Title: Where The Roads Go (part 3/4 of the Pilgrim story arc)
Author: Laurelin   (laurelin_enedlithien@hotmail.com)
Website: http://www.geocities.com/laurelin_enedlithien
Rating: NC-17 (overall; most chapters G-R)
Pairings: main: Haldir/Legolas, Thranduil/OC, other: Thranduil/Glorfindel,
Elladan/Elrohir
Beta: Jilly
Disclaimer: Some things are mine, but most is Tolkien’s. I think we all know that by now.
Warnings: Sap/fluff, angst/drama, violence, incest, a little bit of het sex, and some
book spoilers.
Archive: I’m flexible, but I like to know where it’s going.
Notes: This is the third part in the ‘Pilgrim’ series, sequel to ‘The Weeping of the
Trees’ and ‘Wish Upon The Stars’. Basically it’s a chronicle of Legolas’s life, in which
I focus on his growth as a person and as a warrior – and his relationship with Haldir of
course. :D
Feedback: We needs it.
Summary: War is pending and dark times are nigh, bringing along trials for all. Which
choices to make, which roads to take? Can Legolas remain hopeful, even with the darkness
so close and the one he loves so far away, and can Haldir do the same? Thranduil, in the
meantime, has his own demons to battle. Each heart is a pilgrim; but who is strong enough
to see the journey through to the end?


Chapter 1 – Without You Now

Mirkwood, December 2623


Midnight diamonds stud my heaven,
Southward burning lie the jewels that eye your place.
And the warm winds that embrace me
Just as surely kissed your face.
Yeah these miss you nights they're the longest.
	~ Dave Townsend - ‘Miss You Nights’


Snow.

Legolas could smell it when he awoke that morning. Finally then! The weather had been
freezing cold for weeks, Mirkwood had been lying under an endless blanket of grey-and-
white cloud and where once the river had been flowing lay now a road of solid ice; but no
drop or flake would come down from those clouds, not one.

Until now. Legolas threw the blankets aside and swung his legs out of bed, feeling a
shiver when the stone of his bedroom floor was cold under his bare feet. A fire had been
kindled in the hearth by one of the servants while he was still asleep, but it hadn’t
been burning long enough yet to warm the room sufficiently. His boots however, which had
been set close to the hearth, had warmed up nicely. He put them on, slipped a warm
woollen jerkin over the undertunic he slept in and drew aside the curtain to look through
the window.

Not only had it snowed long enough during the night for a pack of white to form on the
ground and on the treetops, it was snowing still. It was the cozy kind of snow, soft
flakes whirling down, dancing merrily on the wind. It was a silent, white world outside.

Legolas opened the door to his balcony and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
The bare branches of the tree by his balcony were covered with white decks. Legolas
walked to the railing, his breaths fleeting puffs of white in the crisp air. Standing
there, he held out his hands, inviting the flakes to come sit on his upturned palms. Some
accepted the invitation; others found more enjoyment in tumbling over his hair.

The wind was still coming from the North, travelling from the barren mountains to warmer
regions.

“It is snowing, Haldir,” Legolas said softly. “It is snowing.”

No reply came, other than the barely audible whisper of the wind, lifting his words and
carrying them along. But then, Legolas did not expect a reply.

“Do you remember I told you about the first snow of last year?” Legolas continued. “It
was pathetic, wet stuff; it melted the moment it hit the ground. This is much better;
it’s good and dry. Exactly what the children were hoping for. Everything is white and it
will make good material for a couple of solid snow sculptures...”

Legolas stopped talking and shifted on his feet, slowly exhaling air and watching it turn
white like smoke from a chimney.

“Other than that,” he said, “nothing much new from here.” He folded his arms tightly over
his chest and pushed a pile of snow over the edge with the toe of his boot, watching it
fall to the ground, about hundred feet below.

“I miss you,” he said softly. “But then, that is old news, isn’t it?”

***

More than thirty-five years without the one you love; what does that imply for one
immortal? Legolas found that some days were easier than others, and others harder than
some. Sometimes he was without thoughts of Haldir for hours in a row, sometimes he missed
the Galadhel so much he could barely breathe; but most of the time the missing was like a
dull, aching, ever-present void in his heart.

Legolas had learned to live with that pain; had learned to make it through day after day
without all the things that had brightened his days in Lórien; Haldir’s smile, a tender
caress, words of love softly spoken and meant only for him. Kisses that were like a
soothing breeze or like a blazing fire. Every single one of the tokens of affection
Haldir bestowed on him so generously. They were memories now.

Returning to Mirkwood had been coming home; but it was an altered home, at least in
Legolas’s perception. Everything was almost painfully familiar, and yet it all felt
strangely new. It was strange to be in a forest that was bare of leaves in wintertime. It
was strange to be enclosed by walls of stone instead of wooden ones. And it was agony to
try and fall asleep without Haldir’s body to lie against; the masculine, comforting scent
of him; his warmth. Even after all those years this hadn’t become any easier for Legolas.
Lying in bed at night was truly being alone, a solitude he couldn’t get used to.

And he missed Haldir’s company – terribly. His sense of humor and his teasing. The sound
of his voice. His laughter. How he could tell Legolas in a thousand different ways that
he loved him. How he managed to make Legolas feel special with the the simplest word, the
most casual touch.

Legolas did not allow himself to think of all this too often; as sweet as the memories
were, the sense of desolation they evoked in him ripped his soul open, leaving a gaping
wound he knew only Haldir’s touch could heal.

Thirty-five years without him... In retrospect, Legolas did not know how he’d made it
through; nor did he know how to make it through the years, probably centuries yet to
come. For he did not fool himself into believing that the worst was behind him. Sometimes
Legolas was seized by anger, but it was always fleeting. Anger led to nowhere, it was a
dead-end road and he was aware of that. He and Haldir had destinies in different parts of
Arda and nothing, absolutely nothing could change that. All they could do was hope that
they would have the luck of occasional meetings; and the letters they exchanged spoke of
that hope. Legolas cherished those letters like treasures, and he still had every single
letter Haldir had written him over the years. He didn’t care if he would have to reserve
a room for the purpose of stocking them; the letters were staying, all of them.

Legolas and Haldir had become lovers almost forty years ago, in the year 2585; Legolas
remembered that day as if it were yesterday. Haldir had said from the very beginning that
they would be separated eventually, and that he would Legolas go when the moment arrived.
A promise he had kept, even though the moment of goodbye, in the opinion of both, had
come far too soon.

Their relationship hadn’t brought much change to the patrols, except that Haldir
sometimes held Legolas in his arms when the group rested around the fire at night. That,
plus occasionally an affectionate touch or kiss, was all the two lovers allowed
themselves while out on patrol. It was not easy, but it was doable. Sometimes there were
good-hearted jests from the others, but most of the time discretion was practised and the
couple granted their peace.

Legolas was cured of his bloodlust. He still found satisfaction in ridding Arda of
another miserable creature, but it was no longer what he lived for; he did it because it
had to be done, and for no other reason than that. Anger was still his motivator, but he
was able to fight with a clear mind now. And he never went to sleep after a day of battle
without taking a moment for himself and asking the Valar for their understanding and
forgiveness. It was his way of being at peace with his destiny.

The weeks spent in Caras Galadhon, free from border duty, were pure joy; every minute of
them. And Legolas enjoyed every minute all the more because he knew it would come to an
end soon. So he participated in all kinds of activities with his friends, most of them
outdoors as long as the weather allowed it. And it delighted both him and the others that
Haldir was often there too, displaying as much enthusiasm as everyone else.

“It is astounding,” Ôlnathron had said, “how much Haldir has changed since you came into
his life, Legolas. Sometimes I hardly recognize him as the same Elf.”

Haldir was aware of this, himself. He would never be a very extrovert person, but the
years with Legolas had taught him that being more straightforward and outgoing about
one’s feelings could be very rewarding. And so he spent his free time laughing and
jesting and making merry with his friends, and he struck the beholders as a much younger
Elf.

In the meantime, all tried to think as little as possible of the day of Legolas’s
departure, which, as they all knew, would doubtlessly come.

And of course, Haldir and Legolas also used that time in Caras Galadhon to be together
privately. Legolas’s talan, the one assigned to him upon his arrival, still held some of
his possessions, but he hardly came there anymore. Haldir’s talan was his home, his bed
the one he shared with the Marchwarden. Oh, the sweet pleasure of coming home together
after a patrol, dumping bags and weapons, kicking off boots and throwing discarded cloaks
over a chair. And then a long night of making up for weeks of suppressed longing. Legolas
never ceased to be surprised by his hunger; and although Haldir was more experienced at
restraint, the hunger was mutual and urgent. For new lovers a night is never too long;
and nothing pleased Legolas as much as being Haldir’s in the intimacy of the night. He
had not been able to shed all of his inhibitions, but since he had become aware of how he
affected Haldir, he found great joy in giving the Marchwarden the pleasure he deserved in
different kinds of ways, some of them innocent and others... not quite so innocent.

And he liked to show Haldir *his* enjoyment in return. The first time he learned this
about himself was in the night after their return from patrol, the first after Haldir’s
revelation to the others. The two were heading home after a couple of drinks in the
tavern with the others and they were already kissing as they were climbing the stairs to
the talan. It took Haldir every ounce of his willpower to step back, stop crushing
Legolas against the mallorn trunk and end the kiss he’d been wanting to give him for
weeks. Legolas protested breathlessly, but Haldir took his hand and pulled him along.
Just a few more turns of the staircase and then...

“Are you afraid of being caught kissing me in public?” Legolas chuckled as he stumbled in
Haldir’s wake. Oh yes, the youth definitely had had one or two glasses of wine too many.
Not that Haldir minded.

“I prefer to keep these things between the two of us,” Haldir replied. “You’ve tickled
everyone’s imagination enough as it is.”

Legolas giggled. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? You were all over me in the tavern.” Haldir found it hard to conceal his
amusement and sound stern instead. “What must the others think?”

“Hmm, they must think I find you irresistible.” Legolas laughed.

“Exactly.” Haldir laughed too. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Together they entered the talan. Haldir let his bow, quiver and bag slide from his
shoulders and dropped them on the smaller bed, the one that used to be Legolas’s. He
looked utterly content as he spread his arms and sighed. “Home.”

“Home, indeed.” Legolas rid himself of his equipment as well, removed his boots and
approached Haldir, who’d bent down to follow Legolas’s example. Legolas reached out,
grabbed the front of Haldir’s jerkin and pulled. Haldir did not resist, and got up, hot
amusement in his eyes as he surveyed Legolas’s face.

“We’re alone,” Legolas said. “Now finish what you started.” Sweet Valar, how did that
huskiness slip into his voice? He should be ashamed of himself!

To his dismay, Haldir did not respond as passionately as he had hoped. Instead, the
Marchwarden smiled a little smile and reached out to caress Legolas’s face with the backs
of his fingers. Legolas’s eyes narrowed a little at that; so Haldir found him endearing,
did he? Perhaps a little surprise was in order then.

These thoughts fled from his mind soon enough when Haldir kissed him, but returned not
much later when he found himself on the bed, being stripped of the final garment – his
leggings. Haldir removed them from his legs and then from the bed entirely. Next, he
gently spread Legolas’s legs and knelt between them, slowly stroking his thighs and hips.
Legolas always had a heightened sense of awareness when naked in front of Haldir, though
it was more arousing than uncomfortable. This time he watched Haldir closely, wanting to
read him. Haldir sat between his drawn-up legs, tall and quite imposing with his
beautiful broad shoulders. He was still very dressed; after his boots he had only removed
his belt and his jerkin. But Legolas made no comment on that; this time he did not mind
that they were uneven, and it was with a rapidly beating heart that he observed Haldir’s
reaction.

Haldir was silent as his eyes went over Legolas’s body together with his fingers; first
over Legolas’s collarbone, down his chest, across his nipples and lower. Legolas sighed
and shifted, pushing himself a little further down and spreading his legs just a bit
wider as the backs of his thighs slid over Haldir’s upper legs. There could be no mistake
about how aroused he was. Haldir observed him wordlessly, only his smoldering eyes
betraying something of his lust. Legolas felt himself burn when seeing that look, and at
that point some wicked part of him decided that he would give his captain and lover
something worth watching.

When a large, strong hand began stroking the length of his arousal, Legolas sighed deeply
and arched his back a little. Haldir looked up from what he was doing and their gazes
locked, Legolas’s meeting Haldir’s from under slightly hooded eyes.

“You like this?” Haldir asked.

“I like everything your hands do,” Legolas replied, lifting his hips to meet Haldir’s
strokes. He then pushed himself up on his elbows. “And you? Do you like this?”

“More than you know.” Haldir’s voice sounded a bit raspy. “Legolas, what are you doing?”

“... Doing? What do you mean?”

“You are exposing yourself. Don’t think I am not noticing.”

“You are supposed to notice.” Legolas smiled. “Is it not to your liking?”

“No, I am very appreciative. But I am also surprised. What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing.” Legolas licked his lips. “Stop thinking so much and touch me,” he commanded.
“Not so careful. Faster!”

Haldir complied, stroking Legolas’s lovely hard malehood with more power, but not so hard
that it would hurt him.

“Ah, yes,” Legolas moaned, and he stretched his lithe, graceful body just a bit more
while his head fell back. “Like that. That is wonderful!”

Haldir continued giving Legolas pleasure without pause, his mouth turning dry at the
sight of Legolas slowly going ecstatic in front of him. From the first time they’d made
love Legolas had been a bit timid; eager to please but insecure about his skills as a
lover, obviously intimidated by Haldir’s years of experience. But he so clearly tried to
overcome his fears and explore his newly discovered sensuality that Haldir was touched by
it. In his opinion, Legolas didn’t necessarily have to act aggressive or seductive to be
sensual.

Not that it wasn’t effective when he *did*. Haldir felt his blood thrum in his veins at
the mere sight of the beautiful prince, who was so clearly enjoying his touch. The sleek
muscles flexed deliciously in his arms and chest as he writhed in pleasure and his chest
rose and fell as he drew one laboured breath after another.

Haldir stared at him, so intently that he wondered if Legolas felt his burning gaze.
Gods, he loved that little Elf! Loved him and wanted him both. His free hand came to the
lacings on his tunic and began tugging with rather uncontrolled movements, b
impatient when they didn’t yield to his fingers quickly enough. When at length the tunic
fell open, Haldir did not take the time to take it off his shoulders; instead, he reached
his free hand for his hip where more laces waited to be untied. Blindly he fumbled with
the knots but it soon became clear to him that he would need his two hands for this. And
he realized he’d better do it soon, for Legolas was getting very close...

Legolas gasped when that incredibly talented hand fell away, leaving him aching and
almost faint with pleasure. Ah no, Haldir couldn’t be serious about this! Legolas opened
his eyes and saw Haldir in the process of opening his leggings urgently. Legolas’s hand
reached out spontaneously and gripped one of Haldir’s wrists, guiding his hand back to
his aching desire. Haldir resisted, pulling his hand back and fumbling almost desperately
with the stubborn knots.

“One second, Legolas,” he begged, “give me one second and I’ll –”

But Legolas reached out again and brought Haldir’s hand to his crotch once more. “Touch
me,” he said. “Please.”

Haldir obeyed hesitantly. “This is what you want?”

“Yes,” Legolas moaned, “yes, this is what I want. Don’t stop this time.” He fell back
into the pillow and began to arch and writhe incredibly.

“Gods, you cruel Elf,” Haldir groaned, but he gave in, trying hard to ignore his own
almost painful need and focus on Legolas instead. This was difficult, as the sight of
Legolas did nothing to lessen his desire, quite the contrary. Why did Legolas choose to
have his pleasure this way, Haldir wondered. Never before had Legolas preferred this over
a real coupling. And why now, after weeks of patrolling? Oh, torment to watch Legolas
reach his pinnacle while not being allowed to join him; but sweet torment it was. To know
that it was his touch that tore those sweet sounds from Legolas’s throat. That Legolas
allowed him to do this and to watch him; that he trusted him that much. The part of
Haldir that was not lust-dazed at the moment knew that it was an honor, a gift of trust.

And then Legolas arched his back one more time, more sharply than before, his head driven
back into the pillow and a tautness in his face as he lost himself in the pleasure Haldir
was giving him. His release was accompanied by a hoarse, breathless sort of cry that sent
a shiver through Haldir’s body and made his skin tingle.

Legolas began to relax in front of him, though his breathing went fast. “Ah, Haldir,” he
panted. “Remind me to thank you for that once I’ve regained my breath.”

Haldir smiled faintly, a sexy half smile that made Legolas’s heart trip. “You liked it?”

“I like everything your hands do,” Legolas repeated, smiling as well.

“You do not like my hands when they tickle you.”

“No, I don’t like *you* when you tickle me,” Legolas corrected, laughing. “I like your
hands always. They are beautiful. And skilled.” He took Haldir’s right hand and slipped
the thumb into his mouth, sliding his tongue around it and sucking softly. It was so
erotic that Haldir nearly bit his tongue in two, and a low, long rumble rose from his
chest, almost like a lament.

“Legolas,” he whispered, “can I *please* take my pants off now?”

Legolas rose up, chuckling, and shifted so that he sat on his knees like Haldir. The
Marchwarden’s eyes followed his face, darker than usual and filled with unspent desire.
Legolas took the chest flaps of Haldir’s tunic and shoved it down his shoulders, reaching
behind him to remove it from his arms. Next were the already loosened lacings on his hip.
In his haste, Haldir had messed up the knots earlier, but Legolas had them undone soon
enough. Haldir hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband and shoved his leggings down with
an audible sigh.

Legolas watched Haldir take off his leggings, admiring the Marchwarden’s physique, which
he thought was a specimen of masculine perfection. Haldir was both solid and lean; his
torso was well-muscled and powerful, with beautifully carved lines; his hips were narrow
and his legs long and sturdy. Everything about him compelled admiration. Legolas
sometimes secretly entertained himself with the thought that the Valar had created
Haldir, then destroyed the mould; but he knew that it was mostly Haldir’s long life as a
warrior that had shaped him into what he was now.

When Haldir sat in front of him naked, Legolas leaned in closer and took Haldir’s rather
impressive malehood into his hand, stroking it languidly. Inches away were Haldir’s eyes,
burning into his from between long, dark lashes.

“Now it shall please me to relieve you of your burden,” Legolas smiled.

Haldir licked his lips. “Like this?”

“Like this exactly.”

Haldir cleared his throat. “I assume I can’t throw you down and have you fiercely, can
I?”

Legolas laughed. “If you have the stamina, later perhaps. Right now I want to watch you a
little.” He began to move his hand more insistently.

“Ah, gods, Legolas,” Haldir groaned, grasping Legolas’s hip with one hand while steadying
himself on the mattress with the other. “Please don’t make this torment last too long.”

“We’ll see, Haldir,” Legolas said, “we’ll see.”

***

“Your Highness?”

Legolas turned slightly. Behind him, in the doorway, stood one of the palace servants,
staring at his prince with concern.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is, Aegas,” Legolas replied. He didn’t know how long he had been
standing there in the snow, but the shoulders of his tunic and jerkin were soaked, his
hair was wet and – as he suddenly realized – he was feeling rather cold. He realized what
a sight he must made. “I will come inside.”

“I shall prepare you a hot bath, my Prince,” said Aegas, who wasn’t an Elf for pressing
questions. “That should warm you up.”

“Indeed.” Legolas smiled at him. “Thank you.” He followed the Elf inside and closed the
door.

If only the warm water could take away the pain in his soul along with the coldness in
his limbs.


Chapter 2 – Memory Of Spring

Mirkwood, December 2623


Thranduil sat lounging quite comfortably in one of the easy chairs in front of the fire,
one bent leg resting horizontally on the other as he flipped through some documents;
recent reports by his officers, those who were in command of the troops that patrolled
and protected the grounds the Mirkwood Elves considered theirs. No incidents of late, but
that was not unexpected. They were far to the North here, the winters were severe and
Orcs shunned the cold, if they could. The Mirkwood Elves were ever alert though, and
particularly close watch was kept on the store-rooms, in case parties of roaming Orcs
made a desperate attempt to break in and rob the Elves of their hard-earned supplies.

The sound of footfalls in the corridor announced Legolas’s arrival, and Thranduil looked
up to see his son enter the intimate room they used for both dining and relaxing. Legolas
held a cup in one hand and carried a voluminous book under his other arm. Thranduil
recognized it at once; Legolas was reading it for his studies and was rarely seen without
it of late. It was a history of Gondor, one of the great kingdoms of Men; for after
concentrating initially on the history of the Elves, Legolas’s education now also
included learning about the race the Elves had the closest connections with, the mortal
Men. The Children of the Sun, as Elves called them; the reason for that stood explained
in this book and Legolas had found it a fascinating passage, partly because it was
closely linked to an important period in the history of elvenkind, one that had always
had Legolas’s interest.

In ancient times two magnificent trees existed in Valinor, trees whose names were known
to even the smallest elf child: Telperion and Laurelin, the Silver Tree and the Gold that
brought light to the Land of the Valar when there was yet no Sun or Moon in existence.
Both trees were located on the mound of Ezellohar, the Green Mound before the western
gates of Valmar, the city of many bells in the east of Valinor where many of the Valar
dwelt. The Eldar's many images in later times typically showed the two trees right next
to each other, but this was a convention of heraldic imagery, not a realistic depiction.
The trees, though huge as mountains, were far from each other, with lands of gardens
between and around them.

Telperion, the elder of the two, had dark green leaves with glittering silver underneath
and his boughs were decked with brilliant flowers that shed silver dew. The other,
Laurelin, had light green leaves with borders of gold, she had flowers like golden flames
and shining horns and they poured a golden rain on the ground. The light from the trees
came and went in 7 hour cycles; when Telperion was getting brighter, Laurelin was
dimming. Thus, twice a day, the soft light of both trees intermingled for an hour. The
Valar began reckoning time using the light of the trees as a guide. The Valar had 12 hour
days, and the first hour of day began with a mingling of the lights as Telperion became
brighter. In these times, Middle-earth still lay in darkness, with only the light of the
stars to rejoice in. Elbereth, great Lady of the stars and spouse of Manwë, had created
them from Telperion’s dews and placed them in the skies.

Together with Laurelin, Telperion was destroyed in the dreadful event known as the
Darkening of Valinor, shortly before the beginning of the First Age. Something of
Telperion’s splendor remained, however; the Vala Yavanna had made an image of him in
Tirion – the city of the Elves in Aman, built on the hill of Túna –, called Galathilion,
from whom the White Trees of Númenor and later of Minas Tirith were descended.

After the Darkening of Valinor, the two dying trees produced a last single flower, and a
last single fruit. Of these, the fruit was borne by Laurelin, the Golden Tree. Filled
with radiant fire, it was hallowed by Manwë, and set in a vessel. To pilot the vessel,
the Valar chose a fire-spirit of the Maiar: the maiden known as Arien, who guided the
newly made Sun aloft. The sun-maiden guided her charge into the skies above Valinor, and
so the first sunrise was in the West, not the East as it would later be. In Middle-earth
the Elves had been dwelling in darkness, but now at last their lands were filled with
brilliant light, bringing new life to the lands, and new hope to the Elves. As the Sun
rose in the West, the first Men awoke in the East of Middle-earth, and the first thing
they saw was the shining new light. Many of them followed the light across the Earth
towards the western lands, and some eventually found their way into Beleriand to become
the fathers of the Edain. It was because of the time of their awakening that Men were
known to the Elves as the Children of the Sun. 

The last silver flower was borne by Telperion and made into the Moon. A hunter named
Tilion was chosen to steer the new Moon in his vessel through the sky. According to the
legends of the Elves, Tilion was an unsteady steersman, sometimes dwelling overlong
beneath the Earth, or appearing in the sky at the same time as the Sun. He was drawn to
the bright new Sun, launched from Valinor shortly after his own vessel, and his coming
too close to his fiery companion was said to account for the darkening of the Moon's
face.

And so the race of Men had come into existence, and the two trees had been lost. Legolas
had seen several depictions of the legendary trees, and they always fascinated him. Trees
like mountains, radiant givers of silver and golden light... what he wouldn’t give to see
something so wondrous! The mellyrn of Lórien had awed him with their size and beauty, and
he had a special connection with the oaks, beeches and every other tree of Mirkwood, but
Laurelin and especially Telperion... the thought of them alone filled him with reverence.
But they were no more; they were pictures in books, a memory in the minds of the Valar.

“Good morning,” Legolas greeted his father as he approached.

“Good morning, child,” Thranduil smiled. “Have you slept well?”

“I have,” Legolas said and he leaned down to kiss his father on the cheek. Next, he put
his cup, which contained warm milk, on the low table and sat down in the opposite chair,
cradling the book on his lap.

“Is milk all you are going to have for breakfast?” Thranduil inquired, one eyebrow
slightly lifting.

“I enjoyed some more solid food in the kitchen,” Legolas replied with a smile. “This is
dessert.”

“Ah.” Thranduil nodded. “I trust you have already looked outside this morning?”

“Several times actually. I’ve even been outside, if standing on my balcony counts as
that.”

“I couldn’t resist either. But is that the reason your hair is so wet?”

“No.” Legolas laughed softly. “That is a result of the bath I took after that.” He opened
the book and idly turned over some pages, until apparently he came across something that
was of interest to him. He lightly trailed his fingers over a fine, colored illustration
as his eyes went over the text on the other page. A couple of minutes passed in silence
as they both read; no sound except for the occasional rustle of paper and the crackling
of the fire.

After he had finished the reports, Thranduil leaned back in his chair and pondered the
things he’d just read, until he found his mind straying and he shifted his gaze to
Legolas sitting in front of him. He looked at his son with great affection, but as always
when the King’s aquamarine eyes rested on Legolas, they held an edge of concern also. So
many things had happened over the years; and while Legolas in essence had changed little,
he was in many respects a very changed Elf. His majority ceremony had been held more than
forty years ago, and the extent to which he had matured since then was quite amazing.
He’d gone to Lórien as a boy and had returned a young man; bolder, more self-assured and
grown-up in his doings, as well as stronger, taller, and broader in the shoulders. More
maturity was in his face, and he was looked upon with surprise when he returned; was this
the elfling that had left Mirkwood seven years earlier? All were glad to have him back,
but this grown-up warrior prince took a little getting-used-to.

There weren’t only changes though; Legolas was still the same kind, thoughtful Elf, with
that sincerity of character that could still make him appear like the sweet, joyful and
affectionate youngling he had always been. He had not lost that on the battlefield, Varda
be blessed; Thranduil could take much, but not that. Not that.

And he knew it was one of the things Haldir had fallen in love with; Legolas’s warm and
cheerful spirit, in contrast to that other side of him: the more silent, thoughtful,
serious side. Those two in theory contradicted each other, but in Legolas they co-existed
harmoniously, melting together and creating this uniqueness of character that was
distinctly Legolas’s and had touched the reticent Marchwarden’s heart,  smoothing away
the bindings that held it tied down. This discovery had been a bit of a surprise to the
King.

The Lothlórien Spring festival of 2586 was to begin on the first day of May and would
consist of ten days of festivities. It was considered quite an event, for it was held
only once every hundred years. Thranduil had agreed to attend, as had Elrond, and
although political deliberation was definitely in order, Thranduil hoped that there would
be enough time for merriment, too. It was only the second time he visited Legolas in
Lórien, and he knew they would have much to talk about, the mysterious new ‘development’
Legolas had mentioned in his letters not the least important of all.

Due to his demanding time schedule, Thranduil could not stay long after the conclusion of
the festival, which was why he had arrived early; on one of the first days of April. He
had of course announced his coming in a letter to Legolas and this time, his son was
there to greet him upon his very arrival in the city. Thranduil arrived with a party of
approximately fifty Elves; about a third of them officials of his court, the others
soldiers of his guard, the necessary armed escort. He was relieved and rather high-
spirited as he led his party through the gates; they had arrived safely, the perilous
road to Mirkwood lay behind them. Thranduil knew he had left his realm in the capable
hands of the Council, and he fully intended to enjoy the upcoming weeks.

As he and the others dismounted, suddenly there he was, the light of his existence.
Dressed in fine clothes Thranduil did not recognize, it was a young Lórien warden with
Mirkwood blood that flung his arms around the King’s neck in elation.

“Adar, you are here,” Legolas said joyfully. “I am so happy!”

His voice was again deeper than last time, Thranduil noticed; now having reached its
final level, it was securely settled in the lower regions of tenor range, and no longer
showed signs of breaking. It was a warm and fluent sound.

“As am I, ion-nîn,” Thranduil said, returning the embrace powerfully. “Let me look at
you. Have you grown again?”

Legolas grinned. “I guess I have. But it’s a final spurt, I think. I’ll never be taller
than you.”

“The Valar be praised, no.” Thranduil chuckled. “The thought of having to look up at my
own son, ai! This length is excellent for you; it helps maintaining my sense of
authority.”

“I wouldn’t mind an inch or two more,” Legolas confessed playfully.

Thranduil laughed. “Who knows? Time will tell.” He finished his assessment of his son’s
outer appearance. “I think some fatherly pride is in order now. You look splendid,
Legolas. Once again I stand in awe of the changes these years have brought you.” He
embraced him a second time. “I am glad to be here again, ion, with you. I plan to claim
large amounts of your time, for we have much to talk about.”

“We have, adar,” Legolas said, “and I look forward to it.”

Thranduil left not much later with his officials to make their appearance before the Lord
and Lady, while Legolas stayed behind to greet the Mirkwood guards, who assessed him with
a warrior’s eye and inquired after his skills and specialties, his experiences in battle.

Thranduil looked at him a final time before leaving. Oh, so far his instinct had not
betrayed him. Not only the patrols and the battles had stimulated Legolas’s maturing
process, there was also something else at work here, something even more powerful.
Legolas’s state of mind was like a message written in capital letters on his forehead,
and he wore it proudly, like a spring flower wears its petals. Thranduil had never before
seen his son like this but he recognized it instantly, for he had seen it in others many,
many times. Question was, whose touch had Legolas beaming like that? Could it really be
the Marchwarden? Or had someone else been able to catch Legolas’s eye? Thranduil secretly
hoped he would meet Haldir before Legolas came with his revelation, wondering if he would
be able to read something from Haldir’s face. It would be interesting to see, for
Thranduil knew of no Elf more skilled at concealing his emotions than the Marchwarden.
But perhaps, if his suspicions were right, he might be up for a few surprises.

These were going to be interesting weeks.

***

“Your drink is getting cold,” Thranduil said with a smile.

Legolas did not respond at once. After a few seconds he looked up, a bit hazy. “What?”

“Your milk. Cold.”

“Oh, yes.” Legolas reached for the still untouched cup.

“You seem so absorbed. What are you reading about?”

Legolas looked suddenly self-conscious, and a brief silence lingered in the air before
his reply came. “The Battle of Dagorlad,” he said.

“I see.” Thranduil smiled. “Not a very cheerful chapter, I’ll wager. Haven’t you read all
there is to know about that already?”

“Not when described from human perspective. It offers some new, interesting views.”
Legolas gave his father a questioning glance and seemed to hesitate. “Is it difficult for
you to speak of it, adar?”

Thranduil put the pile of papers aside. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve never told me much about it.”

“I did not realize you were interested.”

Legolas shrugged lightly. “First I was too young. Later I kept myself from asking because
I did not want to cause you grief.”

“You won’t cause me grief, Legolas,” Thranduil said. “Not by asking a mere question. But
I admit it is not one of my favorite subjects. After returning I have so often given
account of what happened; to your mother, your grandmother, the Council. I grew weary of
retelling the tales, and after the war had ended I spoke of it no more, except when
necessary.”

“Apparently two-thirds of Mirkwood’s army never returned from the battlefield,” Legolas
said softly.

Thranduil let out a barely audible sigh. “Sadly, yes.”

“Lórien suffered great losses also. Haldir’s brothers and father were there, but they
survived.”

“Manwë must have been watching over them. Many families were not so fortunate.” Thranduil
studied his son’s face for a moment. “Legolas, if there are things you want to know, you
only have to ask. I have seen many more battles than that one, and it was long ago. I am
not afraid of questions and I don’t mind them, especially not from you.”

“I know,” Legolas smiled. “I will keep it in mind. Thank you, adar.”

Thranduil stretched his legs comfortably and sighed. “I trust you’re not going to sit
inside all day and study, are you?” he asked.

“No indeed,” Legolas said. “I plan to go outside somewhere in the afternoon.”

“As a child you could hardly be kept inside when it snowed,” Thranduil reflected aloud.
“More than once you had to be physically restrained.”

“Another trip down memory lane, ada?” Legolas smiled.

“Just you wait until you have lived as long as I,” Thranduil warned him cheerfully. “You
will have so many memories you won’t know where to keep them.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“And parents occasionally suffer fits of melancholy,” Thranduil continued. “It’s quite
common.”

“I see.”

Thranduil smiled at him. *My brave little one.* Considered the circumstances, Legolas was
holding up surprisingly well; being in a forest that was overrun with all kinds of evil,
serving as a warrior in his father’s army as well as keeping up with his studies and the
training of his diplomatic skills. While all the time his entire being ached for the one
that was miles and miles away, and the only tokens of life to cling to were occasional
letters. But despite the separation, Legolas bravely held on to his purpose, which was
threefold: to learn, help his father and to fight for Mirkwood and its people when
necessary. He showed a mental strength and determination that made Thranduil’s heart
surge with pride. Legolas did suffer, it showed in his eyes, and sometimes negative
emotions got the better of him; but most of the time positivity prevailed.

But how would this end? A question that haunted Thranduil’s mind. He had seen those two
together; the love between them ran deep, so deep in fact that Thranduil was in awe of
it. He had already known that his son was different than most, but Legolas truly loved
Haldir in the way a much older Elf loves his life-mate. It was a wonderful thing to
witness; but it could also be dangerous, especially under these circumstances. Legolas
had his heart set on Haldir, and Thranduil was glad that someone could bring his son such
happiness, but he prayed with all his might that Legolas would not waste away waiting for
Haldir. Who knew how long this situation would last? It could be centuries, even
millenna. Was Legolas really planning on spending all that time aching for his lover
while allowing himself no relief, no comfort at all? Thranduil feared this was exactly
Legolas’s intention.

Legolas was different from him in that respect. He had known that for a long time now.
When Thranduil was at that age, he loved like a butterfly loves the flowers she visits.
She graces them with her presence for a moment, and they give something in return, a gift
for which she is grateful; but once she moves on, the encounter is nothing more than a
memory. Once that had been Thranduil’s way; but it wasn’t Legolas’s. What was Thranduil
to do with his romantic son?

Thranduil was older now, had changed his ways; but the sons of Elrond had taught him that
self-denial, though it may seem honorable for a while, can in fact be dangerous. To live
is to love and vice versa; that had always been the way with Elves. The physical act of
love was considered a celebration of life, and did not necessarily have to be shared by
soulmates to be so. To make love was to praise nature, the elements, for the joy two
lovers find in the union of bodies and souls is shared by all things and creatures alive.
To give up on that was, in some ways, to give up on life. That was an opinion many Elves
shared.

But Thranduil did not know if Haldir and Legolas had spoken about this. He did not know
which promises and agreements had been made, and he was hesitant to meddle in these
affairs. Still, he would feel much more at ease if someone would see to Legolas’s needs.
Not to seduce him or make his heart sway, but for the relaxation and peace uncomplicated
pleasure could offer. But Thranduil had never spoken to Legolas about this, for he
already knew what his son’s answer would be; and Legolas had the right to make his own
decisions.

As for Thranduil himself; after that time with the twins he made sure to have his own
pleasure from time to time, but he did it discreetly and not very often. It was harmless
and pleasurable, always with someone who understood the rules. A celebration of life...
no strings attached.

The King’s musings were interrupted when one of the guards entered the room and requested
if he could have a word with him.

“Very well,” Thranduil said kindly. “Go ahead and speak.”

The guard glanced at Legolas. “A private word please, sire,” he said timidly.

“I get the message.” Legolas laughed and stood up with his now empty cup. “I’ll be
bringing this back to the kitchen, then.”

After Legolas had left, Thranduil eyed the guard with more curiosity. “We are alone now,
Imrael. What is it that you came to say?”

“My Lord, one of our scouts has just arrived, and he reports that a party of Elves is
heading this way. He spoke with them and has ridden ahead to announce their arrival, for
they have expressed their intention to pay the King and Prince of Mirkwood a visit.”

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “How odd. I am expecting no one. How many are
they and where do they come from?”

“The scout reports a number of eleven Elves, sire. From Lothlórien.”

“Lothlórien,” Thranduil repeated. “Did they give any names?”

“They gave one, and seemed quite confident that it would be enough for a warm welcome. It
appears that lord Anyriand is in their midst.”

“Anyriand!” Thranduil smiled now. “Well, that is indeed surprising. I wonder what he is
doing on the road in this time of year. But I will gladly welcome him and his
companions.” His smile disappeared then. “But why was my son not allowed to hear this,
Imrael?”

“Well, you see, my Lord...” Imrael shifted on his feet. “Well, we all care for the
Prince, and are concerned about him, and...”

“Yes, what?”

Imrael really looked most unhappy.

“Our scout did not know the Elves that are travelling with lord Anyriand,” he said. “But
he, well, he was very certain that the Marchwarden is not one of them, sire.”


***

A/N: after writing this chapter I am wondering if I should have picked another
pseudonym... But I picked it before I really knew what it meant and I’m stuck to it now I
guess. So forgive me any confusion.
A/N 2: for the history of Telperion and Laurelin I had *loads* of help from the oh-so-
useful Tolkien encyclopedias: The Encyclopedia of Arda, TolkienWiki and I think one or
two other sites I don’t remember the addresses of.

***


Chapter 3 – Message Of Cheer

Mirkwood, December 2623


Legolas had made light of the news Thranduil brought him, or had at least pretended to do
so.

“He probably couldn’t be missed,” he said. “Celeborn and Galadriel aren’t gladly without
their captains.”

Thranduil agreed with him, but he saw the enormous disappointment in Legolas’s eyes and
it made his heart bleed. More than anything, he would have wished for Haldir to be one of
the visiting Elves; for Legolas, it would have made such a difference. He brought his
hand to Legolas’s cheek.

“You will see him again, Legolas,” he said. “You have to remember that.”

Legolas slightly leaned in to the touch and sighed. “I tell myself so every day,” he
said.

“Perhaps they bring you a letter from him,” Thranduil said, desperate to see at least a
tiny spark in Legolas’s eyes.

One of the corners of Legolas’s mouth lifted slightly. “Yes. Perhaps.” He seemed to
collect himself then, straightening his shoulders and pushing aside his disappointment.
“When are they due to arrive?”

“Imrael said within the hour.”

“Let us then start the preparations. We are expecting eleven very cold visitors, and as
hosts we have a reputation to uphold.”

Thranduil smiled. “Very true, leafling. That is wisely spoken.”

***

Lórien, April 2586


The welcoming of the Mirkwood Elves to Caras Galadhon took a large part of the day; there
were acquaintances to be made, and Celeborn and Galadriel saw to it that each and every
Elf of Thranduil’s party was properly lodged. As always Thranduil was assigned one of the
more luxurious guest talans, and it was only after all his people had been seen to, not
sooner, that he took his leave to settle there and allow himself a moment of rest. He had
not seen Legolas for several hours, nor had he caught a glimpse of Haldir.

After refreshing himself and changing into other clothes, Thranduil went out again to
enjoy Lórien as it should be enjoyed; by walking the paths and stairs and bridges while
taking in the peaceful atmosphere with every sense. A couple of times he halted to
exchange greetings with old acquaintances, and after a while he came across an Elf he
recognized from his last visit to the city, the patrol lieutenant Legolas always spoke of
with so much praise and affection.

“Good day,” he greeted him, “Ôlnathron, is it?”

The other Elf bowed slightly, greeting him with respect. “Yes, my Lord Thranduil. So you
have arrived.”

“This morning,” Thranduil confirmed. His eye then fell on the small elf child hiding
behind Ôlnathron’s legs; a miniature lady in a miniature ivory dress.

“Well, hello there milady,” Thranduil said with a smile.

She said nothing, only stared up at him with large eyes.

“Atalië, you are being spoken to,” Ôlnathron said to her. “Greet him back properly. This
is the father of Legolas.”

“Hello,” she whispered.

Thranduil smiled. “Your youngest, Ôlnathron?”

“Aye. But not so bashful as she pretends to be right now,” Ôlnathron replied. “She’s
eager enough to flirt with Haldir when he comes to visit. But then, she has known him all
her life.”

“Now that you mention him, do you know where I can find him?” Thranduil asked. “I haven’t
seen him yet.”

“I believe he is on the practice field with some of the lads. Shall I take you there?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Thranduil nodded.

“Let us away then.”

After having delivered little Atalië into her mother’s arms, Ôlnathron and Thranduil
headed for the practice field Ôlnathron had spoken of, winding their way down long
stairs.

“If I may,” Ôlnathron said, “I would like to use this opportunity to tell you how
valuable an addition to the patrol Legolas is. He has amazing fighting skills and we are
all very fond of him.”

Thranduil smiled. “I am delighted to hear it. His letters tell me that it is mutual.”

“He truly has proven himself,” Ôlnathron continued. “I admit I was a little concerned
when Haldir first told me that Legolas was to join us. He seemed just a bit... fragile,
if you know what I mean.”

“I know it all too well,” Thranduil nodded.

“But his demeanor is deceptive. He is capable and brave, and he is still growing as a
warrior. I can tell you he has surprised us more than once.”

“Haldir has taught him well,” Thranduil said.

“Yes, your son could not wish for a better teacher,” Ôlnathron said, pride on behalf of
his friend and captain obvious in his voice. “Legolas has blossomed under his
supervision.”

“Indeed?” Thranduil said. “Now, I hear steel against steel. Could it be that we are
approaching our destination?”

“Yes, this is it. We go left here... This is where we meet frequently for practice.”

They had come to a rather spacious glade, bordered by solid mallorn trunks and some lower
foliage. Stepping down from the last step of the stairs, Thranduil and Ôlnathron stood at
the edge of the glade, where approximately ten Elves were engaged in swordfight.
Thranduil recognized some faces from his last visit, but his attention soon focused
itself on Haldir, who was busy observing one of the matching pairs with an attentive eye.

The appearance of the two did not remain unnoticed. The sounds of clashing metal died
away as all recognized the Elf Ôlnathron had brought with him, and they made haste to
greet the King of Mirkwood and father of Legolas with proper respect. He greeted them
back with a smile and indicated that they should not let his presence keep them from
continuing their activities.

“Continue all,” Haldir said. “And Tinuril, for the final time, mind your stance. You have
the grace of a Dwarf today.” He then came over to Ôlnathron and Thranduil, and bowed
before the King. “My Lord, I apologize for not welcoming you earlier. I would have come
to greet you upon your arrival but I was occupied here and could not be spared.”

“There is no need for an apology, Haldir,” Thranduil said. “You were of better use here,
and my son supplied me with a welcome that was warm enough.”

“Shall I make myself useful, captain?” Ôlnathron asked.

“Excellent idea. Pair up with Seregon; he has no partner yet. And don’t be easy on him;
he is being sloppy today and needs a challenge.”

Ôlnathron grinned. “Understood.”

Thranduil studied Haldir’s face. Just as he had expected, it gave nothing away.

“I expect Legolas to join us here soon,” Haldir said, redirecting his attention to
Thranduil as Ôlnathron left them. “Has he told you that he will take part in the archery
competition?”

“He has mentioned it in his letters,” Thranduil replied. “Needless to say that I will
follow the event with great interest. I do not doubt that there will be many competent
contestants.”

“You will not try your hand at it yourself?”

Thranduil laughed; “No, I will simply be a happy observer. But I know several of my
guards who will gladly take up the glove.”

“That will make it all the more interesting. The skills of our Mirkwood kin are well-
known.”

“And you, Haldir? Will you compete in one of the contests? Swordfight, perhaps?”

Haldir smiled. “Legolas is still in the process of talking me into it. I am not fond of
matching for show.”

“He pretends to be modest,” came Legolas’s voice from behind. “But I think his ego was
damaged when you bested him, adar.” He joined them, a teasing smile on his lips. He
looked magnificent in his copper-brown tunic that complimented him well, revealing enough
of his contours to make an Elf curious.

“That is an ungrounded assumption, soldier,” Haldir said good-humoredly. “If one’s ego
was damaged with every defeat, yours would be completely demolished by now. I have seen
you sprawled in the dust more times than I care to count.”

“But I *have* been victorious in our hand-to-hand matches,” Legolas reminded him.

“Only a couple of times,” Haldir countered. “Not going to boast about that, are you?”

*Well, well,* Thranduil thought as he watched the exchange and the smiles that followed
it. *There goes your mask then, Marchwarden. Don’t think I don’t notice the way you look
at my son. Are you even aware of the change that comes over you when he walks into your
sight? He has had an effect on you from the very beginning, but this; oh, this does
indeed speak volumes. You and I are up for a private talk, captain of the Galadhrim, very
soon.*

“If you’ll forgive me,” Haldir said then, “I must be back to my men now.”

“Certainly,” Thranduil said, “don’t let me keep you.”

“What am I to do, captain?” Legolas asked.

“Nothing,” Haldir said. “I have no partner for you. I suggest you set yourself down
somewhere. And my Lord Thranduil, I expressly invite you to join him. Perhaps your
presence will stimulate my men to exert themselves a little more, for mine obviously
fails to do so today.”

Thranduil smiled. “I accept.”

Legolas took his father’s hand and started pulling him along. “Come, adar, I know where
we can sit comfortably. I have much to ask you.”

Thranduil followed him docilely. *So do I, Legolas,* he thought; *so do I.*

***

Mirkwood, December 2623


When Imrael came to announce that the Lórien Elves were about to arrive at the palace,
Thranduil and Legolas threw warm cloaks over their shoulders and went outside to welcome
them. It was still snowing, but the sky was assuming a lighter shade of grey; it didn’t
look like it would be snowing all day, but the blanket of cloud was dense and held no
promise of a little sunshine.

The Lórien Elves were dismounting and looked up when father and son appeared from inside
and began descending the flight of steps. Legolas had been right; these were some very
cold Elves.

“Anyriand,” Thranduil said with a laugh, “what in the name of Elbereth are you doing here
in this time of year? Explain it to me so that I understand!”

Anyriand grinned as he came forward. “Goodness knows, Thranduil, goodness knows!”

They embraced each other firmly, clapping shoulders and grinning. Another Elf came
forward, one who looked more like a typical Lórien male than Anyriand did; warm grey eyes
and silvery hair.

“This is my cousin, Elbrehin,” Anyriand said.

“My Lord,” Elbrehin said, bowing. “It is an honor to meet at last the one my cousin
speaks of with so much praise.”

“’Tis an honor for me as well,” Thranduil smiled, greeting him. “You must be the cousin
of many travels, or I am greatly mistaken. I once had the pleasure of sharing in a supply
of wine I believe you brought from Dorwinion as a gift for him.”

Elbrehin laughed; “I am glad it was enjoyed to the fullest, for it was heavy cargo.”

“It is also his fault that I am here,” Anyriand explained cheerfully. “Somehow he managed
to talk me into accompanying him to Esgaroth. We are now on our way back to Lórien, and a
visit to your court, friend, seemed in order. It is only a small distance from our road.”

“And an armed escort of nine, Anyriand?” Thranduil smiled. “So your star is still rising
in Lórien, then.”

Anyriand shrugged lightly. “It means nothing. We were merely the bearers of a letter from
the Lord and Lady to the government of Esgaroth. A letter that was too important to be
lost.”

“I see. Well, you are more than welcome. It is too long since we last saw each other.”

Legolas was not following the conversation; his attention was directed at the warriors of
the escort. Most of them he knew vaguely, but there was one he was particularly delighted
to see, although it was a delight marred by a tiny dark spot of disappointment; for it
was the wrong brother.

“Rúmil!” he exclaimed, swiftly pushing this unkind thought away as he hurried down the
steps. Having no brothers himself, he had always enjoyed the interaction between the
three siblings, and he loved Rúmil and Orophin for many reasons, their being such good
and loving brothers to Haldir not the least of them.

Rúmil’s smile matched his, and he did a couple of long strides to meet Legolas at the
bottom of the stairs. “Good day, my fair prince,” he called, “offer me some warmth with
your embrace! We have brought snow with us.”

Legolas laughed and hugged Rúmil warmly. “Rúmil, it is great to see you. What an
unexpected pleasure!”

“’Tis not unexpected for me, but I agree that it is a pleasure.” The Galadhel drew
slightly back to gaze into Legolas’s eyes and he lowered his voice so that the others
would not hear his next words. “I bring more with me than just snow,” he said
enigmatically. He took Legolas’s face between his hands and pressed a soft kiss to
Legolas’s forehead. When he drew back, Legolas wore a surprised expression, and the
Lórien Elf smiled. “A message for you from my brother, delivered by yours truly. Don’t
mention it, I did it gladly.” He winked playfully.

Legolas blushed and beamed so suddenly that it made Rúmil smile. “Did he really ask you
do to that?”

“Yes, he sure did. He also specified that it had to be on your forehead.” Rúmil grinned.
“My brother can be very jealous.”

“Would it bother you to deliver the same message to him when you get home?” Legolas
asked.

Rúmil laughed; “If you agree to my terms. A sweet little message on the forehead is the
farthest I go.”

“Agreed,” Legolas said. “Thank you, Rúmil.”

“You’re welcome.” Rúmil reached into the folds of his many-layered clothing. “But there’s
more.”

“There is?”

“Oh yes. You see, my brother was not sure whether you would prefer a kiss or a letter.
Therefore he made me the carrier of both.” He withdrew a sealed parchment and offered it
to Legolas. “For you, sweet one. Full of passionate declarations of love, I suspect.
Haldir spent a whole evening on it. He was not amused when we confronted him with that.”
Rúmil’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

Legolas took the letter and looked at it lovingly. “You must not tease him so,” he
smiled. “You know he isn’t comfortable wearing his heart on his sleeve.”

“Sometimes the temptation is just too great,” Rúmil grinned. “Most of the time we are
model brothers, nice and kind and adoring.” His grin disappeared. “He is truly sorry he
cannot be here himself, Legolas. I’m sure he explains everything in his letter; the Lord
and Lady regretted it too, but they could not give him leave to go. It was then that he
requested me to go in his stead.”

“And you did that,” Legolas said hoarsely.

“Naturally,” Rúmil said. “The maidens are pretty here, so ‘tis said.” He was grinning
again.

Legolas laughed; “I must tell you, you won’t have much time for courting. I plan to make
good use of the days we can spend together.”

“Excellent. I usually do my courting at night so that won’t be a problem.”

Thranduil now came to greet Rúmil and the other warriors. “Shall we all go inside and let
our guests warm themselves up?” he proposed. It was a proposal enthusiastically received.
Thranduil looked at his son as they climbed the stairs, at the letter he held clutched to
his chest. He was smiling, and, in spite of Haldir’s absence, obviously delighted that
his friend, Haldir’s brother was here. Thranduil’s heart was warmed by the sight.

*You did it again, Marchwarden. I think we’re going to see some sunshine today after all.
*

***

Lórien, April 2586


Thranduil and Legolas had seated themselves on a log at the edge of the glade, where they
could talk in private and observe the group of practising Elves in the meantime. Legolas
had spoken much, giving additional information to the things he had written in his
letters. How he had joined the patrol and how the first battles had been. He admitted
that it had been very difficult at times. And he did a most unexpected and extraordinary
thing; taking one of Thranduil’s hands in his, he said, “I’ve been thinking about naneth
a lot. About the day she died.”

“You have, Legolas?”

“It all happened after that first encounter with the Orcs. I saw them, and everything
came back to me very fast. The memory was overwhelming. And something inside me just...
snapped.”

Thranduil nodded slowly.

“The months following that weren’t exactly the happiest of my life,” Legolas continued.
He smiled. “But I’m better now. They have all been so supportive. I have much to be
thankful for.”

“That is good to hear, Legolas,” Thranduil said warmly, but inwardly he sighed. How much
more time in Lórien would Legolas have?

“May I ask you something, adar?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think of naneth often?”

The question surprised Thranduil; but it was direct and sincere, and he replied
accordingly. “I think of her every day, ion. She was my life-mate and I will never stop
loving her. But I no longer weep over her passing and I try not to linger on thoughts of
that day and how different it could have been. I concentrate on the fond memories, and
they are countless. Are you afraid that I will forget her?”

“Not anymore,” Legolas replied, “but I admit that it used to be one of my fears.”

“There is no need for that, ion. I was bound to her; and the connection that is created
by elven binding isn’t lost when one passes into Mandos’s Halls. It is something of great
strength and intensity, something you have to experience yourself to understand; perhaps
one day you will. That is one reason why I could never forget her. Another is you. You
remind me of her so much.”

“Galadriel says I have her eyes,” Legolas said softly.

Thranduil smiled. “Well, she is right; you do. But it is only one of the things. Your
character resembles hers, also. She was generous and giving; and as unconditional and
faithful in her loving as you are.” A little sadness crept into Thranduil’s heart, but he
hid it.

“It pleases me that you are doing so well, Legolas,” he said. “I have been concerned
about you.”

“I know,” Legolas said, “but it is no longer necessary. I don’t want you to worry about
me, ada.”

Thranduil laughed; “A parent is never done worrying, Legolas! But I promise you I will
speak to myself harshly when I catch myself doing it again.”

At that moment, in the glade, one of the Elves practising lost the fight against his
opponent by tripping over a tree root and falling gracelessly on his back. There was loud
laughter, and the Elf that was still standing threw his head in his neck in exasperation.

“Tinuril, for Varda’s sake, what are you doing?” he exclaimed. “What kind of victory is
this for me?”

Thranduil and Legolas laughed softly. “He is not always this hopeless, Tinuril,” Legolas
said to his father. “He is quite a capable warrior, but he has his moments sometimes.”

“Apparently. Who is the other? I vaguely remember his face.”

“Celairmir, Tinuril’s cousin.”

“The one you wrote me about.” It was a statement.

“Yes.”

“He is a handsome Elf,” Thranduil said. “Though not as handsome as the Marchwarden.”

Thranduil discerned a quick movement of Legolas’s eyes and a moment of hesitation before
the youth replied.

“He is a good friend,” Legolas said, referring to Celairmir.

Thranduil turned to face Legolas more fully. His hand was still in Legolas’s but he now
took the other too. “So tell me, Legolas,” he said gently, “how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To be in love.”

Legolas’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh gods,” he said, “am I that transparent?”

Thranduil smiled. “Not transparent. I just happen to know you a little, leafling. And you
show me that you love Haldir, even while you’re not saying it.”

“I was going to,” Legolas said. “I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“I know. But since I already know, I saw no point in procrastinating.”

They looked at each other. “Well?” Legolas prodded anxiously.

*Your approval means a lot to me...* Legolas had written that in one of his letters. At
this moment Thranduil could see the apprehension in Legolas’s eyes. Was he really so
fearful of his reaction?

“What can I say? I can see that the affection is strong and mutual. I am a happy father.”

“You are? Really?”

“You seem surprised by that.”

“No, I just... I thought... I thought you’d point out my responsibilities as a prince,
the need for an heir and all that.”

Thranduil stared at him. Was Legolas truly thinking that far ahead?

“Legolas, you’re barely more than two centuries old. I see no need to think of that just
yet.”

“You think this is just a passing thing,” Legolas said softly.

“No, child.” He took Legolas’s chin in one hand. “Listen to me. A first love is a magical
thing. Sometimes it proves to be the one and only true love; sometimes it doesn’t. We
should not concern ourselves now about where this is headed; only time can tell, and we
have an infinite amount of that at our disposal. The world is always changing, will
always do so; who knows where we will stand hundred, a thousand years from now? Will
there still be an elven realm in Mirkwood? Will we still be here at all? There is no
other way to find out than to wait, while doing what we think is best. Why waste time now
on speculations? You’re so young still. Concerns about future heirs should be far from
your mind right now. You love Haldir, don’t you?”

Legolas nodded. “I do, adar, I do.”

“Then why should I have intentions to deny you that? I wish you happy. And who knows what
the next day will bring? Enjoy today, with him. That is my opinion.”

“Really, adar?”

“Yes, really. He makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, he does!”

“That is obvious.” Thranduil smiled. “If it is he who makes you shine like this, then I
owe him my gratitude.”

Legolas embraced him. “Thank you, ada,” he said, “I was truly afraid you might be
displeased.”

“Your happiness cannot displease me, ion,” Thranduil said. “Still, I will have to have a
little talk with your, uhm, mentor.”

Legolas smiled and blushed a little. “Be nice to him, ada. He’s nervous enough as it is,
though he may not show it. Your approval is important to him, too.”

“I will be very nice,” Thranduil promised. “Perhaps I’ll indulge in a little teasing,
that is all.”

Legolas chuckled. “Teasing is good,” he said. “Teasing is just fine.”


Chapter 4 – Flowers And Ice

Lórien, April 2586


Father and son then sat in silent contentment for a while, observing the Elves in the
glade with absent minds. Legolas felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders;
he’d been worried about his father’s reaction for nothing. He’d rather not think of what
could possibly have happened if Thranduil hadn’t been so approving. Going against his
father’s wishes was something he’d never gladly do, but in this case, where Haldir was
concerned, he knew he would have done it. And what consequences would *that* have had?
Legolas felt a shiver just thinking of it. Knowing Haldir, the Marchwarden would probably
have sacrificed himself once again, letting him go rather than standing between him and
his father and thus feeding a conflict that could be very dangerous for Mirkwood. The
more Legolas thought about it, the more it sounded like exactly the thing Haldir would
do; the self-effacing idiot. Legolas was thankful, with every fibre in his body, that it
would not be necessary.

Thranduil, in the meantime, hovered between two different emotions. As happy as he was on
his son’s behalf, he couldn’t help feeling a bit sad at the same time. That Legolas had
captured the heart of an Elf who had seemed unattainable a couple of years ago, was
nothing short of amazing, and the King’s instinct told him that Haldir would rather give
his own life than allow any harm to come to Legolas; but it also told him that Haldir was
equally loyal to his other, lifelong love: Lórien. Thranduil knew as well as the two
lovers: the future held no certainties for them. They would have to prove themselves
strong and patient and true, and even that would not be enough if fortune turned against
them. It was as he had told Legolas: time would tell.

Unconsciously Thranduil gave Legolas’s hand a little squeeze. He had great faith in his
son, and that would always be a consolation; it already was.

“Tell me something, adar,” Legolas said then, breaking the silence, “why did you think
Haldir and I were lovers when you were here last time? It is as if you knew before either
of us did.”

Thranduil laughed softly; “I did not really believe that, Legolas. I surprised you with
that question because I was curious to see your reaction; I had noticed the way you
looked at him and I could tell he affected you, but I could also see that he did not feel
the same way about you, or did not allow himself to; not yet at that point.”

“And I denied everything while in reality you saw right through me,” Legolas said,
shaking his head.

“You weren’t ready to admit it; not even to yourself.”

“And when you realized all this, what were your thoughts?”

“I was concerned,” Thranduil confessed. “Several people hinted at the fact that Haldir
had his reasons for keeping his heart to himself, though no one would explain them to me.
I was afraid he’d unwillingly hurt you. I spoke with Galadriel about this and she advised
me to be patient and wait. Now I can safely say it was wise counsel; though of course, I
would never dare doubt Galadriel’s wisdom.”

Legolas smiled. “Do you want me to explain Haldir’s motives to you?”

“As curious as I am to know them, I prefer to wait and see what he is willing to tell me
himself,” Thranduil said tactfully.

“Very well,” Legolas nodded, and he cocked his head. “I have another question. When you
sent me to Lórien as his pupil, did you consider the possibility of this happening?”

“In all honesty, no,” Thranduil replied. “At that point I was not yet aware of any
attraction, I only knew that you were getting along quite well. I chose him because in my
opinion he was the best candidate.”

“Obviously I agree with that,” Legolas smiled. “Sometimes I wonder how different
everything could have been if you had decided upon Imladris instead of Lórien.”

“That,” Thranduil said, “was not a very difficult choice. I am more familiar with the
Golden Wood myself, and better acquainted with Celeborn and Galadriel than with Elrond. A
second reason was that the armed guard travelling with the Lórien delegation offered you
more safety than the Imladris twins, who were travelling alone. I would have had to send
a number of my own warriors with you. And though the sons of Elrond are great warriors,
the Marchwarden seemed a better mentor for you in all respects.”

In the glade, Haldir was momentarily distracted from his observation of Tinuril’s
technique, and he shot a glance in their direction. Reading the confidentiality of their
talk in their body language, his gaze lingered on them, and Thranduil thought he saw
insecurity come into the Galadhel’s eyes; his features edged with a sudden vulnerability
Thranduil had never seen there before. It so appeared that Legolas was right; the
confident and collected Marchwarden did have his moments of doubt. Thranduil had a
feeling that Haldir would give much to know what they were talking about right now.

“I do hope I’ll see Imladris one day,” Legolas said.

“You will, Legolas,” Thranduil said thoughtfully, “you will.”

“Have you brought the things I asked for, adar?” Legolas asked, switching the subject.

“Ah, yes.” Thranduil turned to face Legolas again. “I have, but please, do tell me what
all that is about.”

Legolas grinned and lowered his voice. “Haldir’s begetting-day is in a couple of days,”
he told his father. “He never celebrates it, actually he prefers to let it go by
unmentioned and unnoticed, but I’m not going to let that happen this year.”

“I see.” Thranduil smiled. “Is he reaching a special age?”

“No, not at all. But it’s the first time we can, well, celebrate it together,” Legolas
said. “I want him in the limelight for a day, even though he’ll despise me for it.” He
laughed softly.

Thranduil laughed with him. “Excellent. What do you have planned?”

“A small celebration for a number of people. Rúmil and Orophin thought it was a fantastic
idea and were very helpful in the organization.” Legolas beamed. “But don’t tell Haldir
you know about his begetting-day; he’s not supposed to know yet.”

“My lips are sealed,” Thranduil vowed.

A couple of months ago Legolas had written to acquainted artisans in Mirkwood, explaining
to them the orders he wanted to place and giving precise instructions in the letters.
Calling upon their friendship and secrecy, he had revealed that it was for ‘someone
special’, and he requested the items to be sent along with the King when he set out for
Lórien. It pleased him to hear that they had done as he had asked, and he planned to
write them and thank them for their efforts.

Together Thranduil and Legolas agreed that Legolas would later collect the items that
were sitting in Thranduil’s talan at the moment, and hide them in his own talan, where
Haldir never came. Then they spoke of the festivities that lay ahead, the archery
competition, Legolas’s progression in different types of combat, and the other aspects of
his education.

“Why have I never started learning the Common Tongue, adar?” Legolas asked at one point.

“The Common Tongue? Because it didn’t have priority as long as you were underaged. First
you needed to become familiar with the tongues of the Elves. I started learning it in my
third century, and that is still early enough to become fluent. Do you want to learn the
Common Tongue?”

“I am already learning it,” Legolas smiled proudly. “For almost five months now. Haldir
teaches me.”

“Haldir?” Thranduil was surprised. “Not a linguistics teacher?”

“Haldir is as good as a linguistics teacher,” Legolas said. “He has learned it all on his
travels and speaks it like a human. He even knows some of the dialects Men speak.” He
chuckled.

Thranduil’s eyes sought Haldir again, who was concentrating on his warriors once more. He
had to admit that he was intrigued; in spite of the time he’d spent in Haldir’s company
during his last visit to Lórien, he realized he barely knew the Elf who was now his son’s
lover. These weeks would offer good opportunity to make a start changing that; and it
promised to be interesting.

“Will you speak with him today?” Legolas asked him.

“Aye, I will,” Thranduil said, “today.”

***

Mirkwood, December 2623


Rúmil slipped and fell... again. Was it the fifth, the sixth time? Oh, what did it
matter. Why had he agreed to this, was a far more interesting question. The other
warriors were comfortable and warm inside Thranduil’s palace, and they were becoming more
enviable by the minute. Why did it have to be so damn hard to say ‘no’ to Legolas?

The prince was several yards away, moving with more grace on the frozen river. He had not
fallen once so far.

“Are you all right?” he asked Rúmil for the fifth or sixth time. To his credit, he was at
least trying to conceal his mirth this time.

“Do I look like I’m all right?” Rúmil grumbled as he struggled to his feet. “My blood is
frozen solid in my veins and my bum is in agony. What are you trying to achieve with
this, Legolas? I can’t be of any service to the maidens with a black-and-blue arse.”

Legolas began to snigger at Rúmil’s chagrin. “Come, Rúmil, try to see it from the sunny
side. If it means that much to you, I can call for one of the maidservants when we get
back and inform her that the handsome lieutenant of the Galadhrim needs his bum tended. I
think any of them will be happy to ease your, uhm, discomfort.”

They both laughed, the sound carrying far in this silent, white world. Rúmil had not
often seen snow or ice in his life; the winters in Lórien were too mild for that. In
spite of the cold he enjoyed it, being outside, with Legolas to keep him company. Still
as charming as ever, he thought as he observed his younger friend. Though no longer the
naïve elfling paying his first visit to the Golden Wood, Legolas still had the endearing
charm of an adolescent roe calf. He looked very beautiful as he stood there, his warm
clothing colorful against the white wintry background, his eyes glittering blue and the
tips of his ears and nose pink. Rúmil thought of his brother and sighed inwardly.

“Let’s do this together.” Legolas came gliding towards him and took his hands. “I will
lead, you follow. Now, your left foot first. Then right. Then left. Do as I; keep your
feet flat on the ice and spread your weight evenly. Yes, like so. How’s that?”

“Better, I guess,” Rúmil said, “though I feel like a clumsy child on his mother’s hand.
You obviously have done this many times before.”

“Consider it something a Lórien lieutenant can learn from a Mirkwood recruit,” Legolas
grinned.

“You’re not a recruit anymore,” Rúmil said.

Together they glided along, Legolas skating backwards and still holding Rúmil’s hands as
the Galadhel was trying to find his ground on the slippery surface.

“If I fall now, you’re going down with me,” Rúmil sombered.

“Possibly,” Legolas said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about that. We’re not made of
porcelain.”

And so they entertained themselves for a while, Legolas showing Rúmil tricks for making
turns and coming to a fluent halt without falling.

“It’s almost as if we’re dancing!” Rúmil enthused at one point.

“I think we *are*,” Legolas replied. “The only thing missing is musi- oops!”

Because Legolas was skating backwards, and blocking Rúmil’s view, neither of them saw the
branch sticking out of the ice near the middle of the frozen stream, until it was too
late. One of Legolas’s feet bumped into it and he lost his balance, falling backwards and
indeed pulling Rúmil along with him. Rúmil was able to break his fall a little with his
arms, but Legolas’s head hit the ice quite hard and for a moment, his vision went black.

When the world returned before his eyes, his entire skull was throbbing painfully and
Rúmil was sitting on his knees in front of him with a concerned expression.

“Legolas, are you all right?”

“Alive and conscious, so it could be worse,” Legolas replied.

“How is your head?” Rúmil asked. “Come here.”

Legolas sat up slowly, wincing when a stab of pain shot through his head and down his
neck. Rúmil’s hands came to his head and turned it gently for inspection. Fingers felt
carefully beneath his hair, locating the tender spot.

“It’s not bleeding,” Rúmil diagnosed, “but it will be a nice bump, I think.” He lowered
his hands and looked at Legolas’s pale face. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?” he
smiled.

“I’m not a *human*,” Legolas replied with a snort.

They both laughed softly.

“Come,” Rúmil said then, “let’s get up before we’re stuck here.” And he started to rise
to his feet.

In the very same second, something unexpected happened. Legolas’s hand came up and landed
on Rúmil’s shoulder, preventing him to get up. Rúmil stilled, taken aback by the emotion
he suddenly saw in Legolas’s eyes, all the more sudden after the light-heartedness of the
previous moment. Even more surprised was he when Legolas leaned up and kissed him on the
mouth, the prince’s lips touching his in a kiss that was simple and light, but still
inappropriate between friends because of its tenderness. Tenderness that wasn’t even
meant for Rúmil.

Rúmil drew back and placed his hands on Legolas’s shoulders, looking his friend in the
eye with kindness and sympathy. “Legolas,” he said gently, “I am not my brother.”

He found it heart-wrenching to see Legolas break down in front of him; a reaction
triggered by his words, though they were not the reason for it. They were merely the last
drop in a bucket that was filled to the rim with pent-up grief, now beginning to flow
freely.

Eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, Legolas gave in to it. “I – I know that,” he
stammered with a small voice. “I’m s- sorry. You... you look so m- much like him, and –
and I...”

Rúmil lifted one hand and began stroking Legolas’s hair lightly. “I know,” he said
softly, “it’s all right, I understand.”

“Gods, I miss him so,” Legolas sobbed, the first two tears skating down his cheeks,
followed by more. “I miss him so much.”

“Ssh,” Rúmil soothed, taking the shaken prince into his arms.

“I’m sorry I did that,” Legolas said, his words muffled against Rúmil’s shoulder. “I
didn’t mean to.”

I know you didnt, Legolas, Rúmil said. Dont worry ab

So they sat for a little while, and Legolas found that it was, in a way, quite relieving
to let it all out for once. Usually he was quite able to suppress his sorrow over
Haldir’s absence, but seeing his lover’s eldest brother was more than he could fight
against. Never had Rúmil looked so much like Haldir as he did today; he was of
practically the same height, his hair was of the same color and texture and his profile
resembled Haldir’s, too. And at the same time he was painfully different. He wasn’t the
one who could make Legolas’s soul whole again; he only looked like him, and as glad as
Legolas was to see him, Rúmil could not take his pain away.

In the end Legolas sat back and drew his hand over his eyes; sobbing and sniffing like a
little boy, he realized with chagrin.

“I really need a handkerchief,” he said to conceal his embarrassment.

“I have only my sleeve to offer,” Rúmil said.

Legolas gave a quavery snort of laughter. “Be careful with what you say,” he said. “You
don’t want me blowing my nose in your sleeve, Rúmil.”

He continued to wipe his face until his tears were gone, and then sighed.

“Please don’t tell Haldir about this,” he said.

“It meant nothing, Legolas. You don’t have to make this into a big secret; Haldir would
not hold it against you.”

“And you said Haldir is of the jealous kind,” Legolas smiled faintly.

Rúmil smiled too. “He *would* regret missing a kiss like that, absolutely. But he’d know
it was meant for him, not me. Besides, we don’t go after each other’s love interests;
that’s a sacred brother code.”

“How honorable,” Legolas said with a streak of humor. “That code does not include
flirting, then.”

Rúmil grinned. “You’re right, it doesn’t. But come, we’ve been sitting here long enough.
Shall we go back inside and have something warm to drink? And then you can call one of
those maidens you promised me.”

Legolas laughed as Rúmil helped him stand, the awkward moment already forgotten. “Rúmil,
you are incorrigible,” he said.

***

Lórien, April 2586


A private moment with Haldir was not that easily created, Thranduil found out, main
reason being the obligations they both had during the day. It was by happy chance that
they came across each other that evening, both alone.

“Good evening, Haldir,” Thranduil said, immediately taking the opportunity presented to
him, “can I have a word with you?”

Haldir kept a straight face, but Thranduil knew by the slightly apprehensive glow in his
eye that Legolas hadn’t told him what had been said between them that afternoon.

“Certainly, my Lord,” Haldir said. “Right now?”

“If it suits you.”

“It does. Shall we go to my talan?”

“No, let us just walk while we converse,” Thranduil said. Haldir nodded his agreement.

Walking through Caras Galadhon was always a rewarding thing, but especially in
springtime. It was early April and the golden leaves of Autumn had fallen, revealing the
new yellow flowers of Spring in the boughs. On rare occasion one decided to leave the
heights and undertake the journey to lower grounds, and no child left such a treasure to
lie by the wayside, for the flowers gave off a delicious sweet scent.

As they walked, Thranduil first offered easy conversation by speaking of Legolas’s own
reports of his experiences as a patrol member, and asking Haldir for his perspective.
Haldir told him of his impressions, the obstacles Legolas had had to overcome and how he
had handled them. Haldir spoke long and chose his words with attention for detail,
telling Thranduil everything his pupil’s father needed to know, but leaving out one
particular thing.

Thranduil listened attentively, sometimes nodding or asking questions. A frown was on his
face during Haldir’s tale of Legolas’s first battle, when he had been confronted with the
enemy and his own killer instinct for the first time. Haldir’s report of the months that
had followed wasn’t very cheerful either. Legolas had spoken of that time himself, but
Haldir’s was an outsider’s view.

“Fortunately, that period was also an obstacle Legolas has overcome,” Haldir said. “He’s
doing much better, in battle as well as outside of it. I think he’s found a way to be at
peace with himself in this role as a warrior.”

“I have the same impression,” Thranduil said. “Seeing him like this, I think I have
little to be concerned about, and that does me good. However...”

Haldir looked at him from aside. Thranduil halted his steps and Haldir did the same.

“There is one thing that concerns me,” Thranduil continued, turning to face him. “I am
hoping that you can relieve me of my worries, Haldir.”

“I will certainly try, my Lord,” Haldir said, looking both puzzled and mildly
apprehensive.

“I shall not beat around the bush with you, Marchwarden,” Thranduil said. “It has come to
my ears that you have volunteered for the task of teaching my son something other than
the art of warfare, and it is not the language lessons I am referring to.”

Judging by the expression on Haldir’s face, he’d almost swallowed his tongue at this
remark, and Thranduil had to suppress a smile.

“It is true?” he asked.

Haldir cleared his throat. “Yes, my Lord, it is true.”

“I see. Then please explain to me how this came to pass. I think we both know this was
not exactly what I had in mind when I placed him in your care almost six years ago.”

“I... I am aware of that, sire,” Haldir said. He seemed to feel a little uncomfortable;
but he did not look away from Thranduil’s gaze, for that just wasn’t Haldir’s style. “How
exactly it came to pass is still a mystery to me, but it did... I’m in love with your
son, I’m afraid.”

“It frightens you?”

“It has frightened me for a long time,” Haldir said. “Sometimes it still does. I... May I
be personal, sire?”

“By all means.”

“I do not fall in love easily,” Haldir said. “In fact, before I met Legolas I was
determined to never love again. I lost my lover to Mandos six centuries ago; it is a long
story, but basically I lived a lonely life after his death, faithful to a memory. I was
distancing myself from the world around me and had no intentions of changing that, but
when I came to Mirkwood and met Legolas, everything started to change itself. From the
very beginning I felt that he was special, and I have felt it every day since. I have
resisted it for a long time but in the end my efforts were futile; I have fallen in love
with Legolas in spite of myself, and I stopped regretting that long ago.”

So Haldir’s heart had been held back by a deceased lover. That certainly explained the
mysterious hints everyone had been giving.

“Were you bound to your lover?” Thranduil asked.

“No, I was not,” Haldir replied.

“But your love must have run deep, if it held a claim on your heart all that time.”

Haldir shook his head. “It was not love that held that claim, sire, it was guilt. The
last time I saw Erefael, we had one of our fights. I said some terrible things to him and
I have never been able to take them back. I was also the one who kept him in Middle-
earth, while he desired to go to Valinor, where he would be alive this very day if it
weren’t for me.”

“You felt responsible for his death.”

Haldir nodded. “I did not love him enough to leave Lórien for him,” he said softly, “and
he was killed for it. I survived the battle, but was on the verge of wasting away not
long afterwards. It was Galadriel who saved me by telling me that I was still needed
here. She told me about a vision she’d had, and she was convinced that I had yet some
role to play. I did not follow Erefael into the Halls, and your son, my Lord, has been
the one who taught me to be thankful for that.”

Thranduil nodded slowly, smiling ever so faintly. Leave it to his son to make a withered
heart bloom again. Hadn’t it also been Legolas who made Thranduil smile again after their
shared tragedy?

“I realize,” Haldir continued, “that as Legolas’s mentor, it was not my place to fall in
love with him; but I simply didn’t see it coming when you did your request. I have not
tried to encourage him and I have tried to discourage myself, but it helped not. I never
meant to go against your wishes or to take liberties...”

“You said you would treat him like a brother,” Thranduil said with a glimmering eye. “Is
this how you treat your brothers, Haldir?”

Haldir actually blushed! “No, sire,” he replied, “this is absolutely different from how I
treat my brothers. It was a promise I have tried to keep, but...”

“I assume,” Thranduil interrupted, “that Legolas made it even more difficult for you
because he obviously never wanted to be regarded as your brother.”

Haldir cleared his throat almost inaudibly. “Indeed. Although it did take me a while to
understand how Legolas regarded me. Others, including you, apparently saw it long before
I did.”

“Well,” Thranduil said, “I must say I am glad to see that you feel equally strongly about
each other. This is possibly the happiest Legolas I ever saw, and I know it is your
doing, Haldir. I thank you for being so good to my son.”

Haldir smiled, a little dreamily. “There is no need to thank me for that, my Lord. It
takes no effort at all; I want Legolas to be happy. That is my primary goal.”

“Your only primary goal?” Thranduil asked. He did not like bringing this up, but he could
not leave it unsaid.

The smile disappeared. “I have one other,” Haldir replied. “Protecting Lórien, with my
life if I have to.”

“Can those two be rhymed?”

Haldir sighed. “How I wish that were possible, my Lord; but I’m afraid it is not. Yet I
refuse to give one up for the other.”

“Then how do you see the future?”

“I shall cherish every day he spends by my side,” Haldir replied, “but when the moment of
our parting comes, I will let him go. And every day that will follow, will be one day
closer to our desired reunion.”

“You will not leave Lórien for him,” Thranduil stated. It was as he had expected.

“He does not ask it of me,” Haldir said. “Nor will I ask him to trade Mirkwood for
Lórien.”

“He cannot,” Thranduil said. “He’s sworn an oath.”

“I know. He is too important for Mirkwood, and I am needed here. That is how it is, and
we must accept it.”

Thranduil looked at the Marchwarden with sympathy. “My heart grieves for you, Haldir,” he
said. “I would wish you both happier circumstances.”

“Perhaps they will come one day,” Haldir said with a little smile. “It can’t hurt to
hope.”

“You are prepared to wait for him all that time?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes,” Haldir replied. “I know my heart. It will be true to Legolas as long as there is
even a tiny glint of hope for us. Years of separation will not change that.”

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. Haldir was passionate and determined about this. It was to
be expected. His character, his age, his past; Haldir was an Elf ready for a lifelong
commitment. Thranduil looked at him with an inspecting eye. Haldir had submitted to his
third-degree without protest, had responded to the questions openly and honestly, and
Thranduil was convinced that this Elf was honorable and true in his affection for and
dedication to Legolas. It was a remarkable bond, between the respected and reticent
captain of the Galadhrim and the much younger, more sociable Mirkwood Prince, but it was
very real and very strong and Thranduil could not deny that he was touched by it. What
more could a father wish for than to see his child loved and cared for by someone strong
and dependable? And he liked Haldir; respected and trusted him.

“Very well, Haldir,” Thranduil said with a smile. “I shall not interrogate you further. I
thank you for your honesty. I know that you have only his best interest at heart and that
you will design all your actions to achieve that goal. Legolas is still in your care and
I leave it to you to make decisions for him when necessary. I trust you in that.”
Thranduil’s face assumed a more serious expression. “But you must promise me one thing,
Haldir.”

“And what is that, my Lord?”

The King’s voice was kind, but forbidding. “You may love my son all you want, but you
will not bind yourself to him without my permission.”

Haldir’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, no, my Lord, I assure you that is not at all under
discussion! I am ever aware of his rank and position, his responsibilities to you and to
Mirkwood, and the thought of a binding had not even crossed my mind.”

“No?”

“Well...” Haldir blushed again. “Not in earnest. I promise you, sire, I will undertake no
such step without you knowing it and approving of it.”

“Good, then we are agreed.” Thranduil was smiling again. “And one more thing, Haldir. If
I find out that you purposefully hurt my son, I shall come for you with a sharpened blade
and I shall personally see to it that your head ends on a platter together with some
other parts of you. And I assure you it shall be the slowest death in the history of
elvenkind.” Thranduil knew very well that a measure like that would never be required,
and Haldir knew it as well, but it was fun to see the Marchwarden blanch ever so slightly
all the same. It was easy to make a male flinch with that mental image, even a fearless
warrior like Haldir.

“Understood, my Lord,” he said.

“Excellent. Please step forward, Haldir.” Thranduil laughed when Haldir hesitated
visibly. “Have no fear! May a thankful father not embrace the one who makes his child
happy?”

Haldir smiled too and approached the King so that they could embrace. “I thank you for
your understanding, sire,” he said. “And I understand your concern. I am thankful that
you are willing to place your trust in me. I hereby renew my promise that I will not
betray it.”

Thranduil drew back, giving Haldir’s shoulders an amicable squeeze. “Your loyalty has
always been an reassurance to me, Haldir. One day, I assure you, I will return the favor.
Shall we now resume our walk and speak of more light-hearted things? For example, I do
not quite understand where my son’s sudden interest in rabbits comes from. Can you
explain it to me?”

Haldir laughed. “Oh,” he said, “where do I begin?”


Chapter 5 – Old Memories And The New

Lórien, April 2586


The seventh day of April started out as a normal, regular day in Caras Galadhon. Haldir
woke in bed, naked under the sheets, to the sound of the mallorn leaves rustling quietly
overhead. The air smelled faintly sweet, as always in this time of year. Too lazy to open
his eyes, he reached beside him, and it was then that unexpected things started
happening. When his hand didn’t immediately encounter what it was searching for, he
rolled onto his side and began to move towards Legolas, his hand still reaching blindly
for the waist he wanted to wrap his arm around.

But Legolas was not there, and he heard a groan of disappointment escape him.

“Looking for someone?”

Haldir opened his eyes and turned to where the voice came from. Legolas was sitting in
the chair he’d adopted as his favorite when he began spending most of his time in
Haldir’s talan: a creaky old thing Haldir had considered getting rid of dozens of times,
but since Legolas had fallen in love with it that plan had obviously gone out the window.
Legolas had even brought some cushions from his own talan to make the chair both more
comfortable and more attractive.

And now he was sitting there, knees drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs.
And he was dressed, for crying out loud!

“What are you doing there?” Haldir grunted.

“Watching you,” Legolas replied, “and waiting for you to wake up.”

“Well, I’m awake now,” Haldir said. “Get rid of those clothes and come back in bed.”

“Sorry,” Legolas smiled, “can’t do that.”

Haldir frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t get out of bed and dress myself just to reverse everything half an hour later,”
Legolas laughed.

“Then why did you?”

Legolas just smiled enigmatically.

Haldir leaned up on one elbow. “Legolas,” he said in a low voice, “come over here and let
me love you like you know I can.”

Legolas got up and came toward him. “You know, it’s a special day today,” he said.

“Is it?” Haldir asked, stretching out an arm and pulling Legolas to him. Legolas leaned
over him and drew a finger over one of the dark eyebrows.

“It’s your begetting-day,” he said.

“So?”

“So I’m going to give you extra attention today.”

“Are you? Well, I shall not object to that. Why don’t you start... right now?” Haldir
pulled at Legolas’s hand, trying to get him back in bed, but Legolas resisted, bent down
to give Haldir a teasing kiss, a brief flick of the tongue – it was too tempting –, and
pulled back before Haldir could start to respond.

Haldir growled. “Legolas.”

“Get out of bed, Haldir,” Legolas smiled and he began to turn away. Haldir was faster.
Strong hands gripped Legolas by the waist and before he could begin to struggle, Haldir
had him pinned to the mattress, his wrists in a lock above his head. Haldir was leaning
half over him, breathing harshly.

“These are cruel games you’re playing, Legolas,” he said. He shifted slightly and Legolas
instantly became aware of Haldir’s desire, pressing against his thigh with growing
insistency. He had to make an effort not to gasp; Haldir’s powerful sexual appetite never
failed to affect him. Haldir knew it, too.

“Release me,” Legolas commanded.

Haldir had bent down and was making a track of slow, open-mouthed kisses along Legolas’s
neck and throat, the sensual kind of kisses he knew made Legolas quiver. “My love,” he
murmured, “don’t leave me like this. Must I beg for it? I will if I have to.”

Legolas suddenly had an idea. “If I give you relief,” he said with a smile, “will you
then submit to the plans I have with you today?”

Haldir groaned. “You are using my current weakness for your own shady purposes.”

Legolas giggled. “I know,” he said. “Isn’t that diplomatic?” With a quick movement, he
slipped from Haldir’s lock and reversed their positions as Haldir had taught him. The
sheets were already a messy heap but he kicked them further away so they would not bother
him. He then leaned down to bring his mouth to Haldir’s, and this time he did allow the
kiss to become deep and sensual, while his hand reached for Haldir’s erection and began
to pull teasingly. Haldir jerked beneath him.

“Ah, Legolas, no teasing now,” he gasped.

“Do you agree to my terms then?” Legolas asked.

“Yes, yes, I agree already. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Legolas smiled. He kissed Haldir once more on the mouth, then moved to his neck for a
series of the same kisses Haldir had given him. After that he brought his mouth to
Haldir’s nipples, licking them hard, and then quickly further down. He separated Haldir’s
thighs with his knee and knelt between them, arranging Haldir’s legs so that they were
spread and slightly bent at the knees, and took a moment to look at his prey. Haldir
underwent everything docilely as he awaited Legolas’s next actions, studying the
familiar, beautiful face as the prince’s eyes went over his body. Sometimes it was hard
to determine what Legolas was thinking; he was such a paradox. He was sweet by nature,
leaning toward shyness and self-consciousness at times, but he could overcome that and
show himself as a very different Elf: chatty, daring, youthfully enthusiastic, wickedly
funny... and adventurous in bed, too.

Haldir had never thought of himself as a very inventive lover; but Legolas had asked him
to teach him and so he had begun to share his experiences with the young prince, treading
slowly and carefully and not wanting to press Legolas into doing anything he wasn’t yet
comfortable with. For the art of love can be practised in many different ways, and
although Legolas had taken that first hurdle bravely and successfully, Haldir knew there
were many more yet to come. He hoped that under his guidance, Legolas would enjoy the
ride, not fear the obstacles he would encounter.

Now, a couple of months after their first night of shared passion, Haldir thought it safe
to say that that wish had been granted. Not that there hadn’t been uncomfortable moments;
but Legolas was not an Elf to run away from his fears, and he trusted Haldir – and that
made all the difference in the world.

Haldir remembered the first time he’d given in to his longing to taste Legolas’s desire
for him on his tongue; allowing his mouth to wander below Legolas’s navel and using his
tongue to tentatively greet that part of Legolas that was reaching for him so
beautifully. Legolas had reacted strongly to that; he said nothing, but his entire body
went rigid and tense and he drew an audible breath. Trying to decide whether it was the
right moment to take this further, Haldir moved his tongue down the length of Legolas’s
erection, doing it the way he knew would feel good. Still Legolas did not respond, except
that he began to tremble and move his hands restlessly. Haldir knew he was the first to
do this, the first to let Legolas experience these sensations, and that knowledge
enflamed him so much that he proceeded more boldly, cleverly making use of the sensitive
spots Legolas shared with every elven male.

Legolas, meanwhile, was a helpless victim, a prey to new and mindblowing sensations that
threatened to destroy his sanity... or possibly even all of him. It was too much; and
Haldir’s tongue was definitely too good at this. Legolas wanted it to stop and yet he
didn’t; but when Haldir began to take him in, actually bring his mouth down on him, his
hand reached for the Marchwarden’s head and tried to stop him.

“Haldir,” he panted, “gods, stop.”

“You don’t want this?” Haldir asked, looking up.

“I don’t think I can take it,” Legolas said breathlessly. “It feels too good.”

Haldir smiled. “It is supposed to feel good, dearest.”

“I know, but...” Legolas felt heat creep to his cheeks, and he lowered his voice to a
whisper. “I don’t think I will last long if you do this.”

Haldir gently stroked Legolas’s inner thigh with his fingertips. “Is that a problem?”

“You mean you... Do you really want to do this?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

Legolas bit his lip. “But do *you* want it, Haldir?”

“Yes, I would enjoy it,” Haldir replied.

“Why?” Legolas could kick himself for being such a bore, but he had to ask. “You don’t
think it’s... repulsive?”

Haldir laughed softly as he crawled forward to bring their faces close together. “I
assure you, guren, I do not find it repulsive in the least. It is an intimate and
pleasurable thing, one that I would enjoy sharing with you.” He tenderly caressed
Legolas’s face. “That’s the truth, meleth-nin. Do you believe me?”

Legolas nodded. He looked so fragile at that moment that Haldir started to feel guilty;
but an instant later Legolas, as usual, made him reconsider.

“Perhaps I should stop talking,” Legolas said with a faint smile. “But it’s just that
sometimes the variety of your skills amazes me, captain. Call me naïve, but the thought
that you had experience at this never occurred to me until today.”

Haldir smiled. “You are naïve,” he said, “but I don’t consider that a bad thing. Your
innocence is part of your charm, my sweet one.”

Legolas shifted beneath him and glanced up at him seductively. “But you also find me
sensual, or don’t you?”

Haldir buried his fingers in Legolas’s hair, sliding them beneath the back of the blond
head, and stroked his thumb over the fine, pointed ear. “What a silly question. You know
I do.”

“And *you* should know that I’m asking only because I like to hear the answer.”

“Very well, I will say it. You are an incredibly sensual and beautiful Elf, Legolas of
Mirkwood.”

“And?”

“And just the sight of you makes me want you.”

“You can do better than that, Haldir of the Galadhrim,” Legolas challenged.

Haldir lowered his face very close to Legolas’s and murmured, “Everytime I see you I want
you in my arms. I want my hands underneath your clothing before I undress you the way I
like it. I want to possess every inch of you and mark it as mine, and then I want to have
you until you are too ecstatic to even cry out my name.”

Legolas licked his lips.

“There.” Haldir smiled. “I said it. Are you happy now?”

“Very. But if you want to make me tremendously happy, you’ll need to do more,” Legolas
said, lifting his hips pointedly.

“Oh, indeed. Forgive me, I’d almost forget.” Haldir grinned. With the heat of Legolas’s
arousal pressing demandingly against his abdomen, it was impossible to forget the young
warrior’s need.

“What do you want me to do then?” he asked Legolas.

“Tell me what *you* would like to do, and I will tell you if I agree to it,” Legolas
said. “Whisper it in my ear so that you cannot see me blush.”

Haldir, smiling, lowered his mouth to Legolas’s ear and began to tell Legolas of his
intentions, murmuring words so sensual that the predicted blush instantly took possession
of Legolas’s face, the fire of arousal inflaming beneath the fair skin. It was still
blazing hotly when Haldir finished his talk and drew back to look at him, but at that
point it no longer mattered.

“Well?” Haldir asked, cocking his head.

“I approve,” Legolas breathed. “You may proceed.”

Haldir smiled, kissed him, kissed him a second time and began to slide back, bestowing
more kisses on Legolas’s throat and chest as he went. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“I do,” Legolas said. “I trust you; and I shall keep my mouth shut this time.”

Haldir smirked impishly. “I hope to prove you wrong in that,” he said as he slid between
Legolas’s thighs. “You shall be anything but silent if I have it my way.”

Legolas laughed a little breathlessly as he braced himself against the sensations that
would soon sweep him off his feet, taking hold of his pillow with both his hands. This
time, they would not try to stop Haldir.

Now, several months later, the memory of that pleasant night made Haldir smile. His
reassurance was sometimes required to help Legolas get over his self-consciousness; all
of this was still relatively new to him, new enough to awe him every time they made love
– in whatever way. But he was also beginning to become fully aware of the effect he had
on Haldir, and learning how to make use of it. Haldir, for his part, had learned that
he’d better beware when that adventurous streak in Legolas came floating to the surface;
for when Legolas decided to play one of his little games, Haldir, with all his years of
experience, was nowhere.

Like now, on the morning of his 3314th begetting-day. This so-called ‘special day’ meant
nothing to him, in fact he was completely indifferent to it, but Legolas did not share
that opinion and apparently, the youth was determined to have it *his* way this time.
Whatever his plans were, he’d already succeeded in making Haldir agree to them; by taking
advantage of Haldir’s need for him, the little seducer. Haldir was trying to decide
whether he was dismayed or delighted; probably a little of both.

Legolas was still watching him. “What are you thinking of?” he asked.

“Of the first time I did this for you,” Haldir replied.

Legolas smiled as he, too, remembered. “That was very nice.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Legolas reached out and stroked his thumb over Haldir’s lower lip. “Your mouth is good,”
he said, and there was something hot in his eye; “Mine can learn a lot from it.”

“I had no complaints about yours previous times,” Haldir said. “It pleased me well.”

“Still I need more practice,” Legolas smirked. “I strongly feel I haven’t reached my
summit yet.”

“I am painfully aware of the same thing,” Haldir groaned. “Legolas, I think I will die if
I don’t reach *my* summit soon.”

Legolas grinned. “Peace, meleth-nin. It is your special day. Lack of attention will be
the least of your worries; I plan to make it unforgettable for you.” And with those words
he bent down to start coming true on that promise, talking no more. Haldir stopped
speaking as well; but silent he was not. Legolas made sure of that.

***

Mirkwood, December 2623


While Rúmil had been dragged into the freezing cold by Legolas, defenseless against the
Prince’s enthusiasm, Anyriand suffered a comparable fate that day, the first of their
unannounced stay in Mirkwood. He returned from the room assigned to him, where he had
bathed and changed his clothes, and entered the main living room, feeling refreshed and
considerably warmer than before, to find Thranduil standing in front of a window and
looking at the freshly fallen snow.

“The snow has stopped,” Thranduil said when he sensed Anyriand’s approach. “I fancy a
walk.”

“A walk, seriously?” Anyriand said with one eyebrow lifted.

“Yes. I’ve been sitting inside all day long and I could use a bit of fresh air.”

“Will you be long? I was hoping we’d sit down for a drink, and catch up.”

“And we will do that.” Thranduil turned slightly to look at him. “We can converse while
we walk and have that drink when we get back.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?”

Thranduil smiled. “I was hoping you’d be willing to accompany me, dear friend.”

“Thank you,” Anyriand said with a snort. “I’ve had enough refreshment for at least a
week.” That was true. He hadn’t felt warm since he had left Esgaroth, and the idea of
seeking the cold voluntarily was not at all an appealing one.

Thranduil laughed. “You Lórien Elves are used to nothing! Very well, you stay here alone
then while I delight in the beauty of Mirkwood in winter.”

“I will find my own entertainment,” Anyriand said. “Legolas can keep me company.”

“No, he cannot,” Thranduil replied. “He’s gone outside with Rúmil, who, I might add,
whined about the cold like you did.” He grinned. “You Galadhrim... weaklings, all of
you.”

“We may not be used to these temperatures,” Anyriand said defensively, “but we have other
qualities.”

Thranduil laughed again as he moved away from the window and made for the door. “Let us
not get started about that again. The Galadhrim are the finest swordsmen; Mirkwood has
better archers. It has always been that way. It’s tradition.”

Anyriand followed Thranduil into the hall, where an Elf of the staff came to meet them.
“I am going for a walk, Aegas,” Thranduil told him. “You can tell Legolas this should he
return before I do.”

“Yes, sire,” Aegas said. “I will go and fetch your cloak.”

“Make that two,” Anyriand said grimly.

“Certainly, my lord.”

As the Elf disappeared into an adjacent room, Thranduil continued talking as if it did
not surprise him at all that Anyriand had changed his mind. “Do you think your cousin
would like to join us?” he asked his friend as he went over to a solid-looking cabinet
that stood against one of the stone walls.

“Perhaps he would if he were awake,” Anyriand said, “but he’s laid himself down for a nap
after his bath and is probably still under.”

Anyriand watched Thranduil dig up something from his pocket, a cord with several small
keys attached to it. Thranduil selected one of the keys, unlocked the top drawer and
opened it. From it he took two daggers; one he attached to his belt, the other he stuck
into his boot. Then he took two more and handed them to Anyriand, but not before he’d
closed the drawer and relocked it.

“Take these, my friend,” he said. “Our winters offer relative safety, but you never know.
If someone’s blood must stain the snow, it shall not be ours.”

“Now there’s a happy thought,” Anyriand said, but he accepted the daggers and tucked them
away as the King had done. “Are you comfortable wandering away from the palace with only
the protection of my daggers and your own?” he asked.

A lopsided smile came to Thranduil’s lips. “What kind of life would I have if I stayed
inside on a day like this, unable to enjoy my forest and the snow unless escorted by an
armed guard? No, I’ll kindly pass for that.”

Aegas returned, carrying two hooded cloaks. The one Anyriand received was of a very light
grey; fine silverthread was woven into the wool. Thranduil’s cloak was his own; of the
same quality, but without ornaments or embroideries. The material was of an extraordinary
color; it was dark grey, but assumed a hue of deep dark brown at a certain lightfall. It
was custom that the King of Mirkwood wore cloaks that changed color with the seasons;
light green for Spring, emerald green for Summer, orange-brown for Autumn, and this was
his winter cloak. The grey-brown color was exactly that of the trees, dark and bare of
leaves in this time of year; it was both symbolic and practical, for it offered perfect
camouflage.

Not much later the two Elves descended the flight of stairs and headed north. Thranduil
seemed to know exactly where he wished to go, and Anyriand walked by his side, leaving it
to his friend to choose their path. They were talking and laughing, for they were having
a mock discussion about which realm was best, Lórien or Mirkwood; it was not the first
time they had this discussion, but it was always fun. Traditionally it included a lot of
jests and harmless insults, not meant to hurt but to outwit the other.

“There’s another great advantage to us living closer to the South,” Anyriand said at one
point, referring to Thranduil’s earlier comment that the Galadhrim were weaklings who
couldn’t stand the cold. “We are warmer-blooded than you northlings; makes us better
lovers.” He grinned.

“Oh, really?” Thranduil’s voice was filled with mirth.

“Oh yes. Our hearts pump pure passion through our veins. Have you never noticed?”

“May I remind you that I am not objective? You shall not hear me say that a Lórien bed
offers more pleasure than a Mirkwood one. Besides, you know there is an old saying about
Lórien Elves that contradicts your statement, Anyriand.”

“Yes, I know it all too well, and I despise it, like I despise all sayings and proverbs.
Spinster’s talk, that’s all they are. Especially this one; the twins of Imladris can
vouch for that.”

“Ah yes, those twins,” Thranduil nodded. “Wouldn’t they make perfect referees in this
matter. They’re objective and they have the knowledge, when it comes to judging between
Mirkwood and Lórien.” He shot Anyriand a mischievous, sideway glance. “I believe they’ve
had a taste of both, haven’t they?”

Anyriand looked down for a moment, then up, to meet the King’s eyes. “Yes, I am pretty
certain they have, Thranduil,” he said with a half smile.

“Those two are evil in pretty packages,” Thranduil laughed.

“Very pretty,” Anyriand admitted.

“But they are good friends to Legolas,” Thranduil said mildly. “There must be some
decency in them after all.”

They had walked for a while now; nothing remained to be seen of the palace and the ground
was sloping up, Thranduil leading Anyriand over invisible paths to the top of a hill that
offered a magnificent view at the surrounding lands. It was a place the King visited
often; Mirkwood had few such observation-posts.

“Yes, Legolas...” Anyriand said. “How is he? Still holding up well, as you wrote in your
letter?”

“Better than I had feared,” Thranduil said, and he was not smiling now, “but it is not
getting easier for him as the years pass. He seeks diversion in other things; his studies
and the servicing of Mirkwood, and he does those things well, but it cannot be denied
that he is a bleaker version of the Legolas I saw when he was with Haldir.”

Anyriand nodded slowly. “Having no children of my own, I cannot speak from experience,
but I imagine it is one of the hardest things, to see your son suffer like this.”

“The worst thing is,” Thranduil sighed, “that I can do so little to help him. It’s mainly
his loyalty to me and to Mirkwood that keeps him away from Haldir, and though I wish they
could be together, I know it cannot be so. He came back because he felt he was needed
here, and it is true; Mirkwood does need him... but what *he* needs, he cannot have. He
deserves more than this, Anyriand, and I can do nothing to change the situation.
Sometimes I think I’ll go insane with frustration.”

Anyriand laid his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “You’re already doing all you can,
mellon,” he said gently. “Don’t feel guilty for being unable to solve this unfortunate
situation. Some things are just beyond one’s power; even the power of a king.” He smiled.

“Those are sensible words, Anyriand,” Thranduil said, also with a smile. “I know it is
truth. But I think that parents will always want to achieve the impossible where their
children are concerned. That’s just part of the package of parenthood, I guess.”

“You are probably right.”

Thranduil looked at his friend from aside. “Do you intend to marry one day, Anyriand?
Start a family, perhaps? I’ve never heard you mention plans in that direction.”

“Do you see me as a family man?” Anyriand asked with a smirk.

“Not per se. Whatever you choose will suit you. But I do think that you are good husband
material and I just wonder if one day some blessed Elf will make you one.”

“Me? Someone’s husband?” Anyriand pondered this. “If I find the right person...
perhaps... I will let you know when it happens.”

Thranduil laughed; “I certainly hope so!”

They had reached the top of the hill, which was bare of trees, like the crown of a bald
man’s head. With clear weather, the view was always spectacular, as it was now. Silently
the two Elves stood side by side, taking in the view. To the North, West and South
Mirkwood stretched itself out, usually a vastness of dark green, but now brown-grey
topped with white. To the West, on the horizon rose the Misty Mountains, meeting the Grey
Mountains in the North, where the roots of the Anduin lay. To the East, only a relatively
thin strip of trees; then plains, and, rising majestically into the sky, the lone
mountain of Erebor. The world was silent and white, and seemed to lie in peace at the
moment.

The wind was raw here, and Anyriand was glad to be wearing a warm cloak. It was a high-
quality, elven garment and it offered protection against the wind and the cold, but it
could only do so much magic and Anyriand secretly hoped they would not be standing on
this hilltop very long. Thranduil seemed to be less bothered by the cold, and probably
was. When a strong gust of wind caught the hood of his cloak and blew it back, he did not
reach up to pull it over his head again. He just left it the way it was and gazed out
over the surrounding lands. His long hair immediately became something for the wind to
play with, but this seemed to bother him as little as the cold did.

“It is beautiful,” Anyriand said.

“Worth the walk?” Thranduil smiled.

“Yes!” Anyriand laughed. “But even without the view your company would have made it
worthwile, Thranduil. It is too seldom that we meet.”

“Sadly, it is,” Thranduil agreed. “How long will you stay?”

Another gust of wind came, lifting Thranduil’s mane from his shoulders and making it whip
like a banner, a silken banner of spun gold. But the wind, as far as Anyriand could see,
failed to do damage to the King’s braids. They were done well, by skilled hands. Did
Thranduil make his braids himself?

“Anyriand?”

Anyriand’s eyes snapped back to Thranduil’s. “Sorry?”

“How long will you stay?”

“Oh. I’m not sure. A while, I hope, but Elbrehin has a say in this as well.” Anyriand
bent down and scooped up snow with his hands, then began to mold it into a snowball.

“Lórien Elves can throw farther than Mirkwood Elves,” he said.

Thranduil grinned and accepted the bait. He, too, gathered some snow and made it into a
ball. “We’ll see,” he said.

They both took position, the snowballs loosely in their right hands, resting in the angle
between head and shoulder.

“Ready?” Anyriand said. “Three, two, one, go.”

They both brought their arm back, then swung it forward and released simultaneously. They
watched their projectiles in flight, making an arc and then quickly falling toward the
treetops below, until they disappeared from sight.

The two Elves turned to each other.

“I believe mine got farther,” Anyriand said. “I win, on behalf of all the Galadhrim.”

“How can you be sure you won,” Thranduil said, “when the eyesight of Lórien Elves is
inferior to that of Mirkwood Elves?”

Anyriand laughed; “Thranduil, you are one of the most competitive Elves I’ve ever met, do
you know that? And if I heard the Elves of Haldir’s patrol correctly, your son inherited
it from you.”

“It’s true, we seek to prove and improve ourselves always.” Thranduil grinned. “But this
was a jest; yours did fly farther than mine. But only a small distance.”

“Only a small distance,” Anyriand admitted. Once again it struck him how infectuous
Thranduil’s smile was; this grin he was displaying, it was almost too boyish for an Elf
of his age and status. It made him look young and unconcerned.

How long had he known Thranduil? It seemed like forever, and it almost was; Anyriand was
a young and ambitious adult when the new King of Mirkwood visited Lórien with his lovely
wife. Anyriand was courting she-elves in that time, and a friendship had begun to grow
between him and the royal couple. Great was his joy when the spouses were gifted with a
son, and great his grief when the Queen was taken away from her husband and child.
Whatever important events there had been in Thranduil’s life, Anyriand had either seen
them or heard of them via their correspondence. And vice versa. As Anyriand grew older,
he came to envy his friend a little, for having the kind of life Anyriand secretly wanted
for himself; a loving wife, a child to be proud of. But now... now it was something
different he wanted. A confusing but very existent desire, the seed of which had been
planted in his mind by those Imladris twins years ago. And he could not weed it out no
matter how hard he had tried.

*Not wise,* a voice in his head said as he stepped forward, *not wise!* But it helped
not. Anyriand leaned forward and kissed Thranduil on the mouth, neither demandingly nor
innocently. Not unexpectedly, Thranduil’s lips remained still and unresponsive against
his own, but Anyriand had already crossed a line friends are not supposed to cross, and
it was too late for pretenses; so he refused to back away now that he was here, kissing
Thranduil in one last, desperate attempt to get a response from him... any response. A
fool’s attempt, possibly.

His prayers were answered when Thranduil parted his lips and began to kiss him back with
a warmth that was rather unexpected, shocking after the lack of response shortly before.
Shocking, but good. Oh, to Mandos with the consequences. Anyriand took Thranduil’s
shoulders and leaned into the kiss with more insistency, more passion; he vaguely noted
that a freezing wind was still sweeping over the hill and he was feeling cold from head
to toe, but Thranduil’s mouth was hot and wet and wonderful and melted against his so
naturally that it sent an overpowering rush of heat and lust through him.

And then, before it had even really begun, before he could really start to enjoy it, it
was over. Thranduil ended it abruptly, stepping back and staring at Anyriand. He said
nothing, but was clearly shocked; startled, even. Anyriand had not often seen him like
that.

“Well,” Anyriand said hesitantly, “Mirkwood Elves taste better. I will grant you that
victory.” It was an ill-timed joke, but he wanted to break the ice so badly.

A few seconds passed in silence. “I think it is time to go back,” Thranduil said rather
stiffly, and he turned on his heel.

As Anyriand slowly followed Thranduil down the hill, looking at the King’s tense
shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had just destroyed a friendship of millennia
in only a few seconds’ time.


***

A/N: Perhaps I am exaggerating the climate differences between Mirkwood and Lórien... but
it’s great fun, so I’m keeping it this way. :-)
A/N 2: ‘guren’ = my heart (S)
A/N 3: The saying Thranduil and Anyriand are referring to, the one that’s so insulting to
Lórien Elves, is featured in ‘The Weeping of the Trees’, chapter 8. It’s just a silly
thing my brain invented for me, and not true, of course. :-) Would I say something like
that about my beloved Marchwarden? Nah!

***


Chapter 6 – The Most Precious Gift

~ dedicated to Nimvala. Happy birthday! ~

Mirkwood, December 2623


Legolas and Rúmil had returned to the palace earlier than Thranduil and Anyriand, and
they had seated themselves by the fire in the main living room, lounging in the
comfortable chairs and drinking warm wine.

“This,” Rúmil said blissfully, indicating his goblet, “is without doubt the best medicine
for a frozen Elf.”

“The very best,” Legolas agreed.

By the time the two others came back, Legolas and Rúmil were deeply engaged in
conversation about the comings and goings in Lórien; the vicissitudes of the patrol; and,
more than anything else, every bit of information about Haldir Rúmil could possibly think
of. Whether it concerned the color of his new boots or a wound he had taken in battle,
Legolas wanted to hear it all. Rúmil smiled mildly as Legolas questioned him, noticing
the glimmer in the prince’s eye. It did him good to see that Legolas’s affection for
Haldir had not diminished. It was something both he and Orophin feared; if Legolas, so
far from Haldir for so long a time, would fall in love with another – something which,
considering the circumstances, couldn’t even be held against him –, what would that do to
Haldir? Rúmil thought he knew. The loss of Legolas’s love would destroy his youngest
brother, even more so than Erefael’s death had done. It would be definite.

After Legolas had gone back to Mirkwood, the composition of the patrol was back to how it
had been before the prince came, but none of them would ever say that it was as if he had
never been amongst them. He was missed, as a warrior and as a companion, but in a way his
presence was still felt. To remember their young Mirkwood friend they only needed to look
at their captain; an Elf they’d come to know since Legolas had arrived in the Golden
Wood. To their relief, he had not changed much after Legolas’s departure; of course he
missed his lover and companion, but he was used to being alone, and the thought of seeing
Legolas again one day, his feelings hopefully unchanged, made it so much easier to bear.
Haldir was hopeful; and that was more than Rúmil and Orophin could have hoped for a
couple of years ago.

And so, while Rúmil spoke of the events in Lórien and Legolas listened, time went by
pleasantly. They’d both just refilled their goblets when Thranduil, freshly returned from
his walk, came into the room and looked at them with a faint smile.

“Adar, you’re back,” Legolas said happily, sitting up. “Sit down and drink some wine with
us.”

“Not now, Legolas. I have things to do.” Thranduil’s eyes strayed randomly over the
things that were in the room. “Did you two amuse yourselves?” he inquired.

“Legolas took me walking on the ice,” Rúmil told the King with a laugh. “My backside was
not so happy, but the rest of me thought it was great fun.”

“And now we’ve made ourselves comfortable here for tales and drinking,” Legolas said.

“Good,” Thranduil said, nodding. “We want our guests from Lórien to feel at home here.”

Something was not right, Legolas thought. His father was absent-minded, his thoughts
elsewhere. He was talking to them but his heart was not really into the conversation, and
Legolas suddenly had a feeling that something unpleasant had occurred while his father
was away. Why hadn’t Anyriand come into the room with him?

“I shall see you both later, at the dinner table,” Thranduil said and he turned to leave
the room.

Legolas sat still for a moment, then launched himself from his chair. “Excuse me for a
moment,” he said to Rúmil and hurried after his father, catching up with him in the hall.

“Legolas?” Thranduil said, turning around, “what is it?”

“I wanted to ask you the same thing,” Legolas replied. “Adar, what is wrong?” He frowned
in concern; if there had been any doubt in his mind before, it was gone now that he saw
his father’s eyes up close; they were stormy, betraying the King’s inner turmoil. Yet his
face was calm.

“Nothing, ion,” Thranduil said, “nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t try to set my mind at ease with an untruth,” Legolas said, shaking his head. “It
won’t work.” He took his father’s hand. “What happened, ada? Where is Anyriand? Did you
quarrel?”

“No, Legolas.” Thranduil smiled. Were the roles reversed now? The son comforting the
father? “There’s just a couple of things that I need to figure out; that is all.”

“Nothing I can help with, probably?”

“No.” Thranduil reached up to briefly touch Legolas’s face. “Not at the moment, at least.
It is sweet of you, ion; but what your old father needs right now, is a moment of
reflection. Or perhaps two.” He smiled again. “Don’t worry about me, leafling. Go back to
Rúmil and have fun. I’ll see you at dinner.”

And with those words, Thranduil turned and departed from the hall, leaving Legolas
wondering what in the world could have upset his father so.

***

Lórien, April 2586


Haldir had been a little worried after Legolas had mentioned certain ‘plans’ he had for
his begetting-day, especially because Legolas refused to reveal what they included.
Haldir was not used to being held in suspense; he was used to being in control of himself
and the things he did, and to give the reins to Legolas today, and let himself be led to
Ilúvatar knew where, that was not an easy thing for him. But he had made a promise, and
Legolas was obviously so excited about it... Haldir would not disappoint him with his
scepticism.

When he found out that Legolas’s plans were mainly about spending private time together
outside of Caras Galadhon, Haldir was more pleased than he could have thought.

“Where are we going?” he tried as they rode out from the city.

“You’ll see,” came Legolas’s reply.

They rode north for a while. It was seldom that they went out riding simply for the
enjoyment of it, and they delighted in the mild spring weather, the ride itself, and each
other’s company. Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon wore on, and finally Legolas
allowed their horses to change course, bending off westwards. Before long they came upon
the stream Ivorlind; it came from the mountains, its waters journeying southward until
they found their destination, the pool in Caras Galadhon.

“Are you hungry?” Legolas asked as he dismounted swiftly and gracefully.

Turned out, Legolas had made preparations for a rather luxurious outdoor meal; a picnic,
as it could be called. It was all there in the bags his horse carried on its back; bread,
different types of fruit, jams and honey in glass jars, even a bag of the cinnamon-
flavored biscuits Haldir was so fond of. To drink there was wine, and a cordial that
tas