Title: The Feast of Midsummer 
Author: Trinity Helix 
Feedback: Everything to trinity_cross@yahoo.com 
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all. 
Archive: Yes to everyone, as long as the .txt file is intact.  
Website url, and all. :) 
Website: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan (my Lotr art and fiction  
site) 
Warnings: NC-17 (will be), Slash, Het 
Cast/Pairings: Legolas, Rumil, Orophin, Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor,  
Glorfindel, Dinendal, Aragorn/Arwen, Saelbeth/Elrond 
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. 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 
 
 
 
--------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
 
 
 
 
*PROLOGUE* 
 
 
It was a bittersweet thing, the Lord of Imladris reflected, to  
celebrate the harvest of Midsummer. His wife had departed for the  
sea more than four hundred years ago on this very day, and  Elrond  
idly wondered if any of his offspring had remembered the occasion. 
 
Looking down at his white-knuckled hands, he closed his eyes and  
reminded himself that this was a time for celebration. Indeed, many  
of their woodland kin would be arriving for the festivities  
tomorrow, and the succeeding month that Arwen had planned would be  
cause for much merriment. 
 
Midsummer was akin to their year's end in the grandeur of its  
celebration; the first born were much attuned to nature, and their  
praise of it was second to none. 
 
Elrond wearily rubbed at his temples. Pain radiated in his chest  
whenever he thought of Celebrian, and though it no longer bore the  
same sharpness after four hundred years, it hurt him nonetheless. 
 
"Ai, meleth-nin," he sighed. 
 
So lost was the lord in his reverie that he started violently when a  
small hand touched his shoulder. 
 
"We miss her, too, ada…" 
 
Elrond blinked in surprise as his daughter and sons came to stand  
beside him on the balcony.  
 
"Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir…" he said. "I thought you'd…" 
 
"Forgotten?" His only daughter smiled gently. "Never, ada." 
 
The three elves joined their father at the railing, gazing up at the  
moon and remembering the woman who waited for them across the sea. 
 
"She would be pleased at how well you have assumed her tasks,"  
Elrond said after a time, smiling down at Arwen. "She would've been  
pleased with all of you." 
 
Elladan nodded somberly. "It will be a good summer, ada," he  
said. "And she will wait for all of us in Valinor." 
 
He saw his twin's jaw tighten slightly at the words, and Elladan  
knew that his thoughts had returned to the events that had caused  
their mother to flee. Both princes had ceased their orc hunts years  
ago, but it was a pang that caused occasional bitterness nonetheless. 
 
Arwen felt the tension rise and quickly interceded, placing a hand  
on either twin's back. They relaxed visibly under her touch,  
coloring slightly at having to be chided by their younger sister. 
 
"It is a beautiful night, father," she said to Elrond. "Will you not  
join the guests inside?" 
 
The lord smiled slightly. "It is enough for an elder to sit by  
himself on a night such as this," he said. "The young should not  
fret; go and rejoin the feast with my blessing. It is enough that  
you came." 
 
Arwen looked as if she was about to say something, but changed her  
mind and embraced him instead. "We shall, father," she said. 
 
Elladan and Elrohir followed her as she left, offering small smiles  
as they went. "Good night, ada." 
 
"Good night," Elrond replied.  
 
Elrond looked up at the harvest moon above him, watching it halo a  
faint silver in the depthless sky. If legend had been told true, the  
ring would've been an omen of good fortune; a foretelling of  
bountiful harvest and pleasant things to come. 
 
"The Valar's blessing," he murmured, smiling slightly. 
 
Elrond sat down with a lighter heart, watching the moon as it  
traveled across the sky.  
 
"It will be a good year." 
 
 
 
 
*CHAPTER ONE* 
 
 
"Estel! Come join us!" 
 
Aragorn paused at the dining chamber's entrance, watching the twins  
wave at him. "I am already late for my lesson with Glorfindel," he  
said, shaking his head. "I fear he would have me by the throat if I  
made him wait any longer." 
 
Elladan rolled his eyes. "Surely he cannot mean for you to miss the  
most important meal of the day," he said. "Come and sit with us--  
Elrohir will make your excuses for you later." 
 
The aforementioned twin grinned, lifting a particularly enticing  
platter of mixed fruit and sweet bread. In spite of himself, Aragorn  
felt his mouth water; he was a man fast-approaching adulthood after  
all, and he needed all the nourishment he could get. 
 
"Just a little," he relented. Steeling himself, Aragorn stepped  
through the alcove… 
 
…and stopped so quickly his worn leather boots squeaked against the  
marble. 
 
Arwen. Her back was to him and his vision slightly obscured by the  
potted plants that decorated the chambers, but it was she  
nonetheless. She'd been sitting with her brothers all along, Aragorn  
realized, noting with some resentment that Elladan and Elrohir were  
shaking with silent laughter. 
 
He carefully turned around, hoping that she'd not yet seen him… 
 
"Estel?" her soft voice had taken a lilting quality to it, and the  
man froze in mid-step. "Won't you be joining us?" 
 
Aragorn bit his lip and turned around, pasting a nervous smile on  
his face. "Good morning, Arwen," he said, his voice cracking only  
slightly. "Of.. of course I'll join you." 
 
And, glaring daggers at the twins, he took a seat beside the maiden  
who held his heart. 
 
 
*** 
 
 
Elladan almost laughed out loud as their adopted brother dropped his  
fork for the fourth time in a row. Beside him, Elrohir was shaking  
with the effort to contain himself. 
 
Aragorn had begun behaving strangely a few months ago; suddenly  
prone to dropping his things, walking into walls, and generally  
tripping over his own feet. The twins had grown increasingly worried  
about his condition and, taking it upon themselves to "cure" their  
brother's ailment, had opted to follow him around for several days. 
 
After much observation, they realized that the cause had, simply  
enough, been their newly-arrived younger sister. She had gone to  
live in Lothlorien with their grandmother for the past two decades,  
and as such Aragorn's first glimpse of her had been when she  
returned a few months ago. Smitten by her great beauty, the man had  
then gone and fallen foolishly in love.  
 
Elladan stifled a snort of laughter as Aragorn choked on his juice,  
miserably spilling a bit of it on his leather jerkin. 
 
Beside him, Elrohir rolled his eyes. King-of-all-Men or not, Estel  
was *still* his little brother, and he clearly didn't know the first  
thing about women. 
 
Fortunately, he was saved from vainly trying to educate him by  
Glorfindel's abrupt arrival at the dining hall. 
 
"Estel!" he bellowed. "I've been waiting for you for the past half  
hour; where on earth have you been?" 
 
Aragorn bit his lip, wincing slightly. "I was just having breakfast,  
sir," he muttered, getting to his feet. 
 
"It was our fault, Glorfindel," Elrohir offered. "We made him listen  
to our stories at breakfast…" 
 
"Not a word from you, Elrohir," snapped the tutor, turning to  
Aragorn. "You should've learned to block out their drivel by now!" 
 
Both twins began to protest indignantly at that, but Glorfindel had  
already put a firm hand on Aragorn's shoulder and was steering him  
out of the hall. 
 
"Glorfindel, please don't be harsh with him." 
 
At the sound of Arwen's voice, the tutor glanced back at the  
table. "And why would that be, Undomiel?" he asked, though his voice  
had taken a slightly softer tone. 
 
Arwen glared at her brothers before turning back to Glorfindel. "He  
was here at my request," she said. "We were… in the middle of  
discussing how he could help with the Midsummer competitions next  
week." 
 
Glorfindel lifted his chin. "I see," he said. "Then might I request  
that the next time you wish to recruit my pupil, you do so when he  
is *not* due to have lessons with me?" 
 
Arwen nodded fervently. "It won't happen again," she said, and  
Glorfindel steered a dejected Aragorn out of the hall. 
 
She glared at the now silent twins, shaking her head  
imperiously. "When you two decide to stop picking on him, let me  
know," she sniffed, pushing back her chair and sweeping from the  
room. 
 
Elrohir scratched his head.  
 
"It is one thing to have the child fall in love," he said. "But if  
Arwen falls right back, we're bound to have a rather interesting  
tangle." 
 
Elladan snickered. "Tangle indeed--I simply cannot *wait* for father  
to find out," he said. "Estel had better learn Glorfindel's combat  
lessons well." 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
The Mirkwood guests arrived later that day with little fanfare, the  
small group of ten serving only as token representatives to ease  
cool alliances. Though both houses were free of conflict, old biases  
could never truly be forgotten; Thranduil himself had never been  
present for the midsummer feasts. 
 
Idly, Elrond wondered which of his sons the King of Mirkwood would  
send; it had been Legolas last year, and the lord would bet a case  
of his best wine that the younger son, Lethliel, would be having his  
turn. 
 
He swept downstairs to greet them just as they began to dismount,  
his advisers Erestor and Saelbeth in tow. As they reached the elves,  
however, Elrond noted with no small surprise that it was prince  
Legolas who stood before him. 
 
"Greetings, Lord Elrond," said the prince, offering a warm hand. "We  
bring both gifts and apologies from the King; he regrets that he  
himself could not make it this year." 
 
*Nor any other year,* Elrond mentally added, but his smile was  
genuine when he took Legolas' hand. "You are most welcome here,  
Prince Legolas," he said. "It is with great pleasure I bid you all a  
fine midsummer." 
 
"Fine midsummer," a voice snorted above. "What with Legolas hogging  
all the arrows at the competition last year, we were hoping Lethliel  
would've come instead!" 
 
Elrond's head snapped up as he turned to glare at Elladan grinning  
above them, his legs dangling from the railing. 
 
Legolas laughed. "You're only sore because I won," he called. 
 
Elladan laughed as well, jumping down and landing in a crouch in  
front of the prince. "It's good to see you," he grinned, and the two  
friends embraced tightly. 
 
Elrond shook his head in annoyed amusement. "Where is your brother  
and sister?" he asked, a hint of displeasure coloring his voice. "I  
would've liked them to meet the guests." 
 
"I am certain they are quite busy," said Legolas good-naturedly. "I  
heard tell that Arwen was planning the festivities this year, and  
she needn't bother herself with having to meet us." 
 
"Perhaps," said Elrond, though he did not look convinced. "But where  
is Elrohir? Surely he cannot be busy with the festivities as well…" 
 
"I'm here, father!" came a harried voice from atop the stairs. "I  
was helping Glorfindel with Estel's lessons…" 
 
He dropped down beside Elladan a few seconds later, out of breath  
and quite red. 
 
"Oh!" he exclaimed, when he saw Legolas. "If I had known it was  
*you* coming, I wouldn't have bothered!" 
 
"Elrohir!" said Elrond sharply, appalled at his son's lack of  
manners. 
 
"It's quite all right, my Lord," Legolas said, laughing. He stepped  
forward and embraced Elrohir as he had Elladan, shaking his head. 
 
"Lethliel couldn't make it, but he sends his love," he grinned,  
watching as Elrohir sighed. 
 
"Tell him to send himself next year," the prince said. "I haven't  
seen him in *ages*." 
 
Elrond threw his hands up; expecting a formal meeting between the  
two houses whenever their sons were involved was hopeless. "Legolas,  
the twins will show you all to your quarters; consider everything we  
have as yours," he said. "Elladan, Elrohir-- behave yourselves." 
 
"As we always do, ada," they chorused, and the Lord rolled his eyes. 
 
He moved towards the staircase, leaving Erestor to deal with the  
arrangements while Saelbeth trailed behind him at a respectful  
distance. 
 
"It is like this every year," the adviser sighed, and Elrond turned  
to him and smiled. 
"And if only their fathers could be so friendly," he said." A great  
many disputes would've long been avoided…" 
 
Saelbeth smiled back. "Perhaps, my lord," he said, and Elrond nodded  
in satisfaction. 
 
"…but I highly doubt it," the adviser continued under his breath,  
much too quietly for the lord to hear. 
 
But he heard Elrond's unmistakable snicker up ahead and, coloring  
slightly, Saelbeth remembered that his Lord did indeed have an  
excellent sense of hearing. 
 
 
 
 
*CHAPTER TWO* 
 
 
 
The prince of Mirkwood was lounging by the opulent fireplace that  
graced his assigned chambers, thoughtfully gazing into the dancing  
flames. 
 
Elrohir's disappointment had been expected, as Lethliel and he were  
lovers whenever time and duties allowed. Valar knew that Legolas had  
had to grovel before his sibling had finally agreed to give up his  
place, and even then Lethliel had exacted a high toll. 
 
The prince sighed. 
 
Outer rim border patrols for the next three months were *not* going  
to be an enjoyable experience. 
 
A soft knock on his door roused him from his reverie, Elladan's  
somewhat husky voice sounding through. 
 
"Legolas! Open, quickly," he hissed, as the prince sprang to his  
feet and released the lock. 
 
The heavy oak door swung open with alarming force, winding Legolas  
as he caught the brunt of the blow with his chest. He sank down to  
the floor, wheezing. 
 
"Oh, for Valar's sake!" Elladan slammed the door as quickly as he  
had opened it, grabbing the prince's arm and hauling him up as he  
went. "Stop playing, Legolas; we don't have time for this!" 
 
Legolas yanked his arm away, glaring at his friend through  
gasps. "You-- have no-- appreciation for me," he  
wheezed. "Whatsoever. I should've let-- Lethliel come instead." 
 
Elladan rolled his eyes. "Oh, how you *do* go on," he sighed  
impatiently. "The other guests will be arriving tomorrow-- the  
*Galadhrim* will be arriving tomorrow!" 
 
The prince sighed. "You know that I would never have agreed to come  
if I didn't owe you," he said. "If you hadn't saved my wardens last  
spring--" 
 
Elladan smiled. "But you *do* owe me, Legolas," he said. "And it's  
not as if I was asking for so much!" 
 
Legolas shook his head. "I have many duties to attend to in  
Mirkwood," he said. "And you cause your brother discomfort by  
preventing *my* brother from coming." 
 
"Has anyone ever told you that you've become your father?" Elladan  
asked in disgust, throwing himself face down on the prince's  
bed. "If you didn't want to help me you could've just made some  
silly excuse and gone and sent Lethliel instead." 
 
"I gave you my *word*," said Legolas, exasperated. "'Any boon that  
is in my power to grant'. I do not offer these words lightly, though  
I must admit I did not know you would squander such a favor on  
something so... petty."  
 
Elladan was silent for a long time, worrying his lower lip with his  
teeth. "Haven't you ever been in love?" he asked finally. "Because I  
*am*, and I would do anything to gain him back-- lower myself to the  
mud if it meant winning his love." 
 
And he looked so pathetic that Legolas could not help but relent. He  
was not made of ice after all, and he *had* indeed been in love  
once… a long time ago.  
 
"I will do it," he sighed. "I will do what you have asked of me." 
 
Elladan launched himself with a yell into his friend's arms,  
whooping with delight. "Lovely!" he cried. "I knew you'd  
come `round!" 
 
Legolas rolled his eyes as he patted Elladan's back. "So are you  
even going to tell me this elf's name, or do I have to guess?" he  
asked. 
 
Elladan grinned. "He's one of the wardens of the galadhrim," he  
said. "And there shall be time enough for you to see him when they  
arrive tomorrow. Tonight, however, we must plan!" 
 
And as Elladan launched into a detailed account of his nefarious  
scheme, Legolas felt an inexplicable dread form in the pit of his  
stomach.  
 
How he hated Elladan's plots…  
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Saelbeth pored over the ancient text he was deciphering, his brow  
creased with the effort. He had been here since Lord Elrond had  
dismissed him earlier that day, and Erestor had long since retired. 
 
Though Saelbeth greatly respected the adviser, oftentimes he felt  
that he did not take the libraries seriously enough. Erestor drew  
upon his centuries of experience whenever Lord Elrond had need of  
him, and as his wisdom had never provided folly he tended to be  
somewhat scoffing of the younger elf's studiousness. 
 
The adviser sighed. As much as he envied Erestor's wisdom, he knew  
he could never hope to match the depth of the other's experiences.  
 
"And so I am left with the old-fashioned way," he sighed, sitting  
back and wearily rubbing his eyes. "Books and scrolls and endless  
reading." 
 
…not that Elrond ever actually *took* his advice, anyway… 
 
"I value your insight every bit as much as Erestor's, Saelbeth,"  
came the soft voice from behind him, and the adviser started. 
 
Oh Valar, had he just said that *out loud*? Saelbeth turned slowly,  
his wide blue eyes widening even further as he beheld his towering  
lord.  
 
"Lord Elrond," he exclaimed, straightening from his previously  
hunched-over position. "I-- of course you do, my lord. I never meant  
to imply…" 
 
But Elrond was smiling kindly, brown eyes twinkling. "It is late, my  
friend," he said. "Have you no desire to retire for the night?" 
 
Saelbeth blushed. "I was hoping to finish this chapter," he  
admitted, indicating the open text before him. "It's really quite an  
important volume; one never knows when its histories will be needed." 
 
In truth, Saelbeth had quite forgotten what he had been reading as  
soon as Elrond had stepped into the room. He crossed his fingers  
underneath the table, giving the lord a sheepish smile. 
 
"Indeed," murmured Elrond, peering over his shoulder. The tips of  
his hair brushed against Saelbeth's cheek as he did so, and the  
adviser swallowed at his closeness. 
 
"I think we can afford to let this one go untranslated for another  
night," pronounced Elrond, amusement tugging at the corners of his  
mouth. "Go to bed, Saelbeth." 
 
The adviser nodded dumbly as Elrond left the alcove. "Aye, my lord,"  
he sighed, but when he reached for the heavy tome he moaned softly. 
 
Across the top in flowing Quenya was inscribed the title: Advances  
in Botany in the Second Age. 
 
Important volume, indeed. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
It was a brilliant morning when Aragorn stepped onto the courtyard  
the following day, hefting his favorite long sword and matching  
knife. 
 
He had no lessons scheduled with any of his tutors today, and he had  
thus decided to sharpen his skills with his blades.  
 
"Good morning, Elrohir," he called out, spotting his brother across  
the square. 
 
The elf waved jauntily. "Practicing for the tournament?" he asked. 
 
"Perhaps," answered Aragorn, shrugging. The dueling competitions  
were to be held in a few weeks time, and though he knew he had not a  
prayer of winning against the centuries-old warriors he would play  
against, he was toying with the thought of entering anyway. Elladan  
and Elrohir had both joined last year and had ended up making it to  
the second circle; both had been insufferable for months afterwards. 
 
"Good luck, then," Elrohir grinned, passing into the house. "Don't  
let us down!" 
 
Aragorn sighed. Neither twin would be entering this year, but he  
knew that if he made any less than the circle they'd achieved he'd  
never hear the end of it. 
 
He picked up his sword and swung it experimentally, barely hearing  
the blade as it cut through the air. He smiled. It was a good sword. 
 
Cut. Duck. Block. In his mind's eye, the sun-dappled courtyard  
became dim and dark, and the Dark Lord stood before him in all his  
evil glory. 
 
He spun and slashed down, cutting through imagined armor and mail,  
darting out of the way as quickly as he'd come in. Quicker parries  
and thrusts followed his dance, and soon Aragorn lost track of how  
long he had been fighting. 
 
Sweat poured in rivulets down his forehead, his shoulders aching  
with the effort of holding up the increasingly heavy sword. His  
other hand had somehow found the short blade from its hidden  
scabbard at his thigh and joined the fray, weaving in and out in  
perfect synch with the long sword. 
 
Finally he rolled low and through, cutting at the legs and following  
with a lightning-fast thrust to the neck. 
 
He withdrew afterwards, breathing hard and holding his sword in a  
death-grip. As he grew aware of his surroundings once more however,  
he realized that a lone figure stood in the doorway leading into the  
halls. 
 
Arwen. 
 
She was looking at him in a way that made color rise even further in  
his cheeks, and for a long moment they simply stood there and stared  
at each other. 
 
Finally, Aragorn spoke. "My lady," he said, taking a hesitant step  
forward. "I…" 
 
But Arwen had already looked away. She whispered something under her  
breath in the high language of elves-- a speech Aragorn had not yet  
mastered-- and her face clouded. 
 
"Arwen?" Aragorn took another step forward, hesitantly touching the  
maiden's sleeve. "Are you all right?" 
 
She started slightly at his touch, her luminous eyes blinking slowly  
in the sun. "I am fine, Estel," she said, smiling slightly. "I was…  
watching you earlier. You are very skilled with the blade for one so  
young." 
 
Aragorn blushed. "Thank you, my lady," he said. 
 
Arwen smiled once more, reaching out to pick a beautiful white rose  
from one of the bushes littering the square. "The celebrations draw  
nearer," she said. "And any moment the guests from Lorien shall  
arrive. Do you plan on entering any of the contests of skill?" 
 
Aragorn looked at the blade in his hand, feeling the weight of the  
now-cooling metal. "I was hoping to," he admitted. "But I fear that  
I will not prove much competition to those like the prince of  
Mirkwood." 
 
The princess smiled gently. "In the archery competitions, Legolas is  
indeed unmatched," she said. "But it is not in that contest that you  
wish to test your skill in, is it?" 
 
"Indeed not," sighed Aragorn. "But I doubt again that I would  
provide much of a defense against someone like Glorfindel." 
 
"But you have forgotten that I am planning the activities this  
year," she said. "And there *will* be a few changes in the duels of  
the blade..." 
 
Aragorn frowned. "Changes?" he asked. "What do you mean?" 
 
The princess shrugged. "I could not tell you in advance," she  
said. "It would be unfair to the rest of the warriors." 
 
The man sighed at that, acknowledging the wisdom of her words. After  
all, how bad could it be? If he was that unsure of himself, he could  
just withdraw his name from Erestor's list… 
 
Arwen had already turned to leave but, as if reading his thoughts,  
turned back to him and smiled. "Please enter the duel of the blades,  
Estel," she pleaded, taking his hand and dropping the white rose in  
his palm. "I would be *most* pleased with you if you did…" 
 
Aragorn nodded dumbly as he looked at the flower, feeling his  
weakening resolve suddenly turn rock-solid. "I would join the ranks  
of Mordor if she asked me," he sighed, watching as she walked away. 
 
"Well, that certainly wouldn't please father," a voice behind him  
chuckled, and Aragorn whirled to face a grinning Elladan. 
 
"She only needs to fill the places," Aragorn muttered. "I doubt she  
thinks I'll win against the likes of centuries-old warriors." 
 
At that, his brother shook his head. "Ai, you'd better hope she  
doesn't," he said. "This year's prize is a kiss from the Lady of the  
house." 
 
Aragorn's head snapped up, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What?"  
he cried. "You can't be serious!" 
 
Elladan shrugged. "Many elves would kill for a chance to hold the  
Evenstar's hand, much less feel her lips upon their cheek," he  
said. "If you intend to win, I suggest you begin practicing…" 
 
The man opened and closed his mouth several times, his cheeks slowly  
growing bright red. "I have to go," he managed, turning and running  
down the hall before Elladan had a chance to reply. "Glorfindel!!!" 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"So now you actually *want* my help, is that it?" Glorfindel asked,  
raising an elegant brow. "It was only yesterday that you were too  
busy to show up on time for your archery lessons, and now you want  
extra ones?" 
 
Aragorn nodded fervently. "Please, sir," he said. "Arwen made me  
promise to enter the blade duels and I… I *cannot* lose!" 
 
Glorfindel regarded him for a moment or two longer, a crease  
appearing in the middle of his forehead. "You are aware that many  
experienced warriors fight for this honor every year?" he  
asked. "You would not be the first to seek the glory of its title…" 
 
"It's not the title I'm after, sir," Aragorn murmured, blushing to  
the tips of his ears. "I just… I wouldn't mind it if Arwen… but I  
don't think the others… and *I* would respect her!" 
 
The old warrior shook his head in amusement at his pupil's  
incoherence, realization dawning. "Fine," he relented. "But you  
should know that there will be some differences in all the skill  
competitions this year; you chose a strange time to enter." 
 
Aragorn shook his head. "That may be, sir, but I have no choice in  
the matter," he said. "It is a promise already made." 
 
Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "Have it your way, then," he said. "Meet  
me tomorrow at the foot of the main hall; we start at the crack of  
dawn." 
 
 
 
 
*CHAPTER THREE* 
 
 
 
Orophin and Rumil rode on either side of their Lord Celeborn, eyes  
alert and hands on the hilts of their long knives. 
 
Imladris was now but an hour's ride away, and as they passed the  
river's crossing half the contingent breathed a sigh of relief.  
Rumil raised his hand and the wardens came to a halt, rallying at  
various points surrounding their lord and his advisers. 
 
"What is it, Rumil?" inquired Celeborn. "We are close to the gates  
already…" 
 
The warden shook his head slightly, tightening his hold on his  
horse's reins. It was not often that he led the marchwardens as Lord  
Celeborn's escort, but neither Haldir nor any of the other higher- 
ranked wardens had opted to go to the Feast this year. 
 
"Scout ahead," he said to Orophin, and his brother complied with a  
raised brow. Rumil knew he was being overly cautious, but Valar knew  
that it was far better to suffer from too much caution then too  
little. 
 
Whistling a piercing tune, he trotted his horse forward and onto the  
rocky shore. He waited at the edge of the lake, water lapping at his  
horse's hooves, dead silence reigning through the pass. Rumil tensed  
at the answering quiet, his hand creeping to the hilt of his knife.  
 
"Gather," he ordered his men sharply. "Protect Lord Celeborn."  
 
The wardens moved to comply, but they halted when the answering call  
broke across the river. Ringing high and clear, Rumil recognized the  
sound at once; the hidden wardens of Imladris had answered him.  
Across the river, Orophin nodded tersely; the way was clear. 
 
Protected by his phalanx at every angle, Celeborn tried to suppress  
the bemused smile gracing his lips. He watched as the galadhrim  
relaxed finally, removing his hand from the hilt of his blade and  
gesturing that they should continue.  
 
"Now we move forward, my lord," Rumil said, and Celeborn gently  
spurred his horse on. 
 
"Your enthusiasm is appreciated as ever," the lord said graciously. 
 
Rumil inclined his head. "I am merely performing my duties, lord,"  
he said, as Orophin trotted back to them with a dark-haired elf in  
tow. 
 
"This is Eruvantion," he said. "He leads the wardens of this pass." 
 
The elf half-bowed from his position on his chestnut, raising his  
hand in salute. "Welcome to Imladris, Lord Celeborn," he said. "Your  
party has been expected for some time now." 
 
"We would have arrived much sooner if *someone* hadn't taken twelve  
different routes to avoid being followed…" 
 
Rumil's head snapped back as the murmured comment reached his ears,  
but not one of his wardens seemed to be able to meet his eyes. He  
frowned, a look of malicious promise in his eyes.  
 
*When I catch whoever said that, they shall be guarding the village  
stables for the rest of the year…* So intent was Rumil that he  
failed to notice that Eruvantion was speaking to him, and he nodded  
and smiled in what he hoped seemed pleased understanding. 
 
"…apologies for being late with the answering call, but you must  
understand that the method has been outdated for nearly a century,"  
Eruvantion explained. "Some of my men had actually forgotten it…" 
 
The galadhrim resolutely ignored the stifled snort of laughter from  
Orophin and lifted his chin. "And that is precisely why I chose to  
use it," he said imperiously. "One never knows what may have lay in  
wait for us, and the call I chose was so old that most of our  
enemies had not been born yet when it was developed." 
 
"Ah," said Eruvantion. Beside him, Orophin rolled his eyes. 
 
"One cannot take chances when the lord we escort is of so high a  
stature," Rumil continued, and would have spoken at length if  
Orophin had not given a loud whistle as the gates of Imladris loomed  
into view. 
 
Rumil glared at him, but the other warden merely shrugged. "We're  
here," he said. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
"There he is," Elladan hissed, peering through the hedges  
surrounding the high wooden gates. "Come here!" 
 
Legolas found his hand grabbed rather abruptly, the other elf's  
fingers twining firmly around his. "Are you certa--" he began, but  
the words were stolen from his mouth as the prince's lips met his. 
 
It was a rather lousy attempt as far as kisses were concerned, but  
Legolas closed his eyes and tried to look like he was enjoying  
himself. This *was* the boon requested of him, after all… 
 
"Prince Elladan…?" The voice that greeted them sounded both hurt and  
surprised, and the masquerading lovers jumped apart. 
 
"Orophin," acknowledged Elladan coolly.  
 
Legolas' eyes widened as he met the galadhrim's accusing gaze.  
Lovely. Out of the hundreds of wardens in Lorien, Elladan had to go  
and fall in love with an elf that Legolas actually had ties to.  
 
"And I'm sure you've met Prince Legolas?" The prince stifled the  
urge to roll his eyes at the question, biting back a scathing  
remark. *The boon*, he thought. *Remember the boon.* 
 
"I…we…I know him," the galadhrim whispered, wide green eyes darting  
from one flushed face to another. "Elladan, I…" 
 
But Elladan had already turned away, casually slipping an arm around  
his "lover's" waist and steering him away. "My apologies, Orophin,"  
he said. "But we have… matters… to attend to. I trust we'll have the  
pleasure of your company-- and that of your lover's-- at supper  
tonight?" 
 
"Of-- of course, my lord," Orophin replied, bowing  
slightly. "Dinendal will be… pleased… to meet you." But even the  
silk wave of his silver hair did not conceal the hurt look in his  
eyes, and Legolas could not bear to meet them. 
 
He was barely out of sight (and earshot), when Legolas whirled on  
his startled conspirator. "Why did you not tell me it was Orophin?"  
Legolas demanded.  
 
The Imladris elf frowned. "I was not aware that you knew him," he  
said. "Why? What new hurdle has come about?" 
 
Legolas threw up his hands. "If I'd known it was Orophin you  
intended to ensnare, I would never have agreed to play your  
consort," he said. "I practically helped raise him since he was a  
bare chit of an elf; this travesty we are performing is akin to  
hurting my own brother!" 
 
"*Orophin*?" repeated Elladan incredulously. "And how in all of Arda  
did *that* come to be?" 
 
"It is not a tale told easily," said Legolas, shaking his head.  
Speaking of his old love still made him ache, and citing chapter and  
verse for Elladan's benefit was not high on his list of favorite  
things to do.  
 
"You've started already, so you might as well finish it," the other  
elf said impatiently. "Spare me the details if you must-- I haven't  
time to hear it all, anyway." 
 
"Suffice to say that his older brother is-- was-- someone very dear  
to me," Legolas said, shooting Elladan a dark look. "Indeed, Haldir  
of Lorien was the true reason the sojourns of my youth extended for  
so long… I consider his kin as my kin, Elladan." 
 
Elladan fell silent at that, forehead creasing. He had not counted  
on this little matter and had thus prepared no alternative plan. Ai,  
but this indeed complicated matters plenty. 
 
The other prince, for his part, watched him think. Indeed, Legolas  
fancied he could actually hear the tiny cogs and machinations  
whirring swiftly in his friend's mind. 
 
"Perhaps wooing him back the normal way is an option you should  
consider," he suggested, but was silenced by a look that promised  
utter death. Legolas shrugged in answer, seating himself at one of  
the benches littering the balcony. It had only been a suggestion… 
 
After a solid fifteen minutes of utter silence, Elladan at last  
stirred from his daze. "When was the last time you saw your warden?"  
he demanded. "Did you part on good terms?" 
 
"We parted ways in Mirkwood centuries ago," Legolas answered. "It  
did not end well." 
 
"Ai, tear my heart out and feed it to the dogs," exclaimed  
Elladan. "You could not even manage a pleasant farewell?" 
 
"It was far more complicated than that," said Legolas hotly. "I did  
not want him to leave any more than you wish to be kept apart from  
Orophin. Youth and foolishness played a large part in our leave- 
taking." 
 
The other prince again fell silent at his words, and this time  
Legolas seized the chance to turn the tables. "You are neither young  
nor foolish, my friend. If you truly love him so much, why do you  
torture him so?" he asked. "His new lover has his heart-- why do you  
step between them?" 
 
"I cannot help my heart from beating, nor can I help it from wanting  
to win him back," answered Elladan morosely. "He writes me often,  
and though this other is privy to his body, it is *I* who hold his  
heart. I know it!" 
 
"Are you certain?" asked Legolas gently. "Is it perhaps no more than  
wishful thinking on your part?" 
 
Elladan shook his head. "The look on his face told me everything,"  
he said. "If you do not wish to help me, I will seek another. I  
would move Caradhras itself for even the smallest chance to be with  
him…" 
 
And Legolas looked into the prince's glittering eyes, seeing  
determination and a desperate hope radiating from within. *Youth and  
folly,* he thought. *Or perhaps not enough of it.* 
 
"I will help you," he sighed. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"Move your feet!" said Glorfindel sharply, hitting Aragorn's calves  
with the flat of his blade. 
 
Aragorn jumped, flushing. "Yes, sir," he said, struggling to move  
his legs in time to the swinging sand bags above him. His tutor had  
already seen fit to throw him into the lake and have him duel four  
other elves as a soggy mess, so the man supposed he should be  
thankful for the break. 
 
He ducked under one of the bags as it neared his head, pivoting away  
and swinging his blade high. The weapon struck its side, causing the  
heavy bag to skitter away and strike another in mid-swing. 
 
Aragorn mentally congratulated himself on the two-in-one blow, and  
he neatly side-stepped another bag with ease. 
 
Glorfindel watched his charge with mild amusement, seeing the boy's  
demeanor change as he chanced upon a stroke of luck. *Time to raise  
the stakes,* he thought, and smoothly entered the range of the  
swinging pendulums. 
 
For his part, the man heard rather than saw Glorfindel bearing down  
upon him. His tutor was brandishing blade and dagger-- both sheathed- 
- and advanced toward him like a prowling cat. 
 
Aragorn brought his long sword up just as the elf thrust his  
sheathed blade into the soft of the man's belly, drawing a nearly  
fatal blow. The man's shoulders slumped as he registered the clean  
hit. 
 
"You were careless," said his tutor, ducking under a sandbag and  
brandishing his weapons once more. "Go again." 
 
Aragorn nodded grimly, holding up his long sword once more. A  
sandbag heaved and struck him across his outstretched arm, knocking  
the sword from his grip. 
 
He gasped, more from surprise than any real pain, and dove for his  
weapon just as Glorfindel charged once more. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Arwen watched as Glorfindel systematically thrashed her adopted  
brother, biting her lip. She would've interceded already if a small  
voice inside her had not warned her against it. Estel was the future  
King of all Men after all, and it would not do for him to be coddled. 
 
Still… Glorfindel was being harsher than usual today, and she  
wondered why he seemed so intent on pushing the man so hard. She  
watched as Aragorn stumbled again, a sandbag striking him across the  
back. His long sword did not fall from his grip however, and as  
Glorfindel charged he managed a passable counter. 
 
Sweeping low, Aragorn slashed at Glorfindel's legs and rolled away,  
keeping well beneath the heavy bags. Glorfindel was upon him  
immediately, but Arwen noted with surprise that they were now both  
far from the bags. 
 
Wide eyed, she watched as Glorfindel smiled and unsheathed his  
weapons from their scabbards. 
 
"Again," she heard him say. 
 
Now free from the added obstacles of the sandbags, Aragorn lowered  
his weapon and charged. Expecting the clumsy-- if spirited--  
movement, the old warrior merely side-stepped and whacked the man on  
his rump with the flat of his blade. Aragorn lost balance and fell  
forward, and Glorfindel helped him along with a well-placed kick to  
the back. 
 
Arwen moaned softly. 
 
Aragorn lay face-first on the grass, twitching slightly. He did not  
stir as his tutor went to him, heartily grasping one of the man's  
bruised arms. 
 
"You're improving," he said, smiling widely. "Now get up and take  
some rest; we shall continue tomorrow." 
 
Arwen could not hear Aragorn's reply, but Glorfindel laughed in  
response and left him. "Tomorrow," he repeated. "At the break of  
dawn." 
 
The maiden waited until he was out of sight before emerging from her  
hiding spot and running to Aragorn. "Are you all right?" she asked  
breathlessly, helping the man to his feet. 
 
Aragorn did not meet her eyes. "Tis more my pride than any real  
pain," he murmured. "Glorfindel holds his strikes ably." 
 
"You fought well," said Arwen. "It was better than any man has ever  
performed against him." 
 
Aragorn sighed. "I do not wish to fight well for a man," he said. "I  
wish to fight well for a warrior." 
 
The maiden handed him his sheathe and he took it, carefully placing  
his sword inside. "But I thank you for your kind words all the  
same," he said. 
 
Arwen stayed his hand as he made to leave, her eyes seeming luminous  
in the approaching dark. "They were freely given," she said, and  
placed a solemn kiss on his dusty cheek. 
 
She turned and ran from him then, her long white skirts trailing  
behind her. Aragorn watched her go, his hand lingering where her  
lips had touched. 
 
He was young for a man, but he knew that the feeling that beat  
within his chest was true. 
 
"I will win this battle and lay the glory at your feet," he  
promised, and if it was the fight to win her hand or the coming  
tournament that he was speaking of, one would be hard-pressed to  
tell. 
 
 
 
 
 
*CHAPTER FOUR* 
 
 
The Lord of Imladris gazed thoughtfully at the large tapestry  
adorning his chambers, mind wandering to the days of old. It had  
been much simpler, Elrond reflected, when the most he'd had to worry  
about was the state of the parchment paper in the libraries. 
 
Gilgalad had been both wise and strong in his time, and Elrond had  
carried the title of his herald. Both knew, however, that while he  
bore the High King's implicit trust, his services were oft  
unrequired. The lord's lips stretched in a rueful smile, his  
thoughts turning briefly to his encounter in the library with  
Saelbeth. 
 
The adviser was young and somewhat naive, and though Erestor had  
taken him under his wing, Elrond suspected that they were not an  
ideal pair. His chief adviser's tutelage was better subscribed to  
the likes of one more inclined to actually experience things, and  
Saelbeth relied far more on things learned from tomes and scrolls. 
 
Erestor had often told him to `think with his heart rather than his  
head', but the idea was indeed an alien thing to the poor elf. In  
once trying to follow his advice, Elrond had returned from Lorien to  
discover the main house in an uproar. Apparently, Saelbeth  
had `listened to his heart' when the twins had begged to be allowed  
into the kitchens unsupervised; the resulting disgusting mess they'd  
tried to cook in the oven had the whole house reeking for weeks. 
 
Elrond had not the heart to chastise him, (though he was sure  
Erestor had had quite a few things to say), but Saelbeth had opted  
to return to the libraries to do what he did best…. Study. 
 
Now, it was true that the Lord of the Last Homely House had many  
advisers, but he called upon them only when matters of great import  
arose. It was only Erestor who remained a constant presence, and  
even he was only there because it pleased him to be so. Saelbeth's  
presence was likewise constant, though Elrond mused that this had  
more to do with the fact that the best libraries were in the main  
house rather than any other thing. 
 
He chuckled softly, remembering how wide the adviser's eyes had been  
when he had seen him.  
 
"Botany," he snorted softly, rolling his eyes. Still… Saelbeth had  
indeed been quite lovely, the memory of the adviser by candlelight  
carrying quite well into his thoughts. 
 
Elrond mentally slapped his wrist as soon as he thought the words,  
ruefully shaking his head. *Ai, Celebrian,* he thought. *I'm afraid  
it has been far too long since I have appreciated the comfort of  
another…* 
 
He leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes and smiling.  
Saelbeth and he… what a truly preposterous notion. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"May I help you?" 
 
The voice behind Rumil rang loud in the stables of Imladris, and the  
marchwarden turned in mid-stride with a raised brow. 
 
"I am seeing to the horses of Lorien," he said stiffly to the  
newcomer. "I wish to see them well-cared for." 
 
The elf smiled slightly, arching his own brow. "You do not trust our  
stable hands?" he asked. 
 
Rumil frowned. "There is no offense meant to our hosts," he  
said. "But as any warden would know, our horses are of the greatest  
import to our journey. Had they been ill-treated in our moments of  
inattention, we would not live to regret it." 
 
"Then you are an elf after my own heart," said the other, laughing  
softly. "For I, too know something of the ways of the guardian. I am  
Glorfindel, a humble servant of the House of Elrond." 
 
"Rumil, marchwarden of the Golden Wood," answered the warden,  
coloring slightly. It was indeed fitting, he thought in irritation,  
that he would confess ill-trust of help in front of the house's  
second-in-command. 
 
"You need not worry for your horses, Rumil," said Glorfindel  
easily. "For we of Imladris see the galadhrim as kin; we would not  
let any harm come about their steads." 
 
Rumil shrugged at that, resuming his tread into where his horses  
were stabled. "That may be," he said coolly. "But it behooves one to  
notice that Feanor and his sons were likewise of elf-kind, and  
*they* slew their own at Alqualonde with little thought." 
 
He took a brush from the shelves nearby, running the soft bristles  
across the flank of a white stead; Orophin's horse. 
 
Glorfindel, for his part, followed him but did not enter the pen,  
calmly observing the warden as he groomed the docile animal. "There  
is hay and water kept here also," he said. "If you wish to see to  
their feeding as well." 
 
Rumil glared at the elf, but the lord remained infuriatingly  
oblivious. "My thanks for the offer," he said scathingly. "But I  
merely wished to see how they fared." 
 
And he pointedly turned his back to Glorfindel, brushing down  
another horse further down. 
 
"Ah," smiled the lord. He took up a brush and entered the pen,  
starting on the horse Rumil had left unfinished.  
 
He offered no more words after that, and Rumil in turn was  
characteristically silent. He shot the lord odd looks from time to  
time though, but looked away whenever Glorfindel met his gaze. 
 
It was some hours later that all the horses stood with gleaming  
coats, and as Glorfindel put away his brush Rumil spared him a  
glance. 
 
"Thank you," was all he said, before walking briskly away. 
 
Glorfindel watched him go. "And to think I merely wished to take  
Eruner for a ride," he mused, going to his own horse that was  
stabled on the other side of the building. 
 
The horse nipped at his outstretched hand, neighing. "Ai, jealous  
one," Glorfindel laughed, and stroked his horse's mane. "Perhaps we  
shall ride tomorrow, instead…" 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Night had fallen swiftly indeed that day, and before long Arwen had  
ushered the feasts anew. The royal halls were filled with tables,  
elves of Mirkwood and Lorien and Imladris dining all together. 
 
This particular feast was cause for great celebration, as it was the  
first held when all their kin had finally arrived; thus the month- 
long festivities could finally be opened. 
 
Elladan was sitting in a place of royalty, his lineage earning him a  
seat at the center table of the banquet. Legolas sat on his right  
and Elrohir on his left, but both of their attempts at conversation  
had been quickly rebuffed; Elladan had eyes only for one tonight. 
 
Gaze narrowed, he watched as Orophin and his lover quietly  
conversed. Dinendal's hand was lightly covering the warden's, and  
ever so often Orophin would laugh softly at some amusing thing he  
said. Elladan ground his teeth together, reaching quickly for  
Legolas' hand. 
 
He was no uninitiated sprite in the arts of love, and if Orophin  
truly wished to test his mettle he would have little trouble rising  
to the challenge. 
 
Legolas, on the other hand, had had the misfortune of raising his  
goblet to sip as the errant prince grabbed his hand. The wine  
spilled onto his plate as a result, thoroughly soaking his dinner. 
 
"Elladan--!" he exclaimed, shooting his friend a venomous look.  
 
The other prince took no notice, as he was no busily raising the  
hand he had knocked aside to his face and kissing its knuckles. He  
spied Orophin take notice from the corner of his eye, mentally  
adding a point in his favor on his mental scoreboard. 
 
"Legolas," he murmured, gazing into the prince's face with what he  
hoped to be an adoring manner. 
 
Legolas looked vaguely nauseated, but he forced himself not to  
grimace and met Elladan's eyes evenly. "Meleth-nin," he replied,  
gritting his teeth. 
 
Elladan smiled suavely, briefly caressing the prince's hair with the  
back of his hand. "You look exceptionally well tonight, my prince,"  
he said. "Tell me, did you sleep well last night after our… tryst?" 
 
The not-so-subtle innuendo he injected in the last word was enough  
to stop all conversation at their table. Elladan smiled; palace  
gossip spread faster than wildfire, and his open words of love would  
no doubt reach Orophin's ears by the morrow. 
 
"I slept well enough," replied Legolas, watching in mortified  
amazement as Elladan calmly slipped an arm about his waist. 
 
Ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from Elrohir, (and  
indeed the entire table), Elladan swept down and claimed the  
prince's lips. 
 
*Play not with fire, Orophin,* he thought smugly. *Unless you wish  
to get burned…* 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Orophin's eyes widened as he watched Elladan passionately kiss the  
prince of Mirkwood, reflexively tightening his grip on Dinendal's  
hand.  
 
*And in plain view--!* he thought agrily. *Has he no manners?!* 
 
Dinendal let out a strangled shout as his lover all but crushed his  
hand, snatching his hand away abruptly. "Orophin, what in all of  
Arda has gotten into you?" he asked, rubbing his bruised knuckles. 
 
The elf blushed crimson, tearing his eyes away from the rather  
painful scene that had unfolded. "My apologies, love," he  
murmured. "I was… distracted…" 
 
"I can see that," said Dinendal, irritated. "Would you care to  
enlighten me about what has caught your attention so raptly?" 
 
"I--it's nothing, love," murmured Orophin, darting a quick glance at  
Elladan's table to see if he had ceased his ministrations. He  
hadn't. "Just someone I knew once…" 
 
Dinendal frowned at that, following his lover's line of sight. "At  
the royal table, no less," he said, raising a brow. "I never knew  
you had such influential acquaintances, Orophin." 
 
Orophin bit his lip. "Now is neither the time nor the place," he  
said, looking down at his plate. "Please leave it be, my love." 
 
The other looked at him for a long moment, his jaw set and eyes  
searching. "Have it your way," he said finally, his voice getting  
noticeably cooler. He stabbed at a slice of fruit on his dinner  
plate, spearing it hard enough to spurt juice from its gawping wound. 
 
The rest of the wardens at the long table paused slightly to look,  
and both Orophin and Dinendal resolutely began to eat. 
 
"Lover's spat," said Rumil sagely, for he had been sitting on  
Orophin's other side the whole time. "Pay them no mind." 
 
A soft ripple of laughter rose from the table, and the elves  
returned to their plates and prior conversations. Dinendal however,  
stared hard at Orophin until the other dropped his gaze. 
 
"Let us speak of this later," pleaded Orophin, but his lover simply  
shrugged. 
 
They did not so much as glance in each other's direction for the  
rest of the meal. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Elrond systematically cut and ate the sumptuous meal his daughter  
had planned, listening to his father-in-law with half an ear. 
 
"…and Galadriel and I have managed to grasp our second wind; she is  
ever the lady of my heart once more," Celeborn was saying. "I know  
not what magic cast a spell over my eyes, but several months ago she  
came to me and set things right. Apparently, she'd gone to the  
apothecry and he'd proclaimed my sudden dissatisfaction a product of  
something called a `mid-life crisis'…" 
 
The Lord of Imladris smiled and nodded, tuning him out once more. He  
was happy that Celeborn and Galadriel had finally reconciled, (he  
had to admit that Celeborn's new-found fascination with one of his  
wardens had been quite a disturbing thought), but he had no interest  
in having the entire fiasco cited chapter and verse for his benefit. 
 
Erestor and Saelbeth were seated at the same table, and Elrond  
casually leaned slightly to the left. Saelbeth was now directly in  
his line of sight, and despite the slight disfocus of his pupils, he  
appeared as if he was looking in rapt attention at Celeborn. 
 
He watched as Erestor gestured forcefully with his fork, stabbing  
his plate in emphasis. Saelbeth had turned rather pale at the noise  
and nodded quickly at his superior. 
 
Elrond could not make out what was being said, but he supposed that  
the two were arguing about another one of their great philosophical  
issues. 
 
He smiled softly as he Saelbeth frowned, his nose crinkling slightly  
as he did so. It was odd how he'd never noticed that before… 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"No, you put the hot water in *before* the radishes!" exclaimed  
Erestor in an exasperated voice. "I cannot believe you thought it  
otherwise, Saelbeth. Honestly!" 
 
The younger elf blushed. "Cooking has never been required of me  
before," he argued half-heartedly. "I am an adviser, not a chef." 
 
"But to not even know how to make the simplest of vegetable dishes,"  
sighed Erestor. "What an utterly preposterous notion." 
 
Saelbeth made a face and returned to his food; Erestor could be *so*  
high-handed sometimes… 
 
The elder adviser followed suit, assured that no further  
conversation from his pupil would be forthcoming. He cut into his  
venison with renewed vigor, but as he raised the piece of meat to  
his mouth, he almost dropped his fork in surprise. "Good grief," he  
murmured. "What on earth is Elladan doing?" 
 
Saelbeth followed his gaze, eyes widening as he beheld the rather  
bold spectacle Lord Elrond's son was making of himself.  
 
"Enjoying himself, apparently," he replied. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"Good lord, Elrond-- does your son truly intend to take the Prince  
of Mirkwood on your dinner table?" 
 
"I'm sure-- what?" Elrond snapped from his reverie as Celeborn's  
words sunk in. He followed his father-in-law's line of sight and was  
assailed by the image of Elladan trying to shove his hands into  
Legolas' tunic. 
 
"What in the Valar's name…?" he whispered, dumbfounded. 
 
Elrond looked swiftly around the hall to see if anyone else had  
noticed, and to his horror he noted that practically every eye in  
the room was on his son. 
 
His other son proved no help as usual, as Elrohir was laughing so  
hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Arwen's mouth was  
unbecomingly half-open as she gaped at her brother, and likewise  
Aragorn seemed to think that the whole world had gone mad. 
 
"Elladan?" Elrond heard him ask. "Are you all right?" 
 
His brother ignored him, seeming intent on… sampling… the prince of  
Mirkwood's charms right at the dinner table. 
 
"Elladan," Aragorn hissed again. "Father is looking at you-- get a  
hold of yourself!" 
 
Beside him, Arwen was making annoyed `tut' `tut' sounds. She looked  
at Aragorn with luminous blue eyes, her rose mouth slightly open in  
her distress. 
 
"Do something," she pleaded fiercely. "The whole room is watching!" 
 
Aragorn's mind raced, but no solution-- aside from dousing both  
princes in very cold water-- proved forthcoming. "Elladan," he  
hissed again, his voice growing louder in his desperation. "If you  
don't stop that, I'm telling ada it was you who ripped his favourite  
purple gown!" 
 
The statement, loud as it was, spawned but two reactions-- neither  
of which achieved what the man had intended. 
 
"He *what*?" Elrond shouted from the head of the table, his voice  
drowned out only by the words his father-in-law uttered. 
 
"You have a *purple* gown?" 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"Have you gone completely insane?" hissed Legolas, slapping at  
Elladan's hand as he tried yet again to sneak it inside his tunic. 
 
"Pretend you're enjoying yourself," Elladan hissed right back, his  
eyes darting to where Orophin was sitting.  
 
To his immeasurable joy, the warden had stepped back from the table  
and was looking at him with a crestfallen expression on his face.  
Dinendal had risen to join him, but Orophin shook his head sharply  
and strode out of the chambers. 
 
Dimly, Elladan heard Aragorn yelling something from across the  
table. "I don't feel well," he muttered to no one, sitting up rather  
quickly and thus depositing a startled Legolas on the floor. 
 
"He has gone mad," said Legolas, rubbing his sore rump as he picked  
himself up. He shook his head, watching as Elladan sped from the  
hall, fairly tripping over his own feet in his haste to do so. 
 
Legolas turned back to the table, prepared to offer some miserable  
excuse to explain the other prince's embarassing behavior. His eyes  
widened, however, as he beheld the commotion that they were  
undoubtedly the cause of. 
 
"What was he doing, trying on my clothes?" Elrond was asking Erestor  
and Saelbeth heatedly. "Don't I provide him enough of his own? He  
*knew* that I favoured that one above all else!" 
 
The older adviser was looking rather shell-shocked, but Saelbeth  
looked for all the world like he was trying not to laugh. 
 
Across from him, Aragorn was awkwardly patting a sobbing Arwen on  
the back. "It's not your fault," he was saying. "I thought it went  
rather well…" 
 
The elves at the other tables had erupted into speculative  
discussion, the noise level reaching unearthly decibels. Through the  
din, however, a single voice had managed to make itself heard. 
 
"You have a *purple* gown??" 
 
 
 
 
*CHAPTER FIVE* 
 
 
The prince of Mirkwood awoke to the following day with no small  
amount of bitterness coloring his mood. Between the ruckus Elladan  
had caused and the soggy dinner he'd barely managed to injest, his  
night's sleep had been all but restful. 
 
"Bother Orophin," he huffed as he dressed, pulling on the oldest  
tunic he'd brought with him. "Bother him and bother Elladan, and  
bother anyone else who was at dinner last night." 
 
He removed his bow and quiver from their place in the closet,  
slinging them across his back. The archery competition was looming  
ever closer, and he rather hoped that his ill fortune would turn the  
tides in his favor this time.  
 
Elladan's skill gave him some small cause for worry in the arts of  
bow and blade, but it was Orophin whom Legolas knew to fear. The  
warden was fleet of foot and quick of eye, and unlike the princes  
who were fair practicioners of the art, Orophin stood watch everyday  
with bow in hand. 
 
However, with both elves so entrenched in their tangled matters of  
the heart, Legolas surmised that neither would be much able to  
concentrate. Last year's match had been won by the skin of his  
teeth, and the prince swore that he would widen the margin further  
this time around. 
 
Hefting a small pack of rations in one hand and taking up a skin of  
water with the other, he left his room and made for the forest, brow  
set in determination. 
 
He would claim this year's title once more-- whether either elf  
willed it or not. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Aragorn stood in the entrance hall of the main house, nervously  
eyeing the two dozen elves milling about.  
 
It had been announced the previous night that all who wished to  
enter the Duels of the Blade would have to be present today, and all  
awaited the duel master's word. 
 
"I heard that there would be changes this year," he heard one of the  
Mirkwood elves whisper. "Instead of fighting each other, we would  
duel captured orcs and goblins while being shot at by the  
competitors of the archery contest." 
 
Aragorn's eyes widened at that, and he looked hastily around to see  
if anyone seconded the rumor. Surely his lady would not be so rash  
as to pit them against their foes of Mordor..? 
 
"Nay, I heard that we would still fight each other by outer to  
innermost rungs, but the final circle would house a young balrog  
instead of last year's champion," another elf said. 
 
The man paled and stood at that, wondering how quickly he could  
leave the hall without anyone noticing him. He crept slowly to the  
door and managed to turn the knob unseen, facing forward all the  
while. 
 
"Estel?" Aragorn jumped at the sound, whirling to face the now-open  
door. 
 
Arwen arched an aristocratic brow, calmly surveying his expression  
of chagrin. "You weren't planning on leaving, were you?" she asked. 
 
"Leaving?" Aragorn asked, forcing a smile. "No, of course not… I  
was… simply awaiting your entrance." 
 
"You flatterer," smiled Arwen reprovingly, then turned to the rest  
of the elves scattered about. "Lord Glorfindel will be here shortly  
to verse you in the rules of the duels, and once he has done so you  
may confirm or deny your entry." 
 
"My lady, what of the rumored changes?" asked one elf. "Will there  
truly be a balrog at the final circle?" 
 
Arwen laughed. "You should learn not to listen to every scrap of  
gossip come your way, good warden," she said. "Rest assured that  
there will be no balrogs-- nor goblins or orcs, for that matter--  
present at the duels. Nay, the changes serve merely to… flaunt…  
one's versatility in the arts of war." 
 
"And what exactly does that mean, my lady?" the elf persisted. 
 
"It means that you must be quiet until it is the right time for me  
to announce the terms of engagement," came Glorfindel's voice from  
the doorway. 
 
All elves turned as one to watch the stately warrior sweep into the  
room, his leather armor oiled and gleaming. Indeed, Glorfindel  
looked every bit the glorious warrior, and he played the part of  
Duel Master well. 
 
"As most of you know," he began, surveying the crowd somewhat  
imperiously. "The Duels of the Blade are played in a series of  
elimination circles. Warriors begin in the seventh, outermost  
circle, each pitted against another random opponent. He who wins the  
match may proceed to the sixth circle, progressing further into the  
rings as they win. Lose once, and you will be removed from the  
games." 
 
"That we all know, Lord Glorfindel," spoke one elf timidly. "But  
we'd heard that there would be… changes… this year; do you not think  
it is time to disclose their nature?" 
 
"Indeed," Glorfindel nodded, a slow smile spreading across his  
lips. "The mettle of our elven warriors have withstood many a  
competition, and thus the Lady Arwen and I wished to add spice to a  
seeming repetitive challenge." 
 
A murmur shot through the crowd but the warrior ignored it, choosing  
instead to briefly rest his eyes upon a dejected lad in the back of  
the chambers. 
 
Aragorn looked down. 
 
"The changes are of no grave feat," Glorfindel continued. "For you  
will duel with each other as always. Nay, the only new hardship you  
each must face is that of the elements-- for now the playing fields  
will be greatly changed-- and new obstacles that you must overcome." 
 
At this admission, the crowd again exploded into dissonant voices,  
demands of further details and more comprehensive descriptions being  
shouted for. 
 
Glorfindel's voice rose above the din, his deep voice carrying  
easily. "That is all I will say regarding this matter," he  
said. "Each of you are seasoned warriors, and almost all have had to  
fight the elements as well as their opponents during battle. Surely  
you all see the merit of adding realism to the Duels?" 
 
His poorly disguised challenge was greeted by much swearing and  
general discontent.  
 
"A great deal of luck factors into real fights as well," one Lorien  
elf called. "How, pray tell, will you manage to make *that* a  
reality?" 
 
Glorfindel smiled. "Confirm your entry, milord," he said. "And you  
will find out easily enough." 
 
The galadhrim shook his head at the warrior's cheekiness, but  
nevertheless he took the scroll that Arwen held. "I shall sign," he  
said. "But only to see up close what tomfoolery you've all  
concocted." 
 
Glorfindel nodded graciously. "And would not all of you appreciate  
the chance to see the new trials up close, as well?" he asked the  
rest of the assembly, eyeing the bowed head of his pupil in  
particular. "Or need I extoll the virtue of this year's prize to  
rouse your spirits?" 
 
*That* got him. The old warrior watched in satisfaction as Aragorn  
made his way to Arwen's side, walking with the determined air of one  
marching to his doom. 
 
"Now," called Glorfindel. "Who else wishes to test their mettle?" 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Elladan woke early the following day, last night's previous attempt  
at wooing his errant lover proved useless.  
 
Indeed, Orophin had sped to his chambers after exiting the dining  
hall last night, and though the prince followed quickly, the  
galadhrim had not appreciated his advances. 
 
Elladan frowned, remembering Orophin's surprised look at seeing him  
standing outside his door, robes badly mussed in his haste to follow. 
 
"I wish to speak with you," he'd said somewhat desparately. "If what  
we shared before meant anything at all to you, grant me an audience  
now…"  
 
Orophin had been wary, and much against the warden's better  
judgement, he granted the prince entrance nonetheless. "Speak  
quickly," he'd said. "For I have no wish for Dinendal to return and  
find you here." 
 
"Then I will say my peace," Elladan had replied. "And I will say it  
swiftly." 
 
He kissed him then, and for a moment Orophin's lips had gone soft  
and welcoming under the press of his own. The warden had moaned into  
his mouth, the familiar balm of the other's touch serving to ignite  
a desire he thought long-gone. In response, the prince had sought to  
further deepen their embrace by placing his hands on the other's  
behind, and it was at this point that Orophin had buried his fist in  
the prince's solar plexus.  
 
"I think it would be best if you left," Orophin had said, as Elladan  
crumpled to the floor. 
 
So had ended their clandestine night, and now the prince smiled  
craftily, wondering how best to ensnare his lover once more. It was  
clear to him, after all, that Orophin still loved him-- he had felt  
as much when he claimed his mouth. 
 
He strode towards the wing where the Lorien guests were held,  
humming a lofty tune as he want. 
 
Yes, things were going exactly as he'd planned… 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"Have you seen my green tunic?" Orophin asked his lover, chancing a  
quick look at Dinendal's rigid back and tousled silver hair. 
 
The warden had arrived at their quarters shortly after Elladan had  
left last night, but both elves had spoken not a word. Orophin knew  
he had behaved badly at the dining hall, (not to mention the  
unwilling tryst Elladan had subjected him to), but he had no idea  
how to even *begin* to apologise to his lover. 
 
They had slept apart that evening for the first time in years, and  
Orophin hazarded that sleeping on the couch would help lighten  
Dinendal's mood little.  
 
Come morning, the warden had thwarted all of the elf's attempts to  
talk, and Orophin's confused state helped matters not at all. 
 
"I believe the top dresser drawer should have your answer," came the  
cool reply. 
 
Orophin bit his lip as he went to heavy oak container and slid the  
drawer open. The sight of his neatly-folded green tunic made him  
feel worse still, for as upset as he probably was, Dinendal forgot  
nothing about him. 
 
"Meleth-nin," he began, leaving the tunic where it lay. "I am…  
sorry… about the way I behaved last night." 
 
He approached Dinendal and carefully wrapped his arms about his  
waist, pressing his cheek against his back. "I did not… I did not  
think that I would act that way," he continued. "Elladan and I… we  
are lovers long-past. What I felt for him is nothing like what I…" 
 
"Don't." The warden pulled out of Orophin's grasp, facing him with  
eyes long beyond hurt. "Do not say that." 
 
"Do not say what?" Orophin asked in confusion. "Dinendal, it is you  
that I love…" 
 
"Do not say that you no longer feel anything for him," Dinendal  
said. "I saw the way you looked at him-- of all others, *I* should  
know how ill you conceal your pain." 
 
He shook his head and turned away from Orophin, refusing to meet the  
other's eyes.  
 
"I should be glad, I suppose," Dinendal said, half to himself. "That  
I now know who your mysterious lover from the past is. At the very  
least, I know why you refused to even speak his name in my presence…" 
 
"Why are you acting this way?" Orophin demanded, close to tears and  
not even knowing why. "I do not care for Elladan at all." 
 
But Dinendal shook his head. "You love him still," he said. "Perhaps  
you never stopped. It is no large matter; he is still here after  
all, and your choice may be easily remedied." 
 
"I apologised for my uncouth behavior, and I meant it," Orophin  
ground out, indignance coloring his tone. "Why do you punish me so?  
Am I not allowed to make mistakes as well? Are you so perfect that  
you never falter?" 
 
"You misunderstand, my love," said Dinendal, the calm in his voice  
in stark contrast with the other's anger. "There were no mistakes  
made last night, only revelations. Go and find yourself-- I will not  
be the one to hold you from your desires." 
 
Orophin open and closed his mouth, unable to find the words to make  
his lover stay. 
 
"Goodbye, Orophin." Dinendal said, and went to him.  
 
Their mouths met in a soft kiss, dry and sad, and when they parted  
the warden left without another word. 
 
 
 
*** 
 
 
 
The afternoon sun found Rumil of Lorien again at the stables of  
Imladris, tending to the steads of his people. He was perhaps the  
only participant of last night's feast that remained unscathed, and  
as such continued about his daily duties. 
 
He whispered soft words of comfort to Orophin's horse as he brushed  
it down, its deep black eyes seeming distraught. "He will be all  
right," he said to it. "Do not worry for your master." 
 
The stead whined softly and tossed his head; Orophin had visited him  
earlier today, and he had certainly not *looked* well. 
 
Rumil sighed; such was the bond between master and horse.  
 
The sound of the stable door opening alerted him to another's  
presence, and as Rumil peered over the stead's white back he saw a  
familiar tawny head striding inside. 
 
The warden frowned in irritation and ducked his head; perhaps  
Glorfindel would not notice him if he did so. Valar knew that Rumil  
could stand for a little quiet today, and he did not think he could  
bear to spend the afternoon feigning politeness. 
 
But the seneschal, it seemed, had other plans. With barely a glance  
in Rumil's direction, he continued forth into the stable where the  
rest of the Lorien horses rested. 
 
Rumil watched as he fed one a slice of apple with his hands,  
bringing them out from a pouch at his waist. Glorfindel seemed to  
bear no intentions of false conversation, and for that he was  
grateful.  
 
The warden turned back to Orophin's horse and finished brushing him  
down, carefully watching Glorfindel from the corner of his eye. 
 
"These are good horses," the lord remarked after some time, feeding  
the white thoroughbred another slice. "Which one do you ride?" 
 
Rumil blinked. "I… this one is mine," he said, laying a hand on the  
flank of a spotted mare. "She is named Indil, after my mother's  
favorite bloom." 
 
"Indeed," said Glorfindel, bringing out another slice of fruit. "May  
I feed her?" 
 
But the warden shook his head. "She tends to bite those she does not  
recognize," he said. "Let me do it." 
 
And he took the apple slice from Glorfindel's hand, offering it to  
his horse. She sniffed around it before taking it, breathing in the  
scent of his hand.  
 
"She's a bit finicky," explained Rumil, wincing slightly as the mare  
nipped at his hand. 
 
"So I see," observed Glorfindel. "But is she not lonely then, shying  
away from the company of those that would seek to befriend her?" 
 
"I…she is but a horse," Rumil stammered, looking away from the  
piercing blue gaze. "She performs her duties and all that is  
required of her well. She needs no more." 
 
Glorfindel held out his hand, palm up, to Indil's nose. She was  
still for a long moment, warily looking at the empty hand.  
 
"See?" said Rumil. "Now take your hand away before she bites you…" 
 
But Glorfindel's blue eyes twinkled and his hand remained open, and  
Indil nudged her soft muzzle against him and sniffed. 
 
"Even horses," said Glorfindel, not looking at the warden. "Need the  
company of others." 
 
And he fed Indil a slice of apple. 
 
 
*tbc*