Title: In Your Image
Author: Menel (c_rhodora@hotmail.com)
Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Eldarion
Rating: G
Feedback: Always welcome
Archive: I would honored, but please ask first.
Summary: Legolas is given a second chance at love from an unexpected
source, but will he be able to overcome his feelings for Aragorn to find
happiness at last?
Disclaimer: Only unknown characters are mine. Nothing else belongs to
me, not even the plot, which is courtesy of Lady Osolone. The fic is
dedicated to her.
Author’s Notes: This piece is set post-ROTK. Special thanks goes to
Liadon for the beta.



Chapter 1. The Summons

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Lindfir said regretfully, as he bowed to the
Steward of Gondor. “We have been searching for the Prince for several
days now with no success.”

Faramir sighed. “Does the Prince do this often?” he asked. “Or does he
only disappear when he knows he is being summoned?”

“It is our way to desire solitude from time to time,” Lindfir replied.

“If the Prince does not wish to be found, then he shall not be.”

“There are other ways of finding that Elf,” interrupted a gruff voice.

Both Faramir and Lindfir turned to see Gimli striding into the room.

“Perhaps you merely searched in the wrong places.”

Lindfir arched a delicate eyebrow as he looked at the Dwarf, amusement
playing at the edges of his smile. The fast friendship between his Lord
and the Dwarf was well known among his people. Although not all
approved, the Dwarf was accorded respect as the Prince wished. “Master
Dwarf,” Lindfir said slowly, “if you know of some places we may have
missed, we would be glad to have your assistance.”

Gimli nodded. “I have a few in mind.” He turned to Faramir. “By 
tomorrow morn that Elf shall be ready to travel to Minas Tirith,” he promised,
“and I shall escort him there myself.”

~*~*~*~

Gimli gazed up at the rapidly darkening sky. He had spent the day
roaming the woods of Ithilien and was beginning to understand the
meaning behind Lindfir’s words, *If the Prince does not wish to be
found, then he shall not be.* But Dwarvish pride refused to let him give
up, at least not without trying every place he knew of and there was one
more he had yet to check. With one last glance at the evening sky Gimli
marched into the woods once more.

~*~*~*~

Legolas crouched by the edge of the mineral spring, running his hand
through the warm water one last time. The spring was heated by a natural
geyser, making the water perfect for an evening bathe. He smiled
contentedly as he stood up, nimble fingers tying the intricate laces of
his tunic.

A loud rustling and the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps from his
left caught his attention. Instinctively, Legolas slipped on his quiver,
at the same time reaching for his bow and the small pack that lay beside
him. In a matter of seconds he had leaped into the nearest tree, swiftly
climbing up its branches. He perched himself amid the foliage as he
watched the spring below.

A few minutes passed and then a short figure appeared beneath him.
Legolas smiled to himself as he recognized his old friend.

The Dwarf surveyed the spring. “I know you’re here,” he called out at
last. “A warm, evening bathe under the light of the full moon. A rare
temptation that even you cannot resist.”

Legolas’ smile grew wider. How well his friend knew him. Now if only he
would go away and leave him in peace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” the Dwarf continued, looking over the spring
again. “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”

The Elf sighed inwardly. For a moment, he entertained the idea of
holding the Dwarf to his word and slipping away through the treetops.
Then he shook head. Gimli did not deserve that. He looked down at the
spring once more. The Dwarf was settling himself upon a low rock, his
back to Legolas, indeed preparing to wait out the night. He was
muttering to himself in his own language and Legolas’ keen hearing could
make out the general gist of his grumbling – something about Elves and
their predilection for bathing, as well as their nonsensical allegiance
to trees.

Soundlessly, Legolas made his way down the tree, pausing when he 
reached the lowest branch. He gauged the distance between himself and the Dwarf,
wishing to startle his friend but not exactly land on top of him. With
catlike grace he jumped from the tree, landing immediately behind the
Dwarf.

“Preparing for a long night?”

Gimli fell off his rock in surprise. Secretly, he was pleased at
guessing the Prince’s whereabouts, but he hid his satisfaction behind a
scowl as he turned to face the Elf.

“Aye,” he retorted. “It has been a long day. I did not come to Ithilien
to play hide and seek with you.”

“I was not aware that we were playing,” the Elf replied, bemused.

Gimli ignored the comment as he stood up, dusting himself off in the
process. “Your people have been searching for you for five days now,
Legolas.”

“Is that so?”

“Humph.” Gimli glowered at the Elf, who gazed back with a maddeningly
serene expression. “A summons has arrived for you. No doubt you were
expected in Aragorn’s court some time ago.”

A brief emotion flickered in the Elf’s eyes at the mention of Aragorn’s
name, but it disappeared just as quickly. “I have other matters to
attend to first,” he said, turning abruptly and heading into the woods.

“Such as?”

“Such as Ariella.”

“Ariella?” the Dwarf repeated.

“Yes, Ariella. I promised that I would sing to her tonight.” The Elf
stopped and looked back at his friend. “Coming?” he asked, with a tilt
of his head.

Grumbling yet again, the Dwarf followed the Elf into the woods. Surely,
a day’s march on the quest to destroy the One Ring had not felt this
long.

The two friends walked together in companionable silence. With the 
Dwarf following behind him Legolas made certain to shorten the length of his
stride to better suit his friend. They traveled deeper into the woods,
each lost in their own thoughts. Just as Gimli was beginning to wonder
where this Ariella could be, the Elf stopped. Gimli stopped alongside
him and glanced at Legolas.

“I would like you to meet Ariella,” the Elf told him, holding out his
hand in greeting.

The Dwarf followed the direction of the Elf’s hand and came face to face
with . . .

A tree.

A magnificent tree, he had to admit, but a tree nonetheless. “You
brought me out this way to meet a tree!” he exclaimed.

“Ariella is not just any tree,” Legolas explained patiently. “She is the
oldest, living tree in these parts, one of a few to survive the
destruction of the War of the Ring. I nursed her back to health myself
and she has become a great friend. I turn to her when I am troubled.”

“And you are troubled now?”

The Elf sighed. “Let us speak more after I have sung to her. Will you
join me?” he asked, indicating the sweeping branches overhead.

Gimli eyed them doubtfully. “I shall wait here until you are finished,”
he decided.

Legolas nodded and began his climb while the Dwarf sat and rested his
back against Ariella’s broad trunk. Before long a haunting melody filled
the air, weaving its way through the night and enveloping Gimli in its
sadness. He sighed thoughtfully; such a song would melt even the hardest
of hearts.

~*~*~*~

Legolas knelt on one knee as he studied the Dwarf before him. Gimli was
sleeping soundly with his arms crossed and with his chin resting on his
chest. His snoring, the Elf was pleased to note, was much quieter than
when he heard it last. Indeed, it was almost tolerable. It would be a
pity to wake him. Still, the Elf reached over with his left hand and
gently shook the Dwarf’s shoulder.

“Come, my friend. You are tired. We had best head back so you may rest
properly.” The Elf made to stand but was stopped by the Dwarf’s firm
grasp.

“I am not so tired that we cannot finish the conversation we almost
started,” Gimli told him. He motioned for the Elf to sit down.

One look at his friend’s stern face told Legolas that they would not be
going anywhere until Gimli was satisfied. He elegantly crossed his legs
as he sat down facing the Dwarf.

“What is it you wish to speak of?”

“Why are you avoiding this summons from Aragorn?”

Legolas shook his head. The Dwarf was not known for his subtlety. He
shrugged his shoulders uncharacteristically in response.

“There was a time when the two of you were the closest of friends.”
Gimli paused. “I had thought that perhaps your friendship ran even
deeper.”

“For a Dwarf, your eyesight is keen.”

A silence fell between them and Gimli waited for the Elf to continue.

“It is much harder than I ever imagined,” Legolas whispered. “To know
that your love is returned, but that it never can be.”

“Why then do you stay here, Legolas?” Gimli prodded. “Ithilien is but a
stone’s throw away.”

“To be near him,” Legolas replied simply. “To know that I have the
choice to go to Gondor, though I shall never take it. And besides, did I
not promise to restore Ithilien to its former beauty, just as you vowed
to return to the Glittering Caves?”

“Aye,” the Dwarf agreed, “and in that respect we have both been true to
our word. But what of the Sea?”

“The longing is ever present, like a song at the back of my mind. Some
days it sings louder than others, but it is not deafening yet. One day
when I am ready, I shall heed its call and pass over the Sea. For now, I
have too many attachments still and a promise to keep.”

Gimli wondered at the Elf’s last remark, but said nothing. Another
silence fell between them.

“Will you accompany me to Minas Tirith?”

“If I have to drag you there by your pretty little braids,” the Dwarf
declared as he stood up, indicating that he was satisfied with the
night’s talk. “At last I may get some rest.”

“There are talans nearby, should the walk back be too much for you,” the
Elf suggested, also rising to his feet.

Gimli snorted in indignation. “I prefer the comforts of a warm bed,” he
said, stalking off in what he hoped was the right direction.


Chapter 2. The Meeting

The peaceful morning was interrupted by the sound of thundering hooves
as a small group of riders galloped towards the White City. Three men,
three elves and a lone dwarf rode along the city’s perimeter, towards
the city’s outer gates. The guards on duty stood aside, saluting them as
the company rode past. A cry of trumpets was heard, marking their
arrival. A reply came from the distance, signaling that the city’s gates
were being opened for them.

The first rays of sunlight hit the turrets of Minas Tirith, reflecting
their light over the plains. Legolas looked at the approaching city, the
knot in his chest growing tighter. It was going to be a glorious day,
yet the Elf felt as though he were riding to his doom. He turned to the
man on his left.

“Did the summons say why my presence is needed?” he asked.

“No, Legolas,” Faramir replied. It was the third time that morning the
Elf had asked that question. Although the Prince gave no sign of outward
distress, clearly something was amiss. “The summons merely requested
that I escort you to Minas Tirith personally.”

“Ha! A good thing I decided to pay a visit to Ithilien,” the Dwarf spoke
up from behind the Elf, “otherwise you may not have been able to
accomplish even that!”

Faramir laughed and even Legolas managed a small smile. “Let us ride on
then,” the Man said, “for my duty is almost done.”

~*~*~*~

Aragorn paced the tower room where he preferred to meet personal guests,
instead of the overly formal throne room he used for state affairs. He
stopped by the arching window, spreading his hands against the sill. He
had seen the party pass through the city’s gates moments ago. No doubt
they had arrived at the courtyard by now. There was a strange feeling of
anticipation he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Why was this?

Warm arms encircled his waist and a body pressed against his. “[They are
on their way up, my love.]”

Arwen led her husband to the table in the middle of the room where they
both took a seat. Several minutes later the door opened and the Steward
of Gondor walked in. Behind him came Gimli and both bowed before the
King. “I have brought someone as you requested,” Faramir said, “thanks
to the assistance of a certain dwarf,” he added with a sidelong glance.

Aragorn rose to greet his friends just as Legolas appeared in the
doorway. He drew in his breath at the sight of the Elf. It had been many
years since they had been in such close proximity to one another, but he
had crystallized the Elf’s face in his memory. Truly, Legolas was as
beautiful as he remembered, perhaps even more so. Yet the King couldn’t
help but feel that there was something different about him. As the Elf
bowed and then drew up to meet his gaze, he understood what it was. It
was pain. Aragorn’s heart ached with the knowledge that he was the cause
of such suffering.

“I am pleased that you have come,” he said, extending his hand.

Legolas accepted it in a firm warrior’s handshake, much too formal for
Aragorn’s liking. “I am sorry for the delay,” he replied.

“Legolas, how wonderful it is to see you.” Arwen’s skirt brushed her
husband’s leg as she walked past him to embrace the Elf. “Too seldom do
my kin visit the White City and you most of all.”

“Then I shall have to make amends.”

Arwen’s dark eyes glinted mischievously. “Elessar has thought of the
perfect way for you to do just that.” She smiled, turning to the others.
“I shall leave you gentlemen now to attend to your affairs.”

Faramir stepped aside to allow the Queen to pass, bowing once again as
she did so.

“Let us begin.” Aragorn moved back to the table. Faramir took the seat
to his right while Legolas took the seat to his left, Gimli sitting on
the other side of the Elf.

~*~*~*~

Legolas was only dimly aware of the conversation floating around him.
Aragorn was inquiring how things fared in Ithilien. Faramir spoke of the
exceptionally good harvest this year and how peaceful the border patrols
had become. Legolas nodded his acquiescence every now and then when
Faramir looked to him for confirmation. The discussion moved to the
kingdom of Rohan and Gimli spoke proudly of the continuing work the
Dwarves were doing in the Glittering Caves. All was peaceful there as
well.

Legolas tried to concentrate as the talk continued. The walk up to the
tower room had been sheer torture for him. It was as though his feet
were turning into lead with every step he took. Now, sitting so near the
man he had not seen in countless moons made his senses impossibly acute.
Aragorn had been outside. The fresh scent of morning dew was still upon
him, as was the faint scent of honeysuckle. He had taken a walk in the
garden. Legolas could hear the slight scrape of his boot against the
floor as Aragorn shifted position. Out of the corner of his eye, he
observed the bristles on Aragorn’s chin. *Even though he is King, he
still does not shave,* he thought distractedly.

“Legolas?”

He looked up to see three faces gazing at him expectantly.

“What do you think?”

“It is a splendid idea,” he heard himself answer.

Faramir nodded in agreement. “Three months is ample time to make
preparations and spread the word. It shall be a magnificent celebration
and no doubt the tournament will be graced by the finest warriors in the
land.”

“Then it is settled.”

The discussion appeared to have drawn to a close. Legolas was still at a
loss as to why he had been summoned, unless it had already been
mentioned and he had completely missed it. His brow furrowed as he tried
to replay the conversation in his mind.

“By your leave, I shall return to Ithilien,” he heard Faramir say. “And
what about you Gimli?”

The Dwarf looked at his friend before replying. “I shall remain here for
a few days, if only to ensure that this Elf doesn’t get lost in these
fair halls. If you don’t mind, Aragorn,” he added.

Aragorn laughed. “We would be glad to have you.” He stood up. Faramir
and Gimli followed suit, the man letting the Dwarf go before him. Just
as Legolas was about to follow them, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He
stopped and turned around. “Will you walk with me? We still have other
matters to discuss.”

He looked into Aragorn’s eyes searchingly. Such deep sea-gray eyes. He
could lose himself in their depths.

“Yes, of course.”

~*~*~*~

Legolas was glad to be outdoors again. He lifted his face to the sun,
enjoying its warmth as he walked. Beside him Aragorn walked silently. 
He
could feel the man observing him and idly wondered what he thought.
Legolas did not know where they were headed, nor did he particularly
care. He was content for the moment to pretend that fate had not dealt
him such a cruel hand, that it was simply a fine, clear day and he was
strolling among the gardens of the White City with the man he loved.

“You look well.”

The illusion was shattered.

“As do you.”

Aragorn appeared to be searching for something else to say and finally
settled for, “What have you been doing these many years?”

Legolas proceeded to recount the familiar goings on in Ithilien before
Aragorn stopped him. “No, Legolas. I mean, what have *you* been 
doing?”

The Elf tilted his head thoughtfully before answering. Aragorn could not
help but admire how the sun caught the fine, golden locks as it cascaded
down his friend’s shoulders. “I have kept myself occupied,” he said at
last. “When all is calm in Ithilien, I enjoy traveling to other lands.”

“With Gimli?”

“Most of the time. He is a great source of strength for me, though I
would be loath to admit it to him.”

Aragorn smiled. It almost felt as though nothing had changed.

“I journey to Greenwood more often now. Father has mellowed somewhat
over the years and our relationship has improved significantly.”

“That is good to hear.”

“Yes, he is less wary now of the race of Men,” Legolas paused, “but he
still dislikes the Dwarf.”

“That would be putting it mildly.”

Both of them laughed and a more comfortable silence followed.

“Often have I visited Ithilien only to discover that you are never there
to receive me.”

“The timing has been unfortunate.”

“Perhaps, but in all your travels not once have you journeyed to Gondor,
even though we are your nearest neighbor.”

“It is precisely for that reason I prefer to visit more distant lands.”

Aragorn stopped suddenly and grasped the Elf’s arm, pulling him close.
“I once had a friend,” he whispered into the tip of a pointed ear, “with
whom I shared everything. I gave him my heart and he gave me his 
wisdom.
I would draw my strength from him and he would kiss my uncertainty and
troubles away. Do you know where he is for I have missed him terribly.”
He drew away to look into the Elf’s eyes, but did not release him from
his grasp.

Legolas gazed back impassively, his flawless face giving away none of
the anguish he felt inside. “You speak of another lifetime, Aragorn. Why
have you summoned me here?”

A look of frustration crossed the King’s face. He was about to say
something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he released the Elf’s
arm and began walking again. Legolas easily fell into step beside him.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” he said after a short while. “My son has
developed a keen interest in archery. He is a competent archer now, but
remains unsatisfied with our instructors here. His mother has told him
that the greatest archers in Middle Earth are to be found among the
Eldar, particularly among her kin in Greenwood the Great, and none more
highly skilled than the youngest son of Thranduil himself.”

Legolas listened attentively, his curiosity piqued.

“I would be honored therefore,” Aragorn continued, “if you would
instruct my son in the ways of your craft. He is a swift learner and
will no doubt benefit immensely from your tutelage . . . as I once did.”

The Elf remained silent. It was an intriguing proposition. He remembered
summer days long gone spent in open fields, a time when Aragorn was
still Estel and his heritage had not yet laid claim to his destiny.

“Eldarion wishes to enter the archery competition of the upcoming
commemorative celebration,” the King went on. “That would give you
approximately three months to train him. What do you say?”

This time the Elf turned to face him. He had never been able to refuse
this Man. “I would be pleased to teach your son.”

“Good.” The two stood facing each other and for the first time that
morning, Legolas felt as though he were truly at peace. Without quite
realizing what he was doing, Aragorn lifted his hand to gently stroke
the golden mane. A lover’s caress. Legolas closed his eyes and leaned
into the touch. “There was never a future for us,” the Man murmured
sadly.

“My head knows this Aragorn,” the Elf whispered, “but my heart cannot
accept it.”

~*~*~*~

It was much later that afternoon as Prince Eldarion was returning from
the stables, tired and streaked with grime from a hard day’s ride that
he caught sight of a beautiful creature perched high upon a grassy knoll
overlooking the city below. His long legs were drawn up to his chest and
his arms were wrapped around them. A gentle breeze blew the free-
flowing blond mane. Eldarion was entranced by the sight. As though the creature
could sense he was being watched, he slowly turned his head and a
secretive smile graced the corners of his lips. It was at that moment
Eldarion knew that his heart was no longer his.


Chapter 3. The Kiss

It was the fifth morning of Eldarion’s archery lessons and already the
young man had shown marked improvement. He was, as his father had said,
a competent archer, but Legolas discerned nearly imperceptible flaws in
the mortal’s technique. He knew Eldarion could be better. Much better.
He would see to it that the youth made full use of his potential.

However, the archer felt that the Prince’s mind was not entirely focused
on the task at hand. There was something distracting him and until the
Elf could find out what that was, his teaching would be hampered.
Legolas pondered this as he drew another arrow and took aim.

For his part, Eldarion watched the Elf transfixed. Never before had he
seen such grace and fluidity wielded through bow and arrow. Legolas
moved as though he were one with his bow, as though it were an extension
of his very arm. He drew and fired with such a startling economy of
movement, not once missing his mark.

Eldarion found his eyes roaming the rest of the lithe figure before him.
The Elf seemed so fragile, but he knew enormous strength belied the
deceptively slender frame. His father had told him many a bedtime story
involving the heroics of the Elven warrior. He had no doubt that the Elf
had mastered many other arts aside from those of war. His eyes came to
rest on the slim, long-fingered hands. There were more intimate skills
those elegant hands had practiced. His gaze moved to the sensuous mouth.
Such soft lips. He could almost feel his skin being caressed by tender
kisses. *What would the Elf taste like?* he wondered. *What kind of
lover would Legolas be?*

“Eldarion?”

The Man felt himself blush slightly at the sound of his name. He drove
away the thoughts that filled his mind. Now was not the time. Legolas
was waiting for him to take his turn. He picked up his bow and stepped
up to the firing line. He drew an arrow, carefully adjusting the
position of his arm as Legolas had taught him. He fired. Legolas watched
silently as Eldarion released arrow after arrow into the air.

When he was done, he turned towards the Elf expectantly. Legolas held
his gaze and Eldarion found himself captivated once more.

“That was better,” the Elf finally said, “but you are still dropping the
position of your arm in consecutive shots. Here, let me show you.”

Eldarion held his breath as Legolas moved behind him. Strong arms
covered his own and the Elf’s hands began guiding his. Legolas’
instructions were lost on him; all he could hear was the drumbeat of his
own heart. It was threatening to burst from his chest. Surely, the Elf
could feel it. He concentrated on his breathing, allowing Legolas to
guide him through the motions.

Legolas could feel the young man’s body tense at his touch. It saddened
him to think that the Prince was uncomfortable by his nearness. “That
will be enough for today,” he said at last. “We will continue again
tomorrow.”

Eldarion felt the loss as the Elf stepped away. He watched as Legolas
walked towards the targets to retrieve his arrows.

A messenger approached the practice range and bowed respectfully before
the Prince. “Your Highness,” he said, “your mother requests your
presence in the main drawing room. The Duchess of Alden and the Lady
Eleanor have paid a visit.”

Eldarion nodded. “I shall join them presently.”

The messenger bowed again and then left. Eldarion made his way to where
Legolas stood and began removing his own arrows from the targets.

“You have visitors?”

The Prince looked at him surprised. He had forgotten how keen of hearing
Elves were. “Yes,” he replied. “The Lady Eleanor and her mother have
arrived.”

“The Lady Eleanor,” Legolas inquired, “is someone special to you?”

Eldarion found himself blushing again and studiously concentrated on the
arrows before him. “She is from one of the noblest families in Gondor,”
he explained. “Father thinks it would be a good match.”

“But you do not agree.”

“Lady Eleanor is a fine, gracious young woman. But I am not interested
in her.” He hesitated. “I have lost my heart to someone else,” he said
quietly.

Legolas had finished collecting his arrows and stood facing the Prince.
“Does your father know this?”

“Oh, no! No!” the young man cried emphatically. “The one I love does not
even know!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, wishing he had not spoken.

“Ah, I see.” Legolas smiled understandingly. There was a tinge of
sadness as he spoke, “To find true love is an elusive gift. I have known
you but a little while, but already I can see you are a good person,
with a pure and generous heart. Take the leap, Eldarion,” he encouraged.
“Tell her what you feel. She would be foolish to reject what you offer.”

Eldarion regarded the Elf in shock. He seemed to have lost his voice. If
only Legolas knew what he asked, would he still feel the same? “I . . .
ah . . . I . . . will you join us, Legolas?” he managed to say at last.

The Elf shook his head. “Sadly, I cannot. Please send my apologies to
your mother and your guests. Gimli is departing today and I must see him
off.”

“Oh, I had forgotten.” Eldarion could not hide his disappointment.
“Please give him my best as well. Perhaps I shall see you later?”

“Certainly.” Legolas was pleased. He was growing quite fond of the young
man’s company.

Together they walked to the main courtyard of the high tower where they
parted ways. Eldarion watched the Prince’s departing figure for a moment
before he turned inside. Preparing himself to meet his guests, he felt
strangely calm. He had reached a decision. He would heed the Elf’s
advice.

~*~*~*~

The Dwarf waited with his arms crossed at the far end of the courtyard.
He had seen the Man and the Elf part ways and had not missed the
mortal’s lingering glance. It was one of many the Dwarf had seen during
the course of his stay. He shook his head. *Ah, my friend. What a
tangled web you weave.*

“You are late!” he bellowed, when the Elf was only a few paces away.

Legolas stopped in front of him and drew himself up to his full height,
hands on his hips as he towered over the Dwarf. “You should be grateful
that I grace you with my presence at all.”

Gimli scoffed. “How typical of an Elf to evade the subject at hand. Has
spending too much time with Aragorn’s son slowed your wit?”

“On the contrary,” Legolas replied, mellowing at the thought of
Eldarion, “I find his company stimulating. Far more valuable than
yours.”

“Pray tell, in what way?” the Dwarf asked mockingly.

The Elf swept his arm before him, indicating that they should make their
way to the courtyard’s entrance where a messenger from Rohan awaited the
Dwarf. “We share much in common, not just a love for archery.”

“So, the young Prince loves trees too?” Gimli commented dryly, as they
began to walk.

“Eldarion has a love and appreciation for all life.”

“The two of you appear to have become quite close in such a short period
of time.”

“I believe so. He confided in me today that he is in love.”

“Oh? I would have thought that rather obvious.”

The Elf cast him a strange glance but continued, “To complicate matters,
the object of his affection does not even know.”

“That much is clear to me.”

“Since when do Dwarves speak in riddles?”

“We have our moments. But tell me, Legolas,” Gimli said, stopping to get
the Elf’s attention, “what did *you* say to such a revelation?”

“I told him love is a rare gift. He should pursue his interest and not
let this opportunity pass.”

At this the Dwarf burst out laughing. He laughed even harder when he saw
the perplexed expression on his friend’s face. “Really, Legolas,” he
said in between gasps for air, “for an Elf, you are remarkably blind.”

“And too much time spent in dark caves has finally driven you to
madness!”

Gimli wiped a tear from his eye as they resumed walking. “Eldarion is in
love,” he agreed. “He’s in love with YOU!”

This time it was the Elf’s turn to stop. “You are mistaken,” he said,
quite seriously.

“I think not.”

Legolas’ brow creased. He caught sight of the rider from Rohan who was
speaking to an off-duty sentry. His magnificent horse pawed the ground
restlessly beside him. It was eager to be off. The Elf could suddenly
empathize.

The two friends continued their walk in silence. Legolas was deep in
thought. Was Eldarion really in love with him? There had been signs he’d
refused to acknowledge. He had rationalized it as the young man’s
inexperience, perhaps even slight awe.

“To love a mortal is folly,” he said aloud.

“Ah, but you are already guilty of that,” the Dwarf reminded him
bluntly.

The Elf did not reply. They had reached the courtyard entrance and the
rider gave them a slight bow. He mounted his horse, bending to assist
the Dwarf. When Gimli was seated comfortably he spoke again, “Do not be
so quick to reject what he offers. Perchance it is the son who can heal
the scars the father has left behind.”

Legolas shook his head. “Gimli, when did you become so wise?”

“Must be all the time I spend with Elves,” he replied, the faintest
touch of sarcasm in his voice. Then he smiled to take the sting away
from his words. “Come,” he said to the rider, with a tap on the man’s
shoulder. “Let us be off!”

With a nod of his head the rider obligingly spurred his horse on.
Legolas lifted his hand in a salute, watching as his friend rode to the
city gates.

~*~*~*~

The Elf was conspicuously absent from the midday meal. Eldarion would
glance at Legolas’ empty place every so often, a fact that did not
escape his father’s notice. The King himself was also wondering at the
Elf’s absence. But he did not wonder long, as the Duchess and her
daughter had decided to stay for lunch and he found himself playing the
role of a charming host. Thankfully, Arwen was playing the role of a
charming hostess even better.

As soon as the meal ended, Eldarion excused himself to escape outside.
He preferred the outdoors, his Elvish blood instilling in him the desire
for open space and the sounds of nature. His feet began treading a
well-known path that led to the Queen’s private gardens, where he had
spent many hours playing as a child. He caught a flash of blond as he
entered and froze.

Legolas.

The Elf’s words of encouragement had haunted him the rest of the morning
and throughout the noontime meal. Lady Eleanor had even commented
chidingly on his unusual lack of attentiveness. It had served to make
the Elf’s absence more palpable. Now, with the subject of his thoughts
mere feet away, Eldarion summoned his courage and bridged the distance
the between them.

“Hello Eldarion,” the Elf greeted him without so much as turning around.

The young Prince stood beside him, observing the Elf quietly as he
caressed a rare flower. “Your company was missed during lunch.”

Legolas turned to face him. “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I was
preoccupied.”

There was a moment of silence as Eldarion struggled to find the words to
express his feelings. It was proving to be incredibly difficult.
However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a female voice
calling his name. Recognizing it as the voice of Lady Eleanor, Eldarion
panicked. Without thinking, he grabbed the Elf’s hand and pulled him
deeper into the garden.

If Legolas was surprised by the speed that the young man exhibited, he
did not show it. But when Eldarion leaped into a rather large oak tree
and began climbing it as though he were one of the Firstborn, the Elf
could not contain his astonishment.

“Quick!” Eldarion hissed from the branches high above, motioning for the
Elf to join him. “Climb up before someone sees you!”

Legolas found himself amused by the Prince’s unusual behavior and
obligingly followed him up the tree. Eldarion was sitting on a broad
branch. He moved over to allow the Elf to sit beside him. Legolas tested
the strength of the branch before joining him. Together they sat and
waited.

Lady Eleanor’s voice drifted in their direction. “I thought I saw him
here just a moment ago.”

“There is no one here now,” another female voice replied.

“King Elessar told me that he was heading for these gardens,” Lady
Eleanor insisted.

“He must have escaped another way,” a third voice answered
lightheartedly. “Even my son cannot scale these walls.”

The three women laughed as the Queen of Gondor led them back towards the
main hall. She cast a meaningful glance at a certain oak tree at the
back of the garden. Legolas caught the glance and smiled to himself.

“Your mother is your ally in your little escapade,” he whispered.

“She is my greatest champion,” Eldarion agreed.

“Do you shirk you duty often?” the Elf teased.

“I would hardly call this shirking my ‘duty’,” the Prince replied
hotly.  “I have been most courteous and amiable to our guests all
morning. I just felt the need to step outside for a little while, for a
measure of peace and – ”

“[Calm yourself], Eldarion,” Legolas said soothingly, placing a
comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I was jesting. [Oftentimes in my
youth have I been guilty of the same.]”

“[Then we are brothers in that respect.]”

For the second time that day, Legolas found himself looking at Eldarion
in slight wonder. “You are truly full of surprises today, young Prince,”
the Elf told him. “Why did you not tell me that you knew the language of
my people?”

Eldarion shrugged. “The subject never arose,” he replied. “Mother and
father both wanted me to learn Sindarin. They did not want me to lose
touch with my Elvish heritage.” He paused. “Quenya was another matter.”

Legolas laughed. It was a lovely, musical laugh that made Eldarion
suddenly feel very tired. He would never be able to tell the Elven
Prince his feelings. If only he could show him. But how? “We should go
now,” he said. He had become aware of their closeness and wished to
distance himself immediately. It hurt to be so near and yet so far, his
words of love never reaching his lips. He stood up quickly and in his
haste did not pay attention to his footing. His boot slipped and just as
he feared he was going to fall, a strong arm pulled him to his feet and
another wrapped around his waist to ensure his balance.

Eldarion closed his eyes and let his senses wash over him. He was
conscious of their intimacy, every inch of his body pressed against the
fair Elf. He inhaled Legolas’ scent. It was intoxicating. Still the Elf
did not release him. He did not know how many moments passed, but he
feared that opening his eyes would make the wondrous dream fade away.
The hand that held his arm had moved to join the other around his waist.
Eldarion wished nothing more than to lay his head upon the Elf’s breast
and stay in his warm embrace. Instead, he opened his eyes. Legolas was
gazing at him with an intensity that stole his breath away. It felt as
though the Elf were peering into his very soul.

Legolas had been studying the young Prince in his arms. He had not
noticed before how very beautiful Eldarion was. The man’s tanned, golden
skin was a sharp contrast to his own. The youth radiated energy and
life. Could he share in such promise? When at last Eldarion opened his
eyes, he found himself captivated by their familiar sea-gray depths.
*Estel*

He found he could think no longer as tender lips covered his own.
Legolas welcomed the kiss without hesitation. He could feel the young
man melt against him. Boldly, he opened his mouth and was rewarded when
a warm tongue came out to meet his own. He gently coaxed it to enter and
explore him. He was encouraged by the youth’s response and felt
Eldarion’s hands travel up his back, pressing them more tightly
together. When Eldarion’s tongue retreated, Legolas followed, taking the
time to discover him in turn. It felt strangely familiar to Legolas, as
though they were lost lovers rediscovering one another.

When the kiss ended, Eldarion looked into the Elf’s eyes once more. The
same desire burned there. There was no mistaking it. But before he could
open his mouth to speak, the Elf pressed a finger to his lips and leaned
forward to whisper in his ear. His voice caressed him like a seduction.

“[That was lovely], Eldarion,” he said softly. “[But it must never
happen again.]”

Before the shock could register, the Elf had vanished and Eldarion was
left standing amidst the branches of the giant oak. A gentle breeze blew
and cut him to the bone. He leaned against the tree’s trunk for support
as the weight of the Elf’s words became clear to him. Hot tears began to
prick the back of eyes. He did not understand.

~*~*~*~

In the cool of the evening, the Queen of Gondor sat on her favorite
marble bench in her garden. It had been an eventful day. She often came
here to rest and collect her thoughts. She had much to think about.
Foremost in her mind was her son. How could she help him?

As if on cue, Eldarion appeared. He sought his mother’s comfort and knew
that she would be here. Wordlessly, he sat down beside her and rested
his head on her shoulder. The Queen smiled, wrapping one arm around her
son, drawing him closer. She reached over and took one of his hands in
her own. They sat together in peaceful silence, listening to the night
birds’ songs.

“[What troubles you, my son?]” Arwen asked after a while.

“[My heart is troubled,]” the Prince answered.

“[The Lady Eleanor does not return your affection?]”

“[It is not her affection I seek.]”

Arwen phrased her next words carefully before speaking. “We do not
choose who we love. Our hearts choose for us. You must give the one you
love time for their heart to mend and when they are ready, your love
will be returned.”

“Time,” Eldarion repeated bitterly. “I only have so much.”

“And Legolas has an infinite supply.”

Eldarion sighed at the sound of the Elf’s name. He was not really
surprised that his mother had known his heart’s desire. She had always
been able to read him better than anyone else. At times, he thought she
knew him better than he knew himself.

“I do not understand him, Mother. He made me believe that he felt the
same way. His kiss told me as much. Why does he close his heart to me?”

“When you know the answer to that question, you shall understand the
depth of his sorrow and how much he must overcome before he can return
your love.”

Eldarion remained silent. His mother’s words were a mystery to him, but
it was a mystery that he would unravel. Yes, he decided. He would wait
for the Elf. He would build and strengthen their friendship until
Legolas would no longer look upon him as a pupil, but as a comrade, a
companion, and perchance, in time, something more.

~*~*~*~

The days passed, turning into weeks and then months. All too soon it
seemed that the grand celebration was upon them. Legolas found that he
spent almost all his time in the Prince’s company.  When they were not
at the practice range, he would partake in the Prince’s daily duties as
if they were his own. Being with Eldarion brought him peace. Oftentimes,
they would commune with the trees or watch the stars at night. He taught
the young man many Elvish songs and discovered that Eldarion had a fair
voice that made a fine counterpoint to his own. Slowly but surely,
Legolas was falling in love with the mortal prince. He recognized the
signs. But whenever his feelings threatened to reach the surface, he
smothered them. He would not make the same mistake twice.


Chapter 4. The Competition

For the past two weeks, parties and delegations had been arriving at the
White City. All the major fiefs of Gondor were represented, the largest
contingents coming from Ithilien and Dol Amroth. Arwen’s wish was
fulfilled as large numbers of her kin had decided to partake in the
festivities. A host of Elves came from Ithilien, happy to be reunited
with their Prince. A surprisingly large party also arrived from Lórien,
headed by the Golden Wood’s ever-faithful Guardian, Haldir. The 
Guardian had greeted Legolas with a kiss so intimate, both King Elessar 
and his son had watched in stunned silence. Indeed, many Elves were 
eager to see the fair Elven Prince, none more so than his elder brother and 
sister, Orothor and Onela, who had come from Greenwood on behalf of 
Thranduil. Among the parties from Lórien and Greenwood were some of 
the most talented Elves in song, dance and lore who had agreed to perform 
during the succeeding nights of the celebration.

King Eomer of Rohan had also been one of the earliest to arrive. The
Rohirrim looked forward to the jousting competition, which, with their
unparalleled riding skill would be their greatest strength. However,
they were no less eager to spar with the men of Gondor in the field of
swordplay or any other aspect of man-to-man combat. The archery they
were less keen on and with the number of Elves present, thought it best
to leave it be. They insisted on attending to their own horses and did
so religiously. No one was surprised, nor took offense at this, for all
knew the consequences of one foolish enough to stand between a Rohirrim
and his steed.

Together with the Rohirrim came the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves.
What a sight they made as they entered the White City; each rider
carrying a most unhappy Dwarf. Since then the Dwarves had been
patronizing the many taverns of Minas Tirith, pleasing their proprietors
to no end. Although the ale flowed freely and the bars echoed with
boisterous drinking songs, never did things get out of hand.

During the day, Men, Elves and Dwarves worked together to prepare for
the great celebration. It had been twenty-five years since the War of
the Ring and peace had been brought to the land. It was fitting that the
silver anniversary of the destruction of the One Ring should be
celebrated as such. The celebration would take place over three days
with different competitions being held during the day and the banquets
and entertainment to take place at night. The first day was devoted
entirely to archery; the second to one-on-one combat of different
weapons including broad sword, long knife, mace and axe; and the third
to jousting.

An enormous pavilion had been constructed at the base of the city. It
served as a meeting place for the participants of the various
competitions, to receive instructions and to keep track of their
progress as well as that of their fellow competitors. Airy and spacious,
it had become a natural gathering place for all the races; where one
could relax and have their fill of food and drink should they desire it.
Numerous grandstands were also erected to accommodate the growing 
crowds of spectators. The archery range was carefully prepared and would 
easily be converted into a jousting arena for the third day of competition. 
For the combat contests, many smaller arenas had been constructed to 
allow multiple matches to take place at the same time. These areas quickly
became popular with the crowds, as they were intimate enough to allow
greater access to the competitors.

King Elessar oversaw all the proceedings in his city and was pleased
with the co-operation and warm interaction he witnessed among the races.
It was as it should be. He thought about all this as he escorted his
wife to the royal grandstand, where they would watch the archery
competition. The people rose as they approached, waiting respectfully
for the King and Queen of Gondor to take their place before sitting down
again. Aragorn scanned the royal stand searching for a certain
fair-haired Prince. He soon found him talking animatedly with his
sister. On his left was Gimli, who had a broad smile on his face as he
listened to Legolas’ tale. The Elf was gesturing with his hands, no
doubt recounting one of his more amusing teaching experiences with
Eldarion. Gimli and Onela both laughed in appreciation. Just as Legolas
finished his story, he glanced in Aragorn’s direction. The King held his
gaze and for a few moments the two of them were locked in a battle of
wills. Then Legolas’ eyes softened and he bowed his head slightly before
returning his attention to his companions.

Aragorn looked away, a familiar feeling of frustration coming over him.
It had been three months since Legolas first came to Minas Tirith and
nothing had been resolved between them. If anything, their forced
proximity to one another had increased the tension in their already
strained relationship. Although the Elf lived within the same walls, his
room in the same wing as the royal bedchambers, Aragorn rarely saw him.
Legolas was a ghost flitting in and out of his life, the memory of a
friendship that once saw him through life’s vicissitudes all but a
distant recollection.

Though the King rebuked himself harshly, Aragorn could not help but feel
the pangs of envy at the amount of time his son spent with the Elven
Prince. The archery lessons were merely the beginning. Now, it seemed as
though they were together every waking moment. They had taken to one
another so quickly and so easily. Could Aragorn really have expected it
to be any other way? His son was the mirror image of himself in both
temperament and physique. As for Legolas, the King knew firsthand of the
Prince’s bewitching charms. The possibility that their closeness had
exceeded the bonds of friendship was a thought that crossed the King’s
mind more often than he cared to admit, though neither had given any
indication for him to believe so.

About two weeks ago, Legolas had given Eldarion a magnificent bow and
quiver that the Elf had finely handcrafted himself. The words “Strength
and Courage” were inscribed in Elvish on the hilt of the bow and the
quiver was made of the finest Elven material, making it light yet
durable, with the seal of Gondor embroidered in its center.  Eldarion
had been understandably delighted, embracing Legolas warmly in thanks.
Aragorn had watched the scene unfold with a mixture of emotions. While
proud of his son’s accomplishments and believing the gift to be most
fitting for the occasion, the bond between the two had become strikingly
apparent to him. It made him realize how much he had sacrificed for his
people and the good of Gondor. Could he ever truly know how great was
his own personal loss? After twenty-five years, was he now starting to
question his decision?

Aragorn shook himself out of his musings. He was being selfish. He did
not know what he wanted from the Elven Prince, nor what he could offer
in return. The decision had been made long ago and he would have to live
with it. He would not begrudge his son’s newfound friendship.

And yet, however illogically, he still hoped.

~*~*~*~

The response to the archery competition had been overwhelming. There 
was a fair mixture of both Men and Elves with a total of 160 competitors 
in all. They had been divided into eight groups of twenty archers for the
elimination rounds. Slowly but steadily, the numbers of the competitors
diminished until there were only five archers left in each group. From
there, three archers per group would move on to make up the final
twenty-four competitors.

Eldarion stepped up to the firing line, waiting for the signal to be
given. He drew his arrow and took aim. The herald blew his trumpet and
five arrows were released into the air. Three of them hit the bull’s
eye, Eldarion’s arrow among them. He would be one of the final
twenty-four competitors along with the two remaining Elves from his
grouping, Gwaidor of Greenwood and Hrethil of Lórien. Eldarion had paid
particular attention to Gwaidor during the course of the morning. He was
one of Greenwood’s finest archers, as well as being the Captain of the
King’s Guard. He had gone on many a patrol with Thranduil’s youngest 
son and their roles had been reversed over the course of millennia. Where
once Gwaidor had been the teacher and leader, Legolas had gradually
matured into his role of Commander and Prince. Legolas held Gwaidor in
the highest esteem, and in turn the Captain of the King’s Guard would
gladly give his life for the young Prince. Eldarion played these
thoughts in his mind as the final round began. He knew Gwaidor would be
there until the very end. He only hoped that he would be as well.

The last twenty-four competitors were composed of sixteen Elves and
eight Men. As the targets grew farther in distance and the shooting ever
more precise, Eldarion soon discovered that he was the only Man left in
the field. The Prince was honest with himself at all times. He knew full
well that the reason for his success thus far was just as much due to
his exceptional eyesight, which far exceeded that of an ordinary man, as
it was to his skill with bow and arrow. Still, he had a burning desire
to win this competition, not so much to prove himself as one of the
greatest archers in the land, but for Legolas. Although he knew the Elf
would be proud of him regardless of whether or not he became champion,
Eldarion did not feel that was enough. He wanted to leave no doubt in
the Elf’s mind that he had absorbed every lesson and had valued every
moment they had spent together. Just as Legolas had given him a bow and
arrow as a symbol of the depth of their friendship, winning this
tournament would be his gift to the Elf in return.

Eldarion turned to look at the royal grandstand, hoping to get an
encouraging smile from the fair Prince, but Legolas’ attention was
directed elsewhere. Slightly curious, Eldarion followed the direction of
the Elf’s gaze and discovered that Legolas was looking at his father. He
would have not given this a second thought, except for the intensity
that his father exhibited in return. The two seemed oblivious to their
surroundings, wordlessly communicating with their eyes. Eldarion 
watched them, puzzled by their reaction. The Elven Prince’s usually 
infallible mask betrayed a strange expression that the young man could not 
quite place. He looked back and forth from Legolas to his father and found 
the same sad expression touched the King’s features.

It was at that moment his mother’s words from months past suddenly
became clear to him. *Why does he close his heart to me?* he had asked
her. *When you know the answer to that question, you shall understand
the depth of his sorrow and how much he must overcome before he can
return your love.*

Eldarion quickly looked at the ground, his mind trying to comprehend
this stunning realization. How could he have not seen this sooner? Was
he really so blind? The pieces fit together. It explained why Legolas
had never visited the White City before, although all told him that the
Elf and his father were the fastest of friends. It also explained why
Legolas conveniently, albeit skillfully avoided the King’s company
whenever possible. He could not bear to be so near the one he loved. And
as for his father! The King reciprocated the Elf’s feelings. That much
was clear to him. How long had this been going on? Did his mother know?
His mind was assaulted by questions that he could not hope to answer.
Breathing was becoming difficult. The air appeared to have grown thin,
as though he were on top of a high summit, instead of in the midst of an
archery range.

“Prince Eldarion?”

He looked up to see Gwaidor standing in front of him. The ancient Elf
looked utterly composed and Eldarion wondered why he had not been
blessed with that most Elvish of traits.

“It is your turn, my Lord.” The Elf gestured towards the firing line.

“Thank you,” Eldarion replied, still disoriented. He found himself
automatically looking in Legolas’ direction again. This time the Elf’s
attention was directed solely at him, an expression of concern on his
delicate features. Eldarion smiled weakly to reassure him. Legolas did
not appear convinced but he smiled encouragingly in return. Eldarion
stepped up to the firing line once more. His vision was clouded as he
released his arrow and he knew that it was not his best shot. But it was
enough, as the arrow of the remaining Lórien Elf had been slightly wider
of the center of the bull’s eye than his own. He would now face Gwaidor
for the mantel of tournament champion.

“Your pupil seems distracted,” Gimli commented to Legolas as they
watched Eldarion waiting for Gwaidor to take his next shot.

“I agree. It is most unusual. I wonder what could be distressing him.”

“A certain Elven Prince, perhaps?”

Legolas glared at the Dwarf warningly, but did not justify the comment
with his own remark. Instead, he turned his attention back to the range.
Gwaidor had just released his arrow. It was a perfect shot, hitting the
dead center of the red bull’s eye. Legolas knew Eldarion would be hard
pressed to do something better, if that were at all possible.

Eldarion had watched the shot, a feeling of resignation creeping over
him. The target seemed impossibly far away; he could not recall ever
having fired from such a distance before. The Prince took a moment to
clear his mind. He closed his eyes. What would Legolas do? The Elven
warrior would never surrender, even if the odds were heavily against
him. Eldarion felt the same. He opened his eyes; clarity had returned to
both his mind and his vision. Deliberately, he drew an arrow from his
quiver and took aim. “Strength and courage,” he whispered to himself.
For Legolas.

In the hushed silence, all could hear the Prince’s arrow as it sang
through the air until it hit its target. There was a surprised gasp.
Gwaidor’s arrow had been split in two.

~*~*~*~

The Elf and the Dwarf walked through the bright pathways of the fair
that had been set up not far from the Pavilion. Bustle and activity
surrounded them. There were numerous food stalls, games, fortunetellers,
puppeteers, street players and acrobats to keep the people occupied.
Among this excitement the Elf and Dwarf went unnoticed. It was a far cry
from a similar walk the two friends had taken through the streets of
Minas Tirith for the first time, twenty-five years ago. At that time,
the sight of the tall, regal Elf and his short, stocky companion had
drawn many an amazed stare.

“You have done a fine job,” the Dwarf told his friend. “I confess I did
not think it possible for young Eldarion to win the tournament. To go
far in the competition? Yes. To make it to the final round? Quite
possible. But to win?” The Dwarf shook his head.

Legolas laughed. “You underestimated him then. Eldarion is an excellent
student.”

“Clearly.” The Dwarf thought for a moment, considering the best way to
broach the subject he wished to discuss. “He has also become one of your
closest friends, has he not?”

“Without doubt. I cherish his friendship.” The Elf hesitated. “Though
sometimes, I wonder if I see too much of his father in him. Then it is I
who am not doing justice to our friendship.”

“If that were true,” the Dwarf mused, “then it would also explain why
you are yet to accept his offer.”

“His offer?”

“Do not play dumb, Legolas,” the Dwarf said, reprovingly. “It does not
suit you.”

The Elf smiled, but said nothing.

“Eldarion is good for you,” the Dwarf went on, “it is you who are afraid
to show your feelings. You are an Elf of contradictions,” he declared.
“You are passionate about life, archery, music and poetry, but when it
comes to matters of the heart, you hide behind your Elven mask of ice.”

“You presume too much in thinking that I return the mortal’s feelings.”

“Do you deny it?” the Dwarf challenged.

“There was an incident three months ago,” the Elf began. “In fact, it
happened the very day you left Minas Tirith and gave me such *sage*
advice. I decided then that I would not pursue a romantic relationship
with Eldarion and would discourage him from doing the same. It is for
the best.”

“Bah,” the Dwarf scoffed. “Then you have been deceiving yourself.” 
Gimli stopped and crossed his arms defiantly. “Eldarion has waited long
enough. You do love him! And you must tell him! Tonight!”

Legolas looked at his friend in a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“Really, Gimli,” he chided. “You are even more belligerent than usual
today.”

“It is your foolishness that makes me so,” the Dwarf retorted. “If there
was anything I could do to make you confess your feelings to the youth,
I would do it.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” the Dwarf answered immediately, missing the mischievous glint in
the Elf’s eye.

“Very well,” Legolas replied slowly. He surveyed the fair grounds until
he found what he was looking for and then turned to face the Dwarf.
“Come,” he told his friend. “There is *something* you can do.”

The Dwarf followed the Elf suspiciously. Whatever had he gotten himself
into?

Legolas led them to one of the most popular game stands, aptly named
“The Wet Seat”. A contraption with a trapdoor had been built, suspended
over a rather large wooden container of water. The hapless victim sat on
the trapdoor, taunting the spectators to hit the bull’s eye to the right
of the apparatus. Thus far, ten people had already been dunked that day.
The Elf and the Dwarf arrived just in time to see the device at work.

“If you sit in that seat,” the Elf told him, “I will tell Eldarion of my
feelings towards him this very eve.”

The Dwarf looked at him in disbelief. “You are joking,” he stated.

“I am completely serious. I will do as you ask, if only you sit in that
seat.”

Gimli stomped his foot in consternation. Curse these fey creatures and
their ultimatums! He glared at the machine, as if by doing so he could
disintegrate it into ashes. With a fierce look over his shoulder at the
Elf, who was doing a poor job of containing his mirth, Gimli stalked
over to the blasted contraption.

“You!” he bellowed somewhat rudely at the man in charge. “I shall be
your next victim!”

The man smiled broadly. “D’ye hear that ladies and gents?” he called to
the crowd. “A willing volunteer!”

The crowd laughed and cheered appreciatively as Gimli was helped onto
the seat. He glowered at the Elf the entire time.

“Who shall take a turn? Who shall take a turn?” the man asked the
spectators.

Legolas stepped forward. “I shall,” he said.

Gimli’s glares had turned into daggers sharp enough to slice through the
toughest orc hide. He vowed to himself that the Elf would pay for this
humiliation.

“Remember my friend,” Legolas called to the Dwarf as he accepted an
orange from the attendant.
“I am an Elf of my word.”

Laughing blue eyes and sun-kissed golden hair were the last things Gimli
saw before he was drenched to the bone.


Chapter 5. The Banquet

The Crown Prince of Gondor walked briskly through the spacious hallways
of the White Tower, nodding to those who bowed and curtseyed as he
passed. Although he was already late for the feast, the Prince had only
one thought on his mind, seeing Legolas. Since his victory earlier that
day, he had seen very little of the Elf. Legolas had been one of the
first to congratulate him, but they were quickly separated by royal
duties and obligations. Eldarion suspected that Legolas had spent the
rest of the afternoon with the Dwarf and had clearly gotten the upper
hand when he saw a very wet Gimli cursing and sloshing in the hallways
towards his chambers. He reminded himself to ask Legolas what had
happened.

Eldarion entered the banquet hall, motioning for the Herald not to
announce his arrival. The Herald looked skeptical, but obeyed the
Prince’s wish. Quickly, Eldarion made his way to the royal table. It 
was situated at the head of the hall, elevated by a dais. Only one seat 
was empty and Eldarion was happy to find that it happened to be next to 
a certain Elven Prince. He sat down, greeting those around him as he 
did so. On his right was Legolas and on the other side of the Elf was 
Gimli. On his left was the Lady Eleanor and opposite him sat Legolas’ 
elder brother, Orothor. Beside Orothor was their sister, Onela.

“Prince Eldarion,” Onela said warmly, when he was settled. “I have yet
to congratulate you on your victory today. That was truly a magnificent
shot. Gwaidor himself did not think it possible.”

“Thank you,” Eldarion replied graciously. “Though I assure you,” he
added. “No one was more surprised than me.”

Warm laughter followed the Prince’s remark.

“Legolas has told us some rather amusing stories about your archery
lessons,” Onela went on. “Surely you have your own version of events?”

Eldarion shook his head. “I am loath to admit it, but I have no doubt
that your brother’s version of events are most accurate.”

More laughter followed.

“What I am interested in,” Eldarion said, when the laughter subsided,
“is learning more about your family. Legolas is most secretive about
it.”

“I have had that problem too,” Gimli commented. “Among other things.”

Legolas groaned. “I can tell sitting in between the two of you shall
prove to be a long evening.”

“Come Eldarion,” Onela encouraged, “what is it you wish to know about
our family and our younger brother in particular?”

“Well,” Eldarion thought for a moment. “How many siblings do you have?”

“There are four of us,” Onela answered. “Siuil is the eldest, followed
by Orothor, myself and then Legolas. Sadly, Siuil could not attend this
celebration.”

Orothor nodded in agreement. “He is becoming more and more like Father
with every passing century. Siuil is being groomed to take over
Greenwood one day and I believe that he will make a fine King.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “Though I am hoping he will also be a more
tolerant one.”

“Father and Siuil do not share Legolas’ more open view regarding the
other races of Middle Earth,” Orothor explained.

“Particularly of Dwarves,” Gimli interjected.

All three Elves smiled knowingly.

“Onela and I have come to see the wisdom of our younger brother’s 
ways,” Orothor continued, “even when it comes to Dwarves.”

“But despite their differences,” Onela added, “Legolas is still 
father’s favorite.”

Legolas laughed. “It is a love/hate relationship, dear sister. We
infuriate one another to no end, but somehow we manage to survive.”

“It is your rebellious nature that endears you to him, Legolas,” Onela
replied. “Legolas has always been eager to travel and explore the
world,” she explained to the others at the table. “Mirkwood, as
Greenwood was still called then, was too small for him. He would steal
away from courtly duties to roam the woods and when he became old
enough, eagerly joined the border patrols. If Gwaidor had not been such
a vigilant Captain, I would have feared for my brother’s life.”

Legolas laughed. “Gwaidor was the best teacher I could ever have hoped
for. More often than not, I learned my lessons the hard way.”

In that manner, the conversation continued throughout the feast and
Eldarion found himself completely enchanted by the three Elves. Their
charming personalities and quick wit kept their area of the royal table
light and lively. It made the Prince even more curious to meet their
eldest brother and father, who from what he gathered, were of vastly
different dispositions from Orothor, Onela and Legolas. Perhaps Legolas
would take him to Greenwood and the other Elven lands one day. He
realized now that he still had much to learn about Elvish ways and
customs and the disconcerting thought that not all Elves would welcome
him as warmly as Legolas and his siblings crossed his mind.

Throughout the meal Gimli had observed his lovesick charges carefully.
He had to admit that they were more than discreet. Although he did not
fancy himself a matchmaker, these two needed help. So, the Dwarf did 
his best to inject pointed double entendres whenever conversation 
allowed. Legolas caught onto his little game immediately and the Elf’s 
fey nature relished the challenge. What did the Dwarf expect him to do? 
Profess his love for the youth in the middle of dessert? The thought 
was enough to make him laugh.

As the banquet drew to a close and the guests made their way to the
adjacent ballroom to pass the rest of the evening in song and dance,
Gimli saw this as his chance to make his move. As the three of them
stood up, he accidentally “tripped,” his overfilled wine glass spilling
its contents onto both Princes.

“I am terribly sorry!” he exclaimed, though his laughing eyes belied 
his true intentions.

Legolas arched an eyebrow in return and inclined his head slightly
towards the Dwarf, conceding this particular round.

“It is quite all right,” Eldarion responded, wringing the last drop of
red wine from his velvet tunic, completely oblivious to the unspoken
exchange going on between Elf and Dwarf. “I suppose we shall have to go
in for a moment and change,” he said to Legolas.

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” the Elf replied. “We will join you later,” 
he told the Dwarf.

“You know where to find us,” Gimli said, a self-satisfied smirk on his
face. He knew that the Prince was an ‘Elf of his word’ as Legolas had
put it earlier that day, but sometimes he just needed a push in the
right direction. He watched as the two figures left the banquet hall in
need of a change of clothes. While not quite being drown by water, for
the moment, it would have to do.

~*~*~*~

The two Princes walked down the silent hallways to their separate
chambers in order to change. Eldarion was relieved to be away from the
celebration for at least a little while. There was so much he wished to
discuss with Legolas and he had finally been given the opportunity. He
could have sworn that the Dwarf had spilt wine on the two of them on
purpose, though for what reason, he could not fathom. At any rate, he
was glad that the “incident” had taken place.

They both changed quickly and were soon on their way to the main
ballroom. Just as they were approaching the wide arching doorway,
Eldarion held the Elf’s arm. Legolas turned to look at him
questioningly.

“I would rather not go in just yet,” Eldarion explained. “We’ve hardly
spent any time together today. There is a balcony nearby. I thought we
could get some fresh air and perhaps talk for a little while?”

Legolas thought it was a wonderful suggestion and nodded his head. “I
would like that,” he replied. He allowed himself to be led to the
secluded balcony. Once there he immediately sat down on the stone
railing. His left leg dangled over the railing’s edge, while he
maintained his balance with his right. He propped his right arm on the
knee of his right leg and took a deep breath of the cool night air.

Eldarion went to stand beside the Elven Prince, somewhat concerned over
the Elf’s relaxed posture while in such a precarious position. But he
placed his worries aside. How often had he seen Legolas’ remarkable
balance and agility for himself?

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Will you leave these lands one day?”

The Elf looked at the young man in surprise. This was not the
conversation he had in mind. “Do you speak of the sea-longing?” he
asked.

Eldarion had not really considered it. “Yes,” he said after a moment, 
“I suppose I do. The sea does call to you, does it not?”

“At all times.”

“How then do you resist its pull?”

Legolas thought for a moment. “Through patience and meditation. Of
course, I keep myself occupied. The sea-longing is a kind of sickness
that can never be cured,” the Elf explained,  “not until one passes 
over Sea.”

Eldarion’s brow creased with worry. “Have Elves died from the longing?”

“Yes. Those who are too attached to these lands and cannot bear to 
leave them are often driven to madness and perish. But do not worry for 
me,” Legolas said reassuringly, seeing the look of distress on the 
Prince’s face. “That shall not be my fate. Like most illnesses, it can 
be treated. When my time comes, I believe I shall build a ship and sail
from the port of Dol Amroth as did the Lórien Elves of old.”

“How will you know when your time has come?”

“You are full of questions tonight,” the Elf remarked.

“And you are skillfully avoiding the question.”

Legolas laughed. “Gimli has taught you some of his tactics, I see. Very
well.” He took one of Eldarion’s hands in his own, pulling the Prince
closer to him. Although the Prince had opened a difficult subject,
Legolas would see it to the end. “I made a promise to your father long
ago that I would not leave these lands until he passed away. It is a
promise I intend to keep.”

Eldarion felt his heartbeat quicken. He knew that this was the right
time. “It does not have to be that way, Legolas,” he said urgently,
squeezing the Elf’s hand. “Your time in Arda need not be spent in
sorrow, but in happiness and joy.” He placed the Elf’s hand over his
heart and held it there. “I am not my father,” he said earnestly. “Open
your heart to me, Legolas. I shall not break it, nor share it with
anyone else.”

Eldarion looked into the Elven Prince’s eyes for some sort of sign. He
had laid his feelings bare and to suffer rejection now would surely
break him. Legolas remained utterly still, not removing his hand from
the Prince’s heart. He looked so much like a perfect, living statue of
marble that Eldarion was at once aware of the immense difference in age
between them. Time stood still as they looked at one another and
Eldarion felt his hopes diminish. He had aspired for too great a love.
He was but a Man, and not even that. He was half-Man and half-Elf; 
could either race fully accept him? Did he really expect a being so 
pure as Legolas to return such a tainted love?

A cough behind the two Princes broke the spell. They both turned to 
look in its direction. A pretty, young servant girl stood uncomfortably 
at the balcony entrance. *Her name is Barra,* Eldarion recalled.

She curtseyed before them. “Begging your pardon, my Lords,” she said
timidly, “but Prince Eldarion’s presence is needed in the main
ballroom.”

“Duty calls once more,” Legolas said, his voice and expression
light-hearted. Eldarion had not even felt the Elf disentangle his hand
from the Prince’s grasp. It was as though nothing had passed between
them. The Elf stood up elegantly. “You must go.”

In the main ballroom, Eldarion stood with the King and Queen as the
nobles of Gondor presented their very eligible daughters to the Crown
Prince. Eldarion found the entire process tedious. He felt his mother
place a supportive hand on his back as if to say, it shall not be much
longer.

The entire time he kept an eye on Legolas, who was mingling among the
Greenwood and Lórien Elves. When the Guardian of Lórien approached
Legolas, Eldarion could feel the jealousy rise in him. He had not
forgotten the kiss that Haldir had bestowed on the Elven Prince at 
their first meeting. The two Elves greeted one another warmly and the 
evident intimacy between them was enough to drive the Prince insane. He 
gritted his teeth as another lady curtseyed before him. Haldir and 
Legolas remained in quiet conversation until he saw the Guardian place 
an arm around the Prince’s waist, leading them out of the ballroom. The
jealousy quickly drained from Eldarion and he felt himself go weak. His
knees threatened to buckle.

Arwen recognized the change in her son and followed the direction of 
his gaze. She stroked his back sympathetically, whispering in his ear 
as she did so.

“[Do not be disheartened. Appearances are not always what they seem.]”

~*~*~*~

Haldir lead Legolas outside and the two Elves made their way to the
Queen’s gardens, enjoying the peace and stillness of the night. Once
there, they sat down on a secluded marble bench under the branches of
the swaying willow trees.

“[My golden Prince],” Haldir said, as he stroked Legolas’ soft hair,
which had turned flaxen in the pale moonlight. “[I have missed you.]”

“[And I you, my Guardian.]”

“I came to the White City to partake of these celebrations,” Haldir
continued, “but most of all, I came to see you.”

“You knew I would be here?”

Haldir chuckled softly, his fingers caressing the Prince’s smooth 
cheek. 

“Word has spread quickly of your instructing King Elessar’s son in our
craft. You have outdone yourself.”

Legolas smiled at Haldir’s praise. “He is a remarkable student.”

“Much like his father?”

“At times, I fear too much so.”

Haldir paused thoughtfully. “I have something to ask you,” he began.
“Hear me first before you speak. You know what I have felt for you 
these many centuries and though I know you do not return my feelings, 
the time we have spent together and the moments we have shared have 
been enough for me.”

“I do love you, Haldir,” Legolas protested.

The Guardian held up a hand to silence him. “I do not deny that you 
love me in your own way,” he said. “But it is not the same.”

The Prince remained silent, knowing Haldir spoke the truth.

“Our people are leaving these lands, Legolas,” Haldir continued. “They
have been for a long time. When this celebration ends, nearly all the
remaining Elves of Lothlórien shall pass over Sea. Greenwood still
flourishes for the sea-longing remains buried deep within the hearts of
the wood Elves, but the Golden Wood has become a shadow of what it once
was. That is why our numbers are so great here, for it our way of 
saying farewell.” He paused. “I shall be among those who sail to the 
Undying Lands and I wish for you to come with me, if you will.”

Legolas had looked at the ground throughout Haldir’s speech. He knew
what Haldir wanted of him before the words had ever left the Guardian’s
lips, just as he knew what his answer would be. Sadly, he lifted his
head and looked at Haldir with sorrowful eyes. “You know I cannot do
that,” he said softly.

The Guardian nodded in resignation. “I know,” he answered. “But I still
had to ask.”

The two Elves fell silent. Legolas felt the weight of Haldir’s sadness
and wished that he could take it away. How many times had Haldir
comforted him in the past? He had lost count over the millennia. There
was a time, before the Prince had met Estel that he believed himself
capable of returning Haldir’s love in the way the Guardian deserved. 
For who could not love the loyal, wise and kind Elven warrior? But it 
was not to be. Legolas reflected on how fickle fate was. Why was he not 
able to accept great love where it was offered freely and instead had 
set himself on a path where his love could never be returned? *I am not 
my father.* Eldarion’s words echoed in his mind. Was fate giving him a
second chance?

“Haldir,” Legolas said at last, “I wish you peace in the Undying Lands
and I hope that you find someone more worthy of your love than I could
ever be. For you deserve great happiness after so much hardship and
toil.”

“[My golden Prince], there is no one else for me. But I do not regret
any of it and I cherish every moment we have shared.” Haldir smiled. 
“It is King Elessar whom I pity, for it is he who has never known the
wonders of your love.”

“Forgive me, Haldir,” Legolas said, suddenly standing up. “There is
something I must do.” He bent down and kissed the Guardian. “[You shall
always be close to my heart],” he whispered.

“[There is someone closer still. And it is not Elessar of whom I
speak.]” Haldir looked at the Prince knowingly and Legolas was at 
peace, for he knew that Haldir understood. “Go to him. For you too 
deserve great happiness.”

~*~*~*~

Eldarion had never been so happy to see Lady Eleanor in his life. When
she approached him, he willingly went out to greet her, indicating to
his father that he would like to spend the rest of the evening in her
company. He had had enough of the courtly introductions. Lady Eleanor
had naturally been delighted, albeit pleasantly surprised by the
Prince’s reaction. They shared several dances on the ballroom floor, 
the Prince causing heads to turn with his choice of partner for the 
evening. There was a murmur of approval as the two swept around the 
ballroom. At the end of the third dance, Lady Eleanor suggested that 
they go to the gardens for some privacy, knowing how much the Prince 
enjoyed being there. Eldarion accepted her offer and led the way. He 
remained silent for most of the walk, allowing Lady Eleanor to carry 
the conversation, appropriately nodding or commenting when called to.

His thoughts continued to drift to Legolas and his foolish behavior
earlier that evening. He did not know if he could bear facing the Elf
again after blatantly professing his love despite Legolas’ wishes. Had
he destroyed everything that he had worked so hard to build? Would
Legolas forgive him?

He glanced to his left at Lady Eleanor’s profile. She really was very
lovely and was highly sought after among the Gondorian nobles, not only
for her beauty, but also for her wit and intelligence. *She would make 
a fine wife,* Eldarion thought to himself. Perhaps in time he could 
grow to love her as she loved him. After all, were not marriages among 
the nobility merely facades for political alliances? Was that not the 
royal way? Had that been the way of his parents? His brow creased at 
the disturbing thought. Never before had he doubted his parents’ love 
for one another. His childhood had been perfect in his eyes.

Without realizing it, the Prince had stopped walking. Lady Eleanor also
failed to notice that he was no longer by her side and had continued
without him. He glanced up to see that she was already a few yards 
away. Eldarion cursed himself for his rudeness and was about to catch 
up with her when he was suddenly pulled to the side, behind the wall of 
one of the tower buildings. He struggled instinctively, but a smooth 
hand covered his mouth, preventing him from calling out, while another 
bound his arms tightly behind him. Eldarion’s fear quickly subsided as 
a familiar scent surrounded him. He stopped moving and remained passive 
in his assailant’s embrace. The hand away fell from his mouth and still 
he made no sound. His arms were released, allowing him to slowly turn
around until he was face to face with Legolas.

The Elf was radiant. The pale moonlight caught his fine hair, giving 
him an ethereal appearance. Eldarion was awed by his beauty. Lady 
Eleanor could not compare. He wished to speak, but no words would come. 
Sensing this, Legolas shook his head and placed a finger to Eldarion’s 
lips. No words were necessary. Then he removed his finger and kissed 
him. It was a tender kiss, full of promise. Another secretive smile was 
on his face as he took the Prince’s hand and quietly led him away.

Eldarion hardly knew what was happening as he followed the Elf, nor did
he care. Too much thought was inadvisable, since none of this made any
sense. He gripped the Elf’s hand tightly, afraid that Legolas would
disappear. Legolas looked back at him quickly, the same fey smile still
on his face. Eldarion’s heart leaped to be blessed with such a smile.
The Elf led them by another path to the Queen’s gardens. The Prince
hesitated, pulling gently on Legolas’ hand.

“Lady Eleanor,” he said softly.

“Will not find us,” the Elf whispered in return.

Eldarion relaxed, trusting Legolas completely. They made their way
through the gardens, passing unseen through its darkest shadows. The
Prince’s curiosity was starting to get the better of him. Surely, he
knew these gardens better than Legolas, yet he did not have the 
faintest idea where the Elf could be taking him. They slowed down and 
stopped in front of a thick, dark curtain of hanging ivy vines. 
Eldarion looked at the Elf, raising a questioning eyebrow. Legolas 
merely smiled and parted the vines, stepping through as he did so. 
Eldarion paused and looked around him. The garden was perfectly still. 
Hesitantly, he parted the vines and followed the Elf.

What greeted him was a magical sight. Legolas had discovered a hidden
dell that the Prince did not even know existed. It was at the
northernmost corner of the garden, bordered by two ivy-covered walls. A
similar curtain of ivy concealed the rest of the dell, while the 
sloping branches of a willow tree provided a canopy that the moonlight 
shone through. The Elf stood in the middle of the dell bathed in 
moonlight. His feet were bare and Eldarion noticed for the first time 
that the garden floor had been covered by soft blankets, with pillows 
spread about the Elf’s feet. Eldarion was touched by the gesture. 
Legolas held out a hand to him and he accepted it, slipping his own 
boots off before stepping onto the blankets.

They stood facing one another again. Eldarion closed his eyes as the 
Elf began brushing the hair away from his face. Legolas kissed him on 
one brow and then the other, finally trailing soft kisses down his 
cheek. Eldarion shivered. It was just as he had dreamed. When their 
lips met again, there was no hesitancy. He reached for the laces on the 
Elf’s tunic; he could feel Legolas doing the same. Carefully they 
undressed each other. Eldarion took the time to soak in the Elf’s 
beauty. Legolas’ skin was softer than any maiden he had lain with. He 
ran a hand across the Elf’s firm chest, mapping it with his fingers, 
moving lower to the flat plane of the Elf’s stomach.

Soon he found himself on his knees, his fingers brushing the edges of
the curls on the Elf’s groin. Even the hair here was soft to touch.
Experimentally, he reached out and ran a finger from the base to the 
tip of the Elf’s shaft. He glanced up to see the reaction on Legolas’ 
face. The Elf was glowing with pleasure. A white bead appeared on the 
tip of the shaft and Eldarion licked it. Sweet. Like honey. He had 
never done this before, but it did not seem to matter. Without warning, 
he took the Elf’s entire length in his mouth.

Legolas gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His left hand
fell on the young man’s shoulder. Eldarion was proving to be very
skilled with his mouth, his tongue running teasingly along the shaft 
and then stopping to draw lazy circles on the tip. The well-placed, 
gentle scrape of teeth caused delicious friction. The Elf’s grip grew 
harder as Eldarion increased his suction. Legolas knew that he would 
reach his peak soon. With great effort, he pulled himself away from the 
Prince’s inviting mouth. The young man looked up at him, an expression 
of confusion and worry on his face. Legolas cupped his chin 
reassuringly.

“I wish to spend myself another way,” the Elf explained.

Eldarion’s eyes grew wide as he understood. He lay back on the 
blankets, his head resting on a pillow. Legolas settled himself between 
the Prince’s spread legs, admiring the strong body in front of him. 
Eldarion grew self-conscious under the Elf’s gaze, his neglected 
erection throbbing painfully. Noticing this, Legolas draped the 
Prince’s body with his own, purposely rubbing their members together as 
he did so. Eldarion shifted underneath him, desiring greater contact.

The Elf smiled at the youth’s eagerness. He mated their mouths once
more, reaching for a vial of oil at the base of the willow tree. He
coated his hand liberally and then ran it down the youth’s side,
playfully tweaking a peaked nipple as he did so. Suddenly, he pinched 
it quite hard. Eldarion yelped in surprise, frowning at the Elf’s 
teasing. His body was already so tightly strung; he did not know how 
much more he could take. Legolas followed the pinch with his warm 
mouth, massaging the sensitive nipple with his tongue. Eldarion moaned 
and arched his back in return. Legolas’ hand continued its journey down 
the man’s side, coming to rest on the aching member.

“Have you been with another male before?” the Elf asked, as he set to
stroking the member.

“No,” Eldarion replied, somewhat embarrassed. Thought was becoming
difficult under the Elf’s ministrations, but he managed to hold 
Legolas’ chin under his hand. “And I shall never be with another,” he 
said solemnly.

Legolas was moved by the love he saw in Eldarion’s eyes. His hand
traveled deeper, until his fingers grazed the tight entrance. Eldarion
tensed instantly, unused to such an invasion. The Elf was not deterred,
slipping a finger in carefully. “I shall make this good for you,” he
promised, curving his finger upwards ever so slightly.

Eldarion gasped as the Elf’s finger brushed his sensitive gland. He did
think such pleasure was possible. Legolas slipped in another finger,
followed by another, taking the time to prepare his lover. Eldarion
writhed underneath him, his breathing becoming erratic. He felt the Elf
could undo him with his fingers alone. “Legolas, please,” he begged. “I
cannot take much more.”

“[Soon],” the Elf replied. He sat back looking for the vial of oil, 
only to discover that it was with Eldarion, who was coating his hands 
with the lubricant. The man sat up as well and began stroking the Elf’s 
shaft with his oil-slicked hands. Legolas sighed contentedly.

When Eldarion was done, they resumed their former positions. Legolas
lifted the Prince’s right leg over his shoulder in order to gain better
access to the man’s tight opening. He wished to ease the pain as much 
as possible. The tension had returned to Eldarion and the Elf could 
feel the implicit trust and apprehension emanating from him.

“The pain will go away,” Legolas assured him.

Eldarion nodded, willing himself to relax. Holding the Prince’s thigh,
Legolas eased himself inside. Despite his preparation, the tight
entrance did not give easily. Eldarion looked away as the Elf filled
him, gripping the blankets tightly. *It will get better,* he told
himself and concentrated on his breathing.

When Legolas was fully sheathed, he stilled, giving the Prince time to
get used to him. He kissed the beads of sweat that had broken on the
man’s brow, while sliding the youth’s leg from his shoulder. The Elf’s
hand wormed its way on the inside of Eldarion’s thigh, until it reached
the man’s swollen length and began stroking it again. Eldarion lost
himself in the sensations and the muscles around Legolas’ member began
to relax. He turned to look at the Elf, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

“I am ready,” he said softly.

Legolas needed no further encouragement, the impossible heat 
surrounding him testing the limits of his control. He began to move, 
not stopping his actions on the young man’s shaft. He set a slow pace, 
until he felt Eldarion respond to him and together they moved as one. 
He angled his thrusts carefully, ensuring that he hit the sensitive 
gland with each motion.

The Elf’s hand on his member coupled with his thrusts was sending
Eldarion over the edge. He could feel his orgasm building within him 
and he pulled Legolas closer, gripping the Elf’s shoulders tightly, his
nails marking the Elf’s flawless skin. With a great shout he came, his
seed spilling warmly between their bodies. Legolas came soon afterward,
his own Elvish cry of pleasure filling the air.

The Elf lay on his back beside the Prince, his breathing returning to
normal. Eldarion remained motionless. The young man was completely
spent. He had never had an orgasm so intense. *This is what it is like
to be with the one you love,* he thought, through his haze of
contentment.

After a while Legolas turned on his side to look at his lover, propping
his head on his hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Eldarion nodded. “This is bliss,” he replied.

The Elf laughed, kissing the Prince’s forehead. Eldarion responded by
moving into the Elf’s embrace. He never wanted to be separated from
Legolas again. He could feel the Elf cleaning him with a soft cloth and
he smiled. Legolas thought of everything.

“I love you,” he murmured, just before sleep overcame him.

The Elf pulled the blankets over their warm bodies, holding the 
sleeping Prince close. He watched the stars peeking through the willow 
branches. The sea-longing seemed to have stilled for the barest of 
moments. The Elven Prince knew that he had found his most important 
reason to stay.



Chapter 6. The Discovery

Eldarion shifted from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently for the
Elven Prince. *Where is that Elf?* he thought to himself. Surely Legolas
would not miss his own sister’s performance. He looked at Onela, who was
waiting with a group of Greenwood Elves at the center of the concert
hall and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Onela smiled understandingly
and spoke quietly to the Elves around her. They moved to take their
places. It would not do to keep the audience waiting any longer. They
would have to begin without Legolas.

The Prince remained where he was at one of the entrances to the circular
concert hall. The hall had originally been one of the citadels of the
White City, which had been destroyed long before the dawn of the Third
Age. When his father had reunited the realms of Gondor and Arnor, he saw
to it that the citadel was rebuilt. However, it was no longer needed as
a fortress or line of defense for the White City and so it had been
converted into a school dedicated solely to the arts. With its sweeping
archways and carefully carved ceilings, it was ideal for musical and
theatrical performances, carrying acoustics beautifully.

Eldarion stood beside the door’s curtained arch. He knew that he should
take his place, but decided to wait for the Elven Prince. Onela smiled
at him again as her slender fingers began to pluck the strings of her
golden harp and soon its music filled the hall. King Elessar did not
miss the secret exchange between his son and the daughter of Thranduil
and he raised a questioning eyebrow at his wife. Arwen merely smiled.
Elessar had discovered earlier that day that his son had mysteriously
‘disappeared’ while in the company of Lady Eleanor the previous evening.
She had been most put out and had to be placated by the Queen of Gondor
herself. The King had yet to find out the reason behind his son’s
disappearance, but suspected that it had something to do with a flaxen
haired Elven Princess, who happened to playing at that very moment.
Trusted sources had informed the King that the two of them had been
virtually inseparable all day. This was an interesting development,
indeed.

While it was true that the Crown Prince of Gondor and the Elven Princess
of Greenwood had spent the majority of the day together, their topic of
conversation had often been the Princess’s errant younger brother. That
morning, Legolas had woken Eldarion just before the break of dawn and
they had returned to the White Tower, passing through the service area
to dispose of their used blankets and pillows. Barra had already been up
and about and she blushed furiously as the two Princes passed her hand
in hand. Legolas had sealed a finger to his lips as he looked at her and
she nodded shyly. She thought the two Princes to be the finest gentlemen
at the celebration and was proud to be their accomplice.

They saw one another a few hours later at breakfast and Eldarion could
feel a distinct change in their relationship. At first he thought he was
imagining it, but the discreet brushes of hand and leg told him that it
was not so. He caught himself openly staring at Legolas several times,
forcing the Elf to lean over and whisper in his ear, “We shall have to
work on your discretion.” Eldarion had blushed, concentrating on
buttering the bread in front of him. He did not miss the fact that
Legolas left his hand on the Prince’s leg and Eldarion was comforted by
the gesture. Soon after breakfast Legolas had been caught up in the
affairs of the Ithilien and Greenwood Elves, leaving his lover in the
capable hands of his sister.

Eldarion enjoyed Onela’s company immensely and found her to be a
marvelous substitute for her absent brother. He was most impressed with
her diplomatic skill, proving herself indeed to be the daughter of
Thranduil. Throughout the morning, Lady Eleanor had regarded him coolly,
still upset about the night before. Onela had come to his aid by saying
to Orothor, “Our young friend needs assistance,” inclining her head in
Lady Eleanor’s direction. “After all, royalty should look after each
other, don’t you think?”

Orothor had appeared bemused, but had replied, “But, of course.” He then
turned to Eldarion. “I have been in similar situations too often to
count, as has Legolas. I shall appease your would-be bride if you see to
it that my sister does not get herself into too much trouble today.”

Eldarion smiled broadly. “That is more than a fair trade.”

“You may not think so later,” Orothor warned with laughing eyes.

“Off with you!” Onela had cried, playfully punching her brother in the
arm.

Orothor danced away, expecting such a reaction. He bowed to them once he
was at a safe distance, mocking the formal royal bow often presented to
him in Thranduil’s court. With an elegant sweep of his arm, he rose and
went to attend to Lady Eleanor, whom he had found rather charming at the
banquet the night before.

Eldarion soon discovered what Orothor had meant about his sister. Onela
was playful and adventurous. She wished to see all that the celebration
had to offer and did not limit her socializing to the royal stands. She
enjoyed walking and being among the people, as well as cheering the
competitors on at the combat arenas. Her energy was boundless and
Eldarion found himself hard pressed to keep up with her.

The Prince would never forget the conversation they had while watching a
puppet show at the fairgrounds. They had been discussing the differences
in disposition between Men and Elves when Onela had suddenly remarked,
“Of course, sexually we are not so different, although there are
specific erogenous zones we possess that you do not.”

Eldarion had choked on the apple he was eating. He was positively
shocked by her directness. She spoke so conversationally, as if they
were discussing hair or eye color and not Elven erogenous zones.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked.

“Ah . . . no,” he replied, all eloquent thought fleeing from his mind.
He could hardly believe he was continuing this thread of conversation,
although he could not deny that she had piqued his curiosity.

“Well, our ears are very sensitive,” she explained. “Particularly the
point. So is the back of our spine and the shallow point at the base of
our neck where our bones meet.” She paused for a moment, a wicked smile
on her face. “I thought this information might come in useful with your
lover.”

By now Eldarion could feel himself blushing to his ears. “My lover?” he
repeated, certain he would die from the embarrassment.

Onela turned to face him, all playfulness gone from her face. Thus far,
Eldarion had found her to be good-natured and unassuming, but now he was
distinctly aware of the royal presence she brought to bear and the
immense wisdom and age in her piercing blue eyes.

“I like you, Prince of Gondor,” she told him. “I like you very much. You
are good for my brother and I know that you will treat him as he
deserves.”

Eldarion was humbled by her words. Her approval meant the world to him,
although he could not help wondering how she could possibly know.

“I am his sister,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “I know such
things.”

“Do others know?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” she answered. “Legolas has always been discreet
in these matters. You could take some lessons from him,” she added with
a smile.

Eldarion blushed again. All of a sudden he felt like a mere child around
her.

“Gimli, of course, has been encouraging it,” Onela continued, “and I
believe that Haldir may suspect, which would not surprise me, for he has
been close to my brother for centuries, but I cannot be certain. Aside
from those two . . .” the Princess trailed off with a shake of her head.
“Orothor does not have any idea and I shall leave it to Legolas if and
when he wishes to tell him.”

Eldarion had nodded, absorbing all this information thoughtfully. He was
grateful to have such a powerful ally. He watched Onela now as she began
to sing and he smiled. Truly the Elves were gifted with song.

A featherlike touch ran up his spine and he shivered. Apparently, Elves
were not the only beings to find this part of the body sensual.

“Have you missed me?” a seductive voice whispered in his ear.

The Prince feigned indifference. “Not at all,” he replied nonchalantly.

There was a low chuckle behind him. “We shall see about that.”

A hand settled on his waist, guiding him closer to the curtained door
until the lower half of his body was covered by the curtain’s folds. It
then made its way further down, deftly undoing the laces on the Prince’s
breeches. The Elf can’t possibly be serious, his mind told him, but the
hand that slipped inside his pants confirmed otherwise. Eldarion had to
choke back a moan as the Elf skillfully coaxed him to full hardness.

“Have you missed me now?” the Elf asked again, not pausing in his
actions.

“No,” came the strangled reply. The Prince’s breathing had grown ragged
and a hand flew out to grab the curtain by his side.

“Careful you don’t destroy the curtain,” the Elf teased.

The Prince closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Onela’s beautiful
voice.

“[Open your eyes],” Legolas whispered, giving the Prince’s shaft a
slightly harder pull.

Eldarion obeyed instantly, his body on fire.

“Have you missed me now?” came the question again.

“No,” was the same reply, although it was softer and weaker. The Prince
could feel his resolve breaking. Just as he was reaching his peak, the
Elf stopped. A low cry of anguish escaped him. Those sitting nearest to
the door turned their heads in his direction. Eldarion nodded to them,
his grip on the curtain threatening to pull it from its foundation.

“You are a tease!” he hissed under his breath.

The Elf was now leaning against the wall by the door with his arms
crossed, watching his lover with laughing eyes.

“Do you miss me now?”

Eldarion gritted his teeth. His regal bearing refused to let him answer,
though his cock wept for completion. Amused by the Prince’s
stubbornness, Legolas reached out and pulled him into the shadows, away
from prying eyes. He resumed his former actions, while nibbling on the
man’s jaw.

“Do you miss me now?”

The Prince found himself thrusting into the Elf’s talented hand, the
fear that someone would walk out and discover them heightening his
anxiety. “Yes,” he choked.

Legolas captured his mouth in a searing kiss, finally granting the
Prince his release. Eldarion cried his orgasm into the Elf’s inviting
mouth, their kiss muffling any sound. He collapsed against the Elf,
exhausted. Legolas held him as his breathing slowed and logical thought
returned to him.

“You are a wicked Elf,” Eldarion said at last, keeping his eye on the
open doorway and the light that poured through. He could practically
feel the Elf’s lips curve into a smile above him.

“Then you shall have to punish me later.”

Eldarion lifted his head to look at his lover. “I shall indeed.”

The Elf smiled, pulling out a cloth that he used to clean his hand. “I
will go in and take my place at the end of this piece,” he said. “Wait a
few moments before following me.”

Eldarion nodded, retying the laces on his breeches. He stopped the Elf
as he was about to move, giving him a gentle kiss. “I *will* punish you
later,” he said softly.

“I look forward to it,” the Elf replied, before disappearing through the
doorway.

~*~*~*~

The dining arrangements for the second night of the celebration were of
a far less formal nature than the previous evening’s grand banquet. Not
wishing to discomfort their guests by making them trek back to the main
halls of the White Tower, dinner had been laid out under the stars in
the spacious lawns of the citadel, which once upon a time would have
served as a final battleground for the war fortress.  The socializing
was also less restrained, with guests moving freely from one table to
another.

The Elves continued their musical performance under the glittering sky,
the sight of the stars and the fresh night air inspiring them to
ever-greater song and dance. As the night wore on, they began to receive
fierce competition from the Dwarves, whose raucous drinking songs
threatened to wake the dead. It was a sign of the times when the
Ithilien Elves took up the challenge and began a round robin of song and
drink with the Dwarves. Some Greenwood Elves soon joined their kin as
Orothor did not seem to mind, indeed spurring on his fellow Elves to
‘win’ the competition.

Haldir watched these goings-on and shook his head, whispering in
Legolas’ ear as he did so. The Elven Prince laughed in return, slipping
his arm through Haldir’s and giving the Guardian’s arm a comforting pat.
The Lórien Elves were still the most traditional in mind and custom and
such a sight appeared scandalous to them. Haldir knew that his beloved
had played an instrumental role in changing the mindset of his people,
as could best be seen among the Ithilien Elves. While he believed it was
for the best, it reaffirmed his belief that he no longer belonged here.
The Lórien Elves were fading. He looked at Legolas’ profile and could
not remember ever seeing such joy in the Prince before. He knew Legolas’
time had not yet come.

Onela approached them and was greeted warmly by her brother and the
Guardian.

“Your performance tonight was exquisite as always, dear sister,” Legolas
told her.

“Apparently not exquisite enough for you to arrive on time,” she
playfully scolded.

“Ah, yes,” Legolas said sheepishly. “I have no excuse for my tardiness.
I am truly sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” She looked in Eldarion’s direction. The Prince was
sitting at a table with Gimli and numerous glasses of ale were stacked
between them. “I think we should attend to our young friend,” she
advised her brother. “He is on the losing end of a drinking match with
Gimli and his tongue may become too loose for your liking.” Onela arched
a golden eyebrow to emphasize her point and her brother understood.

“Excuse me, Haldir,” Legolas said politely, disentangling his arm. “My
sister is right. Eldarion is in need of some . . . assistance.”

“Of course,” the Guardian replied graciously. He and Onela exchanged
knowing glances before she led her brother away.

“Well, well,” Legolas said, when he and Onela reached the Dwarf’s table.
“What have we here?” he asked, with a pointed look in Gimli’s direction.

“What does it look like?” Gimli replied, shooting the same pointed look
back at the Elf.

“It looks like a dear friend of mine is using his high alcohol tolerance
to take advantage of a young Prince.”

“Nonsense!” the Dwarf exclaimed in mock surprise. “Why, it was young
Eldarion here who suggested that we have a drink-off. How could I
possibly refuse the future King of Gondor?”

“Politely,” the Elf replied. “Though I forget that word is not in your
vocabulary.”

“At the very least,” Onela interjected, “you could have warned Eldarion
of your drinking prowess.”

The Dwarf groaned. “The Elves are turning on me,” he said to the mortal
Prince. “Come, Eldarion. Do you feel I have taken advantage of you
during our competition?”

“No, no,” the Prince replied, vigorously shaking his head. “Not at all.
But I don’t understand.” He looked at Legolas, a perplexed expression on
his face. “Where does it all go? He is half my size.”

The Elves and the Dwarf laughed.

“All right,” Legolas said, moving to help Eldarion to his feet. “You
have had enough for one night.”

“I can do a few more rounds,” the Prince protested.

“I have no doubt. But there are other, more enjoyable things you could
be doing instead.”

Eldarion’s demeanor changed instantly and he nodded seriously. “I see
your point.”

“Well, well,” Gimli said, mocking the Elf’s earlier tone, “who is taking
advantage of our young Prince now?”

Legolas shot him a warning glare, which the Dwarf merely returned with
an expression of serenity worthy of an Elf.

Onela smiled at their silent antics; Eldarion was too inebriated to
notice.

“It is a fair walk to the White Tower,” she told her brother. “Perhaps
you need some help in bringing our young friend there?”

“Oh, no. No,” Eldarion protested. “I can walk perfectly fine.” He took
an unsteady step forward, immediately swaying into Legolas’ arms again.

“Obviously,” Legolas replied, amused.

“Here,” Onela said, taking one of Eldarion’s arms and moving on his
other side to support him. “I shall help you.”

Eldarion was appalled. “It’s quite all right,” he said quickly. “I can’t
let you help me in this way. It’s not proper!”

Onela just laughed. “Lack of propriety is one of my endearing faults. Or
so mother keeps telling me,” she said, with a quick grin at her brother.
“This is the practical solution, Eldarion. Now let me help you.”

Eldarion looked at Legolas helplessly and the Elf nodded. With great
reluctance he accepted Onela’s proffered arm and the three of them made
their way out of the spacious lawns. The Dwarf watched them with an
overly satisfied smile on his face.

The King of Gondor also watched his son depart in the company of the two
Elves and turned to his wife with a pleased smile. “It appears our son
is following in the footsteps of his father,” he told her in an
approving tone.

“Yes,” Arwen replied. “He is following in your footsteps, but he is
walking a different path.”

Aragorn missed the underlying meaning in his wife’s words, too wrapped
up in thoughts of uniting his kingdom with Thranduil’s realm. It would
be a powerful alliance, already aided by the support of Legolas and the
Ithilien Elves. Yes, he thought. Eldarion’s interest in Onela was a
positive development.

~*~*~*~

The three friends slowly walked back to the White Tower. It was quite
late and the streets of Minas Tirith were still, the silence broken by
the occasional sound of a shutting window or closing door. They passed a
tavern along the way, the bright lights burning inside indicating that
the citizens of the city were also having their own merriment.

The two Elves listened to Eldarion’s nonsensical rambling as they
walked, his voice echoing loudly  in the quiet streets.

“{Brother, you will have your hands full tonight},” Onela remarked over
Eldarion’s head.

“{I shall manage}” was Legolas’ light reply.

Eldarion looked from one Elf to the other in confusion. “Was that
Quenya?” he asked.

“Yes,” Onela answered.

“Ah, I really ought to learn Quenya,” he mused aloud.

“I thought you already tried?” Legolas asked.

“Hmm, I s’ppose.” The Prince laughed. “But I really didn’t make an
effort,” he confessed. “I found it tedious and my teacher exceedingly
dull.” They had reached the tower gates and the sentries on duty saluted
them as they walked past. “But I would try again if you taught me,” he
told Legolas.

“If you wish to learn, then I will teach you.”

Eldarion nodded, swaying slightly as they climbed the tower steps. “I’m
not normally like this,” he told the two Elves. “I’m very responsible
when it comes to wine, ale and other types of alcohol. It’s just that .
. . I’m so very happy!”

Onela could not suppress a giggle. “Yes, Eldarion,” she agreed. “You
have much to be happy about,” she said, winking at her brother.

They continued their walk down the hallways until they stopped outside
Eldarion’s room. The Prince suddenly looked at Legolas saying, “I still
have to punish you!” he exclaimed.

Onela let out another laugh. “This is where I leave the two of you,” she
announced. She leaned in conspiratorially, saying to Eldarion, “I trust
you will make use of my tips tonight?”

“Most definitely,” the Prince replied, in an equally conspiratorial
manner.

Legolas watched the exchange, an amused expression on his face. It was
heartening to know that his sister approved and encouraged the
relationship. Any support would help them if and when they decided to
make their relationship public.

The Elven Prince caught sight of a silent figure at the end of the hall.
He motioned for her to come forward. Barra approached them timidly,
keeping her head bowed as she did so.

“Barra, is it not?” Legolas asked, confirming her name.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Barra, do you know the witchroot?”

“I don’t think so,” Barra replied uncertainly. “But the pantry is very
well stocked. If it is common enough, I’m sure it would be there.”

“It is quite common,” Legolas assured her. “It is very good for,” he
paused, glancing at the swaying Prince, “easing the effects that come
with alcohol.”

“Who would need such a root?” Eldarion asked, wrapping his arms around
Legolas’ waist and resting his head on the Elf’s shoulder.

Barra smiled and looked at the floor. It would be rude to laugh. Onela,
however, did not think so.

“That is a splendid idea,” she said in her lilting melodic voice. “I
will go and prepare a tonic for our young Prince to drink. That way, he
shan’t have such a splitting headache in the morn.” She turned to Barra.
“If you could show me the way to the kitchen?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Barra replied.

“I shall have her deliver the tonic when it is ready,” Onela told
Legolas. “Have a good night,” she could not help adding, teasingly.

Legolas shook his head at his sister’s innuendo. The mischievous streak
in the family ran strongest in her. Supporting Eldarion with one arm, he
opened the Prince’s bedroom door. It appeared his punishment would have
to wait. Eldarion had grown heavier in his arms and he was fairly
certain that the Prince would pass out the minute he was laid on the
large, comfortable bed. Legolas would do his best to hold his attention
until Barra returned with the tonic. He was determined that Eldarion
take it before falling asleep.

Legolas sat the Prince down on the side of the bed, ensuring that he
remained upright. The Elf stood before him and began untying the laces
of the Prince’s tunic. Eldarion batted the Elf’s hands away.

“I have been able to dress and undress myself for over twenty years,” he
said.

Legolas arched an eyebrow. “I would hope so,” he replied. “Still . . .”
The Elf ran a finger down the man’s partially exposed chest. “I thought
you might find it more pleasurable for me to undress you tonight.”

Even in his drunken state, Eldarion could not miss the seductive note in
the Elf’s voice. Legolas was so good at this. He wondered who could have
taught him such skill, or whether it had been innate. He lifted his eyes
to the Elf, silently giving his permission.

The Elf undid the rest of the laces, raising Eldarion’s arms in order to
slip the tunic off. His white undershirt soon followed. The Prince lay
down on the bed. Having Legolas take care of him was not such a bad
thing, he thought hazily.

“Stay awake,” came the Elf’s warning voice.

“Mmmm,” was the vague reply.

Eldarion was jolted to full consciousness by a sharp tug on his left
leg. The Elf was removing his boots with an uncharacteristically rough
touch. Legolas tossed them aside and stood up, hands on his hips as his
eyes roamed over the beautiful body in front of him. He had left the
Prince’s breeches on and he wondered how long it would be before he
would see a telling bulge forming between the mortal’s legs. Eldarion
craved the Elf’s touch. Legolas’ eyes glittered with the moonlight that
shone through the darkened room.

“You are wearing far too much clothing for my liking,” he told the Elf.

Legolas merely smiled, slowly untying the laces of his own tunic with
care. The Prince was hypnotized by the deliberate movement of the Elf’s
graceful hands. He was reminded of Onela as she had played the harp
earlier that evening. Her younger brother was also gifted with song, but
the instruments Legolas played were the body in all its sensual beauty.

The Elf slipped the tunic over his head, his golden hair falling in soft
waves over his shoulders. He left his loose-fitting undershirt on, the
untied laces teasingly exposing the firm chest underneath. He braced
himself with his arms as he lowered himself on top of the Prince, their
bodies’ inches away from one another. The tension between them was
electric. It was a game of self-control that Eldarion knew he would have
to learn quickly, should he ever wish to best the Elf. He refrained from
reaching up and crushing the Elf’s body to his, instead firmly keeping
his arms by his sides. He would not make the first move.

Legolas smiled at the Prince’s behavior. Eldarion was proving to be a
challenging lover, exactly the type he preferred. His golden hair
curtained their faces as he leaned in further to breathe the mortal’s
scent, ensuring that their skin never once made contact. Eldarion could
feel wisps of the Elf’s hair as it gently brushed against his shoulders
and face. He shivered.

A knock at the door caught their attention. Eldarion groaned in
annoyance, instinctively reaching up to prevent Legolas from moving, but
the Elf had already stood up and was headed for the door. He sat back up
on the bed facing the doorway, lifting his legs and crossing them
underneath him as he did so. He knew that he probably looked more like a
petulant little boy than a Crown Prince, but he did not care. He watched
as Legolas opened the door and accepted a goblet from the pretty,
blushing Barra. He thanked her and gave her further instructions, then
closed the door and came back to the bed. Eldarion moved to the center
of the bed, giving the Elf space to sit next him. Legolas’ demeanor had
changed entirely, taking on a parental quality as he handed the goblet
to the Prince.

“Here,” the Elf said. “Drink this.”

Eldarion lifted the goblet to take a sniff of the sickly white liquid
and wrinkled his nose. “It smells foul,” he declared.

“It does not taste much better,” Legolas replied. “Drink it quickly,” he
advised. “You will hardly taste a thing.”

The Prince looked at him dubiously. As he placed the goblet to his lips,
a wicked idea entered his mind. Smiling, he said thoughtfully, “I
believe I have found a more pleasing way to take this nasty concoction
and punish you at the same time.”

“Is that so?” the Elf asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes,” Eldarion answered, unceremoniously ripping the Elf’s thin
undershirt with one hand and tossing it aside. “Turn around,” he
ordered.

Legolas did as he was told. He could feel the cool air on his back as
the man brushed his long locks over his shoulder. He jumped slightly
when he felt a small amount of liquid trickle down his spine. A warm
tongue soon followed as Eldarion licked the offending substance away. He
repeated the procedure twice more, causing the Elf to shiver in delight
both times.

“Now lay down,” he told the Elf.

Legolas obeyed again, all the while thinking that this was the most
pleasurable punishment he had ever endured. He would thank his sister in
the morning.

Eldarion straddled the Elf’s waist while holding the goblet above
Legolas’ chest. With an almost predatory smile, he poured the liquid in
small lazy circles, quickly bending down to lick it before the tonic
spilled onto the cream silk sheets. The man’s skillful tongue followed
the trail the tonic made, taking the time to suck one nipple and then
the other as he did so. By the time he reached the hollow at the base of
the Elf’s neck, where the remaining liquid had conveniently pooled,
Legolas could not suppress his moans. Eldarion smiled to himself as he
continued to lap the white tonic. When he had licked enough of the
liquid and kept it in his mouth, he reached up to give the Elf a kiss.
Legolas looked at him skeptically, but accepted the bitter kiss, a
distasteful look on his face when it ended.

“I am not the one in need of the tonic,” he reminded the Prince.

“True,” the Man replied. “But it is part of your punishment.”

“Ah,” the Elf nodded, a faint smile on his face.

Eldarion shifted his weight and moved downwards. Legolas was still
wearing his breeches. The Prince would have to do something about that.
He was vaguely aware that his own breeches were growing uncomfortably
tight, but his own pleasure could wait. He derived great satisfaction
from fulfilling the Elf, perhaps even more than from receiving in
return. While holding the goblet in one hand, the Prince began untying
the laces of the Elf’s breeches. Though not as quick and skillful as
Legolas would have been, the laces were soon undone. He handed the
goblet to the Elf as he slid the breeches off Legolas’ raised hips.
Afterward, he took the goblet back with a quick glance inside to see how
much tonic was left. He smiled. It would be sufficient for his purposes.
The skilled foreplay had already made Legolas hard. Eldarion teased the
slit with his tongue, causing the Elf to shift slightly.

“I hope you will let me finish tonight,” the Prince told him.

“I have no objections,” the Elf replied.

“Good.”

Like the night before, Eldarion took the Elf’s entire length into his
mouth. Legolas sighed in appreciation. There was no doubt that the
Prince had a talented tongue. The Elf began to think that perhaps his
lover had been gifted with too talented a tongue, as Eldarion repeatedly
brought him to the brink of release and then abruptly stopped his
actions. When the Prince had done this for the third time, the Elf
groaned in frustration and need.

“Eldarion,” he said warningly, propping himself on his arms to look at
the man. “I thought you intended to finish your actions tonight.”

“I will . . . in my own time.”

Legolas groaned again, lying back down on the bed.

“I am being given a dose of my own medicine,” he commented to himself,
as he looked at the shadows cast across the ceiling above him.

“You have no idea,” the Prince replied quietly.

The Elf was completely taken by surprise when he felt a cool liquid hit
his burning member. It was instantly followed by a warm mouth. This time
the Prince was no longer playing and he skillfully brought the Elf to
his climax, taking care to swallow the Elf’s sweet seed, but also
leaving a little in his mouth. With a sly smile he crawled up the bed,
gifting the Elf with another kiss that Legolas once again accepted, his
own essence washing away the bitter taste of witchroot in his mouth.

“You are a resourceful lover,” Legolas told him.

“Does this please you?” Eldarion asked, sitting back up again.

“Immensely,” the Elf replied.

Legolas’ long-fingered hands made their way to the man’s breeches and
deftly undid the laces. The Prince was relieved to be free from his
confining pants. The throbbing ache between his legs was becoming
increasingly difficult to ignore.

“You have not yet taken your pleasure,” the Elf said, coaxing the Prince
to lie on top of him. He stopped and gave Eldarion a puzzled look when
he did not respond. “Do you not want me?”

Eldarion remained motionless, staring intently at the Elf but seemingly
not seeing him.

“Eldarion?”

The sound of his name brought the Prince out of his reverie. “Yes?”

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing.” Eldarion shook his head. “Everything is fine.”

The Elf looked at him expectantly, not believing him for a moment.

The man sighed. “I’m afraid that none of this is real,” he confessed.
“That I shall wake up any moment and discover that this has been another
one of my fantasies.”

The Elf tilted his head to one side. “You have fantasies about me?” he
could not help asking, teasingly.

Eldarion could feel his cheeks burning crimson in the darkness. Like his
sister, Legolas could make him feel so young. “Yes,” he admitted.

Instantly, Legolas sat up and the man settled himself in between the
Elf’s legs. The Elf began brushing the hair away from Eldarion’s face;
placing butterfly kisses on the man’s brow, eyelids and cheeks as he did
so. It was such a comforting gesture. Despite his playful tone, he
understood the gravity of the situation and wished to rid Eldarion of
his concerns.

“If this is a fantasy, Eldarion,” he whispered, “then we are dreaming of
the same one. And when we wake, it shall be together. Whenever you lay
your head down to sleep, I shall be with you.” He smiled. “Neither one
of us will ever be alone again.”

Legolas kissed the Prince deeply and Eldarion could feel himself melting
against the Elf’s embrace. Legolas promised a future that the Prince
wanted more than anything else. Yet his mind told him that such a future
was out of their reach. There were too many obstacles in their way.
Duty. Obligation. Responsibility. Tenets that had been drilled into him
since he was a child. What about love? Was that not the most important
tenet of all? If Legolas believed it to be, then anything was possible.

When the kiss ended, the Prince looked into the Elf’s deep blue eyes.
They had become midnight pools that mirrored his own love in the
darkness of the room. He smiled and pushed the Elf back down on the bed,
lying on top of him with feline grace. He would be the dominant one
tonight.

~*~*~*~

Eldarion lay on his wide bed staring up at the shadows cast across the
ceiling, vaguely wondering what time it was. Sleep would not come to
him. Perhaps this was one of the effects of the witchroot. His head
rested on Legolas’ flat stomach, gently moving up and down to the steady
rhythm of the Elf’s breathing. He turned his head to look at the Elven
Prince. It was slightly disconcerting to see Legolas lay with his eyes
wide open. Eldarion could not tell if the Elf was asleep or not.

“Do you sleep?” he heard himself whisper.

“No.”

The Prince was startled by the reply. “Why do you not sleep?” he asked
after a moment.

“Elves do not require as much rest as Men.”

“And you feel you have rested enough tonight?”

The Prince could feel the Elf’s gentle laughter at his innuendo.

“Why do you not sleep?” Legolas asked in return.

“I am restless. Is this an effect of the witchroot?”

“No,” the Elf replied. “On the contrary, the witchroot has a sleeping
effect. You must be a most unusual man.”

It was the Prince’s turn to laugh. He moved up the bed until he was
lying side by side with the Elf, his body turned to face the Elven
Prince. Legolas’ golden hair was strewn about the pillows and he
appeared to give off an ethereal glow in the darkness.

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Have you had many lovers?”

“I have had my share.” The Elf also turned on his side so that he was
face-to-face with the Prince. “There are many kinds of love and comfort
in this world, Eldarion. The love a parent has for a child; the love
siblings have for one another; the comfort of a friend’s embrace; a
warrior’s comfort given freely during respite from battle. But the most
important kind of love and the one most elusive to find, is the one I
have found with you. All other loves are but a shadow of what we share.”

The Prince listened intently. He understood the wisdom behind the Elf’s
words, but there was still a nagging thought at the back of his mind
that would not grant him peace until it was brought out in the open.

“And my father?”

“I have loved your father for many years and I love him still. Nothing
will ever change that.”

Eldarion looked down, stroking the soft silk sheets with his fingers.
These words were too painful to hear. The Elf caught his hand and pulled
him closer, so that their bodies were touching and their legs
intertwined.

“Your father and I share a history. Fate has thrown us together so that
our paths are forever entwined and yet cruelly separated.” The Elf
paused to brush the man’s cheek. “Do you see how fate has come full
circle?”

The Prince shook his head.

“Your father made the right decision years ago, when he shunned a life
with me for the greater good of all. And I helped him walk that path.
For if he had not given me up, you would never have been born and our
love would never be. You are here to help me heal.”

Eldarion reflected on the Elf’s words. He believed his father to be the
greatest of men and now his admiration for him had increased ten-fold.
His father had done what he himself would never have been able to do.
Such sacrifice. The King was worthy of the Elf’s love.

“Do you think he will see us that way?”

“I believe so. I am certain that he will not be pleased at first, but he
loves us both enough to grant us this happiness.”

The Prince remained silent. There was another thought that was troubling
him, but it was far too intimate to voice.

The Elf smiled in the darkness. He had the uncanny ability to read the
man’s thoughts. “I have never lain with your father,” he said quietly.

“Never?” Eldarion repeated in surprise.

“Never.”

A sense of relief washed over the Prince, but at the same time a
terrible pain struck his heart. How unbearable it must be to have such
great love unconsummated.

“There is another who is very dear to me,” the Elf continued after a
moment, “whom I have known almost my entire life.”

“Haldir.”

Legolas smiled at the Prince’s perceptiveness. “Yes,” he answered.
“Haldir has told me that once this celebration ends, he and nearly all
the remaining Lórien Elves shall pass over Sea. He asked me to go with
him. Of course, I did not accept,” Legolas quickly added, seeing the
look of alarm on his lover’s face. “However, our time together has drawn
to a close and I wish to make every moment last in our memories. I owe
him at least that much.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“I have decided to return to Lórien with him one last time and I would
like you to come with me. It may be your only opportunity to see the
Golden Wood in its final days of glory,” the Elf explained, “and it
would bring great joy to my heart if two of the most important people in
my life could get to know one another better.”

Eldarion smiled. He could not think of a better parting gift. “I would
be honored,” he replied.

~*~*~*~

In the misty early morning light, the King of Gondor walked through the
hallways of the White Tower. Years of living within Minas Tirith could
not break his ranger’s training as an early riser. In truth, this was
his favorite time of day. In the peace and stillness of the morning
there were no demands on his time, no royal duties yet to attend to and
the King could be alone with his thoughts. He was approaching his son’s
room and his footsteps involuntarily slowed until he was standing
outside the door. Experimentally, he reached out and turned the handle.
The door was unlocked. Aragorn shook his head. Careless of his son to
leave his door unlocked, even though he was perfectly safe within the
walls of the White Tower. Still, the King mused, Eldarion had quite an
eventful night. Even the Prince was entitled to a slip every now and
then.

Elessar knew that he should not be doing this, but his hand seemed to be
moving of its own accord as it turned the handle once more and opened
the door ever so slightly, just enough for him to steal a quick look
inside. The sight that greeted him was what he expected. Two figures
were sleeping under the covers on the large bed, his son’s arm wrapped
protectively around his lover with flowing blonde hair. Aragorn smiled
as he closed the door silently.

“Your Majesty!”

The King jumped slightly, cursing himself for being taken off his guard
as he turned around. The stern expression on his face caused the poor
servant girl in front of him to tremble.

“Yes?”

“I . . . I . . I’m sorry!” Barra stammered. “I didn’t meant to . . . I
just . . I wanted–.”

“It’s all right,” Aragorn interrupted her reassuringly. He did not mean
to frighten the girl so. “What were you going to say?”

Barra took a deep breath before speaking. “I was given instructions that
the Prince should not be disturbed,” she said meekly, feeling foolish
for telling the King of all people not to disturb his son.

“I see.” There was a pause as Aragorn waited for Barra to continue.

Sensing that more was expected of her, Barra thought frantically of
something else to say. “The Prince needed some assistance last night,”
she said slowly.

“What kind of assistance did he receive?”

“The Princess Onela made a tonic for him,” Barra explained. “Her brother
said that it would help with the effects of alcohol.”

Aragorn smiled inwardly. He remembered Legolas teaching him the same
lesson in his youth. “Did the Princess give the tonic to my son?”

“Oh no,” Barra replied, more at ease. The King had such a soothing
presence. “I brought it back myself.”

Aragorn paused. Something did not feel right. A flash of blonde crossed
his mind. “Where did you bring the tonic?”

“I brought the tonic here. To Prince Eldarion’s bedchamber.”

“And did you give the tonic to my son?”

Barra froze, realizing she had been caught. Her mind scrambled for
another answer. “I gave it to the Prince,” she said vaguely.

Aragorn was not fooled. “That was not my question,” he said. “Did you
give the tonic to my son?” he asked again. Barra remained tight-lipped
and for a moment Aragorn thought she would not answer.

“No,” she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Whom did you give it to?” Aragorn persisted.

“I gave it to Prince Legolas.”



Chapter 7. The Confrontation

King Elessar sat at a corner table staring intently at the grilled
sausage and eggs on his plate. He had no appetite, despite the delicious
aroma of sausage that wafted to his nose, causing his stomach to
grumble. He picked up his fork and turned it absently in his hand.

“Staring at your food won’t make it disappear,” a voice lightly chided
from above.

The King looked up just in time to see his son take the seat in front
him. Eldarion was beaming and Elessar knew it was not simply because he
had won an archery competition. It took all his willpower to smile
warmly at his son.

“You are up early today,” he commented conversationally.

“On the contrary,” Eldarion replied. “I am a little later than usual,”
he said, indicating the already bustling breakfast hall.

“Well,” Aragorn went on, “we are all entitled to late mornings after
such eventful nights.”

“Yes,” the Prince agreed, grinning sheepishly. “I admit I did not pay
attention to my drinking last night. I believe I may have overdone it a
little.”

The King could not help but laugh at his son’s understatement. “Be
honest,” he said. “Did Gimli talk you into it?”

Eldarion’s grin widened. “No,” he confessed. “It was entirely my idea.”

Aragorn shook his head. “Then you got what you deserved.”

T