Series: Razor's Edge Trilogy
Title: One Sweet Memory
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hamena.org
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: Any, so long as I know where it is  ^^
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Silvara, the most patient beta in existence...
Cast: Elrond/Thranduil
Timeline: Fall of 3021
Spoilers:  None
Summary: Elrond sets sail with the Ringbearers, leaving Thranduil
behind in Middle-Earth.
A/N:  This follows the "One Step Closer" trilogy.  This trilogy will
answer all the questions and more.  ^^  There is a companion trilogy
staring Haldir and Celeborn, since they made an appearance in "One
Step Closer" and in "Razor's Edge."  I will be posting "Before The
Dawn" sometime next week, after all four parts of this trilogy have
been released.  I hope everyone likes the finale!

---

Grey Havens - September 28th, 3021 of the Third Age

Elrond stood by the shore, looking out over the Sea.  He was filled
with anticipation and excitement, mingled with a deep sorrow.  Just
over two years had passed since his daughter's wedding.  His sons
remained in Imladris, having taken their rightful place as Lords of
the valley.  There were not many still residing in the Last Homely
House, many of them were here with him.  But, members of his staff,
like Melpomaen and Lindir, remained behind.  He knew Rumil and Orophin
were expected after they completed their tasks in Celeborn's service.
His home was now one of the last refuges for their kind.

Arms snaked around his waist and he leaned back into the warm comfort
of his Chief Councilor.  Erestor's pain was still there, was still raw
and sore, but he had survived his parting with the golden warrior.
They would set sail at first light on the morrow, but right now the
peaceful lull of the waves and cool, salty sea-spray caressed their
pale faces.

"Thranduil never came, never tried to reconcile with you?"

Erestor had been in Gondor most of the past year, helping Elessar and
Legolas.  This was their first opportunity to speak in some time.
"No, he never did.  Celeborn sends word to me from Eryn Lasgalen,
telling me that the King is in good health, though poor in spirit.  I
would go to him if I thought he would see me."

Erestor released his Lord and smiled softly at him.  "We are all here
for you, my Lord.  Perhaps, when time has eased his shame and guilt he
will seek you out in Valinor."

It was a small hope and one Elrond held onto with a death grip.  He
needed to believe Thranduil would come to him.  Erestor began his trek
back up to the main house, but turned with his arms crossed over his
chest.  He looked somber in his dark robes, his hair loose and flowing
in the breeze.  "You should try one last time, meldir.  Give him the
opportunity to say goodbye.  You may never get the chance again."

Elrond nodded, watching his friend's shape disappear in the distance.
Goodbye, something Erestor never got to say to Glorfindel.  Perhaps...
perhaps Thranduil would let him in, let him speak for a moment.

The Peredhel easily cast his mind out, away from the shore and over
the vast mountains, through the dense woods and echoing caverns,
following that warm, pulsing essence of his lover.  His eyes, shining
like high polished mithril in the moonlight, gazed sightless to the
West.  His vision was of the cozy bed chamber Thranduil was laying in,
the scent of pine enveloping the salty air.

/Melethron?/  Elrond felt the shock of the other mind, mirroring his
own that he had gotten through to the King.  It had been so long since
he felt those thoughts, those emotions and that deep love that he was
pleased to see still existed between them.

/Elrond./

/I didn't expect for you to answer./

/We never expected a lot of things./

Elrond send a wordless answer, one of sheepish agreement.  /I wanted
to say goodbye./

/Goodbye?/  Elrond became dizzy for a moment when Thranduil sat up
suddenly from his bed.  /Elrond, is that the Sea I smell?/

/Aye, it is.  I am sailing with Galadriel, Erestor and the Hobbits
tomorrow.  Among others.  I am leaving for Valinor./

Shock reverberated through their connection.  /How did it come to
this?/

A sharp sting of humiliation, anger, betrayal, and jealousy heated the
link between them -- Elrond allowing Thranduil to see exactly how they
had come to this.  To him standing in the Grey Havens giving a
farewell to his lover of three thousand years while said lover was in
his bed in Eryn Lasgalen.

/Are you saying this would not have happened if I had not bedded
Melpomaen that night?/

Elrond shook his head.  /I am saying that we are here, now, because of
that action.  What could have been is not worth arguing over.  What is
simply is, meleth.  And what is is that we are over.  But, I needed
to say goodbye -- I owed you that./

/Melon lle./

/I know.  Melon lle, Thranduil.  But, it doesn't seem enough anymore./

/I don't believe it ever was./

They were silent for a while, Elrond ignoring the tears of bitterness
finding their way down his cold cheeks and Thranduil wiping them from
his own.  The Imladris Lord took a steadying breath and cast a wave of
affection to Thranduil, sharing sweet memories with him -- memories to
last them an eternity.

/Goodbye, Thranduil./

Elrond's eyes cleared, becoming cool grey once again and his knees
gave out under his weight.  On the shores of Lhûn, Elrond Peredhel
wept for all he had lost.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eryn Lasgalen, Realm of Thranduil - September 30th, 25 of the Fourth
Age

Thranduil stood alone in the large audience chamber looking with a sad
heart at the now-empty room.  The walls were bare of their exquisite
tapestries, the ornately carved chairs were packed away, even the
raised dais that had housed the throne had been removed and broken
down for the journey.

It had been roughly two years ago that Celeborn had come to the
Mirkwood King and expressed his intent to empty East Lorien and travel
to Imladris to await his departure to the Grey Havens and Valinor
beyond.  Thranduil had taken the news to his people and inquired of
their wishes.  A great number of the Sylvan Elves had agreed that
their place was no longer in what remained of the Great Greenwood.
Preparations had been made since then, culminating today in the
start of the journey of his and Celeborn's peoples to Imladris.

Imladris.  The name still sent dual pangs of love and regret straight
to his soul.  The irony was not lost on Thranduil that today was the
anniversary of the day Elrond Half-Elven stepped on the shores of
Valinor.  The Sinda remembered the sting -- like a great blow to the
stomach -- that had signified to Thranduil that his bondmate was no
longer in Middle-Earth.  While the bond did not immediately vanish,
there was a great emptiness in Thranduil's mind nonetheless, as he
could no longer feel Elrond's emotions or Farspeak him.  His love was
truly gone from his world.

It was his duty as King of this realm to go once more over the echoing
halls of his home.  All doors lay open to him, each as empty and
lifeless as the other.  Memories swept over him; he had spent close to
six thousand years in these halls...  He could barely remember a time
outside of this cavernous palace.  Those few centuries spent in Lindon
were Ages past, almost another lifetime.  When he was young and very
much taken with the High King's Herald, when he was ruled by his
father's desires.

He had married his wife in these halls... paced up and down them while
she gave birth to their first son.  His son's wails could be heard all
through the palace and many rejoiced with their King.  He regretted
those early years, though, with Sîdh...  He had been new to being a
King, still lost in his grief over the loss of his father.  His sons
would never know the might that had been Oropher, King of Greenwood
the Great.

Thranduil entered the room that had been the nursery for all three of
his sons.  He had not learned to love and play with them until Legolas
came into his life.  From the moment he held his youngest, his heart
was no longer his.  The bright, shining eyes that reminded Thranduil
of the Sea... so blue and deep.  He had spent as much time with
Legolas as he could spare.  Playing games through these rooms, hiding
in the alcoves and weaving around his advisors as Legolas and he
played chase games.

The King of Eryn Lasgalen sighed and turned from the room he had
occupied as King all his long years.  His wife's comforting
presence beside him, warm and welcoming, accepting his name and the
right to bear his heirs.  His sons jumping up and down on the great
bed that had once stood in the center of the room.  Melpomaen helping
to pass the cold, lonely nights after his wife left for Valinor.

His final memory, the one he held onto the most, was of the last
winter he and Elrond spent together in Mirkwood.  They had barely left
the room, having meals brought to them and bathing in the King's
private baths.  They had played chess until the sun kissed the sky...
Spent long hours in silence while reading books... They had made love
each night...  But Thranduil's most prized memory was his simplest.
Waking each morning before Elrond and watching his love sleep,
innocent and without worry in his dreams.

He slowly made his way to the large gates that once protected his
people from the evils that had infested the Greenwood.  Thranduil
stepped heavy, making his footsteps echo through the vast, desolate
palace.  He would never again see his youngest son's shining head run
through the stone corridors, calling out to him in eager happiness.
He would never give audience to the Men or Dwarves that populated the
lands outside his realm.  He would never again ride through the dense
wood, inhaling the fragrant scents that budded in the spring.

He would never see his great home again.

It was over.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Imladris - June 15th, 30 of the Fourth Age

He had resided with Celeborn and the Peredhel twins for five years in
Imladris.  It was strange for the two great Elf-lords, lost without
kingdoms but with their Elves still looking to them for guidance.  The
House of Elrond was full of voices once again, helping to ease the
pain Thranduil felt after leaving behind his empty wood.

Celeborn's days, though, were spent locked in one of the many rooms.
Thranduil had thought to ask once who it was that would weep or scream
from behind that closed door, but chose to let it lie.  Elladan and
Elrohir had become wonderful Lords, presiding over the busy community
that Rivendell had become once again.  Thranduil thought Elrond would
have been pleased to see how his sons took to leadership.  They both
had worried about their children and their roles in this life.

Reclining in the sun on one of the lawns, Thranduil turned his face up
to the golden warmth.  Yes, Elrond's beautiful sons had taken to
Lordship well.  Just as his own son had.  Legolas had taken up the
wooded areas near Emyn Arnen, just as he had warned the twins decades
ago.  The Elves there adored their Prince, who was a fair ruler -- if
one could call him a ruler.  Legolas spent much of his time in either
King Eomer's court in Ithilien or in Elessar's great home, advising
the King.

Life had moved on.  The times were not as difficult.  And they had
been sent word from Legolas that Arwen was with child, she was
expecting a son in the next few months.  Thranduil and Celeborn had
already decided that they would journey to Gondor when the time of the
birth came closer and Elladan insisted Elrohir go with them.
Thranduil had made the case that Elladan should accompany them as
well, but Elladan felt that one of the four should remain in Imlardis.
He chose himself.

Another development in his new life in the valley of Imladris had been
his bed partner.  A few months after arriving with the last of his
Elves, Melpomaen had come to him.  Last year, he had asked the Advisor
to share his quarters with him.  There was still that hole in his
heart and soul where Elrond had once been, and their bond still
reminded him of all he lost, but it was comforting to once again wake
to a warm, welcoming body.  To indulge in carnal pleasures and have
someone who missed the times past as well.

Elladan and Elrohir had not been pleased with the new rooming
arrangement, but Celeborn had kindly reminded them that Elrond had
sailed and that Thranduil had every right to seek a new lover.
Elladan had balked over it for a few weeks, but Elrohir, who had
inherited his grandmother's gifts, had only smiled sadly at him.
Elrohir knew Thranduil's heart and the pain and guilt he relived every
moment.  But, only Elrohir.  Not even Melpomaen knew the depth of his
shame and longing for Elrond.

So lost in his own torment, Thranduil did not notice the dark-haired
Elf approach.  When his shadow blocked the bright rays from above,
Thranduil's eyes focused on the compassionate face of the Noldo.
Melopmaen sat astride Thranduil, leaning down to cover the mighty
King's body with his own.

"My Lord, you will miss the afternoon meal."

Thranduil cupped Melpomaen's face in his hands and smiled softly.
"Why do you remain here, with me?"

The Advisor sighed, leaning down to kiss his lover gently.  "I stay
because I am needed.  It is good to be needed.  The twins desire my
counsel, you desire my presence.  Why must I leave behind my home and
those I love when I am not ready to?"

The Mirkwood Elf's eyebrow arched.  "Love?"

Color suffused Melpomaen's cheeks and he drew back from the Elf-lord.
"I am sorry, my Lord, I did not mean to imply that..."

"That what, saelbeth?  You did not wish to imply that you loved me?"
Thranduil lifted himself up onto his elbows, his level, emerald gaze
boring into his lover's dark chocolate one.

Melpomaen sighed heaviy and stood from Thranduil, his back to his
Lord.  "I do love you, my Lord.  Though, I know you do not, and
cannot, love me.  I cannot stop the whim of my heart, though."

Thanduil stood and wrapped his arms around the slender waist hidden in
thick robes.  "Forgive me, pen velui.  I care deeply for you, I always
have, but my love is not for you.  If you wish for us to cease our
relationship, I will understand."

The Advisor turned to him suddenly, pulling the King into a deep,
passionate kiss.  After long moments, he pulled back and looked into
the depths of Thranduil's green eyes.  "No, my Lord.  To do such a
thing would break my heart more than remaining in your arms for
whatever time we have together."

The blond Elf brushed a wayward braid from Melpomaen's brow and
smiled.  "You will find an Elf worthy of your love and affection,
Melpomaen.  I know you will."

The were silent for a moment, then Melpomaen's bright smile graced his
face once again.  "We shall be late, my Lord.  Elladan and Elrohir
have had a special meal prepared for you!  They say it is the foods
they found in your court, long ago when they fostered in Mirkwood."

Thranduil allowed his lover to pull him toward the small dining room
they shared.  They took their meals together, in the room where
Thranduil realized he loved Elrond more than he had when he met him in
Gil-Galad's court in Lindon Ages ago.

That night, when he had felt part of a true family once again, seemed
a lifetime ago.

And, he supposed, it was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion, Valinor - August 21st, 68 of the Fourth Age

Elrond laughed, watching the five She-Elves dancing, weaving the long
ribbons around the tall pole with an intricate design.  He sat
on the stairs leading to his home, basking in the presence of
his family.  Beside him, on his right, sat his best friend.  Erestor
had a sparkle in his eyes that the Peredhel had missed over the years.
That sparkle was due to the attentions of the Noldo who sat beside the
Councilor.  Gildor had been caring and gentle with the broken-hearted
Elf and Erestor flourished under his tender ministrations.

The three Lords from Imladris dwelled together, sharing a modest home.
Erestor had been reluctant in the beginning, but Gildor and Elrond had
settled him in nicely and they were close and as happy as they could
be.  To his left sat one he had not expected to find, one he had never
met, but was related to.  Thingol laughed as Nimloth ducked under
Galadriel, nearly running into Earwen.  Celebrian danced out of
Idril's way; Elwing laughed and missed a step, tripping slightly on
her long skirts.  After a moment, however, everyone recovered, and
they returned gracefully to the fluid pattern.

Leaning on the support column next to Gildor was Turgon, relaxed and
noble, watching the women with a faint smile.  Sitting on the low
railing that circled the front of Elrond's home was Dior, who called
out a cheeky comment to his wife, causing Nimloth to blush furiously
and Galadriel to chastise him good naturedly.

Yes, he was as content as he could be without his sons or his lover.

Thingol leaned over, clasping Elrond on his shoulder.  "Tell me,
Elrond, do you not have children with your fair wife?"

The great Elf had only just become aquainted with his kin and was
eager to learn all he could.  Elrond felt Erestor stiffen next to him.
Just like Elrond, Erestor worried about the fate of the twins should
they choose to come to the shores of Valinor.  Elrond cleared his
throat.  "Aye, we have three children together.  Twin boys and a
daughter."

Turgon had turned his attention to the Half-Elf, not understanding his
reluctance to speak of his children.  He and the others had also
noticed that Celebrian resided with her mother, not with her husband.
Although much was known in Valinor about every Elf in residence, the
three Elves from Imladris who sat on the stairs had kept much to
themselves and their family would not comment.  "Do you not wish to
discuss your family, meldir?"

Elrond sighed.

"Elrond," Erestor whispered, "they are your kin.  You should speak of
them, even if they never come to us."

Elrond nodded and looked at his wife's laughing face.  "Arwen chose to
wed the King of Gondor.  She has chosen the path of Man and will pass
after Elessar leaves Middle-Earth."

"I am sorry, Elrond," Dior said, his brow furrowing with obvious
sorrow.  "It must be a relief to still have your sons."

"I am not sure they will come here."  Elrond leaned his head on
Erestor's shoulder, drawing strength from his old lover.  "Their lives
are... complicated and I am sure they fear the Valar and their
judgement on their life choices."

"What could they have done to receive the wrath of the Valar?"  The
idea of Elrond's sons having done something that dreadful upset
Thingol terribly.

When Elrond remained quiet, Erestor took it on himself to explain.
"Elladan and Elrohir have chosen one another as lifemates.  They share
an intimate relationship with one another and fear the Valar will
condemn their love."

"Though," Gildor added, "they share that love with their bonded,
Legolas -- Oropher's grandson."

Turgon smiled.  "I am sure Oropher will have words with Thranduil once
that child arrives.  He tried his damnedest to keep Thranduil from the
Noldo, and now his grandson is bonded to not one but both the Peredhil
heirs."  A chuckle was shared among the group.

Elrond cleared his throat.  "Those shall not be the only words he will
have with his son, should Thranduil arrive here."

Dior cocked his head as Thingol raised an eyebrow.  "Why is that?"
asked Dior.

A broad smile crossed Erestor's face.  "Because our Lord here is the
bondmate of Thranduil Oropherion."

Another round of laughter was shared, then Elrond felt the meloncholy
return.  "I am not certain he or my sons will come to us."

"Your sons have nothing to fear, Elrond."  Elrond raised his head from
Erestor's shoulder to regard Thingol with a questioning look.  "What?
Did you not realize your own line?  Why, you and Celebrian are
cousins.  Celeborn and Galadriel were cousins, as well."

"Nimloth and I are cousins," Dior piped up.

"Love is love, meldir," was the piece of knowledge Turgon offered.
"The Valar do not judge love.  We love who we do, and sometime we
marry because we must."

Erestor was chuckling, reveling in the look of pure shock painted on
his friend's face.  It was then that Turgon leaned down between
Erestor and his lover, whispering in the Councilor's ear.  "I wouldn't
laugh, if I were you.  There are surprises in store for you about
*your* heritage, meldir."

Erestor's eyes widened.  "Do not tell me Gildor is my brother... or
Glorfindel was my cousin..."

The rich sound of Turgon's laugh sent shivers down the Noldo's spine.
"Oh, you are not related to either Gildor or the golden warrior, but
you do share a deep relationship beyond your knowledge with Lord
Glorfindel of the Golden Flower."

Fear crept into Erestor's heart.  "What...?"

Turgon offered his hand, ignoring the odd looks from Gildor and
Elrond.  Everyone else assembled knew what Erestor was about to find
out, but they respected Manwe's request that no one frighten the Elf.
"Come with me, Erestor of Imladris.  You have an audience with Manwe
himself shortly."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grey Havens - January 15th, 126 of the Fourth Age

Thranduil stood aboard the ship with the last of the Elves leaving
Middle-Earth.  This was the final trip for Cirdan, the way to Valinor
would be closed after they landed.  They had left Imladris behind,
where Thranduil had resided for the last century.  They had been good
years, years spent with the twins, Celeborn, Haldir and his brothers
and with his lover.  Melpomaen had been a wonderful companion, someone
Thranduil had grown to love, though not in the manner the Advisor had
so sorely wished for.

He no longer felt guilty for his relationship with Melpomaen.  After
seventy-five years together as steady lovers, Melpomaen had found one
he loved who could love him as much in return.  Rumil had surprised
everyone when they announced the relationship.  Thranduil had been
pleased, very happy that Melpomaen would have all the selfless Elf
deserved.  His last years in Imladris had been spent without a
bedmate; he just could not find it in him to take another to his bed.
Melpomaen had been the only other Elf besides Elrond for Thranduil in
the last seven centuries of the King's life.

Now, he was going home, going to Valinor.  Going where Elrond had gone
long ago.  Legolas had sailed six years prior, leaving without a word
to anyone and taking that annoying Dwarf with him.  He planned on
giving his son an earful when they got to land.  The last of
the Mirkwood Kings felt a nervous anticipation inside, wondering how
much Elrond and Erestor had changed.  He knew he had changed much: his
temper had mellowed, and he had found humilty while living without his
lover.

Thranduil spent most of the trip to the Blessed Realm in his quarters
below deck, brooding over his choices and all the wasted time and all
the squandered chances in his life.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Shores of Valinor - January 16th, 126 of the Fourth Age

The party of Elves stepped from the ship and onto the dock, greeted by
a host of Elves from the city.  Legolas ran up to Thranduil, his eyes
bright and content, a smile making his face light up.  "Ada!"

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son, an entity in his life he
had missed for almost two centuries.  "Ion... how I have missed you!"

"I have missed you, Ada," the younger Elf whispered, his voice filled
with restrained tears.

The King held his youngest son away from him, an angry look on his
face.  "You left, Legolas, without even telling me goodbye!  That was
very unfair of you!"

Legolas hung his head slightly.  "You were in Imladris, I did not wish
to go back to the valley and thought it would just be easier on
everyone if I sailed without informing anyone."

"It wasn't easier, pen-neth.  Wasn't easier at all."  Thranduil
embraced his son once more, then turned to his two older children,
receiving their welcome with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.  Melpomaen
walked up behind his Lord and laughed.

"This is the most animated Lord Thranduil has been in years!"  Rumil
nodded his agreement with his lover, but then was pulled away to be
greeted by the Lady Galadriel and other Galadhrim he had known while
in the service of the Golden Wood.

Slowly, but with much happiness and many joyful tears, the last Elves
of Middle-Earth left the shores and ventured into the main city.  Each
companion bid the other a brief farewell, promising to meet up with
one another once they had settled into their new lives in Valinor.
Standing by the dock still, though, was the lonely figure of King
Thranduil.  He was welcomed as a royal, but he felt out of place now
that he had no realm to rule.  He had no idea what his life in this
place was to be like, but he did know that Elrond did not want to be a
part of it.

The Peredhel had not come to greet him like the rest of his family and
loved ones had.  Even his father, who he had not expected to see, had
been there to welcome him home.  Oropher had looked wonderful, his
spirit much improved since his time as the King of the Great
Greenwood.  Thranduil longed for the time he and his father would have
to recount all Oropher had missed after his demise at Dagorlad.  But,
the one he had hoped to see, the one who he had prayed would forgive
him, had not been there.

The gentle lapping of the waves against the docks and the quiet cry of
gulls above gave him some comfort.  Thranduil started when a hand came
to rest on his shoulder.  He turned and came face to face with the oak
leaf green eyes of his father.

"Adar."

"Thranduil, I know there is something troubling you."  Oropher had the
amazing insight, Thranduil thought, to know exactly when his son was
emotionally unbalanced in some way.  "It is Elrond Half-Elven, isn't
it?"  The slight sharp edge of Oropher's tone caused Thranduil to
sigh.  Was it ever going to be over?

"Don't worry, Adar, Elrond left me long ago.  I just hoped..."

Oropher took his son's face in his hands, like he had when Thranduil
was but an Elfling, and looked deep into his eyes.  That was how the
mighty King always knew if Thranduil was lying about something naughty
he had done.  "You betrayed him, didn't you, ion?"

A light blush crept over Thranduil's pale cheeks.  "Aye, Ada.  I did."

"I thought I taught you better than that, pen-neth."  Oropher smiled
when the endearment left his lips.  Thranduil was far from being a
young Elf any longer.  But, he was still stuck in the past,
remembering a son so much more innocent, so much softer and full of
life and laughter.  This closed-off, quiet Thranduil irked Oropher.

"You did, Ada.  I was wrong, but I was too full of pride to admit it
to him.  He left Middle-Earth before I could make ammends."

Oropher pulled his son into a tight embrace, relishing in the feel of
having his pride and joy in his arms once more.  "It is never too late
to be forgiven, ion.  Never too late."

Thranduil snaked his arms around the broad body of his father,
stinging tears softly slipping down his cheeks.  How he had missed his
father and the wisdom the elder Elf had always freely given.

*****

Oropher led Thranduil to the home he had procured for the King.  As a
Lord of one of the Elven Realms in Middle-Earth, they were afforded
larger, more elaborate homes.  This one was no exception.  Oropher
opened the gate at the end of the lawn and motioned his son through.
Before Thranduil knew it, though, his father had closed the gate and
smiled at him.

"Come to my home around sunset and have dinner with your family.  I
would love to have my son and my grandson together with me this night.
But, I need to be on my way, you have a guest."  Oropher smiled
knowingly and let out a small chuckle at Thranduil's confusion.  "Go
on, ion, I will still be here when you have settled in."

Thranduil watched the golden head of his father stroll down the
tightly packed dirt path, leading up the hill and out of his sight.
He sighed and turned to go up the walkway to his own home, thinking it
was much too large for just himself.

From the outside, he could tell it was a sprawling two-story building
with many windows and balconies, perfect for an Elf who had spent long
years in a cavern but who loved the fresh breezes and warm sunlight he
so missed from when his father ruled a great Elven city in the trees
of Greenwood.  He noticed, though, that those windows and doors were
thrown open to the light, salt-smelling air of the early afternoon.
He dismissed it, though, figuring his father had simply decided the
home needed to be aired out before Thranduil took up residence.

As the Elf got closer to the front of his new home, though, he saw
that he did indeed have a guest.  He was a tall, slender, dark-haired
figure wearing rust colored leggings, a shimmering gold shirt with a
loose fitting crimson tunic accented with more gold.

The colors of Imladris.

Thranduil stopped a few feet away from that figure who stood on the
uppermost step of his home, smiling serenely in the way only the Elf-
lord could.  Grey eyes filled with soft, unnamable emotions regarded
the shocked jade gaze in front of him.

"Welcome home, my Lord.  I hope I have not overstepped my bounds by
coming here to open your new home up and set out a small mid-day meal
for you."  Elrond's deep baritone flitted to Thranduil, who shivered
ever so slightly.

Thranduil found his ability to speak lacking, opening his mouth and
finding only unintelligable sounds tumbling from his lips.  He
stopped, closed his eyes for a moment and cleared his throat and tried
once again.  Opening his eyes with more confidence this time, he said,
"No, my Lord, not overstepping at all.  I thank you for your
thoughtfulness."

Elrond chuckled, lowering his eyes and willing his speeding heart to 
slow.  He stepped lightly down to stand before his old lover.  He took 
Thranduil by the shoulders, squeezing lightly.  "It's good to see you, 
hîren.  You must be famished from the trip.  Go in, eat and rest for 
the afternoon.  I will seek you out in a few days time, after you have 
settled into this new life."

Thranduil was still struggling to master his power of speech once
more, but before he could, Elrond gave one last squeeze to his
shoulders and walked off down the path to the main road.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

True to his word, Elrond did seek out the blond Elf a week later.
Thranduil had been reclinging in one the chairs on the main patio in
front of his home, his eyes closed, relaxing in the early morning
sunlight.  He felt a peace here that he had never known.  There were
no subjects to appease or worry about, there was no evil slowly
devouring his precious wood or his heart, there was nothing but the
soft sound of the surf and the heart-warming presence of his family.
He was happy.

When he saw the lone Elf making his way up to him, his heart lept in
his chest.  Elrond had been the foremost thought in the King's mind
the past seven days.  Since arriving, he was very aware of Elrond's
presence.  That dim warmth that had plagued him in Middle-Earth was
now a low-burning blaze, which would ignite into a wildfire if given
the chance.  He could feel the concern and gentle care in his lover's
mind for him, but the Peredhel was careful to guard his thoughts from
him.  He repaid the gesture, allowing Elrond to know of his love and
guilt, but not permitting him the intimacy of his thoughts.

"Maer aur, hîren," was the gentle greeting Elrond bestowed upon 
Thranduil.

The Elf decided he needed to take some initiative and motioned for 
Elrond to join him in watching the sky and the scenery.  As his 
beloved took his seat, Thranduil greeted him with an even more 
familiar endearment.  "Maer aur, peniaur," he said with a chuckle.

A raised eyebrow and that serene smile was the Half-Elf's response.
They sat in silence for some time, the sun slowly making her ascent
into the clear blue of the sky.  Finally, Elrond spoke.  The hushed,
lyrical tones always brought to mind happier times for Thranduil.

"We must talk, meldir."

"Yes, we must."

"You should not have run from me, you know."  Elrond sighed, a slight
wince showing in his features as he remembered the long-ago pain.  "I
would have come back to you, we could have made ammends before now."

Thranduil shook his head.  "No, I don't think we would have.  I was
angry, pen velui.  More at myself than with you.  Bilbo had made me
see that Legolas was the wise choice, the only choice you had.  But, I
refused to allow you that, my pride forced me to punish you for a
crime you had not committed."

Elrond reached over and took Thranduil's hand in his own, a flood of
pure pleasure coursing through both of them at the contact.  How he
had missed his love, how he had longed to run his fingers through the
golden silk of Thranduil's hair once more.  His bed and his life had
been cold and lonely since Thranduil's departure from Imladris a
lifetime ago.

"I can offer you no excuse for laying with Melpomaen.  It was simply
something idiotic I did.  I made matters worse when I allowed him to
become my lover in your absence."  Thranduil turned his fierce gaze on
Elrond.  "I love you, Elrond.  I always have."  He laughed slightly,
realizing that they had had a similar conversation one cold winter
faraway in time.  "This sounds strangely familiar, Elrond.  Didn't we
speak of love denied years ago in your private study, before a fire,
and you informed me that if I wanted your love it would be waiting
along with you in your bed?"

The Imladris Lord's eyes shown with fondness, slightly distant in the
memory.  "Aye.  I had waited for you to come to me all winter.  How
pleased I was when you walked through that door and back into my
life."

"As if there was ever a doubt, seron vell."

They stared at one another for several heartbeats.  "Never leave me
again, Thranduil Oropherion."  The levity and conviction in Elrond's
tone left no room for the Mirkwood King to argue.

"Never."

Elrond stood from his seat and walked to stand in front of Thranduil,
still spread out in his chair.  He gently and slowly lowered himself
to sit astride Thranduil's thighs, bringing their bodies into close
contact.  Elrond leaned in, breathing deep of Thranduil's unique
scent... one of cold, crisp water and fresh earth.  "I have missed
you, mela en' coiamin," he whispered before descending and capturing
the fair Elf's lips with his own.

Thranduil groaned, opening his mouth to his love, snaking his tongue
into the warmth and sweetness of Elrond's mouth.  He wrapped his arms
around the Peredhel's slim waist, pulling him even closer.  Elrond's
hands buried themselves into the blond locks, tilting Thranduil's head
further so he could deepen the kiss.  It was while locked in that
intimate embrace that Elrond did something Thranduil was not
expecting.

/Never, Thranduil.  I shall never let you go again./

The barrage of thoughts, repressed desire and deep-seated love washed
over him, bringing tears to his eyes and rekindled his guilt and
shame.  He was going to withdraw from the kiss and the contact of
Elrond's mind, but the Half-Elf would not allow it.  He added pressure
to his grip and held Thranduil's head still, and mentally soothed the
Sinda's mind.

/No more of this guilt, Thranduil.  It eats away at you.  Forgiveness
is given, it had been long ago.  No more despair.  No more remorse,
let this weight be lifted.  Come back to me./  Elrond finally broke
the kiss, looking down at Thranduil from half-closed eyes, feeling
himself stir at the sight of his lover's flushed face and swollen
lips.  Elrond leaned down again, his breath caressing Thranduil's ear
as he whispered, "Melon lle."

A choked sob escaped the figure beneath Elrond and the arms around him
crushed him closer still.

/Melon lle, Elrond./  He allowed Elrond back in, sharing himself
completely once more with his bonded.  He was home.  His long, lonely
journey was over.  Thranduil held Elrond in his arms once more and he
would not let him go.  Not now that he had him again.

"You amaze me, Peredhel," he said raggedly, emotion thickening his
voice.

Elrond pulled back, smiling brightly.  "How is that, my King?"

He cupped Elrond's cheek, rubbing his thumb lightly over the smooth
skin.  "You are the most forgiving, selfless being I have ever had the
honor of knowing... and loving.  I am made better because of you and
your light, melethen.  You have forgiven me so often..."

"Hush, Thranduil.  No more recriminations.  It is in the past, this is
a new day, a new life.  Let us leave the hurts behind."

Thranduil nodded and moved his hand to the back of Elrond's neck,
pulling the bruised lips back to his own, savoring the taste of his
lover that he had missed for so long.

"Come, Elrond," he whispered, sliding the Peredhel off his lap.  "I
want you to myself, not any Elf that happens to pass us by."

Elrond's face was alight with love and desire as Thranduil led him
into the house.  The rooms were bright and large, smelling of the
outdoors, with a swift breeze caressing them as they came to one of
the large bedrooms.  Thranduil divested Elrond of his loose silk shirt
and deftly unlaced his leggings.  Elrond returned the favor, and soon
the two lovers embraced one another skin to skin.  The Imladris Lord
let out a contented sigh and nuzzled at the golden King's neck.

Thranduil was determined to savor these moments with his lover,
tasting his mouth greedily, causing Elrond to gasp breathlessly.
"Thranduil..." came the soft plea, and the blond Elf smiled wickedly.

"Elrond."  He looked into the hooded eyes, stormy with passion.
Thranduil leaned in, nipping at the tip of Elrond's ear, and was
delighted when his lover's body trembled against him.  He teased the
earlobe with his tongue, slowly drawing the tender skin into his mouth
and sucking gently.

The Peredhel shuddered at the intimate contact.  His arousal swelled
and pressed against Thranduil's thigh, elicting a chuckle from the
Sinda.  Thranduil clucked his tongue, chiding his lover for being
over-eager, then moved his lips down to Elrond's neck.  The tip of his
tongue traced Elrond's collarbone down to the hollow of his throat,
where Thranduil placed a soft kiss.  He trailed the kisses down the
dark-haired Elf's chest and stomach, slowly kneeling as he did.

When Thranduil was on his knees before Elrond, he took in the sight of
the Peredhel's firm erection.  It was a sight he had dispaired of ever
seeing again.  He lightly played his fingertips across the tight flesh
of the shaft, leaning forward to rub his cheek against the soft skin
surrounding the tip.  His touch drifted down to softly finger the
wrinkled sac below, then back up along the entire length of Elrond's
rod.  He poured all of his love and devotion into that touch, letting
Elrond know wordlessly how important Thranduil felt him to be and how
deeply he loved the Half-Elven Lord.

Elrond smiled down at Thranduil as he ran his hands through the golden
hair.  The problems of the past were now literally a world away, and
he and Thranduil could begin again.  Here, in the Undying Lands, they
finally had a chance -- a real, honest chance -- to share a life
together.

The Noldo was wrenched from his musings back to reality when he felt
his cock suddenly devoured by Thranduil's warm mouth.  Hardly had he
let out a gasp, though, than Thranduil had pulled back with a
mischevious look on his face.  He winked at Elrond's confused
expression and plunged his mouth back down onto the Peredhel's
erection.  The second gasp of surprised pleasure almost made the Sinda
laugh, but he managed to refrain.  Thranduil wrapped his fingers
around the base of Elrond's shaft to hold it steady and began bobbing
his head up and down, sliding the firm cock in and out of his mouth in
an easy rhythm.

Elrond's knees suddenly felt weak, and the dark-haired Elf had to put
his hands out against the wall to steady himself.  In between thrusts,
Thranduil pulled Elrond's rod in deeply and sucked hard along the
entire length, as though he could pull forth the Peredhel's seed
simply by suction.  The sensation made Elrond's eyes roll back in his
head, his breathing sped, and his whole body feel as though it had
caught flame.  He could not restrict his sounds to soft gasps and
moans; he cried out loud and long, thrashing his head side to side as
the King voraciously attacked the Half-Elf's cock with his mouth.

Elrond knew he couldn't hold himself back much longer.  "So close..."
he gasped, his voice raw and hoarse from calling out so much.
Thranduil chuckled in the back of his throat, but gave no sign of
slowing or stopping.  Elrond clenched his eyes shut as the feeling of
release welled up within him.  His entire body shook as he came.
Thranduil's name spilled from his lips over and over again even as his
seed spilled from his erection over and over again.  So great was
Elrond's orgasm, in fact, that the King struggled to swallow all of
it.

Thranduil stood slowly, wiping the last traces of Elrond's essence 
from his lips.  The Peredhel moved to embrace him, but so spent was 
Elrond that he all but fell into Thranduil's arms.  The Sinda held him 
close and helped him over to the bed.  After laying Elrond down on the 
large bed, the blonde lay beside him, draping an arm across Elrond's 
chest.

A few minutes passed in silence broken only by the sounds of
breathing.  When at last Elrond felt recovered, he cast his glance
down Thranduil's body, taking in the King's slowly wilting arousal.
He returned his eyes to Thranduil's face and brushed his fingers along
the arm holding him loosely.

"Have you no thought of yourself?" he asked Thranduil lightly.

"As exhausted as you are, melethron, I would never have asked."

Elrond turned his head and kissed Thranduil's lips even as he slid a
hand down the Sinda's body and fondled the stiffening member there.
"There are positions that do not require me to be well-rested," the
Peredhel said coyly.

"Indeed?" Thranduil replied, pretending to be oblivious.

"Oh, yes," Elrond continued in mock-seriousness.  "Would you like me
to demonstrate?"

"I would be most interested to see."

Elrond gave Thranduil's cock a quick squeeze before reaching behind
his head and removing one of the pillows.  He lifted his hips and slid
the pillow under his behind.  He spread his legs wide, exposing
himself completely to his lover.  The openness of the position was so
erotic that merely laying there was making the Peredhel hard a second
time.

Thranduil, still playing up the ignorance, merely nodded.
"Intriguing.  And this is pleasurable?"

"Most pleasurable all around," Elrond said, as though he were a
merchant trying to make a sale.  "Perhaps you would care to test it
for yourself?"

"But is it not traditional to use some form of oil?  I am afraid that
I have nothing of the sort here."

The dark-haired Elf blushed slightly, and the color travelled along
his whole body, causing Thranduil's cock to throb with desire.  "I
took the liberty," Elrond explained, "of furnishing your bedroom with
a small selection.  You'll find them in the bottom drawer of the
wardrobe."

Confused but curious, Thranduil crossed the large room and opened the
indicated drawer.  As Elrond had said, there were half a dozen small
phials of oil awaiting him.  He picked one at random and broke the
seal on the jar.  The rich scent of sage wafted up, and the Sinda
judged the oil to be satisfactory.  He carried the phial back to the
bed, crawling onto his knees between the Lord's spread legs.

Elrond's arousal grew at the sight of Thranduil between his legs, and
his cock swelled to match.  Thranduil tipped the phial slightly and
poured a small amount of the oil down Elrond's shaft.  Elrond sighed
at the feel of the cool oil, then moaned when Thranduil slid a hand
across the slick skin.  The golden King rubbed his palm up and down
over Elrond's rod, occassionally sliding his hand lower and massaging
the oil into the skin surrounding the Half-Elf's tender balls.

Some of the oil dripped down between Elrond's legs, and the Peredhel
used his fingers to rub it across his tight rear opening, dipping his
fingertip inside himself with a moan.  The intent was not lost on
Thranduil, who groaned at the sight.  He reached down, replacing
Elrond's fingers with his own, and gently worked his finger into his
lover's sheath.  He added more oil and made sure that every part of
Elrond's rear passage was slick and wet.  Only then did he apply a
generous amount of the sage-scented oil to his own cock.

Elrond gritted his teeth when he felt Thranduil begin to push into
him, but the pain was only slight and was over a moment later.
Thranduil was gentle, easing himself in only a little at a time,
groaning at the tightness that the new position accentuated.  When the
King was almost completely immersed, Elrond lifted his legs to change
the angle and allow Thranduil to bury himself totally within him.

Thranduil was awash in pleasure at the sensation of once again making
love with his bonded.  He held his arms out and supported Elrond's
legs with his forearms.  He leaned forward slightly and began to
thrust his hips against Elrond, sliding his cock in and out of the
warm tightness.  The Sinda threw his head back, moaning in time with
his motions.

Elrond's moans joined his lover's as he wrapped his hand around his
slick rod and began to stroke himself.  The two moved fluidly
together, lifting their voices in an erotic chorus, Thranduil's light
tenor complimenting Elrond's baritone as their moans became groans and
their sighs became gasps.  Thranduil was the first to reach his
release, gripping Elrond's thighs when the waves of orgasm crashed
through him.  He emptied himself into the Peredhel, who cried out in
rapture barely two breaths later.  Elrond's cock pulsed, spurting
the pearly seed onto his chest and stomach.  The Lord gave a
shuddering sigh as the throes of passion eased, looking up with love
at the blonde-haired Elf above him.

*****

The sun had already set by the time the lovers had cleaned themselves
up.  They lay naked in each other's arms, both enjoying the closeness
that they had missed for so long.

"I had wondered," Thranduil said at length, "why you had such a large
home set aside for me.  I suppose you knew that I wouldn't be staying
here alone?"

"I certainly had my hopes," Elrond replied.  "But don't worry, I don't
eat much, and Erestor and Gildor are very quiet.  Of course, once your
son and my twins join us here, we may have to deal with some tramping
about upstairs, but I think -- "

Thranduil cut him off with a laugh.  "Oh, no, you don't, Peredhel!
I've got you to myself now, and I intend to *keep* it that way!"

Elrond kissed Thranduil softly on the lips.  "We'll talk later," he
said sweetly, rolling over to settle in for the night.

Thranduil blew out the candle.  "Don't bet on it."

End "One Sweet Memory"

Elvish/English translations:
Melon lle : I love you
Saelbeth : Wise one
Hîren : My Lord
Maer aur : Good morning
Peniaur : Ancient one
Melethen : My love

Completed: 11/14/2003
Revised: 11/23/2003

---

Series: Razor's Edge Trilogy
Title: A Kiss in the Darkness
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hamena.org
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: Any, so long as I know where it is  ^^
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Silvara, the most patient beta in existence...
Cast: Erestor/Glorfindel, Erestor/Gildor Implied
Timeline: Winter of Fourth Age
Spoilers:  None
Summary: In Arda, Glorfindel battles his demons, while in Valinor,
Erestor must come to grips with a past more sordid than he knows.
A/N:  This follows the "One Step Closer" trilogy.  This trilogy will
answer all the questions and more.  ^^  There is a companion trilogy
staring Haldir and Celeborn, since they made an appearance in "One
Step Closer" and in "Razor's Edge."  I will be posting "Before The
Dawn" sometime next week, after all four parts of this trilogy have
been released.  I hope everyone likes the finale!  ** A thank you
goes to Ilye for pointing out a small, but important, omission on my
part.  ^^

**...** denotes a memory

---

Eryn Lasgalen - December 8th, 6 of the Fourth Age

"Ecthelion!"

Haldir cringed with memory as Glorfindel's voice reverberated through
the talan.  He turned to Celeborn.  "This cannot go on."

"It goes as long as he refuses to see."  Celeborn looked through the
doorway into the small room.  Glorfindel, the proud golden warrior of
Gondolin, sat on the bare floor clad only in leggings.  His arms were
bound with mithril cuffs that were chained together and then to the
floor.  They gave him some mobility, but not much.  It was as much for
his own protection as it was for theirs.

"He has been here for years.  He does not improve.  The Ring has long
been destroyed; was that not what held him so bound?"

"No, the tendencies were already within him.  The Ring simply woke
them, brought them to his attention.  Now, he needs to deal with
them."  Celeborn entered the talan with Haldir, walking slowly to his
charge.  "Good morning, Glorfindel."

Damp hair hung before wild eyes, the bare chest heaving with exertion
to rid himself of his confines.  "Good morning, Lord Celeborn," was
the sneering response.

"I see we are more lucid today.  Perhaps we should continue where we
left off?"  Haldir was always impressed with how Celeborn remained
unphased by the Balrog-slayer, no matter what the warrior said or did.

"By all means.  I believe you were explaining to me the nature of the
Fëa, and I was calling your mother an Orc-loving whore."

"At least your memory has not suffered," Celeborn said dryly.

"Not a lot of other things to do in here," Glorfindel said calmly,
rattling his bonds to make his point.

"If you cooperate today, I'll bring you some charcoal and parchment to
draw on.  How does that sound?"

"Like a pathetic bribe to elicit supplicance."

"Perhaps."

"I promise nothing," Glorfindel spat.  A moment later, though, his
shoulders slumped and a change came across his eyes.  In a voice
something more like what the Lorien Elves remembered, the Elda added,
"But I will try."

"Fair enough," Celeborn allowed.  He stepped further into the room,
seating himself on the floor in front of Glorfindel, but just out of
his reach.  He crossed his legs and placed his hands, palms up, on his
knees.  He closed his eyes and stilled his mind.

Haldir held himself at the ready.  It would not be the first time that
Glorfindel had attempted to attack Celeborn during this moment of
meditation.  Today, however, the warrior sat silently, eyes filled
with a pronounced ache.  Celeborn opened his eyes and flexed his
fingers.  Slowly, a blue glow grew in his palms.  In moments, each
hand now held a small ball of light, spinning and pulsing with the
Lord's heartbeat.

Celeborn drew in a deep breath, and exhaled, squeezing the lights in
his fists.  His eyes shone silver, and the light swelled, bursting
from between his fingers in crackling bolts that struck Glorfindel in
both temples.  The Balrog-slayer screamed as the connection was made,
and Celeborn plunged into the maelstrom of Glorfindel's mind once
again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion, Valinor - August 21st, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor grabbed hold of Gildor's hand, pulling the warrior as Turgon
pulled him.  "You're coming with me!"

"What?!"  Gildor tripped after his lover, eyes wide with apprehension.

"I am not going with him by myself, Gildor.  I barely *know* Turgon!"

Turgon laughed, drawing the two Elves after him.  "You worry over
nothing, Erestor of Imladris.  He will not harm you."

"I am not worried about harm," mumbled the Councilor.  "I just know
that most Elves are not given a private audience with the Valar."

"You'd be surprised," was Turgon's response.

Erestor fell silent as he followed the Gondolin King and gripped
Gildor's hand tighter.  They wound their way through the immense Elven
city and soon both Gildor and Erestor were hopelessly lost.  Finally,
Turgon stopped before an immense home and motioned for them to enter.

"Where are we?"  Erestor cautiously entered the grand home, looking at
the rich tapestries and dark furniture that populated the main room.

"We are in my home.  Can I offer you something to drink or eat?"
Erestor watched Turgon enter a room to the left and assumed it was the
kitchen.  Turgon came back out, bearing three goblets and a dark
bottle.  He offered them glasses and then poured the rose colored
wine.

Erestor sipped the cool liquid, tasting sweet berries on his tongue.
"Thank you."

"You are so timid, Erestor.  Nothing like I expected you to be."
Turgon sipped thoughtfully at his wine.

The younger Noldo shifted uneasily.  "Why do you all seem to have been
expecting me?  And me specifically?"

"You'll see.  Come, sit.  He will join us shortly."  Turgon lead them
to the main room, Erestor and Gildor sitting close to one another on
the large sofa that dominated the room.  Turgon thought it amusing how
Erestor gripped Gildor's hand.  This was not the Elf he had known so
long ago, but then again, Erestor was not who they had all expected.

Gildor looked about them.  "Why are we in your home, my Lord?  I
thought you said Manwë wished to speak with Erestor."

"He does.  He will meet us here."  He laughed lightly at their
surprised looks.

"I was under the impression he had a home we could openly visit..."
Gildor continued, slightly confused.

"Of course Manwë has a house, but do you *really* want to go trekking
up Taniquetil to get to it?"  Turgon shook his head.  "This will suit
his purpose -- and ours."

Erestor chewed at his lip and fidgeted with his wine glass.  He felt
very unprepared, something the Councilor rarely felt.  This was not
how he envisioned his time in Valinor.  Thus far it had been the
idyllic land he had always thought it would be.  But this...  This
worried him.  He looked over to Gildor who was watching Turgon with a
wary expression.  Erestor felt lucky that he had a friend such as
Gildor.  He could fall in love with the warrior, but Gildor would not
allow him to.  He kept reassuring Erestor that Glorfindel would arrive
in Valinor any day now and that the golden Elf and the gloomy Noldo
would find their happiness -- together.

The Councilor did not delude himself, though.  He knew Gildor also
waited for a love to come to him on one of the white ships.  He had
never spoken of the lover, but Erestor knew that the love existed.  He
could feel the lonely ache in his friend's heart at times.  But, they
chose to share the comfort of one another for as long as they needed.
Erestor started when there was a gentle tapping at the door and stood
when Turgon went to answer it.

"Calm down, meldir," Gildor whispered.  "If you keep breathing like
that, you will faint."

"I think I will faint regardless of my breathing, Gildor."  He felt
dizzy, like all his blood had rushed from his head down into his feet.
He was lightheaded and swayed slightly on his feet.

"Sit down."  It was command, not a request, and Erestor felt Gildor
pull him back onto the sofa.

Erestor looked up and saw a fourth figure in the room.  Tall and
blonde, with piercing blue eyes that looked at everything and nothing.
The former Imladris Councilor did not need to be told that this was
Manwë, Lord of the Valar, second only to Eru Himself.

Manwë held up a hand.  "It's just Manwë.  Before you start with the
'my Lord's or 'gracious Sire's or whatever; it's just Manwë."

Erestor nodded dumbly, Gildor making a similar gesture.  Turgon just
leaned against the door frame and chuckled.

"Manwë, come on now.  You're scaring them."

The Vala rolled his eyes and smirked.  "What's the use of being Lord
of Arda if you can't remind people of it?" he joked.

Turgon motioned for Manwë to take a seat as he came back into the room
with a tray of breads and cheeses along with a bottle of wine.  "I'm
simply afraid that our friend Erestor here may explode from terror,
and that would hardly be conducive to a conversation with him."

"You have a point, my friend," Manwë conceded.  He turned to face
Erestor.  "I'll come right to the heart.  What do you know of the Fall
of Gondolin?"

Erestor's brow knitted in confusion.  "The Fall of Gondolin?  But
surely Lord Turgon would be better suited--"

"I know what he has to say about it.  I'm asking you."

"Er... It occurred in 510 of the First Age.  Morgoth led a host of
Orcs through the Orfalch Echor aided by the treason of Maeglin.  The
Houses fought bravely, but were pushed back into the King's Square.
Tuor and Idril escaped with Earendil, but Lord Turgon was killed,
along with Glorfindel, Ecthelion of the Fountain, and a host of
others."

Manwë shook his head.  "No.  That's what you've been *told* of the
Fall of Gondolin.  What do you *know*?"

"I... I don't understand."

"Yes, you do.  You have dreams of it, don't you?  Dreams you've never
told anyone about?"

Erestor cast his eyes downward.  "They're just dreams."

"Nothing is *just* anything.  I should know."

"I'm... fighting," Erestor began, a numbness to his voice.  "I'm
surrounded by Orcs, except behind me where there's a huge fountain.
The Orcs keep coming, but I keep cutting them down as soon as they
approach.  My sword is black from all the Orc blood, but I don't dare
stop to clean it.

"Then, suddenly, the Orcs scatter.  I turn around and see this
enormous beast -- a Balrog.  But larger and broader than any Balrog
I've ever seen or heard of.  It raises a black axe over my head....
and then I wake up."

"Who do you suppose that Balrog was?" Manwë asked gently.

"I know who it was.  Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs.  Slayer of Feanor and
Fingon."

"So who does that make you in the dream, seeing that you are by the
great Fountain in King's Square of Gondolin facing down Gothmog?"

"That would mean I was dreaming I was Ecthelion."  Erestor's voice
still held no emotion, though his insides were trembling, afraid of
what was coming next.

"And if I told you that those were not dreams, but memories?"

Erestor closed his eyes, an expression of pain and shock etched on his
face.  His head fell forward into his hands and his shoulders began to
shake.  Gildor immediately wrapped his arms around his lover, holding
him tightly.  The Noldo glared at Manwë.  "In Arda," he began
casually, "we have a word called 'tact.'  I don't know who of the
Valar was responsible for singing it into being, but it's obvious that
it wasn't *you*!"

The Vala stood.  "I apologize.  Believe it or not, this was the best
way.  When you are ready to hear more, Erestor, Turgon knows how to
find me."  And with that, Manwë strode from the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Imladris - September 14th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Thranduil was walking through the halls of the family wing heading for
the kitchens when a commotion from Celeborn's room drew his attention.
He was used to hearing strange noises coming from that room, but this
sounded more like a scuffle.  The door burst open just as Thranduil
approached it, and Celeborn looked out.  The silver-haired Elf was
bleeding from a split lip, his hair was disheveled, and his robes
torn.

"Lord Thranduil," he said with a calmness that belied the situation.
"I wonder if I might entreat upon you to assist me."

Thranduil's eyes widened.  "You look like you've just come from a
battlefield, Lord Celeborn!"

"That isn't far from the truth.  Come in and see for yourself."

The Mirkwood King stepped through the door and stared in shock and
amazement.  The room was completely devoid of furnishing save for a
cot in the corner by the door.  But even more amazing than that was
the state of the various occupants of the room.  Haldir lay slumped
against one wall, blood coming from his nose; Rumil and Orophin were
both nursing cuts on their arms; Elrohir was dousing a cloth with the
contents of a dark decanter; and in the center of the room....

Glorfindel.

Thranduil blinked and looked again.  It was still Glorfindel, crouched
down on his fingertips and the balls of his feet.  He wore no shirt
and a pair of thin, threadbare leggings.  His golden hair was dirty
and wild, and the red stain across his mouth made Thranduil realize
that Rumil and Orophin weren't nursing cuts, but *bites*.  Glorfindel
was bound with mithril shackles, connecting his wrists with a thick
chain, while a second chain linked to the middle of the first and
tethered to the floor.

But the worst part was Glorfindel's eyes.  Thranduil physically
flinched when the Balrog-slayer looked at him.  His eyes were *black*
-- completely and utterly black.

"What in the name of Morgoth---" he began, but Elrohir cut him off.

"We need to get him sedated.  We need your help to hold him down.  He
can't punch, but he can damn well kick and bite!" the younger twin
called out.

"Sedate me?" Glorfindel mocked with a sadistic chuckle that sent
chills up Thranduil's spine.  "Put me to sleep like all of you?
You're sheep!  And I... am the *wolf*!"

Celeborn turned to Thranduil.  "Just ignore him.  He only does that to
get a response."

"He only does *what*?!  Celeborn, *what* is going on?"

"I will explain, my friend, but later.  Now, we need to restrain him
so that Elrohir can put him to sleep."

Rumil and Orophin nodded to each other and approached Glorfindel from
opposite sides.  They each made a grab for one of the Elda's legs, but
Glorfindel was faster.  With an agility and flexibility that Thranduil
didn't know he possessed, Glorfindel threw his weight onto his hands,
pushed up into a handstand and kicked out with both feet, striking
both brothers solidly in the chest and knocking them back out of his
reach.  In less than a second, the warrior had returned to his
position on the floor with barely a grunt of exertion.

Thranduil revised his assessment of the situation.  It was obvious
this was a more difficult task than it first appeared.  Whatever was
happening to Glorfindel, it hadn't robbed him of his warrior reflexes
or instincts.

Celeborn got his attention.  "Try to distract him.  I'll attempt to
get an arm around him while Rumil and Orophin go for the legs again."

The Sinda shook his head.  "I have a better idea."  Before Celeborn
could ask, Thranduil reached into his robes and pulled out a small
dagger.  Elrohir gave a startled cry, but Thranduil ignored him.  He
took careful aim and threw, causing four Elves to call out in alarm.

Thranduil knew what he was doing, though.  Bound by his wrists to the
floor, Glorfindel could not move his upper body as easily as his
lower.  There was no way he could dodge far enough quickly enough to
avoid the flying blade.  What no one noticed until it was all over was
that the Mirkwood King had deliberately thrown the dagger *backward*
so that the hilt struck Glorfindel between the eyes rather than the
point.  The force behind the throw was so great that the Balrog-slayer
was knocked unconscious instantly, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Celeborn stared at Thranduil in wonder.  "Now that is something that I
would not have been capable of."

Elrohir tended to Haldir while Celeborn led Rumil and Orophin out of
the room.  Thranduil retrieved his dagger, and then he and Elrohir put
an arm around Haldir and helped him up and into the hallway.
Thranduil suggested his suite, as it was closest, and the six made
their way inside.  While Elrohir laid Haldir on the bed, Thranduil
motioned the others to chairs in the sitting room.  Elrohir joined
them a moment later, pronouncing Haldir to be sleeping peacefully.
"He'll have a monster of a headache when he wakes up, but otherwise
he's fine."

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief, nor was he the only one.  "All
right," he said slowly, "what just happened?"

Celeborn leaned forward in his chair, too exhausted from the ordeal to
keep even the pretense of formality.  "That was one of Glorfindel's
fits.  They are coming more often now, and each one is stronger than
the last."

"More often?  How long has this been going on?"

"Since the Ring passed through Imladris."

"Seventy *years*?!"

"He wasn't always this bad.  He's been getting worse for some time
now.  It's getting harder and harder for me to hold back what is
coming."

"And just what *is* coming?" Thranduil asked, certain he did not want
to know the answer.

Celeborn seemed to ignore the question.  "How much do you know about
his death at Gondolin?"

"Just that he fell while fighting a Balrog."

"Fell is the right word," came a weak voice from behind them.  Haldir
was leaning against the door.  Rumil jumped up and ran over to him.
Haldir waved his brother away and staggered to a chair, collapsing
into it.  "I was there in the Cirith Thoronath when the Orcs ambushed
us.  Ecthelion had just dragged Gothmog to their mutual doom in the
Fountain, and we were trying to get as many of the ellith and children
to safety as possible.  Then, the Balrog stepped into the path and
blocked the way.  Glorfindel; he didn't even pause.  Just turned to me
and said, 'Get them out of here!' before charging the thing.  He lured
it away from the pass, up the mountainside.  When he knocked the
creature off the ledge, I was amazed.  I turned to beat back the
next wave of Orcs when I heard Idril gasp.  All I saw was Glorfindel's
legs disappearing over the precipice into the darkness."

"But the Balrog did more than just pull Glorfindel over the edge,"
Celeborn continued.  "I am convinced that it somehow... infected him;
forced some of its essence into Glorfindel's body."

Thranduil frowned.  "Why would it do that?"

"Because it knew that the Elf would be reborn while it would not.  And
when he was, that essence would be there, growing inside him until he
was consumed by it."

The Sinda's eyes narrowed.  "Are you trying to tell me that there is a
baby Balrog in the next room?"

"That's one way of putting it," Elrohir admitted with a sigh.

Celeborn nodded.  "We think that when the One Ring came to Imladris,
the power was so great and so close that it called to the fragment of
the Balrog and awoke its potential.  It would have destroyed
Glorfindel years ago, but he was sent to me just after the Fellowship
departed, and I have been able to hold the evil at bay for some time
now.  But I have not been able to reverse it or remove it, only slow
it down."

Haldir coughed.  "And now time is running out."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion - September 17th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor slowly made his way to Turgon's home.  He had left Gildor with
Elrond, saying he needed to do this on his own.  In truth, he was
mortified by his behavior a few weeks back when Manwë had told him
what he had always truly suspected.  Now he needed answers, and he was
sure that it would not be a simple conversation.

With his heart pounding, Erestor mounted the front steps to the large
home Turgon claimed as his own and knocked softly.  He felt timid, in
uncharted waters and it was not a feeling he was accustomed to.  He
was Lord Elrond's Chief Councilor.  He had fought in many wars, he had
negotiated peace among the various people's his Lord had dealt with,
and he had even survived the loss of Glorfindel.  Lord Erestor of
Imladris had always been in control of every situation he had ever
gotten himself into.

Now he was not even in control of who he was.

The door opened and Turgon greeted the nervous eyes of his old
friend.  "Erestor!  Now, this is a surprise!"

Erestor smirked.  "Is it?"

"Not really."  Turgon chuckled.  "Are you ready to see him again?"

Erestor nodded.

"I will send him word and he will seek you out, meldir."

The Councilor nodded again, knowing he was being dismissed.  He turned
to make the trek back to his home when Turgon called out to him.

"You need to relax, Erestor.  You already know most of what he will
tell you, so why fear the truth?"

Erestor smiled weakly at the former King and inclined his head in
respect.  Turgon smiled brightly and returned to his home, closing the
door behind him.

*****

Elrond and Gildor had gone off to see Lindir and Galadriel, wanting to
visit their friends.  Erestor chose to remain behind, wishing to brood
about his predicament.  He had told Elrond what he had been told, and
Elrond seem a little surprised, but not shocked.  Erestor sighed
and sipped his tea, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.  He loved
the balcony.  He sat on the floor of the small terrace, gently
reclining against the wall with a thick pillow beneath him.  He closed
his eyes and listened to the sounds around him.

When he opened his eyes, the landscape before waved with his tears.
Glorfindel would have been seated next to him, allowing him the
comfort of his body.  How he missed his warrior.  He sniffed slightly,
hating himself for still being upset.  It had been years.  He had to
let it go.  Glorfindel would never come back to him.

A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he let the few tears he had in
him fall down his cheeks, refusing to give in to the deep ache he
still felt in his heart.

"Erestor?"

Liquid night eyes rose to meet the impossibly blue ones.  Erestor came
back to the present and his eyes widened as he realized Manwë stood
beside him.  The Councilor began to stand when the Vala shook his head
and raised his hand.

"Nay, Erestor.  Remain seated."  Manwë then took a seat on the railing
of the balcony, perched gracefully like an eagle.  Erestor put his tea
cup down and folded his hands in his lap, inspecting his hands
carefully.  "Are you ready to hear what I have to say?"

Erestor nodded once.

"All right.  As I told you before, you are Ecthelion.  Reborn in Arda
as a reward for your selfless act in defending the doomed city of
Gondolin.  You received the same choices as Glorfindel, only you
received them a few centuries before he did."

"But Glorfindel came to Imladris knowing who and what he was.  I did
not.  I have always known I was Erestor, born in Lindon to noble
parents in the early Second Age.  I do not look like Ecthelion, I do
not behave like him, and I do not have his memories.  I have vague
wisps of a former life, nothing more."  He was confused.  This was not
what he had been taught about the reincarnation of Elves.

"Well, Mandos did not tell Ecthelion that Glorfindel would be joining
him in Arda once again.  Ecthelion loved him with a burning that
blinded most that looked upon it.  When the choice was given to
Ecthelion to return to Arda or simply stay in Valinor, he chose to go
and defend his people once more.  He only had one request.  He did not
want to remember his former life, it would only bring him grief.  He
would miss his love, pine for him, and he would not do right by his
people.  Mandos agreed and a new form was chosen for Ecthelion and the
memories of that previous life were buried deep."  Manwë's voice had a
lulling quality to it and Erestor felt more at ease this time,
trusting the Vala and believing in him.

"So why tell me now?  I am not Ecthelion, I am Erestor."

"Yes," began Manwë.  "You are Erestor, you have a completely different
life, one that rarely had the same qualities that Ecthelion's did.
You were a great warrior, but you have always preferred study,
scrolls, and strategy.  Ecthelion was an Elf more prone to action and
merry making.  You are the complete antithesis of what Ecthelion was.
But, you must keep in mind, your Fëa *is* Ecthelion's.  In essence,
both lives are the same.  His feelings and desires will always color
your own."

"If Ecthelion loved Glorfindel so much, why did it take he and I over
four thousand years to come together?  I would have thought my Fëa
would have called to his."

Manwë looked away and Erestor found it odd to see a Vala look
uncertain.  "Glorfindel... things happened when he died that changed
his Fëa some.  He is not the same Elf who died in that abyss with the
Balrog."

Erestor put his hand to his cheek.  In a strangled voice he said, "He
struck me."

The Vala turned compassionate eyes on the distressed Noldo.  "Aye, he
did.  You must understand, Erestor, he was not -- and still is not --
in control of himself.  Ecthelion's death caused a fracture in his Fëa
and now he has to fight once again.  It will be his last battle that
he will either win and return here or die and remain in the Halls of
Waiting without a chance of returning."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have said as much as I will on the issue of Glorfindel.  We are
here to discuss you."

"What more is there to talk about?  I do not have any questions..."

"You may not have any questions, pen-neth, but you have a choice."
Manwë hopped from his position on the balustrade and crouched in front
of the confused Elf.  "You can remain as you are, knowing who you were
and regaining snatches of that existence... or I can restore those
memories to you, reawaken that part of your Fëa and you can once again
be whole.  I leave the choice up to you."

"Whole?"  His voiced sounded so small.

"Whole," Manwë repeated.  "You will always feel that you are missing
something.  Do you wish to remain this way or do you want to
remember?"

Erestor became lost in the bottomless blue pools that had captured his
gaze.  He knew what he wanted.  He wanted to stop feeling lost and out
of control.  He wanted to know what was always just out of his grasp.
He wanted to remember.

Manwë nodded.  "Then you shall."

What happened next was not what Erestor expected.  Manwë reached out
with his slender, pale hand and grasped the back of Erestor's neck.
The electric rush that happened when the Vala touched his skin set
Erestor on edge.  But then, Manwë leaned in and let his lips touch
those of the shocked Noldo.  In an instant, Erestor was flooded with
images.  He barely registered the warm lips against his, all he knew
was that he *remembered*.

When Manwë pulled back, there were tears streaming down Erestor's
face.  With a choking sob he whispered, "I did not want to live
without him."

The Ainu smiled softly and wiped at the tears, his own eyes
glistening.  "You have touched me in a way, Erestor of Lindon, that
few have.  Your heartbreak is two-fold and deep.  But, do not despair.
All will be right.  Please, cease your tears."

Erestor tried, willing himself to stop sniveling, but the tears fell
in earnest.  "I... can't," he hiccupped.

Manwë drew the shaking Elf into his arms and sang softly to him.  In
the dying light of Valinor, Erestor took comfort in the warmth of
Manwë, Lord of the Valar.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion - October 30th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor had spent a month sequestered in his rooms, allowing only
Gildor in.  The Councilor felt awful.  He could no longer lay with
Gildor and knew the warrior did not understand.  With all his memories
came the realization of his bond with Glorfindel... or Ecthelion's
bond.  It made the whole relationship very muddled and Erestor wished
he could clear his head.

As he lay in bed, Gildor's warm body pressed against his, Erestor
would be awake far into the night.  Visions of the past flitting
before his eyes.

**Beside the Fountain, dipping his fingers in the cool water and
bringing the moist digits up to the blond's lips, a shudder running
through him when Glorfindel would wrap his tongue around his finger.**

**Tumbling in the grasses in Nevrast with his childhood friends,
playing children's games and running to his Nana with scrapes and
bruises from rough play.**

**His first assignment to Turgon's Royal Guard in Nevrast, the pride
in his Adar's eyes as he was given the uniform to wear with the
honor.**

**His somber upbringing in Lindon, where his Adar kept the house cold
and dark after the death of his mother.  His only retreat were his
studies and his books, the dreams of a vast white city populating his
imagination.**

**Elrond's desperate touches and needy kisses, begging him to
alleviate the pain of Thranduil's departure.**

**Defending his home, his House and men, fighting and fighting, his
arm aching, his shield lost.  The fear and panic when the fire drake
broke in and Tuor fell back.**

**Elladan and Elrohir running to him, crying that Haldir was being
mean and Rumil was yelling at them for not paying attention.**

**Glorfindel spread out before him, face flushed with desire and his
name on his lips, "Ecthelion..."**

**Being named the Chief of his proud House and the defender of the
King's Fountain.  Glorfindel and Haldir celebrating far into the
night, laughter and friendship, love and life.**

**His Balrog-slayer touching him, caressing his skin and whispering
how beautiful and exotic his large, dark eyes were.  Forcing whimpers
and desperate pleas from the proud lips of the pale, noble Noldo who
ran Elrond's home with military efficiency.**

**His lungs filling with the cold water, his armor pulling him down
into the depths of the Fountain.  He had not seen Glorfindel or Haldir
escape, had not seen Tuor or Turgon flee.  Gondolin was lost.  He was
lost.**

**Eyes wild with anger, flashing with an inner fire that caused him to
tremble.  His jaw aching from the blow, fighting the tears and the
shame as he lay sprawled on the floor, his glorious warrior towering
above him...**

Erestor sobbed into his pillow, wishing Glorfindel were there to
comfort him, to ease his fears and his hurts.  Instead, he felt Gildor
pull him closer, kissing his hair and telling him he was not alone,
that he and Elrond loved him and would not let him sink into his
despair.

The Councilor turned in his friend's arms and brought his trembling
hand to the warm cheek.  "I do love you, Gildor.  You and Elrond.
But, I need him.  I chose not to remember our bond because it would
hurt too much to be without him.  And still, here I lay in Valinor...
without my soul, without my light."

Gildor leaned in and gently kissed Erestor's lips, just holding the
sorrowful Elf close and rocking him slowly.  Soon, Erestor's eyes grew
vacant and he entered a troubled reverie, filled with bright, azure
eyes and a heart-breaking smile that had set him on fire long ago in
Nevrast.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Imladris - November 2nd, 108 of the Fourth Age

Celeborn, along with Haldir and his brothers, and the Peredhil twins,
stood anxiously around the room waiting for some sign from either
Thranduil or Glorfindel.  The two had been locked in trance for over
half a day; neither had moved other than to breathe or to blink.

The Mirkwood King, after understanding the danger to Glorfindel and to
them all, had insisted on aiding the other Elves in their task.
Between the two powerful Elf Lords, they had succeeded in bringing the
Elda back from the brink, if only just.  Both of their powers had been
dwindling since leaving the forests to which they were bound, but
together, they could draw upon more than either one alone.

Slowly, gradually, Glorfindel had regained some measure of control
over his swirling thoughts and the dark desires that plagued him.
That was the only thing that made this day possible.  Thranduil and
Celeborn had pooled their resources in order to push Thranduil's Fëa
into Glorfindel's.  The Mirkwood King had argued that the only way to
heal the Balrog-slayer was from the inside.  After much discussion,
Celeborn had reluctantly agreed.  With Glorfindel more coherent, they
were able to create a solid link rather than constantly fighting to
force their way into the Elda's mind.

Failure would mean the death of both Elves; worse than death, as their
Fëai would be completely shredded -- unmade, wiped from all existence.
This was Thranduil's requirement.  He was coming out with Glorfindel
or he wasn't coming out at all.  The risk was too great that the
Balrog could infect his Fea as well, and Celeborn was nowhere near
powerful enough to hold back both their transformations.

Once Celeborn had confirmed that the fusing was successful, there was
nothing to do but wait.  And pray.

*****

Thranduil shrugged off the freezing cold of the blizzard, but had to
struggle to keep his footing nonetheless.  He trudged through the
barren wasteland, leaning into the biting wind that threatened to
throw him from his feet and bury him in the blinding snow.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.  The entire scene was a mental
contrivance from within Glorfindel's Fëa; a subconscious attempt to
stop Thranduil's advance into the Elda's mind.  None of that mattered
especially at the moment, though.  The scene still *felt* real, and
the consequences of failure were just as deadly.

Abruptly, the wind stopped.  Thranduil, his weight pushed forward,
fell onto his face.  Instead of hitting snow, though, the smell of
fresh grass assaulted his senses.  The Sinda pushed himself up and
looked around.  He was surrounded by trees on all sides; the snowy
tundra had disappeared completely.

Thranduil stood up and smiled.  "Forest.  I can do forests."

The Mirkwood King started through the woods at a much increased pace,
weaving through the trees and avoiding patches of thorny brambles and
clinging ivy with relative ease.  More than once, he caught a glimpse
of a blonde Elf running through the forest, but when Thranduil turned
to give chase, the Elf was gone.

As he ran, Thranduil noticed that the ground cover became thicker, the
canopy more oppressively dark.  Thick vines began to block his path,
but Thranduil would not be diverted.  He may not have had the ability
to affect the environment the way Glorfindel could, but he could still
affect himself.  With but a thought, Thranduil pulled a pair of
intricately engraved short swords from the sheathes that simply
appeared on his back.  He continued through the forest, cutting his
way through the vines as he went.

When he emerged into sunlight again, he was standing in a cleft
between two mountains.  The way behind him was obscured by darkness,
as was the terrain that lay beyond the pass.

"You should not have come here, Thranduil King."

Thranduil turned and saw Glorfindel to his right, standing
near the top of the mountain.  He was wearing thick leggings, knee-
high boots, and a warrior's tunic emblazoned with a crest that
Thranduil had only ever seen in woodcuttings and history books.

"This is the Cirith Thoronath, isn't it?  This is where all this
started," he called up.

Glorfindel walked down the mountainside as he answered.  "Fitting,
wouldn't you agree?  Nice sense of symmetry to it all.  Circle of
life, and all that."

"So what happens next?"

Glorfindel stepped from the slope onto the pass several yards from
Thranduil.  He turned away, looking into the darkness.  "Any time now,
the Balrog should be coming for me."  Glorfindel looked over his
shoulder, a deadly calm penetrating his voice.  "If I were you, I
wouldn't be here when that happens."

Thranduil stepped closer.  "I'm not leaving here without you."

Glorfindel turned around to face the Sinda.  "Then you aren't
leaving."

"It's beginning to look that way."

"You're a fool, Thranduil.  What did you hope to accomplish by coming
here?"

Thranduil did not mince words.  "To save you."

"There is nothing left to save."

"If that were true, you would not be here."

"I've always been here.  I never left."

"You feel guilty.  That's clear.  You think that you ran away and left
Ecthelion and all the others to die."

"Of course not.  I saved lives.  Haldir and Earendil survived because
of me."

"But Ecthelion didn't."

Glorfindel looked down.  "No.  Ecthelion didn't."

Thranduil pressed his advantage, the realization coming to him from
the tone of the Elda's words.  "You watched him fall."

Glorfindel nodded.

"And it broke your heart."

Another nod.

"You wanted to die because it hurt so badly," Thranduil continued, not
waiting for a response.  "You led the Balrog away from the pass, but
you did not fight your best.  You wanted to die, so you let it take
you down with it."

"It won't have to work so hard this time."

"So that's it.  Glorfindel of Gondolin, the great warrior, sworn enemy
of evil, has given up to a Balrog of Morgoth."

"It's beginning to look that way," Glorfindel replied, mocking
Thranduil's earlier comment.

"I can't let you do that."

"And how will you stop me?"

Thranduil answered by rushing Glorfindel, swords drawn at the ready.
Glorfindel barely had time to draw his blade before the Mirkwood King
was upon him.  Glorfindel blocked the first attack and spun adeptly to
parry the second blade as well.  Thranduil was an accomplished
fighter, but he was clearly outmatched by the much older, more
experienced Elf.  Even with two blades, he could not even come close
to Glorfindel.

"Is this your solution?" Glorfindel called out.  "Kill me before the
Balrog can?  The end result is the same!  It lives, and I die."

"Then why are you fighting me?"

"Because you are not worthy enough to defeat me."

"And the Balrog is?"

Glorfindel paused, clearly caught off guard by the question.
Thranduil used the opportunity to step behind the Elda and slam the
butt of his sword into the back of Glorfindel's head.  "Sorry, old
friend," he said as the golden warrior fell to the ground, "but if you
won't fight it, I will."

No sooner had he made the statement than the Balrog stepped from the
darkness.  Thranduil put himself between the beast and the unconscious
form of Glorfindel.  The Balrog was clearly confused, as evidenced by
the fact that it did not immediately attack.  Thranduil took the
offensive, forcing the creature to defend itself against this
unexpected Elf.

Thranduil pushed forward relentlessly, driving the Balrog up the
mountainside.  Try as it might, the shadowy beast could not regain the
upper hand.  It was strong, but without the death of Glorfindel's Fea,
it could never attain the full strength so well-known among its kind.
Again and again it was driven back.  Thranduil maintained his
onslaught unhindered by the physical limitations that would have held
him back outside of this realm of the mind, pushing the Balrog to the
brink of the very same precipice that Glorfindel had first stood.

With one final drive, he forced the creature from the ridge, sending
him into the darkness.  Or, that had been the idea.  The Balrog
grabbed Thranduil by the hair, causing the Mirkwood King to slide
forward toward the edge.  He threw his weight back, but the Balrog
had braced against the side of the abyss and pulled with all its
might, and Thranduil continued to lose ground.

A glitter of something flashed in the corner of Thranduil's eye, and
an instant later, the Balrog's hand released its grip, a sword
impaling its arm.  The creature fell alone, howling its anger and
frustration until it could be heard no more.

Thranduil looked down to the pass and saw Glorfindel standing there,
arm still outstretched from the throw.

"You're not going anywhere until I get a rematch," the Elda called up
to him, a genuine smile on his face.

Thranduil shuffled down the slope, taking Glorfindel's offered hand.
"You're on," he laughed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion - November 2nd, 108 of the Fourth Age

Manwë walked through the room and out into the brightly lit terrace.
Gathered there were Turgon, Elrond, Gildor, and Erestor.  The Vala
smiled, seeing how much Erestor had changed since he had held the Elf
as he sobbed.  He was telling the truth that afternoon; he had a
special fondness for the dark-eyed Noldo.  Now, it was time for him to
learn the rest of the story.

It had been years since Erestor had seen Manwë, but the effect was
still as startling.  The brilliant eyes regarded him with warm
compassion and he felt himself smiling at the Ainu.  He had never
forgotten the taste of Manwë's lips or the comfort he had taken in the
Vala's arms.  He also knew that Manwë had something new to spring on
him, he was just happy that his closest friends were to be there with
him.

He and Turgon had immediately reconnected.  Once Erestor had been able
to mesh his two existences into one cohesive past, he felt drawn to
the King.  And Turgon was very receptive, eager to reclaim a great
friendship he had sorely missed over the years.  Although he felt an
immense emptiness within him, he was consoled by his friends and their
love for him.  Manwë had told him that with his memories he would once
again feel whole, and in a way he did.  But, with those memories came
a new sense of hollowness, a large chasm in his soul that cried for
Glorfindel.

Manwë seated himself and leveled his gaze with Erestor's.  "You once
asked me what I meant when I told you that Glorfindel's Fëa was not
the same as it was before he died.  Do you remember?"

Erestor nodded.  "Aye," he whispered.  Manwë was discussing his love.
Why would the Vala torture him so?  He had spent over a century
without Glorfindel and had long given up hope the warrior would
journey to the Undying Lands.

"When Ecthelion-- when *you* fell, Glorfindel's Fëa was torn asunder.
He was literally broken.  But, he continued to fight, to defend
Gondolin and his people.  He fled with Idril and Tuor, taking Haldir
and what few of his men were left.  But, his heart was black...
angry."  Manwë's eyes narrowed.  "He took on the Balrog, not out of
duty, but out of a wish to die.  To have the pain of his loss removed
from him.  When he fell, the Balrog infected the wound in Glorfindel's
Fëa.  Since Balrogs are fallen Maiar, it was the perfect way for the
Balrog to ensure that his legacy would continue -- even after its
defeat."

Elrond cocked his head to the side.  "Glorfindel was not, is not, a
Maia."

"Not in the strictest sense.  Those Elves who are reborn and are
offered the chance to dwell once more in Middle-Earth are all but
Maiar.  Their Fëa contain such power, such desire to aid their people
that they can be corrupted just as a Maia could.  And Glorfindel has
been corrupted.  He fights, as we speak, to regain his soul... to
regain himself.  The golden warrior is lost in his demons, in his
grief."

Erestor let out a strangled sound and Elrond wrapped his arms around
his friend, pulling him into his lap.  "If this is true, why is
Erestor not suffering the same fate?  He defeated four Balrogs -- one
the Lord of them."  Elrond stroked Erestor's hair as if the Elf were a
child, trying to calm the shaking figure in his arms.

"Ecthelion's Fëa was not broken.  He drowned in that Fountain with a
soul pure in his desire to protect his King and his loved ones.  He
fought valiantly, his death was the price for his courage.  The
Balrogs could not infect one such as Ecthelion."  Manwë stood and
knelt in front of Elrond, taking Erestor's hand in his.  "You, my dear
Elf, were so brave.  Your final thoughts were not of yourself, not of
your love, but of your city and how you felt you had failed them.
Most who die such deaths do not think on things as others.  They think
on themselves.  You did not."  He brushed a lock of hair from the
stricken face.  "Have heart, pen-neth.  I have told you all there is
to tell.  Now, you need to have faith in the Valar and their plans for
you."  He leaned in a kissed Erestor's cheek softly, smiling at him.
"I must go now.  If you have need of me, Erestor, call."

Manwë stood and took his leave of the Elves, walking silently through
the rooms and disappearing before he reached the front door.

Erestor looked up into the chuckling face of Turgon.  "What?" he
asked, his brow furrowing.

"He must really like you.  Not many can simply call for him and expect
him to show up."  Turgon's eyes sparkled.

Erestor felt his face heat up, embarrassed to have caught the
attentions of such an illustrious figure.  The group laughed then,
seeing Erestor's discomfort, and the pouting Elf soon joined in,
laughing and shaking his head as he slid from Elrond's lap.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Shores of Valinor - January 16th, 126 of the Fourth Age

Glorfindel set foot on the dock, following Thranduil, Melpomaen and
Rumil.  He breathed deep, feeling at home and at peace.  It hadn't
been an easy journey to get here.  Even after Thranduil's unexpected
aid, it had taken time to purge the last of the evil from him.  It had
been much easier, though, once the worst of it had passed.

He laughed quietly as Thranduil scolded his son and held him close,
pleased to see the King show an expression other than a scowl for the
first time in months.  Try as he might, Thranduil was unable to best
the golden-haired Elf as he had in the mindscape.  He was,
understandably, a little miffed.

Glorfindel saw the raven-haired Elf he had longed to see for years.
Erestor stood several feet away, his eyes bright with excitement and
love.  He was sure the Noldo was there to greet Melpomaen or
Thranduil, and since he did not see Elrond or Lindir, Glorfindel was
sure there was no one there to greet him.  Glorfindel hung his head
slightly and made for the road into the city.  He would need to
acquire himself a dwelling.

Erestor's eyes clouded with confusion.  Glorfindel was walking away
from him?  He rushed past the Elves gathered on the shore and made
his way to Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel!" he called out, desperate for the Elf to stop.

The Elda stopped and turned, shocked to see Erestor coming up to him.
"What is it, Erestor?"

The cool detachment in his lover's voice chilled Erestor.  "What is
wrong, Glorfindel?  I came here for you... I wanted... to see you."

Glorfindel looked away from the soulful eyes that had haunted him for
endless nights.  He remembered everything he had done and said to the
only being he had ever loved, other than Ecthelion.  He averted his
eyes in shame.  His guilt was doubled with the unconditional love he
saw shining in Erestor's gaze.  "I didn't think you'd want to speak
with me."

Erestor threw his arms around the Balrog-slayer.  "Why would you
think that, melethen?"  He inhaled deeply, relishing in the scent
that was solely Glorfindel, almost like heady hot-house flowers.

"Melethen?" he whispered, his eyes wide and glistening with tears.
He slowly brought his arms around Erestor's waist, burrowing his face
in the long, thick ebony locks.  "Melethen."

Erestor squeezed him tight.  "No regrets.  I understand."

"But, I hurt you ---"

"You'll hurt me more if you reject me, faunen."  He pulled back and
smiled at the odd look Glorfindel gave him.

"Faunen?  Only Ecthelion called me that... called me his cloud..."
he trailed off.  "Why did you call me that, Erestor?"

"There is much I need to speak to you about, Glorfindel.  Come with
me."  He began to pull the bewildered Elda with him.

"Where are we going?"

"Home, seron vell, home."

*****

Glorfindel woke with the sun the next morning.  He looked fondly at
the Noldo sleeping blissfully at his side.  Maybe it was his
imagination, but he swore that he *could* see traces of his lost lover
reflected in Erestor's face.

He was still somewhat in shock over the news that his past love and
his current were almost the same person.  The 'almost' was important,
the Elda thought.  Erestor and Ecthelion were two different people,
and while there may be some similarities, Glorfindel still had to
remember that fact.  It would be difficult, Erestor had told him last
night, but they would get through it.

Erestor stirred under Glorfindel's gaze.  His eyes slowly regained
their awareness and he blinked.  A sleepy smile crossed his lips when
he looked at Glorfindel.  "Good morning," he said with a yawn.

Glorfindel slid a fingertip down Erestor's cheek.  "Yes, I rather
think it will be."

The simple touch set Erestor's desire aflame.  "And what makes you
think that?" he teased.

"This does."  The Elda leaned in and kissed Erestor sweetly.  Their
lips parted and their tongues brushed across each other, warm and
moist.  Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Erestor's shoulders and
pulled the Noldo closer.  He could feel Erestor's arousal hot and hard
against his thigh.  "Mmm..." he murmured.  "That does, too."

Erestor chuckled, reaching over to brush his hand over the Elda's
stiffening rod.  "And what about this?" he asked playfully, wrapping
his fingers around and stroking gently.

"That most *certainly* does," Glorfindel replied with a gasp.

Erestor laughed and began to slide down the bed, tilting his head
toward Glorfindel's groin.  The golden Elf stopped him with a hand on
his shoulder.  "Oh, no, you had that last night.  It's my turn now."

Glorfindel kicked the sheets off and pulled the Noldo between his
legs, causing Erestor to laugh again, a bright tinkling sound in the
early morning air.  "My, aren't *you* eager?"

"Why should I not be?  I have missed you in my bed for far too long,
melethen."

Erestor wasted no more time.  He retrieved the phial of oil from the
floor where it had been placed the night before.  He quickly
lubricated his fingers and rubbed them against the tight opening to
Glorfindel's buttocks.

The Elda gasped at the coolness of the liquid, then again when Erestor
pressed a finger inside him followed by a second.  Glorfindel shifted
his hips to allow his lover to penetrate him more fully, reaching down
to caress Erestor's arm with his fingertips.

When Erestor was satisfied that Glorfindel's passage was sufficiently
prepared, he poured another palmful of the oil and coated his arousal 
thoroughly.  Settling back onto his knees, Erestor eased the head of
his erection into the Elda's warm sheath.  Glorfindel moaned and began
to slide down the bed, pulling Erestor further into him until the
Noldo's thighs were pressed against his own.

Erestor took Glorfindel slowly, sliding out of him and then back in
with agonizing patience.  At the same time, he stroked his oil-slick
hand over Glorfindel's shaft, keeping the same slow pace.  Erestor
watched his lover's eyes slowly flutter shut and he squeeze his hand
more firmly, causing Glorfindel's eyes to snap open.  He smirked at
the flushed being beneath him.  "Look at me," he panted.

Glorfindel stared into the depths of Erestor's ink-black eyes.  It was
immensely erotic to watch him, seeing his body shift with each
controlled thrust.  The rhythm Erestor had set was enough to keep him
on edge, but not quite fast enough to bring an end to the sweet
torment.  Glorfindel thought he would drown in the half-lidded, lust
misted eyes.

The Councilor was not unaffected by the situation.  He had to exert
all his control not to move them to a quick release.  Erestor had
waited over a century to feel the Elda around him again and he wanted
to savor their first opportunity.  Glorfindel's lapis orbs watched him
intensely, his eyes unfocusing and glazing over when Erestor would
trust particularly deep.  Erestor began to notice things he had never
seen before, like how Glorfindel's pink bottom lip was caught between
white teeth in an effort not to beg Erestor for release.

He smiled wickedly at his lover.  "Melon lle, Glorfindel," he 
whispered, leaning in to capture the alluring lips with his.

Glorfindel groaned into the kiss, pressing against Erestor in an
attempt to silently plead with him to finish it.  When Erestor pulled
back, his face inches from the Elda's, eyes filled with love and
desire, Glorfindel lost his pride.

"Iquista...  Erestor..."

Erestor shuddered, hearing the golden warrior ask, to see the tears of
frustration shimmer in the bright gaze caused Erestor's cock to throb
within its tight confines.  "Iquista man?"

The blond let out a keening moan, fighting with himself.  Erestor 
would not grant him what he wanted unless he asked for it.  "Iquista, 
Erestor..." he pleaded.  "Finish it..."

Erestor chuckled deep in his chest, his eyes still not wavering from 
Glorfindel's.  "Ve elyë méra, melethen."  Erestor began to move his 
hips in a more frantic pace, stroking Glorfindel firmly and quickly.

So close to the edge were both the Elves that their release came 
almost immediately, Erestor pouring himself into Glorfindel as
Glorfindel coated Erestor's hand with a flood of his own seed.  They
fought to keep their eyes open, gazing deeply at each other throughout
their mutual orgasms.

Panting and exhausted, Erestor rolled beside Glorfindel, heedless of
the mess that the motion caused.  He looked to his lover, still
breathing heavily, and grinned.  "I think you're right."

"How's that, meleth?"

"It does appear that it will be a *good* morning."

End "A Kiss in the Darkness"

Elvish/English translations:
Melon lle : I love you
Iquista : Please (Quenya)
Iquista man? : Please what? (Quenya)
Melethen : My love
Ve elyë méra : As you wish (Quenya)

Completed: 11/17/2003
Revised: 11/23/2003

---

Series: Razor's Edge Trilogy
Title: A Love That's Blind
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hamena.org
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: Any, so long as I know where it is  ^^
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Silvara, the most patient beta in existence...
Cast: Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas
Timeline:  Fourth Age
Spoilers:  None
Summary:  When the twins receive notice that Legolas has sailed for
Valinor without telling them, they must decide how they choose to end
their days in Arda.
A/N:  This follows the "One Step Closer" trilogy.  This trilogy will
answer all the questions and more.  ^^  There is a companion trilogy
staring Haldir and Celeborn, since they made an appearance in "One
Step Closer" and in "Razor's Edge."  I will be posting "Before The
Dawn" sometime next week, after all four parts of this trilogy have
been released.  I hope everyone likes the finale!  Much thanks must
go to Ilye for her Elvish butt-kicking and her kindness for checking
up on my facts.  ^^

---

Imladris - March 3rd, 120 of the Fourth Age

Elrohir yawned and stretched.  It was nice to wake to silence.
Glorfindel had finally beaten the evil inside him and now The Last
Homely House was at peace.  Well, as much as it could be.  Ever since
Thranduil came back from Glorfindel's mind, the two had not left the
practice field.  Every afternoon, they dueled.  Every afternoon,
Glorfindel would best the Mirkwood King.

Elrohir looked over at his twin's sleeping form.  Elladan was sprawled
across the bed they shared, his eyes vacant and a small smile curving
his lips.  His brother had not slept so late in decades and Elrohir
was not about to rob his lover of that luxury.  Elrohir walked to his
wardrobe and began to slowly pull on his leggings, humming softly to
himself.  There was not much to do this day, perhaps his family would
like a simple outing to the Bruinen for a picnic...

He was just about to choose his tunic when a stab of white-hot pain
blossomed behind his eyes.  Elrohir dropped to his knees, putting the
heels of his hands to his eyes, crying out in pain.

"Elrohir?" came the half-awake, very startled voice from the vicinity
of the bed.

"Ell... adan..." was what he managed to croak out before a wave of
dizziness caused him to fall backwards.  He was surprised to find the
warm weight of his brother behind him and not the cold wood floor.

Elladan held his brother's trembling form, his face twisted into a
mask of fear for Elrohir.  "What is it, gwanunig?"  He tilted his
brother's head back so he could look into Elrohir's face.  He gasped
when unseeing mithril eyes gleamed back at him.

/Elrohir?/

/Arwen?/

/Aye, gwanur, it is me./

/Why would you contact me like this?  I am going to have a terrible
headache when we are done./

/Forgive me, Elrohir.  I needed to speak with you as quickly as
possible and a messenger would have take months to conduct a dialog
between us./

/What has happened, Arwen?/

/Estel has passed on.  Two nights ago, he let go./

/Oh, muinthel, I am sorry./

/I am sorry to have waited so long to tell you, but as you can
imagine, I was too distraught to Farspeak.  I am going to leave for
Lothlorien in a few weeks.  I wish to spend the last days of this life
where I was happiest./

Elladan's eyes became panic-stricken when tears began to fall from his
the metallic eyes.  "Elrohir..." he whispered.

/Please, tell Elladan and Ata'da how much I love them./

/I promise Arwen.  Melon lle./  Bittersweet sadness filtered through
the connection he held with his sister, letting him know in a more
intimate way that she loved him and that she did not regret her
choices.

/Elrohir, there is one more thing I would tell you before I go./

Elrohir's brow furrowed, making Elladan bite his lip.  /What, Arwen?/

/Legolas has sailed for Valinor.  He left yesterday morning.  He took
Gimli./

/He couldn't have!  He would have had to come through Imladris!
Everyone comes through Imladris who seek Cirdan./

/He did not seek Cirdan.  He simply left down the Anduin./

Elladan watched as Elrohir's eyes regained their matte grey color.
"Elrohir?"

Elrohir pulled his frantic brother into a tight embrace, whispering
into his shoulder as his tears fell freely.  "Our foster brother is
gone and our sister journeys to Lothlorien for the final time.  She
sends her love, caulen."

They held each other in somber silence, only occasional sniffs and
hitched breaths could be heard.  Finally, Elrohir pulled back and
wiped his face angrily, then looked at the floor.  "She also spoke of
Legolas."

Elladan smiled at the mention of their estranged lover.  "I have
missed him so.  I feel the pull of his thoughts all the time, I desire
to have him near.  Now that Estel has passed on, will he be returning
to us?"

Elrohir shook his head.  "No, gwanunig.  Arwen sends news that he and
the Dwarf, Gimli, have sailed for the Undying Lands.  They set sail
from Ithilien."

"But... he did not send us any news or word of his departure..."

"No, he did not."

"He left us?"  The hurt Elrohir could feel through the bond with his
twin nearly tore his heart apart.

"Aye, meleth, he is gone."

*****

En Route to Valinor - March 3th, 120 of the Fourth Age

"I suppose this is a bad time to tell you that I get seasick."

Legolas rolled his eyes.  "You couldn't have said something while land
was still in sight, could you?"

"I was hoping that it wouldn't be a problem this time," Gimli replied,
looking more than a little greenish under his beard.  "Oh, I need a
drink!  Pass me that wineskin."

"That's only going to make your seasickness worse," Legolas reminded
him.

"Ach, what's the difference?  Sick a little, or sick a lot, I'd rather
have wine!" the Dwarf roared with a laugh.

Legolas chuckled in spite of himself and handed Gimli the wineskin
beside him.  "Promise me that you'll use the *other* side of the boat
when you become ill."

There was silence for a few minutes while Gimli had some wine and
Legolas checked his bearings with the sextant.  The Elf was making a
slight correction to their course when Gimli spoke again.

"I still say you should have told those lads you were leaving."

Legolas sighed.  "Elladan and Elrohir are no longer a part of my
life," he said somberly without turning around.

"Ha!  You might have yourself fooled with that hogwash, but I can see
clearly.  Eyes of a hawk, remember?  Any fool can see that you're
afraid to see them again."

The Elf turned and regarded his traveling companion with a skeptical
eye.  "After all you and I have seen together, what do I have left to
fear?"

"Your feelings, Master Elf.  You're afraid to give in to what you feel
for them.  You love them, that's plain enough.  All the avoiding them
in the world won't change that.  And it won't make you hurt any less.
Or them."

"What they have together will always outweigh what I could have."

"Of course it will!" Gimli countered.  "They were brothers before they
were lovers, and they'd still be brothers even if they were lovers no
longer.  But that doesn't lessen what they feel for you.  Love isn't
something as can be used up or parceled out like wine from a bottle.
Why, my grandsire had three wives!  And never did any of my grandams
feel as though they were less than any other, not even Grandam Nethil,
even though her marriage was forty years after Grandsire's second!"

Legolas looked out across the expanse of sea, as though the horizon
held the answers to his concerns.  It wasn't until he felt Gimli's
hand on his lower back that he realized he'd been staring for some
time.

"I'll say no more on't, except to say this.  If you've a heart hale
enough to befriend a Dwarf, then you've heart enough for those two
fine Elf-lords.  You just think on that, friend Legolas.  And now, if
you'll pardon me; I do believe that the wine has caught up with me.
I'll be on the other side of the boat if you need me."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Imladris - January 25th, 122 of the Fourth Age

Elrohir whimpered as his brother thrust deeper into him, causing his
body to tremble with the strain of their lovemaking.  He gripped the
pillow in his hands as he pushed back to meet the powerful movements,
moaning his pleasure to his lover.

Elladan held onto his brother's hips, panting with need, whispering
words of encouragement and love to him.  He loved when Elrohir wanted
to be taken forcefully and quickly.  It was always powerful and their
culmination usually left them breathless and limp.  He could feel his
release building, but he continued to refuse his brother contact.  He
would take his pleasure and then allow his twin.  It was a sweet
torture he had long ago learned his brother desired.

He could feel his brother moving faster, his groans becoming louder
and he shivered with anticipation.  Elrohir relished the feeling of
Elladan coming in him, the simple act feeling like a possession.  He
was Elladan's, just as Elladan was his.  Just like Legolas was once
theirs...  Elrohir pushed the thought away, focusing on his brother
and their moment of pleasure.

Elladan tensed and let out a long, low growl as he filled Elrohir with
his seed, feeling all his muscles going loose with release.  How he
loved this time with his twin.  He remained still for a few moments,
shuddering with the aftershocks of orgasm and then slowly pulled away
from his brother's tense body.

He tenderly turned his brother on his back and took in the flushed and
damp form of his twin.  He had never seen beings as beautiful as
Elrohir or Legolas in the throes of passion.  Elrohir's chest moved
raggedly, his hips moving slightly in his need.  Elladan smiled at his
lover and dipped his head down, taking Elrohir's cock into his mouth.
He swallowed the other Peredhel, taking him as deep as he could.

Elrohir groaned, tossing his head back and arching into the contact.
His brother's hot mouth made short work of his control and with only a
few motions, Elrohir came in a rush, crying out his brother's name as
he spilled down his throat.  Elladan gingerly cleaned his twin up and
moved to lay beside him, drawing the younger Elf into his arms and
kissing his head lovingly.

The night deepened and their bodies cooled, making Elrohir shiver
slightly.  "Come," Elladan said, pulling his brother up out of their
bed with him.  "A warm bath is just what we need before sleep."

Elrohir nodded and padded after Elladan, feeling like an Elfling being
lead as he was.  Once in their bathing chamber, Elladan motioned for
Elrohir to sit while he prepared the bath for them.  "Elladan, you do
not have to wait on me."

"I know," he said, smiling over his shoulder at his lover.  "I want
to, though."  Elrohir had been quiet and moody since Arwen had
contacted them, and it had grown worse after her death.  Nothing short
of their time in bed seemed to lighten Elrohir's spirit, making him
forget for those brief moments about his aching heart.  Elladan wished
he could ease his twin's soul, but he couldn't.  His own hurt too much
to offer support.

He spilled some of the fragrant bath oils into the warm water and
swirled it around a bit when Elrohir's lost voice floated over to him.
"Almost two years now.  He has been a distant thrum in our minds for
almost two years."

Elladan sighed.  "He was a distant thrum long before he set foot on
those shores, Elrohir.  He cut us off before that damned Quest..."

"But, we did not feel it as acutely as we do now.  There was hope.  He
said that there was always hope..."  He felt those cursed tears come
to his eyes again.  He was ashamed of how needy he sounded, knew it
was not fair to burden Elladan with his pain when he knew his twin
felt the exact same emptiness.  "I am sorry, gwanunig."

Elladan reached out his hand from his position in the steaming water
that smelled of lilacs and lilies.  "Rest for a while with me, meleth-
nin.  Just for a while."

Elrohir nodded and stepped into the water, settling between his
brother spread legs and cuddled into the protective embrace.  They
remained still and silent for some time before Elladan spoke.

"Have you given any thought to our final days?  Shall we join our
sister or our father?"

It was a question they had been avoiding for some time now, but their
time was running short.  Cirdan had sent word to the Elven kingdoms,
informing them that a boat would leave in four years time -- and it
would be the last.  All those who remained behind would fade; they
would not be able to journey to Valinor.

"I worry that we will not be allowed in Valinor... or if we are, that
there will be a punishment waiting for us.  What we have done is not
usual in our kind."

"Ada and Ata'da accepted it.  Why should the Valar punish us?"

"Elladan, Ada and Ata'da love us.  They don't care if we had sheep as
lovers so long as we were happy.  The Valar... they are different.
They may see us as a sin."

Elladan fell silent, pondering his brother's words.  He had never
thought of their love as something to be punished.  It felt right,
natural.  He always felt safest and the most loved in his brother's
arms.  But, Elrohir had brought to light a valid point.

"I also fear Legolas," whispered Elrohir.  "Even if they allowed us to
be with one another, if it was accepted, we would spend an eternity
with Legolas rejecting us.  I don't know if I could stand living in
such a situation.  I love him, need him, but not as he is."

"Perhaps things would be different?"

Elrohir chuckled.  "I doubt it.  He has spent over a century avoiding
us and he took off without so much as a by-your-leave.  No, I don't
believe things will magically change because he is in Valinor."

"I do not understand him, caulen."

Elrohir sighed.  "He doesn't understand himself.  Let us put this
decision off until we speak with Ata'da, Thranduil and Glorfindel.
They may be able to show us an angle we have not seen."  Elrohir
turned in his brother's arms, a smiling spreading on his face.  "Now,
wash my hair so we can get back into bed.  I want to curl up in your
arms and drift off."

Elladan laughed and reached out for the ceramic pitcher to wet his
brother's thick sable tresses.

*****

Tirion - January 25th, 122 of the Fourth Age

Legolas tipped his head back and let the waterfall wash the last of
the sandsoap from his hair.  He could have bathed in his home, alone
in the low candle light, but he had been driven by a restlessness into
the woods of Valinor.  He sat down upon a stone outcrop near the
falls, enjoying the light spray, his troubled thoughts drifting to two
identical sets of soulful grey eyes.  Thoughts of the twins had
plagued him most of the evening.

He was tired and he was lonely.  The Mirkwood Prince had fled into the
dense woodland early that afternoon when he realized that the looks he
was giving Gimli were beginning to be *more* than friendly.  He knew
then he had to get away from everyone for a while.

It had been so long since he had taken a lover.  As the Elf stretched
his tense muscles, he tried to remember his last bedmate.  Ah, yes.
It was that Sinda Elf, Saelbeth.  That relationship, if one could call
it such, had lasted only a few years.  After Saelbeth, though, he had
given up the idea of sharing his life -- or his bed -- with anyone.
When had that affair started?  Shortly after he came to Ithilien...
perhaps a century ago.  His celibacy had never bothered him before,
and he rarely indulged in self-pleasure.  It always left him feeling
worse when he was through.

But, on this night, he felt awash in desire.  He felt needy and
wanton.  It was on this night that Legolas wished he had kept a lover.
Instead, he could only reach down and take his erect member in his
cool hand and close his eyes, remembering the gentle touches of
Elladan and the soft words of Elrohir.

Where had that come from?  The Elf shivered, feeling as if the twins
were near...  But, he knew they weren't.  He had left them in Middle-
Earth, snuck away like a bandit.  He opened his eyes and looked up,
watching the stars glitter.  His hand stroked himself more firmly,
giving in to his growing desire.

After fighting his memories for so long, Legolas finally allowed
himself to think back on his time with the Peredhil.  He imagined that
he could feel Elrohir cradling him while Elladan worked his mouth
around the Sinda's arousal.  The younger twin would stroke his chest
and kiss his shoulder and neck, whispering endearments to him and to
Elladan.  Elladan's hot mouth would plunge down on his shaft, and
Legolas would look down and see the elder twin's eyes staring back at
him, sending shivers through his body.

Legolas moved his hand faster, pretending that he could feel Elladan
behind him, filling him, pressing his cock into the Sinda while
Legolas gripped Elrohir's hips, pushing deeper into the Peredhel,
hearing his impassioned cries.  Elrohir knew how much his moans and
sounds of ecstasy drove Legolas wild, and he used that to every
advantage.  Legolas thought back over their years together and could
almost hear those cries, those moans, calling to him from a hundred
years ago and a thousand miles away.  The warm liquid gushed over his
hand as his orgasm caused flares of color to erupt before his closed
eyes and his body to spasm with each wave of pleasure.

"Er merinyel," he whispered to the night, willing his words to find
their target.  The blonde cleaned himself up and drifted off to sleep
under the stars, no less conflicted than he began.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Imladris - January 30th, 122 of the Fourth Age

Celeborn let out a loud laugh as Glorfindel pulled Thranduil under the
water.  They had been putting off this picnic because of one reason
or another for nearly a year.  Finally, there were no more excuses,
and the Elves could enjoy this day together.  Haldir lay with his head
on Celeborn's lap, his eyes at half-mast with a drowsy contentment.
Orophin dove under Glorfindel and yanked the blonde below the surface
while Melpomaen dunked Rumil.

Elladan reclined against his brother, smiling at the happy scene
before them.  This was the most peaceful the group had been in years.
Elladan welcomed the feeling of warm love that bound the members of
The Last Homely House to each other.  Elrohir shifted behind his twin
and turned his troubled gaze to Celeborn.

"Ata'da?"

Celeborn turned his dancing gaze onto his youngest grandson and raised
an eyebrow at him.  "Why so pensive, Elrohir?"

"Will you and Haldir sail?  Thranduil has already told us he plans on
going, we know Glorfindel will go...  Melpomaen will go wherever Rumil
goes and Rumil will follow his brothers anywhere.  So, it all comes
back to you and Haldir.  Will you two go to Valinor?"

The Sinda ran his hands through his lover's hair, smiling down at the
Elf who had, at some point, slipped into reverie.  He looked back up
at Elrohir and nodded.  "Aye, we will be traveling the Sea.  It is
the order of our lives.  There is nothing else here for us."  Elladan
nodded and turned his eyes back to the river while Elrohir's remained
locked with his grandfather's.  "What are you thinking of, Elrohir?
Are you and Elladan thinking of choosing Arwen's fate?"  His face
became grave and serious, all gaiety fleeing.

"We have thought about our future.  We fear going to Valinor.  We are
afraid that the Valar may judge our choices and punish us for our
love."  There was no point in hiding their thoughts from Celeborn and
Elrohir really felt there was no reason to hide.  He wanted his
grandfather's advice.

"Elrohir, if you choose the fate of Man, you and your brother would
eventually be parted in death.  We do not know where Men go when their
time on Arda is over, you have no guarantee that you and your brother
would be together if you remain and died here.  If you sail, you at
least have a chance."  Celeborn did not want to leave his daughter's
children behind.  His family would never forgive him.

Elladan sat up and turned to face both his grandfather and his twin.
"We do not feel we have done anything to warrant judgement."

"I agree.  We love who we love and blood rarely matters when it comes
to the whims of the heart.  I do not believe that the Valar are so
narrow-minded in their views.  Your love is not the true fear you
have, is it?"  He pinned them in place with his piercing eyes,
demanding the truth from them -- not half-truths that did not further
the situation.

Elladan shook his head.  "Legolas..."

"Legolas has his own heart to sort out.  You have bonded.  That does
not change.  He has had much time to decide what course he must take.
But choosing death over facing an old love is not a very wise choice
-- nor is it one I would expect two warriors to take."  Celeborn
shifted, laying out beside Haldir and pulling him close.  "Trust me,"
he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.  "Love is too precious to
let go... it's worth saving..."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tirion -  July 12th, 123 of the Fourth Age

Oropher sat with Legolas on the wide balcony to his home.  Legolas had
visited the large abode on several occasions, and it always felt
welcoming to him.  His Ata'da was not what he expected as his Ada's
stories of the great King had been... less than flattering.

He supposed dying changed people.

"Indyo, what troubles you?  Since you arrived you have been closed
off and unapproachable."  Oropher sipped his tea and watched his
grandson.  The youth looked so like his father that Oropher could
almost pretend he was speaking with Thranduil.  At least, until
Legolas would look at him and instead of seeing the oak-green eyes of
his son he saw blue as dark as sapphires.

"I don't know, Ata'da," was Legolas' half-hearted reply.

Oropher turned his attention to the horizon, his lips curling slightly
in a smile.  Legolas was as bad a liar as his father was.  "Yes, you
do, pen-neth.  Why don't you simply tell me, or would you prefer I
find the Dwarf to keep you company today?"

"No!"  Legolas sat up suddenly.  "That won't be necessary."  He did
care for Gimli, he was his dearest friend, but he was not up for
another lecture from the stout warrior.

"Then tell me what weighs your heart so."

He sighed.  "All right."  Legolas took a moment to compose his
thoughts.  He knew what troubled him, but it was difficult to put into
words without sounding as if he were losing his mind.  "I was," he
paused, looking for the right word, then continued, "involved with the
sons of Elrond Half-Elven."

"Involved?"  Oropher's eyebrow raised and he looked shocked.

"Involved.  They are twins and well," he could feel the blush creep
over his fair features.  "We were involved."

"You were their lover."

Legolas choked on his tea and began to cough.  After a moment, which
was filled with his grandfather's amused chuckles, Legolas regained
what little composure he still had.  "Aye.  We kept a relationship for
over five centuries."

Oropher cocked his head in curiosity at Legolas.  "That's a long time
to just have a relationship, Indyo."

"No promises or words of love passed between myself or the twins,
though Elladan and Elrohir," his voice hitched for a moment.  It had
been years since he had even said their names.  He began again.
"Elladan and Elrohir had been lovers for millennia before they took me
into their bed."

"They loved one another, but not you."

"That is what I have always thought."

"Do you still think it?"

Legolas let his eyes drift to the vast city before them as he pondered
the question.  "Even if they did love me at some point, they would not
carry within them still that passion and need for me I always wished
they had.  I did not feel their love and simply pushed them away.  I
did not love them then, so why should they love me now?"

"Do you love them now?"  Oropher sipped from his cup again, his
emerald eyes sparkling.

"How can I love people who I have not seen in over a century?"

"Do you love your father?"

Legolas looked at him indignantly.  "Of course I love Ada.  What kind
of question is that?"

"Legolas, you have not seen your father since you left Imladris on
that quest.  Yet, you still love him.  Why can you not love Elladan
and Elrohir even after all this time?"

The younger Elf looked at his hands and spoke softly.  "It's like I
can feel them."

"How do you mean, pen-neth?"

The Prince sighed and tried to explain.  "As in right now.  Somehow, I
know that Elrohir is exhausted, he wants to lay down and rest but he
is with Celeborn and Haldir.  I know that Elladan is hot and in the
training field with Ada and Glorfindel.  I do not know how I know
this, I just do.  Something tells me they know that I am sitting here
having a conversation with you and feeling apprehensive."

"Ah," was all Oropher said, finishing his tea and standing up.  "I
see."  He went back into the house and refilled his cup.

Legolas followed his grandfather.  "What do you mean, 'I see',
Ata'da?"

The jade flashed.  "Do you love them, Legolas?"

"You keep asking me that."

"Humor me, Indyo.  Do you love them?"

Silence blanketed the room for several minutes while Oropher held his
breath, waiting for his grandson to come to the realization he needed
to.  Finally, swimming blue eyes met his.

"I do.  I love them."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

En Route to Valinor - January 15th, 126 of the Fourth Age

Elladan gripped Elrohir's hand tightly as they lay in the bed in their
room on the ship.  They had spent most of the trip in their room, just
as Thranduil had, thinking over their choices and the consequences.

"Melon lle, Elladan," came the soft, frightened voice of Elrohir.

"Shh, meleth," he soothed, caressing the dark locks from his twin's
wide eyes.  "Ada, Nana, Ata'da, and Ata'na would never let harm come
to us.  We must have faith."

Elrohir nodded into his brother's chest, pulling himself closer to his
twin.  "I do not want to be taken away from you, gwanunig, ever."

"I would sell my soul for you, Elrohir, I would do anything they asked
me to for you...  Just so long as we were together in the end."

Elrohir lifted his head and stared at his brother for several minutes,
then brought his lips up to meet his twin's in a gentle kiss.  "We
will arrive tomorrow morning... what shall we do with out last night
before we reach the Blessed Lands?"

Elladan smirked, running his hand up his twin's thigh to cup his firm
buttocks.  "I can think of several things."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Shores of Valinor - January 16th, 126 of the Fourth Age

Elladan and Elrohir stepped onto the land, leaving the boat and dock
behind.  They were quickly embraced by Celebrian, all three shedding
tears.  Elrohir closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering his mother's
scent and feeling safe while she comforted him after nightmares.

"Nana..." he choked out.

She held onto them tightly, amazed at how much they had changed since
she left them behind.  "Elladan... Elrohir... I am so happy you've
come!"  Celebrian pulled back and wiped her face, laughing at them.
"I have missed you, iynen," she said as she took her small hands and
cupped each twins cheek.

"Where is Ada?" Elladan asked, searching the line of people waiting to
welcome the last Elves to come home.

"Your Ada had some things to take care of.  He will see you later,
when you go home."  She continued to beam at them, taking her sons'
breaths away with how much she had recovered since they last saw her.
Looking at one another they silently agreed, they had made the right
choice coming with Thranduil and Glorfindel.

/Speaking of which.../ Elladan mused to Elrohir.

The Peredhil turned their eyes to Thranduil who held a bright shining
blond Elf in his arms.  Elrohir's heart missed a beat seeing the
sparkling lapis eyes.  Elladan watched Thranduil gently scold his son
for running off and Legolas looking properly chastised for a moment,
then smiling up at his father once again.

Their attention was drawn away from the father/son reunion when they
heard their old tutor's voice call out Glorfindel's name.  Elrohir
smiled broadly when Erestor threw his arms around the obviously
shocked blond and Glorfindel hesitantly wrapping his arms around the
raven-haired Councilor.

Yes, everything was as it should be.

/They seem happy./  Elrohir turned his intense gaze to his twin.

/Aye.  They should be.  I hope Thranduil and Ada find the same
happiness./

/Something tells me Ada has his own agenda and Thranduil is on it./

Elladan broke out in laughter and Celebrian looked at him oddly, then
squeezed their hands one last time and moved passed them to greet the
last two Elves to leave the dock.

The elder twin took the younger's hand in his and turned to greet
their grandmother and others they had not seen in years.  Before they
could take five steps, though, their path was blocked with a lithe
archer from Mirkwood looking at them expectantly.  Elladan thought he
stopped breathing when he looked into the hopeful eyes of their former
lover.

"Welcome home," came the soft, lyrical voice they had longed to hear
again.

"Legolas," they said in unison.

He smiled and bowed his head slightly.  Legolas took in a deep breath
and slowly released it.  He met their eyes again and wondered what had
possessed him to ever push them away.  "I have missed you."

Elladan raised an eyebrow skeptically.  "Just not enough to actually
let us know that you were leaving for Valinor?" he asked, a dark edge
cutting through his voice.

Legolas sighed.  The words were harsh, but it was clear they were
motivated by hurt, not anger.  He could *see* the affection they felt
for him shining in their eyes, how open and sad they were.  The blonde
wondered why he had not seen it before.  But he could also see the
hurt that he had caused them and the longing they had felt these many
years.  He swallowed uneasily.  "Would you mind walking with me for a
while?  I was hoping we could speak..."

Elladan's grip on his brother's hand became painful as he nodded and
followed the fair Prince away from the dock.  They strolled in
silence, the twins looking about them in awe.  It was beautiful and
perfect.  When they did stop, they were amazed that the Sinda had
brought them to a small glade with a waterfall in it.

"I come here a lot," he offered them.  "To think.  I find it an
appropriate setting for this conversation."  He turned to them and
motioned for the Peredhel to sit on the cool grass.  Legolas took his
place a few feet opposite of them, looking intently at his hands.

"It's quite beautiful.  It kind of reminds me of the secluded
waterfalls in Imladris."  Elrohir looked fondly at his brother, both
lost in the bittersweet memories of their home.

Elladan cleared his throat, eager t