Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 12 - The Choices We Must Make  
Author: Eressë  
Author's email: eresse21@yahoo.com  
Pairings: Elrohir/Legolas (implied), Elladan/OMC, Elladan/OFC  
Rating: R  
Summary: The twins seem destined to find their heart’s choices in 
Mirkwood but the paths they take widely differ.  Sequel to Prelude to 
Grief.  
Disclaimer: All the Elves belong to Professor Tolkien whose works have 
never ceased to enthrall me from the day I read the first volume of LoTR.  
Author's note: This story has a fair amount of het action and focuses quite 
a bit of attention on Elladan for a change.  But it also drives Elrohir and 
Legolas' story forward so please bear with me.  The next tale, Crucible of 
Love, is centered on them once more.  
 
The Choices We Must Make  
Part I  
Mirkwood, Gwaeron TA 2776  
The appearance of two cloaked riders on the western bound of Mirkwood 
elicited little enthusiasm and much suspicion from the sentries who 
guarded the borders.  That is, until one of the riders let down his cowl and 
revealed a head of raven hair and a countenance of uncommon comeliness 
even amongst the Elves.  It was enough to send the sentries into a flurry of 
hasty action.  There was no time to waste.  The king had to be appraised of 
the imminent arrival of two such eminent guests.  
 
While one warrior hurried back to warn Thranduil, the others all but 
goggled as the two riders made their way down the elven path.  Such was 
the fascination with the brethren, Elladan and Elrohir, that even the 
seasoned Elf-soldiers of Mirkwood could not contain their excitement at 
the chance of setting eyes on Rivendell’s twin princes.  
 
Their entrance into the delved palace’s great hall was enough to cause 
many an elleth’s heart to skip a beat (not to mention a few discreet ellon).  
Dressed completely in black even to their leather bracers and billowing 
cloaks, their midnight tresses bound into thick single plaits, they were 
breathtakingly beautiful to behold and fatally seductive to boot.  Years of 
perilous errantry had infused them with an allure that was near impossible 
to resist.  
 
Their exploits were well-known in every elven realm and their names 
were cursed in every goblin stronghold from the Misty Mountains to 
Mordor.  Never forgetting their mother’s torment at the hands of vicious 
orcs, always mindful of the lives they saved with every goblin they slew, 
they spent months, sometimes years in the wild, hunting, snaring and 
slaughtering the foul creatures that infested Hithaeglir and neighboring 
regions.  
 
They had also dared to venture far into the south, serving in the armies of 
Gondor or riding in the Riddermark with the fierce Rohirrim, oft offering 
such sage counsel to their human captains that they were treated with 
much respect and awe even by the highest-ranking amongst them.  Yet 
they always maintained anonimity, passing themselves off as mercenary 
warriors driven by their hatred of the Enemy, concealing their most 
obvious elven features, their leaf-shaped ears, beneath their thick locks or 
heavy cloak hoods.  Only in the coastal princedom of Dol Amroth did they 
reveal their identities to its rulers for elven blood coursed through the 
veins of this realm’s mortal princes.  
 
Less than two centuries after their mother’s tragic abduction, the sons of 
Elrond were the stuff of legend.  
 
But to Thranduil, they were as sons, so dear were they to most of his 
family.  He strode forward now and caught them up in hearty embraces, 
unmindful of those who keenly watched them.  
 
“I had wondered when you would think to visit this realm once more,” he 
mildly chided them.  “Has Mirkwood’s charms so paled that you prefer 
the lure of mortal kingdoms?”  
 
Elladan smiled.  “Nay, sire, in truth we would have come sooner but for 
the troubles in the south.”  
 
“So your father wrote me,” Thranduil said.  “Come, you must tell me what 
you know.”  
 
He led them from the hall and the curious, swooning gazes of their various 
admirers, arranging for food and wine be brought to his study.  Halfway 
down the tree-covered path to the residential pavillion, they were 
unexpectedly halted by a whirlwind in boots.  Elrohir laughed as he found 
himself with an armful of enthusiastic golden-haired Elf.  
 
“At last, you have returned!” Legolas exclaimed as he drew back  from the 
Elf-knight.  He grasped Elladan’s hands in turn and looked him over 
swiftly.  “You look well for a pair of roguish adventurers,” he commented.  
 
Elrohir chuckled.  “You would rather we looked as travel-worn as the 
Dunedain?” he said.  
 
“Nay, I am only amazed how you manage to appear so...so presentable 
despite your journeying.”  
 
“It takes a certain panache to achieve it,” Elladan smugly said.   “Mayhap 
you will learn it someday, Mirkwood prince.”  
 
At Legolas’ mock-scowl, Thranduil smiled in amusement.  “If you are 
done with your greetings, ion, I should very much like to speak with 
them.  You may join us, of course.”  
 
Legolas snorted.  “As if you could keep me away!”  
 
With a grin, he slipped between the brethren and linked arms with them in 
comradely fashion.  Even before they reached the pavilion they were 
already deep in animated conversation.  
 
Things took an interesting turn almost at once though mayhem no longer 
stalked the royal halls of the Woodland Realm.  The twins, tempered by 
time and tragedy, no longer cared for the frivolity of pranks and such.  
Their considerable energies expended for the most part in errantry, they 
now preferred other more mature forms of entertainment when they 
returned from the wild.  And there were many who were more than willing 
to accommodate them.  
 
The twins had admirers aplenty.  Of that there was no doubt.  In fact, as 
Brethildor good-naturedly groused, they had too many.  Not that Legolas’ 
brother begrudged them the attention.  He was recently betrothed to an 
Elf-maid of good family and placid disposition.  The perfect match for the 
stolid second son of Thranduil as the king was wont to say with an 
indulgent smile.  
 
It was Legolas’ other brother who resented the brethren’s uncommon 
allure.  Melthoron, his ill-temper and unruly tongue still untamed despite 
the passing of centuries, fairly seethed each time he was forced to watch 
yet another elleth make a lissome fool of herself before one twin or the 
other.  That they welcomed the brothers’ prosmicuity for the chances it 
afforded them to dally with either one did little to lessen his rancor toward 
them.  Even more loathsome to the crown prince was the greater daring of 
some Elves, male and female, to more openly flout Mirkwood’s prejudice 
against same-kind relationships whenever the two visited the Woodland 
Realm.  
 
The openness and acceptance with which Elladan and Elrohir regarded 
such partnerships gave impetus to these Elves to be more forthcoming 
about their proclivities.  If the twin princes of Imladris were known to 
have indulged in such affairs, what mere Wood-elf even be he a noble of 
Thranduil’s court would dare scorn any who followed their example?  
Why, even the king himself, already remarkably tolerant compared to his 
sire, was inclined to further benigness when the brethren were around.  
 
Melthoron proclaimed to all and sundry that the twins were a menace to 
society, promoting as they did the immorality of their kindred.  A few 
listened, of course, particularly those who sought to curry favor with the 
heir to Mirkwood’s throne.  But most paid him little heed, including his 
own family, which only curdled his already soured temper even further.  
 
Perhaps it was not too surprising that three weeks into the brethren’s visit 
things finally came to head.  
 
*******  
It was the day Elladan challenged Brethildor to a friendly game of 
Strategy.  The darkling prince may have been no deep intellectual but 
when it came to all things martial, he was a veritable treasure trove of 
information and skill.  As a result, he was a worthy opponent in this game 
of tactics and military wiles.  Accepting the challenge with relish, 
Brethildor suggested they retire to the king’s study where they were 
unlikely to be interrupted or distracted by onlookers.  
 
Elrohir and Legolas came along as did the archer’s only sister.  Nimeithel 
was a curious mix of solemnity and merriment.  She was a striking beauty 
as only an Elf-maid who resembled Thranduil could be and generally 
sweet-natured but possessed of a disconcerting ability to utter the most 
unexpected observations.  This latter trait had long endeared her to the 
twins who doted on her as they did their sister, Arwen.  
 
A most intense and avidly contested game ensued with Elrohir and 
Legolas making the occasional witty if not very helpful side comment and 
Nimeithel shushing them as she tried to learn as much as she could of the 
game.  It was when Elladan had just pulled off a masterstroke and 
Brethildor was mulling what move to use to counter it that Melthoron 
swept in.  
 
The crown prince frowned as soon as he see his three siblings happily 
partaking of the twins’ company.  Legolas had always gravitated to them 
much to his eldest brother’s never-ending irritation.  But to have even 
Brethildor and Nimeithel be on such good terms with the brethren--it was 
insupportable!  He approached the gaming table and stared at the play in 
progress.  He scowled when he realized Elladan had the upper hand at the 
moment.  
 
“What, muindor, you would let the Peredhil best you?” he growled at 
Brethildor.  
 
The younger prince shrugged and grinned at Elladan, unmindful of his 
brother’s ire.  “‘Tis a brilliant move,” he said.  “But I think I can undo it.”  
 
He moved a piece on the board putting Elladan on the defensive.  
Melthoron laughed approvingly.  
 
“See that you keep him in his place,” he all but ordered Brethildor.  
 
Silence descended upon the group.  While Brethildor flushed 
uncomfortably at such discourteous language in front of the brethren, 
Elladan directed a cool glance at the crown prince.  As a rule, neither twin 
paid him any mind, so used were they to his animosity towards them.  But 
this morn, they were not inclined to take his abuse meekly.  Not when it 
had been heaped upon them daily since their arrival.  
 
“And just what is my place, ernilen?” he calmly queried.  
 
“Why, behind my brother of course,” Melthoron smirked.  
 
Elrohir raised an eyebrow at that.  He suddenly grinned wolfishly which 
put Melthoron off his stride.  “And is Brethildor amenable to that 
position?” he quipped.  “I would think he would prefer to take the more 
dominant role.”  
 
Elladan and Legolas gasped in concert then burst into laughter.  
Melthoron, however, could only stare in bewilderment at the younger 
twin.  His confusion increased when Nimeithel and even slow-witted 
Brethildor comprehended Elrohir’s lewd remark.  
 
Brethildor managed to stop chuckling long enough to say: “You spoke 
true, Elrohir.  Should I ever care to try *that*, I would prefer to be behind.  
Or on top!”  
 
As the laughter grew more raucous, Melthoron finally understood what all 
the hilarity was about.  He turned a most disagreeable shade of red.  
 
“You would jest about so abominable a thing?” he snapped at Brethildor.  
“You have associated with these half-breeds far too long!”  
 
The twins’ demeanor turned markedly icy at the slur but they still held to 
restraint.  
 
“Have a care, Melthoron,” Elladan cautioned.  “You denigrate something 
that is inherent in all Edhil, yourself included.”  
 
Melthoron scoffed.  “Bah!  Everyone knows ‘tis but a myth perpetuated by 
the Gelydh to allow them to pursue their perversions!”  
 
“Nay, ‘tis no myth,” Elrohir said evenly, refusing to let the crown prince 
lure them into losing their tempers.  “Look about you, Melthoron.  Such 
passions exist even amongst your people though they hide it for fear of 
censure.”  
 
Melthoron snorted.  “Spoken like a true Noldo.  Twisting facts and 
spreading hearsay to serve your own base needs.”  
 
Elrohir’s eyes darkened ominously but he kept his peace.  Nimeithel 
however spoke up on his behalf.  
 
“Melthoron!” she exclaimed.  “Not even Adar ever spoke of Elrond and 
his kin in that manner.  You go too far, brother.”  
 
“Aye, you would do well to apologize to the gwenyn,” Legolas agreed.  
 
“Apologize to Peredhil?” Melthoron bristled.  “I would sooner be spider 
bait than bring myself so low!”  
 
“That can be arranged,” Elrohir said coldly.  
 
Legolas quickly intervened.  “Muindor, courtesy requires a civil tongue at 
the very least.  Elladan and Elrohir are our guests and deserve that much 
from all of us.”  
 
“You would take their part, tôr neth,” the crown prince sneered.  “Ever 
solicitous are you of their comfort; so kind, so generous.  But then ‘tis to 
be expected for you have always been too soft of heart to be a proper 
king’s son.”  
 
Legolas’ cheeks flushed with anger but he held his tongue.  The heated 
argument was fast escalating into a full-blown quarrel.  There was no 
telling what would happen next especially with the twins around.  
 
“Is this the way of a *proper king’s son*?” Elladan remarked acidly.  “To 
treat your brother with so little respect?”  
 
Melthoron scowled.  “If Legolas seeks my respect he should earn it first,” 
he retorted, disdain dripping from every syllable.  “As it is, he has given 
me cause to scorn him.”  He cocked his head at the youngest prince.  “You 
grovel before them like a common lackey when ‘tis they who should bow 
before you!”  
 
“Friends do not abase themselves before each other,” Legolas hissed.  
 
“So you say yet I warrant you would do anything for these ‘friends’ of 
yours,” Melthoron taunted.  “Even take them up your backside if they 
demanded it of you...Golodh pet!”  
 
Before he could even blink, Melthoron found himself slammed brutally 
down upon the table top, a gleaming knife at this throat.  Strategy pieces 
went flying as the board crashed to the floor.  Hovering above him by a 
mere few inches was Elrohir.  The Elf’s silvery eyes were livid with fury.  
 
“Insult me and Elladan all you wish, Elf,” he snarled.  “But do not vent 
your spleen on your own brother!”  
 
“Elrohir!” Elladan cried, grabbing at his twin’s arm.  “Nay, gwenneth, do 
not sink to his level.  He is not worth it!”  
 
his other side, Legolas placed a calming hand on his shoulder.  “Your 
concern for my honor is most appreciated, gwador,” he said, “but I assure 
you I am quite used to Melthoron’s vile tongue.  Let be, Elrohir.”  
 
With an abrupt movement, Elrohir released the pop-eyed, terrified crown 
prince.  He looked down on the Elf with undisguised contempt.  
 
“You are truly Oropher’s grandson,” he spat.  
 
With that, he strode from the room.  Elladan and Legolas exchanged 
glances then hastened after him.  Brethildor could only stare on with 
mouth agape and eyes agog.  
 
Nimeithel, on the other hand, idly regarded her near-purple hued oldest 
sibling.  “You should know better than to provoke the gwenyn,” she 
mildly remarked.  “They are slow to anger but fearsome when roused.  
You are fortunate Elrohir did not slice up your pretty face just for the sport 
of it.”  
 
Melthoron could scarcely stutter in his rage and humiliation.  “He dared to 
lay a hand on me,” he gasped.  “Adar will hear of this insolence!  I will 
have Elrohir’s head and mount it on my bedchamber wall!”  
 
“More likely Ada will have *your* head for behaving in so unmannerly a 
fashion to our noble guests,” Nimeithel coolly pointed out.  “And speaking 
of heads, really Melthoron, it would seem that the one you use for thinking 
is not the one upon your shoulders!”  
 
She rose to her feet and gracefully swept out of the chamber.  While 
Brethildor whooped with laughter, Melthoron stared after her in shock and 
unbelief.  He could not accept the fact that his oh-so-sweet sister would 
stoop to such crude allusions.  
 
Nimeithel followed in the wake of Legolas and the twins and finally found 
them in the gardens.  To her surprise, Elladan stood apart whilst Legolas 
sought to appease a still fuming Elrohir.  She sidled up to the older twin 
questioningly.  
 
“This is a strange sight,” she commented.  “Why is it Legolas and not you 
at Elrohir’s side?”  
 
Elladan smiled humorlessly.  “We are not joined at the hip, Nimeithel, 
though it may seem that way to many.”  He nodded towards the pair.  
“Besides, ‘tis Legolas’ honor that was brought into question and the 
reason for my brother’s wrath.  ‘Tis he who can soothe Elrohir’s anger.”  
 
“He cares very much for Legolas,” she softly remarked.  “Think you his 
desire but a passing thing?”  
 
Elladan glanced at her, startled.  “You know.”  
 
“Legolas told me,” she replied.  
 
“And you are not appalled?”  
 
“Why should I be?  Indeed, as you earlier pointed out, why should anyone 
look down upon that which is in our nature?”  She sighed.  “It only leads 
to needless hardship for many who dare not reveal themselves or their 
loves.”  
 
“Yourself included?” Elladan queried, a little surprised.  
 
“Nay, I have not felt *that* urge,” she said.  “But one dear to me has 
known anguish because of it.”  At Elladan’s curious expression, she said, 
“Do you remember my good friend, Lothrian?”  
 
Elladan nodded, recalling the lovely but forthright elleth whose carriage 
was a graceful as a doe’s and whose tongue was as sharp as an orkish 
cleaver.  
 
“She and Tathariel...they fell in love,” she quietly said.  Elladan stared at 
her in amazement.  It was difficult to imagine that beauteous but oh so 
stern warrior maid in the throes of love.  “But they suffered for it, 
believing it wrong, thinking themselves twisted for loving each other.  ‘Tis 
only when my dear naneth, bless her tender heart, told them the truth that 
they were able to love each other fully.  Yet even now they stay in the 
shadows, fearful of reprisal.”  
 
“They have my sympathy,” Elladan offered gravely.  “’Tis a pity they 
have not the freedom to be themselves.”  
 
Nimeithel nodded, smiling sadly.  “They oft speak of removing 
themselves to Imladris or Lorien.  I fear they may eventually act on it if 
only to be able to have their love in the open.  Not hidden in the dark like 
a shameful thing.”  She gazed once more at her brother and Elrohir.  
 
Elladan musingly regarded the Elf-princess whose serious mien was half-
hidden by the veil of her dark tresses.  She’d always preferred to wear her 
hair loose and her glorious locks fell about her shoulders and down her 
back like a midnight-hued waterfall.  He thought how much a mixture she 
was of her forthright father and gracious mother.  
 
She shook her head bemusedly.  “How is it that something innate in us and 
therefore right, should be regarded as dishonorable and wrong among my 
folk?”  
 
Elladan let out a resigned breath.  “I will not bore you with a treatise on 
the divergence of elven cultures.  I wager you already know more than 
enough.  Suffice to say that fear of change and the unknown oft hinders 
the journey to enlightenment and acceptance.”  
 
He paused as he noticed Elrohir and Legolas speaking together, smiles 
beginning to crease their lips.  
 
“All is well,” he said in relief, his own mouth breaking into a grin.  
 
Nimeithel musingly watched her brother and the younger twin.  “You did 
not answer my question,” she reminded Elladan.  
 
The grin faded from Elladan’s face.  He pursed his mouth then heaved a 
troubled sigh.  “In truth, I do not know.  But I would rather it be but a 
fleeting passion.  Elrohir does not love easily or lightly.  If he were to truly 
love Legolas and not have it returned...“ he shuddered.  “The 
consequences are unthinkable.”  
 
“Then let us hope ‘tis not true love but only a passing desire,” Nimeithel 
agreed.  But Elladan caught the doubtful note that crept into her voice.  
“His reaction to Melthoron’s taunts...“ She hesitated.  “Does he rue his 
passion for my brother?”  
 
“Nay, not his passion,” Elladan corrected, “but that Legolas felt compelled 
to assuage it.  Despite your brother’s assurances, Elrohir has not ceased to 
worry that their couplings may have affected him adversely.”  
 
“He should not burden himself with guilt,” Nimeithel said.  “Assure him 
of that, Elladan; ‘tis no hardship for Legolas.  He finds your brother’s 
touch pleasurable and most welcome.  He has told me so himself.”  
 
Elladan raised his eyebrows in pleased surprise.  “That is heartening to 
hear,” he said.  He nodded in Elrohir’s direction.  “It will give him ease of 
heart and soul to know this.  He has borne this burden far too long.”  
 
“And Melthoron’s taunts only exacerbated his unease,” Nimeithel added 
frowningly.  “Ai, he has always let his ill-temper and pride get the better 
of him.”  
 
Elladan snorted.  “’Tis difficult to imagine how your parents managed to 
produce such a thick-skulled creature as Melthoron,” he remarked acidly.  
“He is a cruel jest of fate!”  
 
“As is my bone-headed brother, Brethildor,” Nimeithel added wickedly.  
 
Elladan laughed.  “Your words, not mine.  But Brethildor has his heart in 
the right place even if he is rather wanting up here,” he said, tapping his 
temple.  “I do not mind his company as I do Melthoron’s.”  
 
“Yet you and Elrohir give him a wide berth whenever possible!” 
Nimeithel reminded him tartly.  
 
“We have no intention of being the first Elves in Arda ever to die of sheer 
boredom,” he rejoined, eliciting a peal of laughter.  His face grew 
thoughtful.  “But Melthoron...“ he mused.  “He needs be taught a lesson in 
humility and courtesy.  Elbereth knows he could use a healthy dose of 
both.”  
 
“And are you the Elf to do it?” she challenged.  
 
“Mayhap.”  
 
“What would you do?” the princess curiously asked.  
 
A wide grin lit Elladan’s face with unholy glee yet rendered him even 
more breathtakingly handsome than Nimeithel had imagined possible.  
She drew in a sharp breath as an unfamiliar sensation snaked its way 
through her limbs.  
 
“I am confident I can think of something...effective,” Elladan responded, 
unaware of the change in his companion’s countenance.  
 
Just then, Elrohir and Legolas joined them.  The younger twin 
immediately noticed his brother’s roguish expression.  
 
“What are you planning, brother?” he asked suspiciously.  
 
Elladan smiled sweetly.  “Why nothing, gwenneth.”  
 
Elrohir’s eyes narrowed.  “Then why do I get the feeling that something is 
going to happen shortly?”  
 
“Now what could possibly happen so soon?” Elladan countered with 
patently false innocence.  
 
“Short of the entire forest going up in flames?” Elrohir snorted.  “In your 
hands, anything!”  
 
“Do not fear, I am not contemplating so heinous a prank as razing 
Mirkwood to the ground,” Elladan assured him.  
 
“I should hope not!” Legolas remarked, half amused, half alarmed at the 
very idea.  
 
“Out with it, gweniaur,” Elrohir growled.  “You have never kept a secret 
from me.  I am not about to let you start doing so now.”  
 
Elladan chuckled.  “Then come with me, muindor.  I would have your 
opinion as to the efficacy of a ‘lesson’ that needs be taught.”  
 
He took Elrohir by the arm and hauled him away.  Legolas watched them 
saunter off, wondering at the nervous fluttering at the pit of his stomach.  
The twins were already discussing something that was obviously of great 
interest to both judging from their animated gestures.  That didn’t bode 
well for whoever or whatever they were talking about, he mused.  He 
glanced at his sister then regarded her curiously.  
 
Nimeithel watched the brethren, too, a thoughtful expression on her fair 
face.  But her eyes fastened more oft than not on Elladan with an intensity 
previously lacking.  
 
Gwaeron - Sindarin for March  
elleth, ellith - Elf-maid, maids  
ellon, ellyn - male Elf, Elves  
ion - son  
muindor - brother  
ernilen - my prince  
Edhil - Elves  
Adar, Ada - Father, Papa  
gwenyn - twins  
tôr neth - younger brother  
gwenneth - younger twin  
gwador - sworn brother  
naneth - mother  
gweniuar - older twin  
 
Part II  
Melthoron practically scurried down the corridor to his bedchamber one 
night a week later.  It was way past the midnight hour and all was silent in 
the residential pavillion save for the sound of his light footsteps.  In the 
stillness, they seemed uncommonly loud.  
 
The Crown Prince of Mirkwood darted into his room as if a pack of Wargs 
were on his trail.  He swiftly shut the door and sagged against it.  So 
flustered was he that he did not notice that though his windows and 
balcony door had been opened to let in the fresh night breeze, the 
draperies were drawn thereby shutting out moon and starlight.  And since 
not a single taper had been lit, the room was steeped in darkness so deep 
he could barely make out the contents of his room.  Mayahp he preferred it 
that way.  The dark hid his uncharacteristically dishevelled appearance 
even from himself.  
 
His heart beating erratically, Melthoron staggered blindly to the wide four-
poster bed, ripping off his cloak as he did so, and sank down shakily.  He 
flinched and groaned as certain body parts protested almost at once.  
Elbereth!  What had he been thinking?  Why had he allowed that?  His 
thoughts wandered back unwillingly to the events of the evening.  
 
Since the advent of the Peredhil in Greenwood, a society of Elves who 
dared to explore their duality had come into being in the Woodland 
Realm.  Always painfully discreet, these Elves met in secret in selected 
residences where they could be open about their loves and lives.  
Typically the larger gatherings were held in the more spacious multi-
chambered homes of Wood-elves of noble birth while smaller homes 
hosted more intimate affairs.  In these havens, they could freely unite with 
their loved ones and voice their frustrations and joys.  And in these hidden 
refuges, they could experience as much or as little intimacy as they desired 
without fear of discovery.  
 
Not all were involved in long-term relationships.  Some simply went to 
these gatherings in search of the fleeting satiation of a casual coupling.  
And for the few who were wary even amongst kindred souls, these 
meetings were especially attractive because of the anonymity they 
afforded to those who were not prepared to unveil themselves.  
 
They were always dimly lit, these sanctuaries.  Partly to accommodate 
those who wished to conceal their identities, partly to avoid calling 
attention to the residence in which a gathering was occurring.  Of course, 
for the greater number with no need to hide, there were always adequately 
illuminated chambers at their disposal.  And anyway, with time, even the 
shyest or most timid came to trust their fellows and revealed themselves, 
thus sharing in the freedom of unwariness the others enjoyed.  All save 
one.  
 
When Melthoron first heard rumor of this secret society within the bounds 
of Mirkwood, he’d thought to confirm its existence with the object of 
exposing its members to the greater population of the Woodland Realm.  
Though the participation in same-kind relationships was no longer treated 
as a criminal offense as had been the case during Oropher’s time, those 
who were proven to be involved in such activities were usually ostracized 
to the extent that they were either forced to renounce their partnerships or 
leave Mirkwood for more friendly realms.  
 
And so the prince had managed to learn of the time and location of one 
gathering and attended it incognito.  It was fairly simple to do so.  A heavy 
cloak with its hood up, the dim lighting, the understanding that not all 
Elves who came desired to reveal themselves.  Melthoron went.  And 
found he could not expose these Edhil as he’d planned.  
 
Something awakened within him when he witnessed the intimacies 
between paired ellyn or ellith.  Curiosity at first.  Then bemusement that 
he should be curious.  And finally and improbably, unexpected arousal 
and desire.  
 
That had shocked him to near witlessness the first time he recognized his 
feelings.  It had spurred him to be even more vicious in speaking out 
against those very same Elves who inspired the feelings in him.  It was 
part foolish reprisal against them for unknowingly upsetting his life and 
part insurance that no one would suspect him of harboring these unnatural 
proclivities when he so actively opposed them in public.  
 
But he could not stay away.  Not from what beckoned so seductively to his 
very spirit until, finally, he began to tread at the periphery of their 
activities.  A passionate grope here, a flurry of kisses there, always in the 
darkest shadows where even elven eyes could not make out features 
enough to identify the other.  He’d spent himself on occasion in the 
capable hand of one partner or the other but had never gone any further 
than rabid fondling; that Mirkwood warriors were known to do so on 
occasion when far afield was an excuse he clung to no matter how 
spurious.  
 
But tonight!  He groaned and fell back on his bed, staring blindly at the 
invisible ceiling.  What had possessed him to allow things to proceed that 
far?  
 
By now, he knew most of the Elves who belonged to the society.  He’d 
been quite shocked to discover not a few prominent names amongst their 
number including respected nobles, highly regarded scholars and 
renowned warriors.  He’d avoided trysting with them, fearing they would 
recognize him since they moved in the same circles.  He was extremely 
cautious about being caught.  It would not only be personally humiliating 
but would also produce the biggest scandal to hit Mirkwood since 
Thranduil precipitately wed Ithilwen when she’d carelessly allowed him to 
get her with child.  
 
Tonight, he’d sat by himself in a corner of the darkened common hall as 
he always did when he attended one of these gatherings.  Sooner or later, 
someone would approach either to inquire as to his comfort or to 
proposition him.  When it was the latter, he always made his limitations 
clear at once and so matters never progressed beyond whatever couch he 
happened to have seated himself in from the start.  
 
But this evening, an Elf had sat by him uninvited and engaged him in 
hushed conversation.  He couldn’t tell who the other was since he, too, 
was cloaked and hooded.  But he was soon beguiled by the stranger’s droll 
wit, obvious bodily beauty and seductive appeal.  One thing had led to 
another and before he knew it he was unmoored by kisses and touches that 
rendered his brain all but incapable of doing what it had been created to 
do.  Which was why when his companion softly suggested they go 
somewhere more private...  
 
“I trust you are recovered from your earlier exertions?”  
 
If an Elf could experience a heart attack, Melthoron came very close to 
doing so now.  He bolted to his feet in shock, his heart thumping madly, 
his breath coming in short, erratic spurts.  
 
“Who--?!”  He became aware of a shadowed figure seated in the armchair 
by the cold hearth.  “How did you get in here?” he demanded, somewhat 
stupidly on reflection.  
 
“‘Tis simple to get anywhere if one knows one’s way around,” the 
stranger murmured.  Melthoron frowned.  Somehow he sounded...where 
had he heard that voice before?  “I would not do that if I were you,” the 
intruder added when the prince opened his mouth to call for the guards.  
“Not if you wish the whole of Mirkwood to know where you just spent 
your evening.  And a very dissolute one I must say.”  
 
Melthoron stared, appalled, at the other Elf.  “I do not know what you are 
talking about,” he blurted out at length.  
 
“Then let me elucidate.  This night, a certain Elf came to the gathering at 
Lord Grithnir’s home seeking, shall we say, congenial companionship.  As 
he has gone to several others in the past five years or so.  Always cloaked, 
always hidden, always silent save for the sparest of whispered utterances.  
None know who he is for he alone refuses to give even a hint as to his 
identity.  He is recognized only by the mithril clasp with which he fastens 
his cloak.”  
 
“But tonight, this Elf met another whom he apparently could not resist.  
He allowed himself to be drawn into a private chamber, permitted more 
than just the usual kisses and caresses.  For the first time, he knew the full 
pleasures of intimacy with another ellon.  That Elf was you, Melthoron of 
Mirkwood.”  
 
“Nay, that--that is a lie!” The prince was virtually shaking in his fine 
leather boots.  
 
“A lie?  Were your moans of satisfaction a lie as well?  Or the seed you 
spent so copiously upon the sheets?”  Mild amusement limned the other 
Elf’s voice at the prince’s horrified countenance.  “Or the reason for the 
unusual scar you bear on your thigh?  A broken branch that dug into it 
when you fell during a hunt several years back, you said.  Was that a lie, 
too?”  
 
The world came to a stop as the familiarity of that maddeningly seductive 
voice suddenly became more acute.  
 
Melthoron gasped.  “*You*!”  
 
“Aye, me.”  
 
The fair-haired Elf sat down upon the edge of his bed, his knees giving 
way at last.  “What is it you want of me?” he demanded hoarsely.  “Would 
you have me in thrall to your demands?”  
 
A husky chuckle reverberated through the room.  Unbidden, it sent a thrill 
of excitement up the prince’s spine much to his disconcertment.  The Elf 
rose, revealing a lean form clad in naught but a thin, form-hugging shirt 
and tight long breeches.  About his shoulders spilled dark, lush unbound 
locks.  
 
“Have you in thrall, my prince?” he softly said.  “Nay, but I would have 
you again.”  
 
Before Melthoron could move, the other Elf had him flat on the bed, 
pinning him down with the ease of one who was well versed in the love-
arts.  Shock blunted the crown prince’s otherwise battle-swift reflexes.  
Before he could mount a counter-attack in earnest, his assailant reached 
between them, tore open his already loosely-laced breeches and had him in 
hand.  He groaned and collapsed completely, gasping and trembling as 
skillful hands worked him to near excruciating arousal.  
 
“Relax and enjoy yourself,” the Elf crooned as he made short work of 
Melthoron’s garments.  “This is but the beginning for I intend to deliver 
you into rapture many times before the light of day.”  
 
Melthoron succumbed to his partner’s masterful attentions.  
 
********  
Hours later, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood awoke with a start, his long 
legs tangled in the cool white sheet with which he had been thoughtfully 
covered.  He winced as he rolled onto his side, his backside throbbing with 
unaccustomed rawness.  But that was to be expected after having been 
ridden to near senselessness and sharpest pleasure several times in one 
night.  He squinted into the still dimness.  Dawn was just breaking and the 
window and balcony draperies were still drawn.  
 
He became aware of the figure leaning against the wall by the balcony, 
looking at him.  Fully dressed, he realized with a jolt, and his dark hair 
neatly bound into a style he found different yet unaccountably familiar.  
 
He sat up gingerly and stared at his bold bed-teacher.  The other Elf said 
nothing.  
 
“Who are you?” Melthoron finally asked.  
 
“Why do you wish to know?” the Elf softly challenged.  “So that you may 
hound me out of Mirkwood?”  
 
“Nay, of course not!” Melthoron objected.  “I could hardly do that when 
you--” He halted, feeling his stomach lurch at the thought of the hold this 
Elf now had on him.  
 
“And what of the others?” his companion pointed out.  “You infiltrated 
their band that you might expose them.  Were it not for the revelation that 
overtook you, I have no doubts they would have been revealed to 
Mirkwood years ago.   Indeed, you always speak quite vehemently against 
Elves who love their own kind though I wager ‘tis partly to throw off any 
suspicions that you had taken to exploring your dual nature.”  
 
Melthoron swallowed hard.  “I will not pursue that course,” he finally 
said.  “I concede I may have need of--of...”  
 
“Sanctuary?”  At the prince’s hesitant nod, the dark-haired Elf said: “You 
will come to know where your heart lies; whether ‘twill be an ellon or an 
elleth that will stir you will matter not.  Or you may never give your heart 
to any one Elf at all.  That is perfectly acceptable as well.  ‘Tis is your 
right to choose, Melthoron.  ‘Tis the right of all Edhil.”  
 
The prince sighed.  “So I was told by somebody recently.  But I did not 
wish to accept it.”  
 
“And now?”  
 
“I have no choice, do I?  Though I cannot be open about this.  Mayhap I 
never can.  I am still the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm and as 
such must uphold the laws of this kingdom.”  He looked at his one-night 
lover.  “But this much I can do.  I swear I will stay my hand and tongue in 
this matter.  Is that what you want?”  At the other’s nod of assent, he 
pleaded, “Now, please tell me, who are you?”  
 
The Elf grasped the draperies and pulled them aside.  The hazy light of 
early morning flooded the chamber and illuminated his features.  
 
Had Melthoron chosen to howl his shock, it would have been enough to 
rouse all of Mirkwood and neighboring Esgaroth besides.  As it was, all he 
managed was a strangled gasp of recognition tinged with equal parts 
disbelief and awe.  
 
********  
“Is it my imagination or is Melthoron more civil towards the two of you 
these days?” Legolas inquired.  
 
He and the brethren were lounging by the drill yard, watching the newest 
and youngest batch of Mirkwood warriors go through their paces.  
 
“Nay, you are not imagining things, Calenlass,” Elrohir demurred.  “He 
has been admirably civil and has even deigned to converse quite politely 
with us on occasion.”  
 
Legolas noticed the slightest quiver in the younger twin’s lips, which 
indicated a tightly suppressed desire to laugh.  He gazed suspiciously at 
the Elf-knight then at Elladan who was pursing his lips for the same 
reason as his brother.  
 
“I wonder what wrought this change?” the prince commented, keenly 
studying his friends.  “Oh, and only this morn he rebuked several 
counsellors for suggesting that Adar come down harder on Elves who 
practice their duality.  ‘Tis a thing unheard of where my brother is 
concerned!”  
 
Elladan smiled so gently Legolas at once found it suspect.  The older twin 
said very softly: “Well, he can scarcely allow such harsh measures when 
more than one Mirkwood prince has had a Peredhil up his backside.”  
 
For the space of a heartbeat, Legolas stared at him blankly, the enormity 
of the simple statement too great to register all at once.  And then he gaped 
at the older twin in utter speech-stealing shock prompting Elrohir to 
dissolve into silent, shoulder-shaking laughter.  For the longest while, the 
prince remained thusly.  When he finally found his tongue, he could only 
inadequately mutter, “That must have been quite a lesson...”  
 
Hidden a short distance behind them by the gnarled thick trunk of an 
ancient tree but still within earshot, Nimeithel just managed to stifle her 
own gasp of surprise.  *Melthoron?  Bedded by Elladan?*  She peered 
around the tree to regard the older twin.  An odd mixture of pangs of 
unwonted jealousy and a coursing of desirous admiration burned through 
her being.  
 
Ai, what madness had come upon her that she should feel this way about 
Elrond’s older son?  Of all the Elves in Arda, why Elladan who saw her as 
nothing more than his friend’s little sister?  
 
It was a most improbable and impossible situation.  
 
*******  
The brethren stayed until May.  With Melthoron’s unruly tongue 
miraculously tamed insofar as the twins and elven duality were concerned, 
no more untoward incidents occurred and the scions of both the woodland 
kingdom of Mirkwood and the valley realm of Rivendell enjoyed each 
other’s company to the fullest.  To the royal household’s amazement, 
Melthoron actually joined in some of the revels thought up by his 
youngest brother and the twins.  It was such unprecedented behavior that 
many wondered if the crown prince had taken leave of his senses.  But as 
he seemed in full possession of them, everyone eventually concluded that 
he’d simply grown up at last.  
 
But delightful as the brethren’s visit was, their stay had to end and, as 
summer encroached, they made preparations to depart.  Legolas did not 
hide his distress that they would soon take leave of Mirkwood.  Ever loath 
to dispense with their company, he complained that they were much too 
stingy of late with their fellowship what with their errantry and 
journeying.  It was nigh twenty years since last he’d been with them.  
Would it be another score before they met once more?  
 
Heedful as always of Legolas’ sentiments, Elrohir sought to rectify 
matters.  After feeling Legolas’ doleful gaze upon him as he packed the 
last of his belongings the eve of their departure, he straightened up and 
looked at the prince.  
 
“We need not wait so long before meeting again ,” he said.  “Elladan and I 
plan to rest a year in Imladris before we go hunting once more.  If you 
would care to visit us in the spring...?”  
 
“Only in the spring?” Legolas scowled.  
 
The Elf-knight chuckled.  “Nay, we would be pleased to have you stay for 
as long as you can.  What say you?”  
 
Legolas considered the prospect of spending most of the following year’s 
spring, the whole of summer and part of autumn in Rivendell.  A grin 
curved his lips and his eyes glowed with pleasure.  
 
“Done!” he enthusiastically agreed.  “Look to the east as soon as the first 
blossoms awaken, gwador nîn.”  
 
Elrohir smiled.  “I will, Calenlass.”  
 
ellon, ellyn - male Elf, male Elves  
elleth, ellith - Elf-maid. Elf-maids  
Edhil - Elves  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
gwador nîn - my (sworn) brother  
 
Part III  
Imladris, tuilë-yavië TA 2777  
As Legolas had promised he travelled to Rivendell as soon as the snow 
melted away and the passes of Hithaeglir were cleared once again.  Hardly 
were the first buds of the year open when he left Mirkwood and made the 
long trek to the hidden vale.  With him was Nimeithel.  
 
As soon as he had asked leave from the Elvenking for an extended visit to 
the brethren, she had pleaded to be allowed to accompany him to 
Rivendell.  
 
“I have long yearned to see Imladris,” she earnestly said.  “Always have I 
contented myself with what tales you care to tell me, Legolas.  But now I 
desire very much to see for myself what wonders there are to see.  Please, 
tor iuar, do not leave me behind yet again.”  
 
Legolas had looked at Thranduil who in turn considered his daughter’s 
request.  “I suppose I can trust Legolas to look after you,” he commented 
mildly.  
 
“Ada, she is no infant in need of a nursemaid,” Legolas pointed out 
indignantly.  
 
“But she is still an Elf-maid venturing into new territory,” Thranduil shot 
back drily.  “And the twins’ territory no less.”  
 
Legolas had to laugh at the king’s lack of trust when it came to the twins 
and carnal matters.  But then considering their voracious appetites...  “I 
will keep her virtue safe, Ada,” he grinned.  
 
“Then I see no reason why you cannot go with your brother, iell,” the Elf-
king told his only daughter.  
 
He was rewarded with a hug so tight, he had to draw a deep breath 
afterwards to replenish his air supply.  So it was that, three weeks later, 
Nimeithel rode at Legolas’ side as they negotiated the steep slope leading 
down into the deep-cloven valley that harbored the elven-refuge.  They 
were met by the twins ere they came to the Bruinen and they crossed the 
bridge together.  
 
It was a joyful meeting, one that Nimeithel had cause to envy.  Only a year 
had gone by since the twins’ visit to Mirkwood yet they greeted each other 
other as if it was three score instead.  But then she supposed it was to be 
expected since before that twenty years had passed with little more than 
brief missives between them.  She cautiously observed Elrohir’s demeanor 
around her brother, mindful of her previous discussion with Elladan.  That 
in turn led her to regard the older twin; surreptitiously lest someone note 
her undue interest and give importance to it.  
 
“‘Tis a pity that Nimeithel should visit when Arwen is in Lorien,”  she 
heard Elrohir say.  “They would get along splendidly, I warrant.”  
 
“Aye, they are very much alike though Arwen has ever been the more tart 
of tongue,” Elladan added.  
 
“Yet she has greatly mellowed, gweniuar,” Elrohir remarked.  “Our 
granddam’s influence no doubt.”  
 
“She spends much time in Lorien?” Legolas asked.  
 
“Since Mother’s passing she spends years at a time with our 
grandparents,” Elladan explained.  “More than twenty five years the last 
visit and no doubt it will be many years before she returns from this one.”  
 
“Lord Elrond must be very lonely with all his children gone for such 
lengths of time,” Legolas said pointedly.  He had never been able to bring 
himself to approve of the brethren’s vengeance-driven errantry.  
 
“We never do so together,” Elrohir gently said.  “Arwen remains with 
Adar when we are gone for longer than a year and we do the same in turn.  
We would never forsake our father thusly.”  
 
“I should hope not,” Legolas said.  “Though you seem to think nothing of 
forsaking others.”  
 
“Ah, the truth will out,” Elladan said.  “‘Tis our abandonment of your 
company that you dislike.”  
 
Legolas blushed slightly.  “Well, ‘tis only that your absences have grown 
longer with the passing years.  Twenty this last and more than forty the 
one before that.  I have oftimes wondered if I would ever have the 
pleasure of your society again.”  
 
“It will not happen again, Calenlass,” Elrohir quietly promised, eliciting a 
look of surprise from his own brother.  
 
Watching him, Nimeithel had the distinct impression that the Elf-knight 
had made that decision only at that very instant and in response to 
Legolas’ displeasure.  
 
Legolas looked at the younger twin keenly.  “Truly?”  
 
Elrohir returned his gaze.  “I swear, this last will indeed by our last long 
sojourn.  Should we venture forth in the future, we shall keep such 
journeying brief.  I hope this will content you?”  
 
Touched that Elrohir should so speedily acquiesce to his wishes, Legolas 
beamed affectionately at him and said: “Aye, it will and it pleases me 
greatly as well.  Thank you, meldiren.”  
 
Feeling rather invisible, Nimeithel decided to make her presence felt.  She 
cleared her throat loudly, drawing the others’ attention.  
 
“Nimeithel, forgive us,” Legolas said contritely.  “We did not mean to 
ignore you.”  
 
“Aye, ‘twas not intentional,” Elladan warmly said.  “Elrohir and I shall 
make amends for this egregious oversight, I promise.”  
 
She dimpled charmingly.  “I understand your forgetfulness,” she said.  
“And hold no ill-will towards you.  But I hope ‘twill not be repeated for I 
have no mind to be treated like so much extra baggage.”  
 
“Ah, that stings,” Elrohir chuckled.  “I doubt we will miss Arwen 
overmuch with your sister here in her stead,” he said to Legolas  
 
Legolas laughed, casting Nimeithel a fond glance.  “You had best take that 
as high praise, muinthel,” he said.  
 
“I do,” she smiled.  “I have heard enough from you about the Lady Arwen 
to know I should esteem her.”  
 
“And fear her,” Elladan added with a wicked grin.  “But let us not tarry.  I 
imagine you must be weary from your journey and long for some rest.”  
 
“That I do, Elladan,” she agreed.  
 
He smiled then with such heartfelt kindness that his already handsome 
face glowed with even greater beauty.  To her horror, Nimeithel felt her 
cheeks heat up and she hastily bowed her head to let her loose hair obscure 
her face.  
 
“Let us hurry,” Elladan said to Legolas with concern, mistaking her 
posture for exhaustion.  “I would have your sister resting in her chamber 
soonest.”  None saw her cheeks turn even more crimson under his tender 
regard.  
 
They proceeded to the Last Homely House at a markedly brisker pace.  
 
*******  
Nimeithel soon discovered that a visit to Imladris with her brother was not 
all leisure and enjoyment.  While the first weeks were indeed all that she 
could have desired--walks and rides in the valley and the woods and hills 
around it; constant company with such legends such as Glorfindel and 
Erestor, not to mention Lord Elrond himself and his renowned sons; 
Lindir’s wondrous music, his fair voice rivalling those of the Silvan Elves; 
the comfort of Almariel and Iorwen’s maternal attentions long missed 
since her mother’s passing; and enticing insights into daily life in the 
fabled refuge--the exigencies of the times eventually reared their not so 
attractive heads.  
 
Just as the twins oft took part in patrols or the chase with Legolas when 
they visited Mirkwood, so now did Legolas offer his skill in arms 
whenever either brother or both joined scouting or hunting expeditions out 
of Rivendell.  At such times, she felt torn between concern for the three of 
them and impatience at being left to her own devices until her brother 
should return.  
 
The other male members of the household had responsibilities to attend to 
and she was not one for endless sewing and cooking, kind as Iorwen and 
Almariel were.  Nor could she keep company with either Elladan or 
Elrohir when either stayed behind in Rivendell.  Legolas had warned her 
never to remain alone with one twin or the other.  The Elf-prince trusted 
his friends with his very life but he was not as trusting when it came to his 
only sister’s innocence.  Not when he knew their reputations much too 
well and the exploits behind said reputations.  
 
She began to chafe at the restriction and the feeling of rebellion became 
especially strong after spending nearly a week doing naught but 
embroidering, weaving and kitchen duty when the three took off with an 
Imladrin hunting party.  They could not fail to notice her expression of 
displeasure when they returned and offered to assuage it with anything in 
their power to bestow.  
 
Nonetheless, they were still surprised by the demand she made when she 
did take up their offer.  Elladan was tasked to lead a patrol investigating 
renewed orkish acitivity southwest of Rivendell and Legolas was going 
with him.  Elrohir would stay behind to help Elrond with his many duties 
not least of which was serving in the healing halls.  All three were 
suprised when Nimeithel asked to join the patrol.  
 
“This will be no walk in the woods, Nimeithel,” Elrohir pointed out.  
“There will be fighting and you are no warrior.”  
 
“I am well aware of that,” Nimeithel conceded.  “But I want to help.  I 
promise I will stay out of the way.”  
 
“Nimeithel—“ Legolas began doubtfully.  
 
“I can help with any wounded,” she hastily added.  “And I can do the 
cooking.”  
 
They stared at her, nonplussed for a moment.  And then Elladan chuckled.  
“You are as persistent as a Dwarf in search of mithril,” he remarked.  “Tell 
me, can you climb trees?”  
 
It was Nimeithel’s turn to stare.  “I beg your pardon?” she managed to 
say.  “Why should I know how to climb trees?  
 
“Because if there is any danger, it will probably be the safest place for you 
to be,” Elladan replied.  “I know you can move quietly and I will assume, 
correctly I hope, that you can also move quickly.  Therefore, all I wish to 
know is if you can climb a tree.”  
 
Nimeithel shook her head in some disbelief.  “I can scramble up any tree 
you choose, Elladan.  I am a Wood-elf, remember?”  
 
Elladan studied her a moment longer.  Accurately surmising that she 
would not be dissuaded and might even do something rash to get her way, 
he looked at Legolas.  A glance of question and agreement passed between 
them, Legolas shrugging in resignation.  Elladan gave in.  
 
“Very well, you may come.  But you will have to stay with me or Legolas 
at all times and follow everything I say.  Is that understood?”  
 
“Understood,” Nimeithel quickly agreed.  
 
“Then I suggest you rest well tonight for we leave at dawn.  I will have 
proper raiment provided for you in the morning.”  
 
********  
No walk in the woods.  Not even when one was on horseback, Nimethel 
thought confusedly in her weariness.  She hung on to her steed 
tenaciously, determined not to disgrace herself by falling of it as no proper 
Elf would.  She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her tunic.  
 
She had blushed deeply when she beheld her image in a mirror after 
donning the clothing Elladan had sent to her.  She’d never worn anything 
that revealed more than her ankles in all her life and now here she was in a 
garment that showed her shapely legs.  The form-hugging long breeches 
did nothing at all to ease her embarrassment.  The tunic and long-sleeved 
under-shirt were no help either as both opened at the sides and therefore 
oft revealed the contours of her thighs as well.  Definitely most unseemly 
for a maiden, she thought, discomfited anew.  Only stern warrior-maids 
could get away with such brief garments.  
 
The patrol was now some five days travelling distance from Rivendell.  
They’d seldom paused for rest, always hastening on once they picked up 
the trail of their prey.  They’d already come across evidence of the orcs’ 
brutish acitivities--ravaged hamlets, strung up corpses and grisly feasts, 
human peasants fleeing their burning homes and fields.  Already driven by 
his need to avenge his mother’s suffering, Elladan was all the more 
enraged by these further atrocities and pushed on with grim intent.   
Meanwhile, Nimeithel kept to her word, always staying by his or Legolas’ 
side and taking over most of the cooking to free up the other scouts.  
 
By noon, the troop had discovered the orcs’ exact whereabouts near a 
small wooded area several miles north of the last settlement they’d 
attacked.  Elladan swiftly laid a trap for them.  While a few scout headed 
off to lure them into the snare, everyone else disappeared into the high 
branches of the trees.  Nimeithel felt her heart pounding wildly as she 
followed Elladan and Legolas up a large oak.  One restrictive glance from 
Elladan warned her to stay put no matter what happened.  
 
In what seemed like mere seconds, the scouts dashed by below them, the 
sounds of heavy treads and feral curses close on their heels.  Soon the orcs 
arrived beneath the trees.  Bedlam broke out as they were greeted by a rain 
of arrows.  Panicking, the orcs scattered.  The Elves dropped down to 
finish off the survivors.  
 
Watching anxiously from her perch, Nimeithel spotted a wounded soldier 
as he limped away from the center of the fray.  Fearing for his safety, she 
climbed down against Elladan’s orders and hurried to help the Elf get out 
of harm’s way.  Just as she’d gotten him behind a wide-trunked tree, she 
felt the hairs on her nape stand up.  Glancing behind her, she froze when 
she realized an orc had her in its sights.  
 
Elladan saw her peril and sprinted to shield her.  She screamed when he 
took the arrow meant for her in his left shoulder.  Only his superb reflexes 
and strength enabled him to fling a knife at the orc archer in retaliation, 
thereby killing it.  Nimeithel caught him as he sagged to the ground, his 
face paling considerably as blood oozed steadily from the injury.  
 
The fighting soon came to an end with nary a goblin left alive to so much 
as whimper.  Seeing that Elladan was injured, Legolas hastened to him to 
tend to the wound.  Nimeithel had helped the older twin sit up against a 
tree.  Legolas bent over the wound, his nimble fingers examining the 
severity of the damage.  Though not as skilled a healer as the twins, he 
was familiar with the treatment of injuries sustained in battle.  
 
“I think ‘tis poisoned,” Elladan managed to whisper.  “It burns and the 
pain is spreading.”  
 
Worried, Legolas inspected the arrow’s position in the wound.  They 
exchange grimaced looks.  Without another word, Legolas took out his 
knife and, before Nimeithel’s horrified eyes, proceeded to dig out the 
arrowhead.  
 
She glanced at Elladan.  He was white beyond belief, pain etched into his 
features.  Yet he made no sound beyond an occasional moan.  How can he 
withstand such pain? she thought, her heart breaking for him.  She blamed 
herself.  This is my fault, she thought.  If I hadn’t been here, this wouldn’t 
have happened!  
 
Instinctively she took his hand.  A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he 
clutched convulsively at her hand.  
 
Legolas managed to pull the arrowhead free.  This time Elladan could not 
stifle a gasping groan.  Shuddering, he turned and buried his face in 
Nimeithel’s breast.  Intuitively, she wrapped her arms around him and 
held him closer, trying to impart whatever comfort she could give.  
 
“There *is* poison at work,” Legolas said vexedly.  He handed Nimeithel 
a clean cloth.  “Here, staunch his wound,” he told her.  “We must get him 
back to Lord Elrond as soon as possible.  I will see to the others.”  He 
hurried off.  
 
Nimeithel pressed down on the wound as she was told but Elladan raised 
his hand and stopped her.  “Help Legolas,” he told her.  
 
“But I cannot leave you like this,” Nimeithel protested.  
 
“There are others more grievously injured than I,” he reminded her.  
“They need your help.”  
 
“But, Elladan—“  
 
“Do as I say, Nimeithel!  Go!”  
 
Nimeithel flinched at his sharp command.  He had spoken to her as a 
captain and not as a friend.  Biting back her tears, she dumbly nodded and 
rose to her feet.  
 
As she moved among the wounded, she kept glancing back at the Elf-
lord.  Injured as he was, he remained in command, directing his warriors 
and giving comfort to those more seriously hurt than himself.  She was 
awed by his strength and humbled by his courage.  It then came to her.  
 
She knew she had began to care for him far beyond what one felt for a 
friend but she had suppressed those feelings by reminding herself that, as 
he saw her as no more than his best friend’s sister, he was beyond her 
reach.  Now she could no longer deny them.  
 
/I’m falling in love with him./  
 
Hours later, she found herself watching from the door of one of the 
healing rooms as they lay him down on a bed.  Elrohir had met them at the 
Ford of the Bruinen and helped bear his twin back to the Last Homely 
House.  Now Elrond and his healers moved in to strip him of his bloodied 
tunic, jerkin and shirt and examine the wound.  
 
Nimeithel observed her brother and Elrohir speaking in hushed tones with 
one of the healers.  She wondered what was happening but could not 
discern anything intelligible.  
 
At last Elrohir came out, his fair face sober.  He noticed Nimeithel 
standing by the door.  Her face was an open book.  He read misery and 
guilt and fear in her expressive features and took pity.  
 
“He will be all right, meldis,” he gently assured her.  “We have drained 
most of the poison and his body will be able to deal with whatever 
remains.  But he will be in much pain for another day or so.”  
 
Nimeithel swallowed hard.  “I wish there was something I could do to 
help,” she whispered.  
 
Elrohir glanced back into his twin’s chamber.  One healer was binding the 
wounds and to one side Elrond was mixing a medicinal draught.  He 
turned back to Nimeithel.  “He will sleep soundly for now but when he 
awakens, he will likely feel the pain,” he informed her.  “Father is 
preparing something for it.  And he wants Elladan watched this night.”  
 
Nimeithel looked at the younger twin gratefully.  “Please, I wish to take 
that duty,” she softly pleaded.  
 
Elrohir nodded.  “It will be a long night,” he said.  “And there is nothing 
you can do right now.  I suggest you freshen up and get something to eat.”  
 
Nimeithel agreed.  She took one more long glance into the chamber then 
departed for her own.  Elrohir watched her receding figure.  A hand on his 
shoulder told him Legolas had come up beside him and was watching his 
sister as well.  
 
“She blames herself for this,” Elrohir murmured.  Legolas nodded in 
assent.  
 
*******  
Nimeithel gazed down at Elladan.  She had pulled a chair up to his bedside 
and settled there for the night.  She’d been staring at him for the better part 
of four hours but found she did not tire of studying the contours of his face 
or the line of his shoulders and torso.  
 
He was beautiful, of that she had always been keenly aware.  But it was 
only now that she had a chance to appreciate his beauty in full.  Asleep, 
with his silken hair spread out in sable waves on the pristine pillow, he 
looked so much like an innocent.  But the innocence was deceptive, she 
mused with a shiver.  Here was one who wielded power with ease and 
grace.  He could be as gentle as day or as perilous as night, a loyal friend 
or a ruthless enemy.  
 
She was thankful that his eyes were closed.  It was all too easy to lose 
one’s self in those blue-tinged grey eyes.  As warm as sunlight or as cold 
as ice, this changeability as charming as it was bewildering.  They were 
dangerous, those eyes, for they saw too much yet gave little away and 
lured one into betraying one’s secrets.  It did not do to gaze too long into 
them if one wanted to keep something to one’s self.  Her gaze drifted to 
his mouth.  
 
She wondered at the power of his smile.  One was uplifted by it but also 
unnerved.  Those same lips could turn grim or stern and make you rue 
ever having crossed him.  She sighed.  Their last exchange had not been 
pleasant.  She had been foolish to try and countermand a direct order.  I 
should have known better, she regretfully admitted to herself.  Her eyes 
drifted lower once more.  
 
It was the first time she had seen him unclothed, at least from the waist 
up.  He was slender like her brother but his torso and limbs were slightly 
more solid.  His Peredhil heritage she realized.  Nevertheless, he was 
perfection personified in her eyes.  Only the bandages on his shoulder 
marred the flawlessness of his body.  The bandages whose snowy 
whiteness was now slightly stained with blood.  They don’t belong there, 
she thought.  They wouldn’t even be there if not for me.  
 
Elladan turned his head slightly, a soft sound escaping his lips.  Nimeithel 
immediately came closer, kneeling by the bed.  When he opened his eyes, 
her face was the first thing he saw.  
 
Before he could speak, pain lanced from his shoulder down his arm and 
radiated outward to his chest.  A sharp breath escaped him and he was 
forced to grit his teeth in order not to cry out.  Nimeithel gasped and 
quickly rose to fetch from the bedside table the draught prepared by 
Elrond.  Hurriedly, she knelt once more the drinking cup in hand.  
 
“Here,” she murmured.  “This will help ease the pain.”  
 
Slipping an arm under his neck, she gently helped him up.  She held the 
cup to his lips.  He took a few swallows then lay back once more, eyes still 
closed in pain.  Nimeithel felt her heart constrict with hurt and guilt as she 
gazed at his white face.  
 
Tears streamed down her cheeks and a smothered sob burst from her.  
Elladan opened his eyes at the sound and looked at the silently weeping 
princess.  Reaching out his hand he took hers and squeezed it reassuringly.  
 
“‘Tis all right, Nimeithel,” he whispered.  
 
The Elf-maid looked at him incredulously.  “How can it be all right?  You 
are hurting so terribly!”  
 
Elladan managed a wan smile.  “Nay, I’ve known worse.”  
 
“Worse?” Nimeithel stared at him, appalled.  “What could possibly be 
worse than this?”  
 
The Elvenlord shook his head.  “I do not think you want to know.  You 
will have to get used to this; ‘tis part of our lives.”  
 
Nimeithel swallowed her tears.  “I must change the bandages,” she thickly 
said.  She hurriedly unraveled the long panels of cloth.  Baring the injury, 
she was reminded of the reason for it and was stricken with guilt once 
more.  As she sponged away the dried blood, she chided herself for having 
insisted on going along on the sortie.  
 
“This is my fault,” she whispered.  “I am so sorry, Elladan.”  
 
Elladan glanced at her, a frown between his brows.  “Do not say that,” he 
admonished.  “’Tis no one’s fault.”  
 
“But if I had not come along, you would not have had to shield me from 
that arrow,” she said bitterly.  “What use was I anyway?  Just a useless 
piece of baggage.”  
 
When he didn’t respond, she thought he agreed with her.  Biting her lower 
lip, she proceeded to clean the wound.  But as she moved to get up and 
fetch fresh bindings, he took her hand and pulled her back.  
 
“Do not think of yourself thusly,” he told her gently.  “You wanted to help 
and you did help wherever and whenever needed.  I hardly call that 
useless.”  
 
“But if I had not been in the way, you–“  
 
He put a finger to her lips, startling her into silence.  “The fortunes of 
war,” he reminded her.  “’Tis not your fault.  Do not speak of it again.”  
 
Nimeithel hesitated then nodded and rose.  As she gathered the bandages, 
scissors and medicaments on the bedside table, she found her thoughts 
wandering in a totally unexpected direction.  
 
His finger on her lips had taken her by surprise.  But more than that it had 
suddenly made her feel an intimacy with him that had not been there 
before.  To love from afar was one thing.  To experience any physical 
closeness, no matter how fleeting, was another.  In the space of one day 
and one night he had set her on a course from which there could be no 
return.  She could not tell whether she was pleased or frightened.  
 
When she returned to his side, she realized he had fallen back into slumber 
caused no doubt by the draught she had given him.  As gently as she 
could, she dressed his wound, praying she would not awaken him and 
renew his discomfort.  
 
When she was done she stared at his peaceful features.  With infinite 
tenderness, she brushed the strands of raven hair from his cheek.  And 
then she took a chance and dared to press a kiss to his smooth forehead.  
 
/Sleep well, Eledhiren./  
 
tuilë and yavië - Quenya for spring and autumn  
tor iaur - older brother  
Ada, Adar - Papa, Father  
iell - daughter  
gweniuar - older twin  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
meldiren - my friend (m.)  
muinthel - sister  
meldis - friend (f.)  
Eledhiren - my Elvenlord  
 
Part IV  
Five days later, Elladan was out in the drill yard honing his skills.  His 
brother and friend chided him for getting back into training so soon but he 
was unmoved.  Trouble could very well be upon them sooner than 
expected.  He did not intend to be caught unprepared.  
 
Nimeithel watched as he and Elrohir duelled with knives.  Despite his 
injury, Elladan remained a formidable opponent.  The match ended in a 
draw, leading Legolas to laud the older twin and tease the younger.  
 
“If that is all you can manage with an Elf lately come from his sickbed, 
how in Arda are you going to defeat one who is well and whole?” Legolas 
commented with a smirk.  
 
“Nay, I was only being gentle,” protested Elrohir.  “Would you have me 
be the cause of his relapse into illness?  Nimeithel would string me up 
from the highest tree if she doesn’t flay me alive first!”  
 
Nimeithel blushed at his banter while amused laughter resounded around 
her.  In the middle of a chuckle, Elrohir caught the almost guilty 
expression on her face and paused to ponder it.  He traced her sneaked 
glances to his twin.  The Elf-knight wondered.  
 
*******  
Spring went by and summer soon reached its peak.  The four companions 
had no lack of activities to indulge in though Nimeithel, chastened by 
what had happened to Elladan, no longer insisted on going along on patrol 
or hunts.  She did, however, request that she be taught the rudiments of 
fighting that she be at least able to defend herself.  
 
“Mother died defending our honor,” she soberly told Elladan one fine day 
as they watched Elrohir and Legolas spar with sword and knife.  “Had she 
not known how to wield a knife, we would have been despoiled ere 
Legolas arrived.”  
 
“You have been sheltered overmuch,” Elladan agreed.  “‘Tis surprising for 
an Elf of Mirkwood.”  
 
Nimeithel sighed.  “I suppose it comes of being an only daughter and the 
youngest as well.”  She glanced shyly at the Elf-lord.  “Legolas is 
reluctant to teach me.  Will you convince him to do so?”  
 
Elladan smiled.  “I will do better than that,” he said.  “I will teach you.”  
 
Nimeithel blinked.  “You?” she almost squeaked.  
 
“Why so shocked?” he grinned.  “I promise, I will not slice you up too 
much.”  
 
Nimeithel gulped.  Nay, you will just make mincemeat of me, she thought 
frantically.  
 
Will she, nill she, the Elf-princess found herself the fumbling student to 
Elladan’s patient teacher.  Though initially resistant to the suggestion, 
Legolas eventually acquiesced and Elladan wasted no time at all beginning 
Nimeithel’s lessons.  Before long, Elrohir started to train her as well and, 
at long last, Legolas decided to put in time to teach his sister the basics of 
archery.  
 
She soon rued her request when she would retire each night a mass of 
aching muscles and prostesting joints, some of which she did not even 
realize existed.  How could any elleth desire to be a warrior, she would 
groaningly think each time she sank into a hot bath to ease her sore body.  
Obviously they are misled into thinking it a charming profession, she 
would scowlingly conclude before whimpering as another ache made itself 
known.  
 
Nevertheless, under the twins and her brother’s able tutelage, she learned 
enough to wield sword and knife though she knew she would never be 
more than adequate.  It was in archery, though, that her Silvan heritage 
became apparent for she soon became quite adept at it.  
 
She was practicing one early morning by herself, intent on perfecting this 
martial skill that seemed to come to her much more easily than the others.  
Such was her surprise and discomfiture when she suddenly heard Elladan 
speak up just behind her.  
 
“Your grip is too high,” he murmured.  “Here, let me show you.”  
 
She caught her breath as he came close and reached around her to adjust 
her grip on the bow.  Faint crimson stains touched her cheeks as his scent 
teased her nostrils.  For several weeks now that scent had beguiled her 
whenever they grappled with one weapon or another.  It was utterly 
tantalizing to say the least.  Nothing like the forest scent of a Wood-elf but 
bewitchingly evocative of the aromas of the hidden vale instead.  Small 
wonder Legolas had swiftly surrendered to Elrohir that first night they lay 
together, she distractedly thought.  The twins’ scents alone were enough to 
undo anyone!  
 
It was with relief that she felt him release her and move away.  Any longer 
and she would have given herself away with some foolish action or 
remark.  She glanced up at him to thank him only to have her words die 
before they left her lips.  
 
He was looking at her in the oddest manner, his brow slightly creased and 
his eyes glittering darkly.  She nearly forgot to breathe, so strong was the 
spell of his gray gaze.  And then, he abruptly released her from his 
compelling eyes, and, with a curt nod, strode away.  She stared after him 
in bewilderment.  
 
The afternoon found the brethren and Legolas headed out for a dip in the 
Bruinen.  As they followed the pebbled path to the river, they heard raised, 
agitated voices.  
 
Rounding a small cluster of trees, they came upon Daurin and Enedrion in 
the middle of what looked like, for all intents and purposes, a lovers’ 
quarrel.  The two warriors were startled by their sudden appearance.  
Enedrion flushed then turned and fled into the concealment of the woods, 
unheeding of Daurin’s calls to him.  But none of the three had missed the 
utter despair on his usually stoic features.  
 
Glorfindel’s second-in-command looked miserable to say the least.  
Elladan placed a comforting hand on his arm and asked: “What has 
happened?  What were you fighting about?”  
 
The warrior swallowed hard.  “I-I told him that I wished to end our 
relationship that I might woo Almariel in full,” he mumbled.  “I did not 
realize—did not know he loved me so—“the Elf stopped, unable to 
continue.  After a long pause, he shuddered and said dolorously: “I never 
meant to hurt him.”  
 
“I am sure you did not,” Elladan said gently.  
 
“But I did nonetheless,” the Elf said remorsefully.  “He did not deserve 
that.”  
 
“He did not,” Elrohir frankly agreed.  “‘Tis a pity you did not anticipate 
this possibility when you took him and kept him as lover all these years.”  
 
“Elrohir!” Elladan exclaimed.  “You are too harsh, gwenneth.”  
 
But Daurin shook his head and said: “Nay, ‘tis the truth.  I should have 
known how he felt after so long.  Instead, I led him to believe... I am 
naught but an inconsiderate fool.”  
 
He turned and walked away, head bent in regret and despondency.  
 
Elrohir watched the warrior return to the barracks, his eyes glittering with 
a little anger.  “’Twas inevitable that someone would be hurt,” he said 
tightly.  “Enedrion’s heartbreak might have been averted had Daurin been 
more forthright from the start.”  
 
Elladan nodded slowly, unable to disagree.  “‘Tis at times like this that I 
am glad I lack the intensity of your feelings, muindor,” he admitted.  
 
Legolas glanced at the brothers with brooding eyes.  He kept silent.  His 
lack of response drew Elrohir’s attention and the younger twin looked at 
him wonderingly.  He noted the expression on his friend’s face.  
 
“Calenlass?  What ails you?” he softly asked.  
 
Legolas started and returned his gaze.  The prince looked deeply shaken.  
“So it was with Sirgon.  As it was when Naneth died,” he whispered 
harshly.  “And when your mother departed.”  He shuddered, remembering 
Sirgon’s despair, his father’s agony echoed later in Elrond’s eyes.  “Love 
is cruel.  I will never love like that,” he suddenly vowed.  “I will not let 
my heart endure such grief!”  
 
The twins stared at him.  
 
“You cannot mean that, mellon nîn,” Elladan said.  “The heart cannot be 
denied once it chooses its life’s mate.”  
 
Legolas shook his head almost violently.  “But I will deny it!” he said 
fiercely.  “I will not give it away only to suffer from grief and pain.  I have 
seen enough of others’ sorrows to know I cannot bear it.”  
 
“Do not speak rashly, Legolas.  You cannot know what the fates have in 
store for you.  None of us can.”  
 
“Let the fates unleash what they will upon me,” the archer declared.  “So 
long as they leave my heart alone.”  He noted Elrohir’s frown.  “Do not try 
to dissuade me, Elrohir,” he said sharply.  “My heart is mine to give and I 
choose to give it to no one.  From this day forth it is shut.”  
 
For the space of a moment, Elrohir regarded him somberly.  Finally he 
spoke in a low voice.  “And will you shut Elladan and me out as well?”  
 
Legolas started then stared at the Elf-knight.  His argent eyes were sad but 
understanding.  He then glanced at Elladan and realized the sorrow was 
mirrored in the older twin’s eyes.  The prince felt guilt smite him that he 
should have hurt his dearest friends.  “Nay, gwedeir, that love I will cleave 
to even more closely,” he softly amended.  “‘Tis the binding of hearts and 
spirits I shun, not the bonds of brotherhood between friends.  Elrohir, I 
feared to lose you then; I could not endure losing either of you now.”  
 
“You would never lose us, Legolas,” the younger twin pointed out.  
“Whether you want it or not, you will always have our love.”  
 
Legolas smiled, warmed by the other’s words.  “‘Tis is all the love I 
need,” he replied.  “But my heart I will keep.”  
 
Elrohir nodded resignedly.  “’Tis your choice,” he murmured.  
 
He looked at his brother.  Elladan stilled a start of consternation at the 
bleakness in the depths of his twin’s eyes.  But Elrohir’s gaze also 
conveyed a clear desire not to discuss the matter and so the older twin was 
forced to set it aside for the present.  
 
********  
As summer slowly ran its course, so did Nimeithel’s diffidence in 
weapons use give way to burgeoning confidence.  Indeed, so satisfied was 
Elladan with her progress that he surprised her by asking her if she wished 
to join him and the others on a brief patrol of the easternmost borders of 
the woods along the Bruinen.  
 
Flattered that he should think her capable enough to bring along, she 
accepted with alacrity.  And firmly put her self-consciousness aside 
insofar as revealing tunics and tight breeches were concerned.  
 
They expected little to happen that day.  But, like any day in the all too 
uncertain present, things could and did happen.  As they followed the tree-
lined course of the Loudwater, the sound of frantic cries for help reached 
them.  Spurring their steeds forward, they came upon a small party of 
outlaws chasing a young boy.  Unhesitatingly, the Elves charged into 
battle.  
 
Nimeithel held back, determined not to be a hindrance to the others.  She 
did keep an anxious eye on her brother and the twins though common 
sense told her it was a waste of a good worry.  The three were formidable 
in any battle.  This was just a skirmish; a mere romp to such seasoned 
fighters.  She tried to direct her attention elsewhere.  
 
It was while she was perusing the other soldiers that she spotted the child 
once more.  With a thrill of horror, she realized he had been driven to the 
very banks of the river by a knife-wielding brigand.  
 
Without further ado, she sped toward him, drawing her sword as she ran.   
She swung it up just in time to block the bandit’s downward stroke then, 
acting purely on instinct, brought it down hard, slicing through the man’s 
shoulder.  He cried out in agony and staggered back, dropping his weapon.  
 
But the boy, already teetering on the edge of the high banks, lost his 
balance and toppled into the swift running water.  He was swept away 
almost at once, screaming in terror as the cold waters drew him down now 
and again.  Realizing the child did not know how to swim, Nimeithel dove 
in after him.  
 
Like most Elves, she was a strong and natural swimmer and soon reached 
the floundering child.  Grasping him by the scruff of his collar, she 
managed to hold him above water but found she could not fight the 
currents at the same time.  Grabbing at a large boulder in the middle of the 
river, she desperately called for help.  
 
In the midst of gutting his opponent, Elladan heard her cries.  Seeing her 
predicament, he raced to the river bank and dove into the chill waters.  
Powerful strokes brought him swiftly to Nimeithel.  Reaching her, he 
quickly relieved her of the child.  
 
“Can you swim back?” he asked.  
 
“Without the child, yes!” she replied and proceeded to prove her 
capability.  
 
Back on solid ground, they found the situation well in hand.  Not a single 
bandit had escaped the Elves’ charge.  And thanks to Nimeithel, the child 
was safe and able to convey in full what had befallen him.  
 
After donning dry clothes, Elladan joined Elrohir as he briefly questioned 
the child.  Legolas, on the other hand, saw to his sister’s welfare.  
Reassured that she was well, he left her that she might change into fresh 
clothing behind a stout tree.  That done, she settled on the grass, her pack 
by her side, toweling her hair dry.  
 
She looked up, startled, when Elladan appeared and knelt at her side.  He 
handed her a simple flask and bade her drink from it.  
 
She obediently complied, taking a mouthful of the mead-like liquor.  
Almost immediately, warmth suffused her body.  
 
“What in Arda--?” she gasped.  
 
Elladan chuckled.  “Has Legolas never told you about our cordial?”  
 
“Oh.  So this is the famous miruvor,” she said.  “I must say I am 
impressed.  ‘Tis far more potent than I’d expected.”  
 
Again, Elladan chuckled before taking a swig of the cordial himself.  
Afterwards, he regarded her intently.  
 
“That was brave of you to go in and help that child,” he quietly told her.  
 
Slight color stained the Elf-maid’s cheeks but she strove to maintain an air 
of nonchalance.  
 
“I couldn’t let him drown,” she answered, shrugging.  She winced as the 
motion caused her shoulders to ache.  “Ai, my poor muscles.  I did not 
realize the current would be so strong.  How is the boy?”  
 
“He will be all right.  ‘Twas fortunate you saved him.  He was looking for 
help, Nimeithel.  His village was raided and some women were taken 
captive.  We must leave as soon as possible if we are to catch up with the 
rest of the band.”  
 
Nimeithel nodded and tried to brush her now unruly hair into some 
semblance of neatness.  Elladan watched her frustration for a while then 
smiled and said: “Here, let me help.”  
 
He moved behind her and, to her confusion, plaited her hair swiftly and 
deftly.  She blushed furiously for there was a familiarity in the act that 
made her shiver with feelings she did not dare examine.  Mercifully, in 
what seemed like a matter of seconds, he was done and no longer did 
bothersome strands of hair brush against her face.  
 
“That was quick,” she managed to comment.  
 
“A warrior cannot waste time on his hair,” he pointed out.  Noticing her 
frown, he chuckled lightly and said: ”Do not worry, it suits you.”  
 
Still unsure, Nimeithel dug into her pack and brought out a small silver 
object.  Elladan burst out laughing when he realized what it was.  
 
“A mirror?” he grinned.  “You brought a mirror with you out here?”  
 
Nimeithel scowled.  “I am still an elleth,” she retorted with as much 
dignity as she could muster before studying her reflection.  
 
“Did I not say it suits you?” he teasingly chided her.  
 
Nimeithel had to admit that he was right.  Not only did the style show off 
the fine angles of her face, it was also very practical, holding back her hair 
effectively from her face.  Then remembering that it was Elladan who had 
arranged it so, she blushed again.  He raised an eyebrow in inquiry as 
color washed over her cheeks.  
 
“‘Tis strange to think that you braided my hair,” she murmured with some 
embarrassment.  
 
Elladan smiled and rose.  Before he walked off he grinned at her once 
more.  “Who knows, you may do the same for me one day,” he said 
lightly.  
 
Nimeithel stared after his retreating back.  His words made her actually 
imagine what it would be like to run her hands through his raven hair, 
feeling the midnight strands between her fingers.  “If you only knew how 
much I would love to!” she muttered with a scowl before gathering her 
things and following him.  
 
They had little more trouble pursuing the remaining bandits and 
dispensing with them.  To Nimeithel’s relief, none of the human females 
had yet been touched though that had clearly been their captors’ intent.  
After escorting the women back to their village and their grateful families, 
the Elves returned to Rivendell.  
 
Henceforth, Nimeithel wore her locks as Elladan had plaited them.  What 
he made of the gesture, she could not guess.  But she arranged her hair 
thusly because it obviously pleased him and that pleased her greatly in 
turn.  
 
*******  
All too soon, or so it seemed, summer ended and autumn made its 
appearance.  With the turn of the seasons came the closing of Legolas and 
Nimeithel’s visit to Rivendell.  
 
“Time flies too swiftly when one is enjoying one’s self,” Legolas growled 
as he and Elrohir made their way up the hills behind the Last Homely 
House.  It was the twins’ begetting day and, as was his wont, the 
woodland prince always awaited its passing before departing for home.  
“When will you come to Mirkwood again, gwador?”  
 
Elrohir shrugged.  “I cannot say for certain.  With Arwen in Lorien, Father 
desires for us to remain close by.  Though there is the possibility of some 
hunting come next spring should the orcs dare to encroach on our territory 
again,” he added.  At the beginnings of a scowl on his friend’s face, he 
said quietly:  “We will keep it brief.  I will not break my promise to you.”  
 
Legolas regarded him solemnly for a spell.  Then he nodded and they went 
on, wending their way up a hidden trail that led to a wide tree-shaded shelf 
overlooking the valley.  Here they sat and gazed upon Imladris in 
comradely silence.  
 
The vale was awash in the gold and browns of autumn.  Already, it was 
cooler and the bracing breezes would soon give way to chill ones.  Of 
course, Rivendell, sheltered by the power of Vilya, never experienced 
anything worse than the mildest of winters though Elrond did not entirely 
shield his realm from all inclement weather either.  The two Elves drew in 
their fill of sweet, pine-scented air.  
 
The archer sighed at length.  “Just take care, Elrohir,” he softly said.  
“Don’t let your anger rule you.”  He glanced at the Elf-knight, then took 
his hand in his, squeezing it tightly.  “I always worry that you will 
heedlessly run on your death.  I could not bear to lose you.”  
 
“I am never so heedless as to foolishly court ruin,” Elrohir assured him.  “I 
have not forgotten your counsel all those years ago when first you hunted 
with us.”  He squeezed Legolas’ hand in turn.  “And you are too precious 
a friend to go without for too long.  I regret our prolonged absences, 
Legolas.  ‘Tis time lost that would have been better spent in your 
company.”  
 
Legolas smiled at the tender utterance.  “Then do not waste much more of 
it in vengeful endeavors.  Come to Mirkwood soonest, Elf-knight.”  
 
The twin’s eyes gleamed with argent fire.  “As you wish, Calenlass.”  
 
******  
The Mirkwood siblings departed before the first full chill descended on 
the vale.  There was still much to say and too little time to say it.  And so 
they made do with gentle words of parting, confident that they would be 
together again ere too long.  
 
As the youngest children of Thranduil rode out of Imladris, the brethren 
felt themselves bereft.  A shared look between them silently affirmed that 
they would indeed not wait for too many years to pass before following 
their friends to their forest realm.  
 
Greenwood the Great beckoned.  They would heed its summons.  
 
gwenneth - younger twin  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
elleth - Elf-maid  
muindor - brother  
Naneth - Mother  
mellon nîn - my friend  
gwedeir - sworn brothers (singular - gwador)  
 
Part V  
Mirkwood, laer TA 2782  
The two Elves darted swiftly through the treetops, nimbly leaping from 
one branch to another, running along leafy limbs scarcely larger than the 
circumferences of their own arms, occasionally swinging down from 
towering giants to their less lofty cousins.  So graceful were they and so 
easy did they make the exercise appear that any mortal being not well-
versed in the varied elven kindreds, who witnessed their exuberant play 
might be led to believe it a skill common to all the Firstborn.  
 
They came to the great clearing before the halls of the Elven-king of 
Northern Mirkwood.  Without missing a beat, the two dropped to the 
ground simultaneously, landing with feline lightness and precision.  The 
golden-haired Elf glanced at his grey-eyed companion; they both burst 
into merry laughter.  Still chuckling, Legolas slipped an arm through 
Elrohir’s and began to lead him towards his father’s delved palace.  
Both were clothed in the green and brown of the Silvan Elves of the 
Woodland Realm.  But while Legolas sported the flowing tresses and tiny 
braids of a Mirkwood warrior, Elrohir could have passed for one of the 
horse-lords of Rohan with his single thick plait were it not for his dark 
tresses, the age-old wisdom in his eyes and his uncommon beauty.  
 
“You are as agile and sure-footed as any Wood-elf, gwador,” Legolas 
praised his friend.  
 
The warrior smiled, pleased with the compliment.  “‘Tis due to our stays 
in Lorien I warrant,” he said.  “Elladan and I have frequented the Golden 
Wood far more oft than we used to these past many years.”  
 
“So fortunate for the Galadhrim to have had the pleasure of your company 
then,” Legolas remarked a little tartly.  “And obviously a goodly helping 
of it.”  
 
Elrohir’s smile faded.  It was but five years since Legolas’ visit to 
Rivendell.  In that time, the prince had not been sanguine that the twins 
would be able to keep their promise to come to Mirkwood before long.  
He’d therefore been delighted when he received word of their imminent 
arrival.  At Elrohir’s request, Arwen had shortened her stay in Lothlorien 
and returned to the vale to keep their father company.  
 
Legolas had been well pleased that they’d been able to keep their promise 
to him.  But it was also apparent, as Elrohir noted now, that the prince’s 
resentment over their prior negligience had not completely abated.  
 
“Calenlass?  ‘Tis not the first time you have expressed your displeasure at 
our lengthy absences,” he said quietly.  “If you still resent us for this, 
please be open with me now.  It pains me to know we offended you so 
grievously.”  
 
Legolas glanced at his friend, noted the other’s pensive countenance.  He 
sighed.  
 
“‘Tis only that I felt you had forsaken me,” he admitted.  “You in 
particular, Elrohir.  The number of messages you thought to send were so 
few and their contents oft inadequate for my needs.  I could not help 
fearing at times that you had--that you had found another more worthy of 
your regard.”  
 
“More worthy?”  Elrohir frowned his bemusement.  
 
“Well, yes.  You are of a line revered throughout Elfdom while I am just a 
simple Wood-elf for all my sire’s lordly heritage.”  Legolas bit his lip and 
looked away.  “I was honored when you befriended me but, I confess, I 
have wondered what you saw in me that you did.”  
 
The twin’s stare turned incredulous.  He held back, bringing them both to 
a stop, and compelled the archer to face him.  
 
“You questioned that?” he said disbelievingly.  “You who have proven 
more great-hearted and noble than many an Elda returned from Aman? 
Legolas, you are more than worthy of any one’s regard!  Certainly, you 
have mine in full measure and you always will.  Greater than any other, I 
promise you.”  He hesitated then continued softly.  “There are times I 
esteem you more that I do my own kin.  Even Elladan.”  
 
Legolas gazed at him in rampant relief.  “Then I am not... You have not...”  
 
“Found another in your stead?  Nay, malthernil.  There is none in all Eä 
who could possibly replace you in my affections.”  
 
Legolas broke into a radiant smile.  “I am glad that you feel thusly,” he 
said.  “I had thought... Ai, Elrohir, I will hold you to your promise never to 
be parted from me for much longer than a few years!”  
 
This fervent declaration elicited such a look of brilliant elation from the 
warrior that it caused the archer’s heart to skip a beat.  But before he could 
inquire as to the cause of his friend’s warmer than usual reaction, he 
caught sight of the great stone doors of the palace opening.  Several ellith 
in court attire emerged led by a rather flamboyant figure.  This one carried 
herself with a predatory arrogance more befitting a huntress than a lady of 
Thranduil’s court.  Legolas grimaced in distaste and hurriedly hauled 
Elrohir back into the shadows of the closely-packed trees.  
 
“Legolas, what--?”  
 
The prince nodded in the direction of the ladies as they crossed the 
bridge.  Elrohir peered at them, taking note in particular of the Elf-maiden 
Legolas had earlier looked upon with such dislike.  A quick glance at the 
prince’s scornful expression confirmed his suspicion as to the reason for 
his friend’s precipitate retreat.  
 
“So, you, too, have known the, uh, charms of Lady Nelleth,” Elrohir said 
with a smirk.  
 
“Charms?”  Legolas snorted.  “I would not dignify what she does with that 
word.  I was fortunate to make it out of her chamber intact!”  He suddenly 
stiffened and eyed Elrohir suspiciously.  “*I, too?*  What do you-?”  At 
Elrohir’s wicked grin, he exclaimed: “You bedded her?  How could you 
stand her?”  
 
The Elf-knight shrugged.  “Once I had her measure ‘twas a simple matter 
to match and best her.  But I do not care to repeat the experience.  She is 
too rapacious for my taste.”  
 
Legolas did not know whether to scowl or laugh.  “For your taste?  I 
thought you had no limits when it came to bed-play.”  
 
“I do not so long as ‘tis not forbidden by the Eldar,” Elrohir pointed out.  
“But Nelleth... she cares not for the needs of others.  ‘Tis her desires that 
count, her pleasure, her completion.  She does not couple with her partners 
but rather ravages them if she can.”  
 
“I gather she did not succeed with you then?” Legolas commented.  
 
“As I said, I bested her.  I do not think she will dare approach me again.”  
 
“And that disappoints you, I suppose,” the archer said somewhat peevishly 
to Elrohir’s surprise.  
 
“Not at all,” the twin objected.  “As I said, I do not desire to lie with her 
again.  She is far too selfish a partner to warrant more than one bedding 
from any sensible Elf.”  When Legolas continued to look sceptical, he 
remarked: “Why do you doubt that I should feel this way?  It matters to 
me that any I couple with should know as much pleasure as I or even 
greater if it is within my power.”  
 
Legolas suddenly colored.  “Aye, that is true,” he murmured.  “You--you 
have always ensured mine.”  
 
Elrohir’s eyes widened at the archer’s discomfiture.  His earlier elation 
quickly seeped away.  “Forgive me,” he said tightly.  “‘Twas not my 
intention to trouble you by reminding you of what passed between us.”  
 
Legolas looked up quickly, catching the faintest hint of pain in Elrohir’s 
voice.  When the Elf-knight would have turned to walk away, he grasped 
his wrist, detaining him.  
 
“‘Twas not my intention to have you think that I was displeased,” he softly 
said.  “I am not, Elrohir.  I never have been though--though it still 
confuses me that--that I should feel thusly with you.  And only you it 
would seem.”  When Elrohir did not reply but only looked at him with 
suddenly veiled eyes,  Legolas pressed on, anxious to explain his feelings.  
“I find it passing strange that we can be...intimate with each other yet 
remain the best of friends.”  Legolas could not help an uncomfortable 
blush at this point but he continued.  “I could never share my bed with any 
of my maiden friends and still be close to them.  But with you...”  He lifted 
his hands in a gesture of bafflement.  “Mayhap ‘tis because I trust you so 
utterly that this is possible,” he finally suggested.  
 
Elrohir sighed and averted his eyes to stare unseeingly into the distance.  
Legolas thought he’d never seen his friend look so lost or depleted.  
 
“Elrohir, what is it?” he pleaded.  “What did I say that upset you?”  
 
At length, the Elf-warrior quietly said: “I only desire your happiness, 
Calenless.  Whatever it may take.”  Legolas stared at him, mystified by his 
cryptic answer.  But Elrohir shook his head and added, “Think no more of 
this.  ‘Tis of little importance.  Come, the others await us.”  
 
His demeanor brooked no protest or question.  After a space, Legolas 
nodded and fell into step beside him.  But he could not dispel the feeling 
that what they had spoken of was *not* of little importance despite 
Elrohir’s claim to the contrary.  Certainly not when the Elf-knight’s 
behavior had changed so abruptly.  Part of him longed to find out what 
had disheartened Elrohir so deeply.  The other part feared that it would be 
something in which he would be powerless to help this dearest of all 
friends.  
 
******  
While her brother grappled with one twin’s enigmatic behavior, Nimeithel 
struggled with the other’s.  
 
Was it her imagination or was Elladan avoiding her?  It had not been so 
when they first arrived in Mirkwood.  He’d been as friendly and attentive 
as he’d always been though, admittedly, he spent far more time with his 
brother and hers.  That was to be expected of course.  
 
Even in Rivendell, she’d passed much of her stay there with the women of 
the household.  She was no warrior-maid who could easily fit in with the 
company the twins kept or indulge indefinitely in the strenuous activities 
they favored.  
 
But he had sought her company frequently enough to gladden her no end.  
Not to mention satisfy her secret desire to be near him as often as she 
could.  And so she’d had the bliss of his companionship for several weeks 
running.  Until...  
 
What had she said or done to merit his disdain of her company?  Worse, 
he would now ignore her when a meeting between them was unavoidable.  
Such near uncivil treatment almost brought her to tears on several 
occasions but she pridefully held them back.  Come what may, she was the 
daughter of Thranduil.  Her distraught reaction in Rivendell had been the 
result of coming up so brutally against certain realities of which she’d had 
little experience.  But now, she stubbornly maintained her composure, 
determined to do her father and brothers proud.  Even if the older twin’s 
behavior hurt her dreadfully.  
 
When he did pay attention to her anew, it proved a most painful 
encounter.  And an unexpectedly enlightening one.  
 
She had requested Elrohir to help her practice her newly learned martial 
skills.  Once back home, she’d come up against her father’s resistance to 
her continued training in the battle-arts.  When it came to his only 
daughter, the Elven-king was protective to a fault.  Superstitious as it may 
have seemed, Thranduil half feared that to let Nimeithel learn some of the 
ways of warriors was to invite the possibility of her actually having to be 
one in times of conflict.  
 
Nimeithel understood her father’s apprehension and skewed reasoning and 
loved him for it but she chafed at the difficulties his opposition put in her 
way.  With Thranduil’s disapproval made clear, Legolas had then become 
reluctant to press on with her lessons.  And if her own brother declined to 
train her, it was hardly meet for the other warriors, even the she-captain 
Tathariel, to do so.  And so she’d frustratedly worked on her own, 
knowing she would not progress much without a seasoned tutor’s 
instructions.  
 
The twins had had no compunction about flouting Thranduil’s wishes in 
this matter.  Indeed, Elladan had initially been the one to do it in the first 
weeks after they arrived in Mirkwood.  But when he’d abruptly started 
avoiding her, she’d asked Elrohir to take over.  The younger twin acceded 
to her request, turning a sympathetic countenance upon her not to mention 
a disconcertingly knowing look.  
 
It seemed Elrohir knew what lay within her heart.  But he did not attempt 
to pry into her affairs.  Instead, he began meeting with her each early morn 
in the herb garden behind the stables.  Given her father’s opposition, it 
was more prudent not to flaunt her rebellion or his complicity by 
practicing in a more private setting.  The garden was seldom visited save 
by the royal cooks if and when they needed a fresh supply of herbs for the 
palace larders.  
 
It was just as well that no one showed up to watch her spar with the 
younger twin except for an occasional furtive visit by Legolas.  Shorn of 
proper supervision in the five years since her return from Imladris, her 
skills had lamentably diminished.  It would have been humiliating to train 
before an audience other than her brother.  At least, he did not tease her 
beyond bearing.  
 
And Elrohir was kind and patient and understanding.  With him, she did 
not feel embarrassed by her poor showing.  If anything, he made her feel 
more confident about her abilities with his reassuring words and gentle 
criticism.  He went up immeasurably in her esteem and she began to think 
Legolas blind or mule-headed or both not to realize what a splendid mate 
the Elf-knight would make, Mirkwood prohibitions none withstanding.  
 
Then one day, Elladan showed up unbidden.  Before his twin could start 
her instructions for the morn, he suggested that she spar with him instead.  
Nimeithel was completely unnerved.  To be so close to the Elf-lord 
again...!  
 
At the start of the bout, she managed to hold her own.  But Elladan 
suddenly turned ruthless and Nimeithel found herself earnestly fending off 
his attack.  She vaguely heard Elrohir shouting at his twin to ease off, 
reminding him that the princess was no battle-hardened veteran.  But 
Elladan paid him no heed.  All uncalled for, he tripped her and she found  
herself on the grass, gasping for air and Elladan straddling her hips, his 
sword at her throat.  
 
After taking in her shocked expression for a moment, he rose and tossed 
the sword to Elrohir.  “If I’d been the enemy she would have been dead,” 
he said in a hard tone to his brother.  On that note, he departed.  
 
Elrohir helped Nimeithel to her feet.  Shaken, she looked at him 
apologetically.  “I did not mean for him to be angry with you,” she 
murmured.  
 
Elrohir shook his head.  “’Twas not for me that he uttered those words,” 
he quietly corrected her.  
 
Nimeithel swallowed hard.  “You mean they were directed at me,” she 
said, her voice catching.  “He thinks I’m incompetent.”  
 
“He is not angry, only concerned,” Elrohir averred.  At Nimeithel’s 
disbelieving glance, he pointed out: “He worries that you may not be able 
to hold your own in battle should you be forced into it.  He cares about 
your welfare, Nimeithel.  Indeed, he cares too much.”  
 
Nimeithel sighed.  “I wish I could believe that,” she said rather forlornly.  
“But he has been so distant with me this past many weeks.”  She looked 
beseechingly at the younger twin.  “Elrohir?  Have I--have I said anything, 
done anything that has set him against me?”  
 
He shook his head.  “Nay, ‘tis not you that has led him to behave thusly 
but his own feelings.”  
 
“I do not understand.”  
 
“I cannot speak for Elladan.  ‘Tis not my right.  But this much I can say.  
He is as I am.  His heart is not given lightly or easily.”  
 
She stared at him.  “Is yours given then, Elrohir?” she asked softly.  
 
He gave her a smile of such melancholic sweetness that it fairly smote her.  
 
“Does Elladan know?” she asked in a hushed voice.  
 
“I have not confided this in him though I am certain he suspects.”  
 
“Why, meldiren?” she pressed.  
 
“Would you have your brother’s pity should he discover your desire?” he 
countered.  “A desire that will likely never be fulfilled?”  
 
She fell silent, comprehending his pride, marvelling at his forbearance.  
 
“If ‘tis any comfort to you,” she finally said hesitantly, “I would be happy 
*and* proud to call you brother.”  
 
His grey eyes lit with pleasure at her pronouncement.  
 
“Mayhap you shall have that chance,” he said quipped.  “You need only 
declare your heart, Nimeithel,” he added on a more serious note.  “If you 
have the courage to do so.”  
 
She cocked a disbelieving eye at him.  “Is that the way of the Noldor?” she 
queried.  “Is it your female-folk who do the wooing?”  
 
He grinned at her resilience and renewed spunk.  “Nay, our traditions are 
as yours when ‘tis a matter of courtship between Elf-male and Elf-maid.  
But there are always exceptions to the rule.  If you do not care to wait 
overlong, I would counsel you to take matters into your own hands.”  
 
She considered him thoughtfully.  “And will you take matters into yours?” 
she questioned.  
 
The mithril-hued eyes turned wistful.  “When the time is ripe,” the Elf-
knight replied.  “If it ever is.”  
 
She gazed at him with sisterly affection and sympathy.  
 
“Thank you, Elrohir,” she near whispered.  “I pray the Powers will bless 
you ere long with your desire.  If ever there was one who deserved to win 
his just reward, ‘tis you.”  
 
He blushed charmingly under her reverent regard.  
 
“Come now, you are much improved whatever my brother may say,” 
Elrohir said to dispel the emotionally fraught mood.   “Let us continue.”  
 
Nimeithel beamed, much heartened by their conversation.  “Very well.”  
She raised her sword once more.  
 
gwador - sworn brother  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
malthernil - golden prince  
ellith - Elf-maids  
meldiren - my friend (m.)  
 
Part VI  
firith TA 2782  
Late autumn wrought its changes on Mirkwood even as the twins’ stay 
neared its completion.  The forest canopy thinned as trees shed their lush 
foliage, the air grew chillier as winter awaited its turn and the beasts of the 
once green wood steadily decreased in number as many sought shelter 
from the coming frost.  It was at this last that Nimeithel decided to follow 
the Elf-knight’s counsel and take matters into her inexperienced but 
willing hands.  
 
She approached Elladan one crisp evening as he sat beneath a leaf-bare 
tree in the now burnished gardens behind the royal pavilion.  One might 
have taken her as bold considering his continued aloofness with her in the 
past weeks.  But a peek at the shaking knees beneath her concealing skirts 
would have just as promptly disabused one of that notion.  She was 
shocked by her own temerity but something more primitive drove her 
forth, overtaking her fright.  
 
He glanced up in some startlement as she came up to him then gracefully 
sank down to sit by his side, her skirts forming a lush pool of fabric about 
her.  Thankfully, he did not at once rise and walk away as she had feared 
but only looked at her inquiringly.  
 
“I would have us on good terms, Elladan, before you depart,” she blurted 
out, keeping her gaze on him steady.  
 
He went still, clearly taken unawares by her beginning statement.  And 
then he sighed and nodded.  
 
“Forgive me my inexcusable conduct,” he quietly said.  “I should not have 
treated you so basely.”  
 
She was tempted to ask why he had done so if only to confirm Elrohir’s 
summation of his motives.  But she held her tongue on this, instinct 
warning her that he was not prepared to be forthcoming about his reasons 
and that to press him would only scuttle this needed discussion between 
them.  
 
“I will forgive you but only if you listen to what I have to say,” she said.  
“You need do nothing more but hear me out.  ‘Tis all I ask.”  
 
He peered at her curiously then leaned back against the tree.  “Very well, I 
will listen,” he replied.  
 
She drew a deep breath then plunged headlong into the uncertain waters of 
reversed courtship.  She was mettlesome in this if nothing else.  
 
“If I was distressed by your inattention...”  
 
“My avoidance,” he corrected, refusing her gracious reduction of the 
severity of his misconduct.  
 
She paused a moment then continued.  “If it troubled me, ’twas because I 
thought you set against me by some misdeed of mine.  It--it hurt that I 
might have lost your--whatever regard you bore me.”  She took another 
calming inhalation of bracing air.  “A kind soul assured me ‘twas not the 
case and I--I have chosen to believe him.  Which is why I am here now, 
Elladan.  I would offer you a way to make amends to me for your 
negligience.”  
 
His curious stare turned substantially wary.  “And what way is this?” he 
queried carefully.  
 
She forced herself to look him in the eye.  “You are long in experience and 
great in skill in more than war and the council chambers,” she said.  “In 
that area I know precious little for I have found no one whom I could trust 
with the delicate task of--of tutoring me.”  She saw his eyes widen 
incredulously as he comprehended where she was taking this talk.  She 
rushed on before her reserves of courage should run out.  “If you would be 
my teacher in this, I shall absolve you of your trespass against me.”  She 
swallowed hard at his utterly stunned expression.  “I do not ask this 
lightly, Elladan.  It is my dearest wish.  Please, will you not grant it?”  
 
The Elf-warrior was rendered thoroughly speechless by such unwonted 
brazeness.  Yet he was not left so witless that he did not seek to discern 
the reason behind this seemingly egregious offer.  He turned a searching 
gaze on her.  
 
Nimeithel flushed painfully when Elladan stared at her with disconcerting 
intensity, storm blue eyes seeming to pierce her to her very soul.  When he 
did not reply for the longest while, she thought him offended by her 
request.  Humiliated, she made to rise saying: ”I am not to your liking.  I 
am sorry for troubling you.”  
 
A strong hand caught her arm, compelling her to sit once more.  “I did not 
say that,” Elladan quietly responded.  “Indeed, I must confess, you are too 
much to my liking.”  
 
The Elven princess started.  “Then why--?”  
 
“What do you know of the choice of the Peredhil?” Elladan asked 
somberly.  
 
Nimeithel frowned, recalling her brother’s tale regarding Elrond’s legacy.  
“Legolas told me that you have the choice to be of Elfkind or Mortal-
kind,” she said.  
 
“But the choice is contingent on our father’s presence here in Middle-
earth,” he explained.  “When he departs for the Blessed Realm, Elrohir 
and I will need to decide whether we will go with him or remain in these 
Hither Lands.”  
 
“Must you actually take ship with him?” Nimeithel asked curiously.  
 
Elladan sighed.  “Mithrandir has indicated that we may remain behind if 
we make our choice before Adar leaves.  I wish this were so.  Middle-
earth is the only home I have ever known.  ‘Tis Valinor that would be a 
land of exile for me should we choose to seek the Western Shores.”  
 
He reached up a hand to stroke Nimeithel’s finely sculpted cheek.  His 
touch sent a thrill up her spine that left her near breathless.  “I have never 
given my heart to any.  I cannot hold anyone to the vagaries of our choice.  
How can I ask any Elf to bind him or herself to me when I might forsake 
our kindred and choose to abide by the gift of the One?  What then of my 
immortal spouse?  I will not leave anyone to grieve and fade away because 
of me.  Certainly not you, pen mir.”  
 
Nimeithel stared at him, disbelieving of his endearment.  For a moment 
she fell silent, realizing with the wisdom of one who truly loved that she 
would not be able to sway him.  He would not bind himself in that manner 
for so long as the choice loomed before him.  His honor, nay, his pure 
heart would not permit such a transgression against one he loved.  
*Treasured one.*  Did he then care for her?  Were her hopes not in vain 
after all?  
 
“If you will not have my love, then have me, Elladan,” she softly said.  At 
his protest, she placed a finger to his lips.  “If I cannot have your heart, 
then let me have your loving at least.  For I am yours though no vows have 
been spoken.  If I cannot be your bereth, I would be your melethril if you 
will have me.”  
 
He stared at her almost imploringly.  “You could not have made a more 
ill-founded choice,” he said in a hushed voice.  “You deserve better, 
Nimeithel.  You deserve one of whom you can be confident will always be 
there for you.”  
 
She smiled sweetly at him, stealing his breath away.  “As if the heart can 
choose whom it may love,” she whispered.  “There is only you, Elladan.”  
 
He made one last stab at dissuading her.  “What would your father say?  
Or Legolas?” he said.  “They would accuse me of corrupting you.”  
 
“Nay, you know they would not,” she countered.  Her smile had faded and 
her eyes now narrowed with sorrow.  “You strive to turn me away,” she 
whispered painfully.  “Yet you would share yourself with so many others.  
Even with--with Melthoron.”  
 
“How do you know that?’ he asked in shock.  
 
“I overheard you tell Legolas of it,” she said.  
 
“‘Twas a lesson dealt, Nimeithel, not my heart’s yearning.”  
 
“But you did share yourself with him.  As you refuse to do with me.   I am 
indeed not to your liking.”  
 
She hurriedly stumbled to her feet, her heart breaking.  But in the next 
instant she was swept into his powerful arms, enfolded in his embrace, and 
a hand cupped her chin, compelling her to raise her head.  When she did 
so, she was caught in a searing kiss that banished all thoughts of flight or 
pain from her mind.  
 
She melted against him, unable to do anything but respond to his 
demanding lips.  Hers were peremptorily tasted, then hungrily pried apart.  
She moaned as her mouth was invaded then pillaged until she was shaking 
like a young beech in a gale.  When he released her unbidden, she was 
compelled to lean against him, so bereft of balance or strength did his kiss 
leave her.  
 
“Not to my liking?” he almost growled.  “I have wanted you for years, 
Nimeithel!  ‘Tis only your kinship to Legolas that has kept your virtue 
safe from me.”  
 
She gasped against his chest at his unexpected words.  Striving for calm, 
she lifted shining eyes to his gaze.  “I do not wish to keep it safe from 
you,” she whispered.  “I would make a gift of it to you if only you would 
accept it.  I love you, Eledhiren.”  
 
Her declaration, her endearment, her joyous countenance--all had their 
part in undoing Elladan.  Wordlessly, his eyes riveted on her, he lifted her 
easily into his arms and bore her to his room.  Her heart pounding with 
mingled elation and maidenly trepidation, Nimeithel buried her burning 
face in his chest.  
 
She almost swooned when he set her down once they were within the 
privacy of his room.  She’d never set foot within his chamber; not once in 
all the centuries he and Elrohir had visited Greenwood.  But now, here she 
was, and for the most profound and life-changing of reasons.  
 
He gently pulled her into his arms, drew her once more into the maelstrom 
of his heart stopping kisses while his hands reached up and lazily undid 
the tiny plaits in her dark hair.  Freed of their constraints, her tresses 
flowed loosely about her shoulders and down her back.  Then slowly he 
unlaced her gown, doing it with such practiced ease she could not help 
wondering how often he had undressed other Elves, both male and female, 
before her.  But the thought fled her mind as the last lacing came undone 
and the garment slid from her shoulders to spread around her ankles 
leaving her clad in naught but her thin silken shift.  That soon followed in 
the gown’s wake and she shivered as she stood before him bare as the day 
she was born.  
 
She shook visibly as he took her hands and raised them to the clasps of his 
tunic, silently inviting her to undress him.  
 
With shaking fingers, she managed to undo the fastenings on his tunic 
before timidly pushing the garment from his shoulders.  Unable to look at 
him, she proceeded to unlace his shirt, her hands becoming more and more 
uncooperative as she attended to the last tie.  Her breathing quickened 
when she realized he was undoing his breeches.  She closed her eyes, 
unable to watch as he shed the last of his garments.  
 
A finger slipped under her chin and lifted it and she was compelled to look 
at him.  She swallowed hard.  It was different from when she’d guarded 
his sleep while he lay recovering from an arrow wound in the healing 
rooms of Rivendell.  Elbereth!  Profoundly, unarguably different!  
 
Here was vitality and virility in the flesh multiplying his already 
incomparable comeliness threefold.  She could not quite stifle a moan of 
desire while she appreciatively perused his formidable form.  As he was 
perusing hers, she realized with a tight shudder, his eyes raking her body 
unashamedly.  
 
Feeling more than a little insecure in the face of such breathtaking male 
beauty, she could not help worrying that he was not as eager about their 
imminent intimacy as she was.  
 
“You are not doing this just to please me, are you?” she shakily asked.  
 
He took her hand and kissed it, sending a bolt of pleasure up her arm.  He 
guided her to the bed.  
 
“Never doubt my desire for you,” he whispered as he eased her down, his 
body following hers closely.  
 
And then he was all over her and upon her and in her.  She was his to do 
with as he pleased.  Such was their shared hunger that he did not shun 
even the most intimate of explorations nor did she resist or protest them.  
Such was his skill that she felt little fear and experienced minimal 
discomfort at this, her first undoing.  And such was her love that all she 
desired was to give him what he sought of her no matter what it entailed.  
 
He unearthed all her hidden passion, coaxed from her all the loving he 
knew she possessed, taught her what it meant for two Elves to join in the 
love-act.  But he was taught as well.  For one thing he had yet to learn 
despite all his years of experience in bed-play and that was to couple in 
love.  
 
When their bodies became as one, he felt a surge of passion the likes of 
which he had never known before.  For the first time, not only his body 
knew the pleasure of completion but also his heart and spirit.  It was 
almost so excruciating in its intensity that he hoarsely called out her name 
at the moment of his release.  He saw his rapture reflected in her glazed 
eyes, heard it resound in her moaned cries, felt it reverberate in her 
wantonly writhing form.  And then they were falling into the sweet haze of 
fulfillment, lips still clinging in intimate embrace.  
 
As they lay together, still entwined, awaiting the calming of their senses, 
Elladan gazed at the one Elf who had accomplished what he’d once 
thought an impossibility.  His heart urged him to declare his feelings at 
once.  His mind, however, counselled caution.  There were still matters 
that needed to be resolved before he could ask her to commit herself to 
him.  Sighing he held her closer, wondering when that time would come.  
 
He heard her soft mewl of contentment and chuckled.  She opened her 
eyes and looked at him, her gaze soft and devoted.  
 
“Had I known how wonderful this can be, I would not have waited this 
long to rid myself of my virtue,” she murmured.  
 
Elladan laughed softly, entertained as always by her wit.  
 
“Had I known how you felt, I would not have waited this long to relieve 
you of it,” he tenderly teased.  
 
She giggled.  “‘Twas worth the wait,” she purred.  “I could not have asked 
for more.”  
 
His eyes darkened warningly.  “Mayhap you should.”  
 
“Should what?”  
 
“Ask for more.”  
 
He sealed his mouth to hers while his hands began to map her body once 
again.  Before long, she did not even have the wherewithal to remember 
what it was he’d suggested much less give voice to it at all.  
 
It was near midnight when he escorted her to her apartments.  Much as she 
would have liked to remain in his arms until dawn, prudence told her it 
was not wise.  None would think askance of their princess returning to her 
room after a late night.  But if any were to see her creeping back at the 
break of day--that would be unseemly for one of her station.  
 
Elladan opened her door for her.  Before she slipped in, she looked at him, 
the sweetest smile on her roseate lips, her eyes sparkling with all the 
affection she held within her.  This evidence of her feelings for him near 
took his breath away.  
 
He  took her hand and lifted it to his lips.  Her countenance glowed even 
more radiantly.  
 
“I love you, Eledhiren,” she whispered as she had in the gardens earlier.  
 
Like words teetered on the tip of his tongue, so strong was the temptation 
to return her tenderness in kind.  Elladan clamped down on the urge.  
 
“I am honored,” he murmured.  With a last smile, he walked away.  
 
Her gaze dimmed at his less than ardent response, her smile turned 
tremulous.  She hastened into her chamber lest he look back and see the 
suspicious brightness in her eyes.  She had asked and he had granted no 
more than that he share himself with her.  She would not, could not now 
demand anything further of him.  
 
********  
Elladan glanced up when his twin entered his chamber without knocking, 
a sign that there was something urgent he wished to discuss with him.  He 
smiled and straightened up from his chore.  His bed was covered with an 
assortment of personal belongings, all ready to be packed.  Outside, the 
sun was already lowering as the last day of their visit came to a close.  The 
brethren would depart Mirkwood the following morn.  
 
“So, what weighty matter disturbs your peace, gwenneth?” he inquired 
with a grin.  
 
To his surprise, Elrohir did not respond but only frowned reprovingly at 
him.  
 
“Elrohir, what troubles you?” he asked, slightly alarmed.  
 
“You know that Nimeithel loves you,” the Elf-knight bluntly stated.  
 
Elladan was taken aback.  He stared at his twin wonderingly.  
 
“Aye, she told me,” he admitted.  
 
“When?”  
 
“Yestereve.”  
 
“And?”  
 
“And what?  What passed between us is--”  
 
“None of my business,” Elrohir calmly finished for him.  “I care not about 
that, muindor.  But what I would know is what you told her.”  
 
Elladan drew his breath in sharply.  His silence confirmed Elrohir’s 
suspicions.  
 
“For one who has declared her heart’s desire, Nimeithel’s demeanor this 
day has been markedly...subdued,” he pointed out.  “I suspect ‘tis because 
it has not been answered in full.  Has it, gweniaur?”  Again, silence was 
his answer.  “Why have you not told her how you truly feel?” Elrohir 
quietly asked.  
 
Elladan turned away for a spell.  At length, he faced his twin once more 
and sighed.  “Our choice still looms before us,” he said.  “I do not wish to 
hold her to any promise to me.”  
 
“One might argue that she is reason enough for you to make your choice 
now,” Elrohir pointed out.  
 
“‘Tis not that simple,” Elladan countered.  “Our Edain heritage is as 
seductive as our elven one.  You know this.  You have felt its call as 
keenly.”  
 
“Aye, that I have,” Elrohir conceded.  “But you were never one to heed it 
before.  Why now?”  
 
“Things have changed, Elrohir.  I have changed.”  
 
The older twin’s eyes brightened with the memories of vengeance-steeped 
days in the wild amidst the welcome carnage of slaughtered orcs, the 
exhileration of adventures in far-flung places so different from what they 
had always known, the lure of camaraderie and exultation of battle 
amongst impetuous, exasperating, utterly endearing, stout-hearted mortal 
warriors.  He let the images flow freely, allowed his brother access to his 
thoughts and emotions.  Elrohir recognized them  and understood all too 
well for he knew them himself.  
 
“After all we have seen and done, the thought of an eternity of--of tedious 
tranquility and overbearing quiet in Aman no longer holds as much allure 
for me as it once did,” Elladan said.  “I once questioned your attraction to 
our mortal heritage but now I comprehend it.  The pull of our human 
blood has awakened in me.  I am no longer so certain of my course.”  
 
Elrohir eyed him thoughtfully.  “It seems you have kept secrets from me,” 
he remarked.  
 
“And you have not?” the older twin retorted.  
 
“Aye, I have, and I will not apologize for it,” Elrohir coolly replied.  
 
Elladan snorted.  “Then what else is there to say?” he said.  “You have my 
reason for leaving the words unsaid.  ‘Twould be inconsiderate 
otherwise.”  
 
“And you deem it considerate to leave her in the dark?”  
 
“Elrohir!  What would you have of me?” Elladan snapped, feeling not a 
little exasperated with his brother’s unexpected needling.  “I have already 
told you.  I cannot hold her to me when ‘tis uncertain if I will cleave to our 
kindred or not!  ‘Tis reason enough to keep my silence.”  
“Nay, brother, ‘tis not reason enough to withhold what you know is 
already hers.”  He paused; Elladan noted the indecision in his brother’s 
eyes.  Then Elrohir seemed to make up his mind and he added quietly:  
“You cannot possibly wish my fate upon her.”  
 
Elladan started then stared at his twin.  Saw the silent pain in the twilight 
eyes, the once well-veiled anguish.   He drew in a harsh breath.  Elrohir 
bristled at the kindling ruth in his brother’s gaze.  
 
“Show me no pity, Elladan,” he said fiercely.  “I will not have it.  Not 
even from you!”  
 
The Elf-warrior shook his head helplessly.  
 
“I had hoped your feelings did not run true, tôr nîn,” he said, his voice 
catching.  “But if they do...why do you hide them from him?  Why do you 
not follow your own counsel and tell him how you feel?”  
 
“Because he does not return my love as Nimeithel does yours,” Elrohir 
pointed out, ire giving way to sorrow.  “I am his friend, nothing more.  
Furthermore, he is still distressed by our past intimacy.  He shies at even 
the most oblique reference to it,” he said at Elladan’s disbelieving 
reaction.  “And now that he has chosen to close his heart... To ask more of 
him might very well end what we do share.”  He swallowed painfully.  “I 
would still have his friendship.  I will not take the risk of losing even that.  
It would be...it would be the end of me.”  
 
Elladan felt his throat tighten at this evidence of his brother’s deep-seated 
passion.  To have suspected it was one thing.  To have it confirmed and 
bear witness to the hopelessness and desolation with which it was 
conveyed... Mutely, he reached out and hugged the younger twin.  “Ai, 
why is it that you must suffer so?”  
 
Elrohir held him as closely.  “I chose this path.  I will follow it  wherever 
it may lead me,” he staunchly replied.  He pulled away and looked keenly 
into his brother’s eyes.  “But Nimeithel need not tread the same road as I, 
Elladan.  If you truly care for her, you will spare her the uncertainty.  
Believe me, gweniuar, ‘tis agony to have but a taste of one’s desire and 
not know if that is all one will ever have.”  He grasped his twin’s arms.  
“Tell her the truth, Elladan.  ‘Tis for her to decide *her* fate.  You cannot 
choose it for her.”  
 
Elladan let out the breath he had not realized he’d been holding.  
 
Adar - Father  
pen mir - treasured one  
bereth - spouse  
melethril - lover (f.)  
Eledhiren - my Elvenlord  
gwenneth - younger twin  
muindor - brother  
gweniuar - older twin  
tôr nîn - my brother  
 
Part VII  
It was little more than the second hour after the break of dawn and, 
already, Elrohir was dressed for the journey home.  His things had been 
removed by the brethren’s retainers and all that was left for him to do was 
lace his leather bracers, gird his sword and draw on his cloak.  When he 
came out of his chamber, he found Elladan waiting patiently for him in the 
open corrider outside.  
 
“Ready?” the older twin asked.  His brother nodded.  They began to walk 
down the hallway.  
 
“Shouldn’t we wait for Legolas?” Elrohir asked.  
 
“We can meet him in the clearing,” Elladan said.  “There is something I 
wish to ask you regarding him.”  
 
Elrohir glanced at him warily then shrugged.  They descended the stairs to 
the ground floor of the pavilion.  The light wooden steps spiralled around 
a towering oak of indiscernible age.  Enclosed in naught but sturdy 
interwoven vines now shorn of its lush pre-autumn foliage,  the staircase 
seemed rather whimsical in design.  
 
“Ask then,” Elrohir replied.  
 
“What you said yesterday, about his discomfort regarding your intimacy,” 
Elladan said.  “It seems odd considering that ‘twas he who offered it the 
last time you lay together.  And twice at that.  Why should that 
discompose him now?”  
 
Elrohir was silent for a moment.  Then he sighed.  “True, he offered to lie 
with me.  But ‘twas to give me solace and not out of love or desire.”  
 
Elladan shook his head.  “That makes no sense to me.  If he feels nothing, 
not even lust, he could not have possibly found pleasure in all the times 
that you came together.  And you have admitted to me that he does find 
pleasure.  Each time without fail.”  
 
“I did not say he feels nothing,” Elrohir demurred.  “Indeed, ‘tis because 
he does enjoy my touch, because he finds pleasure with me that he is 
disconcerted.  But he sets aside all considerations when he seeks to succor 
me.  After, when he has time to think about what he has done, ‘tis then 
that he begins to question himself.  That is what discomposes him most, 
Elladan.  I am his friend; he believes he should not feel as he does when 
he couples with me.”  He glanced at his brother pensively.  “What use is 
there speaking of this?  He has shut his heart to the love I bear him.  I am 
but friend and brother to him, no more.”  
 
“No more yet he lies with you and knows rapture at your touch,” Elladan 
said.  “I warrant were he to open his heart, he would grieve should he not 
find you there.”  
 
Elrohir smiled sadly.  “Wishful thinking, gweniaur,” he murmured.  “Do 
not offer me false hope.  ‘Twill only hinder me in enduring this.”  
 
They were now halfway down the tree-lined path leading back to the 
delved palace.  Before Elladan could reply, a lithe figure suddenly stepped 
in front of them.  Startled, they came to a stop and faced an obviously irate 
prince.  
 
“And were you about to depart without so much as a farewell?” Legolas 
asked a little acidly.  
 
“Nay, Calenlass,” Elrohir said.  “We would never leave you thusly.”  
 
“I only sought a private word with Elrohir,” Elladan explained.  “We 
would have awaited you in the clearing.”  
 
When Legolas still scowled, Elrohir took him by the arm and gently pulled 
him along.  “Since when have we taken leave of you so inconsiderately?” 
he softly asked.  “You know we are always loath to dispense with your 
company.”  
 
The gentle, affectionate tone of the younger twin softened the prince 
almost at once.  The scowl faded away to be replaced by a rueful smile as 
he relented.  
 
“That was uncalled for,” he agreed.  “Forgive me for even thinking you 
capable of such a deed, gwedeir.”  
 
The twins smiled back at him.  As they walked, speaking of random 
matters, he absently slipped his hand over Elrohir’s and clasped it tightly.  
Elladan noted the unthinking gesture and glanced at the prince.  Legolas 
seemed oblivious of the tenderness of his action.  The older twin shook his 
head with some exasperation.  
 
One of the keenest-eyed warriors in all Elfdom and yet