Title: Don’t Fade Away  
Author: Ilye  
Email: ilye_elf@yahoo.co.uk  
Summary: Second in the "Kindred Spirits" trilogy. Elrond notices something troubling 
Legolas, who is falling ill. Only the touch of a certain someone helps...Aragorn/Legolas 
and Elrond/Glorfindel slash. Romance and very angsty - attempted suicide in later 
chapters.  
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimers: Not mine, don't sue. Wow, how original was that...  
Author’s Note: Takes place after the Quest, mainly in Rivendell. Everything is the same 
as in the book, save maybe a few things which have happened between Legolas and 
Aragorn, and were cunningly omitted by Mr. Tolkien (we grovel at your feet, sir!) There 
will be slash in later scenes, with a good deal of angst and lemon thrown in for good 
measure; I know how you guys love it! Right, on with the story… 
 
 
***************  
CHAPTER 1  
*************** 

Fading Into Realisation
 
“Excuse me.” He pushed away his filled plate and slipped through the doorway into the 
hall before his host had chance to prevent him. 

Elrond sighed. He had not seen Legolas eat for three days, and it was beginning to show 
in the already pale complexion of the Elf. He stood up without a word and followed the 
Elf, leaving Glorfindel mid-way through his sentence. 

“Legolas,” he called. The Elf appeared not to hear; he was lost in his thoughts and glided 
along the passageway towards his chambers in a trance. Elrond called his name again, but 
it seemed that Legolas was too absorbed in his dreams to hear. The Elf reached his 
chambers, turned the doorknob, and entered the room. He turned to close the door, but 
was startled out of his musings to see the Lord of Imladris standing in the way. 

He jumped. “Elrond!” he gasped. “Do not creep up behind me like that; you alarmed 
me.” 

Elrond’s expression was grave. “I could hardly call it creeping up behind you, Prince of 
Mirkwood. I followed you out of the dining room, and have called your name four times 
between there and here.” Legolas turned his eyes to the floor. “There is something 
bothering you, Legolas. You have not eaten for three days. You are unusually quiet; I 
have hardly heard you laugh all week, and you have not sung at all. Will you not tell me 
what ails you?” 

Legolas turned his large, sapphire eyes to meet those of the half-Elven. “It is nothing,” he 
said quietly. 

Elrond knew that it was not nothing. He stepped inside the door and closed it, motioning 
for Legolas to sit on the bed for it looked, from the way he was swaying gently, as though 
he was having trouble staying on his feet. Legolas did so gladly. Elrond drew over a chair 
and sat opposite the Elf, returning the sorrowful look in his eyes. Legolas looked away 
quickly. 

“You should eat, Legolas, you need to keep up your strength.” 

“I am not hungry.” 

“Is there nothing I can entice you with? You look drawn, and if something is affecting 
you then you will need the nourishment to combat it. Perhaps some fruit and bread – 
something simple.” 

Legolas agreed with a slight incline of his head. Elrond strode to the door and gave his 
orders to the Elf who happened to be passing outside. He then turned back to Legolas and 
sat back down, lifting his chin gently with his fingers. “Look at me, Legolas.” 

The Elf lifted his eyes to the half-Elven’s and suffered the searching look given to him. 
Elrond was once again surprised by the way in which he was struck by the other’s beauty: 
the fathomless blue eyes into which he stared, uncharacteristically impossible to read; the 
waist-length hair, like threads of gold, which was braided back from his face into those 
customary for the Royalty of Mirkwood; the cream skin revealed by it and the face 
which, although unusually lean, still held the glow of a thousand candles and the grace 
bestowed only on a member of the Firstborn. 

Elrond reached out to embrace the Elf’s shoulders, and felt the taught, tensed muscles 
under the archer’s fine, smooth skin covered by his dark green tunic. He sighed again. 
“Please confide in me, Legolas. You have not been yourself since you returned here from 
Mirkwood for the Reunion of the Fellowship. I am worried about you; I care about you; 
let me help you.” 

Legolas turned his azure eyes to the stone floor yet again. “I am tired,” he murmured 
through pinched lips. “Maybe I will feel better after spending some time relaxing here; 
Imladris is well known for it’s healing influences, after all.” 

At that moment there came a knock on the door. Elrond rose to answer it and found 
himself face to face with a concerned Glorfindel, holding a plate of food. He frowned. 

“Did I summon you?” He murmured irritably, careful not to alert Legolas to the exchange 
with the Elf-lord . 

“No, it was just that….” 

“Return to the dining hall and wait there. I will deal with you later,” hissed Elrond and 
firmly shut the door in Glorfindel’s face. He turned to Legolas, anxious lest he had 
noticed the hurried dialogue between them; he need not have worried. The blond Elf once 
again held a vacant expression on his face, and his eyes had glossed over and deepened to 
the extent that Elrond wondered if he had actually fallen asleep sitting up. He called the 
Elf’s name gently, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. Legolas gasped and jumped, 
startled out of his reflections once again. 

“Here, Legolas, your food has arrived.” Elrond handed the ornately decorated plate into 
the slender hand; it’s owner immediately started inspecting the designs of birds and trees 
on it, before delicately selecting a grape and placing it into his mouth, chewing slowly 
and thoughtfully. The dark-haired half-Elven studied the other’s actions. His trained eyes 
deduced that Legolas was, indeed, tired; however that was not the whole story. There was 
something else troubling him, but he could not quite detect what it was. Legolas tore off a 
piece of bread and absentmindedly placed that into his mouth, too. He looked up 
questioningly at Elrond, perceiving the half-Elven’s gaze on the top of his head once 
more. 

“Perhaps it is just tiredness.” Elrond gave Legolas the benefit of the doubt. “I suggest you 
finish eating and go to bed. Sleep late; I do not want to see you out of bed before eleven 
o’clock at the earliest.” His featurewere solemn, but a twinkle could be seen in his eyes. 
“Or I shall see to it personally that you are drugged and tied hand and foot to this bed!” 

Legolas looked up in alarm, but saw the gleam in Elrond’s dark eyes and allowed himself 
a small, uneasy smile. “Fear not, my Lord, I do not wish to have my dignity removed in 
such a manner!” he jested. 

Elrond smiled himself for the first time since he had left the dining hall. Although not 
completely himself, this was more like the Legolas he knew. “I do not doubt it.” He 
turned towards the door, before remembering something else he needed to say. “I am sure 
you will want to be well rested so that you can greet Aragorn and Arwen upon their 
return tomorrow. They are due to arrive at about two o’clock. Sleep well.” He closed the 
door just in time to miss Legolas sitting up dead straight and the widening of his large, 
round, sapphire eyes at the mention of Aragorn’s name, and followed the passageway 
back towards the now empty dining halls where Glorfindel was waiting. 

***************  
CHAPTER 2  
*************** 

Contemplation 

Glorfindel sat alone at a table in the deserted dining hall, toying with a fork which had 
not yet been cleared away. He started when he noticed Elrond standing over him, and 
stood, paying respects to the seemingly irate Lord of Imladris. “I am sorry, my Lord,” he 
began softly. “I did not know, and when you left your dinner mid-conversation, I 
thought….” 

“Oh be quiet, it is not that,” snapped Elrond. 

Glorfindel looked confused. “My lord..?” 

Elrond looked up to see the pained expression in the midnight-blue eyes of the golden-
haired Elven lord, his brow twisted in bemusement. “I am sorry, Glorfindel, I am not 
angry with you.” He sighed audibly. Glorfindel looked at him encouragingly. “I am just 
worried about Legolas. There is something not quite right about him; he claims it to be 
nothing more than exhaustion, but he seems…I do not know…” 

Glorfindel nodded silently. He knew, as usual, what the dark-haired figure in front of him 
meant to say. “Yes, I have noticed something too. He seems listless; it is as if he is, well, 
starting to fade.” He regarded Elrond carefully; the Lord of Imladris was tense through 
his shoulders and wore a weary expression. 

Elrond agreed. “If I did not know better, I would say that he is affected by some form of 
grief, although I do not know of any such event which would have affected him so. 
Maybe I should ask Thranduil, for if it is I need to know soon so that something can be 
done about it.” His shoulders slumped and he placed his elbows on the table in front of 
him, resting his head in his hands. 

Glorfindel moved to the other side of the table so that he was positioned behind Elrond, 
and started to lightly rub his tense shoulders; at this Elrond started to relax. It was hard 
work keeping sharp eyes on such guarded Elves, he thought. He was suddenly alerted to 
the fact that he was still hungry by an impatient growl of his stomach. Glorfindel picked 
up on it immediately, and let his hands rest where they lay on the half-Elven’sshoulders. 

“Are you still hungry, Elrond? You hardly ate tonight; you left early to see to Legolas. I 
can arrange something to be fetched from the kitchens, if you wish, for there was plenty 
left over tonight.” 

Elrond was stirred slightly by the thought of food; he had not realised how hungry he 
truly was. He lifted his head from his hands and leaned into the back of the chair. 
Glorfindel’s hands slipped down to his chest, but made no effort to remove them. “Mmm, 
yes, I think that is just what I need. I would be most grateful…” 

Glorfindel left him not time to finish, but motioned to a member of the kitchen staff who 
was walking past the door with his right hand, before letting it slip back to its previous 
position. The Elf outside the door understood, and turned back towards the kitchens. 
Elrond leaned his head back against Glorfindel’s chest and briefly closed his eyes. 
“Legolas says that he is tired, and I confess to feeling the same. It has been a long day, 
and lively hobbits who need constant watching can easily drain the energy of an old half-
Elf!” He opened his eyes, and Glorfindel could see a gleam of humour lurking within the 
depths. 

“What remedy did you suggest to Legolas, my lord?” he asked gravely. 

Elrond did not catch the similar gleam returned in Glorfindel’s eyes. “I suggested that he 
finished eating and went to bed immediately; I also stated that he should sleep late and I 
did not want to see him up and about before eleven o’clock at the earliest.” 

The golden-haired Elf standing behind the dark half-Elf feigned bewilderment. “But my 
Lord, you know what the Prince of Mirkwood is like; he rises with the sun and has never 
been known to sleep after eight o’clock at the very latest.” 

“I do know that, indeed. That is why I told him that I would see to it personally that he 
was drugged and bound hand and foot, should he set foot on the floor before that time.” 

“In that case maybe I should adopt similar methods, since you are much the same and no 
doubt will wish to see that Imladris is perfect for the return of Arwen and Aragorn 
tomorrow…” mused Glorfindel quietly, now finding it impossible to keep a smirk from 
his features. “Hold on, I think I have a silk scarf in my pocket…” 

“Don’t you dare!” growled Elrond, grimacing as he realised that he had led himself 
directly into the trap. 

“Oh, do you feel that strongly about it?” inquired the flaxen-haired beauty innocently. He 
leaned closer to the Lord of Imladris, so that his breath brushed against Elrond’s slightly 
blunted ear, and whispered, “Then perhaps I should consider other methods of keeping 
you to your bed past a certain hour of the day…” He flicked his tongue out so that it just 
caught the tip of the almond-shaped ear, and Elrond shuddered involuntarily at the 
unexpected pleasure drawn from such a simple touch. 

He turned his head so that he was able to look the precocious Elven-lord directly in the 
depths of his deep-blue eyes, when they were both awoken from their jests by the heavy 
footsteps of the cook returning with a plate of food for Elrond. Both looked up 
sheepishly, and whilst Elrond focused his gaze on the polished marble floor, trying not to 
smirk, Glorfindel merely glanced directly at the cook and shot her an unashamed, 
lopsided grin. She handed the plate to him, and then left hurriedly, wondering if she was 
able to trust her eyes any longer. 

Elrond raised his gaze from the floor and lifted it to Glorfindel instead, before he felt his 
spirits lift and both Elves broke out into a fit of giggles. Glorfindel was the first to 
recover his composure, and eyed the food. 

“Let us not forget what your first order was, before we get carried away with methods of 
keeping you confined to your bed,” he said simply, selecting a strawberry from the dish 
and bringing it to Elrond’s lips. Elrond looked at him quizzically, before deigning to open 
his mouth and let Glorfindel feed him the red fruit. 

***************  
CHAPTER 3  
*************** 

Sleepless Reflections
 
Legolas, meanwhile, regarded the plate of food in his hands disinterestedly as his eyes 
danced with emotion and a peculiar range of expressions crossed his features, before 
setting it to the ground at his feet. He sighed and stood up to change his clothes, not 
intending to break his promise to Elrond – for the time being, anyway. An Elven Prince 
should never be seen to lose his dignity, after all, and a hefty dose of sleeping powder 
before being bound hand and foot to his bed was a poor way to set about keeping it! His 
lips twitched into a faint smile, before twisting into a frown as he sat back down, 
recalling Elrond’s last words before he left. He considered them for a few moments, then 
stood up once more and crossed the room to the wardrobe. 

The tall, blond archer undressed, removing his dark green tunic and leggings and grey 
shirt and boots, being attired in the official colours of Mirkwood. He selected a long 
white sleeping robe with elaborate stitching and long sleeves, slipped it over his head, 
and returned to his bed, the end of the robe trailing behind him on the cold stone floor, 
snuffing out the candles lighting the room en route. 

Peeling back the soft silk covers, the Elf slowly slipped inside them and drew them back 
over his firm chest. He focused his eyes on the ceiling and neatly folded his hands over 
his stomach, but his eyes did not take on the vacant expression usual to Elves when thy 
slept. Try as he might, he could not forget the words which Elrond had spoken before 
leaving his chambers, and tossed and turned in vain attempts to become more 
comfortable. 

He had automatically assumed that Aragorn’s absence on his arrival in Imladris had 
meant that he would not be attending the reunion of the Fellowship. He had not had 
contact with Aragorn since they last parted in Gondor on the completion of the Quest two 
years earlier, so had no way of knowing whether he was attending or not. On his arrival 
and discovery that Aragorn was not present, he had supposed that he now had too many 
kingly duties to allow him to attend the reunion; all four Halflings had arrived two weeks 
previously, closely followed by Gimli and then Mithrandir a few days later. 

Legolas had been the last to turn up. He had felt to embarrassed to ask, lest the dark eyes 
of the half-Elven Lord of Imladris see through him and read precisely what he was 
thinking, so had simply remained quiet and withdrawn in the hope that Aragorn would, 
eventually appear. But as the days dragged on the hope faded and the beautiful Prince 
increasingly shrank back into himself, finding a decrease in his appetite and natural 
vivacity, and interacted with the other remaining members of the Fellowship less and 
less. He had only truly been made aware of his condition when Elrond had faced him 
earlier, and he now reflected on this change in himself. 

He did not want Elrond to fret over him, so had told the half-Elven that he was merely 
tired; this was, in part, true. He felt drained and perpetually lethargic, and had done, truth 
be told, for a good while now. However, there was something else which he could not 
quite place his finger on. It was almost as if he could sense a very faint nagging feeling 
behind his breastbone, but when he tried to focus on it, it vanished, leaving him in two 
minds as to whether he was imagining it or not. 

Suddenly the Elf sat up and shook his blond head to clear it, making him realise that he 
had been in such a hurry to follow Elrond’s orders that he had forgotten to undo his 
braids. Nimble fingers danced up the plaits, loosening them and combing them through, 
until his long, glistening hair hung over his face. He sighed again; there was no use in 
lying in bed trying to sleep; and went to stand, brushing his hair aside and tucking it 
behind his ears. As he lowered his feet to the floor, he heard a clatter and felt soft wetness 
surround his left foot. He groaned, having forgotten the half-eaten dish of food lying next 
to the bed, and hopped over to the washstand in the corner where he used a towel to 
remove the sticky fruit from between his toes. 

Placing his left foot back on the ground, the tall blond figure stood for a few seconds, 
contemplating what to do next. Although tired - and something else besides - he still 
shone faintly in the darkness of the bedroom, radiating a soft glow from his pale skin, and 
his waist-length hair flowed around and down his shoulders. He turned back to the bed, 
but quickly decided against that idea; he knew that he was not going to be able to sleep 
tonight, whatever Elrond threatened to do to him, since the combined anxiety of 
anticipation and dread of the arrival of the King of Gondor was weighing a little too 
heavily on his mind. As he turned his glance away from the bed to look around the room, 
the white dish and the food scattered around it caught his attention, closely followed by 
the weak, sweet smell of crushed fruit still emitting from his left foot. 

He needed only to consider the notion momentarily; surely if he went to find Elrond, 
claiming to be hungry, Elrond would insist on remaining with him and talking with him - 
providing he did not tie him up on sight, he thought wryly. Perhaps he could learn more 
about Aragorn and Arwen’s imminent arrival, along with any other interesting news, 
since the Lord of Imladris was bound to have had contact with his daughter and new son-
in-law in the past two years, even if their best friend had not. He strode purposefully 
towards the door. 

Turning into the passageway towards the dining hall, Legolas realised that it must have 
been later than he had anticipated; everything was unusually quiet and confusingly dark, 
and not a single person could be seen. The large grandfather clock on his left attracted his 
attention, and he was astonished to learn that it was already well past midnight. Had he 
really been lying there thinking for that long? he mused, nearly slipping back into his 
previous thought pattern. 

Fortunately a loud rumble emanating from his stomach drew him back to reality, and he 
realised that he actually was hungry. He looked around, frowning and trying to remember 
which direction the kitchens were in, since he had not paid much attention to such details 
since his arrival, and finally set off in one direction which looked vaguely familiar. 

***************  
CHAPTER 4  
*************** 

Caught Red Footed
 
Elrond made sure to close the door quietly but firmly behind him and crept off in the 
direction of the kitchens, treading exceedingly lightly even for an Elf, lest he should wake 
anyone at such an ungodly hour. He smirked inwardly to himself as he followed the well-
trodden passageways, clad solely in his sleeping robes, only to stop dead at the sight he 
saw before him. 

Legolas had apparently slipped back into his earlier train of thought, betrayed by the 
glaze over his cerulean eyes and the vacant, serene expression upon his face. He was 
wandering randomly along the passage, not knowing or concentrating on where he was 
heading; he held himself tall and erect and his long white robe trailed behind him to give 
the impression that he was floating rather that walking. His long golden hair shimmered 
in the moonlight coming though one of the skylights in the corridor, flowing and 
fluttering around and over his strong, firm shoulders and chest. His faultless, pale skin 
still radiated that soft glow, which was offset by the crisp white and fine Elven handiwork 
of the robe that he wore. 

Elrond gaped silently; for a minute he thought that he had seen an apparition, before he 
reprimanded himself that such things were nonsensical and most certainly did not appear 
in the middle of a corridor in Imladris! He shook his head and, after scrutinizing the 
figure as closely as possibly from the distance at which he stood, he was not able to 
suppress a loud gasp when he recognized it to be the Prince of Mirkwood. It was not, 
however, loud enough to rouse Legolas from his trance-like state, but Elrond was not in 
the least surprised by this. It had taken several tries to catch his attention the last time, 
only a few hours before; now Legolas would be even more exhausted, Elrond mused, 
knowing that Legolas would not have slept. In fact…he peered closer at the blond Elf’s 
face, which was set into a dream-like trance – almost as he was asleep. Elrond’s mouth 
tightened and his mouth tensed. Legolas was sleepwalking. He knew better than to wake 
a sleepwalker, so instead merely stood where he was as the Elf glided gracefully past. 
The half-Elven could not help standing bewitched by the beauty of the Prince, his guards 
let down and his true beauty and emotions allowed to flow without the restrictions of 
consciousness. 

The dark-haired outline gazed, awestruck, at the exquisiteness of the blond, before he 
caught and checked himself. Now was not the time to be lusting after troubled Princes, he 
scolded himself…his thoughts wandered elsewhere and he smirked, remembering the 
other reason… 

He shook himself again; what was wrong with him tonight? he chided. He had other 
problems to see to. He glanced down the corridor to where Legolas had wandered and 
began to follow him, cautious not to give reason for the blond Elf to be unnecessarily 
disturbed. Although Legolas did not know it, he was drifting towards the kitchens. 

The staff had forgotten to put out the lamps in the kitchens; as Legolas walked through 
the heavy door, held open for him by Elrond, he was awakened by the change in light 
intensity and his eyes suddenly focused and deepened. He gradually became aware of his 
surroundings as he returned to consciousness, and began to glance around, murmuring 
quietly. 

“Where am I? How did I get here? Have I…what have I…” 

“Legolas,” breathed Elrond gently, so as not to startle the golden-haired Elf who did not 
know that the Lord of Imladris was standing behind him. 

Legolas’ head snapped round, his azure eyes wide with astonishment and confusion. 
They softened as he recognised Elrond, and his tense shoulders loosened slightly. 

“Elrond, I…” he began weakly. “I am sorry, I do not know…” 

The dark-haired Elven Lord walked forwards to hold the blond’s shoulder, who was 
swaying unsteadily again. “Ssh, Legolas, do not worry. Come and sit down.” He steered 
him towards the large, solid wooden table and drew out a chair into which Legolas sank 
down gratefully. The younger Elf looked up dejectedly at his elder. 

“What…I…how did I…what are we doing here?” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly, 
trying to clear it. The whole situation was all so confusing to him. 

“I was on my way to the kitchens to get some food…” Elrond trailed off and cleared his 
throat, looking rather embarrassed, but Legolas did not notice the subtle flush rising to 
the half-Elven’s neck and cheeks. “So was I,” he replied. “I was hungry, and I stepped in 
the last dish…” 

Elrond looked slightly baffled, but did not question that point further. “I came round a 
corner and saw you walking along in a trance; at first I thought you were an apparition, 
but closer inspection revealed that you were sleepwalking.” 

Relief flooded Legolas’ face. “That explains it all; I am glad.” 

Elrond, however, glanced at him sharply. “No, Legolas, it does not explain anything at 
all. I am sure I do not need to point out to you that Elves who are merely tired do not 
stray from their beds in the middle of the night; they sleep. There must be something 
troubling you, for Elves do not sleepwalk unless there is a matter pressing heavily on 
their minds. Please, Legolas, tell me what worries you.” He looked imploringly into the 
blue eyes of the Elven archer, who exhaled heavily. 

“To be honest, Elrond, I know not. I truthfully did think that I was simply tired, as I told 
you earlier, but now I have my doubts even as you do.” 

The Lord of Imladris gazed evenly at the other sitting opposite him, prompting a further 
response. “There has been something, though. I cannot quite put my finger on it…it is a 
very faint nagging sensation here,” he placed his hand delicately over his sternum, “But 
until now I have thought that I was imagining it, because every time I focused on it, it 
would just vanish.” He finished abruptly and returned the now concerned look of 
Elrond’s with a perplexed glance of his own. 

Elrond was silent for a minute as he weighed up the evidence. He had a slight suspicion 
as to what was affecting Legolas, but he needed confirmation; besides, now was not the 
time to tell the Elf, considering the already bewildered state that had been brought upon 
him that night. He decided to change the subject. 

“You said that you were on your way to the kitchens when you fell asleep, Legolas. Are 
you hungry?” Elrond spoke lightly, glad that the Prince was at least showing signs of an 
improved appetite if nothing else. 

“Yes, I was…am,” responded the Elf. “May I have something to eat, please?” 

“Of course!” Elrond was surprised at the meek comment from the Prince. “You know 
that you are to make yourself perfectly at home in Imladris; behave as you would back in 
Mirkwood. However, since I am here, what can I get you?” 

Legolas looked up. “Surprise me!” he smiled. 

Legolas looked up from the floor yet again. “Oh, yes. I could not sleep, and as I went to 
rise I stepped in the dish.” He smiled wryly into the dark eyes that had turned to watch 
him, and lifted his left foot to show the fair skin stained various colours from the deep 
berry juices. “I washed, but smelled the juices and realised I was hungry, so I came to 
find something, someone.” He paused. “I did not realise how late it was; I got lost. I hope 
I did not wake you.” 

Elrond crossed back over to the wide table and drew his chair back towards himself, the 
subtle flush returning to his neck and cheeks. “No, no, Legolas,” he said distractedly. “I 
was – er – hungry too.” He set the food in front of the flaxen-haired Elf and sat down 
opposite him. The Elf regarded the food impassively, before slowly picking at it. Now 
that he was here with Elrond, as he had wanted to be earlier back in his chambers, he 
could not bring himself to ask about Aragorn. Instead he busied himself with eating, 
waiting to let Elrond make the first move. 

“I assume you will be looking forwards to seeing Aragorn when he arrives tomorrow; 
you were such close friends,” said Elrond gently, trying to extract a response from 
Legolas. He nodded, thankful for his mouthful of food preventing him from speaking 
immediately. 

“Yes,” he answered slowly, wording his response with caution. “We have not had contact 
for many months; I should be glad to see him. As you will be to see Arwen, no doubt,” he 
added hastily, feeling Elrond’s examining gaze upon him and suddenly feeling the need 
to change the subject. 

Elrond’s eyes twinkled in both joy and sadness at the mention of his beloved daughter 
who had given up her immortality to be with the Man whom she loved. “Indeed, for what 
sort of father would not wish to see his child at any chance he gets?” It was now time for 
the half-Elven’s eyes to gloss over momentarily, and Legolas fell to studying the wafer 
that he had selected from his plate. Silence fell over the pair. 

Both were startled out of their thoughts as quickly as they had descended into them, 
however, by loud footsteps falling outside the kitchen door. They glanced up as it creaked 
open, to reveal Glorfindel standing with nothing but a fine white bed sheet wrapped 
around his waist, unbraided golden hair tumbling to his shoulders and his own blue-grey 
eyes gleaming mischievously. He did not appear to notice Legolas sitting at the table. 

“Come, now, my Lord,” he jested. “If there is no cream available, I am sure that 
something similar will work just as well!” 

Legolas gaped at Elrond, who groaned and hid his head in his hands.
 
***************  
CHAPTER 5  
*************** 

Miscommunications 

Glorfindel wondered at Elrond’s reaction to his words – the Lord of Imladris had been so 
keen when he had left for the kitchens – before perceiving a soft chuckling from his left. 
He closed his eyes and shifted so that he was facing the sound. He slowly opened his 
eyes, wincing in foresight of what he might see, and groaned as Elrond had when he saw 
the Prince of Mirkwood sitting at the table. Legolas saw the expression on the face of the 
other golden-haired Elf-Lord, grinned, and turned back to Elrond who was, by now, 
slumping on the table with his head hidden in his arms. At this the blond archer could do 
nothing but break into fits of giggles, his peals of silvery laughter reverberating through 
the kitchen. 

Elrond looked up at Legolas on hearing the laughter and smiled as best he could in such a 
situation, for it was the first time he had heard the Elf laugh genuinely since his arrival at 
Imladris over a week ago. He glanced back at Glorfindel, who had pulled up a chair of 
his own lest his knees give way beneath him, and was leaning heavily against the back of 
it with distress covering his handsome features. Elrond glared viciously at him - this was 
going to be difficult to sort out – but his head snapped round when he heard a thud as 
Legolas fell off his chair. 

This, however, did nothing to sober the sniggering Elf; in fact it only served to heighten 
his amusement as he rolled helplessly on the floor, arms clutching his stomach, powerless 
to control the laughs emitting from his throat. 

Glorfindel stood up to see what was occurring on the other side of the table, before 
glancing at Elrond, whose lips were turning up at the corners despite his vain attempts to 
keep them set in a thin line of disapproval. Elrond looked back up at Glorfindel and 
caught his eye; both read the same mixed expression of shock, amusement, bewilderment 
and ever-decreasing self- control on the other’s face, and could not help but break out 
chuckling softly at the impossible scene lying in front of them. 

Eventually all three Elves managed to regain control of their emotions and stopped 
laughing. Legolas stood up unhurriedly, still smirking faintly at the other two bemused 
figures sat at the table opposite him, and shook his head before resuming his place in 
front of them. He rubbed his right wrist and frowned slightly as he lowered himself into 
the chair, flexing it slowly. He grimaced; he must have landed awkwardly when he fell 
off his chair, but was too overcome by his fits of giggles to notice at the time. 

Elrond noticed Legolas’ scowl and tenderly reached out to take the wrist in his hand. He 
manipulated the wrist gently, noting when the golden-haired Elf’s features twisted 
slightly in pain. 

“It is not broken, Legolas, but it will need binding,” he stated matter-of- factly, thanking 
the Valar for something to take the focus from Glorfindel and himself for the time being. 
“My equipment is in my chambers; if you would follow me…” He went to stand, but at 
this both blond Elves were completely incapable of suppressing a loud snort each. The 
dark half-Elven merely raised an eyebrow in question. 

“My Lord, I would not recommend…” began Glorfindel weakly. Elrond brushed his 
comment aside with a sweep of his hand. 

“Legolas’ wrist needs binding, Glorfindel, and as I said my equipment is in my room. Do 
you have any other suggestions?” 

Before Glorfindel could open his mouth to reply, Legolas cut in with a wicked glint in his 
eyes, unseen by Elrond. “Come, Elrond, pay no heed. I will follow you to your chambers 
so you can see to my wrist.” He glanced slyly at Glorfindel; both fair-haired Elves had 
obviously picked up on something that the dark-haired had not. 

Without a further word the Lord of Imladris rose and walked out of the door, closely 
followed by Legolas, leaving Glorfindel still sitting at the table, his mouth opening and 
closing like a fish out of water. He sighed and passed his hands over his face, before 
jumping up and sprinting lightly after the two others. 

Elrond and Legolas wound their way along the passageways to a little-used corridor 
which led to Elrond’s private chambers. Glorfindel followed them anxiously, wringing 
his hands as best he could whilst still keeping the bed sheet wrapped around his middle. 
He closed his eyes and held his breath as Elrond placed his hand on the door-handle and 
turned it, slowly opening the door. His face contorted as Elrond groaned loudly once 
more, obviously having forgotten something. 

The dark-haired half-Elven barely managed to recover his senses in time to whip round 
and clamp a hand firmly over Legolas’ mouth just as he broke into fits of uncontrollable 
laughter for a second time. His shoulders shook with silent giggles, and he had to lean 
against the doorframe to prevent himself from colliding with the floor again; Elrond’s 
hand was still tightly secured across his lips so as to avoid waking anyone in the 
surrounding rooms. Glorfindel merely sighed and sank down the wall until he was sitting 
on the floor. 

***************  
CHAPTER 6  
*************** 
Shock Tactics 

Elrond ducked inside the dishevelled bedroom, dragging Legolas with him by the hand he 
still held over his mouth to keep him from crying out with laughter. He glowered at 
Glorfindel, who assumed the look to mean that he should follow. He slid slowly back up 
the wall and trudged limply into the half-Elven’s chambers, wondering how in Middle 
Earth they were both planning to explain this away to Legolas; the previous situation had 
been awkward enough! 

Once all three were inside, Elrond closed and locked the door before cautiously peeling 
his hand away from Legolas’ mouth, seizing the Elf’s good hand and using it to replace 
his own. He stepped warily back from the blond, whose shoulders were still shaking from 
the silent laughter, although every now and again a muffled snort would escape from 
behind his fingers. Glorfindel sat glumly upon the bed. 

Eventually Legolas calmed down sufficiently to remove his hand from his lips, although 
his face still held a wicked grin. He looked leisurely around the room with his tongue in 
his cheek, speculating at the disorder engulfing the three figures. There was, to start with, 
a good deal of clothes lying discarded in various places; amongst them Legolas 
recognised Elrond’s intricately embroidered tunic and leggings in the burgundy and gold 
colours of Imladris, and Glorfindel’s standard azure tunic and silver leggings. He smirked 
before continuing his inspection of the chaos. The remaining bed sheets that were not 
being worn by Glorfindel were somewhat twisted and tangled, and a good deal of the 
cushions that normally lay at the foot of the large bed were scattered around it. Legolas 
merely smirked at this, too, and then proceeded to walk around to the other side of the 
bed. Glorfindel shifted, uncomfortably, in an attempt to hide something, but failed. 

Behind the other golden-haired Elf sitting on the bed there lay a particularly large bowl of 
strawberries. Legolas walked over to it and peered at it closely, his eyes lighting up in 
amusement and laughter threatening to erupt yet again. In actual fact the strawberries in 
the bowl were fine; however some of those lying on the bed had two sets of teeth marks 
in them, others were bitten in half, and some had been mashed into the sheets and were 
smeared over the pillowcases. Lying on the pillowcase was a silk scarf knotted to form a 
figure-of-eight, as if it had been used to bind someone’s wrists. Legolas snorted loudly, 
not needing to guess whose, and reached over to lift the bowl with his good hand, the 
scarf lying on the pillow with his other. He turned deliberately to face Glorfindel first, 
whose lips were, he now noticed, rather redder than usual. The blond Eldar squirmed 
under the gaze, which was then turned to Elrond. His eyes twinkled jokingly, and the 
flush returned to the dark figure’s neck and cheeks again. He focused on a particularly 
interesting flagstone on the floor. 

“Need I ask what the cream was needed for, Elrond?” Legolas teased playfully. 

Elrond scowled at the tall, blond archer, and then at Glorfindel, who wriggled uneasily on 
the spotted sheets. He cleared his throat. 

“Ahem…Legolas…we…er..well…” began Elrond feebly, rubbing the back of his neck. 
He tailed off and fell quiet, still staring at the flagstone. 

Legolas practically beamed. He turned to Glorfindel. “Well,” he exclaimed, feigning 
incomprehension. “I do not know what is happening here, but it certainly looks incredibly 
interesting. Perhaps you would care to explain it to me, Lord Glorfindel?” 

Glorfindel was almost fooled by the expression on Legolas’ face; he opened his mouth to 
speak, but thought better of his action and closed it again. He considered something for a 
few moments, then looked up at Legolas to respond to his question but glimpsed the 
mischievous glint in the depths of his sapphire eyes. Suddenly he was struck by the Elf’s 
beauty; he had never noticed his long, silky, golden hair before; nor the pale, flawless, 
glowing skin; nor the totally captivating blue eyes. He offered Legolas a lopsided grin 
before speaking. 

“I am sure that one as beautiful as yourself is hardly inexperienced in matters of the – 
ahem – heart,” retorted Glorfindel slyly. Elrond looked up; this was certainly going to be 
an entertaining exchange to witness! 

“Indeed I am not, my Lord, but this looks as if it could be most enjoyable! Would you not 
take the time to explain it to me?” Legolas made use of his natural charm, widening his 
round, cobalt eyes and pursing his perfect lips slightly, almost imperceivably turning 
them up at the corners into a dim, pleading smile. Glorfindel snickered, ignoring Elrond’s 
warning glare, and continued. 

“Very well, it is quite simple. Lord Elrond and I had decided to play a game. You see, my 
Lord is rather partial to strawberries, but I do not happen to like them. We decided to see 
how many he could entice me with.” 

“That is not much of a game,” replied Legolas haughtily. “I could surely teach you a 
thing or two about similar games!” 

“Ah, but we had not finished playing, Legolas,” replied Glorfindel softly. “Your 
remember that Elrond was searching for cream,” he shot a fleeting look back at Elrond, 
his eyes dancing, “which, incidentally, I never got!” His eyes returned to Legolas and he 
continued. “It was enough at first, for I have discovered that strawberries can be very 
enjoyable…” He picked up a red fruit and stood so that he was facing the other flaxen 
Elf. He slowly brought it to the other’s lips and traced it delicately around them, causing 
the blue eyes to widen even more and the shoulders to shudder involuntarily. 

Elrond’s eyes narrowed; he discerned precisely what Glorfindel was up to, and knew that 
it would certainly not help Legolas in his current condition. “Glorfindel…” he hissed 
ominously. 

Glorfindel, however, pointedly ignored the dark half-Elf standing near the door. He 
pressed the fruit to Legolas’ lips, who closed his eyes and took a bite. Sweet scarlet juice 
dribbled down his chin. Before Elrond was able to intervene, Glorfindel had brought his 
tongue up to Legolas’ chin and quickly licked the juice from it, before flicking round his 
lips to remove the liquid left there too. 

Legolas’ eyes grew wide and he suddenly emitted a strangled cry and clutched his chest. 
Glorfindel drew back in horror, and Elrond strode forwards to catch Legolas as he sank to 
his knees, a strange, pained expression in his eyes. 

The blond Elf gasped and panted for a few minutes; Elrond allowed his to catch his 
breath before carefully helping him stand and supporting him over to the bed. Glorfindel 
looked on in alarm and confusion; what had caused the Prince to cry out in pain so 
suddenly? “Legolas…Elrond…” he began, not knowing quite what to do with himself. 

The Elven healer ignored him, but instead whispered softly in Elvish into Legolas’ 
pointed ear. Gradually the blue eyes softened and the handsome face relaxed, the bulk of 
the pain eventually leaving the Elf’s chest. His shoulders sagged, and to Elrond’s surprise 
he leaned heavily against him, finally overcome by the weariness accompanying 
whatever ailed him. 

“I am now fairly sure what troubles you, Legolas,” he whispered into the Elf’s ear. 
“However, I will be able to tell for sure tomorrow. Until then you need to rest; you are 
completely exhausted.” Legolas’ eyes widened again and he looked up fretfully into the 
dark eyes of the Lord of Imladris. 

“You are…you are not planning to carry out your earlier promise, are you?” he asked 
anxiously, fatigue warping his sense of reason. “I do not wish to be tied to a bed.” 

Elrond chuckled in spite of himself, and Glorfindel smirked quietly from his position in 
the corner. “Fear not, Prince, I did not actually intend to tie you to your bed! However, it 
seems to me that you might perhaps have trouble sleeping, regardless of how tired you 
are. I could give you something to help send you into slumber, if you so wish.” 

Legolas considered the proposition for a moment. If he agreed to take the sleeping drug, 
he would not, in theory, actually have been drugged. Besides, he would not be in a fit 
state to greet Aragorn and Arwen if he did not sleep, which he knew he would not. None 
would know, with the exception of Elrond and Glorfindel, and he now had information to 
make sure that they did not say anything…he had them in the palm of his hand, he 
thought wryly. 

This thought made him remember something. “I will take the drug Elrond. And I had also 
forgotten…my wrist…” 

“Of course!” exclaimed Elrond. “That is the reason why we are here to start with, after 
all.” He lifted his eyes to Glorfindel, who was still standing ashamedly in the corner with 
the bed sheet wrapped around his slender waist. “Make yourself useful,” he told him 
sharply. “You know where everything is. And after that put on some leggings; nothing 
further is going to happen tonight.” 

The golden-haired Eldar blinked at the words, but said nothing. Instead he went to first 
one drawer and extracted a bandage made from stiff cloth, and then to another where he 
took out a small, plain, wooden box. He walked over to the half-Elven healer, who had 
taken Legolas’ right hand in his and pulled up the sleeve, and placed the bandage into his 
outstretched palm. Elrond bound the delicate wrist tightly with the rigid, starched, white 
fabric, so that the Elf was barely able to move it. He then took the small box from 
Glorfindel and looked questioningly at Legolas. 

“Where do you want to do this, Legolas? I do not mind carrying you back to your 
chambers if you wish to fall asleep here.” 

A slight nod of the fair hair showed Legolas’ approval, so Elrond carefully opened the 
box, removed a pinch of fine white powder, and blew it gently into the archer’s face. 
Within seconds his eyes were glazing over; Elrond took his shoulders and helped him to 
lie back onto the bed until his eyes were completely vacant, showing that he was truly 
asleep. He motioned mutely to the now-clothed Glorfindel, who crossed the room to the 
door and opened it. Elrond easily lifted Legolas in his own arms, one supporting his back 
and the other underneath his knees as the golden head rested on his chest, and followed 
Glorfindel along the passageways to Legolas’ own bedroom. 

Glorfindel opened the door and allowed Elrond to enter, who stepped silently up to the 
bed and laid Legolas on it before drawing up the covers. Legolas’ face was calm and 
serene in his untroubled sleep; the Lord of Imladris wondered when the last time he had 
rested so peacefully, and seriously doubted that it was during his brief stay in the Last 
Homely House. Elrond sighed, before turning and exiting the quiet room, closing the 
door noiselessly behind him, and faced Glorfindel. 

The fair Eldar bowed unnecessarily and turned left towards his own sleeping quarters; 
Elrond however grasped his chin between a strong, slender finger and thumb and brought 
their faces close together. 

“No, you will follow me back to my quarters,” he hissed beneath his breath. “We have 
things which we need to discuss.” 

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and strode off in the opposite direction. 
Glorfindel had to hurry to keep up. 

***************  
CHAPTER 7  
*************** 

Without Consideration
 
Glorfindel allowed Elrond to storm off and traipsed along in his footsteps. It was not as if 
he did not know the way to Elrond’s chambers by now, he reasoned, and being alone for 
a short while would allow the Lord of Imladris to cool off slightly. 

He finally arrived at the door to Elrond’s chambers. He tapped lightly on the door and 
paused; silence ensued. Shrugging to himself, he turned the handle and entered. He was 
only following his orders, and he did not see that more trouble would be laid on his head 
than there was already for entering chambers which he had been inside countless 
numbers of times, and had come to know very well over the years. 

Poking his head around the door, he was surprised to see Elrond sitting despondently 
upon the bed in what he had assumed to be an empty room. He cleared his throat, and the 
dark-haired figure jumped slightly at being stirred from his contemplations. He motioned 
for the blond Eldar to enter, who did so and locked the door behind him. 

“I am sorry, my Lord, I did not realise…” he began. 

“Just keep your disobedient mouth under control for one short moment,” cut in Elrond, 
rather more harshly than was needed. Glorfindel dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling 
truly dejected, and his shoulders sagged. 

Now it was Elrond’s turn to apologise. “I apologise, Glorfindel, that was unnecessary. It 
is just that…well…I am surprised at you.” Glorfindel looked rather surprised himself, 
before realisation dawned on his striking features. 

“It was the kiss, was it not? I did not realise that it would have hurt you so, but I got 
carried away, and…” 

“NO!” cried Elrond, now not caring if he woke the whole of Imladris along with the 
closer regions of the Shire. “It was the effects of the kiss, Glorfindel, how could you not 
recognise it all? You have seen it once before, after all, and we only discussed it earlier 
this evening.” 

The fair Elf standing in the doorway now looked well and truly at a loss for what to say. 
“I…I…he…we…” he stammered. 

Elrond emitted an exasperated growl and rose to his feet so that he was staring Glorfindel 
directly in the depths of his pale blue eyes. “You should know just about everything that 
there is to know about Elves suffering from grief, Glorfindel; you should know how they 
pine for the one that they love, even if they are not consciously aware of it; you should 
know that only love freely given by the one whom they pine for, or in the absence of that 
one whom they also dearly love, can heal them; and you should know that the touch of 
another can kill them!” 

His voice grew quieter but became more powerful as he stepped back, looking away, and 
continued. “You should know all of these things, Glorfindel, you should have recognised 
and remembered the symptoms.” Elrond now sat back down on the bed and rested his 
forehead in the arched fingers of one hand. He continued again, so that he was 
murmuring. “You almost lost me to it, and the same thing could have happened again.” 

The fair Elf’s face was even paler than usual, an ashen pallor flooding across even his 
strawberry-stained lips. His face contorted painfully as he now remembered all that had 
previously happened. But Elrond was not yet finished speaking. He continued softly, his 
voice now no more than a whisper. 

“You gave me your love freely, because I held you dear, after Celebrian sailed West all 
those years ago. I nearly died from grief, Glorfindel, but you brought me back from the 
brink. You saved me, and after all that you are still ignorant enough to go right ahead and 
do this to Legolas; you could have killed him.” He shook his head sadly, and shifted upon 
the bed so that he was sitting upon the pillows and leaning against the wall, closing his 
eyes so he did not have to look at Glorfindel. 

Glorfindel’s face twisted cruelly in the realisation of what he had done, and his round 
blue eyes sparkled with restrained tears as he remembered the agony of the incident 
which Elrond spoke of, all those years ago. He gazed up at the ceiling, willing the tears 
not to brim over, for he knew that once he began to cry he would weep a river and not 
stop. The memories were just too painful, and he severely reproached himself when he 
thought that he could have caused the same thing to happen to Legolas. A small sob 
threatened to well up, but he forced it back down his throat. 

Elrond opened his eyes again on hearing the fair Eldar choke on the sobs that he was 
fighting to suppress, and he immediately regretted his previous words when he saw the 
state that Glorfindel was in. The distraught Elven- lord was staring pitifully at the ceiling, 
his eyes bright with unshed tears and his lips pursed together in a failing attempt to 
prevent himself from breaking down in tears. Elrond choked back a cry, bringing 
Glorfindel’s eyes back to rest on his own, and each Elf-lord stared deep into the depths of 
the other’s soul for a few moments. Words were unnecessary, but Elrond spoke anyway. 

“I am sorry, Glorfindel,” he sighed softly. “I realise how hard it was for you.” He moved 
over on the bed slightly, and Glorfindel moved slowly to the bed before sitting down next 
to Elrond. 

The Lord of Imladris pulled Glorfindel into his arms, and the Eldar laid his golden head 
on the dark-haired half-Elven’s chest. He closed his eyes, unable to take the sudden 
bombardment of tormenting memories any longer, and let the tears flow. He buried his 
head into Elrond’s shoulder, who felt his robe and skin grow damp, but he paid no heed. 
Glorfindel shook softly in his arms, his slight figure wracked by the sobs. They sat there 
for several hours, with Elrond simply stroking the flaxen hair and occasionally planting 
soft, comforting kisses on the crown of the other’s head, until Glorfindel’s body grew still 
and limp as he finally fell asleep in Elrond’s arms. Elrond sat in the same position until 
morning with his dark head resting upon the fair one below his chin, regretting with all 
his heart what he had done to the person who had saved his life. 

***************  
CHAPTER 8  
*************** 

Declarations 

Legolas stirred underneath the soft, white covers and Elrond swiftly drew back silently 
towards the door, closing it behind him lest the Prince suspect that he had been in to 
check on him. 

As Legolas’ eyes reverted back to normal and his breathing deepened, signifying that the 
sleeping powder had finally worn off, he thought he heard footsteps inside the room, but 
when he sat up to look around he saw nothing and assumed it must just have been his 
imagination. He felt more refreshed than he had for a long while, and glanced up at the 
clock on the dresser, which announced that the time was a quarter to twelve. Plenty of 
time before Aragorn and Arwen arrived, he told himself, as he sank back down onto the 
bed and into a light slumber. 

Elrond stole back along the corridor towards his own bedroom. He had not slept at all last 
night; there had been much too much happening regarding Legolas and Glorfindel for 
him to be concerned about his own fatigue. He would sleep late tomorrow, he told 
himself. He turned the handle quietly, for he did not want to wake Glorfindel. The 
distraught Elf had clutched tightly at Elrond as he slept the previous night, as if he was 
scared that he would lose him, and had only released him when the sun rose and he 
finally relaxed as the dark shadows faded. Elrond sighed; last night had certainly been 
eventful. 

He opened the door softly, and was met by a pair of wide, round, blue eyes gazing 
dolefully up at him from the large bed. “Ah, Glorfindel, I see that you are awake.” The 
Lord of Imladris spoke in a warm, quiet voice; he was truly repentant for the pain that he 
had inflicted upon the Eldar the night before. “How are you?” 

Glorfindel ignored the last comment and his bottom lip quivered slightly. “Where did you 
go? Why did you leave me?” he questioned anxiously, appearing exceedingly childlike, 
which unnerved Elrond slightly. 

“I only went to check on Legolas; I wanted to see how much longer he would remain 
under the power of the sleeping powder that I used in him last night. He is already 
stirring, although I suspect that he will doze for a few hours longer before he is truly alert 
again.” 

Glorfindel nodded, and averted his wide-eyed gaze to the bedclothes under which he now 
lay. He had been tormented by the memories of almost losing Elrond last night; even his 
dreams were no escape, and he had clung fiercely to the half-Elven lest he should 
disappear halfway through the night. Despite the nightmares, however, he had felt safe 
and secure in Elrond’s arms and panicked when he awoke alone. He dearly wished that 
the dark-haired half-Elf would fold him in his strong arms again instead of standing in the 
doorway staring at him. Usually he would simply have asked him, but after the events of 
the previous night he felt that he had already subjected the half-Elven to quite enough 
emotional torture of his own; he knew that Elrond had not slept at all. 

Elrond detected Glorfindel’s unease and immediately strode to the bed. He climbed onto 
it without hesitation and wrapped his long, lithe arms around the blond Elf, to discover 
that he was trembling slightly. He brought up a slender hand and began to stroke the 
silken strands of golden hair from the face that rested on his shoulder, and, bringing his 
mouth close to the pointed ear, began to whisper soothingly in Elvish. 

“Do not worry, everything is fine; I will not leave you. It was all dreams and memories; 
nothing will happen to us again.” The words seemed to soothe Glorfindel; his shoulders 
loosened and he brought his eyes up to meet Elrond. The half-Elven shamefully noticed 
that they were still glistening and bright from the tears, but they were now also deep and 
clear, showing that Glorfindel had finally ascended from the dark memories and dreams 
that afflicted him on the rare occasion. 

The fair Eldar blinked several times and shook his head to clear it. Although still shaken, 
he was reverting from the childlike state brought upon him during such circumstances to 
his normal lively, energetic and animated character. On the whole it took a few hours, but 
both individuals knew that by the time of Aragorn and Arwen’s arrival noone would 
know that anything had happened. 

Despite this, however, Elrond could not shake off the feeling of guilt tormenting him by 
knowing that he had brought the darkness upon the fair Elf. He gazed into the deep pools 
of blue that had settled back on his face. “Glorfindel,” he began hesitantly, not knowing 
quite what to say next. 

The other Elf’s brow furrowed; he knew what the Lord of Imladris was trying to declare. 
“Do not say it, Elrond, I understand. It was my fault; I should have realised before, and I 
do not blame you for being angry with me. You could not help the fact that I slipped 
under again, and I am just grateful for the fact that you were still there for me.” 

The half-Elven was stunned by this admission; he had to consider his following move for 
a number of seconds before he responded. “But it was my fault; I did this to you. I feel so 
guilty, for it was completely uncalled for.” 

“No, just forget about it, you could not help it,” replied Glorfindel. His voice was level 
and totally genuine, leaving Elrond in no doubt of the words that followed. “You were 
provoked and upset. Anyone else would have done the same in that situation and you 
could not help the fact that I slipped; you know as well as I do that it normally takes 
much more than that.” He paused, and his voice grew quieter even as the words grew 
more profound. “I know that you love me Elrond, and I love you with all my heart; I 
know that you would never intentionally inflict pain of even the slightest degree upon 
me. I now believe this beyond the shadow of a doubt; you can surely identify with how 
much it meant to me to have you beside me last night.” 

As he finished speaking, Elrond was struck by the power of his last words. Not knowing 
what else to do, he slowly lowered his head to Glorfindel’s and kissed him tenderly upon 
his lips. The fair Elf-lord kissed him back sweetly; it was not a lustful, needy kiss, like 
those of the previous evening after “dinner”, but more a comforting, reassuring kiss that 
confirmed the depth of their love. Finally Elrond broke off, ignoring the whimper of 
objection from the other Elf. 

“Maybe we would be better to finish this later today, when there is not so much to see to 
and you are completely recovered,” he suggested. Glorfindel opened his shiny, still-moist 
lips to protest, but Elrond immediately grabbed a large strawberry from the bowl, which 
still lay on a table beside the bed, and popped it deftly into the other’s mouth, his eyes 
dancing. Glorfindel uttered a muffled squawk of complaint, but the dark-haired figure 
standing over him simply grinned. “You are still weary from your turn, Glorfindel, you 
need to rest.” 

Glorfindel shook his head defiantly, since he could still not talk due to the red fruit filling 
his mouth, and Elrond laughed again. “I also think that you are forgetting my methods of 
restraint; I have several ways of keeping unruly Elves to their beds! You should be 
familiar with one or two of them by now…” Elrond’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. 

Glorfindel swallowed hard and opened his mouth to protest once more, but Elrond swiftly 
brought his mouth to the other’s for a second time and kissed him hard. Without warning 
he drew back and replaced his tongue with another large strawberry; Glorfindel scowled 
again. “You are to stay put, and that is an order. I will rouse you when necessary, but 
until then you are to sleep. Do not worry about anyone else asking for you; I will deal 
with them.” 

As the dark Elven-lord turned to leave the blond emitted another muffled comment. “Yes, 
do not worry, I will check on Legolas too. I am sure he has had a much better night’s 
sleep than the rest of us, but I do not know what today will hold for our young Prince. 
Sleep well,” he bade Glorfindel, before closing the door and locking the door after him, 
slipping the key into his pocket and heading off to Legolas’ room. 

***************  
CHAPTER 9  
*************** 

Many Awakenings 

Legolas jumped when he heard a soft tap on his bedroom door. He looked up from where 
he was sitting on the edge of his door. “Who is it?” he called anxiously. 

“Tis me, Elrond. May I enter?” came the reply. Legolas released the breath he did not 
know he was holding in relief. “Of course, of course, come in.” 

Elrond’ head appeared around the door and he smiled to see that Legolas was up, albeit 
still dressed in his white night robe. “How do you feel this morning?” he enquired gently. 
“I trust that you slept well; you seem to have improved since last night.” This was true; 
Legolas appeared refreshed and relaxed, although there were signs that something was 
still affecting him. 

“I feel better, for I have not slept so deeply and calmly for several months now.” Elrond’s 
brow furrowed. “Has it been affecting you for that long?” he asked in concern. 

“I do not know; I do not know when it first began. As I said before, it was hard to know 
that anything was really wrong with me, and it was only last night that I was truly alerted 
to the fact.” 

Elrond nodded. “I know, I know, it can be hard to tell. But never mind, we have other 
things to see to; we can discuss this later tonight. I suggest that you dress yourself, and 
then come and find me when you are ready. I will see to your wrist again, and then I will 
arrange for you to eat before Aragorn and Arwen arrive. I trust that you are hungry?” 

Legolas’ eyes glinted and a faint smirk lit up his face. “Hmmm, I am not sure that I wish 
for you to arrange my lunch for me now that I have seen some of your methods of getting 
stubborn Elves to eat!” 

The blood rushed to the cheeks of the dark-haired Lord of Imladris, and he blushed. 
“Legolas, I…” 

The golden-haired Prince laughed. “Fear not, Elrond, I shall not spread your little secret! 
Although I do propose that you are slightly more subtle unless you wish for the whole of 
Imladris to know your business!” 

Elrond’ cheeks paled back to their normal colour. “Thank you, Legolas. I do not think 
that we are quite ready to announce ourselves just yet.” Although it may not be long, he 
thought to himself. “I shall most likely be in the kitchens when you are ready to find me.” 

“Yes, poor Glorfindel never did get his cream, did he?” quipped the blond Elf as the dark 
Lord turned to leave. Elrond feigned a scowl at Legolas before he closed the door. 
~~~ 

Legolas peered around the heavy door of the kitchen; he dared not enter lest he get in the 
way of the organised chaos occurring inside, in preparation for the feast that was to be 
held tonight in honour of the return of the King and Queen of Gondor. Suddenly he 
noticed Elrond standing by the solid wooden table, talking to one of the cooks. He 
glanced up and caught the blue eyes of the blond Elf standing nervously in the doorway, 
before hurriedly finishing his conversation and walking up to Legolas. 

“Come, follow me Legolas. I will see to your wrist and then you can eat.” Legolas 
glanced down at his wrist wrapped in the white bandage; he had forgotten all about it in 
the confusion of last night’s memories. He turned after Elrond who had already set off in 
the direction of his chambers. 

On their way along the corridors, Elrond was suddenly apprehended by one of the 
servants. “My Lord,” he began, bowing deeply to his superior. “Have you seen Lord 
Glorfindel? I have not seen him all morning and his bed has not been slept in; he needs to 
be found for there is some business which he needs to see to.” 

Elrond’s voice was harsher than he intended it to be. “I am afraid that Lord Glorfindel 
also has other business to see to besides that of which you speak. There were some very 
urgent matters which he needed to sort out; I have given him the use of one of the spare 
rooms in my quarters so he can work in peace.” Both Legolas and the servant were 
surprised by the sharp tone of Elrond’s words, and the servant bowed again before 
quickly striding off in the opposite direction. 

Legolas looked up at the half-Elven enquiringly. “What happened after I fell asleep last 
night, Elrond? Is Glorfindel well? What happened was not his fault; he was not to know.” 

Elrond sighed. “He will be fine, Legolas. He should have realised what the consequences 
of his actions would have been, but he did not think. Unfortunately I became very angry 
with him after you had fallen asleep, and he slipped under the shadows of some rather 
bad memories for a while. He is in my chambers, resting.” 

The blond Elf was curious as to know the precise details, but he detected notes of guilt 
and sorrow in the half-Elven’s voice and decided not to press him any further. As they 
drew nearer to Elrond’s chambers, he did not need to tell Legolas to soften his step lest he 
disturb Glorfindel. 

Elrond opened the door quietly and both Elves entered. Legolas cast a glance at the 
sleeping Elf who lay peacefully beneath the still-spotted covers of Elrond’s bed. His face 
was serene and his eyes were blissfully vacant, but the Prince thought that he could detect 
the traces of one last bright tear in the deep pools of blue and faint, silvery trails down 
both sides of his face. 

Elrond saw him gazing at Glorfindel and suddenly felt an unusual pang of jealousy 
towards the fair Prince. He frowned at the strange sensation and gently took hold of the 
long middle finger in Legolas’ right hand, drawing him towards the desk so that he could 
examine his injured wrist. 

Both Elves sat down and the darker of the two smoothly unwrapped the white bandage. 
Once he was finished he gently manipulated the pale hand in all directions, noting when 
Legolas’ pale face betrayed his pain and discomfort. He frowned and released the slender 
hand. 

“I fear that it is not healing as it should, Legolas; it should be almost mended by now. 
Whatever is affecting you also appears to be affecting your healing reflexes, and I suspect 
that it will be several days before your wrist is feeling any better.” He stood and walked 
across the room to a drawer from which he extracted a fresh bandage. Glorfindel stirred 
underneath the covers at the sudden movement, but did not awaken. 

“Do you have any idea of what may be affecting me now, after last night’s incidents?” 
asked Legolas earnestly as Elrond sat back down opposite him. The half-Elven raised his 
dark eyes from the task in hand to answer. “I have a vague notion, but I first wish to see 
how today’s events unfold before coming to a decision.” 

Legolas nodded affirmation as Elrond took his right wrist into his hand again and tightly 
bound it with the stiff, white cloth once again. He finished and let go of the hand; he 
looked up at Legolas, whose face was unusually relaxed and happy, considering the 
events of the past week. Elrond wondered what he was thinking. Suddenly, though, the 
fair features darkened again and Legolas ascended from his thoughts as he felt the half- 
Elven’s gaze upon him. He looked back at Elrond pensively. 

“Will Glorfindel be all right?” he questioned. Elrond smiled; it was typical of Legolas to 
be concerned about others before he considered his own state of affairs. 

“Yes, he will be. He has almost recovered. Last night was difficult for him; as I said 
before he slipped into dark memories from many years ago. I was responsible, for I flew 
into a temper with him and blamed him for what happened to you when it was not his 
fault. I have that over my head, but he says that he does not blame me for it. He was 
merely grateful for the fact that I stayed to help him through it. It made me realise just 
how much I love him.” He cast a glance over his shoulder to the bed behind him, and 
found himself looking into a pair of fathomless cerulean eyes. 

“And then I told him that I loved him with all my heart, and I meant every word of it,” 
finished Glorfindel, who had sat up in the bed so that his back was resting against the 
pillows, and was smiling slightly. Elrond flushed slightly, having been caught baring his 
soul to Legolas, who was grinning. “You are awake then, Glorfindel,” he said, before 
standing and walking over to the bed. He leaned down, slowly and deliberately kissing 
the blond Eldar. Legolas beamed even further, but this time it was not due to mischief. It 
was from seeing just how much the two loved each other. 

The kiss lasted for a few moments before the two Elves broke it off. Neither seemed too 
concerned about what Legolas had seen as they both turned to face him, and he gave 
them an encouraging look. Elrond finally sighed and stood up reluctantly from the bed, 
unwilling to leave the other Elf. “I am afraid that it is about time we all began to prepare 
for the arrival of Aragorn and Arwen; it is a quarter past one and they are expected in just 
under an hour. Come, Legolas, I shall arrange for some food for you, and you, Glorfindel, 
should start to consider dressing.” 

At that moment there came a rap at the door and the handle began to turn slowly. 
Glorfindel threw a panicked glance at Elrond; whatever excuse had been made for his 
illness, the blond Eldar was certain that it had not included him lying in Elrond’s bed and 
the sheets stained with strawberry juice! 

“Give me a minute, do not enter,” cried the Lord of Imladris. “I am sure that whatever 
you have to say can wait.” 

“No, my Lord, it cannot. The King and Queen of Gondor have arrived, sooner than 
planned. I thought that you might like to greet them.” 

“Very well, I shall be down shortly,” replied Elrond curtly. “Give me a few moments to 
myself.” 

Everyone in the room grinned at this statement, before Glorfindel grudgingly rose from 
the bed and Legolas got to his feet. A rush of emotions flooded Elrond’s features at the 
thought of seeing his beloved daughter and foster-son for the first time in two years, 
before he raised his eyes and gave Legolas a look that he did not fully understand. 
“Come, Legolas. Let us leave Glorfindel to dress himself, and we shall go to greet your 
friends. I am certain that they will be hungry, and perhaps we shall be able to take a brief 
lunch with them before the feast tonight.” 

The blond Prince nodded and turned to the door. “I would that you come and join us 
when you are ready, Glorfindel, for I feel that you should also take something to eat 
before tonight.” 

Glorfindel nodded and smiled affectionately at Elrond as he closed the door behind him. 

***************  
CHAPTER 10  
*************** 

Confirmation Of Fears 

Aragorn was breathtaken as he looked up at the splendour of Imladris once again; 
although he had spent his entire childhood in the house of Elrond he did not ever recall its 
beauty to be as stunning as this, he thought. He could only compare it with the woods of 
Lothlorien, and even then Imladris still gave the glades of Galadriel and Celeborn a good 
run for their money. 

Their party was ushered into the spectacular entrance hall, which had been painted to 
resemble the forest surrounding the dwelling. The detail was unbelievably intricate; birds, 
insects and animals of each imaginable kind could be seen amongst the foliage, and every 
petal of every flower was finished to perfection. Aragorn looked up to the lofty ceiling, 
which had been bewitched so that it was sky blue during daylight hours, with wisps of 
soft white cloud floating across it, fading to deep, midnight blue as the sun set, with stars 
gleaming high above him. Aragorn remembered spending many happy evenings with his 
foster-brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, lying on their backs gazing up at the stars when the 
weather was less than clement outside and the real stars were shrouded with thick, black 
clouds. 

He returned his attention back to their party as he heard brisk, excited footsteps 
reverberating along the corridor, and a grin broke out on his face when Elrond and 
Legolas appeared around the corner. Arwen ran up to her father, who took her in his arms 
and squeezed her lovingly, placing a kiss on the crown of her dark hair. They released 
each other and Elrond strode forwards to greet Aragorn, embracing his foster-son and 
clapping him on the back. “It is good to see you, Estel,” he smiled. 

“You too, Elrond. I had forgotten just how beautiful Imladris was; although I love 
Gondor dearly I have missed it here.” Aragorn beamed before observing Legolas. He had 
not had contact with the golden-haired Prince since he left Gondor at the parting of the 
Fellowship two years ago, and had severely missed the presence of his best friend. He 
regarded the Elf carefully, perceiving with an inward frown how drawn his fair face 
appeared, and the bandage on his right wrist. //What has he been doing with himself?//

“Legolas,” he smiled, carefully shielding all traces of concern since he knew how the 
stubborn Prince loathed to be fussed over. “How are you faring, my friend? It has been 
too long.” He walked over to the fair form and embraced his tall, lithe body gently. 

Legolas seized Aragorn’s body tightly within his own arms and grasped him back hard 
for a few long moments. His heart suddenly felt much lighter and he sensed a weight 
being lifted from his chest as he embraced the friend whom he had sorely missed. “I am 
well, Aragorn,” he lied. Elrond frowned, unseen, but said nothing. “Indeed, you are right 
as usual, it has been far too long.” 

Elrond noticed how Legolas’ face cheered when the two friends embraced, and made a 
mental note to himself. “Come, Arwen, Estel, you must be hungry. Legolas and I were 
just about to take a brief lunch before the feast tonight; will you not join us?” 

Arwen’s face lit up at the thought of lunch. “Yes, father, I feel that some food is just what 
is called for. Come, let us eat.” Her father nodded and sent a servant off in the direction 
of the kitchens to have food prepared whilst the four made their way to the dining halls. 

“Tell me, Elrond, are there any other members of the Fellowship present, for I would 
dearly like to see them again,” enquired Aragorn as the small gathering entered the dining 
hall. 

“Yes, they are around somewhere,” replied Elrond with a grin. “The Halflings have gone 
off exploring for the day, under the watchful eye of Gimli, and Mithrandir is in his 
quarters, preparing a surprise for tonight. You shall see them all later, I am sure; I cannot 
see the Halflings missing such a feast, can you?” His dark eyes gleamed, and the others 
laughed as they recollected the fierce appetites of the Hobbits and sat at the long table 
running down the centre of the room. Elrond sat at the head of the table, with Aragorn on 
his right and Arwen on his left. The Prince of Mirkwood sat next to the King of Gondor, 
with an empty place before him. Arwen noticed this and opened her mouth to make the 
point to her father, but at that moment Glorfindel swept into the room through the large, 
open double doors to greet the new arrivals, appearing as though nothing had ever 
happened to those who were unaware of the previous night’s occurrences. 

“Arwen, Estel, ‘tis good to see you again,” he beamed, clapping Aragorn on the shoulder 
and kissing Arwen on the cheek as he took a seat opposite Legolas. “I hope you are 
keeping well; it certainly appears that way.” 

“Aye, and you Glorfindel.” Aragorn returned the smile. Legolas noticed the brief shadow 
of guilt cross Elrond’s dark eyes once again, but it was soon swept away once he realised 
that the golden-haired Eldar was none the worse for his turn the night before. 

“Of course, never better!” Glorfindel’s bright blue eyes flicked to Elrond sitting on his 
right, to show that he meant it, and the dark-haired half- Elf relaxed again. Glorfindel 
laughed. “There must be many interesting stories for us to hear from Gondor, Estel; will 
you not share some of them with us? News is slow to travel, as I am sure you are aware.” 

As Aragorn talked animatedly, relating stories of his new kingdom and people to the 
attentive audience, Legolas found himself only half listening and falling into his thoughts 
once again; except that this time they were not dark and mysterious and threatening, as 
they had been before; rather they were of happier times between him and Aragorn and the 
rest of the Fellowship. A vacant look spread across his face, but he was awakened by a 
swift kick from underneath the table and looked up to focus on Glorfindel giving him a 
worried glance. They both took on interested expressions once again, however, as 
Aragorn turned from Elrond to face the two of them. Legolas prayed that he had not 
noticed anything. 

The King of Gondor had, in fact, detected that Legolas was not listening to his anecdotes 
as he normally would, and that he had remained unusually quiet since he had greeted him 
in the entrance hall. He became even more concerned when he discerned that the fair 
Prince had slipped into some sort of trance, and was relieved when Glorfindel roused him 
from it. //There is something troubling my friend,//  he mused, //and whatever it was, the 
golden haired Eldar and the Lord of Imladris certainly seem to be aware of it. //

At that moment, however, their food arrived. Aragorn was too hungry for the time being 
to ponder much longer on what might be affecting Legolas. // Besides,// he reasoned, //it 
is probably already under control if Elrond and Glorfindel know of it.// All five figures 
around the table tucked into the food that was laid before them, for two were hungry from 
travel, two had not eaten at all and three had had a long, stressful time the night before; 
silence momentarily fell upon the small group. 

Once everyone had taken their fill – some more than others, Aragorn perceived, with a 
swift glance at Legolas out of the corner of his eye – Elrond stood and addressed his 
daughter and her husband. “You must be tired after your journey; do you wish to rest and 
freshen up before tonight?” Arwen swiftly agreed with an exaggerated nod of her head, 
for the journey had been hard on her since she was not accustomed to travelling. “I trust 
that you know where your rooms are, my daughter, or do you need to be reminded? It has 
been a long while, after all, since you came back to visit your kin!” Elrond teased his 
daughter, but she knew him too well and refused to take the bait. She merely rose 
gracefully from her chair, as only an Elf could, and smiled politely at Legolas and 
Glorfindel. 

“Please excuse me, I know that I have only just arrived but I am weary from our travels. I 
will take some rest, and perhaps I shall be more exciting company at the feast tonight!” 
Both blond Elves also rose respectfully to their feet and bowed slightly. 

Aragorn smiled. “Please excuse me also. I do not need to rest just yet, but I shall see 
Arwen to our chambers, wash, and change my clothes. I shall come and find you later, 
my friends, we have much to discuss!” He grasped Legolas’ shoulder in a friendly 
gesture, and the Elf felt an inexplicable warmth spreading through his back where the 
other’s hand lay. It felt comfortable and satisfying, and his spirits lifted…only to come 
crashing back down again when he saw Arwen take the arm that was offered to her by 
her husband and receive a loving kiss on her cheek, and the warmth quickly dissipated 
throughout his body, which he felt grow cold and lifeless. He swayed, and just as the 
King and Queen of Gondor turned the corner towards their quarters blackness engulfed 
him and he vaguely felt himself falling towards the floor. 

Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel, who were the only other people left in the large, empty 
dining hall, managed to catch Legolas in time as his legs buckled and he collapsed to the 
floor with a sickening thud. He whimpered slightly as he came into contact with the cold 
marble and, hearing a crack as his head hit the ground, both the dark and the fair Elven 
lords rushed to his side. 

“Legolas!” cried Elrond. “Legolas, wake up!” He placed his hand under the golden head 
and elevated it slightly so that it was lifted off the floor and blood from the gash on his 
temple was not dripping into his eyes. The young Elf’s breath was coming in short, 
shallow gasps and his good left hand was balled into a fist, which he was clutching to his 
sternum, but his blue eyes fluttered open slightly when Elrond called his name. He 
moaned softly; his head was throbbing and there was a searing pain beneath his ribs. He 
felt hot all over from the pain, and saw bright white and red stars when he closed his 
eyes. 

Glorfindel tore a strip from the edge of the table-cloth nearby and temporarily bound his 
forehead to stem the bleeding, ere taking both of Legolas’ hands in one of his as he 
caressed the troubled Elf’s brow with his other. He gasped slightly when he touched it 
for, although Legolas himself felt hot from the pain, his pale skin was icy to the touch. 
The fair Eldar looked up at the dark Elven healer with anxiety written across his strong, 
stunning features, and murmured to him so that only he would hear. “I fear that you were 
right, my Lord, these are exactly the same symptoms that were displayed when…” 

“Yes, I am aware of that Glorfindel,” cut in Elrond. “Let us not talk about that now; there 
are more important matters demanding our attention at the moment. And I do not wish to 
be reminded of it for a second time in as many days,” he finished more quietly. “It caused 
enough trouble last night, let it be.” 

Glorfindel nodded silently; he understood. “What do you plan to do, my Lord?” 

Elrond sighed. “Well, first and foremost I recommend that we transfer Legolas to my 
chambers; it is quiet there, and it will give us time to consider our next move. Doubtless I 
will have to inform Aragorn, since it is obvious that he is the cause of all this, but how we 
do so is another matter.” 

Glorfindel nodded again, his long silken hair swinging in time to the movements of his 
head. He looked up; his bottomless sapphire eyes were wide with concern for the young 
Elven Prince lying prostrate beneath him. “Do you wish for me to carry him?” 

“No, Glorfindel, perhaps it is better if I do. You may think that you have recovered from 
last night, but we have discovered in the past that it takes a little longer for your strength 
to return to your standard levels, even if your emotions are stable.” The flaxen-haired 
Eldar looked somewhat offended, but he knew that Elrond spoke the truth and out of 
love; it would indeed be foolish for him to risk both his own and Legolas’ safety by 
attempting to carry him. 

He showed his consent by stepping away from the battered Elven Prince, and allowed 
Elrond to lift him easily in his strong arms; he led the way back to the Lord of Imladris’ 
quarters in much the same manner as he had the night before, opening doors and guiding 
Elrond along the least-used route towards his room. They thankfully managed to arrive 
without being spotted by anyone, and Glorfindel opened the last door before allowing 
Elrond to walk ahead of him and lay Legolas upon the now-clean covers, locking the 
door behind them. The blond Prince had become slightly more conscious during their 
journey, and now gazed painfully up at the two concerned faces above him with both 
confusion and panic visible deep in his beautiful cerulean eyes. 

***************  
CHAPTER 11  
*************** 

Under False Pretences 

Glorfindel was sitting in a chair at Legolas’ side, enveloping one of his slender hands 
within both of his whilst the young Elf slept soundly in Elrond’s bed. His head was now 
bound properly, but he was obviously concussed and clearly exhausted from the 
overwhelming events of the past few days. Although he could now breathe more 
comfortably and the pain in his chest had decreased to a dull throb, Glorfindel was 
nonetheless concerned that he was still as cold as when he had collapsed. He looked up at 
the raven-haired Lord of Imladris to voice his concerns, who was pacing back and forth 
slowly at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his front, brow furrowed deep in 
thought. 

“He is still no warmer, my Lord; perhaps we should fetch another blanket?” 

Elrond started from his deliberations. “Yes, keep him as warm as possible. You know 
where the extra covers are.” The fair Eldar released Legolas’ hand and went to a chest on 
the far side of the room. He returned holding a thick, warm woollen quilt and laid it over 
the sleeping Prince, before resuming his seat and taking the Elf’s hand in his own once 
again. He sighed; the whole situation was so reminiscent of what had happened to Elrond 
over five hundred years ago when his beloved wife had sailed to the Undying Lands, and 
for a few long moments he had to battle hard with his subconscious to prevent the dark 
memories from rising again. No, he told himself, refusing to yield this time, //you have to 
be strong for Elrond and Legolas; they need you. //

The half-Elf drew his attention at that moment as he stopped pacing and turned to the 
other Elven lord, whose fathomless blue eyes were wide with anticipation. Glorfindel 
could tell from the stern expression upon Elrond’s face, and the way that his lips were 
pursed into a thin line, that he had reached a decision. He could also tell from the 
tightness in his shoulders and the flicker of apprehension deep within his dark eyes that it 
was not a favourable choice that he had made. 

Elrond began to voice his thoughts. “I am afraid that we have no other choice than to tell 
Aragorn. Legolas’ condition is not life threatening at the moment, but he will soon start 
to fade unless something is done. Unfortunately you know as well as I do what the only 
cure is.” 

Glorfindel nodded solemnly. He was well aware that the only way for Legolas to be truly 
healed was for the one whom he pined for to give him their love freely, and remain true 
to him for the rest of their days. And that someone was married – to Elrond’s daughter, 
no less, he thought grimly. There was another way, he knew, which involved love being 
given by another whom Legolas also held dear - the method used by Elrond and 
Glorfindel when Celebrian had sailed West. There could, however, be complications 
when this method was used, including the fact that Legolas would be forever bound to 
whoever had saved his life. Both Elven-lords were reluctant to consider this method at 
the present, since Aragorn was not even aware of the Prince’s condition, and both 
severely doubted that he would allow his best friend to suffer in such a way. 

“However,” continued Elrond, “I do not feel that this moment is the time to tell Estel. He 
must know sooner or later, of course, but I must discuss the next course of events with 
both Arwen and our young Prince here, too, when he becomes more coherent. Any 
suggestions?” 

Glorfindel’ eyes gleamed; he was a master of mischief, despite his ancient status and 
extreme authority in Imladris, second only to Elrond. “Yes, I believe I do…” 

At that moment Legolas stirred beneath the covers and Glorfindel released his hand so 
that he could shift position slightly. His vacant sapphire eyes began to focus again as he 
awoke, and became more aware of his surroundings. “My, what impeccable timing you 
have, my young Prince!” exclaimed the fair Eldar. “We were just discussing you…” 

Legolas smiled painfully when he saw both Elrond and Glorfindel beaming down at him, 
a dazed expression upon his features. He reached up a trembling hand to touch the thick 
white bandage around his temple, whimpering at the touch. “Wh..what happened?” he 
murmured, almost to himself. “My head hurts…” 

“Yes, it would,” replied Elrond gently. “You fainted, Legolas, and hit your head. You 
have a concussion, which is why everything seems a bit strange. You will probably feel 
tired and disorientated for a little while.” 

Legolas blinked his eyes in acknowledgement; his head was still swimming and 
everything seemed only semi-lucid. 

“Hmmm…yes! We all know that, but Aragorn does not!” remarked Glorfindel impishly. 
“We simply tell him that Legolas has fallen out of a tree or something, and we make 
ourselves too busy with organising tonight’s proceedings to check on him.” Elrond 
caught on to Glorfindel’s plan, and returned his devilish smile. Legolas shook his bleary 
head in confusion. 

“When did I fall out of a tree?” he mumbled in confusion. “I..I..do not remember 
anything…I do not fall out of trees!” 

“Fine, then we will tell him that you were pushed,” replied Glorfindel wryly. 

“But this still makes no sense,” groaned the blond Prince weakly. “I cannot 
remember…what happened? Where am I?” His head was pounding and his body ached 
all over from where he had impacted with the hard floor; it was all too much for him to 
take in considering the semi-conscious condition he was in at the present. “Why does 
Aragorn need to see me in the first place?” His eyes briefly went blank again as he 
struggled to stay awake. “I am not sure that I wish to see him, or that he should see me in 
such a state.” 

The mischievous smile faded from Elrond’s dark face and he sat down in Glorfindel’s 
chair, taking Legolas’ hand in his own. He spoke gently and simply so as not to frighten 
the unsettled Elf, and to make sure that he understood as well as could be expected whilst 
he was still dazed and disorientated. “As I said before, Legolas, you fainted. You are in 
my chambers. I am now certain of what is affecting you; today’s events have shown that 
you are suffering from a form of grief. You love Aragorn, but he is unaware of this and 
the grief is caused from his love for Arwen. The only way for you to be cured is from the 
touch of the one whom you love, although at present he knows not of your condition. We 
felt that we should discuss matters with all three of you, both separately and together, 
before we continued; for you may also be healed from the touch of someone else whom 
you hold dear should Aragorn fail to do so. However, should we need to take this 
method, you will become bound to the person who has saved you, and I sincerely doubt 
that Aragorn will fail you.” 

He paused to allow Legolas to absorb the sudden deluge of information, but he had not 
really been listening. He closed his eyes in an attempt to absorb the information, but 
finally gave up. He nodded slowly, indicating for the half-Elf to continue, but winced at 
the movement as fire exploded across his forehead. “At present we are planning to tell 
Estel this evening at some point; however it is not fair to keep you in this condition until 
then. That is why we are willing to pretend that you have fallen out of a tree and injured 
yourself; we will both make ourselves too busy with tonight’s proceedings to see to you 
and, since Estel is a master of Healing himself, we will suggest that he takes care of you 
instead. His touch will restore your strength sufficiently so that you will be able to attend 
the feast tonight – for I am sure that you wish for as few people as possible to know about 
your condition - and can think straight enough to be able to consider our moves from then 
on.” 

Elrond finished speaking and watched the blond Elf’s reactions; he knew that his words 
were not really being taken in and that he would most likely have to explain the whole 
situation to him again later once he recovered control over his senses. 

The fair Prince’s eyes fluttered shut once again as he attempted to make sense of the 
second batch of information; he gave up on that, too, and opened them, smiling faintly. 
“You two are certainly much more devious than your status lends everyone else to 
believe!” he jested weakly, and both Elven-lords laughed softly. 

“Indeed, my Prince; we have had many thousands of years over which to practice!” joked 
Glorfindel, “and we have had many experiences where our arrangements have not gone 
quite to plan. Attention to detail is the key!” 

“Yes, Glorfindel is right,” continued Elrond. “Do not worry about anything, for we will 
see to it that Aragorn only knows what we wish him to; say nothing about your wrist for 
the time being. All you have to say is that you cannot remember anything, for that is to be 
expected from head wounds. And, painful as it may be, I feel that the aches throughout 
the rest of your body from your earlier collision with the floor will help no end with the 
pretence!” 

Legolas smiled again faintly, and tilted his chin upwards to show that he understood. He 
was fast losing the battle to stay awake, and his eyes were taking on their vacant 
expression yet again. Just before he fell asleep again, he heard either Glorfindel or Elrond 
whisper “Good luck!” before he heard the door close and he drifted into dreams once 
again. 

***************  
CHAPTER 12  
*************** 

From Strength to Strength… 

Glorfindel tapped lightly on the door to Arwen and Aragorn’s chambers and paused. His 
sharp Elven hearing could detect movement inside, and after a few moments the door was 
opened by a freshly washed and dressed King of Gondor. He smiled when he saw his 
golden-haired friend of old on the other side of the door and stepped outside the room, 
closing the door behind him. He motioned to show that Arwen was asleep; Glorfindel 
nodded and followed him down the corridor until they were able to talk freely. 

“How can I be of assistance, my friend?” queried the son of Arathorn. 

Glorfindel’s face was grave. It had been decided that he should talk to Aragorn; firstly 
because it would not appear as though Elrond was too busy to care for his friend if he had 
done so instead; and secondly because he was by far the superior at controlling and 
manipulating his emotions and facial expressions. He sighed to heighten the effect before 
speaking. “It is Legolas, Estel.” 

Aragorn looked up sharply at the mention of his best friend’s name. “Is anything wrong, 
Glorfindel? Legolas did not seem quite himself today when I saw him at lunch.” 

The fair Eldar ignored the Man’s last comment and continued. “I am afraid that he has 
suffered a little…accident, Estel.” Aragorn raised one eyebrow in question, and 
Glorfindel continued. “It would appear that he was sparring with some other Elves 
shortly after lunch – merely for amusement, no harm intended, you understand – and, 
noone seems quite sure how, he fell from a tree.” 

Aragorn smirked. “Surely you jest me, my Lord! Legolas would never fall from a tree! It 
is far more likely that he was pushed…” he tailed off and his face sobered as Glorfindel’s 
stern face showed that he was most certainly not jesting. He persisted speaking. 

“Yes, that is quite possible; but, if we may return to the point…” Aragorn looked at the 
floor guiltily. “He fell to the ground and injured himself. He has a concussion, amongst 
other things, and is currently sleeping in Elrond’s quarters where it is quiet. We are both 
very sorry to ask this of you, considering that you have just arrived, but all our attentions 
are currently being demanded by tonight’s proceedings, and…” 

“Of course I will see to him!” exclaimed Aragorn earnestly. “Even if it means that I must 
forego tonight’s festivities, I will tend to him. He is one of my dearest friends, after all.” 

Glorfindel could not help wincing inwardly at these words, but managed to control his 
features. “Excellent, excellent, we knew that you would not let him down. Come, I will 
show you to him.” 

The tall, slender, flaxen-haired Elf led the slightly shorter, heavier, raven-haired Dunedan 
along the passageways towards Elrond’s chambers. He gave the Man a grateful smile as 
they stopped outside the door, and turned to leave. “Bandages, herbs, and any other 
necessities that you may need can be found in the chest below the window. You may 
wish to change the dressing again and check on the progress of the wound; and, I warn 
you, he will not be very coherent. He has hit his head quite hard.” Aragorn nodded in 
comprehension and, slowly turning the door handle, slid inside the room. His immediate 
focus was drawn to the bed where Legolas lay. 

The fair Elf was asleep, he noticed, beneath the thick, warm covers on the bed. His 
golden-yellow hair was still braided and fanned out onto the pillow beneath him, and his 
vacant cobalt eyes were captivating. Aragorn stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, 
entranced, until he observed with a frown the ashen pallor on the Prince’s face, the thick 
white bandage crossing his temple, and flecks of dried blood caught in his hair. He 
moved silently to the Elf’s right-hand bedside, pulled over a chair, and sat. He leaned 
down and extended a hand to caress the pale cheek, perceiving that it was cold. 
//Probably from the shock,// he thought. 

From deep within his muddled dreams, Legolas faintly became aware of someone’s 
presence in the room. He did not make any attempt to move or awaken, since it hurt when 
he made any motion and he was comfortable at the present, if a little cold. He had been 
cold since the blackness had engulfed him, but he did not know why; neither could he 
remember why he had blacked out, although he was sure that Elrond had told him. 

Whoever was in the room sat down next to him and he heard their breathing beside his 
head; suddenly they touched his cheek and he felt a comfortable, pleasing warmth 
spreading throughout his face. He had felt that sensation somewhere else recently, but 
could not for the life of him recollect where, and felt his head clearing a little as he 
ascended to a more conscious state. 

Aragorn had no time to ponder on the iciness of Legolas’ skin; it grew warm beneath his 
fingers, and the Elf stirred as his eyes tried to focus on the dark form above him. He 
squinted in order to better define who was looking down at him. “A…Aragorn? Is that 
you?” he mumbled blearily, and tried to stretch out his left hand towards the figure; he 
suddenly felt hot, pulsing knives of pain shoot from his fingers to his shoulder and he 
dropped his arm back to the bed, whimpering. 

The Dunedan’s face was serious. “Ssh, Legolas, ‘tis I. Do not try to move for the minute. 
Lords Elrond and Glorfindel were heavily involved with the arrangements for tonight, 
and so they asked me to check on you.” His eyes gleamed as he tried to discover 
precisely how rational his Elven friend was. “But it is unlike you to fall from a tree, my 
dear Prince; how careless! What in Middle Earth happened?!” 

Legolas closed his eyes as he tried to remember, but it was to no avail. The only thing 
that he was vaguely able to recall was Elrond telling him that, if in doubt, he was to say 
that he could not remember. Which he could not. “I do not know…I cannot remember 
anything…only lunch sitting next to you…” he murmured. To his surprise he felt 
something wet sliding down his cheeks; he flicked out his tongue to taste it and found it 
to be salty…surely he was not crying? Confusion spread across his face at the frustration 
of not being able to remember anything, and he began to sob. 

Aragorn’s brow knitted in concern when he saw how disorientated the Elf was, and 
dismay swept over his features when silver tears started to slip down his face. How the 
Man hated to see his beloved friend in such a state! He gently placed a hand behind 
Legolas’ head and shoulders and helped him to sit up in the bed. He then removed his 
boots and his sword without hesitation and sat down next to him on the bed, gathering 
him into his arms and rocking him slowly until he stopped shaking. 

At the instant Legolas felt Aragorn touch him he felt the same mysterious warmth 
spreading through him again; it seeped to the very depths of his chilly soul, leaving him 
feeling content and fulfilled, and the tears soon stopped flowing as he became more at 
ease in the King’s arms. The aches throughout his battered body began to melt away as 
the warmth increased and his head was finally clearing. He could still not remember what 
had taken place earlier, but he was no longer fazed by that thought. A sensation of 
comfort and fulfilment coursed through his veins and, when he finally felt the pulsing in 
his head weaken to a dull ache after several minutes, he pulled back and looked up at the 
Man who held him close. 

Aragorn was relieved, if rather surprised, to see the sudden change in Legolas. //If there is 
anyone who does not deserve to be unhappy,// he thought, //it is this Elven Prince.//  He 
grinned at his friend, who flashed a genuine smile back at him, before he released him 
and stood. “It is good to see you feeling better, Legolas; you had me very worried for a 
moment back there! I thought that something was seriously wrong!” 

The blond Elf shifted into a more comfortable position upon the bed. His blue eyes were 
now clear and comprehensive again as he looked back into the stormy grey eyes of the 
Ranger. “I am feeling much better now, thank you Aragorn,” he assured the King. “I still 
cannot remember what happened to me, but I am sure that those memories will return 
sooner or later.” 

Aragorn nodded; the effects of the concussion seemed to have passed, he observed 
thankfully. He loathed seeing anyone in such distress, much less such a beautiful creature 
as his dear friend. Legolas was not just attractive on the outside, either, he mused. He 
possessed perhaps the most beautiful spirit that the Man had ever known, and it shone the 
brightest that he had ever seen. Although it was slightly dimmed now, Aragorn assumed 
that this was solely due to Legolas’ accident, and that he would soon glow as brilliantly 
as he ever had. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the musical notes of the Elf’s voice calling to him. 
“Aragorn? Aragorn? Estel?” That produced no result, and Legolas was forced to shout. 
“ELESSAR! Why do you stare at me so?” 

The Ranger shook his dark head. “Sorry, Legolas, I was just thinking about something. 
Now…Where was I…Ah, yes, I was going to change your dressings and check on your 
wound.” 

Legolas sighed; he hated being fussed over in such a way, whether it was Aragorn or 
anyone else. “No, Estel, I will be fine now. It is only a small cut, and the worse is over 
now that I have regained my senses.” 

Aragorn turned his head and his stormy grey eyes bored into the Prince’s large, round 
sapphire ones. “I still think that I should check on it, Legolas. Your brain was well and 
truly muddled up only a few minutes ago; besides, I have been given my orders, and you 
know as well as I that Elrond will have my head on a plate if I do not follow them!” 

A twinkle could be seen in the depths of Legolas’ azure eyes. “And what is the matter 
with that? I certainly do not see a problem…” The corners of his lips twitched, and 
Aragorn feigned a scowl in his direction, pleased as he was to see the Elf returning to his 
usual mischievous disposition. “Careful, my friend, or I shall tell Gimli how the crazy Elf 
was clumsy enough to fall out of a tree! Let us see how he laughs at that!” Legolas stuck 
out his pink tongue, but Aragorn failed to see as he turned to gather fresh bandages and a 
selection of healing herbs. He straightened and walked back to the bed. “Now, with that 
in mind, I suggest that you hold still!” 

He gently unwrapped the fabric from around the Elf’s golden head and inspected the two-
inch gash in his temple pensively. “If this is what you class as a small cut, Legolas, I 
dread to see what you consider to be a mortal wound! Besides, I fail to see how you can 
remember the size of it when you could not even remember where you were when you 
awoke!” This time Aragorn clearly saw Legolas poking out his tongue and, with fingers 
as quick as lightning, he reached out and grabbed it between thumb and forefinger. 
Legolas squealed in astonishment and drew back, but the Dunedan refused to release him. 
He smirked wickedly and brought his mouth close to the Elf’s pointed ear, whispering 
into it. “Mind your manners, my little friend; do not forget that I was brought up in the 
House of Elrond, and I have learned many methods of “persuasion” throughout my years 
here!” He sniggered quietly and loosened his grasp, allowing Legolas to suck his tongue 
back into his mouth and glower back at him. 

Aragorn simply pursed his lips, which twitched at the corners as he attempted to suppress 
the snigger that threatened to emerge, and went back to the job in hand. He noted in 
amazement at how the edges of the wound grew closer together at his touch; he never 
ceased to marvel at the Elven healing ability, despite the fact that he had been raised 
amongst the fair creatures. Once satisfied that the wound was healing as it should, he 
took a dagger from his discarded pouch and, splitting the healing herbs and laying them 
to the wound, he proceeded to bind the golden head with a clean linen bandage. 

Legolas sat quietly, a range of peculiar emotions crossing his features; he both adored 
and despised the touch that Aragorn was bestowing him in one bewildering sensation. He 
loved the way that the feather-light touches atop his sore head instantly made the pain 
vanish and the itching of new tissue growth could be felt; he loved the now-familiar 
warmth diffusing through him, gently heating him from head to toe and rekindling the 
light of his muted spirit; and, most of all, he loved the way that he felt the briefly 
forgotten mirth and verve rush back into his blood stream, lifting his spirits sky-high. At 
the same time, however, he loathed the way that he loved the touch; he loathed the way 
that he felt as though he needed the touch of someone else to make him feel so satisfied; 
he loathed the fact that his friend had had to see him in such a state; and he loathed the 
fact that he needed someone else. Elvish pride was very strong, and Legolas felt that he 
was losing his dignity at having such feelings evoked from such touches. He was an Elf 
of royal blood, no less, he thought, and should not need the help of anyone; the fact that it 
was the King of Gondor was irrelevant. He frowned at himself; the odd expression 
incited a snigger from Aragorn, who had finished binding his head. 

“What a peculiar expression, Legolas! What are you thinking?” 

Legolas silently berated himself for allowing his face to be read so easily. “Nothing, I 
was just attempting to remember more of today’s incidents,” he lied, schooling his 
features and averting his eyes so that Aragorn would not pick up on it. 

“Any luck?” 

Legolas shook his blond head, and realised that Aragorn must have removed his braids 
whilst he was warring with his emotions when his silken hair swung freely and flopped 
forwards over the bandage. He grinned, feigning indifference, and blew a few strands of 
gold from his eyes. 

“Right, I have seen to your head wound, and it seems to be healing nicely,” commented 
Aragorn, trying to focus on the job in hand once again, lest he get swept up in yet another 
game with the young Prince. “Is there anything else that wants to be looked at…ah yes, 
your wrist!” 

Legolas looked at his wrapped wrist; in the confusion of the afternoon’s proceedings it 
had seemed to be the least of his worries. He went to draw it back when Aragorn 
extended his hand, but a narrowing of the King’s stone- coloured eyes was all that was 
needed to make the Elf relinquish his arm to the Ranger’s ministrations. Aragorn 
unwrapped the fragile limb and grasped the Prince’s hand. “Return my grip,” he 
instructed. Once again, Legolas could feel the warmth surging into his hand and up 
through his long arm as the dark-haired Ranger wrapped his rough fingers around the 
smooth skin of the Elf. He tentatively closed his fingers upon the Dunedan’s; as the 
warmth and strength flowed from the Man into the Elf, Legolas felt his grip become 
stronger and stronger until he was squeezing the King’s fingers forcefully. He grinned at 
Aragorn, who was beginning to show signs of discomfort; little did the Man know that 
his pain was caused by his own strength, he thought wryly. 

Aragorn winced as Legolas gave one last fierce squeeze on his fingers. “Very good, 
Legolas…now let go!” he gasped, as the Elf released his hand. “Very impressive! I would 
not say that there is anything wrong with your healing ability at present!” he remarked, 
rubbing his hand and shaking his fingers out to restore the circulation. Although I do not 
know how long you have had that particular injury, he thought, remembering back to 
their arrival when he had noticed the bandage on the Elf’s wrist. Still, his friend seemed 
to be recovering well, and it was good to see him with some of his original mischief again 
– even if he was on the receiving end of it! He grunted as a pillow crashed into the back 
of his neck, catching him unawares, and he turned to face the snickering Elf. 

“Fancy a Ranger being caught off-guard! You must be losing your touch, Estel!” chided 
Legolas, a devilish grin upon his face. 

Aragorn growled menacingly; before Legolas knew what had hit him he was laying upon 
the bed, flat on his back, and the Man was straddling him. “Ai, that is unfair!” he whined, 
trying to play for the sympathy vote. “I am still injured, Aragorn!” 

Aragorn simply adopted the wicked grin that had graced the Elf’s fair face moments 
before, and licked his own lips. “Never start what you cannot finish, Legolas!” he shot 
back, and, with that, fell to mercilessly tickling the helpless Prince. Legolas screamed 
with laughter, powerless to control his emotions at this point, and writhed beneath 
Aragorn. The Dunedan simply chuckled to himself and continued to torture the struggling 
creature below him, whose body was now shaking with silent giggles as he tried to free 
himself from the flying fingers. Eventually both collapsed in a heap, exhausted from their 
laugher, side by side on the bed, occasionally one of them sparking off the other by 
breaking into a fit of unprovoked giggles. 

And, unbeknownst to either figure on the bed, two pairs of eyes twinkled in 
acknowledgement from the doorway. 

***************  
CHAPTER 13  
*************** 

Guardian Angels
 
Elrond sat in a chair across from Glorfindel at the desk in his small, simple study, his 
dark head buried in his hands. Glorfindel’s brow knitted, for he detested seeing his 
companion so. 

“’Tis true then, my Lord.” 

Elrond raised his head and shook it sadly, gazing into Glorfindel’s fathomless eyes 
sorrowfully. He sighed. “I am afraid so; we have no other choice than to approach Arwen 
and Estel and breach the truth to them. I also suspect that Legolas will also need to be 
reminded of the situation, since he was in no fit state to understand such matters at the 
time.” 

The golden-haired Eldar took the raven-haired half-Elf’s left hand in both of his own and 
squeezed it tightly, before pressing it to his lips and kissing it tenderly. “I understand how 
difficult this must be for you, for I know how Arwen loves Estel.” Much in the same way 
that I love you, he thought silently, gazing back into the dark eyes opposite him. 

Elrond nodded dejectedly, reading the traces of sympathy and sorrow in the bright, clear, 
cerulean pools, but was comforted by the glimmer of love that he also managed to detect. 
The pair fell silent for a few moments as the Lord of Imladris contemplated the task in 
hand; how was he to tell his foster-son and only daughter, who had pledged her 
immortality to him as a token of her love, that their best friend was dying of grief for the 
King of Gondor, and that the only way for him to be truly healed was for the King to 
surrender the wife whom he adored and love only Legolas until the end of his days? 
Elrond sighed again heavily, and dropped his gaze to the table. “I am not sure that I can 
bring myself to do this, Glorfindel,” he murmured wearily. “How can I do such a thing to 
my own daughter, and the Man whom I brought up as my own son? How can I make 
them choose?” 

Glorfindel felt his heart fluttering agonizingly in his chest as he saw the desolate situation 
that Elrond was facing. He kissed his hand again before speaking, his words carefully 
chosen in his mind, but faltered. “I…I…” he paused, drew breath and spoke again, the 
words now flowing more articulately. “I think that the best possible method is to tell each 
the situation separately, hard as it may be, and then to allow the three of them to discuss it 
together. You cannot make any of them choose anything; they are all adults and must 
make their own decisions. It is not your place to reach a verdict for any of them, either, 
for they each need to follow their own heart and come to a rational agreement. It is 
unfortunate that you are to be the bearer of such ill tidings, nîn ind; but you must trust 
Arwen and Estel to make the right choice.” 

“But they love each other so, Glorfindel.” Elrond’s voice was heartrending, and 
Glorfindel felt tears prickle in the corners of his large round eyes. He blinked them back 
furiously. “How can I possibly come in-between them like this? Arwen has given up her 
immortality to Estel; by the Valar, I am her father!” His voice was rising heatedly as he 
grew increasingly frustrated with the situation. He stood and began to pace back and forth 
behind the desk, resting his temples in the bridged fingers of one hand as he often did 
when tense or perturbed. Glorfindel allowed him to do this for only a short moment, 
before he also leapt to his feet and strode calmly to Elrond’s side of the desk. He grabbed 
the darker, slightly shorter Elven- lord’s shoulders and coerced him to stand still. The two 
figures stood face- to-face for an instant; Glorfindel was able to depict the bright, 
mournful flash of tears at the back of the dark eyes, and perceived that the natural glow 
normally emitted from an Elf’s soul was growing dim. 

The blond leaned his forehead against Elrond’s and began to whisper calmly but firmly in 
Elvish to the agitated half-Elf. “You must accept the circumstances, melethron; there is 
naught you can do to remedy them. We must also consider Legolas here; it is more than 
likely that he will die if nothing is said. The alternative method of saving him is perilous, 
both to him and to whoever tries to assist him; you may not remember the last time we 
faced such a situation, but I most certainly do.” Elrond’s eyes spoke volumes, but 
Glorfindel paid no heed to them for the moment and continued. “Arwen is no longer 
immortal; it is likely that she will now feel differently because of this. And you do not 
even know of Estel’s feelings for the Prince yet; he may be more willing than we 
imagine. Mortals’ emotions, when it comes to love, often vary greatly to those of our own 
kin, and it would serve you well to remember that whenever you feel as though you are 
unable to speak to any of them.” 

Elrond stared into the immeasurable depths of Glorfindel’s round, sapphire eyes and 
comprehended the truth behind his words. He attempted to smile, but it emerged as more 
of a grimace, and his voice was strained. “You are right, nîn bellas. How can I possibly 
fathom their reactions when I have said nothing to any of them? Arwen has already given 
up her immortality; I will lose her eventually. Let us not lose another eternal flame to the 
same cause.” 

His dark eyes continued to gaze into the crystalline orbs of the fair Eldar; Glorfindel 
could still see the torment inside his heart, even though he had finally seen sense. 
Without any sort of prompt, he suddenly lifted Elrond’s chin with two elegant fingers and 
kissed him. Elrond simply allowed himself to be kissed, softly and deeply and sweetly, 
by the one who was his strength in times when his failed him; simply allowed himself to 
be comforted for a short while; simply allowed himself to be reminded that he was loved. 
He felt warmth ebbing into him from the other Elven-lord, as he pulled back and 
embraced the raven-haired half-Elf tightly, albeit briefly, before he stepped away. 

Elrond smiled gratefully at Glorfindel. “Thank you, nîn bellas, what would I do without 
you?” Probably fade away, he thought to himself. He knew exactly what the blond Eldar 
had done; he had replenished the strength and warmth and light in Elrond’s spirit, using 
his own. Glorfindel smiled back encouragingly. “I saved you, melethron; I am your 
strength and you are bound to me. It is up to me to revive the flames in your soul when 
they grow faint.” He leaned in close and kissed the half-Elven’s lips once more, just for 
good measure. “And I would not have it any other way.” 

No more words were needed. Elrond simply flashed another smile at the Eldar standing 
before him – who looked remarkably similar to one of the creatures that Mortals called 
“angels”, he mused idly – as he slid behind him and to the locked door. Glorfindel 
glanced adoringly at the Lord of Imladris for a fleeting moment. “Let your intuitions 
guide you, melethron; and always remember that I love you,” he muttered as Elrond 
opened the door. 

But he did not hear the door close again; instead his tuned Elven hearing caught an 
almost inaudible sigh. He turned, to see the pallor of the half- Elven contrasting starkly 
with his near-black hair…and Aragorn standing in the corridor, a bemused expression 
upon his striking features and one hand raised to rap on the door. Glorfindel’s heart sank 
as he heard the forlorn tone in Elrond’s voice once again. “You had better come in, Estel. 
There is something that we need to discuss.” 

N/B: nîn ind - my heart  

nîn bellas - my strength  

melethron - lover 

***************  
CHAPTER 14  
*************** 

Breaking News
 
Isildur’s Heir was well and truly confused. He had heard Glorfindel speaking words to 
his foster-father, which he was certain were not destined for his ears, as the door opened 
before he had even managed to knock on it. A grin was threatening to spread across his 
face as he prepared to tease the two about the incident, knowing how sensitive Elrond 
was about his reputation; but he had noticed a most unusual pallor flooding his dark face 
as he froze to the spot, and thought better of it. If Aragorn had not known better, he 
would have said that Elrond looked utterly terrified. 

He slipped inside the study quietly and without question at Elrond’s request. The 
uncharacteristically restless half-Elven motioned for him to take a seat; he did so, but 
soon became uneasy when both Elrond and Glorfindel remained on their feet, the fair 
Eldar standing silently in the doorway and the darker Lord pacing anxiously before the 
desk at which he sat. Aragorn was growing more concerned by the minute; //whatever is 
the matter?//  he wondered. Silence hung heavily in the study for several long moments, 
the only sound being the footfalls of Elrond, until it was broken at last by Glorfindel just 
as the Ranger was losing his patience and opening his mouth to enquire into the situation. 

“Why do you not sit down, my Lord?” suggested Glorfindel gently. “You will wear 
yourself out with your pacing – not to mention the floorboards – and you are making us 
both nervous.” Elrond lifted his head from where it had settled into the arched fingers of 
his right hand once again and showed his consent by standing still. The fair Elf moved to 
the chair at the opposite side of the desk and pulled it out so that the strained Lord of 
Imladris could sit in it. He then stood behind him and laid his slender, graceful hands 
gently upon Elrond’s shoulders as he addressed Aragorn. 

“How fares Legolas, Estel?” 

The Ranger was relieved to see that some progress was being made, although he could 
not fathom what the conversation had to do with Legolas. It was probably nothing more 
than their concern for his friend, he told himself. 

“He seems to perfectly well now, if a little tired; he is asleep at present,” he reassured the 
Elven lords who, indeed, both wore a concerned expression. “He was exceedingly 
disorientated when I first went to him, though, and became very distressed when he could 
not remember anything. It took a long while to console him; but when he finally stopped 
crying the effects of the concussion seemed to have passed. He still cannot remember 
much, but it seems to me that he is back to his usual mischievous disposition!” He 
grinned to himself, remembering the mock-fight on the bed, and pulled a stray feather 
from his thick, dark hair as if to illustrate his point. 

“And what of his injuries?” enquired Elrond quietly, his face still ashen. 

“His head wound is healing nicely,” replied Aragorn. “I could see the edges closing as I 
examined it; the Elven healing ability is certainly to be marvelled at! And as for his 
wrist!” He unconsciously flexed his fingers, drawing a knowledgeable smirk from 
Glorfindel. “That is definitely healed! I did not bother to bind it again.” The beam faded 
from his face at that thought, however, and his previous deliberations came back to mind. 
“Yet, I do not know how long he had that particular injury; his wrist was bound at lunch, 
I noticed. How did this come about - surely he did not fall out of a tree twice?!” 

Some of the colour returned to Elrond’s pallid features as he recalled the incident from 
the previous night that had caused Legolas to fall off his chair in hysterics, and Glorfindel 
was hard-pressed to suppress a loud snort. Aragorn raised an eyebrow in question, his 
eyes glinting playfully. “Perhaps we shall tell you later, Estel,” said the blond Eldar, who 
was trying in vain to prevent his lips turning up at the corners into a wicked smirk. 

Aragorn sighed dramatically. “Very well, I shall just have to ask you at the feast tonight; 
I feel that you will not be able to decline me an answer in front of all your guests!” 

Glorfindel shot him a challenging glare, his own eyes glinting in amusement, but Elrond 
simply released a sigh of his own. “I fear that you will have more important matters to 
consider by dinner tonight, if I ever manage to say what I intend,” he murmured quietly, 
but not failing to attract the undivided attention of both his foster-son and his lover. 
Glorfindel’s hands tightened on his shoulders supportively as he braced himself for the 
words to come. 

“I do not suppose that you have perceived anything usual about Legolas, have you 
Estel?” he asked slowly, not entirely sure how to convey his thoughts. 

“Well, besides the obvious, and the fact that he would not normally fall out of a tree, 
what I have seen of his behaviour has seemed slightly uncharacteristic,” began Aragorn 
hesitantly, not certain of where this exchange was heading. “He was exceedingly quiet 
and distant when I arrived, although he now seems to be back to normal.” The Ranger 
was confused again; whatever did this serious discussion that Elrond obviously needed to 
hold with him have to do with his friend? 

He said as much. “Why does this concern Legolas, father? Is he well?” 

Elrond drew a deep breath. “No,” he replied. Well, there was no going back now, mused 
Glorfindel. “No, he is not, Estel. Legolas is suffering from a form of grief; he is fading. 
Unless he is healed soon he will die.” 

Aragorn was stunned senseless. His stormy grey eyes widened and his jaw dropped open, 
complete disbelief written all over his kingly features. “WHAT? Legolas is dying?” 

Glorfindel felt Elrond’s shoulders slump in his hands, and he was quick to intervene. 
“Not necessarily, Estel. There is a way that he can be saved…how much do you know 
about Elven grief?” 

Aragorn shook his head incredulously. “E…enough,” he whispered. “I have seen enough 
Elves die from it, if that is what you mean.” 

“No, it most certainly is not!” snapped Glorfindel. “Listen to me, Estel; Legolas can be 
saved. He is suffering from grief because his heart desires one who loves another; but, if 
the one for whom his heart yearns surrenders the one who they love and agrees to be with 
only him for the rest of their days, he will be cured. It is a difficult situation, Estel; we --” 

“How long have you known?” cut in Aragorn. It was clear that he was not listening to 
what Glorfindel was trying to tell him; he was too busy running events and thoughts back 
through his mind. 

“We only discovered his condition last night, although Elrond suspects that he has been 
suffering for about two months now, and it was made certain today. Estel, you must listen 
to me; this is important. Legolas can be saved. We will not lose him.” 

The Ranger lowered his eyes and shook his head again, his dark hair swinging and falling 
over his face. It contrasted sharply with his face, which had blanched from the shock, and 
Glorfindel mused abstractedly at how similar he looked to Elrond, even though they were 
only very distantly related by blood from one ancestor from thousands of years ago. 
“Does the one he loves know yet?” asked the King of Gondor tentatively. 

By this point Elrond had recovered his composure sufficiently to speak up and further the 
discussion. “No, he does not.” His voice was still very soft, but both he and Glorfindel 
were relieved to hear that it did not tremble or crack. “And neither does Legolas; I have 
told him once but he was still too groggy from his head wound to comprehend or absorb 
any of what I was saying.” 

“I suppose that this explains why he fell out of the tree,” he pondered out loud, his gaze 
still fixed on the desk. “I knew that something was not quite right…” 

Elrond sighed and looked up into Glorfindel’s wide, sapphire eyes searchingly. This was 
going to be the hardest part, he thought, as one of his hands found his lover’s. The fair 
Eldar’s other hand still rested reassuringly upon the half-Elven’s shoulder; he squeezed it 
tightly and brought the hand up to his lips, kissing it gently. The Lord of Imladris felt a 
small amount of strength ebb into his spirit again from such a simple gesture, and he 
smiled gratefully before drawing a lungful of air and turning back to the troubled Ranger. 
His head was still bowed and he had not seen any of the exchange between the two Elven 
lords. 

“Legolas did not fall from a tree, Estel,” he began gently. “He collapsed directly after 
lunch, when you left; he saw you kiss Arwen and take her arm.” 

The King’s head snapped back up, and his piercing stone-grey eyes bored into Elrond’s. 
“What are you trying to say?” he queried, somewhat harsher that he had intended to. 

Elrond felt Glorfindel’s fingers tighten even more upon his shoulder, and he sucked in 
another deep breath. “Legolas is grieving over you, Estel. Your love for Arwen is killing 
him.” 

***************  
CHAPTER 15  
*************** 

Great Expectations 

Aragorn just gaped at Elrond. “Exc... I…*what*?” 

Elrond sighed again and repeated himself. “Your love for Arwen is killing Legolas, Estel. 
He is grieving over you.” Elbereth, he thought, how he hated himself for saying that. He 
closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Glorfindel’s chest, who still stood 
behind him, his hands resting on Elrond’s shoulders. The half-Elf felt the familiar ebb of 
strength into him once again, pulsing in time with the beating of the blond Elf’s heart 
directly beneath his dark head. // Why am I so weak today //? he groaned inwardly. // Why 
must I rely so heavily upon him? //

Aragorn, meanwhile, had slumped forwards onto the desk. His forearms were folded in 
front of him and he was resting his brow upon them, his thick, black hair cascading over 
his face and obscuring it from view. His breath was shallow, shown by the quick rise and 
fall of his back, but other than that he was completely still. Elrond lifted his head and 
opened his eyes, feeling stronger again from the vigour drawn from Glorfindel, but his 
face twisted in concern. “Estel?” he questioned softly. “Are you all right?” 

The Dunedan lifted his head weakly. He gazed directly into his foster- father’s deep, dark 
eyes with his stony grey ones. His face was perfectly neutral, but Elrond was terrified by 
the look of complete and utter pain and horror filling his eyes, which glistened with 
unshed tears for his friend. “Estel?” he asked again. His voice this time was more urgent 
and insistent, pressing for an answer. 

Aragorn shook his head slowly and laid it back upon his folded forearms once more. “I 
am killing him,” he groaned softly, his words almost inaudible from beneath his arms. 
“I…I…” he tailed off, and fell silent for a moment. Thoughts raced through his 
bewildered mind; Legolas…Arwen…memories of the Fellowship and the 
Quest…comfort stolen during the harsh nights…companionship during the long 
days…//when had it all happened?//  he screamed at himself. // How did this happen? 
How could he let this happen? //

He raised his head again and sat up straight, tossing a few dark strands out of his eyes so 
that he could look directly at Elrond and Glorfindel. His face was still ashen and drained 
of any emotion, but this time his eyes had a similar, blank expression, which worried the 
Elven lords even more than before. “What happens now?” he enquired impassively. 

“We have yet to speak to Arwen and Legolas,” began Elrond softly. “I had planned to 
speak to all three of you separately, then allow you to discuss it amongst yourselves. It is 
probably best that neither Glorfindel nor I become involved, for it is not our place to 
make a decision for any of you. What you choose to do must come from your hearts, and 
you must do what you truly believe is right. I trust you know of what I speak?” 

The Man nodded slightly; he had grown up amongst Elves, and had learned much about 
sickness and healing from his skilled foster-father. “So we must discuss the situation, and 
choose,” he said softly. The hairs on the nape of Glorfindel’s neck stood on end; there 
was definitely an ominous quality to Aragorn’s voice. “You expect me to choose.” 

“No, Estel, ‘tis not just you who must choose,” corrected Elrond gently; he had also 
detected the King’s menacing tone, and knew what was going to erupt sooner or later. He 
tried to calm his foster-son, who was becoming more volatile by the minute. “There is 
another way that Legolas can be saved, as you well know. If he so desires, and if you and 
Arwen will allow it, he may opt for that method in lieu of this and become bound to 
whoever saves him. And Arwen has decisions of her own to make, also; it is up to her 
whether she allows you to surrender your marriage vows, if you should so wish. That is 
why the three of you must discuss the situation.” 

Aragorn’s steely eyes narrowed, and he spoke in the same, soft, unsettling tone of voice. 
“There is not much of a situation to discuss, is there *father*?” he spat, the last word 
emerging as more of an insult than anything else. 

Elrond tried in vain to calm the irate King. “Estel, this is as hard for me as it is for you; I 
know how you love Arwen so, and…” 

“NO!” cried Aragorn, his voice now becoming thunderous and heated. “You expect me 
to surrender the woman whom I love so that I can save my best friend! That is not the 
sort of thing that a father should request from his son-in-law, is it Elrond? What about 
Arwen, do you not think that this will hurt her? She has given up her immortality for me, 
because she loves me, and I love her. I cannot help it that Legolas has some silly, 
childish, immature infatuation for me! Let him find someone else to break his heart over, 
because I do not think that I can be expected to submit the lady who has agreed to die for 
me! He can find someone else to save him!” 

By now he had risen to his feet and was bellowing across the desk at Elrond and 
Glorfindel, who were cringing slightly at the volume of his voice. He looked directly at 
them, his tempestuous grey eyes flashing wildly, before turning smartly on his heel and 
marching out of the door. He strode down the corridor, nearly knocking over several 
servants along the way, and towards the back door that would admit him to the extensive 
gardens of Imladris. His head was spinning; how could they *possibly* expect him to 
give up Arwen to save Legolas? What was the matter with the Elf, he fumed. They had 
only stolen a few lustful, passionate nights together for comfort whilst on the Quest; how 
could he possibly be dying of grief from *that*? They had not even had contact for two 
years! 

He reached the back door and sprinted madly across the gardens in the direction of the 
forest. He followed little-known paths through the trees, which he had traced many times 
as a child, towards the fabled waterfall. As he drew closer to the sunlit glade, he slowed 
to a gentle jog and eventually to a walk. 

The Ranger tilted his head back and gazed up to the top of the falls, where the rapids 
ended and the crystal-clear water cascaded majestically down the mossy green rock-face. 
Stepping up the edge of the pool, he dropped to his knees and suddenly plunged his head 
into the icy water in an attempt to clear it. He shook it violently when he finally grew 
short of breath and lifted his face from the water, his sodden dark hair flying out all 
around him and sending crystal beads of water shooting off into the surrounding foliage. 
After running a hand down his face to remove the excess liquid from it and smoothing his 
hair back from his face, he collapsed onto his back in a pool of light and lay completely 
motionless, eyes closed and ears tuned to the deafening rush of the waterfall, distant 
childhood memories of games played with Elladan and Elrohir dancing through his mind 
as he willed himself to forget about the troubles of the present for a few moments in 
attempt to calm himself. 
~~~ 

As Aragorn marched out of the study, absolutely seething, Elrond released the breath that 
he had not realised he was holding for the past few minutes and stood, turning to face 
Glorfindel. “Well, that was hardly unexpected,” he jested, suddenly feeling surprisingly 
cheery as he allowed himself to be engulfed in his lover’s long, lithe arms once more. 
“He will calm down eventually, I hope. Thank you, nîn bellas, I could not have done that 
without you, and, somehow, I feel that we have completed the hardest element of our 
task!” 

The blond Eldar chuckled softly into Elrond’s dark hair, inhaling the sweet scent. He 
kissed the raven head and squeezed the half-Elf tightly, before pulling back to gaze into 
his eyes. Brilliant blue locked onto shadowy dark, and both Elven-lords smiled lovingly 
as they leaned towards into each other and kissed once more. It began slowly, intended to 
be nothing more than reassurance as before, but his time it grew more passionate and 
fervent, and both figures felt a sizzling heat rising from the tips of their toes to the crowns 
of their heads. Glorfindel grasped Elrond’s waist and pulled their bodies near, at the same 
time as the Lord of Imladris began to run his long fingers through the silken gold hair, 
drawing the fair Eldar closer to him and plunging his tongue deeply into the other’s 
mouth. He felt Glorfindel’s tongue teasing his, and just as both Elves felt that it was 
becoming rather too hot in the small study for clothing, they heard a loud gasp from the 
direction of the door. 

Elrond drew back reluctantly from Glorfindel’s hot mouth and turned with a grimace. If 
possible his face turned even brighter red as he saw the same kitchen maid who had 
brought them the food the previous evening standing in the open doorway, and he silently 
cursed Aragorn for neglecting to slam the door behind him as he usually did in one of his 
rare tempers. He averted his eyes to the floor sheepishly; Glorfindel, however, who was 
already facing the door, flashed the poor girl a brilliant, lopsided grin, his azure eyes 
glinting audaciously, sending her running blushing back to the kitchen, having forgotten 
whatever she was sent to ask. 

Elrond lifted his dark eyes to Glorfindel’s tentatively; however upon seeing the vivacious 
expression decorating his stunning features he was powerless to do anything but burst 
into fits of hysterics. The blond Eldar, once he heard the silvery, musical laughter, was 
also unable to suppress his own giggles, and both Elves laughed helplessly for several 
minutes at being caught in such an awkward situation *again*! 

Elrond was the first to sober himself, although Glorfindel was quick to follow, and they 
both grinned at each other as the dark figure leaned on the desk and the blond on the back 
of the chair. “Unless you plan to tell people soon, we shall have to be more careful, 
melethron,” chided Glorfindel playfully. The mischievous Elf did not mind being caught 
by a kitchen maid occasionally, but he was very old and respected and had *some* sort of 
a reputation to maintain! “What do you suggest we do next?” 

“I suppose we had better inform Arwen and Legolas; and one of us had better follow 
Estel,” sighed Elrond, unwilling to return to the serious matter that was facing them. 

“Very well. Perhaps it would be better if you spoke with Arwen and Legolas; matter such 
as this sound better coming from a father. I will go after Estel. He has gone to the 
waterfall, I would imagine.” 

The Lord of Imladris nodded; Aragorn always returned to his favourite haunt when 
troubled or in need of solitude. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish for me to tell 
him?” 

Elrond knew exactly of what his lover spoke. “Do as you see fit, nîn bellas; I trust you.” 

Glorfindel smiled in return, and with nothing more than another brief kiss, the two Elven-
lords left the study in opposite directions. 

***************  
CHAPTER 16  
*************** 

Don’t Shoot the Messenger 

Elrond wound his way slowly along the hectic corridors towards Arwen and Aragorn’s 
chambers. The passageways grew gradually quieter as he neared the peaceful wing where 
the sleeping quarters were, at the opposite end to the house from the kitchens and dining 
halls where chaos currently resided as preparations were made for the evening’s 
celebrations. Eventually he discovered that he was alone in a deserted hallway, just 
around the corner from his destination. He sat upon a bench for a moment to compose 
himself, basking in the sunlight streaming in through the glass dome that topped the 
rounded junction. He leaned his dark head against the wall, revelling in the sensation on 
his skin from the golden light that flooded the serene space. 

His sharp ears suddenly caught the sound of a door closing and light, Elven footsteps 
traversing the passageway. He did not bother to lift his head, but simply waited for the 
figure to reach the alcove. He opened one eye reluctantly as the footsteps turned the 
corner so that he could see the figure, and soon opened the other when he recognised his 
daughter standing before him. 

“Is everything in order, father? Are you well?” 

Elrond sighed and smiled at Arwen weakly without opening his eyes; it was obvious that 
he would not be allowed to dictate today’s events, he thought wryly. “Yes, nîn sellath, I 
am fine; but as for other events…I was just coming to find you. There is something we 
need to discuss.” 

Arwen raised one eyebrow pointedly at her father, but said nothing. Instead she took a 
seat next to him as he gestured for her to do so, settling her fine, long robes of green 
Elven silk around her. “What does this matter concern, father?” she asked gently, so as 
not to fluster her father; he appeared to be suffering from one of his rare turns where he 
suddenly felt weak and drained, for no apparent reason. Of course, he thought as he 
noticed the quiet concern in her luminescent jade eyes, there is always a reason; she is 
just never aware of the causes. 

“It concerns Legolas,” he began hesitantly. He was not dreading breaking the news to 
Arwen in the same way as he had to Aragorn; his daughter was of a much gentler 
disposition and, although Estel was usually kind and even tempered, Elrond had known 
him long enough to be aware of the fact that he was occasionally capable of flying into 
some fierce rages. He pressed his lips into a tight, thin line before continuing. “We – that 
is Glorfindel and I – discovered last night that Legolas is not well.” 

The Queen’s face became grave at these words. “But Legolas is an Elf, father; if he is ill 
then that must mean…” 

Elrond could not help smiling inwardly; his daughter was certainly quick- minded. “Yes, 
he is grieving. He is fading, love, and I fear that it has been happening for about two 
months now, if not longer, although he himself is still not aware of it.” 

Arwen shook her head sadly, eyes wide and disbelief across her features in much the 
same expression as her husband had displayed a short while earlier. “Do you know who 
is the cause?” she asked, raising her emerald eyes to her father’s. Elrond was dismayed to 
see that they were wide, and bright and glistening with tears for her friend, and he 
guessed that, deep in her heart of hearts, she already knew the answer. 

He sighed again before answering; this was going to be so hard for him, for the last thing 
in Middle Earth that he wanted to do was to hurt his only daughter. “Yes, we do. Forgive 
me for this, nîn sellath. It is Aragorn.” 

He gazed back into her bright green eyes anxiously, trying to gauge her reactions, but she 
merely nodded her head sadly, her black, shimmering hair jumping slightly at the 
movement, as if he had done nothing more than confirmed her suspicions. “I am sorry, 
my love, this is the worst thing I could ever imagine doing to you,” he whispered, holding 
out his arms to her. 

A single iridescent tear dropped from her long eyelashes as she closed them briefly, dark 
smudges on her high, defined cheekbones. She allowed it to slip down her pale, almost 
ethereal cheeks, before she leaned towards Elrond and allowed him to envelop her in his 
arms. “I do not blame you father; you cannot help being the bearer of ill tidings,” she 
murmured softly into his ear as they embraced. “’Tis nobody’s fault, save perhaps Estel’s 
for being so easy to fall in love with.” 

He looked down at her and smiled supportively, marvelling at the same time at how 
steady her voice was and how she refrained from shaking, even though she had only shed 
one tear. His daughter had always had strong soul, stronger than most Elves; she had 
received that from her mother, he thought wistfully as images of his beloved wife flooded 
his mind. Even though she had been little more than a babe in arms when Celebrian had 
sailed West, she had helped to hold him together, merely from his knowledge that he still 
held part of his beloved in both her and her twin brothers. He had been loath to allow her 
to surrender her immortality to Aragorn, but in the end he had remembered that if you 
love someone enough, you have to let them go. It had been the same with Celebrian, he 
knew; much as it nearly broke him to let her go, he knew that it would be selfish to keep 
her with him for his own sake, after all the joy that she saw in Endor had faded. 

He inhaled deeply and absorbed every detail of his treasured daughter for a few more 
moments, recalling past memories of his dear wife in almost every detail. It took a great 
deal to break an Elven soul, he reflected sadly as he pulled himself from his musings. 
Arwen returned his smile poignantly, and asked her next question. 

“Does Estel know yet?” 

Elrond’s sorrowful smile turned wry as he nodded confirmation. “Yes, he flew into one 
of his dreadful tempers.” He shook his dark head, the corners of his lips turning up 
slightly as memories of childish temper tantrums crept back to mind. Arwen laughed 
despite herself, the silvery music echoing down the corridors. She also remembered the 
Heir of Isildur’s outbursts, and Elladan and Elrohir were on the receiving end of them 
more often than not! “Yes, I can imagine, it would have shocked him,” she chuckled 
gently. “He has not had one for a while; they do not occur often, but they do they can be 
rather violent!” 

Elrond snorted again, remembering one particular incident involving water, buckets of 
water, and, of course, the twins. “Mm, yes, he certainly can have his moments. Glorfindel 
has gone after him, for he stormed off. I suspect that he has gone to the waterfall, as 
usual; let us see if our faithful resident Eldar can sort him out.” 

Arwen smiled again, this time more sombrely. “So what happens now?” she enquired 
softly. 

Elrond reverted back to his previous, serious manner, grateful as he had been for the 
minor intermission. “Well, as of yet Legolas is still unaware of his condition. I was 
preparing to inform him after I had spoken to you; I have told him once already this 
afternoon, but he was in no fit state to comprehend my words.” 

Arwen raised a delicate eyebrow questioningly. “Of course, you do not know,” mumbled 
Elrond, almost to himself. “We ran into a slight...should we say…problem after lunch 
today, Arwen. Legolas saw Estel take your arm and kiss you as you left to rest in your 
quarters; he collapsed before either Glorfindel or I could catch him and struck his head 
quite hard on the floor, giving him a severe concussion. We managed to convince Estel 
that he had fallen – or rather was pushed – out of a tree and asked him to tend to him, 
knowing that his touch would heal him enough for him to be sufficiently coherent to 
discuss this matter with the two of you, once we had told all three of you. I intend to tell 
Legolas shortly, and then when we have managed to calm Estel I feel that the best course 
of events would be for you to discuss this together. I shall give you the use of my 
quarters, so that you may not be disturbed.” 

The raven-haired beauty had paled somewhat whilst her father was informing her of the 
events to come, and her eyes widened. “You mean that we have hurt him already? Ai, 
father, what sort of friends are we? What...” 

“Nonsense, Arwen, calm yourself,” interrupted Elrond quickly before the conversation 
got out of hand. “Legolas is fine now, he is merely sleeping off the last effects of the 
concussion. Estel’s touch has healed him well, and I suspect that his head wound has 
completely closed by now. Do not blame yourself for you were not to know; it was, in 
fact, that particular incident that served to confirm my fears, for even Glorfindel and I 
were not certain until that point.” 

Arwen nodded dubiously, still shocked at the fact that she had caused Legolas to become 
injured. “Very well, father, you are not often wrong,” she muttered quietly. “When will 
you speak to Legolas?” 

Elrond braced himself and stood up from the bench, clasping Arwen on the shoulder as 
he did so. “I suppose that now is as good a time as any,” he admitted frankly. Although, 
judging from the way events have gone today, the object of my discussion will probably 
come to find me, he thought dryly. “Wait in the library; I shall come and find you when I 
have finished.” 

The Queen of Gondor also rose to her feet and embraced her father. “I love you, father,” 
she told him firmly. “Just remember that you are merely the messenger; try not to get 
involved, for it will only hurt you more, and I am loath for that to happen. You cannot 
choose the course of events, for it is up to us to make our own decisions of the heart.” 

Elrond squeezed her back tightly, before giving her and appreciating glance and turning 
to follow the passageway to his own chambers. 

You have brought her up well, he thought to himself. 

N.B: nîn sellath - my daughter 

***************  
CHAPTER 17  
*************** 

Above Ground… 

Glorfindel halted as he reached the clearing, his sensitive Elven ears ringing already from 
the rush of the falls, and peered around the dell, searching for the Dunedan. Despite the 
fact that Aragorn had been brought up by the Firstborn and had learned much of their 
agility and grace, he was nonetheless a Man, and heavy on his feet, too, as it appeared. 

The Eldar’s brilliant, keen blue eyes scanned the glade, noting how the grass had been 
disturbed where the King had fallen to his knees to wash his face in the deep, icy pool, 
and then collapsed upon his back. His eyes followed the footprints from the large area of 
crushed grass to the trees at the edge of the clearing, and then up the shaft of the tree at 
which they stopped. He depicted a dark figure in the branches, legs outstretched in front 
of him on the bough and back resting against the trunk; from his stillness, and shallow 
breathing, Aragorn appeared to be asleep. 

The tall, lithe, blond figure slipped weightlessly over the grass, leaving no tracks in his 
wake, and scaled the tree effortlessly. He swung one long, graceful leg over the limb 
upon which the Dunedan slept and sat facing him, straddling the branch. He sat for a 
moment, debating what his next move should be, but Aragorn opened one grey eye and 
sized up the Elf lazily. “I was wondering how long it would be before someone came to 
find me,” he muttered sleepily, and somewhat touchily. “Can a Ranger get no peace?” He 
closed his eye again and laid his head back against the bark, crossing one ankle over the 
other and folding his arms across his chest. 

Glorfindel raised a delicate flaxen eyebrow. “Really, Estel,” he drawled coolly. “One can 
always count upon you to act like a child at the most inopportune moments, can’t they? 
Hardly fitting for a King, now, is it?” He knew instantly that he had touched a sore spot, 
for this time both of the King’s eyes flew open angrily and his head snapped up. “I have 
no idea, Glorfindel, perhaps you could tell me? I wonder how many Kings have had to 
surrender their beloved Queens so they can be expected to save a silly Elf is dying from 
some immature infatuation for their best friend,” he countered fiercely, fixing the blond 
Elf with his stony glare. 

Glorfindel’s brow creased anxiously when he heard these words. “Is that how you see 
this, Estel?” he questioned softly, taken aback by the Man’s outlook on the situation. 
“You see the deep-seated love for you that is killing your best friend as an immature 
infatuation? Are you even aware that he is not alerted to his love for you yet? I would say 
that the fact that you have not one but two beautiful eternal spirits who are willing to die 
for your love would say a great deal about not only their characters but yours, too.” 
Glorfindel’s smooth, melodic voice was immensely stirring, and Aragorn’s harsh gaze 
melted as he heard his words. 

“Although, personally, I do not feel that you are showing the most beautiful side of your 
soul at this particular moment,” added the Elf, causing the Man’s eyes to twinkle very 
slightly with a few tears. He shook his head and blinked, and Glorfindel saw the look of 
respite that crossed his features. 

“You could at least discuss the situation with Arwen and Legolas, rather than refusing to 
accept it without any consideration,” suggested Glorfindel gently. “I have my suspicions 
that our stubborn Prince will not allow you to sacrifice your love for Arwen, anyway.” 

“But he cannot die!” exclaimed Aragorn loudly, as the truth of the matter suddenly hit 
him. “You said that there was another way to save him; can you tell me more about that?” 

Glorfindel sighed, his slim chest puffing dramatically as he inhaled deeply. “Very well. If 
you, for whatever reason, did not heal Legolas, then another person who is also dear to 
him may save him in a similar manner. However, it can be perilous for both the affected 
and the one who has chosen to give their love freely, and once Legolas is healed he will 
be bound to that person for the rest of his days. It will be necessary for him turn to that 
person in times of weakness, for that is when his soul will be dimmest, and they will need 
to rekindle the light of his spirit.” 

Aragorn looked bemused. “The light…?” 

“Yes, Estel, surely you know that?” answered Glorfindel. “Every Elf’s spirit is an eternal 
flame; whenever an Elf dies, their flame is extinguished and they pass through to the 
Halls of Mandos. Legolas is dying of grief, and his soul is dimming. He will eventually 
fade as his spirit leaves him, unless it is relit in time.” 

The Dunedan nodded to show comprehension, and silently berated himself for forgetting 
such a fact. Glorfindel permitted silence to descend for a while, allowing Aragorn to 
weigh up the information. “This other method,” he said softly after a few minutes. “You 
say that it is dangerous for both people involved; how dangerous? Do many people 
survive?” 

The Elf’s bright eyes shadowed briefly at this question. “The person who causes the grief 
very rarely fails to heal the afflicted,” he muttered disparagingly, “Although there are 
times when it is impossible. It happened to a friend of mine; his wife sailed West and it 
was left to his dearest friend to prevent him from passing into the Halls of Mandos.” He 
tailed off, and the Man caught his eye sympathetically, detecting the note of anguish in 
his voice. 

“I am sorry, my friend, I did not know. Was…did he…” 

“Yes, he is still alive,” replied the Eldar. “And has been for over five-hundred years, 
since it happened. He must still turn to his saviour, when the flames grow dim, but 
otherwise none would know that anything is amiss. It was a traumatic experience, though, 
and he who saved him very nearly followed him to the brink of Aman before they were 
both called back. But, nonetheless, both have survived to this day. You may even have 
met him.” A slight understatement, thought the Elf, but I see no reason for him to know 
unless it is necessary. He must make his own decisions, without the influence of past 
events; besides, he reasoned, the only people who knew the full details of how Elrond 
had been saved, excepting obviously Elrond himself and Glorfindel, were Elladan and 
Elrohir, who had helped to pull both Elves back from the brink ere they were lost. Not 
even Arwen was aware that her father had almost died, for she had been a mere infant at 
the time. He settled on his decision, and focused on the Dunedan once more. 

Ranges of emotions flickered through Aragorn’s mind, visible in the depths of his eyes, 
until his jaw set and his face softened faintly. “Very well,” he acquiesced, “I will talk to 
Arwen, in any case, and Legolas when he is awake. I am promising nothing, but I very 
much doubt that our stubborn Prince will relish the thought of being dependent upon 
someone else, after all.” 

Glorfindel smiled approvingly, his cerulean eyes lighting up at the answer. At least some 
progress had been made; other bridges could be crossed when they were reached. “Come 
then, Estel, let us return to the house and discover what your father has been up to in our 
absence. I daresay there is a long evening ahead, for many of us.” 

With that he swung down stylishly from the branch, landing lightly on his feet and 
looking up into the branches from which he had descended to ensure that Aragorn was 
following. The Ranger managed a faint smile at this elegant display of Elven grace and 
climbed down the trunk a little more cautiously, for he had grown unused to the practice 
of climbing trees whilst living in castles in Gondor. The tall, fair, slender figure set off in 
the direction of the house, closely followed by the shorter, stockier, dark Man, who 
walked as though there was a great weight upon his shoulders. 

***************  
CHAPTER 18  
*************** 

Springing Surprises 

Legolas looked at himself in the mirror and frowned at the thick, white bandage wrapped 
around his brow. He had dressed himself again – who had clothed him in this gown? – 
once he had found his clothes again. The tunic was splashed with his own dark blood, but 
the spots were not too obvious on the deep green fabric, and it would suffice for the short 
walk back to his chambers. 

He tenderly pressed the area beneath the linen dressing, half expecting to feel a twinge of 
pain, but when he had awoken the wound no longer throbbed or ached and he assumed 
that it had healed. Gingerly he began to loosen the bandage, unwinding it from around his 
head and allowing his long, golden hair to fall freely about his shoulders from where it 
had been held back by the fabric. He neatly folded the bandage and laid it upon the table 
next to the mirror, before stepping up to the silvery glass and inspecting his temple 
closely. To his surprise there was only a small, red scratch to prove that there had ever 
been an injury; but Aragorn had said that it was a two-inch gash, he marvelled silently. 
Long, slender, nimble fingers came up to explore the cut, gently probing the area to 
ensure that it would no longer cause him pain. 

The fair Elf stepped back from the mirror and regarded himself again, scowling slightly 
at the dark spots of blood on his tunic and the pink tinge held by his flaxen hair around 
his right temple; however he was only going to his room down the corridor, so it would 
not matter that he was in such a state. 

He turned and surveyed the scene before him, a faint twinkle of amusement in his 
luminous sapphire eyes. The bedclothes were disordered, from his scrabble upon it with 
Aragorn; one of the pillows had split where he had hit Aragorn too hard, and delicate 
white feathers floated and danced across the flagstones. He also noted with a twinge of 
discernment that there were still a few spots of his red blood upon the pillowcases and 
spattered lightly on the sheets; however the twist of disapproval on his fair features 
quickly transformed into a wicked grin, and he snorted as he realised how the bedroom 
looked now, as it had when he had entered it for the first time with Elrond and Glorfindel 
the previous night. 

Shaking his head slowly, he turned towards the door and opened it, only to take a step 
forwards and find himself standing no more than a few inches away from Elrond. His 
sapphire eyes met those of the dark half-Elf, who stiffened and froze to the spot. 

“Going somewhere, my Prince?” smirked Elrond coolly, taking a stride forwards and 
forcing the rigid Elf back into the bedroom. “I think not; there is a matter that we need to 
discuss.” He closed the door behind him, and locked it to emphasise his point. His eyes 
never left the blond figure in front of him. 

Legolas gulped nervously, but lifted his chin in defiance. “I am healed now, Elrond; I 
thank you for your assistance but I am now perfectly capable of…” 

The Lord of Imladris cut off his excuse with a soft, wry chuckle. “You are anything but 
healed, Legolas, and it may be a while yet before that changes.” 

The golden haired Prince frowned at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Aragorn had 
tended to me, and…” 

“No, Legolas, you do not know half of the story. Have a seat.” Elrond motioned to the 
bed, and the corners of his mouth lifted somewhat when he noticed the state of the 
bedclothes and the feathers fluttering about the floor. “I wondered where that feather in 
Estel’s hair came from,” he muttered amusedly. He cocked his head and addressed 
Legolas. “I was rather fond of that particular pillow, I’ll have you know,” he said. His 
face was perfectly straight, but the shamefaced Elf caught his eye as he sat and laughed 
uneasily, noticing the gleam in the eyes of the dark figure standing before him. 

Elrond dragged a chair over from the nearby desk and settled on the edge of the seat, 
fixing Legolas with his unbending gaze as he observed him from top to toe. The Elf 
squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, but said nothing. Eventually the Lord of Imladris 
spoke. “How much are you able to remember about what happened to you?” he asked 
flatly. 

Legolas knew exactly what he was referring to. “Not much, really,” he confessed, 
shaking his head slowly. “All I can vaguely recall is lunch, and then you saying that if I 
was in doubt I was to say that I could not remember anything. Then I woke up again and 
Estel was there; he said that I fell out of a tree! What a ridiculous thought; I would not…” 
he hesitated, seeing the stern expression on Elrond’s face. “Ai, Elbereth, please tell me 
that I did not fall out of a tree, Elrond!” 

The half-Elven sighed softly. “If only it was that simple. No, fear not, you did not fall out 
of a tree! However, there is something else ailing you.” The golden-haired Elf’s features 
twisted disconcertingly at this last remark, prompting Elrond to continue. “Ai, there is no 
easy way to say this; you are suffering from grief, Legolas. You love Aragorn, and his 
love for Arwen is causing your spirit to fade.” He paused, to allow the Prince to absorb 
the sudden deluge of information. 

“What…I do not understand…I am grieving?” His voice was incredulous, his eyes wide 
with fear and trepidation. “But I do not love Aragorn; of course he is my dearest friend, 
but…I…we….” He tailed off again, his brilliant sapphire pools still wide with the shock 
of the news, and his slender, muscular shoulders began to tremble. 

Elrond felt his heart cleaving when he saw one single bead of liquid slip defiantly from 
the cerulean eyes, all-too familiar memories being dredged up from the past again. The 
Elf managed to prevent any other tears from escaping by sheer force of character, and 
Elrond was awestruck at the strength of his will. He reached out to grasp the other’s 
shoulder supportively with one hand. Eventually the Prince raised his chin again, and his 
now-glistening sapphire orbs locked onto Elrond’s dark, shadowed pair. His shoulder still 
shook with the strain of keeping his composure, but when he spoke his voice was even 
and emotionless. “So I am dying. Do Aragorn and Arwen know yet?” 

The Lord of Imladris could not refrain from crying out at this comment, and rushed 
forwards to wrap his arms around the Elf; Legolas simply sat completely motionless, 
allowing himself to be embraced but without returning the gesture. Elrond whispered 
fiercely into his pointed ear in a fluent stream of Elvish, to certify that he would hear. 

“We will not let you die, Legolas. Estel will not fail you, I am sure of it, for he loves you 
too deeply to lose you. We all do; we will find some way to save you.” 

Legolas kept his eyes fixed upon the stone floor; his face was as emotionless as his voice 
when he replied to Elrond’s whisperings, but his words were like cold daggers stabbing 
into the half-Elven’s heart, and he shuddered violently when he heard them. 

“Perhaps I wish to die.” 

***************  
CHAPTER 19  
*************** 

Impossible Sacrifices 

Elrond’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” 

Legolas repeated his last words, his voice still utterly void of any detectable emotion, his 
face expressionless. “Perhaps I wish to die.” 

Elrond paled to the colour of the white bedclothes that he was sitting on, and gathered the 
blond Elf into his arms again, rocking him back and forth gently. His dark eyes were 
wide, and a shadow passed over his pallid face as he frantically contemplated what he 
was going to say next; Legolas remained motionless and rigid, and passively allowed 
himself to be cradled in the half-Elven’s strong arms. 

Elrond opened his mouth to speak after a few long minutes, but found his throat to be dry 
and faltered, not quite able to get the words out. He closed his mouth, swallowed hard, 
and opened it again. His tone was soft and simple, so as not to push the Prince into and 
answer. “Why would you rather die, Legolas? Surely you know how much you are loved, 
and would be sorely missed.” 

Legolas pulled away from Elrond’s embrace and turned his gaze to the raven- haired 
Elven-lord. His eyes were cold and icy-blue as he pinned the half- Elf to the spot with his 
glare. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips before he spoke. “Do you honestly expect 
me to come between Aragorn and Arwen, Elrond?” he purred coolly. “You have seen 
their love for one another; and as a father I think that the last thing you wish for me to do 
is to break your daughter’s heart so that mine can be saved. I will not allow Estel to save 
me; it is as simple as that.” 

Elrond screamed inwardly at himself; he should have seen this coming. “But you do 
know that there is another way we can save you,” he suggested gently. Legolas laughed 
shrilly at this, a sardonic grimace spreading across his stunning Elven features, twisting 
them horribly. “You do not know me at all, do you?” His voice was dripping with disdain 
this time, and Elrond decided that he preferred the emotionless tone. “As if I should truly 
wish to become bound to another; to have to depend on them for my strength. I depend 
on nobody but myself, and if that means that I shall die then so be it.” 

The Lord of Imladris moved to place a hand upon the Prince’s shoulder, but it was 
brushed away wildly. He narrowed his dark eyes. “The least you could do is talk to 
Arwen and Estel, Legolas. We care about you; we are all trying to help you…” 

“And I have told you already, I need no help!” cut in the Elf. His voice had become harsh 
and angry, and his eyes flashed dangerously as he rose to his feet. “I refuse to come in 
between them, or to depend on another for my strength. Besides, who would sacrifice 
themselves for me? There is nobody that I know of, and I doubt that you know of 
someone either. It is better for everyone if I die; you may grieve but you will recover 
soon enough. Just let me go, Elrond!” 

The half-Elf was struck by the anguish in the fair Prince’s words, and struggled to think 
how he could make him see sense. He stood up to face the Elf and set his jaw; a 
menacing look spread over his face. “And I suppose you have considered how many 
hearts you would break if we were to allow you to die?” he answered impatiently. “There 
is your father and brothers, for a start; then all here at Imladris would grieve for you, no 
doubt losing a few of our own citizens. Glorfindel and myself would be devastated, not to 
mention Arwen, Estel and the twins. And then there are the hobbits; Frodo and Sam and 
Merry and Pippin; Legolas, I am willing to wager that even Gimli would weep for you!” 

“Everyone would recover eventually!” cried the Elf. His voice was sharp and he was 
close to shouting by now. “I will not discuss this with them; I would break Arwen’s heart 
by coming between her and Aragorn; you would surely lose her, which would doubtless 
break you own heart. And I cannot ask anyone to save me in lieu of Aragorn, for it is 
incredibly perilous for them. I cannot expect a single person to submit their lives to me in 
such a way; it would be a totally selfish act!” 

Elrond was growing angry and frustrated with the stubborn Prince by now, and he 
shouted back at him. “You seem to forget that Arwen is now mortal, Legolas; I have 
already lost her! She will die whether Estel saves you or not! At least if she surrenders 
him she can sail to Valinor and spend the rest of her days with her mother, whom she has 
not seen since she was a child. You need to be less selfless sometimes, Legolas; it is often 
not just for your benefit!” 

The incensed Prince stepped up to the Elven-lord until their noses were almost touching. 
He spoke so quietly that Elrond could barely hear him, but the words that he spoke had a 
greater effect than if they had been shouted in his ear. He could almost taste the fury on 
the Elf’s breath, although there was no trace of it in his voice. “I hardly think that that 
point of view is fitting for and Elven-lord and father of status such as yourself to adopt, is 
it now, Elrond? Perhaps you are the one who should try being a little less selfless.” 

With one final glare at the astounded half-Elf, the blond Prince turned and fled from the 
room, his golden hair streaming out behind him, his light footsteps echoing down the 
hallway as he ran. Elrond emitted a stifled cry of frustration, his slender fingers clutching 
wildly at the roots of his long, dark hair and twisting the elegant braids fiercely, before he 
too left the room to find Glorfindel, slamming the door violently behind him. 

***************  
CHAPTER 20  
*************** 

Changing Minds 

Glorfindel heard Elrond coming. He stepped outside the library, where he was waiting 
with Aragorn and Arwen, and closed the door just in time to see the irate half-Elf storm 
around the corner and stop dead at the sight of his lover. Glorfindel noticed the way in 
which Elrond visibly relaxed as he saw the blond Elf waiting for him outside the double 
doors, the stern expression on his sharp, dark features, and that his raven hair was 
unusually dishevelled. He strode towards the flustered figure, who almost collapsed in his 
arms, hiding his head in the Eldar’s shoulder. 

“Trouble with the Princeling?” muttered Glorfindel into the half-Elf’s smooth, almond-
shaped ear. 

Elrond emitted an exasperated groan and lifted his head so that he could look at 
Glorfindel. “I am afraid so, nîn bellas; we did not account for his stubbornness. He is 
refusing to come between Arwen and Estel; he will not even talk to them as of yet.” 

“But we had that problem with Estel, melethron; I have not told you that he is in the 
library with Arwen waiting to talk to Legolas, have I?” soothed Glorfindel. 

“Yes, but Estel did not say that he would rather die, now, did he,” countered Elrond. The 
blond Eldar’s brow creased. “Did he say that?” 

Elrond sighed. “Yes,” he replied softly. “And he meant every word of it; you know how 
stubborn that Elf is, and he never goes back on his word.” 

It was now Glorfindel’s turn to groan in frustration. “And just when I had persuaded Estel 
to see sense, too. Ah, well, we shall have to tell them both and work on Legolas a little 
later when he has calmed down. I must admit that it is a bit much to expect from him at 
this early stage; do not forget that you have just told him that he is dying.” The half-Elf in 
his arms nodded thoughtfully, and Glorfindel placed a chaste kiss upon the crown of his 
dark head before opening his arms and leading them both into the library. 

The couple sitting at one of the large wooden tables both looked up when they heard the 
door open, and rose to greet both Elven-lords. Elrond motioned for them both to sit back 
down again, but he and Glorfindel remained standing, the former propping himself up by 
his elbow on a small bookcase and the latter positioned next to the door. The darker of 
the pair smiled briefly and went to speak. 

“’Tis good to see that you have calmed down, Estel.” 

The Dunedan raised an eyebrow pointedly; a vaguely amused expression upon his regal 
face, but his voice was deadly serious. “I have not made any promises yet, I made that 
clear to Glorfindel. But I will at least talk to Legolas with Arwen, and see if we can come 
to a decision.” 

Elrond nodded agreeably; at least some progress had been made. “I admire you for that, 
Estel, for I realise that this must be very hard for both of you.” He smiled at his daughter, 
who returned the motion gratefully. “However,” he continued, his voice becoming more 
solemn and a grim look crossing his face. “We now have another slight problem; Legolas 
is refusing to talk to either of you. He says that he does not wish to come between either 
of you, and nor does he desire to be saved by another.” 

Aragorn pressed his lips together, forming a white line across his face, and a not-too-
pleased expression spread across his features. Arwen’s smile vanished and anxiety crept 
into her wide jade eyes. “But he will surely die, father,” she whispered, shocked; her 
voice trembled slightly. 

Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly to reassure her. “Yes, but we 
must consider how hard this must be for him, nîn sellath; he has just been told that he is 
dying, after all. It may take a while for him to come round, but I expect that he will 
change his mind sooner or later.” 

Aragorn laughed dryly and smirked. “That shows how well you know him then, does it 
not, father?” he mocked. “Surely you know that once our little Elf has made up his mind 
then there is no going back? He is very stubborn, and rarely goes back on his word.” 

He was shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and his conscience screamed 
at him; // what is *wrong* with you today, Estel? Do you really want your best friend to 
die?//  He shook his head in surprise, but to his astonishment the words kept on coming. 

“It is obvious that he does not desire our help, and that he would rather die. Well, to be 
honest, I am not sure that I wish to help him after all.” His tone was bitterly cold, and 
although the voice at the back of his mind was still imploring him to stop, he continued 
again. “Why should I surrender my dear wife here and give my love to someone who 
does not want it?” 

Elrond felt himself becoming angry at his foster-son, for his emotions were still volatile 
from their earlier discussion and his encounter with Legolas only minutes before. “It is 
not a matter of whether he desires your love or not, son of Arathorn; do you honestly 
think that he would be dying of grief for you if he did not? Think about this logically; he 
is surrendering his own life so that you and Arwen may be together. I beg you to 
reconsider, for what he is prepared to do is one of the most selfless acts I have 
witnessed.” 

The Man narrowed his eyes and stood up. “That is not how I see it, I am afraid,” he 
muttered icily. “He does not really want my help, and I would rather pay homage to 
Morgoth himself before I surrender by beloved wife. Now, if you will excuse me, we 
both need to get ready for tonight’s proceedings. Come, Arwen.” 

He held out his hand to help his wife, who took it a little doubtfully and rose. They both 
walked smartly to the doors and, as they paused to allow Glorfindel to open them, Arwen 
looked back over her shoulder at her father. Her sparkling emerald eyes met his darker, 
chocolate ones, and both read the same expression of despair, guilt and disquiet in the 
others’. She felt a tug on her arm, and followed the King reluctantly through the doors 
and along the corridor to their chambers. 

Glorfindel saw the expression on Elrond’s face and closed the doors just in time as he 
uttered a deafening roar of exasperation. He walked over to the shorter, darker figure and 
wrapped him in his long, lithe arms once again. Elrond laid his head upon his lover’s 
shoulder and gritted his teeth. 

The golden-haired Eldar felt the half-Elf’s jaw working and looked down at his face. “I 
know that it is difficult, but be patient, nîn ind; all good things come to those who wait. 
They will both concede eventually, given time.” 

Elrond sighed yet again. “I know, nîn bellas, you are right as usual; but I cannot help 
getting worked up at the stubbornness of those two. How can people not see what is best 
for them?” 

Glorfindel smiled at the dark head resting on his shoulder. “They are quite a pair, aren’t 
they?” he mused quietly. He felt Elrond’s body shake slightly, as he managed a subtle 
laugh despite himself, and the blond Eldar smiled wider at this. “Come, melethron; I feel 
that it is about time we readied ourselves for the feast, too; it is almost six o’clock!” 

The Lord of Imladris started at this sudden news, and his head snapped up from 
Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You cannot be serious? Has this business really taken all 
afternoon? Come, we had better prepare ourselves.” 

The fair Elven-lord kissed his forehead tenderly. “Yes, we shall shortly; however, I feel 
that you need a little relaxation first, and I have something in my quarters that will do 
nicely…” 

Elrond raised a dark, delicate eyebrow inquisitively, but the flaxen-haired Elf-lord merely 
smiled knowingly and led his lover out of the library and towards his room. 

A/N: The lyrics for the song are taken from “Bad” by U2 (quick disclaimer – I do not 
own this song, but have changed one or two words!!) – I know that lyrics in a fic can be 
corny sometimes, but I’m hoping that these won’t be. 

***************  
CHAPTER 21  
*************** 

Angel Song 

Aragorn marched purposefully along the corridor towards his chambers, and Arwen was 
compelled to break into a jog to keep up as he pulled on her arm. They reached their 
quarters; Aragorn released his wife’s arm at the door and strode over to the bed, onto 
which he collapsed heavily, leaving Arwen to close the door behind her. She did so rather 
forcefully, and moved to the foot of the bed where she stood glaring at her husband, who 
lay sprawled on his back, his eyes closed tightly. She cleared her throat ominously, and 
the King cautiously opened his grey, stormy eyes, wincing slightly, to face the wrath of 
his Queen. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Estel?” she demanded quietly, her voice 
commanding his respect and attention. 

He groaned wearily and sank deeper into the bed. “Leave it, Arwen, I do not need this 
right now.” 

“And I suppose Legolas does?” she shot back angrily. “Forgive me for saying this, but I 
hardly think that dying is the most convenient thing to happen to him this century, do 
you?” 

The Dunedan sighed audibly, and allowed his head to flop to one side so that his cheek 
was pressed against the coverlet. // This is going to be enjoyable, // he thought to himself. 
Arwen could be very forceful when she wished, and at the moment it seemed that she did 
wish. // What was he to tell her? // he wondered, for he did not even know what to think 
himself yet. He had been turning his previous words to Elrond over and over in his mind 
since he had left the library; he could still not fathom for the life of him what in Middle 
Earth had possessed him to say such a thing. 

“Forgive me, meleth,” he began weakly. “What do you expect me to say? There was no 
excuse for my words just then, I know. But I need a chance to think about this, ‘tis a 
difficult situation.” 

Arwen’s jade eyes narrowed. “Not really,” she countered swiftly. Aragorn winced 
inwardly; this was not going to be an easy discussion to win. The tall, dark, enchanting 
she-Elf placed her hands on her smoothly curved hips before continuing. “’Tis plain 
enough for me to see; Legolas loves you. You do not wish to submit me in order to save 
him, from a sense of duty, for you feel obliged to remain with me since I have 
surrendered my Immortality for you. So instead you will kill him, and two Elven spirits 
will be lost instead of one.” 

“That is not true,” defended Aragorn feebly, lifting his grey eyes imploringly to his wife. 
“I love you, Arwen; and from what I can see, Legolas does not truly love me or he would 
not have refused my help. I fail to see why I should surrender you and give my love to 
someone who does not really desire it.” 

“I think that you need to think things through for a while, Estel,” hissed the Evenstar 
sharply. “I know not what is blocking your field of vision and forcing you to see these 
circumstances so arrogantly and narrow-mindedly, but I suggest that you sort yourself out 
before we go down to dinner ere you hurt Legolas even more than you have already.” 
With that, she walked back over to the door and opened it, one hand upon the handle and 
the other still on her hip, waiting impatiently. 

Aragorn sighed; he knew that she was expecting him to leave the room and find 
somewhere to contemplate the situation and, in truth, that was precisely what he needed. 
He rose languidly from the bed and followed his wife to the door. He paused ere he left 
and looked at her desolately, beseeching even the merest glimmer of understanding from 
the depths of her crystalline emerald eyes, but gained only more harsh words. 

“Go, Estel, it is clear that you need some time to yourself.” She moved to shut the door as 
he stepped backwards through it, still gazing at her despondently. Her face softened, 
almost imperceptibly, as she added a few final words. “You need to do some serious 
thinking; just remember that I have already lost my Immortality; do not allow the same to 
happen to Legolas. You love him, although you do not know it yet.” She shut the door 
quietly, shaking her head slowly. 

The Dunedan threw his head back and gazed at the ceiling as the door closed in his face, 
squeezing his eyes shut in confusement, for he was utterly mystified as with what to 
think. Eventually, after shaking his head briskly and passing both of his large, brown, 
calloused hands over his eyes, he turned and wandered along the passages to the back 
door again, seeking refuge in the gardens as evening drew nigh. 

Darkness was settling as he found a peaceful spot by the foundations of the buildings 
between two small trees in a row of many, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle 
evening breeze. He sank down onto the soft grass and propped his back against the stone 
walls of the house. Dark figures could be seen hastening through the dusk at the bottom 
of the extensive inner grounds of Imladris, arranging Mithrandir’s carefully prepared 
fireworks that were to be the grand finale to the festivities. 

Aragorn drew his knees up to his broad chest, wrapping his right arm around his strong, 
muscular legs and resting his left elbow upon his knee so that he could arch his fingers 
and rest his temples in them in a gesture unconsciously adopted from his foster-father. He 
closed his eyes to the encroaching darkness and blocked out the sounds from the foot of 
the garden, allowing his thought to run freely through his uneasy mind. He recalled 
distant memories from the Quest: of the companionship throughout the long, hard days; 
of dark nights in which both he and Legolas had sought and taken comfort from each 
other; of each promising the other that there was to be no emotional commitment. He 
grimaced ironically to himself; Legolas had certainly not fulfilled his side of that bargain. 

// And what of Arwen? // he mused. He did love her, truly, but did he love her enough to 
let her go? He contemplated her words to him: “You do not wish to submit me in order to 
save him, from a sense of duty, for you feel obliged to remain with me since I have 
surrendered my Immortality for you.” // Did I? // he wondered. // Was that why I spoke so 
harshly to Elrond in the library? // He sighed and buried his head in his arms. Perhaps he 
did not want to admit that fact to Arwen, for precisely that reason. 

Arwen had made the greatest sacrifice possible by surrendering her Immortality, and now 
he was expected to surrender her to save another who loved him. She had agreed to 
extinguish her eternal flame for her love for him, and the least that he could do was to 
grant her that love, rather than leave her and bestow it upon another. Nonetheless, she did 
present a strong argument in that she would die regardless, and that unless he did 
something about it another Elf would most probably die from their love for him, too. 

The Dunedan felt like screaming in vexation, for the two sides of his heart were warring 
with each other and he could feel the fluttering in his chest as they did so. Then Arwen’s 
last words struck him suddenly, and he felt as if he had just been clubbed over the head. 
“You love him, although you do not know it yet.” Thoughts flew uncontrollably around 
his head, and he felt himself grow dizzy with the speed and spontaneity at which images 
flashed before his stormy-grey eyes. He blinked slowly, trying to calm the sudden deluge 
of information, and allowed himself to reflect on it. 

// Surely I am not in love with the Prince? // Granted, he was perhaps the most beautiful 
creature ever to walk Middle Earth; he was sweet, and kind, and gentle; he was lively, 
entertaining, amusing…but did that truly qualify him falling in love? No, he decided; 
Legolas was his best friend. He knew that he loved Arwen, and that he did not feel the 
same way towards the Elf, no matter how much he tried to convince himself. 

// Well, I now knew that I do not love Legolas,// he stated to himself firmly. The King 
lifted his dark head in relief; at least he had established something for all the time he had 
spent sitting beneath the trees, deep in thought. He had no idea what he would do next, 
however; he was just beginning to set his mind to the subsequent problem, and relenting 
that perhaps he should try and encourage Legolas to speak with Arwen and himself, when 
he caught a few words of song drifting towards him on the breeze. 

Aragorn strained his ears to hear more. He was able to depict a haunting melody floating 
gently on the current of moving air and a few poignant words that lingered for a few 
moments, suspended in the draught. He was enchanted by the emotional harmonies, and, 
rising to his feet, backed away from the house so that he could detect where the singer 
was situated. 

The song guided his focus up to the roof, and he had to shield his eyes from the fiery 
blaze of Arien that was sinking behind the house. Suddenly his attention was seized by a 
figure leaning against the furthest chimney. They appeared black with the light of the sun 
shining behind them, and the silhouette was singing softly to themselves. Aragorn knew 
exactly who the slender figure was as they shifted position on the roof and gazed out into 
the fire of the Daystar; Legolas’ gleaming hair was set alight by the sun, making it burn 
bright scarlet and orange and giving him the aura of an angel shining with the glow of 
their halo. 

***************  
If I could, through myself,  
Set your spirit free  
I'd lead your heart away  
See you break, break away  
Into the light  
And to the day
To let it go  
And so to fade away  
To let it go  
And so to fade away  
*************** 

N/B: meleth - love 

***************  
CHAPTER 22  
*************** 

Enchanting Emotions 

Golden hair streamed behind the Prince like a banner as he darted along the corridors 
back to his chambers, dodging nimbly in and out of astonished servants as he fled from 
Elrond’s quarters. It was not that he wanted to escape from the Lord of Imladris, he 
thought as he dashed away; he just needed space to think and he needed it now, and his 
room had seemed to be the obvious place to go at the time. 

After what had seemed like an eternity he managed to reach his bedroom door and, 
panting heavily, Legolas slid inside and locked it firmly. For a few moments the only 
thing that he seemed capable of concentrating on was the rush of air in and out of his 
lungs; however when his breathing had gradually returned to normal he once again 
focused on where he was going. His room was just too obvious, and would be the first 
place for someone to look if they were searching for him, he reasoned logically. 

His bright sapphire eyes flicked around the room, searching for a clue as to where he 
should go, before they alighted on the wide, open double doors onto the balcony. They 
sparkled intensely as a plan formed in his quick, rational mind, and he returned to the 
door and unlocked it, so that anyone who cared to search the chambers for him would 
assume that he was elsewhere, before crossing the room to the balcony. 

The tall, flaxen-faired Elf stepped onto the terrace and up to the wrought iron railings, 
which he vaulted over gracefully and grasped at the ivy that was scaling the walls of the 
house. He deftly began to ascend the tall stone wall, using the trellis of ivy as a ladder, 
and soon reached the sloping roof onto which he climbed effortlessly and walked over to 
one of the large chimneys. 

Legolas settled his back against the firm surface and slid down it until he was sitting with 
his knees drawn up to his chest. Wrapping both long arms around his slender legs, he 
took a moment to survey the peaceful setting that surrounded him. From his vantage 
point he could see the treetops of the forest surrounding Imladris; his sharp Elven 
eyesight was able to depict the river running through them, leading to the magnificent 
waterfall, a streak of silvery-blue in the approaching evening light. Amongst the trees at 
the foot of the garden he noticed dark figures hurrying about beneath and between the 
trees – presumably arranging the fireworks that Mithrandir had spent the entire week 
preparing for the feast, he thought idly. 

The whole garden was in shadow, since the sun was setting behind the house, and the 
troubled Prince now turned to stare into the scarlet fire as he sank into his deliberations. 
His eyes were not affected by the intense light of the Daystar, and he gazed at the flames 
of Arien as though they would help to lift the shadows from his anguished heart. 

The slight Elf sighed heavily, his slim chest expanding considerably as he inhaled deeply. 
How had he got himself into such a position, he mused dejectedly. He had not even know 
that he had fallen in love with Aragorn until Elrond had told him; all that had ever 
happened between the two of them had been one or two nights of shared passion and lust 
during the darker points of the Quest; both had needed comfort and so both had taken it 
from their dearest friend. They had vowed to make no emotional attachments, since 
Aragorn was already betrothed to Arwen, but merely to aid each other through the dark 
times facing them. And yet he had still lost his heart to the Dunedan. 

Legolas shook his head sadly as he now reflected on the Man himself, and lowered his 
eyes to the tiled roof. He was generous, amusing, kind. He was loyal, intelligent, and 
capable of seeing the best in even the most twisted characters. And he was handsome, 
assuredly; his sharp, regal features; his heart-warming, lopsided grin; his tall, well-
muscled physique; and his eyes…his stony grey eyes that had arguably seen more in their 
short years than the Prince had in his three millennia; those fathomlessly deep stormy 
pools that twinkled with extreme displays of emotion, and were capable of expressing 
each precise sentiment without so much as a twitch of the King’s facial features. 

Those eyes…Legolas had seen much in those eyes during their years of close friendship, 
but no emotion had been so vivid as the love that they expressed for Arwen. She was his 
treasured wife, his Queen, his Evenstar, who had loved him so greatly that she was 
prepared to surrender her Immortality so that she could be with him. He loved her and 
she loved him, and there was no way that he could ever bring himself to sunder one heart 
from the other for the sake of his own. He cherished both of them too much to allow 
Aragorn to relinquish Arwen, which would surely break her heart. 

And as for the other method - Legolas was certain that it was not even an option. Elven 
nobility should never allow themselves to be seen as weak or display any form of 
emotions, with perhaps the exception of extreme anger during battle or mirth in times of 
great happiness. The Prince of Mirkwood was far too proud, stubborn and autonomous to 
permit himself to get into a situation where he would have to depend upon another, and if 
his life depended on it then he would rather die. 

And so it seemed that he would die, for he would not allow either method of healing to be 
bestowed upon him at present, considering the circumstances. Sighing deeply again, the 
fair Elf turned back to the vanishing sun, which was gradually slipping below the 
horizon. His golden hair was set ablaze by the flames of Arien; the crimson light 
illuminated his ashen face and he felt the heat warming his pale skin, which was already 
growing noticeably cooler again. He shivered and then, at a loss for how to release his 
emotions, he broke out into a soft song. 

He had not sung for a while now, he realised as the words left his lips, and Elrond had 
perceived that the Elf who normally sung continuously was unusually quiet. However, 
this song was not one from his typical repertoire; it was sad and touching and emotional, 
instead of cheery and uplifting and full of mirth; the melody was haunting and evocative, 
and the lyrics were poignant and deeply moving. He had learned it from his father, and 
heard him sing it at his mother’s funeral, although now was the first time that Legolas 
had ever been stirred enough to sing it himself. At first he was unsure, and he sang the 
words quietly and tentatively, but felt a great deal of relief as the song left his lips. 

***************  
If I could throw this  
Lifeless lifeline to the wind  
Leave this heart of clay  
See you walk, walk away  
Into the night  
And through the rain  
Into the half-light  
And through the flame  
*************** 

The song took over his mind, and Legolas felt a range of emotions surge through him that 
he had never felt before. It was overwhelming, and completely overtook him as the 
sensations released by the song coursed though his veins and into his heart. His voice 
grew louder as he poured all of his sentiments into his singing, now utterly oblivious as to 
whether anyone was listening or not. All those who heard the song were immediately 
entranced by its bewitching power, and were helpless to do anything but listen. 

***************  
If I could, through myself,  
Set your spirit free  
I'd lead your heart away  
See you break, break away  
Into the light  
And to the day
 
To let it go  
And so to fade away  
To let it go  
And so fade away
 
If you should ask then maybe they'd  
Tell you what I would say  
True colours fly in blue and black  
Bruised silken sky and burning flag  
Colors crash, collide in blood shot eyes
 
To let it go  
And so to fade away  
To let it go  
And so fade away  
***************
 
Suddenly the Elf stopped singing, and the silence hit the ears of those who had been 
listening with full force. Shocked, they gradually began to return to their tasks in hand, 
with the exception of two. 

Aragorn still sat on the grass, still powerless to do anything but stare, mystified, at the 
slender figure upon the roof. He was at a complete loss for what to think, for he now 
knew exactly what the Prince was feeling and his heart was being painfully torn inside 
his chest. He felt a presence behind him, and turned round to see Arwen standing behind 
him. She crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder supportively as 
he returned his gaze to the Elf on the roof. 

Then, without warning, another dark figure appeared on the roof. It was similarly built to 
Legolas; tall, lithe, slender and with long, braided hair hanging down its back and, 
judging from the flatness of the chest and straightness of the hips, male. The figure 
moved over to where the Prince was sitting, and Legolas turned his attention to the other 
Elf. Aragorn watched as the two seemingly conversed, and the second figure sat down 
next to the Prince and took him onto his arms, embracing him tightly and comfortingly, 
rocking him backwards and forwards. Arwen looked down at her King, but the Ranger 
took no notice and just narrowed his eyes at the pair on the roof. 

***************  
CHAPTER 23  
*************** 

Cold Tears 

Elrohir had readied himself for the feast that night, and was standing on the balcony to 
his room and leaning on the railing that had been wrought into intricate Elven designs. He 
inhaled deeply, savouring the fresh, invigorating aroma of the dusk that was closing in 
around Imladris, and surveyed the surrounding gardens and forest from his point high up 
in the house, marvelling once again at their beauty. 

He released the breath that he had been holding slowly and turned to go, the image of his 
beloved home imprinted in his mind, when he was struck by a bewitching male voice that 
floated down from directly above his room, which was on the top floor. The dark-haired 
Elf stood for a moment, frozen to the spot by the distressing lyrics and the haunting 
melody, before he returned to the balcony railings and craned his neck to see who the 
singer was. He could not make out the figure on the roof, but his sharp Elven hearing was 
able to tell that he was sitting next to one of the large chimneys that ran up the edge of the 
house, directly above his room; from the lilting voice he also discerned that the singer 
was an Elf, probably Silvan. 

And he had only ever heard that tune once before; it had been sung by Thranduil at his 
wife’s funeral, which meant that the singer must be Legolas. Elrohir paled at this sudden 
realisation, since the singer had to be very deeply stirred for the existence of that song to 
even come to mind, and he wondered what could be the matter with his friend. 

Making a quick decision, the Elf waited for Legolas to stop singing and then began to 
scale the short distance up to the roof, using the ivy at the side of the balcony in the same 
fashion that the Prince had used. He climbed nimbly onto the tiles above him and 
immediately caught sight of Legolas sitting with his back resting against the smooth 
stone chimney, his head turned away from Elrohir, staring out into the fire of the sun. 

Elrohir called his friend’s name softly, so as not to startle him, for he was obviously deep 
in thought. “Legolas?” 

The blond Elf’s head snapped round, an alarmed expression in his bright sapphire eyes, 
but he relaxed somewhat when he saw that it was Elrohir rather than Aragorn, Elrond or 
Glorfindel. 

“Elrohir…you startled me. I was expecting to see someone else…what brings you up 
here?” His voice was disturbingly neutral and his face void of any emotion, which 
worried the darker Elf since he knew that Legolas must have been bottling up his 
emotions for some time if their only means of release was through that distressing song. 
He kept his face soft and welcoming, however, in an attempt to persuade the Prince to 
confide in him. 

“I was about to ask you the same question, my friend,” he replied gently, smiling slightly. 
“I…I heard you singing.” 

Legolas sighed softly and turned his gaze to the trees, now almost invisible through the 
carpet of darkness bestowed upon them by the settling night. “’Tis a beautiful night, and 
the view lifts my spirits,” he answered hesitantly. “It is peaceful up here, and I needed a 
place to think.” 

Elrohir raised one eyebrow, an openly inquisitive expression on his sharp, dark features. 
“Do your spirits need lifting, then?” he asked tactfully. “What troubles you, Legolas?” 

A sudden deluge of emotions flooded the fair Elf’s mind; he was overwhelmed by the 
sensations brought on by the song, and the memories of both Thranduil and his mother 
that it had stirred up; he was also struck by the fact that someone else should care for him 
so, along with the confusion of not knowing what to think regarding Aragorn and Arwen, 
and the decision that he had made. He felt his eyelids prick slightly with one or two tears, 
and the next breath that he took caught in his throat; he choked, but managed to keep his 
face impassive in an attempt to fool Elrohir. 

The perceptive twin was having none of that, however, as he noticed the pain and 
frustration in the Prince’s glistening cerulean orbs. “Legolas?” he asked again, this time 
more demanding. “Legolas, what is wrong?” 

The Prince was no longer able to maintain the mask hiding his emotions, and was hard-
pushed to suppress a small sob that welled up form his throat. He lost his concentration as 
he mentally berated himself for appearing so weak, and was powerless to prevent two 
heavy teardrops from falling from his eyes and splashing onto his tunic as he lowered his 
eyes in a vain effort to screen that, too. 

The dark Elf’s face softened at this, and he immediately sat down beside the fair Prince 
and gathered him into his arms. Legolas leaned into the contact, grateful for the comfort 
at that moment and no longer caring if he appeared weak to one of his closest friends. 

Elrohir gently rocked Legolas back and forth in his strong arms and the Prince laid his 
head upon his companion’s shoulder. His body trembled but no more tears fell, and he 
collapsed into the dark Elf’s embrace, finally exhausted by the recent events and 
emotions affecting him. The pair remained in that position for many long minutes, and 
eventually Legolas’ trembling ceased, only to be replaced by shivers. 

Elrohir frowned, for although the temperature was dropping as the sun set, it was late 
spring and a good deal of warmth still remained in the air. To add to that, Legolas was an 
Elf, and should not be as greatly affected by temperature changes as Mortals, and was 
wearing a long-sleeved shirt and tunic as well as absorbing some of Elrohir’s body heat. 
He brought a hand up to touch Legolas’ face, but drew it away sharply as it met 
unexpected iciness. 

Past memories flashed through his mind as he quickly pieced the information together; 
the depression; the Elf’s unusual quietness all week; the distressing song; the tears, and 
now the iciness of his skin. He looked down at Legolas and saw, now that the sun had 
finally set and they were enshrouded in darkness, that the light emitted from his skin was 
paler and weaker than it should have been. He sighed heavily, and bowed his head so that 
he was able to whisper directly into Legolas’ smooth, pointed ear. 

“For whom do you grieve, Legolas? Why did you not say something?” His breath 
brushed past the delicate flesh, and amidst his shivers the fair Elf shuddered. He raised 
his wide blue eyes to meet Elrohir’s chocolate ones, which sparkled with understanding 
and sympathy, rather than pity, and he nervously brought a hand up to sweep away a few 
hairs from his face. 

“H…how did you k…know?” he stammered quietly, still shivering from the cold that he 
felt. Elrohir smiled at him kindly. 

“I have seen it once before, very close to home; I merely recognised the signs.” A cool 
breeze swept across the sloping rooftop and Legolas shuddered violently in the draught. 
“Come, we can discuss this inside; you are cold. Let us go to my room ere you freeze.” 

The fair Elf nodded his head to show his consent, and allowed Elrohir to unwind his arms 
from his slender form before he stood, waited for his friend to do the same, and followed 
him to the edge of the tiles. Both Elves then slipped over the side and nimbly climbed 
back down onto Elrohir’s balcony. 

From the ground, Arwen allowed Aragorn to watch the pair disappear into the fourth 
story bedroom and pull the curtains across the doorway before she squeezed his shoulder. 
He started, as though he had wholly forgotten about her presence, and raised his troubled 
grey eyes to meet her sparkling jade pair. “Come, Estel,” she murmured. “’Tis time for 
you to ready yourself, for the festivities start in under half an hour.” He nodded and rose 
wearily, before taking his wife’s hand in his and walking back towards the house in 
silence. 

***************  
CHAPTER 24  
*************** 

A Brief Respite 

Elrohir handed Legolas a blanket on his way to lock the door, which the blond Prince 
gratefully wrapped around his shoulders as he sat on the large bed. The dark Elf turned to 
the fair, and smiled at him wistfully. “Warmer?” he asked. 

Legolas nodded, appreciation shining in his eyes, but said nothing. Elrohir walked over to 
the bad and sat down next to his friend, laying an arm compassionately across his slender, 
toned shoulders. The blond Elf leaned into the contact once again, grateful for the solace 
from his close companion, and Elrohir rested his chin thoughtfully upon the golden 
crown of hair. He waited for Legolas to speak, for the two had held a strong bond since 
their childhood, and if the proud, stubborn Prince was about to bare his emotions to 
anyone it would be to the younger of Elrond’s twin sons. 

After a few moments, the fair beauty took a deep breath and went to speak. “It is 
Aragorn,” he muttered softly, almost inaudibly, but Elrohir was waiting for him to say 
something and was listening intently. If he was surprised at the Prince’s words he showed 
no sign of it as he clasped one of Legolas’ shoulders tightly, knowing how difficult it had 
been for him to say what he just had. “How long have you known?” he asked gently, not 
demanding a response but knowing that his friend would reply eventually. 

After a few more moments Legolas spoke again, this time slightly louder. “Only an hour 
or two.” Silence fell on the pair for another couple of seconds, before the Prince began to 
speak of his own accord, venting his emotions to the only friend in whom he could 
entirely place his trust. He was still hesitant, but began to draw courage from the relief 
that washed over him as he freed his pent up frustrations. “Your father thinks that it has 
been emerging for about two months now. They only found out for sure today, after I 
collapsed at lunch when Aragorn kissed Arwen…” He brought his hand up unconsciously 
to finger the small, red mark that was still visible on his right temple, and continued. 
“And I hit my head. I had a concussion, so they told Aragorn that I had fallen out of a tree 
and asked him to tend to me so that I would heal in time for tonight.” Here the young 
Prince paused, snickering incongruously. “And I actually believed that I’d fallen out of a 
tree! It just shows you what a state I must have been in!” 

Elrohir chuckled too and gave Legolas’ shoulder another squeeze. He was glad that his 
friend was talking to him, at least, since he could see the benefits already from the few 
sentences that he had spoken. The Prince’s shoulders were less tense; in fact his whole 
body was more relaxed as he leaned towards the raven-haired Elf, and his voice was 
already less strained. He cut in, to encourage Legolas to speak. “Yes, you must have been 
barely conscious if you, the Prince of Mirkwood, allowed the King of Men to tend to 
your injuries!” he quipped. 

The slender Elf’s shoulders vibrated slightly against him as he managed a small, silent 
laugh despite himself, and Elrohir smiled at the movement. Legolas then removed his 
head from beneath his friend’s chin and lifted it so that he was able to look Elrohir 
directly in the face as he spoke. “He healed me though, did he not?” he answered soberly, 
no traces of mirth now detectable in his steady voice. “The gash in my head is practically 
closed, and my wrist is as strong as it has ever been.” Elrohir’s brow creased at Legolas’ 
last few words. 

“Why, what happened to your wrist?” 

His heart leapt when the fair Elf’s face suddenly lit up in amusement, and decided that 
this would be a…beneficial…topic to pursue! He did not need to persuade his friend to 
continue, however, as he began to talk animatedly, his eyes suddenly lighting up with the 
recollection of the more enjoyable of the last night’s events. “You would never believe 
it…well, Elrond followed me to my room because I did not eat dinner, and he told me 
that he was worried, and then Glorfindel knocked at the door with food - I took no notice 
at the time, but…” 

He continued in such a manner, entertaining Elrohir with his version of the previous 
evening’s occurrences, and the darker Elf smiled as he saw the sudden change in his 
friend. He often forgot how young he was, he thought, as he allowed Legolas to chatter; 
he always appeared so mature and adult as he hid his emotions behind his mask. He 
turned his attentions back to the vivacious stream of talk from the young Prince, and his 
eyes widened as he discovered the point that Legolas had reached. 

“…So I looked up and saw Glorfindel standing there, dressed in nothing but a bed sheet! 
And…ai, Elbereth, you will never guess what he said, I fell off my chair from laughing 
so much…” Legolas paused here, for he had started sniggering and took a moment to 
regain his composure so that he could relate the last words of the story. “He said, “Come, 
now, my Lord, if there is no cream available, I am sure that something similar will work 
just as well!’” 

Elrohir gaped in disbelief; this was surely information that he did not need to know about 
his father! Legolas was giggling again, but looked up at his friend and clapped a hand 
over his mouth. “Ai, Elrohir, by the Valar what have I said?” he groaned. “Please tell 
me…ai, you did not know!” 

The dark-haired Elf shook his head slowly; he had now managed to close his mouth but 
his eyes were still wide with horror. “No…I mean yes, I did know that they 
were…together…but that is not the sort of thing that one should know about their 
father!” he shook his head violently, trying to escape the disturbing mental images that 
had suddenly plagued him, which prompted Legolas into another fit of hysterics. The 
peals of laughter caused Elrohir to look up, smiling weakly. “Cream indeed,” he mused 
incredulously. “And I suppose that there were strawberries nearby too, no doubt!” 

At this Legolas collapsed onto the bed, rolling about helplessly with his arms wrapped 
around his slender stomach. He was rendered powerless by the laughs that shook his 
slender frame, and Elrohir was compelled to grab his waist to prevent him from falling 
off the bed! He sat for a moment, holding the convulsing Elf, only to soon discover that 
the laughter was severely contagious, and before long both friends were lying flat on their 
backs, silent guffaws wracking their bodies. 

Eventually the giggles subsided and the pair lay prostrate upon the bed, exhausted by 
their laughing fit. Legolas heaved a relieved sigh and rolled over to face Elrohir, who had 
sat up slightly. He laid his fair head upon his friend’s chest, still smiling contentedly, and 
the older Elf placed a hand gently on the golden hair, stroking it absentmindedly as he 
still tried in vain to expel the unwanted mental pictures from inside his head. 

He glanced over at the clock on the wall and started when he saw that it was ten minutes 
to eight; the feast was starting in under quarter of an hour! He looked down at his friend, 
ready to stir him so that they could go down to the dining halls, but paused halfway 
through the motion when he realised that Legolas had fallen asleep against him. He 
smiled affectionately at the sleeping Prince, who appeared so peaceful and untroubled in 
his sleep, and settled back against the pillows as he decided that some things had to take 
precedence over others. 

***************  
CHAPTER 25  
*************** 

A Little Help Unwinding… 

Elrond followed Glorfindel along the corridors, through passageways and up flights of 
stairs until they reached the golden-haired Eldar’s own chambers. With a knowing smirk, 
the resident of the quarters glanced at the darker figure behind him and opened the door, 
revealing a pristine, beautifully decorated bedroom. He stepped to one side and allowed 
Elrond to enter, then stepped inside the room and locked the door tightly behind him. 
Elrond stood in the middle of the room quietly, his back to the fair Elven- lord, pensively 
absorbing the surroundings; Glorfindel walked up to him and wrapped his long, strong 
arms around the half-Elf’s supple waist, pulling him close so that he could rest his chin 
on the other’s shoulder and tenderly kiss the almond-shaped ear. 

Elrond shuddered appreciatively at the pleasurable sensation on his sensitive flesh, and 
turned his head within the embrace so that Glorfindel was just able to reach the corner of 
his mouth. He smiled, and spoke to the flaxen-haired Eldar. “Do you know, I do not 
believe that I have been inside this room since you have resided here, nîn bellas,” he 
muttered softly, lifting his head slightly so that the smooth, pale column of throat was 
exposed. Glorfindel chuckled gently and began to place butterfly kisses along the 
uncovered skin. “In that case,” he muttered, between kisses, “we shall have to make 
certain that you visit here more often, don’t you think?” Elrond moaned quietly, partly in 
agreement, and partly from the pleasure that he felt from the delicate sensations along his 
neck. 

Glorfindel noted the tone in his lover’s voice and pulled away, spinning the half-Elf in his 
arms so that they were now standing face to face. He smiled dotingly at the slightly 
shorter figure that he held and, with nothing more than a wordless glint of his crystalline 
azure eyes, led him over to the bed. Elrond sat upon the lavishly embroidered coverlet 
and looked up at the blond Elf questioningly, who swiftly bent down and kissed him 
sweetly. As the kiss broke, he sat down next to the half-Elf and began to undress him. 

“I said that you needed something to relax you, did I not?” he purred smoothly, placing 
another kiss on Elrond’s full lips. “Allow me to help you unwind, for it has been a 
stressful day for you.” He stood up and motioned to the dark-haired Elf-lord, who was 
divested of his tunic and shirt by this point, for him to lie down on the bed. Elrond did so, 
and stretched out, face-first, on the counterpane, resting his chin on his folded forearms, 
closing his eyes, and wondering what treats his lover had in store for him. He heard 
Glorfindel walk to the other side of the room and open a drawer, rummage through it, and 
close it again before returning to the bed. 

The blond Elf climbed up onto the bed and straddled the Lord of Imladris’ hips. Elrond 
started slightly at this, and opened one chocolate-brown eye enough to see Glorfindel 
rolling up his sleeves and pour some liquid into his slender hands, warming it gently in 
his palms. He twisted beneath the stunning Elven-lord above him and was about to ask 
what Glorfindel’s intentions were, but the observant Elf caught the movement and 
grinned at his lover. “Fear not, nîn ind, all will be revealed. Just close your eyes and 
relax.” 

Elrond did as he was instructed, somewhat tentatively; before long he felt slender fingers 
sweep his dark, braided hair away from his neck and over his shoulders, and warm, 
slippery hands were placed on his back. He smelled the fragrant scent of lavender and 
athelas, and completely relaxed and sank deeper into the soft bed as Glorfindel began to 
gently massage his back. 

Glorfindel’s expert fingers tenderly worked knots that he did not even know existed, and 
the half-Elf groaned ecstatically as he felt the tensions of the stressful afternoon vanish 
into thin air. The fair Eldar who sat above him chuckled at the delectable sound from his 
lover and continued to rub the sweetly scented oil into his back, shoulders and neck, 
marvelling at the way in which the strong body below him responded so readily to his 
touch. “Is this to your liking, my lord?” he lilted softly, bending down low so that his 
breath tickled Elrond’s delicate ear. 

The Lord of Imladris was able to respond with nothing more than a delicious moan of 
sheer pleasure, and his closed eyelashes fluttered slightly at the pleasant feeling on his 
sensitive skin; Glorfindel obviously seemed to know exactly where to touch his body. 
“Mmmmmm…” he purred, and the golden-haired beauty atop his hips felt a distinct heat 
rising between his legs at the sound. He suppressed his own desires for the time being, 
however, and continued to knead the firm skin, eliciting more elated sighs and murmurs 
from the Elven-lord whom he straddled. 

His skilled, nimble fingers and strong arms proceeded to manipulate the soft, firm, 
ageless skin below him until the muscles were totally smooth and loose. He finally 
stopped, drawing a whimper of complaint from Elrond, and slid off his hips so that he 
was lying next to his lover. Elrond lifted his head lazily from where it rested on his 
forearms and looked at the blond Eldar fondly. Long, lithe arms snaked around his waist, 
turning him and lifting him so that he now lay against Glorfindel’s chest, and the Lord of 
Imladris nuzzled the crook of the other’s neck and rested his dark head on his broad 
shoulder. The blond Elven-lord brought one hand up to caress the raven locks of the dark 
and he began to unwind the long, intricate braids, smirking slightly when he brushed the 
pointed tip of an ear and educed a shudder; Elrond was certainly a sensual Elf, and 
Glorfindel thanked the Valar for that every day. 

Elrond lay in his lover’s arms for several lengthy, happy moments. Elation soared 
through him, a combination of the release of tensions due to the massage and the strength 
he drew from his saviour, and he sighed blissfully as he felt the familiar contented feeling 
grow behind his ribcage again. Eventually he raised his head and looked up at Glorfindel; 
his deep, dark eyes met the fair Eldar’s luminescent azure ones, and both detected the 
same blend of happiness, devotion and love within the others’. Glorfindel chuckled 
quietly and lowered his lips to Elrond’s. The half-Elf pulled him into a searing, 
passionate kiss; their tongues battled wildly with each other’s, and both felt themselves 
grow hot again. The kiss lasted for many impossibly long minutes, until finally they 
broke apart, gasping for air. Elrond leaned towards his lover again, desperate for more, 
but their lips had barely touched when Glorfindel caught sight of the clock and sighed 
deeply into the half-Elf’s mouth, pulling back. 

Elrond looked up, a pained expression on his face, but the blond Eldar merely nodded at 
the clock and stood up, touching his lips briefly to Elrond’s forehead. The Lord of 
Imladris sighed and followed suit as he noticed the time. “Thank you, nîn bellas; what 
would I do without you?” he lilted happily, and Glorfindel smiled back at him as he took 
off his shirt and tunic and took a fresh change of clothes from the wardrobe. “Well, you 
would be late for everything, for a start,” he quipped, ducking as a pillow was flung his 
way. 

“Or maybe I would be early, since you would not be taking up all my free time,” jested 
Elrond, an impish grin upon his dark features. Glorfindel marched up to him, his eyes 
dancing wickedly, before picking him up and dumping him unceremoniously on the bed. 
He leaned close, and spoke in a sombre, threatening tone, although his fathomless blue 
eyes spoke otherwise. “Just you watch what you say, my lord, or you shall have to be 
punished,” he growled ominously. 

Elrond was not fazed by this, however, and glared back with equal ferocity. “Is that a 
threat?” he muttered mischievously, “Or a promise?” The golden- haired Eldar snorted 
loudly and smirked at the half-Elf. “We shall have to see about that; now get thee gone 
from my chambers else other, dreadful things befall you!” he demanded playfully. Elrond 
merely laughed at the mock-serious tone and stood up from the bed. “Very well, if that is 
how you feel…” he then sniffed, feigning as if his feelings were hurt. 

Glorfindel growled at him devilishly and lunged, his eyes still glinting, for he had had 
enough of this ridiculous exchange. Elrond agilely darted out of his way and, defeated, 
went to the door. He unlocked and opened it, and was about to step out when something 
struck him and he turned back. “Oh, before I forget; I shall look in on Elladan, Arwen 
and Estel on my way to make certain that they are ready for tonight; they are expected 
there, after all. Since Elrohir and Legolas’ rooms are closer, would you mind just 
checking on them, please?” Glorfindel smiled and nodded as he pulled on a fresh pair of 
leggings; he then tumbled into a graceless heap on the floor as Elrond winked playfully at 
him ere he shut the door, and an ugly scowl twisted his stunning features as he heard 
wicked laughs reverberating down the corridor. 

***************  
CHAPTER 26  
*************** 

Hatching Plans 

Elrohir jumped as he heard a knock on the door, and his eyes quickly reverted from the 
vacant look that they had assumed whilst his mind had been wandering within his reverie. 
The sleeping blond Elf in his arms stirred slightly, and Elrohir called out softly so as not 
to awaken him. “Who is there?” 

“’Tis I, Lord Glorfindel. May I come in?” 

Elrohir went to speak, but quickly realised that he had locked the door earlier; however, 
this was a scene that he had no objections to showing the Eldar, and he called back 
quietly. “Yes, you may, but the door is locked and I am somewhat indisposed at the 
moment. Are you able to pick the lock?” 

“Er…yes…is everything alright?” came the confused reply, as a scratching in the keyhole 
ensued. Glorfindel was obviously a master at entering locked rooms, mused Elrohir 
incredulously, for he did not even have time to reply before he heard a click and the door 
opened to reveal the tall, lean, graceful Elven-lord, elegantly dressed, ready for the feast, 
his long golden hair hanging in intricate braids down his back. A smile graced his 
stunning features when he saw the sleeping Prince, and closed the door noiselessly 
behind him as he entered the room and strode over to the bed. 

“Your father sent me to see that you were both ready for the feast,” he murmured softly, 
taking care not to wake the slumbering Elf. “I came here first and was on my way to 
Legolas’ quarters afterwards – if he was there, of course – but it seems as if I have found 
you both!” Elrohir nodded and smiled slightly, bringing a hand up instinctively to stroke 
the spun-gold strands of hair that were fanned out onto his chest. “How is he?” inquired 
the Elven-lord, gazing at the sleeping beauty. “Has…has he told you?” 

Elrohir nodded, somewhat surprised by the last question. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “I 
am possibly his closest friend; of course he has told me.” He paused and lowered his eyes 
to the coverlet, his voice now taking a more sombre tone and losing a portion of its 
volume. “I found him on the roof,” he murmured, not able to look Glorfindel directly in 
the eye. The blond raised an eyebrow, unseen, and the twin continued. “He was 
singing…that same song that Thranduil sang at his wife’s burial.” 

Glorfindel’s face softened at this remark, and his azure eyes widened, but he said 
nothing. Elrohir’s voice was now barely more than a whisper, and his words were pained. 
“He…he cried,” he muttered, and lifted his head so that he was now bravely looking 
Glorfindel squarely in the eye. “He cried, Glorfindel; it is happening again. Look, he is so 
cold…” With his one free hand he brought the Eldar’s up to touch Legolas’ cheek, and 
Glorfindel struggled not to recoil at the iciness. 

The fair Elf gazed deep into Elrohir’s chocolate-brown eyes – so like his fathers’, he 
mused distractedly – and spoke reassuringly to the worried twin. “We will not lose him,” 
he whispered with conviction. “We did not lose your father last time, and I will go to 
Mandos and back again once more before we lose Legolas.” The confidence shining in 
his eyes spoke volumes to Elrohir and he relaxed slightly at these words, although there 
was still a note of anguish in his voice as he replied. 

“But what if he will not allow us to save him?” he deliberated aloud. “You know as well 
as I do how stubborn and unselfish he is; he will most certainly not come between Arwen 
and Estel, and I severely doubt that he will permit himself to become bound to another.” 

Glorfindel sighed inwardly at this last comment and wondered if he should tell Elrohir 
what Legolas had told Elrond earlier, but decided against it. “Perhaps you could talk 
some sense into him when he awakens,” he suggested softly. “If anyone is able to do that, 
‘tis you, for he trusts and listens to you like no other. He has refused to speak to Arwen 
and Estel, to the present.” 

The raven-haired twin smiled wryly at this comment, and paused from stroking the gold, 
silken locks to caress the pale cheek, not caring about the frostiness of the ethereal skin. 
“Very well,” he agreed, “I shall talk to him; I will try my best, although I cannot make 
any promises.” 

Glorfindel returned the smile gratefully. “That is all I can ask of you,” he answered, 
appreciation in his musical voice, and drew himself up to his full height as he prepared to 
leave. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to the feast downstairs, for it starts in a 
few minutes. Do not worry yourself,” he added, as Elrohir’s brow creased and he went to 
speak. “I shall inform your father and I am certain that he will have no 
objections…although…” he tailed off, thoughts springing to mind. 

Elrohir raised one long, dark eyebrow inquisitively, scepticism written all over his face, 
for he knew the full extent of the flaxen-haired Eldar’s scheming brain and wondered 
what tricks he was devising this time. 

“Perhaps,” mused Glorfindel quietly, “’T’would be better if both of you made even a 
brief appearance, so that noone suspects anything.” Elrohir opened his mouth to protest 
that Legolas was not well enough, but Glorfindel caught the expression and grinned. 
“Yes, yes, I have thought of that too,” he smirked, leaving a bemused look upon the 
twin’s face. “I shall leave it for a few minutes and then send Estel up to see where you 
are. He can heal Legolas whilst he sleeps, enough so that he will be able to attend for a 
short while; and if the Prince wakes then all well and good, for they may be able to talk 
things through.” 

Elrohir flashed an impressed glance at the beaming Eldar. “How do you manage to dream 
up these tricks?” he chuckled softly. “You are certainly a master of mischief, if nothing 
else!” Glorfindel snorted quietly and bent to kiss Legolas’ forehead briefly ere he left, 
marvelling silently at the exquisite beauty of the sleeping form. 

“Fare thee well,” he muttered to Elrohir as he walked to the door. “I shall send Estel up in 
a few minutes.” Then, with a last glance at the pair upon the bed, he noiselessly closed 
the door and vanished into the passageway, leaving Elrohir to prepare himself for the 
inevitable confrontations that were to follow. 

****************  
CHAPTER 27  
**************** 

Are You Listening? 

Aragorn stood next to a table laden with all imaginable kinds of delicious food. An Elf 
was standing before him and talking to him – or rather at him. He was not paying 
attention in the slightest, for although he would occasionally nod or smile in an 
appropriate place his mind was wandering far from whatever subject the figure opposite 
him was speaking of. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a sweep of sapphire 
and a glimmer of gold, and turned his head surreptitiously to see that Glorfindel had 
entered the room and was talking quietly to Elrond, dressed in his customary azure finery. 

The King immediately focused his attention on the Elf in front of him again, and began to 
absorb everything that was being said about Lothlórien, now punctuating the 
conversation with the most suitable facial expression at the correct time. He knew that 
Elrond and Glorfindel would not be so brazen as to approach him about Legolas at the 
feast, for fear of causing a disturbance, but, nonetheless, he wished to keep away from 
them for the time being. So absorbed was he in the conversation with the ‘Lórien Elf that 
he started when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

He turned to see Glorfindel standing behind him, and he scowled inwardly. “Excuse me 
for interrupting, Lindir,” purred the Eldar smoothly, “But I am afraid that I will need to 
borrow Estel for a few moments; I hope you do not mind?” 

The brown-haired ‘Lórien Elf bowed deeply to his superior, and Glorfindel led Aragorn a 
short distance away from the crowd. “I sincerely hope that this does not concern 
Legolas…” hissed the King, for he was most definitely not in the mood for a 
confrontation. 

The blond Elven-lord chuckled softly to himself. “Of course not, Estel; do not be so 
paranoid! ‘Tis nothing so important as that, merely that your father and I had noticed that 
Elrohir is absent, and his presence is required. Could you be so kind as to fetch him for 
us?” 

The Dunedan narrowed his eyes at the Eldar, who looked at him innocently. “I trust that 
this is not another of your little tricks,” he muttered sceptically. Glorfindel laughed again. 
“As I said before, Estel, you are too suspicious! To be honest, I thought that you would 
welcome the break from whatever Lindir was saying to you; however, if you should wish 
to return to…” 

“No!” cut in Aragorn sharply, his face softening slightly and a smile of his own 
beginning to break out upon his features. “No, thank you Glorfindel, I will go and seek 
my foster-brother. Elbereth only knows how he hated these formal occasions!” Glorfindel 
chuckled again and patted him on the shoulder, ere turning and vanishing into the 
expanding crowd and leaving the King standing alone. 

Before he could be assailed by anyone else, the Ranger slipped silently out of the dining 
halls with amazing Elf-like grace and followed the passageways and flights of stairs to 
his foster-brother’s quarters, which lay tucked away on the top floor due to the fact that 
Elrohir greatly valued his privacy. He eventually reached the Elf’s room, and paused 
before tapping quietly on the door and calling his name. 

Inside the bedroom Elrohir heard the knock on the door and looked up. The Prince who 
still slumbered in his lap stirred a little at the sound, but the twin whispered a few 
reassuring words of Elvish and he fell back into sleep, sighing happily and a peaceful 
expression gracing his fair features. “Enter,” called Elrohir, knowing full well who stood 
behind the door, and looked up as the door handle turned. 

“Elrohir, I hate these formal occasions as much as you, but that is no excuse…” Aragorn 
was already talking as he entered the room, but stopped dead at the sight that met his 
eyes. “Wha…what is this?” he questioned ominously, narrowing his tempestuous grey 
eyes at his foster-brother. Jealousy soared through him as he saw the exquisite Prince 
asleep in Elrohir’s arms; // Legolas is supposed to love me, // he thought irrationally, as 
the seeds of the second rage that evening threatened to take root, but he wisely ignored 
them for the time being and continued speaking, albeit rather coolly. “Glorfindel sent me 
up to find you, for your presence is required at the feast downstairs; however it would 
seem that you are otherwise occupied.” 

Elrohir regarded Aragorn scathingly, for he could detect the menacing tone in his foster-
bother’s voice and was well aware of what he was capable of. “Come inside and close the 
door, Estel,” he murmured quietly. “There are a few things that we need to discuss.” 

The King did as he was instructed, and pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. Elrohir 
glared at him as the legs scraped noisily on the stone floor, and Legolas shifted slightly 
within the twin’s warm embrace. He whined softly, and Elrohir looked down to see that 
the serene expression had been replaced by one of worry and unease. The Prince 
suddenly began to whimper more loudly and started writhing in the darker Elf’s strong 
arms. Elrohir held him tightly and bent down to whisper soothingly in Elvish to him in an 
attempt to calm him down. “Shhh, uuma dela, mellon-nîn,” he muttered into the pale, 
pointed ear. “Esta, kaima....” 

Legolas quietened for a moment, but then began to thrash around even harder than 
before, this time crying out from within his nightmare. “No, no,” he called in an 
anguished tone. “Take me back, I will not go!” Elrohir tightened his grip on the Elf lest 
he hurt himself, still whispering into his ear, and Aragorn stood up and bent over the bed 
at those words. “Is he alright?” he asked anxiously, peering into Legolas’ vacant cerulean 
eyes. 

Elrohir gave no answer, but simply grabbed Aragorn’s rough, calloused hand and placed 
it over Legolas’ breastbone. The Dunedan looked somewhat surprised, but said nothing 
when he saw that the Prince had immediately quietened at the touch and was now lying 
still in Elrohir’s arms again. He left his hand in the same position for a few moments, and 
then tentatively withdrew it as if he expected Legolas to start struggling again as soon as 
his skin left the cloth of the deep green tunic. The fair Elf emitted a heavy sigh in his 
sleep as the contact was broken, but made no movement other than to nuzzle the crook of 
Elrohir’s neck and snuggle closer to his warm body. 

The dark Elf looked up at the Ranger as he sat back down in the chair, and instinctively 
brought up his hand in a protective gesture to stroke the silken gold hair once again, 
noticing as his hand accidentally touched Legolas’ fair cheek that his body temperature 
had risen back to the standard Elven level, and he grimaced in the realisation that 
Legolas’ earlier words had indeed been truthful. Aragorn still continued to stare at the 
Prince as he slept, attempting in vain to fathom what lay within his blank sapphire eyes, 
and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“What happened there?” he whispered at last, now taking the utmost care not to disturb 
the sleeping Elf. His foster-brother frowned at him, his left hand still caressing the flaxen 
hair. 

“A nightmare assailed him; ‘tis common during this stage of the grief,” he replied curtly, 
certain that Aragorn should know more about Elven grief than he appeared to. The King 
nodded slowly, and then lifted his stony gaze from Legolas’ cerulean eyes to Elrohir’s 
dark ones. 

“It was you on the roof, was it not?” he said neutrally, more as a statement than a 
question. 

The raven-haired twin nodded in turn. “Yes, I heard him singing from my balcony, and 
climbed up to see what was wrong with him. I knew that it was him immediately, for the 
last time I heard that song was when his father sang it at his mother’s funeral.” He paused 
and inhaled deeply, glancing back down at Legolas to make certain that he was still 
sleeping peacefully, and then allowed the breath to rush out of his lungs in a heavy sigh. 
“So you saw us on the roof then?” 

Aragorn pursed his lips tightly, forming a thin white line across his face, which seemed to 
have grown weary and haggard in the short space of time that he had been inside the 
room. “Yes, and I saw you comforting him. How…what…?” He did not need to finish 
his sentence, however; Elrohir’s face suddenly saddened and his dark eyes glistened 
brightly. 

“He…he cried, Estel,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, but the words struck the King’s 
eardrums like claps of thunder. Shock spread over his regal features and his grey eyes 
widened. 

“But Legolas has never…I mean, I have only ever seen him cry once, and that was earlier 
today when he was severely concussed…” 

Elrohir nodded grimly, and protectively pulled the Prince even closer to his body before 
he bowed his head and laid a loving kiss on his friend’s golden head. “I…I fear that I will 
lose him,” he said softly, now voicing concerns to his foster-brother that he had not even 
voiced to his father or Glorfindel as of yet. “I nearly lost father, and Glorfindel too; I 
wish not to have that same experience again, even if he lives at the end of it. He is my 
closest friend, save perhaps Elladan and Arwen and yourself, and I do not believe that I 
could see him tormented so.” 

Aragorn frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, you nearly lost father?” he 
questioned, more sharply than he meant to, and the noise caused Legolas to stir again. 
This time his eyes focused slowly and returned to their usual alert state, and he shifted 
within Elrohir’s arms and stretched his arms out to the side. He then tilted his head up so 
that he could look back at his friend, who smiled down at him compassionately. “We 
have finally awoken then, mellon-nîn,” he murmured, and Legolas nodded slightly, still 
gazing up at the elder Elf. “How are you feeling? You had a bad dream.” 

The fair Prince nodded again, still not taking his eyes from his friend’s, but the sparkling 
sapphire pair clouded over slightly and they darkened in colour. “Yes, I did…it was about 
Mandos, I think, though I do not fully understand it…but then it faded,” he muttered 
vaguely, a tinge of bewilderment in his voice. “And now I feel warm again, almost as 
if…” 

Sudden realisation struck him and his eyes flew from Elrohir’s face and to the dark figure 
sitting at the side of the bed. A very peculiar range of emotions flooded his face as he 
recognised Aragorn, which bemused the King somewhat, and he twisted skilfully out of 
Elrohir’s arms and pulled back so that he was sitting at the far side of the bed. Panic 
could be clearly detected in his wide azure eyes and he had begun to tremble faintly, but 
the wild orbs never left the Ranger’s stony, turbulent pair as the Man gazed at the Elf, a 
pained expression written over his dark, weathered face. 

“Legolas, I…” he began, unsure of what to say, but the Elf did not give him the trouble of 
worrying about that fact as he cut him off sharply. “No, Aragorn, I do not wish to speak 
to you." 

Elrohir tried to intervene, in an attempt to calm both figures. “Leave it for the moment, 
Estel. Legolas, come here, noone is going to do anything to you,” he said gently, holding 
out his arm invitingly to the Prince. Legolas’ eyes narrowed somewhat, and he crossed 
his legs firmly where he sat at the other side of the bed. 

“It would appear that you already have,” he declared coldly, causing a pained expression 
to now cross Elrohir’s face, too. “Can I no longer trust anyone in this house? Everyone 
seems to be against me; there is noone I can trust.” His eyes had now widened again, and 
had begun to glisten ominously. Elrohir and Aragorn simply looked on, dismayed, as 
tears started to roll down the fair Elf’s ethereal skin and sobs wracked his body. Between 
the sobs and tremors, however, both foster-brothers managed to catch a few, distressing 
words, and continued to watch, for they were at a loss for anything to say or do at that 
moment. 

“I’m so alone…all alone…” 

*** 

N/B: uuma dela - do not worry 

mellon-nîn - my friend 

esta - rest 

kaima - sleep 

A/N: I am (now!) aware that Arwen was over two thousand years old when Celebrian left, 
but it suits the story for me to make her younger than this, so I have changed it. 
 
 
***************  
CHAPTER 28  
*************** 

Untold Secrets 

Both Aragorn and Elrohir sat gazing pityingly at Legolas, who had drawn his knees up to 
his chest by this time and was rocking himself back and forth, still sobbing and muttering 
to himself. Eventually the darker Elven twin who was sitting on the bed shifted over 
slightly, when it seemed that the tears were finally receding, and gathered the Prince into 
his arms for the second time that night. He half expected to be pushed away, but instead 
the blond Elf gratefully accepted the solace and leaned towards to contact. Elrohir gazed 
down at his friend’s beautiful face, stained silver from streaks of tears, and gently lifted 
his chin with two fingers so that they were looking each other straight in the eye. 

“Now, tell me, Legolas, what in Middle Earth would make you think that you are alone in 
all of this mess?” he questioned softly, refusing to release his hold on the Elf’s chin as he 
tried to break the eye contact. Defeated, the blond beauty sighed reluctantly before he 
answered. 

“I do not know, really; it is just that I feel like an intruder, for Aragorn has stolen my 
heart against my will, and yet he loves Arwen with all of his. She has surrendered her 
Immortality to be with him and there is no way that I can expect him to relinquish her just 
to save me.” He paused, but noticed that Elrohir had opened his mouth to speak and cut 
him off. “I know what you are about to say, and I feel certain that you already know my 
opinions on that subject. It is too perilous for the other person, never mind the fact that 
there is nobody who would wish to save me anyway.” 

Aragorn watched this scene unfolding before his eyes; he felt twinges of jealously again 
when Legolas accepted Elrohir’s embrace, and then a gut- wrenching stab of guilt and 
shame as the Prince began to speak from his heart as though the King was not sitting at 
the bedside with his eyes fixed upon the pair of friends. It seemed as though he had 
forgotten about the Dunedan’s presence, for he jumped when the deep voice reverberated 
throughout the room and turned his head so that he could look at the King, wide-eyed in a 
baffled mix of surprise, dishonour and embarrassment at having Aragorn see him so. 

“How do you know that nobody would wish to save you?” he asked incredulously. 
“There are many people who love you dearly, and I am sure that none would allow you to 
fade if they had the choice.” 

Silence fell on the room for a few moments, before Legolas spoke softly, almost 
whispering. “Are…are you one of them?” He could feel his heart beat as one with 
Elrohir’s in anticipation of the answer; the dark Elf instinctively tightened his grip on the 
blond, who unconsciously held his breath. 

Aragorn sighed deeply ere raising his head, openness written across his face and honesty 
reflecting in his stormy grey eyes. “I do not know,” he replied finally. “I need time to 
consider this, and I must discuss things through with Arwen.” 

“I am sure I know what my sister’s opinion on the subject will be,” snapped Elrohir, 
finally losing his patience with the Man. “You must be a true fool if you cannot see that; 
and by the time you have dallied and pondered Legolas may well be past saving.” 

Two pairs of shocked eyes regarded the raven-haired twin, one sapphire and the other 
grey, and Elrohir realised what he had just said. “I am sorry,” he continued frankly, not 
truly sounding sorry at all, “But I have already told you, Estel, I almost lost father and 
Glorfindel and I am not about to have Legolas suffer the same fate.” 

Legolas’ face went vacant at those words, and he stared at the embroidered coverlet; 
Aragorn’s, however, softened, and he looked beseechingly at his foster-brother. “Forgive 
me, Elrohir – Legolas – but I have only known for a few hours and it is tormenting me 
inside. I merely ask a few hours of you to allow me to adjust to the idea, for this is the 
hardest decision I have ever had to make.” The dark twin managed to force a dour smile 
at the King. 

“Very well, I suppose that can be accepted,” he drawled, somewhat darkly, and an uneasy 
silence fell in the room. 

Eventually Aragorn spoke again, his voice now soft and slightly dubious. “Elrohir…will 
you not tell me what happened to father? What do you mean when you say that you 
almost lost him?” The King’s foster-brother looked at him, his own doubt also visible in 
his dark eyes, before he replied. 

“I see no harm in the two of you knowing these events, I suppose,” he said tentatively, 
unsure of where to begin. “There are only four of us who know about this, Elladan being 
the fourth; even Arwen is unaware for she was but a babe at the time, but I feel that father 
and Glorfindel would not object to my telling you this, considering the situation that you 
are in.” Aragorn nodded encouragingly at him to continue, and Elrohir released his hold 
on Legolas as he prepared to narrate the story; he was so absorbed in the memories that 
he did not notice when the Elf made no movement, but merely sat in the same position 
upon the bed, staring at the sheets. 

Elrohir took a deep breath and began to speak slowly. “About five hundred years ago my 
mother was travelling to visit her parents in Lothlórien. Orcs waylaid her company in the 
Redhorn Pass as they attempted to cross Caradhras, and she sustained a poisoned wound. 
She returned to Rivendell at once, and my father, being a Master of Healing, was able to 
repair her body. He was, however, unable to mend her troubled mind; Endor soon grew 
dull and grey to her and she sailed west to Valinor.” He paused for a moment, to regain 
his composure, and Aragorn looked on in sympathy. Once the twin had gathered himself 
again he proceeded with his tale. 

“None of us anticipated how greatly father would miss mother; he began to grieve for her 
and his eternal flame grew dim. Unfortunately we did not realise the true effects of her 
departure until it was almost too late…we found father asleep in his bed one morning. 
His eyes were closed and his skin was icy to the touch, and he did not awaken when we 
tried to rouse him.” This thought made him shudder, as though he was touching the pale, 
frosty skin at that moment, and stopped speaking briefly so that he could swallow hard to 
clear the hard lump that had formed in his throat. 

“Both Elladan and I attempted to wake him, but to no avail; finally we were at a loss for 
what to do and consulted Lord Glorfindel…it was the best move that we ever made. He 
also tried to arouse father but, when he did not succeed, he decided to bind the two of 
them together so that father could be saved. Obviously mother could not save him, since 
she had already departed, and both Elladan and I were overjoyed at this, but we were well 
aware of the danger of the situation. During the binding procedure something, and to this 
day we are unsure what, went amiss, and both father and Glorfindel slipped…” Elrohir 
tailed off here and closed his eyes momentarily; when he opened them again they were 
glistening brightly with unshed tears, but he managed to carry on talking in an admirably 
steady voice. 

“It took all of both Elladan’s and my own strength to pull them back from the brink; 
when both had recovered sufficiently to recite the story of events, father told of a large, 
open-air hall filled with Elves of all races and a voice that had called to him from within. 
Glorfindel confirmed that it had been the Halls of Mandos, since he has been there once 
before. That is how close I came to losing them,” he finished at last, his voice no more 
than a whisper now. “And you wonder why I do not wish for it to happen again.” He 
closed his eyes again and took a deep breath; when he opened them and exhaled he 
smiled slightly, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Aragorn’s brow had creased as Elrohir told his story, and now muttered to himself. 
“Glorfindel was making an understatement, then, when he said that I may have met his 
friend who nearly died from grief…” 

“I have never told that to another person before now,” confessed Elrohir, who had 
apparently not heard the Dunedan’s musings, and bestowed a grateful look upon Aragorn. 
The King’s eyes lit up receptively and he returned the smile as he clapped the raven-
haired Elf on the shoulder, but then he turned his eyes to Legolas and his face fell. 
“Although it would appear that only one of us was listening…” 

One pair of stony grey eyes and another pair of chocolate-brown regarded the oblivious 
Elf silently; he was still gazing at the embroidered counterpane, although he was 
evidently not studying the intricate stitching due to the fact that his eyes were blank. 
Elrohir passed a hand slowly in front of the vacant sapphire orbs and Legolas started out 
of his reverie. “Sorry?” he asked distractedly, “Did you say something?” 

Elrohir cast a sideways glance at Aragorn, indicating for him to concur with what he was 
about to say. “Yes,” he answered slyly. “Estel and I were thinking that perhaps we should 
make an appearance at the feast; it need only be brief, but otherwise people may suspect 
that something is amiss.” 

Aragorn smirked inwardly; during the time he had spent amongst Men in Gondor, he had 
forgotten the Elven art of trickery that seemed to flow in the veins of nearly every Elf he 
had met, not least his twin foster- brothers who had played more than their fair share of 
practical jokes on him as a child! “Yes, I agree with Elrohir,” he answered, managing to 
keep his voice and face completely serious. “I see no reason for the whole of Imladris to 
know your business, and unless you show yourselves soon there will be enquiries as to 
the reasons for your absence.” 

Legolas nodded to show his consent. “Very well then, I shall come down for a short 
while,” he agreed quietly, still gazing dejectedly at the eiderdown. Aragorn shot a 
meaningful look at Elrohir, who nodded surreptitiously. The King rose from his chair and 
walked around to Legolas’ side of the bed; he then held out his right hand, brown and 
calloused, to the Prince. “May I?” he requested gently, gazing into the Elf’s beautiful 
blue eyes. 

Legolas sighed quietly. “I suppose so,” he mumbled. “I suspect that I shall need the extra 
strength.” 

The fair Prince closed his eyes and grimaced, hating himself for being so weak, as the 
Dunedan laid his right hand lightly over his sternum. At once he felt the familiar warmth 
grow beneath his ribcage and his heart fluttered slightly as his body temperature 
increased again. Life and energy flowed through his veins as the strength from the Man 
for whom his heart grieved flowed into his cooling blood, relighting the dimming flames 
of his eternal spirit momentarily. 

Elrohir could not help but smile as he saw the scene in front of him; Legolas looked, to 
him, like one of the Mortal “angels” that he had heard much about, with his long, 
unbraided golden hair flowing smoothly around his shoulders and down to his waist and 
his flawless cream skin radiating a pale light that was ever-increasing in intensity as the 
touch of the King revived his muted soul. 

Eventually Aragorn removed his hand from the forest-green tunic, and Legolas opened 
his eyes as he felt the heat inside him still and blaze at a steady level. “Thank you,” he 
muttered, unable to meet the Ranger’s eye, for he felt weak and ashamed of himself for 
requiring such an act to be done to him so that he could do nothing more than meet his 
friends downstairs for a mere few minutes. “Why do the two of you not go downstairs; I 
need to wash and change my clothes, which are in my chambers. I shall follow you down 
in a few minutes.” 

Elrohir looked sceptically at his friend. “Do you promise?” he queried, notes of teasing 
detectable in his voice. “For you realise that I shall be forced to come and look for you, 
should you not turn up; I do not think that I can face a bowl of strawberries and cream 
alone after what you have told me, and I should not like to explain why I suddenly ran off 
from the dinner table!” It was a weak joke, but it incited a small snort from Legolas in his 
more vivacious state. 

“Yes, yes, I promise! Now you two go before you are missed, and I shall be down 
shortly,” he insisted as he moved towards the door and opened it. All three stepped 
outside and the owner of the room closed the door behind them. 

The two dark-haired figures turned left along the corridor that would lead them to the 
busy dining halls, talking quietly to each other. The blond figure turned right towards his 
chambers; however in the instant that the footfalls of the King and his foster-brother 
became inaudible to his sharp Elven hearing, he changed direction and followed the 
passageways and flights of stairs down until he came to one of the little-used side doors 
that admitted him into the gardens of Imladris. 

 
A/N: I have no idea which twin is older, but since most people seem to make Elladan the 
elder I am going with that – maybe they know something I don’t? 

***************  
CHAPTER 29  
*************** 

Curiosity Killed the King
 
“So tell me, Elrohir, what is this I hear about strawberries and cream?” questioned 
Aragorn. He was intrigued by Elrohir’s earlier comment and the expression on Legolas’ 
face, and his curiosity was only sparked on more when the twin paled at the thought. 

“Oh, nothing you need to know,” he muttered, the tips of his ears tinged pink and 
contrasting sharply with the pallor of the rest of his skin. 

“Oh no, you are not getting away with that!” exclaimed the King, now desperate for 
knowledge of whatever incident had occurred to cause his foster-brother to act so 
elusively. “Come, enlighten me, for my spirits need lifting!” 

“I know not the entire story; I feel that you would do better to ask Legolas,” murmured 
the Elf, the flush from his ears now spreading to his cheeks. “Let us just say that it 
explains how he injured his wrist last night.” He steeled himself mentally, for he refused 
to say another word on the subject knowing that the Dunedan would only question him 
further; that was until Aragorn spoke up again. 

“Wait a moment…does this involve Elrond and Glorfindel, by any chance?” he asked 
slyly, noting in amusement when Elrohir closed his eyes briefly and stopped walking, his 
cheeks now positively crimson. “They did seem rather uncomfortable when I asked how 
Legolas injured his wrist,” he murmured deviously, “And I did say that I would have to 
ask them at the feast…” 

Elrohir gaped at the Man. “You…you would not!” he exclaimed, astounded. 

Aragorn grinned wickedly. “I fear that I may have to, for this curiosity as eating me away 
inside,” he smirked. “And besides, it sounds as though the guests could so with some 
light-hearted entertainment!” 

The twin looked on in amazement. “Curiosity killed the cat, Estel, I would not…” 

“Oh, come now Elrohir,” cut in Aragorn smoothly, his heart now set on the prank that 
had sprung to his quick, intelligent mind. “You cannot honestly say that you do not wish 
to discover the entire story! I am not compelling you to become involved, but I thought 
that you may enjoy being a spectator!” 

Now it was Elrohir’s turn to smirk impishly. “I must admit, the amusement would be 
most welcome,” he conceded slowly, pursing his lips as he considered the plan. “Very 
well, I suppose I will allow you to do this, but for Valar’s sake leave me out of it! I do not 
wish to have my head served up at the next feast!” 

The King sniggered, mischief written all over his face. “Come, then, what are we waiting 
for?” he asked, and with that he strode off towards the dining halls, leaving the older Elf 
shaking his head in amazement before he sprinted to catch up. 

Aragorn entered the crowded dining halls and immediately strode over to the table at 
which Elrond and Glorfindel were sitting, completely forgetting the manner in which he 
had been avoiding them only a short while earlier. His foster father looked up as he 
approached, and smiled hopefully. 

“Estel, will you join us for dinner?” he asked anxiously; the King grinned in concurrence 
and took a seat directly opposite the two Elven-lords, who were sitting side by side. 
Elrohir stood in the doorway for a few moments before he too moved towards the table 
and took a seat next to his twin, a few chairs down from the Dunedan but not so far that 
he was unable to hear every word that was exchanged. 

Elladan glanced up as his brother sat down and beamed at him. “So you have finally 
decided to join us, brother; you must be starving, for I know how you hate these formal 
occasions!” Elrohir smiled at him distractedly before turning away so that he could see 
his father, Glorfindel and his foster- brother as well as hear them. Elladan frowned at this. 
“Is everything in order, Elrohir? You seem somewhat preoccupied.” 

His younger brother turned back to him and spoke in a low voice. “No, everything is not 
in order, but I shall tell you about that later. For the moment just watch Estel; I feel that 
there is some light entertainment coming on.” He said nothing more, but twisted away 
from his twin again, who wore a look of bemusement but did as he was instructed. 
Elrohir grinned when he saw that the Ranger had taken a bowl of strawberries and was 
playing with one between his fingers, and Elladan frowned even harder. “Elrohir, will 
you not tell me…” 

“Just listen!” snapped the younger twin, who was now listening intently to what Aragorn 
was saying. 

“I have been wondering, father,” began the King, who was taking a suspicious interest in 
the red berry between his fingers, in Glorfindel’s opinion. “How exactly did Legolas hurt 
his wrist? You never did get around to telling me.” 

Elrond paled at the question, and Glorfindel’s hand found his under the table and gripped 
it tightly as the blond Eldar glared viciously at the Man. The Ranger simply sat at the 
opposite side of the long table, leaning against the back of his chair with one elbow 
casually resting on the table and twirling the strawberry in his fingers so that both Elven-
lords could clearly see the offensive scarlet fruit; an amused smirk decorated his 
handsome features. The half-Elf growled, almost inaudibly, before he answered. 

“It was nothing serious, Aragorn, he simply fell off a chair last night,” he muttered 
threateningly, and both twins who were sitting a short distance away noticed that their 
father had used his foster-son’s birth name, as he did only when irate. 

“Oh, how careless of him!” exclaimed the Man, throwing a hand to his brow 
dramatically. “First I discover that he has fallen out of a tree, and now this! What can be 
wrong with him, I wonder, for he would not simply fall off his chair for no reason…” 

Glorfindel glanced at his lover out of the corner of his eye and, noticing the anxious 
expression on his pallid face, decided to intervene. “Have you asked Legolas himself 
about what caused his injury?” he asked cautiously, suspicious of how Aragorn had 
discovered this incident and how much he knew. 

“Yes,” lied the King, “And he was unable to do anything but laugh, so I can only assume 
that he fell of the chair because he was laughing so much at the time, although he would 
not tell me what at. Excuse me,” he twisted in his chair and directed his attention to a 
waitress who happened to be conveniently passing behind him. “Could you possibly fetch 
me some cream for these strawberries?” 

Elrohir released a loud snort from down the table and Elrond choked on the mouthful of 
wine that he had taken; neither had been expecting Aragorn to say that! Glorfindel began 
to fidget uncomfortably in his seat, for several people who were sitting around them had 
stopped eating and paused their conversations, intrigued to discover what had caused the 
disturbance at the middle of the table. “It would appear that you already know,” he hissed 
so that only the Man and the half-Elf were able to hear, “Although how you discovered 
this is beyond me.” 

Aragorn gave the blond another lopsided grin. “I barely knew anything,” he admitted 
freely. “It was just a passing comment that someone made; I merely pieced the 
information together and you have just confirmed my suspicions!” He flashed a 
triumphant smile at Elrond, who was lost for words. “But…how did you…who…” he 
spluttered, still unable to grasp the whole idea. 

“Oh, I have a fair idea,” muttered Glorfindel heatedly. He redirected his attention to a few 
seats away, where the twins were sitting. “Elrohir, could you come here for a moment 
please,” he said quietly, perfectly aware that the younger Elf was listening keenly to 
every word that was said. “There is a small matter that we need to discuss.” 

Further down the table, Elladan was looking at his brother in astonishment. “What just 
happened there?” he asked incredulously. “You had better tell me, Elrohir…” The 
younger twin opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment he heard himself being 
summoned by the irate Eldar further up the table and winced. 

“Oh, no, I am in trouble now,” he groaned. “Estel promised not to drag me into this!” 
Elladan looked on in further amazement as his brother got to his feet and made his way 
up the table. 

“Yes, Lord Glorfindel?” he asked, feigning innocence as he stood behind Aragorn’s 
chair. “How can I be of assistance?” 

“I think that you are perfectly aware of how you can – or already have been of 
assistance!” scowled the golden-haired Elven-lord. Elrohir smirked inwardly as the 
beginnings of yet another plan formed in his agile mind. 

“I am sorry, I know not of what you speak,” he objected, frowning to punctuate his air of 
confusion, “And, much as I would love to stay and find out, I am afraid that you shall 
have to make do with Estel here; I was just on my way to find Prince Legolas, who has 
not appeared for dinner yet as agreed. Please excuse me.” 

It was now Aragorn’s turn to splutter helplessly; for in the instant the raven-haired twin 
had finished speaking he patted the King meaningfully on his broad shoulder and turned 
smartly on his heel, striding briskly through the dining hall doors and leaving him to deal 
with the two livid Elven- lords. 

***************  
CHAPTER 30  
*************** 

Running Scared 

// I may need this, // Legolas thought, as he slipped out of the storage room, carrying a 
stolen bottle of wine in one hand, and made his way to the side door used only by the 
servants. Once outside he stuck to the walls of the house until he reached the trees at the 
edge of the forest, and glided into the darkness, cutting through it as keenly as a knife and 
blending in with the shadows, as only an Elven warrior was able to. 

He could hear the trees whispering to each other, the soft covering of leaves atop grass 
beneath his feet and the cool night air brushing against his newly heated skin; suddenly 
an overwhelming desire exploded within him to escape all that he would once have 
revered, and he found himself sprinting through the woods, darting nimbly in and out of 
the trees, with the infinite grace of the Firstborn. To where he was running he knew not; 
all he knew was that he had to break away from everything that he was leaving behind. 

The wind tore at his eyes and left them streaming, so much so that he did not realise 
where he was until his ears were unexpectedly filled with the deafening roar of the 
waterfall. He stopped abruptly and looked around, breathing heavily and blinking 
furiously to clear the tears that blurred his usually impeccable vision, swiftly taking in his 
surroundings. Solitude, he thought; that is what I need. Space to think. Looking down, he 
secured the neck of the wine bottle into his belt and stepped up to the wall of rock, which 
was slippery with spray from the falls, and began to skilfully scale the jagged rock face. 

Eventually the lithe figure sprang neatly up onto the flat, grassy surface at the top of the 
cliff and settled against a boulder next to the rapids, close enough to the edge so that he 
could easily see the whole of Imladris that lay before him. He lazily slung a long, 
willowy leg over the edge of the precipice, idly swinging it to and fro, and sighed heavily 
before he remembered the bottle that was secured in his belt. A slender hand reached 
down into his boot and unsheathed a hidden dagger; he deftly removed the cork from the 
bottle top and took a long, deep swig of the heady claret- coloured liquid. 

Once he had swallowed about half of the potent liquor he looked up, using the back of his 
hand to wipe clean his lips that were stained purple and carefully set the open bottle down 
beside him. He turned his head again, and a frosty silver glint caught his attention. 
Darkened blue eyes flew to the blade of his knife lying forgotten by his left hand, and 
long, cold fingers crept slowly to the hilt and picked it up. One fingertip of his other hand 
stroked the razor-sharp edge pensively, before he bared his right wrist and began to trace 
lazy, icy patterns on the flawless cream skin. He savoured the sensation of the cool metal 
across his warm, glowing skin; his eyes were wide and dark as his mind flitted from 
thought to thought, and turned almost black as a tiny bead of scarlet blood sprang up, 
contrasting starkly with the pale flesh. 
~~~ 

“Legolas? Legolas, can you hear me?” called Elrohir, now tapping more loudly on the 
door to the Prince’s chambers. “Legolas, is everything in order?” When he received no 
answer, the dark-haired Elf turned the handle and entered the room, somewhat surprised 
to find the door unlocked. “Legolas?” he queried again, looking around the empty 
bedroom. // Now where can he have got to? // he wondered. // Surely he would not… //

This sudden thought panicking Elrohir, he rushed over to the Elf’s desk. The long, 
intricately decorated bow and his quiver of arrows lay to one side of it, and he pulled 
open the drawer where he knew the Prince kept the rest of his weapons, cursing when he 
realised that one of his smaller knives was missing. Legolas always carried that knife, 
down the side of his boot, in the unlikely chance that he should ever need it after been 
caught otherwise unarmed. // Now where would that blasted Elf have gone? //

The worried twin ran to the balcony and vaulted the railings without a second thought. He 
swiftly scaled the ivy up to the roof in the hope that the Prince would have returned there, 
but finding the tiles devoid of any living creature he returned the way that he had come. 
Instead of stopping at the second floor balcony, however, he continued nimbly down the 
ivy until he reached the ground, and stepped onto the lawn and into the garden. Sharp, 
dark eyes expertly scanned the grass for any sign of the blond Prince, and his heart 
started when he saw fresh, faint footsteps upon the grass, leading into the dark forest. 
Without a second thought he followed them, silently so as not to startle the Prince should 
he come across him and lose him yet again. 

After a short while the footsteps became fleeting and spaced further apart, leading the 
twin to believe that Legolas had been running through the trees, although he knew not the 
reason why, and he instinctively quickened his pace. The trail led him through the woods 
for a long time, and Elrohir was close to becoming utterly mystified until he realised that 
he was now being led to the waterfall. He quickened his step yet again, an irrational fear 
welling up from the pit of his stomach, and soon broke into the clearing that was misty 
with the spray from the cascading waters. He looked around the glade, searching for his 
friend, and frowned when he did not see him. His eyes continued to flick up and down, 
until suddenly he looked up and froze to the spot. 

A dark figure sat drenched in moonlight at the top of the falls, his golden hair glistening 
white beneath the silvery beams. He had not appeared to notice the older Elf’s presence, 
for his whole attention was focused on the cold, blue blade that glinted wickedly in the 
light of Tilion, and was tainted with sinister black smears. 

***************  
CHAPTER 31  
*************** 

Blood Is Thicker Than Water 


Aragorn writhed uncomfortably under the glares of the two seething Elven- lords, and 
wondered what had made him think that this was such a wonderful idea. His grey eyes 
flicked back and forth between his foster-father and Lord Glorfindel, who were muttering 
between themselves whilst still pinning him to the spot with nothing more than their eyes. 
// If looks could kill, // thought the King wryly, // I would most definitely be six feet 
under! //

Eventually the two Elven-lords raised their voices so that anyone who cared to pay 
attention could hear with the utmost of ease. “What do you think we should do, 
Glorfindel?” drawled Elrond, feigning mystification. 

“I know not, Elrond,” replied the blond Eldar, with equally exaggerated puzzlement. 
“Perhaps we should remind our young King here of certain events that happened when he 
was but a child.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. You mean like the time when he stole a bottle of wine from the store 
cupboard, consumed the entire contents, and then tried to seduce you?” said Elrond, 
ensuring that he spoke slowly so that the neighbouring guests could hear. 

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean; I seem to recall playing along with the jest, and he 
truly believed that I had fallen for him!” exclaimed the flaxen-haired Eldar, gathering 
momentum with every minute that their revenge lasted. “ And when Elladan and Elrohir 
spread his saddle with honey, so that when he tried to get off his horse he was glued in 
place?” 

Elrond snorted. “Yes, that was most amusing; we had to remove the saddle from the 
horse before we were able to remove it from him, I seem to remember. He looked quite a 
picture, walking into the house with a saddle still stuck to his backside!” 

Aragorn felt his face colouring as his foster-father and his lover dragged up distant 
embarrassing anecdotes, and he was well aware that increasing numbers of the guests 
were turning to look at his in amusement. The two Elven-lords exacted their revenge 
well, eventually making his face burn crimson; he could have kissed Mithrandir when he 
swept into the dining halls, causing a welcome interruption. 

“The fireworks are now ready, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced importantly. “If you 
would care to follow me!” 

The guests reluctantly tore their eyes from the scarlet face of Isildur’s Heir and were led 
into the extensive gardens of Imladris. Aragorn waited until last, along with Elrond and 
Glorfindel, and cringed when they came to stand on either side of him, leaving no room 
for escape. 

“Never forget, Estel; you may think that you can have your little jests with us, but we can 
make your life a misery!” hissed Glorfindel into his left ear. 

“Yes,” came Elrond’s agreement in his right. “I had imagined that I had raised you better 
than that; I would recommend that you never try another such trick again! I know not 
how you discovered this, or what part Elrohir has played, but when Glorfindel and I wish 
to have our private lives announced to the public we will be perfectly capable of doing so 
ourselves.” 

Aragorn nodded in agreement, although it was difficult for there were two Elven-lords 
standing in very close proximity to his head. “Yes, I apologise; and do not blame Elrohir, 
for it was not his fault. He merely made a comment to Legolas…” 

“Ah, so that is how he discovered it!” exclaimed Glorfindel. “I did have my suspicions. I 
wonder where our little Prince has got to…” 

“Yes, Elrohir went to find him,” explained the King, glad of an excuse to change the 
subject. “Perhaps they are in the garden already, for I know how Legolas loves 
Mithrandir’s fireworks.” 

“Come, then, shall we join them?” suggested the half-Elf. The two other figures nodded, 
and exited the now deserted dining halls just as the first of the rockets was released into 
the night sky. 
~~~ 

“Legolas, what are you doing?” cried Elrohir, finally recovering himself enough to act. 
The blond Elf’s head snapped up, startled as he was by the unexpected presence of the 
dark-haired twin, and Elrohir gasped at the sight he saw. Soaked in moonlight, the 
Prince’s flaxen hair had taken a silvery-white sheen, his usually pale skin was now 
ghostly grey, and his eyes were nothing more than deathly black wells in his gaunt face. 

He stood up slowly, swaying slightly, holding the bottle of wine in one hand and the 
knife in the other. The bottomless black pits, once brilliant blue orbs, focused on the twin, 
but their owner did not speak. “Legolas, come down from there,” called Elrohir softly, 
worried by the ghastly transformations that had overcome his friend. “Let me help you, 
please.” 

The haggard figure shook his head and took a few steps towards the rapidly flowing 
waters, so that he could see the Elf below him more clearly. “No, Elrohir,” he pleaded 
softly, his voice once again devoid of all emotion. “Please, just leave me be.” 

“No, Legolas, I will not leave you be!” retorted the twin firmly. He had noticed the 
lifelessness in the blond Elf’s words, and felt a nagging, ominous feeling rising beneath 
his ribs as his heart quickened a step. “Look at yourself; you need help. Let me help you.” 

The dark pools in the Prince’s face blackened another shade and an expression of bitter 
fury swept across the moonlit features, highlighting the elevated, angular cheekbones and 
strong jaw line, and accentuating the deep hollows of his drawn cheeks and the shadows 
below his eyes with startling veracity. His eyes widened disturbingly with a terrible wrath 
that the twin had never seen from his sweet, gentle friend before, and a sudden dread 
made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach as he found himself wondering if this was 
what it felt like to look into the face of Morgoth himself. 

“*I SAID GO AWAY!*” he screamed, his voice now harsh and broken, distinctly lacking 
the usual lilting, melodic tones, and Elrohir winced at the horrifying sound. The shadowy 
figure above him then sank to his knees, leaning out over the precipice and down towards 
the Elf below him, adding emphasis to his words. “Can you not see that I need no help? 
That I want no help?” he continued, spitting out the words and twisting them into weighty 
insults to throw at his friend’s ears. 

“I am unwanted, and alone, so do not try and tell me differently, Elrohir. I know that 
Aragorn does not wish to save me, and let us be honest here, who would? Look at me!” 
he exclaimed, standing up again and spreading his arms wide again, dropping the now 
empty bottle to the ground. The twin eyed the blade that the Prince still grasped in his left 
hand warily, unnerved by the dark smears that dulled the evil glint, but allowed him to 
continue speaking for that moment, his eyes fixated on the lean form above him. “Just 
look at me!” he repeated. “Do you see what he had made of me? I am some foul creation, 
created by being a prisoner of his heart; just as Morgoth has done with the Orcs. Can you 
not see it?” 

Elrohir had had enough, and took a few steps closer to the rock wall. “You have been 
drinking, mellon-nîn,” he said gently. “Come, let me help you; ‘tis cold out here, we can 
discuss this inside.” 

Legolas laughed caustically, the blood-curdling sound twisting his beautiful features 
hideously into a sardonic grimace. “I cannot feel the cold,” he smirked vindictively. “But 
then, I cannot feel anything any longer. It is all part of what I have become. Look…” 

Elrohir’s blood ran cold as he saw the blade of the dagger flash blue in the light of Tilion; 
deafening bangs assailed his ears and coloured rain filled the blackness, leaving only the 
imprint of the dark figure, drawing the knife slowly down his bared wrist and illuminated 
by the first of the fireworks to decorate the night sky, etched permanently into his mind. 

“*NO!*” he cried desperately, falling forwards to his knees. “*LEGOLAS, NO!* Do not 
do this! Let me help you!” He felt tears of frustration streaming down his face, the only 
emotion that he was currently able to express in his utterly helpless position. 

Legolas looked down at the sobbing figure on the grass, scorn evident in his unnaturally 
dark eyes. “I have already told you, I need no help!” he shot back scathingly. “It hardly 
takes two of us to kill one of me, now, does it?” He tore his eyes from the pitiful figure 
on the floor and focused on his wrist again, settling the knife to the streaming scarlet 
groove that was already inscribed in the pale flesh. A fierce white light lit up in his 
blackened eyes as the cool metal touched his hot blood, drawing the unwanted living 
warmth that was not his own from his veins and sucking it in hungrily. He relished the 
tingling that rushed through his limbs as adrenaline exploded inside him, his body’s 
redundant attempt to provide what the liquid red life force flowing from his sundered skin 
could not, but only to drain from his veins through the same outlet; it was all he could 
feel. 

An ironic ecstasy spiralled through the slender form, and he closed his eyes. The bright 
light vanished behind his eyelids as he shut them, and instead allowed the knife to follow 
its own track through his tissue, merely applying pressure to the hilt. He endured no pain, 
but solely exhilaration and ecstasy from the delicious, unmet feelings that now flooded 
his senses all at once. The liquid that he could feel trickling down his hands in thin 
crimson rivulets and dripping from the end of his delicate fingertips, the essence of 
strength bestowed upon him earlier by the King of Men, sent shudders rippling along his 
itching arms, and the unaccustomed combination of adrenaline and blood loss had set his 
head spinning in a blissful serenity. 

The perpetual roar of the tormented waters that cascaded over the cliff drummed dully in 
his ears; his head was filled with a constant thunder that was occasionally punctuated by 
the crack of a rocket expending its coloured magic into the velvet midnight sky, under 
which, set with the glistening silver jewels that formed the constellations and the soft, 
glossy light of Ithil’s crescent that dappled the summit of the clearing, he now stood, 
swaying. 

The lithe figure turned his head and looked behind him, past Imladris and the thick green 
forest and over the horizon, to where the fireworks burst into rich, vibrant flames against 
the backdrop of the darkness. Eyes lit up in pleasure, for he had always adored the 
exquisitely coloured flares, and he stood for a moment, mesmerised, the smeared blade 
lying motionless against his open flesh before falling to the floor. Imprints of stained, 
glittering rain joined the dizzying rush in his head and the thunder from the falls between 
his ears, and he vaguely detected the flamboyant colours and shapes blurring into 
darkness, although when he closed his eyes he could still see the vivid images. 

Elrohir, still kneeling on the grass, watched the scene above him with a horrible 
fascination. He had considered ascending the cliff face so that he could be closer to the 
Elf, in the hope that his presence might calm him; however upon hearing the masochistic 
words from his distraught friend he though better of it, fearing that Legolas may attempt 
to push him off the wall as he climbed. His dark, damp eyes followed the Prince as he 
swayed and staggered around the grassy ledge high above the ground, noting the glazed 
appearance to his now black eyes and the way in which his head flicked nervously from 
side to side, like a nervous child taking in new, overwhelming surroundings. He then 
stopped suddenly, eyes wide with amazement, as the fireworks resumed their noisy 
chorus; the knife slipped from his hand to join the long-empty wine bottle in the grass, 
and Elrohir was rendered powerless to do anything but stare, bewitched, at the Prince. 

He stood there, motionless, still drenched in the silvery shadows of Tilion that 
illuminated the glade. His silken hair imitated the colours of the rockets in the sky above 
him at the flaxen crown, dancing and flickering from magenta to lilac to cobalt to 
emerald as the spun gold locks reflected the tints like a mirror; the ends of his waist-
length hair, however, which still hung unbraided, were tinged red, merging into dusty 
gold. The pale skin was ashen and pallid in the white shafts of moonlight, no longer 
glowing with the light of a thousand candles, as it once had. The evidence for this was 
lucidly visible, for dark streams of blood were trickling through the deep channels carved 
in the soft, vulnerable underside of his forearms and tumbling into the rushing water 
beside him in heavy black drops. 

Suddenly his knees gave way. Elrohir snapped out of his reverie and rushed forwards as 
the Prince fell backwards, collapsing into the bubbling rapids to his right. The raven-
haired twin was incapable of doing a thing, but was forced to stand, unable to help, as the 
pale, limp body was carried over the jagged rocks in the seething, foaming waters and 
plunged deep into the centre of the icy pool below. 

***************  
CHAPTER 32  
*************** 

In Cold Blood… 

“*LEGOLAS!*” Elrohir’s voice reverberated off the sheer cliff face as he scanned the 
dark surface of the foaming pool, frantically searching for any sign of a thin, pale hand or 
a few golden hairs, but could see nothing save the white froth and the vibrant, coloured 
explosions of the fireworks reflected in the pitch black mirror. Left with no other choice, 
he quickly discarded his burgundy tunic and stout leather boots before diving headfirst 
into the bitterly cold waters. 

Icy blackness engulfed him; he felt the strong undercurrents of the moving water wanting 
to tow him under, and he had to fight hard to prevent them from dragging his slim body 
into the murky depths whilst he flicked his head from side to side, scrutinizing the abyss 
for any signs of life. 

It was dark in the pool, so much so that he could only see a few feet all around him. He 
felt his lungs burning, and an asphyxiating iron grip closed around his chest as the last 
few precious drops of oxygen were absorbed into his body; just as he was about to rise to 
the surface so that he could breathe, he caught sight of a ghostly white hand suspended in 
the blackness out of the corner of his eye. Reaching out for the hand, he grasped the wrist 
and pulled, ignoring the nauseating feel of the soft, raw flesh as his fingers brushed the 
open wound, but there was no give. 

Stars began to swim before his eyes as his body screamed for air, and he was forced to 
release the hand and swim upwards, leaving a thin trail of blood in the obscurity behind 
him. His dark head broke the surface and he gasped, drawing deep breaths of precious air 
into his starved lungs, before he took one last gulp and dived back under to the place 
where he had last seen the hand and praying to the Valar that Legolas had not been 
dragged elsewhere by the savage undertow. 

The hand was indeed where he had left it, still floating lifelessly in the eddies and 
surrounded by tendrils of scarlet blood; Elrohir followed the long limb to his friend’s 
lean, limp body, grasping him firmly under the arms and pulling him hard. There was still 
no movement, and the twin cursed mentally as he realised that the Prince must be caught 
by his legs. He swam further down into the gloom, guided by the slim body that was 
suspended in the swirling currents, and used his hands to investigate. 

Long, think weeds snaked around one slender ankle, binding the Elf effectively to the 
floor of the pool. Elrohir drew his small knife from the sheath at his hip and swiftly sliced 
away the knotted tangles, but Legolas was still not free. The twin fumbled again in the 
depths, this time around the other leg, and his heart sank when he felt two large boulders 
pinning Legolas’ calf tightly between them. His lungs cried out again as he struggled to 
move the rocks, but he ignored the pain for the time being. 

He felt panic rising in his stomach as the long moments in which he pushed against the 
rocks dragged on agonisingly slowly, for he knew that time was running out for the 
Prince. The need for air seared in his chest, but he could not afford the time needed to 
draw another breath. Finally, now utterly desperate, he threw his entire weight bodily at 
the topmost of the rocks, dislodging it by mere inches. 

It was all that was needed, however; Legolas’ calf was pulled loose, and he would have 
drifted away in the current had Elrohir not grabbed his ankle. Returning to his friend’s 
side, he grasped him firmly under the arms and swam kicking to the surface, his body 
now screaming for air and stars swimming before his open eyes. 

The oxygen had never tasted so sweet as the two heads broke the surface of the water, 
glistening in the moonlight, and Elrohir gasped for breath. Legolas, however, was not 
breathing, and his eyes were closed as his head lolled to the side whilst his limp body was 
clasped tightly in Elrohir’s arms. 

The dark-haired Elf started swimming hurriedly to the edge of the pool, towing the 
lifeless body of his friend behind him, and scrambled out onto the grass before hauling 
the Prince from the icy waters. The inert form tumbled heavily into the thick, soft grass, 
and Elrohir immediately turned him onto his front. 

“Legolas!” he cried anxiously to his friend, slapping the pale cheek in an attempt to wake 
him. “Legolas, can you hear me? Wake up!” 

The Prince did not stir and, left with no other option, Elrohir raised his head and levered 
his jaw open before plunging two fingers into the cold wet mouth and working them 
down his throat. He pressed firmly on the back of the soft, tender flesh, and Legolas 
retched instinctively before he vomited onto the brass, his body expelling the foul water 
that he had swallowed and the purple remains of the potent feywine. 

Elrohir held the golden head to the side and rubbed his friend’s back until the vomiting 
gave way to dry heaves, and he breathed a sigh of relief as Legolas spluttered loudly and 
coughed, before he opened his mouth and drew in a huge, wheezing gasp of air. The 
raven-haired twin clutched the golden head thankfully to his chest, fighting all the while 
to suppress tears of sheer relief as the Elf groaned slightly, but did not awaken. 

Elrohir laid his friend back down in the grass briefly, on his side lest he vomit again, and 
sprinted over to his dry, discarded tunic. He seized it and rushed back to the still-
unconscious form lying on the green sward, tearing strips from it as he ran. He laid the 
remainder of the fabric over the Prince’s slim wet chest in an attempt to retain what little 
bodily warmth he had left in his parched veins, and turned his attentions to the maimed 
forearms. 

Blood still trickled slightly from the long channels carved into the tender flesh, stretching 
almost from wrist to elbow; however the flow was now sluggish, and Elrohir knew that 
this was an ill sign, for it meant that there was little precious blood left in his body. He 
lifted first one arm and then the other, binding the long strips of cloth tightly above each 
elbow, and then swiftly but gently gathered his friend into his strong arms. 

Legolas was weightless as he was carried through the forest, cradled against his bearer’s 
firm chest. Elrohir did not notice his bare feet as he ran between the trees, brambles 
scraping his ankles and sharp stones bruising his soles; nor did he notice the icy chill that 
set upon him and raised the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck as the cold night 
breeze tore at his damp skin and sodden clothes. All that he was able to focus on was the 
steady rhythm of his pounding legs, the Prince’s fair head knocking slightly against his 
collarbone in time to his steps, and he bent all his thought on reaching the crowded 
gardens of Imladris that he could see in the distance, before it was too late. 

***************  
CHAPTER 33  
*************** 

Persistence 

Aragorn caught sight of Arwen standing behind the crowd as he stepped onto the lawn 
with Elrond and Glorfindel, and walked up behind her. She started slightly as his strong 
arms snaked around her slight waist before relaxing into the embrace, and felt his soft, 
warm breath brush her cheek when he laid his head on her shoulder as he held her close. 
Not a word passed between them, for none were needed; it simply sufficed for them to 
stand together, their bodies pulled close, as they watched the exquisite fireworks with 
wide, awestruck eyes. 

Elrond and Glorfindel remained close to the wall of the house, standing in shadow at the 
very back of the throng. They too were watching the rockets, painstakingly hand-crafted 
by Mithrandir for the occasion, explode vehemently into vibrant storms of passionately 
coloured rain against the midnight velvet backdrop; Elrond was leaning against the taller 
golden- haired Eldar, who draped a long, slender arm protectively across the half- Elf’s 
shoulders and pulled him close. The Lord of Imladris sighed happily as he laid his dark 
head against the strong shoulder, and wound his own arm around the blond Elven-lord’s 
waist. 

Glorfindel looked down at him fondly. “I love you,” he murmured, and the distinctive 
glimmer in his brilliant blue eyes showed that he truly meant it. 

Elrond chuckled softly. “I love you too,” he whispered back. “I love you with all of my 
heart, and I always will.” 

The blond placed a delicate kiss on the raven crown and sighed expressively. Elrond read 
the words behind the breath and looked up to meet his eye. “Soon, nîn bellas, soon,” he 
muttered, holding the intense gaze artfully with his own dark eyes. “When the moment, is 
right, we shall tell them.” 

The golden-haired Eldar smiled appreciatively at his lover when he heard these words, 
and Elrond laid his head upon his shoulder once more. Glorfindel pulled the willing half-
Elf even closer to his body, sharing their warmth in the chill night air, and savoured 
everything about him; the heat of his strong, supple body pressed against his own; the 
rhythmic beating of his heart which he could feel pulsing inside his chest, pulled close to 
his own; the fresh, sweet smell that floated up from his hair. He inhaled deeply, and 
depicted the scent of athelas and lavender that he had combined with the massage oil 
earlier that evening; he let the breath out again in a contented sigh, and felt Elrond’s arm 
tighten around his waist. 

Elrond revelled in the peaceful, contented sensation that he felt from being held close by 
his lover. His dark eyes flicked over to where the King and Queen of Gondor were 
standing, and he smiled wistfully at the sight of Aragorn holding Arwen in his arms, with 
a strange range of emotions on his face that were unseen by her. Trepidation and unease 
could be clearly read, but there was also a subtle hint of sorrow, regret and longing deep 
within his stormy grey eyes. He sighed and protectively hugged Arwen tighter, softly 
kissing her neck just behind her ear, and at that point Elrond knew, deep in his heart of 
hearts, that the King had finally come to a decision. 

A short distance away from them stood Elladan, who looked round as he felt his father’s 
gaze on his back. He beamed appreciatively at the way Glorfindel was holding his father, 
and almost as if the blond had heard the silent interaction between father and son he 
absentmindedly bowed his golden head and placed another kiss on Elrond’s dark head. 

Elladan practically glowed at this action, seeing how happy his father was in the arms of 
his beloved. // What would I have done without my twins? // mused Elrond silently. // 
Their support means so much to me; to us. If it weren’t for them… //

He shuddered involuntarily at the impending thought; however it never reached his mind, 
for at that moment he heard hurried footsteps coming through the trees to their right. 
Glorfindel also heard the approach and stiffened, releasing his hold on Elrond and placing 
his hand warningly on the hilt of the sheathed dagger at his hip. Aragorn looked over a 
few moments later, not possessing the sharp Elven hearing of his foster-father, and his 
right hand crept down to Anduril whilst the other kept a tight grip on Arwen. 

Noone else seemed to have heard the approach in the trees, save Elladan, for the five 
were standing a short distance away from the backmost people. The footsteps grew 
closer, puzzling Elrond; they were of light, Elven tread, and the runner was breathing 
heavily, sounding as though he was laden with a heavy burden. He motioned for 
Glorfindel to replace his knife and stepped towards the trees, bracing himself for what he 
may see. 

He could not have prepared himself for what appeared. Elrohir burst from the shadows, 
drenched from head to toe, and his long, dark hair hung in tangles around his pale face. 
He was barefoot and not wearing his tunic, for it was draped over the heavy shape that he 
cradled in his arms. He sank to his knees upon seeing his father, breathing heavily, and 
laid his precious burden gently on the ground although he refused to release his hold, 
clutching the limp form tightly to his chest. 

Elrond stepped forward in concern, closely followed by Glorfindel and Elladan, and 
Aragorn and Arwen stood close by. When Elrohir looked up at his father there were 
silvery streaks of tears staining his face, and tremors wracked his body. “Help him, Ada,” 
he sobbed, looking pitifully up at the Lord of Imladris. “Do something, anything, please, 
Ada – Estel…” 

Elrond knelt before his son and placed a hand on his shoulder soothingly, although 
unease was written across his features. His heart tensed when he saw a few locks of 
bloody blond hair from beneath the maroon tunic, and he spoke gently yet firmly to the 
distraught younger twin. “Shh, Elrohir, calm down. Let go of him for me, so I can see 
what is wrong.” 

Elrohir nodded silently and allowed his father to take the lifeless shape in his own arms. 
Elrond folded back the tunic, and gasps echoed around the circle of onlookers as the 
deathly pallor of Legolas’ skin was revealed. His lips were blue and his face was pinched, 
with stark hollows beneath his cheekbones and around his eye sockets. The half-Elf 
continued to draw down the tunic, pursing his lips as he went, and was compelled to close 
his eyes momentarily in horror as he saw the Prince’s mutilated arms. 

Having recovered his composure he leapt into action, knowing that much needed to be 
done soon if they were to save the fading Elf. He stood up and looked meaningfully at the 
five spectators. “Estel,” he called briskly, leaving no space for argument. “You take him 
up to my room, for your touch will help to prevent him from fading any further at the 
present.” The King nodded dutifully and stepped forwards with a troubled expression 
across his handsome features. He gathered the unconscious Elf gently into his warm, 
strong arms and cradled him safely to his chest as he started towards the door. 

“Arwen, you and Elladan see to Elrohir,” continued Elrond, turning to follow the 
Dunedan. “Ensure that he is not injured himself and make certain that he is kept warm.” 
He then raised an eyebrow at the tall blond Elven- lord standing at his side. “Glorfindel?” 

The Eldar nodded firmly, and strode after the Lord of Imladris as they pursued Aragorn 
through the passages of the house. Arwen and Elladan stepped towards their brother who 
was still kneeling in the grass and enfolded him comfortingly in their arms. His slender 
form was still shaking with sobs, and he gratefully accepted the solace. The older twin 
removed his cloak and wrapped it tightly around his double, before standing and placing 
a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come, Elrohir, let us get you inside,” he suggested gently. “It is cold out here, and you 
are drenched through.” 

The younger twin raised his shining eyes desolately to his brother. “B- but…Leg-g-
olasss…” he whimpered, struggling to annunciate the words properly because his teeth 
were chattering so much. Arwen also stood up. “You can see Legolas, as soon as you 
have changed into some warm, dry clothes and swallowed something hot,” she insisted. 
Elrohir nodded feebly and stood, consenting to his siblings supporting him on either side 
as the three also made their way into the buildings. 

Arwen allowed her brothers to go on ahead to Elrohir’s chambers as she made her way to 
the kitchens. There was nobody about – // probably still outside watching the fireworks, // 
she thought – and so set about preparing some food and hot, strong herbal tea for her 
brother. There was plenty of leftover food from the feast, and she selected large chunks 
of bread, slices of cheese and pieces of meat, piling them high on a plate. By this point 
the kettle was whistling over the giant hob; she poured a large mugful and added crushed 
herbs, allowing them to steep as she carefully carried the laden plate and brimming cup 
up to her brother. 

With both hands full as she reached Elrohir’s quarters, she was obliged to open the door 
with her elbow, nearly dropping the plate on the floor as she did so. Elrohir was sitting 
cross-legged upon the bed as she entered and kicked the door closed behind her again; he 
was now dressed in clean, dry clothes, and Elladan stood behind him, brushing his long 
drying hair back from his face and tying it into simple, practical braids. The Queen of 
Gondor smiled gently and held out the steaming mug. 

Elrohir wrapped his thin hands around the heat gratefully; he had stopped trembling from 
the shock, but the occasional shiver still ran down his spine and his fingers were numb. 
“Thank you,” he whispered softly, and took a small sip from the cup. He still looked 
shaken, understandably, and Arwen regarded him sympathetically. “We shall have to 
keep an eye on you and make certain that you have not caught a chill,” she said evenly. 
“Drink the tea, it will warm you from inside.” 

The younger brother nodded and took another deeper gulp of the bittersweet liquid as the 
elder tied off the last braid. “What happened, Elrohir?” he asked lightly, laying a hand on 
his shoulder. Elrohir shook his head slowly before he replied, his voice overflowing with 
guilt and remorse. 

“He cut his wrists at the top of the waterfall,” he answered simply, not wishing to 
elaborate and draw on the ghastly visions that were still too- clearly etched into his mind. 
“I think he passed out from blood loss, and fell over the waterfall. His leg got caught, and 
I had to dive in.” He shuddered as he recalled the bitter cold of the water, and the 
blackness that had engulfed him, and closed his eyes. They popped open again, however, 
as the image of the Prince standing bathed in moonbeams, with blood gushing from his 
wrists and over his hands leapt up before his eyelids, and he sighed heavily. 

Taking one last gulp from the half-empty cup, he deliberately unfolded his legs and stood 
up, albeit a little unsteadily. “I have to see him,” he insisted, striding past his sister, but 
she caught his arm. “No, Elrohir, wait. Allow them to tend to him; they will send for us 
when they are finished.” 

“No,” persisted Elrohir. He would not be swayed. “I have to see him. They can always 
send me away, but I cannot just sit here while those dreadful images continue to plague 
me. Now, are you coming?” 

His eyes flicked from his brother to his sister and back again, demanding an answer. 
Elladan sighed. “Very well. Come, Arwen, let us see Elrohir to Legolas.” 

*** 

N/B: Ada - daddy 

***************  
CHAPTER 34  
*************** 

Follow Your Heart 

Legolas stirred slightly in Aragorn’s muscular arms as he was borne along the corridors 
of Imladris, and whimpered softly. The warmth and strength radiating from the King was 
slowly bringing him back to a more conscious state, and agonising pain assailed his body 
in the blackness that surrounded him. 

Elrond and Glorfindel had caught up with the Dunedan as he strode through the house 
and were now walking briskly ahead of him, leading him to the half-Elf’s room by the 
quickest, quietest route. They reached his chambers in a matter of minutes; Glorfindel 
held open the door and Aragorn stepped up to the bed, laying him gently upon it but 
refusing to relinquish contact with the now wasted body. 

“Remove his clothes, Estel,” ordered Elrond from the other side of the room as he 
rummaged through a drawer on the opposite side of the room. “And Glorfindel, boil some 
water for me, please.” Both the King and the Eldar complied; Aragorn stripped the 
tattered, sodden shirt and leggings from the Elf’s limp body and covered him with a 
warm blanket lying on the bed, whilst Glorfindel filled a small kettle and placed it over 
the fire that was already lit in the large, open grate. 

The Dunedan gazed in shock at his friend’s lifeless form lying under the blanket, and 
Elrond appeared by his side. “Touch him, Estel,” he instructed gently. “He is fading fast, 
and will not survive this unless you help him.” Aragorn nodded without argument, 
placing one large, brown, calloused hand over Legolas’ breastbone and using the other to 
tenderly caress his forehead. The ashen skin did not warm under his touch as it had done 
previously, and he felt panic rising in his chest; he did not voice his fears, however, for 
his foster-father had already begun tending to the horrific injuries on the left wrist. 

Glorfindel had placed the steaming bowl of water on the nightstand and added a few 
handfuls of split athelas leaves; he had then returned to the other side of the bed and 
started to attend to Legolas’ right wrist, and both Elven-lords were thoroughly cleansing 
the deep incisions with the healing water. Elrond finished first, and reached for a pile of 
other medicinal herbs that lay ready prepared next to the athelas brew. He packed the 
long, gaping wound thickly with the weeping leaves and then wrapped a clean white 
bandage securely around them, binding the Prince’s slender arm from the base of his 
palm to the crook of his elbow. Glorfindel followed suit and, with a silent nod, each 
gingerly untied the tourniquet from around the upper arm. Elrond expertly regarded the 
bound limbs for a few moments and, finally satisfied that there was no blood seeping 
through the white bandages and that a faint touch of colour had returned to the starved 
fingers, he turned his attention back to Aragorn. 

The King was still gazing at Legolas’ gaunt face, running his thumb repeatedly over the 
soft, cold cheek, and his other hand had crept beneath the coverlet where it lay over his 
friend’s weakly beating heart, fingers splayed wide and palm pressed firmly to the pallid 
skin that was stretched tightly over lucidly visible ribs. His tempestuous grey eyes were 
fixated on the Elf’s beautiful features, and both fear and confusion swirled in the depths 
as he gently traced Legolas’ closed eyelids with his worn, rough thumb. Elrond placed a 
hand comfortingly on his shoulder as Glorfindel approached the bed with an armful of 
thick, warm blankets and piled them high over the unconscious Elf. All three figures 
stared at the sleeping form anxiously, and just as Elrond was about to speak to Aragorn 
there came a tentative knock at the door. 

Glorfindel crossed the room in three long strides and opened the door no more than a 
crack, peering around the edge, ere stepping aside with a relieved release of the breath he 
did not know that he had been holding as he allowed Elrohir to enter, closely followed by 
Arwen and Elladan. Elrohir immediately strode to the bed to stand beside his father and 
foster-brother, and gasped when he saw the immobile shape lying beneath the heap of 
coverings. Legolas’ face was now virtually emaciated, with deep, sunken hollows below 
his angular cheekbones and around his tightly closed eyes. His lips were pinched, and 
still retained an icy-blue tinge, and the normally pale skin was now the same shade as the 
pillowcase that supported his golden head. 

Elrond stood up and embraced his son tightly, but Elrohir did not return the gesture. 
Instead he stood, motionless, unable to tear his eyes from his ailing friend. The half-Elf 
released the younger twin, peering into his chocolate-brown eyes with concern, but 
Elrohir turned his head towards Aragorn and spoke to him softly. 

“Have you reached a decision yet, Estel?” he queried. His voice was quiet, but that did 
not mean that any of the coldness and disdain had been lost from his words. 

Arwen approached the bed and laid her hands gently on her husband’s strong shoulders, 
whilst Elladan and Glorfindel also drew closer. All waited with bated breath for the 
King’s answer as he looked up into his Queen’s eyes fearfully. Elrohir regarded his 
foster-brother with contempt. 

“I should make a decision soon, Estel; either you desire to save him, or not, in which case 
I will choose to bind myself to him. I cannot let him go, and am willing to take the risk, 
but I need to know.” 

Five pairs of eyes regarded the younger twin in amazement. “You…you would do that?” 
stammered his father, astounded. Elrohir nodded firmly. “Of course, without a doubt. I 
have seen it almost happen once before, and I would not see it again. He is too dear to my 
heart.” Elrond opened his mouth to object, but his son cut him off. “And I am well aware 
of how dangerous it is; you seem to forget that Elladan and I were the ones who pulled 
you back from the brink.” 

Arwen looked somewhat puzzled. “Father, what is this you speak of?” she questioned 
uncertainly, and Elrond realised that she was the only person in the room who was 
unaware of what had come to pass all those years ago. He placed his hand on her 
shoulder and spoke to her gently. 

“You were no more than a babe in arms at the time, nîn sellath, but when your mother 
passed over the sea my heart was deeply aggrieved. It was not discovered until it was 
almost too late, and I would have passed into the Halls of Mandos if it had not been for 
your brothers and Glorfindel here.” 

Arwen swallowed hard. “But how were you saved?” she replied in bemusement. “If 
mother was not here…” 

Glorfindel stepped up behind Elrond, taking the half-Elf’s hand tightly within his own. 
He answered for his lover, although Arwen had already understood. “I bound myself to 
him,” he explained simply. “I, too, held him too dear to my own heart to allow him to 
pass.” 

The Queen of Gondor nodded slowly to show that she comprehended, her crystalline jade 
eyes wide with the revelation of the deluge of overwhelming information. She then 
turned her emerald regard to her husband who still sat beside the bed and knelt before 
him, gazing deep into his own troubled grey eyes and speaking softly in his native 
Westron tongue. 

"The decision is yours, Estel; you must follow your heart. But bear in mind as you choose 
that, should you refuse, the journey will be arduous and full of peril for both Legolas and 
my brother. And also remember this; I have lost my Immortality regardless, though I 
know that I may spend the rest of my days peacefully, with my mother whom I never 
truly knew.” She reached a delicate hand into the breast of her robe, and drew from it a 
long silver chain. From it hung an exquisite white gem, fashioned into the likeness of a 
star, and all around her drew breath. 

“Frodo has returned my necklace,” continued the Evenstar, still gazing into the depths of 
Aragorn’s eyes. “I know that this will allow me passage into Valinor, although I am no 
longer Immortal; there I may spend the rest of my days with my mother. I shall be happy, 
though my love for you will still run deeper than rivers. The choice is yours, Estel. 
Follow your heart.” 

Aragorn looked at each of the five anxious faces that surrounded him, and then lowered 
his head to kiss Arwen tenderly upon her brow as she still knelt before him. He then 
turned in the chair to look at the deathly face of the dying Prince upon the bed. He 
extended a rough hand and laid it upon the ashen, icy cheek, stroking it gently with his 
thumb. When he spoke again, his voice was even and admirably controlled, and laced 
with resolution. 

“I love you, Arwen; I always have and I always will. But I feel differently for Legolas, no 
matter how much I try to convince myself, and that is why I was reluctant to save him. I 
realise now that you were right, when you told me that my heart also feels for him, 
although not in the same way it feels for you; I love you, meleth. I love you enough to let 
you go, for I know that you will spend the rest of your days in harmony and contentment 
with you mother whom you barely knew. But I love Legolas too much to let him go, for I 
am in love with him.” 

Arwen rose and drew her husband into a firm embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered, 
placing a kiss on his forehead before stepping back. Elrond and Glorfindel felt their 
hearts flutter at these words, a peculiar mix of joy and heartbreak crossing the half-Elf’s 
strong features; Elladan stood silently, regarding the scene. Elrohir looked at Aragorn 
earnestly. “Does that mean…” 

“Yes,” replied the King, still gazing at the unconscious form, and bowed his dark head to 
place a tender kiss on the cold forehead. Legolas’ eyelids fluttered slightly as he replied. 
“I will save him.” 

*** 

A/N: I would just like to say that I know absolutely nothing about the properties of 
Arwen’s necklace, or if it really will allow a Mortal to enter Valinor, but for the sake of 
the story I have made it so that Arwen can enter Valinor, but will still die as a Mortal. 

***************  
CHAPTER 35  
*************** 

It’s a Start…
 
Blackness surrounded Legolas, and his whole body felt both tortured and numb 
simultaneously. He whimpered slightly and tried to move any part of his body, but found 
that he could not. This panicked him and he struggled futilely against the constricting 
darkness for several moments. Finally, reconciled to the fact that his senses were not 
responding and he could not even open his eyelids, he stopped trying and instead 
concentrated his thoughts in an attempt to discover where he was. He was lying on a bed, 
that was certain, and warm blankets had been piled over him. His head was swimming 
pleasantly and his body felt strange; most of it felt icy cold and numb, tingling slightly, 
but there were a few areas that radiated burning pain, namely his arms and his chest. He 
could not recall what had happened for him to end up in such a state; someone must have 
brought him into the house, he thought, although how he came to be here was beyond 
him. 

Gradually he realised that he could hear, and tried to focus his usually sharp Elven ears 
on the voices that were speaking to one side of him. He was unable to define any words, 
as such, but could tell from the light, musical tone that Arwen was speaking. Another 
voice cut in, this time male, and another Elf. He spoke for a short while, before Arwen 
began again. Words were slowly becoming more lucid and he was able to depict the odd 
one; he heard the words “necklace” and “immortal”, and wondered what in Middle Earth 
everyone could be talking about before he caught himself and chuckled mentally. He was 
lying here, unconscious, and they were discussing serious subjects involving Immortality. 
Who else would they be talking about? 

Arwen had finished speaking by this point and Legolas wondered who would follow; 
suddenly, however, he experienced a searing heat against his face, and felt the pain in his 
chest subside slightly. He felt his unresponsive body relax at the touch, before vibrations 
transmitted through the hand that was touching him as the owner spoke. Aragorn. 

Memories came flooding back to the Prince at the Dunedan’s voice and he struggled hard 
again in an attempt to move away from the hand as irrational anxiety spread through him. 
Aragorn did not want him, he remembered, and he did not want Aragorn. The Man loved 
Arwen, and Legolas could not possibly ask him to surrender her just to save himself. 
Besides, he thought with contempt, Aragorn had turned him into the twisted creature that 
Elrohir had seen at the top of the waterfall; there was not a soul that could possibly want 
him now, not after what he had become. His heart wrenched agonisingly inside his chest, 
sending the burning pain shooting down to his sickened stomach, and he would have 
wept if his eyes had cooperated. 

As it was he was coerced to lie still and listen to the King’s words, wishing all the time 
that he would remove his hand from Legolas’ face. Why could they just not accept that it 
was better for them all to let him die? He did not need, did not want, to be kept alive, and 
Aragorn’s touch was doing just that. His body was warming and responding against his 
will to the Ranger’s hand that stroked his cheek, and he could tell that consciousness was 
creeping up on him as he was finally able to hear everything that Aragorn was saying. 

“…I love you enough to let you go, for I know that you will spend the rest of your days 
in harmony and contentment with your mother whom you barely knew. But I love 
Legolas too much to let him go, for I am in love with him.” These words jolted through 
the Prince’s motionless body like lightening. // Aragorn was in love with him? But what 
about Arwen…? //

His thoughts flew back to when Arwen had been speaking; she had been talking about 
that necklace and Immortality. And Aragorn had just mentioned Celebrian…surely that 
could only mean that Arwen was going to Valinor? Legolas recalled Elrohir saying that 
his sister had been no more than a child when her mother had sailed West, so it would 
only make sense that she would desire to spend the rest of her days with her mother. He 
sighed inwardly; how could he have let this happen? 

Silence surrounded the bed for a few moments, and Legolas found himself wishing that 
someone would say something, for it was utter torment being suspended in darkness 
between the worlds of the living and the dead. He sighed inwardly with relief when he 
heard Elrohir’s voice and felt his chest rise a little deeper than it had been; it would not be 
long now before he became conscious again, he realised. 

Two pinpricks of light were projected onto the black insides of his closed eyelids as he 
felt a presence draw near to his head. “Yes,” resounded a deep voice, sending shudders 
through his pain-filled, waking flesh. His body quivered excruciatingly as he attempted to 
move it again, now sensing the warm breath of the King whispering across his pale skin, 
and he tensed instinctively as he felt Aragorn press his lips tenderly to his brow, fighting 
hard against the leaden weights holding his eyelids closed. Long, dark eyelashes 
fluttered, tickling his skin, as they wavered on the verge of open and shut, and he heard 
the Dunedan speak the last, definite words. 

“I will save him.” 

Legolas finally won the battle with unconsciousness, and his eyes flickered open to see 
Aragorn’s handsome face only inches away from his. The grey eyes flooded first with 
shock as he found himself staring into blurry sapphire eyes, shortly followed by relief to 
see that the blond Elf had awoken at last. 

“A…Ara…” slurred the Prince gracelessly. His tongue would not function properly at 
that moment and his throat was bone-dry, making his voice sound hideously cracked and 
grating. 

“Shh, ernil-nîn,” soothed the King softly. “Do not speak just yet, save your strength.” He 
slipped a large, rough palm behind his head to raise it slightly and motioned behind him; 
Glorfindel placed a glass of cool, clear water in his hand and he held it gently to the Elf’s 
parched mouth, tilting it slightly. Legolas parted his lips as much as he could, which was 
enough to allow a small sip of water in, but his tongue still would not do what he asked of 
it and some of the water dribbled out of the corner of his mouth again. He closed his eyes 
in shame, despising himself for being so weak that he could not even swallow a mouthful 
of water, and tried to turn his head away so that he would not have to look at the Ranger. 

Aragorn looked around at Elrond and Arwen, both of whom gave him an encouraging 
nod, sympathy for the golden-haired Elf shining in his chocolate-brown eyes and pity 
shining in her jade ones. The King smiled gratefully at them both, although anxiety was 
reflected in his own turbulent grey eyes; he gently wiped away the dribble of water from 
Legolas’ chin, before bowing his head and tentatively placing a long, tender kiss upon the 
Prince’s lips. 

The searing pain in Legolas’ chest subsided at the first contact of the Dunedan’s lips, and 
he felt the dead weights of his leaden limbs lighten somewhat. A vague contented feeling 
began to rise throughout his body, accompanied by the warmth that he had grown 
accustomed to feeling from any physical contact with the Man. It was not, however, 
anywhere near enough to heal him fully, given the state that he was in, for he was still 
fading fast. He knew that there was much more to come, and he was still too weak to 
have refused the kiss, even if he had wanted to. 

He parted his lips as much as he was able, and allowed Aragorn entrance to his mouth. A 
strong tongue began to swirl around inside as the King gained more confidence at the 
acceptance of his aid, paying particular attention to Legolas’ own, and the Prince felt 
control rush back to it as his mouth was meticulously explored. After a few, long, blissful 
moments Aragorn drew back, gazing lovingly into the fathomless cerulean eyes. Legolas 
found that he could now exercise a degree of control over his own tongue, and made 
another, more successful, attempt to produce an articulate sound, although the words 
were still heavily run together. 

“Arrragorrrn,” he murmured, peering up earnestly at the Man. His head was still 
noticeably groggy and a wide mixture of thoughts swam incoherently inside it, but at that 
precise moment all he could feel was love for the Dunedan who smiled back at him. 
“You’rrre in lovvve withhh me? You wwwill savvve me?” 

The King’s face sobered slightly, and he straightened. “Yes, Legolas, and no. Yes, I am 
in love with you; Arwen has now made me see that, along with the realisation of his close 
I came to losing you. And no. I will heal you, not save you. You have already been saved, 
and for that I believe we have Elrohir to thank.” 

Legolas turned his golden head to the right as much as he could manage and gazed up at 
his closest friend. Elrohir stepped forwards to the side of the bed and knelt down next to 
the Prince so that they were face to face. Legolas stared long and hard into the younger 
twin’s gleaming dark eyes, reading the emotion within them; once he had had his fill 
Elrohir bowed his head and laid his brow upon Legolas’, whilst the Prince whispered 
softly to him. 

“Elrrohirrr, pleasssse forrrgive me forr what I havvve donnne,” he slurred. “I cannnot 
immagine what you mussst havvve felllt whennn you saw thaaat. I cannnot thaaank you 
ennnough…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, allowing one teardrop to slip down his 
face, illustrating the sorrow, inexpressible by words, that he felt for the pain he had 
inflicted upon his dearest friend. 

“Nay, mellon-nîn, do not be sorry,” replied Elrohir firmly, wiping the tear away with his 
thumb. “I understand; it was not your fault. We can discuss this later, if you wish, but at 
this moment I feel that you should save your strength and allow Aragorn to help you 
recover. Do not fret, for I shall be fine; you concentrate on becoming well again.” 

Legolas opened his sapphire orbs again, which still glistened brightly, but no more tears 
fell. “Thaank you, my frrriend,” he murmured, and tried to move one arm from under the 
covers. Elrohir caught the movement and slipped his hand beneath the thick pile of 
blankets, finding the Prince’s and grasping it tightly. He then bowed his head and brushed 
his lips against the pale forehead, pleased to discover that it was now noticeably warmer 
than it had been, and then stepped back. 

“Come,” he said, turning around to face the rest of the onlookers. “Let us give these two 
the space that they need.” They all immediately stirred from the positions they had 
adopted whilst they were watching the scene in front of them, Glorfindel with his arms 
draped around Elrond’s waist and Elladan holding Arwen’s hand tightly in a rare display 
of brotherly love. Each moved to the side of the bed before leaving, smiling at the ailing 
Prince and placing a kiss gently upon his forehead; Arwen was last, and as she drew close 
to Legolas he tried to speak to her. She placed a finger upon his lips to silence him. 

“Nay, do not speak,” she whispered to him, gazing at him meaningfully. “We shall talk 
later. Elrohir is right, you must first concentrate on becoming well again.” Then, instead 
of kissing him upon the brow as the others had done, she replaced her finger with her lips 
momentarily, ere straightening and turning towards the door. Aragorn rose as she passed 
him and she placed a hand supportively upon his shoulder; common sense kept them both 
from anything further, but the glimmer in the eyes of each left no need for words. 

Aragorn followed his family to the door and stood by it reverentially as each passed 
through it. Elrond was last, and paused for a short moment to speak to his foster-son. “Do 
not lock the door, just in case anything should go amiss,” he warned softly, squeezing the 
King’s shoulder tightly. “I shall see to it that you are not disturbed; anything that is 
needed can be found in the drawers beneath the window. You know what to do.” 

The Ranger nodded his dark head, sending long, unruly locks flying in all directions, but 
said nothing. He closed the door behind the half-Elf and then twisted around to regard the 
golden-haired Prince lying on the bed, gazing back at him with hope and love glistening 
in his beautiful, soft cerulean eyes that still radiated beauty, even though that of the rest 
of his body was fading fast. Aragorn stepped back up to the bed, and the healing began. 

***************  
CHAPTER 36  
*************** 

Phoenix From the Flames 


Legolas felt his stomach flutter as Aragorn stepped up to the bed again and gazed down at 
him. The Prince managed now to move one heavily bound arm past the covers and 
extended his hand to the King, wincing from a jolt of agonising pain that shot along his 
arm as he twisted it in the wrong direction and disturbed the wound. Aragorn caught both 
the wince and the hand, which he held tightly in his own and kissed the cold, slender 
fingers gently. Legolas felt the pain subside a little from the contact and smiled grimly as 
the King withdrew his lips from his fingers, ere reaching down to remove his boots, 
unfastening Anduril from his side, and walking around to the other side of the bed. 

Legolas felt the bed tilt under the Man’s weight as he climbed up onto it and settled 
himself next to the still, thin body of the Elf. He lifted the covers and placed both hands 
around the Prince’s middle, lifting him gently and turning him so that he lay on his side 
facing the King, before encircling the narrow waist with his strong arms and pulling their 
bodies close. Legolas sighed dreamily at the warming sensation he drew from the 
nearness of the Dunedan’s own blood that he could feel pulsing through his veins, and 
looked up into the deep, grey eyes imploringly. 

Aragorn smiled back at him and lowered his head to kiss the immobile Elf once more. 
There was no aggressiveness to the kiss, but it was passionate nonetheless; Legolas felt 
himself warming again as he allowed himself to be kissed, and his still-bleary mind 
began to swim as the kiss became sweeter and deeper and more ardent. What little blood 
that remained in his empty veins now seemed to gather in his head, making him feel so 
giddy with the rush of verve that he was compelled to close his eyes. When, after several 
long moments, the King finally pulled back, his broad chest heaving slightly for want of 
air, a noticeable amount of the painful, searing heat that had lain heavily below his ribs 
had diffused throughout his body, interspersing with the previous iciness of his fading 
flesh and leaving it feeling pleasantly warm and tingling as life and control slowly crept 
back into the leaden limbs. 

The golden-haired Prince looked up drowsily at Aragorn, an intoxicated smile spreading 
over his features, and stretched out a shaky bandaged hand to touch the Man’s worn, 
tanned cheek. The King took the hand gently in his own and held it to his face, stroking 
the long fingers absentmindedly and staring deeply into the rather vacant sapphire eyes. // 
If I did not know better, // he mused silently, // I would have said that Legolas was 
drunk... //

He soon shook off that idea, however, remembering that the Elf was not well by any 
means and probably had the right to appear a little inebriated at that moment in time. 
“Are you sure you want me to do this, Legolas?” he asked gently, already knowing what 
the answer would be from the serene look in the swirling cerulean orbs. “I do not wish to 
hurt you…” 

“The pleasure and the healing will more than cancel out the slight pain,” drawled the Elf 
smoothly, his words still a little run together. “We have done this before, remember?” 

“Yes, but have you done it since?” replied Aragorn quickly. He could not discern why he 
was so keen to discover whether Legolas had slept with another since the end of the 
Quest; it had only been a means of comfort, they had agreed, with no emotional 
attachment. A jealous spark ignited inside him for the tiniest fraction of a second as he 
recalled that it had obviously not been merely a means of comfort for the poor Elf, and he 
immediately pushed any thoughts of Legolas taking comfort in another to the back of his 
mind. // Besides; if he was grieving, surely the lustful touch of another could kill him? //

His musings were answered, revealing them to be correct. “No, I have not,” responded 
the Prince softly and lowering his gaze slightly so as to avoid the King’s eye. “I…we…I 
could not…” 

Aragorn smiled again and lifted his chin with two fingers. “I understand, it is alright,” he 
murmured gently, and bent down to kiss the Elf once more. “Are you sure?” he repeated 
after pulling back, the gleam in his stormy, stony eyes showing that he sincerely did not 
wish to hurt Legolas. 

“Yes, Aragorn, I am sure,” insisted the Elf, the intoxicated grin creeping back across his 
face. “It is the only way to heal me…unless you do not want to…” He pouted his bottom 
lip at this sudden though, and it trembled slightly at the same time as his eyes filled with 
tears, glistening brightly. 

The King was puzzled by this unexpected change in the Prince’s mood; all of his 
emotions seemed to be heightened tonight, but once again he placed it with the fact that 
Legolas was unwell and instead responded by laying him on his back again and 
straddling his hips, though he was careful to take the bulk of his weight on his own limbs. 

The beautiful blond Elf’s features lit up again as Aragorn slipped over his hips and leaned 
down over his body to kiss him yet again, and this time he made a reasonable effort to 
respond by moving his tongue against the Ranger’s. The Dunedan chuckled softly into 
his mouth and withdrew, shifting position slightly so that he was able to pleasure 
Legolas’ ear instead. The Elf gasped as a soft, wet tongue darted out to lick the pointed 
tip, and involuntary shudders rippled down the wasted muscles either side of his spine. 
Aragorn chuckled softly against the ear, the vibrations sending yet more shivers through 
the Elf, as he saw his reactions to his touch, and trailed his tongue along the smooth curve 
of skin until he reached the jaw line. 

Legolas closed his eyes as exquisitely tantalizing butterfly kisses were trailed lazily down 
his sharp jaw and the delicate column of white throat that was bared as he flung back his 
head. The fireworks that had captivated him at the top of the waterfall reappeared behind 
the black screens of his eyelids, and the warmth beneath his heart had grown hotter again, 
now starting to throb in his chest and sending pulses of the blissful heat through his body. 
He gasped as Aragorn captured one of his nipples in his teeth and sucked hard, teasing it 
to a hard point, before relinquishing his hold on it and languidly ghosting his lips down 
the narrow abdomen, peeling back the layers of blankets as he moved further down the 
Elf’s rapidly warming body. 

The King paused as he reached the Prince’s slim, bony hips and looked back up to the 
pale face uncertainly. Legolas half opened his eyes and regarded the Ranger through 
unfocused sapphire eyes. “Do not stop now, Aragorn,” he slurred, still not having gained 
complete direction over his tongue. His head felt dizzy and as he looked down at the Man 
straddling his hips the edges blurred slightly. “I can feel the heat, please…” 

Aragorn smiled, realising for the first time that Legolas did truly want this, and bowed his 
head again. The heat intensified again inside Legolas’ chest as the Dunedan took his 
rising member deep enough in his hot mouth to choke and his eyes flew shut once more. 
His back arched up into the contact, followed by a slight rise of his hips as control seeped 
back into his leaden limbs and the Man’s tongue swirled around him in excruciating 
pleasure. A deep, throaty groan escaped his lips, startling Aragorn slightly, but he did not 
stop for the time being as he saw how the Elf’s body was coming back to life beneath his 
ministrations as the pale skin warmed and he began to writhe beneath him; instead he 
chose to prolong the deft licks and sucking in the places that he knew would bring 
Legolas to full arousal. 

It worked; the fair Prince felt the throbbing heat in his loins rising and winding around his 
body, leaving him feeling warm and contented all over. Passion had welled up under his 
ribs and was threatening to spill over, but before it was given the opportunity the 
exquisite torture that was being bestowed on his flesh by the Man between his legs 
stopped abruptly and drew back. He emitted a loud growl of frustration, and half opened 
his eyes again to see Aragorn regarding him with a slight expression of shock visible in 
his eyes. Unbridled ardour blazed in the otherwise vacant cerulean orbs amidst the dark 
shadows of the Elf’s drawn face, and Aragon chuckled softly to himself at seeing him so 
desperate for his touch. 

“Why did you stop?” gasped the Prince, regarding the King hungrily from his prone 
position on the bed. “I need you…” 

“I know,” replied Aragorn seriously, though a slight smirk was visible on his features if 
enough attention was paid. “I thought that it would be better if you did not peak too soon, 
or indeed without me inside of you. I feel that it will help the healing this way, for I doubt 
that you would be able to cope with it twice.” 

“Very well,” relented the blond Elf reluctantly, sinking back onto the bed in defeat and 
instead watching the King hurriedly undress himself. Clothes were rapidly flung aside, 
revealing the tanned, toned body that Legolas had not seen in two years, and even then 
only a handful of times in full light. He admired the smooth skin and the strong muscled 
that rippled beneath it as Aragorn crossed the room to a drawer and returned holding a 
small jar. He climbed back onto the bed and sat astride of the Prince once more, and 
Legolas drew breath sharply at the contact of bare skin upon bare skin. He could feel the 
King’s desire pressing against his own and gazed up into the soft grey eyes beseechingly. 

“Please,” he implored quietly, reaching out one thickly bound arm so that he could cup 
the base of Aragorn’s skull, entwining his slender fingers in the long, unruly, raven locks. 
The Dunedan stared back into the azure orbs with uncertainty still present. “You are 
sure?” he asked again, only to be answered by an exasperated gasp from the impatient 
Prince below him. He smiled. “Very well.” 

Unscrewing the lid from the small jar, he coated his fingers with the fragrant, oily 
substance and lowered his hand. Legolas held his breath as the fingers brushed the 
sensitive insides of his thighs and spread his legs as far as he was able to manage. It was 
enough for the Ranger; he found the Elf’s tight opening and gently inserted one slick 
finger. The bandaged hand flew from the nape of his neck to grasp his broad, muscular 
shoulder and he felt Legolas squirm below him as he adjusted to the invasion, and then 
struggled to lift his pelvis and bring it back down upon the Man’s fingers. 

Aragorn smiled at this and held his hips still with the other hand as he inserted one more 
finger, soon followed by another. Legolas grasped his shoulder as hard as he could, 
although the force of his grip was still noticeably weak, and wriggled again as the 
Dunedan scissored his fingers inside him, tenderly preparing him, before he began to 
probe within the warmth to find the Elf’s sweet spot. 

The hand flew from the Man’s strong shoulder to lie on the bed and Legolas flung his 
head back as Aragorn’s fingers brushed his prostate; a new wave of pleasure and warmth, 
so familiar and yet so new swept over him and he groaned ecstatically, only to whimper 
when the contact was broken. He opened his eyes to look up anxiously at the King, ready 
to lift his head, but instead found himself staring into grey eyes directly above his own. 
Aragorn smiled reassuringly at him and lowered his body gently onto the Elf’s, careful to 
take the majority of his weight on his forearms and leave only skin contact, before he 
entered him painstakingly slowly. 

Legolas growled blissfully as he took the King’s length inside him, and wriggled his hips 
and spread his legs wider to allow deeper access, drawing strength and movement from 
the newfound rapture felt from his lover. Aragorn looked down in concern at the 
unexpected noise but, certain that he was not causing the Prince any pain, continued to 
sheathe himself in one last fluid stroke. He began to rock his hips gently, eliciting more 
delicious moans from the delicate creature below him, and soon established a steady 
rhythm. 

The fair Elf saw stars as he felt Aragorn filling him completely, and he was utterly 
powerless to do anything apart from lie there and moan incoherently as the Dunedan 
bestowed both carnal and emotional bliss upon him. The increasing waves of pleasure 
surged through his flesh as Aragorn hit his sweet spot time and time again, rousing his 
already erect member and bringing him ever closer to the brink of release. At the same 
time he could actually sense the flames in his soul stirring from the magnificent heat that 
Aragorn emitted inside him; he could feel a fluttering warmth inside his ribs and the 
feeling of contentment that he had not felt for almost a year now. 

The King continued to move inside the Elf, thrusting long and hard and deep, and 
enjoying the delectable, incomprehensible moans that the exquisite creature uttered 
beneath him. Suddenly, and all too soon for both their liking, Aragorn felt Legolas’ inner 
muscles clamp down on him hard, saw the Prince’s eyes roll into the back of his head, 
heard him cry out his name, and felt a smooth, liquid warmth spread over his stomach. 
He was no longer able to hold back his own release, either, and came inside his lover 
soon after the other had peaked. 

It took enormous strength of will to refrain from collapsing on top of Legolas, who lay 
below him, completely still save for the vigorous shudders that wracked his slender form. 
Aragorn rolled to one side of the Prince and also lay motionless for a few moments until 
he had recovered slightly, then encircled the still-shaking Elf with his warm, strong arms 
and drew the thick blankets back over the pair of them, taking extra care to ensure that 
Legolas was well wrapped. He could feel a distinct heat radiating from the Elf’s slim, 
pale chest as they lay beneath the covers, and sighed happily as he stroked the fair head 
and wondered lazily at the Elven race in general. 

Legolas was still physically unable to do anything but lie limply, and allow Aragorn to do 
with him as he wished. At the moment of their release, fireworks had exploded inside 
him and he had felt his spirit burst into flames again; everything had gone black for 
several moments and all that he had been able to sense was the raging fire inside his 
ribcage. Eventually he recovered his senses enough to realise that he was lying in 
Aragorn’s arms, and that the King was gazing at him dotingly. Already unfocused blue 
eyes began to drift from alert to vacant as slumber beckoned, and he eventually 
succumbed, laying his golden head upon the Dunedan’s bare chest and allowing sleep to 
overpower him whilst the sensations of relit life coursed through his veins. 

Aragorn smiled down at the Prince as he fell asleep in his embrace. His smooth, pale skin 
was now warm to the touch again, and vigour and light radiated from him once more. The 
sunken hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones were already beginning to fill out, 
bringing instead restored beauty to the fair being, and although Aragorn knew that it 
would take a while for him to recover his strength again and for his grave wounds to heal, 
it would happen much faster now that they were together. There were already signs of 
renewed power visible in the wasted muscles of his shoulders that lay above the blanket, 
covered by a cascade of unbraided golden hair; the King began to run his fingers gently 
through the tangled waist-length silk, frowning inwardly when he reached the ends that 
were still dyed crimson. Legolas would definitely need a good, long soak in the bath 
when he awoke. 

With one last fond gaze at the exquisite sleeping Prince, Aragorn unwound his fingers 
from the soft silken locks and rested it instead upon Legolas’ shoulder. He shifted in the 
bed so that he was lying in a more comfortable position, and then laid his head on the 
pillow and allowed slumber to overpower him, too, bringing with it dreams of Elves and 
Princes. 

***************  
CHAPTER 37  
*************** 

Inner Children 

Elrohir felt faint as he stepped outside the door, and leant against the wall for a few 
moments until he had recovered his poise slightly. Noone else seemed to have noticed his 
brief loss of composure, for which he was grateful; he stood up again, albeit still a little 
shakily, but only managed to take another few steps along the corridor before his head 
started to spin and he felt his knees subside beneath him. He cried out softly and reached 
out to grab the wall again, but instead found himself being hauled upright again by his 
outstretched hand and held firmly in a pair of strong arms. 

His entire body went limp as he slumped into his father’ embrace, and he clutched at the 
half-Elf tightly. “I am sorry, Ada,” he began feebly, burying his head into the other’s 
shoulder. Elrond stroked the younger twin’s raven crown soothingly. “Nay, my son,” he 
insisted, noting how the young Elf was trembling slightly. “Do not be sorry, for you have 
had quite an ordeal. You should not even have left your room, although I know that it 
would have been impossible for us to prevent you from doing so; come, let us get you to 
bed.” 

Elrohir nodded into his father’s shoulder in agreement; he did not argue, for he was 
currently feeling to weak to oppose the half-Elf’s opinions, and knew that his father 
spoke sense. He lifted his dark head from the Elven-lord’s shoulder and allowed himself 
to be supported on one side as they made their way slowly to the younger twin’s quarters, 
closely followed by Elladan, Arwen and Glorfindel. 

They entered the large, stylishly decorated bedroom and Elrond helped his son over to the 
bed. He eased the younger Elf gently down onto the intricately embroidered counterpane 
and looked deep into his chocolate-brown eyes whilst bringing one hand up to his 
forehead to check his temperature, frowning slightly as his fingers came into contact with 
his skin. 

“We shall have to keep a close eye on you, iôn anneth,” he muttered quietly. “It may just 
be the shock, but you are cold and I do not wish for you to become ill; you do have 
Mortal blood in your veins, after all. For the moment, however, I suggest that you get 
some sleep, for I feel that it will do you the world of good.” 

Elrohir nodded miserably. He felt rather ill, if the truth were told; his head was somewhat 
light on his shoulders, making everything seem as though it was happening from a 
distance, and his muscles were cold and tight from where he had been shaking, the 
occasional shiver still rippling down his spine; he ached all over, from the dark crown of 
his head to the tips of his numb, tingling toes, and could not help but utter a muffled sigh 
of relief when his father sent Glorfindel for two hot water bottles and extra blankets. 

Elrond smiled inwardly at Elrohir’s display of relief and made his way over to the large 
wardrobe, from which he extracted one of his son’s thicker winter sleeping robes and 
tossed it at the wilting figure on the bed. He then cast an expressive glance out of the 
corner of his dark eye at his daughter and remaining son standing by the fire that Arwen 
had lit in the grate; they caught it at once and stepped up to the bed. Elladan embraced his 
double silently and stepped away, allowing the Evenstar to follow suit. She leaned down 
as she enfolded him in her arms, and whispered softly into his ear before kissing him 
lovingly on his brow. 

“Tinnu maer, gwanur-nîn. Kaimo mae,” she muttered, and then turned to follow Elladan 
out of the door, leaving Elrond and Elrohir alone in the room. The older Elven-lord sat 
down next to the younger upon the bed and looked him squarely in the eye. 

"What happened earlier, Elrohir?" he questioned gently. "How much did you see?" 

His son averted his eyes from his father's own dark, gleaming pair. "I saw...enough," he 
stated softly, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again they were gleaming 
brightly with tears, although he did not allow them to fall. "He cut his own wrists at the 
top of the cliff...I think he had been drinking. He passed out, then, from the blood loss I 
assume, and fell over the falls. His leg got caught and I had to dive in and save him...he 
was not breathing. It was horrible, Ada...I thought he was dead. I saw it all." 

The younger twin fell silent and allowed his father to gather him into his arms for the 
second time that night, but no matter how comforting the touch he could not forget the 
words that Legolas had screamed at him, and the hideous sight of the fair Prince standing 
at the top of the cascading river, bathed in brilliant moonlight with the fireworks mirrored 
in his glimmering golden hair that was stained scarlet at the ends and hot, dark streams of 
blood streaming down his split forearms. 

He shuddered and pulled back to look at his father again. "The blood is still there, Ada," 
he murmured distractedly, his darkened chocolate eyes not-focusing on something 
between his father and the wall. "And the knife is still there, too..." 

"Do not worry yourself about that now," cut in Elrond gently, reaching out to hand his 
son the night-robe that was lying forgotten at his side as Glorfindel re-entered the room. 
"I am sure that noone will return there tonight. Go to sleep, now; you will feel better in 
the morn, I am certain, and we can deal with those matters later on." 

Glorfindel stepped up to the bed and placed the hot water bottle beneath the coverlet 
before laying the spare blanket over it and folding them both back. He squeezed Elrohir's 
shoulder sympathetically, and his father pressed his lips to his forehead ere both Elven-
lords stood and exited the room, leaving the younger Elf to ready himself for bed, which 
he gladly did. 

Glorfindel pulled the door quietly shut behind him and turned to face his lover. “What do 
you intend to do now, nîn ind,” he questioned, tilting his golden head slightly to one side. 
Elrond smiled at the comical motion and inclined his own raven head to place a chaste 
kiss on the blond Eldar’s lips, who chuckled slightly and pulled the dark-haired half-Elf 
into his arms. The Lord of Imladris sighed and hid his face into Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I 
intend to go to bed, nîn bellas, although I have nowhere to sleep…” 

The flaxen-haired Elven-lord smiled. “You cannot go to bed just yet, I am afraid, unless 
you have forgotten that you still have a garden full of guests.” Elrond groaned and buried 
his face deeper in his lover’s shoulder. “And I know not where you will have to sleep 
when they are gone; you will surely have to take Legolas’ room!” teased Glorfindel, 
earning himself a poke in the side from the half-Elf attached to his neck. He smirked 
mischievously and tickled him back; Elrond gasped and his head shot up as he glared at 
the blue-eyed beauty. 

“If you are not careful I really shall take Legolas’ room!” he threatened viciously. The 
golden-haired Eldar’s cerulean eyes gleamed wickedly. 

“Perhaps, but no doubt one of us would find ourselves with a bed partner come the 
morning!” 

Elrond smirked back at the playful Eldar, wondering at how he could still be so 
mischievous after all the thousands of years that he had spent in Middle Earth. “Yes, 
well, it would not be the first time, would it, nîn bellas?” he retorted, an impish 
expression spreading across his face. Glorfindel coloured slightly, having been beaten at 
his own game, and quickly changed the subject. 

“Very well, you win,” he conceded, “Shall we return to the garden?” The delicate flush 
spread to the tips of his pointed ears and the half-Elf grinned at his embarrassment; it was 
a very difficult thing indeed to embarrass this particular Eldar, and there was not even 
another soul around! 

“I suppose so,” he sighed, feigning disappointment, and earned himself another dig in the 
ribs from Glorfindel’s long, nimble fingers. “Get thee gone in front of me, where I can 
see you,” he hissed, with amusement gleaming in his azure orbs. “For some strange 
reason I do not entirely trust you, and I should hate our guests to be disappointed when I 
appear without you!” Elrond sighed again, in earnest this time, and turned down the 
corridor. “Besides,” added the blond Eldar seriously, “I dread to think what state my 
chambers would be in, should I return with you having been there before me!” 

The half-Elf turned smartly on his heel to face the precocious Elven-lord and glared at 
him, seething. “I am going to give you to the count of three…” he threatened ominously. 
“One…” 

Glorfindel cocked his head cheekily. “Or what?” he asked provocatively. 

“…Two…” 

“I am waiting!” 

“…Three!” 

With that Elrond launched himself at Glorfindel, who dodged neatly out of the way and 
began to sprint lightly along the empty passageway. The half-Elf growled in annoyance 
and dashed after him, for the moment completely oblivious of who saw him and his lover 
behaving like a pair of children. 

*** 

N.B: iôn anneth - younger son 

Tinnu maer, gwanur-nîn. Kaimo mae - good night, my brother. Sleep well. 

***************  
CHAPTER 38  
*************** 

Starlight
 
The last of the guests had finally been ushered off home or up to bed by the time 
Glorfindel managed to find Elrond again. The garden was presently deserted and the Lord 
of Imladris was sitting in a chair surveying the now peaceful grounds, relieved to be rid 
of the tedious conversation making that came as part of hosting such a feast. 

“How many did you have to invent?” asked the flaxen-haired Eldar as he took a seat 
opposite the half-Elf, referring to excuses regarding Aragorn, Legolas and Elrohir. His 
lover paused for a moment whilst he counted. 

“Sixteen. You?” 

“Fourteen. That makes thirty in total; I never realised that those three were so popular!” 
jested the still-energetic blond Elven-lord, his captivating blue eyes shining amidst the 
torches that lit the garden behind him. Elrond gazed at his grinning lover in awe; he 
looked absolutely beautiful as he sat before him, with his hair glistening in the 
moonbeams and torchlight, his flawless cream skin glowing softly and his brilliant 
sapphire eyes illuminating the semi-darkness. He radiated energy and vigour, which the 
half-Elf found to be extremely contagious, and he regarded the very epitome of light 
itself in front of him with rapture. 

Glorfindel noticed the faraway look on the half-Elf’s face and inclined his head slightly 
in confusion, although still smiling a little. “Is something the matter, melethron?” he 
asked, curious as to the source of the other’s enthralment. Elrond’s lips turned up at the 
corners, and he sighed happily. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you, nîn bellas? You are so beautiful sitting there, 
oblivious, that you take my breath away. Your soul shines brighter that any other I have 
ever seen, including that of the Lady of ‘Lórien, and with a strength unrivalled. Your love 
for me was so strong that you bound yourself to me regardless of the dangers you were 
bringing upon yourself; you are utterly flawless in every way, and you illuminate my life 
in a way that no other ever has or ever will. To me you are more radiant than all the stars 
in the night sky; you are my brilliant stars, nîn giliath gelair; you are my life, cuil-nîn; 
you are my strength, nîn bellas, and I do not know what I should ever do without you.” 

Glorfindel listened to his lover talking in amazement, and was left floundering for words 
at the end. “I…I…you…” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, then stood and 
crossed the short distance between his chair and the half-Elf’s, where he stooped so that 
he was resting on both knees before the Lord of Imladris and gazing up into the dark eyes 
with his own, glimmering cerulean pair. He took one of Elrond’s hands within both his 
long, fair, slender palms, and held it tightly as he began to speak. 

“You will never have to do without me, nîn ind; I can promise you that. I have been to 
the Halls of Mandos and back not once now but twice, and I do not intend to return there 
for a third time unless I am following you. You are everything to me, and I would gladly 
surrender everything at a moment’s notice if it meant that I could be with you. I placed 
my own life in peril because I was losing you, and I did not think that I could live without 
you. You have done more for me than you could ever imagine; you were my reason for 
living when I was sent back from Mandos for the first time. You helped me to see the 
beauty of Endor again, aided me with the reconstruction of my life. My entire heart is 
given to you; you are my heart, nîn ind, and if you think that you could never do without 
me, you have no idea how I could never do without you.” 

He brought the half-Elf’s hand to his lips as he finished speaking and kissed it softly, his 
blue eyes never leaving Elrond’s chocolate ones, which had widened whilst the blond 
Eldar was speaking. He bowed his raven head and kissed his beautiful lover passionately, 
bringing his free hand up to cup the base of his skull and entwine his fingers in the golden 
strands of silk. The kiss lasted for several long, blissful moments, and when both Elven-
lords drew back simultaneously, gasping for breath, euphoria was coursing through their 
bodies. 

Glorfindel was the first to speak. “I love you,” he muttered, still gazing up at the Lord of 
Imladris. Elrond was almost stirred to tears by both the beauty of his lover’s stunning 
features in the torch lit half-light and the love and sincerity brimming over from the 
cobalt pools. He pushed the chair back and moved so that he waskneeling directly before 
the exquisite creature, their faces only inches apart so that each could feel the other’s 
breath whispering past their cheek. 

“I love you, too, more than you could ever imagine. Every day I give thanks to Elbereth 
for blessing me with your presence in my life.” He brought both hands up to cup the 
blond’s long, pale face, pulling him close so that their noses were touching, and felt one 
hot, wet tear trickle down his face from the overwhelming love that he felt for his 
saviour. He kissed the golden-haired Eldar tenderly, and then pulled back a few inches to 
gaze at Glorfindel once more. 

Elrond released the blond Eldar’s face with both hands and removed a sapphire ring from 
the finger of his right hand. “I know that we are already bound in the closest way 
imaginable, but I want to give you this.” He took the other’s left hand in his own and 
slipped the silver band, emblazoned with a blue stone the same shade as the Eldar’s eyes, 
onto his long, slender ring finger. Glorfindel’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to 
speak, but Elrond silenced him with a chaste kiss ere continuing. 

“It no longer holds any power, now that the One ring has been destroyed, so you need not 
worry about the responsibility that it once carried. However, it will still prevent the 
weariness of the world, so you can remain in Endor for as long as you should ever wish; 
then, when you have finally had your fill of Middle Earth you may pass to Valinor, and I 
shall follow you, for I know that, as long as you remain with me, I will never grow weary 
of these lands. You are my Vilya, Glorfindel; you are my strength and my star that 
illuminates this world and allows me to see the beauty. And it is all the more beautiful 
with you by my side, I can assure you.” 

Another sweet kiss on the blond’s lips confirmed the honesty of the half-Elf’s words and 
left no room for argument; not that Glorfindel would have wished to argue. He gazed 
lovingly back at the Lord of Imladris before he took his turn to speak, biding his time to 
prevent the overflowing emotions in his voice from obscuring his heartfelt words. 

“I will gladly spend my life by your side, nîn ind, until the end of days when we are 
summoned to the Halls of Mandos; and there I shall die happy, knowing that I have spent 
my days with you next to me. And as a token of my love for you I will give you this.” He 
paused speaking to remove from his finger a simple gold ring, plain except for the 
Quenya inscription that read “Ingwe Glorfindel I Coa I Laurina Lótëo Gondolino”, and 
slid it onto Elrond’s ring finger in turn. 

“This was the emblem of my House, when I was a captain of Gondolin. Let it ever be a 
reminder to you of the fact that I have already seen the Halls of Mandos, and that I have 
returned to you twice now; let it always remind you that you are my reason for living.” 

No more words were needed; instead lips met once more as each Elven-lord captured the 
other in another soul-searching kiss that threatened to suck the very breath from their 
lungs, and passion flared up once again, spiralling upwards and winding around their 
eternal spirits so that they both saw stars. Eventually they were compelled to draw apart 
again after endless ecstatic minutes, and Glorfindel took Elrond’s hands in his own as he 
stood, encouraging his lover to do the same. 

“Come, melethron, follow me,” he whispered, his lips swollen and glistening from the 
ardour of their last kiss. Elrond raised an eyebrow quizzically, but allowed the blond to 
lead him wordlessly away from the house and towards the woods to one side of it. 

As they reached the edge of the forest, Glorfindel grabbed one of the torches that had 
been used to light the garden in his free hand and held it in front of him, using it to 
illuminate the darkness and shadows cast by the trees. Both Elven-lords padded 
noiselessly through the already blissfully quiet setting, neither saying a word to the other, 
until they abruptly reached a small clearing that Elrond had previously been unaware of. 
Moonbeams flooded through the breaks in the branches, shedding a dappled glow onto 
the soft forest floor and lending an unreal, ethereal atmosphere to the glade, and sharp 
pinpricks of starlight punctuated the velvet indigo sky spread above them. 

The golden-haired Eldar embedded the torch in the ground at the edge of the dell and 
pulled the half-Elf towards him by the hand that he was still holding. Elrond stepped up 
close to him, pressing their bodies close together, and their lips met once more. The kiss 
was soft and tender at first, but soon became more heated, fuelled by lust and passion, 
and amongst all inherent devotion and love. Hands that had at first cupped faces, fingers 
entwined in long, silken locks, soon flew to tunics and shirts where they began to rub and 
brush at the embroidered fabrics, sensing the firm, toned muscles beneath the cloth. 

The kiss was broken for just enough time to allow one burgundy and gold and one azure 
and silver tunic to be tugged over the head of the wearer, and to permit each Elven-lord to 
draw the minutest of breaths, before their lips came crashing back together with bruising 
intensity. Both dropped to their knees so that they were still facing each other, and hands 
were now underneath the untucked shirts, running over firm, supple skin, before the soft 
silk became too restricting and nimble fingers were forced to fly down the tiny buttons so 
that the shirt fronts could be parted and smooth, strong chests were bared for easier 
access. 

Glorfindel helped Elrond out of his shirt, and the Lord of Imladris did the same, their lips 
never leaving the other’s, before he allowed the slightly taller blond to lower him gently 
to the soft forest floor. Glorfindel eventually pulled back as Elrond’s head touched the 
ground and straddled the half-Elf’s slim hips, sitting up straight and gazing down at his 
raven-haired lover below him. Elrond smiled sweetly at the beautiful creature above him, 
catching him off guard, before a wicked grin crossed his face and he executed a swift 
twist and turn of his hips so that he was now sitting atop the blond Eldar. 

Glorfindel gasped in amazement at finding himself beneath the Lord of Imladris and 
struggled to reverse back to their usual positions once more, but soon discovered that his 
arms were pinned firmly to his sides by Elrond’s muscular thighs and that he was unable 
to do anything but writhe beneath him. The half-Elf chuckled softly at his futile attempts 
to escape, but refused to relinquish his hold on the squirming flaxen-haired Elven-lord; he 
merely looked down at him in quiet amusement and allowed him to continue with his 
efforts. He found himself becoming quite aroused by the movements of the lithe, supple 
body between his legs, but at the same time felt that he was already tiring from the 
immense strength that it was taking to prevent the powerful body beneath him from 
breaking away and returning to the topmost position. 

Eventually he spoke, for he considered that Glorfindel was probably also becoming a 
little tired from his efforts. “I should save your strength, ’maelamin,” he muttered, still 
smirking slightly with the pleasure of knowing that Glorfindel had been unable to escape 
his grip. “I feel that you will need it tonight.” 

These words stopped Glorfindel dead in his tracks, and he looked up at the half-Elf with 
wonder in his perfect sapphire eyes. “Do you truly wish to be in control tonight, 
melethron?” he asked. 

Elrond nodded positively. “Yes, I do.” 

Glorfindel smiled and relaxed back into the soft grass beneath him. “Then have your way 
with me,” he consented, anticipation shining keenly in his fathomless cerulean orbs. 
Elrond’s face lit up at the graciousness of his acceptance and the expectation on his 
lover’s fair face; he leaned forwards and would not disappoint. 

*** 

N/B: Ingwe Glorfindel i coa i laurina lótëo Gondolino – Captain Glorfindel of the House 
of the Golden Flower of Gondolin (Quenya) 

a’maelamin - my beloved 

A/N: Hmmmmm, ok, I know that the three rings lost their power after the One ring was 
destroyed and “Middle Earth grew chill for the bearers”. Let’s ignore that last part. 

***************  
CHAPTER 39  
*************** 

And So To Bed… 

Glorfindel felt his heart flutter as Elrond leaned down towards him and captured his lips 
in yet another searing kiss. At the same time the half-Elf’s hands crept upward, so that 
one was laid flat across the blond’s strong chest and the other becoming tangled in the 
long, silken tresses; the Lord of Imladris sightlessly found the delicate, pointed ear and 
began to gently brush the tip. He smiled into the Eldar’s mouth as he elicited a delicious 
gasp of pleasure from the beautiful creature, and took the opportunity to slip his tongue 
into the hot wetness. 

Glorfindel sighed again as Elrond’s other hand began to move across his chest, stroking 
circles on the pale, glowing skin, at the same time as the delightful assault on both the 
sensitive tip of his ear and the firm exploration of his mouth was occurring. Blood began 
to pool in his loins as the wet tongue left his mouth and began to trail its long, languid 
track down the smooth column of flawless throat and across his chest, latching onto his 
right nipple even as skilled fingers began teasing the left into a taught, puckered nub. 
Shivers rippled down his spine and he flung his head back, his sapphire eyes firmly 
closed and fingers tearing at the grass, when the other hand caressed his ear more 
forcefully, and a definite pressurised heat made its presence known between his thighs as 
the expert tongue finished drawing his other nipple to hard erection and continued its lazy 
way down his corded abdomen. 

Suddenly all contact was removed from his skin, and he groaned in frustration as he lifted 
his golden head to glare at his raven-haired lover so that he could discover what had 
called a halt to the proceedings. What he saw melted his heart, however; the half-Elf was 
sitting back on his heels and gazing at him in wonder, his chocolate-brown eyes darkened 
with lust and gleaming with passion. 

“You are so beautiful,” murmured Elrond distractedly, absorbing every detail of the 
golden-haired Elven-lord that lay prone on the grass below him. His left hand crept to the 
lower part of his lover’s stomach and pressed down, whilst his right moved to the 
straining azure cloth of the leggings and firmly cupped the prominent bulge; he moved 
his thumb over it with agonizing slowness and greedily drank in the sight of the delicate 
flush that graced the Eldar’s fair cheeks, his bright sapphire eyes darkening to deep 
indigo from the wonderful torture. 

“Tease,” gasped Glorfindel, his hips bucking unconsciously against the half-Elf’s hand 
that held them down as excruciating friction was created over his burning desire. Elrond 
chuckled inwardly at the delectable sight of his lover aroused, and replied jauntily. 

“So you wish me to continue?” he smirked, now stroking the blond’s hardness with extra 
force through the taut fabric. 

Glorfindel gasped again, throwing his head back against the grass at the judders sent 
racing through his muscles with the touch. “Yé…yé…iquista…” he panted, slipping back 
into his mother tongue of Quenya as coherent thoughts became increasingly more 
difficult to string together. 

Elrond smiled, but said nothing; instead he brought both hands up to unlace the 
fastenings on the azure leggings and tugged them down the blond Elven-lord’s long, lithe 
legs, pulling off his boots in the process and discarding all offending items of clothing 
with a casual sweep of his arm. Glorfindel sighed as his hardness was released and the 
pressure removed, but bit his lip in ecstasy to stifle a groan when the half-Elf bowed his 
head and replaced his fingers with his mouth and tongue, his lover’s hot flesh swirling 
around his own; he found himself unable to contain his moans as the tongue slipped over 
the slit at the top of the weeping head and one hand came up to gently cup his sac, and 
began to squirm impatiently on the ground as he brought his hands up to twist in Elrond’s 
thick raven locks. 

“Saes…melethron, melda…la daro…iquista…” he groaned huskily, the rush of blood to 
his groin and the passion to his head leaving him reeling in the grass and unable to form 
an entire sentence in the same language. 

The Lord of Imladris found himself becoming increasingly aroused by the beautiful sight 
of the Eldar sprawled on the grass, writhing in a tortuous combination of bliss, from the 
half-Elf’s ministrations, and agony at wanting so much more. Finally, when Glorfindel 
began to moan incoherently in a confusing mix of both Sindarin and Quenya, the caged 
heat between his thighs became too much for him to contain any longer and he swiftly 
discarded his own boots and leggings before casually slinging one leg each side of the 
slim hips so that he straddled the blond Elf once more. 

Their erections brushed together as Elrond settled into place and both Elven-lords gasped 
slightly at the wonderful friction. A more noticeable flush spread across Glorfindel’s face 
and up to the tips of his pointed ears, and a thin sheen of sweat started to appear as the 
half-Elf slowly and deliberately ground his hips against the Eldar’s. He writhed again in 
the grass, his movements between Elrond’s legs stirring the half-Elf even more, and he 
moaned softly in his anguish; two fingers brushed against his lips and he welcomed them 
into his mouth, sucking at them hungrily in anticipation of what was to follow. Elrond 
smiled to himself and withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his own lips as he leaned 
down to cover Glorfindel’s body with his own and lowered his hand. 

He swallowed another moan from the flaxen-haired Elf with his kiss as he slowly and 
gently inserted one long finger into the tight opening and waited as his lover shifted 
somewhat below him until he had adjusted to the unaccustomed intrusion. Once he had 
felt the firm muscles around his finger relax satisfactorily he inserted a second, shortly 
followed by one more, before he began to scissor his fingers open and probe deep within 
the close darkness. He stroked and brushed inside the Eldar for several long moments, for 
he wanted to ensure that he hurt his beloved as little as possible, when eventually he 
found the spot that educed a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure from the golden-haired Elf 
below him, and he felt the strong, hot body below him shiver and arch up towards his 
skin contact. 

Finally satisfied that his lover was sufficiently relaxed, Elrond extracted his fingers, 
smiling faintly at the frustrated growl from the inarticulate Elven-lord beneath him that 
was uttered due to the loss of contact within him. The growl was soon silenced, however, 
when the tight ring of muscles was slowly and agonisingly breached, and turned into a 
soft whimper. The Lord of Imladris frowned at the heart-rending sound, realising that he 
was causing his lover pain, and paused for a moment to kiss away the cry and interlace 
the Eldar’s long, slender fingers with his own. He continued once Glorfindel’s laboured 
breathing had become somewhat softer, his body beginning to accept his desire into it, 
and slowly but surely finished entering his lover’s body in one gradual, fluid motion. 
Smooth heat enveloped him as his hips drew up flush with the blond Eldar’s, and he 
paused again to gaze down into the fathomless sapphire orbs below him with his own pair 
of liquid chocolate, darkened and melted with passion and lust. Glorfindel regarded him 
back for a few moments until his body had fully accepted the hardness inside him, and 
then smiled faintly and nodded up at his lover. Elrond returned the smile wholeheartedly, 
and began to very gently rock his hips against the Eldar’s, their fingers still entwined. 

They held hands as they made love, with Elrond withdrawing increasingly further and 
slowly pushing back in, establishing an easy, unhurried rhythm and extracting enticing 
gasps and unintelligible moans from Glorfindel. Their eyes never left the other’s, love 
and trust being the predominant emotions glistening in the cerulean and chocolate depths 
even as their ardour began to seize control over them and spiralled around their bodies. 
Elrond’s strokes became more erratic as he felt Glorfindel’s muscles slowly begin to 
contract around him, and then clamp down hard upon him. The blond cried out to his 
lover, who felt a smooth, liquid warmth spread over his stomach and soon followed suit 
when he was no longer able to retain his passion, calling out in turn and releasing his 
silvery seed deep within the hot depths of the shivering flaxen-haired Eldar’s body. 

Elrond collapsed, spent, onto Glorfindel’s chest, and both Elven-lords lay together for a 
few moments until they had recovered sufficiently. Eventually the raven-haired half-Elf 
rolled carelessly sideways off his lover’s body and into the lush grass that was waiting, 
leaving one arm trailing languidly across the toned abdomen and their legs entangled 
together as he placed his dark head on Glorfindel’s strong shoulder and softly kissed the 
fair skin covering the collarbone beneath it. 

Glorfindel smiled as he lay on his back and wrapped his long arms around the half-Elf’s 
supple waist as he gazed up into the night sky. Elrond raised his head to search the 
sapphire orbs, but, seeing that they were otherwise occupied, followed the azure regard 
into the twinkling indigo velvet above. 

“Look,” whispered Glorfindel quietly, raising his arm from the half-Elf’s stomach to 
point to one of the patterns of light amongst the darkness. “There is Soronùmë; do you 
see?” 

Elrond traced the invisible line from the extended finger towards the gleaming 
constellation, and he nodded against the blond’s shoulder. “Yes, I see,” he muttered, 
absorbing the streaks of stars arranged in the night and then looking up to see the golden-
haired Eldar gazing, awestruck, at their splendour. Elrond smiled at the expression on his 
beautiful lover’s fair features; Glorfindel had always loved the stars, he recalled. 

Glorfindel gasped softly, as he shifted his gaze to a different part of the sky and another 
exquisite star caught his eye. “And look, melethron, there is Alcarinque. Look how 
beautiful she is…” 

The Lord of Imladris nodded. “Yes, a’maelamin, they are all beautiful,” he replied, now 
following the new track from the Eldar’s finger to the shining light, “although none are as 
beautiful as you.” His voice was soft, murmuring almost to himself, but the blond heard 
him perfectly and pulled him closer to his own body at the words. Elrond carried on 
speaking. “That star was one of the bright new stars created for the Firstborn; her name 
means “The Glorious”, nîn bellas. It is my mind that this is your star, for she is the 
brightest and most beautiful amongst the others. Whenever I see her I shall be reminded 
of you, for you are the most glorious amongst the rest.” 

Glorfindel’s face lit up happily at this beautiful admission, and he leaned down to kiss his 
lover sweetly. Elrond returned the gesture unequivocally, raising his arms to wrap around 
the blond’s neck, before he shivered a little and drew back. “’Tis getting cold out here, 
nîn bellas, and we have no blankets,” he said softly, gazing into the shimmering sapphire 
pools amidst the flawless, creamy skin of the Eldar’s face. Glorfindel nodded in 
agreement and released his hold on the half-Elf’s waist, ere untangling his long legs from 
the other’s and standing. The torchlight flickered as the fuel burned low, sending an 
attractive red glow across his bare skin and illuminating it hotly amidst the ethereal 
moonbeams that bathed the clearing. 

Elrond also stood and walked up to him. “Must you be so beautiful?” he questioned 
teasingly, placing his hands on the slim hips and pressing his lips briefly to the other’s. “I 
can hardly keep my eyes from you, let alone my hands!” 

Glorfindel snorted in an attempt to conceal his embarrassment, but was unable to prevent 
a slight blush from tinting the very tips of his ears a delicate pink. He turned away to 
collect his clothes and pulled them on hurriedly, not taking the time to ensure that he was 
properly turned out. // Who would see them, after all? They were only travelling to his 
room. //

Elrond did the same, although not without perceiving the golden-haired Eldar’s 
embarrassment at his compliment; once he was dressed he extracted the torch from the 
ground where it was embedded and stepped up to the Elf. He allowed Glorfindel to take 
the torch from him and wrap one arm around his shoulders as they set off back towards 
the house, and he settled his head comfortably against the strong chest for the short walk 
back. 

“We must do this more often,” whispered Glorfindel softly, knowing that Elrond would 
hear him; he did, and nodded his head against the taller Elven-lord’s shoulder. “I know 
not why we did not do so before,” he replied, returning the smile that he knew had spread 
across the fair features without having to lift his head; the rest of the distance was 
covered in a blissful silence. 

As they entered the back door of the house Elrond lifted his head and pulled away 
slightly to regard his lover. “I should just like to look in on them,” he muttered; 
Glorfindel caught his meaning at once and nodded. “Of course; I shall accompany you.” 

Both Elven-lords set off towards the Lord of Imladris’ chambers at those words, 
negotiating the silent passageways with light footsteps so as not to wake those who were 
sleeping. They reached the door to the bedroom and Elrond knocked gently on the hard 
wood. When there was no answer to his soft, hollow tap, he slowly turned the handle and 
quietly opened the door. Both he and Glorfindel smiled when they saw the sight in the 
bed before them; Aragorn was asleep with Legolas in his arms, the golden head resting 
comfortably on the strong, tanned chest. Both figures were wrapped tightly in the 
numerous blankets, but despite even this Elrond was able to see the soft glow emanating 
from Legolas’ pale skin into the half-light surrounding him. The Prince already looked 
better, although he was obviously still far from full health; his face was less gaunt and the 
hollows had filled out somewhat, restoring a great deal of his natural beauty to his fair 
features, and it was all punctuated by a faint, contented smile that crossed his lips, now 
less pinched than before, and mirrored in the handsome face of the King of Gondor. 

Glorfindel placed his hand on Elrond’s shoulder, and the half-Elf turned to look at his 
lover happily. “I think that they will be fine for tonight,” whispered the blond, very 
quietly so as not to wake the slumbering couple. “And I also think that they seem to have 
the right idea; come, let us find somewhere for you to sleep!” 

Elrond’s dark eyes sparkled as he closed the door noiselessly behind him, and followed 
the beautiful Elf as he took his hand and led him towards his own chambers. 

*** 

N/B: yé - yes (Quenya) 

iquista - please (Quenya) 

saes - please (Sindarin) 

melda - beloved (Quenya) 

la daro - do not stop (Sindarin) 

References about the stars taken from “The Silmarillion”. 

***************  
CHAPTER 40  
*************** 

Don’t Look Back 

The first thing that Legolas became aware of as he awoke was a distinct throbbing in his 
head and a tart, acrid taste in his mouth. He groaned softly, once he had unstuck his thick, 
parched tongue from the roof of his mouth, and opened his eyes. Soft red light, fresh 
from the early sunrise, flooded through the crack in the curtains and he winced when he 
shifted his golden head upon the pillow, catching a pool of light across his eyes that made 
his brain pound even harder inside his skull. // What had happened last night? //

He tried to sit up, but found himself restrained around the waist; turning his head he 
jumped with fright when he saw that the reason why he could not move was because he 
was in bed with Aragorn, who had wrapped his arms around the Prince’s middle, not to 
mention the numerous blankets that were binding their two, naked bodies together. Very 
gently, so as not to wake the slumbering King, Legolas peeled the strong arms from 
around his hips and laid them gently across the other’s stomach, untangled his thin body 
from the tightly enveloping coverings, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that 
he was sitting with his feet on the floor. His aching body protested at the motion and he 
still found it a little difficult to move, but now merely because his muscles were stiff and 
tender from their tortured actions the previous night. 

He groaned inwardly, although not making a sound lest he arouse the Ranger, as he 
struggled to recall what had happened the night before. He brought one hand up to pass 
over his face in frustration and, suddenly catching sight of the thick, white bandages that 
bound his arm from the base of his palm to the crook of his elbow, smirked sardonically 
to himself as vague memories made their presence know at the back of his thumping 
head. Of course; the waterfall, and the dagger…and the wine. Well, that certainly 
accounted for the condition of his body this morning, not to mention the other 
inconceivable happenings that had undoubtedly taken place. 

The Prince sighed as the slow realisation dawned that Aragorn must have saved him the 
night before; how else could he be feeling so much better, despite the hangover, and have 
woken up naked next to the King? He was certain that he had consented to the Ranger’s 
doing so, for he knew that his friend would not have done such a thing without his 
permission, and silently cursed himself for drinking the entire bottle of the feywine at the 
top of the falls the previous night, for perhaps he would have been more conscious to 
prevent Aragorn from doing what he had to him. // How could he have let such a thing 
happen? What of Arwen? // Vague recollections of the Queen of Gondor could be found 
at the very backmost corners of his mind but, try as he might, Legolas could remember 
very little of yesterday evening. 

He stood up with sudden conviction as panic overtook him slightly; he swayed somewhat 
as blood rushed to his head, but after leaning against the wall for a few seconds to gather 
his composure he swiftly scanned the room for his clothes and other belongings; 
however, unable to find anything save a few, damp, bloodstained, tattered shreds of cloth 
near the far wall, which he assumed to be the remains of his shirt, he settled for rifling 
through the wardrobe in search of something suitable to wear for what he had in mind. 
The predominantly burgundy and gold of the wardrobe suggested that this was Elrond’s 
room, and he was not about to steal out of Imladris flaunting the colours of the city; 
instead he removed a long sleeping robe and put it on. 

The tall, elegant figure now moved towards the door and silently opened it. He turned as 
he went to close it and sent a lingering, haunting glance towards the King, still sleeping 
soundly in the large bed, before he closed the door completely behind him and sprinted 
off gracefully towards his own chambers on light, noiseless feet. He reached them in no 
time, and swiftly entered and began about his business. First he dressed himself in his 
own travelling clothes, leaving the borrowed nightgown lying obviously upon the bed; he 
then moved over to the drawer where he kept his weapons and extracted them all. He 
strapped his twin knives to his back, frowning slightly when he had to fasten the buckles 
several holes tighter than normal, and concealed the other, smaller blades about his 
person. Finally pulling on his cloak and his spare pair of boots, for he had been unable to 
find his others in the Lord of Imladris’ chambers, he seized his bow and quiver and slung 
them across his body in one practised motion. 

Finally dressed for action, he paused for a short moment whilst he considered precisely 
what his next moves were to be. A fleeting glance out of the window told him that it was 
little more than half past five that morning, and the clock in the corner of the room 
confirmed his suspicions. That was good, he thought, for everybody would still be asleep; 
so, making up his mind, he swept out of the room and into the corridor once more, 
following the quietest route to the kitchens. 

His stomach growled as he trod the passageways with light footsteps, and he suddenly 
wondered when he had last eaten. He had picked at lunch the day before, when Aragorn 
and Arwen had first arrived; that had been the last time that he had eaten, but he had not 
actually consumed a proper meal for several days now. No wonder he was hungry, he 
thought incredulously as he reached the heavy kitchen doors and entered. Thankfully the 
whole area was deserted, and large plates of leftover food had been left, forgotten, on the 
huge wooden table, presumably after whatever event had taken place last night. 

Legolas wolfed down some bread, fruit and cheese; he then carefully wrapped more of 
the bread and some dried meat, enough to last for several days, and placed it in the pouch 
hanging from his belt. The sight of his empty water canteen drew his attention, and he 
hurriedly filled that, too, before adding it to his travelling equipment. Finally satisfied 
that he was prepared for his journey, he strode through the empty kitchens and out of the 
little-used side door that admitted him into the gardens. 

The golden-haired archer kept close to the side of the house as he made his way to the 
stables; they, too, were also deserted, save, of course, the horses, and he quickly found 
the chestnut on which he had made the journey to Imladris several weeks ago. The horse 
had been kept clean and was well looked after, for which Legolas was eternally grateful, 
for it served to hasten his departure. He found the saddle and bridle in the tack room, 
which had also been cleaned and oiled since his arrival, and rapidly tacked up his horse; 
finally ready to depart, he pulled the hood of his cloak high over his head to disguise his 
distinguishing features as he led the horse from its stall and mounted with a little 
difficulty, for he found that his muscles were still somewhat lacking in their usual 
strength. He wasted no time in urging the animal forwards to a gallop; leaning forwards 
he dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks and left by the least used road, eager to place as 
much distance between himself and the sleeping city as possible and not looking back 
once. 

The End 
 
 
***************  
EPILOGUE  
*************** 

That’s it, I’ve finished! Wicked, aren’t I, with the open ending! It was rather longer than I 
intended it to be…and I’ve got conned into writing a prequel and a sequel, too! I realise 
that the ending was left very open – that is for the precise reason that I will write a sequel 
for everyone who wanted this to finish up as Elrohir/Legolas instead of Aragorn/Legolas 
(and I must admit, I am one of them!) The prequel will be about how Glorfindel saved 
Elrond, and will have some information about this “binding to save” technique that I’ve 
made up – as far as I can see some of it may be needed in the sequel. Keep an eye out for 
both of them; I will write the prequel first and then the sequel. The prequel will be called 
"In Lieu of Love" and the sequel will be called "To Save a Soul" (the latter may be 
subject to change). 

Next I would like to say my thanks = ) Jan Allen has helped me no end with the tricky 
bits of history etc, such as Elrond/Arwen/Twins/Immortality, Arwen’s necklace, and that 
sort of thing. It is a great help to find someone who understands “The Silmarillion” and 
was willing to help me with this sort of stuff; it made for a better story in the end cause 
the facts were more accurate (or I could just say if I’d outright ignored them!) Another 
thing that she helped me on was with some rather large plot holes…we won’t go into that 
now, but thanks, you know what I mean!! 

Next to Riley, AJ Matthews and Elendor...Riley has given me so much encouragement it 
has been unbelievable, you know what you've done and I'm forever grateful. AJ, thanks 
for the Elvish. And Elendor. Well...you certainly kept my spirits up, girl!! 

And, last but most definitely not least, thanks to everyone who's sent feedback. You have 
no idea how encouraging it is to get almost 300 reviews for your first fic, along with the 
e-mail support, nearly all of them supportive and positive, and on top of that to have so 
many people add me to their favourites list, too! I could not have done it without all the 
encouragement from you guys, I would have lost heart ages ago, so thanks again, you’ve 
been great! 

Keep your eyes peeled for new work! 

Ilye