Title: In Twilight 
Author: Aduial (imladris@bellsouth.net)
Pairings: Elladan/Legolas, some Glorfindel/Elrond
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir must foster a year in Mirkwood, but 
Elladan finds something beneath the beech trees of the Greenwood 
he did not expect to find.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien except the ones I have 
created. Song lyrics belong the anime .hack//SIGN.  I am only 
borrowing them.
Authors Note: Story takes place 100 years after Celebrian's 
departure into the West.  Elrohir, for this story, is the younger twin.  
Most of the events taking place follow book canon. Big thanks to 
my beta reader Ilye who corrected my grammar, spelling and 
elvish.
/ / denotes thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~ denotes changes in scene



Chapter 1: Reluctance
Summary: Elrond announces to his sons his decision of sending them to Mirkwood
for a year; the twins are none too happy, but accept with reluctance.

“I refuse to go, Ada!”

“I too!  We are not children, you cannot force us into this!”  Elrond sighed in
exasperation at his sons as he slowly tried in vain to sink slowly deeper into
his chair, like the piece of furniture could hide him from the scornful looks he
was receiving.  He knew the twins would not take his news with good grace, but
their firm resistance was beginning to wear on him after an already long and
tiresome day.  Passing a hand over his eyes, the elder peered over his slim
fingers at his twin sons, weathered warriors standing tall and firm before him,
defiance in their matching stormy gray eyes.  Convincing them would be far from
easy, but he had to try as best he could.

“Listen to me, both of you,” the lord of Imladris said in an even, calm voice,
straightening just a little in his chair.  “I know you would rather spend your
time hunting down Orcs to avenge your mother as you have done faithfully all
these years.  You would probably prefer if I sent you to stay with your
grandparents for the year; at least in Lothlorien you can roam, with the
Galadhrim and help protect the borders.  But this is something I need you to do
for me; this is something vitally important.  This will benefit us all, and
perhaps mend any, Elbereth forbid, rifts that might have unknowingly occurred. 
Arwen is residing in Lorien at the moment, so I can ask no one but the two of
you to do this for me.  There is no one else I can ask this favor of.”

“But stay in Mirkwood?  For a whole year?”  It was difficult for Elladan to
disguise the emotion flooding into his voice; in the end he gave up trying,
disbelief and annoyance lacing every one of his words.  “Ada, you and Thranduil
are not exactly what everyone would call ‘friends’; I don’t know if there is a
proper word to describe the…relationship you both have.  The two of you rarely
speak to each other in correspondences, even less when in one another‘s
presence.  Why are you insisting we go and stay in his realm for a whole year?”

“Because it will strengthen ties with Mirkwood.  They are secluded and far to
the north.  They need a strong alliance now more than ever as the darkness grows
in their forest.”

“Why can they not have ties with Lorien?” Elrohir reasoned, though he knew
already the answer to his question.  The Golden Wood was further from the
Greenwood than Imladris was.  It made more sense to establish an alliance with
the Last Homely House than with the Woods of the Mellryn Trees.  Besides, there
were no longer heirs to Lothlorien with the twins’ mother gone over sea.  An
alliance between the Last Homely House and the Northern Woods would benefit more
than merely the two parties involved.  If such a bond between them could be
established, then Mirkwood would have an indirect link to Lothlorien, felling
two birds with a single shot from an elven bow.

“Can you not do this for me?” Elrond tried to argue, ignoring Elrohir’s
question.  “It is only one year.  You will be trying to win the favor of
Thranduil’s children, not the king himself.  An alliance between heirs is more
promising than one between the parents, especially after so many long years.  
“I am not asking you to perform a miracle, merely to help our kin in what little
way you can.  Saes, gwenyn-nîn.”  He looked each one of his sons in the eye,
hard steel gray against not so rough pale charcoal.  The lord silently implored
them to heed his wishes, not as their leader and ruler but as their father. 
Elrond asked so little of his children, save their happiness, that it was
difficult for any one of them to fully reject any requests he laid before their
feet.  With a collective sigh, the twins finally caved in.

“All right, Ada,”  It was Elrohir who spoke.  “We’ll go to Mirkwood as you ask. 
But that does not mean we will like it.  Do not be too surprised if one year
later you find yourself with two very grumpy sons on a warpath when we return.” 
A thankful smile graced the aged yet still youthful face as Elrond gestured for
his sons to approach, wrapping them in a warm paternal embrace when they were
close.

“Thank you, pen-neth--both of you.”  He released them, the warm smile still
etched across his features.  “Now go and prepare yourselves for the journey. 
You leave tomorrow morn.”  With a united nod, the twins turned, dark chocolate
hair swirling around them as they left their father’s study to attend to their
own matters.  Elrond watched them leave, a faint sigh escaping him as a warm,
pale hand descended onto his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“They were reluctant, but they love you,” came the voice of Elrond’s oldest
friend and advisor turned lover.  “In their hearts they would do anything for
you; Arwen as well.”

“Aye, that I know, Glorfindel.”  The blond nodded, a faint smile coming to him
as he knelt next to his lord.  Elrond gazed down at him, drinking in the sight
of deep ocean-blue eyes hiding, a bit mischievously, behind stray strands of
golden-blond hair.  The hand moved from his shoulder as the Elda lord knelt,
cupping Elrond’s knee instead, fingers trailing over wine-colored velvet robes
in its path.  They stared at each other for a long moment, when Elrond finally
let out a sigh, fingers lifting to twirl into golden locks spilling over
Glorfindel‘s shoulder.  “Was I right in asking this of them?  Was I right to
agree to let them foster a year in a place they have no real desire in visiting,
much less living there?”

“It is no secret that you and Thranduil are not the best of friends,” Glorfindel
reasoned in a soothing voice.  “In fact, it’s probably rather a stretch to call
you friends at all.”

“Aye, but I respect him.  He is a king of his own realm.”

“And you are a lord of yours, a well-known and great one at that.  For those
qualities he respects you.  He respects you as the lord of an elven realm, as a
hardened, seasoned warrior and as a great negotiator and lore master.  You
protect your people to the best of your abilities and they love you for doing
such deeds; he can relate to that far too well.  
“Aye he hates the Noldorion blood that flows within you; the same blood that
flows within your children; the blood that began the Kinslayings too many years
ago.  But that is something he cannot help, no more than he can help his own
bloodlines; the great king of Mirkwood should realize that if he does not
already.”

“You are right, a’maelamin.  Yet I am more concerned about his children.”  He
paused, during which time Glorfindel studied his features carefully, one pale
hand reaching up to twirl fingers in the chocolate hair that both twins had
inherited, mirroring the lord‘s own fingers still in his hair.  Elrond sighed at
the faint touch before continuing.  “I have not met any of Thranduil’s children. 
I have heard he has three sons and a daughter.  It makes me wonder how similar
or how different…from their father each one is…”

“Each of your children are different from one another, from you--even the
twins.”

“Exactly.  But there are also similarities between us.  I only hope that none of
Thranduil’s children have inherited their father’s haughty arrogance.  Elladan
in particular does not take kindly to such an attitude.  And they will be
associating with one another on a daily basis.”  As he finished speaking, his
golden haired lover rose on his heels, planting a breezing kiss on his lips.

“The twins are grown, and they handle themselves well in battle and in
diplomacy.  You have taught them, as have Erestor and I.  They will not bring
dishonor to you, your house or themselves.  All will be well, melethron, do not
worry.”  Elrond sighed yet again, leaning his forehead against Glorfindel’s,
smiles crossing each of their faces.

“What would I do without you?”  His lover merely smiled more brilliantly in
return as they drunk in each other’s presence, forgetting the world around them. 
All that existed was one another and the quiet moment they were sharing
together.  Neither moved for the longest time until a chime sounded, signaling
the start of the evening meal.  In unison the two lovers rose, walking
hand-in-hand to the dining hall.  One reassured the other with merely his
presence; the other smiled softly at the encouragement, leaning against his
lover.  Elrond resolved to show Glorfindel his appreciation for the other’s
patience and love after dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Is this such a good idea?”  Elladan turned slightly in his saddle to eye his
brother, who was riding next to him.  One week had passed since the discussion
with their father.  A mere day later the twins had left their home of Imladris,
laden with a few of their belongings and weapons, for the journey to Mirkwood. 
Barely a week later they could just now make out the tall, aged beeches that
made up the majority of the Greenwood, after leaving the Misty Mountains behind
them.  One more day and they would have reached their destination.  Yet the
twins still questioned whether this year in Mirkwood, a foster year they called
it, would really bring out a strong alliance with the forest king and his heirs.

“Well we can’t turn back now,” Elladan replied, turning his attention back to
the path in front of them as Arien sunk lower in the sky, announcing the
approaching nightfall.  A chill breeze rose, partly from the mountains they had
just passed and partly from the approaching winter.  The twins were glad of one
thing; they would make it to Mirkwood long before the white cold settled in, and
for that they were thankful.  “We promised Ada we’d do this for him, so we must. 
Besides, we’ve come this far, and the Greenwood is only just in front of us.”

“It still makes me wonder.”  Elrohir absentmindedly flicked a stray strand of
hair off his shoulder as he spoke.  “We’re either really going to enjoy this
year and live it as if it were our last, or botch things up and hate it
miserably.”  He sighed heavily.  “I would rather be hunting Orcs than doing
this.”

“As would I, gwenneth.  However, we are doing this for Ada.  Besides, there will
be plenty of Orc to hunt later.  Perhaps we should view this foster year as a
retreat.  After all, we have been roaming the lands for nearly a century now,
with barely any time to relax.  My body is beginning to protest under all the
strain of riding and hunting.  Let us try to enjoy this year until something
ruins it for us completely.”

“You’re right.  Let’s try our best to make the most of this time away from home
and in the company of our kinsmen.”  Elladan flashed his brother a bright smile
in agreement.  Wordlessly, they reined their steeds in, dismounting to break
camp for the night.  Mirkwood was close, but the home of its king lay deep
within its woods; it would take nearly half a day of riding before they reached
their destination.  As much as they would have liked to rest inside, in a warm
bed away from the chilling winds, Elladan and Elrohir relished the last camping
night they would have in a while.

Neither spoke as they unburdened their horses, one twin setting out bed rolls
while the other lit a fire and divided the remaining lembas.  They ate enough to
satisfy themselves, leaving the rest for the morning.  Still silent they lay
themselves down to sleep, identical pairs of eyes lying awake for a few more
moments to gaze up at the stars shining down upon them.  They felt little of the
cold, weary as they wer but stayed near one another and the fire nonetheless.  

“Elladan?“

“Yes?“

“What do you think Thranduil’s children are like?”  The elder twin thought on
the question a moment.  He wasn’t quite sure how to answer, so took his time
formulating a response.  Elrohir waited patiently for his brother to speak,
keeping his eyes fixed on the stars above.  Eärendil shone down brightly on his
beloved grandsons from above, providing the twins with a sense of love and
comfort in the cold and lonely night.

“I expect they would look like the king,” Elladan began.  “They might even have
a few of his mannerisms.  Mirkwood elves are said to be proud warriors, relying
on their own strengths before asking for the help of others.  His sons must take
such an attitude, and maybe his daughter to an extent.”

“Do you think they are as arrogant as he?”

“I hope not.  You know how I find distaste in such haughty, overbearing
attitudes.”  Elrohir answered with a curt nod.  “I have heard stories that his
sons are well respected among the border patrols, and the hands of his sons and
daughter are sought after by many a prospective suitor and lady.”

“Sounds a great deal like us.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”  Silence fell between the twins again as each became lost
in their own thoughts.

“Elladan?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think Ada is trying to tell us something by sending us away for a year?” 
Elladan smiled, marveling, not for the first time, how their minds seemed to
walk down similar paths.

“I think he is.  ‘Settle down, stop chasing after Orcs and trying to get
yourselves killed.  Maybe fall in love with some nice elf.  Just keep your heads
attached to your necks for the next thousand years and I shall be content.’ 
Something like that, I believe.”  He smiled again, hearing the amused chuckle
coming from his double at the imitation of their father’s voice.  Elladan
continued in a more subdued tone once they had calmed down.  “But I think he is
trying to gain Thranduil’s alliance.  By asking us to foster with the king, he’s
hoping to gain a trusted comrade in arms and smooth over any rough edges his
sons might have.  Ada means well.  He loves us and Arwen dearly.”

“I know he does.”  Visions became blurry at the end of Elrohir‘s words, eyes
turning blank as the elven sleep claimed them, the embers of the fire playing
mischievously across their hair, turning chocolate strands into golden-red as it
died down.  

The twins slept the night away, weary from travel yet hidden from dark eyes. 
Ears were alert even in sleep for signs of an attacker, but none came, allowing
the brothers to get a restful night’s sleep, their weapons unneeded yet within
easy reach.  As Arien approached to claim the sky yet another day, they awoke in
unison.  As silent as the night before, they packed their things, readied their
horses, and set off into Mirkwood, nibbling on some lembas as they approached
their foster home, steeling themselves for any sort of welcome they might
receive.

Translations:
Ada-father
Saes, gwenyn-nîn-Please, my twins
Pen-neth-Young one
A’maelamin-My beloved
Melethron-Love/lover
Gwenneth-Younger twin (endearment for Elrohir)




Chapter 2: Beneath the Beeches
Summary: Thranduil ponders his relationship with the Lord of Imladris while
waiting for his sons to arrive; the feast to celebrate the Peredhel twins’
arrival proves most interesting.

Sunlight playfully danced against the tall canopy of the forest, sneaking past
leaves to glitter across the ground and in the hair of five tall and fair forms,
Mirkwood’s king and his children.  Thranduil, as usual, was clad in robes of the
rich greens and browns of his realm; a gold circlet adorned his golden head, set
on his brow just above a pair of deep blue eyes.  An elaborate ring of mithril
was wrapped around his neck in curling waves.  His face was youthful, but an
aura of pride and royalty floated around him, creating a commanding presence
that few failed to notice.  He was an elven king, who loved and greatly admired
riches; yet today, for the most part,  he went unadorned.  Pristine and regal,
it was easy to decipher who was the proud king and father from the children who
gathered around him.  His eyes lighted in faint delight as they rested on each
of his beloved offspring in turn.

Arondil was the eldest, and nearly the spitting image of his father.  He had
inherited nearly all of Thranduil’s physical features, as well as a few of his
personality traits.  He was arrogant at times, but not to the extent of his
parent, his presence just as commanding yet holding a note of calm and
gentleness.  Like his father, he too sported robes of green, golden hair braided
away from his face.  To his side stood Celeron, Thranduil’s second son.  Rather
than possessing golden tresses and sapphire eyes, he had taken after his mother;
silvery locks swayed in the faint breeze, the air lifting them in the way of
green eyes.  His attire of a white tunic and moss-green leggings underneath a
long brown cloak was less formal than his brother and father’s, but just as
regal on his person.  He served as advisor to his father and his siblings;
Celeron knew well when to keep a secret and when one should be exposed.  He was
playful and mischievous, loving challenges, but also knew when to be serious and
quiet.

Celeron smiled in fondness as he watched his sister, and Thranduil’s youngest
child, Nimriel, skip from tree to tree, peering out in hopes of catching the
first glimpse of their guests.  She was a spoiled child, being the king’s only
daughter--and his youngest.  Nimriel tended to get her way without even trying;
it didn’t matter how much her parents or brothers would protest, she always
seemed to get what she wanted in the end.  Like her mother, she possessed an
innocent beauty for her young age, but one that hid a deep understanding and
sympathy for others; Nimriel often knew more than she let others believe. 
Streams of hair, a mix of gold and silver, cascaded in waves down her back,
green eyes, flecked with gold, wide and staring into the surrounding trees. 
Many a suitor had visited the king in the past, asking for his daughter’s hand
in marriage, though Thranduil had deemed none worthy enough for his child.  So
engrossed in her search was she that Nimriel ignored the fallen leaves and
branches beginning to snag in the ends of her white robes as she nearly flew
from behind trees, her appearance becoming more disheveled each passing moment.

“Lighthearted as ever, is she not, Legolas?” Arondil said with a smile,
addressing his youngest brother.

“Aye,” came the reply from Thranduil’s other side.  The king’s youngest son
possessed both the king’s colors and his mother’s regal beauty.  Spun gold wound
its way down his shoulders, braids entwined, within the tresses.  Eyes that
seemed to glow with a Silmaril’s light flickered left and right in blue flashes. 
Ever-alert ears listened to the surrounding forest for signs his sister might
miss.  He was dressed less formally than the rest of his family, preferring the
comfort and practicality of a  warrior’s clothes rather than the formal robes he
found too constricting or too billowing at times.  He was a stunning beauty
compared to his brothers’ regal handsomeness; some even said Legolas’ beauty
paled that of his mother and sister.  Most agreed, however, that Legolas
strongly resembled his grandfather above all others.  He was a warrior at heart,
often found in the company of patrol guards rather than court advisors and
counselors.

The soft whinny of an elven steed came to their ears; each one leaned forward
slightly to catch another sound.  Another whinny came before two riders were
seen approaching the royal family in the distance.  Keen elven eyes noticed the
dark hair of the twin riders, as well as the deep burgundy and rich brown tones
the elves of Imladris were known to sport.  Quietly, Thranduil and his children
waited as the Peredhel twins approached, reining their horses in and
dismounting.  As they bowed to the woodland king in respect, the royal family
couldn’t help but gape a little at the remarkable resemblance the twins held
with one another; none of them had ever seen a pair so alike in looks that they
wondered how alike the two thought and spoke.  They had known the sons of Elrond
to be identical, but the sight before them was still a bit startling.

“My lord Thranduil,” Elladan began, bowing a little more deeply in respect. 
“Might I introduce myself; I am Elladan.”  He gestured to his twin.  “And this
is my brother, Elrohir.  We thank you most graciously and kindly for allowing us
to stay with you and yours in your beloved realm for the following year.  My
father sends his regards and thanks.”

“I shall send him my own, son of Elrond,” Thranduil replied, inclining his head
in acknowledgement.  He forced away the faint grimace that threatened to spread
across his face.  It was no secret that the golden king held a little resentment
to those who possessed Noldorin blood, but he had come to respect some of them,
the lord of Imladris among them.  He was pleased to see that the sons of the
Peredhel were gracious and polite, obviously well learned in the art of war, by
their looks and diplomacy in their manner.  “Allow me to introduce my own
children.”  He gestured to each one in turn, each child bowing or curtsying when
their name was called.  “This is Arondil, my eldest, Celeron, Nimriel my
youngest, and Legolas.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Elrohir said with yet another deep bow.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Celeron returned, a smile spreading across his face
as he turned eyes to each twin.  Elladan copied his smile, but his eyes remained
focused on the form behind Celeron, that of his younger brother.  He blinked
once when he registered Legolas’ sapphire eyes returning his stare.  For a
moment nothing else existed between the two, except each other and the locking
of their gazes.  Quickly they turned away from each other, steeling the
quickened pace of their hearts and forcing down the heat threatening to consume
their faces and ears.  Legolas shuffled a little behind his brother lest his
father should notice; at least Elladan could play off any emotion in his face as
nervousness at meeting Mirkwood’s king.

“Come, you must be weary from the journey,” Arondil offered, gesturing to the
house behind them.  “Allow us to show you to your rooms so that you may rest
before the evening meal.  Ada has made arrangements for a warm welcome.”

“You are most kind,” Elladan said, surprised at the evenness of his voice even
as his heart still fluttered.  Passing one quick glance at Legolas again, he
began to help his brother unburden their steeds before stable hands took the
horses away for rest.  The dark-haired twins then began to follow their hosts
into the house and to their rooms.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arondil was right, Elladan noted to himself as he sat in a seat around the
circular dining table filled with delicacies he both recognized, loved and
couldn’t guess at the origin of.  If there was one thing he had to give
Thranduil credit for, it was that the king certainly knew how to throw a feast
for his guests.  He had expected to find Thranduil to be arrogant and
self-absorbed, but so far the king did not seem to him so to him.  The golden
king seemed to be genuinely pleased at having the twins in his company and home
for the next year.  Perhaps Erestor and Glorfindel had been right when they said
Thranduil held no fondness for the Noldorion blood in their veins, but he tried
not to let it affect the respect he held for Elrond.  Now and again, Elladan
caught a grimace floating across Thranduil’s face for the briefest of moments,
but the next the king seemed to be intrigued in the tales the twins had to tell. 
Elladan was starting to like the king for his courtesy and respect for others,
though he still disliked the king’s arrogant attitude--which, thankfully, had
not arisen yet.

Finding himself wedged between his brother and Thranduil’s wife, Erinien,
Elladan listened to the lively conversation around him, but kept his eyes, for
the most part, trained on the person seated in front of him.  Legolas had
changed from his warrior’s clothing to a silver tunic and deep green leggings
for the evening, something just a little more formal than his previous change of
clothes.  The threads of the tunic seemed to shimmer in the light of the dining
hall, highlighting the prince’s golden hair.  Elegant, slim fingers were wrapped
loosely around a silver goblet, bringing the object to his lips for a sip of the
bittersweet cider it contained.  He caught Elladan’s gaze for a moment over the
brim of the goblet, holding it with his own before the elder twin broke away to
answer Nimriel’s question.

“I understand you have a sister,” the young elven princess said, a sparkle of
curiosity in her eyes.

“Yes, Arwen,” Elladan replied kindly.  “She resides with our grandparents in
Lothlorien at the moment.”

“What is she like?  I would very much like to meet her.”

“Perhaps you will,” Elrohir said.  “She is due back in Imladris at the same time
we are.  She is a dark beauty, with our father’s coloring but mother’s regality. 
But she is not one you would like to toy with.  Arwen frequently likes to tease
Elladan.”

“Why ever is that so?” the queen asked, peering at the twin to her left as
Elrohir broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Because he becomes embarrassed far too easily for someone accustomed to
battles, such as himself.”  At his brother’s words, Elladan could not fight the
blush that stained his cheeks.  Laughter broke out across the table.  “You see? 
For a seasoned warrior, methinks he blushes too much.”  Another peal of laughter
rang out as Elladan flushed an even deeper red.

“Brother dear,” Nimriel said gently, turning to Legolas in an attempt to draw
attention away from the embarrassed elf, much to Elladan‘s thankfulness.  “Why
not grace our guests with your exquisite voice?”

“Yes, I agree,” Celeron said with a quick nod of the head.  “In fact, I have the
perfect song.  You know which one I mean.”  It was not long before Arondil and
his parents also asked the same of Legolas.  The young prince felt the rush of
embarrassment stain his own cheeks, just as it had Elladan’s moments before.

“I have heard of the musical talents of Mirkwood’s youngest prince about as
often as his skills in archery,” Elrohir commented.  “I would be most grateful
to hear the often sought-after voice just once during my stay here.”

“You flatter me too much, Elrohir,” Legolas replied, keeping his voice as steady
as he could make it.  “Very well then, I shall oblige.  I cannot deny my guest,
who has given me such a heartfelt compliment.  I sincerely hope that this show
will be to your liking.”  The younger twin smiled as the prince gestured to a
nearby musician, whispering something into his ear to which the other nodded
before making a knowing motion to his fellow players.  Soon the dining hall was
filled with the sounds of harps, Legolas’ silvery voice following a moment
afterwards.

Come with me in the twilight of a summer night for a while
Tell me of a story never ever told in the past

Take me back to the land
Where my yearnings were born
The key to open the door is in your hand
Now fly me there

He paused for a moment, letting the musicians continue of their own accord.  The
prince seemed not to notice the startled look upon Elladan’s face, which had
appeared the moment the first verse had left his lips.  For the words he sang
came from a song Elladan had only heard once before, coming from the lips of a
human girl.  The song had intrigued him for, as he listened, it seemed to remind
him of the Valar and past kin who first ventured to Middle-earth.  The first and
last time he had heard the song was during a journey to the north nearly twenty
years ago with Elrohir, though his twin had not been with him at the time he
heard the girl singing.  He was both surprised and awed that Legolas should be
singing that very same song that had captivated Elladan’s attention.

As the prince began the second verse, Elladan suddenly found his voice rising,
his slightly deeper tones mixing with the prince’s lighter ones.

Fanatics find their heaven in never ending storming winds
Auguries of destruction be a lullaby for rebirth

Consolations be there
In my dreamland to come
The key to open the door is in your hand
Now take me there

I believe in fantasies invisible to me
In the land of misery I’m searching for the sun
To the door of mystery and dignity
I’m wandering down, and searching down the secret sun

By now, nearly at the end, Elladan had closed his eyes, unable to see the
surprised looks that his twin as well as Thranduil, his wife and children were
throwing his way and Legolas’.  They listened intently, marveling at the sounds
of slight alto and tenor mixing magically in a way they had never heard before.

Come with me in the twilight of a summer night for a while
Tell me of a story never ever told in the past

Take me back to the land
Where my yearnings were born
The key to open the door is in your hand
Now take me there
To the land of twilight

Only as the song ended did Elladan open his eyes, gray orbs peering around and
registering the awed and surprised looks given to him.  He smiled sheepishly,
barely noticing the flush that had crept upon Legolas’ face in his slight
embarrassment as well.  All was silent for a moment before Thranduil spoke, a
hint of laughter, pride and approval in his voice.

“I dare say that was the best show I’ve seen, or heard, in a long time,” his
voice boomed slightly, a smile spreading across his face.  The others nodded and
voiced their agreement as dinner proceeded on an even merrier note than it had
before.

“Pray tell, where did you learn that song?” Erinien asked, curiosity weaving
into her voice as she turned to Elladan.  “I have only heard Legolas sing it
before, and he said he learned it whilst venturing the woods, stumbling upon a
young girl by a river singing to herself.”

“That was how I learned it as well,” Elladan replied.  “Perhaps we both found
the girl, but missed each other.  A pity, for I would have enjoyed another’s
company in learning such a song.”  He barely caught a smile of contentment
creeping across Legolas’ face before Arondil engaged him into another line of
conversation.  As he spoke with the eldest Mirkwood prince, Elladan couldn’t
help but feel that perhaps this foster year would be much better than he and his
brother had previously anticipated.	

Translation: 
Arondil-Lover of the Forest
Celeron-Silver Forest
Nimriel-White Garlanded Maiden
Peredhel-Half-elven




Chapter 3: Target Practice
Summary: Not wishing to be idle while staying in Mirkwood, Elladan and Elrohir
decide to join the sons of Thranduil in their daily practices with the border
patrol.

Nearly two weeks had passed since Elladan and Elrohir had arrived in Mirkwood. 
They found their stay most enjoyable, spending time recounting tales of hunts
and feasts to eager young elflings fascinated with the dark twins, or spending
hours in the small but engaging library, reading up on Sindarian lore that they
could not find in their father’s vast study or library.  Some days they spent
riding in the area surrounding the elf home.  They were amazed at the aged trees
that covered the Greenwood forest, marveling at the natural beauty of the place. 
Mirkwood was similar to Imladris, yet different all the same.  The old trees
made them feel like children again as, at times, they would abandon their steeds
and attempt to climb the aged oaks, beeches, birches and cedars.

But, after a time, the twins found themselves becoming weary of such activities,
and sought out new ones lest they become restless and idle.  They were eager to
hunt, especially if the target were Orcish in origin, but knew that, while they
stayed in Mirkwood, Thranduil was their guardian; this was his realm and they
were guests, so his rules and orders would be obeyed.  Asking the king to allow
the twins to ride in his border patrol would be out of the question.  Deciding
they needed some physical activities to strengthen their limbs and weary their
minds, Elladan and Elrohir set out with bows and quivers in tow into one of
Mirkwood’s designated target spots.  They were laughing as they recounting their
training years in Imladris before their majority as they neared the spot, only
to find themselves faced with the three woodland princes and a band of young
apprentice patrol guards.

“Elladan, Elrohir, what brings you out and about this early after morning meal?”
Arondil greeted as the twins approached, clad in the garments of Imladris’
border patrol.  Though it might have been more practical to wear the greens and
browns of Mirkwood, they found it much more comfortable to wear the colors of
their home, and the garments they had spent so long breaking in.  The princes
didn’t seem to mind, and their young charges seemed awed by the dark pair.

“Restlessness, meldir,” Elrohir replied.  “We grow weary of a still life.  Our
father is a lore master, and, while we enjoy company among numerous scrolls and
books, the outdoors suits us better.  We need something to occupy our minds and
strengthen our limbs.  Tis a pleasant day, and some archery will do us a world
of good.”

“You have made impeccable time then,” Celeron said with a smile, gesturing to
the half-dozen patrol apprentices gathered behind him.  Young eyes were fixed on
the dark elves in wonder and amazement, for few elves of Mirkwood possessed the
dark complexion both twins sported, nor had any of them seen twins so alike. 
“Today is when these elflings are to learn the way of the bow.  Perhaps a
demonstration from marksmen of the valley will give them a sight to behold, for
I am told Imladrian elves are as quick as those of both these woods and the
golden one.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?” Elrohir asked with a grin, eyes twinkling as he
turned to his brother, who gave him a similar smirk.

“I dare say it is!  But nay, not against myself.  I am only a fair shot, far
better with the sword than my bow.  Perhaps Legolas would make a more worthy
challenge.”

“Again you flatter me, gwanur-nîn,” the youngest prince said, leaning casually
upon his bow.  Yet his eyes sparkled in mirth as Elladan found himself almost
drowning in their very depths.  “And you are being modest.  I accept your
challenge, with grace.  Though I warn you, I am counted among the best archers
here in the Greenwood.  Few can best my precise aim.”

“And Elladan is the best in Imladris,” Elrohir countered, a devilish grin
spreading across his features as he noticed his brother gaping at him.  “Many an
Orc have tried to run from us, but all were felled by the strumming of Elladan‘s
bow and the swift flight of his arrows.”  A deep flush colored the tips of
Elladan’s ears in his embarrassment; he could not believe his brother had just
accepted a challenge for him!  Nor could he imagine Elrohir to ever be bragging
about his accomplishments.  Before he could say something, however, he found
Legolas’ eyes trained on him.

“What say you, Elladan?” he asked.  Swallowing thickly, Elladan stilled his
breathing, his hands clenching for a moment around his bow before he turned eyes
to the prince.

“I accept,” he said simply, watching as delight registered across Legolas’
delicate face.  He felt another flush creeping up on him, but willed it away as
he watched the golden-tressed prince slip a green feathered arrow from his
quiver, nocking it to his bowstring before drawing back.  His movements were
elegant, his eyes fixed on their target, a thick beech tree nearly three hundred
feet away.  It would see that he had practiced his technique for centuries until
the motions became flawless and graceful, his aim precise.  There was but a
second’s pause before he released, the arrow whistling faintly in the air before
stabbing into the bark with a faint thud.  Applause erupted around the young
prince as it was noted he had struck the notch in the wood he had been aiming
for.

“Impressive,” Elladan said as Legolas stepped back, allowing the dark-haired
warrior to take his turn.

~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas found it difficult to keep his eyes still as he stood behind Elladan,
watching as the warrior took his turn.  He had been fascinated by the dark,
enchanting beauty since the moment he had ridden up with his brother.  Elrohir,
too, was just as enticing, but there was something in Elladan that Legolas found
most appealing, yet he could not determine what it was he was drawn to.  The
young prince often found himself fighting his own rising blush as Elladan
colored whenever he felt he was being embarrassed in some fashion.  Often times
the prince would catch himself gazing down at the warrior from his balcony as
Elladan and Elrohir explored his family’s kingdom.  As each day passed, he found
it more and more difficult to keep his eyes anywhere except trained on the elder
twin.

As Elladan made ready his shot, Legolas found his eyes roaming the other’s body
as they have done many times before.  The peredhel twin was tall--slightly
taller than most elves.  In the last couple of weeks, Legolas had noticed that
the twins were slightly less keen to sounds and smells than the other elves
were, sometimes noticing how they shivered faintly when a particularly cold
night breeze blew.  Such behavior he also attributed to the mannish blood in
them.  However, as he watched, he noted that Elladan still retained his elven
elegance, his movements light and graceful as he planted his feet and set up his
shot.  The muscles of his back could be seen growing taut through his dark
wine-colored tunic as he drew back his bow, the elven instrument creaking just
faintly.  He paused for a mere heartbeat before releasing the string with a
twang, the arrow sailing in the air before stabbing next to Legolas’, a mere
hair’s breadth to the right of the notch.  A unified intake of breath was heard,
for none thus far had come so close to the prince’s arrow before.  The twin shot
another arrow a moment later, this one landing just a notch above his own, and
closer to the prince’s.  This they knew he had done to prove his first shot was
not some luck of the draw.

“Well done!” Arondil exclaimed, coming forward and clapping Elladan firmly on
the shoulder whilst the apprentices circled the princes and their guests. 
“Never have I see such a shot from another other than my brother.  You are
indeed a great marksmen Elladan.”

“Now I must say you are flattering me,” Elladan replied.  “Twas luck, nothing
more.  Legolas is still a better shot.”

“You humble yourself far too much, gwanur-nîn,” Elrohir said with a snort. 
“Come now, even Glorfindel cannot best you, and he taught you!  Sometimes I
believe you are far too modest for your own good.”

“I concur,” Legolas said.  “From my point of view, that was an excellent shot. 
But how are you at swordplay?”

“Do I hear yet another challenge?” Elladan asked, his brother’s devilish grin
now coming to him.  Legolas’ silvery voice broke out into peals of laughter, a
sound Elladan wished he could hear many more times.

“I do believe so,” the young prince replied.  “But not against me.  Nay, I am
good with the sword, but Celeron is better.  A trial against him would be far
more entertaining.  Do you not agree, Arondil?”

“Aye, this I would like to see,” the eldest replied.  “Celeron can be arrogant,
if I might say so.”

“You may not!” Celeron exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest with a huff. 
“I am merely an excellent swordsman, who has not discovered a worthy opponent
yet.  It is not my fault I have a naturally keen talent with the blade, one few
can compare to, much less overpower.”

“See?  Arrogance indeed.”  Arondil’s teasing words brought a pout to his
brother.  Such a childish action brought laughter to the group.

“Perhaps I may cut that arrogance down to size, so to speak,” Elladan said with
a bit of mirth in his voice.

“Ha!  We shall see!  Draw your sword!”  Celeron then proceeded to draw his own
blade, doing so with an elaborate flourish that sent another ring of laughter
through the group.  Obliging him, Elladan handed his bow and quiver to his
brother as he drew his own sword, the silver blade glittering in the light,
bringing out the golden vines etched along the sword’s length in sharp contrast. 
He allowed Celeron the first strike, parrying with ease before making one of his
own as the rest of the group settled themselves onto the forest floor or fallen
logs nearby, giving the opponents adequate space to duel within.  

Their exchange continued, a smile creeping across Celeron’s face as he noticed
he had indeed found a worthy opponent.  Elladan was aware of him and the swings
of his blade, but his attention was focused elsewhere.  He was more aware of a
pair of eyes trained to his back, the same pair he had felt on his person while
he set up his shot.  Knowing who they belonged to, Elladan could feel his
heartbeat quicken as he thought of Legolas watching him intently.  What was it
about the slightly younger elf that drew so much of Elladan’s attention?  Was it
his beautiful voice, or his equally beautiful face?  Elladan wasn’t sure, never
aware of the growing emotion blossoming within himself.

Likewise, Legolas was unaware of the same emotion flooding his chest, his
person.  He found himself gazing endlessly at the dark form sparring with his
brother.  His hands clenched and unclenched on his knees every time Elladan
narrowly avoided the swing of Celeron’s sword, always stepping aside at the last
moment.  The young prince unknowingly chewed the inside of his cheek as he
watched in anticipation, and a touch of apprehension, growing uneasy from his
seat on the fallen log.  He misread Elladan’s sudden stumble as a trip over an
unexpected root, but his left hand companion knew otherwise.  

Elrohir’s eyes were also trained on his brother, but he read something in his
movements that Legolas could not.  Elladan was slightly sluggish in his moves;
normally he was quick and rarely lost his footing.  The narrow misses had
worried Elrohir, since his brother usually avoided such blows long before the
other ever thought of making such a move.  He began to wonder whether or not his
twin was feeling well that day when he caught the sudden flicker of Elladan’s
eyes directly to his right.  He turned to the young prince seated next to him,
quickly noting the apprehensive state Legolas seemed to be in as he completely
ignored Elrohir‘s stare.  Realization suddenly dawned on the younger twin.  He
had noticed his brother becoming a little more absentminded each day since their
arrival in Mirkwood.  Only Elrohir would notice Elladan’s awkward silence when
his brother was normally lively and loved conversation.  He began to wonder. 
Might his brother be…?  But, if so, Elladan didn’t seem to realize it himself
yet.  And if he were, might Legolas also…?  It would seem so as he observed the
young prince.

Elrohir suddenly became aware of a pair of ocean-blue eyes peering at him over
Legolas’ head.  His gray gaze locked with Arondil’s, the other smiling at him,
unnoticed by his sibling.  It was a mischievous smile, one Elrohir knew quite
well.  So, someone else was suspecting the same as him.  His eyes twinkled,
bringing a nod from the other.  Wordlessly they agreed to let things run their
course, but when they got impatient then, and only then, would they intervene on
their respective brother’s behalf.

“Ha!”  The sudden shout brought both Elrohir and Arondil back to the present in
time to see Elladan clip Celeron with the flat of his blade on the other’s
backside as he stepped aside to avoid a blow.  With a yelp, the silver haired
prince fell unceremoniously onto the forest floor, spitting out dirt and leaves. 
His look of utter surprise and shock only sufficed to bring laughter to the
group around him.  Sheepishly, he accepted the hand Elladan offered and allowed
himself to be pulled to his feet.

“I have been bested this day,” Celeron said with a dramatic sigh and a flourish
of his hand.  “I have met my match.  Do with me as you will.  Have your way with
me as I am at your command.  But please, be gentle.”  His suddenly feminine act
brought more laughter and merriment to the group, so much so that it took some
time before they quieted down again.

“My brothers, it seems we have some real competition on our hands,” Arondil
said, rising from his seat, and clapping Elladan on the shoulder again.  “It
would appear that Imladrian elves are well-versed in the art of war craft, as
well as lore.  We have some fine warriors in our midst.”

“You flatter us with your words,” Elrohir said, the twinkle still in his eyes. 
“Today was merely a stroke of luck for Elladan to come so near to Legolas’ mark
and best Celeron at his own game.  Another day might prove otherwise.”

“Are you saying you won by mere luck?”  Elrohir grinned at Arondil’s challenging
tone, a silent understanding passing between the two.

“Nay, for I say on any other day we both would have bested you twice over.” 
Arondil laughed in response.

“And they call us arrogant.  So be it!  I invite you to accompany us each day as
we train the apprentices.  Perhaps we shall become friends, or maybe more.”

“I accept!”  Elladan stared in surprise at his brother and his eagerness to
accept the offer.  He knew his twin too well; Elrohir was planning something,
and Elladan got the funny feeling it revolved around him.  He turned to see
Legolas gaping at his own brother in a similar fashion.  It would seem the
youngest twin and the eldest prince were indeed cooking up something in their
minds.

/This stay,/ Elladan thought as the twins and princes turned their attentions to
schooling the patrol apprentices, /is turning out to be the best decision Ada
ever forced us into.  Can it get any better than this?/


Translations:
Meldir-Friend
Gwanur-nîn-My brother



Chapter 4: By the Twilight
Summary: The night is a mystical time in dark Mirkwood, as two new lovers will
soon discover.

Days, weeks, months passed in a near blur.  Autumn turned into winter, the cold
melting away into spring.  As midsummer approached, and preparations were made
for the moonlight festival Mirkwood held every year, the princes and princess of
the forest found themselves eagerly awaiting not only the much anticipated
festival, but the journey they would be undertaking just a few short months
later.  For it was nearly time for Elladan and Elrohir’s foster year to come to
a close; by early autumn, they would return to Imladris in the company of
Arondil and his siblings, who would then begin their year with the twins in the
valley.  Thranduil’s children had heard much about the Last Homely House, but
never expected to visit it--at least not for a while longer.  They eagerly spoke
amongst themselves, wondering what Imladris would be like, and if the elves were
anything like the twins.  They almost found themselves wishing they could leave
that day, but knew their presence was needed at the feast and for a bit longer
in Mirkwood.

Though the twins were looking forward to returning home, they felt a slight
sorrow fill their hearts at having to leave the woodland realm.  They had had
their shares of battles with Orcs and Wargs and other dark servants of the enemy
who dared enter the forest; these clashes were much anticipated at times, since
the twins rarely left the Greenwood during their stay.  They also had memories
of happier times, talking long into the night with the king and queen, who they
came to view as second parents.  They also found themselves tutoring the patrol
apprentices daily with the princes.  Other days were spent taking walks along
the streams with Nimriel, who eagerly asked them questions about Lorien,
Imladris and their sister, Arwen.

For Elladan, none of these other activities seemed to compare with the nightly
strolls he took along the vast halls of the king with Legolas.  The pair would
talk about anything and everything that came to their minds.  Though he always
felt his heart go aflutter when in the prince’s company, Elladan also found it
strangely alluring and comforting.  They talked with ease together, sometimes
embarrassing the other, laughter spreading through the corridors at their
companion’s expense.  They were unaware of the two shadows who often trailed
them, their number multiplying by two when Celeron and Nimriel had discovered
the same looks of longing in their eyes, just as Arondil and Elrohir had.

Circling the preparations being made for the night’s feast, Elladan discovered
that, deep down, he was grateful for his father’s insistence that he and his
twin foster a year in Mirkwood.  Thranduil had been nothing like what he had
expected.  He had steeled himself to meet a proud, haughty king who thought of
nothing but himself and his line.  Instead, he found someone willing to do
anything and everything for his family, even against his own wishes, something
Elladan knew his own father could relate to.  Thranduil was the type of king and
father who would swallow his own dislike for someone, or something, if his
children found approval.  Although there were times Elladan saw a flicker of
contempt in the king’s blue orbs when someone reminded Thranduil of the
Noldorion or human blood that the twins possessed, he composed himself quickly
and tried to remain pleasant.  For the king would never openly admit to anyone,
save his wife and children, that he had become quite fond of the twins during
their stay, as they had proved themselves pleasant company and experienced
warriors.  He had nearly adopted the Imladrian twins as his own, and was rather
saddened to see them go.

As Elladan walked, stopping now and then to talk to other elves, he was unaware
of a pair of sapphire eyes following him, the same blue orbs that always watched
him from afar, but seemed too shy away when he was near.  Legolas slyly lurked
in a corner, watching the twin in fascination, disregarding everything else that
was going on around him.  He felt a warmth filling him as he observed Elladan, a
warmth he always felt when watching the dark-haired elf, or when speaking to
him.  Curious, he had once asked his mother in passing what such a feeling would
mean; Erinien had simply smiled happily and announced that he would learn soon
enough; it was not her place to tell him if he could not discover his feelings
on his own.  Her evasive answer had annoyed Legolas in the last three weeks
since he spoke with her, and still he had not found an answer.  The truth be
told, he knew what he was feeling, but was afraid to voice it to himself.  But
the time come where Legolas could not rely on another to discover his feelings. 
He had to speak of them, and to Elladan.  He had to speak about them now.

Mounting the courage he needed, something he found terribly difficult to do
despite the many times he had rushed into a battle without thinking, the prince
steeled himself, forcing his hands not to tremble, as he walked into the hall
and towards the twin.  His steps were slow and deliberate, giving him time to
gather together his thoughts in a coherent manner.  It took several deep breaths
before Legolas could get his voice to work, without sounding anything but calm.

“Elladan?”  At the sound of his name, the twin pardoned himself from the maid he
had been speaking to and turned to the one behind him.  He was slightly
surprised to find himself facing Legolas; Elladan had to squelch the sudden flow
of excitement threatening to bubble over inside him.

“Yes, Legolas?”  Elladan marveled at the golden beauty he saw in Mirkwood’s
youngest prince, and not for the first time.  Again he felt his heart go
aflutter, and tried desperately to calm his nerves.  He had spent many a
sleepless night dreaming about the flaxen-haired prince now standing before him. 
Elladan had lost count of how many times he wished he could run fingers through
the golden hair, imagine the touch of the creamy-pale skin underneath his hands. 
Sometimes, as they went on their nightly walks, his hand would brush against his
companion’s, sending jolts up his arm and leaving a tingling sensation, after
which he would try to find any excuse to make accidental contact again.  Elladan
fought to keep his composure as Legolas began to speak.

“The feast isn’t due to be begin for another hour,” he said, hoping his voice
didn’t tremble as he thought it did.  “There is little we can do while the maids
prepare; we would only be getting in their way.  Would you care to accompany me
on a walk about the grounds?”  The twin merely nodded as the two left the hall,
the ends of their formal garments fluttering around them.  

As they made their way down the corridors and out into the night-filled forest,
Elladan caught himself glancing over at his companion more than once.  The
prince wore yet another silver tunic, one Elladan had seen him wear on many a
formal occasion; vines in a pale golden thread had been stitched expertly over
his shoulders and down his arms in graceful twists and arcs.  No belt adorned
his trim waist, as the tunic tapered to his fitted form.  Tapered sleeves flared
slightly from above the wrist to rest in lazy waves halfway down a slim hand. 
Moss-green leggings and brown leather boots completed the look; a soft moss
brown cloak fell from his shoulders in placed folds, held in place by a single
black leather belt.

“Elladan?”  The musical voice broke the Imladrian prince from his thoughts as he
raised his eyes to his companion‘s face.  He inclined his head briefly to
indicate that he was listening.  “Have you enjoyed your time here?”

“Very much so,” Elladan replied as the two weaved in and out through of beech
trees, the stars shining down on them from above.  With another sideways glance
he noticed Legolas’ hair was braided in the same fashion as usual, nothing
elaborate for the feast, the ends flowing over the prince‘s shoulders in
tumbling waves.  “Elrohir and I did not know what to expect when we first
arrived.  Indeed, we were reluctant to come in the first place.  I’m glad our
father insisted on our going.  Somehow, he knew we would enjoy it here.  I know
not how, but he knew, and I am glad for his persistence in the matter.”

“I’m glad.”  Elladan blinked at the sound of relief flooding into Legolas’
voice.  “In truth, I was a little apprehensive about you arriving as well.  My
brothers thought the idea was just when my father presented it to us; they felt,
as he did, that a strong alliance, which would come from a foster year.  My
sister was excited to see elves from outside the Greenwood, especially ones who
would be arriving from the valley.”

“And you?  You said you felt apprehensive.”  Legolas sighed deeply, nodding at
his companion’s keen observation, barely registering the brush of Elladan’s
velvety wine robe against his fingers.  “So?  How was it you felt when you
heard?”

“I did not know what to think in the beginning.  My father respects yours as a
lord, but doesn’t seem to really be attached to the Noldorion and human history
lord Elrond possesses.  It is no secret that my father has an extreme dislike
for the Kinslayers, and a slight bitterness for the death of my grandfather.  He
chose right in hoping to gain a peaceful alliance with Imladris, and he has done
well to hide any dislike of your bloodlines he may have.  I believe it is safe
to say that he rather adores you and Elrohir.”  Elladan couldn’t help but smile
at such a comment.  He was indeed pleased that he and his brother had been able
to win over the king of Mirkwood, as well as his wife and children.  Realizing
Legolas had not yet finished speaking, Elladan continued to listen, keeping his
thoughts quiet for a moment longer.  “Even knowing this, I was still a little
apprehensive about your arrival, mostly because I knew not what kind of people I
would be dealing with.  And I would be dealing with such people on a daily basis
for a year; nay, two years once my foster year began.  But, yes…it all melted
away after a few days.”

“Then you…”  He cocked an eyebrow, waiting in anticipation for the prince’s
answer.

“Enjoyed your company?  Very much so.”  The prince smiled, bringing a warm
feeling to Elladan’s core with the simple act.  “You and Elrohir are a pair of
caring, understanding people.  You must be, for what you go through to avenge
your mother, as I have heard.  You must have loved her very much.  I have never
met Lord Elrond, but it seems to me from all the stories that I hear that you
resemble him greatly.”

“Many others have told us so as well.  Elrohir and I tend to deny it.  We are
not as old and bookish as our father, nor indeed do we ever wish to be.” 
Legolas let out a soft snort of laughter at Elladan’s paternal teasing.

“I know the feeling well, for many have been kind enough to point out the
similarities between my father and myself.”  Elladan grinned at the sigh of
annoyance Legolas unwillingly let out.  

The pair stopped beneath a beech tree, turning to gaze at one another.  Legolas
marveled at how the moonlight played over Elladan’s wine and silver-gray robes,
the garments draped from the twin‘s long limbs in lush waves and folds.  His
dark hair had been twisted expertly in places; a clasp of beaten mithril held
most of the tresses out of his eyes and face.  He was unadorned with jewelry,
but proudly wore the colors of his father’s realm; he and his twin would be a
sharp contrast from the many Mirkwood elves that would be in attendance. 
Legolas found the dark beauty before him breathtaking, feeling his heart
quickening a pace or two.  Slowly, almost cautiously, he reached up, first
twirling slender fingers into a twist of silky dark hair laying over a shoulder,
before moving his hand further up to cup a warm cheek.  He was ever aware of
Elladan’s eyes fixed on him, though he didn‘t return the gaze just yet.  

“What is it about you, Elladan?” the prince asked in a hushed whisper, as if
afraid to break the peace of the moment, moving to look into the gray eyes
focused only on his person.  “Why is it that when I’m with you the rest of the
world can drop away, and I wouldn’t care?  For once in my life I feel like I’m
being hunted, and yet I don’t mind or care in the least.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”  The dark elf pressed his cheek further into
the warmth encircling it, bringing his own hand up to cover the other’s.  “I am
vulnerable around you, when I have never been so in my life since I was born.  I
look into your eyes and drown in them, even in my sleep.  Days and nights are
filled with thoughts of you.”

“Mine as well.”  The prince blinked in confusion as Elladan’s eyebrows shot up
in wonder, a bit of teasing hidden in their cloudy depths.

“You think of yourself all the time?  How very vain of you, my dear Mirkwood
prince.”  Legolas felt himself coloring at the jest, wrenching his hand
playfully away from Elladan’s in a mock attempt at throttling the other. 
Elladan grinned, catching his wrist in an equally playful manner before the two
leaned against one another in fits of laughter.  

Moments passed before they calmed, listening to the steady rhythm of the other’s
breathing as their own returned to normal.  Lifting his head, Legolas looked
into the dark elf’s gray eyes, feeling his own slip closed as Elladan leaned
forward, pressing their lips together in a light caress.  He pulled away, only
to come forward again, the kiss deepening.  Slender arms encircled his neck as
his own wrapped firmly about the trim waist.  Lips touched and parted, allowing
exploring tongues to play and wrestle with each other in an enticing dance for
what seemed like an eternity.  The need for air forced the pair slowly apart,
their breathing again returning to normal as they gazed at one another with
heavy-lidded, and star-filled eyes.

“How long?” Legolas asked, breaking the silence that had began to settle in. 
Elladan considered his question for a moment before answering, his palm drawing
warm circles on the prince’s lower back as the golden head rested against his
shoulder.

“Since the day I met you, I believe,” he replied, his voice low but the words
spoken near the prince’s  almond ear, tongue darting out to flick against a
lobe.  “You were the first thing I saw when I rode up to your family.  It’s you
I always look at during meals, you I always watch when tutoring the patrol
apprentices, you I always think about when going to sleep each night.”

“I think of you as well, and nothing else.  I find myself distracted because of
you.  Do you realize I almost walked into a wall yesterday because I was
watching while you rode through the trees?  I have not walked into a wall since
I was knee-high.  My father was almost appalled when he heard of the incident!” 
He playfully batted at his new lover when Elladan let out a laugh of amusement
at such a revelation.  “The things you do to me!”

“And you to me, ernil-nîn.”  The dark elf leaned in for another love-filled
kiss.  Legolas smiled against him, relishing in the feel of their lips touching,
their bodies brushing together, causing jolts of excitement to race through them
both.  He wanted this moment to go on forever, but someone else had another
plan.  

Their moment was interrupted by a voice sounding into the darkening forest as a
maid called for Legolas.  The feast was about to begin.  Reluctantly, the two
pulled apart, a touch of regret in both of their eyes.

“I’ll go first,” the prince said, slowly stepping away from the twin before
straightening his clothing.  Legolas began to head to the house; Elladan
lingered behind a moment.  A silent promise passed through them as Legolas
stepped into the doorway and turned for one last look, a promise to meet again
as soon as the feast was over.  

/This dinner is going to be too long/, Elladan thought as he too headed for the
house with a long sigh.


Translations:
Ernil-nîn-My prince




Chapter 5: A Moment Together
Summary: Stealing stealthily away from the feast, Elladan and Legolas steal some
time for themselves and get to know one another a little bit better.

Elladan had been right, it was a long feast.  At least it had been for him, and
probably for Legolas, as well judging by the half-hidden, bored expressions he
caught on the prince‘s face when he chanced to glance over.  Throughout the
evening, Elladan had found himself dragged from one conversation into another,
all of which he found terribly boring when normally he wouldn’t.  The elder twin
also ended up avoiding as many dances as possible, passing partners off to his
brother, who didn’t seem to mind as much as Elladan thought he would.  In fact,
it seemed to Elladan, Elrohir accepted his rejected partners with grace,
occasionally throwing his brother a knowing, thoughtful look.  Elladan began to
wonder if Elrohir knew how he felt about Legolas, and why he wasn’t acting
himself that night.  He shook his head; his twin knew a great deal about him,
but he couldn’t possibly know about that.

As the feast came to a close, and guests were taking their leave of the king and
queen’s hospitality, the royal family retired one by one.  Elladan made his
apologies, excusing himself as being tired from the day’s events and the feast. 
Elrohir watched him go, flashing a look and grin in Arondil’s direction as
Legolas also bade good night to his parents a few moments later.  Snickering was
heard behind the younger twin and he turned, finding Celeron and Nimriel
observing Legolas’ exit.  The four elves smiled knowingly at one another before
also taking their polite leave from the feast.

It took all of Legolas’ willpower not to race down the corridors and to
Elladan’s chamber at the end of the guests’ hall.  Normally, he found the
moonlight festival pleasant, and looked forward to the feast that was held. 
But, tonight, other thoughts were on his mind, specifically on a certain
Peredhel twin.  Time and time again Legolas found himself having to drag his
attentions away from Elladan and back to whatever conversation or dance he was
currently engaged in.  Now that it was all over, he found, much to his dismay,
that he could not yet relax until he was behind closed doors, lest he raise
suspicions he was not yet ready to face.  Legolas forced himself to walk slowly
and discretely down the halls, avoiding as many people as possible on his way.

Finally, in far too long of a time period, the prince found himself facing the
intricately carved oak door, behind which were Elladan’s quarters during his
stay in Mirkwood.  He took a breath, calming his nerves before knocking, and
entered at the slightest sound he heard.  As he turned to shut the door, he felt
a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and waist, drawing him back against a
warm body.  Closing his eyes, Legolas breathed in the scent of pine and damp air
that Elladan always seemed to be surrounded in, leaning his head back against a
shoulder as a pair of lips gently caressed his neck.

“I thought that feast was never going to end,” Elladan’s voice whispered into
his ear, before Legolas felt himself being turned, gray eyes gazing lovingly
down at him.  He smiled warmly, raising his arms to encircle his new lover’s
neck.

“My thoughts exactly.  It lasted far too long for me, though I never seemed to
mind before.”

“Oh?  And why is that, dear prince?”

“Because I was looking forward to certain…activities that were to be performed
after the feast.”  Elladan let out a soft chuckle as he began to steer the two
of them towards the bed.  He stood with one knee on the bed above Legolas, as
the prince took a seat on the soft straw mattress.

“You don’t think we left in too much of a hurry, do you?” the dark twin asked
near the pointed ear, tongue darting out momentarily to glide against a tip.  A
shudder raced through Legolas’ frame at the warm, wet touch, craving more of it
on other regions of his person.

“If we did, then we can let the others wonder as to why.”

“I like your way of thinking, ernil-nîn.”  Legolas simply smiled in return,
tugging Elladan down to sit next to him as they both leaned in for another deep
kiss.  Slipping his tongue within the dark recesses of the prince’s mouth,
Elladan wrestled with his lover’s, eliciting small gasps and moans from his
prince.  His hands were busy unbraiding the golden hair, freeing it from its
bonds; slender hands also moved in his dark locks, undoing the twists and
releasing the clasp.  Hands dived in, fingers twining around strands as each
marveled at the other’s silky downiness.  The need for air became apparent as
their chests began to feel tight.  Reluctantly they pulled apart, cloudy, dark
eyes holding the other’s gaze as cheeks stained a faint pink.

The gaze lasted a moment longer before Elladan smiled, steering the golden
prince so that he was lying down on his back in the center of the bed with the
dark twin kneeling over him.  Half-lidded eyes watched intently as Elladan
worked at his clothes, first divesting Legolas of his cloak before working on
the intricate fastenings of his tunic.  The whole while the twin kept his mouth
busy, planting soft kisses and nips along the side of his lover’s neck, biting
down softly at Legolas’ pulse point and bringing out a groan of pleasure from
the silvery voice.  Finally, when the tunic fell open, warm hands weaved their
way over pale skin; the sensations racing over the prince’s skin caused him to
arch up into the touch, bringing a smile to Elladan’s face.

“Are we enjoying this?” he asked, the grin never leaving his face as his lips
brushed against quivering skin.

“You are such a tease, melethron-nîn.”  Legolas’ voice was barely above a
whisper, quivering with the desire building up within him.  Elladan smiled
wider, continuing his ministrations as he felt slender hands working to unfasten
his own robes before mirroring the movement of his hands.  He moaned at the
faint brush of fingers on his heated flesh, stopping his own movements to savor
the jolts of energy racing up his spine, sending small stars dancing in his
eyes.  Feeling a nuzzle on the side of his head, Elladan placed his lips over
Legolas’ once again as arms were slipped out of sleeves before tunic and robe
were cast aside.  Feverish hands moved to rid the other’s body of suddenly too
tight leggings.  Once completely free of any article of clothing, Elladan
allowed his body to lower onto that of the prince, both letting out a gasp as
their skins touched and created delicious friction.

“Ve' ôl,” Elladan murmured, his tongue flicking out over a leaf shaped tip.

“Alôl,” Legolas whispered back, lips brushing the spot behind Elladan’s ear,
delighting in the moan the action brought forth.  “Hae'ôl, ithil-nîn.”  Burying
his hands in locks of the richest dark browns, Legolas marveled at the beauty in
his lover he had only seen before in the face of the moon.  Elladan was the
presence that gave light to the dark; Legolas was the one bearing light for the
day.

“Uma, naa'l ôl, anor-nin, anor-nin. Naa menel.”  The sun smiled against the moon
as they came together for another desire-filled kiss, lips bruising in the
contact, but neither minding.  Elladan broke away far too soon for Legolas’
liking, using his lips to explode the planes of the archer’s chest whilst hands
busily stroked against any skin they could find.  Legolas could do nothing but
surrender to the kisses and caresses, hands buried deep into raven tresses,
fingers twirling and stroking the soft locks.  He could feel his lover’s tongue
working to map his torso and abdomen, gasps leaving his lips as he felt suddenly
sensitive patches of flesh being touched with the briefest of strokes.  He
writhed beneath his love, silently imploring him not to be so torturous.

Elladan took his time, delighted at the feel of creamy skin under his hands and
the sounds coming from his lover, like music he played with natural talent.  He
kissed the taut muscles of Legolas’ abdomen before moving lover.  Lifting his
head, he gazed into the prince’s face, the ends of his hair tickling Legolas’
stomach whilst his hands gently stroked the skin of his lover’s inner thighs to
calm him.  A faint wisp of a smile spread across the Greenleaf’s face as the
sudden absence of touch.

“Metho nin, melethron.”

“Úsi, nan' thentenn.”  He felt rather than saw the other’s body writhe in
impatience before he claimed his lover in his mouth.  Legolas bit down a scream,
and his hands, having left Elladan’s hair, knotted themselves in the sheets as
he arched upwards in an effort to bury himself further into the hot cavern
surrounding him.  Firm hands on his hips held him down as soothing fingers drew
small circles on the skin in an attempt to calm the prince.  But Legolas was far
from calm as he felt Elladan began to suck on the shaft, his tongue scraping
along the skin of the heated column, sending stars into his lover’s eyes.  A low
groan sounded from the depths of the prince’s throat as Elladan pulled away,
teeth nipping playfully at the tip before engulfing his love once again.  He
repeated the action a handful of times, the tip of his tongue lapping at the
pre-cum pearling at his lover’s slit.

“I can’t stand it,” Legolas gasped out.

“Then let go, ernil-nîn,” Elladan soothed before taking him in again.  The
pressure of the building sensations and the feel of the twin swallowing his
erection yet again caused Legolas to release into the other‘s mouth, his back
lifting off the bed before tumbling down again as his passion died down in
rolling waves.  Closing his eyes, Legolas steadied his breathing, feeling the
cool forest breeze brushing over his skin through a window he hadn‘t realized
was open.  

Elladan released him, swallowing the last of the creamy seed before sliding
himself upwards over the lithe pale body.  The golden hair spilled out like a
halo on the pillows around the lean face, eyes closed and face aglow as his
passion ebbed.  Heavy-lidded sapphire eyes opened again as gentle fingers traced
a cheekbone, a warm smile greeting Elladan, one which he returned before kissing
the soft lips before him.  Legolas could taste the saltiness of his seed on his
love’s lips and in his mouth as he sucked lightly on the tongue that sparred
with his own.  Mischievously, he grinned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to
wrap long fingers around Elladan’s ever present hard-on.  He delighted in the
surprised gasp he heard and felt as he gently pumped the organ.

“Daro ungwal nin ,” Elladan pleaded as his body spasmed in the pulsating touch
his lover provided.

“Pân naa fael i n'alatelien, melethron-nîn,” the prince cooed before taking a
delicate earlobe between his lips and sucking.

“Far n'alatelien.”  Musical laughter left the golden one beneath him.

“Im nowe lin aloio athonaya.”  Elladan merely smirked, leaning into for another
bruising kiss before reaching for something on the nightstand next to the bed. 
A pop was heard, followed by the sounds of the twin fumbling with something
while never breaking the kiss.  Legolas squirmed underneath his moon, impatient
for his lover’s touch.  And then it was there, slick fingers moving from his
hip, lazily over to his thigh, before pressing at his entrance.  He moaned into
the twin’s mouth as a finger pushed in; the slight discomfort caused him to
release Elladan’s lips, a sharp intake of breath passing through his own bruised
pair.  He stopped moving for a moment, adjusting to the intrusion.  The prince
hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until he opened them to find himself gazing
into a pair of concerned, loving gray orbs.  Smiling as the pain subsided,
Legolas wiggled his hips a bit as he began to feel pleasure from the digit
within him.

“Saes, melethron-nîn,” he whispered, kissing his lover’s lips to reassure him
and ask him to continue.  It was enough for Elladan as he smiled, leaning
forward to slowly kiss the creamy column of neck before him whilst preparing his
precious one further.  Twisting his finger ever so slightly, he gently urged the
tight ring of muscle to open and allow another digit to accompany the first.  In
the process, he brushed against something only to cause Legolas to writhe and
groan more.  Concern filled him again as Elladan lay motionless on top of his
prince for fear of hurting him again.  Frustration from the sudden cessation of
movement crept into the lithe body, but Legolas forced it down again as he fixed
his gaze onto his lover, immediately understanding the concern written there.

“Saes, údaro,” he pleaded, reassuring Elladan with another brief kiss.  Another
smile, this one of relief, passed over the dark elf.

“Im údaro.”  And he didn’t as he once again worked to prepare his lover, this
time in a gentler fashion than was necessary, but all the more cautiously.  He
took his time, slowly scissoring the flesh until Elladan felt all was ready. 
Quickly, he coated his own erection with the remainder of the oil on his hand
before rising on his heels a little, hands loosely grasping Legolas’ hips.  His
golden lover gave him a nod and another smile, one that reassured him and stated
his readiness.  Leaning in for another kiss, Elladan lifted those slim hips off
the bed just the barest amount before slowly pressing into his lover, feeling
himself begin swallowed by heat unimaginable.  Once fully sheathed inside his
prince, he paused, allowing both of them time to adjust to their new connection. 
Only when Elladan had decided the moan he heard coming from the fair one beneath
him was from pleasure and not pain did he begin to set up a rhythm.  

Slow and steadily, he pulled himself out until he had almost left his prince all
together.  Just as slowly, Elladan pushed back in again, relishing in the feel
of the searing heat enveloping him and the tight ring of muscle surrounding his
base.  Twice more he pulled out and pushed back in, his second thrust brushing
against the secret spot just as his fingers had done, eliciting a strangled moan
of pleasure from his lover.  Even the half-swallowed, half-voiced sound felt
like music to his ears; smiling he thrust in again, the moans growing louder
each time he touched that hidden gland.  The dark twin quickened his pace as one
hand slid over a hip to grasp at Legolas’ weeping erection, stroking the slit
with his thumb while fingers and palm began to pump the column.

The sensation of being doubly connected was mind blowing to the prince.  Craving
more of his lover’s touch, Legolas arched his back, feeling himself nearing his
edge.  He willed himself to hold back for just a moment longer to savor the
warmth, the loving touches.  But Elladan’s steady rhythm was ever quickening,
pushing him nearer and nearer to orgasm.  With a strangled cry he came again for
the second time that night, creamy seed spilling forth in rivulets over his
lover’s hand.  At the sound of his voice and the tightening around his cock,
Elladan gritted his teeth as he too felt himself coming, releasing himself deep
within his lover.  Exhausted but satiated, he fell forward, his warm body
covering the one below him.  

Chests rose and fell against one another, breathing returning to normal as stars
cleared away from behind closed eyes.  Coming back to his senses, Elladan opened
heavy-lidded eyes.  Wearily he reached over for a cloth lying on the nightstand
for unknown purposes, using it to clean himself and Legolas of the prince’s
seed.  Tossing the used rag away, he withdrew from his prince, a bit
reluctantly, to pull sheets over him.  With a sleepy smile on his face, Legolas
shifted closer, snuggling against Elladan’s warm body and burying his face
amidst the smooth skin of the twin’s neck and silky waves of his raven hair. 
Swallowing a yawn, Elladan encircled his arms around his love’s back, rubbing
small circles on the skin through the sheets as both drifted off into a
contented sleep, secure with the other and knowing they were loved.


Translations:
Ve' ôl-Like a dream
Alôl-Not a dream
Uma, naa'l ôl, anor-nin, anor-nin. Naa menel-Aye, tis not a dream, my sun.  Tis
heaven.
Metho nin, melethron-Finish me, lover
Úsi, nan' thentenn-Not yet, but soon
Daro ungwal nin-Stop torturing me
Pân naa fael i n'alatelien-All’s fair in foreplay, my lover
Far n'alatelien-Enough foreplay
Im nowe lin aloio athonaya-I thought you’d never offer
Saes, melethron-nîn-Please, my lover
Saes, údaro-Please, don’t stop
Im údaro-Then I won’t




Chapter 6: Traveling to Lil’ Bree
Summary: The year in Mirkwood is up; the children of Thranduil prepare to leave
with the Peredhel twins to spend their allotted time in Imladris.  But first, a
detour to the town of Lil’ Bree to see what humans can really be like.

The mid-autumn day was pleasant and warm.  The sun beat down comfortably onto
the backs of six travelers.  They rode together down the last leg of the Misty
Mountains in merriment, their musical voices filling the air as they laughed and
talked with one another.  To someone observing them from afar, they seemed to
appear to be warriors traveling in company, six men either heading out to a hunt
or coming back from one.  In actuality they were five elven princes and one
elven princess, disguised as a male warrior to keep her safe from prying eyes. 
Rather than journeying to a hunt, they were moving from one elven haven to
another, but their path veered slightly away from their final destination,
heading towards a small human town instead.

It was Nimriel’s insistence that had prompted the group to make a slight detour. 
The young princess wanted to see what men were really like having encountered
few outside of the sparse villages that dotted Mirkwood’s borders.  Her
brothers, who had had more encounters than she, and even the twins, had tried to
convince her that it was probably not the best of ideas for a whole elven escort
to simply enter a human village and wish to stay for the night.  To their
surprise and dismay the princess had agreed, saying they would travel without an
escort and she would willingly disguise herself as a male warrior to keep her
identity and gender safe.  Much to their loathing, especially that of the twins,
Thranduil and Erinien had agreed, stating that it would be good for the princess
to know and learn more about the world outside of the Greenwood.  Their only
condition in the matter had been that the town needed to be one close to either
Mirkwood or Imladris so that, if need be, they could take off in a hurry to an
elven shelter.  The five princes had no choice but to agree, and promise to keep
Nimriel safe from harm.

So it was that the group found themselves steadily approaching Lil’ Bree, so
named because it looked and felt like a smaller replica of the town on the
borders of the Shire.  The place had had its own name once, but travelers and
its inhabitants alike kept calling it Lil’ Bree; pretty soon, its original name
was forgotten.  It was a place inhabited mostly by men and dwarves; it was too
far for hobbits to visit, and few elves ventured into the city, though Imladris
was less than a day’s ride away.  The town saw little adventure, its inhabitants
mostly farmers, shopkeepers and miners.  News of the outside world didn’t seem
to concern the inhabitants, as they often felt no need to know what the other
parts of Middle-earth were up to.  Rangers passed through now and then though
they often were not given a warm welcome; it mattered little to the Dunedain,
for they tarried only a short while in the town before moving on towards other
places and destinations.  Other than that, Lil Bree rarely received any
strangers from other lands or races.  Today, however, would break such ideals.  

Nimriel squirmed in her saddle, fighting the urge to push her mare into a canter
and into the town.  It was difficult for her to keep still and calm during the
ride.  She was, after all, supposed to be disguised as a warrior; she was well
versed in the usage of the bow and knew a little about the sword, able to help
her brothers and the twins in the event that a fight should break out.  Nimriel
indeed looked the part of a warrior.  But she held nothing of the poise and
composure a proud, weathered elven bowman or swordsman possessed.  Instead
Nimriel was a princess, a lady, and, above all else, a girl filled with
curiosity about something she had never laid eyes on.  All she really wanted to
do was take off, leaving her brothers and the twins behind and go explore the
town that seemed to beckon to her.  

Nimriel scowled faintly as her eldest brother reached over, drawing the hood of
her cloak over her ears and warrior-braided hair.

“Best to hide as much of our features as we can,” Arondil said calmly, pulling
his own hood over his head as the others followed suit.

“Aye, tis true,” Elladan agreed, turning slightly in his seat to face them, face
partially shadowed by his cloak.  “I know not how the men and dwarves of Lil’
Bree will react to seeing a small troupe of elves venture into their town. 
Imladrian elves seldom come here, and in disguise when they do, lingering
little.”

“There are dwarves in the village?” Legolas asked, his eyes lifting in slight
amazement at the news.  His siblings seemed equally amazed as they turned to the
twins for an explanation.

“Aye,” Elrohir answered.  “The dwarves of Lil’ Bree care nothing for the grudge
between elves and their kind, however.  They mine by day and drink by night and
make merry whenever they can.  ‘Tis likely that these dwarves have never heard
of elves, if so then only in tales.”  Celeron snorted in amusement.

“Then it is likely that if we are somehow discovered, Elbereth forbid, we will
be revered as beings thought long lost.”

“Or chased out of the village,” Elladan countered.  “Either way, this will be an
interesting stay.”

“Far better than staying on the ground another night,” the princess said.  “I am
weary from the journey.  Though I will enjoy this adventure, I find myself
wishing to be in the halls your father is so famous for founding.  Yet Imladris
is another half day’s travel, and Arien is beginning to sink.”

“Aye, I agree,” Elrohir said.  “Setting aside what may happen, we’ll find
comfort indoors tonight in Lil’ Bree.  ‘Tis well we all speak Westron else we
draw more unwanted attention.  Our appearance, even hidden, draws the attention
of far too many eyes already.”  The others agreed, their steeds now beginning to
enter the streets of the town.  They seemed, at first glance, no different than
the other men and women going about their business in the busy little town. 
But, as they rode down the main street, eyes turned to them and lingered for
longer than the elves would have liked.  Despite their worn clothing, their more
regal garments hidden among their possessions, and weathered looks, the six
companions seemed to stand out from the rest of the town as if they had walked
in with a procession behind them, glittering in gold and mithril.

At Elladan’s gesture, the riders headed to a tavern in the middle of the town
just as the owner stepped out.  Bowman Butterbur was the owner of the Trotting
Stallion; he was also the cousin of Barliman Butterbur, who operated the
Prancing Pony in Bree.  He was portly, yet cheerful and kind, not to mention a
bit forgetful at times, much like his cousin.  Though his was far from the only
tavern, even in such a small town, it was one that tended, unknowingly, to draw
the most unusual of visitors.  His warm smile behind a brushy mustache and
stained apron made old friends and new customers feel right at home.

“Good day, young warriors!” he greeted in a cheerful voice, his mustache
twitching faintly with his words.  His dark eyes widened in amazement at his new
guests but he kept his voice pleasant and warm.  “Have a good hunt?”

“Yes indeed,” Elrohir replied, dismounting as the others followed suit.  “And
now we are in need of a night’s rest, for both ourselves and our horses.  Can
you accommodate us?”

“You are in luck, my young friends.”  Bowman seemed not to take notice of the
slight twitching of lips that occurred when he referred to them as ‘young.’  As
he spoke, he seemed a little preoccupied with the fact his new customers, even
the princess, stood almost half a head taller than he.  “I have in fact two
rooms available that might suit your fancy, nice big and cozy rooms.”

“That is one less than we were hoping for, but it is acceptable,” Arondil
replied, handing the man the reins to his steed.  “Kindly see to our horses, and
that our things are taken straight to the rooms, kind sir.  We shall return
shortly for the night’s supper.”

“I shall be awaiting your return with a hot meal and ale aplenty.”  Bowman
watched as the six slung bows and quivers to their backs, strapping knives in
their boots and swords to their hips.  As they journeyed down the main road, he
couldn’t help but wonder that there was something distinctly different about the
group.  Shrugging it off, he led their steeds into his large stable, the
majestic beasts seeming less weary than the other horses already in holds,
despite the long journey.  Bowman then took their things, remarkably light
contrary to their size, up to the designated rooms before preparing for the
evening meal.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The town seems lively enough for one so small,” Celeron said in Westron as the
group roamed the streets, killing time before returning to the tavern for the
evening meal.  The elves spoke in the common tongue so as not to draw more
unwanted attention to themselves; occasionally, they would speak in low whispers
in elvish that only their keen ears could hear.

“It is fascinating!” Nimriel nearly exclaimed before lowering her voice at the
slightly reproachful look her brothers gave her.  “It is nothing like the
villages on our borders.  They were always small, mostly just a few families and
homes.  But this is different.  Are all human towns and cities like this?” 
Arondil laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Calm yourself, sister,” he said in a calm voice.  “Yes, they are all like this,
and no, they are all different.”

“Aye,” Elladan agreed.  “Most towns of Rohan are much the same as the villages
you have seen, maybe just a little bigger.  But the cities of Gondor are said to
be large and majestic with colorful banners waving from high white towers and
twisting streets between buildings.  In the north there are few cities, but they
differ little from Lil’ Bree.  I have not seen the towns of the fabled Shire,
nor the little people that inhabit it, but they are told to be a cheery place.”

“How I would love to visit the Shire,” Nimriel said.  “But it is too far to
travel.”

“I am afraid that, even if we were to make it that far,” Legolas interrupted her
musings, “we might startle the little people.  I doubt they have ever seen men
and dwarves, much less elves.”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Elrohir agreed with a nod.  “The stories told tell us that the
Halflings are cautious of men, whom they refer to as the big folk.  None know
much about dwarves, and even less of our kin.  It is not far from truth to say
that if we were to stroll into the Shire, we would scare the Halflings witless
with our presence.  They would tell stories of such an encounter for years and
generations to come.”  The group stopped walking as a dozen children, all much
shorter in stature than the elves, ran across their path, disappearing around a
corner only to poke their heads out a moment later to gape at the strangers in
awe.

“It never ceases to amaze me how human children and elflings can be so
different,” Arondil said, smiling at the wide-eyed children who ducked away from
his gaze before appearing again.  “They mature quickly, reaching their majority
much earlier than we.  I remember Ada not being able to cease calling me elfling
until I had reached my one-hundredth year.”

“Aye, I remember that as well,” Legolas said.  “Even after majority, he still
referred to us as if we were children for a while longer.  It would annoy me to
no end at times.”

“And yet a human life is so fragile,” Elladan mused.  “We feel no cold, no heat,
little pain and little fear.  Yet they feel it all heavily, and reach the end of
their mortality quickly.  ‘Tis a sad idea to ponder.”  He smiled wistfully as he
felt a hand grasp his own, a flash of gold and sapphire from the corner of his
eye confirming Legolas’ presence.  The elves continued on down the street in
silence for a few moments, always aware of the curious children who followed in
their steps.

“It is getting late,” Arondil announced.  “Did you find this excursion to your
liking, gwathel-nîn?” 

“Very much so,” Nimriel replied.  “Yet I feel the need for rest, for now I am
anxious to arrive in Imladris tomorrow.  The valley intrigues me, as we will be
staying there a full year.  I almost wish we could ride there tonight.”

“The paths and forests are not safe at night, as we all well know,” Legolas
pointed out as the group steered back towards the Trotting Stallion, their
shadows still following, much to their amusement.  “Though I do not know about
the rest of you, I would not want to spend tonight worrying about Orcs, Wargs or
Easterlings attacking us during our sleep.  We have spent plenty a night
worrying about such things already on this trip.”

“Aye, and father does not expect us until midday tomorrow,” Elladan said.  “He
will be ill prepared to receive us, especially in the middle of the night.  We
should rest and refresh ourselves in the meanwhile.”  The others nodded as they
entered the already bustling tavern.  The door shut behind them with a faint
thud, leaving the children outside and away from the smoky and ale-filled place.  

Undaunted, the dozen little ones made their way to a nearby window and packed
themselves around it.  The fair strangers had grasped their attention on the
street, though the children knew not why.  As they lingered at the window, the
elder ones holding up their younger counterparts, they kept their attentions
focused on the six riders who seated themselves in a dark corner away from the
rest of the tavern.  They were hoping for a show, and would not leave until they
got what they wanted.

Translations:
Gwathul-nîn-My sister
Ada-Father




Chapter 7: Hellacious Encounter
Summary: The short stay in Lil’ Bree proves interesting and a bit troublesome
for the young elven princes and princess, especially since the mannish town has
not seen elves in quite some time.

A faint hush fell over the already crowded tavern as the six new arrivals
entered and took a table in a darkened corner.  Though it was still early
evening, the Trotting Stallion was already filled to almost full capacity as men
and dwarves returned from their daily comings and goings to enjoy a hot meal and
fine ale and mead at their favorite gathering spot in Lil Bree.  All their
attentions were turned from their plates and conversations upon the entrance of
the arrivals, eyes fixing on the figures for a moment longer before turning back
to begin new talks.  The cloaked elves said nothing until Bowman arrived at
their side.

“What can I get you this fine evening, my young friends?”  The princes and
princess turned to one another, silent conversation passing between them as
their eyes met.  Their intense gray, blue and green gazes from underneath dark
gray cloaks made the tavern owner a little uneasy as he waited for their answer. 
After a moment’s time, that seemed much longer to Bowman, Arondil spoke from the
owner’s elbow.

“Bread, cheese, any fruits you may have and wine, kind sir,” the prince said,
lifting his eyes to Bowman momentarily.

“Will that be all you gentlemen will be wanting?”  A simple nod was his answer. 
“Would you be preferring some ale, or perhaps mead rather than wine, friends?”

“Nay, wine will do,” Elladan replied, eliciting a nod from Bowman who moved off
quickly to fill their order before attending to other guests, leaving the elves
to observe the room around them in silence.

“They are…different from those I have seen in the wood,” Nimriel commented as
her gaze fell from one dwarf to a second and then upon the man they were
conversing with.  All three were dressed in rough brown clothing, their faces
dirty and dusty, but they laughed heartily as they drank from tall tankards.  “I
would not fancy myself as being an expert on the company of men, as I have seen
and interacted with few.  But it is to my current observation that the men of
this town seem far from the hard working village people of Mirkwood.”

“Aye, they are,” Legolas agreed.  “I liken that they are also different from the
Dunedain.  The Edain of the North are rather gruff and weather worn, but these
men and dwarves place a new perspective on them.  But appearances can be
deceiving, gwathul-nîn.  The men, and even dwarves, that you see before you
might in fact be as hard working as the men of the wood, but at the present
moment they are forgetting their cares and enjoying their time.”

“I agree with Legolas,” Elrohir said, his voice dying as Bowman returned,
balancing trays piled with the food and wine they had ordered.  Smiling warmly,
the tavern owner laid out the plates and cups before his guests before bidding
them an enjoyable meal and leaving them to their own devices.

As they ate, the elves kept their conversation between themselves and in
whispered tones.  Speaking in Sindarian, in voices that could only reach their
own keen ears, they spoke of Imladris; the children of Mirkwood questioned the
twins further on the valley dwelling.  Elladan and Elrohir spoke with relish
about their home and visits to Lorien, promising the others tours and
introductions.  Now and then they found themselves having to switch to speaking
in words of Westron when their elvish senses alerted them to prying eyes and
ears.  This town fascinated them, though it was far from any of their
expectations upon arrival; they were not inclined to reveal who they truly were
until they left in the morning, if at all.  Conversations around them went on as
normal, almost as if the strangers were nothing unusual to Lil Bree.  Almost.

Very rarely has an elf become so intoxicated through the vintages that he or she
could not remember what they did or said once they woke up with a hangover. 
Most knew when to stop themselves from becoming too drunk.  Nonetheless, elven
wine was not so much potent as it was sweet in taste, agreeable to the palate
for even those who preferred something without a sugary taste.  The bitterly
strong taste of mead and ale, even human wine, was often too much for elves. 
But the princes and princess were accustomed to such potables having associated
with men previously.  Unfortunately, some of the men in the Trotting Stallion
were not, though one would think that they would have some inhibitions since
they drank in the tavern so often.

A heavy hand suddenly rested itself on Nimriel’s shoulder, startling the
princess just slightly from her conversation with Elrohir.  Turning, green eyes
gazed up past the elven cloak and into the stern, slightly red-tinted face of a
rough man.  He was as tall as she, but much broader in shoulder and limbs than
her brothers, even more so than the twins.  Coarse, dark brown hair covered his
chin, as long, oily strands fell from his scalp to brush his shoulders.  His
tunic was as rough and coarse as his hair, sleeveless and fitting him snugly
across the chest; his clothes seemed to be of a brown color, but whether that
was the fabric’s natural color or due to layers of dirt was unknown.  The smell
of his breath flowing from him alerted the elves quickly to his intoxication.

“Well well, look at what have we here?” the man said, his voice gruff and hard
with just the barest hint of a slur despite his woefully drunken state.  He
spoke loud enough to elicit the attention of everyone else in the room, driving
conversations to death or to faint whispers.

“Is there a problem?” Nimriel asked, her voice devoid of fear for she felt none. 
Even as a she-elf and a princess, she was more than capable of handling a man
such as this.  Her eyes, as she knew her brothers and the twins were doing,
flickered over the man, assessing him quickly and discretely before returning to
his face, awaiting his answer.

“You are the problem, all of ya.”  Six elegant eyebrows arched delicately in
confusion and faint annoyance at the accusation.  “Damn Rangers riding into
town, walking through the village with an arrogant swagger like ya’ll own the
place.”  The man seemed not to notice the brief smirks of delight that
illuminated the elves’ faces at his blatant mistake of their identities.  The
man frowned slightly as dull brown eyes flicked from one cloaked figure to
another, his annoyance rising when he realized he couldn‘t see any of their
faces clearly.  “What ya’ll want in Lil Bree anyway?”

“Just a night’s room and board and a little food before we’ll be on our way in
the morning,” Elladan replied, eyeing the hand that still rested on the
princess’ shoulder.  It was clear that Nimriel was becoming uneasy by the close
proximity of the man, though she remained stoic and calm.  “We’ve been riding
all day.  Surely the horse who carries the burden of a rider throughout the long
day may take some rest at the very least.”  Murmurs of approval and agreement
swept around the room at the twin’s delicate reasoning.  The truthfulness of his
words only seemed to anger and annoy the man further, as he was joined by three
others who the elves could only assume to be his friends; they too were also
intoxicated.

“Well we don’t like Rangers in this here town,” one of his companions
interjected.  “I dun rightly care if your lame horse is tired or not.  Ya’ll
aren’t welcome here and we’ll thank ya kindly to leave.”

“Abel, now calm down,” Bowman tried to soothe.  He didn’t like fighting among
his guests in his place.  The owner felt he had to stop the men from provoking
the strangers further, as he got the funny feeling that his six new guests were
much more than they seemed.

“Now you stay out of this, Butterbur.  We dun intend to muck up ya place so
there’s no reason for ya to worry too much.”

“For once, I agree,” Arondil said, getting to his feet.  His motion was mirrored
by the others save for Nimriel.  The hand, which remained on her shoulder,
forced the princess back into her seat as well as causing glares that could have
rivaled the flames within Khazad-dum to ignite in the eyes of her brothers. 
Arondil worked to keep his voice steady as he spoke again.  “I shall thank you
kindly to unhand my companion.”

“Yeah?  Or what, boy?”

“Or be unhanded.”  There was a moment’s pause before a yelp was let loose
through the tavern.  Legolas had barely finished speaking when he sprung over
the table from where he was opposite his sister to land nimbly at her side,
painfully wrenching the hand off her shoulder.  With a twist, the prince had the
man pinned facedown on the table and hands held behind his back.

“Unhand him!” the one Bowman had called Abel demanded, moving on uneasy feet
toward Legolas in an attempt to free his friend.  The prince whirled on his
heels, pulling the man up and in front of him.

“As you wish,” he said, pushing the man forward whilst springing back to join
his brothers.  The two men stumbled into each other in a tangle of limbs and
curses.  Unable to keep their balances due to the combination of ale in their
systems and their collision, they fell backwards into a table occupied by a
group of a half dozen dwarves.  This particular group had continued their
conversation animatedly in whispered voices despite the confrontation going on
just behind them.  Upon the toppling of the men, however, not only was their
conversation rudely interrupted, but their table was upset by the force of the
man‘s fall, spilling their still-unfinished mead in a dozen directions.

“Ingrates!” the dwarves shouted, springing to their feet and brandishing broken
table legs and chairs, whatever was within reach.  “We shall teach you a lesson
in manners, filthy humans!”  With that they pounced, again toppling Abel and his
companions, upsetting more tables, plates, cups and guests.  A simple
misunderstanding led into an all out tavern fight, in which no one, save for
Butterbur and the elves who had retreated to a different corner, was left out
of.

“This was not quite the excitement we were looking for when we came here,”
Celeron commented with a sheepish looking grin as he and the others observed the
chaos around them.  

“Aye, though this is certainly not something you see everyday,” Elrohir replied. 
“At least I never have.”  The others nodded their agreement while Legolas looked
over at his lover; Elladan fought to control the laughter bubbling up within him
at the sight of men and dwarves yelling obscenities at the top of their lungs
while trying to throttle one another in their drunken states.

“Rangers indeed,” huffed Nimriel.  “I admire the Dunedain, but to be mistaken
for one of them!”  The undignified, annoyed pout held on the princess’ face was
enough to send the twins and her brothers into peals of laughter.  Their mirth,
however, was quickly interrupted as a hand swept out, grabbing hold of a corner
of Elrohir’s cloak and pulling him to the ground.  The twin landed
unceremoniously onto his back while a large body fell upon him.  Rolling to his
side, Elrohir narrowly missed the fist aimed at his face, scrambling to his feet
and to his brother’s side, discovering that he and the others were backed into a
corner.

“Think this is all very funny, do ya?” Abel sneered, peering through disheveled
hair and sporting a split lip.  “We’ll teach ya’ll a lesson in respect!”

“Nay, it is us who will be teaching such a lesson,” Elladan replied, unsheathing
the sword at his hip.  The light caught the elven made blade, its deadly edge
warning the men away.  The sound of more swords being drawn was heard, a hush
falling over the tavern, all eyes turning towards the strangers.  Arondil and
Celeron had also unsheathed their swords as Legolas brandished a pair of knives
in each hand; behind them stood Elrohir and Nimriel, arrows nocked, bows drawn
taut.  In the process of arming themselves, each of their hoods had fallen away,
revealing fair features and leaf-like ears.

“What manner of being are yee?” Abel cowered, his voice trembling as he fell to
his knees before the elves.

“Antolle ulua sulrim,” Celeron hissed, his voice barely a whisper but carrying
through the now silent and awe-stricken room.  None but the elves knew the true
meaning of his insult, but the ferocity of his voice was enough to convey his
anger, as well as the brandished weapons.  The men and dwarves instantly
released one another, backing away from the elves.  Slowly and cautiously, the
six put away their weapons as Elladan turned to Bowman and bowed.

“We shall be taking our leave of you tonight and retiring, kind host,” he said
politely.  “Please see to it that our mounts are saddled and ready to leave
early tomorrow morn.”  Bowman merely nodded, dumbfound, as the elves turned and
made their way up to the rooms given to them.  

Silently, Arondil, Celeron and Legolas disappeared into one, reappearing later
laden with their belongings to join their sister and the twins in the second
room; a silent agreement ran through them that they should spend the night in a
single room.  Each slumped upon a bed or the floor once the door was closed and
locked, a moment of silence filled the room.  The moment was broken when, as
one, the six broke out into more peals of laughter, their silvery voices
carrying in the room, echoing faintly against the walls.

“Did you see their faces?!” Celeron asked through laughs wracking his body.  “I
thought their eyes would pour out of their heads when they saw us!  What a sight
we must have made, six elves with swords, knives and bows in hand against a
tavern full of drunken men and dwarves.”

“Must have been quite a shock,” Arondil commented.  “Still, it was amusing.  I
dare say we shall not forget this adventure for a while to come.”  The others
nodded their agreement before making preparations for sleep.  Nimriel was given
the bed while the others spread themselves about the floor.  Leaning against the
door to prevent any unwanted entrances were Elladan and Legolas, the pair of
lovers leaning against each other, hands clasped and fingers entwined.  

~~~~~~~~~~

“Think we’ll have any trouble trying to leave the town?” Legolas asked.  Morning
had come; the elves had arisen just as Arien was ascending in the sky.  Each
took turns washing up while the others kept busy preparing their things for the
last leg of their journey.  They had decided to skip the morning meal, still
having enough lembas to keep them hearty till they reached Imladris.

“I hope not, gwanur-nîn,” Arondil said, slipping a knife into his wrist guard. 
“I should hope after what occurred last night, the men and dwarves would give us
a wide girth and allow us to leave in peace.”

“Let us hope it is so,” Elladan replied, a faint smirk of amusement crossing his
face as he recalled last night’s events.  The shocked look on Abel’s disheveled
face flashed into his memory, forcing the twin to bite down on his lip to keep
from roaring in laughter.

Once ready, the princes and princess hefted their possessions, making their way
downstairs and to the stables.  Not a soul was in the tavern, but Bowman was
awaiting them at the doors to the stable, their horses refreshed and ready for
the journey.  Each stallion and mare nudged their riders, greeting them as the
elves began to burden their friends with first their belongings and then
themselves.  With a gracious smile despite last night’s incident, Bowman wished
the companions as safe journey as they rode off.  They were halfway out of the
town when Nimriel reined her mare to a stop, staring with slack jaw at the
street before her.  Her brothers and the twins exchanged confused glances before
stopping beside her, turning their eyes to where her green orbs were focused. 
Their mouths too slipped open at the sight before them.

From their stopping position to just before the gates were each and every
inhabitant of the village, men, women and children alike.  All were kneeling
prostrate on the ground, heads bowed in deep respect directed toward the elves
who they seemed to revere as some sort of holy, spiritual beings.  A flood of
laughter threatened to overwhelm Elladan; instead, he smirked wickedly before
starting his horse into a trot.  The others followed suit, laughter barely
suppressed on their fair faces, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them.  

None looked back as they left the town, hearing the gates close behind them and
the people shuffling to their feet.  It was not until they were well into the
surrounding forest did they allow themselves to laugh in utter amusement to the
sight they had seen.  Their mirth was carried by the wind back to the town, the
sounds of their musical voices frightening many villagers who feared punishment
for upsetting the starlit beings, same as the night before.  

The children, however, delighted in the laughter they heard, impressing the
sound into their minds along with the faces of the strangers.  They told many a
tale each night to their children, who passed it onto their own children for
generations to come, long after the ships had sailed for Valinor.  No elf was
ever seen again within the gates of Lil’ Bree, but many were careful not to
upset a stray Dunedain who might pass, fearing he would be another spiritual
being who would not be as merciful.

Translations:
Antolle ulua sulrim-Much wind pours from your mouth
Gwanur-nîn-My brother




Chapter 8: Stolen Hearts
Summary: Elladan debates on how to tell his father about his relationship, one
Thranduil does not entirely approve of but lets be for his son‘s happiness. 
Legolas ponders a new way of attracting his lover’s attention (slash).

“Ada, I have found my soul’s companion while in Mirkwood…no, that doesn’t sound
right.  How about…I have discovered my other half residing in the beech trees of
the Greenwood.  No, that’s wrong too.”  Elladan was a wreck as he paced his
chambers, trying to put his thoughts into something that was not only coherent
also conveyed what he wanted to say to his parent.  He was having no luck
despite all the diplomacy he had been taught as an elfling.

It had been nearly  two months since he and Elrohir had returned to Imladris
with Legolas and his siblings in tow.  The Mirkwood princes and princess had
been awed by the immense beauty of the valley.  Glorfindel had ridden up to meet
them, welcoming back the twins and greeting the guests before leading them to
the Last Homely House.  There, Elrond awaited them along with Arwen, who had
returned from Lothlorien just two days previously.  Upon seeing his father,
Elladan had felt a tremor of terror fill him as he suddenly became aware of the
fact that he would have to tell his father about the relationship he shared with
Thranduil’s youngest son.

Elladan suddenly stopped pacing as he recalled how the golden king had reacted
to the news.  Thranduil had gone absolutely silent; at his side, Erinien had
smiled and silently given her consent to the pair.  It had given them a small
measure of hope as Legolas and Elladan stood before the king, close enough to
draw comfort from the other, but never touching.  The twin had sensed Elrohir
and Legolas’ siblings watching from a hidden corner, thankful for their support
as well.  

Long moments had passed during which a number of emotions had passed within
Thranduil’s eyes, before he smiled, giving his consent.  Elladan, as Legolas
embraced his father, had felt that the king was not in complete approval,
despite his words, and had instantly promised to keep Legolas happy and safe if
it were within his strength and power.  The oath seemed to appease Thranduil, as
his smile broadened and he motioned Elladan forward to embrace him as well, the
twin‘s taut body relaxing measurably as he stepped into the warm hug.

Now it was time for Elrond to know of this coupling and, for some reason,
Elladan feared his father’s reaction more than he had Thranduil’s.  He was not
sure why, as he was much more familiar with dealing with his own father than
with Legolas’.  Elladan sighed; this would be a difficult matter to discuss with
his father.  But discuss it he must, so, mounting the courage he needed, the
twin left his chambers and proceeded down the corridor.  Upon reaching the door
to his father’s study, he took a couple of deep steadying breaths, smoothed his
clothes and the braids in his hair, and knocked thrice upon the wooden frame.

“Enter,” a voice commanded gently from within.  Taking yet another deep breath,
Elladan grasped the door handle, twisted it and proceeded into the room.  His
attention was caught by the firm, straight back and gleaming golden hair that
came into view; he hadn’t expected Glorfindel to be present.  As the blond Elda
turned, it was revealed that Erestor was also in the room, standing next to
Elrond as the pair went over a group of scrolls on the lord’s table.

“Elladan,” Elrond said, noting the entrance of his eldest.  “You are not out
with your brother and the princes?”

“Nay, there’s something I must discuss with you, Ada,” the son replied, working
to keep his voice steady.  He threw an uneasy look at his father’s advisors,
particular at Elrond’s blond lover.  Glorfindel took the hint immediately and
motioned for Erestor to follow him out, mentioning something about maps as he
closed the door.  Elladan sighed in relief.  He had always seen his father’s
advisors as friends and confidants, but today he needed to speak with Elrond
alone.

The lord of Imladris caught the uneasy look in his son’s eyes, read the mixed
emotions on his youthful face.  Sliding into a chair, he folded his hands across
his lap, waiting in silence for Elladan to begin speaking.  The elder twin
remained on his feet a moment longer but claimed a chair when he noticed that
his father had already done so.  When Elladan remained silent for the next few
moments, Elrond slowly reached across the table, laying his hand gently over his
son’s clasped pair, feeling the faint tremble running through the lithe body.

“Elladan,” he said in a soothing voice.  “Whatever it is, tell me.”  Hearing his
father speak in such a calm voice gave the twin the courage he needed to speak
his mind.

“Ada, in the year I spent in Mirkwood, I discovered a lot of things,” he began,
staring at their joined hands as his thoughts came to him.  “Elrohir and I found
that we were rather happy there.  Of course we’re glad to be home, but Mirkwood
was a fascinating place and we loved it there.”

“I thought you would.”  Elladan gave a faint nod before continuing.

“I rather admired King Thranduil for looking after his people so closely.  He
cares for them all deeply, and for his family.  I’ve only ever seen you, Nana,
grandfather and grandmother care for us so.  The king loves his children, and
will do anything for them.”  It was Elrond’s turn to nod at his son’s words.

“This I knew already, for that is one of the reasons why the two of us respect
each other so.  But that is not what you came here to discuss, is it, Elladan?” 
Elladan shook his head, braids of raven hair swishing into his face with his
movements.  Slowly, he lifted gray eyes to lock with the identical pair of his
father’s.  Such emotion filled them, that Elrond found himself holding his
breath in anticipation of his eldest child’s next words.

“I have found love beneath the beeches of Mirkwood, Ada.  ‘Tis a love I feel I
can no longer live without.  It would grieve me so to have the center of my
affections taken from me to a place I cannot follow.  I know not what I would do
,should such an event occur, though surely I would die of the elven illness if
it came to pass.”  A small sigh of contentment left Elrond, which went unnoticed
by his son.  He had waited two months for Elladan to confess to something the
lord already suspected.

“I gathered as much as I observed you of late.  You seemed changed, you and
Elrohir both.  Yet it was a different change.  Your brother has had a sudden
boost of energy and merriment; such mirth in his eyes I have not seen since
before your mother passed.  But you, ion-nîn, have changed in a different way. 
You are more compassionate and calm, as if something has soothed your soul and
mind.  I thank whichever one of Thranduil’s children has brought about this
change in you.  But tell me, pen-neth, is it the princess, or one of her
brothers?”

“It is her brother, the youngest.  Legolas.”  Such delight filled Elladan’s
voice as he uttered the name.  It filled Elrond with a childish glee at hearing
the name leave his son’s lips like a much-cherished endearment.  Deftly he slid
out of his chair, his feet making little noise as he seemed to glide around the
table to stand behind Elladan.  Leaning over, he enveloped his son in an
embrace, kissing his hair tenderly.

“I am happy for you, ion-nîn,” Elrond whispered into a pointed ear.  “I am glad
he makes you happy, and am overjoyed to see you happy.  You have my consent.”

“Diola lle, Ada.”  They stayed in the embrace for a moment longer.  Elladan
closed his eyes, drinking in the warmth of the paternal love radiating from the
father he cherished so dearly.  His heart had lightened when Elrond gave his
consent and set his mind at ease.  Turning his head, the twin gave his father a
chaste kiss on the cheek and a brilliant smile before rising from his seat as
the two departed to join the others for the afternoon meal.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are you leading me, ernil-nîn?”

“Be patient, melethron-nîn.  You shall see soon enough.”  Elladan gave his lover
a playful scowl as Legolas led him through the woods of Imladris.  The dark elf
had felt much more lighthearted after the earlier talk with his father, even
more delighted at the dazzling smile Legolas had given him when he relayed
Elrond’s consent.  Now evening was approaching, the evening meal commencing in
less than two hours, as the prince led his lover along a curving path through
the woods.

“Two months here and you act as if you’ve known the place forever,” Elladan
jested.  Legolas flashed him another smile over his shoulder.

“Perhaps I have,” he replied teasingly.  “I spent many a night listening to you
talk of your home, you might well recall.  Besides, while you were speaking with
your father, Elrohir was kind enough to show me some hidden places he said you
liked to visit.”

“It would seem that my dear brother is trying to play matchmaker.”

“Nay, that is impossible, melme, for we are already matched.”  A soft chuckle
left the twin at the truth of his sun’s words.  “Ah, here we are.”  Elladan was
amazed as they entered a small clearing about a hundred yards away from the
falls of the Bruinen.  His astonishment was aimed directly at Legolas, rather
than the beauty of the clearing and the swirling pool of water.  The twin wanted
to be the one leading Legolas to the location; he had never expected to have his
prince led him here.  “Amazed?”

“Very.”  With a smile, Elladan turned, wrapping the golden prince in his arms
and kissing him lightly on the lips.  “But glad.  I wanted to show you this
place, at least once.”  Legolas smiled, leaning his head on Elladan’s shoulder.

“I can see why you like it so much.  It’s so serene and calm here, a place to
get away when the world is too much.”

“Or when you just want a little privacy.”  There was a glint in the gray eyes
that Legolas knew all too well.  He smiled knowingly, stretching his arms about
the twin’s neck to pull them into another, more heated kiss.  They parted for
air only to come back together with more passion, hands fumbling with clasps and
casting clothing aside.  Limbs tangled, bodies crumpled against one another as
each brought his lover to rest on the soft, carpet-like grass at their feet. 
For a moment they just held one another, stormy gray orbs locking with a beloved
sapphire pair, hands playing softly across liquid silk skin.  The world seemed
to stand still; nothing else existed save for the entwined pair.

With a smile, Elladan leaned closer, placing soft kisses over Legolas’ cheek
before moving to the smooth column of his neck.  He nipped lightly at the skin,
producing soft sighs and moans of pleasure.  As he worked his mouth, Elladan
kept his hands busy, lightly tickling and brushing curves and planes, knowing
just where to touch to excite his lover.  He felt Legolas’ hands in his hair,
fingering the strands and massaging the scalp gently, causing Elladan to give
his own moan of pleasure as a fingertip brushed over his ear.

“Saes, ithil-nîn,” the prince whispered with an almost pleading voice.  “Don’t
make me wait.  Im lle gara.”

“Anything for you,” Elladan replied, gently soothing him with a tender kiss. 
Rolling onto his back, he brought them both in a sitting position, Legolas
placed across his lap.  Ever so gently he encircled the prince’s weeping
erection with his fingers, his thumb flicking over the head to collect the
pearly drops gathering there.  Legolas gasped, then moaned at the touch.  A
frustrated groan sounded as the hand left, but it was cut short as Elladan
wiggled a finger, coated in his own pre-cum, past his entrance.  He moaned as a
second finger joined the first, gently stretching and preparing him with the
utmost care.  

“Sii’, saes.”

“Uma, sii’.”  Withdrawing his fingers slowly, Elladan cupped his love’s slender
hips, positioning his entrance over the twin’s straining member.  Slowly he
lowered the prince onto himself, gasping sharply at the delightful feel of being
engulfed by overwhelming heat.  For a moment neither dared to move, savoring the
feeling of their joining.  

As his dark lover began to set a steady rhythm, Legolas leaned forward, placing
his golden crown on Elladan’s shoulders and his lips across the skin of the neck
exposed before him; Elladan silently thanked the Valar for his discarded high
necked robes, for he didn‘t want to have to explain anything during dinner.  He
moved slowly, in and out of his lover, both hands settled on slim hips to keep
the movements steady.  One hand slipped from its place to grasp the prince’s
member, pumping in time to the movement of their hips.  Legolas moved as well,
pushing against Elladan each time the twin thrust into him, delicious sensations
washing over the pair at their harmonious joining.  His muscles clenched as his
orgasm came, spilling his seed between their two clasped bodies.  The tightening
feeling surrounding him, accompanied by the vibrations of the prince’s moans
against his throat, sent Elladan over the edge as he too came deep within his
lover.

Exhausted but unwilling to give into sleep, Elladan leaned back, settling on the
grass and drawing Legolas with him.  They lay together, fingers ghosting over
skin and hair, feeling completely satisfied and positively glowing in the
aftermath of their lovemaking.

“Vanima,” Legolas whispered, snuggling closer to the warmth of the twin.

“Lle naa vanima, anor-nîn, a‘maelamin.”

“N’uma.  Lle naa, ithil-nîn.  Lle naa cormamin”  They smiled at each other and
their whispered endearments of love before joining in another kiss.  They stayed
in their embrace for a while longer, unashamed to be exposed to the stars.  The
sounds of voices calling their names could be heard in the far distance, calling
the pair to the evening meal.  Reluctantly they parted, gathering their clothing
and dressing themselves.  They took a moment to smooth the other’s hair and
garments, picking out stray grass blades from hair and robes.  When everything
was back in order, Elladan gave Legolas another loving kiss before wrapping an
arm about the slim waist as the two lovers headed back to join their families
for dinner.

Translations:
Ada-Father
Nana-mother
Ion-nîn-My son
Diola lle, Ada-Thank you, father
Ernil-nîn-My prince
Melethron-nîn-My love/lover
Melme-Love
Saes, ithil-nîn-Please, my moon
Im lle gar-I need you
Sii’, saes-Now, please
Uma, sii’-Yes, now
Vanima-Beautiful
Lle naa vanime, anor-nîn, a’maelamin-You are beautiful, my sun, my beloved
N’uma.  Lle naa, ithil-nîn.  Lle naa cormamin-No.  You are, my moom.  You are my
heart




Chapter 9: Under Eärendil
Summary: The year in Imladris has passed; it is time for the Mirkwood siblings
to return to their realm.  Under the light of a Silmaril, Elladan and Legolas
make a promise (slash).

Winter in Imladris was a magnificent affair.  As the approaching cold descended
upon the valley, trees turned from brilliant green to majestic red, brown and
yellow before shedding their coats for the winter, littering the ground with an
assortment of vibrant colors.  Early snows dusted the valley lightly now and
again as the elves donned their winter cloaks of rich velvets and wool, though
they hardly felt the cold.  It was a time of year the Firstborns enjoyed for the
changing seasons and the anticipation of a new spring which would soon appear.

But this year there was one who found no joy in the season as he had done
countless times before.  Indeed, Elladan was feeling rather low in spirits as
the end of autumn approached, early winter chills playing over the valley some
nights.  For this winter signified the return of the Mirkwood children to their
forest home after completing their foster year as agreed between; a mere four
days remained before their journey back northward.  Though it had only been two
full years since they met, Elladan felt he could no longer roam the lands of
Middle-earth without Legolas at his side.  The approaching winter distressed him
as he roamed the house and grounds, his steps heavy and his eyes downcast.

Twilight began settling in just as Elladan made his way onto a balcony that
overlooked the Bruinen.  It was another one of his cherished spots, a place he
often visited to gaze at the stars at night, seeking silent comfort and counsel
in the star that his grandfather Eärendil had become.  Lifting his eyes, he
sought out that very same star, finding it easily in the fading light.  The
bright point of light flickered as if to acknowledge his presence.  A faint
smile graced his lips as he began to whisper as if the Silmaril could hear him
and respond.

“Ata’da,” he whispered, gazing fondly at the flickering light far above his
head.  “You’re watching me tonight, as you doubtlessly have done each night
since my birth.  You know a lot about me, don’t you?  Even though you aren’t
here in physical form, you’ve always been with me, watching over us all.
“Did you know I’ve fallen in love?  You must have.  You’ve seen him, haven’t
you?  He’s like the sun, Ata’da.  A sun sent down here from above, and I’ve
caught him.  Caught him…and I don’t want to let go.”  Elladan paused for a
moment, his hands on the carved railing tightening when he spoke again, voice
choking ever so slightly.  “He’s leaving soon, to go back to his home.  I knew
it was going to happen, and I can only let him go.  But I don’t want him to go,
Ata’da.  I wish he could stay and be with me, or that I could go with him.  But
he can’t, and neither can I.”  Tears threatened to spill from his eyes; he
closed them to hold the silvery drops back.  “I love him so much.”  Giving into
the emotions welling up inside him, Elladan leaned forward, resting his forehead
against the railing as he allowed himself to cry.

He didn’t hear the light footsteps, nor did he take notice of the presence
beside him until a pair of arms wrapped themselves gently about Elladan’s waist. 
Another body pressed against his back as a head came to rest upon his shoulder. 
The scent of beeches permeated around him, and he lifted his head to look at his
love.

“Legolas?”

“I am here,” came the soft reply before the golden head was raised, gentle lips
placing a sweet kiss on a pale, tear streaked cheek.  “I am here, melme.” 
Elladan sighed, turning in his lover’s arms to bury his face into the creamy
neck and flaxen hair.  Legolas had heard the end of Elladan’s speech and offered
comfort to his lover, tightening his arms around the slim form.  He too felt
grieved concerning his return; he didn’t want to leave Elladan behind, but he
couldn’t very well stay with him either.  Each had fathers who were lords of a
realm, and each, as a son and a prince, had their own duties to perform.  This
they knew, and this was why they despaired.

“I’d ask you not to go, but I know you have to.”  Legolas nodded, stroking the
long raven strands.  “When will I see you again?”  The prince’s heart nearly
broke as hearing the distress and hope intermingling in the voice he knew so
well, making Elladan sound like a little lost child rather than the prince and
fierce warrior he was.

“Soon, I hope.  I’m come as soon as I am able.”  The words and emotion behind
them, as well as the gentle hand stroking his hair, seemed to appease Elladan. 
The pair grew silent again, listening to the rushing of the Bruinen and holding
the other as close as they possibly could.

“You promise?”  The prince smiled at his love’s whispered words, nodding his
head before replying.

“Always.  I shall always come back to you.  There is nothing in this world that
can stop me from seeing or being with you.”  He kissed the dark crown of hair
before leaning in to whisper.  “I promise you, always.  Im vesta, ithil-nîn.”

Elladan smiled before straightening and drawing away.  He fumbled about in the
folds of his robes for a moment; Legolas watched him in confusion but waited
patiently.  After a moment, the twin withdrew his arm from inside his robes and
produced two thin bands of mithril rings nestled in the palm of his hand.   They
were beautiful for their simplicity, twin singular bands without any markings.
Legolas’ eyes sparkled with the light the rings reflected from the stars.  “They
are beautiful.”

“My mother gave them to me, long ago.  She gave another set to Elrohir and told
us to keep one for ourselves and give the other to the one we wished to bind
ourselves to.  I know not what Elrohir has done with his, though one seems to be
missing.”  The twin chuckled softly, interrupting himself.  “Perhaps my brother
has a secret love he does not wish to share.”  The two laugh