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.
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Bad Influence by Jenny T
Story notes: A couple hundred years before the whole ring business. The twins are, we'll say, a bit over two thousand years old, Legolas is around five hundred. Celebrian has gone West already.
