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."
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Chapter notes: Legolas returns to Imladris planning to lead Elrohir astray – Elrohir lets himself be led.
