Winter Heart <part one of two>
By Arctapus   arcpus@yahoo.com

Codes: LOTR, E/L, R-ish maybe, m/m, Continuation of Fortunate 
Son and Son Rise
Post: In the usual places.  http://www.ithilas.com/helmboy.html
for the rest of the series. Thank you again, AC.  You are the
best.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien created the universe that I dabble in. 
I make nothing from doing so but satisfaction at having such
wonderful creatures and landscapes to work in. No copyright
infringement is implied by the use of his universe.

Summary: A glimpse into a relationship.
***************************************************************

In the House of Elrond, in the Kingdom of Imladris ... 
winter ...

The snow was falling, each flake tiny and individual, falling 
and landing silently. They were collecting, casting a white
blanket all around, a foreshadowing of the long sleep that was
coming over the land. It was welcomed, this turning down of
nature’s blankest as the land desired a rest from the strenuous
exertions of the past growing season.

The war with the orcs had gone well, the vanquishing of that
blight from the body politic for another year or so assured. 
It was safe to ride over the Misty Mountains, safe to travel
across the marches and plains of Middle-earth. It would be so 
for some time he considered, some time before the plague 
overtook them again and they had to amass once more.

Right now, it was enough to be  in the doorway, standing in the
pool of light that poured through it out into the night beyond.
Elrond could hear the falling of water over the cliffs beyond,
the eternal murmurings of Ulmo as the waterfalls made music to
his ears. He had chosen this place for many reasons, not the
least among them the sound of the water.  

The Bruinen was his river. He could command it and he did. Ulmo
had special attachment for him, this son of gifted parents, and
Ulmo had never failed hear him when he called. Elrond knew that
the great god of waters responded when he had to bar the ford. 
He had done it time and time again. That protection he never 
took for granted and his prayers were given to all who aided 
him in his burden of responsibility, ethereal and corporeal. 

He smiled slightly, the distinction between the two ever more
blurred for him. Time had erased some of the wonder from his
heart and until a lovely presence came into his life of late, 
he had ceased to see the splendors around him for what they 
truly were. The waterfalls were soothing to his ears but he
didn’t see the beauty of the light on the spray. He didn’t 
see the spectrum of the rainbow caught in the shower of 
droplets when the warm rays of the sun pierced them in the
midmorning.  

The birds had always sung and he listened sometimes. He heard
them talking, taking their tales to Manwe as they had since 
the beginning of time. All things of the air, even the breeze
itself was Manwe’s and all the tales, both good and ill, made
their way to him. Now he listened more, hearing their 
loveliness when before they had merely been another sound in 
the background. 

Elrond sighed, exhaling into the cold evening air. He could 
see the white fog of his own breath hanging for a moment like
gauze before dissipating away. It was cold and he tugged his 
robe around him, the soft silken texture soothing to his bare
skin. He stepped one foot out, pressing down and then he 
withdrew it, noting the shape of his toes in the melted
depression left behind. He smiled, rubbing his foot on the 
soft rug. 

It wouldn’t pay going out barefooted on a night like this. He
turned and glanced back, noting the fire burning in the
fireplace. It was warm and cozy, the only light in the rooms 
from the flames themselves and candles here and there. He 
turned and looked out again, the darkness on the other side 
of the canyon punctured with light here and there from homes 
of others who shared his valley. 

He had stood here a million times before, looking out into 
the night. He had seen the same scenery before but it looked
different now. It was more textured and more shadowed, more 
vivid and more beautiful to him. He didn’t just look at things
anymore, he saw them again. That pleasure, that awareness had
come back into his life and Elrond reflected on the other man 
he once was, who had occupied his days without once living 
them.

That other Elrond was dedicated and decent, a hard-working 
fool who found little beyond the responsibilities of his 
station and the loveliness of his children to occupy him. 
Friends like Glorfindel and Erestor, men who took care of 
him almost with a maniacal dedication were precious to him 
and he didn’t take them for granted. But they did nothing 
for the central core of loneliness that had filled him for 
too long. 

That he had felt that way, an empty hollowness that was only
marginally acute to him at the time as he worked and thought 
and made his way through his days was a preposterous thing 
now. It had not struck home to him how lonely his life was 
until a bright light entered it and illuminated all the dark
corners he inhabited. Until Legolas had come to his home, he 
was a man without a clue.

Turning, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, he stared 
at the door of his bathing chamber. He could hear sounds, 
water and the soft humming of someone he loved. It had been a
long time since he had stood waiting for someone to come to 
him this way and memories of others came to him unbidden.

Long ago, almost in a time beyond time, he had loved another. 
A good man he was, too. Big and robust, the king of his people,
Gil-galad had taken him into his confidence, then his heart 
and finally into his bed. They had a remarkable, scandalous
relationship, a lusty and deeply personal friendship that had
blossomed into love almost from the moment they first met each
other. Gil-galad had been his mentor, his partner, his lord 
and his first deep and deeply passionate lover.

Their time was long and fulfilling but even as long as it was, 
it was too short. When Gil-galad had died, when Elrond had 
stood and watched him die, all that was good and warm and
personal in him had perished too. He had stood rooted to the
spot, unable to even cry to Iluvatar, so great was his shock 
and anguish. He knew, even at in that terrible moment, he 
would never love that completely and deeply again.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Time passed, responsibilities and ambitions diverted him and 
he found his footing again. Imladris was his refuge and he was
loath to leave it for nothing less than great cause. Going to
Lothlorien, meeting with the greatest Elf lord still living 
among them, discussing trade and security and other matters of
mutual concern had helped him forge a friendship with a unique
person.

Celeborn was among the last of the great and powerful lords of
past times left and most of the Elves of Middle-earth with few
exceptions, acknowledged his will and his wisdom. He was the
husband of Galadriel and the father of the great beauty,
Celebrian and it was well into their friendship that Elrond
noticed small and subtle movements on the part of his good 
friend toward moving him into a relationship with his
golden-haired daughter.

Riding home after one visit, he brooded on what it would mean 
to take a wife. He had not done so in the manner of his people.
That made him an anomaly, as it had Gil-galad, hence part of the
‘scandal’. The taking of a spouse happened as soon after 
the fiftieth year of one’s life as possible. He had not done
that. The relationship with Gil-galad was not a secret one.
Everyone knew about their ill-fated partnership. Celeborn knew 
it and so did Galadriel. He was sure that Celebrian knew it 
too. Everyone knew it even though no one talked about it, most
notably himself. Some things were too hard to verbalize, he
considered.

What it would mean to have her as a wife, he didn’t know.
Feelings of the nature of love, a love that would lead to
marriage and children, they were hard to imagine emerging from
his heart again. He had given it to his king and the idea of
loving another was almost more than he could conjure. 

But time has a funny way of playing with you, he considered,
holding out his hand for a flake or two. They landed and 
melted immediately, the coolness of their landing almost like 
a prickling. He smiled and dropped his arm, looking up at the 
moon as it peeked through a break in the clouds.

/... Ithilas ... you look down at both the mighty and the small
... what tidings do you keep hidden away in the heart 
of you .../

The moon disappeared as the break in the clouds closed and he
looked down at the snow again. The depression his foot made 
had filled in, leaving no trace of his passing. He thought 
about it, about the way a hole closes when you go away. 
Gil-galad had left him and the hole in his heart still 
existed. Celebrian had been a stop-gap, a venture into living 
in the light once more. He still felt her presence in the 
house and even more so, her absence.

They had been great good friends, people who did their duty 
and grew to a closeness born out of necessity and real 
affection. She had given him children, three lovely beautiful
children. He could still remember looking at his boys for the
first time and thinking of his mother. Was this what she felt
when she saw Elros and himself for the first time? What great
love and humility filled his father’s heart? Was it like the
emotions he felt now? He didn’t know. The memories of his 
parents were so dim, they registered only as a warmth and a 
dim light in the darkness of his oldest thoughts. But he
remembered feeling a connection to them at that moment that 
he would always love Celebrian for creating. Such things were
extremely rare for him in his life.

They had raised wonderful children together and then it all 
came to an end, as it always did. Gil-galad ended and took 
the light with him. Celebrian had been hurt and he had been
forced to let her go, to give up the one confidante that had 
been so loyal and kind to him. She had taken the warmth of 
the sun with her, leaving him with empty days and nights and
grieving and embittered sons. Arwen had fled to the House of
Celeborn, finding in the company of her grandparents 
something of her mother. 

He himself hadn’t gone for a long time when Celebrian had 
left, the sadness of loss overtaking his will. He had spent 
all his energy and his time with his sons, trying to help 
them cope with the strange and unexpected departure of their
mother from their lives. He knew they would never find their 
way along that tortured path. They tried to assuage their 
pain with the black blood of those responsible but it was a
momentary fix of a lingering illness. 

He had long since given up in his attempts to talk them out of
going on their foraging expeditions, hunting with a grim-faced
and relentless will the tortured relations of a long-past age,
killing them wherever they were found. He knew that it would 
only be short term, whatever consolation they found from it and
so he made do with the small comforts he could extend to his 
boys.

They were a close family but each had their own hurts and
interests. Each went their own way, delivering their duties for
their people all the while pursuing their own path through the
days that stretched out so emptily, devoid of the warmth of the
sweet woman who had made their house into a home.

He remembered when he had returned, the strange emptiness of
their home and it had taken a long time to accept that the
footsteps in the doorway were not Celebrian but likely 
Glorfindel or someone else, someone who took it upon themselves
to fill whatever part of her empty space that they could. And 
so it went, days passing into months and months into years. It
had continued on until that summons to Lothlorien and the 
chance meeting with the golden son of the enemy of his house,
Legolas of Mirkwood, youngest son of Thranduil and grandson of
the late King of the Greenwood, Oropher.

Visions of handsome men came into his mind, the tall and elegant
Oropher and the graceful and hard Thranduil. He could still
remember the day when Oropher had led that charge, an ill-fated
move that led to his horrible death and the end of too many good
men. Thranduil had fallen on his father’s body and wept
unashamed. It was always clear to Elrond that he had loved his
father even to distraction. Thranduil was proud to be Oropher’s
son, even as he himself was proud to be the son of Earendil.
However Thranduil had a real person to love and emulate and try
and please. Elrond had no one, his own father and mother passing
into myth and legend even as the age they had dominated passed
into the mists of time. 

He had always felt a sadness when he was near to Oropher and
Thranduil. Their closeness was heartfelt and he often would 
watch them as they talked, played games or sat together, always
side-by-side, always comfortable and comforted by the nearness 
of the other. That would never be a memory he himself would 
have and so he made it a mission of his life to insure that his
sons and daughters would have such for themselves.

They were his gold, his passion and his pride. He was the father
of sons, a rare thing indeed and had a daughter for whom music
was composed, such was the admiration of her by others. She was
the Evenstar of their people and the greatest treasure of her
father’s heart if he allowed himself to quantify his children. 
He would not be parted from them no matter how battered he 
became in body and soul. Some day they would all board a swan
ship and sail that elegant vessel to the shores of heaven. On
that day, two people would hopefully be waiting and his heart
would be complete.

So it was, for all the ages of his life, Elrond had waited,
worked and dreamed. And then it all changed.

"Tell me about yourself, son of Thranduil," he had asked, 
smiling at the startled look on the youngster’s pretty face. 
He had noticed Legolas’ beauty at that moment, he realized 
now, the perfection of his features and the paleness of his 
skin. His eyes were very blue, very blue and guarded.

He had continued, probing gently against the walls Legolas had
erected around himself. "I am pleased that books matter to you,
young Legolas. Many young men are occupied by things other than
learning. Ladies become important all too quickly to many." 
Elrond remembered now that he had almost held his breath. Then
Legolas surprised him.

"Fair ladies are fine enough but I am not interested in them."

He had absorbed the words, watching as the boy rose and began 
to look around at the various curios that he had collected 
over a long and eventful life.

"That time will come in due course," Elrond remembered saying,
his eyes never leaving the sturdy yet slender figure before 
him. He remembered how long Legolas’ legs were and how broad 
his shoulders. Well muscled, he considered, strong and well 
made from a life spent working hard.

"Perhaps, but I think not," Legolas had said, turning and 
fixing that blue and direct gaze onto him once more. 

Elrond sighed, remembering in the present what had been 
overmuch at the moment. He remembered the kernel of emotion 
that simple exchange had planted in him, a kernel that would
germinate and produce a full flowering of emotion for the first
time in too long. It would bear poison fruit, inciting strife 
and discord that would make him almost question whom he truly
believed himself to be.

A sound caught his attention and he turned, noting a pale 
figure emerging from the bathing room. Wrapped in a robe, his
hair unfettered and flowing over his shoulders, Legolas paused 
by the dressing table, picking up a brush. Without a hint of 
self-consciousness, he began to brush his long hair, the sweep 
of his hand reveling well muscled arms. When he was finished, 
he carefully put the silver brush down and turned, smiling as 
he saw Elrond standing in the doorway.

“It’s snowing.”

Elrond nodded and held out his hand, watching with appreciation
as Legolas closed the distance between them. He opened his robe
and Legolas stepped inside, loosening his own belt as he pressed
his naked body against Elrond’s. He watched with satisfaction as
Elrond’s eyes closed, a soft sigh of pleasure issuing from his
lips. Bare skin against bare skin, snow flakes falling and the
flickering light of the fire and candles gave counterpoint to 
the beating of his heart. He was at peace and he lay his head on
Elrond’s shoulder.

“You won’t be able to leave the valley easily until the spring
comes.”

Legolas nodded slightly. “I know.”

Strong arms surrounded him, hands drifted in lazy but comforting
circles over his back. Elrond’s touch was magical and he felt 
the tensions of the day falling away. He had ridden to the ford
with Elladan and Elrohir, inspecting the river to see how much
ice had built up. It would be a vulnerable point for them, the
ice making fording much more easy if one went with care.

The ride was exhilarating, the company great fun and by the 
time they arrived back home, it was getting dark and they were
all very cold. They entered the house, stomping off the snow 
that had fallen on them on their return ride. Dinner was served
and they regaled the master of the House with tales of adventure
and discovery, all greatly exaggerated of course. By the time
they had retired, he was stiff and ready for bed. A long soak 
in Elrond’s tub had been greatly appreciated.

“That feels good.”

“I’m glad,” Elrond said, kissing Legolas’ temple. “It feels 
good to make you feel good.”

Legolas snickered, looking into Elrond’s gray eyes. “You are a
quirky fellow. One wouldn’t think there was that much humor in
such a serious person. I am always no end surprised by you.”

“I am your fool,” Elrond said, pulling Legolas back into his
arms. “You make me do things that would make a sane man weep.”

“Are you claiming mental impairment, my Lord?” Legolas asked,
sighing.

“Are you calling me ‘Lord’ again?” 

Legolas chuckled and nodded. “I beg your pardon. I lapsed.”

“One could be spanked for lapsing these days.”

It was silent a moment and then blue eyes filled with love met
his gaze once more. “I realized, my Lord Elrond, that I am not
yet to my majority, but I believe I am well past the age of a
good strapping.”

“That depends on the strap.” Elrond smiled and shook his head.
“Here I am, speaking as if I know what I’m talking 
about.”

“There are those who find pleasure in pain,” Legolas replied, 
a story from his brother, Galdor, entering his mind unbidden.

“I don’t feel that way. I could never hurt you. I could never
strike you. I would never do that, Melme.”

Legolas nodded, leaning forward. Their lips touched, softly
brushing and then Legolas sighed. “I know.”

They stood a moment, holding each other and then Elrond turned
Legolas, directing him toward the bed. As Legolas climbed into
the covers, Elrond banked the fire and put out all but two of 
the candles. His keen eyes spotted Legolas in the gloom, 
watching him expectantly and then he moved toward his side,
shucking his robe without embarrassment. 

Legolas watched him, his eyes taking in the firm flesh of his
lover. Elrond was ancient among their kind still in Middle-
earth but his body was that of a young man. He himself was 
more than aware of the strength in the arms and legs of his 
lord and when Elrond moved to cover him, he wrapped himself 
into that familiar warmth with gratitude. 

Lips touched Legolas, his face and neck, his chest and his 
legs as hands gently stroked him here and there. Lifetimes of
experience were given to him freely, experience with men and
women, all of it Elrond’s. Legolas absorbed it, returning 
equally the pleasure he was given and by the time they were
spent, he was ready to sleep. Arms pulled him toward a firm 
chest and he burrowed in, wrapping his own legs around a body
that cherished him. He sighed against a smooth chest and 
listened to the waterfalls outside, thoughts of his homeland
coming to him once more.

*************TBC ...    06-26 c2002 *************************



Winter Heart <part two of two>
By Arctapus   arcpus@yahoo.com

Codes: LOTR, E/L, R-ish maybe, m/m, Continuation of Fortunate 
Son and Son Rise
Post: In the usual places.  http://www.ithilas.com/helmboy.html
for the rest of the series. Thank you again, AC.  You are the
best.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien created the universe that I dabble in. 
I make nothing from doing so but satisfaction at having such
wonderful creatures and landscapes to work in. No copyright
infringement is implied by the use of his universe.

Summary: A glimpse into a relationship.
***************************************************************

In a tent, near the Gap of Rohan ...

“What are you doing here, Legolas? I left you at home.”

“I let him go.”

They all turned toward the tall and tense woman standing near 
the door, all but nearly forgotten in the rage of the moment.
Four turned, all male and stared into the anguished face of 
the Queen of Mirkwood.

“Mother ...” Legolas began and then halted, stilled by the 
simple raising of her hand. 

“I want you all to listen to me.”

For a moment it was quiet and then Thranduil swallowed hard,
stifling his anger and surprise. “Very well.”

She gathered her wits and shook her head. “I am so vexed, so
deeply wounded, I am scattered in my thoughts. We are at war 
here with each other. That is not the family I envisioned for
myself. You have all hurt me with your constant quarreling 
and I am calling for an end of it. If we cannot forge a 
solution for this problem that lies before us, I will go 
west.”

For a moment it seemed ludicrous and Galdor almost snorted. 
Then it became clear that she was throwing down her own 
gauntlet. They were silent a moment and then the boys shifted
uneasily, turning and glancing at their father. He was staring 
at his wife, his love and need for her evident on his face. 

“You must never leave me,” he whispered. “All my life, people
have left me, people that I’ve loved. You must never ever leave
me.”

She stood her ground and then stepped forward, enveloping her
husband in her arms. As they stood together, the three boys
slipped out, moving into the sunlight in silence. They stood
together and then Alanel grabbed Legolas’ arm, half dragging 
him toward a secluded spot behind the tent. Galdor followed,
looking at the two of them with a mingling of curiosity and 
rage. Legolas jerked his arm free and turned to face them, 
rage of his own illuminating his fine features.

“Don’t ever do that again, Alanel,” Legolas hissed, rubbing his
arm. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t hiding behind 
his shields, staring back impassively at the two people most
responsible for his discomfort at home. 

“Or what, Legolas? You’ll tell *Mother*?” Alanel spat back,
resting his hands on his hips. “Are you going to be the one 
who drives her away?”

Legolas swallowed hard, blinking as tears burned his eyes. 
Then he stepped forward and swung on Alanel, clipping him 
across the jaw with his fist. Caught by surprise, Alanel 
fell, landing hard on his side. Legolas, filled with stifled
rage, turned and punched Galdor in the stomach, watching as 
he too fell down. As they both rebounded, Legolas turned, 
running for the nearby woods. Caught by the two of them, he 
would be pounded to a pulp. All he wanted to do was get away,
away from them all.

The woods were slow going but he finally stopped, listening for
anyone who might be following. Moving to a fallen log, he sat
down and sighed, holding his head in his hands. He sat a long
time, the light around him fading and when he rose, he rose
resigned to his fate. His brothers would be getting their 
pound of flesh one way or the other but this time he would 
fight them back. He cleared the woods and headed toward his
parent’s tent, pausing by the flap for a moment. He peeked 
inside and saw them sitting, sipping wine from crystal 
goblets. 

“Come in, Legolas,” his mother said, watching as her lanky
youngest child joined them. He sat on a camp stool and took 
the glass his father offered him. He stared at the liquid and 
finally sipped it. 

“Your brothers bear bruises,” his father said, gazing at 
his son with barely contained amusement. 

Legolas flushed, his eyes fixed on the toe of his mother’s
small shoe. “I am not their punching bag anymore.”

“They hunted you for a while but I have forbidden retaliation,”
Thranduil replied, smiling slightly. “They were very vexed but
loath to go against their king.”

“Thank you, Father,” Legolas replied, well aware of the barely
contained criticism in the words his father had spoken.

“Why is it, my son, that your brothers feel compelled to obey
their king and you do not?”

Legolas sighed and glanced briefly at his mother, who sat
regarding him with some amusement. He had no help there, her
silence a way of getting him to talk, something she knew he
wouldn’t do without a bit of prompting. Silent treatment 
equaled success in her experience.  At least with the 
sometimes gregarious but mostly taciturn boy who was her 
youngest.

“I do not intend to disobey you, Father. I respect and love 
you. I hope you noticed.”

“I do. Sometimes.” Thranduil sat back, watching the shades of
emotion play over the handsome face of his son. All his sons 
were handsome but Legolas was the true beauty among them.

“I have a heart and it can not be commanded.” Legolas paused. 
“I did not intend to lose it but lose it I did. I am not glad 
to hurt you or Mother but I am not ashamed of my feelings. 
They are as true and precious to me as your love and esteem. 
I cannot trade one for the other, so powerful and necessary 
are both to me.”

“But if I say to you, my son, you must ... what say you?”

Anguish clouded Legolas’ face for a moment, deep and agonized
anguish and then he gathered himself once more, the mask of
composure that was his usual expression falling into place. 
“I would not care to entertain that scenario.”

“I entertain many every day that please me not, but I find in 
my position the need to decide. I am asking you to choose, 
even if hypothetically. Tell me what you would do about this
conundrum.”

Legolas sat a long time before sighing raggedly, his eyes 
riveted on the silver filagree of his mother’s boot. He 
stared into his cup, his throat dry. “I would have to chose 
my heart.”

It was silent a long time before Thranduil refilled his cup.
Sipping it, he considered the wretched sight of his son 
sitting on the stool before him and the quiet, almost serene
countenance of his wife. He took a long sip and slowly 
swallowed, the cool liquid warming a path to his stomach.

“It is the custom of our people to choose a spouse as close 
to our coming to majority as possible. Your mother was 
betrothed to me when we were children, so great was my love 
for her that I knew even then that she was the only woman I 
could ever love with a whole heart.” He paused and sighed.
“Elrond didn’t do that. He didn’t marry until he was quite older
and there was the affair with the King of the 
Noldor that was unusual to say the least.”

“What was unusual? Surely you don’t believe that love is
worthless given between men?” Legolas asked, staring evenly 
at his father.

Thranduil smiled softly. “The young can be lions sometimes.
Elrond was once. He was the golden star of our people and 
the son of much honored people. But he was also tainted, 
his people. He had not been a part of it, a small child is 
a pawn in the machinations of their own times but he was 
of the kindred that caused much grief and harm to our 
peoples. We have all paid dearly for Noldor arrogance and
superiority.”

“You don’t know him,” Legolas replied quietly, staring once 
more into his cup. “He’s the soul of kindness, someone who 
is warm and generous and good. He is a brave spirit, Father, 
and I wish you would bury your hatreds so that we can live 
in peace. We can never go forward if we can’t bury the past.”

“I cannot let it go,” Thranduil said, his voice more sad than
angry. “I loved my father. I loved him dearly. He is here,” 
he said, placing his hand over his heart, “and I will never 
live another day without missing him.”

“Elrond never knew his parents. He was orphaned by those
circumstances you talked about. He never had a father to 
mourn.”

Thranduil nodded, sighing. “We have seen terrible things, 
great losses, great defeats. We have fought the Long Defeat 
and even do so now. Some day we will have to leave this 
place, this home of our hearts. Someday we can go home to 
Valinor and be together with those that we love.”

“I love him, Father. I want to be with him here. Now.”

“And some day, when we leave, what then? What will you say 
when you step on the shores of heaven and other people are
waiting there with the same need to be met?”

“You ask me to predict the future, a future that might never
come. How long have we lived on these shores without the 
faintest desire to leave here? How do we know that we will 
ever leave here?”

“We don’t,” his mother gently replied. “Your father is your
custodian. I am too. We do not take that responsibility 
lightly. We gave you to Elrond with the express wish that 
you would be safe, as cherished in his household as you are 
in our own.”

“He does–“ Legolas interjected, stilling at the raised hand 
of his mother. 

“He broke his vow. That is not something to be taken lightly. 
He broke it, Legolas.”

Legolas stared into his glass, his stomach sinking. “I wasn’t 
a passive participant in this matter, Mother. I wanted him to
love me. I dreamed of it and I pursued him. He would never 
have given in without my efforts to woo him to my heart.”

“You speak of wooing like it was something you knew,” Thranduil
said, his voice soft in spite of his words. “This matter of the
heart, its forever, Legolas. No one can turn their back on a
binding. You will be bound to the one you choose until the end 
of Ea.”

“I know,” Legolas said, glancing one to the other.

“You are young. We do not doubt your sincerity. We do not
belittle that which is evident in your eyes. But we want you to
be safe and we don’t want you hurt. You were, Legolas. You were
hurt by Elrond and your reputation, his and ours as well, was
sullied by this whole business.”

“You dueled, Father. You fought for your honor and you both won
it back.”

“In the matter of chivalry,” Thranduil agreed, nodding. “But in
the arena of fatherhood, I am still highly vexed. Your innocence
has been taken by a man who should have known better. I do 
not–“ he paused and raised his hand, cutting Legolas off in his
protest. “Do not interrupt your father and your king.”

Legolas fell silent and nodded, embarrassment rising in his
cheeks. “I apologize.”

Thranduil sighed. “Your innocence ... your person ... it is 
not something that we take lightly. You are under-aged and a 
man senior by many years took something from you that belongs 
to whomever you betroth to. That part is missing from your 
life and cannot be retrieved.”

“You would betroth me to someone I don’t know. You would give 
me to a woman. I feel nothing in that regard for women.”

“How do you know, Legolas?” his father asked, frowning with
aggravation as he watched his son shift uneasily.

“I know,” Legolas said, glancing at his mother. “I know as 
surely as you knew Mother was the one you needed for marriage 
and happiness. I am drawn to men and I cannot change.” He 
looked at his father levelly. “I will not apologize for what 
I feel for it is genuine and not negotiable. I could no more
change my desires than you could, Father.”

Thranduil sighed and filled his glass again, topping his wife’s
cup as well. “I was afraid you would say that. Then if that is
the case, there are other young men, *young* men, who might be
suitable candidates for you.”

“And if Grandfather had said there were other girls who were
suitable candidates for you, what would you have done?”

Thranduil stared at his son for a long time before speaking.
“What do you want, Legolas?”

“I want to be happy, Father. I want to love someone and be 
loved back to the same degree that you and Mother love. I 
don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be with 
someone I don’t know and don’t care about. I am not going 
to inherit the throne of Mirkwood. I am the third son of
Thranduil, not the first. I want to have a chance to see 
if the one that I love is the only one for me. I want to 
do this without breaking your heart or losing you in the
process.” Legolas swallowed hard, glancing down at the toe 
of his mother’s shoe. “I love you both so much.”

Thranduil stared at him, the love he felt for his son gathering
painfully in his throat. He swallowed wine, clearing his throat
gently and sighed. “You are the youngest but you are the one 
who causes me grief of an intensity I have felt from few. I 
have lost more sleep over you, Legolas, than both your brothers
combined.”

Legolas didn’t look up. He stared at the ground, his stomach
churning with anxiety. 

“I love you dearly and I’m proud of you. I work very hard to
build a kingdom that will be a home to you and your brothers 
and a monument to our family. I know that I have not been the
father you desired. I’m not wired that way. I could have been
more loving ... more gentle I suppose.”

Legolas glanced up at his father, alarmed at his grief and for 
a moment he felt ashamed that he was the cause of it. He 
touched Thranduil’s knee with his hand. His father gripped his
hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“I don’t claim to understand you but I beseech you to always
remember that your Father loves you dearly.”

“I always knew that, Father.”

“I want you home with me and your mother but I know to achieve
that, I must let you go.”

Legolas stared at his father, surprise on his face. “Father?”

“I will let you go to Imladris and spend the winter in Elrond’s
home. I expect that whatever you find out about him and about
yourself, you will discuss with your mother and I before you 
jump off the cliff from which there is no return.”

Legolas stared at them dumbfounded and nodded. His mother 
smiled slightly, bemused even in her grief at the splendid
humanity of her youngest son.

“You will come to us in the spring and we will discuss this 
once more. You must not take any steps until you speak to us, 
if that is the way your heart is to go. I will not ask it of
Elrond. I am done with his promises to protect you from harm.”

Legolas watched his mother as she placed her hand on his 
father’s arm, calming him with a gentle touch. It was 
evident that his father’s opinion hadn’t changed but he 
loved his son and was making a sacrifice, knowing full well 
that it would be a risk of forever losing him to the enemy 
of his house. 

Legolas nodded, swallowing hard. He felt intense joy tempered
with a profound love of his parents and he listened carefully 
as he heard them tell him that he would be coming home for a
short while before leaving for Imladris. He nodded and when it
was over, he rose, a smile on his face. He leaned down and 
kissed them both, pausing by the door as he turned to face 
them again.

“I love you,” he said simply.

His father nodded, his eyes clouded with emotion. “We know 
that, Legolas.”

Legolas hesitated and then turned, leaving them to go to his 
own quarters. Thranduil let out a long held breath, shaking 
his head. His wife smiled and squeezed his arm.

“You are almost as great a king as you are an Elf. I was 
never prouder of you, my dear husband, than I was just now.”

“It was as you said,” Thranduil said quietly, threading his
fingers through hers. “I love my son more than I hate Elrond.”

She smiled and nodded. “Spring will come soon enough.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” he said quietly.

**********In a quiet place ...

Legolas sighed and traced the line of Elrond’s collar bone.

“You cannot sleep?” Elrond asked, the sensation of Legolas’
fingers soothing against his skin.

“I am luxuriating, my Lord. I am relaxing my body after your
possession.”

Elrond smiled, kissing Legolas’ forehead. “There is that lord
business again.”

“Your inherent nobility overwhelms me,” Legolas said, tracing 
the circle of a dark nipple with his thumb. “I want to explore
your chest.”

“You may,” Elrond said, smiling. “Far be it for me to slow 
down inquiry.”

“It’s a noble business, science,” Legolas said, grinning.

“Ah,” Elrond said. “That explains your formality.”

Legolas chuckled and propped himself up on an elbow. “I do 
love you.”

“It makes it all bearable knowing that,” Elrond said, brushing 
a stray lock of golden hair from Legolas’ face. The youngster
leaned down and dropped a soft kiss against Elrond’s lips. 
Elrond sighed and smiled. “You must never go.”

“Not before the spring is come,” Legolas whispered. “Not 
before the winter is gone.” He leaned down again, their lips
meeting with passion. He sighed against Elrond’s mouth, 
rubbing the tip of his nose against his lover’s. “Winter 
hearts?”

“Yes,” Elrond replied, pulling Legolas down against his body.
“Winter hearts.”

It was silent in the room as they lay entwined together, 
the snow falling silently beyond the window. Tomorrow would 
be slow coming, the solitude and silence of the night their 
long companion. 

Far away in another place, a man stood on a balcony, staring 
up into the falling snow. The cold flakes landed on his face,
melting immediately and he stood letting them fall for a long
time. He had many thoughts on his mind, the most immediate a 
son far away. He thought about him this night, this cold 
winter night and sighed.

“Lady, protect my wayward boy on this dark night. Bring him 
home to me when the snow turns away. Keep him safe, I pray.”

He stood a moment, thinking about his beloved father and then 
he turned, walking inside to his warm fire and his loving 
wife once more.

All was quiet in the Great Wood that night, as it was in the
Great Valley far away.

******************Finis ... June 26    c2002******************