Author: winter storm
Author's Email: winter_storm31@hotmail.co.uk
Title:  The Decision, parts 4-5
Pairing: Boromir/Legolas
Rating: R
Summary: The path of true love never ran smooth

This is a continuation of 'The Decision', parts 1-3.
Again, any feedback, either positive or negative, is very welcome.


Part 4

Chapter 1

If any nobleman should enter the land of Gondor, and deign to visit
its chief city of Minas Tirith, he would first pay his respects at the
palace of the King.  There he would come before the monarch and his
beautiful queen in all the splendour of their court, and be received
with the hospitality for which they were famed.  And if, on his stay,
he should be present for the Royal Councils, there he would meet the
Steward of Gondor, Boromir son of Denethor.  It had been five years
since the War of the Ring had come to its end, and victory had been
secured against the forces of darkness.  In those five years, Gondor
had once again become a place of peace and plenty.  Boromir now took
his rightful place  at the Court of Minas Tirith.


He was a tall, broad shouldered man, clear grey eyes still shining
with bold determination, although the years had added some lines to
his handsome face.  He spent many an evening at the King's table, for
the two had become loyal comrades since he had won such renown for his
valour in the battles of the Ring.


At his side sat a grave and beautiful figure, who drew the eyes like a
candle flame on a dark night.  Though the lamps burned bright in the
halls of Minas Tirith, none burned as bright as the face of the
Consort of the Steward.  A strange and wonderful sight he was, to all
who came there, for he was among the fairest of elvenkind, and had
been a Prince in his own right, before his marriage took him far from
his homeland. He possessed a noble bearing and regal countenance, and
the beauty of his wild green eyes was framed by the gold of his
flowing hair. And a fitting companion he made to the Steward, who was
raven-haired and proud and fierce of glance.  This was Legolas of
Mirkwood, trusted by all as the foremost advisor of the Steward and
loyal friend of the King.


Since the death of his father Denethor, the sceptre of the Stewardship
had passed into Boromir's hands.  Aragorn went so far as to strengthen
his role beyond ceremonial duty, and entrusted to him the law and
order of the state: for the King was a wise man, and he guessed
rightly that the heated energy and stubborn resolve of Boromir was
best channelled into this difficult and sometimes dangerous task.  It
was indeed a role that Boromir relished.  He was given a company of
almost one hundered, and he led them with vigour and courage against
the villains and law-breakers of Minas Tirith.  His name soon became
feared by them on the the streets of the city, and he quickly won the
respect of those he commanded.


His men wondered at him, so forceful and staunch-willed in his public
duties, yet so tender and loving with his consort and his child. No
one could miss the devotion of their leader for his lover from faraway
lands - indeed, whenever he made some small slip, or overlooked some
task, they would laugh and say he that he must be doting on his elf
again.  He lavished Legolas with gifts and favours, the same Legolas
who had always wandered his forest home wearing the simplest of
garments and with hair unadorned.  Now the elf appeared at court in
the finest raiment, as befitted the consort of the Steward, jewels
sparkling at his hair and wrists - and he had in his possession armour
and breastplate of polished silver which gleamed like white fire in
the sun.


Legolas had found his place at his husband's side, aiding him in his
duties, for he was possessed of great courage and had gained a deep
understanding of the minds of men.  It was Legolas above all others
that Boromir turned to when in need, for through his husband's advice
the right path could be sought.  But he was also known for his
compassion and generosity, for the poverty and injustice he saw every
day in the world of men moved his gentle heart, and he was beloved by
all who were wretched, outcast and miserable as their spokesperson and
benefactor.


Five years had passed since the two had made their vows to each other,
and it was now approaching winter in Minas Tirith. It was the season
of festivity for the elves, and in a few days' time, his brother and
father and a host of their royal company would be visiting the city. 
This yearly pilgrimage brought great comfort to Legolas, and he found
delight in singing the old elven songs of his youth and dancing to the
sweet music of elven instruments once again.  It was wondrous for the
men of the city to behold the ceremonials of the Steward's consort, as
the company of Mirkwood elves spent night after night in celebration,
feasting and gaeity.  His child Anarion always looked forward to this
season, expecting as he did a week's worth of gifts from his indulgent
uncle and grandfather.  For his human father, the visit was less
welcome.  Boromir was aware of a distinct lack of warmth between
himself and his husband's family, though they always spoke to him
civilly.  Every year, they descended upon Legolas with presents and
stories of Mirkwood and baskets of elven food, as if to to say: "Our
poor Legolas!  We pity him, caught as he is in this place of crude and
vulgar men, bound to a human lord who deserves him not.  Let us try
and make him forget his ill fortune, and he will remember he is an elf
again."  And Legolas himself barely noticed Boromir's presence,
immersed as he was among his own kind, leaving the man full of guilt
for taking the elf away from the people he loved and the life that had
been laid out for him.


He remembered well the fear and anxiety he had endured on visiting
Mirkwood for the first time, after Legolas had accepted his proposal. 
He had been almost certain that he would face the wrath of the King of
Mirkwood, that Thranduil would not suffer to let Legolas become a
mortal to be bound in marriage to a human,  and that he would realise
the truth behind his son's decision. But Thranduil, in fact, was not
of the same kind as Elrond or Galadriel.  Those were High Elven, and
would have seen through any deception at once.  The King of Mirkwood,
on the other hand, had no power to tell what had happened to Legolas,
or know the true father of Anarion: his concerns were mainly with his
kingdom, its safety and its wealth.  And it was his younger son that
he prized above all, for through Legolas he believed the key to
Mirkwood's power would be forged.


It was only as the years passed that Thranduil realised how true this
might be.  For the prince grew tall and stately, and his figure
matured, and he lost that childish awkwardness of gait.  No elf in
Mirkwood had ever known anyone to be as beautiful, as gracious, and as
loved by all, as Prince Legolas Greenleaf.  And his father saw that it
was so. Soon, kings and statesmen from all over Middle Earth came to
the palace, each brought by tales of the Prince's nobility, and asked
Thranduil for his hand.  But he never accepted.  None were good
enough.  He had his eyes on one prize alone.


At last the time came when matters of court took Elladan, son of
Elrond, to Mirkwood on an errand.  There he found that the little
elfling he had once known had grown into a creature who snared his
heart.  In an instant, he had made up his mind to make Legolas his
consort.  And when he let this be known, Thranduil rubbed his hands in
glee, for he had been waiting to ally his house with that of Elrond
for many years, and multiply his power through the glory of such a
union.


But at that moment, the brother of Legolas stepped forward and said:

"There will be no engagement.  My brother has not yet reached his
maturity, and is too young to be wed."

Thranduil had turned to his eldest son and heir in astonishment.  He
could not let such a chance slip between his fingers.  Elladan, too,
was nonplussed.

"He is young, to be sure," he said, "but he is ripe enough to bear
children."

"Maybe so.  But I will not be moved.  There will be no engagement."

The king and Elladan wrangled with him for many hours, using all
manner of pleas and arguments.  But the brother had a stubborn will,
and refused to authorise the marriage, which by law required his
sanction as the guardian and keeper of Legolas.  In doing so, he earnt
the displeasure of his father for several ill-tempered months, and
lost the friendship of the sons of Elrond.  But this did not appear to
over-trouble him.


Boromir well remembered his first meeting with the brother of Legolas,
and had been loath to any meeting since.  It had been the evening
after their engagement, and they had ridden direct to Mirkwood. His
beloved elf was still weak from childbirth, and he had gently taken
him down from their horse, supporting him beneath his slim shoulders. 

"Let me go in and speak to them alone," said Legolas quietly.  "It
will be easier that way."

Boromir saw the determination in his eyes.  "Very well.  You have your
story ready?"

"Yes.  But I am afraid, Boromir.  I have never lied to my family
before.  I have always opened my heart to them."

Boromir put his baby into the elf's arms.  Anarion was fast asleep and
clutching the clothes they had wrapped him in with his little fist.

"They will be ashamed of me," continued Legolas.  "They will think I
lost all sense of decorum and virtue, to lie with a man and have his
child out of wedlock."

"But they love you.  They will not cast you out, I am sure of it."

"My father will not, no.  He is very kind hearted.  Angry and shouting
one minute, and loving and contrite the next.  But my brother - my
brother is very strict.  He does not like humans."

Boromir laughed, despite the trials they had been through in the last
week.

"Since I will be his brother-in-law, he will have to get used to us. 
Come, now.  Go speak to your family.  I will wait for you, my love." 

Breathing in deeply, Legolas approached the royal rooms with Anarion
held tightly against him.  Boromir smiled encouragingly at him when he
looked over his shoulder.  Then he opened the door, entered, and let
it close with a snap.


It was a long, long wait in the corridor outside, watching the shadows
moving where the lamplight from other rooms was cast onto the wall in
front of him.  Every moment he was waiting for sounds of surprise and
anger, but there came none, only the murmur of low voices for many
minutes.  At last he heard a movement, and looked up to see a tall
figure at the door.  It was an elf with dark blonde hair and a severe
face, and a slight resemblance told Boromir that this must be the
elder brother of Legolas.  This was as well, for the elf did not
introduce himself, only stared at him with an unfathomable look.

"Come take a walk with me," he said, and gestured Boromir to follow
him into a large, dimly lit hallway.  The man nodded and their slow
footsteps echoed loudly on the smooth stone floor as they walked
together in silence.  The brother did not look at him again, but
Boromir looked at the brother, and he was surprised by how weary and
tired his face was.  It was as if he had lost the ever-youthful beauty
of his race.  Determined that relations be civil between them, he
began:

"I understand that this is all a surprise to you, Prince.  Let me
first thank you for wanting to speak with me, and be assured that . .
."

The elf, who was named Thorongil, fixed him with a sharp eye.

"How did you come to win my brother's hand?" he interrupted brusquely,
as if he had not listened to Boromir's speech at all.  "You are not at
all what I imagined he would choose."

Boromir took a deep breath, for he had been expecting a hostile
reception.  He endeavoured to keep his voice steady as he explained:

"Legolas and I were comrades, and have been through many battles and
adventures together.  Little by little our affection grew, and when I
made so bold as to ask for his hand, he accepted."

"You are lying," came the reply.  "You loved him, of course. 
Everybody does.  But he would not be moved by you."

Boromir was a little taken aback by the certainty in the brother's
voice, but he shook his head.

"Nevertheless, the fact is that he did accept me. If you want his
reasons, you must ask him yourself."

The brother smiled, but it was a very grim smile.

"His reasons, I imagine, you took good care of.  It is lucky for you
he bore your child.  He will have to marry you now, for his
reputation's sake."

"It is not like that at all," began Boromir.

"Then what was it like?" he countered.  "How you seduced him I do not
know, but you did, and now you have won him for the rest of his life. 
You are either very cunning, or very fortunate.  Do you know how many
elves have hoped to have him for their own?"

"But he chose me, of his own free will, out of all those others. 
Surely that means something to you?"

"I doubt you are worthy of the choice," was the cold reply.  Then he
seemed to reflect for a moment while he regarded the man.  "I love my
brother dearly," he said in a quieter tone.  "I have even offended
Elladan, the son of Elrond, because Legolas did not love him and asked
me in private to speak out against his arranged marriage.  I was happy
to do so - without my intrusion, he would have had no choice but to
wed him."  His gaze was levelled directly at Boromir, like an unspoken
challenge.  "I may speak out again, if you should fail him, and if
your vows to him prove false."

"I am not so weak," said Boromir, with a dark fire in his eyes.

"Men are weak," replied the brother, with a finality that brooked no
dissent.  "Their thoughts and desires are like leaves falling in the
wind.  Nothing binds them strong and true.  They follow what best
pleases them, never mind what hurt they cause to others.  Can I have
your word that you will honour Legolas as he deserves?"

"I swear to you, he will never suffer anything as long as I live."

Thorongil raised an eyebrow and appeared less than impressed.

"I doubt that you could swear such a thing.  Swear that you will do
your best by him, that you will never try and cause him harm, if you
will.  But our lives lie unforeseen, and we know not how our luck will
change.  You cannot protect him from everyone, or everything.  And no
more can I," he added, as an afterthought.

Boromir turned to him, and thought again how tired and lined his face
looked.  He was stung by the sense that Thorongil lacked any faith in
him. 

"I intend to hold true to my vows," he replied quietly.  "If by my
power I can do anything to relieve his pain or grant his happiness, I
will do it.  There are many fears and evils in the world, to be sure,
but from now on I will be the shield that stands between them and your
brother."

Thorongil looked at him directly for a long while, as if to judge the
truth of his words.  Then he sighed. 

"So be it.  I place him in your hands, then.  Though it is not what I
would have chosen." 

"Begging your pardon, but it is not your place to choose."  Boromir
thought Thorongil might be angry at these words, but he only shrugged.

"No, perhaps it is not.  I only want his happiness, after all. And if
you are what makes him happy, it will have to do."

With such a reception was Boromir welcomed into his husband's family.

Chapter 2

The marriage was a quiet affair, and Thorongil paid all expenses, much
to Boromir's surprise.  The stern, grudging expression on the elven
prince's face never softened, but he had the ceremony arranged without
delay and was present with the king as a second witness.  Thranduil
was broken hearted to see his younger son lost, but he smiled and
fussed over him so that no one would realise the extent of his
distress. 


The evening of the wedding, he had taken Boromir aside and asked him:

"What are your plans?  Will you reside in Mirkwood for a while?  You
are to be newly married, and deserve some time in peace with each
other."

Boromir shook his head.

"We cannot stay, your highness.  We are honour-bound to return to
Minas Tirith and join Aragorn in the defence of Middle-Earth."

Thranduil smiled sadly.

"I was afraid that you would say so.  I had hoped to spend more time
with my first grandson.  But if you must go, you must go.  Only it is
hard for me, to see my own child begin a new life far from me, and to
know that I will never see him again if the forces of Sauron prevail."

"I am sorry.  But our land is at war, as you well know.  And if we do
nothing, we will all perish.  Let us hope instead that we shall have
the victory, and you will be able to come and see your son and
grandchild whenever you should so wish."

"Let us hope that indeed.  Although, Boromir, it does not soothe the
pain this union has caused me.  For Legolas will become mortal, when
he is bound to you.  And when I set sail over the Sea, I will leave
him forever."

Boromir did not know what to say to this, for he felt the grief of
Thranduil, who knew he had to let his son go and could not imagine
living in a world without him.


The king could not hold back his tears on the day of the marriage
itself, although Thorongil's face was inscrutable.  Boromir himself
could barely contain a feeling of nervous excitement, which tightened
his chest and set all his nerves alight.  The ceremony took place in a
large forest clearing in the late evening, and the boughs of the
surrounding trees were bent heavy with tiny oil lamps which glittered
and sparkled in the darkness like thousands of stars.  It was a moment
the man never forgot, for the mixture of anticipation and anxiety made
his head swim, and the dark, heavy atmosphere of the trees encircled
him, and he felt as if he were in a dream.  Then, escorted by his
attendants, his betrothed walked towards him.  The elf wore trailing
robes of silver-green satin, embroidered at the sleeves with mithril
thread.  There was no circlet upon his head, for he was renouncing his
royal status, but his braids were woven with blossoming vines.  He and
his companions were all barefoot.


They made their vows of marriage there and then, in front of the small
company.  And as Legolas spoke the final words, and swore to honour
his human lord until death, he knelt to touch the man's feet in
accordance with tradition.  But Boromir bent and brought him up, for
he felt this would be more courteous in front of the elves.  Then,
they all raised their voices in song to bless the new couple, and wish
them happiness in their lives together.


Legolas had not felt like feasting or dancing after the wedding was
over.  He made his excuses to Boromir and said he would meet him in
his rooms after he had bathed their son and put him to bed.  But when
he went up slowly to the chamber that had been prepared for them,
Boromir was not there.  So he sat before the large mirror glass and
waited alone.


He still wore his wedding robes, but his hair now hung loose about his
shoulders.  Slowly, he picked up a comb and drew it back with long,
pensive strokes.  Reflected before him was a small, pale face with
large, troubled eyes.  Behind him was a double bed, draped with dark
velvet and satin, and it seemed to gape open like a hole to swallow
him.


"I chose this with my eyes open," he said softly to himself.  "I must
go through with what I promised."


He stared into the glass for a long time, before he heard the sound of
his husband approaching.  Boromir came and sat behind him and rested
his head on the elf's shoulder.

"You have been very quiet tonight, my love," he said.  "Are you well?"

"I am well," he replied.  "It is strange being back home, when so many
things have changed, that is all."

"Yes, it is strange.  I never dreamt that one day I would be be bound
in marriage to one such as yourself.  My beautiful Legolas!  My own at
last."

Legolas smiled diffidently and bent his head.

"I am glad you are happy," he said.

"Happier than I could have ever believed I might be."  He drew the
silken raiment down to bare the elf's alabaster shoulder, and bent his
lips to the warm skin.

"I have been waiting for this night," he said, as he kissed Legolas
upon his shoulder and collarbone.  "I have longed for the time when
you became mine entirely."

They stood together and Boromir guided him to the bed with his hands,
his veins pounding with blood. But as he lifted aside the elf's tunic,
his husband's body went rigid.  Legolas drew his breath in sharply and
clutched at the white scar on his throat as if it burned him.

"What is it?" asked Boromir, as Legolas stared at the floor, his hand
pressed over the ugly bite-mark that marred his otherwise flawless
skin.  "Nothing," he said, shaking.  "It is nothing, only . . .
memories."

Boromir drew back.

"Legolas," he said gently, "if you wish to rest tonight, then do so. 
You have had a very long and tiring day.  Go to sleep, I will not
mind."

Legolas looked up, about to answer.  But then he stopped himself.  For
he understood that Boromir was offering him an escape from what he
dreaded.  He wanted to say yes. The heavy draperies and sombre colours
of the room seemed to suffocate him, and he fought a terrible fear of
anyone gaining knowledge of him beyond what he could control.  But he
knew that if he agreed, he would never summon up the strength to face
his fears again.  He would break the promise he had made, to be a true
husband to this man.  So he shook his head.

"No, it is alright.  I will lie with you tonight, as I said I would."

Boromir smiled.

"Then kiss me," he said, and embraced him upon the bed. "I will not
hurt you," he promised. 

He made love to Legolas very gently, sighing with pleasure, and then
gathered him close. 

"May the Valar bless you," he whispered in his ear.  It was peaceful,
and silent, and the well of joy in his heart overflowed.  He slept, as
the perfume of the elf's body suffused the warm night air. 

Chapter 3

The next months were tumultuous with change and doubt, for in a short
span of time, battles were won and lost, hundreds of lives were
sacrificed, and terrors unimaginable were faced.  Yet Minas Tirith,
and with it, the whole of Middle-Earth, at last came from the darkness
into light.  The eagles soared over the battlements in triumph, and
Aragorn was crowned as King.


After the heat of war had passed, and the world saw a new spring,
Boromir and his consort had time to reflect on the upheavals of their
lives.  They had been at the forefront of the fighting, and seen many
good men fall beside them.  They had rejoiced at the victory, and at
the coronation and marriage of the King, and had bidden farewell to
the hobbits, Gandalf and Gimli, whom they loved so well.  Boromir had
lost his father to suicide and madness, and gained a sister-and-law in
the shape of his brother's new wife, the beautiful Eowyn.  Legolas had
left Mirkwood forever, and come to make a new life as an elf in the
land of Men.


So many changes, and the day of their marriage now seemed like a
distant memory.  For Boromir, it was a welcome homecoming, but for
Legolas it was time to start from the beginning.  He wandered through
new home uncertainly. The stone walls and tall turrets were not like
the dense forests he was used to, and the wealth and splendour of the
city was a different beauty from the simplicity of Nature.  At first,
he spoke the local tongue with halting phrases and performed any
public task hesitantly, waiting to see how others behaved at the table
or during ceremonials, before he too followed.  For he found their
ways very different from what he had learned in Mirkwood. 


But Legolas learned quickly, as with all things.  He would be forever
grateful to Faramir, for out of all the friends and family of either
partner, he was the only one to express any joy at the union.  At
their first meeting he was taken aback, to be sure, when Boromir
returned after long months away to present his shy and lovely consort
on his arm, but then he embraced the elf warmly, and called him
brother, and told him that he could not wish more happiness for them
both.  He was the first to show Legolas around Gondor, and endeavour
to make him welcome.  And soon, it was if the elf had been born a man
of Minas Tirith. He found friends in the city, and spoke their
language like a native, and dressed like them and ate the local fare. 
This was much to the chagrin of Thorongil, who thought it unbecoming. 
But there was no mistaking the elf's origins - even at the market in
the midst of the crowded street, the beauty and grace of his exquisite
face shone out like the sun, and people turned their heads to see him
go by.


"I am surprised at you, Boromir," Faramir said to his brother, when
they spoke alone together, soon after he had first returned.  "Of all
that should happen while you were away, I never expected this.  How
did it come to be?"

Boromir did not like to lie to his brother.  They had always been
close.  But he was not able to reveal the full story of his courtship
with Legolas, for he had sworn to keep it secret.  So he smiled and
said:

"Surprised at what? That I have chosen to marry at last?  Or that an
elf of royal blood is my husband?"

"Both, if truth be told.  But I am glad, because I have never seen you
so happy.  You cherish him, that is clear."

The older man smiled again.

"I feared at one time that I might never find someone to call my own. 
You know, as well as I do, how my past affairs fell to pieces, through
my own selfishness and folly.  But he is my good angel, and makes me a
better man. He and Anarion are the most precious things to me in all
the world."

"I hope that you look after them as well as they deserve," said
Faramir gravely.  He loved his brother, but he knew his faults as
well.

"I will," said Boromir earnestly, "I have learned my lesson.  This
time, I do not want to make a mistake, and ruin what the Valar have
given me.  I love them too much for that."

Faramir embraced him.

"You will be a wonderful father and husband, I know it," he reassured. 
"And you need not worry or fear anything, only come to me and I will
always stand by you."

"Thank you, Faramir," he replied. 

"Although, it may not be the same with everyone," said Faramir
thoughtfully.  "You know that some people are displeased?  They do not
like what you have done."

"Let them say what they want," said Boromir sharply.  "I know that
they reject this marriage, and call him a foreigner, and my son
illegitimate.  But I will not stand for it.  If they dare insult him
in front of me, they will not escape punishment."

"Ignore them.  Live your own life.  Legolas and Anarion should be your
only concern now."

Boromir rubbed his brother's hair playfully.

"Yes, since you do not need looking after any more, little brother! 
How grown up you seem now.  You have made me very proud.  I think that
you and Eowyn suit each other very well."

Faramir was pleased.  "To our consorts," said Boromir, and, laughing,
they both raised their glasses.

Chapter 4

But what of little Anarion, the boy who was to all eyes the child of
the Steward of Gondor, and grandson to a King?  How would he manage,
growing up as he did at the feet of the White mountains, and caught
between the worlds of elves and Men?  It was as well that Anarion was
a blithe and carefree soul, for he managed very well indeed.


As an infant, he had been effortlessly endearing.  Thorongil, who
would frown even when the sun was shining, cooed and fussed over him
without the slightest hesitation.  Thranduil would carry him out onto
the balcony and point out to him the trees and the birds in elvish. 
And his aunt Eowyn could never resist giving him a little pinch, for
soon he became a very podgy baby boy.

"He grows like an oak!" Legolas would exclaim, as his son giggled and
spooned more sticky syrup, his favourite treat, into his mouth. 

"He has a good appetite, that's all," Boromir replied lightly.  "It
will keep him healthy."  Boromir was rather proud of his fat and
cheerful son.  It pleased him that he looked most un-elvish, with his
slightly curly dark hair and his round, sweet face.  As he began to
walk and talk, everyone commented on the resemblance to his human
father, and elves visiting Legolas for the first time could not hide
their surprise at the great, strapping child he had borne. 


Legolas himself cherished his son so much that sometimes he thought
his heart would burst with love.  He could hear no sweeter sound than
Anarion's laughter, which was loud and deep and came from his belly,
and was heard often ringing throughout their home. Neither could he
fail to be amused at the sight of Boromir pacing from one important
council to another with long, marching strides, while a little dumpy
figure trotted at high speed beside him, determined to keep up, all
the time chattering in an excited voice.  Invariably, Boromir would be
forced to take him up onto his shoulders, and he would sit there proud
as a king on his throne, his short legs sticking out into the air like
two fat sausages.  Anarion probably had a vague sense that his
father's work was important, but it was clearly nowhere near as
important as his duty to entertain him.  "Horsie!" was his favourite
command, and they would spend hours laughing together as Boromir
crawled around on all fours, with Anarion beaming on his back. 
Despite repeatedly grumbling that his son was getting heavier and
heavier, and that soon he would get too old for these sort of games,
Legolas knew that Boromir enjoyed their play as much as Anarion.  This
was in no small part due to the regard in which the little boy held
his father.

"My Papa fought in the great War of the Ring, and he was the bravest,
and the strongest, and the tallest man there!" he announced proudly to
his friends.  And though none of them really knew what the War of the
Ring was, or any of the men who had fought in it, they would all open
their eyes round and wide, and nod their heads, and agree with Anarion
that his Papa was indeed the best man living.


But though it seemed that this small family, brought together by
misfortune and misery, had succeeded in finding happiness, it could
not be so easy.  For the years passed, and the seasons changed, and
the man and elf busied themselves with their everyday lives - yet
still, something was missing.  Legolas had no second child. He had
been certain that he would have a son or daughter by Boromir to join
his firstborn, but it was not so.  Boromir, too, had expected that
sooner or later he would be surrounded by the large family he had
always dreamed of.  But as time went by, and still there was no sign,
they came to accept that this might never be.  Legolas felt ashamed in
his heart, to fail in his duty as a husband, and his barrenness was
the cause of an unspoken sadness between them both.  As for Anarion,
he noticed nothing amiss.  For he adored both his parents so ardently
- how could they, in his innocent mind, do anything other than adore
each other?

Chapter 5

It was midwinter, and Legolas stood out on the balcony of the White
Tower, his hair caught up around his face in the wind and his tunic of
pale blue silk flowing free around him.  The sun had just risen in the
sky, and the land of Gondor was spread out like a carpet below.  He
loved to stand here, to feel the sunlight on his face and the wind in
his hair, for it made him feel close to all that he held dear.


A padding of footsteps behind him made him turn around, and a little
child ran to him and grasped his legs.

"Ada!" he cried excitedly.  "Grandfather is here!"

"What?" said the elf, lifting his son into his arms.  "He is here
already?"

"Yes, yes, I have seen him and uncle.  They have just come now!  Come
on, let's wake up Papa."

He scrambled down, ran to their rooms and threw himself onto the bed,
where Boromir lay sleepily.

"Papa, papa!" said Anarion.  "Wake up, they are here!"

Legolas laughed as Boromir rubbed his eyes and frowned.

"How is it you can talk so much so early in the morning?" he said.
"Come here, you rascal!" And he seized Anarion round the middle and
tickled his belly.  The child squealed and rolled over.

"That is to teach you not to trouble your papa for no good reason,"
said Boromir, mock-sternly, once Anarion had got his breath back.

"Now, then, what is all the commotion?"

"Grandfather and uncle are here," said Anarion, his large green eyes
open wide.  "I have seen them.  Let's go down!"

"Hmm," replied Boromir. "They have come early."  He did not sound over
pleased.

"I will greet them, my lord," said Legolas, eager to see his family. 
"Come down when you are ready." 


Boromir took his time in getting dressed, for he was in no great hurry
to spend time with his in-laws.  When he descended at last, he found
Anarion ensconced on his grandfather's lap and Thorongil speaking to
Legolas in Sindarin.  Although his son could speak the elvish language
well, Boromir had never learned more than a few words.  He had no need
- he was quite sure that any elf talking to Legolas would be
complaining about his human husband.


"Welcome, your highness," he said to Thranduil. 

"Thank you, Boromir.  Are you well?"

"Yes, very well.  Good morning, Thorongil."

"Good morning," he replied politely. 

"Have you had a safe journey?"

"Yes, we thought we would come ahead of the others since the going was
clear," said Thranduil.  "I wanted to spend some more time with this
little one," he said, and ruffled Anarion's dark hair.

"There is a big cake in the kitchen," the little boy informed him. 
"It is for the feast.  I am going to eat it all!"

"All of it?  You a very greedy.  And you will feel ill afterwards."

Anarion did not think so.  "I like cake," he said.  "I can eat lots."

Thorongil stood and lifted him up, as Boromir sat down.

"You are growing bigger and bigger, every time I see you," he said. 
"And Legolas looks thinner than ever.  Are you eating well?  You look
so pale."

Boromir suppressed a groan.  Every time they visited, they thought
Legolas looked thinner, as if his husband chose deliberately to starve
him.

"We have brought lots of good food, anyway.  All of your favourites."

"Suram?" asked Anarion hopefully, referring to an elvish sweetbread. 

"Yes, suram as well.  And we have a special gift for you too."

"Oh, where is it?"

Thranduil rummaged in a large pack.

"Well, now, what have I got?  What do I think you would like best?"

"I would like a horse," said Anarion seriously. 

Thranduil laughed.

"Well, another time, perhaps. When you are a little older.  But here
is your gift," and he knelt and handed Anarion a gilded spinning top,
of elvish make, so that it hummed a tune like a bird and glowed with a
golden light when it spun.  The child's face shone.

"It is my best present ever," he said (although he said this about
most presents, being quite easily pleased.)  "Thankyou!"  He hugged
his grandfather and ran off to play with his toy, while Thranduil
shook his head.

"A horse, indeed," he smiled, and turned to Boromir.  "He will be
soldier, I suppose, just like his father."

"He will have to learn more of the Eldar before he can do anything of
the sort," broke in Thorongil, before Boromir could speak.  "These Men
think life is nothing but battles and war. An elf knows he must become
wise and learned in tradition before he is a true warrior."

"He will study when he is older, Thorongil," said Legolas lightly,
preventing any response  from his husband.  "Now, come let me show to
your rooms."


He took them on a tour of their quarters, pointing out the sights of
the city that could be seen from the windows, and telling them what
changes there had been since their last visit.  He showed them the
gardens and forests that Boromir had planted for him, so that he might
enjoy the smell of woodland air and the company of the birds and
trees, even within the bounds of the city walls.  Faramir and Eowyn
came to meet them, and they took lunch together outdoors, while
Anarion ran around in the crisp air and played with his little
cousins.


Throughout, Thorongil sniped about Boromir and how he chose to take
care of his husband and bring up his son.  The man ignored him for the
most part, since he was used to such comments.  But the feast that
night was scarcely any better.  The rest of the Mirkwood party had
arrived, and with the food itself, no one could find fault, for the
kitchens had outdone themselves in their efforts to serve dishes in
the elvish style.  But thought Thranduil made some attempt to be
friendly to his son-in-law, Thorongil could not refrain from
criticising him.


Boromir complained to Legolas when they were alone that evening.

"You would be his friend, if you only tried," said Legolas.  "You and
he are just the same - both very stubborn."

Boromir was insulted by the suggestion that he and Thorongil were in
any way alike.

"How is it that he is so ill-humoured and aloof?  You bring sunshine
into any room you walk into, while he is like a thundercloud."

Legolas looked uncomfortable.

"Please, my Lord," he said gently, "he is a good man, in truth he is. 
He was married once, many, many years ago, but the poor elf maiden
died of illness, and I do not think he has yet recovered from the
blow.  I have tried to comfort him, and I hope that one day he might
find someone else to share his life with.  I know that he seems
severe, but he always means well."

"I see," said Boromir thoughtfully.  "That is the problem, is it? 
Well, there are many lovely elf-maidens among your company.  I will
simply find him one to suit and make him happily married again."

"Boromir!" exclaimed Legolas.  "It is not a joke.  He will be
mortified."

"I was not joking," said Boromir firmly.  "To be frank, I am tired of
his censure, and if a maiden is what it takes to end his complaints,
then that is what I will find him."


On the last evening of the Mirkwood company's stay, a celebratory
banquet had been arranged.  A huge table, laid with gold dishes and
glimmering crystal, stood in the centre of the great hall, which had
been decorated with candlelight and silver ornaments.  The crowd was
dressed in its finest raiment and a group of them in one corner played
music on elvish instruments.  As they cleared their plates, the
laughter and the noise growing ever louder, Faramir nudged his brother
with a smile on his face.

"Look at Thorongil!" he said in a low voice.  "Have you ever seen him
more uncomfortable?"

Boromir turned to see his brother-in-law blushing as he spoke to a
beautiful elf-woman.  It seemed as though he was trying to make
excuses to sit down on his own.

"Ah, yes," said Boromir, pleased.  "I asked her to go and talk to him.
She is pretty, don't you think?"

"What?" said Faramir in surprise.  "You asked her?  Why?"

"Well, he is so very shy.  I thought it might make him more sociable."

"Boromir," said Faramir sternly, "you are not trying to arrange some
sort of courtship, are you?"

"No," said Boromir, but it was less than convincing.

"I don't believe it," said his brother.  "I thought you and he were at
loggerheads."

"We are, but a romance might distract him from forever pointing out my
lesser qualities.  That is what I am hoping, anyway."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

"Look!" said Boromir triumphantly, "they are dancing now!"  And
indeed, the elf woman had pulled Thorongil to his feet and was dancing
with him around the room.  Thorongil was trying to smile but kept
looking over his shoulder as if were hoping the music would stop soon.

"I think they look very well as a couple, don't you?" said Boromir to
his brother, who did not trouble to reply.


In a corner, Legolas was talking to one of his elven friends.  The
gossip of Mirkwood had been exhausted, and the conversation had turned
to the troubles Legolas had experienced in Minas Tirith.

"I know of this," said his friend.  "Men have their own ways, and
think very differently to us."

"Yes, they think that a man who lies with another man is base and
pitiable, and has no honour.  But I will not stand to see him
denigrated in my presence.  He has defended me when I have been
disrespected at court, and I will do the same for him.  But that is
not the worst of it.  They pass judgement on my son as well."

"What could they possibly say against him?" she asked.

"What could they not say?" he countered.  "They call him half-breed,
mongrel.  They say he was conceived on a bed of shame."

"No!"

"Yes.  He is young now, and it does not affect him.  But when he is
older, he will have to face these insults himself."

He turned at that point, for Boromir had approached him and held him
round the waist.

"Are you going to sit and talk all night, or will you dance with me?"
he said playfully.

Legolas laughed and joined him in the centre of the hall.  He was
light on his feet, as were all elves, and danced with tremendous
grace.  The wine continued to flow, and the music carried on long into
the night.

Chapter 6

The time came at last for the elves to make their departures.  Legolas
embraced his father and brother tightly, and promised to write to
them, and tell them how Anarion was doing.  Thorongil shook Boromir's
hand solemnly and told him to look after his younger brother, as he
always did.  As he waved them away, Legolas had tears in his eyes.  He
missed them deeply in the months that followed.

For a while, everything carried on as before.  Aragorn had received
troubling news of unrest in the south, and has sent envoys to help
settle the skirmishes, but elsewhere, all was peaceful.

And Legolas dared feel hope in his heart, for the summer air was soft
and pleasant, and the nights full of song and music, and better still,
better than any of his rich silver furs or glimmering gold bracelets,
better than his newly carved bows with their sharply-turned arrows,
was moment when he at long last felt the flutter of a child beneath
his heart. 

He was sitting in his garden, enjoying the evening in the open, when
he stood up suddenly.  And there it came again, he was sure of it: his
face flushed with pleasure and he clenched his fist against his belly,
over the life he sensed within. 

"The Valar have listened to my prayers," he said softly to himself. 
"They have seen how I have struggled to serve my Lord, and they have
blessed me with a child of his own blood to relieve our sadness."  He
went then and there into the house, determined to tell Boromir the
joyful news immediately.


But when he entered their room, Boromir was not there.  Perhaps he
still had business to attend to.  It was of no great consequence -
Legolas sat down on their bed, eagerly awaiting his husband's return,
barely able to contain his delight and relief at finally being able to
offer him what he had always desired. How he would laugh and clap his
hands when he heard! 


He sat and waited for almost an hour, half impatient, half brimming
with anticipation.  Eventually there were footsteps outside the door,
and Boromir appeared.  Legolas's initial smile of welcome faded a
little when he saw that his husband's face was heavily flushed.

"Have you been waiting for me, my love?" Boromir asked, moving towards
him, his words a little slurred.

"Yes.  Where have you been?" He was even more disconcerted when he
smelt the wine on Boromir's breath.

"Oh, there were some events to celebrate, and the evening ran a little
long," came the reply. 

"I see."  The smile had disappeared.  His lips were set tightly
together.

"But I'm here now.  How is my lovely husband?" he said grinning, and
he reached out for him unsteadily. 

"I am well.  And I have some news for you."

"Some news?"

"Yes!  My lord, it is what we have been hoping for.  I am carrying
your child.  It is a son, I think."

Boromir was overjoyed, as Legolas had known he would be.  "This is
good news indeed!  You are an angel, three times blessed. Come now,
come kiss me," he said, as he drew the elf into an embrace.  Legolas
should have been pleased, but he flinched at the close contact.

"You have been drinking too much, my Lord"

"Only a few glasses. Only one or two."

"A lot more than that, I think."

"Well, what does it matter?  Should I not enjoy myself?  I am wealthy,
and I have a beautiful husband, and I will be a father.  Should I not
enjoy them all?"

Legolas sighed.  "I am tired now.  Perhaps I will retire." But the
excess of wine had put other things in Boromir's mind.

"Lie down for me, then,"  he said huskily. He kissed Legolas on the
mouth. "Take off your clothes."

"Not tonight, my Lord," he replied, uncomfortable.  "It has been a
very long day."

"For me as well.  And I would like to stretch my weary limbs by lying
upon my husband."  He kissed the elf's white throat, his breath heavy.

"Please, not tonight."  He made as if to push Boromir away.

"Don't be foolish," said the man.  "I want you tonight. I want you
moaning when I move deep inside you."

"No," said Legolas under his breath, and he panicked.  The lust with
which the whispered words were spoken had unleashed a torrent of
horrifying memories. When Boromir leaned towards him again, he beat
him away with his hands.

"What's the matter with you?" said Boromir, shocked.  Legolas did not
reply.

"You have been very cold lately.  Every time I come to bed, you turn
away from me."

"I - I have been tired, that's all."

"Tired?  I have been hearing every excuse.  If something is wrong,
tell me."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Isn't it?  If you do not tell me, Legolas, how can I fix it?"

Legolas turned on him, his face flushed with anger.

"That is how you see everything!  If there is a problem, it must be
fixed.  If there is trouble, all you have to do is get up and do
something about it.  You do not realise how many things there are in
this world that cannot be fixed.  You do not realise how much pain
there is that can never be undone, never."

The man was taken aback.

"You are upset.  I only wanted to find some way to comfort you."

"Some things are beyond comfort,"  said the elf bitterly.  "Some
things, we have no strength for."

"Nonsense.  We are strong enough for anything.  We love each other."

Legolas looked at him and bit his lip, then sat on the bed.

"Boromir," he said, and his voice was terribly strained.  "You know
that is not true, though you try to pretend it is so."

Boromir looked as if someone had struck him in the face. 

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I did not marry you because I loved you.  I married
you because I was afraid for my son, because I was ashamed of what
people would say if they knew how I had been dishonoured."  Legolas
knew that he had gone too far, but in some ways it was a blessed
relief to have out in the open what had for so long been left unsaid. 
"I am sorry, but it is the truth."

He thought that the man before him would argue or shout.  But
Boromir's large frame seemed to crumple, as if beneath the surface his
core was tired and fragile. 

"I see," he said, after a long pause.  "I had no wish to make you
unhappy, Legolas.  I am sorry for it."  He paused, then spoke the next
words as if they cost him great effort. "If you wish this marriage to
be dissolved, so be it."

"No," the elf replied immediately, looking distressed.  "I made my
decision, and I will keep to it.  You have given my son a good life,
and in return I hope that I will give you children of your own line. 
You have been a good father to him, Boromir.  I will not take that
away from you."  He bowed his head, and did not look at him, for it
pained him to hurt the man he had bound himself to.


Boromir sighed deeply. "Well, then."  He sat down beside Legolas. 
"But we will manage, will we not, my love?  I know that you long for
your home and your people, and I know that things have been . . . have
been difficult between us.  But we are friends, we can live well
enough together, can we not?"

"Yes," replied Legolas, although his voice sounded faraway.  "Yes, of
course we can."

Boromir felt as if he wanted to reach out and take the elf's hand, and
he wanted to let the tears that stung his eyes to flow.  But he did
neither.

"For Anarion's sake, at least," he said quietly.

"For Anarion's sake," repeated his husband.

Chapter 7

After that night, they could barely look each other in the eye.  Such
were their duties that it was no hard task to keep themselves in
separate company, and whenever they were bound to appear in concert,
it was always in the presence of others.  On those occasions that they
did find themselves alone together, they would make hollow
conversation on matters of state or local policy.  But those times
were few.  When night fell, one or the other would come to bed late to
find his partner already asleep, or at least feigning to be so.


They had greater cause than ever to be occupied when Aragorn left for
the south. The rumbles of discontent had grown louder, and the king
had decided that the time had come for him to see things with his own
eyes.  So he had departed, and taken with him a party of soldiers,
leaving the temporary charge of the city to his steward.  Boromir
threw himself into the running of Minas Tirith with great dedication,
if only because it distracted him from the burden that weighed heavily
on his heart.


"I do not know what to do," he confided to his brother one day.  "How
can I put things right, Faramir?"

"You are over anxious, surely.  Every partnership has its ups and
downs, its joys and discords."

"No, no, you did not see his face." He was distressed, for he could
not explain the full truth to his brother.  He could not reveal his
knowledge, that Legolas had settled for him, not out of love, but out
of necessity.  "I fear he may leave me."

"Boromir, it will be alright.  He loves you, I am sure of it."

You are wrong, thought Boromir.  He does not.  Aloud, he said
despairingly:

"I do not deserve him.  He is too good for me, he always was.  I
should have known better than to give myself such false hopes."

"Do not be foolish. He is carrying your child.  He has already borne
you a son.  You are bound together, and you must find a way through
this.  Boromir, are you listening?  You must not give up."

"I don't want to.  But he will not speak to me.  He has not lain with
me in months."

"Keep trying.  Is he not worth fighting for? How is it that you can be
so stubborn and forthright in every other sphere, but fall to pieces
with self-doubt in this?   Men fear and respect your word when you
speak in public.  You have led armies to fight on your command, armies
who did not flee because you told them to hold fast.  And yet, when
you upset your lover, you admit defeat and would relinquish any chance
of the happiness you have always longed for.  Here he comes, now. 
Speak to him."

Legolas and Eowyn had entered the room. 

"The council is starting soon," said Eowyn.  "You should go to the
halls, if you wish to be present, my Lord."

"Yes, let us go," said Faramir, but Legolas shook his head.

"I will sit out, this time.  I am a little tired."

"Nonsense," said Eowyn.  "You have to be there.  You are consort to
the Steward.  Don't worry about Anarion, I will look after him.  He
will keep the children company in the garden," she said, referring to
her own son and baby daughter.

"I will see you there," said Faramir, looking meaningfully at Boromir
and taking his wife by the arm, so that he could leave the two alone
together.

They stood uncomfortably for a while.

"Well," said Boromir.  "It should be quiet enough at court today.  We
will finish early, I think."

Legolas nodded distractedly.

"Perhaps," he tried again,  "if we do not go on too late, we can leave
Anarion with his aunt and uncle and have a meal for just the two of
us.  It would be pleasant to eat outside tonight, don't you think?"

Legolas shrugged.  "We will see.  I have some work to attend to."

Boromir, his heart breaking, tried to look into the elf's eyes, but
Legolas was staring at the ground.

"Alright, then," he sighed.  "Another time, maybe.  Come, we will be
late."


They went silently to court, and took their places on the raised dais
at the head of the hall.  Faramir was already there, sitting in his
chair on one side of the room.  He caught Boromir's eye, and his
expression clearly inquired into how things had gone.  Boromir gave
the slightest shake of his head, and then quickly turned away.


The court assembled, and soon proceedings began. Boromir was happy
enough to take over the duties of the King, although he was not a man
for long conversations and endless discussion, and would not have
enjoyed the role had it been his permanently.  He was impatient, and
preferred a plan of action.  But he was impressed at how eloquently
Legolas spoke at court, and with such authority.  The years of
training for princehood had not been lost on the elf, and those that
had doubted his abilities were soon silenced.  Boromir could not help
but wonder how other men must envy him, to have such a beautiful and
noble creature at his side.  If only they knew, he thought to himself
sadly.


The hours passed, and all had gone well.  As Boromir had predicted,
the meeting was coming to an early close.  He had just asked if there
were any other matters to be discussed, to which the answer was no,
and had been about to call a close to court, when a shout went up from
the floor.

"Wait!" called the voice.  Faramir had gotten to his feet.  "Legolas! 
He is not well!"

The Steward turned to his side and saw that Legolas had gone rigid in
his seat. His face was very white and covered with a sheen of cold
sweat.  Boromir turned to touch his shoulder, but his hand froze in
midair and he cried out, for he saw then that the elf's robes and
chair were soaked with blood.  With a gasp, Legolas slumped over and
would have fallen to the floor, had not Boromir caught him in his
arms.

"Quick!" he cried, horrified.  "Get help!" 

Faramir was dispatched in an instant as the elf continued to bleed. 
He returned with the healer, who bent down immediately to tend to the
stricken figure.  But Boromir clutched at his husband tightly, for the
eyes rolled up in Legolas's head and he began to jerk and twitch
uncontrollably, as if possessed.

"What is happening?" he cried.  "What is wrong?"

"Stand back everyone, please!" said the healer, for a crowd of anxious
courtiers surrounded them.  He then unscrewed a vial and, with great
difficulty, poured a colourless tincture down the elf's throat.  The
seizure appeared to pass.  Boromir breathed sharply.

"Legolas!  Legolas, can you hear me, my dear?"  Legolas moved and
sighed, but he appeared drowsy.

"Legolas!  It is I, Boromir.  I am with you, my dear."  Legolas opened
his eyes and a shudder went through him.  He bent his head towards his
husband and murmured his name softly.

"He has lost much blood," muttered the healer, who was gently feeling
the elf's abdomen.  A moment later, he stopped and pressed his lips
together grimly.

"Pardon me, sir," he said, and he looked unwilling to speak.  "It is
as I feared.  The child is lost."

A dead weight fell on Boromir's heart.  He squeezed his husband's
hand.

"Do you speak the truth?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I am sorry.  He has miscarried.  His body has rejected the child."

"No," came a moan, and Legolas began to weep.  "No, no."

Faramir looked at them sadly as they held each other.

"I am so sorry, my lord," whispered the elf, as he buried his head
against Boromir's shoulder.  "Please forgive me.  Forgive me for
losing your son."

Boromir cradled him and brushed the tears from his dark green eyes.

"It is alright, my dear, it is alright. "  He appeared to be trying to
comfort himself as well as his distraught husband.  "We are both
young.  We can try again.  We will have another child."  Legolas
sobbed and shook his head.

"It is all my fault.  I have failed you."

"No, no."

"Yes.  The Valar punish me for my sins.  I longed for this child, and
now our unborn son is dead." 

"Such misfortunes happen, my love.  They are part of our lives, and we
must learn to bear them."

But Legolas was inconsolable.

"We will have to take him to his chamber," said the healer.  "His body
has suffered a sore trial.  I have herbs to help him, but he must be
confined to bed for the next few weeks."

And so Boromir lifted his husband and carried him upstairs to his
rooms.  He hushed him and tried to make him sleep, but it was no use. 
Night came and went, but the elf lay wide awake, the tears running
from his eyes.

Part 5

Chapter 1

Anarion had been very much disturbed by his ada's sudden illness.  He
was not used to seeing his parents helpless or overcome in any way. 
For the past week, he had spent most of his time sitting in Legolas's
chamber, eating, talking, or reading, and he became upset whenever
anyone tried to make him leave.  He wanted to be able to see his ada
all the time, as if he were afraid that something else would happen to
him.  After Legolas regained some of his strength, he was finally able
to persuade his son that everything would be well, and that he should
go outdoors.  Anarion had been reluctant at first, but a morning spent
with his friends on the hillsides outside the city had soon lifted his
spirits, and for now he seemed to have forgotten his worries.  After
lunch he had hugged his parents briefly and run back again to rejoin
his playmates for the afternoon.

Boromir also took the opportunity to leave his husband's bedside and
breathe in the fresh air.  He decided to clean out the stables and
feed the horses, for the physical labour would clear his mind, and he
would rather be among those gentle beasts than in the company of other
people.  The loss of his unborn child still grieved him, and now and
then he needed his moments alone. 


It was not only for himself that he felt pain, but for his husband. 
He had seen Legolas struggle in his recovery after the attack of the
Nazgul, and it had been his most fervent wish that the elf never
underwent such an ordeal ever again.  Yet now here they were, with
their marriage breaking down, and the unborn child that might have
brought them together had been sloughed away from the elf's body in a
mess of blood.   As he raked over the straw despondently, he thought
of how hard he had fought to defend his union with Legolas against the
censure of others.  It seemed that it had all been for nothing.  But
although he might have despaired, he had a staunch heart. 

"I will make it work between us," he told himself firmly.  "He is
precious to me, and he has given me Anarion, and I will do everything
I can to make him happy."


His reverie was broken by the sounds of shouts and cries somewhere
near him.  He looked up and saw a group of children running in all
directions, not in the spirit of play, but in some alarm or distress. 
As he was about to approach them, they saw him and came running down
towards him, crying out.

"Sir!  Sir, please!"

"What is the matter, child?  You look pale as a spirit."

"It's Anarion, sir!  Please, come quickly!"

Boromir felt his throat tighten, although why he should be so afraid
he did not know.

"Why?  What has happened?"

But the small boy only gasped and shook his head, as if he could not
explain. 

"What has happened? Anybody?"  There was silence from the usually
boisterous crowd.  Boromir looked at the terrified faces around him,
and recognised one child as the gardener's daughter, a plucky and
sensible little girl if he remembered rightly. 

"Brega, tell me now.  I will not scold, I promise.  Tell me if Anarion
is in trouble."

"I don't know, sir," she said softly, her voice little more than a
whisper.  "A man came.  A man on a great horse.  He told Anarion to
follow him into the woods."

Boromir now began walking alongside the children, back to the fields
where they played, and with every moment, he walked faster and faster. 
"A man? What man?"

"I don't know.  I never saw him before."

"And then?"

"And then we were afraid, and we told him not to go, but he would not
listen.  I think - I think he has gone with him!"

"Oh, he was horrible!" cried another child suddenly, choking back a
sob.  "We knew it was wrong to go with him, we knew we had to run
away!"

A strange sense of panic fluttered around in Boromir's heart, for he
did not know what could have frightened these children so much that
they should have abandoned their playmate to find him.

"Did he have a weapon?  A sword?"

"No, no."

"Did Anarion cry out?  Or ask you to help him?"

"No, we tried to keep him back, but he wanted to go.  They went within
the trees where we could not see."

Boromir was striding at full pace now, and many of the smaller
children had been left behind.  The older ones hurried with him, but
were no less perturbed. 

"Please, sir, please hurry!  Come quickly!" they said, and the dread
in their faces drew itself into black imaginings in Boromir's mind. 
He saw his son kidnapped, or killed, and clearer than all these dull
fears was the thought that he, the boy's father, had not been there to
help him. He remembered the promise he had made Legolas on the night
of his proposal.  If their child came to any harm, his husband would
never forgive him.

"Where was he last?" he asked fretfully, coming at last to the open
fields beside the woods.

"Just down here.  Anarion?  Anarion, are you there?"  The others
joined in, calling for him by name.  There was no reply.  Boromir
strode forwards and shouted with the full force of his lungs.

"Anarion!  Anarion!"


A few moments later, a familiar voice chirped in reply.

"Is that you, Papa?  Why are you shouting for me?"  Anarion had been
sitting a little way out of sight in the long grass.  Now he got up
and went towards them, putting something small away in his pocket. 
Boromir rushed to him and swept him into his arms.

"Oh, you are alright!  Thank the Valar!"  Anarion managed to pull
himself out of the embrace, a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

"What's the matter, Papa?  Of course I am alright."  And indeed, when
Boromir looked at him, his son was as carefree and cheerful as ever. 
Anarion noticed his friends, crowding nervously in the background.

"There you are!" he cried.  "I was wondering where you had gone.  Why
did you all run away?"

They looked at each other, shamefaced. 

"We were frightened.  That man . . . I don't know, but when I saw him
I thought my blood had frozen cold."

"Oh.  But he did me no harm at all."

"Where is he now, Anarion?" asked Boromir.

"He has gone now. He left that way," he pointed.

"And why did he take you to the woods?"

"He said he had something important to talk to me about."  Anarion did
not seem to find it strange that men on horseback should request to
speak to him about important matters.  Boromir crouched beside him.

"Did he know you?"

"I think he must have done."  The boy clambered up into his father's
lap and began to frown and pick at blades of grass.  "But I did not
know him.  I could not see his face."

"Why not?" 

"He had a black hood on.  He was dressed all in black.  His horse was
black too."

A shiver seemed to go round the other children as they remembered the
strange man's apparel, but Anarion did not notice.  Boromir struggled
to maintain his composure.  A black rider, on a black horse!  But it
was impossible.  It could not be.

"What did he say to you?"

"I can't remember.  Lots of things."

"What sort of things, Anarion?"

"Well, he asked me who my parents were.  I told him that my father was
Steward to the King.  Then he asked me if I had an elven parent as
well.  I told him yes.  Then he said was my elven father from
Mirkwood, and I told him yes he does come from Mirkwood, where my
uncle and my grandpa live."

Boromir was quiet for a moment.  Anarion was looking at him with
innocent large eyes, and it was clear that whatever had terrified his
playmates had left him untouched. Boromir could not quite explain it.

"It is getting dark, children," he said at last, standing up.  "Come,
I will take you all home."  Anarion climbed onto his back. "Can I sit
with Ada?" he asked.

"Yes, we will go see him now.  But Anarion?"

"Yes?"

"Do not tell him about this man you saw today.  It will only worry
him, and he has not been very well.  And do not go talking to
strangers on your own again, it is not safe."

"Yes, Papa."

"Do you promise?"

He frowned, but nodded.

"Good."


They went up to Legolas's bedchamber together, where a soft
candlelight burned in the lamps.  The elf was wrapped in layers of
warm coverlets, for his face and hands were pale and cold to the
touch, and his breathing was heavy and laboured.  Every bone felt so
weak, every muscle ached with pain.  It was strange, but his sickness
made him even more beautiful to look at.  The clammy moisture of his
skin caused his face to glow in the dim light, and his dark green eyes
were limpid and bright.  Boromir's breath halted when he saw him as he
lay, so helpless and so lovely.

"Ada, it is me!" came the cry, and Anarion rushed to his side to hold
him.  Smiling weakly, Legolas leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"Come here, my little one," he said.  Boromir lifted the child onto
the bed so that he could curl up beside his ada.  He sat down himself
beside his husband.

"How are you?" he said softly.

"A little better, I think.  The healer has given me a tonic to ease
the pain."  He ruffled a hand through Anarion's hair.

"Have you been a good boy?" he asked him.  "You have not been giving
your papa any trouble, I hope?"

"No more than usual," smiled Boromir.  "Come, I will ask for supper to
be brought for all of us."

So they ate together by the bedside, as Legolas propped himself up on
his pillow and took a bowl of clear broth.  Anarion told them all
about his day - which games he had played, which races he had run,
which trees he had climbed, and which creatures he had seen. He showed
them where he had fallen and cut his knee with great pride, for he was
hoping to one day have as many scars across his body as his papa did. 
And as usual, he had some gifts for his ada.  Eagerly he put into the
elf's outstretched hands a bright petal, a delicate leaf skeleton and
a broken piece of blue eggshell.

"Thank you, Anarion.  I will keep them by my bedside, so I can think
of you until I am better."

"I will get you more tomorrow," he promised.  "But please get well
soon, Ada.  Papa is very sad without you."

"Is he now?" said Legolas softly. 

"He is," said Boromir ardently, and kissed his husband's cheek.  "But
it is bedtime for you, little one.  Up you get," and he hoisted
Anarion up into his arms.  "Kiss your ada and say goodnight." 

The little boy leant over and kissed Legolas, but as he did so, a
small pebble-like something slipped out of his pocket and onto the
bedspread.  He reached out with his plump fist to take it back, but
Legolas was quicker.

"What is this, Anarion?" he said mildly, holding it up to the light. 
Anarion said nothing.  His ada's tone suddenly changed.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, and he sounded startled.  Boromir
leaned over to look.  The elf was clutching a small gold pendant
inlaid with rubies.  It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, and it was
in the shape of a Red Eye. 


Anarion looked to his papa, for he had promised not to say anything
about the visitor on horseback.

"Anarion, answer me!" cried Legolas.  "Where did you find this?"

"Did he give this to you?" asked Boromir sternly.

"Who?" said the elf.

"A man came and spoke to Anarion this evening.  I did not want to
worry you about it."

"A man?  What man?  What is this all about?"  Legolas looked from one
to the other in distress.

"It was for my birthday, he said," admitted the boy, reaching out to
take it back.  "I told him that he had the wrong day, but he just
laughed and said it did not matter."

The colour drained from Legolas's face.  He looked at Boromir in
desperation.

"Never mind, Anarion," said the man. "To bed now.  Come on."

"Can I have it back, please?" he asked, holding out his hand.  Legolas
hesitated, but Boromir took the little pendant and gave it to the boy. 
"Let him take it.  It is nothing, Legolas.  Only a trinket."  He
carried Anarion upstairs to his bed, but his mind was elsewhere.  To
ensure that others believed their son had been born after his parents
were married, they celebrated his birthday in March.  But that was not
the true date of his birth.  The true date, as he and Legolas both
knew, was this very day.  How anyone could have known, Boromir did not
dare think about.  When he returned, Legolas's hands were writhing
with agitation.

"Tell me everything, Boromir," he said immediately, and Boromir had no
choice but to reluctantly tell him what had happened. When he had
finished, the elf's eyes looked dull and glazed.

"It is him," he whispered.  "It must be him.  He has come to take my
child back."

"Impossible," said Boromir firmly.  "He was destroyed.  It cannot be."

"He was thought destroyed many times, and yet returned," said Legolas,
and he leaned back on his pillow, barely daring to breathe.  "By the
Valar, if it is he, I do not think I could endure it."

"Legolas, you fear the worst.  More likely someone intends to frighten
us both, and they have dressed as the witch-king, and given Anarion a
sign of Sauron, to play some kind of foolish game."

Legolas was staring at the patterns on his bedspread.  Unconsciously,
his hand had moved to the ugly bite mark at his throat.

"Whoever it was, it can only mean one thing," he said at last. 
"Somebody knows.  Somebody has found out."

Boromir took a deep breath and nodded.  "But I do not see how," he
said.  "Even if someone guessed that he was not my son by blood, no
one knows of your attack by the Nazgul except the rest of the
fellowship.  And they would never betray that secret."

"It does not matter.  However it happened, the fact is that someone
knows the truth."

"My guess is that they will try and blackmail us over it.  But there
is not much we can do but wait and see."  The elf did not seem to be
listening.  He was lost in despair, and when he spoke his voice was
dull.

"I had believed for all these years that I was safe.  Now I will be
looking over my shoulder at every turn.  I will not sleep for fear of
the truth becoming known."

Boromir considered this for a while.

"Have you ever thought," he began cautiously, "of relieving this
burden yourself?  I know we always said that Anarion should never know
of the man who fathered him.  But perhaps, if our families were to
know, they would not be so overcome.  They might be a support to you,
Legolas.  They have stood by you through your marriage, have they not?
And who is to say - maybe when he is of age, Anarion himself should be
told the truth, and learn to accept it.  Better from us, than from
malicious gossip. Is that not so?"

Legolas turned his wide, clear eyes on him, and Boromir could see his
own face reflected there.

"But he is so happy as he is," he said sadly.  "I know why you speak
as you do, only I do not know if I could bring myself to explain it
all to him."  He reached out and clutched Boromir's large,
weatherbeaten hand in his own and squeezed it.

"Please look after him for me, at least.  Please, don't let anyone
else hurt him."

"I won't," he replied, and he meant it.

Chapter 2

There was still no word from Aragorn in the months that followed, and
no reappearance of the mysterious stranger. But Legolas had recovered
enough in his body to leave his chambers and ride outdoors again.  The
fresh air seemed to revive him more than any potion or tincture, and
soon there was colour in his cheeks once more. But with his new-found
vigour, he began to keep a closer eye than ever on his son, and it
became ever more a burden on his mind.  He had always worried about
Anarion, for he knew only too well the nature of his true father. 
Every time he watched the little boy play, or eat, or sit at his
lessons, he seemed to be looking for signs of the malevolence that
might sleep in his soul.  So far, he reassured himself that his
beloved son was all that was good and kind.  But sometimes, a
stubborn, headstrong nature emerged in the boy, and he could not help
but notice how strong and large he was becoming.  Legolas did not know
if he was only imagining things in his fixation.  But there was no
doubt that Anarion was growing ever more boisterous, and his ada saw
with apprehension how eager he was to win at his games, so much so
that he would even knock over the smaller children in his excitement. 
The elf tried to tell himself that there was no malice in the child's
behaviour.  Anarion was disobedient, and mischevious at times, but
never cruel.  Yet he still woke in the dead of night with a cold sweat
on his face, wondering whether he might grow to be just like his
father.

No, he would say to himself, and look at the boy beside him,
peacefully asleep.  That will never happen.  He is such a good son.

But he is only a child still, said a small voice in his head.  He is
not yet a man.


One afternoon, he took Anarion with him to visit Faramir and Eowyn in
Ithilien.  It had been the child's idea - he had been clamouring to
visit his two cousins.  As the eldest, he was idolised by Faramir's
son and daughter, and they rushed to see him as soon as he arrived.

"Be careful, Anarion," chastised Legolas, as his son picked up
Faramir's tiny, fair haired girl and swung her around in delight. 
"Remember, she is only a baby.  No rough games, do you understand?"

"Yes, ada," promised Anarion, and the three of them went off to go
hunting around the house.

"And how are you, Legolas?" asked Eowyn, when they had sat down later
to refreshments.

"Better, thank you."

Eowyn sat beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"You are looking well, thank Elbereth.  We were so worried about you."

He nodded, and then suddenly his head fell into his hands.  Eowyn put
her arm around him.

"Oh, Legolas.  It has been hard on you.  I am so sorry about your
child."

He shook his head.  "It has been eating away at me," he whispered.  "I
don't know what to do."

"It will take time," said Faramir softly.  "The wounds are still raw."

"It is more than that.  Faramir, I have said some terrible things to
my husband, and I regret them so much.  There is a gulf between us
that we cannot breach.  He carries the weight of the world on his
shoulders, and he will not share his grief with me, lest it make him
look weak - and it is the same for me."

Faramir nodded gravely.  "I know that there have been difficulties for
you.  He has spoken to me of them."

"Why, what has happened?" asked Eowyn.  "What did you say to him?"

"I told him that I was unhappy, living here with him.  I believe I
made him feel that he had failed to be a good enough husband."

Faramir looked at him.

"And are you unhappy, Legolas?" he asked at last. 

"Sometimes," admitted the elf quietly.  "But it is not his fault."  He
could not fully explain to them why he succumbed at times to bouts of
melancholy and despair - he could not reveal to them how he had been
raped, and how Anarion had been born as a consequence.  It seemed
strange to him, that Anarion was the living proof of all the hurt and
anguish that sapped away at his happiness with Boromir, and at the
same time, he was the only thing that held them together.  "I do love
Boromir, very dearly," he said, "but I fear at times that our marriage
will not survive.  There is too much of a strain on us."

"I know you love him, Legolas, and he loves you as well, do not doubt
it.  You did not know him as a youth, as I did - he was reckless and
selfish.  But since he married you, he has changed.  He wants nothing
but the best for you and Anarion.  Please, Legolas, go back and talk
to him.  Whatever mistakes he has made, he can put them right."

"I wil not abandon him., Faramir, for our son's sake.  But I do not
think we can be happy together.  It was too much of a hope, that
things would work out, coming from such different worlds as we do." 
He looked sadly at his brother-in-law.  "I did not want it to end this
way, but it has."

Eowyn shook her head.  "You are wrong," she said.  "You judge too
hastily.  By rights, you think, you should have been married to an
elven king.  By rights, you should be living as a prince among your
own people.  This is what you think, do you not?" she asked.  Legolas
was surprised at her words, for she had guessed near the truth.  Many
nights he spent awake, wondering whether he had made the wrong
decision on the night of his son's birth, and whether he had chosen
the right path in the turmoil of his mind.

"You should forget those fears and those thoughts.  They will destroy
you.  Look at the man you love, and open your heart to him.  Do not
clutch at dreams, at false imaginings of what might have been."

"But how can I not?" cried the elf.  "This was not the destiny I was
born to.  I was not supposed to become consort to a human, or take a
mortal life, or leave my homeland.  I was not supposed to be called a
whore by men whose worth falls far below my own.  I was not supposed
to lose my child, and have little hope of ever having another."

Eowyn took his hand.

"Whether it was destined or not, this is the path your life has taken. 
And I have learned myself that despairing  of your life as not what it
was supposed to be brings no happiness to anyone. It is so easy to
want what we do not have.  If I had held on to the hopes I possessed 
- and my husband will forgive me for saying so - I would still be
yearning to be Queen on the throne of Gondor.  But it was a false
hope.  I do not think of it now, for it would have made me resentful
and bitter.  I look at what I have instead, and I realise how happy
and blessed I am with my own family."

This silenced Legolas.  He looked out of the window, and saw that it
had become dark.


"Come, Anarion," he called.  "We must be getting home now."

"Already?" said the child, wandering back into the room.  "Can't we
stay a bit longer?"

"No, it is getting very late. Say goodbye to your aunt and uncle."

He did so, and Legolas also took his leave, hugging them tightly.

"Thankyou," he said to them under his breath.  "Take care, now.  Come
visit us soon."  They nodded, and kissed their nephew once more.


He was lost in thought as he rode back with Anarion sat in front of
him.  By the time  they arrived at home, his son was already asleep,
and he tucked him up carefully in bed.  When he came down again, the
candlelight was burning in Boromir's office.  His husband was at his
desk, and turned and looked at him in surprise.

"Are you still working?" said Legolas.

"Yes. Where have you been?"

"I was in Ithilien."

"Oh.  Is everyone well?"

"Yes, very well.  I thought I would just go and visit.  Anarion wanted
to see his cousins."

"Oh, I see.  Is he asleep?"

"Yes, he is in bed."

Boromir paused, awkwardly.  He picked up his quill again.

"Well, I have some reports to finish.  Have you eaten?  There is food
in the kitchen, if you like."

Legolas did not reply.  He hovered by the door, unsure of whether to
stay or leave.  There was silence for a few moments. 

"I think I will retire as well," said Legolas at last.  He turned to
go.  But Boromir cried out suddenly and stopped him.

"Legolas, my love," he said, his voice full of hurt.  "I cannot bear
this coldness between us.  It is killing me.  Please, sit down and
talk with me at least."

The elf approached him, but his hand was at his mouth and he shook his
head.

"We can be happy together, I know we can," implored Boromir.  "Please. 
You must give it a chance, that's all.  That is all I ask."

To his astonishment, Legolas sank to his knees and laid his head down
in his lap, weeping.

"Please, forgive me for being so ungrateful my Lord," he sobbed.  "I
have been so foolish, to think I missed something when it was right
before my eyes."  He looked up at Boromir and covered his face with
soft kisses.

"I could not live without you," he whispered.  "Can you leave behind
our troubles, and let me love you and honour you as I should have done
from the beginning?"

Boromir looked at the sorrow and regret in his wide green eyes.  To
his surprise, his own eyes were softened with tears.

"Do not cry now - you have suffered enough  And there is nothing for
me to forgive."  He bent down and kissed the top of the elf's head. 
"I am a very lucky man to have you as my husband, and I could ask for
nothing more."

He too, knelt down on the floor and cupped the elf's chin in his
hands.

"I love you very much, Legolas.  I hope you know that."

"I do," he whispered.  "You are all the world to me."  They sat
holding each other for a while, rocking gently back and forth. 
Finally, Legolas dried his eyes and they rose to their feet.  The elf
brought Boromir's head down towards his own and kissed his lips
lovingly.  The man had him in a tight embrace, and lifted him into his
arms, kissing him passionately all the while.  Then he carried him to
their bed, and laid him there, and draped himself over him.

Legolas found great pleasure in the sensation of his husband's heavy
body lying on him.  As they loosed their clothes, he eased his
position so that Boromir could mount him.  They made love as if they
were hungry for each other, and then Legolas sank against his
husband's side, glistening with perspiration.  Boromir stroked his
hair fondly.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered.  "Like an angel."

Legolas put his golden head on Boromir's broad chest.

"I love you," he said softly.  "Hold me."

They drew up the covers, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Chapter 3

Legolas awoke in the early hours of the morning, before first light. 
He shifted gently away from Boromir, who slept peacefully, and touched
his jaw with the back of his hand.  He smiled to see him looking so
restful.

But his own thoughts were in turmoil.  He should have felt the burden
lift, having reconciled himself to his husband, but in truth his fear
over his son plagued him still.  Though he could believe, when Boromir
held him in his strong arms, that nothing and nobody could hurt them,
afterwards he thought again of how Anarion might one day fall prey to
the cruel blood in his veins.  Again and again this thought
resurfaced, waking him in the dead of night, as it had done ever since
the day of his son's birth.  And now, with the gift of the Red Eye
from a mysterious stranger, the creeping dread in his heart grew ever
stronger.

Silently, as only an elf could, he rose and wrapped his body in a fine
silken robe.  Boromir did not stir as he crept out of their room and
took a walk down the dark corridors.  Whenever he woke and could not
find sleep again, he would walk like this around their quarters, and
later return once he was calmed.  Like a luminous spectre, he floated
along in the darkness, and finally he reached a small room which
looked out onto his gardens and his forest.  He often stood here at
the window, staring at the world outside while the dawn broke.  But
tonight, he left the curtains drawn, and sat down in the dim light. 

Free to dwell on the nightmares that haunted him, Legolas sighed and
buried his head in his hands.  He sat like this for a long while,
barely moving.  When he looked up at last, his eyes were dry of tears,
but there was a desolation in his face which spoke of what he now
endured.

"I can do nothing now," he murmured to himself.  "It is no longer in
my hands."  With a deep breath, he stood up.

He was about to leave when he thought he saw a movement out of the
corner of his eye, which startled him.  Turning around, he saw that
the covers on a table had been hastily put back, and that something
glinted beneath them.  The strange gleam, as of something watching
him, attracted his attention.  He went towards it without thinking,
like a puppet pulled on a string, and pulled back the heavy cloth.

Beneath it was a solid black sphere, its surface shining dully in the
light.  It was dark and heavy, but within its heart there seemed to be
a glow or flame, swirling with hidden colours and shapes.

"A Palantir," breathed Legolas.  "I have not seen one for many years." 

He did not cover it and walk away.  Something deep within the Seeing
Stone beckoned to him, teased him, begged him to look longer and
further into its black depths.  His mind locked into the very centre
of the Palantir, and slowly, tentatively, his hands reached out to
touch it.  If his mind had not been so fevered, if his spirit had not
been so tried these past days, he might have stopped himself and
reconsidered.  But it was too late.  He grasped the Palantir.


At once, it was as if the black stone had become a globe of the world,
and he had been pulled remorsely within it.  Everywhere was dark and
huge and empty, but for the countless whisperings around him.  He
turned and looked up and down fretfully but could see nothing, only
hear the voices talking to him, but they all spoke together and
blurred into one, and he could not understand what they told him.

Then, it was as if he soared in the sky and saw the land spread out
far below him.  The image cleared and sharpened, like he was falling
down towards the ground.  A light suddenly flamed out and the merged
voices were blown apart by the sound of screams and cries.  To his
horror, Legolas saw before him the image of a huge ravine that
stretched into infinite darkness.  And deep within it, clutching to
the sheer cliff-face, was Boromir, his beloved Boromir, bitterly
wounded and crying for help.  He was weak and bloodied, and so far had
he to climb that he would never find the strength to reach safety. 
Legolas tried to open his mouth and speak, but no sound came out.  He
was transfixed.  Boromir, with pain and anguish in his face, turned
and cried:

"No!  Please don't shoot!"

And now Legolas saw that a figure stood on the other edge of the
ravine, a tall figure with a long bow held taut and an arrow aimed
direct at his struggling husband.  The elf was breathless with terror,
to see Boromir so helpless in the line of fire, for surely the arrow
would send him plunging to his death below. 

He will kill him! he thought desperately.  There is no escape!

And he pleaded in his heart that something would happen, that someone
would save him, but it was not so.  The image grew brighter and
painfully sharp, and he could see the fear in Boromir's face, and then
he saw the archer bend his arm and loose his arrow with a savage
strength, and he screamed as he finally beheld the archer's face and
the steely determination of his eyes. 


The image went dark and he found himself back in the room.  The
Palantir was cold and dull.  But his breath did not slow, and he could
think of nothing else that night.  For he recognised the face of the
archer, though it had changed and matured - the face of his husband's
murderer, the face that had looked so terrifying in its resolve.  It
had been none other than the face of his own son.

To be continued . ..