Title: Undone Part 3 

Author: Neldluva 

Author's Email: neldluva@hotmail.com 

Pairings: Legolas/Glorfindel, slight Legolas/OC, slight Boromir/OC 

Rating: NC17 

Warnings: slash, more angst, slight incest, slight non-con

Summary: A hesitant reunion leads Legolas on the long path of healing.

Feedback: is what keeps my romantic heart beating.

      A/N: You knew it had to happen!  Yup, it’s the part of the story in 
which Legolas is reunited with his son!  (Oh goodie!)  Yeah, in case you 
don’t remember, Vanwalas is the son of Glorfindel and Legolas.  If this 
completely catches you off-guard, you haven’t read parts 1 and 2 yet, have 
you?  So go read them!  Once more, Legolas has dark hair, at least in my 
fic.  Deal with it.

      I own everybody you don’t know.  So you can’t steal them!  
Unless you ask me first, in which case we’ll go through an intense series 
of negotiations . . .

      On with the story!

      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      I clicked my tongue to lead my horse through the trees.  I had long 
since stopped riding her, for it had been a long and difficult journey over 
the mountains and I did not wish to wear her out.  She whickered 
gratefully and plodded along at my heels.
      
      I glanced around at the beautiful land that surrounded me.  I had 
not been so far west of the Misty Mountains in many years, and I had 
nearly forgotten the beauty of the valley around the Bruinen.  My 
destination was Imladris, or Rivendell as it was called by Men.  And my 
purpose?  My purpose was to alert the Council meeting there that the 
creature Gollum had escaped.
      
      I had leapt at the chance to serve my father and King in this matter, 
but nearly turned the job down when I heard that it was in Imladris.  I had 
avoided the House of Elrond Half-Elven successfully for two thousand 
years.  I had dedicated myself, though, and there had been no backing out.
      
      My reasons for not wishing to return to Imladris were simple: I did 
not want to see my old lover, Glorfindel, and whatever my son had turned 
out to be.  I did not want the emotional bombardment that had occurred 
during my last visit.  I did not want to remember what had happened two 
thousand years ago, when I had discovered myself heavy with Glorfindel’s 
child.
      
      I shivered despite the warm autumn weather.  No, those were 
memories I did not want.
      
      A voice startled me from my musings.  “Stop where you are!” it 
commanded in the Common Tongue.  “State your business in Imladris!”
      
      “I am a messenger from Mirkwood,” I answered, putting my hands 
up to show that they were free of weapons.  “I have grave news to report 
to the Council.”
      
      “Legolas?” the voice asked, though it came from another direction.  
Everything fell into place as Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of lord 
Elrond and virtually identical, leapt down from the trees above.  My heart 
lifted to see them again after so long.  They looked ecstatic to see me as 
well.  “Elrohir, it is Legolas!”
      
      “Elladan!” I exclaimed.  “Elrohir!  I did not expect to see you two 
out here!”
      
      “Just as we did not expect to see you!” Elrohir answered.  He 
embraced me tightly.  “It has been far too long, friend.  You never came to 
see us!”
      
      “I have been busy in Mirkwood,” I explained.  “Will you ever 
forgive me?”
      
      “You should know better, Legolas.  Of course we will forgive 
you.”  Elladan shot me a smile.
      
      “But look at you!  You have grown up so I would not recognize 
you, Peredhil!”  I embraced Elladan as well.  “Ah, you have no idea how 
happy it makes me to see you again!”
      
      “Ahem,” cleared a throat from behind the twins.  I lifted my eyes.  
There was another Elf there.  “Excuse me?”
      
      He was young, I suppose.  He had Glorfindel’s nose, and his smile, 
but my lover had been right – he had my eyes.  It was nearly like looking 
into a mirror, albeit a distorted mirror.  He had my eyes, my cheekbones, 
my build, even if he was a bit taller than I was.  His hair was somewhat 
peculiar, what with the shorter golden strands on top of his head overlying 
the longer dark brown locks beneath.  It was a style seen sometimes in 
Mirkwood, but never in Imladris.
      
      “Legolas.”  Somebody poked me, and I realized I had been staring.  
“Legolas, are you awake?  Well, anyways, Vanwalas, this is Prince 
Legolas of Mirkwood.”
      
      His eyes opened in surprise, and he made to bow.  I gestured for 
him to rise, feeling quite uncomfortable about the situation.  “No, please,” 
I told him, “don’t bow before me.”
      
      “So he does have a voice!” Elrohir exclaimed.  There was 
something restrained about his tone.  “We thought you had gone mute, 
Legolas!”
      
      “My name is Vanwalas,” he said, sticking out his hand.  He had a 
kind expression on his face.  “I’ve never met anyone from Mirkwood 
before.”
      
      “No,” I replied, still in awe.  “No, we like to keep to ourselves, 
mostly.”
      
      “Ah,” he said, nodding understandingly.  “Well, we ought to get 
back to the House.  I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.”
      
      “Yes.”  I clicked my tongue again, and my faithful horse began to 
follow us away.  Elladan cast me a questioning look, but I shook my head.  
I did not know what to think.  I needed time to puzzle this out.
      
      Because I was faced with someone I had attempted to forget and 
failed miserably in doing so: my son.  The words sounded foreign.  Did he 
hate me?  Did he even know about me?  He was all grown up, and grown 
up very nicely, and I had not been there at all.  Not for the first time I felt 
guilt in leaving him behind when he was so young, and mingled with that 
was an odd sense of hatred towards my father, who had deemed the child 
an “abomination” and forbid it entrance to the forest.  No, it had been safer 
for my Vanwalas to stay in Imladris, but so painful for the both of us.
      
      “Are Mirkwood Elves always so quiet and pensive?”  I had come 
to know his voice, and I turned to look at him again.  He looked so much 
like Glorfindel . . .
      
      “I’m sorry, my thoughts have run away with me,” I answered.  “So 
. . . you’ve lived in Imladris your entire life?”  I searched for a 
conversation topic.
      
      “Yes,” he said.  “My father, Glorfindel of Gondolin, he lives here, 
and I live with him.”
      
      “Ah.  And your – er, your mother?  Where is she?”
      
      He shrugged and smiled.  “I never knew her.  She left not long 
after I was born.  I know next to nothing about her, but maybe that is 
best.”
      
      I swallowed nervously.  “Yes, perhaps it is.”  I had never imagined 
that it would be so difficult to speak with my own son.
      
      So they escorted me back to Imladris, in silence, for the most part.  
We learned that the Council had already begun to assemble, so they 
quickly ushered me into the circle.  I hastily straightened my clothes, 
feeling at odds for being caught in my traveling garb.  Lord Elrond had 
already begun to speak before I had a moment to inspect the rest of the 
Council.
      
      There were a number of Elves from Elrond's household, Erestor 
included.  He nodded to me in greeting.  There were a few dwarfs in 
attendance as well.  I wanted to scowl at them, but for propriety’s sake I 
didn’t.  The Elves of Mirkwood were not inclined to care overmuch for 
dwarfs.  Mithrandir was present, looking wise and solemn as always.  To 
one side of him were two small creatures, not dwarfs or anything else I 
could name.  They had curly brown hair and simple clothing, and their feet 
were bare to showcase the same sort of hair growing on their toes.  On the 
other side sat Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a Man I had met a year ago when 
he came to deliver Gollum into our hands.  Isildur’s Heir, he had been 
called.  And Arwen’s lover.  Well, I was happy for them both.  And there 
was another Man, though he looked less agreeable than Aragorn.
      
      My breath nearly stilled.  Two thousand years had not succeeded in 
dimming Glorfindel from my mind, but to see him in person was nearly 
the shock that had been my son.  I saw him recognize me, but there was 
little acknowledgement but for a slight dipping of his head in my 
direction.
      
      I tried to return my attention to what the other Council members 
were saying.  The Man I hadn’t known, Boromir, told of a dream.  A 
dwarf, Gloin, told of the troubles of the Lonely Mountain.  Elrond 
recounted the entire history of the One Ring, though the two little people, 
who I learned were called hobbits, finished the story.  The younger one, a 
Frodo Baggins, had possession of the One Ring of Power.  I looked at 
him.  He was shaking slightly and seemed to be nervous in front of such a 
group.  I did not blame him.  But then Mithrandir took the foreground, 
telling of what he had discovered in the past few months.  As he told of 
finding Gollum with Aragorn it came my turn to report the creature’s 
escape.
      
      But having lost the wizard Saruman to darkness, we were now 
faced with the decision of what to do with the Ring.  Hide it, they said, 
why could it not stay in Rivendell?  But that would not suffice.  The only 
solution left to us was to destroy it.  My mouth went dry.  Destroying it 
would mean walking up the Fiery Mountain itself and throwing the Ring 
within it, as should have been done at the beginning when Isildur had 
found it.  It involved great risk and doubt.  Who would we possibly find 
who was willing to perform this task?
      
      To my great surprise, the hobbit, Frodo Baggins, spoke up.  He 
volunteered, of all things, to perform this task.  I think all members of the 
Council were still in shock when another hobbit, unseen among the 
bushes, leapt up and professed his loyalty to Frodo.  I smiled hesitantly.  
Perhaps hobbits were stouter creatures than they appeared.
      
      As the Council was dismissed all of my previous thoughts came 
rushing back to me.  I cast a hesitant glance towards Glorfindel, but he 
was engaged in a conversation with Elrond.  I took the moment to slip 
away unnoticed.
      
      “Here you are!”
      
      I nearly crashed into the Elf standing in front of me.  It was 
Vanwalas again, with another smile on his face.  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll 
lead you to your rooms.  You must be tired.”
      
      “I’ve been more tired in my life,” I replied.  “But I am reaching my 
limits.  Lead on.”
      
      I followed him down the halls, stifling yawns the entire way.  I had 
traveled hard and fast for days in order to reach the Council in time, and I 
was exhausted.  It was too confusing to think about Glorfindel and 
Vanwalas at the time, so when my guide opened the door to my room, I 
thanked him as sincerely as I was able and collapsed onto the bed.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      I wondered in awe at the Elf before us.  My uncles, Elladan and 
Elrohir, and I had caught him on the edges of the land of Imladris and we 
had stopped him.  Apparently they knew each other, the foreign Elf and 
my uncles, because they embraced like old friends.  I cleared my throat to 
make myself known.  They stopped and looked at me.
      
      There was something oddly familiar about the strange Elf before 
me.  He was decked out like a warrior, complete with quiver and bow and 
knives.  His dark hair was bound efficiently away from his face, and I 
watched as his black eyes looked me over.  He seemed smaller and 
slenderer than most Elves, but that was the way archers were built.  I had 
often wondered how I had got such a slender build from my father.
      
      Finally, Elladan prodded him awake from whatever trance he had 
fallen into.  He was introduced as Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, and I 
immediately went to bow in his presence.  To my surprise, he gestured me 
up, saying that he would not have me bow before him.  When I met his 
eyes again he seemed distracted and introspective.  I suggested returning 
to the House, for the Council would soon start and Prince Legolas, the 
legend, the greatest archer of all Middle-earth, needed to be there.
      
      On the way back he asked me an odd question about my mother, 
but I told him the truth: that I had never known her or anything about her.  
The thought had ceased to make me sad, only mildly disheartened.  One 
parent, especially if that one was Glorfindel of Gondolin, had always been 
more than enough for an Elf like me.
      
      Elladan and Elrohir and I went to the libraries to await the 
outcomes of the Council.  My father was present at the conversations, and 
I wondered if he could be persuaded into telling me anything.  The 
suspense was nearly driving me mad.  Only a few days ago, my father had 
returned from his search for Aragorn and his hobbit charges with tales of 
Ringwraiths and the flooded Bruinen.  They had carefully brought Frodo 
Baggins, one of the hobbits, to a room in the Healing Houses, and my 
foster-mother Lothwing had called upon me to help her with her herbs.  I 
didn’t know why Aragorn had been called to bring the hobbits here, but I 
was determined to find out.
      
      When the Council members began to file back inside the House I 
sought out Legolas.  He looked somewhat worn and tired, and I 
remembered that he hadn’t rested much over the past days.  His eyes were 
stuck to the floor and he nearly bumped into me where I waited for him.  
When I offered to show him to his rooms, his expression became one of 
intense gratitude.  I puffed myself up, feeling secretly pleased that the 
legendary Legolas of Mirkwood was in my House and under my 
protection, of sorts.
      
      “Good night, Vanwalas,” he said, yawning, before he shut the door 
to his room.  It was only afternoon.  “I cannot thank you enough for your 
hospitality.”
      
      “It was no hardship,” I answered.  He still looked familiar, though 
I could not imagine why.  “Do you need anything?”
      
      “No . . . I think I’ll be . . . quite all right . . . with this bed here.”  
He smiled gratefully and shut the door.  I leaned against the corridor wall 
and grinned to myself.  Just imagine if I could befriend Legolas!  How 
amazing that would be . . .
      
      ~
      
      I saw him that evening at the feast.  Well, it had to be a feast to 
feed all the people now residing at the Last Homely House.  I hadn’t seen 
my father the entire afternoon, so I had been unable to question him.  I 
decked myself out in appropriate finery for my station as the heir of the 
House of the Golden Flower.  My hair, as always, was determined not to 
remain flat.  Any attempt to bind it was futile, so I scowled and left it as it 
was.  I straightened my robes and looked in the mirror.  I looked suitable 
enough, I suppose, so I left my room and entered the dining hall.
      
      I had often wondered about the presence of the long table in the 
hall, but the mystery was solved that night.  Nearly every available space 
was filled with a Man, a dwarf, an Elf, or a hobbit.  I squeezed in between 
Legolas and another Elf of Elrond's household.  Legolas must have taken a 
nap for he looked refreshed and less tired.  He had changed out of the 
traveling garb he had worn before and was dressed in more formal robes.  
His hair, unlike mine, subjected to various braids and bindings, and 
formed a dark net over his head.  He wore the colors of Mirkwood: dark 
blue, deep green, forest brown.  I had read about it in my studies.
      
      “Good evening,” he greeted me.
      
      “Good evening,” I answered.  “Sleep well?”
      
      “Ah, yes!  I really needed that.  I’m afraid my conversation might 
have been lacking earlier today, so I’m going to redeem myself.  Hello, 
my name is Legolas of Mirkwood.”
      
      At his encouraging smile, I played along.  “How pleasant to meet 
you, Legolas.  My name is Vanwalas of Imladris.  What brings you to our 
home?”
      
      “Nasty business, mostly.  You are friends with Aragorn?”  I 
nodded.  “Has he told you about his quest to deliver Gollum to 
Mirkwood?”  I searched my mind, and at last I remembered Aragorn 
mentioning something of the sort.  I nodded again.  “Mirkwood sentries 
assigned to watch Gollum during the day were surprised by an Orc attack, 
and by the time help came, Gollum was gone and some of our number 
were dead.”
      
      I gasped in surprise.  “I’m so sorry,” I said.  He looked a bit sad.  
“That isn’t a pleasant thing to report, is it?”
      
      “No.”  He toyed with his food.  I didn’t blame him for feeling 
depressed.  Death is difficult, or so I had learned over the years.
      
      “Did you know the lady Celebrian?” he asked me.  It was an 
unexpected question, and I wasn’t sure at first how to answer.
      
      “Yes.  I loved her deeply.  My mother . . . well, I never knew her.  
Celebrian and my foster-mother, Lothwing, they looked after me as surely 
as my own mother would have.”
      
      “We heard of the Lady’s departure in Mirkwood and we were 
deeply grieved.  She was a good person, always very kind.”  He had a 
distant sort of look in his eyes.
      
      “Did you know her?” I asked carefully.
      
      He looked back towards me.  “Yes, for a short time a long while 
ago.  But she took care of you well?  As did Lothwing?”
      
      “Well, there’s no real substitute for a mother, but they did the best 
they could.”  I frowned.  “Maybe we should talk about something more 
pleasant.”
      
      “Of course.”
      
      “You are famous here, you know,” I told him.  “Legolas of 
Mirkwood, the best archer in Middle-earth.  You’ve been my hero.”
      
      “Really?” he asked.  He looked amused.  “You are an archer as 
well?”
      
      “Not nearly on the level you are.” I sighed.  “It’s always been a bit 
of a dream of mine to go to Mirkwood and practice there, with your expert 
archers.”
      
      “I could teach you a bit here and now.  It’s not likely much will 
happen for a few weeks.”
      
      “I would enjoy that.  Thank you for the offer.”  I pushed myself out 
of my chair.  “Supper is over.  Will you come to the Hall of Fire to 
entertain yourself with us tonight?”
      
      “No thank you.  I’ve had a long day, you understand.  I should be 
getting to sleep.”  He smiled kindly at me.  “Have fun.  Perhaps I’ll see 
you tomorrow?”
      
      “Yes please!  And you shall teach me how to aim like a Wood 
Elf?”
      
      He nodded and walked away.  Once again I was pleased with 
myself for such a friendship.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      Though sleep tugged at me like a worrisome child, I felt obligated 
to go and check on my poor horse in the stables.  We had had a long 
journey, and I wanted to make sure that she was settled in before I let my 
exhaustion overcome me.  I brushed her coat softly, and she whinnied at 
me.
      
      “Legolas,” said a voice from behind me.
      
      I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.  “Glorfindel 
. . .” I breathed as I faced him.
      
      Before I could move he swept up to me and put his mouth on mine.  
I accepted hungrily.  How long had it been since I had taken a lover?  Too 
long.  And Glorfindel had always held my heart in his hands.  It was like I 
remembered it, consuming and warm and delicious . . . it was with 
reluctance that I parted for breath.  And he looked the same, what with the 
golden hair in disarray and that bright smile and his eyes.  It felt as though 
I was transported back in time to when I was hardly more than an Elfling, 
confused and ignorant, heavy with an Elf lord’s child.  His presence was 
the protective comfort it had always been.  I buried my head in his 
shoulder.
      
      “You’ve grown up, Legolas,” he whispered.
      
      “I missed you!” I said passionately.  “Ai, Valar, Glorfindel . . .”
      
      “I’ve missed you as well, Calwaquén.”  Two thousand years I had 
not heard that name, but to hear it at that moment nearly brought all of my 
carefully constructed walls of indifference tumbling down in shards.  
Tears threatened behind my closed eyes, and I relied on his strong arms to 
keep me upright.  I could hardly breathe, but it didn’t matter, and there 
was such a pervading sense of belonging that my bones ached.
      
      I laughed bitterly, in part to chase away the tears.  “Is it good or 
bad that I’ve grown up, Glorfindel?” I asked.
      
      “It is good, Legolas.  Oh, you have no idea . . . today during the 
Council I wanted to stand up and embrace you and kiss you, and to 
Mordor with whoever saw.  Oh, please don’t cry, Legolas.  It’s all better 
now, you’ll see.  You can stay with me, and we shall be happy together.  
Vanwalas . . .”
      
      “He doesn’t know me, Glorfindel,” I said, and for some reason the 
thought made me sad.  “What have I missed?  I never saw him walk, or 
speak, or ride a horse . . . I never bandaged his cuts, I never taught him 
how to handle his bow like a Wood Elf . . .”
      
      “He never knew you, but he idolizes you anyway,” Glorfindel 
replied.  “I saw you talking with him this evening.  It has been his dream 
to go to Mirkwood and study with you.”
      
      “And he would come, and we would welcome him, but for the fact 
that he is an illegitimate son by Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood.”  My voice 
sounded harsh to my ears.  I wanted him to kiss me again so I could forget.
      
      “Is it still so difficult for you?” he asked.  He shifted so he held me 
more securely.  “Does your father trouble you?  If he does, I can come 
over and . . .”
      
      “No, Glorfindel.  No, I can take care of myself now.  As you said, I 
have grown up.  I have got by quite well on my own for many years.”
      
      I heard footsteps outside and saw the passing of a torch.  I turned 
back to Glorfindel.  “Ask me not to answer you right now,” I whispered 
imperatively.  “Let me think, Glorfindel.  Come find me later.”  I gave him 
one last kiss before leaving the stables to return to my rooms.
      
      I wrapped my arms about my waist.  The night was clear and cool, 
and the stars shone brightly overhead.  I hadn’t really wanted to leave 
Glorfindel, I never did.  But if had been important to keep our relationship 
secret two millennia ago, it would be so much more so now.  And I had 
only recently found my son again . . . there was too much to consider.  I 
would give him an answer later.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      I knocked on Legolas’s door the next morning.  “Legolas!” I 
called.  “Are you awake?”
      
      I heard him mutter something that I took for an affirmative and 
pushed open the door.  To my surprise, he was only half-dressed in his 
leggings.  His eyes grew wide and he raised one dark eyebrow at me 
before pulling on his shirt.  But my attention had been drawn to the two 
prominent scars on his abdomen.
      
      “Where are the scars from?” I asked curiously.
      
      “This one is from a spider,” he answered, pointing to the wicked, 
jagged scar over his side.  “It nearly dragged me down with it into death.”
      
      “And the other?”
      
      It seemed to me that he hesitated before answering.  “Orc sword.  
A few years ago, at the Battle of the Five Armies.  Nasty wound, that 
was.”
      
      “That’s an odd place to get a sword wound,” I commented.  It was 
low on his belly, just barely above the waistband of his leggings.
      
      “I’d rather not speak of it, if you don’t mind.”  He slung his bow 
and quiver over his shoulders.  He didn’t look at me.
      
      “I’m sorry.  Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.”  I was 
beginning to feel ashamed of asking such personal questions of the great 
Legolas of Mirkwood, questions he obviously didn’t particularly want to 
answer.  “I really am grateful that you are willing to teach me how to use a 
bow properly.”
      
      “Think nothing of it.  Where are your practice grounds?”
      
      So I took him to where the archers of Imladris, such that we were, 
trained with our weapons.  I leaned against a tree to watch him as he 
looked over the area.  Early morning sunshine shone through the trees and 
created dappled patterns on the ground of plain bare dirt.  We archers 
commonly found ourselves sharing the field with the other warriors, the 
swordsmen who needed flat, solid ground upon which to practice.  It was a 
cool morning, though still warm enough to be considered autumn.  The air 
was filled with the sounds of the birds awakening and the spicy scent of 
pine.  Had the trees not sheltered us from view, the Misty Mountains 
would have been visible to the east, topped with their ever-snowy crowns.
      
      My attention returned to Legolas.  He was inspecting the light and 
the lay of the ground quite intently.  As I had noted before, he was of a 
small, slender archer’s build.  Still, his movements told of calculated 
strength and control that came from years of serving as a warrior.  I knew 
a bit about him.  He had an older sister and two older brothers, and was 
thus the youngest Prince of Mirkwood.  Because he was far from the 
throne, he spent his time mostly in his patrols.  It sounded like an enviable 
life, serving one’s lord but doing as one wished.  He didn’t particularly 
look like a Prince; his clothing was simple and his dark brown hair had 
been loose until he bound it back into the single braid that he seemed to 
favor.  Yet he had a peculiar grace and dignity that lent him a royal air.
      
      “These are nice grounds,” he said when he had finished looking the 
place over.  “Good visibility.  Now stand here and aim.  Let’s see how 
well you were taught your posture.”
      
      I had taken previous pride in being one of the best archers in 
Imladris, but I had had no idea how many flaws there were in my 
technique until Legolas had pointed them out to me.  He noted a tension in 
my shoulders that threw my aim off significantly, and my back was far too 
stiff.
      
      “These are only small things,” he said kindly.  He put a reassuring 
hand on my shoulder.  “Your method is very good, given your neglect. I 
get the feeling that archers are not honored so much here?”
      
      I nodded.  There was by far more prestige in being a mediocre 
swordsman than there was in being an excellent archer.  My father had 
taught me all he could, but he did not specialize in the bow.
      
      “Shall we take a break?” Legolas suggested, looking up at the sky.  
“We’ve been working now a few hours.”
      
      I was about to ask him another question when a familiar voice 
called to me.  My father strode out of the trees, beaming as usual.  “There 
you are, Vanwalas!” he said.  “Lothwing has been looking for you the 
entire morning, but I thought I would find you here!  I noted that you 
didn’t come to breakfast this morning, so here’s . . .” At last he noticed 
Legolas, how had been standing quietly next to me the entire time.  “Ah – 
hello, Legolas,” he said.
      
      “Hello, Glorfindel,” Legolas answered softly.  He studied my 
father with the same focus with which he had looked over the practice 
field earlier, and my father responded with the same stare.
      
      “Taking archery lessons, are you, Vanwalas?” Father asked.  There 
was something odd about his tone.
      
      “Yes, Father,” I replied.  “Prince Legolas is a wonderful teacher.”
      
      “Yes,” Father muttered, “he would be.  Well, here is some 
breakfast.”
      
      “Won’t you eat with us?” I suggested.
      
      “I’d love to, youngling, but I must go.”  He seemed flustered, and I 
knew that it took a great deal to fluster my father.  “You probably won’t 
see me for a few weeks.  Lord Elrond has called me to lead a scouting 
patrol.”
      
      “Not another one!” I couldn’t stop myself from exclaiming.
      
      “I am sorry, Vanwalas, but I must go.  Farewell, my son.”  He 
kissed my cheek.  “Goodbye, Legolas.”
      
      “Goodbye, Glorfindel.”  The words were spoken with a calm 
indifference.  When at last my father had left the vicinity, Legolas turned 
back to me.  “Is he gone so often?” he asked me.
      
      “Yes, he is gone a great deal of the time,” I said sadly.  “I wish I 
saw more of him.  Growing up with one parent, you know, I always 
longed for his presence.”
      
      “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
      
      “Ah, ’tis no importance.  Lothwing – and Celebrian – always took 
very good care of me when he wasn’t present.  And when he was . . . he 
indulged me.  Here, let’s eat.  There’s more than enough here for the both 
of us, knowing how Lothwing feeds me.”
      
      I unwrapped the meal and he joined me on the ground to eat.
      
      “How are you enjoying Imladris?” I asked to change the subject.
      
      “It is a very lovely land.  In some ways, I am glad to come here to 
escape the oppressive gloom that threatens beneath the trees in my 
homeland.”
      
      “But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?” I continued.  When 
he gave me a curious glance, I cleared my throat.  “Well, I had assumed 
when you greeted Elladan and Elrohir . . . you seemed familiar.  To them.”
      
      “Ah.  Well, yes, I have been here before, but not in a very long 
time.”
      
      “How long?”
      
      “A long time.  I don’t remember.  I was younger than you are now.  
And you are almost two thousand years of age, am I correct?”
      
      “Yes!” I admitted, amazed.  “How did you know?”
      
      “A lucky guess.  You are almost as old as my sister’s son.”
      
      “But you are nearly as old as I am, aren’t you?”
      
      “Only if you think a thousand years is not a long time.”  He 
stretched out on the ground, leaning against a tree.  He wore a frown on 
his face, as though he was disturbed about something.
      
      “I have a feeling there was something scandalous about the 
relationship between my mother and father,” I began after a long pause.  
“Everybody refuses to speak of it.  I’ve hardly heard a thing about my 
mother at all, and I have asked for many years.”
      
      “Why do you tell me this?” he asked quietly.  He was staring at the 
ground before him.
      
      “I long to speak to somebody outside of Imladris for once,” I said, 
with a bit of frustration.  “As soon as I speak of my mother here, 
everybody is silent and won’t say anything.  Even Lothwing pretends not 
to hear my questions.  But I’ve been able to draw some conclusions.  
There was some sort of scandal, I’m fairly sure of that.  Maybe she was 
too young, or of a very low class, though I can’t imagine that would matter 
much.  I think she was dark, because I am so much darker than my father 
is.  She was a friend with Celebrian and Lothwing before she left.  And 
when she left . . . that I don’t know.  Maybe she sailed West, though I 
can’t imagine why.  Or maybe she went to live in Mirkwood or 
Lothlorien.”  I turned hopefully to him.  “Do you think you know my 
mother?”
      
      “I don’t think so,” he answered.  “I’m sorry.”
      
      “I wonder if she ever thinks of me, the way that I think of her,” I 
mused softly to myself.
      
      “Every day,” Legolas said softly.  “I mean, what sort of mother 
would never think of her son?”
      
      “I used to imagine that she would come and find me, and that 
Father would take us away and we would live happily ever after, like in 
the stories.  I guess that won’t happen now, will it?  If she was going to 
come back, she would have done it already.”  I played with the flowers 
growing at the base of the tree I sat against.  “Oh well.  I’m happy here.  I 
don’t know if I would really want to leave.”
      
      We sat for a few moments in silence.  I could think of nothing to 
explain my strange outburst.  I was burdened with a sudden feeling of 
shame, that I had placed the responsibility of my troubles onto Legolas’s 
shoulders, and that I did not want.  I was about to do something, anything, 
to break the silence, but he spoke first.
      
      “You don’t . . . have a lover, do you?” he asked carefully.  He 
didn’t look me in the eyes.
      
      The question sent a spark of anticipation down my spine.  I had 
had a few female lovers over the years, but nothing serious.  The thought 
of Legolas, my hero and now quite beautiful to my eyes, suggesting that 
we be lovers was a thrill to my senses.  I found my mouth strangely dry.
      
      “No,” I answered truthfully.  “No, I have no lover.”
      
      “Good,” he said.  “You are far too young.  You should wait a long 
time before making any such decisions.”  In one fluid move he stood and 
held out his hand to raise me up.  “Shall we get started again?”
      
      Though my stomach felt twisted in a knot, I took his hand and 
lifted myself to my feet.  What did it all mean?  I decided to dismiss it; no 
doubt he hadn’t been serious about anything.  I took the stance again and 
prepared to fire my bow when a voice interrupted me.
      
      “Vanwalas!”
      
      “Ai, Thorondir!” I called as he strode out of the trees.  “What 
brings you this way, my friend?”
      
      “Mother wants a word.  And a few hours of your time.  Did you 
forget about our meeting today?”
      
      “No,” I said through gritted teeth.  “I was merely avoiding it.  Can 
it not wait a few more hours?”
      
      “No,” he answered.  By that point he was attempting to gaze 
around my shoulder to inspect Legolas.
      
      “Oh, I am terrible!” I exclaimed.  “Forgive me for being rude.  
Thorondir, this is Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.  He came to speak at the 
Council yesterday.  Legolas, this is my good friend Thorondir, son of 
Lothwing.”
      
      They bowed to each other.  There had been something familiar 
about Legolas, and at that moment I think I realized what it was: he was 
like Thorondir.  Though in coloring they were different, for Thorondir’s 
hair was light brown and his eyes dark grey, they were inclined to similar 
expressions and postures.  They even wore their hair in similar fashions 
and seemed to care not how they appeared.  I smiled, pleased that my 
friends had found acceptance for each other and that I had pinpointed the 
familiarity I felt with Legolas.
      
      “So are you coming, Vanwalas?” Thorondir asked again.
      
      “Can Legolas come as well?”  I glanced hastily at him.  “That is, if 
you want to come.”
      
      “I’d be delighted,” he replied with a smile.  “Lead the way, 
Thorondir.”
      
      Thorondir nodded and bowed again, setting off to Lothwing's 
storehouses where we would presumably be studying that day.  On the 
way over, I explained to Legolas that Lothwing was the herb-mistress of 
Imladris and in charge of all of the healing herbs and gardens.  She had 
trained me for many years; she was, after all, my foster-mother.  I 
suspected that the only people in the whole of Imladris who possibly knew 
more about herbs than myself were Lothwing herself and Thorondir, her 
son.  I worried for Legolas, though.  He seemed more of a warrior than a 
scholar or an herb-master.  I didn’t want him to be bored or to wish not to 
be in my company.
      
      “Here we are,” Thorondir announced, pushing open the door to the 
storerooms to release a draft of pungent air.  “Mother, I’ve returned.”
      
      “Good.  Did you bring Vanwalas?”
      
      “Aye,” I answered for him, “I have come.  I brought a friend.”
      
      “Friend?” she asked skeptically, finally looking up from her work 
to peer at us through the dim light.  “What friend is this?”
      
      “Legolas Thranduilion,” Legolas said as he stepped forward and 
bowed.
      
      Lothwing dropped the mortar and pestle that had been in her 
hands.  “Legolas?” she whispered incredulously.  For a moment she 
seemed to have forgotten Thorondir and I, but she shook herself and came 
to.  “Well come, don’t stand in the doorway.  We have much to do today, 
much to do.”
      
      So we set to work, tediously grinding up the herbs that could be 
used in potions, elixirs, pastes, or whatever was needed by the healers.  As 
we ground, we muttered to ourselves the properties of whatever plant we 
had been forced to battle.  Thorondir, as could be expected, was very good 
at this.  His memory had always been infallible.  Whereas I had been 
neglecting my lessons, and it was a bit more difficult for me to remember 
all of the uses of chamomile.  Lothwing had settled herself next to Legolas 
at the far end of the table and we could occasionally catch snatches of soft 
speech.
      
      “Look at that,” Thorondir whispered to me, nodding his head to 
their end of the table.
      
      “What?” I asked.
      
      “Them.  D’you think he likes her?”
      
      “What?  Legolas, like your mother?  In what way?”
      
      “Well, you know,” he said, gesturing with his pestle.  “You know?  
She hasn’t had a lover in a long time.”
      
      “Ah,” I said, nodding in understanding.  I covertly glanced over 
again.  Their heads were bent together, and they seemed to be in an intense 
conversation.  “Well, maybe.  What do you think?”
      
      “He’s got his hand on hers.  That’s got to mean something.”  He 
smiled a wicked sort of grin.
      
      “What are you planning?” I asked him curiously.  Despite my 
friend’s calm, even demeanor, I knew that he had a penchant for mischief.  
I was the one either trying to convince him to stop his crazy pranks or 
aiding him in them.
      
      “Nothing,” he answered cryptically.  “We’ll see.”
      
      “I suppose we will.”
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      “Legolas . . .” Lothwing had said in an undertone as soon as our 
respective sons were at work.  She was so happy that there were tears in 
her eyes.  “I can’t believe you’re back!  Look at you, how you’ve grown 
up!”
      
      “Yes, they tell me that,” I answered.  “It is good to see you again, 
my friend.”
      
      “Ah,” she sighed, wiping her tears away and returning to her 
grinding.  “Ah, now, don’t say that, Legolas.  You make it sound formal.  
These are my storerooms, nothing serious goes on in here unless it’s 
lessons.”  She glanced again at me.  “Well, what are you waiting for, an 
invitation?  I could do with some help.  That hobbit decreased my 
supplies.”
      
      “You haven’t changed, you know?” I said as I began mashing at 
my own batch of athelas.
      
      “You have, Legolas.  I imagine it wasn’t easy, knowing he was 
growing up without you.”  She pulled a strand of hair out of my eyes.  
“You carry more woes upon you now than you did.”
      
      “Thank you for watching over him,” I whispered.  “He loves you.  
I am glad that he had you.”
      
      “He was a joy,” she replied.  “He was a thank you in himself.”
      
      “And he gets along well with your son, I see.”
      
      “They were practically brothers.  Legolas, I could never have 
hoped to replace you, but I tried to give him the best chances that I could.”
      
      For a moment my hand stilled at the pestle and mortar before me.  
“Lothwing, I never asked you . . . if you don’t want to answer . . .” She 
looked at me expectantly.  “Who was Thorondir’s father?”
      
      She hesitated, and I knew that it was a sensitive subject that I 
broached.  Her grey eyes were calculating when she looked at me.  “He 
was no one,” she answered.  “A sentry of Lothlorien.  Neither of us was 
old enough to have children, and we weren’t married.  I fled here when I 
found I was with child, for I had heard that Imladris would take in anyone 
at their doors.”
      
      “I am sorry,” I said softly.  “Did he ever know?”
      
      “No.  I decided it was better not to tell him.  It would have caused 
too much trouble.  He had a future, but I didn’t, not really.  But I have a 
life here.  Back to work, Vanwalas!” she called to the other end of the 
table.  “Don’t think I can’t see you two planning something!
      
      “Terribly mischievous, the both of them,” she told me softly.  
“You remember Elladan and Elrohir?  What a choice for uncles, Legolas!”
      
      I just smiled silently, remembering fondly the image of the 
younger, more innocent twins bounding up to me excitedly.  I glanced 
back over at my son, their unfortunate nephew.  He was bent intently over 
the plant, chamomile by the smell of it, thoroughly crushing the leaves.  
“He does well in his studies?” I asked Lothwing.
      
      She sighed.  “He would do better if he concentrated a bit more.  
He’d rather be out there in the practice field, shooting sticks at targets, 
than in here learning with me.  But yes, he does well enough.  Nearly as 
well as you did.”
      
      “I had too much free time on my hands.  And they’re called 
arrows.”
      
      She dismissed me with a wave of her hand, but I caught the smile 
on her face.  “He adores Glorfindel.  Absolutely worships him.  But then, 
Glorfindel is gone so often.  You don’t know how many times he asked 
me why he didn’t have both a mother and a father, like Elladan and 
Elrohir and Arwen.  Don’t worry, I kept your secret, but it tore my heart.”  
She took a long breath before she said, “Do you think you will tell him?  
He deserves to know.”
      
      I looked back at him again.  One hand was tangled in his long hair, 
in disarray as Glorfindel’s so often was.  “He’s turned out so well . . . I 
want to claim him, Lothwing, I really do.  But I worry about the 
consequences.  What would my father say . . .”
      
      “What could he say?” Lothwing asked, and she frowned in anger.  
“Vanwalas is his grandson.  He has certain rights that . . .”
      
      “No.  Maybe.  We’ll see.”  I sighed.  “Perhaps I’ll tell him.  I think 
I should.”
      
      “Good job.  Choose your timing carefully, though.  I don’t want 
him to get hurt.”
      
      “Neither do I.”  I rose from the table.  “I think I’ll return to the 
House.  There are people I need to speak with.”  I felt their eyes follow me 
as I left.
      
      ~
      
      Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen came to find me in my rooms the next 
day.  I had just returned from instructing Vanwalas in the bow again.  He 
was improving amazingly, and could shoot nearly at the level I did.  Quite 
unexpectedly a feeling of pride had bubbled inside me.
      
      But the Peredhil had come to speak with me, mostly about my son.  
Arwen had forgiven me, as I had asked her, and was engaged (much to her 
father’s displeasure) to Aragorn.  When she smiled I caught that familiar 
mischievous streak that I had noted when she had visited so long ago.  She 
had nothing but praise for Vanwalas.  She had been his primary tutor and 
had seen to it that he was well versed in lore.  She reported that he had a 
wonderful singing voice, thanks to her training.
      
      Elladan and Elrohir, of course, had been his weapons teachers.  I 
was pleased to learn that he excelled at the sword, but surprised and 
overjoyed to find out that he often beat both twins at the knives.  “He is a 
true Wood Elf in that way,” Elrohir said with a scowl.  “I haven’t been 
bested so thoroughly since I fought you, Legolas.”
      
      We laughed, and I relaxed back in my chair.  It was nice to hear 
such approval of my son; even if he didn’t know who I was, I could 
admire his skill from afar.  My friends invited me to dine with them that 
night, and I accepted.
      
      ~
      
      That evening, dressed in something a bit more appropriate, I made 
my way to the dining room.  Lord Elrond greeted me as cordially as one 
might greet an old friend.  There were a few others of Elrond's close 
advisors present, though of course Glorfindel was away on his mission.  
Vanwalas was there in his stead, and motioned for me to sit with him.
      
      “Where is Thorondir?” I asked as soon as I was settled in.  “I had 
gotten the idea that you two were fairly inseparable.”
      
      “He didn’t want to come,” Vanwalas answered.  “He’s usually 
more interested in his herbs than what goes on in here.”
      
      “Of course,” I commented.  After all, Lothwing was his mother.  
“Well, on a different subject, I’m very pleased at the improvement you are 
making at your archery.  A few more lessons and you might be mistaken 
for a Wood Elf if you’re not careful.”
      
      He smiled gleefully.  “Really?  I’ve been trying very hard, and 
practicing every day I can . . . but I’m not nearly as good as you are.”
      
      “It took a great deal of time and effort to raise myself to the level 
that I’m at now.  But I’ve always thought that, if a pupil did not surpass 
his teacher, then the teacher was a failure.  And I like to think that I’m a 
good teacher.”
      
      “You are!” he assured me vigorously.  “Still, I don’t think I’ll ever 
surpass you.  But come on, eat!  The food here at Imladris is always 
wonderful.”
      
      I followed his orders, barely suppressing the chuckle that sprang to 
my throat.  He was quite companionable, with that youthful exuberance 
that reminded me so much of Glorfindel.  Elrond nodded knowingly at me 
from across the table.
      
      That night, I did agree to accompany the group to the Hall of Fire.  
They had lit an excitement in me.  I spied Lothwing and went to speak 
with her.
      
      “How would you like to dance?” I invited.
      
      “Dance?”  She looked startled.  “I haven’t danced in years, 
Legolas!  And I hear that you Wood Elves are frightfully fast . . .”
      
      “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how!” I told her.  “Come on!”
      
      I whispered the song to the musicians, and Lindir sent me a wink 
before strumming up his harp.  The drums joined, and soon Lothwing and 
I were whirling around the room.  She clung desperately to me, but despite 
what she had said earlier, she was light on her feet and had the makings of 
a wonderful dancer.  I lost myself in the song as I hadn’t in centuries, and 
the odd, adrenaline-powered feeling of euphoria rushed in my veins.
      
      At last the song ended and we collapsed against each other.  “That 
was interesting!” Lothwing exclaimed.  “Why did you never teach me to 
dance before, Legolas?”
      
      “I was a bit too round, if you remember,” I whispered so only she 
could hear.  “Do you need to rest?”
      
      “Yes!”  I led her over to a seat where she sprawled, pale brown 
hair flung out around her.  “You are such a good friend to me, Legolas.  
No one else teaches me to dance!”
      
      “I do what I can,” I said with a smile.  “You’re not such a bad 
dancer yourself.”
      
      “Thank you.”  She looked up.  “Ah, good evening, Thorondir.  
Decided to join us at last?”
      
      “Yes,” he said, and sat with us.  “How was supper?”
      
      “It was good.  Are you hungry?  You don’t eat enough.”
      
      He sighed and rolled his eyes at me.  I winked in return.  “I eat, 
Mother.  I was busy tonight.”
      
      “Of course, I know how it is.  Well, go find Vanwalas and make 
him get you food.”
      
      “Yes, Mother.”  He strode away across the hall.  I had observed 
Thorondir.  If Lothwing was strict and inclined to irritability, he was the 
epitome of calm understanding.  I was glad that he was a friend to my son.  
I sighed and leaned back in my seat, feeling pleasantly exhausted.  My son 
. . . it would seem I was coming to terms with that name and the person 
who belonged to it.
      
      ~
      
      The next few weeks passed both quickly and slowly.  Quickly 
because I was enjoying myself so much with the people I had nearly 
forgotten.  Slowly because, try as I might, I could not forget the quest that 
had brought me to Imladris in the first place.  There was still the matter of 
the Halfling’s Fellowship to be arranged.  I spoke to lord Elrond about 
joining the Fellowship, and he told me he would consider my request.
      
      But my days were busy anyways.  Most mornings I spent 
instructing Vanwalas in his archery, and he bloomed beneath my watch 
like a flower longing for water.  He had also told me of his interest in the 
knives, and they had become a part of our lessons as well.  I found I had 
nearly met my match in him, and I was both startled and pleased.
      
      In the afternoons I was with Lothwing, or in the libraries, or 
sometimes speaking with Aragorn or the twins.  Supper was always an 
amusing time, as was the dancing or storytelling or music that would take 
place afterwards.  Vanwalas had gotten into the habit of coming to my 
rooms in the evenings and sharing a bottle of wine and some good 
conversation.  I liked to think that at least I was befriending my son.
      
      It had been another long day.  I looked forward to some sleep that 
night.  First, however, I decided to take a walk.  Imladris in the moonlight 
was never a sight to miss, despite the cold weather that made my breath 
into puffs of cloud.  The roses were asleep for the winter, but Lothwing 
assured me that she had taken up care of them after Celebrian had left.  
That made me glad.
      
      However it came to be, I found myself out near the stables.  A light 
was on inside, and I found that odd, seeing as it was quite late.  I 
approached to investigate.
      
      There were noises from within, and to my ears they sounded like a 
struggle.  I rushed to the door to offer my aid, and was surprised at what I 
saw.
      
      There was someone with his back to me, pressed tightly against 
someone else, fiercely attempting to kiss him or her.  The first moved his 
head, and panic shot through me as I recognized Vanwalas.  He was 
moving in a way that said that he was clearly not a willing participant in 
this.
      
      “Take your hands off him,” I said through gritted teeth.  Anger 
replaced any other emotion in my mind.  A grandson of Thranduil, a son 
of Glorfindel, and, most importantly, my son, was being attacked!
      
      The assailant turned around to face me, and I identified him as 
Boromir, a Man who had been at the Council and who I had seen a few 
times since.  There was an ugly sort of sneer on his face, and he didn’t 
release Vanwalas.  “Why should I?” he asked cruelly.
      
      “I will kill you if you don’t,” I replied as calmly as I could.
      
      “Kill me?” he asked incredulously.  He released Vanwalas, and my 
son slid to the ground.  Boromir was focused now only on me, and that 
was the way I wanted it.  “I don’t think you could kill a dragonfly, little 
Elf, let alone kill me.”
      
      “Test me, then,” I challenged.  “Prove yourself better than me.”
      
      “If you wish,” he said, and rubbed his hands together greedily.  
“Now I shall have two Elves to play with.”
      
      Though the Man had the advantage of weight and height over me, I 
had my speed and agility and experience.  He was a formidable warrior, 
for a Man.  It took seven moves to best him.  I left him lying unconscious 
across the floor and rushed to Vanwalas.
      
      “Vanwalas,” I said, “can you hear me?”  I shook him gently, but 
his head lolled to one side.  Frowning at his lack of response I peeled open 
his eyes.  “You’ve been drugged.”
      
      He mumbled incoherently, and I shifted his arm around my 
shoulders.  “Come on, up you get,” I said as I lifted.  Once he was upright 
I propped him against the wooden column.  “Now Vanwalas, can you 
walk?”
      
      He blinked and focused on me for a moment.  “Where is Father?” 
he asked in a slurred voice.
      
      I sighed.  “Father isn’t here right now.  Come with me, I’ll take 
you back in.  Ah, look at you, you’re bleeding,” I said as I noticed a cut 
above his brow.
      
      We staggered back towards the House, and I made particular note 
to step on Boromir on our way out.  Finally we were safely back in my 
rooms.  I sat him carefully on the bed and went to get some herbs and 
water to clean his cut.  When I returned I lifted him from his collapsed 
position and began to clean the wound.
      
      “Hold still now,” I told him when he swayed his head from side to 
side.  “Can you tell me how all this happened?”
      
      He looked at me and laughed, evidently still too drugged to be 
articulate.  I sighed and went back to my work.  It wasn’t a very serious 
wound and would likely heal quickly, but he would have a black eye in the 
morning.  When I had cleaned him as well as I could, I attempted to make 
him speak again.
      
      “Vanwalas, can you tell me what happened now?”
      
      In response he tipped forward and put his lips on mine.  At first I 
was still in surprise.  Why did my son have his lips on mine?  I dismissed 
it to the drug and carefully lay him down so that he might sleep it off.  To 
my relief he immediately curled up and fell asleep.  I gingerly kissed his 
cheek and pulled up the sheets, resigning myself to spending the night in a 
chair.
      
      Then again . . . gently, so as not to waken my charge, I settled 
myself on the other side of the bed.  Much as I tried to remain conscious, I 
felt that precious sleep clouding my eyes, and too soon I was lost to sleep.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      When I awoke, I was in a strange bed.  My head was pounding 
painfully, and it hurt my eyes to see the sun shining in the room.  But the 
most noticeable difference was the warmth in front of me.  When I had 
cleared the sleep from my eyes, I found that I was looking directly into 
Legolas’s face.
      
      Over the past few weeks I had formed a friendship with him unlike 
any I had before; not even Thorondir had had this sort of effect on me.  I 
found myself admiring him, the way he looked and moved, and often 
fancied that he would be a good lover.  But he had not spoken of lovers, 
past or present, since that first day in the practice fields, and I was too shy 
to bring up the subject myself.
      
      So what was I to do when I found myself in his bed?  My mind 
was hazy and I could remember no plausible reason for me to be here with 
him.  He looked different sleeping than waking.  There was no worry or 
hesitancy on his face, and even a small smile on his lips, as though he was 
in a happy dream.  His black eyes were half-mast and clouded, and his hair 
was coming unbound to dance in tendrils around his ears.  He was fully 
clothed, as was I, so apparently we hadn’t done anything too scandalous 
last night.
      
      He stirred beneath my gaze, and his eyes cleared of their reverie.  
As soon as he saw me he made to leap out of bed, but I caught his wrist.  
The bones in my fingers felt so small and fragile, like bird bones, and I 
saw fear in his eyes.
      
      “Don’t go just yet,” I said.  “Please, I don’t remember anything.  
Why am I here?”
      
      “Truly, you remember nothing?” he asked.  He seemed to have 
calmed from his first start and sat comfortably on the bed.  I shook my 
head.  “Do you remember speaking to the Man Boromir last night?”
      
      I concentrated beyond the pounding headache, and found that I did 
remember agreeing to a walk with Boromir.  He had claimed he was 
curious about the grounds, and I hadn’t thought to protest.  But I felt that 
something very, very wrong had happened after that, even if I couldn’t 
recall what it was.
      
      “What happened to me?” I asked Legolas.  “Why do I have such a 
headache?”
      
      “Here, drink some water,” he said, handing me a glass.  “I found 
Boromir attempting to force himself upon you last night in the stables, and 
when I checked you I found that you had been drugged.”
      
      I nearly spat out the water in my mouth.  “Force himself?  On me?  
Why?  How?”
      
      “I know little of the lusts of Men,” he answered.  “No doubt he 
desired you for your ‘ethereal Elvishness,’ as I once heard it described.  
You are far from ugly, my friend.”
      
      “Ah,” I said.  I collapsed back to the pillow.  “Am I so gullible as 
to have him demand such favors without even my knowledge of it?”
      
      “You were heavily drugged.  Do not blame yourself.”
      
      “But you . . . you saved me?”  I had to admit to being startled at his 
act.  “Why?”
      
      He shrugged.  “You’re my friend, Vanwalas.  And nobody should 
be forced into something like that.  It was fairly obvious that you were 
unwilling.”
      
      I swallowed.  “I would be more willing under . . . different 
conditions,” I said as I slid myself up to sit next to him.  His black eyes 
opened very wide, and for a moment I had the image of a scared young 
Elfling before me.  “Legolas, you spent the entire night with me.  How do 
you care for me?”
      
      “Not in the way you think, Vanwalas.”  His voice shook.
      
      “Are you sure?”  Slowly, carefully, I leaned forward and set my 
lips upon his.  Inexperienced in the ways of love though I was, I knew that 
I was enjoying whatever the kiss was doing to my insides.  It began and 
ended chastely, and I gently backed off.  If it was possible his eyes had 
grown even wider.
      
      “No, Vanwalas, no, we can’t . . .” he said softly.  He made to leave 
again, but I grabbed his wrist.
      
      “Please, Legolas, please.  I care for you like I’ve never cared for 
anyone before.  Can we just try?  Give me a chance to please you.”
      
      “Your father won’t like it,” he protested.  “Let me go, Vanwalas.  
We shouldn’t.”
      
      In response I kissed him again, this time attempting to go farther.  
He made a small noise and tried to struggle out of my grasp.
      
      “Please,” I said again, and kissed his cheek.  “Please.”
      
      He stilled, and I took the lack of movement for acceptance.  I 
kissed him again, as thoroughly as I was able.  His mouth gradually let my 
tongue entrance, and his taste and feel entranced me.  At last we parted for 
breath.  He drew back, licking his lips thoughtfully.
      
      “Was it bad?” I asked worriedly.
      
      “No,” he said softly.  “No.  You understand that we mustn’t speak 
of this?”
      
      I nodded my head, eager to agree with anything that pleased him.  
“I’ll tell no one until it is safe.  But I don’t think my father will mind.”
      
      He smiled.  “We’ll see.  Come on, let’s go practice.  The morning 
is already progressed.”
      
      ~
      
      Legolas prepared for me a tea of herbs, of which he had nearly as 
large of a store as Lothwing, which helped decrease the pounding 
headache that the drug had left me with.  Once the tea started to take effect 
he helped me stagger down the halls to grab some breakfast before 
stepping outside to the practice fields.
      
      It was not only the lingering headache that distracted me that day, 
but also every small movement Legolas made seemed to demand 
attention.  Oh, the grace with which he strung his bow!  And ah, as he 
stood to take aim!  There was a comfortable practiced feel about his 
motions; it was to be expected, for a warrior of his status.  Still, every 
move was captivating, and I missed the target completely a number of 
times.
      
      It was late afternoon when Legolas held my shoulder, stopping me 
from releasing the arrow.  “Do you hear that?” he asked.
      
      I lifted my ears to the wind.  I could hear the distant sound of 
horses brushing through the trees.  “It’s my father!” I shouted, dropping 
the bow unceremoniously to the ground.  “He’s returned!”
      
      I heard Legolas’s swift feet running behind me as I dashed to meet 
my father.  There he was, at the head of his patrol, riding his magnificent 
white stallion Asfaloth.  Legolas held the horse still as Father leapt to the 
ground and embraced me.
      
      “I’m back!” he announced.
      
      “I know,” I replied, for I was still muffled by his arms.  “I’m glad 
you’re back, Father.”
      
      “Oh yes, me too.  We’ll sleep in a bed tonight!”  The warriors 
arrayed behind him cheered gratefully, obviously longing for their beds.  
But my father smiled widely, and his blue eyes twinkled, and I was so 
happy to have him home at last.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      Getting through the rest of the day was torturous agony.  
Glorfindel’s words to me as he leapt of his horse rang in my ears, clear as 
bells.  “Come to me tonight, Legolas,” he had said.  I hardly dared look 
him in the face, afraid that I would surely see naked longing in his 
bewitching blue eyes, longing that I couldn’t help but feel as well.
      
      I wanted it to be as it had been.  He had comforted and kissed away 
my fears two thousand years ago, and I wanted him to do it again.  My 
head ached when I thought of Vanwalas kissing me, but I had been unable 
to refuse my son’s sweet fervency.  I had denied him for so many years, it 
was the least I could give . . . but a small voice in my head told me that I 
was luring him under false pretences, and I could think of no way out of 
my predicament.  So Glorfindel could make it all better.
      
      It was late when I excused myself from the Hall of Fire.  Vanwalas 
and Glorfindel had already left.  I spared a small peek on my son, who was 
sleeping contentedly in his own bed.  I sighed and shut the door, 
wondering what I had got myself into, then made my way to Glorfindel’s 
rooms.
      
      The door was open, so I slid in.  I should have been prepared when 
he immediately pounced, but such a long time without him had dulled my 
remembrance of his desire.  I found myself pressed full-length to the wall 
behind me, his mouth plundering me quite thoroughly.  I accepted him, as 
much of him as I could, and responded as well as I knew how.
      
      “What took you so long?” he asked softly as he gently bit my neck.
      
      “I wanted to make sure that our son was sleeping well,” I 
answered.
      
      I could tell he was smiling.  “Should I be worried about losing my 
place in your heart, Calwaquén?”
      
      “Never!” I replied, stroking his hair.  “Never, Glorfindel.  You 
should know now that your mere presence makes me come undone.  Do 
you remember how to please me?”
      
      “We’ll see, won’t we?”  I moaned as he ran his tongue up my ear.  
“I remember that spot well, Calwaquén.”  He plucked at my clothes.  
“Let’s see if I remember how you look beneath these.”
      
      Despite the words, it seemed to take an incredibly long time for 
him to divest me.  I had never liked the heavy formal robes, the intricate 
hairstyles.  Glorfindel had always understood; we were of a kindred mind, 
for we were both warriors.  So the weight dropped from my shoulders and 
my hair dangled in loose strands around my face.  I tried to hold him tight 
to me and kiss him, no doubt thwarting his plans in undressing me.  But I 
was too eager to see him bare as well.  He obediently stood still as I 
unbuttoned the buttons and untied the ties.  At last he slid my shirt off as 
well.  My heart pounded to hear him sigh in appreciation.
      
      “Quite the warrior you’ve turned out to be, Legolas,” he 
commented softly, putting an arm around my waist.  “Complete with 
battle scars.”
      
      It was uncommon for Elves to hold scars for very long.  It was 
usually only the life-threatening situations that left such permanent 
memories.  I had had two that year we first met.  Oh yes, the spider, my 
first real kill.  I had since lost count of the eight-legged creatures I had 
done away with.  And the one resting between my hipbones on the smooth 
skin of my abdomen – Vanwalas.  It was the reminder of that terrible 
midwinter night when my child had been torn unnaturally from my body 
in order to save both his life and mine.  They had put me to sleep, but 
there had been so much pain and fear that night that it hardly mattered.
      
      “Legolas?” Glorfindel said, recalling me from my thoughts.  There 
was concern on his face for the pale, shivering young Elf before him.
      
      “I’m all right,” I reassured him, placing a hand over the scar as if 
to shield myself from the memories.  I was still shaking.  “The memories 
can be overwhelming.”
      
      “We can wait for another night.”
      
      “No!  Leave me alone now and I shall never forget!  Glorfindel, 
please!” I said, lifting myself on my toes to kiss him properly.
      
      “You know I could never deny you anything, Calwaquén,” he 
muttered.  “To bed with us!”
      
      It was perfect.  Beautifully naked and playfully passionate, 
Glorfindel reminded me of the passion we had shared when I had been so 
much younger.  But I was older, less naïve, and stronger than I had been; 
this time, I was an active participant.  I tasted him, every inch I could 
reach.  He stopped me before I could reach the source of his arousal, 
flipped me over with a soft growl, and tickled me mercilessly.  When my 
belly hurt from laughing and I was still painfully unsatisfied, he entered 
me with a finger.
      
      There was surprisingly little pain, considering the long respite I 
had had from such activities.  It was with skill and care that he settled 
between my spread legs, and I felt more complete than I had in ages.
      
      Unable to contain such passion within my body, I let it flow out 
like fire through my veins, even as his warmth exploded inside me.  I had 
forgotten the loose, lazy feeling that came after making love.  He groaned 
and rolled off of me, settling himself against my back and taking me in his 
arms.
      
      “Never leave me again, you crazy little thing,” he said in my ear.
      
      “I could spend my entire life in your arms, Glorfindel,” I answered.  
Even though the exhaustion-befuddled corner of reason in my mind said 
that it wasn’t possible, my heart said to pursue it.  So I indulged the 
fantasy and spent the night in his arms, careful to leave before dawn had 
the residents of Imladris going to their daily business.  I felt like a child 
with a wonderful secret, one that was mine to keep or give to who I would.  
It was like living in clouds.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      I went to see my father the day after he returned from his scouting 
mission.  He had only just risen from bed, for he was still arranging his 
hair and clothing.  He smiled brightly as I entered the room.
      
      “Good morning, Vanwalas,” he said cheerily.  “Sleep well?”
      
      “Yes, Father,” I answered.  There was something odd about the 
way he was acting, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.  He seemed even 
more jovial than usual.  Perhaps it was from a successful journey.  “How 
was the scouting?”
      
      “Not too adventurous this time, thank the Valar,” he said, pulling 
his shining hair back into a braid.  “Orcs have been spotted more than is 
common for this time of year, but they seem not to be too malicious yet.  
But I suspect they will be giving us trouble before too long.”
      
      “Good,” I said jokingly.  “Perhaps I can improve my aim on a 
moving target.”  I mimed shooting my bow.
      
      “Oh yes,” he said.  “How are your lessons going?  Is Legolas a 
satisfactory teacher?”
      
      “More than satisfactory!” I exclaimed.  “I believe them when they 
say that he is the best archer in Middle-earth.”
      
      He smiled broadly.  “It’s good that you like him.  Vanwalas,” he 
said as he sat next to me on his bed, and his tone became more serious, “I 
have something important to ask you.”
      
      “Go ahead.”
      
      “You like Legolas, don’t you?”
      
      “Yes,” I said, not comprehending where the conversation was 
going.  Legolas . . . my lover?  Perhaps . . . I hadn’t seen him since the 
night before.  “Why?”
      
      “How would you feel if I took him for my lover?”
      
      I gaped, surprised, obviously.  “What?  I mean, why?”
      
      He shrugged.  “I like him a great deal, and I think he would agree 
to it.  But if you are adverse to the idea . . .”
      
      “No, it’s not that,” I protested.  Well, I was adverse to the idea, but 
not for the reason he would think.  And I had promised to keep our secret.  
“But, well, don’t you think you’re a bit, um, old for him?  I mean, he’s 
fairly young, and you’re . . .”
      
      He smiled again.  “You think your father’s too old to find a good 
lover?  I might have lived and died through a Balrog, my son, but let me 
assure you, I’m just the Elf I was five thousand years ago.”
      
      I smiled back.  “I suppose I don’t really mind if you pursue him, 
even though I think he’s suited more for someone like Lothwing.”  Or me.
      
      “Lothwing?” Father asked with a laugh.  “Oh, that would be 
perfect, wouldn’t it?”  He kissed my forehead.  “Now I must go.  I 
promised Elrond a report of the scouting details.”
      
      He disappeared down the hallway.  I told myself that Legolas was 
faithful, he would not desert me, especially for my father.  But I hoped 
that he would let my father down gently; I wished none of us to be hurt.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      I rested, contented and warm, encircled in Glorfindel’s arms.  The 
previous night had been electric in its intensity, and the aftermath was 
utter fatigue.  Predawn light glowed blue through the window, and the 
birds were beginning to sing, and I kissed Glorfindel awake.  I loved the 
look in his eyes when he saw me, as though he was watching the most 
beautiful thing in the world happening before his eyes.
      
      “Good morning,” he said lazily as he kissed me back.
      
      “Good morning,” I answered.  “I should be going.  Imagine how 
dangerous it would be for me to be caught here, of all places.”
      
      “Yes, quite dangerous.”  His hand slid down my back to my hips, 
pressing us close together.  There was a calmly predatory look in his eyes.
      
      “Stop that,” I said, though I made no move to leave.  “Someone 
will undoubtedly find us in this compromising position.”
      
      “Which position would you prefer?” he asked cheekily.
      
      I clicked my tongue and pushed myself away and off the bed.  
“You’ll get me in trouble someday, Glorfindel,” I chided with a smile.  
My clothes had been strewn around the room, and I set about collecting 
them.
      
      “I just like to play with you,” he said, sitting up.  He yawned and 
shoved his already disarrayed hair around his head.  “I told Vanwalas that 
I would ask you to be my lover.”
      
      “What?”  My hands stilled where they were, tying on my boots.  I 
looked up.  “What did you say, Glorfindel?”  I felt my eyes narrow in a 
glare.
      
      “We shouldn’t hide it from him, Legolas, and he’ll find out 
anyway.  Why not declare it with his permission that we are lovers?”
      
      “You had no right to do this,” I said.  I felt anger bubble in my 
veins, and I tugged my shirt over my head.  “I have spent the past four 
weeks attempting to build some semblance of a relationship with a son I 
have never known, and you threaten all that with a few words?”
      
      “Legolas, it is not my fault that you were not here for him.”  I 
could hear the anger rising in his voice as well.  “Had you not left us, you 
could have been here –“
      
      “I had no choice!” I protested.
      
      “You had a choice!  You threw us away!”
      
      “I was scared, Glorfindel!  I was young!  I didn’t know what I was 
doing!  I made some mistakes, I know that, but I am trying to fix them 
now!  He’s giving me a second chance, he has a right to, and so do you, so 
–“
      
      “How dare you,” he said softly.  “How dare you even speak as if 
you know him so!  Who has spent the past two thousand years raising 
him?  You have known him for four weeks and already you speak for him.  
I love him, Legolas, I won’t let you take him away from me!”
      
      “You’re jealous!  You’ve been his only parent for so long that you 
don’t know what’s best for him!  He needs me, Glorfindel, he needs 
another parent!”
      
      “Again you speak of his needs!  I know what he needs, Legolas, 
and it is not you!  Will you leave us again, as you did so willingly last 
time?  I won’t let you put him through that loss!”
      
      “You think it was difficult for you?” I asked, looking away.  “Do 
you think I had it easy?  I returned to Mirkwood after bearing a child, and 
for his own sake I had to forget him!  I have spent the past two thousand 
years attempting to rebuild the trust my father had in me!  There is so 
much shame in his eyes when he looks at me . . . I would not subject any 
child to that, let alone my own!  I had to go back, Glorfindel, it was my 
home!”
      
      “How selfish of you to say such things.”
      
      “Selfish!” I said incredulously.  “I bore him, Glorfindel, that 
counts for something!  He is my flesh and blood, and I won’t let you 
dictate to me what I will or will not do around my own son!  Lovers?  See 
if I accept you as a friend after this, Glorfindel!”
      
      With that I stormed out of his room, hardly noticing as I nearly 
crashed into Vanwalas.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      I went to my father’s rooms early that morning, curious as to 
whether or not he had spoken to Legolas yet.  I was surprised to hear 
raised voices.  One was my father’s bold voice, loud in anger, and the 
other was Legolas’s usually soft, calm voice, shouting in the same tone as 
my father’s.  I stepped closer, frowning as I wondered what was 
happening.
      
      “Lovers?  See if I accept you as a friend after this, Glorfindel!” 
Legolas yelled.  Abruptly, the door opened and he charged out of my 
father’s room, looking every bit as enraged as he sounded.  He didn’t even 
stop to see me.
      
      My frown deepened as I peered inside.  My father was pacing 
about the room, half-dressed and fuming.
      
      “What happened, Father?” I asked angrily.  “What did you say to 
him?”
      
      “It doesn’t concern you, Vanwalas,” he replied.  His voice was still 
dangerous.  I hadn’t known my father to have such a temper.
      
      “It does concern me!  Legolas is my friend!  He is never upset.  
What did you say?”
      
      “It doesn’t concern you!”  He furiously pulled a shirt over his 
head.  “I’m going out.”
      
      He marched swiftly out the door, taking the opposite direction 
down the halls.  I was left alone and confused in the room, but it didn’t 
take long for me to decide to follow Legolas.
      
      As I had expected, I found him on the practice field, pacing back 
and forth on the firm earth.  He looked very agitated and nearly fearsome 
in his anger.  I wondered curiously what he had been discussing with my 
father, but chose to wait until he told me.  Invoking his wrath was not 
something I wanted to do.
      
      He looked fey with his hair drifting around his shoulders like a 
cloud and his clothing in wild disorder.  To my surprise he swung himself 
high into a tree and sat, arms curled around his knees and back to the 
trunk.  I swallowed nervously and stepped into sight.
      
      “Good morning,” I called up to him.  He looked down at me, 
frowned darkly, and went back to his musings.  “Want to talk?”
      
      “Not particularly.”
      
      “What did my father say to disturb you so?”  I couldn’t contain my 
curiosity any longer.
      
      “ ’Tis none of your concern.”
      
      “That’s what he told me,” I said in frustration.  “Are you sure you 
don’t want to talk?”
      
      When I received no answer, I sighed and lifted myself up to join 
him.  The tree murmured as its branches bent, and I whispered an apology.  
But Legolas still had his back to me, apparently refusing to talk.  My 
hopes rose.  If Legolas had refused my father’s offer of love, that meant he 
was accepting mine, didn’t it?  I hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, and 
when he didn’t shrug me off I enveloped him with both arms.  I buried my 
head in his soft dark hair and felt at home.  I was somewhat surprised to 
feel an answering embrace and surrendered to it.
      
      “We’re going to fall out of this tree,” I said cautiously.
      
      “No we won’t.  Just don’t move too much.”  He relinquished his 
hold on me and looked me in the eyes.  Inky black shining eyes – they 
were endless.  “Thank you for comforting me, Vanwalas.  You have a 
generous heart.”
      
      “Think nothing of it,” I replied, placing a gentle kiss on his hair.
      
      “Knives today?” he suggested as he began to slide out of the tree.  
“My hands itch for some action.”
      
      I agreed, following a bit less gracefully to the ground.  I felt 
questions struggling to rush out of my mouth but carefully kept them 
inside, telling myself that it was none of my business . . . even though I 
knew that it was.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      Difficult as it was, I avoided Glorfindel successfully for another 
week.  I took meals in my rooms, I spent time with Lothwing and 
Vanwalas and Aragorn (the twins had left on another scouting mission).  I 
started to make friends with Thorondir, in part because he was Vanwalas’s 
friend and Lothwing's son, in part because he made me curious.  He 
showed me what I might have been, had I stayed in Imladris after 
Vanwalas was born.
      
      But I needed time away from Glorfindel to sort out my feelings.  I 
knew that I had made a mistake, I admitted it, I regretted it, but the past 
could not be changed.  And even had my son not been interested in me in 
a way that was not so appropriate, I would have feared for his reaction.  I 
could not imagine my father asking me permission to take a lover – but 
then again, my father was not Glorfindel in any sense, and my mother was 
still present.  And to admit to the love in my heart would be to make it 
real, and I could not see what would come of it.  I had to confess to myself 
that I was scared of what would happen if I allowed my feelings free 
range.  Once I had that part figured out, I stewed about it for most of the 
week.  I had spoke rashly, probably too rashly considering the situation.  
But I felt stubborn and didn’t want to admit any wrong on my part.
      
      However I felt, I found a piece of parchment on my bed one night 
about one week since the argument.  I looked at it curiously, opened it, 
read it, frowned, and crumpled it into a ball.  I was about to throw it out 
the window, then reconsidered and smoothed the paper out to read it 
again.
      
      “Legolas,” it said, in Glorfindel’s bold, hasty handwriting,
      
      “Forgive me for my harsh words to you on our last conversation.  
I’m afraid I allowed my anger to get the best of me, and I took it out on 
you.  You were probably right when you said I was jealous.  For so many 
years I have been our son’s only father that the idea of sharing him scared 
me.  He deserves you.  He needs you.  I am not so big-headed to think that 
he is perfectly content with only me.  I have not been the parent I should 
have been, and I should apologize to you both for that.
      
      “So now I ask your forgiveness in writing.  I could never say all of 
these things to your face, and I hope you will accept this apology.  It was 
wrong of me to become angry with you for leaving us.  I forget how it was 
to be young and confused.  Come back to me, Calwaquén.”
      
      I didn’t notice the tears at my eyes until I had read through the note 
three times.  He had taken the step, he had apologized to me – I scrubbed 
at my eyes with a sleeve.  He cared enough to keep me, to admit his 
wrong, and my heart swelled with love.  I rose from my chair, determined 
to rush into his room and tell him that it was my fault, that I wanted him 
back, that I forgave him if only he forgave me . . . how had I ever left him?  
But I would tell him, I would . . .
      
      A knock sounded on my door before I could leave.  I struggled to 
compose myself, shoving the paper into my shirt and close to my heart.  
“Enter,” I called, calming my breathing and clearing my eyes.
      
      Of course, it was Vanwalas who appeared in the doorway, a bright 
smile lighting his face.  “Coming to supper, Legolas?”
      
      I nodded and followed him out, still fazed about Glorfindel’s 
confessions.
      
      “Is something troubling you?” my son asked.
      
      “No,” I said, “everything is fine at last.  It will turn out all right.”
      
      “What will?” he asked, but I didn’t answer, and he let it go.  I 
suspected that I had a hopelessly giddy smile on my face as I sat down to 
eat, and I barely had any appetite, for I was planning what I would say to 
Glorfindel after supper.  He sat far away from me diagonally across the 
table, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering in his direction.
      
      Aragorn, who sat next to me, elbowed me in the side.  I woke from 
my dreams and turned to look at him.  His grey eyes were laughing.  
“Where are you tonight, Legolas?” he asked.  “You’re even more 
thoughtful than usual.”
      
      “I don’t know,” I answered, somewhat truthfully.  “Come, talk to 
me, Aragorn!  You’ve been busy these past few days, haven’t you?”
      
      “I do have some sort of destiny to fulfill,” he said, wriggling his 
eyebrows.  “Tell me, do I look like a King of Gondor?”
      
      “Ai, no!  More like a scruffy Ranger from the North!”  I sat back in 
my chair, feeling comfortable and content.  “How is Arwen?  I see her 
even less than I see you.”
      
      “She’s getting along.  We will be parted soon, and I like to think 
that she will miss me.  Then again, she has lived for so long without me . . 
.” He chewed his lip, looking worried.
      
      “Fear not, my friend.  Undomiel loves you, of that I’m sure.”  The 
table was dispersing, and I decided to take my exit.  With a smile for 
Aragorn and Vanwalas, my supper-mates, I made my way to Glorfindel’s 
rooms, where he had surely disappeared after leaving the table.  He sat 
alone in his chair, looking out of a window at the starlit sky.  The moon 
cast silver light over his figure, lighting his golden hair with an ethereal 
glow.
      
      I cleared my throat to announce my presence.  He turned and 
looked at me, and I saw an unaccountably miserable expression on his 
face in the moment before he recognized me.
      
      “Legolas . . .” he breathed.  He rushed forward and took me in his 
arms.  “Did you get my note?  Have you read it?  What do you think?”
      
      “I should be the one apologizing, Glorfindel,” I said, burying my 
head in his shoulder.  “Your note brought tears to my eyes.  You’re wrong, 
you know.  You had every right to be angry with me after what I did.  
How could I leave you . . .”
      
      “Shh,” he comforted.  “Well, what shall we do now, Calwaquén?  
The both of us think that we are to blame.”
      
      “Then let’s mutually forgive and forget, Glorfindel,” I said.
      
      “Ai, I love you!” he cried.  He grew silent and stared at me, and I 
knew that there was just as much disbelief reflected in my eyes as there 
was in his.
      
      “You’ve never said such things before . . .” I said softly.
      
      “You wouldn’t let me.”  He pulled a lock of hair behind my ear.  
There was an odd sort of look on his face, one I had never seen before.  
There was caring, and kindness and concern, and love, of all things!  “But 
’tis true, Legolas.  I love you.”
      
      “Ai, Valar, you don’t know what it means to me when you say 
that!” I exclaimed, pulling him down to kiss me.  “I love you, Glorfindel!”
      
      “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated in my ear.  “Does 
this mean you won’t leave me again?”
      
      “Oh, not if I can help it!”
      
      I heard the door open as though from a very great distance.  I broke 
from Glorfindel’s lips to look over his shoulder, and was stunned to see 
Vanwalas standing there, a look of horror on his face.
      
      “No, Vanwalas!” I called, pushing away from Glorfindel.  Ah, 
what had I done?  What did my son think now?  I couldn’t help feeling 
that I had betrayed him in some way.  “Vanwalas!”  I raced after him 
down the hallways, but he was always a few steps ahead of me and did not 
turn to look back.
      
      I realized we were heading for my rooms.  “Vanwalas, stop!” I 
cried.
      
      “No!” he shouted back, charging into the rooms and slamming the 
door.  I caught it before the latch could catch and entered behind him, 
wanting to say something, anything to calm him down.
      
      He was pacing back and forth, looking very agitated.  There were 
tears on his face when he shouted, “ ’Tis him or me, Legolas!  You must 
choose!  Him or me!”
      
      Glorfindel entered at my heels, seeming very confused.  “What is 
going on?”
      
      “Vanwalas, sit down,” I pleaded.
      
      “No!”
      
      “Sit!” I commanded.  “You are perfectly free to judge me, but only 
after you hear the entire story.”
      
      Reluctantly he complied, sitting on the couch at the foot of my bed.  
I swallowed, preparing myself to make the biggest confession I had ever 
attempted.  My voice shook in the beginning.
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV (a few days earlier)
      
      Strange as it was, I sided with Legolas in whatever his argument 
had been with my father.  A strange rift had grown between me and my 
father, one that had never been present before.  I found myself speaking 
with him less and seeing him less, for I preferred to spend my time with 
Legolas.  Still, distant as we had become in only a matter of days, I 
noticed him brooding.  It had been many years since last he brooded over 
my mother, but multiple times I caught him with a far-off, dreamy 
expression on his face.  He was thinking about her.
      
      One day, after a brief, clipped conversation with my father that had 
ended when he left the room, I discovered something I had never seen 
before.  It was an old packet of parchments, much loved and looked over 
through the ages.  I carefully untied the ribbon holding them together and 
opened up the packet, curious as to what was hidden inside.  They were 
simple drawings, sketches made of charcoal, but a very skilled hand had 
performed the sketching.  There were plants, roses mostly, and herbs, as 
well as a few Elves.  I recognized Lothwing and my father numerous 
times.  They were very well done, but very old, and I wondered who had 
taken such time and patience to sketch these.  It hadn’t been my father; he 
was known in the House for his impatience.
      
      A few days later I brought them with me to Lothwing's lesson to 
show Thorondir.  He carefully and critically looked them over, humming 
once or twice in appreciation.
      
      “I don’t recognize the work,” he admitted.  “It’s quite skillful.”
      
      “Yes, I know,” I said, sighing in frustration.  “I wonder why my 
father was looking at them, though.  What sort of a secret do you think 
they hide?”
      
      He shrugged, clueless, and went back to his herbs.  I sighed again, 
then walked over to where Lothwing sat, bent over her own notes.  She 
narrowed her eyes at me.
      
      “Have you finished all of your work?” she asked pointedly.
      
      “No, but I have a question,” I said.  “Do you know who drew 
these?”  I handed her the parchments.
      
      She gasped, clasping a hand at her heart, as she looked through the 
careful sketches.  “Oh my,” she whispered.  “Oh, dear.”
      
      “Who was it?”
      
      When she looked back at me, there were tears in her eyes.  “The 
one who bore you,” she said shakily.  “Oh, Legolas . . .”
      
      “What?” I gasped, astonished.  “Legolas knew my mother?”
      
      Her eyes opened wide.  “Oh, no, I shouldn’t have said that!  
Vanwalas, don’t!” she cried, but I was already out the door.  Perfect.  I 
was just in time to collect Legolas for supper, and I would speak to him, 
and he would tell me about my mother!
      
      I was too excited to notice his strange behavior as we walked to the 
dining hall.  He spoke mostly with Aragorn throughout supper, which I 
didn’t mind.  I wanted to be in private when I asked him about my mother.  
But suddenly, when I turned to speak with him, he was gone.  I looked 
around, but he was no longer in the room.
      
      “He just left,” Aragorn said, biting into a piece of bread.  “Hurry 
and you might catch him.”
      
      Yet the hallway was deserted.  Not to be discouraged, I made my 
way to my father’s room, intending to ask him if he had noticed where 
Legolas went.  I opened the door without knocking and entered upon a 
shattering sight.
      
      My father, yes, engaged in a tight embrace with another Elf.  Well, 
at least he had gotten over Legolas . . . but then the other Elf peeked from 
behind my father’s shoulder.  I recognized the dark hair and black eyes 
immediately, and froze in a moment in horror.  Confusion made my head 
hurt.  Why was Legolas kissing my father?
      
      I dashed out of the room, not really caring where I was going, not 
even hearing Legolas’s calls from behind me.  I swept into his room and 
swung the door shut behind me, but he caught it before it closed.  My feet 
felt restless, and I knew I was pacing.
      
      “ ’Tis him or me, Legolas!” I heard from my own mouth.  “You 
must choose!  Him or me!”
      
      Legolas looked startled and scared.  My father entered right behind 
him, looking confused.  “What is going on here?”
      
      “Vanwalas, please sit down,” Legolas said, coming to my side.
      
      “No!” I shouted.  The last thing I wanted was to be comforted.
      
      “Sit!” he said, in a much more commanding tone. “You are 
perfectly free to judge me, but only after you hear the entire story.”
      
      Despite the anger still raging inside me like a lightening storm, I 
sat.  Beneath the fury was curiosity about what story Legolas had to tell, as 
well as a need for justification.
      
      “About two thousand years ago,” he began as he sat next to me, 
“lord Elrond and his household came to Mirkwood, which was then called 
Greenwood, in order for the young Arwen Undomiel to meet her possible 
future mate, me.”  I frowned, and he nodded that it was true.  “May I go 
on?”
      
      “Yes,” I said.  “Though I fail to see the point.”
      
      “Just wait.  One day, Arwen and her brothers convinced me to 
escort them into the forest.  The Mirkwood you know is a dangerous 
place; this is common knowledge.  But back then, we had no experience 
with the giant spiders.  We were caught unawares, and though I managed 
to slay the beast, I received a fatal wound.  I was told after I woke from a 
miraculous recovery that it had been Glorfindel who had brought me back 
to the City and who had watched over me whilst I slept.
      
      “Of course, being the impetuous person that he is, it didn’t take 
long until he revealed to me his desire.  I, being the young and 
impressionable thing that I was, accepted him.  Glorfindel became my first 
true lover.  However, it soon became apparent that not everything was as it 
should be.  I woke up in the mornings with a terrible sickness, which I 
attributed to the spider’s poison.”
      
      “Wait,” I interrupted.  “You said you knew my father at this time.”  
I glanced between them.  “What about my mother?  She should have been 
present.  Lothwing said that you knew her.”
      
      “Yes, Lothwing,” Legolas said thoughtfully.  “She hasn’t entered 
my story yet.  Be patient.  But like I said, I had a strange sickness that 
didn’t seem to go away.  I went to the healers, but did not believe them at 
first when they said that I was with child.”
      
      “What?” I asked, gaping.  With child?  What sort of strange lie was 
this?  I began to stand, but Legolas pulled me back down beside him.
      
      “Don’t judge me until you have heard the story, remember?”  His 
tone was soft, but his eyes were stern.  “Yes, I was with child.  
Understandably, I was scared and confused.  I spoke to Glorfindel, and he 
recommended that I explain the situation to my parents.  They didn’t take 
the news well.  My mother was sad and disappointed, and my father was 
angry.  However, lord Elrond invited me to return with their party to 
Imladris.”
      
      I stared at him, stunned.  The story just kept getting stranger and 
stranger.  I still wondered what the point of it all was.
      
      “I accepted Elrond's kind offer,” he continued, “and as soon as we 
were able we left Greenwood.  I was still quite scared, and kept to myself 
for the most part.  Lothwing managed to befriend me, and I became her 
apprentice, and in turn she accepted the role of my child’s nurse.  A few 
long, weary, terrifying months later, I felt the first pangs of childbirth.”
      
      He closed his eyes, as though remembering a horrible ordeal.  “It 
ended up that Elrond had to operate in order to remove the child.  I was 
put to sleep, and when I woke, Glorfindel was looking over me again.  He 
reported that the child had lived, and that he had my eyes.”
      
      I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach, for I felt I knew where 
this conversation was going.  “No,” I breathed.
      
      “I told Glorfindel to name the child Vanwalas,” Legolas said 
softly.  He looked out the window, hardly noticing that we were in the 
room.  “Lost leaf of Greenwood, blown to Imladris.”
      
      The air suddenly became very thick and difficult to breathe.  “No,” 
I said again.  “No, it’s not true.  No, Lothwing, she said that you knew my 
mother, she said . . .”
      
      “You could say that I know the one who bore you very well, 
though I don’t think of myself as a mother.”  He smiled carefully at me.
      
      “But males can’t get with child!” I said desperately.
      
      “It’s very rare,” my father said, speaking for the first time.  He was 
looking concernedly at Legolas.  “We never expected it to happen, of 
course.  But it is true, Vanwalas.”
      
      “No!” I protested.
      
      “You remember the scars you asked about?” Legolas asked, 
looking directly at me.  He lifted his shirt to bare the marks on his pale 
skin.  “This one here was from the spider I told you of, that was truth.  But 
this one, you said that it was a strange place for a sword wound, and that is 
true as well.  This was where you were lifted from my body.”  He touched 
the scar low on his belly.
      
      I turned away, afraid and confused.  I felt Legolas’s long hand in 
mine, comforting as only he could, and now I knew the reason why.  “I 
was afraid of loving the son I had birthed,” he said.  “My father had not 
permitted me to return with the babe, and I was so scared and bewildered 
that I did the only thing that came to mind: I distanced myself from my 
child and my lover.  It didn’t work as I had planned, however, and when I 
left that spring, I experienced an overwhelming sadness.  I realized that I 
longed for them, and that I loved for them, despite all that I had done to 
prevent it.  I made a mistake, one I can never apologize for.  But I ask your 
forgiveness Vanwalas, my . . . son.”  When I looked back at him again, 
there were tears in his dark eyes.  “Son.”
      
      I stood, disregarding Legolas’s hand, which still rested in mine.  I 
returned to pacing, trying to sort out the extensive amount of information 
that had just been presented to me.  There was so much to consider . . . my 
mother wasn’t really my mother, but my friend, and a male friend at that.  
He had left because he had been little more than an Elfling and had wished 
to return to his home.  He had tried not to love me, but it hadn’t worked.  
Did he still love me?  What did he think of me?  Then it came to me, what 
I had tried to do . . . when I had attempted to make a lover out of him who 
bore me.
      
      “Ai, Valar!” I cried, sinking to the floor with my arms over my 
head.
      
      But he rushed to my side and took me in his arms and stroked my 
hair.  He whispered soothingly in my ear, everything will be all right, hush 
now.
      
      “What did we do, Legolas?” I asked frantically.  “Ai, Valar, what 
did I do?”
      
      “Shh,” he whispered.  “Don’t worry.  You didn’t know, youngling.  
Hush.”  He held me back from him and kissed my tear-stained cheek.  “I 
never got to tell you how proud I am of you, as a parent should be.  You 
make my heart swell with joy, Vanwalas.  I don’t know how you turned 
out like you did, but Glorfindel must have done something right, because I 
could not have asked for any more in a son.”
      
      I sobbed and held him tightly.  There was a part of me that still 
feared that, now that I had found him, he would leave me again.
      
      Once I had quieted a bit, I relinquished my tight hold on his shirt 
and rubbed my eyes.  “I – the other day, I . . . saw Father – er, Glorfindel – 
looking at these,” I stuttered, pulling the pack of sketches from out of my 
belt.  “I – I asked Lothwing about them, and she said that–“
      
      “Shush,” he said again, soothingly.  “Glorfindel, are these what I 
think they are?”  He untied the ribbon, and looked in wonder at the 
drawings.  “You kept them all this time?”
      
      My father shrugged.  He looked a bit embarrassed.  “You left me 
nothing more to remember you by, Legolas.  And they truly are very good 
sketches.”
      
      Unexpectedly, Legolas laughed.  “I never thought you to be a 
sentimental one, Glorfindel.”  He held me close and kissed my hair, and it 
wasn’t long until my father joined us as well, putting his arms around us.  
It was a warm, safe, happy circle, and for the first time in my life I felt as 
though I had a true family.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      We spent the rest of the night together, my family and I, talking or 
sitting silently, always enjoying the company.  It was the strangest feeling; 
for a long period of time I forgot all my problems, because I loved my son 
and he loved me.  Vanwalas became tired after a while, and we pushed 
him into bed, and Glorfindel and I watched him sleep, curled together in a 
chair.
      
      “He’s beautiful, Glorfindel,” I told him.  “I truly am proud of him.”
      
      “And he is so happy to have found you, Calwaquén,” he replied, 
kissing my forehead.  “We’re a family now, can you accept that?”
      
      “Oh, yes,” I said.  “With all the depths of my being, Glorfindel.  I 
won’t repeat my mistakes.”
      
      “Good,” he said, and smiled.  “Very good.”
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      The next day I was still recovering from the shock of finding out 
Legolas’s true identity.  While he looked the same, I saw him from a 
different light.  I little knew how to treat him, how to speak to him, so I 
asked him about it.
      
      “I would not mind if you treated me as you have been,” he 
answered.  “And it matters little to me what you call me, so long as it is 
not too offensive.  I understand that you already have a father.”
      
      So he remained Legolas to me.  I understood that our relationship 
was a bit unorthodox, and Legolas didn’t want it common knowledge.  It 
was a careful choice when I decided to tell Thorondir about my parents.
      
      I finished the story.  He sat across from me in the library, steady 
grey eyes calmly taking me in.
      
      “Hmm,” he said.  “That’s interesting.”
      
      “You can imagine my surprise,” I said.
      
      “I think I’ve read of this happening once or twice.  I dismissed it as 
legend.  But I have to admit that it’s not that strange.  You really do 
resemble Legolas quite a bit, my friend.”
      
      I shrugged.  “I hadn’t thought to connect us like this before.  But 
you really don’t think it’s very strange?”
      
      He shook his head.  “I wonder if it’s hereditary though.”  He 
smiled suddenly.  “I wonder how you would look with child?”
      
      I stared at him.  “How dare you!” I cried with a laugh.  “I’m not 
about to do anything like that!”
      
      He shrugged again.  “Oh well.  It was a funny picture.”
      
      “You have too much imagination for your own good, Thorondir,” I 
said.  “Come on, let’s go see Lothwing.  I’ve been neglecting my studies 
again.”
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      The next weeks were filled with unparalleled happiness for me.  A 
blissful reunion had taken place.  There was much that Vanwalas and I had 
to learn about each other as father (in a sense) and son.  He grew reserved 
around me, even when I told him that nothing had truly changed between 
us.  I could tell he feared losing me again, for when we were close he held 
me protectively.  I relished this new love, completely unlike anything I 
had experienced before.  You cannot know true love until your own child 
loves you.
      
      It seemed a blink of an eye before lord Elrond called me to his 
chambers.  I had been out teaching Vanwalas more about the Wood Elvish 
way of life, particularly the knives, when I had received the summons.  
Elrond sat in his carved wooden chair before a crowded desk, looking very 
much the lord of Imladris.  I made to bow before him, but he gestured for 
me to sit in a chair across from him.
      
      “I think we’re beyond all of that, Legolas,” he said with a smile.  
“First of all, I haven’t gotten a chance to speak with you privately for your 
entire stay.  Forgive me, I have been busy.”
      
      “ ’Tis no trouble,” I said.  “I understand.”
      
      “Yes.  How are you enjoying it here?”
      
      “Imladris is as beautiful as I have ever seen it,” I answered 
truthfully.  “I like to come here, my lord.  You take good care of the land.”
      
      “Or does the land take good care of me?”  He waved away my 
frown.  “An old Elf’s ramblings,” he said.  “Now, I have noticed that you 
have resumed a relationship with your son.”
      
      “Yes,” I replied, no longer fearful.  “Yes.  Thank you to no extent 
for caring for him.”
      
      “He was a joy.  And I think he is happy to have found you.”  I 
smiled, glad that those who knew my son best knew that he was happy.  
But Elrond's expression turned serious.  “There is something of great 
importance I must speak to you about.  You will remember the Quest that 
the Ringbearer has accepted?”
      
      I nodded.  “Yes.  What do you wish of me?”
      
      “I wish for you to accompany him.  There is no obligation placed 
upon you than to guard him carefully until you reach the mountains.  Will 
you accept the task?”
      
      I turned away.  Joining the Quest would part me again from 
Vanwalas and Glorfindel, and that I didn’t want.  But I had pledged my 
honor to the Ringbearer’s service, should he require it.  “Who else joins 
Frodo?”
      
      “The hobbit Sam, of course.  Aragorn and Boromir, as well as 
Gimli.  I wish to send a few others as well, Elves of my household, I 
think.”
      
      I turned back to him.  He was regarding me compassionately.  “I 
agree to this Quest.  My bow is bound to Frodo Baggins.”
      
      “I am honored to have you join the Fellowship.  They will be 
grateful for your protection.”  He stood and placed a comforting hand on 
my shoulder.  “Vanwalas will understand.”
      
      “I hope so,” I said softly.  “Thank you, my lord.”
      
      “Thank you, Legolas.”
      
      ~
      
      I felt subdued as I returned to my rooms that night.  I pondered 
over what to say to my two loved ones.  Glorfindel, of course, swept out 
from behind the door and kissed me passionately.  I distracted myself for a 
moment with his sweet mouth and the feeling of his tongue curling against 
mine.
      
      “Hello,” he said when we parted.  He was breathless and his eyes 
shone.  “How was your day?  Feel like having some wine?”
      
      I nodded silently.  He led me to the table, where a bottle of wine 
waited with two glasses.  He poured us generous portions.  He downed his 
quickly, but I sipped slowly.  As I should have expected, he frowned as 
soon as he noticed that something was troubling me.
      
      “What’s on your mind tonight?” he asked.  “Something is wrong, I 
can tell.”
      
      “Nothing,” I said distractedly.
      
      “Not nothing, Legolas.  Tell me.”
      
      “I don’t think you’ll like it, but I must tell you, I’ve just been 
putting it off.”  I sighed, ran my fingers through my hair, and began.  “I 
volunteered to accompany the Ringbearer on his Quest.”
      
      “Yes?” Glorfindel said, urging me on.
      
      “Lord Elrond has selected me to join him.”  I looked carefully at 
Glorfindel.  He was staring at the ground before him, seemingly absorbed 
in thought.  “Well?”
      
      “Oh, Legolas . . .” he said.  “I don’t know.  Why?”
      
      “I am bound by honor and –“
      
      “No!” a voice interrupted.  I turned to see Vanwalas standing in the 
doorway, a look of horror on his face.  He ran to my side.  “No, you can’t 
go, I won’t let you!”
      
      “Vanwalas . . .” I started.
      
      “It shall be the same as before, and you shall leave and never 
return!  I don’t want that to happen!  Please, don’t leave, not when I’ve 
only just found you!”
      
      “I think you are underestimating my skills as a warrior, 
youngling,” I said, stroking the head that was buried in my shoulder.  “I 
will return, and we shall see each other again.  I have a responsibility to 
the Quest, but I will not forget you.  You are the most important part of 
my life, and whatever happens, we will meet again.  I promise.”
      
      His eyes were tear-stained when he looked at me again.  Black 
eyes, like mine, like a mirror.  “You promise?” he demanded.
      
      “I promise.”  I kissed his cheek.  “Go to bed.  I will see you in the 
morning.  The Fellowship will not leave for a week or so.”
      
      He sent me one last calculating look, rose, and reluctantly left the 
room.  I let out a breath I hadn’t known I had been holding.  I glanced over 
at Glorfindel, still wondering how he was reacting.
      
      “I should go with you,” he muttered.  “It is too dangerous, Legolas, 
I fear I shall lose you!”
      
      “You won’t lose me,” I protested, joining him on the couch.  
“Love requires faith, Glorfindel.  Believe in me.  I am a formidable 
warrior when my ire is raised.”
      
      He looked at me and smiled in a way that said he didn’t believe 
me.  I sighed and twisted a lock of his hair around my fingers.  “You don’t 
need to believe me, Glorfindel, you just need to trust me.”
      
      “Do you trust me, Legolas?”
      
      The question was unexpected, and I looked at him, attempting to 
discern what he had just asked.  “Yes, I think so.  Why?”
      
      “I want you to.”  He looked sad for a moment.
      
      “Oh, Glorfindel,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck and 
taking him in an embrace.  “I won’t leave you like I did before.  After the 
Quest, when there is peace and quiet in this land, when I am no longer 
bound to the Fellowship, then we can  –“
      
      “What if there is no ‘after the Quest’?” he asked bitterly.  “The 
Dark lord has regained much of his power.  You have to admit, Legolas, 
there is little hope that you will succeed.”
      
      “Trust, love.  We will succeed, just trust us.”  I kissed his cheek as 
softly as I was able.  “We should sleep now.”
      
      “Sleep, Legolas?”  The sadness was being replaced by that old, 
familiar playfulness.  “Do you really want to sleep now?”
      
      “Only if you want to,” I replied, feeling my breathing quicken.
      
      “Let’s not sleep, then,” he suggested, brushing his fingers over my 
cheek.  Slowly, as though he was afraid to scare me, he bent to kiss me.  I 
sought to deepen the contact, but he kept it light and barely touched me.  
Even this was enough to light the fire in my veins.
      
      “Ah, yes,” I muttered as his lips made their way down my neck.
      
      “Yes, Legolas?” he asked, seeking a confirmation.
      
      “Yes!”  I pulled him close and kissed him as deeply as I was able.  
“Let it be this that you remember when we are separated, Glorfindel!  Let 
it help you to know that my passion for you burns brighter than the Sun’s 
brightest rays!”
      
      “My Calwaquén,” he said huskily.  He lifted me bodily and carried 
me to the bed.  I fell to the sheets with a whoosh, and he quickly followed.  
I tried to touch him everywhere at once, but when I failed I settled for 
locking my lips to his.   I peeled away his shirt, eagerly bearing the warm 
golden skin that I had come to love.  He tasted like Imladris, like pines and 
sunshine and cranberries.  But there was something else, something 
incredibly more delicious and sparkling, something that I knew came from 
the Undying Lands.
      
      I felt his hands at my hair, untying the braid I had put it in, and 
soon the dark locks flowed down my shoulders and mingled with his own 
golden strands.  I held tight to his strong, broad shoulders while he 
finished undressing me.  I loved the appreciation that shone in his deep 
blue-green eyes when he looked at me.
      
      Our lips met again in the sweet reunion that could never be 
reproduced.  I ran my hands over his body, memorizing as well as I could, 
and he mirrored the motions.  I was about to drown in my consuming 
passion when a spark of reason woke in my mind.
      
      “Stop,” I said hoarsely, pushing at his shoulders.  “Stop, we can’t.”
      
      “Why not?” he demanded, kissing me again.
      
      “I’m not with child, and I want to stay that way.”  I wriggled out 
from underneath him.  “I dare not leave on the Quest with a child in my 
belly.  We can’t, not now, Glorfindel.”
      
      He looked confused for a moment.  Then his eyes took on a 
curious, mischievous look that I had come to desire and fear.  “We could 
try something different tonight,” he said softly.
      
      “Like what?” I asked suspiciously.  Much as I wanted to continue 
the lovemaking, I had no wish to find myself in any more precarious 
positions.
      
      He grasped my hand in his and kissed my knuckles.  “Make love to 
me, Legolas.”
      
      “What?” I gasped.  “Do you mean . . .?”
      
      “Yes,” he said.  “Take me.  I don’t think I can get with child.”  
Once more that exquisite smile before he kissed me again.
      
      But I had difficulty comprehending.  Me?  Take the Balrog Slayer?  
An intriguing thought, but one I could not perform!  “I’ve . . . never . . .” I 
stuttered.
      
      “I know.  I can help.”  He maneuvered me on top of him.  “What 
do you say?”
      
      “I guess we could . . . try,” I said hesitantly.
      
      “Good,” he said, and pulled me down for a kiss.  He reached out 
for the small bottle of oil he had brought and poured a good amount over 
his fingers.  I watched in silent anticipation as the fingers disappeared 
beneath him.  He smiled reassuringly before closing his eyes in 
concentration.  I only looked on in growing curiosity and arousal for a 
short time before I took his hand in mine.
      
      “Let me,” I said, smearing the oil over my own hands.
      
      He looked pleased and nodded, guiding my fingers between his 
legs.  It was quite an unparalleled feeling to be inside him.  Warm, 
slippery from the oil, unexpectedly tight.  It was nothing like my 
experiences with females.  I experimented, inserting another finger.  
Remembering something he had done to me earlier, I twisted the fingers 
questioningly.
      
      To my surprise he gasped and arched off the bed.  “What 
happened?” I asked in worry.  “Did it hurt?”
      
      “Good Valar, no!” he exclaimed.  “I am sorry if I scared you, 
Legolas.  It was . . . I haven’t done this in a long time.  I had forgotten how 
good it felt!  Do it again, please!”
      
      So I did it again, whatever ‘it’ was, and he reacted just as 
amazingly.  A warm, tingly feeling spread all over me, pleasure at my 
ability to raise him to such heights.  He continued to moan softly in my 
ear, and his hips lifted after my fingers.  Never had I seen him in such wild 
abandon, golden hair tossed about his head, hands gripping my shoulders 
for support.
      
      “Stop,” he said, and I saw him rein himself into control.  He smiled 
gently.  “Stop, or this will be over before it’s begun.  Here.”  He pressed 
the bottle of oil into my hands.  “I think you know what to do.”
      
      Carefully and quickly I applied the oil to myself and positioned my 
body over his.  “Are you sure?” I asked cautiously.
      
      “Legolas,” he said teasingly, “do you think I would have offered if 
I did not want it?  Now get this over with before you drive me insane.”
      
      I nodded and began to inch my way in.  My breath caught at the 
extraordinary feeling.  Never before had I felt such intense bliss, and I bit 
my lip, attempting to delay the moment of my release.  The spell was 
broken when I saw Glorfindel flinch beneath me.
      
      “What is it?” I asked, worried again.
      
      “It has been many years,” he answered.  “I need to get used to this 
again.  Keep going, Legolas.”
      
      I frowned, ready to distrust him and back out of this completely, 
but his arms wrapped around my neck and his legs around my waist.  He 
kissed my cheek softly.  “I trust you, Legolas, I do.  You won’t hurt me.”
      
      Love exploded in my heart.  He trusted me . . . there was a feeling 
of acceptance, completion.  So I slid a bit further into him.  I rested for a 
moment, trying to regroup my senses into an understandable mass.  He 
kissed me again.  Taking the hint, I began to move.  His eyes closed and 
he gasped, and I knew the reaction well enough by that time to know that 
it was an expression of desire, not pain.  Encouraged, I moved a bit faster.  
Much as I tried to savor the moment, my thoughts unraveled so quickly 
that I could not hold onto them.
      
      Glorfindel groaned and pushed us up into a sitting position.  “Too . 
. . heavy,” I grunted, and fell back.  Having regained his position on top of 
me, he grinned predatorily and kissed me deeply.  I was perfectly content 
to let him do as he wanted, but it caught me by surprise when he began to 
move over me.
      
      “Ah, Glorfindel!” I sighed.  It was unimaginable, indescribable, 
consuming passion – it wasn’t long until I felt a familiar clenching in my 
muscles and the wonderful release of the tension that had been building in 
my loins.  He kissed me hard as answering warmth leaked between us.  He 
sighed and pulled himself off of me, coming to stretch out beside me.
      
      “That was fun,” he commented breathlessly.  “Don’t know why we 
didn’t do that before.”
      
      I laughed, feeling just as exhausted, and embraced him close.  “We 
had better clean ourselves up.”
      
      “If you wish it.”  He brushed the hair out of my eyes and reached 
for a towel.  “You’re unexpectedly good at that, Legolas,” he said as he 
rubbed the remnants of our coupling from my belly.
      
      “Thank you,” I whispered.  “I learned from the best, you know.”
      
      “Ai, I love you.”  He buried his head in my neck.
      
      “I love you too, Glorfindel,” I replied, kissing his shoulder.  “And I 
am glad that we’re finally together again.”
      
      ~ Vanwalas’s POV
      
      I returned to my rooms in a fury.  Despite Legolas’s reassurances 
and comforting, I couldn’t help but feel . . . betrayed, somehow.  I didn’t 
even notice Thorondir had entered until he grasped my arms at my wrists 
and held them down to my sides.
      
      “Vanwalas,” he said with his infuriatingly calm voice, though I 
could tell he was worried.  “Vanwalas, what is the matter?”
      
      I threw his hands off of me and began to pace again.  Leaving, he 
was leaving . . .
      
      “Vanwalas,” he said again, letting me hear his concern.  “Please, 
my friend, tell me what troubles you.  Brother?”
      
      He hadn’t called me such in years.  My heart melted at the word.  
For all of our youth we had been brothers, at least as far as we were 
concerned.  Lothwing had nearly been my mother, but Thorondir was my 
playmate, my confidant, my constant companion.  Even when I had taken 
a greater interest in the warrior arts and, more often than not, forsook the 
herb houses for the practice grounds, he had remained the best of my 
friends.  I looked at him again.  His face was utterly despondent, his grey 
eyes beseeching.  I had never been able to hide anything from him.
      
      “You know of the Quest of the Ringbearer?” I asked softly, 
attempting to regain my calm.  He nodded understandingly and put his 
hand on my shoulder.  “Legolas is leaving with the Fellowship.”
      
      “That is a great honor,” he said comfortingly.
      
      “But I don’t want him to go!  I am afraid that he will leave me as 
he did before!”
      
      “I don’t think he will.”  He smiled.  “I think he loves you and your 
father too much.  I think it’s funny to watch the three of you together.”
      
      “Be quiet!” I said, attempting to disguise my laughter by wiping 
my running nose with my sleeve.  “You really think so?”
      
      “You said he never wanted to leave you in the first place.  I don’t 
think he wants to leave you any more now than he did then.”
      
      “You’re right, I know you are, it’s just . . . now that I’ve found 
him, I don’t want to lose him again.”  I looked curiously at him.  “Haven’t 
you ever wondered who your father is?”
      
      He laughed.  “Yes, once in a while.  I don’t know if I could accept 
him as easily as you did Legolas.  I think he hurt my mother.”  He 
shrugged.  “I’ve gotten along fine without him so far.  Why should finding 
him change that?”
      
      I smiled ruefully.  “You are too wise for your own good, my 
friend,” I said.  A yawn caught me by surprise.
      
      “You need to sleep,” he said in a mocking, motherly tone.  “To bed 
now with little Vanwalas.”
      
      “See how little I look with my arrow aimed at you,” I jested, but I 
let him lift me into bed.  “Thank you, my friend.  Brother.”
      
      “Sweet dreams,” he said, and kissed my forehead.  “Try not to 
think about Legolas too much.  I think he will come back.”
      
      “What if he gets killed?” I said anxiously.  The thought had just 
occurred to me.
      
      “He won’t.  I’ve seen him fight with you, and he seems quite 
capable of defending himself.  Good night, now, Vanwalas.”
      
      “Good night,” I muttered, falling swiftly into sleep.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV
      
      I had told true.  One week after my painful confession I stood with 
the rest of the Fellowship before the gates of Imladris.  We were quite the 
mismatched group: Aragorn, my old friend and the destined King of 
Gondor; Gimli son of Gloin, a dwarf – little more needed be said on that 
member of our group; Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, and one I 
would have to speak to about his unacceptable lusts; Mithrandir, known to 
the others as Gandalf, our wise wizard; Meriadoc Brandybuck and 
Peregrin Took, two young hobbits who had insisted on following their 
cousin; Samwise Gamgee, the Ringbearer’s faithful companion; and at last 
Frodo, upon whose small shoulders the fate of all Middle-earth rested.  I 
shifted uncomfortably, eager to be gone.
      
      I had already kissed my thorough good-byes to Glorfindel and had 
hugged Vanwalas until he pushed me off of him.  He had smiled and 
wished me well, and I was relieved to see trust in his eyes.  I intended on 
keeping the promise I had made him, no matter what the costs.
      
      I sought them out in the small crowd of Elves that had gathered to 
send us off.  Vanwalas waved enthusiastically, and I smiled back.  
Glorfindel winked in my direction.  Close by stood Lothwing and her son 
Thorondir, who also sent me heartening glances.  Arwen had eyes only for 
Aragorn, as was understandable.  Elrond surveyed the entire Company, a 
look of calm foreboding in his eyes.
      
      I swallowed, looked my last on Imladris, and set out with the rest.  
We had much distance to cover before we could rest peacefully.
      
      “You were the Elf that attacked me that night,” a voice rumbled 
from beside me.
      
      I turned to find myself walking next to Boromir.  My eyes 
narrowed in warning.  “What you were about to do was wrong,” I said in 
undertone, not wishing to alert the rest of the Fellowship to our discussion.
      
      “I know that now,” he said.  “I beg your forgiveness.  I was . . . 
bewitched, somehow, that night.”
      
      “It does not excuse you,” I replied.  It was my son that you 
threatened, you great oaf of a Man!
      
      “I understand.  But we need to reach some sort of a truce if we are 
going to be of any use to each other on this Quest.”
      
      I glanced at him.  He appeared the picture of repentance, sorry for 
his actions.  “Prove yourself to be better than you were that night,” I 
offered, “and you can consider yourself settled with me.  You would have 
to speak with the one you assaulted to reach any further forgiveness.”
      
      “Thank you,” he said.
      
      “Don’t make me regret my words.  Should I suspect that you are a 
threat to any in this Fellowship, I shall not hesitate to intervene.  My 
eyesight is quite sharp, and my hearing sharper.  I warn you not to show 
yourself as false.”
      
      He nodded in understanding, looking a bit intimidated by my 
declarations.  I kept a small amount of my attention on him as we 
continued on.  I sighed, dreaming of the time, months ahead, when I 
would be reunited with my family.  I refused to let the thought of death 
enter my mind.  Death in battle had never before been a fear, but now that 
it was I supplied it with as little imagination as possible.
      
      Our feet covered many long and weary a mile, leading us ever 
closer to our destinies, whatever they may be.  Our prayed-for safety 
continued, and we survived the first night of many to come.
      
      ~
      
      TBC, for sure!  Hey, email me and tell me how you liked it 
(neldluva@hotmail.com)!  I don’t bite, really.  Well, not hard.  Just ask 
Legolas.
      
      And what do you guys think of Thorondir/Vanwalas?  It could 
work, right?  Hmm, like fathers like son, eh?  Just a thought . . .