Title: Winds of War, 26/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC),
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Fimbrethiel
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.  Galen is a name I am borrowing from a
character that Khylaren and I have used before.  This is not the same Galen, only the
name is identical.  Edit: It appears that Thranduil and his warriors did, in fact,
participate in the sacking of Dol Guldur, so I recant my original disclaimer.

Summary:  Rúmil and Galen talk, Dol Guldur is destroyed.

Galen stood with his back against a tree trunk, watching the King of Mirkwood from a
distance.  While he trusted Rúmil and believed him when he said that they belonged to
one another, he could not help but be curious about Thranduil.  All it took was a good
look at the Mirkwood King to realize why Rúmil would have been attracted to him in the
first place, but he wanted to know what it was that made it so hard for Rúmil to forget
him.

Rúmil had not talked about Thranduil beyond telling Galen that he and the king had once
been lovers.  Rúmil's reluctance to talk about it was as much a cause for Galen's
concern as the impressive bearing of the king himself.  Thranduil's reputation as both a
king and a lover was well known.  One would have to live under a mountain to not know of
the legendary prowess of the Sinda.

In conversation, Thranduil was gracious and elegant.  In deportment, he was strong and
masterful.  He was eloquent yet direct, witty without being foolish, and his beauty
could not be overlooked.  In short, he seemed perfect.  If anything, he could be
considered aloof, as even when attentive and engaged in conversation, the wheels of his
mind seemed to be turning in a different direction.  

Galen stepped away from the tree, making his way closer to where Thranduil sat talking
to Haldir.  The king's second was engaged in the conversation as well, and there were
other elves mulling around, so it would not be so obvious if Galen was to find a closer,
yet inconspicuous place to observe the king.

Discussions of where to place archers, how to form a perimeter around the fortress, and
the probable strength of the forces still in Dol Guldur was all Galen heard talk of.
Thranduil led these discussions, for of the elves present, he was most familiar with the
ground near Amon Lanc, because he had lived near there with his father years ago.  Galen
regarded the king thoughtfully, as if he was sizing up a sparring opponent.  In the back
of his mind, he knew there must be something more to Thranduil than his physical beauty,
or the separation would not have been as difficult for Rúmil.

"He is magnificent, no?"  Rúmil's voice caused Galen to jump, as he had not heard his
lover approach.  Grasping Galen's shoulders, Rúmil leaned forward and murmured into his
lover's ear, "What are you doing, Galen?  Are you spying on him?"

Galen flushed guiltily, having been caught in a moment of insecurity and jealousy.  "I.
. .I was. . ."

"Spying on him," Rúmil finished.

"I am sorry, Rúmil," Galen replied.  "I was just trying to see what you see in him."

Rúmil turned Galen around to face him.  "What I see in him is a friend, a good friend
who would risk his life to protect me, and to protect you since you are dear to me.  I
told you that what was once between him and me is no more.  Do you think I am lying to
you?"

Galen closed his eyes and shook his head.  Rúmil took Galen by the hand and led him away
from the campsite.  They found a secluded area high on a hill and Rúmil invited Galen to
sit beside him.  Taking a deep breath, Rúmil began to explain, "When Thranduil and I
parted, things were left unfinished.  I was unsure of how I felt about him, and the same
could be said about his feelings for me.  We both knew that we cared about one another
very much, but something stood between us, something that was unknown to me.  I wanted
to go with him, but he refused; I see now that it was the right decision.  He loves
another in a way that he can never love me, and I suppose my heart must have sensed
that, for I never really fell completely in love with him.  Shortly after I was injured
and you attended to me, I gave up on any hope that he and I would be together again;
that was what I said in the letter that I wrote that day.  Once I did that, my heart was
free to explore other opportunities."  He caressed Galen's face.  "The way you attended
to me, your devotion to me and your kindness, those things are what made me fall in love
with you, Galen."

Galen lifted his gaze from the ground to Rúmil's eyes.  "You are in love with me?"

Rúmil smiled.  "Aye, deeply.  I think this trip to Mirkwood is what made me realize it."

Galen cocked his head.  "How so?"

"Seeing him again was not easy for me, Galen; you must understand that.  Feelings that
had been buried resurfaced, all those things left unsaid came back to haunt my mind and
my heart."  Rúmil closed his eyes and summoned the courage he needed to tell his beloved
the truth.  "I went to him, Galen.  I do not know why."  He felt Galen begin to pull
away and he grasped him around the waist, holding him tight.  "Please, do not leave me.
Let me finish my tale; I do not want secrets between us."

Galen placed his hands over his ears.  "I do not want to hear this…"

Rúmil pulled Galen's hands away and held his face in his hands.  "It is not what you
think.  Please, my love, trust me now as you have in the past."  Tears spilled from
Galen's eyes and he swallowed, forcing himself to sit and listen.  Rúmil continued in a
soft voice, "I stood in his bedchamber, holding onto him as though I was drowning and he
was the only thing keeping me afloat.  I was so afraid; I did not understand where those
feelings were coming from, I thought they were dead.  But as I looked into his eyes, I
realized that what I really needed was to say goodbye to him.  He knew; he knew I was in
love with you, even without me saying it.  And I knew in that moment that there was
nothing more important to me than you.  I left him in his bedchamber; we said goodbye as
we should have long ago, and now my heart is free to love you as you deserve."

"How can I know you are sure?" Galen whispered, his voice trembling.  "How can I know
that years from now you will not regret this decision, that you will not long for him
again?"

A tear fell from Rúmil's eye.  "I must ask you to trust me, Galen, to know that I will
never lie to you, to know that the words I speak are truthful, and to know that when I
say I love you, I mean it with all of my heart."

"I want to," Galen whispered.

Rúmil sank to his knees on the ground in front of Galen, holding his lover's hands.  "I
know what I have said has hurt you, and I did not want to do that.  But I felt that if I
kept this a secret, if I withheld what I had been feeling and what happened, that you
would always feel that division between us.  I do not want that, Galen.  I want you and
I to belong to each other freely, without reservation.  I want to be with you always…
always, my love."

"Rúmil, are you asking me to. . .to. . ."

Yes.  I am asking you to bond with me, Galen.  I lo

Galen was stuck to the spot, unable to speak, unable to move.  Held there by Rúmil's
pleading eyes, the answer to the question he had secretly hoped to hear was now stuck in
his throat.  He did not want to be jealous and mistrustful; he did not want to give into
fear.  If Rúmil had been unfaithful, he never would have said what he did, for there
would have been no way for him to know that Rúmil had lain with another.  Deep in his
heart, beneath the fear and the insecurity, he knew that Rúmil spoke truthfully.  His
lover looked so lost kneeling before him with tears in his eyes.  In that moment, Galen
knew that Rúmil's love was true.

He opened his mouth but his voice did not come out.  Clearing his throat, he tried
again, "Yes, Rúmil, I will bond with you."

The fear and pain in Rúmil's face transformed into pure joy as Galen's answer greeted
his ears.  He laughed as Galen fell upon him, knocking him to the ground.  Holding him
tight he kissed his lover, slowly, thoroughly, reveling in the feel of Galen's hair in
his hands and his beloved's lean body atop his.  "I love you," he murmured between
kisses.

"I love you," Galen's reply was huskily whispered.  "Valar, I have missed you."

"Make love to me, Galen," Rúmil whispered.  "Let us make love until dawn."

Galen smiled against Rúmil's mouth.  "Yes," he answered.

They rose from the ground and made their way to a tent that was reserved for Rúmil, not
emerging until the sun rose in the eastern sky.

*    *    *    *

The sky was bright blue, the dark clouds having dissipated with the fall of their maker.
Mist hung thick upon the ground as the Elven boats glided soundlessly across the gently
flowing waters of the Anduin.  Thranduil's archers and swordsmen followed their king in
a line to the north and east, as Celeborn's Galadhrim moved to the south and east.  They
met on the far side of the fortress, having it thoroughly surrounded.

As they advanced, Galadriel stayed with the rear guard, clad in white and gleaming
mithril armor.  All her thoughts were focused on the dark fortress, and as she
approached, the orcs began to emerge.  The battle was fierce and the wood echoed with
the sounds of growling and shrieking orcs and the fell battle cry of the attacking
elves.  Thranduil's archers fired upon the orcs that streamed forth relentlessly, green
fletched arrows rained down upon the beasts that fled the dungeons.  Celeborn's archers
and swordsmen dispatched those who tried to flee to the south, and the great lord
himself led the charge upon the walls of Dol Guldur.  

Galen braced himself in the tree, firing his arrows as quickly and accurately as he
could.  Rúmil was perched above him, the sharp twang of his bow echoing through the
treetops.  Haldir strode beside his lord, his long, gleaming sword slicing through the
limbs of angry and desperate orcs.  Thranduil fought among them, hurling his great spear
and swinging his sword in a deathly arc.  Galen sighted along his arrow, selecting a
large uruk-hai that advanced upon the Mirkwood King.  Releasing the bowstring, he sent
his arrow slicing through the throat of the beast, sending it to its knees beside the
Sindar King.  Thranduil sent a quick glance of thanks his way before returning to the
battle in earnest.

The sounds of battle died down, replaced by the moans of the wounded and gasps of dying
orcs.  Galadriel strode in, to the very door of the dark fortress.  Raising her arms
high, she called upon the power given her by her ancestors and the Valar.  A light,
brighter than any had ever seen shown, forth from her, invading every corner and every
cell of the dungeons.

Thranduil and his warriors had to shield their eyes, so bright was her power, and the
Galadhrim closed their eyes as well, their faces uplifted.  The walls of the tower
exploded, rock turned to ash, and the pits of Dol Guldur were purged of the evil that
had lurked there so long.  Gasps of wonder escaped the elves who witnessed the full
power of the Lady of Light, and Thranduil watched as the shadow that had haunted his
beloved wood lifted.

A smile, warmer and more joyful than any had seen on the king's face since the day his
son was born, lit his features, and he raised his hands over his head and shouted with
joy.  The mist lifted, the sun's light returned to the forest, and the dark creatures
that had lurked there disappeared.  Striding across the ground, Thranduil knelt before
Galadriel, the tip of his sword on the ground and his head bowed.

"My lady," he addressed her with reverence.  "You have given me and my people something
we can never repay you for.  We are forever in your debt."

Galadriel smiled and placed her hand upon the king's head.  "Long have you struggled
against this evil, Thranduil.  Long have you fought to protect that which you love.
Your father would be proud of your valor this day; it has been an honor to fight beside
you."  She reached down and lifted his chin, turning his liquid sapphire eyes up to
hers.  "Perhaps now that the evil has perished, our two realms can once again be joined
in love and kinship, and we can live together as friends."

"It is an honor you do me, my lady.  We shall once again live as kin and great friends."

Celeborn nodded and placed his hand upon Thranduil's shoulder.  "Rise, Thranduil.  This
victory is as much yours as ours."

Thranduil rose to his feet and shook hands with Celeborn, then turned to the warriors on
the field and raised his spear above his head.  "Victory is ours, my friends!  Let us
celebrate this great day with feasting and drink!"

The warriors of Mirkwood and the Galadhrim shouted in response, raising their bows and
swords high.  Galadriel laughed as she embraced her husband, then all departed the
battlefield to heal those who had been wounded in the fight.


To be continued…


Title: Winds of War, 27/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC),
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Fimbrethiel
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.  Galen is a name I am borrowing from a
character that Khylaren and I have used before.  This is not the same Galen, only the
name is identical.  

Summary:  The twins find time alone and talk of the future.

Legolas sighed as he sank back into the soft bedding.  The pale, silken sheets felt good
against his freshly washed skin.  A breeze set the draperies to dancing through the
large windows of the room he shared with Elladan and Elrohir.  Rubble from the battle
was still being cleared, and many of Gondor's residents had lost their homes.  The water
supply was restored and the sewage systems were intact once again, so the most pressing
of matters had been attended to.  For two days, they had erected tents outside the city
walls.  The wounded had overflowed the walls of the healing houses, necessitating a
rearrangement of the barracks to accommodate those patients who could not be housed
elsewhere.

Because of the crowded conditions, there were citizens housed in any building safe
enough, and many of the members of the high court were staying in the residence of the
ruling stewards and those quarters reserved for the king.  Legolas agreed to room with
the twins, feeling comfortable with his friends, so that a room that would normally be
allotted to a guest of his stature could house someone else in need of a bed.

The sun was setting in the west, and a breeze blew in from the sea, clearing away the
last of the smoke and ash that had issued from Orodruin.  The Morgul Vale was purged
with fire and guards set about it to see that no one ventured into that dead place.
Cirith Ungol underwent the same treatment, and Shelob perished in fire as so many of
Sauron's creatures did.  Osgiliath was being rebuilt, for although most creatures of
Sauron's making had been destroyed, evil men still existed, and the Pelennor was
cleansed of battle.  Men were also set as guards at the Black Gates, and Mordor was
sealed off as those orcs that remained were hunted down and killed.  Slowly, Gondor
would be restored to its former glory.

The scent of the sea beckoned to Legolas, as did the call of gulls that rode the
currents of air near the cliffs and the mouth of the Anduin.  He had heard it now, the
call of his ancestors, and he knew he would never be free of it.  He was being beckoned
to a home he had never known, to a land from whence his kind once came and he would one
day return.  Torn between heeding the call of the sea and heeding the call of his
homeland, he felt trapped in this city of stone.  

Aragorn needed him here; he knew that.  Yet, there were many things he wanted to see.
He had formed a pact with Gimli to return to Fangorn and to Aglarond, and he wished to
see Ithilien again.  Of all the things he wished to do, and people and places he wished
to see, his father was surely the most important of them.  Memories of the caves he had
lived in his entire life played fresh in his mind.  He could hear the sound of the water
echoing there; see the firelight glittering against the glossy, black walls.  He
remembered the feel of his bed: soft, warm and comforting.  He remembered the sound of
his father's footsteps as they traversed the passageways from the residence to the
public halls.

He remembered the last time he had been home; it seemed so long ago, sitting on the side
of his father's bed, wondering what was to come.  He remembered the way his father
smiled at him; so brave he was despite the fear that resided in his heart.  There were
no words to express how much he missed his king, how much he needed to see him, to hear
his voice, to be held in his arms. 

Rolling to his side, he watched the sheer fabric of the draperies dance and sway upon
the breeze, and he closed his eyes, daydreaming about sailing to Aman with his father.

Elrohir stood near the door, watching Legolas dream.  His friend and one-time lover had
slipped into reverie, the exhaustion of the months of hardship finally catching up to
him.  The Sindar Prince who had so captivated his heart slept peacefully in the wide
bed, his elegant body discreetly covered by soft, white sheets.  His hair, unbound and
spilling around his beautiful face gleamed in the waning light, and the soft fragrance
of lilacs from the bath drifted through the room, carried on the breeze.  

Elrohir slowly worked the thick cloth through his hair, himself having just come from
the baths.  He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he stood near the
bed.  Two cots had been brought in, which kept up appearances, but the three of them had
slept in the same bed since they returned from Mordor.  Slept was all they had done,
however, partly from exhaustion and partly because of Legolas' reluctance to return to
the relationship they had once shared.  

As Elrohir watched the prince in his slumber, his heart and body ached to touch him
again.  He longed to hear the sweet music of Legolas' voice in passion, to feel the
prince's hands on his flesh.  ‘Never again,' he thought.  ‘He denies himself passion in
lieu of love, though love him we do.'

"He is beautiful, is he not?"

Elladan's deep voice whispered into Elrohir's ear, and he leaned back against his twin's
solid chest.  "I miss him," Elrohir answered quietly.  "Do you?"

"Of course," Elladan responded.  "But what once was between us can be no more, brother;
you know this."

"I know," Elrohir answered.  "Memories haunt me as of late, memories of happier times
when the cares we have now were not upon us."

Elladan wrapped his arms around Elrohir's waist.  "Do you remember that first time, in
the meadow at home?"

Elrohir smiled.  "Aye.  I could not believe that he knew about us and yet accepted us."

"He is the only one we have allowed to be so close, the only one we have trusted with
out secret."

"He is worthy of keeping it," Elrohir answered.  "Legolas would never betray us, not
even upon pain of death."

"He is a most remarkable individual," Elladan whispered.  "Wise beyond his years, yet so
youthful in his optimism."

"I often forget he is younger than we are," Elrohir replied with a smile.

"So do I," Elladan responded.

"I wish he would let us love him and offer him some comfort."

"He can no longer settle for less than his heart's truest desire, brother," Elladan said
softly.  "He accepts our love as friends, we must be content with that."

Elrohir nodded in agreement.  "Come," Elladan whispered.  "Let us leave him to his
dreams."  He tugged upon his twin's hand and led him to the balcony.

Elrohir followed, sitting upon the foot of a chaise shaded by flowering vines.  Elladan
sat behind him, one leg on each side, and slowly began to work a comb through his twin's
damp hair.  "We will need to leave soon," he said quietly.  "Now that Estel has
fulfilled his destiny, father will bring Arwen to him."

Elladan nodded.  "While I am most glad for our brother, and most happy for Arwen, I
mourn this decision she has made."

Elrohir sighed.  "As do I, Elladan.  Nevertheless, she is right, to live without that
which is most important is not to live at all.  The pain she would have endured in Aman
would have finished her, we both know this."

Elladan focused on working the comb through Elrohir's hair, from tip to root.  "Aye.  It
would have been an empty life while it lasted, filled with longing and regret.  Still,
this decision has brought pain to father, for Arwen has always been most dear to him."

"I know," Elrohir answered.  He said nothing for a moment, listening to the sound of the
gulls and the faint hammering coming from the lower levels of the city.  "We have yet to
make our own decision."

Elladan nodded.  "'Tis hard to know what to decide.  Do we choose the unknown, or do we
choose immortality?  I wonder what would become of us in Aman.  Will we have to hide, or
will we be able to love freely?"

Elrohir closed his eyes, contemplating his brother's words.  "Aye, ‘tis hard to know.
My heart tells me that love, regardless of how unusual the form, would not be punished."

"And I do not wish to compound father's misery," Elladan added.  "He is already losing
Arwen, to lose us as well…"

"He has suffered much already," Elrohir said softly.

"We have much to consider," Elladan finished, setting the comb down on the ground beside
them.  He wrapped his arms around Elrohir's waist.  "But for now, I just want to hold
you and think of nothing but you."

Elrohir leaned back against Elladan, turning his head so that his lips caressed his
twin's jaw.  "I love you, brother," he said softly.

"And I love you, always," Elladan answered. 

Elladan's hands softly caressed his bare chest and abdomen, and Elrohir arched against
him gently.  It had been weeks since they had made love, weeks since Elladan had touched
him this way.  It wasn't for lack of desire, or lack of feeling, rather the lack of
opportunity amidst days and nights of fighting.  He placed his hands on Elladan's
thighs, as his twin's hands moved from his stomach to his own legs.  

Elladan's fingers gathered the edges of the cloth wrapped around Elrohir's waist,
sliding it up as he gently parted his brother's legs.  His lips caressed Elrohir's
shoulder and neck, and the soft rush of breath that came from his twin caused heat to
bloom in his loins.  "I have missed you so," he whispered into Elrohir's ear.  "I have
longed to touch you like this."

Elrohir arched into his brother's touch, gently pressing his backside into Elladan's
groin.  "Your hands feel so good on me," Elrohir murmured as his own hands slid up the
sides of Elladan's legs to grasp his hips.  A quiet moan escaped him as Elladan's
fingers played in the creases where his legs joined his torso, and he began to slowly
move his hips in a rhythmic rocking motion.  

"I know what you want," Elladan murmured huskily in to Elrohir's ear.

"It is what I have always wanted, ever since that first time in the hayloft of the barn
at home," Elrohir answered.  A soft groan of protest escaped his lips as Elladan's hands
left his body.

"I will not take you unprepared, lover," Elladan said softly into his twin's ear.  "Be
still, Elrohir, I shall return."

With lust-darkened eyes, Elrohir watched his twin enter the doors to the room they
shared.  His arousal stood hard against his stomach, and the insistent, pulsing ache
mirrored the beating of his heart.  He removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and
stretched out on the chaise, lying on his stomach, one leg draped tantalizingly off the
side.  The soft fabric of the cushion pressed into his hard length, and he gently moved
his hips, teasing himself and keeping his desire burning hot.

His fingers softly gripped the cushion as he heard Elladan return, and he turned his
head to smile beguilingly at his twin.  Elladan knelt on the floor between his open
legs, and the first touch of his twin's hand upon his flesh caused him to moan softly.
His brother's hand slid up and down his long back, the fingers gently kneading the
muscles as he worked his way from shoulder to lower back.

"Assist me," Elladan said softly, and Elrohir complied, placing his hands on his own
buttocks and spreading them, baring his most intimate of places to his lover's view.

The sight of his beloved spread and wanting caused Elladan's arousal to twitch against
his stomach, and the gentle movement of Elrohir's hips as he slid his oiled fingers
inside his lover's body made him swallow hard.  He removed the cloth wrapped around his
waist after a cursory preparation of his twin, then quickly oiled his length and leaned
over Elrohir's back.

A long, low groan escaped him as he sheathed himself inside Elrohir, and his lover's
answering moan was beautiful to his ears.  Slowly he moved inside his beloved, the heat
and friction building and trying his patience.  He wanted to thrust with abandon, to
bury himself deep and drive Elrohir relentlessly toward the brink of their mutual fall,
but it had been months since they had coupled thusly and he did not wish to cause his
beloved pain.  Slowly he increased the tempo, pushing deeper each pass, tightly wrapped
in decadent heat.  Elrohir moaned and pushed back against him, arching his strong back
as his hands clutched the cushion.  Elladan could feel his own heart beating hard inside
his chest, its rhythm increasing with each heated thrust.  Grasping his brother's hips,
he pulled Elrohir up and against him, fully seating himself deep inside his twin.

Elrohir bit back a keening cry as Elladan struck that place inside him that sent heat
roaring through his body.  His breath was coming harder and faster, sweat was beading on
his skin, and when Elladan's fingers wrapped around his length, he nearly spent himself.
"Ah gods," he croaked as Elladan squeezed the base of his arousal, and he bucked back
against his twin.

Elladan groaned as Elrohir's body began to tighten and he thrust forward hard, sending
his lover rocking forward onto his hands.  Leaning forward, he bit into the base of
Elrohir's neck, and then soothed the mark that began to bloom with his tongue.  "You
feel so good," he whispered hoarsely.  "So very good…"

Elrohir whimpered as his release was choked off by Elladan's grip, and he felt his body
spasm.  Elladan groaned as Elrohir's body squeezed him, and then he spilled himself
inside his lover's body.  Elrohir barely had time to recover before he was flipped to
his back and engulfed by his twin's hot mouth.  A soft cry escaped him as he buried his
fingers in Elladan's hair and bowed, thrusting forward into his warm and wet embrace.
It did not take long to reach completion, then he collapsed back against the cushions,
his breath coming in harsh gasps.

Elrohir trembled as Elladan cleaned him with his tongue and then deposited kisses along
his stomach and chest before ending at his mouth.  Elrohir wrapped his trembling arms
and legs around his twin as Elladan made a thorough perusal of his mouth, then smiled as
he was lifted from the chaise and carried into their bedchamber.

Elladan deposited Elrohir in the bed next to Legolas, smiling as he watched Elrohir wrap
his arm around the prince's waist.  Legolas murmured and snuggled against Elrohir as
Elladan joined them in the bed.  Soon, they were all fast asleep, dreaming of days to
come.


To be continued…



Title: Winds of War, 28/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC),
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Fimbrethiel
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.  Character Death.  Extreme canon breakage.  
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.  Galen is a name I am borrowing from a
character that Khylaren and I have used before.  This is not the same Galen, only the
name is identical.  

Summary:  One elf's future comes to fruition; another's begins.

Thranduil rode in the company of the Lord and Lady of the Wood.  Legolas was coming with
the Sons of Elrond, and he would be most joyous to see his son after so long.  Peace had
come to the great forest and he and Celeborn had divided the newly renamed Eryn Lasgalen
equally; he would take the northern reaches of the forest, and Celeborn and his people
would take the southern.  While the forest was divided in rule, it was united in one
common purpose: to be the peaceful home of any elves who wished to abide there.  At
first, Thranduil had thought it strange that Celeborn wished to dwell in the southern
end of Eryn Lasgalen, but when he had learned of Galadriel's wish to sail West, he
understood it.  He knew, as did Celeborn, that the Golden Wood would fade without
Galadriel's power and radiance, and the Lord of Lórien was loath to abide there and
watch it diminish.  While one wood dwindled, the other flourished, and Thranduil was
more than happy to have a kinsman like Celeborn tending the southern reaches of his
beloved home. 

Now that the shadow had dissipated, there was no need for armed escorts like in darker
days.  Nevertheless, a handful of Galadhrim, among them Rúmil, Haldir, Orophin and the
young Galen, rode with their lord and lady as they greeted Thranduil at the border.  It
was a glorious day, the kind Thranduil scarcely remembered from his youth.  The air was
filled with the song of birds; the sky was bright and blue as a soft breeze set the
taller trees to swaying.

As they walked beside their horses in the meadow, Galadriel and Celeborn were hand in
hand, as were Rúmil and Galen.  All was right with the world that bright spring day, and
Thranduil felt that all the trials of his past had been worth the struggle.  Yes, all
was as it should be, and soon he would again see the one he loved most.  The perfection
of the moment caused Thranduil to pause; something nagged at the outermost recesses of
his memory.  It was if he had been there before.

His stallion sensed it first.  A flinch of his skin, a snort, and then a jump.  Then
Thranduil heard it, the low whistle of a black arrow.  "Ambush!" he called as he swung
up upon his stallion's back; the arrow struck the ground where he had stood.  Tossing
his spear in the air to readjust his grip, Thranduil cued his horse to shift his weight
to his haunches and pirouette.  With a cry, Thranduil raised his spear and charged the
tree line from whence the arrow came.  Celeborn was soon mounted and galloping after him
as Orophin and Galen spirited the lady to the safety of the trees.  Haldir and Rúmil
followed their lord, bows strung and arrows flying.

Galadriel protested her removal fiercely, but Orophin and Galen brooked no argument.
Once safely hidden, they drew their bows and prepared to defend their lady.

It was only a handful of uruk-hai, remnants of Saruman's fallen army.  Yet, a handful
was all it took to make what was once a dream a reality.  The first arrow struck his
chest so hard and so fast that he was unhorsed.  Falling heavily upon the ground, the
Sindar King felt his breath leave him in an outward rush of air.  He rolled, gasping to
fill his collapsed lung with precious oxygen.  His stallion roared and snorted, pawing
the ground as he reared, his nostrils flaring as he stood his ground to protect his
king.  The next two arrows came too fast for him to dodge, one striking him in the lower
back, the other embedding in his right shoulder.  He struggled to regain his feet as he
heard his stallion roar in anger.  He looked up to see both of the stallion's back feet
strike an advancing uruk in the head, crushing its skull.  He gasped and coughed,
spraying the ground beneath him with blood.  There was a slight ringing in his ears and
his field of vision began to grow white.  Before he lost consciousness, he heard Rúmil's
cry and saw the remaining uruk pierced by his former lover's sword.

"No!  No, no, no…" was all Rúmil could say as he rushed to Thranduil's side.  Haldir and
Celeborn ran to join him as the last uruk growled in his death throes.

"Hold him steady," Haldir said in a calm and commanding voice.  Rúmil complied as much
out of habit as out of necessity, watching his elder brother remove the arrows that
pierced Thranduil's limp body.

Galadriel approached at a gallop, Orophin and Galen following closely.  She leapt to the
ground and rushed to Thranduil's side, weaving a spell to ground his spirit in his body.
"Mandos can wait for you, my friend," she said softly as she cradled Thranduil's head in
her lap.  "There are those here who need you more."

With trembling hands, Galen wound strips of his torn tunic around long branches.  Tears
were flowing down his cheeks and he turned his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder.
His beloved, his mate, sat on the ground next to the lady, rocking back and forth as he
whispered a prayer for his wounded friend.  Orophin called to Galen, "Are you ready?"
Galen nodded.  He then lifted his end of the litter into the air as they carried it
toward the fallen king.

Haldir tied off the last bandage and looked worriedly at Galadriel.  Removing his hand
from Thranduil's lower back he whispered, "His blood runs black…"

Galadriel closed her eyes and prayed more fervently.  The black blood was a sign that
one of his vital organs had been struck.  They carried him swiftly, Celeborn and Haldir
at the head of the litter, Orophin and Galen at its foot.  Rúmil ran behind them, weak
with fear and despair.  
 
*    *    *    *

Legolas raised his hand in farewell to the friend who had been a constant companion to
him for nigh on a year.  Gimli and his folk were to make their home in the Glittering
Caves with King Éomer's blessing.  Aragorn had been crowned king, and now he and the
twins were riding to the Golden Wood to collect the king's bride.  He looked forward to
seeing his home again and seeing his father.  He galloped into the Deeping Coomb
alongside Elladan and Elrohir.  In four days, they would be in Lórien where he would
meet his father, and then they would return by way of the west road where Legolas would
collect Gimli and return with him to Gondor for the wedding of Aragorn Elessar and Arwen
Undómiel.

The first two days passed peacefully; they rode by day and camped under the stars at
night.  Legolas took to going for long walks in the evening, giving the twins time alone
so that they might more thoroughly express their love for one another.  As each day
passed, his sense of urgency to return home mounted.  The third night he paced
restlessly, then on the fourth he woke from a sound sleep.  He couldn't get out of his
bedroll fast enough, furiously kicking and struggling to break free.  He swiftly pulled
on his boots and whistled to his horse as Elladan and Elrohir sat up in dazed amazement.

"What is it, Legolas?" Elrohir asked from his half-sleeping, half-waking state.

"I must go, now.  I must get to Caras Galadhon," Legolas answered in a rushed tone as he
quickly gathered his quiver and bow.

"Why?" Elladan asked, his sense of alarm mounting as he rose from the bedroll he and
Elrohir shared.

"Something has happened, something terrible," Legolas responded.  "I do not know what,
but I know I must go."

"Then we will go with you," Elrohir answered as he began pulling his boots on.  Elladan
quickly gathered their things as Elrohir fetched the horses, then the three companions
headed toward Lórien under Ithil's light.

*    *    *    *

Thranduil lay on a soft bed prepared for him by Lórien's finest healers.  They tended
him day and night, changing his bandages and administering a tonic made from herbs and
the healing waters of the Nimrodel.  Galadriel tended the king as well; while her powers
were not of the healing arts, she was capable of lending the king her energy in order to
keep his spirit within his body.  Rúmil refused to leave Thranduil's bedside, and Galen
refused to leave Rúmil.  Haldir and Orophin stood by as well, should their brother need
them.

The second night after his arrival in Caras Galadhon, Thranduil woke from his fitful
rest.  Each breath was harder to draw, causing pain to radiate out from his chest.
Turning his head, he saw Rúmil asleep, with his head resting on the side of his bed.
Rúmil's fingers were closed around his left hand, and it was then that Thranduil
realized he could no longer feel his arms or his legs.  

He drew a labored breath, setting his jaw against the pain, and hoarsely whispered
Rúmil's name.  Rúmil lifted his weary head and tried to look brave.

"Do you have my spear?" Thranduil whispered.

"Aye, ‘tis in my keeping until you are fit enough to carry it again."

"Take my ring, Rúmil."

"No.  No…do not…"

"Please, my friend.  I need you to do this for me."

"You will be healed.  You have to be healed.  You cannot…"

"My father beckons, Rúmil," Thranduil whispered.  "I cannot refuse him again."  He
coughed and moaned in pain.  "My body is broken.  It is too weak to house my spirit.
Take my ring and my spear, give them to my son."

"Can you not try harder?" Rúmil pleaded as he wept.  "He will be here within a day.  Do
you not wish to see him?"

A tear fell from Thranduil's eye.  "I would give my last measure of strength to see him
whom I love more dearly than anything on this earth, but I am afraid that measure is
spent.  I can no longer remain.  Tell Legolas that I love him; tell him I am sorry…"

Rúmil could not control the tremor in his hands as he removed Thranduil's ring, nor
could he control the flood of tears that fell from his eyes.  "I will, my friend," he
answered, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against Thranduil's forehead.

Galen leaned heavily against the bole of the tree, one hand clinging to it desperately,
the other firmly clamped over his mouth.  His heart was breaking, breaking alongside
Rúmil's as he watched his mate say goodbye.

"I love you, Thranduil.  I will honor your memory always," Rúmil whispered.

A long rasping breath escaped Thranduil, and Galen turned to see Galadriel running, her
hair loose and her feet bare, into the meadow where the king had been tended.  "Too
late," she whispered as she saw Thranduil's misty, golden spirit rise from his body.
"Peace be with you, Thranduil Oropherion.  May the Valar guide your spirit to its rest,"
she said softly.

A long wailing cry escaped Rúmil as he felt Thranduil's life force leave his body.
Galen rushed to his side, catching Rúmil as his knees buckled.  Haldir and Orophin
rushed in as well to find Galen sitting on the ground, holding Rúmil's shuddering body
in his arms.

Galen bit down roughly on his lower lip as he wept silently.  He held Rúmil tight,
fearing his mate might succumb to his own grief.  Orophin and Haldir knelt beside him,
rubbing both their brother's back and his own.  A tear fell from Haldir's eye, wetting
the shoulder of Rúmil's tunic.  Orophin's lips trembled as he fought back his own tears,
and he leaned his head against Galen's shoulder.

"Come," Haldir whispered hoarsely.  "Let us get him into bed."

They lifted Rúmil's weak and trembling body from the ground and carried him back to the
talan he and Galen shared.  Once there, Galen held Rúmil through the night, offering his
beloved comfort in the only way he knew how.


To be continued.




Title: Winds of War, 29/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC),
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Fimbrethiel
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.  Character Death.  Extreme canon breakage.
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.  Galen is a name I am borrowing from a
character that Khylaren and I have used before.  This is not the same Galen, only the
name is identical.  

Summary:  Legolas suffers a blow he is uncertain to recover from; Arwen arrives in the
Golden Wood.


Legolas pushed past the guards at the city gates.  Somewhere, deep inside, he knew what
he would find, but his mind refused to believe it.  He ran toward the great tree where
the lord and lady resided, with Elladan and Elrohir following close behind.  He grabbed
the shocked guard who stood at the foot of the winding stair and shook him as he
shouted, "Where is he?  Where is my father?"

"Legolas!" Elladan reached him first, grabbing one arm as Elrohir grabbed the other,
both of them prying Legolas' hands off the frightened guard's arms.

Haldir descended the stair, his face grim and jaw set.  "I will take you to him," he
said quietly as he took Legolas by the elbow.  Elladan and Elrohir reluctantly released
their friend and followed close behind, dread mounting with each step they took.

Legolas looked into Haldir's eyes pleadingly.  "Tell me he lives, Haldir," he whispered.
"Please tell me he lives."

Haldir did not answer as he led Legolas into a tent in the lady's garden.  Once there,
he held the prince tightly from behind as Legolas turned tear-filled eyes to the bed
that sat in the center.  Upon the bed, clad in silver and tan, lay his father's body.
Numb shock washed over Legolas as he gazed upon his father's form.  Flaxen hair that
once shined as though lit from within was but a pale facsimile of its former self.  His
alabaster flesh was as dull and immovable as stone.  Thranduil's hands were folded over
his chest and a mithril crown adorned his head. 

"No…" Legolas whispered.  "This is a trick, some terrible jest…"

"I am most profoundly sorry, my friend," Haldir said, his voice thick with sorrow. 

Legolas raised a trembling hand and pointed.  "That is not my father.  Where is my
father?"

"Legolas," Haldir began.

"No… no, no, no, no… NO!" Legolas cried as his knees buckled.

Haldir clenched his teeth and caught Legolas up in his arms.  He held Legolas firmly as
his friend wept inconsolably.  His own tears were falling as he looked up to see Elladan
holding Elrohir.  Elrond's eldest son looked stunned, unable to turn his eyes away from
the fallen king.  Elrohir slowly pulled away from Elladan and moved to Legolas' side.

How much time passed, no one knew for sure, but slowly Legolas' anguish turned to numb
sorrow.  He raised himself off the ground and approached the lifeless form of his
father.  Picking up one of Thranduil's hands, he held it; it was cold as a stone.  He
pressed his lips to the inanimate flesh then hoarsely whispered, "Goodbye."

Elrohir tried to embrace him, then bit his lip as Legolas shrugged off his embrace.  

"I must speak to the lord and lady," Legolas said coolly.  "There are customs that need
to be followed."

Haldir nodded, his heart constricting with fear as he saw the coldness in Legolas' eyes.
"She will speak with you upon the morrow, for it is near midnight now."

Legolas answered, "Of course.  Shall I take up my old lodgings?"

"If you like," Haldir responded.  "I shall take you there…"

Legolas held up his hand.  "I know the way."  He walked out of the tent and headed
toward the far side of the city.  

Elrohir looked fearfully at Elladan, who stood beside Thranduil's body, his hand upon
the king's face as if he could not believe it himself.  "Elladan," he called.

Elladan pried his gaze away and looked at his twin, his eyes brimming with tears.

"We should follow him," Elrohir said quietly.

"Yes, of course," Elladan answered, and then followed Elrohir into the night.

*    *    *    *

"Legolas?" Elrohir called softly.  He entered the bedchamber where Thranduil had once
slept and found Legolas sitting upon the bed, his hands caressing the linen that once
had touched his father's skin.  "Legolas, please…" Elrohir began, but he did not know
what else to say.

"Please what?" Legolas turned his icy gaze to Elrohir.  "Act as though everything will
be alright?  Act as though I have not had the one who meant more to me than anything in
this world taken from me?"  He laughed, but it was a cold sound.  "It is ironic, do you
not think so?  I have lost count of how many times I have seen my father battle his way
out of situations that seemed impossible, of how many times I have seen him wounded and
yet live to tell the tale.  And yet he loses his life when the darkness is gone, when
the realm is supposed to be at peace.  He is felled on a bright, lovely spring day.  He
dies when the world around him is being reborn."  He laughed again.  "And I, who have
survived what I did not think I would, who has battled forces larger and more
threatening than I could have imagined, am destroyed by three arrows that took my
father's life."  Elrohir took a step toward Legolas and then stopped as the prince held
up his hand.  "Do not, Elrohir.  Do not try to console me; do not try to tell me all
will be well and that my father is at peace.  I do not want to hear kind words now.
Leave me in my misery."  He looked up at Elrohir who stood immovable.  "I said go!" he
shouted.

Elrohir turned and left Legolas alone and returned to the sitting room where Elladan
awaited.

*    *    *    *

"We cannot leave him now," Elrohir mumbled into Elladan's shoulder.

"We will not," Elladan answered.  "Let us sleep in the adjoining bedchamber; we will
hear him if he needs us."

"He needs us now," Elrohir answered.

"Aye, but he has to realize that for himself, brother.  Come, let me hold you awhile."

The twins adjourned to the room next to where Legolas lay; they lay awake all night
listening to the deafening silence.

*    *    *    *

Legolas sat upon the mound at Cerin Amroth, his knees pulled to his chest, the smell of
smoke from his father's funeral pyre still upon his clothes and in his hair.  He twisted
the ring on his finger, the ring that had once belonged to his father.  His father's
spear lay on the ground beside him, the symbol of a strong king in the hands of a
weakened prince.  He gazed into the night sky, watching Ithil make her voyage into the
west.  No one had dared approach him, not even Elladan and Elrohir.  While he had
brought his despair to heel, he had only mastered it as far as hiding it from others.
Inside, the pain ate him alive.  

"I will die here," he whispered to himself.  "There will be no homecoming for me in the
Undying Lands.  I will not be parted from my father, not even by death."

He wondered what death from grief would feel like.  Had he not thought it to be
insensitive, he would have asked Arwen what it felt like, the day she made her choice.
For while she did not grieve, she had chosen the road of mortality, and every day
thereafter would bring her closer to her own death.  However, there was no need to ask
what dying felt like now.  While he did not have the option to choose mortality, he felt
death slowly creeping in, like dew turning to frost on a cold winter's night.  

"I could stay right here," he whispered to himself.  "I could stay right here, on this
hill, and watch Ithil and Anor in their chase.  How long will it take, I wonder?  For an
elf as young and strong as me to fade..."  He sighed.  "At least I know his spirit is
free, at least I know he travels to Mandos' Halls in peace, his home free of darkness,
his promise fulfilled."  He closed his eyes and laid his head upon his folded arms,
listening to the sounds of Lórien at night.

*    *    *    *

"We cannot leave him like this," Elrohir whispered.  "He is going to fade..."

Elladan, still feeling his own grief for the fallen Sindar King, shook his head.  "We
cannot force him to choose life, Elrohir.  He has to find his own reasons to live."

"Where does love reside, Elladan?  Does it exist in our presence, in the physical,
corporeal state that encompasses our souls?  Or does it live in our souls themselves?
Is it possible to overlook the physical being and see beyond to what lies beneath?"

"It would appear, dear brother, that it is a little of both.  I love both parts of you.
I love your indomitable spirit, your bravery, your wit, your generous heart..."  He
traced Elrohir's lips with the pads of his fingers.  "But I also love what is before me,
the softness of your skin, the fullness and warmth of your lips... Your eyes burn me and
melt me when you are lost in your desire for me; your voice plays my body like a lyre...
The soft sighs you utter when you begin to surrender, the deep moans when passion lights
inside you, your cries as you are wracked with passion.  It is all of these things that
I love; but if I had to choose, I would choose your soul."

Tears glistened in Elrohir's eyes and he embraced his twin, holding him close as they
listened to the lament sung for the fallen king.  "Perhaps," Elrohir whispered,
"Thranduil's spirit will return in another form, and in that form they can finally
express this last dimension to their love for one another..."

"I hope that is true, and I hope our prince does not give up hope..."

"King," Elrohir answered in a soft whisper.  "Legolas is king now..."


*    *    *    *

The twins quickly slid down the rope from their shared talan and ran toward the anxious
cry of Orophin's voice.

"What is it?" Elrohir answered, as he and Elladan found Orophin.

"He will not wake," Orophin gasped.  "He is upon the hill; I found him there as I was
walking, but he will not wake!"

"Is he alive?" Elladan asked anxiously, as he clasped Orophin's shoulder tightly.

"Aye, he breathes still, but he is so cold..."

The twins raced toward Cerin Amroth, with Orophin following close behind.  When they
reached the mound, they found their father and sister there as well, just arriving from
Imladris.  Glorfindel and Erestor stood by, as both Arwen and Elrond attended the
unconscious Legolas.

Arwen looked up from the still and pale prince into her brothers' eyes.  "What
happened?"

"Thranduil has passed to Mandos' Halls," Elrohir answered earnestly.  "He fell during an
ambush of uruk-hai."

"He is fading, and so fast..." Elrond said.  "We must get him back to the city.  With
Galadriel's help I may be able to recall him..."  He lifted Legolas' limp form in his
arms, handing him to Glorfindel, who carried the prince upon Asfaloth, the fastest of
their horses, towards Caras Galadhon.  Erestor took Elrohir and Elladan mounted behind
Arwen, as they raced to follow Glorfindel and their father.

As Glorfindel held Legolas' limp form, he was in stunned shock.  It was inconceivable
that Thranduil had fallen; after so many wars, so many long years spent fighting evil.
To be brought down by a rogue band of uruk-hai after all was thought to be safe.
"Please, Legolas," he whispered into the prince's ear.  "Do not give up hope, do not
pass to Mandos' Halls and leave all your father fought so long for... He did it for you;
do not leave his gift unaccepted..."

*    *    *    *

Long hours spent pacing the platform near Galadriel's talans were far too reminiscent of
other hours spent long ago, pacing the corridors of the Last Homely House.  Elladan
reached up and caught his twin's hand, and Arwen stood and took the other one, bidding
Elrohir sit between them.  He sank heavily onto the smooth wood bench as his siblings
tried to offer him comfort.  'I can bear no more,' Elrohir thought.  'I can bear no more
pain...  mother, Halbarad, Thranduil, now Legolas...'

Arwen rested her head upon Elrohir's shoulder.  "He will return, brother," she
whispered.  "He promised Estel he would stand by him at our bonding.  Legolas always
keeps his promises..."

Arwen's soft and reassuring words reduced Elrohir to tears, and she and Elladan held him
as he wept.

"This will grieve Aragorn greatly," Glorfindel muttered.  "As it will many who love
Legolas."

"It is not his time," Arwen said softly.  "I can feel it."

Glorfindel gripped the smooth railing in his hands, his eyes traveling across the soft
lights of Caras Galadhon.  Erestor approached him from behind, wrapping his arms around
his waist and leaning his head upon his shoulder.  "Fear not, my love," he said softly.
"Legolas has proven his strength.  He will hear Elrond's voice; he will return."

Glorfindel placed his hands over Erestor's own, feeling their rings touch.  He entwined
his fingers with those of his bonded mate and pulled Erestor's arms so that they
embraced him even tighter.  "I thought it was done," he whispered.  "I thought that
beast's stain was wiped free of this land and that we could live in peace."

Erestor had no answer.  What explanation could he give that would take the shadow from
his mate's heart?  If Legolas died, then another part of Glorfindel would too, just like
part of him died with Thranduil and with those who fell in Gondolin.  'He has suffered
enough loss,' he thought.  'We all have...' He took a deep breath and whispered, "I love
you, my lion..."

Glorfindel turned in Erestor's arms and caressed his beloved's face.  "I love you, my
strong, beautiful raven."  He held Erestor tight, his face buried in his beloved's raven
locks.

Haldir stood by quietly, his heart on the verge of splitting in two.  One whom he had
grown to love and call friend lay in the next room on the brink of death.  He wondered
how much more death and suffering there would be before all was said and done.

*    *    *    *

Time stood still as they waited for word; after what seemed like uncountable hours,
Elrond emerged, looking as weary as he ever had.  "He has returned," he said softly.

The group uttered a collective sigh of relief.  Elladan embraced Elrohir, Glorfindel
embraced Erestor, and Arwen wrapped her arms around her father's neck.  

"He will not wake for some time, but when he does, he will need our love and support,"
Elrond said softly, holding his daughter about the waist.

"And he shall have it," Elrohir said, his voice thick with tears.

Haldir let loose a sigh of relief as his head fell back against the trunk of the tree.
"To lose them both would be too dear a price paid," he whispered.  He said a quiet
prayer of thanks to the Valar, then left the others to bear the news to Rúmil and Galen.


To be continued…


Title: Winds of War, 30/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC),
Legolas, Éomer
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Fimbrethiel
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.  Galen is a name I am borrowing from a
character that Khylaren and I have used before.  This is not the same Galen, only the
name is identical.  I know Éomer was not at the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, so I'm
breaking the rules to suit my own purposes.  Once again, I am employing the usual
disclaimer of not following canon strictly.

Summary:  Legolas finds comfort and understanding in an unexpected place.

Music floated upon the air of Minas Tirith.  The White Tree was blooming, the Citadel
was awash with flowers and streaming ribbon, and the flag of the king snapped upon the
breeze.  Everywhere there was joyous celebration; the king had returned and now they had
a queen.  Glorfindel stood near the Place of the Fountain, his eyes roaming over the
white stone and high-flying flags.  He felt an ache of remembrance, as this city was
similar to his own so long ago.

The Elda kept a watchful eye upon the newly crowned King of Northern Eryn Lasgalen.  It
had been but a month since his father had fallen, leaving him the rule of a dwindling
kingdom.  Thranduil's people grieved the loss of their beloved king, the one who had
protected them for so long.  They also grieved for their cherished prince; Legolas had
always been the pride of his people.  But the prince they had loved seemed to vanish,
and in place of the once kind and optimistic elf was a solemn and quiet ruler.  Too much
had changed.  Slowly, the Elves of Thranduil began to leave Middle-earth.

Gimli stayed by Legolas' side.  The dwarf still regretted not being there when Legolas
needed a friend most.  His dwellings in Aglarond were nearly completed, and his
peoples' friendship with the men of Rohan was solidified.  This left Gimli free to
travel with Legolas, and that he did, even to the point of enduring endless days on the
back of a horse, clinging to the elf as they galloped over the wide grasslands of Rohan
and Gondor.  A smile curved Glorfindel's lips and a soft chuckle escaped him.  For all
of Gimli's gruff and seemingly impertinent ways, the dwarf was a kind-hearted soul and a
loyal friend.  

Aragorn and Arwen sat at the head of a long table in the feasting hall as their subjects
danced and celebrated the wedding of their king and queen.  Even Éomer, King of Rohan,
attended with his sister Éowyn, who was being courted by the Prince of Ithilien,
Faramir.

Glorfindel watched Legolas smile and laugh when he was supposed to.  He watched the king
take the hand of Gondorian ladies and twirl them around the floor, leaving them
breathless, as a good friend to the king should.  He knew that all this happiness, all
this joy, had to be hard for Legolas, yet the king bore it gracefully.  

Glorfindel's attention was diverted as Erestor took his hand and guided him to the dance
floor, where he spent the duration of the evening guiding his mate in celebratory dance.

*    *    *    *

As night fell and lanterns were lit in the city, Legolas snuck away from the
celebration, evading even the cunning Gimli.  He stood alone in the royal gardens, his
heart aching.  Looking up at the sparkling canopy of stars that circled overhead, he
heard the nearly soundless footsteps of Elrohir and he closed his eyes.  He did not mean
to be cruel to this beloved friend who had done nothing but try to offer him comfort.
But comfort was too much to bear, any amount of emotion only left him feeling raw
inside.  It was easier to remain cold and lifeless.  He tensed as Elrohir's arms
encircled his waist and his friend's head came to rest on his shoulder.

"Why will you not let me comfort you?" Elrohir asked softly.  "You do not betray him by
seeking comfort in the arms of another.  He would not want you to push others away like
this."

"Stop, Elrohir."  Legolas escaped Elrohir's grip.  "Why can you not just let me do this
my way?  I am doing the best that I can…"

"You are dying inside, Legolas," Elrohir responded.  "I cannot stand by and watch that."

Legolas turned.  "Then leave.  You and Elladan need not shadow me everywhere I go; Gimli
does a fine job of that."  He regretted his words as soon as he said them.  He opened
his mouth to apologize, but it was too late, Elrohir was already gone.

He turned and looked at the ground.  Tears began to form but then dissipated; it was as
if he had none left to shed.  As the night drew onward, he heard another set of
footsteps.  These were also familiar, heavier than an elf's, with a long stride and
purposeful rhythm.  He turned, donning his most congenial smile, and greeted the King of
Rohan.

"'Tis a beautiful evening, would you not say so, my lord?" he asked softly.

"Aye," Éomer replied, motioning with his hand for Legolas to sit beside him on the
bench.  "I heard about the death of your father, Legolas, and I am most profoundly
grieved by it."

Legolas sat beside Éomer, his posture erect and stiff; condolences were never
comfortable for him to deal with.  "My thanks, Éomer.  But you did not know my father,
did you?"

Éomer shook his head.  "No, I did not.  Nevertheless, I do know what it is to lose both
a father and a king.  ‘Tis never easy, no matter when it happens."  Legolas nodded in
response but said nothing.  "I was young when my father died, not yet a man, but not
quite a boy.  It was hardest on my mother, I think.  She followed him not long after he
died in battle.  I have lived my life feeling his gaze upon me; I have tried to follow
his example as best as I could."  He looked at Legolas, seeing the tension in his lean
frame, noting the sorrow that dominated his spirit; it was not the Legolas he knew,
though he would admit he did not know the elf well.  However, the fierce warrior who
laughed at bawdy jokes and took delight in jesting with a friend seemed to be missing,
and in his place was a grieving son.  Éomer took a deep breath and reached out, placing
his hand upon Legolas' thigh.  "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am to hear of your
loss, and to offer you an ear, should you wish to speak of it."

Legolas gazed at the hand that rested on his thigh.  He had not studied Éomer closely
before; their time together had always been too preoccupied with matters of life and
death.  The king's hands were strong, weathered, as a horsemaster's would be, and he
wore a heavy gold ring upon his finger that spoke of his office.  Following the line of
his arm, Legolas saw that the king wore robes of deep green and gold, heavy fabric that
was ornately brocaded.  The gold in his garments complemented the honeyed hue of his
wild mane of hair, and his tanned face was partially covered by a neatly trimmed beard
of deep auburn that framed full lips.  

He cocked his head and looked at Éomer's face, so serious, yet there was an expression
of understanding and empathy there.  The man's large, warm brown eyes regarded him
thoughtfully; those eyes had seen death like his own had, and inside their depths,
Legolas saw kinship.  They were brothers, the two of them, brothers in arms and brothers
in grief.  They were two warriors who reluctantly wore the mantle of king, not because
they were born to it, but because it was their duty.  In his own way, Éomer understood
him like no one else did.

Legolas placed his hand over Éomer's and squeezed.  A sad smile of understanding curved
his lips and he watched the man nod in response.  

"I was raised to be afraid of elves," Éomer said softly.  "I feared them because I did
not understand them.  Since I have known you, I have seen that there is nothing to fear.
It has been an honor to fight beside you, Legolas.  Never have I known one so selfless
and valiant."

Legolas lowered his gaze.  "You flatter me, my friend.  I did nothing that anyone else
in my place would not have done."

"Perhaps not," Éomer answered.  "But you did fight when you did not have to.  You could
have left these lands with your people; instead, you fought for this world, and for us.
I shall not forget what you have done, Legolas, nor will my people.  The elves will
always be welcome in Rohan, for as long as I, and my kin, rule."

Éomer rose and Legolas followed suit.  He was caught off guard as he was enclosed in the
man's powerful embrace, and he faltered, leaning into Éomer.  Éomer felt Legolas lower
his guard and he held him close, feeling the elf's hands clutch at his back.

"I am so tired," Legolas whispered.  "I have tried to be strong, but everyone wants so
much of me – I just do not know if I can give it."

Éomer pulled back slightly, cupping Legolas' cheek in his hand.  "Perhaps, in their
efforts to give you comfort, they do not understand what you really need.  I know what
is in your heart, Legolas.  I know you seek to be strong so they do not worry for you.
It is alright to be weak once in awhile; it is alright to admit that you need."  He
looked deeply into the elf's liquid sapphire eyes.  "Tell me what you need, Legolas, and
I will do my best to give it to you.  I ask nothing in return."

Legolas looked into the man's eyes; they were so beautiful and so wise.  He needed to be
held, to be taken care of, to be told that everything would be alright even if it wasn't
true.  He needed to be touched, to be kissed; he needed to replace the overwhelming
grief he felt with something else.

Sliding his hand around the back of Éomer's neck, he drew the man forward to his lips,
hearing the soft gasp of surprise.  He pressed his mouth to Éomer's, allowing the man
time to accept his request and to either answer it in kind, or turn him away.  After
what felt like ages, Éomer's lips softened and moved against his own, and he felt the
man's strong arms tighten around his waist.

Slowly, he parted his lips, caressing Éomer's lips with his tongue, and he arched into
his arms when he heard the soft, wanton moan that escaped the King of the Mark.  Éomer's
beard was softer than he had imagined, though it still scratched his skin slightly; he
enjoyed the feel of it against his skin.  His long fingers gripped the man's wild mane
of wavy, honey-blonde hair as they deepened their kiss and he opened his mouth to allow
the entrance of Éomer's tongue.  

Yes, this was what he needed, he thought; he needed to burn with desire, he needed to
surrender control to one who would expect nothing from him afterwards.  He needed to be
irresponsible, wanton, and selfish.  Éomer was just the man to give him what he needed,
for the king would not treat him like some delicate, bruised flower. Éomer did not seek
to heal him; Éomer did not ask anything of him.

As they broke their kiss, Éomer's deep voice murmured in his ear, "Perhaps it would be
wise to continue this somewhere more private?"

Legolas laughed huskily.  "Aye, those are wise words, my friend.  Take me to your
bedchamber, Éomer."

Éomer released Legolas, and then motioned with his head for the elf to follow him.
Legolas walked beside the king, chatting about such mundane matters as the weather and
changes their lands would endure in the coming years.  As they entered the long hallway
where Éomer's chambers were, he watched the king dismiss the guard at his door.  Éomer
made sure the man heard him extend an invitation for a drink to the elf, not an uncommon
thing for one ruler to do for another.  Legolas accepted gracefully, then entered
Éomer's chamber at his invitation.

No sooner than the door had closed he was engulfed by the man's large form.  Powerful
arms encircled him and Éomer's soft lips suckled at his neck.  He buried his fingers in
the man's hair, deep moans rose from deep in his chest, and he felt his desire stir
after so long a time dormant.  

"I must admit," Éomer said in between kisses and nibbles to the elf's soft flesh, "that
I have only shared pleasure with males on a few occasions, and never have I yielded to
one."

"Love between males is rare with Men, is it not?" Legolas asked, struggling to maintain
the tenor of his voice.

"Aye, most often occurring out of necessity, when warriors have been away from the
comforts of home too long," Éomer answered.  "It is more common with your folk, as I
understand."

Legolas smiled.  "So, you have given this some thought then?"  His long fingers began
working the clasps on Éomer's robes.

Éomer smiled.  "A little."

"For how long?"

"For some months now."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and pulled back to look the man in the eye.  "Since Edoras?"
He smiled as he watched the man's cheeks flush slightly; it was the first time he had
genuinely smiled since his father died.

"Aye.  You knew?"

Legolas' smile broadened.  "I suspected, though I thought it was mere curiosity."  He
peeled Éomer's robes from his body, baring a tanned and muscled chest covered in rich,
auburn hair.  He arched into Éomer as the king's hands slid down his back, coming to
rest just above the swell of his buttocks.  He combed his fingers through the auburn
pelt, his smile turning from amusement to raw sensuality.

Éomer closed his eyes and he leaned his head back as the elf explored his body.  It was
so unlike being with a man, or a woman for that matter.  Legolas explored him without
taking anything for granted.  Each touch and kiss was a first for the elf.  "You have
never lain with a man, have you?" he asked quietly.

"No," Legolas answered.  "I have lain with males of my own kind, but never a man."

"So this is a new experience for both of us," Éomer answered somewhat breathlessly as
Legolas' fingertips found his nipples.  

"Aye," Legolas answered.  "I am glad it is you, Éomer."

Éomer cradled the back of Legolas' head.  "And I am glad it is you, Legolas."  He drew
the elf in for a deep and thorough kiss.


To be continued…