Title: The Games We Play
Author: Menel (c_rhodora@hotmail.com)
Pairing(s): Legolas/Haldir, Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Always welcome
Archive: I would be honored, but please ask first.
Summary: What would the consequences be if Aragorn had to barter
something, or someone, in exchange for passage through Lórien? (Inspired
by Aragorn and Haldir’s whispered discussion in the “Fellowship”
extended DVD.)
Warnings: AU, OOC, combination of book and movie verse. Some dialogue
and descriptions are lifted or liberally paraphrased from both mediums.
Slight BDSM in Part IV.
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Tolkien and New Line
Cinema. The great man is no doubt turning in his grave.
Author's Notes: This fic is a response to Catz's challenge posted on the
HLA Slash list. Thanks to her for the inspiration and to Panthera for
providing beta.


Part I. The Players

Legolas stood at the edge of the large wooden flet, still looking about
in wonder at the mallorn trees that surrounded him. Their bark was
smooth and shone silver gray in the moonlight. The Mirkwood Prince had
never visited the Golden Wood before, and it was though the tales and
songs he had heard about the glory of Lothlórien had sprung to life. A
sense of peace had overcome him the moment he had stepped foot within
this sacred realm, easing the burden of Gandalf’s loss. Even the Dwarf’s
mutterings about an evil sorceress of great power had failed to dampen
his spirits. Relief spread through the Fellowship to be away from the
living darkness of Moria, and the company had soothed their feet in the
healing waters of Nimrodel. As they rested by the gentle stream, Legolas
had found it within himself to sing once again. But the tale of Nimrodel
and her star-crossed lover, the Elven Prince Amroth, had a bitter end
and his voice faltered as his memory failed him.

Still, it was good to be among the Eldar. The Galadhrim were tall and
fair of face. Clad in their cloaks of gray, they moved soundlessly and
blended effortlessly into their ancient forest. Their manner remained
reserved, cool though somewhat distant in the eyes of the Fellowship.

“I don’t think they like us,” Legolas had overheard the youngest hobbit
say to his cousin.

“It is not that they don’t like us,” the Elf had explained gently, “they
are merely being cautious. In these perilous times, it is difficult to
know whom to trust.”

“Well,” Pippin sniffed. “We hardly look like the dangerous sort.”

“And you’re a Prince, Legolas!” Merry exclaimed.

“Who is traveling with a Dwarf, four Halflings, a Captain of Gondor and
an exiled King,” he had replied, laughing. “A rather motley crew,
wouldn’t you say?”

The Elf had smiled to soften his words, but the Hobbits understood their
meaning well enough. Now he stood by the flet’s edge while Merry and
Pippin continued their quiet conversation. On the other side of the
talan sat Frodo and Sam; near them were Gimli and Boromir. A little
behind Legolas, Aragorn remained in whispered discussion with Haldir,
the ranger’s emphatic gestures giving some indication of how heated
their conversation had become.

The Prince could feel the March Warden looking intently at him, and he
turned his head to meet the other Elf’s gaze. Haldir held it for only a
moment, and then returned his attention to the Man before him. Legolas
looked away and concentrated on the peaceful sounds of nature. He had
noticed the curious looks that he had received from the Galadhrim, who
were trying to discreetly scrutinize their woodland cousin. The Prince
paid them no mind. He had spent enough time at his father’s court to
remain unaffected by whispers and stares. However, it was the March
Warden who intrigued him the most, but he ensured that his interest
remained unseen.

~*~*~*~

“I can let you go no further,” the Guardian said sternly. “I have
already done much in allowing you to come this far.”

“Haldir of Lórien,” Aragorn replied, “we come to you at a time of great
need and great loss. We seek shelter and the counsel of the Lord and
Lady of the Wood, for surely they have heard tidings of our quest.”

“It is true that Elves bearing messages from Lord Elrond have come to
our realm,” Haldir answered, “but these tidings said nothing of a Dwarf
in your company.” He glanced at the hadhod with a mixture of disdain and
distrust. The Galadhrim had not had any dealings with the hadhodrim in
centuries, and Gimli had hardly endeared himself with his opening
remarks.

“I apologize on the Dwarf’s behalf,” the Ranger said sincerely, “and I
hold myself accountable for his actions.”

The apology and acceptance of accountability seemed to please the Elf,
but still he shook his head.

Aragorn could feel the first signs of desperation start to creep inside
him. So much had already gone awry, they could not be turned away now!

“What can I do to change your mind?” he said quietly. “What can I offer
to earn your trust?”

At these words the Guardian’s eyes focused on something behind the Man.
Aragorn knew who stood there and he forced himself to take a deep
breath, not to read too much into what he saw within the Elf’s gray
eyes. At length, Haldir looked at him again.

“You already curry the favor of the Lady,” he said. “You have nothing to
prove, Dúnadan. It is those who travel with you that we do not trust. It
is fortunate then, that one of your companions is our woodland kin, the
son of Thranduil, no less.” Haldir’s eyes drifted back to Legolas,
looking over the Elf admiringly. “He is very beautiful,” the Guardian
mused aloud. “Our race is fair, but even by our standards, he shines
like a rare jewel.”

“What you ask is not within my power to give.” Aragorn’s voice was low
and lethal, interrupting the Elf’s thoughts.

Haldir glanced at the Ranger sharply. “I did not *ask* for anything,” he
said coldly.

“That is true,” the Man conceded. “But what you *implied* is beyond my
power to give,” Aragorn said, rephrasing his previous statement. “And
even if it were . . .” he could not help muttering, his voice trailing
off as he looked at the trees beyond the Elf.

“You would not give it,” the March Warden finished for him. “I see.”

Aragorn felt uneasy at the glint in the Guardian’s eye at this newly
acquired knowledge. He felt like a fool for carelessly revealing too
much. He had not been himself of late. Distracted. Grieving. He felt
heavy in body and soul, the call of duty and obligation ever present in
his mind.

“You debase our quest by bartering passage in this way.” The Man’s words
were uncharacteristically harsh, but he did not curb them.

Rather than being offended, the glint in the Guardian’s eye grew and his
delicate lips formed a devious smile.

“He has a youthful, almost innocent appearance,” the Elf observed, “but
I suspect that beneath that façade is a hardened warrior and a
passionate lover. Would you agree with my assessment, Dúnadan? Or
perhaps,” he paused, raising an eyebrow questioningly, “you know that
already?”

It took all of Aragorn’s resolve not to strike the stunning creature
before him. It was true. He and Legolas had been lovers once, during a
youth that seemed impossibly distant. It had been another lifetime to
the now care worn Man. They had not parted amicably and their friendship
had faded with the passing years, during which they seldom saw one
another. There had been times, especially when the Ranger had been alone
in the wilds, where not even the grace of the Evenstar could drive his
loneliness away, that the desire to seek out the Prince had become
almost unbearable.

When news reached him that his foster father had chosen Legolas to be
part of this quest, his reaction had been a mixture of surprise and joy.
He knew that he could put aside their differences in order to work
together effectively, perhaps rekindle a valuable friendship. So much
time had passed. But Aragorn had forgotten that the perception of time
was not the same for Men and Elves. What had been many long seasons to
him had merely been the blink of an eye to his former lover. Legolas was
as beautiful and ageless as the Man remembered, but the Prince greeted
him with a stiff formality, and he understood at once how it was going
to be. Taking his lead from the Elf, he accepted the lessened
familiarity and mutual respect that existed between them.

The quest had been long and difficult, and as the burden of leadership
fell upon him, he found that he missed his friend and confidant more and
more. Aragorn would not lie to himself. Great loves never die. Not
really. Though he had sworn himself to another, he would take no slight
to the Prince’s honor, even from one as respected as the Guardian of the
Golden Wood. So lost was the Ranger in his thoughts that he did not
realize that the March Warden was speaking once more.

“I will take you to Caras Galadhon,” Haldir was saying, “so that you and
your companions may stand in judgment before the Lord and the Lady. But
I do so on the condition that you will allow me to pursue my interest
with no interference on your part. I understand that the Prince, as well
as the other members of your company, are under your protection,
Dúnadan. Rest assured that whatever may pass between myself and the
Prince will be mutual. I admit that my intentions are not pure, but I
would never force anyone against their will.”

For a while the Man said nothing, contemplating this prospect. The
Guardian exuded an aura of self-confidence, leaving Aragorn no doubt
that the Elf was used to getting his way. But Haldir’s original
assessment had been correct, whether he knew it or not. Youthful and
innocent the Prince may appear, but the Ranger knew that he was far from
either.

“Very well, Haldir,” Aragorn said at last. “If that is the price for our
passage then I fear that it is you who has received the short end of our
bargain. The Prince’s affection is not easily bought.”

This challenge made the light in the Elf’s eyes burn a little brighter.

“We shall see about that, Dúnadan,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps the
Prince has missed the company of the Eldar and the pleasures that only
one of his kind can give.” Turning away and walking to where Frodo and
the others waited, Haldir said commandingly, “You will follow me.”

The Fellowship was then divided into two groups. The four Hobbits stayed
in one talan with Haldir and his brothers, while Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli
and Legolas slept in another.

“Keep a close eye on the Dwarf,” Haldir had warned the Ranger and the
Elf. “I will hold you both responsible for him.”

Legolas nodded, swiftly climbing the silver rope that lead to the flet
with Gimli muttering and grumbling behind him. Boromir then followed his
two companions, but Aragorn paused and held the Guardian’s gaze, a final
moment of understanding passing between them.

~*~*~*~

The night was not uneventful as a troop of Orcs passed beneath them,
their foul steps marching in rhythm. Gimli and Boromir managed to take
some rest, despite the Dwarf’s objections about sleeping in the trees.
In the end, even he could not argue that they were safer in the boughs
of the mallorns than they would be upon the ground. Safer, Aragorn
reflected, was a matter of perspective. The trees did not so much
provide protection as they did concealment. Orcs were great climbers,
after all. Legolas seemed to be of the same mind and spent the night on
watch. No word passed between Man and Elf. From his flet, the Guardian
observed the two companions as they sat side by side in silence.

~*~*~*~

Morning came soon enough and with it the knowledge that Orophin had left
during the night to warn the city of the passing Orcs. “They will not
leave our borders,” Rúmil, the Guardian’s other brother told the
Fellowship darkly.

After a quick breakfast, the company set off lead by Haldir, with Rúmil
bringing up the rear. For the most part, they walked without speaking,
content to enjoy the wonders that the wood presented them. They made
good time and it was not long before they reached the mighty Celebrant,
flowing swift and strong through the Golden Wood.

“There is no bridge!” Gimli exclaimed as the company stood by the bank.

“The Dwarf has a talent for stating the obvious,” Haldir remarked dryly,
giving Legolas a sideways wink. The Prince smiled, appreciating the
joke, while Aragorn looked away. The seduction had begun.

“This is how we cross,” Haldir said to the others, bringing out a coil
of gray rope. He gave a low whistle and an Elf, similarly clad in Lórien
gray, stepped out from a thicket of small trees on the other side of the
river. Haldir skillfully cast the rope across the river and the other
Elf caught it, securely tying it around a tree by the bank.

“Follow me!” the Guardian called and the others, save Legolas, Aragorn
and Rúmil, watched in amazement as the Elf lightly ran over the rope to
the other side.

“I can walk this path,” Legolas said, “but the others have not this
skill. Must they swim?”

“No,” Haldir answered. “We have two more ropes that we will tie above
this one so that your companions may cross with care.” Then he cocked
his head to the right, slipping into their native tongue as he said,
“Unless you wish for the Dwarf to swim?”

“Tempting though it may be,” Legolas answered in their language,
laughing at the thought, “that will not be necessary.” Satisfied with
the solution, the Prince nimbly leapt onto the rope and crossed it as
swiftly and skillfully as the Guardian had done.

From the other side, Aragorn watched Haldir as the Elf’s eyes, sparkling
with that same glint from the day before, freely roamed the Prince’s
body. He could almost see the wheels turning in the Guardian’s head as
Legolas displayed his balance and agility, two skills that could be put
to good use in other, more intimate, activities.

When all of them had safely crossed the river, the slender bridge was
dismantled. Two ropes were kept on the eastern shore, where the company
now stood, while Rúmil untied the third rope and slung it over his
shoulder. With a wave of his hand, the Elf disappeared into the trees.

“My brother is returning to Nimrodel to complete his watch,” Haldir
explained. “You have now entered the Naith of Lórien,” he said
seriously. “Few strangers are permitted to set foot here, especially
during these dangerous times. I must insist that the eyes of the Dwarf
be bound. The others may walk freely for a while, but in time, I must
bind your eyes as well. We do not divulge our secrets to foreigners.”

“I will *not* be blindfolded,” Gimli spat, greatly displeased by the
proposition. “I am not your prisoner, nor am I a beggar to be lead by a
rope through this forest!”

“It is our law,” Haldir replied, drawing himself to his full height and
towering over the Dwarf. “I cannot set it aside for *you*.”

“Then I shall leave this cursed wood. Why should I stay if I am not
treated with respect?” The Dwarf turned as if to walk away, but the
Guardian’s words stopped him.

“You cannot go back!” Haldir said, his voice leaving no room for
argument. “There are sentinels on duty that would slay you before you
even saw them. Nor would you be able to cross the river again. Nay, you
have come this far and you must be judged before the Lord and the Lady.
They will do with you as they see fit.”

Gimli folded his arms and obstinately planted his feet on the ground.
The tension in the air was palpable until the Dwarf spoke again. “If
this is the way it must be,” he said slowly, “I will allow myself to be
blindfolded only if you blindfold the Elf as well.”

Haldir was taken aback by the request and he glanced at the Prince, who
had become angry in his turn.

“I am a kinsman here!” Legolas cried, offended by the suggestion.

Fearing that the situation would escalate, Aragorn stepped forward and
intervened. “We will *all* be blindfolded,” he told Haldir. “Even you,
Legolas,” he added, fixing the Elf with a firm look. “Come!” he said to
the others. “If I am to lead this group, then you must do as I say. We
are a Fellowship, and no one shall be singled out.”

There were murmurs and nods of assent. The decision made, Haldir and the
other Lórien Elf set about blindfolding the members of the Fellowship,
when Gimli suddenly laughed out loud.

“What a merry troop of fools we shall make!” he chuckled as his eyes
were covered. “Marching single file and being led on a string like some
traveling show.”

Legolas was the last to be blindfolded and remained unhappy at the
situation. He waited, head held high as Haldir stepped closer than was
necessary to place the cloth over his eyes. The Prince inhaled the
Guardian’s scent, rich and heady, so unlike his own. It made his skin
tingle.

“Your pout,” Haldir whispered into his ear, warm breath ghosting over
the sensitive tip, “only serves to heighten your beauty. But I would
much prefer to see you smile.” The Guardian’s insinuation was rewarded
by the slow curving of the younger Elf’s sensuous lips.

“It is a shame that you must be blindfolded while the sun shines and the
weather is fair,” he continued, leisurely tying the cloth behind the
Prince’s head, “but removing your sight heightens your other senses.
Much pleasure may still be derived from a simple touch and the sounds
around you.”

While Haldir spoke, his companion passed a length of rope to each member
of the Fellowship so that they became the merry troop that Gimli had so
ably described. Legolas was the last to receive the rope and he held it
in his right hand, waiting for Haldir to grasp the end. However, the
Guardian had other plans and instead of taking the rope, he reached out
and clasped the Prince’s free hand. Haldir watched Legolas’ face
carefully for any kind of reaction, but there was none. Still, he noted
with satisfaction, that the smile he had coaxed from the Prince remained
on his lips.

Thus the company continued their journey in this way, walking
single-file connected by the long rope. Gimli had warned Haldir that he
would seek amends for every stumble and stubbed toe, but the Dwarf’s
concerns were soon laid to rest as the path proved to be smooth and
unfettered.

At the head of the line, two golden-haired Elves walked side by side.
Haldir held Legolas’ hand as though it were a delicate bird; not so
tightly that he would crush it, but not so loose that it would slip
through his fingers. For this simple gesture reflected the art of
seduction to the Guardian. It was a means to keep his prey close, while
at the same time not suffocating or frightening it. Every now and then,
he would brush his fingers against the Prince’s knuckles or draw
soothing circles at the back of the Elf’s hand. He teased and tantalized
until Legolas responded, and two ivory hands were engaged in their
private erotic dance.

The company walked for the rest of the day, until the evening breeze
began to whisper in the trees. They encountered a host of Elves from the
city, who were on their way to protect the northern borders in case of
an attack from Moria. They bore a message from the Lord and the Lady,
which said that the Fellowship was to be able to walk freely, including
the Dwarf. The blindfolds were removed and Haldir bowed low before them.

“Your pardon,” he said sincerely. “Look upon us now with friendly eyes,”
he added, purposely directing his gaze to the Mirkwood Prince. Legolas
nodded imperceptibly, blue eyes shining as he accepted this apology.

“You have come to Cerin Amroth,” the Guardian continued, sweeping an arm
before him. “Here we shall rest a while and arrive at the city of the
Galadhrim by dusk.”

The Ranger went to the March Warden as the others sat or lay down in the
field. “Our passage has been granted by the Lord and the Lady,” he said
quietly. “I see no reason why we must keep to the bargain that was made
yesterday eve.”

“Is that so?” Haldir said, amusement in his eyes. “Ever the protector,
Dúnadan. You need not concern yourself. I shall take *very* good care of
the Prince.” The Elf turned around and left before the Man could reply,
setting his sights on his prey who stood a few feet away.

Legolas was delighted to be in open space and free of the confines of
his blindfold. He felt the rich, lush grass beneath his feet and admired
the star-shaped golden flowers that studded the sward. Contented, he
reached down and brushed a pale white flower as it blew on its slender
stalk.

“That is the niphredil,” Haldir said as he approached the Prince. “And
the golden one is called–”

“Elanor” Legolas supplied, drawing himself up so that he could look into
the Guardian’s eyes. They were standing as close as they had been when
the March Warden had tied his blindfold.

Haldir resisted the urge to bend down and kiss those soft lips. It was
too soon. Instead he tore his gaze away, saying, “Would you climb with
me up Cerin Amroth?”

Wordlessly, Legolas nodded and the two Elves walked to the mound of
Amroth, where the house of the Elven Prince had been built in ages past.
Upon the mound grew a double crown of trees. They passed through the
outer circle, whose trees had a bark of snowy white, and then into the
inner circle of great mallorns arrayed in gold. At the center of the
mound stood the tallest of all the trees and amid its branches was a
gleaming, white flet. Grasping the gray rope ladder, Legolas climbed it,
emerging onto the white talan and a breathtaking view. Instinctively,
the Prince looked to the south, where he knew that the city of the
Galadhrim lay. He saw clearly a hill of mighty trees, out of which a
light and power seemed to emanate that held all the land in sway.
Looking to the east, he followed the land of Lórien as it ran along the
river Anduin until his gaze rested upon Southern Mirkwood, where
darkness was tangible to his keen eyes.

The Prince felt the Guardian stand behind him, the Elf’s rich scent and
warm presence that threatened to touch a part of him that he had closed
off years ago. Tis nothing but a physical reaction, he reprimanded
himself harshly. You have been away from your people for too long. Why
should you deny your body’s desires?

“The Dol Guldur has been rebuilt,” he said aloud in an effort to drive
these unsettling thoughts away. “Its shadow grows long over my father’s
realm.”

“Your people are fine warriors,” Haldir said softly. “For centuries have
they kept the Enemy at bay. Your father will not let evil overrun his
land.” The Guardian noticed that the younger Elf stiffened slightly at
the reference to his father, and he filed this knowledge away for future
use.

“My father is proud and willful,” the Prince replied with a note of
bitterness in his voice. “But he has always had the best interests of
his people at heart.”

“As all good rulers do,” Haldir answered, brushing a stray lock of hair
behind the Prince’s ear.

Legolas turned around at the touch and the Guardian once again found
himself mesmerized by those shining blue eyes. Did they turn indigo when
they were lit with the flames of passion? He would find out. But not
yet, he reminded himself. The game had only begun.

The Prince seemed to be studying him, and for a moment, Haldir wondered
if the younger Elf could read the desire in his eyes. He was left
wondering as Legolas broke the spell to look down at someone who had
attracted his interest in the field below them.

Peering over the Elf’s shoulder, Haldir spied the Ranger standing apart
with a golden elanor flower in his hand, oblivious to the goings-on of
the others.

“He is lost in his own reverie,” the Guardian commented.

“That he is,” the Prince agreed, “for this place holds great meaning for
him.”

Haldir waited patiently for the Prince to elaborate. Legolas’ voice
became cool and distant as he said; “This is where he pledge his troth
to the one who holds his heart.”

“And do you have such a place for the one who holds your heart?” the
Guardian whispered, warm breath against the Prince’s mask of ice.

“I give my heart to no one,” was the cold reply.

~*~*~*~

The city of the Galadhrim was unlike any city the Fellowship had ever
seen before. Haldir had described Caras Galadhon as “the heart of
Elvendom on earth,” and no one thought to disagree. Lit with myriad
lanterns that hung from the boughs of the great trees, the company
walked along many staircases and passageways to be presented before the
Lord and the Lady, whose piercing gaze read each of their hearts in
turn.

Now the Fellowship gathered in the pavilion that had been laid out for
them by the Elves, the Hobbits and the Dwarf very much relieved to be
sleeping on the ground. Though the journey had been long, the travelers
stayed up for a little while discussing the day’s events. Eventually,
their conversation touched upon the Lord and the Lady of the Golden
Wood. Each was curious to know what the Lady Galadriel had said to the
others as she held their gaze, but none would tell. For to do so would
be to reveal their heart’s deepest desire, and it took great strength to
face such a harsh truth. Their strength was yet to be replenished during
this time of grief.

Legolas sat and listened to his companions speak, but participated
little in their discussion. He was content to remain a passive observer,
while the haunting voices of the Galadhrim filled the night air.

“It is a lament for Gandalf,” he heard himself whisper, though he
declined to translate the words of the song.

The conversation continued and the Elf found his attention drawn more
and more to the Dwarf, whom he was starting to look upon with new eyes.
Gimli had changed since meeting the Lady Galadriel. The others did not
see it, but Legolas knew. It happened the moment the Lady had looked
kindly upon the Dwarf, speaking of the glory of the ancient city of
Dwarrowdelf. Gimli had feared falling under the enchantment of the Lady
of the Wood – the Elf-Witch he had called her – and rightly so. When he
heard the names of the places that he cherished spoken in his own
tongue, he looked into her radiant face and saw not an enemy, but a
being of immense wisdom and compassion. Indeed, the Lady’s spell had
been cast and Legolas knew that the Dwarf was willingly enthralled. It
was this stout but brave member of the Fellowship that the Prince
understood the least. That would have to change.

The Elf put these good intentions aside for the moment. Tonight his
heart was heavy, not only with grief for Gandalf’s loss, but also with
the words that the Lady Galadriel had addressed to him alone. She had
seen through the bitterness he had tried to hide and gently rebuked him
for it. She knew that the love and friendship of a youth called Estel
had forever changed the Prince’s life; that the ending of their
relationship had lead to much sadness and despair; that the Prince had
drawn strength from his wounds and hardened his heart to those who would
offer him love and comfort. She understood why he had turned to combat
to exorcise his demons, mastering any weapon that was placed in his
hand, though his love for the bow and arrow dominated all his other
skills.

“You have come far, son of Thranduil,” she had said, “but the road
before you is longer still. You will need his strength, as he will need
yours. Strength comes from within, but sometimes, true strength reveals
itself in one’s weaknesses and in knowing in whom to place your trust.
He loves you still, though you may not believe it. Do not abandon him
now.”

Legolas had been too stunned to react in front of the Lady, his mind
swimming with the implications of her words. Now that he had dwelt upon
the matter, anger and old pain flared inside him. *He* was the one who
had been abandoned those thirty odd years ago. How could strength come
from weakness? What madness had put him on this quest that he should
walk by his former lover’s side, the distance between them like a
never-healing wound?

The Prince had been chosen by Lord Elrond to represent the race of Elves
on this quest – a great honor. Yet, he remembered that Elrond had placed
no oath or bond on any member of the Fellowship, save for the Ringbearer
whose quest this was, to go no further than they chose. The closer the
company came to Mount Doom, the harder it would be to turn away. But
there was still time. Legolas had only been sent to Rivendell to deliver
the unfortunate tidings of Gollum’s escape, and as darkness continued to
infest the land, the image of the Dol Guldur continued to burn in his
mind’s eye. It made the Prince wonder, was his place not with his people
and by his father’s side?

As these thoughts continued to occupy the Elf, he did not notice that
the others were already preparing for bed. It was not until the Dwarf
began snoring did the Prince become aware of his surroundings. As his
friends slept, Legolas stood up silently and left the pavilion.

~*~*~*~

When Aragorn awoke it was still night and he knew instinctively that the
Elf was not among them. Limbs protesting at being disturbed from their
much-deserved rest, the Man got up and tread his way through his
sleeping companions.

The city was eerily quiet as the Ranger stood by the edge of the field
where their pavilion had been built. Time for a smoke, the Man decided,
taking out his travel pipe and a bit of weed. After the pipe was lit,
Aragorn stood and smoked, contemplating what he was doing there. Did he
mean to search for the Elf? He did not have the faintest idea where
Legolas could have gone. But his feet began to walk of their own accord,
leading him to a destination that eluded his mind.

After some time, he heard the sound of voices talking and laughing,
their lovely melodic lilt breaking the stillness of the night. Aragorn
recognized one of them instantly, and the second he had grown familiar
with in a short space of time. The Ranger emerged into a small clearing
and saw to his right, two golden-haired Elves sitting cross-legged at
the base of an ancient tree. Legolas was leaning against the mallorn’s
broad trunk, while Haldir relaxed against a giant root to the Prince’s
left. The Man observed two bottles of fey wine between them, one already
empty and the other almost finished. Legolas held up a hand to greet
him, while Haldir took a sip from his goblet, turning his head to the
side to see who this newcomer was.

“Aragorn!” the Prince called. “Come and join us.”

The Man accepted, noticing how the Prince’s cheeks flushed a becoming
rosy shade from the effects of the wine. His manner was unrestrained,
his laughter light and tinkling. It was a marked contrast to the serious
and reserved conduct the Elf maintained around the Fellowship. Indeed,
it was the friendliest greeting Aragorn had received from the Prince in
many a year, and for a moment he feared that he had underestimated
Haldir’s skill in this arena, and perhaps Legolas’ own resolve. What
they do is none of your affair, he reminded himself, but another part of
him refused to believe this rationalization.

He sat down on the other side of the Prince, opposite the Guardian, who
flashed him a silky smile. Almost a challenge, the Man thought.

“I’m afraid we only have two goblets,” Legolas said with some dismay,
oblivious to the tension that had arisen between his two companions.
With a casual shrug, he poured the remaining wine into his goblet and
passed it to the Ranger. “Drink from mine,” he offered.

Aragorn nodded his thanks, taking a sip of the red wine. It had a rich
berry taste, laced with a touch of spice. An unusual, potent
combination, but delicious nonetheless. The Man took a deeper draught,
savoring the strong liquid as it warmed his throat.

“Is the wine to your liking?” the Guardian asked him.

“It is unlike any fey wine that I have ever tasted,” the Man answered
truthfully.

“That is because it is Haldir’s own brew,” the Prince said
conspiratorially, placing his hand on the other Elf’s knee.

Aragorn watched the two Elves and realized with some surprise that
Legolas was drunk. The Prince had always been able to hold his liquor.
Was *this* part of Haldir’s plan? He glanced sharply at the Guardian,
suddenly suspicious of this homemade brew.

Haldir was silently laughing. The Ranger could see it in the Elf’s eyes.
As if I would need to inebriate the Prince to have my way, they seemed
to be saying, allaying the Ranger’s concerns. A drunk Legolas would be a
willing Legolas, but that was not the type of conquest the Guardian
desired.

“Then Haldir is not only skilled but generous in sharing this with you,”
Aragorn said.

“With both of you,” the Guardian corrected. “Tis a pity that you did not
come sooner, Dúnadan.”

“Yes, it is a shame,” Aragorn agreed. “I’m sure the conversation would
have been stimulating.”

“It has been most stimulating,” Legolas said innocently. “Haldir is fine
company, Aragorn. I suspect that you two would get along quite well.”

The March Warden could not suppress a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“You are very similar,” the Prince replied, but would not elaborate
further. He lapsed into silence, absently taking the goblet from the
Ranger and sipping the wine.

“Well,” Aragorn said after a while, “I had best be heading back.”

“But you have just arrived,” Haldir chastised.

“That may be so,” the Man said, “but my body is telling me that it needs
more rest. Long has it been since our company has been able to sleep
within such well-protected borders.” He then turned to Legolas, who was
still lost in his own thoughts and said, “Will you not be retiring
soon?”

“Yes,” the Prince said. “Haldir has offered me his quarters for the
duration of our stay.”

Aragorn looked to the other Elf for confirmation and the Guardian
nodded. A bold move, the Ranger thought, but hardly subtle. He had
expected more from Haldir. Somehow this did not fit his image of the
cunning Elf.

“When will you be returning to the northern border?” the Prince was
asking their host.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” A note of disappointment.

“I’m afraid so.”

“It is a shame that we only have this night.”

“The night is not over yet.”

Legolas did not say anything, but a thoughtful expression was on his
face. Haldir’s offer hung heavy in the air. The two Elves appeared to
have forgotten the Ranger’s presence, and Aragorn believed that now
would be the best time to remind them.

“The Fellowship would be sorely disappointed to know that you did not
spend the first night in Caras Galadhon with them,” he told the Prince.
“They would miss your company tomorrow morning, Legolas.”

Legolas looked to his right where the Ranger sat, the familiar mask now
back in place. Then he turned to Haldir. “Aragorn is right,” he said. “I
feel that it is my duty to stay with the Fellowship on this first
night.”

“Of course, you must do what you think is best,” the Guardian said
graciously. “The offer to stay in my quarters while I am away is still
open,” he added. “My quarters are humble, but if you seek a place of
solitude, where you will not be disturbed, then there you may find some
peace of mind.”

“I accept your offer,” Legolas said without hesitation, flashing the
Guardian one of his most alluring smiles. “We shall have other nights,
Haldir.”

The older Elf nodded with his own smile. “I look forward to them.”

The Guardian then gathered the two empty wine bottles, together with the
two goblets and stood up. “It is time I also retired,” he announced and
with a small bow, he left the clearing, humming a little tune.

Aragorn and Legolas sat by the tree a while longer, the Elf twirling a
pale niphredil in his hand. “Shall we go?” he asked suddenly, startling
the Man.

“Yes,” Aragorn agreed, standing up. “Do you need help?” The Prince was
loath to accept assistance, but the Ranger was not sure if the Elf would
be able to return to the pavilion unaided.

“No,” Legolas replied, a little curtly. “I am fine.”

Then, to the Man’s surprise, the Prince stood up without any difficulty,
brushing his clothes off as he did so. His movements were quick and
precise, his eyes clear and focused, as if he had not just polished off
a bottle of wine.

The Elf smiled slightly to see the look of amazement on the Man’s face.
“You did not seriously believe me to be drunk?” Then he laughed, leaning
towards the Man as he said, “Really, Aragorn. I would have thought that
you knew me better than that.”

“It is difficult to say these days,” the Ranger answered, “when you act
like a stranger toward me.”

The Elf drew back as though wounded by the Man’s words. His face
hardened and he turned away, walking back to the pavilion without
waiting for the Ranger, but the Man’s long strides soon caught up with
him and they walked together in silence.

Silence, Legolas reflected, had become the norm between them. It was not
the silence born of peace and contentment, nor the silence derived from
long years of companionship. It was the silence of unfinished matters,
of bitterness and heartache. Was he the only one who grieved for what
had been lost?

“Why did you accept Haldir’s offer to stay in his quarters?” Aragorn
asked, interrupting the Prince’s thoughts. “Have you grown so tired of
our company?”

The Elf seemed reluctant to answer, finally saying, “The journey has
been hard. I need this time to myself. To think. To find my peace of
mind as Haldir said.” He stopped suddenly and grabbed Aragorn’s arm.
“You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes, Legolas. I can.”

The Elf looked so vulnerable at that moment. So young and lost. There
was so much Aragorn wished to say, but he did not know where to begin.
No words would come.

The moment passed and the Man watched with wonder as a shroud seemed to
fall over Legolas’ face and he released Aragorn’s arm. The note of
urgency disappeared from his voice, returning to its measured calm as he
spoke. “I will still spend time with the Fellowship, of course, and take
my meals with them. I have grown fond of their company, particularly of
the Halflings.”

They resumed walking and no more was said. When they reached the
clearing where the pavilion was laid out, Aragorn stopped and told the
Elf, “You are attracted to him.”

The words froze the Prince, and he slowly turned around to face the Man
who still stood in the shadows of the trees. He knew of whom the Ranger
spoke.

“His intentions are not pure, Legolas.”

“And you think mine are?”

The Ranger did not respond and the Elf took a step closer to him. “I did
not lie when I said that the two of you are similar,” he whispered.
“There is nobility beneath Haldir’s façade.” He reached out, running his
hand along the Man’s face, until he cupped Aragorn’s chin beneath his
fingers.

“You would barter me in exchange for passage through Lórien.”

Aragorn tried to shake his head in protest, but the Elf’s firm grip held
him still.

“You were right to think that my affection is not so easily bought,” he
continued. “I shall enjoy this challenge that you have presented me
with, and I think that you know well enough my skill in this arena.”

With these words, the Prince released him and the Man was left standing
amidst the trees as the Elf strolled towards their sleeping companions.
He closed his eyes and let the cool night air envelope him. How had it
come to this? he wondered. How would the game play out now that Legolas
knew?


Part II. The Game

Haldir left the following morning, but not before showing Legolas around
his quarters, which were not far from the pavilion. If one stood on the
little balcony outside the Guardian’s chamber, one could easily see the
white tent of the pavilion where the Fellowship stayed.

Legolas immediately felt at home within the sparsely furnished chamber,
and he knew that his decision to stay here had been the right one. The
furnishings consisted of a large bed and bedside table, another small
table with two chairs, a writing desk and chair, a small bookcase and a
chest of drawers, on top of which were a silver basin and a jar of
water. The Prince ran his hand appreciatively over the ornate carvings
of the desk, an amused smile on his lips. He could hardly imagine Haldir
sitting here writing reports.

On one wall hung several ceremonial weapons: a bow, two swords, two long
knives and a dagger. However, what caught Legolas’ attention the most
was a magnificent harp that stood in one corner of the room. The morning
sunshine, which streamed from a nearby window, highlighted its
burnished, gold hue. Enchanted, Legolas went to it.

“Do you play?” the Guardian asked.

“I have not played in many a season,” the Prince admitted. “Not since my
love for the bow and arrow surpassed all else. I have forgotten much.”

“Now would be a good time to remember then,” Haldir encouraged, gently
placing a hand on the younger Elf’s shoulder.

Afterward, Legolas walked Haldir to the city gates, where the Guardian
met a small group of Elves who had also been assigned to the northern
border and there they bid each other farewell.

“I do not know when I shall be returning,” Haldir said, “but I hope that
it will be before your company departs.”

“I am certain of it,” the Prince replied. “For who will be our guide
when we must travel to the river’s shores?”

“Lórien has many skilled guides,” the Guardian answered, attempting to
bait the Prince.

“But there is only one guide that I favor,” Legolas whispered, leaning
forward and brushing his lips against Haldir’s cheek.

The Prince smiled as he pulled away, and for a split second, the
Guardian thought he saw something in the younger Elf’s eyes that he had
not seen there before. A cool detachment, the gleam of a predator
reflected in himself. It had just been an instant. Legolas smiled now,
warmth and sincerity radiating from him, and Haldir could not help but
smile in return. The Mirkwood Prince was a prize indeed and the Guardian
would have him. Patience would only make the prize all the sweeter.

~*~*~*~

Legolas remained true to his word, taking all his meals with the
Fellowship and spending additional time with the Halflings. Frodo and
Sam often went off by themselves, but Merry and Pippin both had an
insatiable curiosity, particularly Pippin, who bombarded the Elf with an
endless series of questions, some of great importance, others of
spectacular triviality. Legolas answered each question patiently and
with an equal amount of gravitas, whether he was discussing complicated
Elven bloodlines, or how he managed to keep his hair immaculately tangle
free, which Frodo had overheard him explain one day and had promptly
sent the Ringbearer into a fit of giggles.

The Hobbits asked Legolas to give them a tour of Caras Galadhon, even
though the Prince was new to the city himself. In the end, Legolas roped
one of the Galadhrim, who was quite taken by the woodland Prince, to
give the Halflings their much-desired tour. Legolas accompanied them, as
he also wished to become more familiar with the city, and out of concern
for the pretty handmaiden of the Lady Galadriel who was to be their
guide. He worried that the four Hobbits might be too much for her to
handle, especially since she was unused to speaking in the Common
Tongue. For her part, the handmaiden was overjoyed to have the visiting
Prince by her side and left all the translation duties to him.

With the exception of this special tour, the Galadhrim kept mostly to
themselves. Sam pointed this out one day and asked Legolas if there was
a reason for it.

“The Galadhrim have always been a private people, as is the custom among
my race,” Legolas answered. “But in this instance, there is also the
matter of language.”

“Language?” Sam questioned.

“Yes. Few of the Galadhrim have any dealings with the world beyond their
wood,” the Prince explained. “Many cannot speak the Common Tongue, and
those who are familiar with it have doubtless not used the language in
centuries.”

Sam nodded in understanding. Smitten by anything Elvish, the Hobbit
decided to use this time to bridge the communication gap. Perhaps Mr.
Frodo would help him, was the hopeful thought that entered his mind.

Frodo, who had been lying on his bed listening to the conversation,
asked the Elf, “Is it the same in Mirkwood?”

“To some extent,” Legolas replied. “We speak our own language, as well
as lesser known Silvan dialects, when we are amongst ourselves. However,
we have always had dealings with the men of Laketown and much trade
passes along the Old Forest Road. In that respect, Westron has remained
alive and well among my people.”

“I should like to visit your wood one day,” Frodo murmured sleepily,
closing his eyes for an afternoon nap.

“Then perhaps you shall,” Legolas whispered comfortingly.

The Elf was beginning to doubt that such a day would come, knowing that
the fate of all Middle-Earth depended upon their quest. But he would not
let his doubt poison the Ringbearer. His fears were held at bay in fair
Lothlórien, where beauty and goodness remained undiminished.

Whilst the Galadhrim preferred to keep to themselves, they eagerly
welcomed the Prince’s company and Legolas often went with them on their
short journeys and excursions. The Fellowship did not take offense at
this, believing it only natural that the Elf would want to spend time
with his kin. There was only one member of the company who believed that
there could be another reason, but of course, he did not voice it.
Lothlórien also brought peace of mind to the exiled King, but it left
him with a restless heart. He took comfort in the knowledge that at the
very least, Haldir was still on patrol along the northern border.

On the fourth day of their stay, something unexpected happened after
breakfast. Legolas, who usually disappeared after meals, stood up and
politely excused himself. Then, almost as an afterthought, the Elf
looked in the Dwarf’s direction and said, “Master Dwarf, I shall be
visiting a rock spring today, one that the Galadhrim say leads to some
interesting, albeit small, underground caves. Would you like to
accompany me?”

The Fellowship exchanged surprised glances and there were raised
eyebrows. No one was more surprised than Gimli, who stared at the Prince
as though Legolas had grown two heads. But he recovered quickly and gave
a small cough, an attempt to gather his wits before replying.

“A rock spring and caves, you say?” Gimli repeated. “Well, I suppose I
could do with a wee bit of exercise.” He nodded his head, as though to
reaffirm his decision. “Very well, Master Elf. I shall accompany you on
this little excursion.”

Legolas seemed pleased with the Dwarf’s decision. “Then I shall meet you
here in half an hour. Is that satisfactory?”

“What is satisfactory for an Elf is more than satisfactory for a Dwarf,”
Gimli replied, causing the company to exchange amused looks once more.
It would be a long morning for their two friends.

A long morning it proved to be, but an enjoyable one as well. So
enjoyable that the Elf and the Dwarf began spending time together on a
regular basis. Though Gimli constantly complained that Dwarves were not
built for long treks, nor the many staircases and pathways of Caras
Galadhon that did not stop him from accompanying Legolas on his numerous
trips. For his part, Legolas made the pace of their walks manageable for
his stout companion, often stopping for short breaks along the way.

Like two opposing forces inexplicably drawn together, the Elf and the
Dwarf were slowly beginning to understand one another, to look beyond
the misconceptions of one another’s races. At the very least, to
appreciate each other’s differences. Where once Legolas had believed
that Dwarves were greedy creatures – digging, hoarding, taking from the
earth and not giving anything in return – he saw now that they were
great lovers of beauty and purity. There was nothing that the Dwarves
fashioned that was not beautiful. He now paid attention to the angular
patterns on Gimli’s helmet, to the smooth, clean lines of his axe. He
remembered the endless, magnificent halls of Dwarrowdelf and he listened
with fascination to Gimli’s tales of old. However, what endeared him
most about his newfound friend, though he would never admit it, not even
on pain of death, was Gimli’s quick wit and dry sense of humor. The
Dwarf was stubborn to a fault, but then again, the Elf reasoned, the
same could probably be said about him.

Indeed, Gimli was thinking the very same thing about his hardheaded
companion. It was one of the numerous faults that he had grown
exceedingly fond of in the Elf. While Dwarves found beauty in their
craftsmanship, Gimli realized that the Elves themselves epitomized
beauty. They were called the Firstborn and it was easy to see why. He
was mesmerized by their natural grace and lulled by their melodic
voices. Their manner, which he once would have described as proud and
aloof, he now saw as noble and serene, a way of life that had been
cultivated over countless centuries. While the Dwarf would never quite
be able to understand the Elf’s attachment to trees, nor his
predilection for bathing, he did come to appreciate that Elves were one
with nature, bound to the very song of life. As Legolas sat and communed
with the great mallorns, Gimli would bow his head before their majesty
and find his own kind of peace.

So it was that Legolas’ days began to fall into a pattern. He would dine
with the Fellowship and entertain the Hobbits, spend his mornings with
the Dwarf and the afternoons with the Galadhrim. It was only the nights
that the Prince had to himself and he often took to wandering alone.
Gimli complained that he became brooding and pensive when night fell,
taking this as a clear sign that the Elf desired some privacy. Legolas
cherished these moments of solitude, when he sought to find his peace of
mind. But no peace would come to him. Not while he waited for something
to happen, not while he waited for someone to return.

~*~*~*~

It was past midnight when Haldir crossed the great gates of Caras
Galadhon. Most of the Elves who had been stationed at the northern
border at the same time as the Guardian had decided to stay there an
extra night, deeming the hour too late to return to the city. However,
Haldir was eager to return home, and together with a few Elves who had
their own reasons for wishing to return immediately, had left the border
at dusk. When they reached the main field, the Elves went their separate
ways with parting nods and quiet words. The Guardian conveniently passed
by the pavilion, his eyes searching for something that he was hoping to
find. A smile spread across his face when he saw the empty bed space. He
knew who would be waiting for him in his chamber and the Elf quickened
his steps.

When Haldir reached the short path that lead to his quarters, he
stopped. He felt flustered, though he could not explain why.
Anticipation, he reasoned. It has been twelve days since you saw him
last and your body has ached for his presence, his nearness. Strange,
how this young Elf has managed to possess you so. Patience, the Guardian
reminded himself. The attraction is not one-sided. Let him come to you.

Silently, he pushed opened the unlocked door and stepped inside. The
fresh, spring scent of cool morning dew invaded his senses and he
inhaled deeply. The smell of Legolas. What bliss it would be to wake up
to this every morning, he mused. The room was bathed in moonlight from
the open window on the far side. Haldir scanned the chamber, noting how
a bow and quiver rested on top of the small table, together with one of
the Elf’s long blades. It would not have surprised the Guardian in the
least to know that the Prince slept with the other blade beneath his
pillow. He slipped off his pack and together with his weapons, left them
by the door. Then his eyes fell on the large bed and the sleeping figure
upon it. Legolas lay on his side, facing the center of the bed. He wore
a thin, white nightshirt made of a transparent gauze fabric, the lacings
conveniently untied. He occupied only half the bed, as though waiting
for Haldir to return.

Haldir undressed quietly until he stood by the bed wearing only his
leggings. His eyes never left the Prince as he allowed the night air to
cool his heated flesh. Legolas was so peaceful in repose; free from the
confines of the daily masks that he wore. Lust fled from the Guardian’s
body as awareness of this privileged moment sunk in. How many others had
seen the Prince with his defenses laid bare? Was Aragorn one of them?
Disconcerted by this unbidden thought, Haldir lifted the white cover and
slid in between the sheets so that he lay facing the other Elf. Midnight
blue eyes gazed back at him, unfocused and distant. Legolas was sound
asleep.

The Guardian wanted to reach out and brush his fingers against the soft
skin; place gentle kisses on the golden brow. He did neither. Instead, a
wave of desire washed over him, more powerful than the lust that had
heated his loins. It was the desire to protect, to comfort, to love.
Yes, he thought. He could love this creature before him, but would
Legolas love him in return?

*I give my heart to no one.*

Haldir almost laughed aloud at his naive musings. Love? What a foolish
flight of fancy. It was unlike him to fall prey to such mawkish
sentiments. What he felt for the Elf was a physical attraction, a base
desire, and one that Legolas succinctly appeared to return. There could
be nothing more. Love was never part of the game and it would remain
that way.

~*~*~*~

Sunlight streamed through the window many hours later. Haldir felt a
breeze brush by his cheek as he awoke. He knew that the hour was late,
much later than he usually arose, but even Guardians were allowed late
mornings, especially ones who had been stationed at the border for
nearly two weeks. Familiar surroundings came into view as his morning
drowsiness fell away. There was a fresh, spring scent enveloping him,
the welcome smell trying to remind him of something terribly important
that he’d forgotten. He knew what it was the moment his eyes focused on
another pair of clear blue that gazed back at him. The Guardian had the
distinct feeling that the Prince had been watching him sleep for some
time.

“Good morning,” Legolas greeted him.

“You mean it is still morning?” Haldir chided.

“Only just,” the Prince laughed.

Haldir laughed with him. “Is this your normal rising hour, Prince
Legolas?” he inquired lightly.

“If I wish my father to chase me out of bed with his scepter,” the Elf
jested.

“It is fortunate then that no one shall chase you out of bed in Lórien.
Least of all, the Lord and the Lady.”

The image of the two stoic Elven nobles running the Prince out of bed
made them laugh again. As their laughter died away, Haldir asked
seriously, “Why have you not gotten out of bed yet? Surely you have been
missed by your companions?”

“I did not wish to disturb you,” the Prince answered simply. “You were
so peaceful at rest.”

Much like you were last night, the Guardian thought. Instead he said,
“Then we are of a like mind. I feared that I would disturb you last
night when I returned. For a moment, I contemplated sleeping on the
floor, but after two weeks spent on a wooden talan, the comfort of my
own bed was too much to resist.”

“Your fears were for naught,” Legolas replied, “for I slept as soundly
as I have since staying here. Furthermore, I do not see why you should
have resisted the comfort of your own bed when it is, after all, your
*own* bed.”

“It may be my bed,” Haldir said in return, “but I have offered it to
*you*.”

The Prince smiled at this double entendre. “For that I am grateful,” he
said. “But it is a rather large bed,” he went on. “There is more than
enough room for us to share.”

Now would have been the perfect moment for the Guardian to lean forward
and steal a kiss from those sweet lips, but something stopped him. A
glimmer. A hint of the same cool detachment he thought he had glimpsed
the morning he had left the city. However, he had not been sure then,
how could he be sure now? The moment seemed to be replaying itself as
Legolas disarmed him with an enchanting smile, golden hair spilling over
the Elf’s shoulder and crowning his face. Realizing that there was more
to this young Elf than perhaps he had bargained for, the Guardian
reached over and ran his fingers down the flaxen mane until he held a
lock of the Prince’s hair in his hand.

“I am glad you feel that way,” he said, “and that we have come to an
agreement regarding our sleeping arrangements.”

Haldir said these last two words with the possibility of more to come,
and then smoothly slipped out of bed. He could feel the Prince’s eyes on
him as he found one of his robes and with a final smile at his guest; he
left the chamber to bathe.

~*~*~*~

The news of Haldir’s return quickly reached the Fellowship, who
attributed Legolas’ disappearance that day to this event. The company
assumed that a bond of deep friendship had formed between the two Elves,
despite their short acquaintance, for why else would Legolas feel
comfortable enough to stay in the Guardian’s quarters? They were happy
for their Elven companion, save for one, whose mood darkened at the
Prince’s absence. If Aragorn had been pressed to explain his change in
temperament, the Man would have found himself at a loss for words. He
could not make sense of the feelings warring inside him. Was it concern
for the Prince’s well-being or jealousy that spurned him on?

With the exception of this first day, Haldir easily slipped into the
Prince’s routine. The Guardian often ate with the Fellowship and was
curious to get to know these strange beings called Halflings. He soon
discovered that the Hobbits were delightful company, particularly the
youngest one, who was excited to have “another Elf at his disposal,” as
Pippin called it. The Guardian was considerably more miffed at the fast
friendship that had developed between the Prince and the Dwarf, but he
deigned not to comment. Gimli had mellowed since their last encounter,
looking upon the Elves with a new sense of respect, and the Galadhrim
had accorded the same respect to him in return. The Dwarf did not mind
that the Guardian now joined them in their morning excursions.

Haldir enjoyed Legolas’ company more and more with each passing day, and
he nurtured the blossoming friendship between them. He often wondered if
this was the right approach. His original goal seemed distant and
unimportant when he was around the younger Elf. He wished to earn the
Prince’s trust and affection, but as the friendship deepened, the idea
of betraying the Prince repulsed him. Was a lasting friendship with this
rarest of blessed creatures infinitely more important than a single
bedroom conquest? If he were to rationalize his predicament, did he not
have the Prince in his bed every night? This thought put a bittersweet
smile on his face.

One day as the two Elves rested amid the branches of an ancient mallorn,
Legolas looked down at the Guardian and said, “I value friendship above
all else.”

Haldir glanced upwards and arched an eyebrow, careful to hide his
surprise at this sudden statement. “Above all else?” he repeated
questioningly.

A slight blush tinted the Prince’s cheeks at his own bold opinion. “I
love my family dearly,” he began, “but I speak of relationships outside
that of familial ties. Each relationship brings with it its own . . .
intricacies.” Legolas paused so that he may choose his words with care.
“Lovers may come and go, sewing their seeds and leaving their scars. But
friends, carefully chosen and nurtured, are like firm rocks upon which
our lives ebb and flow with the tide, always secure in the knowledge
that our foundations will not falter. Do you see what I mean, Haldir?”

“I am not certain,” the Guardian replied. “Do you mean to say that
friends cannot be lovers?”

The blush in the other Elf’s cheeks deepened, but he spoke with
conviction. “Not necessarily,” he answered. “If that line were to be
crossed, it should not be done so lightly. Friends may also be lovers,
but only if certain conditions are maintained, and should the physical
attraction fade, it is the friendship that must burn ever brighter.”

*Do you wish to become lovers?* Haldir wanted to ask. He wondered what
those conditions would be now that the door appeared to be open to him.

“I do not cross that line anymore,” Legolas suddenly said, firmly
closing the door with these words. “I have found the price to be too
high and that is why I value friendship above all else.”

~*~*~*~

Haldir respected Legolas’ wish, realizing that they had fallen too
deeply into the friendship pattern for him to take advantage of the
Prince now. He did not regret the path that he had chosen, and he
wondered with an ironic smile what the Ranger would say if he knew that
the Guardian’s nobility had won over his more base desires. Still,
nobility did not prevent the sexual tension from rising whenever he was
around the Prince. Never before had the March Warden been so grateful
for his complete control over his body, lest it betray his desire.
Discreet brushes of hand and leg, the warmth of a palm against the small
of his back, a chin lightly resting on his shoulder – these simple
touches sent bolts of lightning through him, but Legolas remained
completely unaffected. The attraction had become one-sided, leading the
Guardian to wonder if it had ever been there at all. Perhaps he had
imagined it to give legitimacy to his own pursuit. Strange how the
seduction had ended before it had even begun. He understood now how the
physical flame had faded for Legolas to be replaced by this need for a
lasting friendship. Would things have played out differently if he had
not left that morning three weeks ago? If he had been able to maintain
the electricity between them? Perhaps. He would never know.

As noble as his intentions had become, they did not prevent the Prince
from invading his dreams at night. Sometimes he awoke with a start,
breathing heavily, his body covered with a sheen of sweat. He would look
to his right at the Prince’s resting figure, thankful that Legolas slept
with his back to the Guardian. Images of blond hair tangled in his
fingers, of velvet skin pressed against his own and that lithe form
writhing beneath him were still fresh in his mind. Legolas had become
both a blessing and a curse to him, a valuable friendship poisoned by
unfulfilled desire.

One night, Haldir awoke with a throbbing ache in between his legs.
Aroused to full hardness, he knew that he could not go back to sleep in
this state. Stiffly, he stood up and reached for the silk robe that lay
near him. He wrapped it around himself and silently padded outside. The
autumn air cooled his tingling skin as he leaned heavily against the
balcony rail. He knew that his legs would not support him for long.
Defeated by his desire, he slumped to the floor, resting his forehead
against the wooden rail. One hand gripped the carved rail by his side,
while the other began to undo the tie around his robe. Why did he have
to tie it so tightly?

Distracted, the Guardian did not notice that someone had joined him
until he felt a warm body pressed against his back and long legs wrapped
around his. He stiffened, the knot of his robe loosened but still
untied, his grip on the wooden rail turning his knuckles white.

“Why are you outside at this hour?” Legolas asked.

“The air is freshest in the middle of the night,” Haldir replied,
inwardly groaning at this pathetic response. Apparently, unspent desire
slowed the wit as well.

“So it is,” Legolas answered, inhaling deeply and playing along. “But I
think you are here for another reason,” he said after a while.

The Guardian sighed. “And what would that be?”

“Tension. You need to relieve your tension.” Legolas placed his hands on
the Guardian’s shoulders, kneading them slowly. “So many knots, Haldir,”
he scolded lightly. “What could be the cause of such stress?”

“What indeed?” Haldir said, warming to the Prince’s touch.

“I think I know.”

Legolas’ hands slipped inside the Guardian’s robe, pushing the firm body
closer to him. Haldir sucked in his breath but did not resist, melting
against the other Elf. Was this not what he wanted?

He knew it most certainly was when those talented hands began roaming
his chest, massaging one nipple and then the other, deliberately moving
downward, easily untying the irksome knot of his robe.

“Legolas,” Haldir breathed, letting his head fall against the Elf’s
shoulder.

“Is this want you want, Haldir?” the Prince asked, echoing the
Guardian’s very thoughts. One hand rested at the juncture between thigh
and pelvis, stroking the soft downy hair, the other continued its
teasing ministrations on the Guardian’s chest.

“Yes,” he moaned, shifting his hips, trying to bring his arousal into
contact with the Prince’s hand.

“Tell me this is what you want,” Legolas demanded.

Lost in the haze of his desire and the blood pounding in his temples,
the Guardian did not notice that the Prince’s tone had grown cold, that
the Elf waited for a confession to leave his lips before granting his
release.

“This is what I want,” Haldir repeated dazedly.

“Then that is all I need to know.”

Haldir looked up at the Prince and all he could see was how the
moonlight caught the fine golden hair, wreathing the other Elf’s face in
its pale light. He leaned upwards for a kiss, unaware of the hard gleam
in Legolas’ eye. The Prince smiled and like a dark angel he bent down,
but instead of meeting the Guardian’s lips, he dipped his head lower to
nip and lick the exposed flesh of Haldir’s neck. Nothing mattered
anymore when Legolas took him in hand, expertly stroking and squeezing
his leaking shaft. He hissed when Legolas brought him to the brink of
release, but then held back, prolonging the pleasure, the torture. He
squirmed in the other Elf’s embrace, his free hand groping for something
to latch on to before he used it to find his own release, his other hand
still gripping the carved rail.

“Faster,” he whispered and Legolas obeyed, long fingers curving into a
tight tunnel. Moving his hand rhythmically, he increased the pace,
increased the friction.

“Now,” Haldir moaned, throwing his head back. “Now!”

A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, muffling his scream as Legolas
bit down, hard enough to bruise the soft skin at the base of his neck,
while at the same time firmly pulling his shaft one last time. Haldir
fell back against the Prince, spent and trembling as Legolas continued
to trail butterfly kisses along his neck, taking the time to massage the
injured flesh with his tongue. The hand fell away from his mouth,
traveling up his face until it brushed the Guardian’s sweat-moistened
hair through its fingers.

“I have branded you, Haldir of Lórien,” Legolas said enigmatically. “Now
you may return to bed.”

The Prince eased the Guardian off him and stood up smoothly, stretching
his long legs. As Legolas disappeared into the room, it slowly dawned on
Haldir that they had never even kissed.

~*~*~*~

The line had been crossed and Haldir knew that there would be no going
back. He soon found out what Legolas meant by “maintaining certain
conditions”. The following morning, the Prince acted as though nothing
had happened and they went about their daily routine, laughing and
talking like old friends. Confused as Haldir was, he waited to see what
would happen and his patience was rewarded when Legolas came to him that
night, quickly stripping him of his clothes and covering his body in
kisses. He responded instantly, pushing Legolas onto his back and
straddling the Elf’s slender waist. He leaned hungrily over the Prince,
bending down to capture those teasing lips in a kiss, but Legolas placed
a finger over the Guardian’s mouth and shook his head. Haldir understood
and this time, there was no mistaking the gleam in the other Elf’s eye,
but that did not deter the Guardian. Unfulfilled lust surged through him
and he knew that he would be the dominant one tonight.

These nightly encounters became part of their practice and Haldir could
hardly believe that the Elf he grappled with for control was the same
Legolas whom he hunted and sung songs with under the boughs of the great
trees. Legolas liked it rough – on the floor, on the table, against the
wall. His glittering eyes and silky smile continued to taunt the older
Elf and Haldir quickly realized that at night, all the Prince gave to
him was his body. Legolas’ heart remained tightly locked within its iron
chest. This thought angered him, though Haldir could not bring himself
to admit why. Instead, he would play rougher, tying Legolas to the bed
and blindfolding the Prince so that he would not have to look at those
indifferent eyes. Then he would take the young Elf without warning,
thrusting hard and deep so that the bed shook with their exertion. The
blindfold would loosen as silky hair rubbed against the carved
headboard. It was during these instances that Haldir saw that Legolas’
eyes remained tightly shut beneath the blindfold. He does not wish to
see, the Guardian thought. The knowledge that Legolas’ thoughts were far
away served to incense him more. Who did the Prince imagine lay with him
every night? Who did he wish cleaved him so deeply in two? With a
sinking feeling, Haldir suspected that he knew.

Most of all, Haldir wondered why Legolas had chosen to share his body
with him. While their friendship continued to grow during the day, the
Guardian felt as though he were being punished at night and he could not
fathom why. But Haldir had entangled himself too intricately inside the
Prince’s web to stem the tide. When had the hunter become the hunted?
The Guardian could see now that they had been playing by the Prince’s
rules since he returned. The rules dictated that there were to be no
whispered endearments or words of comfort after the act, and that no
emotional investment was necessary to partake in carnal pleasure. These
were the conditions that they maintained, but this was no longer enough
for Haldir. Legolas was like a drug that he had taken, intoxicating and
inescapable. Yes, he would play by the Prince’s rules but there was a
new goal at the end of the game. A kiss. A single elusive kiss and all
that it represented. He vowed that he would have Legolas complete or not
at all.

~*~*~*~

A palpable strain was developing between the two Elves that the Dwarf
was not immune to. He could feel it in the air during their morning
walks, though both Elves feigned indifference, Legolas showing greater
skill than the Guardian in hiding his feelings. Sometimes Gimli would
catch Haldir glancing at the Prince with a pained expression, but it was
swiftly covered with a warm smile when Legolas looked in his direction.
For his part, Legolas’ mask of serenity and composure did not falter.
But the Dwarf knew the Elf better than that now – the shields and
defenses that the Prince hid behind to prevent himself from feeling.
Legolas would only let one come so near before pushing them away and
Gimli felt fortunate to have come so far, so quickly. Perhaps Haldir had
come even farther in their short space of time, breaching a part of the
Prince that frightened the Elf. Could that be reason behind this new
development? Gimli was unsure, but he knew that things would come to a
head soon and that one or both of them would be hurt. He sighed heavily,
all the while thinking what a fine match the two Elves made.

~*~*~*~

The day of the Fellowship’s departure was drawing nearer, though no one
spoke of it. Haldir could feel it acutely like an iron fist crushing his
heart. His time with Legolas was coming to an end and he had not
resolved the issues between them. How did he broach a subject that was
never acknowledged? How could he say words that were forbidden? He shook
his head in frustration. Cowardice was a feeling that the March Warden
was unaccustomed to. It would be easier to confront a hundred Orcs than
to confess his feelings to the Prince, or worse, face the inevitable
rejection.

The Guardian rested his head against the trunk of a mallorn. He was
sitting in the clearing where he and Legolas had shared two bottles of
wine during the Fellowship’s first night at Caras Galadhon. It had been
much simpler then, his goals had been different, his intentions far from
noble. When had it all gone awry? Why did Legolas have this effect on
him?

The soft crunching of leaves drew his attention to someone approaching.
A figure appeared by the side of the clearing, a goblet in his hand.
Haldir recognized the profile at once and though he did not particularly
feel like speaking to the Ranger, he brought his hand up in an
invitation to come and join him.

Aragorn looked at the Elf warily before walking towards him. He probably
does not wish to speak to me either, Haldir thought with an amused
smile. They had had little to do with one another since the Guardian’s
return. The bargain had not been forgotten, but it was clear who had won
their unspoken wager. Or so it would appear to the Man, Haldir thought
bitterly, for his heart knew that the victory had been a hollow one.

“Good evening, Aragorn,” he said cordially as the Ranger sat down. “Your
steps are heavy for a man of stealth.”

“I did not think that stealth was necessary in the Golden Wood,” Aragorn
replied evenly. “For what need have we of stealth in a place where
nothing may remain hidden?”

Haldir burst out laughing, startling the Ranger.

“How very true!” he exclaimed, unexpectedly warming to the mortal.
“Forgive me,” he said sincerely. “I meant no offense.”

Aragorn smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Forgive me. My words
were unnecessarily harsh.” He lifted his goblet to the Elf. “Perhaps I
have had a little too much to drink,” he admitted.

“And what would drive one of the Dúnedain to drown his sorrows in wine?”

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to laugh. “What drives us all?” he asked
rhetorically. Then his voice grew somber. “Our time here is ending,” he
said sadly. “There is much that remains unsettled and the road that
stretches before us is paved with uncertainty.” He sighed, wondering why
he was revealing this to the March Warden.

Haldir merely nodded, the Man’s words echoing his own restless thoughts.

“You and I did not get off to a good start,” he said after a moment’s
pause. “We need not part on the same terms.”

“Are you calling a truce, Haldir?”

The Elf arched an eyebrow. “I was not aware that we were at war,” he
said and then broke into another musical laugh. Aragorn laughed with
him.

“If a war were to be waged over such a prize,” the Man went on, “then it
would be worth all the pain and grief caused by the battle.”

“He is no prize,” the Guardian replied, absently twirling a nephredil in
his hand. There was a strange emotion in his voice that caused the
Ranger to look at him curiously. Then Aragorn chuckled softly.

“Even the Guardian of the Golden Wood is not immune to the Prince of
Mirkwood’s charms,” he said with a shake of his head. “He is not a prize
and should not be viewed as such. You have truly fallen under his spell
if you are able to see beyond that.”

“I am not the only one,” Haldir answered, piercing Aragorn with his gaze
so that the Man shifted and took another sip of his wine. “He never
speaks of you,” the Guardian went on, noting how the Ranger grew more
uncomfortable with his words. “He speaks of your other companions
readily enough. He has much respect and praise for all of them, but he
never speaks of you. Why is that, Dúnadan?”

Aragorn did not answer.

“You were right,” Haldir said after awhile. “His affection is not easily
bought.”

Confusion spread across the Man’s features. “But you have become close
friends, Haldir. I look upon you from afar and envy what is lost to me.”
He paused and then said quietly, “You share more than friendship.”

Haldir laughed again, but there was only pain and longing in the sound.
“That is one way of putting it,” the Elf said bitterly. “We are friends
by day, lovers by night.” He looked at the Man, instinctively knowing
that the Ranger would understand his words.

“I was not aware,” Aragorn said softly. “I am sorry, Haldir.”

“Dúnadan, what have you to be sorry for?”

~*~*~*~

Legolas stood on one of the paths overlooking the pavilion below, a
goblet of wine also in his hand. He idly wondered where Haldir was but
quickly dismissed the thought with another sip of wine. He did not like
to dwell on the Guardian, not when his feelings towards the other Elf
had become muddled and confused. Whatever his heart tried to tell him
was quickly silenced by his mind and the cool calculation that governed
all his actions. His intentions had always been clear, his goal set.
*But why?* a persistent voice asked him. Why did you let it go so far?

The Prince watched as the stocky figure of the Dwarf strode towards the
pavilion, conversing with the Captain of Gondor. His keen hearing could
pick up Gimli’s gruff voice as he argued animatedly with his companion.
Legolas shook his head in amusement, mirroring Boromir’s own gesture as
their voices disappeared inside the pavilion.

The Elf scanned the surrounding area and spied the Hobbits by the
fountain. He smiled as he watched Pippin jump up, ready to entertain his
rapt audience. The Prince continued his search and was not surprised to
note that the Ranger was nowhere to be seen. If his mind clouded at the
thought of Haldir, then is positively blackened at the thought of
Aragorn.

*Aragorn*

The name still haunted him, more so now than ever before. Legolas
remained trapped in the past while the future burned before him. Against
all odds, there was a light amid the darkness. A small, shining light
that he could almost reach out and touch, if only he could let go of the
past.

The Prince sighed and drank deeply, emptying his goblet in an effort to
rid himself of these foolish thoughts. There was no point to these
ruminations. War would soon be upon them, if it had not already begun.
If their quest failed, all the lands would be covered in darkness. There
would be nothing to come back to.

“What troubles the Prince of Mirkwood that he stays here by himself
while his companions jest and laugh under the starry sky?”

Startled, though he did not show it, Legolas turned his head to the
right and watched Haldir approach him.

“What troubles can any being have in fair Lothlórien?” he asked with a
slight smile.

“Lothlórien is not always fair,” the Guardian replied, coming to stand
beside the Prince.

“Do you speak from experience, Haldir?” Legolas asked in a somewhat
ironic tone.

Instead of answering the question, the Guardian looked at the Prince’s
profile and said, “I know what troubles you, Legolas.”

Curiously, the Prince turned towards the other Elf and leaned lightly
against the wooden rail. “What would that be?”

“*Who* would that be,” Haldir corrected.

A shadow played across the Prince’s face, but the neutral mask remained
in place and the golden half-smile on his lips. So very young, Haldir
thought, but already so cold. Unseen scars that tear at his soul. It
should not be this way.

“The one you never speak of,” the Guardian added. Legolas’ brow
furrowed, as though he didn’t understand, but the older Elf knew better.
“You have been looking for him,” he continued. “Is that not why you
stand here watching your companions from afar? It is too painful to be
in his presence, but tolerable to observe from a distance.”

“I do not know of whom you speak,” Legolas finally said.

“You know perfectly well,” Haldir taunted, taking a step closer. Legolas
moved backwards before he could stop himself. “You are afraid.”

“Of you?” the Prince said scornfully. “Never.” He stubbornly held his
ground, firmly placing his hand on the rail.

The attitude and the stance were so akin to the Dwarf that Haldir had to
suppress a smile. He took another step closer, consciously invading the
younger Elf’s personal space. “He just entered the clearing,” the
Guardian said in a low voice. “Do not look!” he ordered, as the Prince
was about to turn his head. “It is better this way.”

Legolas remained completely still, trapped by the Guardian’s steely
gaze. There was something frightening about Haldir on this night.
Something threatening in his step that rooted Legolas to the spot and
unable to turn away.

“Isn’t this what *you* want?” Another step closer. “For him to see us
like this? Together?”

Legolas said nothing as Haldir wrapped a strong arm around his waist and
pulled them so close together that their bodies touched. He did not
yield to the Guardian’s embrace, regarding the other Elf with accusation
in his eyes.

“You punish him,” Haldir murmured as he dipped his head to trail soft
kisses down the Prince’s neck. “You punish yourself.”

Legolas’ breath caught as Haldir worked his way back up, kissing along
his jaw line. Such tenderness was alien between them, making the
Guardian’s actions all the more arousing.

“You punish me,” the Guardian whispered hotly in his ear, gently nipping
the sensitive tip. “And I do not know why.”

Legolas shivered in spite of himself. Then Haldir drew away and the
Prince missed his touch. He opened his eyes, unaware that he had shut
them and looked at the Guardian with a mixture of wonder and
apprehension. His heart was beating rapidly. He knew the other Elf could
feel it.

“I have a solution to your problem,” the Guardian continued, resting his
forehead against the Prince. “A solution to *all* our problems.”

“What is this solution?” Legolas’ voice trembled slightly, afraid that
he already knew the answer.

“Let me show you.”

Before Legolas could react, the Guardian pressed his lips to the younger
Elf, his free hand clamped behind the Prince’s neck to prevent him from
pulling away. Legolas stiffened in response and did not return the kiss.
But Haldir persisted, nibbling the full lower lip until the slender body
molded against his. When he deemed the time to be right, he thrust his
hips against the Prince, making sure that his growing arousal was felt.
As he expected, a moan escaped the other Elf and he pushed his tongue in
between the parted lips. Legolas tasted like honey mixed with spice from
the wine he had just drunk. Intoxicating. Haldir eagerly explored the
moist cavern that had been denied to him for so long, insistent but not
demanding. Now was not the time to frighten the Prince. His boldness had
already gotten him further than he expected. Their tongues began to
tangle with one another as Legolas slowly responded to the kiss. A
thrill went through Haldir when he withdrew and Legolas followed, taking
his time to explore the Guardian’s mouth in return. He could feel the
metal rim of the wine goblet pressed against his chest where Legolas had
laid his hand, but the Prince did not push him away. It was with great
disappointment that Haldir ended the kiss and rested his head on the
Prince’s forehead once more. The Guardian was breathing heavily,
cradling the lithe body against his.

“What are you doing?” Legolas asked in a strained voice.

“What you want,” Haldir replied. “I have always done what *you* want.”

He fell back as Legolas pushed him away, the force of the metal goblet
striking his chest.

“Then you are wrong,” the Prince said in his cool, detached manner,
turning around and striding away. “That is no solution.”

Haldir stood there for a moment, his hand over the sting in his chest
where Legolas had struck him. He had come to learn that everything the
younger Elf did was deliberate and he smiled inwardly as he rubbed the
sore spot immediately above his heart. He glanced down at the clearing
below just in time to see the Ranger enter and walk toward the pavilion.
The Man looked up and caught Haldir’s eye, raising his hand to bid the
Guardian a good night. Haldir returned the gesture; mindful of the
enlightening conversation they had shared earlier that eve. Then his
eyes fixed on Legolas’ retreating figure. The Elf had just rounded the
corner, presumably to return to their shared quarters. Haldir followed
with purposeful steps. He was not yet through with the Prince.


Part III. The Consequences

Legolas was fuming as he walked towards the Guardian’s chamber, though
his quick, light steps did not betray his anger. *How dare he?* the
Prince wanted to scream. How dare he presume so much? It did not matter
that Haldir’s assessment had been correct. The Guardian had always done
what he wanted, but this . . . this was unexpected. Legolas was not
about to let the March Warden gain the upper hand, not when he had been
in control all this time.

He threw open the wooden door and heard it bang against the wall as he
stalked inside. He could not stay here. Not anymore. He would pack his
things and leave. The thought of returning to the pavilion was not
particularly appealing to him, especially since he would have to explain
his sudden appearance. Still, that option was better than staying here.
He despised himself for running away like a coward. He could imagine his
father’s scornful words in such a situation. As he played out one of his
father’s lectures in his mind, it occurred to the Prince that he did not
hear the door close, as it should have after his forceful handling of
it. Rounding the bed to pick up his pack, he saw a figure standing in
the doorway. Taking a deep breath, Legolas looked up.

“We are not finished,” Haldir said with his arms crossed, obstinately
blocking the entrance.

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Very well,” the Guardian said, “then you shall listen to me.”

Anger and annoyance flared in the Prince’s sapphire eyes, but he paid
the Guardian no mind as he continued to gather and pack his things.
Haldir stepped inside the room and moved to stand on the opposite side
of the bed, his arms still crossed.

“You are a selfish and manipulative creature,” he began.

These were hardly the opening words Legolas expected to hear and he
almost dropped one of his tunics in surprise.

“You are an enigma that I have been trying to decipher since my return,”
Haldir continued, “but thus far, all my attempts have been thwarted. I
have often asked myself, how is it possible that one who rivals the
light of the sun by day, may be colder than the snow on Caradhras by
night? The answer eluded me, that is, until this eve. I had an epiphany,
in the form of a conversation with one of your companions, a certain
reticent Ranger.”

Haldir paused to gauge the Prince’s reaction, but Legolas remained
unperturbed, quietly and efficiently packing his belongings.

“He told me a story,” the Guardian said, “a very touching story about
his first love. I believe you know it as well.”

Another pause. The barest hint of tension in the Prince’s fine-boned
wrist.

“He learnt so much from you,” Haldir went on. “What it means to love, to
trust, to draw strength from while giving yourself to someone
completely. What a fine teacher you must have been.”

Laces of anger in the swift actions and the clenching of the younger
Elf’s jaw.

“First loves never die, Legolas, though it might have ended badly. He
loves you still, even if you refuse to believe it. He never stopped
loving you.”

Hesitation. There was something familiar about the Guardian’s words but
Legolas could not place them. Where had he heard them before? Then he
knew. Had the Lady Galadriel not said the same thing when he stood
before her knowing gaze? He looked up at Haldir in surprise.

The Guardian was scrutinizing him, his aura of age and wisdom directed
solely at the woodland Prince. It made Legolas feel very young.
Uncertain. Was he such an open book that the Guardian could read him at
a glance? He dropped his gaze and returned his attention to his small
pack, securely strapping it to his back. It was time to leave.

But Haldir was not finished. “Do not think that you can just walk away
from me again, Princeling,” he said sternly. “I have not reached the
heart of the matter.”

Legolas laughed scornfully. “What more is there to say?” he mocked,
moving towards the table to gather his weapons.

“A great deal,” Haldir replied, following the Prince, his tone leaving
no room for argument.

Legolas ignored him and picked up his bow, but Haldir swiftly grabbed
his wrist in a painful grip, preventing him from strapping the bow onto
his back.

“Let me go,” Legolas hissed, blue eyes glinting dangerously.

“Not until you have answered my question.”

“I do not recall being asked anything!” the Prince snapped.

Haldir tightened his grip at the young Elf’s impertinence causing the
Prince to grimace, but Legolas would not give in to the pain and looked
at the Guardian defiantly.

“On the Fellowship’s first night here in Caras Galadhon,” Haldir
continued, “while you, Aragorn and myself conversed over a bottle of
wine in that clearing, you said that he and I were similar. What did you
mean by that?”

Legolas’ defiance gave way to a look of confusion as he stared at the
older Elf. “What are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “Have you gone
mad?”

“If I have,” Haldir countered, “it is because you have driven me to it.
Now answer the question!”

“What answer do you wish to hear?” Legolas shot back, infuriating the
Guardian even more.

“I am familiar with your evasive tactics, young Prince,” Haldir said
stonily, not relinquishing the Elf’s wrist. “They will not work tonight.
Answer the question!” he repeated.

Legolas pursed his lips together and said nothing. Haldir noticed that
the Prince no longer struggled to free his wrist, but neither was he
about to indulge the Guardian with an answer. They stood like this for
several long moments, neither one about to give in to the other’s
demands. Haldir’s hand began to ache from gripping the Prince’s wrist so
tightly, and he knew that Legolas must have begun to feel the first
signs of numbness creep into his wrist. Finally, Haldir sighed. It was
always the same. Why did he feel so defeated around Legolas?

“I am tired of playing games,” he said quietly. “It should not be this
way. Can you not see how very wrong it is? What we do . . . how we treat
one another . . .” The Guardian trailed off, shaking his head. There was
still no response from the Prince. What could he say or do to get
through to him?

“You are not the first to be hurt by love and you will not be the last,”
Haldir tried again. “You are still so young, Legolas. Already you close
yourself off to those who would offer you comfort, love and protection.
It is not weakness to rely on the strength of others. You live in
isolation, in your own tower of ice. I would change that,” he said,
searching the Elf’s eyes for some sort of reaction. “I would show you
what it means to trust and love again. I would offer you–”

“What, Haldir?” Legolas taunted, sapphire eyes flaring to life. “What
would you offer me?”

“I would offer you my love.”

The Prince laughed then and the sound was cold and cruel to the
Guardian’s ears.

“Dear, sweet Haldir,” Legolas said, his normally gentle and melodic
voice dripping with pity. The blue eyes were bereft of any kindness and
they gleamed like steel in the suddenly chilly room. “You are tired of
playing games?” he mocked. “May I remind you that it was none other than
yourself who began our little charade when you named me as the price for
our company’s passage through Lórien? What have you to say to that?”

The reminder was like a slap to the Guardian’s face. How could Legolas
possibly know? He was certain that Aragorn had not told the Prince.
Reading the confusion in the other Elf’s eyes, Legolas calmly said, “The
Eldar are blessed with the gift of extraordinary hearing.”

Although visibly shaken, Haldir quickly composed himself, automatically
tightening his grip on the slender wrist. “I do not deny that our
‘relationship’ began on the basis of a bargain,” he said evenly, “and
you have justly punished me for my folly. But nor do I believe,” he
added, “that such a childish wager is the sole reason behind your
actions. You are far too complicated a being to act so simple-mindedly.
No,” he shook his head, “we have moved beyond that. And now that I have
answered your question, will you have the grace to answer mine?”

Legolas looked away, but not before Haldir glimpsed the turbulence in
his eyes. The Prince was trapped, metaphorically and physically, for he
realized that he was standing with his back to the corner of the room.
On his left was Haldir’s writing desk; to his right was the small table
where he kept his weapons. It was a small chamber. The door could not
have been more than twelve paces away. *Escape!* was the thought first
and foremost in his mind, but Haldir blocked his path and that cursed
question rung in his ears. Why had he said that Aragorn and Haldir were
similar? Did he even know the answer anymore? His heart knew, but his
mind would not dwell on the matter. It hurt to think about it. Aware
that he was reaching his breaking point but refusing to give in, Legolas
instinctively unsheathed one of his long white knives from the edge of
the table, and in a movement swifter than the mortal eye could follow,
drew it against Haldir’s throat, taking the Guardian by surprise.

“Let me go,” he said again, his eyes pleading with the Guardian to take
this no further.

Haldir arched a delicate eyebrow and studied the frightened creature in
front of him. He believed in his heart that Legolas was attacking out of
love and fear, even though the Prince could not admit it.

“You would fight me?” he asked gently.

“If I must,” came the whispered reply, the usually tranquil features
etched with sorrow and sadness. His wrist was released and Legolas
quickly strapped his bow and quiver onto his back. He looked up just in
time to see Haldir draw the two ceremonial long knives from the wall
behind the table. The Guardian turned to face him, the finely carved,
silver blades held firmly in his hands.

“These are Noldorin knives,” he told the Prince. “A gift from the Lady
Galadriel. They are very old measured by our lifetimes. They have seen
battle and shed blood. They have fought for all that is good and true,
upholding our beliefs in the face of darkness and defeat. They will
fight for you.”

Legolas swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as the Guardian
spoke. He had played the game badly indeed for it to come to this, but
he would see his actions through. With unwavering determination, he
slipped off his pack and bow. Then he unsheathed his second knife and
moved to stand in front of Haldir. Both warriors had not seen the other
fight before, but both were aware of each other’s prowess in battle. As
they circled one another in the small room, Haldir thought with an
ironic half-smile what a relief it was that Legolas had chosen to draw
his knife instead of his bow. His concentration returned to the task at
hand as Legolas made the first move, drawing his knife in a slicing arc
that Haldir met and parried, bringing his other knife around to deal his
own blow. Legolas easily deflected it and soon the two Elves were
engaged in combat. The only sound to be heard was the singing of their
blades as they met and clashed in the heavy stillness of the room.

Haldir poured all his passion into the fight. For too long had he kept
his emotions bottled up inside, this love that he felt that could not be
expressed now manifested itself in battle. He knew that he was breaking
one of his own tenets, to never let his actions be guided by his
emotions in combat. But this case was different. The Guardian believed
that only passion would overpower the Prince and raze his foundations of
ice.

Legolas could feel his resolving weakening. It was tearing him inside to
fight Haldir in this way. The Guardian’s passion was engulfing. He could
feel it with each strike, each deflected bow. His own actions appeared
mechanical by comparison. He fought out of instinct, not conviction. It
would be so easy to just give in, to not be in control, but he had never
known surrender before. The fight continued and the two competitors were
evenly matched.

As the contest grew more heated, the Guardian’s chamber began to suffer
the consequences of their match. A chair was knocked over as Legolas
fell against it, holding it up to block Haldir’s next blow. The silver
basin was toppled from the chest of drawers as Haldir’s wrist snapped
against the carved dresser, forcing the Elf to drop one of his blades.
The jug of water clattered after it, spilling its contents onto the
wooden floor. Haldir’s free hand connected with the Prince’s jaw,
momentarily stunning the younger Elf. The Guardian took this opportunity
to dive at the Prince, grabbing Legolas’ right arm and savagely twisting
it behind him until he heard Legolas’ white blade fall to the floor.
Then he forced Legolas onto the bed that stood opposite the dresser. The
Prince no longer struggled, but defiance still burned in his eyes as he
sought to regain his breath. Haldir held the tip of his last blade
against the Prince’s exposed throat, but he did not pierce the tender
flesh. His stormy eyes were filled with confusion and unanswered
questions. He had to know.

“Why?” he whispered brokenly. “Why will you not accept my love?”

“Because I do not want it!” Legolas burst out. “I have never wanted it!”

The Prince took a moment to calm himself and school his features to
their normal bland indifference, while watching the shock and defeat
register on Haldir’s expressive face. He looked the Guardian squarely in
the eye and said with utter finality, “I do not need your love.”

Haldir released him without a word. As he stood over the bed looking
down at the Prince, coldness began to creep into his heart. For the
first time, he understood what had driven Legolas to become this way,
why it was easier to remain distant and unaffected rather than give
yourself over to such pain. A shroud fell over his eyes. The Mirkwood
Prince was a prize indeed, beautiful and unattainable. He shone with the
brilliance of the finest jewels, but was as incapable of feeling as
those lifeless stones. Neither could he be possessed or owned, merely
admired from afar. This was not enough for Haldir. Not when he had
touched the possibility that lay beneath that cold veneer. Without
saying a word, he turned around and left the room.

Legolas lay on the soft bed and shifted his body to release the arm that
had been pinned behind his back. Pain shot through it at the movement,
mirroring the acute stab he felt in his heart. *Why do you despair?* a
voice asked him. You have won, as you always do.

“If that is the case,” the Prince said aloud to the empty room, “why do
I feel so defeated?”

~*~*~*~

Legolas felt as though his world had been turned upside down. He was
living in a strange alternative reality where events replayed themselves
in reverse. Haldir left again the following morning, this time without
good-bye or farewell. The Prince only heard of his departure through the
Guardian’s younger brother, Orophin, who had answered Pippin’s inquiring
questions as he had passed by the pavilion.

“How strange!” Pippin said. “He must have some terribly important
business to attend to if he had to leave so quickly. He didn’t even have
time to say good-bye. We will see him again before we leave, won’t we?”
he asked Orophin hopefully.

“I am not certain,” the Elf replied. He looked up and met the Prince’s
inscrutable gaze. “What do you think, Legolas?”

Legolas gazed back impassively. Finally he stood up without answering
the question and said, “Your pardon. I must meet Gimli for our morning
walk.”

“He is also acting strangely,” Pippin muttered as he and Orophin watched
the Prince disappear into the woods.

After his confrontation with Haldir the previous eve, Legolas did not
have the heart to return to the pavilion immediately and face the
questions of the others. Instead, he had wandered around Caras Galadhon
until the city slept and he became a silent ghost. The Prince had walked
and walked, leaving no trace of his passing though his feet felt like
lead. Eventually his body had sought rest and he found himself standing
at the edge of the pavilion, unaware of when or how he had made his way
back. Taking care not to disturb the others, he thread his way through
his sleeping companions until he reached his own untouched bed. Then he
gently put down his belongings and stretched himself out on the soft
folds. He had not slept in the bed since the Fellowship’s arrival at the
Elven city.

If his companions were surprised at his sudden appearance the following
morning, they did a remarkable job of not showing it. Even Pippin
managed to rein in his curiosity after a few well-placed kicks and
shoves from Merry, and the occasional warning glance from Frodo. It was
clear to all of them that something was amiss, but the Elf’s problems
were his own and they each had too much discretion to add to the
Prince’s concerns. At least, that was Gimli’s reasoning until he had the
chance to confront Legolas when they were alone.

The opportunity came soon enough as the Dwarf watched the Prince
approach him, always on time for their daily excursion.

“How fare you this morning, Master Elf?” he asked jovially, knowing that
the question would irk the Prince.

“As fair as the day and the morning breeze,” Legolas replied.

“The day is overcast and the breeze is chilly,” Gimli observed.

“Winter approaches and with it the frost,” the Elf answered. “Arien will
no longer shine so high in the sky.” He arched an eyebrow at the Dwarf,
waiting to see if his companion would continue this little metaphor.

Gimli let out a small grunt. This was as dark a mood as he had ever seen
the Elf in, save perhaps for their journey across the mines of Moria. He
would have to try a different tactic in order to get through to his
hardheaded friend.

“Then where can we go that the breeze may be warmer and the sunshine
brighter?” he asked.

“I shall leave our destination to you,” Legolas said with a sweep of his
hand, indicating that the Dwarf should lead the way. Gimli eyed him
suspiciously before turning around and marching into the wood. “Though I
should warn you,” the Elf added as he followed his friend, “that the
breeze will remain cool wherever we go, and neither have we any control
of the sunlight that falls on our path.”

“We shall see about that,” Gimli muttered under his breath, but not so
quietly that the Elf’s keen hearing did not pick up his words.

The two companions walked deeper into an area of the wood that they had
never passed through before. Legolas did not believe that Gimli had any
clue as to where they were headed, but he followed faithfully, the
faintest smile on his lips. As it turned out, the Elf’s assumption was
correct but the Dwarf would have been the last to admit it. Besides, he
told himself. It wasn’t as if they were lost. No, not at all! They were
merely exploring a different part of the wood. If only all these trees
didn’t look the same, he thought ruefully with a glance about him.

At last, feeling the ache in his legs and the shortness of breath, Gimli
paused in front of a great mallorn, easily eleven feet in diameter and
turned to the Elf with a satisfied smile.

“A fine place for a rest and a bit of refreshment,” he declared, sitting
down on the forest floor and leaning against one of the large protruding
roots.

Legolas agreed and perched on an even larger root opposite the Dwarf,
his eyes scanning the surrounding area as his hands absently untied a
small pouch that contained fresh berries.

Gimli let out an exasperated sigh.

“Can you at least not make yourself comfortable?” he asked irritably.

“I am quite comfortable,” Legolas replied, delicately picking at his
berries.

“Perhaps if you were a bird,” Gimli retorted.

The Prince fixed the Dwarf with a long look before he stretched his legs
and gracefully slid down the root to settle onto the forest floor. He
crossed his legs, leaned back against the root and arched an eyebrow at
the Dwarf as if to say, “Better?”

Gimli grunted again before taking a long draught from his flask and
Legolas took this to mean that the Dwarf approved. They ate in silence
for a while, the Elf thankful that his friend had chosen the path of
discretion and did not question him about Haldir’s noticeable absence.

He was sorely mistaken.

“What have you done to drive Haldir away?”

Legolas choked on a berry.

“I beg your pardon?” he managed to gasp in a rather undignified manner.

“You heard me,” Gimli retorted. “What have you done to drive Haldir
away?”

“Consuming ale too early in the morning has gone to your head,” Legolas
replied with a shake of his head.

“And you skillfully avoid subjects that you do not wish to discuss,”
Gimli said. “That will not work today.”

Legolas sighed. That answer sounded disturbingly familiar as well.
However, in the light of day surrounded by the peacefulness of the wood,
he felt better equipped to handle the Dwarf’s tough questions than he
had the night before, when he had been trapped and confronted by
Haldir’s harsh realities.

“We had a disagreement,” he said at last.

“A disagreement?” the Dwarf repeated disbelievingly, giving the Elf a
long, hard look.

“A minor confrontation,” Legolas reluctantly revised.

“I see.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Will you tell me what this confrontation was about?” Gimli inquired.
“Or must I wrench that out of you as well?”

The Prince glared at his pigheaded friend, who returned the look with
equal conviction. The Dwarf was surprised when the Elf backed down,
understanding for the first time how heavily the issue weighed on his
friend’s shoulders. He waited patiently for the Prince to speak.

“Haldir and I are friends,” Legolas said quietly.

Gimli chose not to comment on such a blatantly obvious statement. He
dared not open his mouth for fear that a quick retort might slip out.

“But do you know how that friendship began?” the Elf continued.

The Dwarf shook his head.

“When we first entered Lórien and encountered Haldir and his brothers,
he was reluctant to grant us sanctuary. In fact, he refused.”

“Perhaps at first,” Gimli interjected, “but Aragorn had a few words with
him to change his mind.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, looking up at the overcast sky. “Our resourceful
leader did have a talk with Haldir.” Then he directed his gaze at his
friend, instantly reminding Gimli of the Elf’s long years. “The
condition for our safe passage was that Haldir would be allowed to
pursue his interest in me without any interference on Aragorn’s part.”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. This was certainly news to him.

“The bargain became irrelevant the following day,” Legolas said
offhandedly, “when Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel granted our
passage.”

“Somehow I do not think it remained ‘irrelevant’ in your eyes,” the
Dwarf commented.

Legolas gave a small smile. “How well you know me,” he said with a
slight inclination of his head. “No, such agreements are not easily
forgotten, especially by one who is bartered like some petty bauble.”
The Prince’s voice had grown hard as he spoke. “I wanted to teach Haldir
a lesson, to punish him for thinking that I am nothing more than a
prized jewel, another conquest that he may add to others before. What
better way to do it, I reasoned, than to beat him at his own game?”

Gimli nodded silently, trying to comprehend this new side of Legolas
that he had not glimpsed before. The Elf was far more cunning and
scheming than he had given the Prince credit for. He would not like to
be on the receiving end of the Elf’s wrath, for Legolas’ skill lay in
intrigue and manipulation. These were courtly weapons, which, when used
at the appropriate time, were more accurate and deadly than the sharpest
blade.

“But my plans went awry,” the Elf confessed. “For during our first night
in Caras Galadhon as we conversed under the evening sky, I began to see
that there was more to Haldir than met the eye. True kindness and
nobility that I had only caught glimpses of during our journey here.
Then he left so quickly the following morning.” The Prince shook his
head. “I tried to put him out of my mind, but he haunted my thoughts and
I found myself patiently waiting for his return. I no longer knew what
approach to take when I saw him again, but he solved that dilemma for
me, laying the path of friendship before us that I gladly accepted.
However, together with friendship, passion grew and I failed, Gimli!”
Legolas exclaimed with dismay. “I failed to separate the two.” He shook
his head, the familiar feeling of defeat washing over him. “That much is
clear to me now.”

“Aye, it is clear to me as well,” the Dwarf agreed. “You love him.”

The Elf sat perfectly still, studying his companion with his implacable
gaze.

“I am willing to wager,” Gimli continued, “that this bargain you
mentioned was not the basis of your confrontation last night. I believe
that you quarreled over love – love freely offered and denied. Why do
you fear love, Legolas?”

“How can you speak of love at a time like this?” the Prince asked, his
voice devoid of any emotion. “We stand on the edge of a precipice and
shadows lengthen around us. As our quest becomes more perilous, our
chances of success grow slim. There is nothing but darkness and despair
on our path and yet you choose to speak to me about love?”

“Grave are your words, Master Elf,” Gimli said seriously, “and bleak is
the truth you speak. That is why there is no better time to discuss
love. It is a bottomless well from which we draw our strength to
continue. Can you not see this wondrous gift that has been offered to
you at your time of greatest need? Love is why we fight, why hope lives
on.”

“We fight for all that is good and true,” Legolas countered. “For our
families, our kingdoms and our people. We fight so that we may stay
free.”

“And is love not the basis for all these things?”

The Elf laughed suddenly, shaking his head. “Who would have guessed that
you are such a hopeless romantic?” he exclaimed.

“And you are an incorrigible cynic!” was the Dwarf’s swift reply.

The two friends fell into another silence, but Gimli was not about to
let the subject go so easily. He leaned forward and said sternly,
“Listen to me, Legolas and do not interrupt! I do not know what happened
in your past to make you shy away from love. But I do know that without
it you are an empty shell, hollow and incomplete. I would account you,
my dear friend, the greatest of fools to reject what Haldir offers. Our
time here is ending and you have wasted much of it with childish games
and challenges. We both know what toils lay ahead. If we fail and the
lands are covered in darkness, then that is all the more reason why you
should make the most of what time you have left. I can think of nothing
worse than to leave this sacred realm with only the bitter taste of
regret in your heart.”

Legolas listened thoughtfully, but did not reply. Gimli sighed. The
Elf’s stubbornness could be maddening. A rather Dwarvish trait, he
thought with a wry smile. Finally, the Prince stood up.

“We had best be on our way,” he said indifferently. “It shall be time
for lunch by the time we return.” He waited while the Dwarf got to his
feet and picked up his axe and then proceeded to lead them back the way
they had come. He could hear Gimli’s heavy footfalls behind him and the
unmistakable feeling of annoyed frustration that emanated from every
step. He smiled to himself and said, “The sun is shining brightly now,
wouldn’t you say?”

Gimli looked up. The clouds had indeed moved on and his eyes were
greeted by a clear blue sky. “Aye,” he agreed gruffly. “The weather has
improved, but the breeze is still too cool for my liking, as you said it
would remain wherever we went.”

“The breeze is cool,” the Elf admitted, “but it blows with the freshness
of spring and not the frost of winter. Come, Gimli,” he encouraged,
picking up the pace. “I have things to do.”

The Dwarf did not complain as he hurried to catch up with the Elf’s long
strides. Spring was the season for new beginnings. Perhaps he had gotten
through to his stubborn friend after all.

~*~*~*~

By the time Gimli returned to the pavilion, the rest of the Fellowship
had already begun the midday meal.

“Our apologies Master Dwarf,” Boromir greeted, “for starting without
you. We waited for as long as possible. At least, until Pippin’s pleas
became more than we could bear.”

The Man gave the youngest Hobbit a conspiratorial wink. Pippin would
have given his own retort if his mouth hadn’t been stuffed with Elven
sweetmeat.

“Where is Legolas?” Aragorn asked suddenly, noticing the Elf’s
conspicuous absence.

“Ah, yes. The Elf,” Gimli said in no hurry to answer the question. He
was famished from the long walk and quickly piled his own plate with
food, unaware that six pairs of eyes had expectedly turned on him.

“Yes?” Aragorn prodded, watching with minor annoyance as the Dwarf took
a hearty bite from his rabbit leg.

“Mmm . . . mmm . . .” Gimli mumbled contentedly while chewing. The
Ranger followed the Dwarf’s stocky hand as Gimli washed his rabbit down
with a gulp of wine. Brushing the back of his arm across his thick
beard, the Dwarf idly wondered why the normally placid Ranger seemed
agitated by the Elf’s nonattendance. “Legolas,” he began, “has some
business to attend to. I suspect that he shall not be joining us for
dinner either,” he added.

“Well,” Pippin finally managed to say. “Everyone seems to be occupied
today. First Haldir and now Legolas.”

Aragorn continued his meal, absently bringing a piece of bread to his
lips as he pondered Pippin’s words. It did seem strange that both Elves
had mysteriously disappeared. Then there was the Dwarf! Gimli sat in his
seat with a look of complete self-satisfaction. He was extremely pleased
about something and the Man suspected that it was not only the hearty
lunch that brought a smile to the Dwarf’s face.

~*~*~*~

Legolas wandered around the lower area of the city searching for a
particular Elf. He soon found him sitting under a mallorn tree with
three other companions. He approached the group and noticed how the
laughter faded as the three companions became aware of his presence.
They watched him expectantly, one of them gesturing to the Elf still
speaking that they had a guest.

Orophin turned around and was unable to hide his surprise at seeing the
Mirkwood Prince before him. “May I help you?” he asked politely.

“Yes,” Legolas answered. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

Orophin studied the fair creature before him, his surprise quickly
covered by an unreadable expression. His brother had chosen well, he
thought to himself, but had paid a high price. After a moment, he nodded
and stood up, excusing himself from his friends. For a while, the two
Elves walked in silence until Orophin was quite certain that they were
alone.

“What do you wish to discuss?” he asked the Prince.

“I must speak with your brother,” Legolas answered instantly.

Orophin stiffened slightly. “That will be difficult,” he said evenly,
“for my brother has already returned to the northern border.”

“Then you must take me to him!” Legolas said emphatically.

The Lórien Elf stopped abruptly and turned to face the Prince, arching a
golden eyebrow at this rare display of emotion. Legolas also stopped
walking and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I have wronged your brother,” he said simply, “and I have hurt him
terribly. I must set things right between us. I do not expect Haldir to
forgive me, but nor can I leave Lothlórien without voicing my heart’s
desires. For too long have I let my actions been governed by my mind and
rational thought. Your brother has taught me not to silence my heart,
for it is the most powerful voice of all. I am a better person because
of him. Please, Orophin,” Legolas pleaded. “Help me do what we both know
is right.”

Silence followed the Prince’s confession and with it Legolas’ hopes
diminished. He did not know what Haldir had divulged to his brother
about their relationship, but it certainly could not have painted him in
a favorable light. He sighed, looking at the grass beneath his feet and
waited for the inevitable rejection. It did not happen.

“There is a patrol headed to the northern border later this afternoon,”
Orophin began. “It just so happens that I shall be leading them. We will
meet at the main gate in two hours.”

Legolas lifted his face and was greeted by Orophin’s kind smile. “Thank
you,” he said sincerely.

~*~*~*~

It was well past dusk when the patrol crossed the fair stream of
Nimrodel on Lothlórien’s northern border. After a few quiet instructions
from their Captain, the rest of the patrol disappeared soundlessly into
their usual designated spots, but Orophin motioned for Legolas to follow
him and the Prince did so obligingly. They traveled a little way farther
before Orophin stopped and pointed at a sturdy mallorn not more than ten
feet away from them.

“Haldir is waiting for me there,” he explained. “I will see him first to
deliver my report. Should I tell him that you are here?”

“No,” Legolas replied. “He may refuse to see me.”

Orophin did not actually believe that this would be the case.
Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement and left the Prince to see his
brother. Legolas waited at the foot of the great mallorn, silently
pacing in front of the tree. He could not remember the last time he had
been this nervous, absently wringing his hands as he walked. Not even
the threat of upcoming battle could bring him to such a state of
agitated anticipation. All too soon, Orophin descended the gray rope
ladder and motioned for the Prince to go up. Legolas grasped the sturdy
rope, but did not climb it. An encouraging squeeze on his shoulder from
the Guardian’s brother made up his mind. He gave Orophin a grateful
smile and then swiftly climbed the ladder. He emerged onto the wide
talan and immediately saw Haldir standing on the far side.

The Guardian stood with his back to the Prince, intently watching the
area below him. Sensing a presence behind him, he said lightheartedly as
he turned around, “Have you forgotten something, dear brother?”

The smile quickly faded from his lips when he saw who greeted him.
Legolas inwardly cringed at the stony expression on the Guardian’s face,
the hurt and resentment that emanated from his very being. These were
feelings that he knew all too well.

“Haldir,” he began and then faltered. He did not know how to make
amends. *Speak from your heart,* a voice told him and for the first
time, the Prince listened.

“I am sorry,” he tried again. “I am sorry for everything. I could not
have been more wrong and I have treated you abominably.” Legolas took a
hesitant step forward, trying to gauge the Guardian’s reaction to his
words. He marked how Haldir stood, his body tense as though ready for
flight, his hands balled into fists at his sides, a sign of retaliation.
“I do not expect you to forgive me,” he continued, “but I beg of you to
at least hear me out.”

Silence. Only an imperceptible nod from the Guardian let Legolas know
that he was given permission to continue. But then Haldir turned his
back on the Prince and Legolas was disheartened by the gesture. He
steeled himself for what would happen next. He was facing the
consequences of his game and he would see his actions through.

“You wanted to know why I said that you and Aragorn were similar,” the
Prince said, picking up the final thread of their confrontation from the
night before. “On that first night in Caras Galadhon, as we conversed
under the boughs of the golden trees, I began to see that I had
underestimated you. There is nobility beneath your façade; kindness,
goodness and integrity underlie all your actions – the true strength of
a warrior and a leader. You managed to touch a part of me that I thought
had been sealed by another.” Legolas chuckled softly. “I was instantly
attracted to you from the first moment we met,” he admitted, “but I did
my best not to show it. I overheard your bargain with Aragorn as
snatches of it were carried by the wind, enough for me to piece it
together. I was angry that you thought so lowly of me, no more than
another conquest for your bed. I wanted to punish you,” he said quietly.
“I wanted to punish both of you.”

The Prince stopped and sighed. There was still no reaction from Haldir,
no easing of the tension in the Guardian’s shoulders and a sense of
futility began to creep over him. He took a few steps closer to the
Guardian, as if by bridging the physical distance between them, he would
also be able to close the emotional divide. He spoke again, attempting
to strengthen the conviction in his voice.

“I knew what I wanted to do,” Legolas said, “but you confused me,
Haldir, and led my plans astray. You left so suddenly,” he almost
exclaimed, “and all I had was time and memories of that one wondrous
night of possibility to dwell on until your return. I waited for you,”
the Prince confessed, “uncertain of what I would do when you finally
arrived. You solved that problem for me by choosing the path of
friendship, and as it deepened with the passing days I tried to forget
the bargain that had become the foundation of our relationship. But it
was impossible! I craved your touch, your scent, your nearness! I ached
for you. And I suspected,” he said quietly, deliberately, “that you felt
the same way.”

By the time Legolas had finished speaking, he was standing immediately
behind the Guardian, not more than a foot away. He could feel the
electricity between them, charging and igniting the night air. He wanted
to reach out and place his hand on Haldir’s broad shoulder, but he did
not dare.

“I could not bear the thought of being another conquest to you,” he
whispered, “but I wanted you nonetheless. And I thought,” Legolas said,
dropping his voice so low that Haldir had to strain to hear his words,
“that I could have it both ways. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Haldir. I’m so
sorry. You did not deserve that. I’m sorry,” he apologized over and over
again.

Legolas could feel his chest constricting; it was becoming difficult to
breathe. The Prince was afraid that he would faint and his mind balked
at the idea. Nevertheless, his knees had grown weak. He needed to sit
down, but for some reason he found himself being held up instead of
sprawled on the talan floor. It took a moment for him to realize that
the Guardian’s strong arms supported him, but when he looked into
Haldir’s face, no warmth and kindness greeted him, just the same
unreadable expression. Legolas wanted to push him away. It was too
painful to see what he had done to this proud and beautiful Elf, but he
did not have the strength. This was not the Haldir he knew, he thought
bitterly, closing his eyes in resignation.

“You cannot have it both ways.”

The Guardian’s voice cut like steel through the heavy silence. Legolas’
eyes flew open, apprehension apparent on his face.

“Therefore,” Haldir continued in the same monotonous tone, “you must
choose. What do you want, Legolas?”

Legolas thought his heart would burst from this single grain of hope as
he gazed into Haldir’s gray eyes. “I want you. Only you,” he said
softly, hardly daring to breathe. “If you will have me.”

Once again, there was no reaction from Haldir but Legolas could read the
turbulence in his eyes. Emotions were warring within the Guardian, and
after what felt like an eternity to the young Prince, the Lórien Elf
rested his head on the Prince’s forehead, still undecided. Legolas made
his mind up for him when the Prince tilted his head upwards and brushed
his lips against the Guardian’s. That small touch sent fire through his
veins and he was aware of Legolas’ palm against his chest, where only
the night before the Prince had pushed him away with a bronze goblet. He
covered the Prince’s hand with his own and held it against his heart,
tightening his hold around the Elf’s slender waist with his other arm.
Legolas was smiling now, hesitantly, but there was an unmistakable
emotion in his eyes that the Guardian had longed to see. The black
shroud that had settled over him lifted, and through the remaining haze,
he bent down to kiss the Prince.

Legolas returned the kiss eagerly, his free hand snaking up Haldir’s
back to pull the Elf closer. The kiss could have lasted forever, but the
Prince was impatient, pulling the Guardian down with him onto the wooden
floor. He slipped off his bow and quiver while Haldir assisted him with
his long knives. The urgent kisses continued as clothes were shed.
Legolas could not get enough of the taste of Haldir. This felt right. He
had been such a fool to deny this for so long. Nothing had been gained
and so much time had been lost. He spread his legs, inviting the
Guardian to lie between them. Haldir did so, settling comfortably in
between the Prince’s thighs, laying his body on top of the lithe but
strong form. The urgency faded from their touches. There was no need to
rush. The gentle exploration continued filled with tender touches and
sweet caresses. It was unlike anything they had done before, Legolas
reflected, burying his head in the Guardian’s long mane, kissing and
licking the exposed neck. He thought of how he had branded Haldir on
that night long ago and he could have wept. He searched for the
Guardian’s lips and finding them, kissed Haldir deeply, trying to
forever rid himself of that dreadful memory. Their kisses spoke volumes
to both Elves, conveying more in their heat and passion than words could
ever have done.

“I have nothing to prepare you,” Haldir said regretfully when his desire
became too great. He rubbed his hardened member against the Prince’s
thigh, then brought their erections together in a sizzling touch.
Legolas shifted restlessly beneath him, trying to increase the contact.

“It does not matter,” Legolas said tenderly, wrapping his legs around
the Guardian’s waist, preventing him from pulling away. “It will be a
good pain.”

Then he reached down in between their bodies and took the Guardian in
hand, coaxing some of the pearly essence from the tip with his touch,
using the fluid as a lubricant with which to coat Haldir. The Lórien Elf
had become fascinated with the Prince’s collarbone, kissing and licking
across the smooth flesh until Legolas sighed in contentment. When the
Prince was done with his preparations, he guided the shaft to his tight
opening, placing it at the entrance before wrapping his arms around the
Guardian and pulling him close.

“I am ready,” he whispered.

Legolas waited, his breathing slow and even as Haldir filled him, his
body welcoming the invasion as it never had before. Once he was fully
sheathed, Haldir paused for a kiss, almost losing himself in its slow
tempo until the upward thrust of Legolas’ hips reminded him that further
pleasure awaited.

“Impatient Elf!” the Guardian teased.

“The impatience of youth is tempered by our stamina and resilience,” the
Prince countered, drawing the Guardian even deeper with his actions,
causing Haldir to suck in his breath at the extreme tightness that
surrounded him.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, withdrawing slightly.

“Only if you feel you are up to it,” the Prince replied with a fey
smile.

He received his answer when Haldir thrust into him unexpectedly, hitting
his pleasure spot with ease. Legolas cried out at the contact, the flash
of pleasure obliterating any previous pain.

“The others will know what we are doing,” Haldir chided, purposely
stilling again even as Legolas moved restlessly beneath him. “You may
even alert the Enemy’s servants to our presence.”

“You will have to find a way to silence me then,” Legolas breathed,
indigo eyes lit with the flames of passion.

Haldir smiled, the perfect solution entering his mind. As he bent down
to kiss the Prince again, he realized that a new sort of game had begun.

~*~*~*~

Later, as two golden Elves lay wrapped in between the gray blankets that
Legolas had insisted on laying out on the talan floor, the Prince found
that he could not rest. He was content and sated; Haldir’s arm wrapped
protectively around his waist, drawing him against the Guardian’s body,
yet an unbidden thought remained at the back of his mind.

“What troubles you?” a soothing voice whispered in his ear.

“Not us,” Legolas replied reassuringly, turning around so that he could
look at Haldir.

“You