Title: What Cannot Be Had
Author: Squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: Slash (L/E), (G/El), PG-13 to mild R 
Summary: “I am not one to be taken by love; for the thousands of years I have 
lived I can happily say that that is one emotion that I have not fallen victim to”
AN: love feed back, flame constructively
Disclaimer: own nothing…nothing! Tolkien owns everything…everything! 
(Characters, ect.)

**If the content of this story may offend you please do not read it**

What Cannot Be Had
*~Legolas~*	
      Imladris is beautiful, not as much as the Forest of Mirkwood, but I am 
biased in my thinking. The vast expanse of green grass is luxurious, the waterfalls 
are the music of nature, but the trees are not as many as I am use to, and the 
House of Elrond is very…open. But it is where I shall stay, so I must make the best 
of it.
      Dusk is falling over the Misty Mountains, and I am glad to have arrived to 
safety before night falls. As of late, little is safe, even for the elves. After seeing 
that Mithlilien is taken care of properly (I did not know what to expect of the stables 
of these elves but happily my expectations were exceeded) I was shown into the 
house for evening meal.
      The inside of Imladris was indeed as impressive as the out; tall gracefully 
vaulted ceilings, ornate decorations which sang of lore. I must remember that 
Master Elrond has been a part of these depicted ledgends, though I wonder why 
he revels so much in the past. Ada would never have illustrated such memories so 
openly on the walls; he is even reluctant to verbally relate his stories of the past, 
especially the Last Alliance.
      The beings of the house are different from what I expected. There are 
other ledgends besides Lord Elrond (whom I have not encountered, as of yet). 
Glorfindel, formerly Glorfindel of Gondolin, resides in Imladris, as well as the 
daughter of Elrond (Awen Evenstar), Isildur’s last heir. There are many strange 
folk of races I have had little or no encounters with; Halflings, Dwarves, men, and 
the like and while I have seen the cities of men and dwarves, to have all these 
races congregate together in such close proximity (peacefully) is a first. It seems 
to me a strange gathering folk after having dwelled so long in Mirkwood, where 
wood elves prevailed and few visitors came through on a regular basis, save 
Mithrandir.
      Curiosity satisfied, I cease my exploration and retire to my room. I think 
tonight at least I will forego the Great Hall and the elaborate feast, rather slip off 
into the shadows and into the privacy and comfort of my own company. Besides, I 
may find myself next to a dwarf at table, and…well…
      So sleep comes to me as I lie in Imladris, an inner peace to juxtapose 
what morning brings.
      What happened in the counsel the next morning of yet I am still not sure. 
      
*~Elrond~*
      His eyes. His eyes!
      My heart leapt at once into my throat; beside me, feeling my start Erestor 
glanced side long asking in his gaze, “What are you doing?”
      I have known many fair elves, many wise elves, powerful elves, warriors. 
And now before me was a culmination of everything that was perfect, with a 
powerful reserve in the grace of his movements, a blazing, prideful soul in his eyes 
which will become my undoing.
      His father, Thranduil, may have a love for silver but I have fallen for the 
Woodland King’s gold.
      
*~Legolas~*
      I am not one to be taken by love; for the thousands of years I have lived I 
can happily say that that is one emotion that I have not fallen victim to. Romantic 
love, that is to say for I bear plenty of healthy affection for those of my family and 
friends. Even by elven standards, I consider myself (and am considered by others) 
to be fair of face and voice, and being of high ranking among the elves of 
Mirkwood has made for many possible romantic encounters with a number of 
enticing females. However, I have long scorned the possibility (much to my 
father’s distress) of finding a wife; love renders one vulnerable, occupies and 
poisons the mind; I had long assumed this and now I am sure of the fact.
      And currently, as I leave the council of Elrond I find that, despite fury at 
myself, I am poisoned, and rendered useless though every ounce of logic in my 
soul protests. But love it seems is not interested in logic. Nor am I interested in the 
flood of new feelings that has come over me but reason and my distaste for this 
new situation has been overruled.
      At the appearance of the elf lord at the counsel he hosted, my heart was 
gone. I had fallen into his voice, his movement, the dark hair that was so unlike my 
own, and as I sat listening to his clear voice relaying the story of Isildur’s Bane, I 
was drowning.
      Forced to action by bearing the news of Sméagol’s escape, I relayed my 
message. I was almost ashamed! (And I have never known shame before!) I had 
been sent to Imladris to report a failure, which until being in the presence of Lord 
Elrond had not seemed very disgraceful at all; only unfortunate.
      There did not seem to be an upset; as a matter of fact Mithrandir did not 
even appear troubled. I was relived, and the counsel commenced until the ringing 
of the noon bell where I was able to find myself alone to sort out my newly jumbled 
thoughts.
      Throwing myself onto Mithlilien we tore out of the stables. I am not sure 
how long we were gone or where we went, all I could think about was him.
      Now I understood the beauty of Imladris for it is a reflection of its founder, 
though the ethereal glow of the Last Homely House is but a faint shadow of Lord 
Elrond. The songs, the tales - though told to me briefly - did not do him justice. He 
was starlight, he was the darkest midnight, an undying legend yet as he was still 
living he was vulnerable. His eyes held the greatest of wisdom and had seen joy, 
terror, defeat and triumph of the ages, had fought along side the greatest of our 
kind. His hands were those of a warrior, a ruler, a healer, and given the presence 
of his three offspring, a lover.
      I hated myself for this weakness that love has brought! Never before had I 
felt unworthy of anything, far from it; but now…to even dream of being held and 
loved by one so high seemed unattainable. He was one of the mightiest of the 
Firstborn, he had dwelt in the light of the Two Trees and his father watched on him 
from the heavens. But these were not the reasons why I was so sure that love was 
impossible for the two of us, for I was male, as was he. Love beyond the deepest 
friendship between two males was forbidden, deemed perverse and unnatural, 
and even if he should return my sentiments to sully the glory of this elven lord 
would be a wretched happening indeed. The fruitlessness of the situation and my 
yearning for this immaculate being humbled me, possibly for the first time in my 
life.
      Sweet, sweet poison of love crept through my veins, unfulfilled it would 
slowly consume me, fulfilled it would condemn me and my lover…
      Again I forwent the evening meal, and back in the cherished privacy of my 
rooms I paced, one hand cradling my elbow, the other hand clenched in a fist set 
to my lips where I gnaw at my fingernails. For the first time my body awake and 
keenly aware of its connection to my soul’s desire; I was unable to think of little 
else except what I could not have, even the Ring of Power seemed unimportant. I 
wanted the Lord of Imladris.
      There came a soft knock on the door.
      I cease pacing, wondering who it could be; Mithrandir perhaps, or possible 
Aragorn. “Enter.”
      The elegant handle turns and the door opens.
      My heart stops as the object of my thoughts enters the room, closing the 
door behind him and crossing the carpet until he stands an arm length away from 
me. He is tall, slightly taller than me, ageless, glorious. His mere presence makes 
me tingle, shiver, feelings I never knew existed rushing over my body till I know I 
will melt into a puddle at his feet, I just know it! I am sure he can see my knees 
quaking; I am sure he can see everything, and all will be lost!
      “I am sorry to disturb your retreat,”
      “There is no need to be sorry,” I counter, sitting on a long reclining sofa. 
The bed is not far away. He sits next to me, body angled to face me; our knees 
almost touch. His gaze is piercing me right down to my shaking core; how young 
and foolish I feel, vulnerable to him, yet somehow I do not even care.
      
*~Elrond~*
      Whatever I sought, I had gotten. 
      I had lead females on in my youth because I could, not because I loved 
them – but starting a game knowing you are already the victor becomes boring 
rather quickly. Celebrían; we were very much the same; I had gotten her but she 
had also made it her quest to “get” me as well, so our union was a stale victory for 
the both of us. She was love, light and playful; simply fun with no heavy ties. We 
had both understood that upon marriage, and had joyfully raised our children and 
had parted ways.
      Whatever I had sought, I knew in the end I would attain. Until now. Until 
Illuvitar had seen fit to breathe life into a slender shaft of sunlight that had filtered 
through the trees of Mirkwood, I knew that there were few elves of Middle Earth 
that, with some effort, I could not have made mine. Until his eyes met and held my 
own at the first bell of the council; then I was gone in his eyes, in his soul, and 
there would be no return. To me he was fair and golden as the morning sun which 
seems to shine brightest on him, blessing his very existence and he moves with 
dignity and pride that rivals the most regal of our kind.
      I, master of Imadris, bearer of Vilya, warrior of old and herald to Gil-
galad…now these things seemed irrelevant and unworthy to this god of the 
sun…surely he could not really be of Mirkwood! Surely he could not even be an 
elf…
      And the first thing I crave so much is what I cannot have! I am mystified; I 
have never wanted a male lover before, but I have never more strongly desired 
any lover until I set eyes on this Prince of Mirkwood! To be lost in desire for 
something forbidden is death of your soul. My heart weeps for what will never be, 
yet sings for joy in this perfect, flawless creature!
      I seek him out for business purposes, but he is nowhere to be found in the 
Great Hall; he seems to value quiet and seclusion. Erestor, giving me a funny look, 
points me toward Legolas’ chambers; what fate or folly would have them be a 
breadth away from my own out of all the bedrooms in this vast house! And now he 
was standing before me, we were alone, and I could not have him.
      “I have come to you as I am to send out scouts before the Frodo the 
Halfling is to depart, for news of the Wraiths, tidings of Gollum and other 
necessary information.” Dignity and decorum long practiced is the only thing that 
keeps me from following the raw impulses of my body, especially with his eyes – 
oh those eyes! – looking into mine.
      “I would travel back to Mirkwood for any possible information, for my kin 
are most familiar with the habits of Gollum,” Legolas replies.
      Inwardly I smile, noting that his tone is one of forced calmness. “That 
would be very well, and you would return to Imladris,” I say, more a command than 
a request. “The scouts will leave tomorrow at dawn.”
      “Then I will depart from here tomorrow at dawn.” His eyes say so much 
more.
      I nod.
      He is proud, he holds his head with stateliness yet he glows; there is joy 
and youth in his character. Scarcely know what I do I briefly reach forward and run 
my finger tips down his jaw line, and want flares in his eyes. He can see into my 
heart, and as he looks into my eyes I know that he desires me. Words are not 
needed; for long minutes we stand, gazing, and immediately know all yet we both 
are telling ourselves and each other that it is outlawed.
      “I cannot let myself be conquered so easily, by love or by another elf,” he 
says softly.
      I drop my hand. “Very well,” I nod, biding him good night; he follows me to 
the door, and I can sense his gaze follow me until I disappear into my bedchamber 
a few doors down the hall.
      
*~Legolas~*
      I lie in bed, fury at myself tightening in a knot in my chest until I clench my 
fists in frustration. A few rooms down lies everything I want. Possibly, I could have 
had it tonight. Do elf lords sleep? What consequences are there for creeping 
through the darkened halls of Imladris to find out, to gaze upon the nocturnal 
exquisiteness of an elven lord as he sleeps?
      Throwing caution to the wind I toss back the crisp sheets. My heart is in 
my throat as I move toward the door, slightly ajar, behind which so much lies! I 
push it open, just wide enough to let me through, and ease myself through the 
crack. His private rooms are immense and lovely, filled with lore and love, but it is 
short work to find the most intimate chamber holding the ultimate reward.
      The bed cradling him is vast, making even his powerful form seem small 
in it; clearly it was made for two. In the soft starlight I can see his long form draped 
with a deep red coverlet. He is on his back, dark hair unbraided and spread out 
over the white pillow, eyes closed, head turned slightly toward where I stand, lips 
slightly parted. One long, elegant hand rests lightly on his chest, rising and falling 
slightly with every soft breath.
      I am entranced. I cannot breathe; I dare not. Nothing can end this 
moment; nothing!
      The moment stretched on and before I knew it, the pale fingers of dawn 
were creeping slowly across the bed, ready to seize us both into the grasp of 
daylight to push us on to our duties.
      And so scarcely two days after my arrival, I am now pelting back to 
Mirkwood…and what a change two days has brought me! 
      My father, ever vigilant, can tell.
      For six weeks we prowl through Mirkwood, going as far as we dare in 
tracking this Sméagol, this foul creature, looking, hoping for any trace or tidings 
but there is none. At length, we give up hope and return to Northern Mirkwood.
      “You will return to Imladris, Legolas, to report your findings – or lack of – 
to Lord Elrond. And,” he smiled at me sidelong, “To tie up the unfinished business 
you may have there. I trust she is lovely?”
      I twitch my mouth and shift slightly, unable to find a suitable answer to his 
prying question. “I will return to Imladris, and I will most likely be gone from 
Mirkwood for quite some time,”
      Ada looked pleased, though I am guessing his idea of the reason of my 
absence varies greatly from my intensions. No doubt he would feel the opposite if 
he knew that I have every intent to accompany this Halfling in his quest as Elrond 
had requested of me, to represent the elves in this mission…And I cannot even 
think of what he would do to me and the Lord of Imladris if…
      
*~Elrond~*
	Scouts had returned from afar, bringing little news of encouragement. 
Gollum was unaccounted for, and while there were no tidings of the Wraiths…no 
news was not good news; it only left one guessing when and where they would 
return. It brought me great relief though, to see my sons return safely from their 
journeys.
      Legolas has returned to Imladris. At last I have peace of mind knowing 
that he is here, that he is safe, that he is within my reach. Yet I myself asked him 
to accompany the Ring Bearer possible to his doom; for some reason my heart 
tells me that there is no other elf suitable for this journey, not even Glorfindel. The 
stealth and cunning of the wood elves may prove more valuable for this mission 
than a seasoned warrior.
      The members of the Fellowship have been determined and they will 
depart in a week, taking with them my greatest desire.
      In the meantime, I have a week, but he avoids me. Briefly I wonder at this; 
has he spoken with Thranduil? How much could the elf king know of his son’s 
heart? Briefly I despair.
       I look into his eyes from across the room and watch him slowly melt, then 
he jumps back into awareness when another requires his attention, and exits 
hastily from the room and from my gaze. 
      I smile into the palm of my hand. No, all hope is not lost.
      At first I am the one initiating the unspoken looks, then I find him looking at 
me, a slight smile threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth and give us both 
away and I hold his eyes, something pulses hot in between us and I forget that 
there are others present.
      
*~Legolas~*
      Four days of these ridiculous stare downs take place, and I am becoming 
hard pressed to hide my growing physical let alone emotion reactions to his mere 
presence. 
      I have been plunged head long into more love and the physical 
implications of longing in four days than I have experienced in my entire life! My 
body comes alive, in my dreams, in my waking, and I learn.
      One night, as Elrond holds my blue eyes in his grey ones, he makes his 
way to the door. Not looking away I follow as he silently bids me, slowly, out into 
the night, into the seclusion of a garden surrounded by a high hedge that blocks all 
light from the house and nearly all sounds.
      Under the stars, he is luminescent, delicate, yet I know he holds the power 
to possess anything he wants; he has told me in his eyes. He has told me many 
things in this matter, yet he chooses to state the obvious:
      “You leave in three days,” he shrugs off a heavy, ornate formal robe and 
tosses it aside.
      Carefully I look for lust in his eyes and find none; his eyes only emit 
gentleness but I keep my gaze guarded. “Indeed,” I reply, tugging at my hair until it 
is loose and flowing freely around my face and shoulders.
      We are now pacing a slow circle like warriors in a stand off, yet we are 
lovers, and instead of fighting to the death we would struggle against each other in 
a fight for dominance of ecstasy. The circle is growing smaller; his body is growing 
nearer.
      “You want me,” his gaze is momentarily broken as he peels his tunic off 
over his head.
      All the more obvious; I do want him…by the stars above do I want him! 
But I would not be so foolish to admit to him aloud. “You want me,” I throw his 
words back at him, replicating his movements and shedding my own soft green 
tunic. Our small ring of stand off is becoming fringed with clothing, hair ties, his 
elaborate circlet cast atop the soft folds of his robe.
      “Is forbidden,” I remind him, belt hissing as it snakes off my waist with a 
sharp pull.
      He raises his eyebrows, hands on the waistband of his leggings, and 
smirks. “It is forbidden, but only if we are caught.”
      That is true.
      Still we pace, and finally we are bare and rippling in the moonlight. His 
body is sleek but more powerfully built than my own, refined and groomed with 
centuries more of experience and wisdom in…everything.
      I stop but he does not, circling around to my back where I can feel the 
warm of his body emanating onto my skin. For the first time he touches me, ever 
so lightly trailing his fingertips up my side then brushing my hair off my shoulder 
and I nearly collapse against him for want of more contact. His fingers trail fire 
over my skin! 
      No other has touched me, no one; ever.
      I turn to face him, watching my hands as they trace up over his narrow 
hips to his chest, where I rest the tips of my fingers on his collar bone and look up 
to his face. He tilts his head so slightly and his experienced, expressive lips alight 
on my slightly clumsy, unsure mouth, but he is more than able to compensate for 
my lack of know how. I let down my guard slightly, melting against him and 
oh…his skin on mine is all I have dreamed of and more! Without meaning to I 
moan and he purrs, nearly a laugh in the depths of his throat.
      Wrapping his arms around me he pulls me to the ground, the cool of the 
grass contrasting to the hotness of his body over me. His hands and his lips are 
everywhere; I am struggling as pleasure overwhelms reason; I am desperate for 
him, my own hands cannot touch him enough, my own awakening heightening 
when I hear him cry out my name in delight.
      At length, when I think I cannot stand it anymore, he flips me over and I 
feel him, hot, huge, against the inside of my thigh.
      Oh, no. I may be (as of yet) un-pierced and innocent, but I am not ignorant 
to the ways of lovemaking. He will not master me - no one shall! - and so begins 
the battle of determination and pride. We are desperate to take each other but 
neither wants to be the first – he is un-penetrated by males as well; I can see it in 
his eyes. Our fierce pride tightens to near snapping between us. 
      Very well, I know what I can do that will make him furious. Pushing him off 
I stand, pick my clothes up from the ground and stalk off, still naked.
      “Where, Prince of Mirkwood, are you going?” he calls after me, tone mildly 
inquisitive.
      I turn; his eyes betray his tone and I am pleased. “To bed.”
      
*~Elrond~*
      For the first time in many thousands of years, I have a childish but very 
strong urge to throw something at the perfect and receding backside of Legolas. 
Oh, I love him, but even those that you love can make you angry (as Elladan and 
Elrohir managed to demonstrate almost daily when they were growing up)! I draw 
a small smirk of satisfaction when I hear Erestor’s voice, just inside the door.
      “Erm…good evening, Legolas…”
      “Good evening and good night,” came the golden elf’s nonchalant reply.
      Unlike Legolas, I have not the desire to traverse the halls of Imladris with 
nothing but my cast off clothing held in a practical spot and I dress quickly, 
billowing robes hiding the uncomfortable evidence of our incomplete liaison.
      The fact that he was forbidden was no longer an object to me. I was sitting 
under the starlight thinking of exactly how I would finish what had started when 
Glorfindel came through the small opening in the hedge.
      “I had almost forgotten about this place,” he began conversationally 
though he looked surprised to see me, and maybe a little troubled?
      Nodding in acknowledgement, I wondered if he had a purpose in coming 
here.
      “I just saw Legolas of Mirkwood making his way to his rooms in a rather 
interesting set of attire, or rather, lack there of.”
      That was the last thing I wanted to think, much less talk about. Glorfindel 
definitely does not have a purpose in coming here. 
      Trying to hide my frustration I rise, bid the elf lord good night, and flounce 
off to my chambers where I can sulk, ache, and scheme in peace.
      
*~Legolas~*
      I want Elrond. 
      Anything less, any female, myself, anything else is unsuitable. Any 
acknowledgement of forbiddeness is now gone, replaced by the memory of his 
touch, his kisses, the scent of his skin and the swell and ebb of muscle under the 
taunt sleekness of his skin. I want his voice in my ears and his hands in my hair. I 
do not care anymore if it is what I should not have, nor indeed what will happen.
      Again I am pacing in my room, fingernails against my teeth, 
uncomfortable, the furious pacing agitating me beyond measure yet I do not stop. 
Perhaps I should go to him after and submit, or perhaps with a little more 
encouragement he will submit to me after all, inexperienced I may be. Perhaps he 
is still in the garden…
      Yes, I will go to him in the garden, for my want is swallowing up my 
pride…
      Before I can change my mind I am racing out into the night, swiftly and 
silently skimming over the cool stone path toward the break in the tall hedge. As I 
near my destination I slow, making an attempt to stop the pounding of my heart. 
Breathing steady, I pause. 
      There are strange noises; moans of pleasure coming from within.
      I do not know what it was that prompted me to poke my head where it 
most certainly did not belong, but had I not beheld it things between myself and 
Elrond might have taken a very different turn of events.
      In the moonlight, in the (unsuccessful) privacy of this enclosed garden, 
were Elladan and Glorfindel. Dark hair mingling with light, Elladan taking this 
powerful Balrog slayer, making him sob and plead with want between a stream of 
unending Quenyan love words. Elladan too was swept away in the bliss of his 
lover’s body as Glorfindel moved under him, pleasuring him, making Elladan cry 
out as fervently as he; the dedication in their eyes was enough to make me cry. 
They were in tune to each other, every stroke, every kiss; they knew each other 
like they knew their own bodies. At the peak of their ecstasy they cried out as one, 
then fell boneless together tangling and kissing and murmuring promises of 
unending devotion.
      Suddenly aware of the fact that I was trespassing on the most intimate of 
happenings, I fled down to the safety of my room, shaking; sweating. The love 
between them was so intense; there was no dominance…it did not seem weak; it 
was beautiful…and they were males. They were males! One of them was the son 
of Elrond! The other one of his oldest friends!
      My mind was still in a jumble over its self when there was a quiet knocking 
at the door. I hesitated. Who could it be at this hour and what the stars would they 
want? Begrudgingly, I rose and yanked open the door…and nearly fell backwards 
when I saw that it was Glorfindel on the other side! At least he was dressed, and 
though his hair was down one could never guess he had had such an intimate 
connection scarcely a quarter of an hour ago. 
      My brain and my tongue took a minute to function properly. “Erm…come 
in?”
      Glorfindel stepped inside, closing the door and leaning against it casually, 
expression unreadable though his blue eyes are staring into me to the point of 
discomfort.
      I sit on the couch but he makes no move to join me.
      “I know what you saw earlier, Prince of Mirkwood.”
      He did? Raising my eyebrows I question, “And?”
      Ever the diplomat, he continued. “I know that your father, King Thranduil, 
is known for his – forgive me – intoleration of things that are not conventional of 
elven society. I do not mean dwarves in this case.”
      My mouth twitches and I nearly smile. “I know of what you speak.”
      Emotion suddenly flashes through Glorfindel’s eyes but his face remains 
unchanged and his words are low but steady. “I would do anything to protect 
Elladan; but I suppose you do not understand the nature of our relationship. If you 
understand anything I will say to you, understand this: I have lived, Legolas; I have 
fought, I have slain and I have died, and I would do all these things again if it 
meant keeping him from humiliation and shame.”
      I lower my gaze to one long hand resting purposefully on his sword hilt.
      “Will you go for your knife?”
      Slowly I lick my lips as realization of his fear comes. “Do not fear me, 
Glorfindel. I, unlike my father, would not expose you and Elladan to shunning and 
death.” I hesitate and blanch as I think of what would happen if Ada were ever to 
find out about my…attraction. “What you and Elladan have,” I admit softly, “Is 
beautiful.” 
      I wish I could have it.
      Glorfindel nearly sags to the floor with relief, and comes to sit beside me 
on the couch seeming almost conversational. “And of you?” he probes gently.
      “And what of me?” I return, startled at the question and my own reaction, 
perhaps harsher than I meant; I have always shielded my thoughts and feelings 
jealously. I inhale sharply, and let it out through pursed lips. “No, forgive me,” I say 
quickly as he shrugs and makes to leave. “I…” Suddenly I long to tell him of my 
wants, of what I cannot have, of what nearly happened, and even though I am 
sure he would understand, it is not my place to expose the Lord of Imladris. “I love 
another,” I finally settle on. “But, like you, it is forbidden and to bring to light the 
both of us would not be prudent.”
      Regarding me with gentle comprehension Glorfindel sits down again. “A 
male?”
      I nod. I am shocked at myself; I have never opened my thoughts to 
anyone like this; not even my friends and family.
      In an even gentler voice he murmurs, “Your first?”
      “My first anything. His first male.” Taking Glorfindel into my confidence is a 
welcome liberation; I must tell someone or I will pace myself into the floor and 
chew my fingers bare!
      “Love is precious, is it not?” He smiles. “Have you made love?”
      Elf lords of all kinds can look mischievous!
      “Almost,” I admit. “We got in a bit of a disagreement of who would take 
who. Maybe we are both afraid, though I never thought that lovemaking could 
be…the way you and Elladan were together.” I have a feeling he could see much 
of my thoughts, just like Elrond.
      Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling to himself as his gaze 
searched my thoughts. “I think you need to go to the one you love, and trust him. 
Relax. Do not think about anything else except his touch, and in the end you will 
not care who takes who. Love making is beautiful if you let it be. It is not about 
power, or being mastered.”
      Oh. I did not let it be beautiful.
      And I have already forgone once chance; the Fellowship will depart in a 
matter of days; what am I to do?
      
*~Elrond~*
      I would give myself to him, I decided. I would give anything to him, of only 
it meant being by his side or in is arms. At first I had refused because I had not 
anticipated his resistance but that error had proved treacherous, and then he was 
gone.
      Gone! He would really be gone in a few days...The thought made a sob 
rise in my chest; the six weeks he had been absent I could think of little else 
except his safety, and now I will wonder for him again. Yet there is so much more 
at stake and I think of love! Love has the capacity to make one very selfish indeed.
      I will give myself to him, I need him, I must go to him now! Thankfully he is 
not but a few hurried steps outside of my chamber; my heart begins to beat faster 
in anticipation. I can already feel his skin under my hands, feel him arching under 
me in delight…
      Without even knocking I burst in on his bedchamber, stopping short as I 
see him sitting next to Glorfindel.
      “Elrond,” Legolas says softly, looking surprised but pleased.
      Surprise, shock cross Glorfindel’s golden features, and he exchanges a 
look with Legolas, bids us both a late good night, and makes a hasty exit, closing 
the door firmly behind him
      Suddenly I have a feeling these two know something I do not, but as of 
right now I am not troubled by it; there are more pressing matters at hand. Any 
thought of what transpired in the garden is forgotten and rendered irrelevant, we 
forget that the cup of love we are about to drink from is forbidden, and we forget 
that discovery would mean shunning or even death. All this is vanished by both of 
us as he stands, reaching toward me and whispers, “Come to me. Come to me 
and take me. Take me now.”
      
*~Legolas~*
      I had never hoped for love such as this. I had never dreamed of love like 
this. The falling of silk and velvet to the floor, the long fingers untangling braids. 
The guidance, the fear and ignorance evaporating from my pleasure in heart and 
mind. The wash of dark hair over fevered skin, the eyes that held mine and spoke 
a thousand words without a breath of sound. The slow, rhythmic dance of love 
making. The screams into the darkness of the night.
      We awoke slowly, still a tangle of limbs and love. Waking up beside him 
after a night of love making was the most beautiful part yet…or maybe it was just 
that each new thing seemed the best. I am not sure. He is so beautiful; dark hair 
entangled with my pale hair and fingers, eyes still half lidded in sleep but he smiles 
at me, whispering, “Good morning.” 
      I kiss him gently and he smiles again, watching me as I sit up slowly, 
wincing slightly. Walking for the both of us might be uncomfortable today. He 
clasps my hand and rises too; I can see blood and semen smeared on the bed 
sheets and our bodies, but it is of little consequence.
      Now instead of staring to antagonize we spend the last three days 
together. We must be careful of our interactions around others but every single 
moment spent in the presence of this elf lord is worth anything to me. I do not 
understand. How can love, pure and true love, be forbidden between any? 
      Nights are passion filled, but on the last night he lies spent in my arms and 
murmurs sadly, “Tomorrow you go. We may never see each other again.” He 
means: the task you take is dangerous; deadly. 
      “Do not think of such things,” I reply, kissing his ear, but the same thought 
clouds my mind. 
      
*~Elrond~*
        I watch from the gate as the Fellowship departs. 
        His hair shines in the sunlight, brighter than any jewel, any burnished 
metal, moving slowly further and further away. I fight the urge to run after him, take 
him in my arms, and forget that everything else exists as I lose myself in the scent 
of his hair as I close my eyes.
        I see Arwen standing next to me and in her eyes there is doubt, fear, 
and love which mirror my own feelings. We worry.
        I wonder at the corruption of men, the corruption of a soul and agonize 
of the trouble that weakness brings. I agonize of the weakness of my own soul, for 
whom it loves. Sometimes I think that it would be best if no one loved; that way no 
one would hurt.
        
*~Legolas~*
      The other members of the Fellowship are oblivious to my internal debates 
during the day, and only at night am I free to let my mind wander back to the 
happy days in Imladris, into the nights that seem so long ago.
      Perhaps the only one who can see my turmoil is Mithrandir; he is wise and 
sees much from beneath his bushy eyebrows. While he says nothing directly his 
thoughts touch mine, offering a soothing word of encouragement. 
      It shall all be done and over with soon, he says. Patience.
      Yes, patience. With the passing of time, one must learn patience. For 
more than two thousand years patience is something I had never needed until I 
met Elrond.
      Lorien. 
      Briefly I fear that the Lady of the Wood shall see my heart and for a 
moment I think all shall be lost! While she senses my trouble I do not think she can 
see my thoughts, and I breathe freely once again.
      Alone among the silvery trees I miss Elrond, and mourn for the loss of the 
one who sensed my debate, though comfort seems to have arrived from the most 
unlikely of places…Gimli. He has followed me to my hide out, in the lower 
branches above a talan and thankfully is without that wretched axe.
      He bows stiffly. “Master Elf,”
      I nod in reply, wishing he would leave me alone.
      Instead, grim and determined, he leaves the ground and begins to ascend 
toward my perch. “We dwarves,” he grunted, “Are best in caves.” He heaved 
himself up onto the ledge of the talan, and would have attempted to reach me but 
fearing for his safety I jump down. Gimli leans back against the broad trunk of the 
tree and heaves a heavy sigh of relief.
      “Why do you follow me?” I question, hoping my voice does not betray my 
annoyance.
      “You are troubled, Master Elf.” 
      Is that sympathy, compassion perhaps in his beady eyes? I narrow my 
own shrewdly. “And what is it to you?” I demand.
      He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. “If you wish me to leave you in 
peace, I shall. If there is a matter that troubles you that you wish to share, I will 
stay.”
      I am surprised. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I am sorry for my hostility, but I 
do not think this a matter that you would understand.”
      “Elvish concerns,” he grunts with a wave of his hand.
      “Elvish concerns,” I echo, smiling slightly to myself.
      
*~Elrond~*
      In the shadows of the evening, I wait. I wait for the inevitable end that the 
passing of time brings, and I mourn. I mourn the loss of my daughter to mortality; 
the corruption of death and passing weighs heavily on my soul, the burden of the 
half elven. I think of Elros, and I miss him. I miss Aragorn, wishing that the burden 
that he must bear must not be so great. I miss Legolas, this brief, golden glimpse 
of what it is to love another (that is not your child) more than you love yourself. I 
worry for Legolas, await word of his safety, and mourn what shall never be.
      There is a soft knock on the door and without awaiting an answer 
Glorfindel enters, taking a seat next to me in the window. “You are troubled,” he 
says softly, and from his melancholy eyes I can see he is troubled as well. “The 
house is so empty.”
      “Yes.” His blue eyes remind me much of Legolas, though Legolas has a 
spark of fire while Glorfindel emits cool wisdom of many, many ages. How I long to 
tell him of my sorrow, fear, longing but I cannot. I cannot even tell my greatest 
friend of my sins and I seem to hurt even more.
      Pain is a bitter emotion, but prohibited love is worse; it is a sweet poison 
that once you have had a taste of it, you will forever be in need of more, and the 
more you have the more you will suffer. If it was me alone, suffering in unfulfilled 
want, I could bear it. The thought, the mere possibility that if we were ever known 
that this golden flame could be snuffed out in what would be allowed kin slaying…I 
could not bear it.
      
*~Legolas~*
      I see him again, three months from now. The burning of love has not died 
between us; at Elessar’s wedding I catch his eye and our hearts sing out to each 
other, but reason muffles it painfully in my chest. As I watch the wedding I am 
joyful for my friend as he joins with my lover’s daughter, but admittedly my heart 
aches with a slight pang of jealousy. For they may stand before all and profess 
their love, but others, such as Glorfindel and myself, cannot.
      My penchant for unorthodox liaisons have also manifested in the deepest 
but most unlikely friendship in the dwarf, Gimli, who can sense my internal turmoil. 
“And what is it that troubles you so, Master Elf? Is this not to be a joyous 
occasion?”
      I do not answer; I cannot answer. I cannot even look at him for fear that I 
shall give myself away.
      Sensibly the dwarf says nothing, standing on his stout legs one hand on 
my arm as he offers his silent support, and I am grateful.
      Before our company parts ways, Elrond and I steal a moment alone in the 
shadows of the woods, the trees whispering to me, “Forbidden, sinner, illicit 
lover…you will never have him.”
      I ignore them, not caring for they tell me what I already know. We have 
this moment, I have this moment, reveling only in the bliss of love, the shining of 
his eyes and the scent of his skin as his dark hair flutters in my face. Again love 
has reduced my reason to jelly but I do not curse and fight the emotion now for it 
has brought me Elrond.
      “That you and my sons have returned safely from the War of the One Ring 
will forever be my greatest joy.” An embrace, a kiss. “And you must know that I 
belong to you and to you only.”
      My heart catches in my throat at his words of devotion and I long to sob 
and be held by him, be seen by everyone together, to sing out to all of Arda that 
this is the one I love! But he is the bearer of Vilya; to sully his legend to the eyes of 
others by acknowledging my heart…I would never forgive myself. I cannot make 
my tongue function to return his words of dedication but looking into my eyes he 
kisses my forehead.
      “I know,” Elrond whispers, cupping my face to his chest.
      Finding my voice I choke out, tears threatening, “For the thousands of 
years we have lived this is a heart beat in time…I wish…I do not want…!” It is not 
what I want to say but I am shaking and can think of nothing more.
      “Shh,” he soothes, and is about to say more, but then a twig snaps under 
an approaching foot and we jolt apart before Erestor rounds the corner.
      And so we part; his dark hair and strong shoulders disappearing into the 
distance, moving softly with the strides of his mount, and not once does he look 
back to where I stand alone under the trees. Whether we will see, talk, spend time, 
or make love to each other again I do not know. 
      I, Legolas Greenleaf, have loved one and will love no other, but it cannot 
be known for what I carry in my heart is forbidden, for all time.
      ~The End~
      
FYI: If you are a Legolas-Elrond fan, there’s more coming to LoM…I know I was 
always looking for more L/E slash and had a hard time finding it, oh, and I don’t 
have a beta reader so if any one is interested please email me; I really would like 
one and have had a hard time finding one from lists…