*Title: The Early Years: With Anor’s Rise 

*Author: Minuial Nuwing

*Contact: minuial_nuwing@...

*Website: First Light – http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing

*Rating: NC-17

*Type: FPS

*Pairing: Legolas/Haldir

*Warning: Um...slash? **grin**

*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…

*Beta: Allie (hugs) Any remaining errors are all mine.

*Summary: Legolas comes of age, and Haldir comes to the party.
A tale from the years before ‘Princes Three’, but it will stand
alone as a PWP.

*Note: 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.

*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!

*A/N: This story is dedicated to Ryo, with much love. I hope
it will be worth the wait, sweetie!

*A/N 2: Legolas' rather fanciful vision of Haldir comes from an 
earlier meeting.


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


**The Early Years: With Anor’s Rise**


~Mirkwood 1550 III~

Legolas watched the approach of the Loríen party with poorly
disguised anxiety. His father had spoken frankly of the
upcoming rites. So frankly that, truth be told, his cheeks
colored at the memory of it. But there had been no hint as to
which ellon had been chosen to introduce the second prince of
the woodland realm to passion’s mysteries. ** ‘Please,
please...not Celeborn,’** Legolas begged silently, his heart
leaping into his throat as the Loríen elves drew closer.

Legolas' elder brother, Anteruon, had spent his majority 
revels with one of the king’s senior advisors, a fact
which caused such gossip and infighting in the council chamber
that Thranduil had sworn he would not make the mistake twice.
Thus Legolas’ current distress...one of the guests he greeted
today would rid him of his bodily innocence tomorrow.

Thranduil watched his son’s face with well-concealed
amusement. Though the youngling no doubt thought his features
schooled into a mask of welcome, his eyes gave him away. The
blue-green gaze had sparkled with excitement as the contingent
from Imladris arrived, only to dampen when it became apparent
that the Peredhil twins were not among the party, then widen in
alarm as Lord Elrond himself stepped forward.

Thranduil had thought to remain noncommittal, but the look of
near terror that flickered across Legolas’ face caused him
to shake his head slightly in reassurance. Not Elrond. The
sigh of relief had been audible, and the Peredhel’s twinkling
eyes were proof that he, too, was forcing back a smile.

As Celeborn and the others dismounted, Thranduil experienced 
a moment of unease. His choice of bed-teacher for his 
second-born son had been made on the strength of a memory,
and was unusual by all accounts. The elf in question was
neither ancient nor well acquainted with the youngling...

“It was a good choice, melethen,” Miluien murmured, squeezing her
husband’s arm comfortingly. “I still remember the adoration in
his eyes, those many years ago.”

“Aye,” Thranduil whispered, “but oft adoration and passion are
poor bedfellows, especially for the young. I hope I have not
erred.”

Legolas stood tensely, fighting a growing sense of horror, as
Celeborn greeted his parents and elder brother. Celeborn was a legend, 
one of the lords of Loríen, and as powerful in his own way as his Lady.
The thought of shedding his leggings under that cool silver gaze
made Legolas feel queasy, and a nervous laugh bubbled in his chest.

Swallowing the threatening hysteria with difficulty, Legolas
bowed his head in welcome. “Mae govannen, híren,” he said
politely, raising his eyes reluctantly to Celeborn’s face as
he forced out the expected greeting. “You honor me with your
presence.”

“The honor is mine, Thranduilion,” Celeborn replied gravely,
though the raging emotion visible beneath Legolas' thin
veneer of correctness both amused and moved him. The youngling
was near panic, the cause of his anxiety easily discerned.

Stepping aside slightly, Celeborn drew his companion
forward. “Prince Legolas,” he began, “I believe you once
met...”

Celeborn’s words faded away into meaningless noise as Legolas
caught sight of the other elf. The hair was longer, the
mithril-like gleam of mingled silver and gold even more
brilliant. There were no kohl stripes to accent the high
cheekbones and, instead of black leather, the visitor wore the
grey traveling garb of his people. But the eyes...the eyes were
unchanged. Swirls of green, brown and gold drew Legolas in,
just as they had centuries before, and he was once again
drowning in the warm gaze...

*“Haldir.”* The whispered name left his lips without thought.
Legolas came back to himself with a start as he was caught in a
ritual embrace. **‘A warrior’s embrace,’** he realized dazedly,
struggling to return the greeting in kind as his mind whirled
frantically, a small flicker of hope flaring in his chest.

“Mae govannen,” Haldir said as he stepped back to look at the
prince, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You have grown well, pen neth. ‘Tis an honor to be here for
your coming of age.”

His heart pounding as the ambiguous compliment played over and
over in his head, Legolas met Haldir’s gaze, flushing
under the gleam in the unusual hazel eyes. A gleam at once
friendly and blatantly appraising.

Legolas knew without a doubt that he had his answer.
*Haldir.*

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

“He is a mass of nerves,” Thranduil lamented, the formal
evening robes he had yet to remove swishing and swirling as he
paced the study restlessly. “And I do not know how to ease his
mind.”

“You might begin by easing your own, híren,” Haldir replied
quietly, his eyes focused on the deep red wine that filled the
goblet in his hand. “Would you care to share your worries? You
are making *me* nervous.”

The king stopped abruptly, seating himself across from Haldir. 
“Forgive me, mellonen,” he said. “I do not question your role. 
He is just....”

“...your son,” Haldir finished, meeting the worried emerald 
gaze with a hint of a smile. “And you feel as though you should
be locking him away from my lecherous advances.”

Thranduil chuckled, but did not deny the assertion. “He is
young.”

“Mayhap,” Haldir answered carefully. “But not so young as many
at their first bedding. Not in Loríen, and certainly not in
Taur-na-Fuin. I sometimes think it is the better way, with
experience coming as it may, rather than planned and steeped in
ritual and anxiety.”

“Aye,” Thranduil admitted with a sigh, “you are correct, of
course. Only the nobles maintain the tradition of celibacy
until lawful majority, in any realm. Our rites here are often
naught but opportunity for the left piercing, truth be known.”

Haldir nodded his understanding of the ancient Silvan tradition
of nipple piercing – right for first kill in battle, left for
first bedding – that Thranduil had taken as his own. “I have
some experience with the rings,” Haldir offered, hoping to
soothe the woodland king’s anxiety.

“And with innocents, I presume?” Thranduil asked frankly,
searching the marchwarden’s face.

“Aye, and with innocents,” Haldir agreed, unable to hide a
smile. “I can claim no previous royal majorities, híren, but I
am quite well-schooled in the art of bedding untried ellon.”
Becoming serious, Haldir laid a hand on the king’s arm.
“All will be well, mellonen. Legolas was a delightful elfling,
and he has grown into a fine young warrior. There is naught to
fear.”

“You reassure me," Thranduil replied, grasping his companion’s
arm in return. “I chose well.”

Haldir dipped his head in acknowledgement, then met the king’s
eyes thoughtfully. “If it pleases you, I will spend some
portion of the day with him tomorrow, renewing our acquaintance.
A picnic in the old tower clearing, mayhap?”

“That is an excellent idea,” Thranduil said, nodding distractedly.
“Just the thing. I will have the cooks prepare a basket.”

As the marchwarden drained his glass and rose to leave, Thranduil
stopped him with a word. “Haldir?”

“Aye?”

“I would have you aware of another of our quaint Taur-na-Fuin
traditions.”

Haldir found himself pinned by an intense emerald gaze.
“Híren?”

“Legolas comes of age with anor’s rise tomorrow.”

“Indeed? With anor’s rise?”

Thranduil nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his face. “Aye.
Should the fact become pertinent.”



--Elvish Translations:

ellon – male elf
Peredhel/Peredhil – half-elf, half elven (sing./pl.)
melethen – my love
Mae govannen – Well met
híren – my lord
pen neth – young one
Taur-na-Fuin – Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
mellonen – my friend
Thranduilion – son of Thranduil
anor – the sun


Chapter 2


Haldir waited more or less patiently, a well-provisioned basket
sitting on the fountain wall at his side. The falling water
sparkled in the midmorning sun, and Haldir amused
himself by watching the hurried comings and goings of
seamstress, cook and maid alike. The whole of the woodland
realm was busy preparing for the elaborate celebration that
would begin at twilight.

The previous day’s festivities had provided little chance to
speak intimately with Legolas, but offered ample opportunity to
unobtrusively observe the second-born prince. An impromptu
weapons match between the visitors from Loríen and Imladris and
the Mirkwood guard proved him to be highly skilled with the bow
and promising with the traditional Silvan knives, as well as
graceful in both victory and defeat. And though Legolas was
perhaps less pleased with the pomp and ritual that accompanied
the formal dinner than with the camaraderie of the sparring
field, he had comported himself well, bearing the ribbing of
peers and the reminiscing of elders with good humor.

As Legolas bounded down the curving stairs into the
courtyard, Haldir added another note to his mental list of the
prince’s finer qualities. The youngling was more than passing
fair. Though he had not yet attained the solid bulk of a
seasoned warrior, Legolas was smoothly muscled, with the strong
arms and shoulders of a born archer. His sharply angled
cheekbones and sunlit hair marked him as Thranduil’s son to even
the least observant, and his eyes sparkled with the impish
streak gifted him by his mother.

The day looked promising, indeed.

Legolas caught sight of his mentor-to-be almost immediately, the
pale shimmer of Haldir’s hair as good as a beacon amid the reds
and golds of the wood-elves’ tresses. As the marchwarden stood
to greet him, he saw that the elegant drape of last night’s
formal grey tunic and breeches had been replaced by snug black
leather leggings and a thin green tunic with simple toggles.
**‘Easily removed’**, Legolas thought artlessly, then flushed
brightly at his own musings.

“Good morning, híren,” Haldir said, smiling in appreciation at
Legolas' well-worn leather leggings and rough woven ivory
tunic. There seemed to be little of the imperious royal in
Legolas, but Haldir had worried that anxiety might cause
the youngling to retreat into a regal shell. He could well have
taken refuge in formality, but the casual nature of his attire
put that concern to rest.

“Good morning,” Legolas returned, his cheeks burning hotter
under Haldir’s approving gaze.

“I should add my congratulations on your majority, as well,”
Haldir offered, reaching for the basket. “Though you likely
wish it all over and done with, hmm? I know I did, at the
time.”

“Aye,” Legolas replied with a sigh as they headed for the gates.
“Though the parties have been grand,” he added with youthful
honesty, “I could well do without the interest in my expected
bedding.” Suddenly abashed, the prince trailed off uncertainly.
“Forgive me, Haldir. I did not mean to...”

“Think nothing of it, pen neth,” the marchwarden interrupted
kindly. “It cannot be easy to have an entire realm watching
with bated breath.”

“It is not,” Legolas agreed. As Haldir started down the path
leading to the old tower clearing, the prince looked at him in
surprise. “You are quite familiar with the Wood, then?”

“Parts of it, aye,” Haldir answered. “My family has
roots in Taur-na-Fuin, many millennia past, before the darkening
began. Though the Greenwood was never my home, I remember when a
watchtower stood in the clearing.”

Legolas' eyes widened. “You knew Iauradar, then?”

“Aye, though not as well as I know your adar. Oropher was a
fine king and a fierce warrior, but he had strict notions of
propriety. He did not mix easily with commoners.”

Legolas snorted inelegantly. “So he was much like Anteruon.”

Haldir chuckled. “He was, indeed. Or rather, the crown prince
is much like Oropher. But I have no doubt that Thranduil will
curb him, given time. Your brother is yet young.”

They walked the winding trail in silence for a moment before
Legolas found courage to voice the question that plagued him
most. “How well *do* you know Ada, Haldir?” he asked, his
cheeks burning anew at his own audacity.

Haldir stopped at the edge of the clearing, turning to
meet his companion’s eyes. “Not *that* well,” he reassured 
the blushing prince with a grin, “but we have been friends 
for millennia.”

Relieved, Legolas followed Haldir into the sunny
clearing.

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

Legolas stretched with feline enjoyment, savoring both the heat
of the midday sun on his skin and the faint buzz of the sweet
berry wine in his veins. “I have always loved this place,” he
said lazily, falling back to lie on the soft grass that grew in
the clearing. “There is too little light in the Wood these
days.”

Haldir smiled, reaching to refill the prince’s glass. “The sun
is pleasant,” he agreed, pouring the last of the pale pink wine
into his own goblet before stretching out beside his companion.
There was a comfortable silence during which the marchwarden
observed Legolas through lowered lashes. They had talked much
over the past hours, touching on a myriad of subjects, and the
woodland prince seemed far more at ease, much of his earlier
reticence gone.

Indeed, it was the Legolas who had stripped off his tunic first,
exposing his sleekly muscled chest to the sun’s warmth with no
hesitation. While Haldir doubted the move was calculated –
warriors did, after all, spend a good deal of time with their
chests bared in training – he had been heartened by the implied
acceptance, and quickly followed suit.

Now his eyes trailed over the lithe form more intently,
acknowledging both the prince’s beauty and the first faint
stirrings of desire in his own belly. His gaze lingered on the
gold ring that glinted in Legolas’ right nipple. The youngling
was not untried in battle – an orc, the prince had said briefly,
as though the memory haunted him still. The first of several.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Haldir tossed back the last of
his wine and sat the glass down before closing his fingers
around his companion’s empty goblet. When Legolas started,
roused from near reverie by the gentle tug at his hand, the
marchwarden chuckled. “You had best put this away, ere you drop
it. Are you tired, pen neth?”

“Nay,” Legolas replied, setting his glass aside obediently. “Merely 
very comfortable.”

Haldir met the blue-green gaze searchingly. “Good,” he
whispered, leaning closer to brush his lips along the prince’s
jaw.

Legolas went still, his world narrowing to the soft flutter that
moved ever closer to his ear. A part of him had wondered, had
wanted it to happen here, in this place, with the sun and trees
to bear witness, rather than in a candlelit bedchamber behind
locked doors. Then a wet tongue curled around the tip of his
ear, sending a bolt of fire to his groin, and his anxiety rushed
back tenfold. He pulled away with a whimper, turning wide eyes
on his companion.

“Shhh,” Haldir soothed, stroking one flushed cheek gently before
capturing Legolas' mouth in an insistent kiss, his fingers
twining firmly in golden braids.

His mind spinning, Legolas felt adrift and helpless amid the
sensations flooding his body. He had kissed and been kissed
before, but those fumbling experiences faded away beside this
skilled plundering. Haldir’s tongue swept his lips, demanding
entrance, then explored his mouth languidly, wrestling wetly
with his own tongue, enticing it out to play. Sharp teeth
nipped and tugged gently at his lips until they tingled, then
the teeth were gone and his swollen lips were suckled tenderly
before the besetting mouth retreated, leaving him gasping.

Haldir met the prince’s confused gaze, smiling slightly at the
chaotic mix of anxiety and longing visible there. Lowering his
head to nuzzle the ivory throat, he murmured nonsensically, as
though he sought to soothe a frightened animal.

Legolas found himself inexplicably calmed by the soft rumble of
Haldir’s voice and turned his head instinctively, granting the
marchwarden free access to his neck. The gentle brush of lips
and tongue gave way to more aggressive suckling, then a sharp
nip, before the wandering mouth drew him into another heated
kiss.

Ending the kiss reluctantly, Haldir looked down into eyes gone
emerald dark. “I want you, ernilen,” he purred, pressing his burgeoning
erection pressing against Legolas' hip.

A shiver ran down Legolas’ spine at the obvious hunger in
Haldir’s face. He had imagined it differently, somehow, this
first yielding. What little information his brother would share
had hinted at cool explanations and carefully impersonal
touches. But the dilated hazel eyes that now raked his body
were neither cool nor impersonal.

It was not the considering stare of a teacher, but the devouring
gaze of a lover.

As though aware of the young elf’s thoughts, Haldir shook his
head slightly, one thumb tracing the sharp angle of the prince’s
cheekbone. “I will not harm you, pen neth,” he said, brushing
his mouth over the puffy lips, “but I will not pretend ‘tis only
duty which moves me. To do so would deny us both pleasure.”

Legolas raised a hand to Haldir’s face, touching one
cheek before hesitantly threading his fingers into the
mithril-pale hair. “Show me, then,” he whispered. “I will
trust you.”

Haldir inhaled sharply, the prince’s words erasing the last
vestiges of restraint. Shifting to lie atop the younger elf, he
caught Legolas’ mouth in a lingering kiss before beginning a
thorough exploration of the lithe body.

Legolas fought back a wave of panic as his leggings were peeled
slowly away, baring him to the predatory gaze, and then his body
was awash in sensations far more arresting. The soft leather of
Haldir’s leggings was smooth against his skin, a contrast to the
bow-callused fingers that mapped his muscles and the rough
tongue that followed. A hot mouth moved across his shoulder,
sharp teeth testing the muscles gently, before slipping lower to
lap and nip at his pebbled nipples. A gentle tug on the
piercing ring drew a harsh groan from his chest, a
sound unlike any he had ever made before, and he plunged both
hands into Haldir’s silken mane, trying to draw the
source of pleasure closer.

Haldir chuckled quietly, sliding up to press a light kiss to
Legolas’ lips before pulling away to quickly remove his own
leggings and place the oil vial within reach. Urging Legolas' legs 
apart he settled between the spread thighs, a hiss escaping his lips 
as their arousals slipped and slid together.

His eyes fluttering, Legolas arched up against Haldir, trembling
with the sharp jolts of pleasure that coursed through his body.
He moaned in disappointment when the hard warmth shifted, then
whimpered wordlessly as the hot mouth returned, sliding lower, a
wicked tongue jabbing playfully at his navel before the swirling
wetness descended to the tender skin at the base of his swollen
shaft.

A howl that was surely heard in the Halls shattered the
stillness as Haldir engulfed the hard column in one deft
movement, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein as he swallowed
repeatedly. Pulling away, lest he push the inexperienced youth
too far, Haldir moved lower still, licking the tight
sac fleetingly before turning his attention to the untried
entrance, circling the tight muscle with his tongue.

Legolas panted, tears of frustration welling in his eyes as the
delicious warmth left his straining arousal. Then he felt the
brush of lips and tongue below and shuddered violently, his body
tensing. After a moment he relaxed under the gentle swipes of
Haldir’s tongue, fear giving way once more to burning need as
the slick muscle pushed past the guarded entrance slightly,
stretching and wetting the tight ring.

Haldir pulled away and quickly slicked his hand with oil, then
moved to once more tease Legolas' weeping erection with his
mouth as he pushed a finger carefully into the tight passage.
Ignoring his own aching groin, he slowly added a second finger,
scissoring and twisting, and then a third, widening the way as
much as possible.

The unexpected burn was not quite wiped away by the warmth of
the skillful mouth, and Legolas shifted restlessly. Then there
was an aggressive twist and colors bloomed before his eyes as
pleasure the likes of which he had never known flooded his
senses, ripping a guttural groan from his chest and a litany of
pleading murmurs from his lips.

Haldir slid up the arching body, his own breathing ragged and
shallow with suppressed need. Pressing Legolas' knees up
and back, he settled into the cradle of the young elf’s hips,
his throbbing shaft brushing eagerly at the sweat-slick crease.
“Wrap your legs around me, ernilen,” Haldir rasped hoarsely.
Nipping sharply at one flushed ear, he whispered, “You are far too
inviting for your own good, I fear.”

Legolas obeyed, a flicker of fear cutting through the haze of
lust that surrounded him. Then his vision was blocked by a
curtain of silver and gold and Haldir’s mouth was on his,
surprisingly gentle, as a hardness that seemed impossibly large
nudged at his prepared entrance briefly before pushing through
with one determined thrust.

The searing burn brought tears to Legolas’ eyes and he whimpered
into the kiss, his body tensing against the pain. Haldir’s lips
brushed his eyelids, one had closing around the prince’s
flagging erection. “I am sorry, pen neth,” Haldir
murmured, stroking the slick flesh back to full hardness. “But
the worst is over. Look at me, Legolas.”

Opening his eyes, the woodland prince met Haldir’s darkened
gaze, heartened to find not scorn or impatience, but concern
flickering amid the swirling green, brown and gold.

Haldir struggled to remain motionless, waiting for the spasms of
entry to ease. “Relax, ernilen,” he crooned, dropping a
spattering of kisses on the furrowed brow. “Breathe slowly and
relax.” The near painful squeezing loosened as Legolas calmed,
and Haldir started moving in slow, shallow thrusts, increasing
the pace and force as the prince began to press up into the
rhythmic movements.

Legolas nearly sobbed with relief at the first wave of pleasure,
tightening his legs around his lover’s waist. As his muscles
accepted the intrusion fully he bucked up to meet each downward
stroke of Haldir’s hips, his inexperienced body trembling with a
rapidly building climax.

Haldir tightened his grip on his lover’s arousal,
stroking in counterpoint to the now erratic lunges of their
hips, then Legolas stiffened suddenly, spilling over the pumping
fist with a keening wail. Feeling the already snug channel
tighten warningly, Haldir slammed forward, burying himself fully
in the silken heat as strong muscles began to contract
violently. A moment later he was muffling a groan against
Legolas’ neck, his own seed flooding the limp body beneath him.

Afraid of crushing the younger elf, Haldir withdrew carefully
and rolled to one side, pulling the prince into a warm embrace.
Long minutes passed silently, broken only by the waning rasp of
their breathing and the soft brush of Haldir’s hand
over tousled golden hair.

At last Haldir roused himself, tipping Legolas' chin to
study his face. “Are you well, pen neth?” he asked, searching
the wide blue-green eyes intently.

“Aye,” Legolas replied, feeling a bit awkward in the aftermath
of this new experience. “I am.”

Forcing back a grin at the prince’s sudden attack of shyness,
Haldir pressed a soft kiss to one flushed cheek and sat up,
retrieving both pairs of leggings. Standing to slip into his
own, he offered Legolas a hand, grimacing sympathetically as the
prince rose slowly and carefully pulled on his leggings, wincing
as he raised each leg in turn.

“A good soak will do much to ease the pain, pen neth,” he said soothingly. 
“I daresay we can take your mind off the discomfort, at any rate.”

Legolas arched one golden eyebrow suspiciously. “We can?”

“We can,” Haldir affirmed with a grin, reaching over to pinch
the prince’s unpierced nipple teasingly. “I believe, ernilen,
that you and I have an appointment with a gold ring.”



--Elvish translations:

híren – my lord
pen neth – young one
Taur-na-Fuin – Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
Iauradar – grandfather
Ada, adar - Papa/Dad, father
ernilen – my prince


**Epilogue**


Legolas looked toward the door with some surprise, not quite
trusting his ears. Then he heard it again, soft but
unmistakable...someone was knocking quietly, the sound barely
audible over the splash of running water from the bath chamber.
Quickly slipping into his clean leggings, he moved toward the
door, still toweling his wet hair. “Aye? Who is there?” he
asked, one hand on the latch.

Normally the prince would have thrown open the door without
thought, but...

Thranduil heard the hesitation in his son’s voice. “’Tis Ada,”
he said, feeling strangely diffident. “Are you...*busy*, pen
neth?”

“Nay, not at all,” Legolas replied, slinging the towel around
his neck and smoothing his damp mane before sliding back the
bolt. “Come in, Ada.”

As the door swung open, Legolas’ eyes lit on the dark blue
bottle his father cradled carefully. “Miruvor!” he exclaimed,
breaking into a broad grin. “For me?”

“For *us*,” Thranduil corrected, his eyes twinkling. “If you
are inclined to share your good fortune. Elrond brought a case
as a majority day offering.”

“I suppose I can share *one* bottle, if I have been gifted with
twelve,” the prince conceded cheerfully, tossing away his towel
before reaching for the heavy decanter. “Come, sit down and I
will pour.”

Thranduil stood motionless, his hands still grasping the smooth
blue glass, his attention riveted on fading bruises and the
golden glint of *two* piercing rings.

“Ada? Are you...” Legolas began questioningly, then followed
the king’s stare to his own newly-adorned chest.

“Where is Haldir?” Thranduil blurted out without ceremony,
raising his eyes to his son’s face with surprising effort. The
blue-green gaze met his steadily, only the slightest blush
coloring the prince’s cheeks. **‘Innocence lost, indeed,’** Thranduil 
thought, surprised at the ache that settled in his own chest.

“He is bathing,” Legolas replied with a nod toward the inner
chamber door, which stood slightly ajar.

Taking the miruvor bottle from his father’s unresisting hands,
Legolas carried it to the table and pried out the stopper
before realizing that Thranduil had remained near the door.
“*Ada*,” he prodded, one golden eyebrow arching in surprise.
“Come, sit down.”

The king settled himself at the table a bit warily, his gaze
going repeatedly to the bathing chamber door. “Are you sure I
am not interrupting?” he queried, sipping at the fiery cordial.


“I am sure,” Legolas insisted, laying a hand on his father’s
arm. “I wanted to see you, also, Ada, before the formal
festivities begin.”

“Are you well, ionen?” Thranduil asked, looking the prince over
searchingly. “I do not want to pry, yet...”

“Aye, I am fine,” Legolas assured him soberly, before breaking
into a devilish grin. “But I have seldom been more grateful for
a well-padded chair.”

Thranduil stared dumbstruck at his formerly reticent son for a
long moment, then burst into laughter. “The experience has done
you no harm, it would seem, “ he chuckled, squeezing the
prince’s shoulder tightly.

The faint creak of the bathing chamber door signaled Haldir’s
presence, and both father and son turned toward the sound. The
marchwarden stood in the open door, a low-slung towel his only
covering. “Legolas? Will you bring my leggings, pen neth?”
Flashing a smile at Thranduil, he added, “’Tis poor etiquette to
appear before a king in naught but a towel.”

**‘Especially when you have just bedded his son,’** Thranduil
thought acidly, suppressing with difficulty an overwhelming – 
and admittedly unreasonable – urge to break Haldir’s jaw.

“I should be going, ionen,” Thranduil said, rising to his feet
as the marchwarden entered the room. “I assume Haldir will
accompany you to the pavilion?”

Legolas slipped an arm around Haldir, frowning at the
somewhat haughty tone of the question. He opened his mouth to
speak, but his retort was silenced by a comforting squeeze from
his companion.

“Only if it pleases you, híren,” Haldir answered in
Legolas’ stead, dipping his head respectfully before meeting the
king’s eyes.

Thranduil held the understanding gaze for a moment, then smiled
apologetically, ashamed of his own ire and soothed by the
obvious affection between his son and Haldir. “There is
no need for formality, mellonen,” he answered sincerely,
clasping Haldir’s arm. “If you can forgive a father’s folly, it
would please me greatly.”

As Thranduil left the chamber, Legolas turned to Haldir
uncertainly. “I hope this will not cause a rift between you. I
feared for your friendship, for a moment.”

Haldir pushed back a strand of golden hair, pressing a
reassuring kiss to Legolas' forehead. “And for a moment, I
feared for my neck,” he replied, eyes dancing. “It will be well,
ernilen. He worries for you, that is all. We will do him proud
at the feast.”

“And afterward?”

“*Afterward*?” Haldir teased, grinning at the rising color in
the prince’s cheeks. “Is that an offer, pen neth?”

"*That*, marchwarden, is a demand,” Legolas said, a brilliant
smile spreading across his face.

“As I believe we have unfinished business.”


                            
                                   *~*~*~*~*~




--Elvish Translations:

Ada – Papa, Dad
pen neth – young one
ionen – my son
ernilen – my prince