Title: The Feast of Midsummer
Author: Trinity Helix
Feedback: Everything to trinity_cross@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all.
Archive: Yes to LxF, LotrAdult, Waters, and everyone else who wants it,
as long as the feedback, site url, etc. links are intact. No need to
ask-- go ahead and post it wherever you like. ;)
Website: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan (my Lotr art and fiction site)
Warnings: NC-17, Slash, Het
Cast/Pairings: Legolas/Elladan/Orophin/Dinendal, Rumil/Glorfindel,
Saelbeth/Elrond, Aragorn/Arwen, Elrohir, Erestor, etc.
Genre: Romance, Humor 
Note: To find out *exactly* when this fic occurs in the grand scheme of
things, view my handy Timeline Chart here:
http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan/time.html

Summary: Every midsummer, the elves of Imladris gather for festivities
and games. What fruits will this year?s bounty bear? 

Comments: Occurring before Aragorn strikes out for the wilderness but
*after* he has met Arwen, this fic features
Estel-before-he-became-Strider. Also features Elladan-being-crafty,
Legolas-pining-for-Haldir, and a veritable slew of confused/in-love
elves. A fun piece to write.

Glossary: 
(Hardly any errata in this one. And aren?t we all glad? Lol.)

Meleth-nin ?My love
Ada -Father

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


*CHAPTER SIX*



The Lord of Imladris stood tall above the sprawling gardens of his
home, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers in first bloom.

It was odd how the fragrance always reminded him of Celebrian, and he
wondered, certainly not for the first time, if she thought of him as
often as he did of her. Perhaps in passing, he mused, if not
necessarily at every waking moment. Their love had been sweet indeed in
the days of old, and though they had parted upon a bitter occasion,
they remembered each other with fondness.

He gently caressed a bloom that hung from its perch, its lily-white
shell turned to face the earth. "How fragile," he mused aloud, and
conjured a memory of tawny hair-- fairer than Celebrian's golden
tresses--- and of pale white skin.

Saelbeth. It was odd how often (and how easily) the adviser came to his
thoughts nowadays, and though Elrond could well see his beauty, he
found that it was not this quality that held sway over him.

When Celebrian had made known her wish to pass over the sea, an
arrangement had been crafted out of necessity. She had bade him take
another lover if he needed, for she was no elfling deaf to the calls of
one's body. Indeed, they were three children blessed already and
certainly they were not borne of nights without passion. They had found
pleasure in each other-- and love there also-- and likewise both knew
the need well.

Elrond had seldom entertained the notion over the centuries of their
parting, and he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he"d
had to call for a courtesan. He had never taken another lover, for the
companionship he and Celebrian had cherished were filled by the company
of his children and advisers. It was not seldom that he missed the
closeness only lovers could share, but in his heart he wished not to
tread upon the memory of his wife.

It was, of course, a foolish notion, for Celebrian had made her stand
upon the matter quite clear. One's heart was never too small to love
any number of people, and though he knew this, a small part of him
balked at the notion still. 

*And besides that*, he reasoned stubbornly, *it was not as if I had
ever before found any suitable partners before*.

He frowned at that, the lines in his forhead deepening. "Which is not
to say that I've found one *now*," he sighed aloud, shaking his head.

In his mind, Celebrian's tinkling laughter echoed. "And were you here
you would call me a fool," he said wryly, looking at the bloom he
tightly held.

He let the flower drop and watched as it trembled on its precarious
down-turned stem, bouncing lightly upward as it shook dew from its
petals.

"Perhaps one day, old love," he sighed. "But not yet""

*Coward*, the wind seemed to whisper, and Elrond turned from his
garden. Celebrian may have been too far to reach for even Vilya's
power, but her memory-- as well as her very nature-- seemed glad enough
to tease him in her absence.

He cleared his mind of Saelbeth's smile and entered the sprawling
palace, seeking distraction from his guests.

*Perhaps*, he smiled to himself. *I shall be desperate enough to seek
even Celeborn's company*.



***



Dinendal sat upon a large boulder in the gardens of Imladris, throwing
small stones into a quiet pond. He had not seen Orophin since their
rather bitter parting this morning, and as he wanted for no other
company he found himself seeking much-needed solace.

He knew that he should've expected this, but all the same it hurt him
like a wound fresh from the blade. His lover was not one to callously
throw about his affections, and for him to react in the manner he had
at the feast was unthinkable. Thusly, the situation that Dinendal had
arrived in time to see the night before had thrown the proverbial
bucket of ice water upon his head; Orophin and Elladan embracing in the
marchwarden's chambers, lips set close in passion.

Unable to bear witness any longer, Dinendal had fled the scene. He had
followed the deep stone steps into the sprawling gardens below, there
spening his sorrow with the moonlit trees.

When he had returned some time after, it was with dry eyes and a set
jaw. There had been no trace of Elladan, and neither had Orophin
deigned to speak. Dinendal had not wished to open the subject himself,
and opted for the comfortless brocade couch.

He had not found sleep at all in the night that followed, and come
morning he realized that he loved Orophin still. Laying awake and
hearing his lover breathe, deep and soft, had made him shed slow tears
upon the divan. He had known Orophin since their youth; had played with
him and trained with him and, finally, after long centuries of simply
being his friend, had fallen in love with him.

"I want him to be happy," he said aloud. "No matter who he chooses""

"And if you truly thought that, would you have so quickly cast him
away""

Dinendal did not even have to look up. "Greetings, Rumil," he sighed.
"How in all of Valinor did you find me""

The captain shrugged. "I have my sources," he said, and narrowed his
eyes when the other elf snorted. "And *you* are less than jovial today,
marchwarden."

"Your powers of deduction are sharp as ever, my captain," he said
sardonically, and threw another stone into the pond. Both wardens
watched as it skipped a short distance across the water before sinking.

"You haven"t answered my question," said Rumil, and Dinendal dropped
his next stone in mid-throw.

"The duties of the captain are many," he said. "But I am not fey to
think that they would extend to personal matters. Please leave it be,
Rumil."

"Then you are foolish," returned Rumil. "For as the captain, the
personal well-being of my wardens is my responsibility indeed."

Dinendal laughed at that, the sound harsh even to his own ears. "I came
upon them embracing in our chambers after the feast," he said, and
Rumil did not need to ask which "them" he was referring to. "And I saw
no need to further maintain a charade. If he remains enamored with
Elladan, then I have no wish to be any more of a burden to his heart."

Rumil frowned. "Did you speak to him about this"" he asked. "Orophin is
many things, but he has never been one to deceive his lovers" It is
simply not in his nature to do so."

"True enough, but love makes fools of us all," Dinendal said. "I saw no
reason to cause him discomfort by exposing him, and as eyes are
incapable of being deceived, I sought to make the decision for both of
us."

The marchwarden laughed somewhat bitterly and threw another stone into
the pond, watching with mild satisfaction as it skipped clear across
the water.

"They were both so intent on one another that they did not even notice
the door open," he continued, not looking at Rumil. "I left as soon as
I caught a glimpse of them, and when I returned afterwards, Elladan was
gone."

The captain fell silent at that, and Dinendal bent to retrieve more
stones. His back was stiff as he did so, and it did not take any sort
of rank to read him; the marchwarden was hurting, and as deeply as only
one in love was wont to be.

*Ai, little brother,* thought Rumil sadly. *I do hope you know what you
are doing"*



***



"Why do you trouble me, Elladan" I have no wish to see you!"

It was not quite the response he"d been looking for, but the prince
decided that it would do. Elladan swept his gleaming mane of chestnut
hair behind his back-- an action that Orophin had once professed to
have found attractive-- and smiled.

"I simply wished to speak with you," he said, opening his hands
placatingly. "To" clarify, if you will, yesternight's events. Come,
Orophin, we are younglings no longer-- I am sure we can speak like
civilized adults."

The green eye that peered at him through the sliver between door and
wall narrowed. "I would but trust your word if you did not prove so
devious," he said. "Do you swear to lay no hand upon me?"

Elladan rolled his eyes. "Must we go through this childish scene?" he
asked. "Surely you would not think I would invite another fist into my
midsection so quickly""

"Swear," repeated Orophin. "Or you may find companionship elsewhere
this day."

The prince sighed. "I swear, Orophin of Lothlorien, that I will lay no
hand upon you so long as we stand in your bedchambers," he said. "Now.
Are you satisfied?"

"I am satisfied," answered Orophin, and stepped away from the door"

And no sooner had he done so that Elladan deftly entered the chambers
and pressed him against the swiftly-shut door, his wrists secured above
his head.

Near speechless with rage, the marchwarden did not even comprehend what
was happening until it was over.

"You-- you scoundrel!!" cried Orophin. "You swore upon your *honor*!"

"Come now, love," Elladan chastised, smiling broadly. "I swore to not
lay a hand on you so long as we were in your bedchambers, no?"

Orophin nodded.

"Well, as you can see we stand in the *sitting room*-- a place nowhere
near your erstwhile haven," continued Elladan. "So I have broken no
rules and retain both honor and principle. What say you to *that*,
little marchwarden?"

"I say that you retain no honor nor principle through your actions, for
in your heart you knew from the start that you would trick me," spat
Orophin. "I do not love you, prince of Imladris, and you are fey to
think that you could win me back through further lies and deceit."

"Ai! You cut me to the quick, guardian," sighed the prince, but
nonetheless released his quarry from his grip. "Would that I could
force you now, any more than I could before. You still hold my heart,
Orophin; I would never hurt you."

The marchwarden looked away from Elladan's beseeching eyes, trying to
recall how he had felt all those summers before. 

Their affair, after all, had begun simply enough-- with the prince's
gentle hands and his rakish smile-- and had lasted throughout all of
five such midsummer feasts.

They laughed and danced and loved under the moon in their scant weeks
together, writing letters when they were apart. Orophin found reasons
to visit Imladris more often, volunteering to accompany whatever
messenger would be sent from wood to home, and likewise Elladan managed
a visit to his grandsires once Elrond had bade him go.

But time proved a fickle mistress, and one night on the fifth of their
midsummers, when wine flowed free and Orophin passed supper with his
brothers, the marchwarden returned to his lover's chambers and found
him with another.

It was, Orophin realized, one of the maidens who stood at Arwen's side.
Wine and seduction had been his lover's downfall, and while the elf
understood Elladan's slip, he could see that they two had nowhere to
go. The distance between them was too great and they were as yet too
young to know the hardships they would endure. He had said as much to
the prince, and though Elladan had begged otherwise, he had opted for
friendship instead.

Old habits were hard to break, after all, and while he did not wish to
be the prince's lover any longer, he did wish their closeness saved.
One had to admit that the other elf gave good counsel when he was not
inebriated or too drunk with his own desires, and Orophin would now
admit that a part of him desired the prince still.

So they had written each other with the same frequency as they had when
they were lovers, both writing of their own friendships and hardships
and, eventually, their other relations. Elladan had seemed fine since
their last letter, though this was indeed the first time they had seen
each other face-to-face since their parting. Orophin had opted to stay
in Lorien for the other feasts previous, and he now saw that his
decision had been wise; Elladan was obviously not yet willing to let
this go.

And yet, as much as the warden knew that Dinendal was his match, his
partner, his true mate in every aspect, there was a desire in him still
that burned for his prince. He had thought it gone before, but seeing
Elladan again with *Legolas* of all others, did not help matters.

His honor lay with Dinendal; he would not lay with another while yet
the other swore by him. But" there was a moment last night when Elladan
had kissed him" 

As much as he had despised being taken against his will, there had been
passion behind his own lips when they had kissed, and it was honor, not
disgust, that had made him cast the prince aside.

And now?"

Elladan was looking at him with the same passion he knew he mirrored,
and Dinendal"

Dinendal had set him free.



***



Aragorn's palms were sweating. 

The seventh, outermost circle he had entered had pitted him against the
"simple" matter of swimming across a river and dueling with his
opponent dripping wet on slippery boulders. He had won the match only
because he had thought to wrap his boots in cloth in anticipation of
any sort of water obstacle, and he had fought on more or less equal
ground with elves that were *born* sure-of-foot.

It had been a Mirkwood archer that he had felled with his blunted
blade, and the man got the distinct impression that the other was more
disgruntled at being wet and muddy than having been beaten at all. 

No matter; Aragorn had made it one step further into the circle and was
therefor that much closer to his prize. Resting on the banks, he
watched as the other duels continued on; he would need rest for
whatever came afterwards.

"All right, then?" asked Elrohir, as he came and awarded Aragorn a
token of the seventh circle. Glorfindel had persuaded him to lend a
hand at the duels, but had himself been surprisingly absent since the
midday meal.

Aragorn shrugged. "I suppose," he sighed. "But I do not think all my
opponents will be beat so easily as Elysande."

Elrohir grinned. "Aye, he is one of the more vain ones, isn"t he?" he
smiled. "Worry not, little brother. I shall cheer you from the
sidelines and mock you silly when you fail to reach even the second
circle."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "You are ever my rock and guardian, Elrohir,"
he said, and chanced a glance at the woman he fought for.

Ahead of them all, sitting serenly atop a light chair, the Lady Arwen
of Imladris smiled serenely.



***



Rumil pulled free his cloak from its stand, sweeping back his mane as
he donned the gray material. It was the uniform of the galadhrim, the
very color adapting to his environment so long as he remained still. 

He did not wish to be seen today, for his conversation with Dinendal
had left him feeling somewhat disturbed. The stables, he knew, were to
be avoided if he wished no further company. Glorfindel was beginning
to, Valar forbid, /intrigue/ him, and Rumil knew that he had best evade
the warrior if he wished to stay aloof.

Already he felt an odd pull towards him, his kindness and his steady,
persistant smile casting a light into his heart.

Rumil shook his head.

"I need no one," he said aloud. "I /need/ no one."

He set out towards the wild, intending to go a short distance and rest
in the shade of the trees. The oaks here were not so large as the
mallorn of his own wood, but they were kind enough to grant him respite
in their branches. Indeed, his affinity for plants and animals had told
him of their lore, of the ancient histories and the noble kings who had
once taken refuge in their shade.

"My thanks, kind ones," he whispered as he entered the thickening
folliage. "The quiet is appreciated."

"The quiet you may appreciate, but does the quiet appreciate you?" The
amused question came at leisure, and the marchwarden stopped in
mid-step.

"Lord Glorfindel. You simply *must* desist from coming up behind me,"
Rumil sighed. "How long have you been following?" 

"Since you donned your cloak," the warrior answered. "You were absent
from the stables so I came to find you; it was not hard to discern
where you might go."

The marchwarden frowned at that, suddenly unappreciative of his
apparent lack of spontaneity. "And what matter was of such great import
that you felt the need to track me?" he asked, his voice fairly
dripping with disdain.

Disdain that was, apparently, utterly lost on the golden-haired
warrior. "Simply seeking your company," he said. "As I have often found
myself wont to do these days."

Rumil rolled his eyes heavenward, seeking strength from all the Valar
that he had ever prayed to. "Is it not apparent that I seek solace by
journeying into the wilds of Imladris?" he asked. "Is it not obvious
that I wish to be alone?"

"Indeed it is," agreed Glorfindel.

Finally. "Then I shall take my leave of you," said Rumil, and did not
bother waiting for a reply. He began walking forth again, and noted
with some irritation, (but not entirely without surprise), that
Glorfindel had fallen into step directly behind him.

He ground his teeth together in annoyance and stopped again, whirling
to face the other elf. "What in all of the names of the Valar, do you
think that you are doing?" he demanded.

"Accompanying you into the forest to be alone," came the pithy reply.

Rumil expelled a loud breath at the audacity and began walking briskly
away, not even sparing a goodbye this time. Glorfindel shrugged and
followed with ease, again keeping perfect stride with the irate
marchwarden.

After they had gone several meters in the barest of seconds, Rumil
stopped short and faced the warrior.

"I have had quite enough of this," he said. "We are no elflings at
play, and if there is something you would like to say to me, *please*
spare me the prolonged grief of your presence."

Glorfindel said nothing for a long moment, simply stared at the
marchwarden with the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Rumil,
for his part, matched the gaze head-on, unflinching in the light of his
pale eyes. 

"Calm yourself," said the warrior finally, and Rumil frowned.

"I am as calm as the situation allows me to be," he said, or would have
said, had Glorfindel not leaned in and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

It was a gentle kiss, soft and fitted, and over far sooner than it
started.

"There," said Glorfindel, after some time had passed. "You have calmed
nicely."

Rumil looked at the warrior with eyes suddenly too naked for his own
liking, and stepped closer to him.

"Tell me, what do you want of me?" asked Rumil, and took hold of
Glorfindel's hand and placed it upon his chest. "Is this all that you
desire?"

At the warrior's confused expression, Rumil moved his hand slightly to
the left, holding their entwined fingers above his heart. "Or is this
what you seek?" he asked. "For the former is easily given; you need but
ask to slake your lust and I will give it to you. But this"

"This is something I guard more jealously than all of the mithril you
hold in your halls," he continued, releasing Glorfindel's hand. "And I
will have no more of these games that you play."

"But this is no game," protested the other elf. "Would you but listen?"

"No more," repeated Rumil, and there was an edge in his voice that the
warrior had never heard before. 

When he walked away this time, Glorfindel did not follow.





*CHAPTER SEVEN*


Elladan of Imladris was many things, but foolish he was not. He was
impulsive, yes, and entirely too sure of his own charms, but he was not
foolish. He had seen Orophin's indecision with Dinendal, had predicted
it, had *smelled* it on him even, and was now in every position to take
advantage of it.

He stepped as close to Orophin as their bodies and clothing permitted,
the familiarity of the gesture warming them both.

"See?" he whispered, his lips against the other elf's ear. "Your body
remembers me well."

Orophin did not (or could not) answer, for a blush had stained his
cheeks and traveled down the length of his body. Elladan nuzzled the
side of his neck, his hands traveling down to cup the rear so sweetly
encased in green velvet.

"Will you permit me to lie with you?" he asked, a tinge of amusement
coloring his tone. The question was mocking in its apparent innocence;
both elves already knew Orophin's answer.

The guardian lowered his eyes, his long lashes wet with unshed tears.
"How can you ask me that?" he whispered, even as he arched into
Elladan's knowing touch.

Truly, the prince was too skilled and too familiar with his body for
Orophin to decline. "I believe you owe me at least that much for all
the scheming I've had to do to win you back," Elladan said, deftly
working one hand into the other's tunic. "Legolas has been a most
*unpleasant* accomplice?"

The warden bit his lip as Elladan replaced his hand with his mouth,
dropping gracefully to his knees and suckling on a rosy nipple. 

"Legolas was never your lover?" Orophin moaned more than he asked,
closing his eyes as the prince moved lower still.

Elladan deftly untied the lacings on Orophin's breeches, his mouth
leaving wet trails down the smooth plane of the warden's stomach. "Only
in public, I assure you," he said.

"And the scene at the feast" And in the gardens before that" I cannot
believe that was all for my benefit?" the warden gasped, and Elladan
spared him a small, satisfied smirk.

"Indeed it was," the prince smiled, ridding Orophin of his lower
garment. "And now I believe that you owe me your reply."

Still half-clad in a tunic that was more off him than on, Orophin's
aroused state could be surveyed most accutely by the insufferable
prince.

Hesitating for only the briefest of instants, the warden reached out
and placed his hands against Elladan's chest, slowly undoing the pearl
buttons that held his tunic shut. "Lie with me, Elladan," he whispered
as he did so, not quite meeting the prince's eyes.

Elladan reached out and tipped his chin up, forcing the other elf to
make eye contact. "Aye," he said quite clearly, and released his grip.

The gesture was not lost on Orophin; an offer had been made and
accepted. Neither of them could return from this tryst and beg
indifference or coercion-- they would each bear the full consequences
of their actions.

Elladan turned away from his suddenly still hands, walking towards the
bedroom and shedding his clothes as he went. "You have time yet, if you
wish to leave," he said, running a bare hand through his gleaming hair.
"Do not enter unless you truly want for my company."

Orophin watched the prince disappear through the door to the inner bed
chambers, heart pounding. He could still feel Elladan's lips on his
own, the demanding press of the other's length against his thigh. 

Caught in indecision, he chanced upon a glimpse of his reflection in
the small mirror along the sitting room. His lips were kiss-swollen and
red, his tunic hopelessly disheveled and barely covering his torso.

*Dinendal*, he thought hopelessly, and he tore his eyes away from his
reflection and entered the room.



***



"This is a grand jest," said Aragorn, as he surveyed the sheer drop
that he and the remaining competitors faced. "Surely you cannot be
serious?"

Arwen smiled, (somewhat maliciously, Aragorn noted sourly), and shook
her head. "Nay, Estel, this is no jest," she said. "For you all have
passed into the third circle and must thereby find a test that truly
examines yours skills. Buffeted by the high winds of the north, you
must do battle atop the swinging bridges between the bluffs for entry
into the second circle."

The somewhat bedraggled competitors left looked at each other wearily.
The competition had ceased to become a handsome test of skills half a
day ago; all that kept them going now was simple pride.

"The lots have been drawn and Captain Lairelosse has been selected as
the first match," Arwen continued. "His opponent will be Marchwarden
Tulcandil."

The Lorien captain and the Imladris warden both heaved twin sighs but
nonetheless stood and took their places. There were now but eight of
them left, and after this circle the number would be cleaved in two.

Aragorn swallowed. Elladan and Elrohir had been part of the four final
warriors in the second circle last year, and both had been eliminated
with ease by their adversaries. Gildor, a highly skilled captain had
been the one, and the other was Enturion, a descendant of the mighty
Ecthelion of the Fountain.

Both had been accomplished warriors, but in the end it was Enturion
that had bested Gildor in the first and final circle. Indeed, in the
final day of the festivities, it was he who had the honor of battling
the previous year's winner; Glorfindel of the Golden Flower.

The resulting match between the two warriors had been glorious to
behold-- their skill in the arts of blade and steel were unparalleled,
and the whole crowd had watched with baited breath. In the final
moments however, it was Enturion who had cleverly lead Glorfindel to a
small patch of uneven ground. The Noldor had been caught off guard for
the barest fraction of a second and Enturion had pressed his advantage
and claimed the match.

Aragorn started as a cheer went up from the small audience that had
deigned to follow them to their newest locale; Lairelosse had won his
duel.

He listened with half an ear as Arwen called the next competitors, (and
it seemed as if she purposely spared him as the last again), and lapsed
back into his thoughts.

As this year's Master of the Duels, Glorfindel was obviously not
participating. If Aragorn was to make it beyond the third and second
circles, he would battle the remaining opponent and afterwards duel
with Enturion in a final match.

His gaze swept over his remaining opponents, calmly assesing the
biggest threats. Lairelosse of the Galadhrim was clearly not an
opponent to be trifled with, as he had fairly waltzed past the outer
circles that Aragorn had barely finished. The current pair was a
Mirkwood elf that he did not know and a member of the Imladris royal
guard. Ravion was one of the finest Imladris had to offer, but it
looked as if he was on the losing end of this match. 

Aragorn's eyes slid to the remaining three elves waiting on the
platform; Macilme, Eruvantion, and Gildor. 

As one of last year's final players, Aragorn had no doubt that Gildor
would be one of the first circle competitors. The elf was actually
something of a gypsy; the captain of a small band of his wandering kin.
They traveled the North overmuch but called Imladris home; Aragorn had
seen him but rarely.

Macilme he knew only through reputation. The woodland elf was rumored
to have slain a band of orcs and saved one of the old royalty of
Mirkwood-- all single-handedly.

Eruvantion, on the other hand, had been something of his friend in his
younger years. He was a warden of Imladris and saw to the safety of the
Last Homely House; none could find a more faithful warrior than he.

Aragorn thought hard as Gildor and Macilme were called in for their
match. As the only other competitor left, Eruvantion was clearly his
opponent. Well-trained for battles atop heights, Aragorn knew that
Eruvantion had a distinct advantage. His centuries stationed in the
peaks surrounding Rivendell would undoubtedly serve him well, and it
was an advantage he had to find an equal to.

"If only I did not abhor heights so," Aragorn sighed, and scuffed at
the thick vines growing about. He stole another look at Eruvantion and
then dropped his gaze to the ground. 

Gildor was making short work of Macilme, and though the Mirkwood elf
fought valiantly, he was no match for the other elf. Aragorn watched as
he flailed on the flimsy bridge, his hand grasping for the length of
rope that served as the rail. Gildor had chosen this moment to press
his advantage, and thus lightly tapped the point of his blade against
the other's throat.

"Do you yield?" he asked.

Faced with a two hundred meter plummet and the length of Gildor's
sword, Macilme nodded reluctantly. "I yield," he answered.

Aragorn hefted his sword as the two competitors walked off the bridge,
the swaying ropes shaking roughly. He strode forward as Arwen called
his name, stumbling slightly on the vine once more. There was a gentle
ripple of laughter as he knelt to remove the troublesome length, and
the beginnings of an idea began to form in his mind.

Eruvantion stood in his appointed place in the center of the bridge,
his long blade held at the ready. Nearby, Glorfindel (two hours hence
returned from his rather suspiscious absence), watched him keenly. 

Aragorn met his tutor's eyes and smiled; if Glorfindel had intended to
raise a thinking warrior, his next actions would truly make him proud.

Leaving the vine twined around his leg, Aragorn walked to his assigned
place. The plant became more entangled as he dragged it forward, and
the once-rippling laughter had now become something of a gale. 

Eruvantion raised a brow as Aragorn managed to limp unto the bridge.
"What in the Valar's name are you doing, Estel?" he asked in
stupefaction, the blade in his hand all but forgotten.

Aragorn looked at the mile-long length of vines attached to his leg.
They were still well-rooted into the ground from where he had stood,
and now he knelt down and dislodged a length that trailed forward.

"The match begins," called Arwen, the crowd behind her cheering.

"Winning the duel," he grinned impishly, tossing the extra length to
Eruvantion. "Catch!"

The elf caught the vine reflexively with his left hand and advanced
forward, frowning slightly. "Wha--?" The word turned into a scream as
Aragorn deftly cut through the rope rails and into the brief support
that held the bridge together. 

Both competitors plummeted as the rope links fell apart, the very
bridge seeming to disappear from beneath their very feet. Aragorn had
expected the jerk as he fell, wrapping his right leg around the left
that bore the brunt of the weight. Utterly taken by surprise, it was
all that Eruvantion could do to hold on to the end of the vine that he
held, and he watched with dismay as his blade fell into the cascading
waters below them.

Now suspended completely upside down by his legs, Aragorn produced his
small dagger and held it to the vine Eruvantion gripped.

"Do you yield?"



***



Orophin moaned as Elladan stroked his length, his hand moving steadily
against him. The prince had been insatiable as soon as the warden had
entered the room, and not once had his hands left the other's flesh.

"On your knees," Elladan whispered thickly, halting his task as Orophin
managed a shuddering breath.

The warden struggled to comply, raising himself on his elbows and
meeting Elladan's almost desparate kiss. "There is" scented oil by the
table," Orophin said once the prince had released him. "In the velvet
pouch." 

 His stomach was aflutter with a thousand butterflies, their actions
heightened by the danger of being caught. As these were Dinendal's
chambers as well, the event that he would walk in, however unlikely,
added fuel to their fire.

The prince spared him a smile as he took the bottle, pouring a generous
amount on his palm. "How decadent" lemon and rosemary," he observed
almost lazily, as he caressed his lover with but a single digit. "Tell
me, is this the scent Dinendal prefers?"

Orophin bit his lip as Elladan pressed the digit on him and *into* him,
carefully smoothing oil inside. "Aye..." he whispered, as his hands
fisted the white sheets. "He" purchases nothing else..."

Elladan smiled. "I seem to remember your preference for Jasmine,
myself," he said, coating his length well with the substance. "Does the
scent remind you of him?"

"Aye," Orophin admitted, the word turning into a gasp as Elladan
entered him to the hilt. "Elladan"!"
 
The prince stroked a white flank as he waited for his lover to adjust,
to be accustomed to his girth inside him. "But I am far from him, am I
not?" he laughed, watching as sweat dripped down Orophin's back.

He shifted then, sliding out halfway and carefully easing himself back,
pressing into him at an angle. Orophin hissed as he did so, his body
arching cat-like.

"Ah, yes," Elladan purred. "Your pleasures are still known to me, old
love."

He lifted the warden's hips slightly and bent down, ensuring that each
thrust would take him against the selfsame path. Orophin moaned against
the sheets, his face pressed deep against the silken covers.

"Tell me," Elladan whispered harshly as he began to move. "Does
Dinendal know your body so well?"

Orophin shook his head, gasping as the prince took him. "Do not" speak
of him," Orophin begged. "He has no part in this?"

Elladan snorted at the soft words but nonetheless spoke no more of the
erstwhile warden. Now intent upon his task, he bent forward and marked
Orophin's nape with his lips and teeth as he thrust into him, laying
claim upon that which he took.

"Mine," he whispered, watching in satisfaction as the welt darkened.
"You are mine."

The pace he followed was fast and almost brutal, each thrust sending
shivers across the warden's body. Orophin gasped with the force of
Elladan's movement, the momentum driving him forward with each push.
There was pain in the exquisite pleasure that Elladan seemed intent on
giving him, and the borders of both realms had all but disappeared.

"You always appreciated force," Elladan hissed, the sheets twisting
underneath Orophin's writhing form.

The prince's words barely registered in his lust-addled mind, and
Orophin bit his lip to keep from screaming as he felt his release stir
in his loins.

"Valar" Elladan" don"t stop," he groaned, lost in the furious
sensations that the prince had ignited.

Elladan reached around their entwined bodies and grabbed Orophin's
length, roughly stroking him in time to his thrusts. "Come," he
demanded. "Release with my name on your lips."

The added friction of the prince's fist was all else that Orophin
needed, and he arched his back fully to receive his lover. "Elladan,"
he cried out, spilling his seed into the prince's waiting hand.

Elladan's own release followed quickly after, his whole body shaking as
he spent himself deep within Orophin's pliant body. "Gods," he managed,
shivering violentlly as he was caught in the throes of orgasm.
"Orophin?"

The elf beneath him was shaking as well, his silver hair plastered with
sweat against his brow. Orophin's eyes were wide and dark as Elladan
pulled out of him, tears welling in his eyes.

"What is it?" the prince asked. "What troubles you?"

Orophin pushed himself from the bed, his pale skin sheened with sweat.
"I am unsure," he whispered. "But I" I do not think that I have done
right?"

Elladan frowned. "You seemed convinced enough but a few moments ago,"
he said. "Do not tell me you have changed your mind already."

The warden stood, pulling on his tunic with unsteady hands. "I
apologise for this," he said. "But I cannot stay here, Elladan. The
fault is mine."

He pulled on his lower garments and fled from the room, leaving behind
a thoroughly puzzled prince.

"Well," he sighed, as he stood to dress. "I suppose I shall just have
to seek you out all over again?"


***



Glorfindel shook his head in mild amusement as he watched Aragorn
pacing in a corner of the palace. Arwen had called for a brief reprieve
after the excitement of his match, and the whole company had retired to
the courtyard.

The other competitors, now narrowed down to three other very able
warriors, were milling about as well. Servants had been sent forth to
serve refreshments, but none seemed to willing to eat. 

Glorfindel glared at Aragorn from across the yard until he took a small
plate of fruits and sweetbread. Elves could afford to turn from added
nourishment-- as a man, he did not have that luxury.

The old warrior looked about as their previously small audience turned
into a mass to be reckoned with. News of Aragorn's earlier actions had
apparently reached the others, and now all were eager to watch the
final two circles of the Duel.

"One would think that they have better things to do," he sighed. 

"I could say the same thing about you."

Glorfindel turned to see Rumil's solemn figure standing behind him, his
slight frame dwarfed by the crowds surrounding them.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" asked Glorfindel,
lips tightening slightly. This was the only indication he gave as to
his ire at their prior conversation.

"I seek to hold audience with you," said Rumil, his pointed chin rising
defiantly. "In private, if you will."

The warrior frowned, studying the marchwarden's features. "As you
wish," he said finally, motioning Rumil to lead.

The elf did so, scarcely turning his head to see if the warrior would
follow. 

Glorfindel stifled a sigh. 

This had the makings of a very long day.



***



Elrond watched the proceedings in the courtyard below, an indulgent
smile gracing his lips.

"If only one could be so young again," he said almost wistfully, and
Erestor beside him laughed.

"We were never young, my lord," the old adviser said. "We were always
as they see us now."

Elrond shook his head in amusement. "Look at them, old friend," he
said. "Even Glorfindel seems to be in the spirit of things."

Erestor shrugged. "I believe his "spirit" is more blatantly hinged on
the young warden that he seems to be hounding," he said, watching
keenly as Rumil approached the warrior. "Or perhaps the attraction is
not so one-sided?""

"Erestor! You old gossip," exclaimed Elrond, eyes fastened on the
rather intense conversation between his second-in-command and the young
elf. "Have you naught else to do with your time" Spying on
Glorfindel--! Honestly!"

"Well, I was quite honestly following *you*, but as it stands you have
not even the smallest semblance of a life-- it got boring far too
quickly," Erestor replied blithely, and Elrond cringed.

"Me?" he repeated. "But why on earth did you even begin to follow me in
the first place?"

Erestor looked at him with a raised brow. "Respectfully, my lord, your
attraction to my dear apprentice has gone unnoticed by the commoners
because that it what they are. I, however, am your chief adviser," he
said somewhat huffily. "It is my *job* to know of such things."

Elrond frowned. "If you were following me, then you would know that I
have never-- and will never-- do anything about this accused
attraction," he said. "I have no desire to turn my life into tragic
material for another lay or bardsong; I am far too practical for that."

"Too practical for what, my lord?" Erestor asked shrewdly. "Too
practical for love?"

Fortunately, Elrond was saved from answering this rather cheeky
question by a commotion at the courtyard. Both he and Erestor turned to
see one of the maidens spilling her silver plates onto the stone floor
and a sheepish competitor helping her to her feet.

Elrond was about to turn back to his adviser when something else caught
his eye; Arwen and his adopted son in the corner of the courtyard deep
in conversation.

This was, of course, not cause for any concern in itself. No, the
problem lay within the fact that neither had so much as batted an
eyelash at the commotion. Indeed, color rose in Elrond's cheeks as he
belatedly realized they were, rather subvertly, holding hands.

"Now *that* is a boy who knows how to fall in love," said Erestor
blithely, and Elrond glared at him.

"Be quiet, Erestor," he said, rubbing his temples. There was an ache
beginning behind his eyes that he had a sneaking suspicion wouldn"t be
leaving any time soon.

This had the makings of a very long century indeed.



***



Glorfindel frowned slightly as Rumil led him into the library, their
steps echoing against the rich marble and towering gem-encrusted walls.

"Is there a problem?" asked the warden.

"It is a rather odd place for a conversation," said Glorfindel. "We
might disturb the advisers at work."

Rumil smiled thinly. "Unlikely," he said. "Everyone is watching the
Blade Duels-- even those as dedicated as Lord Erestor are away. You
may" calm yourself" knowing that we are quite alone."

"Indeed," acknowledged Glorfindel, impressed by the warden's
thoroughness in spite of himself. "And what is it that you wished to
speak to me of?"

At that, Rumil did not answer. He looked upon the warrior for a time,
drinking in his form with gleaming ice eyes. Glorfindel blushed as he
did so, wondering vaguely at his own discomfort.

"Rumil?" he prompted, when the silence had stretched into an unnerving
length. 

"Be silent," commanded the warden, and Glorfindel did so, wondering
what ruse he had unwittingly stepped into.

Rumil moved forward -- cat-like in his grace-- until both elves stood
toe-to-toe. "Perhaps," he said. "This will rid me of your presence."

And then he reached up and kissed him, his hands twining in the golden
hair that flowed loosely around the warrior's shoulders. Glorfindel,
for his part, stood as if rooted to the spot, his surprise jarring him
into inaction. 

But Rumil's mouth was soft and coaxing against his own, and after a
brief moment of hesitation, Glorfindel's eyes fluttered shut and he
returned the kiss.

When they had parted some time after, both their clothes were mussed
and their faces were flushed crimson.

"Why did you do that?" Glorfindel asked, moving back as Rumil leaned
forward once more.

"To prove a point," answered the elf, and would've kissed him again had
Glorfindel not held him away.

"This is not what I wish from you," he said in no uncertain terms. "Why
do you sully intentions that were offered in honor?"

At that, Rumil laughed harshly. "Honor?" he all but spat, moving out of
Glorfindel's reach. "What know you of honor" You approach me in lust
and that it what I give you now-- why do you deny that that is what you
seek?"

"I find you attractive, marchwarden-- perhaps even beautiful-- but do
not mistake this for common relief-seeking," Glorfindel said. "What I
seek from you is companionship-- as I have been *trying* to tell you
all this while."

"Companionship?" repeated Rumil. "Come now, Glorfindel, do you truly
think me such a fool" You do not even *know* me-- how can you even hope
to convince me of your love?"

 "It is true that I do not know you, and it is likewise true that I do
not love you," replied Glorfindel. "But one does not walk this earth as
long as I have without recognizing kindred spirits, young one. There is
a connection between us whether you may acknowledge it or not, and it
will endure no matter how long you choose to run from it."

"What know you of my spirit?" scoffed Rumil, but the look in his eyes
betrayed him. "If you but knew me at all you would know that I have
none."

Glorfindel chuckled at that, stepping closer to the elf. "Of that
acclaim you are *most* wrong," he said, very, very gently brushing his
knuckles against the other's cheek. "For your spirit shines so brightly
that I am all but blinded by it."

And this time it was he who kissed Rumil, his lips sweet and full of
promise. "When you are ready, Rumil of Lothlorien," Glorfindel said. 

"I will be waiting."




*CHAPTER EIGHT* 
 
 
 
Legolas returned from the woods with numbing fingers and a burning  
ache between his shoulder blades, confident in the knowledge that he  
had spent the past two days well. Bothering to return only for sleep  
and food, he had honed his skills shooting moving game and purposely  
missing; thus giving a few coneys the fright of their lives, but  
achieving more than a few targets under his belt. 
 
Wearily he ran a hand through his hair. The competition would be  
tomorrow morning, and he intended to achieve a good night's rest  
before then. His feet were heavy as he trudged towards the kitchens,  
following the smells of day-old bread and fruit. Dinner was long past  
now, and he would have to find his own supper. 
 
The prince rounded a corner and hedged at the sight that greeted him;  
one of the wardens of Lorien sat before the long table of the  
kitchens, head buried in his arms. His shoulders were shaking  
slightly, rhythmically, though no sound issued from his lips. 
 
Legolas bit his lip. He hardly wished to impose upon one so  
apparently forlorn, but the complaints of his stomach were  
manifesting themselves quite loudly. 
 
The elf looked up as Legolas stood in indecision, and with a start  
the prince realized that he knew him. "Dinendal?" he asked. "Are you  
troubled?" 
 
It was true that he had known Dinendal but briefly during his sojourn  
in Lorien, but he had always thought him a good person; Haldir had  
likewise spoken very highly of him. 
 
The warden forced his lips into a listless smile. "Aye, my prince,"  
he said gamely. "I am well." 
 
"Ah," Legolas said, stepping into the kitchen. "I was" about to have  
some supper. Would you perhaps like to join me?" 
 
Dinendal looked down. "I confess I am not eager to partake, my lord,"  
he said. "But if you command it I shall do so." 
 
The prince frowned at that, studying the bent, hollow figure before  
him. This was certainly not the Dinendal he remembered, and likewise  
was it not even the Dinendal he had seen but a few hours before. 
 
"I would not command you to do anything," he said slowly. "You know  
that, Dinendal. I was simply concerned for your welfare." 
 
The marchwarden said nothing in response and Legolas shrugged  
slightly and moved towards the cupboard. There were several loaves of  
bread there, and in the pantry he found white cheese and various  
fruits. The prince ate them in silence, methodically chewing each  
bite and swallowing, his only company intent on resolutely ignoring  
him. 
 
Afterwards, when he rose to leave, Dinendal's voice called him  
back. "You are lovers with Prince Elladan, are you not?" he asked. 
 
And Legolas turned back to him, choosing his words carefully. "Why do  
you ask that?" 
 
"If you bear any feelings for him, then you must know that he has  
taken another lover," the marchwarden said, not meeting his  
eyes. "For the lover he took was my own, and now it appears that we  
have both fallen prey to the fates." 
 
Now it was Legolas' turn to look down, and silently he cursed his  
friend. "Elladan and I?" he sighed. "We have no ties to one another.  
I am not pleased that he has taken another, but we have no agreement  
to remain only to ourselves." 
 
That much was true, at least. 
 
Dinendal laughed shortly. "You cannot imagine how pleased I am for  
you," he said. "And so it becomes clear that only I was cast away in  
this game, and that the grand scheme has played me a cruel trick." 
 
Legolas visibly flinched at his choice of words, and hastened to the  
marchwarden's side. "Nay, do not think this," he pleaded, laying a  
hand on his shoulder. "I am well acquainted with Orophin and know  
that he would not willingly hurt you?" 
 
"And I wonder how well you would know him, prince, that you sought to  
make such a spectacle at the feast," Dinendal said. "Orophin is many  
things, but he does not see into schemes set to ensnare him too well.' 
 
`I am not he." 
 
He met the prince's eyes then, brilliant blue sparking in the dim  
light. *He knows,* realized Legolas, and stumbled backward clumsily. 
 
"I must go," he whispered, shame making the color rise in his  
cheeks. "I am sorry, Dinendal." 
 
The marchwarden smiled at that, wistfullness creeping into his  
voice. "I know," he said sadly.  
 
"But it is *I* who must live with what you have done." 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Sweat dripped down Aragorn's brow as he wearily faced his opponent in  
the final ring. He had beaten Gildor for the honor of the first  
circle by the barest of luck-- a faulty misstep on the unpaved gravel  
had cost the noble elf the match. Indeed, the man had been desperate  
enough (and foolish enough, according to many), to risk dangling  
above a dangerous precipice to claim his win, for once Gildor had  
stumbled it was amidst the craggy peaks of high Imladris soil that he  
did so. 
 
And so Aragorn had claimed both the win and the chance to duel with  
last year's winner, Enturion, for the final prize; a kiss from the  
Lady Arwen. 
 
"What sport, Gildor," Enturion meanwhile exclaimed, raising his voice  
to the elf that now watched with the crowd. "Is this the whelp that  
so soundly beat you" You are getting old, my friend." 
 
"Do not underestimate Estel," Gildor warned, taking the jibe in  
stride. "He may yet surprise you." 
 
Aragorn lunged forward as Enturion opened his mouth to answer,  
sweeping low and charging through, intent on crossing swords with the  
warrior. 
 
The elf grunted at the impact, but to his credit he met cold steel  
with cold steel, and the long sword that he hefted trembled only  
slightly. 
 
"Do not dismiss me too quickly, my lord," Aragorn ground out, his  
arms shaking with the effort to keep Enturion's blade at bay. 
 
"We shall see," Enturion merely replied. 
 
Aragorn snarled at the condescending tone behind the lord's words,  
adrenaline pumping furiously as he heaved forward with all his might.  
His sword cut into the leather on his palms, but nevertheless he  
swung upward and out, catching Enturion's blade and flipping it away  
from his fingers. 
 
A child's trick that any elfling knew to do, and the seasoned  
warrior's eyes darkened as his sword flew out of his reach.  
 
"Very good. I see now that Gildor spoke true," he said, calmly gazing  
at Aragorn as the man brandished his sword. "No matter. Let us see  
how you fare against my true weapons." 
 
And with that Enturion unsheathed the twin long knives from the  
scabbards strapped to his back, weaving intricate circles in the air.  
The crowd gasped when they saw the movement, for so skilled was the  
descendant of Ecthelion of the fountain that all who gazed upon him  
were moved to awe. 
 
"Fight me now, Estel of Imladris, and let me see what other tricks  
you have learned," Enturion said, engaging the man once more. 
 
The knives he held had shorter reach than Aragorn's long sword, but  
Enturion knew how to wield them with deadly accuracy. The weapons,  
after all, were passed down his line from generation to generation;  
he was born to wield them. 
 
Aragorn, for his part, knew he had no business contending against  
Enturion in an open fight. The elf had centuries of experience behind  
him, and all the man had was passion. "Let this be a bout to be  
remembered," he whispered, and met the lord's charge with equal  
fury. "For glory, and for love." 
 
Enturion spun and slashed and steadily moved the young man backwards,  
breaking through every parry that Aragorn could muster. 
 
The crowd was silent, no one dared even a whisper so as not to  
interrupt the dueling swords. Their breathing hitched as one as  
Aragorn fell backwards, his sword clattering away as Enturion  
performed the same trick that had disarmed him earlier. 
 
Aragorn retaliated by rolling to the side and kicking out blindly,  
sheer dumb luck guiding his foot to Enturion's left hand and causing  
the long knife that he held to skitter away. The man pushed himself  
up swiftly, facing his opponent with not but the barest of hands  
while Enturion still held his single blade. 
 
"The match is over, boy," Enturion shook his head. "It was a good  
fight; you cannot expect to triumph with no blade." 
 
"I do not yet yield," said Aragorn, and with that pronouncement  
charged low and lunged. 
 
Totally unprepared for the manhandling, Enturion barely managed to  
brace himself when the man barreled into him with his shoulder,  
digging into the elf's solar plexus with more force than necessary.  
Aragorn dropped and swept his foot out in a wide arc, catching the  
winded lord by surprise and felling him.  
 
Enturion was hardly a fledgling, however, and recovered quickly by  
holding his blade to Aragorn's throat as they lay sprawled together  
in the dirt. 
 
"And for all that, it is still I who sit with my blade at your  
throat," he said, raising a bemused brow. 
 
"Not so, my lord," gasped Aragorn. "For the question of whether or  
not you shall yield shall be mine to ask. Hence: look down." 
 
Enturion looked down, eyes widening at the wicked knife bare  
centimeters away from his crotch. 
 
"A tie!" crowed Glorfindel, leaping up. The crowd dissolved into  
nervous applause. "Enturion, old friend, you're losing your touch?" 
 
Elrohir hurried forward to separate the two opponents, ruffling  
Aragorn's hair. "Estel, that was brilliant," he gasped between  
chuckles. "Father will be so proud, and Elladan will be livid with  
jealousy!" 
 
 
A cheer went up again as Enturion got to his feet, ruefully shaking  
his head. "It was a good bout, penneth," he said grudgingly. "I look  
forward to a rematch." 
 
Aragorn smiled wonderingly. "Thank you, my lord," he said, bowing low. 
 
Elrohir was talking in his ear a mile a minute, but a thought niggled  
in the back of the man's mind. "Lord Glorfindel?" he raised his voice  
above the din, catching the warrior's attention. "My lord, what of  
the prize?" 
 
"What indeed, Estel," sighed Glorfindel, rubbing his chin  
thoughtfully. "We have a tie, and so both must claim your due." 
 
Aragorn blushed fiercely at the thought of Enturion receiving the  
lady's kiss, his gaze darkening at his adversary once more.  
 
But it was in vain, it appeared, for Enturion had the grace to look  
abashed. "My lord, as much as it would please me to have the  
evenstar's affection turned upon my person, I do not think it would  
please my wife overmuch," he said, grinning. "This year's prize is  
for a youngling's lot; I am pleased to simply share holding the title  
one more season." 
 
Glorfindel nodded somberly, but his eyes twinkled; clearly he had  
expected his friend's reply. The man beside him very nearly sagged to  
the ground in relief; so happy was he that he did not need to suffer  
seeing the evenstar bestow affection on another. 
 
The crowd applauded once more as medals were brought forth by pages  
and hung about their necks, the golden metal glinting in the sun. 
 
Aragorn did not care much for it, but suffered the congratulations of  
practically everyone who now stood crowding around him. "Glorfindel?"  
he craned his neck to look for his tutor, but it appeared that the  
crowd had swallowed him. 
 
"And for the prize," the old warrior called, and Aragorn turned.  
There was a path steadily clearing through the elves as they  
themselves turned to look, and the man at last saw his evenstar  
through the crowd. 
 
She stood nervously beside Glorfindel, smiling gently, tears  
glittering in her eyes.  
 
"You may approach," smiled Glorfindel, and Aragorn needed no further  
encouragement. 
 
He dropped his sword and practically sprinted to their side, dropping  
his gaze as he knelt before her. "My lady?" he whispered breathlessly. 
 
Quiet pride radiated from the evenstar's eyes. "You did well, Estel,"  
she whispered. "You have brought honor to your name." 
 
"You may claim your prize," Glorfindel said beside them, (somewhat  
unnecessarily, Aragorn thought, for not even the wildest of the  
Riddermark's horses could so keep him from his boon). 
 
He nodded briefly to his old tutor, conveying his thanks in the  
simple gesture. Valar knew that he would not have braved the prowess  
of all of elvendom's proudest warriors and stood in triumph without  
Glorfindel's guiding hand. 
 
"You have the kingdom's blessing, penneth," the lord said, turning  
half away from the two to give them privacy. Likewise did the other  
elves in audience turn their eyes discreetly to the ground or to  
yonder tree, leaving the moment to the would-be lovers. 
 
Aragorn closed his eyes briefly in slight apprehension, but he saw  
naught but kind understanding in Arwen's loving gaze. Carefully,  
gently, he reached up, tracing the line of her jaw with the very tips  
of his fingers (for his palms were sullied with dirt and blood and  
who-knows-what-ever-else). 
 
Arwen closed her eyes and leaned into the man's touch, for once not  
caring about his current disheveled state. 
 
"For always," Aragorn whispered, and kissed her. 
 
It began as the barest brush of his lips against hers, tasting of  
musk and earth and life. It was no honeyed nectar that the princess  
partook of, no sweetness and gall from her dalliances with her kind.  
Aragorn was" intoxicating. 
 
They broke apart a good minute later, faces flushed under the bright  
sun. Glorfindel was looking on them with quiet amusement, a small  
smile playing across his lips. 
 
"I believe, my pupil," he said, trying to contain his laugh. "That  
the prize lay in a kiss on the cheek." 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Saelbeth and Erestor watched the proceedings in the palace square  
some distance away, shaded by the plant-strewn overhang above. 
 
"Oh, how wonderful," Erestor remarked, craning his neck. "It seems  
young Estel has won indeed." 
 
The younger adviser raised a brow. Their vantage point was  
comfortable, but poorly located. There was a throng of several  
hundred elves surrounding the playing field, and there was little  
either could see above their heads. "I imagine the Lady Arwen will be  
pleased," he noted. "Enturion is far too married to fully enjoy his  
prize." 
 
Erestor laughed at that, fanning himself delicately. "See?" he  
exclaimed, pointing. "I was right; he's going to Arwen to claim his  
kiss now" how romantic!" 
 
Saelbeth gave his mentor a sideways glance, raising an incredulous  
brow. "Since when did *you* become the gushing schoolgirl?" he asked. 
 
"We are all allowed to let our proverbial hair down every now and  
then," sniffed Erestor, half-turning to his charge. 
 
Saelbeth was still looking at him rather oddly, and under the  
scrutiny the older elf's eyes turned shrewd. "Perhaps *you* should  
try it as well, young one," Erestor said thoughtfully. 
 
"What" Let my hair down?" laughed Saelbeth, but the way Erestor  
looked at him made him increasingly nervous. "It's *been* down for  
several hundred years, in case you haven't noticed." 
 
"Oh, no, that's not what I mean," smiled Erestor, turning fully away  
from the couple (and the hundred or so elves that watched  
them). "Tell me, Saelbeth" What do you think of our Lord Elrond?" 
 
"He's" he's, er," the young adviser could easily have filled in the  
sentence with a half dozen words, but none of which were appropriate  
for others to hear. "Kind. Yes, that's it. He's very" kind." 
 
Erestor's lip twitched. "Kind," he said. "Well, yes, I suppose Lord  
Elrond is indeed very kind. Though I had hoped you would be thinking  
something else of him. Something a wee bit more" racy." 
 
And he leaned in and whispered in his charge's ear, carefully  
detailing just how" kind" Elrond really was. 
 
When he pulled away, Saelbeth's face had grown rather flushed. "He's"  
he's like *that*?" he gasped. "I" I mean, I would never have thought?" 
 
Erestor frowned mock-sternly. "Not a word of this to anyone,  
Saelbeth," he said. "This was all with his wife, mind you, so I right  
think that he may be slightly rusty?" 
 
"But" oh! His wife, Erestor?" Saelbeth blushed. "He pines away for  
her constantly, you know." 
 
"He pines away, though not for his wife, Saelbeth," replied his  
mentor. "Celebrian gave him leave to find joy in others when she  
left; it is only now that he has become ready to do so. But he will  
not go to the one that has caught his attention, for he fears that if  
his advances were unwanted, his position would place him in an unfair  
advantage." 
 
Erestor shrugged. "And so he sits and waits and pines alone, the very  
object of misery," he continued, and Valar be damned if he was  
pouring it on too thick, because Saelbeth looked just about ready to  
cave. 
 
"Oh how I envy the object of his affections," Saelbeth said  
wistfully, staring across the square at Aragorn and Arwen. The two  
had finally gotten around to kissing, and they looked sweet enough to  
attract all the ants in middle-earth. 
 
Erestor visibly sagged at his pupil's words, trying not to feel too  
disappointed. *By the Gods,* he thought. *Has he learned nothing of  
the ways of the court" Nothing of the observational skills I took so  
many pains to teach him"* 
 
"It's *you*, Saelbeth, he pines for *you*," he said  
exasperatedly. "By the Valar, are you truly so blind?" 
 
Erestor threw up his hands and left the younger adviser where he  
stood, not even bothering to wait for a reply. "All those years spent  
training him-- worthless!" he was heard to cry, and then the archway  
lay empty. 
 
"Me?" said Saelbeth wonderingly, scarcely even noticing that Erestor  
had left. "He pines for *me*?" 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
The sun shone brightly as Orophin wearily made his way to the  
stables. He'd been looking for his lover since his encounter with  
Elladan yesterday afternoon, but he'd not seen hide nor hair of him  
all night.  
 
Dinendal had not seen fit to warm their room with his presence, and  
the marchwarden feared that he'd found some other elf willing to give  
him his deserved treatment. A foolish notion, of course, but one that  
had had plenty of time to fester in his addled state of mind. 
 
He pushed open the door and went inside, intending to feed and brush  
down his precious horse. 
 
"Dinendal!" he exclaimed as he rounded the corner. "Where have you  
been" I have been searching for you since yesterday." 
 
Indeed, the elf was leaning against the wooden door of Indil's pen,  
feeding Rumil's horse listlessly. "I have been" thinking," Dinendal  
replied evasively. "What did you wish to speak to me of, Orophin?" 
 
"I, that is," Orophin stuttered now, suddenly losing all his  
practiced speeches. "Dinendal, please?" 
 
The marchwarden looked up, finally meeting his lover's eyes for the  
first time. "What is it, Orophin?" he asked, and though his voice  
held no heat, neither did it hold any other emotion.  
 
It was as if the fight had gone out of him, and Orophin could not  
bear that. He took the two steps into the penn and threw himself at  
Dinendal's feet, wrapping his arms about the warden's waist. "My  
love, I am so sorry," he whispered. "No words can excuse what I did"  
You were right in that I still had thoughts of Elladan, and by the  
Valar they let me receive him into my bed. But Dinendal, all I  
thought of was *you*. For all that you said, you let me go, you let  
me find out" Dinendal, it is you that I love, I know that now." 
 
And Dinendal's arms went around him, squeezing briefly and reassuring  
him. "Orophin, I forgive you," he sighed, drawing up the elf to stand  
before him. "And yes, I still love you with all my heart. But I  
cannot be with you; things cannot return to what they once were." 
 
Orophin's face fell. "Are you so willing to bid me goodbye?" he asked  
tearfully, searching his lover's eyes. "Well I know the wrongness of  
my actions, but if I could but have one more chance I would never  
stray again." 
 
But Dinendal shook his head. "It is difficult, old friend," he  
said. "For we were comrades before ever being what we are now. I know  
you too well; you would not have found the need to tarry with Elladan  
if there had been nothing wrong between us.' 
 
"I have had many lovers, but you were my one Love," Dinendal  
continued. "It is only you that can hurt me so deeply. Let me time to  
heal, Orophin, heal and think. You surely cannot begrudge me that." 
 
Orophin bowed his head. "Nay, indeed I cannot," he said. "If this  
time away from you be punsihment for my actions, then I shall bear  
it. I love you, Dinendal, and I wait til you find it in yourself to  
love me once more." 
 
The warden embraced him in thanks, touching his forhead to his now- 
past lover. "Goodbye, Orophin," he whispered, and brushed his lips  
against the other elf's. 
 
And then Dinendal turned and left the stable, leaving Orophin alone  
in the dim light. 
 
 


*CHAPTER NINE*



It feels empty, Legolas of Mirkwood thought, looking at the medal that
lay in the palm of his hand. The archery competition had come and gone
with the sun's rising and setting, and he had won the prize with little
effort. This year's major players had all been waylaid, after all, and
those left had not the skill yet to match his own.

"And it seems that I must again learn something from this tangled
game," he sighed, pocketing the heavy disk. "Father would be proud to
hear me speak of matters thus; he was also one to preach nigh the
consequences of one's actions?"


Legolas nodded to the elves who scrabbled for his attention, smiling
briefly as they offered their congratulations. 

"A breath-taking match," one she-elf said as she curtsied. "I have not
seen such a wide margin between competitors in many ages."

The prince again forced a smile, but his heart was not in it. He had
perhaps won the honor he had sought to attain, but alas; what was the
prize without the chase"

"Congratulations, Legolas," smiled Elladan, pushing his way through the
throng. "I apologise that I could not make it to the actual match, but
I was otherwise occupied."

"Well I know of your occupation, though I take your praise in the
spirit that it was intended," sighed Legolas. "Tell me, prince: how
goes your own hunt?"

Elladan clasped the other elf's arm and led him away from the
disappointed crowd. "Not well," he confessed. "For though I managed to
persuade him to my bed, it seems that he still wishes for Dinendal's
company. I have not seen him since our dalliance."

Legolas pursed his lips. "And are you now satisfied?" he asked. "You
have torn them apart and still have nothing to show for your schemes.
Pray tell, Elladan; have you learned something from your plots" Will
you now leave the marchwardens be?"

The prince fell out of step at Legolas" words, crossing his arms across
his chest. "You speak as if I intended to cause Orophin hurt," he said.
"I did not wish either of them harm, I only--"

"Only what?" interrupted Legolas. "What *did* you intend, Elladan" Did
you honestly think that you could win Orophin back without hurting
anyone in the process" Or did you simply not think things through" I
find that hard to believe" you are far too knowledgeable to not have
weighed every option available."

"Stay your tongue," Elladan said hotly, but the other prince would not
have it, would not hear any more. 

"No. I have tired of listening to you, Elladan," Legolas continued.
"You were too selfish to care about anyone else but yourself, and in my
blind loyalty I happily went along with everything you told me to do. I
am as much to blame in Dinendal's grief as you, and I am disgusted with
myself for letting you draw me into your scheme!"

He turned away from his friend then, pulling away when Elladan tried to
grasp his arm. "Leave me be," he all but snapped. "I do not wish to
speak to you now."

And with that, Legolas left Elladan standing in the hall, mouth hanging
open in shock.



***



Aragorn stood in the alcove of the dining hall, watching the elves
bustle around the room. The final feast of the celebration would be
held here tonight, and practically every member of the staff worked at
getting everything just *so*. 

The man of course held no illusions as to what the driving force behind
this perfectionist streak was, for it was this very force that he now
waited for.

"Nay, Erestor, do not have them put the fruits there," Arwen cried out
in an exasperated manner. "That is where the musicians are, and the
floor must be free for the dancers!"

The old adviser discreetly rolled his eyes, ushering back the four
servants who were lifting the long dessert table. "For Valar's sake,"
he moaned. "The dancers do not need to see the musicians while the
dance-- I am certain no one will mind even if the desserts lie between
them!"

"It must be perfect, Erestor," explained Arwen patiently, before
turning back to the two rather burly elves hefting the wine caskets.
"Oh, those must go beside the salad buffet. Near the flower arrangement
please!"

She scurried from one end of the hall to the other, her small white
hands gesticulating wildly as one of the silk streamers unravelled from
its pillar-perch. 

Aragorn sighed; he"d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire
life"

"Estel" What are you doing here?" Hazed out into pleasant daydreams
involving the evenstar and a secluded spot by the lake, Aragorn failed
to notice when the very object of his affections strode toward him with
a determined smile.

"My lady," he blushed, mentally pulling himself together. "I was, uh,
simply" looking for something to eat?""

Arwen smiled indulgently. "The kitchens lie on the opposite end of the
hall," she said. "Are you *quite* sure you"re all right, Estel?"

Aragorn nodded dumbly, his voice having suddenly decided to desert him.

"As you will," shrugged the elf, and before she turned to go leaned in
to kiss him gently on the cheek. "I shall have all the time to pry your
secrets from you later?"

The simple act spurred the man into action, and before Arwen could
fully step away Aragorn grasped her hand and dropped to his knee,
gazing soulfully into her eyes.

"Your hand," Aragorn stammered out, squeezing her hand so hard she
heard her knuckles crack. "I came to beg for your hand?"

*My, isn"t he moving a bit fast?"* thought Arwen dizzily, feeling faint
as she gazed down into the man's earnest face. "My hand?"" she asked.

"You are the light that guides the evening to its rightful place,
Undomiel," Aragorn said solemnly. "I would be honored if you let me
accompany you to the celebration tonight?"

"Accompany?"" the realization hit her rather abruptly, and Arwen
Undomiel-- the evenstar of her people, the most beautiful being that
had ever walked Arda since Luthien Tinuviel herself-- laughed loudly
and in a decidedly unladylike manner. Not quite the errant marriage
proposal she"d thought, but still quite a lovely invitation from her
young suitor. 

"You need not even ask, Estel," Arwen said, gently caressing the man's
cheek. "Of course I shall accompany you tonight."

She drew him to his feet and impishly ruffled his stringy dark hair
before turning back to the dining hall. Aragorn rubbed his cheek where
she had kissed him earlier, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"She likes me," he said giddily. "She truly likes me."

"That she does, my son," came the deep voice from behind him, and
Aragorn jumped nearly a foot into the air.

"Ada?" he swallowed, eyes widening as he beheld the rather imposing
figure his father cut into the alcove.

"I have wanted to speak with you for several days now," Elrond said,
putting a gentle but firm hand on his adopted son's shoulder. "Come to
my study; we must talk a while."

"Of course, father," Aragorn said, his heart sinking in his chest.
Somehow, he quite thought he could guess the direction their
conversation would take"



***



Rumil of Lorien glared at his reflection in the large oak mirror,
wondering if the single braid he had coaxed the flaxen strands into was
too plain.

He was not much in the mood for a feast (to say nothing of the dancing
afterwards), and Orophin was of no help whatsoever. His brother was too
wrapped in his own problems to even acknowledge Rumil's presence, much
less offer advice in courtly appearance.

There was a soft knock on his door and the elf absently called for it
open. He assumed that it was Orophin, and so was decidedly surprised
when Glorfindel entered his chambers.

"My lord," Rumil said, half rising from his seat. "I did not expect
you?"

Glorfindel smiled. "So it appears, Rumil," he said. "Expecting someone
else, perhaps?"

Rumil blushed at the warrior's tone, highly aware that he was on rather
unstable ground. Their previous conversation had taken a turn he did
not expect, and time had proved that he was more the fool. His
embarassment in the other's presence was more than understandable, for
Valar knew that one did not simply go throwing themselves at the Lord
Glorfindel of Imladris for amusement.

"Nay, my brother only," he said. "I had hoped Orophin would tell me
what decorations were suitable for so high a feast, but" it would seem
that he has been preoccupied. It is in times like this that I wish our
elder brother were here-- Haldir always knew what was appropriate for
every occasion."

Glorfindel smiled. "You look well enough to my eyes, Rumil," he said.
"Though if you added two on either side, it would stand more on the
ceremony required."

Rumil turned back to the mirror, nodding. "Yes, I do remember Haldir
saying something about that" warrior braids to state my station," he
said. "Though I do not care much for formality, I suppose I must change
to suit our host's request."

The marchwarden turned away from the other elf and pointedly busied
himself with his braids, but Glorfindel moved behind him and so met his
eyes in the mirror.

"I did not come simply to give you advice regarding etiquette, Rumil,"
he said somewhat cheekily. "I come also to ask a favor."

"Of what kind?" asked Rumil sharply, his hands stilling their task.

"The kind that seeks your company at tonight's feast," answered
Glorfindel. "I am required to attend, though I have no one I wish to
take except you. Bear this in mind, for you would wound my reputation
deeply if I go alone."

Rumil chuckled in spite of himself, amused at the lord's melodrama.
"Then you must indeed have your reputation wounded for I have no
intention of going with you, my lord," he said. "Our discussion earlier
caused me no comfort, and I am" afraid" to spend more time in
conversation with you."

"You cut me to the quick, fair warden," Glorfindel said. "For all I
have sought from you is peace" I swear upon my honor that I shall not
speak to you tonight, but we shall dance and look upon each other with
fey eyes. Will that change your mind?"

"Do not speak so foolishly," sighed Rumil. "My mind is made up, fair
lord; I go alone and dine alone. Please" honor my choice."

The old warrior bowed slightly, hiding the color in his cheeks. "I have
said before that I would not force you, Rumil; that I would wait til
you were fit," he said. "I would not dream of dishonoring your choice."

Glorfindel walked stiffly to the door, pausing a moment before turning
the golden knob.

"By the by, marchwarden," he said. "You would do well to dress in a
tunic of gold tonight."

Rumil looked up from his braid. "And why is that, my lord?"

"It will match my own," replied Glorfindel. "That is" if you change
your mind."

And he left Rumil to his thoughts.



***



Night had fallen by the time Aragorn was released from his father's
chambers, his thoughts awhirl with everything that had been said.

His actions were swift and mechanical as he dressed and readied himself
for Arwen's banquet, automatically reaching out to pluck a white rose
on his way to the hall.

"My daughter has been my pride for centuries past. She is the light of
Imladris, the evening star of her people," Elrond had told him. "If you
love her, you must win her. Only after you have served your people will
you have proven your worth, my son."

"And how shall I serve my people, father?" Aragorn had asked, eyes
wide.

Elrond had looked at him steadily, his dark eyes glinting in the dim
light. "You know what it is that I ask of you, Estel," he said. "You
know what blood runs in your veins."

And Aragorn had nodded, turned away, walked with his chin held high to
his chambers" where he proceeded to vomit spasmodically in his bathing
room. 

When Elrond had first told him of his heritage he was but a young man.
He had come of age, true, but in his heart he was full of wild dreams
and grand adventures. His destiny had been such a faraway fantasy; all
the glory and honor was his, yet he needed not think about how actually
to go about it just yet. But now"

Now Elrond had just bade him earn his title. Had just told him that he
could not be with Arwen Undomiel until he had done just so.

Aragorn breathed deeply of the night air and briefly closed his eyes.
For a moment he wondered if the evenstar was worth the hardships he
would surely endure in the coming days. She was a lady that he barely
knew, after all, and though he had never seen so beautiful a creature
before, he did not think it right to alter the course of his life for
the sake of beauty alone.

"I have not yet chosen that path," he whispered. "I have not yet chosen
to be their King."

It was curious indeed, Aragorn though grimly, to have lived one's life
knowing that he had the power to save the world of men and suddenly
finding out that he had no choice in the matter. For all his outward
joy at finding the truth of his lineage, the truth of the matter was
that he also reveled in the fact that he could choose *not* to fulfill
it. 

"Free will," he sighed. "Is ever the bane of Men."

Aragorn stopped outside of the grand hall's archway, blending into the
shadowy alcove with ease. He knew that he yet had the choice to refuse
his destiny and live his life in peace, but to do so meant being parted
from his love. 

"But is her worth so high?" he asked himself, peering into the large
chamber. "This may well be the last feast I see if I am to follow my
destiny" Is my lady such a prize?"

He caught sight of her at the far end of the hall, speaking with her
brother Elrohir. Arwen's dark hair fairly glittered in the candlelight,
and her pale hands were calmly clasped before her. Aragorn found
himself watching the pale line of her throat, smiling as she laughed at
some small joke that Elrohir had made. 

He had half moved into the arch before he realized he was stepping
forward, his feet drawing him to Arwen as if on strings. Aragorn caught
himself before he emerged into the circle of light, but the evenstar
had caught his movement and seen him.

Elrohir nodded at him in greeting and escorted his sister to the man's
side. "We were wondering what was keeping you, penneth," he said,
smiling. "But you are here and washed, so I assume nothing went overly
wrong?"

Aragorn shook his head, taking Arwen's hand and offering her the white
rose he had plucked. "Nothing too worrisome, Elrohir," he said. "I
apologise for my lateness, my lady."

"You needn"t apologise for a scant few minutes, Estel," Arwen replied,
taking the flower. "I was happy to keep Elrohir company, as he seems to
be in attendance alone tonight."

"Not by choice, I assure you," her brother hastened to say. "And though
I am pleased to see you to your escort, I shall take my leave now; I
see Elladan has arrived alone as well."

Aragorn laughed softly as he watched both twins move towards the wine
table. "They shall never change," he said. "And I am glad of it."

Arwen looked at him curiously, tilting her head to look into his eyes.
"There is something different about you," she said. "Though I cannot
yet place it. Tell me, Estel; what change has come about?"

"I" I would speak with you later, my lady," Aragorn said. "If you would
allow me the honor of conversation in private. It" is a matter to be
discussed at length."

"Now I *am* intrigued," said Arwen cheekily. "But if you will have us
speak later, then it is to the west gardens we must away. I trust the
final hours will afford us many opportunities to leave unnoticed."

The man nodded. "That is best, my lady," he said. "For now, though"
would you care to dance?"



***



Orophin arrived at the feast shortly after that clock passed nine, his
lateness borne from waiting for the errant Dinendal in the halls. 

He had hoped to accompany his old lover to the grand chamber, but the
other warden had seemed to disappear from Imaldris" halls. Indeed,
Orophin found himself wondering if Dinendal would arrive at all; so
late was the hour already.

He spotted Rumil sulking near the large entrance, cautiously peering
from behind a potted plant.

"Rumil, what are you doing?" Orophin asked, folding his arms across his
chest.

His brother jumped slightly at the sound, glaring at him when he saw
who it was. "Lower your voice," he snapped. "Can you not see I am
feigning quiet?"

Orophin smiled. "No, I see my elder skulking behind a potted plant," he
said. "What in all of arda are you doing?"

The warden sighed and emerged from behind the plant, circumspectly
smoothing out his tunic. "Are you color blind as well?" he asked. "Can
you not see the hue of my tunic?"

"It's golden, Rumil," Orophin replied, exasperated. "What of it?"

Rumil tossed his silver head in what was most likely supposed to be a
superior fashion. "You would not understand," he sniffed. "And thus I
leave you to your own devices. Good evening, brother."

And he walked into the hall with the air of someone being marched to
his doom.

Orophin shook his head, watching open-mouthed as his brother was
immediately joined by a similarly clad Glorfindel of the Golden Flower.
The lord slipped an arm about the blushing Rumil and lead him to a
corner table, their golden tunics glittering in the candlelight.

"Well," he said. "It would appear that some of us have been keeping
secrets?"

"Some more than others, I suppose," an all-too familiar voice behind
him said. "Orophin" may I speak with you a moment?"

The warden did not move, did not even bother to turn his head. "You may
do as you like, my prince," he said. "Though I thought that you had
already gone inside."

Elladan shrugged. "I came outside after I spied you skulking," he said,
and Orophin smiled gamely.

"Very well, what did you wish to speak to me of?"

"It is not easy for me to say this, but" I wished to apologise," said
Elladan. "Our affair was brought on by my treachery, and for all my
efforts your heart still remained with Dinendal. It was" brought to my
attention" that my actions were deeply unjust, and that you deserved to
know of my deliberate plots."

"Orophin, even now I still want you, but I am determined to make my
peace," Elladan continued, looking down. "I am truly sorry for causing
you trouble, and I am sorrier that Dinendal has left you because of
it."

The warden was silent for a long time, carefully looking at the prince
who had been his friend for so many years. 

"Elladan, I know you too well," he sighed. "I know you meant no great
harm in it. It is almost flattering, really, to have a prince go to
such great lengths to win my favor. After all, kissing prince Legolas
must've been excruciating for you."

Elladan's head snapped up. "You knew?" he cried, outraged. "And you let
me keep up that embarassing charade at the feast?"

Orophin laughed. "Nay, I did not know yet at the time," he said.
"Though as the days passed, your scheme became more transparent. That
is why I left you after we" met" in my chambers. I realized I did not
wish to be with you, even after all you had done to win me."

The warden touched his forhead to the prince, smiling gently. "I shall
always love you, Elladan," he said. "Though not in the way you would
like. Be at peace, and know that I forgive you."

Elladan smiled gratefully. "Thank you, my friend," he said. "And you
have my word that I shall no longer meddle in your affairs."

"I would certainly hope so," said Orophin, releasing him. "But now I
believe I must join the feast; Dinendal seems to have no intent to come
tonight, and I grow weary of standing outside."

Elladan nodded. "Go ahead," he said. "I shall wait awhile."

The prince leaned against the polished marble wall as Orophin left, his
lips stretching into a small smile. One last plot, then, and it would
be over.

"I trust you heard it clearly?" he said, raising his voice slightly.

"We heard," said Legolas. He emerged from the shadows with Dinendal in
tow, the warden looking as impassive as ever.

"I meant every word," said Elladan, meeting Dinendal's eyes squarely.
"I am sorry for causing you grief, marchwarden. It was not my place to
do so."

"Aye. It was not," said Dinendal, drawing himself up in his flowing
robes. "But your apology is accepted, prince, for it seems that you
have learned your lesson."

He bent slightly at the waist, bowing in turn to Legolas and then
Elladan, before walking into the alcove they had just come from.

"Dinendal, wait," Elladan called. "Are you not going in the wrong
direction" Orophin went inside the hall."

"I have forgiven you, my prince, and not Orophin," Dinendal said, not
turning around. "He knows that I am not yet ready, though he certainly
hopes otherwise. We shall not speak of this again."

And he left the two princes in the hall.



*** 



Elladan sighed. "I suppose I cannot undo everything," he said. "Though
I had hoped he would forgive him."

"Nay, it is enough that you tried," said Legolas. "For the blame of
Orophin's betrayal was not in you alone, but in his indecision. One
day, when they are both ready, their love will be the stronger for
being tested thus."

"I hope so," said Elladan. "I do not wish to see any more grief in
those two."

The prince smiled. "There is yet hope for your character, my friend,"
Legolas said. "I am proud of you."

Elladan turned to his friend, feigning surprise. "Proud" Of me?" he
asked. "Are you quite sure?"

Legolas shook his head and pulled him into the hall. "It is rapidly
wanning, Elladan," he said. "So we must boost my good favor by drinking
vast quantities of wine."

The prince laughed. "Now that is something I am *quite* skilled with."



***



It was midnight when Aragorn bent to kiss his lady's hand. "I shall
wait for you in the appointed place, my love," he had whispered, and
Arwen had nodded mutely.

Now the man waited in the west garden, a mere a walls" thickness away
from the din of the feast. Through the scant hours he had spent in
Arwen's company, Aragorn had realized that it was not her beauty that
so drew him to her presence.

They had spoken of everything and nothing, danced through a multitude
of songs and clasped hands as if their very lives depended on it. 

It was the beat of her heart, the thrum of her soul, the answering call
of his spirit; it was love, in everything she said and didn"t say, and
Aragorn knew that she was worth his destiny and more.

"There is no logic," he said, plucking a white rose from a nearby bush.
"No logic at all."

"Nay, for there is no logic to love," Arwen said as she entered the
small clearing. "Only destiny and a light to match your own."

The man stood from his perch, the white rose forgotten in his hand as
he gazed upon his lady. Bathed in moonlight and straying into the
darkened path as if from a dream, Arwen stood before him with a gentle
smile upon her lips.

"My lady," he whispered. "I am blinded by your beauty."

Arwen laughed softly, taking his hand and pulling him close. "I would
have you see again, Estel, that we may walk together," she said.

"My lady," Aragorn said. "I" know not how to form the words, but" what
I feel for you?"

The evenstar nodded, sobering. "It is strange to me, too," she said. "I
have never before felt this" call. It is as if our souls have known
each other and yearn to be together..."

Aragorn brought her pale hand to his lips and kissed it gently,
breathing the soft scent of her perfume. "I did not know it before,
Arwen," he said. "But I know it now. My destiny calls to me, and the
drums that beat in my blood are overshadowed only by your presence."

Arwen brought her hand up to caress his cheek, looking into his eyes.
"Estel, I know of my father's words to you," she said. "And I wish to
tell you that I am yours. Whatever path you take-- whether kingship or
wandering shoesmith-- I shall be with you."

"My lady," Aragorn said, his eyes widening. "You cannot know" I have
not?"

"Nay, worry not, my love," Arwen replied. "You are a good man, and I am
proud to stand by your side."

And her words struck a chord in the man, his ancestry echoing in the
shadows of greatness past. Free will.

"No. I am not yet a good man," Aragorn said, and in his heart he was at
peace. "But I shall be"and I shall earn the right to have you."

"Estel?" Arwen said, her eyes widening slightly. "What are you--"

But the man silenced her with a kiss, drawing her tightly to his chest.


"I would not willingly be parted from you, Undomiel," Aragorn said.
"But I have learned all that I can from within Imladris walls, and I
cannot stay any longer. Arwen" you cannot know how much I?"

And this time it was she who silenced the man with a kiss, wrapping her
white arms about his neck and soothing his fears.

"Worry not, my love," she whispered. "I understand" and I shall wait
for you as long as I must."



***



Glorfindel watched his pupil and the evenstar leave the great chamber
in succession, smiling softly. He knew of the chat Lord Elrond had had
with his son earlier in the day, and he hazarded that he knew what
Aragorn would be speaking to Arwen of. "I have nothing more to teach
you, penneth," he whispered. "At last, you have truly come of age."

His companion watched him curiously from the rim of his wine glass,
eyes thoughtful. "You are proud of him," Rumil said. "Why?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Because he has taken the first step into a
dangerous road," he said. "It is one thing to know that you have a
destiny, Rumil, but quite another to actually fulfill it. I have taught
Estel all that I know, and I am proud that he has made the choice to be
what he was born to be."

Rumil smiled. "You have such great faith in the fates, Glorfindel," he
said. "Do you not ever tire of letting your gut-- your emotions-- be
the cause of your actions" What if one day you are wrong" What happened
to you that makes you put such belief in the Valar?"

"Would that I did not, young one, but my eyes opened when Gondolin
fell," the old warrior replied. "I have been to Valinor and back, I
have watched kings and kingdoms fall. I know fate, and I know when to
listen and let things take their rightful course."

Rumil bit his lip, circling the rim of his glass with the tip of his
finger. "And if the other side was not yet ready to accept his fate?"
he asked. "What then?"

 "Then I shall wait," Glorfindel said easily. "That is the pleasant
thing about fate, you see-- there is no time limit."

The warden frowned. "But what if--!"

Glorfindel pulled Rumil to his chest and onto the floor, twirling the
outraged elf into a deft circle. "I would wait for you until all of
Imladris was but dust and our kin passed into Valinor," he said. "But
tonight" be quiet and dance, Rumil."

And for once, Rumil did exactly as he was told.





*CHAPTER TEN*


The bright sun shone over the courtyard in all her glory, pale yellow
casting light over bustling elves. The galadhrim and the elves of
Lorien alike were preparing to leave that day, and the great hosts were
more than a trifle swayed by last night's consumption of wine.

"And so we pay for our merriment," moaned Orophin, shading his eyes
against the glare of the sun. "Next year I shall gladly leave the wine
goblets be?"

Beside him, Rumil snorted. "That is what you say every year, and every
year you break your oath," he said. "I think it's a perfect day for
riding myself."

"You would certainly think that," replied Orophin. "For I am certain
Lord Glorfindel was a soothing balm to your sleep. Tell me, brother--
did you bed him well?"

Rumil flushed at his brother's crudeness, glaring at him with narrowed
eyes. "It is no business of yours, little brother," he said. "But if
you must know, we did nothing but slumber beside each other. I am not
some animal in heat, and I select my bed fellows with *great* care."

It was Orophin's turn to flush deeply then, for Dinendal stood close
enough to hear. The marchwarden half-turned toward the brothers and
gave them a small smile.

"I do not know if bed fellows claimed are suited to match," Dinendal
said. "But one might say that he who chooses a prince, chooses with
great care indeed."

Rumil snorted rather unbecomingly at that, and he waved them off as he
rode to the head of the host.

"We shall ride in a few moments, and I"ll not have my wardens
distracted," were his parting words. "Make peace before then."

Orophin turned to his lover and chanced a smile, his heart lifting when
the gesture was hesitantly returned.

"I am truly sorry, Dinendal," he said. "I did not intend what
transpired during this feast, and would that I could turn back the
clock to save you from pain."

The warden laughed softly. "I know, old love. And it is well that I may
see some small humor in it now," he said. "For it is the first step
into healing that which was lost."

"Do you mean it?" Orophin exclaimed. "Do you truly love me again?"

But Dinendal shook his head, though the smile did not leave his eyes.
"Nay, Orophin, not yet," he said. "But someday" someday we shall be
together once more."

And he rode off to his station, leaving the other elf with a lighter
heart and smile on his lips.

"I will hold you to that," Orophin said. "Someday, my love."

"You will be mine once more."



***



Rumil did not watch as Lord Celeborn bade his family final farewells.
His final charge was leading the host to Lorien in safety, and the
marchwarden busied himself by checking each of his warriors in turn.

His sharp eyes scanned the elves spread out in strategic positions
surrounding where their Lord would eventually ride, and he frowned
slightly when he saw his brother lagging.

"Awaken to your task," he said to Orophin sharply, and the other elf
nodded.

Rumil rode back to the head of the host as Celeborn finally saw fit to
return to his caravan. "Shall we journey forth, my lord?" he asked.
"Lorien awaits our return."

The Lord nodded. "I have finished my farewells, Rumil," he said with
some amusement. "Though I see you have not yet finished yours."

Rumil opened his mouth to protest, but it snapped shut when he saw
Glorfindel running uncharacteristically down the main staircase.

"You forgot something," Glorfindel said, arriving somewhat breathlessly
at Rumil's horse. He opened the satchel strapped to Indil's side and
placed a rumpled golden tunic inside, giving the elf an apologetic
grin.

"I thought you might miss it," Glorfindel explained. "I found it under
the mattress this morning."

Rumil closed his eyes briefly, making a mental note to shove the shirt
down the guffawing Orophin's throat when they arrived home.

"You have my thanks," he said to the Lord somewhat stiffly. He placed a
hand upon his heart and half-bowed from his perch, executing a farewell
that befitted his station and rank. "Farewell, Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel bowed at the waist as well, smiling slightly. "May your
journey be swift," he said. "Farewell, Rumil."

And Rumil gathered Indil's reigns and galloped her forth-- or he
would've done, had she not reared her legs and tossed him to the
ground.

He fell to the dirt with an undignified thud as Celeborn and the rest
of his wardens watched in amazement-- never before had the fiercely
loyal horse done such a thing.

Glorfindel pulled the startled Rumil to his feet, laughing softly. "It
would appear that Indil has given me a chance to say farewell
properly," he said.

"I've always said she was finicky," Rumil grumbled. "Though I never
thought I would so curse the day that she was."

"She has given me the opportunity and I shall not waste it," Glorfindel
said, touching his forhead to the other elf's and breathing in his
scent. "Farewell, Rumil."

The warden smiled somewhat crookedly, leaning into the warrior's
embrace. "Farewell, Glorfindel," he said. "I shall count the days til
the next feast."

And Rumil kissed him swiftly and softly, as always aware that he
delayed the company's journey. 

When they pulled away the rest of the galadhrim were looking at them
with undisguised smiles, and Erestor shot Glorfindel a knowing look.

Rumil blushed and climbed upon his horse, ruffling the mare's mane for
good measure. "Be satisfied with that," he muttered, and she neighed
brightly in response. 

"Lorien rides," he said, motioning his wardens forth. Ever efficient,
the galadhrim rode forward, each elf keeping perfect pace with the
other.

As they rode rapidly out of sight, however, Rumil spared a look behind
and saw Glorfindel standing tall in the sun. He raised a hand in
farewell and the Lord inclined his head.

"I shall see him again," Rumil said to himself, smiling slightly. "This
is not truly farewell."

And across the field, Glorfindel smiled. "Til we meet again, fair
Rumil."

"I shall be waiting."



***



Legolas made his own farewells of his host and friends, lingering with
Arwen and the twins.

"I trust you shall behave yourself further next year?" he asked Elladan
with a smile.

The other elf shrugged. "I shall, though I doubt you will be here to
see it," he said. "Lethliel's visit by all rights, after all?"

"Aye, I"ll see to that personally," Elrohir said, shaking his head.
"But I wish you a safe journey, my friend, for it was good to see you
nonetheless."

Legolas accepted an embrace from each of them, and he smiled gently
when he reached Arwen's side.

"You were an excellent host, my lady," he said. "I dare say it was one
of the finest celebrations I've ever been to."

Arwen laughed. "No," she said. "But it is kind of you to flatter me so.
You shall be missed, Legolas."

"But where is Estel?" asked the prince. "Surely you've not tired him so
quickly?"

"You are a wicked elf!" Arwen protested, but acquiesced to a swift kiss
on her cheek nonetheless. "Nay, Estel and I" We did not" We simply
spoke..."

The lady's voice trailed off and Legolas cocked his head, sensing her
cheerful mood wan and abruptly disappear.

"My lady?" he murmured, casting a friendly arm about her fair
shoulders. "But what has happened?"

Arwen looked at the prince with tears in her eyes, a wistful smile
playing upon her lips. "He has gone away to search for the Dunedain,"
she said at last. "He goes to meet his destiny."

Legolas smiled understandingly. "Then I would call you both fortunate
to have found such truth in each other," replied Legolas. "For I see in
your eyes that you have grown much in these past few days, and I am
glad for you. The light of love becomes your beauty."

"Thank you, old friend," the evenstar replied, pressing her forhead to
the prince's. "May the Valar grant you safe passage and a swift
journey."

"I will see you again some day," said Legolas, mounting his horse. "Til
next year, my friends."

And thus the prince rode out with his escort, disappearing from the
sight of the children of Elrond.

"Namarie, Legolas," sighed Elladan and Elrohir.

"Namarie, Estel?" sighed Arwen.

And the three returned to the palace, each bearing their own entirely
private thoughts. The feast had come to and end, and thus life turned
to again what it was"



***



Lord Elrond watched as the Mirkwood elves passed through the gates of
Imladris, breathing a small sigh of relief as the last one rode out.

"And there rides the last of them," Saelbeth remarked from beside him,
smiling. "The peace and quiet is infinitely welcome?"

"Indeed," replied Elrond, looking curiously at the adviser. Bright-eyed
and enthusiastic were two traits not oft used to describe Saelbeth, and
the Lord wondered at the change.

"Merely content," the adviser said, as if reading his mind. "Long have
I waited to speak with you about some small thing, and for good or ill
the time has arrived to do so."

"And what small thing might that be?" asked Elrond. This indeed was an
unexpected ripple, as Saelbeth had never before sought his company.

"This," said the elf, and stepped close to the lord and kissed him.

It was a long moment before they each stepped away, and Elrond noted
distantly that Saelbeth looked very nice with a bit of color to his
cheeks.

"Oh," he said.

"Well," answered Saelbeth.

And when the two drew back into the entrance hall, their fingers were
deep intertwined.





*EPILOGUE*



/And it came to pass that middle earth emptied of the first born, the
Lady Arwen bearing her love for Aragorn-- and ultimately her life--
into the unknown heavens of the mortals.

Legolas, it was said, built a ship with the dwarf Gimli to sail to
Valinor, the Undying Lands of his people. He was among the last of the
eldar yet remaining in the world of men, and when he sailed he took
with him those that also stayed behind"/


"It's a beautiful day for sailing, isn"t it, brother?" Elladan asked,
watching as the sun streaked blood across the purple sky.

"I wouldn"t know, and neither would you," replied Elrohir, amused.
"Still" for our first journey on a boat, we have indeed a spectacular
view."

The prince grinned at his brother, stretching one hand in farewell to
the shores of Men. "It was a good place," he said. "I shall miss it
dearly."

"Aye," Elrohir replied, and there were tears in his eyes when he spoke.
"Though I will miss our sister most of all."

Elladan was silent for a time, reaching to his twin and gripping his
hand tightly. "It's just as well, I suppose," he said. "She would never
have wanted to go on without him. Their love was much too strong for
even death to part them?"

Elrohir smiled gently. "It is fitting then, that we should now bear one
of our kin to his own match," he sighed. "For theirs is a love that was
parted by life, not death, and it is time they reconciled."

His brother nodded, chuckling softly. "Aye," he said. "And if only
either had not been so bull-headed in the first place, mayhap they
would've reconciled sooner."

Elrohir shook his head, turning away from the shores and into the
setting sun. 

They were going home.



***



The journey to Valinor lasted many weeks yet, and the small crew of
elves were tested time and again by both the seas and their own wills.

But Legolas had journeyed with the staunchest, the bravest, and the
wisest of his kind remaining, (for none were left, after all), and thus
they did not give in to the elements.

The soft sands of the Undying Lands were a welcome sight to the weary
travelers, and the prince of Mirkwood alighted upon Valinor with peace
in his heart.

Of his companions, the twins Elladan and Elrohir were welcomed by a
tearful mother, and Saelbeth welcomed by an amorous liege.

Dinendal, the last of the galadhrim to leave middle earth, alighted
last from the ship, gazing in wonder at the beauty surrounding him.

Among the well wishers that welcomed the elves was Rumil of Lorien, for
he and his brothers had journeyed here many years before. With him was
Orophin also, and though Dinendal did not go to him, they met on the
sands anyway.

Dinendal had waited many years for this moment, waited for so long that
longing had replaced the pain, joy shining through sorrow.

Orophin held up a hand to touch his cheek, and this time the warden did
not flinch. 

"Do you love me now?" Orophin asked, and Dinendal answered with a
smile.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I believe I do."



*fin*