Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - Crucible of Love  
Author: Eressë  
Author's email: eresse21@yahoo.com  
Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Legolas and Elrohir’s peerless friendship is severely tested by 
the most bitter of misunderstandings and a grievous betrayal of trust.  
Sequel to the Choices We Must Make.  Thirteenth story in Greenleaf & 
Imladris series.  
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: A crucible is a pot used by smiths to melt and refine 
precious metals such as gold and silver.  In modern parlance, it refers to an 
extremely difficult test or trial that often further improves, purifies or even 
perfects what or whoever was tested.  Coming up: Strange Fates.  
Warning: This story contains a non-con situation.  Let it not be said that I 
didn’t give fair warning.  
 
Crucible of Love  
 
Part I  
Imladris, yavië TA 2933  
“*Arathorn!*”  
 
The golden-haired Elf cried out the name in warning, lunged forward in a 
desperate effort to push the Man out of the way.  Too late.  With a gasping 
groan, the Man toppled over, an orc-arrow protruding from his eye.  
 
Even as he caught the fallen Man the Elf staggered backwards, pierced by 
two arrows in his side and leg.  But he did not let his wounds deter him 
and he half-carried, half-dragged the man’s body away from the violence 
around him.  
 
There were so many orcs.  The Rangers were hard pressed to beat them 
off.  Though they eventually had the victory, it had cost them dearly.  
Their Chieftain was dying.  They gathered around him in his last 
moments, forgetting that the Elf who had sheltered him was injured.  
 
One grey-eyed Ranger, however, suddenly realized that the Elf was 
swaying wearily.  Only then did he see the broken shaft sticking out of the 
other’s side and the wound in his thigh.  Sweet Eru, why did no one 
notice?  
 
He was reaching out to his friend when the Elf toppled over unconscious, 
his face stricken with a deathly pallor.  Elrohir threw back his hood in fear 
and horror and cradled Legolas in his arms.  
 
Elbereth!  The younger twin son of Elrond of Rivendell sat up in his bed 
with a jolt.  That nightmare again, he thought.  Would it never go away?  
 
He sighed.  Several months had passed since Arathorn, latest Chieftain of 
the Dunedain of the North, had died while riding against the orcs, leaving 
behind his widow and child.  Yet Elrohir still dreamt of that event and it 
always left him shaken.  So much loss, so much anguish, he thought as 
always.  
 
An hour later, he emerged from his chamber to join his father and brother 
in the hall for breakfast.  But only Elladan was there to greet him good 
morning.  He had no idea where their father was.  It did not take long, 
however, for Lindir to approach them with the message that Lord Elrond 
wished to see them in his study.  Finishing their meal, the twins complied.  
 
They had changed much since the loss of their mother, Lady Celebrian.  
Her passing West had stripped them of most of the youthful jubilance that 
had once been the despair of their father.  Now, they spent many a day 
riding out with the Dunedain, intent on avenging the wrong done their 
mother, a wrong that had in turn deprived her husband and children of her 
loving presence.  Though Elrond approved of their now constant sobriety, 
he had to admit that, sometimes, he missed the days when they had made 
Rivendell the liveliest place this side of the Anduin.  
 
The twins entered their father’s study and halted with a start on the 
threshold.  Flanked by Rivendell’s chief counsellors, the steward, Erestor, 
and Glorfindel, captain of the Imladrin forces, their father was speaking 
with a woman who sat by the window, a sleeping child of two years of age 
in her arms.  She was dark-haired with grave grey eyes.  And though she 
was young of countenance, she seemed old in spirit.  Yet she was no Elf; 
she was human.  
 
“Lady Gilraen!” Elladan gasped.  
 
He hurried forward followed by Elrohir.  The twins paid their respects to 
Arathorn’s widow then glanced down at the child in puzzlement.  
 
“’Tis Arathorn’s son, Aragorn,” Erestor explained.  
 
“This is Aragorn?” Elrohir said.  “Last we saw him he was but a babe.  He 
has grown so quickly.”  
 
Gilraen smiled proudly.  “Yes, he has.  He will be a great Chieftain like 
his father and grandfather before him.”  
 
“Aragorn is coming to live with us,” Elrond announced. “The Enemy 
seeks him and we are no longer certain that the Dunedain can shield him.”  
He paused.  “I have taken it upon myself to raise him.  He will not know 
of his heritage until we deem it wise to reveal it to him.”  
 
His sons stared at him in surprise.  
 
“You have fostered the Chieftains’ sons since Arahael but seldom at such 
an early age and never was their heritage hidden from them,” Elladan said 
hesitantly.  “Is it right to conceal this from Aragorn?”  
 
Glorfindel sighed.  “We do not know the answer to that.  We only know 
that his survival will depend on utmost secrecy.”  
 
At that moment, the child awakened.  He looked at the twins, eyes 
widening at the likeness between them.  Elrohir curiously bent down low 
to study his face.  Aragorn reached out a chubby hand and grasped a fistful 
of the Elf’s raven hair.  To Elrohir’s consternation he began to suck on the 
dark strands much to others’ amusement.  
 
Gilraen laughed softly at the Elvenlord’s expression.  “He must like you,” 
she said.  “He is usually shy and would never be so bold.”  
 
Aragorn let go of the Elf’s tresses and reached out his arms to Elrohir.  For 
the space of one heartbeat, Elrohir hesitated.  And then he took the child 
into his arms.  A look of gentleness replaced the earlier confusion.  
“Welcome to Imladris, Aragorn,” he quietly said.  
 
Elrond smiled, glad that his son had thawed if only for the moment.  “It 
would be best if we do not use his name,” he stated.  “It would put him in 
grave danger.”  
 
“Then what shall we call him?” Elladan asked.  
 
“If Gilraen will agree, I think we shall call him Estel.”  
 
“Hope,” Gilraen murmured.  “Yes, ‘tis fitting.  My little Estel.”  
 
*******  
lairë TA 2939  
Elrohir wondered at himself.  He had closed himself off for the past five 
years to all emotions that were in any way associated with love.  He had 
become cool and aloof even with his own family.  And his dalliances had 
been reduced to being mere means of pure physical release much to the 
resentment of many an Elf lady from Rivendell to Lothlorien.  Frustrated 
admirers had come to dub him ‘The Ice Prince.’  Even Arwen, sojourning 
these past many years in the Golden Wood with their grandparents, had oft 
written him, decrying the increasing remoteness in his manner of writing 
when he corresponded with her at all.  It had not affected him in the least.  
 
Yet here he was caring for a human child and finding that he enjoyed it.  
In the years since Gilraen had brought her son to Rivendell, Elrohir had 
found himself unable to close himself off to Estel as he had done to 
others.  I am not supposed to be doing this, he would scold himself.  I do 
not wish to feel anything.  But all Estel had to do was cry out his name and 
reach out his arms and he was lost.  What was it about children that one 
could not resist them?  
 
Sometimes he worried about his attachment to the child.  He is mortal, he 
would remind himself.  Someday he would age and pass away beyond the 
circles of the world.  There would be no reuniting in Arda until the end of 
time.  It would be a devastating loss for as sure as the sun rose each 
morning, Elrohir knew that he had come to love his foster brother.  
 
But perhaps I can bear this, he would reason out.  I have managed to deal 
with my fears for father and Elladan.  Surely, I can cope with this.  He 
refused to consider the illogic of this when he had failed so miserably in 
dealing with another relationship the result of which had blighted his life 
six years ago.  
 
*******  
“I wonder what he sees in you,” Elladan smirked as Estel clung to Elrohir, 
refusing to go with Almariel who was supposed to take care of him in his 
mother’s absence.  
 
They were in Elrohir’s bedchamber.  He had watched over Estel until 
Arwen’s former nurse was free to take over.  But when he tried to hand the 
boy over to the Elf woman, Estel had balked and bawled and held on 
tenaciously to Elrohir’s tunic instead.  Compared to other children of eight 
summers, Estel seemed so much younger and ill-prepared for the 
vicissitudes of life he would one day face.  
 
Slow in their early growth were the Dunedain, more akin to the Firstborn 
in this matter than to the lesser races of Men.  But when they came to full 
maturity, they were also the stronger, the wiser and the more enduring 
than any of their kindred who came to their complete growth more swiftly 
but also waned and fell into dotage whilst the Men of the West still 
lingered in their prime.  
 
“I wish I knew,” Elrohir muttered.  “That is all right, Almariel.  I will take 
care of putting him to sleep.”  
 
After the nurse departed, he sat on his bed and looked at the little boy.  
Estel stared back at him and said with a grin, “I win!”  
 
Elrohir sighed.  “I see I shall be stuck with you for the rest of the 
afternoon,” he commented.  
 
Elladan smiled.  It was good to see his twin showing some warmth once 
more even if it was just with Estel.  Too long had Elrohir shut himself off 
from feeling anything for anyone.  It was pleasant to see him 
rediscovering the joy of caring for others.  
 
The thought reminded him of something else.  He glanced at his brother, 
saw the small smile on his face as he strove to entice the child into taking 
his nap.  Well, this is as good a time as any to tell him, he thought.  And at 
least he will not take my head off as he might if the message came from 
someone else.  There was no predicting how Elrohir would respond to the 
news Elladan bore.  
 
“I thought you should know,” he said.  “We are expecting visitors.”  
 
“Oh?” Elrohir replied absently.  “Who?”  
 
“Elves of Mirkwood.”  
 
He watched as Elrohir went very still.  His face paled then gently stained 
with color.  The younger twin turned his head and stared at him.  
 
“Why?” he asked tersely.  
 
“Ada has asked King Thranduil for his counsel regarding Estel.  I imagine 
they carry his answer with them.”  Elladan paused.  “And it has been a 
while since our friend last graced Imladris with his presence.  Ada invited 
him to stay for the summer.”  
 
Elrohir could not speak at first.  Finally he drew a deep breath and said, 
“When do they arrive?”  
 
“This afternoon at the latest.”  
 
Shock registered on Elrohir’s face.  “This afternoon?” he repeated.  “And 
no one thought to tell me?”  
 
Elladan shrugged.  “’Tis not easy to tell you anything regarding 
Mirkwood.”  He looked pointedly at his brother.  “Not since your quarrel 
with Legolas.”  
 
Elrohir swallowed hard.  Legolas.  He had tried so hard not to think of his 
friend.  In the years since their last parting no one had dared speak his 
name around him.  And now, he was coming.  It would no longer be his 
name alone that Elrohir would have to contend with but Legolas himself.  
 
Elladan studied him for a while.  “I thought you should know,” he said.  
His brother simply looked at him somewhat dazedly then nodded his 
acknowledgement.  Elladan shrugged and departed.  
 
Elrohir cradled Estel against his shoulder.  The child tucked his head into 
the crook of his neck.  He was sleepy now and would soon drift away into 
dreamland.  Elrohir stroked his curling dark hair absently, his thoughts on 
the visitors who were about to arrive.  He was particularly concerned with 
one visitor.  
 
He closed his eyes.  He could still remember the last time he had seen 
him.  It had not been pleasant.  And it had been Elrohir who had made it 
so.  
 
*******  
Legolas walked to Elrohir’s room, wondering as he did why the younger 
twin had been reticent with him of late.  He had ceased to visit him in the 
healing rooms once Lord Elrond declared him out of danger and had not 
sought him out while he recovered in the comfort of his bedchamber.  This 
aloofness troubled him and he thought to question his friend about it.  He 
also desired to inform him that he would accompany him and Elladan 
when next they went a-hunting.  Arathorn’s death hung heavily over 
everyone in Rivendell; the twins would not let it go unavenged.  
 
Elladan was also within and welcomed him warmly.  Elrohir’s demeanor, 
however, was anything but.  He cast a cool gaze upon the prince as the 
latter spoke of joining them in errantry.  
 
“Perhaps ‘tis time you returned to Mirkwood,” Elrohir bluntly suggested.  
 
Legolas raised an eyebrow, startled.  “Why?” he asked.  “I am recovered 
now and can ride with you tomorrow.”  
 
Elrohir refused to look at his brother who had started in surprise at his 
words.  “Nay, there is no need for you to come with us.”  
 
Legolas frowned.  “But I wish to assist you in hunting down those orcs.  
Why are you turning my help away?”  
 
“It is not needed.  You are not needed.”  
 
“Elrohir!“  
 
He ignored Elladan’s sharp exclamation.  “’Tis for us to avenge 
Arathorn’s death, Legolas, not you,” he said cuttingly.  “We do not need 
you meddling in our affairs.”  
 
The dark blue eyes widened in shock then narrowed in bewilderment.  
“Meddling?” Legolas repeated.  “When have I ever meddled in your 
affairs save when you asked me to?  If this is a jest I fail to see the humor 
in it, Elrohir.”  
 
“’Tis no jest and I did not intend to humor you either,” Elrohir curtly 
replied.  
 
“Muindor, why do you speak so harshly?” Elladan cut in.  “What has 
Legolas done to offend you?”  
 
“Aye, what have I done?” Legolas inquired, his voice now edged with 
anger.  
 
“Nothing save to remain here when you would be of better service in your 
father’s halls.  I oft wonder why you linger here when your duty lies in 
Mirkwood.”  Seeing the darkening expression on Legolas’ face, he added 
sarcastically, “Unless of course ‘tis your way of escaping the 
responsibilities of a prince of the Woodland Realm.”  
 
It was a terrible thing to say.  Legolas whitened upon hearing his words.  
His eyes turned glacial with barely contained rage.  “You should watch 
your tongue, Elrondion,” he said coldly.  “If not for the respect I hold for 
your father I should slit your throat now and be glad of it!”  
 
“You could try,” Elrohir taunted.  “But ‘tis questionable if you can 
succeed.”  
 
“Enough!” Elladan cried, seeing the murderous flicker in the prince’s 
eyes.  He swiftly interposed himself between the two, certain they would 
come to blows otherwise.  “Elrohir, have you gone mad?” he demanded.  
 
“Nay, I only spoke the truth.”  
 
“Stop it, you fool!” Elladan hissed.  He turned to Legolas, hoping to still 
placate the golden-haired archer.  “Pay no heed to him, gwador,” he said.  
“His wishes are not mine or our father’s.  You are still welcome here and 
always will be.”  
 
Legolas continued to stare at Elrohir.  “Nay, I will not remain where there 
is one who sees me with such contempt,” he responded in a hard voice.  “I 
will not demean myself so.  I shall leave tonight.”  
 
He turned to exit the room.  Elladan followed and caught up with him at 
the door.  They spoke in low voices but Elrohir still heard part of their 
conversation.  
 
“I do not know what has come over him,” Elladan said.  “He has been cold 
to us these past many weeks.”  
 
“He was not merely cold to me,” Legolas retorted.  “His words were 
offensive beyond bearing.”  
 
“I agree.  They were insupportable.  But would you abandon Adar and me 
because of him?”  
 
Legolas fell silent for several seconds.  When he spoke again, his voice 
was no longer hard.  It had become soft and gentle and heartbreakingly 
sad.  “I would not abandon you.  But I cannot stay knowing that he eyes 
me with such scorn.  I have never known how it is to be hated by one I 
hold so dear.  I do not wish to learn it now.  I must go.”  
 
Elladan could only sigh and nod his acquiescence.  He remained at the 
door staring at his friend’s retreating form.  When he turned back to 
Elrohir, his countenance hardened.  “What are you about, brother?” he 
demanded angrily.  “What did you hope to gain?”  
 
Elrohir shrugged.  “I have already gained it.  He is leaving.”  
 
Elladan stared at him.  “I do not understand you.  Why have you turned on 
him?  Elrohir, ‘twas Legolas you drove away!  How could you treat him 
so basely after professing love for him?”  When Elrohir remained 
unresponsive, he caustically asked: “Have you already forgotten how he 
succored you though it went against his very grain?”  
 
He had the bitter satisfaction of seeing his brother flush at the reminder.  
But Elrohir refused to speak and turned away instead.  Frustrated, Elladan 
strode out of the room.  
 
Only then did Elrohir let his guard down.  He was more shaken than he 
cared to admit.  Elladan’s last words had recalled memories he’d hoped to 
bury so deeply he would not be able to retrieve them.  But now that they 
had emerged he could not push them away.  Images, feelings, words...he 
could no more suppress them than he could stop breathing.  
 
“*We have been friends for years beyond count.  I do not wish to lose 
you!*”  
 
“*You lost me the day I learned to desire you.*”  
 
Shining hair...pale gold by day, mithril by night.  
 
“*You are the closest thing to perfection that I have ever known.*”  
 
Eyes like pools of darkest sapphire, by turns open or guarded.  
 
“*I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be intimate with you, to 
know you as no other man has or ever will.*”  
 
“*I will give you what you desire.*”  
 
Finely shaped lips, wondrously soft and pliant.  
 
“*Let me warm you.*”  
 
Smooth pale skin, slender muscular limbs.  
 
“*I have sated my desire but I am not sure it was worth the price you 
paid.*”  
 
“*You are wrong.  It was worth the price.*”  
 
Heated nights, languorous days, secrets in the twilight.  
 
“*If the madness has not passed, I will be here for you for as long as you 
need me.*”  
 
Golden smiles, silvery laughter.  
 
“*I never want to lose you be you lover, friend or brother.*”  
 
Giving, yielding.  Ever caring.  
 
*“I promised I would be there for you for as long as you need me.  You 
know I never break my promises.*"  
 
“*Then I am truly blessed.*”  
 
*********  
Elrohir drew in his breath with a shudder.  He steeled himself against 
remembering more.  He should not have let himself slip into the past.  
Could not allow his memories to overcome his resolve.  Would not permit 
himself to feel anything like that again.  
 
With a start, he realized that Estel was asleep.  Gently, he lowered the 
child to the bed.  But as he drew away, Estel cried out and clutched at his 
tunic.  Sighing, Elrohir eased himself into the bed beside his charge.  
 
Ada, Adar - Papa, Father  
muindor - brother  
Elrondion - son of Elrond  
gwador - sworn brother  
 
Part II  
Legolas stared out the window of Lord Elrond’s study, taking in the vista 
of pine and heather topped slopes, the deceptively lacy waterfall in the far 
distance and the delicately wrought porches and balconies of the Last 
Homely House.  Six years had passed since he had last walked its halls, 
climbed the hillsides and sat by its sparkling streams.  Six years yet it felt 
like six hundred.  
 
/Valar, I have missed this place.  Ever like a second home has it been to 
me./  
 
“I am glad that you feel that way about Imladris.”  
 
Legolas grinned and turned to face Elrond.  “Are my thoughts that 
transparent, my lord?” he asked.  
 
“Nay, only so heartfelt one could not fail to hear them,” Elrond smiled.  
“Imladris has sorely missed your presence, too.”  
 
Legolas was warmed.  The thought that his absence had been precipitated 
by a less than cordial conversation with one of Elrond’s sons was 
forgotten for the moment.  
 
“Thank you, my lord.  And I have been looking forward to seeing the 
child, Estel.  Elladan had written that he is strong and high-spirited.”  
 
Elrond glanced at his older son musingly.  “Yes, much like my own sons 
when they were that age.  For that matter, much like them until only 
recently.  I sometimes wonder what I have let myself in for by fostering 
him.  If he is anything like his brothers, I shudder to think of what will 
happen to Imladris.”  
 
“Ada!”  
 
Legolas laughed at Elladan’s expression.  “’Tis very much what my father 
said when he received your letter.”  
 
“What did Thranduil say?”  
 
“He said that it seemed you did not deem yourself sufficiently tormented 
since you have taken into your home yet another male child who may very 
well follow in his brothers’ footsteps.  He also said that he would triple his 
guards the day Estel is old enough to come with the twins on their visits to 
Mirkwood.”  
 
Elrond chuckled.  “I am pleased they are still welcome in your realm,” he 
said.  
 
Legolas’ smile faded somewhat.  “They have ever been welcome,” he 
murmured.  “But if one finds a place not to his liking, no amount of 
warmth or joy will suffice to give him reason to accept it.”  
 
Elladan looked away, discomfort limning his features.  Elrond silently 
chided himself.  He should have been more careful with his words given 
the circumstances.  
 
“May I see the child?” Legolas suddenly asked to dispel the sudden 
awkwardness.  
 
“But of course,” Elrond replied before realizing where his acquiescence 
would lead.  He felt some misgiving but he had already agreed and 
perhaps it would be best to get the matter out of the way.  After all, there 
would be no avoiding it since Legolas would be staying until autumn.  
“Gweniaur, will you be so kind?”  
 
The older twin led the way to the sleeping chambers.  To Legolas’ surprise 
he stopped before a familiar door.  
 
“Elladan, are you sure you have the right room?” he asked somewhat 
doubtfully.  
 
The twin smiled.  “Estel insists on staying with him,” he replied by way of 
explanation.  “’Tis a mystery to us why the child likes him so much.”  
 
He opened the door and allowed Legolas to peek in.  The prince softly 
chuckled at the sight that greeted him.  
 
Elrohir lay on his side in his bed, fast asleep.  In the curve of his body was 
a slumbering child, its chubby hands curled around the protective arm that 
cradled it.  
 
“Do they always sleep thusly?” Legolas asked in a hushed voice.  
 
“Only when Lady Gilraen is away,” Elladan answered.  At Legolas’ 
questioning look, he added: “She has gone for a fortnight to visit with her 
folk.”  
 
Legolas stared at the child.  Silently, he approached the bed.  Bending 
until he was at level with the child’s face, he studied its features 
curiously.  You could pass for an Elf, little one, he thought.  
 
Just then Estel’s eyes flickered open.  For a moment, he looked as if he 
would cry.  But then he saw Legolas before him and his whimper was 
stilled.  They looked at each other, one with curiosity, the other with 
fascination.  
 
“Hello, Estel,” Legolas softly said.  Estel’s eyes widened and then the 
child smiled shyly.  Legolas got down on one knee.  Elladan quietly closed 
the door and left.  
 
Legolas glanced at the sleeping twin.  They had parted in anger and 
bitterness; his last memory of the warrior was his hard, unyielding 
countenance.  But in repose, Elrohir looked almost as sweet and innocent 
as the child he held.  And even more comely than Legolas remembered.  
He felt that familiar twinge within as he regarded the Elf-lord.  It never 
failed to make itself known whenever he allowed himself to consider 
Elrohir’s beauty and allure.  He forced the feeling aside.  There was no 
place for it here when the rift between them yawned wide and deep and 
seemed so insurmountable.  
 
I cannot believe we allowed our quarrel to drive us apart for so long, he 
thought sadly.  
 
His eyes returned to the wide-eyed boy.  Legolas put out a finger and 
stroked the child’s smooth cheek.  Estel giggled.  Legolas grinned as his 
finger was grasped in a surprisingly strong hand and pulled into a warm, 
toothy mouth.  The prince could not suppress a yelp, however, when tiny 
but sharp teeth bit down on his finger.  
 
Elrohir stirred, startled by the sound.  He opened his eyes and turned his 
head.  A pair of dark blue eyes met his.  He blinked.  Then he looked 
down at the child beside him and realized that Estel was holding on to 
someone’s finger.  He came sharply awake as he realized who that 
someone was.  
 
“Legolas?” he gasped.  
 
“Well met, Elrohir,” Legolas answered with a hint of irony.  “Now that 
you’re awake mayhap you can persuade your little brother to let go of my 
finger?”  
 
“Estel!” Elrohir sat up and set to work prying the prince’s finger from the 
child’s grasp.  His cheeks had reddened considerably much to Legolas’ 
amusement.  “Have you been waiting here long?” he mumbled.  
 
“Not too long.  I would have gone had Estel not decided to keep me 
captive.”  
 
“Oh.” Elrohir found it difficult to look at his friend.  When Estel yawned 
and lay down on the bed again, he found refuge in tucking him in.  “Well, 
he is an inquisitive boy.  I imagine he will accomplish great things when 
he grows to manhood.”  
 
“He need not wait that long to do so.  He has already accomplished one 
thing.”  
 
Elrohir looked at Legolas in surprise.  “What is that?”  
 
“He has softened your heart enough for you to be willing to talk to me 
again.”  
 
There was no recrimination in the prince’s voice.  He merely stated a fact.  
Nonetheless, Elrohir flushed.  It called to mind the reason why they had 
not communicated with each other in all these years.  
 
If Legolas had been hoping for some response, he was disappointed.  With 
an inward sigh, he rose to his feet.  “I am glad to see you are well, mellon 
nîn,” he said.  He bent and ruffled Estel’s dark hair.  And then he left the 
room.  
 
Elrohir let his breath out after he left.  I did not even welcome him, he 
thought guiltily.  
 
Legolas had been hurt by his lukewarm demeanor.  There had been no 
mistaking the emotion in the prince’s eyes.  Elrohir stiffened.  /There is 
nothing new about that.  That hurt was there years ago./  His resolve 
wavered somewhat.  /And I put it there./  
 
********  
For Legolas, the days that followed were fraught with a curious mix of 
tension and contentment.  Strange as it may have seemed, despite the gap 
that marred his relationship with Elrohir, the prince still found a modicum 
of joy in being close to his friend once more.  He may have departed 
Rivendell in anger and pain over the Elf-knight’s hurtful words but once 
home in Mirkwood, he’d felt the loss of Elrohir’s affections acutely.  Even 
the scant comfort of missives had been absent these six years and that had 
wounded Legolas deeply.  
 
He’d also been alarmed by the letters of Elladan pertaining to the younger 
twin’s increasingly aloof manner.  He’d wondered about it, racked his 
brain trying to discern what might have affected Elrohir so grievously.  
And he began to hope that it might have had something to do with his 
friend’s hostility towards him.  For if Elrohir’s harshness had been 
induced by something other than a sudden reversal in his opinion of the 
Mirkwood prince, then there was still a chance their friendship could be 
saved.  It was a chance Legolas was not about to forego.  The reason why 
he had accepted Lord Elrond’s invitation with all the eagerness of a hawk 
about to swoop down on its prey.  
 
Estel had no small role in bringing them together frequently enough to 
please Legolas.  A friendly if shy soul, Estel had taken a liking to him as 
well, discerning with a child’s innocent sagacity that his adored Elf-knight 
harbored a deep regard for the Sindarin prince whatever his overt actions 
may imply.  And so the little Dunadan insisted that Legolas join him and 
Elrohir in just about every activity they indulged in.  
 
Thus, the two found themselves almost always flanking Estel whether at 
meals or watching Glorfindel’s warriors train or teaching the boy how to 
swim or ride or wield a bow.  Their eyes seldom met for long on these 
occasions; they spoke even less.  Admittedly, this was mainly due to 
Elrohir’s reluctance to spend more time than was absolutely necessary in 
the company of the prince.   Legolas, on the other hand, had no 
compunctions about trying to catch his friend’s attention as much as 
possible.  He refused to let Elrohir’s evasiveness dishearten him and 
stepped up his campaign to restore their closeness even more fervently.  
 
This state of affairs continued for the better part of the prince’s first weeks 
back in Rivendell.  In Legolas’ opinion, it was not much of an 
improvement over their erstwhile lack of any contact at all but it was 
infinitely preferable to complete estrangement.  If he could but reawaken 
their former rapport even bit by bit, he was certain he could bridge the 
chasm that had opened between them and regain the affections of his 
beloved friend.  On this hope alone, he kept the door to reconciliation 
wide open and steadfastly ignored the younger twin’s attempted rebuffs.  
 
“I cannot believe your patience, gwador,” Elladan remarked one evening 
as they sat in the Hall of Fire listening to the soothing strains of Lindir’s 
lute.  “Others would have long given up but you persist no matter how 
much he resists your overtures.”  
 
“Others have not known what I am loath to lose,” Legolas said, turning his 
rapt gaze on Elrohir.  
 
The younger twin was seated on the thick furs before the great hearth, 
Estel cradled in his arms.  He was gently rocking the sleepy child, coaxing 
him into the slumber required by his extreme youth.  The prince smiled 
fondly at the sight, thinking how sweet and affectionate the Elf-knight 
could be when he cared for someone.  He sighed.  He’d known the twin’s 
tender attention and now that it was withdrawn, missed it keenly.  
 
As he gazed at Elrohir, the latter raised his head as if sensing his scrutiny 
though unaware that it was he who regarded him so intensely.  Their eyes 
met across the room.  For a moment, Elrohir gazed back at him 
unguardedly, slow to veil his feelings in his surprise at finding Legolas 
watching him intently.  And then he recollected himself and, flushing, 
quickly lowered his head once more.  He studiously avoided looking in 
Legolas’ direction after that.  But the prince had seen.  
 
He looked at Elladan, elated by what he had gleaned in that unexpected 
exchange.  The older twin, too, had observed his brother’s demeanor and 
he faintly smiled at Legolas’ obvious pleasure.  
 
“Aye, ‘tis clear that he still lo--cares for you,” Elladan said, quickly 
catching himself.  “But why he pretends otherwise is beyond me.”  
 
“Whatever his reason, I am happy to know that I have not truly lost him,” 
Legolas beamed happily.  “I had so dreaded that possibility these many 
years, Elladan.  Especially since I had no way of finding out what I could 
have done to bring our quarrel about.”  
 
Elladan studied him thoughtfully.  So close and yet so far, he mused in 
some frustration.  But all he said was: “It was none of your doing, ernilen.  
It was his purpose to drive you away.  Why, I cannot fathom and that is 
something that troubles me as well.  I have always been able to read him 
enough to at least guess at what he may be thinking or feeling.  But now, 
he hides them so skillfully even from me.”  
 
“And does that pain you?” Legolas quietly asked.  
 
Elladan shook his head.  “It would if I thought myself forsaken by my own 
brother,” he admitted.  “But our...connection still flows between us.  ‘Tis 
only that he does not allow more than the vaguest impressions to escape 
his vigilance.”  He stared with some exasperation at his reclusive twin.  
“He knows I will discover what he strives to conceal should he let his 
guard down even for a moment.  Why he should fear that....”  The warrior 
shook his head in frustration.  “Ai, he can be as stubborn as a mule when 
he chooses to be!”  
 
“Then we are evenly matched,” Legolas chuckled.  “Nimeithel oft calls 
me mule-headed whenever we disagree about something.  Naturally, being 
female, she thinks she has the prerogative to claim she is right nearly all of 
the time!”  
 
He grinned, seeing how Elladan had turned a faint shade of red at the 
mention of his sister’s name.  “I warrant you are the only ellon she would 
own her better in any debate,” he added teasingly.  The older twin’s blush 
deepened.  “My, but you are an interesting color, Elladan.  Are you 
unwell?  Should I alert Lord Elrond?”  
 
Elladan mock-scowled at him.  “I can hardly wait to see you floundering 
in the throes of romance, Thranduilion,” he growled.  
 
Legolas chuckled.  “Then you will wait in vain,” he smugly retorted.  
“Unlike some Elves I know, I am not so imprudent as to foolishly lose my 
heart to anyone.”  
 
At once the good humor on Elladan’s countenance vanished and he 
grimaced at the reminder of his brother’s travails.  Legolas noticed the 
change at once.  He frowned.  
 
“What is it?” he queried.  “Did I say anything to offend you?”  
 
Elladan glanced at him then shook his head.  Useless to rail at the prince 
for something he was so utterly oblivious of.  And unkind considering 
how hard Legolas was trying to repair the rift between himself and 
Elrohir.  The least Elladan could do was throw his support behind his 
friend.  After all, he thought, a restoration of their friendship now could 
pave the way to something more profound in the future.  There could be 
no harm in it and much good might yet come of it.  
 
“Elrohir asked me not to tell you but I see no reason why I should keep 
this from you,” he said to the prince.  “We received word from Estel’s kin 
that a company of Rangers will come to Imladris within the week.  They 
seek a band of orcs that pillaged several settlements east of Imladris just 
this spring then fled north towards the Ered Mithrin.  The Rangers have 
evidence that they have issued forth again this summer and desire to 
waylay them ere they can do more harm.  Elrohir and I explored that area 
but last season.  We will go with them and act as their guides.”  
 
Legolas sat up straighter at the implicit invitation.  “Then I will join you,” 
he said.  He glanced at Elrohir.  “Whether he wills it or not.”  
 
Elladan nodded, satisfied.  “Mayhap you shall find the chance to thresh 
things out between you,” he suggested.  “He is always more receptive 
during such journeying.  The perils we face tend to unlock his reticence.”  
 
Legolas smiled gratefully at the older twin.  
 
His attention was drawn once more to Elrohir when the warrior rose, a 
slumbering Estel in his arms.  He watched the twin slowly make his way 
to the doors of the hall.  As Elrohir waited for an Elf to open them for him, 
he inadvertently looked in Legolas’ direction.  
 
Again, the archer pointedly caught his gaze and almost forcibly held it.  
Elrohir could not prevent the faint color that washed over his cheeks.  He 
averted his eyes and hastened out of the chamber.  
 
Legolas smiled to himself.  Elladan was right.  The Elf-knight still held his 
tender regard for him however stubbornly concealed.   If fortune was with 
him, if the Valar willed it, he would know its inimitable depth and warmth 
once again and that was something worth striving for.  
 
Ada - papa  
gweniuar - older twin  
mellon nîn - my friend  
gwador - sworn brother  
ernilen - my prince  
ellon - male Elf  
Thranduilion - son of Thranduil  
 
Part III  
They rode side by side, yet spoke no words to each other.  Elladan had 
ensured that he and Legolas flanked the younger twin for much of the 
journey which served to discomfit Elrohir almost constantly.  He was 
clearly affected by the prince’s proximity to him and did his utmost to 
keep his attention anywhere but on the figure beside him.  
 
That avoidance should have hurt Legolas but oddly enough it did not.  The 
Elf-prince actually found a sense of comfort and relief in Elrohir’s 
actions.  For why else would the warrior behave so unless it was because 
he still held his regard for his Mirkwood friend and was fighting it for 
whatever reason had compelled him to start their estrangement in the first 
place.  
 
Theirs had not been the warmest of meetings in the courtyard of the Last 
Homely House.  Elrohir had been clearly taken aback when Legolas joined 
the small host of Rangers and their Elven kin in the early hours of three 
days past.  A questioning look at an unrepentant Elladan told the tale.  
 
“Can I not trust even you, brother?” Elrohir said reproachfully as they 
swung lithely onto their mounts.  
 
Elladan coolly replied: “Oh, you can trust me, gwenneth.  You can trust 
me to do right by you.”  
 
Elrohir snorted, trained a wary eye on Legolas then urged his steed 
forward, away from his twin and the prince.  Elladan scowled at the flicker 
of pain that crossed Legolas’ face.  It was not a promising start.  
 
That first day, the brethren found themselves at odds with each other.  A 
thing so rare that even the seasoned Rangers, so used to impossibilities 
becoming possible, would surreptitiously observe them, wondering at their 
discord.  
 
But their twinship did not allow such lengthy separations of their sibling 
spirits even if they chose to keep secrets from each other.  By day’s end, 
they were on speaking terms once more though Elrohir remained cautious 
and almost maddeningly reserved.  And he kept his distance from the 
archer whenever possible much to Legolas’ frustration and growing 
impatience.  Hence, Elladan’s insistence that they ride three abreast with 
Elrohir in the middle.  
 
Legolas watched him now as he hung back slightly to speak with young 
Halbarad who rode just behind them.  Estel’s kinsman, he was a gangly 
youth barely a year removed from his majority.  It was his first long 
sojourn with his fellows and as such he was still equal parts excited by and 
apprehensive of what lay before them.  Elrohir, evidently missing his 
exuberant charge, had taken said charge’s cousin under his wing, 
providing a windfall of knowledge and experience for the raw, almost 
painfully untried lad.  
 
Indeed, it could be said that the brethren had once upon a time been 
mentors to fully half of the Dunedain present, so admired and sought after 
were their formidable skills and sage counsel.  It was most natural for one 
or the other twin to instruct any young addition to the Rangers’ numbers.  
As Elrohir was doing now for Halbarad.  
 
It was cause for both admiration and annoyance to the Mirkwood prince.  
 
He had to esteem Elrohir’s gentle yet strict handling of Halbarad for it 
guaranteed the boy’s future confidence in his abilities.  But he also could 
not help begrudging the attention the Elf-knight paid to the youth, 
attention he dearly desired for himself.  Too long had he gone without the 
younger twin’s peerless regard.  He feared that if he did not have his say 
soon, he would release his opinions in a manner that was sure to provoke 
only more unpleasantness between them.  
 
He was saved from indulging in such ill-conceived methods by the timely 
and altogether violent encounter with the very orcs they sought.  
 
The twins had indeed known the territory well.  They chose the quickest 
paths to the mountains, leading the troop through a rather desolate 
landscape devoid of lush forests and velvet meadows.  A lonely place far 
from all friendly realms, Legolas thought.  Yet the brethren had dared to 
venture this far in their errantry.  It spoke of their courage and hardiness 
and only roused the archer’s admiration further.  
 
In less time than might be expected, he saw the first craggy peaks of the 
Withered Heath jutting out in the distant horizon.  He grimaced at the 
thought of travelling to so isolated an area.  Only Dwarves could possibly 
tolerate such a bleak domicile, he mused as his eyes made out what he 
surmised to be the tip of Mount Gundabad.  
 
But as it soon turned out, there was no need to travel to the mountains.  
The brethren picked up the first signs of the orcs’ passage while they were 
still days away.  With fearsome swiftness, they tracked the goblins down, 
their years in the wild hunting these loathsome creatures paying off with 
bountiful results.  
 
The Rangers surprised the orcs as the creatures made their hunched way 
down the stony plains, springing from the concealment of boulders and 
shrubbery when the vile band passed by.  Swords flashed and arrows sang 
as battle was engaged.  
 
The ensuing fray was brutal and soul-blackening, the hunters cutting down 
their prey without ruth, without thought, without even the barest hint of 
pity.  And likewise the prey fighting back, ferocious in their fear, driven 
by their desperation, savage by dint of their scorching fury.  
 
In the midst of the carnage, Legolas noted that Elrohir and Elladan 
remained by Halbarad’s side, protecting the callow youth in this first 
bloodying.  Of this he heartily approved; the boy was still a mere stripling 
and no match for such fell opponents.  The brethren stood between him 
and cruel oblivion.  
 
Yet the lure of long brotherhood in conflict eventually proved all too 
strong.  Unbidden, an orc blade was deftly deflected from its target, the 
lissome neck of the Mirkwood Elf.  
 
Legolas spun on his heel in gratitude, had a moment to stare in surprise as 
Elrohir parried yet another stroke, guarding the archer’s back as he had oft 
done of yore.  Before long, the favor was returned as the prince gutted a 
charging orc whose objective had been to skewer the Elvenlord on the end 
of its rough-hewn lance.  
 
Legolas felt a surge of exultation, recalling times past when he and the 
twin had fought as one, their movements a near seamless ballet that fended 
off assaults with seeming ease and made of them efficient dispensers of 
damage and death.  Their bitter parting had seemingly shattered their 
gallant comradeship.  
 
Six years had he thought their deep bond of friendship at an end.  Six 
years had he mourned its passing.  Now, it was strikingly clear that his 
sorrow had been premature.  
 
He could deny it, conceal it, pretend it was not so.  But in this primal 
confrontation, with danger as their companion, Elrohir’s instincts betrayed 
him, his heart bested his will.  
 
The Elf-knight still cleaved to his Mirkwood brother.  
 
*******  
The battle’s end heralded the tedious task of disposing of the fallen.  They 
would not leave the festering corpses of the orcs to taint this land however 
empty and forsaken.  The Dark Lord had already despoiled as much of 
Middle-earth as they were willing to endure.  Even a barren waste was to 
be treasured and protected if it still lay unstained by Sauron’s unholy 
touch.  
 
The Rangers heaved the stinking carcasses of their foes onto a steadily 
growing pile.  When the last of the corpses had been tossed onto the heap, 
Elladan set it afire with little relish and much relief.  Here was one less 
horde to bedevil the denizens of this patch of Middle-earth.  In such 
victories did he and his brother find their peace amidst the stench-ridden 
consequences of their errantry.  
 
He watched for a while as the flames consumed the goblin remains.  And 
then he turned to seek his brother and friend.  
 
The sight that greeted him could hardly have lightened his spirits.  Elrohir 
had taken a badly shaken Halbarad to one side and there shielded the lad 
as he emptied his belly into a straggling patch of tall grass.  One of the 
Rangers approached with a flask of water and handed it the retching boy.  
Elladan watched with sympathy as Halbarad took a swig and swished the 
liquid around in his soured mouth before spitting it out.  His color returned 
somewhat and he nodded his thanks to the older Man, smiled ruefully at 
his Elven mentor.  
 
Elladan could not blame the lad for the upheaval in his innards.  Even he 
could not long endure the reek of burning orc flesh, he who should have 
been inured to it after centuries of inhaling it.  Halbarad was fortunate to 
have Elrohir as his teacher in this, his first goblin-hunt.  
 
A figure in green and brown crossed the filth-cluttered clearing, cloak 
billowing behind.  Elladan wondered how Legolas fared.  
 
The Elf-prince seemed little affected by what had passed, his demeanor 
cool and precise as ever.  But the warrior knew better.  The archer’s blue 
eyes conveyed the true tale.  The light of battle had been quenched and 
replaced by weariness not so much of the body but of the spirit.  True to 
his elven roots, even the woodland Sinda, for all his elemental nature, 
could not find true pleasure in the ending of life however detestable that 
life might be.  The prince leaned forlornly against a scarred tree then 
looked in Elrohir’s direction.  
 
Elrohir had set to treating the wounds of a grizzled Ranger.  He was bent 
over the Man, his comely face a picture of concentration as he tended to 
the latter’s injury.  He seemed quite unaware of the eyes that studied him 
relentlessly.  
 
The longing for the Elf-knight’s solace was so glaringly apparent in the 
archer’s gaze that Elladan thought his brother must surely feel its force.  
And indeed it seemed that Elrohir did sense Legolas’ regard for he 
suddenly looked up and met the archer’s gaze.  A moment later, he 
dropped his eyes once more but Elladan saw how his hands trembled as he 
drew bindings around the Man’s arm.  The older twin smiled grimly.  
 
/Try as you may, you cannot set aside your heart’s desire, brother./  
 
******  
“He is troubled,” Elladan softly remarked as he and Legolas drew on their 
clothing after their first refreshing bath in nearly three days.  
 
The Rangers had set up camp in a small clearing in a wooded area several 
leagues south of the Ered Mithrin.  Here sparse forests made their 
welcome appearance as did running springs and grassy plains.  The Elves, 
to the Men’s never ending amusement, at once took the chance to wash 
themselves in a nearby stream, stripping not only the gore and grime of 
travel and battle from their bodies but also the regrets an encounter with 
their long-ago kin always wrought.  
 
“By what?” Legolas queried, keeping his eyes on the Elf-knight as the 
latter walked back to the camp.  
 
“I do not know,” Elladan admitted.  “But I could sense his distress.”  He 
looked at his friend.  “And you must know ‘tis your presence that caused 
some part of it.”  
 
The Elf-prince nodded.  “That was most apparent.”  
 
“He is...struggling,” Elladan said hesitantly.  He turned introspective, 
forgetting for a moment the presence of his friend.  “Fighting himself I 
warrant,” he murmured.  “Fighting what he desires.”  
 
“And what desire would this be?” Legolas inquired curiously, pondering 
the warrior’s thoughtful expression.  
 
“What his heart demands,” Elladan answered absently.  “If only he could 
tell--”  
 
He broke off, suddenly aware of his rambling.  He bit his lip guiltily.  
Elbereth, he’d nearly revealed Elrohir’s secret.  And to the one person who 
could not, should not know of it.  Not yet.  
 
“Tell?” Legolas prodded.  
 
Elladan evaded the question gracefully.  “Tell us what troubles him,” he 
replied.  “How can we help him if we know not what disturbs him?”  
 
Legolas frowned.  Somehow, he’d received the impression that Elladan 
had been about to say something else.  But the older twin did not look like 
he was about to say more and he decided to let it go for the present.  
 
“Let us approach him then,” he urged instead.  
 
Giving Elladan no chance to protest, he pulled the twin along as he 
determinedly made his way to Elrohir.  
 
“Legolas, this may not be the right time to---”  
 
The prince cut him off impatiently.  “When is the right time then?” he 
demanded.  “You said he is distressed.  If so, he needs our help now, not 
later.”  He glanced a little contritely at the somewhat flustered twin.  “And 
in truth, I cannot bear this...this waiting any longer.”  
 
Elladan considered the matter then nodded.  He followed the woodland Elf 
to where his brother sat beneath the eaves of a stunted tree some distance 
away from the center of camp.  
 
Quietly, they dropped down on either side of him, taking him by surprise.  
He looked from one to the other cautiously, his glance at Legolas 
considerably more abrupt than the look he cast upon his twin.  He shifted 
his position slightly, pulling his leg away when Legolas’ thigh nudged his 
as the latter settled beside him.  
 
“Something besets you, muindor,” Elladan said gently.  “Will you not 
share it with us?  We would dearly like to help you.”  
 
The younger twin regarded him suspiciously then shook his head.  “There 
is nothing,” he insisted.  “I am well.”  
 
“I wish we could believe that,” Legolas murmured.  
 
Elrohir stiffened.  He darted a wary look at Legolas.  “What do you want 
of me, Mirkwood prince?”  
 
Legolas ignored the impersonal address and lay a comradely hand on 
Elrohir’s where it rested upon his hard thigh.  The warrior tried to extricate 
it but he held fast and gripped it even more snugly.  
 
“Whatever divided us before matters not to me, Elrohir,” the archer said 
softly.  “I would that we be friends again.  I wish you would tell me what 
went so wrong between us.”  
 
“I--nothing.  There is nothing.”  
 
Elrohir was clearly uneasy now, whether from their joint pressure on him 
or Legolas’ nearness, Elladan did not know.  But there was no mistaking 
his slowly rising agitation as he strove to rid himself of their company.  
 
“Leave me,” he tersely requested.  “I wish to be alone.”  
 
“Nay, you should not be alone,” Elladan said frowningly.  “Elrohir, what 
is wrong?  What are you hiding from us?  From me?”  
 
The haunted gaze his brother turned on him nearly stripped him of his 
very breath.  He began to reach out to hug his beleaguered twin, his heart 
wrenching at the unfathomable pain he had glimpsed in the argent eyes.  
But almost at the same moment, Legolas raised his hand and tucked a 
strand of raven silk behind Elrohir’s ear.  
 
Without warning, the Elf-knight reared out of the archer’s reach, yanked 
his hand out of his grasp.  He lurched to his feet, trembling so visibly it 
shocked the others.  Elladan managed to clutch at one outstretched hand.  
 
“Elrohir!” he exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet as well.  “Brother, what 
ails you?!”  
 
“Stay away!” Elrohir rasped, desperation in his tone.  “Just stay away!”  
 
It was impossible to know if he meant his warning for one or both of them 
for he looked at neither but stared almost longingly into the depths of the 
clustered trees behind them.  Legolas had also risen and he now moved 
closer to peer anxiously at Elrohir.  Once more he lifted a hand, placed it 
on the warrior’s shoulder to rub it soothingly.  It was a habitual gesture 
between them, nothing unusual in the least.  Yet it had an electrifying 
effect on Elrohir.  
 
He jerked away, snatched his hand from Elladan’s grip.  
 
“I told you to stay away!” he cried.  “Leave me be!”  
 
With that he turned and strode rapidly into the shadows of the surrounding 
woods.  Elladan and Legolas stared after him in stunned bewilderment.  
 
gwenneth - younger twin  
muindor - brother  
 
Part IV  
“What madness has taken him?” Elladan said, worry etching his smooth 
brow.  He stepped forward to follow his twin.  
 
Legolas stayed him.  “Let me talk to him,” he pleaded.  
 
Elladan protested.  “You saw his reaction to us,” he pointed out.  “He is 
distraught beyond belief.  I have never seen him thusly.”  
 
“Nor I.  Yet I would help him, Elladan,” the archer said.  “Let me do this.  
Let me help him if I can.”  
 
The Elf-lord looked at him uncertainly.  Finally, he sighed and nodded.  
Legolas hurried after the younger twin.  
 
He searched for several minutes, following the evidence of Elrohir’s 
discomposed passage through the woods.  Finally, he caught a glimpse of 
black against a slender tree trunk.  The breeze carried a familiar and 
singularly appealing scent to him.  Pine and heather and clean rushing 
waters.  The sweet enticing scent of the hidden vale.  Of Elrohir.  
 
He came upon the twin seated upon the springy grass, leaning wearily 
against the tree, arms folded upon his bent knees, head bowed, eyes closed 
tightly.  
 
Legolas got down on his knees and reached out to Elrohir.  At a loss at 
how to ease the other, he pulled him into his arms and cradled him against 
his chest.  The warrior started, then tried to pull away but Legolas refused 
to release him.  
 
“I wish you would tell me what troubles you,” he whispered.  
 
Elrohir only shook his head, slumped against his friend.  At least, he has 
stopped resisting, Legolas thought.  That was a start.  
 
He held his friend, stroking the sable hair, hoping his compassion and 
empathy might reach him.  One thought comforted him in turn.  Elrohir 
had been protective of him during the battle, leaving Halbarad’s side to 
take his place by the archer as was his wont of old.  Surely that signaled 
some change in him.  A return perhaps to the comrade he knew?  
 
He was startled when he felt Elrohir’s face turn into his neck.  He felt 
warm lips press tellingly against the slope of his throat.  Legolas shivered.  
It was now some four hundred years since he’d last yielded to his friend 
when he’d comforted him during and after the dark day it was revealed 
that Celebrian would have to leave for the Blessed Realm ahead of her 
husband and children.  
 
He cannot want this now, Legolas thought with some apprehension.  I did 
not expect it.  I am not prepared.  
 
He hoped he was wrong.  He hoped Elrohir would not ask it of him this 
day.  But his hope failed him.  He looked down at his friend and saw 
stormy grey eyes staring up at him.  He knew the look in those eyes.  
 
“Elrohir—“  
 
He got no further.  The raven-haired Elf grasped him by the nape and drew 
his head down.  He gasped as their lips met in a hard, almost violent kiss.  
Legolas was caught by surprise.  There was nothing gentle or caring about 
this.  Only pure hunger.  Sheer need.  
 
He tried to pull away but Elrohir only increased his grip on him.  Legolas 
became aware that though they were fairly equal in strength, passion 
would lend Elrohir greater power.  That became evident when Elrohir 
broke off the kiss only to tug at the clasp of the prince’s cloak so that it 
came open.  With one hand he drew off the cloak and threw it down on the 
grass.  Shocked, Legolas understood what he intended.  He tried to pull 
away but Elrohir’s grasp on his arm was hard and unyielding.  Legolas felt 
his tunic being unfastened; he panicked and tried to struggle out of his 
friend’s grip.  
 
“Elrohir, stop!” he pleaded.  
 
/Do not deny me!/  
 
The imploring thought fairly cried out to him.  Legolas’ resistance 
faltered.  Under other circumstances, he would have fought back and fled.  
But he could not forget Elrohir’s grief, could not set aside the fear of 
losing his friend to whatever sadness was consuming him.  For better or 
worse, his love for Elrohir would remain paramount no matter the 
consequences.  
 
/I yielded before.  I can do so again./  
 
He did not resist when Elrohir bore him down upon his cloak.  Yet it was 
all he could do not to protest when his friend tugged at the clasps of his 
tunic, tore at the lacing of his breeches, each motion brusque and hasty yet 
done with curious precision.  Their ensuing intimacy bore none of the 
concern and care Elrohir had always shown him in the past.  For the first 
time, Legolas did not feel loved but violated.  
 
The feeling heightened when Elrohir took him with little preparation.  It 
was a mercy his body was no longer untried and the warrior slid into him 
with little difficulty.  But he was not fully aroused and was therefore 
unready for such a peremptory breaching.  Given a little time he would 
have adjusted to the discomfort.  But to his shock,  Elrohir did not allow 
him even the briefest of respites but began to drive into him so brutally 
that he finally cried out in pain.  He  desperatelyclutched at the cloak 
beneath him, shut his eyes as he prayed it would soon be over.  
 
His agonized countenance registered upon Elrohir’s fevered senses.  
Remorse smote him at the sight of Legolas’ distress and he moved to 
make amends no matter how belated.  He slowed down, tempered the feral 
edge of his thrusts and applied himself to ensuring the archer derived some 
pleasure from this feral coupling.  
 
Legolas was relieved when Elrohir gentled his pace and the pain 
diminished.  But he was startled when he felt the twin’s hands upon him, 
fondling him with practiced skill.  Shame singed him when his body 
responded to his friend’s masterful ministrations.  It should have been 
inconceivable that he would derive any pleasure from what was for all 
intents and purposes his ravagement by Elrohir but his body betrayed him 
and he came alive with each stroke and caress.  
 
The bruising thrusts began once more, Elrohir driving into him so hard 
and deeply he thought he would burst.  But the discomfort was blunted by 
the pleasure dealt by the other’s hands and he soon lost himself to the 
sensations pooling forcefully in his groin.  
 
His release came amidst an odd mixture of rapture and humiliation.  To be 
so easily reduced to such wanton need even under virtual assault was 
degrading to say the least.  He shuddered with relief when Elrohir’s found 
his own completion.  He did not think he could have borne more of the 
Elf-knight’s near savage handling.  
 
It felt like ages later when Legolas drew on his clothes.  He was weary in 
body and spirit.  His lips were slightly swollen; there was a bruised cut at 
the corner of his mouth.  His slender frame bore dark marks from rough 
fingers and rapacious lips and teeth and he ached all over.  His fingers 
shook as he tried to refasten the clasps on his tunic.  His shoulders 
drooped.  He could not even concentrate enough to get the simple task 
done.  
 
He started when Elrohir knelt before him and brushed aside his hands.  
“Let me do it,” the twin quietly said.  
 
Legolas watched him in silence.  When he was done, Elrohir rose once 
more.  Legolas followed suit.  He waited for the other to say something.  
 
He needed answers.  He wanted to know the reason for what had just 
happened.  But when no explanation was forthcoming he decided to speak.  
 
“Perhaps you’ll tell me now what troubles you?” he quietly asked.  
 
Elrohir shook his head.  “There is nothing to tell.”  
 
“Elrohir—“  
 
“There is nothing!”  
 
The last was uttered with such cold finality that it stunned Legolas.  He 
stared at his friend, his heart heavy with hurt.  “Are you telling me that 
you made me do this for nothing?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.  
 
Elrohir looked away.  “I am sorry if I hurt you,” was all he would say.  
 
Legolas felt his throat tighten with indescribable anguish.  Of a sudden he 
felt as if a stain was upon him.  I swallowed my pride, buried my dignity 
and for what? he thought painfully.  To save a friendship he no longer 
cares for?  He felt tears of anger and sorrow sting his eyes.  He fought to 
keep them dammed.  He would shed no more of his dignity than he 
already had.  
 
He picked up his cloak and pulled it on.  Eyes glittering with unshed tears, 
he said: “I yielded for the sake of the love I have always borne you.  The 
least you could have done was tell me that you no longer value it.”  
 
Though his voice shook with emotion, his gaze did not waver.  He drew 
the hood over his golden head shadowing the injury on his mouth.  
Without another word, he turned away and walked back to the camp.  
 
He did not know it but his words had their effect on Elrohir.  The raven-
haired Elf watched him go, his heart bursting with pain.  But he could not 
bring himself to go after him.  
 
/‘Tis better this way.  He will forget and so will I./  
 
*******  
Elladan was discouraged.  Sitting by the campfire, he could not participate 
in the conversation of the Rangers on watch.  His thoughts were too 
confused.  
 
Though it was but hours since Legolas had followed Elrohir into the 
woods, presumably to talk, it felt more like days.  Elladan had been 
hopeful that the bond between them would be restored as would the close 
relationship the three of them had once shared.  But that had not 
happened.  Apparently, they had done more than just talk.  Elladan did not 
know what had occurred between the two but he could tell it had been 
disastrous at best.  
 
He looked at his brother who sat by himself in the dark shadow of a tree.  
He had kept to himself, scarcely exchanging a word with his companions.  
And he avoided Legolas as if his life depended on it.  
 
Come to think of it, Legolas had done the same thing.  Elladan turned his 
head to the prone figure of his friend who lay asleep some distance away 
from the rest of the company.  He frowned.  There was something unusual 
in the way Legolas lay.  He got to his feet and walked to the Mirkwood 
Elf.  Aye, that was it, he realized when he saw him.  
 
Legolas was curled up on his side, his cloak wrapped around him like a 
shroud.  It was not the way he had ever seen the Elf asleep.  The prince 
always lay stretched out whether on his back or on his side.  And he never 
wrapped himself with the cloak as he did now.  With his natural resistance 
to extreme climates, there was no great need to do so.  
 
He also noticed that the prince had kept the hood of the cloak up.  How 
odd.  And then it struck him that Legolas had worn it that way ever 
since… Apprehension filled Elladan.  /What is he hiding?/  
 
He knelt beside his friend, bent low and peered into his face.  He blinked.  
There was a shadow at the side of his mouth.  Elladan reached out and 
with infinite care so as not to disturb the sleeping Elf, pushed the hood 
aside.  
 
He stared at the bruised cut that marred the perfect mouth.  He fell back 
appalled.  How...?  Who...?  
 
On the heels of that thought came suspicion.  He jerked his head around 
and his eyes zeroed in on his brother.  Swearing under his breath, he 
gently pulled the hood back into place and rose to his feet.  
 
Swiftly he strode to his brother, his thoughts running into each other in his 
agitation.  He dropped to his knee before Elrohir, startling the latter, and 
asked without preamble: “What did you do to Legolas?”  
 
“What are you talking about?” Elrohir retorted.  
 
“Why does he have a wound on his mouth?” Elladan persisted.  “Did you 
strike him?”  
 
“Of course not!” Elrohir said indignantly.  “I would never raise a hand to 
him.”  
 
“Then what--?” Elladan went still, his eyes widening with shock.  
“Elrohir, you did not force him…“ His voice trailed away for he was too 
horrified to continue.  
 
“I do not take unwilling partners, Elladan!” his brother snapped, bristling 
at the very notion.  
 
Elladan stared at him.  It was as if he was talking to a stranger instead of 
the twin who had shared virtually every waking hour of life with him.  Not 
just the aloof sibling of the last six years but a totally unknown entity.  
 
“And how willing was he?” he asked harshly.  “Or did you make it 
impossible for him to refuse?”  Elrohir’s start was enough to confirm his 
awful suspicions.  He grabbed his twin by the arm.  “How did he come to 
be hurt?” he hissed.  “Tell me the truth, brother, or I will forget our 
kinship and do you harm!”  
 
Elrohir wrenched his arm out of his brother’s grasp.  He stared back at 
Elladan, his eyes open wells of emotion.  Elladan shivered at the darkness 
he saw in them.  
 
“I was rough,” Elrohir said.  “That was all.”  
 
Elladan let out his breath.  “Why would you do this to him?” he 
questioned.  When Elrohir remained silent, he said, “Did you tell him 
why?”  The other twin shook his head.  “Sweet Eru, you made him yield 
and gave him no reason for it?”  Elladan half exclaimed.  He forced his 
voice down when the Rangers curiously turned their heads in their 
direction.  “I cannot believe he did not want to know.”  
 
“He asked but I could not tell him,” Elrohir conceded bending his head.  
 
Elladan felt sick.  “He went after you because he wanted to help you, 
because he wished to restore your friendship.  And instead you—“ He 
slammed his hand against the tree in outrage.  “What has happened to you, 
Elrohir?  What drives you that you should hurt one who has ever remained 
caring and true no matter what you asked of him?”  
 
He sat back feeling spent.  “He loved you enough to go beyond the bounds 
of friendship to aid you.  How many do you think would make such a 
sacrifice for a friend?  I know of none.”  
 
Still Elrohir refused to respond.  Elladan grew angry.  It was an alien 
feeling that he should feel this anger for his twin and the thought only fed 
his rage.  He clenched his fists, trying to keep calm.  What use would there 
be in striking his brother?  
 
“You once said you could not bear to lose him,” he whispered bitterly.  “I 
see it is no longer true because, by Elbereth, you have ensured that 
Legolas will depart from our lives and never return.  But perhaps that is 
exactly what you seek in which case I am wasting my time trying to talk 
sense into you.”  
 
He rose and returned to his place by the fire.  If the Rangers noted the 
difference in his demeanor they did not comment on it.  But none failed to 
discern that some great trouble now sundered the brethren.  
 
Part V  
They arrived in Rivendell within the week.  That they had succeeded in 
their undertaking was cause for celebration.  But there was a pall over the 
three Elves that immediately caught the attention of Lord Elrond.  Yet try 
as he might he could get nothing out of them.  But when Legolas went to 
see him the very next morning, he knew he had to act lest the friendship 
between Mirkwood and Rivendell be irrevocably ruined.  He summoned 
his sons as soon as Legolas left his study.  
 
Hardly had they entered when he announced briefly, “Legolas is leaving.”  
At the twins’ startled expressions, he continued: “He gave me no reason 
and has in fact already had his people prepare to depart.  But I received the 
distinct impression that he will not be returning.”  He studied his sons.  
“Would you know the reason for this precipitous decision?”  
 
He could not miss the accusing glance Elladan gave Elrohir.  Of course, 
Elrond thought, it would have to do with Elrohir.  “What have you to say 
about this, gwenneth?” he pointedly asked.  
 
Elrohir drew a deep breath.  “I will speak to him,” he said.  
 
“If you do not mean what you would say, then it would be best if you just 
hold your tongue!” Elladan blurted out angrily.  
 
Elrohir flushed.  Elrond raised an eyebrow in surprise.  He had never seen 
Elladan so angry with his twin.  And what did he mean?  
 
“Are you the reason for his departure, Elrohir?” Elrond inquired.  
 
“Aye.” It was the barest whisper.  
 
Elrond frowned.  “I do not wish to interfere in whatever it is that led to 
this rift.  But you have been closing yourself off to all who care for you 
since Arathorn died.”  Elrohir stared at his father.  Elrond nodded, 
satisfied that his conjecture was correct.  “Oh yes, I have noticed this.  It is 
no mere coincidence that you have been cold to all who love you since 
that tragedy occurred.  Even your family have you held from you.”  
 
Misery surfaced on the Elf’s face.  “I am sorry, Ada,” he whispered.  
Beside him Elladan could only look from his father to his brother in 
bemusement.  
 
“Tis not to me that you should apologize, iôn nîn,” Elrond said.  “I am 
your father, I would never turn you away.  But there are others who do not 
understand and in their pain will turn from you.”  He looked at the 
younger twin keenly.  “Was it Arathorn’s death that affected you so or was 
it merely the catalyst that released your fears?”  
 
Elladan sucked his breath in sharply as enlightenment dawned on him.  
“Legolas was wounded and nearly perished,” he stated.  He stared at his 
brother.  “That is what pained you.  You thought he was going to die.”  
 
Elrohir did not answer but his face had whitened.  Suddenly, he turned and 
fled the room.  When Elladan would have gone after him, Elrond held him 
back.  
 
“Let him be,” he said.  “He must deal with this by himself.”  
 
*******  
As Legolas slipped his leather bracers onto his arms, his eyes fell on the 
pile of belongings on the bed.  He had not even used a quarter of what he 
had taken with him to Rivendell.  But then again he had come expecting to 
stay for a longer length of time.  Who would have thought his visit would 
be cut short so disastrously?  
 
He sighed and looked out his window wistfully, his hands automatically 
continuing the task of lacing the bracers.  He felt so cold and empty inside.  
 
For as long as he could remember, he had relied on his friendship with the 
twins for everything that he considered good and pure.  Love and loyalty, 
courage and strength, joy and laughter, even the occasional shoulder to cry 
on when grief touched his life.  No longer.  
 
He had friends in Mirkwood, of course.  But it would not be the same.  
Elladan and Elrohir had given him something that the others could not.  
Because they were equals there was no need for reserve.  He could simply 
be Legolas, an Elf of Mirkwood, unencumbered by the barrier of his rank 
and title.  In them, he had also found the affection of brothers his own 
seldom gave him.  
 
But that was over now.  He would not be returning to Rivendell nor would 
he ever have the pleasure again of greeting them at the great stone doors of 
his father’s halls in Mirkwood.  That had ended when Elrohir turned his 
back on him.  
 
He shuddered.  He was not only saddened, he also felt despoiled.  All his 
life he had stood by those he loved, resolved to be always there for them 
no matter the cost.  He had never swerved from that path, not even when it 
had required great sacrifice or pain.  The love one bore family and  dearly 
held friends was worth suffering for.  
 
That was what hurt him most.  That Elrohir should have taken that love 
and discarded it in so brutal a manner pained him beyond belief.  He 
thought of what he had done to keep their friendship intact, shivered at the 
memories of long ago in Mirkwood when he had first offered to ease 
Elrohir’s unbidden need for him.  /Was it worth it?  Or was I a fool to have 
brought myself so low?/  
 
Low.  Aye, that was how he felt.  For the first time he felt tainted.  He had 
given too much of himself.  /I should never have yielded, not even that 
first time./  Yet even as he thought this he knew it was not in him to deny 
his most beloved friend.  
 
He became aware of another presence in the room.  Glancing up he could 
not help paling when he saw Elrohir at his door.  The sable-haired Elf was 
staring at his packed belongings.  After a moment, he turned to look at 
Legolas with the most open expression the prince had yet seen on him 
since his arrival in Rivendell.  
 
“So, ‘tis true,” he said, voice limned with apprehension.  “You are 
leaving.”  
 
Legolas looked at him woodenly.  “There is no reason for me to stay.”  
 
Elrohir swallowed hard and bit his lip.  “You are leaving because of what I 
did to you.”  
 
Legolas looked away, eyes shuttered.  Elrohir saw the still-visible bruise at 
the corner of his mouth.  Such a minor injury should have vanished by 
now.  That it still lingered attested to the dampening of Legolas’ spirit and 
the attendant failure of his body’s ability to heal swiftly.  
 
“Forgive me,” he whispered.  “I should not have done that.”  
 
Blue eyes snapped back to him, bright with pain.  “Then why did you?” 
Legolas asked tightly.  “What wrong did I do that you should hate me so?”  
 
“I do not hate you.”  
 
“Nay?  Then what is it you feel toward me?  I know it is not love, not 
anymore.  I lost my friend in the woods.  You are a stranger now.”  
 
“Do not say that--”  
 
“What should I say then?” Legolas cried in anger.  “I abased myself for 
your sake.  Did the unthinkable because I did not want to end our 
friendship!  And you have rewarded my efforts with your coldness!  What 
is it you feel, Elrohir?  Contempt?  Scorn?  Do you see me as weak and 
unworthy because I allowed you to use me as you saw fit?”  
 
Even as he spoke, Elrohir had crossed the room to him. Before he could 
step out of the way, the other Elf had enclosed him in a tight embrace.  
 
“Stop, do not say these things!” Elrohir pleaded.  When Legolas tried to 
pull away, he only tightened his hold.  “’Twas never your fault,” he said 
urgently.  
 
Legolas dropped his arms.  He felt too drained to protest much.  “Why 
then?” he wearily asked.  “Why did you turn against me?”  
 
Elrohir drew back and forced himself to look his friend in the eye.  “I was 
afraid,” he whispered.  
 
The prince stared at him.  “Afraid of what?” he asked.  
 
Elrohir gazed at him uncertainly.  “You are willing to listen?”  
 
Legolas paused then nodded.  “’Tis what I have been waiting for,” he 
replied.  “An answer.”  
 
Elrohir released him and he sank down into a chair.  The twin did the same 
in the chair facing him.  For a moment Elrohir hesitated, unsure how to 
begin.  At length, he sighed and looked at Legolas.  “It started when you 
were wounded trying to save Arathorn.”  
 
Legolas nodded.  He had not forgotten his close brush with death.  The 
arrows that had pierced him were poisoned and by the time they had 
gotten him back to Rivendell, he had been so ill and weak they had almost 
lost hope.  Elrond had had to put forth all his skill and knowledge to pull 
him back from the brink of death.  
 
Nonetheless, the admission puzzled him.  “I have been injured in battle 
before,” he said.  “’Tis not the first time you have seen me wounded.”  
 
“But ‘twas the first time you almost died.”  
 
“I do not understand.”  
 
“There are only two in all Arda whom I cannot bear to lose.  One is 
Elladan.”  The twin hesitated here, aware of the need to tread carefully.  
“The other is you.”  Before a stunned Legolas could think clearly enough 
to react, he hastened on.  “Seeing you so white and still... I nearly broke.  
When father healed you I felt I had to stop caring.  I had to stop feeling 
anything for anyone.”  
 
Legolas stared at him.  “Why?” he gasped.  
 
“I felt safer not loving at all,” Elrohir softly admitted.  “You know of what 
I speak.  You vowed to close your heart as well.”  
 
“I only closed my heart to that which lovers share,” Legolas objected.  
“But I never turned my back on my family or friends.  I never forsook 
you,” he added, anger limining his words.  
 
Elrohir blanched slightly at the prince’s pointed retort.  
 
“You are right, you were always there for me,” he conceded.  “But I could 
not help my fear.  If not for Estel...“ he sighed.  “I began to feel again 
because of him.  For Adar and Arwen.  For Elladan...You.”  
 
Silence fell upon them for a spell as the prince tried to come to grips with 
what had been revealed.  
 
“And what did you feel in the woods?” Legolas whispered at length.  
“What did you want from me?”  
 
Elrohir flushed.  “Despite what you may think of me, I did not do that out 
of mere lust.  During our fight with the orcs, I remembered once more 
what happened to you when Arathorn died.  All I could think was that it 
might happen again.”  
 
“But I was unhurt.  What grieved you afterwards?”  
 
Elrohir raised haunted eyes to him.  “I realized I still cared.  Despite all 
my efforts, I still felt for you.  ‘Tis why I fled from you and Elladan.  I 
wanted to be alone.  I needed to shut my heart again.  When you 
followed…”  
 
Legolas looked away.  “I had thought to help you,” he said tersely.  
 
“I know.  But you came to me at the wrong time.”  
 
“Why?”  
 
“Because I had closed my heart too long and being that near to you was 
more than I could bear yet more than I could resist.  I needed to know you 
again, to feel the closeness we’d once shared.  If I was rough ‘twas not out 
of hate; ‘twas out of anger at myself for caring again.”  
 
Legolas gazed at him with pained eyes.  “Why did you not tell me this 
when I asked?  You let me believe that I had done something so wrong 
that you could not even bear my presence.”  
 
“I sought to make you hate me.”  Elrohir could not help flinching at the 
other’s shocked expression.  “I thought that if I could make you lose 
whatever regard you had for me, then I would also find the means to stop 
caring for you.”  
 
Legolas stared at him in disbelief.  “If that is so, why are you here now?” 
he asked, his voice hard.  
 
“Because I now know that ‘tis not possible to stop.  Father saw through 
me.  He made me face my fear, made me see my folly.”  
 
Legolas said no more but simply stared unseeingly in front of him.  Elrohir 
searched his countenance for any sign of softening.  But there was none.  
Filled with dread, he stood up and approached the prince.  He knelt in 
supplication before Legolas, wincing when the archer visibly flinched at 
his proximity.  He swallowed his anguish and looked imploringly at his 
friend.  
 
“I would beg you to forgive me but I know that what I did is 
unforgivable.  Yet I would ask you to stay not for my sake but for 
Elladan’s.  He is heartsick at the thought of losing your friendship.  I 
would not have him punished for something I did.”  He hesitated then 
went on though he felt his heart would break at the offer he had to make.  
“I swear I will stay away from you,” he whispered.  “I will not trouble you 
or do anything to discomfort you while you are here.  Just...do not 
go...please.”  
 
Legolas did not know how to respond.  It was too much to take in.  He 
turned away feeling confused and not a little resentful.  
 
“Please leave me,” he said,  “I need to think.”  
 
Elrohir felt his heart shatter.  /I have truly lost him./  Without a sound, he 
rose and left the room.  
 
He kept his word.  Soon after he learned that Legolas had changed his 
mind about leaving.  But on the heels of his relief came immeasurable 
sadness.  He rejoiced for his brother, but for himself there was only 
despair.  Still he remained true to his oath.  He stayed away.  
 
In the weeks that followed, he watched from afar, gladdened by the sight 
of his brother and his friend in each other’s company.  If his heart ached 
he kept it to himself for he did not feel himself worthy of sympathy.  Not 
even Elladan’s comfort would he accept, feeling as he did that he did not 
merit his own twin’s affections.  
 
Only in Estel did he find consolation for the child’s attachment did not 
wane but only grew stronger.  
 
He spent many hours with the boy oft taking care of him when Gilraen 
was resting.  Just being in Estel’s company soothed his battered spirit and 
helped to ease some of his heartbreak.  For this he was profoundly 
grateful.  
 
He was watching Legolas and Elladan again one afternoon as they 
practiced their archery.  As always, he remained hidden behind the clutch 
of tall shrubbery that edged the archery yard.  He could not help gazing 
wistfully at Legolas, regret reverberating through his veins.  It was 
inconceivable that anyone could lose such a treasure after having known 
its worth yet he had done just that.  He closed his eyes against the sight of 
his dearest desire now forever lost to him.  
 
*Elbereth, it hurt so much!*  
 
He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was his father.  Elrond 
was gazing at him with great compassion.  
 
“When will you forgive yourself?” he gently asked.  
 
Elrohir swallowed hard.  “How can I when he has not?” he whispered.  
 
“Have you asked him again?”  
 
The warrior shook his head hopelessly.  “He never will for I am not 
worthy of it.”  
 
“You cannot keep punishing yourself, iôn.”  
 
Elrohir said nothing.  After a moment, he excused himself and walked 
away.  Elrond sadly watched him go.  
 
gwenneth - younger twin  
Ada, Adar - Papa, Father  
iôn nîn - my son  
Naneth - Mother  
 
Part VI  
It was late and all was silent in the Last Homely House but Elrohir could 
not sleep.  Seeking solace he rose from his bed and stepped out onto his 
balcony.  Stealing a glance to his left, he espied the flickering light shining 
through the window of the bedchamber just three doors from his.  It 
seemed sleep also eluded his friend.  
 
Nay, he could no longer address the Mirkwood prince as that.  He had 
forfeited the privilege to do so that mad afternoon in the woods south of 
the Ered Mithrin.  He resolutely turned his eyes back to the view before 
him.  
 
He stared at the darkened landscape, then gazed up at the stars.  But he 
could find no peace.  All he could feel was the dreadful weight in his heart 
that refused to diminish but only seemed to grow ever heavier with each 
passing day.  
 
It was now more than a month since he’d last spoken with Legolas.  More 
than a month since he’d sworn never to trouble the Sindarin archer with 
his presence again.  It had been the bleakest period he had ever yet 
experienced.  As always, in times of grief and trouble, his mortal half 
beckoned temptingly.  More than ever he felt the lure of Men’s brief 
existence; hearkened to the promise of an end to sorrow and suffering that 
was not permitted the Firstborn.  
 
Wearily, he laid his elbows on the balustrade and raised his hands to cover 
his face.  Several minutes ticked by before he sensed that he was not 
alone.  Warily, he lifted his head and turned to see who the intruder was.  
He was taken aback to see Legolas at the other end of the balcony, leaning 
against the balustrade.  He straightened up.  
 
“How--?” he started to ask.  Then he saw the overhanging branches of the 
tree by the balcony and realized how the prince had made his way there.  
“You climbed from your room?” he asked in disbelief.  
 
Legolas shrugged.  “As you once told me, it is more discreet this way.”  
He approached Elrohir.  “You have been keeping to yourself,” he said.  
 
Elrohir averted his eyes.  “I promised you that I would stay away.”  
 
“I do not recall accepting your offer,” Legolas softly pointed out.  
 
Elrohir turned back and stared at him.  “Why are you here?” he asked.  
“Why seek me out when you must despise me so?”  
 
“Despise you?”  Legolas sighed.  “I could never despise you, Elrohir.”  
 
“You should.  I wronged you terribly.”  
 
“I do not dwell on it.  I only know that I have missed your company these 
many weeks.”  
 
Elrohir gazed at him in surprise.  “Why should you miss me?” he choked.  
“I caused you so much pain.”  
 
Legolas returned his gaze, his eyes sad and troubled.  “Because you are 
still the dearest of all whom I hold dear,” he whispered.  
 
The gently spoken words took Elrohir’s breath away.  Tears stung his 
eyes.  They were like a balm to his wounded heart.  And coming as they 
did all unexpectedly, they were a gift to his soul.  He closed his eyes to 
keep the tears from falling, his warrior’s pride refusing to let him weep in 
front of his friend.  Still his guilt and shame did not completely abate.  
 
“I do not deserve you,” he said brokenly.  
 
Legolas pulled him into a heartfelt embrace.  “Hush, do not say that,” he 
murmured.  
 
Elrohir held him tightly, buried his face in the crook of his neck.  He did 
not know how long they remained thus.  He only knew that he felt at peace 
as he had not in a long time.  One thing only was missing.  
 
“Please forgive me,” he whispered.  
 
“There is nothing to forgive.  I only want us to be friends again.”  
 
Elrohir pulled away.  “That is what I wish, too.  To be as we were before I 
desired you.”  He looked away, his eyes pensive.  “I regret now that you 
ever found out how I felt.”  
 
“Why should you have regrets when I do not?” Legolas said.  
 
Elrohir could not help looking at him curiously.  “You are as kind as you 
are mettlesome,” he quietly remarked.  “Others would not have been so 
accepting.”  He paused.  “You should have fought me in the woods, 
Legolas,” he finally said.  “Why didn’t you?”  
 
The prince hesitated.  “You needed me,” he finally replied.  
 
“Sirgon needed you and he was your friend as well.”  
 
“But not as close to my heart as you.”  
 
Elrohir turned his dark gaze on him.  He was filled with great wonder that 
he should have ever gained so much loyalty and love from anyone who 
was not his kin.  He noticed the bruise on Legolas’ mouth, faint but still 
discernible.  Strange, it should have disappeared by now.  
 
He reached out and regretfully ran his thumb over it.  To his relief, 
Legolas leaned into his touch, a small smile gracing his lips.  The twin 
suddenly felt a great urge to kiss the bruise away.  
 
He put his thought into action but as lightly as possible, barely brushing 
his lips against the fading mark.  He had no intention of asking anything 
more from Legolas.  The other had already given him too much.  But 
Legolas turned his face and their lips touched.  
 
He drew back, startled.  Their faces were just inches away.  Elrohir felt the 
change in his body, knew that desire was upon him once more.  
 
“I think you had better leave, Calenlass,” he whispered.  “I do not wish to 
hurt you again.”  
 
Sapphire eyes glittered in the dim light.  “Nay, I do not wish to leave,” the 
prince murmured.  
 
Elrohir stared at him but the other’s gaze did not falter.  The dark-haired 
Elf gave up and closed the gap between them.  He strove to be gentle and 
undemanding; he did not want a repeat of the transgression he had 
committed against his friend.  But he was all undone when Legolas 
responded with alacrity, his lips opening under his.  
 
Groaning inwardly, he deepened the kiss, pulling Legolas flush against 
him.  Surprise awaited him when both kiss and embrace were fully 
returned.  All the times the prince had yielded to him there had always 
been an element of restraint on his part.  He had always been pliant and 
cooperative, nothing more, and Elrohir had been content.  
 
This was different.  There was far more than pliancy here.  He trailed 
kisses along the prince’s finely chiseled jaw, drifted down to the smooth 
column of his throat.  He heard the soft intake of breath, felt the tremor 
that passed through the slender, muscular body in his arms.  He was 
astonished when he felt Legolas press against him in active pleasure.  
 
His passion flared, desire deepened.  When he released Legolas it was not 
to free him but to lead him into his room.  No words were spoken as they 
peeled away each other’s raiment; there was no need for any.  Even when 
they came together upon the bed, they still said nothing.  Words were 
superfluous in this moment of reconciliation.  Action said everything.  
 
Yielding once more to the Elf-knight, Legolas revelled in this coupling as 
much as he had recoiled from the last.  Making up for his previous 
brutality, Elrohir lavished upon him all the tender passion and fervent 
loving in his being.  He repeatedly brought the prince to the highest peaks 
of pleasure and the greatest depths of passion, seeking to erase the shame 
and violence of their earlier encounter.  
 
He had Legolas moaning helplessly as he made his way down the archer’s 
lean form, kissing, laving and caressing virtually every inch of flesh along 
the way; had him clawing at the sheets beneath him as he skillfully drew 
upon his swollen shaft, voraciously taking tiny draughts of sweet-salty 
cream with each suckle until the prince, hips wildly bucking in purest 
rapture, spent himself in full.  Lying dazedly upon the rumpled sheets, 
Legolas blushed as he watched Elrohir luxuriate in the opulent mouthful 
before downing it, smiling in sheer bliss as he did so.  
 
When their bodies joined at last, it proved a most felicitous experience as 
the archer dared to unleash what he had long kept secret from the Elf-
knight.  Their wondrous forms melded in a coupling more ardent than any 
they had yet shared, their ecstasy greater than in all their previous unions.  
Afterwards, they lay together, drained and thoroughly sated, Legolas 
nestled comfortably in Elrohir’s protective embrace.  Still they did not 
speak.  Words were for the morrow in the full light of day.  For now, they 
let sleep overcome them, their spent bodies sinking into the peace of 
restful respose.  
 
*******  
Bathed in the cool light of early morning, Elrohir curiously watched 
Legolas as the latter dressed.  More surprises had been sprung on him last 
night.  He wondered about them.  
 
For one he had awakened to find Legolas still beside him.  During that 
entire fateful week in Mirkwood, never had the prince remained in bed 
with him past daybreak.  If the night had been passed in his chamber, he 
had invariably risen, dressed and waited until Elrohir woke up.  And 
though he had twice gone to Elrohir’s room he had left it when dawn 
came.  That had not changed that time in Rivendell when the archer had 
comforted the twin in his sorrow.  
 
Elrohir had understood.  What Legolas did for him was out of love for a 
friend.  But he had neatly separated his two functions of boon companion 
and lover, never melding the two together.  Leaving Elrohir’s side as soon 
as the sun rose had been a way of keeping that dichotomy intact.  
 
/So why did he not leave me now?/  
 
Elrohir did not deny that it had filled him with delight and contentment to 
find him there.  To reach over and gather him against his tall frame and 
wait for him to awaken.  And when he had, Legolas had not pulled away 
and risen from the bed but had lain there awhile until his drowsiness had 
passed.  
 
As for the other surprise…  He involuntarily shivered at the memory of 
powerful legs locked fiercely around his waist, flexing unexpectedly to 
draw him ever more deeply into the heated confines of the prince’s supple 
form.  Legolas’ needful, urgent response had shaken him to the core even 
as it had spurred him into explosive release bare seconds after the archer 
found his.  
 
“Legolas?”  
 
“Hm?”  
 
“There is something I do not understand.”  The archer looked up at him 
and raised a golden eyebrow, waiting for his question.  “Last night, you 
were...different,” Elrohir said somewhat hesitantly.  
 
“How was I different?”  
 
“I know that when you lie with me ‘tis out of friendship.  I do not resent 
that.   ‘Tis but natural for you not to want anything more than whatever 
pleasure I give you.  But last night…” he paused.  Legolas had gone still, 
was looking at him, his eyes unreadable. “Last night, ‘twas as if you…” 
He could not continue for his idea seemed so absurd it did not bear saying.  
 
“As if I desired it,” Legolas finished for him.  He drew a deep breath.  “I 
did.”  
 
Elrohir stared at him nonplussed.  “But you are no lover of males,” he said 
incredulously.  
 
Legolas considered the matter then gravely said: “’Tis true, I care not for 
the love of ellyn, do not crave the touch of any.  Save yours.”  He smiled a 
little at Elrohir’s expression.  “Remember what you once said about love 
and desire having no rational reason for being and that the rules of 
attraction apply to everyone?”  
 
“Aye, I remember.”  
 
“I understand now what you meant.  If I find pleasure in what we do and 
should even now desire it, ‘tis because I share it with you.  I feel nothing  
with other ellyn.”  He paused, searching for the right words.  At last he 
admitted:  “You draw me as others do not.”  
 
Elrohir could only stare at him, a blistering mix of emotions stirring within 
him.  In that moment, he knew his love for Legolas had deepened beyond 
redemption of any kind.  There would be no going back for him, no 
assuaging of the fire that consumed him.  Not even in the beds of the most 
comely maids of Arda would he ever find more than brief respite from his 
passion.  And as for lying with another ellon...even the mere thought was 
abhorrent if that ellon was not he whom he loved; he had not bedded 
another since claiming the Mirkwood prince all those centuries ago.  But 
he also knew he could not voice this truth just yet.  
 
He had thought to confess his love to his friend now that they were 
reconciled and closer than ever.  The temptation had grown stronger in the 
wake of Legolas’ surprisingly passionate response to him during their 
coupling.  But the archer’s palpably reluctant admission made him 
reconsider.  
 
Legolas may have discovered that he enjoyed yielding his body to Elrohir 
but the heart was a completely different thing.  Elrohir did not wish to lose 
the trust and affection the Wood-elf held for him and he instinctively 
discerned that both would be significantly diminished should Legolas 
discover the depths of his feelings for him.  The prince simply was not 
prepared for yet another earth-shaking revelation from one he deemed 
dearest of all his friends.  
 
Elrohir wondered if he would ever be permitted the relief of an admission 
to Legolas.  Not that it would change anything.  Whether blessing or 
doom, his heart was given.  It was Legolas’ to do with as he wished 
whether he one day accepted it or never.  He fully understood as so very 
few did the real nature of true love.  
 
He became aware of the archer’s curious regard; realized something of his 
feelings must have shown on his mien and would lead the archer to think 
him troubled anew.  He moved to allay his friend’s budding anxiety.  
 
“Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?” he asked, carefully 
keeping his tone much lighter than he actually felt.  
 
Legolas smiled, his incipient perturbation dissipating.  “Always,” he 
replied beamingly.  “And I shall never tire of hearing it.”  
 
Elrohir noticed then that the fading bruise by his mouth had completely 
vanished.  It seemed he had not been the only one in need of healing.  
 
The wailing of a child suddenly pierced the early morning quiet.  
 
“Elbereth!  ‘Tis Estel!”  Elrohir exclaimed, recalling that Gilraen 
occasionally indulged herself in early morning strolls while her son still 
slept.  “He must be alone.”  
 
Legolas grinned.  “Then you had best go to him before he rouses all of 
Imladris,” he suggested.  “And I think I should return to my own room.  
Discreetly,” he added.  
 
With a wink at Elrohir he walked out to the balcony and vanished into the 
branches of the tree outside.  Elrohir chuckled and set off to appease the 
crying child.  
 
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
ellyn - male Elves (ellon - male Elf)  
 
Epilogue  
Elrond watched as his sons and Legolas entertained Estel in the gardens.  
Elrohir was flat on his back with Estel straddling him and they were mock 
wrestling with the Elf-knight pretending to be overwhelmed.  Elladan and 
Legolas watched with mirth, calling encouragement to the child.  Elrond 
smiled with gladness.  
 
He saw Elladan pick up Estel and Legolas reach out his hand to help 
Elrohir to his feet.  The prince pulled his friend up but inadvertently put 
more force into the motion than was needed which brought Elrohir up 
close to him.  For a few seconds the two of them stood eye to eye.  And 
then they drew apart and turned back to Elladan who was fussing with 
little Estel.  
 
Elrond drew in his breath.  There could be no mistaking what had passed 
between the two Elves in that briefest of contacts.  Master Elrond knew it 
all too well.  It was the look of people who had recently shared the greatest 
intimacy possible between two beings.  
 
He considered the two more keenly.  He had not been surprised about 
Elrohir’s feelings.  When an Elf’s nature chose to exert its pull upon one 
there was virtually no resisting it.  Whatever his son’s eventual choices in 
life, the Lord of Rivendell would be there to guide or support him as the 
need may be.  But he was surprised regarding Legolas.  He had not 
expected the woodland prince to continue intimacy with his son beyond 
that Mirkwood week.  
 
Thranduil was wary of the old ways, would be hesitant to accept in his 
own children what his people had come to regard as a gratuitous practice 
from the ancient past.  It was improbable that the Elvenking did not know 
of the relationship between his favorite child and Elrond’s younger son.  
That he had not forbidden it, had in fact suffered it within his halls, was a 
remarkable departure from his typical dislike of what was outside the 
traditions of his realm.  Elrond wondered how Legolas had blunted his 
father’s disapproval.  And how in Arda did the young prince cope with 
answering Elrohir’s need?  
 
He does it out of friendship even if it means going above and beyond what 
is normally expected of friendship, Elrond deduced.  He does it because he 
cherishes what he and Elrohir share.  My son is very fortunate to have 
inspired such loyalty and devotion.  The Loremaster wondered though 
where it would lead.  
 
“It seems they are friends again,” he heard Erestor say at his shoulder.  
The counsellor had quietly joined him on the porch.  
 
“Yes, much to my relief.  ‘Tis good to hear their laughter once more.”  
 
“Did you ever discover what caused the rift?”  
 
Elrond shook his head.  Actually he now had a good idea what their 
quarrel had been all about but he was not about to speak of such intimate 
matters even to one he trusted as much as he did his chief steward.  There 
were some things that had to be kept within the family.  
 
He sighed in resignation.  Even in matters of love and friendship it seemed 
his sons managed to outdo themselves.  They never did do anything by 
halves.  Ah well, he thought with some humor, ‘tis better than mischief 
and mayhem.  Mayhap Imladris will survive this age after all.  
 
He and Erestor turned to go into the house.  A loud crash and shouts of 
dismay reached them, however, and they hurried back to see what had 
happened.  A ludicrous sight greeted their eyes.  
 
Estel had gotten away from Elladan and had managed to push a garden urn 
over, spilling out its contents, which in this case was much earth and 
pebbles.  Not content with that he had proceeded to play with the soil and, 
when his three guardians tried to deter him, promptly wiped his grubby 
little hands on their clothes and faces.  They looked far from happy.  
 
Elrond sighed.  Then again maybe not.  
 
The end