Title: A River’s Tale
Author: Laurelin   (laurelin_enedlithien@hotmail.com)
Rating: overall NC17 (chapters varying from G - NC17)
Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Haldir, Legolas/others, Legolas/Haldir/Aragorn, 
a little Aragorn/Arwen.
Disclaimer: Most of the characters are Tolkien’s, except for the few ones I made 
up myself. I get no money, no theft intended, yedda yedda yedda.
Author’s notes: can be found at the bottom. Please read before pointing out 
canonical mistakes to me.
Warnings: There is some graphic het sex, too. But I promise steaming slash 
scenes! There are some non-consensual scenes, and some mild bondage. Nothing 
serious.
Archive: Y’all know my e-mail address, so please ask permission.
Feedback: Yes, please! That and that alone gives me the motivation to keep 
writing.
Summary: It’s the year 13 of the Fourth Age. Why is Legolas tired of his life? What 
role did King Elessar play in this? And will Haldir’s biggest fear become reality? To 
find out the answers, sit down and listen to this tale about friendship, love and 
finding the courage to follow your heart.  

A slash author introduces herself: I came to love Tolkien and LOTR when I saw the 
first movie last summer. Aragorn and – especially – Legolas stole my heart, and 
although I was quite shocked at first when I found out about the existence of 
Aragorn/Legolas-slash, I am now a slash writer myself. Aragorn/Legolas will always 
be my favorite pairing, but Haldir makes appearances in my stories too; he’s a 
wonderful character, and a hot one at that! The three of them also star in my first 
fic, Three Hearts. Don’t turn to me if you’re looking for Hobbit-, wizard- or Dwarf-
pairings; sorry, they’re just not my cup of tea. Hobbits are too cute, wizards too 
old and Dwarves... well, they just spring out of holes in the ground, okay??
I want to apologize to Mr. Tolkien for using his characters for these purposes. I 
mean no harm to his memory, the characters or the actors; there are just some 
wicked fantasies in my head that need to be released!

First, one general note on this story. Book-verse or movie-verse? Both actually, 
whatever fitted my needs. Although I tried to stick to canon as much as possible, I 
stray away from it here and there; intentionally most of the time, but since I 
haven’t read ROTK yet, it’s possible I overlooked some things.

Dedicated to my friend, beta, and most loyal fan: Jill, who read this and corrected 
where needed. Jill: thanks so much for your encouragement!


Prologue: A River Introduces Itself

Good day to you, lonely wanderer. You have been walking along my shores all 
morning, why don’t you sit down and rest for a little while? I know of a nice, quiet 
place where you can sit very comfortably. Yes, right over there, under the lee of 
those willows. The grass is soft there. How I know that? I have been told so, by 
other wanderers like you. That’s good, make yourself comfortable. No, I don’t mind 
if you eat something, not at all. As long as you don’t leave litter behind.

What? Does it surprise you that I can talk to you? I understand your amazement, 
but why wouldn’t a river be able to speak? After all, I am a living being, just like 
you. I am always in motion, I have seen many things... I talk to any living 
creature, be it horse, bird, or tree. And sometimes I have a little chat with a two-
legged being like yourself, but only if I so desire. If I had to converse with every 
single one of your chatty folk, I would definitely go crazy.

Enjoy your meal by the way. Well? Didn’t I point out the perfect picnic spot to you? 
And isn’t it good to feel the sunshine on your face? My point exactly.

I am called Anduin, as you probably know. My roots lie in the north, and I flow into 
the Sea, further to the south. Tell me something about yourself; judging by your 
earthly good looks, you must be one of the human folk. Strange that I have never 
seen you before. Oh, you live far beyond my shores? That explains a lot. You are 
visiting your family in Caras Gwedeir, the capital city of Ithilien? Ah, yes, I know 
them a little; very friendly people.

I have known many Men during my long existence, from all layers of society. From 
carpenters to kings. One of the most remarkable Men I ever knew was Aragorn, 
son of Arathorn. During his long life, he was a healer as well as a warrior, an 
outcast as well as a king. He was King Elessar of Arnor and Gondor for many, many 
years. Ah, you have heard his name? Good, good... Shall I tell you a tale about 
him?

Hmm, many tales can be told about this Man, but I think I know of one just perfect 
for this beautiful day. It was in the month of May that Aragorn first came to Ithilien 
as king. Fifteen years before, he had fought in the War of the Ring and played a 
major part in the fall of Sauron. You have heard about the Quest of the Ring, and 
the Fellowship of which Aragorn was part? Good; that simplifies things. But I’ll 
wager you didn’t know that Aragorn, in addition to his bravery on the battlefield 
and his wisdom as a ruler, also had a great ability to care, and love. His affection 
he gave generously to many; his love, to few.

Does it surprise you that I know all this? Ah, but you should know that I hear and 
see much of what happens on my banks. I see people, I hear them talk... I can 
even see into their heart and soul. But only if I choose to; if I had to see what goes 
on in people’s hearts all the time, I would cry so many tears that I would flood all 
of Middle-earth within hours.

Aragorn met his Queen, Lady Arwen daughter of Elrond, at a young age. He was 
devoted to her from the moment they met, and he knew that she was the woman 
he would one day marry. But life turned out to be less simple for him. He had to 
take responsibility, he had to fulfil the task fate had given him. So he rode off from 
Imladris to face his destiny, and in the process of doing so, found out that his heart 
had even more love to give. He had not thought it possible to love another and he 
did not choose to, but this was something his heart decided for him. It caused him 
much sorrow and many sleepless hours, even long after the ending of the War. He 
married Arwen in the end, as he’d always known, and was crowned king; and still, 
one part of his heart never beat for Arwen. He ignored it, even forgot about it; but 
then one day, years later, something stirred up some long-forgotten emotions 
within him, and he finally listened to the voice of his heart.

Hah, I see I have your full attention now. Curious? Shall I tell you what happened 
in that beautiful month of May many years ago, when Aragorn came to Ithilien? 
Very well, how shall I begin? I think we will have to go a little further back in time, 
to a day in February that same year, fifteen years after the War of the Ring. That 
day started out as a normal, average day in the life of a king. The sky over Minas 
Tirith was overcast, and Aragorn faced another day of ruling his kingdom, not 
knowing yet that fate had some changes in store for him, and that one of his staff 
members was the one to set it all in motion by giving the king’s son homework.

Lie back in the grass and listen to my tale...


Chapter 1 - Poems, Prayers and Promises

Minas Tirith, February 11th, F.A. 13.

~ Aragorn ~

Aragorn folded the piece of paper in his hands, lay it on his desk in front of him and 
leaned back in his chair, pondering the content of the letter he’d just finished 
reading, written in the strong hand of King Éomer.

“Rohan continues to thrive, Elessar,” Éomer wrote him. “Numerous flocks of sheep 
crowd our meadows, our farmers predict a good harvest and our horses are more 
beautiful than ever. I foresee blooming trade between our kingdoms this year.”

Yes, these were happy tidings. Aragorn was pleased. The letter ended with a 
personal note, for in addition to fellow rulers, Aragorn and Éomer were also good 
friends. “Give my warm regards to your lovely Queen and to the young prince. I 
hope to receive a letter from you soon, filled with equally good news concerning 
your beautiful kingdom.”

Aragorn put the letter on the pile of paper next to him. Yes, he would write a 
response and he would do it today, as soon as he had dealt with more urgent 
matters. He reached for the ink jar and took the long quill between his fingers. He 
then pulled some papers to him, agreements and contracts that needed to be read 
and signed.

As he was reading, there was a soft knock on the door. Aragorn smiled; he was 
king now, but his former life as a Ranger had sharpened his senses, and that 
alertness could not be switched off. He had recognized his son’s light footfalls.

“Come in.”

In walked Eldarion, his and Arwen’s young son. “Hello, Papa.”

“Hello, son. Aren’t you supposed to have your recital lesson right now?”

“Yes,” the boy replied. Then, seeing his father’s frown, he quickly added, “But 
Master Odin gave me permission to leave and use the rest of the hour to do my 
homework.”

“Ah.” Aragorn let the quill slide back into the jar, folded his hands and eyed his son 
affectionately. “And what brings you to my study, then?”

Eldarion looked around him, his eyes scanning the book-cases covering almost 
every meter of the walls. “Master Odin mentioned a collection of Elvish poems and 
songs. I must learn one poem by heart for the next lesson, tomorrow. I hoped to 
find that particular book in your extensive collection.”

“Poetry, eh?” Aragorn turned in his chair and studied his impressive book 
collection. He then pointed out one of the book-cases towering against the 
southern wall of the room. “Try it there; most of the poetry sits on the two bottom 
shelves.”

Eldarion seated himself in front of the book-case, cross-legged on the floor. For a 
while, he just studied the backs, most of them engraved with gold letters. He then 
carefully took one book and began turning over the pages. Aragorn, after having 
watched his son’s profile for a while, continued reading; for a while, nothing could 
be heard but the rustling of paper.

Finally, Eldarion broke the silence. “I think I found it.”

Aragorn looked up to see his son holding one particularly volumous book in his 
hands. “That is the book Master Odin was talking about?”

“I think so.” Eldarion turned the pages one by one.

Aragorn shoved his chair back and patted his thighs. “Come here,” he said.

Eldarion looked at him doubtfully. “But, Papa, aren’t I too old now to sit on your 
lap?”

Aragorn chuckled. “Not as long as you don’t have hair growing on your face. Come, 
do your old man a favour.”

Eldarion came and sat on Aragorn’s lap. Aragorn held the book for him, for it was 
heavy, and let Eldarion turn the pages. Being the son of a Man and an elven 
woman, Eldarion had learned both the Common Tongue and Sindarin, and so he 
had no difficulty reading the words; but to understand them, that was another 
matter. The poems were written in an old form of Sindarin and Aragorn saw several 
words which had fallen into disuse.

“Look, Papa.” Eldarion pointed out one of the poems. “This one seems familiar.”

“Ah, yes. The Fall of Gil-Galad,” Aragorn said, as he traced the words with a finger. 
He began to sing it softly, and Eldarion soon joined him, hesitantly, his high voice 
mingling with his father’s low-timbered one. This is what they sang, the opening 
verses of the ancient lay:

“O Gil-galad i Edhelchír 
dim linnar i thelegain: 
Im Belegaer a Hithaeglir 
Aran ardh vethed vain a lain. 
 
Gariel maegech Gil-galad, 
Thôl palan-gennen, ann-vegil; 
A giliath arnoediad 
Tann thann dîn be genedril. 
 
Dan io-anann os si gwannant 
A mas, ú-bedir ithronath; 
An gîl dîn na-dúath di-dhant, 
vi Mordor, ennas caeda gwath.”

The song ended. “It’s quite difficult,” Eldarion said.

“An old friend of mine once made a beautiful translation,” Aragorn said. “I 
believe it was like this...” Aragorn then sang again, the same melody, but this 
time in the Common Tongue.

“Gil-galad was an Elven-king
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.

His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven’s field
were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star
in Mordor where the shadows are.”

He smiled to himself, his heart warmed by the memory of hearing old Bilbo’s 
translation for the first time, long ago. He had heard it being sung by Sam 
Gamgee, as he was camping with the Hobbits on their journey to Rivendell. He had 
been Strider back then.

Together they continued turning the pages of the book, occasionally lingering on a 
page to read another poem. Then a knock on the door again.

“Come in.”

The door opened and one of the king’s guards stepped in. He saluted, then said: 
“Sire, a messenger has arrived from Ithilien. He wishes to speak with you.”

“Let him come in,” Aragorn said. He then turned to his son. “Eldarion,” he said, “I 
have a visitor. You must leave now, but here, you can take the book with you to 
your room. But be careful with it.”

“Thanks, Papa.” Eldarion pushed himself off Aragorn’s lap and left with the book 
under his arm. Aragorn leaned back in his chair and smiled. The song-singing with 
his son had filled him with melancholy. So many memories... some sweet, others 
bitter. A quick frown crossed Aragorn’s face, but he slowly shook his head and rose 
from his seat to greet the Ithilien messenger as he entered, a strange, tired-
looking Elf. Aragorn felt a quick flash of disappointment. Fool, he thought to 
himself, did you really think that *he* would show up here all of a sudden? You 
know better...

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” the Elf said, bowing. “May the Valar watch over 
you and your family.”

“And over yours,” Aragorn replied with a smile. “Welcome.”

“My name is Calan,” the Elf said. “I have come from Ithilien with tidings. As you 
know, our city, Caras Gwedeir, is flourishing and the Council of Men and Elves has 
decreed that a grand festival will be held this spring to celebrate this fact. 
Messengers have been sent out to invite our friends from all over Middle-earth to 
join in the celebration. The Council has made it very clear that the festival won’t be 
complete without a party from Minas Tirith, with which our city has such close 
relations.”

“I see.” Aragorn thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “A lovely idea. I have witnessed 
Ithilien’s prosperity over the past years with great satisfaction, and this will indeed 
be a great opportunity to renew all political bonds, which are so important in these 
times of rebuilding.” He was silent for a moment, then asked: “You did not bring a 
letter with you?”

“No, sire.”

Aragorn bit away the disappointment. He then asked, “Must you turn back 
immediately? Before I can tell you how big a delegation I will send to attend the 
festival, I need to make some inquiries.”

“No, sire; I must leave the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Very well. I will consider and let you know about the size and composition of the 
delegation from Minas Tirith tomorrow evening. In the meantime, have a good rest 
after your journey; I will make sure a room is prepared for you.”

Calan bowed.


~ Eldarion ~

Eldarion kicked the door of his room shut behind him and dropped onto his bed. He 
lay the book on his lap and opened it, fanning through the pages in search of the 
poem he had been reading when the guard had come in. As he did so, suddenly a 
small amount of loose, different-looking papers slid from between two pages and 
whirled to the floor. Eldarion put the book aside, pushed himself off the bed and 
kneeled on the floor to collect the papers. They had obviously been hidden in the 
book for quite some time, for they were yellowed.

Curious, Eldarion quickly went through the papers; most were filled with his 
father’s handwriting, just political notes Eldarion did not understand. He unfolded 
the last paper.

This one was different. Still his father’s handwriting, but a poem this time. It was in 
Sindarin, but less dated and better understandable than most of the poems in the 
book. Eldarion turned the paper around, but nothing explained the origin of the 
poem; it didn’t even have a title. Just those twelve verses.

Eldarion started to read it attentively, mouthing the words as he did so; he did not 
understand all the nuances, but he understood quite well what it expressed. For 
some reason, he found it both beautiful and sad. After he had finished reading, he 
sat thinking for a moment. Perhaps Master Odin would give him permission to learn 
this one for tomorrow.

Eldarion collected all the other papers and put them back in the book. The paper 
with the mysterious poem he lay on top of it. He wanted to stand, but then 
something caught his eye. Another piece of paper had slipped beneath his bed. He 
reached for it; it felt different, less solid. He pulled it out from under the bed.

“Oh,” he said unconsciously. It was not a piece of paper. It was a leaf, a dried leaf 
of a shape that was unfamiliar to Eldarion. He carefully turned it around, admiring 
the fine web of nerves. Being Arwen’s son, he had been taught to respect nature, 
and to see and appreciate its beauty; this leaf intrigued him. It was obviously 
foreign, and very old. His father would probably know where it came from; but that 
could wait. Eldarion put the leaf in the book, closed it and took the piece of paper 
lying on top. He then ran out of his room, to find his teacher.


~ Arwen ~

Something was bothering her husband. She could tell by the way his shoulders 
slumped, the way he stared out the window absent-mindedly, the way he listened 
to her words without really registering their meaning. She’d seen him like that 
before and she knew that something was troubling him. She could not put her 
finger on it, but she guessed it had something to do with that messenger from 
Ithilien.

He came late to bed that night. Arwen heard him move softly in the room, not 
wanting to disturb her; finally, he slipped between the sheets. Arwen wondered 
what would happen next. Would she have to drag it out of him, or would he share 
his problem with her of his own free will?

A warm, masculine hand slid around her waist. “Arwen.”

She peered back over her shoulder and smiled at him. “My love.”

He leaned in to her and kissed her neck. “I’m still not sure who I will send to 
Ithilien,” he murmured against her skin. “Of my ministers, both Torlin and Borlag 
are willing to go, but I can’t miss both of them. I’ll have to make the decision for 
them.”

This puzzled Arwen. “I assumed you would go yourself,” she said, frowning.

Aragorn stilled for the slightest of seconds before brushing some of her hair away 
and kissing her temple. “I don’t think I will. Nothing the messenger said indicated 
that my presence is desired. No, I will send a delegation and remain here; I have 
business to attend to.”

“Business so urgent that it can’t wait for a week?”

“My desk is filled with inventories, trade agreements, contracts... And more come 
every day. It’s a hectic time, not a good moment to go off and party.”

Arwen slightly turned to face him. “Honey... you have been working day and night 
during the past months. Why don’t you hand over some tasks to the Council and 
allow yourself to relax a little?”

“I have made up my mind, Arwen.” He said it kindly, but with determination. “I’d 
almost think you *want* me to be away for a while.” She heard the smile in his 
voice. “You’re not hiding something from me, are you, my wife?” His hand found 
her thigh and moved upwards beneath her night gown.

“I am not,” she sighed. Aragorn kissed her, gently at first, then more passionately. 
He parted her thighs with one hand and settled between them, not breaking the 
kiss. As he stretched himself on top of her, she could feel his need. She wrapped 
her arms around his neck and lifted her hips encouragingly when he sought to 
remove her gown. She smiled; she knew what he was doing, he was using sex to 
distract her from the conversation. He’d done it before. She was not done with him 
yet, but, she decided as he continued to kiss her passionately, she was willing to 
drop the subject for now.

Later, as he was lying with his head on her chest, she decided to restart the 
discussion. “You never told me what happened between you and Legolas,” she 
said, stroking his hair.

He was silent for a moment. “What makes you think something happened?” he 
finally asked.

“You were close friends when you set out from Imladris with the others of the 
Fellowship,” she said. “But when you returned, your friendship had cooled down. 
You haven’t seen him in years, even though he lives not far from here. And now 
the perfect opportunity comes along, and still you refuse to go. I wonder why.”

“Nothing serious happened.” He sounded even. “A disagreement, that’s all. I don’t 
want to talk about it.”

“Elessar, it’s been fifteen years. Don’t you think it’s time to put the past behind 
you?”

“Arwen, I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” He sounded downright irritated now. 
“I’ll remain here, end of story.”

Arwen sighed. Since long she’d had her suspicions about the alienation between 
her husband and the prince of Mirkwood. She was saddened by the cooling-down of 
a friendship that once had been so strong, and even more by the fact that it 
seemed to stand between her and Elessar. Sometimes he would close up, lock her 
out; he would get a sad, distant look in his eyes and Arwen suspected he was 
thinking about Legolas at those moments.

If only Elessar would admit to himself that he should not remain idle! One simple 
gesture, one word, could be enough to renew the friendship and clear the sky. She 
closed her eyes, inwardly praying for something that would convince her husband 
to do something.

“Elessar,” she tried one final time, “I don’t like it when you shut me out like this. 
You know you can tell me anything.”

He looked up and touched her cheek. “I am sorry, Arwen,” he sighed, “I didn’t 
mean to hurt your feelings. But this is something between me and Legolas. I am 
not yet ready to resolve the misunderstanding separating us.”

“When *will* you be?”

But Aragorn did not reply. He remained silent until he fell asleep in Arwen’s arms. 
She held him and stared long into the darkness, until at last, sleep came for her, 
too.


Minas Tirith, February 12th, F.A. 13.

~ Aragorn ~

The following day, Aragorn retreated to his study after lunch. He started making a 
list with the names of those who would go to Caras Gwedeir. He had decided that 
Borlag would go, and that Torlin would remain in Minas Tirith. With his minister 
would go several other officials, and some minstrels, who would brighten the 
festivities with song and story. Borlag had suggested that his daughter would go, 
too, for she was gifted with a beautiful voice and would be a great addition to the 
male minstrels. Aragorn had given permission.

Aragorn went over the list, counting the names. Yes, a nice assembly to represent 
Minas Tirith. He put down his quill and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly. The 
words Arwen had spoken the night before still lingered in his mind.. He felt terrible 
about being dishonest to her, but what else could he do? What had happened 
between him and Legolas was known only by the two of them, and it should stay 
that way.

He called his secretary to him, a young, enthusiastic man in his early twenties with 
blond, shoulder-long hair and a fashionable goatee. Rulof was his name. “A letter 
to the Council of Men and Elves of Caras Gwedeir,” Aragorn announced, “to accept 
the invitation for the festival.” He paced the room, dictating, while his secretary 
wrote it all down.

“... thankful for the kind invitation. I have selected a fine group to represent Minas 
Tirith, consisting of the following people: High Minister Borlag...” Aragorn gave all 
the names and Rulof wrote them down feverishly. “They will set out from Minas 
Tirith on the 7th of May,” Aragorn continued, “and arrive in Caras Gwedeir 
approximately two days later.” He paused, then added, “I would once more like to 
voice my appreciation for Ithilien’s prosperity and the support Caras Gwedeir has 
given Minas Tirith in the past few years, and my hope that this gathering of souls 
will result in even closer bonds between the different realms and people of Middle-
earth.”

Aragorn paused for a long time. The secretary waited patiently, assuming that the 
king would continue dictating, but when Aragorn finally looked up, he only said, 
“With warm regards, yours sincerely, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, Elessar King of 
Arnor and Gondor, etcetera.” He briefly drew his hand over his eyes. “Finish it up, 
seal it with the royal seal and put it on my desk.”

The secretary bowed. “Yes, sire.”

“Next, I want you to make an inventory of the goods that will go with our 
delegation. I want a horse for every individual and two carts for everything: 
musical instruments, provision, gifts for the Elves, tradegoods. And I want that 
inventory by noon tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire.”

At that point, a knock on the door. Arwen.

“Yes?”

Arwen opened the door and smiled at Rulof, then at her husband. “Sorry to disturb, 
my love, but do you have a moment?”

“It depends,” he said. “What for?”

“Our son has learned a poem for his recital lesson and he made it very clear to me 
that he would like us to be there as he recites it.” She smiled.

“Ah.” Aragorn smiled too. “Yes, I remember. Very well, let us go together.”

As they walked down the hallway, Aragorn glanced at his wife beside him and felt 
remorse wash through him. He loved her, the mother of his child; how he wished 
he could be completely open with her. As they walked on, he took her hand in his 
own and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. She looked at him in surprise and 
smiled.

Together they entered the room where Eldarion had his lessons, and found that 
their son, in his youthful enthusiasm, had gathered an impressive audience of court 
officials and some of his other teachers. He smiled delightedly when he saw his 
parents.

“Ah, the Lord and Lady are here also,” Master Odin said with a smile. “Good. Let’s 
begin then.” He placed a hand on Eldarion’s shoulder and began, “When I gave 
Eldarion the task of learning a Sindarin poem by heart, I was quite unprepared for 
the enthusiasm with which he dedicated himself to this. I had recommended a 
particular collection of poems to him, but initially he meant to recite a poem he 
found elsewhere. I forbid this, but then he offered to recite *two* poems, one from 
the book and the one he’d found himself.” He smiled. “This I could not deny him, of 
course.” He let go of Eldarion’s shoulder, stepped aside and gestured for him to 
begin. “Go ahead.”

Eldarion began. To Aragorn’s surprise, his son had chosen to recite The Fall of Gil-
Galad, the verses he’d sung with him the day before plus a great deal more. It was 
a long and difficult poem but the boy did remarkably well, and when he had 
finished, all applauded. Even though most of them did not speak Sindarin, they 
knew what the poem was about, for it was well-known, even among the Men of 
Minas Tirith. Arwen gave her husband a meaningful glance, beaming pride. Aragorn 
smiled at her.

Eldarion then straightened himself once more and began reciting the second poem, 
his clear voice ringing out. It was a poem unfamiliar to all in the room, with one 
exception.

“Na 'Aear, na 'Aear! Mýl 'lain nallol...”

Aragorn’s smile fell from his lips and time seemed to stand still for a moment. It 
had been many years since he’d last heard those words, but he recognized them 
instantly. He remembered last hearing them as if it had been only the day before, 
and he remembered very well that back then, the words had had the same strong 
effect on him as they did now: a great sadness rose within him. He stood as if 
frozen as Eldarion continued.

“I sûl ribiel a i falf 'loss reviol.
Na annûn hae, ias Anor dannol.
Cair vith, cair vith, lastal hain canel,
Lamath in-gwaithen i gwennin no nin?
Gwannathon, gwannathon taur i onnant nin;
an midui orath vín a dennin inath vín.
Trevedithon 'aear land erui ciriel.
Falvath enainn bo Mathedfalas dannol,
Lamath vilui vi Tol Gwannen cannen,
Vi Tol Ereb, ned Bar-in-Edhil i Edain ú-gennir,
Ias lais ú-dhannar: dôr en-gwaith nín an-uir!”

The poem ended and there was applause again. “Very well done, young Eldarion,” 
one of the officials said, “a beautiful poem. But pray tell us, what does it mean?”

“Ah, yes,” Master Odin said, “I have been wondering the same thing. I never heard 
of it before and my command of Sindarin is not sufficient to fully understand the 
words. But our Queen will be able to share their meaning with us, surely?” All 
looked at Arwen.

“I have never heard of it, either,” she said. “But I’ll translate it, if you wish. Have 
you heard of it, Elessar?” She turned to her husband, and saw to her surprise that 
he looked downright miserable; an expression of pain and grief was on his face. 
“Elessar? What is wrong?”

Aragorn suddenly became aware of all the eyes resting on him and he did an 
attempt to pull himself together. Eldarion suddenly said, “Yes, Papa knows it; it’s in 
his handwriting. Look!” He fished a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it 
around.

“Indeed,” Aragorn said, managing a smile, “I wrote that down, a long time ago.”

“But you did not make it yourself,” Arwen said. She eyed him sadly, the only one in 
the room who instinctively understood why the king suddenly looked so sad.

Aragorn dared not look at her. “No. I heard someone sing it many years ago. I 
wanted to preserve it, so I memorized it and wrote it down. I didn’t know I still had 
it somewhere. Where did you find it, Eldarion?”

“In the book, Papa,” his son replied. “Together with some other pieces of paper.”

Aragorn held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Eldarion came to him and handed him the piece of paper. Aragorn eyed it and had 
a hard time controlling his emotions. The words blurred and he blinked a couple of 
times to clear his vision.

“Well?” Master Odin said, unaware of the effect the piece of paper had on the king, 
“what is it about, sire?”

Aragorn closed his eyes, trying to remember the exact meaning of the words. Ah, 
how well he remembered the day Legolas had sung that song! He could still see 
Legolas going down the hill, singing, heartbreakingly beautiful in the warm light of 
the ending day. Their relationship had already been troubled back then, on that 
day shortly after Galadriel’s prophecy had come true. What had her words been? 
Yes, he remembered them:

        “Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree
        in joy thou hast lived; beware of the Sea!
        If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
        thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.”

Alas, those words had proved to be only too true; the cry of the gull had stirred the 
Sea-longing in Legolas, something that lay hidden in every Elf. From that day on, 
the longing was a part of Legolas life, as fear had become a part of Aragorn’s; fear 
that Legolas would give in to his heart’s desire and sail over the Sea to the Undying 
Lands, leaving Aragorn behind. What a selfish thought that was! But Legolas had 
resisted the call of the Sea until now and had come to live in Ithilien.

“My lord?”

Aragorn opened his eyes. “I believe the translation goes like this:” He cleared his 
throat and began to sing the melody as he recalled it.

“To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!”

The song ended. Aragorn’s eyes met Arwen’s. She was looking at him sorrowfully, 
and he knew she understood. She understood whose song it was and what it 
expressed, for she, too, knew what it was like to hear the Sea call. She had seen 
her father leave Middle-earth by ship, knowing that she would never follow him.

“That was quite beautiful,” Master Odin said. “I’ve never heard anything so sad.” 
Others nodded their agreement, and Aragorn stared at the piece of paper in his 
hand. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten about this song?

“Is my son excused for the rest of the hour?” he asked Master Odin.

“Yes, yes, of course...”

“Eldarion...” Aragorn turned to his son. “Do you still have that book in your room?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“I want to see it.” He looked at Arwen and gently took her hand. “Come with me?” 
He was not going to hide anything from her anymore. She instinctively must have 
guessed half of it anyway. She nodded.

In Eldarion’s room, the boy took the book from his own little book-case and handed 
it to his father. Aragorn opened it and immediately saw the leaf on top of the other 
pieces of paper. The sight of it struck a deep chord inside him, and he carefully 
picked it up. His vision blurred once again as he recognized the shape, the fine turn 
of nerves. Yes, he had forgotten about this leaf too. How could he have?

“I meant to ask you what it was, Papa,” Eldarion said, “but I forgot.” When his 
father did not respond, he turned to look at his mother. She had a strange look in 
her eyes, too. “What is that, Mama?”

“That is the leaf of a mallorn tree,” she said, looking down at him and stroking his 
hair. “I haven’t seen such a leaf since I left Lothlórien.”

“Lothlórien,” Eldarion repeated, in awe. He had been told many a bedtime story 
about that ancient realm of the Elves. He and Arwen both watched Aragorn as he 
slowly turned the leaf round and round in his hands. Too many memories clung to 
this object; they all flooded his mind as he stood there.

*...keep it safe...*
*...I will...*
*...do you promise?...*
*...yes, I promise...*

Resolve suddenly hardened within him. He took a breath and looked up to meet 
Arwen’s gaze. “I must go to Caras Gwedeir,” he said.

She only nodded. “Yes, you must.”

“Is that really a mallorn leaf, Papa,” Eldarion asked, pulling on his father’s sleeve.

“Yes, son. I brought it from Lothlórien a long time ago.” He ruffled his son’s hair. 
“Thank you for pointing out a couple of things to your foolish father, Eldarion,” he 
said.

Eldarion looked at him quizzically, but Aragorn did not explain himself further. He 
put the leaf and the piece of paper back in the book and took it under his arm. 
“You won’t need this anymore?” he asked his son, patting the book. Eldarion shook 
his head. “You did very well today, Eldarion,” Aragorn said with a smile, “I’m proud 
of you.”

“As am I,” Arwen said.

“Now there are some things that I must see to.” Aragorn kissed his wife quickly. “I 
will see you later.”

That said, he swept out of the room. On his desk, he guessed, lay a letter that 
needed to be rewritten. Now where was that Rulof?

... to be continued...

*************************

Author’s notes on chapter 1:

Title. Refers to the song by John Denver, ‘Poems, Prayers and Promises’. Now don’t 
go running off to find the lyrics, for the content of the song has nothing to do with 
my fic. I just thought those four words were fitting for this chapter.

F.A. = Fourth Age. Begins after Frodo and Bilbo’s departure from Middle-earth.

Location. According to Tolkien, Legolas settled in Ithilien after the War with others 
of his kin. I have no idea where Legolas *exactly* lived in Ithilien, so I had to 
locate his city myself. In this story, his city is in South Ithilien, on the eastern bank 
of the Anduin, close to the place where the Erui meets the Anduin. *Everything* 
about the city is my own invention, also the fact that Legolas rules it together with 
Faramir (who will enter this story in a later chapter). I know that according to 
Tolkien Faramir lived in the hills of Emyn Arnen, further to the North, but I liked 
the idea of a city of Men and Elves, so I decided to make Faramir pack his stuff and 
move. (Tolkien-purists, please don’t flame me. This is called artistic freedom.) I 
also named the city myself: Caras Gwedeir. Caras means ‘city’ and gwedeir is the 
plural form of gwador, meaning ‘sworn brother, associate’. Caras Gwedeir can be 
translated as ‘city of brothers’, reffering to the friendly co-operation between the 
Men and the Elves.

Eldarion’s birth date: doesn’t seem to be known, but I read somewhere on the 
internet that it was probably between F.A. 0 and 9. I randomly chose the year 2, 
which makes him 11 years old at the time this story begins. I took the liberty to 
ignore the fact that Aragorn and Arwen had daughters, too. By the way, Aragorn 
may be 104 years old in this story, but he’s still gorgeous, okay?? Considering the 
fact that he died at the age of 210 and looked very good during the War (aged 
88!).

Songs in this chapter: by Tolkien. In the book (ROTK, The Field of Cormallen), 
Legolas sings his sea-song in the Common Tongue, but I wanted it to be in 
Sindarin. So Sindarin it is. The translation was done by the good translators at 
www.elvish.org, just like the Sindarin translation of The Fall of Gil-Galad. 
Galadriel’s prophecy to Legolas can be found in TTT, The White Rider. Bilbo’s 
translation of The Fall of Gil-Galad can be found in FOTR, A Knife In The Dark.

Names: I had to name my fictional characters. All Elvish names in my story hail 
from the Sindarin dictionary at www.councilofelrond.com, and I used the Name 
Generator at www.barrowdowns.com for inventing Dwarvish names. The names of 
the Men I invented myself, and have no meaning, as far as I know. (Borlag is NOT 
meant as an anagram of ‘Balrog’!) The messenger from Ithilien, featuring in this 
chapter (and the next), is called Calan; this is Sindarin and means ‘daylight’.

*************************



Chapter 2 - Friend Of Mine

Minas Tirith, February 12th, F.A. 13.

~ Aragorn ~

Aragorn sent a servant to find Rulof and retreated into his study. Not much later, 
Rulof came.

“Sire,” Rulof said as he stumbled into the room, “I finished that letter you asked 
for. It’s on your desk.” He pointed.

Aragorn couldn’t suppress a smile at seeing his secretary. The young man was 
certainly good-looking, but also charming in a disarming, boyish kind of way. This 
was mainly caused by his youthful eagerness, and, of course, the fact that he was 
always covered in ink. Rulof couldn’t pick up a quill without getting at least one 
smear on his hands, arms, clothing, or even his face. Aragorn liked to make fun of 
him, but in his heart, he was very fond of his devoted secretary.

“Yes,” Aragorn replied, quickly glancing at the letter. “Nicely done, Rulof. But 
there’s been a change of plans, and the letter will have to be rewritten.”

“Yes, sire!” Rulof immediately produced a piece of paper and a quill. He dipped it in 
the ink jar and held it over the paper. He waited for Aragorn to begin dictating, 
then rubbed his nose, leaving behind a black smear as he did so. Aragorn felt the 
corners of his mouth twitch, but he managed to remain poised and he began 
dictating again. The beginning of the letter remained the same, but this time, he 
announced that he would attend the festival, too, as one of the Minas Tirith 
delegates. He then paused, waited until Rulof finished writing, and then asked: 
“Have you ever been to Ithilien, Rulof?”

Rulof looked up, surprised. “No, sire. Never seen many Elves, either, unfortunately. 
Queen Arwen, of course,” he added quickly. “Mighty interesting folk, they are.”

“They sure are,” Aragorn smiled. “If you like, you can add your own name to that 
list, Rulof.”

“Really, sire?” Rulof sent him a broad, surprised smile. “Can I come too?”

“I would like you to come. Unless you’d rather stay, of course, and help Minister 
Torlin while I’m away.”

“No, sire!” Rulof said. He then blushed and said, “I mean, uhm, I’d prefer to come 
with you, thank you, sire.”

“Very well.” Aragorn smiled. “Then add your name. The rest of the letter can 
remain what it was.”

As Rulof expertly finished the letter and sealed it, Aragorn moved around, 
organizing things. He flung the old letter in the fireplace, then sat down behind his 
desk. Soon, Rulof had the new letter ready to be sent with the messenger to Caras 
Gwedeir.

“Thank you, Rulof,” Aragorn smiled. “You are dismissed, but will you please find 
Calan, the Ithilien Elf for me and send him to my study?”

“Yes, sire. Good day, sire,” Rulof bowed, and he left.

That evening, Aragorn found Arwen already in their bedchamber. She sat in front 
of her mirror, brushing her hair. She smiled at him via the mirror. He didn’t smile 
back, but positioned himself behind her. He gently took the brush and started to 
silently brush her hair. Neither of them spoke as he thoughtfully watched the long, 
dark strands slide free. He finally put the brush away, took her gently by her 
elbows and made her stand.

“Elessar,” she protested with a smile as he made her turn around to face him, “I 
am not done yet. I must braid my hair for the night or it will be a mess in the 
morning.”

He lightly cupped her face with both hands. “You had your hair like this when I first 
saw you,” he murmured. Judging by the glimmer in her eyes, this remark took her 
by surprise. “I love you, Arwen,” he said, his thumbs caressing the skin of her 
cheekbones. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Arwen smiled; it had 
been a while since he’d spoken such words and only now she fully realized how 
much she’d missed it.

“Never forget that, Arwen,” he continued, “know that I love you.”

“I know,” she said, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I also know that 
one little part of your heart will never be mine.” He opened his mouth to protest, 
but she quickly sealed his lips. “It’s all right, my love; deep in my heart, I’ve 
always known. I have accepted it. I am content with the part of your heart you 
*have* given me.”

Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then, he said softly, “I wish I could give you all 
of it. I am so sorry, Arwen...”

“Do not be. Love is a complex thing; Elves are aware of that more than any other 
race on Middle-earth. I won’t say that I wouldn’t rather have all your love, but this 
is the situation as it is and it cannot be changed. I am reconciled to it, as long as 
you’re honest with me, and don’t hide anything from me.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” Aragorn took her hands and brought them to his lips. “I 
have done you wrong. Forgive me.” He then kissed her on the lips, a gentle kiss 
that soon grew more passionate. Later, Aragorn found himself lying on his back, 
dazedly admiring how her satinlike hair cascaded down her shoulders and chest as 
she straddled him. He’d always loved her hair. He realized he’d been twice a fool in 
the past few years; he loved his wife, but in his effort to deny his love for another, 
he’d done both of them wrong. But no more. It was time to give them both what 
they deserved.


Caras Gwedeir, March 22nd, F.A. 13.

~ Haldir ~

Haldir’s heart sang as he rode his horse in full gallop over the gentle slopes of 
South Ithilien. It was only March, but he was far to the south and his long-sleeved 
tunic and woollen jerkin were quite sufficient. The wind against his face brought the 
scent of young grass and salt. The supple muscles of his horse’s flanks moved 
rhythmically beneath his legs. Haldir was riding bareback, his bag with belongings 
slung over the horse’s shoulders and secured about its neck with a soft rope. With 
one hand, Haldir was holding a fistful of the horse’s mane; his other hand rested 
loosely on his thigh. A smile adorned his perfect lips; so nice to ride.

He had been riding since sunrise; he had seen the fogs disappear and the fields, 
moist with dew at first, grow dry beneath the burning sun. Spring had come.

The sun was still climbing in the cloud-flecked sky when Haldir guided his horse 
through a cleft between two hills. Suddenly, he stopped his horse with a soft-
spoken word and looked in wonder. Beneath him in the outstretching valley, a few 
miles ahead, curled the River Anduin, a shimmering silver ribbon in the morning 
sun. Vessels were going downstream, to the south. A little downstream he could 
see his goal: the capital city of Ithilien, Caras Gwedeir, where Men and Elves dwelt 
peacefully; the Men led by Faramir of Gondor, and the Elves by Legolas of 
Mirkwood.

“Come,” he said to his horse, “a stable with fresh hay is very near for you. But let 
us linger on the shore of the River first. I wish to know whether the scent of the 
Sea is even stronger here than in Minas Tirith.” That said, he galloped westwards 
down the slope, making straight for the River.

When he got there at last, he stood there for a few minutes, watching the boats 
and listening to the faint voices coming over the water. He then turned southwards 
and made his horse walk downstream along the shore. He was in no hurry to reach 
the city, and there was much to see on the River.

After he’d ridden for about five minutes, something caught his eye. Further 
downstream, he could see someone standing ankle-deep in the River. Haldir 
narrowed his eyes. There was no mistaking it; the one standing there wore the 
attire of the Elves, and his long golden hair was lifted from his shoulders by the 
breeze. As Haldir came closer, he could see that the Elf was staring at the River in 
front of him, shading his eyes with one hand. The Elf had rolled up the legs of his 
trousers.

Haldir scanned the shore for other Elves, but the Elf was alone. Suddenly, he 
removed his hand from his face. “Oh!” Haldir said unconsciously. But he knew that 
Elf. Quite well, in fact. He smiled and spurred on his horse. The other Elf heard his 
horse’s hooves and turned.

“Good morning, Legolas!” Haldir called, “May I say, the Anduin is currently the 
most enviable river in Middle-earth!”

Legolas started to smile broadly, and he began wading to the shore to meet Haldir. 
“Why is that?” he called back as he stepped onto the sand.

Haldir swung himself off his horse. “I dare say any river would gladly have the 
opportunity to lick your feet,” he smiled, then had his breath knocked out of him by 
Legolas’s firm embrace. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Haldir,” Legolas said with amusement in his voice. 
“What a nice surprise!”

They held each other at an arm’s length distance and studied each other, smiling. 
Ah, Haldir realized, his old friend was still as beautiful as ever. Everything matched 
the picture he’d cherished in his heart all those years; the strong jawline, the thin 
but sensuous lips, the high cheekbones, the dark eyebrows, the bright eyes, blue 
as the sky on a summer evening. Then, Haldir frowned unconsciously. No, 
something about the eyes was different. It was hard to describe. Some sort of utter 
tiredness lay hidden in those blue depths that used to be so full of joy. A cloud 
seemed to veil the sun suddenly. But Haldir forced a smile to his face and said, “So 
sweet to see you again, Legolas. It’s been many years.”

“Too many.” Legolas clapped him on the shoulders. “What brings you here, my 
friend? What have you been up to? What have you been doing since we last met?”

“That’s too many questions for me to handle,” Haldir laughed, “and it will take a 
long time to answer them all properly. For now, I will only say that I have been all 
over Middle-earth and that the last place I wanted to visit before returning to 
Lórien was Caras Gwedeir. Oh, Legolas,” he suddenly said, taking Legolas by the 
elbows, “I have been to the Grey Havens. The Grey Havens, Legolas, I have seen 
them!”

“The Grey Havens, Haldir, truly?” Legolas’s eyes widened slightly. “And you’ve 
come back? You have resisted the call?”

“Yes.” Haldir let go of Legolas’s arms. “But I already knew that before I went there. 
I am not yet ready to leave Middle-earth. Not ready to leave Lórien, even now it’s 
fading.”

The brief flash of enthusiasm had disappeared from Legolas’s eyes and they were 
dim again. “Lórien,” he sighed, “I am thankful for having seen it one last time in its 
last days of glory.”

Haldir smiled sadly, recollecting how the quest of the Ring had brought Legolas and 
his companions to the realm of the Lord and Lady. “And you, Legolas?” he asked 
softly. “The Sea is calling to you strongly, is it not?”

“I resist its call,” Legolas said, looking away, “but I find it hard.” He suddenly 
embraced Haldir again. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. “Will you stay here for a 
while?”

“I’ll be glad to,” Haldir replied with a smile. “In fact, I was hoping you’d let me stay 
until, say, June?”

“Ah,” Legolas smiled, “you’ve heard about our festival, then?”

“Yes. I learned about it two days ago, when I was visiting Minas Tirith. King Elessar 
told me about it.”

The effect those words had on Legolas was astounding. A sudden expression of 
pain quickly crossed Legolas’s face, and everything about him seemed to grow dim. 
This surprised Haldir; he’d always known Legolas as an Elf who had full control over 
his emotions. Something was terribly wrong.

“Of course you can stay,” Legolas said, regaining his composure, “as long as you 
like.”

Haldir studied his friend for a moment. He wanted to ask him what was wrong, but 
then he decided to wait for a better moment. He glanced over Legolas’s shoulder, 
at the River. He gave Legolas a mischievous smile, then bent down to remove his 
boots.

“What are you going to do?” Legolas asked, surprised. “I thought I’d take you to 
the city, and show you around.”

“Not yet.” Haldir dropped his boots to the ground and followed Legolas’s example 
by rolling the legs of his trousers up. He then stood upright again and pulled his 
jerkin over his head. “Do not look so shocked,” he laughed when he saw Legolas’s 
expression, “do as I.” Haldir’s fingers quickly opened the fastenings of his tunic. 
“Come on,” he encouraged as he shrugged the tunic off his shoulders, revealing a 
firm chest, “there is no need to be shy. I’ve seen you naked before.”

“I am not shy,” Legolas retorted. Still looking bewildered, he started to remove his 
own jerkin. Soon, jerkin and tunic joined Haldir’s on the ground.

“Come,” Haldir said, taking Legolas by the hand and leading him to his horse. He 
lifted his luggage from the horse’s neck and made Legolas mount. Haldir lightly 
leaped up behind him. “Let’s have some fun,” he murmured into Legolas’s ear. 
Legolas peered back over his shoulder, a surprised smile on his lips. Haldir then 
gave his horse a command and made it move straight to the River.

Soon, they were galloping together there where the water was shallow, the horse’s 
hooves making the water spurt up high, drenching both Elves, who were shouting 
in delight. The Men on the passing vessels interrupted their activities for a moment 
to watch the two half-naked, elated Elves; blond and beautiful, entrancing in their 
excitement. “Strange folk they are, Garald,” one of them said to his companion. 
“Older than the trees, but young in their behaviour.”

“Yes,” the one called Garald said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “That is 
something my children would do.” He studied the scene for a moment. “I feel for 
the horse,” he said with a laugh. “The Elves are slender, but there’s two of them. 
Must be quite a burden.”

“No,” the other said. “Something tells me that two Elves weigh less than two Men. 
And besides,” he added, thoughtfully rubbing his bearded chin, “I know a horse 
from Rohan when I see one.”

The Elves were oblivious of the attention they were getting. Legolas was loosely 
holding the horse’s mane, Haldir had his arms around Legolas’s waist. “Turn 
around, Aglar, turn around!” Haldir cried, increasing the pressure of his leg on the 
horse’s right flank. The horse obeyed, making a quick turn. “Shall we go a little 
further in?” Haldir shouted.

“Yes!” Legolas shouted back, breathless with laughter. Haldir guided Aglar further 
from the shore, where the water was deeper, reaching to the horse’s shins. Both 
Elves were spurring on the horse now, and larger amounts of water splashed over 
them.

“First one to fall in is an Orc!” Legolas cried.

“Then you’ll be the most attractive Orc I’ve ever seen!” Haldir shouted.

Their laughter sounded over the River.


~ Gimli ~

The Dwarf stood just outside the city walls, thoughtfully smoking his pipe. His eyes 
were not as keen as the eyes of Elves, but he could clearly see the two Elves as 
they were having a wild and, he assumed, very wet ride. The sun caught their 
blond hair and the horse’s white fur. He could hear their clear voices ring out and 
he smiled to himself. It had been far too long since he’d heard Legolas’s laughter.

He lightly tapped the tip of his pipe against his lower lip. In the past few years, 
Legolas had been nothing more than a dim reflection of the Elf he’d once been, and 
ever since Aragorn’s letter had arrived, Legolas resembled a hunted fox. His smiles 
were quick and fleeting, his visits to the River more frequent.

Legolas had never told him, but Gimli had guessed what the source of Legolas’s 
apparent unhappiness was. After the sundering of the Fellowship, Gimli had been 
tracking the Orcs together with Aragorn and Legolas, and the tension between his 
two companions had been hard to miss. They had been too worried about the 
Hobbits to linger on their personal worries, but every now and again, Gimli had 
caught them exchanging snappy remarks, or angry glares.

He did not consider himself an expert on the race of Elves, but he knew a little 
about them, and he was surprised to see that Legolas allowed himself to suffer so 
badly without even trying to make up with his former friend. And Aragorn! He was 
not a vindictive person, far from that.

Gimli lifted his gaze and looked at the Elves again. He had met Haldir for the first 
time when passing through Lórien after Gandalf’s fall, but he knew that Legolas 
and Haldir went way back together. Haldir now had his arms around Legolas’s waist 
and was shouting something to him in Elvish. They were controlling the horse with 
nothing but the firm grip of their legs and an occasional touch or word, but the 
animal obeyed instantly at every command. They shouted with glee as a 
particularly high spurt drenched them both. Gimli shook his head disapprovingly, 
but could not help smiling. The Elves looked beautiful together; even he had to 
admit that. It was obvious that they were fond of each other. And if such 
indulgencies helped bringing a smile back to Legolas’s face, it was well worth it.

Perhaps Haldir’s arrival was just what Legolas needed. Perhaps Haldir was the one 
who could help Legolas overcome his problem with Aragorn. Surely Haldir would 
stay for the festival?

Gimli’s pipe had gone out. He emptied it, stuck it behind his belt and disappeared 
into the city, after a last glance at the frolicking Elves.


~ Legolas ~

That night, Legolas watched in amazement as Haldir feasted on the meal. He ate 
properly of course, but he ate much, and when he filled his plate for the third time, 
one of the Elves present smiled and said, “Our cooking seems to be to your liking, 
Haldir.”

Haldir looked up. “Yes, it is excellent. And it tastes even better because I have 
been living out of a bag for the past two days.” He smirked.

“Ah, yes, I heard you were in Minas Tirith two days ago; in the Citadel, King 
Elessar’s house.”

“Yes, I was.”

Legolas grabbed his cup of wine and emptied it at one swallow. The strong brew 
burned his throat. He did not like the direction in which this conversation was 
going. He caught Gimli peering at him from across the table.

“Did you speak long with him?” the Elf continued. “And Queen Arwen, how does 
she fare?”

“She’s doing very well.” Haldir’s gaze met Legolas’s and his smile faded. “This 
bread is excellent,” he said casually, picking up a piece of bread and breaking it. “I 
have never tasted anything like it. Do you bake it yourselves?”

The conversation continued on the subject of bread, and Legolas let out a sigh. He 
was thoughtlessly staring at his hands when he suddenly felt a knee against his 
under the table. He looked up and met Haldir’s eyes. Sincerity and concern were in 
the grey eyes; he gave Legolas a reassuring smile. Legolas returned it.

The Elves of Caras Gwedeir did not grant Haldir a moment of rest. After dinner, 
when the table was cleared, they started asking him a thousand questions about 
his travels. Apparently, he *had* been all over Middle-earth, to Gondor, Imladris, 
the Shire, and, of course, the Grey Havens. That part of the story was what the 
Elves were most interested in, and they made him recount every single bit until his 
voice started turning hoarse. At that point, Legolas rose from his seat.

“Gentlemen, that will do,” he said. “Our guest has travelled long and is tired. I 
suggest we call it a night. If you have any more questions, ask them tomorrow.”

“I will do that,” one of the Elves said with a grin, “I had some more.”

Later, Legolas escorted Haldir to his room. They stopped at a junction; the hallway 
to the left led to Haldir’s chambers, the other to Legolas’s.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow, Haldir,” Legolas smiled. “Good night for now.”

“Sleep well,” Haldir replied, then he suddenly reached out and gently took Legolas 
by the arm when he wanted to turn. “Legolas,” he said, “if there’s anything you 
want to talk about, anytime... I’m here, you know that, right?”

Legolas gave a quick, surprised smile. “Yes,” he said softly, “I know.”

Haldir did a step, so that he stood close to Legolas, and leaned forward. It 
happened too quickly for Legolas to register it all, but suddenly he felt the light 
touch of Haldir’s lips against his own; warm and soft, and faintly tasting of wine. 
Before Legolas could give any reaction, Haldir retreated. “Good night,” he said with 
a little smile, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Legolas stayed behind, utterly confused. He hesitantly reached up and touched his 
lips. Where had *that* come from? Yes, they’d made many double-meaning jokes 
throughout the years, teasing comments on each other’s looks, they were not 
afraid for an occasional touch... but this? A kiss, however light? A real, tender kiss?

Legolas slowly turned and made for his chambers. He was probably placing 
meaning on things that should not have meaning; Haldir was just glad to be with 
him again. And the Lórien Elf had had a reasonable amount of wine. That explained 
a lot.

In his bedchamber, Legolas undressed and eased himself into the bed, naked. As 
he lay on his back, his arms folded beneath his head, the familiar images rose in 
his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. But still they came, as they did almost every 
night. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the memories from his thoughts, but he 
knew it was useless. Why, he thought to himself, why does it have to be like this 
every night? Why can’t I just forget? Why does something that happened fifteen 
years ago still haunt me?

After fifteen years, the memory was still painfully vivid. A rough kiss on his lips, a 
tongue seeking entrance. The faint scent of leather, the taste of tobacco. Legolas 
could almost taste it again. When he felt a familiar stirring in his groin, he shook 
his head in denial. In an attempt to ignore the hardening of his member, he seized 
his pillow with both hands, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

Hands, pulling him down to the ground and sliding his leggings down his thighs. A 
warm, wet mouth engulfing his cock and quickly sucking it to full hardness.

Legolas’s cheeks burned with both arousal and embarassment as his hand found 
his erection beneath the sheets. He’d lost the fight. But then again, didn’t he 
always? He bit his lip as his hand started moving on his own flesh. Quickly then, to 
get it over with.

A skilled mouth, quickly sucking and licking him towards completion. A thousand 
shivers, rippling through his limbs. His head, thrashing upon the leaf-covered 
ground. Every muscle of his body preparing for a quick, but violent release.

Legolas buried his face in the pillow, stifling his moan as he found shameful release 
in his own hand. He then grabbed the pillow again and covered his face with it, 
feeling his cheeks burn with embarassment. Will this ever end, he wondered, will 
this ever end?

If there’s anything you want to talk about. That’s what Haldir had said. Legolas 
sighed. He’d never spoken with anyone about what was bothering him. Gimli had 
noticed something, of course, and had probably his own ideas about what the 
problem was; and Legolas guessed that Haldir had some suspicions of his own, too. 
But to discuss it openly with his friend? That was far too humiliating.

Legolas threw the sheets off him and stepped out of the bed, weary. He needed to 
rid himself of the foulness clinging to him, for it was too confronting a reminder of 
his shame. Still a month and a half to go, he thought while he splashed water over 
his hands and his face. A month and a half until the festival would begin. The 
endless waiting was horrendous, even worse than the prospect of having to 
struggle through the event itself.

As he walked back to the bed, he passed by a tall mirror. He stopped and turned, 
sadly looking at his own reflection for a moment. People used to call him beautiful, 
and perhaps they still would, if he but gave them the chance; but what was the use 
of being beautiful if you couldn’t even remember how beautiful life used to be? 
What was the use of being called beautiful by everyone, but not by the one you 
loved, the only one you wanted to hear it from?

Legolas found it impossible to look at himself any longer. He moved away from the 
mirror, slipped under the sheets and curled himself up on his side, his arms around 
his knees. He then remembered his too-short moment of light-heartedness at the 
River with Haldir, and his heart seemed less heavy for a moment.

If Gimli had been there, he would have been glad to see the little smile on 
Legolas’s face while he slept, for the first time in months.

... to be continued...

*************************

Author’s notes on chapter 2:

Haldir lives! Yep, Haldir did *not* die at Helm’s Deep. Of course not; he’s supposed 
to live forever and spend his eternal life being gorgeous as hell! Everyone knows 
that. Why doesn’t PJ know that?? Can someone please tell PJ that Haldir’s NOT 
supposed to DIE?!

In the book, Legolas has never been to Lórien before the War. I am deliberately 
going against canon in this story; since Legolas and Haldir have been friends for 
such a long time, it’s not more than logical that Legolas has visited Lórien several 
times.

Aglar means ‘glory’.

Anduin’s bottom: I have no idea whether the bottom of the Anduin would be 
suitable for a horse to gallop on (the depth of the water, the presence of knife-
sharp rocks etc.), but I wanted to write that scene, so I decided a big YES!

OK, the problem with Aragorn’s names. Haldir is only vaguely acquainted with him, 
and therefore addresses him with his official, kingly name: Elessar. But Gimli and 
Legolas know him from when he was still Aragorn, and therefore still call him so. 
Arwen calls her husband Elessar because... well, she just does.

Haldir’s travels after the War: they are my own invention. In FOTR (chapter 
Lothlórien), he seemed so keen on seeing the Grey Havens, the sweetheart, that I 
decided to grant him that.

*************************


Chapter 3 - The Way It Was

The wilderness between Minas Tirith and Caras Gwedeir, May 7th, F.A. 13.

~ Aragorn ~

The delegation from Minas Tirith set out at sunrise. They would take an other route 
than Haldir had done; the Elf had travelled to Osgiliath first, crossed the River 
there, and travelled southwards down the Harad Road, around Emyn Arnen. 
Aragorn would cross the River with his companions and then lead them ever along 
the Anduin, following its course downstream.

Aragorn was deep in thoughts as he led his company outside the city gates, Rulof 
riding beside him. Arwen had lovingly kissed him goodbye, a serene smile on her 
lips, her eyes beaming love and trust. Aragorn could not stop marvelling over the 
mysterious creature that was his wife. How many wives would willingly and in 
complete sanity send their husband to someone he had such strong feelings for? 
She seemed more comfortable with it than he himself was.

Behind Aragorn and Rulof rode Borlag and his daughter, a pretty, nineteen-year-old 
girl with reddish, curly hair and freckles. Elena was her name. Behind them came 
other officials, the two carts with luggage, and the minstrels came in the rear, 
together with the other artists and craftsmen. There were also some armed men 
from the king’s guard, but it was unlikely that they would have anything to do, and 
they were in high spirits; laughing and joking around, content with this excursion 
out of the Citadel.

“What will happen when we arrive in Caras Gwedeir, sire?” Rulof asked. “What 
sorts of events are scheduled for the festival?”

“We will hear that when we get there,” Aragorn said. “But if I heard correctly, there 
will be guests from all over Middle-earth. King Éomer has sent an assembly from 
Rohan, and there will be Men from Esgaroth, and Dale. Elves will be there, from 
Mirkwood, Rivendell and Lórien; and Dwarves from Aglarond and Erebor, and 
Hobbits from the Shire.” He smiled. “I wonder if my Hobbit-friends will be there: 
Sam, and Meriadoc and Peregrin.”

“And all will bring with them their own traditions, I am sure,” he continued. 
“Prepare to hear songs featuring the great Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits of the past, 
and to see dances you have never seen before. And there will be trading. The 
Dwarves will bring with them proof of their craftsmanship: tools, toys, musical 
instruments, jewelry, much in gold and silver... The Elves will bring clothing made 
according to Elvish tradition: fine boots of supple leather, tunics, jerkins and 
cloaks. Weaponry: bows, arrows, hunting knives... And wine. Elves make the most 
delicious wine you’ve ever tasted.”

Rulof studied his king from aside, surprised by the increasing enthusiasm in his 
master’s voice. That was the old Ranger shining through there, Rulof realized. The 
travelling spirit still living in the king, awakened by the exciting prospect of the 
festival.

“And the Hobbits,” Aragorn continued, “have some interesting tradegoods of their 
own as well. Most of them related to food.” He smiled. “Cooking tools, jams, dried 
fruit... and beer. They will bring beer with them. That’s what I hope at any rate.” 
His smile grew broader. “The best beer in Middle-earth is brewed in the Shire, and 
it’s been too long since I last tasted it.”

“It all sounds very exciting,” Rulof said. He glanced back at the loaded carts. “I 
hope our goods will make a good impression on all those interesting folks. Elven 
wine and dwarven jewelry sound so much more appealing than Gondorian tobacco, 
soap and scented oils.”

“Don’t say that,” Aragorn said with a smile. “Gondor’s scented oils are the most 
asked-for in Middle-earth, and you can bet there are a lot of women out there who 
have sent out their husbands with money and the order to bring back a nice supply 
of oils. Especially the rosemary-scented oils are popular,” he winked, “believe me.”

“I am really looking forward to it,” Rulof said enthusiastically. “My brothers were 
mighty jealous when they heard I was going.”

They casually bantered on as they rode along the River in a leasury pace, and 
Aragorn was thankful for the distraction the conversation with Rulof provided; the 
prospect of seeing Legolas again, after so many years of silence, made him one 
tense bundle of nerves. How would Legolas receive him? Friendly, or with cold 
politeness, or even hostility? That, Aragorn admitted with a sigh, was very likely, 
given the way Aragorn had treated him in the past and the fact that Legolas had 
never, ever tried to keep in touch after the War.

Perhaps Aragorn’s coming to Caras Gwedeir and raking up the past would be only a 
nuisance to Legolas; perhaps he’d since long forgotten about what had happened 
between them, and built up a life of his own, like Aragorn had done. Perhaps he 
was even married. No, Aragorn then decided, he would have heard about that. The 
Lord of the Elves in Ithilien could not get married without a grand celebration. But 
it was very possible that he was seriously involved with someone. And that was all 
right, Aragorn told himself, Legolas deserved his happiness.

At any rate, it would be awkward to see Legolas again, and Aragorn had yet to 
decide how to approach the Elf.

That night, they set up camp close to the River. They sat around the fire and ate 
fish and bread, and after dinner, the minstrels took up their instruments and they 
sang of the glory of Gondor. Aragorn sat cross-legged between Borlag and Rulof, 
sometimes joining in a song, but silent for most of the time, just listening to the 
others. The food in his stomach and the warmth of the fire on his face made him 
feel rosy and content, and he felt like a Ranger again.

Later, when he stretched himself upon his blanket beneath the stars – his 
companions had tried to give him a more comfortable bed, but he had refused –, 
he could almost imagine that the quiet conversation of his travelling companions 
was the merry talk of the Hobbits. That was Gandalf’s pipe smoking there, not 
Borlag’s. With his eyes closed, Aragorn could easily picture Legolas, standing on 
guard a few meters away, like he had done so many times during their journey to 
Mordor. Alert, upright and not bothered by fatigue; his slender figure and the curve 
of his bow vaguely outlined by the moonlight, his hair touched by the breeze. A 
beautiful image, that filled Aragorn’s dreams during that night out.


Caras Gwedeir, the same day.

~ Legolas ~

Guests had already begun to come to the city the day before; now, even more 
arrived. There were Men from Dale, Dwarves from Erebor (who were grumbling 
about the long journey but immediately brightened up when they saw Gimli and 
the lunch that stood ready for them) and a party of Elves from Mirkwood. Two of 
Legolas’s brothers, Arorod and Túrgwaith, who brought the warmest greetings from 
the rest of the family; artists, merchants and some court officials, among whom 
King Thranduil’s loyal counsellor, Êreg, and his daughter, Merilin.

It had been decided that Legolas would be responsible for housing the Elves and 
the Dwarves (in an attempt to bring the old enmity to an end for once and for all, 
as a sign of good will), while Faramir, in his palace, would take care of the Men and 
the Hobbits. And so the Elves and the Dwarves were given rooms in Legolas’s 
palace. Some had private rooms, others shared one, and all were content. The fall 
of Sauron had brought the mistrust between Elves and Dwarves to an end, and 
although the Dwarves, judging by their mumbled comments, were still convinced 
that the Dwarves were not to blame for the troubles in the past, in their hearts, 
they had come to respect ‘those lofty lembas-eaters’, as they called the Elves.

That afternoon, Legolas found himself wandering in the harbour, contently 
watching and listening to the cheerful chaos and activity there. People greeted him, 
both Men and Elves, for they knew who he was, but they left him in peace and no 
one was really surprised when he walked to the end of the pier and sat down there, 
his face to the River and his arms around his knees. That was how Haldir found him 
twenty minutes later.

Legolas heard the Elf coming before he saw him, and therefore he wasn’t in the 
least surprised when Haldir stood beside him and asked, “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Legolas said, looking up at the tall Elf. Haldir sat down so that he could 
face Legolas: leaning back against a pole, one leg dangling down, the other one 
bent. His hands he folded around his knee. They exchanged a look of 
understanding, and smiled. Haldir then turned his face to the side to look at the 
boats and the fishermen.. Legolas kept his eyes on his friend. Ever since his arrival, 
Haldir had dedicated much of his time to offering Legolas distraction. Legolas 
hadn’t yet confided in him, and Haldir hadn’t pressed him, to Legolas’s relief. They 
had gone horseriding, swimming, and walking, and they’d talked much; mainly 
about the past, which, Haldir had noticed, Legolas was very melancholy about.

“But, Legolas,” Haldir had said, “don’t tell me you’d want to go back to that horrible 
time, when the world was dark and suffered under the threat of Mordor.”

“Well, no,” Legolas had said, “I wouldn’t want the Evil back, of course; but I miss 
the comraderie within the Fellowship. Those were terrible times, yes, full of 
darkness and danger; but there was also friendship, and that friendship was even 
more valuable because of the precarious situation we were in. Do you understand?”

Haldir nodded slowly. “I believe so.”

Legolas sighed. “And now Frodo’s gone, and Mithrandir and Boromir also. The other 
Hobbits live far away, and Aragorn is king. Gimli is the only one I still see on 
regular basis. I just miss it,” he concluded with a shrug. “Sometimes I wonder 
what’s left for me in Middle-earth.”

“Watch it, Legolas,” Haldir had said with a frown, “you are disturbingly beginning to 
sound like an Elf who’s about to leave Middle-earth and sail into the west.”

Maybe I *am*, Legolas had almost said, but he’d thought the better of it just in 
time. How could he explain to Haldir, who still was so appreciative of life’s beauty, 
what it was like to feel so empty inside? To be so weary that only the River flowing 
to the Sea seemed to offer absolution?

Legolas now silently watched his friend. Since that first day, Haldir hadn’t kissed 
him again or done anything that suggested feelings beyond mere friendship. They 
hadn’t even mentioned the kiss in their conversations, and it was almost as if it had 
never happened.

Legolas felt a little guilty about implying that Haldir’s friendship didn’t mean much 
to him – which wasn’t true, or course. Legolas held out his hand. Haldir tore his 
gaze from the River, then did the same, taking Legolas’s hand in his own. A look of 
slight surprise was in his eyes when he fused his gaze with Legolas’s. “Thank you, 
Haldir,” Legolas said.

“For what?”

“For being such a good friend.”

Haldir smiled. “No problem at all.” He softly squeezed Legolas’s hand. “Come, let’s 
get out of here.”

On their way back, they passed by a stand where an elderly woman had fish for 
sale. According to the sign, it was a Caras Gwedeir specialty: fish prepared and 
fried in butter, thyme and a dash of white wine. Her face was warm and flushed 
due to the warmth of the frying-pan and her apron was stained with fat. “Hallo, 
good sirs,” she called, as was befitting a saleswoman, “care to have a bite of this 
delicious dish? Melts on the tongue!”

Haldir looked at the pieces of fried fish with suspicion. Legolas caught the woman 
staring at Haldir, and he quickly explained Haldir’s apparent mistrust.

“My friend is not familiar with the custom of eating fish,” he said. “He is from 
Lórien and a guest here.”

“Ah,” she said, understanding now, “but even guests from Lórien should try this 
specialty at least once.” She scooped two pieces out of the frying-pan, distributed 
them over two paper napkins and handed them to the Elves. “On the house,” she 
said, winking at Haldir, “for you two handsome gentlemen to try.”

Haldir looked at the steaming piece of meat doubtfully. He then looked up and saw 
that Legolas had already started eating; his fingers and lips were a little greasy. 
“Come on, Haldir,” Legolas said, smiling, “don’t look so scared. It’s delicious.”

Haldir clumsily fingered his piece of fish fillet, almost let it drop, but finally 
succeeded in taking a bite. He started to chew and was actually beginning to like 
the taste, when the saleswoman said, “Be careful not to choke on possible fish-
bones.” Haldir’s jaw stilled immediately; his expression of shock was so amusing 
that both Legolas and the woman burst out laughing.

“Relax, Haldir,” Legolas chuckled, licking his fingers, “it’s just a matter of chewing 
properly before you swallow.”

Haldir chewed extensively, fascinated by the sight of Legolas’s tongue lapping 
sensuously at his own fingers. He finally swallowed and grinned. “Better not make 
fun of me, Legolas, or I’ll smear your pretty face with this.” He raised one hand, 
showing his own greasy fingers.

Legolas made a funny face at him as he cleaned his fingers with the napkin, then 
drew it over his lips. “Well?” he asked Haldir, who was already munching on the 
rest of his portion. “How do you like it?”

“Not too bad,” Haldir said, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

“What good manners,” the saleswoman laughed. She seemed quite charmed by 
Haldir. Legolas amusedly eyed his friend for a moment before turning to the 
woman.

“One full portion for me and my friend, please,” he said, digging up some coins 
from his pocket, “to go.”

“Certainly, sir,” she said and she expertly prepared a full portion, “I’m glad to hear 
my merchandise pleases you.”

“Very much. Whose stand will I be recommending to all visitors from afar?”

“My name is Reina,” she said eagerly. She handed him the portion. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. I foresee a good sale for you, Reina, with the festival coming up. How 
much?”

“Six coppers, sir. A nice price,” she added.

“Absolutely.” He handed her a silverling. “The rest is for good service.”

“Thank you, lord,” she said, letting the coin slide into the pouch of her apron. She 
then gave Legolas two extra napkins. “Here,” she said to him with a nod at Haldir, 
who was still struggling to rid himself of all the fat clinging to him, “he’ll need it.”

Legolas winked quickly at her. “Thanks.”

He took Haldir by the arm. “Come, friend; let us continue our walk and enjoy this 
excellent meal.”

“I’m just about clean,” Haldir muttered, joining Legolas as he continued his path.

“Fine, then I’ll eat it all myself,” Legolas laughed.

“Hmm, forget what I said. Ooh, look at that one!” he said, pointing at a particularly 
big and tasty-looking piece.

“Hands off, that one’s mine.”

“Says who?”

“Me. ‘Tis only fair; I paid for it.”

They walked on, shoulder to shoulder, laughing and chattering like two elflings and 
soon covered in fat again.

***

...the same evening, after sunset...

The door opened quickly, barely two seconds after he’d knocked, as if she’d been 
expecting him. He opened his mouth to greet her, but she glanced down the 
hallway, took him by the arm and pulled him inside, then quickly closed the door.

“Well, good evening to you, too, Merilin,” he said.

“My father must not see you here,” she said curtly.

Legolas looked around him. “Well? He’s not here, is he?”

“No, he’s downstairs; but he will come check on me before going to rest. He will 
not be happy to see you here, you know that.”

“Tell me, Meri,” Legolas said with a sigh, “if this is still such a big issue between 
your father and you, then why did you come here in the first place? Do you expect 
me to ignore you the whole time?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” she hissed. “He thought it would be a nice thing 
to do, asking his daughter to accompany him to the festival. I couldn’t possibly 
refuse, that would have been rather suspicious, wouldn’t it? Especially since all the 
girls back in Mirkwood were dying to go.”

“What does your father have against me?”

“He doesn’t have anything against you,” she said impatiently, “and you know that 
perfectly well. But, as you may recall, I am betrothed to another. My father 
arranged that when I was still a child.”

“That was never a problem before,” he said, holding her gaze.

“And he attaches much importance to me remaining... untouched until the day I 
marry,” she said.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling. “I repeat: that was never a problem before.”

Her eyes fell, and she blushed lightly. “Legolas...”

“Meri,” he said gently, “I didn’t come here to lure you into any illegal activities, I 
just thought a private talk would be nice.” He smiled. “After all, we haven’t seen 
each other in a long time. Can’t we do that? Just talk?” He saw her features soften. 
“Come, Meri; if my presence really bothered you, you would have slammed the 
door shut in my face,” he teased.

Her sense of humor finally overcame her doubts, and she smiled. “Smooth-talker,” 
she muttered. “Have it your way then. Sit down.”

They lowered themselves on the foot-end of the bed and faced each other. Legolas 
traced her familiar features with his eyes; seeing them was like a warm bath to 
him, but at the same time a painful reminder of his life before the War. She still 
had those expressive, blue-green eyes and that hint of deep dark red in her 
almost-black hair. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, but he suppressed 
that urge.

“Well?” he asked. “How have you been since we last met?”

“Nothing special, really,” she said with a shrug. “I think you have much more to 
talk about.”

“You’ve already heard most of it, I am sure,” he said.

“Yes, but not from you. Tell me. What happened after your father sent you out to 
Imladris with messages?”

So he briefly recounted what had befallen him after his departure from Mirkwood 
more than sixteen years before, leaving out the painful, more personal events. She 
listened attentively, and when he was done, she did something unexpected. She 
reached out and caressed the side of his face with her fingertips. He looked at her 
in surprise.

“You have seen so many terrible things,” she said softly. “So much death, so much 
hate. Is that why you have changed so much?”

“Have I changed?” he asked monotonuously.

“Yes.” She thoughtlessly fingered a strand of his hair. “You are not the Legolas I 
remember. You were always so in touch with things, with life; and now, even when 
you laugh, it’s like you are holding back. Why is that? What happened to you?”

He sighed. “I’d rather not discuss those things, Meri. I advise you not to try to 
analyze me, for you could go on analyzing for a millennium without getting closer 
to a conclusion.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“You could always tell me everything,” she said gently, “remember? Whenever you 
had a disagreement with your father, or something else was bothering you... Will 
you not tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Not this time, Meri,” he said, smiling sadly, “not this time. I can’t discuss it with 
anyone, not even with you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick 
kiss. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him worriedly and it seemed she was about to say something, but 
she started when there was a knock on the door.

“Merilin? Are you awake?”

“My father!” she said under her breath. “Quick! Get under the bed!”

Legolas frowned. “But we’re just talking. Why would he mind that?”

“Do you really think he will believe that?” she retorted. “A man in a lady’s room 
after sunset, just talking? Now do as I say!”

“Merilin?” Her father again.

“Just a moment, adar [father],” she called, “I am not decent.” She removed the 
ribbon from her plait. As she quickly unbraided her hair, she hissed, “Get under the 
bed, Legolas. Now!”

He did as he was told, shaking his head and with a smirk on his face. When he’d 
disappeared from sight, Merilin opened the door. “Good evening, adar,” she said, “I 
was just getting ready for bed.”

Êreg smiled at her. “Good. I just came to check if you were all right. It was an 
exhausting journey.”

“I’m fine, just a little tired.” She produced a very convincing yawn and, to her 
annoyance, heard Legolas snicker softly in his hiding place.

“What was that? I thought I heard something.” Her father peered over her 
shoulder.

“Oh,” she said casually, “probably something from outside. I have opened the 
window; the weather is so mild here.”

“Indeed it is.” He smiled again. “Well, I’m going to bed too. Good night.”

“Sleep well, adar.”

He disappeared to his own room and Merilin closed and locked the door. She then 
turned back to the bed. “That was smart!” she said. “Can you think of a better way 
to give yourself away?”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “but it was quite amusing. Is the coast clear?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “you can come out.”

He crawled out from under the bed. “I still think it’s ridiculous,” he muttered as he 
did so, “we were just having an innocent conversation. Nothing for him to worry 
about...” His voice trailed off when she dropped to her knees in front of him. She 
gave him a sorrowful look before taking his face between her hands and kissing 
him passionately. He was too stunned to react, but his lips parted on their own 
account, allowing her tongue to enter.

He instantly recognized the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her 
tongue... It had an unexpectedly strong effect on him; his heart seemed to burst, 
his blood rushed through his veins, screamed in his ears. He was overcome by a 
strange mix of feelings: despair, grief, desire... He had been sitting on all fours 
until now, but now he rose up on his knees, took her face in his hands and joined 
in the kiss, immediately taking over dominance.

She grabbed the collar of his tunic with both hands and rose to her feet, pulling 
him up with her. She then pushed him back against the bed and crawled on top of 
him, but he quickly reversed their positions, lying down on top of her. They kissed 
feverishly, almost desperately, hands pulling on clothing.

“Oh, Valar,” Merilin gasped between two kisses, “this is so wrong, and yet it feels 
so right.” She reached for the laces of his tunic and fumbled wildly with them. He 
pulled back for a moment to catch his breath and watched her face as she 
impatiently opened his tunic.

“Remove that,” she demanded, “I want you naked.”

He sat up on his knees and peeled his tunic off his arms. “Meri, are you sure about 
this?” he asked, breathing quickly.

“I haven’t been so sure about anything in sixteen years,” she said. She trailed his 
chest with her fingertips, mapping the curves of his muscles and ribs. “Oh, 
Legolas,” she sighed, “sixteen years can be so long, even for an Elf, and yet it 
seems only yesterday that we last did this.” She paused her ministrations for a 
moment and looked up at him. “I’ve missed you beside me at night,” she said. “Did 
you miss me too sometimes?”

He smiled and quickly touched her lips. “Yes,” he said. Which was true. He had 
spent quite some time thinking of her after his departure, until finally he had 
caught himself thinking of someone else. It had been quite a shock for him.

Suddenly he realized that she was opening the fastenings of his trousers, and he 
tensed unconsciously. “Oh, gods,” he cried softly when she released his already 
stiffening member and took it into her hand, where it quickly came to full hardness. 
The sensation was incredible. He covered his eyes with his hands, but she reached 
out and gently pulled them away. “I want to see your eyes,” she said.

With great effort, he fused his gaze with hers. He underwent her ministrations 
trembling violently. He braced his hands upon his thighs and moaned as she 
expertly slid her hand up and down his length. “I am sorry,” she whispered, “I 
didn’t mean to rush things so, but there is no patience left in me after sixteen 
years. Do you think me bad?”

“No,” he moaned, slightly rocking his hips to match her rhythm, “I think you’re... 
ah, yes - I think you’re very, very good.”

She smiled. “Take off those boots, love, and the trousers also.”

He complied, stripping himself of his remaining clothes. “What about you?” he 
asked, fingering her dress, “are going to keep this on?”

“No.” She sat up and pulled her dress over her head, revealing the beauty of her 
body. His breath caught in his throat and he reached out for her, but she rolled 
away from him and eased herself under the sheet. “Come,” she said, holding up 
the sheet, encouraging him to join her. He complied, stretching himself half beside 
her, half on top of her. As they kissed, he let his hand explore her body, beginning 
at her neck, then rounding a shoulder before sliding down over a breast to her 
stomach. His erection pressed rock-hard against the soft skin of her upper leg. His 
hand continued its way down as their kiss deepened, sliding down her leg. He 
shifted, not breaking the kiss, and parted her legs with his knee. The skin of her 
inner thigh was smooth under his fingertips as they moved upwards.

She gasped against his lips when his fingers grazed at her opening. He looked at 
her, but she had her eyes closed. “Do you want this?” he murmured.

“Valar, yes,” she sighed. “Don’t you dare stop this now.”

One finger slipped inside, followed soon by another. Merilin moaned and lifted her 
hips as they moved within her. He could feel how ready she was for him.

“Meri,” he choked, “are you sure about this? We can’t go back to the way it was. I 
have nothing to offer you.”

“We never had a future together,” she said, “I have always known that; that’s why 
I always cherished every moment we shared.” She caressed the side of his face 
and looked at him, eyes glimmering. “This could be the last opportunity we have,” 
she said, “I’d never forgive myself if I let it pass.”

He only smiled sadly, not finding words to match the moment.

“And,” she added with a smile, “don’t think there is *nothing* you have to offer 
me.” With those words, she took hold of his erection again. He groaned and pushed 
against her. “Oh, Legolas, please,” she sighed, stroking him insistingly, “I need to 
feel that lovely rod of yours inside of me. Fill me with your desire, for I can’t wait 
any longer.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he gasped. He settled between her thighs, covering her 
body with his own. He pushed himself up on his hands and let his tongue teasingly 
flick in and out of her mouth as he slowly entered her. She was relaxed, familiar 
with him, and he sheathed himself to the hilt in one, smooth movement, causing 
her to moan in delight. Filling her completely, he kept still for a moment, taking his 
time to kiss her attentively. Her hands travelled restlessly over his shoulders and 
down his chest.

“Ah, you always were a tease, Legolas,” she said, momentarily breaking free from 
his lips.

“Shh, patience, Meri,” he murmured, “no need to hurry. I want you to memorize 
the feel of me, so that you’ll never forget me.”

She smiled. “I already memorized you years ago,” she said. “And no woman can 
possibly forget you once she’s shared a bed with you, Legolas.” She stroked his 
nipples, then teased them between thumb and forefinger, simultaneously clenching 
her muscles around him. He gasped and threw his head back, but kept the rest of 
his body still.

“Hmm,” she purred, “it seems you have mastered more self-control since our last 
time. You must have had lots of practise, you naughty Elf.”

He hesitated. “No.”

She laughed. “Liar.” She let go of his hard nipples and began stroking his sides and 
back. “Kiss me, gorgeous.”

He complied, bending down to kiss her again. As he teased her with his tongue, he 
started moving. Within seconds, he had rediscovered her preferences. He set a 
slow rhythm, pulling back and pushing himself in again, swiveling his hips as he did 
so, making sure he stroked her sensitive spot with every thrust. Moaning, she 
parted her thighs even further, lifting her knees for greater contact. Her fingers 
dug into his biceps.

“Oh, lover,” she sighed, slightly arching her back, “that is the best sensation 
imaginable. I wish it could last forever.”

That was an alluring thought. Legolas closed his eyes. To let this night last forever; 
no new day that would bring more responsibilities, more arriving guests, more 
hours of battling the Sea-longing in his heart. No old acquaintances to face, who 
would remind him of how it used to be; no pain. Only her arms to rest in and her 
affection to warm his heart at.

“Meri,” he whispered, not stopping his movements, “do you love me?”

This caught her by surprise. She slightly lifted her head and looked at him, her face 
slightly flushed and her lips parted. His sensible part cursed the other one for 
asking such a question, asking for love when he shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her, “forget I said that.” To his relief, 
her kiss was warm and affectionate like before. He continued giving her slow, 
sensual kisses as he began to move faster, hearing her encouraging moans. Not 
longer able to support his own weight on stretched arms, he lowered himself to his 
elbows. She wrapped her arms around him.

“Yes, like that, honey,” she whispered against his lips, “oh, go faster.”

He increased his pace even more, thrusting into her quite hard. She arched 
beneath him, her fingers clawing in his back, damp with perspiration; she buried 
her face against his chest to stifle her cry when she reached her peak. Her muscles 
clenching rhythmically around him were the final straw; the warmth that had been 
gathering in his testicles suddenly broke forth and spurted into her.

“Oh, gods!” Legolas cried, thrusting into her as wave after wave of ecstasy 
engulfed him. Merilin quickly clapped one hand over his mouth.

“Ssh,” she hissed, giggling breathlessly, “my father sleeps in the next room.”

Legolas groaned, long and low. When he’d finally poured himself completely out 
inside of her, his arms gave way and he collapsed onto her. She pulled him close 
and affectionately bit his shoulder and neck. He lay still for a moment, trying to 
regain control over his breathing, in the meantime relishing the feeling of her 
naked body against his in this most intimate of positions.

Finally, he rolled off her and onto his back, lazily reaching for the sheets that had 
slid off him, and pulling them up to his waist. Merilin rolled onto her side and eased 
herself against him, one leg loosely thrown over his; he welcomed her, wrapping 
an arm around her. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and with 
the fingers of one hand she absent-mindedly traced his ribs.

“That tickles,” he said, smiling weakly.

She smiled too. They were silent for a long time, until Merilin at last hesitantly said, 
“Legolas...”

“Please don’t tell me to leave,” he said, a hint of plea in his voice.

“I don’t want you to,” she said softly, “but...”

“I’ll leave before sunrise.” He nuzzled against her scalp. “Your father will never 
know. Please, Meri.”

She took his free hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “All right then.”

He closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he sighed.

Another silence followed, which was finally broken by Merilin again. “Legolas, about 
that question you asked me...”

“I shouldn’t have asked that,” he said quickly. “Forget it, Meri.”

“No, I want you to know what my answer would be.” She paused. “I can’t afford to 
love you too much, Legolas,” she sighed. “Our lives are going in different directions 
and I don’t wish to die of a broken heart. But I’ll say this: if the choice rested with 
me alone, you would be the one I’d bind myself to.”

He gave no response; only smiled sadly and softly stroked her shoulder.

She rose slightly up and looked him in the eye. “You must promise me something, 
Legolas.”

“What?”

“Promise me not to fall in love with me. I will follow my father back to Mirkwood in 
a few days, and I don’t want to leave behind a broken-hearted Elf. Please, 
Legolas,” she begged, “promise me that.”

Oh, Meri, he thought, if only you knew that my heart has been on the verge of 
breaking for the past fifteen years. But he smiled at her, not wanting to make her 
feel his pain. “I promise.”

“Good.” She eased herself back into her former position. “Otherwise I would have 
*really* slammed the door shut in your face the next time you showed up here 
again.”

They made love several times before finally drifting off in elven reverie. The old 
memories failed to find Legolas as he slept in Merilin’s room, and he dreamed 
peacefully in her arms. In the next room, Merilin’s father dreamed of the stars over 
Mirkwood, unaware of the guest in his daughter’s bed.

-tbc-

*************************************

Notes on chapter 3:

Trading: I invented the system of tradegoods Aragorn sums up. I don’t know 
whether Hobbits brewed the best beer, or made jams. It just seemed so hobbity to 
me.

Oopsies. Here are two fictional Elves whose names are *not* from 
www.councilofelrond.com: Legolas’s brothers, who also feature in my previous fic, 
You’re My Home. Check out the disclaimer of that fic (can be found on the Library 
of Moria) to see where those names come from. They are Sindarin; Arorod means 
‘high mountain’ and Túrgwaith means ‘victorious person’.. This story is not a sequel 
to You’re My Home by the way; I just use the same names because they work for 
me, that’s all.

Currency: I don’t know anything about currencies in Middle-earth, so I decided to 
name the coins Legolas gives Reina after the material of which they are made. 
More details about the system I invented in chapter 7.

Merilin’s hair: there seems to be a lot of discussion going on about the hair color of 
Elves. For a moment, I considered giving Merilin blond hair, since she’s a Silvan Elf 
and I heard this rumor about Silvan Elves all being blond. But the Professor doesn’t 
seem to be very clear on this subject himself, so I decided to describe her as I 
pictured her in my head: dark-haired. Her name is Sindarin and means ‘bird, 
nightingale’.

Merilin’s daddy: Êreg means ‘thorn’. I liked the sound of it, and it seemed fitting for 
the guy. *g*

Merilin’s betrothal: I don’t know whether Tolkien’s Elves would do a silly thing like 
marrying off their daughters. But I had to come up with *something* to make 
Merilin unattainable for Legolas, so…

******************************************


Chapter 4 – Tell Me Where It Hurts

Caras Gwedeir, May 8th and 9th, F.A. 13. (flashback to February 24th, T.A. 3019)

~ Legolas ~

Gimli gave Legolas a meaningful glance as he came down for breakfast the 
following morning. He exchanged a few words with his friends and family from 
Erebor and Aglarond, and then came to Legolas and sat down next to him.

“Good morning, Gimli,” Legolas said casually, pouring himself a glass of water.

“Morning, Master Elf.” Gimli shoved some slices of bread onto his plate, buttered 
them lavishly and covered them with meat. Legolas observed it in mild disgust. The 
Dwarves’ partiality for meat, even so early in the morning, never failed to amaze 
him.

Gimli then leaned over to him. “I know of an Elf who wasn’t in his bed last night,” 
he said in a mischievous tone.

Legolas quickly glanced at Merilin and her father, sitting some meters away. “I 
have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

Gimli grinned. “Oh, not to worry, no one else knows and I will not tell anyone. 
Least of all,” he said, whispering, “her father.”

Legolas shook his head. He should know by now that Gimli’s mind was quicker than 
one would expect. “Honestly, Gimli, why can’t I ever keep a secret from you?”

“There are things about you I don’t know,” Gimli said, suddenly quite serious. 
“Believe me, Legolas, you’re very good at keeping secrets when you really want.”

Legolas decided to let that remark pass. Gimli looked at him, and the sparkle 
returned to his eyes. “’Twas about time, too, my friend.”

Legolas brought his cup to his lips. “Time for what?”

“You know...” Gimli quickly glanced right and left. “Time for some...*fun*...” He 
said, emphasizing the last word meaningfully.

Legolas almost choked on his drink. “Gimli!” He looked at his friend in shock. Gimli 
was feigning innocence, throwing him a questioning look. Legolas suddenly felt the 
corners of his mouth twitch and burst out laughing. Everyone sitting at the table 
looked up, wondering what had amused the prince so.
The Dwarf was laughing too.

“Ahem, Gimli,” Legolas chuckled, wiping tears from his face, “I don’t think I can 
discuss these things with you. Somehow it doesn’t seem... right to talk to you 
about this.”

“Good,” Gimli chortled, “I don’t want to hear about it.” He picked up one slice of 
bread and began to eat. Legolas, who was still chuckling softly, caught Merilin 
looking at him across the table. He winked at her and she smiled. They exchanged 
a look of understanding before breaking eye contact again.

It would be a long and tiring day. Even more guests came, and Legolas had a long 
meeting with his Council, concerning the last preparations for the festival. He then 
had a long conversation with Faramir, and with the masters of ceremonies. He 
hardly saw Gimli and Haldir that day. But being busy had its advantages; it 
distracted him from the knowledge that at that very moment, Aragorn and his 
delegation from Minas Tirith were on their way to the city.

That night, Legolas found himself restlessly pacing his room. Tomorrow, he 
thought. Tomorrow will I see Aragorn again. What am I going to do? How should I 
react?

Legolas felt utterly confused. One part of him hated Aragorn and wanted to shout 
at him, let out all that pent-up rage and grief; another part was just incredibly sad 
and wanted to be left alone; while a third part still felt so much love for that Man. 
Legolas sighed.

Then, a knock on the door. Legolas hesitated; he was not sure whether he wanted 
to be found tonight.

“Legolas?” Merilin’s voice.

He quickly opened the door. “Merilin, what are you doing here?” He hadn’t 
expected her. He had, for a moment, considered going to her room; but he was 
unsure about her reaction, and he didn’t want to run the risk of being spotted by 
her father.

She sneaked into the room, giggling. “You won’t believe what I did,” she said.

He locked the door and turned to face her. “What did you do?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him with a mischievous 
smile. “I bade my father goodnight, locked my door from inside and climbed out 
the window. And here I am.”

He smiled and slid his hands around her waist, interlacing his fingers behind her 
back. “And are you sure you will succeed in climbing back in before sunrise, 
without being seen?”

“Let’s worry about that later.” She let her lips graze against his. “Now, I want a 
reward.”

“Really?” He moved out of her reach when she would kiss him. “What would you 
desire as your reward?”

“Something simple,” she purred, sliding her hands over his shoulders, “a kiss, to 
start with... and then, some of the other pleasures your body can provide.”

“Some?” he smiled. “Why not all of them?”

“Even better. Now kiss me, you tease.”

He did that, and much more.

Much later, Legolas lay staring into the dark with Merilin in his arms. The sheets 
were a chaos, and they smelled faintly of sex and scented oil, which she had used 
to massage the tension out of him, among other things... Her breathing was calm 
and deep; she was resting. Legolas, however, had trouble finding rest. The night 
before, her embrace had given him solace, and careless sleep; now, the thought 
that Aragorn was sleeping somewhere under the stars not far from here, and that 
the moment of their meeting was only a few hours away, kept him from finding 
rest. And not even Merilin’s presence could change that.

After almost an hour of doing nothing except brooding, Legolas quietly slipped out 
of the bed. He gently draped the sheets over Merilin’s sleeping form and then 
dressed himself in black leggings and a simple white tunic and green jerkin. After a 
last glance at her, he left, silently closing the door behind him.


~ Haldir ~

Haldir had retreated to his room, but there found himself unable to sleep. He had 
spent the evening talking to people from all over Middle-earth, he was in a cheerful 
mood and felt excited about the upcoming festival. He stood in front on the window 
and looked outside, at the pitch-black sky and the stars, hundreds of them. In the 
distance, he could see the River, faintly glimmering in the moonlight.

He would go for a walk. A little walk to the River and back. Yes, that would be very 
pleasant. He went through his belongings and found the cloak he’d brought from 
Lórien, that had accompanied him on all of his travels. He slung it over his 
shoulders and fastened it about his neck, then went out.

He crossed the now quiet streets of the city, making for the city gates. There was 
only one guard on watch, and he let Haldir pass when he recognized the Lórien Elf. 
Haldir walked for about ten minutes along the Anduin, enjoying the fresh night air 
and the play of the stars’ reflections in the water. 

He reached the place where he and Legolas had had their wild ride in the River. He 
smiled to himself at the recollection. He made for a small group of willows on the 
shore and sat down beneath one of them, leaning back against the stem. He 
stretched out his legs and sighed.

He remembered how the dullness of Legolas’s eyes had startled him that day, a 
month and a half ago. The same night, he had offered Legolas a sympathetic ear, 
but so far, Legolas hadn’t given any direct explanation of his apparent 
unhappiness. But Haldir was a very skilled at reading between the lines, and after 
some observation and putting two and two together, Haldir thought he had a fairly 
good idea of what was going on.

Something had happened to Legolas, and it had happened after the Fellowship’s 
departure from Lórien. Haldir could easily picture the Legolas he’d seen in Lórien: 
saddened of course by Gandalf’s death, but still so full of hope, and light. So 
different from the Legolas he’d become. He still had moments of joy, yes; but they 
were short-lived.

Haldir suspected that Elessar had something to do with it. Legolas had reacted so 
strangely when Haldir had mentioned his name. And he’d get that strange 
nervousness over him every time Elessar’s coming to Caras Gwedeir was subject of 
discussion.

Haldir knew that Legolas and Elessar had once been good friends. In Lórien, he’d 
even got the impression that there was something more between them. They 
seemed to glow in each other’s presence, and the glances they threw each other 
were suspiciously intense. Haldir had been surprised, for he knew Aragorn’s 
devotion to his Arwen, and Legolas was not the type to interfere in relationships. 
Haldir had asked him one or two indirect questions, but Legolas had refused the 
bait.

A rupture had taken place between the two friends. As far as Haldir knew, the two 
of them had not once been in contact after the War. Very peculiar, considering how 
close they once had been. Something had happened, Haldir knew that for a 
certainty. He had no idea whether his suspicions about Legolas and Elessar were 
correct, and what exactly the reason for their alienation was, but fact was that 
neither Legolas nor Elessar had ever taken the trouble of making the two-day 
journey to the other’s dwelling-place.

Haldir sighed again. He hated to see Legolas so. He could tell the Elf was quickly 
tiring of his life, and he feared that unless something happened soon, he would 
lose his friend to the Undying Lands.

You could go with him, Haldir thought for the thousandth time. But he shook his 
head; no, he was not ready yet. The Sea did not call to him that strongly, and 
there was still so much beauty to see in Middle-earth. Then again: Middle-earth 
would lose its most beautiful element on the day of Legolas’s departure. Haldir 
rubbed his hands over his eyes. His deepest wish was that Legolas would find joy 
again, and remain in Middle-earth, not longer hearing the Call. But that was 
impossible. Once the Sea-longing has been stirred in an Elf, it will never disappear 
again. It can lessen, yes; but disappear, no.

Perhaps Elessar’s arrival would prove to be just what Legolas needed. Perhaps they 
could sort out their problem, whatever it was. Haldir dared to hope. Perhaps 
Elessar was the one who could bring that light back to Legolas’s eyes... for good.

Suddenly, Haldir realized that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had been too absorbed 
in his thoughts to hear the other arrive, but a movement in the corner of his eye 
brought him back to reality.

Legolas. Apparently his friend had felt like a walk, too. The Elf was standing on the 
shore, staring over the water, to the south. He was unaware of Haldir’s presence, 
Haldir realized; the shadow of the willow and his cloak from Lórien hid him quite 
well, even from Legolas’s keen eyes. And Legolas, too, seemed absorbed in 
thoughts. He stood perfectly still, upright, his slender frame covered in black 
leggings, white tunic and green jerkin.

Haldir wondered if he should make his presence known. He’d rather not startle or 
disturb his friend, for Legolas was obviously seeking solitude, but the idea of 
skulking in the shadows and waiting for Legolas to depart did not hold appeal 
either. He was still considering this when suddenly a soft, clear voice reached his 
ears.

Legolas was singing. This struck a deep chord inside Haldir; when they were 
younger, they had sung many songs together, most of them silly and full of 
nonsense, but in the past weeks, it had become clear to Haldir that Legolas had 
lost his lust for singing. And now there he stood, on his own, his gaze fused on the 
Undying Lands beyond the horizon: singing. But it was not the kind of song he 
would have sung with Haldir; the melody was beautiful, but sad, and unfamiliar to 
Haldir. As he listened, unmoving in his hiding-place, he understood that Legolas 
had invented the lyrics himself, and the melody probably as well. Much became 
clear to him during those moments, and he felt a terrible sadness rise within him, 
intensifying with every verse that came from Legolas’s lips.

This was what Legolas sang, fluently but sorrowfully:

“Anduin, Anduin, what do you see
As you run your eternal course to the Sea?
Anduin, Anduin, can you remember still
The wind that sweeps over the northern hills?

Have you passed the woods I know so well,
Mirkwood that bore me, where my people still dwell?
Did you hear them, River, did you hear them singing,
Their voices so clear, like silver bells ringing?

Did you see the trees of Lórien on your way,
Their leaves golden, their bark smooth and grey?
Do you remember when I set out from that land?
Did you hear my heart sing out my love for the Man?

Did you hear the hooves of horses in Rohan,
On the meadows green where the Three Hunters ran?
Did you see Parth Galen, where our Company sundered?
Did you cross Emyn Muil, where his love for me ended?

Did you see Minas Tirith, where he now lives as king?
Does his heart still recall the love of which I sing?
Do you know, oh River that flows to the Sea,
Whether he sometimes still thinks of me?

Anduin, don’t you have some wise words for me?
Shall I linger on your shore, or sail to the Sea?
My heart longs to stay and my heart longs to go west.
I am weary, River, can you help me find rest?”

The song ended, and still Legolas stood there, unmoving, a picture of ethereal 
beauty. But it was beauty edged with a heartbreaking sadness. Haldir sat trembling 
in the shadows, a thousand imaginary daggers stabbing his heart. With every 
nerve that was in his body, he could sense Legolas’s heartfelt melancholy, his 
longing for the past and his homeland. And as for the cause of that melancholy, 
Haldir now understood that much better, too. For Legolas had been in love back 
then, perhaps still was... and for a short period of time, he’d seen that love 
returned. But that time was now long gone, and Legolas was left with nothing but 
memories. Haldir did not know how things between Legolas and Elessar had come 
to an end, but judging by the pain it apparently still gave Legolas, it had been 
traumatizing.

Haldir’s heart bled for Legolas, and all he wanted to do at that moment was to 
comfort the hurting Elf. Suddenly, Haldir’s instinct took over from his common 
sense, and he rose to his feet, revealing himself. Legolas must have caught the 
movement, for he spun on his heels. When he saw Haldir standing there, he 
immediately understood that Haldir had overheard him, and he went ivory-pale. 
“Haldir,” he said, sounding strangled, “what are you doing here?”

“I am sorry, Legolas,” Haldir replied, “I did not mean to spy on you. I took a walk 
before going to bed and was sitting here for a moment, when you came. It was not 
my intention to eavesdrop, but I just could not disturb you. I – I am sorry.”

Legolas looked very tired suddenly. “It’s all right, Haldir. It was my own fault. I 
guess you were bound to find out sooner or later.” He turned back to the River, his 
shoulders uncharacteristically slumped.

Haldir went to him. He hesitantly placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. “Oh, 
Legolas...” he sighed. “What happened, my friend?”

Legolas shrugged. “You have heard what happened.” He dared not look at Haldir, 
embarrassed by the fact that Haldir had heard him sing about the matters of his 
heart, about love.

“Won’t you tell me more?” Haldir gently took Legolas by the shoulders and turned 
him so that they faced each other. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

Legolas nodded. “Yes, Haldir.”

“Then please tell me.” Haldir’s sympathetic green-grey eyes rested on Legolas’s 
blue ones. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts me to see you in such pain, 
Legolas? Let me help you. Please.”

“There is nothing you can do. Aragorn will arrive tomorrow, and I will have to face 
him; you can’t help me with that.”

“Indeed. But give me the opportunity to talk some courage into you. I would 
support you in every way possible. And perhaps your heart will be better able to 
carry this burden if you don’t have to deal with this alone anymore.”

“I – I...” Legolas stammered.

“Do you trust me, Legolas?”

“Yes,” Legolas said, “implicitly.”

“Then confide in me. If you can’t tell *me*, then who? And no Elf, Man or any 
being should have to carry such a burden on his own.”

“I – I don’t know, Haldir,” Legolas said desperately, “it’s so humiliating. I’m not 
sure if... I – I’m just not sure,” he ended miserably.

“Are you afraid I’ll laugh at you? You should know that I wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I’m not afraid you’ll laugh at me.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that...” Legolas looked away. “...that you’ll be disgusted with me.”

This was unexpected. “What?” Haldir gently caught Legolas’s chin between his 
fingers and forced him to look at him. “Legolas, sweetheart, how could you possibly 
disgust me? How could you possibly disgust anyone?” He smiled a little. “You could 
tell me you bed Orcs on a daily basis and still I wouldn’t be disgusted.”

Legolas let out a strange sound. It took a few seconds until Haldir understood that 
it had been a sob mixed with laughter. He let go of Legolas’s chin and waited until 
Legolas had regained his composure.

“How do you do that, Haldir?” Legolas asked, wiping away tears. “No matter how 
bad I feel, you manage to make me laugh.”

“It’s a talent,” Haldir said. He took Legolas by the arms again. “Now, I am not so 
easily disgusted, Legolas, especially not when it comes to you. Please tell me what 
happened, tell me why you are hurting so.. You have been struggling with this far 
too long. Open up to me.”

Legolas sighed. “Let’s sit down for a moment.”

They sat down together on the river bank, side by side. Legolas sat cross-legged, 
his hands in his lap. He knitted his brow; apparently he was wondering how to 
begin. Haldir waited patiently. Finally, Legolas opened his mouth and began.


~ Legolas ~

Nothing had indicated that something was brewing between him and Aragorn. Yes, 
Legolas admired his friend: his bravery, his skill with the sword, the way he 
devoted himself fully to the Quest and the safety of the Ring-bearer. And of course, 
Legolas was appreciative of the Ranger’s outward beauty: the Man was attractive, 
in a different way. But Legolas could also see the beauty of Aragorn’s soul.

Legolas couldn’t help admiring the way Aragorn immediately took up his role as 
new leader after Gandalf had fallen. The Hobbits were crying, Boromir was 
restraining Gimli, who was overcome with grief and anger and would have run back 
into the Mines if it hadn’t been for Boromir; and Legolas himself had been too 
stunned, too grief-struck to do anything. And Aragorn, doubtlessly just as agrieved 
as the others or even more, wiped his sword clean.

“Legolas, get them up.”

Legolas, despite the sadness of the moment, had understood that the Man was 
right. Gandalf would have been furious if he’d seen the Fellowship sit down and cry 
just outside the Mines, with an army of Orcs breathing down their necks. So he’d 
obeyed; after all, he’d followed Gandalf when he was leader, now he would follow 
Aragorn, without hesitation.

And then... Lothlórien. That enchanting place where the Fellowship had finally 
found some rest, after much toil. Where Legolas had found an old friend in Haldir, a 
new friend in Gimli, and, quite unexpectedly, a lover in Aragorn. Legolas was not 
sure what exactly had led them in each other’s arms; he himself had longed for 
comfort, for more comfort than Haldir’s kind words could provide. And as for 
Aragorn... the Man needed comfort, too. Someone to tell him he would be just as 
good a leader as Gandalf had been. But that still didn’t explain why it had turned 
into something sexual. It just had, and Legolas had since long stopped wondering 
why.

They had never really slept together; they had restricted themselves to passionate 
kissing and pleasuring each other with their hands and mouths. Legolas had felt 
instinctively that Aragorn wasn’t ready for more, that the Man had Arwen in the 
back of his head, and Legolas accepted that. It had set his own guilty conscience 
somewhat at ease, too, for he felt guilty towards Arwen. 

Their attraction to one another had caught them both by surprise, and in the 
beginning, every round of clandestine pleasure had ended in burning cheeks, 
clothes hastily being rearranged and promises not to do that again. But the 
attraction had been too great, and soon, they felt more at ease with each other. 
They began taking their time for their pleasure, every time they could get away 
from the Company.

Aragorn had proved to be both a resourceful and a tender lover. He had given 
Legolas some of the happiest hours of his long life, and by the time they set out 
from Lórien, Legolas knew he loved Aragorn, in the deepest sense of the word. Of 
course, he was always aware of the fact that they had no future together; Aragorn 
was to wed Arwen and become king. Legolas did not fit in that picture, and he 
knew it. But he cherished the stolen moments they had together.

For Legolas, it had been more than just diversion, more than just sex. And when 
Aragorn kissed him so attentively and tenderly, it was easy to imagine that the 
Man felt the same for him. But after they’d set out from Lórien, Legolas more and 
more got the impression that Aragorn was holding back. Of course, the Man’s main 
worry was the Quest, the responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders; but it was 
more than that. Was the Man thinking of his betrothed? Did he regret his dalliances 
with Legolas? Was it over now?

Those had been long days on the River, full of doubt and uncertainty. They had 
some private moments during the first days, but they quickly grew less frequent 
and then stopped alltogether. Legolas saw how Aragorn struggled with his 
responsibility as leader and wanted to comfort him, help him... but almost every 
time Legolas’s eyes begged Aragorn for a private moment, the Man shook his head 
in a silent ‘no’, thus also denying Legolas the opportunity to ask for an explanation. 
Legolas knew he had not the right to ask the Man for his love, and he would not; 
but if Aragorn meant to end their affair, then he’d rather hear it directly from the 
Man’s lips, than be ignored like this.

And then the Company was taken by surprise by the rapids of Sarn Gebir, for which 
Aragorn, of course, blamed himself. On top of that, they were spotted by Orcs, who 
started firing arrows at them. One arrow pierced the hood of Aragorn’s cloak, and 
for a moment, Legolas’s heart stopped beating. But the Man was unharmed and led 
the Company to safety, to land, where they spent the night.

The next day, Aragorn decided that he and Legolas would go forward along the 
shore, to find some way by which the Company could carry the boats and their 
belongings to the calmer water beyond the rapids. Together they climbed the steep 
bank and went southwards along the shore. Now that Legolas was finally alone with 
Aragorn, he was unsure what to say. Aragorn was so concentrated on finding a 
track, on the Fellowship’s best interest, that Legolas’s worries suddenly seemed 
trivial.

And then they had found a track leading to a landing, from where on they would be 
able to continue their journey by boat. Their relief had cleared the sky for a 
moment; they had smiled at each other, and a light had returned to Aragorn’s 
eyes, a light which Legolas had seen when they were together in Lórien.

Before Legolas knew what was happening, the Man had pulled him into his arms. 
Legolas held his breath as Aragorn brushed the back of his hand over his cheek. 
“Aragorn...” he sighed, drowning in the Man’s intense blue-grey eyes. He instantly 
felt weak in the knees under Aragorn’s gaze. Did the Ranger still have feelings for 
him, after all?

“Legolas,” Aragorn murmured, cupping Legolas’s face and running his thumbs over 
the Elf’s lips. Legolas’s heart swelled at this caress, and at hearing Aragorn speak 
his name in that sensual, low-timbered voice of his. “Let me kiss your sweet 
mouth,” the Man said.

Without waiting for a reply, Aragorn leaned in and kissed him passionately. The 
Man’s directness took Legolas by surprise; where now was the detached Aragorn of 
the past days? This was the passionate lover he’d come to know in Lórien. With one 
notable difference: this lover lacked the tenderness so generously bestowed upon 
Legolas in Galadriel’s realm. Aragorn’s kiss was like an invasion; but after all those 
days of doubt and longing, Legolas was content with this. He braced his hands 
upon Aragorn’s hips and kissed him back.

Their tongues battled for a moment, both unwilling to play the submissive role, a 
battle that Aragorn won in the end. He plunged deep, his tongue swirling, 
retreating and entering again. Aragorn’s fingers were digging into Legolas’s cheeks 
and neck, but Legolas barely noticed the discomfort. All that mattered was the 
sensation of the Man’s tongue laying claim on his mouth, and the scent of leather 
and tobacco which Legolas had grown to love.

Aragorn leaned in very close, and the bulge of his erection brushed against 
Legolas’s leg. Legolas would have gasped if his mouth had been free, but Aragorn 
did not allow for their kiss to end. He kept kissing Legolas, hard and possessively, 
and the thought crossed Legolas’s mind that Aragorn was almost making love to 
him with his tongue.

Finally, Aragorn pulled back, his lips wet and flushed; Legolas guessed that his own 
probably looked the same. The intensity of the kiss left them both gasping for 
breath.

Legolas expected Aragorn something to say then, but the Man remained silent as 
he dropped to his knees, pulling Legolas with him. He reached out, grabbed 
Legolas between his legs and squeezed him, causing Legolas to gasp in surprise 
and lust. He unconsciously swiveled his hips, pushing his groin against Aragorn’s 
hand. The Elf was overcome with an almost shameful desire for this Man, and at 
that point, he would have willingly and without hesitation spread his legs for 
Aragorn, if the Man had chosen to penetrate him.

But that was not the case. Aragorn hastily removed Legolas’s bow and quiver, then 
made the Elf lie down and yanked his leggings down his legs. He then took him into 
his mouth without further introduction. Legolas cried out his delight and arched his 
back when warm wetness engulfed his member. Like before, the Man was 
merciless; there was no time for teasing, for tenderness. Aragorn took him firmly, 
and as deep as he could; then started to move up and down in a hard and 
demanding manner.

Legolas felt a flash of unease at that point, for the first time. Wasn’t this all going a 
bit too fast? He wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable being ravished thus by the man 
he secretly loved. He had hoped for a little more tenderness, perhaps some words 
of love, or care... but none of that. He had hoped that some intimacy between 
them would take his uncertainty away, but this merely added to it.

Aragorn suddenly pulled back, his breathing quick. His eyes flamed with lust. He 
crawled back, further shoving Legolas’s leggings down and removing them 
completely, together with Legolas’s boots. Before Legolas had had the time to 
wonder what Aragorn was up to, the Man pushed Legolas’s knees apart and knelt 
between the Elf’s legs. He hooked one hand in the hollow of Legolas’s left knee and 
pushed it upwards to the side, thus spreading Legolas’s legs even wider.

Legolas had never felt so exposed before. It was slightly uncomfortable, but most 
of all, it was arousing. To lie there on the forest floor, half-naked, his legs wide 
apart and all his intimate parts exposed to Aragorn’s gaze, who had him at his 
mercy; Legolas shuddered in anticipation.

Aragorn bent down and swallowed him again, less demanding this time. His strong 
hands kept Legolas’s legs in place as he moved up and down, his tongue swirling. 
Aragorn varied his pace, sometimes suckling gently, sometimes sucking hard, 
causing Legolas to moan in delight.

Legolas lay with his arms spread wide, his fingers digging into the soil. Aragorn was 
surprisingly good at this. Most of the tricks he was using he had learned from 
Legolas himself, for Legolas was the first male he’d become intimate with and he’d 
needed instruction. Legolas had willingly given him a few lessons...

Aragorn now also pushed Legolas’s other leg up. Legolas slightly lifted his head and 
watched how Aragorn’s head moved rhythmically between his thighs. Transfixed, 
he watched his own penis, shiny and wet with Aragorn’s saliva, disappearing all the 
way into the Man’s mouth, then reappearing. The sight in itself almost undid him. 
When Aragorn did a particularly delicious move with his tongue, Legolas threw his 
head back against the ground. “Ah gods, Aragorn,” he cried, “yes, that feels good! 
Oh Valar, I love you.”

That had not been a smart move. Up until now, they’d never mentioned the L-
word. Legolas had been very close a couple of times, but he’d always restrained 
himself. He was not supposed to love Aragorn, and he had thought it best not to let 
the Man know what he felt for him. But now, he’d let the words slip, at a very 
inappropriate moment.

Aragorn let Legolas’s shaft slip from his mouth. He let go of Legolas’s legs and 
crawled forward, until he knelt astride Legolas’s chest. He silently unbuckled his 
belt and began opening the fastenings of his trousers. Legolas watched wide-eyed 
as Aragorn shoved the fabric down his thighs, as far as his spread legs allowed 
him. The Man’s impressive erection sprang free, and Legolas eyed it with 
admiration, but also with a vague, inexplicable sense of dread.

“Stroke yourself, Legolas,” Aragorn demanded.

Legolas looked up at him in alarm. “What?”

Aragorn took Legolas’s hand and brought it to the Elf’s erection. “Stroke yourself.”

Legolas did not like the direction in which this was going. He’d never gone so far as 
to pleasure himself with Aragorn watching, and he was not sure if this was the right 
time and place to do it. “I, er...”

Aragorn folded Legolas’s hand around his shaft and covered it with his own. “Like 
this,” he said, starting to move up and down, encouraging. His hand fell away, and 
Legolas hesitantly continued to stroke himself. Aragorn shifted, braced one hand on 
the back of Legolas’s head, grabbing a fistful of hair, and pushed his hips forward.

Legolas automatically opened his mouth to receive him, intending to take only the 
tip to start with, but the Man had other plans. He let out a throaty groan and 
pushed himself all the way in, tightening his hold on Legolas’s head when the Elf 
would pull back instinctively. He sheathed himself fully until his cock pressed 
against the back of Legolas’s throat. This was too brutal an invasion, and it made 
Legolas gag. He sought eye contact, but Aragorn was staring into the distance with 
a dazed look in his eyes. He pulled back, and Legolas almost sighed in relief, but 
then Aragorn rammed forward again, groaning in ecstasy. Legolas let out a muffled 
cry and struggled to break free again; unfortunately, Aragorn seemed to think that 
Legolas’s movements were meant to pleasure him, for he began moving faster.

No, Legolas suddenly decided, this was wrong. He didn’t know what had gotten into 
the Man, but this was not the Aragorn he knew. Legolas could not help thinking 
that Aragorn was using him as some sort of instrument for his pleasure. It felt 
wrong, and he did not want this.

Legolas grabbed Aragorn’s hips and pushed hard, at the same time trying to 
escape the Man’s grip on his hair. Aragorn seemed to come out of his daze a little; 
he looked down, felt Legolas’s hands pushing forcefully against his hips and saw 
that Legolas was wriggling out from under him.

“Where are you going?” he cried. “Finish what you started!”

“I started nothing, Aragorn,” Legolas said, “it was you who started it.”

“What are you talking about?” Aragorn said irritably. He reached out to grab 
Legolas’s hair again.

“Stop it, Aragorn!” Legolas exclaimed, catching Aragorn’s wrist. “What’s gotten into 
you? Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Aragorn said gru