Title: Melethron: The Ancient Path  
Author: Eressë  
Author's Email: eresse21@yahoo.com  
Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: No price is too high to pay if a priceless 
friendship is at stake.  If it's worth having, it's worth 
saving.  Follow up to Into Temptation.  Part 8 of Greenleaf 
& Imladris series.  
Disclaimer: All the Elves belong to that old wizard, 
Tolkien.  
Author's Note: The whole series is divided into three 
parts: The first half of the Third Age, the latter half, 
and the early centuries of the Fourth Age. This tale is the 
second to the last story of the first part.  Next in line - 
Aftermath.  
 
Melethron: The Ancient Path  
 
Mirkwood, laer TA 1628  
 
Chapter I: Offense  
The company of Elven rangers halted in a small clearing of 
Mirkwood.  It was nearing sunset in the world outside but 
under the eaves of the great forest, it would soon be as 
dark as night.  Only in such spots as these where the trees 
did not form an almost impenetrable canopy above did the 
sun make its presence known.  The Elves set about making 
camp.  
 
Oreth, the captain of the company, approached a fair-haired 
Elf who was engaged in fetching wood for the campfires.  
The Edhel appeared younger and also slighter of build than 
most of his comrades.  But no one could have mistaken him 
for anything but a warrior for he moved with a cat-like 
grace that hinted at battle-honed reflexes.  And though 
lithe and slender, there was no lack of muscle or strength 
in his form and limbs.  
 
“Legolas,” Oreth said.  “May I have a word with you in 
private?”  
 
The youngest son of Thranduil nodded and put down his 
burden.  There was no resentment at being addressed thus.  
Indeed, none of the three Elf-lords in the company would 
have taken exception.  For though Legolas and his friends, 
the brethren Elladan and Elrohir, were of high and ancient 
lineage, they were also warriors with a deeply ingrained 
sense of duty.  And that included submitting to the 
authority of those placed above them in rank or seniority.  
 
The twins had arrived in Mirkwood the week before for a 
fortnight's visit; responsibilities in Rivendell allowed 
them no more than the briefest of stays.  It had been many 
years since they had set foot in the Woodland Realm and 
much had changed since.  For one, the brethren had matured 
considerably.  Known for their high spirits and sometimes 
intemperate pursuit of adventure and pleasure, the brothers 
had surprised everyone with their more restrained behavior.  
 
It was a change that disappointed a few but pleased many 
more, King Thranduil most of all.  He had often despaired 
that they would influence his youngest son into behaving as 
they did and, considering Legolas’ own youthful ingenuity 
when it came to getting into trouble, his anxiety had been 
understandable.  
 
The other change was from without.  Orcs had always 
infested the Misty Mountains but of late they had become 
more numerous and quite bold and had taken to harassing the 
borders of Mirkwood.  And the spiders that lurked in the 
deeps of the dark woods were also increasing and daring to 
spin their webs closer to the Woodland Realm than was 
comfortable for its people.  
 
The latter change was the primary reason for the scouting 
party that wove its way through Northern Mirkwood.  
Thranduil intended to keep his people safe even if it meant 
hunting down each and every spider that had nested 
dangerously close to his kingdom or scouring the borders to 
ensure they would not be despoiled by marauding Orcs.  The 
Woodland Realm had flourished for many an age and its king 
was not about to permit it to diminish from lack of 
vigilance or foresight.  
 
As soon as the twins learned that Legolas would be leaving 
on this sortie, they insisted on joining the scouting party 
as well.  Thranduil had known better than to forbid them to 
go.  Change for the better they may have done but the King 
was taking no chances.  While their days of indefatigable 
and unfettered trouble making were long behind them, the 
twins still indulged themselves in a bit of mayhem 
mongering now and then.  Their eyes betrayed that mischief 
yet lurked within and was just awaiting an excuse to burst 
out and wreak havoc as of old.  Better to let them unleash 
their restless energies on Orcs and spiders than on the 
hapless inhabitants of his halls!  
 
Elrohir watched Legolas follow the captain away from the 
clearing.  A frown etched his fair face.  He was uneasy and 
felt a need to do something about that uneasiness.  As his 
twin crouched down beside him, he came to a decision.  
 
“Elladan, finish this for me,” he murmured, indicating the 
small fire he was building.  
 
Elladan asked, “Why, where are you going?”  
 
“After Legolas,” came the terse reply.  
 
“Whatever for?”  
 
“I am not sure.  Call it intuition, if you wish.”  With 
that, he rose and hurried after the Elven prince and his 
captain.  
 
He tracked them to a nearby glen where the lowering sun 
still managed to cast some of it red-gold beams.  Legolas 
was standing to one side, still as a young beech tree, arms 
folded, face expressionless.  In the slowly fading light he 
looked almost delicate, his hair seemingly spun from silver 
and gold, his sun-dappled skin aglow with soft color.  
 
On the other hand, Oreth seemed restless for he did not 
face the prince but paced about a while.  Elrohir settled 
into the thick brush.  From his place of concealment he 
could see but not be seen and he could hear whatever needed 
to be heard.  
 
“What did you wish to speak to me about?” Legolas asked at 
length.  
 
Oreth glanced up at him.  There was a speculative gleam in 
his dark eyes.  He came close to the younger Elf.  
 
“We have been away for nigh on five days and I am getting 
weary of it,” he began.  Legolas simply raised one dark 
golden eyebrow.  Five days of scouring the dark wood was 
not very long by any standard.  The captain noted his 
surprise and smiled.  “Nay, ‘tis not the length of time of 
this mission that troubles me but the length of time spent 
away from any chances of—release,” he said.  The hesitation 
before the last word underscored its significance  “Do you 
understand what I mean?”  
 
Legolas remained expressionless.  “I think I do,” he 
quietly replied.  
 
“Do you?” murmured the older Elf.  “Then perhaps you 
already know why I brought you here.”  When the prince did 
not respond, his smiled widened.  “This is the first time 
you have served under me, Legolas, and I admit I have been 
distracted by your presence since we set out.  You are more 
attractive than rumor would have it.  So much more comely 
than either of your brothers.”  
 
His words carried easily to where Elrohir lay.  The 
Rivendell Elf felt his stomach turn.  What was Oreth 
thinking?  
 
The captain stepped closer to the prince.  “You do not 
speak.”  
 
“What am I supposed to say?” Legolas said.  
 
Oreth grinned.  “That perhaps you feel as I do?  That we 
can spend this time together in mutual, shall we call it, 
easing of certain desires?”  He raised a hand to stroke one 
of the tiny braids behind the prince’s ear.  
 
Legolas suddenly jerked his head away.  “I do not think 
so,” he replied.  
 
Oreth stared at him in surprise.  His eyes narrowed.  “You 
watch me closely enough, golden one,” he murmured.  “I do 
not think you mean what you say.”  
 
“I always watch my captains,” Legolas answered evenly.  
“’Tis my duty to know what they may need before they must 
ask for it.”  
 
“Need,” Oreth repeated.  “Yes, I do have a need.  And if 
you indeed knew your duty you would meet it.”  
 
Legolas’ blue eyes darkened ominously.  “That I will not,” 
he said.  He turned away.  
 
“Legolas, I did not give you leave to go!” Oreth snapped.  
The prince halted but did not turn around.  
 
Elrohir tensed as Oreth curled his arms around the archer’s 
shoulders from behind.  Legolas remained immobile but his 
face had gone pale with—what?  Elrohir wondered why his 
friend did nothing.  
 
Oreth raised one hand and brushed the long golden tresses 
aside baring one side of Legolas’ neck.  “You should know 
better than to defy your captain,” he murmured.  Legolas 
visibly shuddered when the older Elf pressed his lips to 
his neck.  
 
He twisted out of the captain’s arms.  “I think ‘tis time 
we returned to the others, Oreth.”  His tone was harder, 
threatening.  But the captain made no move to go back.  
Legolas once more turned away to leave.  
 
Oreth grabbed him by an arm, spun him around roughly.  “I 
think not,” he grated.  Elrohir sucked in his breath, 
shocked at the Elf’s boldness.  His hand moved to the 
dagger at his belt.  
 
Oreth had grasped the younger Elf’s wrists.  His face was 
but a mere inch from the prince’s.  He said persuasively, 
“Why resist?  I could teach you things you have never 
known.  You might find that you like the experience.”  When 
Legolas did not protest by word or deed, he smirked.  
Confident he had intimidated his prey, he released one of 
the prince’s hands and began to unfasten the fair Edhel’s 
tunic.  
 
Just as Elrohir rose to a crouch to rush the pair, Legolas 
exploded into action.  Elrohir did not know what the prince 
did; he only saw the result.  One moment the younger Elf 
was motionless, seemingly helpless as Oreth undid his 
tunic.  In the next, he had grabbed Oreth’s wrist with his 
free hand and, in a startling flurry of motion, had flipped 
the captain over on to the ground.  
 
Oreth landed on his stomach with a jolt.  Before he could 
recover his breath, Legolas had straddled his back and 
twisted his arms behind him.  The prince spoke in a voice 
that jarred the captain into apprehension.  “Did you think 
I would allow you to force me into servicing your base 
needs?” he said.  “I am no mere warrior whom you can coerce 
or compel by abusing the authority given you.”  
 
He leaned down and hissed, “I will forget this incident for 
you are a good captain despite this weakness of yours.  But 
I warn you not to try my patience again or take from others 
what they do not wish to give.  All your past service and 
valor will avail you not if I should hear of another such 
incident.  I will be watching you closely, Oreth, remember 
that!”  
 
He let go of the older man and rose to his feet.  Calmly, 
he refastened his tunic while waiting for the other Elf to 
rise.  Oreth, his face flushed with humiliation got to his 
feet.  Legolas coolly leveled his gaze at him.  “As I 
earlier said, ‘tis time we returned.”  
 
Oreth glared at him but knew there was little he could do 
in retaliation.  He dusted himself off and strode away.  
Legolas coldly watched him go.  As the prince moved to 
follow, he heard a slight rustle.  He spun around warily, 
yanking a white-hilted sigil from its sheath.  
 
“Hold, Legolas, ‘tis only me!”  
 
Legolas stared in surprise as Elrohir emerged from the 
bushes.  “What are you doing here?” he asked sheathing his 
knife once more.  
 
Elrohir flushed slightly.  “I followed you.”  
 
“Why?”  
 
The raven-haired Elf shrugged.  “I felt there was something 
wrong,” he said.  “Oreth has been watching you closely all 
this week.”  
 
“As I was watching him,” Legolas pointed out.  
 
“Nay, his look was different,” Elrohir responded.  “I knew 
he wanted something else from you.  There have been 
unsavory rumors about him after all.”  He glanced at the 
fair-haired archer.  “I wasn’t sure what he intended to do 
when he asked you to go with him.  But I didn’t want to 
wait for my suspicions to be confirmed.”  
 
Legolas lips formed into a small smile.  “Gwador, I can 
take care of myself,” he reminded his friend.  
 
“So you proved.  How did you do that?  I have never seen 
anything so fast.  You must teach me that particular move, 
Legolas.”  
 
The prince laughed softly.  “When we get back to my 
father’s halls,” he promised.  
 
They started back toward camp.  “What about Oreth?” Elrohir 
asked curiously.  “Are you really going to let him go 
unpunished after what he tried to do to you?”  
 
Legolas sighed.  “Oreth is a good captain,” he explained.  
“We cannot afford to put aside someone like him, not in 
these times.  Mirkwood is too perilous now for us to 
entrust our warriors to inexperienced or incapable leaders, 
no matter how noble or loyal they may be.  But I told him I 
would be watching him and I meant what I said.  That should 
ensure that no more of his men will have to endure his 
twisted desires.”  He glanced at Elrohir.  “’Tis the reason 
I asked to join this mission.”  
 
Elrohir gaped at him in amazement.  “Do you mean you used 
yourself as bait to trap him?” he exclaimed.  
 
“Someone had to.  I knew he would be attracted to me.”  
 
“You were so certain?  You think highly of your face and 
form!”  
 
“Nay, I only acted upon what I had heard of his tastes.  I 
am not a novice at this, Elrohir!”  
 
“I am sorry, I did not mean to imply that.  But how did you 
ensure that he would indeed take the bait?”  
 
“Oh, a glance here, a brush of the hand there, perhaps a 
smile once in a while.”  
 
“You encouraged him?”  Elrohir stared at his friend.  
 
Legolas shrugged.  “If he was encouraged ‘twas because he 
wished to deduce more from my actions than there was in 
truth.”  
 
To this Elrohir could only shake his head in amazement.  
They walked the rest of the way in silence.  
 
melethron - lover or beloved (m.)  
laer - Sindarin for summer  
Edhel - Elf  
sigil - knife  
gwador - sworn brother  
 
 
Chapter II: Undeclared  
“What are you brooding over, muindor?” Elladan asked.  For 
the better part of dinner, Elrohir had spent his time 
staring into the flames of one of the campfires, deep in 
thought.  
 
It was pitch dark and somewhat stuffy.  To the Mirkwood 
Elves, it was as expected.  But for the twins, born and 
bred in the openness of Rivendell, it was unnerving and 
repressive.  They were used to seeing the stars, to walking 
in open spaces.  This forest afforded them neither luxury.  
No matter how many times they had helped patrol Mirkwood 
they had never really gotten used to its closeness.  But 
they had come along for friendship’s sake.  Where Legolas 
was there they intended to be.  
 
Elrohir glanced at his twin as the latter sat down cross-
legged beside him.  He knew it would be futile to try 
hiding anything from his brother.  What Elladan could not 
get through persistent questioning he would divine from 
close study of his twin.  
 
They were very alike and, at first glance or from a short 
distance, difficult to tell apart.  For the sake of quick 
identification, something necessary out on the field, they 
always arranged their raven locks differently to help 
others distinguish them easily from each other.  To this 
end, Elladan had adopted the slender braids favored by the 
Mirkwood Elves to keep his hair from his face, whereas 
Elrohir had bound his tresses into a single thick plait in 
the manner of Men.  
 
“I was thinking about what happened between Legolas and 
Oreth,” he murmured.  
 
“But nothing happened,” Elladan said.  “Truth be told, I 
was surprised when you set off after them.  Legolas has 
always been able to take care of himself.”  
 
“I know.  It’s just that…” Elrohir sighed.  “I couldn’t 
help myself.  When I guessed what Oreth’s intentions might 
be I—I couldn’t help myself,” he said once more.  
 
Elladan studied his twin.  “’Tis that problem again, isn’t 
it,” he murmured.  Elrohir’s only response was to color up 
slightly.  “I thought you had managed to control it.”  
 
Elrohir shook his head.  “’Tis even worse,” he replied.  
 
Elladan let out his breath.  “You should tell Legolas,” he 
softly suggested.  
 
His brother stared at him.  “Are you mad?” he said.  “He 
would hate me!”  
 
“You do not know that.”  
 
“And you did not see him with Oreth!  He looked quite 
capable of flaying him alive.”  
 
“Oreth is not his friend.  You are.  You are dearer to him 
than his own brothers.”  
 
“All the more reason not to chance ruining whatever 
closeness we share,” Elrohir retorted.  
 
Elladan had no answer for that.  “If only you had met 
someone else--”  
Elrohir shook his head.  “I do not think that would have 
averted what has happened to me, Elladan.  What I have ever 
felt for anyone else is altogether different from what I 
now feel for—“  
 
“What are you two plotting?”  
 
Both brothers started as Legolas came up from behind and 
sat down facing them.  
 
“Since when did you take to creeping up on your friends?” 
Elladan said a little crossly, put out at having been 
caught off guard by the prince.  
 
“I did not creep up, Elladan.  You were so engrossed in 
your discussion, a horde of Orcs could have come upon you 
and you would not have noticed!”  At the rueful grins of 
the brothers, Legolas chuckled.  “So what were you talking 
about?  You’re not dreaming up one of your schemes again, 
are you?”  
 
“Schemes?  We do not indulge in such frivolous games out 
here in the wild, Legolas Thranduilion!” Elladan announced 
virtuously.  
 
Legolas snorted sceptically.  He looked at Elrohir who 
remained half hidden at his twin’s side.  Oddly, it seemed 
as if he preferred to remain half hidden.  “You are so 
quiet, Elrohir,” he commented.  
 
Elrohir glanced at him.  “I have nothing to say,” he 
replied with a shrug.  
 
Legolas stared at him.  “What?  A Peredhil with nothing to 
say?  I did not think it possible!”  
 
Elladan took pity on his brother and sought to divert 
Legolas’ attention to another subject.  “He is only feeling 
the effects of prolonged chastity,” he quipped.  
 
He deemed it a safe observation for the twins’ 
unconventional (by elven standards) predilection for casual 
bed-play was known to all.  Nothing dampened their need to 
experiment and explore.  Fortunately for them, their sexual 
adventurism was often attributed to the Edain side of their 
heritage and thus shielded them for the most part from more 
than mild disapproval.  
 
Legolas grinned.  “’Tis a matter of astonishment to me how 
greedy you two are for more than what is good for either of 
you.  A few love affairs I can understand but you seem to 
aim for quantity!”  
 
“At least, we shall have sown all our wild seed when we 
finally settle down into wedded life,” Elladan shot back.  
 
“Just take care that that is all you sow lest your future 
wives find themselves the only ones unable to provide you 
with heirs.”  
 
“Legolas, we have never and are not about to father 
children out of wedlock,” Elladan said virtuously.  “That 
is not the way of the Eldar!”  
 
“And your promiscuity is?”  
 
“Ha!  The pot dares call the kettle black!  You are no 
innocent, mellon nîn, yet you do not have the excuse of 
Half-elven forefathers to defend yourself!”  
 
“I am no innocent, true, but neither do I chase after every 
maiden in sight as you do.  I am much more restrained, 
selective and discreet.  You would be hard-pressed to name 
any maiden I have dallied with.”  
 
Before his brother could come up with an appropriate 
response, Elrohir suddenly asked, “What did you feel about 
Oreth’s behavior toward you, Calenlass?”  
 
The other two stared at him in surprise.  Elladan warily 
glanced at his twin, one eyebrow going up in inquiry.  
Elrohir only shook his head slightly.  
 
“I was appalled by his actions,” Legolas swiftly answered.  
 
“You find his predilection for his own kind offensive?” 
Elrohir probed.  
 
“Nay, his desire for me or any ellon is not what offended 
me,” Legolas said.  “’Twas his use of his position to get 
what he wanted that repelled me.  No one should have to 
submit to another against their wishes.  If Oreth conducted 
his affairs with willing partners, I would not interfere 
nor would it be my right to do so.”  
 
“But you called his desire twisted.”  
 
“Not his desire in itself but the means by which he sought 
to quench it.  Why are you asking me this, Elrohir?”  
 
“I am curious, that is all,” Elrohir replied.  “You have 
been more exposed to such attentions since we last spoke of 
this.  I wondered whether your thoughts on the matter had 
changed as well.”  
 
Legolas smiled.  “I admit I still do not completely 
understand the attraction between two males as you two do.  
There is a rightness, a harmony between a man and a woman 
despite the differences of thought and heart and form, or 
perhaps I should say precisely because of them.  I cannot 
fathom what two males could offer each other when there is 
only…” he trailed off for want of the right word.  
 
“There is symmetry,” Elrohir said tersely.  His brother 
sneaked a look at him.  
 
Legolas’ eyes widened.  “I had not thought of that,” he 
commented.  “Is it the very sameness of thought and body 
that draw other Elves to their own kind?”  
 
“Not even between two males *or* two females is there 
complete sameness,” Elrohir replied.  “The rules of 
attraction between two people applies to everyone.  You do 
not love or desire because of any rational reason; you 
simply feel it.”  
 
Legolas studied him with newfound interest.  “You have 
delved deeply into this matter,” he remarked.  
 
Elrohir colored once more.  “Curiosity is a remarkable tool 
for learning,” Elladan smoothly put in.  “Are you not 
curious about what it would be like to have a male lover, 
Legolas?”  He pretended not to notice the rather painful 
nudge his twin dealt him.  
 
Startled, Legolas could only mutely shake his head at 
first.  When he finally did speak, he said, “I confess I 
have never even felt the need to think about it.”  
 
At this Elrohir straightened up and blurted out, “Yet you 
allowed Sirgon certain liberties before he died!”  
 
Legolas stared at him in shock.  “How did you know *that*?” 
he demanded.  “Only my father knew what happened that 
night.”  
 
Elrohir’s blush darkened.  “Nay, we came to Sirgon’s 
chamber to see how he was.  We saw you then.  But when we 
saw your father approaching, we hid.”  
 
Legolas gazed at him, his eyes narrowed.  Elrohir worried 
that he should not have revealed their knowledge of that 
night’s events.  That neither he nor Elladan had told 
anyone about what they had witnessed did not diminish the 
feeling that they had intruded on something very personal 
to their friend.  
 
The prince lowered his eyes to the campfire.  He stared at 
the dancing flames.  
 
“What I did was not for my sake but for his,” Legolas 
quietly stated.  “He had suffered greatly when I could not 
return his passion.  And he was dying.  I wanted him to go 
into the darkness loved and cared for, even in the limited 
capacity of which I was capable.”  He sighed.  “Had he not 
been on his deathbed, I would not have allowed him those 
liberties.”  He lifted his eyes and met Elrohir’s grey 
gaze.  “I hope that satisfies your curiosity?”  
 
Elrohir knew that he should end the subject but he needed 
to know just one more thing.  “Did you consider him twisted 
for loving you?” he softly asked.  
 
Legolas fell silent as he considered his answer.  At length 
he shook his head.  “Nay, not twisted.  Only—bent.  At 
least, he truly loved me.  The twisted ones are those like 
Oreth who take out of lust and little or no love.”  
 
He suddenly rose, the simple movement imbued with more 
grace and elegance than was evident even among the Elves.  
“Good night, mellyn nîn.”  
 
“Good night, Legolas,” Elladan said.  Elrohir simply nodded 
his response.  
 
The brothers watched him walk to his place among the other 
rangers already stretched out on their cloaks.  Elladan 
glanced at his brother.  “What did you hope to find out?” 
he asked.  
 
Elrohir sighed.  “Enough to know that it will not be wise 
to tell him anything.  He still feels uneasy about love 
between Elves of the same kind.”  
 
“But he is fair,” Elladan protested.  “He does not despise 
those who are different from him nor does he condemn them.”  
 
“So he says now.  But I wonder what he would think if he 
were once more made to endure such attention.  I have not 
forgotten how it was with Sirgon or with Oreth today.”  
 
“Elrohir—“  
 
“For the love you bear me, do not tell him, Elladan.  Do 
not chance marring whatever is between us.”  
 
Elladan gave him a pained look.  “’Tis not the way to 
happiness, gwenneth nîn.”  
 
Elrohir’s expression was grim.  “’Tis better than the road 
to heartbreak.  Keep my secret if you do not wish to bring 
down more hurt upon me.”  
 
The following day found the company at the edge of a 
lightless, seemingly airless clearing.  What air there was 
was thick with the stench of rot and waste.  Here the sun 
did not enter, its rays unable to penetrate the tightly 
interlocking branches, leaves and vines above.  Yet the 
Elves bore only the most slender and dimmest of torches, 
their light just barely enough to illuminate a nightmare 
setting.  
 
The clearing was strung with spider webs the size of a 
full-grown Elf.  On one upper corner of a deceptively 
gossamer sheet was a large and hideous shape, its multi-
faceted eyes gleaming in the dark, long hairy legs 
quiescent for the moment.  It was surrounded by numerous, 
smaller shapes, all crawling restlessly across the thick 
viscous strands of the webs.  
 
“Why did you hunt for this particular spider?” whispered 
Elladan.  He and Legolas were hidden in the thick foliage 
of a large tree.  Every tree in the vicinity concealed two 
or three rangers, all awaiting the signal to attack the 
creatures.  “This place is quite far from your realm.”  
 
“Her nest is too close to one of our paths,” Legolas 
whispered back.  “She has already taken some of our people 
to feed her brood.”  He glanced at Elladan questioningly.  
“Why didn’t Elrohir come with us?”  
 
Elladan hoped the dim light would not betray his expression 
of concern.  How to tell Legolas that Elrohir had felt 
supremely uncomfortable about being in such close proximity 
to him after last night’s discussion?  He was saved from 
responding when they heard what sounded like a birdcall 
emanating from one of the trees.  
 
Suddenly, arrows rained down on the creatures.  There was 
an unearthly shriek as the mother spider rallied its 
offspring and sounded the alarm.  A multitude of black 
bodies began to converge on the clearing.  Within minutes 
the small space was crawling with dark hirsute shapes.  
 
The arrows had easily dispatched the smaller spiders with 
their still soft skins.  But the large ones were another 
matter.  Their hides were thick and tough.  It would need 
sword and knife to slice through to the point of effecting 
sufficient damage or death.  
 
Another birdcall signaled the scouts to descend from their 
perches and fall upon the scurrying spiders.  Legolas and 
Elladan lightly dropped from their tree, blades out and 
flashing.  There was a terrific melee as the spiders sought 
to beat off their attackers and, failing that, bring down 
as many with them as they could.  
 
Legolas soon got separated from Elladan as he slew or 
wounded beast after beast, white sigil stabbing, slashing 
and slicing.  He had just finished off one creature when 
another one crashed down on his back from above forcing him 
to the ground.  
 
Knowing that one good bite from the creature would paralyze 
him, Legolas desperately twisted around and stabbed at it.  
But his position did not permit him to wound it effectively 
enough to force it to release him.  He felt the tips of 
fangs against his shoulder.  Dropping his knife he grabbed 
at the creature’s head with his hands and, with every ounce 
of his strength, sought to keep the deadly fangs away from 
his flesh.  
 
Suddenly, the creature reared up, screaming with pain.  
Legolas saw the rise and fall of a sword as it cleaved the 
spider’s flesh repeatedly.  With only mild surprise, he 
realized that salvation had come in the form of Elrohir.  
What astonished him by far was the ferocity with which the 
Elf-warrior was attacking the spider.  He looked fell and 
furious.  Legolas almost did not recognize his friend in 
the implacable killer above him.  
 
Elrohir kicked the spider carcass off the prince with more 
force than seemed necessary.  Silently, he reached out his 
hand to Legolas and, when the latter took it, pulled him to 
his feet.  
 
“Your timing was impeccable, gwador,” Legolas said with a 
rueful smile.  
 
Elrohir only nodded.  Before Legolas could say another 
word, he swiftly turned and walked away leaving the prince 
to stare after him in bewilderment.  
 
Around the clearing the Elves were finishing off any of the 
creatures that so much as twitched and were cutting down 
the menacing webs.  In the act of slicing through the tough 
strands of a web, Elladan paused to watch the brief 
encounter between his friend and his brother.  He noted the 
puzzled expression on Legolas’ face, the closed one of 
Elrohir.  
 
His twin had slain that spider with almost uncalled for 
brutality.  He wondered if Legolas had recognized the 
emotion that had driven Elrohir to such a fury.  He hoped 
not.  For Elladan had seen that his brother had attacked 
that spider with all the passion and vehemence of an  Elf 
intent on defending his mate from harm.  
 
muindor - brother  
Thranduilion - son of Thranduil  
Edain - three houses of Elf-friends in the First Age  
mellon nîn - my friend  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
ellon - male Elf  
mellyn nîn - my friends  
gwenneth nîn - my younger twin  
sigil - knife  
gwador - sworn brother  
 
 
Chapter III: Disclosure  
As the company made its way back to more wholesome 
environs, Legolas found his eyes drifting constantly to 
Elrohir.  He had chosen to walk with another group of 
rangers, a matter that was so unusual it had elicited no 
small amount of surprise from the company.  Legolas had the 
unhappy feeling that Elrohir was avoiding him but he could 
not understand why.  Had he offended his friend in any 
way?  He searched his memory but could not think of any 
plausible reason for the other Elf’s behavior.  
 
Legolas glanced at Elladan who walked beside him.  The 
older twin was also staring at Elrohir.  But his expression 
was hard to define.  His face was blank.  Too blank.  He 
was concerned about his brother, that much Legolas could 
tell but nothing more.  
 
They returned to the clearing where they had spent the 
previous night.  Once more they set up camp but this time 
there were no untoward incidents as far as Legolas was 
concerned.  Oreth had carefully kept his distance since he 
discovered that the prince’s somewhat delicate appearance 
was deceptive.  
 
However, just as Legolas began to restring his bow, Oreth 
did approach him.  He squatted beside the prince though not 
too closely, Legolas noted with some amusement.  
 
“Did that creature injure you?” he briefly asked.  
 
“Nay, Elrohir reached me in time,” Legolas replied.  
 
“So I noticed.  He should receive some reward for saving 
the fairest prince of Mirkwood.”  
 
Legolas paused in his task.  There was something in Oreth’s 
tone.  Something he couldn’t quite place.  He glanced at 
the older Elf.  “If my father gave a reward to every Edhel 
that did me a service he would soon be mired in poverty,” 
he remarked mildly.  
 
Oreth stared at him strangely.  “Elrohir would likely 
prefer his reward came from you, Legolas,” he commented.  
“I doubt your father could give him anything as desirable 
as that which you already possess.”  
 
Legolas eyed the other Elf curiously.  “What do you mean?” 
he asked.  
 
Oreth shrugged.  “Elrohir seems...taken with you.  It 
should not be difficult to please him.  And perhaps he is 
more to your taste.”  
 
The prince’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  There was no 
mistaking the meaning or malice in Oreth’s tone now.  “Take 
care, Oreth,” he warned softly.  “You speak of a son of 
Elrond of Imladris.”  
 
“As to that, stories do reach our ears even all the way 
from Imladris,” Oreth replied.  “’Tis said that he is 
adventurous and indiscriminate.  Even more than his brother 
who, by all accounts, is no laggard in the pursuit of 
pleasure.  There is no telling what Lord Elrond’s younger 
son has already tried.”  
 
On that cryptic note he got to his feet and walked away.  
 
Come morning the company headed southwest.  There had been 
reports of Orcs in the vicinity, issuing from the heights 
of the Misty Mountains.  They were said to be harassing 
small settlements in the area and steadily moving eastwards 
toward Mirkwood.  
 
The Elves of the Woodland Realm cared little for their 
neighbors on the western borders of their forest with whom 
they only had minimal contact.  But they did care for the 
woods and the Orcs despoiled the woods with a wanton 
cruelty that was unknown to the Firstborn.  Fortuitously, 
by ridding Mirkwood of these predators they also succored 
their neighbors and this made their efforts all the more 
worthwhile.  
 
At noon they stopped at a small glade for the midday meal.  
Once more Elrohir sat apart from his brother and friend.  
This only served to pique Legolas’ curiosity.  He decided 
it was time to pry some information out of Elladan.  
 
After the meal, he approached the older twin who had 
settled himself on a log and was examining his arrows for 
any damage.  Elladan glanced up in some surprise as Legolas 
sat down beside him.  
 
“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” the prince 
started.  “How Elrohir killed the spider that had felled 
me?”  
 
Elladan felt his muscles tense.  Legolas would not have 
brought up the subject for no significant reason.  Hoping 
to stave off or avoid the subject altogether, he teased, 
“Aye, and I cannot believe you needed saving.  You actually 
did not see that huge beast.  I thought you Wood-elves had 
eyes in the backs of your heads.”  
 
Legolas smiled.  “Even the best can make mistakes.”  
 
“What?  Even a prince of the Woodland Realm?”  
 
“Yes, and you can stop trying to change the subject, 
Elladan.  I know what you’re trying to do.”  
 
Elladan rolled his eyes in resignation and sighed.  “Very 
well.  Ask what you will.”  
 
“Why was Elrohir so savage?  ‘Tis not his way.  It never 
has been for as long as I have known you two.”  
 
“You are asking why a warrior was savage in battle?”  
 
“Nay, I am asking why Elrohir was so different yesterday.  
He hated the creature, Elladan.  ‘Twas just a beast, evil 
perhaps but a beast nevertheless that had never done 
anything to him personally.  Yet he slew it as if it had.  
Why was that?”  
 
Elladan swallowed hard.  So, Legolas *had* noticed the 
difference.  He had not discerned the reason, caught up as 
he had been in the business of staying alive, but he had 
noticed.  He wondered how much he could reveal without 
actually betraying his brother.  
 
“If my brother has been behaving oddly ‘tis because of late 
he has been sorely burdened with a problem,” Elladan said 
carefully.  
 
“'Tis what I suspected,” Legolas said.  “Can you not tell 
me what this problem is?”  
 
“He has forbidden me to speak of it to anyone.  Other than 
myself, only our parents know.”  
 
“And what have Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian done to help 
their son?”  
 
Elladan shook his head.  “Adar and Naneth want to help but 
they are powerless to do so.  Only one person can help 
Elrohir and unfortunately he does not believe that person 
can—or will.”  
 
“You talk like a wizard,” Legolas complained.  “All 
allusions and no substance.  Please speak plainly.  What is 
this thing that burdens Elrohir so?”  
 
Elladan hesitated.  He was torn between keeping his 
brother’s confidence and seeking a solution to his 
brother’s problem.  His dilemma was not made any easier 
when the solution could very well be sitting right beside 
him.  He looked up and sought Elrohir.  
 
His twin was sitting by himself beneath a birch tree 
sharpening his sword with all the appearance of industry.  
But his mind was obviously not on what he was doing.  And 
so lost was he in thought that he had not taken care to 
guard his face.  He was deeply unhappy and it smote 
Elladan’s heart to see him that way.  
 
“He desires but his desire is not returned,” Elladan 
finally stated.  
 
Legolas was surprised.  “How can this be?  He has always 
been capable of capturing any elleth he desires .”  
 
“’Tis not any of his past lovers who haunts his thoughts 
and bedevils his heart,” Elladan said.  “He has come to 
yearn for a most unlikely person.“  Here he hesitated, 
uncertain whether to continue.  But Legolas was looking at 
him intently, waiting for him to do so.  He let his breath 
out.  He had not been aware that he’d been holding it.  
“‘Tis no elleth I speak of, Legolas.”  
 
The prince’s mouth dropped open at that.  “No elleth?” he 
repeated after a long pause.  “Then those questions he was 
asking…” he wonderingly peered at Elladan.  “Why did he ask 
me?  Did he fear that I would recoil from him?”  
 
“Would you?” Elladan countered with his own question.  
 
Legolas fell silent.  Involuntarily, he looked up, spotted 
Elrohir and stared at him.  By chance the other Elf looked 
up, too, and their eyes met.  Elrohir flushed and hastily 
averted his eyes.  
 
Legolas looked back at Elladan.  “I would not do that,” he 
said slowly.  “How could I, you and he are as brothers to 
me.”  
 
Elladan stared at him hard.  “Are you certain?  He believes 
you will.  You have shown yourself to be uncomfortable 
about such matters.  ‘Tis why he refuses to share this with 
you.”  
 
“I would not hurt him in that manner,” Legolas protested.  
“I have not forgotten Sirgon’s pain.”  
 
“Neither has he.”  
 
Legolas stiffened.  “How great is this passion of his?”  
 
“Great enough.  He does not know if ‘tis something that 
will eventually pass, he only knows it needs to be 
assuaged.  Perhaps only then will he be released from 
this...obsession.”  
 
“Then why not speak to this Elf?  Is he not inclined 
towards Elrohir?”  
 
“Nay, he does not desire the love of another male.”  
 
“But Elrohir is different.  He is fair of face, high of 
lineage and as skillful a lover as anyone could wish for.  
Surely this Elf would not mind doing Elrohir that one 
favor?”  
 
Elladan stared at him disbelievingly then laughed, an 
ironic edge to his mirth.  “Do you hear what you are 
saying?  Would *you* do this?”  
 
Legolas stared back then nodded in rueful acknowledgement 
of his friend’s astonishment.  “You are right, those were 
foolish words,” he said apologetically.  
 
Elladan paused for a heart beat.  “Not if you meant them,” 
he said in a low voice.  
 
Legolas frowned.  “What do you mean?”  When Elladan failed 
to respond at once, he said, “What are you suggesting, 
Elladan?  That I have influence over this Elf and can 
persuade him?”  
 
“You might say that,” Elladan answered.  He was looking so 
meaningfully at the prince that Legolas suddenly shivered 
with unknown foreboding.  A thought began to form in his 
mind, a thought that seemed so preposterous that he was 
hard put to give it any credence.  
 
“Who is this Elf, Elladan?” he demanded softly, warily.  
“Who is he whom Elrohir grieves over?”  
 
Elladan took a deep, steadying breath.  “He will have my 
head for this but it needs to be said for his sake,” he 
murmured.  He looked pleadingly at Legolas.  “If I tell you 
now ‘tis because I desire happiness for my brother,” he 
told the prince.  “I pray you will not only cause him more 
pain.”  
 
“I swear I will not hurt him.”  
 
A short silence.  Then--“You are the one, Legolas.”  
 
For the second time Legolas’ mouth fell open.  He was 
unable to speak or move.  Indeed, for a moment he could not 
even think.  And when he did his first rational thought 
was, /Why did I not see it/?  Oreth’s insinuations finally 
began to make sense.  
 
“Do you understand now why he fought in that manner?  Why 
he followed you and Oreth?” Elladan asked softly.  Legolas 
turned dazed eyes to him.  “He was protecting you.  He 
could not bear the thought that evil might befall you.”  
 
Legolas’ blue eyes bore into him with an intensity that 
would have, had he been a mere Man, made him retreat in 
fear.  “As one would protect his mate,” the prince stated 
evenly.  
 
Elladan nodded.  “What will you do now?” he asked 
worriedly.  
 
Legolas glanced back at Elrohir who had since risen from 
his position.  “I will talk to him when time and 
circumstance allow.”  
 
“Do not make me regret telling you this.”  
 
“I would never wittingly hurt him.”  Legolas hesitated.  
“But I cannot control his feelings or his response to 
mine.”  
 
“Legolas...“  
 
The prince heard the note of warning and worry in his 
friend’s voice.  He held up his hand to forestall any 
further words on Elladan’s part.  “I will do my best to 
help him.  Come what may, he is still my friend and as dear 
to me as a brother.”  
 
He rose and walked back to where the other rangers were 
packing their gear.  Feeling somewhat drained, Elladan 
gathered his own things.  /The problem is he no longer sees 
you only as a friend or brother, Legolas.  Please remember 
that./  Elladan spared one more thought for his brother.  
/Forgive me if I have done ill in telling him, Elrohir./  
 
*******  
They had marched for the better part of the afternoon and 
now drew near to the borders of the forest.  Here the trees 
were not as close and the sun could filter down to reach 
the forest floor in large, scattered patches of gold.  The 
Rivendell twins felt their spirits rise at the change in 
atmosphere.  
 
Oreth selected a few of the company and began to divide 
them into pairs.  It was his intention that each pair would 
scout a particular area and by spreading them widely they 
would be able to cover more ground in the shortest time 
possible.  The rest would remain behind and await word from 
the others.  
 
As he assigned the groupings, Legolas glanced at Elrohir.  
The Elf had rejoined his brother but it was obvious he had 
done so only because Elladan had left Legolas’ side.  The 
prince frowned.  
 
“Elrohir?  Whom shall I pair you with?” Oreth was saying.  
“Your brother?”  
 
“Nay,” Legolas suddenly spoke up.  “I can go with him.”  
 
Across the circle of Elves, Elrohir stared at him in 
dismay.  Oreth, too, eyed him quizzically.  Then the 
captain smiled.  It was not a nice smile, Legolas decided.  
He smiled back but did not let it reach his eyes.  Oreth 
turned away.  
 
“Very well, Legolas will go with you, Elrohir,” he 
announced shortly.  
 
While the assignments continued, Elladan caught Legolas’ 
attention.  The Elvenlord was stricken with worry and guilt 
and his stare, if not his expression, betrayed his 
feelings.  Before leaving with Elrohir, Legolas quickly 
crossed over to him and said, “’Tis an opportune time.  I 
had best take advantage of it.”  
 
“Remember your oath,” Elladan murmured.  
 
Legolas nodded and turned to follow Elrohir.  They 
disappeared from Elladan’s sight.  
 
The two walked a fair distance in near silence before 
Legolas attempted to converse.  They were now at the very 
outskirts of Mirkwood.  Only a thin line of trees separated 
them from the open space beyond.  The prince watched his 
companion smoothly weave his way among the trees, as 
silently and stealthily as any Silvan Elf.  
 
“Elrohir, I have not properly thanked you,” Legolas said, 
careful to keep his voice soft.  
 
“For what?” Elrohir asked in surprise.  They continued to 
move in a southwardly direction.  
 
“For slaying the spider that attacked me.”  
 
“Oh that.  ‘Twas a small matter,” Elrohir said 
dismissively.  
 
“’Twas no small matter to me,” Legolas remarked.  “I might 
have ended up in its belly had you not killed it.”  
 
Elrohir flushed slightly.  “I did not mean to belittle the 
danger to you,” he said.  
 
“I know.  And I thank you for the service.  You probably 
saved my life.”  When Elrohir merely nodded acceptance of 
his thanks, Legolas decided to be more direct.  “Which is 
why I feel I must return the favor.”  
 
Elrohir glanced at him furtively from behind a slender 
tree.  “There is no need,” he stated.  
 
“If you have a problem there is a need.  I wish you would 
let me help you, my friend.”  
 
Elrohir now stopped and looked warily at him.  “What are 
you talking about?  What problem?”  
 
Legolas came to a halt as well.  He came around the thick 
trunk of an ancient oak and faced Elrohir.  He did not fail 
to observe the quick rise and fall of the other Elf’s chest 
signaling his tension.  “Your problem regarding me,” 
Legolas quietly replied.  
 
Elrohir’s eyes widened.  He opened his mouth then closed it 
when words failed to come forth.  Legolas reached out a 
comforting hand but the other Elf stepped away.  Legolas 
dropped his hand and waited.  
 
“He told you?” Elrohir finally manage to choke.  “Elladan 
told you?”  At Legolas’ slight nod, he let out a ragged 
breath of anger.  “I asked him not to!” he hissed.  “How 
could he betray my confidence?”  
 
“He did it for your sake,” Legolas pointed out in defense 
of Elladan.  “He loves you and wishes to help you.  Surely 
you will not hold that against him.”  
 
Elrohir went still, breathing in deeply in a bid to calm 
down.  “Is that why you asked to be paired with me?” he 
asked.  
 
“I thought it would give us a chance to talk,” Legolas 
admitted.  “I want to help you, mellon nîn.”  
 
“Help me?” Elrohir laughed harshly.  “You cannot help me, 
Thranduilion.  No one can.”  
 
Legolas winced at the impersonal address Elrohir used on 
him.  “You do not know that,” he pressed on.  “You have not 
asked me; how can you know that I cannot help you?”  
 
Elrohir turned piercing twilight eyes on him.  Legolas 
swallowed hard as he discerned the other Elf’s misery.  “If 
Sirgon was bent, what do you make of me, ernil taur?” he 
challenged.  
 
Legolas felt heat suffuse his cheeks.  He had forgotten 
what he had said of Sirgon during that strange conversation 
just two days ago.  He had used the word in an attempt to 
contrast the love of Sirgon and the lust of Oreth.  It 
belatedly occurred to him that Elrohir would have perceived 
it as a slight and feel its sting keenly.  
 
He chose his words carefully.  “I only see someone who is 
dear to me and in need of my aid,” he said in measured 
tones.  “I will not judge you.  ‘Tis not my right and even 
if it were, I still would not judge you.”  
 
The grey eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears.  Elrohir 
turned away but his despondency was palpable.  Legolas felt 
his heart go out to him.  He approached him quietly and 
placed his hand on his shoulder.  “What can I do, gwador 
nîn?” he softly asked.  
 
Elrohir shook his head hopelessly.  “What I need you cannot 
give,” he whispered.  “Leave me in peace.”  
 
“But you are not in peace and you will not find it,” 
Legolas reasoned.  “Not this way.”  
 
“What way then?”  
 
The prince sighed.  “I do not pretend to understand what 
drives your feelings for me.  If I could assuage them I 
would but…”  
 
“But ‘tis beyond your capacity to bring yourself so low,” 
Elrohir said, bitterness limning his words.  
 
“Nay, not low.  But ‘tis not my inclination and you would 
know it.  I would not hurt you further by attempting 
something I know is not my preference.”  
 
“You think I do not know that?” Elrohir pulled away from 
Legolas’s grasp.  His voice had risen slightly.  “Why think 
you did I choose not to confide in you?  I witnessed your 
shock when you learned of Sirgon’s passion for you.  I saw 
how you treated Oreth.  I will not endure your loathing, 
Legolas.”  
 
“I could never loath you!” Legolas exclaimed in a hushed 
voice.  “You are closer than friend or brother to me.”  
 
“That, too, I cannot endure,” Elrohir breathed out.  
 
“What?”  
 
“Do you still not see?  You are now more than either to 
me.  Pretending that nothing has changed, that I do not 
feel differently about you has been a burden I have carried 
each and every day for nigh on three hundred years.  It was 
a mistake to come here.  Your very presence torments me.”  
There was a catch in his voice that made him sound utterly 
vulnerable.  “ I am weary, Calenlass.  I cannot carry on 
with this pretense.”  
 
Legolas felt his heart constrict.  “What do you mean to 
do?” he asked tightly.  
 
Elrohir stared out at the wide space beyond the trees.  He 
looked spent, bereft of spirit and energy.  “I will return 
to Imladris as soon as can be,” he answered.  He looked 
back at Legolas and his eyes were bright with sadness.  
“And we shall no longer see each other, prince of 
Mirkwood.”  
 
Legolas gasped.  “You cannot mean that!” he protested. “We 
have been friends for years beyond count.  Elrohir, I do 
not wish to lose you!”  
 
“You lost me the day I learned to desire you,” Elrohir 
said.  
 
“Nay!  You cannot do this!  You are a son of Elrond; you 
cannot give up so easily!”  
 
Elrohir swung around suddenly.  His eyes had lost their 
listlessness.  Legolas was startled by the depth of anger 
and the shadow of violence in them.  
 
“Give up easily?” Elrohir almost spat out.  “You have no 
concept of what I have done to try and relieve myself of 
these feelings!  The depths I have descended to rid myself 
of these desires!”  
 
Legolas felt his stomach churn.  Surely Elrohir did not 
mean... “You have not...“ he faltered.  “Elrohir, I cannot 
believe you would do as Oreth has done!”  
 
Elrohir closed his eyes, a pained look on his face.  “You 
must think very lowly of me if you would actually consider 
me capable of rape or coercion!” he commented with a 
dryness that was as acrid as hemlock.  He opened his eyes 
and gazed at the archer.  He took note of the other’s 
sudden pallor, knew his bluntness had caused it.  He 
sighed.  “I care not for unwilling partners.  I thought you 
knew me better than that.”  
 
“Forgive me,” Legolas said.  “That was unworthy of me.”  He 
studied his friend with rising anxiety.  He felt his guilt 
rise up like a cloud to choke him.  /Remember your oath./  
Elladan’s plea reverberated in his mind.  
 
“I should not have tainted myself so,” Elrohir suddenly 
said.  “I sought to erase you from my mind but by trying to 
assuage my need through others, I only reminded myself of 
what I could not have.  They tried their best to make me 
forget but how could they when they were not you?”  
 
“Elrohir…” Legolas had never felt so helpless.  How 
arrogant was I to think I could solve this problem so 
easily, he thought.  “I just—I wish I could help.”  He saw 
Elrohir’s shoulders stiffen, knew it was wrong to broach 
the subject once more.  But in his frustration he found 
himself unable to hold back the words.  “Is there nothing I 
can do?”  
 
He was suddenly grasped by the arms and thrust bodily 
against the unyielding trunk of a massive tree.  The force 
with which his back hit the trunk was enough to elicit a 
hiss of pain from him.  But Elrohir was no longer capable 
of hearing or seeing anything beyond his own misery.  
 
“When will you stop offering what you cannot give?” he 
snarled, his eyes glittering with barely restrained 
violence.  “The only help I want is beyond your ability to 
give unless you have suddenly developed a yearning for 
this!”  
 
Legolas gasped in shock when Elrohir’s mouth descended upon 
his.  Unthinkingly, he grabbed at the other’s wrist for his 
first instinct was to protect himself and do to the 
Elvenlord as he had done to Oreth.  But Elrohir broke away 
as suddenly as he had closed the distance between them, his 
dark eyes wide with realization.  Guilt, dismay and grief 
mingled in their silver depths.  “O, Elbereth, what have I 
done?” he whispered.  
 
Silence fell between the two Elves and the minutes ticked 
by.  
 
In the intervening time Legolas fought to still his 
trembling.  He had never experienced such an assault.  
There had been nothing like the tentativeness of Sirgon’s 
unrequited passion for him or the mix of seduction and 
coercion that Oreth had tried to employ on him.  His lips 
ached as they had never done after a kiss shared with any 
maiden he had ever had.  But more than that he was shaken 
by the sheer strength that had been brought to bear upon 
him.  
 
And why should that surprise me? he thought woozily.  He 
and Elrohir were equals in every way.  They were both born 
of exalted lineage and possessed more power than most of 
the Elves their fathers governed.  
 
He looked warily at Elrohir and felt as if a stranger stood 
before him.  He did not know this Elf, did not see in him 
the friend with whom he had oft joined forces to drive 
their respective families to distraction; did not remember 
the brother in whom he had confided all the joy and 
heartbreak of early infatuations and the pleasures and 
frustrations of physical yearnings and received like 
secrets in return.  He could not even glimpse the comrade-
in-arms at whose side he had fought many a battle or faced 
danger with.  He tried to dispel the shroud of fear that 
blinded him but failed.  
 
Elrohir saw the shadow that darkened Legolas’ eyes and felt 
apprehension and shame engulf him.  He cringed inside as he 
wondered what the prince now thought of him.  But he had to 
do something.  He had to make amends.  
 
“Legolas...?”  He reached out hesitantly, praying to the 
Powers that the other Elf did not feel too deeply 
betrayed.  But as his hand neared one shoulder, Legolas 
recoiled.  The prince let out a shuddering breath and 
swiftly stepped back out of reach.  His eyes clearly 
mirrored his fear.  
 
Whatever pain Elrohir had felt before did not compare with 
the anguish he now experienced.  /I should have gone at 
once.  Now there is nothing left, not even a memory of all 
that was pure and good./  
 
“Forgive me,” he whispered.  And he turned and fled.  
 
Legolas sucked his breath in sharply.  The sound of 
Elrohir’s broken apology snapped him out of his daze.  He 
stared as his friend was swallowed by the forest.  And 
suddenly, he remembered once more who Elrohir was and what 
he had been to him and still was.  /He is breaking and I am 
the cause.  I cannot let this happen!/  
 
“Elrohir!”  He raced after the dark-haired Elf.  
 
Adar, Naneth - Father, Mother  
Edhel - Elf  
ernil taur -forest prince  
gwador nîn- my sworn brother  
 
 
Chapter IV: Impasse  
Legolas painfully pondered what he could possibly say to 
Elrohir when he caught up with him.  If he caught up with 
him at all.  The Elf-knight was running along the perimeter 
of trees on the border of the woods.  He had a large head 
start and was as swift a runner as Legolas and was as 
tireless.  It would not be easy to catch up with him.  
 
He finally lost sight of Elrohir and stopped to search for 
any clues as to his friend’s passage.  It was then that he 
heard the sounds of metal clashing against metal and harsh 
guttural cries amidst the trees.  Orcs!  His mouth grim, 
Legolas sped towards the sounds of strife.  
 
He burst onto a scene of carnage and chaos.  Elrohir was 
fending off more than a dozen Orcs.  Several corpses lay at 
his feet.  Even as he plunged into battle, Legolas had the 
presence of mind to sound off a shrill birdcall to summon 
aid.  Then he was in the thick of the fighting, bow singing 
and knife slashing.  
 
He swore under his breath as more Orcs appeared.  He knew 
that he and Elrohir were in great peril.  Skilled and 
valiant as they were, they were greatly outnumbered.  
Sooner or later they would be overcome if help did not 
reach them in time.  He chose not to think of the 
consequences of capture.  What sport these brutes would 
have with the sons of the king of Mirkwood and the lord of 
Rivendell he dared not even imagine.  He would not allow 
himself to be taken captive.  Better to die out in the 
clean air under the eaves of the forest than to endure 
protracted torment deep in the noisome dens of the Orcs.  
 
He was on the verge of despairing when suddenly a figure in 
green and brown crashed into the Orc before him taking it 
down to the ground.  He had a second to recognize Elladan 
before the Rivendell Elf plunged his sword into the 
writhing creature.  Arrows whizzed through the air, finding 
their targets with deadly accuracy.  Legolas felt great 
relief.  They were no longer alone.  
 
Reeling from the rapid change from imminent victory to 
certain defeat, the Orcs began to retreat.  But the Elves 
had no intention of letting any escape to spawn once more 
in the darkness of the Misty Mountains.  They pursued the 
fleeing Orcs and hemmed them in.  Faced with certain death, 
the creatures fought back with a ferocity born of 
desperation.  
 
Legolas turned to look for Elrohir just in time to see him 
stumble, a long deep gash marring his right thigh, blood 
drenching his leg.  Yet he battled on though the Orc he 
fought had forced him to his knees.  The Orc viciously 
kicked Elrohir’s wounded leg.  The twin fell back, pain 
jarring his injured limb.  Fear lent Legolas speed as he 
grabbed an arrow and fit it to his bow.  
 
Elrohir looked up and saw the Orc raise its black sword.  
Certain he had fought his final battle, he braced himself 
for the killing blow.  
 
It never came.  The Orc cried out in shock, its body 
arching toward Elrohir.  He quickly rolled away as the 
creature toppled over.  An arrow protruded from its back.  
 
Elrohir glanced up in time to see Legolas wending his way 
to him.  Around them the battle dwindled as the Elves 
systematically slaughtered the last of their foes.  
 
Legolas dropped to one knee before the stricken Elf.  As he 
bent to examine the wound, he heard Elrohir murmur, “My 
thanks.”  Legolas simply nodded his acknowledgement, all 
his attention on the gash.  
 
Elladan hurried over, worry limning his fair face.  Legolas 
grabbed his water flask as the former knelt beside him.  
“’Tis deep,” the older twin said.  “We must stop the 
bleeding.  I pray ‘tisn’t poisoned as well.”  
 
Elrohir confirmed that there was no poison at work; though 
the wound throbbed and stung atrociously, there was none of 
the burning pain associated with orkish poison.  Elladan 
washed the injury then bound a strip of binding tightly 
around his brother’s thigh to constrict the steady crimson 
flow.  
 
The Elf-knight was not the only wounded though his injury 
was by far the worse.  The Elves tended to their comrades 
before piling the carcasses of the Orcs into a mound far 
from the woods and setting it afire.  Then they applied 
themselves to the problem of getting their wounded back to 
safety.  
 
Legolas and Elladan constructed a litter for Elrohir 
despite the latter’s protest.  “I can walk,” he said.  “I 
have no intention of slowing everyone down.”  
 
“Your wound will bleed again,” Elladan reasoned with him.  
“Do not let Legolas’ timely rescue be for naught.”  
 
At the mention of the archer’s name, Elrohir flushed and 
fell silent.  That something pained him besides his wound 
was readily apparent to anyone who took the time to observe 
him.  It was fortunate that the other Elves lacked the time 
to indulge in such matters thus sparing him the humiliation 
of coming under scrutiny.  He already knew that the others 
were wondering how he and Legolas could have possibly been 
taken unawares.  
 
It stood to reason that they would find it difficult to 
consider their prince at fault; he was too experienced a 
ranger to make such a mistake.  Elrohir was fairly certain 
they thought he’d been careless.  And they would be right 
considering his state of mind at the time.  
 
As he lifted the litter along with Legolas and two other 
warriors, the older twin glared at the prince.  
 
“What did you say to him?”  The hissed words filled Legolas 
with guilt.  “I should never have told you.  You swore you 
would not hurt him.”  
 
“I...I tried to help...I am sorry,” he murmured.  
 
Elladan blew out his breath angrily.  "‘Twould have been 
better had you not than to have him so distraught now,” he 
bit out.  
 
To this the archer could offer no reply.  
 
They came to the Wood-elves’ abode after two days of long 
marches.  By then Elrohir was able to walk short distances 
albeit with a limp.  His wound was deep, almost to the bone 
but his determination not to be carried into Thranduil’s 
halls gave him the wherewithal to bear the discomfort of 
getting on his feet earlier than might be expected of so 
grievous an injury.  
 
Legolas saw the brothers to Elrohir’s chamber but the 
coolness of the older twin and the remoteness of the 
younger discouraged him from lingering.  Dispiritedly, he 
whiled away the rest of the day in his chambers, mulling 
over his dilemma.  A part of him ached that he might have 
lost not just one but both of his friends.  Elladan had 
barely spoken to him during the long trek back.  Legolas 
could not blame him.  The former had taken the risk of 
confiding his brother’s secret to him trusting that the 
prince would help Elrohir.  Instead, the problem had only 
worsened.  
 
In need of counsel and comfort, Legolas headed for his 
father’s study.  His people saw Thranduil as a stern and 
undemonstrative man.  Few knew of the Elvenking who 
softened in the presence of his youngest son so long as 
there were no eyes to witness that softness.  
 
Legolas knocked softly at the study door.  His father’s 
voice soon bid him to enter  
 
“Ada?  May I have a moment of your time?” he asked as he 
stepped in.  The king was standing at his table bent over 
numerous scrolls.  
 
Thranduil pushed the scrolls aside and looked up.  It did 
not take him long to discern the distress in his heir’s 
eyes.  “What troubles you, ion nîn?” he queried gesturing 
for Legolas to take a seat.  
 
“I need your advice.”  Legolas sank into a chair.  “Do you 
remember what happened with Sirgon?” he tentatively 
started.  
 
Thranduil started at the name.  It was many years since he 
had even thought of the incident that had disturbed him so 
deeply.  He looked at Legolas closely.  
 
“One can hardly forget such an event,” he remarked dryly.  
“Why do you bring it up?”  
 
The prince sighed.  “Because it has happened again,” he 
quietly replied.  “And I do not know how to deal with it.”  
 
Thranduil’s eyes widened then narrowed ominously.  “You 
dealt with Sirgon well enough,” he pointed out.  “Why 
should there be any difficulty now?”  
 
Legolas raised bright eyes to his father, confusion and 
hurt in their depths.  So like his mother’s eyes, the King 
thought with a pang.  “’Tis no common Elf who suffers for 
love of me, Ada,” he said tightly.  He hesitated then took 
a deep breath before saying, “’Tis Elrohir.”  
 
Thranduil’s reaction was essentially the same as his son’s 
had been.  His mouth dropped open and he was rendered 
speechless for a moment.  When he finally found his tongue 
he could only exclaim, ”Elrohir?  *Our* Elrohir?”  
 
Legolas nodded.  Thranduil stared long at him, nonplussed.  
“How can that be?” he questioned.  “He has never shown more 
than the love of a friend for you.  Granted that your 
closeness is greater than any I have ever known yet I would 
swear he never displayed any unseemly feelings for you.”  
 
“I know not how it happened,” Legolas admitted.  “I only 
know that he is hurting.”  He rose from his seat and began 
to pace aimlessly around the chamber.  “He kept it a secret 
from me.  ‘Twas Elladan who finally revealed it and ‘twas 
only at my insistence.”  He stopped at the window and 
fingered the tassel on the drapery distractedly.  “Elrohir 
did not want to lose our friendship.  He chose to keep 
silent for that reason even when it was tearing him apart 
inside.”  
 
Legolas suddenly turned his head and looked beseechingly at 
his father.  “Why must I be the cause of such pain, Ada?” 
he implored.  “Why should Elrohir should turn to me?  I do 
not understand!”  He shuddered with the effort to calm 
himself.  “I want to help him.  I cannot bear to see him 
suffering because of me.”  
 
Thranduil’s anger had started to build but at the sight of 
his son’s unhappiness, it subsided.  It was Elrohir they 
were talking about after all.  Elrohir, who along with his 
brother, were almost like sons to Thranduil despite all the 
mischief and mayhem they had oft wreaked on his household.  
Besides, the twins had been reared in the Noldorin-drenched 
culture of Imladris and Lothlorien.  Thranduil could hardly 
judge Elrohir on something the younger Elf knew as natural 
to Elfkind.  What had held him back was not social sanction 
but his fear of ending a treasured friendship.  
 
He made himself regard Legolas not as his son but as 
another Elf might.  There was no denying the beauty of his 
countenance for handsome seemed too tame a word to use when 
it came to the youngest prince of Mirkwood.  He had his 
father’s fair coloring and tensile strength and his 
mother’s comely features and slender build.  He was a child 
of elusive light and solid wood.  Ethereal one moment, all 
too real the next.  
 
Thranduil shook his head.  Sirgon’s desire he could easily 
fathom.  That one had always been inclined to his own 
kind.  But Elrohir’s desire was totally unlooked for.  
Though he knew the twins had dallied with Elf-males, both 
had always been such hot-blooded pursuers of female-kind to 
suggest that either could feel anything more than mere lust 
for the males they had bedded.  Yet here was Elrohir 
languishing from want of a male Elf.  It simply seem 
impossible.  
 
The King stopped at the thought.  *Unless that male was 
Legolas and Legolas alone?*  Love and desire did not follow 
predictable patterns.  All unbidden surprising turns could 
appear and often did, to the frustration and bewilderment 
of many a soul, Elf, Man or Dwarf.  
 
“’Tis not your fault, Legolas,” he said at length.  “Do not 
blame yourself for what you are.”  
 
“And what am I?” Legolas asked bitterly.  
 
Thranduil neared him and with a finger under his chin, 
tipped his son’s face up so that he could look upon his 
face.  “You are gifted with great beauty even by the 
measure of our people.  Beauty always draws admiration and 
desire.”  He released his son from his gaze.  
 
Legolas let his breath out.  “But why should that affect 
him now?  We have always been as close friends and brothers 
to each other, nothing more.”  
 
“Perhaps ‘tis that very closeness that has brought things 
to this pass.”  The king walked away, putting his thoughts 
in order.  “I warrant he has always appreciated your 
comeliness even from the start of your acquaintance.  
Certainly, his regard for you has always been more profound 
than most but I doubt he thought his feelings anything more 
than the natural affection of one friend for another.”  
 
Thranduil looked back at his now attentive son.  “But 
affection is not unchangeable.  It can evolve, alter in 
depth or nature.  Mayhap Elrohir’s desire for you should 
not surprise us.  In hindsight, it seems inevitable.”  At 
his son’s perplexed reaction, he pointed out:  “The twins’ 
appreciation for beauty has always been keener than what we 
deem usual and they oft express that appreciation through 
physical means.  Their considerable reputation in bed-play 
did not come by accident.”  
 
Legolas felt his cheeks burn with discomfort.  It was 
strange to hear his father speaking so frankly about 
something most children rarely discussed with their 
parents.  But what Thranduil was saying was very 
enlightening for there was the ring of truth in his words.  
He looked back upon his relationship with the twins.  
 
He knew they were acutely aware of his uncommon beauty.  
They had teased him mercilessly about it throughout their 
early acquaintance.  And when they had grown into full 
adulthood had been gracious enough to even compliment him 
for it albeit with much jesting on the side.  Of course, 
that had not discouraged them from competing with him or 
his older brothers for the attention of every female Elf 
from the Woodland Realm to the Hidden Vale.  But the twins’ 
carnal pursuits had also encompassed the Grey Havens and 
Lothlorien, included male Edhil of all persuasions and 
extended even to mortal women much to their parent’s 
dismay.  
 
In one thing his father was right.  The brothers didn’t 
merely enjoy physical release.  They reveled in it.  They 
rarely contented themselves with admiring beauty or grace 
from afar.  Both had often had to depart for Mirkwood or 
Lorien to cool their heels while Master Elrond and Lady 
Celebrian soothed the ruffled feelings of vengeful fathers 
or scorned females as well as the occasional heartbroken 
ellon.  
 
Enlightening.  But it did not solve the problem at hand.  
He glanced thoughtfully at his father, wondering at the 
king’s relative lack of unease.  
 
“You do not seem as disturbed by this as you were with 
Sirgon,” Legolas observed.  
 
Thranduil smiled faintly.  “Because ‘tis Elrohir we speak 
of,” he conceded.  “I can trust him as I would not trust 
another Elf.”  
 
“Trust?”  
 
“Not to take advantage of your closeness for his own ends.  
He has already proven his honor and valor in this.  As you 
said, he endured in silence rather than spoil your 
friendship.”  
 
“Yet now he will end it,” Legolas scowled.  “What use have 
I for an unspoiled friendship that exists only in memory?”  
 
Thranduil sighed.  “If ‘tis the only way for him to find 
peace, I cannot blame him for taking this measure,” he 
said.  
 
*They tried their best to make me forget but how could they 
when they were not you?*  
 
His friend’s anguished words flashed through Legolas’ 
mind.  He felt great sorrow settle in his heart.  Elrohir 
would indeed leave Mirkwood never to return.  Their long 
friendship would end and everything they had ever shared 
would be mere remembrance.  The very thought of an eternity 
to come with no further contact with the Elf-knight made 
him desolate.  No longer would he know Elrohir’s sage 
counsel and gently-voiced praise, hear his infectious 
laughter or see the veritable play of emotions in his 
argent eyes.  Already his heart ached at the imminent loss 
of the gallant Edhel who had so enthralled him from the 
start and made him feel whole.  
 
Legolas rebelled at the thought.  
 
His circle of close and trusted friends had always been 
small by choice.  And the twins were the closest of all.  
By the grace of the Valar, he had been blessed with the 
friendship of two souls who offered their love and loyalty 
absolutely and unconditionally.  Elrohir’s willingness to 
put aside his own happiness to prevent Legolas from 
becoming entangled in his problem was testament to that 
love.  
 
Legolas knew he could not bear to lose the Elf-knight.  
 
“Do you think it will pass if he were to find release?” he 
softly asked his father.  
 
“I do not know,” Thranduil replied.  “Sometimes a thing 
that we want but cannot have grows in significance 
precisely because we cannot attain it.”  He stopped and 
stared at Legolas suspiciously.  “Why do you ask that?  
What are you thinking of, Legolas?”  
 
“Elrohir needs me,” he quietly replied.  “If ‘tis the only 
help I can offer him…”  
 
Thranduil gasped at the implications of his son’s reply.  
“Surely you cannot mean that!  Elrohir would never allow 
you to make such a sacrifice!”  
 
“I do not intend to give him a choice and have him make an 
even greater sacrifice!” Legolas replied somewhat 
heatedly.  “He is dear to me.  I will do what I feel is 
best for him; what will heal him.”  
 
“And how often do you think will you have to effect this—
this cure?” Thranduil said harshly.  
 
“As often as needs be,” Legolas retorted.  “I will not lose 
my friend.  I will not!”  
 
Thranduil halted on the verge of a scathing response.  His 
son’s loyalty to Elrohir was touching as was his 
willingness to take upon himself so strange a burden.  
Thranduil had no personal animosity toward Elrohir and even 
sympathized with him.  But he was a father and possessed 
all the protectiveness of a parent towards its young.  
 
“If you do not truly desire such a coupling he will know 
it,” he bluntly informed the prince.  “Then you will have 
caused him even more pain.”  
 
Legolas was taken aback.  His father’s words effectively 
reminded him of the nature of the task he sought to 
undertake.  A coupling.  He recoiled mentally and 
emotionally from the images the term conjured.  But that 
was what Elrohir needed from him.  There was no going 
around it.  
 
“Do not rush into this, pen neth,” Thranduil pleaded with 
him.  “You may only do grievous harm.  I say this not only 
for your sake but for Elrohir’s as well.  He is dear to me, 
too.”  
 
Legolas nodded slowly.  “I will give serious thought to 
this, Ada.  Thank you for your counsel.”  
 
The King watched his son as he left the study.  He sighed, 
worry etched on his face.  There was no knowing what 
Legolas would do.  Nor was there any stopping him when he 
did decide what to do.  Silently and with not a little 
exasperation, he invoked the Powers who watched over 
headstrong Elves and children.  
 
Ada - Papa  
ion nîn - my son  
Edhil - Elves  
pen neth - young one  
 
 
Chapter V: Truth  
Elrohir looked out at the darkened woods.  It was evening 
and he was seated on a long bench on one of the balconies 
that lined the delved palace’s eastern wing.  He had lifted 
his long legs onto the bench, bending one so that he could 
rest his arms on his knee and curl the other limb under.  A 
week had passed since the battle with the Orcs.  His 
injured leg no longer caused him to limp and only a slight 
twinge now and then reminded him of his mishap.  
 
He could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter coming 
from the main hall where the king was feting some noble 
guests.  Although his twin had talked him into dressing for 
the occasion, at the last minute Elrohir had chosen to 
eschew the festivities for he could summon neither the 
heart nor the mood to indulge in anything merry this 
night.  He had come to this quiet spot in hopes of solitude 
and a chance to sort out his thoughts and feelings.  From 
his perch he could survey the dark woods and breathe in the 
sweet forest air.  
 
Sadness infused him as he realized he would never see these 
woods again.  His had not been rash words when he had 
declared that he would depart Mirkwood and never return.  
It was the only thing he could do to ease his heartache.  
Far from the source of his desire perhaps he would find 
some semblance of peace.  And failing that at least there 
would be no constant reminders of his last conversation 
with Legolas and the resulting debacle.  He sighed heavily.  
 
“How fare you, Elrohir?”  
 
He started and turned at the sound of the familiar voice.  
Trust a Wood-elf to sneak up on you without really trying, 
he thought a little tartly.  
 
“Im mae, Legolas,” he managed to reply.  I am well.  
 
He swallowed hard at the sight of his friend and quickly 
turned his attention back to the forest.  It had been three 
days since they had so much as seen each other, much less 
exchanged a word.  He had been ill-prepared to see the 
prince once more.  Especially the way he appeared tonight.  
 
In the torchlight, his fair hair gleamed gold and mithril 
and his eyes had so darkened as to be almost indigo.  Upon 
his head he wore a simple circlet wrought of silver and 
adorned by tiny intertwining leaves of gold.  He was clad 
not in his usual green and brown wool or leather or other 
such sturdy material but in a delicately embroidered richly 
textured midnight blue robe over a silvery white under-
tunic.  In place of the rugged long breeches and soft yet 
hardy boots worn for more strenuous duties were thick 
finely knit hose in muted grey and light shoes in a dusky 
shade that came up to the ankles.  He looked every inch the 
warrior prince yet the fairness of his hair and countenance 
juxtaposed against the darkness of his raiment lent him an 
air of innocence that was almost otherworldly.  
 
Elrohir thought he had never seen a more beautiful 
creature, man or woman, and he silently cursed the trick 
fate had played on him by guiding him here and making it 
possible for them to cross paths.  /I should have stayed in 
my room./  
 
“You did not join us,” Legolas said.  “Several of the 
guests asked about you.”  
 
“I was not in the mood for company,” Elrohir answered.  
 
Legolas sat down on one end of the bench and looked at 
him.  His steady gaze discomforted Elrohir.  The dark-
haired Elf was at a loss as to where to cast his eyes 
without letting them alight on the figure opposite him.  
 
He did not notice that the prince studied him as well.  
Legolas had taken his father’s counsel to heart.  He had 
given much thought to the matter and had come to only one 
conclusion.  If he could come to desire or, at the very 
least, tolerate a coupling with the Elf-knight as his 
father had so baldly put it...  
 
With singular determination, Legolas bent his thought to 
appreciating his friend’s comeliness unhindered by the 
restraints of their friendship; tried to see Elrohir from 
the point of view of the younger twin’s numerous admirers 
and past lovers.  He knew Elrohir was coveted by many and 
that those he’d favored never forgot the bliss experienced 
in his arms.  That Elrohir had easily found willing 
partners when he’d sought a way to find release without 
turning to Legolas was further evidence of his inimitable 
allure.  
 
They were a study in contrasts, Elrohir and himself.  
 
The Rivendell Elf’s hair was blue-black as the deepest 
night and his thickly lashed eyes grey as the twilight of 
early evening.  He was tall and lean though not as 
deceptively slim as the prince; traces of his Edain 
ancestry lingered in his broader shoulders, his less 
slender limbs.  Yet he always moved with the fluid grace, 
feline surefootedness and feather-light silence of a 
pureblooded Elf, his powerful muscles rippling with ease 
whether he wielded sword, bow or dagger.  
 
Elrohir always gave an impression of sartorial elegance 
whether dressed in the simple clothing of a Mirkwood ranger 
or arrayed in formal garb as he was tonight.  Like the 
prince he wore a circlet upon his head, also of silver but 
stark in its relative lack of adornment.  Going with the 
rich colors favored in Rivendell, he had donned a velvety 
robe in deepest burgundy edged with bronze and a soft 
under-tunic of a particularly scrumptious shade of cream.  
His long legs were encased in hose the color of deep wood 
and his feet were shod in bark brown shoes.  
 
There was no mistaking that here was a scion of the line of 
Luthien, daughter of Thingol, Lord of Doriath, and Melian 
the Maiar on the one side and on the other, Idril, daughter 
of Turgon of ancient Gondolin, and her husband, Tuor, an 
Adan so fair of face he could have passed for one of the 
Eldar.  
 
There is as much beauty in him as there is said to be in 
me, Legolas mused.  Would it be so difficult to submit to 
him?  Surely, with one so fair and noble, intimacy would 
not be too strange or unpleasant.  He was also remarkably 
skillful besides.  The Mirkwood prince knew all too well of 
his friend’s reputation on yet another battlefield where he 
wielded weapons of a different kind with as equal ability 
as he did those of more martial design.  
 
Legolas set aside such considerations.  In the end it did 
not matter.  He had to make the attempt come what may.  But 
he needed courage to do it.  In Elrohir’s answers to his 
questions he hoped to find it.  
 
“If you were to have what you want do you think your desire 
would pass?” he asked as he had earlier asked his father.  
 
Elrohir, startled, stared at him.  “I have not thought of 
it,” he slowly replied.  He let out his breath.  “This 
madness has probably grown because I cannot quench it.  If 
I did, then aye, mayhap it would pass.  But I cannot say 
for certain.”  He averted his eyes once more.  “Why do you 
ask?”  
 
Legolas sensed the other Elf’s apprehension.  In the way of 
Elves, he answered with another question.  “Why me?” he 
queried.  “What turned you to me?”  
 
The query drew back Elrohir’s attention.  He gazed at 
Legolas for a while before answering.  “My foremother, 
Luthien, is accounted the fairest of all the Children of 
Iluvatar that was or ever shall be,” he murmured.  “It is 
said that there will never be her like again.  I do not 
agree.  There is one who could rival Luthien in beauty, 
grace and purity of heart.”  
 
“Arwen,” Legolas smiled fondly though he was puzzled as to 
what Elrohir was leading up to.  “Not for nothing have your 
people named her their Evenstar.”  
 
Elrohir’s own smile was tinged with both affection and 
sadness. “I am only her brother and cannot see her thus.  
Nay, ‘tis an ellon I speak of.  And do not tell me that 
that invalidates the comparison in any way,” he added when 
Legolas looked surprised.  He paused and drew a steadying 
breath.  
 
”Elyë nar ve vanima tambë i-ára, maltaharyon,” he softly 
stated.  Thou art as beautiful as the dawn, golden prince.  
“The closest thing to perfection that I have ever known.”  
 
For a few seconds, Legolas found himself at a loss for 
words.  Elrohir had spoken in Quenya, the melodic Ancient 
Speech, a language of lore chiefly preserved in Middle-
earth by Elves of Noldorin descent and the Dunedain; a 
tongue no longer uttered in public as a rule.  Its use 
imparted great reverence and deep affection for the 
recipient.  It added greater depth and meaning to the 
praise the twin bestowed upon the archer.  “I did not know 
you regarded me thus,” he finally said.  
 
“I did not realize it either,” Elrohir replied.  “I thought 
I was merely enamored of your comeliness.  Though through 
the years I have come to know you well and what I know I 
find admirable and worth loving and nurturing.  I never 
meant to want more than that.”  
 
“Why did things change?”  
 
“Sirgon happened.”  
 
Legolas’ eyes widened slightly.  “What did Sirgon have to 
do with your feelings?”  
 
“When I saw you kiss him, when you allowed him to caress 
you, I saw you in another light.  I realized that I was 
jealous.  You cannot imagine how frightened I was by the 
feeling.  I should not have felt that way.”  Elrohir looked 
away, his own cheeks coloring.  “I suddenly wondered what 
it would be like to be intimate with you, to know you as no 
other man has or ever will.”  
 
He glanced back and took note of the fair-haired archer’s 
expression of incredulity.  “Did I not call it madness?” he 
said softly.  His next words dripped with irony.  “Amusing, 
is it not, that I who have made a name as a breaker of 
hearts should now be the one to know desire unrequited.  Is 
it not the greatest jest that having so extolled the 
delights of woman-flesh I should now obsess over an Elf-
male instead and he my own best friend at that? ”  
 
“You have no notion of what it is like to couple with 
others for no other reason than because they somewhat 
resemble the one you desire.   To not even feel lust but 
only desperation?  It was degrading for both them and me.  
Yet that is what I was driven to do.  But the more I used 
others to try and quell my need, the more I felt the 
difference between them and you.”  He chuckled bitterly.  
“It was like trying to quench my thirst with mere ale when 
what I wanted was vintage wine.  Perhaps ‘tis the Valar’s 
way of chastising me for my past sins.”  
 
He looked at Legolas; saw how disturbed the prince was by 
his frank narrative.  He drew a weary breath and turned his 
eyes once more to the shadowed woods.  “I am sorry to have 
disturbed you so, gwador.  But you need worry no longer 
about this lunacy of mine.  I will depart for Imladris 
tomorrow and trouble you no more.”  
 
“That I cannot allow,” Legolas quietly replied.  “I told 
you I would not lose you.  I was not jesting.”  
 
“Legolas—“  
 
“I will give you what you desire, Elrohir.”  
 
Elrohir turned his head with a jerk and stared at him in 
astonishment.  “What?” he gasped.  “Are you insane?”  When 
Legolas simply shook his head, he paled.  “I do not wish 
for you to make this sacrifice.”  
 
“You make it sound as if it would be a hardship for me.”  
 
“It *is* a hardship if ‘tis not your desire.”  
 
“Then ‘tis your responsibility to ensure that I do *not* 
find it a hardship,” the prince retorted.  “You and Elladan 
have always said ‘tis in our nature to respond to the touch 
of both man and woman.  Why shouldn’t I experience pleasure 
in your arms?  Skillful ones at that from what I have heard 
of your exploits.”  
 
His words left Elrohir speechless.  It took him several 
seconds to form a response of some sort.  “Why would you do 
this?” he asked.  “Pity?  I will not accept pity from you.”  
 
“Nor would I give it.  I would never insult you so.”  
Legolas leaned forward and cupped Elrohir’s chin with his 
hand.  “I do this because you are dear to me and I refuse 
to lose you.  
 
He rose to his feet but retained his gaze on the other 
Elf.  “Think about it,” he said, his voice soft and 
gentle.  “When you have made your decision, come to me.  I 
will be in my bedchamber.”  
 
He silently walked away.  Elrohir stared at his retreating 
figure.  He did not know what to think or do.  And he was 
seriously torn between a need to weep and the urge to go 
into hysterics.  He realized his hands were shaking visibly 
and he quickly clenched them.  As lucidity returned, he 
considered the consequences of consummating his desire.  
 
/He offers it now.  But when it comes to the actual act, he 
will not be able to do it.  Where will that leave me?  
Caught between fulfillment and frustration.  Can I endure 
that?/  
 
He bent his head and covered his face with his hands.  
/Sweet Eru, what should I do?/  
 
Edain - Three houses of Elf-friends in the First Age  
Adan -  singular of Edain  
gwador - sworn brother  
ellon - male Elf  
 
 
Part VI: Yielding  
Legolas turned his head, his ears picking up the soft 
rustling sound.  A figure stood in the shadows of his 
balcony, half hidden by the draperies.  It was Elrohir.  
 
He had doffed his robe before climbing the tree outside the 
window of his own chamber and using it to traverse the 
short distance to Legolas’s balcony.  Sans the heavier 
outer garment his lean yet finely muscled form became more 
distinct.  
 
Elrohir stepped forward then paused as he caught full sight 
of the prince.  Legolas had risen to sit upon his bed, his 
long legs stretched out before him.  He was clad in naught 
but under-tunic and hose.  His hair, silvery in the 
moonlight, was unbraided and hung down his back like a 
silken curtain. He looked young and pure and almost unreal.  
 
Chiding himself for being so easily perturbed by his 
friend’s appearance, he approached the bed and sat down on 
its edge.  
 
“You could have used the door,” Legolas said, a smile in 
his voice.  
 
“I thought it would be more discreet this way,” Elrohir 
replied.  “I do not wish to needlessly discomfit you.”  
After a moment, he murmured: “I do not know if I should 
have come.  I do not wish to force this on you.”  
 
“I am not forced,” Legolas said.  “I do this of my own free 
will.”  
 
“So you say.”  Moving closer to Legolas, Elrohir took a 
deep breath and turned slightly to face the prince.  He had 
already decided on a course of action that would tell him 
whether to proceed or not.  If he sensed that Legolas could 
not continue, he would stop and leave.  
 
After some hesitation, he silently raised his hand and 
gently tucked a strand of silver gold behind the other’s 
ear.  In doing so, he allowed his fingers to run through 
the soft locks.  His eyes did not leave the prince’s face.  
 
/You flinched when Oreth did this to you./  
 
Legolas heard the thought, wondered if Elrohir intended to 
communicate entirely through their minds.  That was not 
surprising.  The Eldar more than the other Elven races 
practiced the art assiduously.  Though he was not as adept 
at it as his friend, he responded in kind.  
 
/Oreth’s need was base./  
 
/And mine is not?/  
 
/Nay.  I know the difference./  
 
Elrohir nodded slightly.  Gently, he brushed the shining 
hair from the prince’s shoulder revealing the side of his 
neck.  Slowly, taking care not to seem threatening, he 
leaned forward.  
 
Legolas tried to remain calm as Elrohir pressed a kiss to 
his neck.  Nevertheless, he was startled by the feel of 
it.  It was different from the womanly caresses with which 
he was familiar.  He could not explain what made it so; it 
simply was.  He trembled a little as the Elf-lord’s lips 
trailed upwards to just below his ear then lower to the 
crook of his neck.  To his surprise, it did not feel 
unpleasant.  Indeed, it raised prickles of pleasurable 
sensation that made his pulse quicken slightly.  
 
He became sharply aware of Elrohir’s scent, so different 
from that of a Silvan Elf.  It evoked the sparkling waters 
of the Bruinen, crisp, clean air beneath open skies, warm 
sunlight on peaceful meadows and the heather and pine upon 
the slopes of the valley where Rivendell lay hidden.  He'd 
always deemed it inordinately pleasing.  Now he found it 
enticing as well.  
 
Elrohir drew back and again their eyes met.  Legolas could 
not quite repress a shiver.  He clearly read in the 
twilight pools desire barely restrained, passion just 
waiting to be unleashed.  He drew in a shaky breath as 
Elrohir started to undo his tunic.  
 
With slow, deliberate movements, the warrior unlooped the 
lacings on the silvery garment, never looking at what he 
was doing, always watching the archer’s face.  With sudden 
insight, Legolas realized that he was replicating what 
Oreth had done in his attempt to seduce the prince.  
Following on the heels of that thought was the realization 
that Elrohir was waiting to see if he would resist further 
intimacy.  
 
Elrohir did wonder that Legolas did not recoil.  He began 
to dare hope.  Even now he felt his restraint beginning to 
crumble.  It did not help that he was so close to the 
prince that he could feel the warmth of his skin, hear the 
soft intake of breath as he undid the last loop.  
 
Legolas became aware of Elrohir’s hands spreading his tunic 
open.  He lowered his eyes, his face flushing.  How odd 
that after a lifetime of closeness he should now feel shy.  
Throughout the centuries of their acquaintance they had 
seen each other in various states of undress, even total 
starkness on occasion; why should it bother him now?  
 
It came to him then that he was not baring himself before a 
friend but a lover.  A male lover.  That was reason enough 
to make him distinctly uncomfortable.  
 
/Can I do this?/  
 
He had not meant for this thought to reach Elrohir and so 
was startled when he received a reply.  
 
/Do not force yourself.  I will leave./  
 
He glanced up again and looked at his friend.  Elrohir had 
pulled back his hands; his face was impassive.  But he did 
not guard his eyes quickly enough, could not hide the 
disappointment and the hurt of rejection.  The effort to 
clamp down on the desire, to bank the fires of passion was 
all too visible in those pools of twilight.  Lest Legolas 
read more in them, Elrohir averted his eyes.  He began to 
rise but Legolas grasped his wrist.  He looked back warily.  
 
Legolas stared at the lean wrist he held and marked its 
barely tamed power.  Whatever he chose to do now, it would 
be irrevocable.  I made this offer, he reminded himself.  
It was my choice.  
 
“Dartho,” Legolas whispered.  Stay.  
 
It was enough and too much.  
 
Restraint snapped, resolve broke.  Elrohir leaned forward 
and captured his lips.  The prince forced his mind to go 
blank.  Better not to think, just feel.  But he was not 
prepared for the deeper kiss that Elrohir drew him into and 
could not quite suppress a gasp of apprehension.  It was 
different even from the kiss in the woods.  That had been 
so brief that he'd hardly had time to register it beyond 
its bruising force.  But this!  
 
He became acutely aware that there was a world of 
difference between the kiss of an Elf-maid and of a male 
Elf.  Not so much the feel or taste of it--for Elrohir’s 
lips were soft and warm and amazingly sweet--but the power, 
however restrained, behind it.  
 
Feeling Elrohir’s hands on his arms, holding them with 
startling strength, he reflexively gripped Elrohir's arms 
in turn in a defensive gesture.  The motion only brought 
the warrior's might into sharper relief for he could feel 
the ripple of muscles beneath the fine fabric of his 
sleeves.  So disturbed was he that he drew in a shuddering 
breath when Elrohir finally broke the kiss.  But then he 
was eased down upon the bed and he found himself fighting 
to still his suddenly racing heart.  
 
For the longest moment he panicked for the feeling of power 
and hardness upon him was wholly unfamiliar, as were the 
hands that held him down--the hands of a peerless warrior.  
 
Elrohir's lips were upon his neck and throat, edacious and 
seeking.  Legolas felt his breath coming in short spurts.  
Try as he might he could not stay his alarm and it took all 
the discipline he could muster not to recoil from his 
imminent submission.  He closed his eyes and tried to calm 
himself, tried to think past his fear.  His grip upon 
Elrohir's arms tightened though he strove not to actively 
resist.  
 
Elrohir sensed his friend’s discomfort, felt the trembling 
of his body, was aware that Legolas was finding it 
difficult to shift from a more familiar mode of intimacy to 
one he had no experience of.  He also knew that all the 
skill he possessed would be of no avail if his friend 
failed to subdue his fear of this manner of coupling.  But 
he could no longer rein in his passion.  Things had gone 
too far.  
 
The mere sight of Legolas with his shining hair spread on 
the pillows and fair skin flushing was simply too much for 
him to resist.  Even the prince’s scent was intoxicating.  
Of tree and leaf and flowers on the forest floor did he 
think and hidden streams, wild berries and herb scented 
breezes.  With fingers that slightly shook, he tenderly 
brushed stray strands of silver gold from the prince’s 
cheek.  
 
It is beyond my strength to stop now.  Forgive me, my 
Greenleaf, his thoughts reached out entreatingly.  
 
Legolas felt the racing of his heart slow down.  His eyes 
opened and he stared at the Elf above him.  In his fear he 
had forgotten.  This was Elrohir and the Elf-knight loved 
him.  He would do nothing that would hurt him.  He peered 
at the countenance above him and centered all his thoughts 
and feelings on its breathtaking comeliness.  His fears 
started to diminish, his resistance faded.  
 
“Elyë nar ve vanima tambë i-undomë, Eldaroquen," he 
murmured.  Thou art as beautiful as the twilight, Elf-
knight.  
 
Elrohir’s eyes widened both at the return of his earlier 
praise of the prince’s beauty and the similar intent behind 
his use of the High Speech.  The argent pools glittered 
with appreciation.  
 
The archer relaxed beneath him, his grip loosened and his 
arms slowly slid around him, not to oppose but to reassure 
and convey his willingness to continue.  
 
There is nothing to forgive, Legolas assured him silently.  
 
Elrohir’s lips closed upon his once more, kissing him so 
tenderly, so sweetly, it all but took his breath away.  He 
opened himself to the experience, allowing pure sensation 
to wash over him.  
 
Once past the initial shock, Legolas found Elrohir’s kisses 
and the touch of his knowing hands more potent than he’d 
ever expected or imagined.  He could not suppress the 
tremors that passed through his body or the soft moans that 
escaped his lips.  The countless tales of Elrohir’s skills 
as a lover did not do him justice if he could arouse so 
many turbulent feelings in Legolas this easily.  
 
He managed to hold himself steady while Elrohir slowly 
undressed him though he shivered at the covetous gleam in 
the twin’s eyes when they beheld his bared body.  
Appreciative, too, and greatly so, particularly when the 
silvery pools alighted on the vicinity of his groin.  He 
could not help blushing then.  He was quite used to that 
gleam in Elf-women's eyes.  And lately he had come to 
recognize it in the furtive gazes of the few males bold 
enough to flout the inexorably though slowly waning 
Mirkwood prejudice against such passions.  But never had he 
reacted as he now did to Elrohir’s desirous regard.  He 
wondered if it was because the Elf-knight was his dear 
friend or due to something far more complex than he was 
ready to unravel at the moment.  
 
The warrior shed his own clothing and Legolas caught 
himself keenly admiring the flawless symmetry of his 
friend’s form.  Elrohir was more than beautiful by any 
standard; he was magnificent.  He also found himself 
staring in fearful fascination at the Elf-knight’s 
undeniably formidable length.  It was the first time he’d 
ever seen seen Elrohir naked while the latter was in a 
state of arousal.  Elbereth, it was a veritable sword!  
 
Confusion clouded his mind at his unaccountable attraction 
to his friend’s body.  It was an unfamiliar feeling.  He 
had experienced physical attraction to other males before 
but had been taught to consider such feelings as admiration 
for beauty or appreciation of worth.  Not that the feelings 
had ever evolved into anything recognizedly carnal in 
nature, not even remotely.  But this was different.  The 
twin educed an acute visceral response that the archer had 
not previously known even with the most comely of other 
ellyn.  Or ellith for that matter he realized with a jolt.  
He could not deny it; Elrohir had awakened something deep 
within him and even now that something was making him feel 
sensations and emotions he’d once considered next to 
impossible.  
 
Elrohir saw the bewilderment in Legolas’ eyes and 
comprehended the permutations that were taking place within 
his friend’s heart and soul.  Mindful of the other Elf’s 
inexperience and innocence in being loved by another male, 
he took his cues from the prince’s reactions.  Much as he 
ached to seek his own release, the need to pleasure the 
archer was paramount if the entire experience was to be as 
memorable as he intended it to be.  
 
“Trust me, Legolas,” he murmured as he slowly covered the 
prince’s visibly trembling body with his own.  
 
Legolas shivered as bared flesh touched bared flesh.  
Caught his breath when their lengths touched.  He shakily 
whispered: “I trust you.  Do as you will.”  
 
Elrohir silently took exception to his friend’s words.  
This coupling would not be for his pleasure alone.  He 
would ensure his Greenleaf knew complete satisfaction 
before the night was over.  Any other outcome was 
unacceptable.  
 
Gently, slowly, he trailed kisses over Legolas’ face, up to 
the delicate tips of his ears, down his throat to the 
sensitive hollow at its base; smiled secretly as he felt 
his friend quiver in the first throes of burgeoning 
passion.  He put the knowledge of secrets Legolas had 
confided to good use now.  He knew what the prince enjoyed, 
the places that were responsive to pleasure.  
 
As he moved down the length of Legolas’ frame, he listened 
keenly to the prince’s responses, stayed alert to the 
changes in the latter’s body.  He teased the roseate nubs 
gracing the archer’s chest and was pleased to hear the 
sounds Legolas could not stifle.  Lavished warm kisses and 
heated caresses upon the taut belly and slim hips and was 
gratified to feel the withy body thrum with steadily 
growing pleasurable tension.  Taking his time, he steadily 
moved lower, paying homage to the slender thighs and the 
silken lines that joined them to groin, his own passion 
barely kept at a simmer.  He clamped down firmly on the 
urge to ravage the lissome form beneath him.  
 
Legolas bit his lip as yet another moan escaped him.  He 
had not thought it possible for him to enjoy Elrohir’s 
attentions but it was and he did.  A part of him was 
dismayed that he could respond this way to his friend but 
another was filled with wonder and curiosity.  Further 
musings were abruptly cut off when the Elvenlord shifted 
his position.  
 
With a start, Legolas realized Elrohir’s face now hovered 
directly over his groin, felt his warm breath upon his damp 
skin.  Before he could even guess what might happen next, 
the warrior’s tongue flicked over his shaft, once, twice.  
He sucked in his breath in shock and stared down just in 
time to see himself disappear between Elrohir’s lips.  
 
“Elrohir!”  
 
The twin glanced up at his gasped cry, his eyes lust-
darkened.  “Has no maid ever done this for you, 
malthernil?” he asked huskily, a corner of his mouth 
quirking upwards.  
 
“Nay,” Legolas managed to reply.  “At least, not *that* 
way!”  
 
The twilight eyes darkened even further.  “It should not 
matter,” Elrohir said, his smile rakish, “but it gladdens 
me that I am the first.”  
 
Legolas fell back with a stifled groan as Elrohir resumed 
his sensual task.  The prince clawed at the bed sheet as he 
was repeatedly enveloped in the moist warmth of the twin’s 
mouth and skillfully brought to peaks of pleasure he'd 
never previously experienced.  He could barely summon 
enough lucidity to wonder where the Elf-knight had learned 
his lessons and learned them oh so well.  
 
His breath hitched when a finger slipped in behind to probe 
him, slick with what he did not know.  It was not painful 
but dauntingly intrusive.  He trembled when yet another 
finger made its way in; drew unsteady breaths as tendrils 
of delicious sensation radiated from his lower body where 
Elrohir stroked him from within.  He had not known about 
the sensitiveness of that part of his body.  Apprehension 
assailed him then.  
 
He’d done this for many an anxious virgin elleth to 
accustom them to the sensation of first penetration but 
he’d never expected it to be done for him.  It was ironic, 
really, considering that it was Elrohir who had taught him 
all those centuries ago to always handle inexperienced 
partners with extra care.  Not even in his wildest dreams 
had he ever imagined his friend would one day peform the 
same service for him.  But then again, who would have 
thought Elrohir would also be his bed-teacher in this?  
 
But soon it became impossible to think of anything at all 
beyond what the twin’s talented mouth and fingers were 
wreaking upon him.  It distracted him quite effectively 
from thinking about Elrohir's intent; only sensation 
registered.  He could do nothing other than to obey the 
instinct to rear into the molten source of his rapture, 
push onto the gently stroking fingers; forgot everything 
but the maddeningly enjoyable feelings that forced sounds 
from him he’d never heard before.  He suddenly panicked at 
the unfamiliarity of such mindless joy and tried to pull 
away from the mouth that so adeptly drew upon him.  
 
But Elrohir caught him fast, held him down and refused to 
let go.  Discerning the reason behind Legolas’ attempt to 
escape, he decided to bring his friend to completion 
soonest.  His suckling turned aggressive, his probing 
fingers more persistent.  For the first time, the archer 
knew the twin’s full lust and mastery as the latter let go 
of all restraint.  
 
Voraciously sucked, tenaciously stroked--Legolas sobbed 
Elrohir’s name out loud, pleaded for an end to the 
exquisite torture.  Was it possible to know too much 
pleasure?  He felt he would go insane from it.  
 
Release came in a tumultuous wave, overwhelming him in its 
fury, leaving him gasping for breath in its wake.  He 
shuddered helplessly as Elrohir practically drank him 
down.  He lay back limply, breathing unevenly, utterly 
drained.  
 
The bed shifted beneath him as the darkling Elf altered his 
position.  Opening his eyes, he saw Elrohir looking down at 
him, his dusky eyes blacker than he’d ever seen them 
before.  “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” the warrior 
murmured.   “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  
 
“I...I did not know such pleasure existed,” the prince 
admitted, blushing at his friend’s admission.  “What you 
just did is...is amazing.”  
 
A low chuckle was his reply and a thrill snaked its way 
through his nerves at the sound of it.  
 
“Thank you, Calenlass, but ‘tis only the beginning,” 
Elrohir murmured.  
 
Legolas’ eyes widened at the thought of more to come.  He 
wondered if he could survive another round of such intense 
pleasuring.  Elrohir smiled at his reaction then leaned 
down and kissed him; the prince tasted himself on the 
other’s lips.  Fascination supplanted some of his anxiety 
and he wondered what would follow.  
 
Hands wrapped around both their lengths and stroked them in 
unison, inexorably bringing him to renewed arousal.  Once 
more his breath quickened with the pleasure; he was as much 
undone by the sheer intimacy of the act as by the 
sensations wrought by it.  He closed his eyes trying to 
cling to whatever strands of sentience he still possessed.  
Fingers purposely brushed across the tip of his shaft and 
he opened his eyes in time to see Elrohir coat his own 
length with their mingled seed.  So that’s what he used on 
his fingers earlier, he thought with amazement.  
 
He tensed as his hips were raised, his legs gently lifted 
to snake around the other’s waist.  A pillow was slipped 
beneath his slightly upraised back.  He could not quite 
stifle a shuddery breath as he realized what that 
portended.  He'd never felt so vulnerable in his entire 
life.  Not to mention confused.  
 
Only once had he ever witnessed a joining between two males 
when he had stumbled upon the Imladrin warriors, Daurin and 
Enedrion, coupling in a concealed glen in the hills around 
Rivendell.  He had vivid memories of Enedrion on his hands 
and knees and Daurin taking him from behind.  That was how 
he’d expected Elrohir to take him as well.  But looking up 
at the Elf-knight, seeing the grey eyes gleaming with 
mingled lust and concern, he realized he preferred to face 
his friend.   He could seek courage in his reassuring gaze, 
knew that if he experienced any distress, Elrohir would see 
it at once and assuage it or, conversely, heighten his 
pleasure as soon as he felt it.  And he knew then that 
Elrohir had anticipated all of these things and intended to 
make his first yielding an exceptional and joyful one.  
 
“I do not wish to hurt you,” Elrohir said softly, seeing 
his friend’s anxiety.  “Try to relax, Legolas.  It will be 
easier for you if you do not resist me.”  
 
Legolas softly breathed, “I know,” and willed himself to 
calm down.  
 
With one sure thrust, Elrohir mounted him.  Legolas gave a 
muffled cry.  He trembled in shock at the sensation of 
being invaded then completely filled.  Not quite painful as 
he had expected save for a slight burning sensation that 
swiftly subsided.  But it was unfamiliar, not something 
he’d ever expected to happen to him.  Alien.  
 
*And yet not.*  Astoundingly, his body accepted the 
intrusion as naturally as any female's would though it 
experienced the normal discomfort that came with being 
untried.  This discovery following on the heels of his 
body’s enthusiastic approval of Elrohir’s earlier 
attentions brought home to him even more clearly how right 
the twins had been in their discourse on elven duality.  
They were made for either kind of coupling.  The duality 
was in him though he'd been conditioned from birth to 
suppress it all unknowingly.  
 
The thoughts swirled around in his mind with lightning 
swiftness while his body adjusted to the novel sensation.  
He gazed at Elrohir with wide-eyed wonder.  It was the 
signal Elrohir awaited and he began to move, driving 
shallowly into Legolas at first, seeking something… The 
prince hissed at the burst of pleasure a thrust fetched 
him.  As he had done with his fingers, Elrohir focused on 
stroking the same place that brought on such toe-curling 
sensation.  Guttural groans slipped past Legolas' lips as 
he tried to corral his wits and retain some semblance of 
control.  
 
“Enjoy it, Greenleaf,” the Elf-knight’s dulcet voice 
breached his rapture-fogged mind.  “Do not fight it.”  
 
Elrohir's eyes never left his face, the dark pools all 
aglow with hungry elation.  His thrusts became harder, 
deeper, always angled to pleasure the archer from within.  
Legolas' already erratic breathing turned into sobbing 
pants when Elrohir’s hand enveloped his reawakened length, 
rhythmically caressing it even as he rode him.  The 
sensations heightened until he was writhing with need, 
moaning incoherently.  He reached out blindly, grasping 
desperately at the twin’s thighs.  
 
“Elrohir, please,” he heard himself begging.  “ I 
cannot...ai, you will drive me mad!”  
 
He unravelled further when Elrohir bent over him to kiss 
the sensitive spot at the crook of his neck.  He was so 
close to exploding now and the almost unbearable feeling of 
pleasure coming from three different directions all at the 
same time drove him over the edge, shattering whatever 
control he might still have possessed.  Acting purely on 
instinct, he acquiesced to his body’s demand to heighten 
the incredible feeling of being filled and delved and he 
clenched his muscles around Elrohir’s shaft.  He completely 
came undone a split second later.  In that bliss-drenched 
instant, he tightly sobbed the twin’s name.  
 
The sound of his name intonated in just that way coupled 
with the spasmodic tightening around his length crushed 
Elrohir’s heretofore rigid hold on himself and he joined 
the archer in the rapturous storm of their joining.  
Legolas felt a thrill race through his very veins as he 
heard his name uttered with profound, rough-voiced 
felicity.  He trembled in the wake of his second release.  
Somehow, Elrohir had done the unthinkable.  
 
I have never come to completion twice in succession in so 
short a span of time, he dazedly admitted to himself.  And 
both times with such torturous, explosive joy.  
 
Elrohir thoughtfully removed the pillow from under him 
before gently withdrawing; so gently, Legolas hardly 
winced.  The Elf-knight planted a last lingering kiss upon 
his lips and he sighed at the tenderness of it.  Legolas 
opened his eyes and watched Elrohir draw the covers up over 
their bodies before lying down close beside him.  He lay 
quietly for a moment, sorting out his thoughts and 
feelings, waiting for his body to calm down.  Elrohir 
slipped a protective arm around him.  He turned his head 
and gazed at the warrior.  
 
Elrohir was on his side, his cheeks rosy from his own 
release.  He was looking at him intently.  “Did I hurt 
you?” the twin asked in a hushed voice.  
 
Legolas shook his head.  “Not at all,” he whispered.  
 
“That is good.”  Elrohir wondered at the way the prince 
regarded him.  He began to feel concern about what had just 
passed between them.  Was his friend now regretting his 
choice?  “Legolas, I--”  
 
The prince placed his fingers against his lips and said 
with a small smile.  “Sleep, mellon nîn.  I think we both 
need the rest,” he murmured.  
 
Elrohir hesitated then nodded and relaxed into the pillow.  
His concerns could be left until the morrow.  For now, 
Legolas was right.  They both needed to rest.  
 
malthernil - golden prince  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
ellyn - male Elves  
elleth, ellith - Elf-maid, sing. and plural  
mellon nîn - my friend  
 
 
Chapter VII: Denouement  
The sun was just beginning to peek through the clouds when 
Legolas slipped out of bed and slowly dressed, a mild ache 
in the lower regions of his body calling to mind what he 
had undergone just hours earlier.  As he drew on his 
clothes he glanced at the recumbent form that had lain 
beside him.  He shivered at the memory of what had occurred 
between them the night before.  I have never been more 
afraid in my life, he realized.  He did not know how he had 
borne the height of their coupling.  To surrender control 
and accept conquest.  *To be the sheath to the sword.*  
 
He paused, caught between a shiver and a sigh.  Truth be 
told, he was not certain whether the turmoil he felt was 
born of what he had endured—or of what he had enjoyed.  Was 
it just Elrohir’s considerable skill or did I learn 
something about myself this past night? he wondered.  
 
He looked upon his sleeping friend once more.  Not just my 
friend any longer, he realized with mixed emotions.  
*Melethron nîn.*  My lover.  
 
Elrohir’s handsome face was peaceful, the lines of his body 
more relaxed than they had been the past several days.  The 
prince reached out and brushed strands of dark silk from 
the darkling Elf’s cheek.  He regarded the beauty of the 
other’s features as he had the evening before.  On that I 
anchored my determination, he mused gravely.  But something 
more helped me to continue and I cannot tell if it was 
solely for our friendship’s sake.  
 
*******  
Elrohir slowly awakened, his mind gradually emerging from 
the elven dreamscape.  For a moment he was content to lie 
still and remember.  /Elbereth, that was such a strange 
dream./  
 
He eased himself up on one arm and drowsily looked about.  
And then his mind snapped to awareness.  He was not in his 
room.  He recognized the fixtures, the furniture and the 
walls.  He was in Legolas’ bedchamber lying in Legolas’ 
bed.  
 
He drew his breath in sharply.  Had last night really 
happened?  Or had he been so in need that he had at last 
failed to distinguish between his waking dreams and 
reality?  But there was no getting around the fact that he 
had awakened in the bed of his friend.  He shook his head 
in confusion.  Ridiculous to think that he had sleepwalked 
his way here.  And anyway Elves might walk while in the 
midst of their dreams but they certainly did not walk in 
their sleep.  
 
Bemused, he sat up and tried to clear the remaining cobwebs 
from his mind.  He had not slept so soundly in what felt 
like ages.  That in itself told him that something had 
happened.  His body, too, felt different.  He felt a sense 
of release that had been absent for so many years.  It must 
have happened.  And the bed linens...they bore stark 
evidence of a night's passionate indulgence.  It *had* 
happened.  He did not know whether to be joyful or 
worried.  For one thought came to him on the heels of his 
discovery.  Where was Legolas?  
 
He turned toward the sunlight pouring through the balcony 
door.  The draperies had been drawn back.  It was then that 
he saw him.  
 
He was seated on the balustrade, staring at the forest 
beyond.  Clad only in tunic, hose and light shoes, his hair 
still flowing free, he looked serene and innocent.  
Elrohir, reluctant to disturb him, silently rose from the 
bed and dressed.  When he was done he went to join the 
prince.  He was about to step onto the balcony when Legolas 
turned his head and looked upon him.  
 
“Did you sleep well?” he quietly asked.  
 
Elrohir found himself unable to fully face his friend and 
look into his eyes.  Truth be told, he was afraid of what 
he might see in those cerulean windows.  He did not move 
from his place.  
 
“Very well,” he murmured.  “’Tis the first good night’s 
sleep I have had in many a year.”  
 
“That is good to hear.”  
 
For a moment, silence reigned.  Elrohir gazed at the figure 
before him.  Images of the night before lingered in his 
mind and he found it hard to reconcile the acquiescent Elf 
who had yielded to his passion with the enigmatic prince 
who now surveyed the woods in silence.  He wondered if the 
experience had left an unpleasant mark on his friend and if 
that would now mar their relationship permanently.  
 
“Do you regret what you did?” he softly inquired.  
 
Legolas turned to face him.  Elrohir was struck once more 
by the crystal clarity of the archer’s eyes.  
 
“I do not regret anything,” he replied.  “As long as you 
are happy.”  After a pause, he added, “Are you?”  
 
“More than you can possibly imagine,” Elrohir breathed.  
 
A slight frown marred the prince’s brow.  “You do not look 
very happy,” he said.  “What troubles you?”  
 
Elrohir sighed.  “I fear that in accepting your offer I 
have hurt you in turn, ernil nîn.”  At the other’s 
expression of puzzlement, he explained, “I felt your 
distress last night.  You could not hide your fear.  You 
must have suffered.”  
 
“Nay, meldir nîn, I did not, you made certain of that.”  
The corners of his fine lips turned slightly upwards.  
 
Elrohir, aware that he was being teased, felt his face 
color.  “I am glad you did not find it too unpleasant,” he 
managed to say.  
 
“You also seem given to understatement this morning,” 
Legolas added, the teasing in his tone becoming more 
evident.  
 
Elrohir blushed in full but he refused to let himself be 
distracted from what he needed to say.  “It would not have 
been right if only I experienced any pleasure,” he 
murmured.  “But even the reward of pleasure cannot change 
the fact that this was not of your wanting.  I know how 
hard it must have been for you to do something you never 
desired.”  He swallowed hard.  “I should have stopped,” he 
whispered.  “I should not have let you make such a 
sacrifice.”  
 
When Legolas would have spoken he swiftly raised a hand to 
forestall him.  “I know how you felt.  I was frightened, 
too, the first time I lay with another ellon.  But at least 
I truly wanted the experience.  But you...you had nothing 
to help you endure it.”  He lowered his eyes before Legolas 
should see his self-recrimination. “I have sated my desire 
but I am not sure it was worth the price you paid.”  
 
Legolas gazed at his friend.  /I should not have left his 
side while he was still asleep.  He thinks me distant and 
full of regret./  
 
“Come here,” he said softly.  
 
The twin hesitated at first then did as he was bid.  
Without warning, Legolas grasped him by his shirt, pulled 
him close and kissed him full on the mouth.  Elrohir’s 
gasped at the unexpected gesture.  Legolas drew back and 
cupped the other Elf’s face.  Blue eyes held grey.  
 
“You are wrong, it was worth the price,” he quietly said.  
“And I did have something.  I had your love and the love I 
have always borne you.  That was more than enough to see me 
through.  And, as you put it...“ Dropping his hands, he 
drew back and Elrohir saw that he was smiling and that his 
smile reached his eyes.  “It was not unpleasant.  Not in 
the least.”  
 
Holding the smile, Legolas patted the balustrade behind 
him.  After the space of a moment,  Elrohir accepted the 
invitation.  Legolas leaned back against him and he curled 
a supporting arm around his friend's shoulders.  
 
Elrohir pressed his lips against the fair locks.  He felt 
Legolas' hand on his arm, warm and reassuring.  His fears 
dwindled.  
 
/Hannon le./  
 
ernil nîn - my prince  
meldir nîn - my friend  
Hannon le - Thank you  
 
 
Epilogue: Resolution  
The twins extended their stay by another week.  Having 
finally attained what he had so long desired, Elrohir was 
reluctant to forego it so soon.  Sympathizing with his 
brother, relieved and pleased that his twin was happy, 
Elladan did not insist on leaving as originally planned.  
Instead, he good-naturedly endured the other’s predictable 
tendency to gravitate toward Legolas and eased his 
occasional exasperation by indulging in a prank or two for 
old times’ sake.  That he managed to lure Legolas’ brother, 
Brethildor, and friends, Mithrael and Heledir, into joining 
him did nothing for Thranduil’s peace of mind, of course, 
but after the tension of the preceding days, the Elven-king 
proved to be of a more benevolent disposition.  However, 
even the most idyllic holidays must come to an end and the 
twin lords made ready to depart.  
 
Legolas saw them to the great stone doors of Thranduil’s 
cavernous halls.  At his silent command, the heavy doors 
swung open to reveal the wide bridge before the hill.  
There the Rivendell retainers and mounts already awaited 
their masters.  
 
It was a sunny day and the clearing before the bridge was 
dappled with golden light.  A fine day to start on one’s 
way.  With a slight motion of his head, Elladan gestured to 
the other Rivendell Elves to move away.  It was time for 
farewells and he knew that his brother would want some 
privacy.  
 
He turned to Legolas a little apologetically.  “Forgive me 
for not trusting you, gwador nîn,” he said.  “I should have 
known that you would not forsake Elrohir.”  
 
“Do not apologize,” Legolas replied.  “Your fears were not 
totally unfounded.”  
 
Elladan nodded.  He noticed Elrohir waiting impatiently for 
him to be done and was amused.  “You have brought back the 
light in his eyes,” he softly told the prince.  “My thanks, 
Legolas.  You are a true friend and brother.”  
 
They embraced before Elladan yielded his place to his 
twin.   He tactfully led his mount a little distance away 
but not before slyly whispering to his brother a furtive, 
“Your turn.”  He grinned at the latter’s quick blush.  
 
Legolas smiled as Elrohir almost shyly faced him.  “I do 
not know what to say,” the dark-haired Elf admitted.  “Save 
that I owe you so much.”  
 
Legolas shook his head.  “You owe me nothing.  You gave me 
as much as you took.”  
 
Elrohir looked at him in puzzlement.  “Did I?” he said.  
“What in Arda could I have given you?”  
 
“A new experience and an unforgettable one.  All our years 
together, you have introduced me to so many.”  
 
Elrohir looked at him doubtfully.  “You may yet regret 
this,” he said, his countenance tensing slightly.  
 
“So little faith in me, Elf-knight?” Legolas gently 
chided.  Color stained Elrohir’s cheeks anew.  The prince 
quietly said: “Everything you have taught me I cherish, 
gwador.  I will never regret this.”  
 
Elrohir gazed at him with something close to awe.  “You are 
incredible,” he softly said.  
 
This time it was Legolas who blushed.  After a moment, he 
looked at Elrohir thoughtfully.  “Has the ‘madness’ 
passed?” he asked.  
 
Elrohir considered the question.  “In truth, I do not 
know,” he said.  “Perhaps time apart from you will tell 
me.  I fear I will only know for certain when we meet 
again.”  He looked ruefully at his friend.  “At least, now 
you need not trouble yourself with me any longer.  That 
should make you glad.”  
 
Legolas placed his hands on Elrohir’s shoulders and gripped 
them reassuringly.  “Your departure does not gladden me,” 
he told him.  “I am ever bereaved when my closest friend 
must leave for I enjoy your companionship and thrive on the 
love you have always shown me.”  He withdrew his hands, his 
eyes sparkling merrily.  Elrohir thought he had never seen 
eyes so blue.  The archer cocked his head, a small smile on 
his lips.  “And...if it has *not* passed, I will be here 
for you as long as you need me.”  
 
Elrohir stared at him in astonishment.  He realized anew 
the great treasure that was his friend.  “‘Tis no wonder 
that you are so dear to me, Calenlass.  I never want to 
lose you be you lover, friend or brother,” he told Legolas, 
his voice vibrant with affection and gratitude.  
 
Legolas’ smile widened and he drew Elrohir into a tight 
embrace.  “Safe journey to you, mellon nîn,” he murmured.  
“Farewell.”  
 
He watched the brothers mount.  As their steeds trotted 
across the bridge, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He knew 
without looking that it was his father.  
 
Thranduil watched the twins depart.  “Well, ion nîn?” he 
asked.  Three words but Legolas knew a multitude of 
questions rested in them.  
 
“I am quite all right, Ada,” he said.  
 
The twins and their retainers were at the mouth of the 
hidden path.  Just before they entered, Elrohir looked 
back.  Twilight eyes met azure ones across the clearing.  
The Elvenlord raised his hand in a final farewell.  Legolas 
did the same.  And then the company was gone.  
 
Thranduil looked doubtfully at his son.  “You do not seem 
to have suffered overmuch,” he commented.  
 
“Did you expect me to?”  
 
Thranduil snorted elegantly at the oft used ploy of 
countering one question with another.  “It would almost 
seem that you enjoyed yourself,” he said.  “I will not deny 
that that unsettles me.”  
 
Legolas turned to face the king.  “I was unsettled, too, 
the first night we spent together--” Legolas began.  
 
Thranduil interrupted with some incredulity.  “The *first* 
night?” he repeated.  
 
Legolas gave his father a pointed look.  “Healing does not 
always come in an instance, my lord,” he said.  
 
Thranduil frowned.  “Legolas, did you not feel any aversion 
at all?  Were you never troubled?”  He regarded his 
youngest son.  
 
Legolas understood how his father felt.  “Of course I was 
troubled,” he admitted.  “’Twas not my inclination.  Even 
now I wonder that I was able to endure it.”  He stopped and 
corrected himself.  “Nay, that is not right.  Elrohir did 
not only take pleasure.  He gave it as well and in great 
measure.  I confess I have never known the like in all my 
years,” he murmured almost to himself but the older Elf 
heard nonetheless.  He saw his father tense, sensed the 
discomfort of the Elvenking.  But he had never been less 
than honest with his sire and he would not start now.  
 
“I learned something about myself.  Elrohir showed me what 
we have tried to subdue all these ages.  I can no longer 
regard it as unnatural when I have experienced for myself 
that it is as much a part of me as breathing.  Indeed, what 
Elladan thought troubling was not Elrohir’s desire but that 
I of all people should be the object of it.”  
 
He paused a moment, giving his sire time to come to grips 
with his revelations.  Legolas added:  “Though 'tis not a 
thing I would actively seek; I am not wholly at ease with 
it.  Not yet.”  He had to smile at Thranduil’s obvious 
relief.    “Still...”   He looked at his father 
questioningly.  “Ada?  Would you disown me were I to leave 
the path you taught me to follow?”  
 
Thranduil hesitated then shook his head slowly.  “As you 
said, there are things that we have tried to subdue in our 
nature.  I have long anticipated that our alliance with 
Imladris would lead to a resurgence of the old ways in this 
realm.  I just never expected that you would walk the 
ancient path or that Elrohir would be the one to guide you 
down it.  But even did it not exist, you are still my son.  
I would never cast you away no matter what you should 
choose to do.”  
 
Legolas smiled gently.  “As I cannot turn from Elrohir 
whatever he may choose.”  
 
Thranduil sighed.  “And what if his desire does not pass?” 
he queried.  
 
“Then I will do this again for as long as he needs me.  I 
love him and I intend to be there for him.”  
 
“And you would not be my Legolas if you did not feel that 
way about your friends,” Thranduil murmured much softened.  
He suddenly frowned and glanced in the direction of the 
hidden path.  “Which reminds me, would you know if the 
gwanun had a quarrel with Oreth?”  
 
“With Oreth, my lord?” Legolas repeated in surprise.  “Why 
do you ask?”  
 
“Oreth reported to me last night and I had Galion bring him 
wine.  When the good captain drank it, his lips and teeth 
turned a very vivid green.”  Legolas choked on a gasp of 
laughter.  “Galion says he saw the twins lingering around 
the kitchens near the cup into which he had just poured the 
wine.  Unfortunately, he has no evidence whatsoever that it 
was they who tampered with it.  Would you know if they were 
behind this deed?”  
 
“Nay, I know nothing about it,” Legolas chuckled.  “But it 
does sound like something that they would do.”  
 
The King sighed.  “And I thought they had finally outgrown 
their fondness for mischief.  I should have known better.”  
Thranduil shook his head in resignation.  “Thank the Powers 
they are not my sons.  How Elrond and Celebrian manage to 
keep their sanity around them I would rather not know.  I 
have enough to do keeping you out of trouble.“  He regarded 
his now laughing son with some severity.  
 
Legolas looked at his father, mischief dancing in his 
eyes.  “You are receiving the delegate from Dale next 
month, are you not?  I hear he is full of self-importance 
and can be quite long-winded in his speeches.”  He nearly 
laughed again as the King leveled a suspicious stare at 
him.  “Perhaps we can invite the twins back for the 
occasion.  They have an uncommon gift for making even the 
most tedious proceedings interesting.”  
 
The glower and grimace he received from his father was all 
that he could desire.  He grinned as his less than amused 
sire strode back to his halls.  /Valar, that felt good!/  
 
edro - open  
gwador nîn - my sworn brother  
meldir - friend  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
mellon nîn - my friend  
ion nîn - my son  
Ada - Papa  
gwanun - pair of twins  
 
The End