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