Halls of Waiting, Aman, early First Age

Fëanor awoke, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright light of his chamber. He sat up slowly and looked around. His body felt light, weightless; pain and weariness floated somewhere just beyond the reach of his memory. He stood and looked down at himself, there were no scars or wounds marring his body, his tunic and leggings had been replaced by a deep crimson robe that shimmered as if it were illuminated with the light of the trees. Upon the wall hung a large oval glass, its surface was like a pool of still water, and he looked at his reflection in it. His warrior's braids were gone; his raven hair hung in a thick black curtain around his shoulders. His eyes still glittered, sparked with the fire of revenge. He held up his hands, turning them over and looking at them, curling and straightening his fingers.

It was strange, he could see his form, and his arms and legs seemed to move. If he touched himself, he could feel flesh and muscle, yet he still felt weightless. He felt no pain, no hunger; he was not hot or cold, tired or anxious. He moved to a window and looked out, feeling Anor's light warm his skin and a soft sea breeze ruffle his hair. The last moments of his life flashed before his eyes, lying upon a bier, staring up at the darkening sky. His last words had been spoken in anger, a curse upon the name of Morgoth, and a command to his sons that would bring about their doom. As his breath died upon his lips the last word he had spoken was that of his father's name, then all passed into darkness.

He left the window and walked around the room, it was furnished with everything he needed, chairs, tables, books. He tried the door but it was latched, unmovable, and he returned to the window. He was in a tower, high above the cliffs of Aman. Now as he breathed in the sea air, feeling its soft caress upon his skin, he realized where he was. He was in the Halls of Waiting, and it was there that he would await his fate.

* * * *

The new spirit slowly drifted through the Halls, studying the tapestries of Vairë. Its time was approaching, time to decide what path it would take, whom it would become. It was a new soul; one that waited for the body it was to inhabit to take shape. Time meant little to those in Mandos' Halls, it was an uncountable, intangible thing, its path either quick or slow, depending upon the road that brought you there. For this new spirit, it had been quick, for it was new, unburdened, unsullied by the woes of the world. It was beautiful and pure, innocent and open, waiting for its story to be written.

It rounded a corner and came upon one of seemingly endless doors in the Halls. This door was closed, something it had not yet seen, and it pushed upon it, feeling it creak open beneath its force.

* * * *

"You can stop this," Vairë said to her husband. "It is within your power. Has he not suffered enough?"

Mandos looked upon his kind wife, her heart so filled with pity for the suffering. "He chose his doom, he went willingly. He has the blood of his kindred upon his hands, and the doom of the Valar upon his soul."

Vairë knelt before her husband. "He was in pain, Finwë was everything to him, the Silmarils were his life's creation. The Dark One took both from him and has now vanquished him. Can we not show him pity? Can we not give him a second chance? Will you let him fall? Will you let him lose yet another thing that is dear to him?" She clasped her husband's hands in her own. "Do not make him pay endlessly, if he is to fulfill his doom and remain here, do not let them meet, do not let him lose his heart to one he can never have. Show pity, my husband, he has been punished enough."

Mandos caressed his wife's face and answered her softly, "His path is decided, what may appear cruel will in the end not be so. His heart is filled with rage and anger, it must be purged or he will fade into the darkness and will be lost to us forever."

Vairë lowered her head and nodded, a single tear falling from her eye and wetting her lord's robe.

* * * *

Fëanor lay upon his back in his wide bed, staring at the ceiling and pondering his fate. He closed his eyes as tears slipped from them. He worried for his sons, for what would become of them in the years to come. He saw now what Mandos had tried to tell him, he saw how foolish his rash actions were, now all those he held dear would pay the price of the Oath.

He felt a soft brush against his cheek and a strange voice whisper, "Why are you so sad?"

His eyes shot open and he crawled backward against the head of the bed, his wide eyes searching the room for the intruder. "Who is there?" he called out.

"I have no name as of yet," came the answer.

The voice was strange; it was a mixture of both male and female. Again came the soft stroke upon his cheek and he flinched. He could see no one. "Why can I not see you? How did you get in here?" his voice nearly cracked with fear.

"Do not be afraid, sad one," the voice said, "I am not here to do you harm. I wish to comfort you, to ease your burden."

"Why can I not see you?" he asked again, his voice growing stronger.

"I have no form as of yet, I have yet to be born," the voice answered.

"You are a new spirit?" Fëanor asked, the fear leaving his voice.

"Yes, I am," the voice answered. "Though my time is coming, soon I will be able to take shape as well as substance."

Another soft brush of what felt like a hand against his cheek. He willed his fear to heal and relaxed to the calming touch of this spirit.

"Why are you so sad?" The spirit asked again. "Your heart is heavy with grief."

Fëanor bowed his head and answered quietly, "I have done horrible things. I have much to atone for."

"I know who you are," the spirit answered. "I know what it is you have done. It is woven in the tapestries."

Fëanor felt the warm press of the spirit against him, and he leaned into it, its pure warmth and gentleness seducing him. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he answered, "I have the blood of my kin upon my hands, blood of those who had loved me. I have sentenced my sons to doom because of the Oath, I have lost my life, and yet my father is still passed, passed beyond where I can reach, and the Dark One still has my creations."

He shuddered as he felt a kiss pressed upon his temple and soft strokes upon his hair. He could not explain it, but suddenly he needed this spirit, he needed its soft touch and loving embrace. It was the purest sensation he had ever known, it was pure light, beauty, and compassion.

"You do have much to atone for, Fëandro," the spirit answered, "but you are not hated as you fear you are. You are loved by the Valar, even after all that has passed. Your father sits at the right hand of Eru, he is at peace now."

Fëanor sighed and nodded. "It does my heart good to know he is at peace, even if I was the cause of his passing." He furrowed his brow and asked, "Why can I feel you but not touch you?"

The spirit answered gently, "I do not have the power to manifest. I can make you feel my touch, but you can not feel me for I have no form."

Fëanor felt a strange calm settle into his bones, and suddenly he grew sleepy. "When will you take form?" he asked quietly.

"Soon," the spirit answered. "Would you like to see it when I do?"

Fëanor nodded and sighed. "Yes," his voice drifted off as he began to fall into reverie, "very much…" he started and opened his eyes. "Wait…" he called out.

"Yes, Fëandro?" the spirit answered.

"What should I call you? How can I find you if I want to see you?" He realized he no longer felt the spirit near him and he reached out blindly for him.

"Ssshh… Fëandro," the spirit answered gently. "I will return each day while I remain here, fear not."

He felt a soft kiss upon his forehead and found himself aching to reach out and touch the kind spirit who had comforted him so greatly. He sighed as he drifted into reverie once again.

* * * *

Halls of Waiting, Aman, Middle of the First Age

Time passed and the spirit honored its promise. Each day as Anor reached its apex in the sky, the spirit returned. Often Fëanor would speak with it, recounting his past deeds and expressing remorse. As he talked to this spirit, the rage and need for revenge that had so filled his soul began to subside, and in its place was a profound need to right the wrongs he had perpetrated upon those who had not deserved his wrath.

Some days, he would sit in the chair by the window just talking to the spirit. On those days when his remorse was most acute, the spirit would gather him in his arms and hold him close, whispering kind words in his ear and bestowing loving caresses to his body.

One afternoon, he lay upon his back waiting for his friend. He heard the unique voice greet him and felt his presence beside him.

"Poicaquen," he answered quietly. A smile curved his lips as he felt the soft caress he had come to need as dearly as air. He felt the spirit's presence beside him and he whispered, "I fear I have come to need these visits. I am afraid I have fallen in love with you."

"As I have with you," the spirit replied, "I will miss you when I leave these halls."

A tear traced down Fëanor's cheek and he asked, "Does the day approach?"

"It always does, melda," the spirit answered. "But not so soon as to think on it now."

Fëanor felt the soft caress of the spirit's touch upon his face and he closed his eyes. "Kiss me…" he whispered.

"Ve elyë méra," the spirit replied.

Fëanor felt the soft press of the spirit's kiss and he opened his mouth, unsure as to what to expect next. He moaned softly as what felt like a tongue entered his mouth, sweeping across his own. He groaned as he arched against the warm press of the spirit's presence, soft caresses covering his chest, and arms. His robe fell open as the kiss left his mouth and made its way down his neck and chest, a warm, wet sensation lathing his pebbled nipples before traveling lower. He wadded the coverlet in his fists as he moaned and arched beneath the bodiless entity that filled him with love and desire. He cried out softly as his lover took his length; warm, wet suction caressing his rigid flesh. He whispered, "I love you…" over and over as this beautiful spirit gave him love and pleasure like he had never known before.

He felt his seed spill over his belly, disappearing as fast as it came, and a tear fell down his cheek. He was wrapped in warmth and love, his body trembling beneath the soft caresses and warm kisses bestowed upon his flesh. "I love you, Fëandro," the spirit said.

"How will I go on without you?" Fëanor asked. "I am trapped here, I will never leave, I cannot even escape this loneliness and pain through death."

The spirit covered his form and whispered, "It will not always be thus, Fëandro. You will see, one day we will be together, truly, it has been written."

He shivered and slid beneath the covers. "Stay with me," he whispered.

"I will as long as I am able, my love," the spirit answered.

He drifted into reverie, comforted by the warm embrace of his lover.

* * * *

Halls of Waiting, Aman, End of the First Age

Countless days passed, each one filled with love and tenderness for Fëanor and his lover spirit. One morning, he awoke with a start and sat up in the bed, his hand clutching his chest. The first of his sons had fallen. "Caranthir…" he whispered.

A vision came to him of a great battle, elf against elf. "The Silmaril…" he whispered as tears fell from his eyes. Nothing he did could take what he saw from his mind. First was Caranthir, his neck pierced with an arrow from one of the archers of Doriath. Second came Curufin, an elven blade piercing his chest and armor. Fëanor clamped his hands tight over his eyes, shaking his head and whispering "No…" repeatedly. Next to fall was Celegorm, felled by Thingol's heir at the very steps of the Sinda's throne. "My sons," he whispered painfully, tears flowing freely from his eyes.

He saw the flight of the Sindar from Menegroth, the desperate screams and terrified faces as they fled before the wrath of his four remaining sons. Next to fall were Amrod and Amras, his twin sons, slain as they pursued Eärendil's people to the mouths of Sirion. Only two remained, Maedhros and Maglor, and they withdrew before killing every last one of the refugees.

He lay upon his side in the wide bed; his body shaking as voiceless sobs wracked his frame. His sons were dead, and it was his fault, as surely as if he had killed them himself. His arms were wrapped around his frame, tears wetting the pillow beneath his head, as he grieved for his fallen sons.

* * * *

"It is time," Mandos deep voice addressed the spirit. "It is time to reveal your form to you. The day approaches that you will leave these halls to dwell in the east."

The spirit drifted behind the solid form of the Vala, following him as his dark robes caressed the smooth stone floor upon which he walked. The Vala paused before a new tapestry; one that depicted the scenes of the life that would become the spirit's. "When the time comes for you to leave these halls, you will touch the image of your body and you will join with it as it is born into the world. You may now assume its form, if you wish to do so. Permission is granted."

With those words, the Vala glided down the hall and around the corner, out of the spirit's view. The spirit perused the tapestry that hung before it and took upon the shape that it would have for the rest of its days upon Arda. It crossed the corridor and looked at itself in the mirror.

Male, tall, powerful, beautiful. Those were the first things that entered the spirit's mind as he looked upon himself in the mirror. His head was crowned in golden silk, his eyes bright sapphire blue, his lean yet strong form covered in alabaster skin. A smile curved his lips as he gazed upon his form. "Sinda," he whispered, his voice lowering an octave. He turned and admired his naked form in the mirror and a smile crossed his lips as he imagined Fëanor's reaction to it. He returned to the chamber in which he had lived since his creation and found robes of deep emerald green laying upon a bed. His chamber had not previously contained anything; it had been an empty room, for he had no needs in his prior state. Now it was furnished with all an elf could want. He pulled on the robes of emerald green and ran his fingers through his unbound hair. His eyes darkened a shade as his form was flooded with grief. He placed his hand upon his heart as a tear fell from his eye. He wiped curiously at the damp trail upon his cheek and whispered, "Fëandro… I am coming, my love."

He whirled out of his chamber moving with graceful speed through the halls, ascending the stair to his love's chamber.

* * * *

Fëanor lay upon his side, his glazed eyes staring at the blank stone wall. He could cry no more, his form laden with a heavy numbness. His sons were there now, sequestered in their own rooms in Mandos Halls. Curufin and Celegorm were housed on the lower level, as punishment for their wicked deeds in life. Caranthir and the twins were housed near him, on the level just below. Their stay would not be as lengthy or painful, as the sins they committed were brought upon them by the Oath only. In time, they would be released into Aman, to live out their lives in peace.

He heard the door to his chamber open and close, and he slowly sat up to see who had entered.

He gasped when he took in the vision at the foot of his bed. He had never seen the elf before, but nonetheless, he knew who he was instantly. "Poicaquen," he whispered.

"Aye, melethen," the Sinda answered. He rounded the bed, coming to stand beside his lover. He sat upon the edge of the bed and caressed Fëanor's cheek. "It has come to pass, has it not? The fate of your sons?"

Fëanor nodded and whispered, "Yes, it has."

The Sinda gathered his lover in his arms and held him tight. "Ai, melethen, I grieve with you. Your pain is my pain."

Fëanor clung to his lover. At last, he was able to touch him, to hold him, to see him. It belatedly occurred to him that he now had a male lover, something he never had before. He found he did not care, he was so grateful to have him at all, to be able to touch him, to see him. He buried his face in his lover's golden hair, his hands caressing his broad back. He turned his head and pressed his lips against his lover's neck and reveled in the soft sigh that issued from him. His voice, once so hard to describe, was now deep and melodious; his body was finely built and strong. His hair and skin were softer than he could have ever imagined, and his nostrils were filled with his lover's unique scent.

He pulled back and gazed into the Sinda's bright blue eyes. "Nat vanima," he whispered.

The Sinda smiled and caressed Fëanor's face, running his thumb over the Noldo's full lips. "As are you, ervainen vorn."

"What is your name, melinya?" he whispered.

"Thranduil," the Sinda answered.

Fëanor smiled and reached for his lover with his mouth. "Make love to me, Thranduil," he said softly.

Thranduil plunged his new hands into Fëanor's dark hair, pulling his lover's mouth to his own. It was so different, the sensations he felt now with this new body. A persistent throb began to emanate in his loins and he moaned quietly as Fëanor consumed his mouth. He felt himself being pulled onto the bed, Fëanor's strong arms and legs wrapping around him. Again, he felt that strange sensation of wetness upon his cheek as tears fell from his eyes. The sudden pain in his heart shocked him as he thought about leaving this place, leaving this beautiful elf that had so captured his heart.

Fëanor rolled over him and gazed down into his face and whispered, "Do not weep, melinya. Our time together may be brief, but my love for you will last until the end of time. Always will I live in your heart, if not your memory."

Thranduil nodded and smiled weakly. "As my love will live with you. I will try not to forget you, Fëandro, but I do not know what will happen when I am to leave here."

"Ssshh… poicaquen," Fëanor whispered. "We will find one another again, you said so yourself."

"Love me, Fëandro," Thranduil whispered. "Replace this pain that I feel with love."

"Yé, melinya," Fëanor answered, and he covered Thranduil's lips with his own.

Thranduil's deep moans and breathless sighs assaulted his senses as he made his way lovingly down the Sinda's body. He wanted to touch and taste every inch of the beautiful form laid out beneath him, he wanted to memorize the way he felt and smelled, and the way he tasted. He softly kissed the smooth, alabaster flesh, his tongue lathing its silken surface as he traced the line of his lover's collarbone. He deftly untied the belt holding Thranduil's robe closed and slid it away from his body, exposing him to his hungry eyes. Never before had he looked upon a male this way, had he wanted another male as he wanted Thranduil. He worked his way down his lover's chest, exploring the soft spot beneath his arm, smiling at the delightful chuckle that issued from his lover's lips.

"Ticklish?" he purred as his hands slid over his lover's abdomen.

"Yé," came Thranduil's breathless reply.

"Mmmm… you taste so good, melinya," he whispered as he worked his way lower, pressing his mouth to his lover's abdomen. He chased it as it flinched away, feeling the soft, damp tip of his lover's arousal graze his chin. He paused, looking up into eyes that had turned midnight blue, and he whispered, "I have never done this before, poicaquen. I have never pleasured another male."

Thranduil smiled, then answered, "Just as I have never been pleasured. Anything you do will please me, melethen. Just your touch pleases me."

Fëanor smiled and nodded. He took his lover's length in his hand and slid his lips along its silken length, savoring the unique smell and feel of it. He traced the vein along the underside of his desire and smiled as he heard the needful groan of his lover. He opened his mouth and engulfed Thranduil's arousal, slowly experimenting with depth as he went. He pinned his lover's hips to the bed as he took him deeper, swirling his tongue along his length. He felt Thranduil's arousal begin to twitch and his body tightening beneath him, and he began to swallow. Thranduil's deep groan filled his ears as his warm seed spilled down his throat. He tried not to choke, his eyes watering as he endeavored to take it all in. He let his lover's softening length slip from his swollen lips and he licked up the traces opalescent fluid that had escaped his mouth.

He worked his way back up Thranduil with his mouth and hands, his own pulsating arousal sliding against the Sinda's body. He claimed Thranduil's mouth with his own, plundering its depths with his tongue.

He pulled back and gazed into his lover's face, smiling at the blissful expression. He felt Thranduil's hands slide into his hair and saw him smile. "Melanyel, Thranduil," he whispered.

Thranduil opened his eyes and smiled, caressing Fëanor's face. "Melon le, Fëandro."

Thranduil rolled over his lover and consumed his neck and chest with his mouth. Fëanor arched beneath him, tangling his hands in Thranduil's golden mane. He felt the Sinda begin to work his way down his body and he stopped him, guiding his mouth back to his own. "Nay, melinya, let me see your face. I want your lips upon mine when I find my release."

Thranduil smiled and nodded, his hand drifting down Fëanor's abdomen and taking his rigid length. He stroked and squeezed the soft column of flesh while consuming Fëanor's mouth. He swallowed his lover's cries of ecstasy as he pressed their bodies together, feeling the warm essence of his lover spill between them.

They curled against one another; enjoying each other's warmth and loving embrace as they drifted into reverie.

* * * *

Halls of Waiting, Aman, End of the First Age

"The time has come," Mandos deep voice echoed in his ears. "You have a moment to say goodbye to Fëandro, but your vessel awaits. If it is born into the world without you, it will perish."

Thranduil turned his wide sapphire eyes up to gaze into the bottomless dark pools of Mandos' eyes. "I understand," he answered, his voice laden with grief.

"Once you leave here, you will start anew, memories of this place will fade and you will be sundered from the life you have here."

Thranduil nodded. As the Vala left him, he turned and raced toward Fëanor's chamber, to say his good-byes to his first love.

* * * *

Fëanor had felt their time growing short, and he paced his chamber like a caged cat. He wrung his hands and shook his head. He was desperate to hold on to him, though he knew he could not.

Thranduil burst through the door, one look at his lover's face confirmed his worst fears. The day had come. "No, not yet," Fëanor whispered desperately. "Not so soon…"

Thranduil crossed the room to him, tears tracing down his cheeks. "I am sorry, melethen," he whispered as he gathered Fëanor into his arms. "By Elbereth, I will not forget you, Fëandro. I swear to you in the Halls of Mandos that you and I will find one another again. I will always love you, my heart will always be in your keeping."

Fëanor clung to him with all his might, sobs wracking his body as he began to feel his love slip through his arms. "Melanyel, Thranduil. I will find you again, though I know not how."

He felt one last, fleeting kiss upon his lips before his lover's form vanished into ether. He fell upon his knees in his chamber, howling in pain, cursing Mandos and his own short sightedness. This was his punishment for the cruelty he had so easily dealt out in his madness. He was destined to dwell in this place, forever in pain.

To be continued…

Elvish translations:
Poicaquen = Pure one (Quenya)
Melda = friend (Quenya)
Ve elyë méra, = as you wish (Quenya)
Melethen = my love (Sindarin)
Nat vanima = you are beautiful (Quenya)
Ervainen vorn = my dark, beautiful one (Sindarin)
Melinya = my love (Quenya)
Yé = Yes (Quenya)
Melanyel = I love you (Quenya)
Melon le = I love you (Sindarin)

Halls of Waiting, Aman, End of the First Age

Fëanor had been granted leave to walk Mandos' halls and he immediately went in search of his sons. He came upon Caranthir first, finding him sequestered in his chamber, sitting upon his bed.

"My son," he said softly as he crossed the threshold into Caranthir's chamber.

Caranthir looked up at his father and answered, "Father." He rose from the bed and crossed the room to Fëanor.

Fëanor met his son in the middle of the room, embracing him tightly and whispering loving words into his ear. "I am so sorry, Caranthir," he said softly. "The Oath I asked you to swear has brought about the downfall of my house."

Caranthir answered quietly, "We failed you, Father. We did not retrieve the Silmarils, they are in the hands of the Valar and the Sindar."

Fëanor stroked his son's hair gently and whispered, "It matters not now, Son. They are free of Morgoth's evil. I was a fool to make you swear such an Oath, and I have done horrible things in the name of what I thought was right."

Caranthir pulled back from his father, his face a mask of confusion and pain. "You say this now? After all we have done?" He turned away and paced the floor. "I have the blood of my own kind on my hands, Father!" he shouted. "I killed those I should have loved, for you!"

Fëanor recoiled as if struck, the words burned his heart for he knew they were true. "I know, Caranthir," he answered quietly, "and I bear the burden of blame for you all. You were bound by an Oath I made you forswear, I have brought about the destruction of my own children." He turned away and continued in a voice so small Caranthir could barely hear him, "I will never stop suffering for this, I will never stop paying for what I have done." He turned and faced his son. "But you, my son, you will be absolved, you will be allowed to return home. Such is the bargain I have struck with Mandos."

Caranthir looked at his father and crossed the room to him. He continued softly, "All I did, I did for your love, Father. But that will offer me little consolation in days to come. I, as all my brothers, have suffered the cost of great pride. Not a one of us did not consider breaking the Oath, but we were too proud to do so, too proud to be seen as weak, even when it drove us to acts of madness. I do not wish to see you suffer endlessly, I do still love you, we all do."

Fëanor embraced his son again and whispered, "Your redemption awaits you, Caranthir. Leave this place and never look back, think not upon me again." He pulled away and left his son standing in the middle of the room. He turned and looked back over his shoulder and said quietly, "Farewell, my son." He passed through the portal as Caranthir rushed after him, only to see his father vanish into thin air.

* * * *

Fëanor made his way through Mandos' Halls, visiting his sons one by one, absolving each of them of the deeds they had done in the name of the Oath. His last visits were to Curufin and Celegorm; they could not be absolved of what they had done. He told them he loved them, bid them bear their punishment with dignity and left them, never to see them again.

Maedhros was the next to arrive. It pained Fëanor to see his eldest son so broken. Maedhros, of all his sons, had expressed the greatest remorse for his actions. His stay in Mandos' Halls would be brief; he was released soon after he arrived, to find peace in Aman.

The last to arrive was Maglor. Maglor was most like his mother, delighting in the written word and in music. Maglor told his father of the twin sons he had fostered, a small price to pay for the acts of violence he had committed under the Oath. Fëanor smiled as he saw the delight in his son's eyes when he spoke of Elrond and Elros. Maglor had not suffered a violent death, rather he perished in grief for the evil deeds he had done. Young Elrond and Elros had gone to live with the High King, Gil-galad, in Lindon, and of that, Maglor was glad. Maglor was also released upon his arrival, and he long walked the shores of Aman, singing songs of regret for his trespasses.

* * * *

Halls of Waiting, Aman, Start of the Third Age

Fëanor knelt before Mandos as the Vala sat upon his throne, his spouse, Vairë, at his side. His head was bowed, his eyes cast toward the floor as Mandos recounted his rash deeds. He listened to each one, tears falling from his eyes when the Vala recounted the kinslaying, naming each Teleri that fell, he felt the heavy weight of guilt when Mandos recounted how he had left his own kin to perish upon the grinding ice. In the end, he was guilty of all he was accused of, and more that Mandos did not name. He expressed his remorse and shame, his tears wetting the marble floor at Mandos' feet.

The Vala looked down at the one he had loved most of all of Finwë's children, perhaps the one he loved most of all of the Eldar, and his heart was moved with pity. He could not easily absolve Fëanor of all that he had done, but perhaps his wife was right, perhaps there was a way for the Noldo to repay his debt.

Mandos' deep voice addressed him, "Fëandro, look at me."

Fëanor raised his head and looked into the bottomless, dark pools of the Vala's eyes.

"There is a way that you can pay for what you have done. It will be painful, it will be more than you think you can bear at times, but nonetheless, it can be done."

Fëanor responded, "I would do anything you ask, anything that is in my power to do."

Mandos sighed and looked at the Noldo. "Morgoth may be vanquished and Sauron defeated, but his servants still inflict pain upon the western lands. The time will come when a great battle will ensue, when the free peoples of the west stand against the darkness. Their task is difficult, nearly impossible, but if it is not done, Sauron will enslave the earth and all its peoples. The firstborn are leaving Arda, but a few remain. The men that face this evil will need the help of those firstborn that stay behind. I am giving you the chance to help lead them."

"I would fight until the last breath leaves my body," Fëanor answered.

Mandos nodded. "And you will. Your end will come, Fëandro, in the dark pits of Barad-dûr. Sauron the torturer will deal out his harshest punishment for you and your end will be cruel."

"I understand, hérunya, " Fëanor answered softly.

"Very well. Vairë will take you to where you will leave this place. Do not falter, Fëandro, for if you do, all of Arda will be swallowed by shadow."

Fëanor rose to his feet and followed Vairë from the throne room and into the Halls of Waiting.

As they walked silently, Fëanor saw a tall, golden haired elf, standing in front of a tapestry. His heart leapt in his chest as he raced toward him, Vairë's call falling upon his deaf ears. Just as he reached out and touched the elf's shoulder, the elf touched the tapestry, and both Fëanor and the elf disappeared into ether.

The Queen of Mandos' Halls gasped and placed her hand over her mouth as she watched the two spirits combine and speed through time and space, entering the vessel for which only one was intended.

Mandos had sensed something had gone wrong and came to his wife's side, just as Fëanor and the golden elf disappeared into the air. He placed his hand upon her shoulder and closed his eyes, watching the scene unfold.

* * * *

Greenwood the Great, Beginning of the Third Age

Thranduil Oropherion paced the halls of his palace, just beyond the door he guarded lay his wife, giving birth to their first child. He stalked back and forth like a caged cat, nervousness and anxiety clearly written upon his features. His wife had an unusually difficult pregnancy, something nearly unheard of for an elf, and it appeared the birthing would go no easier. The healers had been in with her for hours, and the longer the door remained closed, the more worried he became.

He wheeled around in mid-stride as he heard his infant child screaming at the top of its tiny lungs. He burst through the door to see the healer holding the kicking and screaming infant, nearly purple with its distress. He crossed the room and the healer offered his son to him, sadly informing him the birthing was too much for his wife to bear.

He took the screaming child into his arms, and looked at the pale form of his wife upon the bed. The sheets and her gown were soaked in sweat and he could see the light fading from her eyes.

"Is there nothing to be done?" he asked quietly.

"Nay, my Lord. It was simply too much for her, it was as if the child consumed her from the inside."

He looked down upon the infant, who had calmed considerably, and touched its tiny cheek. A tear fell from his eye as the small elfling grasped his finger in its small fist and hung on for dear life. He sat upon the bed, his voice soft and low as he spoke to his dying wife, "Look upon him, meleth, before you leave us. He is beautiful, he has your fiery spirit."

She smiled weakly and whispered, "I know you will love him, Thranduil. You will be a good father."

He smiled as a tear fell from his eye, landing upon his son's chest. "I will do my best, melethen," he answered.

She whispered, "Melon le, my husband."

"Melon le, seron vell," He answered. He watched as the light faded from her eyes and her spirit passed to Mandos' Halls.

He cradled his tiny son in his arms, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He watched the elfling draw his finger to his mouth and begin to suckle upon its tip. He looked up at the healer and asked weakly, "What am I to do? He needs his mother, how can I take care of him without her?"

The healer reached down and took the small infant into her arms as it started to scream again. "We have those who can help with this, my Lord, mothers who have recently given birth. They can feed him until he is strong enough to take other sustenance."

It pained Thranduil to see his son so distressed, but he could see no other way. He sat quietly beside his wife's body, praying silently as they took his son to be fed.

* * * *

Greenwood the Great, Early Third Age

Thranduil lay upon his side in the tall grass, watching his tiny son kick and wriggle upon the blanket. Legolas was his pride and joy and had been the center of his life since the death of his wife. The small elfling squeaked and giggled as Thranduil tickled his belly and the soft spot under his arm.

**Ticklish?** the deep, soft voice said. "Yé," his own voice answered.**

He blinked, the sudden vision causing him to feel disoriented. Another peal of laughter from his small son returned him to present and he leaned down, blowing a loud raspberry upon his belly. Legolas shrieked in delight, grasping his father's hair in his fists as he tried to pull him closer. Thranduil laughed and grasped his son's hands.

"Easy, Iôn, lest your Adar be bald before you are grown," he said softly.

Legolas giggled again and pulled his father down, blowing a sloppy raspberry upon his cheek.

Thranduil was amazed at the strength of his young son and quietly grimaced as Legolas pulled his hair. "Greenleaf," he said softly, "Adar is serious, you are about to remove his hair from the root."

Legolas cooed and released his father's hair, blinking slowly and staring up into Thranduil's face. "Da!" he shouted.

Thranduil smiled broadly and tucked his hair behind his ears, placing a soft kiss upon his son's face. "Yes, Greenleaf, I am your `da'," he answered softly.

He lifted Legolas into the air, rising to his feet and spinning around. Legolas laughed and squealed as he waived his arms in the air and kicked his tiny legs. He lowered his son, holding him close to his chest as he rocked him back and forth. "My beautiful son," he said softly. "Melon le, Legolas."

"Ada," Legolas said softly.

Thranduil held his son away from him and looked at him, his eyes wide in amazement. Legolas had never spoken a real word before, `ada' was his first. He smiled broadly, and held his son closer. Legolas brought his small hand to his cheek and smiled. "My Ada," he said softly.

Thranduil smiled and nodded. "Yes, Greenleaf, I am your Ada," he answered softly.

* * * *

Legolas grew and matured at a remarkable rate that none of those near the King could explain. When most elflings were taking their first tentative steps, Legolas was running. When most were beginning to express themselves with rudimentary language, Legolas was reading and writing. Those around the young prince remarked that he must be blessed by the Valar to be so strong and intelligent. By Legolas' twelfth year, he was already drawing near the skill of Thranduil's captains with the bow and he had started training with knives as well.

As Legolas grew older, he was bold beyond measure, showing no fear of anything that his tutors or father could see. He also grew more beautiful each passing day, tall and strong like his father, with a wicked sense of humor like his mother had. He never asked about his mother, even when he saw other young elves with both their parents. For Legolas, Thranduil was enough, his father was the center of his world.

One night, the Prince lay upon his bed, staring out the high window at the stars that circled overhead. He held a conversation with himself, as he often did. His tutors and friends all thought it was an imaginary friend he talked to, but he knew different.

He pointed toward the window at a bright star high in the sky. "That one?" he asked softly.

**"Yes," came the deep voice in his head.**

"It is beautiful. You made that?" he asked again.

**"Yes, I did," the deep voice answered. "It was a bright jewel taken from me, along with two others just like it. The one who took them took my father as well."**

Legolas frowned and answered, "Well, no one will take Adar from us, ever."

**"Aye, Greenleaf," the deep voice answered. "We will protect him always."**

"Who are you talking to, Iôn?" Thranduil entered his son's bedroom and sat upon the bed.

Legolas sat up and looked at his father. "Myself," he answered matter-of-factly.

Thranduil smirked and nodded. "I see," he answered.

"Ada? Who is Fëandro?" Legolas asked.

Thranduil felt a strange dizzying sensation come over him; these attacks seemed to happen more frequently as time drew on, and always in the presence of his son. An image of unparalleled beauty entered his mind, raven hair, sparkling gray eyes, lips as full and soft as a rose in bloom, a deep haunting voice, a touch that lit his soul afire. He placed his hand upon his forehead and answered, "Fëandro is Quenya for Fëanor, creator of the Silmarils. Why do you ask, Greenleaf?"

Legolas scooted closer to his father, placing his hand upon his back. "Ada? Are you all right?"

**"He is ill, have him lay down," the deep voice spoke to him.**

"Lay down, Ada," Legolas said softly as he guided his father to lie upon the bed.

Thranduil lay upon his side, his head resting upon Legolas' pillow. Legolas lay facing him, his own head resting upon his hands. "There, do you feel better now, Ada?"

Thranduil smiled and answered, "Yes, Greenleaf, I do. Thank you. I am sorry, Legolas, I am tired, that is all."

Legolas furrowed his brow and nodded. "Then you should sleep, right here. We will watch over you," he said softly.

Thranduil blinked and looked at his son. "We? Who is we, Legolas?"

Legolas smiled and answered, "My imaginary friend, Fëandro."

Thranduil's eyes widened and he asked quietly, "Fëandro is your imaginary friend?"

Legolas blinked slowly, and for just an instant, Thranduil swore his son's eyes changed from blue to gray then back to blue again. "Yes, he is, Ada. He watches over me, and you. He loves both of us very much."

Thranduil reached out and touched his son's face, and he saw his eyelids flutter for a brief second. He whispered, "When did he come to you, Legolas? When did he first speak to you?"

Legolas furrowed his brow and answered, "I am not sure, Ada. He has been with me for as long as I can remember."

Thranduil rose from the bed and smiled to cover his concern. "Do you speak of Fëandro to others, Legolas?"

Legolas sat up and answered his father, "Not by name, Ada. Why?"

Thranduil placed his hand upon his son's shoulder. "Do not tell another his name, Legolas."

Legolas shook his head. "I will not. Is all well, Ada? You look worried."

Thranduil smiled and kissed his son upon the forehead. "All is well, Greenleaf. Go to sleep now, it is past your bedtime." He tucked Legolas beneath the covers and kissed him again.

**Melinya…** he heard a deep voice whisper, a voice that he came to realize was from his past.

"Ada?"

Legolas' voice brought him back to the present. He blinked and looked at his son. "Yes, Legolas?"

"Good night, sleep well," Legolas answered softly.

"Good night, Iôn," Thranduil replied.

He turned and left Legolas in his chamber, returning to his own.

* * * *

He moaned quietly, breathless sighs escaping his lips. He arched beneath his lover's touch, soft caresses of hands and mouth upon his flesh. "Nárnya," he whispered, the old language spilling easily from his lips. "Melanyal, Fëandro," he whispered again. **Maurinyel, Thranduil, melanyal,** the deep voice whispered. He cried out in his sleep and arched his back as his seed spilled onto his stomach.

He opened his eyes, tears flowing from them as he gasped for air. "Forgive me, melethen, I forgot," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "How could I have forgotten?" he asked the empty room. He sat up slowly and rose from the bed, walking to the washbasin to clean himself before sliding back beneath the sheets. He rolled to his side and whispered to the empty room, "What am I to do? My love inhabits the body of my son." He did not sleep for the rest of the night.

To be continued…

Hérunya = my Lord (Quenya)
Meleth = love (Sindarin) Melon le = I love you (Sindarin)
Seron vell = dear lover (Sindarin)
Yé = yes (Quenya)
Iôn = son (Sindarin)
Adar = father (Sindarin)
Melenya = my love (Quenya)
Nárnya = my flame (Quenya)
Melanyal = I love you (Quenya)
Maurinyel = I need you (Quenya)

Fëanor felt the body and presence of Legolas always. From the moment he fell into the infant vessel, he shared the space with the spirit it was intended for. Each day was a mixture of bliss and torment, each moment he spent near Thranduil was both joyful and horrible. He was trapped, trapped in a beautiful body, but nonetheless, a body that could not share in the love he felt for the Sinda King. What would become of him and Legolas? How could they continue to co-exist in the same vessel? He wondered if he and Thranduil would ever be reunited in body or in spirit.

What would become of the world now that he was here, where he did not belong? How could he fulfill his destiny when he was not just himself? He grew to love Legolas like one of his own sons; he could never do anything to harm him. Mandos' words returned to him, that he would die in the dungeons of Barad-dûr, he prayed that was not to be the case for Legolas. He swore a silent oath to Thranduil to protect his son, always.

Stories circulated around Thranduil's halls about extraordinary things that happened to the Prince. On one patrol, one of Legolas' first, they were unexpectedly set upon by wargs. Legolas' horse spooked and reared, throwing the Prince to the ground. Before anyone could get to him, he had taken down two of the wargs with his bow. A third came at him from behind, as he was felling the second, and at the last possible moment, he sidestepped the beast and turned, driving his knife deep into the beast's throat. By rights, they said, the Prince should have been killed. How could he have seen the warg's attack coming?

What Legolas knew and they did not, was that it was Fëanor who saved him, Fëanor who was fighting with him, giving him his strength and prowess. Legolas was not a young untried soldier as he should be; he was a seasoned warrior, one who had faced legions of orcs and Balrogs. He carried with him one of the fiercest Noldo ever known. He heard Fëanor's voice in his head, telling him to turn around, telling him where to thrust the knife and exactly when to do it. Fëanor had saved his life.

Thranduil loved his son as much as he ever did, but the lighthearted joy he took in Legolas' presence had changed, the way he looked at him changed. Because now, it was not just Legolas he looked upon, it was Fëanor as well. Thranduil saw all the little things he had missed before, the quick glances, the growing fierceness that lay just beneath the surface of his son's previously gentle nature. On more than one occasion, he could swear he saw his Noldo lover in his son's face, those eyes that could pierce the darkest veil, and could warm even the most frigid body with just a glance.

The dreams never ceased, unending, beautiful, torturous memories of days filled with love and passion, soft, sensuous caresses, drowning kisses, a deep voice that filled him with both love and desire. He did his best to hide it from his son, to never let him see how much he missed his love, how badly he needed to feel his touch once again. But he feared that Legolas knew, he feared that Legolas could see not only his own need, but Fëanor's as well. He grieved for his lover who was trapped where he did not belong, forever a prisoner in his son's body. And he feared for Legolas; he feared his son would lose who he was supposed to be, because he was never just that, he was always more.

It was the eve of Legolas' majority celebration. Thranduil had planned a tastefully elaborate celebration; the obligatory invitations had gone out to the members of Thranduil's court, and to Legolas' peers. He sensed his son would rather skip the celebration all together, but it was a social obligation they had to uphold.

Legolas sat on the side of his bed, dressed in ceremonial robes of deep green and silver, his hair elaborately braided, a mithril circlet sat upon his head. His body had matured and awakened sexually years before. If one were to look at him, they would not guess he was only fifty years of age; he had the body and demeanor of one twice that. Only in his face did one see his youthfulness, though that innocence was fading rapidly from his eyes. He was beautiful beyond the measure of many, tall and powerfully built, like his father; he moved with a fluid grace that belied the strength in his long limbs. His hair hung to his waist, a shimmering veil of flaxen gold, straight as an arrow, and it felt like silk. As he brushed it, he would occasionally stray across a single dark hair, entwined with the rest as to be hidden from most who looked upon him. His large eyes were a color beyond explanation, appearing at times to be bright sapphire blue, like his father's, but at other times, they turned stormy gray, providing a hint of the other that lived inside him.

Legolas felt Fëanor was as much a part of him as his own fëa, he depended upon him and loved him. He felt the growing weariness that emanated from this one who shared his body, and he felt him begin to fade into the background.

As he stared at the wall in front of him, he carried on a conversation with his protector in his mind.

**'You love him, I can feel it,'** he said silently.

**'Yes, I do, Legolas, and I love you as well.'**

Legolas slowly shook his head. **'Tis not the same, Fëandro, you know of what I speak.'**

**I do. I have tried, Greenleaf, I have tried to hide it, to make it stop. Nevertheless, I fear I cannot. I can hide my memories from you, but I cannot hide my heart, no matter how much I try.**

**Why will you not share this with me? Why will you not show me all that you are?**

**I cannot, Legolas. You are his son, to show you what I remember, what I need again, would destroy your relationship with him. You can never know this.**

**He aches for you, Fëandro, I can see it in his eyes, I can feel it when he touches me. He needs you, the two of you can not be parted forever, he will fade.**

**What is there to be done, Greenleaf? You are his son, I was his lover, we share one body. There is no remedy.**

**What if I were to give you control? What if I were to fade into the background, as you do at times? Then you could be together, then… **

**No, Legolas! Never speak of that, it cannot be. Even when my presence diminishes, I still see, I still feel what you do. It would destroy both of you. This can never be.**

A tear fell from Legolas' eye. **This pains me, Fëandro, to see both of you loving one another so much yet not being able to be together because of me.**

**It is not because of you, Legolas. You are the one meant to be here, not I. Had I known what would happen, I never would have touched you when you fell.** Legolas felt a warmth flood his body, wrapping him in comfort and kindness. **Greenleaf, I am so sorry for what I have done.**

**You meant no harm, Fëandro. I am glad you are with me, but sorry you can not be with who you truly wish to be with.**

"Greenleaf?"

Thranduil's voice brought Legolas from his conversation with Fëanor and he looked up to see his father approach.

Thranduil knelt in front of his son and caressed his face. He furrowed his brow when he felt the dampness upon Legolas' cheek. "Why do you weep, Iôn?" he asked quietly.

"I weep for you, Ada," he answered quietly. "I weep for the pain that is in your heart, I weep for the one you fear you will never see again."

"Oh, Legolas," Thranduil answered softly. "Do not do this, do not immerse yourself in sorrow for me. The pain of that is greater than my yearning for him. I cannot bear to see you so sad."

Legolas smiled gently, and for just a moment, Thranduil saw his son, and only his son. "I will be fine, Ada," Legolas replied. "It is just a small bout of melancholy." He took a deep breath and asked, "Have our guests arrived?"

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, they have. It is time to go, Greenleaf, time to celebrate your coming of age."

Legolas nodded and rose from the bed. "Then let us go and carouse with our guests," he said gently. He placed his hand in the crook of his father's arm and they left his chamber for the main hall.

* * * *

The hunting party arrived at the meadow in which they would share their midday meal before returning home. Legolas and his father sat next to one another one a fallen log, sharing a loaf of bread and some fruit. Their expedition had been successful; they had cleared ten acres of land from spider infestation on the southern border of their realm.

Legolas had fought with his customary skill, his accuracy nearly impossible to believe with the bow. It was the first time Thranduil had accompanied his son on a patrol, so it was the first time they had each witnessed the other's skill. During the rout of the spiders, Legolas had one eye on his father, watching over him, ensuring that no harm came to him. Thranduil was an accomplished warrior, he had served in the Battle of Five Armies and the Last Alliance, not to mention countless skirmishes with spiders, orcs, and wargs upon his own borders. Yet, the King was beloved by both his son and Fëanor, so Legolas drew upon the Noldo's power to protect both himself and his father.

As they sat upon the fallen tree, smiling and talking about the upcoming harvest in the fall, a gentle breeze blew down from the north, carrying with it the fresh scent of snow and pine. Suddenly, Legolas dropped the apple he was eating and took to his feet with blinding speed; his knives drawn before Thranduil could react.

Thranduil took to his feet as well, only to be shoved to the ground with surprising strength by Legolas. He rolled to his back as he hit the ground and caught the sound and blur of an arrow as it flew though the air where his chest had been but a moment ago. Their companions were upon their feet as well and Thranduil rolled quickly, grasping his sword that lay beside the log and regaining his feet to join in combat.

They were set upon by a group of thirty orcs to their own company of ten. The battle was brief but fierce as the elves began slaying the large orcs that flooded into the meadow from the tree line. The air was filled with the bright ring of elvish swords upon orcish steel, the grunts and howls of the fell beasts, and the sharp war cry of the woodelves.

The ground was littered with orc corpses. Legolas spun and slashed, carving his way through the swarm of black bodies. Thranduil swung his sword in a large arc, taking the head off the orc captain before bringing it back to his side to run through the next beast that attacked him. Finally the swarm began to thin, the last of their attackers engaged in fierce battle, the elves were determined that none of the orcs would leave the meadow alive. Six of the ten elves that were with them perused the wounded and defeated orcs into the trees, felling them before they could get away.

The unmistakable sound of a growling warg assaulted Legolas' ears.

**Legolas!** he heard Fëanor's voice in his head, **Behind you, Thranduil! The spear!**

Legolas spun, grasping a spear and wrenching it from the chest of a dead orc, as he came around he hurled it with all his might and saw his father fighting off a warg. Thranduil was still upon his feet, his sword buried in the beast's shoulder, his hands upon its collar. The warg's snapping jaws were inches from his father's face and he gave a fierce cry, running toward him even as the spear was yet to find its target. Thranduil felt a burning pain in his right ear as the spear grazed him and lodged itself in the beast's eye.

The warg howled in pain, twisting to the side as Thranduil released its collar and fell to his knees. Thranduil looked up to see his son fall upon the warg, growling in anger as he swiftly gutted it with his knife. He remained on the ground, his right hand covering his ear as blood seeped thorough his fingers. His eyes were wide in shock as he watched the form of his son slay the fell beast and he knew instantly that was Fëanor he saw. He remembered a scene from a tapestry in Mandos' Halls, of Fëanor slaying a wolf of Angband, and it was if he saw the scene replayed in front of his eyes.

He blinked and looked up to see Legolas sinking to his knees in front of him, his hand coming up to grasp his wrist and pull his hand from his ear.

"Adar," Legolas said softly. "Are you hurt? Let me see."

Thranduil was speechless as Legolas leaned forward and inspected his ear. He watched his son tear a strip of silk from his tunic and wet it with his mouth, gently dabbing away the blood from the wound.

"I fear my aim with the spear needs some improvement," Legolas said gently, trying to lighten the mood. His own blood boiled with rage at the attack and he was barely able to contain the tremor in his hands.

"It was good enough this day," Thranduil answered weakly.

Legolas forced a quiet laugh. "Aye, I suppose it was." He blew upon his father's ear to soothe it. He felt the rush of power and strength he had experienced in battle leave him in a sudden flood, and he faltered, placing his hand upon the ground to steady himself.

Thranduil brought his hands up to his son's shoulders and supported him as he whispered, "Are you well, Legolas?"

Legolas rested his head upon his father's shoulder, his feelings at war inside him, torn between helping him and melting into him. He felt the profound sense of relief and love that came from Fëanor; he felt the Noldo's need to hold Thranduil. He wrapped his arms around his father's waist and collapsed into him as Thranduil held him tight.

**Just for a moment, Fëandro** he said silently to Fëanor, **hold him for just a moment, please.**

He closed his eyes and willed himself to a semi-unconscious state, allowing the Noldo to come to the fore.

"Thank the Valar you are unharmed, melinya."

It was Legolas' voice that uttered the words, but it was Fëanor who spoke them, and Thranduil knew it instantly. A tear traced down his cheek as he held the body of his son, and the spirit of his love. "Ai, Fëandro," he whispered. "What is to become of all of us, of you, of Legolas, and of me? How can we go on this way?"

"I know not, poicaquen, but go on we must. We have no other choice. Melanyel, Thranduil," Fëanor whispered, "Tennoio."

Thranduil turned Legolas' face up to his own, and gasped quietly as he looked into his eyes. They were the same stormy gray that he remembered Fëanor's being. "Melanyel, Fëandro, forever," he whispered in reply.

"My Lord?"

The sound of Thranduil's captain broke their moment, and he watched Legolas' eyes return to the bright sapphire blue that they had always been. He smiled gently and kissed the top of his son's head. He looked up at his captain and nodded. "We are unharmed, Agladir. Gather the others, we must get back within the border before sundown. There are likely to be more orcs about."

Agladir bowed his head. "Of course, my Lord. I have also come to tell you we came across two strangers in our pursuit of the orcs."

Legolas rose to his feet and helped his father up. "Two strangers?" The Prince replied.

Agladir turned to the Prince and nodded. "Yes, my Lord. A Ranger from the north and a small wretched creature he has captive."

Thranduil furrowed his brow and answered, "Bring them before me."

Agladir signaled to his guard, and two elves escorted a tall man and a scuffling, bent, horrid looking little creature that was bound by the wrists. The man dragged the whining and growling creature behind him.

As they stood before Thranduil and Legolas, the man bent his head and covered his heart with his free hand. "Mae Govannen, hîren. I am Strider, a Ranger from the North, sent on errand by Mithrandir. The wizard bid me find this creature and bring him to you for safe keeping in your realm."

Thranduil looked down at the wretched little creature and it cowered in fear. It shrieked as the King gazed at it, "No! Do not leave poor Gollum with these nasty elves! They will kill him!"

Thranduil looked back at the man, his right hand still rested upon his heart and there he saw the Ring of Barahir. Fëanor recognized the ring and told Legolas of it. Legolas leaned forward, whispering into his father's ear, "It is the heirloom of Finrod's house."

Thranduil nodded and whispered aside, "Aye, I know of it. This is Isildur's heir."

Thranduil turned his gaze back to Strider. "You know our language, Ranger?"

Strider answered, "I was raised in Imladris, by Master Elrond, after my father passed. I am learned in the ways of the elves."

Thranduil nodded and answered, "Very well, we will do as Mithrandir asks and keep this creature safe until someone returns for him. Tell me, Strider, where did you find it?"

Strider glanced down at the cowering Gollum and answered, "In the Dead Marshes."

Thranduil said nothing for a moment, looking from the ranger to the creature and back again. "You will accompany us to my fortress, we will take charge of the creature there."

Strider bowed his head and answered, "Very well, hîren, hannon chen."

Thranduil inclined his head and walked away. Legolas followed his father, looking over his shoulder at the tall man that had entered their midst.

**This is a sign of bad times to come, Greenleaf,** Fëanor warned. **I feel it.**

Legolas nodded inwardly, and turned his gaze back to his horse.

To be continued…

Legolas ran down the halls, dodging those who darted into his path. He could hear the voice of his father over the din of excited elves; he was calling for his horse. Legolas danced and spun in and out of the other elves frantically rushing here and there some with purpose, some with just panic in their eyes. They were under assault. A battalion of orcs had over run their outer defenses, and with them, they brought fire and death, wolves, and worse.

A high pitched shriek split the air outside and Legolas felt his blood freeze.

**Be strong, Legolas** Fëanor spoke to him, **You have had but a taste of the evil that the Dark One wields. This is not just a slow moving band of orcs, that is Úlairi that freezes your blood. Even I have not faced such evil.**

Legolas swallowed, "I do not fear them," he whispered.

**Of course you do, nessa,** Fëanor replied. **As do I. Fear is not your enemy; fear is what keeps you alive. I know of what I speak.**

"You are with me," he answered quietly. "We will not fail."

**To war then, nilmonya.**

Legolas steeled his expression and answered, "To war…"

He ran through the doorway and out into the courtyard. His second had brought his faithful mount and he leapt aboard, raising his bow in the air and sending a fierce war cry through the halls. Thranduil galloped beside him, sword raised in the air, a picture of deadly grace and power, as they passed through the gaits. Every elf, male or female, able to wield a bow was placed in the hills and on the banks of the river near the entrance to the caves.

Sauron's forces had nearly reached the caves, and the Elves of Mirkwood clashed with them head on. The warg riders were the first to fall as green fletched arrows sliced through the air with deadly accuracy. The main host of orcs came next, and the air rang with the sound of clashing steel, the guttural grunts and howls of injured and dying orcs, and the harsh cries of wounded and fallen elves. Legolas quickly lost sight of his father; he was besieged by orcs, often fighting off three or four at once.

That horrible piercing cry rang in his ears again, and he turned his gaze skyward to see an enormous flying beast carrying one of the Úlairi. He turned, drawing his bow and aiming toward the winged creature. As he released the arrow, he was knocked from his horse, landing upon the ground with a heavy thud. The winged beast let out a horrible cry, and plummeted from the sky beyond the tree line. Legolas rolled quickly, but was struck across the face so hard he thought for a moment that his head had burst like a ripe melon. He fell to his knees and managed to draw his knives, burying one in the thigh of the orc that had struck him and the other in its belly. He fought to hang on to his fading field of vision, his ears rung loudly, drowning out all other sounds. Everything went white before him and he collapsed upon the ground. The orc that had struck him fell dead upon his body.

* * * *

Thranduil limped through the field of battle, his anxiety growing with each passing moment, with each unanswered call of his son's name. He prayed to Mandos that Legolas was just unable to answer, or had returned to the caves, anything other than the growing possibility that his only son had fallen. His men were busy searching for the Prince, overturning orc bodies and searching through the brush.

A flash of gold crossed his field of vision and he slowly turned to see flaxen hair sticking out from beneath a dead orc. He fell to his knees in the dirt beside it, ignoring the nearly overwhelming pain wracking his own body and the blood that ran freely from his side. Reaching out, he pulled the dead orc off his son and gently rolled Legolas to his back. His hands shook with fear as he reached out to touch his son's still form. He knew if Legolas were dead, that he would follow, for without him there was no reason to stay.

Warm. His skin was still warm. His rough voice, choked with tears and weakened by pain called out for help, and the healers came rushing forward to help both him and Legolas back to the caves.

* * * *

Legolas awoke in his own bed; he had been bathed and tended to. His head felt as if the elflings had been using it for a ball to kick, but other than that, he was no worse for wear. "Fëandro?" he whispered.

**I am here, Greenleaf** Fëanor's voice replied. **You fought bravely, nessa, your father is proud of you, as am I.**

"I must find Ada," he whispered. He rose from the bed on unsteady legs, and grasped the post of the bed to keep from toppling over. After a few moments, the pounding in his head subsided and he could begin moving again. He made his way from the bed to the wall, out the door and down the short distance of hallway to his father's chamber.

What he saw when he entered Thranduil's room nearly frightened him to death. His father lay in his bed, his flesh pale and sallow, a thick bandage wrapped around his midsection. The healers hovered over him, wiping his brow. Legolas staggered to his father's bedside and the healers admonished him for being out of bed. He climbed into the bed beside him and refused to leave. Finally the healer covered Legolas with a blanket and bid him stay there for the rest of the night. His eyes closed against his will as his strength faded and he fell into reverie.

* * * *

Fëanor gazed through Legolas' eyes at his beloved. Thranduil's breathing was harsh and shallow, even in his unconscious state he trembled with fever. Sweat beaded upon his pale skin and occasionally he would mumble something unintelligible. Legolas was deep in reverie, and all Fëanor could do was gaze through clouded eyes, unable to command the arms and legs, unable to move at all. The healer came in and checked on the King, he could do no more than place a leaf of athelas under his tongue.

**Wake, melinya,** he pleaded silently, **Legolas needs you, poicaquen. Maurinyel.**

He watched Thranduil's fitful sleep for hours, until finally his love's breathing became softer and more regular. The fever had subsided and the King rested peacefully, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply. He remembered all those years of blissful torment in which Thranduil came to him without form, comforted him, loved him, and healed the rift in his heart that his own pride and rage had caused. He was now the elf he had been before Morgoth's wretched deeds, but he was also wiser, more patient.

The irony of his present situation had not escaped him. Of all bodies to inhabit, it had to be Legolas' body he fell into, into the body of his lover's son. Perhaps this was yet another means to humble him and teach him patience. He remembered the day Thranduil came to him in his new form. He remembered how filled with joy he was that he could see him and touch him, hold him and kiss him. Now it appeared he would be forever sentenced to look upon his lover through his son's eyes, to feel only the touch and gentle caress that a father bestows upon his son. Better that than nothing at all, he told himself.

Thranduil stirred and mumbled as he returned from reverie. Fëanor watched his lover wake, musing to himself it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. His eyes cleared and sparkled like pure sapphire, his rose-pink lips parted as he sighed.

Thranduil turned his head and blinked, his eyes clearing as he woke. He gazed upon the sleeping form of his son and smiled weakly. He reached out slowly and caressed Legolas' cheek with the back of his hand. "Greenleaf," he whispered.

Legolas stirred with out waking and scooted closer, his hand reaching out and touching his father's arm. Fëanor did what he promised himself he would never do; he summoned all his might and moved the Prince's form, causing him to mumble softly, "Melinya."

A tear traced down Thranduil's cheek as he answered quietly, "Doubly blessed am I that both my son and my beloved live."

"It is Legolas and I that are blessed. Had you passed, I do not know that either of us could have stood it." Legolas' long fingers gently gripped Thranduil's arm.

Thranduil gently caressed Legolas' cheek with the back of his hand as he answered, "Nor could I have withstood losing you. Legolas has been the center of my life since the day he was born, and now that I know you live within him…" his voice trailed off as he swallowed. He was still weak, and his strength was failing him.

"Sssh, poicaquen," Fëanor whispered. "You must rest and gather your strength. We will be here when you wake, melinya."

Thranduil nodded and fell back into reverie, and Fëanor released Legolas body, fading back into his subconscious.

* * * *

Thranduil sat propped up on pillows, his strength was returning and his wound was healing quickly. He grimaced as he sipped a bowl of soup steeped with herbs meant to hasten the healing process. Legolas sat beside him on the bed, reporting on the state of the realm after the fierce attack. Casualties on the side of the enemy had been heavy, less than one quarter of their number had escaped. Casualties on their own side had been greater than they hoped, but they had lost fewer than they could have.

"Ada," Legolas began softly, "the creature that called himself Gollum has escaped during the attack. A patrol has been sent into the wood to seek him out, but he has been gone for close to a day."

Thranduil nodded. "I suspect this attack was not a random event. The timing was planned."

Legolas nodded. "Aye, I suspect so as well. Do you think they came for him to rescue him or to kill him?"

Thranduil furrowed his brow. "There is no escape from Mordor, Legolas. I do not think this Gollum creature escaped, I believe he was released from the black land."

Legolas nodded and cocked his head. "To what purpose?"

Thranduil answered, "That I do not know. Mithrandir must have believed he had some value, or he would not have bid us hold him here." He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I saw in my fevered dreams a vision, I believe the One Ring has been found again. I believe that Gollum may know who keeps it now, and that the Dark Lord sends him to find it."

Legolas' eyes widened. "You do not believe it is harbored among the elves do you, Ada?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No, I do not believe that. Nor is it kept among men, for they would surely betray us if they had it." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Do you remember when we held Thorin here?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes, I do."

"I never was able to discover how he escaped, and until now, he is the only one who has ever escaped my dungeons. I have long believed that there was one who aided Thorin in his escape, though we never learned who it could have been. It is curious, do you not think so?"

Legolas nodded again. "Aye, I do, Ada."

A knock came upon the King's door and he bid his guest enter. His herald informed him of the arrival of a messenger from Imladris. The messenger carried news of a Council meeting called by Elrond, and the Lord of Imladris was requesting Thranduil's presence. Thranduil received the news and instructed that quarters prepared for the messenger, he told the elf that he would give him his answer before he left again in the morning. As the door closed behind the two elves, Thranduil looked at Legolas.

Legolas shook his head. "No, Ada. You cannot travel so soon."

Thranduil nodded and sighed. "This is true. You will go in my stead, Legolas. You must bear the news of Gollum's escape to Mithrandir. Elrond is calling the leaders of Elves, Men, and Dwarves to this meeting; Mithrandir will be there as well. Tell him of Gollum's escape, it may be of grave importance."

Legolas rose and bowed his head. "I will, Ada."

Thranduil smiled gently at his son and answered, "Now go, you must prepare for your journey."

Legolas smiled and left the room, leaving his father to his thoughts.

As the door closed behind his son, Thranduil closed his eyes. "Elrond," he whispered. "You may be the only hope my son has…"

To be continued…

Úlairi = Elvish word for Nazgûl
Nessa = young one (Quenya)
Nilmonya = my friend (Quenya)
Melinya = my love (Quenya)
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Maurinyel = I need you (Quenya)

Legolas slid from his horse's back in the courtyard of the Last Homely House. Imladris and Master Elrond's haven was unlike anything he had seen in his life. Everything was different from his own home, the trees, the rivers, the long rolling valleys. Even the air was different, crisp and clear, carrying the scent of snow from the peaks of Hithaeglir. The Last Homely House was built into the side of a terraced cliff with pathways winding up the sides and different structures on each level. His travels to this haven had been uneventful; he had been in the company of Master Elrond's herald and two of his own kinsmen from Mirkwood.

He turned to see a tall and stately elf with hair as dark as pitch looking at him with large gray eyes. Next to him stood the most astounding creature he had ever seen, taller than the darker elf, with thick golden hair that hung past his chest and elaborate braids holding the fall of gold back from his face. His face, it seemed familiar, yet he could not place it. Large azure eyes that were filled with wisdom, finely crafted cheekbones and an aristocratic nose, and lips, lips of the softest pink, lips that he could barely keep from staring at.

He approached the two elves and stopped before them, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. "Mae Govannen," he began a bit nervously, "I am Legolas Thranduilion, from the realm of Mirkwood. My father has sent me with an urgent message for Mithrandir and to attend the council in his stead."

The dark elf raised one eyebrow and addressed the Prince. "Mae Govannen, Prince Legolas. I am Erestor, Chief Advisor to Master Elrond," the elf motioned to the taller one beside him, "and this is Glorfindel, Master Elrond's Seneschal and Captain of his Guard. You say you have an urgent message for Mithrandir?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes, it pertains to the creature Gollum." Legolas took note of the change in the elves' expression. "I also have a message for Master Elrond, from my father."

The dark elf nodded and motioned to Legolas to walk with him up the path. "Come, I will take you to Mithrandir, then to Master Elrond."

Legolas nodded and answered, "Hannon chen, Lord Erestor." He followed the Noldo up the path as the taller elf followed them. The fair one did not speak, but Legolas could feel his eyes upon him as they climbed the path. He also felt a brief spark of recognition from Fëanor, and inwardly searched his constant companion for the meat of it. Fëanor revealed only that the elf seemed familiar, but he was not able to understand how or why.

As they traversed the pathway, he took note that the residents of the Last Homely House came in all kindred, though they appeared to be primarily Noldor. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw a pair of identical twins speaking with one who appeared to be their sister, as she was very like in appearance to them. He recognized them as the twin sons of Elrond, which meant the maid was the Lady Arwen Undómiel. The deeds of the sons of Elrond were spoken of far and wide, and tales of their errantry had even reached the wilds of Mirkwood, as had tales of the Arwen the fair; her beauty was known amongst all elves.

They climbed the steps to the Last Homely House and still Legolas felt the eyes of the fairer elf upon him, yet the seneschal said nothing. As Legolas waited in a large library for Mithrandir, the fair elf stood near the door, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed over the balcony and into the gardens.

Legolas approached tentatively and softly addressed the elf, "Glorfindel? Are you the same Glorfindel I have heard tales of since I was an elfling?"

The elf nodded and replied quietly, "Aye, I would guess I am one in the same. I suppose you have been regaled by stories of my slaying a Balrog."

Legolas flushed and looked at the floor, suddenly feeling foolish for asking such a question. "Yes," he answered quietly. He felt the elf's eyes upon him and looked up to meet his piercing azure gaze.

"Events have a way of becoming more than they were through the telling," Glorfindel said evenly. "I would take what I hear for no more than it is, fantastical tales passed down from one generation to another."

Legolas swallowed and answered, "Forgive me if I have committed an offense, my Lord."

Glorfindel gently shook his head and put up his hand. "No offense taken, meldir. I merely did not want you to have a false impression of me. I am a warrior, I do my duty, just as you do, nothing more."

Legolas nodded and smiled shyly. Their moment was interrupted as Mithrandir entered the library, and when Legolas turned to greet him, the fair elf nodded to the Maia and quietly left the room.

Mithrandir smiled at the Sinda Prince and bowed his head. "Legolas, `tis good to see you once again."

Legolas smiled and bowed his head as well. "Mithrandir, we have missed you in our wood."

The wizard patted the young elf on the shoulder and bid him walk with him toward a small sitting area. "I shall return when I am able, my friend. Now, Erestor tells me you have something urgent to tell me."

They sat in two overstuffed chairs near the terrace. Legolas sat back in the chair, his hands coming to rest upon its arms. "My father sent me to tell you the creature called Gollum has escaped our keeping."

Mithrandir's eyes widened. "How did this happen, Legolas?"

Legolas felt himself flush slightly, shame and a sense of failure causing the blood to rise in his cheeks. "We came under attack, and in the confusion this Gollum creature escaped, we know not how."

Mithrandir leaned forward, speaking softly, "And your father, Legolas? Is the King well?"

Legolas swallowed, finding it difficult to look into the wizard's eyes. "No, but he will be. He was gravely wounded in the attack, that is why he sent me rather than come himself."

Mithrandir looked into the Sinda Prince's eyes, he sensed something but was unable to discern what it was. He smiled gently and patted Legolas on the knee. "Do not feel shame for what has happened, Legolas. You and your father have long defended your realm against the Dark Lord's evil without assistance. No one will hold you responsible for this. Gollum has some part to play in all this, though I know not what it may be."

Legolas cocked his head and questioned, "In all of what, Mithrandir? I do not understand."

The wizard smiled kindly and rose from his chair. "Nor do I, Legolas, nor do I."

* * * *

"Are you sure, mellonen?" Erestor asked quietly.

"Yes, I am sure," Glorfindel answered, his gaze never leaving the form of the Prince as he stood on the balcony high above them.

"Did he recognize you?" Erestor asked.

Glorfindel shook his head slowly. "No, and he would not. All that passed before he came to Middle Earth has left his memory. Only I was sent back with those memories intact."

Erestor sighed and placed his hand upon his friend's back, following his gaze to where the Prince stood. "What are you going to do, Glorfindel?" he asked quietly.

The Elda answered softly, "I know not, Erestor. I cannot reveal what I know. I must reach him some other way." He turned and looked into his friend's large gray eyes. "I must woo him anew."

Erestor clasped his friend's elbow. "But what if it fails? What if you cannot touch his heart?"

Glorfindel smiled sadly. "Then I am destined to live out my life without the one I love."

Erestor shook his head. "That will not do, mellonen. Tell me what I can do to help you."

Glorfindel pressed his forehead against his friend's. "You are already doing it, Erestor. Be my friend, you need do no more."

* * * *

Legolas turned to see Master Elrond enter the library and he bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand. "My Lord," he said softly.

Elrond smiled and followed suit, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. "Prince Legolas, welcome to my home."

Legolas replied, "Hannon chen, Master Elrond. It is an honor to be here and serve in my father's stead."

Elrond smiled and invited him to sit down again. "Mithrandir tells me you bear a message for me from your father."

Legolas reached inside his doublet and produced a folded and sealed piece of parchment. "I do, my Lord," he answered. He handed the parchment to Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, quietly reading what was written upon it. He masked his shock upon reading the words upon the paper and folded it again, placing it in his waist pocket. He looked at the Prince and leaned forward. "Do you know the nature of the letter your father wrote to me, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head gently. "Nay, my Lord. I do not."

Elrond motioned to his assistant to leave them and close the door behind him. Legolas watched the young elf depart and heard the door latch shut. Elrond then spoke softly as to not be overheard, "Tell me of Fëanor, Legolas."

Legolas' eyes widened and he sat back in his chair, a small gasp escaping him. "How… how did you know?" he whispered. "My father, he told you in his letter."

Elrond nodded and answered, "Yes, Legolas, he told me. However, I sensed something before I read the letter, though I knew not what it was. You have nothing to fear, pen-neth, what you tell me will go no further than this room."

Legolas' felt trapped, he felt betrayed by his father, fearful of what must be running through Elrond's mind; he was sure that the Lord of Imladris must think him mad. "Do you believe him, my Lord? Do you believe what you have read in the letter?"

Elrond sat back and placed his hands upon the arms of the chair. "I know that there are more things that are possible than one can imagine, Legolas. I know that your father tells me this because he worries for you and he loves you. As a father, I can sense his pain and his concern. He wants me to help you."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "Did he tell you about Fëandro in that letter? Did he tell you that they were lovers before he came to be here?"

Elrond swallowed, masking the shock he felt at Legolas' words. "No, he did not. But that does not change his love for you, Legolas. It does not change the fact that he worries for you. The two of you cannot continue to exist in the same body…"

Legolas interrupted Elrond, "I do not need your help, Master Elrond. Fëandro is as much a part of me as my own fëa. He has saved me, he has taught me what it is to be a warrior."

Elrond steeled his expression and answered, "You do not know all there is to know about him, Legolas. You know not what he was or the sorrow he caused among my people."

Legolas quickly rose from his chair and answered, "I do know, Master Elrond. It is you that does not know the sorrow he has endured as a result of all he has done! He suffers day by day; he yearns for the opportunity to atone for his rash deeds. If he were as evil as you think, surely Mandos would not have allowed him to leave his halls." He began to pace the floor in front of the balcony. "Did it not occur to you that perhaps that is why he was sent here? That through me he has the opportunity to pay for his rash acts?"

Elrond put up his hands and spoke calmly to the Prince. "Legolas, I mean no harm to you."

Legolas turned and looked at him. "Then leave me be. Leave me as I am, for this is how I was meant to be."

Elrond nodded and replied quietly, "I will, if that is what you desire. But should you change your mind, should you seek to ease this burden that you carry, then seek me out and I will help you." He rose from his chair and bowed his head, quietly leaving the Prince alone with his thoughts.

Legolas listened to the door close behind him and he sighed.

**Perhaps he is right, Greenleaf,** Fëanor's voice echoed in his head. **I am not meant to be here, I am a burden.**

"No," Legolas whispered. "You are not a burden, you are part of me, Fëandro. I can no more be without you than be without my eyes. No more talk of this, mellonen, please."

**Very well, Greenleaf,** Fëanor answered.

Legolas turned and made his way toward his guest quarters.

To be continued…

Hannon chen = Thank you
Meldir = Friend
Mellonen = My friend
Pen-neth = Young one

Legolas entered the large dining hall in the Last Homely House; the room was filled with the sounds of bustling elves and men. Erestor greeted him and the Advisor handed him a goblet of wine, escorting him to a small group of chairs near the hearth. He sat down in the wide, overstuffed chair and talked quietly with the Advisor as they awaited their host. Legolas felt those same riveting eyes upon him again and glanced over his shoulder to see Glorfindel standing by the window.

The Elda was resplendent in robes of deep blue and silver, his hair elaborately braided and held back from his face with jeweled combs. Legolas suddenly felt plain in his simple robes of pale green, his hair in unadorned warrior's braids. He felt his face flush and turned back to Erestor, continuing their conversation.

A lull in the conversation heralded Elrond's arrival and Legolas rose from his chair to greet his host. Elrond bid him sit next to him and he took his chair, looking up to see Mithrandir directly across from him. He tensed as Glorfindel took the chair next to his, and he struggled not to reveal how nervous the Elda made him. He folded his hands in his lap, glancing at the warrior out of the corner of his eye. He could not understand why he was so drawn to him. True, Glorfindel was beautiful, beyond the measure of many he had seen before, but it was more than that. Something pulled at his subconscious, gently prodding his memory but still out of his reach.

His constant companion had faded into the background, and while he could sense him there, he could not hear him. He had noticed that this was happening more frequently as the years drew on, that Fëanor became less of a presence in his everyday life. His ever-present companion was always there when he needed him though, so despite his concern, he left the matter alone. He had meant what he said to Elrond that afternoon, that Fëanor was as much a part of him as his own fëa, he could no more imagine being without the brave Noldo than he could imagine being dead.

His attention was drawn back to the table as Mithrandir chuckled at a bawdy joke that the hobbit told. He smiled as if he had been listening, but his attention and his current thoughts were focused on the Elda sitting next to him.

Dinner was spent in polite conversation surrounding events throughout Middle Earth. Legolas was introduced to the strange creature referred to as a halfling; his name was Bilbo Baggins. The Prince found Bilbo to be a witty conversationalist, regaling those at the table with stories of his adventures. It was not until the hobbit began a tale about an adventure to the Lonely Mountain and a trek through Mirkwood that Legolas took special note of his tale.

Elrond smiled and leaned forward, "Bilbo, Legolas is the son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. Perhaps you recall seeing him on your last visit there."

Bilbo's eyes widened and he cleared his throat, "Hmph… well no, I do not recall meeting the Prince, but then I was not there very long. We… uh, I… was just passing through."

Legolas smiled wryly and sat back in his chair as he took a sip of wine. "I am sure I would remember meeting you, Bilbo," Legolas answered. "But I do not. However, I do recall meeting some of your friends. If my memory serves they spent some time in my father's halls."

Bilbo took a sip of wine and quickly answered, "Well, I was but passing through and it was a long time ago." The hobbit looked over at Elrond, who was grinning over the rim of his goblet, and quickly changed the subject. "Will your minstrels be entertaining us this evening, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond chuckled quietly and answered, "Why yes, they will." He looked around the table, and seeing that his guests had finished their meal, invited them to join him in the Hall of Fire. They pushed back their chairs and began making their way toward the great Hall.

Glorfindel gently caught Legolas' elbow and spoke quietly to him, "May I escort you, my Lord?"

Legolas smiled and nodded. "Yes, Lord Glorfindel, hannon le," he answered softly.

They walked side by side down the long corridor toward the Hall of Fire. Legolas felt a nervous flutter in his chest and a warming heat rise in his cheeks. Never had another had such an effect on him. Just being in Glorfindel's presence made his heart race and his hands tremble slightly. There was still that nagging feeling that somehow he knew this noble elf, but he was at a loss as to why he felt that way.

Glorfindel ushered Legolas to a divan near the hearth and sat beside him. He leaned upon his hands, which were placed just behind him and that brought his and Legolas' bodies into closer contact. He saw the nervous shiver that ran up the Sinda's spine and watched the muscles work in his throat as he swallowed. He stopped short of actually touching the Prince, but leaned over just enough to breathe in his fresh scent. It was just as he remembered, clean, woodsy, like fresh pine and snow from the mountains. He then remembered what Legolas tasted like, sweet, he recalled, yes, like peaches and fresh cream.

The first and only kiss they shared replayed in his mind as it had since he left the Sinda in Mandos' Halls. He remembered the feel of his flaxen hair in his hands, the elegant curve of his ears, the softness of his lips. One brief moment in time that was burned upon his memory, that was what had sustained him through the wars of the Second Age, through the long nights spent missing and aching for the one who had stolen his heart before his return.

To him, it was almost two full ages ago, but to Legolas, if he were able to remember, it would be less than one. Time was not constant in the Halls of the Doomsman of the Valar. Ages passed sometimes in mere moments, others in long years, the only record of time were Vairë's tapestries.

He remembered the long conversations before Legolas took form, speaking with a bodiless entity that had so strange a voice. That voice transformed into the Prince's deep, melodious tone when Legolas was finally able to show himself to him. He remembered seeing Legolas as he left Mandos' Halls, his love was smiling at him with his new face, such a beautiful face. But now something was different in the Prince, something in his eyes, but he couldn't place exactly what it was.

"My Lord?"

That deep voice rang in his ears again, not just in his memory, and he turned to look at his beloved. "Yes, my Lord?" he answered.

"Where were you? You seemed to be elsewhere." Legolas questioned.

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "Aye, I was reminiscing, dreaming of days past."

Legolas smiled gently and answered, "I see I am not the only one who daydreams."

Glorfindel laughed softly and nodded. "You have discovered my secret, mellonen," he said softly. "I often day dream at these functions. The others, they just believe me to be a quiet elf, one of few words, but now you know the truth."

Legolas laughed quietly, quickly covering his mouth with his hand so as not to disturb those who were listening to the hobbit's newest composition. "I would like to know more, Lord Glorfindel," Legolas responded softly, blushing suddenly at his brashness.

Glorfindel smiled broadly and leaned over to whisper in the Prince's ear, "I would like you to know more as well, ernilen."

Legolas eyes widened for a moment then he turned his head slightly, whispering his reply, "Shall we walk with one another?"

Glorfindel nodded and answered, "Aye, I would like that very much."

The two rose from the divan and crept out a side entrance, making their way down the long corridor out of doors. As they stepped into the cool night air, Legolas smiled and stretched his long arms.

"'Tis good to be outside. I am unaccustomed to being inside such formal dwellings with so many," he said quietly.

Glorfindel took the lead, motioning for Legolas to follow him down the path. "I understand you live in underground dwellings in Mirkwood," he said softly.

Legolas nodded. "Aye, we have been forced underground to keep our subjects safe. My father's magic is powerful, but it cannot stand against the power of the One. We used to live in flets as our kin in the Golden Wood do, but no longer."

Glorfindel answered quietly, "Your father does not bear a ring of power, he is at a disadvantage."

Legolas stiffened a bit and answered, "'Tis true, but he has done well enough. Our caves are safe, no evil has been able to breach them."

Glorfindel sensed the Prince's defensiveness and answered, "Your father is an admirable elf, Legolas. His reign has been one of great hardship, yet he has never wavered in his commitment to his people."

Legolas nodded and smiled. "Thank you for acknowledging that, my Lord. I feel my father is greatly… misunderstood."

Glorfindel nodded but made no reply. The Prince's words were true enough. Thranduil's retreat to the north of the wood placed more distance between his realm and their nearest kin, the Galadhrim, but the Elda knew that had it been his decision, he most likely would have done the same. The lives of the elves under Thranduil's rule were more important than any ground given up by the retreat.

They walked quietly along the paths that wound though the gardens. It was a cool but still night, the stars glittered against a canopy of black in the sky overhead, and the sounds of the river could be heard echoing through the canyon.

They took a seat on a low stone bench under the canopy of a willow tree. They talked quietly about their respective lives; Legolas showed a great deal of curiosity about life in Imladris. Each passing moment in Legolas' presence made the Elda's heart both ache and swell with love. The Prince's kind heart showed clearly in the way he spoke about his people and his father. Legolas felt the gathering darkness as acutely as Glorfindel did, and he talked of how he wished he could purge it from his beloved wood. The urge to lean over and claim Legolas' sweet lips was nearly unbearable, but Glorfindel knew he must tread carefully or risk losing the Sinda for good. He sensed Legolas was hesitant to enter into a physical relationship so soon upon meeting him, and he was glad of it; it gave him hope that he may be able to win his beloved's heart for a second time.

After long hours spent talking and getting to know one another, Glorfindel escorted the Prince back to his chamber.

"Fuin vaer, my liege," Glorfindel said softly. He bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand. "'Tis been a pleasure."

Legolas smiled and returned the gesture, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. "Fuin vaer, Lord Glorfindel," he answered softly. "I hope we can get to know one another even better before I return to my home."

Glorfindel looked into Legolas' eyes and smiled. "As do I, ernilen," he answered softly. "Sleep well, Legolas." He turned on his heel and continued down the hall toward his own quarters.

"You as well!" Legolas called after him. He watched the Elda throw a smile back over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner. He entered his elaborate guest suite and flopped down upon the bed, a broad smile curving his lips. "What an interesting and kind elf he is," he whispered to the empty room.

**Aye, and brave too if the tales of his deeds are accurate,** Fëanor answered. **He alone drove the Úlairi away, they fear him.**

"As well they should, he is the great Glorfindel, he knows no fear." Legolas chuckled. "I sound like a smitten elfling with my first crush." He stripped his robes and slid beneath the soft linen sheets, snuggling deep beneath the blankets. He sighed and drifted into reverie, dreaming of Glorfindel.

To be continued…

Hannon le = Thank thee
Mellonen = My friend
Ernilen = My Prince
Fuin vaer = Good night
Úlairi = Nazgûl

Legolas had spent most of that morning talking with Mithrandir and Master Elrond. He had left the two elders to discuss a topic of some urgency unknown to him, and he decided to take advantage of the clear fall day to walk through the gardens. He turned down the path that led toward the stables, deciding to check on his mare before returning to the library. As he entered the building he came across Glorfindel, the Elda was readying his horse with some haste.

"Lord Glorfindel?" he asked softly as he approached. "Is there something the matter?"

Glorfindel answered Legolas without pausing, "I have an urgent errand I must attend to, I will return as soon as I may."

Legolas furrowed his brow and answered, "This is a dangerous errand you ride to."

Glorfindel looked at his beloved and nodded. "Yes, mellonen, but it must be done."

Legolas turned and grabbed his bow and quiver that was mounted on the wall beside his horse. "Then I shall accompany you."

Glorfindel put his hands upon Legolas' shoulders, stopping him from opening the stall door. "Nay, ernilen veren, this errand is for me alone. You are needed here."

Legolas placed his hands upon the elf lord's arms. "But I would not have you ride into such danger without me, I do not want you to go."

Glorfindel looked into his beloved's sapphire eyes, he did not know if he would return or not. He was riding to face the Nine; it was quite possible he would not return at all. "Nor do I wish to go and leave you behind, ernilen," he answered softly. "But this is my duty, this task falls to me. Stay here, Legolas. I promise I will return as soon as I am able."

Legolas lowered the quiver and placed it back on the wall. "Very well," he answered reluctantly. "But know that I do not like this. Balrog Slayer or no, everyone needs help."

Glorfindel laughed heartily and drew the Sinda Prince into an embrace. "Well said, ernilen, well said," he answered. He held Legolas in his arms for a short time, content to feel him there and to smell his sweet hair. He slowly released the Prince and gazed into his open face as he cupped his cheek in his hand. Before he could stop himself, his hand slid around the back of Legolas' neck and he leaned down, pulling the Prince into a kiss.

It was brief; the soft meeting of lips upon lips, but it was the sweetest, most heartbreaking kiss of his life. As Glorfindel drew back, his eyes were closed and he heard himself whisper, "that this solid flesh could melt…"

Legolas opened his eyes; he was reeling from the sensations that flooded his body and his thoughts, flashes of things he did not understand reeling through his mind. He reached up; touching the Elda's lips with his fingers as a soft shuddering sigh escaped him.

Glorfindel opened his eyes and straightened, his hands falling to his sides. "Be well, ernilen," he whispered. "The memory of your lips will help me find my way home." He swung onto his horse and smiled gently.

Legolas thought it was the smile of an elf that accepted his destiny, and rode to meet it without fear. He stepped back as the large white stallion turned on his haunches and sprung into a gallop, leaving the courtyard in a blur of white and gold.

* * * *

The Prince stood upon the balcony of his chamber as the westerning sky blazed gold. He had tried to sleep, tried to read, even tried to sing, but none of the activities could distract him from his worry for the Elda.

**Have faith, Greenleaf,** Fëanor's voice whispered. **I see the light of the Eldar in Glorfindel's eyes, he will not fail, he will return.**

"So this is what it is like then?" he asked his constant companion. "To love another so much that it takes over your every thought and action?"

**Yé, Greenleaf. This is what it is like.** Fëanor answered.

"How do you do it, Fëandro?" Legolas asked. "How do you go on day after day, loving him so much that every fiber of you aches? How do you go on being so close to him yet never having him?"

**I have you, and through you I have his love, Legolas,** he answered. **Love takes many forms, not all need burn the blood.**

"But oh to burn so, Fëandro," Legolas answered. "The ache I felt after he kissed me…" he raised his hands to his face. "I still smell him on me, I still feel his lips upon mine."

Legolas felt that unnamed sensation stir in his loins when he thought of Glorfindel. He knew Fëanor had once felt that way for his father and he was torn between wanting to know and being afraid to know.

The days passed long and hard for Legolas as he waited for Glorfindel's return. On the eighth day, he stood under a tall tree in the garden, his eyes wide with shock when a group of Dwarves entered the courtyard. They were stout and swarthy, their clothes stained from their travels. The only dwarves he had seen up close had been those that his father held for awhile in their dungeons.

He eyed them with suspicion, but greeted them civilly. Upon hearing his name, the eldest grumbled something intelligible and Legolas narrowed his eyes. Erestor quickly swept them away, narrowly averting a diplomatic mishap, and Legolas was left alone again with his thoughts.

Each night that passed was filled with dreams of Glorfindel, some that did not make sense to him, and some that left him aching for the Elda's arms. Fëanor was seldom in his consciousness, though always there, like a warm comforting blanket he could wrap himself in. He was deeply saddened for his father and his friend, being forced apart by the circumstances of his own coming to be. Many times his father had assured him that he would rather have him than Fëanor, that his life would never be complete without him in it. But, he could not help feeling he was to blame in some way. Nevertheless, he could not agree to what Elrond wanted to do, he could not agree to see the fëa of his friend cast into the black void from which it would never return.

* * * *

On the evening the ninth day of Glorfindel's absence Legolas' sharp ears picked up the clattering of hooves and the ringing of bright silver bells. He leapt from his bed and ran out onto the balcony dressed in naught but a thin white sleeping robe.

"Asfaloth!" he gasped. He ran back into the room, snatching up a heavier robe and pulling it on as he dashed for the courtyard.

His bare feet made no sound as he tore down the path, his flaxen hair and white robe flowing out behind him. Upon reaching the courtyard, he found Mithrandir and Master Elrond removing a small hobbit from the proud stallion's back. The young halfling appeared to be injured or ill. He looked quickly around the courtyard and saw no sign of Glorfindel.

Catching Erestor by the arm, he turned the Noldo and asked in hushed tone, "Where is Lord Glorfindel? Has he returned?"

Erestor's expression was grave as he shook his head. "I am afraid not, my Liege. Asfaloth returned alone bearing this young hobbit."

Legolas' face was transformed into a mask of concern. He released the Noldo's arm and walked to the gates of the courtyard, peering into the dark night for some sign of the Elda, but finding none. He walked slowly back to his room where he paced for sometime before removing his sleeping attire and dressing in his leggings and tunic. He walked quietly to the stables and retrieved his bow and quiver, strapping it upon his back and securing his bow. He opened the stall door, walked with his mare to the courtyard gates, and pushed them open, sending her through them before turning and closing them. "My Lord?"

The sound of an elf's voice came to him from above and he looked up to see the guard perched upon the wall.

"Are you leaving us?" the elf asked.

"Only for a short while," Legolas answered. "I will return with news of Glorfindel."

"But, my Lord," the elf replied, "the Úlairi are about, `tis not safe to travel alone."

Legolas looked up at the elf and answered, "I know of the Úlairi, meldir, I fear them not." He swung on to his mare's back and began walking westward on the road.

* * * *

It was early morning and the pale mists clung to the ground nearly obscuring the trail that lead to the haven of Elrond. Legolas' sure- footed mare traversed the narrow trail easily, picking her way down the narrow path. His sharp eyes and keen hunter's hearing surveyed the land before him, and the loud roar of the Bruinen could be heard in the distance.

Suddenly something out of the ordinary attracted his attention. It sounded like the shuffling of large feet. He bid his mare halt and he listened closer, it was not orcs, and certainly not Úlairi. There were three, and what sounded like the footsteps of a Dúnadan, though they were very quiet.

"Legolas!" the bright voice rang out.

"Glorfindel!" he answered, and he squeezed his mare into a slow canter toward the direction from whence the voices came. His mare came to a halt at the edge of the Bruinen and on the other side were Glorfindel, the Ranger he had seen some months before in his home, and three more hobbits.

He raised his hand and shouted, "Mae Govannen!" His heart was nearly beating its way out of his chest. His dear friend was safe and unharmed carrying a small hobbit upon his back and preparing to cross the river. "Daro, Glorfindel!" he called. "I will come get you!"

He urged his mare across the swift moving stream and trotted up the bank on the other side. He leapt from his horse and was quickly embraced by the Elda.

"Ai, ernilen veren," he whispered, "'tis good to see you."

Legolas leaned into the Elda's embrace, wrapping his long arms around his waist and pressing his face into the taller elf's shoulder.

They separated and Glorfindel turned to introduce him to his companions. "Legolas, this is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn."

Legolas bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. "Mae govannen, Aragorn. I remember you well."

Glorfindel then introduced the hobbits. "This is Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and Samwise Gamgee, they are companions of the one I sent ahead on Asfaloth. Tell me, did he reach the Last Homely House?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye, he did, and none too soon. Master Elrond and Mithrandir were attending to him when I left to seek you out."

Sam grasped the sleeve of Legolas' tunic. "Please, sir. Tell us if Mister Frodo is well. Is he safe?"

Legolas crouched down so he was eye to eye with the small hobbit. "Aye, Samwise, he is safe now, and I am here to take you to him." He stood again and took the hobbit's hand. "Come, I can take two at a time." He lifted Sam onto his mare's back then turned to find Merry at his feet. "Very well then, Meriadoc, up we go." He lifted the smaller hobbit onto his mare's back and hopped up between them. Merry grasped him around the waist as they carefully picked their way across the stream. He returned and retrieved both Pippin and Aragorn, then went back one last time for Glorfindel.

As they walked through the swift moving water Legolas tried to hide the overwhelming joy he felt in being with Glorfindel again. The Elda sat close behind him, his arms around his waist and his sweet breath fanning his ear. "Did you see them?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Glorfindel answered. "All nine. They have grown powerful as the age has passed."

Legolas swallowed, his own brief encounter with the Úlairi still fresh in his mind. "I know not how you can face them, mellonen. My own brief encounter was enough to freeze my blood."

"You have seen them?" Glorfindel asked.

"One," Legolas answered, "on an attack on my home."

"I would spare you such horror if I were able, ernilen," Glorfindel answered.

Legolas' mare scrambled up the bank and they reached the hobbits and Aragorn who were already making their way down the path.

"We would return faster if we put the hobbits upon my horse and we ran along side," Legolas commented, signaling for his mare to halt.

"We know naught about riding such tall horses, sir," Sam answered.

Legolas chuckled. "This is an elvish horse, Samwise, you need do nothing but sit upon her, she will bear you well."

He lifted the three hobbits upon his mare's back and she broke into a slow, smooth canter as the two elves and the Dúnadan ran alongside.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend
Ernilen veren = my brave prince
Ernilen = my prince
Yé = Yes (Quenya)
Úlairi = Nazgûl

Upon entering the gates of the Last Homely House, Aragorn took the hobbits to see their friend Frodo, and Legolas took his mare back to the stables. As he latched the gate to her stall and gave her an affectionate rub on her soft snout, he felt Glorfindel's hands upon his shoulders. He smiled as he turned around to face the Elda.

Glorfindel smiled down at his beloved. There were so many things he wanted to say to Legolas, so many things that would make no sense to him, for his love's memories were not the same as his own. Glorfindel remembered every blissfully perfect moment in Mandos' Halls, every touch, every smile, every sweet sigh. They had not been together long enough to consummate their love, but they had shared one perfect kiss before he left to return. And that kiss mingled in his memory with the one they shared but ten days hence on the very spot upon which he stood now.

"You came to find me," he said quietly, his deep voice filling the quiet stable.

"I could wait no longer, Glorfindel," Legolas answered softly. "I feared you may not return at all."

Glorfindel smiled, his fingers caressed the Prince's cheek. "You are brave, ernilen, to ride out alone when the Úlairi are about."

Legolas flushed and looked at the ground. "I do not know brave, Glorfindel. I only knew that I could not remain here while you were out there; I could not wait for your return, for fear of going mad."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "I would have done the same, had it been me instead of you."

Neither said anything for a moment, the only sounds being those of the horses contentedly munching their hay and the sound of their own breathing. Nevertheless, the silence was pregnant with unspoken deference and adoration. Glorfindel took Legolas' hand and tugged upon it. "Come, I am weary and travel worn. Walk with me to my quarters."

Legolas followed the Elda from the stables back up the path to the main house.

* * * *

Three days after Glorfindel's return, Legolas sat in the library, a large, leather bound tome lay open in front of him, it was the history of the Noldor in the First Age. He had been reading it for hours; Anor had risen full in the sky and was now making its way along its western track. The late afternoon sun poured through the open windows, warming the stone floor and pooling about Legolas' feet.

He knew some about the history of this much-beleaguered people, some from his father, some from Fëanor; but the book filled in the rest of what he had not known. His heart lay heavy in his breast as he read of the Dagor Bragollach, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Fall of Gondolin, and the ultimate end of the Sons of Fëanor. His fingers lay upon the page that told of the Fall of Gondolin, and of the brave sacrifices made by High King Turgon, Ecthelion of the Fountain, and his friend, Glorfindel.

"So much death," he whispered to the quiet room.

"Aye, death was ever present in those days."

He turned around to see Erestor standing in the sunlit doorway, his heavy, dark robes obscuring all but the tips of his boots, his hands, and his head. The Noldo walked into the room and took a seat beside Legolas at the large, heavy table.

Erestor continued quietly. "It was an age of sorrow for all elf- kind, not only the Noldor. Your own kin fell in great numbers in the Ruin of Doriath, and your dear friends and kin, the Teleri, fell at the hands of their own kinsman in the midst of Fëanor's rage."

Legolas shook his head slowly and looked into the stormy eyes of Elrond's Counselor. "He knew not what he did, my Lord. He knew not…"

Erestor put up his hand and nodded. "You need not tell me this, Legolas. I was there, I was a witness to all that occurred, though I was barely past my majority." He folded his hands in his lap and continued. "Fëandro was a grand elf; he had the love of his father and the love of the Valar. He was blessed with talent beyond compare and he glowed from within as if the very light of the Two Trees shown in his fëa itself."

Erestor took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, and he continued, "I would have followed him into the dark pits of Angband had he asked. I would have followed him anywhere. We all knew what we were doing, Legolas, though there are those who wish to excuse us and lay the blame squarely at his feet. No, it rests with all of us, with everyone who swore the oath. We all wanted revenge for the murder of our beloved King, for the theft of the Silmarils, and for the rape of Valinor by that beast. So we swore our oaths to follow him, but his son's suffered most, for they knew not what it was they swore to do." His eyes focused back on Legolas and he saw unshed tears glimmering in their sapphire depths. "I saw him," he continued quietly, "as he lay dying, his beautiful form defiled by the cruel whips and fire of the Balrogs. He was in agony, Legolas; you could see it in his eyes. He longed for death, for release from the pain that wracked both his body and his soul. His last words were spoken out of love for his father, out of love for the creations that he had put his very soul into. The Silmarils were more than just jewels, Legolas. To Fëandro, they were like his children; they were part of him, part of the legacy of his existence. They contained the light of the Two Trees, but they also contained the light of Fëandro, and they were in the hands of the beast that had murdered his father. He could not rest should they stay there, so he asked his sons to renew their oath to retrieve them, to make war upon those who would withhold them. He knew not the portent of those words, and in the swearing of them, the Sons of Fëanor brought themselves to ruin."

"He grieves," Legolas answered softly. "He grieves for the slaughter of the Teleri, for forsaking his own kin upon the Grinding Ice, and most of all, he grieves for the woe that fell upon his sons because of the swearing of the oath." The Sinda sighed. "He tries to hide it from me, he tries to tuck himself away inside me so that I do not feel his pain and longing for the one he loves, but he cannot, for I sense it always."

Erestor had an inkling that something was different about Legolas from the start. He had gathered from his master that it had something to do with Fëanor, but he could not imagine what. Now his ears beheld a tale so strange that many would think the elf mad. However, as he looked into the Sinda's eyes he saw the truth, he saw the one he had given up peace to follow, the one he had pledged his honor to so many years ago.

Legolas looked into Erestor's eyes and a wry smile crossed his lips. "You think me mad, and I cannot blame you. How could I know of Fëandro's mind? He died before my father was even born."

Erestor shook his head slowly and whispered, "No, I do not think you mad, my Lord. He lives within you." He slid from his chair and knelt before the Sinda Prince, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. "My Lord," he whispered shakily, "I pledged myself to you once, I hold myself to that pledge still."

Legolas' eyes widened in shock as Erestor knelt himself before him. He reached out slowly and placed his hand upon the Noldo's shoulder. "Do not humble yourself thus, Erestor," he said softly. "I am not worthy of such an honor."

Erestor looked up into Legolas' eyes, and for a moment, he swore they flashed gray. "How is this possible, my Lord?" he asked in hushed tones. "How can the two of you exist in one body?"

Legolas shook his head. "I know not, Erestor. But we do, Fëandro and I both live within this shell." He tugged at Erestor's robe. "Please, my Lord, rise, do not kneel before me."

Erestor slipped back into his chair, his hands resting in his lap, still staring in wonderment at the young Sinda that sat before him. "What can I do, my Lord, to help ease this burden? Have you spoken with Master Elrond? Perhaps he can help you."

Legolas shook his head and answered quietly, "I do not need help, Erestor. Fëandro is no burden, he is a part of me."

Erestor nodded and looked at the floor. "Understood, my Lord. I meant no offense."

Legolas smiled sadly and placed his hand on top of the Noldo's. "No offense is taken, Erestor. Your allegiance and understanding are more than I would dare ask of you."

Erestor smiled and clasped Legolas' hand. "You have both, my Lord." His expression sobered for a moment. "Does Glorfindel know of this, my Lord? The two of you seem to have grown… close, since your arrival."

Legolas shook his head. "Nay, he knows not. How could I tell him? He would think me mad."

Erestor smiled. "I do not think you mad, my Lord. Glorfindel is a wise elf, he may understand this better than you believe."

"I am afraid to tell him, Erestor," Legolas responded. "I fear for what it will do to this newfound friendship of ours."

"This is a secret that cannot be kept from him, my Lord, not if the two of you are to grow closer. If you care for him, then truly you must trust him?" Erestor questioned.

"I do trust him, Erestor," Legolas answered. "But this is too much to ask of one I have known for so short a time. I would not have asked it of you, but the telling of your tale moved me to speak before I could think the better of it."

Erestor smiled broadly and leaned forward, speaking softly to the Prince. "Glorfindel is more than what he seems, my Lord. He is wise beyond the measure of many here in Imladris; perhaps the wisest of all save Master Elrond. He has seen and experienced more than any elf living amongst us. He will understand, fear him not."

"Perhaps," Legolas answered. "We are to take a walk this evening after the gathering in the Hall of Fire. Mayhap that is the time to tell him."

Erestor nodded. "That would be an excellent time, my Lord. This secret cannot exist between you for long if you are to grow closer. Trust in him, my Lord, he will not betray that trust."

Legolas smiled broadly. "You are a good and true friend to him, Lord Erestor, he must be thankful for you."

"And I am your humble servant, my Lord. Do not hesitate to call upon me for aid should you need it."

Erestor slowly rose from his chair and bowed his head, and then he turned and left the Prince to his thoughts.

* * * *

That evening, three days after the halfling Frodo Baggins' arrival, a great celebration was held in the Hall of Fire, to celebrate the victory at the Bruinen. Songs were sung in honor of the victorious, and Aragorn told of the fear that Glorfindel struck in the hearts of the Nazgûl. Glorfindel smiled graciously and in turn regaled the listeners with tales of the Dúnadan from the North and his bravery during their perilous journey to Imladris. He spoke of the valor of the hobbits as well, telling the tale of how they braved the wild to accompany Frodo to Imladris.

Legolas looked at his friend Glorfindel in awe, as he listened to the Dúnadan speak.

Aragorn stood tall, adorned in bright elven mail and cloaked in blue velvet with a bright star upon his breast. "And Glorfindel stepped from the trees, his cloak thrown back and torch held high. The light of old shown from within him and the Nazgûl shrunk back in fear and loathing. They were caught between the roaring of the river and the might of the Eldar, their horses panicked and fled into the waters, and the Nine were washed away."

Glorfindel smiled and rose to stand beside Aragorn. "And Aragorn stood beside me, his torch held high, the fierceness of the Númenor raging in his blood. I knew that with him there beside me, the Nazgûl would flee, and Frodo would be safely borne to my master's house upon my faithful steed."

They clasped one another on the shoulder, smiling as they embraced one another. "Hannon le, Aragorn o Dúnedain," Glorfindel said softly.

"Hannon le, Glorfindel o Imladris," Aragorn answered quietly.

Glorfindel took his seat beside Legolas and smiled, leaning over and affectionately bumping his young friend to shake the look of awe from his face. He then felt his face flush uncharacteristically as he looked at the floor.

Legolas leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Mellonen I gallion."

Glorfindel chuckled and shook his head. "Silence, ernilen, and drink your wine," he playfully chided.

Legolas laughed softly and took a sip of the potent wine in his goblet.

As the night wore on the revelers drank their fill of wine, nibbling on delicacies brought in on finely crafted silver trays. Master Elrond's minstrel, Lindir, and Bilbo engaged in a singing contest, one trying to out do the other. Soon Merry, Pippin, and Bilbo were dancing and singing songs of their homeland, raising their goblets in toast to Master Elrond and his fine minstrels. Lindir laughed and played on, enjoying the raucous mirth of the hobbits.

Legolas felt flushed and dreamily happy from the effects of the wine and he sat down his goblet, covering it with his hand as the steward came by to refill it. "No more for me, meldir," he said softly.

The steward smiled, bowed, and made his way to the next goblet.

"Mmm…" Glorfindel murmured against the Prince's ear. "Has my friend imbibed a wee bit too much?"

Legolas chuckled and nodded. "Aye, I think I have, though `twas not my intention. I am not accustomed to such a drink at home."

Glorfindel tugged upon his friend's sleeve and answered quietly, "Come, ernilen, let us partake of the fresh night air. That should return your senses to you."

Legolas rose slowly, steadying himself upon Glorfindel's arm for a moment before they discreetly left the hall. As they stepped through the doorway into the garden he took a deep breath and smiled. "Ah, yes," he whispered. "I feel better already."

Glorfindel chuckled and nodded. "Excellent well," he answered. "Shall we walk?" He guided Legolas through the garden to the low stone bench they sat upon the night of his arrival.

As they looked at the stars and enjoyed the solitude of this private corner of the garden, the elf lord took Legolas' hand between both of his own. He turned them over slowly, his fingers tracing over the long, elegant fingers and strong muscles. "I have long admired archers' hands," he said quietly. "So elegant, yet so powerful. Their lean efficiency is a thing of beauty, as is the form of an archer in total."

Legolas looked at the radiant elf lord, the Elda that had captured his heart. Glorfindel's long golden locks fell around his shoulders, his azure eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. His eyes wandered over the fine cheekbones and full lips. He ached to kiss him again, ached to touch him. His conversation with Erestor earlier that day returned to him and he swallowed, trying to summon the courage to tell Glorfindel the truth of who he was.

Glorfindel looked up into Legolas' eyes, reading the unspoken question that lay between them, seeing the desire and fear that warred within his sapphire eyes. He placed one hand upon the back of Legolas' neck and drew his love forward, tilting his head as their lips came into contact.

He swallowed as he felt the carnal nature of his love flare in his breast and in his loins. Ages had passed since he had taken a lover, ages spent dreaming and longing for this moment. The soft moan that escaped his beloved's lips caused an answering one to escape his own, and he leaned forward, seeking to deepen their kiss.

Legolas moaned quietly, his hands finding their way to Glorfindel's chest. His fingers roamed the soft silk of his tunic, creeping upward toward his shoulders. He did what he had longed to do since he first saw the elf lord, he plunged his fingers into golden silk, entwining his hands in Glorfindel's rich hair.

Glorfindel sought to deepen their kiss, and gently entreated entry with his tongue upon Legolas' lips. He heard the nearly imperceptible gasp that escaped his beloved and trembled as he moaned in return. His love opened to him as a flower in bloom, slowly unfolding, gently yielding to his tentative advance. He could barely resist the urge to crush the Prince against his breast as he gently pulled him closer, tasting of his sweet, untried mouth slowly and completely.

Legolas' mind swam in a million different directions; sensations and emotions flooded him at a nearly blinding speed. He was inundated with feelings of love, of desire, and of profound sadness. It was then that he realized where the sadness came from, not from himself, but from the one that lived within him.

He grasped Glorfindel's shoulders in his hands and pushed against him, pulling away from his soft mouth and escaping his embrace. "No," he croaked out as he scrambled to his feet. "I… I cannot…"

Glorfindel looked up at his beloved, afraid that he had pushed too far, too fast. "Legolas, melethen, have I…"

Unshed tears shown in Legolas' eyes as he looked at Glorfindel sitting upon the bench, so beautiful, so gentle. He could see the confusion in the elf lord's eyes and he stammered, "I cannot do this, I am sorry…" He turned and ran back to the main house, leaving a stunned Glorfindel in his wake.

Glorfindel looked down at his hands and his heart ached. For one brief moment, he held the one he loved above all others, and in his greedy desire, he had chased him away. He placed his head in his hands, he could still smell Legolas upon him, still taste him in his mouth. He ached with the loss of him as he sat alone.

To be continued…

Ernilen = my prince
Úlairi = Nazgûl
Dagor Bragollach = Battle of Sudden Flame, Fall of High King Fingolfin
Nirnaeth Arnoediad = Battle of Unnumbered Tears, last great battle of
Beleriand
Hannon le = thank thee
Aragorn o Dúnedain = Aragorn of the Dúnedain
Glorfindel o Imladris = Glorfindel of Imladris
Mellonen I gallion = my friend the hero
Meldir = friend (male)
Melethen = my love

Legolas closed the door brusquely and leaned against it, the tears that had threatened to choke and blind him began to flow freely. He slid down the length of the door until he sat crumpled at its foot, and he wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed like an elfling. A great hole in his chest left him feeling empty and bereft of comfort, as he wadded his tunic in his fist. He could still smell Glorfindel, still taste him, and still hear his melodious voice echoing in his ears.

**Why did you run, Greenleaf?** Fëanor's voice echoed in his mind.

Legolas answered without words, **I cannot, Fëandro, I cannot partake of what you yearn for every moment. You try to hide it but you cannot, I feel it, the suffocating, consuming ache you have for my father, and I know he feels the same for you.**

**Our pain need not be yours, Legolas. You are innocent in all that has come to pass, you should not suffer for events beyond your control,** Fëanor answered. **You say I cannot hide what I feel from you. Nor can you hide what you feel from me. You love Glorfindel, and Glorfindel loves you. This is foolish, Greenleaf, to deny yourself happiness because of your father and me. Your suffering does not lessen our burden.**

"No more," Legolas croaked out between sobs. "I cannot think on this any longer. Please, Fëandro, I beg you."

**Very well, Greenleaf,** Fëanor answered, and he faded back into Legolas' unconscious.

* * * *

Erestor encountered Glorfindel in the corridor. He placed his hand over his heart as he saw the pained look in Glorfindel's eye. "Glorfindel," he said quietly, "What has happened?"

Glorfindel answered quietly, "I have lost him, Erestor. I pushed too hard, too fast, and I have lost him."

Erestor took his friend by the elbow and led him to his chamber. Upon closing the door behind him, he turned to Glorfindel. "Tell me what has happened, mellonen. Tell me everything."

Glorfindel sat in a large chair by the hearth and relayed his tale to Erestor. He told him of the kiss, of Legolas' initial response, then of the Prince pulling away from him in an obviously distressed state. "I should never have assumed he would feel the same, I…"

Erestor shook his head and held up his hand. "Nay, mellonen. There is no blame to be had here. There is more to what occurred than you know, Glorfindel." The Elda looked at him in confusion and he continued, "Legolas is unusual for more reasons than you know. Tell me, have you not sensed something different about him? Is he not different from how you remember him?"

Glorfindel reflected on his moments alone with Legolas in Imladris and compared those to his memory of him in Mandos' Halls. He looked up into Erestor's eyes and answered, "Yes. However, I thought perhaps my memory was faulty, or his experiences in this life changed him somewhat. He is very much the same, Erestor. He is kind, honest, loving, brave, yet there is a fire inside him that was not there before, an intensity that I had not sensed in Mandos' Halls."

Erestor nodded. "I have seen it as well, mellon, and I have seen it before in one other."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his chair. "What do you mean, Erestor? What are you trying to tell me?"

Erestor took a deep breath and continued, "You know how he came to be, yes?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, I know how spirits come to this world when they are born. What of it?"

Erestor placed his hands on the arms of his chair and continued, "When he reached out and touched the tapestry that held his life, he was not alone."

Glorfindel's eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. "What are you saying, Erestor? That his body is inhabited by more than one spirit?"

Erestor nodded. "That is exactly what I am saying, mellonen. And the other that co-exists with him is formidable. I know that one well."

Glorfindel swallowed the rapidly growing lump in his throat. "Who is it, Erestor? You must tell me."

Erestor closed his eyes and answered quietly, "Fëanor." Glorfindel closed his eyes and sighed. Erestor leaned forward and relayed the tale of Fëanor's coming to be in Legolas' body, and of the love the Noldo had shared with Thranduil in Mandos' Halls. A single tear fell from Glorfindel's eye as Erestor told the sad tale, and he mourned the burden his young love had been carrying all his life. Erestor reached out and touched Glorfindel's knee, and the Elda opened his eyes. Erestor continued very quietly, "So you see, Glorfindel, Legolas did not run from you because he did not want you. He ran from you because of the grief he feels for his father and for the one who lives inside him."

Glorfindel shook his head and answered quietly. "How do you know this, mellonen?"

Erestor sat back in his chair and answered, "Some I learned on my own, some Legolas confided in me, and some from Master Elrond."

Glorfindel answered, "I wish he could have told me. I wish he could have confided in me."

Erestor smiled gently and answered, "He wanted to, Glorfindel, but he was afraid. He was afraid you would think him mad. I assured him you would not, but that assurance was not enough."

Glorfindel rose from his chair and started for the door. "I must speak with him, I must tell him how I feel."

Erestor stood and called after him. "Good luck, mellonen!"

Glorfindel was gone in a flourish as the door closed behind him.

* * * *

Glorfindel stood outside the prince's door, his hand resting upon the smooth wood as he steeled himself for what he was about to say. He would not stand by and let this happen, he would not lose his love again. He lifted his hand to knock when the door opened, and he looked into the sad eyes of his love. "Legolas, melethen," he whispered.

Legolas smiled sadly and opened the door, stepping aside and inviting the warrior in. Glorfindel crossed the threshold and looked about the dimly lit room. He turned and looked at Legolas, who stood before him dressed in a thin, silken sleeping gown, his loose hair falling around his face like flaxen silk.

Legolas began quietly, "Forgive me for leaving you as I did, Glorfindel. You must think me a fool."

Glorfindel shook his head slowly and answered, "Nay, I think nothing of the sort. I have been to see Erestor, I know why you ran as you did."

Legolas turned his face away. "I cannot blame you for wanting nothing further to do with me, I am an aberration." Glorfindel reached out and turned Legolas chin so that their eyes met once again as the prince continued, "But I am not ashamed of who and what I am. I…"

Glorfindel placed his fingers upon Legolas' lips and answered, "Nor should you be, melethen. I love you for who you are, Legolas, all of who you are. This changes nothing for me."

Legolas looked at his beautiful friend and whispered, "Truly?"

Glorfindel smiled gently and nodded. "Truly." He caressed Legolas' face and spoke very softly, "I will not say I understand why this has came to be. Nevertheless, if there were no purpose then Mandos would not have allowed it. Fëanor is meant to be here with you, pen-velui, for reasons neither of us can know."

Legolas nodded, his eyes and smile brightening. "I would like to believe that we are meant to help one another. He craves redemption; he greatly wishes to atone for his rash deeds in his life. I would like to think I am meant to help him achieve that in someway. He has saved my life on many occasions, Glorfindel. Had he not been with me, I would not be here before you now."

Glorfindel held Legolas' face in his hands and answered, "Then I am grateful to him for that."

Legolas leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel's waist, pressing his face into the Elda's shoulder. "Hannon le, Glorfindel, for your kindness and understanding."

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Legolas and cradled his head against his shoulder. "Ai, ernil vain, you have stolen my heart."

Legolas pulled back and looked up into Glorfindel's eyes. "And you hold mine as well, hîren."

Glorfindel leaned down and caressed Legolas' lips with his own. "Would it be permissible for me to kiss you, ernilen?"

Legolas felt his heart race as he whispered against Glorfindel's mouth, "Yes…"

He moaned quietly as he felt the Elda's lips descend upon his own, and he opened his mouth to his gently questing tongue. Glorfindel held him gently as he tasted of him, and Legolas entwined his long fingers in the Noldo's hair. He rose on the balls of his bare feet to meet the taller elf's questing tongue and arched against him as he felt Glorfindel's hands slide down to the hollow of his back.

As they broke their kiss, Legolas' head was swimming, hundreds of sensations flooding his mind and body at once. Their mouths hovered near one another, Glorfindel still holding his lithe form against his own more powerful one, the Elda's sweet breath caressing his lips.

"I want to do this," Legolas whispered, "but it is all so strange to me. He feels everything I feel, we cannot be separate, we cannot be…"

"Sssh, ernilen," Glorfindel whispered. "I will go no further than you are able to go, I will do nothing you do not want me to do." He brushed his lips against Legolas' and continued, "Do you trust me?"

Legolas nodded slowly and whispered, "Yes, I do trust you. But I do not know what will happen, I do not know…"

Glorfindel placed his fingers against Legolas' lips and smiled. "Have no fear, pen-neth. All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will, I promise you that."

Legolas nodded and answered, "Very well."

Glorfindel's fingers traced over Legolas' face as he whispered, "You say he feels what you do. Does he feel this?"

Legolas nodded and whispered breathlessly, "Yes…"

Glorfindel slid his left hand further down Legolas' back, gently cupping his buttocks as he continued, "And does he like it?"

"Yes…" came Legolas' breathless reply.

"Do you?" Glorfindel purred.

"Oh yes…" Legolas whispered.

Glorfindel could feel his love's desire manifest, his burgeoning arousal pressing into his thigh. His own strained against the silk of his loincloth as he held the prince's yielding form in his arms, and gazed into his face as it was transformed by passion. He watched Legolas' skin flush and his eyelids flutter, his slightly swollen lips part as he sighed. "Nag-bain, pen-buig," he whispered huskily.

He felt Legolas tense for a moment and he whispered again, "What is it melethen?"

Legolas responded hoarsely, "That is what he called my father, pure one, poicaquen…"

"Poicaquen," Glorfindel whispered. "He loves your father, yes?"

Legolas nodded, a tear threatening to fall. "Yes, very much so."

"As I love you, ernilen," Glorfindel answered.

"And I love you, Glorfindel," Legolas replied.

Glorfindel released his love and took him by the hand. "Come, melethen, let me hold you in my arms while you take your rest."

Legolas looked into the Elda's eyes and frowned. "But, I thought…"

Glorfindel chuckled softly and tugged upon his hand, "We do not have to stop if you do not wish it. But there is no hurry either."

Legolas smiled and followed his beloved to the bed, sitting on the edge as he watched Glorfindel slowly remove his clothes. First, the Elda removed his shoes, and then he began opening the clasps on his robe. Legolas watched as Glorfindel's alabaster skin and muscled body was slowly revealed to his now hungry eyes. He felt the insistent pull in his loins, the heavy pounding of his heart, and heard the rasping of his own breath. Glorfindel stood before him in only a loincloth, and never had he seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He watched as Glorfindel knelt before him and placed his hands upon his knees, parting his legs and coming to rest in between them.

"My braids, will you take them down for me?" The Elda asked softly.

Legolas nodded and raised his trembling hands to Glorfindel's hair, gently removing the clips and shaking the braids free. He combed through the Noldo's golden locks with his fingers, astonished at the weight and feel of it in his hands. His hands moved to Glorfindel's shoulders, coming to rest upon his warm, soft skin. "Melin le, Glorfindel," he said quietly.

"Melin le, Legolas," Glorfindel replied. He took the prince's face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly, slowly sweeping his tongue over the roof of his mouth and smiling as he felt Legolas' tongue curl against his own. He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding into Legolas' hair as he leaned closer. He could taste of his beloved forever, so sweet, so soft, and so full of love was their kiss. His hands made their way down Legolas' back, sliding across silk and firm muscle. He struggled to retain control of his rapidly building desire, to resist the urge to press his love to the bed and make love to him.

They separated, breaking their kiss and each gasping for air, but his mouth did not leave his love. His lips made their way from Legolas mouth to his ear, gently caressing the curve before moving to suckle on the point.

A soft whimpering cry escaped Legolas' lips as he clutched at Glorfindel's shoulders, his length beginning to pulsate against his thigh. The soft shifting of his robe was maddening against his heated length, and the Elda's lips were causing fire to roar through his veins. It was too much, too intense; he felt everything two- fold; he felt his own reaction and he felt those of the other within him.

Glorfindel felt the apprehension in his lover's body and he pulled away, caressing Legolas' face in his hands. "Come, melethen," he said softly. "Let me hold you in your bed awhile."

Legolas was reeling, he knew his aroused state was evident. He felt the heat in his face, the sheen of sweat that had begun to bead upon his skin and most of all, he felt the rigid, moist heat of his sex enveloped in his silk robe. He looked into Glorfindel's deep blue eyes and nodded. He stood as his lover rose from the floor and he slid beneath the blankets, holding them up as the Elda slid in next to him.

Glorfindel whispered softly into his ear, "I will not deny that there is nothing I want more than to make love to you, Legolas. But I can feel that we move too fast, I sense the apprehension inside you; I would not take you further than you are willing to go."

"I want you, Glorfindel," Legolas replied quietly, "but this is all so overwhelming, I feel everything two-fold, I…"

Glorfindel gently interrupted him, "Peace, ernilen. We have an eternity to be together, we will find the best way to show one another the depth of our love."

Legolas nodded and whispered, "Hannon le, Glorfindel."

"Sleep, melethen," Glorfindel murmured, "I will be here when you wake."

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend
Melethen = my love
Pen-velui = lovely one
Hannon le = Thank thee
Ernil vain = fair prince
Hîren = my lord
Ernilen = my prince
Pen-neth = young one
Nag-bain = you are beautiful
Pen-buig = pure one
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Melin le = I love thee

Legolas awoke curled against Glorfindel. The bright morning sun filtered through the sheer fabric that hung over the window and he blinked to adjust to the light. He squeezed the Elda as he snuggled closer; his head tucked in the hollow of Glorfindel's shoulder. He felt content, as if he found a place he belonged. He missed his father and missed his home, but the weeks he had spent in Imladris had been blissfully peaceful and relaxing. His life in Mirkwood had been spent fighting to save their home and protect their people. He had little opportunity to lounge in bed and stroll through gardens. Their lives were ones of constant vigilance and he often wondered why his father chose to stay there rather than sail into the west and find peace. The only thing that could have been more perfect would have been having Glorfindel in his own bed, and his beloved wood free of the evil that haunted it.

He listened to the steady, comforting rhythm of Glorfindel's heart and felt the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath. His mind replayed the kiss they shared the night before, the blinding burn of passion, the all-consuming, aching need he felt for Glorfindel. It was hard for him to explain how things felt to him, how aware he was of Feanor's presence even in the midst of that kiss. He had one body, but two souls, he was never alone, even when Feanor's spirit tried to disappear inside him. He wondered if he and Glorfindel would ever consummate their love, if he would ever be able to experience what it was like to make love to him.

Glorfindel sighed and Legolas returned from his thoughts, looking up at the Elda and smiling gently as he woke. "Maer aur, melethen," he said softly.

Glorfindel smiled and whispered against Legolas' forehead, "Maer aur, seron vell."

"I slept well in your arms, heren. I would wake here every morning if I could," he answered softly.

Glorfindel smiled and pulled Legolas onto his chest. "I would like that, ernilen vain. Though, I suspect I would never get any work done as I would be too tempted to stay abed all day."

Legolas laughed softly and caressed the Elda's face. "I am sorry I could not..." His face flushed as he found he could not finish what he wanted to say.

"There will be many nights and many mornings when we may, meleth," Glorfindel answered. "Do not think on that now."

A sharp rap upon the door interrupted their moment of tenderness and Legolas answered, "Yes?"

A male's voice came from the other side of the door, "Lord Erestor bid me inform you that Master Elrond has called a meeting in the Council chambers, my lord. He would like for you and Lord Glorfindel to attend. The meeting convenes after the morning meal."

Legolas smiled and answered, "I will inform Lord Glorfindel, we will be present."

"Hannon le, my lord."

They heard the soft footfalls as the elf walked away.

"This is about Frodo Baggins' arrival," Glorfindel answered.

Legolas raised an eyebrow and answered, "I would imagine it is. What I find curious, however, is how Lord Erestor knew you would be here."

Glorfindel smiled mischievously and answered, "I informed Erestor last night that I would be found here. Had you not permitted me to enter, I would have spent the night on the floor outside your door."

Legolas smiled broadly. "Is that so? The great Glorfindel sleeping outside my door like a lovesick youngster?"

Glorfindel cupped Legolas' cheek, running his thumb over the Sinda's soft lips as he spoke, "Aye, for I am lovesick, ernilen. I am nothing without you."

"Nay, Glorfindel," Legolas answered, "that is not true. It is I who is nothing, I do not deserve..."

Glorfindel silenced his love by taking his face in his hands and covering his mouth with his own. Legolas moaned softly into the kiss as he entwined his fingers in his flaxen hair and tasted of his beloved deeply. As they parted, Legolas looked into his eyes and smiled.

"I could kiss you forever," the prince whispered.

Glorfindel answered, "You will."

* * * *

Glorfindel stood in front of his lord's desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he patiently waited for Elrond's answer. Erestor stood next to him, his hands folded behind his back. The silence in the room was nearly unbearable.

Elrond's piercing gaze was directed at the Elda as he carefully formulated his answer. Glorfindel had never, in all the years he had served him, questioned his lordship or his decisions; yet, the Elda was doing so now. It was with a barely controlled sense of frustration and indignation that Glorfindel had confronted him about his decision to choose Legolas to accompany Frodo to Mordor. His argument had been sound for its part. Glorfindel was the most experienced of all the elves present in warfare, and with the tactics employed by the Dark Lord. If the One Ring were to be destroyed in the fires of Orodruin, such an impossible task would need the aid of the strongest and bravest of the West. Frodo would carry the burden, but he would need protection stronger than the nine that were chosen.

"The success of this task relies upon secrecy, Glorfindel," Elrond began quietly. "Frodo can not go into the East with a host of elves and men, you would get no further than the Anduin before you were attacked. The Nine will not be dissuaded or prevented from achieving their task, our victory over them at the Bruinen was temporary. No, I cannot send you with him, if the Nine were to see you traveling East again, they would know who came with you. It is best to send the hobbit Pippin, and he will not be discouraged."

Glorfindel looked at his lord and made no reply for a moment. Elrond stood and leaned upon his desk and looked into the Elda's eyes. "I know you fear for the one you love, Glorfindel. But his time has come to fulfill his destiny."

Glorfindel cast an angry glance at Elrond and answered, "It is not for selfish reasons that I ask to be sent in his stead. He does not know what he goes to face, he is not prepared for..."

Elrond held up his hand and interrupted. "Nor could he ever be, Glorfindel. Were you? Were you prepared for what happened upon Crissaegrim? This is his role, Glorfindel, let him fulfill it."

Glorfindel felt Erestor's hand upon his arm and he looked at Elrond. "You will not be moved?"

Elrond slowly shook his head. "Nay. I am sorry, mellonen, but this is what will be."

Erestor leaned over and whispered to Glorfindel, "Come, mellon, let us go."

Glorfindel turned and left Elrond's study, his heart heavy with worry and fear for his beloved.

* * * *

The past few days had been spent with Mithrandir and Aragorn, discussing the best path to take to Mordor. His nights had been spent with Glorfindel, learning what he could from the Elda about fighting the Alairi and the paths of Mordor. He had slept beside Glorfindel each night, their warm, bare flesh pressed together, feeling the warrior's strong hands caress his hair.

That morning he had met with his companions and gave his second in command a letter he had written to his father. In it, he explained why he would not be returning home as planned and he expressed his love to Thranduil should he not return at all. The Silvan Captain promised to deliver the letter upon their arrival in Mirkwood, and Legolas watched his long time companions ride out of the gates, taking the path through the mountains.

As the afternoon waned on, he met with Mithrandir and Aragorn one last time regarding their route. Master Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had ridden ahead to clear the path and assure their first leg was safe and free of harassment from wild men and orcs. The sun began to sink on the horizon, and a gray mist hung heavy in the air. The sky was growing dark and their time was coming to depart.

Legolas made his way down the winding path the night air brought a bitter chill with it. As he turned the corner, Glorfindel caught his elbow and pulled him from the path.

Legolas wrapped his arms around the Elda's waist and pressed his face into the soft velvet of his robes. He could find no words to express the overwhelming sense of anguish at their parting and the suffocating fear that preyed upon his heart.

Glorfindel held him close, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall as he caressed his beloved's hair. "Oh, Greenleaf," he whispered softly. "I will miss you so."

Legolas nodded and squeezed him tighter and murmured into his robes, "I will miss you as well. I do not want to leave you."

Glorfindel pulled him back and turned his chin up. "I would go with you if I could, Legolas. You know that, yes?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye, I know. But this task falls upon me, melethen."

Glorfindel caressed his face and answered, "We will see one another again, Legolas; I promise you that."

Legolas nodded. "I will come back here when my task is done. I want you to come home with me and meet my father."

Glorfindel smiled broadly and nodded. "Aye, I would like that, Greenleaf."

"Legolas!"

Aragorn's voice rang through the cold night air and Legolas clutched Glorfindel tighter. "I am not ready," he whispered. "I cannot do this..."

"Yes, you can, Legolas," Glorfindel answered as he held his love tight. "You are strong, you will do this." He pressed a kiss to the top of the prince's head. "They are calling for you, Legolas. It is time."

Legolas drew back and took Glorfindel's face in his hands, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. He tasted of him thoroughly, he wanted to remember how he felt and tasted over the long months ahead. He broke their kiss and whispered against the Elda's lips, "Melin chen, Glorfindel. I will return."

He pulled away and ran down the path to the courtyard.

Glorfindel looked up at the heavens and whispered a prayer to the Valar to keep the members of the Fellowship safe and see them through their task. He then turned and walked back up the path to the house.

To be continued

Maer aur = Good morning
Melethen = my love
Seron vell = dear lover
Heren = my lord
Ernilen vain = my fair prince
Meleth = love
Hannon le = thank thee
Ernilen = my prince
Mellonen = my friend
Mellon = friend
Melin chen = I love you

They had traveled undercover of darkness, heeding Master Elrond's advice. His sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had scouted their path south, clearing the way of Orcs and Wild Men. At Eregion, they had been forced to turn due east and take the path of Caradhras. Saruman's spies were watching their passage south, and the risk was too great to travel through the Gap of Rohan. After the third day of climbing, their way was blocked by heavy snows and storms sent forth by the White Wizard to impede their crossing. Forced to turn back, they traveled another day back down the mountain. The only way left for them now was to pass through Moria.

Gimli was convinced his cousin who presided there would give them safe passage, but Aragorn was loath to travel through the mines, and Legolas and Boromir were in agreement with the Dúnadan. Nevertheless, they followed Mithrandir into the dark of Moria.

Disastrous. Their journey thus far had been disastrous. They had been trapped in snow, attacked by the wolves of Isengard, then attacked at Moria gate by a hideous serpent-like creature, and now trapped in the dark of Moria. They battled their way out of the Chamber of Mazarbul, barely escaping with their lives. Not one of them emerged unscathed except for Legolas; his elven reflexes combined with Fëanor's experience made him a warrior undefeatable by the orcs and trolls that besieged them.

They rushed forth through fire and black smoke and came at last to the bridge. The sound of drums echoed through the air and black arrows rained down upon them. Legolas turned and fitted an arrow to his bow and drew the string taut, but what his eyes beheld caused him to lower his bow in dismay.

Fear seized his heart and ghostly blinding pain ripped through his body. He felt Aragorn's hand upon his back and opened his mouth to speak but no words would come. The Dúnadan stared at him in amazement, in the dark, flickering light of Khazad-dûm, his friend's face had turned white and his eyes had faded to gray.

**It is time to run, Greenleaf,** Fëanor said. **There is no battle to be fought here, you cannot stand against this evil. You must run for your lives!**

"Balrog," Legolas whispered to Aragorn. The elf felt a surge of strength and cried out, "A Balrog has come! We must fly!" He grasped his friend's arm and pulled him along, catching Gimli by the shoulder as Boromir fled with the Hobbits in front of them and Mithrandir followed closely.

"Over the bridge! Fly!" cried Mithrandir, "I must hold the bridge. Fly, flee for your lives!"

"Faster!" Legolas cried, urging them on as the beast began to overtake them. Legolas reached down and grasped the Dwarf around the waist and hauled him off the ground. Gimli barked in surprise then clung to the elf as Legolas flew over the narrow bridge at Khazad- dûm, Aragorn on his heels.

Boromir and the Hobbits had barely reached the other side when Legolas and Aragorn came across with Gimli. Legolas put Gimli down and turned, ignoring the Dwarf's grumbling as he watched Mithrandir stand before the beast. **He needs help, Fëandro…** he said silently.

**He is an Ainur, Greenleaf, we can be of no help to him, weapons of elves and men cannot defeat the mightiest of Morgoth's evil. You must protect the Ring Bearer,** Fëanor answered.

"He cannot stand alone!" Aragorn cried and started back across the bridge.

Boromir cried out, "No!" He leapt after his kinsman to bring him back.

"Wait, Aragorn!" Legolas cried. He held Frodo tight as the young hobbit cried out to his old friend Gandalf.

"You cannot pass!" Mithrandir cried, his booming voice echoing through the chasm. He raised his staff and his sword, and a bright light burst forth from the tip of the staff.

The bridge cracked as Boromir caught Aragorn by the shoulder, dragging him back with great difficulty. "Frodo! We must protect Frodo!" Boromir shouted to him.

Aragorn's eyes were riveted on the wizard, as Mithrandir stood alone before the giant beast. It was hideous, made of smoke and ash and fire, its bone shattering roar echoing through the canyon as it held aloft a sword and whip of fire. The Balrog took a step forward and Legolas could feel his heart stop for a moment, that flash of blinding pain echoing through his memory again. "Fëandro, Glorfindel," he whispered so softly that no one could hear him. He ached when his eyes and memory beheld the beast that had ended both the life of his beloved and the life of his constant companion. He watched with his companions as the bridge gave way and the Balrog plummeted into the bottomless cavern of Khazad-dûm.

Mithrandir turned, heaving a sigh of relief, when the Balrog's cruel whip rose up from the darkness, catching the wizard about the ankle and pulling him from the bridge.

Frodo cried out and struggled against Legolas, as Aragorn made another attempt to rescue their friend. But poisoned black arrows rained down on them from the other side and any attempt would result in certain death.

The wizard struggled to hold on, but found it impossible. He looked one last time at his friends and shouted, "Fly, you fools!" He lost his grip and plummeted into the darkness.

Boromir dragged Aragorn from the bridge, his kinsman was in a state of numbed shock. Legolas and Gimli gathered the grieving and horrified hobbits, leading them to the eastern gate of Moria. As they came upon the gate, a small number of orcs put up resistance. So great was the fury of Aragorn, that after the Dúnadan felled their captain the rest fled in fear.

Upon reaching the clear air and daylight on the other side, they raced down the side of the mountains to Dimrill Dale, as fast as their unsteady legs would carry them. The Hobbits fell upon the soft grass, crying for their fallen friend. Boromir tried to comfort Gimli, who wavered between grief and rage, and Aragorn stood numbly staring at his sword. Legolas felt tears falling from his eyes and made no effort to stop them. He said a quiet prayer for the wizard who had become dear to him, as he tried to make sense of what had happened and dispel the fear that had nearly choked his heart.

**Onward, Greenleaf,** came Fëanor's reassuring voice. **We must get the Ring Bearer to safety.**

Legolas placed his hand upon Aragorn's shoulder and motioned toward the east. "We must make haste, mellonen," his deep voice whispered.

Aragorn nodded and bid farewell to his old friend Mithrandir, as they gathered the hobbits and made for the shelter of Lothlórien.

* * * *

They reached the Golden Wood at nightfall, Ithil stood high in the night sky and a bitter wind began to blow down the mountain. Legolas carried Pippin upon his back; the young hobbit was fast asleep and snoring contentedly in his ear. Boromir carried Merry who also slept peacefully. Frodo and Sam still walked having regained their strength after a quick meal and some cool water from a swift running stream.

Upon entering the wood and crossing the Nimrodel, they took rest in the forest. The hobbits rested against the trunk of a tree as Aragorn and Gimli took first watch. Legolas knelt beside the swift running stream and dipped his hands in, gathering some water in them and rinsing his face. He took a long drink of the clear water. The voice of Nimrodel called to him and Fëanor warned him of the call of the sea.

**'Tis but the first taste you will have of it, Greenleaf. Once you hear the sea's call, `tis impossible to deny it for long.**

Legolas nodded. Many of his kind had heeded the call of the sea and went into the west, never to be seen again. His father had talked of Aman, but he had yet to heed the call, and Legolas was loath to leave without him.

"I hear a sound intermixed with the sound of the water," Frodo said as he sat beside Legolas near the edge of the stream.

"'Tis the voice of Nimrodel, the maiden for whom this stream is named," Legolas answered quietly. "There is a song that has long been sung by my kin that tells of her tale."

Frodo looked up at the elf and asked quietly, "Would you sing it for me? It would ease the weight upon my heart, I think."

Legolas smiled kindly and nodded. "Aye, Frodo Baggins, I will sing it for you."

The Fellowship listened as Legolas sang the Lay of Nimrodel, his soft voice mixing amongst the wind in the trees. Frodo placed his small hand upon the elf's thigh as Legolas' voice faltered; he knew the grief Legolas felt in his heart, for it was in his own.

The Fellowship agreed to make their way further into the forest, away from the road, and seek shelter in the treetops until morning.

Legolas leapt into a tree, seeking a safe place for his companions to sleep, when a deep voice called out to him.

"Daro!"

He nimbly dropped back down to the ground and cautioned his friends to stay close. A short conversation ensued that only Legolas and Aragorn understood. Only a few of the elves of Lórien spoke the language of the west. Legolas looked at Frodo and said quietly, "They bid me climb up with Frodo. They heard my voice across the Nimrodel, they are aware that we are no threat. They have heard tidings of our journey and wish to speak with the Ring Bearer.

Legolas and Frodo ascended the ladder that fell from the branches and the Prince told of their journey. The Captain of the Marchwarden, Haldir, granted them passage though they had to go forth blindfolded, as the entrance to Caras Galadhon was a closely kept secret. They journeyed for two days through the beauty that was Lórien before reaching the wall and gate of Caras Galadhon.

The Fellowship was granted entry and given safe haven in the great tree city. Legolas looked about himself in wonder, for never had he seen trees so tall and mighty, nor a place so beautiful. They were called before the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and as he stood upon the flet, his head bowed and eyes cast down, he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. The realization that he was about to face one whom Fëanor had left upon the grinding ice caused the color to drain from his face.

**Galadriel,** Fëanor's voice echoed in his head.

He looked up slowly and saw Galadriel and Celeborn sitting side by side. He averted his gaze, unable to bring himself to look into the Lady's eyes. Celeborn greeted each of them warmly and he smiled and bowed to the elf lord. Aragorn relayed the tale of their journey through Moria and Mithrandir's passing. They spoke at length of what had passed and what may come, all the while Legolas stood silent, not trusting his voice to speak. Galadriel looked into the eyes of all of them, and as she gazed into Legolas' she lingered. She rose from her chair as Celeborn bid them take their leave and rest, and she caught Legolas by the arm.

"I would speak with you, Legolas," she said quietly.

"Yes, my lady," Legolas answered softly.

As the Fellowship departed and made camp at the base of the trees, Legolas followed Galadriel into her garden. His heart hammered rapidly in his chest and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. She bid him sit upon a bench beside her and he found he could not look at her. He could feel Fëanor's remorse and guilt sitting heavy upon his heart.

Galadriel took both his hands in her own and spoke quietly, "Look into my eyes, Legolas."

He reluctantly turned his gaze to her own and swallowed as he allowed her to see into his mind and his heart.

What she saw caused her to gasp quietly and she began to pull her hands away from his. "Fëandro?" she whispered breathlessly.

"Do not fear me, lady," Legolas whispered, and he clutched her hands, keeping her from pulling away. "He deeply regrets all that he did in his former life, he will never forgive himself for what he did to you and your kin."

Galadriel recovered herself and answered, "Let me see him, Legolas. Let me hear him speak through you."

Legolas nodded and closed his eyes. She watched his eyelids flutter and felt his posture change. When he opened his eyes again, they had turned from bright sapphire to stormy gray. "Fëandro, dagnir-e- guren," she whispered.

"Galadriel, pen-dond."

The voice was Legolas' but he words were undoubtedly Fëanor's, he was the only one who had ever called her that. As a young female, she had been nearly as tall as her elder brothers and her uncle had taken to calling her `tall one'. "How can this be?" she asked in a voice that was nearly a whisper. "How can the two of you be as one?"

"I know not, but one we are. I have much to atone for, Galadriel. Many evil deeds have I done in the name of vengeance and love. What I did to you and your kin can never be undone, you will carry with you always the remembrance of the sorrows that befell you on the grinding ice. I have spilled the blood of my own kind, and left my kin to die a slow and terrible death, and for that I have no right to ask for forgiveness."

The sorrow in Fëanor's words nearly rent Galadriel's heart in two. Long had she suffered the woes of her kin, but she had not harbored hate in her heart. She had always thought on her uncle as a most tragic figure, driven by revenge and pain to horrible deeds. For Fëanor, she had always felt profound sorrow and pity. "Now is the chance to have what you long for Fëandro," she said softly. "I have seen what is to pass in my mirror, your chance for forgiveness and absolution will come, and it will be a high price to pay."

"No price is high enough to purge my soul of the evil I have done," he whispered softly.

"There is hope for you, Tôr-en-adar. Legolas will need you; he will need your strength in the months and days to come. As for myself, I forgave you long ago. Go in peace, Fëandro, for I bare you no ill will."

"Hannon le, Galadriel," he whispered. He willed Legolas' hand to reach up and caress Galadriel's cheek. "You have become so beautiful, pen-dond. Your father would be pleased to see you now, as would your brothers. You will see them again, they wait for you in Aman."

A tear fell from Galadriel's cheek as the uncle she remembered spoke to her now. Before the making of the Silmarils, Fëanor had been a good uncle. Despite his aloofness and difficulties with his brothers, he had been kind to her when they had been together. She had always sensed that beneath his brash ways and arrogance there was a good heart, and she had never doubted his love for his father or his sons. She nodded and cupped his cheek before rising from the bench and leaving him alone.

Legolas took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, his eyes focusing on the garden and finding himself alone. "Where is she?" he whispered.

**She is gone, Greenleaf,** he replied. **She has forgiven me, though I do not deserve it.**

Legolas smiled and placed his hand upon his cheek where Galadriel's once lay. "She is so beautiful," he whispered. "As beautiful as Glorfindel."

**Aye, she is,** Fëanor answered. **I cannot blame my father for falling in love with Indis, the Vanyar are beautiful beyond compare.**

Legolas slowly rose from the bench and made his way out of the garden, back to where his friends slept.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend
Daro = Halt
Dagnir-e-guren = bane of my heart
Pen-dond = tall one
Tôr-en-adar = brother of my father – uncle
Hannon le = Thank thee

Thranduil sat at his desk, reading his son's letter. It had been long delayed in coming to him, as the elves that had left Mirkwood with Legolas were forced to travel south on their return home; the mountain passes had been blocked by heavy snows. His fingers traced over the elegant script of his son, and when he held the parchment to his nose, he imagined he could still smell him upon it. He laid the letter down and rose from his desk, making his way through the halls and outside to his private gardens. He stood upon a small hill and looked up at the stars circling overhead. For the time being, his wood was quiet; there had been no sign of orcs since before Legolas' departure.

He thought of his son, how filled with despair he had been when he thought him lost. He had recovered from his wounds and was strong again, but his heart ached in the absence of his son and his beloved. "Fëandro," he whispered, "keep him safe, return him to me." He then closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar for their safe passage and the return of his most precious possession. He knelt upon the mound and closed his eyes, summoning the memory of his beloved.

He saw in his mind's eye his beloved's form, his long raven hair, his stormy gray eyes and pure ivory skin. He remembered his touch, his kiss, his deep voice in his ear. He remembered hands that had once been instruments of both creation and destruction transformed into instruments of love, caressing his hair, his skin, touching his very soul. Never had he remembered a time when he felt so complete as he did lying in Fëanor's arms and he ached for the Noldo as he had every moment since his memory came to him. "Melanyel, Fëandro," he whispered.

* * * *

Vairë stood with her hands clasped upon her elbows, gazing at her latest work. Her work could be a source of such joy for her at times, and at others, it could be a source of such sadness. She could not see as far into the future as did her husband, visions of history to come unfolded before her eyes in bits and pieces. A tear rolled down her cheek as she gazed upon her latest work and she felt the comforting arms of her beloved wrap around her waist.

"I cannot understand this, my love," she whispered. "Do we not love him? Have we forsaken him?"

Mandos slowly shook his head and whispered into her ear. "We will never forsake him. I have loved him ever, even when he turned his back on me and left us. Things are not as desperate as they may seem, beloved. Fëandro must pay dearly for his transgressions, but he will not always pay thusly."

She closed her eyes as her husband kissed her cheek and left her standing before her work. She opened her eyes and gazed at the tapestry before her, composed of red and black and gray. "Stay strong, Fëandro," she whispered, "we will not forsake you."

* * * *

Legolas collapsed upon the wall of the Hornburg. The sun had risen, Mithrandir had returned with Erkenbrand, and they had survived, but barely. He watched in fascination as the orcs were driven from the Deeping-coomb and into the trees. "Trees?" he said to himself. The landscape had changed; there was a great wall of trees blocking the exit to the valley. As the orcs were driven in by the White Rider and the Rohirrim, the trees began to move and strangled wails of orcs rose up from the dark depths of the forest.

His relief and joy upon seeing Mithrandir again had been nearly outmatched by Aragorn's, and he felt comforted and bolstered by the wizard's presence. Before Mithrandir's return, he had doubted whether or not they could complete their task, but he felt sure now that they had at least a fighting chance.

The battle for Helm's Deep was done, and the Rohirrim were victorious over seemingly insurmountable odds.

"Forty-two, Master Legolas!"

Legolas turned and smiled as he saw his old friend approach; he had feared that Gimli had fallen. He indulged his friend despite his exhaustion, and shouted back, "You have passed my score by one, but I do not grudge you the game, so glad am I to see you on your legs!"

The two friends clasped one another on the shoulder and Legolas winced. The Dwarf raised an eyebrow and answered, "You are wounded, my friend."

Legolas shrugged it off and answered, "'Tis but a scratch." He stood wearily and tugged upon the Dwarf's sleeve. "Come, Aragorn will be glad to see you still standing as well."

As the sun set in the west and the night sky was slowly unveiled, Legolas stood upon the high ground and gazed into the north. His eyes fell upon the great forest that was his home. He wondered how his father fared and hoped he was well. "Melin chen, Ada," he whispered. His eyes then drifted west, following the ridge of the Misty Mountains until he found Caradhras and he followed the peaks north until he imagined the High Pass to Imladris. He wondered where Glorfindel was and what he was doing in that moment. He understood the dull ache Fëanor felt for his father, as it was the same as his own for Glorfindel. "Melin chen, Glorfindel," he whispered. He looked into the night sky again. "Everyday we grow closer; each league ridden, each step taken brings us to our destiny," he said quietly.

Fëanor answered, **This will all be over one day, Greenleaf. One day you will lay in your beloved's arms and you will see your father again. The day comes in which the Darkness will pass, and Morgoth's shadow will be lifted from the world forever.**

"I hope you are right, Fëandro," he whispered. "For we risk and sacrifice much."

**Greatness cannot be achieved easily, Greenleaf. Evil cannot be defeated without sacrifice,** he answered. **Come, one battle at a time, Greenleaf. `Tis time to move on.**

Legolas nodded and turned back to the Hornburg to gather his horse and prepare to ride with his friends.

* * * *

Glorfindel gazed at the night sky from his balcony. The haven of Imladris was all but deserted, only he, Elrond, Arwen, and Erestor remained. Arwen refused to sail west, having promised herself to Aragorn, and she awaited news of his fate as well as her own. Elladan and Elrohir had left and rode north to meet with Halbarad, then they would ride south with the Grey Company, bearing the standard that Arwen had made for Aragorn. Elrond's sons were riding to war and that grieved their father as well as Glorfindel. The Elda felt useless waiting in Imladris when he felt he should be fighting along side the twins and Aragorn, and his beloved. Nevertheless, he was charged with Arwen's safety and had sworn an oath to Celebrían to watch over her children. Elladan and Elrohir were fine warriors, his heart told him; they had to choose their own path now, they were no longer his charge. He prayed that he had taught them well enough to survive this conflict.

Legolas' parting had weighed heavy upon his heart, and he prayed that his love was safe. Somehow, he knew that Legolas was still alive, that Fëanor would keep him safe and give him strength. All his hopes now rested upon the one that had kept them apart, and the irony of it was not lost on him. "Melin chen, Legolas," he whispered to the night, and he turned and entered his chamber.

* * * *

Pelennor lay before them as the large ships sidled up to the docks. Minas Tirith was burning. The field of Pelennor was littered with the bodies of men and horses and fell beasts. Legolas' eyes widened as he took in the carnage.

**Steady, Greenleaf,** Fëanor called to him, **Let us make war. Let us make them pay for what they have done.**

With a fell cry Legolas leapt from the black ship, falling upon the legions of orcs with ferocity few had seen. Scores of orcs fell as he fired his bow, advancing at a run. Aragorn charged in beside him with Gimli close behind. Elladan and Elrohir leapt from the ship, slicing through the black mass of death with frightening and deadly speed. Legolas' blades rang out as he went to his knives, hacking his way through toward the field.

Éomer rejoiced upon seeing Aragorn and his allies advancing from the harbor, and he sounded another call upon his horn as the bells of Minas Tirith began to sound. The standard of the House of Elendil blew in the breeze and the citizens of Gondor rejoiced at its unfurling.

"Aragorn has come!" he shouted to his riders. "Now awakens the fury of the West!" The Rohirrim charged upon their foes from the north as Imrahil came upon them from the east. Caught between Aragorn's forces coming from the south and the Rohirrim and Knights of Dol Amroth, their enemy fell in great numbers; few survived to escape back to Osgiliath and beyond.

Legolas stood beside Elrohir with Elladan. The youngest son of Elrond knelt next to the fallen body of his friend and comrade, Halbarad. The Sinda Prince placed his hand upon the Peredhil's shoulder, offering what comfort he could. His eyes scanned the field of battle in the waning light of day. Pelennor was littered with the corpses of the dead, its grass stained red and black from the fallen. Already wagons were leaving the broken gates of the city to collect the dead and separate the bodies of those from the West from the carcasses of orcs that littered the field. The battle was done, Gondor was saved, but at a heavy price. The Rohirrim had lost nearly half their number; many trampled beneath the feet of the mûmakil or trapped beneath their bulk as they fell. Dol Amroth and Gondor had also suffered heavy losses, and the Steward had lost his mind, burning himself alive.

Legolas stood inside a small building near the citadel, watching the rain fall heavy upon the fields. The healing waters of Eru washing the blood and ruin away as it put out the last of the fires that burned in the city and upon the field. He gazed eastward, watching fire erupt from Orodruin, and his heart and mind was seized by something dark and powerful.

A voice echoed in his mind, deep and frightening, and he gripped the windowsill as he fought to resist its call.

**Fëandro…** it whispered.

**Be gone, devil,** Fëanor answered. **You will not bait me with your tricks, Morgoth mólwa. I did not fear your master, I do not fear you.**

**I will break you, foolish elf, and I will break the one that harbors your cursed spirit. You have betrayed the Valar, Fëandro, there will be no rescue from my grasp this time.**

**I do not need their aid, bringer of woe, teller of lies. You will not harm Legolas, and I will rip out your black heart and eat it before I see you get what you desire. You will be cast into the black abyss with your cursed master to cower like the dog you are, even if I must go with you.**

**You will be mine, Fëandro, as will the Prince you so cherish, and together you will suffer in my dungeons for days without end.**

**Empty threats! Be gone skulking beast! I will deal with you soon enough**

* * * *

Aragorn and Mithrandir came upon Legolas standing in the open window. The Ranger called to his friend, but Legolas did not answer. He stepped up beside his friend and his face paled.

Mithrandir approached and immediately sensed something was wrong. Legolas' eyes were dark gray, nearly black, a fine sheen of sweat beaded upon his skin and his knuckles were white as he gripped the windowsill. Mithrandir had seen this pained expression before; it was not unlike the one that Pippin wore when he looked into the Palantír. He placed his hands upon Legolas' head and broke the hold Sauron had upon him, and the elf nearly collapsed into his arms.

Aragorn knelt over him and brushed his damp hair away from his face. As his fingers caressed the silken locks, he could see strands of black in them. "He has been transformed," he whispered in hushed tones to Mithrandir. "Look at his hair, and his eyes were gray."

"There is more to this elf than meets the eye, my friend," the wizard answered quietly. "He will be fine, Aragorn, he is strong."

Legolas gasped quietly and his eyes opened. He looked up at Mithrandir and Aragorn with bright sapphire eyes. "What happened?" he asked quietly as they helped him to sit up.

"We were hoping you would tell us," Mithrandir answered quietly. "You have seen him, have you not?"

Legolas looked at the wizard blankly for a moment then he covered his eyes with his hands, as if he were trying to block out the vision. "He called to him," he answered quietly. "He knows he is with me."

Mithrandir nodded slowly and answered, "He was his master's greatest enemy, Legolas. I believe he has known for sometime that he lives inside you."

Aragorn looked from the elf to the wizard in confusion. "What are you talking about? Who? Who does who know what about?"

Mithrandir and Aragorn helped Legolas to his feet and the wizard looked kindly upon the man. "I will let Legolas explain all this to you. I must look after Faramir." He left quietly, leaving the Dúnadan and the Elf alone.

Legolas looked at his friend and sighed. "There is much to explain to you, Aragorn," he said softly.

Aragorn guided him to a chair and sat across from him. "I have plenty of time to listen, " he answered quietly.

Legolas smiled gently and nodded, as he began to relay the tale of Fëanor.

To be continued…

Melanyel = I love you (Quenya)
Melin chen = I love you (Sindarin)
Morgoth mólwa = slave of Morgoth (Quenya)

Thranduil drove his sword deep into the chest of a warg as its dark rider clutched at his robes. Arrows rang out and the orc howled as it fell from the body of the dying beast. He withdrew his sword in time to fight off another foe, and he dropped to his knees as the orc fell dead. Exhaustion nearly took him, but he heard a sound that struck fear in the hearts of all in Mirkwood. A shadow fell over him as he turned his indigo eyes up to see the spindly legs of an enormous spider planted on either side of him.

He turned, instinctively thrusting his sword upward into the beast's belly, striking a fatal blow, but not before he felt its sharp stinger penetrate his abdomen. His howl of pain was choked off as the paralyzing agent began to flood his body, and he crumpled beneath the shuddering bulk of the great spider. He heard the whizzing of arrows as if from a distance, as the great beast lurched sideways and fell dead upon the ground.

* * * *

Erellont stood beside the healer at his master's bedside, looking down on his wounded King. His arms were crossed over his chest, his hands buried in his robes, fingers slowly twisting the travel worn fabric. "Any word from the Prince?" he asked in hushed tones.

"No, my Lord," the healer answered quietly. "We have no word of where he may be, none has come since his departure from Imladris."

Thranduil mumbled quietly and the healer stepped forward, touching his forehead with the back of his hand. "He stirs," the healer whispered, "and his fever is broken. This is a good sign."

"How much can one elf bear?" Erellont whispered. "This is the second near-fatal injury he has suffered in a year's time." He frowned as he looked down upon his King. "Where are the other captains? I must know how the spiders were allowed to get to him."

The healer replied, "Agladir was himself wounded, but he can be found in his quarters. Lenwë fell in battle. Many were wounded, my Lord. They were set upon by orcs with wargs, the battle was fierce. It is clear now that the intent was to destroy our kin and ransack the caves."

Erellont nodded. "Aye, the Dark Lord grows desperate. Lórien was attacked while I was there as well. He is indeed bold to launch an attack upon the Lord and Lady of the Wood. Both armies were sent forth from Dol Guldur." He sighed and shook his head. "Our King is stubborn, he should not be fighting on the front lines. If he were lost there is no one to lead with the Prince gone." He patted the healer on the back. "Continue your good work, mellon. We will need him whole again as soon as you can manage it."

The healer nodded as Erellont left the King's quarters in search of Agladir.

* * * *

Legolas sat astride Arod, he could feel the horse's nervousness building, like a bowstring stretched too far. His ambling gait had grown choppy, then turned springy as he ceased walking and began to jig. He whispered quietly to him, stroking his neck and trying to reassure him. Roheryn also whinnied nervously and tossed his head, the large stallion could sense the danger ahead.

The closer to the Morannon they drew, the more unsettling the visions became that Legolas had. He could sense the presence of the Úlairi tracking their northward march, and the whispered murmurs of the Dark Lord haunted his resting moments. He had a dream some two nights previously, in it he saw his father fall in battle beneath the thick canopy of Mirkwood, and try as he might to ignore it, the vision continued to haunt him.

**Dead…** the black voice whispered, **He is dead and his fëa will never find rest as it belongs to me now, as will yours…**

Something strange was happening inside him, his constant companion was growing stronger, trying to shield him from the evil words the Dark Lord would have him believe.

**He is a liar, Greenleaf.** Fëanor whispered to him, **A deceiver, Thranduil is not dead, we would feel it if he were. Do not listen to his lies. He lies because he is afraid, and he should be.**

Legolas nodded to himself as they pressed onward. He had faith in Mithrandir and Aragorn, as well as his companions, and he had faith in himself.

* * * *

Thranduil sat up in his bed as the healer handed him a bowl of soup that contained healing herbs. He grimaced as he sipped from the bowl and grumbled to his healer, "Can you not make the concoction more pleasing to taste? This is most foul."

The healer chuckled and gathered his things. "I will see what I can do, my Lord," he replied. The healer met Erellont at the door.

"How is his majesty, this day?" Erellont asked quietly.

"Well on his way to full recovery," the healer answered. "His temperament is exactly what I would hope for considering his condition."

Erellont smiled wryly and nodded. "Excellent. May I speak with him? I have urgent matters to discuss."

The healer nodded and bid him enter. "He is well enough to meet with you now."

Erellont closed the door behind him as the healer made his way down the hall. He approached the King's bed and knelt upon one knee as he greeted him. "Mae Govannen, my Lord," he said quietly.

Thranduil smiled as he set the empty bowl down next to the bed. "Mae Govannen, Erellont. You missed quite a battle, meldir."

Erellont rose to his feet and motioned to a chair. "May I?"

Thranduil nodded. "Please, be comfortable."

Erellont pulled the chair next to the bed and sat back in it, crossing his legs as he rested his hands upon the arms. "I hear you fought bravely, your majesty. Bringing down a large female ungol is no small feat. Particularly after slaying a male warg."

Thranduil grimaced as he shifted upon the bed. "I do not remember much, but I do not believe it was I who brought down the Ungol… rather your regiment of archers."

"I am thankful they were able to assist you. If they had not, we would not be speaking now," the Captain replied.

"Aye," Thranduil answered, "true enough. But surely you have not come here to lecture me again about the dangers of my engaging in combat."

Erellont raised an eyebrow and answered, "Not entirely. Lórien was under attack before I left the wood. Thankfully Lord Celeborn and his regiment were able to turn back the army that came from Dol Guldur."

Thranduil nodded. "I hope their losses were not too great."

"No, my Lord," Erellont answered. "The Galadhrim are very adept at stealth attack, many orcs fell before they had to reveal their positions. However, the Lord and Lady of the Wood have ascertained the strength of the Dark Lord's army from the south, and they maintain we must go on the offensive."

Thranduil nodded and looked at his captain. "When do they propose we attack the fortress?"

Erellont answered, "On the night of the next full moon."

Thranduil looked at his captain. "If the Lords of the West are not able to defeat the Dark Lord, you realize we will all die. There is no breaking of Dol Guldur while the beast lives. We do not have the White Council this time to aid us, and our own forces are dwindling. My warriors fall faster than I can replace them, Erellont."

The Captain nodded and leaned forward. "Better to die in battle than to wait for death upon our doorstep."

Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, his Captain saw in them a fire he had not seen in nearly an age. "Gather our people and send those who wish to sail west with an armed escort. This may be their last chance. If our attack on Dol Guldur fails, if the One Ring is not finally destroyed, Sauron's hoard will roll over us and leave nothing left. We cannot withstand another direct assault, Erellont; our defenses will fail, and my realm will fall into ruin."

"Understood, my Liege. I will do as you ask." The Captain stood and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand.

* * * *

Legolas stood beside Gimli and Mithrandir as the wizard rejected Sauron's terms. All fear had left him and he was as one who saw the inevitability of their own death and accepted it; he only prayed that it would come honorably. As he looked into the eyes of those he would fight beside, he saw the same; he saw the grim determination of men who had been given no choice. In this, Sauron had made a fatal mistake; the Dark Lord may yet be victorious, but he would not break the spirit of these brave men.

The shrieking cry of the Úlairi split the air and the men beside him fought to hold to their resolve. The great gates opened and the roar and stench of death was upon them. It was in that moment that he thought of his father, of how Thranduil had faced the same foe, and lived to tell of it. "Give me strength, Adar," he whispered.

* * * *

Screams and clashing armor rang in his ears, and he had long abandoned his bow for his knives as he waded knee deep in orcs and trolls. Fëanor's fierceness and experience kept him alive as he slashed and stabbed faster than the eye could follow. He heard the growls and grunts of his friend Gimli as his brave friend cut down one orc after another with his axe, and he heard the cries of the Rohirrim and of his friend Aragorn as they fought to give Frodo time.

He heard Aragorn cry out in anger and pain and he wheeled around to see his friend holding his arm against his side. He struggled to get to him through the heaving mass of combat. An ear splitting shriek broke the heavy air as the Úlairi descended from the sky, and the ground shook as Orodruin exploded. The Dark Tower was quaking, its Lord's ghastly voice crying out.

"He has done it!" Legolas cried as he saw Barad-dûr begin to crumble. Already the orcs were beginning to retreat, pursued by the Rohirrim and mounted Knights of Dol Amroth. He saw Aragorn struggling toward him when his breath left him in a startled gasp and he fell to his knees. The bloodied blade of a Úlairi was protruding from his shoulder.

"Legolas!"

He distantly heard Aragorn's voice as he felt his blood turning cold. He looked up at his friend, hearing the strangled cry as the Úlairi fled and the Eagles pursued it. He pitched forward into Aragorn's arms and heard his friend call out to Mithrandir as all faded into darkness.

* * * *

The Elves of Mirkwood camped under a thick canopy of trees as they advanced upon Dol Guldur.

Thranduil sat up, gasping for air as he clutched his chest. "Legolas!" he gasped. "No! No! Not my son, please, not my son!"

Erellont ran to his Lord's side and clasped his shoulders. "What is it, my Lord?"

Thranduil turned his wide eyes to his Captain and answered, "Legolas has fallen."

* * * *

Glorfindel sat bolt upright in bed, flinging his pillow at an imaginary foe. He clutched his head and shook it fiercely, trying to dispel the nightmare that had woken him. "Legolas," he whispered, "melethen."

As he sat trembling in his bed, his heart racing and hands shaking, he had a horrible feeling that what he experienced was not a nightmare. He rose from his bed and snatched up his robes, heading for Elrond's chamber.

To be continued…

Mellon = friend
Meldir = friend
Melethen = my love

"Gandalf!" Aragorn cried as he caught the body of his closest friend in his arms. He rolled Legolas to his back and began cutting and pulling away his tunic to inspect the wound. He searched hurriedly through the pouch he kept close to his breast and pulled out a few leaves of Athelas. He had placed the pouch in his breast pocket of his tunic before departing from Minas Tirith and at the time was not sure why he had done it, but something nagged at him to do so, and he did. He quickly chewed the leaves and pressed them into the wounds on Legolas' back and shoulder. The Nazgûl had run him through, but thankfully missed his vital organs; nonetheless, a wound from a Nazgûl was rarely overcome.

The wizard fell to his knees beside the elf as Gimli came staggering forward.

"What happened! What happened to him?" the Dwarf cried.

Gandalf placed his hands upon Legolas' head and began chanting in an ancient language no one present understood except Elladan and Elrohir. The twins knelt beside the wizard and joined their voices to his, calling Legolas back from the void.

* * * *

"Tell me what you see!" Glorfindel shouted at his Lord. His hands were fisted at his sides and his heart hammered in his chest.

Elrond sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers massaging his temples. His seneschal had woken him from a fitful dream when he burst into his room, and now Glorfindel stood before him, demanding to hear what Elrond had seen in his vision.

"Please, my Lord," Glorfindel's demanding tone had changed to pleading. The proud warrior sank to his knees before his Lord and Master. "I beg you, do not withhold it from me, I must know."

Elrond turned his troubled gaze to his close friend and faithful servant. "It is incomplete, Glorfindel. I do not know exactly what it is that I did see."

Glorfindel gazed into his lord's sad eyes, his own were shimmering with unshed tears. "Tell me what you do know, for it can not be worse than what I imagine to be."

Elrond took a deep breath and sighed. "He has fallen. But what his ultimate fate is I know not. I cannot see him now, he is veiled in darkness." He watched his friend's shoulders begin to tremble and he reached out and placed a hand upon him. "His fëa is strong, Glorfindel. He will find his way, he will not be lost."

Glorfindel looked up at his lord and whispered, "He is dead then? Gone from me? Gone from this world?"

Elrond shook his head and replied. "I know not, Glorfindel. Perhaps." He slid from the bed and knelt in the floor beside the one who had protected him for many years. He gathered his friend in his arms and held him as he wept.

* * * *

Legolas felt something cold all around him and his eyes fluttered open. Blackness was all around him, no sound could be heard, not even the beating of his own heart. **Fëandro?** he reached out with his thoughts to his friend and protector.

**I am here, Greenleaf,** Fëanor answered.

**Where are we?** Legolas questioned.

**We are in the void that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead,** Fëanor answered.

**Where is the pathway to Mandos' Halls? Why is the way not prepared? ** Legolas asked in confusion.

**He has shut the way, the Dark Lord hides it with his last remnants of strength,** Fëanor answered. **He is coming for us, Greenleaf; I feel him. But do not fear, he will not take you, I will not allow it.**

**You will not allow?** a deep, menacing voice echoed in the darkness. **You cannot stand against me, Fëandro; you will fall. Save yourself and give me the Prince, if you do not, you will both be taken to my master in the void. It has been long since he has had such sweet light upon which to drink, he will use both of you well.**

**Never!** Fëanor cried. **You will never have him! I have no body to give over to death this time, hû. I have nothing to lose, you have seen to that!**

**As you wish. Enjoy your final moments before the pain, Fëandro. His cries of anguish will mingle with your own and ring in your mind for eternity!**

Freezing pain encompassed him and Legolas cried out, fighting against it, thrashing and beating the darkness with his fists. His fist glanced something solid and he grasped for it, meaning to pummel it until he could feel nothing, but he could no longer feel it. He screamed until he felt his lungs would burst, and he felt his wrists pinned down. Hands, too many to count, held his flailing body down, pinning it so that he could not move. And all the while, he felt Fëanor locked in battle with Sauron inside him, he felt the pain and rage until he thought he would go mad. Ripping, tearing, searing pain that was blinding tore through him and at the last moment, he realized what was happening. He cried out for Fëanor before all went dark.

* * * *

Tears traced down Aragorn's cheeks as Mithrandir shouted, "Hold him down!" His face still ached where the elf had punched him in his fit of madness. Elladan and Elrohir each held an arm, grim determination set on their fair faces as they continued chanting even through their clenched jaws. Gimli held one leg while Éomer struggled to hold the other, their faces were masks of horror; neither had seen anything like this before. The Hobbits fell to their knees and covered their ears, wailing in anguish as they watched their friend's soul being torn to shreds.

Finally Legolas went limp and ceased his struggle. The elf's lips moved, as he began to whisper and Aragorn leaned down, placing his ear against his friend's lips as he heard him moan, "No… Fëandro…"

Mithrandir sat back on his heels and sighed in exhaustion. "It is done," he said softly. "Now all we can do is wait and pray he heeds our call."

Elladan smiled gently and caressed Aragorn's cheek. "Come, gwador, we must return him to Minas Tirith, he will need more care before this is done."

Elrohir brushed the damp hair away from Legolas' face. "He is strong, this one. Strong and brave. Never have I seen one survive such treatment."

Gimli croaked, "He is the strongest of all of us, and the most stubborn."

Éomer wiped his brow and sighed. "What just happened? Can one come back from such madness and torment?"

Aragorn's eyes flashed defiantly. "He will come back! He must come back!"

Éomer held up his hand. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean…"

Mithrandir stood and retrieved his staff. "Enough… Come, we must bear him back to Minas Tirith swiftly. Make a dray from cloaks and wood, we can carry him back. I am going in search of Frodo and Samwise."

"How?" Éomer asked in astonishment. "The way is blocked."

A great cry came from above them and they looked up to see the Eagles returning. Mithrandir smiled grimly and answered, "Gwaihir will assist me."

* * * *

Thranduil crouched behind the thick shrubs that grew amongst the fallen trees; his heart was heavy with grief, clouded with the vision he had of Legolas' death. He had implored Galadriel to give him some news, but she could see nothing. He knew this did not bode well for his son. Though she could see nothing of Legolas' fate, she felt it immediately when the One Ring was destroyed, so they marched upon Dol Guldur with confidence.

Celeborn gave the signal for attack, and the elves burst from the trees, attacking the once great fortress with a vengeance. The battle was long and hard, and elves fell in great numbers, but in the end, they were victorious and the fortress was thrown down by the might of the Eldar and the magic of the Lady of Light.

They camped several days near Gladden Fields where Celeborn and Thranduil renamed the wood Eryn Lasgalen. Lord Celeborn took the southern reaches of the forest for his realm while Thranduil took the reaches north of the Old Forest Road. All in between was given to the Woodmen and Beornings where elves and men would live in peace together until the last of the Eldar passed over the sea.

The King returned to his home, his heart heavy with fear and grief for the fate of his beloved son. He gave leave to those who wished to sail into the west, but he swore to wait for Legolas for as long as he was able.

* * * *

Legolas lay on his back upon the bed. His eyes fluttered open and a long moan escaped his lips. Gimli stirred upon hearing the sound, and his feet fell from their perch upon the table as he took to his feet.

"Legolas? Are you coming back to us, Lad?" his gravely voice whispered. He reached out and caught one of the healers by the arm and barked, "Fetch the King, immediately!"

"Impertinent as always," Legolas whispered.

Gimli turned his gaze back to the elf and smiled. "It is about time, you petulant elf. You just couldn't be satisfied until you frightened every one of us half out of our wits."

"That is a shorter leap for some than others I suppose," Legolas responded with a weak smirk.

Gimli grumbled before he broke out into a grin. "'Tis good to have you back, laddy."

Legolas' expression sobered and he nodded. "'Tis good to be back."

Commotion in the hallway signaled the King's arrival, and Aragorn burst through the door, crossing the room to Legolas' bedside. "Legolas! You are awake, mellonen."

Legolas nodded and smiled weakly. Aragorn could see the pain in his eyes and he turned to Gimli. "Could you leave us awhile, my friend?"

Gimli looked from Aragorn to Legolas then nodded. "Aye, my stomach complains for lack of food anyway." He winked at his elven friend before leaving the two alone.

Aragorn turned back to Legolas and saw a silvery tear trace down his cheek. "He is gone, Estel," Legolas whispered. "I have lost him forever."

Aragorn picked up one of Legolas' hands and held it between his own. "He saved you, mellon. He sacrificed himself for you."

Legolas drew a ragged breath. "I am no longer whole. He has been a part of me all my life; I do not know how to be without him. I am lost without him."

Aragorn squeezed his friend's hand and shook his head. "Nay, `tis not so, Legolas. You are strong. I will not say it will be easy, it will not. But you will find away, Legolas. You will survive and go on, you must for those who love you."

"For Adar and Glorfindel," Legolas whispered.

Aragorn smiled and nodded. "Aye, and for me and Gimli."

Legolas smiled weakly and squeezed Aragorn's hand. "Hannon le, mellonen."

Aragorn smiled and nodded. "Hannon le, Legolas Thranduilion."

To be continued…

Hû = dog
Gwador = sworn brother
Mellonen = my friend
Mellon = friend
Hannon le = thank thee

Legolas sat upon a bench in the garden, enjoying the feel of the sun warming his face. It had been a slow recovery for him, but he had been able to be there when the Ring Bearers were honored upon the Field of Cormallen, and to attend Aragorn's coronation. He was anxious to return home and to travel to Imladris to see Glorfindel, but he had agreed to be present for Aragorn's wedding, and he hoped Glorfindel would be among her escort.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the clean, fragrant air; the aroma of jasmine and roses swirled around him and the sounds of bustling reconstruction echoed amongst the city walls. While Minas Tirith was a beautiful city, it was a city that belonged to men, and he felt out of place in it. He longed to see his home again, to smell the spruce and snow upon the air, to hear the sound of the wind in the trees as it came down from the Misty Mountains. He missed his father, the sound of his deep voice, the feel of his strong arms as they embraced him. A tear tracked down his cheek as he thought of Fëanor, and mourned his loss; he knew he would mourn him always. He dreaded telling his father what happened, of how his beloved was gone from both of them forever.

He sent a letter with a rider from Rohan, to be delivered to his father via the elves of Lórien. The Rohirrim were loath to ride too far north, and still viewed many elves with suspicion. He hoped the letter arrived soon as he knew his father would be worried about him. In it, he told Thranduil that he was well and safe, and that he would be returning home before winter. But he did not mention Fëanor, as that was something he wanted to tell him face to face.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to open his eyes and he looked up to see the Steward of Gondor standing before him. He smiled and rose slowly, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand.

"Mae Govannen, my Lord," he said softly.

Faramir smiled and returned the gesture, answering quietly, "Mae Govannen, Prince Legolas. A group of elves approaches the city gates. His majesty, King Elessar, has sent me to tell you that there is one among them that you would wish to see."

Legolas' eyes widened and he whispered, "Glorfindel!"

Faramir chuckled and nodded, "Aye, `tis him. He rides upon…" His words trailed off as he watched the elf bolt from the gardens and descend the stair at a run, heading down the long pathway to the city gates. He laughed softly, knowing Aragorn's reaction would have been the same if his office had not stopped him from behaving so exuberantly. He looked up and saw his own heart's desire running toward him. Éowyn had not waited on formalities, leaving the main host at a gallop, despite Éomer's protests, and tearing up the ramparts to the highest level of the city.

"Faramir!" she cried, as he turned toward her and caught her in his arms.

"Éowyn, my love," he said softly in her ear, swinging her around in a wide arc.

"They were simply moving too slow," she breathed. "I could not wait one moment longer. I am afraid I caused quite a commotion galloping up the city streets on Windfola."

He chuckled as he took her fair face in his hands and smiled. "I do believe you will be forgiven, my love." He claimed her sweet mouth with a passionate kiss before releasing her and leading her from the garden.

* * * *

Legolas tore down the crowded streets, cursing the design of the tiered city for what must have been the fortieth time. He passed Aragorn's procession at a run and the King called out to him, "Fly Legolas! I would do the same were I able!"

Mithrandir chuckled as he rode beside the King, having born his grumbling complaints since news of the arriving elves had reached them.

Legolas reached the third level of the city and saw Arwen's escort coming toward him. At the head of the column rode his beloved upon Asfaloth. Glorfindel gasped when his saw his Prince and quickly dismounted, running up the cobbled street and taking his love in his arms.

"Legolas!" he breathed as he squeezed his love tight.

"Glorfindel," Legolas whispered in his ear. "I have missed you so."

Glorfindel held on to him for long moments, breathing in his scent, hardly able to believe he was there. "I feared you were dead, melethen," he whispered. "I thought I would never see you again."

Legolas smiled through his tears and answered, "I was dead, but I have returned. The love of those I would have left behind called me home."

Glorfindel felt the warm breath of his stallion upon the nape of his neck and heard his soft nicker in his ear. He looked over his shoulder to see the procession passing them.

"Come, Glorfindel. We would not leave you behind, but there is no stopping Arwen now," Elrohir teased.

"There would be no stopping you either, muindor if it were your love that you were riding to," Arwen chided. She continued quietly, "I would just as soon have galloped ahead with the Lady Éowyn."

Elrond chuckled as he reached across and took his daughter's hand.

Glorfindel nimbly leapt upon his stallion and held out his hand to Legolas who swung up behind him. They took their place at the end of the procession as it wound its way up the city streets.

The reunion of Arwen Undómiel and Aragorn Elessar was a joyous occasion. Aragorn finally ignored his office and leapt from his horse, rushing forward to sweep Arwen up in his arms in plain view of his subjects. He kissed her soundly in the city streets and was rewarded by a great cheer from his people as flower petals rained down upon their heads.

Legolas sat close behind his beloved, watching over Glorfindel's shoulder as his good friend held his own love in his arms at last. He snuggled closer to his warrior-love and rested his chin upon his shoulder.

* * * *

The afternoon had passed with an agonizing slowness. They sat around a long table with the King's honored guests, sharing the evening meal and celebrating the arrival of the King's betrothed. Legolas smiled at his good friend, who was still getting used to his office. Aragorn's life was now very different from what it had been; he was no longer a Ranger of the North, sleeping in the wilds and moving unseen through the world. All eyes were upon him now as he sat in his robes, his brow adorned with a crown, his future Queen at his side.

He blinked sleepily and Glorfindel leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You are still recovering, melethen. You need your rest."

Legolas clasped his hand and whispered, "I have all I need right here."

"Come," Glorfindel replied, "let me take you to bed, ernilen."

Legolas turned his sapphire gaze to Glorfindel's and smiled. "Yes, to bed," he answered softly.

They rose from their places at the table and said their goodnights, wishing Aragorn and Arwen a good evening. Legolas wrapped his arm around Glorfindel's waist as the warrior led him back to his rooms. He clasped Glorfindel's hands in his own and tugged upon them, pulling the Elda through the door and into his chamber.

"Stay with me, melethen," he said softly as he guided Glorfindel to the bed.

Glorfindel smiled and answered, "Always, seron vell."

Legolas rose to the balls of his feet as he brought his lips to Glorfindel's, brushing them against his lover's own softly. Glorfindel took Legolas' face in his hands and pressed a bruising kiss to his hungry mouth, claiming its sweet warmth as Legolas opened to him.

Memories of kisses shared in the past flooded his mind as Glorfindel drank in Legolas' sweetness, the familiar taste of honeysuckle and peaches flooding his senses. Legolas eagerly deepened their kiss; all hesitation that he had felt from the Prince in the past was now gone. He broke their kiss and gasped for air, as Legolas' fingers quested hungrily inside his robes and he moaned wantonly as they brushed over his pebbled nipples.

"Ah, melethen, you undo me," he whispered.

"Mmm…" Legolas crooned in his ear, "that is a sight I would like to see, you undone beneath me."

Glorfindel felt his arousal twitch upon hearing Legolas' sensual words, and his hands slid down the Prince's back, cupping his buttocks and pulling him closer. "You will have your wish, you need but ask," he replied breathlessly as Legolas' tongue caressed the curve of his ear.

"May I have you, maethoren vain? May I have your body as well as your heart?" Legolas whispered into his ear.

"You may have all that I have to give, all that I am, ernil vain," he moaned in reply.

"I take it gladly," Legolas murmured, "and in return I give you the same. I am yours, Glorfindel, totally and completely. I come to you without hesitation, without resignation. Fear is a thing of the past. I am alone now, I am free to be yours."

Glorfindel pulled his lover's head back so that he could gaze into his deep blue eyes. He held his fair face in his hands and whispered, "I am sorry, ernilen. I know what he meant to you, I am indebted to him for saving you and would bring him back if I could."

Legolas smiled sadly and whispered, "As would I, but it can not be done. He would want this, Glorfindel, he would want us to love and be happy."

Glorfindel smiled warmly and caressed his love's cheek with his thumb. "Then let us give him what he wants, seron vell, for I will love you and make you happy everyday here after."

Legolas claimed his mouth again and he plunged his hands into the flaxen silk of his hair, yielding to his lover and giving himself over completely. He sighed as Legolas took down his braids and combed his fingers through his hair, his nails lightly scratching his scalp. He returned the favor, taking down the Prince's braids and threading his flaxen hair through his fingers.

He felt the warm air of the room caress his skin as his robes fell away. Legolas' hands roamed his body slowly, exploring, teasing, caressing, testing. He moaned as his love's mouth joined his hands, his soft tongue caressing his skin, his warm lips suckling his flesh. He breathed deeply, trying to ignore the insistent pulsating in his loins, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as he may. Pleading and loving words began to spill from his lips in soft whispers, as Legolas' hands and mouth made their way lower. He gasped as he was pushed to the bed, and he looked up to see his lover slowly removing his garments as he straddled him, unwrapping himself as he stared into his eyes.

He slid backward upon the bed as Legolas crawled with him, his lover's eyes now a deep midnight blue and his lips swollen from kissing; Legolas was the most beautiful and sensual creature he had ever seen.

Legolas lowered his naked body to that of his lover, their soft skin caressing one another. He marveled at the self-restraint the Elda had shown in the past, sleeping with him in his arms, their naked bodies pressing against one another, yet never yielding to temptation, always waiting for the moment that he would be ready.

"He may be gone from me, but I still have his memories," Legolas whispered huskily into his lover's ear. "I know in my mind what it is to make love, Glorfindel, what it is to be burned by the heat of passion, to drown in pleasure. My flesh may be untried, but my soul burns with it and has burned from the moment we first kissed."

Glorfindel moaned plaintively as Legolas continued, "I know the pleasure derived from hearing one's name cried out in passion, how soft whimpers and breathless moans can drive one to the brink of madness." His hand caressed the Elda's flat stomach, his fingers combing through the hair that grew about the base of his rigid length. "I feel it in you, the beast of desire that builds inside you, the pulsating, pounding heat that threatens to consume you. It lives inside me too, maethoren valthen, it is here within me now."

Glorfindel tangled his fingers in Legolas' hair and growled, "Then burn me with it. Let it feed, Legolas. Take me."

Legolas claimed Glorfindel's mouth in a bruising kiss as he rolled his hips forward causing their silken lengths to slide against one another. He released his lover's mouth after plundering it thoroughly, hearing Glorfindel's gasp of pleasure when he released it. He worked his way lower consuming his beloved as one who was starving for him, hearing his plaintive moans echo in his ears. He pinned the warrior's hips to the bed as he teased his heated flesh with his tongue, his own arousal trapped between his weight and the soft velvet of the bedding. His eyelids fluttered as he took his love in his mouth, feeling the silken glide of his swollen flesh between his lips, tasting his musky essence as it began to leak from the tip. He brought his lover to the brink of release time and again; Glorfindel's needful, whimpering cries fueling the flames of his own desire. He released the Elda and slid back up his body, whispering breathlessly in his ear, "I want to be inside you, seron vell, but I do not want to hurt you. I do not have anything to prepare you with."

Glorfindel struggled to sit up beneath Legolas weight and looked around the room. The door to the private bathing chamber was open and he saw various bottles lining a shelf upon the wall. "There," he panted as he pointed toward the doorway. "There should be something in there."

Legolas smiled wickedly and left the bed, quickly crossing the room to the bathing chamber. Glorfindel flopped back upon the bed and whispered to himself, "By Elbereth, this is not what I had imagined…"

He heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked and looked up at his lover. Legolas smiled wantonly and mounted the bed. "No," he whispered, "nor was it what I imagined. But the long months without you and all that has transpired in between has changed me, meleth. Do you still love me? Do you still want me this way?"

"Yes," Glorfindel breathed, "oh yes, melethen."

He watched his love uncork the bottle and pour the thick liquid into his palm. He shifted upon the bed, spreading his legs far apart as Legolas' oiled fingers circled his entrance. He breathed deep and closed his eyes, nodding his assent as his body was breached for the first time in ages. He hissed through his clenched jaw as two of his lovers fingers slid inside his tight passage.

"Are you well, meleth?" he heard Legolas' deep voice float into his ear.

"Yes, seron vell," he replied, "do not stop."

Legolas slowly and gently prepared his lover, working on instinct as he crooked his fingers, searching for that place inside his beloved that would cause him to go mad with desire. He cried out and bucked against Legolas' hand as the Prince found it, breathless approval spilled from his lips.

"Are you ready for me, melethen?" Legolas whispered huskily.

"Yes, now, please," Glorfindel answered.

Legolas took his lover's hips in his hands and slid inside him, feeling his tight heat surround him as he groaned in pleasure. He paused, trying to gain control of the sensations that threatened to drown him when he felt Glorfindel's hands in his hair, pulling his mouth to his own. "Move, seron vell," the Elda whispered against his lips. "Do not be afraid to drown, melethen."

Legolas moaned plaintively and began trusting inside his love as he claimed his mouth again. He steadied himself with his hands planted on each side of his love's golden head as Glorfindel stroked himself in time with his thrusts. He whimpered as his release took him, burying himself deep within the Elda's body as he felt his essence spill forth. Glorfindel's release followed soon after, his opalescent seed spilling between them, slickening both of their bodies. Legolas collapsed upon him, panting quickly and trembling from head to toe as he was wracked with aftershocks of his climax. Glorfindel wrapped his strong arms around the Prince's frame and held him close. "Melin le, Legolas," he whispered into the Prince's ear.

"Melin le, Glorfindel," Legolas replied in a weak whisper.

Glorfindel rolled Legolas to his back as his lover slipped from his body, and he retrieved a warm cloth from the bathing chamber. He slowly and lovingly cleaned his beloved, and pulled the covers over him before cleaning himself and tossing the cloth into the washbasin. He climbed beneath the covers and gathered Legolas into his arms, finding the exhausted Prince already deep in reverie. He sighed contentedly as he drifted off, a blissful smile curving his lips.

To be continued…

Melethen = my love
Muindor = brother by blood
Ernilen = my prince
Seron vell = dear lover
Maethoren vain =my beautiful warrior
Ernil vain = fair Prince
Maethoren valthen = golden warrior
Meleth = love
Melin le = I love thee

Pain and darkness was all he knew. How long he had been in the clutches of Morgoth and Sauron he had no way of knowing; time no longer existed for him. The pain he had felt when battling the Balrog was nothing compared to what he endured now. It was if he were being eaten alive, torn apart from the inside out with no hope of release, no end to the pain. Long had they harbored hate for him, and they exacted their vengeance with glee, their sickening voices sputtering the hated speech into his ears, their will raping his own without end, battering, taking, eating.

The darkness fell away as a bright tunnel of light appeared and voiceless words were spoken,

"Release him."

Angry growls and more pain followed, and the command echoed again.

"Release him or burn in the light for eternity!"

He was pulled from their clutches, the light blinding him after so long in the darkness, his screams given voice again as he was dragged from the void.

* * * *

He cried out as he sat up in bed, thrashing at the sheets that lay over his body. "Lá! Iquista!" he cried as he gasped for air.

He blinked as he looked around him, his heart racing and mind wheeling. The pain was gone, it was but a ghost of a memory now, and he remembered his surroundings. He was home; he was in Mandos' Halls. A shuddering sigh escaped him and he looked at his body… *his* body. He leapt from the bed and looked into the mirror, reaching out to touch his reflection.

Dark hair, gray eyes, his face, his body. It was over.

He fell to his knees in front of the mirror and wept tears of relief and joy. His trial was done, his penance fulfilled; now he would live out his life in Mandos' Halls in peace. With each moment that passed, the memory of what he endured faded.

He rose to his feet and slowly walked through the quiet halls. He remembered what had transpired the last time he had been there and he found the tapestry that contained the story of his beloved's life. He reached out and caressed Thranduil's cheek and hair, a loving smile curving his lips. "Poicaquen," he whispered. His other hand caressed the infant image of Legolas as he rested in his Ada's arms. "I will miss you, melda," he whispered as his gaze settled upon Thranduil's image.

"You could have had him again."

He spun around and came face to face with Mandos and he knelt before him. "My Lord," he said softly. "I am ever grateful to you for your mercy and kindness."

"Rise, Fëandro," Mandos said softly. "You could have been with him again, all you had to do was give the Dark One what he wanted. You would have kept Legolas' body and been able to return to Thranduil."

"I could never," Fëanor whispered. "How could I do such a thing to one I love? I could never. I would never have been able to live with myself, knowing I hurt one I held dear. I could never have looked my love in the eyes knowing I had doomed his son to eternal torment."

"And now you are here, forever separated from him, with no chance of ever seeing him again. Was it worth it, Fëandro? Was it worth losing that which you held most dear?"

"Yes," Fëanor answered. "Knowing that Legolas will go on, that he will find love, and that Thranduil will have his son again was worth all I did and more." He sighed, "I can never repay what I have done, the lives I took and the pain I caused. What I have given was not nearly enough."

"But it was," Mandos answered. He turned to the side and held out his hand, beckoning Fëanor to walk down the hall.

Fëanor saw a tapestry hanging upon the wall; Vairë stood beside it, a smile gracing her fair face. In it, he saw a house upon a hill, overlooking the sea and surrounded by tall trees. Elflings ran and played upon the lawns, his sons sat around it with their lovers, some female, some male. He saw his own image upon the steps, his face bright with joy as he watched the elflings play. He turned and looked at Mandos and whispered, "You are releasing me? After all I have done?"

Mandos nodded and smiled, "It is precisely because of all you have done that you are released. Go, Fëandro, claim your new life and live in peace."

"Hantalë, hérunya," he whispered, and he reached out and touched his image upon the tapestry.

* * * *

Thranduil sat upright in his bed, his hand flying to his cheek where the skin was warm and tingled. "Fëandro…" he whispered. "Where have you been, melethen?" He sighed as he still felt the lingering touch of his beloved upon his face. "By Elbereth, I miss you so. I will never stop." He closed his eyes and laid back upon the bed, conjuring Fëanor's image in his mind. His hands slid down his abdomen, and he took his arousal in his hand, slowly stroking himself as he whispered words of love to the empty room. This was all he would have of love now, for no other would ever touch him again. He imagined Fëanor's hands and mouth roaming his body and he cried out as his release took him, leaving him feeling empty and bereft, alone in his bed. He slowly rose and cleaned himself of his guilty indulgence then returned to his bed and clasped a pillow to his chest and tried to dream of his lover.

* * * *

Legolas and Glorfindel spent glorious months together riding through the wilds of Ithilien before returning to Minas Tirith each night to make love in their bed. The night before Elrond's procession was to leave the White City, Legolas lay sprawled atop the body of his lover, his hands folded on the Elda's chest and his chin resting atop them.

Glorfindel combed his fingers through Legolas' hair and smiled. He would miss his beloved in the years to come, but years were short for the Eldar and that time would be nothing compared to the eternity they would have together. "I will miss you, melethen," he said softly. "But oaths are not to be broken."

"What was I thinking?" Legolas grumbled. "I have no desire now to climb through caves and traipse through Fangorn. I only want to collect my Adar and board the ship with you and Lord Elrond."

Glorfindel chuckled and wrapped his legs around his lover. "Such a petulant Prince you are. You promised the Dwarf and he has been a good and loyal friend. Beside, Elessar will need you in the years to come. His days are waning, he feels it as we both do."

Legolas nodded and sighed. "I know you speak the truth, seron vell. But it does not stop me from wanting to be with you."

"I know, melethron," Glorfindel replied. "We will have all of eternity together when you come to Valinor."

Legolas smiled weakly and nodded. "Alright, I will stop my selfish complaining and do what I promised to do. Estel has been a dear friend, as has Gimli." He smiled wantonly, "We still have until dawn, and you have not taken pleasure from me yet, at least not as I just did you."

Glorfindel laughed and pulled the Prince up to his lips. "I will need this time apart just to recover from you. I am far older than you, melethen."

Legolas laughed softly and brushed his lips against his lover's. "Then let me partake of your experience while I still may, maethoren vain."

"Mmm…" Glorfindel purred, "I think I can manage that."

He rolled over Legolas, covering his beloved's body with his own and made love to him throughout the night.

* * * *

Fëanor walked up the steps that lead to his home and smiled. Never in his dreams had he imagined he would walk the land of Aman again.

"Adar!"

He turned and saw the twins running toward him and he laughed as he held out his arms and caught both of them. "Amrod, Amras!" he breathed as he held his sons tight.

"We saw you on the road, we could hardly believe it," Amrod laughed.

"'Tis so good to see you again, Adar," Amras answered. "Caranthir has gone to fetch Maedhros and Maglor. We are all together again, almost," he said quietly.

Fëanor nodded and pressed a kiss to his son's head. "I have missed you, all of you," he answered. "Come, let us see what is left of the old home, shall we?" He led his sons inside their old house he had shared with his father.

* * * *

Thranduil sat upon his throne in the empty throne room; the last of his subjects had departed for the Havens. He held in his hand a letter from Celeborn. The elf lord was also leaving, and asked him to accompany him. After Celeborn's departure there would be none of the Eldar left in Middle Earth, they were the last to sail. In all the long years he had never received word from Legolas, and had resigned himself to accepting that his son had died; though in his heart he could never really believe it. He did not know of the rogue band of orcs that had attacked a lone Rohirrim along the banks of the Anduin, nor did he know of the Woodmen who rode to the soldier's aid, but too late. The letter the Rohirrim had carried was written in a script the Woodmen could not decipher and was faded and marred by blood and water, so it was discarded upon a fire.

He had waited as long as he could, if he did not leave with Celeborn he would never leave. He would be destined to walk the earth and fade with the trees. He rose from his throne and gathered his few belongings. He called to his horse and rode West over the mountains toward Imladris.

* * * *

Legolas and Gimli galloped up the elf path the Mirkwood Elves had once used to traverse the forest. The Dwarf grumbled behind him as he bounced along.

"Could we not walk a spell? I will be lucky to have any teeth left after this journey."

"No, we cannot walk," Legolas answered. "I am far too late in returning home as it is."

They galloped up the path and came to a halt at the bridge that led to the Caves of Thranduil and Legolas pulled the great iron gates open. "This is strange," he said quietly as they walked through the empty halls. "There is no one here." He began to jog down the pathways toward the throne room.

"Adar!" he called as he pushed the massive doors open and found the throne room deserted. His voice echoed throughout the halls as he began to feel a choking fear overtake him. "No," he whispered. "I am too late, he has gone without me!"

"Surely he would have left a note," Gimli huffed as he chased Legolas down the long corridors.

Legolas stopped and turned to his friend and answered, "Unless word never reached him. What if he thinks I am dead?"

Gimli scratched his beard and questioned. "Where would he go from here? If that was the case?"

"To the Havens," Legolas answered. "The last ship is to sail soon, he must be traveling with Lord Celeborn, if he did not leave sooner."

"Well another long ride then," the Dwarf grumbled. "I don't suppose we will have time to stop and see the wee ones on the way."

Legolas flopped down upon the floor and placed his head in his hands. "I never should have tarried so long, I should have come home sooner."

Gimli patted his friend on the shoulder. "I am sorry, laddie, this is my fault."

"No," Legolas answered softly. "It is mine. Do not fret, mellonen, the blame lies with me."

"Let us find some food, shall we? We can set out again in the morning." Gimli tugged upon his arm and Legolas rose to his feet and lead him to the kitchens to see if anything had been left behind.

To be continued…

Lá! Iquista! = No! Please! (Quenya)
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Melda = my love (Quenya)
Hantalë, hérunya = Thank you, my Lord (Quenya)
Melethen = my love (Sindarin)
Seron vell = dear lover (Sindarin)
Melethron = lover (Sindarin)

Fëanor sat in a wide rocking chair upon the veranda of his old home. The place was rife with memories of his father, who once sat in that very chair and rocked his grandchildren in his lap. He ran his hands over the smooth wood of the arms, small indentations were made that fit his father's hands, and he imagined he could feel his spirit surrounding him. His first several nights alone in that fortress were filled with heartbreaking memories of returning home and finding his father's dead body upon the floor of the entry, his blood seeping into the stones that made up the floor of the grand hall.

It was a wide and empty space now, a great fortress that had lain forgotten, devoid of life or joy. He wandered the long, empty corridors, his robes shifting against the barren floor, his breathing the only sound to be heard in the empty fortress. He debated whether or not he should stay there, and as he caressed the soft wood beneath his hand he made his decision.

He rose to his feet and turned to enter the large room that had once been his father's chamber, and was met by his five sons that roamed free in Aman. Maedhros stepped forward and took his father's hands in his own and looked into his stormy eyes.

"What will you do, Adar?" he asked quietly, "Will you remain here with the ghost of Finwë, or will you make a new life with this chance you have been given?"

Fëanor looked into his eldest son's eyes and smiled gently. "I will make a new life and put the pain of the old one as far from my heart as I may," he answered quietly. "The pain of my father's passing will never die, but I know he is at peace now and far from harm." He cupped his son's cheek. "My most precious creations are with me now, and your love is a balm that soothes the pain of my loss."

Maglor stepped up beside his brother and smiled. "The Silmarils are not here, Adar. They are lost for all time."

Fëanor smiled and placed his hand upon Maglor's shoulder. "There was a day once, long ago that I counted those jewels as my most precious creations. But I see now that I was foolish, for you, my sons, are my most precious creations. I will not deny that I will always feel the loss of them, but they no longer mean as much to me as does my kin."

Maedhros and Maglor embraced their father, their long torment brought on by the oath finally relieved. Amrod, Amras, and Caranthir came forward and joined their brothers and father in their embrace and the six of them stood quietly in the empty room.

Fëanor took a deep breath and said softly, "Come, let us at long last return home."

His sons smiled and they left the empty chamber to return to Tirion.

* * * *

Legolas had not slept. He wandered the empty halls of his father's caves, the place he had spent nearly all his life before the fateful trip to Imladris. There was nothing left there, not one stick of furniture, and only a few bowls and spoons were left in the galley. It was strange being alone in the caves and surrounding wood, no one existed for hundreds of miles in any direction. He walked amongst the trees and animals of the forest, saying his farewells to the home he had once imagined he would spend the remainder of his days in. He picked fresh blackberries and stored them in a pouch as a small reminder of all he left behind, then returned to the caves to retrieve his friend.

He knelt beside Gimli and gave the dwarf a gentle poke. "Come, Gimli. `Tis time to depart."

Gimli snorted and grumbled as he rolled to his side. Legolas smiled and chuckled quietly. "Gimli, wake. We must be underway," he said a bit louder.

Gimli grumbled as he sat up and rubbed his face. "Are we traveling west then?"

Legolas shook his head. "Nay, south. That is where you and I will part ways, old friend, as my time to depart this world has come."

Gimli looked up at Legolas and rose to his feet quickly. "Now listen here, Master Legolas, you go nowhere without me."

Legolas smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder. "You have been a dear and loyal friend, Gimli, but there is no return whence I go. I am sailing west, mellonen, and when I leave, the way will be closed to all save one who may come and go at will."

Gimli blinked and looked at the elf. "Can I not go with you?" he asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Legolas cocked his head and answered, "You could not return, Gimli. You would live out the rest of your days in Aman. There are no others of your kind there, and no others may come."

"But the Lady is there, is she not? And you will be there. I am loath to stay behind, Legolas. You and I have always traveled together, my bond of friendship to you is strong."

"As it will always be, Gimli," Legolas answered softly. "But I could not ask you to leave behind your kin."

"I would gladly. I have done all that I would do here. Aglarond is established, I am no longer needed there. With Aragorn and Éomer gone, I do not wish to remain behind."

Legolas knelt before his friend and placed his hands upon his shoulders. "Are you certain, mellon? This is a decision that cannot be reversed."

"I am certain," Gimli answered. "I wish to accompany you on your final journey."

Legolas smiled broadly and answered, "Excellent well! I am heartened that you will be with me, mellonen. Come," he rose and tugged upon the dwarf's sleeve. "We make for the Anduin!"

They retrieved Legolas' horse and rode from the Caves of his home one final time.

* * * *

Thranduil looked upon the green grasslands of Eriador. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing his first halfling, and a smile curved his lips as he enjoyed their warm welcome. He and Celeborn slept among the trees, preferring to commune with the land that had been home to both of them for many long years, and the Hobbits were more than happy to provide them quarter among their farms and townships.

They would reach the Havens within a week, and from there, they would board the last of the great ships to sail west. His heart lay heavy in his breast with worry for Legolas, though Celeborn assured him he would see his son again. He lay upon his back, gazing at the stars through the tree branches over head. Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir accompanied them, and he could hear their soft breathing coming from next to him. Never had he seen two so close as they. They could finish one another's sentences, and he suspected they spoke to one another with their minds as well. He knew from them that Legolas had at least survived the Downfall of Barad-dûr, though his lover had not. They had relayed the tale of the struggle for his son's spirit, and the ultimate sacrifice that Fëanor had made so that Legolas may go free. However, what became of Legolas after their departure from Minas Tirith they had not known, so still the King worried for his son.

He watched Ithil's path across the night sky, the strange sensation of knowing his days upon Middle Earth were now short causing him to sigh quietly. A faint hint of raucous music drifted over the fields and he sat up and looked at the twinkling lights of a nearby Hobbit tavern. A wicked grin curved his lips and he slid from his bedroll, making for the tavern at a slow jog.

* * * *

"Adar!" the twins called to their father.

Fëanor looked up from his forge and saw his twin sons enter the room.

"There is someone here to see you. Someone you have not seen in many an age."

Fëanor raised an eyebrow and queried, "Who would this be?"

"My Lord."

Fëanor looked over his son's shoulder to see Glorfindel standing in the doorway. He had not seen the Elda with his own eyes since he left Fingolfin and his people standing upon the shores of Araman.

He placed his tools upon the forge and removed his gloves and leather apron. He crossed the room to Glorfindel and bowed his head. "You honor me with your presence, my Lord," he said softly.

Glorfindel touched him upon the shoulder and answered, "Please, rise."

Fëanor stood and gazed into the Elda's sapphire eyes. "I cannot begin to ask forgiveness for what I did to you and your kin, Glorfindel," he began.

"You have paid your debt in kind by saving the one most precious to me, my Lord," Glorfindel answered. "Legolas told me of what you did, and shortly after I arrived here in Aman with my Lord Elrond, I learned of your arrival. I wanted to see you myself, I wanted to thank you for what you did."

Fëanor looked at the ground and answered softly, "I do not feel as though I deserve your thanks, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel smiled and tipped Fëanor's chin back up. "Whether you feel you deserve it or no, it is given. I also come bearing a message," he said softly. "A ship arrives that bears something of great interest to you. I have come to ask you to accompany me to the quay at Alqalondë to greet it."

Fëanor's eyes widened. "Could it be? Do they return home at last?" he asked breathlessly.

"One does, my Lord," Glorfindel answered, "and I have awaited his homecoming as eagerly as you."

Fëanor smiled. "I doubt I have awaited him quite as eagerly as you, Lord Glorfindel, but I have been eager to see him nonetheless." He gathered his cloak and clasped the elf lord upon the shoulder, "Come, let us go to greet him."

* * * *

There was no large procession to greet the last of the Fellowship as they arrived from across the wide sea. Legolas had built a ship out of the trees of his homeland and sailed down the Anduin and across the Belegaer to Aman in the company of his friend Gimli. He deftly maneuvered the small craft to the dock and held it steady as Gimli climbed out. The dwarf's normally sturdy legs were quite shaky after such a long and strange journey. As he climbed out and removed their two small packs, the dwarf tapped him on the shoulder.

"There is someone waiting for you, Master Legolas."

Legolas looked up and saw Glorfindel coming toward him upon the dock. He dropped their bags and raced down the pier, leaping into the Elda's arms as his bright laughter rang out into the clear blue sky.

"Oh, melethen," Glorfindel breathed into his ear. "How I have missed you."

"I have missed you as well, maethoren valthen," he whispered, "so very much."

Glorfindel kissed him soundly as he sat him down upon the docks then pulled away and caressed his face. He smiled broadly as he said, "There is another here to see you, meleth."

Legolas' eyes widened. "Adar? Is Adar here?"

"Mae govannen, Greenleaf."

Legolas wheeled around and came face to face with his trusted and beloved companion. He stood and looked at him for a long moment. He had never seen him before, but knew from others what he had once looked like. As he gazed upon an unfamiliar form that spoke in a voice he knew as well as he knew his own, the disbelief slowly faded from his eyes.

"Fëandro?" he whispered.

"Aye, Greenleaf. I am one in the same," Fëanor answered.

"Fëandro!" he shouted as he pulled his beloved friend and savior into his arms.

Fëanor held him for long moments, stroking his hair and rocking him back and forth. So many times he had longed for this, to be able to hold his dear friend and tell him he loved him. Now, after so many years, his dear wish had come to pass. "'Tis good to see you, Greenleaf," he whispered into his ear. "You are even more fair as I see you with my own eyes than you were peering at your reflection with yours."

"You are more fair than I could have imagined," Legolas answered. "I cannot believe you are here, I feared you lost."

"I was lost, Greenleaf. But through the grace of the Valar I have been granted clemency and given a chance to live out my life in peace." He pulled away and caressed the Sinda's face. "You look so much like your father, Legolas," he whispered, "so very much."

"You have not seen him yet?" Legolas asked urgently.

"Nay," Fëanor answered. "There has been no word yet. Lord Celeborn has yet to arrive, and Master Elrond hopes his sons will be with him. We hope Thranduil will be with him as well."

Legolas nodded and sighed. "I had hoped he would arrive before me, for when I returned home he had already departed."

Glorfindel placed his hand upon Legolas' shoulder and the Prince pulled him close, wrapping his arm around his waist. "Come, meleth," the Elda said softly, "let us take your friend Gimli to our home."

Legolas looked up into the warrior's eyes. "Our home?" he asked with a smile.

"If you would care to share it with me, yes," Glorfindel answered.

Fëanor nodded. "Go on, Greenleaf. There will be many days for us to spend talking, and when you are ready I would like you to meet my sons."

Legolas smiled broadly. "I can hardly wait, Fëandro." He clasped the Noldo's hand. "I will see you very soon."

Fëanor smiled and nodded as Glorfindel, Gimli, and Legolas left the dock.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend
Melethen = my love
Maethoren valthen = my golden warrior
Meleth = love

Gently rolling waves lapped against the dock. The ship that would bear them home, the last ship, rocked slowly in their wake, dancing upon the water like a swan. Thranduil stood on the terrace of his sleeping quarters, his hands resting on the balcony railing as the sound of the sea filled his ears. He could hear their voices, the voices of all those that had gone before him raising together in a chorus and calling him home.

It was strange to think of a place he had never seen as home. He did not remember his time in Mandos' Halls; he only remembered the love of the one he had found there. He had lived in the great wood all of his life. He had ruled there, loved there, suffered there, and raised a son there. His last days in the forest of his home were filled with memory and sadness, but he could remain no longer.

He felt Celeborn's hand upon his shoulder and he turned and looked into the Elda's eyes.

"You are worried, mellonen," Celeborn said quietly.

"Aye, there has been no word of him. I have asked Círdan and he has not seen nor heard of him here. He assures me that Legolas is safe, and I want to believe it, but fear weighs heavy upon my heart." Thranduil sighed and looked out into the water. "What if he is still alive and trying to reach me? What if he is out there, somewhere, unable to come here? If I leave, I could be leaving him alone here to fade."

Celeborn put his arm around Thranduil. "Legolas is strong, mellon. It is possible he has left before us. He will find his way home, Thranduil, have faith in that. Círdan would not have said otherwise." He sighed and continued, "This is the last ship, Thranduil, there will be no more after this one. If you do not leave now, you will be trapped here to fade with the trees, alone for an eternity."

Thranduil nodded and closed his eyes as Celeborn left him standing alone on the balcony. He prayed to Mandos to guide his son home and to give him the strength to leave on the morrow, not knowing Legolas' fate.

* * * *

Legolas walked into the house that Glorfindel had built for them; it was on a wide hill overlooking the city of Tirion. Gimli was safely stowed away in the guest quarters built behind the main house. Legolas looked over his shoulder at his lover as Glorfindel lit lanterns to illuminate the room in the waning light of day.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly.

"How did I know what?" Glorfindel asked softly.

"How did you know he would be coming with me to Aman?"

Glorfindel smiled in that way that warmed Legolas' heart and he answered, "I had a feeling. The two of you were very close. And if he did not, then no harm done. We would have extra room for those who would wish to visit us here."

Legolas smiled as his lover crossed the room and took him in his arms. "It is kind of you, melethen, to let him live here with us. There are not many elves who would do such a thing for a dwarf."

Glorfindel chuckled and kissed Legolas' lips gently. "He makes you happy, that is all the reason I need. I think I am starting to grow fond of him, in a strange way."

Legolas laughed and squeezed Glorfindel tight. "I have missed you, seron vell," he whispered into the Noldo's ear.

"Mmm, I have missed you as well, ernilen, "Glorfindel answered softly.

"Show me our bed, melethen," Legolas whispered huskily.

"Indeed…" Glorfindel answered. He released his lover and took his hand, leading him up the stairs to the bed they would share for the rest of their days.

* * * *

Fëanor sat in his father's rocker upon the porch built on the front of his modest house. His home sat high in the hills, overlooking the sea. The home was comfortable, but not elaborately decorated. He had left many of his possessions in Formenos; bringing with him only those that he needed or that had sentimental value. His father's chair was one of those things, his tools from his forge were another. He constructed an outbuilding behind the main house where he spent his days making gifts for his family and for the Valar. He kept only one thing for himself of everything he had made since he was returned to Aman, and he fondled it now in his fingers as his eyes gazed into the East.

So much had changed about him since his awakening in Mandos' Halls. He still grieved for the deeds he had done and he knew he always would. There had been a fair amount of suspicion surrounding his return to Tirion, and he was not entirely welcome there. He could not fault those who harbored anger toward him, so he built his home high in the hills, away from the main city. He supposed there would always be those who feared him, who could only remember the elf he had been before he left Aman to pursue Morgoth. He would not harbor anger or malice toward those who view him thusly, but he would work to regain their trust in small amounts, even if it took him until the end of time. Other than his sons and Legolas, he had few visitors. But there was one who came to see him the day before that he had not seen in many long years, it was his half-brother, Finfarin. The King of the Noldor had come to Fëanor and paid him a visit at the urging of his daughter. His sons had been returned to him through death, but Fëanor was shamed and could not look into his eyes. The King forgave him and gave him welcome, and this kindness warmed Fëanor's pained heart.

A white horse slowly walked up the winding path toward his home and he smiled when he saw the figure sitting upon it. Her golden hair trailed out around the edges of her hooded cloak, glistening against the white fabric as it fluttered in the breeze. He rose from his seat and walked down the steps to greet her as she dismounted.

"Mae Govannen, pen-dond," he said warmly.

Galadriel smiled and bowed her head. "Mae Govannen, Tôr-en-adar."

"What brings you here to see me this day?" he asked quietly.

She smiled and it warmed his heart. Each time they met, they grew closer to the love they shared before his father died. "A ship arrives on the morrow, my husband is upon it and there is one traveling with him that I think you might wish to see."

Fëanor smiled broadly and nodded. "Aye, that is something I have wished for, for more than an age."

She smiled again, her bright eyes twinkling, and she answered, "I will see you at the docks, then?"

"Of course," he answered. He gently caught her arm as she began to turn and leave. "Where are you staying?"

She motioned down the hill. "I thought I would stay with my daughter and Elrond, they do not live too far from here."

"I would be honored if you would stay here with me, pen-dond." He looked at the ground as he realized he had placed her in an awkward position. "Of course, I can imagine you would like to spend time with your daughter."

Galadriel smiled and lifted his chin so that their gazes met again. "I would be pleased to stay here with you, Tôr-en-adar," she answered.

He smiled and took her small pack from her horse and invited her inside.

* * * *

A brisk knock upon the door roused Legolas from his slumber. He blinked sleepily and reached out for his lover, his fingers just brushing Glorfindel's back as the Elda rose from the bed.

"Stay here and keep the bed warm, melethen. I will see who is at the door," Glorfindel answered softly.

"Alright," Legolas answered with a yawn and he smiled as Glorfindel pulled the covers back up around him.

The Elda pulled on his robe and started down the stairs as a second knock came upon the door. "Yes, yes, I am coming!" he called to the insistent arrival.

He opened the door and saw Erestor standing before him; his friend's face flushed from the cool air outside.

Erestor smiled as he took in the Elda's disheveled state and he cleared his throat. "I hope I have not interrupted anything," he said with a wry grin.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and invited his friend in. "What brings you here so early this morning, Erestor?" he asked, as he tried to keep from yawning.

"Early? Nay, Anor has risen some time ago, mellonen. You have wasted away half the morning in bed," he answered with a playful chastising tone in his voice.

"Early, late… `Tis all beside the point, Erestor. Why are you here?" he asked again, sincerely wishing he had just ignored the knock upon the door.

"Well," Erestor began, "I thought you might be interested in knowing a ship will be arriving before the noon hour. It is the last ship that will arrive from the East."

"Who is there, melethen?" Legolas asked sleepily as he emerged from their bedchamber loosely wrapped in a long robe.

A smile slowly began to curve Glorfindel's mouth and he called to his lover, "It is Erestor, melethen. He has something to tell us that you may want to hear."

Legolas came down the stairs slowly, rubbing his face as he smiled sleepily at Erestor. "Maer aur, mellonen."

Erestor bowed his head and smiled. "Maer aur, ernilen. I come bringing news of the arrival of a ship from the East, it is due to arrive just past the midday hour."

Legolas' eyes widened. "Adar…" he whispered in hushed tones.

Erestor smiled and nodded. "Aye, that is what my lady has told me. Master Elrond's sons and Lord Celeborn will be aboard as well. There will be a welcoming party assembling at the docks, I do believe you have time to dress and make for the harbor, should you wish to be there to greet them."

"Of course!" Legolas exclaimed. "Hannon chen, meldir!" He placed a quick peck upon Erestor's cheek before running upstairs to dress.

Glorfindel smiled at his old friend and walked him to the door. "Hannon chen, mellonen. I am pleased that it was you who brought the news to us. Legolas has missed his father terribly."

Erestor smiled and bowed his head. "Lady Galadriel has informed Lord Fëanor as well. It is a happy day."

Glorfindel nodded and answered softly. "And a well earned one at that."

"Hurry, Glorfindel!" Legolas shouted from their bedchamber. "We do not wish to be late!"

Glorfindel chuckled and closed the door behind Erestor, turning and making his way back up the stairs.

* * * *

Thranduil stood upon the decks of the white ship as it ambled into the Bay of Eldamar. He gazed up at the island of Tol Eressëa as they passed it, then turned his eyes to the coast of Aman. The dock was lined with flags of the Noldor and Sindar nations and he could see a large crowd assembled at the docks. The last of the noble elf lords were returning home and it was cause for a great celebration. The deckhands anchored the ship and laid down the ramp for the passengers to depart.

The first to set foot on shore was Celeborn, and a great cheer rose up from the ranks of the Sindar. Galadriel stepped forward to greet her husband, and could not hold back any longer as she rushed forward to meet him and was swept up in his arms. He kissed his wife soundly in front of all whom wished to watch, then set her down as his gaze turned to meet his daughter's. He scooped Celebrían up in his arms and swung her around as she laughed. Then he sat her down and turned her to face the ship.

Celebrían turned and saw her sons step off onto the dock and laughed as tears flowed down her face. "Naneth!" they called, and they both rushed forward into their mother's arms as they showered her with kisses. Elrond stepped forward and embraced his sons and held them for a long moment, relieved that they were finally home at last.

Legolas trembled with anticipation as he watched his father step off the ship and onto the dock. "Go on, melethen," Glorfindel whispered into his ear, and he rushed down the dock to meet his father.

Thranduil looked up and saw his son running toward him and nearly collapsed in relief. He uttered a quick thank you to the Valar before catching his son in his arms and holding him tight. "Oh, Greenleaf," he whispered. "I was so worried about you, I have missed you so."

Legolas clung tightly to his father as he buried his face in his hair. "I am sorry, Ada," he whispered. "I tried to get word to you, I was gone too long. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Iôn," Thranduil replied. "I am so proud of you, you have brought great honor to our kin." He pulled back and held his son's face in his hands. "Let me look at you," he whispered. He gazed deep into Legolas' eyes and smiled sadly. What he saw was his son, only his son; the tale Elladan and Elrohir had told him was true, Fëanor was gone.

Legolas saw the sadness in his father's eyes and a smile crept across his face. "There is another here that you may want to see, Ada," he answered softly. He turned and pointed to a lone figure slowly walking toward them on the dock.

The elf's dark hair floated on the sea breeze like a raven's wing, his robes of ebony and crimson gently danced around him as he approached. It looked like he floated rather than walked down the long dock, and as he drew closer, Thranduil felt his heart stop.

"No," he whispered. "Can it be? Do my eyes deceive me?"

"No, Ada," Legolas whispered. "They do not, it is him."

"Fëandro?" he whispered as tears welled in his eyes.

Fëanor came to a stop before them and picked up Thranduil's hands. "Poicaquen," he answered softly.

"Fëandro," Thranduil breathed, as he gathered his beloved in his arms and held him tight. He was solid, strong, and he smelled exotic and musky. He wadded the velvet robes his lover wore in his fists and he crushed him against his chest. "I never thought I would see you again. I thought you were lost."

Fëanor held his love tight, burying his face in his flaxen hair and breathing in his fresh scent. "I was lost, poicaquen," he answered. "But you have found me."

"I will never leave you again," Thranduil whispered, "never again."

They held each other for long moments before walking down the long dock, hand in hand to the celebration that awaited them.

* * * *

Fëanor closed the door behind him as Thranduil set down his pack and looked around the comfortable house. A broad smile crossed his lips as he turned and looked at his beloved.

"It is private," he said softly.

Fëanor nodded. "Aye, it is. I have no near neighbors here on the hill."

Thranduil began to walk slowly toward his beloved. "So there is no fear of anyone seeing anything that may go on here then?"

Fëanor felt his heart skip as his lover approached him. They had only coupled once, and in all the ages since, his dreams had been filled with that encounter. "No," he answered huskily, "no one will see, we are alone."

Thranduil reached him and ran his fingers into Fëanor's loose raven hair, cradling his face in his hands. "It has been many years since I have allowed one to touch me, many years since I have felt the embrace of the one I hold most dear. My flesh aches for you, melethen, do not make me wait much longer."

"No," Fëanor whispered, "no more waiting."

He pulled Thranduil to him and covered his mouth with his own, melting into his beloved's kiss for the first time in over an age. They stood, wrapped around one another in the middle of the room, dark and light, shadow and flame, mouths tasting and consuming, hands caressing and grasping, until Fëanor broke their kiss and led his beloved into his bedchamber.

Velvet and suede flew about the room, landing in hapless piles upon the floor and hanging from chairs. The two lovers landed soundly upon the bed, and Fëanor rolled over Thranduil, assaulting his lover's neck with his mouth, consuming his strong form with his hands.

"Melanyel, Thranduil," he whispered huskily between kisses.

"Melin le, Fëandro," Thranduil replied breathlessly.

"Wait," Fëanor said quietly, "I have something for you."

"I hope so," Thranduil purred playfully, then groaned as Fëanor pulled away from him.

He watched the Noldo cross the room and rifle thorough his robes before returning to the bed. Fëanor straddled him and smiled.

"I have dreamed of having you thusly for years without end, and as much as I want you now, I cannot continue until I ask you this question."

"What is it, melethen?" Thranduil asked softly.

"Poicaquen?" he began softly, "Will you bond with me? Will you be my mate?" He produced an elegant mithril ring from behind his back and held it out to his lover.

Thranduil smiled and nodded. "I will, melethen, for I would have no other."

Fëanor smiled broadly and slipped the ring upon his beloved's finger.

"What about you?" Thranduil asked.

Fëanor smiled and nodded as he extended his other hand from behind his back, on his finger was a matching ring. "I have been waiting to wear it. I was hoping you would say yes as taking it off now would be awkward."

Thranduil laughed softly and pulled Fëanor down to him. "You are a precious gift, Fëandro," he whispered.

He sighed as he turned his head to allow his lover better access to his sensitive ear and groaned as he felt Fëanor's smooth length come into contact with his own; his own pulsated beneath the Noldo's weight. The silken glide of heated flesh upon heated flesh was driving him mad with want; too many years had passed since he had felt the passionate embrace of another. "Claim me, seron vell, " he whispered. "I want to feel you inside me, please."

"Yé," Fëanor replied and he reached into his bedside table drawer, retrieving a phial of oil he had been saving for just this occasion. He prepared himself and his lover diligently, wanting to ensure that the breaching of his beloved's body was done with utmost care and as little pain as possible.

Thranduil was near begging by the time he finally entered him, sliding deep inside one who felt as if they had been made for him and him only. He lay between his lover's legs, propped up on his elbows, caressing the Sinda's face with his hands. As the discomfort passed, he saw a smile curve his lover's lips and heard a shuddering sigh leave his body. Slowly he began to move, not wanting to rush, wanting to savor every blissful moment of being wrapped in the one he loved more than life itself. He felt his lover's strong legs wrapped around him, felt his swordsman's hands alternately clutching and caressing his back. He did not want it to end, but too much time had passed, too many long years of being denied the passionate heat and blinding love he felt in that moment. He buried himself deeply inside his Sindar King and groaned as he spilled inside his body.

Thranduil moaned as he felt the warm seed of his beloved fill him, and his legs slowly slipped down Fëanor's sides. He was still reeling, still panting; a sheen of sweat covering his body as Fëanor slid down his torso and took him in his mouth. He cried out as his lover swallowed him, milking his own essence from him with long, slow strokes of his mouth upon his arousal. He smiled blissfully as Fëanor curled against him and he stroked his long raven hair.

"How happy we will be here, melethen," he whispered. "I finally have all that I have desired for so long."

Fëanor nodded sleepily. "Aye, we will be happy. We have both found peace now."

They lay in one another's arms until dawn, quietly talking of all that had come to pass, and all that was to come.

* * * *

The Sindar King and the Noldor Lord made a strange pair, but as word of Fëanor's deeds in the War of the Ring began to circulate around the city, the inhabitants gradually warmed to him and learned to trust him again. He built a monument to the Teleri that fell in the Kinslaying, and spent his days teaching his craft to those that wished to learn it.

Thranduil moved into Fëanor's house with him and was welcomed as part of the family by his sons. Legolas saw both his father and Fëanor frequently, and he and Glorfindel had them to visit often. Thranduil spent his days learning of the elder days of Aman by communing with the trees and the animals that lived there, and he often visited Yavanna as they shared a strong bond with the living things of the world.

Legolas, along with Haldir and the marchwarden of the Galadhrim taught elflings to make bows and arrows, and taught them how to use them, though there was no need. Legolas lived out his days with Glorfindel in blissful peace. Gimli was ever by his side until his passing many years after their arrival in Valinor.

Glorfindel spent his days with Elladan and Elrohir, teaching the same elflings to ride and teaching them ancient arts of combat. Erestor became a popular bard, telling stories to young elves, male and female alike, of the days of the Eldar in Middle Earth and the valor of their ancestors.

Elrond and Celebrían lived out their days together with their family, the only one missing was Arwen, and they spoke of her and Aragorn often. Galadriel had her family back; they were whole and this brought her a great deal of comfort.

What became of Middle Earth after their departure was known only to Manwë and Mandos, but the Eldar lived out their days in peace and seclusion in the refuge that was Valinor.

~Finis

Pen-dond = tall one
Tôr-en-adar = Brother of my father (Uncle)
Ernilen = my Prince
Melethen = my love
Mellonen = my friend
Maer aur = Good morning
Hannon chen = Thank you
Meldir = friend
Naneth = mother
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Melanyel = I love you (Quenya)
Yé = Yes (Quenya)