Title: Tortuous Paths Interlude

Author: Casualis

Author email: 

Rating: PG-13 for this part

Genre/ Warning: slash, incest, hurt/comfort, angst, romance, (possibly 
NCS and torture later on, not all at the same time of course. Still
anyone 
here ?

Pairings: Legolas/Haldir (overall), Haldir/Orophin in this part. 

Summary: very difficult to provide a summary, as I plan to write a
very 
long story and might change the course of events according to the
wishes 
and suggestions of the readers. (So you decide !). At the beginning,
the 
story is set in Lorien. Haldir returns home after some mysterious
events 
kept him away for quite a long time.

Disclaimer: Much as I hate to admit it, none of these gorgeous
characters 
are mine. Not even sexy Haldir. They are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien 
and/or Peter Jackson. Don't sue, no money made !

Authors Note : this is my first LOTR fic AND slash fic. Also I am not
a 
native speaker. If you don't run away from your computer at the
horror, I 
hope you'll enjoy the story. Any comments and suggestions will be more 
than welcome (I don't really feel like asking my family their opinion
on 
my work…). Originally written for the Haldir-Lives challenge.

Beta-ed by Tessy: Thanks! 


Chapter 3  : Year 2968 of the Third Age. Lorien


Haldir slid his sword into the sheath he had fastened on the leather
belt around his waist. As he bent down to pick up his bow, he heard
two familiar  voices calling his name from beneath the tree. Haldir's
smile broadened as he lowered the ladder. In a matter of seconds,
Rúmil and Orophin stood in front of him with merry and excited looks
on their faces. The three of them linked hands and remained silent for
a while, merely enjoying the presence of the others. With a twinkle in
his eyes that only Haldir could notice, Orophin was the first to
speak.

"So it seems there was no need to come and wake you up, brother!.."

Haldir chuckled, thinking about where his mind had been only moments
ago. Instead of teasing him, Orophin would surely be blushing right
now if he knew how close the reasonable elder brother had been to
purposely oversleep in order to have the younger one wake him up!

Haldir pouted innocently before answering.

"Indeed, no… I could barely wait to join you down there and show you
who the master is!"

He was rewarded for his bold comment by two simultaneous punches on
the  chest as his "most offended" brothers retaliated. An unexpected
feeling of tenderness suddenly filled Haldir's heart, and Rúmil and
Orophin were bewildered when instead of joining in the mock fight,
Haldir encircled their shoulders and pulled them into his arms.

"I love you both so much" he whispered, hugging them tight to his
chest.



Following Rúmil, Haldir entered the archery practice field where all
the Lorien guards who were not on duty would soon gather. They had
parted with Orophin only minutes before, after his captain summoned
him to replace another warrior who had been wounded after an
unpleasant encounter with starving wargs. Orophin had quickly clasped
his brothers' hands, wishing them good luck before hurriedly leaving
to join his detachment. Haldir and Rúmil were somewhat disappointed
that the three of them would not spend this special day together.

Haldir felt slightly nervous. The situation he found himself in was
quite unsettling. Of course, he knew he had nothing to prove, and that
his companions – his friends, for the most part – would never do or
say anything to make him uneasy. There was a little problem however.
Being back after some time away for official purposes was one thing.
Being back from the Halls of Mandos – or from whatever inferno people
thought Haldir and Legolas had disappeared in – was another.

Sensing Haldir's nervousness, Rúmil looked at his brother and started
speaking matter-of-factly, laying his engraved bow against the trunk
of an old birch tree.

"Yesterday afternoon I had a very interesting conversation with
Tulcandil, you know…"

" Eruntalon's brother? About what?"

"About you Haldir."

"Surely you could have chosen a more interesting topic…"

"No Haldir, I'm serious! I told him you would join us today and he
asked me for what …"

Haldir was puzzled. A smile crept over Rúmil's lips .

"He told me he did not understand why you would join us for the
training… he said you would still outdo every single archer in Lorien
AND Mirkwood even if you spent a century without touching a bow…"

Haldir slightly blushed – something he seldom did. Rúmil looked him in
the eyes.

"Haldir, for all of us you ARE the March Warden… I trust you with my
very life…"

"And I would gladly give mine to save yours, pen-neth. Still I need to
prove them that I haven't lost all the abilities they praise me for…"

Rúmil's light green gaze became more intense, as if wanting to reach
his brother's soul with his words.

"No, Haldir. You need to prove it to yourself…"

Reading other people's hearts had never been one of Rúmil's most
outstanding talents. Yet he could have bet everything he owned that
his brother was still struggling to come to terms with what had
happened the winter before. He was sure he blamed himself for it, and
for what had come of it alike. All Rúmil knew about the dreadful
circumstances of Haldir and Legolas' abduction came partly from what
Galadriel's mirror had revealed, and partly from what the messenger
who had brought the news of their reappearance had witnessed in
Imladris. All in all, this amounted to nothing : Haldir and Legolas
had been attacked and kidnapped while they were patrolling together,
and they had somehow managed to escape and get back to Elrond's city
alive, although a mysterious disease was seriously endangering
Legolas's life.

What had happened in the meantime, nobody had a clue about it, except
perhaps Lord Elrond himself. Whenever Galadriel had tried to find out
where the two friends had been taken, her mirror had not yielded any
image, the water remaining completely clear. The Lady had come to the
conclusion that some dark magical forces were at work, refusing to
acknowledge what most people thought : that they were dead.

Rúmil did not know much about the current state of the Prince of
Mirkwood either. He had not found the occasion – or perhaps he had not
worked up the courage- to ask Haldir about it. He was sure, however,
that something had occurred between Legolas and his brother, for
Haldir to leave the prince's side and come back to Lorien alone.

Rúmil, together with Orophin, Elladan and Elrohir – and perhaps
Galadriel - were the only Elves aware of Haldir's true feelings for
Legolas. The Prince himself had no idea that Haldir's friendship had
long turned into something stronger and much deeper. Rúmil knew as
well that in case something terrible happened to Legolas as a
consequence of Haldir's supposed failure to protect him, the proud
Galadhrim would spend the rest of his life blaming himself for it.

"Perhaps I should try to speak with him when we are alone tonight…"
Rúmil thought.



Almost unwillingly, Haldir was scrutinizing his brother's face,
knowing perfectly which thoughts were currently running through his
mind, and dreading the fact that he would soon have to speak to Rúmil.
To Orophin as well. And to the twins, who cared so much for him. They
all deserved an explanation. As much as he wished to postpone this
moment Haldir would have to do it one day or the other. So perhaps the
best option was to get it over with very soon, – and
never to speak of it again. Haldir had no doubt his brothers would
understand. This was not a problem. But because of their love for him
he feared that giving them all the details would drive them mad with
anger, and that they might plan some foolish expedition in order to
avenge their brother and friend. Perhaps he should give them a
watered-down version of the events… Vengeance was his and his alone,
and the right moment would come when…

Haldir suddenly noticed a radical change on Rúmil's face. His brother
was now looking over Haldir's shoulder with sparkling eyes, and his
brooding expression had melted into a radiant smile. Haldir had no
need to turn around to know what this could mean, but he nevertheless
did, preparing himself to give his friend Elrohir the warmest
greeting.

Had not it been for Rúmil's reaction, Haldir could not have told
whether the raven-haired Elf who was striding towards them with a
bright smile on his face was Elladan or Elrohir. In fact, he could
only tell them apart
eyes - while Elrohir's were brown - and he was wilder, more outgoing
than his minutes younger twin, who had always been the calmer and more
thoughtful of the two. Yet, what a pair of fiery warriors they were,
sharing the same determination and courage in battle.

Haldir remembered the first time he had seen them : the day after he
and Orophin had made peace in Imladris, during the morning meal. They
were sitting on each side of their father, and the Lorien Elf
perfectly remembered the curious looks he and his newfound lover had
exchanged when seeing such mirrored perfection. Over the following
centuries and even though they were more than 2000 years apart, the
twin stars of Imladris had befriended the silver-haired brothers, who
had shared Elladan and Elrohir's grief when the news of Celebrian's
agony had reached the Golden Wood. Now each time their frequent raids
led them to Caradhras and Moria, or when Arwen decided to spend
sometime in Caras Galadhon, the twins never failed to stop for a
while in Lorien, always happy to spend some time with Haldir, Orophin
and Rúmil. Especially Rúmil, as far as Elrohir was concerned…

"My friend…" Elrohir was now hugging Haldir, looking over his shoulder
to give a silent nod to Rúmil, who merely smiled, the love shining in
his eyes mirrored into the Peredhil's. Eager as he was to join his
brothers, Rúmil had left his talan before dawn, disentangling himself
from Elrohir's sleeping form and placing a quick kiss on the dark-
haired Elf's forehead. Now that his lover
stood in front of him, Rúmil felt the urge to make up for sneaking out
earlier, but he would not do so in public. Not when Haldir was
grieving. And certainly not in front of the other Galadhrims who were
now entering the clearing.

It was a joyful reunion. Softly spoken words. Haldir was back. The
March Warden was back. The sun was shining bright. Rustling leaves in
the cool morning breeze. Smiles. Peacefulness. Almost…


Steadying his bow, Haldir caught his breath and let the silver-tipped
arrow fly through the afternoon air. The target shook when it was hit
square in the eye for the umpteenth time. Repeatedly drawing arrows
from his now almost empty quiver, Haldir shot again, slitting the
previous shaft. And again. His arm was almost numb, but his heart and
body were swelling with anger, and the far away mark was the perfect
outlet. The world around him ceased to exist. He was alone. Only him
and his demons. Haldir started walking, shooting relentlessly.

Closer. At point blank range.

Unaware of the worried looks of his friends, whose attention had been
drawn to the Galadhrim's uncanny behavior, Haldir let his bow fall to
the ground, staring at the mark. His vision blurred. He was no longer
in the clearing. Dark, cruel eyes were staring at him. A contemptuous
smile. Deceptively fair features. A wail. Someone was in pain...

Legolas was in pain… He had to help Legolas! But he could not… could
he? With a howl of rage, Haldir grabbed the pommel of his sword and
unsheathed it.

A strong hand grabbed Rúmil's wrist as he was about to dart across the
clearing. Startled, he looked at Elrohir. The dark-haired Elf shook
his head, a grave look on his face.

"Let it be, melethron-nin…".

Elrohir strengthened his grip as Rúmil watched his brother tear the
mark into pieces with his sword until it was reduced to a mere heap of
straw and broken arrows. Only then did he release his lover's arm.
Rúmil stood still, not knowing what would happen next.

Haldir sank to the ground, kneeling in front of the shattered pieces
of the target. The sword fell on his side. He grasped a handful of
straw and stared blankly, barely noticing the anger subside and
eventually leave his body. He opened his hand. Wisps of straw were
swept away by a sudden blast of wind like golden strands of hair.

Lost forever… Then Haldir began to cry. Burning tears rolled down his
cheeks.

Strong arms encircled him.

He did not feel them.

Comforting whispers.

He did not hear them.

He sobbed during what seemed an eternity. Then, little by little, raw
pain left his heart and relief crept over him. He blinked twice and
focused on the concerned faces on each side of him.

Rúmil and Elrohir. His beloved brother and his true friend. He was
ready.

Haldir got up from his knees and straightened his cloak.

"I would like to talk to you in private". A steady voice.

Rúmil and Elrohir nodded.

The three of them left the practice field after Rúmil made sure
Tulcandil would go and fetch Orophin and Elladan on the borders.

This was going to be a long evening.






 Chapter 4 : Year 2968 of the Third Age/ Imladris


Everything was dark. Or at least, he could not see anything. He was
shivering. Strangely enough, he felt the cold. His heart was pounding
madly. He could not remember when but somehow he had lost courage.
Lost hope. Lost the will to live. Mandos was hovering over his soul
like a bittersweet promise. But he could not let go… not yet. The
eyes… the deep blue eyes watching him. Always. Even in his sleep.
Friendly or not, he could not tell, but they played an important part
in his meaningless life. Certainly not friendly. How could
friendliness exist where he was? There was only pain. Humiliation. And
fear. Permanent fear. Fear of what? He could not remember. Not of
dying. He prayed he would die soon. Of what then? Hands yanking him
up. He could not do anything. Chains bruising his wrists. Rebellion…
Threats. And fear again… The eyes, always watching him. Submission. No
hope…. No hope. The eyes again… Don't fight… A hand on his shoulder. A
long wail escaped his lips. Then a voice,
exhorting him to wake up.

" Legolas… Child… please!".

The blond Elf lying on the bed slowly opened his eyes, almost
reluctantly, as if he was afraid of what he would find around him.
Beads of perspiration were trickling down his forehead into his clear
blue eyes, still quite unfocused. He blinked once, twice, still
without moving. All memories of his previous nightmare had vanished,
but he was still trembling with fear. In front of him, sitting on the
edge of the bed he happened to find himself in, was a blond, handsome
Elf he did not recognize, though his features were familiar to him.
Standing behind him was a dark-haired Elf. A healer, he assumed in the
midst of his confusion, for there was a strong scent of healing herbs
clinging to him.

"His fever has calmed down. Perhaps you can try and speak to him now"
the healer said to the other Elf, his eyes never leaving the pale and
exhausted frame resting on the bed, though acting as if he wasn't
there.

The blond Elf had a very worried look on his face.

"Legolas… can you hear me?" He whispered.

Legolas shifted on the bed in an attempt to reach a half-sitting
position, wondering if he was really being addressed. He felt so
tired. He was extremely uncomfortable, and the fact that he did not
know where he was or who these persons were did nothing to ease his
anxiety. He suddenly registered that a hand was resting on his forearm
and recoiled, causing a surprised look on the blond Elf's face.

"Take it slow, Thranduil" The dark-haired Elf said." He is no longer
delirious."

The one the called `Thranduil' looked down again.

"Legolas… can you speak? Tell me how you feel, child?"

Legolas's voice came out harsh; his throat hurt. He could not remember
the last time he had actually spoken. The most unexpected words broke
the lingering silence in the bedroom.

"Who are you?"

Thranduil gave Elrond a quizzical look; the Peredhil took one step
forward and lay a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. He could not suppress
concern from showing in his voice.

"Legolas… don't you recognize him?

The younger Elf shook his head.

"Child, I am Elrond and this is Thranduil. The King of Mirkwood. Your
father…"

Legolas stared at the two expectant pairs of eyes facing him.
Thranduil followed in a soft voice, not daring to touch his son again
but trying to convey with his voice all the love he felt for him:

"My little green leaf… I am here for you now. Nothing will harm you"

Legolas gulped and closed his eyes, feeling an unfamiliar pressure
build behind his lids. He helplessly fought the tears, which started
running down his cheeks, while trying to concentrate hard on what
these people had just said. Elrond? His father? That did not make
sense : he had never seen these two Elves in his whole life! And they
had called him Legolas… that did not sound familiar to him either! His
whole body froze with horror as realization dawned : he could not
remember anything past the last few minutes. He let out a strangled
and panicked cry :

" I don't know… I can't… where am I ?"

Though looking extremely worried, Elrond did his best to speak in the
most soothing voice he could manage.

"Hush! Don't worry, little one. Don't try to think. You have been very
sick" Elrond paused and gave Thranduil a sidelong glance, silently
urging him to let him handle the situation. "The only thing you need
now is rest. And food. Do you think you'd be able to eat something?"

Legolas shook his head again; he felt nauseous. Elrond reached out for
a jug on the bedside table and took a cup from a silver tray. He then
filled it with a clear liquid.

"Try to drink this at least. It will help. Will you?"

Legolas nodded. He sensed he could trust the dark-haired Elf ….
Elrond, was it? There was a kind of warmth emanating from him and
Legolas desperately needed to cling to it in that moment. He was way
too tired to think anyway, so he held out a hand to grab the cup, then
noticed that his wrist was wrapped in a bandage. He could feel no pain
however. His clear blue eyes shone with fear again.

"Shhh… let me help" the blond Elf said.

Legolas looked at Elrond, who smiled and nodded. Thranduil lifted the
cup to Legolas's lips. The cool and sweet beverage soothed his aching
throat and Legolas swallowed greedily. Only seconds after he had
finished drinking, his vision blurred and he slumped forward.
Thranduil caught him and gave Elrond a puzzled look.

"It is drugged. He needs sleep. Come, we'll talk outside".

After laying his son's body on the huge pillows and covering him with
the sheets, Thranduil stood up and with a last glance backwards, he
eventually followed Elrond.



Thranduil was pacing up and down Elrond's chambers, apparently not
daring to ask the Peredhil his opinion about what they had just
witnessed. He could not understand why Legolas was incapable of
recognizing him. His son's fever had abated, his bruised body was now
recovering; even the wounds on his back and wrists – the deepest ones
– had almost healed. So what was the problem with his son? Thranduil
mentally cursed himself for not having been at his side in
the beginning, when Legolas needed him the most. He had arrived only
two weeks ago. Elrond had purposely concealed the gravity of Legolas'
condition in the message he had sent to Mirkwood, as he did not wish
to trouble the King any further while he was away and therefore unable
to help. He had preferred waiting for Thranduil's arrival to tell him
exactly what had happened and how the young prince fared. He had
simply asked him to come quickly to Imladris
because his son had returned and needed him, and Thranduil had delayed
his journey a little, wanting to make sure that Mirkwood would be
properly taken care of in his absence. He knew that Elrond's decision
had been wise, yet he wouldn't have spent so much time on official
matters had he known the truth.
And now his son had woken up and seemed unable to remember who he was.
Thranduil was overcome by a terrible feeling of powerlessness : what
if Legolas's mind had been irreparably damaged? The King had already
sworn he would track down and kill the traitor who had caused his
little green leaf so much harm, wherever he may be hiding at the
moment. But should Legolas never recover… he would make sure the foul
bastard suffered a very very long agony…

As if reading Thranduil's thoughts, Elrond ventured to speak.

"Thranduil, we have to give him time to recover"

"Elrond, don't try to fool me; you forget that even know I still I
know you better than most. You are worried."

"Indeed I am, but not for the same reasons you are"

"Which then?"

"I am more afraid of Legolas's amnesia being temporary than permanent"

Thranduil had always disliked it when Elrond spoke in riddles, and
strove hard to maintain a semblance of calmness.

"I have already witnessed this… reaction before" Elrond's voice broke
with emotion, and Thranduil guessed that Elrond was bringing up
something which affected him personally. So he did not press him and
after collecting himself, the half-Elf went on.

"After Celebrian was… attacked… she… and Lindir… used to wake up at
night… every night. The memories never left them a moment's peace,
even though their bodies had recovered. They started fading… slowly.
There was nothing we could do about it…"

Thranduil interrupted him.

"But Legolas has been abused during months! Were he ever to fade, the
process would have begun already… yet there are no signs!"

"This is what worries me the most."

"I do not understand you, Elrond!"

Elrond cleared his throat.

"With Celebrian and Lindir was a third person… Lenwé, my personal
messenger. When we brought him to Imladris, he had passed out, and as
a matter of fact he remained unconscious for weeks. When he finally
awoke, he could not remember anything, not even his own name… unlike
my wife and Lindir, who could never forget..." Elrond coughed. "His
wounds had healed already, and Lenwé resumed what we could call a
normal life. He talked and laughed and seemed perfectly well, except
of course that he yearned to remember his past and who he truly was.
We decided to hide from him everything related to the events; we told
him that his horse, frightened by a ray of lightning, had unseated him
and trodden him. We also had to make sure he never crossed paths with
Celebrian or Lindir..."

Thranduil drank in Elrond's every word.

" This lasted for almost three months. Then one day…" Elrond paused.
"One day, he came to see me at the Healing House. No one blocked him.
I was with Celebrian… she was having a fit. He saw her thrashing about
on the bed . And… he… remembered."

Thranduil gulped down nervously "and what happened next?"

" He started fading as well. But…. the process was much faster… so
fast, we could not have him sail to Valinor. He passed to Mandos
within the week." Elrond stopped, shuffling his feet nervously, afraid
to meet Thranduil's gaze.

Thranduil needed to hear the words.

"What are you trying to tell me, Elrond?"

"What I am trying to tell you, mellon, is that the mind is a mystery…
its power is endless but its paths are tortuous. In a reflex of self-
preservation, I suspect Legolas's mind has blocked all the memories of
the past few months outside, erasing his former life in the process.
Much like Lenwé's has. But the day the shield breaks…"

"But it may never break!" Thranduil almost shouted.

"Indeed, it "may" but then again it may not! Are you sure you want to
risk it?"

"And what do YOU suggest I do Elrond?" Thranduil perfectly knew what
the half-Elf was going to tell him.

"Legolas could preventively sail to the Undying Lands… once he is
strong enough of course." Elrond's voice was barely above a whisper,
for he knew that the mere prospect was almost enough to break a
father's heart. And Thranduil's boisterous reaction did not surprise
him in the least.

"There is no way I am losing my son! I'll take him with me back to
Mirkwood and we'll make sure that nothing or no one reminds him of the
ordeal he has gone through! Even if this means sticking to him like a
shadow for the rest of my life, I don't care! I am glad the March
Warden left while Legolas was still delirious!"

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"Don't misunderstand me, Elrond! I will eternally be grateful for what
he did but… you witnessed Legolas's reaction when he saw Haldir… I
have to protect my son… my heir…"

Thranduil was crushed by grief and Elrond knew that the words he spoke
were that of a hopeless father. He knew his own reaction would be the
same if he were faced with the perspective of losing Arwen or the
twins. He tried to find the most appropriate answer.

"Thranduil don't * ever* think I don't understand what it would be
like to see Legolas go West... But you must think of HIM first! You
may temporarily lose Legolas by allowing him go to Valinor, but you
may lose him forever if he passes to Mandos! And Glorfindel could
easily assure you that Legolas would be better off in verdant
Valinor…"

Thranduil remained silent for a while, poised on the sharp edge
between denial and rationality, however sad the latter might be. The
inner turmoil he experienced eventually overwhelmed him : hiding the
tears which were threatening to fall, Thranduil suddenly strode
towards the door and exited the room.




Elrond heaved a deep sigh when Thranduil banged the door behind him.
Yet he could not blame him for his reaction. Elrond knew all too well
what Thranduil was - and would be- going through. The Lord of Imladris
had lost loved ones before. Gil-galad… Celebrian… and to some extent
Thranduil himself. But that was a long time ago, and he did not want
to dwell on the subject right now. He was too concerned for Legolas to
think about himself. Yet he could not deny it had been odd to meet
with Thranduil again after so much time during which
their only contact had been through formal correspondence. He knew
Thranduil had not forgiven him for choosing Gil-galad over him. But
all these personal considerations had to be put aside, for what
mattered most was Legolas's state.

Elrond had little hope. He would not pretend otherwise. Thranduil had
been pained to hear his opinion, but he would not lie to him. Not when
he knew what Legolas had endured.

Elrond's thoughts drifted back to the day when Haldir and Legolas had
been found by Glorfindel on the outskirts of Imladris. The blond
Captain of Gondolin had come back with two figures mounted on a lean-
flanked horse, worn-out and filthy rags barely clinging to their
battered forms. Haldir, wild eyed and almost driven mad with
exhaustion, was holding an uncounscious Legolas close to his
chest,refusing at first to let go of his precious burden, not
believing
that they were finally safe. Elrond had had to use all his patience
and diplomacy to convince Haldir to let him take care of Legolas,
immediately registering that the young prince needed immediate
attention. Shallow breathing, ugly wounds on his back and wrists and
burn marks on his thighs… and the fever. So unusual for an Elf. He
would only learn why later.

He had taken Legolas to the Healing house after quickly checking
Haldir for wounds; he had none, except for some scratches here and
there which had already begun to heal. Elrond had instructed Melwasul,
another healer, to make sure Haldir would take some rest, but as he
had been tending to Legolas, Melwasul had stumbled into the room,
telling him that Haldir refused to rest or eat before he saw Legolas.
Elrond had agreed to let him come in, and he had watched Haldir hold
Legolas's hand and whisper soothing words to him, fear
for his beloved clearly shining in his eyes, until he had eventually
collapsed on the bed from exhaustion and malnutrition. The morning
after, Elrond had brought a tray with food and herbal tea to Haldir.
Although he had felt reluctant to question him, there had been no
other choice. Gathering as much information as he could was the only
way of finding the appropriate cure for Legolas. Haldir was still in a
state of shock, refusing to eat anything. But after he had drank some
tea – which Elrond had brewed with calming herbs- he
had relaxed a little and after a long silence, begun to retell the
whole story.
Elrond had been warned of their abduction of course, for both
Thranduil and Celeborn had profusely written to all their
acquaintances in case they knew something, but he could never have
imagined what had actually happened to them. Even now he had goose
bumps when thinking of what Haldir had told him…

Neglecting his own wellbeing, Haldir had spent as much time as
possible at Legolas's bedside. The Prince was comatose and the fever
was still raging through his bruised body. Then, after three weeks,
Legolas had finally opened his eyes. The last thing they expected had
happened then : upon seeing Haldir, he had had a fit of hysterics,
trembling, crying and shrieking until he had eventually fainted.
Haldir had left the room, deeply shocked and on the brink of tears.
Unfortunately, every time Legolas had woken up afterwards and Haldir
happened to be close, the same situation had repeated itself over and
over again. Dejected and hurt, Haldir had finally decided to leave
Imladris, hoping to find some comfort in his homeland. Elrond had
given his consent, assuring the Galadhrim that he would let him know
of any improvement in Legolas's condition. And now Thranduil was
refusing to let Haldir close to his son again, given the
circumstances. A sudden thought came to Elrond's mind.

"Haldir, my child... If Thranduil proves stubborn, Legolas will need
you, sooner or later. Even if only to say goodbye to you. The strength
of your love for him might be the key… Perhaps it wasn't wise to let
you go"

With these last lingering thoughts, Elrond headed towards the bedroom
to check on Legolas again.

 

 


Chapter 5:  Year 2968 of the Third Age (somewhere between Lothlorien
and Caradhras)


"Stop brooding!…"

Maneuvering his horse closer to Elrohir's, Elladan let go of the reins
and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, pressing lightly. They
had left Lorien before dawn and were now riding leisurely, the sharp
rocks and rivulets of melted snow typical of the outskirts of
Caradhras leaving them no other choice but to slacken their pace. They
had chosen the shortest, if not the easiest way back to their home
city, but now the rapidly setting sun foreshadowed the temporary end
of their journey : they would soon need to find a shelter for the
night.

"I am not brooding…" Elrohir said, shaken out of his reverie by his
brother's words and gentle touch.

"By the look on your face, I can tell you're not having the most
pleasant of thoughts…"

"Indeed… no!" the younger twin admitted

"Thinking of Rúmil?.." Elladan asked as he dismounted Lith-fan,gently
patting the sweaty flanks of his faithful companion.

"Mmh…partly. But I was mainly thinking of Haldir…" Elrohir said,
slipping to the floor next to his twin. He grabbed the waterskin which
hang to the back of Runya's saddle, uncorked it and handed it to
Elladan, who took it with a thankful nod.

"He hasn't asked anything…" the elder twin said after quenching his
thirst, giving back the goatskin bottle to Elrohir. "But that doesn't
mean we won't do anything either…" He paused. "It's been one month and
a half, and nothing… no news… it's very unlike father…"

"Perhaps they've left. I guess Thranduil would not remain too long
away from Mirkwood…" Elrohir obviously disliked the possibility.

"No, they most likely haven't… but that's what we are supposed to find
out isn't it? It is useless to speculate before we reach Imladris and
are able to see for ourselves, don't you think" While he was speaking
Elladan noticed that Elrohir was pacing absentmindedly. He came to
stand in front of his brother and gently cupped his cheek.

"See! You're brooding again" he teased "Father will be happy to see
us… and Arwen as well…"

"I know… it's just…" Elrohir replied

Elladan choked back a laugh

"Elrohir, it's always the same when we leave Lorien! " he quipped.
"You know Rúmil misses you as much as you miss him…"

Elrohir looked up and gave his brother an amused look.

"And this is supposed to comfort me?" he retorted

Elladan drew even closer and slid an arm around Elrohir's waist, his
face barely an inch from his brother's, his gaze lingering on the
finely sculpted lips of the younger Elf.

"No…" he purred "but I know of other ways…"

Caught in Elladan's sultry gaze, Elrohir nevertheless refused to let
him win so easily… he gave his brother a light punch on the chest.

"Ah… Elladan, you're hopeless!" he said, laughing.

Elladan was not going to give up so easily…

"Am I?" He leaned in and sensually brushed the tip of his tongue just
behind the lobe of Elrohir's ear, knowing how sensitive this area was.
"Now that we've let the Golden Wood you're all mine again, beautiful
one…" he whispered, his hot breath causing shivers running down
Elrohir's spine. Hearing his brother's soft moan, Elladan stepped back
and gave him a loving look. "Besides" he added with a twinkle in his
eyes "Rúmil is glad to know that I'm here to take care of you when he
is not…"

Elrohir sighed dramatically. "Sometimes I swear you two are worse than
wet-nurses! It's a pity you are getting on so well with each other… at
my own expense! I think I should start complaining…"

Elladan gently pushed his brother against the trunk of an oak tree and
ground his hips into Elrohir's, making him feel his growing arousal.

"Really?" he asked with a mischievous grin…


Interlude : more than 2 millennia ago (Imladris)


"Elrohir! Could you repeat what I have just said please!". The tone of
Erestor's voice clearly indicated that he had little doubt as to what
his young protégé would answer. He sighed as he watched Elrohir and
waited for his response

Elrohir wriggled uncomfortably on his chair, not daring to meet
Erestor's gaze. He had gotten lost in his thoughts once again.

"I apologize Erestor, I was…" he mumbled.

From behind his desk Erestor looked at the young Elf facing him ; he
was worried, and his concern was not due his student's lack of
attention to the subtleties of diplomatic correspondence. He had
noticed that Elrohir had become less carefree, more easily distracted
than usual, and feared something was upsetting the younger twin.
Perhaps he was jealous that Elladan spent most of his time outside
with Glorfindel, learning how to wield weapons. No… Elrohir had
clearly marked his preference for scholarly matters, and Erestor
doubted that being confined in a study when the sun was shining bright
outside was the true reason for his decreasing attention span. Affairs
of the heart perhaps? That would be logical, since the twins had
recently reached their majority. Their outstanding beauty was greatly
praised, and the dark-haired councilor knew it would not take long
before either or both of them found themselves trapped into the
endless game of courting and being courted. Perhaps things had
occurred to Elrohir sooner than he had expected. As far as he knew,
neither Elladan nor Elrohir had been involved into a relationship
until now, but the strange behavior of the younger twin lead Erestor
to try and find out what was upsetting him so much. He put his quill
in the inkpot and approached Elrohir.

"Is there something you would like to share with me, pen-neth? You
seem troubled?".

Elrohir raised his eyes and met Erestor's warm, comforting gaze. He
briefly wondered if he could unburden his heart to the discreet lore
master. Sensing Elrohir's hesitation, Erestor sat down beside him and,
following his instinct, he went on.

"Is it your heart tormenting you so? You know you can tell me
anything…"

Elrohir's face turned bright red. How was he able to guess that? A
feeling of guilt suddenly hit him and he knew he had to leave the
study immediately. He stood up, and raised a trembling hand to tuck a
strand of black hair behind his delicately pointed ear.

"N-No…" he stuttered " 'Tis not that… Erestor, can I… I mean, would
you allow me to go back to my rooms now… I feel very tired".

Erestor kept silent a few seconds which seemed like an eternity to
Elrohir. The older Elf took in the flushed face and nervousness of the
Elfling…. *Affairs of the heart… definitely!* he thought.

"Yes, of course, you may." He stood up in turn and clasped his hand on
Elrohir's shoulder "If you change your mind and wish to talk to me…
you know where to find me…"

"T-thank you" Elrohir uttered. He nearly ran from the room in his
haste to escape.

*He is in love* Erestor smiled to himself, then went to collect his
papers.



He was in love. Oh yes! He was in love. Deeply. Irrevocably. So much
that it almost hurt. But he could not tell anyone…

Elrohir was running through the corridors of the palace like a madman,
he was running with no aim, not knowing where his feet would lead him,
but that did not matter to him because he knew that wherever he would
go, he would be in the wrong place.

There was nowhere he could hide.

Nowhere he could find peace.

Not anymore.

He was in love. Deeply. Irrevocably. So much that it almost hurt. He
had never known such a sensation before, but he nevertheless knew what
it meant.

He was in love with Elladan. His brother. His twin. How could he tell
anyone?

For the first time in his life Elrohir felt estranged. He had always
shared everything with Elladan. Everything. First meals, first
joys,first pains, first tears, first fights …. And now for the first
time in his life he could not turn to Elladan to help him.

He could not turn to anyone.

He cursed himself. Elbereth, why him! He was not ashamed of being
physically attracted to his own brother, and he knew that nobody would
judge him if he decided to act on the feeling. Not even Elladan
himself, who could never hurt him even if he did not return his ardor.
But he was trapped, as what he felt for Elladan was not only brotherly
love tainted with lust. No. This he could have handled.

But he knew that he could never let go of Elladan if they came to be
together, he knew he would never accept to lose him to someone else,
for he loved his twin with every fiber of his being, body, mind and
soul, and that would break his heart. Since the awakening of his
sensuality he had understood that he wanted Elladan as a lover. Now he
knew he also wanted him as a mate. A mate. The other half of his soul.
He wanted them to be bound together. He wanted to be with Elladan
forever, in every possible way. He did not know many things, but he
knew one for sure.

He loved Elladan. And he was lost.

How many times in the last few months had Elrohir caught the
appreciative eye of alluring Elves... Nothing extremely obvious,
though. Sidelong glances. Inviting smiles. Nothing more.. yet he could
tell that many fancied him. But he had always refused to give in. To
enjoy the sweet pleasures of carnal love.
At first, he had thought that physicality repelled him. That perhaps
he was still to young to become involved with anyone. But the first
time he had spilled himself in his hand with Elladan's name on his
lips, he had understood the true reason of his chastity. And he had
realized that his fate was sealed.

He loved his twin.

As a brother, since the first day they came on Arda, and even before
in their mother's womb. As a friend, since they were old enough to
speak. As a lover and mate, forever….. He was doomed to pain and
longing. There could be no one else for him, and the one he longed for
obviously did not share his feelings.

Unlike Elrohir, Elladan did not seem to have any problems with his
awakening sexuality. He was often seen courting blushing maidens or
fellow guardians, most of whom had certainly ended up in his bed
already. Elrohir could not tell. They had ceased sharing the same
bedroom a few years ago, though they still shared the same quarters.
But how could they have resisted Elladan? He was graceful, witty,
self-assured, full of energy, always in good spirits and… utterly
sexy. To Elladan, the most wonderful being on earth, regardless of the
appearance, which they both shared.

He was in love. So much that it hurt. And he was worried. Worried that
Elladan would notice the change in him. Ella knew his younger twin so
well. He could hide things from his father, or from Erestor. But not
from Elladan.

So he had secluded himself. Had become more distant. If Elladan
disapproved, he said nothing about it. His interest seemed to be drawn
elsewhere anyway. Elrohir had noticed that once or twice a week
Elladan sneaked out at night and never returned before dawn. One night
he had even followed him to the stables, and had spied on Elladan
while he was saddling his horse, obviously getting ready to leave
Imladris. Against his better judgement, Elrohir was consumed with
jealousy. Did Elladan have a lover? He needed to know. Where did he
go? Elrohir could not help wondering.

The next time, he would follow him….



Elrohir was struggling hard to convince himself to make the next move.
He wanted to know, didn't he? Two weeks after he had followed his
brother on one of his nightly trips, he was now standing in front of a
small wooden house, on the outskirts of one of the human villages
which were scattered just outside the borders of Imladris. The same
house he had seen Elladan disappear into. Elrohir desperately wanted
to discover what kind of business his twin could
have with humans, but at the same time his conscience reminded him
that he was about to intrude on his brother's privacy.

Of course, he could have asked. But then he might never have got an
answer, and a direct confrontation would have been more that he could
actually bear. Of course, in case Elladan somehow discovered that his
brother had been following him, Elrohir could still claim that he was
only worried about Elladan's uncanny behavior. Of course……

But Elrohir's conscience no longer had a say. His heart needed to
know..

So he stood there, facing the wooden door, about to use his likeness
to Elladan, about to pretend he was his elder brother, about to
discover what Elladan was hiding from him and from everyone, whatever
that was. Elrohir felt relieved in a way, because he doubted that
Elladan would actually have a love affair with a human, but as
groundless as this suspicion might seem, there was always a tiny
possibility that it might just be true. He would never be at peace if
he turned back right now.

*For Elladan's sake!* he lied to himself, and raised a hand to knock
at the door.

"Come in!" a female voice answered in the common tongue.

The door creaked on its hinges as Elrohir took one step inside,
immediately taking in the smoky atmosphere and faint smell of spices
and burning herbs coming from the fireplace. A human maiden, dressed
in a rather lewd manner, was busy stirring into a cauldron. She stood
up and approached the young Elf with a grin on her overly painted
lips.

"Good evening, my Lord! I didn't expect you tonight……" she purred.

Of course she did not expect him tonight! Elladan was taking a nightly
patrol near the Bruinen with Glorfindel and some other guards
tonight…. Not knowing what to answer, Elrohir gave her a faint smile.

"Would you like a cup of hot wine" she asked…

Elrohir shook his head, ill at ease. "No, thanks…"

"My…… but aren't we in a hurry tonight…" she laughed.

Elrohir was flabbergasted. The girl took his hand and lead him closer
to the fireplace, motioning him to sit on an old and worn-out
recliner. *This doesn't make sense…… what am I supposed to do?*
Elrohir wondered. He soon had the answer to his silent question, as
the girl knelt in front of him and began to work at the laces of his
breeches. Automatically, the half-Elf almost slapped her hand away,
but managed to refrain from doing so. *You wanted to know what Elladan
was doing* he mentally chastised himself "well…here you
are!". The girl revealed his flaccid member and began to stroke it,
slowly at first, then with an increasing speed. Elrohir had never
known the touch of anyone else, and even as his mind protested his
body soon betrayed him. Within seconds he was rock hard and trembling
uncontrollably. He closed his eyes, letting the sensations overwhelm
him. But inside, he felt like crying… How could Elladan agree to
consort with a human prostitute? Certainly there were may Elves in
Imladris who would not have refused him! Elrohir could no longer think
coherently. His involuntary whimper of protest when the prostitute
abruptly stopped her movements was replaced by a loud moan when he
felt hot breath on his inner thighs, then the girl's soft mouth
enveloping his throbbing shaft, sucking and licking him. The sensation
was so knew to him, so pleasurable for the inexperienced Elfling that
he still was, that he soon lost control and within a few minutes a
shattering orgasm ripped through him. He sighed deeply as the last
quivers of ecstasy shook him, then his hazy mind vaguely registered
that the human was now lacing up his breeches again. He forced himself
to open his eyes and though he was still feeling dizzy, he managed to
stand up on trembling knees. The girl was silently watching him, with
an unreadable look on her face. Elrohir suddenly realized that she was
most certainly expecting some kind of payment. As he clumsily fumbled
in his purse for coins, the most unexpected question fell from her
lips.

"Didn't I please you tonight, my Lord?".

Elrohir looked at her again and could not suppress bewilderment from
showing in his eyes. Of course she had pleased him, couldn't she tell!

"What makes you ask that?" he asked, his voice not as firm as he would
have liked it to be.

Shuffling her feet, she raised hesitant eyes at him.

"You did not say …the word…when you …" she stammered.

Elrohir was even more surprised, but this time he was careful not to
let it show.

"Which word?" he retorted, beginning to feel a little nervous.

"The word…. you know… the word in Elvish you always say….when you
come". Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Which one?" he repeated, coming closer to the girl and lifting her
chin up.

"Couldn't tell you… I don't understand Elvish" The girl apparently did
not like to be questioned like that and Elrohir saw a glint of fear in
her eyes. He had to know!

"What does it sound like?" he added in a more gentle voice, forcing a
smile to his lips so as not to frighten her.

The girl hesitated an instant, gathering her courage, and shyly
whispered

"El…ro…hir"

She never understood what had happened to her but the next thing she
knew, she found herself alone in the room with something quite heavy
in her right hand . When she opened it, she found the most wonderful
golden bracelet she had ever seen in her whole life.




Year 2968 of the Third Age (somewhere between Lothlorien and
Caradhras)


Without his eyes ever leaving the flames of the crackling fire he had
built or, further away, the entrance of the cave he and his brother
had found shelter in, Elladan was lying behind Elrohir, still sound
asleep, with only the thin layer of his cloak separating his fully
clothed body from his younger brother's naked one. Brushing aside a
strand of hair from Elrohir's neck, Elladan placed a passionate kiss
on the pale column of flesh and drew in the enticing scent of his
beloved. Elrohir's eyelashes fluttered and he moaned unconsciously,
pressing himself closer to the warm body behind him. Elladan smiled
lovingly, thinking of how deceptively vulnerable Elrohir looked in his
sleep. Deceptively vulnerable, because only when he was thus cradled
in his brother's embrace did Elrohir allow himself to lower his guard
and relax, trusting Elladan to keep watch efficiently.

And that was precisely what Elladan was doing, watching over his
precious twin and granting him a much needed night's rest, knowing
that Elrohir would return the favor on the following night. While
travelers usually took turns standing guard during their nights out in
the open, the sons of Elrond had soon found out that they felt much
more rested when they slept one night through, and then kept watch on
the other. This method was not usual, but it suited them
well. And as a matter of fact, what the twins did was seldom usual.

The unique relationship that they shared was the most blatant evidence
of it.

For Elladan and Elrohir shared a bond which was unparalleled on Arda.
And everybody knew and accepted it. A long time ago, when Celebrian
and Elrond had seen their sons entering their chambers with grave and
determined looks on their nonetheless flushed faces, holding each
other's hands, they had understood that what Galadriel had foreseen in
her mirror had eventually come to pass. And after all, if the Valar
had seen fit to split a single soul into two separate halves, who were
they to question the will of the Valar and interfere in that soul's
efforts to reunite.

Elrond had understood, for he knew all too well how much it hurt to
feel incomplete every single day of one's life. He had had a twin as
well… But Elros's decision to live a mortal life had made any binding
between them impossible, as Elros's death would have inevitably
prompted Elrond's immediately after. And as a matter of fact, if it
had not been for Gil-galad, Elrond would certainly have followed his
brother to Mandos when he passed  away. So Celebrian and Elrond had
wisely chosen not to stand between their beloved children, knowing
that the eternal love they shared could only make them stronger. And
since the twins had been mature enough to come and ask their parents'
blessing before consummating their love, Elrond and his wife had
understood that their desire to be bound was not a passing fancy. And
they had been right, for ever since the bonding ceremony which had
taken place shortly thereafter, the twins' love for each other had
been unfailing. Sometimes they had extended it to others, mostly in
their youth, but their hearts had never been involved in the process :
they belonged with each other and this was the one thing everyone knew
would never change.

With Rúmil, things had been slightly different. For the first time one
of the twins had had a crush on someone while the other had not.
Elrohir had gradually fallen in love with the young guardian who used
to idolize the dark-haired Elf as an Elfling, and who had then started
to pursue him relentlessly as a grown Elf. Loving him as a friend
first and foremost, Elrohir had gently warned Rúmil that he and
Elladan were bound and that nothing could ever change that, but Rúmil
had assured him that he understood the situation well and that he
would do nothing to interfere, simply being happy to be with Elrohir
when he happened to stay in Lorien.So Elrohir, who had taught Rúmil
many other disciplines, had finally given in and agreed to teach him
as well the pleasures of the flesh. Elladan, sensing his brother's
reluctance to act without him, had urged Elrohir not to struggle
against his passion only because he himself did not share it.

First because he loved Rúmil dearly as his closest friend, even closer
than Haldir or Orophin if there was any need to quantify.

Second, because he knew that faced with the necessity of making a
choice Elrohir would always choose his brother over anyone. Third,
because when Elrohir was with Rúmil he had a sparkle in his eyes that
Elladan had seldom seen since Celebrian's departure.

And finally because staying apart from Elrohir every now and then had
an unexpected advantage : each time the twins left Lorien and
rekindled their passion, it felt as if their love started anew, like
that very first time when a disheveled and overexcited Elrohir had
come back from the human village and they had voiced their feelings
for each other. Elladan was falling in love with his twin over and
over again, and the look in Elrohir's eyes told him that he felt the
same.

Relishing the prospect of being back to Imladris again, with the
thought of their huge feather mattress playing no small part in his
reasons for rejoicing, Elladan could not forget however the real
purpose of their journey and the fact that sad news might be awaiting
them. For nobody in Lorien knew about Legolas, and seeing Haldir
silently consumed by grief had been more than the twins could bear and
had prompted them to go and check for themselves.
 
When the first rays of sun entered the cave, cutting through the chill
of the morning air, Elladan stretched his muscles and decided it was
time he woke Elrohir up. He bent to nibble at his brother's pointy
ear, whispering words of love in the perfectly shaped shell, and was
rewarded by a sweet moan as his twin, still half asleep, rolled over
and sought Elladan's mouth for a soul-searing kiss. Elladan sighed
deep in his throat, flickers of heat darting along all
his limbs as his lover's fingers began to tug at the laces of his
tunic, feverishly searching the skin beneath.

The remainder of their journey to Imladris would have to wait just a
little longer…






Tortuous Paths: Interlude I
By Cas

    

Indulging the pressing need to get away that flared in his heart, he
had fled. He had not managed to quiet the wild beating in his chest,
the sudden weakness in his legs, the frightened chill running the
length of his spine or the tremendous swirl of thoughts in his
paralysed mind.

 

Unable to stand her close presence anymore, he had left.

 

He had desperately looked in the depths of his pockets for any coins,
any piece of money. Finding none, he had put in her hands the only
thing of value he had brought with him: he had given her the bracelet
he had been wearing at his left wrist. It was a beautiful piece of
art, a present of his father for his fortieth birthday. Thin stalks,
made of the purest gold, intertwined in a tender embrace, regularly
topstitched with little pieces of shining mithril, the two materials
making the most pleasant contrast. It was a neat masterpiece, catching
the eye and bewitching the sight. It was priceless to him as Elladan
was wearing the same at his right wrist - one of the last remaining
symbols of their torn brotherhood. He knew well the woman would have
no idea of the true price of it, that it was too much for her
‘services’ and that she would admire it as a mere beautiful trinket.
But at that moment, it had not mattered; he would have plenty of time
later to regret his thoughtless act.

 

He had not wanted her to see the flickering and changing expression
upon his features, the surprise washing his apparent calmness away,
the fright and angst taking hold of him. He had not wanted to remain
in that dark little house even a second longer.

 

He had left. Turning his back to the human maiden standing in the
middle of the little room, her long red hair shimmering. Rushing
toward the heavy wooden door, hastily turning the doorknob, stumbling
over the basic steps of the house, he had left. Running as a thief,
without looking behind him. Without glancing one last time toward that
fateful place where mysteries and secrets had been innocently
unveiled. Wishing to forget that little house built in the middle of
nowhere. That little house, whose walls, once whitened with lime, had
become gray and dirty, covered by dust and mud.

 

Dirty. Everything. Every place. Every person. Dirty and grimed, soiled
and impure. A mere parody of virginity and innocence, holding the air
of true beauty but which hid shadows under its cover. Every one that
would have taken pains to wipe the deceitful mask away would have seen
that the purity had never existed. That it had been an image. A lie. A
deception. He was no exception. He was as guilty and as deceitful as
anyone there. It seemed to him that dirt was clinging to his flesh,
thick and sticky, itching as many earthworms were writhing upon his
skin.

 

He was walking, wishing to leave that place forever. Wishing never to
put a foot in that area. Swearing to avoid human villages and human
people in the future. Human prostitutes, most of all. He shivered
unconsciously, as unbidden images of the scene that had taken place
filled his mind.

 

Temptations and false oaths… That place looked like evil to him.

 

Evil with its unfulfilled promises, with its tempting pleasures. That
house was like fire and ice. Fire as the heat rushing through his
veins, warming him, making his stomach and his loins tingle. Ice as
the cold capturing his heart, stealing his breath away and making him
chill. He felt torn between two contradictory sensations that locked
him in a spiral of delicious torments. Caught between two sides of a
chasm, balancing over the void. Not falling, but almost. Feeling
attracted without being able to move and to indulge his desires. 

 

Nowhere…

 

He was nowhere. That place was nowhere. It did not even exist. There
was no little house with gray walls nested among the trees at the
border of a human village.

 

He came from nowhere. He had not been anywhere. He had not seen
anything. He had not met anyone. He came from nowhere. That was it. He
had dreamt that scene. The woman, her dress, her mouth, her voice,
everything was the product of a dream. Of a nightmare. A product of
his twisted and frustrated imagination.

 

Where was he going?

 

Good question.

 

Simple question.

 

Simple answer.

 

He was going nowhere.

 

He was walking. Walking aimlessly through the trees. That was easy to
do. One step, then another. A foot in front of the other. One foot
then the other.

 

Easy.

 

Simple.

 

But where was he going, he truly did not know. And it truly did not
matter. At that exact moment, he could not manage to think properly.
How could he have managed to think properly anyway? He had to walk and
that simple task took his whole attention, making it impossible for
him to do something else. Something like thinking, for example.  

 

One foot…

 

The other…

 

Walking…

 

He was walking. Never stopping. Not wanting ever to stop. One step.
Then another.

 

The only thing he was aware of was his wish to put the greatest
distance between that little house, whose gray walls had once been
white, and himself. Between that woman with her long shiny red hair,
her arrogant seduction, her traitorous skills, and himself.

 

To go the furthest away. To go back home to the vast lonely bed he
should have never left. To return to his own solitary and comforting
caresses. To forget her touch, her skin, her mouth. To forget her. To
forget whatever she had done to him. No… She had done nothing to him.
She had not even existed. Everything was a dream. Nothing was real.

 

Nothing was real…

 

But the remnants of pleasure lingering in his limbs, the languishment
of his traitorous flesh told him otherwise, speaking of the skilled
attentions of that woman. An odd scent clung to his sweaty skin. A
scent he wished to be able to wash away, again and again, to forget
forever. To erase from his memory. A scent of sweat and sex, a scent
of intimate fluids and heavy perfume. A scent he did not acknowledge
as his own.

 

He did not understand what had happened. But did he truly want to
know, to seek in himself the answers? ‘No’. Of course, not. All he
wanted to do, all he wished to do was to walk endlessly. And to
scream.

 

To scream his anguish, to scream his anger.

 

To scream to his brother his lack of understanding.

 

“Elladan, muindor nin, mellon nin, how could you do that? Do that to
me? To me?”

 

But Elladan was not there. His twin was absent. He was alone. Alone in
the darkness of the woods, in the darkness of his mind. Alone and
lost. With no one to listen to him, to hear him. 

 

Then, he only walked, choking his cries back, keeping his
interrogations for himself. But the questions did not stop, they kept
on spinning in his mind, in an unceasing procession. How could his
twin, his brother, his friend, his mirrored image, the other half of
his soul lower himself thus?

 

“El-ro-hir”

 

Three syllables usually uttered by the musical voice of a Firstborn,
by the sweet voices of those he loved. Usually spoken with grace and
easiness, not with the clumsiness of the Secondborn. The hesitant and
surprisingly shy voice of the human prostitute was resounding in his
ears, again and again, swirling in a range of various tones. Alone at
first, then melting with other voices in a ridiculous ballet. Seeming
to die out before exploding again in a tumult of notes, in a melodious
cacophony.

 

Cacophony. In his head. In his heart.

 

Elrohir. Elrohir. Elrohir.

 

His name.

 

HIS name.

 

Uttered by the one he loved when he reached the edge of pleasure. At a
moment when no lie was possible, when no deception could be spoken,
when only the truth was said. A cry of the heart. A sob from the soul.

 

His name.

 

Elrohir.

 

His name, spoken as a revelation.

 

A revelation he was not sure he was ready to hear.   

 

So, he was walking. One foot. The other. Not wanting to relive his
memories. Not wanting to think. Barely aware of his surroundings.
Barely aware of the wind stroking his smooth features. Denying the
wild race of his heart in his chest. Denying the blood pounding
beneath his temples, roaring as a thunderstorm. He was seeing naught,
save for that little shining point dancing in front of his eyes.
Dancing, spinning round and stilling for a mere second before swirling
again.

 

He was walking. One step, then another, then one more. It was easier
to walk than to think.  His feet were sinking into the thick carpet of
fallen leaves covering the ground, hiding the earth, sometimes
breaking a dead branch concealed under a mount of leaves. With each
step, leaves were crackling under his weigh, protesting gently against
the intrusion, not understanding the sudden weigh of the elf, the
surprising clumsiness of his pace.

 

One step, then another.

 

The further he went into the forest, the more difficult it was to
walk, as mud blended with the leaves, forming a smooth and slippery
surface. For one brief moment, Elrohir swayed, victim of the unsteady
and treacherous ground, but he quickly regained his lost balance
before resuming his walk, as if naught had happened. Oblivious of the
events, his pace strangely deprived of its usual elven grace.

 

But he did not mind. Grace and beauty did not exist anymore. The whole
world was reduced to a dull vision deprived of colors and flavors.
Elegance had disappeared, and all that remained was the waltz of
sensations in his mind that he tried desperately to master and quiet.
He refused to listen to the pounding sound of his heart, to the
turmoil of his thoughts. To stop would have meant to think. And
overall, he did not want to think. It was so much easier to walk.

 

So he kept on walking.

 

One step, then another.

 

Easy.

 

Not so easy anymore.

 

His breath was ragged and his steps unsteady, betraying the stream of
emotions that escaped his control. He was muttering, cursing under his
breath, releasing unconsciously his unbidden feelings. His foot
encountered a strong root and he stumbled, fighting to keep his
balance, extending his arms to find anything to cling to. Fortunately
he grabbed a sturdy branch in his path and did not fall.

 

He paused, as he had finally become conscious of what he was doing. He
was staring at the branch he was still clenching in his trembling
hand. The bark of the tree was rough upon the smooth skin of his
fingers, scratching slightly his tender flesh, but he did not release
his strong grasp. The sensation was not unpleasant, awakening him to
reality. Stopping his flight, giving him something to concentrate
upon. Stopping the violent tide in his mind, calling for awareness to
come back.

 

Why was he running away? What was he trying to avoid?

 

He sighed, exhaling his despair and incertainty and let himself slump
down upon the muddy ground, indifferent to the dirt and mud mixed
together with leaves that were soiling the silken fabric of his
clothes.

 

He gathered his knees against his chest and, mechanically, began to
rock, gripping with both hands the soft velvet of his tunic as one
clinging to his sanity. He looked up, biting his bottom lip, seeking
comfort in the hazy light of the star. Trying to reassure himself
thanks to the beautiful sight of the thousands of gems sparkling in
their dark case. But his wish was not granted, as a dark ocean of
threatening clouds were covering the night sky, blocking their light.

 

With an unsteady long fingered hand, Elrohir pushed away some
rebellious strands of dark hair, then he rubbed his aching temples,
trying to relieve the terrible headache he was experiencing,
indifferent to the trail of dark mud he left upon his fair velvety
skin. Then, he brought his hands to his face, staring at them intently
as he tried to stop their quivering

 

Seeing that he was not being successful at calming his agitated
nerves, he leaned against the tree, sighing once more as he felt the
rough sensation of the bark upon his back through the many layers of
clothes he was wearing. He closed his eyes as to lock himself into a
prison of ice where he could feel safe and sheltered, when a merciless
tide of heated sensations overwhelmed him. He remembered so well the
feeling of the woman’s mouth upon his aching flesh, the hot moisture
enveloping his shaft, the maddening sucking motion, the pleasure he
had experienced. So different than when he had pleasured himself at
night. As he had used to do in his lonely bed. When he had closed his
eyes and pretendedd it was his brother kneeling between his parted
legs, skilfully pleasuring him. Not some dirty human whore.

 

He was unfair. He had no right to despise that female, she had done
naught he had not wanted her to do. He had wanted it, he could have
refused, revealed his true identity. But he had not. He should despise
himself instead. He felt so soiled and so dirty. He had let her do
what she had done and he had enjoyed it. It was his fault, not hers.

 

It was also Elladan’s.

 

He had never felt so much anger in his whole life. It was creeping the
length of his body, gnawing his heart mercilessly, threatening to
explode at any moment in a firework of rage. But he would not have
been able to say whom that anger was directed. Elladan or himself?

 

 

He felt lost. Lost in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that was exactly
where he was. In the middle of nowhere. Having retreated in the vast
desert of his mind. An insane chuckle escaped his lips, betraying his
state of mind. He was drowning under the cascade of the events. Some
days held too many surprises and this day was one of them. One or two
hours ago, he had been consumed by jealousy. One or two hours ago, he
had been envious of whoever his brother was visiting. But now, he was
not sure of his feelings anymore. His whole body was numb. Everything
was blurred. Everything was questioned. Everything was changed.
Irrevocably.

 

He covered his face with his dirty hands, not minding of the dust and
earth marring his pale skin. He did not know if he was happy about
what had happened in that little house. A part of him was screaming
his joy. He was not alone anymore. He was not doomed to spend the rest
of his life witnessing the happiness of his brother with someone else.
They would have a chance together. A chance he had so often dreamt of.

 

But now there were new questions. Questions without any answers.

 

How would he be able to speak to Elladan? How would he be able to look
in his eyes again without seeing him sitting on that chair with that
woman pleasuring him between his widely spread legs?

 

Unexpectedly, he felt betrayed.

 

Betrayed, because his brother had indulged the pleasures of the flesh,
that he had allowed someone else to touch him. He felt jealous not to
have been the first to caress him, the first to love him, the first to
hear his name screamed in ecstasy.

 

Where would he find the courage to speak with him?

 

Depression seized him as he realized for the first time that they had
almost become strangers, as they had avoided each other for so long,
keeping the appearances of a loving brotherhood, but hiding their
hearts and souls to each other.

 

And it scared him. What if it was too late for them? What if they had
let their chance pass?

 

Even if he wanted to blame Elladan for not speaking to him, for
finding a substitute, he couldn’t. Had he not felt himself the despair
and denial coming along with the awakening of love? Had he not cried?
Had he not sought solace in studying and in the books? He could not
blame his brother, as they were the same, and as they had experienced
the same feelings.

 

But he did not know if being aware of his brother’s feelings would
give him enough strength to tell him.

 

To tell him of his love, his devotion, his desire.

 

Elrohir felt a drop of rain running upon his cheeks. Mechanically, he
wiped it away and raised his gaze to the sky. For the first time in a
long while, he looked around him, really noticing his surroundings,
the dark forest, the mud he was sitting in, the tree he was leaning
on, the quivering foliages of the high oaks around him. He was stunned
to see the dense mass of dark clouds covering the sky, darkening the
air.

 

But what struck him most was the color of the sky. The deep darkness
had made room for a sweet dawn. The sun was rising slowly in the
horizon, his pale rays piercing the heavy clouds with difficulty.

 

Soon, Anar would be high in the sky and everyone would be up. Everyone
would notice he had not spent the night at home. Everyone would wish
to know where he had been and would ask questions he did not want to
answer. If he hurried, he might be lucky enough to avoid awkward
questions about his activities.

 

In one swift motion that lacked neither of elegance nor grace, he was
up and, after a brief hesitation, he ran toward the place where he
thought he had left his horse, praying Elbereth that he was not lost.

 

**

 

It had begun very slowly.

 

First, a single drop of rain, fresh and clear, which had been soon
followed by others. But then, there had been more and more. More drops
falling from the sky, leaving the vaporous mist of the threatening
clouds to land upon the ground with a light sound. They were quickly
absorbed into the dry earth that welcomed them.

 

But, then, others drops had fallen, stronger, heavier, hitting the
ground forcefully, calling their fellows to them. Bit by bit, the
light fall of the rain had been replaced by a thick curtain of water,
hanging from the very top of the sky, making a thick veil that waved
according to the will of the strong wind that had arisen for a few
minutes.

 

Soon, the whole landscape had been drowned under the tremendous
effects of the gale. From time to time, lightning would briefly
brighten the darkness the woods were plunged in, as a reminder of the
omnipotence of the elements.  No animals could be seen, all of them
hidden in invisible shelters. But, even if he would have liked to do
the same, Elrohir couldn’t. He had to go back to Imladris. And soon.

 

The rain had made travel really awkward when he had finally reached
the place he had left his horse. It had soaked his long hair, now
sticking to his pale face in raven curls, hampering his sight.

 

He had no idea for how long he had been riding under the rain. Hours
probably. He could only hope it had not been too long. Not because he
feared his little escapade had not gone unnoticed. At this hour, the
whole house should have awakened and discovered his absence. It would
have been a true
night. But he dared not to hope. The only thing he wanted from now on
was to avoid his brother and the patrol. If he was prepared to face
his parents’ questions and lecture, he was definitely not ready to
meet his brother’s gaze. He shivered unconsciously at the idea of
Elladan discovering where he had been, which was sure to happen if his
brother saw from which direction he was coming. He did not think he
had enough strength left to pretend naught had happened.

 

Firming up the pressure of his legs, he urged his horse to go faster,
even if he was well aware that the poor beast would have a lot of
troubles complying with his demand. Even if it seemed the rain had
somewhat lessened and the curtain of water had slightly cleared, the
ground was still dangerously slippery. The young elf was able to feel
the hesitation of his horse at each step he was taking, the
imperceptible stiffening of his muscles, the slight chill running the
length of the large body. To encourage the brave animal, he patted
fondly his strong neck.

 

Elrohir shivered slightly when a gust of wind swooped down upon him,
making as a lash of rain. He cursed himself for his stupidity,
muttering words his mother would be horrified to hear. The cold was
seeping slowly through the numerous layers of clothes he was wearing
and that were sticking to his wet skin, obstructing all his motions,
making his gestures clumsy. His braids had become useless, as his hair
was tangled and falling into his eyes due to the effects of the rain
and the wind. He suppressed the smile that came to his lips when he
thought of his father’s reaction when he saw his disturbing
appearance.

 

He raised a shaking hand to hastily wipe away the water that was
running the length of his throat, eliciting an uncontrolled shiver.

 

Elbereth… But why had he not arrived yet? He had been riding for what
had seemed like hours, rocked by the billowy pace of his horse, the
soft balancing of his hips, the regular noise of the falling rain. He
was so tired, so weary. He could feel the numbing taking hold of his
limbs. He longed for a warm bath and his comfortable bed. But where
was Imladris? Was he lost? The rain had been such that at some moments
of his journey that he had hesitated to take one path rather than
another. What if he had taken the wrong path? Where would he go? Could
his horse walk further? Too many questions without answers. Always
questions.

 

He was so weary…

 

He noticed the rain lessening and the clouds departing  toward the
east. It looked like a good omen. At least, it would be easier to
ride. It was still raining, but, at least, he was able to see where he
was going and whom he was about to meet… And, suddenly, he wished he
could not.

 

He swallowed a very rude curse…

 

Glorfindel…

 

As wet as he was himself and looking most displeased. Extremely
displeased actually. And looking at him with a somber gaze. He had
learned as an elfling the meaning of that look and it wasn't good.

 

When he stopped his horse at the warrior’s level, Elrohir sighed and
waited for a lecture that never came. Instead of unleashing his wrath
upon him, Glorfindel remained still and silent, sitting straight upon
the back of his sorrel stallion, his gaze firmly locked with
Elrohir’s. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the
gentle sound of the falling rain. But, finally, unnerved by the
awkward and unending silence, Elrohir exclaimed:

 

“What?”

 

The blonde rider snorted slightly before answering, his voice cold and
impersonal, as if he had not spent hours in the rain:

 

“You’re late and you’re wet…”

 

His horse made his weariness known by snorting, Elrohir laughed
bitterly before saying, mocking:

 

“I did not notice…”

 

But Glorfindel seemed oblivious to the sarcasm and, instead of
replying, he closely watched his former pupil’s features, noticing the
unusual pallor of his skin, the lips turning blue, the bloodshot eyes
and the violet circles giving testimony to his weariness. He saw the
dirt soiling his clothes and his hair. The younger elf was trying to
hide his condition, but the Eldar’s sharp eyes did not miss the
violent chills that shook the slender frame of the younger twin. Elves
used not to feel the cold, and if Elrohir’s was shivering so much, he
should have been under the storm for a long time. The first thing to
do was to bring him to a place he could warm himself. Elrond would
have to wait to lecturing his son about responsibilities.

 

“Come on, pen-neth…”, he said before turning his horse in the
direction of the vale and urging him to go forward.

 

Elrohir was too tired to notice where he was led. He was satisfied
with following the sight of the muscled rump of the sorrel stallion.
He was home and strangely, it was very satisfying to have someone to
lead him, to take care of him. He was so tired. It seemed to him that
he would never get warm again. He jerked in his saddle when his horse
stopped abruptly. Coming back to reality, he noticed that Glorfindel
had halted next a little stone booth. The blond elf had already got
down and was now standing next to him. He imitated the Eldar clumsily
and watched helplessly as his former tutor led both their horses to a
shelter behind the little house.

 

Waiting for Glorfindel to come back, he looked at the place. It was
one the numerous shelters where guards and patrols could find some
rest when the weather was too bad. They were sparsely furnished, but
were cozy enough to get some warmth. Warmth… It would feel so good to
be inside. Elrohir jumped when somebody put a hand upon his shoulder,
but relaxed when he saw it was the Eldar. He was so tired he had not
heard him approaching. He let himself be led by Glorfindel toward the
shelter, half listening to whatever the elder elf was saying.  

 

“You frightened all of us, pen-neth… Especially your brother”

 

Elrohir winced imperceptibly at the use of the pet name and the
mention of his brother. But, oblivious of the youth’s reaction,
Glorfindel followed as they reached the step of the little house:    

 

“Elladan refused to let you wander alone in the wood and had insisted
on accompanying me…But after an hour spent outside in the cold, I left
him in the shelter…”

 

The tired brain of Elrohir did not realize immediately the true
meaning of Glorfindel’s words. When, finally, he understood, a wave of
panic surged through him and his first reflex was to go back. But he
was pushed forward inside the room by the blond Eldar and stumbled
slightly when he entered the heated room. Heat assaulted his senses
and he felt blood coming alive in his veins, creating strange tingling
in his limbs.

 

He scanned quickly the area and averted quickly his gaze when his eyes
crossed his brother’s. Elladan was sitting on a chair next the fire,
relief apparent upon his fair features. 

 

“Undress yourself, Elrohir… You should not keep on your wet clothes,
lest you become ill…”

 

At those words, Elrohir blushed, a lovely pink shade spreading upon
his cheeks. He nervously bit his bottom lip, looking for an excuse for
avoiding getting naked in front of his brother. He did not want to be
there. He would rather be still lost in the middle of the forest than
being so close of his brother without any layers between his skin and
him. There was no worse situation.

 

But he was forced to revise his judgement some seconds later when the
blond Eldar spoke to Elladan. The Balrog-slayer’s voice sounded very
far from him and even if he felt somewhat  light-headed, he understood
them very well:

 

“I will go announce to your parents that I have found him. There is no
need for your mother to worry anymore. Remain here with him and make
sure he get warm…I think you will have to help him to undress, he
looks utterly exhausted… I will come back…”

 

Elladan nodded his agreement and, taking his brother by the shoulders,
he led him tenderly toward the chair then he entreated him to sit.
Elrohir did not protest nor react, he was not able to do so, his
thoughts were in such a turmoil that he did not hear the door
slamming, announcing Glorfindel’s departure. Elladan kneeled in front
of him and began to work upon his boots, making short work of the
uncooperative laces.

 

No words were spoken and Elrohir wondered briefly if his twin was
feeling as awkward as he was himself. The younger twin wished to be
able to look at the flames dancing in the hearth of the fireplace, but
he was not. His eyes were constantly attracted to the playful
reflections of the flames in Elladan’s dark mane. He felt the wild
beating of his heart and prayed desperately that his twin would not
pick up his frightened air. He scolded himself mentally. Why was he so
afraid? It was not the first time they had to help each other to
undress.

 

Stupid question…

 

His mind was calling back non-too distant memories when a red-haired
woman had kneeled in the same fashion next to him. This scene seemed
surrealistic, bearing an impossible air of deja vu. Looking exactly as
what he had imagined when he had closed his eyes while the woman was
touching him. He felt his breath caught in his throat.

 

Then, it happened…

 

And his heart stopped in his chest.

 

Elladan began to unlace his leggings, with a hand that did not falter.
Elrohir felt his breath quickening as he looked at the fast work of
that pale long-fingered hand, wondering how good it would be to feel
it upon his bare skin. He breathed deeply to quiet those unbidden
thoughts. How could Elladan be so calm and composed? How could he act
as though naught was happening? As if he was feeling nothing at all?

 

Elrohir suppressed a bitter laugh. His brother was a master at
deception. Pretense. All was pretense and lie.

 

He looked at those hands, long and thin, whose skin was still soft and
velvety in spite of the hours spent wielding a sword or stretching a
bow. Those hands were not the hands of a warrior, of a killer, but the
hand of a lover. Hands made to caress, to touch, and to give pleasure.
Hands made to touch his skin in the most intimate way.

 

The thought was more than he was able to bear.

 

Suddenly, he got up, not minding if the abrupt motion had made his
brother stumble. He approached the fireplace, his gaze fixed upon the
bewitching dance of the flames, looking at them without really seeing
them, his whole attention focused on calming the trembling of his
frame. He could feel Elladan’s eyes upon him. He could feel their
intensity burning his flesh, looking through him. Seeing what he tried
so desperately to hide.

 

He felt a presence behind him, but he refused to acknowledge it. How
would he be able to look again in those eyes, to hold that gaze? He
froze as a warm hand was put upon his shoulder and he stiffened
visibly. He felt, rather than he saw, the hand withdrawing. He did not
need to look behind him to know that his brother was more than a
little bit shocked by his reaction. Never before had he recoiled from
his touch. Of course, he had avoided any contact but never so
blatantly.

 

“Elrohir?”

 

Elladan’s voice was soft and hesitant, resounding in the younger
twin’s ears again and again until he started thinking he was going
mad. That voice. So alike to his own, but containing slight
differences that few were able to recognize. Elrohir passed a nervous
hand through his hair, stopping when he felt the knots adorning his
usually well-disciplined mane. He could not look his brother in the
eyes. He could not answer his unspoken question. He could not.

 

He was going mad.

 

“Muindor nin, what ails you?”

 

Elladan’s voice resounded again and again, eliciting a sickening
spiral of sensations in Elrohir’s mind, increasing the tension
spreading in his whole body. It felt like he was going to shatter, to
break down in thousands of tiny pieces. He could not stand that
treachery anymore. Everything was a lie. Nothing was real. He did not
know what was true anymore, what was false. He was no longer able to
distinguish the reality from his fantasies. Elladan… His brother, his
love. The one he dreamed of for years. His.

 

His.   

 

But he was not sure he could claim him. He was not sure he was brave
enough. So, he kept on staring at the flames, ignoring the voices in
his head that were slowly driving him to the verge of madness,
ignoring the silent plea of his treacherous twin…

 

“Elrohir… Please… Speak to me. You frighten me.”

 

The elder twin’s voice was unsteady, betraying his dismay. Elrohir
felt the angst held in that simple sentence, but refused to heed it.
How dare Elladan to speak with him? How dare he?

 

Betrayal…

 

Betrayal…

 

His whole mind was screaming that word. A twirl of images was spinning
in front of his eyes and he had to bit his bottom lip not to cry.
Images of the one he loved and that loved him back with someone else.
When he had refused to let anyone approach him, Elladan had sought the
pleasure of the flesh elsewhere. He had denied him the right to be the
first to touch him while he was the first to be loved. He felt empty,
betrayed.

 

Then, he felt it. Elladan’s hand. Stroking softly the hair behind his
ear. So close that he could almost feel his breath upon the pointed
tip of his ear. And something snapped inside him. How dared he to
touch him? For years, he had known only the touch of his own hand,
denying anyone the right to touch him, dreaming that, one day, his
brother would love him. And today, the dream had come true and it did
not satisfy him. The simple fact he allowed his brother to touch him
was excruciating. His whole body seemed to have a will of his own as
he violently jerked back, taking a few steps away from his brother. He
heard somebody scream. And it took him some time to realize that he
was the one yelling:

 

“Do not touch me!”

 

His voice was strange, alien. He could only guess the strange picture
they made. Two different images of the same person. But while Elladan
was standing, straight and still, next the fire, his fair features
framed by long thick strands of raven hair, his composure dignified,
the shock he was experiencing only visible in the depths of his
narrowed eyes, a true vision of the nobility of the Firstborn, himself
standing behind the chair, clenching desperately the wood of its back,
hair tangled and dirty, panting like a wild animal driven back, pupils
dilated by his devastated emotions.

 

They stood there for what looked like eternity, neither of them
moving. No sound could be heard save for Elrohir’s winded breath and
the slight crackling of the logs in the hearth. The tension between
them was palpable, rising but never faltering. Nothing moved save for
the shadows created by the fire. The silence was defeating.

 

And, then, he broke down. A silent sob escaped his dry throat. And
before, he had the opportunity to hold them back, tears dripped down
the length of his cheeks, dousing his pale face. He felt his legs
quivering and he let himself slide slowly to the cold ground, still
holding on the chair. Heart-wrenching sobs were shaking his lithe
frame and he felt as if his heart was breaking. Everything was so
blurred; he did not know where he was anymore, or who he was.

 

He did not fight back when a pair of strong arms gathered him against
a firm chest. Instead of struggling, he leaned into the embrace,
gripping strongly the arms circling his waist. He knew he was not
behaving logically, but he could not help it. He was so tired, so
disgusted. It seemed to him that his whole world has become a vast
farce. Hiding his face in a shoulder, he kept on sobbing, not caring
about the weakness he was demonstrating. He cried for what seemed to
be hours, weeping upon his lost illusions and the death of his world.
Bit by bit, his tears subdued until they were no more than a light
shiver running the length of his broken body. Silence fell upon the
two beings twined in a desparate embrace.

 

Slowly, almost shyly, Elrohir levelled his gaze, ready to excuse
himself, to ask for his twin’s forgiveness. But the sight he beheld
locked his apologies in his throat, taking his breath away, tightening
his heart in his chest, crashing a wave of guilt upon him.

 

Elladan was crying.

 

That was the most terrifying thing Elrohir had ever seen in his life.
Elladan was the one who was never afraid of anything, the brash one,
the strong one. The one who never cried. Until now. His beloved twin
was crying because of him, his salty tears glistening down the length
of his face. It was his fault. He could read the anguish reflected by
his brother’s gray eyes, anguish he was the source of. It upset him.

 

He raised an unsteady hand to touch the wet cheek of his brother, but
withdrew before his fingers came in contact with the shining skin.
Afraid. He was afraid. As if Elladan had understood his hesitation, he
tightened his grip around him and rested his chin in the dent of his
brother’s shoulder. Elrohir felt the heat of the embrace overwhelming
his senses, but he did not try to push it aside. He could not fight
anymore, just as he could not think anymore. It was so much easier
simply to feel.

 

His brother’s head was so close to him that he was able to feel the
light caress of his breath on his neck, able to smell his spiced scent
of pine and sweet honey. He let himself be rocked in that tender hug,
not wanting ever to move, not wanting things ever to change.
Naturally, he turned his head to watch his twin’s well-drawn features,
wondering of their smoothness and beauty, then locking their gazes
together.

 

Gray eyes met gray eyes.

 

And he indulged the temptation.

 

Slowly, he bent over his twin’s face, never breaking eye contact,
afraid to break the magic of the moment, but unable to stop himself.
He could feel the wild beating of his heart in his chest, feel the
thud of the blood pounding beneath his temples. But it was too late to
back up, too late to change his decision. Slowly, he closed his eyes
and put his lips upon his twin’s.                

 

It was no more than the light touch of two pairs of lips, than the
soft caress of skin against skin. It was an innocent kiss, full of
modesty and shyness. They do not move; they do not breath, afraid even
of the beating of their hearts. The kiss lasted for mere seconds, mere
touching of two paralysed mouths.

 

Hesitantly, Elrohir withdrew, upon opening his eyes, realizing fully
for the first what he had just done. He had kissed his brother. He had
kissed Elladan and now he would have to face the consequences of his
act. Suddenly, it was more and more difficult to breath in the small
room. He would have liked to go out, to flee, to forget whatever he
had just done. But he could not.

 

Elladan… Elbereth…Elladan… 

 

His brother was looking at him, eyes full of… But full of what? For
the first time in his two-thousand-year-long life, Elrohir was
incapable of reading his brother’s expression. Incapable of
interpreting that odd expression in his brother’s stare. And his heart
beat more violently.  He was at loss. His mind was totally frozen, he
could not think properly. He could still feel the sweet taste of his
twin’s lips upon his, but he could not move. He could only watch,
helpless, the shock spreading upon his image’s features.

 

But he was not prepared to what followed. He had been waiting for
cries, for screams, for shock, for tears. He had been prepared to face
his brother’s disdain, his laughter, his contempt. He had thought
Elladan would hit him, kiss him, touch him. But he had never imagined
he would act as he did.

 

Elladan jumped back, recoiling from his brother’s tender embrace,
leaving a meter or two between them, his slender body shaking, and it
seemed to Elrohir that a sharp blade had stabbed him in the heart.

 

They kept on staring at each other for several more seconds, time
passing as the flow of a calm river. Nothing moved. Nobody spoke. But
the silent scene resounded with the silent cries of their hearts.

 

“Why have you done that?”

 

Elladan’s voice sounded unsteady and Elrohir wished suddenly he had
not act as an impulse when the realization of the meaning of his
brother’s gaze dawned on him. Fear. Elladan was afraid. And, suddenly,
Elrohir felt the same angst, the same cold chill running the length of
his spine, the same dreadful feeling, as Elladan was never the one to
be afraid. It was what Elrohir had always thought, always believed.
Until now.

 

But what could he have said in answer to the apprehensive question?
Why? He did not know. He had truly no clue. He had behaved so because
it seemed the right thing to do. And it had felt like the right thing
to do. Should he say he was sorry? Should he tell Elladan that he did
not know why he had kissed him? Should he lie or should he tell the
truth? He did not know.

 

He did not know.

 

But saying he regretted what happened was too difficult for him. He
did not regret it at all. If he would be able to scream he loved him
more than life, he would have done so. But he was not able to scream,
not even to speak, then he kept silent, staring wordlessly at his
brother’s tense form, searching for words that would not sound too
false.

 

“Why have you done that?”

 

Elladan had raised his voice, still trembling, but stronger. His voice
was a mere memory of its melodious former self, as it was harsh and
raspy. His narrowed eyes were locked with Elrohir’s, suspicious and
hurt, looking as if trying to pierce the secret of his twin’s soul.
Seeing that gaze, Elrohir felt all his own fears melting down and an
unexpected calm settling in his heart.

 

Why should he be afraid? This was his twin, his brother, the other
half of his soul. His true love. So, why should he be afraid? Elladan
would never hurt him and both of them had suffered enough because of
the seeming impossibility of that love. That masquerade had last for
too long, it was time for it to end. But he had no time to make his
mind up as a shocked whisper brought him back to reality, to his
brother’s horrified gaze, which held at that moment nothing more than
utter surprise and complete comprehension.

 

“You know…”

 

A whole world was crumbling in those two words. It was as if Sauron
himself was back, ready to destroy Arda and its inhabitants. Elladan
was looking at his beloved twin, his beautiful gray eyes betraying the
brutal flow of emotions unleashed by that discovery. He swallowed with
some difficulty before repeating, with less horror in his voice:

 

“You know…”

 

And he laughed. But not out of joy. It was a nervous laughter, full of
incertainty and apprehension, reflecting the incredulity of the elder
twin, but also his despair. Elrohir was not able to answer that
statement. His throat was dry and would not let pass any sound. He
could only watch his brother’s darkened features, fascinated. As
suddenly he had begun, Elladan stopped and quickly growled, his voice
dark and threatening:

 

“You know… How?”

 

In a quick motion, the elder twin was up, walking toward Elrohir, his
pupils darkened and dilated, his jaw clenched, his lips looking as a
thin line, his whole attitude somewhat feral. The younger twin was
unable to tear his gaze away from his twin’s approaching form. He knew
the same emotions he himself had felt some moments ago. He had felt
the anger born from the fear of pity, the fear of a situation escaping
one’s control. He himself had lost his grip upon reality when he had
learned the truth hidden behind years of lies. So, why should Elladan,
his other half, act otherwise?

 

Suddenly, he felt Elladan’s presence next to him, his strong hands
gripping painfully at his shoulders, his breath caressing his jaw. He
had seen him coming, but had not noticed the rage flaring in his
twin’s bottomless orbs until those glazed eyes were were locked with
his own. And, for the first time in his life, Elrohir feared his
brother. He had never thought Elladan would harm him. He always had a
complete confidence in his twin, ready to trust his life in his hands.
Until now. Now when his twin was looking at him as a stranger with
those merciless eyes.

 

The grip on his shoulders tightened and Elrohir let out a whimper as
his twin’s nails dug in his tender flesh through the fabric of his wet
tunic. He knew that his brother’s strong fingers were leaving red
traces upon his skin and that, most likely, bruises would soon mar his
shoulders. But he was unable to move, unable to struggle against his
twin’s brutal touch, unable to do anything else but to drown himself
in the depths of Elladan’s wild eyes. His brother’s hot breath stroked
the top of his delicately pointed ear, eliciting a sensual shiver as
he was asked once more by a fascinating deep voice, whose intonation
awakened a flow of sensations in him:

 

“How do you know?”

 

Elrohir’s world was torn between two agonies, between the frightening
pain of the fingers digging in his flesh and the torturing proximity
of his desired love. He was torn between two perceptions, unable to
escape them, not wanting to do so. He was only seeing those two huge
gray eyes calling him, attracting him, leaving him without any will of
his own, like a broken doll.

 

But, then, nothing. The fascinating eyes that were bewitching him so
much had left him, leaving him disabled and lost. The hands gripping
his shoulders had also left and, strangely, he strongly felt their
loss, as they were a kind of anchor in the reality of that moment.
Everything had been so fast that, for some brief seconds, he wondered
if he had dreamt his twin’s outburst, if he had imagined that
frighteningly sensual display of emotions. But, when he raised his
head to seek instinctively the heat of Elladan’s stare, he was
surprised to see that the anger had totally disappeared, leaving in
its place utter disbelief. His brother was looking at him, standing
but a few steps from him, lips slightly parted like two delicate dark
petals in an ocean of alabaster skin. For a few moments, they did not
speak, looking at each other with new eyes, as the last of their
secrets was revealed, as the last remnants of the shell they had built
around their hearts shattered:     

 

“That scent… You have seen her. You have followed me…Elbereth…”       

        

Elladan’s voice was no more than a whisper, barely louder than the
crackling of the fire, but a world of despair and bitterness was to be
heard in his voice. And then, he turned upon his heels, walking slowly
toward the door, his steps heavy and defeated. At this sight,
Elrohir’s heart missed a beat. Frozen, unable to obey the commands of
his brain, the younger twin watched his brother going away. He wanted
to join him, to tell him how much he loved him, to kiss him one more,
to touch him, to explain to him that they could be happy now. How much
he wished to be able to do that… But he could only watch his twin’s
slender frame as Elladan reached the door and left the shed.        

       

The slamming of the door pulled him out of his reverie and he realized
that Elladan had really left the shed, leaving him behind without a
second glance. Fear grabbed his heart and he felt tears gathering in
his eyes. This could not end like that, it would be unfair. They loved
each other and they had spent too much time apart. That had to change.

 

In one swift and elegant motion, he was up, his lithe and nimble body
projecting moving shadows upon the white walls of the room. Gathering
all his courage and his remaining strength, oblivious of the pain
running in his exhausted limbs, he chased his brother, crossing the
room without any other thought than finding Elladan, and rushing
outside. The coldness of the wind struck him as he found himself on
the steps of the house and he suppressed a chill. He paused for a mere
second, wondering where his beloved brother might have gone. The rain
had ceased and one could hear some birds singing, but the sky was
still covered with some dark clouds. The air was damp and Elrohir
found it difficult to breath properly, but he had other matters in
mind and he quickly scanned the area. Where had Elladan gone?

 

Then, he heard them.  

 

The horses. Snorting and moving, as if somebody had entered the place
they were sheltered in. Without taking another moment to think about
it, he ran in the direction of that place, careful not to slide upon
the muddy and slippery ground. He quietly cursed as his feet sank into
the wet ground, restricting his movements and slowing his race. When
he reached the shed where the horses were, he stopped a few steps away
from the door, thanking quietly the Lady. Elladan was there, ready to
leave, the reins in his hand, guiding his black mare outside. But,
when he saw his brother standing outside, he stopped as surprised to
see Elrohir had followed him.

 

No words were exchanged and Elladan lowered his eyes to the ground,
staring at the dark color of the earth, his weary features empty and
emotionless. The younger twin slowly approached his brother, never
leaving the sight of the beautiful face that refused to look at him.
One step, another… He breathed deeply, trying to calm the wild race of
his heart in his chest, inhaling the bittersweet scent of the earth
after the rain. When he was but a few steps from his twin, Elrohir
stopped and said gently, his voice soothing and shy:

 

“Muindor-nin…”

 

At those words, Elladan raised his gaze and the younger elf noticed
the beautiful eyes were bloodshot and drowned beneath unshed tears. He
also noticed the quivering of the hand holding the reins while the
other was clenched violently at his side, so forcefully that his
knuckles were white. The old need to protect and soothe his brother
flared anew in Elrohir’s heart as he watched closely the pain visible
in Elladan’s heart. He had not felt it for years, but as he witnessed
his twin’s distress, he was reminded of their old oath to always being
their for each other. An oath they had broken during the past years.
Around them, the song of the birds had stopped as if to let them
alone. Listening to the call of his heart, Elrohir closed the short
distance separating him from his twin and, without thinking, enfolded
Elladan in a warm embrace.

 

He had not thought his brother might reject him. That idea had not
even crossed his mind. It was not even important. What mattered at
that exact moment was that Elladan needed him, his twin was suffering
and he was the one who could stop the pain. Tightening the grasp of
his arms around his twin’s waist, he nuzzled in Elladan’s neck,
oblivious of the tension in the body he was hugging. Gathering his
whole courage, whispering as he dared not admitting his feelings aloud
yet, he murmured, his tone soft and caressing:

 

“Im mela lle, Elladan…”

 

“How could you love me?”

 

Elladan’s voice was bitter and wry and he lowered his gaze once more,
refusing to look at his twin in the eyes. Elrohir was able to see the
conflict clearly written upon the fair features he knew so well, upon
the beautiful face that people thought to be so like his own but where
he could see all their differences. The question Elladan asked tore
his heart. How could he love him? But how could the stars love the
shining beauty of Ithil? It was meant. That was all.

 

“I love you, muindor-nin… I have always loved you…”

 

He slowly caressed Elladan’s cheek, noticing, as for the time, the
velvety texture of his skin, tenderly wiping away with his thumb a
tear rolling the length of his brother’s face. A warm feeling was
seeping in his heart, a comforting feeling that Elrohir acknowledged
his love. For one of the first times in his life, he did not fight
back against the pleasant sensation. He did not wish to reject it.
Everything was as it should have always been. Everything was well. But
Elladan’s slightly quivering form told him otherwise. His brother was
not so well. He was still feeling the shock of the discovery. Elrohir
knew it was not something that  easy to acknowledge and he kissed
fondly the top of his brother’s hair, stroking with a light hand in
circular motions his twin’s back.

 

“I love you too, Elrohir… If I had known…”

 

With those words, the elder of the twins let his tears fall freely the
length of his cheeks and leaned into the warm embrace of Elrohir’s
arms, too tired to do anything else. Relieved to see his brother was
not fighting him anymore, the younger elf held him tight until the
sobs receded to become slight shudders agitating Elladan’s lithe body.
It felt somewhat odd to Elrohir to witness his brother’s break down,
it made him feel somewhat like an intruder. But Elladan needed him,
loved him and this simple thought chased his uncertainty away.

 

They remained there for a long moment, not moving, dwelling in the
comfort of their embrace, wanting the moment never to end. They had to
break away when the noise of the hooves of a horse reverberated
through the forest, shattering the intimacy and the magic of the
moment. With regret, they disentangled  from each other, each of them
plunging his gray eyes into the bottomless gaze of the other. No one
should know for the moment, they still had to get acquainted with the
idea that their love was not hopeless. Everything would come in time.
Everything. Today was just the first step upon a path they would take
together, hand into hand, eye to eye and never leave. Each step they
would take after was resting in a vast unknown abyss. But they would
discover it. Together. In their sparkling eyes shone that new promise.
“Im mela lle...” seemed to say the last gaze they shared before
turning to welcome the new comer.

 

“Im mela lle...“

 

The end.

 




   Chapter 6 : Year 2968 of the Third Age, Imladris.

 

"Who is Haldir of Lorien?"

At hearing those words fall from Legolas’s mouth, Arwen almost spilled
the contents of her glass over her silken dress. She quickly composed
herself but instantly knew by the look on the blond Prince’s face that
he had noticed the effect of his question on her.

In spite of that, she was determined to try and answer in a most
neutral manner, knowing that if she did not, Legolas might become even
more suspicious, and that was something she had to avoid at all costs.

"Haldir is the captain of the Lorien guard" She managed to answer in a
slightly strained voice.

Legolas seemed to consider her words for a while, then added.

"Do I know him? Have I ever been to Lorien".

Arwen did not at all like the direction the conversation was taking.
Her father had hidden nothing from her about Legolas and Haldir's
mishaps, clearly stressing the fact that Legolas had to be kept from
anything which might enable him to remember this particularly dramatic
episode of his life. She briefly wondered how the Mirkwood Elf had
come to learn about Haldir, but she dared not ask him. Shifting
uneasily on the bench where they both sat, Arwen wished someone would
enter the veranda and hopefully divert Legolas’s attention from the
current topic. But unless a miracle met her silent prayer with perfect
timing, she could not refrain much longer from answering the young
Prince .

"I suppose you do, yes. Mirkwood and Lorien are not that far apart.
But I cannot assure you of that". Oh Elbereth, how she hated telling
lies,  especially to a friend!

"Supposing I do or do not know him, why did my question seem to
startle you?"

Legolas’s voice was still calm, but Arwen should have known that he
would not have let the matter slip away so easily. She started
fidgeting, struggling hard to try to find a more appropriate answer as
quickly as possible. Then a sudden idea crossed her mind, and she
silently thanked the Valar for providing her with such inspiration.

"If you really must know then….. Haldir and I used to be… intimate"
Arwen answered, and she even managed to summon a charming and very
convincing blush to further enhance her words, which was not so
difficult considering that she was boldly lying, something the upright
maiden was not in the least prone to do.

"Oh! I am sorry, I did not mean to be intrusive…." Legolas immediately
apologized, losing some of his previous composure.

Arwen felt extremely relieved, at least he seemed to believe her.

"I know. This is nothing to worry about. It’s been such a long time,
that’s all". Arwen hoped that the question would be settled now, but
unfortunately Legolas got the conversation moving again, and the
subject was no less touchy.

"It’s just that I heard our fathers say his name and they seemed
worried when they noticed I was listening. I know they are hiding many
things from me and I thought that, perhaps, this… Haldir… had
something to do with …well… you know what I mean."

She knew what he meant indeed, for although he had amnesia, Legolas
was none the less the same clever and intuitive person as ever, and
she had no doubt that it had not taken long for him to figure out that
all the explanations he had been given about what had generated his
current condition were nothing but lies. Out of respect for his
father’s love and for the Imladrian Lord’s wisdom, out of politeness,
out of fear perhaps, he had said nothing until this moment. And
Legolas understood in this moment that for the very same reasons,
Arwen would not say anything either.

Arwen knew he knew. And Legolas knew Arwen knew he knew. So for a
fleeting moment there was a flash of understanding and acceptance
passing between clear blue and deep blue eyes, just before Legolas
stood up, giving Arwen a wan smile and heading off towards the
buildings. If he wanted to get answers, he knew whom to ask.

Entering Elrond’s study with the conviction that the Imladrian Lord
and his father would be there, Legolas realized only too late that he
had forgotten to knock. Two pairs of eyes were raised from an
impressive pile of paperwork and Legolas noticed in the moss green
gaze of Thranduil something that could not be mistaken for anything
but fearful concern. The young prince had noticed that his father was
very jumpy as of late, and briefly wondered if this was only the
consequence of the recent events or a usual trait of his personality.
**Once again** he bitterly added in his mind **I cannot tell**… Any
doubts he may have had left suddenly vanished at this thought, and
Legolas raised his chin in a determined _expression, preparing to
confront a situation he knew would be difficult.

"My lords, I apologize for not announcing my presence. Forgive my
intrusion but I would like to speak to you if you can spare me some
time."

Both Elrond and Thranduil immediately set aside the scrolls they had
been holding, taking in Legolas resolute look and briefly glancing at
each other, obviously worried at the turn the events were taking.
Observing the proprieties, Thranduil let Elrond speak first.

"Legolas, please have a seat. You have our full attention, pen-neth…"

Elrond’s term of endearment was not lost to Legolas. He knew the Elven
Lord felt great tenderness towards him and this did not make things
easier. For Legolas, as much has he wanted to obtain answers, would do
nothing to place Elrond in an uncomfortable situation, or force
explanations from the Elf at the risk of appearing disrespectful. But
he had to try…

"I thank you my Lord, but I would rather remain standing if you do not
mind"

Elrond merely nodded, and then it was Thranduil’s turn to inquire.

"What would you like to ask us, lass-nin?"

Legolas thought that being straightforward was probably the best
option he had.

"The truth." he simply said.

At the exact moment those words were uttered, something changed in the
room. Everything froze, nothing moved, nobody spoke, the silence was
heavy, almost deafening. They kept on staring wordlessly at each
others without daring to do anything. The room was colder, as if the
temperature had dropped suddenly. The elder elves were stunned for
several seconds, neither of them prepared for such a question. Neither
of them ready to answer a question they had not anticipated. Taking
advantage of the two lords' surprise to prevent any refusal, Legolas
followed:

"I mean no offense my Lords. I am not implying that you were lying to
me. But I know that you are hiding things from me, for my own sake.
Still I need to know, because I fear that not knowing , apart from not
"remembering", will only make things worse to me".

Thranduil, having been startled, immediately broke in.

"Legolas…. Child….. it is not that we don’t want to tell you. But
telling you would mean endangering you. You must understand that"

Legolas pondered over his next words for a moment

"Father, I may be your son and I know that you want to protect me. But
even though I am amnesic, I am not incoherent. I am an adult and I
guess I have the right to make my own choices."

Thranduil reacted strongly, almost as if Legolas had just told him
that he wanted to throw himself from the window, and an insane
_expression reached his eyes when he added, practically shouting "When
I said danger Legolas, I meant death! Are you sure you have weighed
all the consequences of your decision! Do you really believe I would
hide the truth from you if I did not have good reasons to do so?"

Legolas was taken aback by his father’s reaction. For Thranduil to
lose his temper like this, things were certainly worse than he
thought. Yet he still wanted to know. For the last few days he had
been consumed by a nagging feeling of helplessness, sensing in every
elf he came to be near a persistent aura of fear, of denial, as if
everyone knew something he did not, and after considering the
situation more carefully, he had understood that this was precisely
the case. Being nobody was a burden he had silently carried. But
knowing that others were hiding the truth from him was simply
unbearable. His decision was made, and Thranduil’s yelling would not
deter his resolution.

Holding his father’s gaze with a surprising calmness, Legolas answered
in an icy tone.

"I could tell you that I am no coward, father, but that would sound
hollow because in fact I do not know if I am one or not. So pray tell
me my King" – Thranduil flinched at the emphasis the young Prince put
on the title – "Have I ever done anything in my former life that would
have earned me this name? For if the answer is no, I refuse to begin
acting cowardly now. Am I in any peril of death? Very well then, I’ll
fight this peril as I would my worst enemy. But I need to know."
Legolas paused, then added "Now."

Thranduil’s face had turned paler than usual and for the first time
since the day Elrond had met him, he seemed to be at a loss, which
prompted the dark-haired Peredhil to step in.

"Legolas you have always been a worthy Elf and courageous warrior. And
as much as I understand your desire to be told the truth, I am afraid
I have to second your father in this matter. The peril you are faced
with, Legolas, is worse than what you can imagine. For if I do believe
that you could gather enough strength and intelligence to defeat an
army of Orcs, I fear there is no one on Arda who can fight against
himself. Above all if the self refuses to take part in the fight."

As was always the case, Elrond had taken great care in choosing the
right words to say: while he clearly stood on the side of Thranduil in
that very delicate matter, the dark-haired lord had subtly emphasized
the fact that he understood Legolas' motives as well. And in any case
Legolas had clearly understood that Elrond would not over step into
his father's territory.

Death... an unfamiliar concept for an elf. Yet Legolas  knew
intimately that a part of him was already dead. And that part was the
core of his being, the mere foundation of his existence. Should he try
to blackmail the two Lords to obtain what he wanted? There was no need
to do so, for the young prince knew by the nagging feeling he had been
experiencing for weeks that should he learn the truth being kept
hidden from him, the result would be the same. He would be fading. And
nothing could be done about it. Gathering the last remnants of his
conviction, Legolas looked at his father and at Elrond,and in the
chilly silence of the room, it seemed that his words echoed even more
clearly and harshly.

"Father, my Lord.. Just imagine that you are amnesic. The only thing
you want, the only thing you live for is to be able to remember who
you are, your life, all that shaped you into the being you are. Yet,
the people around you, the people who claim they love you and for whom
you have the greatest respect refuse to tell you the truth. Stating it
is for your own sake..."

With these words Legolas turned towards his father, settling eyes on
the blond King’s, who suddenly looked both confused and trapped...
Then Legolas went one, absentmindedly tugging some hair behind his
ear, a clear sign of the state of nervousness he was in.

" I am no fool, at least you can be assured of that. I understand that
I am faced with something quite terrible for you to mention death. Did
my soul mate die? Worse, did I kill someone dear, a friend, a
relative? Was I tortured or raped? For I can think of no other reasons
which could account for your silence. So I am not asking you what
caused my amnesia, for I have guessed already, whether it be one
possibility or the others".

Legolas had no idea how true his words rang in that very moment, and
Elrond felt cold in spite of the warm autumn breeze caressing his back
and shoulders from the open window behind him.The blond Prince,
oblivious to the effect his words were having on the two Elves facing
him, delivered the last blow.

"Yet, knowing that, does not deter my desire to know, and I am ready
to face any consequence. For believe me, I truly feel dead inside
already, and the only way for me to be able to heal and start anew is
to accept and bury the past. So I pray you one last time -Legolas
waved his hand- help me do exactly this: please tell me!"

Thranduil could not avert his eyes from his son's intense gaze. It
seemed to him that his Greenleaf had poured in the clear blue orbs of
his all the passion, pain and hope he felt deep inside. He, Thranduil
Oropherion, King of the mighty realm of Mirkwood, a powerful warrior
among his kin, suddenly felt truly powerless, reduced to a bundle of
confusion, fear and love for the most precious thing in his life, his
beloved son. How could he leave him suffer like this? And how could he
tell him the truth and risk losing him? Thranduil knew he was being an
egoist, that he placed his own feeling before his son's. But if he
withheld much longer the keys to his son's past he would only earn his
bitterness and resentment: instead of losing a loving son, he would
have a bitter one. The thin boundaries between what he had wished to
stand up to and what his son was desperately asking him were reduced
to a heap of ashes in that very moment, and Thranduil eventually
admitted his defeat.

Motioning to Legolas for a chair, Thranduil exchanged a look with
Elrond and the Peredhel silently understood and nodded. When they were
all seated, Thranduil began speaking in a low, almost hesitant voice:

"Three years ago my son, you expressed the desire to go and spend some
time in Lorien. You had already been there of course, but for short
periods of time only. This time you asked me to relieve you of your
duties for a longer time and I willingly complied, knowing that being
allowed to train with the Galadhrim was a great honour as well as a
great opportunity for the future king of our realm. My friend Celeborn
and the lady Galadriel welcomed you as their own son, and took great
pride in seeing your ability with bow and arrow gradually improve and
match that of their most skillful archers. I came twice during your
stay, entrusting the ruling of Mirkwood to your elder brother, and was
able to see for myself how my slightly introverted Greenleaf was
becoming an accomplished warrior, greatly loved and respected by his
companions. Then... –

Thranduil cleared his throat and cast a sidelong glance at Elrond,
silently begging him not to contradict what he was about to say, not
to intervene when Thranduil pretended that he did not know the
identity of Legolas's captor –

"Then one year ago, the inexplicable happened. I was sitting in my
study when a horrible feeling of dread seized my heart; immediately
after I could feel Celeborn's presence around me, and when I
understood that he was farspeaking me - a thing he seldom did - I knew
something was wrong. Celeborn informed me that you had never come back
from your patrol on the outskirts of the Golden Wood, and that the
riding party which had been sent to search you only found your weapons
scattered on the ground, with evidence of a struggle. There was
nothing else, no clue as to what had befallen you; yet Celeborn
stressed the fact that no traces of blood were visible, leaving us
with the hope that you were still alive. Three seasons passed, my son,
three endless seasons and though all the Elven realms and our human
allies had been warned that the Prince of Mirkwood had disappeared, no
one could gather any information. Galadriel looked into her mirror but
while she was adamant that you were not dead, she could not see
anything either. The strangest thing was that, while we all eventually
admitted that you were being held captive, we could not figure out why
nobody had asked for a ransom by then.Yet we never stopped looking for
you Legolas, and I never gave up hope that someday you would somehow
return to us. Which you did, in a way..."

Legolas cast a questioning glance at his father, feeling as though
Thranduil was speaking of another, for his father's words evoked
absolutely nothing in his mind.

"You did return, but to Imladris. Lord Glorfindel, whom I assume
you've already met, found you one day near the Bruinen. You were
mounted on an exhausted horse, and the Valar only know how you made it
to Imladris because you were barely conscious yourself, my son. You
had a poison induced fever - as Lord Elrond was able to determine
after he took you to the healing house - and there were clear signs
that you had been restrained and... Thranduil visibly flinched...
abused."

"Do not worry father. I had already guessed". Legolas's voice was icy
cold, but strangely enough he did not seem much affected by the
revelations. He seemed eager for his father to end the story.

"Elrond sent for me and used all his healing abilities to save you. He
feared for your death, Legolas. You had fallen into a lasting
unconscious state and the few times you seemed to come back to some
semblance of consciousness, you were thrashing and screaming so loud
that I had to restrain you while Elrond gave you narcotics. Then the
fever gradually abated, and shortly after you came back to your senses
we discovered that all the memories of your former life had been
erased from your mind". Thranduil heaved a sigh and concluded. "from
then on you know what happened as well as I do. And I am afraid you
only know what really happened during your time as a hostage... but
it's locked inside your mind now. Let me simply add that if we decided
to hide the truth from you, it is only because we feared that if your
memories returned you would fade so quickly that even Elrond would be
able to do nothing to call you back from the Halls of Waiting".

Legolas looked grave and when he turned his gaze to Elrond, the
Peredhel felt the need to clarify a few things without Legolas ever
needing to ask. Setting aside his own contradictory feelings, he
recounted once again the events that lead to the loss of the second
greatest love of his life and the sorrowful end of Linwe. From time to
time, the young Prince, who had cast his eyes down, slowly nodded his
head in a sign of compassion as well as - but that was Elrond's
personal interpretation- in understanding of all the implications his
current predicament had. When Elrond had completed the story, Legolas
raised his eyes again and after looking straight at his father, he
addressed Elrond

"It is strange, is it not, that even though you have given me a sketch
of the events I still can not relate to them in any way. I understand
that what has happened is extremely grave, but I do not feel the
impact of your revelations on me. How is that?"

Elrond's worried look stood in sharp contrast with Legolas's almost
hopeful tone. He could not let the young one be misled, which prompted
him not to let any hope linger.

"Legolas, "learning" what has happened to you and "remembering" are
not the same. What is more, we do not exactly know the real extent of
the suffering you went through, my child. -Oh, how much he hated
uttering such blatant lies - Haldir's descriptions had been clear
enough and he could not look at the Prince without feeling a pang in
his heart... Yet he had to stick to Thranduil's version for now, even
though he wondered why the Sindar had not mentioned Haldir.. He would
need to talk to him in private afterwards - " I fear that if one day
you actually remember, things could be worse than anything you might
now imagine, without all the elements in your hand" Elrond's voice
trailed.

"And what do you think I should do, my Lord"

Legolas' words sounded like a bitter echo of Thranduil's very words
when Elrond had explained to him the gravity of the situation. The
King himself started when he heard them, and Elrond could do nothing
but to repeat to the worried son exactly what he had told the panicked
father. Standing up, Elrond started speaking in grave, low voice.

"The choice is yours only Legolas, but be warned that the longer you
wait, the more you try to remember your past, the more you place
yourself in great danger, child. You may never be able to remember
anything, and there is also a very tiny chance that though you may
remember, this might not affect you to the point of fading, but I
greatly doubt either of those two options. The safest thing would be
to sail to Valinor, and as much as I understand that both you and your
father may loathe this option, I am still convinced that it is the
only way to keep you safe until you are eventually reunited again."

With that the Lord of Imladris sat down again, looking greatly
distressed. As a healer, he wished it was not always his role to
deliver bad news and that he could know a way to solve things without
having to resort to such dramatic extremes, but helplessness was
something he had gotten accustomed to where fate was concerned, and
Thranduil was soon to experience it as well, for he hoped that Legolas
would choose the wisest course of events and agree to eventually leave
the shores of Arda.

As for Thranduil, without consciously admitting it, he had already
surrendered to his son’s decision and eventually accepted that he was
no longer an elfling, nor an incapacitated person whom he had to
decide for. If he were to lose Legolas, there was no doubt the King of
Mirkwood would ever feel completely whole again. But then he had had
to face a similar situation when his beloved wife had sailed West as
well. And knowing that Legolas would be reunited with his mother - and
that in the end they would all be together - would slightly alleviate
his grief.

In that moment, two of the mightiest Elven Lords were dreading the
next words which would fall from a young, blond Prince's mouth. One of
them wishing he would wisely decide to leave, the other foolishly
clinging to the tiny hope that he would choose to stay and that
everything would be fine.

His eyes cast down, Legolas could nevertheless feel the smoldering
gazes which were directed at his lithe form, striving to interpret the
slightest movement, the tiniest indication that a decision had finally
been made within his heart and mind. He absentmindedly picked up a
little piece of wax which had fallen from the candle holder onto the
desk and started kneading it between his fingers. Strangely enough,
the molten dough reminded him of his present life, just as
transluscent and shapeless as he felt at present, and just as isolated
as well. He was a Prince, they had said. A respected Prince and
skilled bowman from a distant Elven kingdom called Mirkwood. And he
had brothers. A family.... Legolas knew that even if he tried to press
it hard onto the candle, the little drop of wax would never fully
incorporate with it again. But maybe the warmth of his family and
people’s love could melt his ice cold heart and make him feel,at least
for a short while, like part of the whole again.

"There are many subtle ways, I guess, to deliver bad news" Legolas
began in a whisper. He raised his head and tossed the wax aside, his
voice becoming more audible. "But things being as they are, I can
think of none, and I am afraid my Lords that I am about to disappoint
both of you". Elrond and Thranduil exchanged puzzled looks.

"I have heard your arguments well, and I agree with you, Lord Elrond,
that the safest choice would be to sail to Valinor, where I could
patiently wait to be reunited with my loved ones. But what hope would
there be, I ask of you, if I do not even remember the faces of the
ones I am supposed to be waiting for on the shore? What joy would
there be, if I live with the knowledge that one day I might walk past
my own brother in the evergreen meadows and fail to recognize him. How
could I find the strength to live a life of expectancy if I do not
even know what I am expecting? How could I achieve peace of mind?"

Taking a few seconds to regain his composure after his unexpected
emotional outburst, Legolas directly addressed Thranduil in a softer,
graver voice.

"I am afraid I will somewhat disappoint you father, but despite
everything I have just said, I have made up my mind. I will sail to
Valinor, for I trust Lord Elrond’s wisdom and have no desire
whatsoever to spend eternity wandering through Mandos’s realm. Yet.."
he continued, and his gaze shifted to the Peredhel, "I will not leave
at once. There may be much at stake, but I truly believe that life in
fair Valinor would not be anymore bearable than in the Halls of
Waiting if I do not manage to bring along enough good memories to
cling to once there."

Legolas looked as if he was on the verge of letting an arrow loose
"Which is why I wish to return to my homeland and meet with my kinsmen
and people before departing forever. I want to re-discover who I am,
my origins, and if that cannot be achieved mentally, at least I want
to do it physically."

The young prince looked determined, but strikingly calm. A flash of
resignation, or fear perhaps, twinkled in his eyes before he concluded
his extensive monologue, neither Elrond nor Thranduil daring to
interrupt him at that point.

"For some unknown reason, the Valar stole my memories and are keeping
them out of my reach. So once again, I will lay my destiny into their
hands, for them to decide what to do with it. If you agree, father, we
shall leave for Mirkwood soon, where I intend to spend one full moon
cycle, before heading for the Grey Havens. In the meantime, if the
Va