Title: Niphred Ôl (1-2/18)
Author: Quellecristiel
Author's Email: quellecristiel@yahoo.co.uk
Pairings: Legolas/Glorfindel, eventual Legolas/Elrohir
Rating: NC-17 eventually (just to be safe)
Summary: Legolas is being abused by his lover, but he
loves him too much to leave
Disclaimer: You know the drill, I don't own anything
but two paperclips, a pen and a notepad
Warning: Violence, Rape, OOC Glorfindel, AU (no ring)
Authors Note: I really do rather like Glorfindel, and
he's lovely in my other fic, Healing, (soon to be
published in Skyfire's zine), but I needed somebody to
be the bad guy this time, and I don't like bringing in
original characters. I'm sorry to all the Glorfindel
fans out there! If you do like this fic, please review
and make a poor little slash writer's day...

Special thanks go to Cheysuli, whose challenge this is
the result of, and to my wonderful beta reader Niana Yuy. 
(thank you both so much!)

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

Niphred Ôl

Chapter 1

 The stars had been shining brightly over Imladris for
more than four hours, but one elf still sat awake and
watchful in his chambers. Legolas Greenleaf perched
anxiously on a chaise-lounge in the suite he shared
with Glorfindel, a warrior of the valley city, the
minutes passing like hours. His lover still had not
returned, but Legolas knew he would want him to be
ready and attentive as he came through the door. He
had been waiting up for hours now and was tired, but
knew better than to go to bed.

   After what seemed like an age, Legolas’ keen ears
detected the first sounds of his lover’s return.
Anxiety and anticipation heightening his senses, he
was able to hear the heavy, uneven footsteps of the
Elda approaching. His nose soon detected the telltale
odour of alcohol, a mixture of wine and mead.

   Legolas’ blood ran cold in his veins. He known in
his heart why Glorfindel had once again been out until
such a late hour, but the confirmation of the fears he
had tried to deny came as a bitter disappointment.
What’s more, it turned the nagging worry in his brain
into an icy fear that gripped him.

    The footsteps were closer now, just behind the
door, the stench of alcohol unmistakeable. Terror
jabbing at his heart, the prince curled up on the
chaise-lounge, eyes tightly shut. 
//Perhaps if he thinks I am asleep, he’ll just go to
bed and forget by the morning. // 
It was a tactic that had always failed in the past,
but hearing the drunken lord on the other side of the
door, Legolas couldn’t bring himself to go to him, to
walk willingly into yet another beating.

   The door swung open to crash against the wall,
denting the plaster where the doorknob struck it.
Glorfindel staggered into the room, swaying
dangerously
 on his feet and reeking of mead.
“Legolas!”
 Legolas forced his face to take on an open-eyed,
vacant expression, feigning sleep though the stench of
the alcohol stung at his nose. He felt the floor shake
from the Elda’s pounding feet, but forced himself to
remain still, silently praying that his lover would
leave him be for tonight.

No such luck.

   A strong hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled
him up. Hissing at the pain, Legolas scrambled to his
feet, the hand still firmly fisted in his blonde
locks.
“Do not ignore me! When I call you, you come
immediately.”
“I’m sorry, I-”
Legolas broke off as a fist smashed into the side of
his face, nearly knocking him over but for the hand
still holding him by the hair.
“Stop grovelling!” 
Glorfindel yanked hard at the smaller elf’s hair,
sending him crashing into the wall, before finally
loosening his iron grip.

“Useless… why can you never do anything right?”

   Dazed by the blow inflicted on his head as he was
thrust into the wall, Legolas crossed unsteadily to
the other side of the room, shutting the door to their
quarters. //Too late// he thought to himself,
 //No doubt the entire east wing will have woken at
the commotion. I only pray they haven’t heard too
much…//

    Across the room, Glorfindel was now staggering
towards the chaise-lounge. 
“Bring me more wine.” He sank down heavily onto the
seat, devoid of his usual Elven grace.
“But surely-”
   Glorfindel’s eyes flashed dangerously, and the
blonde prince abandoned his timid protest and meekly
reached for the cabinet where Glorfindel kept a
collection of wine and spirits. With trembling hands
he selected a bottle and goblet, carefully bearing
them across the floor. Rough hands grabbed them from
him, and he edged backwards as the older elf swigged
from the bottle. Glorfindel drank like a man dying of
thirst, making Legolas’ eyes widen in astonishment and
trepidation. At this rate, surely it could not be long
before…

  Glorfindel stood and took a few unsteady steps
towards their bedroom, then swayed precariously and
pitched forward face-first. Legolas sprang forward,
catching his lover before he hit the flagstone floor
and eased the now-empty bottle from his hand. Sighing,
Legolas half-dragged the warrior into their bedchamber
and laid him down on the bed. He felt the strain on
his injured shoulder as he stooped down to unlace his
prone lover’s boots, sliding them off gently.
 //He never used to be like this, // he thought
miserably, //it used to be so nice, before…// 

Still, he had gotten off lightly tonight.

  He reached over to loosen the collar of the Elda’s
tunic and undo the braids adorning his hair, head
pounding, when Glorfindel stirred beneath him. Legolas
found himself looking into bleary eyes still fogged
with mead and wine, but the shadow of violence and
anger now gone from within their depths. Clumsy hands
reached up for his face, and Legolas flinched
involuntarily.

“Legolas…” the words came out slurred. 
“Love, I’m sorry, you know I love you, I’ll never hurt
you again, I’m sorry my love…” 
 The lord’s hands were clutching blindly at his lover,
eyes glazing over as sleep and oblivion threatened to
claim him.
 Legolas’ heart gave a flutter- perhaps there was
still hope.
“Truly?” he whispered softly. 

But Glorfindel was already asleep

Chapter 2
   

    Large, anxious eyes peered back at Legolas, dark
against the ghostly white face to which they belonged.
Staring at his reflection in the dressing table
mirror, the young prince despaired.

   He looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks,
and however close to the truth that might be, he
simply couldn’t go out looking this way. Someone would
be bound to suspect that something was wrong, and
Legolas didn’t think he could deal with the
humiliation if anyone ever found out.

  How long had his lover been taking out his anger on
him? How many years now since the beatings started,
gradually getting worse?  Since Glorfindel’s drinking
had spiralled out of control? 

  He cursed his own weakness for taking it all, but he
couldn’t find the strength to leave. He simply loved
the blonde too much to depart. Besides, Glorfindel
would never allow it, and there was no one Legolas
could ask for help- to others, Glorfindel was an
upstanding, respected council member, a brave warrior,
charming and witty. Only Legolas saw the other side of
the noble lord’s personality; the terrifying alter-ego
that revealed himself when alcohol poisoned the better
half of Glorfindel’s brain. 

  Legolas wasn’t sure which would be worse- the
isolation and scorn he would suffer if they didn’t
believe his story, or the shame of them discovering it
true. For wasn’t he a warrior too? How could he let
this happen to himself, where was his pride? They
would never understand why he couldn’t just leave.

   His hand ghosted of its own volition over the new
bruise blossoming on his temple. He still loved the
Elda, despite everything, and Glorfindel did love him,
didn’t he?  That was what he said last night, wasn’t
it? 
 
   He turned his attention back to the painful bruise
on his forehead. His Elven healing abilities meant
that since the previous night it had lightened in
colour considerably, fading to a purplish yellow, but
it still remained visible, advertising that something
was amiss to any who cared to look. Legolas carefully
combed his hair and tied it back loosely with a
leather strap, letting the hair above his temples
droop down a little, obscuring most of the tell-tale
mark. It would do for the moment, he thought.
 Besides, his Elven blood would ensure that within
another few hours the bruise would be entirely healed.

   Gentle snores coming from the next room told
Legolas that Glorfindel still slept, the binge of the
night before taking its toll. Quietly, he reached for
his clothing, wincing slightly as his shoulder creaked
in protest, stiff and sore from the collision with the
wall the night before. His head still throbbed
painfully from the combination of slaps, punches,
hair-pulling and the impact with the hard stone wall,
but he did his best to ignore the pounding in his
skull. 

    He stepped into his breeches and laced them up
before pulling on his shirt and tunic, grimacing once
more at the stress put on his damaged shoulder. If he
could hardly bear lifting his arms to dress himself,
how was he going to manage throughout the rest of the
day? He was due within half an hour at the practise
fields to meet with the twin lords of Imladris, his
friends from childhood. Elladan and Elrohir had
challenged him to a friendly sparring match a few days
ago, and Legolas was beginning to wish he had
declined.

   Now however, there was nothing to be done about it;
a sudden cancellation would arouse the twins’
suspicion and likely hurt their feelings. Sighing
resignedly, the prince put on a brave face and picked
up his sword and belt lying on the top of the chest of
drawers, running his hand affectionately over the
sheath. Strapping it about his waist, he made his way
silently to the door, thankful that his lover’s soft
snores continued uninterrupted in their rhythmic
pattern. Easing the door open a crack, the blonde
squeezed through the opening he had made and stepped
out into the cool, quiet corridor.

   His route to the practise field was solitary but
for the occasional maid or vassal going about their
daily business. Legolas felt his heart lighten as he
stepped out into the open air, the sunshine warming
his back. Perhaps this would not be such a terrible
experience after all. Already he felt better since
leaving his lover’s presence. 

   “Mae govannen, gwador!” Elladan’s voice rang clear
across the training field, turning the prince’s
attention to the two identical elves beneath a tree on
the far side of the range. They were slightly taller
than he, and with ebony tresses arrayed in identical
braids. Where Legolas’ eyes were blue, theirs were a
clear grey, and their mortal heritage showed itself in
their broader chests and shoulders.

   Legolas smiled to see his childhood friends and
closest confidantes during the years he had spent here
in Imladris. Joining them where they stood, he grasped
Elladan’s arm in a warrior’s greeting, before turning
to do the same with his brother.
“Will you spar with us, gwador?” Elrohir asked with a
glint in his eye, already certain of the answer.
Legolas ignored his pain to reply heartily,
“I have never been one to turn down a challenge.”
  
   They moved away from the tree into a clearing where
they could swing their blades unobstructed. Elrohir
and Legolas bowed to each other, stepped back, and
drew their swords, beginning their match. Elladan lay
back languidly in the sun, a smile playing on his lips
as he watched them strike and parry on the grass.

    They were evenly matched, and their game drew on,
continuing until the heat of the day began to make
itself felt. Sweat glistened on their brows, and
Elrohir paused from their sport to remove his shirt
and tunic. Legolas followed suit and had just reached
for the ends of his shirt when he checked himself-
there would still be bruising covering his skin from
the previous night, and displaying this to the twins
would only lead to awkward questions and suspicions. 

He let his hands fall away from the fabric.

    “Will you not take off your shirt? The day is
hot.” 
Legolas shook his head at Elladan’s query, taking up
his sword again and turning to face the younger twin
once more.

    They continued, trading blows with the sword until
the sweat poured in rivulets down Legolas’ back and
his damaged muscles screamed in agony. The field in
front of him spun, and Legolas felt his sword knocked
from his hands by a well-aimed blow. Oblivious to his
friend’s distress, Elrohir whooped in triumph.
“Well fought! But my little brother takes the winner’s
title this time, gwador.”
Legolas nodded weakly, wishing the valley would stop
spinning and stay put. Sensing something amiss,
Elrohir reached out, concerned.

  “Legolas, are you well?” He pulled at the shirt the
woodland prince wore. “Come, you are overheated, let
us take this off and get you into the shade.”

   Still slightly dazed, Legolas was about to allow
the younger Peredhel to remove the garment, when a
warning bell clanged somewhere at the back of his
mind. Panicking, he stepped back, shoving Elrohir’s
hands away.

“No!”
   Elrohir stepped back, bewildered by the outburst,
and Elladan rose, holding up his hands placatingly.
The blonde’s strange behaviour was mystifying.
“Legolas, be calm. He wasn’t going to hit you, what’s
gotten into you?”
He came up behind the prince, intending to place a
soothing hand on his shoulder, but stopped dead as he
approached, eyes widening in shock.

“By Elbereth, Legolas! What happened to your
shoulder?”
    Confusion whirled through Legolas’ brain- how
could…? He looked over his shoulder and felt his
stomach lurch, the sweat on his back had turned the
thin shirt completely transparent, leaving the dark
purple bruises covering his shoulder blade displayed
for all to see. Legolas’ heart thundered in his chest.
He was cornered.
“I…I fell from my horse,” he stammered. “I did not
want you to know of my clumsiness.”

    Elladan frowned, not believing such a feeble
excuse. Elrohir took advantage of Legolas’ distracted
state to take the blonde’s head firmly in his hands,
forcing him to look the younger twin in the eye.
“Tell us the truth. I know you were not riding
yesterday, for I was in the stables all afternoon and
you met with father in the morn. What are you hiding?”
As he spoke, a dark shape over Legolas’ right temple
caught his eye. Brushing the hair back from his face
before the prince could react, Elrohir gasped.

“Legolas, someone hit you!” The prince wrenched
himself free and backed away, fumbling in the grass
for his blade.
“I told you, I fell from my horse,” he repeated, more
confident this time but still with a slight tremor in
his voice.

  He succeeded in finding his sword and tucked it
safely into its sheath.
“I have to go.”
“Legolas, wait!”
But the prince had already turned and fled towards the
house leaving the twins confused and worried. Shaking
his head, Elrohir turned towards his brother.

“I’m going to speak to father of this. Something just
isn’t right.”

TBC...

=====
"To sheep other sheep no doubt appear different.
Or to shepherds. But Mortals have not been our study.
We have other business." Lindur



Title: Niphred Ôl (3-17/18) 
Author: Quellecristiel 
Author's Email: quellecristiel@yahoo.co.uk 
Pairings: Legolas/Glorfindel, eventual Legolas/Elrohir 
Rating:  NC-17
Summary: Legolas is being abused by his lover, but he loves him too 
much to leave 
 
Disclaimer: You know the drill, I don't own anything but two 
paperclips, a pen and a notepad 
 
WARNING: Violence, Rape, OOC Glorfindel, AU (no ring) 
 
Authors Note: I really do rather like Glorfindel, and he's lovely in my 
other fic, Healing, (soon to be published in Skyfire's zine), but I 
needed somebody to be the bad guy this time, and I don't like 
bringing in original characters. I'm sorry to all the Glorfindel fans out 
there! If you do like this fic, please review and make a poor little slash 
writer's day... 
 
just in case you missed it. 
 
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS DOMESTIC ABUSE, RAPE 
AND BDSM. IF YOU OBJECT TO THESE TOPICS PLEASE DO 
NOT READ 
 
Please don't flame, and get upset over the rating/content etc. I have 
posted adequate warning and explained the content of this story, it is 
your choice to read it or not. Constructive criticism however is 
welcome- you can't improve without knowing your failings ( 
 
Special thanks go to Cheysuli, whose challenge this is the result of, 
and to my wonderful beta reader Niana Yuy. 
 
(thank you both so much!)
 
 
*******************************************
Chapter 3
 
       Back inside his chambers, Legolas curled up in a corner, hands 
clutching his head, trying to make sense of his conflicting emotions.
He hated the beatings, yes, and wanted them to stop, but he couldn’t 
let the twins find out about them, even if it might mean an end to the 
pain. And they surely would discover the truth if they continued to 
pry like this. 
 
How could he have let them see the bruises? He thought he had been 
careful. Legolas was utterly mortified -if they were to find out, the 
shame caused by their knowing the way he allowed himself to be used 
would surely kill him. 
They would scorn him for his weakness, just as Glorfindel did. They 
wouldn’t understand why he couldn’t leave, that he loved the warrior 
too much. 
They would never understand that Glorfindel did love him in return.
 
     He absentmindedly swivelled the ring on his left hand -gold, with a 
delicate golden flower set with a sapphire. It had been a love token 
from Glorfindel years ago, when they exchanged rings as a symbol of 
their devotion. 
  Just as Legolas now wore this ring, an heirloom of the House of the 
Golden Flower, Glorfindel wore a mithril band set with a single, 
brilliant green emerald, symbolising the Royal House of Greenwood. 
A token that his lover still wore today, Legolas reflected. Yes, of 
course the Elda loved him- they still wore these symbols of love, did 
they not?
Nay, it was not, could not, really be Glorfindel who flew into these 
violent rages.
 It was simply the drink, and he would stop someday, he would. 
 
The real, loving Glorfindel was in there somewhere, he just knew it.
 
* * *
 
   Elrond poured over the first draft of a new trade agreement with 
Lorien, so absorbed in this tedious work that he didn’t hear the gentle 
knocking at his door. Only when the knocking redoubled in volume 
did he look up from his parchment in surprise, bidding his visitor 
enter. A dark head with his own grey eyes emerged shyly from the 
corridor beyond, followed shortly by the remainder of his youngest 
son.
 
“Elrohir my child, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you inside 
to my study when the day outside is so fine?”
 
“I wanted to speak to you about something, Ada.” Glancing at the 
quills and parchment littering the study desk, Elrohir blushed. 
“Forgive me, you are busy and I have interrupted.”
 
  Elrond pushed the debris aside.
“You and your brother are always more than welcome in my study, 
you know that.” Turning a frustrated eye towards the infernal trade 
agreement, he continued wryly, “And right now, I assure you that you 
are a most welcome interruption. What is on your mind?”
Elrohir came to perch on the side of his father’s desk, legs dangling 
over the edge. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, considering how best 
to articulate his worry.
 
  “It’s about Legolas, Ada. He’s been so subdued of late, but I didn’t 
think much of it until now- I just supposed he missed the Greenwood. 
But today- today Elladan and I saw something we found quite 
disturbing.” 
Elrond raised his eyebrows, and indicated to his son to continue. 
 
“As I was saying; we were sparring in the training field, with the sun 
starting to bake us alive, yet Legolas refused to remove his shirt. He 
tired faster than usual- seemed to be tired before we began, even- and 
after a while he looked like he was going to faint any second, his eyes 
were so out of focus. Then, as if this was not enough, Ell’ and I got a 
glimpse of his shoulder, Ada- it was bruised back and blue, visible 
even through his shirt! And I found another such mark on his temple, 
as through he had been punched. When we confronted him, he 
claimed that he fell from his horse, but I know he was nowhere near 
the stables yesterday!” 
He paused for breath, looking pleadingly at his father. “Adar, there is 
something seriously wrong with Legolas, he is acting so strangely. I 
don’t know what to do, when he denies there is any problem.”
 
  Elrond looked back sadly at his son, his worst fears confirmed. 
“I have long suspected that all is not well with the prince, since I noted 
how strange the break was when he fractured his wrist months ago- 
the bone had splintered, as though his wrist had been sharply twisted. 
A sharp impact, such as a fall, would have produced a clean break. 
I’m afraid this is only the latest in a series of worrying developments, 
pen-neth.” Elrohir frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Legolas has been more than usually withdrawn over the last year; 
his outgoing personality seems to have been replaced by a more sober, 
pensive one. There was that unusual injury as I said before…” Elrond 
paused, choosing his words carefully. “And, I have noticed of late the 
rather increasing quantities of alcohol that my seneschal has been 
consuming recently.”
 
“Glorfindel? But what does that have to do with Legolas acting 
strangely?”
 
Elrond sighed deeply.
“Everything, son.  Drink can make someone into quite a different 
person; bring out sides of us that under normal circumstances would 
remain in check. It makes us forget all rational thought, and brings 
out our…. baser instincts.”
 
Comprehension dawned on Elrohir, and gave way to horror.
 
“You mean- surely Glorfindel cannot be the one causing these 
injuries.” The thought of his old tutor lifting a hand to his lover 
seemed ridiculous.
 
“You know very little about him pen-neth, there are sides to him that 
you have never seen. This all coupled with the reports I received this 
morning from several disgruntled residents of the East wing that 
angry shouting and loud banging was heard last night coming from 
the chambers they share, seems to support my theory. What you have 
told me today has simply confirmed my theory.”
 
“Why would Legolas not say anything? Why would he let it happen?”
 
“You have never been in love Elrohir. Sometimes our love is so all 
consuming, it blinds us to the realities of a situation. Sometimes we 
can no longer see when the love is gone from the other half of the 
relationship.” The lore master lowered his tone, massaging his 
temples. “And Legolas is proud. The thought that someone might find 
out about his being beaten regularly likely horrifies him. He may well 
be ashamed of what is going on.”
 
“Ashamed? Why should he be the one to feel embarrassed? It is 
Glorfindel who should be ashamed of his behaviour.”
 
“But I doubt Legolas will see it that way,” his father explained 
patiently.
 
   Elrohir clenched his hands into fists, ready to seek out Glorfindel 
and give him a taste of his own medicine. How dare he harm such a 
perfect creature? If Elrohir had been the one to hold the prince’s 
heart, he would be worshipping the ground the blonde walked upon, 
not using his fair body to vent his anger on.
 
 Sensing his son’s rage and indignation, Elrond spoke quickly  “Do 
not interfere in this, Elrohir, it is not our place. Legolas has to come to 
a decision himself. He will need a supportive friend, which is the role 
you must assume. We must simply watch our Greenleaf carefully in 
the next few months, and pray he makes the right choice himself.”
 
**************************************
 
Chapter 4
 
 
   Six weeks had passed since the incident with the twins in the 
training field, and Legolas was relieved to discover that after their 
initial shock, they had decided to back off and ceased to press him for 
answers. His relationship with Glorfindel was no less volatile, but the 
blonde lord seemed to have become more subtle- he no longer hit 
Legolas where the bruises might show, and made sure that a suitable 
excuse was concocted in case someone should notice any telling marks.
 
   Despite this, Legolas became steadily more withdrawn, paranoid 
that somehow people might be able to tell just be looking at him what 
was happening. The only people he would still agree to meet with 
regularly were the twins, Elrohir in particular. 
He had always felt closest to Elrohir, ever since both Peredhil were 
fostered in the Greenwood as children, but over the past few weeks 
they had become closer than ever. So many times he had been 
tempted to pour out everything to the younger twin, desperate for the 
warmth and understanding that Elrohir seemed to radiate. Thus far 
however, he had managed to keep his emotions in check. He did not 
want one moment of weakness to cause him to lose his closest and 
most trusted friend. The time he spent with the Peredhil was the only 
part of the day when he could relax and be carefree, and Legolas 
cherished their meetings.
 
The prince smiled as he braided his hair. His friends would be waiting 
for him now at the stables, ready to ride out into the forest. It would 
let him escape his troubles, even if only for and hour or two, and his 
heart felt lightened already.
 
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The leaden weight returned, Legolas’ heart sinking.
 //Not now, please not now…//
“I’m only riding with the twins, meleth, I will be gone but I couple of 
hours, in time to serve you this evening.”
Glorfindel stood leaning on the doorframe, arms folded across his 
chest. At Legolas’ words, his lips curled into an unpleasant sneer.
“I might have known you’d be creeping off to your slutty little 
Elrohir. You spend more time with him than me.” Legolas bit down 
his frustration, forcing himself to remain calm.
“He is my friend, nothing more.” Glorfindel stepped forward 
threateningly, his face contorted in a snarl.
“You expect me to believe that? With you always running off with 
them?”
“I have the right to see my friends.”
“And what of my rights? Do you forget your duty to me? I won’t have 
you seeing them anymore, and that’s final!” Legolas’ outrage boiled 
over, and he yelled straight back.
 
“You don’t own me!”
 
  As soon as the words had left his lips, Legolas knew it had been the 
wrong thing to say. Panicking, he held out his hands, preparing to 
apologise, when Glorfindel suddenly moved. Roaring in fury at being 
opposed, the Elda lashed out brutally, knocking the smaller elf to the 
floor.
 
  Legolas tried to use his arms to protect himself from the hail of 
blows raining down on him, but his lover’s superior strength defeated 
him. He couldn’t defend himself against the constant flow of punches 
and kicks Glorfindel directed at him. A particularly savage kick to the 
stomach left him gasping for breath, curling up instinctively. His chest 
felt fit to explode, each breath he took was a form of torment. 
Screwing his eyes tightly shut, he waited, panting, for the outburst to 
end.
 
  Breathing heavily from the exertion, Glorfindel finally ceased the 
punishment on his lover’s body, looking down at him contemptuously. 
“Go to your precious Elrohir, whore. Get out of my sight!” Legolas 
drew a deep, painful breath, clutching at a table leg, unable to rise in 
his current state. Growling with impatience, Glorfindel hauled him up 
by the arm, ignoring the pained cry that issued from his lover’s lips. 
Dragging the injured elf to the door, the blonde lord tossed him from 
the room into the cold corridor beyond.
 
  Legolas was barely able to cling to the stone wall outside the room to 
keep himself from falling. He felt dizzy and sick from the pain, but 
persevered, trying to remain upright as he traversed the hallway. He 
was so preoccupied with the task of making it to the stables without 
collapsing that he failed to notice the horrified looks he received from 
passing citizens- though he was too disorientated to realise it, warm 
red blood dripped from his nose and a gash on his cheek, he clothes 
were in a state of complete disarray, and his hair was a dishevelled, 
bloody mess. His breaths became increasingly laboured, but he 
struggled on towards where he knew the twins would be waiting. The 
pain was too intense for him to be capable of rational thought, and his 
lover’s final words to him replayed over and over in his head.
 
  After what felt like an age, the battered prince staggered out into the 
stable yard, startling a group of young stable boys with his bedraggled 
appearance. Darkness began to blur the edges of his vision, and he 
suddenly felt an almighty stabbing pain in the side of his chest, like a 
dagger was being thrust into him. Spitting up blood, he barely saw the 
Peredhil racing towards him. 
“Legolas! Gods, what happened to you?” At Elrohir’s anguished cry, 
Legolas turned unseeing eyes towards the twins. He managed one step 
before he faltered, swooning into the younger twin’s outstretched 
arms. Shouting in alarm, Elrohir scooped up the prince’s limp body, 
carrying him securely. 
“Brother, run ahead to the healers!” Without a second’s hesitation, 
Elladan raced in the direction of the Healing House. As fast as he 
could travel without jostling his delicate his delicate cargo, Elrohir set 
off after his brother, thanking every deity he could name that the 
healers were stationed close to the stables. It was a measure designed 
to ensure wounded soldiers arriving from battles were treated swiftly 
in times of war, but now it looked set to save his friend’s life.
 
  A clutch of healers stood waiting for him as he approached the steps 
of the Healing House, and his burden was quickly taken from him and 
borne inside. Amid the confusion and flurry of activity, Elrohir was 
able to make out his father, directing the other healers and barking 
out orders. At the other side of the porch he saw Elladan, pale and 
scared. Suddenly both he and his brother were being shepherded 
inside, though in the opposite direction to the prince.
 
Head spinning, Elrohir let himself be led into a cool, quiet and 
completely empty ward. Feeling nauseous, he was unresisting as he 
felt himself pushed to sit on an empty bed, Elladan doing the same. 
Shock was making him shiver violently, he was immensely grateful 
when the healer taking care of him wrapped a woollen blanket around 
his shoulders. Clutching it close, he looked up hopefully at the elf that 
had given it to him.
“Will he be alright?”
She shrugged apologetically. “I cannot say. The healers are with him 
now, they will be able to tell you more when they are finished.”
Elrohir nodded weakly, sick to the stomach, bracing himself for an 
agonising wait. 
 

Chapter 5

Elrohir fidgeted restlessly in his brother’s arms, growing ever more 
frustrated. He had been waiting for news of Legolas for hours now, 
pacing the floor liked a caged beast until his twin could bear it no 
longer and drew him down into a tight embrace. Soothing hands 
gently massaged his shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to work out the 
knots of tension in the muscles there. Admitting defeat, Elladan 
wrapped one arm around his brother’s waist, and with the other 
began rubbing slow circles on his tense back.
 
“Relax brother. Fretting and pacing will not make the healers work 
any faster.” 
Elrohir exhaled deeply, shutting his eyes and leaning back into the 
embrace. 
“I wish they would come. I cannot get his image out of my mind; 
blood everywhere…” He shivered.
“Hush, try not to think about that now, it will only cause you 
unnecessary anguish. Legolas will be alright, Ada is looking after 
him.” Elrohir nodded, snuggling his head beneath the older twin’s 
chin.
 
It was like this that Elrond found them more than an hour later, still 
taking comfort in one another’s nearness. As soon as he heard his 
father enter, Elrohir quickly disentangled himself, eager for a status 
report on the prince.
 
Elrond looked tired and drained, and blood stained his otherwise 
pristine white healing robes, turning the twins pale. He paused taking 
in their anxious faces, before finally putting them out of their misery.
“He will live,” he said softly, provoking identical sighs of relief from 
the twins.
“He wasn’t as seriously injured as I initially feared, but the damage is 
still quite extensive- there is severe internal bruising, although the 
bleeding has been stopped, and three of his ribs are broken. One of 
them punctured a lung, which was why he was spitting up blood- he 
nearly drowned in his own blood.” 
 
Elladan winced at his father’s graphic description, while Elrohir 
fought the rising nausea. Elrond came to rest his hand on Elrohir’s 
shoulder. 
“He will need several weeks in bed to recover- it was only due to the 
power of Vilya that he yet lives. He will also be in much pain. Legolas 
is unused to being an invalid- he will need both of you to support 
him.”
“We will, father,” Elladan vowed. Elrond smild affectionately, resting 
his free hand on his eldest son’s head.
“You are both good boys, I am proud of you.” But Elrohir remained 
unsatisfied.  
“But Ada, what about Glorfindel? Shouldn’t he be punished for this? 
Legolas nearly died!” Elladan’s brow creased in confusion.
“Glorfindel? You think he did this?”
 
Elrond sighed, unable to put this off any longer.
“We have reason to believe this is his doing, yes, and that it is not the 
first time either.” Elrohir took over.
“You remember when Legolas broke his wrist?” Elladan nodded 
dumbly. “And the day at the training field, when he was covered in 
bruises?” Elladan looked shocked.
“You mean he’s been doing this for-”
“Years, probably,” his father put in, and even Elrohir turned to him 
in surprise. “And that’s not all, I’m afraid. While I was examining 
him, I saw something else. It was difficult to tell at first with so much 
new bruising, but there are quite distinct markings on his back; welts 
that could only come from a whip of sorts, most likely a belt.”
 
Elladan swallowed hard. “He’s sick. Glorfindel is sick.” Elrohir could 
taste bile rising in his throat, but forced himself to focus on his earlier 
query.
“What is going to happen to him?”
“That is for Legolas to decide. If he chooses to bring charges against 
Glorfindel, I will of course give him all my support and sentence 
Glorfindel at a hearing.”
“And if he will not?” Elrond groaned quietly, knowing the answer 
was not one his son was going to like.
“If that is the case, there is nothing I can do. I cannot interfere within 
a relationship unless Legolas makes a complaint. Proving what 
Glorfindel has been doing without Legolas’ cooperation will be be 
impossible- there are no witnesses.”
Elrohir growled in indignation. “So we’re just leaving it at that? Just 
sending him back to be beaten to a pulp again?” Elrond bit back his 
frustration at Elrohir’s tone.
“I have no choice Elrohir! I cannot prove this without Legolas.”
 
Elrohir’s chest ached. Legolas was going to go straight back to be 
used as a punch bag all over again.
“We have many weeks until he is fit to return to his quarters, brother. 
Mayhap by then he will have changed his mind,” Elladan put in 
gently, sensing his brother’s pain. Elrohir looked up, nodding tiredly, 
to see Elrond giving him a strange look, almost as if seeing him only 
for the first time. It made him feel uncomfortable, exposed somehow, 
and he quickly turned away.
“You may see him now, if you wish.”
“Aye, I would like that.” He would feel better if he saw the prince with 
his own eyes.
 
They followed Elrond through the Healing House until they reached a 
door at the very back of the building, furthest from the main wards. 
Elrond opened it to reveal a private bedroom, small but comfortable.
“I thought he would prefer an isolated room,” he explained. The twins 
understood- the prince valued his privacy highly. Elrond beckoned 
them closer, and they gathered round the bed where their friend lay, 
sleeping peacefully.
 
“The sedative should last well into the morning,” the loremaster 
murmured, “it will give him relief from the worst of the pain.”
Seeing Legolas like this, looking so pale and fragile, stirred long 
buried emotions within Elrohir. He felt an intense longing to reach out 
and touch the battered face, to soothe  the poor abused body, to gently 
kiss the bruised lips…
 
Elrohir started. Where had that thought come from? Legolas was his 
best friend, he should not… But the more he gazed at the sleeping 
youth, the more his heart cried out for him. Elrohir wrenched his eyes 
away from the beauty lying on the bed, terrified he had been caught 
staring. To his chagrin, he saw the same knowing look on his father’s 
face and flushed hotly, looking down at his feet.
“Elladan, go tell Glorfindel that his lover has been injured and is 
being treated in the Healing Houses. Make clear that no visitors will 
be admitted at this time.”
“Yes father.” Elladan smartly left the room, sensing the tension 
between his father and brother. Elrohir and Elrond were left alone, 
save for the sleeping prince. The younger elf was about to speak, but a 
look from his father silenced him immediately.
“You love him.” A statement, not a question.
“I do.” Elrond sighed.
“This complicates matters. I know this may be hard to accept, pen-
neth, but you must keep this attraction hidden.” Elrohir was about to 
protest, but Elrond raised his hand, bidding him be silent.
“I do not doubt your feelings are pure, but if you tell him of them 
while Legolas is still so vulnerable, and while his heart still belongs to 
Glorfindel, you risk losing his trust and friendship forever.” Though 
he hated to admit it, Elrond’s words were fair and reasonable.
“I will say nothing of it.”
“Thank you for seeing reason, son. Just give it time- Legolas will be 
needing you greatly before long.”
 
Elrohir realised he was being dismissed, and retreated towards the 
door as Elrond fussed with the sheets around Legolas’ unconscious 
body. Hearing the door click behind him, Elrond laid a cool hand on 
Legolas’ feverish brow. 
“May you see as clearly as my son, pen-neth, or you will be in for 
much anguish.”
 
* * *
 
When Arien rose over Imladris the next morning, at least part of the 
Last Homely House was bustling with activity. Lord Elrond had 
already been up for hours; changing bandages and checking wounds 
on his royal patient; writing a letter to King Thranduil explaining his 
son had been injured, though he downplayed the severity of the 
wounds and gave no explanation as to how they came about; 
dispatching the message to Greenwood with his swiftest mounted 
messenger; thinking up suitable excuses to delay Glorfindel’s seeing 
Legolas, and finally snatching a quick breakfast before heading back 
to the Healing House. It had been agreed that he and his sons would 
take turns in watching the slumbering prince. Though he might still 
sleep for hours yet, when the time came, the half elf didn’t want 
Legolas to wake frightened and alone.
 
Elladan had stayed the night by the prince’s side, and now it would 
soon be Elrohir’s turn, but Elrond wanted to check on both his sons 
before he got some much-needed rest before his own shift later. The 
readiness with which both the twins agreed to sacrifice their time to 
help their friend filled the Lord’s heart with pride and love; both had 
impressed him with their maturity this last day. And their support 
and friendship was something Legolas would definitely need in the 
coming weeks.
 
The Healing House was quiet when Elrond arrived; sickness was 
almost unknown to the Elvish race, and in times of peace such as this 
the healers only had occasional minor injuries to contend with. Well, 
usually, he thought wryly. Entering the prince’s room, he was greeted 
by his eldest son’s warm smile, sitting in the chair beside the injured 
elf’s bed. 
 
“Has he woken?” Elladan shook his head.
“No; he tossed a little in his sleep, but didn’t wake.” Elrond nodded 
and laid a gentle but firm hand on his son’s shoulder.
“You should rest.”
“I will, when Elrohir comes. We shouldn’t leave Legolas alone.” 
Elrond gave the shoulder a squeeze.
“He is lucky to have such caring friends.” Elladan shook his head 
slowly.
“We only reciprocate what he has done for us. He has always 
supported Elrohir and I, especially when Nana sailed.” Sadness tinged 
his voice and he looked away, lost in memories. The awkward moment 
was rescued by Elrohir’s quiet entry, causing both father and son to 
break out of their morbid reverie and turn towards the door. Elrohir 
closed the door carefully before crossing the room towards the bed. 
He was dressed simply and comfortably in a pale green tunic and 
leggings, and his hair hung loose and unbraided. His eyes went 
immediately to Legolas.
 
“Has he woken?” Elladan shook his head and rose, suppressing a 
yawn.
“If you are here brother I will take my leave.” He took his twin’s hand 
and squeezed it tenderly, and smiled tiredly at his father. Elrond 
turned to his younger son.
“Will you be alright on your own?”
“Of course father, get some rest before your own turn this afternoon.”
 
Elrohir ferried the two elves towards the door and sighed with relief, 
finally alone with the object of his affections. With the prince safely 
asleep, Elrohir could indulge his secret love, reaching out to gently 
stroke the soft blonde hair. Growing bolder when Legolas’ breathing 
continued in the deep, slow rhythm of sleep, Elrohir allowed himself 
to bury his fingers deeper in the pale locks, gently massaging the scalp 
beneath. A soft murmur of pleasure sounded from the sleeping 
prince’s lips, making Elrohir smile with satisfaction and grow more 
confident in his ministrations. 
 
Removing his hand from the soft blonde tresses, he gently stroked 
down the side of Legolas’ face, then traced his fingertips lightly over 
high cheekbones. Even bruised and bloodied, he mused, Legolas was 
still handsome. Leaning down gingerly, Elrohir brushed his lips softly 
over each eyelid. Feeling the prince stir beneath him, Elrohir quickly 
pulled back, panicked, praying he hadn’t overstepped his limits. 
Legolas seemed to flit between sleep and consciousness for a moment, 
his eyes first blank, then filled with panic. He tried to sit up, eyes 
darting wildly, But Elrohir swiftly reached forward, gently pressing 
him down onto the mattress again. 
 
“Shh, ‘tis alright, you are safe.” Legolas continued to struggle, seized 
with an instinctive fear. “Please, mellon, you will only hurt yourself 
further,” Elrohir exclaimed desperately, fearing his internal injuries 
might be aggravated, “Lie still.” Awareness returned to the prince’s 
eyes.
“Elrohir?” Legolas’ voice was lost and anxious, and it made Elrohir’s 
heart ache.
“I’m here mellon, it’s alright. Glorfindel will not hurt you here.” 
 
He saw the blonde lick his parched lips, and remembered his father’s 
healing lessons. “Would you like a drink?” Legolas nodded dazedly, 
and Elrohir poured out some water from a jug on the commode into a 
glass. Sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully lifting his friend to 
sit up leaning against him, Elrohir pressed the glass to the blonde elf’s 
lips and let him drink his fill. He set the glass back down on the 
commode and eased Legolas back down to lie flat again. To his 
chagrin, the injured elf was now resolutely avoiding his gaze.
“You know, don’t you.” Elrohir was momentarily confused, before he 
realised what Legolas was talking about.
 
“Yes,” he said simply, dropping his tone to match Legolas’ whisper.
“You must hate me.” That one sentence held so much unspoken agony 
and self-disgust that Elrohir wanted to wrap the prince in his arms 
and kiss away his pain, but he contented himself with gently rubbing 
Legolas’ knuckles, trying to reassure him.
“No meldir, I could never hate you. None of this is your fault.” Tears 
began to roll down Legolas’ cheeks, and he quickly turned his face 
away.
 
Elrohir had known the other for more than two thousand years now, 
and never once, in all their time together, had he seen Legolas cry. 
Unable to stand seeing his love so miserable and dejected, he 
immediately moved to the bed, lifting Legolas off the pillows to lean 
against his own torso, the blonde’s head resting between neck and 
shoulder. Elrohir held him as sobs wracked his slim frame, careful not 
to press against the prince’s injured ribs. After a time, the sobs began 
to quieten, and Elrohir started to gently rock the body in his arms.
 
“Forgive my weakness…I…”
“There is nothing to forgive. Please Legolas, do not be ashamed of 
this, you are not to blame. Only Glorfindel is responsible for this, and 
he will be brought to justice.” Legolas immediately squirmed in 
Elrohir’s arms, turning to look up at the half-elf with eyes filled with 
alarm.
“No! Please, I don’t want anything to happen to him. He doesn’t mean 
it.” Elrohir’s lips tightened in disappointment- even now Legolas 
refused to see the truth.
“How long has it been happening?” Legolas turned away again, 
resting his head on Elrohir’s shoulder.
“Four years now. It used to be different, it was only when he started 
drinking…” He tailed off, burying his face deeper into Elrohir’s hair, 
taking comfort in his friend’s embrace.
 
“Go on,” Elrohir encouraged.
“At first it was nothing- he started getting moody, we’d aregue over 
things more often. Then when he had a fight, sometimes he’d slap or 
hit me in fustration, but he always regretted it, promised he’d never 
do it again.” He swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be 
telling you this.”
 
Elrohir placed a protective hand at the back of Legolas’ head.
“No, you should. You’ve kept this bottled up for far too long. Tell me 
everything.” Relaxing slightly as fingers began carding through his 
hair, the blonde took a deep breath and continued.
“Well, he began drinking during the day, which he had never done 
before. I don’t mean a glass of wine at lunch- he started drinking 
spirits, and all through the day when no one was watching him. Fairly 
soon he was hitting me all the time, for no reason at all.” A solitary 
tear escaped his eye and trickled slowly down his cheek.
 
“But it didn’t stop there, did it? He didn’t just hit you, did he?” A 
tremor coursed through Legolas’ frame and he shook his head.
 
“After a while, he started having these violent rages, coming home 
late at night, smashing the furniture.” He shivered, and Elrohir’s 
arms tightened protectively. “He started… he started using his 
belt…” Legolas’ voice dropped so low Elrohir had to strain to hear it. 
“He would come home and want me to take off my robe, for no reason 
other than he wanted to hurt something. He hits me with it, on my 
shoulders, back, legs…” He trailed off, blushing a deep red. How 
Elrohir must see him now…
 
Elrohir noted Legolas’ unconscious use of the present tense, and 
continued stroking the blonde’s hair sadly, offering whatever comfort 
he could. “I wish you’d told me, mellon,” he whispered.
 
“I couldn’t,” Legolas choked out, “I was too ashamed, I thought no 
one would believe me, they wouldn’t understand.” Elrohir placed a 
chaste kiss on the crown of Legolas’ head.
“I believe you, I understand.” He felt Legolas’ body slump against 
him, worn out from the emotional strain of their conversation. 
“Come, rest now. We can talk another time.” 
 
Legolas nodded weakly and let himself be lowered to the mattress 
again, wincing slightly when the motion put stress on his injured ribs. 
Elrohir smoothed the coverlet around him and was about to move 
back to sit in his chair when Legolas covered his hand with his own, 
looking up with anguish in his eyes.
“He doesn’t mean it, really he doesn’t. It’s the drink, he doesn’t mean 
to hurt me, he loves me.” Elrohir sighed, gentling his touch even 
further as he tucked the coverlet up to the blonde’s shoulders and laid 
a soothing hand on his forehead.
“Sleep,” he murmured quietly, as Legolas’ tired eyes glazed over.
 
 
************************************************************
*********
 
 
Chapter 6
 
Elrohir padded quietly down the corridor, fearful that his footsteps 
might disturb the prince’s sleep should he walk any louder. He had 
left Legolas sleeping  to go seek out his father, eager to tell him of the 
blonde’s story, and was now anxious to return to his side. His father 
had seemed vaguely troubled at everything he told him, but reassured 
Elrohir that Legolas’ agreement to talk about it was a big step in the 
right direction. If he could gain the prince’s unconditional trust, it 
would be easier to convince Legolas in the end that Glorfindel was 
insane and dangerous. Talking had also eased the burden of shame 
and repressed emotion Legolas had been carrying over the years.
 
Elrohir stopped suddenly outside Legolas’ door- he could hear the low 
murmur of two voices, one Legolas’ and the other… 
 
Cursing himself for every sort of fool, Elrohir yanked open the door 
without knocking. How could he have let this happen? There in front 
of him, sitting in *his* chair by the bedside, was Glorfindel. A neat 
pile of clothing which Elrohir recognised to be Legolas’ lay stacked on 
the dresser, along with a few books and the beautiful silver hairbrush 
and mirror the prince owned, a prized memento of his departed 
mother. A fresh bouquet of flowers had been arranged on the 
windowsill- Glorfindel was positively oozing charm and concern. He 
gave Elrohir a careful, searching look before quickly breaking out in a 
smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 
 
“Elrohir,” he said, voice smooth and unhurried, “What a pleasant 
surprise. I must thank you for your excellent care of Legolas.” Beside 
him on the bed, Legolas smiled contentedly as the blonde lord’s 
fingers carded easily through his hair. //He’s buying it!// Elrohir 
thought furiously, //he really believes Glorfindel is going to going to 
change overnight.// It took all his will to keep his hands from 
clenching into fists and maintain a blank _expression, but he just 
about managed it. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded.
 
“I just wanted to check he was aright, bring him a few things from 
our quarters.” Glorfindel’s hand now stroked up and down the length 
of his lover’s ear, making Legolas purr and lean into the touch. 
Elrohir felt hypnotised, his eyes rooted to the spot where long slender 
fingers ran teasingly over the delicate tip of the prince’s ear, a 
sensitive erogenous zone. A prickle of a foreign emotion tauted at his 
mind- jealously, he realised with a start. He wanted to be the one 
touching that white skin, giving him pleasure. Elrohir mentally shook 
himself, making his mind focus on the situation at hand.
“That was kind of you Glorfindel, however, we are anxious that the 
prince rests to recover his strength.” 
 
Taking the hint, Glorfindel’s smile became even more forced and he 
rose from the chair. Bending down to kiss Legolas, he spoke softly 
into the prince’s ear.
“I will return as soon as I can, nin-bain.” Legolas nodded and his eyes 
followed the lord adoringly as he made his way to the door. Flashing 
an almost desperate look at Elrohir, he waited until Glorfindel’s 
footsteps had faded before he spoke.
 
“I told you, he loves me. He brought me all this,” he gestured at the 
clothes and flowers, “to make me more comfortable. He told me how 
sorry he is, and promised he’ll never touch another drop of wine 
again.” Legolas beamed. “He’s going now to pour away all the bottles 
in our chambers!”
 
Watching Legolas naively convince himself that Glorfindel would 
change was too much for Elrohir. It made him want to weep and 
shout and shake the prince hard by the shoulders all at the same time, 
but he remained silent, not meeting the blonde’s eyes.
 
The false cheeriness in Legolas’ face crumpled, and he looked down 
blushing at the sheets, fighting the lump in his throat. Even to himself 
his arguments sounded ridiculous. He let Elrohir tuck the blankets 
around him again, still averting his eyes from his friend’s deep grey 
ones. He closed them and turned his face towards the wall, preying for 
sleep and oblivion to claim him, when Elrohir’s soft voice cut across 
his tangled thoughts.
 
“Just remember Legolas, no matter what, if you ever wake up one day 
and realise you need out, if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you.” 
Hot, guilty tears slid down Legolas’ face, and he buried his face 
further into the soft pillow, hiding them from view. He cursed his 
cowardice as he feigned sleep, but this was a conversation he wasn’t 
ready to have.
 
* * *
 
Elrohir had sat watching Legolas for over an hour since the subtle 
change in breathing had marked the transition from consciousness to 
true sleep. He knew Legolas had only pretended to sleep, but decided, 
this time at least, not to call him on it. His friend needed rest and quiet 
now, not a grilling. Speaking of which, Elrohir reminded himself, he 
was due to face his own grilling when his father returned to take his 
watch. Explaining how Glorfindel had been allowed access to the 
prince despite Elrond’s explicit orders that he be kept out for the 
moment was not going to be easy.
 
As if acting on an invisible cue, a rustle of robes heralded his father’s 
entrance. Elrohir groaned inwardly; could things get any worse? 
Gingerly, he turned to face Elrond.
“Ada? I need to talk to you.” Elrond was alarmed by his son’s 
stricken face, his mind silently running through a list of possible 
catastrophes, but he kept his voice completely calm.
“What is the matter, son?” Elrohir bit his lip, looking almost 
reluctant to speak. Like he used to as an elfling, Elrond reflected, 
when he had been caught doing something he should not. He braced 
himself for whatever the news might be. 
 
“Ada, I’m sorry, but… but when I came back to see you this morning, 
I completely forgot I musn’t leave Legolas unattended. By the time I 
returned, Glorfindel was already here, promising Legolas the earth. 
He even brought flowers-“ he gestured, distressed, at the niphrodel 
and roses on the windowsill. “I’m sorry Adar, it is all my fault.”
 
Elrond groaned inwardly; this was bad news indeed. He hadn’t 
wanted Glorfindel anywhere near the prince until he himself had got 
the chance to undo some of the brainwashing that Legolas had 
suffered at the older warrior’s hands. Now Legolas had seen 
Glorfindel and doubtless succumbed to his charm again, convincing 
the prince to leave him would be more difficult. 
 
Elrohir looked so dejected and guilty however, Elrond hadn’t the 
heart to be angry. His _expression softened as he laid his hand atop 
his son’s.
“Accidents happen, pen-neth, don’t torment yourself. But may this 
serve as a lesson, to remind you never to let your concentration slip 
while on duty. Just do not leave Legolas alone again, until I tell you it 
is safe to do so.” Elrohir nodded, some of the tension lifting from his 
shoulders, and looking considerably relieved. “Besides,” Elrond 
continued, a shade of guilt colouring his voic, “I also played a part in 
this lapse. I should have thought of the consequences of your coming 
to my study. It didn’t occur to me when we talked this morning that I 
would be taking you from his side.”
 
Elrohir looked appalled at the thought that his faher should feel 
himself to blame, and was opening his mouth to utter a denial of any 
guilt on Elrond’s part, when his father quickly silenced him with a 
commanding look, Elrohir shrinking back meekly into his seat.
 
“However,” the lore master continued, “that is not the matter in hand. 
We can no longer keep Glorfindel away from his side if Legolas wants 
to see him, but we must be vigilant- watch for any signs that he may 
try to harm Legolas. I will also speak with Legolas; perhaps over time 
I can erode Glorfindel’ conditioning and make him see the truth. I 
have had much experience treating emotional and mental health 
problems.”
“Thank you father.” Elrohir felt better now he knew Elrond would be 
treating his friend, even if Legolas didn’t realise what was happening. 
He rose from his chair, stretching his stiff, weary limbs, and stood 
aside to allow his father to take his place. Bowing his head in respect, 
he departed, going to rest in preparation for his next session with the 
prince.
 
Elrond began settling himself when he noticed a drop of red blood 
seeping through one of the many clean white bandages Legolas wore. 
Frowning, he immediately fetched fresh bandages, a knife, and a 
selection of herbs with useful healing properties from the cupboard 
opposite the window, and came to stand by the bed. Carefully cutting 
away the offending bandage, Lord Elrond was alarmed to find that 
beneath had reopened and was bleeding again. Lifting his right hand 
to hover almost touching the open wound, Elrond took a deep breath, 
focusing his energy, letting it flow through Vilya into the prince. 
 
Vilya glowed and grew hot, channelling Elrond’s own healing abilities 
into Legolas, causing the wound to close and the blood to stop. When 
satisfied with the result, Elrond closed his mind, severing the 
connection. Pausing to let the dizziness to subside, he slowly lowered 
his hand and began to carefully apply herbs to the area where the 
wound once lay, an ugly bruise now the only reminder of it’s former 
presence. 
 
He wrapped another white linen bandage round Legolas’ waist, 
securing it with a pin. The skin was hot to the touch, making Elrond 
reach for the prince’s forehead anxiously. The skin beneath his hand 
was burning up, and a small whimper of pain escaped Legolas’ lips. 
Elrond quickly returned to the cupboard and drew out several 
packets of herbs, before setting the window wide open, letting a cool 
breeze into the room. Filling the kettle above the fire, he set about 
preparing the herbs for a healing tea. Legolas shuddered quietly 
beside him, and he hastened to the fireplace to retrieve the hot water. 
He poured the water over the herbs, and left the mixture to infuse in 
the cup as he doused the fire. Another soft whimper from Legolas, 
and Elrond placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder, squeezing gently 
and calling his name. Legolas’ eyelids flickered and awareness entered 
the blue orbs, along with a mixture of confusion and pain. He looked 
around wildly before his eyes locked with Elrond’s.
 
“It’s alright, pen-neth, you are safe,” Elrond coaxed, his voice low and 
gentle, as if he spoke to a frightened forest creature, not an elf he had 
known for centuries. Seeking to reassure him, Elrond quietly began 
rubbing the knuckles on Legolas’ right hand, hoping the action might 
relax him. “I’ve made you some tea- it should help with the pain. You 
will be in pain for some time I’m afraid.” 
 
He left his ministrations to pick up the tea, turning back in time to see 
Legolas flinch and bite his lip to keep from crying out as another wave 
of pain coursed through his body. Carefully propping him up on the 
cushions, Elrond held the cup to the blonde’s lips, encouraging him to 
drink the hot tea. The taste was bitter but Legolas forced it down, 
preferring it to the agony consuming his body at that moment. When 
the cup was drained, Elrond placed a hand on the prince’s brow 
again, checking his temperature again.
 
“Where does it hurt the most, Legolas?” Legolas twitched again.
“Chest… it burns,” he gasped out, trying to concentrate on Elrond’s 
words. Where was Glorfindel? Why wasn’t he here, comforting him? 
Why did he do this to him in the first place. Love wasn’t supposed to 
be like this. A pain that was nothing to do with his cracked ribs 
gripped his heart, almost making Legolas cry out with its intensity.
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he whispered aloud.
 
Ever astute, Elrond immediately understood his meaning, and seized 
the chance to get through to the elf he had come to view as a son.
“No one would think any less of you pen-neth. This is a form of abuse. 
Don’t keep this inside.” Legolas looked almost panicked and Elrond 
quickly continued. “If ever the time comes when you need a way out, 
know that I will support you no matter what.” 
 
At his last words, Elrond was certain he saw a flicker of longing in 
Legolas’ eyes, but in an instant it was gone. Looking down at the 
coverlet again, Legolas spoke so quietly Elrond had to lean forward to 
catch his words. 
“Please, I would like to sleep again now.” Elrond swallowed his 
disappointment.
“As you wish.” 
 
Crossing to the cupboard again, he slid open a drawer and removed a 
small cone of incense, a tiny dish, and a box of matches. Silently, he 
placed the cone in the middle of the dish and lit the tip, blowing out 
the flame and leaving the cone to smoulder, producing a delicate 
purple smoke. Immune to its effects after many thousands of years of 
exposure, Elrond returned to Legolas’ bedside with the quick-burning 
incense and held it a few inches beneath the prince’s nose. 
“Breathe deeply,” he instructed. Legolas complied and before long his 
eyelids began to droop. Soon they were closed in the deep healing 
sleep induced by the poppy incense. 
 
Elrond set the dish on the commode and let the remainder of the 
incense burn itself out. He was a little disappointed at Legolas’ refusal 
of his offer of help, though he hadn’t truly expected him to take him 
up on it. What was important was that he knew help was at hand if he 
needed it, and judging from the fleeting _expression Elrond had 
caught on the blonde’s face, the first seeds of doubt had been sown in 
his mind.
 
 
******************************************************
 
 
Chapter 7
Six weeks had passed since the harrowing day that would be forever 
etched in Elrohir’s mind, images of the battered prince still haunting 
him. Since then, he had spent more time with Legolas than ever 
before, helping to relieve the excruciating boredom of confinement in 
a sick room for weeks on end. He had started off reading and talking 
to him, helping him to eat, wash and dress. Then as the blonde healed 
and became more independent, able to sit up alone and move his arms 
without pain, they played chess and checkers for hours on end. Over 
the last two weeks the pair had walked together in the hospital 
gardens, letting Legolas stretch his stiff limbs. 
 
Elrohir grew closer to Legolas than he ever imagined he would; 
listening to him talk of his family, of living in the shadow of his many 
brothers, and even a little about the beginnings of his relationship 
with Glorfindel. Elrohir in turn told him of pain at his at his mother’s 
absence, his guilt at not finding her sooner, and his feelings that his 
father had distanced himself from Elladan and he since her passing; 
things he had not even told Elladan, his twin and the other half of his 
soul.
 
The more time they spent together, the more his secret, unrequited 
love gnawed painfully at his heart. At night his dreams were possessed 
by gold hair and hot, smooth skin, setting his entire body aflame. 
Every inch of him felt drawn tight as a bowstring, but he knew his 
longing for the prince was more than base lust. Imladris’ temperate 
summer felt grey and lifeless when the prince wasn’t by his side to 
enjoy it. However, Legolas was oblivious to his most ardent admirer; 
there were others seeking to hold his heart.
 
Throughout the six weeks Legolas spent recuperating, Glorfindel had 
been the most attentive of lovers- kind and considerate, visiting 
frequently and spending and spending hours by the prince’s side, 
showering him with gifts. Again and again he swore he would change, 
that he would stop drinking, would never lift a hand to Legolas again. 
 
Legolas consented to give him another chance immediately, happily 
agreeing to Glorfindel’s plea for him to move back to their shared 
quarters as soon as he was able to leave the healing wing. Elrohir did 
not share the prince’s faith, however; his suspicions ran too deep for 
him to swallow Glorfindel’s earnestly delivered promises. He knew 
from experience that some things in life never change.
 
He watched as the prince’s deft fingers ran the brush through gold 
strands, easing out invisible knots and leaving his hair a shining, 
silken mass. From his seat on the bed Elrohir longed to reach up and 
touch it, but held himself firmly in check, focusing his mind of 
Legolas’ forthcoming departure. Elrond had examined the blonde and 
declared that providing he rested and was careful not to over-exert 
himself, Legolas was free to return to his own chambers.
 
Elrond had spent long hours with the prince these last weeks, talking 
about Glorfindel, but apparently to no avail, as Legolas jumped at the 
chance to return to his lover. Elrohir helped pack his possessions with 
a heavy heart and now sat waiting with the prince for Lord Glorfindel 
to collect him and bring him home.
 
The silence in the room was deafening, and after a time, Elrohir could 
bear it no longer.
“Don’t go back to him, please mellon.” Legolas turned to face him, 
wearing a wistful _expression.
“I know you must think me weak, Elrohir, and I am. I love him; I’m 
sorry, but I do. He’s going to change for me El, he promised.” 
 
Elrohir shook his head sorrowfully.
“People don’t change overnight, Legolas.”
 
Legolas looked set to reply when Glorfindel stepping into the room, a 
benevolent smile gracing his features, interrupted them. Elrohir 
looked up waspishly- the oaf hadn’t even knocked. The blonde lord 
bent down to kiss Legolas, and the flicker of irritation in Elrohir 
flared up into anger, making his lips thin dangerously and his fists 
clench the bed sheets. How dare he? That brute wasn’t fit to tie the 
laces on Legolas’ boot after what he did to him. 
 
Glorfindel broke the kiss, and looked up as if seeing Elrohir for the 
first time. Amusement played across his face for a moment, then a 
gloating smile fixed itself on his features, mocking Elrohir’s obvious 
jealousy. 
“Thank you for taking such good care of him, pen-neth,” Glorfindel 
drawled, “it is nice to see such a devoted friend.” Elrohir prickled a 
little at the extra emphasis on the word ‘friend.’ That bastard knew… 
Glorfindel smirked and turned to a now-confused Legolas, and picked 
up the prince’s small suitcase. 
“Come, love.” Legolas rose and Glorfindel immediately wrapped a 
possessive arm round his waist. As his lover guided him to the door, 
Legolas craned his neck round to shoot an apologetic glance in 
Elrohir’s direction. He was able to whisper ‘thank you’ as Glorfindel 
ferried him out into the corridor, then the door shut behind him. He 
felt Glorfindelgive his waist a squeeze, and let himself be directed, 
hardly seeing, to their chambers.
 
Once inside, Legolas began to relax. Familiarity set him at ease, and 
he breathed deeply, inhaling his lover’s musky scent in the air. After 
weeks in the Healing House, it was a relief to be surrounded by home 
comforts once again. Glorfindel took his small bag through to their 
bedroom, and Legolas carefully lowered himself into a chair, his 
injuries still limiting his movements. He sighed with relief as he sunk 
back into the upholstery- he was amazed how tired he felt after such a 
short journey from his sick room. Legolas was looking forward to a 
nice, long, hot bath to ease his aching muscles, and a few hours simply 
enjoying his lover’s company.
 
Glorfindel re-entered and circled round to stand behind Legolas. His 
arms snaked down to the prince’s shoulders, hands kneading the 
muscles beneath. Legolas sighed blissfully and relaxed, blotting out all 
thoughts save those focusing on the pleasant sensations. 
 
Glorfindel’s hands worked out the tension in his neck, then moved 
round to the front and slid down to rest just beneath Legolas’ 
collarbones. Legolas made a soft, disappointed noise when he felt the 
massage stop and looked up questioningly at his lover. Glorfindel 
chuckled softly, and proceeded to tease the pointed tip of Legolas’ ear, 
distracting him while the Elda spoke.
 
“I’m afraid I must leave you now, I still have a pile of paperwork 
awaiting me in my office. Elrond has not reduced my duties as 
seneschal any, despitre my request that he allow me to spen more time 
wit you as you recover.” 
 
From within a haze of pleasure, Legolas was able to make out the 
general idea of his lover’s sentence, and looked up sharply, dismayed.
“But I thought- ooh…” Legolas moaned as Glorfindel stepped up his 
assault on his ear. Glorfindel smirked, watching him writhing in his 
seat, and knowing he was the one controlling him. Legolas felt his 
member stir- it had been far too long, and his body was eager to 
release the tension that had built up during his stay in the Healing 
house.
 
Glorfindel reached for the laces of Legolas’ tunic, untying them and 
pulling the tunic open. His fingers slid down, circling the pink nipples 
revealed to them, and Legolas’ breath hitched. Glorfindel rolled the 
pink nubs between his fingers, making them stand out like berries and 
causing the prince to gasp and squirm. Suddenly he pinched them 
gently and Legolas mewled, hips bucking blindly and his hands 
clenching the arms of the chair. 
 
Glorfindel’s smirk grew as he saw his young lover spread his legs on 
the seat to accommodate the growing weight between his thighs. 
Abruptly, he removed his hands and stepped away from the chair, 
leaving Legolas reeling. The prince moaned in displeasure and turned 
desperately towards his tormentor, begging silently for him to finish 
the job. 
 
The Elda simply smiled innocently, reaching for his cloak.
“I shall return this evening. Until then, make yourself at home, try to 
rest.” 
 
He turned on his heel and walked smartly to the door. Just as he was 
about to twist the handle, Glorfindel looked briefly back to Legolas, 
whose hand was creeping down towards the source of his tension.
“Oh, and you are not allowed to touch yourself while I am gone. Only 
I am allowed to bring you release. I want you ready and wanting for 
my return.” With that he left the room, leaving a needy and frustrated 
Legolas gaping after him in disbelief. Not allowed to tounch himself? 
His arousal twitched again and he groaned. His whole body felt 
aflame, all sensation seemed to be focused in the arousal between his 
legs. 
 
There was only one thing for it. He rose from the chair, biting back a 
moan when the fabric of his breeches rubbed against his erection. 
Walking awkwardly to the bathroom, he braced himself for the 
discomfort of a *very* cold bath
 
* * *
 
Elladan watched his twin out of the corner of his eye, as he had done 
since they sat down to dinner with Elrond. So far, he noted, Elrohir 
had cut all his food into small pieces, pushed the pieces aimlessly 
around his plate, and speared the odd lump of meat with his fork, but 
a single piece had yet to actually find its way into his mouth.
 
Erestor was talking animatedly on Elrohir’s right about new defence 
plans he hoped to implement in the coming autumn, but Elladan 
could tell from the look on his twin’s face that he hadn’t actually 
heard a single word of the councillor’s prattle. In fact, Elrohir hardly 
even seemed aware of the presence of the other diners, so lost in his 
thoughts was he.
 
After a time, Elrohir rose and begged permission to leave the table. 
Elrond, distracted by juggling three conversations simultaneously, 
was quick to grant it, and Elrohir scurried out of the noisy dining 
room. Elladan immediately followed suit and hastened after his 
brother. He followed silently through the Great Hall and into the 
South Wing, a labyrinth of winding corridors. 
 
He soon lost sight of Elrohir, and came to a fork in the hallway, two 
identical, empty corridors leading in opposite directions. Hesitating, 
he considered his brother’s likely cause of action. His room was in the 
West Wing, so the only reasons he might be coming here were either 
the public baths, or…
 
Elladan grinned triumphantly; confident he knew where his brother 
would be. Picking the left fork, he sped silently down the corridor 
until he came to a set of double doors; dark mahogany set with 
stained glass. Pushing them open, he stepped out into the cool evening 
breeze, enjoying the feel of it caressing his skin. He knew exactly 
where to go.
 
Walking through the trees and bushes, Elladan came to a halt on the 
edge of a clearing. Sure enough, there inside their mother’s private 
garden, was Elrohir. He at on a stone bench beside a lilac tree- their 
mother’s favourite- with shoulders slumped. It was a place he always 
came to when troubled or sad, drawing some small comfort in the 
happy memories the place held. It was a small piece of Lothlorien 
here in Imladris, and Celebrían had spent hours during her time in 
the valley tending it. Elladan had lost count of the number of times 
he’s found his younger twin sitting here in the months immediately 
after Celebrían sailed, clinging desperately to this last part of his 
mother he had left.
 
Elladan crossed quietly to sit beside his brother. He placed a hand 
lightly on Elrohir’s knee, and looked into his brother’s troubled face. 
Elrohir gave no response, still staring out across the grass.
“You’ve been tense, distracted of late. You’re not eating, you’ve been 
so listless- I’m worried for you. Please brother, tell me what is 
wrong.” 
 
Elrohir’s face remained blank, and he spoke not a word.
“Please Elrohir, talk to me.” Elrohir turned, the first indication that 
he had even acknowledged Elladan’s presence.
“It’s nothing.” Elladan raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“It is clearly not nothing. Elrohir, tell me.” Elrohir gave a deep, 
melodramatic sigh, and his face contorted as if in pain.
“You must swear never to tell another soul. Promise me Elladan!” 
When Elladan nodded tentatively, Elrohir continued, a tormented 
look in his grey eyes. 
 
“I’m in love with Legolas.”
 
Elladan’s jaw visibly dropped, eyes widening in shock.
“How long?” he blurted out.
“Long enough.” Sadness tinged Elrohir’s voice. “I’m worried about 
him, Ell, I really am. Glorfindel hasn’t changed, he’s just using 
Legolas! I don’t trust him.” 
 
He calmed himself, swallowing and breathing heavily, voice dropping. 
“Legolas’ heart will break, Elladan. And I will fade soon after.” 
Elladan sat up in alarm, seeing his brother anew. 
“Elrohir, come, you can’t be serious. Besides, perhaps we should give 
Glorfindel a chance. He really may have changed for the better.” 
Elrohir looked up bitterly. 
“He’s never going to change, Ell. Today I saw him out walking the 
corridors when he was supposed to be home, caring for Legolas- Ada 
even gave all his duties to Erestor! He doesn’t care about him.” 
 
Elladan winced at the anger and resentment in his twin’s voice, and 
squeezed his knee reassuringly.
“Elrohir, Glorfindel may simply have been fetching him some food 
from the kitchens, you just do not know.” He smiled placating. “Give 
him a chance brother. Anyway, perhaps this is just a passing 
infatuation.” A new thought struck him. “Are you sure you aren’t 
letting your emotions cloud your judgement?”
 
“I suppose,” said Elrohir, not sounding at all convinced. He looked 
into the distance again, surveying his mother’s sanctuary. “I think I 
would like to be alone now, brother.” Stung, Elladan nodded silently 
and left the garden. They had shared everything before now, and it 
hurt that Elrohir would shut him out of this. 
 
That night, in his room next to Elrohir’s he tossed and turned, unable 
to sleep, and by the time dawn had broken over the valley, he still had 
not heard his brother coming in.
 
Chapter 8
 
 “Achoo!”
   
    Legolas groaned loudly and flopped back bonelessly against the 
pillows, exhausted. He had woken up feeling hot and sticky, with a 
throbbing head and blocked nose and had immediately turned to 
Glorfindel for help. Once he had finally persuaded his reluctant lover 
out of bed to fetch a healer, Legolas had begun sneezing, a completely 
new sensation for him. And, he decided, an altogether unpleasant one, 
as it felt much like the front of his head was about to explode.
 
  A grumbling Glorfindel dispatched to the healers, Legolas was left 
alone in bed; coughing, sniffing, sneezing and generally feeling sorry 
for himself. 
“A..a..achoo!” Legolas growled in frustration. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he 
thought crossly, ‘elves don’t get colds!’
 
  Which is exactly what he had said to Elrond when he arrived and 
pronounced that somehow, Legolas had contracted a chest cold. 
Finishing up his examination, Elrond had simply raised a dark, 
elegant eyebrow, as if reproaching the prince for questioning his 
judgement. 
 
   He had probed about how Legolas had managed to catch a chill in 
the few short hours since his discharge, asking if he had been exposed 
to any cold water, making Glorfindel smirk knowingly and Legolas 
squirm uncomfortably in his bed. Elrond had appeared suspicious, 
but questioned no further, evidently deciding that he didn’t want to 
know. 
 
   Instead, he issued a stern warning that Legolas’ weakened lungs 
made him vulnerable to colds and infection until he had fully healed, 
and threatened that if he didn’t stay in bed until further notice, 
Legolas would find himself tied to a bed in the Healing House.
 
    Feeling suitably chastised, Legolas had meekly assured Elrond of 
his obedience and submitted to the various foul-tasting concoction the 
half-elf had prescribed. He had been relieved when the lore master 
had left, but soon began to reassess his opinion. Glorfindel had left 
soon after for a hunting trip and wouldn’t be back until after 
sundown, leaving the prince quite alone. He played distractedly with 
the sapphire ring on his finger, twisting it aimlessly.
 
     Elrond had evidently told his sons of Legolas’ sorry state, as within 
the hour of Glorfindel’s departure, Elrohir had arrived in his full 
leather and burgundy uniform, clearly due to leave for the border 
patrol. ‘Just as I as about to sleep,’ Legolas thought crossly. An hour 
with nothing to distract him from the strange and deeply disagreeable 
sensations brought on by a cold (something like having an orc sitting 
on your chest, he had now decided), and Legolas was feeling greatly 
out-of-sorts. 
 
    However, if he was hoping for sympathy and companionship from 
Elrohir, Legolas was sadly disappointed. Instead, Elrohir had merely 
stopped by on his way to the guardhouse to castigate the blonde for 
not taking better heed of his health, before delivering several dire 
warnings of pneumonia and bronchitis if the prince did not remain 
confined to bed for at least a week. 
 
    Elrohir had at least offered a glass of water to the parched elf, but 
all gratitude Legolas had felt soon evaporated when Elrohir began to 
mutter darkly about how the entire episode showed that Glorfindel 
wasn’t properly taking care of the prince.
 
    Though he knew Elrohir meant well, Legolas was incensed, out of 
loyalty to Glorfindel and his own pride. He was sick and tired of the 
peredhel’s mollycoddling- he was quite capable of taking care of 
himself. Elrohir had apologised without sounding particularly 
convinced, and even now, hours after the dark-haired elf had left for 
the eastern border, Legolas’ resentment was smouldering. The glass 
of water left by Elrohir was now also empty, and the throbbing in 
Legolas’ head had increased tenfold, adding to the prince’s choler. He 
turned on his side and sunk heavily into the mattress, sulking at the 
injustice of it all.
 
    With his new view of the room, a small corner of thick parchment 
caught his eye, half-hidden beneath a book on the commode. Curious, 
Legolas reached out his hand to tug at the paper, eventually managing 
to extricate it from beneath the book. 
 
    Recognition made Legolas suddenly feel hotter that he already was, 
and a knot of guilt formed in his stomach. He ran his thumb over the 
royal seal of Greenwood, now broken. He knew he should reply, had 
known it when he first opened the letter the previous night, but what 
could he say? He also knew he would have to said some sort of word 
soon, as judging by the worried tone of his father’s letter, Thranduil 
was on the verge of riding over to Imladris himself.
 
The concern and hurt that he had sent no word home came through 
clearly in the letter, making Legolas feel even worse than he had 
before.
*Your family miss you, when will you come home? *
Legolas hadn’t the heart to tell them that he couldn’t come to see 
them, that Glorfindel wanted him to sever all contact with 
Greenwood. It was why he had hidden the letter in the first place, and 
why he hadn’t seen his brothers in a century. There were anxious 
inquiries about his health and the cause and severity of his injuries- a 
development Legolas assumed Elrond must have informed them of- 
all questions that deserved answers.
 
But they would have to wait. Legolas dispiritedly tucked the envelope 
into the top drawer of the commode, promising himself that he would 
get round to replying soon.
 
Chapter 9 
 
 
    Legolas looked himself up and down in the mirror with a critical 
eye. No, the light blue was better. This one made him look even paler 
than usual. 
 
    He laid aside the navy robe he had been holding up and picked up 
the pale one again. Where once he would have thrown on the first 
suitable garment in his path, he now had to carefully consider his 
choice. He was still wan and pale from his newly-recovered-from cold, 
and over his seven weeks of recuperation from his various injuries, he 
had also lost a good deal of weight. 
 
    All sorts of rumours had been flying around since he had collapsed 
outside the stables and news of his recent illness had only added to the 
furious gossip. Much as Legolas pretended that the rumours didn’t 
bother him, he was still keen to dispel them by appearing tonight at 
the New Year Revels looking as normal and healthy as possible.
 
    The revel that night would be the first time the prince was allowed 
to leave his ‘rest’ in he and his lover’s quarters. And none too soon- 
being shut up in that place was beginning to give Legolas cabin fever.
 Actually, on second thoughts, the paler blue actually made him look 
washed out.
 
    Legolas shook himself- if he was starting to think like this, he had 
definitely been cooped up too long. Elrond’s special permission to 
attend the revel had been obtained, and hopefully, if he survived the 
night unscathed, the half-elf’s good will might be extended to cover 
daytime excursions. 
 
He settled at last for a long, loose green robe he had bought from his 
forest home, and slipped into it.
“Green suits you.” 
Legolas whirled around to see Glorfindel standing in the doorway, 
leaning languidly against the frame. 
The prince suddenly had a strange feeling that the Elda had been 
watching him the whole time. He was startled to find that the thought 
actually unsettled him.
 
    The blonde lord looked resplendent in crimson velvet, a gold circlet 
gleaming on his brow. Tight black breeches accented his well-muscled 
legs and complimented the deep red of his tunic- in short he looked 
stunning. But somehow, the sight, which would have once quickened 
his blood, now left Legolas cold. Telling himself that he was only 
feeling tired and out-of-sorts from these weeks of solitude and 
inactivity, Legolas did his best to appear enthusiastic.
“I am ready.”
 
    He joined Glorfindel in the doorway and remained passive as the 
Elda’s arm assumed it’s usual position, wrapped firmly around 
Legolas’ waist. Legolas soon found the pressure constrictive and was 
forced to fight the urge to peel the arm away and walk by himself. 
Why did Glorfindel always have to lead him around like he was a 
puppy?
 
    As they entered the Great Hall, Legolas forgot all his frustrations. 
The hall was decked out in a thousand colours, paper lanterns and 
flower garlands hanging from every possible perch. The room was 
packed with elves merrymaking and the sound of music and singing 
filled the air. Everyone was dressed in their finery, and taking full 
advantage of all that was on offer; dancing, singing and drinking with 
friends. Despite his tiredness, the bustling atmosphere made Legolas 
grin with excitement.
 
“I’ll go get us something to drink.”
   Legolas nodded distractedly and moved off into the crowd as 
Glorfindel left in search of refreshments. He scanned the hall for 
people he knew, but was unable to recognise any of his friends in the 
mass of colourful robes and milling bodies. 
 
   Legolas was beginning to feel the curious stares of the guests 
surrounding him, their eyes boring into his back. He was sure he 
could hear people whispering when his back was turned, speculating 
over his thinner frame and long convalescence. How weak they must 
think him. Oh, Gods, what if they knew? Panic was beginning to creep 
into the prince’s mind, turning his chest to stone, when a voice from 
behind broke through his tangled thoughts.
“Legolas!” He knew that voice, but surely it couldn’t be-
 
    Legolas spun around to face the voice’s owner, a grin breaking out 
on his pale face. Before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered elf with 
long auburn hair in ornate braids. He wore a matching grin and was 
dressed in a rich, midnight blue robe, lovingly embroidered in silver, 
and setting off his blue eyes nicely. Legolas could scarcely believe his 
eyes.
 
“Silinde!”
He gazed at his childhood friend, almost lost for words. The other elf 
enfolded Legolas in a big bear hug, chuckling merrily at the prince’s 
surprise.
“It has been far too long, friend.” With one last squeeze, Silinde 
stepped back, concern knitting his brow. “You’ve lost weight. I can 
feel all of your ribs.” Legolas shrugged self-consciously before quickly 
changing the subject.
 
“When did you arrive in the valley? How long can you stay?” It would 
be wonderful to catch up with the news from the Greenwood.
“Alas, I cannot stay. I am riding as your father’s messenger to Lorien, 
and I only stopped by on the way to enjoy some company on New 
Year’s Eve. I leave later this very night.” 
Legolas heart sank in disappointment.
 “The twins,” Silinde continued, a twinkle of amusement entering his 
eyes, “were kind enough to lend me a robe for the celebrations 
tonight, so I do not shame myself in my dusty travel clothes before 
great persons such as yourself, your Royal Highness,” delivering a 
mock bow, eliciting laughter from behind. 
 
  Legolas rolled his eyes playfully, and then looked over Silinde’s 
shoulder. Only now did he realise that Elrohir and Elladan were also 
present, standing a polite distance away as the Greenwood elves 
greeted each other. Elladan stepped forward.
“It’s good to see you up and about again, Legolas,” he offered, before 
being silenced by a sharp elbow in his side, courtesy of Elrohir.
 
   Legolas shot Elrohir a grateful look, but the damage was already 
done. Silinde looked at Legolas suspiciously.
“You’ve been ill? Legolas, what’s going on?” Sensing the curiosity of 
the other revellers, many of whom were now discreetly trying to 
eavesdrop on their conversation, Legolas shifted uncomfortably. 
Picking up on the blonde’s unease, Silinde lowered his voice.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”
 
“This way”
   Legolas nodded apologetically to Elrohir and Elladan, the latter of 
whom was looking distinctly sheepish, and led Silinde through the 
throngs of people out to the veranda. From there, they went down the 
small set of steps into the gardens, eventually settling on a bench 
beneath an ivy trellis, shielded from prying eyes. 
 
   As they sat down together, Silinde immediately turned to the prince.
“What did he mean? And what’s this about you being injured? We 
received a letter from Lord Elrond; he said you’d been hurt but he 
didn’t say how. Your father wrote, but you never replied.” Legolas 
winced at the accusation in his friend’s tone. 
“It’s nothing serious Silinde, I swear. I just got into a fight.” Silinde 
snorted.
“Funny, when I asked Elrohir, he told me you’d fallen down the 
stairs.” Legolas groaned inwardly. He should have thought to get his 
story straight. 
 
  “Honestly, Silinde, it was nothing. And I was barely ill; it was only a 
cold. Elrond did make me stay in bed for a week- which is what 
Elladan referred to- but he was being overprotective.” 
Silinde shot him a withering glare. 
“Elves don’t get sick unless they’re already badly weakened, Legolas. 
Why won’t you tell me what is going on? Don’t you trust me 
anymore?” The hurt in Silinde’s tone made Legolas sigh.
“It’s not that, I swear mellon. I… I just can’t talk about this. I’m 
sorry,” he finished lamely. Silinde turned away, gazing out into the 
twilight.
“Why do you never come home, Legolas? Your family misses you.”
“I know.”
 
    For a while they sat in awkward silence, avoiding each other’s gaze, 
until Legolas could bear the tension in the air no longer. Reaching out 
to clasp Silinde’s hand, he looked up pleadingly at his friend.
“Please, Silinde, let’s not ruin tonight. It’s been so long, can’t we just 
enjoy this time together?” Silinde’s heart melted at the misery in 
Legolas’ face and smiled.
“Of course, you are right.” He rose, pulling Legolas up with him. 
“Lets go back inside.” Legolas breathed a sigh of relief and eagerly 
complied, linking arms with his friend as they made their way inside 
to join the other revellers.
 
Back inside the Great Hall, the twins were waiting for them, drinks in 
hand. As Elrohir passed him a goblet of wine, Legolas’ heart skipped 
a beat. Where was Glorfindel? He had left to find drink before 
Legolas wandered off. Frantically scanning the crowd, Legolas began 
feeling panicky- Glorfindel was nowhere to be seen. 
“Legolas?” A look of concern and curiosity was on Elrohir’s face.
“Have you seen Glorfindel? He was supposed to be getting drinks, I 
completely forgot.” He couldn’t disguise the anguish and anxiety in 
his voice, and Silinde frowned. 
“Who is Glorfindel? Surely you don’t mean-”
“Yes, the balrog slayer,” Elrohir cut in impatiently, trying to focus on 
Legolas, who was now looking very white and anxious. “Relax, he will 
come and find you. He’s probably got distracted himself, talking to 
old friends.”
“I guess,” Legolas concurred uneasily. The younger twin was 
probably right- it would be a very typical thing for Glorfindel to do- 
but he still felt vaguely worried. The Elda had returned with drinks to 
find him gone, Legolas could be sure his temper would be roused. 
 
   The sharp chiming of metal against crystal interrupted the prince’s 
gloomy thoughts. A hush descended on the room and all turned to 
face Lord Elrond, standing on the high dais clearing his throat. The 
lore master looked impressive in his velvet robes of office and mithril 
coronet, but his intimidating majesty was belied by his genial smile.
“Friends, welcome one and all to the New Year Revels!” Applause 
greeted his opening statement, and Elrond held up his arms for quiet. 
“Carouse, dance and be merry, for today we celebrate the passing of 
the old and the beginning of the new. Let all indulge themselves in 
whatever pursuit their addiction may lead them to,” he gestured to 
the musicians, “strike up, let the Revels begin!” 
 
  The minstrels began to play and a dance tune filled the air.
“Will you dance?” Legolas looked up in surprise at Silinde’s 
questioning face. He took one last look around the hall, and seeing 
Glorfindel nowhere, put his drink down and tentatively allowed his 
old friend to lead him onto the dance floor and into a spirited waltz. 
Letting Silinde lead and giving himself over to the music, the prince 
began to relax. They spun happily around the hall, enjoying each 
other’s much missed company, and when the first song ended, Legolas 
was reluctant to stop. He next gave each of the twins a dance, before 
insisting, exhausted, that they sit a while. 
 
In the far corner of the hall they settled together, tired but laughing 
and joking, all thought of Glorfindel fled from Legolas’ thoughts. 
With the prince deep in conversation with Elrohir, Silinde murmured 
quietly in Elladan’s ear, so as not to alert the blonde.
“What’s going on? What does Glorfindel have to do with Legolas?”
“He has been Legolas’ lover since he arrived in Imladris,” the elder 
twin replied, equally cautious. The auburn-haired elf cocked an 
incredulous eyebrow.
“If that is the case, then why did he pale with worry at the thought of 
his wrath?” Silinde snarled, exasperated, “Why does no one tell me 
what is going on?” Elladan shrugged non-committaly.
“That is something for Legolas to tell you, when he is ready.” 
 
Silinde glanced over at Legolas to make sure the blonde was still 
chatting happily with the younger twin. 
“Will you at least tell me if Glorfindel is the reason Legolas hasn’t 
contacted his family in over a century?”
“I really think you need to talk to Legolas about this,” he whispered 
evasively, causing Silinde’s lips to purse in displeasure. A particularly 
scathing comment was on the tip of his tongue but a sharp kick from 
Elladan alerted him to the fact that Elrohir and Legolas had finished 
their conversation and were looking at the other pair curiously. 
Silinde bit his tongue and rescued the uncomfortable moment by 
smiling broadly at the prince and steering the conversation towards 
safer ground.
 
“Shall I tell you the news from Greenwood?” Legolas’ face instantly 
lit up and he nodded vehemently. 
“Please do,” he replied eagerly, “it’s been so long.”
 Silinde took a long drink from his goblet and settled himself 
comfortably in his chair, preparing for a long tale.
 
As Legolas listened, transfixed, to Silinde’s words, Elrohir felt a gentle 
tugging at the back of his robes. Sliding back discretely on the 
cushions he sat on, Elrohir moved to join his twin, putting a little 
distance between the Greenwood elves and themselves. He bent his 
lips to his brother’s ear.
“What is it Elladan?”
“Silinde suspects something. He knows it is Glorfindel who has been 
cutting Legolas off from the Greenwood all these years,” Elladan 
breathed back, “He seems to distrust Glorfindel.” Elrohir did his best 
to appear scathing without attracting the other elves’ attention.
“With good reason.”
“Perhaps,” Elladan replied, a trace of irritation audible, “but you 
know he has the king’s ear. It will do no good to start a diplomatic 
row between our realms. If he convinces Thranduil that an Imaldrin 
lord is holding his son hostage – however accurate that might be,” he 
added quickly, seeing the look on his brother’s face, “we may have an 
extremely angry king accusing us of complicity. He may even decide 
Legolas is a prisoner here.” 
 
Reluctantly, Elrohir had to agree that the older twin had a point.
“So what do you propose we do about it?” Elladan looked 
embarrassed.
“Well, I hadn’t actually thought of that yet.” Elrohir rolled his eyes. 
“Wonderful. You get me all worried and anxious, and then don’t even 
have a solution. Thanks, brother, next time leave me happy in my 
ignorance.” Elladan looked hurt.
“You don’t have any outstanding ideas yourself, Elrohir. And 
anyway, there is one thing we can do- we can warn father.” 
 
Elrohir nodded- why hadn’t he thought of that? Elladan gave him a 
smug look and he turned, pretending not to see, suddenly very 
interested in the goings-on of Greenwood. Silinde was just finishing 
his report, and yawned deeply, stretching in his seat like a cat.
“Alas friends, I must leave you now, I am required in Lorien before 
the month is up.” Legolas was dismayed.
“Must you go already?” Silinde got to his feet, brushing the creases 
from the velvet of his robe. 
“I’m afraid so, gwador. To hear more news from home, you will just 
have to come back and visit.” Legolas stood and embraced his friend. 
“Come home soon, won’t you Legolas?” Legolas smiled weakly and 
nodded at Silinde’s quiet plea.
“I will try.”
 
     Elladan rose and cleared his throat.
“I’ll show you back to my room so you can change.”
“Thank you.” Silinde turned to Elrohir and Legolas. “Farewell my 
friends.” Legolas managed a faint smile, sorry to lose his friend.
“May you have a safe journey.” Elrohir stepped forward and clasped 
Silinde’s hand warmly.
“Farewell meldir, it was good to see you again.”
Legolas watched sadly as Elladan and Silinde wound through the 
crowd and disappeared from sight. He hadn’t realised how much he 
missed his forest home until tonight. Sensing the prince’s sorrow, 
Elrohir laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 
“You will see them all again. There is nothing to stop you going home 
for a while.” 
 
     Legolas’ heart jumped- Glorfindel. In his excitement, the prince 
had entirely forgotten about the older lord. After his initial unease he 
hadn’t missed the Elda all evening, but his failure to appear was now 
beginning to worry Legolas. Pulling himself together, he turned his 
head to acknowledge Elrohir.
“You are right; perhaps it is time to pay a visit home.”
 Anxiety gnawing at him, Legolas quickly made his excuses. “I’m still 
feeling a little tired, I think I will retire.” Elrohir’s eyebrows rose in 
surprise.
“Already? But the night is barely begun!” Legolas shifted impatiently, 
anxious to find Glorfindel and head off the row he feared would be 
coming.
“I want to rest, sorry.” He took a deep breath, ensuring his face 
remained calm. “I’ll see you in the morning, thank you for a 
wonderful evening.”
“Sleep well, Legolas.” 
Elrohir was wary, but didn’t voice his suspicions. He embraced his 
friend and allowed the blonde to scurry away towards the door, his 
haste betraying his assertion that he was weary. Elrohir wasn’t fooled 
by Legolas’ pretence- this was about Glorfindel and he knew it.
 
    Across the room, Elladan was pushing his way through the throngs 
of elves to his twin. Elrohir waved in greeting as his brother drew 
near. Elladan finally managed to reach him, and immediately glanced 
with confusion over his shoulder.
“Where is Legolas?”
“He went back to his quarters.” Elladan made a face.
“Already?” He shook his head, as if brushing the entire matter aside. 
“But anyway, listen- I’ve spoken to father.” 
“And?”
“I was getting to that,” the elder twin snapped irritably. “I told him 
about Silinde; he seemed troubled. He said he was going to write to 
Thranduil himself, so we may be receiving a host from the Greenwood 
after all.”
“And none too soon,” Elrohir replied grimly, “perhaps if his family 
see what is happening, they will succeed in persuading him where we 
have failed.”
 
 
 
 
Chapter 10
 
 
    Legolas’ stomach churned as his hand stilled over the door handle. 
Something was wrong, he was certain of it. The ominous feeling in the 
pit of his stomach threatened to make him ill, but he steadied his hand 
and swallowed the rising bile. The fact that Glorfindel had simply 
disappeared instead of coming to chastise him rattled Legolas; 
although he told himself Glorfindel had changed the familiar fear had 
returned with a vengeance. Summoning all his courage, he clasped the 
door handle firmly. Perhaps he could just creep in unnoticed? He 
willed his hand to stop shaking and turned the handle, pushing the 
door slightly ajar. 
 
Nothing happened. 
 
   Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas pushed the door open and stepped 
inside. A cry of pain filled the air as a fist rammed into the side of 
Legolas’ face and he was slammed against a wall. Legolas heard the 
door bang shut and began to shake uncontrollably again. The pungent 
smell of alcohol breath filled his nose and his heart broke at the 
realisation that he was trapped, that it was all going to happen just as 
it had before. Glorfindel backhanded the prince, sending him 
sprawling on the floor. Blood ran from Legolas’ temple where his 
head had hit the floor, and it seemed to the prince that his head was 
gripped in a vice. 
 
   Betrayed, Legolas tried to speak but was silenced by a sharp kick 
from Glorfindel.
“Silence, whore! You’re nothing but a common little slut.” Legolas 
flinched as the older lord spat in his face, and finally found his voice.
“Please, I never... I don’t know-“ a brutal hand in his hair, yanking 
him to his feet, cut him off. 
“I did not give you permission to speak, whore. I saw you tonight with 
that messenger, dancing. His hands were all over you. And your 
precious Elrohir. He wants you, you know, lusts for you. He can’t 
keep his eyes off you,” he snarled. Legolas would have laughed if he 
hadn’t been so afraid. Glorfindel was jealous of Silinde? And Elrohir? 
They had been his friends from childhood. He struggled to speak as a 
blow knocked the wind out of him.
“Glorfindel, I swear-”
“SILENCE!” The blonde lord roared, eyes bulging and face turning 
purple in fury. 
Gone was the handsome, charming, refined elf that Legolas once 
knew; in his place was this hideous, terrifying monster. A strong hand 
fastened around Legolas’ neck, choking the air out of him, and the 
prince braced himself for further blows. What Glorfindel did next 
was the last thing Legolas had expected.
 
    The Elda pushed him back against the wall and pinned him firmly 
with one arm. With his free hand he ripped open the front of the 
prince’s robes and ran possessive fingers over the younger elf’s chest.
“You are mine, pen-neth, and I think you need to be reminded of it.” 
He drew a slim knife from his belt and held it up for the prince to see. 
Legolas trembled as Glorfindel traced a red line down his chest and 
abdomen, stopping just below his naval. He held his breath, waiting 
for the Elda’s next move. Legolas bit his lip to keep from crying out as 
Glorfindel suddenly slashed diagonally across his right nipple, beads 
of blood welling up along the long red gash. The blade left his skin 
momentarily and Legolas found himself being flipped round to face 
his captor. Glorfindel’s eyes were black and cold- there was no trace 
of the warmth and affection they had held, once upon a time. The fist 
in Legolas’ hair tightened threateningly.
“On your knees.”
 
    Legolas was left no choice but to obey when the hand yanked 
downwards, unbalancing him and sending him to the floor. The knife 
immediately reappeared, pressing dangerously into the prince’s 
throat. From his place on the stone flagstones, Legolas was now 
eyelevel with Glorfindel’s straining arousal, pressing against the laces 
of his breeches. Legolas’ heartbeat quickened, the awful reality of his 
situation sinking in. His captor’s hand loosed its grip on Legolas’ 
scalp, and reached down to untie the laces, freeing Glorfindel’s 
erection from the confines of his leggings.
“Try anything and you die.” Legolas felt acutely the cold steel at his 
throat and remained still, scarcely daring to breathe though his heart 
hammered in his chest. Grabbing the back of his head, Glorfindel 
forced Legolas’ face forwards until the head of the Elda’s erection 
pressed at the prince’s lips.
“Suck.”
 
   Feeling the constant pressure of the dagger, Legolas parted his lips 
and let Glorfindel thrust into the warm depth of his mouth. He tried 
not to gag as the head of the Elda’s engorged member pressed at the 
back of his throat. This couldn’t be happening to him…
 
    Glorfindel’s thrusts became wilder and more erratic, and Legolas 
braced himself, expecting to have to swallow the older lord’s hot 
semen. He was surprised when Glorfindel stilled and pulled out, still 
hard.
“Face the wall, stay kneeling.” Knowing the Elda could easily slit his 
throat, Legolas slowly complied, the knife following him round. “I’ve 
been waiting for you princeling, planning what I could do to you.” 
Legolas shivered at the relish in Glorfindel’s tone, and closed his eyes 
tightly. “All the ways you could be punished for your disobedience.”
 
    The knife began stroking up and down the side of the prince’s neck.
 
   “Put your hands behind your back.” Eyes still clenched shut, trying 
to block out reality, Legolas crossed his wrists behind him. What was 
Glorfindel going to do? Legolas started as he felt the knife disappear 
and be replaced by rope at his wrists.
“Yes my pet, I came prepared.” There was a sadistic smirk in 
Glorfindel’s voice that froze Legolas’ blood in his veins. Glorfindel 
wasn’t going to end this quickly- he would take his time until he was 
satisfied.
 
Securely tied, his arms were hoisted uncomfortably above the prince’s 
head, with the end of the rope tied fast to an iron torch bracket on the 
wall above. Legolas felt the dagger against his skin once more, but this 
time at the base of his back. Glorfindel leaned close enough for 
Legolas to feel his hot breath, reeking with alcohol, in his ear. 
“I think, princeling, you need to be shown who you really belong to.” 
In one swift motion, the Elda slit his shirt and robes down the back 
and tore away the remainder of the robe. Working quickly, he deftly 
slit both sleeves and tossed aside the ragged remains of the shirt. 
Running his hands down the prince’s newly revealed torso, Glorfindel 
licked his lips appreciatively.
“Flawless.”
Legolas tried to move away from the possessive hands but was tied in 
such a way that he was utterly helpless. Glorfindel moved back, and 
the sound of leather brushing against velvet told Legolas he was 
removing his belt. The younger elf held his breath, waiting for the 
pain of leather biting into his flesh.
 
Crack!
 
The first blow stung but Legolas bore it in silence, years of practise 
teaching him endurance.
 
Crack!
 
Glorfindel struck again, moving further down his back. The blows 
came faster now, leaving welts over his lower back. Legolas bit his 
tongue to keep silent at the fiery pain spreading over his entire back. 
It had never gone on this long before. Glorfindel re-angled his strokes 
so that the belt now cut across the welts left by previous blows, leaving 
blood trickling down Legolas’ back. Finally, the prince whimpered 
loudly as a particularly violent blow left a bloody cut from shoulder to 
hip. Knowing he had nearly broken him, Glorfindel smiled smugly 
and lowered the belt in his hand. Fear and anger oozed from Legolas’ 
every pore, and Glorfindel felt himself grow even harder as he 
surveyed his handiwork. 
 
   The knot keeping the rope tied to the bracket was undone but the 
rope remained looped over it. The Elda pulled down hard, causing 
Legolas’ arms to be yanked upwards painfully, forcing the younger elf 
to stumble unsteadily to his feet to prevent his shoulders being 
dislocated. Legolas was hoisted upwards by the rope until he stood on 
the balls of his feet, effectively leaving him hanging from the rope that 
bound him. The position of his arms meant he was bent over, his face 
pressed against the wall, chafing uncomfortably against his skin, and 
hips thrust back towards Glorfindel. Glorfindel grabbed him by the 
hair again, twisting his head painfully to face his tormentor.
“ You are *my* whore, nobody can have you but me.”
Picking his knife again, Glorfindel cut away the prince’s leggings and 
pulled off his boots, leaving him naked. Legolas flinched in disgust as 
Glorfindel fondled his buttocks, dipping his fingers into the crack 
between. The reaction earned him a sharp smack to his right buttock, 
warning him to show more respect. 
 
   Rough hands forced his legs apart, and Legolas felt his face flush, 
humiliated, as he was fully exposed to Glorfindel’s eyes. The hand 
moved between his legs, probing and exploring every inch of flesh. 
The Elda had touched him like this before, yes; but this time it was 
different. This time Legolas only wanted to recoil in disgust. A finger 
circled his opening and Legolas jerked away as best he could, 
panicking.
“No!” Glorfindel’s answer was another ringing slap to his behind.
“I told you to be silent!” Glorfindel stood back and the prince sighed 
in relief as the hated hands left him. The relief was short lived 
however, as a faint rustling confirmed his worst fear. Stripped of his 
own clothes, Glorfindel stood behind the younger elf once more, the 
head of his erection pushed up against Legolas’ tight opening. Tremor 
after tremor shook the young elf’s body, terror wringing tears from 
his eyes. Oh Gods no, please, he wouldn’t…
 
“Glorfindel, plea-” his words were cut off by his own scream as 
Glorfindel thrust, unlubricated, into his tight channel. There was a 
fiery agony and he felt his flesh tear as the lord rammed his length 
mercilessly into him, paying no heed to the blood running down the 
prince’s thighs. Legolas closed his eyes and uttered a desperate prayer 
to the Valar as Glorfindel continued his assault. After what seemed 
like hours, but could only have been a few minutes, Glorfindel 
released inside him, pouring his hot, salty essence into the younger 
elf’s abused passage. The room spun and blackness tinged the edge of 
the prince’s vision, heralding the onset of unconsciousness. Legolas’ 
tortured mind vaguely registered Glorfindel’s withdrawal before he 
passed out, his mind seeking the respite of elven dreams.
 
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Chapter 11
 
This was the final straw, Elrond decided grimly as he led four armed 
guards, including his youngest son, down the hallway leading to Legolas’ 
and Glorfindel’s quarters. He himself was armed with a long, slim knife, 
but he didn’t truly expect to need it- it was his healer’s kit that he felt 
would most likely be required. This time however, he was determined to 
put an end to Glorfindel’s reign of terror whether he had Legolas’ 
cooperation or not. It had been fortunate that Ithiliel had stayed at home to 
nurse her new babe instead of going with the other elves to the Revels, or 
there would have been no one present to report the disturbance in the 
prince’s quarters- which, Elrond reflected, was likely to have been 
Glorfindel’s plan. However, the blonde lord had not reckoned on Ithiliel, 
who had immediately come to Elrond in the Great Hall, reporting loud 
bangs and shouting from within the pair’s quarters, as well as a scream 
loud enough to wake her baby.
 
Elrond had wasted no time in assembling a small escort to arrest the Elda, 
inviting his son Elrohir, who though not on duty, insisted on coming to the 
prince’s aid. Elladan had gone to warn the healers of possible injuries, and 
the five armed elves had set off for the scene of the disturbance. 
 
Elrond brought them to a halt in front of the prince’s door and banged 
heavily on the wood.
“Glorfindel? Open this door immediately!” When silence greeted Elrond’s 
shout, he tried the handle- locked. The lore master nodded to the nearest 
guard and stood back as he moved in to force the door in. After a few tries 
the door banged open, allowing the group to step inside. The scene that 
greeted them made an ominous sickness grow inside the lord of Imladris. 
 
On the floor by the wall was a pool of blood, with a spattering on the floor 
at the other side of the floor. A rope was tied to one of the torch brackets 
and now dangles above the blood pool, with fraying pieces lying on the 
surrounding floor, cut in haste.
“Lord Elrond?” Elrond turned to see one of the guards kneeling a few feet 
away, a slim brown object in his hands; A belt, and on closer inspection, 
one stained with blood. Elrond’s lips thinned.
“Search these chambers for Glorfindel- I want him arrested and tied up on 
the spot. Elrohir- look to Legolas.” 
 
The guards, once confused as to their coming here, paled with a sudden 
understanding. Elrond looked up sharply.
“None of you are to speak of what you see here today, unless it is before 
and inquiry. Now make haste.” The group split up to search the suite for 
the Elda lord, save for Elrond and Elrohir, who together searched instead 
for the prince, fearing the worst. A shout from the bedroom brought the 
pair running, but instead of Legolas, they found two guards supporting an 
unconscious Glorfindel in a semi-upright position, while the third held 
aloft an empty wine bottle.
“The room is full of these, but there is no since of Prince Legolas, my 
lord.” Elrond nodded.
“Take him to the cells. Treat him as highly dangerous when he wakes- a 
guard must be posted at all times.” 
“Aye sir.” The guards bowed their heads respectfully and left, dragging 
the seneschal behind them. 
 
In the silence that followed, Elrond heard the faintest of whimpers, 
coming from behind the locked closet door. Elrohir’s abruptly alert face 
told him that his son had heard it too and he made his way over to the 
door. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside the long-empty, 
disused walk-in wardrobe, Elrohir close behind him. In the gloom, Elrond 
could just make out the prince, naked and curled on his side in the foetal 
position in the back corner of the room, gazing up in abject terror at the 
two silhouetted forms in the doorway. Elrond’s heart stilled in his chest as 
he looked down at Legolas, who was covered in blood and trembling like 
a leaf. 
“Elrohir, a blanket.” 
Elrohir left the closet and Elrond edged a little closer to the blonde elf on 
the floor, eventually coming to kneel by his side. He stretched out a hand 
and Legolas whimpered quietly and shrank back, afraid.
“Peace, Legolas, It’s alright, it’s all over now. It’s me, Elrond.” Elrohir 
reappeared at his father’s side with a blanket, and tucked it round Legolas’ 
body, hoping it would at least make the prince feel less exposed.
 
“Legolas? It’s Elrohir, everything is going to be fine.” Elrond gently 
began to stroke the blonde’s blood-caked hair, murmuring nonsensical 
words of comfort, knowing he had to calm the elf before he could carry 
him from the room to be treated. When the young elf’s shivers had 
decreased a little, he wrapped the blanket more securely round the prince 
and slid his hands carefully beneath him. As gently as he could, the lore 
master lifted Legolas into his arms, wincing as his patient moaned in pain. 
Elrohir held open the door to let them pass, and together they started on 
their way to the Healing House. They were forced to re-evaluate their 
plans however, when they were greeted at the door by a gaggle of curious 
elves, having left the feast to see what all the commotion was about. 
Legolas tensed in Elrond’s arms and the lord cursed under his breath, 
moving swiftly through the babbling elves and going in the opposite 
direction from the healers. 
 
Round the first corner, Elrohir lifted a tapestry that concealed a secret 
door, and pushed it open. Elrond stepped into the hidden passage it 
revealed, his haste increasing now as he felt the prince’s hot tears wetting 
the front of his robes. Imladris was full of secret passages like this one, 
leading for the most part to his own quarters. They had been designed to 
provide a means of escape for the valley’s lord and his family in case of 
attack, but they would serve well now as a way to transport the prince to 
safety without exposing him to the stares of nosy townspeople. The quiet, 
passive behaviour of the elf in his arms made Elrond worry even further- 
what had Glorfindel done to reduce the prince to this state? The lore 
master had his suspicions, but until he could examine Legolas, he 
wouldn’t know.
 
The three travelled in silence save for Legolas’ ragged breathing, and 
Elrond was relieved when they finally reached the sanctuary of his own 
quarters. Legolas was clearly badly hurt, and Elrond wanted to examine 
him as soon as possible. Once again Elrohir rushed ahead to open the 
secret door that led directly to the half-elf’s bedroom and Elrond 
quickened his pace, anxious to tend to his injured charge. As softly as 
possible he lowered Legolas onto the mattress and began peeling back the 
blanket he was wrapped in. The prince abruptly seized the end of the 
fabric away from the half-elf and wrapped it even tighter about himself, 
fear and anguish showing in every gesture.
“No!”
Legolas began to hyperventilate, seized with panic. He couldn’t let Elrond 
examine him! Then he would know he had been raped, and he couldn’t 
live with the shame. They already thought him weak for letting Glorfindel 
abuse him, they would be disgusted if they knew…
 
He curled up again, shrinking back from Elrond. The movement pulled at 
his wounds and he winced at the pain, something that was not lost on 
Elrond. The lore master had his suspicions about the nature of Legolas’ 
hurts, and the prince’s unwillingness to be examined only strengthened 
them. He appreciated Legolas’ feelings, but he could not let the blonde go 
untreated; all he could do was make the experience as easy and painless as 
possible for the youth.
“Elrohir, please leave us alone a while. Go tell the healers that I will treat 
Legolas here, and wait outside when you are finished.” 
 
Elrohir looked outraged and was about to protest, prompting Elrond to 
sharpen his tone.
“Now please, Elrohir.”
With a last, concerned glance at the prone blonde, the younger twin 
obeyed, leaving Elrond and Legolas quite alone. Careful not to further 
spook his patient, Elrond knelt down by the bed, eye to eye with the 
prince, extending his hand to stroke Legolas’ hair.
“Legolas, I understand how difficult this is for you, but I must examine 
you. Left untreated your wounds could become infected and would be a 
thousand times worse. I’m afraid I can offer no anaesthetic to let you 
sleep- with a concussion it might well drag you under.” He saw Legolas’ 
eye widen and quickly added, “ I promise I will not judge you.”
 
Legolas’ eyes met his cautiously and he nodded his permission, though 
Elrond still read hesitance and distrust in the blue depths. //Little wonder,// 
he thought to himself, //after what he’s been through.//
Doing his best to smile reassuringly, Elrond slowly pulled the blanket 
away from the blonde’s body and attempted to lay him on his back. A 
pained little noise escaped the prince’s lips and Elrond desisted, 
concerned. Leaning over he gasped as he saw what the darkness of the 
closet had masked. The skin of Legolas’ back was torn and bloody, 
announcing clearly that he had been whipped, and dried blood and semen 
stained his inner thighs. Disgust for the Elda welled up inside him, but 
Elrond willed himself back to focusing on treating the prince. There was 
also bad bruising on Legolas’ abdomen and face, a bad gash across his 
right nipple and chest, a nasty cut on his temple, and his wrists had been 
rubbed raw by the rope which bound him. The half-elf rose and crossed to 
the sideboard, rummaging for a moment, and returning to the bed with all 
the bandages, bottles and supplies that he would require. 
 
As Legolas was on his side, Elrond started with the injuries on his face, 
wrists and abdomen, rubbing arnica tenderly into the bruises. Next he 
carefully cleaned the cuts on chest and forehead, before helping the prince 
to lie on his front. He fetched the basin, jug and sponge from the dresser 
and poured some clean water out, wetting the sponge and using it to clean 
the dried blood away from Legolas’ back. The body beneath him shook a 
little, but the young archer remained silent. Working as quickly as he 
could, Elrond cleaned the deep welts and rubbed antiseptic into them, 
hearing Legolas’ hiss at the sting. Nudging Legolas to lift himself from the 
mattress a little, the half-elf wrapped clean bandages around his back, 
pinning them and lowering the prince to the sheets again.
 
Finally, he turned his attention to the blonde’s internal injury. Gingerly 
washing the blood and semen from Legolas’ thighs, Elrond felt him stiffen 
with panic and began whispering in a low, soothing voice as he continued 
to bathe the wound. Once he had finished the external area, Elrond quietly 
asked for permission to continue.
“Legolas, I will need to check inside of you, to make sure the wound is 
clean and decrease the chance of infection.”
Legolas simply nodded, avoiding the lord’s eyes. His silence troubled 
Elrond, but he pressed on, eager to end the prince’s ordeal as quickly as 
possible.
 
Wetting his fingers, he placed them at Legolas’ opening, his other hand 
moving to hold Legolas’. Slowly he slid one wet digit into the ravaged 
channel, adding a little more water with the sponge. Elrond felt Legolas 
squeeze his hand and he squeezed back in sympathy. He withdrew his 
finger and washed away the blood, then covered his fingers liberally in a 
salve that would speed the healing process and help prevent infection. He 
slid two fingers inside scissored, coating the abused flesh again, before 
gently withdrawing and washing his hands. 
 
Setting his healing kit aside on the dresser, Elrond returned to Legolas’ 
side, sitting on the bed next to him.
“Thank you for trusting me, pen-neth. Would you prefer to lie on your 
side?” 
Legolas nodded silently and let Elrond ease him onto his side. He didn’t 
trust himself to speak, lest the sobs that threatened to erupt should further 
shame him. Elrond draped a light sheet over his body to preserve his 
modesty.
“Try to get some rest. Would you like me to stay with you?” 
Legolas nodded gratefully, not ready to be left alone yet. 
 
One by one, the torches and candles that lit the room were extinguished, 
until only one small candle on the dresser remained alight, Elrond rightly 
guessing Legolas’ wouldn’t feel comfortable in total darkness. Legolas 
tried to close his mind to the memories threatening to overpower him, 
eager for sleep and peace. Eventually, his physical exhaustion overcame 
his fraught mind and his eyes grew vacant in elven sleep. 
 
Seeing at last that the prince slumbered in relative peace, Elrond leant over 
him, holding Vilya above the damaged body. Channelling his own 
strength into Legolas, the lord felt himself grow weak, the archer’s 
punished body hungrily accepting any energy available. Breaking the 
connection. Elrond stood still a moment, catching his breath and clearing 
his head. The power of Vilya would help the prince to heal more quickly, 
but Legolas still had a long road ahead of him. Once the dizziness had 
passed, Elrond left silently, seeking his son.
 
It was no surprise to find Elrohir waiting restlessly in the next room, 
pacing in front of the empty fireplace. He snapped back to attention when 
he heard his father enter, bursting with questions about the blonde.
“He is resting now. I’m sorry I had to send you away, but the examination 
was hard enough for him without the added humiliation of an audience.”
Elrohir’s ire faded as he realised the logic and compassion of his father’s 
actions, swiftly replaced by guilt at his selfishness.
“What did that beast do to him, Ada?”
Elrond’s sadness showed in his mist-grey eyes. 
“He raped him, pen-neth. Legolas will probably never be the same again, 
you never truly recover from something like this.”
 
Elrohir felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. So it was rape 
then; his darkest fears had come true. Seeing his son’s lost _expression, 
Elrond enfolded his youngest in his arms, his paternal instincts- already 
stimulated by the prince- getting the better of him. Elrohir welcomed the 
comforting touch, inking bonelessly against his father.
“He will need your support more than ever, ion.” Elrond pulled back, 
looking into Elrohir’s face. “I think you should be there when he wakes.”
“I will watch over him through the night,” he vowed. Feeling better now 
he had some purpose, Elrohir left his father’s side to take his place at 
Legolas’ bedside. He was about to open the door when Elrond stopped 
him.
“Don’t push him, Elrohir- he is fragile, mentally and physically.” 
“I know. I’ll take good care of him.” With that he resumed his course to 
his love’s side, determined to prove his words true. 
 
Legolas was indeed sleeping as his father had said, lying on his side, 
blonde hair - matted and red-tinged with blood – fanned out on the pillow. 
It would be a while until Legolas’ wounds would be healed sufficiently to 
allow him to take a bath, but perhaps in the meantime there might be 
something to remove the vivid reminder of his ordeal. Cautiously, Elrohir 
lay down a few inches from the prince, so that they were facing each 
other. Conscious of the blonde’s nudity, he lay on top of the sheet that 
covered Legolas, knowing the prince would be feeling particularly 
vulnerable at the moment. The coming months, perhaps even years, would 
require much patience, but Elrohir silently promised himself and the 
sleeping prince that he would be there to support him every step of the 
way.
 
He lost track of the hours that passed, musing over his own thoughts and 
gazing into Legolas’ vacant eyes. A movement from Legolas brought him 
out of his reverie however, forcing him to concentrate. Legolas’ brow was 
knit, and he had started to twitch agitatedly. He murmured faintly and 
twisted in his sleep, clearly in the throes of nightmares. 
 
Elrohir began to stroke his face tenderly, whispering sweet nothings, 
hoping his voice would reassure the blonde. Legolas quietened a little and 
stilled, but still whimpered almost inaudibly. Drawing nearer so that their 
noses were almost touching, Elrohir ran his fingers through blonde locks.
“Shh, Legolas, you are safe… I’m going to look after you.”
The sound of his voice seemed to be effective, for Legolas stopped 
fidgeting and buried his face in Elrohir’s hair, clutching at the front of his 
robe. Elrohir continued to caress his love’s hair and scalp, keeping the 
nightmares at bay. He would be strong for Legolas.
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
Chapter 12
 
The first thing Legolas became aware of as he struggled towards 
wakefulness was something soft tickling his nose. He tried to pull away 
but stopped dead and moaned in pain as sharp daggers of pain danced up 
his back at the movement. Forcing his eyes open and shaking the cobwebs 
from his brain, Legolas began to panic as he realised there was a hand 
resting heavily on his hip, and the tickling sensation came from a mass of 
dark hair. His chest began to tighten as memories were awoken. 
 
Elrohir woke at the sound of Legolas’ laboured breathing and cursed his 
own stupidity. Why had he thought Legolas would want anyone this 
close? Bringing his hand to rest on Legolas’ head, Elrohir forced their 
eyes of meet- Legolas’ wild-eyed, frightened stare with his own calm, 
steady gaze.
“Legolas, peace, it is Elrohir.” Fingers threaded into bloodstained strands. 
“Be still meldir, all is well.”
 
Legolas’ breathing remained ragged and heavy but he ceased his struggles 
and kept his eyes locked with Elrohir’s. Now he realised who was holding 
him, his shock and terror began to fade; Elrohir would not hurt him, 
Elrohir had been kind to him. He hadn’t scorned him, and he had come to 
rescue him last night, he remembered him bringing a blanket, a gesture 
Legolas had greatly appreciated. He shuddered as his thoughts returned to 
that night; awaking alone and aching in the darkness of the closet; 
Glorfindel beating him, whipping him, tearing him… The fiery pain 
centring on his most intimate place provided an inescapable reminder of 
what Glorfindel had done to him. Gods, he could even smell the Elda’s 
sweat and the musky smell of sex still clinging to his body. He grew 
agitated again as the thought seemed to grow, becoming a monster in his 
mind, drowning him in the scent of Glorfindel, making his skin crawl as 
he felt phantom hands on him again. He wanted to scrape all trace of the 
blonde from his bruised skin. He had never felt so utterly soiled.
 
Elrohir noticed his increasing distress and began to speak softly, keeping 
their eyes locked, giving Legolas no choice but to focus on the present and 
not on his memories. 
“Father will come to see you again soon, do not fret, it cannot be long 
before you will be able to bathe again. And when you are better, we can 
visit Greenwood, you and I. Won’t it be good to see your family again?” 
Legolas nodded timidly, spurring Elrohir on to continue, wracking brains 
for inane banter. He knew he was rambling, but the tactic seemed fairly 
effective- the blonde was not becoming restless and agitated, as he had 
done before, though he still wore a lost _expression on his face. Feeling 
buoyed, Elrohir kept up the chatter about everything from the success of 
the New Year revel to Erestor’s newest pet project, the construction of a 
new longer archery range, similar in design to those found in Lorien and 
the prince’s native Greenwood. He was mortified then, when abruptly, 
while he was discussing Elladan’s proposal for a combined hunting 
expedition in the autumn, Legolas burst into anguished, noisy tears, hot 
salty water pouring down his cheeks and lip trembling. Horrified, Elrohir 
stroked the side of Legolas’ face, but swiftly desisted when Legolas 
flinched at the touch. Feeling helpless, all Elrohir could do was wait for 
the sobs to subside, sitting impotently by as Legolas curled up tighter 
beneath the sheet.
 
Legolas hissed as he curled himself up, but otherwise ignored the pain the 
motion caused. He knew he shouldn’t be crying like this- Elrohir was no 
doubt shaking his head above him in disgust. Warriors weren’t supposed 
to cry, it was unbecoming to be seen so unmanned. But something inside 
him had been broken, a dam had been burst, and he was helpless to hold 
back the flow. He wanted to explain, to tell Elrohir how dirty he felt; how 
he could feel Glorfindel’s breath on his neck, his hands grasping his body; 
how something had been stolen from him and now he was lost.
 
But he remained silent; these weren’t feelings he could into words. After a 
time, he slumped exhausted into the pillows, tears finally spent. Elrohir’s 
heart wrenched- Legolas was shattered. Glorfindel was going to suffer for 
this, Elrohir would see to it personally. Seeing Legolas calming, all 
agitation leaving his fragile form, Elrohir made one final plea.
“Don’t let him get away with this. Will you speak out against him?”
 
Anger welled up in Legolas as his injuries burned in agony even at the 
faint pressure of the light sheet draped over him and he nodded. Where 
once the thought of Glorfindel had made his heart sing with love, there 
was now a deep pain and hatred growing ins