*Title: Princes Three: Any Shelter (Complete)

*Author: Minuial Nuwing

*Contact: minuial_nuwing@...

*Website: http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing

*Rating: NC-17 overall

*Type: FPS

*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir; Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas in various combinations; 
Glorfindel/Erestor/Thranduil

*Warning: Explicit TWINCEST- if this squicks you, please don’t read it ;)
*Chapter 1 warning- Reference to an OC death (but it’s not
one you’ve met before)

*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM, Cipher; Others: I would be
honored - Just let me know, please!

*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…

*Summary: Sequel to ‘P3: Shadows of Mirkwood’’ -- The Princes wander in the
wild, and Thranduil visits Imladris.

*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple
emphasis. In plain text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*)
for emphasis, two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.

*Beta: Allie & Co. 

*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else
belongs to the creator-god of Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his
gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return
them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!

**********************************************



**Princes Three: Any Shelter**



*Grey Mountains 2151 III*

His far-seeing eyes searching the tumbled rocks frantically, Elrohir sighed
with relief when he caught sight of his lover, wandering among the fallen to
retrieve spent arrows. Hurrying toward the tattered form, he frowned
uneasily at the scene before him.

Legolas stared emotionlessly into the face of a dying human. Planting his
foot firmly on the man’s chest, he grabbed the shaft of the arrow that
protruded from the swollen belly.

“No, ’Las,” Elrohir said quietly, quickly placing a restraining hand on the
prince’s shoulder. “He lives yet.”

The woodland prince spared only a passing glance for his companion before he
drew one knife and slit the brigand’s throat from ear to ear. “He lives no
longer,” Legolas announced impassively. “May I retrieve my arrow now,
híren?”

Without waiting for an answer, the archer took a firm grip on the embedded
arrow and tugged savagely, freeing the shaft with a sickening pop that sent
a spray of blood over both elves. Looking the implement over dully, he
raised his eyes to meet the elf-knight’s concerned gaze.
“’Tis broken,” he said unsteadily, sinking to his knees. “The tip is gone”

Disregarding the blood-soaked ground, Elrohir dropped beside the prince,
gathering him in a snug embrace. “’Tis alright, anor-nin,” he murmured
softly. “Come, let ‘Dan look you over.”

“I am fine,” Legolas choked out harshly. “But Tiri…”

“Tiri is well, ‘Las,” the younger twin reassured the shaken elf. “’Dan has
stitched and bound his wound. ‘Tis naught to worry over.”

“Praise the Valar, “the prince breathed, burying his face in his lover’s
neck. “I thought…when I saw the blood, I thought…” Shuddering, he asked
hopelessly, “And Berioron?”

Shaking his head slightly, Elrohir tightened his hold on the trembling form.
“I am sorry, melethen,” he said, stroking the bloodied golden braid. “So
sorry.”

“’Tis my fault,” Legolas began tonelessly, his body gone rigid. “’Twas my
idea, this sortie. We should never have come to Ered Mithrin. I should not
have turned my back when Tiri fell…”

The elf-knight drew a deep breath, and pulled away slightly. Sympathy was
not the answer to battle-shock. “Enough, Thranduilion,” he said sternly,
causing the prince‘s gaze to meet his in surprise. “Your warriors fought
well, and Berioron died doing his duty. Mourn him, aye, but you do his
memory no honor by indulging in self-pity.”

With relief, Elrohir saw tears well in the clouded blue-green eyes. “’Tis
not your fault, ‘Las,” he went on more kindly. “’Tis the price of battle.”
Rising to his feet, the dark elf extended a hand. “Come on, ernilen,” he
said firmly. “We need help piling the ruffians to burn. And your captain
needs you.”

*****************************************

“He will be fine,” Elladan reassured the woodland prince. “’Twas not deep,
but a scalp wound bleeds freely.”

“Bleeds freely?” Legolas retorted ruefully. “There was so much blood I
feared him near beheaded.”

“Only be-braided,” Tiriadon chuckled, rising to his elbows on the blankets.
“Your peredhel lopped one off in his hurry to clean the wound.”

“I did,” Elladan retorted without rancor. “I could not stitch your scalp
closed, captain, without easing the weight.”

**Does he know of Berioron, ‘Dan?**

**Aye, he does, melethen.**

“You are not to blame, híren,” the Mirkwood captain said quietly, as if
aware of the silent exchange. “There is no profit in chastising yourself.
Berioron fought honorably, and died quickly. A warrior’s death, as he would
have chosen. He will not be forgotten.”

“He died defending *me*,” Legolas said with a sobbing sigh, finally giving
in to his tears as he sat down beside his friend.

“And *me*," Tiriadon added earnestly, his pale face tear-streaked, yet calm.
“Just as you or I would have died defending him. Let it go, Legolas. Let
*him* go in peace.”

“Stay here with Tiri, ‘Las,” Elladan broke in gently, bending to squeeze the
prince’s shoulder. “I will see to the cairn.”

“Hannon chen,” Legolas said gratefully. “’Tis more than I could bear just
now, el nín.”

Elrohir stuck his head into the healing tent, easing the somber mood that
had fallen over the three elves. “The scouts have found a spring just up
the trail that they think could be secured for bathing, ‘Dan.”

Smiling at the hopeful expression that spread across his twin’s face, the
elf-knight added, “I am going to take a look. Water creature.”

********************************************

“Wait until you see it, ‘Las,” the elf-knight said with a grin as they
headed up the rock-strewn path. “’Tis as though the Valar themselves
designed this place just for bathing. Flowing water, and unapproachable
from the back rise. ‘Tis safe as the pools in the valley, as long as the
trail is guarded.”

“I would be glad to see *any* water just now, rohir nín,” Legolas retorted
with a grimace, looking down at his blood-drenched clothing. “I shall have
to soak my leggings off, I fear. They are plastered to my skin.”

“Aye, ‘twill take a good soaking lest we part with skin as well as leather,”
Elladan agreed, tugging experimentally at one leg. “And I fear that tunic
is beyond redemption, ‘Las. Best burn it when…”

“Elbereth! Would you look at that?” Legolas broke in, his voice tinged with
amazement. “’Tis Middle-earth’s largest rinsing trough!”

Elladan stood frozen, as though beholding the shores of Valinor.

A wide, thin sheet of water poured briskly over a high ledge of rock,
spreading smoothly into an ankle-deep pool before spilling again to form a
fast-flowing yet shallow stream that meandered off among the trees and
boulders.

The woodland prince drew a deep breath as he hurried toward the falling
water, his exhaustion and sorrow soothed by the gentle din of the falls, and
the familiar fragrance of evergreens. “Come on, ‘Dan…’Roh,” he urged,
ripping off his tunic and kicking off his boots before stepping into the
shallow basin.

Elladan eased of his soiled upper garments, pulling the matted fabrics
gingerly over his unbound hair. Toeing off his boots at the edge of the
lower pool, the dark elf was stopped by a light touch on his bare arm.
Turning in surprise, he faced one of the elder Mirkwood warriors who was
returning from the upper pool. Three more of the Mirkwood contingent stood
a short distance away, obviously waiting for their comrade.

“Your pardon, híren,” the elf said quietly. “Might I have a word?”

“Of course,” the elder twin answered immediately, fearing an unknown injury
had surfaced. “Are you harmed?”

“Nay, I am unscathed,” the warrior returned quickly. “I wanted only to say
that we are the last. All are finished bathing save the captain, and we
will carry water to him from the stream.”

Looking intently at the somewhat confused peredhel, the Mirkwood elf smiled
slightly. “We are the last, ernilen,” he repeated. “And I will see that
the path is well-guarded while you bathe. None shall disturb you.”

The corners of Elladan’s mouth curled upward as he realized exactly what the
other was offering. “Hannon chen, mellonen,” he replied. “’Tis most
appreciated.”

“Any shelter, eh, ernil neth?” the seasoned warrior chuckled as he turned
down the trail. “Any shelter is precious out here. Take your time, híren.”

*********************************************

Legolas sighed in appreciation as he waded into the nearly waist deep upper
pool. “’Tis beautiful, is it not?” he asked, and his companions could only
nod in agreement.

A thin band of trees grew lushly at the edge of the soft grasses surrounding
the pool, shading the clear, bubbling water from the worst of the sun, and
providing a welcome sense of privacy. The back wall of the spring rose
sharply, a lichen-covered cliff that plunged steeply beyond sight on the
other side. The muted gurgling of water entering the pool could just be
heard over the splash of the falls into the lower basin.

Joining the woodland prince in the water, the twins stood quietly for a long
moment as the gently swirling water carried away the last traces of blood
from their leggings. Elrohir flexed his legs cautiously, relieved to find
that the leather was once again moving over his skin freely. “I believe I
am unstuck,” he said gratefully.

“Aye, the soaking has done it,” Legolas agreed, sinking to his chin in the
pleasantly cool water. “I may not have to live in these things for all
eternity, after all.” Standing, the prince reached to loose his leggings,
only to have his movement stayed by a touch from behind.

“Let me help you with that, anor nín,” the elf-knight offered silkily,
moving closer to wrap his arms around the other’s waist. “Let us take care
of you, hmm?”

“Do not tempt me so, melethen,” Legolas protested, gripping Elrohir’s
wrists, even as he leaned back into the embrace. It had been far too long.
Nearly six moons had passed since the raiders set out from Mirkwood. Early
spring had turned to summer with little chance for more than fleeting kisses
and frantic couplings just beyond the fire’s glow.

“’Twould not be wise, I fear, ’Roh,” the prince sighed. “The others must
bathe as well. We are likely to find ourselves with company at any moment.”

“There will be no interruption, ‘Las,” Elladan said smugly, a smirking grin
on his face. “We are the last, and the path is well watched.”

One golden eyebrow arched questioningly, “’Dan? *Surely* you did not…”

“I did nothing except express our deepest gratitude,” the elder twin
chuckled, stepping closer to nuzzle his lover’s neck. “It would seem that
we have the blessing of Taur-na-Fuin’s troops.”

“Indeed?” Legolas asked breathlessly, tipping his head back against
Elrohir’s shoulder. “Then why are we still dressed?”


Name:
Berioron - protector

Elvish translations:
híren - my lord
anor nín - my sun
melethen - my love
Ered Mithrin - Grey Mountains
ernilen - my prince
hannon chen - thank you
el nín - my star
rohir nín - my knight
mellonen - my friend
ernil neth - young prince


**Chapter 2**


“Well?” Legolas demanded, his eyes twinkling. “Why are we still dressed?”

Elladan chuckled against the prince’s neck, nipping the pale skin gently
before pulling away with a grin. “Impatient, are we anor nín?” he teased.
“What has happened to that much vaunted wood-elf restraint, hmm?”

“Indeed,” the elf-knight purred, trailing his fingers fleetingly across
Legolas’ stomach before hooking his thumbs under sodden black leather to tug
at the loosened leggings. “Anticipation sweetens everything, does it not,
‘Dan?”

“But I think you quite sweet enough, melethen,” the prince retorted,
pressing back mercilessly into Elrohir’s groin, a smile of pure triumph
spreading across his face as an involuntary moan escaped the younger twin.

Wrapping Elladan in an insistent embrace, Legolas pulled the dark elf close,
wedging his own body firmly between the two strong forms. “And my well
known restraint, el nín,” he breathed, nibbling sharply at his lover‘s lower
lip, “was spent several moons ago.”

The elf-knight lowered his head to lick wetly at the Legolas’ ear, his teeth
worrying the sensitive edge teasingly. His eyes fluttering, the prince
relinquished his hold on the elder twin’s lip to turn his head
encouragingly.

Elladan gently extricated himself from the snug embrace and began tugging in
earnest at the prince’s leggings, submerging himself completely to work the
clinging leather free. Resurfacing with a victorious grin, the elder twin
stripped off his own garment before moving toward his brother purposefully.

Elrohir sensed the movement behind and leaned comfortably against his twin’s
chest, shuddering as nimble fingers made quick work of his leggings,
reaching inside to stroke his hardening shaft firmly.

**Take them off, tôren. I would see you.**

With a final nip at one impressively flushed ear, the elf-knight released
Legolas and wriggled out of the offending leggings, which Elladan took
immediately. One ebony eyebrow arched in question, Elrohir watched
curiously as his brother tossed the dripping garments over a low-hanging
branch, then hauled himself from the water to rummage in the pack that held
their clean clothing.

Legolas stared avidly, a fiery ache lodging in his groin. Muscles flexed
fluidly under marble pale skin as the elder twin raised himself from the
pool, the streaming length of his ebony hair clinging to his back, the ends
dancing tauntingly at the swell of his buttocks. Groaning in frustration,
the prince leaned back against Elrohir, watching in disbelief as Elladan
stretched languidly, turning as if to flaunt every part of his body before
slithering back into the water.

“You are cruel, el nín.” Legolas growled, reaching for his lover, only to
find himself held firmly against the elf-knight’s hard chest, a tantalizing
tongue moving over his ear.

The dark elf successfully evaded the questing hands, a smug grin on his face
as he opened the tin he had carried into the pool, dipping his fingers into
the honey-thick oil soap before setting it carefully at the spring’s edge.

Rubbing his hands together, Elladan began to smooth the fragrant mixture
across the prince’s chest, pausing to toy with both golden nipple rings
before sliding his slippery hands under and over ivory arms, then down a
violently twitching stomach.

As the kneading hands reached his groin, Legolas drew a shaky breath,
exhaling it in a hissing moan as his straining length was grasped in a
slick, soapy hand. “’Dan…” he began warningly, his hoarse protest ending in
a muffled shout as another hand moved to rub his sac gently.

“’Las?” the elder twin returned teasingly, scooping up more soap before his
slippery fingers plunged underwater, scooting enticingly over the prince’s
bottom, then moving down the trembling legs.

Elladan dragged himself back up his lover’s body, then stood silent a
moment, his midnight dark gaze fixed on Legolas’ face. Catching the ivory
chin in one hand, the dark elf claimed the prince’s mouth in a lingering
kiss, his tongue making seductive promises as it thrust repeatedly into the
inviting warmth. “Turn around, ernilen,” he whispered, stepping back
slightly, his hands already urging his lover to move.

Aroused as he was, Legolas still found himself rather annoyed by the
seemingly preemptory command. Lifting one golden eyebrow, he resisted the
gentle pressure on his shoulders. “Turn around?” he asked fretfully. “Just
like that? Turn around?”

Grinning broadly at the chagrin on the prince’s face, Elladan dropped a
light kiss on the tip of his lover’s nose. “Aye, turn around,” he chuckled.
“I need to wash your back, anor nín, and your hair. What else?”

Legolas flushed softly, casting a dark look at the elder twin, but did as
requested, the turn bringing him face to face with Elrohir. Shaking his
head ruefully at the grin that twitched on the elf-knight’s lips, the prince
had to smile, also. “You are both hopeless,” he sighed, raising a hand to
push back a strand of raven dark hair. “Hopeless, and dirty. Mayhap I
should wash you, rohir nín, while I am being scrubbed, hmm?”

Without waiting for an answer, Legolas dipped his fingers into the soap tin,
spreading the pale green mixture over his hands. “I shall smell like
Imladris, as well,” he grinned, breathing the scent in deeply as he began
slathering Elrohir’s body, his fingers firmly mapping the hard muscles.

The elf-knight hissed as the wandering hands slid around his back, soaping
and kneading, forcing his body forward, and his aching erection to rub
tantalizingly against the prince’s groin. A moment later, a hoarse oath was
forced from him as slippery fingers stroked up and down his crease, then
breached his body without warning.

“Language, ‘Roh…language,” Legolas chided teasingly, his emerald-dark eyes
sparkling. “Raise your legs, melethen. I cannot stoop to wash them with
‘Dan’s hands in my hair.”

“Nearly done, ‘Las,” Elladan offered absently, his attention focused on
untangling the soapy golden mane before him.

“Aye, then ‘twill be *your* turn, el nín,” the prince chuckled, firmly
rubbing his soapy hands over the elf-knight’s legs as they were lifted
obediently. “Wet your hair, ‘Roh.”

“In charge now, are you, wood-elf?” Elrohir asked with mock affront, before
sinking beneath the water to emerge a moment later with his back turned.

“It would seem so,” Legolas retorted cheekily as he ran his fingers slowly
over his lover’s scalp, drawing a moan of appreciation, before gently
pulling the soap through the silken ebony strands.

“Hold a minute, ‘Las, and rinse your hair,” the elder twin broke in,
stepping back to allow the prince to submerge, the now-clean golden tresses
gleaming like sunlight in the clear water.

“Come over here, tôren, and I will help you scrub,” Elrohir offered with a
grin as his hair was once again seized. “I seem to be unable to move.”

Elladan moved to stand in front of his brother, drawing a deep breath as
strong hands moved over his shoulders, spreading the silky liquid higher and
higher, until slick fingers were sweeping repeatedly over the tips of his
ears. Forcing his eyes open against the pleasurable tingle, the elder twin
met a midnight-dark gaze.

**You are wicked, rohir nín.**

**Mayhap. But I have scarce begun.**

Reluctantly releasing his twin‘s ears, Elrohir asked, “May I move now, anor
nín?”

“Aye, you can move now, “ Legolas said with a final swipe of his fingers
through the slippery black locks. “Rinse your hair, rohir nín. And wet
yours, ‘Dan.”

The prince bit back a grin as both elves plunged beneath the surface
obediently, Elladan turning his back expectantly. Lathering his hands once
more, Legolas worked the sweet-smelling soap into the dark elf’s hair, then
across his back, fingers digging pleasantly into the tight muscles.

“Gods, that feels good,” the elder twin sighed, rolling his head from side
to side before resting his forehead on Elrohir’s shoulder.

“I think you are melting him again, ‘Las,” the elf-knight chuckled as he
reached again for the soap tin. “Stand up, ‘Dan, so I can wash you ere you
flow away.”

Elladan stifled a groan as his brother began sliding soapy hands over chest
and arms, knowing fingers swirling around his peaked nipples and tugging
gently on the piercing ring. The groan became a hiss as the hands traveled
lower, causing his stomach to ripple and twitch as a thumb pressed teasingly
into his navel.

Whimpering in protest, the elder twin felt the teasing hands slide over his
hips and down his legs, kneading the muscles deftly, but leaving his aching
groin untouched. Slowly the wicked fingers traveled back up his legs,
lingering behind his knees, and then on the sensitive skin inside his
thighs…

Suddenly the hands were gone, and Elladan’s eyes flew open as a growl of
warning sounded in his chest. “Rinse your hair, el nín,” Legolas said
quietly, a smile playing on his lips as he urged the dark elf down into the
water.

Moving away slightly, the prince cast a smoldering gaze at Elrohir, and the
elf-knight’s eyes widened as a thought brushed his mind.

**Go ahead, melethron. I want to watch.**

Elladan raised himself from the water to find his brother but a hand’s
breadth away, lathering his hands again with a decidedly evil grin on his
fair face.

**I have not quite finished, hmm?**

The elder twin had little time to ponder the cryptic remark before his mouth
was caught in a fierce kiss, the strength and insistence of his brother’s
demand for dominance surprising and then overpowering him.

Even as his mouth was explored by a forceful tongue, Elladan felt a slick
hand wrap suddenly around his throbbing length, the firm strokes forcing a
moan from his throat. “Elbereth, ‘Roh,” he breathed as the voracious mouth
made its way down his neck, nipping and sucking at the pale skin. “Please…”

“Please what, tôren?” Elrohir teased gently, rocking his hips forward
against his brother. “Do you want me?”

Winding his hands in the elf-knight’s sodden hair, Elladan rested his
forehead on his twin’s, gazing into his passion darkened eyes.

**Always, rohir nín.**

Legolas watched breathlessly as the mirror images melded, arms and legs
intertwined to pull their bodies together, mouths feeding hungrily on each
other and the translucent skin of exposed throats. He found himself
mesmerized, as always, by what he felt certain to be the most erotic sight
known to Elvendom. His twins, together.

As they had been seldom since the raiders left Mirkwood, the prince realized
with a start. With little chance for intimacy, and *no* reliable privacy in
the wild, there had been precious few fusings in the half-year just passed.
Their hunger was well explained.

Lifting himself out of the water, Legolas stretched out in the soft grass
near his completely oblivious lovers, watching transfixed as they writhed
together, their movements perfectly attuned as Elrohir moved to lick and
suckle his brother’s hardened flesh, his fingers- slick with his own fluids-
gently stretching and opening the tight passage.

The idea that he should be jealous or discomfited by the twin-bond was now
incomprehensible to the prince, and he wondered vaguely how such nonsense
had ever concerned him. Instead, he felt an amazement that bordered on awe,
tempered by no small amount of smug pride, that these exquisite beings- nay,
this exquisite *being*- was *his*, to watch and touch as no other ever had.

Drawing his wandering attention back to the sight at hand, Legolas swallowed
thickly, his mouth suddenly dry as the twins rolled fluidly, and Elladan
slithered down the elf-knight’s body, pausing to nibble and tug at pebbled
nipples, then trace the corded stomach lightly with his tongue before
lowering his head to lavishly wet his brother’s engorged member.

The prince took a shuddery breath, reaching instinctively to grasp his own
aching shaft, and found his wrist caught suddenly in an iron grip. Looking
up in surprise, he met Elladan’s coal black gaze.

**No, melethen. We would have you join with us.**

Shivering slightly as he remembered the chaotic sensations of his last
experience with their fusing, Legolas nodded and was immediately drawn into
the tangle of pale limbs, Elrohir claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as
the elder twin’s insistent tongue lapped teasingly at his entrance, then
pushed through suddenly, earning a sharp hiss from the prince.

A moment later, the hiss became a moan as slick fingers breached his body,
curling expertly to stroke him from within. Legolas pressed down on the
retreating fingers, growling his displeasure as they left his body.

Licking and nipping a trail of red ovals up the prince’s ivory body, Elladan
caught his mouth in a lingering kiss, then pulled back arching one ebony
eyebrow in unspoken question.

In answer, Legolas leaned over and brushed a soft kiss over each swollen
mouth, then moved away slightly. Elladan rolled to his knees and elbows,
arching into the air in graceful invitation as Elrohir moved above, entering
him in one sure thrust which sent twinned groans into the trees. The silvery
sheen began to spread almost immediately, curling around the joined forms
until both shimmered luminously, and the prince thought surely the light
must be visible in the raider’s camp.

**I do not believe so, anor nín. The sun is still quite bright.**

Taking a deep breath, Legolas moved toward the extended hands and slipped
beneath Elladan, allowing the gentle warmth of the glow to settle over him,
soothing his spirit with the comforting sense of completeness- of belonging-
that emanated from his joined lovers.

The prince was confused when urged to his back, but understanding dawned
quickly, and he lifted his legs, wrapping them snugly around both of the
twins as Elladan pushed steadily forward, burying himself in the clinging
heat.

At once Legolas was caught up in the swirling sensations that had so
overwhelmed him before. A maelstrom of pleasure bordering on pain rushed
over him, and he felt the fierce ache pool in his groin as Elladan began to
move carefully between his lovers, whimpering at the feeling of being both
filled and sheathed, the sensations magnified twofold by the fusing.

Just when Legolas thought he must end it, or go mad, a hand wrapped firmly
around his weeping length, stroking in perfect time to the increasingly
forceful thrusts, and a voice echoed in his mind.

**Let go, melethen. Scream for me, hmm?**

It was too much, and scream he did, letting go a keening wail as he spilled
copiously, the iridescent fluid splashing hotly over Elladan’s stomach, as
well. A single thrust later, a blended howl rang out as the twins released
together, collapsing heavily on the exhausted prince.

Their movements perfectly synchronized, the dark elves dropped to either
side of Legolas, and snuggled tight against him, their legs comfortably
tangled. “We need another bath,“ they chuckled drowsily, in stereo.
“Later.“

The prince smiled and pressed a soft kiss to each forehead, his eyelids
trying to close. “Aye, later,” he agreed with a sigh, giving in to the warm
pull of sleep. “Melin chen.”

**Melin chen, anor nín.**




--Elvish Translations:
anor nín - my sun
melethen - my love
el nín - my star
tôren - my brother
ernilen - my prince
rohir nín - my knight
melethron - lover (male)
Melin chen - I love you


~Chapter 3~

*Grey Mountains 2151 III*

Legolas ducked into the healing tent, a relieved smile
spreading across his face as he caught sight of his
injured friend. Tiriadon sat on a pallet, a pile of
rolled bedding supporting his back and a mug of broth
in his hand. A clean white bandage where one red-gold
braid should have been was the only real sign of the
captain’s injury, though to the prince’s critical eye
he remained a bit pale.

“You are looking better,” Legolas said cheerfully,
dropping to the ground beside his friend.

“As are you, ernilen,” Tiriadon teased with a grin.
“Though I am surprised to see you sit with nary a
groan. You were gone for quite a time.”

“I had a nap, if you must know, Tiri,” the woodland
prince retorted with mock affront, a grin tugging at
the corners of his mouth.

The captain laughed outright, his moss green eyes
twinkling. “Aye, Legolas, I can see that,” he
snickered. “‘Tis obvious from the redness of your
ears, and the bite marks on your neck that you had
quite a long nap.”

“Oh, Valar,” Legolas groaned, one hand going
instinctively to his throat. “Is it that bad? Truly?”

“Indeed it is,” Tiriadon replied breezily, thoroughly
enjoying his friend’s discomfiture. “I have seldom
seen such glorious bruises, and your ears look nearly
raw.” Snickering in spite of himself, he added,
“Really, híren- such a display. ‘Tis appalling. What
will your troops think?”

Legolas arched one golden eyebrow, punching his
tormentor lightly on the shoulder. “They will think
‘twas high time someone beat you senseless, captain,”
he said with a broad grin. “You are simply jealous.”

“As a matter of fact, you *did* make off with my
healer,” Tiriadon agreed, a wince of discomfort
distorting his smile. “Where have you left your
peredhel, Legolas? My head could use another of those
vile concoctions to ease the pain.”

“I think ‘Dan tarried to give us time to talk,” the
prince answered, all teasing forgotten as he helped
his friend lie back on the bedding. “I will find
him.”

“Hannon chen,” Tiriadon said with a sigh, closing his
eyes against the throbbing of his wound.

Legolas cast a last worried glance at the injured
guard, then left the tent to search for Elladan. He
quickly found the elder twin among those tending the
fire. “Tiri is in pain, ‘Dan,” the prince explained,
pulling the dark elf along toward the healing tent.
“I am afraid he has taxed his strength in joking with
me.”

Tiriadon opened his eyes as the two elves entered the
tent, managing a reassuring smile for Legolas despite
his pain. “I am well, híren,” he protested as Elladan
knelt beside him, checking the wound for bleeding. “I
need only a pain draught.”

“That is likely, captain, but you will forgive me if I
judge for myself,” the elder twin said, looking
closely at the injured elf’s eyes. Satisfied, he
stood and moved to the collection of herbs and elixirs
that spilled from a worn pack, quickly mixing the
needed tonic.

Eyeing the cloudy yellow-green mixture suspiciously,
Tiriadon drew a deep breath. “‘Tis a different color
than before. Do I care to know what is in *this*
one?” he asked in resignation.

“Nay, probably not,” Elladan answered with a grin.
“‘Twould likely only worsen the taste. I added an
elixir to help you sleep, and it has changed the
color.”

The captain wrinkled his nose at the bitter odor, but
swallowed the pain draught obediently. Glancing
mischievously at Legolas, he turned back to the dark
elf with a smile. The prince followed his friend’s
gaze to the deep purple ovals that graced Elladan’s
neck. *"Tiriadon,”* he began warningly, “do not . . .
”

The elder twin raised an eyebrow questioningly,
looking from one Mirkwood warrior to the other.
“Hannon chen,” Tiriadon said, his eyes dancing with
mirth as they met the confused grey gaze. “And I am
glad to see that *you* had a nap, also, Elladan.”

****************************************

*The Borders of Imladris 2151 III*

Thranduil breathed deeply, savoring the crisp scent of
evergreens and rushing water. Though his party had
not yet been challenged, the woodland king knew well
that he and his guards had been sighted and judged no
threat to the hidden valley.

Even the tired horses seemed refreshed by the cool
air, their steps becoming light and eager as the
travelers slowly descended the steep path into the
vale. The way was winding and narrow, but the elven
steeds were surefooted, even over the loose stones
that littered the ground. They had been foaled in the
gloom of Mirkwood and raised on its treacherous
trails, and were thus more than a match for the
natural defenses of Imladris.

Confident in his mount’s abilities, Thranduil let his
mind wander freely over the events of the past months.
The disclosure of Legolas’ involvement with Elrond’s
sons. Elrohir’s near-fatal encounter with a spider,
and the resulting arrival of Elrond and Glorfindel.
His renewed relationship with Glorfindel, and by
extension, Erestor. The surprising and gratifying
changes time and trial had wrought in Anteruon.

The departure of Legolas and the Peredhil twins with
the raiding party, their quickly reported successes
followed by lengthy silences as they presumably moved
further and further from the Halls. According to the
most recent missive, they had turned toward the Grey
Mountains, following the last of the ruffian bands.

The light-hearted farewells as he had ridden away from
the Halls with Elrond and Glorfindel, headed for
Imladris, anxious and excited as an elfling on his
first venture into the world. The early spring day
had seemed full of promise.

A grimace crossed the king’s fair face as his
thoughts turned to Barangolas, an unwelcome image of
the youngest prince, covered in blood and deathly
still rising in his mind. Black blood and red, dry
and horribly fresh . . . blood running like a stream
from the deep gash in his son’s side.

Thank the Valar that the messenger had reached him
before the party left the canopy of Mirkwood, and that
Elrond had turned back as well, bringing his legendary
healing skills to the aid of the fallen woodland
prince.

Five months had passed since Elrond and Glorfindel
left for Imladris, the Balrog-slayer agreeing to go
only after Thranduil promised to journey to Imladris
ere summer faded. Barangolas was fully recovered, a
faint silvery scar the lone reminder of the blow that
nearly ended his life- and even that would fade with
time. Both the court and the forest were without
disturbance for once, and Anteruon had proven himself
well able to rule in his father’s absence in the weeks
following the youngest prince’s wounding.

Still deep in thought, Thranduil was nearly unseated
when his mount stopped short, neighing as though in
welcome.

“And a very good day to you, also, Dagorfaen,” an
amused voice said, the sentiment seemingly echoed by a
fierce snort from the speaker’s snowy white steed.

Thranduil raised his head slowly, a smile spreading
across his face as he looked into sparkling blue eyes.
Glorfindel sat astride Asfaloth, his golden hair
secured in side braids, the silken strands gleaming
against the cool blues and greys that were the badge
of the Imladris warrior.

So intent in the regard of his lover was Thranduil
that he failed to extend the expected formal greeting.
When the silence lengthened past bearing, one of the
Mirkwood warriors cleared his throat nervously. Still
holding the seneschal’s sapphire gaze, the woodland
king extended his arm in a traditional greeting and
said softly, “Mae govannen, mellonen. We are
expected, I believe.”

Glorfindel gripped the offered forearm, breaking into
a dazzling grin. “Mae govannen, Thranduil. Welcome
to Imladris.”



*Name:
Dagorfaen - ‘battle spirit’ (Thranduil’s horse)

*Elvish Translations:
ernilen - my prince
híren - my lord
Hannon chen - Thank you
Mae govannen - well met
mellonen - my friend


*Chapter 4*

~Imladris 2151 III~

Silence fell over the chamber once again, broken only by the
muted clatter of cutlery and the ringing clink of glass against
the wooden table. A distinct air of tension began to build in
the room, causing it to feel confining despite the dappled light
of late afternoon and the scented breeze that wafted through the
open arches.

Erestor repressed a sigh and searched for a topic of
conversation that would not increase his guest’s obvious unease.
Having exhausted both the current state of affairs in the
woodland realm and the details of the king’s journey, the
advisor detoured into what he hoped was a nonthreatening
subject. “You expect Legolas and the gwanûn to return soon,
then mellonen?”

“Aye,” Thranduil replied, struggling to overcome his lingering
nervousness. The unusual feeling of uncertainty both surprised
and annoyed him. By the Valar, he was no blushing innocent,
trembling under the gaze of his mentor! And he had been
acquainted with Erestor for millennia. Drawing a calming breath,
he continued, “They were headed for Ered Mithrin at last word,
and planned to return to Taur-na-Fuin as soon as their task
there was completed.”

Erestor nodded. There was no need to elaborate on the nature of
the task, and words of reassurance were pointless. Legolas was
a warrior, as were the gwanûn. They would engage the brigands,
and the elven party would triumph, or they would fail. They
would return, or they would die. Dwelling on the risks of
battle was worse than useless- that way lay madness.

Taking a sip of his wine, the dark elf eyed his companion
curiously. “Forgive my boldness, Thranduil,” he began, “but you
approve? You accept Elladan and Elrohir, and their relationship
with the prince?”

The woodland king was silent for a moment, gathering his
thoughts. “I accept it because Legolas is happy,” he said
slowly. “I cannot, in honesty, say that I understand.” Meeting
Erestor’s eyes, Thranduil added, “I have some basic knowledge of
the twin-bond, but the details were only rumor to me.”

“And you are not disturbed?” the advisor asked bluntly, holding
the king’s emerald gaze.

The golden elf bit his lip. “I do not know,” he answered
frankly. “The gwanûn have spared me the necessity of deciding
while in Taur-na-Fuin.” Pausing to refill his wineglass, the
king continued, “I have long been fond of both Elladan and
Elrohir. And I do not judge their actions, for their situation
is not mine. But I would not choose to see them act as lovers
do.”

One ebony eyebrow arched as Erestor queried, “Did Elladan
disturb you, then, after his brother’s injury? Surely he was
less than reserved in his attentions to Elrohir at that time.”

“I thought little of it,” Thranduil admitted. “There was much
at stake, and my attention was given more to succoring them ‘til
Elrond arrived than to finding fault.”

“Glorfindel said ‘twas your support that held Elladan together,
and thus sustained Elrohir,” Erestor offered, frowning as a
faint flush stole over the king’s face. Surely Elrond had
expressed his gratitude before, so why was . . . then suddenly
the dark elf understood. The flush was not one of modesty due
to praise, but one of discomfort at the mention of Glorfindel’s
name.

Hesitating a moment, the advisor placed a friendly hand on his
companion’s arm. “Do you not think ‘twould be best to talk
about it, mellonen?” he asked gently. “I would not have us
spend your visit verbally dancing around the issue.”

His color deepening, Thranduil covered his friend’s hand briefly
with his own before rising from the table. “I do not know what
to say,” he sighed. “I feel as though I have wronged you.”

“Because you bedded my lover,” Erestor replied, his words a
statement rather than a question.

“Your bonded mate,” the king corrected. “I begin to fear ‘twas
a mistake.”

“Would it help to know ‘twas my idea that Glorfindel approach
you?” the advisor returned, forcing back a smile as Thranduil’s
eyes widened.

“*Your* idea?” the woodland king managed, nearly speechless
with shock.

“Aye,” Erestor replied composedly. “We have long wondered if
you would be averse to joining with us. Glorfindel was loath to
approach you without me for this very reason, but I urged him to
seek you out if the opportunity presented itself.”

“But *why*, mellonen?” the woodland king asked, running one hand
over his face.

The smile that curled the dark elf’s lips was now obvious.
“Surely you know that you are very fair, híren.”

“So is Glorfindel,” Thranduil pointed out wryly. “So are you.”

“You are bereft of your mate, and we know what it is to lose a
lover,” Erestor explained earnestly. “ We thought to offer you
comfort, mellonen, beyond that which a casual tumble can
provide.” Raising a hand to forestall the king’s next protest,
he added, “Our motives are not all noble, however. I would
guess that you have no experience with two ellyn?”

“Nay, I have not,” the woodland ruler agreed, feeling curiously
apologetic as he met the glowing indigo gaze.

“‘Tis no matter,” the advisor said reassuringly, “and I would
wager you will well understand our desire to share our bond with
you.” A decidedly wicked grin spread over Erestor’s face. “In
the morning.”

********************************

~Grey Mountains 2151 III~

Legolas dropped a broken arrow, the traditional sign of a
valorous death in battle, on the cairn that covered the fallen
warrior’s body. Raising his head, he stared unseeing over the
plains that extended from the base of the mountains toward the
forest. Toward home- a home to which Berioron would not return.

The Mirkwood troops had said their farewells, and now turned
their attention to packing for the next morning’s journey. The
bonfire which had consumed the brigand’s remains was smothered,
and only the watch fires broke the rapidly deepening shadows.
Elrohir moved among the horses- checking wounds, applying
salves, wrapping legs- soothing the tired and skittish mounts
with his quiet presence.

Elladan sorted herbs and bandage rolls, stowing them in
expectation of having the tent struck before the party retired.
Hearing a quiet exchange outside, he stepped to the open flap in
time to see three of the Mirkwood patrol leaving. Tiriadon
stood at the tent entrance, showing little sign of the injury
that could easily have threatened his life but two days past.

“I am nearly finished, Tiri,” the elder twin offered quickly.
“They may strike the tent now. I would not hold up our
departure.”

The Mirkwood captain shook his head slightly, his one remaining
braid swinging. “I instructed them to leave it ‘til the morn.”
In answer to the arch of an ebony eyebrow, Tiriadon nodded at
the lone figure still standing over the rocky grave. “Legolas
has had time enough alone with Berioron,” the warrior said
quietly. “He will need you tonight, Elladan, if only for
comfort. I would give him what little shelter there is from
prying eyes.”

“And what of you, captain?” the dark elf asked curiously. “Have
you no need of comfort?”

Tiriadon grinned broadly, his moss-green eyes twinkling. “Is
that an invitation, peredhel?” he asked with a snicker.
“Legolas would think little of it, I deem.”

Elladan returned the grin. “Little, indeed. Though I
understand my virtue is safe with you, at any cost.”

“It is,” Tiri admitted cheerfully, “but I would not care to test
my resolve in that particular way, if ‘tis all the same to you.”
Becoming serious, he sighed. “Sílolwen awaits my return. I
will shed my tears on her shoulder, as always.”

“She is a lucky elleth, mellonen,” the elder twin said, gripping
his companion’s arm firmly.

“I would disagree,” the captain contradicted with a smile,
clapping Elladan on the shoulder. “I am the one blessed.”
Looking toward the cairn, he drew a deep breath. “Go to him,
híren. I will find Elrohir.”

********************************

Elladan frowned in concern as he approached the grave site.
Legolas seemed unaware of his lover’s presence, his clouded gaze
still focused on the distant edge of Mirkwood. As he reached
the cairn, however, the prince began to speak, his back still to
the elder twin.

“‘Tis funny, really. I know Berioron is gone to the Halls of
Waiting, that there is naught left here but a broken shell. Yet
I am reluctant to leave him alone and return to the forest.”
After a moment he continued, “It seems that there should be
more, ‘Dan. More to mark the end of an immortal life than a
broken arrow and a pile of stone.”

The elder twin moved close behind Legolas, and began rubbing the
tense shoulders soothingly. “I know, anor nín,” he sighed. “It
seems there should be some marker, some ritual that could fill
the void. But there is only time.”

Turning in Elladan’s arms, the prince snuggled tight, burying
his face in the hollow of his lover’s throat. The dark elf
pressed a chaste kiss to Legolas’ forehead, his fingers twining
idly in the golden braids that brushed his cheek.

“Come back to the fires, ‘Las,” the elder twin urged after a
space of time. “Tiri has left us the tent for the night, and
‘Roh will be waiting. I will fix you a sleeping draught if you
like.”

“I do not wish to go back yet,” Legolas retorted, his voice
muffled against his companion’s skin. “And I want no sleeping
draught.”

“‘Tis time, anor nín,” Elladan began. “We should . . . ”

The thought was never completed. The dark elf found himself
caught in a plundering kiss, an almost violent assault born of
the sorrow and anger that burdened his lover. Struggling to
remain calm, Elladan offered no resistence to the tongue that
thrust aggressively into his mouth, nor to the hands that
twisted his hair roughly, pulling his head back to expose his
throat to sharp teeth and bruising lips.

When the hands moved to tug impatiently at his tunic, however,
he grasped them firmly, meeting the prince’s wild emerald gaze.
“Nay, ‘Las,” he said, softening his words with a kiss to each
trembling hand. “Not here, melethen. Not like this.”

“Why not?” Legolas purred darkly, pressing tightly against his
lover. “‘Tis said that the rhevain couple on the graves of
their kin, to appease the spirits.”

Elladan bit back a groan as his ear was engulfed by a hot mouth,
his stomach tightening as the silky voice dropped lower. “Do
not fret, el nín,” the prince breathed, his tongue flicking
teasingly across his lover’s ear. “I would not ask you to
yield. I wish to ride you, melethron, until I no longer have
strength to move.”

Lost in a haze of real and promised pleasure, the elder twin was
jerked from his stupor by a savage tug at the lacing that
secured his leggings. Suddenly aware once more of the cairn at
his feet- and the curious onlookers- the dark elf caught his
predatory companion by the shoulders, shaking him sharply.
“*Legolas!*” he hissed quietly. “We are not rhevain, ernilen.
And we are providing an evening’s entertainment for your
troops.”

Meeting Elladan’s concerned grey gaze, the woodland prince
seemed to become fully aware of his surroundings for the first
time. A look of abject guilt crossed his face as he took in
his lover’s bruised mouth and ravaged throat. “Valar, ‘Dan, I
am sorry,” he groaned, reaching up to touch the abused skin. “I
do not know what possessed me . . . but I want you so . . . . ”

“Never mind,” the elder twin whispered soothingly, casting a
warning glance at the observers. “You are exhausted, anor nín.
You need to rest.”

Slipping an arm around his lover’s waist, Elladan urged him
toward the healing tent. As they made their way past the watch
fires, the elder twin tightened his arm slightly. “‘Las?”

Legolas turned his head toward his companion, and glittering
gazes met . . . midnight-dark and emerald green. “Aye?”

“Mayhap we should appease the spirits in the tent, hmm?”



-Names:
Berioron - protector
Sílolwen - shining maiden


-Elvish Translations:
mellonen - my friend
gwanûn - twins
Ered Mithrin - Grey Mountains
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
híren - my lord
ellyn - male elves
elleth - female elf
melethen - my love
anor nín - my sun
rhevain - wild men
el nín - my star
melethron - lover (male)
ernilen - my prince


~Chapter 5~

Elladan slammed his fist against the ground, fighting to hold
back a howl as he was unceremoniously sheathed in velvet heat.
Though not by nature prudish, the elder twin found his attention
torn between the sounds of activity beyond the unsecured tent
entrance and the almost painful tightness of his lover’s
unprepared passage. “Wait, ‘Las,” he gasped, gripping the
prince’s hips in a vain attempt to still them. “You will injure
yourself. And the door flap is not lashed.”

Pushing the restraining hands away impatiently, Legolas leaned
forward, his fingers splayed across the dark elf’s chest, nails
scraping at pebbled nipples. “None will dare disturb us,
melethron,” he purred, nipping sharply at Elladan’s jaw before
pushing himself upright once more. “The noise alone will
discourage intruders.” Without waiting for a reply, the
woodland prince lifted his hips and quickly sank back onto the
piercing length with an unstifled groan, a faint grimace
crossing his face.

“Please, anor nín,” Elladan managed, bucking up in spite of
himself as his partner’s movements became more rhythmic. “Let
me . . . ”

“Hush, ‘Dan,” Legolas ordered, his hand covering the elder
twin’s mouth firmly. “There is naught you can do, lest you
wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop
protesting, and enjoy.”

Meeting the dilated emerald eyes searchingly, Elladan nodded and
allowed his arms to fall back to the blankets, forcing aside his
own unease at the other’s fey mood.

“Very good,” the golden elf crooned, a triumphant smile
spreading as he bent to capture his lover’s mouth in a fiery
kiss, tugging and nipping at the already bruised and swollen
lips. “I want no tenderness, maethoren vain,” he breathed,
lapping at the tiny spot of blood that gleamed on Elladan’s lip.
“I want to forget.”

For a time the elder twin struggled to remain quiet, trying to
calm and soothe his near-frantic lover. In the end, his
awareness of the world outside fell to the desperate hunger of
the woodland prince, and he made no attempt to stifle the shout
that burst forth as hot fluid dappled his chest and strong
spasms drew him to the brink of release.

A moment later Elladan’s eyes flew open in disbelief, his climax
abruptly halted by a painfully tight squeezing at the base of
his aching erection. *“What in all of Arda do you think you are
doing?”* he growled, staring at his still-shuddering lover.

“I am not yet finished,” the prince panted, arching his back as
he lowered himself again, never loosing his grip on the dark
elf’s shaft. “Not yet . . . ”

“Then take it up with ‘Roh,” Elladan said, his eyes flashing
dangerously, though his voice remained deceptively soft.
“Because I am *quite* finished. Or I will be in a moment. Let
go.”

The golden elf hesitated, his eyes narrowed as though
considering his lover’s resolve.

“*Let go, Legolas,*” the elder twin hissed, his fingers
tightening painfully on the wood-elf’s arms.

The building anger behind the command finally penetrated the
prince’s haze, and he relaxed his hand, letting go a keening
wail as he was breached by two savage thrusts before a rough
groan signaled Elladan’s release.

Collapsing bonelessly on top of his lover, Legolas buried his
face in the dark elf’s neck for a long moment before raising his
head to meet clouded grey eyes. “‘Twas not so bad, was it,
melethron?”

Holding the prince’s gaze, Elladan answered quietly, “If you
would have the truth, I usually prefer to remove my leggings.”

Looking down in surprise, the prince noted his lover’s lowered
leggings with a chuckle. "Let me help you with those,” he said,
removing the offending breeches before pulling a blanket up to
cover their damp bodies. “I was in something of a hurry, it
would seem.”

“Aye, it would seem that you were,” Elladan replied without
inflection, making no effort to cradle the body that curled
tightly against his own.

Settling his head on the nearest shoulder, Legolas pressed a
drowsy kiss to the pale skin beneath his lips, sliding
immediately into an exhausted sleep.

Elladan was still for a moment, then sighed, brushing back a
twist of tangled golden hair before carefully turning to his
side and pulling the limp form closer. “Posto mae,” he
whispered against the prince’s flushed forehead.

When Elrohir entered the darkened tent, the elder twin was still
idly stroking the silken strands, seemingly oblivious to his
brother’s arrival. “I see you started without me,” the elf
knight teased quietly, stripping off his own tunic. Catching
sight of the tangled pile of clothing that littered the ground,
he added, “And neglected to replace your leggings.”

“I will dress ere I go to sleep,” Elladan answered, his tone
causing the younger twin to frown in concern.

“What is amiss, tôren? “ Elrohir probed, dropping to the ground
beside his brother. “Is ‘Las not . . . ” Catching a glimpse of
his twin’s bruised throat, the elf-knight grasped Elladan’s
chin, forcing his face into the dim light. “Sweet Eru, ‘Dan!”
he breathed, taking in the scratched and swollen mouth, and the
liberal spattering of abrasions that marked the pale jaw. “What
happened?”

Sensing his brother’s discomfort through their bond, the younger
twin stiffened suddenly, his eyes hard and fell. “Did you . . .
He did not . . . *Did he hurt you?*” Elrohir demanded hoarsely,
his hand already moving toward the sleeping prince.

Catching his brother’s wrist, Elladan shook his head. “‘Tis
still ‘Las we are speaking of, tôren,” he reminded his twin.
“He meant no harm.”

“His intention comforts me little, and you less, I wager,” the
elf knight retorted acidly, though some of the tension left his
face. “I will cleanse those scrapes for you, el nín,” he said,
rising to rummage in the packed supply of herbs and elixirs.

The elder twin closed his eyes, allowing the gentle touch to
soothe his spirit even as it eased the sting of his broken skin.
When the light contact ceased, he raised his eyes to meet
Elrohir’s worried grey gaze.

“Do not concern yourself with your clothing. The guard is
plentiful, and the enemy vanquished,” the elf knight murmured,
running his fingers through the rumpled raven locks. “Is there
naught else I can do, melethen?”

Licking his tender lips carefully, Elladan hesitated briefly.
“Will you hold me, ‘Roh? Just for a moment?”

“For always, tôren, ” Elrohir replied, stretching out and
wrapping his brother in a snug embrace.

**For always.**

**********************

Legolas woke reluctantly, with a nagging sense that something
was not quite as it should be. Taking a careful inventory, he
identified the problem almost at once.

The air was unseasonably cool, and his back was cold.

The prince reached instinctively for the warm body that should
have been behind him, but encountered only fur-covered ground.
Sitting up in surprise, he regarded his lovers with a rising
sense of unease.

Elrohir lay close behind his brother, his face buried in the
still-mottled throat, his arms wrapped protectively around his
twin’s body. Legolas carefully lifted Elladan’s hair away from
his face, swallowing a guilt-laden oath as he took in the
healing scrapes and fading bruises. His hand moving impulsively
to smooth the tousled ebony strands, the woodland prince froze
motionless as a single harsh word echoed in his thoughts.

**Nay.**

Legolas raised his head to meet the elf-knight’s cold grey gaze,
flinching as though slapped when the scathing voice continued.

**You have done enough.**

Disentangling himself cautiously, Elrohir stroked his brother’s
hair until the elder twin settled back into a drowsy reverie.
Then the elf knight rose and pulled on his tunic, only speaking
when he turned to go, his words curt and commanding. “Get
dressed. We will talk outside.”

***********************

Elrohir prowled restlessly around the quiet camp, nodding
wordlessly to the guards who manned the watch fires. When he
saw Legolas emerge from the tent, the elf knight waited for a
moment then turned and headed up the path, toward the relative
privacy of the bathing pools.

Hurrying after his obviously disgruntled lover, Legolas tried
frantically to formulate an adequate response to the tirade he
felt certain was coming. He failed spectacularly.

Elrohir stopped suddenly, just short of the lower pool, and met
the prince’s wary gaze with apparent calm. “Would you care to
explain what you did to him?”

Desperate to break the tension that threatened to steal his very
breath, and reassured somewhat by the younger twin’s quiet
manner, Legolas teased weakly, “Surely you are not jealous,
‘Roh. You were nowhere to be found.”

Both ebony eyebrows arched sharply as Elrohir regarded the
prince in disbelief. “Jealous?” he spat out in amazement. “I
am not *jealous*, wood-elf, I am as angry with you as I have
ever been with anyone whose life I value.”

“I was joking,” the golden elf said defensively. “I did not
really . . . ”

“‘Tis not a matter for mirth, Legolas,” the elf knight retorted
tersely. “‘Dan looks as though he has been mauled. I have seen
fewer marks on those taken by force.” Pinning the other with a
furious glare he added, “And you are untouched, ernilen.”

Staring at Elrohir in horror, the prince snapped heatedly, “He
had no complaints.”

“Are you sure, Thranduilion? Did he make no protest, or did you
choose not to hear?”

“I...I...he did not . . . ” the woodland prince began, the
planned rebuttal trickling into silence as his own words came
back to accuse him. **“...There is naught you can do, lest you
wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop
protesting, and enjoy . . . ”**

“I meant no harm,” Legolas finished lamely.

“I do not doubt that,” Elrohir replied, his voice a shade less
hard. “Yet harm was done.”

Drawing a deep breath, the younger twin said, “I remember a time
when you accused me of seeking to use you for my own pleasure,
without any regard for your desires.”

“Aye, I remember,” the golden elf agreed quietly. “I was hurt.”

“‘Dan is hurt, also,” Elrohir stated flatly. “He would have
done anything you asked to ease your pain, Legolas- but you did
not ask. You used him like a common whore. As though he was
nothing more to you than a conveniently hard body.”

As Legolas started to protest, he was silenced by an upraised
hand. “It may have not been your intention, but that is what
happened nonetheless. And though ‘Dan may tell himself that you
were grieving, that you meant no harm, it hurts still.”

The woodland prince was silent for a long moment before
answering morosely. “He tried to calm me, to hold me, but I
would have none of it.” Shivering, Legolas met the elf knight’s
frosty gaze. “I do not know what to say to make it right.”

Though Elrohir’s face remained stern, a hint of warmth reached
his eyes for the first time since rising. “I believe *‘I am
sorry, melethen,’* would be a good beginning.”




~Elvish translations:

melethron - lover (male)
anor nín - my sun
maethoren vain - my beautiful warrior
Posto mae - sleep well
tôren - my brother
el nín - my star
melethen - my love
ernilen - my prince


Chapter 6*

~Imladris 2151 III~

Elrond hid a smile as he watched the woodland king succumb to
Erestor’s gentle but insistent public seduction. Thranduil
quickly fell under the spell of the advisor’s quiet attention
and light touches, his earlier unease fading in the comfortable
surroundings.

The crowd was large in the Hall of Fire, many elves joining the
gathering simply to catch a glimpse of the Mirkwood royal. “You
are causing quite a stir, mellonen,” Elrond remarked, his smile
widening. “‘Tis a good thing you are spoken for, else I should
have a riot on my hands.”

Thranduil snorted good-naturedly, shifting closer to Erestor in
his attempt to reach the bottle of miruvor the three elves were
sharing. “I cannot believe . . . ,” he began, stopping to nod
his thanks as the advisor poured more miruvor. “I cannot
believe that your people are so taken by my hair, híren, when
they live daily with Glorfindel and the Lady Celebrian.”

“‘Tis not the hair in this case, meldir,” Erestor explained, his
indigo eyes sparkling with mirth, “but what it crowns. The
exotic King of Mirkwood is a figure of legend among the younger
elves of the valley.”

As the woodland king began to shake his head in disbelief,
Elrond broke in seriously. “‘Tis true, Thranduil. Anteruon is
what, fifteen centuries?”

“Nearly sixteen,” the proud father agreed with the ghost of a
smile.

“‘Twas several years before his begetting when you last visited
Imladris,” the peredhel pointed out. “Legolas came to us one
winter as a young elfling, but you could not leave Taur-na-Fuin
to travel with him.”

“Has it truly been that long?” the golden elf mused in
amazement.

“It has, indeed,” Erestor answered, smiling at his friend’s
surprise. “Many of those vying to see you are of an age with
the gwanûn, or even younger. The rest are elders who wish to
see how Oropher’s son turned out in the end.”

Falling silent, the advisor tilted his head as though listening,
then turned and took Thranduil’s arm. “Glorfindel has returned
from patrol, and he is going up to bathe. Come along, mellonen.
We will take up a tray, as he is sure to be hungry.” Leaning
closer, his breath tickling the woodland king’s ear, Erestor
murmured, “Quite hungry.”

************************************

Grey Mountains 2151 III

Legolas walked slowly back toward the camp, reluctant to face
Elladan, yet eager to have the meeting behind him. When he
reached the tent site, the woodland prince stopped in
consternation, watching as the lightweight fabric was expertly
folded and packed away. “Where is ‘Dan?” he asked Tiriadon,
looking around with a frown. “I must speak with him ere we
leave.”

“I am not sure,” the captain replied uneasily. “He headed for
the stream.” Looking intently at the golden elf, Tiriadon
lowered his voice. “Is something amiss, mellonen? I have never
seen him so solemn, not even in the midst of battle. And his
face...his throat....’tis as though...as if....”

“‘Tis as if he were mauled. Say it and be done.” Casting a
bleak look at his captain, Legolas said hoarsely, “Aye, Tiri,
something is amiss.”

The woodland prince hurried toward the shallow stream, his heart
pounding in his throat, and caught sight of Elladan almost
immediately. The elder twin had obviously bathed in the icy
water. He stood tying his leggings, a sheen of moisture still
visible on his bare chest and arms, his raven dark hair tied
back to reveal the full extent of the past evening’s folly.

Legolas inhaled audibly as he came near enough to see the myriad
of bruises, bites and scrapes that marred the dark elf’s skin.
Stopping several paces from his silent lover, the prince found
himself at a loss for words, and he started visibly when Elladan
addressed him without meeting his eyes. “Was there something
you needed?”

“I...I...wanted to talk to you,” the golden elf said in a rush,
taking an uncertain step forward. “I know ‘tis little comfort,
but I am sorry, melethen. So sorry.”

“You are right. It *is* little comfort,” the elder twin replied
after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. Raising clouded
grey eyes, he met the pained blue-green gaze. “But I know you
meant no harm.”

“My intention matters little when my actions have hurt you so,
‘Dan,” Legolas said, reaching toward his lover. The prince’s
stomach knotted sickeningly as Elladan stepped back, avoiding
the impulsive touch. “Will you forgive me, el nín? *Can* you
forgive me?” he asked fearfully.

“I have already said that I know you meant no harm, Legolas,”
the elder twin answered. “Let us speak no more of it.”

“But we need to speak of it, “ the woodland prince began
imploringly. “There must be . . . ”

“We need to prepare for the journey,” Elladan interrupted,
pulling on his tunic. “There is much still to pack.”

“I will braid your hair, if you like,” Legolas offered
hesitantly, as they started back toward the rest of the camp.

“‘Tis kind of you, but you need not trouble yourself,” the dark
elf said formally, turning away before the prince could protest.
“Elrohir will do it.”

****************************************

Thranduil smiled as the sounds of an impromptu water fight
spilled from the open bathing chamber door. His anxiety much
relieved by Erestor’s warmth and Elrond’s cordial, the woodland
king slipped off his formal tunic and boots before settling in
one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs to wait.

A waterlogged wail was abruptly silenced, replaced by a
kiss-smothered chuckle, and Thranduil found himself suddenly a
bit melancholy. Though he had taken lovers since his queen’s
death, the woodland king had not allowed himself to become close
to any one bedmate. He could offer naught but pleasure, for
his soul was bound, and he feared forming an attachment that
might end in pain for an unwary partner.

More than anything, he missed the daily interaction with his
queen- the teasing, talking and cuddling that were so much a
part of a strong bond. Thranduil sighed and reached up to
unbind his tightly woven braids, only to have his hands pushed
aside.

“Let me do that, mellonen,” Erestor insisted, leaning down to
brush a soft kiss over the other’s mouth. His nimble fingers
flying, the advisor soon had his hands full of silken strands.
“Your hair is paler than ‘Findel’s,” the dark elf announced with
interest, smoothing the waves left by the binding. “‘Tis more
like
sunlight than gold.”

“Is that a fault or a blessing, then?” Thranduil asked
teasingly, his spirits brightened unaccountably by the simple
attention.

“A blessing, definitely,” Erestor replied with a smirk. “I
shall know who has been shedding on my pillow.” Releasing his
friend’s hair, he added, “Go on into the bathing chamber.
Glorfindel likes company, save when he is in a foul mood. I
will lay out our robes to warm.”

Though Thranduil entered the bathing chamber uncertainly, he was
quickly put at ease by Glorfindel’s cheerful manner and obvious
delight at his company. The Balrog-slayer kept up a continuous
stream of banter as he stepped from the tub and toweled himself
dry, mercifully ignoring the woodland king’s covetous stare.

A half-hour’s passing found all three elves sprawled on the
heavy rug in naught but robes, quickly polishing off the last of
the cheese and fruit from the seneschal’s dinner tray.
Stretching lazily, Glorfindel turned his sapphire gaze on their
guest. “Have you given thought to how you would have us begin
this night?”

Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil noted idly that miruvor really
*did* help. He was only vaguely discomfitted by the frank
question. “I would have Erestor choose,” the Mirkwood royal
responded readily. As the advisor began to protest, he raised
one hand in a plea for silence. “Please, mellonen,” he said,
touching the dark elf’s arm. “‘Twould assuage the last of my
guilt.”

Arching one ebony eyebrow at Glorfindel, who shrugged agreeably,
Erestor turned a contemplative gaze on the woodland king before
rising gracefully. “I believe I shall enjoy this greatly,” he
purred, extending a hand to Thranduil. “And I will make sure
that you do, also.”

The woodland king accepted the offered hand, his glance
flickering between his two companions. Some communication to
which he was oblivious had passed between the bonded pair, of
that he was sure. Fighting a flash of unease, Thranduil allowed
himself to be led to the pillow-strewn bed.

Erestor urged his companion to sit, meeting the wary emerald
eyes with concern. “We would not harm you, mellonen,” he said
soberly, unbelting his robe. “*I* would not harm you, nor
distress you. A word, and all will cease.”

“Aye,” Thranduil breathed before speech failed him momentarily,
his attention completely captured by the sensual slide of
blood-red silk over pale flesh. The robe slid unheeded to the
floor, revealing a lightly muscled form, the translucent skin
warmed by the glow of candlelight. Enormous eyes of an indigo
so deep as to seem black met his own with no hint of reticence.
Obsidian-dark hair spilled unbound down the advisor’s back, the
ends just brushing the tops of his thighs.

“Do I please you, then, pen vain?” Erestor asked impishly,
amusement glimmering in his arresting eyes. “Or has distaste
stolen your voice?”

“Not distaste,” Thranduil managed, as his robe joined the other
on the floor, and then he was borne down onto the soft mattress
by surprisingly strong arms, his mouth thoroughly explored by an
invading tongue. All anxiety fled before the hands and mouth
that expertly plied his body, tugging and suckling at his
pierced nipples, blazing a trail of wet fire across his chest
and abdomen, stroking him quickly to full hardness.

A groan of unrestrained pleasure escaped the woodland king’s
lips as a gossamer light touch brushed his groin and his arousal
was engulfed in a warm mouth, beset by teeth and tongue. Groans
and whimpers increased in volume as fingers slick with some
unknown fluid pressed into his body, stroking him from within.
A fierce pressure began building low in Thranduil’s belly, and
he tugged urgently at the silken hair that was spread over his
trembling body. “Wait,” he gasped, “I cannot . . . I will . . .
”

Erestor raised his head to look at his nearly incoherent victim.
“Aye, you will,” he agreed with a grin before lowering his head
to swallow his lover’s weeping length, his fingers moving to
deftly flip and twist the gold nipple rings.

Thranduil arched off the bed, biting his own hand to muffle the
howl that burst from his chest as he spilled into the caressing
warmth. Shuddering in the aftermath of his climax, the woodland
king weakly returned offered kisses, moaning at the taste of his
own seed on Erestor’s tongue.

The dark elf buried his face in golden tresses, nipping sharply
at one flushed ear. “Now we will play,” he announced silkily,
causing goose bumps to crawl over Thranduil’s body. Lifting his
head to meet the satiated emerald gaze, he continued, “I would
take you, if you will let me, melethen.”

Not trusting himself to speak, the wood-elf nodded, offering no
resistence as firm hands urged him to elbows and knees, his
flushed face cradled in the rumpled coverlet at the foot of the
bed. Then his hips were caught in a sure grip and he was
mounted without preamble. There was but a moment’s respite
before Thranduil felt his body lifted, and he settled fully onto
the impaling flesh with a whimper, his back pressed snugly to
Erestor’s chest.

“Are you well?” the dark elf breathed, his hands moving
soothingly over his lover’s skin.

“Aye,” Thranduil sighed, the practiced touches quickly
reawakening his desire. As the word left his mouth, a warm fist
folded around his filling shaft and sharp teeth sank into his
shoulder. “Watch him, then, pen vain,” Erestor ordered, his
tongue easing the sting of his teeth.

Raising his eyes obediently, the woodland king was unable to
suppress a yearning groan, or still the tremor that ran through
his body.

Glorfindel stood near the foot of the bed, his blue robe open to
reveal a powerfully muscled body, golden hair hanging in sensual
disarray over his broad shoulders. As Thranduil stared with
rapt attention, the seneschal ran one strong hand over his own
chest, stopping to lazily tweak a pebbled nipple.

The woodland king licked his dry lips as the robe fell away, and
the wandering hand moved lower on Glorfindel’s shimmering body,
sliding easily across the sweat damp skin. Sapphire eyes
dilated with desire met Thranduil’s astonished gaze, and a
sultry smile spread across the Balrog-slayer’s fair face. “Do
you like it?” he murmured, shuddering as his hand continued its
descent, cupping kneading his tight sac.

“I do,” Thranduil answered hoarsely, rocking instinctively into
Erestor’s grasp, drawing a satisfied chuckle from the dark elf.
The wood-elf watched breathlessly as Glorfindel continued his
exhibition, somewhat surprised that watching another pleasure
himself should be so arousing.

At last one large hand closed around the seneschal’s straining
erection, and a groan of relief escaped all three elves as he
began to stroke in earnest, his hand moving rapidly, as thigh
and buttock muscles began to clench rhythmically.

Thranduil’s head fell back, his eyes closing in anticipation as
the hand moving on his aching length drew him nearer and nearer
to release. He was taken unaware when Glorfindel’s mouth closed
over his arousal and the seneschal’s fierce grip steadied him
against brutal thrusts from below. Eyes flying open in shock,
the woodland king watched the golden head move once . . . twice,
then he was wailing without thought or reason, his body
trembling in a violent release that left him limp and dazed.

Caught in a complacent fog, Thranduil was only idly aware of
Erestor’s climax a heartbeat later, or the hot rush of fluid
that dappled his thighs as Glorfindel spilled at the same
instant. Long moments passed before he stirred to find himself
snugly cradled between his lovers.

Turning his head to meet the seneschal’s brilliant blue gaze,
then the dark elf’s soft indigo eyes, the woodland king drew a
deep breath. “‘Twas amazing,” he said, pleasure warring with
exhaustion in his voice. “Amazing.”

Glorfindel chuckled, the affectionate sound sending a wave of
warmth through Thranduil’s body. “And it has only begun,” the
Balrog-slayer promised with a grin.



*Elvish translations:

mellonen - my friend
híren - my lord
meldir - friend (male)
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
gwanûn - twins
melethen - my love
el nín - my star
pen vain - beautiful one


*Interlude*

Thranduil stretched carefully, reveling in the gentle aches and
twinges that assured him the previous night’s events had not
been a fevered dream. Pushing back a wayward strand of ebony
hair, he studied his lover’s face intently in the dim predawn
light. The deep indigo eyes were closed in peaceful slumber,
the often solemn lips curled in a contented smile.

“Erestor surprised you, did he?” an amused voice whispered, and
the woodland king raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel’s sparkling
gaze.

“He did,” Thranduil admitted. “I find the experience hard to
reconcile with the quietly impressive elf I greeted yesterday,
or the reserved advisor Legolas spoke so fondly of after his
visit.”

“But not with the warrior you knew in the Second Age, mayhap?”
the Balrog-slayer chided gently. “‘Tis understandable that
Legolas should mistake the role for the elf, mellonen.”

“‘Tis folly that I should make the same error, though?” the
Mirkwood royal asked with a wry grin. “I suppose so. In my
defense, I was regaled with tales of pranks and blushes during
the gwanûn’s visit to Taur-na-Fuin.”

Glorfindel chuckled softly. “‘Rohir could oft cause a crow to
blush, meldir,” he replied. “He learned from a master.”

“Meaning yourself?” Thranduil snorted, then bit his lip
apologetically as Erestor’s eyes fluttered open.

Stretching lazily, the dark elf lifted one elegant eyebrow at
the Balrog-slayer. “Yet another dawn riser, I see?”

“Aye, it would seem so,” Glorfindel answered with a grin before
pressing a quick kiss to his mate’s cheek. “You shall have to
adapt.”

“Hardly,” Erestor retorted with a smirk. “If I have not adapted
after near three millennia in your bed, melethen, I doubt I
shall change now.”

Turning his head to meet Thranduil’s questioning gaze, the
advisor explained, “I am completely uninterested in sunrises,
abhor the early morning twittering of birds, and require several
cups of strong tea before facing the breakfast hall.”

The dark elf snuggled comfortably between his companions, his
eyes closing again even as he added, ”I am, in fact, a slug.”

**************************

Legolas stared disconsolately at the starry sky, reluctant to
face yet another night sleeping in the ever-widening chasm
between himself and the twins. The bodies that had once curled
tightly against him now lay stiff and straight, a perfunctory
hand occasionally lighting on his shoulder. Each night the
woodland prince considered moving his bedroll, and each night he
stubbornly refused- to sleep otherwise seemed akin to admitting
defeat.

Rubbing his face wearily, Legolas sighed. Not only his nights
were restless and broken. The days of travel had been filled
with Elladan’s excruciating politeness, and Elrohir’s obvious
irritation. The elf-knight seemed increasingly exasperated, as
though the prince was failing some unknown test.

The battle party was but a day’s ride out of Thranduil’s realm,
a realization which chilled Legolas to the heart. For once they
arrived at the Halls, there was naught to stop the twins from
turning for Imladris, leaving him alone and their centuries-old
relationship in tatters.

An empty ache lodged in the prince’s chest at the very
possibility, and he angrily blinked back the tears that stung at
his eyes. ** ‘It cannot end like this,’ ** he thought. **‘It
cannot. But I see no clear path . . . ’**

“You must talk to Elladan, híren.”

The voice broke into his anguished musings, and Legolas raised
his head, disconcerted, to meet Tiriadon’s determined gaze.
Shaking his head slowly, the prince replied, “I have tried,
Tiri. He will not . . . ”

“How many times have you tried?” the captain demanded. “Twice?
Thrice? Try again.”

“Once, the morning after...after it happened,” Legolas admitted,
wincing at the astonishment on his friend’s face. “He said he
did not wish to speak of it,” the golden elf added defensively.

“Elbereth, Legolas!” Tiriadon exclaimed. “What did you expect
him to say? I wager his pride was damaged enough, without
showing you the wounds.”

His tone softening, the captain continued, “‘Tis destroying you
all, mellonen. You are moping. Elladan is brooding. And
Elrohir, Valar preserve us, is muttering and cursing like an
enraged dwarf.” Squeezing the prince’s shoulder, he repeated,
“Talk to him.”

As Legolas opened his mouth to protest, Tiriadon raised one
hand, forestalling any objections. “Talk to him *now*. Before
I lash the three of you to a tree.”





~Elvish Translations:

mellonen - my friend
gwanûn - twins
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
meldir - friend (male)
híren - my lord


*Chapter 7*

Legolas drew a deep breath then strode rapidly toward the fire,
determined to approach Elladan now, before his courage failed
utterly. Stopping a scant pace from the spot where the elder
twin sat, he addressed his wronged lover directly, sparing no
notice or greeting for the surrounding elves. “I would speak
with you, ‘Dan,” he said, silencing the dark elf’s protest with
a gesture reminiscent of Thranduil. “By the stream crossing.
At Ithil’s rise.”

Fully expecting to be tackled and pummeled by an enraged
elf-knight, the prince was startled to see a flicker of
something approaching approval in Elrohir’s piercing gaze.
Raising his hand to stem further objections, he repeated “At
Ithil’s rise, el nín,” the endearment nearly sticking in his dry
throat.

As he walked toward the copse of trees that surrounded the
meandering streams, Legolas said a silent prayer that his
quaking legs would carry him out of sight of the astounded
warriors. Despite Tiriadon’s insistence, he knew well the risk
he had taken.

If his lover did not appear, if the elder twin had been only
further wounded by his peremptory manner, then there was little
else the prince could do. But Elladan had already shown himself
reluctant to face the issue, and had he allowed the dark elf
time to refuse him again, naught would have been achieved. **‘At
least I have made the effort,’** Legolas thought morosely.
**‘The decision is his, now.’**

Settling with his back against one of the enormous beech trees
that surrounded the intersecting streams, the woodland prince
finally allowed the facade of control to fall away. He glanced
up at the velvety black sky, but found that the stars which
usually seemed warm and reassuring twinkled this eve with a cold
and mocking light. Eärendil was nowhere to be seen.

Dropping his head to his knees, the golden elf closed his eyes,
seeking solace in the musical voice of the stream and the rush
of a light wind through the trees. Each moment seemed an
eternity, and hope ebbed low before he felt, rather than heard,
the approach of a lone elf.

Elladan dropped to the ground beside the woodland prince,
carefully maintaining the polite distance that now always
separated them. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet and
resigned. “What if I had not come, Legolas?”

“Then I would be truly lost,” the woodland prince replied,
reaching determinedly for his lover’s hand. The dark elf
started and moved to withdraw from the touch, but Legolas held
on, interlacing their fingers in a once familiar gesture. “Do
not pull away from me, Elladan,” he pleaded. “Let me speak.”

Acknowledged by the faintest nod, the golden elf swallowed with
difficulty. “I am sorry, melethen. There is no recompense I
can offer, no words that will change what happened . . . ”

“I have said that I know . . . ” the elder twin interrupted,
only to be silenced by a finger to his lips.

“...that you know I meant no harm,” Legolas finished. “Aye, you
have said so. But it is not enough that I meant no harm, and
well I realize it. I misused you, caused you pain in body and
spirit, and naught will change that fact. It is done.”
Blinking back the tears that were stinging his eyes, he
continued, “But please, gwadoren . . . *please* . . . ”

Elladan raised his head sharply at the long unused endearment,
and glimmering grey eyes met the prince’s imploring gaze.

“Bar me from your bed if you must, ‘Dan. ‘Tis little more than
I have earned. But do not bar me from your heart. I cannot
bear the thought of living without you, without ‘Roh.”

The prince's voice trailed off into silence as he waited
anxiously for some response. Any response.

“I do not wish to bar you from our bed, ‘Las,” the elder twin
responded after a long moment, his voice hoarse with unshed
tears. His thumb tracing patterns absently on his lover’s palm,
he added, “And ‘twas I who failed you, in some ways.”

Legolas shook his head in denial, his eyes wide, as he squeezed
the dark elf’s hand tightly.

“I tried not to mind, anor nín,” Elladan said, his eyes trained
on the silvery sparkle of the flowing streams. “I truly did.
But I wanted so badly to hold you, to comfort you. You wanted
oblivion, not gentle words. And it *hurt*. I felt used, as
though any ellon would have sufficed.”

“You did comfort me, ‘Dan,” the prince replied, a single tear
escaping to wind down one pale cheek. “‘Twas I who asked far too
much.”

“But it should not have been too much,” the elder twin argued,
guilt liming his voice. “You should not have been forced to
deal with my fragile ego as well as your own grief and anger.”
He drew a shaky breath and continued, “My pride was injured, and
I thought . . . nay, I *hoped* that if we did not speak of it,
my ire would fade, and with it the guilt.”

Searching his companion’s face for understanding, Elladan
sighed. “But it did not fade, ‘Las. And instead of facing it-
and you- I hid behind my affronted facade. I should not have .
. . ”
“
*Nay*,” Legolas interrupted, his eyes mithril-rimmed above wet
cheeks. “*I* should not have. ‘Twas my offense, melethen, not
yours.” Grasping his lover’s other hand, he looked beseechingly
into the drowned grey eyes. “I asked for your forgiveness once
before, el nín, and you would not answer. Can you grant it now?
Will you give me time and chance to prove myself once more?”

“There is no need to prove . . . ” the elder twin began, but his
protest was cut off summarily.

“There *is* need,” the prince insisted fiercely. “Mayhap the
need is mine, rather than yours, but it is there.” His voice
softening, he asked again, “Will you forgive me?”

Elladan withdrew one hand from his lover’s grasp, reaching up to
push back a golden braid. “Aye,” he said, finally allowing his
tears free reign. “I will.”

*******************************************

Elrohir sat silently by the fire, his gaze wandering repeatedly
to the thicket of trees which screened his twin
and Legolas from the gathered warriors. Aggravation warred
with hope as he waited impatiently for the outcome of the long
overdue confrontation. The tension of the last few days had
left the three elves exhausted and heartsick, the elf-knight no
less so than Elladan or the woodland prince.

Lingering anger at Legolas’ unconscionable treatment of the
elder twin, combined with exasperation at Elladan’s stubborn
reluctance to face the incident and his own turbulent feelings,
had left Elrohir in such a foul temper that none dared approach
him with any but the most critical request. Save one.

Tiriadon lowered himself to the ground beside the younger twin,
seemingly oblivious to the ominous scowl that graced the dark
elf’s face. “I brought you some tea, híren,” the Mirkwood
captain said, pushing a mug into Elrohir’s reluctant grasp.
“‘Twill not hurry them to ignore your own comfort.”

The elf-knight gave a curt nod in his companion’s direction,
then returned his regard to the flickering fire.

“You are welcome, mellonen,” Tiriadon retorted with a wry grin,
before launching into a one-sided conversation with the
glowering peredhel. Speaking randomly of the trip before them,
the horses, the weather, the relative merits of Dorwinion red
and miruvor . . . the Mirkwood elf had nearly exhausted himself
as well as all possible topics when at last Elrohir reacted.

“Valar’s wisdom, captain!” the younger twin roared, scattering
the few remaining onlookers like chafe in the wind. “Will you
just be silent?”

“Ah, so you *are* yet capable of speech,” Tiriadon chuckled,
completely unfazed. “I had begun to lose hope.”

“I am capable of far more than speech, I assure you,” Elrohir
snapped, his eyes narrowed in irritation. “I am in no mood for
levity, Tiri. There is a discussion of some gravity underway,
or have you forgotten? I wish to be left in peace.”

“Why?” the Mirkwood captain prodded. “To brood? To plan
revenge? ‘Tis of no benefit that you sit and stew over the
mistakes of others, ernilen, while the principals struggle to
reach accord. Has there not . . . ”

“*Enough!*” the dark elf hissed, grasping his companion’s arm in
warning. “I have had enough wood-elf insolence to last me for
all eternity in the days just past. Leave me, ere you find
yourself thrashed.”

“If ‘twill ease your anger to thrash a wood-elf, *peredhel*,
then do so,” Tiriadon retorted, his own eyes blazing. “If you
think that you can. But I would have you try your luck with me,
rather than Legolas. He has endured far more suffering in his
isolation and self-recrimination than you could offer with your
hands, however deadly.”

Rising fluidly, he stood glaring at the elf-knight. “Well?
Shall I have my warriors clear a grappling field?”

The younger twin stared in amazement at Tiriadon, a reluctant
smile curling the corners of his mouth. “There are few in
Imladris who would issue that challenge, mellonen. And fewer
still who will brave my moods.” Patting the ground, he shook
his head. “Sit down, captain, and tell me the secret of your
courage. I have no desire to throttle you . . . or ‘Las.”

Settling comfortably beside the dark elf, Tiriadon shrugged.
“My Adar is an elf of uncertain temperament, also, híren,” he
explained with a smile, handing a surreptitiously produced
wineskin to Elrohir.

Eyeing the offered drink ruefully, the elf-knight asked, “Why
give me tea when such a superior libation was within reach?”

The Mirkwood warrior grinned broadly. “I did not wish to face
you both enraged and intoxicated. I have been called
courageous, Elrohir, but I am not a fool.”

“Indeed, captain,” the younger twin chuckled, drinking deeply
from the wineskin before passing it back to Tiriadon. “I never
thought . . . ”

Elrohir shuddered suddenly, rendered speechless by the flood of
unrestrained thoughts and feelings rushing over him. Elladan
had dropped all barriers, whether willingly or in distress. For
an agonizing moment, the elf-knight could not decipher the
chaos, and he rose instinctively to his feet. Then one emotion
rose clear and strong. *Relief*. It was over.

Releasing a thankful breath, the younger twin felt the gentle
brush of his brother’s thoughts.

**Join us, tôren. There is yet much to say.**

“Híren?“ Tiriadon probed cautiously. “Are you . . . is Elladan
. . . is everything well?”

“Aye, mellonen,” the elf-knight replied with a grateful sigh,
turning toward the grove of trees. “I do believe it is.”



--Elvish Translations:
el nín - my star
melethen - my love
gwadoren - my brother (sworn, not by blood)
anor nín - my sun
ellon - male elf
híren - my lord
mellonen - my friend


*Chapter 8*

~Mirkwood 2151 III~

Legolas handed Ornfaer’s reins off to a stable hand, then turned
to Elladan. “I must make my report immediately. News of our
loss will spread, and I would not have the council learn of
Berioron’s fall from another source.”

“Aye, ‘twould come easiest from you,” the elder twin agreed
soberly. “Would you have us accompany you?”

The woodland prince shook his head slowly, “’Twould be best if I
go alone, as always, I think.” His uncertain gaze flickering to
Elrohir, he added, “They will have carried hot water to my
chamber as soon as we were sighted. You can bathe, if you like.
I shall be as quick as I can, but…”

“We will wait for you, ‘Las,” the elf-knight interrupted,
clasping his lover’s arm reassuringly. “Do what you must. We
will bathe in the caverns with the rest of the battle party,
then search out a bottle of wine and a bite or two, and meet you
in your chambers.”

“’Tis not necessary, ‘Roh,” the prince argued. “You need not
delay…”

“Hush, anor nίn,” Elladan broke in firmly. “The longer you
linger, the longer ‘twill be ‘til your return.”

“Melin chen,” Legolas whispered, drawing both his companions
into a brief embrace. “And I do not deserve you.” Pulling
away, the golden elf caught sight of the cloud of dust and horse
hair released by the contact. A faint grin spreading across his
face, he said, “But mayhap a visit to the caverns is a good
idea.”

**************************************

The long days of travel had left the Mirkwood warriors quite
comfortable with the Peredhil twins and Elladan and Elrohir
lingered in the cavern pools, enjoying the easy camaraderie
shared by those who have faced danger together and triumphed.

“You had best dry yourselves, mellynen, else Legolas will be
both back and bathed ere you return,” Barangolas chuckled,
slipping into the pool. Greeting each of the twins with a
shoulder clasp, he settled against the pool side with a sigh.

“He has finished with the council, then?” Elrohir asked,
receiving the expected nod in answer. “How went the briefing?”

“Well enough,” the youngest woodland prince replied thankfully.
“’Tis a bitter loss, of course, but less than was expected,
truth be told.”

“And how do you fare, ernil neth?” Elladan asked soberly, eyeing
the silvery scar that ran the length of the prince’s flank with
professional interest. “’Twas quite a blow, from the look of
the scar.”

“The filthy orch nearly gutted me,” Barangolas agreed with a wry
smile. “But I am good as new, praise be to your adar, as well
as the Valar. ‘Twas beyond the skill of even the best of our
healers.” Brightening, he continued, “But some good was born of
it. Anteruon managed admirably, both in the healing halls and
in the council chamber. Ada has agreed that he might winter in
Imladris every other coming, to study with Lord Elrond.”

“’Twill please Ada, that is sure,” Elrohir sighed. “I have not
seen him so taken with an elf’s natural skill since ‘Dan began
his training.”

“We should make haste, ‘Roh,” the elder twin said, reaching for
his towel as he rose from the water. “We still must find food
to take back to ‘Las.”

“I will see to the ordering of your tray, ernilen,” offered one
of the archers who had just left the pool. “What would you have
them bring?”

“Whatever is convenient,” Elrohir answered. “Bread, butter, a
bit of cheese, cookies...definitely a bottle of Dorwinion...”
Catching Elladan’s hopeful expression, he added, “And
strawberries, mayhap?”

“Strawberries it is then, hίren,” the Mirkwood elf agreed
with a grin. “Go to your rest. I will call for your meal.

********************************************

Legolas sank gratefully into the refilled tub, his freshly
washed hair floating like golden river-weed around his
shoulders. The warm, scented water relaxed his body, but he was
unable to slow the anxious thoughts racing through his mind. So
much had happened since the last time he had shared this chamber
with his lovers.

Despite the heartfelt conversation, despite the apologies
offered and forgiveness granted on the stream bank last eve,
there was yet a lingering sense of unease in his dealings with
the twins. A sense of unease that the prince felt sure could
only be banished by both Elladan’s acceptance of his touch, and
the assuagement of his own need to somehow offer recompense,
however inadequate, for his deeds in the healing tent.

Though he had nearly wept with relief when both Elladan and
Elrohir curled around him to sleep, there had been neither time
nor place for further intimacies, and he now felt as nervous and
unsure as an ellon on the eve of his majority.

His morose musings interrupted by the thud of the closing door,
Legolas tensed briefly, then relaxed as he recognized the
familiar footfalls and murmurs. Just as he started to call out,
a knock sounded, followed by Elrohir’s cheerful *‘Hannon chen’*
and the clatter of a well-provisioned tray. A moment later the
woodland prince heard the soft *‘pop’* of a cork and the splash
of wine in a glass, then Elladan entered the bathing chamber.

Handing the filled glass to Legolas, the elder twin perched on
the side of the tub and reached for a towel. “They have sent a
near banquet, ‘Las,” he remarked, carefully lifting and twisting
the sopping golden mane, heedless of the water splashing over
his leggings. Squeezing the silken strands as dry as possible,
he braided them loosely into a heavy rope. “Come and eat with
us, if you have finished soaking.”

“Aye, I have finished,” the prince agreed, setting his goblet on
the tub’s edge. Legolas stood gracefully and accepted the
offered towel before meeting his lover’s eyes. “’Dan,” he
began, “I...please...do not force yourself to...”

“Shhh,” Elladan countered, silencing the stumbling words with a
shake of his head. “I am forcing myself to do nothing.”
Wrapping the towel snugly around Legolas’ waist, he opened the
door and urged the prince into the bedchamber.

“Dress yourself, anor nίn, so I may eat without
distraction,” Elrohir said with a grin, tossing a pair of loose
leggings at the woodland prince. “There is food enough here for
an entire battle party.”

Legolas slipped into the offered leggings and moved to the
table, the assembled feast bringing a smile to his face despite
his wariness. There was indeed food enough for a company of
warriors. The tray practically vanished under the abundance of
breads and cheeses. A generous pile of dark, spicy cookies vied
for space with a mounded bowl of deep red strawberries. Tubs of
butter, honey and cream sat ready for use.

The next minutes were filled with appreciative silence as the
three elves tucked into the provided meal. “I was hungrier than
I imagined,” the elf-knight admitted, reaching for yet another
thick slice of the hearty bread.

“’Tis a good thing there was food enough for ten,” the elder
twin chuckled ruefully, nodding at the much depleted tray. “Or
there would be naught left but a crust.”

“The kitchen is well used to the appetites of returning
warriors,” Legolas agreed with a grin. “But you have not
finished your berries, ‘Dan.”

“They will keep, melethen,” Elladan drawled, arching an eyebrow
at his brother. “I wager there are more pressing matters to
attend to just now.”

The woodland prince recognized the significance of both the
teasing tone and rapidly darkening grey eyes. Drawing a deep
breath, he moved restlessly in his chair, fighting the tension
that threatened to overwhelm him yet again.

Elrohir looked at him appraisingly, “Come here, ‘Las,” he
ordered quietly, grasping one reluctant hand. “You are making
*me* anxious with your fidgeting.” Pulling Legolas down
astride his lap, the elf-knight wrapped him in a loose embrace,
one hand drawing soothing circles on the tense muscles of the
prince’s back. “Why do you fret so, hmm? Naught has changed.”

“Mayhap,” Legolas answered, shivering slightly as his lover’s
tongue traced his jaw line, always stopping just short of the
sensitive ear. “But I feel as though there is a debt yet
unpaid,” Pulling away slightly, he turned a somber gaze on the
elder twin. "*‘I am sorry’* is not enough.”

Elladan met the wary blue-green gaze squarely. “The words are
not sufficient, nay,” he agreed, reaching out to toy with the
golden braid. “But the remorse is real, and that *is* enough.
‘Twas a mistake, anor nín, and we both had a hand in its making.
Let it go.”

“Indeed,’ Elrohir murmured, nuzzling the prince’s ear. “I, for
one, am quite finished with food.” Sucking the ear tip into his
mouth, he swirled his tongue over the tender point repeatedly.
“And with conversation.”

The elder twin chuckled and rose from his chair, extending a
hand to Legolas. “Come along, ernilen, ere you find yourself
bent over the table. I fear ‘Roh has been somewhat cheated, and
his forbearance is no doubt stretched to its limit.”

The elf-knight huffed, turning to his brother in mock umbrage.
“As though I would be so crass as to do such a thing. Really,
tôren. You wound me.”

Elladan grinned, one eyebrow lifting in amusement. “I believe
history will bear me out, rohir nín.”

“Do tell it properly, ’Dan, ” Elrohir insisted, a smile tugging
at the corners of his mouth. “’Twas your own fault, really, for
teasing so.”

“And ‘twas a desk.”

**************************************

The bedchamber echoed with ragged breathing and the soft, wet
smack of lips and tongue on bare flesh. Legolas groaned in
frustration, arching toward the hand that repeatedly stroked his
flat stomach, always tantalizingly close, but never touching his
aching arousal. If this was Elladan’s revenge, it was surely of
the cruelest kind.

The elder twin raised his head, giving one last tug to the gold
nipple ring as it slipped from between his teeth. “Revenge?” he
queried, a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I had not thought
of it as such, nay. But if it eases your mind, then you may
call it revenge.”

“’Tis not the punishment I should choose,” Legolas panted,
shuddering as the stroking hand was replaced by Elrohir’s mouth,
nipping and licking the tender skin where groin and stomach met,
his silken hair sliding across trembling thighs. “And stay out
of my thoughts, if you please.”

“Punishment of your own choosing hardly deserves the name, does
it ‘Las?” Elladan chuckled. Moving up to cradle the prince’s
head in his hands, the dark elf stared for a moment into the
dilated emerald eyes. “But you may tell me of your choice,
melethron, and we shall see,” he continued, nibbling at his
lover’s mouth before capturing the swollen lips in a searing
kiss.

Legolas gasped at the intensity of the assault, opening himself
to the aggressively thrusting tongue that seemed determined to
rob him of both reason and breath. Elladan pulled away, his own
breathing harsh and uneven, and nipped sharply at the prince’s
jaw. “Later,” he promised darkly, sending a tremor through the
golden elf’s body.

Turning his head to meet Elrohir’s questioning gaze, the elder
twin nodded slightly, passing the bottle of oil to his brother.

**Aye, I am sure.**

**‘Tis not wise, el nín. And ‘Las will not..**.

**Hush, tôren, ere we all grow old. It is decided.**

Legolas frowned, aware of the exchange, but not privy to it. He
opened his mouth to speak, his words becoming a howl as the
elf-knight engulfed him in one quick movement. Barely had he
caught his breath when oil-slick fingers breached his body,
twisting and stretching insistently. The woodland prince was so
lost in the haze of sensation that the meaning of Elrohir’s
actions did not register at once.

Only when Elladan pressed the oil vial into his hand did Legolas
grasp the significance of the silent conversation. An emotion
near horror seized him as he tried to press the oil back on the
elder twin, almost speechless in his panic. “Nay,
‘Dan...please...I cannot. Not now...not this time...please...”

“Today we please *me*, ‘Las,” Elladan insisted, softening his
words with a gentle kiss. “And I wish to be held.” Settling
comfortably on his back, the dark elf raised his knees
invitingly. “I trust you,” he said, catching the anxious emerald
gaze. “Come love me, hmm?”

Shaking his head in pleading refusal, Legolas met Elrohir’s
narrowed eyes. A flash of steel in their dark depths gave him
pause even before the voice curled through his mind, its tone
deceptively mild.

**Do not hurt him again, Legolas.**

The woodland prince inhaled sharply at the implicit warning as
he stretched out beside Elladan. It was obvious that though the
elf-knight may have forgiven him his trespass, the incident was
by no means forgotten.

“Leave it, tôren,” the elder twin ordered quietly, laying a hand
on his brother’s arm. “It is over.”

Elrohir searched the golden elf’s tense features, then relaxed
almost imperceptibly. “Aye, mayhap it is,” he replied, sliding
around to nestle behind Legolas. Nuzzling his lover’s neck, he
added lightly, “And my patience wears thin, wood-elf.”

The prince smiled faintly, heartened by the familiar teasing.
He opened the vial and drizzled a pool of the scented oil into
one hand. Studying Elladan’s face closely, he asked, “Are you
sure, el nín?”

“Aye,” the elder twin answered, running his fingers through the
oil before curling them firmly around his lover’s weeping
length. “I am, indeed.”

Legolas groaned, pushing reflexively into the slick grip.
Pressing a trail of wet kisses over the dark elf’s chest and
stomach, he moved to lap at the base of the twitching shaft
before drawing his tongue slowly up the underside to suck
noisily at the wet crown.

Elladan yelped, his hips lifting off the bed instinctively.
Catching hold of the golden braid that curled across his stomach
he tugged sharply, but the prince paid little heed, continuing
his voracious suckling as he slipped his fingers into his
lover’s body, easing and oiling the tight passage.

“*’Las*,” the elder twin panted, struggling to press down
further on the invading hand. “’Tis enough...”

Sliding back up the tensed form, Legolas claimed the dark elf’s
mouth in a lazy kiss, then raised his head to lift a questioning
eyebrow at Elrohir.

“Sweet Elbereth, *yes*,” the elf-knight rasped, arching against
the woodland prince. “Ere I lose my mind.”

Elladan rolled willingly to his side, obediently bending one leg
toward his chest, and muffled a hoarse groan as Legolas pressed
tightly against his back, impaling him with one sure thrust.

Struggling to hold off a too-quick climax, the golden elf buried
his face in the ebony dark hair, wrapping his arms around his
lover. “Melin chen,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across
Elladan’s ear. “Always.”

“I know, anor nín,” the elder twin whispered, burrowing deeper
into the trembling embrace. “Melin chen.”

The woodland prince reached blindly for Elrohir, biting back a
whimper as the elf-knight curled snugly around his body, gently
forcing one of his legs forward and pushing into the slippery
warmth with a sigh of relief.

Despite his urgency, the younger twin remained motionless,
savoring the closeness and warmth that he had feared lost
forever but a few days earlier. Then Legolas stirred
restlessly, and the moment was gone. Pulling back slightly, the
elf-knight began to move in long, slow strokes, one hand clasped
firmly on an ivory hip, compelling the prince to match his
rhythm.

Already exhausted, his emotions in turmoil, Legolas quickly
found his control slipping away under the driving thrusts that
caressed him from within, even as they forced him deeper into
the silken heat of Elladan’s body. As his muscles begin to
tighten threateningly, the prince wrapped his fingers around the
dark elf’s arousal, his movements becoming erratic as his own
body trembled with impending release.

At last it was all too much, and Legolas shuddered, burying
himself in his lover’s warmth as he spilled violently, a swirl
of light and color exploding before his eyes, his ears filled
with his own groans. Lost in a haze of mindless pleasure, the
prince was only vaguely aware of the hot cream spilling over his
fist, or the stifled shout that heralded Elrohir’s release.

Long moments later, Legolas found himself cradled snugly between
the twins, his head pillowed on Elladan’s chest, the reassuring
thud of the elder twin’s heart lulling him quickly toward sleep.
“’Dan, I...” he began drowsily, only to be silenced by the
tightening of one strong arm.

“Not now, melethen,” Elladan interrupted, dropping a kiss on the
prince’s flushed forehead. “Later.”

“Rest, ‘Las,” the elf-knight agreed, curling more tightly around
the golden elf. “It will wait.”

Relaxing in the warmth of the bodies entangled with his, soothed
by the steady rise and fall of Elrohir’s chest against his back,
Legolas swiftly slid into a dreamless reverie.

***************************************

Elrohir rose carefully from the bed, slipping into his clothing
and fashioning his hair into a single braid before moving
soundlessly toward the door. Just as his hand touched the
latch, he felt the brush of his brother’s thoughts.

**Where are you going, tôren?**

Moving to the side of the bed, the elf-knight knelt and pressed
a brief kiss to Elladan’s mouth, taking in the now content grey
gaze with relief. “I am going to find Anteruon, before he is
off on his evening prowl,” he replied quietly. “’Tis near the
dinner hour.”

“Wait a bit, and we will accompany you,” the elder twin offered,
glancing down at Legolas.

The prince stirred restlessly, as if aware of the soft voices
even in his sleep, and Elrohir shook his head, smiling slightly
as he stood to go.

**Nay, el nín. You have unfinished business here.**

In answer to the arch of one elegant eyebrow, he whispered, “You
have your peace, tôren. Do not deny ‘Las his.”

As Elladan opened his mouth to protest, his brother silenced him
with a look. “And ‘tis useless to pretend that you do not
understand. I will wait for your word ere I return.”

The falling of the latch startled Legolas into full wakefulness.
Stretching lazily, he buried his face in his lover’s neck.
“Where is ‘Roh off to?”

“He wished to mingle a bit,” the elder twin answered
noncommittally. Untying the strip of lacing that bound the
prince’s hair, he began to unweave the ragged golden braid.
“How do you feel, melethen?”

“Well enough,” Legolas sighed and snuggled closer, his tongue
snaking out to tickle the pale throat. “And you?”

Elladan rolled suddenly, pinning the woodland prince with the
weight of his body. “I am quite recovered,” he replied silkily,
“And there is yet the matter of your chosen reparation.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed, swallowing thickly. “There is.”

“What is you choice, then? We shall see if it meets with my
approval,” the elder twin purred, nipping sharply at an ivory
ear before claiming his lover’s mouth in a brutally sensual
kiss, tongue and teeth ravaging the tender flesh mercilessly.

Breaking the kiss, the dark elf lapped gently at a drop of blood
that gleamed on the abused lower lip before raising his head to
meet emerald dark eyes. “I would have an answer, melethron.”

The woodland prince’s passion induced flush deepened under the
intense scrutiny. “I believe you know my choice, el nín.”

“Say it, nonetheless,” Elladan demanded, rocking his hips
against the slick column that prodded his own arousal
enticingly. Catching the golden elf’s wrists, he pressed them
down against the rumpled bed. “There has been enough
misunderstanding.”

Legolas arched up into the beguiling warmth of his lover’s body,
spreading his legs in invitation. “Take me,” he breathed.
“Hard.”

“Hard?” the elder twin echoed, wedging himself between the open
thighs.

“Aye, if you wish,” the prince whispered, bucking purposefully
as his legs snaked around Elladan’s waist. “Whatever you wish.”

“’Tis a dangerous game you play, pen neth,” the dark elf
growled, forcing the encircling legs higher with a practiced
twist of his body. Sliding his weeping length repeatedly over
his lover’s sweat-slick crease, he pressed forward to suckle one
flushed ear. “A very dangerous game,” he murmured sinking his
teeth into the base of the ivory throat as he pushed past the
still-stretched entrance with one savage thrust.

Legolas went still, the playfully menacing whisper and sudden
stab of pain-become-pleasure carrying him back in time. His
overwhelmed senses reeled, and he was cradled in sweet-smelling
grasses on a hot summer day. The silken hair that shrouded his
face was not midnight dark, but gold-sparked silver, and he was
young and afraid.

Instantly aware of the prince’s withdrawal, Elladan remained
motionless. Fleeting images brushed his mind, evidence of the
depth of his lover’s distress. “’Las?” he said quietly,
releasing the unresisting hands. “Open your eyes, anor nín.
Look at me.”

Emerald eyes flickered over his face, the vestiges of fear still
visible in their depths scattering as recognition dawned.
“Valar, ‘Dan, I am sorry,” Legolas managed, raising his arms to
embrace the elder twin. “I do not know why...”

“Shhh,” Elladan broke in, raining kisses on the golden elf’s
face. “’Tis alright. You are not yet rested. There is naught to
be sorry for, melethen.” The dark elf was silent for a moment,
stroking one flushed cheek soothingly, then he suddenly asked,
“Who was he?”

Legolas grinned, and it occurred to the elder twin that this was
the first genuine expression of mirth he had seen on his lover’s
face in many days. “I do not fancy discussing my majority rites
whilst you are buried in my backside, ‘Dan,” the prince
chuckled, pulling Elladan down into an affectionate kiss. “It
would seem that we were in the middle of something urgent, ere
we were interrupted.”

When the dark elf hesitated, Legolas tightened his legs, drawing
his lover deeper into his body. “Lost your nerve, have you,
Peredhel?” he prodded, his taunting tone belied by the
tenderness in his eyes.

“I have not, wood-elf,” Elladan retorted, drawing back to slam
forcefully into the velvet heat. “Have you?”

“Gods, *no*,” the woodland prince panted, raising his hips to
meet the powerful thrusts. “Again...Ai, *yes*...like
that...*like that*...”

Spurred on by the broken gasps and pleas, Elladan pounded into
the willing body almost violently, losing all pretense of rhythm
as he slipped a hand between their slick stomachs to stroke his
lover’s arousal. “Spill for me, melethron,” he commanded
hoarsely, leaning forward to suckle and bite the prince’s
already bruised throat. “I would see your face.”

Opening his eyes to meet the elder twin’s molten black gaze,
Legolas could not help but comply with the imperious order,
letting go a keening wail as he showered their glistening chests
with repeated spurts of iridescent white seed.

Elladan watched the prince raptly. The fair face flushed
deeply, eyes fluttering shut in his pleasure, his teeth drawing
blood from his lip in a vain attempt to stifle his cry of
completion.

Finally surrendering to his own climax, the dark elf pushed
deeply into the wildly clenching passage, howling without
restraint as he flooded his lover’s body with his release.
Collapsing onto the limp form beneath him, Elladan lay without
moving, waiting for the fierce pounding of his heart to slow.

For an uncertain length of time, there was no sound in the
chamber save the harsh rasp of labored breathing. The elder
twin at last stirred, moving off Legolas and pulling the still
dazed prince into a loose embrace. Stroking the passion tousled
golden hair idly, Elladan sighed contentedly. “May we call it
settled, now, anor nín?” he asked quietly.

“We may,” Legolas agreed, snuggling deeper into the dark elf’s
arms. “I have no energy left for guilt.”

***********************************

Elrohir stopped in mid-sentence, his attention diverted from his
conversation with Anteruon by the insistent nudge of another
consciousness.

**‘Tis finished, rohir nín. Join us.**

And another.

**Bring food**




*Elvish translations:

Melin chen – I love you
anor nίn – my sun
mellynen – my friends
ernil neth – young prince
Ada, Adar – Papa/Dad, Father
ernilen – my prince
hίren – my lord
ellon – male elf
Hannon chen – Thank you
melethen – my love
rohir nín – my knight
tôren – my brother
melethron – lover (male)
el nín – my star
pen neth – young one


**Chapter 9**

~Imladris 2151 III~

Thranduil wandered aimlessly through the lush greenery of a
well-ordered garden, his thoughts restless and disturbing. For
nigh a moon the woodland king had tarried in Imladris, enjoying
Elrond’s hospitality as well as the more intimate comforts
offered by Glorfindel and Erestor. The day of his return to
Mirkwood rapidly approached, and the imminent parting form his
friends-turned-lovers preyed on his mind.

Though he longed to see his family and home once more, Thranduil
was loath to surrender the warmth and comfort he had found in
Imladris – and his guilt at being so torn became more pronounced
with each passing day. **‘Have I betrayed her, after all?’ ** he
mused, his heart heavy with doubt. **‘Should I not be eager to
return to our children, our realm? Instead I dread the
emptiness of my own bed. I do not wish to face again the
loneliness of these last years.’**

“What troubles you so, Thranduil?” a soft voice queried. “There
is oft relief to be had in the telling of fears.”

Startled, the woodland king turned to find Celebrían studying
him kindly. “Hirilen,” Thranduil replied, inclining his head in
greeting. “I did not hear your approach.”

“’Tis no wonder,” the Lady of Imladris answered, a slight smile
curving her lips. “You were deep in your thoughts. Will you
not share them?”

The woodland king was silent for a long moment, his desire to
voice his concerns warring with his fear of impropriety.

This morn Celebrían appeared less a ruler’s wife than a wood
nymph, fragile and elusive. She was dressed in a simple white
gown, her shimmering silver hair braided in the manner preferred
by her sons, the single heavy plait falling nearly to her knees.
The daughter of Galadriel might have been a young maiden were
it not for the wisdom and compassion that lit her warm grey
eyes.

“I am not sure ‘twould be appropriate, though I thank you...”

Celebrían shook her head, laying one delicate hand on her
companion’s arm. “I am rarely shocked, híren, and even less
often offended.” Her smile widening, she added, “And I am my
Naneth’s daughter. ‘Twill be easiest if you simply concede
now.”

Chuckling in spite of himself, Thranduil offered his arm to his
hostess. “Indeed. I long ago acknowledged the futility of
refusing Galadriel anything she sought.”

“Then I insist that you extend me the same courtesy, mellonen,”
Celebrían said firmly. “I would not have you leave us
guilt-ridden, nor filled with doubt. Tell me what troubles
you.”

Reassured by the warmth and understanding in the questioning
grey gaze, the woodland king did as he was bid. All the fears
and doubt that had plagued him since the beginning of his
changed relationship with Glorfindel and Erestor came tumbling
out. His confusion over his place in their lives, and their
place in his. The guilt spawned by his reluctance to return to
Mirkwood alone, despite his yearning to see his children and his
subjects. And worst of all, the suffocating fear that he had
betrayed his queen, his bond, by allowing himself to seek more
than physical release with another.

Meeting the troubled emerald eyes, Celebrían did not respond
immediately. Instead she indicated a grove of silver-clad
trees. “Let us explore the hillside garden, híren,” she
suggested. “The gwanûn tell me it was particularly favored by
Legolas during his visit.”

Thranduil approached the massive trunks appreciatively, reaching
out to touch the silvery-white bark. “Aye, I can well
understand my son’s love for this place. There is a serenity
here that has been absent from Taur-na-Fuin for many years.”

“Have you told Erestor and Glorfindel of your worries?”
Celebrían asked after a moment’s silence. “Surely you do not
doubt that they care for you deeply.“

“Nay, I do not question their affection for me,” the woodland
king replied. “Only the expectations that might accompany that
regard.” With a wry smile, he continued. “Having abused my
eternal bond by feeling more than passing lust for another, I am
faced with yet a second quandary. Do I now owe fidelity to
Glorfindel and Erestor as well? Have I any cause to expect such
from them?”

His companion smiled kindly. “I would say that you owe only
that which you wish to give. Do not turn a blessing into a
burden, mellonen. But I will not speak for the living. Ask
them.”

“I will not speak for the living,” Celebrían repeated, squeezing
the king’s arm reassuringly, “but I will venture to speak for
the waiting. Miluien will understand.”

Thranduil’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. “No one speaks
her name to me,” he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly tight.
“The children speak of ‘Nana’, my advisors praise ‘the queen’,
but none mention my Miluien. It is as though ‘tis forgotten
that she was more than a naneth, more than her title.” His
voice breaking, the king added, “And I fear the day when her
face and voice and touch fade from my mind, as well. I would
not replace her love with another.”

“Ai, Thranduil,” Celebrían sighed, turning to face the
distressed ruler. “Love is not finite, and every love is
different. One need not replace another.”

Settling comfortably on an enormous stump, she pulled at her
companion’s hand, urging him down. “Must Elladan and Elrohir
love one another less because they have grown to love Legolas,
also?”

“Nay,” the king replied, his fingers tracing the growth rings of
the long-dead tree. “But ‘tis hardly the same, hirilen. And
‘tis a quite young affair.”

“And there is still hope for an ignominious ending?” Celebrían
retorted, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Thranduil shook his head. “You know I would not wish it so.
‘Twould please me greatly to see our houses joined. But that is
for the future.”

“Then let us speak for a moment of the past,” the Lady of
Imladris replied quietly. “Is Elrond’s love for Gil-galad
diminished by his love for me? Or say you that he loves me less
because he loves Ereinion still?”

Discomfited by the directness of the question, Thranduil moved
restlessly. “Celebrían, I do not think ‘tis...”

“You were there, híren,” his companion interrupted calmly. “Was
theirs a love that could be diminished by time?”

Memories flooded the king’s mind. Campfires flickered as
warriors talked, laughed, sang, and loved – the nights alive
with the desperate gaiety of those who know themselves doomed.
Banners rippled above clashing armies and the air rang with
defiant battle cries as well as the screams of the dying. The
ground grew slippery with the blood of orcs, elves and men.

And always, always there was the High King and his herald –
their heads bent close in jest, their bodies locked together in
passion, their raven-dark hair mingling in the wind as they
fought side-by-side, back-to-back...unhelmed and unyielding.
Until that final dreadful day, when Sauron was laid low at such
horrific cost.

“It was not,” Thranduil answered reluctantly.

“You need not fear for my feelings,” Celebrían said quietly.
“Elrond loves me, híren, and I am happy in that knowledge. I
cannot replace Gil-galad, as he could not truly replace Elros.
That sundering has left a hole in my husband’s spirit which no
lover can fill.”

Her eyes suddenly distant, she added, “And if someday we must
part, I would wish Elrond a companion to ease his pain and
treasure him as I do.”

The woodland king looked at her keenly. “Elrond is fortunate to
have found you, hirilen.”

“And I to have found him,” Celebrían answered gravely. “As you
were blessed to win Miluien’s love, and the affection of
Glorfindel and Erestor. Love need not be diminished because it
is shared.”

Rising from her seat on the stump, she looked toward the formal
gardens and smiled, then reached out a hand in invitation.
“Come, mellonen. They are waiting.”

*******************************************

~Mirkwood 2151~

Legolas watched in amusement as his lover – who had survived all
manner of battles and foes over his long life – was completely
overrun by one young elleth with a hairbrush. “Do not frown so,
‘Roh,” he snickered. “You make quite a lovely princess.”

“Aye, he is very pretty,” Galueth agreed happily, completely
unaware of her brother’s sarcasm. Her small fingers flying, she
wove Elrohir’s dark hair into the same ornate braids that held
her own mahogany tresses.

“You do that very well pen neth,” Elladan observed with a smile,
fingering the mithril beads that had been peremptorily placed in
his hand.

“’Tis ever so much easier on another head,” the princess
announced seriously, tying off the last of her victim’s braids.
“I cannot yet plait my own hair, though Amoniel is teaching me.”

“Amoniel?” Elrohir repeated, looking at Legolas questioningly.

“Galueth’s nanny,” the woodland prince explained. “She is a
lovely elleth, despite her bizarre liking for Anteruon’s
company, and has been with us since Nana passed.”

“’Ruon is going to bind with her someday,” Galueth reported
blithely, as she turned a determined gaze on Elladan’s beaded
braid.

“Indeed?” Legolas, replied, one golden eyebrow arching in
surprise. “And how came you by this knowledge, thêl dithen?”

“Please, ‘Golas,” the princess sighed, before turning her
attention to unbinding Elladan’s hair.
“I have eyes. And ears.”

A look of horror beginning to spread across his face, the
woodland prince asked, “And precisely *what* have you seen and
heard, pen dithen?”

Oblivious to her brother’s anxious state, Galueth looked around
carefully before bending close to whisper in his ear. “Every
night, when he comes to say ‘Posto mae’, they *kiss*!”

**********************************************************

Elladan narrowed his eyes. “Is that not Tiri?” he asked,
pointing to a figure on one of the second level balconies.

“It is, indeed,” Legolas answered with a grin. “And ‘tis
Sílolwen behind him. Come and meet her.”

“They may not wish for company just yet, ‘Las,” Elrohir
cautioned, as the two forms seemed to meld to one. “He has been
gone many moons.”

As though in reply to the elf-knight’s warning, Tiriadon’s voice
rang out over the courtyard. “Elladan! Elrohir! Come join us
if you have recovered from Galueth’s attentions.” Grinning at
Legolas, he added, “And bring him with you, if you must.”

Climbing the curving staircase, the twins found themselves
scrutinized by enormous brown eyes, which lit on their
bead-studded braids, and suddenly Elladan was caught in an
embrace of surprising strength, considering that the giver
barely reached his chest.

“Hannon chen,” the auburn-haired elleth said gratefully,
squeezing him once more for good measure. “Thank you for
healing him.”

Rendered nearly speechless by the unexpected greeting, the elder
twin patted one slender arm tentatively. “You are welcome, my
lady. Though I did little, really.”

Tiriadon chuckled as his lover returned to his side, one arm
twining around his waist. “This, as you may have guessed, is
Sílolwen. These are the infamous Peredhil twins, melethen. The
healer you have thrown yourself at so shamelessly is the eldest,
Elladan. Elrohir is the one looking decidedly cheated.”

“’Tis simply your fate, ‘Roh,” Legolas snickered, grinning as he
and the elf-knight were hugged in turn.

“We must not begin our friendship with a slight, híren,”
Sílolwen said, smiling warmly at the younger twin. “’I am
pleased to meet both of you. And I doubt not that your skill
saved him many times.”

Opening the chamber door, she indicated a table that was visible
through the far door. “Will you join us? We have wine and
fruit aplenty.”

As they followed Sílolwen onto the back balcony, Tiriadon caught
Elladan’s arm. “All is settled, then?” he asked quietly,
meeting the clear grey gaze.

“All is settled,” the elder twin agreed with a smile. “And you
have shed your tears, captain?”

“I have,” Tiriadon answered, his eyes dancing. “Several times.”

“Then we are all lucky, indeed.”



--Names:
Miluien – gentle maiden (Thranduil’s queen)
Amoniel – hill maiden (Anteruon’s lover)
Sílolwen - shining maiden (Tiriadon’s lover)

--Elvish Translations:
hirilen – my lady
híren – my lord
Naneth/Nana – Mother, Mama/Mom
mellonen – my friend
gwanûn - twins
Taur-na-Fuin – Mirkwood
Ai - Oh
elleth – female elf
pen neth – young one
thêl dithen – little sister
pen dithen – little one
Posto mae – Sleep/rest well
Hannon chen – Thank you
melethen – my love


*Chapter 10*


~Imladris 2151 III~

Thranduil settled into the comfortable garden chair, sipping
thoughtfully at a goblet of fruited wine. “This is quite good,
mellynen,” he said, smiling at his companions.

“’Tis refreshing in the summer’s heat,” Erestor agreed, adeptly
rescuing a strawberry from his glass and popping it in his
mouth.

“Though ‘Restor finds as much enjoyment in the fruit as in the
wine,” Glorfindel chuckled as his mate carefully retrieved
another berry. His expression becoming serious, he caught
Thranduil’s emerald gaze. “Are you ready yet to share your
worries?”

The woodland king drew a deep breath and nodded. “Aye, I am.
Though the Lady Celebrían has done much to ease my mind.”

Erestor nodded, looking intently at his new lover. “Our Lady is
very wise, meldir. She sees much that is hidden to others.”

“She does, indeed,” Thranduil replied with a sigh. “She has
helped me unburden myself of much guilt and confusion, and for
that I am more grateful than I can say.” Meeting his
companions’ eyes levelly, he went on, “But she will not speak
for the living.”

“A good thing, all in all,” Glorfindel broke in mildly. “Come,
melethron. What troubles you so?”

“I would know what is expected of me,” the woodland king said
bluntly. “I feel as though I have been made alive again by your
affection, by your loving. I would do nothing to jeopardize
what we have built during my stay here.”

Erestor leaned forward to grasp Thranduil’s hand. “What we
share with you is freely given, melethen. Nothing is expected
of you, save to be truthful regarding you wants and fears.”

The woodland ruler opened his mouth to speak, only to be
silenced by a shake of Glorfindel’s head. “We understand your
question, mellonen. You are free to do as you please. We will
take no other in your place, but we do not ask that you remain
chaste during the long months we will be apart.”

Folding his hand around the others, Glorfindel smiled. “Follow
your heart, Thranduil. It will not lead you astray.”

*************************************

~Mirkwood 2151 III~

A gentle breeze danced through the open balcony door, cooling
the bedchamber, which was awash in the light of the full moon.
Muffled murmurs and gasps rose from the rumpled bed, and Elrohir
sighed with pleasure, stretching his neck invitingly as sharp
teeth and warm lips marked his skin. “Mmm, yes,” he breathed,
“That is nice.”

And then he felt it. Again. The faint echo of melancholy - the
solemnity that had become a persistent part of their lovemaking,
as well as the bane of his existence.

Looking at Legolas intently, the elf-knight saw that the
emerald-dark eyes were once again mithril-rimmed, sparkling with
unshed tears. Turning to his brother, he noted that Elladan’s
darkened grey gaze also glimmered in the soft light.

Elrohir rose abruptly, turning his back on his astonished
lovers.

“What are you doing, ‘Roh?” Legolas asked, his confusion
apparent. “Where are you going?”

Elladan sat up slowly but remained silent, sensing his twin’s
surging irritation.

The elf-knight closed his eyes, fingers burrowing through his
own tousled hair. With what seemed a heroic effort, he kept his
voice nearly free of exasperation.

“’Tis supposed to be enjoyable, you know,” he said mildly, his
back still to the others. “Else there is truly no point, as we
are unlikely to produce any contribution to the next
generation.”

“Your sarcasm is unwarranted, tôren,” Elladan replied quietly,
silencing Legolas with a look.

“Is it?” Elrohir demanded, his calm facade slipping dangerously
as he moved to face his twin. “You call it settled, ‘Dan. Over
and done. And yet we cannot come together without
surreptitiously wiped tears and mournful sighs. From the both
of you.”

“They are tears of relief, rohir nín, not tears of sorrow,”
Legolas said, ignoring the warning touch of Elladan’s hand.
“Would you not have us treasure what has been restored?”

“I would have less weeping and more rutting in my bed,” Elrohir
snapped, turning a frosty glare on the woodland prince. Legolas
winced at the stinging retort, and the elf-knight’s voice
softened, becoming almost wistful. “I would have things as
they were before.”

**Come here, then, tôr dithen.**

The seductive drawl curled through Elrohir’s mind, answered by a
flare of heat in his groin. The ghost of a frown flitted across
his face as he turned to meet his brother’s glittering gaze.

**Not that long before, ‘Dan.**

One ebony eyebrow arched in disbelief and Elladan opened his
mind, the corners of his mouth curling in a predatory smile as
Elrohir swallowed heavily, his eyes wide and dark.

The elf-knight gasped as his thoughts were flooded with an
erotic mix of images and words that left no doubt as to
Elladan’s intent.

Legolas watched raptly, his own heart pounding in the near
palpable tension of the silent chamber. Watched as Elladan’s
chin rose imperiously, the obsidian silk of his hair sliding
over hard muscle and soft pillows. Watched as Elrohir moved to
stand before his brother, their midnight dark gazes meeting a
mere heartbeat before Elladan reached for the lacings of the
elf-knight’s rough-woven sleep pants.

**I want to taste you.**

Elrohir shivered as the shared thought brushed his mind, his
eyes never leaving his brother’s face. Cool air caressed heated
skin as his loose breeches fell open under Elladan’s impatient
fingers, revealing a shaft already thick and heavy with blood.

Elladan pushed the thin fabric to the floor and pressed his face
to the elf-knight’s groin, inhaling the familiar musky scent
with a sigh of pleasure.

**‘Tis finer than any incense or oil ever made, melethen.**

A moan escaped Elrohir as his lover’s breath moved over
sensitive skin, and he reached for the arched branches that
formed the bed’s headboard, seeking support for his trembling
body. Soft skin and silken hair teased him as Elladan pressed a
line of wet kisses from hip to thigh before lapping at the
tender pouch beneath his arousal.

His hips pushing forward of their own accord, the elf-knight
dropped one hand to his brother’s head, his fingers twining in
the glossy ebony strands. “Please, ‘Dan...” he breathed.
“Please.”

Legolas’ swallowed hard, his stomach tightening in sympathy as
Elladan ignored the whispered plea, continuing to nuzzle and
nibble at the now-snug sac. Silvery drops of fluid clung to
Elladan’s dark hair and smeared one flushed cheek, and the
prince was suddenly overcome by the urge to lick away the
shimmering trail.

Crawling across the wide bed, Legolas buried his face in the
elder twin’s hair, lapping at the smoky-sweet dribbles before
turning his attention to the tempting smear on Elladan’s face.

Elrohir groaned aloud as he watched the golden elf, entranced by
the barely visible pink tongue that moved cat-like over his
brother’s hair and skin before luring Elladan into a lingering
kiss.

Pulling away, the woodland prince drew his tongue lightly over
Elrohir’s hip, tracing the sharp planes of mus