Title: Triskelion - Cordial Author: Empy [archer@friction.net] Pairing: Rumil/Legolas Rating: NC-17 Series/Sequel: Yes. Prequel is Sightless (Legolas/Haldir) and sequel is Torque. Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. No infringement intended and no money made. Summary: Not all is fair in Lorien. Archive: please ask and ye shall receive. See the end for additional notes. Feedback: Please. Website: http://www23.brinkster.com/reprobate Thanks: to my fantastic beta Darkie for her encouragement, and to all who had the patience to wait. // is italics Sindarin refresher: Gwador is brother (not blood-related) Firion is mortal man. Tithen-ernil is little prince (Laiqualasse is green-leaf in Quenya, and thus the High-Elven version of Legolas) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- //Nothing good can come of it.// The words fell heavy, and burned all the worse because they were true. Legolas was tempted to protest that all could not be his fault, yet realized that as soon as he had consented, at the very first "yes", the blame had been placed on him. //"Do you trust me?"// //"Yes."// //"Do you have reason to?"// Dimly, he heard Aragorn recount their journey from Imladris, and the sorrow he felt for Gandalf's passing mixed with the regret to tear at his heart. Evil was staying their journey, taking away what they so desperately depended upon, and at the gates of what he had thought to be a place of refuge, he was again deceived. "An evil of the Ancient World it seemed, such as I have never seen before," Aragorn said. "It was both a shadow and a flame, strong and terrible." "It was a Balrog of Morgoth," Legolas said, standing in to explain what the others could not, "of all Elf-banes the most deadly, save the One who sits in the Dark Tower." He could not bring himself to explain more, for the fear returned, as did the anger over his cowardice. He had drawn his bow, and sought a target, ready to let fly a hail of arrows. Though it was a long shot, he would have succeeded, had not the fear taken hold of him and palsied his limbs. As soon as he had set eyes upon the swarming mass of Orcs, his fingers had clenched against his will, causing the arrow to fall to the ground. He had stood frozen, powerless to even stoop and retrieve it. "But this I will say to you: your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all," Galadriel said, her voice grave and steely. //Have I set the Quest to dance upon the blade, or are there forces more sinister that will have us fail?// Looking up, Legolas caught the gaze of the Lady again, and heard her voice, soft and yet stern. //Nay, Legolas, it is not your fault alone that the Quest is threatened, yet your deeds, as those of your companions, all affect it.// At length the Lady Galadriel ceased her scrutiny, and she smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you shall sleep in peace." Legolas heard the other members of the Fellowship sigh deeply, as though they now felt the true burden they were carrying. "Go now!" Celeborn said, his voice carrying clearly in the lofty hall. "You are worn with sorrow and much toil. Even if your Quest did not concern us closely, you should have refuge in this City, until you were healed and refreshed. Now you shall rest, and we will not speak of your further road for a while." //As we do not speak of the paths we have taken before this.// Celeborn's gaze was less piercing than that of the Lady, yet it also held a question, as he looked first at Haldir, then at Legolas. Holding the gaze for a moment, Legolas fought to keep calm, then bent his head in respect, thankful for the code that for this moment at least had spared him further questioning. Legolas found his tread both heavier and faster than was his wont as he hurried down the silvery steps of the talan. "The sorrow weighs your feet, gwador. Were it not that I can see you, I would have thought you to be the firion who carries the horn." Turning abruptly to look at the speaker, Legolas found himself face to face with one of the March Wardens. His brow furrowed. He had thought that Rumil had remained on the bank of Celebrant. Rumil offered Legolas no chance to ask him more of this, however, as he merely gave a smile and walked off. Giving a short shake of his head, Legolas stood waiting for the rest of the Fellowship to join him. At the foot of one of the great trees ringing the fountain a pavilion was set up for the Fellowship. The canopy was made of silvery-white weave so sheer the moonlight illumined those within with the clarity of a lamp. Soft couches were furnished with warm covers, and a basin and ewers of clear water were brought so the travellers could wash the worst travel-grime off. "Take your rest, cousin fair," the Elves said, "and tell your companions they have nothing to fear. May your dreams be peaceful." They spoke for a while of their night in the treetops, and Legolas kept warily silent. If Aragorn or Boromir had made note of something, they did not reveal it. The Hobbits spoke of the Lord and Lady, seeming to be relieved to lay aside thoughts of sorrow for a while. The journey had been long and hard for them, Legolas thought, and not in the least for the grief they had been faced with. "If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn't got nothing on, and I didn't like it," Sam said. "She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with... a bit of garden of my own." "That's funny," Merry said. "Almost exactly what I felt myself; only, only well, I don't think I'll say any more." "And it seemed to me, too," Gimli said, "that my choice would remain secret and known only to myself." It was a hollow comfort to Legolas that all the others also seemed to have been scrutinized, for he had been given neither choice nor comfort, only rebuke. Boromir did not seem fazed by the talk of the others, and he held his hand to his forehead as if his head pained him. He caught Legolas's glance as he looked up, and there seemed to be something uncertain and hunted behind the steely grey. "I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes," he said finally. "Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel!" Aragorn said, his voice stern. "You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man brings it hither himself. Then let him beware!" //And yet you speak naught of the evil which already dwells here. Not all is fair in Lorien.// --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Every leaf seemed gilded by the sunlight reflecting in the drops of rain. The air was slightly chill, like the chill in Legolas's mind and heart. What he had taken for comfort had been a hollow promise; the wisdom of ages he had counted on had fallen. The other members of the Fellowship queried him at times about the meaning of the laments sung, but Legolas found he could not bring himself to tell them. Sorrow and confusion weighed heavy, and the words of the Lady Galadriel were seared into his mind like a brand. //Look to yourself for blame.// As he turned left, he sighted one of the March Wardens who had met them on the borders. The slightest and youngest of the three – Rumil. The Elf was standing still as a statue, his pale-gold hair full of jewel-like droplets of rain, and the grey cloak he wore allowed him to blend in nigh perfectly. He chose not to acknowledge Legolas's presence directly, instead continuing to stand looking out into seeming nothingness. "Mae govannen, gwador," Rumil said, his voice like sun-warmed honey, sending a guilty shiver down Legolas's spine. "I see you are enjoying the view." "Yes, everything is so beautiful here," Legolas answered, forgetting the greeting, "there is a glow – it is like nothing I have seen before. Golden." "This is the Golden Wood," Rumil noted, amusement colouring his voice. //Ai, he thinks me a fool!// Legolas rebuked himself. "I know of that, gwador," he said. "Does it dazzle your eyes so used to the dun of Mirkwood?" "There is light and beauty in Mirkwood as well," Legolas protested. "Oh, I know. I can see it." Legolas's reply died silent on his lips as he considered the flippant comment. Rumil's face was set into a neutral mask, and his dark eyes were unreadable, the gaze burning. A butterfly flitted into the space between the two Elves, veering this way and that before finally settling into Rumil's hair just above the point of his ear. Legolas fought to hide a smile at the unexpected daintiness the insect lent the border guard. Almost unawares, Legolas stretched his hand out, calling the butterfly to him. Rumil reached up, taking hold of Legolas's wrist, moving the hand away before it touched his hair. The strong fingers remained wrapped around his wrist, and Legolas could feel their pulses mingling in a soft cadence of beats. A quick flicker of a smile from Rumil before he let go, fingertips purposefully trailing across the back of Legolas's hand. So unsettling that the gaze was the same deep grey as Haldir's. It held the same glimmer and the same promise. Stepping back, Legolas clasped the hand Rumil had held, as though it carried a wound, then abruptly turned and walked away. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As heavier rain fell, the Galadhrim came bearing cloaks for the Fellowship to wear. Orophin and Rumil were both present, though Orophin did not address Legolas. Rumil, on the other hand, made a great show of assisting Legolas with the clasp, even though it was clear a child could have buckled it. "It will keep you warm," Rumil said, ostensibly smoothing the grey fabric over Legolas's shoulders, "as warm as a mere garment can." Legolas kept his features schooled into a carefully blank expression, bowing in courtesy and stepping back, out of Rumil's reach. "I do not trust the Wardens," Gimli muttered as he walked away with Legolas. "Why do you say that, friend Gimli?" "Do not think malice goes unnoticed, Elven or not. I am not blind, nor am I foolish. Rumil is plotting, and you are the target." Legolas tried to dismiss the claim, but found he did not believe his own words. Trailing his fingertips over the ragged surface of a tree trunk, he searched to form a polite phrase that would not give away his true thoughts. "Do not speak ill of our hosts. The ways of Elves are far different from yours. I have no reason to believe that he would wish me ill." "I did not say plotting ill, master Elf." "Have care with what you say!" "You speak as if the Dwarves know nothing of lust. It is true that the form is not the same as with my kin, yet it is there. Denying it will not lessen it." //How much does Gimli know? And how harsh will his judgement be?// "I --" Legolas said, then halted. He met Gimli's dark gaze, but the Dwarf did not press for an answer, and so they continued to walk in silence. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What are you doing, tithen-ernil?" Legolas started, almost dropping the bow. He had not heard Rumil approach, and though he knew all of Laurelindorenan to be well guarded, he did not wish to fall to carelessness. Silk on silk, white-silver hair against grey Elvencloth. So arcane that the Rumil's hair would seem to draw its colour from the heavens, turning a mellow gold in the sun, and icy silver at the light of the stars. //Like Haldir's.// There was an angry twinge at Legolas's heart at the thought of the squandered chance. "Tending to my weapon, gwador," Legolas finally said, his voice clipped. Casting a quick look around, Rumil bent close to the younger Elf, whispering to him. "You will need a steady hand for such work. Yours is all but shaking. Why so?" he breathed, watching in obvious delight as Legolas shuddered at the sensation of warm breath against his sensitive skin. "Is it not so that the great archers are able to work even with distractions?" Tracing the curve of the ear, Rumil gently lifted away the long braid lying over Legolas's shoulder, then continued: "Do not think you can fool me, tithen-ernil. I know the tricks and habits of your kin. I know your play with hearts." "What is it that leads you to think such things of me, Rumil?" "The chance to see high colour on your face, to break the calm of this impetuous princeling," Rumil said, sliding his arm around Legolas's waist. "It would be wise not to voice one's passions so loudly." "I do no such thing," Legolas protested lamely. "Yes," Rumil chuckled, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to Legolas's ear, "you do." Legolas twitched at the touch of the soft lips against his ear, and as Rumil nipped lightly at the lobe, he gasped, betraying the calm. "The things you say are of the kind meant for a lover's ears only. You should be thankful the others are less sharp of hearing." Rumil's hand, still splayed over the flank of the younger Elf, tightened its grip, forcing Legolas to turn in the cramped embrace. Face inches from Rumil's, Legolas bravely met the level grey gaze of the Warden. The ageless face was calm and beautiful, but there was a tempting smile playing at the corners of Rumil's mouth. For Legolas, it was the easiest of distractions. Rumil was far bolder than Haldir had been, and Legolas reasoned it would mean he was also less duplicitous. //And less cold.// Both leaned in at the same time, tilting their heads to the side as though performing an intricate dance. Rumil's mouth was heated, sweet in its twisted desire, and Legolas eagerly responded to the kiss before realizing the message his reciprocation would send. Leaning his head back and to the side, he broke the kiss. "You have had your kiss, now release me," he said, undoing Rumil's grip on his waist. "What now?" Rumil queried. "Does the prince step back before such innocent pleasures? Or is it that I do not please you?" Not trepidation in that tone, but defiance and desire. "Mayhap you find others more attractive. Is it that you do not wish to see those you pair with?" Rumil went on. "I have no need for your insults, Rumil." "It is strange you should be so reluctant now, Laiquendi. Perhaps I should blindfold you as my brother did. Perhaps then you would yield." "What leads you to think such things?" Legolas tried, feigning lack of knowledge, but knowing his voice would easily betray his thoughts. //He knows, and he will not relent unless I confess.// "Oh, have no fear, he did not tell me... but the night has a thousand eyes." The insinuation struck hard and icy, Rumil's challenge glimmering in the grey eyes. "All things are not what they seem when they are drowned in shadow," Legolas finally said. "As lust is not to be confused with love?" Rumil spat. "That a simple tryst is only to be taken at face value, and as a simple diversion?" "Do not play with words. Speak freely of what you mean." "Then I shall ask the same courtesy of you. Tell me what you have done," Rumil pressed. "I do not need to answer to you. My deeds are my own." "As are the consequences. Tell me, prince, would you take me if I offered myself? Or would you let yourself be taken?" The shame burned. Rumil could not possibly know what had happened; yet Legolas knew the blush on his face would tell what his words did not. He turned his face away, despairingly looking at the sky and the trees around them. "What right do you have to ask me this? To accuse me in such a manner?" "I would not ask if I did not house suspicion," Rumil said, his voice cold. "Trust is rare in times like these." "I might better be able to answer your inquiry if I knew what you are accusing me of," Legolas said, hoping to end the game. "You know of what I speak," Rumil hissed. "How will you make amends?" "I owe neither apology nor amends!" There was a brief spark of rage in Rumil's eyes, and his mouth twisted into the beginning of a snarl. Keeping silent, he gave a sardonic salute before striding away and leaving Legolas to his bitter thoughts. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next night, Legolas sat with the rest of the Fellowship, thinking Rumil would not seek him out if he were in the company of the others. His assumption turned out to be false. Rumil, accompanied by an Elf Legolas did not recognise, approached them at nightfall, carrying cordial and chalices, bidding them to drink with them, saying he wished to know more of "this band of foreign folk". Rumil's Westron was stilted, yet the Hobbits eagerly listened and asked questions as he spoke of his rare journeys outside the borders of Lorien. At Aragorn's reprimand, they did not say much of their own journey or of its purpose. The cordial was a pale golden hue, fragrant with herbs Legolas did not recognise. The taste was cold and clear, a blessed respite from the stagnant water they had drunk on their journey. Legolas wandered away from the others, fingers still curled around the slender chalice. The sounds of the night seemed more clear to him, and he closed his eyes, letting the trees and the stars sing to him. He would try to forget all that had passed in favour of a moment's rest. Varda would soothe her child. Leaning against the wide bole of a mallorn, he let his thoughts drift. His reverie was interrupted by footfalls so soft they would have gone undetected by all save Eldar. As Rumil stole up beside him, laying his arm around Legolas's shoulders in an easy and yet unpleasantly intimate gesture, Legolas let him. He had no mood to begin another debate, and reasoned that if he did not fight, Rumil would lose interest. He cursed the part that felt elation at Rumil's gesture. It would lead to ill, he knew it all too well, and yet it felt so joyous to be among Eldar again, with the Galadhrim both fair and wise. He was torn between extremes. To confront Haldir again would be folly, and yet to refrain from doing so would surely make matters worse. There was something to Rumil's vehemence over Legolas's deeds that spoke of a close bond of kin, and to be faced with the ire of two, or perhaps even three, would surely snarl him into a net of guilt. Rarely had he felt such shame as when he considered his deeds. He had freely fallen into the embrace of the first to make an invitation, without thought as to the consequences. //Yet surely the blame cannot be all mine? It was not I who turned away.// "So beautiful," Rumil murmured, his voice sounding strange to Legolas's ears. Legolas twisted in Rumil's grip, hooking an arm around the older Elf's neck. A drop of the amber cordial still glimmered on Rumil's full lower lip, and Legolas was transfixed by the way it refracted the light. The space of a breath, and he pressed his mouth to Rumil's, sliding his tongue between the lightly parted lips. Softness and warmth in the kiss, and the comfortably tight grip Rumil's arms held him in was familiar and steady. The taste of the herbs in the cordial melded with the tang of Rumil's mouth on his. The kiss grew deep, tongues twining fiercely until the air was spent and they both broke away. A blush rode high on Legolas's cheeks, but Rumil seemed unruffled. "Yes, beautiful indeed," Rumil said, smoothing a wide strand of hair out of Legolas's face, " and all the more fair when he loses his inhibitions." "Are you making an invitation, Rumil?" Legolas asked, drawing out the name. Rumil's hair, spilling onto Legolas's shoulder, was a soft smudge of gold, and Legolas reached up to twine his fingers into the silken strands. "Does it appear so to you?" Rumil retorted, pushing Legolas back against the bole of the tree. "No," he said, laying a kiss to the side of Legolas's neck, "I am not." Rumil set his teeth to the soft lobe of Legolas's ear, only testing the flesh. "I know you prefer the comfort of warriors, tithen-ernil, the pleasures only those alike in body can provide." His hands slid nimbly in under Legolas's shirt, stroking against the skin in teasing circles, and Legolas pushed instinctively against the touch and against the hard body pinning him to the bole of the wide tree. He closed his eyes, and as soon as he did so, Rumil let go, stepping back. Giving a surprised little sound in the back of his throat, Legolas straightened up. "It is as I thought, then," Rumil mused. "You care not to see." Before Legolas had a chance to reply, Rumil walked away, his tread leisurely and slow enough for Legolas to catch up. Breathing deeply, Legolas stayed where he stood, watching Rumil's retreating form vanish into the shadows. Sinking down to sit on the ground, settling to lean his back against a stone, Legolas stared up at the canopy of inky sky and cold stars, starting as a hand was laid on his shoulder. "What is it, Legolas?" Gimli inquired, picking a piece of bark out of Legolas's tangled hair. "It is not your wont to be in such disarray." The words were meant in jest, but Legolas sighed and turned to the Dwarf. "'Tis nothing, friend Dwarf, merely the evidence of a lost temper. The fault is but my own." Gimli squeezed his hands into fists, his ire plain on the grizzled features. His entire posture told that he was ready to strike out. "'Twas the youngest March Warden, was it not? I told you he was plotting." A sad smile curved Legolas's lips for a brief instant, and he clasped Gimli's hand. "Do not seek to hurt him, for he is one of the Galadhrim. He is one of our hosts, and a petty grope does not grant right to injure." "Petty, indeed," Gimli scoffed, "your clothing is in disarray. It is not what I call petty." His hands, seeming clumsy, flatly contradicted their looks and nimbly buttoned up the opened fastenings on Legolas's tunic. The Elf held his breath in fear-mixed wait, but Gimli merely smoothed out the fabric and tucked a stray strand of golden hair behind a pointed ear. There was a rare grace in the movements, and Legolas squeezed Gimli's hand, relishing in the solidity of it. "Thank you, Gimli." "There is something you are not telling me." Legolas winced at the far too accurate statement. "I do not wish to burden you with troubles that are solely my own doing." Gimli watched the silver lamps suspended over their heads, counting the stars above them. "From what I know of troubles, they are seldom to be blamed on only one part of the strife." "That is of little help," Legolas sighed. "I do not know which part is my fault and which is not, and yet it is as though he places too large a part of the blame on me." As soon as he had spoken, he realized that he inadvertently had revealed more than he had intended. "Without knowing the identity of this other part, I shall dare to say that you are both as stubborn," Gimli said, but the voice held very little jest. "This looks to be a conflict long in solving." Legolas chose not to answer, instead letting his thoughts drift into the silence that fell. Gimli's presence was no longer a distraction but a comfort, yet the waking dreams that had always given Legolas peace of mind seemed elusive still, only pale echoes. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "You have walked too long in the company of Men, Legolas," a teasing voice informed. "You stomp." Looking up, Legolas easily spotted Rumil standing on a talan, the newly risen moon dappling him in silver-white light. Leaping gracefully, Legolas grasped the wide branches, delighting in the ease with which he found he could climb. "It is fortunate you at least know how to climb trees, gwador," Rumil continued as Legolas heaved himself up onto the talan. "What is the purpose of this game?" Legolas snapped, determined to find answers. "What do you hope to gain by your incessant mockery?" "I am not like my brother, and yet I understand what he must feel. Tell me, is it your wont to discard your lovers?" Legolas's mind raced. //He thinks it is I who is to blame for all. He does not know all that happened.// "Whatever I have said you have chosen not to believe. I do not place much faith in that you will believe my words this time, yet I will say it again: I did not leave him. If anything, I would have wished him to stay, yet he rudely pushed me away, as though it had all been a mere dalliance." Rumil was visibly shaken, yet quickly composed himself. "Forgive me," he said, sitting down on the talan. He shook his head slowly, as if debating with himself, and Legolas knelt next to him, surprised at the change in Rumil's demeanour. Surely it could not have been that great a surprise? Legolas chose not to reply, and Rumil lifted his hand to cup Legolas's jaw, fingers tracing the arch of a cheekbone, the line of the jaw, and finally the thumb drawing along the lower lip. Legolas saw now how alike Rumil and Haldir were, yet there was a sharpness to Rumil's features. There was no denying he felt attracted to Rumil, despite the insults and accusations he had withstood from him. He felt further guilt at the thought, infidelity in thought - and guilt for pursuing the brother of his failed wooing, as though he would take anyone bearing resemblance to the one lost. Was it indeed so? Was that the reason he accepted Rumil's invitation? Did he hope it would carry an echo? Closing the gap between them, both leaning in at the same time, they kissed slowly. Rumil's arms wrapped around Legolas, holding him close. The kiss turned deeper, tongues meeting and twining, the silence only broken by small gasps for air. Rumil's smooth hands undid the catches of Legolas's tunic, surreptitiously sliding his hands inside. As long fingers brushed a nipple, Legolas gave a harsh groan. Legolas's fumbling hands fought a losing battle with the silver clasps of Rumil's cloak. Then, exasperated, Legolas simply shoved Rumil onto his back. The blonde head snapped back, the silvery tresses spilling over the floor of the talan. Legolas finally regained his dexterity and managed to open the light silvery shirt Rumil was wearing without tearing the delicate material. Smooth, alabaster-pale skin under his hands, two stains of misty rose on the heaving chest. Bending close, Legolas traced the nipples with his tongue, tasting and sucking gently. Rumil arched up, his hands tangling in Legolas's hair. Hips thrusting, grinding, and both moaned at the sensation. Stripping his tunic and undershirt off, Legolas pressed close, skin against skin, and Rumil was almost hot to the touch. The night air whispered over his bare back, a soft caress of leaf-scented breeze. Rumil's hands pulled his head close, down into a searing, deep kiss. "Legolas..." Rumil whispered. Reaching down into the narrow space between their bodies, Legolas cupped his hand to Rumil's groin, feeling the insistent pulse. Stroke and gauge, and he slid his hand inside, giving a small, self-satisfied smile as Rumil bucked against his touch. Familiar and yet alien, silk over steel. One hand stroking, Legolas used the other to undo the laces of Rumil's dark grey leggings. His hand was pale against the rose hue of the sex, the curls under his knuckles a mellow gold. Rumil's head was thrown back, the pale column of his throat exposed, and Legolas wanted to taste, to bite and mark the elder Elf. He kept on stroking, then leaned in, taking the tip of the shaft into his mouth. Taste of salt, and of the crisp scent of forest, and he let his tongue play along the curves. Half-choked words in some Elvish dialect from Rumil, words of far less dignity. Pale hands clenched and unclenched, knuckles rattling against the silvery boards of the talan. Lifting his head, earning an angry hiss from Rumil, Legolas moved up to press a kiss to the hollow of Rumil's neck. Nimble hands undid the catch of his leggings, long fingers wrapping around his erection, and now was his turn to moan. Rumil's hand loosened its grip, travelling over the arch of Legolas's hip to grasp his buttocks. Their erections met, sensitive underside to sensitive underside, and Legolas took a firm grasp, beginning to stroke. Mewls from Rumil, high-pitched sounds of pleasure, as he bucked and twisted. The kisses were rough, barely time to breathe. Drawing a deep breath, Legolas moved back, fisting his own cock, coating it with the pearlescent fluid leaking from the head. The lightest nudge to make Rumil's knees fall apart, and Legolas took hold of one muscular calf, placing it on his shoulder. The space of a breath, and he thrust in, to the hilt, into the yielding heat. A long, shuddering moan from Rumil at the invasion, and he arched, biting his lip as his eyelids fluttered closed. "Look at me. Look at me!" Legolas commanded, holding Rumil's head in his hands, fingers tangled into the long hair. Rumil stared back, wide-eyed, then tried to close his eyes. Legolas's grip tightened, and Rumil gave a small pained moan, but obeyed, locking eyes with Legolas. Was this what Haldir had looked like? Had the clear grey gaze been muddled with passion, deepening to near blue like Rumil's was now? In spite of himself, Legolas found himself even more aroused by the memory of Haldir's touches, at the same time more gentle and more rough than Rumil's. As the climax neared, Legolas buried his head in Rumil's neck, licking at the skin, tasting salt and sweetness and that which was Elves alone. One last thrust, and they both fell over the edge. Legolas bit down, hard, and clamped his hand over Rumil's mouth to muffle the scream. Rumil, twisting in agonized release, had his head bent back as he stared at seeming nothingness. For Legolas, the stars fell out of their tracks, blending into a rush of silver for each convulsion. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wincing at the regret that rose immediate and unbidden when he was at his weakest. Rumil stilled, then suddenly twisted out of Legolas's grip, kneeling up and turning away. "Go now," he said, his voice tense with anger. "Go." His back shook, and Legolas could not tell if it was from the cold or the shame. Rumil's hair hung like a tangled curtain in front of his face, and he still kneeled, hunched over, not making a move. As Legolas picked up Rumil's cloak to lay it over his shoulders, Rumil snatched the garment from him and shoved Legolas back. Legolas's hands felt like ice when he quickly dressed himself, buttoning up his tunic wrongly in his haste. Rumil scarcely moved, save to pull his tunic on. He did not look at Legolas, but kept his back turned. Rumil's sudden change in mood had baffled Legolas. All had seemed to be well, and he had lost himself in the moment, thinking he would not repeat his earlier mistake. And yet he had. Rumil drew away from him, angered over something Legolas could not see. No, that was false, he realized. It was not a matter of him not seeing; it was he not wishing to see. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Legolas strode between the trees, seeking to put as much distance as he could between himself and Rumil, wanting to wipe the foul taste of regret from his mouth. He had failed, fallen to such base deeds. The tranquillity of Lorien seemed to mock him. He had no one to blame but himself. //Look to yourself for blame.// "Couplings should not be made in haste or in anger, Legolas," Gimli said, looking up at the tall Elf, "for that will bring naught but sorrow." "I -- " Legolas tried, then sighed and sat down on a gnarled tree root. "I did not know what I wanted. I still do not." "Haldir hurt you. And you wished to repay the deed, but did not find him, and so you lashed out at the next who invited you." "I did not ask you to pry!" Gimli held his hands up as Legolas stood up and began to stride back and forth in the small clearing. "Why does it seem all others withhold from me things I should know? Do all of you spy on me?" "Friend Legolas, sit down. Your striding is unnerving me." Gimli settled back, looking Legolas square in the eyes, then continued: "You should not let your feelings drive you so. I know little of Elves, yet thus much have I gleaned: bonds not made for life will fade, like ice in the rays of the sun. Did you not realize this?" Legolas broke the gaze, shaking his head angrily. "You make it sound as though I give myself to all around me!" "Rethink the past days, friend Elf. Twice have you shared yourself, and with only the slightest prompting." "I do not need this! Insult heaped upon insult – and what would a Dwarf know of this? What?" "Of this - perhaps nothing. Of insults - you will do well in noting when an insult is made to anger, and when it is made to glean knowledge. I told you before that Rumil was plotting, and you did not believe me. I do not wish to flaunt your failure, yet I hope you will now see the error of your ways." //Oh, I see them. All too well do I see them.// [END] To be continued and ended in Triskelion: Torque. Additional notes: this fic incorporates some parts of dialogue and narrative from the books, so if it looks familiar, it's probably Tolkien's. And yes, it's on purpose.