It was midwinter, and Legolas stood out on the balcony of the White Tower, his hair caught up around his face in the wind and his tunic of pale blue silk flowing free around him. The sun had just risen in the sky, and the land of Gondor was spread out like a carpet below. He loved to stand here, to feel the sunlight on his face and the wind in his hair, for it made him feel close to all that he held dear.
A padding of footsteps behind him made him turn around, and a little child ran to him and grasped his legs.
"Ada!" he cried excitedly. "Grandfather is here!"
"What?" said the elf, lifting his son into his arms. "He is here already?"
"Yes, yes, I have seen him and uncle. They have just come now! Come on, let's wake up Papa."
He scrambled down, ran to their rooms and threw himself onto the bed, where Boromir lay sleepily.
"Papa, papa!" said Anarion. "Wake up, they are here!"
Legolas laughed as Boromir rubbed his eyes and frowned.
"How is it you can talk so much so early in the morning?" he said. "Come here, you rascal!" And he seized Anarion round the middle and tickled his belly. The child squealed and rolled over.
"That is to teach you not to trouble your papa for no good reason," said Boromir, mock-sternly, once Anarion had got his breath back.
"Now, then, what is all the commotion?"
"Grandfather and uncle are here," said Anarion, his large green eyes open wide. "I have seen them. Let's go down!"
"Hmm," replied Boromir. "They have come early." He did not sound over pleased.
"I will greet them, my lord," said Legolas, eager to see his family. "Come down when you are ready."
Boromir took his time in getting dressed, for he was in no great hurry to spend time with his in-laws. When he descended at last, he found Anarion ensconced on his grandfather's lap and Thorongil speaking to Legolas in Sindarin. Although his son could speak the elvish language well, Boromir had never learned more than a few words. He had no need - he was quite sure that any elf talking to Legolas would be complaining about his human husband.
"Welcome, your highness," he said to Thranduil.
"Thank you, Boromir. Are you well?"
"Yes, very well. Good morning, Thorongil."
"Good morning," he replied politely.
"Have you had a safe journey?"
"Yes, we thought we would come ahead of the others since the going was clear," said Thranduil. "I wanted to spend some more time with this little one," he said, and ruffled Anarion's dark hair.
"There is a big cake in the kitchen," the little boy informed him. "It is for the feast. I am going to eat it all!"
"All of it? You a very greedy. And you will feel ill afterwards."
Anarion did not think so. "I like cake," he said. "I can eat lots."
Thorongil stood and lifted him up, as Boromir sat down.
"You are growing bigger and bigger, every time I see you," he said. "And Legolas looks thinner than ever. Are you eating well? You look so pale."
Boromir suppressed a groan. Every time they visited, they thought Legolas looked thinner, as if his husband chose deliberately to starve him.
"We have brought lots of good food, anyway. All of your favourites."
"Suram?" asked Anarion hopefully, referring to an elvish sweetbread.
"Yes, suram as well. And we have a special gift for you too."
"Oh, where is it?"
Thranduil rummaged in a large pack.
"Well, now, what have I got? What do I think you would like best?"
"I would like a horse," said Anarion seriously.
Thranduil laughed.
"Well, another time, perhaps. When you are a little older. But here is your gift," and he knelt and handed Anarion a gilded spinning top, of elvish make, so that it hummed a tune like a bird and glowed with a golden light when it spun. The child's face shone.
"It is my best present ever," he said (although he said this about most presents, being quite easily pleased.) "Thankyou!" He hugged his grandfather and ran off to play with his toy, while Thranduil shook his head.
"A horse, indeed," he smiled, and turned to Boromir. "He will be soldier, I suppose, just like his father."
"He will have to learn more of the Eldar before he can do anything of the sort," broke in Thorongil, before Boromir could speak. "These Men think life is nothing but battles and war. An elf knows he must become wise and learned in tradition before he is a true warrior."
"He will study when he is older, Thorongil," said Legolas lightly, preventing any response from his husband. "Now, come let me show to your rooms."
He took them on a tour of their quarters, pointing out the sights of the city that could be seen from the windows, and telling them what changes there had been since their last visit. He showed them the gardens and forests that Boromir had planted for him, so that he might enjoy the smell of woodland air and the company of the birds and trees, even within the bounds of the city walls. Faramir and Eowyn came to meet them, and they took lunch together outdoors, while Anarion ran around in the crisp air and played with his little cousins.
Throughout, Thorongil sniped about Boromir and how he chose to take care of his husband and bring up his son. The man ignored him for the most part, since he was used to such comments. But the feast that night was scarcely any better. The rest of the Mirkwood party had arrived, and with the food itself, no one could find fault, for the kitchens had outdone themselves in their efforts to serve dishes in the elvish style. But thought Thranduil made some attempt to be friendly to his son-in-law, Thorongil could not refrain from criticising him.
Boromir complained to Legolas when they were alone that evening.
"You would be his friend, if you only tried," said Legolas. "You and he are just the same - both very stubborn."
Boromir was insulted by the suggestion that he and Thorongil were in any way alike.
"How is it that he is so ill-humoured and aloof? You bring sunshine into any room you walk into, while he is like a thundercloud."
Legolas looked uncomfortable.
"Please, my Lord," he said gently, "he is a good man, in truth he is. He was married once, many, many years ago, but the poor elf maiden died of illness, and I do not think he has yet recovered from the blow. I have tried to comfort him, and I hope that one day he might find someone else to share his life with. I know that he seems severe, but he always means well."
"I see," said Boromir thoughtfully. "That is the problem, is it? Well, there are many lovely elf-maidens among your company. I will simply find him one to suit and make him happily married again."
"Boromir!" exclaimed Legolas. "It is not a joke. He will be mortified."
"I was not joking," said Boromir firmly. "To be frank, I am tired of his censure, and if a maiden is what it takes to end his complaints, then that is what I will find him."
On the last evening of the Mirkwood company's stay, a celebratory banquet had been arranged. A huge table, laid with gold dishes and glimmering crystal, stood in the centre of the great hall, which had been decorated with candlelight and silver ornaments. The crowd was dressed in its finest raiment and a group of them in one corner played music on elvish instruments. As they cleared their plates, the laughter and the noise growing ever louder, Faramir nudged his brother with a smile on his face.
"Look at Thorongil!" he said in a low voice. "Have you ever seen him more uncomfortable?"
Boromir turned to see his brother-in-law blushing as he spoke to a beautiful elf-woman. It seemed as though he was trying to make excuses to sit down on his own.
"Ah, yes," said Boromir, pleased. "I asked her to go and talk to him. She is pretty, don't you think?"
"What?" said Faramir in surprise. "You asked her? Why?"
"Well, he is so very shy. I thought it might make him more sociable."
"Boromir," said Faramir sternly, "you are not trying to arrange some sort of courtship, are you?"
"No," said Boromir, but it was less than convincing.
"I don't believe it," said his brother. "I thought you and he were at loggerheads."
"We are, but a romance might distract him from forever pointing out my lesser qualities. That is what I am hoping, anyway."
Faramir rolled his eyes.
"Look!" said Boromir triumphantly, "they are dancing now!" And indeed, the elf woman had pulled Thorongil to his feet and was dancing with him around the room. Thorongil was trying to smile but kept looking over his shoulder as if were hoping the music would stop soon.
"I think they look very well as a couple, don't you?" said Boromir to his brother, who did not trouble to reply.
In a corner, Legolas was talking to one of his elven friends. The gossip of Mirkwood had been exhausted, and the conversation had turned to the troubles Legolas had experienced in Minas Tirith.
"I know of this," said his friend. "Men have their own ways, and think very differently to us."
"Yes, they think that a man who lies with another man is base and pitiable, and has no honour. But I will not stand to see him denigrated in my presence. He has defended me when I have been disrespected at court, and I will do the same for him. But that is not the worst of it. They pass judgement on my son as well."
"What could they possibly say against him?" she asked.
"What could they not say?" he countered. "They call him half-breed, mongrel. They say he was conceived on a bed of shame."
"No!"
"Yes. He is young now, and it does not affect him. But when he is older, he will have to face these insults himself."
He turned at that point, for Boromir had approached him and held him round the waist.
"Are you going to sit and talk all night, or will you dance with me?" he said playfully.
Legolas laughed and joined him in the centre of the hall. He was light on his feet, as were all elves, and danced with tremendous grace. The wine continued to flow, and the music carried on long into the night.
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