Title: Winds of War, 1/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Rúmil, Haldir Rating: NC-17 Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Summary: Rúmil senses danger, Mirkwood burns, and Legolas fears for his father. Rúmil sat against the bole of the tall mallorn, his cloak drawn tight against the wind that whipped the branches of the trees around them. The wind was cold, carrying with it the scent of snow from the peaks of the Misty Mountains. It had been over sixty years since he had last seen his beloved Sindar King, though word had reached him from time to time in the form of letters carried to him in the talons of Thranduil's hunting falcons. Mirkwood grew more dangerous by the day; Orcs grew bolder and larger in number, and they concentrated their efforts on the already vulnerable realm of Thranduil Oropherion. While the roving bands of orcs avoided the Golden Wood, Rúmil and his fellow guardians observed their passing. Often Rúmil would press Haldir to take the offensive and attack, in the hopes of waylaying or preventing the marauders from reaching Mirkwood. Although it pained Haldir to know the realm of Mirkwood came under siege, he would not risk the lives of his soldiers nor risk bringing an assault on their realm, so he refused. Rúmil closed his eyes and drew his knees closer to his chest, his bow resting across them. He tried to busy himself with his duty, rather than dwell on how much he missed his lover. However, in idle moments like this one, he could not resist the call of memory. He conjured Thranduil's image in his mind, envisioning the Sindar's flaxen hair, his sparkling sapphire eyes, his alabaster skin stretched taut across muscles that seemed to be made of iron. He remembered Thranduil's haunting voice, its deep, reverberating tone that soothed his spirit. He remembered his touch, soft at times, possessive at others, yet always in chest, the dull, empty ache that always lay just beneath the surface threatening to rise up and overwhelm his senses. His eyes snapped open as the faint scent of smoke drifted into his nostrils. Quickly, he regained his feet and scrambled up the tree to find the location of the fire. Fire was one of the most deadly threats to wood-elves. Upon reaching the lookout platform, he joined Orophin and Haldir who were already scanning the horizon. "Do you see it?" he asked, his own sharp eyes watching the sky above the treetops. "Not yet," Orophin replied. "The wind comes from the north," Haldir added. Rúmil's heart skipped. "No!" he gasped, before leaping to the ground and running toward a steep hillside. "Rúmil!" Haldir called, and made chase. Scrambling up the loose soil, he followed his younger brother closely, grasping at rocks and small shrubs for leverage. Upon reaching the top, he found Rúmil and clasped him by the shoulder. His youngest brother turned, one trembling finger pointing in the distance. As Ithil's light broke through the clouds he could see smoke billowing into the air. "Mirkwood burns," Rúmil said in a hushed, frightened whisper. Haldir swallowed his own fear and fought back the urge to run toward the north. His duty to his realm did not keep him from wanting to help his dear friend. "We must help, Haldir!" Rúmil cried. "We cannot leave them to face this alone!" "Rúmil!" Haldir cried, grasping his brother's arm and preventing his departure. "Even if we possessed the means to stop the fire, it would be days before we reached them. There is no time…" He squeezed Rúmil's shoulder as he saw the tears welling in his brother's eyes. It broke his heart to see Rúmil so pained. "The lady!" Rúmil cried. "She can help; she possesses the power…" Rúmil tore down the hillside and began running toward Caras Galadhon with all the speed he could muster. * * * * Legolas growled as he thrust his knives into the chest of an orc. Battle raged around him, fire was consuming the trees in the southern reaches of his homeland. His father's battalion was but some 500 yards behind him, advancing quickly from the north despite the burning trees that fell around them. Arrows were splitting the air, the high- pitched whine echoing in his ears. He heard his warriors fighting and dying, his small patrol close to being overwhelmed by the large numbers of orcs that advanced upon them. Spinning, he slashed the throat of another clean open and was doused in black blood as it erupted from the gaping wound. ‘Too fast' he thought to himself. ‘Too fast and too many, we cannot hold out…' He ducked to the right as his father's spear sailed through the air, pinning a large orc to the trunk of a tree behind him. Removing his blades from his victim's chest, he turned to look at the orc who had been poised to run him through from behind. The sound of his father growling in rage and pain caused him to turn quickly. He watched as his king was driven back against a large rock by three arrows that struck him in the shoulder, arm and thigh. "Father!" he cried, and began running toward him, savagely slashing at anything that got in his way. Thranduil's regiment had come upon the marauding orcs full force, and the beasts were driven back around them. Upon reaching his king, he fell to his knees in the dirt, the sounds of retreating orcs barely registering in his ears. Thranduil's breath was rapid and shallow, his precious blood spilling from his wounds. Legolas could see the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead, and he grasped the shaft of one of the black arrows in his fist. He looked at his father with frightened and pleading eyes, then closed them as he pulled the first arrow from his arm. Thranduil set his jaw and growled against the pain, refusing to cry out. He took several deep and rapid breaths, then prepared himself for the next one. Legolas pulled the arrow from his thigh, then reached with trembling hands for the one in his shoulder. Thranduil looked at his son, covered in black blood, his face pale and eyes glistening with tears. He placed his hand over Legolas own and shook his head; then, closing his own fist over the shaft, pulled the final arrow out himself. He could not prevent the cry of pain, small as it was, that came from him and he trembled as Legolas made a compress from his own tunic to stop the bleeding. Already fever was setting in, and he stared with black eyes into the darkness of the forest. He had seen this, in the lady's mirror. This attack had been foretold. Indeed, upon taking the creature into his care, he wondered if this would not be the time. There was something evil about the wretched thing; yet, he had been unable to refuse Mithrandir's request. In the darkness, among the smell of smoke and death, he recognized his fate and the fate of all Middle-earth. There was no amount of hoping that could change what must come; there was no bargain to be made to prevent the inevitable. He began to slip in and out of wakefulness and he heard Legolas' voice calling him back each time he began to fade. It broke his heart, the ache and fear in his son's voice. He felt drops of clean rain falling from the sky and he looked up. Slowly, a smile curved his lips as he whispered thanks to the Valar. His home would not burn that day. He tried to lift his hand to comfort Legolas, yet he could not summon the strength. Turning his head to look upon the one whom he loved more than life itself, he struggled to hold Legolas' image in his sight and mind. He wanted it to be the last thing he saw. "I love you," he whispered, for a hoarse whisper was all he could summon. "Everything I have done, I have done for you…" "Please, father. Stay with me now. I need you here with me; please do not leave me alone." "You have made me so proud, Greenleaf," he whispered again. "Father, please. I cannot do this without you; I cannot go on without you…" "I hear him calling me, Legolas. I hear my father…" "No! No! Father!" The healers rushed forward and began administering to their king while Legolas watched helplessly, refusing to release his father's hand. * * * * Rúmil gripped the edge of the basin as he looked into the lady's mirror. He saw the rain falling and sighed in relief. He searched the murky images for sign of his king; yet saw none. As he began to give up hope, he saw the image of Thranduil slumped against a rock and saw Legolas beside him. "No! No!" he cried as tears began to fall, creating ripples in the mirror. He turned his frightened gaze to Galadriel. "Please, my lady! He is dying! Help him, I beg you." "I cannot come between Mandos and his will, Rúmil. There is nothing I can do to prevent what you see." Haldir gripped Rúmil's shoulders to keep his brother from falling to the ground in his grief. "Is there nothing to be done?" he asked. Galadriel turned her sad gaze upon her captain and shook her head, then she slowly walked away. * * * * Elrohir sat up in bed and gasped. Clutching the sheets around him, he stared into the darkness of his room. His heart raced, his hands trembled as he tried to make sense of the frightening images in his dream. He was overcome with anguish and fear so palpable that he could taste it. He heard the door to his room open and he looked up to see his twin. "Elrohir? Are you all right?" Elladan said softly. "I sensed something was wrong…" Elladan saw Elrohir reach out for him and he quickly crossed the room and sat upon the side of his twin's bed. Holding Elrohir in his arms, he rocked him gently, stroking his hair as he felt him tremble. "Tell me what has you so upset." "A dream," Elrohir answered. "A horrible, frightening nightmare." "Was it about mother?" Elladan said softly. "No," Elrohir answered. "It was about Legolas. He is in trouble, Elladan, though I do not know how." "Perhaps it is just a dream, nothing more…" "I hope you are right, but I fear that is not the case." Elrohir turned his gaze up to his twin's. "Can you stay with me for a little while?" Elladan nodded. "Aye, I will stay." He stretched out beside Elrohir on top of the covers and held his twin until he fell asleep again. * * * * Haldir stood beside Rúmil, one hand upon his back, the other hanging limply by his side. Rúmil refused to leave the mirror until he saw more of the fate of Thranduil, and Haldir would not leave his youngest brother alone. Orophin approached quietly, taking a seat on a bench a short distance away. They would stay all night and all of the next day if need be; they would stay until Rúmil had the answers he needed to have. Galadriel had been able to summon the rain to save the forest, but even her powers were not so great as to be able to alter one's fate. If she knew the fate of Thranduil, she would not tell it; there were some secrets that must be kept. Haldir's heart broke when he thought of the fear and anguish Legolas must be feeling. He was not sure what would become of the prince should his father travel to Mandos' halls. ‘Too young,' he thought. ‘He is too young to have suffered so much; too young to lose his anchor.' Without a word, and wracked from anguish and exhaustion, Rúmil faltered. Haldir caught him in his arms and carried him to his talan with Orophin in tow. After seeing Rúmil ensconced beneath the covers, Haldir stepped outside to speak with Orophin. "Orcs are still moving outside the borders, but I do not think they are making for Mirkwood," Orophin said in a hushed whisper. "They seem to be looking for something, but we cannot tell what." "Keep watch," Haldir answered quietly. He furrowed his brow. "It does not make sense. If Thranduil is dead, now is the time to launch an attack, while the realm is vulnerable. Why do they not press their advantage?" Orophin shook his head. "Perhaps the goal isn't the overthrow of Mirkwood. Perhaps the goal is something different?" Haldir sighed. "Let us hope that what Rúmil saw is not true. Let us hope that the king lives and his realm remains strong. We cannot afford to lose an ally like him." Orophin nodded. "I hope for both Rúmil's and Legolas' sake that he does live; for I do not know what will become of either of them if he does not." Haldir patted his brother on the shoulder. "Keep me abreast of what his happening. I will remain here with Rúmil until I am certain he is all right." Orophin nodded and left his younger brother's talan and headed back to the fences. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 2/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Rúmil, Haldir Rating: NC-17 Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Summary: Legolas suffers guilt, Rúmil has a dream, and Lindir and Gildor share some afternoon delight. "My lord, it will not do for your father to wake and see you in such a condition. You really must let me remove your soiled garments and get you into the bath." Legolas looked at his father's chambermaid. He had known her since he was a small elfling and she had never been one to take no for an answer. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips and a grim expression on her face. "The healer will stay with him until you return. You heard what he said, your father has a good chance of recovering from his wounds." Legolas sighed and nodded in acquiescence. "I think I can manage to undress and bathe myself," he said softly as he crossed the threshold of his father's private bathing chamber. The chambermaid stood outside the door with her hand held out. "Very well, just hand your garments through the door and I will see if they are salvageable." As she accepted Legolas' garments one by one, she added, "It would do your warriors good to see you, my lord. They are grieving the loss of their brothers and they fear for their king." "I will go to the barracks as soon as my father is no longer in danger," Legolas answered. "My first duty is to him." "As you wish, my lord. I will send for sustenance; you are weary and weak from battle." Before Legolas could protest, she was gone, and he sighed as he stepped into the warm bath. Sinking below the water, he felt the grime and blood float away from his skin, caught up in the bath oil the chambermaid had placed in the steaming tub. Retrieving a fine net from the wall, he skimmed the grime from the surface of the water and placed the net in a small basin beside the tub. He reached up and retrieved a crystal phial of clove oil and poured it in, then laid his head back against the smooth stone and sighed as he closed his eyes. It was dawn; he could sense the light changing as it filtered through the small, leaded glass windows of his father's chamber. It had been a full day since he and his small patrol took their prisoner for a walk in the woods. He felt his lower lip tremble as tears spilled down his cheeks. It was his fault. It was his fault that his father nearly died, that those under his command fell in battle, that the wood burned and the creature escaped. It was all his fault. Never had he felt so ashamed, so weak; never had he felt like such a failure. He was exhausted and raw inside. In the space of a day, his emotions and strength had been tested to their very limits. Bruised and battered, sick at heart, he allowed the tears to fall into the warm water; he was no longer able to hold back the tide of emotion that welled within him. He wept quietly. He did not want anyone to hear him, least of all his beloved king. When he thought of how close he came to losing him, he began to tremble. He had felt utterly lost when he saw his father slip into unconsciousness; he felt like a boat which had lost its mooring and drifted aimlessly upon the vast sea. It was though the ties that bound him to his past, to his identity, had been severed and in that instant, he couldn't remember who he was. For as long as he could remember, a deep secret had lurked beneath the surface of his consciousness. Many would say it was reasonable for him to fear losing his father, for he had lost his mother at such a young age when she sailed to Aman. However, he was no longer a young elf. He was young in years, this was true, but no longer young at heart. He had seen too much, done too much killing to still be so young. He thought of his father again, of the war his father had seen when he had been about the same age as he himself was now. He wondered how his father felt when Oropher fell. Did Thranduil feel lost and unteathered as he did himself just hours ago? The water began to cool and Legolas lifted his weary body from the water, drying himself with a thick, soft cloth before slipping into his father's too large night robe. When he emerged from the bathing chamber, a pot of hot tea sat on the small table by the fire, along with some bread, cheese, and a bowl of stew. He nodded to the healer, who bowed in response before leaving him alone with the king. He sank wearily into the large chair and ate the simple meal while the heat of the fire dried his hair. Every so often, he would cast a glance at his father's sleeping form, so peaceful in its reverie. Upon finishing the meal and the tea, he moved to his father's bed, climbing beneath the covers and resting his head upon his hand. He watched over his father, struggling to stay awake. The bed was so warm, so soft, so comforting. He reached out and placed his hand upon his father's chest, just over the location of his heart, closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the rhythmic thump-thump of his heart. Slowly, reluctantly, he slipped into an exhausted sleep, his own breathing and heartbeat mirroring his father's. * * * * Rúmil woke to find Haldir sitting in a chair beside his bed. He sat up slowly and rubbed his face, then looked at his sleeping brother. Haldir's head was tilted to one side, precariously balanced against the back of the chair. His grey-blue eyes were fogged with reverie, his hands rested on the arms of the chair and his feet were planted a small distance apart. Haldir looked tired. Rúmil could not ever recall him looking tired before, even after a long tour on the fences. He had a dream. In that dream, he saw Thranduil; he saw him riding across the Vales of the Anduin on his large black stallion. Rúmil couldn't be sure how he knew, but he knew it was a sign that the king lived and that he would be all right. He woke feeling better than he had when he fell asleep the night before, and he resolved to pay another visit to Galadriel's mirror that day to confirm his feelings. He stretched, a quiet groan escaping him as he twisted from side to side and reached high above his head. He heard Haldir stir, and looked to see his elder brother rubbing his own face and tucking an errant braid behind one ear. "You slept in that chair all night?" Rúmil asked quietly. "I suppose I did," Haldir answered. "Though I do not recall falling asleep." "I am sorry, Haldir, if I worried you," Rúmil answered. "Do not apologize, Rúmil. It is understandable that you would feel the way you did. I know how much you care for him." "I dreamt of him last night," Rúmil replied. "In my heart, I know he is all right, though I cannot tell you how. I want to look into the mirror again, to see if it will reveal anything else to me." "I am sure the lady will grant you such a request. She was very worried about you last night." "I must apologize to her, for causing her such worry…" Rúmil replied quietly. Haldir rose from his chair and stretched. "Come, I will prepare something to eat, then we will go to the lady." Rúmil rose from the bed and embraced his brother. "Thank you, Haldir," he said quietly. Haldir cradled Rúmil's head against his shoulder. "I am your brother; there is no need to thank me." He took Rúmil's hand and guided him from the bedroom into the kitchen. * * * * Gildor entered the apartment he shared with his mate and placed his bow and sword upon the floor after closing the door behind him. The apartment smelled of fresh baked bread, and a crystal pitcher of fresh lemonade sat on the table by the window. "Gildor, is that you?" "Yes, my love," Gildor answered, bending down and inhaling deeply of the still steaming bread. "Could you lend me hand?" Lindir called out. "I'm in the bedchamber." "Are you moving furniture again?" Gildor answered with a smile. He entered the bedchamber to find Lindir reclining upon the bed, his thin robe partially open to expose his chest and one long, slender thigh. Lindir's hand wandered aimlessly up and down his own chest, his hair was loose, spilling in flaxen waves around his shoulders. A sensual smile curved his mate's mouth, causing Gildor to lick his lips. "Oh my," Gildor purred. "You do look as though you are in dire need of my assistance…" Lindir blinked slowly. "I have been in quite a state since you woke me up so deliciously this morning. I have been able to think of nothing else all day…" "How cruel of me to stir such desires in you then leave you alone for hours…" Gildor answered with a smile. "and hours, and hours… with nothing to do but daydream of being ravished by you…" Lindir bit his lower lip. Gildor tossed his tunic onto a chair by the bed. "And they say passion fades after years of marriage." "They lie," Lindir answered with a wicked smile. Gildor tossed his leggings onto the same chair. "Indeed they do…" He mounted the bed, lowering himself between his mate's legs and consuming Lindir's mouth in a searing kiss. A small growl of desire escaped him as Lindir fisted his hair in his long fingers; his love's needful moans caused his rapidly rising arousal to twitch between them. "Valar, how I love it when you are like this," Lindir breathed between kisses. "So hungry for me, so possessive…" "I am always hungry for you, my love," Gildor murmured against Lindir's collarbone. "How could I not be? You are perfection…" Lindir dug his fingers into Gildor's shoulders. "I do not know what has come over me," he whispered sultrily. "I have been burning for this all day… Your mouth, it is so hot, so wet…" Gildor tugged upon one of Lindir's nipples with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. He grimaced as Lindir's fingers dug into his sore shoulder and a small grunt of discomfort escaped him. Lindir squirmed beneath Gildor, sliding down into the bed and wrapping his legs around his lover's hips. Reaching down, he untied Gildor's loincloth and threw it across the room, then stretched to reach for the phial of oil he had prepared. He cried out softly as Gildor's teeth marked his shoulder and the fingers of one hand dug into Gildor's muscular backside. Their turgid lengths brushed against one another, heightening their desire. Lindir's fingers closed around the phial and he brought it to Gildor. "Take me, Gildor, now," he breathed. Gildor rose and rolled Lindir to his stomach, taking the phial from his hand and quickly preparing himself with it. After cursory preparation, he entered Lindir, a deep groan escaping him as he was seated inside his mate's body. Lindir cried out and bucked back against Gildor, and his love began to move. He clawed at the bedcovers and writhed beneath his mate as Gildor rode him hard. Their coupling was brief, but intense, and with a deep growl, Gildor spilled himself inside his body. Lindir lay panting beneath him, his arousal pulsating, trapped between his stomach and the bed. He felt Gildor rise off him slowly, a quiet whimper escaping his lips as Gildor slipped from his body. He was rolled to his back, and he cried out as Gildor engulfed him, skillfully and quickly bringing him release. His hands trembled as he caressed Gildor's thick mane of dark hair and he shivered in delight as soft, warm kisses were deposited along his torso. He gazed up into Gildor's eyes with a sleepy smile and caressed his face. "Are you well, my love?" Gildor asked, concern written upon his face. "Mmm-hmm…" Lindir mumbled. "I will not be riding a horse for a day or so, but I am fine." "Did I hurt you?" Gildor asked worriedly. Lindir smiled. "Not really. It was what I wanted, Gildor. I am fine… it is a good kind of discomfort." Lindir cradled Gildor's worried face in his hands. "Truly, my love, I am fine. I am not made of crystal, you know." "I know… it is just that we have never… done that, like that," Gildor answered. "I loved it, Gildor," Lindir answered. "It was just what I wanted. Perhaps not every time should be like that, but I loved it nonetheless." "I would never hurt you," Gildor murmured against Lindir's lips. "I love you…" "I know," Lindir answered. "I trust you with my life, and I love you even more." He cradled Gildor's head against his shoulder. "I am so lucky, so very lucky…" he whispered. Gildor slid his hands beneath Lindir's shoulder blades. "As am I, my love, as am I…" To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 3/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Rúmil, Haldir Rating: NC-17 Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Summary: Thranduil thinks about the nature of his relationship with Legolas; Elladan makes a startling admission; Glorfindel and Erestor share a rare day off. Thranduil awoke with a start, his eyes clearing and his breath coming in a shallow gasp. Disoriented, he looked at his surroundings and saw he was in his bed back in the caves. A nagging pain gnawed at his shoulder, arm and leg, and a slow sigh escaped him. He felt something on his chest. Looking down, he saw Legolas' hand resting just over the location of his heart, and he followed the length of his son's arm with his eyes to gaze upon Legolas' sleeping form. The last image he had of Legolas was one of a battle weary soldier. His son had been covered in grime and blood, some black, some red, and his fair face had been marred by battle. As he looked upon his son now, he saw a fine scratch along his cheek marring his otherwise flawless alabaster skin. Bruises were beginning to form upon his chest and arms, yet he was still remarkable in his beauty. A lock of flaxen hair fell in a loose wave across his face, his soft lips were parted slightly and his sweet breath flowed in and out in a gentle rhythm. His eyes, azure eyes that often sparkled with life and mirth were clouded with reverie, and though their brilliance was faded in sleep, they still caused the king's heart to swell with pride and love. His son wore his sleeping robe, and the velvet garment nearly swallowed his leaner form. The thick folds draped over a narrow waist and hips, long legs and broad shoulders. Thranduil was reminded of how young his son was still, though well past his majority. ‘So much like your mother,' he thought. ‘So elegant and so full of life.' He and Legolas had always been close; his son had never been through that rebellious phase that so many sons experienced with their fathers. Legolas had spent his life trying to please him, and in the beginning, he thought that his son bore some misplaced guilt for his mother leaving. However, in time, the king realized the true nature of Legolas' devotion and loyalty, though he suspected his son was unaware of it. Long ago, Thranduil's own father had told him a story. Then Lord Oropher, his father explained to a young Thranduil about the nature of love in the form of a story about the Lady Lúthien and the nobleman Beren. "It is our hearts that choose, Thranduil," Oropher had said, "not our minds. Sometimes the choice it makes is one that defies our will or the laws of our people." Indeed, Lúthien's choice had brought much grief to her parents and in the end, it brought her own death. However, Oropher had told Thranduil that she had no other choice, nor did Beren. Their hearts found their true mates upon their meeting, and neither could ever love another. Thranduil, just coming into his own majority, asked how one knew when one was with one of their heart's choosing. Oropher had smiled and answered, "You will know; it will be undeniable." Thranduil had gone on to meet the elf maid who would become his wife. She made him laugh, she made him smile, and above all, she made him feel loved. They married, he went to war, he returned as a changed elf. No longer a prince but a king, the things he had seen, the hurt he had borne in the form of his father's death had changed who he was. He kept his emotions in check always, maintaining tight control over his heart and his feelings. With the birth of his son came a chink in his armor; the tiny elfling, so headstrong and willful, so delicate and beautiful, reawakened his heart. He was a devoted father and had always been a good husband. But the warmth and familiarity that had once been between his wife and him was no longer there. He was kind, he was gentle, and above all, he was faithful and honorable. However, it was not enough. Upon Legolas' thirtieth birthday, she left for the Havens. She left the choice to stay or sail up to Legolas, who could not leave his father. Thranduil supposed now that she saw what he did not then. Loyalty was not why Legolas stayed. As his son grew into his adult form, as he became the strong warrior and prince he was now, Thranduil understood the story his father told him long ago. How he wished his father were there now to give counsel, to explain to him how such a thing could happen. Was not the fate of all elves known to Manwë? Had he done something, had Legolas done something that meant they should be punished thusly? As much as he loved the one lying beside him now, as much as his heart ached to love him as it was meant to, he was Legolas' father, whether by chance or design, and he would never, never bring such shame upon the one that was most dear to him. Others would never understand. How could they? This went against the natural order of things. If he could bear the punishment alone, he would. But he could not ask Legolas to suffer thusly; he would not. He thought of Elladan and Elrohir then. He thought of their bravery, of their willingness to risk shame and banishment for the love they shared. ‘Ah, but it would be so much worse for us,' he thought. ‘I am his father; it would be seen as a betrayal of my duty as such. He would be outcast and labeled as a deviant. Never. Never will my son suffer such a fate.' Legolas took a deep breath and his eyes began to clear from reverie. Upon seeing his father awake, he smiled. "How do you feel?" he asked softly. "I have felt better, but I will be fine." "You gave me quite a scare," Legolas answered. "I thought you were going to fade when you said you heard your father calling you." "I told him I was not ready; I told him you were not ready," Thranduil answered softly. "I will never be ready, father. Not for that." "I suppose we never are. I was not ready to lose my own." Thranduil closed his eyes. "I could not even retrieve his body to bury it." Legolas slid closer and wrapped his arm around his father's waist, resting his head upon Thranduil's uninjured shoulder. "I am sorry, father," he said softly. Thranduil stroked Legolas hair comfortingly. "It is the nature of life; pain and joy must go hand in hand." Legolas sighed and blinked sleepily. "This reminds me of all the times I would sleep with you when I was young." Thranduil smiled. "I would hear the door creak upon its hinges and hear your tiny footsteps crossing the floor. I would know then that you had a nightmare, and without a word, you would climb into the bed and snuggle close. You never asked permission…" Legolas laughed softly. "I did not need permission, or at least I did not think I did. I saw it as my right. You were my father; I had a right to do as I pleased." Thranduil chuckled. "You are not much different now." Legolas laughed again. "I have always loved this bed. It is so soft, so warm… I feel like I belong here; like I am safe here." "You are," Thranduil answered. "You always will be. Sleep, Greenleaf. We both need our rest." "Aye. I love you, father." "And I love you, my son." Legolas drifted into reverie quickly as Thranduil closed his eyes and lost himself in his son's comforting presence. * * * * Elrohir entered Elladan's chamber and found his brother standing before the window, staring out at the mountains. He could tell by Elladan's posture that something was bothering him; he stood with arms crossed, his hands gripping his elbows. He approached, placing his hands upon Elladan's shoulders. "What is the matter, Elladan?" he asked quietly. "He knows." "What? Who?" "Father." Elrohir swallowed a lump in his throat. "What does he know?" "He knows about us, about you and me." Elrohir closed his eyes. This was the thing they dreaded; this was the thing they had feared for so long. "How do you know? Has he said anything?" "No. Nevertheless, I can see it in his eyes. He knows, Elrohir; of that, I am certain." Elrohir wrapped his arms around Elladan's waist and laid his head upon his twin's shoulder. "What are we to do?" "I do not know, but I will not give you up, Elrohir, I cannot." "Nor will I give you up, Elladan. I could not live without you." He took a deep breath, and then continued, "Perhaps we should leave. We could ride north and join the Grey Company, or ride east to Mirkwood." "It is too dangerous to travel east. I received word that orcs are gathering in the north. I think Halbarad and Estel would be grateful for our assistance." Elrohir nodded. "Then that is what we shall do. I do not wish to bring shame upon father and Arwen, Elladan." "Nor do I, Elrohir, though the worst is in him knowing." "We have been careful," Elrohir whispered. "Not careful enough," Elladan answered. "I suppose it was foolish to think we could hide it from him. Nothing remains hidden from him for long." "It will be all right, Elladan. Everything will be all right." Elladan placed his hands on top of Elrohir's. "I hope you are right. I love you, Elrohir." "I love you, Elladan." * * * * Glorfindel sat back in the rocking chair on the porch of his and Erestor's new house. Erestor designed it and they had both overseen the construction of it. It was a modest house, with an open front porch and an enclosed sunroom in the back. It contained a study, two bedchambers, a large living area, a kitchen, a wine cellar and a private bath. It was a short walk to the barracks and stables and sat next to a creek that ran through a grove of birch trees. Glorfindel had made a hammock and strung it between two of the stronger trees near the creek, and Asfaloth had taken up residence in the meadow behind the house. It was a warm afternoon, the first of the summer season, and Erestor was tending the garden in the front of the house. The counselor had a real knack for growing things, and enjoyed cooking as well. Glorfindel was growing accustomed to the sumptuous meals prepared by his mate in their new house; he was also quite delighted with their newfound privacy. He crossed his ankles, flexing and wiggling his bare feet upon the low railing of the porch. His hair was unbound, his shirt open and his trousers loose. He linked his fingers behind his head and took a deep breath, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "I could get quite used to this," he murmured, as he admired his mate. Erestor knelt in the soft earth, working a bulb of garlic free with a small handheld shovel. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, his feet were bare and his loose shirt was untucked on one side. Glorfindel loved seeing Erestor this way, unconcerned with his appearance, relaxed and at harmony with the world around him. It was so different from his day-to-day demeanor while performing his office; one would barely recognize him as he was in that moment. Erestor placed the bulb of garlic in his basket, an expression of satisfaction upon his face. He then rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his trousers and picked up his basket. He approached the house with a satisfied smile. "The garden is flourishing with this weather," he said, climbing the few steps to the porch. "I plan to make a roast from the loin the butcher delivered yesterday, perhaps we could have some roasted baby potatoes and asparagus with it?" "Sounds delicious," Glorfindel answered. "Are you finished working in the garden?" "Aye." "Good, then you can come for a swim with me. It is a warm day and I think a nice dip in the spring would be quite refreshing." Erestor stopped and set his basket down, leaning over and giving his love a kiss. He pulled Glorfindel's shirt aside and looked at the bruises on his chest. "Must you and Gildor train so strenuously? Look at the bruises on your chest." "They are but bruises, they will fade in a day. Sometimes we get a little carried away, it is not that uncommon." Erestor pulled Glorfindel's collar aside. "Is biting part of the training regimen now?" Glorfindel chuckled. "You did that, not Gildor." Erestor's eyes widened. "I did that?" "Yes, last night. Do you not remember?" "I suppose I was carried away as well." Erestor winked. Glorfindel reached up and pulled Erestor into his lap. "Indeed you were. ‘Tis a good thing I do not have to ride today…" "Oh, stop it, Glorfindel." Glorfindel chuckled and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Erestor's ear. "I love you, Erestor." Erestor leaned down and nuzzled his mate's mouth with his own. "Mmm… and I love you, Glorfindel." "Swim with me, naked. I love it when you are naked," Glorfindel murmured against Erestor's mouth. Erestor chuckled. "Incorrigible." "But you love me for it." "That I do." He pressed a kiss to Glorfindel's lips, tugging upon his lower lip as he pulled away. "Let me store the vegetables then I will join you, hmm?" "Alright, but do not be long." Glorfindel gave Erestor's backside a playful swat as his mate walked away. Glorfindel closed his eyes and smiled. It seemed as if all were as it should be, after so long. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 4/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Rúmil, Haldir Rating: NC-17 Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Summary: Glorfindel and Erestor take time to appreciate each other, the twins leave for the north. Glorfindel reclined on the blanket beside Erestor, Anor's light warming their bare bodies as they lounged beside the small lake. High above, clouds drifted across the sky, large masses of white against a canvas of pale blue. He turned his head, looking at his lover who was so peaceful in his half-slumbering, half-waking state. On impulse, he reached across and took Erestor's hand, raising it into the air as his mate opened his eyes. Erestor looked at Glorfindel, an amused frown on his face. He opened his mouth to ask what his mate was doing when Glorfindel spoke: "What do you see there?" Glorfindel guided Erestor's hand toward a large cloud that drifted overhead. Erestor smiled and pointed his finger. "A hare, with large floppy ears and a soft white tail." He traced the outline of the figure he saw in the clouds. He then guided Glorfindel's hand to a different cloud. "What do you see in that one?" "A carriage," Glorfindel answered, tracing the outline with his finger. Guiding Erestor's hand to yet another cloud, he asked, "And there?" "An apple," Erestor answered. "There?" "A horse." Erestor rolled to his side and into the crook of Glorfindel's outstretched arm, resting his head upon his mate's shoulder. "I was thinking of when we were young, back home in Aman," Glorfindel said softly. "Do you remember that day on the beach?" "I do," Erestor answered. "I have thought of it often." "I think that is when I first fell in love with you," Glorfindel said quietly. "Though I did not know what love was at the time. All I knew was that I wanted to spend everyday with you, that seeing you made me smile, that being with you felt good." Erestor caressed his warrior's bare chest. "I think I was in love with you as well, though like you, I did not understand it. I was always so jealous of others that would divert your attention from me." Glorfindel pressed his lips to the top of Erestor's head. "I never knew you were jealous." "I worked hard to hide it." "That night, after we spent the day on the beach, I lay in my small bed at home, restless, unable to sleep." He closed his eyes. "I remember it well… I was thinking of you, thinking of what we had done that day, thinking of how comforting your presence always was to me. I remembered the feel of your hair in my fingers, I remembered the feel of your hand in mine, and a strange sensation came over me, one I could not identify at the time. As if on instinct, I began to touch myself, my arms, my chest, my stomach, all the while I imagined it was you that touched me. It was the first time I felt pleasure like that, the first time I found pleasure with my own hands, and it was thoughts of you that drove me to do it. I often thought of you in the years that ensued, and I often repeated that fantasy, even when we lived together in Gondolin." Erestor sat up and looked into Glorfindel's eyes. His fingers traced the warrior's lips and jaw, traveling over cheekbones and ears. "I did the same, for many years," he said softly. "It is strange that it took us so long to find one another, so long to find the courage to tell each other how we really felt." "I was afraid," Glorfindel replied. "At first, I was afraid you did not feel the same way; then, after the wager, I was afraid I was not worthy of your love. Guilt does terrible things to us." "Aye, it does," Erestor answered. "I am so thankful that you and I found our way through all the doubt, fear and guilt. I am so glad that we finally stepped aside and let our hearts guide us." He slid on top of Glorfindel, propping himself up on his elbows and caressing his mate's face with the backs of his hands. "You are so beautiful, Glorfindel. Such eyes…" He pressed a kiss to the warrior's eyelids. "Such fine cheekbones…" More kisses to Glorfindel's cheeks. "Such lips…" Erestor pressed a deep kiss to his mate's lips, moaning softly as Glorfindel opened his mouth and teased his tongue inside. Glorfindel slid his hands into Erestor's heavy, dark hair, his fingers threading through the silken strands as he cradled Erestor's head. Erestor's warm tongue slid over his own, caressing the roof of his mouth before sliding slickly against his tongue again. He tasted like honey and oranges, sweet and a little spicy. The gentle rocking motion with which Erestor moved kindled his desire. It started as it always did, with a sharp pull deep inside before blossoming into heat that spread from his core to his limbs. Erestor released his mouth, his mate's warm tongue teasing his lips as he opened his eyes. Grey eyes stared back at him, as deep and unfathomable as the sea itself, as dark as a storm filled sky. His thumbs caressed ivory skin, flawless and smooth, adorned with a slight blush of pink that betrayed his mate's desire. Dangerous, that was what Erestor was. Many thought him cold and unapproachable, but Glorfindel knew different. Beneath Erestor's composed exterior burned a fire so hot that it threatened to consume all in its path. "I want to make love to you," Glorfindel whispered huskily. "Here?" Erestor asked coyly. "Why not?" "What if someone comes?" A roguish grin curved Glorfindel's mouth. "Then they will see what it means to really be in love." He rolled over Erestor, caressing the curve of his mate's ear with his lips. "Come, my love, just a taste, just a small taste of you before the long walk home…" A long, deep sigh escaped Erestor as Glorfindel's mouth drove him to distraction. He could feel his length swelling between their bodies, feel sharp sparks of delicious pleasure as his mate's hardened nipples grazed his own. Deep, pulsating heat began to bloom inside him, traveling outward and causing a fine sheen of perspiration to form on his skin. "And what of your own pleasure?" Erestor whispered hoarsely. "May I have anything I wish?" Glorfindel purred. "Of course…" "Your hands. I love the way your long fingers feel wrapped around me…" A whimpering moan slipped from Erestor's lips. It had gone too far already for him to refuse. Glorfindel's hot, silken length slid in the crease where his leg met his hip, the soft, downy hair that grew around the base of his mate's arousal brushing against his own. "Sweet Elbereth," Erestor moaned. "You feel so good, so very good…" Glorfindel's lips left his sensitive ear and traveled to his throat, teeth nipping gently as he continued down. Erestor arched beneath him, a soft cry escaping him as Glorfindel's mouth latched on to a hardened nipple, working it into a painfully erect nub. Teeth gently upbraided his flesh; a hot, wet tongue coaxed deep moans of blissful surrender from him as he fisted Glorfindel's hair. Once, he opened his eyes, his head leaned back in exquisite torment. His dark eyes focused briefly on the line of trees that surrounded the lake, on the small, white butterflies and black squirrels that patrolled the underbrush. The gentle whisper of wind in the tree boughs and the lilting song of birds caressed his ears, mingling with the deep, soft moans that emanated from both him and his beloved. Then in a flash of white-hot heat, his eyes snapped shut and he cried out, heedless that anyone might hear as Glorfindel engulfed him. A string of nonsensical speech spilled from his lips as he began to thrust into his mate's mouth, gently at first, allowing Glorfindel to find his rhythm. He bent his knees, splaying his legs far apart, his fingers knotted in his mate's golden mane as Glorfindel worked his desire into a fevered pitch. At that moment, he could have cared less who might have seen them. In that moment, they were the only two living beings in all of Arda. He came with a cry, his essence erupting from him as he bowed against Glorfindel. His beloved swallowed every last drop, then lovingly cleaned him with his tongue before working his way up his body with his mouth. Erestor wrapped his long, trembling legs around Glorfindel's hips as his beloved pressed a deep kiss to his lips. "I love you," he whispered, as Glorfindel released his mouth. "I love you, my raven," Glorfindel replied with a husky whisper. Glorfindel's voice was heavy with need, and Erestor guided his beloved to lie on his side. He paid tribute to Glorfindel with his hands and his mouth, his lips and fingers coaxing deep moans of passion from his mate. Sliding one hand around the back of Glorfindel's neck, Erestor took his mouth in a searing kiss while his free hand caressed his lover's turgid length. Having one so powerful, so physically dangerous surrender to him was the most enticing experience of Erestor's life. Glorfindel yielded because he chose to, and that was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all. This body that had slaughtered and made war, that could move stones and bring wild animals to heel was his to command. Long strokes of Erestor's hand, his thumb spreading the essence that already leaked from him, made Glorfindel weak. No one had ever touched him like this; no one had ever made him so helpless or enthralled. His own fingers gripped Erestor's narrow hips, occasionally sliding around to knead the firm globes of his mate's backside. Erestor released his mouth only briefly, and then tormented his ear before returning to his lips. He was thrusting into Erestor's hand with increasing hunger, their legs entwined. A whimpering moan escaped him as he felt his release building, and he cried out into his beloved's kiss as he spilled between their bodies. Trembling, he rolled to his back as Erestor covered his body with kisses, his mate's warm tongue lapping at the seed that covered his stomach. Erestor was the master of his body and his heart, and nothing could make him happier; never had he felt more complete. They lay together in the warm sunshine for long moments, each savoring the peace of the lake and surrounding forest. As Anor began to travel to the west, Erestor rose, grasping both of Glorfindel's hands in his own and pulling him to his feet. He guided Glorfindel back into the cool water, where they bathed before embarking on the long walk home. * * * * Elladan and Elrohir stood outside their father's living quarters. Elrohir grasped Elladan's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and Elladan smiled at his twin in return. They each took a deep breath, and then Elladan knocked on his father's door. "Come!" Elrond called from within. Elrohir swallowed as Elladan opened the door and they stepped inside. Their father stood with his back to them, arms crossed, hands gripping each elbow. "Father?" Elladan called softly. Elrond turned around, a smile upon his lips but his eyes were clouded with concern. "You are leaving," he said softly. Elladan nodded. "We have word of increased orch activity in the northlands; Halbarad and Estel need our help." Elrond nodded then held out his arms to his sons. They approached and he enfolded them both, pressing a kiss to each of their heads. "I want you to know something, my sons. Never could a father be more proud of his children than I am of you. There is nothing that could ever change that, nothing. Do what you must; Arwen and I will be here waiting for your return." They each leaned into their father's embrace, their arms wrapping around him. "We love you, Father," Elrohir whispered. "Aye, very much," Elladan added. "We want to make you proud; we want to bring honor to this house." "And that you have done, many times over, my sons," Elrond answered. He released them and placed a hand upon each of their cheeks. "Be careful and take care of each other." "We will," Elladan answered, a sad smile upon his face. "We promise," Elrohir added. "Watch over Estel as well," Elrond answered. "Much depends upon him." The twins nodded and stepped back, covering their hearts with their hands and bowing their heads. "May the grace of the Valar go with you," Elrond said, as his sons departed his chamber. He then turned and looked out the window again as the door closed behind them. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 5/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil, Legolas, Rúmil, Haldir Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Summary: A messenger arrives in Mirkwood from Imladris, Rúmil takes on a trainee and has a run-in with some orcs, Lindir sees Gildor off on a mission. Thranduil walked down the corridor toward the throne room slowly, his weight resting heavily on his staff. He was recovering from his wounds but the poisoned arrows had slowed the healing process. Legolas was escorting a rider from Imladris to the throne room, as Thranduil was unwilling to be seen by visitors in his bedchamber. The king mounted the dais with some difficulty and sat heavily on the large oaken throne that had seen its fourth king since its creation. He smoothed his robes and took a deep breath before nodding to his secretary, who then gave the signal to the palace guard to admit the visitor. The oaken doors creaked as they swung heavily open, and the tall, slender rider from Imladris walked the length of the carpet to the dais, his eyes fixed on the heels of his escort's boots. This was the young elf's first mission outside of the borders of Imladris, and he had been urged to ride quickly to this strange land. Fantastical stories of the Elves of Mirkwood had circled the various elven realms for as long as he could remember. Tales of magical caves and a mysterious king had enthralled him since he was young, and now he walked inside those caves, approaching the throne of the most mysterious and most whispered about elf in Middle-earth. He looked up, his eyes slowly rising from the floor to find smooth leather boots protruding from a fall of heavy, embroidered velvet. The ornate throne, which once held the greatest Sindar who had ever lived, elaborately supported a tall, regal elf with a flowing flaxen mane that shimmered in the torchlight. Eyes, bluer and brighter than he could have imagined, gazed back at him with a detached curiosity, strong, ringed fingers curled over the worn edges of the curved arms of the massive throne. The messenger swallowed and attempted to draw himself up to his full height, though he truly felt like shrinking before this imposing and powerful king. The king spoke. "State your purpose." He cleared his throat and answered as bidden, "I have been sent by Lord Elrond to summon your majesty to a council." "What is the purpose of this council?" "I know not, in full. My lord bid me fetch you and bring you hence; he said it was a matter of grave importance." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had chosen poorly; out of the corner of his eye, the young messenger saw the prince grimace momentarily before covering it with the calm mask of composure he had displayed since his arrival. "My realm is a matter of grave importance," the king answered. "I do not serve at Master Elrond's leisure. I do not come when summoned. His word holds no sway here." As the messenger stepped forward, he saw the guards' grips tighten upon their lances. He knelt, bowing his head and extending a folded piece of parchment. "My lord bade me give you this." Thranduil nodded to Legolas, who stepped forward and took the proffered document from the messenger's hand then gave it to the king. The messenger waited, his eyes averted as he heard the seal broken and the parchment unfolded. A few moments passed, then he heard the parchment being folded again. The king's tone softened, but did not display any sense of warmth. "You have risked much to carry this here and you must be weary from the long journey. Accommodations will be provided and your mount cared for. You will have my answer to your lord tomorrow." "Thank you, your majesty," the messenger answered. "These soldiers will show you to the guest quarters. You may dine with my company this evening." "I am in your debt, my lord." The king nodded and the messenger rose to his feet, then followed the guards from the throne room. Legolas knelt beside his father. "What does it say?" "Elrond is concerned indeed if he summons me to Imladris. He has also sent for representatives from Lindon and from the Dwarven realms. It appears there is a man from Gondor already there who is in part responsible for this council." "What could it mean?" Thranduil looked from the parchment to his son. "I fear the worst." "War?" Thranduil nodded. "You cannot travel, father. You are far too weak to sit a horse for so many days." Thranduil leaned his head back against the throne. A heavy sigh escaped him and he looked back down at Legolas. "I will think on it and answer him tomorrow." Legolas looked at the floor. "Mithrandir must be informed of the creature's escape. It may have some bearing on the events that are unfolding. Since it is my fault the creature escaped, I should be the one to bear this news to Mithrandir. I will go in your stead, Father; I will attend the council with your permission." Thranduil placed his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "Please stop punishing yourself for showing kindness to that wretched thing, Greenleaf. You could not have known what was to happen." Legolas nodded but said nothing. "I will think on your request." He held up his hand to silence Legolas' protest. "Come, help your father back to his bed; my leg aches, as does my shoulder." Legolas gained his feet and took Thranduil's arm, walking slowly back toward his bedchamber with him. * * * * Galen had trained with Rúmil for months, shadowing his mentor on patrol. Rúmil was a quiet elf, but had provided him with excellent instruction and he always felt safe in the lieutenant's presence. Rúmil seemed old for his young age, weary, as though he carried some burden. He had heard rumor that Rúmil had lost a lover; he thought perhaps that was the cause for the guardian's melancholy. He reminded himself again and again that theirs was a relationship of teacher and student; that his purpose was to learn to be the best guardian he could be, not to be his lieutenant's best friend and confidant. Yet, he could not help but wonder. As they made their way silently toward the edge of the wood, his eyes and ears remained alert, even as his thoughts wandered. Ahead of them, through the trees, the Misty Mountains and Dimrill Dale loomed in the distance. Rúmil signaled to him to climb into the trees and he followed his teacher, silently leaping to catch the lowest branch then effortlessly scrambling up after him. What would have sounded like a birdcall to anyone but a Galadhrim signaled the arrival of the rest of their patrol, and they found a comfortable spot with which to survey the landscape. He knew they were looking for orcs, but orcs were rarely so bold as to travel so close to the realm of Lothlórien. Yet, here they were, the waning light of Anor warming their faces as they watched from the trees. Long hours passed with no sounds but those of the forest. He was on first watch, as were two others stationed in the surrounding trees. A gentle breeze set the leaves to dancing and the song of birds called him to sleep. He blinked rapidly and sat up straight, determined not to be lulled into a peaceful nap. Looking over at his mentor, he could see that Rúmil's eyes were heavy-lidded and clouded with reverie; were it not for his eyes, one would think he was awake. Rúmil sat up straight, his bow lay over his crossed legs, an arrow strung and waiting to be aimed and loosed. Galen wondered what it must be like to be the youngest of a famous family of warriors, to have Haldir, the Captain of the Galadhrim, as an elder brother. Galen knew all the stories, he had heard them all his life. Rúmil's father had served Lord Celeborn when the lord and lady first came to Lórien, and prior to that, he had served King Amroth. Rúmil's family had a long history of service to the nobles that ruled this land. Rúmil was much beloved of the lady, everyone knew this. Yet, he had turned down a relatively safe assignment as her personal guard for duty on the fences; he wanted to serve as his family before him had served. He was lucky to have Rúmil as a tutor; Rúmil was one of the finest archers in Lórien, some said he was even better than Haldir. All Galen wanted to do was to make his tutor proud. Galen sensed something, something in the wind, something evil. The birds fell silent, and he slowly rose to his feet to get a better view. He almost missed it: small shapes moving in the gathering dusk. It seemed as though the hills themselves were coming alive and moving. Before he could reach to wake Rúmil, his tutor's eyes cleared and he was on his feet with his bow drawn. "They are coming," he said. Galen felt his heart skip and his palms begin to sweat. This was it. This was the moment that every young soldier waited for; after long months of training, he was finally going to see battle. "Do not shoot until you are sure you can hit what you are aiming for; we cannot waste arrows," Rúmil said. "There are so many…" Galen's answer was a breathless whisper. "Too many," Rúmil answered. Galen turned and looked at his mentor. "What shall we do?" "Kill as many as we can until help arrives." Out of the corner of his eye, Galen saw an elf slide down the trunk of a large tree. He turned his head and watched as the elf began to run back toward Caras Galadhon. His eyes narrowed. "He does not run from battle," Rúmil scolded. "He is returning for reinforcements. You will be thanking him before dawn." Galen's expression softened. "Forgive me," he answered softly. Rúmil's lips quirked into a momentary grin. "Focus that anger on the yrch and you might live through the night." "Yes sir," Galen answered, and turned his sharp gaze back upon the approaching orcs. * * * * "You will be careful," Lindir said softly as he worked the clasp on Gildor's cloak. "Of course I will." "No unnecessary violence, avoid any yrch, keep clear of any Úlairi…" Gildor grinned. "Yes, my love." "I know I am being a worrisome ninny, but I have grown accustomed to you being safe here with me and…" Gildor placed his fingers on Lindir's lips and silenced him. "Do not apologize for loving me, Lindir. Never apologize for that." Lindir smiled and nodded, pursing his lips and pressing a kiss to the pads of Gildor's fingers. He wrapped his long arms around Gildor's shoulders and held him tight, burying his face in his mate's long dark hair. Glorfindel cleared his throat and the two separated, but not before Gildor pressed a lingering kiss to Lindir's lips. "Do not fear, my love. I will return to you safe and whole," he whispered. "The caravan is ready, my friend," Glorfindel said quietly. Gildor nodded. "I am coming." He caressed Lindir's face. "One full cycle of Ithil, then I will be home." Lindir nodded. "Keep our bed warm." Lindir smiled sadly and nodded again. "I love you, Lindir. Never forget that…" "I love you, Gildor, always." Lindir took Gildor's face in his hands and kissed him again before releasing him and watching him walk away. Gildor led the first caravan of elves to depart Imladris for the Grey Havens. The exodus had begun. To be continued…