Title: Double Sin: the Sins of Legolas
Author: Squirrelchaser (Squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: Slash, incest, character death, mpreg, rated R
Summary: This story is set BEFORE the events of Elladan and Elrohir’s 
bonding in The Double Sin, but it can stand alone. It begins in the year 
3019 of the Third Age, where the Mirkwood elves have been keep Gollum 
for Gandalf and Aragorn for the past two years. Legolas is well past 
coming of age. 
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns characters, and if he knew what I was doing to 
his things he’d cry very, very hard.
AN: In Morgoth’s Ring, Tolkien states that the Eldar are able to tell when 
elves are bound (marriage=sex) by looking into their eyes, and that 
marriage was celebrated with a feast and a formal exchange of rings, but 
was not recognized until bodily union was achieved. This story follows the 
time line given in the book. In The Hobbit, Thranduil’s magic protected 
his people of the wood from danger.The bond that Legolas is mistaken for 
(after his marriage) is based on the idea that an individual could swear an 
oath of protection and duty to a family, forsake married life (made up for 
the sake of the story).

~Thank you to Antoinette and Bambi Rae for their invaluable beta 
reading~

The Double Sin: the Sins of Legolas
      The script was elegant, the product of many years of careful 
honing and skill. Black ink flowed over stark white paper, telling a story 
of love, lust, and sin. The cover was smooth black leather innocent 
looking enough from its resting place on the small table, but Enreilan 
caught up the small, leather bound volume and strode over to the fireplace. 
With a feeling of immense satisfaction the elf bent forward at the waist 
and threw the journal into the flames, watching the pages curl and turn 
black as fire reduced the volume to ash. 
      ~*~
      Night had fallen, the fire side illuminating the elf that was 
stretched out in one of his vast chambers in fortress of Northern 
Mirkwood. Orange fire light danced over eyes that were lost in elvish 
sleep, sleep that had turned into dreams filled with desire. Golden hair 
pooled luxuriously on the green embroidered satin as the head of the elf it 
belonged to tilted up and back, chin rising to the ceiling as the strong lithe 
spine arched slightly. Slightly parted lips whispered softly in sleep, 
uttering a name that was forbidden in sexual fantasy.
      A sharp knock on the door made the figure jerk awake.
      “Y-yes?”
      “He is waiting.”
      “Thank you.” The golden head shook back and forth slightly, 
closing his eyes and breathing deeply as he willed control over his body. 
*Stop. He is not yours to have.*
      
      “Must I Adar [father]…must I?” Agile slender legs folded 
themselves in half as Legolas clasped his arms around them and propped 
his chin on his knees. He pursed his mouth and looked pleadingly up at his 
Adar, who lounged opposite him. “It is not so urgent is it? I am not so far 
past my majority.”
      Thranduil could not bring himself to meet his son’s open gaze. 
Instead he peered into the dregs of his wine chalice, swirling the contents 
around and around before lifting the cup to deliver the last of the wine to 
his mouth. He sighed. “I think it only appropriate, if not customary. I 
merely think it is time for you to…approach the matter at hand. Your 
Naneth [mother] was half your age when we were betrothed.” The elven 
king smiled briefly to himself.
      This made Legolas protest again. “But you were more than three 
times Naneth’s age!”
      “Those were troubled times. The battle on the slopes of Mount 
Orodruin was no small feat Legolas.” As the memories of those battles 
Thranduil paused and looked slightly angry but continued in a regular 
tone. “Marriage and subsequently children were the last things on my 
mind, and the last thing that would have been wise when Sauron 
threatened the peace of Middle Earth. The Watchful Peace has lasted quite 
some time. Long enough to nearly forget….many things.” His face 
softened. “Long enough for the mind to wander to…other things,” 
Thranduil’s voice trailed off, long fingers alighting on his lips as if he did 
not wish the other to hear his fading words.
      There was a brief silence before the elf king shifted slightly and 
continued in a regular voice. “I have taken the liberty of discussing the 
prospect of a matching with Alindel’s niece, Delumeleth. She arrived from 
her home in Lorien this afternoon.”
      Legolas’ mouth twitched and his brow furrowed slightly. Courting, 
the new task his Adar set before him was not something he was interested 
in at present. “Alindel’s niece,” he said softly, at loss for other words as he 
struggled to swallow his discontent. “I remember her well from our youth. 
And I do wish to please you Adar,” Legolas murmured. “But-“
      “Just tomorrow. Nothing need be pursued if you do not care for her 
company,” he said quickly. “I know you my Greenleaf; I think you will 
find you are compatible at least as a friend to her now that you are both 
well of age.” Thranduil swallowed and looked slightly uncomfortable. “I 
thought…Well, elves have been known to pick their mates from an early 
age, when they played together as children.”
      Inwardly Legolas winced, feeling something settling around his 
heart. Intuition was whispering a foreboding message in his ear.
      There was a clink followed by a soft rustle of robes as Thranduil 
set down his chalice beside a slender black volume and rose from seat. 
The elf king crossed the short space between himself and Legolas in two 
strides and knelt before the lounging chair his son was curled up in. Gently 
he caressed the fair face with one hand, smoothing his thumb over 
Legolas’ cheekbone which was thrown into sharp relief by the fire light 
from the hearth. Thranduil’s eyes grew slightly distant.
      “You look so much like your Naneth,” he said quietly, half to 
himself.
      Legolas gave a half smile. 
      Grief had nearly crippled Thranduil when his wife’s Feä departed 
into shadow shortly after giving birth to his youngest son Enreilan. 
Legolas had just come of age and at first the elf king was left wondering 
how he would succeed in raising an infant elf on his own. Thranduil 
recalled with pride how his eldest son had risen to the occasion, taking to 
Enreilan with unmatched delight and caring for his younger brother as any 
Naneth would. Now, Thranduil reflected, Enreilan himself had just come 
of age and though it had been a long time since he had been dependent on 
his older brother, deep affection between the two lingered. 
      *He would not be half so fine without Legolas. I could not have 
done it alone.* The elf king withdrew his hand from his eldest son’s face, 
instead taking one slender hand in his own and squeezed it gently.
      “I will try, if you think it best.”
      “I do, my Greenleaf.” His face softened. “Of other matters: how 
fared your watch?”
      With the slightest trace of a grimace Legolas recalled, “The 
creature Gollum has not been so troublesome since we have allowed him 
the freedom to roam the lone tree that stands in the glen. It makes light his 
heart even for the briefest of time, which in turn makes his care an easier 
burden.”
      “I am glad.”
      “It is late, and so I will take my leave Adar,” Legolas embraced his 
Adar for several seconds before bidding him good night.
      Thranduil watched the elf’s retreat, noting the flickering light 
dancing off the pale golden cascade of hair that spilled down Legolas’ 
back. *Goodnight, my Greenleaf.*
      
      The wind rustled the canopy of the forest of Mirkwood, 
complimenting the song that sprung from the lips of Legolas. The elf leapt 
from branch to branch as nimbly as any squirrel, half listening to the 
whispers of the trees that murmured of the approach of autumn. Pausing in 
song Legolas crouched low on a branch and skimmed the forest floor that 
stretched beneath the shelter of the trees.
      “Mithlilien,” he called first softly, then louder. “Mithlilien!”
      The wind carried no sound of an answering whinny of a distressed 
and by now very lost colt. The frisky animal had broken loose that 
morning and wandered into the forest, and Legolas had taken it upon 
himself to retrieve the baby horse.
       “Sing to me forest, and lead me to this little one,” he murmured to 
trees which were sharply silhouetted against starlit sky. “Lead me to him 
quickly,”
      The sun had long been set but dark was not what troubled the elf. It 
was the spiders that he knew would emerge from the gloominess as 
suddenly and silently as any phantom, and vanish any prey without a trace.
      In a slightly nervous gesture Legolas brushed his fingertips across 
the handle of the long knife that he carried at his side as if to reassure 
himself of its presence. *Ai! Elbereth, let the little one come to no harm.* 
Closing his eyes and leaning into the trunk of a tall beech tree Legolas let 
his prayer sail heavenward. Reaching behind him he extracted his bow 
from the quiver slung across his back and bow in hand continued his travel 
through the tree tops.
      Intuition from the trees led him slightly north east from his current 
track. Legolas had not missed the clouds that hid the stars to the south. It 
had been a long time since starlight had touched the trees of Southern 
Mirkwood and instinct told him no wholesome animal would willingly 
wander into that region.
      The mountain forest of his elven king was far behind him when the 
first shrill cry of the lost colt reached his sharp ears.
      Notching one arrow to his bow incase of trouble Legolas bolted 
silently through the tree tops, homing in on the sounds of struggle 
somewhere ahead in the darkness. As he drew nearer the sounds of at least 
one Mirkwood spider was added to the noise of the horse’s struggle, 
confirming the elf’s fears.
      The gangly grey colt was snarled in a mass of brambly 
undergrowth and was tangling himself further in his effort to escape. Not 
far away a massive spider hissed and clicked sinisterly in the darkness as it 
watched the animal’s struggle, waiting for him to tire to make capture 
easy.
      Like all Mirkwood elves Legolas had no pity for the spiders that 
dwelled in the forest, and at the sight of one threatening a helpless young 
being his normally tranquil spirit was infuriated. Giving away his presence 
and position Legolas let out a softy angry snarl and the spider looked 
toward the elf just as Legolas drew back on his bowstring. The bow let out 
a twang that pierced the darkness as an arrow sunk directly through the 
center of the beast’s head.
      The spider hit the forest floor with dead thunk, falling to its side 
and twitching.
      Lips pursed in a firm line Legolas sprung from the tree as he let 
another arrow fly, drawing his long knife as he drew abreast of the beast.
      The spider finally lay still, clearly dead as Legolas turned it over 
with a heave of his foot.
      With yet another arrow set to his bowstring the elf turned in a slow 
circle, senses keened for the arrival of more spiders, but the forest 
remained dark and still. Satisfied Legolas turned his attention to the colt 
that had gone silent and motionless, though he still rolled the whites of his 
eyes.
      “Mithlilien,” he murmured, kneeling at the animal’s head and 
stroking the velvety ears. “Lay still,”
      At the sound of a familiar voice and the feeling of a familiar touch 
Mithlilien relaxed slightly, lifting his small head to watch the elf.
      Using a small dagger from his quiver Legolas quickly slashed 
through the prickly undergrowth, then gently began to disentangle the 
colt’s spindly and bleeding legs. “Quite an adventure for you, young one,” 
he turned his head slightly and smiled at the horse, who whickered in 
reply. “Ai, your poor legs,” Legolas ran his fingers down the length, 
checking for signs of swelling. “Though it is nothing that shall not heal, 
given time.” Finding no injuries other than the numerous superficial 
scratches and a bad fright he patted Mithlilien’s flank, kindly chiding, 
“And with time will come wisdom.”
      With the elf’s help the baby horse got to his feet, but looked 
dubiously at Legolas when he placed on hand on his withers to start off 
into the darkness toward home.
      *Oh no we don’t,* the horse seemed to say as he began to tremble. 
*You don’t know what lurks out there, and I remember those spiders.*
      Legolas patted the stubbly mane. “Come and walk with me 
Mithlilien and I shall sing to you; there is nothing to fear.”
      The first few notes did little to encourage or reassure the horse, but 
after a gentle nudge from Legolas Mithlilien reluctantly started off toward 
home.
      The horse and the elf came to a small clearing lit with the light of 
Eärendil, and Legolas stopped his song to look up at the starlit sky. He 
closed his eyes, listening to the nocturnal whispers of the trees and was 
reminded of the coming of the changing of the leaves. “Delumeleth is to 
arrive tomorrow,” he murmured, half to himself and began to walk again.
      Mithlilien whickered, tugging on Legolas’ sleeve as he always did 
when he was anticipating a treat.
      “Yes,” the elf smiled. “That probably means apples and carrots for 
you, but for me it also means the coming of Alindel’s niece.” He sighed. 
“I would do much to please my Adar, but what is too much? I know where 
my heart lies, and it is not with...” 
      The trees rustled in the cool night air that carried the voice of 
Legolas off into the distance, the words and unspoken thought fading off 
into the darkness.
      “Perhaps I should marry this niece of the advisor, and pass on to 
the Halls of Mandos where I could be at rest. Or would that be too selfish 
of me, and asking too much of her?”
      The colt glanced at him, apparently asking with liquid dark eyes, 
*Why do you, an elf, ask wisdom out of a horse?*
      *Wisdom or not you make an ideal confident!* Legolas smiled 
ruefully at himself.
      
      Golden sunlight illuminated the clearing in the forest that bustled 
with elves and elven song. The feasting was over with and Legolas and 
Enreilan had taken refuge in the lower limbs of a large oak tree at the edge 
of the clearing to watch the throng of dancers.
      Well fed and content, Enreilan leaned against the broad trunk, 
looking first out over the merry making and then back at his brother. He 
had just filled Legolas’ ear with stories and song and had mourned the end 
of summer when he finally ceased his one sided conversation to ask the 
other a question. “Silent, and no appetite on such a day as this?” Enreilan 
nudged Legolas, who was squirming restlessly atop his perch, with his 
foot. “That would not have anything to do with the fact that you were 
directly across from Delumeleth at table?”
      “It has everything to do with the fact that I was sitting across from 
Delumeleth at table,” Legolas replied in a quiet and flat voice.
      When he did not continue with an explanation Enreilan nudged 
him again. “You look as if you must walk to Mount Doom with the weight 
of all Middle Earth on you shoulders.” The elf looked across the clearing 
to where Delumeleth was engaged in conversation with Anwadil, her 
cousin and Legolas’ friend from childhood. “Her eyes rest upon you often, 
brother.” 
      Legolas turned to look at his brother with a half smile. “You really 
do not know why she is here, do you?”
      Enreilan stared at him blankly.
      Looking back out over the group of dancers Legolas’ half smile 
turned into a mild grimace. “Adar is looking to make a match for me. I 
shall entertain the idea for my love of him, but in my heart I know it is not 
my time. Or if it will ever be my time.”
      “Surely Adar will not compel you to an arrangement that is not 
agreeable to you!”
      “Surely not. He wants me – both of us – to be happy. I presume he 
thinks I am of age. And she is a good friend to me but…”
      Raking a hand through his loose, deep gold hair, Enreilan opened 
his mouth but was interrupted by a voice at the foot of a tree.
      “I do not know, Delumeleth…I think,” Anwadil said loudly, 
looking up to the branch that held the two elves and grinning, “He is 
around here somewhere. Come down, Legolas. I have not seen you since 
the last hunt.”
      Reluctantly Legolas descended from his perch, followed by 
Enreilan.
      Anwadil and Delumeleth led away from the festivities deeper into 
the forest, giggling like children as they raced ahead.
      Dutifully following the chestnut heads that bobbed before them 
Enreilan reached back and caught Legolas by the wrist. “You are falling 
behind,” the younger elf reprimanded. “Pick up you pace! You have been 
much too tranquil and melancholy of late.”
      Travel was quick and tireless over the carpet of dead leaves, and at 
length Anwadil and Delumeleth stopped in a clearing. The two stood side 
by side, grinning and watching as Enreilan and Legolas came after them. 
“Do you remember, Legolas?” Delumeleth said eagerly watching Legolas’ 
face as the fair elf stopped at the edge of the trees and looked slowly 
around at the forest clearing.
      “Remember what?” Enreilan interjected, looking at his brother.
      A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Legolas’ slender lipped 
mouth, his dejection beginning to fall away as childhood memories came 
flooding back. “I have not seen this place in over fifty years. So many 
memories of the three of us…our ‘secret’ getaway,” his voice trailed off 
and his eyes twinkled.
      “I discovered it,” Anwadil turned and shimmied up a large oak 
tree. “Though of course we found out much later that our parents knew all 
long where we were. Indeed it was no secret. This was my tree,” he 
recalled, looking up at the canopy and patting the trunk fondly.
      Delumeleth hitched up her skirts and gingerly made her way to the 
lowest limb of a neighboring oak. “And mine. Legolas, you recall do you 
not?”
      Legolas gave a half smile. “Of course,” he ran lightly to a graceful 
beech opposite the twin oaks. Looking up he jumped and easily caught the 
first branch, swinging his legs over and sitting on the limb. “This was my 
tree,” he called to Enreilan.
      “We would spend all day here,” Anwadil reminisced as he scaled 
higher into his tree and vanished into the leaves. “Saelbeth would come 
with us, before he got too old. But he is away at present.” There was a 
slight rustle as Anwadil pranced out on a limb and poked his head out of 
the leaves. “Iavas [late summer] is still upon us…” he let his voice trail off 
into a childish grin.
      “The black berries,” Delumeleth exclaimed suddenly, alighting 
from her branch.
      “I remember,” Legolas soundlessly leapt to the ground. “It was this 
way; my stomach remembers that very well even if my head has 
forgotten.” He turned and ran deeper into the forest, gesturing to Enreilan 
who took after him with Delumeleth behind him.
      Anwadil quickly scrambled out of his tree to follow the other three 
elves, dragging one careless hand through hair that had long since lost its 
braids.
      “They are still here, pristine and as ready for harvesting as they 
were fifty years ago!” Laughed Legolas, finding the brambly canes laden 
with the dark seedy jewels. Kneeling, he plucked a berry and popped it 
into his mouth. “They are sweet!” he announced as the others caught up 
and knelt beside him.
      The black berry thicket was generous in its bounty, and the elves 
ate and laughed as merrily as they had fifty years ago. Soft rays of sunlight 
filtered down through the canopy, warming the sweet smells of the forest.
      “How beautiful it is, and quiet away from the huts and the houses 
of Mirkwood,” Enreilan sighed. He looked across to Legolas who was 
enticing a dainty blue bird with a berry, and watched as the little bundle of 
feathers accepted the fruit into her beak and flew away. *His eyes are 
distant,* Enreilan thought. *But this is the happiest I have seen him since 
the last few weeks.* His thoughts were interrupted as Delumeleth’s voice 
brought him back to the present.
      “Many, many times were we scolded for ruining our appetites 
when we returned from our woodland adventures with purple mouths and 
fingers,” Delumeleth said to Enreilan, eyes sparkling. “And you,” she 
poked Legolas in the side, “Would somehow manage to streak bits of your 
hair in black berry juice.”
      “It was from this,” Anwadil put in, imitating Legolas’ gesture of 
flipping his hair back behind his ears.
      “Fortunately I do not do that anymore.”
      Licking her fingers, Delumeleth leaned forward to see past 
Legolas. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she gave her cousin a reproachful 
look. “Your hair is a wreck, though that is hardly a deviation from its 
normal state.” 
      Anwadil scowled, but was unable to reply for his full mouth.
      Rising and shaking her skirts in maternal fashion Delumeleth 
moved to stand behind Anwadil, who was bending after an elusive black 
berry.
      “Ouch!”
      “Was it a thorn?”
      “No! Ouch! It is worse…a Delumeleth! Spare me dear cousin!”
      Delumeleth had taken on the task of combing through Anwadil’s 
thick dark hair with her fingers and was hitting a great deal of snarls.
      “Oh,” cried Anwadil in exasperation as the elf’s fingers 
encountered a particularly painful knot, “Just leave it be! I would have it 
loose across my shoulders.”
      “Why not up in braids, as it is more practical when you are running 
through the woods?” Delumeleth moved to gather his hair in a braid.
      “I will have it as you do, with no braids,” Anwadil squirmed away 
from Delumeleth’s grasp who sighed in resignation.
      “Come,” Delumeleth stood and gestured to the others. “We best be 
getting back anyway.”
      
      Alindel stood leaning against the great table with a wine flute in 
one hand, content to watch the festivities. His eyes fell on Legolas who 
was taking up more than his fair share of a bench, one leg propped up and 
bent at the knee to support his golden head. As Alindel watched the young 
elf was seemingly unaware of the dancing flurry that was taking place 
around him; his eyes were strangely glazed and dreamy and a small smile 
fluttered about his lips. The advisor followed Legolas’ gaze across the 
glen where Enreilan and Delumeleth flanked either side of Thranduil, who 
was nestled into his great chair.
      Perhaps feeling eyes on him Thranduil looked past Delumeleth 
who was talking animatedly in his ear and caught Alindel’s gaze.
      Yes, the advisor smiled as he raised his glass in a surreptitious 
acknowledgment, nodding his head at Legolas and raising his eyebrows 
for Thranduil’s approval. *The match was a good one. Perhaps Thranduil 
was right in wanting to marry Legolas within the next year.*
      
      Black pupils set in blue irises dilated as they fixed on their object 
of affection, on the other side of the swirling dancers. The tip of a 
glistening tongue darted out briefly across pink lips which pursed 
momentarily before relaxing into the slightest gasp for breath. The wind 
fluttered soft strands of golden hair across the high cheek bones to cling to 
the moistened lips but the owner took no notice. One long hand shifted to 
his chest, as if to hide the pounding heart beneath it, when a touch on his 
shoulder took his attention away from the figure across the clearing.
      
      The sun had long set as Anwadil and Legolas lounged inside a 
paddock bathed in moonlight, the festivities still at large in the background 
faded to a distant glow. Anwadil leaned back on the fence railing, only his 
crown and long, loose hair spilling over edge visible to any that happened 
to walk by. Legolas stood across from his friend but facing Mithlilien, 
who was beseeching his new found elf for more treats.
      “No, no, no,” Legolas pushed away the soft nose and the colt 
flared his nostrils indignantly. “I have no more for you to eat!”
      The colt looked at him reproachfully.
      “You have consumed them all,” the elf informed the horse as he 
held out empty hands as evidence, before turning to look at Anwadil. 
“You look at me strangely,” Legolas cocked his head, countenance 
changing to pensive. “You look at me as one who knows something I do 
not, and you are saddened.”
      Anwadil smiled, head still resting against the fence. “Ai, my 
friend. There is a burden on your heart of late. Enreilan and your Adar 
have noticed it as well.”
      Legolas sat down in the fragrant grass directly across from his 
friend as a miffed Mithlilen wandered off, disinterested. Leaning forward 
the elf said earnestly in a low voice, “Please speak of it not. It shall 
become worse before it is better, and presently it shall be gone.”
      “There is no way I can help you bear this burden?”
      “There is not.” Legolas put up his hand to cover Anwadil’s mouth 
as it opened to protest. “Hush,” he said gently. “Stop. I am sorry.” The 
knowledge that his trouble was known to his brother, father and friend 
weighed even more on his already heavy heart. “I do not wish to burden 
your heart as well.”
      “But that is what I am here for.”
      Legolas did not answer. The friends sat in silence until at length 
Legolas stood stretching his long legs and bid goodnight. “Are you not 
going home?” he inquired when Anwadil did not move.
      “The whispers of the trees in the night are my favorite, so I shall 
linger a little longer,” Anwadil closed his eyes and smiled happily. “You 
are disinclined to share it with me?”
      *No longer do I find joy in the songs of the trees,* Legolas sighed 
inwardly to himself but was hesitant to let this fact be known. “Not 
tonight, my friend.” 
      Cool night air pressed in around him as he pushed open the 
paddock gate, a small feeling of loss adding to the knot in his chest. The 
night lullabies of the trees had always been his favorite. Legolas and 
Anwadil, sometimes accompanied by Enreilan, often spent nights cradled 
in the branches of the beeches that sprung up from the mountainside. But 
now the thought of that was simply unappealing; Legolas found he would 
much rather spend his nights alone. 
      Striding across the bridge that spanned the river to the great front 
doors of the mountain fortress Legolas heard a second pair of foot steps 
and a voice calling after him. Turing he saw Alindel running lightly up to 
him.
      “Ai, Legolas, you must have been walking deep in your own 
thoughts, for I have been calling after you since you left the paddock.” 
Taking him genially by the arm Alindel led the way through the stone 
doors into the hall. By nature Alindel was never one to hint at whatever it 
was he wanted to say, thus cutting directly to the topic most prevalent on 
his mind: “How do you find my niece’s company?”
      Slightly startled out of his thoughts (which did not include 
Delumeleth) Legolas quickly regained his composure and replied 
courteously, “I find her as pleasant and amiable as she was fifty years 
ago,”
      “You have been spending a great deal of time with her,” the 
advisor said, smiled broadly at the golden haired elf.
      “…Yes.”
      “It has been several months since her arrival.”
      “…Yes.”
      “Delumeleth has become very taken with you in the past few 
weeks. Her parents are hoping to find her a good husband; a kind being. 
When they brought up the idea of marriage in passing she immediately 
thought of you.”
      The knot that was Legolas’ heart tightened painfully. “I did not 
know that. This was Delumeleth’s arrangement?”
      “In conjunction with both of your parents.” Alindel patted Legolas 
on the arm indulgently. “It is not like my character to push or fly to 
conclusions but would it be too soon to assume there is an intimate 
connection between the two of you to consider a betrothal? Your Adar is 
most anxious you know, and to be frank, Delumeleth nearly has her heart 
set on it.”
      “Is he?” A heavy weight seemed to settle around his heart but 
Legolas smiled at Alindel. “I mean, is she? I mean…yes,” the elf heard 
himself saying. “Well…I…we are good friends.”
      “Which is often the very basis of the best matches!” The other elf 
smiled warmly, clasping Legolas in a brief hug before pulling back at 
arms length. “I am very happy for the both of you.” Alindel turned on his 
heel and disappeared down a hall.
      Legolas stood dumbfounded for a moment. Every instinct told him 
to run after the elf and ask if this meant that he was betrothed, but 
suddenly he found he did not care. Something unknown whispered to his 
heart, telling him that there was an underlying need had set him with this 
niece of his Adar’s friend.
      Slowly, defeated, Legolas turned to seek the welcome solace of his 
chamber.
      
      Alindel made his way down the twisty passages of the mountain, 
toward Thranduil’s chambers. The advisor and friend of the elven king 
were curious as to why he was not enjoying the festivities that were taking 
place under the trees of Mirkwood. *It is not like him to miss the 
Dorwinion. And he is in dire need of it for he has been very irritable of 
late,* Alindel thought to himself as he drew abreast of the door to 
Thranduil’s quarters.
      He had just raised his hand to rap on the wooden panel when there 
came a soft moan from within. Pushing open the door Alindel found 
Thranduil sprawled out in a lounge before the fireplace, asleep. Gently the 
elf shook his king’s shoulder.
      Thranduil had been sleeping lightly and started at his advisor’s 
touch. “Oh, it is you,” he mumbled, blinking owlishly. “Ai,” he sighed, 
rubbing his blue eyes as he sat up slowly.
      “There is much merriment taking place among your people 
outside,” Alindel sat down next to his friend. “I was troubled by your 
absence.”
      “Mmm. You need not be.” Thranduil stood and stretched slowly.
      “If you do not mind my saying so, you have not been yourself of 
late. Even you son has noticed.”
      Arching one dark eyebrow Thranduil questioned mildly, 
“Legolas?”
      “Enreilan.”
      “Mmm.” The elven king pinched the bridge of his nose with his 
forefinger and thumb. “I have had dark dreams of late and all that lies to 
the south troubles me greatly. Trouble stirs. And my Greenleaf…”
      Alindel grinned and poked Thranduil in the ribs. “You have never 
taken well to change my friend. Tis a good match; both of them seem 
more than minimally compatible. Both have sweet temperaments. Had you 
been set to match your Enreilan to Delumeleth we might not be looking at 
a betrothal feast at all.”
      “Mmm.” Thranduil said again. “You have spoken to him then?”
      “I have. He was talking to Delumeleth rather intimately in the 
moonlight before I caught up to him. Had I not seen them together and 
was it not for the fact that Legolas is nearly always reserved when 
showing his emotions I would not have thought there was a strong enough 
attraction.”
      Face hidden as he rubbed his hair line with both hands Thranduil 
murmured, “Then there is mutual consent to a betrothal then?”
      “Yes, I believe so.”
      “Very well then. We shall have to see to a ceremony then.”
      
      The leaves of Mirkwood were nearly finished shedding their 
brilliant autumn colors in favor for the starkness of winter when 
Delumeleth decided to return home. Her departure would be relatively 
brief as there were plans for her to return in Euthil [end of spring] or Laer 
[early summer].
      Although he loved held her close as a dear friend the exit was a 
relief for Legolas. The elf wished for nothing more than to forget the 
impending marriage, and as long as Delumeleth was present he was unable 
to do so. But as the party rode down the path and were obscured by trees, 
Legolas felt his heart grow lighter than it had felt in months.
      While Delumeleth had been around Legolas had felt himself begin 
to fade, though he took great pains to hide this fact from as many as he 
could. He made it a point to avoid his Adar, who knew his eldest son as 
well as he knew himself and would perceive this alteration right away. 
Anwadil and Enreilan, noticing their friend and brother growing listless, 
pale, and despondent by the day, confronted him at different times. 
      Legolas refused an explanation to both. 
      Anwadil stopped his interrogation at once when Legolas began to 
tremble in agitation after the second no. He understood that emotions and 
hearts are fragile things and cannot be forced into detection. 
      Enreilan, however, was not so docile and more persistent.
      One early morning Legolas lay in the sweet smelling grasses, 
upper half cushioned against the warmth of Mithlilien’s flank that lay in 
the dewy grass with him. Since the rapidly growing colt’s venture into the 
perils of Mirkwood it had been established that Mithlilien was an excellent 
confident, and with his heavy heart Legolas put this to great use.
      “We are to be married in the spring,” Legolas sighed and the colt 
whickered. “And I know you like her for she feeds you more than you 
should ever eat. Delumeleth is happy, as is Alindel and Adar. It is enough 
to make any person happy, but not me. I am fading, Mithlilien,” Legolas 
said simply. “I can feel it more and more since the day of our betrothal. 
My heart is in two for whom I desire above all else is not to be had. Now I 
long for nothing more than to rest in the Halls of Mandos.”
      The baby horse was silent, simply craning his neck around to 
nuzzle the hand resting on his chest in a gesture of comfort. *You are so 
dramatic, but I will miss my elf,* the limpid eyes seemed to say.
      “I will miss you all…” Legolas stroked the nose with his 
fingertips.
      “Will you not miss me?” Came a soft voice from behind.
      Legolas gave a great start, not knowing what to say as Enreilan 
wordlessly sank into the grass beside him and leaning against the side of 
the horse.
      Pressing his trembling lips together and refusing to lift his head to 
meet his brother’s eyes Enreilian stepped out of the shadows.
      But when Enreilan did not immediately demand an explanation 
Legolas lay back on Mithlilien once again, eyes set upon the stars. He was 
surprised. He had expected Enreilan to cut directly to the heart of the 
matter but there came only the deep, even breathing of Mithlilien. To fill 
the silence he lifted his face to the sky, and began to sing.
      As the last of the song faded into the night sky and Enreilan 
reached over to squeeze his brother’s hand. “You are cold to the touch,” 
he exclaimed softly, rolling partially onto his side and looking into 
Legolas’ face for the first time. Enreilan’s expression went from surprise 
to slow recognition to sorrowful as he looked into his brother’s eyes, in 
which was written his wish. “You really are passing to the Halls then,”
      “It is what I want. It is what is best, in these circumstances.” 
Legolas returned the hand squeeze, and dropped a gentle kiss on 
Enreilan’s forehead as he had done so many times when Enreilan was 
younger.
      “Delumeleth? Like we have said before, surely if Adar will not 
force you into a marriage!”
      As if he was tired, Legolas leaned his head back and closed his 
eyes. “She will not be altered from the path she desires, nor will Adar. If I 
were to not wed her then it would just be someone else for the both of us. I 
have consented to this. There is nothing more to that.”
      Enreilan digested this information slowly, and said with a bit of 
awe, “I knew elves could die of a broken heart but it has not occurred for 
many, many years among the woodland realm.”
      “It is part of life.”
      “It is?”
      “Dying, I mean. It is not the end, truly. You will see me again 
when you pass on, even if you remain for millennia more to come. We 
will meet again in the Halls of Mandos.”
      “Who is it?”
      Giving a start as if coming out of a trance Legolas asked: “What? 
Who?”
      “The person who so broke your heart.”
      “Oh.” Legolas licked his lips and twiddled the fingers of the hand 
that lay on his chest.
      “Is she married to another?” Enreilan persisted when Legolas 
continued to twiddle and did not answer. “You do not share your 
pain…tell me or I shall beat it out of you with the flat of my blade!”
      *That is more like the Enreilan I know.* Opening his eyes and 
turning his face toward his brother Legolas placed one hand on his 
shoulder and said with great earnestness, “Can I take you into my 
confidence?”
      “Of course!” Enreilan exclaimed slightly indignantly and with 
growing impatience. “You have always done so!”
      Satisfied Legolas leaned back on Mithlilien. “He…Him…Do you 
understand?” He closed his eyes and held his breath, stomach in a knot. 
*You disgust me,* Legolas could almost hear Enreilan saying. *It is 
unnatural! It is forbidden!! You are no brother of mine.*
      But the blow never came. Enreilan let out a soft gasp, but to 
Legolas’ relief did not recoil or show any signs of revulsion. Legolas 
opened his eyes slowly. “So that is why it is best that I do not stay. There 
is healing in the Halls. While I was not betrothed there dwelled a foolish 
false hope, feeding my fantasy and hunger for a union that cannot be. Now 
that I am promised to another I know that it is not true.”
      Finally, after making a series of soft squeaking noises, his brother 
found his tongue and out came disbelief. “Surely there is another way! 
You can change! You can just…fall out of love with…” Enreilan seemed 
to be searching desperately for a word. “With…him.” He finished. “It is 
not real, real love!”
      “Yes it is.”
      Jumping up Enreilan insisted, “But there cannot be such love 
between two males! It is not possible!”
      “It is possible,” Legolas said quietly.
      “I do not comprehend…”
      “Nor do I.”
      For a long moment Enreilan stared at Legolas hard, eyebrows 
down and eyes narrowed, expression frozen in skepticism. “I do not 
believe you,” he said simply, stalking away.
      Legolas watched him go, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. He 
lay back against the grey horse behind him with every intention of 
allowing his mind to wander to other, more pleasant things than scorn, 
when Anwadil roused him.
      “I am to take this Gollum out for his climb, and would not be 
adverse to company,” the elf smiled down at him, holding out a hand and 
heaving the blond elf off the ground. “Enreilan has apparently fallen into a 
sullen mood and has refused,”
      Glad to take his mind off of his own troubles Legolas helped 
Anwadil lead the wretched creature from his keep in the dungeons and out 
to the glen to where he was allotted his daily climb on the lone tree. 
Standing at guard at the base of the tree and watching the gangly, foul 
being clamber into the branches Legolas felt a stirring of pity. *It is 
strange to empathize with such a pathetic thing, but we both know what it 
is to be in a cage, gilded mine maybe.* He sighed. *But for me there is an 
escape sadly there is no such reprieve in sight for this Gollum.* A wave of 
fatigue mixed with sorrow washed over his heart and without knowing it 
he whimpered.
      With a questioning look Anwadil paused in the song he sang softly 
into the wind and raised his eyebrows, but did not press for an 
explanation. It was not until they had returned to the mountain fortress and 
were leaving the dungeons when Anwadil asked gently, “Your heart 
troubles you, and you dare not confide in those closest to you?”
      Legolas rubbed his forehead, feeling weary and had no desire to 
delve again into a half truth account for his lethargy.
      It was then that Enreilan rounded the corner. Catching sight of the 
two together his eyes flew to Legolas’ and went wide.
      Legolas gave the slightest shake of his head but Enreilan was 
already stalking away quickly.
      Beside him Anwadil cracked, “He must still be out of sorts,”
      Excusing himself and feeling fainter than ever, Legolas took to his 
chamber for three days, his spirit shot. Now more than ever he wished to 
fade, and could not wait for the day that Mandos called. He passed the 
time curled up by the fire to warm his chill body, reading, singing quietly 
to himself, or staring into space with his mind wandering in fields of 
forbidden desire.
      Noticing his brother’s absence straight away Enreilan, still stuck 
on the belief that the love his brother felt could be real, invited himself 
into Legolas’ chambers. Conversation began on mundane and benign 
topics, each carefully dancing around the issue that both knew drove them 
apart.
      “It has been long since we have had a hunt together, as Adar and I 
were just discussing yesterday,” Enreilan eyed the cabinet that stored the 
quiver and hunting knives. “The weather is fair and the sun walks often 
and long. We should not let an opportunity as such go amiss,”
      “Your words are true.”
      Drawing a cloth wrapped package from his tunic Enreilan handed 
it to his brother. “I brought this, as I knew it is your favorite,”
      Legolas unwrapped the object to reveal several slices of fresh 
sweet bread. “Thank you,”
      “I noticed you have…not been attending meals. And Delumeleth is 
even absent,” he tried to crack.
      Tired of dancing around the subject Legolas leaned back in his 
seat, looking at his brother and raising his eyebrows. “Speaking of 
Delumeleth…a peace offering?” he gave the food in his hand a slight 
bounce.
      “If that is what you are so inclined to interpret it as. We miss you. 
Adar is concerned; he is ready to send an entire army of healers after you.”
      “Is he?”
      “We all are.” Enreilan’s voice rose a notch with a trace of 
impatience. “Would you not just forget about this? You say you will die as 
time carries on but as when you are not gone from our company you are 
not yourself.  It is as if are already dead. Perhaps there is something that 
can be done for you to fix your…fixation.”
      With a slightly amused look Legolas shook his head. “There is 
nothing to fix for I am not broken, save my heart.”
      “It is –“
      “Distasteful, to you,” Legolas cut Enreilan off firmly, reigning in 
his irritation. “The rage in your voice betrays your fear of what you do not 
understand.”
      Enreilan looked angry. “I understand! I understand that you have 
an unfounded shallow flow of affection towards…” He trailed off and his 
mouth twitched.
      “That you can choose to accept and be my brother for as long as I 
am with you.”
      With mounting anger at a situation that he could not control 
Enreilan turned and walked from the room.
      Legolas did not call after him.
      On the fourth day Thranduil was beside himself with worry. 
Thranduil instantly set to berating his youngest son as the unusual lack of 
interaction between the two brothers had not escaped the woodland king’s 
notice. 
      Being just as stubborn – if not more so – as his father and staying 
true to his word Enreilan did little more than shrug and refuse to answer. 
      Disgusted Thranduil sought out the next closest thing (Anwadil), 
only to find that his son’s friend and companion was in the same state of 
mind as himself. Between the two of them there was little subtlety, and so 
unifying their efforts using the excuse of a large hunting party as a bribe, 
Anwadil and Thranduil managed to coax Legolas’ chamber door open to 
talk.
      “My Greenleaf,” 
      The door unlatched from within.
      “We are going on a hunt and your bow would be-“ at the sight of 
his son Thranduil stopped short, sucking his breath in sharply.
      Legolas was paler, slenderer, and with the back glow of the fire 
looked eerily unearthly. His eyes did not hold their glow and looked 
haunted, but at the sight of his father Legolas smiled.
      “My Greenleaf,” Thranduil said softly, eye brows knitting in 
concern as he reached out to cup his face. “What…what trouble is in your 
heart?” The elf king and Anwadil exchanged sidelong glances.
      Mind going very fast Legolas weighed his options and decided to 
alleviate his father’s evident anxieties, rather than divulge them. “It is 
nothing that shall not pass with time,” he said lightly touching the hand on 
his face with his fingertips. After a brief retreat into his chamber Legolas 
returned to the door, quiver and bow in hand. He smiled at each of them, 
but the smile did not touch his eyes which remained sad slightly distant. 
“Let us go, for the sun walks long and shines bright today,”
      “He has been like this for much longer than three days,” Anwadil 
murmured to Thranduil as Legolas led the way with false energy.
      Concern clouded the eyes of the king and weighed heavily on his 
heart and mind. Through out the hunt he kept close by and a close watch 
on his son, but as the hunt carried on Legolas seemed to grow into 
genuinely good spirits. Thranduil also wondered as to why Enreilan 
glanced at his brother before reining his horse to the opposite side of the 
group.
      The small hunting party scouted a buck quietly through the woods, 
prey and seeker dodging in and out the trees as the hunt turned into a 
contest to see who really knew the secrets of the forest the best.
      
      Blue eyes focused on not the deer that the hunt sought after but the 
elf that crouched beside him. His pulse began to beat faster as he took in 
the lithe slender form that was poised with all his attention staring down 
the shaft of a long deadly arrow. As the elf shifted slightly to aim for the 
kill zone, a streak of sunlight fell across his figure, and the other felt his 
breath hitch.
      *How beautiful he is,* he thought, noting the gleam of bright gold 
the light revealed in the tumbles of hair that fell about the elf’s shoulders. 
The admirer’s thoughts were interrupted when the elf let the arrow fly, 
turning to smile at him in triumph when the arrow met its mark.
      
      The hunt party returned triumphant with two stags and three large 
hares. By the river the group worked to skin and clean the animals to be 
roasted that night.
      As Thranduil set to work on the larger of the two bucks with 
Saelbeth he watched Legolas and Enreilan out of the corner of his eye as 
they worked with Anwadil to clean the other deer. He observed Enreilan 
glancing at Legolas every so often, seeming to want to get his attention but 
was unsure of how to go about the matter. Legolas seemed oblivious to his 
brother’s surreptitious attentions, throwing fleeting looks at Thranduil. 
Thranduil would catch his eye, and the two would share a brief smile.
      Some time had gone by when Enreilan said in a strange voice: 
“Legolas,” 
      The other looked at him, head jerking up from his work quick 
enough to suggest a trace of surprise. Legolas raised his dark eyebrows, 
prompting his brother as his eyes fleeted momentarily to Anwadil who 
crouched beside him.
      There seemed to be a furious internal struggle going on inside of 
Enreilan, struggles that only seemed to happen when the elf was trying to 
apologize. (Thranduil recognized and identified with the difficulty nearly 
immediately.) 
      “…This was an excellent shot,” He said at length, extending the 
feather tipped arrow from the kill zone deep in the skull. “Tis undamaged. 
Perhaps we should hunt together more often, for as long as…you are so 
inclined.”
      As Thranduil watched Legolas seemed to be calculating his brother 
as he extended his arm to accept the arrow, to be cleaned and reused later. 
“We should,” he said, and as their hands brushed and they shared a 
genuine smile.
      The Mirkwood king shifted his gaze to Anwadil, who shrugged 
silently before bending back over his work. He had is eyes narrowed as he 
started to drift into his private ponderings when Thranduil realized that 
Saelbeth was poking him relentlessly in the ribs. Pushing aside a pang of 
curiosity he returned his mind to his task.
      
      Shortly before the snows had begun to fall in earnest it was 
determined that Mithlilien and his peers were old enough to be set to 
practical uses. A small group of merry elves set out to the pasture with a 
short length of rope. After much coaxing and petting one unfortunate elf 
eased himself astride the young horse and murmured the instruction to 
break into a trot.
      Mithlilien would have none of it. The horse scraped the 
unfortunate elf under the nearest branch he could find. After soothing for 
the elf and a gentle but firm one sided discussion with Mithlilen the 
process was repeated with the same results.
      Fortunately Mithlilien’s rebellion did not seem to spread to the rest 
of the young horses, and there was little trouble in getting the others to 
comply.
      “Leave the grey one to his own for the rest of the day,” one of the 
elves called as the horses were sent back into the paddock. “We shall try 
again tomorrow,”
      Their efforts did not pay off. A week passed and Mithlilien 
remained determinedly unrideable.
      “He is friendly enough,” one of the elves complained to Thranduil 
one night. “It would break my heart to see him traded, lest his spirit be 
broken by the hands of men who do not understand such animals,”
      Thranduil nodded, half paying attention.
      Legolas, by his father’s elbow, had heard the entire conversation. 
He slipped out of the flickering fire light and made his way to the 
paddock. Leaping nimbly over the fence he whistled sharply, and the 
naught grey gelding whickered in reply and canter happily over, expecting 
a treat. “You horribly stubborn little animal,” Legolas chided. “You had 
best be careful. Do you want to be of use or not?”
      With sudden pensiveness the horse looked the elf in the eye. *I 
would let you on my back,*
      Legolas raised his eyebrows. “For how long?”
      Mithlilien looked away, toward the woods, then back at the elf and 
nudged him with his nose.
      Briefly Legolas considered his options, and deciding that he would 
rather have a close encounter with a tree then return home to feign 
amiability, threw one leg over the gelding’s back. He had barely found his 
seat when Mithlilien took off into a graceful rocking canter through the 
dark trees.
      The night ride for Legolas turned into an escape from his heavy 
heart that came all too rare for the elf. Out into the darkness of Mirkwood 
they traveled, toward the Misty Mountains. The elf had no idea that 
Mithlilien could cover ground so quickly; undoubtedly this horse was one 
of the fastest that had been bred in Mirkwood yet. In no time the two were 
well out of the realm of protection that hovered around Northern 
Mirkwood, but the gelding continued to press on.
      Leaning forward over the withers Legolas murmured into the wind, 
“You are aware, my fleet one, that I have not my quiver or knife?”
      The horse’s pace slowed as he deliberated. He was as reluctant to 
return home as his rider but Mithlilien still feared the spider’s hunt. With a 
disdainful snort and toss of his head he turned in a wide semi circle and 
galloped reluctantly home.
      It was established then that Mithlilien would have no other for a 
rider.
      
      Candle light gleamed off golden hair that formed a bright curtain 
around the fair face that looked intently down at the task at hand. A long 
slender hand danced over the parchment of the small black journal:
      *Want makes me ill. It distracts me, it consumes me. It is his smile, 
it his eyes, it is in his walk, it is in his voice. I know not what it is that I 
want but I know that I cannot have what I desire for it is forbidden.*
      
      “Spring fast approaches,” Enreilan reminded his brother needlessly 
as the two walked side by side to the cavern that lay in the heart of the 
mountain.
      Legolas felt the familiar tug at his heart as he nodded in agreement. 
He knew when Enreilan spoke of the coming of spring he really referred 
to the impending marriage.
      “I am to lose my brother?”
      “I will only be shared now,” Legolas returned trying to keep his 
tone light and failing. “It must be within.” Pausing in the door way 
Legolas surveyed the vast treasure room lined with shelves weighed down 
with hoards of silver and jewels. He rubbed his forehead distractedly with 
the heel of his hand. Suddenly this room seemed very large. “I am unsure 
now even of what it looks like. I think any crown will do. Delumeleth is 
only returning and the celebration is to be brief.”
      A large broad sword caught his eye. Legolas took it up and swung 
it experimentally, the heavy blade that countered a thick handle a sharp 
contrast to his slender knife.
      “What about this one?” Enreilan held up a weighty silver crown 
wrought like a vine with jade leaves and tiny diamond flowers. “It is 
beautiful.”
      Legolas took it and hefted it slightly, testing its weight as he had 
done with the sword. “It is too ornate. I find beauty in simplicity. Besides I 
prefer the real leaves of Mirkwood.” The elf sighed and looked longingly 
toward the door then up at the ceiling, as if looking for patience to sustain 
him through the search through the treasure. “I am not looking to strike 
Delumeleth blind. Nor anyone else.” The elf sighed heavily again and 
rubbed his forehead, eyes blurring slightly.
      Enreilan reached to the back of the shelf, retrieving an object 
stowed in a sheet of deep green velvet. “This is simpler,” he unwrapped 
the soft folds to reveal a small willowy crown wrought from polished 
silver. “Very simple yet it is elegant enough for the occasion.”
      “It shall do,” Legolas replied without looking up as he rubbed his 
temple.
      Echoing through the open door Thranduil’s voice resonated: “Did 
you find it?”
      “Not his own but we found something,” for effect Enreilan stepped 
forward, placing the slender diadem on his brother’s forehead and 
stepping back as his father turned the corner into the room.
      Legolas lifted his head wearily.
      With an inward yelp Thranduil stopped short in the doorway. He 
blinked. With a nostalgic smile he said wistfully, “It is fitting you should 
use that crown, my Greenleaf,” was all he said before turning abruptly and 
making to leave.
      Suddenly Legolas felt a heave of nausea in the pit of his stomach 
and he blanched, knees buckling and he lurched as he took a tiny step to 
catch himself.
      In a distracted tone Thranduil asked, “Are you feeling yourself 
today, Legolas?”
      There was no reply as Legolas seemed to be concentrating on 
standing up.
      Still shaken and appearing to lost in thought for a reply Thranduil 
wordlessly turned on his heel and made his way rapidly back down the 
hall.
      After rewrapping the circlet and setting it aside Enreilan put one 
gentle hand on the small of Legolas’ back. “You are pale and cold.” When 
his brother did not reply Enreilan guided him out of the room, down the 
twisty passages to his chambers where Legolas sank onto a reclining 
couch without a sound. “Do you want me to get you anything? Anyone?” 
He whispered, kneeling down at the other’s head.
      “No.” Eyes closed Legolas murmured, as if to himself, “My little 
brother. You have grown so; so much like Adar.” He smiled faintly. “You 
can go on without me,”
      Concerned Enreilan retrieved an enormous blanket from a chest in 
the corner of the room and tucked it about Legolas. Under heavy lids the 
piercing blue eyes were distant with a touch of disorientation. His body 
felt stiff, heavy, and chill, the way quarry begins to feels after it has been 
slain in the hunt. 
      The room was silent and the elf looked into blue eyes that were not 
yet closed, and saw only darkness in them.
      *He really is dying,* Enreilan realized and a weight of heavy guilt 
made it impossible for him to breathe. “You do love him,” he whispered, 
laying his head on Legolas’ chest. “You love him enough to pass from this 
world, and I did not believe your words. Forgive me, brother,”
      For a terrifying moment Enreilan feared that he was gone and was 
now in the care of Mandos, but the faintest flutter of a wayward lock of 
hair on his cheek reassured the elf that, indeed, his brother still lived. 
Rising slowly Enreilan crept from the room, heart heavy in his chest with 
dread.
      For so long he wanted to not believe his brother’s premonition of 
death, believing in vain that somehow Legolas would awake from this 
desire and fascination with passing and come to realize that he did not 
love this unnamed he elf. Enreilan ached for everything to be as it was, 
before this heartsickness, before Delumeleth.
      Blindly he wandered the halls, debating at whether or not he 
should alert a healer of his brother’s state. Eyes unseeing and mind 
meandering in thought he staggered into Thranduil, who was also roaming 
the halls with wistful and longing eyes. “Adar,” Enreilan stepped forward 
into Thranduil’s ready embrace and buried his head in his neck in an 
uncharacteristic show of distress. “I am afraid. He is dying. He told me. 
He told me he had no wish to remain here. He told me he wanted only to 
go to Mandos where his heart could be at rest. He told me I was not to tell 
anyone, that it was for the best.”
      “What?”
      “Legolas. His heart. It is broken. He is dying.” Enreilan’s voice 
faded off.
      Thranduil knitted his brow, slowly shaking his head in silent 
disbelief as he struggled to absorb this information. The elf did not want to 
believe this news, yet Legolas’ silence and isolation all suddenly began to 
make sense. *But what of Delumeleth?* Yet somewhere back in his 
subconscious a tiny voice chided,
      *You knew his heart was otherwise engaged, or at the very least 
that this marriage was based on sole mutual consent.*
      *I did not,* Thranduil tried to appease guilt that was bubbling fast 
into his throat. *It was foolish for me to think that he loved…My vision 
and perception on the matter was biased, clouded. I could not have 
foreseen!*
      *You made yourself blind!*
      The night that followed was the longest that Thranduil, king of the 
woodland elves, had ever faced. He alternated sitting at Legolas’ side and 
calling his son by his names to pacing furiously in the hall outside the 
door.
      Anwadil sat opposite the king with his back to the fire, singing 
softly of cheerful times that betrayed his distress.
      It was the darkest hour of night, long after the sun has sunk below 
the mountains in the distance and long before dawn when Thranduil paced 
the short width of the hall just outside of his son’s bedchamber. He 
stopped, one shoulder flush to the stone wall when the door opened slowly 
as Anwadil emerged.
      The elf looked tired and grieved, and could not bring himself to 
meet the other’s eyes.
      “He is gone.”



      Anwadil nodded, closing his eyes in pain, letting fall the single tear 
that clung to his lashes.
      Letting out a breath that he did not know he had been holding 
Thranduil shuddered as he struggled to retain the anger that was welling 
inside his chest. Feeling his face heat up he pushed through the door into 
his son’s chambers and closed it hard behind him.
      The room was dark save the fire light that danced from the large 
hearth, casting eerie flickering orange shadows over the furniture. 
Thranduil stood in the center, quivering, fighting the urge to rage and wail 
and blame as he had done years ago when his wife had fallen. Breathing 
hard he stared at the back wall illuminated by the silhouette of the long 
sofa that sat in front of the fire place.
      *What happened? This is not real. It cannot be real.* Childishly 
the elf king closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing it to be another day, 
another year from a time gone past when life seemed much simpler and 
less grievous, yet he knew it was not so. *My Greenleaf…he is young. I 
did not see this.*
      *Yes you did.*
       *I did not see him fade, yet he has.*
      *You did not read the signs.*
      *This cannot be real. It does not seem real. This is a dream. When 
I open my eyes I will find it was a dream…*
      Thranduil opened his eyes.
      The chamber still flickered in firelight, the room silent, as if 
waiting for him to move and finally accept that his son is dead.
      *My son is dead.*
      *No he is not,*
      Thranduil turned to face the fire and took a tiny step toward the 
couch.
      *He is dead*.
      *It cannot be!*
      Slowly he crossed the distance between himself and where Legolas 
lay. Anwadil had pulled the deep green blanket up so that it covered the 
fair face, and with reluctant fingers the elf king reached forward and 
pulled back the cover.
      His stubborn disbelief slowly fell away when he took in the face, 
strangely ethereal, with eyes closed, pale lips slightly parted.
      *It is.*
      Lowering his head to chest Thranduil murmured an admittance he 
never would have uttered had his son’s feä still been in the living. “I am 
sorry I ever asked you to marry Delumeleth. I am sorry I could not live 
with myself any longer, and that I thought you had to marry another in 
order for me to forget. I would have taken my own life before yours. I am 
sorry, my Greenleaf.” His own admittance into the quiet of the room 
cemented the reality and his grief as rage at his predicament melted. 
Slowly, gently, Thranduil moved the slender frame to cradle against his 
chest, pressing his own warmth infused cheek to the cold lifeless face.
       “I am sorry,” his lips began to tremble and a hot tear alighted on 
the pale blond hair that flowed over one arm. *How I loved him! How I 
loved him, not as a father should!* A hurt burst inside his chest and 
Thranduil moaned softly, pulling away, and dropping a kiss on the pale 
forehead. Thranduil remained forehead to forehead, closed, weeping eyes 
to eyes closed in death, mouth to mouth with one hand cradling the back 
of Legolas’ head as firelight danced over their figures and morning 
approached. 
      Out in the hall Anwadil sat silently weeping while Enreilan, having 
emerged from his chamber on his friend’s summons, paced in fury 
mingled with sorrow. 
      “How fares Legolas?” Alindel’s voice preceded his footsteps.
      “Adar,” Anwadil lifted his head, “He is gone.”
      Bowing his head Alindel closed his eyes in sorrow and reflection. 
“Ai, Elbereth, were it not so. Thranduil is with him?”
      “He has been since last night,” Anwadil replied, as Alindel knelt 
by his son and put an arm about his shoulders.
      “If you would, Alindel, please see to the necessary preparations?” 
Enreilan said suddenly from where he stood in a shadow. “Adar, I know, 
will be unfit to do so in the days to follow.”
      Alindel nodded. He was only too familiar as to what to expect 
following Thranduil’s loss.
      Dawn was breaking and the song birds were beginning to stir in a 
direct juxtaposition to the grief that rampaged through the mountain 
fortress.
      Unaware or caring of the time that had passed Thranduil remained 
motionless, tears and anger spent, with his son still cradled to him. “I love 
you,” he whispered, dropping another kiss on one cheek, then the other. “I 
love you, and that,” another kiss on each eye, “is why I pushed you away.”
      Mouth lowered to stop a breadth away from the other’s lips. 
      “I loved you too much. I am sorry.”
      The softest kiss on the mouth.
      At this contact the elf gave a sob, kissing the other again, eyes 
closing as tears sprung and fell anew. At length Thranduil pulled away, 
giving a shaky sigh.
      Legolas’ eyelids fluttered. The golden head he cradled to his own 
gave the smallest turn and a soft, fluttering breath that glanced across his 
own lips before the mouth under them showed life in the gentlest of 
butterfly kisses. 
      Letting out a cry Thranduil pulled back slightly and distinctly felt 
the light, fragile feeling ribcage give the slightest spasm beneath his 
hands, as a gentle pulsing rhythm began to ebb in the pale slender neck. 
Not caring why or whether or not he was dreaming, Thranduil began to 
drop kisses on the slightly parted mouth between breathy flutters. “My 
Greenleaf?” he murmured, lips barely touching, hardly daring to hope.
      The chest under him gave a heave, the mouth twitched then let out 
a moan, and Thranduil pressed his own lips to the others.
      Legolas let out a mew.
      In amazement and joy Thranduil let out a cry, stifled as he bent his 
head to kiss the other again. “Legolas,” he whispered repeatedly in 
disbelief, gentle kisses punctuating his exclamation. “You are…?”
      “Ai!” Legolas let out a breathless cry, eye lids still fluttering until 
they were half open.
      Thranduil paused his ministrations to take in the pulsing of life in 
his son, not caring or questioning this miraculous return. He stroked the 
familiar face and neck with his fingers as if in awe, and Legolas smiled. 
Unable to speak Thranduil simply shook his head.
      “I am cold,” the other murmured.
      Gently he drew Legolas’ long body to him as they lay side by side 
under the blanket, cradling the head and stroking the hair that leaned in 
toward him. “I love you,” Thranduil whispered, unable to keep his lips 
from trailing over the rewarming flesh. “I love you, not as a son,” the 
admittance came in a hot breathless whisper against a pulsing artery in his 
neck and the body below him gave a tremor.
      “I know. Love you too, not as a father,” Legolas murmured 
brokenly. “That is why I thought I must go,”
      “I am sorry. Would you still pass if you could?”
      “I cannot. Would you deny me, Adar?”
      Thranduil gave a quiver. All he wanted, dreamed of, lay here and 
now after it had been so nearly snatched away from him. “You do not 
need to marry,” he said slowly.
      “I could not,” Legolas’ voice was growing thick and sleepy. “Not 
now. That-“ he yawned. “I know. But…what of Delumeleth?”
      “Shh,” Thranduil kissed him again. “Think of her not. I will deal 
with it. Rest, my Greenleaf.” As the elf in his arms went limp in sleep 
Thranduil stroked the light blond hair, the slender body, treasuring the 
simple rise and fall of his chest. As dawn blossomed over the mountain the 
king held this new gift in his arms, uncaring of the consequences of the 
sins that lay ahead.
      
      Anwadil nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of his friend 
when Thranduil had called him into the bedchamber the day following 
Legolas’ death. Again he was given a shock when his yelp of surprise 
woke up the elf and Legolas cracked his eyelids to give him the smallest 
of smiles. In the days that followed the two friends spent much time 
together with few words exchanged, content enough to be in the other’s 
silent company.
      Legolas quickly fell back into the rhythm of living in content, 
though the world seemed a little more vivid to his bright eyes, the bird 
song seemed sweeter, and everything became a wonder. When he was not 
seeing to duties he carried in trade he spent much time with those dear to 
him, Enreilan, Anwadil, and Thranduil, in that order. Enreilan seemed 
determined to never leave his side, filling his ear with a constant narration 
of everything that was going on around them. Anwadil was usually 
content to follow the pair around though he occasionally had Legolas to 
himself for stretches of time. Thranduil and Legolas spent most evenings 
together, reading, riding or talking together in the quiet private of one of 
their chambers.
      Legolas was not sure what to make of this time spent with his 
Adar. He looked forward to it throughout the day and dreaded when it 
ended. Things were different between them; he could feel it in the 
glancing of a hand across a cheek or even in simple eye contact. Legolas 
loved and hated this at the same time, knowing the mutual feelings that 
were harbored would doom both of them to exile, or worse. Yet at the 
same time he could not believe that what they were doing was wrong; they 
were not doing anything at all save passing time together, and what harm 
could there be in that?
      Discontent with the long knife that currently complimented his 
quiver Legolas decided to forge a new, lighter weapon. After carefully 
choosing material suitable for the blade Anwadil helped his friend heat 
and pound an edge to a pale white, iridescent metal, light but immensely 
strong. The full tang handle was bone, heated and polished until it shone 
hard and pure, inlaid with the same metal that formed the blade and 
finished with a large white opal, a gift from Thranduil.
      Winter was fading away when Legolas finished his project, new 
green leaves peaking out from bare branches. Legolas was sitting with 
Anwadil under the trees, happily testing the balance of his creation before 
using a whet stone to put the finishing edge on the long white knife.
      “You are aware,” Anwadil said gently as he looked down the shaft 
of an arrow he was filing, “That Delumeleth is arriving the day after 
tomorrow.”
      This reminder caused Legolas to pause his strokes down the blade. 
“That fact had escaped my memory.”
      “You feel no joys in the return of one you are to be bond to,” 
Anwadil stated, tilting his head and looking into his friend’s eyes. 
“Legolas, I do not understand. You return from the dead for what? I 
thought for her, though I do not pretend to know what transpired that 
night. Do you not love her?”
      Resuming use of his whet stone Legolas murmured, “Mandos 
would not let me pass into his halls, though I begged to pass. He said that I 
had not fulfilled what must be done, though he would not tell me what. I 
love her, Anwadil, as a friend and nothing more. I marry her,” Legolas 
sighed, “On my Adar’s request, for love of him. But it is not yet known 
what will come of our intended union. Please, speak of it not.”
      “As you wish,” Anwadil relented, somewhat reluctantly.
      The wind mingled with the songs of the trees as they sat in 
renewed silence for a length of time, until Enreilan’s energetic call came 
resonating through the glen.
      “Legolas! Anwadil!”
      Looking up Legolas spied Enreilan come bounding to his side, and 
Thranduil coming into view at a much more modest pace than his 
youngest son.
      Bending over his brother’s work Enreilan smiled. “It is finished! 
Lovely too. I thought a ride or hunt would be in order but perhaps you 
would rather put to use your new weapon? First one to disarm the other is 
declared champion?” He put one hand to the hilt of his sword looking 
hopeful.
      Glancing up at his father Legolas’ eyes twinkled. *If something is 
not done he will tear apart the forest with his boundless energy,* he 
thought, handing his stone to Anwadil and rising. “Very well then, but you 
know I will be victorious,”
      Anwadil rose to join Thranduil at the edge of the glen, both elves 
wearing identical smirks for a friendly face off between the two often 
proved entertaining. Legolas’ strength was in his bow whereas Enreilan’s 
lay in the sword, but as Legolas was slightly longer limbed and more 
experienced the two brothers were nearly evenly matched in sparring.
      Enreilan’s movements were quick and sure but within a few 
strokes it became apparent that Legolas had his brother beat. His long 
white knife, though unused until this moment, proved to be the best fit of a 
weapon the elf had wielded yet. Barely thirty seconds into their contest 
Enreilan’s sword hit the forest floor with a thud, leaving its owner with a 
slightly stung wrist.
      “Again,” Enreilan demanded though he knew he was beat, and he 
stooped to retrieve his weapon. “What magic did you work into that knife 
of yours, Legolas?”
      “It,” Legolas blocked a downward stroke, “Feels a part of me, 
which the old one did not.”
      “Sadly I cannot say the same for my own choice,” Enreilan gave 
the slightest frown.
      “You are young,” Thranduil called from the sidelines. “You will 
yet find a weapon that suits you.” The words had hardly left his lips when 
Enreilan gave a soft exclamation and jumped as Legolas gave his grip a 
twist and forced him to let go.
      Enreilan looked to his Adar. “I hope it is soon!”
      Walking over to the sword and hefting it Thranduil looked at it 
critically, occasionally glance over to his son. “It is one of the swords that 
your grandfather wielded, and he was much broader though not so tall as 
you, Enreilan. I think you would do better with a slender, longer foil.” The 
elven king shifted his grip and looked across to his oldest son, eyebrows 
raised. “Legolas? Care to demonstrate your proficiency?”
      Legolas smirked and lunged, making an attempt to pirouette 
around his father in an attempt to attack from behind, and to show off. 
Unfortunately for him it had been Thranduil that had taught him that 
move, and the woodland king knew exactly how to forestall it. As a 
slender foot hooked his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him 
Legolas gasped, expecting to fall flat on his back.
      At the edge of the clearing to the sparring elves’ left Enreilan 
smirked good naturedly, his brother’s quick downfall tempering his own 
defeat.
      With his free left arm Thranduil broke the other’s fall, wrapping 
under an outstretched arm to cradle his open hand on the chest. Legolas’ 
mass of pale braids and loose hair mingled with Thranduil’s own darker 
golden strands as the younger elf’s head fell over his left shoulder. Feeling 
the heart pulsing under his palm Thranduil had to shift a very little to 
whisper into the shell of Legolas’ right ear, “Careful,” before letting his 
tongue dart out to glance up the pointed tip. He then released his prisoner, 
throwing him forward and giving him the momentum to do a half turn to 
face him.
      Regaining his balance Legolas stopped for a moment in shock, 
staring at his father, trembling at the heat that raced down his spine. *Do it 
again!* He wanted to say but of course could not, and at a prompt from 
Enreilan, lunged forward in a new attack.
      It had been a long time since Thranduil had had need to wield a 
blade, but with many millennia of training behind him he did not forget 
easily. Returning his son’s blows with an equally aggressive attack the two 
danced across the forest floor, each sure of their own movements.
      Thranduil’s swipe held more power and were more calculated but 
Legolas was quick on his feet and skilled in his movements, lasting longer 
in combat with his father than Enreilan had with Legolas. The sound of the 
foils rasping against each other was mesmerizing to him, the song of battle 
that made his heart quicken and his eyes brighter. It was not often, though, 
that Legolas found himself in one on one combat. In defending the forest 
he loved he nearly always found himself fighting at least two at once and 
had grown accustomed to larger numbers of opponents, and gradually 
Thranduil’s experience won out as both began to tire.
      Legolas allowed himself several steps backward, coming flush 
with a large oak. His eyes locked to his father’s before delivering a swing 
that swept Thranduil’s weapon to one side, allowing the other to re gather 
himself for a lunge.
      As the silver white knife blade came at him Thranduil ducked and 
swept up to block the attack, forcing Legolas’ arm over his head and 
causing him to reel back a step from sheer force. Thranduil pounced, 
sword clashing against knife as he pinned the weapon against the tree, 
throwing his weight against the other and expected Legolas to drop the 
weapon.
      Face inches from Thranduil’s as he was pressed against the trunk 
Legolas glanced up at his trapped hand and back into the eyes. Suddenly 
he was lost in the dilated, dark pupils, the skin flushed from exertion and 
was suddenly aware of the heaving chest pressed to his own. Letting out a 
gasp he let his weapon fall, unmindful of the fact that it nearly caught their 
heads on the way down to the carpet of dead leaves.
      Thranduil remained in position, mouth slightly open and panting. 
“Do you surrender, my Greenleaf?” His question came in hushed 
breathless whisper.
      There was a moment in which Legolas gulped. “Yes,” he replied in 
an equally quiet voice, holding eye contact, the other pausing another 
moment before stepping back and away from the tree. Legolas felt 
something at the base of his stomach trembling, leaving him unable to 
speak and wide eyed.
      Returning his gaze with a slightly open mouth Thranduil blinked, 
caught himself and put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Come,” he 
murmured, leading his son with a hand on the small of his back to where 
Enreilan and Anwadil stood. “It is your turn,” he called to Enreilan, 
tossing him the sword. “Let us see you and Anwadil and give your brother 
and myself a rest.”
      Shrugging and grinning Enreilan caught the weapon and bounded 
out into the center of the clearing. Anwadil paused slightly, eyes lingering 
on the two golden haired elves that stood beside him, before with a quick 
smile and nod went out to join Enreilan.
      Over the dry sounds of metal on metal and playful banter between 
the two dueling elves came the call of Alindel through the trees. Leaning 
toward Legolas Thranduil apologized, “Duties call. I will see you this 
evening?”
      Legolas gave the slightest nod, sighing inwardly at the absence of 
the warm hand on his back as Thranduil disappeared through the trees. He 
found himself looking forward to their evening liaison more so than usual, 
having a difficult time focusing on the task at hand which was seeing to 
the prisoner Gollum (after Anwadil beat Enreilan).
      The evening meal had ended and the usual song covered the forest 
like a blanket when Legolas searched the crowd of faces carefully for 
Thranduil. Once he was sure he was not in the crowd the elf slipped 
through the great stone doors into the mountain fortress, making his way 
down the softly lit twisty passages to the door to Thranduil’s chambers. 
He knocked gently then without waiting for an invitation entered.
      The woodland elf king looked up from a book, smiled, and moved 
over to make room on the lounge.
      With a sigh the other elf sank into the cushions, leaning into the 
warmth of the body next to him. Feeling Thranduil dropped a kiss on the 
top of head he lifted his face in request for a kiss on the lips, which he was 
granted. “Do not stop,” he murmured as Thranduil pulled away. “This 
afternoon,” 
      The elf king smiled.
      Legolas gave an involuntary shiver, closing his eyes as a long hand 
cupped his face, lips skimming his jaw line to his ear where they lingered, 
adoring. He raised his own hand hesitantly opening his fingers on 
Thranduil’s neck, in awe of the pulse he found there, by the soft skin 
which was all too soon obscured by the soft green collar with a cool silver 
clasp at the hollow of the throat. There was solid warm chest further 
down, feeling similar yet so different from his own under his fingertips, all 
of this registering in his memory as a hot mouth gently worked over his 
neck. Legolas moaned, bringing up both of his hands to the chest where a 
rapid heart beat thudded against one palm. The warm mouth broke 
contact, and Legolas whimpered and reeled forward slightly.
      Thranduil cupped the other’s face in his hands, eyes wide at the 
vision of Legolas: eyes closed, cheeks brushed a gentle pink, lips slightly 
parted and glistening, chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran his thumbs 
gently over his eyelids and Legolas opened his eyes. “You tremble,” 
Thranduil murmured.
      “That I do,” Legolas’ voice quavered. Untouched he was but 
Legolas was not ignorant, recognizing the burn of desire that was glowing 
hot within him. “That…is a small part of…what it is to achieve…bodily 
union...” He leaned his forehead against the others.
      “A small part, yes,” Thranduil whispered. “A very small part,” he 
whispered again, nearly inaudible. He sat back hands still holding the fair 
face before him as he looked deep into the other’s thoughts which were as 
plain as if Legolas had spoken them aloud. “Do you know what you ask?”
      “Yes.” Legolas replied firmly. “I would be complete with you, and 
that is what I need. You do not ask it of me for fear of persuasion, but I 
know you desire it as well.”
      *I do,* Thranduil admitted and Legolas nodded.
      “But I know what we both desire is impossible for fear of penalty 
upon discovery.” Legolas snuggled his head into Thranduil’s chest. “I 
have pondered the thought and it is very selfish of me and unfair to my 
spouse…but…if I bonded to Delumeleth…would anyone be the wiser if 
there was a union between the two of us?”
      Resting his cheek on top of the other’s head Thranduil said, “I 
know not. I have never heard of a bond between more than one spouse, 
save Muriel and Feanor. Would you not be content to live with my kisses 
and my heart alone?”
      “I love you, and ask for you not out of lust for it does not rule my 
mind. In boding we would share so much more than pleasure; it would 
also assure us that we would be together even after death. Would you be 
content to live with my kisses and heart?”
      “It does not assure all of that, Legolas,” Thranduil sighed, the 
thought of wraiths slipping through his mind. He half expecting a pang of 
melancholy but there came none. “You have pondered this and are sure?”
      With a resolute tilt to his chin Legolas replied, “I have, ever since 
Mandos sent me back and if I must face judgment before Valar and 
wander Middle Earth lost until the ending of the world, I will.”
      “Your words are bold my Greenleaf and you mind is set.” 
Thranduil kissed him again. “If that is the path you would choose it is a 
path that I would travel with you, even if it should lead to the ultimate 
consequence. Delumeleth arrives tomorrow though she knows not what 
she is doomed for. A wedding date shall be set.”
      


      Anwadil nodded, closing his eyes in pain, letting fall the single tear 
that clung to his lashes.
      Letting out a breath that he did not know he had been holding 
Thranduil shuddered as he struggled to retain the anger that was welling 
inside his chest. Feeling his face heat up he pushed through the door into 
his son’s chambers and closed it hard behind him.
      The room was dark save the fire light that danced from the large 
hearth, casting eerie flickering orange shadows over the furniture. 
Thranduil stood in the center, quivering, fighting the urge to rage and wail 
and blame as he had done years ago when his wife had fallen. Breathing 
hard he stared at the back wall illuminated by the silhouette of the long 
sofa that sat in front of the fire place.
      *What happened? This is not real. It cannot be real*. Childishly 
the elf king closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing it to be another day, 
another year from a time gone past when life seemed much simpler and 
less grievous, yet he knew it was not so. *My Greenleaf…he is young. I 
did not see this.*
      *Yes you did.*
       *I did not see him fade, yet he has.*
      *You did not read the signs.*
      *This cannot be real. It does not seem real. This is a dream. When 
I open my eyes I will find it was a dream…*
      Thranduil opened his eyes.
      The chamber still flickered in firelight, the room silent, as if 
waiting for him to move and finally accept that his son is dead.
      *My son is dead.*
      *No he is not,*
      Thranduil turned to face the fire and took a tiny step toward the 
couch.
      *He is dead.*
      *It cannot be!*
      Slowly he crossed the distance between himself and where Legolas 
lay. Anwadil had pulled the deep green blanket up so that it covered the 
fair face, and with reluctant fingers the elf king reached forward and 
pulled back the cover.
      His stubborn disbelief slowly fell away when he took in the face, 
strangely ethereal, with eyes closed, pale lips slightly parted.
      *It is.*
      Lowering his head to chest Thranduil murmured an admittance he 
never would have uttered had his son’s feä still been in the living. “I am 
sorry I ever asked you to marry Delumeleth. I am sorry I could not live 
with myself any longer, and that I thought you had to marry another in 
order for me to forget. I would have taken my own life before yours. I am 
sorry, my Greenleaf.” His own admittance into the quiet of the room 
cemented the reality and his grief as rage at his predicament melted. 
Slowly, gently, Thranduil moved the slender frame to cradle against his 
chest, pressing his own warmth infused cheek to the cold lifeless face.
       “I am sorry,” his lips began to tremble and a hot tear alighted on 
the pale blond hair that flowed over one arm. *How I loved him! How I 
loved him, not as a father should!* A hurt burst inside his chest and 
Thranduil moaned softly, pulling away, and dropping a kiss on the pale 
forehead. Thranduil remained forehead to forehead, closed, weeping eyes 
to eyes closed in death, mouth to mouth with one hand cradling the back 
of Legolas’ head as firelight danced over their figures and morning 
approached. 
      Out in the hall Anwadil sat silently weeping while Enreilan, having 
emerged from his chamber on his friend’s summons, paced in fury 
mingled with sorrow. 
      “How fares Legolas?” Alindel’s voice preceded his footsteps.
      “Adar,” Anwadil lifted his head, “He is gone.”
      Bowing his head Alindel closed his eyes in sorrow and reflection. 
“Ai, Elbereth, were it not so. Thranduil is with him?”
      “He has been since last night,” Anwadil replied, as Alindel knelt 
by his son and put an arm about his shoulders.
      “If you would, Alindel, please see to the necessary preparations?” 
Enreilan said suddenly from where he stood in a shadow. “Adar, I know, 
will be unfit to do so in the days to follow.”
      Alindel nodded. He was only too familiar as to what to expect 
following Thranduil’s loss.
      Dawn was breaking and the song birds were beginning to stir in a 
direct juxtaposition to the grief that rampaged through the mountain 
fortress.
      Unaware or caring of the time that had passed Thranduil remained 
motionless, tears and anger spent, with his son still cradled to him. “I love 
you,” he whispered, dropping another kiss on one cheek, then the other. “I 
love you, and that,” another kiss on each eye, “is why I pushed you away.”
      Mouth lowered to stop a breadth away from the other’s lips. 
      “I loved you too much. I am sorry.”
      The softest kiss on the mouth.
      At this contact the elf gave a sob, kissing the other again, eyes 
closing as tears sprung and fell anew. At length Thranduil pulled away, 
giving a shaky sigh.
      Legolas’ eyelids fluttered. The golden head he cradled to his own 
gave the smallest turn and a soft, fluttering breath that glanced across his 
own lips before the mouth under them showed life in the gentlest of 
butterfly kisses. 
      Letting out a cry Thranduil pulled back slightly and distinctly felt 
the light, fragile feeling ribcage give the slightest spasm beneath his 
hands, as a gentle pulsing rhythm began to ebb in the pale slender neck. 
Not caring why or whether or not he was dreaming, Thranduil began to 
drop kisses on the slightly parted mouth between breathy flutters. “My 
Greenleaf?” he murmured, lips barely touching, hardly daring to hope.
      The chest under him gave a heave, the mouth twitched then let out 
a moan, and Thranduil pressed his own lips to the others.
      Legolas let out a mew.
      In amazement and joy Thranduil let out a cry, stifled as he bent his 
head to kiss the other again. “Legolas,” he whispered repeatedly in 
disbelief, gentle kisses punctuating his exclamation. “You are…?”
      “Ai!” Legolas let out a breathless cry, eye lids still fluttering until 
they were half open.
      Thranduil paused his ministrations to take in the pulsing of life in 
his son, not caring or questioning this miraculous return. He stroked the 
familiar face and neck with his fingers as if in awe, and Legolas smiled. 
Unable to speak Thranduil simply shook his head.
      “I am cold,” the other murmured.
      Gently he drew Legolas’ long body to him as they lay side by side 
under the blanket, cradling the head and stroking the hair that leaned in 
toward him. “I love you,” Thranduil whispered, unable to keep his lips 
from trailing over the rewarming flesh. “I love you, not as a son,” the 
admittance came in a hot breathless whisper against a pulsing artery in his 
neck and the body below him gave a tremor.
      “I know. Love you too, not as a father,” Legolas murmured 
brokenly. “That is why I thought I must go,”
      “I am sorry. Would you still pass if you could?”
      “I cannot. Would you deny me, Adar?”
      Thranduil gave a quiver. All he wanted, dreamed of, lay here and 
now after it had been so nearly snatched away from him. “You do not 
need to marry,” he said slowly.
      “I could not,” Legolas’ voice was growing thick and sleepy. “Not 
now. That-“ he yawned. “I know. But…what of Delumeleth?”
      “Shh,” Thranduil kissed him again. “Think of her not. I will deal 
with it. Rest, my Greenleaf.” As the elf in his arms went limp in sleep 
Thranduil stroked the light blond hair, the slender body, treasuring the 
simple rise and fall of his chest. As dawn blossomed over the mountain the 
king held this new gift in his arms, uncaring of the consequences of the 
sins that lay ahead.
      
      Anwadil nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of his friend 
when Thranduil had called him into the bedchamber the day following 
Legolas’ death. Again he was given a shock when his yelp of surprise 
woke up the elf and Legolas cracked his eyelids to give him the smallest 
of smiles. In the days that followed the two friends spent much time 
together with few words exchanged, content enough to be in the other’s 
silent company.
      Legolas quickly fell back into the rhythm of living in content, 
though the world seemed a little more vivid to his bright eyes, the bird 
song seemed sweeter, and everything became a wonder. When he was not 
seeing to duties he carried in trade he spent much time with those dear to 
him, Enreilan, Anwadil, and Thranduil, in that order. Enreilan seemed 
determined to never leave his side, filling his ear with a constant narration 
of everything that was going on around them. Anwadil was usually 
content to follow the pair around though he occasionally had Legolas to 
himself for stretches of time. Thranduil and Legolas spent most evenings 
together, reading, riding or talking together in the quiet private of one of 
their chambers.
      Legolas was not sure what to make of this time spent with his 
Adar. He looked forward to it throughout the day and dreaded when it 
ended. Things were different between them; he could feel it in the 
glancing of a hand across a cheek or even in simple eye contact. Legolas 
loved and hated this at the same time, knowing the mutual feelings that 
were harbored would doom both of them to exile, or worse. Yet at the 
same time he could not believe that what they were doing was wrong; they 
were not doing anything at all save passing time together, and what harm 
could there be in that?
      Discontent with the long knife that currently complimented his 
quiver Legolas decided to forge a new, lighter weapon. After carefully 
choosing material suitable for the blade Anwadil helped his friend heat 
and pound an edge to a pale white, iridescent metal, light but immensely 
strong. The full tang handle was bone, heated and polished until it shone 
hard and pure, inlaid with the same metal that formed the blade and 
finished with a large white opal, a gift from Thranduil.
      Winter was fading away when Legolas finished his project, new 
green leaves peaking out from bare branches. Legolas was sitting with 
Anwadil under the trees, happily testing the balance of his creation before 
using a whet stone to put the finishing edge on the long white knife.
      “You are aware,” Anwadil said gently as he looked down the shaft 
of an arrow he was filing, “That Delumeleth is arriving the day after 
tomorrow.”
      This reminder caused Legolas to pause his strokes down the blade. 
“That fact had escaped my memory.”
      “You feel no joys in the return of one you are to be bond to,” 
Anwadil stated, tilting his head and looking into his friend’s eyes. 
“Legolas, I do not understand. You return from the dead for what? I 
thought for her, though I do not pretend to know what transpired that 
night. Do you not love her?”
      Resuming use of his whet stone Legolas murmured, “Mandos 
would not let me pass into his halls, though I begged to pass. He said that I 
had not fulfilled what must be done, though he would not tell me what. I 
love her, Anwadil, as a friend and nothing more. I marry her,” Legolas 
sighed, “On my Adar’s request, for love of him. But it is not yet known 
what will come of our intended union. Please, speak of it not.”
      “As you wish,” Anwadil relented, somewhat reluctantly.
      The wind mingled with the songs of the trees as they sat in 
renewed silence for a length of time, until Enreilan’s energetic call came 
resonating through the glen.
      “Legolas! Anwadil!”
      Looking up Legolas spied Enreilan come bounding to his side, and 
Thranduil coming into view at a much more modest pace than his 
youngest son.
      Bending over his brother’s work Enreilan smiled. “It is finished! 
Lovely too. I thought a ride or hunt would be in order but perhaps you 
would rather put to use your new weapon? First one to disarm the other is 
declared champion?” He put one hand to the hilt of his sword looking 
hopeful.
      Glancing up at his father Legolas’ eyes twinkled. *If something is 
not done he will tear apart the forest with his boundless energy,* he 
thought, handing his stone to Anwadil and rising. “Very well then, but you 
know I will be victorious,”
      Anwadil rose to join Thranduil at the edge of the glen, both elves 
wearing identical smirks for a friendly face off between the two often 
proved entertaining. Legolas’ strength was in his bow whereas Enreilan’s 
lay in the sword, but as Legolas was slightly longer limbed and more 
experienced the two brothers were nearly evenly matched in sparring.
      Enreilan’s movements were quick and sure but within a few 
strokes it became apparent that Legolas had his brother beat. His long 
white knife, though unused until this moment, proved to be the best fit of a 
weapon the elf had wielded yet. Barely thirty seconds into their contest 
Enreilan’s sword hit the forest floor with a thud, leaving its owner with a 
slightly stung wrist.
      “Again,” Enreilan demanded though he knew he was beat, and he 
stooped to retrieve his weapon. “What magic did you work into that knife 
of yours, Legolas?”
      “It,” Legolas blocked a downward stroke, “Feels a part of me, 
which the old one did not.”
      “Sadly I cannot say the same for my own choice,” Enreilan gave 
the slightest frown.
      “You are young,” Thranduil called from the sidelines. “You will 
yet find a weapon that suits you.” The words had hardly left his lips when 
Enreilan gave a soft exclamation and jumped as Legolas gave his grip a 
twist and forced him to let go.
      Enreilan looked to his Adar. “I hope it is soon!”
      Walking over to the sword and hefting it Thranduil looked at it 
critically, occasionally glance over to his son. “It is one of the swords that 
your grandfather wielded, and he was much broader though not so tall as 
you, Enreilan. I think you would do better with a slender, longer foil.” The 
elven king shifted his grip and looked across to his oldest son, eyebrows 
raised. “Legolas? Care to demonstrate your proficiency?”
      Legolas smirked and lunged, making an attempt to pirouette 
around his father in an attempt to attack from behind, and to show off. 
Unfortunately for him it had been Thranduil that had taught him that 
move, and the woodland king knew exactly how to forestall it. As a 
slender foot hooked his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him 
Legolas gasped, expecting to fall flat on his back.
      At the edge of the clearing to the sparring elves’ left Enreilan 
smirked good naturedly, his brother’s quick downfall tempering his own 
defeat.
      With his free left arm Thranduil broke the other’s fall, wrapping 
under an outstretched arm to cradle his open hand on the chest. Legolas’ 
mass of pale braids and loose hair mingled with Thranduil’s own darker 
golden strands as the younger elf’s head fell over his left shoulder. Feeling 
the heart pulsing under his palm Thranduil had to shift a very little to 
whisper into the shell of Legolas’ right ear, “Careful,” before letting his 
tongue dart out to glance up the pointed tip. He then released his prisoner, 
throwing him forward and giving him the momentum to do a half turn to 
face him.
      Regaining his balance Legolas stopped for a moment in shock, 
staring at his father, trembling at the heat that raced down his spine. *Do it 
again!* He wanted to say but of course could not, and at a prompt from 
Enreilan, lunged forward in a new attack.
      It had been a long time since Thranduil had had need to wield a 
blade, but with many millennia of training behind him he did not forget 
easily. Returning his son’s blows with an equally aggressive attack the two 
danced across the forest floor, each sure of their own movements.
      Thranduil’s swipe held more power and were more calculated but 
Legolas was quick on his feet and skilled in his movements, lasting longer 
in combat with his father than Enreilan had with Legolas. The sound of the 
foils rasping against each other was mesmerizing to him, the song of battle 
that made his heart quicken and his eyes brighter. It was not often, though, 
that Legolas found himself in one on one combat. In defending the forest 
he loved he nearly always found himself fighting at least two at once and 
had grown accustomed to larger numbers of opponents, and gradually 
Thranduil’s experience won out as both began to tire.
      Legolas allowed himself several steps backward, coming flush 
with a large oak. His eyes locked to his father’s before delivering a swing 
that swept Thranduil’s weapon to one side, allowing the other to re gather 
himself for a lunge.
      As the silver white knife blade came at him Thranduil ducked and 
swept up to block the attack, forcing Legolas’ arm over his head and 
causing him to reel back a step from sheer force. Thranduil pounced, 
sword clashing against knife as he pinned the weapon against the tree, 
throwing his weight against the other and expected Legolas to drop the 
weapon.
      Face inches from Thranduil’s as he was pressed against the trunk 
Legolas glanced up at his trapped hand and back into the eyes. Suddenly 
he was lost in the dilated, dark pupils, the skin flushed from exertion and 
was suddenly aware of the heaving chest pressed to his own. Letting out a 
gasp he let his weapon fall, unmindful of the fact that it nearly caught their 
heads on the way down to the carpet of dead leaves.
      Thranduil remained in position, mouth slightly open and panting. 
“Do you surrender, my Greenleaf?” His question came in hushed 
breathless whisper.
      There was a moment in which Legolas gulped. “Yes,” he replied in 
an equally quiet voice, holding eye contact, the other pausing another 
moment before stepping back and away from the tree. Legolas felt 
something at the base of his stomach trembling, leaving him unable to 
speak and wide eyed.
      Returning his gaze with a slightly open mouth Thranduil blinked, 
caught himself and put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Come,” he 
murmured, leading his son with a hand on the small of his back to where 
Enreilan and Anwadil stood. “It is your turn,” he called to Enreilan, 
tossing him the sword. “Let us see you and Anwadil and give your brother 
and myself a rest.”
      Shrugging and grinning Enreilan caught the weapon and bounded 
out into the center of the clearing. Anwadil paused slightly, eyes lingering 
on the two golden haired elves that stood beside him, before with a quick 
smile and nod went out to join Enreilan.
      Over the dry sounds of metal on metal and playful banter between 
the two dueling elves came the call of Alindel through the trees. Leaning 
toward Legolas Thranduil apologized, “Duties call. I will see you this 
evening?”
      Legolas gave the slightest nod, sighing inwardly at the absence of 
the warm hand on his back as Thranduil disappeared through the trees. He 
found himself looking forward to their evening liaison more so than usual, 
having a difficult time focusing on the task at hand which was seeing to 
the prisoner Gollum (after Anwadil beat Enreilan).
      The evening meal had ended and the usual song covered the forest 
like a blanket when Legolas searched the crowd of faces carefully for 
Thranduil. Once he was sure he was not in the crowd the elf slipped 
through the great stone doors into the mountain fortress, making his way 
down the softly lit twisty passages to the door to Thranduil’s chambers. 
He knocked gently then without waiting for an invitation entered.
      The woodland elf king looked up from a book, smiled, and moved 
over to make room on the lounge.
      With a sigh the other elf sank into the cushions, leaning into the 
warmth of the body next to him. Feeling Thranduil dropped a kiss on the 
top of head he lifted his face in request for a kiss on the lips, which he was 
granted. “Do not stop,” he murmured as Thranduil pulled away. “This 
afternoon,” 
      The elf king smiled.
      Legolas gave an involuntary shiver, closing his eyes as a long hand 
cupped his face, lips skimming his jaw line to his ear where they lingered, 
adoring. He raised his own hand hesitantly opening his fingers on 
Thranduil’s neck, in awe of the pulse he found there, by the soft skin 
which was all too soon obscured by the soft green collar with a cool silver 
clasp at the hollow of the throat. There was solid warm chest further 
down, feeling similar yet so different from his own under his fingertips, all 
of this registering in his memory as a hot mouth gently worked over his 
neck. Legolas moaned, bringing up both of his hands to the chest where a 
rapid heart beat thudded against one palm. The warm mouth broke 
contact, and Legolas whimpered and reeled forward slightly.
      Thranduil cupped the other’s face in his hands, eyes wide at the 
vision of Legolas: eyes closed, cheeks brushed a gentle pink, lips slightly 
parted and glistening, chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran his thumbs 
gently over his eyelids and Legolas opened his eyes. “You tremble,” 
Thranduil murmured.
      “That I do,” Legolas’ voice quavered. Untouched he was but 
Legolas was not ignorant, recognizing the burn of desire that was glowing 
hot within him. “That…is a small part of…what it is to achieve…bodily 
union...” He leaned his forehead against the others.
      “A small part, yes,” Thranduil whispered. “A very small part,” he 
whispered again, nearly inaudible. He sat back hands still holding the fair 
face before him as he looked deep into the other’s thoughts which were as 
plain as if Legolas had spoken them aloud. “Do you know what you ask?”
      “Yes.” Legolas replied firmly. “I would be complete with you, and 
that is what I need. You do not ask it of me for fear of persuasion, but I 
know you desire it as well.”
      I do, Thranduil admitted and Legolas nodded.
      “But I know what we both desire is impossible for fear of penalty 
upon discovery.” Legolas snuggled his head into Thranduil’s chest. “I 
have pondered the thought and it is very selfish of me and unfair to my 
spouse…but…if I bonded to Delumeleth…would anyone be the wiser if 
there was a union between the two of us?”
      Resting his cheek on top of the other’s head Thranduil said, “I 
know not. I have never heard of a bond between more than one spouse, 
save Muriel and Feanor. Would you not be content to live with my kisses 
and my heart alone?”
      “I love you, and ask for you not out of lust for it does not rule my 
mind. In boding we would share so much more than pleasure; it would 
also assure us that we would be together even after death. Would you be 
content to live with my kisses and heart?”
      “It does not assure all of that, Legolas,” Thranduil sighed, the 
thought of wraiths slipping through his mind. He half expecting a pang of 
melancholy but there came none. “You have pondered this and are sure?”
      With a resolute tilt to his chin Legolas replied, “I have, ever since 
Mandos sent me back and if I must face judgment before Valar and 
wander Middle Earth lost until the ending of the world, I will.”
      “Your words are bold my Greenleaf and you mind is set.” 
Thranduil kissed him again. “If that is the path you would choose it is a 
path that I would travel with you, even if it should lead to the ultimate 
consequence. Delumeleth arrives tomorrow though she knows not what 
she is doomed for. A wedding date shall be set.”
      
      Legolas felt a terrible wrench at his conscience when Delumeleth 
arrived in Mirkwood, greeting him with a small flower and a kiss on the 
cheek. He sat through the celebration and song that was a formality in 
welcoming his betrothed and her kin to Mirkwood, stealing glances at his 
father from time to time and reminding himself of the larger plan that was 
in motion.
      Yet his heart would not allow him to follow through with the entire 
ordeal without the slightest warning to the enthused female elf that sat 
beside him.
      When the eating was finished and the gathering of elves was 
heading for the clearing Legolas put one hand to her shoulder. “Might I 
request a private audience, perhaps in the glen from our youth?”
      Looking to the minstrels longingly Delumeleth said, “You do not 
wish to dance?”
      “I really must speak with you privately,”
      She sighed, and followed the elf off into the trees.
      “Your pace is swift; you do not wish to be followed,” Delumeleth 
hitched up her skirts as they broke into the small clearing and followed 
Legolas into his beech.
      Seating himself with his back leaned against the trunk Legolas 
waited until the other had made herself comfortable in the boughs. He 
reached up and tugged of the simple silver circlet that he had selected 
seemingly so long ago and rubbed the indentation in his forehead, tired of 
the uncomfortable decoration.
      “Put it back on,”
      Legolas blinked and turned to look at her. “What?”
      “It looks nice on you; put it back on,” Delumeleth repeated, her 
tone amiable enough but her command clear. When he hedged she reached 
over and pressed the diadem back on Legolas’ head, smoothing the pale 
strands of hair around it until she was satisfied, then sat back on her 
branch and smiled.
      Ignoring the discomfort Legolas cut to the matter at hand. “What 
do you want out of this marriage?”
      Delumeleth looked confused. “I do not understand what you are 
asking,”
      “Why did you choose to marry me?” Legolas pressed. “I am sure 
that you are well loved by the elves of you home-“
      “This is my home,” Delumeleth interrupted. “I was born here, in 
Mirkwood, and raised here beside you.” She eyed him shrewdly. “Do you 
wish to break off the betrothal?”
      Making an effort to hide his hopefulness mixed with dread Legolas 
said, “Is that what you wish for?”
      “Not at all. I sought you out first, Legolas, for I have known you 
the longest, save Anwadil. You are kind, intelligent, and gentle. All I 
could hope for in a match.”
      “Do you love me, then? As a spouse?”
      “I love you as a friend, and I hope to grow to love you as a wife.” 
Delumeleth looked at him earnestly. “I know as a match we are based on 
mutual consent not romantic, passionate love. But, Legolas, I will be a 
faithful” - Legolas winced - “spouse who wants nothing more but the 
happiness of our children.”
      At the thought of children Legolas nearly lost his balance and 
toppled from his perch.
      “And,” Delumeleth continued, “I can ask no more of you than to 
grow with me and be my husband. We have all of time to grow to love 
each other. Please, I want nothing more than to be wed, and children. 
Would you think it wrong of me to ask that of you?”
      “No,” Legolas said slowly. It seemed to him all Delumeleth 
wanted was to be matched and have a husband, and who she was to be 
matched to seemed secondary. 
      That evening Legolas sat across from Thranduil in the seclusion of 
his chambers, both with a chalice in their hand. “Delumeleth is determined 
to be bound and it makes me feel ill at heart,” Legolas took a sip. “And I 
am determined to follow through, for what lies after.”
      Thranduil licked his lips slowly. “You are convinced, my 
Greenleaf, that you would not be satisfied to live with no more than my 
kisses and my heart?”
      “If you allow it, I would have all of you.”
      
      The young bride to be had been keen on spending as much time 
with her betrothed as possible, hoping to take their friendship into the next 
step before the wedding. That had gone over smoothly enough with 
Legolas for the first few days; after all, if things were to be the way he 
planned he knew that there had to be some way he must come to love and 
respect her.
      Then she had started leaning on his arm at the most inopportune 
moments (such as when he needed his bow arm), or tucking flowers in 
every place she could reach. The final straw came when, one starlit night 
after a long ride through the forest, they had been crossing the bridge to 
the great stone doors leading into the main hall of the mountain. 
      Delumeleth had stopped Legolas in the middle of the bridge, 
embraced him, and began to sing into his ear of Nimrodel. Legolas had put 
forth his best effort to return her ardor, but in truth the amorous feelings 
between himself and Delumeleth (who was no more than a dear friend to 
him yet) made him feel extremely out of place. Then came gentle kisses 
on his cheek, nearing his mouth and startling the poor elf so much he 
nearly lost his balance and plunged into the river below.
      “You do not love me!” Delumeleth had cried sounding slightly 
hysterical, stepping back as Legolas teetered on the edge of the bridge.
      “Delumeleth!” Legolas said trying in vain to push aside the 
memory of every single kiss Thranduil had ever bestowed on him and 
regain his balance at the same time. “You caught me off guard! That is all! 
And we have all the time in Arda to cement a relationship…after the 
wedding.” He took one look at her eyes which shone with hurt and 
rejection, sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “We are both tired. Come, let 
us go to bed and forget this,”
      But in the days that followed Legolas fled her company as often as 
he was able.
      After a slight tearful confrontation on Delumeleth’s part they 
reached a compromise, part of which involved Legolas spending his 
evenings with Delumeleth. He did not find her company adverse, as when 
she was not touching him it was like old times of pure and innocent 
friendship; it was the excess of her company and the absence of 
Thranduil’s that altogether he found smothering. Gradually the thought of 
a life time of ducking and weaving to see Thranduil and avoiding 
Delumeleth became unbearable.
      And so Legolas passed the remainder of his betrothal feeling 
slightly miserable, living only for the time he was able to steal away with 
Thranduil. “She uses me for the illusion of blissful married life and I use 
her for…” he sighed, and Mithlilien whickered as Thranduil and Legolas 
rode through the depths of Mirkwood the afternoon before the wedding. 
“So I suppose we are on equally deceitful footing,”
      “I think you are-“
      “-Trying to appease a guilty conscience?” Legolas interrupted. 
“Perhaps. But she will be getting what she desires as will I. Still, I wish 
there was another way; a way in which we do not risk breaking the heart 
of one so hopeful.”
      “As do I,” Thranduil pushed a side a slender branch to clear a path 
as they rode through the woods. “But love makes fools of us all.” In a 
gentle voice Thranduil asked, “You would not content yourself to live 
with my kisses and my heart alone?”
      Legolas lowered his head. “You ask me three times now,”
      “Do you doubt my affections?”
      “I question your motive behind them, yes, but I have but to look 
into your eyes and any doubt I harbor is gone.”
      “My Greenleaf,” he murmured. “I love you more than I have any 
before, but if you were content to keep your body for yourself and not 
marry Delumeleth, then you may simply live a life of bachelorhood.”
      “But I want all of you. Should that that be my choice I would leave 
your presence forever to seek what Mandos sent me back for and…No, I 
would rather live a doomed existence in secret than a pure one in the 
light.”
      “As I have said before it is a path I would follow you on.”
      
      On the first of Laer [June 1] Legolas and Delumeleth were wed 
under the trees of Mirkwood.
      Legolas had anticipated the day with mixed feelings, part of him 
wanting nothing more for it to be over so he could carry out his plan, and 
part of him wishing that the day would never come to avoid the troubles 
his plan may bring. He tolerated the fussing and the traditions with 
outward placidity and inward resentment, socializing with Delumeleth’s 
parents as he was required.
      Before the exchange of the rings Thranduil embraced his son. 
“Come to me when you are ready,” he whispered, head turned in the crook 
of his arm to hide the gentle fleeting kiss he bestowed on the listening ear.
      Fighting the urge to go limp with want and melt on the spot 
Legolas gave a slight nod and Thranduil released him.
      The remainder of the wedding feast was long for Legolas. To his 
right sat Delumeleth and his left was Enreilan; both were absorbed in 
conversation with the others around him. He sat placidly, poking at his 
food idly as Anwadil gave him curious glances from across him at table, 
glancing often to the head of the table to where his Adar sat with Alindel 
and Delumeleth’s parents. 
      Thranduil frequently held his gaze for as long as he dared, willing 
him silently to be patient in promise of what was to come.
      The exchange of bands had been tense and emptily painful for both 
of them. Setting down his sliver fork Legolas twisted the gold band 
fitfully, half convinced that his façade of marriage would bring fire and 
wrath of the Valar upon his head and half convinced that if he should get 
through the remainder of this day the reward for his falsehood would be 
worth all that he suffered through now. 
      At long last the sun began to sink slowly below the tree line and 
Legolas was able to escape from the mass of merriment. As Delumeleth 
led him away through the trees toward the mountain Legolas threw a long 
glance over his shoulder.
      From the head of the table Thranduil caught his eyes, a strange 
light in them.
      Relieved as he was to be away from the joyful celebration Legolas 
found himself confronted with a new problem as he was led to his room 
and Delumeleth shut the door behind them. She looked at him.
      He stared back, the notion of the completion of their marriage 
registering somewhere in the back of his mind.
      Delumeleth crossed the room to the bed, sat on it, and fixed her 
gaze on him again.
      Legolas had the strangest feeling that this is what it would feel like 
to be staring down the shaft of an arrow pointed between his eyes. He 
swallowed, making an effort to picture another elf – a golden haired elf – 
waiting for him. *This is what I must do. This is the way that it must be.* 
His mental tirade continued for long moments as his heart began to throb 
painfully in his chest, unable to move forward and unable to turn and flee.
      As he stood rooted to the spot Delumeleth, looking both nervous 
and exasperated, unlaced her dress.
      The chiffon hit the floor and suddenly the realization of sharing his 
body so intimately while caught up in a lie made Legolas flinch, and he 
took an involuntary step backward, closing his eyes.
      Hurt registered strongly across Delumeleth’s features and she 
blanched, drawing her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms about her 
self protectively.
      There was no need for words.
      Legolas turned, opening the door quickly and fleeing down the 
hall.
      As many times as he had made the trek from his own chambers to 
his father’s Legolas felt as if this was the longest he had ever taken. Not 
pausing to knock when he reached the great oaken door he turned the 
handle and threw it wide, to reveal a shocked looking Thranduil and 
Alindel, sitting across from each other, a flagon in between them.
      “Legolas,” Thranduil said quietly.
      “I must speak to you alone,” Legolas burst out, looked wildly over 
to the advisor then back at Thranduil.
      Eyes still on his son Thranduil said gently to Alindel, “Wait for me 
outside, my friend.”
      Looking confused and slightly worried Alindel complied 
nonetheless, rising slowly and exiting the room silently, latching the door 
shut behind him.
      Pressing his shaking knees together Legolas dropped onto a nearby 
chair. “I could not do it,” he revealed as Thranduil came and perched on 
the arm of the chair, one arm in a half caress around the other. “I know not 
what to do now but I know I cannot follow through with Delumeleth.”
      Thranduil nodded.
      Bringing one hand up to curl around a fold of Thranduil’s soft grey 
leggings, Legolas leaned into the other’s warm body. “And I feel I need all 
of you more than ever. I know not what to do.”
      Again the woodland king was silent, stroking Legolas’ soft blond 
hair with his fingertips, turning over options in his mind.
      “I care not anymore. I need to be complete,” Legolas whispered 
again, closing his eyes and giving a slight quiver.
      “You would refuse to remain unwed and single for the remainder 
of you time on Middle Earth?”
      “Yes. But -”
      “Hush,” Thranduil placed his hand over his mouth. “Very well, my 
Greenleaf. Then you shall be completed tonight,” he murmured, leaned 
down and dropped a gentle kiss on Legolas’ mouth. “Though I know not 
what morning shall bring when it is know that it was not Delumeleth who 
completed you.” There was a long moment in which neither elf spoke. 
“But first, someone must speak to her, for I am sure the state of heart and 
mind you left her in was less than serene.” 
      Legolas nodded, eyes closed, arms wrapped around his Adar’s. 
      Giving the other a final caress Thranduil rose, firmly but lovingly 
removed his clinging son, and opened the door, ushering Legolas through.
      Seeing the other two emerge Alindel rose from his sitting position, 
watching Legolas go solemnly by, the younger elf unable to meet his eyes. 
The advisor looked back to his friend and king, and Thranduil shook his 
head back and forth ever so slightly.
      The door to Legolas’ chambers stood slightly ajar. Stopping the 
other two outside the door Legolas turned to Thranduil and said quietly, 
“Let me speak to her,”
      He found Delumeleth exactly where he left her only now she was 
wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to 
her chin, staring at the candelabra on the wall. She did not turn her head to 
look at him when he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. 
Legolas swallowed hard, a long awkward silence turning into increasingly 
uncomfortable minutes. “Delumeleth, I…” he swallowed again. “I let 
things go too far. I am sorry.” There was a long silence. Legolas found 
Delumeleth’s lack of emotion worse than if she had gone into hysterics. 
“I…I do not deserve to ask for your forgiveness.”
      She gave what sounded like a harsh laugh and shook her head. 
“You are a great friend, Legolas Greenleaf, but…” Delumeleth let her 
voice trail off and she shook her head again. “I came to Mirkwood to be 
married…” Her countenance changed. In a voice unassuming, wrought 
only with disappointment, Delumeleth asked, “All I wanted was to be 
married and have children. You could not have seen that through, and 
come to love your children even if you never come to love me?”
      “It is not what I want,” Legolas said. “I feel my path is something 
different. Very different. Stay here for as long as you see fit,” Legolas 
continued quietly. “I feel terrible…but I could not be the husband or the 
father you seek.”
      “Perhaps it is for the best, then, you are telling me.”
      “Yes.”
      “Perhaps you are right…No, I know you are right.”
      There was another pregnant pause.
      “Sleep here. I have disrupted your life for far too long,” Legolas 
turned to go. His hand was on the doorknob when Delumeleth finally 
turned and called after him,
      “Legolas,”
      He turned.
      Delumeleth looked as if she were struggling with herself. “I bear 
no ill will on my part.”
      Legolas closed the bedroom door, stepping into the dim hall where 
Alindel and Thranduil waited. “She and I are at peace,” he said, looking 
from one to the other.
      “What will you do with your life now, Legolas?” Alindel inquired 
kindly. “For your plans have changed greatly,”
      With the slightest of smirks that was detected only by Thranduil 
Legolas replied, “I know not what the next morning brings, and that is 
what the Valar intend.”
      “If you would be so good as to wait for me in my chamber,” 
Thranduil murmured to Legolas, “We have many things to discuss.”
      Ducking his head to avoid having to look Alindel in the eye 
Legolas padded off down the hall.
      “Are you upset?” Alindel said, preparing himself for a rant.
      “In my heart, my friend,” Thranduil sighed. “I know this is for the 
best.”
      As the two stood there the door opened and, clutching her robe 
about her Delumeleth emerged. She looked taken aback to see the elves 
standing before her but she smiled faintly and said, “You know.” With a 
slight bow to Thranduil she thanked him for his hospitality and, like 
Legolas had done, the Mirkwood king requested her to stay for as long as 
she wished.
      “Thank you,” she had replied, and hastened away to seek comfort 
in the ear of a friend before informing her parents.
      “Legolas will have much to contend with in the morning,” Alindel 
murmured as Delumeleth rounded a turn and vanished from sight. “As will 
you.”
      *That shall be the least of his worries, and oh! The irony in that 
statement!* Thranduil thought grimly to himself, but all he did was nod.
      The forest was growing quiet again as the stars came out, the 
festivities finished, and Alindel bid his friend goodnight. “Would you need 
my council tomorrow at first light to tie up the ends of this mess?”
      “Perhaps,” Thranduil rubbed his forehead. He did not want to think 
already of the events that the next day would bring. “There really is no 
rush in such matters.”
      “Go to your son,” Alindel bid him. “I will attend to matters at 
hand,”
      As he made his way to his rooms Thranduil pushed aside all 
trepidation that would follow in the morning due to what was to come that 
night. He stopped in front of the great door, sighed, and let himself in. He 
shut the door firmly behind him, locked it, and turned.
      Wrapped in a loose, silky robe Legolas sat propped up against the 
pillows, knees bent supporting the book he was reading. He turned to look 
at Thranduil, eyes wide both patient and eager at the same time, loose hair 
tumbling over his shoulder as he shut the book and set it aside. Sitting up, 
he pursed trembling lips, bringing his fingertips up to the collar to undo 
the first clasp.
      “Patience,” Thranduil murmured, crossing the room and sitting on 
the edge of the bed. He cupped the face as he so often did in his hands, 
kissing his lips as he had done before. Yet it was all different this time; 
Legolas was glowing with anticipation mixed with a slight fear of the 
unknown, and awash with unconditional love. “Lay back, my Greenleaf,”
      Legolas complied, eyes never leaving the other.
      After shedding his tunic Thranduil ran one hand from caressing a 
high cheek bone to the opening of the robe, slowly unhooking the 
meticulously wrought clasps.
      Closing his eyes and leaning back into downy softness Legolas 
slipped into the completion he had longed for. The gentlest of kisses, 
hands dancing over his skin, the strong body that fit into his arms only, the 
wonderful sensations blurring his mind until coherent thoughts were 
impossible. The new wonder that was Thranduil’s body, the touching, the 
reward of the other’s gasp of pleasure, the new wonder that was his own 
body that was coming alive like he had never known before.
      “Ai!” 
      A cry of delight, permeating the rustle of the sheets as their bodies 
shifted to bring mouths close, exhaling hot soft breaths over slightly parted 
lips. There was only rhythm now, the scent of their mingling bodies, and 
the tickling whisper of long hair flowing over bare skin.
      Thranduil heard the gasps of the other become quicker, shallower, 
felt muscles tensing beneath his own, saw the head slowly falling back and 
emitting an urgent cry as the elf under him came to orgasm. He kissed 
Legolas gently, who was trembling in his aftermath. “Sweet one,”
      That night neither elf slept, unsure of anything except that dawn 
would come whether they wanted it to or not. The two lay in an entangled 
heap of bare limbs and bed sheets, Legolas’ head resting in the niche of 
Thranduil’s neck as the Mirkwood king absent mindedly stroke his hair. 
Reaching out with his thoughts to his newly bonded partner for the first 
time Legolas questioned, *What will become of us?*
      *I know not.*
	Legolas did not reply. Instead he rose, stretching his long limbs 
slowly and dressing. “I am restless…I can conceal the truth no longer!”
      With an amused smirk that hid his dread Thranduil inquired, “You 
would do what; step out into the hall and call out our liaison at the top of 
your voice?”
      “I will attend breakfast as usual and wait and see what will happen 
when someone notices. You would come with me?”
      Being an informal affair breakfast was already well under way 
when the two golden haired elves joined the rest of their kin, pointedly 
sitting side by side. 
      Legolas expected trepidation and apprehension to knot his stomach 
so tight he would be unable to swallow as he reached for a piece of fresh 
bread. Instead he found a rush of adrenalin thrilling though his body at the 
thought of what may come if his union with the one who sat beside him 
was ever brought to light, which it certainly would to the first who looked 
him in the eye. Boldly he tilted his chin up to stare at the elf seated across 
from him, daring him to proclaim to all of Mirkwood of the sins between 
their leader and his son.
      Seated directly across from Legolas was Anwadil but his friend 
merely smiled at him and said, “Your life has changed greatly,” before 
turning the topic of conversation to an explanation of Delumeleth’s 
absence at the breakfast table.
      Next to Anwadil was Alindel, who had finished his meal of fresh 
berries and was talking in a quiet voice to Thranduil, who had his 
eyebrows raised with an expression of surprise on his face. The advisor 
turned his head, looked into Legolas’ eyes, and smiled. Then he turned 
back to Anwadil, whispered something in his ear, and Anwadil turned to 
look Legolas in the face and he nodded and smiled too.
      *My Greenleaf,* Thranduil’s thoughts whispered in his mind, 
*Are you trying to attract lightening?*
      *I feign and abhor this waiting for the blow to fall! Why do they 
speak of it not? Worse, why do they smile?*
      Anwadil reached across the table, lightly touching his friend’s long 
hand. “Legolas,”
      The elf gave a slight nod.
      “Delumeleth and her family hold no grudge against you for your 
decision,” Anwadil stroked the hand warmly, before pulling back and 
surveying his face with thought. “Yes, Adar was right,”
      “About what,” Legolas said flatly.
      “About your eyes. Adar told me of last night, concerning you and 
your Adar. Your new endeavor would prove to be the wiser. Oh, Legolas, 
to your own flesh and blood…it is unheard of but such a credit to your 
Adar!” Anwadil smiled again.
      *Your Adar told you about last night?* Legolas nearly fell from 
his seat at the thought of Alindel being held privy to the events of the 
previous night. “Yes,” he finally said, ready to shout the news to the sky 
above, taking hold of a table knife, “I bonded to my own flesh and blood 
last-“ his tirade was broken off when Thranduil took him by the wrist and 
led him nearly forcefully from the table.
      “What-“
      *Shh. I will explain this unexpected boon.* Thranduil let him to a 
small private room and shut the door, locking it magically* behind him. 
He took the other’s face in his hands, eyes shining. “Legolas,” he 
whispered, “They misunderstand!”
      Confused Legolas replied, “As do I! Adar, they see a bonding in 
my eyes and yours yet know that no such marriage has taken 
place…Alindel knows of last night! How…?” he sputtered, hands 
gesturing. “I expected them to come at us with table knives and animosity 
instead of happiness and smiles to drive us sinners from Mirkwood!”
      “No, no,” Thranduil shook his head violently, barely able to 
conceal his joy. “Legolas, do you know what Alindel said to me at table?” 
Without waiting for an answer he pressed on, “He said how rare it was 
that a bond of servitude was so evident in your eyes; that your ties to your 
household must be strong indeed. Do you not see?”
      The pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. “He thinks,” 
Legolas said slowly, “That I have sworn oath to serve my household? That 
that is why I forsake marriage?” He let out the breath he had been holding, 
suddenly feeling weak in the knees. “Truly, I was certain that you and I 
would not live to see another dawn in retribution for our crime!”
      “Does this turn of events make you happy, my Greenleaf?” 
Thranduil was suddenly pensive, his eyes soft with care as he looked at his 
son. “You went to breakfast with the light of battle in your eyes, ready to 
proclaim your bond before all without apology.”
      In amazement Legolas shook his head giving a short, rueful laugh. 
“I-I had determined myself to be content with twelve hours of bonding 
only…It would seem fate has smiled upon us. I had not even given 
thought as to life after our bond for I assumed there would be none.”
      
      The journal began to hold more secrets. The black ink shone 
brightly before drying to two dimensional tale that fell deeper and deeper 
into sin:
      *He was beautiful. He still is. So much to teach him, so much for 
me to learn as well as we explore our bodies, each others bodies. His body 
is mine and mine is his when we are in union. It is the same every time he 
peaks though…he starts to tremble, his hands come up to grip my 
shoulders or cup my face while crying out softly, and his soul becomes 
one with my own. I can feel every heartbeat, every breath, every aspect of 
his body. After only a few nights I know him as I know myself.*
      
      In time, Thranduil and Legolas grew proficient at slipping through 
the halls at night to see the other, none seeming to notice an empty bed the 
next morning. True to their façade, Legolas fell into duties that were fit to 
his position though they were hardly a variation from his previous 
obligations.
      “Really, day to day life remains relatively unchanged,” Legolas 
commented as he and Anwadil stood guard at the base of the tree that 
Gollum had become accustomed to climbing.
      “Your decision surprised me greatly,” Anwadil raised his eyes to 
the gangly creature. “Ai, he reeks.”
      Far up in the branches Gollum, hearing his complaint, narrowed 
his eyes at the elves and hissed.
      Turning back to his friend Anwadil continued, “But I am glad, for 
you seem happier than I have seen you in a very long time.”
      The day wore on, wind carrying the songs of nature and the elves 
far off into the distance. But through the song there was the scent of 
danger that did not go unnoticed by the two elves that continued to stand 
guard. Legolas narrowed his eyes in apprehension at the gangly creature 
high in the branches above them, watching carefully as the repugnant face 
blinked his lamp like eyes owlishly in the bright sun toward the Misty 
Mountains. The elf did not like this change in countenance; instead of his 
usual stream of moaning he seemed cunning and strangely content. 
“Sméagol,” he called. “The shadows grow long and night approaches. It is 
time to return,”
       Sméagol sneered and spat.
      Legolas glanced sideways at Anwadil who in turn called for him to 
come down.
      The creature refused, and at a loss the elves had nothing to do 
except wait as neither were of a mind to climb up and haul him down 
bodily.
      Night began to blanket the forest, and despite the safety of his 
Adar’s spells Legolas was glad for the quiver on his back and the knife at 
his side. “The moon hides her face this night,” he said sadly, for there 
were no moon or stars to cast silvery filters down through the trees.
      “Yet it is still lovely a night,” came a voice from behind him.
      Legolas and Anwadil rose and turned to see Sildor, Saelbeth’s 
brother, standing at the edge of the clearing with five other elves.
      “We were sent to relieve you of your watch,” said Sildor. “And 
your Adar asked me to send you to him when your watch is finished.”
      Catching the other’s arm in a firm squeeze as he passed Legolas 
said in a low warning: “Take care; something stirs in the night that does 
not bode well.” He frowned and looked to the sky, then up to where 
Sméagol clung to the uppermost branches, head still turned to the Misty 
Mountains.
      “I can feel it,” Sildor agreed solemnly, and led his procession to 
the base of the tree.
      Without a doubt, there was trouble stirring in Mirkwood.
      Quiver still slung on is back and knife still at his side Legolas 
pushed open the door to Thranduil’s chamber.
      Hearing him enter Thranduil rose quickly, crossing the room and 
embracing the other.
      Slightly surprised Legolas returned the caress, turning his face into 
the length of the dark golden hair that cascade down other’s back. He 
inhaled the fragrance, feeling a heartbeat pressed to his own as he probed 
gently with his thoughts inquiringly into the soul of the woodland king, 
finding fear. “What is it?” he murmured, as Thranduil released him and 
reached up to cup his face as he was accustomed to doing.
      Thranduil gave a small smile. “Perhaps you would think it 
foolish,” he said. “But…I was waiting here and something whispered to 
my heart that you were in danger. You and Anwadil had not returned from 
you duties; strange as night had fallen. Naturally I wanted to call you to 
me as soon as possible.”
      Eye narrowing Legolas agreed. “I shall be glad when we are rid of 
the creature we keep only for our friendship of Mithrandir. Something stirs 
in the dark that does not bode well; the spies of the Enemy are many and 
everywhere.”
      For a moment a shadow crossed Thranduil’s face but he shook his 
head and smiled, feeling Legolas lean into his caress.
      The oaken door was thrown wide to reveal Enreilan on the other 
side. “Adar, Legolas,” he said tersely, “Yrch [orc]! Out in the clearing!” 
With that he was gone.
      
      Thranduil paced in the great entrance hall, irritated. Occasionally 
he would stop, clear the anger from his mind, and reach out with his heart. 
*Yes,* he sensed, *Legolas was still alive though he was much occupied 
at the moment with his bow.* The woodland king had prepared for battle 
and had just reached the great stone doors a footstep behind his sons, 
sword in hand, when Alindel had caught up to him.
      The advisor had not thought it wise for both Thranduil and his sons 
to go off into battle, and had begged, then insisted that his friend stayed.
      Thranduil had protested and this caused a brief row, in which 
Thranduil knew in his heart the other was right but through his 
stubbornness would never bring himself to admit it aloud. And though he 
had no doubt in either of his sons’ skills in combat the thought of 
especially Legolas…the elf shook his head violently to himself and willed 
his thoughts toward other things.
      It was midnight when the warriors started to return. Four of the 
three guards had been slain in the first surprise attack and two were 
missing, as was Gollum.
      “It was a planned attack not on our people of the wood but for the 
escape of the creature,” Legolas had said grimly to as he made his way 
slowly through the door, an injured elf on his arm. He handed the other off 
to be assisted and turned to Thranduil and Alindel who waited tersely for 
an account. “Enreilan is leading a tracking party as we speak; they left as 
soon as the last of the yrch had been slain. Though the trail is an hour old 
for they took the elves and Gollum and fled while more yrch arrived to 
prohibit us from following or even realizing they were gone.” He sighed 
and rubbed his forehead, looking distressed.
      *All the guards that stood there that night were taken or slain?* 
Thranduil asked grimly, and Legolas gave him a slight nod. The elf king 
let out a great exhale, hedged, then reached out to touch Legolas’ face, 
with pursed lips. He never worried about the safety of his sons. He had 
never had to, but neither had he come close to losing either of him in 
battle.
      “I would think it best,” Legolas said quietly, “If I left tomorrow to 
follow and help Enreilan.”
      At sunrise the next morning Legolas left the mountain fortress with 
a parting kiss on the forehead from Thranduil to join his brother and 
friends in their hunt.
      As time passed Legolas his heart was growing heavier with 
apprehension for every step took them deeper into Southern Mirkwood, 
where darkness and fear hung heavy in the still air between the trees. 
Trepidation was growing among the group of elves; their trek had so far 
proved fruitless and long, stretching into Iavas [the beginning of October]. 
The trail had been lost and found multiple times until they were beginning 
to doubt even their superior tracking skills, and they were drawing nearer 
and nearer to Dol Guldur.
      The party of elves stopped briefly to hold conference at high noon, 
debating whether or not to continue on the chase or return home. Saelbeth 
was emotionally tied to their mission as his brother had been taken, and he 
was embittered at the thought of giving up pursuit. But the rest of the party 
felt that their search had become futile and at length, with great personal 
pain, Saelbeth agreed to return to Northern Mirkwood.
      Upon arriving home it was decided swiftly that Mithrandir and 
Aragorn should be informed of the escape of their prisoner. In his façade 
of family service Legolas left for Imladris in hopes of finding Aragorn 
there and taking others with him, among them Saelbeth in hopes of 
distracting the grieving elf.
      “But take care of his heart,” Thranduil had whispered to him in a 
surreptitious good-bye kiss.
      And so, as the summer green leaves turned into a collage of 
yellows, oranges, and reds, the Mirkwood King waited patiently for the 
return of his beloved and news from Imladris.
      At the end of Firith [in the middle of November] Legolas and his 
party of Mirkwood elves returned briefly, in hopes of finding newer 
tidings of Gollum’s whereabouts. Yet there was a change in Legolas’ 
countenance he was more pensive during their greeting upon their arrival 
and requested urgently to meet with the elven king alone.
      Enreilan walked with his brother and Adar to the bedchamber 
door, conversing warmly with Legolas, whom he had missed. He paused 
when they reached their destination, embraced Legolas, and said again 
how he had missed him and how glad he was that Legolas was back.
      At the last comment Legolas’ mouth twitched into a half smile that 
was not un-noticed by Thranduil.
      “Your stay will be brief,” he said immediately, once they were 
alone. He ran one finger down the other’s jaw line. “When will you leave 
again, and how long?”
      “I know not. Tell no one what I am about to tell you,” Legolas took 
the exploring hand into both of his own and held Thranduil’s eyes in his 
own gravely. He hesitated slightly. “Of this it is certain: the One Ring has 
been found, in the possession of a Halfling for many, many years.”
      Thranduil shuddered and fear crossed his features. He would not 
soon forget the strife or the battles at the end of the Second Age, the battle 
of the Last Alliance that had seen the slaughter of his people and the death 
of his own Adar. “What is to be done with it?” He asked hoarsely.
      Without looking up at the woodland king, Legolas said simply, 
“Mandos sent me back to fulfill a purpose, which until now was unknown 
to me. This is what I must do, what I was sent back to do: leave from the 
House of Elrond, and accompany this Halfling, with the ring, on whatever 
may follow.”
      Fear of the safety of one he loved above all else made the 
Mirkwood king fall silent.
      Sensing the apprehension Legolas drew the other into his arms, 
gentle reassuring kisses turning into returned kisses of ardor, then of 
desire. Kisses of desire turned into bare skin, skillful hands working over 
heated flesh in trails they already knew so well.
      Thranduil leaned into the slender body beneath him that writhed 
deliriously in pleasure, sensing the pulse of Legolas’ soul melting into his 
own as he reached out with his own heart. Before Legolas’ departure he 
had watched the other unconsciously smooth his hands over his abdomen, 
he knew the other’s soul and body as well as his own and had been 
attentive to the subtle physical changes that had been taking place in the 
last few months.
      At first the elf king had thought himself mad. Males did not bear 
children, he told himself. It is unheard of!
      Yet as time passed there was no mistaking the growing signs. He 
doubted it until when, with their bodies and souls joined in the intimate 
union, Thranduil could sense the pulse of a third soul deep within the core 
of his beloved Legolas’. Realization washed over him as climax came for 
the both of them, Thranduil’s hands alighting on the other’s abdomen and 
crying out, “Ai, Legolas! A child!”
      Legolas went slack in the repercussions, head falling back, eyes 
closed. “Yes,” he admitted after several pounding heartbeats. “…I-I 
thought myself mistaken for a long time, and did some secret reading in 
Lord Elrond’s library. There is no record of child bearing in males, but the 
physical manifestations of early pregnancy that are normally seen in 
females are upon me; of this I am certain. And,” he put his hands over 
Thranduil’s, which still rested on his belly. “Once I suspected it I could 
then feel it…oh…feel her.” Legolas smiled and Thranduil shook his head 
in disbelief. “I came to realize and be glad of it during my absence.”
      “Your absence,” Thranduil was then silent, lips trailing along the 
high forehead to linger on the silky hairline in a gesture of affection, and 
Legolas could feel his sadness. 
      “It is what Mandos called me back to do; to go with this Halfling,” 
Legolas said. “I cannot believe that the Valar has blessed us so to not see 
this child through.”
      “A blessing or curse?” The Mirkwood king’s face fell. *Blessed? 
Sweet one, it is a blessing that shall mean discovery and the death for the 
three of us. You do not think that you shall stay flat and slender in the year 
to come do you? Ai, what shall we do?*
      Legolas snuggled his face into Thranduil’s neck. “I have thought 
long on the subject…I am not afraid of discovery,” he said resolutely. 
“When the day comes when I am round enough to accuse, when someone 
puts together the pieces and makes ready to bring me to judgment before 
you, I shall take was is to come without complaint. But there is something 
you must do.”
      Thranduil was silent.
      “You must not take the fall with me. Remain king and banish me 
instead of execution or the like and the child could be born. If it were the 
both of us to share the blame we might not see mercy or birth.”
      “You truly think that whoever should take the crown in my stead – 
Enreilan most likely – would not be merciful? You think so ill of your 
brother?”
      “Enreilan flies to anger easily and may make rash decisions in his 
anger, though he may regret them after.” Legolas raised his eyebrows at 
Thranduil with look of mild amusement. “You and Enreilan are not so 
different.”
      “But where would you go?”
      Legolas looked troubled. “The Lord of Imladris is both kind and 
fair, and an excellent healer,” he said slowly. “I will be hard pressed to 
forget that place…I would think he would not be so cruel as to turn away a 
babe, even though he would seek to punish the sinner that sired her.”
      “If he knew.” Thranduil did not care much for this plan but he had 
not pondered the subject at hand. *For now, let us dwell on the joy that is 
at hand.* He kissed Legolas again, and the elves smiled.
      
      The night before Legolas’ return to Imladris, Thranduil slipped 
from his shared bed into the secret of the dark night and made his way to 
the paddock where Mithlilien and his companions rested.
      The grey gelding eyed the elf warily as he approached. 
      Thranduil made his way across the dewy grass and stroked the 
animal’s nose. “Can I trust you, swift one? Will you let me on your back 
as you do my Legolas, and help me in this mission?”
      Mithlilien seemed to consider this proposition.
      With care, the elf eased himself onto the grey back, and Mithlilien 
made a soft noise of consent through his nose. “To the Misty Mountains,” 
Thranduil whispered into the pricked ears, “And with all haste if we are to 
be back by sunrise.”
      His secret excursion into the deep of the night deprived him of all 
rest, but the Mirkwood king was able to bid a normal good bye to Legolas 
as he left for Imladris the following morning.
      Mithlilien was testier than usual but held his own part of the secret 
well, especially when he received a pat and a parting apple from Thranduil 
who whispered, “Forget not that path through the forest…And take care of 
the elf that you bear.”
      Beside him Legolas, Enreilan, and Anwadil exchanged friendly 
banter, oblivious to the exchanged between elven king and horse. But as 
Legolas nudged Mithlilien forward he let his hand linger on Thranduil’s 
shoulder and held his gaze for a few lingering heart beats before Mithlilien 
broke into a canter and they sped off.
      *May Elbereth guide you, my Greenleaf.*
      And so, under the trees of Mirkwood, the king of the Silvan elves 
waited, trusting only the call and answer of his heart to ensure him of the 
safety of his beloved. He ventured alone out into the Misty Mountains on 
his secret mission twice more, but without the exceptional speed of 
Mithlilien his trips were slower which drew more attention to them than 
Thranduil would have cared for.
      Winter came and passed slowly, and early spring brought evil to 
the elves of Mirkwood and Lorien. The battle was long, the destruction 
was great, but as spring blossomed into full strength elves found 
themselves victorious.
      More than once, even through the plight, Thranduil felt a whisper 
in his soul and smiled to himself as Legolas reached out to touch him over 
the distance, and the elven king was at peace knowing he was alive. The 
quiet evenings were when Thranduil felt Legolas’ absence the keenest. He 
had taken to confiding in the small black volume, his journal, which held 
the evolving story of sin:
      *I worry. My Legolas in the thick of the battle that determines the 
fate of Middle Earth…and he carries a child!*
      The journal held all in silence, opening willingly to the troubled 
elf’s emotions but the pages held no discretion when it came to disclosing 
the secrets of the Mirkwood king.
      
      Early fall of the following year brought Legolas’ return.
      Thranduil had been exchanging pensive words with the captain of 
the guards when the fortress doors were swung wide and Mithlilien, 
bearing Legolas, came trotting through the doors.
      Legolas could have been said to dismount a little less lithely than 
he had in the past, but this went unnoticed as Thranduil broke off his 
conversation to greet his return.
      “My sweet one,” he said in a low voice, indiscernible to the others 
present. “You are safe?”
      “We are,” Legolas whispered, taking the other in long, warm 
embrace.
      With joy mingling with dread Thranduil noted the insistent round 
stomach that was pressed to his own. Pulling back he eyed the elf 
carefully. Yes, Legolas had a belly.
      *It will not be long now,* Legolas broke into his thoughts, and 
Thranduil nodded slightly in agreement.
      “I know not what shall happen,” Legolas whispered that night, 
their long slender bodies pressed together in the secret confines of 
Legolas’ chambers. “My first thought was to go to Imladris, for Lord 
Elrond’s skills in the art of healing would be most useful. Or I could 
perhaps seek out the refuge of Gimli.”
      Thranduil licked his lips. His opinion of dwarves would not change 
over night, but Legolas many and long tales involving his newest and 
greatest friend had hushed his malcontent. “We can only wait.”
      As fall progressed Legolas’ swelling increased at a rapid pace, and 
it could no longer be concealed though nothing was said at length. One 
afternoon in Firith (end of November) Legolas and Anwadil sat in the 
great hall, picking at a generous spread of cheese, bread, and dried fruit. 
Legolas was smoothing his long hands over his round belly which 
protruded obstinately from his otherwise slender body.
      Puzzlement had been growing among the elves of Mirkwood for 
quite sometime, and in the quiet of this afternoon, Anwadil’s peaked. 
“Legolas,” he said in a strange voice, reaching over and taking Legolas’ 
long hand in his own. “Oh!” he cried, temporarily distracted. 
“It...you…are so hard!” Anwadil withdrew his hand slightly, then 
curiosity prompted him to open his hand and cup the round stomach.
      This was the moment of confrontation and truth Legolas had 
anticipated for quite some time. He let his breath out slowly. “Yes. It is 
hard.”
      Brows knitting Anwadil asked, “Are you ill? What is it?”
      “My friend,” Legolas exclaimed, suddenly passionate. “…You are 
my friend, are you not?”
      Anwadil was confused, and knit his eyebrows. “Of course. What 
would make you ask such a thing?”
      Eyes growing wide Legolas gripped his Anwadil’s arm. “What do 
you think it is?” He said urgently, chin ducked, eyes earnest. “What do 
you think it is?”
      Anwadil made an exasperated noise. “I…” his voice trailed off, 
shrugging.
      Legolas, squeaked, swallowed, and said, “Do you believe in 
punishment of the Valar?”
      “What kind of a question is that?”
      “Do you believe that…do you know males could bear children?”
      The secret was out. Legolas felt the beginning of the end as the 
truth came to light.
      “…” With a look of disbelief Anwadil slouched against the wall. 
“You…are punished? Pregnant?”
      “Pregnant…Do you…?”
      “I…do not understand.” Anwadil closed his eyes tightly, hands 
clenching around Legolas’, shaking his head back and forth very fast. 
“I…I…understand…No...You…how?” His voice died down, his eyes 
opened, and he looked into Legolas’ face and murmured, “Who?”
      “One I love. Do you hate me?” Legolas said softly. “Do you think 
me…evil?”
      “No!” Anwadil said immediately.
      Legolas smiled. “I am glad. I know not what will happen. I 
was…still am…afraid of the ramifications of my actions. I am afraid…the 
Day of Begetting is but a few days from now. It will not be long at all, 
Anwadil, and I am afraid.”
      “I’ll take care of you,” Anwadil laughed softly and nervously as he 
put his arms around his friend. “I care not who. You are not evil, no matter 
who you…” He broke off, shook his head, and turned Legolas’ face 
toward him. “I know not what happened during your excursions of this 
year. I will not ask any information.” He leaned is head into Legolas’ 
shoulder, and rubbed the round hard stomach. “I will make everything all 
right.”
      At the other end of the great hall Enreilan leaned in a door way, 
eyes narrowed. He saw his brother, fair hair mingling with the chestnut 
lengths of his friend as Anwadil held the troubled elf, stroking his round 
hard belly, the two rocking back and forth in their caress slightly. 
      Enreilan had held his tongue as he watched Legolas grow rounder 
and rounder. He had wondered why for the longest time, having only seen 
such roundness in pregnant females only, and growing suspicion mingled 
with logical doubt. But he had not forgotten the secret Legolas had 
confided to him not so long ago, and something in him snapped as he 
watched the exchange between Legolas and Anwadil. Turning on his heel 
Enreilan left the great hall and made his way to find his father.
      He found Thranduil in deep conversation with Alindel in 
Thranduil’s chambers. He waited just outside the door until the advisor 
made his exit, and found Thranduil laughing softly to himself, alone in the 
room, a chalice of wine in one hand. “Adar,”
      Thranduil turned. “Enreilan,” he said warmly. His smile faded 
changed as he saw the expression on his son’s face. “What is it?”
      “Adar. Legolas has a male lover, does he not?”
      Mouth forming a thin line Thranduil set his cup down and braced 
himself. “How do you know this?”
      “He told me, long ago, of a forbidden desire. It is obvious is it not? 
That was why he was fading, and came back. He came back for…him.” 
Enreilan hissed, anger lighting is face.
      
      Back in the great hall Legolas leaned into Anwadil’s offered 
comfort. “Will you come with me to Imladris, to Lord Elrond, or perhaps 
else where? I should not stay here.”
      “Of course I shall go with you. I will follow where ever you lead. 
But why can you not stay?”
      “I would disgrace him.”
      “Oh. Does your Adar know that you will leave?”
      Legolas shrugged.
      “Will he be angry?”
      “I know not.”
      “We’ll tell him now, then.” Anwadil grabbed Legolas by the wrist 
and lead him from the hall, down the twisty passages. The two elves burst 
through the chamber doors to find Enreilan standing in the middle of the 
room, Thranduil standing by a small corner table, leaning against the wall.
      Enreilan’s eyes flew to Legolas, growing hard and cold, then 
searched Anwadil’s. “There is no sign in your eyes Anwadil,” he stated 
coolly. “Yet maybe because there cannot be such a bond?”
      Anwadil threw Enreilan a puzzled glance but was undeterred from 
his mission. “May we speak to you?” Anwadil said to Thranduil. “About 
Legolas?” He put one hand on Legolas’ stomach and Enreilan bristled.
      Thranduil’s expression grew unreadable. Without turning his gaze 
away from Legolas and Enreilan he said quietly, “Enreilan, would you 
mind waiting in my bedroom, and we can finish our conversation later?”
      Enreilan opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil fixed on him 
with a look of ferocity. He did as he was bidden, biting his tongue as hard 
as he dared as he went into the bedchamber and shut the door. The elf was 
restless, angry, indignant, and repulsed at this friend and his brother. 
      *It is unnatural! It is wrong! It is forbidden!* He thought again and 
again as he paced the room, picking up random objects, fidgeting with 
them in irritation, and setting them back down again. At length the elf 
threw himself down on a lounge. Beside him was a small end table with a 
candle stand and a small black volume sitting on it.
      
      “I am not angry,” Thranduil embraced Anwadil. “Go with him to 
Imladris with my blessing, but tell your Adar before you leave.”
      The trio of elves was interrupted when the bedroom door banged 
open to reveal a livid Enreilan, a small black volume in one hand and a 
hunting knife in the other.
      Thranduil went white.
      “It was you!” Enreilan all but shouted across the room at 
Thranduil. “It was you!”
      Anwadil looked slowly from Legolas, to an ashen Thranduil, then 
slowly back at Legolas. “Is it true?” He asked, voice cracking.
      For a moment neither Thranduil or Legolas said anything. Then 
Legolas stepped forward, touched Thranduil’s shoulder, and said softly, 
“We knew this day would come.”
      “It was you!” Enreilan said again, leaping across the room and 
pinning Thranduil to the wall with the dagger to his throat in a blind rage 
as Anwadil shouted, “Do not do anything rash!” and Legolas warned, 
“Keep your head!”
      “How could you?” Enreilan yelled into his Adar’s face. “He is 
your son! How could you?”
      Thranduil remained unshaken. In a soft voice he replied, “There 
are some questions that have no answers.”
      “You should be killed for this!”
      “By your hand?”
      “You would not slay your own Adar!” Legolas shouted, starting to 
leap forward at his brother but Anwadil had a firm grip around both his 
arms.
      “He is not my Adar! And you are not my brother!”
      Alindel burst through the door. “What…?” His eyes took in 
Thranduil being held at bay by Enreilan with a dagger to his throat and 
Legolas looking barely contained.
      “Tell him,” growled Enreilan to Thranduil. “Tell you friend and 
advisor how you love your son,”
      In a soft voice, eyes holding Alindel’s, Thranduil confessed his 
tale, interrupted occasionally by a loud interjection from Legolas when he 
felt the elven king was taking too much of the blame. “You know the 
law,” Thranduil said softly as he finished, still looking at Alindel. “As do 
I. I am no longer ruler here. But, my friend, spare the child. Spare 
Legolas.”
      Alindel sank onto a lounge, shocked and grieved beyond measure 
as he contemplated the situation at hand for long minutes.
      “Adar,” Anwadil said softly. “Be merciful.”
      But Alindel’s station demanded that he maintain regulations, and 
as second in command to Thranduil the fate of the two golden elves was in 
his hands. “My friend…I will spare Legolas and the child but they must 
leave Mirkwood. My king…cannot be spared.”
      Legolas snarled and wrenched at Anwadil’s grip angrily but his 
friend held his grasp.
      “That is not your decision to make!” Enreilan cried to Alindel. “I 
am next in command now!”
      “Not yet,” Thranduil said sharply to Enreilan. “Not yet. There are 
procedures-“ he was cut off by the flat of the blade pressed harder against 
his neck.
      “Take him away,” Enreilan snapped to Alindel, indicating Legolas. 
“Send him away,”
      “Go, Legolas,” Thranduil said quickly, before Legolas could 
object. “Go now. Anwadil, take him to Mithlilien and tell them to flee. 
The horse will know where to go.”
       “Shh…do as he bids for he loves you,” Anwadil whispered to 
Legolas as the pregnant elf let out a long string of protests as Anwadil 
wrestled him from the room. 
      “Do as he bids you without question if you love him!”
      Legolas stared earnestly into the deep blue eyes of the former 
Mirkwood king as he was ushered through the door at a loss for words.
      Thranduil remained pinned under Enreilan’s grip. Go sweet one. 
Go to safety.
      Legolas wept inwardly as Anwadil quickly retrieved his knife, 
quiver, and bow, strapped them on, and was silent until he was astride 
Mithlilien. “Anwadil, do not come with me, as I asked before.” He 
touched the other’s shoulder. “You are good at heart. Stay here, for your 
good heart will be needed to temper my brother’s. Please, see if he cannot 
be spared.”
      “I will stay for now but find you later in Imladris, if I can,” 
Enreilan promised after a brief hesitation. “Now go! Mithlilien, Thranduil 
bids you to flee!”
      As he was bid the gelding took off through the trees, bearing 
Legolas, who felt sick at heart. 
      Mithlilien knew the way from the night he had allotted Thranduil 
on his back, had shared the elven king’s secret, and now made haste to the 
haven that Thranduil had established for Legolas in the Misty Mountains. 
But the going was slower for the horse and rider; the gelding took care of 
his rider who was emotionally distressed and physically burdened, as well 
as slightly off balance from the weight that was now at its peak. Instead of 
a tireless few hours of horseback through the forest the going took nearly a 
full day.
      As night fell the two reached the Misty Mountains, Mithlilien 
slowing down to a walk as they broke into a clearing of trees, approaching 
the great oak that held two talans, high in the branches.
      Legolas’ weary head perked. There was elven magic - Thranduil’s 
magic - at work in this clearing, promising safety and protection to the 
area around the tree. Gratefully he slid heavily from Mithlilien’s back and 
collapsed to the leaf strewn floor, exhausted. Closing his eyes Legolas 
cleared his mind, reaching out with his heart, picturing Thranduil and 
willing his soul to reach across the distance.
      Yes, the connection was still there. Thranduil was still alive, and 
this knowledge brought a smile to Legolas’ lips. Satisfied, he fell asleep.
      Dawn was creeping over the mountains when he awoke with a 
sharp pain in his side. Legolas waited slowly, half awake, moaning as the 
pain tightened, crested, and died away. *It is time,* he whispered to 
Mirkwood.
      *It is time for me as well. My Feä will be with you soon, my 
Greenleaf. Are you in the talan yet?*
      Legolas lifted his head as a silvery grey rope ladder tumbled from 
the lower talan. He let his head drop back to the forest floor with a groan 
of anticipation.
      Mithlilien wandered over and nudged his elf with his nose as if to 
say, *Get up, and do what you are bid. It is time, and you must not lie in 
the dirt!*
      The elf hefted himself up the rope ladder begrudgingly. Once on 
the platform he steadied himself, rubbing his belly, unfamiliar with this 
rest station hidden deep in the forest. 
      The talan was bare, but the trunk of the tree was a storage 
cupboard, holding blankets, food rations…everything Thranduil had seen 
fit to support his Greenleaf through his ordeal until he was able to hunt 
and provide for himself. On top of these supplies was a slender ring 
bearing a tiny white leaf and a tiny green leaf, and a brief note of 
explanation and words of love. At this discovery Legolas nearly bent his 
head and wept, but another pain flashed through his abdomen, and that 
demanded his attention.
      Evening of that first day of isolation fell, and it had begun to rain, 
thunder rumbling in the distance.
      The canopy of the oak kept the elf dry, and Legolas leaned against 
the trunk with his hands protectively over his belly, a blanket draped over 
his shoulders, staring out at the forest. He sighed, waiting.
      The pains had begun to increase in duration and intensity in the last 
few hours. All he could do now was wait and wonder if the Valar saw fit 
to see him alive through this ordeal, or if the Valar had even decided that 
he was worth their thought.
      It would seem that there were only the whispers of the trees 
muffled by the storm to soothe the elf through his pains. Yet, he knew his 
thoughts toward Thranduil transcended the distance, and so Legolas 
continued to sit, watching the fury of the storm through thought glazed 
eyes as he willed his mind away from his rare situation. 
      Closing blue eyes he reached out with his heart…yes, the bond was 
still there. He knew of the Mirkwood king’s doom that was now taking 
place far on the other side of the forest. Legolas thought not of the slaying, 
the blood shed, instead concentrating on the emotions radiating across the 
distance. He sensed no fear on the other’s part. Instead…The elf squinted 
to himself as both pain and concentration on his bond battled for his 
attention.
      The next moment the bond seemed cut and he ceased to feel the 
other. In a panic Legolas’ eyes snapped open, and his cry of despair 
changing to a cry of pain when sudden burst of labor pain caught him 
unaware. The hurt built steadily, the elf closing his eyes and throwing his 
head back against the tree trunk as all seemed lost.
      *My Greenleaf,*
      A soft voice came on the breeze that stirred a long pale lock to fall 
across his face.
      Legolas moaned, cracking his eyelids. “It is finished for you?”
      *It is finished. I am here now.*
      “It hurts.”
      Droplets of water were shaken from the leaves as a breath of gentle 
wind kissed the elf’s forehead.
      *Patience, sweet one.*
      The storm grew fiercer, yellow oak leaves drooping low with 
incessant pounding as water coursed off the blunt tips. Mesmerized by the 
continuous stream the elf lay awkwardly on his side, pulling the blanket 
tighter around himself taking a deep breath as another wave of pain began 
to crest. At least he knew he was not alone, but it would be a long night.
      ~*~
      Understanding welled within him at the sight of the two lover-twin 
brothers, but he wondered why the sons of Elrond ventured out so far into 
the Misty Mountains. Legolas leaned out from his branch, peering down at 
the two dark haired elves who stood with their knives unsheathed and 
gleaming in the sunlight. As they clasped hands and brought the blades to 
the soft, vulnerable skin of their throats, Legolas understood.
      “That is unnecessary, messy, and something I do not care to 
watch,” Legolas mumbled to himself as set an arrow to his bow and drew 
back.
      
      Anwadil: true friend, Quenyan
      Seregiell: blood daughter, Sindarin
      Delumeleth: deadly love; Sindarin


      Anwadil nodded, closing his eyes in pain, letting fall the single tear 
that clung to his lashes.
      Letting out a breath that he did not know he had been holding 
Thranduil shuddered as he struggled to retain the anger that was welling 
inside his chest. Feeling his face heat up he pushed through the door into 
his son’s chambers and closed it hard behind him.
      The room was dark save the fire light that danced from the large 
hearth, casting eerie flickering orange shadows over the furniture. 
Thranduil stood in the center, quivering, fighting the urge to rage and wail 
and blame as he had done years ago when his wife had fallen. Breathing 
hard he stared at the back wall illuminated by the silhouette of the long 
sofa that sat in front of the fire place.
      *What happened? This is not real. It cannot be real*. Childishly 
the elf king closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing it to be another day, 
another year from a time gone past when life seemed much simpler and 
less grievous, yet he knew it was not so. *My Greenleaf…he is young. I 
did not see this.*
      *Yes you did.*
       *I did not see him fade, yet he has.*
      *You did not read the signs.*
      *This cannot be real. It does not seem real. This is a dream. When 
I open my eyes I will find it was a dream…*
      Thranduil opened his eyes.
      The chamber still flickered in firelight, the room silent, as if 
waiting for him to move and finally accept that his son is dead.
      *My son is dead.*
      *No he is not,*
      Thranduil turned to face the fire and took a tiny step toward the 
couch.
      *He is dead.*
      *It cannot be!*
      Slowly he crossed the distance between himself and where Legolas 
lay. Anwadil had pulled the deep green blanket up so that it covered the 
fair face, and with reluctant fingers the elf king reached forward and 
pulled back the cover.
      His stubborn disbelief slowly fell away when he took in the face, 
strangely ethereal, with eyes closed, pale lips slightly parted.
      *It is.*
      Lowering his head to chest Thranduil murmured an admittance he 
never would have uttered had his son’s feä still been in the living. “I am 
sorry I ever asked you to marry Delumeleth. I am sorry I could not live 
with myself any longer, and that I thought you had to marry another in 
order for me to forget. I would have taken my own life before yours. I am 
sorry, my Greenleaf.” His own admittance into the quiet of the room 
cemented the reality and his grief as rage at his predicament melted. 
Slowly, gently, Thranduil moved the slender frame to cradle against his 
chest, pressing his own warmth infused cheek to the cold lifeless face.
       “I am sorry,” his lips began to tremble and a hot tear alighted on 
the pale blond hair that flowed over one arm. *How I loved him! How I 
loved him, not as a father should!* A hurt burst inside his chest and 
Thranduil moaned softly, pulling away, and dropping a kiss on the pale 
forehead. Thranduil remained forehead to forehead, closed, weeping eyes 
to eyes closed in death, mouth to mouth with one hand cradling the back 
of Legolas’ head as firelight danced over their figures and morning 
approached. 
      Out in the hall Anwadil sat silently weeping while Enreilan, having 
emerged from his chamber on his friend’s summons, paced in fury 
mingled with sorrow. 
      “How fares Legolas?” Alindel’s voice preceded his footsteps.
      “Adar,” Anwadil lifted his head, “He is gone.”
      Bowing his head Alindel closed his eyes in sorrow and reflection. 
“Ai, Elbereth, were it not so. Thranduil is with him?”
      “He has been since last night,” Anwadil replied, as Alindel knelt 
by his son and put an arm about his shoulders.
      “If you would, Alindel, please see to the necessary preparations?” 
Enreilan said suddenly from where he stood in a shadow. “Adar, I know, 
will be unfit to do so in the days to follow.”
      Alindel nodded. He was only too familiar as to what to expect 
following Thranduil’s loss.
      Dawn was breaking and the song birds were beginning to stir in a 
direct juxtaposition to the grief that rampaged through the mountain 
fortress.
      Unaware or caring of the time that had passed Thranduil remained 
motionless, tears and anger spent, with his son still cradled to him. “I love 
you,” he whispered, dropping another kiss on one cheek, then the other. “I 
love you, and that,” another kiss on each eye, “is why I pushed you away.”
      Mouth lowered to stop a breadth away from the other’s lips. 
      “I loved you too much. I am sorry.”
      The softest kiss on the mouth.
      At this contact the elf gave a sob, kissing the other again, eyes 
closing as tears sprung and fell anew. At length Thranduil pulled away, 
giving a shaky sigh.
      Legolas’ eyelids fluttered. The golden head he cradled to his own 
gave the smallest turn and a soft, fluttering breath that glanced across his 
own lips before the mouth under them showed life in the gentlest of 
butterfly kisses. 
      Letting out a cry Thranduil pulled back slightly and distinctly felt 
the light, fragile feeling ribcage give the slightest spasm beneath his 
hands, as a gentle pulsing rhythm began to ebb in the pale slender neck. 
Not caring why or whether or not he was dreaming, Thranduil began to 
drop kisses on the slightly parted mouth between breathy flutters. “My 
Greenleaf?” he murmured, lips barely touching, hardly daring to hope.
      The chest under him gave a heave, the mouth twitched then let out 
a moan, and Thranduil pressed his own lips to the others.
      Legolas let out a mew.
      In amazement and joy Thranduil let out a cry, stifled as he bent his 
head to kiss the other again. “Legolas,” he whispered repeatedly in 
disbelief, gentle kisses punctuating his exclamation. “You are…?”
      “Ai!” Legolas let out a breathless cry, eye lids still fluttering until 
they were half open.
      Thranduil paused his ministrations to take in the pulsing of life in 
his son, not caring or questioning this miraculous return. He stroked the 
familiar face and neck with his fingers as if in awe, and Legolas smiled. 
Unable to speak Thranduil simply shook his head.
      “I am cold,” the other murmured.
      Gently he drew Legolas’ long body to him as they lay side by side 
under the blanket, cradling the head and stroking the hair that leaned in 
toward him. “I love you,” Thranduil whispered, unable to keep his lips 
from trailing over the rewarming flesh. “I love you, not as a son,” the 
admittance came in a hot breathless whisper against a pulsing artery in his 
neck and the body below him gave a tremor.
      “I know. Love you too, not as a father,” Legolas murmured 
brokenly. “That is why I thought I must go,”
      “I am sorry. Would you still pass if you could?”
      “I cannot. Would you deny me, Adar?”
      Thranduil gave a quiver. All he wanted, dreamed of, lay here and 
now after it had been so nearly snatched away from him. “You do not 
need to marry,” he said slowly.
      “I could not,” Legolas’ voice was growing thick and sleepy. “Not 
now. That-“ he yawned. “I know. But…what of Delumeleth?”
      “Shh,” Thranduil kissed him again. “Think of her not. I will deal 
with it. Rest, my Greenleaf.” As the elf in his arms went limp in sleep 
Thranduil stroked the light blond hair, the slender body, treasuring the 
simple rise and fall of his chest. As dawn blossomed over the mountain the 
king held this new gift in his arms, uncaring of the consequences of the 
sins that lay ahead.
      
      Anwadil nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of his friend 
when Thranduil had called him into the bedchamber the day following 
Legolas’ death. Again he was given a shock when his yelp of surprise 
woke up the elf and Legolas cracked his eyelids to give him the smallest 
of smiles. In the days that followed the two friends spent much time 
together with few words exchanged, content enough to be in the other’s 
silent company.
      Legolas quickly fell back into the rhythm of living in content, 
though the world seemed a little more vivid to his bright eyes, the bird 
song seemed sweeter, and everything became a wonder. When he was not 
seeing to duties he carried in trade he spent much time with those dear to 
him, Enreilan, Anwadil, and Thranduil, in that order. Enreilan seemed 
determined to never leave his side, filling his ear with a constant narration 
of everything that was going on around them. Anwadil was usually 
content to follow the pair around though he occasionally had Legolas to 
himself for stretches of time. Thranduil and Legolas spent most evenings 
together, reading, riding or talking together in the quiet private of one of 
their chambers.
      Legolas was not sure what to make of this time spent with his 
Adar. He looked forward to it throughout the day and dreaded when it 
ended. Things were different between them; he could feel it in the 
glancing of a hand across a cheek or even in simple eye contact. Legolas 
loved and hated this at the same time, knowing the mutual feelings that 
were harbored would doom both of them to exile, or worse. Yet at the 
same time he could not believe that what they were doing was wrong; they 
were not doing anything at all save passing time together, and what harm 
could there be in that?
      Discontent with the long knife that currently complimented his 
quiver Legolas decided to forge a new, lighter weapon. After carefully 
choosing material suitable for the blade Anwadil helped his friend heat 
and pound an edge to a pale white, iridescent metal, light but immensely 
strong. The full tang handle was bone, heated and polished until it shone 
hard and pure, inlaid with the same metal that formed the blade and 
finished with a large white opal, a gift from Thranduil.
      Winter was fading away when Legolas finished his project, new 
green leaves peaking out from bare branches. Legolas was sitting with 
Anwadil under the trees, happily testing the balance of his creation before 
using a whet stone to put the finishing edge on the long white knife.
      “You are aware,” Anwadil said gently as he looked down the shaft 
of an arrow he was filing, “That Delumeleth is arriving the day after 
tomorrow.”
      This reminder caused Legolas to pause his strokes down the blade. 
“That fact had escaped my memory.”
      “You feel no joys in the return of one you are to be bond to,” 
Anwadil stated, tilting his head and looking into his friend’s eyes. 
“Legolas, I do not understand. You return from the dead for what? I 
thought for her, though I do not pretend to know what transpired that 
night. Do you not love her?”
      Resuming use of his whet stone Legolas murmured, “Mandos 
would not let me pass into his halls, though I begged to pass. He said that I 
had not fulfilled what must be done, though he would not tell me what. I 
love her, Anwadil, as a friend and nothing more. I marry her,” Legolas 
sighed, “On my Adar’s request, for love of him. But it is not yet known 
what will come of our intended union. Please, speak of it not.”
      “As you wish,” Anwadil relented, somewhat reluctantly.
      The wind mingled with the songs of the trees as they sat in 
renewed silence for a length of time, until Enreilan’s energetic call came 
resonating through the glen.
      “Legolas! Anwadil!”
      Looking up Legolas spied Enreilan come bounding to his side, and 
Thranduil coming into view at a much more modest pace than his 
youngest son.
      Bending over his brother’s work Enreilan smiled. “It is finished! 
Lovely too. I thought a ride or hunt would be in order but perhaps you 
would rather put to use your new weapon? First one to disarm the other is 
declared champion?” He put one hand to the hilt of his sword looking 
hopeful.
      Glancing up at his father Legolas’ eyes twinkled. *If something is 
not done he will tear apart the forest with his boundless energy,* he 
thought, handing his stone to Anwadil and rising. “Very well then, but you 
know I will be victorious,”
      Anwadil rose to join Thranduil at the edge of the glen, both elves 
wearing identical smirks for a friendly face off between the two often 
proved entertaining. Legolas’ strength was in his bow whereas Enreilan’s 
lay in the sword, but as Legolas was slightly longer limbed and more 
experienced the two brothers were nearly evenly matched in sparring.
      Enreilan’s movements were quick and sure but within a few 
strokes it became apparent that Legolas had his brother beat. His long 
white knife, though unused until this moment, proved to be the best fit of a 
weapon the elf had wielded yet. Barely thirty seconds into their contest 
Enreilan’s sword hit the forest floor with a thud, leaving its owner with a 
slightly stung wrist.
      “Again,” Enreilan demanded though he knew he was beat, and he 
stooped to retrieve his weapon. “What magic did you work into that knife 
of yours, Legolas?”
      “It,” Legolas blocked a downward stroke, “Feels a part of me, 
which the old one did not.”
      “Sadly I cannot say the same for my own choice,” Enreilan gave 
the slightest frown.
      “You are young,” Thranduil called from the sidelines. “You will 
yet find a weapon that suits you.” The words had hardly left his lips when 
Enreilan gave a soft exclamation and jumped as Legolas gave his grip a 
twist and forced him to let go.
      Enreilan looked to his Adar. “I hope it is soon!”
      Walking over to the sword and hefting it Thranduil looked at it 
critically, occasionally glance over to his son. “It is one of the swords that 
your grandfather wielded, and he was much broader though not so tall as 
you, Enreilan. I think you would do better with a slender, longer foil.” The 
elven king shifted his grip and looked across to his oldest son, eyebrows 
raised. “Legolas? Care to demonstrate your proficiency?”
      Legolas smirked and lunged, making an attempt to pirouette 
around his father in an attempt to attack from behind, and to show off. 
Unfortunately for him it had been Thranduil that had taught him that 
move, and the woodland king knew exactly how to forestall it. As a 
slender foot hooked his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him 
Legolas gasped, expecting to fall flat on his back.
      At the edge of the clearing to the sparring elves’ left Enreilan 
smirked good naturedly, his brother’s quick downfall tempering his own 
defeat.
      With his free left arm Thranduil broke the other’s fall, wrapping 
under an outstretched arm to cradle his open hand on the chest. Legolas’ 
mass of pale braids and loose hair mingled with Thranduil’s own darker 
golden strands as the younger elf’s head fell over his left shoulder. Feeling 
the heart pulsing under his palm Thranduil had to shift a very little to 
whisper into the shell of Legolas’ right ear, “Careful,” before letting his 
tongue dart out to glance up the pointed tip. He then released his prisoner, 
throwing him forward and giving him the momentum to do a half turn to 
face him.
      Regaining his balance Legolas stopped for a moment in shock, 
staring at his father, trembling at the heat that raced down his spine. *Do it 
again!* He wanted to say but of course could not, and at a prompt from 
Enreilan, lunged forward in a new attack.
      It had been a long time since Thranduil had had need to wield a 
blade, but with many millennia of training behind him he did not forget 
easily. Returning his son’s blows with an equally aggressive attack the two 
danced across the forest floor, each sure of their own movements.
      Thranduil’s swipe held more power and were more calculated but 
Legolas was quick on his feet and skilled in his movements, lasting longer 
in combat with his father than Enreilan had with Legolas. The sound of the 
foils rasping against each other was mesmerizing to him, the song of battle 
that made his heart quicken and his eyes brighter. It was not often, though, 
that Legolas found himself in one on one combat. In defending the forest 
he loved he nearly always found himself fighting at least two at once and 
had grown accustomed to larger numbers of opponents, and gradually 
Thranduil’s experience won out as both began to tire.
      Legolas allowed himself several steps backward, coming flush 
with a large oak. His eyes locked to his father’s before delivering a swing 
that swept Thranduil’s weapon to one side, allowing the other to re gather 
himself for a lunge.
      As the silver white knife blade came at him Thranduil ducked and 
swept up to block the attack, forcing Legolas’ arm over his head and 
causing him to reel back a step from sheer force. Thranduil pounced, 
sword clashing against knife as he pinned the weapon against the tree, 
throwing his weight against the other and expected Legolas to drop the 
weapon.
      Face inches from Thranduil’s as he was pressed against the trunk 
Legolas glanced up at his trapped hand and back into the eyes. Suddenly 
he was lost in the dilated, dark pupils, the skin flushed from exertion and 
was suddenly aware of the heaving chest pressed to his own. Letting out a 
gasp he let his weapon fall, unmindful of the fact that it nearly caught their 
heads on the way down to the carpet of dead leaves.
      Thranduil remained in position, mouth slightly open and panting. 
“Do you surrender, my Greenleaf?” His question came in hushed 
breathless whisper.
      There was a moment in which Legolas gulped. “Yes,” he replied in 
an equally quiet voice, holding eye contact, the other pausing another 
moment before stepping back and away from the tree. Legolas felt 
something at the base of his stomach trembling, leaving him unable to 
speak and wide eyed.
      Returning his gaze with a slightly open mouth Thranduil blinked, 
caught himself and put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Come,” he 
murmured, leading his son with a hand on the small of his back to where 
Enreilan and Anwadil stood. “It is your turn,” he called to Enreilan, 
tossing him the sword. “Let us see you and Anwadil and give your brother 
and myself a rest.”
      Shrugging and grinning Enreilan caught the weapon and bounded 
out into the center of the clearing. Anwadil paused slightly, eyes lingering 
on the two golden haired elves that stood beside him, before with a quick 
smile and nod went out to join Enreilan.
      Over the dry sounds of metal on metal and playful banter between 
the two dueling elves came the call of Alindel through the trees. Leaning 
toward Legolas Thranduil apologized, “Duties call. I will see you this 
evening?”
      Legolas gave the slightest nod, sighing inwardly at the absence of 
the warm hand on his back as Thranduil disappeared through the trees. He 
found himself looking forward to their evening liaison more so than usual, 
having a difficult time focusing on the task at hand which was seeing to 
the prisoner Gollum (after Anwadil beat Enreilan).
      The evening meal had ended and the usual song covered the forest 
like a blanket when Legolas searched the crowd of faces carefully for 
Thranduil. Once he was sure he was not in the crowd the elf slipped 
through the great stone doors into the mountain fortress, making his way 
down the softly lit twisty passages to the door to Thranduil’s chambers. 
He knocked gently then without waiting for an invitation entered.
      The woodland elf king looked up from a book, smiled, and moved 
over to make room on the lounge.
      With a sigh the other elf sank into the cushions, leaning into the 
warmth of the body next to him. Feeling Thranduil dropped a kiss on the 
top of head he lifted his face in request for a kiss on the lips, which he was 
granted. “Do not stop,” he murmured as Thranduil pulled away. “This 
afternoon,” 
      The elf king smiled.
      Legolas gave an involuntary shiver, closing his eyes as a long hand 
cupped his face, lips skimming his jaw line to his ear where they lingered, 
adoring. He raised his own hand hesitantly opening his fingers on 
Thranduil’s neck, in awe of the pulse he found there, by the soft skin 
which was all too soon obscured by the soft green collar with a cool silver 
clasp at the hollow of the throat. There was solid warm chest further 
down, feeling similar yet so different from his own under his fingertips, all 
of this registering in his memory as a hot mouth gently worked over his 
neck. Legolas moaned, bringing up both of his hands to the chest where a 
rapid heart beat thudded against one palm. The warm mouth broke 
contact, and Legolas whimpered and reeled forward slightly.
      Thranduil cupped the other’s face in his hands, eyes wide at the 
vision of Legolas: eyes closed, cheeks brushed a gentle pink, lips slightly 
parted and glistening, chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran his thumbs 
gently over his eyelids and Legolas opened his eyes. “You tremble,” 
Thranduil murmured.
      “That I do,” Legolas’ voice quavered. Untouched he was but 
Legolas was not ignorant, recognizing the burn of desire that was glowing 
hot within him. “That…is a small part of…what it is to achieve…bodily 
union...” He leaned his forehead against the others.
      “A small part, yes,” Thranduil whispered. “A very small part,” he 
whispered again, nearly inaudible. He sat back hands still holding the fair 
face before him as he looked deep into the other’s thoughts which were as 
plain as if Legolas had spoken them aloud. “Do you know what you ask?”
      “Yes.” Legolas replied firmly. “I would be complete with you, and 
that is what I need. You do not ask it of me for fear of persuasion, but I 
know you desire it as well.”
      I do, Thranduil admitted and Legolas nodded.
      “But I know what we both desire is impossible for fear of penalty 
upon discovery.” Legolas snuggled his head into Thranduil’s chest. “I 
have pondered the thought and it is very selfish of me and unfair to my 
spouse…but…if I bonded to Delumeleth…would anyone be the wiser if 
there was a union between the two of us?”
      Resting his cheek on top of the other’s head Thranduil said, “I 
know not. I have never heard of a bond between more than one spouse, 
save Muriel and Feanor. Would you not be content to live with my kisses 
and my heart alone?”
      “I love you, and ask for you not out of lust for it does not rule my 
mind. In boding we would share so much more than pleasure; it would 
also assure us that we would be together even after death. Would you be 
content to live with my kisses and heart?”
      “It does not assure all of that, Legolas,” Thranduil sighed, the 
thought of wraiths slipping through his mind. He half expecting a pang of 
melancholy but there came none. “You have pondered this and are sure?”
      With a resolute tilt to his chin Legolas replied, “I have, ever since 
Mandos sent me back and if I must face judgment before Valar and 
wander Middle Earth lost until the ending of the world, I will.”
      “Your words are bold my Greenleaf and you mind is set.” 
Thranduil kissed him again. “If that is the path you would choose it is a 
path that I would travel with you, even if it should lead to the ultimate 
consequence. Delumeleth arrives tomorrow though she knows not what 
she is doomed for. A wedding date shall be set.”
      
      Legolas felt a terrible wrench at his conscience when Delumeleth 
arrived in Mirkwood, greeting him with a small flower and a kiss on the 
cheek. He sat through the celebration and song that was a formality in 
welcoming his betrothed and her kin to Mirkwood, stealing glances at his 
father from time to time and reminding himself of the larger plan that was 
in motion.
      Yet his heart would not allow him to follow through with the entire 
ordeal without the slightest warning to the enthused female elf that sat 
beside him.
      When the eating was finished and the gathering of elves was 
heading for the clearing Legolas put one hand to her shoulder. “Might I 
request a private audience, perhaps in the glen from our youth?”
      Looking to the minstrels longingly Delumeleth said, “You do not 
wish to dance?”
      “I really must speak with you privately,”
      She sighed, and followed the elf off into the trees.
      “Your pace is swift; you do not wish to be followed,” Delumeleth 
hitched up her skirts as they broke into the small clearing and followed 
Legolas into his beech.
      Seating himself with his back leaned against the trunk Legolas 
waited until the other had made herself comfortable in the boughs. He 
reached up and tugged of the simple silver circlet that he had selected 
seemingly so long ago and rubbed the indentation in his forehead, tired of 
the uncomfortable decoration.
      “Put it back on,”
      Legolas blinked and turned to look at her. “What?”
      “It looks nice on you; put it back on,” Delumeleth repeated, her 
tone amiable enough but her command clear. When he hedged she reached 
over and pressed the diadem back on Legolas’ head, smoothing the pale 
strands of hair around it until she was satisfied, then sat back on her 
branch and smiled.
      Ignoring the discomfort Legolas cut to the matter at hand. “What 
do you want out of this marriage?”
      Delumeleth looked confused. “I do not understand what you are 
asking,”
      “Why did you choose to marry me?” Legolas pressed. “I am sure 
that you are well loved by the elves of you home-“
      “This is my home,” Delumeleth interrupted. “I was born here, in 
Mirkwood, and raised here beside you.” She eyed him shrewdly. “Do you 
wish to break off the betrothal?”
      Making an effort to hide his hopefulness mixed with dread Legolas 
said, “Is that what you wish for?”
      “Not at all. I sought you out first, Legolas, for I have known you 
the longest, save Anwadil. You are kind, intelligent, and gentle. All I 
could hope for in a match.”
      “Do you love me, then? As a spouse?”
      “I love you as a friend, and I hope to grow to love you as a wife.” 
Delumeleth looked at him earnestly. “I know as a match we are based on 
mutual consent not romantic, passionate love. But, Legolas, I will be a 
faithful” - Legolas winced - “spouse who wants nothing more but the 
happiness of our children.”
      At the thought of children Legolas nearly lost his balance and 
toppled from his perch.
      “And,” Delumeleth continued, “I can ask no more of you than to 
grow with me and be my husband. We have all of time to grow to love 
each other. Please, I want nothing more than to be wed, and children. 
Would you think it wrong of me to ask that of you?”
      “No,” Legolas said slowly. It seemed to him all Delumeleth 
wanted was to be matched and have a husband, and who she was to be 
matched to seemed secondary. 
      That evening Legolas sat across from Thranduil in the seclusion of 
his chambers, both with a chalice in their hand. “Delumeleth is determined 
to be bound and it makes me feel ill at heart,” Legolas took a sip. “And I 
am determined to follow through, for what lies after.”
      Thranduil licked his lips slowly. “You are convinced, my 
Greenleaf, that you would not be satisfied to live with no more than my 
kisses and my heart?”
      “If you allow it, I would have all of you.”
      
      The young bride to be had been keen on spending as much time 
with her betrothed as possible, hoping to take their friendship into the next 
step before the wedding. That had gone over smoothly enough with 
Legolas for the first few days; after all, if things were to be the way he 
planned he knew that there had to be some way he must come to love and 
respect her.
      Then she had started leaning on his arm at the most inopportune 
moments (such as when he needed his bow arm), or tucking flowers in 
every place she could reach. The final straw came when, one starlit night 
after a long ride through the forest, they had been crossing the bridge to 
the great stone doors leading into the main hall of the mountain. 
      Delumeleth had stopped Legolas in the middle of the bridge, 
embraced him, and began to sing into his ear of Nimrodel. Legolas had put 
forth his best effort to return her ardor, but in truth the amorous feelings 
between himself and Delumeleth (who was no more than a dear friend to 
him yet) made him feel extremely out of place. Then came gentle kisses 
on his cheek, nearing his mouth and startling the poor elf so much he 
nearly lost his balance and plunged into the river below.
      “You do not love me!” Delumeleth had cried sounding slightly 
hysterical, stepping back as Legolas teetered on the edge of the bridge.
      “Delumeleth!” Legolas said trying in vain to push aside the 
memory of every single kiss Thranduil had ever bestowed on him and 
regain his balance at the same time. “You caught me off guard! That is all! 
And we have all the time in Arda to cement a relationship…after the 
wedding.” He took one look at her eyes which shone with hurt and 
rejection, sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “We are both tired. Come, let 
us go to bed and forget this,”
      But in the days that followed Legolas fled her company as often as 
he was able.
      After a slight tearful confrontation on Delumeleth’s part they 
reached a compromise, part of which involved Legolas spending his 
evenings with Delumeleth. He did not find her company adverse, as when 
she was not touching him it was like old times of pure and innocent 
friendship; it was the excess of her company and the absence of 
Thranduil’s that altogether he found smothering. Gradually the thought of 
a life time of ducking and weaving to see Thranduil and avoiding 
Delumeleth became unbearable.
      And so Legolas passed the remainder of his betrothal feeling 
slightly miserable, living only for the time he was able to steal away with 
Thranduil. “She uses me for the illusion of blissful married life and I use 
her for…” he sighed, and Mithlilien whickered as Thranduil and Legolas 
rode through the depths of Mirkwood the afternoon before the wedding. 
“So I suppose we are on equally deceitful footing,”
      “I think you are-“
      “-Trying to appease a guilty conscience?” Legolas interrupted. 
“Perhaps. But she will be getting what she desires as will I. Still, I wish 
there was another way; a way in which we do not risk breaking the heart 
of one so hopeful.”
      “As do I,” Thranduil pushed a side a slender branch to clear a path 
as they rode through the woods. “But love makes fools of us all.” In a 
gentle voice Thranduil asked, “You would not content yourself to live 
with my kisses and my heart alone?”
      Legolas lowered his head. “You ask me three times now,”
      “Do you doubt my affections?”
      “I question your motive behind them, yes, but I have but to look 
into your eyes and any doubt I harbor is gone.”
      “My Greenleaf,” he murmured. “I love you more than I have any 
before, but if you were content to keep your body for yourself and not 
marry Delumeleth, then you may simply live a life of bachelorhood.”
      “But I want all of you. Should that that be my choice I would leave 
your presence forever to seek what Mandos sent me back for and…No, I 
would rather live a doomed existence in secret than a pure one in the 
light.”
      “As I have said before it is a path I would follow you on.”
      
      On the first of Laer [June 1] Legolas and Delumeleth were wed 
under the trees of Mirkwood.
      Legolas had anticipated the day with mixed feelings, part of him 
wanting nothing more for it to be over so he could carry out his plan, and 
part of him wishing that the day would never come to avoid the troubles 
his plan may bring. He tolerated the fussing and the traditions with 
outward placidity and inward resentment, socializing with Delumeleth’s 
parents as he was required.
      Before the exchange of the rings Thranduil embraced his son. 
“Come to me when you are ready,” he whispered, head turned in the crook 
of his arm to hide the gentle fleeting kiss he bestowed on the listening ear.
      Fighting the urge to go limp with want and melt on the spot 
Legolas gave a slight nod and Thranduil released him.
      The remainder of the wedding feast was long for Legolas. To his 
right sat Delumeleth and his left was Enreilan; both were absorbed in 
conversation with the others around him. He sat placidly, poking at his 
food idly as Anwadil gave him curious glances from across him at table, 
glancing often to the head of the table to where his Adar sat with Alindel 
and Delumeleth’s parents. 
      Thranduil frequently held his gaze for as long as he dared, willing 
him silently to be patient in promise of what was to come.
      The exchange of bands had been tense and emptily painful for both 
of them. Setting down his sliver fork Legolas twisted the gold band 
fitfully, half convinced that his façade of marriage would bring fire and 
wrath of the Valar upon his head and half convinced that if he should get 
through the remainder of this day the reward for his falsehood would be 
worth all that he suffered through now. 
      At long last the sun began to sink slowly below the tree line and 
Legolas was able to escape from the mass of merriment. As Delumeleth 
led him away through the trees toward the mountain Legolas threw a long 
glance over his shoulder.
      From the head of the table Thranduil caught his eyes, a strange 
light in them.
      Relieved as he was to be away from the joyful celebration Legolas 
found himself confronted with a new problem as he was led to his room 
and Delumeleth shut the door behind them. She looked at him.
      He stared back, the notion of the completion of their marriage 
registering somewhere in the back of his mind.
      Delumeleth crossed the room to the bed, sat on it, and fixed her 
gaze on him again.
      Legolas had the strangest feeling that this is what it would feel like 
to be staring down the shaft of an arrow pointed between his eyes. He 
swallowed, making an effort to picture another elf – a golden haired elf – 
waiting for him. *This is what I must do. This is the way that it must be.* 
His mental tirade continued for long moments as his heart began to throb 
painfully in his chest, unable to move forward and unable to turn and flee.
      As he stood rooted to the spot Delumeleth, looking both nervous 
and exasperated, unlaced her dress.
      The chiffon hit the floor and suddenly the realization of sharing his 
body so intimately while caught up in a lie made Legolas flinch, and he 
took an involuntary step backward, closing his eyes.
      Hurt registered strongly across Delumeleth’s features and she 
blanched, drawing her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms about her 
self protectively.
      There was no need for words.
      Legolas turned, opening the door quickly and fleeing down the 
hall.
      As many times as he had made the trek from his own chambers to 
his father’s Legolas felt as if this was the longest he had ever taken. Not 
pausing to knock when he reached the great oaken door he turned the 
handle and threw it wide, to reveal a shocked looking Thranduil and 
Alindel, sitting across from each other, a flagon in between them.
      “Legolas,” Thranduil said quietly.
      “I must speak to you alone,” Legolas burst out, looked wildly over 
to the advisor then back at Thranduil.
      Eyes still on his son Thranduil said gently to Alindel, “Wait for me 
outside, my friend.”
      Looking confused and slightly worried Alindel complied 
nonetheless, rising slowly and exiting the room silently, latching the door 
shut behind him.
      Pressing his shaking knees together Legolas dropped onto a nearby 
chair. “I could not do it,” he revealed as Thranduil came and perched on 
the arm of the chair, one arm in a half caress around the other. “I know not 
what to do now but I know I cannot follow through with Delumeleth.”
      Thranduil nodded.
      Bringing one hand up to curl around a fold of Thranduil’s soft grey 
leggings, Legolas leaned into the other’s warm body. “And I feel I need all 
of you more than ever. I know not what to do.”
      Again the woodland king was silent, stroking Legolas’ soft blond 
hair with his fingertips, turning over options in his mind.
      “I care not anymore. I need to be complete,” Legolas whispered 
again, closing his eyes and giving a slight quiver.
      “You would refuse to remain unwed and single for the remainder 
of you time on Middle Earth?”
      “Yes. But -”
      “Hush,” Thranduil placed his hand over his mouth. “Very well, my 
Greenleaf. Then you shall be completed tonight,” he murmured, leaned 
down and dropped a gentle kiss on Legolas’ mouth. “Though I know not 
what morning shall bring when it is know that it was not Delumeleth who 
completed you.” There was a long moment in which neither elf spoke. 
“But first, someone must speak to her, for I am sure the state of heart and 
mind you left her in was less than serene.” 
      Legolas nodded, eyes closed, arms wrapped around his Adar’s. 
      Giving the other a final caress Thranduil rose, firmly but lovingly 
removed his clinging son, and opened the door, ushering Legolas through.
      Seeing the other two emerge Alindel rose from his sitting position, 
watching Legolas go solemnly by, the younger elf unable to meet his eyes. 
The advisor looked back to his friend and king, and Thranduil shook his 
head back and forth ever so slightly.
      The door to Legolas’ chambers stood slightly ajar. Stopping the 
other two outside the door Legolas turned to Thranduil and said quietly, 
“Let me speak to her,”
      He found Delumeleth exactly where he left her only now she was 
wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to 
her chin, staring at the candelabra on the wall. She did not turn her head to 
look at him when he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. 
Legolas swallowed hard, a long awkward silence turning into increasingly 
uncomfortable minutes. “Delumeleth, I…” he swallowed again. “I let 
things go too far. I am sorry.” There was a long silence. Legolas found 
Delumeleth’s lack of emotion worse than if she had gone into hysterics. 
“I…I do not deserve to ask for your forgiveness.”
      She gave what sounded like a harsh laugh and shook her head. 
“You are a great friend, Legolas Greenleaf, but…” Delumeleth let her 
voice trail off and she shook her head again. “I came to Mirkwood to be 
married…” Her countenance changed. In a voice unassuming, wrought 
only with disappointment, Delumeleth asked, “All I wanted was to be 
married and have children. You could not have seen that through, and 
come to love your children even if you never come to love me?”
      “It is not what I want,” Legolas said. “I feel my path is something 
different. Very different. Stay here for as long as you see fit,” Legolas 
continued quietly. “I feel terrible…but I could not be the husband or the 
father you seek.”
      “Perhaps it is for the best, then, you are telling me.”
      “Yes.”
      “Perhaps you are right…No, I know you are right.”
      There was another pregnant pause.
      “Sleep here. I have disrupted your life for far too long,” Legolas 
turned to go. His hand was on the doorknob when Delumeleth finally 
turned and called after him,
      “Legolas,”
      He turned.
      Delumeleth looked as if she were struggling with herself. “I bear 
no ill will on my part.”
      Legolas closed the bedroom door, stepping into the dim hall where 
Alindel and Thranduil waited. “She and I are at peace,” he said, looking 
from one to the other.
      “What will you do with your life now, Legolas?” Alindel inquired 
kindly. “For your plans have changed greatly,”
      With the slightest of smirks that was detected only by Thranduil 
Legolas replied, “I know not what the next morning brings, and that is 
what the Valar intend.”
      “If you would be so good as to wait for me in my chamber,” 
Thranduil murmured to Legolas, “We have many things to discuss.”
      Ducking his head to avoid having to look Alindel in the eye 
Legolas padded off down the hall.
      “Are you upset?” Alindel said, preparing himself for a rant.
      “In my heart, my friend,” Thranduil sighed. “I know this is for the 
best.”
      As the two stood there the door opened and, clutching her robe 
about her Delumeleth emerged. She looked taken aback to see the elves 
standing before her but she smiled faintly and said, “You know.” With a 
slight bow to Thranduil she thanked him for his hospitality and, like 
Legolas had done, the Mirkwood king requested her to stay for as long as 
she wished.
      “Thank you,” she had replied, and hastened away to seek comfort 
in the ear of a friend before informing her parents.
      “Legolas will have much to contend with in the morning,” Alindel 
murmured as Delumeleth rounded a turn and vanished from sight. “As will 
you.”
      *That shall be the least of his worries, and oh! The irony in that 
statement!* Thranduil thought grimly to himself, but all he did was nod.
      The forest was growing quiet again as the stars came out, the 
festivities finished, and Alindel bid his friend goodnight. “Would you need 
my council tomorrow at first light to tie up the ends of this mess?”
      “Perhaps,” Thranduil rubbed his forehead. He did not want to think 
already of the events that the next day would bring. “There really is no 
rush in such matters.”
      “Go to your son,” Alindel bid him. “I will attend to matters at 
hand,”
      As he made his way to his rooms Thranduil pushed aside all 
trepidation that would follow in the morning due to what was to come that 
night. He stopped in front of the great door, sighed, and let himself in. He 
shut the door firmly behind him, locked it, and turned.
      Wrapped in a loose, silky robe Legolas sat propped up against the 
pillows, knees bent supporting the book he was reading. He turned to look 
at Thranduil, eyes wide both patient and eager at the same time, loose hair 
tumbling over his shoulder as he shut the book and set it aside. Sitting up, 
he pursed trembling lips, bringing his fingertips up to the collar to undo 
the first clasp.
      “Patience,” Thranduil murmured, crossing the room and sitting on 
the edge of the bed. He cupped the face as he so often did in his hands, 
kissing his lips as he had done before. Yet it was all different this time; 
Legolas was glowing with anticipation mixed with a slight fear of the 
unknown, and awash with unconditional love. “Lay back, my Greenleaf,”
      Legolas complied, eyes never leaving the other.
      After shedding his tunic Thranduil ran one hand from caressing a 
high cheek bone to the opening of the robe, slowly unhooking the 
meticulously wrought clasps.
      Closing his eyes and leaning back into downy softness Legolas 
slipped into the completion he had longed for. The gentlest of kisses, 
hands dancing over his skin, the strong body that fit into his arms only, the 
wonderful sensations blurring his mind until coherent thoughts were 
impossible. The new wonder that was Thranduil’s body, the touching, the 
reward of the other’s gasp of pleasure, the new wonder that was his own 
body that was coming alive like he had never known before.
      “Ai!” 
      A cry of delight, permeating the rustle of the sheets as their bodies 
shifted to bring mouths close, exhaling hot soft breaths over slightly parted 
lips. There was only rhythm now, the scent of their mingling bodies, and 
the tickling whisper of long hair flowing over bare skin.
      Thranduil heard the gasps of the other become quicker, shallower, 
felt muscles tensing beneath his own, saw the head slowly falling back and 
emitting an urgent cry as the elf under him came to orgasm. He kissed 
Legolas gently, who was trembling in his aftermath. “Sweet one,”
      That night neither elf slept, unsure of anything except that dawn 
would come whether they wanted it to or not. The two lay in an entangled 
heap of bare limbs and bed sheets, Legolas’ head resting in the niche of 
Thranduil’s neck as the Mirkwood king absent mindedly stroke his hair. 
Reaching out with his thoughts to his newly bonded partner for the first 
time Legolas questioned, *What will become of us?*
      *I know not.*
	Legolas did not reply. Instead he rose, stretching his long limbs 
slowly and dressing. “I am restless…I can conceal the truth no longer!”
      With an amused smirk that hid his dread Thranduil inquired, “You 
would do what; step out into the hall and call out our liaison at the top of 
your voice?”
      “I will attend breakfast as usual and wait and see what will happen 
when someone notices. You would come with me?”
      Being an informal affair breakfast was already well under way 
when the two golden haired elves joined the rest of their kin, pointedly 
sitting side by side. 
      Legolas expected trepidation and apprehension to knot his stomach 
so tight he would be unable to swallow as he reached for a piece of fresh 
bread. Instead he found a rush of adrenalin thrilling though his body at the 
thought of what may come if his union with the one who sat beside him 
was ever brought to light, which it certainly would to the first who looked 
him in the eye. Boldly he tilted his chin up to stare at the elf seated across 
from him, daring him to proclaim to all of Mirkwood of the sins between 
their leader and his son.
      Seated directly across from Legolas was Anwadil but his friend 
merely smiled at him and said, “Your life has changed greatly,” before 
turning the topic of conversation to an explanation of Delumeleth’s 
absence at the breakfast table.
      Next to Anwadil was Alindel, who had finished his meal of fresh 
berries and was talking in a quiet voice to Thranduil, who had his 
eyebrows raised with an expression of surprise on his face. The advisor 
turned his head, looked into Legolas’ eyes, and smiled. Then he turned 
back to Anwadil, whispered something in his ear, and Anwadil turned to 
look Legolas in the face and he nodded and smiled too.
      *My Greenleaf,* Thranduil’s thoughts whispered in his mind, 
*Are you trying to attract lightening?*
      *I feign and abhor this waiting for the blow to fall! Why do they 
speak of it not? Worse, why do they smile?*
      Anwadil reached across the table, lightly touching his friend’s long 
hand. “Legolas,”
      The elf gave a slight nod.
      “Delumeleth and her family hold no grudge against you for your 
decision,” Anwadil stroked the hand warmly, before pulling back and 
surveying his face with thought. “Yes, Adar was right,”
      “About what,” Legolas said flatly.
      “About your eyes. Adar told me of last night, concerning you and 
your Adar. Your new endeavor would prove to be the wiser. Oh, Legolas, 
to your own flesh and blood…it is unheard of but such a credit to your 
Adar!” Anwadil smiled again.
      *Your Adar told you about last night?* Legolas nearly fell from 
his seat at the thought of Alindel being held privy to the events of the 
previous night. “Yes,” he finally said, ready to shout the news to the sky 
above, taking hold of a table knife, “I bonded to my own flesh and blood 
last-“ his tirade was broken off when Thranduil took him by the wrist and 
led him nearly forcefully from the table.
      “What-“
      *Shh. I will explain this unexpected boon.* Thranduil let him to a 
small private room and shut the door, locking it magically* behind him. 
He took the other’s face in his hands, eyes shining. “Legolas,” he 
whispered, “They misunderstand!”
      Confused Legolas replied, “As do I! Adar, they see a bonding in 
my eyes and yours yet know that no such marriage has taken 
place…Alindel knows of last night! How…?” he sputtered, hands 
gesturing. “I expected them to come at us with table knives and animosity 
instead of happiness and smiles to drive us sinners from Mirkwood!”
      “No, no,” Thranduil shook his head violently, barely able to 
conceal his joy. “Legolas, do you know what Alindel said to me at table?” 
Without waiting for an answer he pressed on, “He said how rare it was 
that a bond of servitude was so evident in your eyes; that your ties to your 
household must be strong indeed. Do you not see?”
      The pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. “He thinks,” 
Legolas said slowly, “That I have sworn oath to serve my household? That 
that is why I forsake marriage?” He let out the breath he had been holding, 
suddenly feeling weak in the knees. “Truly, I was certain that you and I 
would not live to see another dawn in retribution for our crime!”
      “Does this turn of events make you happy, my Greenleaf?” 
Thranduil was suddenly pensive, his eyes soft with care as he looked at his 
son. “You went to breakfast with the light of battle in your eyes, ready to 
proclaim your bond before all without apology.”
      In amazement Legolas shook his head giving a short, rueful laugh. 
“I-I had determined myself to be content with twelve hours of bonding 
only…It would seem fate has smiled upon us. I had not even given 
thought as to life after our bond for I assumed there would be none.”
      
      The journal began to hold more secrets. The black ink shone 
brightly before drying to two dimensional tale that fell deeper and deeper 
into sin:
      *He was beautiful. He still is. So much to teach him, so much for 
me to learn as well as we explore our bodies, each others bodies. His body 
is mine and mine is his when we are in union. It is the same every time he 
peaks though…he starts to tremble, his hands come up to grip my 
shoulders or cup my face while crying out softly, and his soul becomes 
one with my own. I can feel every heartbeat, every breath, every aspect of 
his body. After only a few nights I know him as I know myself.*
      
      In time, Thranduil and Legolas grew proficient at slipping through 
the halls at night to see the other, none seeming to notice an empty bed the 
next morning. True to their façade, Legolas fell into duties that were fit to 
his position though they were hardly a variation from his previous 
obligations.
      “Really, day to day life remains relatively unchanged,” Legolas 
commented as he and Anwadil stood guard at the base of the tree that 
Gollum had become accustomed to climbing.
      “Your decision surprised me greatly,” Anwadil raised his eyes to 
the gangly creature. “Ai, he reeks.”
      Far up in the branches Gollum, hearing his complaint, narrowed 
his eyes at the elves and hissed.
      Turning back to his friend Anwadil continued, “But I am glad, for 
you seem happier than I have seen you in a very long time.”
      The day wore on, wind carrying the songs of nature and the elves 
far off into the distance. But through the song there was the scent of 
danger that did not go unnoticed by the two elves that continued to stand 
guard. Legolas narrowed his eyes in apprehension at the gangly creature 
high in the branches above them, watching carefully as the repugnant face 
blinked his lamp like eyes owlishly in the bright sun toward the Misty 
Mountains. The elf did not like this change in countenance; instead of his 
usual stream of moaning he seemed cunning and strangely content. 
“Sméagol,” he called. “The shadows grow long and night approaches. It is 
time to return,”
       Sméagol sneered and spat.
      Legolas glanced sideways at Anwadil who in turn called for him to 
come down.
      The creature refused, and at a loss the elves had nothing to do 
except wait as neither were of a mind to climb up and haul him down 
bodily.
      Night began to blanket the forest, and despite the safety of his 
Adar’s spells Legolas was glad for the quiver on his back and the knife at 
his side. “The moon hides her face this night,” he said sadly, for there 
were no moon or stars to cast silvery filters down through the trees.
      “Yet it is still lovely a night,” came a voice from behind him.
      Legolas and Anwadil rose and turned to see Sildor, Saelbeth’s 
brother, standing at the edge of the clearing with five other elves.
      “We were sent to relieve you of your watch,” said Sildor. “And 
your Adar asked me to send you to him when your watch is finished.”
      Catching the other’s arm in a firm squeeze as he passed Legolas 
said in a low warning: “Take care; something stirs in the night that does 
not bode well.” He frowned and looked to the sky, then up to where 
Sméagol clung to the uppermost branches, head still turned to the Misty 
Mountains.
      “I can feel it,” Sildor agreed solemnly, and led his procession to 
the base of the tree.
      Without a doubt, there was trouble stirring in Mirkwood.
      Quiver still slung on is back and knife still at his side Legolas 
pushed open the door to Thranduil’s chamber.
      Hearing him enter Thranduil rose quickly, crossing the room and 
embracing the other.
      Slightly surprised Legolas returned the caress, turning his face into 
the length of the dark golden hair that cascade down other’s back. He 
inhaled the fragrance, feeling a heartbeat pressed to his own as he probed 
gently with his thoughts inquiringly into the soul of the woodland king, 
finding fear. “What is it?” he murmured, as Thranduil released him and 
reached up to cup his face as he was accustomed to doing.
      Thranduil gave a small smile. “Perhaps you would think it 
foolish,” he said. “But…I was waiting here and something whispered to 
my heart that you were in danger. You and Anwadil had not returned from 
you duties; strange as night had fallen. Naturally I wanted to call you to 
me as soon as possible.”
      Eye narrowing Legolas agreed. “I shall be glad when we are rid of 
the creature we keep only for our friendship of Mithrandir. Something stirs 
in the dark that does not bode well; the spies of the Enemy are many and 
everywhere.”
      For a moment a shadow crossed Thranduil’s face but he shook his 
head and smiled, feeling Legolas lean into his caress.
      The oaken door was thrown wide to reveal Enreilan on the other 
side. “Adar, Legolas,” he said tersely, “Yrch [orc]! Out in the clearing!” 
With that he was gone.
      
      Thranduil paced in the great entrance hall, irritated. Occasionally 
he would stop, clear the anger from his mind, and reach out with his heart. 
*Yes,* he sensed, *Legolas was still alive though he was much occupied 
at the moment with his bow.* The woodland king had prepared for battle 
and had just reached the great stone doors a footstep behind his sons, 
sword in hand, when Alindel had caught up to him.
      The advisor had not thought it wise for both Thranduil and his sons 
to go off into battle, and had begged, then insisted that his friend stayed.
      Thranduil had protested and this caused a brief row, in which 
Thranduil knew in his heart the other was right but through his 
stubbornness would never bring himself to admit it aloud. And though he 
had no doubt in either of his sons’ skills in combat the thought of 
especially Legolas…the elf shook his head violently to himself and willed 
his thoughts toward other things.
      It was midnight when the warriors started to return. Four of the 
three guards had been slain in the first surprise attack and two were 
missing, as was Gollum.
      “It was a planned attack not on our people of the wood but for the 
escape of the creature,” Legolas had said grimly to as he made his way 
slowly through the door, an injured elf on his arm. He handed the other off 
to be assisted and turned to Thranduil and Alindel who waited tersely for 
an account. “Enreilan is leading a tracking party as we speak; they left as 
soon as the last of the yrch had been slain. Though the trail is an hour old 
for they took the elves and Gollum and fled while more yrch arrived to 
prohibit us from following or even realizing they were gone.” He sighed 
and rubbed his forehead, looking distressed.
      *All the guards that stood there that night were taken or slain?* 
Thranduil asked grimly, and Legolas gave him a slight nod. The elf king 
let out a great exhale, hedged, then reached out to touch Legolas’ face, 
with pursed lips. He never worried about the safety of his sons. He had 
never had to, but neither had he come close to losing either of him in 
battle.
      “I would think it best,” Legolas said quietly, “If I left tomorrow to 
follow and help Enreilan.”
      At sunrise the next morning Legolas left the mountain fortress with 
a parting kiss on the forehead from Thranduil to join his brother and 
friends in their hunt.
      As time passed Legolas his heart was growing heavier with 
apprehension for every step took them deeper into Southern Mirkwood, 
where darkness and fear hung heavy in the still air between the trees. 
Trepidation was growing among the group of elves; their trek had so far 
proved fruitless and long, stretching into Iavas [the beginning of October]. 
The trail had been lost and found multiple times until they were beginning 
to doubt even their superior tracking skills, and they were drawing nearer 
and nearer to Dol Guldur.
      The party of elves stopped briefly to hold conference at high noon, 
debating whether or not to continue on the chase or return home. Saelbeth 
was emotionally tied to their mission as his brother had been taken, and he 
was embittered at the thought of giving up pursuit. But the rest of the party 
felt that their search had become futile and at length, with great personal 
pain, Saelbeth agreed to return to Northern Mirkwood.
      Upon arriving home it was decided swiftly that Mithrandir and 
Aragorn should be informed of the escape of their prisoner. In his façade 
of family service Legolas left for Imladris in hopes of finding Aragorn 
there and taking others with him, among them Saelbeth in hopes of 
distracting the grieving elf.
      “But take care of his heart,” Thranduil had whispered to him in a 
surreptitious good-bye kiss.
      And so, as the summer green leaves turned into a collage of 
yellows, oranges, and reds, the Mirkwood King waited patiently for the 
return of his beloved and news from Imladris.
      At the end of Firith [in the middle of November] Legolas and his 
party of Mirkwood elves returned briefly, in hopes of finding newer 
tidings of Gollum’s whereabouts. Yet there was a change in Legolas’ 
countenance he was more pensive during their greeting upon their arrival 
and requested urgently to meet with the elven king alone.
      Enreilan walked with his brother and Adar to the bedchamber 
door, conversing warmly with Legolas, whom he had missed. He paused 
when they reached their destination, embraced Legolas, and said again 
how he had missed him and how glad he was that Legolas was back.
      At the last comment Legolas’ mouth twitched into a half smile that 
was not un-noticed by Thranduil.
      “Your stay will be brief,” he said immediately, once they were 
alone. He ran one finger down the other’s jaw line. “When will you leave 
again, and how long?”
      “I know not. Tell no one what I am about to tell you,” Legolas took 
the exploring hand into both of his own and held Thranduil’s eyes in his 
own gravely. He hesitated slightly. “Of this it is certain: the One Ring has 
been found, in the possession of a Halfling for many, many years.”
      Thranduil shuddered and fear crossed his features. He would not 
soon forget the strife or the battles at the end of the Second Age, the battle 
of the Last Alliance that had seen the slaughter of his people and the death 
of his own Adar. “What is to be done with it?” He asked hoarsely.
      Without looking up at the woodland king, Legolas said simply, 
“Mandos sent me back to fulfill a purpose, which until now was unknown 
to me. This is what I must do, what I was sent back to do: leave from the 
House of Elrond, and accompany this Halfling, with the ring, on whatever 
may follow.”
      Fear of the safety of one he loved above all else made the 
Mirkwood king fall silent.
      Sensing the apprehension Legolas drew the other into his arms, 
gentle reassuring kisses turning into returned kisses of ardor, then of 
desire. Kisses of desire turned into bare skin, skillful hands working over 
heated flesh in trails they already knew so well.
      Thranduil leaned into the slender body beneath him that writhed 
deliriously in pleasure, sensing the pulse of Legolas’ soul melting into his 
own as he reached out with his own heart. Before Legolas’ departure he 
had watched the other unconsciously smooth his hands over his abdomen, 
he knew the other’s soul and body as well as his own and had been 
attentive to the subtle physical changes that had been taking place in the 
last few months.
      At first the elf king had thought himself mad. Males did not bear 
children, he told himself. It is unheard of!
      Yet as time passed there was no mistaking the growing signs. He 
doubted it until when, with their bodies and souls joined in the intimate 
union, Thranduil could sense the pulse of a third soul deep within the core 
of his beloved Legolas’. Realization washed over him as climax came for 
the both of them, Thranduil’s hands alighting on the other’s abdomen and 
crying out, “Ai, Legolas! A child!”
      Legolas went slack in the repercussions, head falling back, eyes 
closed. “Yes,” he admitted after several pounding heartbeats. “…I-I 
thought myself mistaken for a long time, and did some secret reading in 
Lord Elrond’s library. There is no record of child bearing in males, but the 
physical manifestations of early pregnancy that are normally seen in 
females are upon me; of this I am certain. And,” he put his hands over 
Thranduil’s, which still rested on his belly. “Once I suspected it I could 
then feel it…oh…feel her.” Legolas smiled and Thranduil shook his head 
in disbelief. “I came to realize and be glad of it during my absence.”
      “Your absence,” Thranduil was then silent, lips trailing along the 
high forehead to linger on the silky hairline in a gesture of affection, and 
Legolas could feel his sadness. 
      “It is what Mandos called me back to do; to go with this Halfling,” 
Legolas said. “I cannot believe that the Valar has blessed us so to not see 
this child through.”
      “A blessing or curse?” The Mirkwood king’s face fell. *Blessed? 
Sweet one, it is a blessing that shall mean discovery and the death for the 
three of us. You do not think that you shall stay flat and slender in the year 
to come do you? Ai, what shall we do?*
      Legolas snuggled his face into Thranduil’s neck. “I have thought 
long on the subject…I am not afraid of discovery,” he said resolutely. 
“When the day comes when I am round enough to accuse, when someone 
puts together the pieces and makes ready to bring me to judgment before 
you, I shall take was is to come without complaint. But there is something 
you must do.”
      Thranduil was silent.
      “You must not take the fall with me. Remain king and banish me 
instead of execution or the like and the child could be born. If it were the 
both of us to share the blame we might not see mercy or birth.”
      “You truly think that whoever should take the crown in my stead – 
Enreilan most likely – would not be merciful? You think so ill of your 
brother?”
      “Enreilan flies to anger easily and may make rash decisions in his 
anger, though he may regret them after.” Legolas raised his eyebrows at 
Thranduil with look of mild amusement. “You and Enreilan are not so 
different.”
      “But where would you go?”
      Legolas looked troubled. “The Lord of Imladris is both kind and 
fair, and an excellent healer,” he said slowly. “I will be hard pressed to 
forget that place…I would think he would not be so cruel as to turn away a 
babe, even though he would seek to punish the sinner that sired her.”
      “If he knew.” Thranduil did not care much for this plan but he had 
not pondered the subject at hand. *For now, let us dwell on the joy that is 
at hand.* He kissed Legolas again, and the elves smiled.
      
      The night before Legolas’ return to Imladris, Thranduil slipped 
from his shared bed into the secret of the dark night and made his way to 
the paddock where Mithlilien and his companions rested.
      The grey gelding eyed the elf warily as he approached. 
      Thranduil made his way across the dewy grass and stroked the 
animal’s nose. “Can I trust you, swift one? Will you let me on your back 
as you do my Legolas, and help me in this mission?”
      Mithlilien seemed to consider this proposition.
      With care, the elf eased himself onto the grey back, and Mithlilien 
made a soft noise of consent through his nose. “To the Misty Mountains,” 
Thranduil whispered into the pricked ears, “And with all haste if we are to 
be back by sunrise.”
      His secret excursion into the deep of the night deprived him of all 
rest, but the Mirkwood king was able to bid a normal good bye to Legolas 
as he left for Imladris the following morning.
      Mithlilien was testier than usual but held his own part of the secret 
well, especially when he received a pat and a parting apple from Thranduil 
who whispered, “Forget not that path through the forest…And take care of 
the elf that you bear.”
      Beside him Legolas, Enreilan, and Anwadil exchanged friendly 
banter, oblivious to the exchanged between elven king and horse. But as 
Legolas nudged Mithlilien forward he let his hand linger on Thranduil’s 
shoulder and held his gaze for a few lingering heart beats before Mithlilien 
broke into a canter and they sped off.
      *May Elbereth guide you, my Greenleaf.*
      And so, under the trees of Mirkwood, the king of the Silvan elves 
waited, trusting only the call and answer of his heart to ensure him of the 
safety of his beloved. He ventured alone out into the Misty Mountains on 
his secret mission twice more, but without the exceptional speed of 
Mithlilien his trips were slower which drew more attention to them than 
Thranduil would have cared for.
      Winter came and passed slowly, and early spring brought evil to 
the elves of Mirkwood and Lorien. The battle was long, the destruction 
was great, but as spring blossomed into full strength elves found 
themselves victorious.
      More than once, even through the plight, Thranduil felt a whisper 
in his soul and smiled to himself as Legolas reached out to touch him over 
the distance, and the elven king was at peace knowing he was alive. The 
quiet evenings were when Thranduil felt Legolas’ absence the keenest. He 
had taken to confiding in the small black volume, his journal, which held 
the evolving story of sin:
      *I worry. My Legolas in the thick of the battle that determines the 
fate of Middle Earth…and he carries a child!*
      The journal held all in silence, opening willingly to the troubled 
elf’s emotions but the pages held no discretion when it came to disclosing 
the secrets of the Mirkwood king.
      
      Early fall of the following year brought Legolas’ return.
      Thranduil had been exchanging pensive words with the captain of 
the guards when the fortress doors were swung wide and Mithlilien, 
bearing Legolas, came trotting through the doors.
      Legolas could have been said to dismount a little less lithely than 
he had in the past, but this went unnoticed as Thranduil broke off his 
conversation to greet his return.
      “My sweet one,” he said in a low voice, indiscernible to the others 
present. “You are safe?”
      “We are,” Legolas whispered, taking the other in long, warm 
embrace.
      With joy mingling with dread Thranduil noted the insistent round 
stomach that was pressed to his own. Pulling back he eyed the elf 
carefully. Yes, Legolas had a belly.
      *It will not be long now,* Legolas broke into his thoughts, and 
Thranduil nodded slightly in agreement.
      “I know not what shall happen,” Legolas whispered that night, 
their long slender bodies pressed together in the secret confines of 
Legolas’ chambers. “My first thought was to go to Imladris, for Lord 
Elrond’s skills in the art of healing would be most useful. Or I could 
perhaps seek out the refuge of Gimli.”
      Thranduil licked his lips. His opinion of dwarves would not change 
over night, but Legolas many and long tales involving his newest and 
greatest friend had hushed his malcontent. “We can only wait.”
      As fall progressed Legolas’ swelling increased at a rapid pace, and 
it could no longer be concealed though nothing was said at length. One 
afternoon in Firith (end of November) Legolas and Anwadil sat in the 
great hall, picking at a generous spread of cheese, bread, and dried fruit. 
Legolas was smoothing his long hands over his round belly which 
protruded obstinately from his otherwise slender body.
      Puzzlement had been growing among the elves of Mirkwood for 
quite sometime, and in the quiet of this afternoon, Anwadil’s peaked. 
“Legolas,” he said in a strange voice, reaching over and taking Legolas’ 
long hand in his own. “Oh!” he cried, temporarily distracted. 
“It...you…are so hard!” Anwadil withdrew his hand slightly, then 
curiosity prompted him to open his hand and cup the round stomach.
      This was the moment of confrontation and truth Legolas had 
anticipated for quite some time. He let his breath out slowly. “Yes. It is 
hard.”
      Brows knitting Anwadil asked, “Are you ill? What is it?”
      “My friend,” Legolas exclaimed, suddenly passionate. “…You are 
my friend, are you not?”
      Anwadil was confused, and knit his eyebrows. “Of course. What 
would make you ask such a thing?”
      Eyes growing wide Legolas gripped his Anwadil’s arm. “What do 
you think it is?” He said urgently, chin ducked, eyes earnest. “What do 
you think it is?”
      Anwadil made an exasperated noise. “I…” his voice trailed off, 
shrugging.
      Legolas, squeaked, swallowed, and said, “Do you believe in 
punishment of the Valar?”
      “What kind of a question is that?”
      “Do you believe that…do you know males could bear children?”
      The secret was out. Legolas felt the beginning of the end as the 
truth came to light.
      “…” With a look of disbelief Anwadil slouched against the wall. 
“You…are punished? Pregnant?”
      “Pregnant…Do you…?”
      “I…do not understand.” Anwadil closed his eyes tightly, hands 
clenching around Legolas’, shaking his head back and forth very fast. 
“I…I…understand…No...You…how?” His voice died down, his eyes 
opened, and he looked into Legolas’ face and murmured, “Who?”
      “One I love. Do you hate me?” Legolas said softly. “Do you think 
me…evil?”
      “No!” Anwadil said immediately.
      Legolas smiled. “I am glad. I know not what will happen. I 
was…still am…afraid of the ramifications of my actions. I am afraid…the 
Day of Begetting is but a few days from now. It will not be long at all, 
Anwadil, and I am afraid.”
      “I’ll take care of you,” Anwadil laughed softly and nervously as he 
put his arms around his friend. “I care not who. You are not evil, no matter 
who you…” He broke off, shook his head, and turned Legolas’ face 
toward him. “I know not what happened during your excursions of this 
year. I will not ask any information.” He leaned is head into Legolas’ 
shoulder, and rubbed the round hard stomach. “I will make everything all 
right.”
      At the other end of the great hall Enreilan leaned in a door way, 
eyes narrowed. He saw his brother, fair hair mingling with the chestnut 
lengths of his friend as Anwadil held the troubled elf, stroking his round 
hard belly, the two rocking back and forth in their caress slightly. 
      Enreilan had held his tongue as he watched Legolas grow rounder 
and rounder. He had wondered why for the longest time, having only seen 
such roundness in pregnant females only, and growing suspicion mingled 
with logical doubt. But he had not forgotten the secret Legolas had 
confided to him not so long ago, and something in him snapped as he 
watched the exchange between Legolas and Anwadil. Turning on his heel 
Enreilan left the great hall and made his way to find his father.
      He found Thranduil in deep conversation with Alindel in 
Thranduil’s chambers. He waited just outside the door until the advisor 
made his exit, and found Thranduil laughing softly to himself, alone in the 
room, a chalice of wine in one hand. “Adar,”
      Thranduil turned. “Enreilan,” he said warmly. His smile faded 
changed as he saw the expression on his son’s face. “What is it?”
      “Adar. Legolas has a male lover, does he not?”
      Mouth forming a thin line Thranduil set his cup down and braced 
himself. “How do you know this?”
      “He told me, long ago, of a forbidden desire. It is obvious is it not? 
That was why he was fading, and came back. He came back for…him.” 
Enreilan hissed, anger lighting is face.
      
      Back in the great hall Legolas leaned into Anwadil’s offered 
comfort. “Will you come with me to Imladris, to Lord Elrond, or perhaps 
else where? I should not stay here.”
      “Of course I shall go with you. I will follow where ever you lead. 
But why can you not stay?”
      “I would disgrace him.”
      “Oh. Does your Adar know that you will leave?”
      Legolas shrugged.
      “Will he be angry?”
      “I know not.”
      “We’ll tell him now, then.” Anwadil grabbed Legolas by the wrist 
and lead him from the hall, down the twisty passages. The two elves burst 
through the chamber doors to find Enreilan standing in the middle of the 
room, Thranduil standing by a small corner table, leaning against the wall.
      Enreilan’s eyes flew to Legolas, growing hard and cold, then 
searched Anwadil’s. “There is no sign in your eyes Anwadil,” he stated 
coolly. “Yet maybe because there cannot be such a bond?”
      Anwadil threw Enreilan a puzzled glance but was undeterred from 
his mission. “May we speak to you?” Anwadil said to Thranduil. “About 
Legolas?” He put one hand on Legolas’ stomach and Enreilan bristled.
      Thranduil’s expression grew unreadable. Without turning his gaze 
away from Legolas and Enreilan he said quietly, “Enreilan, would you 
mind waiting in my bedroom, and we can finish our conversation later?”
      Enreilan opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil fixed on him 
with a look of ferocity. He did as he was bidden, biting his tongue as hard 
as he dared as he went into the bedchamber and shut the door. The elf was 
restless, angry, indignant, and repulsed at this friend and his brother. 
      *It is unnatural! It is wrong! It is forbidden!* He thought again and 
again as he paced the room, picking up random objects, fidgeting with 
them in irritation, and setting them back down again. At length the elf 
threw himself down on a lounge. Beside him was a small end table with a 
candle stand and a small black volume sitting on it.
      
      “I am not angry,” Thranduil embraced Anwadil. “Go with him to 
Imladris with my blessing, but tell your Adar before you leave.”
      The trio of elves was interrupted when the bedroom door banged 
open to reveal a livid Enreilan, a small black volume in one hand and a 
hunting knife in the other.
      Thranduil went white.
      “It was you!” Enreilan all but shouted across the room at 
Thranduil. “It was you!”
      Anwadil looked slowly from Legolas, to an ashen Thranduil, then 
slowly back at Legolas. “Is it true?” He asked, voice cracking.
      For a moment neither Thranduil or Legolas said anything. Then 
Legolas stepped forward, touched Thranduil’s shoulder, and said softly, 
“We knew this day would come.”
      “It was you!” Enreilan said again, leaping across the room and 
pinning Thranduil to the wall with the dagger to his throat in a blind rage 
as Anwadil shouted, “Do not do anything rash!” and Legolas warned, 
“Keep your head!”
      “How could you?” Enreilan yelled into his Adar’s face. “He is 
your son! How could you?”
      Thranduil remained unshaken. In a soft voice he replied, “There 
are some questions that have no answers.”
      “You should be killed for this!”
      “By your hand?”
      “You would not slay your own Adar!” Legolas shouted, starting to 
leap forward at his brother but Anwadil had a firm grip around both his 
arms.
      “He is not my Adar! And you are not my brother!”
      Alindel burst through the door. “What…?” His eyes took in 
Thranduil being held at bay by Enreilan with a dagger to his throat and 
Legolas looking barely contained.
      “Tell him,” growled Enreilan to Thranduil. “Tell you friend and 
advisor how you love your son,”
      In a soft voice, eyes holding Alindel’s, Thranduil confessed his 
tale, interrupted occasionally by a loud interjection from Legolas when he 
felt the elven king was taking too much of the blame. “You know the 
law,” Thranduil said softly as he finished, still looking at Alindel. “As do 
I. I am no longer ruler here. But, my friend, spare the child. Spare 
Legolas.”
      Alindel sank onto a lounge, shocked and grieved beyond measure 
as he contemplated the situation at hand for long minutes.
      “Adar,” Anwadil said softly. “Be merciful.”
      But Alindel’s station demanded that he maintain regulations, and 
as second in command to Thranduil the fate of the two golden elves was in 
his hands. “My friend…I will spare Legolas and the child but they must 
leave Mirkwood. My king…cannot be spared.”
      Legolas snarled and wrenched at Anwadil’s grip angrily but his 
friend held his grasp.
      “That is not your decision to make!” Enreilan cried to Alindel. “I 
am next in command now!”
      “Not yet,” Thranduil said sharply to Enreilan. “Not yet. There are 
procedures-“ he was cut off by the flat of the blade pressed harder against 
his neck.
      “Take him away,” Enreilan snapped to Alindel, indicating Legolas. 
“Send him away,”
      “Go, Legolas,” Thranduil said quickly, before Legolas could 
object. “Go now. Anwadil, take him to Mithlilien and tell them to flee. 
The horse will know where to go.”
       “Shh…do as he bids for he loves you,” Anwadil whispered to 
Legolas as the pregnant elf let out a long string of protests as Anwadil 
wrestled him from the room. 
      “Do as he bids you without question if you love him!”
      Legolas stared earnestly into the deep blue eyes of the former 
Mirkwood king as he was ushered through the door at a loss for words.
      Thranduil remained pinned under Enreilan’s grip. Go sweet one. 
Go to safety.
      Legolas wept inwardly as Anwadil quickly retrieved his knife, 
quiver, and bow, strapped them on, and was silent until he was astride 
Mithlilien. “Anwadil, do not come with me, as I asked before.” He 
touched the other’s shoulder. “You are good at heart. Stay here, for your 
good heart will be needed to temper my brother’s. Please, see if he cannot 
be spared.”
      “I will stay for now but find you later in Imladris, if I can,” 
Enreilan promised after a brief hesitation. “Now go! Mithlilien, Thranduil 
bids you to flee!”
      As he was bid the gelding took off through the trees, bearing 
Legolas, who felt sick at heart. 
      Mithlilien knew the way from the night he had allotted Thranduil 
on his back, had shared the elven king’s secret, and now made haste to the 
haven that Thranduil had established for Legolas in the Misty Mountains. 
But the going was slower for the horse and rider; the gelding took care of 
his rider who was emotionally distressed and physically burdened, as well 
as slightly off balance from the weight that was now at its peak. Instead of 
a tireless few hours of horseback through the forest the going took nearly a 
full day.
      As night fell the two reached the Misty Mountains, Mithlilien 
slowing down to a walk as they broke into a clearing of trees, approaching 
the great oak that held two talans, high in the branches.
      Legolas’ weary head perked. There was elven magic - Thranduil’s 
magic - at work in this clearing, promising safety and protection to the 
area around the tree. Gratefully he slid heavily from Mithlilien’s back and 
collapsed to the leaf strewn floor, exhausted. Closing his eyes Legolas 
cleared his mind, reaching out with his heart, picturing Thranduil and 
willing his soul to reach across the distance.
      Yes, the connection was still there. Thranduil was still alive, and 
this knowledge brought a smile to Legolas’ lips. Satisfied, he fell asleep.
      Dawn was creeping over the mountains when he awoke with a 
sharp pain in his side. Legolas waited slowly, half awake, moaning as the 
pain tightened, crested, and died away. *It is time,* he whispered to 
Mirkwood.
      *It is time for me as well. My Feä will be with you soon, my 
Greenleaf. Are you in the talan yet?*
      Legolas lifted his head as a silvery grey rope ladder tumbled from 
the lower talan. He let his head drop back to the forest floor with a groan 
of anticipation.
      Mithlilien wandered over and nudged his elf with his nose as if to 
say, *Get up, and do what you are bid. It is time, and you must not lie in 
the dirt!*
      The elf hefted himself up the rope ladder begrudgingly. Once on 
the platform he steadied himself, rubbing his belly, unfamiliar with this 
rest station hidden deep in the forest. 
      The talan was bare, but the trunk of the tree was a storage 
cupboard, holding blankets, food rations…everything Thranduil had seen 
fit to support his Greenleaf through his ordeal until he was able to hunt 
and provide for himself. On top of these supplies was a slender ring 
bearing a tiny white leaf and a tiny green leaf, and a brief note of 
explanation and words of love. At this discovery Legolas nearly bent his 
head and wept, but another pain flashed through his abdomen, and that 
demanded his attention.
      Evening of that first day of isolation fell, and it had begun to rain, 
thunder rumbling in the distance.
      The canopy of the oak kept the elf dry, and Legolas leaned against 
the trunk with his hands protectively over his belly, a blanket draped over 
his shoulders, staring out at the forest. He sighed, waiting.
      The pains had begun to increase in duration and intensity in the last 
few hours. All he could do now was wait and wonder if the Valar saw fit 
to see him alive through this ordeal, or if the Valar had even decided that 
he was worth their thought.
      It would seem that there were only the whispers of the trees 
muffled by the storm to soothe the elf through his pains. Yet, he knew his 
thoughts toward Thranduil transcended the distance, and so Legolas 
continued to sit, watching the fury of the storm through thought glazed 
eyes as he willed his mind away from his rare situation. 
      Closing blue eyes he reached out with his heart…yes, the bond was 
still there. He knew of the Mirkwood king’s doom that was now taking 
place far on the other side of the forest. Legolas thought not of the slaying, 
the blood shed, instead concentrating on the emotions radiating across the 
distance. He sensed no fear on the other’s part. Instead…The elf squinted 
to himself as both pain and concentration on his bond battled for his 
attention.
      The next moment the bond seemed cut and he ceased to feel the 
other. In a panic Legolas’ eyes snapped open, and his cry of despair 
changing to a cry of pain when sudden burst of labor pain caught him 
unaware. The hurt built steadily, the elf closing his eyes and throwing his 
head back against the tree trunk as all seemed lost.
      *My Greenleaf,*
      A soft voice came on the breeze that stirred a long pale lock to fall 
across his face.
      Legolas moaned, cracking his eyelids. “It is finished for you?”
      *It is finished. I am here now.*
      “It hurts.”
      Droplets of water were shaken from the leaves as a breath of gentle 
wind kissed the elf’s forehead.
      *Patience, sweet one.*
      The storm grew fiercer, yellow oak leaves drooping low with 
incessant pounding as water coursed off the blunt tips. Mesmerized by the 
continuous stream the elf lay awkwardly on his side, pulling the blanket 
tighter around himself taking a deep breath as another wave of pain began 
to crest. At least he knew he was not alone, but it would be a long night.
      ~*~
      Understanding welled within him at the sight of the two lover-twin 
brothers, but he wondered why the sons of Elrond ventured out so far into 
the Misty Mountains. Legolas leaned out from his branch, peering down at 
the two dark haired elves who stood with their knives unsheathed and 
gleaming in the sunlight. As they clasped hands and brought the blades to 
the soft, vulnerable skin of their throats, Legolas understood.
      “That is unnecessary, messy, and something I do not care to 
watch,” Legolas mumbled to himself as set an arrow to his bow and drew 
back.
      
      Anwadil: true friend, Quenyan
      Seregiell: blood daughter, Sindarin
      Delumeleth: deadly love; Sindarin