Title: Falling Stars
Author: Dûncristiel (verity@pacific.net.sg)
Pairing: Elrond/Legolas
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Elrond has doubts about his growing relationship with Legolas. 
Can be read as a semi-sequel to my earlier fic 'Promises Made' which is 
archived at Library of Moria and AC's Elrond site, but not necessary.
'Falling Stars' can be read alone ^_^
Archive: Library of Moria, AC's site. Any other, please do ask first
Disclaimer: Hobbits, elves and sundry Middle-Earth inhabitants and concepts
belong to Mr. J.R.R Tolkien and affiliates. I don't write for profit, only
gratuitous self-gratification. 
Author's Note: My story is based on movie canon, not the LOTR books which 
is why I have taken the liberty, for which I am a little sorry, to have killed off 
Elrond's wife. I felt her presence, even recuperating in the Undying Lands, 
was a hindrance!  

Lastly, I really would like to dedicate this story to Lady L, Fluffy Hobbit and 
Mavis :) 


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


//You are a very fine person, Mr Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you
are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!//

"'Thank goodness!" said Bilbo laughing and handed him the tobacco-jar. The
End.'" The hobbit perched upon the cunningly carved wood-made chair read
aloud, his voice falling and rising in pleasing deep cadences, while his
legs dangled a few inches above the floor. He closed the cover of the heavy,
leather-bound tome he held in his hand with a resounding thud and said,
"Well, that's it, there's none left to tell."

Looking up at his listeners, he asked, "What say you then?" The tone was
studiously casual but his expression upon that lined face, seamed deeply
with wrinkles, was one of shy delight, pleased satisfaction and a desire for
approval. 

"That was excellent, Bilbo. You have recounted your adventures on paper 
with great skill and clarity." Elrond said, a rare smile lighting his usually
stern, patrician features. "Not even our finest bards nor chroniclers could
desire to do better. I hope you will allow Rivendell the honor of retaining
your book for our keeping. It will be a valuable addition indeed to our
history and lore."

Bilbo Baggins turned red with pleasure even as his hands flapped about
extravagantly, refuting Elrond's praise. "Nonsense, nonsense. Why, my book's
but the merest trumpery, unworthy to be shelved alongside the wisdom of 
your scribes! Glad you liked it though." 

"I fear you think too little of yourself and your book, Mr Baggins. Father
is right, it would be a source of pride to our people and to the archived
records of Rivendell if you would deign to present us with a copy of your
writings and memoirs." Arwen said, a similar smile of brilliance gracing her
fair features, as she gazed upon Bilbo from her chair near her father's. 

"I don't know...it's just a humble retelling of the adventures I had in my
youth. Very boring really, now that I think about it, bore you Elf-folks to
tears to read it I'm sure." Bilbo scratched his chin contemplatively. 

Father and daughter exchanged a quick, amused glance. 

"Come, Bilbo. I would deem it a grave insult if you do not bestow us a
copy." Elrond schooled his features to customary grimness once more.

Bilbo sighed deeply. "Oh very well, if you insist." The hobbit agreed with a
great show of reluctance. 

"I and my people thank you for your generosity, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."
Elrond said with becoming gravity. 

"That's quite all right, Lord Elrond. I should be thanking you instead."
Bilbo replied with equal solemnity and with a wink of laughter in his eyes.
The elderly hobbit slid down from his chair and gave an elegant half-bow,
incidentally showing off his refined waistcoat of inspired reds and greens,
to express his gratitude. 

At that point he winced slightly as a pained grimace stamped across his
features. He placed one hand behind his back and mumbled, "Ow..."

"Mr Baggins?" Arwen asked, her brow creased with concern. 

"Are you feeling unwell, Bilbo?" Elrond stood up and walked to where the
hobbit was. He laid his hand lightly upon Bilbo's shoulder and realized,
with some shock, how fragile the little one had become. The bones of the
hobbit rolled easily under his hand and he had to take care not to exert
excessive strength, fearing to do so would cause irreparable damage. 

Bilbo Baggins looked every one of his one hundred and eleventh years tonight
even in the forgiving luminescence of candlelight. And perceiving him so,
Elrond felt the unaccustomed specter of sadness passed over him then though,
other than his own people, he had little use for the further races of
Middle-Earth, judging the greater number of them to be avaricious and
grasping in their ways. 

And yet hobbits were different. These little folk, unprepossessing and yet
possessing of vast fortitude had earned his respect and Bilbo Baggins's
friendship was one of the rare attachments he still retained with the world
outside of Imladris's boundaries. 

Since passing the One Ring to his nephew, Frodo Baggins, the hobbit had 
aged
rapidly, the longevity and youthful appearance given to him by the Ring
fading fast. It was but one element of the treacherous allure of Sauron's
creation. It bestowed its favors as indiscriminately as it seized them away. 

"Not as young and spry as I used to be. This body of mine creaks worse than
a broken rocking chair now." Bilbo admitted, a self-depredating note
entering his voice. 

"You must give me an answer soon, old friend."

Bilbo shook his head. "I don't know. You do me great honor by offering me
passage to the Undying Lands, but..." he hesitated. 

"In the Gray Havens, multitude are the inexpressible delights and wonders
and there, you will find many more adventures such as those you encountered
in your younger days, along with your youth. You will be young again,
Bilbo." Elrond told him.

"Young again..." Bilbo Baggins murmured with a wistful nostalgia and
involuntarily, he glanced up at the two eternally changeless beings before him.

Bilbo had been a hobbit in the prime of his life, the wiry hair on his feet
still chestnut colored and not snowy as the hair on his head now, when he
first met Elrond and his daughter Arwen. More than sixty years had passed
and still their mien had been touched not by the passage of pitiless time
while his grew ever rougher and more wrinkled. 

"You tempt me with your offer, Lord Elrond, almost as much as the Ring had
tempted me once with its seductive chirps." Bilbo shook his head slowly.
"May I be allowed a little more time to consider?"

"You may have as much time as you require." Elrond replied.

"Thank you. I'd see the end of this business with the Ring first before I
decide. To make sure that Frodo is all right at the end. I worry about him,
you know. He's a good boy and he's been like a son to me." Bilbo explained.
"And there is much of Middle-Earth that I'll miss if I threw it all behind.
Even dull, ho-hum old Hobbiton and my gaggle of relatives." He gave a small
chuckle. 

The three were gathered in Elrond's private study, the same room in which he
and Gandalf the Gray had hotly debated the crucial fate of the Ring as well
as its bearer several days before, only now the chamber was lit softly by
the warmth of numerous candles, each flickering upon the elaborate stands,
and not by the stark radiance of day though the room was no less pleasing
nor sumptuous in detail for it. Leaves from the trees that surrounded
Rivendell, blew in from the archway openings to strew upon the floor,
creating a colorful and natural tapestry of fiery reds, emerald greens and
soothing browns.
 
"I'll retire for the night now, Lord Elrond, pardon me. I'd like to look for
Sting, my sword. I know I brought that darn thing with me here but I just
can't find it! I want to give it to Frodo when he leaves."

"I would come with you, Mr Baggins, to assist you in your search. That is,
if you do not mind my company." 

"It would be my pleasure, dear girl, my pleasure indeed." Bilbo offered his
arm with gallant ease and Arwen graciously accepted, placing her hand over
his proffered elbow.

"Good night, Lord Elrond." Bilbo said.

"Sleep well, my friend." 

The spiffily-dressed hobbit and the Elf-maid with her shining cascade of
hair which reached to the back of her waist in night-dark folds made a
charming and quaint tableau as they left Elrond's study together. Arwen
deliberately slowed her steps to match that of Bilbo's shorter strides as
they passed through the open doorway and into one of the many passageways
and corridors that were part of Imladris. 

The moon shone vivid tonight and cast silvery paleness upon the white ivory
of the flooring. The corridor had no barriers set along its length, only a
number of minaret arches which one could pace through to step onto air.
Beyond Rivendell, the Misty Mountains loomed in grandeur and milky spirals
of wispy clouds wreathed their very tops, glowing ghostly blue under the
moonlight.

"I'll miss this and more if I proceed to the West. It pains my heart much
for Middle-Earth is precious to me." Bilbo's rheumy eyes misted over with
some sorrow as he looked at the glorious landscape. Then he squinted as
something else caught his attention. 

"Look, there's that...what's he called again, Megolas, Lesolas, Salogel? Oh,
never mind what's his name, it's that young fellow who's rather nifty with
the bow. Seems like a nice boy, a little pale though, probably doesn't eat
enough." 

"Legolas of Mirkwood he is. In the Common tongue, his name means 
Greenleaf and he is the son of Lord Thranduil of the Wood-Elves. Among my 
people, he is a prince in his own right." Arwen said calmly.

"Well, he should pay a visit to Hobbiton one day. We'll fatten him right up
in no time, put some meat on those scrawny bones." Bilbo continued to squint
in a benevolent fashion.

"My Father is within his chambers." She spoke with an offhand serenity when
Legolas, dressed in robes of russet shades and dark greens, muted colors
favored by the Elves who lived in Mirkwood, drew nearer. There was no need
for pretense; Arwen knew the purpose of the Elf-prince's visit. It would be
foolish to feign otherwise. 

"My thanks, Evenstar." Legolas acknowledged simply. 

As he and Arwen with Bilbo by her side strode pass each other, the Evenstar
stopped and suddenly said, "A moment of your time if it pleases you, Prince
of Mirkwood." 

Legolas halted his steps immediately. "Of course, High Lady." 

"Mr Baggins, I would ask you to wait a while. I have words for the Prince
that is meant for his ears only. Forgive me my discourtesy."

Bilbo nodded with understanding. "Take your time, my girl, I'll be by the
balcony if you need me."  

Both Elves paused in conversation until Bilbo walked down the length of the
passageway. He turned round a stone pillar, sculpted in the shape of a
languishing Elf-maiden carrying an urn, and vanished.

"You care much for the halfling." Legolas observed.  

"I do." Arwen nodded. "As I care deeply for my Father."

Legolas's expression of respect for the Evenstar did not change but Arwen
was quick to detect the subtle line of tension that ran through his lean
frame at the mention of Elrond Half-Elven. 

Though she did not know Legolas as well as Aragorn did, the two had sealed
their bond of friendship many years ago, but looking at him, she could not
help but be well aware of the undeniable comeliness and attraction of the
other Elf. His features seemed to have been hewn from the purest strain of
marble, each exquisite in their individual perfection. His nose was
aristocratic, his brow noble and his gaze was clear and unafraid as he
awaited her pleasure. 

All Elves were gifted with stateliness of appearance but Arwen knew, without
envy or conceit, that even among a preternaturally lovely race as her own,
some were simply more beautiful. And this Elf before her was one of them. 

She knew too that Elrond would not relinquish his eons old indifference to
the passions of the wayward heart easily for the sake of an appealing aspect
and she had heard tales of Legolas's quick intelligence, his nimbleness with
the longbow and valor in battle.

"Misread me not, Legolas of Mirkwood. I would not tell my Father to whom 
he should grant his heart to as it is not my place to do so." Arwen's voice was
distantly aloof and her gaze was reserved as she turned her indigo-blue eyes
upon him. "But I will tell you this and I would that you heed me." 

Her faraway gaze sharpened in an instant like finely honed blades. "Cause
him torment, no matter how slight, and not even the deepest mines of Moria
where light reaches not, can hide you from wrath as you have never known."

"I understand, my Lady." Legolas inclined his head slightly and his reply,
though concise in its brevity, was no less convincing for it. He did not
smile for it was not amusing in the least, having the Evenstar threatening
him with physical hurt if he dared to betray her father. Though more famed
for her beauty and generosity of nature, Arwen Undómiel possessed courage 
as
remarkable as her loveliness and from the sporadic tales told to him by his
friend and her intended, Aragorn of the Rangers, the Evenstar apparently
knew how to wield an Elven-wrought sword as skillfully as any of their
people's peerless blade-masters. 

"It is my hope that you do for I would find it a tricky duty, explaining to
Thranduil why I had to grievously maim all of his son's limbs."

"Daughter." Elrond's resonant voice broke their conversation and both turned
to look at the Elf-Lord standing behind them. "I trust your good intentions
but I do not need protection from Prince Legolas or from any other." His
tone was mildly chastising but not censorious. 

"Yes, Father." Arwen agreed, deceptively docile in speech, but Elrond was
not fooled. He knew every one of his children's temperaments well and Arwen
had always been the closest to him. "I take my leave of you. May the lights
of Elbereth guide you in your dreams this night." 

She swept her lavender skirts up gracefully in a curtsey and turned around
to tread the same path that Bilbo had, moments ago. As she walked, she said,
without glancing back to behold their reactions, "You will have absolute
privacy within this ell of the house. No one shall disturb you, Father. I
will make sure of that." 

Exasperation mixed with pride was clearly reflected in Elrond's eyes as he
watched Arwen leave. Legolas caught it and wondered at the unexpected dull
pain that he felt at the sight of Elrond's obvious love for his daughter. It
was an unfamiliar sensation, as if someone had reached within his chest and
squeezed his heart hard. 

Then the full regard of those dark, enigmatic eyes was focused upon him and
he forgot how to breathe.

"My regret if my daughter has offended you." It was the Master of Rivendell
speaking and Legolas found he did not care for that particular tone. Civil,
diplomatic and seemingly indifferent. He would smooth that slight furrow
between Elrond's brow with his lips if he could but he bided his peace, for
the moment. Brashness of adolescence had not shriveled with the transitory
departure of the innumerable years but he had learned to temper it with
restraint. Still, the impulse to act on his thought and make it reality was
strong and he ached to touch the other, if only fleetingly.

"She did not. Her repute is well-founded and my esteem for her grows
deeper." he replied instead when air returned to his lungs once more. "She
has much love for you."

"Yes."

"She fears I will break faith to you." Legolas continued with quiet steadiness.

"And, will you?" Elrond hated himself for asking. It was a weak, needy
question, entirely unworthy of the Master of Rivendell. It was the kind of
question an Elf-maid might ask about the fidelity of her lover. And he knew
by vocalizing his own fears, he was insulting Legolas's integrity and the
strength of the promise they had exchanged. Yet, he had to ask for these
infinite fears festered like a soul-sore since he realized that he could no
longer lie to himself.

"Never and you should not have to ask that of me." Legolas closed the
distance between them in an eye-blink and pressed his lips against Elrond's
in a kiss, neither gentle nor sweet, but hard and angry. His tongue demanded
entry, parting Elrond's mouth with a fierce nudge, permitting no resistance
and when he found none, slid in to ravage the sweet, slick darkness veiled
within.

They were almost of the same height, standing shoulder to shoulder, and
Legolas grabbed the back of Elrond's head in a painful grip, compelling him
to stay.  

Elrond did not flinch and he deliberately made himself not to respond. He
stilled his arms to lie passively by his sides even though he wanted nothing
more to bring them up and gather Legolas into an embrace. 

The quality of the kiss changed, becoming softer, gentler, losing much of
the initial urgency, as Legolas's tongue glided sensually over Elrond's,
tasting the memories of the other kiss they had shared, a lifetime ago,
re-learning the silky/rough textures of his mouth, and Elrond found it
harder with each ensuing caress to maintain his objectivity. 

As Legolas withdrew, lingering over quiescent lips, he prolonged the
intimate contact by darting tender, butterfly-fine kisses over Elrond's face. 

He closed his eyes, afraid to reveal more than he could possibly yield, and
he felt pressure descending, carefully, reverently, over one shut eyelid,
and then the other as Legolas rasped his lips over his reluctance to see.
And he did almost lose his hard-won discipline then for the touch of
Legolas's lips burned more than he could bear.

As the brittle caresses ended, Legolas did to him what he dared not do,
wrapping him close and his arms were like bands of steel, unbreakable bonds
to hold him. Winding around his waist and back, pressing him in so securely
that he could feel the staccato beats of the other Elf's heart, penetrating
through the robes he wore and seeping through his skin to join with his own,
until he could not distinguish the melded rhythms apart. 

For a sweetly agonizing moment, both were content to remain in that simplest
and uncomplicated display of affection. 

"I have no inclination to be known as your whore." Legolas told him abruptly
when he lifted his head from where he had laid it, upon Elrond's shoulder. 

Rigid, his body becoming chilled stone despite the warmth of Legolas's
embrace, Elrond replied with numb difficulty, "I would not ask that of you."

"I know. I have offended you with my words now. But I wish only to share
with you, my own fears. For you are not the only one who carries doubts."
Legolas said. "You are the Lord of the Last Homely Home, he who carried the
banner of Gil-Galad during the Great Wars. There are those, less kindly
disposed, who would not look with approval if they know of us. Not all are
like your daughter."

"You are the prince of Mirkwood." Elrond protested.

Legolas shook his head. "I am Prince because my Father is the Lord of the
Wood-Elves." He smiled with some bitterness and the glint reflected in his
eyes shone strangely fierce. "No, I am merely Laegolas, a woodland hunter
among his people. Though I desire you as I have never wanted another, past
or Ages yet to come, I do not crave to live, like a cowed pet, under the
shadow of the Master of Imladris."

Each of Legolas's unwavering words stabbed a narrow shard of remorse into
Elrond. With brilliant, shameful clarity, he realized that he had been
unforgivably selfish. Alone for far too long, he had allowed his ego and
pride to let him assume that he was singular in his distress. Though, unlike
Legolas, who despite his own misgivings at least had the courage to make
known his feelings while he himself had let his qualms ruled him until he
was blinded, and there was none so sightless as he who refused to see. He
was guilty of that last failing and for that, he was at once furiously angry
and deeply chagrined.

"I..." he started to speak though he knew not what to say, words of ire
perhaps or of regret, but Legolas placed a finger over his lips, silencing him.

"To utter vows of devotion is not enough though sweetly they may fall upon
the ears, I know that and know it very well. I shall prove myself worthy to
stand beside you as an equal when I return from Mordor. And all who wishes
to speak then will be silenced when the Dark Lord had been crushed within
his own realm by the hands of the Fellowship." 

Releasing Elrond, Legolas dropped gracefully upon one knee before him, his
eyes never leaving Elrond's face as if trying to etch the remembrance of
that beautiful, harsh visage onto his soul. 

"But that day is still many months hence so then, this night, I will settle
for proving myself true to my heart and to yours." Still kneeling, Legolas
raised a hand to take hold of Elrond's palm.

Golden lamps lit the stretch of the corridor but Vilya gleamed with a
guileless radiance of its own. Vilya, one of the three great Elven Rings
that had remained uncontaminated by the distorted lusts of Sauron and forged
by Celebrimbor himself. The sapphire set upon the thin band of gold lost
none of its azure luster even after nightfall and resembled one of
Elbereth's own, fallen from its place among the starlit vaults. 

"Elrond Half-Elven. I love you." Legolas murmured as his lips brushed over
the faceted smoothness of the sapphire. 

Both Elves felt it then, a whisper arising from nowhere to swirl around them
like a maelstrom birthing newly, weaving narrow, taut cords of pressure that
rose in invisible spirals. Binding them in an emptiness of infinity where
nothing existed beyond each other and each in his own way was endowed 
with an almost intolerable, intensely heightened awareness of the other's
materiality, made endurable precisely only because of that same reason. 

Elrond could feel a vortex of immeasurable desire meant for him shivering a
crescendo in his bones, making him momentarily overwhelmed and 
disoriented, for though he had known the other Elf loved and wanted him, he 
had not understood that Legolas's longing encompassed the length and depth 
of an endlessly hungry sea. But as Vilya laid bare Legolas's soul to him, he at
last comprehended fully that he would be devoured. The hunter would 
demand no less than complete surrender and he would show no mercy, that 
Elrond was sure. 

And perhaps he wanted to be consumed as well. 

Legolas's eyes were vibrant with wonderment and awe as the whorls of air
gradually diminished and disappeared completely. His hair, strands of which
had lifted to create a luminous halo around his head, fell to lie unmoving
about his shoulders once more.

Standing up, he used one hand to cup the side of Elrond's face with great
care, fitting the shape of his palm along the contours of that austere
countenance. The tips of his fingers were roughened slightly from the
incalculable times he had pulled a bowstring back to unerringly aim death
and they scrapped, not unpleasantly, against Elrond's cheek.

"Well," he said, his throat hoarse with exultation for he knew the answer
already, "have I proven myself true?"

There was no uncertainty as Elrond raised his own palm to rest it along
Legolas's jaw, marveling at the fragility of skin that he sensed through his
hand. 

"Yes." Elrond conceded his defeat with a rueful half-smile. "Yes, you know
you have. Though I wonder now whether have I proven myself worthy to 
stand alongside of you." 

He was rusty and unused to the finer arts of seduction but he remembered
enough as he drew his body close to Legolas and consciously lowered his
voice to a bare husk, dragging each word out to gust little heated breaths
against the sensitive pointed tip, as he whispered recklessly, "Nonetheless
if you want me, you may have me."

Trying to stifle a laugh composed one part of real mirth and the rest,
mounting hysteria, he judged he was successful in his first attempt at
lovemaking when Legolas's head snapped back as if someone had struck him, 
to
stare, wide-eyed, at Elrond. Then without saying anything, he grabbed hold
of Elrond's arm to drag him unceremoniously along.

"Legolas, my bed chamber lies in that direction." Elrond announced with
commendable severity.

Legolas did not break his stride and he did not look at Elrond but his pale
face flushed a delicate crimson. 

"It is to my chamber that I am bound," he muttered. Still refusing to glance
upon Elrond, but knowing the bafflement that must be coursing through the
other's mind now, he took a deep breath before continuing, "Not your bed for
I honor the memory of your lady too much to sully it with my presence...and
I have discovered that jealousy is an oppressive mistress truly, for though
the Lady Celebrían has long departed this existence, I am averse to sharing,
even with a frail phantom from anamnesis."

Elrond said nothing. He slowed his steps to walk sedately in his customary
dignified fashion next to Legolas who followed in a similar pace in renewed
reticence. They were careful of keeping a distance of space between them,
not for fear of discovery, but because they knew that the barest stroke of
skin on bare skin now, even through mischance, would be too much to 
tolerate.

They arrived at Legolas's chambers which was but a short distance away from
Elrond's, and the proximity of the two rooms may seem like luck but Elrond
unexpectedly remembered that his daughter Arwen had been responsible for
delegating sleeping quarters to those who had come to Rivendell for the
Council meeting. 

Had she known, even when he had not himself? 

Like the rest of Rivendell, Legolas's chamber was spaciously delightful with
every minutiae detail of the room aimed to please the eye, for the Elven
race had a great fondness for the simplicity of effortless beauty.  

A rosewood colored writing desk and chair were placed at the side while upon
another smaller table were laid a longbow, a quiver filled with arrows as
well as two short blades, twin of the other in every aspect, from the design
of the steel-wrought handgrip down to the plainness of the worn leather
scabbards. 

Murals depicting scenes from stories so ancient that they were only
remembered as myths and legends were painted with delicate care and
precision on the walls. One side of the room opened out to a terrace, framed
by three columns, which were linked overhead with arches engraved in an
intricate curlicue manner. A curving flight of stairs, hewed from sheer
rock, led from the terrace to a shaded courtyard, silent and empty now in
the deep evening, except for the subtle chirping of crickets.

However it was not the loveliness of the chamber that drew Elrond's
attention but the sight of the bed, wide with white sheets contrasting
starkly with the gold and auburn tinted dimness cast by candles. As with the
objects in the room, the bed was attractive, more like a precious piece of
art than an implement for rest, with a rising wooden headboard and the
discernible shape of a massive tree carved upon the surface.

Now that he was here, Elrond resisted an urge to twitch. Elf-Lords do not
twitch no matter how nervous they were. 

His growing disquiet stemmed from the unutterable realness of that bed,
smirking back at him with its array of plush pillows and soft covers. He and
Legolas would soon be lying, together and probably unclothed as that seemed
to be the tradition, upon that very bed. No one, not since his lady died,
had he permitted any person to see or touch him in such vulnerable openness.
He saw no shame in celibacy, merely finding it unessential to indulge in the
gratification of the flesh, which while agreeable, were sometimes annoying
for lust clouded reason and Elrond disliked not being in constant vigilant
command of his emotions. It had been rash, unthinking craving, akin to lust,
that ruled Isildur, making him susceptible to temptation and therefore,
sowed the seeds of his ultimate fall. 

And yet, here he was, about to fracture his self-imposed abstinence with
Legolas in every way possible... unbidden, snatches of images, each more
lavishly graphic than the previous, flashed lightning quick across his mind. 

Elf-Lords do not blush either.

Finally tearing his gaze away, he focused on Legolas instead and found that
the other Elf's lips were curved upwards in an extraordinary grin of devious
glee and adamantine determination, obviously reading the thoughts that were
rushing through his mind. 

"I see no amusement in this." Elrond growled, trying to conceal his
unexpected self-consciousness. 

"Nor do I." Legolas said. Casually, confidently, he extinguished the
flickering flames of the candles that lit his chamber and with each candle
he blew out, the room plunged into increasing shadowy darkness. He left one
candle-stand still intact so that the chamber was spared from absolute
lightlessness. He sauntered forth to stand before Elrond to ask with an
impish lilt in his tone, "Can it be that the legendary Elrond who so
defiantly fought in the battle to keep Eriador is contemplating retreat at
this time?"

"No." Elrond lied without compunction.

"Good for I will not let you go now or ever, even if that is your
intention." Legolas said, his voice becoming low and his eyes blazing with
dangerous purpose.

"I chose to stay and stay I will." Elrond stood proud. It was his decision,
he initiated this sequence and to the end he will follow through. 

"Then shall we begin?" Legolas inclined his head and stole a quick kiss,
inhaling Elrond's breath with ardent passion. Therewith, he went to sit at
the edge of the bed, leaving Elrond to stand alone. He placed his elbows
upon his knees to lean his body slightly forward in a relaxed posture as he
watched with unfathomable inscrutability at the Elf-lord. 

"Very well." Elrond could not think of anything else to say. 

"Unclothe yourself."

Elrond's body straightened in an instant, stiffening until he was motionless
as a figure woven within a tapestry. 

His hands clenched into fists, his lips tightening in a thin line, the lines
furrowing deeper upon his temples. And then...he unclenched his fingers
carefully to purposely reach up and draw apart the front lapels of his outer
robe, a rich colored velvet with gold brocaded cuffs. Slowly, he slid it off
his shoulders, shrugging his arms through the sleeves with an ease he did
not feel.

The tunic beneath was more difficult and he had to stop once, while
unbuttoning, to calm the visible clumsiness of his fingers. The last piece
of garment was the hardest but willing himself not to think about it, the
utter vulnerability that would be his to endure, the inevitable humiliation
of exposure, he shed the simple black silken trousers without grace but
adequate efficiency. 

When he did that, he recalled the slim circlet of gold around his brow and
as his hands rose to remove it, Legolas stopped him.

"Leave it." he said, his voice sounding oddly strained.

Steeling himself, his legs braced apart slightly, cords of muscles pulled
tense with the effort of remaining immobile, Elrond allowed himself to be
viewed, unclad except for the circlet which rested cool against his
forehead. He glared with steadiness, his posture one of waiting for the
offensive to befall and knowing that wasn't exactly how a lover should
behave but unable to stop the intuitive defensiveness, at Legolas who still
sat on the bed, though he had tend backwards until his face was clothed in
darkness. 

He did that because he was trying to regain some modicum of possession over
his self, control that had crumpled rapidly with each item that Elrond shed.
The aching between his legs grew harder as it throbbed with expectation.

As he suspected, Elrond's body was a revelation unto itself, the heavy robes
he always wore effectively hiding a lean, sinewy form consisting of broad
shoulders and well-muscled arms, a sparse chest that was tipped with two
brown shaded aureoles and darker colored nipples. The torso narrowed down 
to
slim hips, which in turn tapered off to lithe legs that were sturdily
powerful. Moonlight glimmered in from the arched openings and filtered
through the decorative carvings on top to cast a delicate tracery of
patterns onto Elrond's body, making him resembled a fantastic, half-real
creature composed of pliant light and pale shadows.

It would be needless to describe Elrond Half-Elven as beautiful and
infinitely desirable and Legolas knew his love would not appreciate to be so
depicted, his prickly pride refusing any suggestion of magnificence, but
nevertheless, he thought it with a twinge of barbed pain and sweet
apprehension. 
  
Seeing the look of restlessness heightening upon Elrond's face, he stood up
and had to smother a chuckle when Elrond's hands instinctively twitched
minutely towards the center of his thighs before consciously stilling them.

Exquisite, pure and clean like a glass chalice, in every detail.

Elrond did not move when Legolas walked to stand behind him this time. He
did not stir when his ears caught the unmistakable rustling of someone
divesting himself of garments worn. He merely waited. 

He didn't have to wait long. 

A surprised gasp was freed when he felt hands running down his sides,
sliding around to caress his chest and briefly, passing open palms to soothe
across his nipples and down the ridges of his stomach before descending over
the sharply jutting bones of his hips, lingering over the tenuous flesh
covering them. Then those hands, the feel of fingers accustomed to gripping
the hilts of swords, rough warrior's hands that he recognized instantly for
his own were the same, cupped the firm roundness of buttocks, squeezing but
once, before moving forward again to enclose his waist. 

As the entire length of Legolas's nude body was pressed firm against his
back, the gasp became an unwilling moan as the arm around his waist slid
down further and fingers enveloped the warm, heavy weight between his legs.  

Elrond's body snapped taut, tighter than a drawn bowstring, every bone in
his ribcage outlined in sharp relief as he let Legolas's clever fingers
stroked him to fever-bright intensity until he felt he was blazing in a
fiery inferno and his world constricted to the unbearable voluptuousness of
sensation that was centered around his groin. 

Then other fingers, pitiless and relentless, pinched his left nipple and as
pain and pleasure sparked along his spine, he let the back of his head fall
upon Legolas's shoulder, strands of white-gold hair falling like summer rain
to hide his face, and screamed, a raspy throaty sound of violent ecstasy. 

When the world coalesced into tangible fragments once more, Elrond found,
with some detached stupefaction, that he was still standing as the spiked
thorns of intense delight gradually dwindled, leaving all his limbs feeling
disconnected from each other.

"I am not quite done with you yet."  Legolas's voice husked into his ear
intimately. 

Elrond lifted his head and tried to clear the mist of satiation from his
mind. There was something he needed to ask though he dreaded to acquire
enlightenment. But he will ask for he was determined that there would be no
clandestine secrets left untended, to poison and taint, between him and this
one that he had chosen to bear the burden of the coming Ages with.

"You have had other lovers." Elrond stated for Legolas's lovemaking had been
so unwaveringly sure that it left no doubts to prior trysts. 

Legolas did not speak directly but his arms, still holding Elrond, drew
tighter until it was hard to breathe and that was answer enough.

Jealousy, gaunt with hooked claws that tore, snarled but Elrond disregarded
it as best he could. He did not love Legolas any less nor begrudged him
comfort in other arms for it was no betrayal, but the hurt rose, wild and
sharp like untaught birdsong, within his breast.

"There had been others, before I understood that my eyes lamented when the
sight of your face was far and thus had tried to seek pallid imitations, but
there will be none that I can bear to touch now, knowing that I have you. I
need nothing else and if a time comes when you need me not, I will want no
other anymore for once I had possessed something rarer and more precious
than Mordor's baubles." Legolas said, with steadfast conviction.

Time slowed and everything was distorted and formless. 

"Come to bed." was all the Lord of Rivendell said. 

Later, much later, when time stopped completely, grains of sand in an
hourglass hanging, suspended, as he writhed mindlessly, like a trapped
beast, against the heavy weight pinning him, his wrists caught by fingers
that were misleadingly slender but strong enough to grasp and stay his
attempts to flight, for it was too much and he was wreathed in flames that
burned unceasingly. Unseeing and blind but aware, as an animal was when it
was being hunted, of incandescent flashes of sensations ripping him apart,
of distinct and separate impressions - the way flesh rippled under his hand
when he twisted one wrist free to run it along a sweat-slicked back, the
roughness of a tongue as it licked and kissed the side of his neck, the
translucent flare of infinitesimal pains as teeth caught a nipple and bit. 

The heat gathered inside deep within, between his legs which were sundered
wide as it strained to accommodate hips that shifted with a restless rhythm,
driving him to near madness. Scalding him until his thoughts were as falling
stars, random and scattered pinpricks of dazzling light.

Another ramming thrust caused him to howl soundlessly as the white-hot 
agony
of unadulterated ecstasy smote him yet again, until he could not could breathe. 

"Wait, Laegolas, wait..." Elrond gasped out when the shocks of pleasure
threatened to destroy whatever remaining reason he retained to ashes. "It is
too much...it burns, like dragon fire..." he pleaded incoherently. 

"I cannot wait." His lover was implacable. He lifted his head to stare down,
droplets of sweat falling like silver needles, at Elrond who lay beneath
him, dark hair fanning out upon white sheets, and holding him so tightly
within. "I have waited for far too long."

Elrond could not help but laughed shakily, feeling himself teetering
precariously on the edge of a cliff, lined with knives. "And now you are
here to claim and make me yours?" he asked, trying to find cohesion in irony
and failing when Legolas bent to kiss him with feral greed, devouring him.

"No. You have claimed me and made me yours." Legolas broke the kiss to 
say,
his breaths and words harshly loving. He braced with strength of his feet,
against the linen smoothness of the bed, to plunge in once more, deeper,
harder than previous thrusts, until he could not tell where he began or
ended, into Elrond. Spilling his seed within a dark, searing cage, which
gripped him close as he did.

Both shattered at that moment but that did not matter for they knew with an
exhilarated anguish that the other would be there to catch the splintered
shards.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Aha! I found it!" Bilbo brandished Sting in his hand triumphantly, waving
it high above his head like some archaic fighter. "Strange but I was sure
I've looked in there before but here it is now." He frowned with some
suspicion at the mahogany colored chest, which was placed at the foot of his
bed, as if suspecting the thing of deliberate malice by hiding the sword
from his sight.

Around him were strewn articles of clothing, shirts, breeches and
waistcoats, piled haphazardly about and Arwen was helpfully picking up these
items and neatly re-folding them.

"I am glad you found it, Mr Baggins." She congratulated the hobbit while
deftly pummeling a particularly stubborn velvet waistcoat into pristine
submission. 

Bilbo noticed what she was doing. "Oh, my dear girl, please leave those
alone, I'll keep them myself."

"And never be able to find them afterwards when need arises." Arwen teased.

Bilbo chuckled with embarrassment. "Don't you have to see Lord Elrond 
again?"

Arwen sat down on a chair with a pile of sweet-smelling white shirts on her
lap. "No, I think Father will be otherwise occupied for the rest of the
night." She bent her head slightly, apparently intent on her task of
folding, but Bilbo caught the quick knowing look that came and went across
her face like a shaft of sunlight shining through clouds. 

The hobbit may be old, but he wasn't that decrepit yet and his mind was
still sharply keen. 

"So that's it then. Well, well." Bilbo tapped the tip of his nose musingly
with Sting's hilt. Considering awhile, he nodded with pleased approval. "I'm
delighted. That boy might be a bit on the lean side but you know what? I
have a feeling those two will suit very well."

"Your meaning is obscure to me, Mr Baggins." It was not her secret to reveal
so Arwen affected ignorance though she knew that the hobbit would not be
fooled. 

And he wasn't as he winked slyly at her, indicating his understanding. Then
his expression turned serious. "I am happy for Lord Elrond...I don't know if
you glimpsed it because children sees their parents differently I suppose,
but sometimes I think he is the loneliest person I know." 

//But no longer//, Arwen thought with satisfaction. She had asked those
concerned not to disturb Father from now until morn and with brisk
efficiency, informed the rest of the delegation from Mirkwood that their
prince would not be with them for the evening and under no circumstances
were they to proceed to his chamber or her Father's. She did not give any
reasons for her requests but Elves were the souls of discretion and so none
were needed.

It pleased her to know that, whatever help she could not manage, she could
at least gift to Elrond and Legolas this one night. Soon, the Fellowship
would leave Rivendell to embark on their long journey where their intention
to cast the One Ring into the flames of Mount Doom seemed so impossibly
remote at this moment and she needed no ability of prophesy to be aware that
the path to Mordor would certainly be fraught with many perils and some 
were deadly enough to slay. 

It would be idealistic and naive to expect all to return safely, and though
she knew it was selfish of her but unable to prevent her heart from feeling
so, she prayed that it would not be Aragorn to fall along the way. And yet,
she hoped with all she had, that none would.

She hoped.

Burying her innumerable worries and dreads away where they would not 
reveal to trouble Bilbo whom she knew loved her well, like a niece though she 
was far older in years than he, and searched for a smile to reassure the old
hobbit. The thought of Elrond and Legolas together arose and that though the
day of parting would arrive with its unavoidable inevitability, a solitary
night would therefore be all the more sweeter and cherished because of it.  

She found her smile at that, as she would smile too on the dawn when Aragorn
will leave her in the company of the Fellowship.

Changing the subject, she appeared thoughtful as she tried to recall the
exact term that was spoken to her previously. "Mr Baggins, perhaps you 
would care to explain a mystery to me, what is this...old Toby that Master 
Merry and Pippin keeps insisting that I should try?"

The End

(Beginning quotes taken, with deep apologies to Mr Tolkien, from 'The 
Hobbit')