Title: Trust
Author: Squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: slash (Legolas/Elrond), AU (no family; Elrond’s single), non 
graphic rape and violence, rated R
Summary: “When Imladris was founded it was expected that, one day, I 
should marry and have children. Time passed, flourishing into centuries, 
then millennia, and still I was alone.”
AN: Tolkien states that if taken against their will, elves fade and die
Disclaimer: Own nothing; Tolkien does

~Thank you to Talullah for her invaluable beta reading~

Trust
      For the thousands of years that I had had political dealings with 
him, I had never really liked Thranduil. The one and only thing that I did 
like about him was his son. I liked his son Legolas quite a bit, and as a 
result of my affection I suppose I appreciated Thranduil for seeing fit to 
sire him, but for a long time that was all Thranduil had going for him in 
my eyes.
      Truthfully, to say that I liked Legolas was a bit of an 
understatement, though my fondness grew with time. When I first met him 
he was aloof, formal, a pure diplomat, and I had not given liking him or 
not much thought.
      He first came to Imladris bearing a message that, upon arrival, he 
refused to deliver to none save the Master of Imladris.
      I had been tied up in other affairs that day, holding council with 
elves from Loren, and received no word that there was a messenger from 
Mirkwood. At the conclusion of the meeting I went to the evening meal 
and afterward retreated to my chambers. There was still not word that 
there was a Mirkwood elf who wished in earnest to speak with me, so I 
suppose Legolas had seen fit to seek me out himself.
      The quiet of the evening had just begun to settle, and I was reading 
happily in peace when there was a knock on the door.
      “Lord Elrond.”
      It was a statement, not a question.
      “Enter,” I called, and the handle turned. Looked up I was greeted 
by the sight of a tall, golden haired wood elf clothed simply in soft browns 
and greens standing before me. I did not recognize him, and nodded in 
greeting, gesturing him inside.
      He bowed courteously from the waist, apologized for his intrusion, 
and introduced himself simply as, “Legolas of Mirkwood, bearing a 
message from Thranduil, of Northern Mirkwood.”
      “Welcome, son of Thranduil,” I replied, for though I had never met 
him I had heard of Legolas, son of the King of the wood elves. Mildly 
intrigued, I set my book aside and bid him to sit next to me, which he did 
so with very formal decorum, and I inquired as to his message.
      Legolas was sent to inform me of the whereabouts and happenings 
of my advisors.
      In quest for adventure or some such mindless escape from 
normalcy, Glorfindel and Erestor had gotten into a nasty scrape in Guldur, 
and their injuries were compounded when they failed to make an escape 
from the Mirkwood spiders. Neither of the affairs left them in very good 
health so it would seem, and Legolas was sent to inform me that they had 
been happened upon and taken in by the wood elves.
      I cannot say that I was not the least bit surprised at news of their 
harm.
      Glorfindel had a penchant for attracting trouble, but as he was 
fearless, an excellent warrior, and as long as the trouble he drew was not a 
balrog, I kept my mouth shut. He was usually able to see himself and 
Erestor out of their stupidity relatively intact. Glorfindel and Erestor are 
the greatest of friends, if not more (for they never told me and I had never 
asked), following where ever the other led him, which was often out of the 
valley and into foolishness. There was no dissuading either of them, and 
again, I kept my mouth shut.
      Despite my near constant exasperation at their excursions, I held 
my friends dear to me, and news of their injury did cause me concern.
      “But there is no need for alarm, Lord Elrond,” Legolas said 
quickly as I felt my face tighten, his tone level and still formal. The one 
slip in his diplomacy was the long hand that moved to hover over my 
forearm as I started in concern and anxiety. “They now rest in the capable 
care of my people, and will make a full recovery, given time.”
      “How long?” I inquired.
      “A month at the most. They asked me specifically to forbid you 
from worry.”  After a pregnant pause Legolas rose, bowed, and said, “I 
will take my leave now, Lord Elrond. The night and a long journey await 
me.”
      Again I raised my eyebrows, attention shifting to this adventurous, 
fearless, or foolish elf. “You will ride through the night? You will not stay 
in Imladris at least till dawn?”
      “I had not planned on it.”
      Remembering my manners, I insisted. “As you extend your 
hospitality and nurturing toward my advisors and friends; I must return the 
favor.”
      For a moment I could see a protest formulating in the depths of his 
eyes, but instead he had consented. Out of ease, I directed him to the set of 
chambers across the hall from my own.
      The vast bed faced the East. There was no view of the falls, which 
was generally preferred, but looked out over the river with a great expanse 
of sky stretching beyond the valley.
      “Do you find them to your liking?” I asked out of courtesy.
      “Yes. I am not used to having a view of the stars from my bed, 
though I know I will enjoy it tonight.” He smiled, close lipped. The formal 
tone was still present but he seemed much more genuine, nearly happy, as 
he stood there in the starlight for a long moment, seeming mesmerized. 
Then Legolas licked his lips and, seeming to take no notice of me, stood at 
the window with his face toward the sky and sang into the valley. He did 
not seem to notice when I turned and left the room.
      I went to sleep that night with elven song washing softly over me 
from the rooms near mine. I lay in the darkness, intrigued by this strange 
elf for he was different from all others in Imladris…certainly different 
from a vast majority of all the elves I was in constant company of. I knew 
little of the Mirkwood elves, as they generally kept to themselves and 
were not very eager to associate greatly with those of other lands.
      The next morning at breakfast I noticed how often and long he 
started at the waterfalls, for the terrace we occupied looked directly out 
over the cliffs. With amusement I noted his fascination aloud and he 
smiled, ducked his head slightly, and apologized.
      “Forgive my inattentiveness, but I have not seen anything like it 
before.”
      To satiate his curiosity, we spent the morning out by the falls, and 
the time passed quickly in his company. We talked and laughed. He sang. 
His diplomacy fell away, and as a day turned into a week and a week 
turned into a month, I grew enchanted.
      I dared not verbalize my growing affections to Legolas or anyone; 
I know not what stilled my voice. But I do not think that my feelings went 
unreciprocated for Legolas stayed in Imladris for many months, remaining 
even after Erestor and Glorfindel returned home.
      Thranduil had sent word with them, inquiring as to the 
whereabouts of his son. Legolas had written back; I know not what he 
said, but Thranduil’s message to me was brief and irritated. I don’t think 
he liked the idea of his first born residing in Imladris for he liked me as 
much as I liked him, but nevertheless, Legolas stayed.
      In the time that he was here we came to know each other very well. 
I was not sure what to call the bond we forged; it was something greater, 
much more intimate than a friendship, but without the strappings and 
uncomfortable embarrassment of a courtship. 
      We touched as friends do not touch, not a casual passing glance of 
the hand over a shoulder or the small of a back, but a lingering stroke that 
was a tentative exploration through thick fabric. Hands twined in hair too 
often to be an accident. Caresses that could have been between friends 
lingered too long, and his heartbeat against mine was too fast. We spoke 
with eyes as friends do not, in gazes that silently longed and promised.
      One night I was awakened out of a deep sleep by someone shaking 
my shoulder. Rolling over onto my stomach I groaned into my pillow, 
muttering something incoherent and probably none too intelligent. It was, 
after all, the dead of the night.
      “Elrond.”
      It was Legolas.
      “Elrond.”
      “Mmm?” I did not lift my face from the pillow.
      “Come swimming with me.”
      “…what?”
      “Come swimming with me.”
      “…now?”
      I was still sleepy, but Legolas was strong and fully awake, and 
pulled me out of bed and out of the house. Suddenly I became aware of the 
fact that we stood on the river banks, and I had no real recollection of how 
we got there. I blinked, and Legolas had stripped and was tugging at my 
own tunic. My mumble of protest was lost as the fabric slipped over my 
head and I was pushed headlong into the water.
      That woke me up, and I bobbed to the surface just as Legolas dove 
in beside me. “Legolas,” I said, treading water and keeping my voice even, 
“Why in the name of the stars are you awake and swimming, and have me 
awake and swimming, at…midnight?”
      He did nothing but grin in reply, ducked under the water, and 
flipped away, nimble as any otter.
      For a brief minute my emotions wavered between annoyed and 
carefree, and carefree won over.
      Carefree. I had not felt such lightheartedness since…I could not 
remember when. I could not remember the last rough and tumble game of 
tag I had ever played, even from my childhood. But this was different 
from a child’s game, for this game bordered on seductive; the fact that we 
did not have any clothes on could not be forgotten especially when one 
had the other pinned bodily against the river bank.
      Legolas had me pressed me to the ground with both wrists pinned 
above my head, and I was laughing, though I had no idea what made me 
laugh so hard that tears run down my cheeks.
      “Mercy! I begged, gasping for breath. My eyes cleared, and 
Legolas was looking down at me with a little half smile, and his eyes 
seemed distant. I stopped laughing. “Legolas?” I raised my eyebrows, and 
he jumped sheepishly, rolled off of me onto his back in the soft grass and 
stared up at the sky. He looked pensive.
      At length he asked softly, “Why are you not married?”
      The directness of the question took me by surprise, and once the 
surprise faded away I realized that I was unsure of the answer. “I know 
not.”
      “Have you ever been in love?”	
      “No.”
      “Do you think you ever will be?”
      “I hope so.”
      He did not ask any more questions, but they were enough to stir 
thoughts in me that hadn’t been awakened for millennia.
      When Imladris was founded it was expected that, one day, I should 
marry and have children. Time passed, flourishing into centuries, then 
millennia, and still I was alone. By the time I met Legolas marriage was 
something that I was well past my prime for, and to Glorfindel alone did I 
confide my doubt that I would ever be married. In truth, even if the 
situation had presented it self when I was young, I would not know how to 
go about it. How does one ask another to marry them? Does one simply 
blurt it out at table? It seemed very complicated and appeared to carry the 
potential for great humiliation and rejection, and so I had always avoided 
the remotest possibility of it.
      It was not thought that a male, such as Legolas, could ever become 
a spouse to the Lord of Imladris anyway. This was for the obvious reason 
that two males are unable to bear children and would thus be useless for 
the sake of inheritance, continuation of politics, and other matters that are 
(or should be) irrelevant to a marriage bond. 
      When Legolas arrived the rumors simmered and without knowing 
it, I had become engaged and married in the span of one week according 
to half of Imladris. It was rumored that, after millennias of solitude, Lord 
Elrond had finally taken a lover. A male lover. A younger, male lover, out 
of Mirkwood, and that we had married in secret.
      But the gossip was not true. Actually, the juxtaposition of the truth 
with the rumor was almost amusing, for neither of us voiced our affections 
and continued to seek out the other’s declaration of affection through body 
language and gazes.
      At length, though, Legolas returned to Mirkwood with great 
reluctance that we both made an effort to hide.
      “My Adar [father] is in need of me,” he murmured with a trace of 
sadness as we stood at the gate. “The wild men that roam the forest of 
Mirkwood are causing strife among us. They need my bow.”
      “Farewell,” I embraced him and tried to smile but could not. 
“Return to me if time and fate allows.”
      “I will!” Legolas had replied almost fiercely, and one slender hand 
rose and nearly touched my face. But he retracted it – was that a blush that 
kissed his cheeks? – and said with greater control, “I will return to you - to 
Imladris - before the leaves turn golden.” He stepped away with a slight 
smile and threw one leg over the bare back of his gelding.
      As Legolas cantered off through the gates and down the path he 
looked back twice, and I watched until he was out of sight with an odd 
feeling of heartsickness. I turned slowly to see Glorfindel smirking in a 
shadow by the door and the heartsickness fell away, leaving the sudden 
urge to kick him, just to make him stop smirking.
      Things fell back into their usual pattern, the way things had been 
before Legolas had come into my life. Before him I had been happy, with 
him I had been very happy, and now that he was gone I felt not unhappy, 
but restless and incomplete.
      Imladris felt a little bigger than it had before, a little quieter, a little 
less bright. I was not alone but sometimes, even when in the company of 
Glorfindel and Erestor, it felt lonely. I had to stop and remind myself 
sometimes that Legolas was not here, before I had gotten all the way to his 
chamber door.
      Spring passed, summer blossomed, and I wondered when he would 
return.
      Or would he return? 
      I shook that thought from my head quickly. Of course he would 
return; I saw it in his eyes the day he left. 
      But against my will my thoughts turned to pretty maidens, or 
young male elves that laughed and ran beneath the trees of Mirkwood, as 
fair as a summer day, and again I wondered if he would return to me.
      Late one night I lay in bed, unable to sleep for I thought about 
Legolas. For some reason the memory of his first night in Imladris 
haunted me; when I closed my eyes I could hear his voice still carrying 
softly on the wind. I then realized I was unable to remember is face, and 
suddenly felt very frightened and lonely. I had to remember his face; I just 
had to!
      Rising from my bed I crossed the hall to the chambers opposite 
mine. I had ordered them to remain untouched since his departure, and 
they were just as Legolas had left them. His scent still lingered faintly in 
the air, detectable as I closed my eyes and spread my arms out at my sides. 
Yes, in his room, I could remember Legolas’ face, and I was relived. I 
wanted to preserve his image in my mind, and the thought of forgetting 
him scared me, and I quickly fell on a solution.
      Stashed away in my rooms were canvas and brushes, which I 
retrieved, and set up in Legolas’ chamber. I was determined to preserve 
him forever, though it had been many, many years since I had painted 
anything, and even then I had had a model.
      I began my task the next day, during the evening when I usually 
had time to myself. I began to mix paints, grinding the pigments to a fine 
powder and mixing them with oils to the right texture and hue. It took me 
several tries to find tones that would correctly reflect the warmth of his 
skin, the sheen of his hair. It took me a long time to be satisfied with the 
way the shadows painted on the canvas played over the curves of his face, 
or the exact way his lips curved. Whenever I found I forgot, I set down my 
brush, closed my eyes, and remembered his words, his song, his touch, 
and would remember what I sought to portray.
      I guarded my project jealously, closing the door when I worked 
during the evenings and late into the night. I told no one, not even 
Glorfindel and Erestor, though they wondered where I disappeared to. For 
some reason I wanted this to be mine, and mine alone.
      I finished the painting in the middle of summer. I knew when I was 
finished when looked and saw Legolas before me, and not the work of my 
hands. There was a great sense of peace in my heart as I took down the 
easel, cleaned the brushes for a final time. 
      His face was before me; in looking at him I would never forget his 
laugh, his touch, his hair and the scent of his skin. If Legolas should never 
return to me, I would have a small piece of him to remember and dream on 
what could have been, and I kept this piece close to my heart. I kept the 
painting in my chamber where only I would see it; for a reason unknown 
to me I still did not want to share news of my affection with anyone.
      The next evening I spent with Erestor, who commented lightly on 
my appearance. It was a warm and humid night, with one of those hasty 
summer thunder showers that came and went without notice, and we 
watched the lightening and told stories of the past.
      Everything felt peaceful, when in fact it was not.
      “Elrond!”
      A cry of urgency roused me from my chair.
      “Elrond,” Glorfindel skidded to a stop in the doorway, his clothes 
damp, his eyes wide and concerned. “A party, from Mirkwood, has just 
arrived. They have one who is sick.” He caught my arm as I came from 
the room and murmured low in my ear, “Thranduil is with them. It is 
Legolas.”
      At the news of Legolas, Erestor’s head snapped to attention. His 
eyes darted from me to Glorfindel, back to me, and Glorfindel gave a 
slight shake of his head, which failed to be surreptitious. 
      Ignoring their exchange, I tugged at Glorfindel’s arm and 
quickened my pace, and was led to the same set of chambers that Legolas 
had occupied the first time he had come here.
      Thranduil stood outside, dripping wet, with anxiety making him 
look very frightened though he drew himself up tall. “Legolas would have 
no other,” he said urgently when I came into sight, looking and sounding 
too anxious even for a greeting.
      Glancing through the door I saw a bedraggled form lying prone on 
the bed, curled into fetal position with his back to the two of us. Taking 
Thranduil by the arm I welcomed him calmly, stepped into the chamber 
and closed the door, kneeling beside Legolas. “Tell me what happened,” I 
said to Thranduil.
      “No.”
      Both Thranduil and I started as if the whisper from the bed had 
been a shout.
      “Adar, please. Leave us alone.”
      Thranduil looked slightly hurt but retreated to the door, explaining, 
“We found him two nights ago, and he refused to be touched unless we 
would take him to you. He would not tell us anything.” The elf king’s blue 
eyes were wide and entreating. “I beg you…” his voice trailed off.
      I knew what he begged, how he loved his son, and in that moment 
my unfounded dislike for Thranduil gave way just a little. I gave a silent 
promise with a nod of my head, and shut and latched the door.
      The storm was lessening outside.
      “Legolas,” I said gently, going over to the bed and touching his 
shoulder. “May I look at you?”
      His eyes were closed as if feigning sleep, but he complied with my 
request and rolled to his back. His face was swollen, bruised, and cut, his 
hair and face matted with mud as if he had been pressed into the earth. He 
said nothing, going limp as I peeled back the sodden blanket he clutched 
around his shoulders.
      Around his neck was a circlet of bruising, two dark thumb prints 
standing out in horrid relief at the soft part just at the hollow between the 
collar bones. His wrists were cut and bruised, his chest and stomach 
littered with cuts and bruises.
      “Legolas,” I whispered, voice catching. “What have they done to 
you?” Legolas whimpered and I wished I could take my words back. I 
tugged at the tie of his leggings and Legolas winced. “Shh,” I soothed. “I 
need to make sure you are unharmed.”
      He went limp again.
      The leggings slowly came away, revealing more bruising around 
his hips and down his thighs. For the first time I saw blood in earnest, 
coating the inside of his legs. 
      Oh sweet Elbereth, I realized, drawing my breath in sharply. 
“Legolas,” I said gently, taking hold of one hip and shoulder. “I will turn 
you to your side now.”
      The long legs shifted at my prompting as I rolled him to his side, 
and there was no doubt now. Dazed, I reached out and touch the cleft at 
the base of his spine, coating my fingertips in the crimson that emanated 
from his body. “Legolas,” I murmured, rubbing my fingers before my face 
in disbelief as my hand started to tremble.
      For long minutes there was silence, and my hand fell on his hip.
      “Bathe me,” he whispered at last. “I feel filthy; like they are still 
touching me.”
      In the adjoining bath I lowered him into the tub, soaping his hair, 
then his body, as gently as I could. Lastly I lathered my hands and swirled 
the foam over the contours of his face, noticing for the first time the 
darkness of his eyelashes and the soft hollow of his cheekbone. I paused, 
fingertips resting at his temple, palm contoured to the curve of his pallid 
cheek and pressed my trembling lips together. 
      Leaning his face into my hand Legolas sighed and murmured, 
“More soap,” and squirmed in attempt to wash himself. He quieted at a 
soothing, and more soap was used, and after several times with several 
changes of water he was satisfied. Next came the healing, soft swipes of 
herbal solutions on his cuts and bruises. The medicine swept away the 
clotted blood and soothed discoloration till his skin glowed whole again, 
but there was naught I could do for his soul.
      Legolas kept his eyes closed throughout the entire ordeal.
      I wrapped him in a large towel and put him into bed, towel and all. 
I watched as he seemed to relax, head sinking into the pillow and going 
slack. 
      Legolas looked broken a broken thing that once thrived and 
glowed, like a bird that was full of life and light, until by a cruel mistake 
had fallen to earth. It did not seem right that he was so still, looking so 
small and vulnerable nestled in the blankets; it looked surreal, like it was 
an image from nightmare.
      Instead of glowing with life he had become a cold, empty shell, 
white as marble and just as cold. It seemed his spirit, the life that had 
glowed hot within him, was gone.
      A whimpered and a slight shifting reminded me that it was not my 
mind playing tricks on my soul. This was real, his pain was real, his 
passing would be real.
      …His passing. Would he pass onto Mandos this night, I wondered. 
How long would it take for his spirit to forsake his body? The gravity of 
the situation swept over me and I felt as if the breath had been sucked 
from my chest, and two hot tears ran down my cheeks as I backed silently 
out of the room. Scarcely an inch from the door and with my hand on the 
handle, there came a knock and I jumped.
      “Lord Elrond; how fares my son?” Thranduil’s voice was low and 
laced with concern. “May I see him?”
      Pulling my emotions together and wiping away my tears I 
unlatched the door.
      “Elrond,” Legolas called from the bed, barely audible but heavy 
with urgency. “Tell him nothing, I beg you.”
      I opened the door and lingered in the door way as Thranduil rushed 
in and knelt by the bed. I could not hear what was murmured back and 
forth between the two of them, but at length Thranduil straightened up and 
turned to leave.
      “Morning shall tell us more of his condition,” I said simply, which 
seemed enough for the elven king.
      “Yes,” Thranduil said, though his thoughts seemed far away. After 
a moment’s pause he said, “He has not eaten in days…He must keep up 
his strength if he is to recover.”
      “I will see if he will eat,” I promised, and had Glorfindel show 
Thranduil to a room for apathy and sorrow were written in his face.
       “Stay with me,” Legolas whispered once his father was gone. “I 
trust you, Elrond. I need you this night.”
      His request was simple, yet so hard. I lay beside him on the bed, 
getting as close to him as I dared. “Stay with me,” I repeated his words. 
“Leave me not.” Even as I said that I was afraid he would fade, slipping 
through my grasp to blow on the wind.
      He did not reply.
      Though I felt it was futile, I kept my word to the Mirkwood King 
and had food brought to Legolas’ chambers. Alone in the room I set the 
tray on the bedside table, resumed my position on the bed and studied his 
face. “You are not asleep,” I said softly.
      Ever so slightly Legolas shook his head.
      “May I touch you?”
      “Yes.”
      Carefully I slid my arm under his shoulders until his head was 
cradled to me. I held a small piece of fresh bread to his lips, which he 
refused, as well as fruit. He did accept a few spoonfuls of soup and tea.
      “Your father says you have not eaten in days. Legolas,” I said with 
great difficulty as my throat began to hurt and my eyes began to sting, “Do 
not leave me.” I began to weep, tears falling on his pale hair that I did not 
bother to wipe away. Legolas kept his eyes closed but I knew better, and 
in horror mingled with curiosity reached out and touched one scarred wrist 
with my fingertip.
      He said: “The men in the wood.”
      I nodded, then said, “Yes.”
      “I found a large group of them flogging a horse they could not 
train to ride. They had one of those bits and strappings about his head, and 
the animal was foaming red at the mouth in anger and injury for the men 
kept yanking his head about. One of them had a long flail, and the horse’s 
flanks were bleeding badly. The rest just stood around and laughed, as if it 
was for sport, and that made me very angry, and I intervened. Many of 
them were slain during the struggle that ensued from my interference, but 
there were enough of them left…” His voice trailed off, and one hand 
drifted to the binding marks on his other wrist. “Do you wonder?”
      “A little,” I confessed, for cruel ways of men are a mystery that I 
will never fathom, though I have tried for I share their blood. “But you 
need not tell me.”
      He shook his head. “I need to. May I?”
      His need for request broke my heart. “Yes,” I whispered. “Of 
course, my Legolas.”
      “I-I was alone. They bound my wrists.” His voice was dead, flat, 
emotionless. “They beat me as they did the horse. They forced me.” 
Legolas’ body convulsed and he let out a soft sob and his voice became 
very soft. “They took from me what was not theirs to take, and they 
marred for me what should have been precious and for one person alone. I 
hurt so badly. I had to see their eyes the whole time; all of their faces. 
‘Look at me, elf, see my eyes,’ they said. They made me.”
      “My Legolas,” I whispered again, voice cracking and ending my 
murmur in a whimper. He exhaled in a shaky sigh and I drew him tighter 
to me, wailing softly, “You will fade.”
      “Elrond.”
      “Yes?”
      “Mandos is calling but…” He turned his head and opened his eyes, 
round and startlingly blue against his pale skin as he looked at me for the 
first time since last spring. They had lost the starlight they once held, 
replaced by deep blue tunnels that looked haunted. 
      “I refuse his summons, resist it. I needed to come to you. I need 
you.” 
      “I am glad you came to me…so glad,” I said earnestly.
      “Elrond?” Legolas’ tone was pleading.
      “Yes?”
      “May I ask you-“
      “Anything,” I said fiercely, interrupting. “Anything I have; it is 
yours.” And I meant it with all my heart, but was not prepared for what he 
was about to ask.
      “Can you bond to me this night?” His voice cracked. “Make 
beautiful for me what I know to be only as violence and shame?”
      How could I reject him? I knew in an instant that I loved him 
enough to bond, yet I was afraid as his violation had opened the door to a 
plethora of complications. I was afraid as we made love he would look 
into my eyes and see only what he saw that night in the forest. I was afraid 
I would cause him pain and terror, and that he would pass from this world 
with pain and terror as his last emotions.
      Ever vigilant, Legolas saw my fear. “I trust you,” he said.
      I could not refuse him. With shaking hands I removed my clothes, 
slid beneath the covers, and kissed him. He kissed me back, slow, 
tentative. I had never touched another as such, and neither had he, but we 
explored, we had all the time in the world to learn. His broken body 
became warm and fluid and whole in my hands; he cried out and I cried 
out, unwilling to let go of the other even for the briefest of seconds. Needs 
grew urgent, and unwilling to cause him pain I moved to take him into me, 
but Legolas protested. 
      “I need you to take me,”
      “I will do no such thing,” I replied firmly, and Legolas gripped my 
face in his two hands.
      “Elrond, I need it if I am to heal. Do this for me.”
      There was no arguing with him. I pressed my forehead to his, lips a 
fraction apart, tasting his breath mingling with my own, quick and short in 
anticipation or fear. “Legolas,” I murmured, pressing my chest to his and 
taking long, deep breaths. He grew accustomed to this slower, gentler 
rhythm, feeling my body against his and matched his breath to mine, and 
our heartbeats fell into unison. Our bodies were ready.
      At first he stiffened in pain and for a moment horror flashed 
through his eyes before his eyelids fluttered shut. I dared not asked him to 
look at me and he whispered my name over and over, though I was not 
sure if it was in passion or as a reminder to himself.
      “It is me, Legolas,” I soothed, cradling his head in my hands and 
kissing his eyelids.
      “I know it is you,” he whispered breathlessly, and his eyes opened 
again, and his gaze met mine. “Ai!” Legolas gave his first cry of pleasure 
as a depth and rhythm were established.
      In the end we trembled and I wept again, afraid that he would leave 
me now.
      “Sleep, love,” Legolas whispered, kissing my eyes shut.
      I did not want to but my exhausted body and mind would allow 
nothing else. I drifted off to sleep, sure that the next morning I would 
wake to find Legolas in the Halls of Mandos, at rest at last.
      The next morning there was as soft breath on my cheek, 
accompanied by a warm kiss and a soft probe in the ribs.
      “Elrond.”
      Groggily I stirred, cracking my eyelids against the morning sun to 
see Legolas laying beside me with his face a breadth from my own. His 
skin was warm cream laced with golden honey, lips a soft pink in the 
morning sunlight and begging to be kissed. His eyes were a bright blue 
and shining with the light of the stars, as they should be; he was warm, 
whole, and very much alive, and I cried out in joy and wonderment as he 
fell on me, covering my face with kisses.
      He did not pass, though by what circumstances this came to be I 
know not; perhaps his Fea had not seen fit to leave his body, after love had 
made up for its violation. No one can be sure; only Namo [Mandos] 
knows, but I thank him everyday for his mercy, for Legolas.
      Thranduil had spent the night sleeping soundly, for the exhausted 
woodland king had needed it greatly after two days hard journey and 
worry. With the following morning he was overjoyed to find his son 
nearly mended, and slightly less than overjoyed to find out the 
circumstances of his recovery.
      Nevertheless, since that summer, I have grown to respect and care 
for Thranduil, though I still have no idea why I came to dislike him in the 
first place.