

A smug smile was his only answer before Legolas stood and walked away from him, disappearing from his sight in a flurry of velvet robes and slender limbs and golden hair, laughter tense in his shoulders. Boromir wondered for a second what the joke was this time, then he realised with some amount of horror that he had actually been flirting with Legolas. How stupid could a man be?! Stupid, weak, and everything the Elves thought his kind to be. Playing along, yet again; falling into the trap, yet again. Feeling desires he should not feel, yet again. Tenfold. This one was definitely worse than the twins. This one was definitely more than a fleeting wave of confusion. This one was going to cause him trouble.