Title: Shattered Light ch. 3-8
Author: Aduial
Email: imladris@bellsouth.net
Pairing: Thranduil/Elrond, Elladan/Legolas, Haldir/Erestor (others implied)
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Summary: When Celebrian sails West after her assault by the Orcs, Thranduil
paysElrond a visit in Imladris to pay his condolences. Old memories and
emotionsresurface as relationships, new and old, are forged.
Author's Notes: Thranduil/Elrond main pairing; also includes Elladan/Legolas
(re-written from "In Twilight") and establishing Haldir/Erestor; implied
Orophin/Elrohir, Lindir/Rumil, Glorfindel/Ecthelion and possible
Gil-galad/Elrond.
Other stories can be read at http://www.geocities.com/edhiloaduial/index.html
Beta read by Ilye.




Chapter 3: Sorrow’s Embrace

Though he had been somewhat reluctant, the Woodland King had followed Erestor’s
advice and taken some rest after his journey.  A short bath and a change of
clothes later, followed by a light meal a servant had brought, the King had
allowed himself an hour of rest in which he did nothing save for lying upon the
bed and staring at the ceiling.  Now that he felt refreshed, Thranduil had
decided it was time he sought out his old friend.

He had spent a time wandering the halls of Imladris before actually going to
meet with Elrond.  Thranduil thought much about the time after which his own
wife had died; the pain and the loss.  He understood well what the Peredhel was
going through, but Thranduil wondered if Elrond would listen to him.  It had
taken a long time for the King’s children to pull him back from the brink of
entering Mandos’ Halls; Thranduil only hoped that he could do the same for
Elrond.

Thranduil thought of the distraught looks he had seen in the twins’ eyes,
especially Elladan’s.  The King guessed the eldest son had just been to see his
father, and was not pleased with the results.  Surely Elrond would not think of
leaving his children in the world without a single parent?  Though his own
children were grown and quite capable of taking care of themselves without his
supervision, Thranduil could not imagine what it would be like if he were not
with them.  He enjoyed watching his children, took pride in his sons and
cherished his daughter.  

Did Elrond not feel the same?  If he did, why was he now intent on leaving them
for the Silent Halls?  The Woodland King decided he had to find a way to keep
Elrond on Arda, whatever the costs.

It was dark, even with the last of the sunlight shining through, when Thranduil
finally managed to enter Elrond’s bedchamber sometime in the early evening.  The
room was exactly as Thranduil had pictured it to be: spacious, neat, airy and
full of books.  He smiled at the memories of seeing Elrond reading whenever he
walked into the Peredhel’s tent; the dark head would be bent over whatever book
or scroll he had in hand, gray eyes darting left and right wildly as Elrond
sought to take in every word before him.  They were fond memories, but Thranduil
now found himself frowning as he stepped further into the room.

Huddled in a corner on the floor, oblivious to the King’s entrance, was Elrond. 
He gazed absentmindedly out of the window next to him.  His dark hair was clean
and brushed, though unbraided, his robes equally clean if not a little wrinkled,
his skin more pale than Thranduil remembered.  The lord of the valley looked as
if he hadn’t slept in days, and eaten less than what most would have thought
acceptable.  Elrond seemed to be in a daze with a slightly distant look in his
eyes; shifting slightly, he laid his head upon his knees until Thranduil could
no longer see his face.  The little patch of sunlight that managed to shimmer in
through the window and past the curtains warmed the Peredhel’s skin and set off
his hair in a fiery glow, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Elrond?” Thranduil called quietly whilst stepping closer.  He knelt in front of
Elrond, but the other elf didn’t seem to react to his presence.  “Elrond? 
Meldir?”

“Why are you here, Thranduil?” Elrond murmured without looking up.  He kept his
gaze fixed on something outside even as he addressed the other elven ruler.

“I came to see you.”

“Whatever for?”

“I promised you, didn’t I?  In all these years, have you forgotten the words I
spoke when we were last in each other’s company?  I promised you I would come if
you needed me.  All you had to do was call and I would have come.”

“I didn’t call for you.”  Slowly, Elrond lifted his head and fixed a haunted
gaze upon the Woodland King.  “I didn’t send for you to come, so why are you
here?”

Thranduil involuntarily held his breath at the pained look Elrond held in his
eyes.  They were haunted, anguish-filled with the loss of someone he cared about
dearly.  The King was reminded of when he had lost his own wife and the nights
of torment; the only comfort that came of that time was the love of his
children.  Gently, he gathered Elrond’s hands in his without much resistance
from the Peredhel.  “Whether you called me or not,” Thranduil began, “I am here
now.  And I’m not going anywhere until I see that you are well.”

“I am well, Thranduil,” Elrond protested.  “There is no need for you to stay,
nor was there any need for you to come.”

“Nay, you are not well, meldir.  You are fading, and I will not lose you to the
sorrow that is in your heart.  You have three beautiful children who are still
with you, who love you and will not see you leave them before your time.  You
cannot leave them, Elrond.”

“They are grown, they do not need me.”

“You are wrong.  They still need you, grown or not.”  Tugging on the
all-too-thin hands, Thranduil managed to pull Elrond into a gentle embrace.  He
held on tightly even as the other elf struggled; eventually Elrond quieted and
allowed for the Woodland King to hold him, though he made no move to return the
gesture.  “The loss in your heart is great,” Thranduil whispered, stroking the
dark hair.  “I know this, I’ve felt it myself.  But you cannot allow yourself to
give in to sorrow.  Live, Elrond.  You must live.”

Hot tears began to spill down Elrond’s sallow cheeks at the words being
whispered so tenderly into his ears.  Before he knew what was happening, Elrond
found himself clinging to Thranduil, burying his face into the King’s emerald
velvet tunic.  “I-I don’t know h-how a-anymore,” he sobbed, his voice muffled by
the plush fabric that was now becoming increasingly damp with his salt tears. 
“She w-was my best f-friend, the m-mother of m-my children.  I w-was with her
f-for so long.  H-how do I l-let go of all t-that?”

“Not easily, meldir.  Not easily at all.  Believe me, I know the pain of your
heart.  But you must let go; Celebrían would not want you to suffer so.”

“Help me…please…”

Thranduil nodded, pulling Elrond even closer as he held the Peredhel tightly. 
“I will be here for as long as you need me.”

Elrond merely sighed, his tears continuing to flow in silver streams down his
cheeks.  He barely heard the whispered words of comfort Thranduil spoke into his
ear or the gentle rocking motion the King began.  All he could focus on was his
wife, now gone, and the children he would have to continue watching over alone. 
His children…Thranduil was right, he couldn’t leave them.  But Elrond didn’t
know how to ignore the ache in his chest long enough to focus on them and go on. 
It hurt to lose yet another he had cared so deeply about.  “Please stay with
me,” he murmured into Thranduil’s tunic without even realizing he had spoken.

The muffled words startled Thranduil slightly; sapphire eyes blinked in the
fading light.  Had Thranduil heard right?  Instead of voicing his questions, the
King merely gave Elrond a firm squeeze.  In silence they stayed in one another’s
arms as the sun dipped lower before disappearing beneath the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neither elven lord noticed the pair of gray eyes watching them from where the
door stood ajar.  Elrohir observed the Mirkwood King and his father closely; he
could clearly see the close bond of friendship they shared.  The young Peredhel
had heard many stories of the supposed hatred that was shared between them, but
he had had a difficult time believing his father could hold someone in such cold
contempt.  Watching them now, Elrohir knew all the tales he had heard had been
fabricated, but he did not know why.

“It is not polite to spy on others, pen-neth,” a voice said from Elrohir’s
right.  

The twin jumped, startled, before turning to face Erestor, who was gazing at him
with a somewhat disapproving look.  “I wasn’t spying,” Elrohir replied in a soft
voice.

“Then, pray tell, what are you doing hovering outside your father’s door and
staring inside with the door just barely open?”

“What do you know about King Thranduil, Erestor?”

The question caught the counselor off-guard.  Of course he, as well as
Glorfindel and Lindir, were well aware of the friendship Thranduil and Elrond
shared.  He speculated that the King’s children also knew of the bond, but
Erestor was aware of the fact that none of Elrond’s children had been told the
truth of the matter.  Perhaps now was the time.  “King Thranduil is not as the
rumors tell him to be.”

“That I can see clearly.  So then why do the rumors say such?  Why do they say
that Ada and King Thranduil hold one another in such contempt if they aren’t
true?”

Sighing softly, Erestor took hold of Elrohir’s arm and steered them both away
from the door, shutting it quietly after him.  He led the twin to the library,
motioning for Elrohir to claim a seat before Erestor took one for himself.  For
a few moments there was nothing but silence as the counselor gazed out of the
window and the twin fidgeted with a sleeve.  “It’s all for pretenses,” Erestor
finally said.

“Pretenses?”  Elrohir’s eyes were filled with questions as he looked up at
Erestor, who returned his gazed with an unwavering gray-blue stare.  “Why would
there be need for pretenses?”

“You know of the Kinslayings, pen-neth.  Even now, after all these years, some
of the Sindar hold the Noldor in contempt though the ones who participated are
gone from this world.  Oropher, Thranduil’s father, was one of those people.  In
all outward appearances, Thranduil was much like his father.  However,
Thranduil, then a prince, had befriended Elrond, who he saw as an intellectual
and an elf who had suffered much loss in his life.
“You see,” Erestor continued, “Thranduil and Elrond had met during the Last
Alliance.  By then, Elros had already passed from the world and it was well
known to many from who Elrond was descended.  Knowing that Elrond had family
ties to the sons of Fingolfin, who had been present at the Kinslayings, had
hardened Oropher’s heart to him.  But Thranduil was of a different mind; he did
not believe in blaming one for the past actions of a person’s ancestors.  As far
as Thranduil was concerned, Elrond was innocent of those crimes and did not
deserve to be hated for crimes at which he was not even present.”

“Why, then, did King Thranduil not try to make his father see the error of his
reasoning?”

“Who says he did not?  Thranduil tried, but Oropher would not listen.  In the
end, Thranduil gave up, but kept his friendship to Elrond a secret from his
father.  They agreed to keep everything hidden from others, especially those of
the Sindar who felt the same as Oropher.  Few knew of the masks of hatred and
contempt they both wore when each spoke of the other.  Glorfindel and I knew, of
course, as did Lindir who secretly carried messages between them.”

“Messages?”

“Thranduil was in love with your father during that time, pen-neth.”  He could
have been a little more tactful, but Erestor felt that the young Peredhel needed
to know about his father’s history.

Elrohir sat still, flabbergasted by the news.  The Woodland King had been in
love with Elrond?  That was quite a bit of shocking revelation to be handed with
so soon after his mother had just left,.  But Elrohir found that it did not
bother him so much, and that all the pieces of the mystery that might have
arisen surrounding Thranduil‘s visit were falling into place.  “Did Ada…”

“Know?”  Erestor shook his head.  “Perhaps he did, but I am unaware of such. 
Gil-galad and Elrond had been lovers before the Last Alliance; but the love
between them had waned a little after Elrond founded Imladris.  And shortly
after the battle in which Sauron was defeated, both Thranduil and Elrond married
others.”

The Peredhel sat silently, trying to digest the information Erestor had just
related to him.  It was shocking to discover that there was nothing but
friendship between the elven lords all this time, at least on Elrond‘s part. 
Even Elrohir, as perhaps his siblings and most of Imladris, had been led to
believe that Elrond did not like Thranduil in the slightest.  He wondered if
Thranduil’s children knew of the charade or were also oblivious.  “Do you
think,” Elrohir mused aloud, “that the King might still love Ada?”

“I do not know,” Erestor replied.  “But whether he still does or not, Thranduil
may be one of our last chances to keep Elrond on this earth with us.  He was
present when Gil-galad died; Elrond was distraught at that time, but somehow
Thranduil managed to keep him with us.  I do not know what he did or what he
said, but perhaps he can do it again.  Thranduil is not what the tales make him
out to be.  Yes, he can be arrogant at times, but he takes a great deal of pride
in his accomplishments and has great love for his people.  But he is also kind
and just, judging others only when he has received a clear glimpse of their
character.”  Erestor reached over, lightly squeezing one of Elrohir’s hands for
reassurance.  “Trust him, pen-neth.  He will not let your father leave us
without a fight.”

Elrohir nodded, smiling slightly.  “I believe you, Erestor.  And I will put my
trust in King Thranduil.  If he can keep Ada here with us, I will be eternally
grateful to him.”  He gave a brighter smile, to which Erestor gave one of his
own.  The pair spent the rest of the evening discussing other things until the
chimes sounded the time to gather for the evening meal.





Chapter 4: Remembrance

Naught but a week had passed since the arrival of Mirkwood’s King and princes,
and yet Elrond’s condition had not improved as much as everyone would have
desired.  The twins and Arwen, however, fared better with Arondil and Legolas to
distract them with stories about their siblings and home.  Erestor and
Glorfindel, and occasionally Lindir, would hold council with Thranduil, who had
partially taken it upon himself to oversee the comings and goings of the valley.  

The inner light generated by Elrond’s fëa had brightened shortly after
Thranduil’s arrival, but was now waning once again a mere few days later.  The
whole thing exasperated Glorfindel, who at times found himself unable to remain
in the Peredhel’s presence for very long at times.  The golden-haired elf would
often have to excuse himself, after which would inevitably follow an outburst
aimed at whichever unfortunate soul crossed his path.  The Balrog Slayer of
Gondolin knew well what it felt like to lose one so dearly loved, yet he also
knew that Elrond possessed the strength to continue living.  Glorfindel would
rant and rave about the subject, calming after a few moments before and thanking
whoever possessed enough patience to listen to him, before returning to Elrond’s
side.

Such was the case one afternoon nearly five days after the Mirkwood party’s
arrival.  In a fit of frustration, Glorfindel had all but stormed out of
Elrond’s chambers, leaving Erestor and Arwen behind with the Peredhel.  The Elda
mumbled incoherent words as he stalked through the corridors, servants and maids
deftly avoiding him when they sensed his mood.  Glorfindel was frustrated and
weary, not to mention that the pain of his own loss was beginning to catch up
with him.  He needed to be away from Elrond in order to give himself time to
think and calm down.  

The Elda had passed Elrond’s study and was on his way to the gardens when a
voice calling his name stopped him.  Thranduil stood in the doorway of the
study, rich green robes rustling with even the slightest movement.  While in
Imladris, he had chosen to go without his customary crown of leaves; Thranduil
continued to wear the colors and style of Mirkwood, but kept his head bare. 
Blue eyes of a different shade to Glorfindel’s gazed at the Elda with a mix of
curiosity and understanding swirling within their depths. 

“Is everything well, Glorfindel?” Thranduil asked, taking another step out of
the study.

“Nay, all is not well,” Glorfindel replied with a shake of his head.  He sighed,
running a slender hand across his face as if to wipe away his exhaustion.  “I am
frustrated and concerned, and I don’t know what to do about it all.”

“Let us go for a walk then, mellon.  I can see you’ve had a rough morning, and I
have been inside all day.  Whilst I enjoy the beauty of the valley and this
manor, the outdoors suit me better.”

“Aye, a walk sounds very pleasant.”  With a small smile, Glorfindel turned and
led the way out to the gardens.  

In silence, the pair entered one of the numerous pathways threading through the
grounds of the Last Homely House.  Neither said anything for a time as they
allowed the sun to play with their hair and warm their backs, and the warm
breeze to tickle their skin and calm their nerves.  After a time, their keen
elven ears picked up on the sound of singing; rounding a bend in the path,
Glorfindel and Thranduil stumbled upon Lindir, who sat upon a stone bench
composing.  

His silver harp, a gift from his mother’s people, rested gratefully in Lindir’s
hands whilst his fingers plucked the strings.  Occasionally Lindir would hum,
pluck another note and then scribble something down on a piece of parchment next
to him.  He was unaware of Glorfindel and Thranduil’s approach until they were
almost upon him.

“My Lords,” the white-haired elf said with a smile and a slight nod of his head.

“Lindir,” Glorfindel greeted in return whilst Thranduil nodded.  “Out enjoying
the day?”

“Aye, my Lord.  ‘Tis a pleasant day to be out; I couldn’t bear to stay indoors a
moment longer.”

“Aye, ‘tis a fine day indeed,” Thranduil said, claiming the spot on the bench
next to Lindir.  Glorfindel settled himself on the grass at their feet, fingers
idly picking at the green blades.  “What were you composing, Lindir?  A new song
to sing in court?  Or perhaps one only for your lover’s ears?”

The minstrel’s cheeks turned a warm shade of pink at the suggestion, slender
hands absently plucking a few strings of his harp.  “I fear I would embarrass
Rúmil if I were to compose a song solely for his ears.”

“Rúmil of Lórien?”  The news surprised Thranduil.  He was fond of Lindir but had
never known the minstrel had a lover; Thranduil had meant to tease Lindir with
his remark, not knowing it was actually true.  “How long have you known one
another?”

“Since the beginning of this Age, Sire.”  Lindir smiled at Thranduil’s quizzical
look.  “I have rarely told others about our relationship, though I do not doubt
all of Lórien has long known of the match.  Haldir can rarely keep such news
regarding his youngest brother quiet for long.”

Glorfindel snorted, plucking a grass blade from the ground.  Placing the tip of
the blade between his teeth, he began to absentmindedly chew upon it as he
leaned back upon his hands and stretched his legs out before him.  “Haldir can
rarely keep anything quiet.  Though…I do believe there is one secret he has not
told anyone, save for his brothers.”

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, raising his eyebrows and turning to the Elda.  “And, pray
tell my dear Glorfindel, how do you know of this secret?”

The Balrog Slayer simply smirked at the question.  “Did you not know Lórien’s
March Warden will say anything when he is dreaming?”

Lindir laughed musically at the statement.  “Aye, Rúmil has said as much.  I
have heard him and Orophin remark upon Haldir’s nightly conversations, though I
am unaware of this secret you speak of, Lord Glorfindel.  A secret love
perhaps?”

“Ah, Lindir, you are quite perceptive.  Yes, it is a secret love, but I am not
at liberty to say much else.”

“A pity,” Thranduil remarked with a smirk.  “I would have so dearly loved to
tease him with the information should I ever meet him.”  He smiled when Lindir
laughed again; turning to Glorfindel, Thranduil noticed the sadness that swam in
the azure eyes, which were fixed upon the minstrel’s person.  “Glorfindel?  What
troubles you?”

“’Tis nothing, just old memories.”  Glorfindel pressed his lips together, not
wishing to speak on the matter any longer.  But Thranduil would not relent and
pursued the matter further.

“Nay, it is not nothing.  You’ve seemed bothered these last few days.”

“You should not be worrying about me, Sire.  My troubles, compared to Elrond’s,
are nothing.”

“I protest, my Lord,” Lindir said, worry beginning to fill his emerald orbs. 
“Now that King Thranduil has mentioned it, I do sense a sudden sadness lingering
about you.  And this is not the first time; I remember hearing Erestor remark to
the Lady Arwen about your state of well-being a few days before the party from
Mirkwood arrived.”

“My state of being is fine, Lindir.  I am fit and healthy, I am not ill.”

“Then it is the state of your heart.”

Glorfindel fixed Lindir with a penetrating gaze, one that normally sent his
guards cowering away without another word.  But the minstrel was more accustomed
to dealing with the Elda’s moods than the other guards of Imladris; he barely
batted an eyelash at the withering gaze directed at him.  

“You are far too perceptive,” Glorfindel eventually murmured after the pair had
stared at one another for some time.

“So you have told me,” Lindir replied.  “Come now, do not hide from the shadows,
my Lord.  You should know best that it is better to confront them.”

The golden-haired Elda debated on whether he should reveal his heart; he had
kept his true feelings a secret from everyone, save Elrond.  Glorfindel trusted
both Thranduil and Lindir, and found that he could not deny the minstrel’s
request.  “It has been long since I’ve felt the touch of another,” Glorfindel
confessed, his voice quiet and his eyes downcast.  “Seeing Elrond grieving
reminds me of when I too felt the same, though my time of mourning was short.  I
have not allowed myself to love again since I lost my lover.”

“Why is that, meldir?” Thranduil inquired.  “Is there no one to your liking?  I
am sure there are plenty of elves who would love to proclaim that they have a
hold over your heart.”

“It is not that simple, Thranduil.  I cannot let go of the love I once had.”

“Ecthelion of the Fountain,” Lindir said knowingly.

“Aye, Ecthelion.”  Glorfindel bowed his head forward, his golden hair partially
shielding his face.  “Your laugh reminded me of him, Lindir; he used to laugh as
you do, his voice sounding like chimes in the clear evening air.  I can’t ever
forget him, my first love, my only lover.  How can I?  We experienced so much
together during the years we saw.  I grew up with him by my side; I was able to
see him smile every day and listen to him laugh.  When he played his flute, I
felt like the world had stopped moving in order to listen to him.”

“’Twas a deep love,” Thranduil murmured.  “One that is not easily forgotten…or
replaced.”

“Which is precisely why I cannot--will not--take another.  I love him too
deeply.  Ecthelion is still dear to me, even now when we are apart.  I know not
whether or not he has been reborn as I have, nor do I know if and when he will
return, but I cannot betray him.”  Glorfindel sighed, azure eyes misting over
with age-old memories.  “I hear him sometimes, in my dreams.  He calls to me,
tells me he loves me and that he is waiting.  It feels so real, but when I reach
out to touch him, he vanishes.”

“We have all lost people we love,” Lindir mused.  “But the love you hold, my
Lord, is greater than any I have ever seen.”

“What of you, Lindir?” Thranduil inquired, turning to the young minstrel.  “Have
you known of love with another as you do now with Rúmil?”

“Not as I do now, no Sire.”  Lindir smiled faintly, thinking of the
silver-haired elf of his heart.  “Nay, that love is reserved only between us. 
But I have felt love’s caress before, with another who is now long gone.  Do you
remember Elendir, Sire?”

“Aye, I remember him.”  Elendir had been a Sinda, part of Oropher’s army during
the Last Alliance.  The golden-haired, gray-eyed elf had, like Lindir, been a
message runner for the Mirkwood camp, until he had been killed during one of the
runs.  Thranduil suddenly blinked and stared at Lindir as a thought occurred to
him.  “You and Elendir were lovers?”

“For a short time, aye.”  Lindir sighed, brushing some hair from his eyes.  “It
was not like what I feel for Rúmil; ours is a love that was meant to be.  We
both knew it from the moment we met, though it took us some time to realize what
the stirring of our hearts meant.  It was different with Elendir; we were drawn
together through the mutual danger we shared.  It was love, but at the same time
it wasn’t.  I could let go of Elendir when he died instead of attempting to join
him.  I do not know if I am making much sense, my Lords, but it is enough to say
that I cared for Elendir but did not love him in the fashion as I do Rúmil.”

“You make perfect sense, Lindir,” Glorfindel said.  “You loved him, aye, but it
was not the deep and true love you feel for the Galadhrim, or what I felt for
Ecthelion.  You loved Elendir because of the danger that surrounded you both,
because of the unknown that was laid before you.  But with Rúmil, you love for
the sake of loving.  Such a love happens for no reason at all; only the Valar
know what devices bring certain people together.  There’s no rhyme or reason to
it, no explanation for why it happens.  It just does.”

“I must say though, Glorfindel,” Thranduil mused.  “The love you and Ecthelion
bore--still bear for your part, at least--was very strong.  Yours was a love
that was meant to be.”

“Perhaps you are right, Thranduil.”  The golden-haired Elda gave a soft sigh,
tilting his head back until he was gazing up at the sky.  “Valar, I miss him.” 
Azure eyes closed as he dreamt of days past.

“You will see him again, my Lord,” Lindir said kindly.  “The Valar would not
forsake such a union as the pair of you shared.”

“You are quite optimistic about that, Lindir.”

The minstrel blushed, idly plucking a few strings of his harp.  “Rúmil has often
commented on the fact.”

“And I dare say he’s right!” Thranduil teased with a laugh.  “We could all do
with a great deal of optimism, especially these days.  Such trying days are
ahead of us.”

“Aye, trying they will be,” Glorfindel said with a nod.  “But let us look
forward to them and to the times that are yet to come.  The past is the past,
and we can’t change it.”

“We can’t change it, but let us remember the days long gone so that they may
brighten whatever darkness lingers in our future.”

“Well said, Sire!” Lindir replied, eliciting laughter from all three elves
before the minstrel and the King continued on with their conversation as the day
passed on in quiet contentment. 

Glorfindel sat silently, watching the pair as they conversed about the past and
the present.  Speaking with them about Ecthelion had awakened the yearning in
his heart, a feeling he had tried to suppress throughout the years.  He missed
his lover, wanted desperately to be reunited with him.  But Glorfindel still had
a duty to Arda and couldn’t leave yet.  His own happiness would have to wait a
while longer.

The Elda knew exactly how Elrond felt.  He knew what it was like to lose someone
you loved dearly.  Glorfindel berated himself for becoming so frustrated with
Elrond; he would apologize later, and offer his company to his friend as he
always did.  

From his seat on the grass, Glorfindel watched Thranduil as the King laughed
merrily at something Lindir had said.  He hoped Thranduil would be able to keep
Elrond alive and teach him how to love again.  The Mirkwood King was exactly
what the Peredhel needed right now: a kind friend with an open mind, a listening
ear and a heart that knew how to love.  Glorfindel caught himself hoping Elrond
would find love again with the golden-haired King and realized that maybe, just
maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.





Chapter 5: Heart’s Comforting

Whilst his father attended to the duties of Imladris as a temporary substitute
for the day, Legolas had spent the morning and early afternoon wandering the
grounds of the valley.  Since his arrival he had been enchanted with the beauty
of Imladris, often spending his time riding through the surrounding woods or
walking the banks of the Bruinen.  Even the libraries of Elrond were a sight to
behold for the young prince, who was never quite content being confined indoors. 
Thranduil had encouraged his children to keep an open mind about their Noldor
kin, but sadly the libraries of Mirkwood scarcely contained any history of the
elves in question.  Legolas could easily spend hours in the studies, reading
about past battles he had never before heard of--had it not been for his
adventurous spirit calling him outdoors.

Walking along the Bruinen yet again that afternoon, Legolas marveled at the
river and its accompanying waterfalls.  He immensely enjoyed the feel of the
cool spray against his face, and liked to watch the fish swimming through the
crystal clear waters.  The prince had long removed his boots and was now walking
at the very edge of the river, his elven surefootedness keeping him from
slipping into the rushing waters.  Sighing in contentment, Legolas remembered a
time when Mirkwood had been as beautiful as the valley, not as haunted and dark
as it had become only recently.

A playful splash sounded nearby, catching the prince’s attention.  Turning in
the direction of the noise, his breath caught at the sight of the eldest son of
Elrond swimming elegantly through the waters.  Elladan’s hair, wet from the
water, clung to his neck, shoulders and back; drops of the crystal liquid
glistened on his skin, reflecting the sunlight in a dazzling array.  He was
dressed only in his leggings, his tunic and boots having been discarded in a
careless pile on the bank.  The Peredhel didn’t seem to notice Legolas’ presence
or the prince’s fascinated stare as he cut through the water for a few moments,
before flipping over to float upon his back.  

Legolas found that he couldn’t take his eyes off of the stunning dark beauty
before him.  Without realizing it, he took a step forward as if to move closer
to the eldest twin; he wasn’t aware of the sudden drop in depth however until he
found himself completely submerged underwater.  He struggled to get his feet
under him, to stand and break the water’s surface, but the muddy bottom caused
him to slip under again.  

Hands grasped Legolas firmly under the arms, pulling him out of the watery
depths.  Legolas gasped, coughing almost convulsively as he expelled water and
drew in air.  He was vaguely aware of a pair of arms holding him against a warm
body whilst the coughing fit passed.

“I see no one has yet warned you of the sudden step from bank to river, my dear
prince,” a voice said, mirth and concern mingling in the tone.

Legolas raised his head, giving Elladan an embarrassed smile.  “Nay,
unfortunately not,” he replied, brushing away some golden locks that clung to
his cheeks.  “Thank you for helping me lest I unceremoniously drown.”

“Now I couldn’t just let you drown.”  Elladan returned the smile before helping
Legolas out of the cold waters, drops falling from their hair and clothes onto
the grass.  “Come, the sun is high and feels pleasant to the skin.  We can talk
whilst we lie on the grass and dry off.”  He smiled again when Legolas nodded
and wrung the water from his clothes;  Elladan paused momentarily to collect his
tunic and boots before moving over to an open, sun warmed spot.  

Elladan lay back upon the soft grass, stretching in a feline manner as the sun
began to warm his skin.  His eyes were closed, but he could hear Legolas
shuffling about quietly beside him, the sound of wet clothing plopping softly on
the ground before the prince also stretched out upon the grass.

“You seem much improved these last few days,” the prince remarked, turning his
head until his eyes captured Elladan’s stormy gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem…more content than when we first met.”

Elladan sighed, his expression sobering a touch as he turned to stare at the sky
overhead.  “I still miss my mother, and I worry for my father.  Things will
never be the same and I don’t expect them to.  But I can’t help feeling this
emptiness inside me.  I know Elrohir feels the same, as does Arwen.  We try to
be cheerful, for Ada’s sake.  It’s difficult sometimes, I admit, but we try.”

Hearing the lost tone in Elladan’s voice, Legolas rolled onto his side and
reached for the Peredhel’s hand, entwining their fingers.  “You aren’t alone,
meldir.  You have a friend in me; should you need an ear to listen, I am here.”

“Thank you, Legolas.  It means a great deal to me.”  Elladan gave the prince a
reassuring smile, squeezing the slender fingers in his hands gently.  They lay
silently for a while, attempting to enjoy the day.  Finally, after much debating
with himself, Elladan voiced the question that had been nagging at him. 
“Legolas?  What was your mother like?”

The question surprised him as it was quite unexpected.  Legolas lifted his head
for a moment to gaze once again into Elladan’s eyes, then laid the golden crown
back onto the grass bed beneath him before replying.  “She was a Sindarin,
beautiful with silver hair and green eyes.  My brother Celeron and sister
Nimriel look the most like her.  Arondil and I take after our father in looks.” 
The golden-haired prince smiled faintly at the memories.  “She used to sing my
brothers and I to sleep each night, whether we were elflings hiding behind her
skirts or warriors returned from a skirmish.  My mother had a beautiful voice:
it’s what I remember the most about her.”

“What was her name?”

“Erinien.”

“’Forest maiden.’  Appropriate for the bride of King Thranduil.”  Elladan tried
to imagine what Legolas’ mother had looked like, and found himself thinking of
his own mother.  The prince’s description of the late wife of Thranduil sounded
much like Elladan’s mother.  “How did she…”

“Die?”  Legolas’ eyes softened as he recalled memories of days long past.  “My
mother was weak after giving birth to my sister.  No more than ten years had
passed when she told my father that she did not think her fëa would remain
within her body much longer.  My father was devastated by the news, but he is
strong.  He always greeted my mother with a smile upon his face during her
remaining days.
“She died peacefully in her sleep, and we were all there to bid her farewell
when her time came.  Ada was listless for sometime afterwards.  My brothers and
I divided our time between helping to maintain the kingdom, watch Nimriel and
sit with our father.  I often sat with Ada whilst Celeron watched Nimriel and
Arondil worked with the advisors, but we would often rotate.  In time, my father
lifted himself of his mourning and slowly became his old self again.”

“How was he able to do that?”

“With our love.  He remembered his children: remembered that we, even grown and
past our majority, still needed him.  We had already lost one parent; none of us
would have survived losing another.”

Elladan listened to Legolas’ words, feeling that they reflected what his heart
spoke.  He realized then that he had found a very deep connection between
himself and the Mirkwood prince, due to their shared experiences.  “What is your
father like?” Elladan asked.  “I have heard stories, but King Thranduil seems
very…contrary to the rumors that have circulated.”

Legolas laughed then, the chime-like sound filling the air and warming the
Peredhel’s heart.  “Ada is only half of what the rumors say, and even then it is
only on outward appearances.  Surely Erestor and Lindir have told you different
from others?”

“Nay, they say nothing after their visits to the North.  They merely shake their
heads when King Thranduil is mentioned as arrogant, but they remain silent.”

“How very like them.  But nay, my father only appears bitter and haughty.  He
cares deeply for our home and people; he would rather die than see a single elf
of the wood injured in any way.  Ada is not as close-minded as most seem to
believe either.  He is rather open to the idea of close relations with the other
realms, but there are some of his advisors who believe such a course of action
is unwise and rash.  So he often keeps his opinions to himself, sharing his
thoughts with my siblings and I, and works to better relations in secret.” 
Legolas paused for a moment, not knowing whether his next words would upset or
reassure Elladan.  After a few moments’ thought, he decided to forge ahead. 
“Did you know that my father has been in love with yours for ages, even before
he married my mother?”

Elladan sighed, closing his eyes against the sunlight.  “I suspected as much
observing the King over the last few days.  Your mother…did she know?”

“I believe she did, and she accepted it.  Ada did love Nana, just in a different
way to which he loves Lord Elrond.  My mother was content with the love that she
was given, never asking for more.”

“I do not know how my father feels,” Elladan admitted.  “He loved my mother, but
my siblings and I know that previously Ada was in love with the High King. 
Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir have spoken of their love before, so I know it to
be true.  I heard it was King Thranduil who pulled Ada back from the brink when
Gil-galad died.”

“I have heard such as well.  My father does not speak of much of that time, so I
know very little of what happened.  All I really know is that he spoke for a
long time with Lord Elrond, after which they went their separate ways.”  

“Does is not surprise you that our fathers are such good friends?”  

Legolas shrugged, smiling wistfully.  “It does not surprise me much at all. 
Even as an elfling, I knew that my father was not always what he seemed.  There
are a lot of masks, a lot of pretenses; I suppose Ada acquire most of his
current facades as a prince under my grandfather’s rather stringent ruling and
parenting.  Ada didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my grandfather, but he was
always careful to hide what he truly thought and felt, especially if it would
upset his father.  Ada didn’t want my brothers, sister and I growing up like
that, like we had something to hide from him.”

“I’m beginning to like King Thranduil more everyday.”

“I am developing a fondness for your father as well, despite his current state.”

Elladan returned the smile that Legolas was giving him; he was glad to discover
that his father got along so well with the King of Mirkwood, destroying the
rumors Elladan and his siblings had grown up hearing.  He could see that Legolas
was much like Thranduil, and was growing accustomed to the young prince’s
company each day.  He found himself wanting to touch the other elf without
knowing why.  Giving in to the temptation, Elladan reached out and tenderly
caressed a wayward lock of golden hair.  Crystal blue eyes turned to him,
widening slightly at his actions but Legolas didn’t pull away, for which Elladan
was relieved.

“Can I ask a favor of you, Legolas?” Elladan whispered.

“Of course, meldir.”  Legolas found himself involuntarily moving closer to the
twin, feeling mesmerized by the look in Elladan’s stormy gray eyes as the twin
fiddled with his hair.

“Will you hold me like you did on the first day we met?”  He found his throat
going dry and his heart suddenly beating rapidly; nervousness crept into
Elladan’s being but he forced himself to speak again.  “I find lately that I
need someone--anyone--near me, touching me; it’s a comforting feeling.  Usually
it is Elrohir who gives me comfort, but he is not here now and I…”  Elladan
wasn’t able to finish as Legolas moved closer, wrapping long, lean arms around
the Peredhel and hugging him close.  He sighed into the golden hair, closing his
eyes.  “Hannon le.”

Legolas smiled, hugging his friend.  He felt the tiniest bit awkward in their
current position but pushed the feeling aside.  Elladan needed a friend, a
companion, right now, and Legolas would be that person.  But…did he want more? 
Would Elladan accept him as more?  The questions without answers began to whirl
through the prince’s head, making it difficult to think coherently.  He gave up
in the end, and just allowed himself to be Elladan’s anchor to the world.  There
would be time later for other things, other answers to surface.





Chapter 6: A Second Chance

“Elrond?”  Thranduil slowly opened the door to the lord of Imladris’ bedroom
after knocking and receiving no answer.  As usual the drapes were drawn despite
it being the middle of the day, plunging the chamber into darkness.  Elven eyes
adjusted to the lack of light, blue orbs darting around the room to catch a
glimpse of its occupant.

Elrond was seated in a chair, his head tilted back and eyes closed.  He looked
better than he had in weeks, though his face and frame still looked as if the
elven lord carried a great weight on his shoulders.  Instead of pushing his
friends and family away, Elrond had allowed their presence in the recent days,
though he still responded little to their inquiries about his health and
well-being.

“What is it, Thranduil?” the Peredhel asked quietly without lifting his head or
opening his eyes.

Thranduil quietly closed the door before him as he entered the chamber.  His
steps were light and nearly soundless as he glided over to where the dark-haired
elf sat.  Kneeling on the floor, Thranduil gazed up, placing his hands lightly
upon Elrond’s knees.  He waited until the Peredhel had opened his eyes and was
looking at him before he spoke.  “You need to go out, Elrond.  You can’t keep
locking yourself in your chamber all day.”

“I do not wish to go out, Thranduil.  I am content to be here.”

“Are you?”  Thranduil ignored the glare Elrond threw at him and quickly got to
his feet, bodily drawing the other elf after him and towards the door.  “Let’s
go for a walk, Elrond.”

“I don’t want a walk!  I want to sit in my rooms and be alone!  Why can’t you
let me be?”

“Because I’m your friend.  I care and worry about you.  I’m not about to let you
waste your time here on Arda when there are so many other things you
could--should--be doing!”  Without another word, Thranduil dragged the half-elf
out into the sunlight, ignoring Elrond’s protests and the stares the servants
gave them as they passed.  

Thranduil didn’t stop until the pair found themselves in a secluded part of one
of Imladris’ gardens.  Side-by-side, they stood in a small clearing, surrounded
entirely by blooms of every kind and color, green grass at their feet and bright
blue sky above their heads.  The Mirkwood King inhaled a deep breath, relishing
in the feel of warm sunlight on his back and a gentle breeze ruffling his hair. 
Turning to gaze at Elrond, he was pleased to find the Peredhel was actually
enjoying the outing despite his previous protests.

“See?  Isn’t this better than sitting in your stuffy old room all day?”

Elrond managed to throw a very unconvincing glare towards the blond elf before a
faint smile twitched at the corner of his lips.  “It does feel nice,” he
murmured, slowly closing his storm gray eyes.

“Told you.”  With a mischievous smirk, Thranduil settled down onto the grass
beneath a tall willow; patting the spot next to him, he invited Elrond to sit. 
The Peredhel did so without any protests, much to Thranduil’s delight.  For a
time they sat without speaking, taking in the beauty around them.  It was
Thranduil who spoke first.  “Elrond?  Do you remember when we first met?”

“I do,” Elrond replied, thinking back to days long past.  “We were so young
then.”

“Aye, so young and naïve to the world.  And look at us now: we are old and have
grown-up children now.”

“You are still as I remember you to be, Thranduil.  You were always full of love
and life, though you always hid what you truly thought and felt behind masks. 
You still are that way, I see.”

“It’s a necessity sometimes,” Thranduil replied with a sigh whilst toying with
the end of a slender braid of golden hair.  “Not all think and act as I do.  I
thank the Valar I have children who follow in my footsteps and are tolerant of
others.  There are still those of my realm who believe we shouldn’t even
associate with the Noldor, but I have always thought otherwise.  I do not try to
change the way other people think, nor do I try to impose myself upon them.  But
it is…frustrating to listen to their accusations and spiteful remarks
sometimes.”  He flashed a grin at Elrond then.  “I suppose that’s where being
king makes up for things.”

Elrond couldn’t help but issue a small giggle at the thought.  “Aye, but I still
remember you as a young prince and a proud archer who came to help in the Last
Alliance.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day we first met…”

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

Oropher was late, and that made Elrond irritable and impatient.  He didn’t
understand how Gil-galad could sit so serenely, so calmly in his chair whilst
waiting for a king who so obviously hated the Noldor and anything associated
with them.  Most of all, Elrond couldn’t even begin to imagine how Gil-galad was
keeping his composure; the High King hated people being late to formal meetings
even more so than Elrond did.

“Elrond, please stop pacing,” Gil-galad said past the steepled fingers he held
before his face.  “You are beginning to make me dizzy.”

“He is late, my King.  Does that not concern you?!”  The Peredhel came to a
standstill before his King and lover.  Gil-galad had helped to raise Elrond and
his twin, Elros, for a time after they had been found following their short
captivity in Maglor‘s hands.  Since then, especially after Elros’ death, the
King had always been there for Elrond as one of the few who could tolerate the
Peredhel’s sometimes quick and fierce temper.  Even Glorfindel had difficulty at
times dealing with Elrond when he was in such a state.

“Oropher is late, yes, but I never expected him to be on time, much less early
to this meeting.”  Gil-galad’s reply was calm and even as he sat back in his
chair, regarding the other elf quietly.  “It is no secret that the Sindarin King
does not like we of the Noldor, Elrond.  So then, knowing that, why should we
expect him to not make some sort of entrance to this meeting that would rattle
our nerves?”

“I suppose you are right.”

“You know I am on this particular matter.  Hush now, I hear footsteps; it is
likely Glorfindel.”  

Elrond was not at all surprised when Glorfindel really did enter the chamber in
which he and Gil-galad were waiting.  Erestor followed the golden-haired Elda,
and he was followed by two blond elves.  The Peredhel could only assume the elf
with the stern expression and cold green eyes was Oropher, the King of the
northern realm of Greenwood.  He wore the brown and green colors of his kingdom
proudly over shimmering mail, his head crowned with a wreath of laurel; a sword
was girded at his side, and a bow and quiver upon his back.  Oropher possessed
an aura that commanded attention from all who were present before him, lest they
feel his wrath.  But it was the elf at his side that attracted Elrond’s
attention the most.

Thranduil resembled his father in looks but not temperament.  He was some forty
years older than Elrond, yet looked much younger than the Peredhel, and wisened. 
His blue eyes held a mix of wonder and knowing, as if he were full of questions
but possessed the answers to others.  His golden hair was unadorned and loose
save for two slender braids that fell from behind his ears; the mark of the
Greenwood prince.  He too wore a sword at his side and sported a bow in his
hand.  A full quiver of arrows was upon his back, partially hidden by the sweep
of hair that waved to his waist.  Unlike his father, Thranduil did not wear
mail; instead, he wore a simple leather jerkin, leggings and boots of greens,
browns and blacks.  His ensemble was completed by a cloak and brown leather
wrist guards; an archer’s glove covered his right hand and fingers.

The prince’s demeanor and composure was much easier than that of his father,
Elrond noted whilst continuing his observation of Thranduil as the small party
stepped close Gil-galad and himself.  Thranduil seemed less intimidating than
his father, more curious.  And he appeared more understanding and tolerant,
Elrond quickly realized.  The Peredhel could see the almost sympathetic
expression the Greenwood prince gave to each of the Noldorin elves as he passed
into the chamber, a look that opposed that of his father’s stern and nearly
hate-filled gaze.

“King Oropher,” Gil-galad greeted with a nod of his head.  “’Tis good to see you
well.  I trust you have already met Glorfindel and Erestor; may I present to you
my herald, Elrond son of Eärendil.”

“The mariner’s son,” Oropher said, eyeing Elrond closely and making the Peredhel
feel most uncomfortable.  “Aye, I have heard of you, and of the deeds of your
father.”  He gave Elrond another thorough look-over before turning back to
Gil-galad and motioning for Thranduil to step closer.  “And I present to you my
son, Thranduil of Greenwood.”

Thranduil made an elegant bow in honor to the High King, which impressed more
than Gil-galad.  Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a look behind Oropher’s back,
and Elrond easily interpreted the look as one of approval towards Oropher’s
heir.

“’Tis an honor to be in your presence, Sire,” Thranduil said, ignoring the
momentary scowl his father threw at him.  “I hope we may be great allies in this
battle against Sauron.”

“Well said, son of Oropher,” Gil-galad replied with a nod.  “There is much to
discuss at present, but perhaps you would like some rest first?  The journey
from the Greenwood could not have been easy or short.”

“I will not rest,” Oropher protested.  “As you said, there is much to discuss
and I would that we began now.  But my son may take some refreshment if that is
his wish.”

“It is, father.”

“Then let Elrond show you the way to your quarters,” Gil-galad said, sparing a
quick glance at his herald.  Obediently and politely, Elrond bowed to both his
King and Oropher before motioning for Thranduil to follow him.

“Come,” he said, turning to the blond prince.  “Your quarters are just down this
corridor.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Thranduil followed the King’s herald silently as Elrond led him down the
corridor.  Blue eyes kept themselves trained on the Peredhel’s back, following
the sway of the raven hair as Elrond moved.  He didn’t understand it, but
Thranduil felt something then, something he had never felt before.  He became
absorbed in the emotion he felt stirring in his chest, and almost didn’t
register Elrond’s voice when the other spoke.

“These are your quarters, Prince Thranduil,” the dark-haired elf said, motioning
to the open door of a vast, darkened chamber.  “Your father’s assigned guest
room is just next door, and the rest of your party will be saying down the
corridor.”

“Thank you,” the young prince replied with a kind smile, which widened at the
somewhat confused expression that passed across the herald’s face.  “And please,
call me Thranduil.  I’m not overly fond of my title, though my father expects
others to use it when in his presence.”

“You are…quite different from your father.”

Thranduil laughed at that, a merry sound that resembled raindrops tinkling
lightly on silver roofs and carried down the hall.  “Why do you think so?”

Elrond found himself blushing at the laughter, growing embarrassed without quite
knowing why.  “You just do.  When you entered the High King’s court, there was
something different about you.  King Oropher seems rather stubborn, compared
to…”

“Compared to me?  Nay, I can be rather stubborn when I want to be, at least that
is what I am told.”  The golden-haired prince let issue a somber sigh.  “My
father is rather set in his ways and thinking, and does not like it when people
try to persuade him otherwise.  I am of the same mindset, but I have different
standings on certain issues.”

“Such as?”

“Can you not guess?”

“To be honest, I cannot.”  A sudden thought occurred to Elrond, to which he
turned to Thranduil with wonder and curiosity.  “Unless you are referring to the
Kinslayings?”

The golden head nodded.  “My father still holds the Noldor in contempt because
of the Elder Days.”

“But you do not?”

“They are the Elder Days, meldir; they are not the present.  Many of those of
today are related, sometimes distantly, to those who participated in such
events, such as your High King.  Even then, many of the elves of yore were still
good people.  Fingon and Turgon were excellent rulers, defending their realms
and their people to their dying days.”

“They were of the House of Fingolfin.  You cannot think so highly of the House
of Fëanor.”

“Why?  Did Maglor not raise you as his own following the attack at the Mouth of
Sirion when he could have easily killed you?  Did not Maedhros turn away the
Kingship of the Noldor, giving it to Fingolfin after his rescue?  You are right,
I do not think as highly of them as I do the other houses of the Noldor.  And in
turn I do not think of the Noldor as highly as I do my own people.  But I do not
think I have the right to hold the people of this time responsible for actions
their forefathers committed.”

“You truly are different from your father.”

“And yet people still call me my father’s son.”

Elrond laughed, clasping Thranduil’s arm in a warm and friendly gesture.  “I can
see, mellon, that we will be great friends.  But forgive me, for I must return
to my King’s side.  If you should need anything, call for a servant or maid;
they will attend to whatever needs you might have.”

“Hannon le.”

With another smile, Elrond turned and left, heading back in the direction they
had come.  Thranduil remained standing in the corridor a moment longer, watching
the Peredhel until he had turned a corner and the dark head disappeared.  The
prince then averted his eyes to the ground at his feet, one slim hand creeping
upwards to clutch his tunic just above his heart.

/Elbereth, why is my heart racing?  I can’t be…we’ve only just met!  I’ve
never…it’s so confusing./  Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in an
attempt to recompose himself, Thranduil exhaled slowly before entering his room. 
Closing the door behind him, he took a moment to remove his weapons and his
boots before collapsing on the bed.  Curling in on himself, Thranduil hugged his
knees, staring at the wall as he tried to make sense of this new situation and
of the impending war that might ruin everything.

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

“We were young and naïve then, weren’t we?” Elrond asked, turning to gaze at his
old friend.  He returned the smile Thranduil gave him, but it quickly faded as
he moved closer to the Sinda.  “You loved me from that first day, didn’t you?”

Thranduil felt the blood drain from his face, but kept his composure, managing
to hide old hurts from his face and eyes as he turned to meet Elrond’s gaze.  “I
didn’t know then you were Gil-galad’s lover; had I known I would never have told
you how I felt.”

“But you did tell me.”

“I was a foolish child then.  I should have known better, but I was reckless and
didn’t care much how my actions would affect others.  I should have kept my
tongue.”  He averted his eyes, feeling as insecure and shy as that first day. 
The warm and gentle hand that cupped his cheek surprised him as Thranduil felt
his face being turned until he met those storm-gray eyes again.

“We were both foolish,” Elrond said softly, moving closer until he was lightly
pressed against Thranduil’s side.  “But we grew up.  We’ve both loved and lost,
had beautiful children we are proud of.”  He sighed, releasing his hold on
Thranduil but not moving away as he stared down at his hands.  “I know I should
have been more grateful towards you for coming all this way to help me when you
heard about what happened to my wife.”

“I told you I would always come.”

“Aye, you did.”  A pause.  “Did you know Celebrían released me from our marriage
vows just before she sailed?”

Thranduil’s eyes widened at the news, but he kept his peace, waiting for Elrond
to finish.

“She told me to take another lover, one who would love me deeply in turn.  Her
words were so sudden that I couldn’t say anything; I was too stunned, but she
merely smiled.  It was almost as if she had sensed something.”  Gray eyes lifted
then, gazing into a sapphire pair that radiated thousands of years’ worth of
love.  

“I have not been released from my vows,” Thranduil whispered, understanding
Elrond’s silent request.  His voice held a note of melancholy, but he remained
composed.  “In any case, you have given me no indication, past or present, that
you have such feelings for me.”

“Can you not give me a chance now?  Please?”

There was nothing he had been able to deny Elrond, not in the past and certainly
not now.  Moving slowly so the Peredhel could watch him, Thranduil cupped
Elrond’s face in both of his hands.  Thumbs brushed over the smooth skin of high
cheekbones; tentatively, Thranduil leaned in closer, brushing his lips against
the other elf’s.  Once, twice, he repeated his actions before deepening the
caress.  Pliant, soft lips opened to him, allowing Thranduil to explore and
plunder the sweet cavern.  Both issued moans of longing as their kiss continued,
making up for lost time and those yet to come.





Chapter 7: Dreams and Desires

“Rúmil!  Sit still, you’re upsetting your horse!”

“Let him be, Haldir.  He’s not doing anyone any harm.”

“You’re no better, Orophin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Last night you were giggling like some maid on her wedding night!”

“Now you’re the one upsetting the horses, Haldir!”

Celeborn chuckled as he listened to the brothers banter amongst themselves,
completely oblivious to the giggles and snickers the rest of the riding party
from Lórien was throwing their way.  It had been nearly a month since Galadriel
had ceased to feel Elrond’s pain and turmoil over the departure of his wife,
Celebrían.  Something had put the Peredhel into good spirits of late, though the
Lady of the Wood was unsure of the source.  Thus, she had sent her husband and a
small riding party to find out about the recent comings and goings in the
valley.

“I wish you would stop teasing me, Haldir,” Rúmil said with a pout.  “It’s been
months since I’ve seen Lindir.  Aren’t I allowed a little bit of silliness on my
part?”

“Not if your excitement is going to upset your steed and send him running for
the woods,” Haldir replied rather tartly.  “After which we must chase both you
and he before we can proceed with our journey.”

“It’s not as if I meant to go crashing into trees.”

“Whatever the case may be, please refrain from doing so again, at least until
we’ve reached Imladris.”

“Oh please,” Orophin said with a roll of the eyes.  “Stop being so serious all
the time, Haldir.  Have a bit of fun now and again, will you?”

“I resent that.”

“Really now?  So just what is it you plan to do when we reach Imladris, hm?  Go
riding in the woods with the twins?  Perhaps a swim in the Bruinen?  Valar
forbid you decide to lock yourself in the library with only Erestor for
company.”

At the mention of the chief advisor’s name, Haldir’s face took on an enticing
shade of red that did not go unnoticed by his brothers or Celeborn.  The cause
of the March Warden’s embarrassment was unknown to the Lord of Lórien, but
Orophin and Rumil were perfectly aware of the reason.  For months they had to
listen to their dear siblings muttering in his sleep; Erestor’s name was often
spoken with a soft whisper during those nights.  Celeborn, despite being
oblivious to the matter, decided it was high time the brothers ceased their
jesting.

“I suggest you three cease the teasing, for we are nearing the valley,” the Lord
said with a stern look.  He paid no mind to the glance the eldest brother
exchanged with the youngest as Haldir tried to control his embarrassment. 
Instead, Celeborn returned to watching the road, smiling as his ears caught the
faint sounds of the Bruinen.  A moment later the sounds of riders approaching
was heard, causing the Lórien party to stop.  Up ahead, the brush parted as
three riders appeared.  Celeborn instantly recognized the two dark-haired elves
as the twins; he was, however, unfamiliar with their golden-haired companion.

“Ata’da!” Elladan exclaimed as he caught sight of his grandfather.  Both he and
Elrohir beamed as they urged their horses forward and embraced their grandfather
as best they could on horseback.

“What are you doing here?” Elrohir asked.  “There was no word from Lórien of
your coming.”

“I decided to surprise you,” Celeborn replied with a smile.  “I wanted to see
how Elrond and my grandchildren are doing.”

“We are all doing quite well,” Elladan replied, returning the smile.  “Ata’da,
allow me to present to you Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.”

At the mention of his name, Legolas moved closer to the party, bowing his head
in acknowledgement.  “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Celeborn
of Lórien.”

“And yours, Prince Legolas.  Tell me, what brings you to Imladris?  Are you here
alone?”

“Nay, I arrived nearly one month ago in the company of my father and brother and
a small party from Mirkwood.”

“A month, you say?”  Celeborn turned to his grandsons for confirmation and
received a beaming smile from Elladan in return.  “That is news indeed.  I have
not seen King Thranduil since our youths in Doriath; I should very much like to
see him again.”

“And so you shall!” Elrohir said, turning on the path to head back to the manor. 
“Let us lead you the rest of the way.  I’m sure Arwen and Ada will be thrilled
to see you.  Oh, and Rúmil,” the youngest twin then turned to the youngest
brother and gave a small wink, “there’s someone who will be pleased to see you
as well.”  Elrohir smiled at the weak blush Rúmil colored his cheeks before
turning back to the path.  A similar blush stained his own cheeks when Orophin
drew up next to him, taking one of his hands and giving it a small squeeze.  He
could hear Haldir snorting in slight annoyance as the March Warden’s elder
brother leaned over to plant a light kiss upon Elrohir’s cheek as they rode
forth.

It did not take the party long to reach Imladris.  At the entrance to the manor
of the Lord, they were greeted by Elrond, Glorfindel and--much to Celeborn’s
surprise despite Legolas‘ previous news--Thranduil.

“Welcome Celeborn,” Elrond greeted as the Lórien Lord dismounted, followed by
the others.  “’Tis good to see you visiting, though I must admit it is a
surprise to see you here unannounced.”

“Forgive me for not sending a message, Elrond,” Celeborn replied.  “But I was
anxious to see how you were faring.”

“I am well, as we all are.  The house has been in chaos, but King Thranduil
kindly traveled from Mirkwood to help straighten things out.”

“’Tis good to hear, though I am rather surprised to find you here, Thranduil. 
When was the last time we spoke?”

At this the Mirkwood King gave a wistful smile as he stepped forward, his
emerald green robes swaying slightly, to clasp Celeborn’s hand.  “I can’t
remember when, mellon, but it might have been when we were last in Doriath.”

“A long time indeed.” 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow when he noticed Celeborn searching around for
something.  He tried to hide the amused smile creeping across his face but
failed miserably.  “And what,” he said, addressing the silver-haired Lord, “is
it you are looking for, exactly?”

“I was told you had traveled in the company of two of your children.  I have met
your youngest son.”  At this, Celeborn gestured back at Legolas, who was
standing next to Elladan whilst the elder elves conversed.  “Yet I do not see
your other son.”

“Ah, Arondil is at the training grounds this day with Lindir and some of the
other patrol sentries.”  The Mirkwood King frowned slightly at the sharp
inhalation he heard issued from one of the Galadhrim.  Peering around Celeborn,
he found a soft blush staining Rúmil’s cheeks out of embarrassment whilst Haldir
glared at his youngest brother.  The frown deepened slightly when Thranduil
turned back to Celeborn, who was laughing quietly to himself, joined by Elrond
and Glorfindel.

“Aye, Rúmil,” Celeborn said, turning to the younger elf.  “You may go and see
the minstrel.”  At this Rúmil beamed and with a bow to his Lord and a nod to his
brothers darted off across the lawn in the direction of the training grounds
with a wide grin plastered on his face.

“My Lord Thranduil,” Glorfindel said, an amused smile upon his face.  “I do
believe you have just met who it is that holds Lindir’s heart.”

Elrond smiled in amusement as Thranduil‘s face registered his understanding,
before the lord of the valley turned to address a figure moving behind him. 
“Erestor.”

The advisor stopped in the corridor when Elrond called to him just as he was
about to pass the gathered party.  None except Orophin seemed to watch the
stiffness that suddenly entered Haldir’s form when the dark-haired councilor
stepped closer to his Lord.

“Aye, my Lord?” Erestor said, bowing briefly to Celeborn.

“Would you kindly escort the Lórien party to their guest rooms?”

“Ada…”  Elrohir made to interrupt but was promptly silenced by a wave of
Elrond’s hand.

“Except Orophin, that is,” the Peredhel lord continued as if his son had never
spoken.  “I am sure he knows exactly where he will be staying.”

At the subtle hint, the silver-haired elf in question beamed and gave a nod. 
“Aye, my Lord.  I know where I will be during this visit.”  The smile that had
graced Orophin’s face widened at the rogue blush that appeared across his
lover’s face and the short snicker Elladan gave.

“Very well, my Lord,” Erestor replied, looking in amusement at the two lovers
before turning to Haldir and the others.  “March Warden, if you and your men
will kindly follow me.”

“Aye, councilor,” Haldir replied, pleased he was able to keep the small tremor
out of his voice as he and his men followed the dark-haired elf, leaving behind
the elven lords.

~~~~~~~~~~

“And this will be your room, March Warden.”  Erestor had spent the better part
of an hour arranging rooms for the visiting Galadhrim, showing some of the newer
members where everything was situated as some had never been to Imladris before. 
Once everyone was settled, all that was left was Haldir--and there was only one
room remaining.

Haldir swallowed thickly as he suddenly realized how close his guest room was to
the wing that contained Elrond, his family, his advisors, as well as the
visiting Mirkwood royalty.  “It seems a little far from the other guest rooms,”
he stated quietly.

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Erestor replied.  “But it is the only remaining guest room
available.  We had not anticipated King Thranduil’s arrival, nor that of Lord
Celeborn.  Your brothers will likely stay with their lovers, which is somewhat
of a relief on my part as I would not have any rooms for them.  Perhaps you
would prefer to reside with one of your men during your stay here?”

The silver-haired March Warden pondered the thought for a moment.  It certainly
was a more appropriate solution than staying in the room that was being assigned
to him.  Haldir was more than certain that he would embarrass himself,
considering his fondness, so to speak, for Erestor and the things he could get
himself into during the night.  But he ultimately decided against the idea in
order not to insult the hospitality of his host.  “Nay, these rooms will be
fine.  Thank you, Erestor.  I think I will take some rest now after the
journey.”

Erestor nodded in understanding before gesturing down the hallway.  “Elrohir’s
rooms are at the end of the corridor, should you need to find Orophin.  And
Lindir’s are in the adjourning wing.”  He then pointed at the polished oak door
that stood directly to his right.  “These are my rooms; should you require
anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Discovering just how close Erestor’s room were--right next door in fact--caused
the blood to drain from Haldir’s face and a lump to form in his throat. 
Swallowing thickly and quickly recomposing himself, he nodded to Erestor before
pushing the door to his own room open.  “Thank you, I will certainly ask if
there is anything I require.”  He watched the councilor nod before proceeding
down the corridor to attend to his other duties.  Once he was gone, Haldir
quickly shut the door and leaned heavily upon it, his breaths coming out in
short pants.

/By the Valar, don’t let me do anything stupid during this visit.  Don’t let my
secret betray me.  Don’t let my dreams give me away.  Erestor can’t find out./ 
Steeling himself, Haldir took a long, slow, deep breath, gathered a few of his
things and promptly headed to the baths in order to soothe his troubled mind and
tired body.





Chapter 8: Old Pains

“Elrond?  May we talk?”

At the question issued by his father-in-law, Elrond tilted his head in slight
confusion.  He had expected this conversation from the moment Celeborn had
ridden up to the manor; he just hadn‘t expected them to speak on the matter so
soon.  “Would you not like to rest first?” Elrond suggested in an attempt to
hold off the impending conversation a little longer.  “The journey from Lórien
must have exhausted you.  ’Tis no short distance from the Golden Wood to this
valley.”

Celeborn merely shook his head.  Instead he took hold of Elrond’s arm and
steering him towards the gardens, leaving Glorfindel to tend to the horses
whilst Thranduil set off for the training grounds.  He knew what Elrond was
trying to do, but they had to speak now.  “I must speak to you…about Celebrían.” 
The silver lord inwardly cringed at the forlorn expression that haunted Elrond’s
eyes at the very mention of his daughter’s name.  “Please.  ‘Tis better--for
both of us--if we discuss this now rather than later.”

Reluctantly Elrond nodded his head, allowing Celeborn to steer him into the
gardens and away from prying eyes and listening ears.  For a time neither said
anything as they wandered the grounds lost in their own thoughts.  Celeborn
never released the other’s arm as they walked.  

“I still miss her,” Elrond eventually whispered.  “The house seems empty without
her presence, and the children miss having their mother despite their age.  I
know they try not to show their pain to help ease my own suffering, but I see it
in their eyes.  Every now and then they long for her patience and listening
ear.”

“We all miss her,” Celeborn said gently.

“How do you cope, Celeborn?”  Elrond turned to look at his father-in-law, trying
to read the hazel eyes but failing to see into Celeborn‘s mind.  “You and
Galadriel.  Surely things have not been easy for you.  Celebrían was your own
daughter, your only child.  I…I cannot imagine the pain you must be in.  I
cannot begin to envision what life would be like without one of my children.”

“Then do not try, for it is a difficult thing indeed.”  Celeborn stopped,
releasing his hold on Elrond’s arm only to re-establish it in the form of a warm
hug.  “We--Galadriel and I--go on knowing that Celebrían is alive, and that she
must be well.  What was done to her should have claimed her life, but surely the
Blessed Land must have healed her wounds.  We live knowing that she is well,
though it will be long before we are able to see her again.  The thought both
saddens me and lightens my heart.”

Elrond listened quietly to Celeborn’s words, his head resting upon the silver
lord’s shoulder.  Tears prickled at the corners of Elrond’s eyes as memories
assaulted him, memories of his sons bringing home a much changed Celebrían.  “I
will always miss her.  But…”

“But love has found you again.”  Celeborn smiled when startled gray eyes gazed
up at him.  “Do not presume to think I am blind, Elrond.  I know Thranduil loves
you; that he has always loved you even through his own marriage.  He loved his
wife, yes, but a piece of his heart has always belonged to you.  And I know you
are beginning to grow accustomed to his presence, at times even craving it.”

“How can I?”  His voice sounded strange to his own ears, so lost and forlorn. 
Elrond looked at his father-in-law pleadingly, silently asking for council. 
“How can I feel this way so soon after she left?  And you, how can you be so
calm about it?  You should forsake me, call me a disgrace.  Anything but sound
approving of the situation!”

“Is that what you really think?”

“I...I don’t know.  My marriage vows…”

“Have been absolved by Celebrían.  She loves you, Elrond.  I believe she will
always love you.  Which is why she freed you of your vows: to find love again
and be happy.  It will be long before you are able to see her again; too long to
be in loneliness.”

“But…”

“Nay, I will hear no protests.  Your life has been riddled with tragedies,
Elrond.  Celebrían knows this, and set you free to be happy again.  Do not
forsake her gift to you.  For if you do, I will truly call you a disgrace.”

Elrond sighed in defeat, knowing the wisdom and reasoning behind Celeborn’s
words but finding them difficult to accept nonetheless.  “I will try,” he
whispered.

“Try?”

“Try to be happy.  For her sake.”

“Do not only do it for her sake, Elrond.  Do it for your children; they deserve
to see their remaining parent in peace.  Do it for yourself, for it is what you
need.”

The dark head nodded slowly whilst the gray eyes closed.  Elrond willed himself
to relax as he took comfort in Celeborn’s warm embrace, allowing himself to be
comforted and giving in to the silent support as he tried to sort out his
feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What troubles you, pen-neth?”

Elladan was startled out of his thoughts when addressed by the Mirkwood King. 
After his grandfather and father had left the party for a few moments to
themselves, the twins had removed themselves and headed for the training grounds
after Rúmil; Thranduil, Legolas, Orophin and a few of the Galadhrim had
followed.  The elder twin had watched the sparring matches that had taken place
after pleasantries with a distant eye and half an ear.  He was most surprised
when it was Thranduil who brought him out of his thoughts.

“Nothing, Sire,” Elladan replied in a quiet voice.  “I just worry.”

“For your father, perhaps?”

The young Peredhel allowed himself a brief smile.  “Is there anything that
escapes your attention, my Lord?”

“Hardly,” Thranduil replied with a short laugh.  “I have four children of my
own, I will have you remember.  Very little escapes my eye, even when the person
I am observing is someone else’s son.  So tell me, then, what is it that
troubles you about your father?”

Elladan briefly toyed with the idea of not confiding in the Mirkwood King.  In
the end, however, he thought better of it and decided to forge ahead, revealing
his thoughts to the golden-haired lord.  “I worry for his health, his happiness. 
His demeanor has improved much since your arrival, but I know he still battles
with himself.”

“You care a great deal about your father.”

“I would imagine about as much as your own sons and daughter care about you,
Sire.”

Thranduil smiled proudly at Elladan’s statement, nodding his head as he turned
back to the spectacle of his sons sparring, their keen knives and sword flashing
in the sunlight.  “Aye, that they do.  I am blessed to have such children, as is
your father to have you and your siblings.”

“I miss my mother,” Elladan murmured, gazing down at the ground.  “I remember
her last words to Ada: to find love and happiness again.  I want him to, and I
know that he does as well.  But I also know that he wars within himself on the
matter, thinking he might betray her memory if he did so.  Nana absolved their
marriage vows, did you know that, my Lord?”

“I have heard.  Your mother must have truly loved your father to do such a
thing.”

The Peredhel nodded, keeping his gaze trained on the ground.  “I hope he will
listen to her words and overcome his fears.  Ada deserves to be happy.”

“As do you, pen-neth.”

Elladan lifted his eyes and gazed at the Mirkwood King in confusion, unable to
decipher the brief smirk that passed across Thranduil’s face.  “What do you
mean, my Lord?”

Thranduil knew; oh, did he know about the recent days his youngest son had spent
with this twin.  Thranduil was always concerned with the comings and goings of
his family.  He was forever watching whom they spent their time with; his sons
and daughter were well past the age of finding eternal lovers.  Thranduil was
ever vigilant on the matter of them finding love where least expected, but he
never pressed the idea upon them.  Let them find love in their own way, at their
own pace, he had always thought.

Since coming to Imladris, he had seen the way Legolas acted around Elladan and
the response from the young Peredhel.  Neither might have known it yet, but
Thranduil knew.  Love was budding between them; perhaps he could give it a
subtle push in the right direction.

“Do not be so engrossed in your father’s happiness that you let your own slip
away,” Thranduil counseled wisely.  He turned, gesturing to where Elrohir and
Orophin stood.  The pair were whispering quietly to one another, hands clasped
as they stood close.  When they thought no one was looking, they would share a
brief kiss before pretending that nothing had happened.  “Take your brother, for
instance.  Do you not think he too worries for your father?  I believe he does,
but he has faith that Elrond will deal with his inner demons and pain.  In the
meantime, he does not allow his worries to impair the love he has found with the
young Galadhrim.”

Elladan listened quietly to Thranduil as the king spoke, whilst his gray eyes
were fixed on the form of his brother and Orophin.  The pair seemed happy
together, and suddenly Elladan began to wonder if he would ever have that
happiness.  He wondered if he would ever have someone who loved him as much as
Orophin loved his brother; someone he could love in return.  So lost in thought
was he that the elder twin nearly missed Thranduil’s next words.

“Elladan?  Take some advice from me.”

With a nod of his head, Elladan indicated that he was listening.  He brought his
gaze up to meet Thranduil’s sapphire orbs, waiting for the king to speak.

“Follow your heart, Elladan,” Thranduil said in a soft whisper, words meant only
for the twin’s ears.  “Listen to what it is saying and follow what it tells you. 
When you find what your heart most desires, don’t give it up.  Don’t wait,
thinking it’s too soon, because once you do listen it will be too late.  I
waited too long, but I was lucky and was given a second chance to listen to what
my heart was saying.  You may not have that second chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, pen-neth.  Your heart already sings, telling you what it
wants.  Listen to it, heed its words.  Don’t wait.”

“King Thranduil…”

“Elladan?”

He turned at the sound of his name to find Legolas standing behind him.  The
prince had long shed his jerkin and now stood in his tunic.  A light sheen of
sweat covered his exposed skin, evidence of his just-finished sparring match
against his brother.  Elladan found the sight radiant and suddenly felt his
chest constricting, flutters invading his stomach.

“Elladan, will you spar with me?” Legolas asked innocently, oblivious to the
conversation the Peredhel had just had with his father.

Not knowing what to say, Elladan spared a glance back at Thranduil.  The king
merely smiled, nodding his head and making a small motion with his hand.  With a
nod in return, Elladan turned back to Legolas whilst reaching for his sword. 
“As you wish,” he replied to Legolas’ request.  “But I warn you, I will not go
easy on you.”

“Then I am pleased, for I did not intend to be given any special treatment.” 
With a brilliant smile, Legolas made for the area marked off as the sparring
ring, unsheathing his two knives, which were tied to his thighs for ease of
reach.

Thranduil watched Elladan go, the twin stretching his arms and swinging his
sword in graceful arcs to warm up for the match to come.  “Listen to the song,
Elladan,” the king whispered, whilst proudly watching his son and the elder twin
bow and clasp hands before readying themselves.  “Listen to the words and follow
them.”

TBC...