Elrohir strode through the passageways of Imladris purposefully, head held high. Outwardly, he looked calm; only the haste of his long stride and the fact that the tips of his ears burned red gave away his inner turmoil.

Well, he wasn't about to give Glorfindel the satisfaction of seeing him break down in public now, was he? Elrohir was no longer a child – a fact which his fathers advisor seemed to have overlooked – and he was perfectly capable of maintaining his composure. Most of the time, that was.

But where was he to go? If he went back to his rooms, either his brother or his sister would come along and drag him away to do something – and neither watching Elladan and Melpomaen flirt on the practice fields or having to fend off the unwanted advances of the idiot elf-maidens who seemed to attach themselves to Arwen like burrs on a horse's coat held much interest for him at the moment. Glorfindel, thankfully, would now be busy attending to the party from Mirkwood – including Thranduil himself, Elbereth help them all – who had arrived to 'discuss' some 'political issues'. Exactly why they'd decided to come directly to the Last Homely House instead of going through Lorien and letting his grandparents intermediate... was probably better not thought of. Said discussions were already echoing through the corridors – if they got through the day with no injuries he would be most surprised.

Unfortunately, as useful as the Mirkwood elves had been in occupying Glorfindel's attention, it would also mean that his father and Erestor would be equally as busy. He didn't really want to have to explain to Father his actions of late, but Erestor had for the longest time been the one to whom Elrohir turned when he needed a good pair of ears, an open mind, and some sound advice. He was also the only other person to whom Elrohir had confessed the way he felt about Glorfindel.

Ai! A sudden flash of inspiration came upon him and he turned the next corner, away from the guest rooms and along a narrow corridor which gently sloped up. Quickly he found the room he was looking for. A storage room heaped with fabrics – bedclothes, cushions, rolls of silk awaiting the tailor's attention. There was a larger stockpile of such items closer to the main hall which was more commonly used – he'd often hidden here as a child and it was rare that anyone came in unless they were looking for a particular item.

He sank down between two soft piles of cloth and sighed, allowing the tears to drip down his cheeks as he replayed the events of a few scarce minutes ago in his head.

He'd entered Glorfindel's rooms quietly, after the soft voice of the blond Eldar bid him enter. A wondrous sight had greeted him – Glorfindel, dressed only in simple tunic and leggings, his formal robes being laid out waiting, his hair unbraided and hanging free like a halo around him. Obviously irritated, he was conducting an exercise in invective on the subject of the King of Mirkwood, in a mixture of Sindarin, Quenya, and a few scattered phrases of Westron and even Dwarvish, when the language of elves obviously became too delicate to fully express his feelings.

"You're in a fine mood." he'd joked. "Looking forward to seeing our dear friend Thranduil again?"

Rolling his eyes, his fingers busy braiding his hair, Glorfindel had replied.

"I think I'd rather face another Balrog then have to sit through the day listening to that self-titled King weave insults into everything he says, poking around Rivendell and muttering to himself about 'Noldor perversions'." The braid tangled and he combed it out, swearing some more.

"Oh, here." Elrohir had said, as if it was nothing, and had taken the comb from him, quickly fixing the error and then adding some more braids and arranging them in a slightly more fashionable style than usual – Glorfindel was so old fashioned sometimes. Nothing to do with the fact that it also allowed him to stand there running his hands through Glorfindel's hair, of course. Not at all.

"Dare I ask exactly what you are doing to my hair?"

"Nothing." he'd replied innocently, brushing a stray strand into place.

"I'm done now, anyway." And not a moment too soon, for the longer he'd stood there behind his love the more chance there was of his desire being revealed more abruptly than he'd planned.

"Thank you."

Then the plan had gone to pieces, because he'd picked up the robes – Glorfindel smiling at him and saying "I can dress myself, pen-neth" He'd scowled, more at the reminder of the difference in their ages – although he was no child! than anything else, and replied light-heartedly "Oh, I'm sure you old folks need a little help now and then."

And Glorfindel had allowed him to come up, so close, so close, running his hands across the well-toned body in front of him just a little more than was necessary to help with the heavy robes, and then he'd succumbed to temptation and kissed him. Just a few seconds to feel the softness of the others lips, to memorise the taste of him, and then at the same time he'd realised he wasn't being kissed back, Glorfindel had gently pushed him away. Gently, but very firmly, and in his eyes there wasn't anger, or disappointment, but pity.

"No, pen-neth." The voice was soft, comforting, but the words struck him to the core. Unrelenting, Glorfindel had continued. "I love you as a son, Elrohir, but nothing more. I'm sorry." The soothing hands on his shoulders lifted. "I have to go tend to our visitors. The King's brought one of his horrid sons with him, just my luck." The attempt at humour fell flat, and an awkward silence reigned until Glorfindel fled the rooms, no doubt wanting nothing more to do with foolish sons of elf-lords.

How would he ever face him again? Rejected, in a way that neither insulted him nor left him any hope – ai, Glorfindel was indeed a master diplomat. Scowling, Elrohir wrapped his arms about himself as if he was a child again. Maybe he should offer to escort Arwen to Lorien next time she went – and stay there for a while. Indulge himself with some of the Galadhrim; they'd certainly offered before, but unlike his brother he'd refused their attentions. The guardians of the golden wood seldom married, living as they did but a few days in any one place, constantly moving, often out on watch for months at a time. Therefore they were free to indulge themselves in such short lived affairs, in the same way as his brother usually did, both in Rivendell and elsewhere. But Glorfindel, he knew, didn't approve of such a casual approach to relationships (why even Ada teased Glorfindel about being too old fashioned), and for that reason Elrohir had restrained himself, both in Lorien and elsewhere.

He sighed again. No reason to seek Glorfindel's approval now. Lost in thought, he didn't even hear the approach of another until a cheerful voice made him look up, startled.

"Well! You look to be in about as good a temper as I am!"

---

Legolas stretched in his chair, trying to hide how bored he was. He'd already had to sit through his fathers version of small talk – mostly relating to his family; that was, how well his eldest two sons and his four daughters had done in marriage, and how none of Elrond's children were married yet, were they? How strange! Making it sound as if there was obviously some flaw within the sons and daughter of Elrond that they could not find a husband or wife (having briefly met the daughter, he doubted that was so), and then adding a couple sly digs at Legolas, who'd only agreed to come to this stupid meeting to avoid the constant parade of daughters and sisters of various Elf-lords of Mirkwood, Lorien, and the Havens, displayed in front of him by his mother, who, although quite skilled in the art of match-making, lacked any subtlety whatsoever. A faint scowl appeared on his pale features.

He should have been listening, but instead he'd been examining Elrond and his various advisors and clerks. Only one of the sons was present; he had swanned in on the arm of a tall dark elf and now made himself quite comfortable in a seat by his father, although he was not contributing much to the discussion, watching his companion do so instead. On the other side of Elrond Half-Elven was a golden-haired, blue eyed Eldar he'd been briefly introduced to upon their arrival. Glorfindel. He'd obviously not much liking for Mirkwood, and unlike Elrond, didn't bother to hide his disgust at having to deal with Legolas's Ada. He was handsome enough, but too haughty for Legolas's tastes.

Hmm... what trouble could he get up to here, then. The first hundred years of his life or so he'd strived to impress his father, jumping to obey his every order, practicing with the bow every day till he was one of the best in Mirkwood – no effect. The four hundred years since he'd stopped bothering about what his father thought had been much more fun. Dallying with pretty elf-maidens of low birth didn't do much – unless he'd threatened to marry one of them, and that wouldn't have been any fun. Switching to males – now that had irritated his father. Technically, there was nothing wrong with such joinings, no real objection his father could make – but there was an unwritten rule that pairings of that type were for the lower classes, those who had no need to worry about heirs or marriage alliances. To date his best conquest had been his brother in law; the brother of his sisters husband, and the younger son of another powerful family of Mirkwood. His father had almost exploded – and the young elf in question had been hurriedly married off to a maiden of the Havens, and sent to live with his new father-in-law for good measure.

An affair with one of Imladris – now that would be the topping on the cake. Smirking with mischief, Legolas began to plan. It was easy, of course, to simply find a partner; he was well aware of his beauty, and how to use it to best advantage. But what would cause the greatest scandal? Pursing his lips in thought, Legolas examined the scene in front of him. No-one would notice if he left now – except perhaps the son of Elrond, who had been watching him from across the way. Ai, but he was taken, wasn't he? Legolas wasn't heartless. He did have some standards, as low as they might be.

Slipping out of his chair and away from the endlessly boring meeting, Legolas wandered the endless passageways. How did anyone find their way around this place? His fathers realm was darker, but laid out with a sort of military precision, there was a logic to it; these airy halls seemed to have grown rather than have been built, new rooms sprouting wherever they saw fit.

Taking a narrow passageway – the road less travelled, after all, was often far more interesting – he soon found himself in a maze of storage rooms. His keen ear heard a quiet sob, and he followed the sound through to a little room filled with fine silks – and a most appealing sight, leaning against the back wall. He knew who the elf must be instantly – or half-elf, rather, for despite his obvious distress and his dishevelled manner, he was the spitting image of his twin, the son of Elrond Legolas had just left behind.

Pouting lips begging to be kissed, dark hair falling about his face – Legolas liked dark elves – he was obviously expecting solitude, so lost in his sorrow he didn't even look up. A slow grin appeared on Legolas's face. The son of Elrond; his father would be furious! Not to mention that the half-elf looked to be in desperate need of some consoling – or failing that, just some good sex. The young elf licked his lips as he took a step towards his prey, running his eyes over the handsome form. Yummy.

But he didn't say that. Instead he took another step closer and exclaimed: "Well! You look to be in about as good a temper as I am!"

The dark elf looked up, startled. His eyes were grey, and full of sorrow. "Who are you?" he asked, pouting even more. "I came here for solitude – leave me be!"

"I am Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, and I did not come here for solitude, so you will have to put up with me for now." he replied, settling himself down next to the other. "And your name I don't believe I know..."

"Elrohir." said the other, still sulking. "Will you leave now?"

"No, I'm afraid not." He laughed, looking up at the other elf through his eyelashes. "Not until you tell me what has you in such a foul mood."

"Shouldn't you be at the council with your father?" asked Elrohir, pushing him away. "Not here, asking me stupid questions?"

Legolas shrugged. "Probably. But I do a lot of things I shouldn't, dear Elrohir. Don't you?"

Still avoiding answering any questions, Elrohir replied "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you do things you shouldn't?"

Legolas thought about that for a second. There were a dozen ways he could have answered that question, but for some bizarre reason, he opted for the truth.

---

Elrohir had had barely a few moments to himself, and then his privacy was invaded by this obnoxious, far-too-cheerful, elf of Mirkwood. Too beautiful for his own good – a fact he was obviously well aware of, he'd sat down beside Elrohir as if he belonged there, and proceeded to badger him with questions. Couldn't he get some peace and quiet around here?

He'd managed to avoid telling Legolas anything by answering a question with a question – that was one of Glorfindels tricks, he thought, his scowl deepening. The blond elf now paused, considering his last question. In colouring he resembled Glorfindel very much, though he was a little shorter and leaner in build, but by his manner he was considerably younger.

The prince tilted his head to the side, then answered. "I seek my fathers disapproval. I have found it much easier to obtain than his approval, and far more enjoyable."

Although it was said in a light tone, a smile on his face, Elrohir saw the hurt hidden in his eyes and he leaned forward a little.

"I am sorry."

Legolas looked taken aback. "Why? I care not what my father thinks." But you do, thought Elrohir, but did not say so. Instead he said. "Are you his youngest son, then?"

"Ai, and my youngest sibling has a good thousand years on me, as I am so often reminded!" Legolas sighed, procuring a small bottle from somewhere or other. He took what looked to be a goodly measure from it, then offered it to Elrohir. "Mirkwood brandy – the finest, stolen directly from my fathers private stock."

"I probably shouldn't..." started Elrohir, then, seeing the grin on Legolas's face, accepted it and took a cautious sip. He'd heard stories about this stuff, and as it burned it's way down his throat, he could see why. There was a pleasant warmth to it as well, though, and he took another mouthful before handing it back.

Their conversation ranged wide in topics, although the arrogance of older elves towards their younger brethren was a common theme. "You know what the worst part is?" said Legolas. "I'll never catch up. I'll always be the youngest, and I can't do anything about it."

"How old are you?"

The prince drew himself up. "Five hundred and three."

Elrohir laughed. "That is young!", and Legolas threw the now empty bottle of brandy at him.

Finally the topic turned to the various things Legolas had done to incur his fathers wrath of late – from the childish, like composing official letters in mirror-writing, or putting tree-sap on the underside of his eldest brothers crown – "I wouldn't do that to my father, he'd kill me! He's very proud of his hair.", to the very un-childish. Elrohir quickly found he was definitely wearing to many clothes, and his leggings became far too tight, as Legolas recounted how he'd seduced his brother-in-law, leaving nothing out, and with associated hand movements. Does things he shouldn't, indeed!

He was going to regret this later, he was sure, but Elrohir couldn't help himself. Once the prince finished his story, obviously expecting a response, he said. "Then if you really want to annoy your father, you should seduce one of the Peredhil."

Legolas slid closer, his hand moving from Elrohir's knee (and when had it been placed there, precisely?) up along the length of his thigh. "I already thought of that." he said. "But somehow I don't think your Ada is interested."

Elrohir snorted, barely believing what he had just heard. One look at Legolas, the corners of his mouth twitching as he obviously struggled to keep a straight face, and he collapsed into helpless giggles, the prince joining in. The thought of Legolas trying to seduce his father – and his Ada's likely reaction, was far too funny for words.

"Elbereth!" he cried, through tears of laughter. "I think he'd die of embarrassment."

"He'd die of something else, if my father ever found out!" returned Legolas, now lying half across Elrohir's lap. Somehow Elrohir didn't think that was by accident, but at the moment he didn't care. Let Glorfindel disapprove all he liked!

"But seriously," Legolas added, looking up at Elrohir, "if you are offering, I would most certainly accept, for I admit to finding you uncommon fair." For a second Elrohir froze, before deciding this was another joke. "You must be mistaking me for my sister." he returned, feeling the tips of his ears blushing red again. They were always the first thing to go...

"Indeed?" asked Legolas, grinning. He slid a sly hand across Elrohirs groin, lingering over the hardness there. "I don't think many would mistake you for a maiden, Elrohir."

Now blushing furiously at the princes touch, Elrohir shrugged, not knowing what to say. He didn't think of himself as attractive; Elladan was the more outgoing, more often noticed. "I am not beautiful." he said. "I am just Elrohir."

One eyebrow lifted. "And if I asked you, would you ride me then?" There was another pause, before both elves were overtaken by helpless laughter once more.

"Ai, your jokes are terrible, Legolas."

"Perhaps my talents lie in other areas." suggested Legolas.

"That is yet to be seen." replied Elrohir. He was almost shaking with nervousness, unused to the thought of making a lover of one he had only just met.

"Then take me to a bed, lirimaer, and show me some of these Noldor perversions my father talks so much about."

"Noldor perversions?" asked Elrohir, ignoring the pet name for now.

"It's one of my fathers rants." replied Legolas happily, getting to his feet.

"About how the Noldor are treacherous and selfish, and how they practice all kinds of perversions, and something something something."

"And what's something something something?"

"That's the point at which I usually stop listening."


They crept along the passages quietly, until suddenly a voice called from behind him. "Wait up, Elrohir!"

Elladan. Wonderful. Elrohir spun to face his brother. He'd get an earful at a later time, no doubt, and he could only be thankful that Melpomaen was not with him.

"And where are you stealing off to with our Legolas?" he asked, a smirk on his face as if he already suspected the answer.

"Elrohir was kind enough to offer me a tour of Rivendell." answered Legolas haughtily, although Elrohir knew his brother well, and guessed that he'd already worked out what was going on.

"Really? Sometime, you should get him to show you his bed. It's really very interesting."

Elrohir groaned inwardly, the treacherous blush creeping over his face.

"But I think it will have to be some other time." Elladan continued. "Your father wishes to see you at once. There was an emphasis on the 'at once', I think."

Legolas sighed loudly, his eyes darting to Elrohir. "He is in the main hall?"

Elladan nodded, and Legolas moved gracefully off down the corridor.

"Sorry, brother." Elladan said, but he didn't seem very sorry.


Dinner that night was torture. Elrohir sat beside his father, Glorfindel taking his usual place at his side as if nothing was wrong. Probably hoping not to give anything away to Elrond. Bastard. Elrohir watched Legolas, across the room sitting beside Thranduil, who was examining the food as if he thought it was most likely poisoned, and being very careful not to compliment anything, even by dint of showing he enjoyed it. Glorfindel spent most of the time talking to a visitor from Lorien who was sat on his other side, and Elladan and Arwen, perhaps as a favour to him, kept Father occupied with idle chatter, leaving Elrohir free to push his food around the plate and watch the elf he was rather hoping to have for dessert.

But it was not to be. Directly after dinner, Thranduil headed off to the rooms he'd been given, herding his son along with him. Elrohir was the recipient of a pair of rolled eyes and what he hoped was a significant look. The next morning found the party from Mirkwood packing to leave, Legolas being kept busy by his father. Did the King of Mirkwood know something? But he treated Elrohir with his usual mild distaste and subtle insults, not the flat out anger that would be expected if Thranduil knew what he'd been up to with his son.

He barely saw Legolas until right before they left. Sitting in a balcony watching the various servants load things onto the horses, he was surprised by a pair of arms encircling his waist. He turned to see Legolas smiling at him.

"I haven't got much time now," he whispered. "But I'll be back. You promised me some Noldor perversions, Elrohir, and I'll be back to collect."

"Promise?"

His reply was a kiss, Elrohir's muffled exclamation of surprise soon melting away as Legolas proved that indeed, his talents did lie in other directions.

"Promise." said Legolas firmly, once he was released. "And Elrohir?"

"Yes?"

"Whoever he is, the one who broke your heart? He's not worth it. They're none of them worth it."

Before Elrohir could think of a reply to that, Legolas was gone. So instead he just watched out from the balcony, knowing he couldn't be seen from the ground. Legolas looked up at him as he mounted his horse, and then they rode out, and were gone.

Elrohir shook his head at yet another young maiden, refusing the offer of a dance. His brother was doing more than his fair share, after all; Elladan laughed at him in passing as yet another partner swept him away. They'd come back from Orc hunting two days ago – Elrohir had been happy to forget all about blond haired heroes of the first age and too-pretty princes who didn't keep their damn promises in the simple motions of hack and slash as he and his brother chased down any foul beasts too stupid or too slow to get out of their way.

When they'd come back, there'd barely been time to wash and change clothes before they were hurled into the preparations for the festival. Which, unfortunately, had meant seeing a lot of Glorfindel, although they rarely talked nowadays. Five years had passed since what Elrohir thought of as 'the mistake', and yet he still couldn't meet Glorfindel's eyes, afraid of what he would see there.

Where was he, then? His father and Erestor sat together – both of them having declared themselves as 'too old' to participate in the dancing, and were no doubt discussing something completely boring, such as the local weather or the guard roster. Various others sat at the tables which dotted the length of the great hall, mostly in twos or threes, chatting and laughing, one getting up to join in the dances as another sat down. Glorfindel would not be among the dancers; he didn't like crowds, or the crush of bodies. Elrohir smiled, watching Elladan revel in just that as his brother flitted from partner to partner. Glorfindel didn't like festivals overmuch either, but his sense of duty would surely insist that he be present if Ada had asked him. He sighed. Glorfindel didn't like a lot of things. Thranduil, or indeed anyone who gave insult to Imladris. Dancing. Messy writing, and ink that was too thin and watery. Those little pastries with the slice of apple in them. Any mention of the Last Alliance. Being kissed by Elrohir.

He took another sip of wine and sighed. He probably should stop drinking; it was beginning to cloud his head, making him dwell on things best forgotten. His eye caught a flash of gold – Glorfindel, sneaking out of the hall into the gardens.

Things Glorfindel did like: tradition, being alone, and the little 'summer-house' nestled up by the falls, almost overgrown with vines. A fair walk uphill, and into parts of the gardens his father now preferred to let grow wild. Not many even knew it was there, Elrohir thought. Secluded. Private. He finished his wine, and making polite small talk as he worked his way through the crowd, slipped out into the gardens to follow Glorfindel.

---

"Elrohir still seems quiet."

"Mmm." replied Erestor, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I still haven't convinced Glorfindel to go talk to him. He insists he tried once, but I can't imagine he tried very hard."

"You didn't mention I knew?" said Elrond.

"I should think either of them, if they realised how obvious they are, would die of shame." Erestor sighed. "Perhaps I should have told Glorfindel earlier. I did try to dissuade Elrohir from his infatuation, but he would not listen."

"He rarely listens." Elrond watched his other son and daughter on the dance floor. "In fact, none of them listen to me anymore."

There was a pause. Both of them sipped their wine, smiling and nodding at the various guests when appropriate.

"I wish I could hope that they would make something of this, but I admit I think Glorfindel is not an suitable partner for my son. He is too set in his ways to make compromises for another, and he carries too much sorrow." said Elrond finally.

"That is perhaps putting it mildly." replied Erestor. "There are times I think our friend is only waiting to return to the Halls."

Elrond frowned. "Surely he is not that bad. Besides, his sense of duty would never allow it."

"Screw his duty." snapped Erestor, flushed with wine. "He needs to swallow his pride and explain a few things to Elrohir, not push him away and alienate him so."

Both of them watched Glorfindel slip out and up towards his usual hiding place, and Elrohir follow.

"What makes me think this is not a good thing?" asked Elrond.

"It might be a good thing." said Erestor, but his expression said otherwise.

---

"What do you want, Elrohir? I came up here for solitude."

Normally such a cold tone in Glorfindel's voice would have upset Elrohir, but now he was merely reminded of something similar he'd said to a prince of Mirkwood a fair few summers ago, and he smiled, and replied

"And why did you do that?"

"Why did you follow me up here?" There was a challenge in the blue eyes that Elrohir could not meet. He turned away, feeling foolish again. What had he been thinking? Another tendril of grief wound its way around his heart. When he'd read stories and legends as a child, about great tragic love affairs that ended in disaster (Elladan had always preferred the ones that involved battles and heroic deaths), he'd imagined that a death of grief would be rather like an arrow wound to the heart – painful (judging by the reactions of the many orcs he'd delivered that exact death to), but mercifully short. This was nothing of the sort. Perhaps because Glorfindel and he had never been bound, his grief chose instead to torment him, one day leaving him able to laugh and joke and hunt with his brother as if nothing had happened, and the next weighing so heavily upon him that he felt scarcely able to move from his bed, and lost his temper and snapped at everyone – even his brother and Erestor – upon the slightest provocation.

Now it just ached. His head turned away, lost in thoughts of his own folly, he barely heard Glorfindel's question, quietly spoken upon the breeze.

"Are you all right, Elrohir?"

Was he... No, he was not all right, not at all. Not even a little bit. I am in love with you, he wanted to say. Wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. How dare Glorfindel ask him that question, with that expression of fatherly concern on his face, when surely he must know how Elrohir was hurting?


But among the things that Glorfindel didn't like – raised voices, losing control, showing emotion. So Elrohir didn't say any of those things. A little sullenly, he replied "I am fine."

Obviously Glorfindel wasn't convinced. He stood up – ever-graceful; Elrohir had always liked the way that Glorfindel moved – and came closer. Elrohir knew he should go. Should tell Glorfindel not to come near him. Too tempting to do something Glorfindel wouldn't like. Too tempting to do something he shouldn't. Half-remembered the smile and the glitter in Legolas's eyes and the subtle hurt behind.

"Do you want to talk, pen-neth?"

Now that really hurt. "Why do you still insist on calling me that? I am no longer a child, Glorfindel!" Ignoring, of course, the sulky tone and the whine in his voice.

"Compared to me, you are a child, Elrohir."

Calm as always. Blond hair cool and near-silver in the moonlight, eyes like ice. Elrohir had a sudden urge to warm him up, to force him to react, to melt, to display some emotion other than utter calm, gentle understanding or mild disdain.

"I am not a child, but you will never let me prove that to you, will you?"

He took a step towards his prey, coming nearly nose-to-nose with Glorfindel; true to form, Glorfindel did not step away, maintaining that cool gaze.

"Let me prove myself to you." Elrohir whispered; Glorfindel moved away. Not a retreat, just stepped out of Elrohir's reach and almost-snapped.

"You've had too much wine, Elrohir. Go back to the dancing, or go to your bed."

Was that a trace of anger in his voice? Elrohir grinned, now enjoying the game. What else could Glorfindel do to him, having already broken his heart?

"I don't want to dance, and the only way I am going to bed, lirimaer, is if you come with me."

"Enough of your games, Elrohir! Leave me in peace!"

Thus obviously considering the conversation over, Glorfindel returned to the seat he'd occupied, looking over the gardens, staring out to the west. But Elrohir had broken the surface now, gotten a reaction, and he wasn't about to give up.

"Then you deny that you want me?"

A heavy sigh. "I thought that part was already made clear. Why are you intent on reopening wounds that were better left closed?"

Wonderful metaphor, thought Elrohir bitterly, but this wound never did close. "Prove it." he said out loud.

"Prove what? Must you talk in riddles on top of everything else?" Relishing in the unusual sight of a flustered Glorfindel, who was now almost pouting, Elrohir stalked forward. "If you will not let me prove myself to you, then you must prove to me that you do not want me." He laid a hand on Glorfindel's knee, only to have it batted away.

"Take your hands off me."

The tone was cold, but behind it was a slight panic. Not thinking of the consequences, Elrohir leapt forward and claimed Glorfindel's mouth, tasting him, his hands roaming across the body beneath him, ignoring the muffled protests of the other. Quickly (for he was sure Glorfindel would not allow this indulgence to continue for very long), he dwelved beneath the layers of clothing until his greedy hands found their way between the others legs, stroking, teasing him into hardness. Elrohir may not have been as free with his affections as his brother but he was most definitely not a child, and he set out to prove this to Glorfindel, and was rewarded with a little gasp that was not quite a moan, uttered by the lips still held captive against his own.

While Elrohir was thus distracted by the feel and scent and taste of Glorfindel, Glorfindel managed to gather himself and gain some purchase against the bench, in order to throw Elrohir off him. Glaring at his old student while rearranging his robes around him, he asked "Are you happy now?"

Elrohir didn't know whether to laugh or weep. "No." he said quietly. Touched his lips, only half-believing what he'd just done. "Legolas was wrong, you know." he added.

"What?"

"You are worth it."

Then he turned and swiftly walked towards the halls of Imladris, heading not back to the festivities but to his own lonely bed, and it took a great force of will with every step away from Glorfindel, not to look back, not to turn back.

Seasons passed and Glorfindel and Elrohir did not speak of what had happened that evening at the festival; they barely spoke at all, and when Elrohir was not out with his brother hunting down Orcs he moped around Imladris being studiously avoided by Glorfindel, who was managing to keep himself very busy in the library and the study, the stables and the training grounds, rushing back and forth from Lorien when messages were sent, and in every case managing to be where Elrohir was not. This suited Elrohir just fine, although he'd heard Erestor mention to Elrond, in high humour, that he thought Glorfindel was trying to put himself and Lindir out of their jobs.

His father hadn't mentioned anything about Glorfindel to Elrohir, and for that small mercy Elrohir had been most grateful. It was enough to have his brother making half-guesses and sly comments – mostly when the two of them were alone, thank Elbereth. Elladan wouldn't mention anything he knew to Ada – mainly for the reason that Elrohir knew far too much about his brothers continuing series of childish pranks – you'd think Elladan was still twenty, not two-and-a-half thousand and counting.

That was, his father hadn't mentioned anything about Glorfindel until now.

"Who told you?" Elrohir snarled, pacing back and forth in his fathers rooms. "Erestor?"

"Elrohir, really." The pacing stopped, Elrohir suddenly reduced to a child again by two words and a slight shake of his fathers head. "Do you think me blind? It has been clear for many years that things are not right with you, my son. It was only recently, when Glorfindel started acting so..." Elrond waved one hand in the air vaguely. "Nervous. Jumpy, especially around you or when you were mentioned. And the way you avoid each other - did you imagine you were being subtle?"

Elrohir shrugged, treacherous tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "I... I..."

Elrond sighed, wrapping his arms around his youngest son. "I wish I had known about this before, Elrohir. I might have been able to warn you that Glorfindel would not be a right choice."

"What do you mean, not a right choice!" Elrohir almost screamed the words. "How dare you say something like that about him! Glorfindel..."

"... has saved my life more times than I can count, and is a wise and true friend, yes." Elrond continued for him. "But in matters of love – he is broken, Elrohir. He has been hurt too many times, and has turned his heart to stone because of it."

"Hurt by who?" asked Elrohir.

"Even if I knew, it is not my story to tell." laughed Elrond. "Sometime, when you two are speaking to each other, you might want to try and pry it out of him. It may help lay your heart to rest. He gets back from Lorien in a week – that gives you plenty of time to work out what you want to say."

Elrohir nodded, already in better spirits. "Thank you, Ada."

---

Legolas would have paced, if it had been possible to pace while on the back of a horse. It had taken a long time to convince his father that he should be allowed to join the messenger service. He would have preferred the border guards – riding out against whatever foul things threatened the borders of Mirkwood, but that would never be allowed. Far too common. Sons of Thranduil took their places at the heads of armies, and served no other. It had taken a continuing series of pranks and scandals – mild ones, of course – he needed his father in a fairly good mood – for Thranduil to decide that his youngest son would be less trouble outside his own borders.

The first few times he'd been sent to Lorien, which had been very interesting indeed. He'd amazed his family by causing no scandal among the people of the Lady of the Wood, mostly due to a very interesting far-speak conversation he'd had with Galadriel the first time he'd crossed her borders, which could be summarised as 'keep your eyes, hands and any other bodily parts off my husband, and restrict your conquests to within the ranks of the Galadhrim, and we'll get along just fine.' He'd been a little insulted that she thought he'd go after a married elf, but as to the second part of the deal, he had no problems. Haughty the Guardians of Lorien might be, but that arrogance was made much more tolerable once Legolas had them stripped naked.

Smiling at old memories, he looked around at his dour companions. Finally he got to take a message to Imladris, and he had three of the sourest old elves to escort him his father had been able to find. On purpose, no doubt, but Legolas would be able to get around them, no problem. The 'note' his father had given him was burning a hole in his pocket. Thranduil had taken a long time to work out the sort of prevention measures required to keep Legolas from reading his correspondence, but, and he deserved credit for this one, he had got it, eventually. Thus the contents of the letter could only be speculated on, although Legolas imagined that 'fiery' would be an understatement. Oh well, if it got him away from Mirkwood – oh, and into the arms of Elrond's son, who, with any luck, would still be interested in Legolas keeping his promise.

He smiled. His fathers realm was intolerable right now, what with not one but two of his interchangeably blond, beautiful, and married sisters visiting – as if he needed reminding that he had nephews and nieces older than he was, complete with their proud fathers, his brothers in law, parading them around and dropping not so subtle hints about their unmarried sisters – not to Legolas, but to his mother.

Well, damn them all. His father had plenty of heirs – Mirkwood was brimming with his kin. Why did they still felt the need to push Legolas around and talk about 'marriage alliances'? Why did they need more allies? He was related by marriage to most of the noble Sindarin families. His father might mutter things about the Noldor under his breath, but the fact was that Noldor, Sindarin and Silvan Elves mingled quite happily in all the other Elvish cities. Look at Lorien! Ruled jointly by Galadriel and Celeborn, one Noldor, one Sindarin. Or Imladris, which although ruled by one of Noldor blood, welcomed all – including grubby humans, as his father put it – there had been several staying there at the time of Legolas's last visit, seeking lore. It was even rumoured that Elrond encouraged trade with the Dwarves, and that he had a great horde of Mithril underneath Imladris – although that story was probably much exaggerated.

As far as Legolas could see, his father, Elrond, Celeborn – all these Elven Lords were much the same, sitting on their high throne arranging things and looking down on him as a child who knew nothing, while they argued about petty insults and imagined slights made many a century before Legolas was even born. The smile slipped off his face. At least Elrond of Rivendell and the Lord and Lady of Lorien didn't try to marry him off all the time. Perhaps if he created enough of a scandal it would offset his royal blood enough that no-one would want to marry him, and he'd be exiled to Lorien and live happily among the Galadhrim, sleeping high among the mallorns with whoever took his fancy for the night.

More likely his father would soon grow tired with his childish games and drag him to the altar kicking and screaming, to be married to some witless maiden from the furthest reaches of Mirkwood, where he could produce more precious heirs for his father while not having anyone around to cause scandal with.

Love? That word was not to be spoken among his family. Love was out of reach for Legolas; he'd only once dared his heart, only to have it broken in two. He'd been only sixty years old, barely past his majority. But old enough, old enough. Old enough for Arminas, soon to be his brother in law, to take advantage of. Tall and proud as his name suggested, he'd had Legolas's heart as soon as he'd walked through the door with the rest of his family, seeking a marriage alliance. Such promises he'd made, in the dark places of the forest, and all broken as soon as his marriage to Legolas's youngest sister was decided upon. They'd gone off to live happily ever after – and Legolas had bit his tongue, because he knew his sister loved Arminas – loved him, that son of an Orc – and it would have broken her heart to know that her husband had had her brother first.

But you know what? He didn't care any more – let them say what they would about the youngest son of Thranduil. Whispers in the dark of his fathers kingdom – and the scandal of Arminas's younger brother, shamed for dallying with Legolas, whispered loudest of all. Let them called him flighty, immoral, despoiler of fine young elves. It had all been worth it for the look on Arminas's face when he'd heard. He'd cornered Legolas in his fathers house – but Legolas had just taunted him about his family's weakness for princes of Mirkwood – and suggested he go after Arminas's widowed father next. Then he'd given him a lingering kiss, and left him standing there, trying to figure out what just happened, while Legolas stalked away, tired of love, tired of his family, tired of Mirkwood.

He smiled broadly at the dark elf riding down from Imladris to meet them. One of the sons of Elrond, although he couldn't tell which one. He'd have to work out how to tell the difference – after all, he wouldn't want to end up kissing the wrong one. The smile became a smirk.

"Hail, Legolas of Mirkwood. You have a message for my father?"

"Indeed... uh..."

"Elladan." supplied the other, a matching smirk on his face. "My brother is not doubt in his rooms moping, if you were wanting to cheer him up" he added softly as he brought his horse along side Legolas's, the words not going beyond the two of them, although his chaperones looked suspicious.

"Indeed?" was all Legolas replied as Elladan turned his horse around, riding back up to Imladris beside them.

---

Elrond opened the letter from Thranduil cautiously, holding it by one corner as if it was poisonous. Judging from the looks on his and Thranduil's sons faces, they were also expecting it to be of a similar nature.

He opened it up – five sheets, Elbereth save him! – and scanned the contents, occasionally wincing. He would give this one accolade to Thranduil – he had an uncanny ability to insert a sly and biting insult into what would otherwise seem to be an innocuous statement.

At the bottom of the last page, below Thranduils overly-flowery signature, was a post-script: "And keep my son out of trouble!"

Elrond snorted. If he couldn't do it himself, why should he expect others to tame his wayward youngest child? Preparing to compose a suitably frosty reply to the letter, he turned his head to the two waiting by the door. Thranduil's overly-pretty son – you could see where he got his reputation as a breaker of hearts – was in secret conference with Elladan, the two of them obviously plotting something. Well there went keeping him out of trouble. Elladan was about as much trouble as Legolas could possibly find in Imladris. He sighed.

"Elladan, could you show Legolas to his rooms? And if you two are planning anything illicit, immoral, or scandalous, I don't want to see it, hear about it, or have any knowledge of it. Understood?"

"Yes, Ada." replied Elladan, while Legolas just bowed. They left, giggling quietly like children, while Elrond turned back to a blank sheet of paper and considered his opening sentence – it was the most important, after all.

He already had a good idea of what to write for the post-script. Thranduil was going to have a fit.

---

Elrohir sighed, flipping idly through the pages of a book Erestor had lent him, although he didn't have the patience at the moment for reading Quenya. Casting it to one side, he stared blankly at the wall opposite, although the wall opposite was actually not blank, but painted with the same complicated mural that had been there for, oh, a good thousand years or so.

What he was really doing was avoiding thinking about what to say to Glorfindel. The plan which had seemed so good in theory was coming into a few problems in practice. Mostly in the area of how to start the conversation – an apology was probably in order, but finding a nice way of saying 'sorry I couldn't take a hint and tried to molest you in a gazebo' was currently eluding him.

A wayward strand of hair fell into his eyes, but before he could brush it away, another hand reached around and gathered it up, a second hand tracing patterns on Elrohirs back. Elrohir flipped over, brushing away the hands, only to find himself pinned beneath a gleeful looking Legolas.

Elrohir swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. How had the prince managed to sneak up on him? Again, his mind reminded him. A more snarky part of his brain commented that at least the view was good from down here. Legolas was wearing what were probably his travelling clothes, although why he needed to wear a tunic so tight and flimsy that every muscle was visible through the fabric...

Meanwhile, while Elrohir's mind was trying to wrap itself around the fact that he was lying underneath an extremely gorgeous elf, Legolas was taking advantage of his hesitation and had wrapped himself around Elrohir, pressing their bodies together, the friction both delicious and unbearable.

"Yummy." Legolas whispered, and then curled his tongue around the tip of Elrohir's ear, the busy hands now reaching between their bodies to unfasten Elrohir's more substantial clothing, making quick work of the fastenings, then sliding across the now bare chest, seeking out pleasure points, teasing nipples into hardness, quieting Elrohir's gasps and moans by the simple method of covering the trembling lips with his own.

It was just before those talented hands decided to dip beneath the waist-band of Elrohir's leggings that he suddenly remembered why this was wrong. An image of Glorfindel swam before his half-lidded eyes and he removed the hands from his body and squirmed out from underneath Legolas – a process that took some time, partly because Legolas, having got hold of him, was rather reluctant to let go, and partly because to be honest, he didn't really want to be let go of.

"What did you do that for?" asked a petulant looking Legolas, pouting and rubbing a wrist that had apparently been injured in Elrohir's struggle to escape.

"It's... complicated." said Elrohir, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry, Legolas, but I just can't do this. It's nothing I can explain... nothing you'd understand, anyway."

"Ah."

Elrohir looked up sharply. "What does that mean, 'Ah'."

"This is a love thing, isn't it. That's why you assume that it's nothing I'd understand."

"And of course you know all about love, I suppose?"

A fleeting shadow passed across Legolas's eyes, the blue darkening to steel-grey. "More than you might think, son of Elrond." He settled back down next to Elrohir, suddenly serious. "At least tell me who it is."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Besides, it's someone here at Rivendell, you wouldn't even know them."

"I might." said Legolas. "Come then, tell me which horrid elf broke your lovely heart. Who wronged you with false promises and tainted kisses?"

"It's not like that," muttered Elrohir, then quieter, under his breath,

"Glorfindel would never..."

"Glorfindel?" asked Legolas, now grinning again at this piece of information. "You... That dull old fellow? Last time I was here he spent the entire time glaring at me down the end of his nose, as if merely by existing I was offending him for some obscure reason. He..."

Further exposition on Glorfindel's character was not provided, as Elrohir leapt on top of Legolas, knocking the breath out of him and reversing their earlier positions. "You've no right to talk about him! What would you know!"

"I'll give you this," Legolas replied, not seeming at all put out, "he's more than passing fair." He grasped a strand of Elrohir's hair, hanging free, and twisted it round his finger, pretending to consider it. "But he's a fool and more than a fool if he chose to cast you aside."

Tears came a-sudden to Elrohir's eyes. "You don't understand, do you?" he asked quietly. "He can't cast aside what he never took up in the first place."

This statement finally silenced Legolas. "I am sorry." he said, finally. "I let my mouth run away with me and it gets me into trouble more often or not." There was another pause. "He must be blind!" Legolas finally blurted out, and received another glare. "Sorry. It's just... well, why not? Is he married, or does he only care for maidens?"

"Neither." said Elrohir flatly. "I guess it's because I'm so much younger than him, and because he works for my father."

"That's not a very good reason." said Legolas. "I'm one of the youngest Elves in Mirkwood, and I've taken plenty of lovers who work for my father." He paused. "Or in some cases, used to." Elrohir threw a pillow at him, and a fight ensued.

"So show him you're not a child." said Legolas, picking feathers out of his hair. One of the pillows had been an unfortunate casualty of their fight, made worse by the fact that Legolas had then started pulling handfuls of feathers out of it to throw at Elrohir.

"I already tried that." replied Elrohir. "It didn't go too well." He gave a brief explanation of the 'incident' at the festival.

"You didn't!" gasped Legolas, eyes wide.

"I shouldn't have."

"You Noldorin pervert! Well, why don't we try a different method?"

"Like wha.."

Legolas kissed him, and this time Elrohir didn't bother worrying about Glorfindel, or about whether or not he should be doing this. He instead concentrated on stripping Legolas bare – a process made more difficult by the fact that Legolas refused to stop kissing him – and then on shedding his own clothing. By the time that was finished, he'd stopped worrying, stopped thinking altogether, and just felt.

---

One week later.

A small smirk was on Elrond's face as he finished his letter to Thranduil. He'd noticed, as had indeed most of Rivendell, the goings-on between Elrohir and Legolas – and, like most of Rivendell, had been perfectly happy with the situation as it had improved Elrohir's mood substantially. He didn't think Elrohir was under any illusions as to the nature of the son of Thranduil – but this short affair could be a sign that he was finally letting go of his unrequited love for Glorfindel.

The smirk faded, a frown replacing it. The reaction of Glorfindel was difficult to guess at. There was no doubting that he would hear about it sooner or later – secrets were hard to keep in Imladris, and this one hadn't been very secret to begin with. Elrond could only hope that it would help his son and his old friend mend the gap between them, and not drive them further apart.

He scanned the letter over once more, the smirk returning. Erestor had assisted in the composition of the letter, but the post-script was his and his alone.

It read:

P.S. Your son was no trouble at all. Indeed, he has made himself very welcome among the residents of Imladris, and I know for sure that he will be sorely missed by at least one of my sons.

Erestor entered, peered over Elrond's shoulder and sniggered. "You're sending the poor boy home as a sacrifice, you know."

"As if those 'companions' of his don't already know, and won't be giving a full report to Thranduil the moment they get back?" retorted Elrond. "If they were supposed to be chaperones, they've failed miserably."

"Lucky for Elrohir." laughed Erestor.

Elrond rolled his eyes, slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it, handing it over to Erestor.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go give that to our soon-to-be-departing prince."

"Assuming I can wrench him away from your son!" said Erestor, taking the letter and disappearing out the door with a flourish.

---

"Have you seen my other green tunic?" asked Legolas, tucking the letter a smirking Erestor had delivered to him into a pocket. Elrohir bent over and looked under the bed. No tunic. The offending piece of clothing was finally located hanging on the balcony, where it had been cast away at some point. "Here it is."

The last item packed away, Legolas stood up and sighed. "I guess I better be going."

"You sound so eager to get home." smiled Elrohir

"I'm just imagining my fathers reaction to the news my dear chaperones will gleefully deliver to him upon our return. If you never hear from me again, my sweet dark one, it is because I've been banished to the darkest regions of Mirkwood as a hopeless cause." He placed one hand against his chest and fluttered his eyelashes at Elrohir. "Woe, woe is me."

"Don't be so melodramatic. I'll come and rescue you, anyway."

"All by yourself?"

"Of course not!" said Elrohir, grinning. "I'll get some of the Galadhrim to help me."

"Then I'll never be rescued! Haldir will insist on stopping to have sex every five minutes and it'll take you a thousand loa to so much as get to Mirkwood!"

Elrohir laughed out loud at that one. "Come on, I'll walk you down to the stables."

"And give me a goodbye kiss?"

"We'll see what happens when we get down their."

Laughing even more at the pout Legolas directed at him, he led the way.

---

Glorfindel eyed the guard-tower at the edge of Imladris suspiciously. As usual, whichever two elves were supposed to be on watch were playing games or gambling or something even more immoral and leaving the border wide open. Intending to sneak up and give whoever it was a fright, he edged his horse onwards slowly. Soon voices were audible, floating over on the wind. Gelmir, a young Noldor with more beauty than wit, and that irritating fellow who called himself 'Figwit', claiming he'd long ago forgotten his true given name, who Elladan was so enamoured with.

He frowned, concentrating on the conversation they were having.

"And this round is mine also! Ah, Gelmir, you make this too easy for me. Perhaps we should stop now, and leave you some money, and dignity."

"Perhaps if you didn't cheat so much, Mel!"

"Who me? Why dear fellow, I am the epitome of innocence!"

"You're the epitome of something."

There was the noise of game-pieces being swept away, and then the conversation started up again.

"So our dear prince of Mirkwood will be leaving us today."

"I'm sure you're just brimming with sorrow, dear Gelmir. Sorrow that you didn't get a go at him, that is."

"There's no need to be vulgar. Besides, Elrohir laid first claim to him." Glorfindel froze. Surely they couldn't mean...

Melpomaen sniggered. "I'll be as vulgar as I like. Really, Gelmir, you must have heard the stories coming out of Mirkwood. That boy's been through half the forest. Driven his father to distraction. I heard some of the Galadhrim talking about him as well. He's as fickle as the East Wind, dear friend. Elrohir was just the last in a long line of conquests. I hope he doesn't take it too hard."

"I hope he doesn't take it too badly." said Gelmir softly; he was better friends with Elrohir than with Melpomaen.

"Oh, Elrohir's no fool." replied Melpomaen lightly, "I'm sure he knows what type of creature Legolas is; so he took advantage of that, so what? You can hardly blame him. The prince is certainly not hard on the eyes, hmm?"

What Gelmir would have replied to that is unknown, for it was at that point that Glorfindel appeared at the door to the watch-tower, one eyebrow raised.

"Shouldn't you be watching instead of gossiping like young maidens?" he asked.

Gelmir stuttered out an apology, but Melpomaen just sighed, as if Glorfindel was somehow overreacting.

"Don't think I won't report you to Lord Elrond for dereliction of duty and disrespect, Melpomaen."

"Go right ahead," replied Melpomaen grinning. Then he added. "Guess you left it a bit late, Glorfi. Elrohir's found another playmate."

The door slammed, Glorfindel scowling as he rode up towards the stables. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

He slowed as he neared the stables, snippets of another conversation becoming audible.

"...maybe next summer." said an unknown voice.

"You would be welcomed." replied Elrohir. "You are always welcome here, Legolas."

Glorfindel led his horse in the direction of the conversation, quietly. He wasn't listening in, not at all. He was just trying not to interrupt..

"Welcome to Imladris, or welcome to your bed, lirimaer?" said the voice that must be Legolas.

Glorfindel closed his eyes. No, no, no. Please no. Despite himself, he peered around the corner, Elrohir and that horrid child of Thranduil's were standing far to close together in his opinion. Even as he watched, Elrohir slung an arm around the other with a familiarity that was almost painful to watch.

"To both, if you're good!" he laughed, and in return Legolas said. "Oh, I can be good." and kissed him.

It was at that point that Glorfindel led his horse around the corner, and coughed loudly. The two broke off the kiss, Elrohir's eyes widening when he saw who had walked in on them.

The blonde elf pouted. "I guess I'd better be going then." he said, leaping up onto his steed with practiced ease. "The others are waiting for me already. Namárië, Elrohir."

"Namárië." returned Elrohir softly.

There was a long, awkward pause.

"We need to talk."