Title: Wish Upon The Stars 
(part 2 of the Pilgrim story arc, sequel to ‘The Weeping of the Trees’), 
chapters 1-13/26.

Author: Laurelin   (laurelin_enedlithien@hotmail.com)
Website: http://www.geocities.com/laurelin_enedlithien (fics and story 
illustrations)
Rating: NC-17 (overall; most chapters G-R)
Pairings: Thranduil/Elladan/Elrohir, Elladan/Elrohir/OFC, Haldir/Legolas, 
Haldir/OFC
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its inhabitants are Tolkien’s, not mine. I don’t 
mean to steal them; I’m just borrowing them for my enjoyment.
Warnings: Sap/fluff. Angst/drama. Romance. Violence. And incest.
Archive: I’m flexible, but I like to know where it’s going.
Notes: Can this story be read separately from the first part? In theory, yes... but 
why would you? You’re missing an awful lot of fun! *g* Seriously, I would 
recommend that you read the first part as well.
The idea of starting a story arc called 'Pilgrim' came to me when I heard the song 
'Pilgrim' by Enya. This story arc will tell how, in my imagination, Legolas prince of 
Mirkwood eventually became the archer and warrior we see in LotR. 
Feedback: Yesss. Laurelin wantssss it! Very muchesss.
Summary: Legolas arrives in Lórien to begin his training as a warrior under 
Haldir’s supervision. In the process, he discovers things about himself he’d never 
dreamed of. Haldir, in the meantime, finds that even one immortal is never too old 
to learn.

Read and approved of by: Jilly. Thanks!


Chapter 1 – Jingle Jangle Morning

Mirkwood


When the Sun first started to rise over Mirkwood that morning, bathing the royal 
palace in a soft-golden light as she did so, she was surprised to find the Elven King 
still fast asleep in his bed; usually he was already awake and out of bed by the 
time dawn’s light touched his windows. It was not so this time. And something else 
had changed, as well; for Thranduil was not alone this morning. The Sun peered 
inside, curious to see who Thranduil’s company was, blushing slightly when she 
saw there were two; exceptionally fair Elves both of them. Creamy-skinned and 
long-limbed, their long dark locks contrasting with the white of Thranduil’s sheets. 
One of them was sleeping peacefully; the other, she realized, was awake and 
gazing back at her with puckered eyes. She quickly continued her ascension of the 
sky, pretending she hadn’t seen.

A whisper awoke Elrohir that morning. “Ro.”

“Hmh.” Elrohir did not bother to open his eyes.

“Ro,” came it again, more insistently.

“Yeah. What?” Elrohir mumbled, still not opening his eyes. Even through closed 
eyelids, Elrohir could see that it was still horribly early. The Sun could barely have 
risen above the horizon. What was wrong with Elladan, for Elbereth’s sake?

“I think I shall die,” Elladan replied. “Right here, right now.”

“Yeah? Why so?” Elrohir said, unmoved.

“Look.”

Elrohir reluctantly opened his eyes, only to find his brother lying beside him, 
looking as healthy as ever.

“What is it, then?” he groaned.

Ellladan only gave a nod towards his chest. Elrohir slowly followed his gaze. Then, 
everything started to come back to him. Thranduil. Legolas. The Prince’s rather 
emotional departure for Lórien. Thranduil’s confession the night before. He and 
Elladan; loving Thranduil in his bed, and the magnificent Mirkwood King letting 
them do it. Asking them for it. Oh, yes. He remembered that clearly now. He felt 
more awake suddenly.

But he also understood now why Elladan had announced his untimely death. For 
the Mirkwood King presented an image capable of breaking one’s heart. He lay on 
his side, his calm breathing speaking of a peaceful sleep. His closed eyelids hid the 
aquamarine depths of his eyes, his long lashes were dark and twitching slightly 
against the soft skin of his chiseled cheekbones. His head rested on Elladan’s chest, 
his cheek directly over Elladan’s heart. His thick, unbound hair flowed over his 
broad shoulders and Elladan’s collarbones; the early sunlight seemed to stroke it 
with affection, make it shine softly like the purest gold imaginable. In his sleep, 
one arm had draped itself securely over Elladan’s body, and one of his long legs 
had done the same, now lying gracefully entwined with Elladan’s legs and with the 
sheets, which had slipped down to below his knees. Now that Elrohir came to think 
of it... Thranduil’s entire body seemed to attract the light, as if the Sun could not 
resist the temptation of kissing him good morning. Every perfect, naked inch of 
him...

“Ro,” Elladan said again, almost begging now.

“I know,” Elrohir said softly. “I know...” He sat up and reached out a hesitating 
hand to run his fingertips from Thranduil’s shoulder to his hip in a slow, soft caress. 
Thranduil’s skin was flawless, and incredibly smooth... But then again, Elrohir 
already knew that. He’d felt it the night before. *Tasted* it, the night before; when 
Thranduil had allowed them to share his bed with him. They’d been longing for that 
almost from the moment they first saw him; and although their affection for the 
kind, enchanting ruler was genuine, the hunt *had* been a sort of game. But 
things had gone a little differently; and this was no longer a game. They both knew 
that as they gazed at the King, looking so vulnerable and young as he slept closely 
against Elladan; as if he had been seeking the comforting warmth of the eldest 
twin’s body in his sleep.

“What are we to do?” Elladan said, softly as not to wake Thranduil.

“I don’t know,” Elrohir replied just as softly as he continued to stroke the King 
gently. “But I know one thing, we can’t leave Mirkwood now.”

“If he wants us to stay, that is,” Elladan said, nodding at Thranduil.

“Yes... And in that case we’ll have to write to father.”

“Indeed we do. Although I think he doesn’t need to know the whole truth.”

Elrohir smiled softly. “No; I can only imagine how he would react to that.” He 
looked down at the King as he lay in repose. “I feel for him, you know,” he said 
pensively. “He will soon wake up and remember that the one he loves most, is on 
his way to Lórien right now, and that he won’t be seeing him for two years. He will 
remember what made him decide to send Legolas away in the first place... How 
can we ever take such pain away?”

“I don’t think we can,” Elladan replied. “We can only try to ease it for him. I know, 
it doesn’t feel enough, but what other option do we have? We can help him, but in 
the end, he needs to do it on his own, Ro; what he said to Legolas, goes for him 
just as much.”

Elrohir nodded. “He will remember last night, as well,” he said slowly. “What do 
you think he will say?”

“I don’t know,” Elladan said truthfully. “We’ll just have to wait and see...”

Elrohir gave his brother a lingering kiss, then changed position and lay down 
behind Thranduil, connecting his chest with the King’s muscular back and 
embracing him from behind. And so the twins lay dozing silently for a little while, 
Thranduil safely between them.

It took at least another thirty minutes before Thranduil began to stir. The first thing 
he became aware of, was the warm sunlight on him; a pleasant sensation, and 
while he was still in a no-man’s land between sleeping and waking, he basked in it 
for a brief moment without opening his eyes. Then, suddenly became aware of a 
strong heartbeat below his ear, arms embracing him, naked skin against his own. 
Suddenly completely awake, he bolted upright, giving in to the first reflex and 
startling the twins as he did so. Bewildered, Thranduil’s eyes searched the room; it 
was his own bedroom. Nothing unfamiliar about it, except...

“Thranduil? My Lord?”

Two sets of grey eyes resting on him worriedly. Then he remembered, the images 
coming back to him. How he had told the brothers of his mistakes. How they had 
comforted him; first with words... then, with their bodies. A shiver ran through his 
body as it remembered the feeling of caresses and touches, so sorely missed in the 
past few decades. Now, he instantly felt self-conscious as he sat there naked in the 
new day’s light; but then, seeing the affection in the twins’ eyes, he decided not to 
care.

Elladan reached out and took his hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just us.” He 
gave a little smile.

“Forgive me,” Thranduil said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“That’s quite all right,” Elrohir said. “I believe you startled yourself even more.”

“Yes... it was rather awkward,” Thranduil said, quickly passing a hand over his 
eyes. “It still is,” he confessed then.

The twins smiled. “Unpleasantly awkward, my Lord?” Elrohir said.

“No...” A slightly nervous smile appeared on Thranduil’s face. “No, not unpleasant.” 
He felt his hair; it was loose, all of it. Also a rather unfamiliar sensation, for he 
usually wore braids in his hair, even at night. But now he remembered that they 
had hindered him last night. He remembered reaching for them with trembling 
fingers, then a murmur by his ear, “Let me do it...” Not much later, the full weight 
of his hair falling on his shoulders. A hand gently brushing it aside, lips kissing the 
nape of his neck, then moving upwards to his ear, following his hairline. Elladan, 
Elrohir, he could not remember. He’d stopped labelling them with names at one 
point. A whisper, “You are so beautiful.” A clever tongue finding the sensitive spot 
behind his ear, making him utter a soft cry in surprise. He’d forgotten about that 
spot.

Thranduil remembered all of this as he gazed at the twins now, and although it’d 
been a long time, he recognized the heat of a blush when he felt it.

But the twins seemed undisturbed, unbothered by this. This time, Elrohir took his 
hand. “Come,” he invited gently, indicating the still-empty spot between him and 
Elladan. “Let’s just lie here for another moment or two. The day will be long 
enough as it is.”

Finding no reason to protest, Thranduil conceded slowly, allowing his body to rest 
in that double embrace again. A warm breath against his shoulder, a hand 
interlacing its fingers with his. Other hands stroking him tenderly. Still awkward. 
But it also felt good. It had been such a long time, and Thranduil found himself 
relaxing under the caresses, welcoming them like a contented kitten. He could 
have felt young again in this moment, carefree again, had it not been for the 
memory of the past few days that had come back to him almost immediately after 
waking. Legolas...

Thranduil sighed. “I shouldn’t be doing this, really,” he said. “I should tell you to 
stop this.”

“Why?” Elrohir asked.

“Because I don’t belong here, lying between the two of you. Because I shouldn’t be 
trying to ease the pain over Legolas’s departure with physical satiation...”

Elladan sealed Thranduil’s lips with a finger. “Why not, my Lord? Was it not 
effective?” he asked softly. “Did we not ease your pain last night?”

“Yes, you did... But the pain is returning.” Thranduil reached a hand for his heart.

“Then perhaps we should try to ease it again,” Elladan said with a little smile.

“This is not a time for jokes, Elladan,” Thranduil said, but he, too, was smiling. “I 
am serious; I am grateful to you... but I can’t ask this of you a second time. The 
comfort you offer me is pleasant, I admit... but it does not heal my soul in the long 
run. It does not take the pain away, only eases it for a short while. And my 
conscience forbids me to use you for short-term pleasures.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a wordless glance, each understanding what the 
other was thinking. Still the King refused to tend to his own grief, his own needs. 
Still he attached greater importance to the well-being of others than that of his 
own. Still he was hesitant to accept even the slightest form of comfort when it was 
offered to him. Still...

“If that is what you wish, my Lord, then it shall be so,” Elladan said. “But may we 
ask one favor of you?”

“Yes...” Thranduil said. “You may...”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged another glance. “Let us get dressed,” Elladan said 
then, “and go downstairs. There is something we want you to show us.”

***

To Thranduil’s surprise, the twins asked him to lead them to the stables. It was a 
grand complex, as it housed all the horses owned by the Mirkwood Elves. They 
stood sleepily in their boxes when the three Elves entered.

“Now show us your horse, my Lord,” Elladan said to an even more bewildered 
Thranduil.

Thranduil’s mount was a friendly-looking, red chestnut mare with flames in her 
shiny fur. For a mare, she was of a rather impressive height, and her build was 
slender, but powerful. The King patted her affectionately and she greeted him back 
by pushing her nose against his chest. The box next to hers was empty; it was 
where Legolas’s horse had stood, and the twins saw Thranduil’s eyes linger on it for 
the briefest of moments.

“You wonder if your decision to send Legolas to Lórien was a wise one,” Elladan 
began.

Thranduil did not look up. “It seemed right in the beginning,” he said. “Now, I’m 
not so sure. And yet I told Legolas that it was best. Perhaps it was a lie after all.”

“Did you not visit other elven realms yourself, when you were younger?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Both Imladris and Lórien... but the circumstances were 
different. I went out of my own free will.” His eyes still remained on his horse in 
front of him, but Elladan gently cupped the King’s chin and turned his face towards 
Elrohir and him.

“We see your greatest fear,” Elladan said softly. “You fear the loss of your son’s 
love, more than anything. You feel responsible for Legolas’s unhappiness. You feel 
guilty for sending him away now that he needs you most. You are worried that his 
stay in Lórien may not have the desired effect. And you fear that Legolas will hold 
your decisions against you. Is it not so?”

Thranduil nodded slowly, his eyes held by Elladan’s intense gaze. “Yes,” he 
whispered, “it is true.”

Elladan removed his hand from Thranduil’s face and looked at the mare. “Is she a 
swift horse?”

Puzzled, Thranduil nodded again. “Many a stallion has difficulty equalling her speed 
in gallop,” he said.

“Saddle her then. She knows the hidden paths of Mirkwood, she is a swift runner 
and you are a fast rider. The Lórien Elves ride at a foot-pace. You will have caught 
up with them before the Sun sets again.”

Thranduil said nothing. Now that the possibility was actually laid out before him, 
his heart grew less weak. He remembered Legolas’s dreamy eyes as he spoke of 
Lórien. He remembered how intrigued Legolas had been by the twins and their 
stories when they first arrived; how mesmerizedly he had gaped at the Lórien 
Elves. How comfortable he had been in Haldir’s presence, and vice versa: how 
easily Legolas could bring a smile to the lips of the usually reserved guardian, 
make him laugh; make him look like a younger, merrier Elf. They were alike those 
two...

“No,” he said then and started to smile softly. “I will do no such thing. Legolas will 
go to Lórien. That was my decision and it still is.”

The twins smiled, as well. “It was a brave thing to do, my Lord,” Elrohir said. “We 
admire you for it.”

Thranduil turned to them. “You do?”

“Yes. Trust your instinct, Thranduil; it was a good decision. He is the light of your 
life; yet you let him go, for his benefit. Do you know what that tells us about you?”

“No...” Thranduil said.

“Something we knew from the very beginning,” Elladan said. “That you are a good 
father.”

“Legolas knows this, as well,” Elrohir said. “He always speaks of you with so much 
affection and trust.”

“And that will never change,” Elladan continued. “We never saw even the slightest 
trace of accusation, or anger in his eyes after you’d made your decision known. He 
accepted it, because in his heart, he knows it is wise.”

“You say that you’ve made mistakes,” Elrohir said. “And you have a right to regret 
them. But do not let that regret take over your life, Thranduil; it is unwise to linger 
on what lies behind you. Look at the future, and the hope and beauty that lies 
within.”

“And do not forget that, apart from those mistakes you mention, you have done so 
many good things; for Legolas, and for your people,” Elladan concluded.

Thranduil stood silently, moved. Then, asked softly, “Why do I deserve such 
kindness from you?”

Simultaneously, the twins stepped forward and took the King’s hands. They were 
trembling slightly, the brothers noticed. “Has it been so long, my Lord?” Elrohir said 
softly. “So long since someone other than your son told you, you are worthwile?”

“Have you been associating with fools?” Elladan added.

Thranduil smiled faintly. “No. I just didn’t let them come close to me.”

“You have let us come close,” Elladan said. “Do you regret it still?”

“I never said I regretted it. I merely said I couldn’t let it happen again.”

“What are you afraid of?” Elladan asked.

A sigh escaped Thranduil. “I’m afraid I will get used to it. Get used to you.”

Elrohir smiled. “While regret shouldn’t control your life, fear isn’t a good counsellor 
either. From what we’ve heard, you weren’t always this careful.” He leaned slightly 
forward, close enough to feel the change in the King’s breathing. Witness the birth 
of emerald sparks in the azure-blue irises. Emerald green was the color of 
Thranduil’s lust...

“That young Thranduil,” Elrohir said, “... is he gone forever?”

“That young Thranduil,” the King said with a soft smile, “was a slave to his passion. 
He had no idea what life really was about.”

“Perhaps not,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “But was he unhappy?”

“No,” Thranduil said. “Unhappy he was not...”

Elrohir crossed the last inches separating them and moved his lips slowly across 
Thranduil’s, softly, so that it barely could be called a touch. They were so soft, 
Thranduil’s lips, perfect and sensual... and they were the gateway to pure bliss, for 
Thranduil had a mouth sweeter than miruvor and more addictive than the best 
elven wine. And Thranduil liked to kiss. Last night, while Elladan had him, Thranduil 
had unexpectedly pulled Elrohir close and kissed him deeply and long. Ah, yes; 
Thranduil had definitely mastered the art of kissing to perfection. Inflamed by 
Elladan’s rhythmical movements, Thranduil had claimed Elrohir’s lips, his mouth, 
with an intensity that made Elrohir feel slightly drunk and eventually left him 
gasping for breath – in a pleasant way.

Thranduil’s surrender had been intoxicating. He was agrieved and the twins would 
comfort him; therefore, it was to be expected that he let them have dominance. 
But the passion with which he had done so... the memory of it made Elrohir’s 
breath hitch in his throat. Thranduil was of a tall, strong build, but he was lithe; 
and to see the glorious King bent beneath Elladan, on his back with his spread 
knees almost to his chest and his head thrown back in abandon, made Elrohir burn 
with want. He craved to have what his brother had had...

If only Thranduil would let him. For the King was not the kind of Elf whom one 
could choose as a bed partner, and then have him; Thranduil chose his own 
partners, and Elrohir knew that if Thranduil had not wanted them himself, they 
might just as well have been courting a rock of stone.

“What are you thinking of, young Elrohir?”

Elrohir’s mind cleared as he suddenly became aware of the King’s eyes gazing into 
his. So very close. And a hint of teasing in his voice. Ah, so the roles had been 
switched back then; Thranduil the older Elf again, the one in control... and now it 
was Elrohir’s turn to blush. His eyes sought Elladan’s. His brother stood close by, 
watching with interest.

“Well?” Thranduil was still teasing, a smile tugging at his lips. It made him look so 
appealing that Elrohir, who’d quickly regained his composure, leaned in again and 
kissed Thranduil’s soft mouth, his heart fluttering when the King’s smile did not 
wane beneath Elrohir’s caressing lips.

“I was distracted by thoughts of last night,” he confessed. “I find myself envious of 
my brother, for having had something I have not.”

“We always share everything,” Elladan explained with a grin. “That is our motto.”

Thranduil arched a slender eyebrow. “Truly? So you also shared Anyriand, then?”

The twins now both turned crimson, and Thranduil gave a low, warm chuckle. “I 
should have known... Now I understand why Elrond was so worried about your 
behaviour. No, don’t worry – I won’t tell him. After all, such is the nature of 
Elves...”

“Not all Elves,” Elladan said. “This is not our custom. But ever since we’re here in 
Mirkwood, strange things have been happening.” He shrugged, grinning at Elrohir. 
“Must be something in the water...”

“Probably...” Thranduil turned back to the mare and patted her again. Then, as if 
he hadn’t heard Elrohir’s confession at all, smiled warmly at the twins. “Thank you 
for bringing me here. Several things have become clear to me, and I admit I feel 
better than I have in days.”

Elladan and Elrohir smiled.

“Now,” Thranduil continued with an unwavering smile, “I must say I’m beginning to 
feel hungry. Shall we go back and indulge in one of my kitchen staff’s elaborate 
breakfasts?”

As they followed the King outside, Elladan leaned over to Elrohir and murmured, 
“Pity, Ro; better luck next time.” He couldn’t hide the smirk that took a hold of his 
lips. Seeing his brother’s unhappy expression, he poked him in the ribs and said, 
“Oh, come on – he’s just teasing you. At least he’s more cheerful than he was.”

Elrohir smiled weakly. But it was as he had realized earlier; Thranduil was in 
charge, and he would decide to let Elrohir have him – or not. Still, he’d read 
Thranduil’s eyes. He had lit a fire of lust there – he only hadn’t succeeded in 
keeping it going. But Elladan was right; it was good to see Thranduil smile again. 
What happened next, was in the King’s hands.

The other Elves of the court were surprised to see Thranduil so lively again that 
morning. Also surprising was the fact that Elladan, usually the more silent one of 
the brothers, now chattered joyfully, while Elrohir merely listened with a dreamy 
expression.

But what the cause of these changes was, not one Elf of Thranduil’s court could 
guess.


***

A/N: Tolkien said something about Elves sleeping with their eyes open... But for 
this story, I changed the rules a bit. In my perception, Elves only sleep with their 
eyes open when they’re out in the open, when they have to be alert. However, 
when they’re safely in their beds, like Thranduil at the beginning of this chapter, 
they close their eyes just like humans do.
A/N 2: About the title of this chapter, ‘cause I feel like I have to explain that. While 
to Mr. Dylan this well-known phrase had a literal meaning, to me it’s figurative. 
What I mean to express with it, is that the morning described in this chapter has 
good notes to it as well as some bad... if you follow me. Oh, never mind...

***


Chapter 2 – Between Anduin And Celebrant

Lórien


Of old an elven realm lay in the angle between the Great River Anduin and 
Celebrant, the swift-running. Lothlórien the Fair it was called, a land of trees: 
mellyrn as the Elves called them, and Lórien was the only land in Middle-earth they 
graced with their presence. Their tall, strong trunks had a smooth, grey bark, and 
in springtime they carried yellow flowers amid the green in their boughs. When fall 
came, they did not shed their leaves; the leaves turned to gold instead, giving 
Lórien a roof of gold.

In the first half of the Second Age, Sindarin Elves, fleeing the destruction of 
Beleriand, migrated east and merged with the Silvan populations of Greenwood the 
Great and Lórien, a peaceful little settlement at that time. A Sindarin noble called 
Amdir became King of Lórien, and in the time that followed, the Lórien Elves were 
gradually sindarized under the influence of Beleriandic lore and culture.

After the War between Sauron and the Elves, which ended in 1701 with Sauron’s 
withdrawal to Mordor, Lórien became watchful. It was visited frequently by 
Galadriel, the keeper of Nenya, and her husband Celeborn. These two wise Elves 
consulted with the Lórien Elves regarding their defense, for Galadriel perceived the 
strategic importance of Lórien’s position and wished to see the fair land safe and 
unspoilt by evil.

Nearly two thousand years passed in relative peace. Until Sauron rose again, with 
renewed strength, 
and a new darkness threatened Middle-earth. In the year 3430, the Last Alliance of 
Elves and Men was 
formed; a memorable union of the races in a final attempt for victory of light over 
darkness. Amdir and 
the Elves of Lórien joined this alliance and marched to war. When Amdir fell in the 
terrible Battle of 
Dagorlad, his son Amroth took command of the Lórien Elves, and when the war as 
well as the Second 
Age ended with the fall of Sauron in 3441, Amroth, now King of Lórien, led a 
sorrowful remnant of Lórien 
Elves home.

In the first millennium of the Third Age, Lórien was again a peaceful land, ruled by 
Amroth. Lore has it that this king adopted several Silvan customs to win the love of 
Nimrodel, a Silvan Elf; but his love was not returned for many long years. One of 
these customs was the construction of talans, or flets, high in the trees. This first 
city of trees afterwards became known as Cerin Amroth.

Then a shadow fell over Greenwood, and it was renamed Mirkwood. In the 
following centuries, the 
shadow deepened and evil things multiplied in Mirkwood, threatening Lórien. 
Galadriel and Celeborn 
still visited frequently to consult with Amroth, and Lórien became a guarded land, 
always keeping a 
watchful eye to the East.

In the year 1980 of the Third Age, a Balrog appeared in Moria, accidentally 
awakened by the Dwarves, who consequently fled their mines. Orcs and other evil 
creatures were drawn to Moria and fell upon Lórien from the unprepared western 
side. Many Elves fled to the South, seeking the Sea and a haven from which to sail 
west. Nimrodel turned to Amroth, but declared she would not wed him except in a 
land of peace. This determined Amroth to abandon Lórien and seek the havens 
together with Nimrodel, but both were lost in the attempt.

Fearing the total loss of Lórien, Celeborn and Galadriel came to the fair land so 
close to their hearts and rallied the Elves remaining there. Under their guidance, 
the Galadhrim again established control over the borders and drove out the evil 
creatures that were ravaging the woods. Celeborn and Galadriel were then hailed 
as the new leaders, but, respectful of the memory of Amdir and Amroth, they did 
not take any title as King or Queen, but became the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. 
Caras Galadhon was built as their chief dwelling, the capital city and fortress of 
Lórien. Here, on the highest talan of the great central mallorn tree, a watch is ever 
kept on the distant threat of Dol Guldur.

In the year 2063, the Grey Pilgrim called Mithrandir went to Dol Guldur to spy out 
its secrets. Lórien’s strategic position, already recognized by Galadriel, proved 
essential here. Sauron, however, withdrew to Mordor to avoid being discovered, 
thus beginning the Watchful Peace. At the return of Sauron to Dol Guldur in 2460, 
the Watchful Peace came to its end, and the Lórien Elves, fearing for the safety of 
their fair land, again guarded its borders carefully. Galadriel and Celeborn ruled 
Lórien with wisdom and devotion, and the power of Nenya protected the land from 
the inside.

On a bright summer evening in August, 2580, a party of twenty-two Elves, 
returning home from a journey to Northern Mirkwood, arrived at the borders of the 
Golden Wood. With the growing darkness in Dol Guldur, in Southern Mirkwood, the 
Lórien Elves did not often travel that way; but in these times more than ever, 
bonds of friendship between the different elven realms were essential, and the 
purpose of the journey had been to visit King Thranduil’s court and attend the feast 
celebrating Prince Legolas’s coming of age; a highly important event in the life of a 
young prince.

Upon perceiving the tree tops of Lórien for the first time, their faces lightened up; 
for it was good to be home again, in fair Lothlórien, and a journey through 
Mirkwood always held the threat of danger. But it had been an uneventful journey, 
and it was with bright faces and chattering voices that the Elves rode towards the 
woods that were their beloved home.

One of the Elves was surprisingly silent, but his face was as bright as the others’ as 
he gazed in wonder at the trees ahead, a light in his eyes. He was not clad in the 
colors of Lórien, grey, white and black. No, he wore the greens and browns of 
Mirkwood; also, a dark-green, hooded cloak wrapped around his shoulders and, 
strapped to his back, a dark mahogany bow with fine, silver decoration. The arrows 
in his quiver weren’t topped with the Lórien-white feathers, but with red and 
brown. In Mirkwood, this young Elf would blend in with the trees; here in Lórien, he 
seemed slightly out of place.

Legolas of Mirkwood gazed around him, in awe of what his eyes beheld. He’d heard 
much about the Golden Wood, but he’d never seen it with his own eyes and the 
beauty exceeded every story he’d ever been told. To finally see it was a much-
anticipated, but still unexpected pleasure. They passed tree after tree, and Legolas 
studied them all with curiosity. These trees were foreign to him, he did not 
understand their whispers as their leaves rustled in the twilight. He was intrigued, 
wished to know their voices...

Anyriand, a Lórien politician and a friend of Thranduil, came to ride beside him. 
“And, Legolas,” he smiled, “what do you think of Lórien so far?”

“It’s amazing,” Legolas said truthfully. “It feels so ancient, and yet the air is filled 
with scents, and life... It feels fresh, somehow, and pure; and even though the Sun 
is gone from the skies and evening drawns near, it feels like a place of light. It’s so 
different from Mirkwood,” he mused.

“It has not always been so,” Anyriand said. “There was a time that we feared the 
light of Lórien might be lost. Had it not been for our Lord and Lady, our fair realm 
might have fallen into darkness...”

Legolas nodded. The history of Lórien was known to him, and the thought of this 
fair forest being trodden and inhabited by Orcs made his skin crawl.
 
“Will I meet the Lord and Lady soon?” he asked curiously.

“Of course. They always greet new guests personally.” Seeing Legolas’s face, 
Anyriand laughed softly. “No need to be nervous, Legolas! They walked this earth 
long before you and I were born, but they are kind and hospitable to any Elf that 
comes hither. And they know your father; they will be delighted to meet you.”

Legolas smiled thankfully at the honey-haired Elf beside him. For the first time, he 
actually felt genuinely and positively excited about this journey. He had been 
devastated when his father had first told him about his decision to arrange this, 
and he knew he had been terrible company to the other Elves, that first day after 
departure. He now felt ashamed about that. After all, he was the Prince and an 
adult now; he shouldn’t be giving in to such childish emotions. People would think 
his father hadn’t raised him properly!

But that first night, by the fading fire, Haldir had come to sit by him. Legolas’s 
heart had thumped wildly when he first realized that Haldir knew he was awake 
while he pretended to be asleep, but when Haldir had wordlessly tried to comfort 
him, Legolas had felt so ridiculously thankful that he’d nearly burst into tears. He 
had not, thank goodness; and in the end, he’d found some real sleep. He’d never 
heard Haldir walk away. The following morning, it was Haldir’s voice that awoke 
him. A touch on his shoulder. For all he knew, the warden had sat by him all 
night... But that was of course a silly, elfling’s thought.

After that first day of travel, he’d tried to disguise his grief and join in conversation 
and merriment. Show Haldir and the other Elves that riding with them was not 
punishment to him. And once the trees of Mirkwood were behind them, he had 
indeed felt better. Still, the other Elves seemed unsure about how to approach him. 
They were all awfully polite, especially the guards; calling him ‘Prince’, even ‘Lord’, 
every ten seconds. But whether they really *liked* him, he could not tell. They 
were mysterious, those Lórien Elves... Most of the time he conversed with 
Anyriand, with Haldir, or with Haldir’s older brother, Orophin.

That first morning after departure, Legolas, feeling a bit ashamed about his childish 
behaviour the night before, had given Haldir a shy, thankful smile. Haldir had 
smiled back at him; telling him, it was all right. When Haldir had called him ‘Prince’ 
again that morning, Legolas had made a playfully impatient gesture. “By Elbereth, 
Haldir – stop being so horribly polite and call me Legolas. Please.” He’d blurted it 
out without thinking, but he didn’t regret it. Haldir had simply given him one of his 
charming little smiles, and had called him Legolas from that moment on. Legolas 
had also convinced Orophin to do the same, but with the others, he hadn’t been 
successful so far.

The conversations with Haldir had been nice. Nice, and pleasant... but always 
polite. Oh, he was kind, Haldir; kind and gentle and entertaining and nice to talk 
to... but always correct and somehow, slightly untouchable. Legolas had already 
sensed this the first time he’d talked to the guardian privately. Unreadable, was 
Haldir of Lórien. Unreadable his dark eyes; beautiful and enticing, but 
unfathomable. Legolas often found himself staring into those deep pools of 
mystery, hoping to see the veil lift, be it only for a brief moment... to see more of 
the one who was Haldir... But it hadn’t happened so far.

Orophin was different. He was a good-humoured Elf who loved to laugh and make 
merry. He enjoyed life to the fullest, Legolas could tell. His eyes were light and 
unshrouded; shone with affection for his younger brother... For Orophin cared 
deeply for Haldir; that was clear to Legolas. Always trying to involve his taciturn 
brother in merriment, draw him into conversation. And Haldir would let it happen, 
with a tolerant smile. Always so calm that one. In fact, Legolas wondered if Haldir 
ever lost his temper. If he ever shrugged off that self-control, that composure, and 
became angry, or impatient, or passionate... If so, then Legolas had yet to witness 
it.

Suddenly, a light touch on his arm and Legolas jerked out of his daydream. Turned 
his surprised face towards Haldir’s smiling one, as the warden was suddenly riding 
beside him.

“Haldir,” he said.

“Come...” Haldir said. “Ride ahead with me. I want to show you something.”

Legolas followed him in surprise, curious what the older Elf wanted him to see. 
They rode ahead for a minute or two in a slow trotting pace, then Legolas noticed 
that the forest was thinning.

“Not much longer now,” Haldir promised. “Do you smell the flowers?”

His heart jumping at the unfamiliar sound of excitement in Haldir’s voice, Legolas 
inhaled deeply the pleasantly fresh evening air. “I smell them!” he said.

“Elanor and niphredil,” Haldir explained. “They grow the most beautiful at Cerin 
Amroth.”

“Will you show me?” Legolas asked boldly.

“Of course.” Haldir laughed softly. “Didn’t I promise you to show you everything?”

Legolas cast a sidelong glance at Haldir. He couldn’t be sure from the side, and the 
dusky twilight was deceiving, but he thought he caught a sparkle in the guardian’s 
eyes. He must really love Lórien, Legolas thought. Look at how he smiles...

Then suddenly the trees fell away beside them and Legolas’s attention was 
redirected to the scene in front of him. They had come to a small clearing. It ended 
to the South in a ridge, where the rocky ground suddenly sloped down to a lower 
level. The lower ground ran on for a mile or two, until suddenly it rose again to a 
great height. A green hill encircled by a wall of the same color, and upon the hill 
mallorn trees grew, the tallest ones Legolas had seen so far. In their long, many-
tiered branches and amid their leaves, countless lights were glowing; green, gold 
and silver in the darkening twilight air.

Legolas gazed at the scene breathlessly; he didn’t think he’d ever seen something 
so beautiful, or so elvish. And it was so peaceful... it was hard to believe that this 
fairest of realms could actually be threatened by evil, by anything disharmonious.

Haldir studied him from aside, gauging him for his reaction. Apparently, it was 
satisfactory, for Haldir smiled and said, “The first time your eyes behold Caras 
Galadhon, Legolas. What do you think of our capital city?”

“It is beautiful,” Legolas said. “It is so foreign and different, so unfamiliar, and yet 
my heart already longs to be there, and to walk under those eaves.”

“Your heart will have to wait just a little while longer,” Haldir smiled. “We must turn 
away from this ridge and go to the right, where we will find a path that is less 
steep. Then we must go round the city, to the South, for the gates do not look this 
way. We will enter the city there.”

The other Elves now joined them and together, they rode the narrow path leading 
to the lower grounds, Haldir and Legolas together at the head of the column. They 
spoke no more as they drew nearer to the city, but Legolas perceived clearly the 
slight change in Haldir’s mood. While travelling hither, the guardian had always 
been alert, always prepared for a possible attack; here, he was more relaxed. 
Quicker to smile. More at ease with his surroundings. And somehow, as he guided 
his horse eagerly towards the city, he seemed to glow faintly in the light of the 
rising Moon.

As they rode around the hill, they came upon a white-paved road, and Legolas now 
saw that it followed the curve of a fosse that surrounded the city. Westward they 
followed this road, with the light-flecked hill on their left, rising high above them. 
The sky darkened as they rode there, and more lights were lit; both in the city and 
in the sky. Legolas thought he needed at least a dozen pairs of eyes to take it all 
in.

At one point, Haldir halted. Legolas followed his example and watched as Haldir 
turned his moonlit face towards him.

“Look!” he said, pointing up. “Do you see those golden and silver lights dancing 
high up there?”

Legolas spied at the city towering over him and located the lights Haldir was 
referring to. “I see them...” he said.

“That is the mightiest mallorn of Caras Galadhon,” Haldir explained. “It is where we 
keep a watch at Dol Guldur, and where our Lord and Lady dwell. Those lights mark 
that tree; silver, for Celeborn, gold, for Galadriel.” He lowered his gaze to look at 
Legolas. “It is where they will receive you shortly.”

At last they came to a white bridge, and crossing it they came to the city gates; tall 
and strong, and lit by many bright lamps. Haldir dismounted and knocked, spoke 
some words and few seconds later, the gates opened silently. Haldir led his horse 
inside, and the others followed. They came to a circular square, where they were 
met by several grey-clad Elves.

“We dismount here,” Haldir told Legolas, “and will proceed on foot.”

The horses were taken over by the strange Lórien Elves, who regarded Legolas and 
his foreign clothing curiously. Haldir and the others then discarded their weapons 
as well. Legolas, throwing Haldir an inquiring glance, received an encouraging nod.

“We do not appear for the Lord and Lady while armed,” Haldir said, “not when it’s 
not necessary. You can give your weapons safely in their keeping; they will be 
brought to your talan while we’re with Celeborn and Galadriel.”

Legolas then removed his bow and quiver with automatic movements of his hands. 
A talan... he would be staying in a talan. Not really that surprising, of course, as he 
would be staying in the City of Trees, but he’d never given it much thought.

And then they really entered Caras Galadhon. There were no Elves to be seen on 
the lower paths, but light, fair voices came floating on the wind. The sound blended 
in with the rustling of leaves and the distant whisper of water falling. The darkness 
of the night had come between the trees, but lights shimmered everywhere.

Many paths they walked and many stairs they climbed, and so they came to the 
higher regions of the city. As they proceeded, Haldir occasionally pointed at things, 
telling Legolas what he was seeing, and Legolas’s head spun with all the 
information and all the new impressions. Still he never had enough.

In the end, they came to a silver-lit lawn with a fountain in the middle. And there 
on the south side rose the mallorn Haldir had pointed out to Legolas earlier, the 
tallest of them all. Legolas had to lay his head in his neck to see the first branches, 
high above him. Further up, his keen elven eyes recognized the golden and silver 
sparks of light.

Around the broad trunk white stairs spiralled in circles, all the way up. On the 
lowest step a robe-clad Elf stood, and he greeted them gracefully.

“Welcome,” he said with soft, but clear voice. “The Lord and Lady are expecting 
you. It is their wish that Haldir and Anyriand ascend first, together with your young 
companion.”

Legolas blinked. So they’d heard of his arrival already... Ah yes, he remembered 
hearing from his teacher long ago, that the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood had 
their ways of finding out what was happening in their land.

“Very well,” Haldir said. “We shall go first.” Turning to Legolas, he said, “Come... 
it’s a long climb. But I think you will like it; there’s much to see on the way up.”

It was true; as they climbed, they passed many talans. Some on the left side, 
others on the right, and also some greater talans, which were set around the entire 
trunk of the mallorn. Legolas saw many Elves as he followed Haldir, and once again 
he understood how different these Elves were from Thranduil’s people; more 
ancient, more mysterious they were. They lived in a forest like the Mirkwood Elves, 
but while the latter, despite Sindarin influences, were still very Silvan, the Elves 
Legolas saw as he climbed up obviously carried more Sindarin features. Legolas 
saw pale-ivory skin; slow, well-balanced movements; straight mithril hair. And 
their eyes: blue or grey. Seldom it happened in Mirkwood that a child was born 
with grey eyes; green, amber and the lighter shades of blue were more common 
there. Anyriand, who was born of Silvan parents, was one of the few Lórien Elves 
with green eyes.

The Mirkwood Elves were creatures of the earth. Their Lórien kindred belonged to 
the sky.

Finally, after they’d climbed long and high, they came to the greatest talan yet. A 
house was built on it, so spacious that it was almost a hall. Upon entering it, 
Legolas found himself in an oval-shaped room, with the tapering trunk in the 
middle. The walls were green and silver, the roof golden. When they stepped into 
the chamber, two Elves rose from their seats and came to greet them.

Legolas had to remind himself not to stare openly at Celeborn and Galadriel. The 
Lord and Lady of Lórien were both tall, Celeborn only slightly taller than his spouse. 
While Galadriel’s waist-long, wavy hair was deep-golden, Celeborn’s was silver, and 
only their eyes spoke of their long lives, for their fair faces were ageless and 
incredibly beautiful. They greeted Haldir and Anyriand, who bowed respectfully, 
and then turned their faces towards Legolas. Remembering his father’s lessons in 
etiquette, he bowed his head in greeting and brought his hand to his chest; for 
these two Elves, although they weren’t royalty, deserved such respect from him – 
by their age and by their position.

“My Lord and Lady,” he said, “an honour it is to meet you...”

Then, something unexpected happened. The beautiful Lady of Lórien crossed the 
distance between them with one, graceful step, and lightly cupped his face with her 
slender, feminine hands. Her blue eyes shone warmly towards him, deeply into his 
own, and to Legolas it felt as if he’d suddenly gone transparent; as if this Lady was 
reading his soul at a glance.

He’d been expecting many things from this meeting, but not this, and he was 
slightly taken aback by Galadriel’s gesture. Yet he did not break her gaze. She had 
beautiful eyes, the Lady... he saw silver sparks in them. Or was it just the 
reflection of the silver lamps...?

Galadriel then smiled at him, a genuine, warm smile. “To know your name,” she 
said, “I need nothing but to look upon your face.” Her hands moved away from his 
face, but her eyes remained on his. “The tales speak truth!” she said with an 
amused smile. “The Greenleaf of Mirkwood does indeed have the face of his father. 
But your eyes are your mother’s doing, young one,” she said kindly. “That alone 
convinced me that it is indeed the son we are looking upon, not the father become 
young again.”

“The resemblance is remarkable,” Celeborn said. He, too, was smiling, and he 
reached out to take Legolas’s hand. He held it firmly as he looked upon the slightly 
blushing Legolas with a friendly gaze. “It is an honour for us as well, son of 
Thranduil. Be at peace! We knew of your coming and our Mirkwood kindred is 
welcome here. It has been too long since someone of your land travelled hither.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Legolas said. “My father sends his warmest greetings, and 
well-wishes for your realm and you personally.”

Celeborn nodded gracefully, then turned to Haldir. “Was it an undisturbed journey, 
Haldir?” he asked the warden.

“Yes, my Lord. But we were less fortunate on the outward voyage.”

As Haldir reported to Celeborn the orc-attack in Mirkwood, Legolas noticed that the 
Lady’s eyes were still on him, and he turned to meet them, assuming that she 
wished to say something to him.

*I see grief in you, young one.*

He started. It was her voice, yet her lips hadn’t moved. He gaped at her in wonder, 
but she merely smiled, and her voice sounded again inside his head.

*Do not fear, fair Legolas. I do not intend to read your memory. But I see sorrow 
in your eyes, and it’s both fresh and old. An old wound bleeding again.*

*I... I...* Legolas thought, confused; not even sure if she could hear him.

*You do not have to explain. Did Thranduil send you here to heal?*

Legolas nodded slowly, not understanding how she could know.

*Then find your healing here, young one. Have no fear; even for the oldest wounds 
of the soul a cure exists. All you need to do, is to find it. ... But let us not speak 
more of this now. The day is old, and I would you have rest.*

When her voice sounded again, it was for all to hear:

“Let us meet again tomorrow,” she said in her low, soothing voice. “Our delegation 
has returned home in safety; tomorrow, we’ll want to hear your stories. For you, 
Legolas, a talan has been made ready. You will find all your belongings already 
there. We hope that it will accomodate you to your satisfaction.”

“I am sure it will, my Lady,” Legolas said. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“Haldir,” Galadriel said to the guardian, “would you show him the way?”

“I will, my Lady.”

After a last greeting and a bow of his head, Legolas took his leave from the Lórien 
rulers. As he once again followed Haldir, this time down the stairs, he pondered 
this meeting. He’d never heard of Galadriel’s powers of mind-reading. How very 
strange that someone could actually read his thoughts...

“Did she speak to you?” Haldir asked him.

“She did... Could you tell?” Legolas asked worriedly.

Haldir gave a soft chuckle. “To be frank, yes. You looked shocked.”

“Well, I *was*. Why didn’t you tell me before I came before her?” Legolas wanted 
to know.

Haldir laughed again. “That is our Lady’s way... When meeting someone new, she 
prefers to read him first without him knowing... If I had told you, you would have 
edged away from her, spiritually. Now she knows you for who you truly are, for you 
did not know her powers.”

Legolas was not sure if he liked the idea of being read from the inside. What would 
Galadriel find there? Uncertainty, doubt, immaturity, fear... not very pretty things.

“Don’t be afraid,” Haldir said kindly. “She is discreet. She doesn’t read what you 
don’t want to reveal. She just wants to know if you’re a genuine person. You held 
her gaze; that was good.”

Legolas nodded, still in doubt. But the Lady seemed kind enough; not judgmental 
and certainly not cruel. So he put the matter to rest as Haldir led him over stairs 
and paths, until they came to a talan which lay rather private, not very far from the 
talan of the pair he’d just visited. Haldir stepped onto it and Legolas followed him 
to the door that gave entrance to the house built upon the talan.

“Here it is,” Haldir said, turning. “If the arrangements have been made properly, 
you will find everything you need in there. If not, do not hesitate to tell me.” 
 
Legolas nodded. “Thank you, Haldir. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Certainly. The Lady expects us. I will come and call for you in the morning, but 
first, take a good night’s rest.” He smiled. “Tomorrow, I will also send a messenger 
to Mirkwood, like I promised your father. He will be glad to hear that you arrived 
safely.”

“He will. Thank you.”

Haldir inclined his head gracefully. Still the greeting of an Elf to one higher in 
position. “Sleep well,” Haldir said.

“And you.”

Haldir turned and, stepping onto the stairs again, began to ascend.

“Haldir?”

The Elf stopped and turned to him. “Yes?”

“Welcome home,” Legolas said.

A slightly surprised smile from the guardian. “Thank you, Legolas.”

A brief greeting of his hand, a turn of the stairs, and Haldir was gone behind a grey 
trunk.

The talan that would be Legolas’s home during his stay was medium-sized and 
commodious. A soft bed with white sheets, a trunk for his clothes and other 
belongings, a desk, a table, some chairs and a bathroom with a wooden tub. 
Legolas moved around in his new home, organizing his things, and in the meantime 
pondering this day. Lórien was beautiful, its Lord and Lady hospitable and 
friendly... He had to admit, he could feel at home here.

But it wasn’t home. It wasn’t Mirkwood. And although his talan was exciting and 
new and comfortingly cozy, he felt a pang of longing when he thought of his own 
chambers in Mirkwood. Undecisively, he stood in the middle of the room. His eyes 
then fell on the trunk of the mallorn and followed it upwards until it went through a 
hole in the roof. Beyond, Legolas could see leaves, and pieces of the night sky 
between them.

His experienced feet and hands found sufficient support on the trunk, and he 
swiftly climbed up to the roof and higher. Studying the growth of the mallorn, he 
chose a branch to sit on, and for a long while, he sat there pondering. He could still 
hear the murmur of the leaves and of elven voices in the distance. Singing... He 
listened, but could not understand the words.

So here he was now, in Lórien. While only a few weeks ago, he couldn’t have 
dreamed of seeing the Golden Wood so soon. A part of him was enjoying it; the 
other part still lingered in Mirkwood. Legolas drew his knees up and draped his 
arms around his legs, rested his chin on his knees. What would happen tomorrow? 
And the day after that? Two years suddenly seemed endlessly long to this immortal 
young prince.

*You will find everything you need in there.* It was what Haldir had said. *If not, 
do not hesitate to tell me.* Legolas tightened his hold on his own legs and closed 
his eyes. His heart sang to the stars above but it was not a very happy tune.

Legolas of Mirkwood missed his father.


***

A/N: For this chapter, I had loads of help from Mr. Tolkien himself (for the 
descriptions of Caras Galadhon in particular), and from this site: 
http://lorien.elusivedreams.net/lorien/history.htm (for the history-lesson with 
which this chapter begins). So yeah, you could say I stole some phrases. Here goes 
the credit!

***


Chapter 3 – A Haven In The Sky

Lórien


Completely against Legolas’s own expectations, his first week in Lórien passed in 
the blink of an eye. 

Legolas awoke early that first morning, and he was swiftly on his feet, climbing his 
mallorn again to witness the sunrise. After at least a thirty minutes of sitting 
silently and witnessing the forest around him come to life, he took a bath and drew 
on some fresh clothes; Mirkwood clothes, for he possessed no other.

When Haldir came to fetch him not much later, the first thing that struck Legolas 
was that Haldir wasn’t wearing his usual uniform. Like the night before, he carried 
no weaponry, and also the long, intricate drapes of his grey jerkin were gone. 
Instead, he was clad in dark-blue leggings and a creamy-white tunic; relatively 
simple garments, but they looked good on him anyway.

“What?” Haldir asked with an amused smile. “What is it?”

Legolas smirked shyly, realizing he had been staring at the other Elf’s body. “Just 
your clothes...” he said.

With a grin, Haldir said, “You thought I’d walk around in my uniform on my day 
off?” He chuckled. “No, Legolas; I am not a follower of fashion, but I do like a little 
variation now and then.”

As they once more made for the central talan, climbing the curving stairs, Legolas 
noticed that the Elves they encountered on the way eyed him openly and with 
great curiosity; no brief glances, but long stares. Legolas found it slightly 
uncomfortable.

“Everyone’s staring at me,” he whispered to Haldir.

Haldir laughed softly. “Why, of course they are. We do not often have visitors here, 
and your clothes are so obviously foreign that they immediately draw attention. 
And it’s like Galadriel said; you are a younger image of your father. Those who 
have seen him probably think that Time is playing a trick on them.” He turned his 
head slightly to look at Legolas. “It’s nothing personal,” he assured him with a 
smile. “You should see the uproar when the twins of Imladris visit us.”

“Uproar?” Legolas echoed incredulously.

“Oh yes. Don’t let looks deceive you. They,” he nodded at a group of solemn Lórien 
Elves, “may seem like an entirely different people than your folk, but there are 
more similarities than you might think. They, too, appreciate physical beauty. 
Especially when it has luscious dark mane and comes in twos.” He chuckled.

Legolas smiled, then wondered if the Elves were inspecting *his* physical 
appearance, as well. Probably so, he realized when they passed a corn-blond male 
and he practically *felt* the Elf’s gaze roaming his backside and his legs. Legolas 
ground his teeth together and followed Haldir without looking back.

“Your father used to turn quite a few heads too, when he came to visit Lórien,” 
Haldir said, looking at Legolas over his shoulder.

“He did?” Legolas asked in surprise. “Here in Lórien?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you remember that?”

“Yes... Of course, your father had already lived long when I was born, but he was 
still a prince when I first saw him here. He accompanied your grandfather on a visit 
to our realm.”

“Did you meet them?” Legolas asked, in awe. It was so surreal; Haldir had actually 
seen his grandfather, who’d died more than 2500 years ago.

“No. I was an elfling back then, not worthy to be introduced to such high guests,” 
Haldir smiled. “But I saw them, yes.”

“What was he like?” Legolas asked. “My grandfather, I mean.”

Haldir stopped and turned to Legolas. “Very much like the portrait your father has 
in his study; very regal, very handsome. And to me,” Haldir said with a soft laugh, 
“rather frightening.”

“And my father?” Legolas wanted to know.

“Very different. Always smiling, and much more at ease with his surroundings. Your 
grandfather didn’t feel quite at home among us, one could tell; he clearly preferred 
to be in Mirkwood, with his own people, rather than here.”

They continued their way up. They found Celeborn and Galadriel in the main hall as 
the evening before, as if they hadn’t been away for a bit of rest during the night. 
They were truly beautiful, Legolas realized again; especially the Lady as the soft 
glow that seemed to come from within her competed with the dawn’s fair light. And 
she smiled so peacefully, as if she had never known grief, or seen evil things, in 
her entire life.

“Good morning, Legolas,” she said. “Is the talan to your liking? Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, my Lady, very much. Thank you.”

“And you, Haldir,” she turned to the warden with a smile. “Was it good to sleep 
under the stars of Lórien again?”

“Yes, my Lady. Although I must admit that rest under the Mirkwood stars was just 
as peaceful.” Haldir’s smiling eyes sought Legolas’s. “And I’m not just saying that 
because the Mirkwood prince is with us in the room.”

Galadriel gave a soft laugh. “Good!” she said. “Then please tell us some more 
about the arrangements that have been made concerning Legolas’s stay here. 
Anyriand has already told us about his conversation with Thranduil, but what has 
been said between you and the King, Haldir, he did not know.” Her eyes sparkled. 
“Please enlighten us.”

Haldir then spoke of his conversation with the Mirkwood King, but left out the more 
personal details, something Legolas was thankful for. The Marchwarden merely said 
that Legolas would be staying for at least two years, that Thranduil had elected him 
to be the prince’s mentor during this period, and that he would make the required 
arrangements for Legolas’s education.

Legolas noticed that while Celeborn merely listened to Haldir with occasional 
nodding, Galadriel held her eyes fixed upon Haldir’s face, not moving a muscle 
except when she blinked. Legolas wondered if she was having one of her secret 
conversations with Haldir. However, nothing in Haldir’s manner of speaking 
indicated that this was the case.

“Excellent,” Celeborn commented when Haldir was done. “So you will be 
responsible for our young guest, Haldir! We’ll know who to turn to then, if he gets 
into any mischief.” Celeborn smiled at Legolas good-heartedly. He did not have the 
exceptional powers his wife possessed, but his kind heart felt the sadness that lay 
underneath Legolas’s polite exterior.

Legolas smiled, understanding the Lord’s effort. “In that case, I think I’ll behave, 
my Lord. I don’t want Haldir to get into any trouble because of me.”

“How considerate,” Haldir smiled. “I already feared you had been spending so 
much time with the Imladris twins, you might have adopted their mischievous 
ways.”

Galadriel now spoke. “So Thranduil has appointed you, Haldir; a great honour 
indeed.” She turned to Legolas. “I assume that you agree with your father’s choice, 
Legolas?”

The question came unexpected, but Legolas nodded without hesitation. “Yes, my 
Lady. I know of no other I would rather have as my mentor.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Let us consider this settled then. Legolas of Mirkwood is 
welcome here for as long as he desires, and Haldir will see to it that Thranduil’s 
wishes are carried out.”

Both Haldir and Legolas inclined their heads in acceptance.

“Haldir,” Celeborn said, “consider the following seven days yours. Rúmil has 
temporarily replaced you at the border, and he has agreed to do so for another 
week. Use that time to make the required arrangements, and rest after the journey 
to Mirkwood.”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” And with a last greeting, Haldir turned and left the 
main hall, followed by Legolas.

“Well, Legolas,” Haldir said cheerfully, “I assume that you would like to have 
breakfast now. Are you hungry?”

Legolas confirmed this, and soon Haldir was leading him yet another way over 
paths and stairs. Legolas found that they were winding their way around another 
magnificent mallorn, almost as high as the central one. At first, they passed many 
talans, but as they climbed higher, Legolas noticed that the talans became scant. 
Eventually they stepped onto the last, and highest talan, on which a house was 
built. After an encouraging nod from Haldir, Legolas followed the Marchwarden 
through the door and inside. The interior of the house was more spacious than that 
of Legolas’s, very organized and at the same time inviting and cozy. It was a very 
open space, with many windows and of course, a hole in the roof for the mallorn 
trunk, as in Legolas’s talan.

“Welcome in my home,” Haldir said. “Make yourself comfortable while I prepare 
you breakfast.”

“Do you live here?” Legolas asked as he made his way to one of the windows to 
admire the view. “After Celeborn and Galadriel, you must live at the highest point 
in Caras Galadhon.”

He heard Haldir move around behind him. “Probably. But the reason I came to live 
here wasn’t so pretty as the view is.”

“Would you tell me?” Legolas asked as he turned away from the window.

Haldir had set the table with bread, different sorts of fruit, and one plate for 
Legolas. He now stopped his activities for a moment to look at Legolas in mild 
surprise. “You want to know how I came to live in this talan?”

“Well, yes,” Legolas said. “If you don’t mind telling me...”

“No, no, I don’t mind.” He indicated the table. “Please sit down. Would you like 
tea?”

“Please...” Legolas answered as he sat down. “Will you not eat with me?” he asked 
then.

“No, I’ve already eaten before I left this morning. But I’ll share the tea with you.” 
He knelt in front of the hearth to light a small fire under the kettle. As the water 
heated, Haldir sat down facing Legolas and indicated that the younger Elf could 
begin his meal.

“You know of course about the appearance of a Balrog in Moria,” Haldir began, 
“now six hundred years ago.”

Legolas nodded. “I do, yes. Evil things befell Lórien after that...”

Legolas then saw a glint of emotion flitting across Haldir’s face; a quick flicker in 
his eyes, a brief twitching of his brows, and it was gone. He wondered if he had 
unintentionally forced Haldir to relive a traumatizing event, but then again, Haldir 
had agreed in telling him the story.

“Evil things indeed,” Haldir continued. “Orcs found our fair woods and entered 
them. We were unprepared, and forced to withdraw. There was a terrible chaos; 
Elves battling Orcs, Elves fleeing in confusion and panic, and on top of everything 
else, the loss of Amroth, our King.”

Legolas nodded again. The story of Amroth and Nimrodel was well-known in 
Mirkwood.

“We were scattered, leaderless and in panic,” Haldir said. “Together with several 
other warriors, my brothers and I finally succeeded in re-grouping our people and 
seeking refuge, right here on this hill. Because of the height of the location, it was 
relatively easy to defend. We were safe, at least for a short while, but the thought 
of those creatures swarming our forest made us grieve.”

“And then Celeborn and Galadriel came...” Legolas said.

Haldir smiled briefly. “Yes... they came, leading a host of Elves. Aided by them, and 
by the power of Nenya, we successfully charged against the Orcs; drove them out 
of our forest, killed as many as we could, and made sure that in the future, they 
would think twice before trying to take Lórien again. So we had our woods back, 
but we were still leaderless and our population had diminished considerably. 
Celeborn and Galadriel again took our troubles to heart, and agreed upon being our 
new leaders, to strive with us to make Lórien flourish once again.”

Haldir fell silent for a brief moment; then, smiled and said, “I will always be 
thankful to them for that. It is why I will always serve them faithfully, and to my 
best ability.”

Legolas nodded, understanding.

“Caras Galadhon was then built here,” Haldir continued, “as our new city. Because 
of my part in the battle against the Orcs and the saving of Lórien’s people, 
Celeborn and Galadriel gifted me with the right to have my own talan built, at the 
location I desired most.” He made a gesture with his arm, indicating his house. “I 
chose this mallorn, this exact spot.”

“You chose well,” Legolas said. “The view is magnificent.”

Haldir nodded. “And from the roof, you have a full view at the sky,” he said, a 
dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “If you climb high enough, you could count the 
stars that are in the sky at night, if you had but enough time to count them all.”

Legolas laughed softly. “Have you ever made an attempt?”

Haldir smiled. “No...” he said. “Not yet.”

He then got up, turned to the hearth and started to prepare the tea. His back was 
turned to Legolas and the younger Elf took advantage by quickly inspecting the 
interior of Haldir’s house. As he’d noticed earlier, it was very neat. The only spot 
that was slightly messy, was the modest wooden desk that stood against one of 
the walls; on it were piles of parchment, books, two or three ink pots and several 
quills. Legolas’s eyes automatically drifted to Haldir’s bed; it was great enough to 
accomodate two grown Elves. Against the opposite wall stood another, smaller bed.

“Are you investigating my home?” Haldir said.

Legolas started, and turning, saw that Haldir was looking at him over his shoulder. 
But he was smiling.

“Yes, erm, I...” Legolas almost bit his tongue. By Elbereth, he thought angrily to 
himself; at least *try* to be a bit more eloquent. “I couldn’t help but notice the 
second bed,” he said in his most innocent way, pointing at it. “Do you often have 
guests staying over?”

“No, not really.” Haldir had turned his attention back to the preparation of the tea 
and Legolas could no longer see his face. “In fact, it hasn’t been used for a long 
time. Orophin used to come over regularly, and sometimes he would have a little 
too much of my wine. I wasn’t always willing to escort him home, so I let him sleep 
here. But eventually I grew tired of his moodiness in the morning, and luckily, he’s 
finally learned to hold his drink, I believe. At least he can walk himself home now, 
which is an improvement.”

Legolas let his eyes trace Haldir’s handsome profile and had to bite his tongue to 
prevent himself from showering the Elf with questions he would want an answer to. 
Do you live alone here, Haldir? Do you sleep alone every night? What do you think 
of when you sit high in your mallorn and look up at the stars? Where does your 
mind stray? Does your heart whisper someone’s name? How often have you 
enchanted someone’s heart by smiling at them the way you do and preparing them 
tea? Why won’t you let me read your eyes, Haldir; is there something you don’t 
want me to see? Something you don’t want anyone to see...

All those questions whirled through Legolas’s head as he watched the other Elf 
come to him with two steaming cups of tea; but when Haldir put his in front of him, 
Legolas merely smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“I am sorry this is such a simple meal...” Haldir said as he sat down. He shrugged 
helplessly.

Legolas had just set his knife into another peach, but now he looked up at Haldir. 
The sweet scent of herbal tea. The morning Sun entering the talan and caressing 
both Elves with her light. In spite of all the grief that had preceded this moment: 
the promise of the day. Legolas smiled.

“It is excellent, Haldir. I can’t think of a more pleasant way to start the day,” he 
said warmly.

And he meant it.

***

That first week, Haldir spent large parts of his days with Legolas, showing him 
every corner of Caras Galadhon and telling him every story he could think of. If 
Legolas’s eagerness and hunger for knowledge surprised him, he did not show it; 
nor did he show any signs of fatigue or weariness, and often their laughter was 
heard between the trees.

They also rode out to explore other parts of the forest. Together they lay resting 
between the elanor and niphredil at Cerin Amroth, wrapped in their sweet scent; 
looking up at the sky and watching the clouds come and go. Together they 
explored the Naith, crossed the Celebrant and rested on the shore of Nimrodel, 
bathing their feet in its refreshing waters and singing the lore of Amroth and 
Nimrodel. On their travels, they encountered several groups of patrolling Elves; 
they all knew Haldir, and news seemed to travel fast in the Golden Wood, for they 
knew the green-clad youth’s name and title. Like most of the Elves that had 
greeted him since his arrival in Lórien, they were polite to him, but nothing more.

Legolas also met the one called Rúmil, who turned out to be Orophin and Haldir’s 
older brother. Curiously, Legolas thought he saw a strange flicker in the other’s 
eyes as he greeted him. Rúmil regarded him with something that almost 
resembled... pity. This confused Legolas; why was the blond warrior looking at him 
like that?

And every morning, Legolas would have breakfast in Haldir’s talan, as he had that 
first morning. And Haldir would make tea and drink a cup with him, but never 
would he eat something. Legolas wondered why Haldir preferred to have breakfast 
so early and alone, but soon he grew accustomed to it.

Sometimes Haldir would excuse himself and leave Legolas for a couple of hours. 
Legolas would then walk the paths and stairs of Caras Galadhon in solitude, or 
retreat to his talan for some reading, preferrably high in the branches of his 
mallorn, an activity he soon grew very fond of. As he sat there then, leaning back 
against the trunk with a book on his knees and the sunlight falling through the 
leaves, he had to admit to himself that his father had been right; the song of the 
Golden Wood had already enchanted his heart, and although he was far from home 
and everything that was familiar to him, he felt happier than he had in a long time. 
And that, in turn, felt like betrayal to his father. Yes, he mused, that indeed would 
make everything complete: to have Thranduil here and walk the paths of Lórien 
together with him, as Thranduil had done with Oropher so many years ago. In two 
years’ time it would be so. Two years...

But then Haldir would appear again, and take him to yet another place of beauty, 
and Legolas would forget his musings and enjoy the moments spent together with 
the Marchwarden. True to his word, Haldir had arranged that Legolas would follow 
classes with other young Elves, and he had selected both a private teacher and an 
archery instructor for the young prince. Legolas’s new routine would begin the first 
day of the second week. Haldir would resume his usual tasks as well, plus a new 
one: teaching Legolas to wield a blade. It was a prospect that filled Legolas with 
both nervousness and joyful anticipation.

Yes, in the relatively short period he’d known the Marchwarden, Legolas had 
already become very fond of him. Haldir did indeed possess the gentle, poetic soul 
Legolas had recognized in him from the very beginning, and they spent many 
pleasant hours together that first week. But Legolas did not really *understand* 
Haldir. Haldir talked much during their excursions, but never about himself, except 
when Legolas specifically asked for it. And even then he revealed little of his 
personal life, his deepest feelings. It frustrated Legolas, but it also enticed him. 
Made him curious. But he did not want to put pressure on his friend, and he 
decided to wait. If Legolas of Mirkwood was gifted with one virtue, it was patience.

And somehow he just knew, Haldir of Lórien was well worth the wait.


Chapter 4 – Interlude In The Tub

Mirkwood


Three days had gone by since that morning in the stables, four days since the 
departure of the Prince, and everyone was glad to see that Thranduil had returned 
to his daily obligations with his usual devotion and sense of humour. Whenever he 
found the opportunity, he met with the twins and the three of them would spend 
time together.

That third day, Thranduil gave the twins a tour over his vineyards, where the first 
pluck was in progress, and then through the cellars of the palace, where the actual 
wine-making was performed.

An enormous wooden tub filled with grapes had just been brought in. It was a good 
harvest this year, and Elladan and Elrohir admired the rich color of the fruit.

“Is this where the grapes are pressed?” Elrohir asked.

“Yes,” Thranduil said, “and it’s all done by hand. Or rather,” he smirked, “by foot.”

“Really?” Elrohir said, his face lightening. “With the stamping and springing and 
everything?”

“Yes.” Thranduil laughed. “Any movement you can think of, as long as the juice 
flows.”

“I would love to see *that*,” Elladan said.

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Thranduil said. “The afternoon 
is old already, and these poor grapes have one night until they meet their destiny.”

“Not necessarily,” Elrohir grinned. “May we give it a go?”

“What, now?” When the twins nodded eagerly, Thranduil laughed again. “I see no 
reason why not. But tie your hair together, and wash your feet first.” He pointed at 
a basin filled with water.

The twins, beaming happily, quickly braided their hair and kicked their boots off. 
They rolled the legs of their trousers up to their knees and obediently cleaned their 
feet in the basin.

“If I were you, I’d take off my tunic as well,” the King said. He stood leaning on the 
rim of the tub, his arms folded comfortably. An amused smile played round his lips.

The brothers wasted no time in removing their tunics, and Elrohir was the first to 
swing one leg over the rim and climb into the tub. Elladan followed close behind.

“Ai, that feels strange,” Elladan said. The grapes reached to his shins. “It’s slippery. 
And I’m not stepping onto any insects am I?”

Thranduil gave an outburst of his musical laughter. “Insects? On *my* grapes, 
Elladan?”

“Wimp,” Elrohir said, pushing his brother playfully.

“Who are you calling a wimp, noodle?” Elladan retorted, pushing him back.

“Who are you calling a noodle, butterbrain?”

“Egghead.”

“Dragon-dropping.”

“Dwarf.”

“Oy, you two!” Thranduil chuckled. “You’re wasting precious time here. Arguing you 
can do outside the tub. Get to work!”

The twins saluted, “Yes, sire!”, and began to stamp around. Soon they were 
chasing each other around and around, laughing and panting with the effort. They 
looked ridiculous as they ran circles in the wooden tub, lifting their knees high and 
making the grape juice spurt up as high as their chests. At least one of them was 
bound to slip eventually, and they knew it.

“This,” Elrohir panted, “is going to be the best wine that ever left your cellars, 
Thranduil. Spiced up with the exquisite and unique Elladan-flavor!”

“And let us not forget the tongue-tickling Elrohir-bouquet,” Elladan said, just as 
breathless. “If I’m going down, you’re going down, brother! Consider that a 
promise.”

When no reply came from Thranduil, the twins ventured a glance sideways, and 
stopped their chase through the unfortunate grapes. The King stood bent forward, 
his hands braced upon his knees. His shoulders were shaking and the thick curtain 
of his golden hair hid his face. But then he straightened himself, clutching at his 
stomach, he found his voice again and he laughed out loud; heartily, infectiously, 
and with abandon. Their surprised faces made him laugh even harder, and he had 
to seek support on a nearby chair.

“You two,” he laughed breathlessly, “make such a pretty picture. You should see 
yourselves!” Tears were streaming down his face and he drew a sleeve over his 
cheeks.

The twins grinned delightedly. Still chuckling in his mirth, Thranduil came back to 
the tub and peered inside.

“What a mess you two have made!” he said cheerfully.

“Ah,” Elrohir said, “but that is how the genuine Elladan and Elrohir-wine is made. 
The grapes are trampled thoroughly by the masters winemakers themselves...” – 
he modestly indicated himself and Elladan –  “... And by so doing, they give the 
wine its unique palette of flavors.”

“Imladris flavors,” Elladan added. “Apple blossom, citrus, raspberry...” He collected 
Elrohir in his arms and licked a purple-ish spot away that sat on Elrohir’s chin.

“And cinnamon,” Thranduil added relaxedly, watching the display of affection with 
interest. “Don’t forget the cinnamon. I have tasted that on you, distinctly.”

The two identical Elves looked down at Thranduil in mild surprise. In the past three 
days, Thranduil had not once referred to, or spoken of, the night they’d spent 
together. In fact, the twins had begun to wonder if the King had regrets. Now, as 
they saw the glimmer in Thranduil’s eyes and the slow, slightly dangerous smile on 
his lips, they realized it was the opposite.

“Cinnamon, yes...” Elladan made soft smacking sounds with his lips and tilted his 
head thoughtfully.

“And, dear colleague?” Elrohir asked. “What is your assessment?”

“Not bad,” Elladan said. “But it needs something else. It needs...” He tapped a 
finger against his chin. “It needs a particular blend of rosalina and cypress. And to 
sweeten it up a bit, some honey of course. This wine will not be finished without it.” 
Two pairs of grey eyes fell simultaneously on Thranduil, and the King’s smile waned 
as he raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“What are you looking at me for?” he asked.

“Only one Elf in Middle-earth can provide that particular flavor, dear colleague,” 
Elrohir said.

“I know,” Elladan said, stretching out his arms to Thranduil. The King backed away.

“Have you gone mad?” he said. “I will not partake in this elfling’s silliness.” He 
raised a forefinger in warning and added quickly, “And don’t think you can force 
me. I’ll be safely outside before you even have one foot out of that tub. Chasing 
me will help you not; you’ll only smear my cellars in the process.”

The twins raised their hands innocently. “Who says we want to force you?” Elladan 
said with a growing smirk. “But know that our bathroom door will be closed to 
those who aren’t covered in grape juice themselves.”

Elrohir, who silently admired his brother for his bravery, studied the King’s face. 
There was a brief silence.

“I have no desire to be in your bathroom,” Thranduil finally said, and for a 
moment, the twins thought they’d guessed wrong. Then, they watched in surprise 
how Thranduil plucked a leather cord from thin air (or so it seemed) and tied his 
hair together in one, thick tail. He then came back to the tub, lightly shedding off 
his tunic. “If we are to clean ourselves after this,” he continued, “we’d better use 
my private bathing chambers, which are much more comfortable.”

If the twins grinned any broader, their faces would split in half. Thranduil quickly 
un-booted and cleaned his feet, bared his lower legs before gracefully stepping into 
the tub, where he was received warmly by the twins.

“Please tell me why I am doing this,” he sighed. “If someone sees me now, I’ll be 
my own court’s laughing-stock.”

“You’re doing this because it’s good fun,” Elrohir said cheerfully. “And no one will 
see you. You said yourself, it’s late. Everyone’s off home. Don’t worry...”

Those last words were spoken against the sensitive skin of his throat, and 
Thranduil found that his head fell slightly back on its own account, allowing the 
exploring lips and tongue better access. And when had his own lips parted to utter 
such a betraying sigh? Oh yes, he remembered now; sometimes his body would be 
quicker on the uptake than his mind.

“So I taste like honey do I?” he breathed.

“Hmm.” Elrohir’s lips moved to Thranduil’s now and brushed lightly over them. 
“Especially your mouth...”

After a few seconds of this, Thranduil slightly backed away from Elrohir’s mouth. 
The younger twin gave a low groan of disappointment, but Thranduil smiled. Elrohir 
was eager, after three days of doubtful anticipation, but not quite eager enough. 
Not yet...

“No, friends,” Thranduil said, “this is not what we’re standing here for, to our shins 
in purple pulp. We’re here to trample grapes, and trample grapes we shall.”

Elrohir sighed longingly, but obeyed, following Thranduil and Elladan’s example. He 
wanted badly to bring one of his fists into contact with Elladan’s smirking face.

The following morning, the King’s winemakers were surprised to find the new 
grapes already pressed. But it had been done rather messily, and three sets of red-
purple footprints led away from the tub, to the door, where they were lost in the 
grass.

“A couple of urchins, probably,” the Elves said to each other, and they began to 
clean up the traces, hoping that the King would not find out that there had been 
trespassers in his wine cellars.

The King’s private bathing area was commodious indeed, the twins learned; a great 
sunken pool where, at the deepest point, a tall Elf like Thranduil could stand to his 
waist in the water and delight in several luxurious features like bubbling water and 
all kinds of scented soaps and oils.

The three Elves threw their clothes into a corner, swung their hair free and soaked 
their bodies in the warm water with content sighs. Letting the water wash away the 
grape juice and the sweat of their exertion, they splashed around for a little while. 
Elladan floated on his back in total relaxation, but Elrohir found himself distracted. 
Distracted by the sight of an unclothed, wet, apparently shameless Thranduil. The 
blond King stood upright, the waterline only just protecting modesty, the water 
lapping at his hipbones. He had applied some scented oil to his hands and was now 
smearing it out over his arms and shoulders. It made his skin shine so obscenely 
and it highlighted his muscles so well that Elrohir suddenly felt on fire, even though 
he was lying in water.

Thranduil seemed oblivious of Elrohir’s devouring eyes. But was he really? 
Somehow, when the King turned slightly and presented Elrohir with a very 
appealing view at his firm, rouded buttocks, Elrohir doubted it. The younger Elf 
licked his lips and had to bite back a groan when he felt the flesh between his legs 
stiffen in admiration for the King’s perfect, inviting form. Gods, he wanted that Elf.

What kind of game was Thranduil playing with him anyway? Was he trying to get 
Elrohir all worked up and frustrated? If that was what he intended, he was doing a 
good job. Elrohir felt fire crawl beneath his skin as he followed Thranduil’s every 
movement with his eyes. He probably looked flushed.

He was so wrapped up by the enticing way Thranduil’s muscles moved beneath his 
skin, that he did not notice at first that he was being spoken to. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” he said as he looked up to meet Thranduil’s 
eyes.

“Would you assist me?” Thranduil repeated with a chuckle. He had the vial of oil in 
his hand and he turned slightly to present Elrohir his back.

“Erm,” Elrohir hesitated, “I...” His heart beat faster at the request and he started to 
move, but then he remembered his embarrassing, aroused state and he froze in 
the water. Where Thranduil was standing, the water wasn’t deep enough to shield 
him; it would betray him.

“Not?” Thranduil said cheerfully.

“Shall I do it, then?” Elladan offered with a smirk.

“No. No, I’ll do it,” Elrohir muttered and he accepted the vial from Thranduil. 
Luckily, the King then fully turned his back to him. When Elrohir rose to his feet, he 
made sure that his own body protected his throbbing arousal from Elladan’s 
mocking eyes. Stepping as close to Thranduil as he dared, he rubbed a certain 
amount of oil between his hands and began to massage it into the blonde’s back. 
Admiring the strength that lay hidden beneath that smooth skin, Elrohir paid great 
attention to every inch, applying pressure in the right places. Eventually, losing 
control over his own actions, Elrohir slid his hands down to gently grasp the slim 
hips. Ai, the effort it cost him not to thrust into the King at that exact moment! 
Every inch of his body wanted it so badly. ... Were his hands trembling?

To his horror, the King then started to turn around, and Elrohir, letting go of 
Thranduil’s hips, quickly dropped to his knees to conceal that one, rigid part of him 
that would instantly tell the King how badly Elrohir wanted him. Unfortunately, by 
doing so, he suddenly found himself at eye-height with Thranduil’s groin. Blushing 
fiercely and angered by his own clumsiness, Elrohir moved away.

“Do I make you nervous, Elrohir?” Thranduil said softly.

“No... no my Lord,” Elrohir replied.

Thranduil took Elrohir’s hand and pulled gently, inviting him to get up. Elrohir, 
comforted by Thranduil’s smile, obeyed; still, he blushed even more deeply when 
his desire became obvious for Thranduil to see. But the blond Elf gathered Elrohir 
closer to him and provided new, better cover for Elrohir’s erection by wrapping one 
warm, large hand around it. Elrohir gasped.

“Why would you try to hide something so pretty?” Thranduil murmured into his ear.

“I – I don’t know,” Elrohir replied, breathing harshly. Thranduil was still holding him 
in one hand, and Elrohir knew that the King could feel every pulse of his heated 
flesh. If this continued much longer, he would surely die of need.

“Is there something you want?” Thranduil asked hotly, his lips still grazing Elrohir’s 
ear.

“Yes... yes!” Elrohir rasped. His hands clawed at Thranduil’s shoulders. “I need... I 
want you! Want to have you.” He knew he was a trembling, incoherent mess 
against the solid, placid King, but he didn’t care. “Be inside of you...” he concluded.

“Hmm.” As if contemplating this proposal, Thranduil slowly stroked one finger over 
the underside of Elrohir’s erect shaft, from the base to the crown. Elrohir let out a 
strange, strangled sob in response. It was then that Thranduil decided, he’d teased 
Elrohir long enough. And to be frank, he couldn’t stave off his own arousal much 
longer. He had a strong will, but there were limits.

“I think I would enjoy that,” he said. “Can you prove me right?”

Elrohir raised his eyes to look into Thranduil’s. Deep green they were. “Maybe, I 
can,” he said.

“Kiss me,” Thranduil said, and Elrohir moved to obey the command, sealing his lips 
over Thranduil’s to claim his honeyed mouth in a possessive kiss. He licked eagerly 
at Thranduil’s curved upper lip, then the fuller bottom one. Forced the opening 
between them wider; demanded and was given entrance to Thranduil’s mouth. 
Warm and wet and sweet and so distinctly Thranduil’s that Elrohir wanted to 
swallow the taste. So he kissed the King deeply and attentively, experiencing a 
moment of sweet victory when Thranduil groaned in appreciation.

Encouraged by this, Elrohir allowed his hands to explore Thranduil’s body, in slow, 
gentle strokes; mapping every curve in his shoulders, arms, his chest, the muscled 
plane of his stomach. And still they were engaged in that breathtaking, astounding 
kiss. His hands slid to Thranduil’s buttocks, grasped them and pulled them slightly 
apart. His fingers found the hidden opening. Ai, such a shame, too dry his fingers...

“Elladan!” Elrohir gasped, releasing his mouth. “I need some assistance here.”

Elladan, who had been watching until now with a lazy smile, got up and came 
towards them. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Get that,” Elrohir pointed at the vial of oil, which stood on the marble edge of the 
pool, several feet away. “And coat my fingers.” He stretched out his hand. With the 
other arm he still held Thranduil close to him. The King watched the exchange with 
glimmering eyes; they had assumed an impossibly dark green which contrasted 
wonderfully with his creamy skin and warm-golden hair.

“All of them?” Elladan smirked as he poured generous amounts of oil over his 
brother’s fingers.

“All of them,” Elrohir confirmed.

When it was done, Elrohir guided Thranduil to a part of the pool where the water 
only reached to just above the ankles.

“Is there more I can do?” Elladan asked.

“Yes.” Elrohir took his brother by the hand and made him stand behind the King. 
“Hold him,” he instructed. “And hold him firmly, or he might collapse.”

Elladan obeyed, stepping in close to Thranduil and wrapping his arms around the 
slim waist.

“And don’t you dare try anything in that tempting position,” Elrohir growled. “He’s 
mine this time.”

Elladan nodded with a serene smile. “All yours, brother mine,” he said. “I will enjoy 
seeing him become undone at your hands.”

Elrohir then sank to his knees and once again found himself at eye-height with 
Thranduil’s crotch, but this time intentionally. Thranduil’s malehood was still 
hesitating between relaxation and arousal, but, Elrohir decided, that would not last 
long. He looked up to find the King’s dark eyes on him, watching in anticipation; 
the pink lips were slightly parted, and as Elrohir watched, a tongue came out to 
wet them.

“This is Elladan’s personal favorite,” Elrohir said. “Would you like to experience it, 
too?”

“Yes,” Thranduil breathed, and that was all Elrohir needed to know. Opening his 
mouth, he swallowed the King with one, smooth stroke. As he had expected, the 
suddenness of this came as a surprise to Thranduil, and he moaned loudly at the 
sudden warmth surrounding him.

“He likes to feel you grow hard in his mouth,” he heard Elladan whisper to 
Thranduil, and he would have smiled if his lips hadn’t been occupied with other 
things. For it was true what Elladan said, and there was another moment of sweet 
victory when Elrohir felt Thranduil’s cock harden and lengthen greedily inside his 
mouth. When his lover’s erection had come to its full glory, Elrohir started to move 
with all the skill and dedication he could summon. Every cry that came from 
Thranduil’s lips was a beautiful reward in itself, but it wasn’t enough yet.

Never stopping the smooth movements of his head, Elrohir lifted his oil-slick hand 
and lightly grasped Thranduil’s sac. A shudder passed through Thranduil’s legs, and 
it was probably a good thing that Elladan was holding him. The King thrashed 
helplessly in Elladan’s arms as the younger twin caressed his most sensitive parts, 
groaning and gasping encouragements.

Elrohir then moved his hand further between Thranduil’s legs and again found the 
entrance to his body. But this time he was prepared, and after rubbing his slick 
fingers over the surrounding skin for a few moments, he pushed two fingers inside. 
Thranduil clenched his teeth and groaned in discomfort, but he did not complain. 
Elrohir pushed inside, pulled back, and repeated this several times until his fingers 
were sheathed completely in the hot, squeezing, delightful tightness that was 
Thranduil’s opening. His own cock throbbed almost painfully in anticipation.

Thranduil was moaning softly, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow as he stood 
impaled on Elrohir’s fingers and surrounded by his mouth. His breathing was 
shallow and rapid. Elrohir knew he could probably finish him in a few seconds if he 
wanted to. Thinking of the prospect of Thranduil releasing inside his mouth, he 
decided in favor of this plan. Curving his fingers sharply, he effortlessly located 
Thranduil’s pleasure gland and rubbed it hard, up and down. The outcome was 
satisfying; Thranduil’s entire body jerked, nearly knocking Elladan off his feet, and 
in loud, low, incoherent moans, he begged of Elrohir both to end and to lengthen 
his torment.

Elrohir continued to stroke the core of Thranduil’s pleasure, at the same time 
moving his head at a demanding speed, and delighting in the sounds of pleasure he 
was eliciting with his actions. Then, vaguely realized that Thranduil wasn’t the only 
one voicing his enjoyment. Looking up as well as he could with Thranduil’s hard, 
leaking shaft down his throat, he saw that one of Thranduil’s hands had crept 
behind him and was holding Elladan firmly between his legs; and, judging by 
Elladan’s cries, was quickly stroking him towards completion. Before Elrohir really 
had the time to digest this information, Thranduil, with a long-drawn cry, thrust his 
hips sharply, and Elrohir felt the hot rush of Thranduil’s seed down his throat a 
split-second later. Withdrawing his fingers from Thranduil’s opening, he grasped 
the King’s hips and held them steady as he swallowed and licked him clean.

At that exact moment, Elladan came as well. Moaning and gasping, he found that 
his legs were no longer able to support his and Thranduil’s weight, and he 
collapsed. Thranduil’s legs also gave way under him, and the two spent Elves 
crumpled to the floor.

A dismayed Elrohir, still on his knees, watched it happen. “You were supposed to 
hold him!” he said to Elladan.

“*You* try to hold a full-grown Elf while he’s jerking you off!” Elladan panted.

“Then tell him not to,” Elrohir retorted.

Elladan could give nothing but a low chuckle. Elrohir then redirected his attention 
to Thranduil, who was lying on his back in the shallow layer of water, breathing 
harshly after his release. His hair fanned out in the water, like a great, golden 
corona encircling his head. His knees were slightly raised and his thighs parted, 
and Elrohir was reminded of his own, still-existent need. Crawling towards the 
King, he settled between his thighs and sought Thranduil’s eyes.

“Have you hurt yourself?” he asked, lifting one stray lock from Thranduil’s forehead 
and lowering it to the water to join the others.

Thranduil shook his head, licked his lips. “No,” he breathed. His eyes slowly 
refound their focus and settled on Elrohir’s face. “I can see how much you want 
me,” he then said with a faint smile.

Elrohir nodded, staring in wonder and admiration at this amazing creature.

“Have me then,” Thranduil said, slowly stretching his arms in the water and 
wrapping one, long leg around Elrohir’s waist to pull him closer. “Have me then, 
Elrohir...”

His heart beating incredibly fast at the sound of his name, coming so sensuously 
from Thranduil’s lips, Elrohir asked, “Here?”

The exhaustion seemed forgotten; Thranduil’s eyes held lust again, and his 
dangerous smile was back as well. “Whatever *you* want, Elrohir; you are on top, 
aren’t you. You are in charge...”

Groaning with need, Elrohir shifted between Thranduil’s legs and pushed into his 
lover’s well-prepared opening. The sensation of being so firmly embraced by 
Thranduil’s body, together with the low, lustful moan that spoke of Thranduil’s 
enjoyment, almost was too much. But Elrohir drew a deep breath and exhaled 
slowly, forcing himself to keep control. Thranduil was a treasure, and one did not 
handle something so precious carelessly. Who knew? Perhaps this was Elrohir’s 
only opportunity...

So he began to move slowly, pulling back and pushing in, enjoying how Thranduil 
welcomed him every time. Thranduil’s hands were braced on Elrohir’s arms, his leg 
still around Elrohir’s waist. He moaned as his desire began to build once more, and 
Elrohir eagerly took in the sight of him. A new sheen of sweat appeared on the 
King’s face, on the skin of his throat, his fair features were tense and sharp with 
obvious passion and his member, caught in the friction of their moving bodies, had 
grown to a new, aching hardness.

Thrust into a frenzy of unbearable, rising pleasure, Elrohir moved harder now, 
faster; a distant, half-conscious part of his brain wondered if he was too rough, but 
Thranduil quickly set his mind at ease. His eyes had been on Elrohir’s all this time, 
but now he tossed his head back in abandon as he cried out in pleasure. The last 
glint of self-control slipped through his fingers and at that very moment, his body 
was completely Elrohir’s to command. He already felt the rush of orgasm building 
in his loins...

When Thranduil started to use his voice, to beg, to weave Elrohir’s name into his 
delirious pleasure talk, Elrohir knew he was done for. “Gods,” he moaned, 
“Thranduil... you are too much. You... everything you are... you will kill me!”

He had just enough time to notice the characteristic curl of Thranduil’s upper lip, 
which announced the King’s undoing, before he spent himself with a last few 
thrusts, burying himself to the hilt one last time in that delicious, clenching heat. 
Thranduil’s seed spurted between their stomachs as his own did so deep inside 
Thranduil’s body, and with a shuddering gasp, Elrohir collapsed onto his lover’s 
damp form.

To his delight, Thranduil lifted his weary arms and draped them lightly around 
Elrohir’s body.

“Was it worth the wait, Elrohir?” he breathed after a short silence. There was mirth 
in his voice, but also gentleness.

“Gods, yes,” Elrohir groaned.

Thranduil stroked some dark hair away from Elrohir’s ear. “For me as well,” he said 
softly.

Elrohir lay silently for a moment. Then said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Thranduil’s voice was still close to his ear. “For letting you have me... 
the both of you?”

Elrohir nodded.

“You are most welcome,” Thranduil said with a lazy chuckle. “But I should warn 
you: I used to be less submissive than this. It will be different next time.”

“We will prepare ourselves,” Elrohir murmured, snuggling further into Thranduil’s 
embrace. Frankly? As he lay there wrapped in the sweetness, the beauty, the 
delight that was Thranduil?

Not even an unexpected appearance by Elrond would have persuaded him to move.


***

A/N: I believe that grapes are usually plucked in September, not August as in this 
chapter. But hey, who cares? As long as it gives me the opportunity to put three 
gorgeous Elves in a tub together, I gladly violate the truth a little. :-)

***


Chapter 5 – In My Heart

Lórien


Legolas blinked. The sharp steel of the blade was cool against his throat. Inwardly, 
he cursed his own stupidity. He could have prevented this. This would not have 
happened if only he had paid better attention...

“You are dead, Legolas.” Haldir’s voice. “Say hello to the Halls of Mandos for me.”

The blade was removed from his throat and Haldir resheathed his knife with a sigh. 
He also released Legolas’s wrist, which he’d held in a firm grip, making the knife in 
Legolas’s hand completely useless. “How many times do I have to tell you, keep 
your defenses up!” he said despairingly. “You’re eager enough to go in the attack, 
but defense is equally important, if not more so.”

“I know.” Legolas could have cried in frustration. He had actually been doing well 
today, so well that Haldir had been pushed into the defense and had to use all his 
skill to fend Legolas off. His possible victory had excited Legolas so, that he had 
become sloppy. With an unexpected jab, Haldir had his knife at Legolas’s throat. 
And where the hand around his wrist suddenly had come from, Legolas had no 
idea. This was not good.

“Really, Legolas,” Haldir said, “how can you expect me to send you on a border 
patrol already, while you end up with a knife against your throat every time we 
practise? You mustn’t be so focused on ‘winning’, as you call it. You would do so 
much better if you’d just let go of that idea.”

Legolas nodded mutely, fingering his knife. He couldn’t look at Haldir. He wanted to 
do well so badly, but it felt like he disappointed his instructor every time. He 
couldn’t blame Haldir for losing his patience, really. He probably regrets now that 
he ever promised father to teach me, Legolas thought sadly.

“There now, what’s that?” Haldir’s voice was softer. He put one hand on Legolas’s 
shoulder. “Not so sad,” he comforted his young pupil. “You were doing well until 
you lost your focus. You have the talent; you just have to be taught how to use it.” 
Haldir smiled at Legolas. “And that is my task. Sorry I became impatient.”

Legolas shrugged. “No, you were right. It was my own fault.”

“Mistakes are to be learned from. Come, let’s try again,” Haldir said cheerfully as 
he unsheathed his knife again. “And remember to watch me closely; a good warrior 
can predict his opponent’s next move by watching his body language.”

Legolas suppressed a sigh as he, too, brought his knife into position. His patience 
was being tested thoroughly. He’d been in Lórien for almost a year and a half now, 
and still Haldir wouldn’t let him touch a sword. It was still daggers and knives, and 
Legolas felt like he’d barely learned more than to just *hold* those weapons. This 
was untrue, of course, and he knew that he had the toughest adversary imaginable 
in Haldir, but it was still frustrating.

Over the past six seasons, Legolas had grown very fond of Haldir, who was the 
best friend he had in Lórien, and during their practices there was always time for 
fun, but as an instructor Haldir was also very demanding; always wanting Legolas 
to rise above himself and do better than the day before. Yet he always was his kind 
self; always good-humoured, never hesitant to give Legolas a compliment when he 
deserved one. And it was exactly these compliments that made Legolas so eager to 
do well. He wanted Haldir to be content, to be proud of him... And so he both 
dreaded and looked forward to the practices with Haldir.

He remembered the very first lesson well. With a puzzled and slightly bemused 
expression he’d regarded Haldir as the Marchwarden gave him one of the two 
wooden practice knives he was holding. It was worn and he couldn’t have harmed a 
mouse with it even if he’d wanted to.

Haldir had laughed. “Not what you expected, Legolas? I’m sorry, but I can’t run the 
risk of being fatally injured by a real knife during your first lesson!”

Legolas grumbled something about having wielded a knife several times before, but 
Haldir had assured him that every warrior started his training thus. And so Legolas, 
although feeling slightly ridiculous, accepted the wooden knife.

Haldir had challenged him then to go into the attack. “Just to see how your 
movements are,” he’d said. After a moment of hesitation, Legolas had attempted a 
half-hearted jab at Haldir’s chest, but the Marchwarden simply stepped back and 
Legolas’s knife sliced nothing but air. “Come on,” Haldir smiled, “do you really think 
you can hurt me with that knife? That I’ll even let you? Put more aggression into 
that!”

Legolas had lunged at him more grimly then, and the following hour showed 
Legolas jabbing at the other Elf, but seeing every move effortlessly blocked by 
Haldir’s precise defense. The end of the lesson had Legolas panting and perspiring, 
while Haldir barely had one hair out of place. Not wanting to let the first lesson end 
in a too depressing note for the young Elf, Haldir had then let him practise throwing 
knives at an unmoving target, something Legolas turned out to be pretty good at 
already, thanks to his almost life-long experience with the bow and arrow. That 
first day, Legolas had learned the most important lesson: wielding a blade was a 
thousand times more difficult than it seemed, and learning to do it properly would 
take lots of time, patience, and practice.

And that was what Legolas had been experiencing at first hand over the past 
eighteen months. And yes, he got disheartened sometimes, tired of the slow 
progress; but he never gave up. That was the stubborn, determined trait his 
grandfather and father had passed on to him. Legolas *wanted* to learn... and he 
would not falter until he’d mastered this to his own, and Haldir’s, satisfaction. Not a 
chance...

Apart from knife practice, Legolas also had daily classes, and archery lessons. After 
initial suspicion, the young Lórien Elves had accepted him in their midst, and he got 
along with them pretty well. Every day he wore the brown and green of Mirkwood; 
not because he refused to adapt to Lórien, but because he wore them with pride. 
They drew attention in the beginning, as did his bow with the unfamiliar curve, but 
in the end the Elves of Caras Caladhon became accustomed to the presence of the 
foreign prince.

But he still received his share of flirtatious glances and indecent proposals. They 
did not unsettle him as they used to, but he still did not know how to handle such 
attention, and most of the times he just stammered a ‘no thank you’ before 
hurrying along. He felt a clumsy youth every time, but he couldn’t help himself; to 
be regarded in such a manner still made him feel uncomfortable.

Haldir. In the past eighteen months, the Marchwarden had spent large amounts of 
his time with Legolas. Sometimes he would be away for weeks in a row, off to 
inspect the situation at Lórien’s borders. Legolas would then walk the paths of 
Caras Galadhon alone, follow his lessons as he should, practise with the knife. 
Because Haldir could never predict the length of his absence, his return was always 
unexpected; but to Legolas, a joyous occasion. For Caras Galadhon wasn’t half as 
interesting without Haldir in it.

Even after a year and a half, Haldir wasn’t less of an enigma to Legolas. There 
were things Legolas had learned about him since; for instance, that the handsome 
guardian had many admirers in Caras Galadhon, judging by the longing stares 
Elves sometimes threw him. Yet while Legolas’s admirers came to him and directly 
*asked* him for a place in his bed, no Elf ever approached Haldir with a similar 
question. It was as if they knew that they would be rejected, for Haldir seemed to 
have no interest whatsoever in any Elf of either sex. At first, Legolas had thought 
that Haldir was simply keeping his love life secret, but after almost two years of 
close observation, Legolas knew it was different. Of course, he was never there to 
see for himself, but somehow he just knew it.

Haldir’s bed, although it was two-sized, held no place for a second sleeper.

With that knowledge, a question was answered, and yet it called forth a whole 
range of new, even more urgent questions. What had made Haldir close his heart, 
his arms, his bed to others? Why would he not share his gentle, loving soul with 
another? Let someone read the poetry there? And for how long had it been so? 
Legolas was sure that Rúmil and Orophin could tell him, but he did not ask them. It 
seemed wrong to talk about Haldir in such a manner, discuss his private life behind 
his back. Legolas despised gossip, and he would certainly not partake in it himself. 
That he refused.

But sometimes Haldir would surprise him. Sometimes he would, spontaneously, 
reveal something of himself. Something of his past... Little snippets of himself he 
offered to Legolas, protectively held between cupped hands, for Legolas to keep 
safe. To Legolas, each of them was like a little treasure in itself. They were 
precious collector’s items to someone who knew their worth, and Legolas became 
the devoted collector. He’d reserved a chamber in his heart solely for this purpose, 
a cozy chamber where light always fell in through a window. The floor, ceiling and 
walls were still empty for the largest part; but every time Haldir offered him a 
small piece of the painting that was him, it went to its rightful place, right there. 
Legolas hoped this masterpiece would never be finished; for it would continue to 
grow and gain colors as long as Haldir lived.

Still, always when Haldir was in Caras Galadhon, Legolas would have breakfast in 
Haldir’s talan, a breakfast that Haldir prepared for him, but would not share with 
him. As it had been from the beginning. Yet their friendship wasn’t one of traditions 
and customs; it was one of developments. At first, Haldir had taken him on long 
walks in and outside Caras Galadhon, telling him gripping, but impersonal stories 
about Lórien. And Legolas would listen, ask occasional questions, and, in turn, 
speak of Mirkwood. Haldir’s steps always led to the door of Legolas’s talan, but no 
further. And Legolas, after breakfast, would leave Haldir’s talan for the rest of the 
day. But later, when evenings alone slowly turned into evenings spent together, 
they opened their homes to the other as if it was the most natural thing in the 
world. And most of the evenings were spent in Haldir’s talan; it was larger, more 
comfortable, had a more beautiful view and always a healthy supply of good wine. 
To begin with, they would sit at the table and speak of what the day had brought 
them; later, but this was only after many months, they would sit high in the 
branches of Haldir’s mallorn and speak of other days; days long gone, or days yet 
to come.

Even listening to the silence was utter bliss when it was done together with Haldir.

One night, while they were sitting facing each other on opposite branches, Haldir 
had asked Legolas whether he missed his home.

“Always,” Legolas confirmed. “But not so badly it rips me apart, as I had expected. 
It doesn’t even really hurt... It’s just there.”

And with every day that passed, the end of the two-year period drew nearer. 
Thranduil would come to Lórien... Throughout the months, father and son had 
exchanged occasional letters. Not too many, for the journey between Mirkwood and 
Lórien was a dangerous one for a lone messenger, but they were long and full of 
jests and joyful phrases.

Haldir never asked Legolas whether he would be accompanying his father back to 
Mirkwood once those two years had passed, and Legolas never brought up the 
subject either. Yet it was something he spent a lot of time thinking of.

Elladan and Elrohir kept their promise and came to visit Legolas; and Legolas got to 
see with his own eyes the uproar their arrival *did* cause in Caras Galadhon, in Elf 
and Elf-maiden alike. The twins, always happy to flirt, enjoyed the attention, but as 
far as Legolas could tell, they slept in each other’s arms every night. The bond 
between them seemed to have grown even stronger, if that was even possible, and 
especially Elladan, although still the more silent one, had a new, younger glow over 
him.

Legolas embraced their presence with both arms, but Haldir kept himself on the 
background. He was kind as always and he had assured Legolas that he liked the 
brothers, but Legolas could tell that he did not really feel comfortable in the 
company of those boisterous twins.

In fact, the twins unconsciously made Legolas realize something. As he once 
observed a conversation between the brothers and Haldir, he found that Haldir was 
behaving oddly. While the twins chattered and jabbered relaxedly, Haldir merely 
listened, placed an occasional remark when it was expected of him, all the time 
with a polite, but spiritless, smile plastered to his face. Legolas frowned, wondered 
secretly why Haldir was behaving so strangely; was something bothering him? But 
then he suddenly realized that there was nothing unusual about Haldir’s behaviour. 
This was simply how he always appeared to Elves he didn’t know well; friendly, but 
distant. He remembered seeing that same Haldir in Mirkwood.

That was the first time Legolas fully realized how much actually had changed 
between Haldir and him already, so gradually that he hadn’t seen it before. Up until 
then, he’d thought that Haldir was keeping him deliberately at a distance, in spite 
of the information he occasionally gave away. Now, Legolas realized that the 
Marchwarden had already let him come close, closer than he’d allowed any other 
Elf in a long time. Whether Haldir realized this himself, Legolas did not know; but it 
made him appreciate their friendship even more.

But it also saddened him that Haldir did not show others more of the entertaining, 
warm-spirited Elf he really was; the Elf he was when in Legolas’s company. The 
gentle soul who had so easily won Legolas’s affection. And again, it made Legolas 
wonder why.
 
Later that week, Legolas had taken the twins out for a ride. Haldir had left for the 
northern border together with Orophin, and the Marchwarden had automatically 
found its way into the conversation between the twins and Legolas. They were 
surprised to hear that after more than a year, Haldir still hadn’t let Legolas test his 
skills with a sword.

“We’ve said so before, Legolas,” Elrohir teased, “your father should have arranged 
a stay for you in Imladris, not Lórien. We would have made fine teachers; you’d 
already be a fine swordsman by now.”

“I’m sure Haldir has his reasons for his training schedule,” Legolas said a bit stiffly. 
He didn’t know why he felt the urge to defend the Marchwarden against such an 
innocent joke, especially since Haldir’s apparent reluctance to give him a sword had 
frustrated him in the past.

“Well,” Elrohir continued, not recognizing Legolas’s defense for what it was, “I do 
hope he’s a better teacher than a conversation partner. I’m sure he is a good-
hearted and likeable Elf, but he doesn’t really show it much, does he?”

“To me, he does,” Legolas said softly. “And he’s an excellent teacher, and a good 
friend...”

Elrohir opened his mouth to speak again, but Elladan, instantly the older brother 
again, silenced him. “Shut up, Ro,” he said. “Can’t you see you’re angering Legolas 
with your babble? He knows Haldir better than we do. Thranduil didn’t choose the 
Marchwarden as Legolas’s mentor for nothing.”

Legolas was relieved when the conversation continued on other topics, but his 
thoughts lingered on Haldir for the remainder of the day, and that evening he 
missed the guardian’s company more than usual. He spent the entire evening 
sitting in his mallorn and pondering the mystery that was called Haldir.

Thanks to the snippets of information Haldir had supplied him with, Legolas was 
able to construct a rough sketch of Haldir’s life. Born in the year 2714 of the 
Second Age, approximately 1900 years after Thranduil, Haldir was the youngest 
son of three. Like most elflings, and his brothers before him, he began his warrior 
training at a fairly young age, learning how to wield different types of weapons.

When in 3430 Amdir marched to war with a host of Lórien Elves to join in the Last 
Alliance, Haldir’s father and brothers went with him. Haldir, as the youngest child, 
was told to stay at home, take care of his mother and aid the other remaining 
Elves in the protecting of Lórien. When, after the ending of the war, Amroth 
returned as the new king, the family was reunited. Many Elves had fallen, but 
Rúmil and Orophin returned safely with their father.

That, Haldir had told Legolas one evening, had been a turning point in his life. 
Hearing the stories from his father and brothers, and realizing that something like 
this could happen again, had convinced him to dedicate himself fully to a military 
career, a life in the service of Lórien.

Legolas and Haldir had had this conversation one evening as they sat high in 
Haldir’s mallorn. Legolas had been amazed by the living contradiction Haldir was; a 
warrior at day, a fiery fighter in battle, but at night, in his home, the most gentle 
and romantic soul imaginable as he taught Legolas songs about the stars. How 
could that be rhymed?

“What are you, Haldir,” Legolas had asked at one point, when he could no longer 
suppress his curiosity, “a warrior, or a dreamer?”

Haldir had regarded him silently for a brief moment. Then, asked with a faint, 
apologetic smile, “Can’t I be both?”

Puzzled, Legolas shook his head and wanted to explain his bewilderment, but Haldir 
had raised his hand and said, “I think I understand what you mean to say, Legolas. 
Someone who sings to the stars at night, can’t possibly enjoy the killing and the 
spilling of blood at day, right?”

Legolas nodded.

Haldir leaned back as he held his eyes on Legolas. “When I was young, I never 
really enjoyed training,” he said. “My brothers teased me because of that, said that 
my hands weren’t fit for weapons, only for wielding the harp or the flute. But after 
their return from the war, I hardened my heart and improved my fighting skills to 
such an extent, that I was made Marchwarden.”

Haldir’s eyes were dark and bright as they held Legolas’s gaze over the distance. “I 
do not enjoy the killing,” he said softly, “nor do I find delight in any form of 
violence. But if shedding blood, taking lives and risking my own is what it takes to 
protect something I love, I will do it.”

“Lórien,” Legolas said, and Haldir nodded. “You proved your brothers wrong then,” 
Legolas said, “your hands *were* fit for weapons, after all.”

“Yes,” Haldir smiled, “but they found other ways to make fun of me.”

“They did?”

“Yes. When it came to training, they saw me go from disinterest to complete 
dedication, and they couldn’t help noticing...” Haldir chuckled. “Well, let’s just say 
that my... social life suffered from my new occupation. I didn’t really mind, but my 
brothers saw it as a great opportunity to make me victim of their terribly obscene 
jokes.”

“Jokes?” Legolas cleared his throat. “What kind of jokes?”

“Well, one of their most memorable comments was that while I spent all my time 
and energy practising with arrows, swords and lances, I was neglecting my, as they 
called it, ‘primary weapon’.” Haldir made a gesture of annoyance, but a smile 
played round his lips. “A terrible crime, in the eyes of my brothers.”

“I see.” Legolas laughed, hoping that Haldir would not see his blush in the 
darkness. That little piece of information had come unexpectedly, and before 
Legolas had decided whether he had the courage to ask further questions, Haldir 
returned to safer subjects.

“To answer your question, Legolas,” he said, “if I had to choose between warrior 
and dreamer, I’d rather be the latter. But ironically, in these times violence is 
sometimes required to ensure peace, and until the times change, I think I’ll have to 
be both.”

Legolas nodded. As always, the answering of one question had meant the birth of 
at least a dozen new ones; but every new question made Legolas even more 
determined to solve the complicated riddle called Haldir. The knowledge he had of 
Haldir’s life after his decision to train himself, was scarce; only the part Haldir had 
played in the defense of Lórien six hundred years ago, and the reward he’d earned 
himself: the talan he now lived in. How he spent his free hours and what his 
deepest emotions were, Legolas did not know. But without knowing, the twins had 
made him realize something: although he never explicitly used the word, Haldir 
considered him a friend. And even after so many months spent together, the trust 
between them still grew – every day. This realization strengthened Legolas in his 
determination to be patient, and this determination was what kept him going, even 
now, six months later, as he was still struggling along with the knife, still dealing 
with a Haldir who grew more mysterious every day.

But the rewards for his patience were oh so sweet. Haldir’s smiles, meant solely for 
him. The sound of Haldir’s laughter when Legolas told him an amusing anecdote. A 
compliment on his knife-work. Haldir stopping by unexpectedly to watch him 
practise archery. Haldir suddenly standing there after Legolas’s class, waiting for 
him. “Shall we go for a ride, Legolas?” And priceless: the envious gazes of his 
classmates as he, after a greeting, switched their company for that of the 
handsome Marchwarden. The two of them effortlessly falling into casual 
conversation and laughter together.

One night, Haldir appeared at Legolas’s doorstep. He’d been on patrol for several 
weeks and Legolas, whose face brightened at the mere sight of Haldir’s smile, 
wanted to greet him warmly. But Haldir quickly sealed Legolas’s lips with his 
forefinger, and Legolas instantly stilled at the feeling of Haldir’s finger resting 
lightly across his lips. A casual touch, but for Legolas a rarity; Haldir almost never 
sought physical contact out of knife-practice.

Haldir’s eyes were sparkling. “Hush,” he whispered. “Take your cloak and follow 
me.”

Less than a minute later, Haldir led him over the smaller, less-used paths of Caras 
Galadhon. Their booted feet made no noise in the moonlit night, and neither spoke. 
Two or three times, when Haldir sensed the approach of an Elf, they hid behind a 
trunk or swiftly took a different path. Once, Haldir even took Legolas’s hand to 
gently pull him along, and held it while they waited in their hiding-place, listening 
to the fading footfalls of the passer-by.

In the end, they left the mellyrn of Caras Galadhon behind them; thanks to Haldir’s 
skills, without encountering a single guard. For a little while, they followed the 
white-paved path that encircled the hill, but after a couple of minutes, Haldir led 
him away from the path, into the collection of trees and shrubbery that ran beside 
it. Still Haldir did not speak.

After several minutes of this, Legolas could no longer stop himself. “Haldir,” he 
breathed.

“Almost there,” Haldir whispered back.

More minutes passed as they trodded the steeping ground, crossed several small 
streams and made their way through thick, sometimes thorny, foliage. In the end, 
they came to a place where the forest wasn’t quite so thick. Moonlight fell between 
the trees, which were interwoven with low bushes. It was a lovely spot and Legolas 
eyed it with silent appreciation, but he still did not understand why Haldir had led 
him here. His eyes sought Haldir’s questioningly.

His friend smiled at him. “Over there,” he said, giving a nod with his head.

Following Haldir’s gaze, Legolas’s eyes fell on a collection of three, four bushes, 
huddled together. Countless dark spots among the leaves. It was then that Legolas 
finally understood the goal of this excursion, and he turned his face back to Haldir, 
a grin quickly taking shape on his lips.

Haldir nodded, grinning as well. “The first,” he confirmed.

In Lórien there was an ancient custom. The Golden Wood was home to many fruit-
bearing trees and bushes, but the first blackberries of the season were special. The 
Elf who found the first ripe blackberries could expect a year of good fortune and 
blessing. According to tradition, that Elf could claim his finding as his, and before 
eating the first blackberry, could make one wish. If he decided to share his finding, 
the same right befell the Elf, or Elves, he shared with.

“How did you find them?” Legolas asked as they knelt in front of the bushes. He 
was still speaking softly, even though there was no one around, but somehow the 
moment just asked for reverend whispers.

“This is a spot few Elves know,” Haldir replied just as softly. “I’ve been checking it 
for weeks, but fruitlessly.” He chuckled. “As I came back from the border this 
evening, I decided not to wait until the morning. And this is what I found.”

“Amazing.” So that explained the secrecy and the skulking on the hidden paths of 
Caras Galadhon; Haldir wanted to share his discovery with Legolas, didn’t want 
others to find out... Legolas turned his head slightly to look at Haldir. “Did you eat 
one?” he asked.

“No. Not yet.” Haldir searched between the leaves and plucked two ripe 
blackberries. Then, gave Legolas one. “Do you know of a wish?” he asked.

Legolas closed his eyes. He knew of so many wishes... They were simple and they 
were grand. That he would become a good warrior. That he would find peace with 
himself. That Thranduil would find happiness again. Perhaps even with a lover... 
Legolas wasn’t really sure how he would feel if that happened, but in his heart, he 
knew that his father deserved it. Needed it, even.

Other wishes concerned Haldir. That he would make his mentor proud with his 
progression. That Haldir would show him his thoughts. Tell him of his past, his 
deepest, truest emotions. Trust him, without holding back. That he would call 
Legolas ‘friend’, be it only in jest. That he would have breakfast together with 
Legolas, be it only once. That he would hold his hand again...

Legolas opened his eyes, only to find out that Haldir was watching him patiently, 
an amused smile on his lips. “I’ve got more wishes than I can count,” Legolas said 
with a lopsided smile. “Do I really have to choose one?”

“Yes... Don’t worry, Legolas. Choosing one now doesn’t mean that the others won’t 
come true in the end!” Haldir laughed softly.

“Do you have one already?” Legolas asked.

“Yes. But remember, I had more time to think of one.”

In the end, Legolas gave a nod, indicating that he had made a decision. They both 
secretly made their wish then, and enjoyed the taste of the season’s first 
blackberries. Whether his wish would come true or not, Legolas thought he’d be the 
happiest Elf alive if this magical moment would just last forever, until the ending of 
the world and beyond.

After this, they plucked every ripe blackberry they could find, gathering them in a 
cloth Haldir had brought with him. They tasted so good, the two friends almost 
regretted it that they had to save some until the morning, as proof to show the 
other Elves.

Such moments were enough to keep Legolas going with enthusiasm and 
dedication, and so, to Legolas’s own amazement, the first two years in Lórien 
passed swiftly.

One hot evening in July, Haldir and Legolas sat for hours, together on one of the 
branches of Haldir’s mallorn. They both had had one or two glasses of wine more 
than usual, and although they didn’t speak much, it was one of those delightful, 
long evenings. It had been an exhausting day. Three weeks ago, Haldir, pleased 
with Legolas’s progression, had intensified the training; Legolas was now learning 
how to fight with two knives instead of one, and Haldir had introduced his pupil to 
the basics of swordfighting, as well.

The Moon had already reached his highest position, and still neither Elf made an 
attempt to end the gathering. Gravity was pulling hard on Legolas’s eyelids and his 
head started to nod. This was usually the moment when Haldir would propose to 
call it a night. And Legolas would stumble to his own talan and fall onto his bed, 
drifting off into sleep even before his head touched the pillow. But Haldir’s thoughts 
seemed elsewhere this night, and it was with a start, in a reflex, that he reached 
out to catch Legolas when the younger Elf slowly fell to the side.

Whether Haldir spoke any words, Legolas could not remember later. But he 
remembered suddenly being enveloped by two strong arms. Then, defying gravity 
as he was lightly lifted from the branch they had been sharing, and easily carried 
downward. He meant to protest; he was awake, he could descend on his own, he 
wasn’t a maiden that had to be carried... But the words never left his lips. Haldir’s 
embrace was then traded for that of the lovely soft mattress of the spare bed in 
Haldir’s talan; it was good, but not quite as good and pleasurable as the shelter of 
Haldir’s arms had been. However, Legolas did not have the opportunity to think 
this over, for his head touched a feather pillow and he was gone. The next 
morning, he would wake up and find himself wrapped in the sheets and the familiar 
scent of herbal tea, still fully clothed except for his boots, and with Haldir already 
moving in the room to prepare Legolas breakfast.

That was the first night Legolas spent in Haldir’s talan. Thranduil’s arrival was only 
two weeks away.


Chapter 6 – Reunited

Lórien


Time became thick and slow like treacle, those two last weeks; and for Legolas, 
they were also as sweet. The morning after falling asleep in Haldir’s talan, Legolas 
woke from a nice, deep sleep. Stretching lazily, he vaguely remembered having 
dreamed of Haldir. A pleasant dream it had been, but it was frustrating that he 
couldn’t recall what it had been about. He thought hard, but as always, the 
memory of the dream trickled through his fingers quicker than water. All he 
remembered was a feeling of safety, of belonging, two arms holding him, and his 
own head resting against a shoulder... He didn’t remember seeing a face, but the 
scent had been enough to know, it was Haldir. It had been so distinct... oddly 
enough, he could still smell it.

Legolas’s eyes flew open, and he instantly realized, it hadn’t been a dream. He was 
in Haldir’s talan, had been there all night. Had been in Haldir’s arms last night, 
briefly, as his friend carried him to bed... Early sunshine crept in through the 
eastern window, warmed his legging-clad legs, his un-booted feet as they lay 
entangled with the sheets of Haldir’s spare bed. His senses were instantly awake, 
and he became aware of the scent of tea, the familiar sounds of Haldir making 
arrangements for breakfast: the soft jingle of crockery, the slight squeaking of the 
doors in the low cupboard, where Haldir kept his plates and cups.

Legolas sat up with a start, his eyes seeking Haldir across the room.

“Awake at last?” Haldir smiled. He was completely dressed and looked like he had 
been up for hours.

“I am sorry, Haldir,” Legolas began to apologize. He knew he was blushing. “I 
never meant to take advantage of your hospitality. I...”

“That’s quite all right,” Haldir said. “I don’t mind, Legolas.”

Legolas rubbed his eyes. “And to think,” he yawned, “that you wanted to be rid of 
Orophin’s moodiness in the morning.”

Haldir chuckled. “Yes... but you’re not Orophin. You don’t know what he’s like, 
waking up after a long night of drinking.” He came over to Legolas and sat down on 
the rim of the bed. He was wearing one of his favorite spare-time outfits. In 
addition to a pair of dark-grey leggings: a sleeveless jerkin, made of night-blue 
suede, worn over a light-blue, thin linen tunic with a couple of fine, silver 
embroideries on the shoulders. Legolas liked to see him in those clothes; they 
modestly accentuated his broad shoulders, his slim waist, the powerful build of his 
tall body. And blue looked so much better on him than the greys of his uniform. 
Legolas had never really liked grey; although he had to admit, the guards of Lórien 
looked handsome in it.

“Did you sleep well?” Haldir asked him.

“Yes.” Legolas gave a first, tentative smile. “Very well.”

“Good.” Something unexpected happened then. Legolas’s hair was always unruly in 
the morning, and during the night, a tangle had developed in his long locks. Haldir 
now brought a hand to Legolas’s head and gently released one of Legolas’s thin 
braids from the tangle, trying to tuck it back into place, behind Legolas’s ear. 
Legolas almost gasped at the sudden touch; simple and completely innocent, but 
electrifying nonetheless. Then, blushed harder with shame; that Haldir, of all 
beings, had to see him like this, in his most uncharming state!

But Haldir did not seem to sense this. He sm