Winds of War

Title: Winds of War
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Gildor/Lindir, Elladan/Elrohir, Legolas, Thranduil, Rúmil and Haldir
Beta: Alex
WARNING: Angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this.
Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com
Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age.
Summary: Lines between romance and friendship are blurred and loved ones ride to war. How far can love reach? Can it reach beyond death?

Part 1:
Summary: Rúmil senses danger, Mirkwood burns, and Legolas fears for his father.

Rúmil sat against the bole of the tall mallorn, his cloak drawn tight against the wind that whipped the branches of the trees around them. The wind was cold, carrying with it the scent of snow from the peaks of the Misty Mountains. It had been over sixty years since he had last seen his beloved Sindar King, though word had reached him from time to time in the form of letters carried to him in the talons of Thranduil's hunting falcons. Mirkwood grew more dangerous by the day; Orcs grew bolder and larger in number, and they concentrated their efforts on the already vulnerable realm of Thranduil Oropherion. While the roving bands of orcs avoided the Golden Wood, Rúmil and his fellow guardians observed their passing. Often Rúmil would press Haldir to take the offensive and attack, in the hopes of waylaying or preventing the marauders from reaching Mirkwood. Although it pained Haldir to know the realm of Mirkwood came under siege, he would not risk the lives of his soldiers nor risk bringing an assault on their realm, so he refused.

Rúmil closed his eyes and drew his knees closer to his chest, his bow resting across them. He tried to busy himself with his duty, rather than dwell on how much he missed his lover. However, in idle moments like this one, he could not resist the call of memory. He conjured Thranduil's image in his mind, envisioning the Sindar's flaxen hair, his sparkling sapphire eyes, his alabaster skin stretched taut across muscles that seemed to be made of iron. He remembered Thranduil's haunting voice, its deep, reverberating tone that soothed his spirit. He remembered his touch, soft at times, possessive at others, yet always inflaming his desire. His heart constricted in his chest, the dull, empty ache that always lay just beneath the surface threatening to rise up and overwhelm his senses.

His eyes snapped open as the faint scent of smoke drifted into his nostrils. Quickly, he regained his feet and scrambled up the tree to find the location of the fire. Fire was one of the most deadly threats to wood-elves. Upon reaching the lookout platform, he joined Orophin and Haldir who were already scanning the horizon.

"Do you see it?" he asked, his own sharp eyes watching the sky above the treetops.

"Not yet," Orophin replied.

"The wind comes from the north," Haldir added.

Rúmil's heart skipped. "No!" he gasped, before leaping to the ground and running toward a steep hillside.

"Rúmil!" Haldir called, and made chase. Scrambling up the loose soil, he followed his younger brother closely, grasping at rocks and small shrubs for leverage. Upon reaching the top, he found Rúmil and clasped him by the shoulder. His youngest brother turned, one trembling finger pointing in the distance. As Ithil's light broke through the clouds he could see smoke billowing into the air.

"Mirkwood burns," Rúmil said in a hushed, frightened whisper.

Haldir swallowed his own fear and fought back the urge to run toward the north. His duty to his realm did not keep him from wanting to help his dear friend.

"We must help, Haldir!" Rúmil cried. "We cannot leave them to face this alone!"

"Rúmil!" Haldir cried, grasping his brother's arm and preventing his departure. "Even if we possessed the means to stop the fire, it would be days before we reached them. There is no time..." He squeezed Rúmil's shoulder as he saw the tears welling in his brother's eyes. It broke his heart to see Rúmil so pained.

"The lady!" Rúmil cried. "She can help; she possesses the power..." Rúmil tore down the hillside and began running toward Caras Galadhon with all the speed he could muster.

* * * *

Legolas growled as he thrust his knives into the chest of an orc. Battle raged around him, fire was consuming the trees in the southern reaches of his homeland. His father's battalion was but some 500 yards behind him, advancing quickly from the north despite the burning trees that fell around them. Arrows were splitting the air, the high-pitched whine echoing in his ears. He heard his warriors fighting and dying, his small patrol close to being overwhelmed by the large numbers of orcs that advanced upon them.

Spinning, he slashed the throat of another clean open and was doused in black blood as it erupted from the gaping wound. 'Too fast' he thought to himself. 'Too fast and too many, we cannot hold out...'

He ducked to the right as his father's spear sailed through the air, pinning a large orc to the trunk of a tree behind him. Removing his blades from his victim's chest, he turned to look at the orc who had been poised to run him through from behind. The sound of his father growling in rage and pain caused him to turn quickly. He watched as his king was driven back against a large rock by three arrows that struck him in the shoulder, arm and thigh.

"Father!" he cried, and began running toward him, savagely slashing at anything that got in his way.

Thranduil's regiment had come upon the marauding orcs full force, and the beasts were driven back around them. Upon reaching his king, he fell to his knees in the dirt, the sounds of retreating orcs barely registering in his ears. Thranduil's breath was rapid and shallow, his precious blood spilling from his wounds. Legolas could see the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead, and he grasped the shaft of one of the black arrows in his fist. He looked at his father with frightened and pleading eyes, then closed them as he pulled the first arrow from his arm.

Thranduil set his jaw and growled against the pain, refusing to cry out. He took several deep and rapid breaths, then prepared himself for the next one. Legolas pulled the arrow from his thigh, then reached with trembling hands for the one in his shoulder. Thranduil looked at his son, covered in black blood, his face pale and eyes glistening with tears. He placed his hand over Legolas own and shook his head; then, closing his own fist over the shaft, pulled the final arrow out himself. He could not prevent the cry of pain, small as it was, that came from him and he trembled as Legolas made a compress from his own tunic to stop the bleeding. Already fever was setting in, and he stared with black eyes into the darkness of the forest.

He had seen this, in the lady's mirror. This attack had been foretold. Indeed, upon taking the creature into his care, he wondered if this would not be the time. There was something evil about the wretched thing; yet, he had been unable to refuse Mithrandir's request. In the darkness, among the smell of smoke and death, he recognized his fate and the fate of all Middle-earth. There was no amount of hoping that could change what must come; there was no bargain to be made to prevent the inevitable. He began to slip in and out of wakefulness and he heard Legolas' voice calling him back each time he began to fade. It broke his heart, the ache and fear in his son's voice.

He felt drops of clean rain falling from the sky and he looked up. Slowly, a smile curved his lips as he whispered thanks to the Valar. His home would not burn that day. He tried to lift his hand to comfort Legolas, yet he could not summon the strength. Turning his head to look upon the one whom he loved more than life itself, he struggled to hold Legolas' image in his sight and mind. He wanted it to be the last thing he saw.

"I love you," he whispered, for a hoarse whisper was all he could summon. "Everything I have done, I have done for you..."

"Please, father. Stay with me now. I need you here with me; please do not leave me alone."

"You have made me so proud, Greenleaf," he whispered again.

"Father, please. I cannot do this without you; I cannot go on without you..."

"I hear him calling me, Legolas. I hear my father..."

"No! No! Father!"

The healers rushed forward and began administering to their king while Legolas watched helplessly, refusing to release his father's hand.

* * * *

Rúmil gripped the edge of the basin as he looked into the lady's mirror. He saw the rain falling and sighed in relief. He searched the murky images for sign of his king; yet saw none. As he began to give up hope, he saw the image of Thranduil slumped against a rock and saw Legolas beside him.

"No! No!" he cried as tears began to fall, creating ripples in the mirror. He turned his frightened gaze to Galadriel. "Please, my lady! He is dying! Help him, I beg you."

"I cannot come between Mandos and his will, Rúmil. There is nothing I can do to prevent what you see."

Haldir gripped Rúmil's shoulders to keep his brother from falling to the ground in his grief. "Is there nothing to be done?" he asked.

Galadriel turned her sad gaze upon her captain and shook her head, then she slowly walked away.

* * * *

Elrohir sat up in bed and gasped. Clutching the sheets around him, he stared into the darkness of his room. His heart raced, his hands trembled as he tried to make sense of the frightening images in his dream. He was overcome with anguish and fear so palpable that he could taste it. He heard the door to his room open and he looked up to see his twin.

"Elrohir? Are you all right?" Elladan said softly. "I sensed something was wrong..."

Elladan saw Elrohir reach out for him and he quickly crossed the room and sat upon the side of his twin's bed. Holding Elrohir in his arms, he rocked him gently, stroking his hair as he felt him tremble. "Tell me what has you so upset."

"A dream," Elrohir answered. "A horrible, frightening nightmare."

"Was it about mother?" Elladan said softly.

"No," Elrohir answered. "It was about Legolas. He is in trouble, Elladan, though I do not know how."

"Perhaps it is just a dream, nothing more..."

"I hope you are right, but I fear that is not the case." Elrohir turned his gaze up to his twin's. "Can you stay with me for a little while?"

Elladan nodded. "Aye, I will stay." He stretched out beside Elrohir on top of the covers and held his twin until he fell asleep again.

* * * *

Haldir stood beside Rúmil, one hand upon his back, the other hanging limply by his side. Rúmil refused to leave the mirror until he saw more of the fate of Thranduil, and Haldir would not leave his youngest brother alone. Orophin approached quietly, taking a seat on a bench a short distance away. They would stay all night and all of the next day if need be; they would stay until Rúmil had the answers he needed to have.

Galadriel had been able to summon the rain to save the forest, but even her powers were not so great as to be able to alter one's fate. If she knew the fate of Thranduil, she would not tell it; there were some secrets that must be kept.

Haldir's heart broke when he thought of the fear and anguish Legolas must be feeling. He was not sure what would become of the prince should his father travel to Mandos' halls. 'Too young,' he thought. 'He is too young to have suffered so much; too young to lose his anchor.'

Without a word, and wracked from anguish and exhaustion, Rúmil faltered. Haldir caught him in his arms and carried him to his talan with Orophin in tow. After seeing Rúmil ensconced beneath the covers, Haldir stepped outside to speak with Orophin.

"Orcs are still moving outside the borders, but I do not think they are making for Mirkwood," Orophin said in a hushed whisper. "They seem to be looking for something, but we cannot tell what."

"Keep watch," Haldir answered quietly. He furrowed his brow. "It does not make sense. If Thranduil is dead, now is the time to launch an attack, while the realm is vulnerable. Why do they not press their advantage?"

Orophin shook his head. "Perhaps the goal isn't the overthrow of Mirkwood. Perhaps the goal is something different?"

Haldir sighed. "Let us hope that what Rúmil saw is not true. Let us hope that the king lives and his realm remains strong. We cannot afford to lose an ally like him."

Orophin nodded. "I hope for both Rúmil's and Legolas' sake that he does live; for I do not know what will become of either of them if he does not."

Haldir patted his brother on the shoulder. "Keep me abreast of what his happening. I will remain here with Rúmil until I am certain he is all right."

Orophin nodded and left his younger brother's talan and headed back to the fences.

To be continued...

Chapter 2:
Summary: Legolas suffers guilt, Rúmil has a dream, and Lindir and Gildor share some afternoon delight.

"My lord, it will not do for your father to wake and see you in such a condition. You really must let me remove your soiled garments and get you into the bath."

Legolas looked at his father's chambermaid. He had known her since he was a small elfling and she had never been one to take no for an answer. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips and a grim expression on her face.

"The healer will stay with him until you return. You heard what he said, your father has a good chance of recovering from his wounds."

Legolas sighed and nodded in acquiescence. "I think I can manage to undress and bathe myself," he said softly as he crossed the threshold of his father's private bathing chamber.

The chambermaid stood outside the door with her hand held out. "Very well, just hand your garments through the door and I will see if they are salvageable." As she accepted Legolas' garments one by one, she added, "It would do your warriors good to see you, my lord. They are grieving the loss of their brothers and they fear for their king."

"I will go to the barracks as soon as my father is no longer in danger," Legolas answered. "My first duty is to him."

"As you wish, my lord. I will send for sustenance; you are weary and weak from battle."

Before Legolas could protest, she was gone, and he sighed as he stepped into the warm bath. Sinking below the water, he felt the grime and blood float away from his skin, caught up in the bath oil the chambermaid had placed in the steaming tub. Retrieving a fine net from the wall, he skimmed the grime from the surface of the water and placed the net in a small basin beside the tub. He reached up and retrieved a crystal phial of clove oil and poured it in, then laid his head back against the smooth stone and sighed as he closed his eyes.

It was dawn; he could sense the light changing as it filtered through the small, leaded glass windows of his father's chamber. It had been a full day since he and his small patrol took their prisoner for a walk in the woods. He felt his lower lip tremble as tears spilled down his cheeks. It was his fault. It was his fault that his father nearly died, that those under his command fell in battle, that the wood burned and the creature escaped. It was all his fault. Never had he felt so ashamed, so weak; never had he felt like such a failure.

He was exhausted and raw inside. In the space of a day, his emotions and strength had been tested to their very limits. Bruised and battered, sick at heart, he allowed the tears to fall into the warm water; he was no longer able to hold back the tide of emotion that welled within him. He wept quietly. He did not want anyone to hear him, least of all his beloved king. When he thought of how close he came to losing him, he began to tremble. He had felt utterly lost when he saw his father slip into unconsciousness; he felt like a boat which had lost its mooring and drifted aimlessly upon the vast sea. It was though the ties that bound him to his past, to his identity, had been severed and in that instant, he couldn't remember who he was.

For as long as he could remember, a deep secret had lurked beneath the surface of his consciousness. Many would say it was reasonable for him to fear losing his father, for he had lost his mother at such a young age when she sailed to Aman. However, he was no longer a young elf. He was young in years, this was true, but no longer young at heart. He had seen too much, done too much killing to still be so young. He thought of his father again, of the war his father had seen when he had been about the same age as he himself was now. He wondered how his father felt when Oropher fell. Did Thranduil feel lost and unteathered as he did himself just hours ago?

The water began to cool and Legolas lifted his weary body from the water, drying himself with a thick, soft cloth before slipping into his father's too large night robe. When he emerged from the bathing chamber, a pot of hot tea sat on the small table by the fire, along with some bread, cheese, and a bowl of stew. He nodded to the healer, who bowed in response before leaving him alone with the king. He sank wearily into the large chair and ate the simple meal while the heat of the fire dried his hair. Every so often, he would cast a glance at his father's sleeping form, so peaceful in its reverie. Upon finishing the meal and the tea, he moved to his father's bed, climbing beneath the covers and resting his head upon his hand.

He watched over his father, struggling to stay awake. The bed was so warm, so soft, so comforting. He reached out and placed his hand upon his father's chest, just over the location of his heart, closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the rhythmic thump-thump of his heart. Slowly, reluctantly, he slipped into an exhausted sleep, his own breathing and heartbeat mirroring his father's.

* * * *

Rúmil woke to find Haldir sitting in a chair beside his bed. He sat up slowly and rubbed his face, then looked at his sleeping brother. Haldir's head was tilted to one side, precariously balanced against the back of the chair. His grey-blue eyes were fogged with reverie, his hands rested on the arms of the chair and his feet were planted a small distance apart. Haldir looked tired. Rúmil could not ever recall him looking tired before, even after a long tour on the fences.

He had a dream. In that dream, he saw Thranduil; he saw him riding across the Vales of the Anduin on his large black stallion. Rúmil couldn't be sure how he knew, but he knew it was a sign that the king lived and that he would be all right. He woke feeling better than he had when he fell asleep the night before, and he resolved to pay another visit to Galadriel's mirror that day to confirm his feelings.

He stretched, a quiet groan escaping him as he twisted from side to side and reached high above his head. He heard Haldir stir, and looked to see his elder brother rubbing his own face and tucking an errant braid behind one ear.

"You slept in that chair all night?" Rúmil asked quietly.

"I suppose I did," Haldir answered. "Though I do not recall falling asleep."

"I am sorry, Haldir, if I worried you," Rúmil answered.

"Do not apologize, Rúmil. It is understandable that you would feel the way you did. I know how much you care for him."

"I dreamt of him last night," Rúmil replied. "In my heart, I know he is all right, though I cannot tell you how. I want to look into the mirror again, to see if it will reveal anything else to me."

"I am sure the lady will grant you such a request. She was very worried about you last night."

"I must apologize to her, for causing her such worry..." Rúmil replied quietly.

Haldir rose from his chair and stretched. "Come, I will prepare something to eat, then we will go to the lady."

Rúmil rose from the bed and embraced his brother. "Thank you, Haldir," he said quietly.

Haldir cradled Rúmil's head against his shoulder. "I am your brother; there is no need to thank me." He took Rúmil's hand and guided him from the bedroom into the kitchen.

* * * *

Gildor entered the apartment he shared with his mate and placed his bow and sword upon the floor after closing the door behind him. The apartment smelled of fresh baked bread, and a crystal pitcher of fresh lemonade sat on the table by the window.

"Gildor, is that you?"

"Yes, my love," Gildor answered, bending down and inhaling deeply of the still steaming bread.

"Could you lend me hand?" Lindir called out. "I'm in the bedchamber."

"Are you moving furniture again?" Gildor answered with a smile.

He entered the bedchamber to find Lindir reclining upon the bed, his thin robe partially open to expose his chest and one long, slender thigh. Lindir's hand wandered aimlessly up and down his own chest, his hair was loose, spilling in flaxen waves around his shoulders. A sensual smile curved his mate's mouth, causing Gildor to lick his lips.

"Oh my," Gildor purred. "You do look as though you are in dire need of my assistance..."

Lindir blinked slowly. "I have been in quite a state since you woke me up so deliciously this morning. I have been able to think of nothing else all day..."

"How cruel of me to stir such desires in you then leave you alone for hours..." Gildor answered with a smile.

"and hours, and hours... with nothing to do but daydream of being ravished by you..." Lindir bit his lower lip.

Gildor tossed his tunic onto a chair by the bed. "And they say passion fades after years of marriage."

"They lie," Lindir answered with a wicked smile.

Gildor tossed his leggings onto the same chair. "Indeed they do..." He mounted the bed, lowering himself between his mate's legs and consuming Lindir's mouth in a searing kiss. A small growl of desire escaped him as Lindir fisted his hair in his long fingers; his love's needful moans caused his rapidly rising arousal to twitch between them.

"Valar, how I love it when you are like this," Lindir breathed between kisses. "So hungry for me, so possessive..."

"I am always hungry for you, my love," Gildor murmured against Lindir's collarbone. "How could I not be? You are perfection..."

Lindir dug his fingers into Gildor's shoulders. "I do not know what has come over me," he whispered sultrily. "I have been burning for this all day... Your mouth, it is so hot, so wet..."

Gildor tugged upon one of Lindir's nipples with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. He grimaced as Lindir's fingers dug into his sore shoulder and a small grunt of discomfort escaped him.

Lindir squirmed beneath Gildor, sliding down into the bed and wrapping his legs around his lover's hips. Reaching down, he untied Gildor's loincloth and threw it across the room, then stretched to reach for the phial of oil he had prepared. He cried out softly as Gildor's teeth marked his shoulder and the fingers of one hand dug into Gildor's muscular backside. Their turgid lengths brushed against one another, heightening their desire. Lindir's fingers closed around the phial and he brought it to Gildor.

"Take me, Gildor, now," he breathed.

Gildor rose and rolled Lindir to his stomach, taking the phial from his hand and quickly preparing himself with it. After cursory preparation, he entered Lindir, a deep groan escaping him as he was seated inside his mate's body.

Lindir cried out and bucked back against Gildor, and his love began to move. He clawed at the bedcovers and writhed beneath his mate as Gildor rode him hard. Their coupling was brief, but intense, and with a deep growl, Gildor spilled himself inside his body. Lindir lay panting beneath him, his arousal pulsating, trapped between his stomach and the bed. He felt Gildor rise off him slowly, a quiet whimper escaping his lips as Gildor slipped from his body. He was rolled to his back, and he cried out as Gildor engulfed him, skillfully and quickly bringing him release.

His hands trembled as he caressed Gildor's thick mane of dark hair and he shivered in delight as soft, warm kisses were deposited along his torso. He gazed up into Gildor's eyes with a sleepy smile and caressed his face.

"Are you well, my love?" Gildor asked, concern written upon his face.

"Mmm-hmm..." Lindir mumbled. "I will not be riding a horse for a day or so, but I am fine."

"Did I hurt you?" Gildor asked worriedly.

Lindir smiled. "Not really. It was what I wanted, Gildor. I am fine... it is a good kind of discomfort." Lindir cradled Gildor's worried face in his hands. "Truly, my love, I am fine. I am not made of crystal, you know."

"I know... it is just that we have never... done that, like that," Gildor answered.

"I loved it, Gildor," Lindir answered. "It was just what I wanted. Perhaps not every time should be like that, but I loved it nonetheless."

"I would never hurt you," Gildor murmured against Lindir's lips. "I love you..."

"I know," Lindir answered. "I trust you with my life, and I love you even more." He cradled Gildor's head against his shoulder. "I am so lucky, so very lucky..." he whispered.

Gildor slid his hands beneath Lindir's shoulder blades. "As am I, my love, as am I..."

To be continued...

Chapter 3:
Summary: Thranduil thinks about the nature of his relationship with Legolas; Elladan makes a startling admission; Glorfindel and Erestor share a rare day off.

Thranduil awoke with a start, his eyes clearing and his breath coming in a shallow gasp. Disoriented, he looked at his surroundings and saw he was in his bed back in the caves. A nagging pain gnawed at his shoulder, arm and leg, and a slow sigh escaped him. He felt something on his chest. Looking down, he saw Legolas' hand resting just over the location of his heart, and he followed the length of his son's arm with his eyes to gaze upon Legolas' sleeping form.

The last image he had of Legolas was one of a battle weary soldier. His son had been covered in grime and blood, some black, some red, and his fair face had been marred by battle. As he looked upon his son now, he saw a fine scratch along his cheek marring his otherwise flawless alabaster skin. Bruises were beginning to form upon his chest and arms, yet he was still remarkable in his beauty.

A lock of flaxen hair fell in a loose wave across his face, his soft lips were parted slightly and his sweet breath flowed in and out in a gentle rhythm. His eyes, azure eyes that often sparkled with life and mirth were clouded with reverie, and though their brilliance was faded in sleep, they still caused the king's heart to swell with pride and love. His son wore his sleeping robe, and the velvet garment nearly swallowed his leaner form. The thick folds draped over a narrow waist and hips, long legs and broad shoulders.

Thranduil was reminded of how young his son was still, though well past his majority. 'So much like your mother,' he thought. 'So elegant and so full of life.'

He and Legolas had always been close; his son had never been through that rebellious phase that so many sons experienced with their fathers. Legolas had spent his life trying to please him, and in the beginning, he thought that his son bore some misplaced guilt for his mother leaving. However, in time, the king realized the true nature of Legolas' devotion and loyalty, though he suspected his son was unaware of it.

Long ago, Thranduil's own father had told him a story. Then Lord Oropher, his father explained to a young Thranduil about the nature of love in the form of a story about the Lady Lúthien and the nobleman Beren. "It is our hearts that choose, Thranduil," Oropher had said, "not our minds. Sometimes the choice it makes is one that defies our will or the laws of our people." Indeed, Lúthien's choice had brought much grief to her parents and in the end, it brought her own death. However, Oropher had told Thranduil that she had no other choice, nor did Beren. Their hearts found their true mates upon their meeting, and neither could ever love another. Thranduil, just coming into his own majority, asked how one knew when one was with one of their heart's choosing. Oropher had smiled and answered, "You will know; it will be undeniable."

Thranduil had gone on to meet the elf maid who would become his wife. She made him laugh, she made him smile, and above all, she made him feel loved. They married, he went to war, he returned as a changed elf. No longer a prince but a king, the things he had seen, the hurt he had borne in the form of his father's death had changed who he was. He kept his emotions in check always, maintaining tight control over his heart and his feelings. With the birth of his son came a chink in his armor; the tiny elfling, so headstrong and willful, so delicate and beautiful, reawakened his heart. He was a devoted father and had always been a good husband. But the warmth and familiarity that had once been between his wife and him was no longer there. He was kind, he was gentle, and above all, he was faithful and honorable. However, it was not enough.

Upon Legolas' thirtieth birthday, she left for the Havens. She left the choice to stay or sail up to Legolas, who could not leave his father. Thranduil supposed now that she saw what he did not then. Loyalty was not why Legolas stayed.

As his son grew into his adult form, as he became the strong warrior and prince he was now, Thranduil understood the story his father told him long ago.

How he wished his father were there now to give counsel, to explain to him how such a thing could happen. Was not the fate of all elves known to Manwë? Had he done something, had Legolas done something that meant they should be punished thusly? As much as he loved the one lying beside him now, as much as his heart ached to love him as it was meant to, he was Legolas' father, whether by chance or design, and he would never, never bring such shame upon the one that was most dear to him. Others would never understand. How could they? This went against the natural order of things. If he could bear the punishment alone, he would. But he could not ask Legolas to suffer thusly; he would not.

He thought of Elladan and Elrohir then. He thought of their bravery, of their willingness to risk shame and banishment for the love they shared. 'Ah, but it would be so much worse for us,' he thought. 'I am his father; it would be seen as a betrayal of my duty as such. He would be outcast and labeled as a deviant. Never. Never will my son suffer such a fate.'

Legolas took a deep breath and his eyes began to clear from reverie. Upon seeing his father awake, he smiled. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"I have felt better, but I will be fine."

"You gave me quite a scare," Legolas answered. "I thought you were going to fade when you said you heard your father calling you."

"I told him I was not ready; I told him you were not ready," Thranduil answered softly.

"I will never be ready, father. Not for that."

"I suppose we never are. I was not ready to lose my own." Thranduil closed his eyes. "I could not even retrieve his body to bury it."

Legolas slid closer and wrapped his arm around his father's waist, resting his head upon Thranduil's uninjured shoulder. "I am sorry, father," he said softly.

Thranduil stroked Legolas hair comfortingly. "It is the nature of life; pain and joy must go hand in hand."

Legolas sighed and blinked sleepily. "This reminds me of all the times I would sleep with you when I was young."

Thranduil smiled. "I would hear the door creak upon its hinges and hear your tiny footsteps crossing the floor. I would know then that you had a nightmare, and without a word, you would climb into the bed and snuggle close. You never asked permission..."

Legolas laughed softly. "I did not need permission, or at least I did not think I did. I saw it as my right. You were my father; I had a right to do as I pleased."

Thranduil chuckled. "You are not much different now."

Legolas laughed again. "I have always loved this bed. It is so soft, so warm... I feel like I belong here; like I am safe here."

"You are," Thranduil answered. "You always will be. Sleep, Greenleaf. We both need our rest."

"Aye. I love you, father."

"And I love you, my son."

Legolas drifted into reverie quickly as Thranduil closed his eyes and lost himself in his son's comforting presence.

* * * *

Elrohir entered Elladan's chamber and found his brother standing before the window, staring out at the mountains. He could tell by Elladan's posture that something was bothering him; he stood with arms crossed, his hands gripping his elbows.

He approached, placing his hands upon Elladan's shoulders. "What is the matter, Elladan?" he asked quietly.

"He knows."

"What? Who?"

"Father."

Elrohir swallowed a lump in his throat. "What does he know?"

"He knows about us, about you and me."

Elrohir closed his eyes. This was the thing they dreaded; this was the thing they had feared for so long. "How do you know? Has he said anything?"

"No. Nevertheless, I can see it in his eyes. He knows, Elrohir; of that, I am certain."

Elrohir wrapped his arms around Elladan's waist and laid his head upon his twin's shoulder. "What are we to do?"

"I do not know, but I will not give you up, Elrohir, I cannot."

"Nor will I give you up, Elladan. I could not live without you." He took a deep breath, and then continued, "Perhaps we should leave. We could ride north and join the Grey Company, or ride east to Mirkwood."

"It is too dangerous to travel east. I received word that orcs are gathering in the north. I think Halbarad and Estel would be grateful for our assistance."

Elrohir nodded. "Then that is what we shall do. I do not wish to bring shame upon father and Arwen, Elladan."

"Nor do I, Elrohir, though the worst is in him knowing."

"We have been careful," Elrohir whispered.

"Not careful enough," Elladan answered. "I suppose it was foolish to think we could hide it from him. Nothing remains hidden from him for long."

"It will be all right, Elladan. Everything will be all right."

Elladan placed his hands on top of Elrohir's. "I hope you are right. I love you, Elrohir."

"I love you, Elladan."

* * * *

Glorfindel sat back in the rocking chair on the porch of his and Erestor's new house. Erestor designed it and they had both overseen the construction of it. It was a modest house, with an open front porch and an enclosed sunroom in the back. It contained a study, two bedchambers, a large living area, a kitchen, a wine cellar and a private bath. It was a short walk to the barracks and stables and sat next to a creek that ran through a grove of birch trees. Glorfindel had made a hammock and strung it between two of the stronger trees near the creek, and Asfaloth had taken up residence in the meadow behind the house.

It was a warm afternoon, the first of the summer season, and Erestor was tending the garden in the front of the house. The counselor had a real knack for growing things, and enjoyed cooking as well. Glorfindel was growing accustomed to the sumptuous meals prepared by his mate in their new house; he was also quite delighted with their newfound privacy.

He crossed his ankles, flexing and wiggling his bare feet upon the low railing of the porch. His hair was unbound, his shirt open and his trousers loose. He linked his fingers behind his head and took a deep breath, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "I could get quite used to this," he murmured, as he admired his mate.

Erestor knelt in the soft earth, working a bulb of garlic free with a small handheld shovel. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, his feet were bare and his loose shirt was untucked on one side. Glorfindel loved seeing Erestor this way, unconcerned with his appearance, relaxed and at harmony with the world around him. It was so different from his day-to-day demeanor while performing his office; one would barely recognize him as he was in that moment.

Erestor placed the bulb of garlic in his basket, an expression of satisfaction upon his face. He then rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his trousers and picked up his basket. He approached the house with a satisfied smile.

"The garden is flourishing with this weather," he said, climbing the few steps to the porch. "I plan to make a roast from the loin the butcher delivered yesterday, perhaps we could have some roasted baby potatoes and asparagus with it?"

"Sounds delicious," Glorfindel answered. "Are you finished working in the garden?"

"Aye."

"Good, then you can come for a swim with me. It is a warm day and I think a nice dip in the spring would be quite refreshing."

Erestor stopped and set his basket down, leaning over and giving his love a kiss. He pulled Glorfindel's shirt aside and looked at the bruises on his chest. "Must you and Gildor train so strenuously? Look at the bruises on your chest."

"They are but bruises, they will fade in a day. Sometimes we get a little carried away, it is not that uncommon."

Erestor pulled Glorfindel's collar aside. "Is biting part of the training regimen now?"

Glorfindel chuckled. "You did that, not Gildor."

Erestor's eyes widened. "I did that?"

"Yes, last night. Do you not remember?"

"I suppose I was carried away as well." Erestor winked.

Glorfindel reached up and pulled Erestor into his lap. "Indeed you were. 'Tis a good thing I do not have to ride today..."

"Oh, stop it, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel chuckled and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Erestor's ear. "I love you, Erestor."

Erestor leaned down and nuzzled his mate's mouth with his own. "Mmm... and I love you, Glorfindel."

"Swim with me, naked. I love it when you are naked," Glorfindel murmured against Erestor's mouth.

Erestor chuckled. "Incorrigible."

"But you love me for it."

"That I do." He pressed a kiss to Glorfindel's lips, tugging upon his lower lip as he pulled away.

"Let me store the vegetables then I will join you, hmm?"

"Alright, but do not be long." Glorfindel gave Erestor's backside a playful swat as his mate walked away.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and smiled. It seemed as if all were as it should be, after so long.

To be continued...

Chapter 4:
Summary: Glorfindel and Erestor take time to appreciate each other, the twins leave for the north.

Glorfindel reclined on the blanket beside Erestor, Anor's light warming their bare bodies as they lounged beside the small lake. High above, clouds drifted across the sky, large masses of white against a canvas of pale blue. He turned his head, looking at his lover who was so peaceful in his half-slumbering, half-waking state. On impulse, he reached across and took Erestor's hand, raising it into the air as his mate opened his eyes.

Erestor looked at Glorfindel, an amused frown on his face. He opened his mouth to ask what his mate was doing when Glorfindel spoke:

"What do you see there?"

Glorfindel guided Erestor's hand toward a large cloud that drifted overhead.

Erestor smiled and pointed his finger. "A hare, with large floppy ears and a soft white tail." He traced the outline of the figure he saw in the clouds. He then guided Glorfindel's hand to a different cloud. "What do you see in that one?"

"A carriage," Glorfindel answered, tracing the outline with his finger. Guiding Erestor's hand to yet another cloud, he asked, "And there?"

"An apple," Erestor answered. "There?"

"A horse."

Erestor rolled to his side and into the crook of Glorfindel's outstretched arm, resting his head upon his mate's shoulder.

"I was thinking of when we were young, back home in Aman," Glorfindel said softly. "Do you remember that day on the beach?"

"I do," Erestor answered. "I have thought of it often."

"I think that is when I first fell in love with you," Glorfindel said quietly. "Though I did not know what love was at the time. All I knew was that I wanted to spend everyday with you, that seeing you made me smile, that being with you felt good."

Erestor caressed his warrior's bare chest. "I think I was in love with you as well, though like you, I did not understand it. I was always so jealous of others that would divert your attention from me."

Glorfindel pressed his lips to the top of Erestor's head. "I never knew you were jealous."

"I worked hard to hide it."

"That night, after we spent the day on the beach, I lay in my small bed at home, restless, unable to sleep." He closed his eyes. "I remember it well... I was thinking of you, thinking of what we had done that day, thinking of how comforting your presence always was to me. I remembered the feel of your hair in my fingers, I remembered the feel of your hand in mine, and a strange sensation came over me, one I could not identify at the time. As if on instinct, I began to touch myself, my arms, my chest, my stomach, all the while I imagined it was you that touched me. It was the first time I felt pleasure like that, the first time I found pleasure with my own hands, and it was thoughts of you that drove me to do it. I often thought of you in the years that ensued, and I often repeated that fantasy, even when we lived together in Gondolin."

Erestor sat up and looked into Glorfindel's eyes. His fingers traced the warrior's lips and jaw, traveling over cheekbones and ears. "I did the same, for many years," he said softly. "It is strange that it took us so long to find one another, so long to find the courage to tell each other how we really felt."

"I was afraid," Glorfindel replied. "At first, I was afraid you did not feel the same way; then, after the wager, I was afraid I was not worthy of your love. Guilt does terrible things to us."

"Aye, it does," Erestor answered. "I am so thankful that you and I found our way through all the doubt, fear and guilt. I am so glad that we finally stepped aside and let our hearts guide us." He slid on top of Glorfindel, propping himself up on his elbows and caressing his mate's face with the backs of his hands. "You are so beautiful, Glorfindel. Such eyes..." He pressed a kiss to the warrior's eyelids. "Such fine cheekbones..." More kisses to Glorfindel's cheeks. "Such lips..." Erestor pressed a deep kiss to his mate's lips, moaning softly as Glorfindel opened his mouth and teased his tongue inside.

Glorfindel slid his hands into Erestor's heavy, dark hair, his fingers threading through the silken strands as he cradled Erestor's head. Erestor's warm tongue slid over his own, caressing the roof of his mouth before sliding slickly against his tongue again. He tasted like honey and oranges, sweet and a little spicy. The gentle rocking motion with which Erestor moved kindled his desire. It started as it always did, with a sharp pull deep inside before blossoming into heat that spread from his core to his limbs. Erestor released his mouth, his mate's warm tongue teasing his lips as he opened his eyes.

Grey eyes stared back at him, as deep and unfathomable as the sea itself, as dark as a storm filled sky. His thumbs caressed ivory skin, flawless and smooth, adorned with a slight blush of pink that betrayed his mate's desire. Dangerous, that was what Erestor was. Many thought him cold and unapproachable, but Glorfindel knew different. Beneath Erestor's composed exterior burned a fire so hot that it threatened to consume all in its path.

"I want to make love to you," Glorfindel whispered huskily.

"Here?" Erestor asked coyly.

"Why not?"

"What if someone comes?"

A roguish grin curved Glorfindel's mouth. "Then they will see what it means to really be in love." He rolled over Erestor, caressing the curve of his mate's ear with his lips. "Come, my love, just a taste, just a small taste of you before the long walk home..."

A long, deep sigh escaped Erestor as Glorfindel's mouth drove him to distraction. He could feel his length swelling between their bodies, feel sharp sparks of delicious pleasure as his mate's hardened nipples grazed his own. Deep, pulsating heat began to bloom inside him, traveling outward and causing a fine sheen of perspiration to form on his skin.

"And what of your own pleasure?" Erestor whispered hoarsely.

"May I have anything I wish?" Glorfindel purred.

"Of course..."

"Your hands. I love the way your long fingers feel wrapped around me..."

A whimpering moan slipped from Erestor's lips. It had gone too far already for him to refuse. Glorfindel's hot, silken length slid in the crease where his leg met his hip, the soft, downy hair that grew around the base of his mate's arousal brushing against his own.

"Sweet Elbereth," Erestor moaned. "You feel so good, so very good..."

Glorfindel's lips left his sensitive ear and traveled to his throat, teeth nipping gently as he continued down. Erestor arched beneath him, a soft cry escaping him as Glorfindel's mouth latched on to a hardened nipple, working it into a painfully erect nub. Teeth gently upbraided his flesh; a hot, wet tongue coaxed deep moans of blissful surrender from him as he fisted Glorfindel's hair. Once, he opened his eyes, his head leaned back in exquisite torment. His dark eyes focused briefly on the line of trees that surrounded the lake, on the small, white butterflies and black squirrels that patrolled the underbrush. The gentle whisper of wind in the tree boughs and the lilting song of birds caressed his ears, mingling with the deep, soft moans that emanated from both him and his beloved. Then in a flash of white-hot heat, his eyes snapped shut and he cried out, heedless that anyone might hear as Glorfindel engulfed him.

A string of nonsensical speech spilled from his lips as he began to thrust into his mate's mouth, gently at first, allowing Glorfindel to find his rhythm. He bent his knees, splaying his legs far apart, his fingers knotted in his mate's golden mane as Glorfindel worked his desire into a fevered pitch. At that moment, he could have cared less who might have seen them. In that moment, they were the only two living beings in all of Arda.

He came with a cry, his essence erupting from him as he bowed against Glorfindel. His beloved swallowed every last drop, then lovingly cleaned him with his tongue before working his way up his body with his mouth. Erestor wrapped his long, trembling legs around Glorfindel's hips as his beloved pressed a deep kiss to his lips.

"I love you," he whispered, as Glorfindel released his mouth.

"I love you, my raven," Glorfindel replied with a husky whisper.

Glorfindel's voice was heavy with need, and Erestor guided his beloved to lie on his side. He paid tribute to Glorfindel with his hands and his mouth, his lips and fingers coaxing deep moans of passion from his mate. Sliding one hand around the back of Glorfindel's neck, Erestor took his mouth in a searing kiss while his free hand caressed his lover's turgid length.

Having one so powerful, so physically dangerous surrender to him was the most enticing experience of Erestor's life. Glorfindel yielded because he chose to, and that was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all. This body that had slaughtered and made war, that could move stones and bring wild animals to heel was his to command.

Long strokes of Erestor's hand, his thumb spreading the essence that already leaked from him, made Glorfindel weak. No one had ever touched him like this; no one had ever made him so helpless or enthralled. His own fingers gripped Erestor's narrow hips, occasionally sliding around to knead the firm globes of his mate's backside. Erestor released his mouth only briefly, and then tormented his ear before returning to his lips. He was thrusting into Erestor's hand with increasing hunger, their legs entwined. A whimpering moan escaped him as he felt his release building, and he cried out into his beloved's kiss as he spilled between their bodies.

Trembling, he rolled to his back as Erestor covered his body with kisses, his mate's warm tongue lapping at the seed that covered his stomach. Erestor was the master of his body and his heart, and nothing could make him happier; never had he felt more complete.

They lay together in the warm sunshine for long moments, each savoring the peace of the lake and surrounding forest. As Anor began to travel to the west, Erestor rose, grasping both of Glorfindel's hands in his own and pulling him to his feet. He guided Glorfindel back into the cool water, where they bathed before embarking on the long walk home.

* * * *

Elladan and Elrohir stood outside their father's living quarters. Elrohir grasped Elladan's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and Elladan smiled at his twin in return. They each took a deep breath, and then Elladan knocked on his father's door.

"Come!" Elrond called from within.

Elrohir swallowed as Elladan opened the door and they stepped inside. Their father stood with his back to them, arms crossed, hands gripping each elbow.

"Father?" Elladan called softly.

Elrond turned around, a smile upon his lips but his eyes were clouded with concern. "You are leaving," he said softly.

Elladan nodded. "We have word of increased orch activity in the northlands; Halbarad and Estel need our help."

Elrond nodded then held out his arms to his sons. They approached and he enfolded them both, pressing a kiss to each of their heads. "I want you to know something, my sons. Never could a father be more proud of his children than I am of you. There is nothing that could ever change that, nothing. Do what you must; Arwen and I will be here waiting for your return."

They each leaned into their father's embrace, their arms wrapping around him.

"We love you, Father," Elrohir whispered.

"Aye, very much," Elladan added. "We want to make you proud; we want to bring honor to this house."

"And that you have done, many times over, my sons," Elrond answered. He released them and placed a hand upon each of their cheeks. "Be careful and take care of each other."

"We will," Elladan answered, a sad smile upon his face.

"We promise," Elrohir added.

"Watch over Estel as well," Elrond answered. "Much depends upon him."

The twins nodded and stepped back, covering their hearts with their hands and bowing their heads.

"May the grace of the Valar go with you," Elrond said, as his sons departed his chamber. He then turned and looked out the window again as the door closed behind them.

To be continued...

Chapter 5:
Summary: A messenger arrives in Mirkwood from Imladris, Rúmil takes on a trainee and has a run-in with some orcs, Lindir sees Gildor off on a mission.

Thranduil walked down the corridor toward the throne room slowly, his weight resting heavily on his staff. He was recovering from his wounds but the poisoned arrows had slowed the healing process. Legolas was escorting a rider from Imladris to the throne room, as Thranduil was unwilling to be seen by visitors in his bedchamber. The king mounted the dais with some difficulty and sat heavily on the large oaken throne that had seen its fourth king since its creation. He smoothed his robes and took a deep breath before nodding to his secretary, who then gave the signal to the palace guard to admit the visitor.

The oaken doors creaked as they swung heavily open, and the tall, slender rider from Imladris walked the length of the carpet to the dais, his eyes fixed on the heels of his escort's boots. This was the young elf's first mission outside of the borders of Imladris, and he had been urged to ride quickly to this strange land. Fantastical stories of the Elves of Mirkwood had circled the various elven realms for as long as he could remember. Tales of magical caves and a mysterious king had enthralled him since he was young, and now he walked inside those caves, approaching the throne of the most mysterious and most whispered about elf in Middle-earth.

He looked up, his eyes slowly rising from the floor to find smooth leather boots protruding from a fall of heavy, embroidered velvet. The ornate throne, which once held the greatest Sindar who had ever lived, elaborately supported a tall, regal elf with a flowing flaxen mane that shimmered in the torchlight. Eyes, bluer and brighter than he could have imagined, gazed back at him with a detached curiosity, strong, ringed fingers curled over the worn edges of the curved arms of the massive throne. The messenger swallowed and attempted to draw himself up to his full height, though he truly felt like shrinking before this imposing and powerful king. The king spoke.

"State your purpose."

He cleared his throat and answered as bidden, "I have been sent by Lord Elrond to summon your majesty to a council."

"What is the purpose of this council?"

"I know not, in full. My lord bid me fetch you and bring you hence; he said it was a matter of grave importance." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had chosen poorly; out of the corner of his eye, the young messenger saw the prince grimace momentarily before covering it with the calm mask of composure he had displayed since his arrival.

"My realm is a matter of grave importance," the king answered. "I do not serve at Master Elrond's leisure. I do not come when summoned. His word holds no sway here."

As the messenger stepped forward, he saw the guards' grips tighten upon their lances. He knelt, bowing his head and extending a folded piece of parchment. "My lord bade me give you this."

Thranduil nodded to Legolas, who stepped forward and took the proffered document from the messenger's hand then gave it to the king. The messenger waited, his eyes averted as he heard the seal broken and the parchment unfolded. A few moments passed, then he heard the parchment being folded again. The king's tone softened, but did not display any sense of warmth.

"You have risked much to carry this here and you must be weary from the long journey. Accommodations will be provided and your mount cared for. You will have my answer to your lord tomorrow."

"Thank you, your majesty," the messenger answered.

"These soldiers will show you to the guest quarters. You may dine with my company this evening."

"I am in your debt, my lord."

The king nodded and the messenger rose to his feet, then followed the guards from the throne room.

Legolas knelt beside his father. "What does it say?"

"Elrond is concerned indeed if he summons me to Imladris. He has also sent for representatives from Lindon and from the Dwarven realms. It appears there is a man from Gondor already there who is in part responsible for this council."

"What could it mean?"

Thranduil looked from the parchment to his son. "I fear the worst."

"War?"

Thranduil nodded.

"You cannot travel, father. You are far too weak to sit a horse for so many days."

Thranduil leaned his head back against the throne. A heavy sigh escaped him and he looked back down at Legolas. "I will think on it and answer him tomorrow."

Legolas looked at the floor. "Mithrandir must be informed of the creature's escape. It may have some bearing on the events that are unfolding. Since it is my fault the creature escaped, I should be the one to bear this news to Mithrandir. I will go in your stead, Father; I will attend the council with your permission."

Thranduil placed his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "Please stop punishing yourself for showing kindness to that wretched thing, Greenleaf. You could not have known what was to happen." Legolas nodded but said nothing. "I will think on your request." He held up his hand to silence Legolas' protest. "Come, help your father back to his bed; my leg aches, as does my shoulder."

Legolas gained his feet and took Thranduil's arm, walking slowly back toward his bedchamber with him.

* * * *

Galen had trained with Rúmil for months, shadowing his mentor on patrol. Rúmil was a quiet elf, but had provided him with excellent instruction and he always felt safe in the lieutenant's presence. Rúmil seemed old for his young age, weary, as though he carried some burden. He had heard rumor that Rúmil had lost a lover; he thought perhaps that was the cause for the guardian's melancholy. He reminded himself again and again that theirs was a relationship of teacher and student; that his purpose was to learn to be the best guardian he could be, not to be his lieutenant's best friend and confidant. Yet, he could not help but wonder.

As they made their way silently toward the edge of the wood, his eyes and ears remained alert, even as his thoughts wandered. Ahead of them, through the trees, the Misty Mountains and Dimrill Dale loomed in the distance. Rúmil signaled to him to climb into the trees and he followed his teacher, silently leaping to catch the lowest branch then effortlessly scrambling up after him.

What would have sounded like a birdcall to anyone but a Galadhrim signaled the arrival of the rest of their patrol, and they found a comfortable spot with which to survey the landscape. He knew they were looking for orcs, but orcs were rarely so bold as to travel so close to the realm of Lothlórien. Yet, here they were, the waning light of Anor warming their faces as they watched from the trees.

Long hours passed with no sounds but those of the forest. He was on first watch, as were two others stationed in the surrounding trees. A gentle breeze set the leaves to dancing and the song of birds called him to sleep. He blinked rapidly and sat up straight, determined not to be lulled into a peaceful nap. Looking over at his mentor, he could see that Rúmil's eyes were heavy-lidded and clouded with reverie; were it not for his eyes, one would think he was awake. Rúmil sat up straight, his bow lay over his crossed legs, an arrow strung and waiting to be aimed and loosed. Galen wondered what it must be like to be the youngest of a famous family of warriors, to have Haldir, the Captain of the Galadhrim, as an elder brother.

Galen knew all the stories, he had heard them all his life. Rúmil's father had served Lord Celeborn when the lord and lady first came to Lórien, and prior to that, he had served King Amroth. Rúmil's family had a long history of service to the nobles that ruled this land. Rúmil was much beloved of the lady, everyone knew this. Yet, he had turned down a relatively safe assignment as her personal guard for duty on the fences; he wanted to serve as his family before him had served. He was lucky to have Rúmil as a tutor; Rúmil was one of the finest archers in Lórien, some said he was even better than Haldir. All Galen wanted to do was to make his tutor proud.

Galen sensed something, something in the wind, something evil. The birds fell silent, and he slowly rose to his feet to get a better view. He almost missed it: small shapes moving in the gathering dusk. It seemed as though the hills themselves were coming alive and moving. Before he could reach to wake Rúmil, his tutor's eyes cleared and he was on his feet with his bow drawn. "They are coming," he said.

Galen felt his heart skip and his palms begin to sweat. This was it. This was the moment that every young soldier waited for; after long months of training, he was finally going to see battle.

"Do not shoot until you are sure you can hit what you are aiming for; we cannot waste arrows," Rúmil said.

"There are so many..." Galen's answer was a breathless whisper.

"Too many," Rúmil answered.

Galen turned and looked at his mentor. "What shall we do?"

"Kill as many as we can until help arrives."

Out of the corner of his eye, Galen saw an elf slide down the trunk of a large tree. He turned his head and watched as the elf began to run back toward Caras Galadhon. His eyes narrowed.

"He does not run from battle," Rúmil scolded. "He is returning for reinforcements. You will be thanking him before dawn."

Galen's expression softened. "Forgive me," he answered softly.

Rúmil's lips quirked into a momentary grin. "Focus that anger on the yrch and you might live through the night."

"Yes sir," Galen answered, and turned his sharp gaze back upon the approaching orcs.

* * * *

"You will be careful," Lindir said softly as he worked the clasp on Gildor's cloak.

"Of course I will."

"No unnecessary violence, avoid any yrch, keep clear of any Úlairi..."

Gildor grinned. "Yes, my love."

"I know I am being a worrisome ninny, but I have grown accustomed to you being safe here with me and..."

Gildor placed his fingers on Lindir's lips and silenced him. "Do not apologize for loving me, Lindir. Never apologize for that."

Lindir smiled and nodded, pursing his lips and pressing a kiss to the pads of Gildor's fingers. He wrapped his long arms around Gildor's shoulders and held him tight, burying his face in his mate's long dark hair.

Glorfindel cleared his throat and the two separated, but not before Gildor pressed a lingering kiss to Lindir's lips. "Do not fear, my love. I will return to you safe and whole," he whispered.

"The caravan is ready, my friend," Glorfindel said quietly.

Gildor nodded. "I am coming." He caressed Lindir's face. "One full cycle of Ithil, then I will be home." Lindir nodded. "Keep our bed warm." Lindir smiled sadly and nodded again. "I love you, Lindir. Never forget that..."

"I love you, Gildor, always." Lindir took Gildor's face in his hands and kissed him again before releasing him and watching him walk away.

Gildor led the first caravan of elves to depart Imladris for the Grey Havens. The exodus had begun.

To be continued...

Chapter 6:
Summary: Rúmil leads his company into battle, Legolas leaves for Imladris and Galen takes on a new role.

Ithil had risen full in the sky by the time the orcs had neared the border of Lórien. Rúmil's company numbered fifty and the orcs had them outnumbered three to one. From their positions in the trees, the elves had the advantage, and Rúmil intended to keep it. Extra quivers were stashed among the trees, and Rúmil calculated that if they did not miss their targets often, they might have enough to finish them off. What worried him, and what had prompted him to signal for reinforcements, was that those orcs coming down the Dimrill Stair were but the first wave of a much larger group. No one knew how many orcs there were deep inside the Misty Mountains, and the Elves of Lothlórien had long feared that the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm had perished.

The first volley sent fifty white fletched arrows sailing silently into the air, making a broad arc before dropping from the sky and taking out the front line of advancing orcs. The orcs had no warning, no sign that their approach was observed, and they were caught off guard and left scrambling to recover. The second volley caught those who had recovered and were now advancing quickly. The initial plan of taking out the front line was working to the extent that it slowed down those who followed as they dodged and clambered over the bodies that had fallen.

Galen was taking time to insure that each of his arrows found their mark, so he was not firing as rapidly as he knew he could. However, his tactics were working, as he felled each orc he aimed at. In a short time, the orcs had covered the distance between the foothills and the forest border. Rúmil gave the signal to drop from the trees; it was time to begin close combat. Their tactics had succeeded in that by the time the orcs reached the forest border, their numbers where reduced by half. Galen drew his long sword and took up a battle position. His palms were sweating and limbs were trembling as the orcs bore down upon them. One third of their regiment remained in the trees and kept firing arrows as the fighting commenced. His ears were filled with the sound of clashing steel, the guttural grunts of wounded orcs and the cries of wounded elves. His arms were tiring as he slashed and dodged the heavy iron scimitars of the orcs. He had lost sight of Rúmil and was now focused on staying alive. It was a great relief when he heard the war cry of the arriving reinforcements.

As the morning mist rose, he leaned heavily on his sword, surveying the carnage before him. It had been his first battle, and he had survived it. His eyes scanned the field for any sign of his tutor. Slowly, he began walking through the area, stepping over the bodies of felled orcs. His breath caught when he saw an elf slumped against a tree, and he ran forward, falling to his knees in the dirt beside him. It was Rúmil.

His face and hair were marred with blood, his lip split open and bleeding, his left arm hanging limply in his lap. A soft moan came from him as Galen tried to push his hair back from his face. Galen reached for Rúmil's arm and his mentor whispered hoarsely, "Do not touch it, it is broken."

Rúmil's breath came in shallow gasps and Galen opened and peeled back his tunic as carefully as he could. "Your ribs are broken," he said softly.

Rúmil nodded. "Help me to my feet," he answered in a hoarse whisper.

Galen slid an arm underneath Rúmil's uninjured one and lifted him as carefully as he could. Rúmil ground his teeth against the pain and moaned.

The reinforcements had brought with them some litters to bear back the wounded, and Galen began slowly guiding Rúmil toward one. "You cannot walk the distance, not like this," he said softly.

Rúmil nodded. "Water. Can you get me some water?"

Galen laid his tutor down carefully and then retrieved his water bag from his station in the trees. Lifting Rúmil's head, he gave his mentor a small sip and used a portion more to wet a cloth and clean his face. After wiping away the blood, he could see a bruise blooming upon Rúmil's cheek and jaw.

"You must make a splint and stabilize my arm until the healer can set the bone," Rúmil said softly. Galen nodded and went about the task of gathering sticks and strips of cloth to secure them with. After making the splint, he found another elf to help him bear the litter back to Caras Galadhon. Rúmil left another one of the senior lieutenants in charge and the smell of burning orc carcasses began to fill the air as the train of wounded was taken back to the tree-city.

* * * *

Thranduil stifled a groan as Legolas helped him out of his heavy, formal robes and boots. He slid back against the pillows propped up against the head of his bed and sighed wearily. While his wounds were healed on the outside, the poison had slowed the internal healing. It would be another week or so before he felt normal once again. He smiled wearily as Legolas sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him in concern.

"Forgive me, Father," Legolas began. "But how do you expect to ride a horse for a fortnight in order to reach Imladris? You are still weary and weak from your injuries." Thranduil closed his eyes, rested his head against the head of the bed, and said nothing. Legolas continued, "Lord Elrond will not wait for you to heal and Mithrandir must be told of the creature's escape. Let me go in your stead; I have been to Imladris before, it is a journey I am well acquainted with."

"I do not want you to go," Thranduil answered softly. "I will send someone from the council instead."

"What? Why?" Legolas protested. "I am your son: I am prince of this realm, who is better suited to attend than I?"

"Greenleaf, please. Do not argue with me about this now."

"The messenger is returning tomorrow; someone must go with him. This must be decided now."

"Eager to be away from your father, are you?"

"Father, you know that is not true." Legolas placed his hand upon his father's knee. "Why do you resist letting me do this?"

"I fear that if you leave, you will not come back," he answered softly.

"What? What would make you say such a thing? You know this is the place I love and belong."

Thranduil sighed. "I know you are right. I am just being foolish." He opened his eyes and looked at Legolas. "I will permit you to go on one condition."

"What condition?"

"That you promise to go to the council then return home as soon as it is done, regardless of what transpires at the meeting."

"I promise."

Thranduil reached out and took Legolas' hand. "I am proud of you, my son. Never forget that."

Legolas smiled and squeezed his father's hand. "I know, Father."

"Now, go; let your old and weary father take some rest."

Legolas smiled and rose from the bed, leaning over and placing a kiss on his father's forehead. "I will come fetch you for the evening meal." He crossed the room and opened the door, pausing and looking back at his father. "I love you, Father."

Thranduil smiled. "I love you as well, Greenleaf."

* * * *

Morning came and Legolas found his father in the corridor outside his room. "Do you have any last minute instructions for me?"

Thranduil approached and began walking slowly with Legolas toward the entrance to the caves. "Only that you ride fast, take care not to be seen or followed, and come home as soon as possible."

Legolas nodded. "I do not relish telling Mithrandir of my failure," he said softly.

Thranduil placed his hand upon Legolas' back as they walked. "I doubt he will be as hard on you as you are on yourself. Perhaps this is how things are meant to be, only Manwë knows the grand design."

As they reached the courtyard, Legolas turned and looked at Thranduil. He gazed up into his king's eyes, eyes that were so kind and full of love and reassurance. "I will not fail you," he said softly.

"You never have," Thranduil answered.

"Take no unnecessary chances while I am gone. Let your soldiers do their duty..." Legolas said. Thranduil's smile told him that he would consider that advice, but that he was unlikely to change his ways after so many years. Legolas rose to the balls of his feet and embraced his father. "I love you," he whispered in his ear.

"I love you, Legolas," Thranduil answered. "Be careful, my son."

"I will." Legolas released his father then bowed before him, taking his hand and pressing his lips to the ring on Thranduil's finger. He lingered for a moment, feeling his heart constrict in his chest and he blinked back tears that threatened to fall. In a moment of impulse, he brushed his lips across the knuckles of his father's hand, then he released it and turned without meeting his gaze and ran toward his horse.

Thranduil's heart skipped at the soft brush of Legolas' lips upon the back of his hand. It was something he had never done before. He maintained a mask of composure, as the eyes of his people were on both him and his son. He then raised his hand in farewell as Legolas and his traveling companions galloped out of the gate. He did not know it then, but it was the last he was to see of his son for many, many years.

Turning and walking back into the caves, he made his way slowly toward his bedchamber. Once inside, he sat heavily upon the bed and looked at his trembling hand. The secret that had slumbered between them was waking; Legolas was aware of what lived inside him. He held his hand against his chest for a moment, then gave into weakness and brought it to his own mouth, brushing his lips against the place where Legolas' lips had touched. "Forgive me," he whispered to the Valar. "But I love him so. Keep him safe; please keep him safe..."

* * * *

Haldir and Orophin charged up the stairs to Rúmil's talan. Galen jumped as he was roused from his nap and they hastily entered the room. He placed his fingers to his lips and admonished the worried brothers, pointing to the bed and indicating that Rúmil was asleep.

"What happened?" Haldir whispered.

"He was injured at the western border when we were attacked by yrch coming from the mountains. He has two broken ribs, a broken arm and some other less severe injuries. The healer said he will recover, but cannot return to duty for at least one full cycle of the moon."

"Are you all right?" Orophin whispered.

"Aye," Galen answered. "I was lucky."

"How many did we lose?" Haldir asked.

"I cannot be sure. I left with Rúmil as the wounded were being gathered."

Haldir turned to Orophin. "Find the healer and take a count of the wounded. I will need names of their families. Tell them I am on my way to check on them myself." Orophin nodded and rushed off. He turned to Galen. "You have been watching over him?"

"Yes. I wanted him to stay abed and thought I could help if he needed anything."

"Are you able to stay awhile longer?"

"Yes, Captain. Go attend to the others, I will be here should he need anything."

"My thanks to you, Galen."

Galen smiled and bowed his head as Haldir left. Settling back into the rocker beside Rúmil's bed, he sighed. He turned his protecting and watchful gaze back upon his mentor as he listened to the birds singing outside.

To be continued...

Chapter 7:
Summary: Rúmil heals and he and Galen each make a discovery.

Haldir and Orophin had returned with nightfall, and Galen went home to bathe and rest before returning in the morning. Upon relieving the captain and his brother, he set about straightening Rúmil's talan. He washed clothes, dusted, swept, hung the rugs out to air, washed the few dishes Rúmil had in his kitchen and prepared a pot of soup for his mentor. These were all duties he was accustomed to, as his parents had been lost when their boat capsized and they were swept over the Falls of Rauros when he had just reached his majority. For the past five years, he had assumed the role of parent to his younger siblings, so things like cleaning, cooking and sewing were as much a part of his repertoire as firing a bow or wielding a sword. His younger siblings were now old enough to carry their own weight, so he had undertaken a place among the warriors of the Galadhrim.

While Caras Galadhon was home to nearly as many birds as elves, it was rare that the small, skittish creatures ventured into the talans of their elven neighbors. The sound of many small, fluttering wings amid the angry chirps of finch and robins alerted him that something was amiss. Entering Rúmil's bedchamber, he found a large falcon perched upon the twined willow branches that formed the headboard of his captain's bed. Around her neck was a leather strap that was tied around a coiled piece of parchment.

He approached the bird slowly, trying to be unthreatening, to see if he could retrieve what appeared to be a note. But as he extended, his hand, she took flight and came to rest in the upper branches of the mallorn. She watched him carefully, and shook her head as if to say, "this is not for you". Galen shrugged and went back to his work, confident that the falcon would not harm his slumbering master.

Some time later, Galen heard the sound of Rúmil stirring, and he entered the bedchamber, wiping his hands upon an apron he found in the kitchen. The bird was perched upon the headboard once again, looking down at the waking Rúmil.

A slow groan escaped Rúmil's lips as he tried to move his arm. Galen approached his bedside and sat gingerly upon the edge.

"Ssshh... do not try to move your arm," he said softly. "It is broken and the healer said you must remain still."

"Help me sit up, please," Rúmil answered groggily.

Galen did as asked, propping pillows up behind Rúmil's back. "Are you in much pain?"

Rúmil shook his head. "Not more than I can bear. How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days," Galen answered. "The tonic the healer gave you was most potent."

"I should say so," Rúmil agreed as he rubbed his face.

"You have a visitor," Galen nodded toward the falcon who watched them with curiosity.

"Come, Arphen." He extended his good arm and the bird hopped down.

"Where did she come from?" Galen asked quietly.

"She has traveled far. She was sent by her master to deliver me a message and she will wait until I give her one to return with." Rúmil removed the note from around Arphen's neck and the bird returned to her perch. Rúmil looked at Galen, who bowed his head and rose from the edge of his bed. "She comes from Mirkwood," he continued softly. "She bears a message from his majesty, Thranduil."

Galen nodded. "I did not mean to pry..."

Rúmil reached out and caught Galen by the wrist. "How long have you been here, Galen?"

"I have been staying with you during the days, your brothers return at night to relieve me, though they need not do so. I would answer them thus, except that I believe the reason they come back is that they wish to be near you. I cannot blame them, they love you very much."

"Thank you for looking after me, Galen," Rúmil answered softly.

Galen smiled shyly and bowed his head again. "Are you hungry, sir? I made some soup."

"Soup sounds wonderful, thank you. And Galen?"

"Yes sir?"

"Please stop calling me sir, at least when we are alone."

Galen smiled and nodded. "Aye. I will prepare a bowl of soup and some tea for you while you read your letter."

Rúmil smiled and unrolled the parchment as Galen exited his bedchamber. He read in silence of news of the attack, of the council meeting and Legolas' departure. While they were just words on a piece of parchment, they were still so much more. Each letter was a conversation, and in each one, more of his lover's heart was revealed. Rúmil could feel the concern Thranduil had for his son, how he worried for his future as he worried for the fate of all those who wished to live free. However, beneath the words so elegantly inscribed on the parchment, there was a hidden truth. Thranduil's heart would never belong to him; he knew that. True, the king cared a great deal about him, but he was not in love with him, nor would he ever be.

Rúmil closed his eyes and leaned his head back upon the headboard. 'It is time,' he thought. 'Time to let go, Rúmil. It is time to release him of the obligation he feels, time to release him to follow his heart.' He brought the parchment to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. "That we had met in another life," he whispered.

He placed the parchment down on his bedside table as Galen entered carrying a tray with soup, a hearty slice of fresh bread, a mug of tea and a glass of cool water. "The healer said you must drink this tea with every meal," Galen said quietly. "At least for the first few weeks."

"Galen?"

"Yes si... I mean, yes?"

"Would you fetch a piece of parchment and my quill from the desk in the other room?"

"Of course." Galen set the tray down upon the bed and went to retrieve the items Rúmil had asked for. Upon returning, he found Rúmil enjoying the soup he had brought.

"This is delicious!" Rúmil exclaimed between spoonfuls.

"Thank you." Galen blushed. "I made it from the root vegetables that are growing in the garden outside the back gate and I added some stock that was left over from the fowl I roasted for your brothers." He placed the parchment, quill and inkpot on the table beside Rúmil's bed. "Do not forget the tea..."

"Mmm... I will not," Rúmil mumbled between spoonfuls.

"Are you feeling well enough to take a bath?"

"Yes, a bath sounds wonderful," Rúmil answered.

"I will draw one then. Haldir brought up a tub from the officers' quarters."

"Thank you so much, Galen. You are taking wonderful care of me."

Galen blushed again then exited the room to begin filling the tub.

After finishing his meal, Rúmil wrote a reply to Thranduil and rolled the parchment once he was sure the ink was dry. He called Arphen and secured the note around her neck then stroked her back. "I do not know if I will see you again, my friend. May the Valar grant you speed, and look after your master."

The falcon chirped in reply then took flight, exiting his talan and returning to her master.

Galen returned to find Rúmil looking sad. "What is it? Did you receive bad news?"

Rúmil smiled tiredly. "No, but I am afraid I may have delivered it." He shook his head. "'Tis no matter. Come, help me into the bath."

Galen nodded and slowly helped Rúmil rise from the bed. After making their way toward the kitchen, Galen helped Rúmil out of his sleeping robe, removed the bandages around his ribs and averting his eyes, he helped his mentor into the tub. He then propped Rúmil's splinted arm up with a pillow so that it would not get wet. A long, slow sigh escaped Rúmil as he sank into the warm water.

Galen reluctantly left Rúmil just long enough to place fresh linens on his bed, then returned to find his lieutenant in a state of near bliss. Galen gathered up Rúmil's hair and draped it over the edge of the tub. He then placed a bucket beneath it and sat another one next to it. Using a ladle, he wet Rúmil's hair, and then he worked soap made with rosemary into it. He massaged his mentor's scalp and gazed upon Rúmil's face.

Rúmil's eyes were closed, his lips curved into a satisfied smile. Galen admired his fine cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the gentle arch of his eyebrows and the elegant curves of his ears. It was no longer possible for him to deny to himself that he found Rúmil to be most beautiful, and that only added to the sense of attraction he already felt. He had long admired Rúmil. He admired his sense of duty, his skill as a warrior, and the way he commanded and looked after those who served beneath him. He admired Rúmil as a soldier and leader long before he admired him physically.

He rinsed the soap from Rúmil's hair and wrapped it in a cloth, squeezing the excess water from it. He then began slowly working a wooden comb through his silky silver locks, the slow rhythm of each stroke allowing his mind and eyes to wander. His gaze traveled over taut, ivory skin, over lean but hard muscle, over dusky nipples and a rippling abdomen. He then gazed at long, strong legs, elegant hands and strong yet slender arms. As a soft moan escaped Rúmil's lips, he felt an ache deep inside him. 'So this is what it is like,' he wondered to himself. 'This is what it is like to love another...'

He saw gooseflesh beginning to rise upon his captain's arms. "Is the water getting too cool?" he asked softly.

"A bit," Rúmil answered.

Galen rose and retrieved a thick cloth that was hanging over the back of a chair that sat next to the stove. He helped Rúmil rise then wrapped him in the warm cloth, using another to dry his legs, feet and arms. He then helped Rúmil into a clean sleeping robe then escorted him back to the bed.

Rúmil sighed as he sank into the soft bed and smiled sleepily at Galen. "Where did you learn to care for another so well?" he asked softly.

"I have been caring for my siblings for many years," Galen answered.

"I will have to find a way to repay you for this, though I do not know how I will," Rúmil replied sleepily.

"You need not repay me," Galen answered. "It has been my pleasure."

Galen returned to the kitchen where he drained the tub and busied himself cleaning.

* * * *

Upon entering Rúmil's talan, Haldir found an exhausted Galen sleeping in the rocker beside Rúmil's bed. His brother, who appeared to be quite comfortable and clean was lying on his side, his injured arm propped upon his side and his gazed fixed upon his watcher. Rúmil placed his fingers upon his lips. "Ssshhh..." he whispered, then pointed at Galen.

Haldir sat beside Rúmil and whispered. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Rúmil answered quietly.

"He has watched over you faithfully," Haldir replied. "I think his attentions go beyond mere duty."

"Do you think so?" Rúmil queried.

Haldir smiled. "Most definitely. Look at him, he is exhausted."

"He does not look comfortable."

"No, he does not. Are you hungry?"

"Mmm... not really. I had two bowls of that delicious soup he made earlier. Did you have any?"

"No. But Orophin and I picked the pheasant he roasted clean last night. He is quite a cook, would you not agree?"

Rúmil nodded. "He should be asleep in a bed. He has earned a rest."

"Aye. Shall I wake him and escort him home? He lives on the other side of the city."

"Would you make a bed for him in the sitting room? I think the divan would be comfortable enough."

"Perhaps... of course it is a little small..."

"You are right." Rúmil glanced over his shoulder. "There is enough room for both of us here. He can sleep with me."

Haldir grinned. "If you insist."

"If I were not laying on my good arm, I would punch you for that."

"Lucky me." Haldir rose and lifted Galen without too much difficulty from the chair then placed him in the bed beside Rúmil. "He is so exhausted he did not wake when I moved him," Haldir remarked. "I shall sleep on the divan. If you need anything call me."

"Thank you, Haldir," Rúmil answered with a whisper.

"That is what brothers are for," Haldir responded with a smile. He then departed and left Galen and Rúmil to their rest.

To be continued...

Chapter 8:
Summary: Galen slips from Rúmil's grasp; Erestor fears for Glorfindel, Legolas arrives in Imladris.

As the sun began to rise and the sky began to grow light, Galen awoke from his deep slumber. A soft sigh escaped him and he stretched, then he instinctively curled closer to the warm form beside him. His eyes opened and cleared with a start, and he found himself lying in Rúmil's arms. Rúmil was still asleep, his head turned toward him. The initial confusion passed, and Galen decided to enjoy his current position rather than question how he came to be there.

Rúmil still smelled of the oils from his bath the afternoon before, the warm scents of rosemary and cedar filled Galen's nostrils. His strong, archer's body was warm and solid, and his heart thumped with a steady rhythm beneath his hand. Just above his fingertips, not more than a hair's breadth away, was a dusky nipple. Galen toyed with the idea of touching it, but then decided it was best not to push things so far.

He did not dare move lest he rouse his lieutenant and end the blissful state he found himself in. 'What did this mean?' he wondered. How had he come to be in Rúmil's bed? It was clear that Rúmil himself could not have moved him, and that left either Haldir or Orophin. Had they moved him with Rúmil's permission or without it? He supposed he would find out when Rúmil woke.

Suddenly, the thought that it was without Rúmil's permission and that Rúmil might not be as happy as he was about the situation caused Galen to carefully but quickly disentangle himself from his lieutenant. Careful not to rouse his sleeping patient, Galen left the bed and tiptoed out of the bedchamber.

He made a pot of tea and prepared poached eggs, muffins, and potatoes for their breakfast. As he waited for the muffins to come out of the oven, he saw the neatly folded blankets near the divan. He could tell that Haldir had slept there the night before, because Orophin was not quite as neat when folding the bedding. He sipped his tea and combed his hair, then checked on the progress of their meal. When the muffins were sufficiently baked, he gathered his composure before returning to wake his sleeping lieutenant. He would say nothing of where he slept and he resolved to bury his burgeoning attraction to Rúmil deep where it could not be discovered.

* * * *

"Why must it always be you?" Erestor sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

"It is not just me, my love," Glorfindel answered as he laced his tunic. "Lord Elrond is sending all those able to ride out to find Estel and the Hobbits."

"He is not sending me, he is not sending Lindir, he is not sending Arwen... there is a reason for that, Glorfindel."

"It is not I who fear them, Erestor, it is they who fear me."

Erestor slammed his hand upon the bed. "Dammit, Glorfindel! Whether or not they fear you is beside the point! They can kill you, fear or no, and you cannot kill them. This is not about your warrior's pride, you have a responsibility greater than just to yourself."

Glorfindel sat down beside Erestor and placed his arm around his mate, ignoring Erestor's attempts to shrug it off. "I know that, my love, and I do take it seriously. I do not do this out of pride, Erestor. If the Úlairi find the hobbit, if they take the Ring, there is not enough time for us to escape what will come. Thousands of men and elves alike will fall beneath the wheels of war that the Dark Lord will unleash..."

"I know," Erestor murmured.

"I have nothing else to prove, Erestor. I am no longer seeking atonement. I am doing what I know I have to do to ensure your safety as well as the safety of others."

"Then let me go with you..."

"Erestor..."

"Yes, yes, I know. It will be easier if you go alone."

Glorfindel took Erestor's face in his hands. "I love you, you must know that. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

"Then you know how I feel."

"I do. I also know the grief you would suffer should anything happen to me, for I would suffer the same should anything happen to you. Because of that, I will return, safe and whole, so that you do not have to suffer in pain."

Erestor embraced his mate and held him tight. "Promise me."

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you, my raven. You give me strength, Erestor. You make me believe that I can do anything."

"Well, do not get over confident..."

Glorfindel chuckled and pressed a kiss to Erestor's neck.

"Come, I will walk you to the gate," Erestor answered.

Glorfindel rose and took Erestor's hand and they departed their home together.

Erestor stood and watched Glorfindel ride out of the gates of the Last Homely House in search of a hobbit bearing a ring. He closed his eyes and whispered to the Valar, "Please, please, return him to me safe..."

He felt a hand upon his back and turned to see Lindir smiling sadly at him. Of all those whom he knew, Lindir understood best what he felt in that moment. He took his friend's hand and climbed the steps to the Last Homely House, determined to immerse himself in work so as not to worry about his mate.

* * * *

He heard Asfaloth's bells ringing and bolted from the library with Lindir in tow. The residents of the Last Homely House watched in surprise as Erestor pushed past them, his long black robes billowing out behind him as he ran. Lindir mumbled apologies to those they passed as he struggled to keep up. He reached the courtyard just behind Erestor to find Arwen lifting a small creature that resembled Bilbo from the stallion's back.

Erestor stood in dumbfounded shock. Glorfindel was nowhere to be found. He held Asfaloth's head in his hands and murmured. "Where is he? Why did he send you back without him?" Asfaloth merely nickered and tossed his head in reply.

"The hobbit," Lindir murmured in his ear. "He is seriously wounded; Lady Arwen is taking him to see Master Elrond."

"Go," Erestor said to Asfaloth. "Go and find him, and bring him back to me."

The stallion nickered again and turned, galloping back out of the gate and into the woods.

Erestor turned and looked at Lindir. "We can be of no help. Bilbo must not learn of this until we know the young one will recover."

"What has happened?" Lindir asked.

"Evil," Erestor answered. "From the looks of him, he has encountered the Úlairi..."

Lindir placed his hand over his mouth.

"Come, let us go back to work. We cannot let on that anything is amiss." He took Lindir by the hand and they walked back to the Last Homely House together.

* * * *

As night fell, Erestor sat in Glorfindel's rocker on their porch. His hands slid over the smooth, worn places where Glorfindel's hands often rested. It had been a day since the arrival of Frodo Baggins, and still no word of Glorfindel. He knew in his heart that Glorfindel lived, yet still fear nagged at him. What if he were wounded? Then a far more frightening thought occurred to him: what if the Úlairi had taken him back to Barad-dûr? He closed his eyes tight and shook his head, as if to shake off the frightening vision.

A snapping twig caused him to look up quickly, and he saw Asfaloth walking down the path toward their house. The stallion came alone. "No," Erestor whispered. He knew Asfaloth would never return without Glorfindel, not unless he had no other choice. He rose from the chair on unsteady legs. It was then that he saw his mate following the horse, his cloak drawn tight. He looked weary; beyond weary, really. Erestor then feared that Glorfindel was wounded.

Bolting from the porch he ran toward him in the moonlight, across the field and garden that made up their front yard. As he drew closer, he saw Glorfindel smile wearily at him and noticed one hand was behind his back.

"Glorfindel!" Erestor shouted breathlessly, then buried his face in his mate's golden mane as Glorfindel caught him in his arms.

"Mmmm..." Glorfindel murmured as he held Erestor close. "I have missed you, my love. You smell so good."

"Thank the Valar you are safe," Erestor whispered. "I was so frightened when Asfaloth came back without you. Then, just now, when he came down the path and you were not riding him..."

"I am sorry, my raven," Glorfindel answered softly. He released Erestor. "I stopped to pick these for you..." He handed Erestor a bouquet of fresh lavender and jasmine.

Erestor accepted the flowers with a smile, inhaling deeply of their perfumed fragrance, he then took Glorfindel's hand and guided him back to the house. "You look tired."

"I am. I found Estel and the hobbits near the Bruinen ford. The Úlairi were indeed following close and Frodo was already wounded. That is why I sent him ahead alone, he was not going to last much longer."

Erestor nodded. "He arrived just in time, Lord Elrond was able to heal him and call him back. Bilbo is much relieved to see his nephew will recover."

"He has it, Erestor," Glorfindel said quietly as they mounted the steps to the porch. "That is why he was wounded, and that is why the Úlairi were pursuing them. I can feel it even now, the heavy blackness that is imbued in that cursed Ring radiates out from it like a dark mist."

Erestor shuddered and squeezed Glorfindel's hand tight. "What are we to do now?"

"I do not know, only Lord Elrond can help us decide that." He took a deep breath. "It is amazing that one so small and so innocent can bear it with such strength."

"His strength is in his innocence," Erestor answered.

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye. You are wise as always, my love."

"One of us has to be," Erestor answered with a smirk.

Glorfindel laughed and shook his head. "I do love you so, Erestor."

Erestor smiled and nuzzled Glorfindel's ear, sighing as his mate held him close. "And I love you, my brave, beautiful Glorfindel," he answered. "Come," he murmured, his lips caressing his beloved's ear. "You need a bath."

"Yes, my love," Glorfindel answered huskily.

"And if you are really good, I might be persuaded to rub your back." Erestor smiled coyly as he tugged upon Glorfindel's hand.

"Oh, I will be good." Glorfindel winked.

* * * *

Legolas gazed down upon the valley as Elrond's guard waved him on. He held up his hand in reply, then nudged his mare into a slow canter toward the Last Homely House. He was weary, wearier than he recalled being in a long time. The ride had been uneventful, there had been no sightings of orcs despite the evidence that they had been in the wilds of Eregion. He looked forward to taking a long, hot bath and sleeping in a soft bed, but he did not look forward to delivering the news of the creature's escape to Lord Elrond and Mithrandir.

He missed his home. He missed his father. The way things had been left between them caused his heart to ache, but in the long nights of his journey, he had thought of nothing but that. Despite his searching, despite his pleas to the Valar for an answer to what seemed to be a dilemma without a solution, he had no answer. There was no remedy for what ailed both him and his father, his king. What had he done? What had they done to deserve such a punishment? Yet, love was not punishment. Would he trade the love he felt for the opportunity to love another? No. He would not. Though their love could not be realized, he would hold to it tightly; he would carry it with him always and it would bear him up during the darkest and most hopeless of times. 'I will never love another,' he thought to himself.

He took a deep breath and buried the pain deep. He held his head high as he rode through the valleys of Imladris. He was a prince, he was a warrior, and he was beloved of his king. Pride would gird his heart, pride would toughen him for battle, and pride would keep him on his feet when all others would fall around him. He was Legolas Thranduilion and he would make his father and his people proud.

To be continued...

Chapter 9:
Summary: Galen and Rúmil explore a new path. Legolas is reunited with the twins.

Rúmil sat on the ground, leaning back against the trunk of a tree as he watched Galen fishing in the river. His arm was in a sling and he only had a slight bit of tenderness in his ribs. In the week or so since his injuries, Galen had been a constant and diligent companion and caretaker. Rúmil had enjoyed his company as well as his attentions, and it was with some regret that he realized he would soon no longer need Galen's care.

He smiled and nodded his head in appreciation as Galen hauled a large fish from the river and turned to show it to him. He wondered what culinary miracle his companion would work concerning the catch. Watching as Galen said a quick blessing of thanks to both the fish for the giving of its life and to the Valar for his luck in catching it, Rúmil found he had grown quite fond of his one-time apprentice.

Galen was passing fair, tall and lithe, even for their kind. His silver hair had hints of gold owing to his mixed heritage of Sindar and Silvan. His eyes were large and kind, sparkling like the shimmering blue-gray pools of Galadriel's garden. His lips were full and soft, curving in a delightful way when he smiled. His skin, pale and smooth like fine alabaster, flushed the most beautiful shade of rose when he was complimented.

Rúmil knew it would be inappropriate for him to pursue Galen as long as Galen was under his command, and Haldir had already suggested as much. To Haldir's credit, his elder brother also suggested that perhaps Galen's talents would be better used as a member of Celeborn's guard, and in that vein, Orophin would make an excellent tutor. Rúmil had to smile when he thought of it: Haldir the matchmaker. What an unlikely role for his elder brother to play. Perhaps it was because Haldir found himself quite preoccupied with a lovely elf-maid under Galadriel's tutelage, or perhaps it was because his elder brother wished to see him happy. Whatever the reason, Rúmil found it both endearing and quite humorous to see Haldir dropping hints and suggestions in what he perceived to be an inconspicuous manner.

Rúmil's thoughts returned to the moment at hand as Galen climbed the bank, the basket with the fish under one arm and his fishing pole in the opposite hand. A warm smile curved his lips as Galen approached, and he found himself feeling both light and carefree for the first time in many years.

"It is much larger than I thought I would find this time of year," Galen said quietly. "I think the one is more than enough for both of us."

"Agreed," Rúmil answered. He patted the ground beside him. "Come sit with me for awhile, it is a lovely afternoon."

"Aye," Galen answered, setting down the basket with the fish and laying his pole beside it. "How are you feeling? Are you tired?"

"No, not in the least," Rúmil answered. "As a matter of fact, I am feeling better than I have in a very long time."

"Can I get you something to drink? Is there water in your flask?" Galen reached across Rúmil to check the status of his water bag.

Rúmil leaned forward, breathing in Galen's scent and enjoying the close proximity of his student's body to his own. "I am fine, Galen," he answered softly.

Galen froze with one hand on the ground for support and the other upon the water bag. He felt his heart galloping in his chest and hoped that Rúmil did not hear it. Unsure as to whether he should move or no, he turned his head slowly and looked into Rúmil's eyes. Rúmil was so close he could feel his mentor's breath upon his face. His lips quivered slightly at the proximity of Rúmil's mouth to his own. 'Please, Elbereth,' he thought. 'Please let him be about to...'

A small whimpering moan escaped Galen as Rúmil pressed his lips to his mouth. The kiss was soft, chaste almost, if not for the heat they both felt building between them.

"Just as I thought," Rúmil murmured against Galen's lips. "Softer than rose petals and sweeter than ripe strawberries..."

Galen released the water bag and took Rúmil's face in his hands, hungrily claiming his elder's lips. The deep, reverberating moan that echoed in Rúmil's chest only furthered his desire, and Galen groaned as he felt Rúmil's mouth open to his impassioned request.

Something that had lay dormant for a long time was reawakened in Rúmil. He once again felt joy and comfort in the physical presence of another, he felt longing and heat; he felt desire and fulfillment.

"I have wanted this for so long," Galen whispered as he released Rúmil's mouth.

"Why did you not say so?" Rúmil murmured as he nuzzled Galen's lips.

"I was afraid. You are my tutor, my elder, and my captain. I was afraid you would chastise me for being inappropriate."

"I most likely would have," Rúmil admitted. "I was not ready then; I am now."

Galen settled himself across Rúmil's lap. "Are you sure? I know you cared for him very much..."

"I did and still do," Rúmil answered. "But my destiny lies not with him."

"Whom does it lie with?" Galen whispered against Rúmil's mouth.

"I know not, but I do know that I care for you. I know that you have become my closest friend; and I know that I want you more than I have wanted anyone for many years."

Galen smiled broadly, a sight that often gave Rúmil much joy. "Then you shall have me, as often and in as many different ways as you can dream of."

Rúmil smiled and laughed softly. "Be careful what you wish for, fair Galen," he answered with a seductive smile.

"You will be my tutor in more than just battle, Rúmil," Galen responded in a breathy whisper.

Rúmil's fingers trailed over Galen's flushed cheek, followed the line of his jaw and throat, and lingered just inside his high, buttoned up collar. "Do not say that one as beautiful and warm as you has never known a lover's bed..."

"Never, not fully," Galen responded. "There have been the clumsy fumbling touches and awkward kisses that occur when one comes of age, but I have never really known a lover's touch."

Rúmil's mouth closed in on Galen's. "I will teach you well, my friend, have no fear."

Galen smiled seductively as he leaned closer. "I have no fear of you..."

* * * *

Elrohir rolled his head from left to right as the stable hands took their horses. Elladan clasped his shoulder and motioned toward the Last Homely House and he followed his elder twin and lover up the long stairway toward the house of their birth. Elladan had been reluctant to return home; he did not want to see their father so soon after the realization that Elrond knew of their love. However, they had news that was important to both their father and Estel, and that news required that they come home.

Mounting the stairs in the moonlight, they encountered Lindir on his nightly walk through the gardens. Stopping to exchange greetings, they learned from the minstrel that two esteemed visitors had arrived and their father had called a council involving the leaders of many peoples across Middle-earth. Among the esteemed visitors was a certain Sindarin prince. Elladan smiled as Elrohir's eyes lit up and he thanked Lindir as he followed his brother's quick footsteps toward the guest wing.

"He is here, Elladan!" Elrohir exclaimed in an excited whisper. "I have so wished to see him these many years."

"As have I, Elrohir. I hope the passage of time finds him well and still amiable to our company."

Elrohir chuckled and shook his head. He paused in his stride and turned to look at his brother. "Perhaps he is asleep... Should we wait until morning?" Before Elladan could reply, he answered his own question. "No, of course not. He will be as anxious to see us as we are to see him."

Elladan nodded and grinned, then continued to follow Elrohir toward Legolas' guest quarters.

* * * *

Legolas stood upon the balcony of his guest room, gazing out over the moonlit valley of Imladris. All around him were Eru's most beautiful creations: waterfalls, trees of birch and spruce and oak with their leaves beginning to turn brilliant shades of orange, red and gold. The scents of fresh pine, snow, and clear running water filled his nostrils, yet all he could think of was home. He imagined he could smell the jasmine and fir trees, taste the fresh blackberries and cold clear water. He could hear the crackling of the fire, the sputtering of the torches that lit the corridors, hear his father's footsteps echoing in the unique cadence of his long, easy stride.

His arms were wrapped tight around his waist, his eyes closed and his head inclined toward the heavens. He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear his dearest friends enter his chamber.

Immediately, Elrohir knew something was wrong. He saw it in the tightness of Legolas' frame, as if he were bracing himself against some heavy blow. He felt Elladan squeeze his shoulder and he nodded, crossing the room as Elladan locked the bedchamber door.

Legolas jumped slightly as Elrohir's hands came to rest upon his chest, and Elrohir swallowed a growing lump in his throat as his friend's eyes opened and his sapphire gaze leveled upon his own.

"What is the cause for the pain you suffer?" he asked Legolas softly.

Legolas closed his eyes tight and shook his head.

Elladan stood behind the prince, his strong hands upon his shoulders, encouraging Legolas to rest against him. "We are your closest friends, my prince; there is nothing you can tell us that would cause us to judge you. Trust us, Legolas, let us help you," Elladan whispered.

"I dare not give what I feel voice; I dare not utter the words," Legolas' voice was tight with mourning.

Elrohir replied, "This pain will consume you, Legolas. Share the burden with us. We love you, we want to help you."

Elrohir watched the tightening of Legolas' throat as a tear fell down his cheek. "I cannot," Legolas' replied.

"Then let me say the words that are trapped in your throat," Elladan replied. "You love him; with all your heart and all your soul, you love your king, your father. Your heart is in his keeping; you long for him and that longing is threatening to consume you whole."

Elladan knew, as he had known all along, that he was right when Legolas ceased to resist his arms. He wrapped them around the prince and held him tight as the tears began to fall down Legolas' cheeks.

"What kind of cruel punishment is this?" Legolas questioned hoarsely. "How can this be? How can my heart belong where it does not?" He shook his head roughly. "Nay, I will not say that, for it is not true. My heart belongs where it is meant to be. If I were another elf, I could love him as I long to. But I am his son, how can we..."

Elrohir pressed his fingertips to Legolas' lips. "You have only just begun to understand this, Legolas. Do not question what has been foretold by the Valar. Why this has come to pass only they know. Elladan and I understand the pain and fear you feel. You must make your own choice, but know that whatever that might be, we will stand by you and we will love you still."

Elrohir leaned forward and pressed his lips to Legolas' mouth. The kiss was warm and comforting, familiar. The passion that had existed between them was still there, and both he and Elladan could sense that Legolas needed them more than he ever had in his life.

Elrohir watched Elladan lean into Legolas' and whisper into his ear.

"Let us love you, Legolas, as we have before. We are no substitute for the one you want, but perhaps we can ease your burden, if only for a little while."

Legolas nodded as his hands came to rest upon Elladan's hips. "I have missed you, both of you," he whispered. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as Elrohir's mouth moved to his neck. He allowed them to guide him to the bed and remove his clothes. What he needed most, he could not have, but what he had before him would ease his pain and perhaps give him strength to do what he had to do.

To be continued...

Chapter 10:
Summary: Glorfindel and Erestor play a little afternoon game. Elrohir worries about Legolas. Thranduil looks for distraction.

Glorfindel wadded the bedcovers in his fists and arched, a deep moan escaping his lips. A thin layer of sweat beaded upon his skin despite the chill of the autumn afternoon air. A log popped and hissed in the fireplace as Erestor's lips and tongue soothed the mark left on his backside by his teeth. His heart hammered an insistent and quickening rhythm, and the silk that bound his wrists creaked against the polished wood of the headboard.

His arms and legs were splayed wide, bound to the posts of the bed; his eyes were covered by Erestor's black sash. His senses were assaulted from all directions: the scent and sounds of the fire, the possessive touch of his mate's hands, the maddening slide of silk against his hot skin. He bit his lower lip to stifle the plea that threatened to escape; Erestor liked prolonging this sensual torment for hours at times. The bed rose beneath him and he groaned into the pillow, the muffled sound causing a soft chuckle to escape his mate's lips.

Erestor stood by the hearth, his own skin covered in sweat, his arousal standing hard against his thigh. He took a deep drought of wine, then gazed at the few remaining drops in the glass before raising an eyebrow and looking at the beautiful, aroused form of his bonded mate. He tapped the glass with his forefinger, the edge of his fingernail clinking against the glass, and he looked out across the hills toward the west. Gauging by the position of the sun, he and Glorfindel had been at this for quite some time. His own body was beginning to protest as the ache in his loins grew sharper.

Sauntering back across the room, he poured the few remaining drops of wine into the hollow of Glorfindel's lower back, where it formed a small pool. Glorfindel held perfectly still, so as not to allow the wine to spill upon the fresh linens, and Erestor dipped his tongue into the small, ruby puddle. He watched as Glorfindel's exquisite backside quivered, the long, powerful muscles in his legs trembled, and his shoulders tightened into perfect, oblong balls of iron as he strained against his bonds.

"Never in all of Arda has there been a more perfect creation," he murmured as he gazed at his aroused mate.

Glorfindel set his jaw and ground out from clenched teeth, "I am most pleased that you appreciate me, my love. But I would most appreciate you providing me with some relief..."

Erestor tapped the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Tsk, tsk. Such an impatient one you are." He uncorked the phial of oil they kept by the bed and poured a small amount into his hand.

"Forgive me," Glorfindel ground out in barely contained frustration. "I did not mean to rush you."

"Now that is an obedient Balrog Slayer," Erestor answered appreciatively as he stroked Glorfindel's back. "Do be a dear and lift your hips, Glorfindel." He watched as Glorfindel struggled to comply with his command. "Oh dear," he sighed. "I suppose I need to untie your ankles."

"That would be helpful..."

Erestor raised an eyebrow. "That would be helpful, what..."

Glorfindel stifled a sigh. "That would be helpful . . . master."

Erestor grinned. "Excellent. Well done, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel muttered into the pillow, "When I get loose, I swear to Elbereth..."

"I am sorry, my pet; did you say something?"

"No . . . master."

Erestor grinned. He knew full well the price that would be paid as soon as he untied Glorfindel, and that alone made the whole exercise worth it. He untied his mate's ankles and patted him on the backside. "Now, lift your hips, my pet."

Glorfindel pulled his stiff legs underneath him and raised his hips off the bed. Another, more insistent groan escaped him as Erestor's oiled fingertip circled his entrance.

"You have been a good Balrog Slayer, my pet. You have earned your reward." Erestor bit his lower lip as he slid his oiled finger inside the body of his beloved. The urgent and needful moan that escaped Glorfindel nearly caused him to spend on the spot. Carefully, but quickly, he prepared his beloved as he prepared himself. He then leaned over Glorfindel, his lips caressing the point of his ear.

"Do you want me?" Erestor asked huskily.

"Always," came his beloved's reply.

"Then have me," he answered as he entered Glorfindel's body.

Glorfindel cried out as he tightened against the familiar invasion, then he rocked back against Erestor's hips, burying his mate's length inside his body. The suddenness of the movement surprised Erestor, and Glorfindel heard Erestor's gasp and felt his fingers tighten upon his hips.

"Valar," Erestor breathed, as he struggled to maintain control. Quickly, he began to ride his mate's body and soon he was thrusting into him with abandon. His oiled fingers tightened around Glorfindel's heavy length, withholding his mate's release as he felt his own quickly rising.

Glorfindel groaned as his body tightened and his length twitched inside of Erestor's powerful grip. Tears of both pain and rapture wet the blindfold, and he felt Erestor spill inside him. His chest heaved with each rapid breath and his body trembled with his denied release as he felt Erestor collapse upon his back. His mate held him in his grip until his length stilled, then slowly Erestor released him and began untying the slips of silk that still bound his wrists.

Glorfindel moved his arms slowly as the feeling returned to his fingertips and Erestor slipped from his body. He had to be careful; if he moved before his body could obey his command, Erestor would escape and he would be left to find his own fulfillment. If he feigned submission successfully, then he could catch his wily lover off guard and have his revenge.

Erestor murmured his appreciation in his ear while stroking his hair. Glorfindel purred like a cat, slowly lowering both of their bodies to the bed. Erestor's skillful hands kept his desire at a fevered pitch with soft caresses. He recognized the soft, sleepy tone his mate's voice took on as the warm afterglow of spent desire overtook him. Now was the time. Now was his opportunity. Summoning what strength and control he had left, he flipped Erestor off his back and quickly rolled on top of him.

Erestor barked in surprise, then laughed softly as Glorfindel pinned his wrists to the bed. "Have I been a naughty librarian?"

Glorfindel grinned wickedly from beneath the blindfold and lowered his taut and aroused body to Erestor's. "Yes, you have."

Erestor grinned, then feigned dismay as he turned his face away from Glorfindel's. "What will be my punishment?"

"Oh, I think you know..."

Erestor bent his knees and raised his legs over Glorfindel's hips. "Tit for tat?"

Glorfindel tugged on Erestor's lower lip with his teeth. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, no. I would hate it; I would absolutely hate it, loathe it, in fact. It would be the worst thing you could ever do. Only throwing me to the fires of Mordor would be worse... no, wait, even that would be more bearable than..."

Glorfindel clamped his hand over Erestor's mouth. "Shut up and hand me the oil, you imp."

Erestor nodded, grinning beneath Glorfindel's hand. He complied with his beloved's request and closed his eyes blissfully as Glorfindel's strong, slick hand slid between them. He sighed and arched his back as Glorfindel's finger entered his body and his beloved's hand slipped from his mouth. "I love you," he breathed.

Glorfindel's large, strong hand caressed his face. "I love you, my raven," his beloved's deep voice answered.

Erestor removed Glorfindel's blindfold and wrapped his arms around him, suckling at his throat as he accepted his mate's length inside him. Glorfindel was always gentle, always loving. Erestor never ceased being amazed at how gentle his fearsome warrior could be. He buried his hands in his mate's heavy, golden locks, opening his mouth to Glorfindel's claiming kiss as he took him inside his body again and again. Each kiss, each touch was more fulfilling than the last.

A smile curved his lips as a deep shuddering moan escaped him, his own desire had rekindled and the quickening, rhythmic motion of their bodies beckoned. His turgid and heated length, trapped between their bodies began to swell, and he whispered into Glorfindel's ear, "Come with me, my love. Come with me to that place that belongs only to you and me..."

Glorfindel answered him with a deep, passionate moan, and he thrust deep inside him as they found their mutual rapture. They curled against one another and Glorfindel pulled the covers up around them. Erestor lay on his side, his left arm stretched out and his right hand holding Glorfindel's beneath his chin. He rotated his wrist and folded his fingers inside of Glorfindel's, gazing at the matching mithril bands on their fingers.

"My husband, my mate," he whispered.

"That I am," Glorfindel replied softly. "And you are mine. My love, my life." His arm tightened around Erestor's waist.

Erestor smiled in satisfaction and snuggled back against his beloved, then they both drifted into reverie.

* * * *

Elrohir gazed at Elladan. Legolas lie between them, his head resting on Elladan's chest, his arms wrapped tight around Elladan's waist. Legolas clung to Elladan much the same way he did; his beloved was a rock for the prince just as he was a rock for him. It was not difficult to share Elladan with Legolas, for he loved Legolas nearly as much as he loved his twin. He snuggled closer to Legolas, resting his head on the back of the prince's shoulder. He felt Elladan's hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair in the way he had always done when he thought his little brother needed comfort or reassurance. He reached across and rested his hand on Elladan's hip.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, Elrohir," Elladan answered.

"He needs us," Elrohir answered.

"Badly," Elladan agreed.

"Will he be all right?"

"I do not know. He is strong, much stronger than many give him credit for."

"But this is so much to bear."

"We bear it."

"We bear it together. He must bear it alone."

"No. Not alone. Thranduil is with him, he will always be with him."

Elrohir nodded. "I love him, Elladan."

"As do I, and he loves us. We will help him through this, Elrohir."

Elrohir closed his eyes, drifting into reverie as the sun set in the west.

* * * *

Thranduil held a piece of parchment in his hand as his falcon looked on. He rolled it back up after reading it again, smiled, placed a kiss on it, and then threw it into the fire. "So wise for one so young," he said softly. He leaned back in his chair and twisted the ring upon his finger. "Dark times are coming, Arphen," he said quietly. "Dreams of the Dagorlad and my father haunt me. War comes. I only pray I have the strength to save my home."

A soft knock upon his study door broke his musing and he looked up to find one of his courtesans standing in his doorway. He smiled and nodded, then rose from his chair. Taking the youth's hand he said softly, "Come, make me forget my troubles for awhile."

The courtesan bowed his head and answered in deep soft voice, "As always, my lord."

Thranduil led the young beauty to his bedchamber and left the troubles of the world behind for awhile.

To be continued...

Chapter 11:
Summary: Galen and Rúmil finally consummate their new relationship. The Council of Elrond meets and Erestor expresses frustration. Elladan and Elrohir object to the choice of Fellowship members.

The series of mishaps that had preceded the evening's events would have been laughable were they not so inconvenient, not to mention uncomfortable. First had come the unfortunate demise of their dinner when Galen dropped the basket in an effort to catch the small pouch of eggs Rúmil was carrying between his teeth as he climbed the ladder to his talan using only his good arm. The basket fell, the lid popped open, and the various small creatures that populated a tree city fell upon the bounty as if it were a gift from the heavens, which it was. Then came the breakage of the eggs as Galen dropped them in an effort to catch his soon-to-be lover when the uppermost rung of the ladder gave way and Rúmil was left without a handhold. The final, crushing blow had come when Galen miraculously caught Rúmil with only one arm, only to drop him again as he lost his own grip.

Fortunately for both Rúmil and Galen, Rúmil's two brothers were there to break their fall. Unfortunately for Galen, Orophin was not quite substantial enough and he ended up with a badly sprained ankle; Orophin ended up with a broken nose and sprained wrist. Rúmil landed safely in Haldir's rather substantial arms and both he and his elder brother escaped unscathed.

A week had passed, Rúmil was now fully healed, Galen nearly so, and both were more than ready to pick up where they left off. Galen hobbled up the ladder to Rúmil's talan with Rúmil following closely behind.

"I do not understand why we could not just meet at your talan. If we had, we would not be contending with these stairs," Rúmil said as he kept one hand and one eye on his soon to be lover.

"I like your talan better," Galen answered. "It is more private."

Rúmil watched as Galen carefully hoisted himself up onto the platform and regained his feet. He followed, pausing only long enough to make a thorough perusal of Galen's mouth with his own before opening the door. Tugging upon his young lover's hand, he invited Galen inside and latched the door behind them.

"I have been looking forward to this for a very, very long time," Rúmil said in a husky murmur.

Galen slid his hand behind Rúmil's neck and arched into his embrace. "It has been but a week."

"It has felt like an eternity," Rúmil answered, his lips caressing Galen's neck. He slid his hand inside Galen's tunic and caressed a rapidly rising nipple with his thumb. "Your heart beats like a frightened doe's."

"Valar," Galen whispered, as Rúmil's thumb rubbed his nipple into a hard and sensitive peak.

"Do you fear me?" Rúmil murmured, his tongue sliding up the curve of Galen's ear.

"N...no," Galen stammered, his length hardening quickly inside his leggings.

"Then why do you tremble?" Rúmil's voice was thick and smoky with lust.

"No one has ever touched me this way," Galen whispered.

"Do you like it?" Rúmil purred.

"Yes, oh, yes."

"Your innocence is intoxicating," Rúmil whispered huskily. He deftly slipped Galen's tunic from his body. He licked Galen's chest in one long, slow stroke. The moan that escaped Galen caused his arousal to twitch inside his leggings. "Mmm... untouched flesh. There is nothing like it..."

Galen was both surprised and aroused by this predatory side of his friend. He had no inclination that Rúmil would be so aggressive and sensual. "What are you going to do to me?" he whispered.

"As many things as you can bear," Rúmil answered.

Galen's grip tightened on Rúmil's shoulders. "Will it. . . hurt?"

Rúmil looked into Galen's eyes and watched his face flush in embarrassment. His expression changed and he gently caressed Galen's face. "I promise you, I will not harm you. It always hurts a little the first few times, but it is also very pleasurable." He cocked his head and caressed Galen's lips with his thumb. "If you are not ready, I will understand..."

Galen closed his eyes and let go of his fear. "I am ready," he answered softly. "I want you..." He took Rúmil's thumb into his mouth and suckled it.

Rúmil leaned in close, his lips caressing Galen's cheek as he whispered, "You are precious to me, Galen. I will always protect you..."

"Love me, Rúmil," Galen whispered. "Make love to me..."

Rúmil sighed. "I will, my treasure." He lifted Galen into his arms and carried him into his bedchamber.

* * * *

"Do not do this." Elrohir held onto his composure by a thread. His father had refused to hear him and Elladan, and now Legolas was refusing as well.

"Your father chose me, Elrohir. It is my duty to our kind and to my people," Legolas answered.

"You are running away!" Elrohir shouted. "You cannot run from what haunts you, Legolas!"

Elladan placed his hand on his twin's shoulder. "Elrohir..."

Legolas shook his head and turned his back.

Elrohir reached out and turned him back around. "Do not turn your back on me!"

"I cannot be near him and not touch him! I cannot be near him and not have him! We cannot be like the two of you; we cannot run off into the wild to be together..." Legolas pulled away from Elrohir and stalked back into the Last Homely House.

Elrohir made to follow, but Elladan caught him. "Leave him be, Elrohir. He needs to do this. You cannot, I cannot protect him."

"I do not want him to die, Elladan," Elrohir answered softly.

Elladan embraced his twin. "I know, nor do I. He is strong; he is a skilled warrior. Besides, he will be with Mithrandir, who loves him dearly, and with Estel. No harm will come to him."

"We should be going. We should be protecting him."

"Father would not allow Glorfindel to go either. He knows best, Elrohir. He must know what we do not." Elladan cradled Elrohir's head against his shoulder. "They leave upon the morrow. We cannot let him leave with this between us."

"We will go to him tonight, I will apologize. Perhaps he will give us one last night together."

"It will not be the last, Elrohir."

"Yes, it will. I can see it in his eyes. Whether he lives or dies, this will be the last night we lie together as lovers. He is withdrawing into himself, Elladan. Soon, the only love he feels will be in his own heart - the love he yearns for, with the one he can never have."

Elladan guided Elrohir from the terrace and out into the woods so that they could be alone in their grief.

* * * *

"This is ludicrous. He has finally lost his wits. Four hobbits, a wizard, two men, a dwarf and an elf prince. All nine of them against the hosts of Mordor and Isengard. What has become of the wisdom of Elrond?" Erestor paced the floor of their sitting room.

"Erestor..."

"What in Eru's name is he thinking? Sending the Ring with that band of misfits? You saw the way Boromir looked at the Ring; he is already suspect. Estel, Legolas, Mithrandir and Gimli cannot defend Frodo against the host of Sauron. Estel may be a Númenorian, but he is only one man. Gimli is no doubt a stouthearted warrior, but he is only one dwarf. Legolas has never seen war, not as we have. Our entire army could not defend Frodo against the host of Sauron. It must be hidden..."

"Erestor..."

"I believe that the grief he suffers over the loss of Celebrían has finally caused him to lose his wits..."

"Erestor!"

"What?"

"Sit down and stop ranting for a moment."

Erestor flopped into a large, over stuffed chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Lord Elrond is right. We could never conceal the Ring from Sauron. He will not rest until he finds it, and too few of us remain to wage war. Rohan is ravaged, Gondor is weak, and everyday more men from the south join Sauron's forces. The days of the Last Alliance are over. Unless the Ring is destroyed, Sauron's war machine will roll over this valley and destroy every last living thing. Thranduil's realm will be the first to fall, and Legolas knows it. He is doing his duty as prince; he is doing his duty as his father's son. Gimli knows his own people cannot hide in the hills forever. How long will it be until the yrch breeding beneath the mountains find them? Boromir is desperate to save his people; he, more than most, understands the threat to all free peoples. It is time, my love. It is time for us to make a stand in the only way we can."

Erestor turned his tear filled eyes to Glorfindel. "By sending nine good souls to their deaths?"

"Better to die on one's feet than on one's knees..."

"That may yet happen."

Glorfindel sank to his knees and took Erestor's hands in his own. "Have faith, my love. Have faith in the strength of a hobbit's purity. Have faith in the wisdom of a wizard. Have faith in the will of a prince; have faith in the destiny of a king and the tenacity of a dwarf." He kissed Erestor's hands. "This world will yet survive, with or without our help."

"I want to go home," Erestor answered softly.

"We will, my love, we will."

Erestor cradled Glorfindel's head in his lap as he watched Anor sink into the West.

To be continued...

Chapter 12:
Summary: Galen and Rúmil finally find time alone together. The twins and Legolas spend one last night together.

Galen lifted his hips, allowing Rúmil to slide his leggings off his body. Every inch of his skin was raised in goose flesh and he was trembling, despite his best attempts to remain calm. While in many ways, Galen was older than his years, but when it came to the ways of love, he was as innocent as an elfling. Yes, there had been fumbling touches and awkward kisses with those his own age when he reached his majority, but Rúmil was experienced; he had never lain with one like Rúmil before.

He watched as Rúmil deftly tossed his leggings over the back of the rocker that he had spent so many nights in as of late. He wadded the bedcovers in his damp fists as Rúmil removed his own tunic and leggings, then he watched his lover mount the bed. Rúmil crawled to him slowly, his predatory gaze fixing Galen where he lay. In some ways, Galen felt like a doe trapped by a wolf, in other ways he felt like a god that was about to be worshipped.

Rúmil paused near his feet. His sprained ankle was still wrapped tightly and Galen shivered as Rúmil's fingers caressed it. He watched as Rúmil dipped his mouth to his uninjured ankle, then proceeded to slowly make his way from his feet to his lap with his mouth. Galen could not stop the whimpering moan that escaped him. Rúmil's lips felt so good, his tongue so warm and wet. Each kiss, each lick caused him to tremble and quake until he was nearly shaking with need.

Rúmil's hot breath ghosted over his aching arousal, and Galen cried out when his lover pressed his mouth to his stomach, that hot, wet tongue delving into his navel. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Galen plunged his hands into Rúmil's silky, silver hair, wadding it in his fingers as he squirmed beneath him. "Yes, Valar yes..." he whispered as Rúmil's mouth consumed his chest, his lover's tongue and teeth working his nipples into painfully erect peaks. He wrapped his uninjured leg around his lover and ground their hips together, seeking contact in any way he could.

"Patience," Rúmil murmured against Galen's neck. "Pleasure is best when savored, my treasure."

"I cannot," Galen gasped. "I want you so badly; I cannot wait..."

Rúmil pressed Galen to the bed using the length of his body. He remained still, gazing into Galen's eyes until his young lover ceased his movement. "Ssshhh...." He whispered against Galen's lips. "Let me show you the way, my lover."

Galen fought back tears; he was both overwhelmed and desperate. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then took a deep breath and willed his body to relax.

"Yes," Rúmil said. "Just relax and let go, Galen. Let me take care of you."

Galen relaxed his grip on Rúmil, allowing his hands to slide from his hair to his back. He concentrated on the sensations that flooded him: the wet warmth of Rúmil's mouth upon his ear, the solidity of his lover's body, the heat that bloomed between them. He explored Rúmil's lean and muscular back, his fingers memorizing each ripple and contour of muscle. "I love you," he whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"And I love you," Rúmil answered. "We are lovers now, Galen," he whispered. "You belong to me, and I belong to you. I will always protect you."

Galen smiled and buried his face in Rúmil's neck, his lips and his tongue mimicking his tutor's actions upon his ear. His heart leaped when Rúmil purred with approval, and his hands slid down Rúmil's long back. His fingers splayed wide, his hands dipped into the curve of Rúmil's lower back, then slid over the fine silk of his loincloth to grasp the firm, round globes of his lover's buttocks. 'Slowly,' he told himself, 'have patience...' Working on instinct, he slowly kneaded the muscled flesh of Rúmil's backside and earned a low growl of approval from his lover. He dug his fingers in as Rúmil took the tip of his ear into his mouth and suckled it. "Sweet Elbereth," he whispered hoarsely.

There had been others that had attempted this same action, but none had ever come close to executing it even half as well as Rúmil. Sharp pangs of desire stabbed at his core, and his already turgid length began to twitch and swell inside his loincloth. "I do not know how much more I can take," he whispered hoarsely. Rúmil's mouth left his ear and hovered over his own. A sensual smile curved his lover's lips, causing his heart to increase its rhythm.

"It is not how long you last, but how often you can rise to the occasion, my young lover," Rúmil replied with a wicked grin.

Rúmil then claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. Galen moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth wide and giving freely to his lover. As Rúmil broke their kiss, he moved slowly, but steadily down his torso and Galen felt the strings holding his loincloth pop free. Closing his eyes and lifting his hips, he felt the thin strip of cloth slide away, leaving his aching arousal exposed to the cool autumn air. A shudder rolled through his body, and he arched his back, his legs falling open to expose himself to his lover's view.

Rúmil gazed approvingly at his young lover. Galen had a beautiful body, unmarked by battle. It was long and lean, elegant in proportion; his alabaster flesh was stretched taut over lean archer's muscles, flushed pink with passion, and glowing with the sheen of perspiration. Everything about Galen was beautiful. Rúmil had come to realize that his spirit and his heart were beautiful over the course of their friendship, now the portrait was complete as he gazed upon Galen's graceful form. Lips, swollen and pink were parted slightly; his tongue would dart out every now and again, wetting their soft, pink surface. His eyes were closed; his long lashes seeming to caress his cheeks when his lids fluttered. His hair, tossed and wild from their foreplay, spilled out over his pillow, strands of gold glinting against a background of silver.

Rúmil slid his hands up the length of Galen's thighs, his fingers splayed wide. "You are remarkable," he whispered sultrily. "So very beautiful..." Galen smiled as he began to undulate beneath his touch. Suddenly, Rúmil's need was every bit as strong as Galen's.

He spread Galen's thighs wide, dipping his tongue to taste the soft flesh where leg met hip. He saw as much as felt the shudder that rippled through his lover's body. 'There will be days and nights uncounted to discover all the things that make my lover tremble,' he told himself. 'Now I must give him what he needs most.'

Gently he took the base of Galen's length in his hand and dipped his mouth, his tongue lapping at the weeping tip. Galen gasped; the sharp, staccato intake of air breaking the silence of the room. 'Never touched before, not like this,' Rúmil told himself, and he took his lover into his mouth.

Galen immediately tried to thrust forward into the wet heat of Rúmil's mouth, but his lover held his hips firmly to the bed. He had never felt anything like it. He was enveloped in soft, wet heat; Rúmil's tongue caressed and wrapped around his arousal as his mouth slid up and down its length. Each pass, each sliding caress of his lover's tongue brought him closer. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he felt his body tighten and he cried out as his release as he spilled down his lover's throat.

Rúmil licked him clean, lapping each precious drop of his lover's essence from his flesh. He watched Galen's chest rise and fall with each rapid breath as he slowly made his way up his lover's body to his mouth. He kissed Galen thoroughly, deeply, purring as his lover's long fingers combed his back. He pushed the damp hair away from Galen's face and smiled.

"Now, was that not worth waiting for, lover?" he murmured.

"Yes," Galen answered in a deep whisper. "Oh, yes..."

Rúmil chuckled affectionately and nuzzled his young lover's mouth. "I suppose I should let you recover before we continue our lesson."

"Why am I so sleepy all of the sudden?" Galen murmured.

Rúmil chuckled again. "'Tis a common sensation, you will grow accustomed to it. Sleep, my lover, just for a little while."

"But what about you?" Galen mumbled as he fought not to succumb to reverie.

"I will be just fine," Rúmil said softly.

"Will you stay with me?" Galen mumbled again.

"Of course," Rúmil answered. He wrapped his arms around Galen and cradled his head upon his shoulder. Pulling a blanket over their bodies, he lay awake and listened to his young lover's soft, rhythmic breathing.

* * * *

As night fell in Imladris, Legolas found himself at the window again. This time, his thoughts drifted to the east, to the far east, as he contemplated the journey before him. He had just finished a letter to his father, explaining why he had to break his promise and not return home. His companions would return to Mirkwood in the morning, bearing the letter with them. They feared the king's reaction, but Legolas knew his father would not show them ill will.

"I cannot afford to be weak," he whispered to himself. "I cannot show mercy, I cannot falter; I cannot stray from the path before me. If this is the last thing I ever do, I will go past the limits of my strength and endurance to accomplish it."

He knew there was a very good chance he would not survive the quest; he also knew the chances of their success were slim at best. Yet, there comes a time when there are no good choices, no easy solutions; his father had taught him that. He may not survive to see this land live on, but he would not run and leave it to ruin. This world was his home, it was a part of him, and he would fight until his last breath left his body to defend it.

Elladan and Elrohir arrived at Legolas' door. Elrohir looked to his elder twin, who nodded. He then entered Legolas' chamber without knocking. Crossing the room to where the prince stood, he came to his knees in front of him.

"Forgive me," he said softly.

"For what? Loving me?" Legolas asked.

"For doubting you."

Legolas reached down and pulled Elrohir to his feet. "I do not want to forgive you. I do not believe you meant what you said to sound the way it did; it was fear and pain that caused that." He caressed Elrohir's cheek. "Friends do not always say what we need them to, sometimes they tell us the truth even if we do not want to hear it."

"I do not doubt your bravery or the strength of your convictions..."

Legolas placed his fingers on Elrohir's lips, silencing him. "I know. But, you are right, Elrohir. I cannot run from what haunts me, nor can I have what I most desire. But, I can defend my lands, I can defend my people; I can do my duty both to myself and to my king. Perhaps we will succeed, perhaps not; but if we do not try, we are all doomed to death. My father will not leave his wood, nor will I. If we are to die, then we both want to die fighting."

Elrohir nodded. "I understand your words, my dear Legolas. If it were Elladan and me, we would say the same thing."

Elladan approached and stood behind Legolas. "Aye, what he says is true."

Legolas turned and drew the twins into an embrace and held them tight. "Thank you, both. Thank you for your kindness, and thank you for your friendship and your love."

"Lay with us this night," Elladan said softly. "Even if it is for the last time."

Legolas smiled and nodded. "Aye, I will. Your touches and embraces will keep me warm over the long, cold nights to come." He closed his eyes and let down the wall that he had so carefully built around him. He allowed their touches, their kisses to warm his heart and his soul. Soon the wall would come back up, he knew, but for now, for this one night, he would allow himself to feel.

To be continued...

Chapter 13:
Summary: Rúmil continues to enjoy Galen.

Galen woke after a short nap to find Rúmil asleep beside him. He lie in his lover's arms, facing him, Rúmil's perfect chin just within kissing range. A smile curved Galen's lips and he kissed that perfect chin, his tongue darting out and flicking against it. He watched as a smile curved Rúmil's luscious mouth, and he began to nibble on the soft flesh beneath Rúmil's jaw. Rúmil slid one leg over him and he moved closer, bringing their bodies into close contact. Moving his thigh between Rúmil's legs, he began to gently rub and press into his lover's groin.

"Mmm..." Rúmil purred. "That feels delicious."

"Does it?" Galen asked, his fingers exploring Rúmil's chest.

"Yes," Rúmil answered, as he began to rock his hips in time with Galen's movement.

"I want to give you pleasure, like you gave me, but I have never..."

"There is always a first time, lover," Rúmil replied. His fingers began to gently massage Galen's scalp. "It is less about technique than it is about intent. You need not execute it perfectly; the pleasure I will receive is in the pleasure you feel in performing the act."

Galen began to lick and nibble at Rúmil's chest. "Have you ever. . .choked?"

"Of course, everyone has the first few times. If you have a lover who is not considerate, it can happen even when you know what you are doing."

"I do not want that to happen," Galen whispered. "I want to please you..."

"It will not, not if you go slowly and take the time to discover your own limits." Rúmil smiled and caressed Galen's hair. "Everything you do pleases me, Galen."

"I know there are other delights that await, beyond what we have experienced. When do we attempt those?" Galen murmured against Rúmil's stomach. He smiled when he detected the difference in Rúmil's voice.

"Soon, tonight perhaps; if you feel so inclined." Rúmil closed his eyes. His body was already responding to Galen's attentions, and he distractedly thought that they were quite good for one so inexperienced. He moaned softly as Galen's hand slid over the rise in his loincloth, the archer's talented fingers teasing him into full arousal. Galen untied his loincloth with his teeth; he could feel his warm breath enveloping his groin. Rolling to his back to give Galen freer access, he lifted his hips and spread his legs, allowing his lover to remove his undergarment.

Galen gazed at Rúmil's turgid arousal with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Perfectly formed, it was a smooth, silky column of warm, living flesh. Not unaccustomed to touching himself, he approached Rúmil the same way, taking his arousal in his hand carefully, and slowly stroking it. Turning his head, he lapped at the soft pouch of skin that lay between Rúmil's legs, feeling it constrict at the touch of his tongue and hearing his lover moan in appreciation.

"Oh yes," Rúmil answered in a smoky murmur. "That feels very good."

Carefully, gently, Galen took the pouch into his mouth fully, rolling his tongue against it before releasing it. Rúmil arched beneath him and pulled his legs further apart. This made Galen smile. Rúmil was right; it was as much about the pleasure one's partner feels as it was about his own. The more aroused Rúmil became, the more pleasure Galen felt. Remembering hushed conversations amongst some of the new recruits, Galen gazed upon the puckered entrance to his lover's body. Licking the pad of his finger, he then placed it against the opening and rubbed gently. Rúmil's response was immediate; the action gave his lover even more pleasure. When he pressed upon it, he felt his lover's arousal twitch in his grip, and he slid his hand up his length to spread the fluid that leaked from the tip with his thumb.

His own arousal was pressing into the bed, and Galen began to roll his hips forward slightly, enjoying the feel of the soft silk sliding against his length. Returning to his lover's engorged and weeping length, he began to lap at it with his tongue, savoring the slightly salty, slightly sweet taste of the viscous essence that was beginning to weep freely from it. Carefully, he took Rúmil's length into his mouth, taking care not to force too much at once. Remembering what Rúmil had done to him, he began working his mouth up and down his lover's arousal, using his tongue to caress and wrap the smooth, slick column of flesh.

Rúmil held still, forcing his body to obey his command and resist the urge to thrust forward into Galen's delicious mouth. His pupil-turned-lover, showed a surprising amount of skill for one so young and inexperienced. Slowly, he began to rock his hips in time with Galen's action, shallowly thrusting into his mouth.

Galen felt Rúmil's length begin to swell, and he heard his lover instruct him to swallow. He did, and felt his mouth fill with the hot seed that erupted from Rúmil's quivering length. Swallowing what he could, he then hungrily lapped up what had escaped and licked his lips before looking up at his lover.

Rúmil looked utterly beautiful: his face was flushed and slightly damp, his mouth open, his delicious lips parted and begging to be kissed. Galen slid up Rúmil's hot, sweat-slicked body, the delicious slide of skin against skin causing his own desire to burn hotter. He took Rúmil's mouth in a searing kiss and ground against him as Rúmil pulled him roughly against him.

Rúmil sucked at Galen's chin, removing any hint of his own essence, then moved to Galen's neck before rolling on top of him. "Are you ready for your next lesson?" he whispered hoarsely. Though he had found release, his desire was far from abated.

Galen felt a nervous flutter in his stomach but immediately answered, "Yes. Take me." He wrapped his legs high around Rúmil's hips and thrust into him. Suddenly, he found he was consumed with the need to feel his lover inside him.

Struggling to reach his bedside table, Rúmil retrieved the oil from the drawer, despite having Galen clinging to him like a drowning elf. His once shy and yielding lover was overcome with hungry desire, and Rúmil found himself hissing in pleasure as Galen's teeth sunk into his shoulder. His lover's fingers raked and clutched, his mouth bit and suckled, until Rúmil knew he would be covered in love marks. He was suddenly reminded of the first kiss he and Thranduil shared in Galadriel's garden, and he imagined this was how the king had felt. He remarked that the memory did not cause him pain; it was now a fond feeling that came to him when he thought about his kingly former lover.

"Roll to your stomach," Rúmil commanded.

Galen complied, as much from habit as from the urgent need he felt.

"On your knees and spread them."

Galen was poised on his hands and knees, his legs spread wide, his arousal standing hard against his stomach. He knew the initial sensation was going to be painful, but his need overrode any fear he might have felt. Rúmil's skilled hands slid over his back and hips, and then he felt an oiled finger caressing his entrance. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then exhaled as Rúmil's finger entered his body.

The initial feeling was not as bad as he had anticipated. He clamped down hard on the invading digit and then slowly relaxed. There was a slight burn accompanied by a little pressure. He nodded his head when Rúmil asked if he was well, and then felt the finger begin to move. A little more burning, but it was tolerable, then came a sensation so intense that he cried out and bucked back against Rúmil's hand. Nothing, no words could have prepared him for what he felt. White-hot fire roared through his veins and his arousal jumped against his stomach. He felt Rúmil lean over him, then felt his warm breath upon his ear.

"It feels good, does it not?" his lover's smoky voice murmured.

"Valar, yes. . .again, please do it again," he pleaded.

He cried out again and arched against Rúmil as his lover began to stroke the spot deep within him. "Sweet Elbereth," he groaned. "I am going to. . .to. . ." A keening cry spilled from his lips as he found release. He had never climaxed without aid of touch before. As his seed spilled from his body, Rúmil slid a second finger in, filling him and stroking that place unrelentingly. Wave after wave rolled through him, and no sooner than his climax ended, he was aroused again.

Rúmil had three fingers inside him now, he felt very full, but not beyond bearing. His tutor had been right again, the pleasure he felt outweighed the discomfort. He rocked back against Rúmil's hand as his lover's fingers slid in and out of his body. Whimpering slightly as they were removed, he then braced himself for what he knew would be a much larger invasion.

"Relax, Galen," Rúmil murmured into his ear. "Breathe and relax."

Galen nodded, unable to find his voice to answer. Rúmil's length filled him slowly, and he tried to relax but was unable to prevent the tightening of his body. Breathing deeply and slowly, he fought the initial response to escape. Rúmil's hand wrapped around his aching and rigid length, and he concentrated on the delicious slide of his lover's fist rather than on the fierce burning pain. Soon, he began to relax, and Rúmil began to move, as he became more aroused, he relaxed even more and the pain dissipated and turned into pleasure.

As Rúmil moved within him, he realized that it was as much about the sense of closeness and fulfillment he felt as it was about the pleasure. His lover, the one he cherished above all others was inside him, around him; it was as close as they could ever be. "I love you," he whispered, and he heard Rúmil respond, "My treasure..."

Again, that white-hot fire rolled through him and he cried out in pleasure, bucking back against Rúmil's body. He felt it in his core first, heat radiating out from his center in a great wave, then his body tightened and his essence spilled from him, coating Rúmil's hand, as well as his own stomach.

Rúmil groaned as Galen's already tight passage constricted around him, and he growled deep as he found his own release, spilling inside his lover's body. He slowly removed himself from Galen's trembling body, ignoring his desire to remain inside that warm, tight embrace. As Galen collapsed upon the bed, he lay beside him, taking him in his arms and holding him tight.

"Are you well, my love?" he murmured against the soft, damp flesh of Galen's neck.

"Yes," Galen answered. "I am better than well. I feel. . .amazing."

Rúmil laughed softly. "It is a delicious experience, is it not?"

"Most definitely," Galen replied with a smile. "We must do it again."

"Soon, but not tonight, and not tomorrow either," Rúmil said softly. "You feel good now, but in a few hours you will feel sore."

Galen nodded in understanding. He felt Rúmil rise from the bed and he looked up. "Where are you going?"

"To prepare a bath," Rúmil answered. "I think we could both use a good, long soak, and the tub Haldir brought is still here. Rest, I will return when it is ready."

Galen nodded and pulled the blanket up around him, then closed his eyes.

To be continued...

Chapter 14:
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir spend their last night with Legolas. The Fellowship departs. Gildor returns.

Legolas tilted his head back as Elrohir's lips explored his chest. He had often remarked during their lovemaking that no lips should be so soft. Elladan's hands roamed his shoulders, back and waist. As similar as they were, he could always tell them apart by their touch. Elrohir's was soft, loving, almost more of a request than a command. Elladan's was the opposite, commanding, possessing, yet still full of love.

He rolled to his back, turning so that he could greet Elladan's lips with his own, opening his mouth and allowing his tongue to enter. Elrohir's mouth worked its way down his torso, suckling his nipples before moving lower to nip at his stomach. His arousal strained upward, already weeping, and when Elrohir's warm breath danced over it, he arched and moaned into Elladan's mouth.

So often between the three of them, he surrendered and gave himself to them, letting them direct the course of their lovemaking. This night was no exception, and he put up no resistance when Elladan pulled his hands over his head and held his wrists as he continued to plunder his mouth. His long fingers wrapped around the headboard as Elrohir moved to the side pulling his right leg out and up as Elladan did the same to the left. Two mouths, identical to the touch yet different in action, worked his body like a fine instrument. Elrohir's mouth glided up and down his swollen length, while Elladan's tongue slid in and out of his body in a prelude of what was to come.

Tears spilled down his cheeks, the pain and loneliness he felt mingling with the love he shared with these two beautiful creatures. Their mouths left his body, and Elrohir stretched out beside him, pulling him into his arms. His hard length slid into the oiled cleft of Elrohir's buttocks; Elladan had already prepared his twin for him.

"Inside me," Elrohir whispered. "I want to feel you inside me."

Legolas entered Elrohir gently, slowly, being wrapped in heat as he was seated deep inside him. Elrohir's fingers were tangled in his hair, his sinfully soft lips caressing his ear as he whispered, "Be still..."

Fighting the urge to move, Legolas remained still as he felt Elladan's length slide between his own buttocks. Elladan's fingers slid in and out of him, preparing him for his length. All the while, he kissed Elrohir, their tongues sliding against one another, their deep moans floating around them. Gods how he wanted to move, how he wanted to thrust inside Elrohir's body as he had done so many times before. Yet, he waited, waited to be filled by Elladan, waited for Elladan to direct this act as he had so often.

He groaned into Elrohir's mouth as Elladan breached and filled his body. Slowly his body remembered and relaxed around him, then Elladan gave the command: "Move."

Legolas withdrew nearly all the way before burying himself again. Elrohir bowed and rocked with the motion as his strong hands gripped Legolas' hips. Legolas had to admit that few things in life compared to this act. Filling and being filled at once, gazing down at Elrohir's heartbreakingly beautiful face as it was transformed by pleasure, hearing their perfectly matched moans complimented by his own unique voice. Elladan's mouth worked his ear and his neck and shoulders, leaving love marks then soothing them with his tongue. He felt Elladan reach around his waist then looked down to see his hand wrapped around his twin's engorged and weeping length, stroking it and bringing the three of them closer to the fall.

How Elladan knew when to trigger what would be their simultaneous climax, Legolas never knew, but he did it without fail. The cadence with which they moved increased, the smooth, slow glide intensified. Elladan thrust deep into him, harder, faster with each pass. It felt so good to be so possessed, so commanded, so relieved of the burden of being the one in command. He, in turn, rode Elrohir harder as he watched his lover arch and strain against him, struggling to hold off the inevitable climax that would end the ecstasy they felt. He both wanted it and did not. He needed the release but mourned the end of the climb.

Elrohir cried out, tears falling from his eyes as he spilled over Elladan's sure grip. Elrohir's tightening body brought his own climax as he was squeezed and his essence milked from him. Immediately, Elladan's own release followed, and Legolas felt his hot seed fill his body. It was the final act in what had been an inevitable course. The last hold on his bruised heart gave way and he collapsed into Elrohir's arms and wept openly.

Elladan lay against his back, holding him close and whispering words of love and comfort to him. Elrohir stroked his hair and wept with him. As his tears subsided he whispered, "I do not want to die."

Elladan answered, "You will not. There is not a beast alive that can kill you, Legolas. How I know this, I cannot be sure. But as I hold you now, I know that you will be standing still when all is done, and someday, somehow you will have your heart's greatest desire."

"I love you both so very much," Legolas whispered.

"And we love you," Elrohir answered, his voice thick with tears.

The three lovers held each other tight, remaining awake as Anor rose. Then they quietly dressed and prepared for their departure.

* * * *

"Be careful," Glorfindel said as squeezed Elladan's thigh. "Clear the road but do not take foolish chances."

Elladan grinned. "Since when have we taken foolish chances?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Since when have you not?"

Elrohir chuckled and shook his head. "Come, Glorfindel, do not take all the fun out of this for us."

"I do wish you two would not jest so about this. This is serious business," Arwen chided.

Elrohir leaned down and kissed the top of his sister's head. "Come, come, my angel, we have done this many times; despite our joking we do take it seriously."

"Go, go, you wicked elf," Arwen answered with a grin. "I've watched you treat yrch as no better than a ball you toss between you."

"Now who makes light of it, hmm?" Elladan teased.

"Oh go, both of you, before you turn my hair white." Arwen crossed to Elladan's side and rose to the balls of her feet as her brother leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Take care of father, little sister, and try to keep Lindir from moping so much," Elladan instructed.

"Estel comes," Elrohir said softly, pointing to their foster brother as he came down the stairs.

"Good luck, my brothers, and the Valar willing we will meet again in Gondor," Aragorn said with a smile.

Elladan and Elrohir each smiled, then looked up to see their father enter the courtyard. Elrond crossed to his sons, laying a hand upon each of their legs. "Be careful, my sons. Do your duty, but remember that no duty is worth the needless loss of life."

They nodded in answer. "We love you, father," they responded in unison.

Elrond smiled. "Never has a father been prouder than I am of you. I love the both of you very much."

"Anor tops the mountains, 'tis time to fly," Glorfindel said softly.

The twins raised their hands, turning their horses and heading for the gate. They both looked back at Legolas, who stood by, arms crossed over his chest. Smiling, they waved and watched as Legolas did the same. They prayed to the Valar that they would see him again, and then rode from the gates to do their duty.

Legolas turned away, busying himself with the last minute tasks before they departed. His own companions had left shortly before the twins, bearing the letter to his father. His wall was once again firmly in place, and he went about his task silently. Erestor assisted with the preparations, helping Sam with his pack.

"That Legolas sure is a quiet one," Sam remarked. "Are all elves so quiet?"

"He is no doubt serious," Erestor answered. "He has changed so much in the years I have known him. Do not take his seriousness for unkindness, Samwise. He will place himself between you and a raging warg, have no doubt."

Sam nodded. "Aye, I'm very glad he is with us."

Erestor smiled and patted Sam on the shoulder. "Be brave, young hobbit, and do not fail to serve your master."

"I won't, Master Erestor, fear not."

Elrond blessed the members of the Fellowship before they departed, then watched as the last hope of Middle-earth departed his gates.

* * * *

Lindir sat on a bench in the gardens. A deep sigh escaped him as he twirled a sprig of jasmine between his fingers. He tried to keep a stiff upper lip; he tried to hide how much he missed Gildor from those around him. It had been months since his mate departed, and he was beginning to fear that something had gone wrong.

"How long can it take to walk to the Grey Havens and back?" he mumbled to himself.

"Just over two full cycles of the moon, if the weather does not interfere."

Lindir spun around and leapt to his feet. "Gildor!" He ran toward his mate and jumped into his arms.

Gildor laughed and caught his beloved, swinging him around. "Oh I have missed you, my songbird," he murmured into Lindir's hair.

"You smell like the woods," Lindir purred into his ear. "I love the way you smell..."

Gildor smiled and squeezed Lindir. "By the Valar, I never knew I could miss another so much. I love you, Lindir."

Lindir wrapped his legs around Gildor's waist. "I want to go to bed with you, right now, and I don't want to do anything else for at least a fortnight."

Gildor laughed aloud. "I will do my best to see that desire so fulfilled, my love."

Lindir kissed Gildor's face, ears, and neck as his beloved carried him toward their home. "I have been sleeping in your nightshirts. It was not quite the same, but it was better than nothing."

"What else have you been doing?" Gildor murmured.

"Shall I tell you?" Lindir purred. "I have been touching myself and dreaming of you, nearly everyday..." he whispered huskily.

"What a coincidence," Gildor murmured. "I have been doing the same."

"I am aroused just smelling you, touching you like this..."

"Must we go all the way back to our bed? Can we not find some place closer?"

"Gildor! Here? In Lord Elrond's garden?"

"You are right. I suppose that would not be proper."

"Proper has so very little to do with it..."

"Now who is wicked?"

Lindir laughed. "Set me down. I will race you back."

"How is that fair? I have spent the better part of two months walking from here to the Havens and back while you have lounged and luxuriated in our home."

"Yes, but you are stronger and faster than I. Does this not just make it fair?"

Gildor smiled. "Go on, I will even give you a head start."

Lindir laughed and bolted from the garden as soon as Gildor sat him down, with his lover in hot pursuit.

To be continued...

Chapter 15:
Summary: Gildor and Lindir celebrate their reunion. The twins clear the road for the Fellowship.

Lindir laughed as he burst through the door and ran for the staircase. Gildor was following close behind and Lindir would occasionally glance over his shoulder as he ran. He was panting as he threw open the door to their quarters, his fingers quickly working the clasps on his tunic as he headed for the bedroom. He turned, just in time to be shoved backward onto the bed before Gildor landed on top of him.

He began pushing and pulling furiously at Gildor's already unlaced doublet. "Too many clothes," he panted. Gildor's mouth suckled and bit at his neck, and Lindir moaned as he worked the clasps on his mate's tunic. His hands greedily consumed the flesh of Gildor's chest, and his mate rose just long enough to fling both the doublet and tunic onto the chair in the corner. Gildor pulled him into a sitting position quickly, long enough to remove his tunic, then covered him again, pressing him into the bed.

Lindir moaned and wrapped his legs around him grinding their hips together as he kicked off his shoes then pulled Gildor's boots off with his feet.

"Such sweet flesh," Gildor murmured against his neck. "I have missed it beyond imagining."

Lindir wrapped his arms around his mate's powerful body. "I have missed this," he breathed. "I have missed the feeling of your weight on me; I have missed these arms, this back, these shoulders..." Lindir slid his fingers inside Gildor's leggings, caressing and gripping his muscular buttocks. "I want you inside me, my love," he whispered into Gildor's ear.

"Yes," Gildor answered. "It is what I want too..." He rose from the bed and removed his leggings and undergarments, then pulled Lindir's off as well. He crawled onto the bed, following as Lindir scooted up toward its head, then reached across and retrieved the oil that was kept in the bedside table.

He prepared Lindir first with his tongue, his arousal swelling and aching as Lindir's whimpering moans filled his ears. He moved his mouth to Lindir's chest as he slid oiled fingers inside his beloved's body. Lindir's fingers clutched and tugged at his hair as his lover began to beg. Gathering Lindir's legs in his arms, he entered his mate's body.

Lindir cried out, and arched against him and Gildor froze, his heart hammering inside his chest, his body aching to move within his lover's heat. "So long," Lindir whispered hoarsely. "It feels like it has been so long..."

Gildor began to move slowly as Lindir's trembling hands caressed his back and his sultry mouth began to work his ear. "You feel so good," Lindir whispered. "So very good..."

"I have longed for this, dreamed of this," Gildor murmured.

A smile curved Lindir's lips as he was filled by his beloved. The cadence of Gildor's thrusts quickened, and the intensity of his deep, soulful moans heightened. His own release was coming hard as Gildor's strong hand stroked and squeezed, gliding through the fluid that signaled his oncoming rapture. His body rocked and bowed with his beloved's thrusts, Gildor's teeth marked the soft flesh of his neck before his tongue soothed the abused skin.

His climax came upon him in a rush as he cried out, his body tightening and squeezing his mate's arousal as his essence spilled over Gildor's hand and in between their sweat-slicked bodies. Gildor growled low as he buried himself deep and spilled inside his body.

They lay together, panting and trembling, and then Lindir murmured, "I love you."

Gildor smiled. Three small words could bring such joy, such fulfillment. "I love you, Lindir," he answered softly.

Lindir smiled and wrapped his arms and legs tightly around his beloved, as Gildor struggled to pull the bed coverings loose. Lindir laughed softly as his mate chuckled.

"Can you not let go for just one moment?" Gildor teased.

"No, I cannot let go. I told you I was not going to let you leave the bed for a fortnight," Lindir murmured sultrily.

"We may have to leave, otherwise we will grow weak from hunger," Gildor whispered huskily.

"But I have thought of that," Lindir replied. "The kitchen is stocked, we need go no further than the next room."

"Brilliant," Gildor answered, as he pulled the blankets up around them. "Do you think anyone will miss us?"

"Oh, I think they will know where we are," Lindir responded, then nipped the soft flesh of Gildor's neck.

"I suppose you are right," Gildor replied. "Come, rest in my arms for a little while. I have missed holding you."

Lindir smiled as he snuggled against Gildor's chest, and they watched the birds happily tending to their nests outside the window.

* * * *

"Do not let it get away!" Elrohir shouted, as he removed his sword from the chest of an orc.

Elladan galloped after an escaping orc on a warg, his sword held high. The warg growled and snapped at his horse, but his faithful gelding did not yield. Instead, the gelding threw its shoulder into the fell beast, knocking it off balance. This provided Elladan with the opportunity he needed. Rather than strike the orc, he drove his sword through the warg's neck. The warg fell dead as his horse slid to a stop and he dismounted.

The orc growled and sputtered, lurching from side to side as Elladan approached. Elladan's brow was knitted, his lip curled up in a fearsome sneer. "There are far too many of you polluting this earth," he growled menacingly. "There will be far fewer when my brother and I are through."

"Son of Elrond, the half-elf," the orc spat. "Your kind will all fall before my master and beg for mercy."

"We will beg for nothing, nor shall we offer quarter. You are all as good as dead."

He raised his sword, and brought it down hard. The orc blocked the strike, but the strength of the blow sent him staggering backwards. Before he could recover, Elladan's sword came around in an arc, removing his head. Elladan stood over the carcass and spat upon it. "Vermin," he growled. Tying a rope around its ankles, he hauled the dead orc back to a pile Elrohir was making. Tossing the head of the orc on the ground, he said, "Here is one more."

"Did we kill all of them?" Elrohir asked as he untied the orc's body.

"I am certain of it," Elladan answered. Elrohir watched his brother set the orc's head on a spear next to the pile. "A warning," he said in a low voice. "We are coming..."

Elrohir built a small fire and constructed a torch out of a fallen branch that he wrapped with cloth soaked in oil while Elladan dug a small trench around the pyre. He and Elladan often used fire as a weapon, when they could do so without endangering the forest or other peaceful creatures. Ironically, fire sent the orcs into a panic; they would often become so frightened they would lose the ability to fight productively.

Elrohir handed the torch to Elladan. The fearsome grin on his elder twin's features caused a shiver to run down his spine. In all ways but one, Elladan was the thoughtful one of the two of them. He was the one who thought things through, the one who looked to reason and order as tools with which to guide his life. However, when moved to fight, Elrohir thought there were few as fearsome as his elder twin.

They moved down wind from the burning orc carcasses, and sat quietly as the fire burned. They would wait until it had burnt itself out, then they would move on.

"I need a bath," Elrohir said quietly. "I loathe orc blood."

Elladan looked over his shoulder. "There is a stream just beyond that hill." The fire began to die slowly; the pile of orc bodies was reduced to ash and bone. "It is safe to leave it now. Come, I will watch over you."

Elrohir stood up and took Elladan's hand, tugging him to his feet. "I would prefer it if you bathed with me," he said softly.

"Alright," Elladan answered. "I suppose if I were you I would not want to share a bedroll with one who stunk of those foul creatures either."

Elladan looked down at his twin, who knelt next to the cool running stream, splashing water on his arms and face. Elrohir's doublet and breeches were drying upon a rock, having been cleansed of the remnants of battle. Elladan's own lay next to them, and he waded into the knee-deep stream and began to rinse the foul blood from his hands, arms and face.

Elrohir waded in to him, reaching up with a small cloth and cleaning the orc blood from his hair. The gentleness with which Elrohir did so many things never ceased to surprise him. His own blood still ran hot with the rage he still felt whenever they confronted the beasts that defiled their mother. Since those early days after her rescue, Elladan made it a point not to touch Elrohir until his blood had cooled. He swore after that first time that he would learn from his mistake, and never hurt his twin again.

Elrohir's fingers explored his face softly, gently soothing the lines made by the anger he felt. His brother's touch never failed to inflame him. "Elrohir..." he whispered hoarsely.

"You will not hurt me," Elrohir answered. "I trust you." He pushed Elladan's hair behind his ears. "This anger, it hurts you, Elladan. Let me help you let go of it."

"I do not want to hurt you again."

"You will not."

"But I did."

"That was long ago, Elladan; another lifetime ago. You are not the same elf, nor am I."

"No, you are better than you were: braver, more compassionate."

"As are you. I saw that in the way you held Legolas, in the words you spoke, in the love you gave him. You are different too, Elladan, though you do not see it yourself."

Elladan placed his trembling hands on Elrohir's shoulders. "Promise me something," he whispered.

"Anything," Elrohir answered.

"If I begin to hurt you, promise me you will hurt me back. Do not let me do it."

"I will not, I promise."

Elladan knew Elrohir was just as strong as he was, in fact, he suspected that Elrohir was stronger in some ways. Though a bit smaller and lighter than himself, Elrohir was superior at hand to hand combat. In a true match, Elrohir would defeat him every time.

Elrohir took his hand and led him from the stream to a small grove formed by trees and shrubs that grew near the water. He spread their cloaks on the soft ground and lay down, holding out his arms for Elladan.

Elladan looked down upon his twin, his beloved. Nothing was more beautiful to him than Elrohir. His long legs, muscular and lean body, the rich sable hair that spilled from his head, his large, liquid silver eyes and full, red lips. It was hard to believe that when others looked at them they saw them as identical, for Elladan did not see the same things in himself.

He lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled toward his beloved. Already Elrohir's soothing touch and deep melodic voice calmed the rage inside him. What was left he pushed away, and lowered himself into Elrohir's arms.

To be continued...

Chapter 16:
Summary: The Fellowship arrives in Lórien, Thranduil receives the letter from Legolas, Rúmil and Galen appreciate each other.

Galen stood at attention as Haldir approached with their visitors. He glanced at Rúmil; the worried expression on his lover's face caused him much concern. They filed past him, climbing the stairs that led to the talan where Celeborn and Galadriel received visitors. The Prince of Mirkwood was among those who visited, as was Aragorn, who had visited their realm many times before. Aragorn led the band, followed by Legolas, a man from Gondor, a dwarf, and four small creatures, the likes of which he had never seen before. As they passed, the man from Gondor and the dwarf exchanged words in a language he could not understand. The looks on their faces worried him, but he did not move from his post. Some time passed before the group filed back down, once again led by Haldir. As they passed him, Rúmil stopped and stood beside him, but did not speak until the group was far enough away that they would not hear him.

"They have come from Imladris, through Moria," Rúmil finally spoke. "Mithrandir was with them, but they encountered a Balrog near the bridge at Khazad-dûm and Mithrandir fell defending them."

Galen placed a hand over his mouth to stifle his shock and grief. He had not known the wizard well, but all those in Lothlórien loved him greatly. He swallowed and turned to Rúmil. "A Balrog? I did not know those still existed."

Rúmil shook his head. "Nor did I. Perhaps that was the last one, forgotten deep there in the pits of the mountains. Legolas grieves, as does Aragorn; for of the Fellowship, they knew him best, save perhaps Frodo. The young hobbit carries both grief and guilt, for he feels it is his fault that Mithrandir is dead." Rúmil sighed. "They will be staying for a few days before continuing their journey. I hope Haldir can bring Legolas some peace, the prince sorely needs it." He managed a sad smile. "Tell me, my love, when is your duty finished?"

"Soon," Galen replied.

Rúmil nodded. "I shall wait for you, in my talan."

Galen smiled. "I shall come."

Rúmil squeezed Galen's hand before walking away.

* * * *

"How long has it been since you have slept, Legolas?" Haldir asked softly.

"Days," Legolas answered. "I cannot be sure how long, for I do not know how long we were beneath ground. I could not find rest in that place. It is like a tomb, littered with the bodies of orcs and dwarves."

Haldir nodded and squeezed Legolas' shoulder. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Legolas asked wearily.

"I am going to see that you get a bath, a meal, and a good night's sleep in a soft bed. Even warrior princes need some comforts."

"I should stay with the others..."

"You are all safe here," Haldir responded. "The little ones will already be asleep; they were so exhausted. Boromir and Aragorn will look after them."

Legolas looked back toward the meadow where the Fellowship kept a temporary dwelling near the stream. Haldir was right, the Hobbits were already fast asleep and he could hear Gimli's snoring where they stood. "Alright," he agreed, and then he followed Haldir toward the talans that were reserved for guests of the realm.

After a simple but delicious meal of stew and fresh bread, Legolas sat wearily on a bench as Haldir removed his boots. "You are in love," he said softly.

Haldir looked up at him. "How could you know such a thing?" he asked.

"I can tell; I see it in your eyes. Who is it?"

"A maiden who serves my lady," Haldir answered, resuming his task.

"Who would have guessed... Haldir, known far and wide for his carousing ways has fallen in love with a maiden."

Haldir furrowed his brow and looked up at Legolas. "Do you tease me for such?"

"Never," Legolas answered with a gentle smile. "Love is nothing to be teased about."

Haldir looked back down at Legolas' feet. "I knew when you left that your heart would never be mine. I was contented then, as I am now to be your friend and nothing more."

Legolas leaned forward and squeezed Haldir's shoulder. "I am lucky then, to count one such as you among my friends."

Haldir smiled and began unlacing Legolas' doublet.

"I can undress myself, you know," Legolas complained weakly.

"I know, but it is something I can do for you, and I feel the need to do something for you." He said nothing for a moment, and then continued. "You loved him well, did you not?"

Legolas closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the mallorn. "Aye, I did. He saved my life once. He has always been a good and wise friend to both my father and me. I dread bearing the news to Father."

Haldir nodded. "I did not know him well, but he was much beloved of my lord and lady. They grieve for him as we all do."

"I tried to help him, Haldir; but I was too late. Each arrow I fired turned to ash before striking that awful beast. I began to run toward him after drawing my knives, but then the hobbits tried to follow. My first duty, my most important duty is to protect them, so I had to turn back and stop them. When I looked back, the Balrog dragged him off the cliff, and none of us were able to stop it." A shuddering sigh escaped Legolas. "As deep as my sorrow runs, never have I seen a heart as broken as Frodo's. Truly, he loved Mithrandir as a father. I will never forget the sound of their weeping, the pain and hopelessness on their faces. How hard it was for Aragorn to bury his own pain, to marshal his will to continue on."

Haldir sat beside Legolas and placed his arm around him. "I fear we will all lose ones we love before this task is done."

Legolas leaned his head on Haldir's shoulder. "I am so very tired..."

"Come, into the bath with you, then into bed."

Legolas allowed Haldir to remove his tunic and leggings, and then he stepped down into the warm water. He drifted between sleep and wakefulness as Haldir removed his braids and cleansed his hair. Then, in a fog of weariness, he stepped into the robe Haldir held out for him and allowed his friend to lead him to a bed.

"Sleep well, my friend," Haldir murmured as he leaned down and kissed Legolas' forehead. "May the Valar guide your dreams tonight."

* * * *

Thranduil sat in the chair behind his large desk, the letter from his son in his hand. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. "There is no diverting the path of Manwë's will," he said softly as he laid the letter down. "I cannot protect him, nor can I love him as I wish. He is beyond my reach now."

He whispered a prayer to the Valar to watch over his son; both Legolas' fate and his own weighed heavy upon his heart. The vision he had so long ago in Galadriel's mirror was fresh in his mind once again. His son would face many difficult trials in the days to come and he prayed that when it was over, Legolas would still be standing. There would be no war like the one that separated him from his own father; the Elves were diminishing, fading into the West in increasing numbers. Even his own people had begun to leave, in smaller numbers than those who left Lórien and Imladris, but they were leaving nonetheless. He grieved the inevitable march of time and the coming of events that could not be changed. His own time in Middle-earth was ending; the day was coming when he would no longer roam the forest that he loved so much.

He remembered the grief he felt when they fled Doriath, and he remembered the joy and hope he felt when they found Greenwood. He was bound to this forest; he had climbed its trees, swam in its streams and pools, and he had bled upon its ground. He had given the full measure of his devotion in protecting it and soon, he would see it no more. The preceding years had been painful, watching his beloved home slide slowly into darkness while he fought vainly to protect it. In his heart, he knew he could have done no more. Yet, still he wondered; still he felt like a failure.

"What will come, will come," he murmured to himself. "I cannot stop it now."

Slowly, he rose from behind his desk, letting the letter drift from his hand onto the desktop. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he drew himself up and left his study for the council chambers; as long as he was king, he had duties to attend to.

* * * *

Galen entered Rúmil's talen quietly. Closing the door behind him, he removed his boots and set them beside the door. It was dark except for the flicker of candlelight coming from the bedchamber, and he made his way toward it. Rúmil lay on his side, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other resting upon his hip. He was dressed in a thin, shimmering silver robe, his hair unbound and falling loosely around his face. The robe clung to his lean, muscled body and it was open at the neck, exposing a hint of his delicious chest.

As he had so many times in the past weeks, he found himself caught between awe and desire as he gazed amorously at his lover. Rúmil was beautiful, as many elves were. However, his lover's beauty transcended the physical; it was as though his spirit shone from within him, casting a warm glow of peace and love all around him. 'The King of Mirkwood is a fool,' he thought to himself. 'I would never leave him behind; I would never walk away from him.'

Galen worked the clasps on his tunic as he approached the bed, a smile curving his lips as Rúmil's eyes turned toward his. He watched as his lover rolled to his back and sat up and held out his hand. Galen eagerly accepted it, tossing his tunic upon the rocker that sat beside Rúmil's bed. He mounted the bed, crawling across to his lover and meeting Rúmil's lips with his own.

"I love you," he whispered against Rúmil's lips. "I have never seen so beautiful a being in all my life."

Rúmil smiled as he ran his hands into Galen's hair. "I am glad you appreciate me, even if it is only half as much as I appreciate you."

Galen chuckled, his warm breath fluttering against Rúmil's ear. "I do not see how that is possible, my love."

Rúmil's lips caressed the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Perhaps you need proof?"

Galen moaned softly. "Aye, perhaps I do..."

Rúmil placed his hands on Galen's shoulders. "On your back, then."

Galen chuckled again. "Yes, captain..."

To be continued...

Chapter 17:
Summary: The battle of Helm's Deep ends, Lindir and Gildor prepare to depart Middle-earth, Glorfindel and Erestor prepare to wait.

Legolas gazed at the maze of human and orc bodies that lay around him. The ground was wet with both the rain that fell and the blood that had been spilled. His chest heaved as he drew heavy breaths, and his wet hair clung to his face. He could no longer discern the color of his garments or of his own skin, as they were soiled with grime and blood. The healers and the women helped wounded men to their feet, and Legolas looked up to see the sun rising in the east. "Anor comes, at last," he said quietly. Sensing someone was watching him, he looked down to see a young boy, no more than thirteen years of age, looking up at him in wonder.

He knelt down and pointed up to the sky. "Look, the sun rises," he said softly. "We live to see another day." He smiled at the young boy and ruffled his hair, then walked away to find his friends.

The first face he recognized was that of Éomer, and he approached to inquire if the Third Marshall had seen either Aragorn or Gimli.

"Legolas!"

He heard Aragorn's voice and he turned, relief washing over his features as he greeted his weary and battered friend.

"You are still standing, my friend." Aragorn clasped Legolas' shoulder. "I am most glad to see that."

Legolas smiled wearily and nodded. "Aye, though just barely, I fear. Never have I been so close to collapse." He clasped Aragorn's shoulder in return. "Have you seen Gimli?"

Aragorn's face clouded. "No, I have not seen him since I followed Théoden into the Keep."

"Ai, don't count me out so soon!"

Legolas and Aragorn turned to see Gimli picking his way through the debris. The dwarf had a bandage on his head, but seemed otherwise no worse for wear. Legolas smiled, both from relief and from genuine joy at seeing his friend alive.

"Forty-two, Master Legolas!" Gimli boasted, raising his axe high in the air. "How goes it with you?"

Legolas laughed. It was the first time his companions had seen him smile since Moria.

"You best me by one," Legolas answered with a smile, clasping his friend's shoulder. "But I do not begrudge you the game, for I am happy to see you on your feet."

"How much of this is yours and how much is the enemy's?" Gimli asked, pointing at Legolas' soiled garments.

"Very little is mine, though no doubt I have a scratch or two. The fighting was fierce here on the wall, my friend."

"Aye, no doubt," Gimli answered. "I would have stayed by your side..."

Legolas grinned. "Yes, but for that leap into the breach. For a moment I believed my eyes deceived me and you had grown wings with which to fly."

Gimli chuckled and nodded. "Well, I do fight much better when I have room to move. 'Tis difficult to wield an axe in such close quarters."

Éomer laughed and agreed. "Never have I seen an axe wielded thusly. I have your friend to thank for the continued use of my head."

Legolas leveled his gaze upon the Third Marshall. Now that they had fought together, he felt he understood the man better than he did on their first encounter. A gentle smile curved his lips and he answered Éomer, "And to think you would have removed his, had I not drawn on you and had Aragorn's reason not prevailed over our heated dispositions."

Éomer smiled and bowed his head. "We should both be thankful for our friend's wisdom."

Legolas turned to Aragorn and smiled. "Aye, we should."

Aragorn clasped both their shoulders. "Come, let us see how we can help the healers. The battle may be done, but the war is far from over."

They made their way along the wall and into the Keep.

* * * *

Lindir and Erestor stood in the middle of the cavernous room that had once been the library of Imladris. The last crate had been removed; not a single book, map, or tapestry remained. Lindir wadded his sleeves in his hands; standing in the empty library made him feel untethered, as if he were adrift.

"Our work is done," Erestor said. "Soon the treasures we have tended these many years will be beyond harm, safe in Aman."

Lindir nodded, but said nothing. Erestor squeezed his shoulder. "Come, Lindir, do not feel sadness. Think of the work we have awaiting us, think of the fulfillment of establishing a new library, one that will remain through the ages."

"I will be fine, Erestor," he said softly. "I just need some time to adjust to what is happening."

"Not too much time, I hope," Erestor answered. "For you leave upon the morrow."

Lindir swallowed. "I know."

Erestor pressed a kiss to the side of his friend's head. "I must leave you now, Lindir. For though the library is finished, I still have many things to attend to."

"Go," Lindir replied. "I would like to stay here for just a little while longer."

"Very well."

Erestor departed the library. Lindir swallowed again when he heard the echoing thump with which the door closed. He walked through the room, caressing the empty shelves as he looked around. So much of his life had been spent in this room. He closed his eyes, memories of days past flooding into his mind. The sound of elflings' laughter, the sounds of Erestor's voice as he both taught and disciplined the twins and Arwen, the quiet conversations, hushed murmurs, stolen kisses and touches. The sound of creaking bindings of books, the soft rustle of pages, the smell of ink and parchment. It was all so vivid.

"Lindir?"

He opened his eyes to see his beloved gazing at him in concern. He managed a smile as Gildor approached and stepped into his mate's embrace. "This is my home," he said quietly, his voice muffled against Gildor's shoulder. "I have lived my entire adult life here. So many memories, so many happy times..."

Gildor caressed Lindir's hair as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For so long he had waited for the day when he could return to his home. So many years waiting, fighting, praying for the day when he would again see the land of his birth. Here on the eve of the event he had yearned for, he found himself consoling Lindir. For as much has he had hoped for this day, Lindir had dreaded it; indeed, he had feared it.

"Lindir..."

Lindir pulled away and gazed into Gildor's eyes. "I was born here," he began in earnest. "Middle-earth is the only home I have ever known; it is where I feel I belong."

"Lindir, if this is what you want - if you truly want to stay, we can."

Lindir caressed Gildor's face. "But you have waited so long; you have wanted this for so long..."

"I want nothing as much as to see you happy. I could not bear for you to suffer sadness because of me."

"You would do this for me?" Lindir asked softly. "You would stay, for me?"

Gildor smiled sadly and nodded. "I belong with you, Lindir, wherever that may be."

Lindir embraced Gildor tightly. "I do not deserve you," he whispered. He held Gildor for long moments, then pulled back and gazed into his mate's eyes. "I can love nothing or no one as much as you, Gildor. I have had my home all my life; it is time you had yours. I belong with you..."

Gildor pressed his forehead against Lindir's. "Are you sure, my love? We can never come back."

"I will not say that I am not afraid, that I will not miss this place. But you are right, Gildor. Middle-earth is changing; as much as I love it now, it will not be the same when all our kind is gone. It is time for me to make a new home, new memories, with you in Aman."

"You will be happy there, Lindir, I promise you. I will spend everyday for the rest of time making sure you are happy."

Lindir smiled and caressed Gildor's lips with his own. "I know you will, and I will do the same."

They shared a long, tender kiss, then Gildor took Lindir's hand. "Come, my love, we still have much to do."

Lindir nodded and followed Gildor from the library, casting one long, farewell glance before he closed the door for the last time.

* * * *

Erestor stood beside Glorfindel's desk as his mate pored over troop rosters. "How long?" he asked.

"Just a bit longer, my love," Glorfindel answered softly.

"No, I meant how long are we staying behind?"

Glorfindel set down his quill and looked up at his mate. He pushed his chair back from the desk and patted his knee, and Erestor sank into his lap with his customary grace. He brushed the fall of raven hair behind his beloved's shoulder and pressed a kiss to the base of Erestor's neck, just above his collar. "I must stay until Frodo's task is either done or we know he has failed. I am keeping just enough of my warriors with me to ensure the safe departure of Elrond and his children, should it come to that."

Erestor nodded. "Well, if you must stay, then I must stay."

"No, you mustn't. Erestor, why do you not go ahead of me? You could have our home ready for my arrival."

Erestor cocked his head. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Well, I was hoping for some time to ravish some of my warriors..." Erestor pinched one of his nipples and Glorfindel barked in response.

"Very funny."

"In all seriousness, I would not object if you wanted to go on without me. I know how long you have waited for this day."

Erestor leaned against Glorfindel's solid chest. "You have waited too. I share in your sacrifices, Glorfindel. As long as you remain, I will remain."

Glorfindel gave Erestor's waist a squeeze. "You do know that I love you, yes?"

"How could you not?" Erestor answered with a wry grin.

"Now who jests?" Glorfindel chuckled, and he gazed up into Erestor's face.

Erestor took Glorfindel's face in his hands. "I love you, my lion," he murmured.

Glorfindel gazed at Erestor through half-lidded eyes as he tilted his head and parted his lips. "My raven... my beautiful raven..." he murmured as Erestor took his mouth in a kiss.

Nothing compared to kissing his beloved, to the feel of Erestor's tongue sliding against his, of his mate's lips softly caressing his own. "Mmmm..." he murmured as Erestor pulled away. "I will get no work done if this continues."

Erestor smiled against Glorfindel's mouth. "Consider it a prelude of what awaits you at home when you are through."

"Then you must release me now, or my mind will be so clouded with desire that my remaining tasks will take hours..."

"Well, we cannot have that!" Erestor laughed as he rose from Glorfindel's lap. "Does roast pheasant meet your approval for our evening meal, my love?" he asked, removing his cloak from the peg near Glorfindel's office door.

"Anything you prepare meets my approval," Glorfindel answered with a smile. "Shall I procure a bottle of wine from Lord Elrond's cellar before coming home?"

"Why not two?" Erestor winked as he closed the door behind him.

Glorfindel smiled mischievously and muttered to himself, "Why not, indeed?"

To be continued...

Chapter 18:
Summary: Legolas and the twins are reunited; Lindir and Gildor arrive at the Grey Havens.

So much had changed in so little time, Legolas thought as he watched the moonlit trail before him. Mithrandir had fallen and returned, Boromir had been lost to them, and where Frodo and Sam were, no one knew. Four of the original nine remained, as Mithrandir had taken Pippin to Minas Tirith. Now he, Gimli, Aragorn and Merry were returning to Edoras under cover of night.

The sound of galloping horses caught his attention from their rear flank; none of the others had yet heard it. He turned Arod and felt Gimli shift behind him, woken from his slumber. The dwarf's hold tightened on his waist and he heard him grumble as his eyes opened.

"What is it, laddie?" Gimli asked.

"Horses," Legolas answered quietly. "Riding hard and coming from the north."

"Legolas?" Aragorn rode up beside him. "What do you see?"

"Nothing yet, but I hear horses approaching - light cavalry by the sound of it."

"Horsemen?" Aragorn frowned.

Éomer joined Aragorn. "What is it?"

"Horsemen, approaching from the north."

Éomer turned and looked down the ranks. "I hear nothing..."

Legolas answered, "I do."

Soon, a rider came galloping up the line toward Éomer. "My lord, horsemen are approaching us from behind. I heard them just now, as we crossed the fords!"

Théoden called for the band to halt, and Éomer took his second and galloped to the rear of the line. Aragorn placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but Legolas stayed his arm.

"Wait," he said softly. "Elvish horses are among them..."

Aragorn set Merry down then dismounted, moving to stand beside Théoden should the situation become dangerous. His hand never left his sword, nor did his gaze falter from the rear of the line. They all heard it now, the sound of horses approaching at a gallop.

A smile curved Legolas' lips and he reached behind him, grasping Gimli's arm. "I am going to set you down, my friend," he said quietly.

"And where do you think you are going without me?" Gimli protested.

"Stay here, with Aragorn and the king, I shall return quickly." He galloped off after Éomer as Aragorn called after him.

"Where is he going?" Aragorn asked with a frown.

"I don't know, but if he finds a fight without me he will smart for it later," Gimli groused.

Éomer looked up to see Legolas gallop past him and debated whether or not he should follow. Knowing the elf could more than take care of himself, he opted to stay with his men, should trouble arrive.

"Who rides in Rohan?" Éomer shouted as the horsemen came within hearing distance.

"Halbarad Dúnadan," came the reply.

"Legolas!" Elrohir shouted as he halted his horse and swung down from her back.

"Hello, my dear friends!" Legolas replied, his feet touching the ground before Arod was fully stopped. He ran forward and embraced Elrohir, and then Elladan, as the elder twin joined them. "'Tis so good to see the both of you!"

"Aye, we are much relieved to see you in such good condition," Elladan answered as he pressed a quick kiss to the side of Legolas' head.

"We heard you could use some assistance," Elrohir answered with a grin. "And it has been too long since we have seen the lands east of the mountains."

"One can never have too many excellent warriors such as yourselves among them," Legolas replied. He smiled as Arod approached and nudged his elbow. "Meet my fine friend, Arod," he said as he stroked the gelding's muzzle. "He has borne me bravely in the past weeks."

"Hello, Arod," Elrohir said softly, cupping his hands and rubbing them over the horse's closed eyes. "A fine steed of Rohan, no doubt. Sturdy and forthright."

"Come," Legolas crooked his head. "I know one other who will be most pleased to see you." He swung up on Arod's back as the twins mounted their own horses, then they cantered ahead to greet Aragorn.

* * * *

Lindir stood upon the balcony of the room he and Gildor shared at the Grey Havens. The sad song of gulls, borne to him upon the wind greeted his ears, and the smell of salt from the sea filled his nostrils. The great ship that would bear them into the West rocked gently beside her berth, the gentle sound of waves lapping at her hull joined the chorus of wind, water, and the song of the gulls.

He felt Gildor's arms slip around his waist, and he leaned back against his mate's substantial form. "It is Eru's music," he whispered. "It is more beautiful than any music I could ever create."

"Nay, not more beautiful, my love," Gildor murmured into Lindir's ear. "Just a different sort."

"Can we live by the sea, Gildor? I would like to hear this music every day of my life."

"We can live where you desire, my love. It matters not to me, as long as you are there."

"I still feel a little sad," he answered. "But I now also feel much hope for the future."

"I too will miss this land that brought me to you," Gildor answered gently. "It will live as it is now in our memories, which is perhaps better than seeing it change."

"Aye," Lindir replied. "For it will change; men will change it. They do not see it as we do; they do not love it as we do."

"There are always the hobbits. They love the earth as much as we."

Lindir turned in Gildor's arms. "Will you walk with me, down to the beach?"

"I will follow you anywhere," Gildor answered with a smile. "Lead on, my love."

Walking hand in hand along the shore, Lindir stopped off and on to wiggle his toes in the sand and feel the cold rush of the sea as the waves rolled up the shallow beach. It was cold, even for an elf's tolerance, but for some reason the briskness of the air and the sea felt good to him. He saw a wind-weathered trunk of a fallen tree, and he guided Gildor over to sit on it. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him and snuggled closer to Gildor. The gulls glided and danced on the wind above their heads, their cries echoing against the hillsides.

Lindir reached over and took Gildor's hand, turning it over between his own. A smile curved his lips as he caressed the palm and fingers. "Do you remember that night in the garden?" he asked softly.

"Aye, I do," Gildor answered. "You held my hand as you do now; you told me they were only a little dry and a little stiff."

"And my own were stained with ink," Lindir answered. He looked up into Gildor's eyes. "I think that was when I fell in love with you. I could not believe that one who had spent so much time needing to kill could be so gentle." He leaned forward and nuzzled Gildor's hair. "The way you talked to me, it was not as others talked to me. You have never sheltered me, nor hidden the truth from me. You have treated me as an equal, not as 'sweet, soft Lindir'."

"You have your own strength, my love," Gildor answered. "Strength resides not in the body, not in muscle and bone and sinew, but in the heart. You are brave, honest, and you have courage of conviction, the qualities that make a good warrior. You could have been one, Lindir. I suspect you could have been one of the best, yet you chose your own path, and for that I am thankful. The wisdom you have gained and the beauty within you has flourished in your music and your books. We have enough warriors, we do not have enough scholars."

"What an unlikely pair we are," Lindir murmured.

"Nay, not so unlikely," Gildor answered. "More unlikely is Glorfindel and Erestor. Who would have guessed that two friends who spent ages getting on one another's nerves would end up bonded mates?"

Lindir laughed. "I am going to miss them until they arrive. I hope they do not tarry long."

"No longer than necessary, my love."

"It was kind of Glorfindel and Lord Elrond to release you when most of the military stayed behind."

Gildor smiled and nodded. "Aye. They are good and honest leaders. They both knew I had served them well and had earned my release."

"They also knew you would never ask for it."

"Perhaps." Gildor smiled as he pulled Lindir into his lap and nuzzled his face. "Your nose is red and cold," he said softly.

Lindir smiled. "It is cold here."

"Aye. I know somewhere warm..."

"You do?"

Gildor murmured against Lindir's mouth, "Aye, and it has a soft bed with warm blankets."

"Mmm... then you must take me there."

Gildor rose with Lindir in his arms and made his way back toward their lodgings at the Havens.

To be continued...

Chapter 19:
Summary: The remaining members of the Fellowship camp with their allies on the eve of their journey through the Paths of the Dead. Lórien comes under siege. Legolas has a strange dream.

Elrohir stared down the narrow passageway cut from the cliffs. A foul wind came from the crevasse that was spooking the horses and causing general unrest in the camp. His arms were crossed tight against his chest, the cold wind blowing his hair back from his face as he fixed his gaze deep into the shadows.

"What do you see?" Elladan asked softly, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Them," Elrohir answered. "I see the traitors."

"That is the way to the dead," one of the Rohirrim called from the edge of the camp. "No one who goes in there comes out alive."

Elladan looked at the frightened man and nodded, "Perhaps it would be best to move the horses away from this place; they sense the danger."

The man nodded and led his frightened mount away from the mouth of the crevasse.

"This will not be easy," Elladan spoke quietly into his brother's ear. "They sense everything, they will use our own fears and guilt against us to confuse us. They will try to seal us in and take our souls."

Elrohir nodded. "None of us is safe, save Legolas perhaps. The souls of elves are beyond the reach of fallen men."

"I worry most for Aragorn, and for us."

"Aye." Elrohir turned and looked at his twin. "They will not twist my love, Elladan. I will not let them."

Elladan gave Elrohir a reassuring smile. "Nor will I, brother." He squeezed Elrohir's shoulder then walked away; he needed to get away from that place, even if just for a moment.

Elrohir turned back and looked again. They were still there. He could feel their cold fingers on him, like bare skeletal bones raking his body, and he set his jaw against the fear. "You will not deter us," he growled low. He felt Legolas' comforting hands on his shoulders and closed his eyes.

"No, they shall not. I will protect you, all of you, if need be. I do not fear the dead." Legolas smiled grimly at the ghostly figure that hovered in the shadows. "You cannot touch me."

The sound of a distorted growl blew from the crevasse as the figure dissipated, causing frightened murmurs to rise from the camp. Elrohir closed his eyes and sighed; it was a relief to have the thing gone. "How long will it take, do you think?" he asked softly.

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know; no one knows. I do not relish the thought of being underground again, not after Moria."

Elrohir nodded then turned to look at Legolas. "Can you tell me what it was like? What the Balrog was like?"

Legolas closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. "Terrible, fearsome, awesome. Never have I seen anything like that. It towered over us; you could feel the heat and smell the smoke hundreds of feet away. When it walked, it shook the ground; when it breathed, it exhaled fire. Fearsome horns curved from its head, wings that seemed to be covered in flesh protruded from its back. It carried a whip and a sword, both made of flame, and sparks flew when the sword struck. When it cracked its whip, smoke and flame ushered forth." He shook his head. "Afterward, when we reached clear air and I could feel Anor's light upon my face, all I could think about was Glorfindel."

Elrohir grasped Legolas' elbow and nodded. "He does not speak of it, nor will Erestor. I believe they are the only two elves in Middle-earth who have ever seen one."

"How he managed to defeat the one he battled with, I will never know; and what the pain must have been like..."

Elrohir furrowed his brow and drew Legolas into an embrace. "Soon, the beasts of Sauron and Morgoth will be gone from this earth. We will defeat the Dark Lord, Legolas. I am sure of it."

Legolas nodded and drew away, taking Elrohir's hand. "Come, let us take some rest before we depart."

Elrohir nodded and followed Legolas back to the camp.

* * * *

Rúmil waved, directing his archers into the trees on the eastern fences. Galen's regiment arrived from Caras Galadhon as reinforcements. They fanned out at the bases of the trees, bows readied, and they waited for Rúmil's command. Orcs were swarming across the river, in numbers larger than they had seen before. As the first volley of arrows was set loose, Celeborn arrived with his swordsmen, and they took up ranks behind the archers, ready to advance.

The first two lines of orcs where felled by the hundreds of arrows that came from the treetops. Galen's regiment fired second, straight into the chaos that followed the first volley. The lines of dead orcs slowed the progress of the assault, and this gave time for the reinforcements that were still arriving to organize.

Both Orophin and Haldir's regiments arrived, less those they left on the borders. Caras Galadhon was protected by a skeleton band of Galadhrim, as they were counting on the main host to keep the orcs from progressing that far. No host of Sauron had ever set foot within the Golden Wood, and Celeborn planned to keep it that way.

In the long, watchful peace that had just ended, no warrior of the Galadhrim remained that had seen their lord in battle. Many of those who fought in the Last Alliance had fallen or had sailed into the West after the war was over. The Sindar had learned a valuable lesson in that war, and now many, including Thranduil's warriors, went into battle wearing light armor.

Galen looked at his lord, dressed for battle with a fearsome expression upon his face. He saw Lord Celeborn in a new light that day, not only as the wise and good leader he was, but also as a fearsome warrior. Galen stowed his bow and brandished his sword as the orcs advanced; they were far fewer in number, but still numbered more than his own kin.

The sound of elvish steel and orcish iron rang out through the trees and the battle began in earnest. The sun was setting, and Lórien was under siege.

* * * *

Glorfindel stood before Elrond, awaiting his lord's decision. His spies in the east had seen the orcs gathering for attack upon Lórien, and to the south, a mounting threat to Rohan was building. The whole of Middle-earth was about to explode into war.

Elrond stood before his window; his gaze was unfixed as he took in the news Glorfindel had brought him. He had foreseen these events; it was why Imladris was emptied of its residents, except for those who were essential. He turned and looked at Glorfindel. He could see the desire to take action burning in Glorfindel's eyes. Once a warrior, always a warrior, he thought.

"We have not the time nor the resources to aid Lórien," Elrond said. "Nor can we aid Rohan. We cannot prevent these things, Glorfindel. The best we can do is shield Imladris until there is no more time left."

Glorfindel closed his eyes. The defeat in his lord's voice was almost beyond his bearing. "Can we do nothing, my lord? Is it our lot to hide and run while Sauron's forces ruin this world? We have fought against the odds and won before; we can do it again."

"Not this time, Glorfindel," Elrond answered. "We do not have the Men of Númenor to aid us. Rohan is weakened, Gondor is weakened; they are both ripe to fall. Too many of us have sailed now to have a chance at victory. No. The only hope is in the hands of the hobbit; it is he who holds the fate of Middle-earth now. Lórien will not fall; Galadriel will not see her people die, nor her wood defiled."

Glorfindel nodded in understanding, then bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand. "As you wish, my lord." He turned on his heel and departed Elrond's chambers, accepting his lord's command.

Erestor waited at the end of the hallway, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his dark robes. He could tell by Glorfindel's expression that Elrond had refused to send warriors east. It was the right decision; in time, he knew that Glorfindel would see that as well. "Come, my love. Not all battles are yours to fight." He took Glorfindel's hand and led him back to his office.

* * * *

Mist was rising from the ground and the battlefield was silent aside from the occasional skirmish. Celeborn stood amid a mountain of orc carcasses, the tip of his sword on the ground and the bright steel of his armor soiled with blood. He was the picture of the warriors of old, like a page from one of the history books in the library, Galen thought. Those pictures were what drove him to be a guardian, and as he stood amid the bodies of orcs, gazing upon his lord, he was proud of his decision.

He sighed in relief as Rúmil approached, somewhat bruised and cut, but otherwise no worse for wear. As for himself, he ached all over, as though he had been repeatedly beaten and kicked. He had a few scratches on his face and a cut on his hand; otherwise, he was fine.

"Are you well?" Rúmil asked as he quickly examined his lover.

"Aye, I am," Galen answered. "You?"

"Aye."

They both looked to see Haldir approaching Celeborn, then saw the captain smile wearily and nod to his lord. Haldir gave the order to begin gathering the wounded and disposing of the orc bodies. This assault was unsuccessful; he prayed there would not be another.

"Come," Rúmil said softly. "We yet have work to do."

Galen nodded in reply and followed his lover to help gather the wounded.

* * * *

He was on a beach. In his life, he had never set foot on a beach, nor seen the Sea. Gulls glided on the wind over his head, waves made a soft gurgling sound as they rolled over the sand and smooth pebbles beneath his feet. 'Where am I?' Legolas questioned, as he looked around him.

Something moved in the periphery of his vision and he turned. An elf was rising from the waves. Unbound, honeyed hair clung to the elf's face and shoulders. He was bare except for a loincloth that clung to his form. His face was unclear, obscured though there was nothing covering it. The elf came onto the beach with a casual, long stride, pausing to squeeze the water out of his hair before pushing it back from his face. Still, Legolas could not see the elf's face, yet there was something familiar about him. The elf approached, paused, and then reached out, cupping Legolas' face with his hand.

"Welcome," the elf said, then removed his hand and strode away.

Legolas' face grew warm beneath the elf's touch, and even as the hand pulled away, the sensation lingered. He wanted to call out but his voice failed him; he tried to follow, but his legs refused to obey his command. Then, the elf vanished, leaving behind only the feeling of warm familiarity.

Legolas awoke in the tent he was sharing with the twins. He was no longer on some unknown beach, but in Dunharrow. He blinked as his eyes refocused, then rolled to his side to find Elladan awake and watching him.

"I had the strangest dream," he said softly.

"Tell it to me," Elladan answered.

Legolas relayed the dream and the peredhel listened, his face unreadable. After Legolas finished his tale, Elladan softly answered him. "You say this elf was familiar, yet not?"

"Aye. It was as if I knew him, but did not."

"My father once told me that the spirits of our loved ones departed will sometimes visit us in dreams to guide us."

Legolas furrowed his brow. "I have lost no loved ones. My mother yet lives in Aman..." Understanding dawned upon his features. "My grandfather..."

"Perhaps," Elladan answered.

"That is why I could not see his face; I have never seen him, nor do I have a painting of him. I have only my father's description of him."

"Did you take comfort in his presence?"

"Aye, very much."

Elladan smiled. "Then perhaps that was his purpose. Your warrior ancestor came to bolster your courage."

Legolas smiled and rolled to his back. "I like that thought."

Elladan nodded and sat up. "'Tis nearly dawn. I think I shall try to see if my own grandfather is watching over me this night."

Legolas sat up and rose with Elladan. "May I accompany you?"

Elladan held out his hand. "Of course."

To be continued...

Chapter 20:
Summary: Aragorn and company take the Paths of the Dead, Mirkwood comes under siege, the Battle of Pelennor Fields rages, and Legolas gets injured.

Slowly they led their horses into the gathering darkness. Whispers, not quite discernable, floated in the air around them, and cold air fell over them like a shroud. Aragorn pressed onward, torch held aloft, seemingly without fear. Softly, almost too soft to be heard, Legolas sang a gentle song, seeking to give comfort to his frightened mount. Gimli listened, seeking reassurance in his friend's voice, for his own heart was constricted with fear. Elladan and Elrohir followed behind, taking strength in one another as they closed their minds to the ghosts of the traitors.

How long they were below ground, no one knew, but after what seemed an eternity, Legolas saw the cavern open and beheld the shimmer of stars in the deep blue canopy above. They mounted their horses once again, preparing to ride forth. Legolas looked back, his eyes glittering in the dark.

"The Dead are following," he said softly.

"Aye," Elladan answered. "They have been summoned."

"We need not fear them," Elrohir added. "For we ride with their king."

They emerged from a deep ravine to the sound of water falling upon rock. Below were fields and homes of men who fled before them and shut themselves in their dwellings. At length, they arrived at the Stone of Erech. There, Aragorn took the next step in fulfilling his destiny, summoning the Army of the Dead and leading them on to the harbor at Pelargir where they commandeered the ships of the Corsairs.

The battle was short, for the brigands fled in fear of the Army of the Dead. Not a one was left standing, and Aragorn steered the ships toward the docks at Minas Tirith.

* * * *

The smoke was nearly blinding as Thranduil hurled his spear into the darkness, striking the leader of the band of orcs that attacked his home. They were met upon the southern border of his lands, a border that had drawn back all too near to the caves where his subjects took shelter. Those caves were sealed; the civilians were walled inside and guarded by the last line of defense: the palace guard.

Spinning, he brought his sword in a wide arc, removing the head of the latest orc to seek his death. The sword twisted in his hand as he readjusted his grip, plunging it deep into the chest of his next foe. The battle was long and fierce, and soon his archers would be lacking arrows to keep up their assault from the trees. Thranduil ran the short distance to where his spear stood, lodged in the orc's chest, and removed it, using it to block a strike from another orc. It had been years uncounted since his realm had endured such a fierce attack, and now it was endangered by both orcs and flame.

As Anor rose and darkness gave way to dawn, the sounds of battle died. Thranduil stood amidst a mountain of orc carcasses, his chest heaving and his visage soiled by their black blood. Leaning heavily on his spear, he surveyed the field; by some miracle of the Valar, he had lost not one warrior. The smell of a storm greeted his senses, and he looked up to see clouds gathering in the pale light. A smile curved his lips as rain began to fall hard and the crackle and pop of the fire began to wane.

"Blessed be Manwë," he said softly. "He yet protects us."

He felt a hand upon his arm and looked down into his captain's eyes. "It is over, my lord."

Thranduil smiled sadly and squeezed his captain's shoulder. "I am afraid it is not over yet, my friend, nor will it be as long as Dol Guldur stands." He sighed and patted his captain on the back. Come, we will leave these beasts until after the rains; we can dispose of them then."

The captain nodded and walked beside his king, back toward the river and their home.

* * * *

"They are bold," Celeborn said in a low voice as he stood upon the edge of the talan where he and Galadriel held court. "Two attacks in four days; the Dark Lord grows desperate."

"Perhaps he is over confident," Galadriel answered. "Twice have we repelled his forces, yet he does not hesitate to continue."

"He believes us to be weak," Celeborn answered. He turned and looked at his wife. "Perhaps it is he who is weak."

Galadriel smiled knowingly and rose from her chair to stand beside her husband. Placing her hand upon his shoulder, she said softly, "I think it is time, my love. Send word to Thranduil: the days of Dol Guldur are coming to an end."

Celeborn smiled and nodded. "Yes," he answered in fierce agreement. "It is time that the Dark Lord pays for the crimes he has committed in these woods."

* * * *

Legolas had never fought so fierce a battle, not even at the Hornburg. As twilight fell, he looked around the smoking and bloodied field. The ground and river were red with blood, and smoke filled the air from both the city and the fields. Mt. Doom erupted with renewed intensity as the sky glowed orange in the East. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield as he looked for his friends. His gaze lit upon Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan sat on the ground, holding Halbarad's head in his lap. The elder twin's head was bowed, his sable hair falling over one shoulder in a single braid. Elrohir stood beside him, his hand upon Elladan's shoulder, his head also bent in grief.

"Madness," Legolas whispered. "This is madness..." He felt Gimli's hand upon his back and looked down into the dwarf's weary eyes. "Never have I seen so much death," he continued softly.

Gimli sighed. "Many a fine man has fallen this day. I hope I never see the likes of this again." He looked toward the city. "I never thought I would hear myself say this, but I could use a bath and a soft bed. I reek of orc."

Legolas smiled wearily and nodded. "Go seek some comfort, my friend. I wish to see to my friends in their grief."

Gimli watched Legolas walk away, noting the strange way he moved. "Legolas? Are you all right?" Legolas turned and nodded, then continued toward the twins.

Elrohir looked up to see Legolas' approach and smiled in relief. He opened his mouth to greet their friend when he saw Legolas collapse. "Legolas!" Elrohir cried, as he ran toward the prince. Elladan looked up to see their friend crumpled on the ground and Elrohir and Gimli running toward him.

* * * *

Legolas sensed light, and his eyes began to clear from his reverie. He awoke in a soft bed in a high-walled room; the window coverings fluttered gently in the breeze and Anor's light broke through the windows as she rose. Turning his head, he saw Elrohir sitting in a chair, his grey eyes clouded with reverie; he was still dressed in the battle gear he had worn the day before. Another turn of his head revealed Gimli, sleeping upon a divan that sat beside a window.

He struggled to sit up and felt a stabbing pain in his side. Unable to suppress the groan of pain, he weakly settled back into the soft bedding. His hand rested upon his side, the source of his discomfort, and he furrowed his brow as the pain subsided.

The groan woke Elrohir, who sat up in his chair and rubbed his face. Rising and crossing the room to the bed, he sat next to Legolas. "How are you this morning?" he asked softly.

"Sore," Legolas responded. "But I think I shall live to fight another day."

Elrohir brushed the hair from Legolas' face. "You frightened us. When I saw you collapse, I feared the worst."

"My ribs are broken, yes?" Legolas asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, and you have several bruises and cuts. You should be fully healed in a day. You collapsed from exhaustion, and no doubt, the pain was making it worse. How long did you fight in that condition?"

"I am not sure," Legolas answered. "Everything was happening so fast..." He looked around the room. "Where is Elladan?"

Elrohir shrugged. "He was here when I fell asleep."

"I am here," Elladan answered from the door. He carried a tray with tea, bread and some cheese. "I gathered what I could in terms of food. The city is in complete disarray, and there is a shortage of drinking water. I managed to collect enough for the tea, but no more. After this is gone, we will have to drink miruvor until the water supply has been restored."

Elrohir looked at Elladan and smiled as his twin sat down. Legolas looked up at Elladan and smiled, recalling their conversation in Dunharrow. "I am glad to see you still on your feet, my friend," the prince said quietly.

Elladan nodded and smiled. "As I am glad to see you recovering so well. You gave us quite a fright, my prince."

The twins helped Legolas sit up and Elrohir propped pillows behind him. Elrohir leaned in quickly to press a soft kiss to the prince's cheek before sitting down again.

"I am sorry about your friend," Legolas said sadly. "How did Aragorn take the news?"

"He was deeply grieved. We lost many a good friend yesterday, among them Théoden King."

Legolas furrowed his brow. "Théoden has fallen?"

Elrohir nodded. "Aye, 'twas the Witch King of Angmar who took his life. The king was avenged by the White Lady of Rohan, who lies in the Houses of Healing as a result of her battle with the devil."

"Éowyn is injured?" Legolas asked with concern.

"Aye. She was near death last night, but Aragorn attended her and brought her back to the land of the living," Elladan answered. "Faramir was nearly lost as well, but Aragorn has healed them both. Denethor threw himself from the tower in a fit of madness."

Legolas closed his eyes. "So much death," he whispered.

"I fear there may yet be more," Elrohir replied. "The Dark Lord has been turned back, but he is not yet defeated."

Elladan placed his hand upon Elrohir's shoulder. "Estel wants to speak with us, as soon as Legolas is ready."

Legolas made to rise, but Elrohir stayed the prince with his hand upon his chest. "Not yet, my friend. You need more time to rest and heal before you begin moving about. Estel will need you in the coming days; you must be healed and strong."

Legolas nodded. "Aye, I understand." He looked down at himself then looked back to the twins. "You bathed me?"

Elrohir answered. "Yes, and changed your garments. The laundry women are trying to remove the blood and grime from your clothes as we speak. We told them that the Prince of Mirkwood would want to ride into battle wearing the garb of his kindred."

Legolas smiled as Gimli snored loudly from the divan. He crooked his head toward his friend and said in a soft voice, "He should be next. He desired a bath last I spoke to him."

Elladan smiled. "Gimli has not left your side since you collapsed." A grin curved his lips. "Though he did turn his back when we undressed and bathed you. He is a good friend to you, Legolas."

Legolas smiled as Elrohir added, "Who would have thought it? A Prince of Mirkwood and a dwarf being close friends."

Legolas smiled and responded, "Aye, my father would be most surprised of all, I think."

Elladan crossed the room and shook Gimli by the shoulder. "Come my noisy friend, I understand you are seeking a bath."

Gimli grumbled as he woke and sat up. "I told you I am not leaving until I know he is all right."

Elladan turned and gestured toward the bed. "See for yourself then."

"Legolas!" Gimli cried. "You scared me half out of my wits!"

"Seeing as you are half out of them already, I suppose this means you are truly mad?" Legolas teased.

"Ah yes, you must be feeling better, your Elvish sense of humor has returned."

"Go. Bathe. Please."

Gimli chuckled. "Alright, laddie. I will come see you when I am finished."

Legolas smiled as Gimli departed.

To be continued...

Chapter 21:
Summary: Celeborn sends a rider to Thranduil with a message.

Celeborn stood with his back to Haldir and Rúmil, turning their request over in his mind. "I am reluctant to send one of my captains on this mission," he said quietly.

"My lord," Haldir began softly. "We have not the time for one who is unfamiliar with the realm of Mirkwood to seek the caves. My brothers and I are the only ones who have ventured far north enough to know the location of the path that leads there."

"And once there, I can summon the king's falcon. She hunts the woods south of his home; she will lead me there," Rúmil added emphatically.

Celeborn turned around and looked at Rúmil; he could see the captain wanted this mission badly. Looking at Haldir, he placed his hands on his hips. "And you? You are my senior officer; your brother serves under you. How do you feel about this?"

Haldir looked at the floor for a moment, then answered, "While I do not wish to see my brother place himself in jeopardy, as a captain, I cannot deny that his plan is best. Rúmil is one of the fastest riders we have, and he can summon the king's falcon; that is something that no other could do. I believe his plan to be sound, and I support his request to bear the message."

Celeborn nodded and looked up into the treetops. "I cannot send an escort with you, Rúmil. My sentries tell me that another assault from Dol Guldur is eminent, and I cannot spare a single warrior."

Rúmil nodded. "I know the Anduin Vale, my lord. I know its hiding places and its secrets; I have explored it my whole life. I need no escort. I can travel faster without one."

Celeborn turned and looked at Rúmil. "Very well. I grant you leave, but be sure you are not captured. If you are, you know what to do."

Rúmil bowed his head and answered, "Yes, my lord."

Celeborn looked at Haldir. "See to it that the borders are secure, captain. We have not much time before another attack is launched."

Haldir bowed and answered, "Yes, my lord." He then departed with Rúmil and prepared to fetch Orophin to assist him. Neither brother uttered a word as they descended the winding stair that led from Celeborn's study. Upon reaching the ground, Haldir took Rúmil by the elbow.

"Do not fall into their hands, Rúmil," he said earnestly. "Too much depends on you reaching Thranduil safely."

"I will not," Rúmil answered, "but if I do, you must explain to Galen why I..."

Haldir closed his eyes. "I cannot think of that, Rúmil."

Rúmil placed his hands on Haldir's shoulders. "I cannot be captured alive, Haldir. Not only because of what I know, but because of what they would do to me. Is death not better than that?"

Haldir closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he swallowed. "Aye, death is better than that." Opening his eyes, he looked at Rúmil. "But I am not prepared to lose a brother."

Rúmil smiled gently. "And I am not prepared to meet Mandos. Do not fear; I know what it is that I do. All I need is to reach Thranduil's borders; once there, he will move heaven and earth to protect me, you know this."

Haldir nodded. "Aye, you speak true. The king would protect you with his very life."

Rúmil embraced Haldir. "Do not speak of this to Galen. I will tell him where I am going, but I do not want him to know what will happen to me if I do not reach my destination. He will be worried enough without worrying about what might happen."

"I will not," Haldir said softly.

"Protect him, Haldir. Promise me that you and Orophin will look after him until I return."

"We will."

"I must go now. I cannot leave without speaking to him and time runs short."

Haldir released Rúmil and cupped his cheek. "Ride fast, Rúmil. Do not stop until you reach the path." Rúmil smiled, then nodded. Haldir watched his brother run down the path toward his talan and he raised his hand and shouted, "May the Valar protect you, brother!" Summoning his courage and strength, Haldir turned and made his way toward the barracks to tell Orophin and prepare his warriors.

* * * *

"I do not understand. Why you? Why must you be the one to go there?" Galen watched as Rúmil hastily loaded his pack.

"I am one of three who knows the way and the only one who can summon her," Rúmil answered calmly.

"But Mirkwood? Why must you go there? Why must you go to..." He clenched his teeth cutting off the words before they left his mouth. The jealousy he felt made him sick, yet he could not deny that he had always feared that Rúmil had not completely let go of the Mirkwood King.

Rúmil set his pack on the bed beside his quiver. He placed his hands on Galen's shoulders. "Galen, I am the only one who can do this. I seek only to aid my people and protect our lands. We need his help."

"The Galadhrim do not need the help of a rogue band of Wood-elves!" Galen barked defiantly.

Rúmil lowered his head and took a deep breath. "I cannot have you speak of him that way, Galen." He was pained by the look in Galen's eyes. "I care very deeply for you, Galen, you know this. I have not lied to you about my relationship with him or how I felt about him." He sighed. "This is not like you; this anger and fear is not like you, Galen. Please, I do not want our parting words to be in anger."

Galen felt tears spilling down his cheeks. "You say that as if you may not return."

"I will return, and with me I will bring the armies of Mirkwood. This is not just about you and me, Galen. This is about our people, our home. This is about purging the black pestilence that has plagued our woods for too long."

"Lórien is pure..."

"But Greenwood is not. Greenwood is where we came from, Galen. It was once our home before the Dark Lord invaded it. Those rogue Wood-elves you rail against are our kindred. Would you see them fall? Would you see what was once a grand forest destroyed simply because you do not want me to see Thranduil?"

Galen wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "No."

"I will return, Galen. I will return to you."

Galen wrapped his arms around Rúmil. "I am sorry I said those things," he whispered.

"You are forgiven," Rúmil said softly.

"Hurry home, please."

"I will."

"I love you," Galen whispered into Rúmil's ear.

"And I love you, Galen."

Galen watched as Rúmil gathered his pack and quiver. He followed Rúmil as far as the city gates, where Rúmil held him in his arms for long moments, then pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"I will return soon," Rúmil murmured against Galen's lips. He then mounted his horse and galloped across the bridge and into the woods.

Galen felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Orophin standing beside him. "He will be at the path by the fourth rising of Ithil. He will be safe then," Orophin said quietly. He tugged upon Galen's sleeve. "Come, we have a battle to prepare for."

Galen followed Orophin from the gate back to the barracks.

* * * *

Rúmil found himself thankful for the speed and endurance of Elvish horses; Celeborn had given Rúmil his prize stallion to carry him to Mirkwood. The horse moved with blinding speed, flying over the ground in utter silence; Rúmil heard only the wind in his ears and felt the surge of the stallion's body between his legs.

So far, he had escaped the pursuit of both Uruk-hai from Isengard and rogue bands of Easterlings being commanded by Dol Guldur. Twice he had been forced to consider taking his own life if he were captured, and he found himself checking for the phial of poison he carried in his pocket. Thankfully, Celeborn's stallion outran those who sought to capture him, leaping brush and stone while dodging arrows, and Rúmil escaped unscathed.

The horse ran through the day and most of the night, stopping only to drink water from the river and take a brief meal of grass. He reached the path near the Forest Gate in four days, faster than anyone had traveled there before. He dismounted and gave the horse leave to drink and eat while he waited for Thranduil's falcon. The bird hunted in the early morning hours, when the small rodents it preyed upon were most active. Ithil was beginning her descent over the mountains and soon dawn would be upon them.

Rúmil found a safe place, hidden by trees and thick brush, and waited. The tall grass by the river was the falcon's favorite hunting place. Like many elves, Rúmil had the ability to communicate with animals on a level that did not require spoken language. Between conversations with Thranduil and his own link to the bird, he knew her habits well.

The mist was beginning to rise from the banks of the river when he heard her high-pitched cry. Looking up, he saw her hovering over the treetops, waiting for an unsuspecting mouse to venture out of its den.

Rúmil stood and whistled; the familiar sound of her answer greeted his ears and he stepped out of the brush and held his arm aloft. The falcon glided gracefully to him, gently grasping his arm as she landed. He smiled, softly stroking her feathers and whispering to her.

"I must see your master, you must take me to him."

The bird made a soft clucking sound in her throat and rose from his arm. He whistled to Celeborn's stallion, who cantered to him from the meadow. Mounting the horse, he followed as the falcon flew above the path, leading him to the Forest Gate.

To be continued...

Chapter 22:
Summary: Rúmil arrives in Mirkwood.

Rúmil approached the Forest Gate with Arphen on his shoulder. The sentries who guarded the path dropped from the trees, bows drawn.

"State your purpose and tell us from whence you came."

"I am Rúmil of Lórien. I have come with an urgent message for King Thranduil from my lord, Celeborn."

The guards looked at one another and one whispered, "He bears the king's falcon."

They gave Rúmil permission to enter, and the wide wooden gates creaked open.

"I must make haste and go without your escort. Arphen will lead me there."

The guards nodded then watched as he galloped down the path, following the low-flying bird.

* * * *

Thranduil was removing his gloves as he returned from an early morning ride when he heard the guard shout, "A rider approaches!"

Quickly climbing the ladder to the talan where the guards could observe approaching visitors, he saw a large, gray stallion bearing a familiar figure. Above the fast-moving horse was Arphen, crying out as she dove to enter the caves.

"Open the gates!" Thranduil commanded, and the large, iron doors groaned as they opened.

Rúmil slowed the stallion as they came onto the bridge, and then trotted through the gates into the cavernous entry of Thranduil's Halls.

Thranduil laughed as he caught Rúmil up in his arms and swung him around. "Ah, 'tis so good to see you, my dear friend," he murmured into Rúmil's ear.

Rúmil's heart pounded hard against the walls of his chest and he felt the beginnings of tears stinging his eyes. "It does my heart much good to see you, my lord," he answered in a trembling voice. The onslaught of emotion was unexpected; he had not anticipated feeling this way upon seeing his one-time lover.

Thranduil set him down and caressed his cheek. A smile curved his lips as he saw Rúmil's eyes glimmering with tears. "I hope those are tears of joy," he said softly. "Tell me that you have not come bearing ill news."

Rúmil nodded. "Aye, they are tears of joy. But I do bear news, whether it be ill or no will be for you to decide."

Thranduil placed his hand upon Rúmil's back. "Come let me show you my home, then we shall adjourn to my study where you can tell me why you have come." He turned to the youths standing by and admiring the steel-grey, dappled stallion. "Amlaith, attend to Lord Celeborn's horse. See that he gets a fine ration of grain, then turn him out with my own."

The young male nodded and bowed, then stroked the stallion's muzzle affectionately. "Lord Celeborn's horse," he whispered to himself. "'Tis an honor to attend you."

The stallion nickered and followed the boy toward the stable.

"You know my mount," Rúmil said quietly.

"Aye, I remember him from long ago. Celeborn never told me from whence he came, but I suspect he is of the Mearas or perhaps of Valinorian origin. He is certainly no average mount, for he is older than both of us."

"If it were not for him, I might be standing in Mandos' Halls rather than your own," Rúmil remarked as they entered the pathway leading to the main hall.

"Then I am glad Celeborn had the wisdom to lend him to you, for you belong here, my friend, not with Mandos."

They followed a long and winding pathway that descended underground. Rúmil found that he felt disoriented; the closeness of the walls and ceiling left him feeling stifled. At length, they entered a great hall with massive columns that seemed to hold up the rock ceiling above. The walls, floor and ceiling were all made of rock that was nearly black in color, its polished surface reflecting the light of the multitude of lamps and torches that provided illumination. Despite the fact that they were underground, the air smelled fresh and it was cool. Rúmil could hear the distant sound of running water, which lent an air of calm and peace to the caves.

Thranduil's throne was near the far end of the cavernous room; it was a large, ornately carved chair made of oak and tufted with deep green velvet. Hand woven rugs covered the stone floor, and tapestries hung from the walls giving the room a more comfortable feel. He looked around the room as he followed the king, and they crossed through a doorway into another passage.

"Is this what Menegroth was like?" he asked softly, surprised that his voice did not echo off the stone walls.

"It is but a poor replica," Thranduil answered quietly, "built from what I can remember. The caves were here and we strengthened them with help from the dwarves, before the unrest between our peoples." He held open another oaken door and invited Rúmil into his study. "Menegroth was as grand and as beautiful a place as I have ever seen, far larger than these caves." Thranduil rounded the desk and sat in his large chair. "Now, tell me. What is this message that you bear?"

Rúmil settled himself into a large chair across from Thranduil. "My lord and lady are preparing an assault on Dol Guldur. They seek aid from you and your warriors."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "An assault? Do they have the aid of Mithrandir or Radagast?"

Rúmil looked at his lap. "No one has seen nor heard from Radagast. Mithrandir has fallen; he was slain by a Balrog in Moria."

Thranduil leaned back in his chair feeling his heart constrict in grief. He closed his eyes and shook his head, whispering a brief prayer to the Valar to guide Mithrandir's spirit. "How do you come to know this?" he asked softly.

"A group of eight travelers from Imladris crossed our borders two months ago. Among them was Aragorn of the Dúnedain, Boromir of Gondor..."

"And my son," Thranduil finished.

"Aye," Rúmil answered. "They rested inside our borders for a month before continuing down the Anduin toward the Falls of Rauros. They brought us news of Mithrandir's fall inside the mines."

"How was Legolas?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"He was deeply saddened by Mithrandir's loss and seemed very weary, but Haldir took good care of him, and when he left his spirits seemed restored."

Thranduil nodded. "So, Celeborn and Galadriel plan to launch an assault on Sauron's stronghold without aid of the Istari?"

"My lady believes that Sauron is ripe to fall. She is not certain, but she says if they do not succeed, it will not matter, for all our realms will be vanquished. The Dark Lord's energies are spread thin. He is focused on Gondor and the ruin of Rohan; Lórien has fallen under attack twice in a fortnight."

"And mine has been attacked, just four days ago," Thranduil added.

"They believe the time grows near, and have sent me here to ask for your assistance."

Thranduil lightly drummed his fingers upon his desk. "When do they propose that we attack?"

"In five days," Rúmil answered.

Thranduil nodded and was silent for a moment, and then he looked at Rúmil. "I shall be there with them."

Rúmil smiled. "I knew you would come; I knew we could depend on you."

"I, as much as anyone, desire revenge for the evil deeds done upon these woods. I shall see Dol Guldur fall, even if it is my last act upon this earth."

"It will not be the last thing you see, my lord. I am confident in that."

Thranduil smiled. "Are you hungry? You have ridden hard these many days."

Rúmil smiled in return. "Aye, very."

"Well then, come with me and I shall see quarters prepared for you, then we will feast together in the great hall."

Rúmil rose from his chair. "I would very much like a bath."

Thranduil chuckled. "That I can arrange," he answered. He drew Rúmil into his arms again and held him close. "It is good to see you, my dear friend."

Rúmil leaned his head upon Thranduil's shoulder. "I have missed you."

"I have missed you as well." He released Rúmil. "Come, let us see to your accommodations and get you into a bath."

Rúmil followed the king into the corridor and toward the guest wing of the halls.

* * * *

Ithil was rising as Rúmil sat beside the Mirkwood King, sipping wine from a silver goblet. Preparations had been made, and the largest contingent of warriors to ever leave Thranduil's realm would cross the Enchanted River at dawn, rounding the east flank of Emyn-nu-Fuin and entering the Anduin Vale near the Old Forest Road. The king was silent as they sat side-by-side, his sapphire gaze perusing the treetops and beyond. Rúmil could hear the soft murmurings of the elves who came and went through the large entry of the caves; he heard the sounds of horses feasting upon hay and grain, and the quiet sounds of the stable hands as they prepared for the departure of Mirkwood's finest warriors.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

"I am thinking of all the long days of my life," Thranduil answered.

"There will be many more to come," Rúmil replied.

Thranduil smiled. "Yes, but from this point forward everything will change, my friend. While I have lived, there has always been shadow upon this wood. I hope that the task we undertake will change that. It would not be a bad exchange, my life for the freedom of this place that I have lived in and loved for so long, should it come to that."

Rúmil looked at Thranduil with concern. "Why do you speak thusly?"

Thranduil turned his gaze to Rúmil. "Because, my friend, this is no rogue band of yrch we face. We ride forth to do battle with the Dark Lord himself. His power extends far beyond Mordor. I will either fall or see this place freed from the darkness that has haunted it for so long."

"You will see it freed; we shall not fail, Thranduil."

Thranduil nodded. "To meet the Dark Lord twice in battle and live to tell of it would be a feat in itself."

Rúmil smiled. "Think of the tales you will have to tell."

Thranduil smiled and took a sip of his wine. "I have many already."

Rúmil nodded and turned his gaze toward the darkening sky. "The stars are hidden."

"He knows we come. The time has come to stand or die fighting; free men and elves will no longer hide or run from his malice."

"May the Valar bless our quest," Rúmil said softly.

Thranduil reached out and touched their goblets. "I will drink to that, my friend."

To be continued...

Chapter 23:
Summary: Rúmil experiences a moment of doubt and Thranduil nearly succumbs to weakness, the Lords of the West prepare to ride to the Black Gates, and Glorfindel has an unwelcome visitor.

Rúmil stood outside Thranduil's door. He was unsure how he came to be there; it was as though his feet carried him there without his consent. The last time he had seen the king, they had been lovers, and Rúmil now realized that there was a part of him that had indeed loved the King of Mirkwood. The way they parted, the questions left unanswered - he guessed those things were the causes of the turmoil he felt now. There had been no argument, no heated words, and no betrayal, only a sorrowful parting.

"Galen," he whispered to himself. His young lover had given himself completely, without hesitation or reservation. Galen's heart was not divided; Galen's heart was his, utterly. He knew he could never live with himself if he betrayed that trust; he also knew that Galen feared what would happen should he and Thranduil come together again. That fear was not without merit, as Rúmil now realized. "Just turn away, Rúmil," he whispered to himself. "Just walk away, now, before it is too late."

The door to Thranduil's bedchamber opened and Rúmil looked up to see his former lover standing in the doorway. It did not help that Thranduil was beautiful beyond the measure of many, nor did it help that he was clad only in a pair of soft, loose trousers. Words failed him as his eyes wandered unbidden over the body that he once worshiped with his own. Alabaster skin stretched taut over chiseled muscles like living silk and iron, hair the color of summer wheat framed a wise and kind face, sapphire eyes bored into his soul, beckoned to his desire - these things rooted him to the spot.

"Rúmil?" The deep voice called to him. "Are you well?"

Rúmil's own voice came out hoarse and quiet. "I could not sleep."

His heart jumped as Thranduil's hand cupped his elbow. "Come inside, my friend; tell me what troubles you."

Rúmil stepped across the threshold into Thranduil's bedchamber. The sheets were turned down, candles burned in a lantern beside the bed. His body wanted to mold itself to the Mirkwood King's, yet his heart was splitting in two. The ache he felt as he stepped closer, his arms encircling the king's waist of their own accord, caused him to shudder and tears began to sting his eyes.

"I have missed you; I did not realize how much until I saw you," he whispered.

Thranduil held Rúmil, his hands resting upon the guardian's back and head. "I have missed you as well, Rúmil," he answered softly. "I am sorry that I left you behind."

Rúmil looked up into Thranduil's eyes. "Are you?"

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, I am."

His lips were so close, within reach, soft, pink, sweeter than the ripest berries on a summer day. It would be so easy to rise to the balls of his feet and press his lips against Thranduil's. He knew if he did that, his former lover would return the kiss, would deepen it; he knew that their hands would start caressing, clutching, their bodies would call to one another as they once did so long ago.

A shuddering sigh escaped him as Thranduil caressed his cheek, strong, warrior's hands touching so gently, so lovingly. He watched the slow working of the king's throat as he swallowed, felt the tension building in the powerful body he had submitted to so many times before. "I..." he began to speak but his voice failed him.

"You are in love," Thranduil finished for him. "I read your letter many times. While those words were not written in ink, they resided there nonetheless. Your heart has always been waiting for that one that would belong to you wholly; I can see in your eyes that you have found him."

Rúmil swallowed and lowered his eyes.

"I will not deny that to hold you and make love to you would bring me much pleasure. But would it be worth the price? Would one night of passion be worth the pain it would cause? Would it be worth the guilt?" Thranduil asked softly.

"No," Rúmil answered. "I cannot hurt him. He has given me everything and asked for nothing. Even as I stand here now, in your arms, he lies alone, waiting for me to return."

Thranduil smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Rúmil's head. "That is what I love about you, Rúmil. You have a good and honest heart. Go now, hold your beloved close in your heart and let go of what once was."

Rúmil looked into Thranduil's eyes. "You are lonely, I see it. You long for someone, though I know not who."

Thranduil smiled sadly and nodded. "As you suspected all along, my heart belongs to another and always will. I cannot give you what your lover can, for my heart is no longer mine to give."

"I pray that you will be with the one you love, Thranduil. You deserve that."

"Go, before I change my mind and keep you here," Thranduil answered with a smile.

Rúmil smiled in return then turned and left Thranduil's arms.

* * * *

Legolas held his hands high over his head as Elladan wrapped his torso with linen. Elrohir held thick cotton batting in place while his brother worked.

"This will protect your ribs until they are fully healed," Elladan commented as he wrapped the bandage over the batting.

"You should at least wear chest armor as well," Elrohir added. "I am sure we can find some in the armory that will fit."

"What he should be doing is staying abed," Gimli grumbled.

"I am not staying abed, not while my friends ride to battle. Aragorn cannot spare a single warrior, you know that." Legolas protested.

"You could stay here with the guards of the citadel; you would still be serving him," Gimli responded. He shrunk a little from the glare Legolas gave him, and then sighed. "I suppose if I were you, I would do the same."

"You know you would," Legolas answered.

Elladan tore the end of the linen strip in half and tied it around the prince's midsection to secure the bandage. "There, that should hold."

"Thank you," Legolas said as he lowered his arms.

"How does it feel?" Elrohir asked.

"It is a little restrictive, but I think I can manage."

"Come, let us find some armor that will fit you." Elladan tugged upon Legolas' hand.

Legolas gingerly dismounted the table and followed the twins and Gimli out of his room, down the hall toward the armory. "Anor will rise soon; we have not much time."

Gimli walked beside Legolas. "A truer statement was never uttered," he remarked quietly.

Legolas looked down at his friend and offered a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. "The will of the Valar shall be done. I only ask that I have the courage to fight well," he answered softly.

"You will, laddie, you will," Gimli answered.

* * * *

Glorfindel stood on the veranda where representatives from the council had once sat. His arms were hanging by his sides and his azure gaze was fixed on the stone pedestal in the center. His brow furrowed, he clenched his jaw and reached out, his hand hovering over the place where the One Ring had once lain. He felt, more than saw, the tremor in his hand as it hung there in space. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and slowly lowered his hand.

Upon touching the pedestal, he felt a wave of heat roll through his body and felt a disorienting falling sensation as the connection that had survived both space and time began to reform. The rasp of breath, the heat of malice, the rhythm of his own heart beating like a frightened deer. He felt those cold hands on his throat, heard the dark words in his mind. Swallowing, he growled under his breath, "Your end approaches; it is a pity I will not be there to witness it."

"The pity is mine," the black voice responded in his mind. "For I have longed for what was taken from me long ago. To be deprived of your fall, of your surrender, has been something I have mourned these many years."

A cold laugh escaped Glorfindel's lips. "You have sought to control me, though you have lacked the strength to do so. Now you also lack the strength to defend your own realm. Saruman has betrayed you; the Men of Gondor, Dol Amroth and Rohan have joined against you. I felt the demise of your captain; I heard his shriek as his blackened soul was cast into the void. Where is your strength now, Lord of Barad-dûr?"

"You mock me now, but you will not do so when I have destroyed all that you love, when you supplicate yourself before me as I bend you to my will. Will you laugh when your raven-haired lover screams in eternal pain? When your lord begs for his life and the life of his defiled children? You failed to protect those you served once before, you will fail again."

"Bait me, you will not succeed. Your days are coming to an end and you will be cast into the void to suffer with your master."

"Glorfindel?"

Pulling his hand away from the cold stone, Glorfindel turned to see Erestor standing in the doorway that led from the council chambers.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I was just thinking," Glorfindel answered quietly.

"Thinking about what?" Erestor asked, as he descended the stair and walked toward him.

"About what is to come. I was wondering what the sign will be. Will we see armies of yrch swarming from the mountains? Will riders come with word that the Dark Lord has been defeated? We are so far away from it all here, yet the danger is so close."

"Lord Elrond will know. He sees far, past mountains and woods. He will know when and if the task has been done." Erestor wrapped his arms around Glorfindel's waist. A tremor ran up his spine as his mate's hands came to rest on his back. "Your hand is cold," Erestor remarked, looking with concern into his lover's eyes.

Glorfindel pulled the hand away that had been resting on the pedestal, clenching it into a fist. "I am sorry, my love," he answered softly.

"What were you doing there, Glorfindel? Why is the hand that was on the pedestal so cold?"

"Nothing," Glorfindel answered. "I told you, I was thinking."

Erestor narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to start keeping secrets from me again?"

Glorfindel closed his eyes and gently shook his head. "No. I was talking to him. Well, not talking exactly, but..."

Erestor interrupted, "Why? You have been able to control it; you have not had the dreams nor become lost in your memories. Why would you reopen this path when you have been at peace for so long?"

Glorfindel leaned his head back. "I do not know why I did it. I do not know why I listened to him. He calls to me constantly, though I have been able to ignore him."

Erestor took Glorfindel's face in his hands, turning it back to face him. "It will be over soon, my love. Soon his voice will disappear from your mind, never to return."

Glorfindel opened his eyes and smiled sadly. "Forgive me, Erestor, for succumbing to his call."

Erestor smiled. "There is nothing to forgive. Come, take a walk with me and occupy your mind with more pleasant things."

Glorfindel nodded and allowed Erestor to lead him from the council chambers and out of the Last Homely House.

To be continued...

Chapter 24:
Summary: Erestor and Glorfindel remind themselves of the beauty of life.

Glorfindel held hands with Erestor as they walked through the woods that surrounded the Last Homely House. Neither spoke as they followed the winding path, the silence filled by the song of birds and the chirping of squirrels. Leaves and small twigs crunched and snapped beneath their feet and the sunlight danced amid shadows cast by gently blowing branches. The scent of snow was on the air as winter gave way to spring; the cool breeze gently caressed their hair and robes as they walked. Glorfindel felt the band on Erestor's finger, the symbol of their promise and undying love. The rings were a bond of eternal faith and love, an unending circle of promise and fulfillment. The feeling of that band gave him comfort, and as they walked, it erased the coldness that had settled in from when he touched the stone pedestal. One ring undoing another, love taking the place of fear and hatred.

Many thought he was without fear, that the Great Glorfindel - the elf who had faced down a Balrog and been returned by the Valar - feared nothing. Indeed, to those who did not know him it would appear so. He rode into battle headlong, charging to what would appear to be his death, and always returning victorious. This reputation was enhanced when the Witch King fled from him in the north, and tales of Glorfindel's bravery and strength spread far since that day. What few knew, indeed only two knew, was that fear was a constant companion to him.

Annatar's touch had not left Glorfindel when he was rescued from the Dark Lord's grip; the bond that was formed was not broken as Elrond charged forward with his warriors and Erestor dragged Glorfindel to safety. Glorfindel's was a soul that straddled two worlds: the world of the living and the world of the dead, and until Erestor had battered down the walls he built around himself, he was continually torn between them. Since their bonding, his soul was more firmly rooted in the land of the living; Erestor's love was like a balm to his wounded spirit, chasing away the shadow that had hovered there for so long. He owed Erestor so much; the debt was beyond repaying.

His beloved was beautiful in the dancing sunlight. His raven hair glowed, his ivory skin shone against his dark garments; his stormy grey eyes sparkled with humor and love. A gentle smile curved Erestor's lips, causing a smile to form on Glorfindel's lips in return.

"I love you, Erestor," he said quietly as they walked together.

Erestor squeezed his hand and drew him closer, linking his arm around his waist. "I love you as well, my lion," he answered in his soft, smoky voice.

Glorfindel wrapped his arm around Erestor's narrow waist, his hand cupping the advisor's hip. They walked awhile longer in silence and he felt Erestor's hand slide from his hip to his backside, gently cupping the muscle as they continued down the path. Glorfindel smiled again. One of the most endearing and alluring things about his mate was the streak of wickedness that ran through him. Erestor was an adventurous and exciting lover.

They neared the stable, having completed the circuit around the Last Homely House. The grounds were nearly deserted; the only inhabitants left were the staff needed to attend Lord Elrond and Arwen, and Glorfindel's warriors.

Erestor barked in surprise then laughed as Glorfindel pulled him into the stable. He turned and began backing away from his warrior-lover as Glorfindel latched the stable doors.

"What are you doing, my love?" he asked with a seductive smile.

"Locking the door," Glorfindel answered matter-of-factly.

The look in Glorfindel's eyes as he turned caused a quiet gasp to escape him. The predatory gaze that darkened his mate's azure eyes always caused a shiver of delight to run down Erestor's spine. "We are in the stable," Erestor said as he continued backing away slowly.

"I know," Glorfindel answered as he advanced.

"We might be found," Erestor cautioned.

"I do not care," Glorfindel countered.

"Well, you will have to catch me first," Erestor answered teasingly.

"That should not be a problem," Glorfindel replied smugly.

"We shall see about that."

Erestor turned and bolted, his fingers quickly working the clasps on his cumbersome robe. Glorfindel nearly caught him, much faster than he anticipated, and he scrambled up the ladder into the loft. Glorfindel's growl of frustration as the robe came off in the warrior's hands caused Erestor to chuckle and he quickly crawled through the hay and took up a hiding place behind a large bale.

His heart pounded rapidly, as much from excitement as from the sprint up the ladder. He could feel that excitement transforming into desire as he waited for his lover to find him. He wondered what Glorfindel had in mind. Would it be a quick tryst or a leisurely lovemaking? Now that many of the inhabitants were gone from Imladris, neither had the daily grind of a schedule to keep. The sun filtered through the narrow gaps in between the boards of the stable roof, the breeze caused the window shutters to rattle slightly in their frames. He heard the rustle of hay as Glorfindel approached, and he drew his knees tightly to his chest and hid his face.

"Oh!" he cried and laughed aloud as his beloved grasped his ankles and pulled hard. Soon he was on his back, hay in his hair and his face flushed with excitement.

Glorfindel smiled wickedly, pinning Erestor's wrists over his head and holding his mate's body down with his weight. "Is this the best you could manage? You know there is only one way out of here, and that is the way you came in."

Erestor smiled. "Perhaps I wanted to be caught." He bit his lower lip as Glorfindel undulated against him.

"Indeed," Glorfindel answered, lowering his face to Erestor's own. "The question is what to do with you now that I have caught you."

"Oh, I am sure you will come up with something," Erestor breathed.

Erestor closed his eyes as Glorfindel's lips caressed his face, starting at his forehead and continuing to his eyelids, cheeks and jaw. His breathing increased as his mate's lips explored his neck then moved upward to the curve of his ear. He turned his head, giving Glorfindel better access to his sensitive ear, then squirmed beneath him as his beloved's lips began to work the sensitive point.

Erestor swallowed as heat bloomed in his loins and he rocked his hips, pressing his burgeoning arousal into that of his mate's. Glorfindel took both of his wrists in one hand and began caressing his chest with the other, his lover's calloused fingertips grazing his erect nipples through the silk of his shirt. He struggled to get his legs apart, continuing to roll his hips in an upward arc, feeling the evidence of Glorfindel's own desire pressing against his own.

"I want your mouth on me," he whispered raggedly.

"In time," Glorfindel responded huskily.

Glorfindel's mouth left his ear and continued down his neck, sucking and leaving a trail of love marks that could not be hidden. He arched against his mate, his moans deepening and intensifying as he began to thrust his hips harder against his beloved's solid form.

Glorfindel tried to contain Erestor's movements, but as Erestor began to struggle against him, it was becoming increasingly more difficult. He was larger than Erestor, this was true, but his mate was surprisingly strong despite his lean build. Erestor's legs slipped from beneath him and soon his lower body was locked into place, held tightly between Erestor's strong thighs. Erestor continued to writhe and struggle against him as he managed to insert his hand between their bodies. A deep groan escaped his lover as his hand cupped Erestor's rigid length and began to slowly rub and squeeze it through the velvet fabric of his mate's leggings.

"For Elbereth's sake, Glorfindel," Erestor growled. "Just give me what I want."

Glorfindel bit down on the juncture of Erestor's neck and shoulder, causing a plaintive whimper to come from his lover. "Who is the hunter and who is the prey here?" he murmured into Erestor's ear.

Erestor arched again and squeezed his eyes shut. "You want me to submit to you?" he whispered.

"I insist," Glorfindel answered.

"Very well," Erestor answered softly.

Glorfindel felt the struggle leave his beloved's body and soon Erestor was as malleable as clay in his hands. Soft moans replaced heated growls, and Glorfindel released Erestor's wrists so that he could properly pleasure his beloved with both his hands and his mouth.

Erestor moaned and arched as Glorfindel unlaced his shirt, his lover's fingers and lips roaming his bared chest and torso. His heart hammered inside his chest, he could feel sweat beading on his skin, and his arousal ached and wept inside his leggings. He buried his hands in Glorfindel's hair, his fingers tangling in his mate's braids and massaging his scalp. A gasp escaped him as his leggings were unlaced and pulled low around his hips; Glorfindel's soft, warm breath ghosted over his aching length.

The first lick of Glorfindel's tongue caused Erestor to groan and whisper, "Yes, please, yes...", and when he was engulfed in his mate's warm, wet embrace he cried out, not caring who heard them. He struggled not to thrust too quickly or too roughly into Glorfindel's mouth, but he was quickly losing the battle against his lust. It did not take him long to reach completion, and he cried out and bowed, gripping Glorfindel's mane tightly as he spilled down his beloved's throat.

Panting roughly, he collapsed back into the hay, his eyes closed as he savored both the warm glow of his climax and the silken slide of Glorfindel's tongue against his spent arousal. A smile curved his lips as the warmth settled into his bones, a tingling sensation running the course of his body as Glorfindel deposited kisses along his torso.

"Was that to your liking, my love?" Glorfindel murmured against Erestor's lips.

"Very much so," Erestor responded in a breathless whisper.

"Good," Glorfindel responded with a smile before taking his mate's mouth in a deep kiss.

They kissed for what felt like hours, slow, leisurely kisses that tasted of salt and honey, and warmed both their hearts and their bodies. Soft moans echoed in the hayloft, as they rolled upon the bed of hay, hands caressing and massaging, lips joined as tongues glided against one another.

Erestor could feel the pent up need in his lover's body; Glorfindel's arousal was still prominent and pressing against his hip. "Let me attend to you," he whispered in between kisses, sliding his hand in between his mate's legs.

"You already are," Glorfindel whispered in return. "I could kiss you for days, Erestor; I never tire of the feel of your lips against my own."

"Perhaps they would feel just as good somewhere else?" Erestor murmured against Glorfindel's jaw.

"No, I want them here, on mine," he answered.

"My hands then?" Erestor queried as he slid his hand inside Glorfindel's leggings.

"Oh yes," Glorfindel answered huskily as he thrust forward into Erestor's grip.

Erestor smiled against Glorfindel's mouth as he stroked his lover's length. It felt so good in his hand; like everything else about his beloved, it was warm, hard, and silky smooth.

"I love the way you smell," Erestor murmured against the curve of Glorfindel's ear. "Musky and wild, like an untamed predator."

Glorfindel gripped Erestor's backside and squeezed before trailing his fingers along the seam of Erestor's leggings. "You make me that way, Erestor. I never stop hungering for you."

A squeeze at the tip of Glorfindel's swollen and weeping length caused the warrior to groan wantonly. "Make me weak, Erestor," he whispered huskily.

Erestor smiled as he teased Glorfindel's lips with his tongue. "Weak and spent, you are most beautiful that way," he responded.

A deep moan escaped Glorfindel, and Erestor could feel the beginnings of his mate's release. He pressed a deep kiss to his beloved's lips, thoroughly perusing Glorfindel's mouth with his tongue before he pulled away and quickly slid down Glorfindel's body to take his arousal in his mouth.

A few sliding passes of Erestor's lips and tongue along his length, and Glorfindel cried out, arching as his seed spilled down Erestor's throat. He purred contentedly as Erestor cleaned him with his tongue, and then waited for his beloved to return to his mouth.

Erestor gazed at Glorfindel, admiring how beautiful he was. His flushed face, swollen lips, the line of his throat, the way his pulse beat in his neck. Never had a more beautiful creature ever walked the earth, he thought, then he slowly and lovingly kissed his bonded mate.

A few discreet smiles were exchanged between warriors as the unlikely couple passed by hand in hand on the way to their home down the hill. One could not help but notice their flushed appearance and the pieces of hay that were tangled in their hair and stuck to their clothing.

Erestor and Glorfindel took no heed; at that moment, they were the only two elves in all of Middle-earth.

To be continued...

Chapter 25:
Summary: The battle at the Black Gates ends and Sauron is defeated, Thranduil arrives in Lórien, and Erestor gives Glorfindel some good news.

Legolas collapsed to his knees in the broken shale; his knives hung limply by his sides and his aching chest heaved with each breath he struggled to take. All around him were the shrieks of orcs and the bellowing of trolls, and beyond the Black Gates, Mt. Doom exploded, sending fire and rock skyward. The ground trembled and shook; he heard the disbelieving gasps of his comrades as the tower of Barad-dûr fell, and he weakly lifted his head just as the tower crashed to the ground. "Thank the Valar," he whispered as he watched the orcs and trolls flee the Morannon in terror, running headlong into great chasms opened in the ground by the falling tower.

He looked around for his friends and saw that they were all still standing. He smiled as he turned his face skyward. It was over. He felt Gimli's hand upon his shoulder and he turned his head, the smile still curving his lips. "They did it, Gimli," he said quietly. "Frodo and Sam destroyed the Ring."

Gimli nodded and Legolas noted the expression of sorrow on his face. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"The mountain," Gimli began in a shaky voice. "It was nearly destroyed in the explosion."

"Frodo," Legolas whispered.

Gimli hung his head. Legolas softly said a prayer to the Valar to watch over the Hobbits' spirits and guide them to the afterlife. Soon, the twins and Aragorn joined them; no one felt like celebrating a victory.

Elrohir knelt beside Legolas, placing his hands upon his friend's shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Legolas answered quietly.

"Are you in pain?" Elladan asked.

"A little, but I will be fine," Legolas answered. "Do we know that they are lost?"

"Perhaps they survived," Aragorn answered. "Mithrandir is going to look for them. We must return to Minas Tirith; I want to be sure that the city is well defended. Sauron's hordes may be seeking vengeance soon."

The twins helped Legolas to his feet and he gazed upon the battle plain. "My grandfather was lost here," he said softly. "And my father fought upon these very hillsides..."

"There will be no more war here, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly. "This is the last time free men will need to fight here."

Legolas placed his hand upon Aragorn's shoulder. "I hope you are right, my friend."

The Lords of the West left the Morannon and rode back to Minas Tirith.

* * * *

Galadriel turned suddenly and gazed toward the East. Celeborn looked up from his maps to see a smile slowly begin to spread across his wife's face.

"What is it, my love?" he asked.

She turned and looked at him, a smile lighting her features. "It is done," she said.

Celeborn straightened and crossed the room toward her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She laughed softly and threw her arms around his neck. "The Dark Lord has fallen," she said.

Celeborn lifted her and swung her in a large arc as they laughed. Setting her down, he said, "'Tis time then." Galadriel nodded. "I will gather our forces and send sentries to locate Thranduil and his warriors."

Galadriel crossed her arms, the smile still warming her face as Celeborn left the talan. "Freedom," she said softly to the empty space. "This world is free again. It is time to go home."

* * * *

Elrond opened the door to Erestor's nearly empty office. His chief counselor sat behind his desk, quill in hand, making a list of supplies that would be needed for the trip to the Havens when they eventually left Imladris. Erestor looked up with questioning eyes, for it was not often that Elrond visited his office.

"Erestor," the Lord of Imladris began in a somber voice.

Erestor, sensing from his lord's expression that something serious had happened, set down his quill and gradually rose from his chair. "What is it, my lord?" he asked nervously.

Slowly, a smile began to curve Elrond's lips and he answered, "It is done. Frodo has achieved the quest."

Erestor's eyes widened. "You mean. . .he. . .destroyed it?"

Elrond's smile was broad as he nodded. "Aye. The Dark Lord is no more."

Erestor quickly rounded his desk, throwing his arms around Elrond's shoulders. "Blessed be the Valar!" he shouted. "It is done!" He pulled back, a broad grin curving his lips. "Does Glorfindel know?"

Elrond answered with a grin, "No. I thought I would leave it to you to tell him."

"I must go! I must find him!" Erestor bolted from his office and ran toward the barracks.

Glorfindel and his captain watched each other intently as they slowly moved in a circle. Each one was crouched and prepared to leap should the other provide an opening. The sparring exercises had taken up the afternoon, and Glorfindel and his captain were the last to practice. Glorfindel noted the slight shift of weight from the front foot to the rear of his opponent, a signal that he was rebalancing for attack. Something, he could not tell what, changed. It was as if there had been a heaviness in the air that was suddenly lifted.

"Glorfindel!"

He heard Erestor shouting his name and turned to look. His captain, never one to pass up an opportunity, leapt at the same time and drove Glorfindel into the ground.

Glorfindel grunted with the impact and soon found himself pinned to the ground, both arms over his head and his legs trapped beneath the captain's weight.

Erestor ran into the sandpit. "It is done! Lord Elrond just told me, the Ring has been destroyed!" He looked down at his flushed mate. "Have I come at a bad time?"

Glorfindel's captain quickly rose and turned, arms raised in the air as he ran toward his soldiers. The group boisterously cheered and embraced one another upon hearing the good news.

"Did you not hear me?" Erestor said as he leaned over the prone form of his mate.

Glorfindel reached up and quickly pulled Erestor down into the sand with him, rolling over his beloved.

"Ai! Glorfindel!" Erestor laughed. "I will have sand in my clothes and in my hair!"

Glorfindel grinned down at Erestor. "'Tis true? The Ring has been destroyed?"

"Yes," Erestor breathed. "It is over; we can go home."

Glorfindel pressed a deep kiss to Erestor's lips, causing another joyous shout to come from his warriors. "Then we must celebrate," he murmured against Erestor's mouth.

"Indeed," Erestor answered breathlessly. "Arwen is already speaking to the kitchen staff..."

"I meant, you and I," Glorfindel replied, nuzzling Erestor's mouth with his own.

"Oh, yes, of course..." Erestor whispered huskily.

Another kiss rendered Erestor mute and Glorfindel's warriors left their captain alone with his mate as they wandered away to celebrate with their own friends and loved ones.

* * * *

Rúmil held his hand up and Thranduil halted the advance of his soldiers. A soft, trilling whistle came from the western bank of the Anduin and Rúmil smiled. He returned the whistle as Galadhrim stepped from the tree line, and Orophin ran to greet him. Swinging down from Celeborn's horse, he embraced his brother, clapping him on the back.

"'Tis good to see you," Rúmil said.

"'Tis good to see you, brother," Orophin answered. "Even better to see whom you have brought with you." He bowed his head and covered his heart. "My lord, we are most grateful for your assistance."

Thranduil smiled and returned the gesture. "I would not miss this for all the mithril in Middle-earth, my friend."

Orophin gestured toward the trees. "My regiment is prepared to escort you to the encampment. Lord Celeborn awaits and wishes to speak to you regarding our plans."

Thranduil nodded. "Lead on, Orophin. My soldiers and I will follow."

The contingent of elves left the Anduin Vale for the cover of the trees, then traveled south to where the rivers Anduin and Silverlode met, and there the two Sindarin rulers planned their attack on Dol Guldur.

* * * *

"Rúmil!" Galen cried as he caught sight of his lover.

Rúmil smiled broadly and crossed the ground in long strides, meeting Galen in the middle of the small meadow. He caught his lover up in his arms and held him close, burying his face in Galen's soft hair.

"Mmm... I have missed you," he murmured into Galen's ear.

"I missed you as well, so very much," Galen answered softly, his fingers clutching Rúmil's tunic.

Rúmil slowly released Galen and then stepped back to look at him. "You are coming with us to Dol Guldur?" he asked quietly.

"Aye. I asked it of Lord Celeborn and he granted my request. I would not have you fight without me, Rúmil."

Rúmil nodded. While he would rather have had Galen in Caras Galadhon, where he would be safe, he knew that were their positions reversed, he would have asked the same. "This will be very dangerous, Galen," he said quietly. "We will not have the advantage of familiar ground to fight on."

Galen leaned forward and whispered, "True, but we do have the Lady."

Rúmil smiled. "Aye, that we do. Come, I must return Lord Celeborn's horse to the herd."

Galen took Rúmil's hand as his lover whistled to the stallion, and then they walked beside the great horse across the meadow to where the horses were being hidden.

To be continued...

Chapter 26:
Summary: Rúmil and Galen talk, Dol Guldur is destroyed.

Galen stood with his back against a tree trunk, watching the King of Mirkwood from a distance. While he trusted Rúmil and believed him when he said that they belonged to one another, he could not help but be curious about Thranduil. All it took was a good look at the Mirkwood King to realize why Rúmil would have been attracted to him in the first place, but he wanted to know what it was that made it so hard for Rúmil to forget him.

Rúmil had not talked about Thranduil beyond telling Galen that he and the king had once been lovers. Rúmil's reluctance to talk about it was as much a cause for Galen's concern as the impressive bearing of the king himself. Thranduil's reputation as both a king and a lover was well known. One would have to live under a mountain to not know of the legendary prowess of the Sinda.

In conversation, Thranduil was gracious and elegant. In deportment, he was strong and masterful. He was eloquent yet direct, witty without being foolish, and his beauty could not be overlooked. In short, he seemed perfect. If anything, he could be considered aloof, as even when attentive and engaged in conversation, the wheels of his mind seemed to be turning in a different direction.

Galen stepped away from the tree, making his way closer to where Thranduil sat talking to Haldir. The king's second was engaged in the conversation as well, and there were other elves mulling around, so it would not be so obvious if Galen was to find a closer, yet inconspicuous place to observe the king.

Discussions of where to place archers, how to form a perimeter around the fortress, and the probable strength of the forces still in Dol Guldur was all Galen heard talk of. Thranduil led these discussions, for of the elves present, he was most familiar with the ground near Amon Lanc, because he had lived near there with his father years ago. Galen regarded the king thoughtfully, as if he was sizing up a sparring opponent. In the back of his mind, he knew there must be something more to Thranduil than his physical beauty, or the separation would not have been as difficult for Rúmil.

"He is magnificent, no?" Rúmil's voice caused Galen to jump, as he had not heard his lover approach. Grasping Galen's shoulders, Rúmil leaned forward and murmured into his lover's ear, "What are you doing, Galen? Are you spying on him?"

Galen flushed guiltily, having been caught in a moment of insecurity and jealousy. "I. . .I was. . ."

"Spying on him," Rúmil finished.

"I am sorry, Rúmil," Galen replied. "I was just trying to see what you see in him."

Rúmil turned Galen around to face him. "What I see in him is a friend, a good friend who would risk his life to protect me, and to protect you since you are dear to me. I told you that what was once between him and me is no more. Do you think I am lying to you?"

Galen closed his eyes and shook his head. Rúmil took Galen by the hand and led him away from the campsite. They found a secluded area high on a hill and Rúmil invited Galen to sit beside him. Taking a deep breath, Rúmil began to explain, "When Thranduil and I parted, things were left unfinished. I was unsure of how I felt about him, and the same could be said about his feelings for me. We both knew that we cared about one another very much, but something stood between us, something that was unknown to me. I wanted to go with him, but he refused; I see now that it was the right decision. He loves another in a way that he can never love me, and I suppose my heart must have sensed that, for I never really fell completely in love with him. Shortly after I was injured and you attended to me, I gave up on any hope that he and I would be together again; that was what I said in the letter that I wrote that day. Once I did that, my heart was free to explore other opportunities." He caressed Galen's face. "The way you attended to me, your devotion to me and your kindness, those things are what made me fall in love with you, Galen."

Galen lifted his gaze from the ground to Rúmil's eyes. "You are in love with me?"

Rúmil smiled. "Aye, deeply. I think this trip to Mirkwood is what made me realize it."

Galen cocked his head. "How so?"

"Seeing him again was not easy for me, Galen; you must understand that. Feelings that had been buried resurfaced, all those things left unsaid came back to haunt my mind and my heart." Rúmil closed his eyes and summoned the courage he needed to tell his beloved the truth. "I went to him, Galen. I do not know why." He felt Galen begin to pull away and he grasped him around the waist, holding him tight. "Please, do not leave me. Let me finish my tale; I do not want secrets between us."

Galen placed his hands over his ears. "I do not want to hear this..."

Rúmil pulled Galen's hands away and held his face in his hands. "It is not what you think. Please, my love, trust me now as you have in the past." Tears spilled from Galen's eyes and he swallowed, forcing himself to sit and listen. Rúmil continued in a soft voice, "I stood in his bedchamber, holding onto him as though I was drowning and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. I was so afraid; I did not understand where those feelings were coming from, I thought they were dead. But as I looked into his eyes, I realized that what I really needed was to say goodbye to him. He knew; he knew I was in love with you, even without me saying it. And I knew in that moment that there was nothing more important to me than you. I left him in his bedchamber; we said goodbye as we should have long ago, and now my heart is free to love you as you deserve."

"How can I know you are sure?" Galen whispered, his voice trembling. "How can I know that years from now you will not regret this decision, that you will not long for him again?"

A tear fell from Rúmil's eye. "I must ask you to trust me, Galen, to know that I will never lie to you, to know that the words I speak are truthful, and to know that when I say I love you, I mean it with all of my heart."

"I want to," Galen whispered.

Rúmil sank to his knees on the ground in front of Galen, holding his lover's hands. "I know what I have said has hurt you, and I did not want to do that. But I felt that if I kept this a secret, if I withheld what I had been feeling and what happened, that you would always feel that division between us. I do not want that, Galen. I want you and I to belong to each other freely, without reservation. I want to be with you always... always, my love."

"Rúmil, are you asking me to. . .to. . ."

"Yes. I am asking you to bond with me, Galen. I love you, I have need of no other."

Galen was stuck to the spot, unable to speak, unable to move. Held there by Rúmil's pleading eyes, the answer to the question he had secretly hoped to hear was now stuck in his throat. He did not want to be jealous and mistrustful; he did not want to give into fear. If Rúmil had been unfaithful, he never would have said what he did, for there would have been no way for him to know that Rúmil had lain with another. Deep in his heart, beneath the fear and the insecurity, he knew that Rúmil spoke truthfully. His lover looked so lost kneeling before him with tears in his eyes. In that moment, Galen knew that Rúmil's love was true.

He opened his mouth but his voice did not come out. Clearing his throat, he tried again, "Yes, Rúmil, I will bond with you."

The fear and pain in Rúmil's face transformed into pure joy as Galen's answer greeted his ears. He laughed as Galen fell upon him, knocking him to the ground. Holding him tight he kissed his lover, slowly, thoroughly, reveling in the feel of Galen's hair in his hands and his beloved's lean body atop his. "I love you," he murmured between kisses.

"I love you," Galen's reply was huskily whispered. "Valar, I have missed you."

"Make love to me, Galen," Rúmil whispered. "Let us make love until dawn."

Galen smiled against Rúmil's mouth. "Yes," he answered.

They rose from the ground and made their way to a tent that was reserved for Rúmil, not emerging until the sun rose in the eastern sky.

* * * *

The sky was bright blue, the dark clouds having dissipated with the fall of their maker. Mist hung thick upon the ground as the Elven boats glided soundlessly across the gently flowing waters of the Anduin. Thranduil's archers and swordsmen followed their king in a line to the north and east, as Celeborn's Galadhrim moved to the south and east. They met on the far side of the fortress, having it thoroughly surrounded.

As they advanced, Galadriel stayed with the rear guard, clad in white and gleaming mithril armor. All her thoughts were focused on the dark fortress, and as she approached, the orcs began to emerge. The battle was fierce and the wood echoed with the sounds of growling and shrieking orcs and the fell battle cry of the attacking elves. Thranduil's archers fired upon the orcs that streamed forth relentlessly, green fletched arrows rained down upon the beasts that fled the dungeons. Celeborn's archers and swordsmen dispatched those who tried to flee to the south, and the great lord himself led the charge upon the walls of Dol Guldur.

Galen braced himself in the tree, firing his arrows as quickly and accurately as he could. Rúmil was perched above him, the sharp twang of his bow echoing through the treetops. Haldir strode beside his lord, his long, gleaming sword slicing through the limbs of angry and desperate orcs. Thranduil fought among them, hurling his great spear and swinging his sword in a deathly arc. Galen sighted along his arrow, selecting a large uruk-hai that advanced upon the Mirkwood King. Releasing the bowstring, he sent his arrow slicing through the throat of the beast, sending it to its knees beside the Sindar King. Thranduil sent a quick glance of thanks his way before returning to the battle in earnest.

The sounds of battle died down, replaced by the moans of the wounded and gasps of dying orcs. Galadriel strode in, to the very door of the dark fortress. Raising her arms high, she called upon the power given her by her ancestors and the Valar. A light, brighter than any had ever seen shown, forth from her, invading every corner and every cell of the dungeons.

Thranduil and his warriors had to shield their eyes, so bright was her power, and the Galadhrim closed their eyes as well, their faces uplifted. The walls of the tower exploded, rock turned to ash, and the pits of Dol Guldur were purged of the evil that had lurked there so long. Gasps of wonder escaped the elves who witnessed the full power of the Lady of Light, and Thranduil watched as the shadow that had haunted his beloved wood lifted.

A smile, warmer and more joyful than any had seen on the king's face since the day his son was born, lit his features, and he raised his hands over his head and shouted with joy. The mist lifted, the sun's light returned to the forest, and the dark creatures that had lurked there disappeared. Striding across the ground, Thranduil knelt before Galadriel, the tip of his sword on the ground and his head bowed.

"My lady," he addressed her with reverence. "You have given me and my people something we can never repay you for. We are forever in your debt."

Galadriel smiled and placed her hand upon the king's head. "Long have you struggled against this evil, Thranduil. Long have you fought to protect that which you love. Your father would be proud of your valor this day; it has been an honor to fight beside you." She reached down and lifted his chin, turning his liquid sapphire eyes up to hers. "Perhaps now that the evil has perished, our two realms can once again be joined in love and kinship, and we can live together as friends."

"It is an honor you do me, my lady. We shall once again live as kin and great friends."

Celeborn nodded and placed his hand upon Thranduil's shoulder. "Rise, Thranduil. This victory is as much yours as ours."

Thranduil rose to his feet and shook hands with Celeborn, then turned to the warriors on the field and raised his spear above his head. "Victory is ours, my friends! Let us celebrate this great day with feasting and drink!"

The warriors of Mirkwood and the Galadhrim shouted in response, raising their bows and swords high. Galadriel laughed as she embraced her husband, then all departed the battlefield to heal those who had been wounded in the fight.

To be continued...

Chapter 27:
Summary: The twins find time alone and talk of the future.

Legolas sighed as he sank back into the soft bedding. The pale, silken sheets felt good against his freshly washed skin. A breeze set the draperies to dancing through the large windows of the room he shared with Elladan and Elrohir. Rubble from the battle was still being cleared, and many of Gondor's residents had lost their homes. The water supply was restored and the sewage systems were intact once again, so the most pressing of matters had been attended to. For two days, they had erected tents outside the city walls. The wounded had overflowed the walls of the healing houses, necessitating a rearrangement of the barracks to accommodate those patients who could not be housed elsewhere.

Because of the crowded conditions, there were citizens housed in any building safe enough, and many of the members of the high court were staying in the residence of the ruling stewards and those quarters reserved for the king. Legolas agreed to room with the twins, feeling comfortable with his friends, so that a room that would normally be allotted to a guest of his stature could house someone else in need of a bed.

The sun was setting in the west, and a breeze blew in from the sea, clearing away the last of the smoke and ash that had issued from Orodruin. The Morgul Vale was purged with fire and guards set about it to see that no one ventured into that dead place. Cirith Ungol underwent the same treatment, and Shelob perished in fire as so many of Sauron's creatures did. Osgiliath was being rebuilt, for although most creatures of Sauron's making had been destroyed, evil men still existed, and the Pelennor was cleansed of battle. Men were also set as guards at the Black Gates, and Mordor was sealed off as those orcs that remained were hunted down and killed. Slowly, Gondor would be restored to its former glory.

The scent of the sea beckoned to Legolas, as did the call of gulls that rode the currents of air near the cliffs and the mouth of the Anduin. He had heard it now, the call of his ancestors, and he knew he would never be free of it. He was being beckoned to a home he had never known, to a land from whence his kind once came and he would one day return. Torn between heeding the call of the sea and heeding the call of his homeland, he felt trapped in this city of stone.

Aragorn needed him here; he knew that. Yet, there were many things he wanted to see. He had formed a pact with Gimli to return to Fangorn and to Aglarond, and he wished to see Ithilien again. Of all the things he wished to do, and people and places he wished to see, his father was surely the most important of them. Memories of the caves he had lived in his entire life played fresh in his mind. He could hear the sound of the water echoing there; see the firelight glittering against the glossy, black walls. He remembered the feel of his bed: soft, warm and comforting. He remembered the sound of his father's footsteps as they traversed the passageways from the residence to the public halls.

He remembered the last time he had been home; it seemed so long ago, sitting on the side of his father's bed, wondering what was to come. He remembered the way his father smiled at him; so brave he was despite the fear that resided in his heart. There were no words to express how much he missed his king, how much he needed to see him, to hear his voice, to be held in his arms.

Rolling to his side, he watched the sheer fabric of the draperies dance and sway upon the breeze, and he closed his eyes, daydreaming about sailing to Aman with his father.

Elrohir stood near the door, watching Legolas dream. His friend and one-time lover had slipped into reverie, the exhaustion of the months of hardship finally catching up to him. The Sindar Prince who had so captivated his heart slept peacefully in the wide bed, his elegant body discreetly covered by soft, white sheets. His hair, unbound and spilling around his beautiful face gleamed in the waning light, and the soft fragrance of lilacs from the bath drifted through the room, carried on the breeze.

Elrohir slowly worked the thick cloth through his hair, himself having just come from the baths. He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he stood near the bed. Two cots had been brought in, which kept up appearances, but the three of them had slept in the same bed since they returned from Mordor. Slept was all they had done, however, partly from exhaustion and partly because of Legolas' reluctance to return to the relationship they had once shared.

As Elrohir watched the prince in his slumber, his heart and body ached to touch him again. He longed to hear the sweet music of Legolas' voice in passion, to feel the prince's hands on his flesh. 'Never again,' he thought. 'He denies himself passion in lieu of love, though love him we do.'

"He is beautiful, is he not?"

Elladan's deep voice whispered into Elrohir's ear, and he leaned back against his twin's solid chest. "I miss him," Elrohir answered quietly. "Do you?"

"Of course," Elladan responded. "But what once was between us can be no more, brother; you know this."

"I know," Elrohir answered. "Memories haunt me as of late, memories of happier times when the cares we have now were not upon us."

Elladan wrapped his arms around Elrohir's waist. "Do you remember that first time, in the meadow at home?"

Elrohir smiled. "Aye. I could not believe that he knew about us and yet accepted us."

"He is the only one we have allowed to be so close, the only one we have trusted with out secret."

"He is worthy of keeping it," Elrohir answered. "Legolas would never betray us, not even upon pain of death."

"He is a most remarkable individual," Elladan whispered. "Wise beyond his years, yet so youthful in his optimism."

"I often forget he is younger than we are," Elrohir replied with a smile.

"So do I," Elladan responded.

"I wish he would let us love him and offer him some comfort."

"He can no longer settle for less than his heart's truest desire, brother," Elladan said softly. "He accepts our love as friends, we must be content with that."

Elrohir nodded in agreement. "Come," Elladan whispered. "Let us leave him to his dreams." He tugged upon his twin's hand and led him to the balcony.

Elrohir followed, sitting upon the foot of a chaise shaded by flowering vines. Elladan sat behind him, one leg on each side, and slowly began to work a comb through his twin's damp hair. "We will need to leave soon," he said quietly. "Now that Estel has fulfilled his destiny, father will bring Arwen to him."

Elladan nodded. "While I am most glad for our brother, and most happy for Arwen, I mourn this decision she has made."

Elrohir sighed. "As do I, Elladan. Nevertheless, she is right, to live without that which is most important is not to live at all. The pain she would have endured in Aman would have finished her, we both know this."

Elladan focused on working the comb through Elrohir's hair, from tip to root. "Aye. It would have been an empty life while it lasted, filled with longing and regret. Still, this decision has brought pain to father, for Arwen has always been most dear to him."

"I know," Elrohir answered. He said nothing for a moment, listening to the sound of the gulls and the faint hammering coming from the lower levels of the city. "We have yet to make our own decision."

Elladan nodded. "'Tis hard to know what to decide. Do we choose the unknown, or do we choose immortality? I wonder what would become of us in Aman. Will we have to hide, or will we be able to love freely?"

Elrohir closed his eyes, contemplating his brother's words. "Aye, 'tis hard to know. My heart tells me that love, regardless of how unusual the form, would not be punished."

"And I do not wish to compound father's misery," Elladan added. "He is already losing Arwen, to lose us as well..."

"He has suffered much already," Elrohir said softly.

"We have much to consider," Elladan finished, setting the comb down on the ground beside them. He wrapped his arms around Elrohir's waist. "But for now, I just want to hold you and think of nothing but you."

Elrohir leaned back against Elladan, turning his head so that his lips caressed his twin's jaw. "I love you, brother," he said softly.

"And I love you, always," Elladan answered.

Elladan's hands softly caressed his bare chest and abdomen, and Elrohir arched against him gently. It had been weeks since they had made love, weeks since Elladan had touched him this way. It wasn't for lack of desire, or lack of feeling, rather the lack of opportunity amidst days and nights of fighting. He placed his hands on Elladan's thighs, as his twin's hands moved from his stomach to his own legs.

Elladan's fingers gathered the edges of the cloth wrapped around Elrohir's waist, sliding it up as he gently parted his brother's legs. His lips caressed Elrohir's shoulder and neck, and the soft rush of breath that came from his twin caused heat to bloom in his loins. "I have missed you so," he whispered into Elrohir's ear. "I have longed to touch you like this."

Elrohir arched into his brother's touch, gently pressing his backside into Elladan's groin. "Your hands feel so good on me," Elrohir murmured as his own hands slid up the sides of Elladan's legs to grasp his hips. A quiet moan escaped him as Elladan's fingers played in the creases where his legs joined his torso, and he began to slowly move his hips in a rhythmic rocking motion.

"I know what you want," Elladan murmured huskily in to Elrohir's ear.

"It is what I have always wanted, ever since that first time in the hayloft of the barn at home," Elrohir answered. A soft groan of protest escaped his lips as Elladan's hands left his body.

"I will not take you unprepared, lover," Elladan said softly into his twin's ear. "Be still, Elrohir, I shall return."

With lust-darkened eyes, Elrohir watched his twin enter the doors to the room they shared. His arousal stood hard against his stomach, and the insistent, pulsing ache mirrored the beating of his heart. He removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and stretched out on the chaise, lying on his stomach, one leg draped tantalizingly off the side. The soft fabric of the cushion pressed into his hard length, and he gently moved his hips, teasing himself and keeping his desire burning hot.

His fingers softly gripped the cushion as he heard Elladan return, and he turned his head to smile beguilingly at his twin. Elladan knelt on the floor between his open legs, and the first touch of his twin's hand upon his flesh caused him to moan softly. His brother's hand slid up and down his long back, the fingers gently kneading the muscles as he worked his way from shoulder to lower back.

"Assist me," Elladan said softly, and Elrohir complied, placing his hands on his own buttocks and spreading them, baring his most intimate of places to his lover's view.

The sight of his beloved spread and wanting caused Elladan's arousal to twitch against his stomach, and the gentle movement of Elrohir's hips as he slid his oiled fingers inside his lover's body made him swallow hard. He removed the cloth wrapped around his waist after a cursory preparation of his twin, then quickly oiled his length and leaned over Elrohir's back.

A long, low groan escaped him as he sheathed himself inside Elrohir, and his lover's answering moan was beautiful to his ears. Slowly he moved inside his beloved, the heat and friction building and trying his patience. He wanted to thrust with abandon, to bury himself deep and drive Elrohir relentlessly toward the brink of their mutual fall, but it had been months since they had coupled thusly and he did not wish to cause his beloved pain. Slowly he increased the tempo, pushing deeper each pass, tightly wrapped in decadent heat. Elrohir moaned and pushed back against him, arching his strong back as his hands clutched the cushion. Elladan could feel his own heart beating hard inside his chest, its rhythm increasing with each heated thrust. Grasping his brother's hips, he pulled Elrohir up and against him, fully seating himself deep inside his twin.

Elrohir bit back a keening cry as Elladan struck that place inside him that sent heat roaring through his body. His breath was coming harder and faster, sweat was beading on his skin, and when Elladan's fingers wrapped around his length, he nearly spent himself. "Ah gods," he croaked as Elladan squeezed the base of his arousal, and he bucked back against his twin.

Elladan groaned as Elrohir's body began to tighten and he thrust forward hard, sending his lover rocking forward onto his hands. Leaning forward, he bit into the base of Elrohir's neck, and then soothed the mark that began to bloom with his tongue. "You feel so good," he whispered hoarsely. "So very good..."

Elrohir whimpered as his release was choked off by Elladan's grip, and he felt his body spasm. Elladan groaned as Elrohir's body squeezed him, and then he spilled himself inside his lover's body. Elrohir barely had time to recover before he was flipped to his back and engulfed by his twin's hot mouth. A soft cry escaped him as he buried his fingers in Elladan's hair and bowed, thrusting forward into his warm and wet embrace. It did not take long to reach completion, then he collapsed back against the cushions, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

Elrohir trembled as Elladan cleaned him with his tongue and then deposited kisses along his stomach and chest before ending at his mouth. Elrohir wrapped his trembling arms and legs around his twin as Elladan made a thorough perusal of his mouth, then smiled as he was lifted from the chaise and carried into their bedchamber.

Elladan deposited Elrohir in the bed next to Legolas, smiling as he watched Elrohir wrap his arm around the prince's waist. Legolas murmured and snuggled against Elrohir as Elladan joined them in the bed. Soon, they were all fast asleep, dreaming of days to come.

To be continued...

Chapter 28:
Summary: One elf's future comes to fruition; another's begins.

Thranduil rode in the company of the Lord and Lady of the Wood. Legolas was coming with the Sons of Elrond, and he would be most joyous to see his son after so long. Peace had come to the great forest and he and Celeborn had divided the newly renamed Eryn Lasgalen equally; he would take the northern reaches of the forest, and Celeborn and his people would take the southern. While the forest was divided in rule, it was united in one common purpose: to be the peaceful home of any elves who wished to abide there. At first, Thranduil had thought it strange that Celeborn wished to dwell in the southern end of Eryn Lasgalen, but when he had learned of Galadriel's wish to sail West, he understood it. He knew, as did Celeborn, that the Golden Wood would fade without Galadriel's power and radiance, and the Lord of Lórien was loath to abide there and watch it diminish. While one wood dwindled, the other flourished, and Thranduil was more than happy to have a kinsman like Celeborn tending the southern reaches of his beloved home.

Now that the shadow had dissipated, there was no need for armed escorts like in darker days. Nevertheless, a handful of Galadhrim, among them Rúmil, Haldir, Orophin and the young Galen, rode with their lord and lady as they greeted Thranduil at the border. It was a glorious day, the kind Thranduil scarcely remembered from his youth. The air was filled with the song of birds; the sky was bright and blue as a soft breeze set the taller trees to swaying.

As they walked beside their horses in the meadow, Galadriel and Celeborn were hand in hand, as were Rúmil and Galen. All was right with the world that bright spring day, and Thranduil felt that all the trials of his past had been worth the struggle. Yes, all was as it should be, and soon he would again see the one he loved most. The perfection of the moment caused Thranduil to pause; something nagged at the outermost recesses of his memory. It was if he had been there before.

His stallion sensed it first. A flinch of his skin, a snort, and then a jump. Then Thranduil heard it, the low whistle of a black arrow. "Ambush!" he called as he swung up upon his stallion's back; the arrow struck the ground where he had stood. Tossing his spear in the air to readjust his grip, Thranduil cued his horse to shift his weight to his haunches and pirouette. With a cry, Thranduil raised his spear and charged the tree line from whence the arrow came. Celeborn was soon mounted and galloping after him as Orophin and Galen spirited the lady to the safety of the trees. Haldir and Rúmil followed their lord, bows strung and arrows flying.

Galadriel protested her removal fiercely, but Orophin and Galen brooked no argument. Once safely hidden, they drew their bows and prepared to defend their lady.

It was only a handful of uruk-hai, remnants of Saruman's fallen army. Yet, a handful was all it took to make what was once a dream a reality. The first arrow struck his chest so hard and so fast that he was unhorsed. Falling heavily upon the ground, the Sindar King felt his breath leave him in an outward rush of air. He rolled, gasping to fill his collapsed lung with precious oxygen. His stallion roared and snorted, pawing the ground as he reared, his nostrils flaring as he stood his ground to protect his king. The next two arrows came too fast for him to dodge, one striking him in the lower back, the other embedding in his right shoulder. He struggled to regain his feet as he heard his stallion roar in anger. He looked up to see both of the stallion's back feet strike an advancing uruk in the head, crushing its skull. He gasped and coughed, spraying the ground beneath him with blood. There was a slight ringing in his ears and his field of vision began to grow white. Before he lost consciousness, he heard Rúmil's cry and saw the remaining uruk pierced by his former lover's sword.

"No! No, no, no..." was all Rúmil could say as he rushed to Thranduil's side. Haldir and Celeborn ran to join him as the last uruk growled in his death throes.

"Hold him steady," Haldir said in a calm and commanding voice. Rúmil complied as much out of habit as out of necessity, watching his elder brother remove the arrows that pierced Thranduil's limp body.

Galadriel approached at a gallop, Orophin and Galen following closely. She leapt to the ground and rushed to Thranduil's side, weaving a spell to ground his spirit in his body. "Mandos can wait for you, my friend," she said softly as she cradled Thranduil's head in her lap. "There are those here who need you more."

With trembling hands, Galen wound strips of his torn tunic around long branches. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and he turned his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder. His beloved, his mate, sat on the ground next to the lady, rocking back and forth as he whispered a prayer for his wounded friend. Orophin called to Galen, "Are you ready?" Galen nodded. He then lifted his end of the litter into the air as they carried it toward the fallen king.

Haldir tied off the last bandage and looked worriedly at Galadriel. Removing his hand from Thranduil's lower back he whispered, "His blood runs black..."

Galadriel closed her eyes and prayed more fervently. The black blood was a sign that one of his vital organs had been struck. They carried him swiftly, Celeborn and Haldir at the head of the litter, Orophin and Galen at its foot. Rúmil ran behind them, weak with fear and despair.

* * * *

Legolas raised his hand in farewell to the friend who had been a constant companion to him for nigh on a year. Gimli and his folk were to make their home in the Glittering Caves with King Éomer's blessing. Aragorn had been crowned king, and now he and the twins were riding to the Golden Wood to collect the king's bride. He looked forward to seeing his home again and seeing his father. He galloped into the Deeping Coomb alongside Elladan and Elrohir. In four days, they would be in Lórien where he would meet his father, and then they would return by way of the west road where Legolas would collect Gimli and return with him to Gondor for the wedding of Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Undómiel.

The first two days passed peacefully; they rode by day and camped under the stars at night. Legolas took to going for long walks in the evening, giving the twins time alone so that they might more thoroughly express their love for one another. As each day passed, his sense of urgency to return home mounted. The third night he paced restlessly, then on the fourth he woke from a sound sleep. He couldn't get out of his bedroll fast enough, furiously kicking and struggling to break free. He swiftly pulled on his boots and whistled to his horse as Elladan and Elrohir sat up in dazed amazement.

"What is it, Legolas?" Elrohir asked from his half-sleeping, half-waking state.

"I must go, now. I must get to Caras Galadhon," Legolas answered in a rushed tone as he quickly gathered his quiver and bow.

"Why?" Elladan asked, his sense of alarm mounting as he rose from the bedroll he and Elrohir shared.

"Something has happened, something terrible," Legolas responded. "I do not know what, but I know I must go."

"Then we will go with you," Elrohir answered as he began pulling his boots on. Elladan quickly gathered their things as Elrohir fetched the horses, then the three companions headed toward Lórien under Ithil's light.

* * * *

Thranduil lay on a soft bed prepared for him by Lórien's finest healers. They tended him day and night, changing his bandages and administering a tonic made from herbs and the healing waters of the Nimrodel. Galadriel tended the king as well; while her powers were not of the healing arts, she was capable of lending the king her energy in order to keep his spirit within his body. Rúmil refused to leave Thranduil's bedside, and Galen refused to leave Rúmil. Haldir and Orophin stood by as well, should their brother need them.

The second night after his arrival in Caras Galadhon, Thranduil woke from his fitful rest. Each breath was harder to draw, causing pain to radiate out from his chest. Turning his head, he saw Rúmil asleep, with his head resting on the side of his bed. Rúmil's fingers were closed around his left hand, and it was then that Thranduil realized he could no longer feel his arms or his legs.

He drew a labored breath, setting his jaw against the pain, and hoarsely whispered Rúmil's name. Rúmil lifted his weary head and tried to look brave.

"Do you have my spear?" Thranduil whispered.

"Aye, 'tis in my keeping until you are fit enough to carry it again."

"Take my ring, Rúmil."

"No. No...do not..."

"Please, my friend. I need you to do this for me."

"You will be healed. You have to be healed. You cannot..."

"My father beckons, Rúmil," Thranduil whispered. "I cannot refuse him again." He coughed and moaned in pain. "My body is broken. It is too weak to house my spirit. Take my ring and my spear, give them to my son."

"Can you not try harder?" Rúmil pleaded as he wept. "He will be here within a day. Do you not wish to see him?"

A tear fell from Thranduil's eye. "I would give my last measure of strength to see him whom I love more dearly than anything on this earth, but I am afraid that measure is spent. I can no longer remain. Tell Legolas that I love him; tell him I am sorry..."

Rúmil could not control the tremor in his hands as he removed Thranduil's ring, nor could he control the flood of tears that fell from his eyes. "I will, my friend," he answered, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against Thranduil's forehead.

Galen leaned heavily against the bole of the tree, one hand clinging to it desperately, the other firmly clamped over his mouth. His heart was breaking, breaking alongside Rúmil's as he watched his mate say goodbye.

"I love you, Thranduil. I will honor your memory always," Rúmil whispered.

A long rasping breath escaped Thranduil, and Galen turned to see Galadriel running, her hair loose and her feet bare, into the meadow where the king had been tended. "Too late," she whispered as she saw Thranduil's misty, golden spirit rise from his body. "Peace be with you, Thranduil Oropherion. May the Valar guide your spirit to its rest," she said softly.

A long wailing cry escaped Rúmil as he felt Thranduil's life force leave his body. Galen rushed to his side, catching Rúmil as his knees buckled. Haldir and Orophin rushed in as well to find Galen sitting on the ground, holding Rúmil's shuddering body in his arms.

Galen bit down roughly on his lower lip as he wept silently. He held Rúmil tight, fearing his mate might succumb to his own grief. Orophin and Haldir knelt beside him, rubbing both their brother's back and his own. A tear fell from Haldir's eye, wetting the shoulder of Rúmil's tunic. Orophin's lips trembled as he fought back his own tears, and he leaned his head against Galen's shoulder.

"Come," Haldir whispered hoarsely. "Let us get him into bed."

They lifted Rúmil's weak and trembling body from the ground and carried him back to the talan he and Galen shared. Once there, Galen held Rúmil through the night, offering his beloved comfort in the only way he knew how.

To be continued.

Chapter 29:
Summary: Legolas suffers a blow he is uncertain to recover from; Arwen arrives in the Golden Wood.

Legolas pushed past the guards at the city gates. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew what he would find, but his mind refused to believe it. He ran toward the great tree where the lord and lady resided, with Elladan and Elrohir following close behind. He grabbed the shocked guard who stood at the foot of the winding stair and shook him as he shouted, "Where is he? Where is my father?"

"Legolas!" Elladan reached him first, grabbing one arm as Elrohir grabbed the other, both of them prying Legolas' hands off the frightened guard's arms.

Haldir descended the stair, his face grim and jaw set. "I will take you to him," he said quietly as he took Legolas by the elbow. Elladan and Elrohir reluctantly released their friend and followed close behind, dread mounting with each step they took.

Legolas looked into Haldir's eyes pleadingly. "Tell me he lives, Haldir," he whispered. "Please tell me he lives."

Haldir did not answer as he led Legolas into a tent in the lady's garden. Once there, he held the prince tightly from behind as Legolas turned tear-filled eyes to the bed that sat in the center. Upon the bed, clad in silver and tan, lay his father's body. Numb shock washed over Legolas as he gazed upon his father's form. Flaxen hair that once shined as though lit from within was but a pale facsimile of its former self. His alabaster flesh was as dull and immovable as stone. Thranduil's hands were folded over his chest and a mithril crown adorned his head.

"No..." Legolas whispered. "This is a trick, some terrible jest..."

"I am most profoundly sorry, my friend," Haldir said, his voice thick with sorrow.

Legolas raised a trembling hand and pointed. "That is not my father. Where is my father?"

"Legolas," Haldir began.

"No... no, no, no, no... NO!" Legolas cried as his knees buckled.

Haldir clenched his teeth and caught Legolas up in his arms. He held Legolas firmly as his friend wept inconsolably. His own tears were falling as he looked up to see Elladan holding Elrohir. Elrond's eldest son looked stunned, unable to turn his eyes away from the fallen king. Elrohir slowly pulled away from Elladan and moved to Legolas' side.

How much time passed, no one knew for sure, but slowly Legolas' anguish turned to numb sorrow. He raised himself off the ground and approached the lifeless form of his father. Picking up one of Thranduil's hands, he held it; it was cold as a stone. He pressed his lips to the inanimate flesh then hoarsely whispered, "Goodbye."

Elrohir tried to embrace him, then bit his lip as Legolas shrugged off his embrace.

"I must speak to the lord and lady," Legolas said coolly. "There are customs that need to be followed."

Haldir nodded, his heart constricting with fear as he saw the coldness in Legolas' eyes. "She will speak with you upon the morrow, for it is near midnight now."

Legolas answered, "Of course. Shall I take up my old lodgings?"

"If you like," Haldir responded. "I shall take you there..."

Legolas held up his hand. "I know the way." He walked out of the tent and headed toward the far side of the city.

Elrohir looked fearfully at Elladan, who stood beside Thranduil's body, his hand upon the king's face as if he could not believe it himself. "Elladan," he called.

Elladan pried his gaze away and looked at his twin, his eyes brimming with tears.

"We should follow him," Elrohir said quietly.

"Yes, of course," Elladan answered, and then followed Elrohir into the night.

* * * *

"Legolas?" Elrohir called softly. He entered the bedchamber where Thranduil had once slept and found Legolas sitting upon the bed, his hands caressing the linen that once had touched his father's skin. "Legolas, please..." Elrohir began, but he did not know what else to say.

"Please what?" Legolas turned his icy gaze to Elrohir. "Act as though everything will be alright? Act as though I have not had the one who meant more to me than anything in this world taken from me?" He laughed, but it was a cold sound. "It is ironic, do you not think so? I have lost count of how many times I have seen my father battle his way out of situations that seemed impossible, of how many times I have seen him wounded and yet live to tell the tale. And yet he loses his life when the darkness is gone, when the realm is supposed to be at peace. He is felled on a bright, lovely spring day. He dies when the world around him is being reborn." He laughed again. "And I, who have survived what I did not think I would, who has battled forces larger and more threatening than I could have imagined, am destroyed by three arrows that took my father's life." Elrohir took a step toward Legolas and then stopped as the prince held up his hand. "Do not, Elrohir. Do not try to console me; do not try to tell me all will be well and that my father is at peace. I do not want to hear kind words now. Leave me in my misery." He looked up at Elrohir who stood immovable. "I said go!" he shouted.

Elrohir turned and left Legolas alone and returned to the sitting room where Elladan awaited.

* * * *

"We cannot leave him now," Elrohir mumbled into Elladan's shoulder.

"We will not," Elladan answered. "Let us sleep in the adjoining bedchamber; we will hear him if he needs us."

"He needs us now," Elrohir answered.

"Aye, but he has to realize that for himself, brother. Come, let me hold you awhile."

The twins adjourned to the room next to where Legolas lay; they lay awake all night listening to the deafening silence.

* * * *

Legolas sat upon the mound at Cerin Amroth, his knees pulled to his chest, the smell of smoke from his father's funeral pyre still upon his clothes and in his hair. He twisted the ring on his finger, the ring that had once belonged to his father. His father's spear lay on the ground beside him, the symbol of a strong king in the hands of a weakened prince. He gazed into the night sky, watching Ithil make her voyage into the west. No one had dared approach him, not even Elladan and Elrohir. While he had brought his despair to heel, he had only mastered it as far as hiding it from others. Inside, the pain ate him alive.

"I will die here," he whispered to himself. "There will be no homecoming for me in the Undying Lands. I will not be parted from my father, not even by death."

He wondered what death from grief would feel like. Had he not thought it to be insensitive, he would have asked Arwen what it felt like, the day she made her choice. For while she did not grieve, she had chosen the road of mortality, and every day thereafter would bring her closer to her own death. However, there was no need to ask what dying felt like now. While he did not have the option to choose mortality, he felt death slowly creeping in, like dew turning to frost on a cold winter's night.

"I could stay right here," he whispered to himself. "I could stay right here, on this hill, and watch Ithil and Anor in their chase. How long will it take, I wonder? For an elf as young and strong as me to fade..." He sighed. "At least I know his spirit is free, at least I know he travels to Mandos' Halls in peace, his home free of darkness, his promise fulfilled." He closed his eyes and laid his head upon his folded arms, listening to the sounds of Lórien at night.

* * * *

"We cannot leave him like this," Elrohir whispered. "He is going to fade..."

Elladan, still feeling his own grief for the fallen Sindar King, shook his head. "We cannot force him to choose life, Elrohir. He has to find his own reasons to live."

"Where does love reside, Elladan? Does it exist in our presence, in the physical, corporeal state that encompasses our souls? Or does it live in our souls themselves? Is it possible to overlook the physical being and see beyond to what lies beneath?"

"It would appear, dear brother, that it is a little of both. I love both parts of you. I love your indomitable spirit, your bravery, your wit, your generous heart..." He traced Elrohir's lips with the pads of his fingers. "But I also love what is before me, the softness of your skin, the fullness and warmth of your lips... Your eyes burn me and melt me when you are lost in your desire for me; your voice plays my body like a lyre... The soft sighs you utter when you begin to surrender, the deep moans when passion lights inside you, your cries as you are wracked with ecstasy. It is all of these things that I love; but if I had to choose, I would choose your soul."

Tears glistened in Elrohir's eyes and he embraced his twin, holding him close as they listened to the lament sung for the fallen king. "Perhaps," Elrohir whispered, "Thranduil's spirit will return in another form, and in that form they can finally express this last dimension to their love for one another..."

"I hope that is true, and I hope our prince does not give up hope..."

"King," Elrohir answered in a soft whisper. "Legolas is king now..."

* * * *

The twins quickly slid down the rope from their shared talan and ran toward the anxious cry of Orophin's voice.

"What is it?" Elrohir answered, as he and Elladan found Orophin.

"He will not wake," Orophin gasped. "He is upon the hill; I found him there as I was walking, but he will not wake!"

"Is he alive?" Elladan asked anxiously, as he clasped Orophin's shoulder tightly.

"Aye, he breathes still, but he is so cold..."

The twins raced toward Cerin Amroth, with Orophin following close behind. When they reached the mound, they found their father and sister there as well, just arriving from Imladris. Glorfindel and Erestor stood by, as both Arwen and Elrond attended the unconscious Legolas.

Arwen looked up from the still and pale prince into her brothers' eyes. "What happened?"

"Thranduil has passed to Mandos' Halls," Elrohir answered earnestly. "He fell during an ambush of uruk-hai."

"He is fading, and so fast..." Elrond said. "We must get him back to the city. With Galadriel's help I may be able to recall him..." He lifted Legolas' limp form in his arms, handing him to Glorfindel, who carried the prince upon Asfaloth, the fastest of their horses, towards Caras Galadhon. Erestor took Elrohir and Elladan mounted behind Arwen, as they raced to follow Glorfindel and their father.

As Glorfindel held Legolas' limp form, he was in stunned shock. It was inconceivable that Thranduil had fallen; after so many wars, so many long years spent fighting evil. To be brought down by a rogue band of uruk-hai after all was thought to be safe. "Please, Legolas," he whispered into the prince's ear. "Do not give up hope, do not pass to Mandos' Halls and leave all your father fought so long for... He did it for you; do not leave his gift unaccepted..."

* * * *

Long hours spent pacing the platform near Galadriel's talans were far too reminiscent of other hours spent long ago, pacing the corridors of the Last Homely House. Elladan reached up and caught his twin's hand, and Arwen stood and took the other one, bidding Elrohir sit between them. He sank heavily onto the smooth wood bench as his siblings tried to offer him comfort. 'I can bear no more,' Elrohir thought. 'I can bear no more pain... mother, Halbarad, Thranduil, now Legolas...'

Arwen rested her head upon Elrohir's shoulder. "He will return, brother," she whispered. "He promised Estel he would stand by him at our bonding. Legolas always keeps his promises..."

Arwen's soft and reassuring words reduced Elrohir to tears, and she and Elladan held him as he wept.

"This will grieve Aragorn greatly," Glorfindel muttered. "As it will many who love Legolas."

"It is not his time," Arwen said softly. "I can feel it."

Glorfindel gripped the smooth railing in his hands, his eyes traveling across the soft lights of Caras Galadhon. Erestor approached him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his head upon his shoulder. "Fear not, my love," he said softly. "Legolas has proven his strength. He will hear Elrond's voice; he will return."

Glorfindel placed his hands over Erestor's own, feeling their rings touch. He entwined his fingers with those of his bonded mate and pulled Erestor's arms so that they embraced him even tighter. "I thought it was done," he whispered. "I thought that beast's stain was wiped free of this land and that we could live in peace."

Erestor had no answer. What explanation could he give that would take the shadow from his mate's heart? If Legolas died, then another part of Glorfindel would too, just like part of him died with Thranduil and with those who fell in Gondolin. 'He has suffered enough loss,' he thought. 'We all have...' He took a deep breath and whispered, "I love you, my lion..."

Glorfindel turned in Erestor's arms and caressed his beloved's face. "I love you, my strong, beautiful raven." He held Erestor tight, his face buried in his beloved's raven locks.

Haldir stood by quietly, his heart on the verge of splitting in two. One whom he had grown to love and call friend lay in the next room on the brink of death. He wondered how much more death and suffering there would be before all was said and done.

* * * *

Time stood still as they waited for word; after what seemed like uncountable hours, Elrond emerged, looking as weary as he ever had. "He has returned," he said softly.

The group uttered a collective sigh of relief. Elladan embraced Elrohir, Glorfindel embraced Erestor, and Arwen wrapped her arms around her father's neck.

"He will not wake for some time, but when he does, he will need our love and support," Elrond said softly, holding his daughter about the waist.

"And he shall have it," Elrohir said, his voice thick with tears.

Haldir let loose a sigh of relief as his head fell back against the trunk of the tree. "To lose them both would be too dear a price paid," he whispered. He said a quiet prayer of thanks to the Valar, then left the others to bear the news to Rúmil and Galen.

To be continued...

Chapter 30:
Summary: Legolas finds comfort and understanding in an unexpected place.

Music floated upon the air of Minas Tirith. The White Tree was blooming, the Citadel was awash with flowers and streaming ribbon, and the flag of the king snapped upon the breeze. Everywhere there was joyous celebration; the king had returned and now they had a queen. Glorfindel stood near the Place of the Fountain, his eyes roaming over the white stone and high-flying flags. He felt an ache of remembrance, as this city was similar to his own so long ago.

The Elda kept a watchful eye upon the newly crowned King of Northern Eryn Lasgalen. It had been but a month since his father had fallen, leaving him the rule of a dwindling kingdom. Thranduil's people grieved the loss of their beloved king, the one who had protected them for so long. They also grieved for their cherished prince; Legolas had always been the pride of his people. But the prince they had loved seemed to vanish, and in place of the once kind and optimistic elf was a solemn and quiet ruler. Too much had changed. Slowly, the Elves of Thranduil began to leave Middle-earth.

Gimli stayed by Legolas' side. The dwarf still regretted not being there when Legolas needed a friend most. His dwellings in Aglarond were nearly completed, and his peoples' friendship with the men of Rohan was solidified. This left Gimli free to travel with Legolas, and that he did, even to the point of enduring endless days on the back of a horse, clinging to the elf as they galloped over the wide grasslands of Rohan and Gondor. A smile curved Glorfindel's lips and a soft chuckle escaped him. For all of Gimli's gruff and seemingly impertinent ways, the dwarf was a kind-hearted soul and a loyal friend.

Aragorn and Arwen sat at the head of a long table in the feasting hall as their subjects danced and celebrated the wedding of their king and queen. Even Éomer, King of Rohan, attended with his sister Éowyn, who was being courted by the Prince of Ithilien, Faramir.

Glorfindel watched Legolas smile and laugh when he was supposed to. He watched the king take the hand of Gondorian ladies and twirl them around the floor, leaving them breathless, as a good friend to the king should. He knew that all this happiness, all this joy, had to be hard for Legolas, yet the king bore it gracefully.

Glorfindel's attention was diverted as Erestor took his hand and guided him to the dance floor, where he spent the duration of the evening guiding his mate in celebratory dance.

* * * *

As night fell and lanterns were lit in the city, Legolas snuck away from the celebration, evading even the cunning Gimli. He stood alone in the royal gardens, his heart aching. Looking up at the sparkling canopy of stars that circled overhead, he heard the nearly soundless footsteps of Elrohir and he closed his eyes. He did not mean to be cruel to this beloved friend who had done nothing but try to offer him comfort. But comfort was too much to bear, any amount of emotion only left him feeling raw inside. It was easier to remain cold and lifeless. He tensed as Elrohir's arms encircled his waist and his friend's head came to rest on his shoulder.

"Why will you not let me comfort you?" Elrohir asked softly. "You do not betray him by seeking comfort in the arms of another. He would not want you to push others away like this."

"Stop, Elrohir." Legolas escaped Elrohir's grip. "Why can you not just let me do this my way? I am doing the best that I can..."

"You are dying inside, Legolas," Elrohir responded. "I cannot stand by and watch that."

Legolas turned. "Then leave. You and Elladan need not shadow me everywhere I go; Gimli does a fine job of that." He regretted his words as soon as he said them. He opened his mouth to apologize, but it was too late, Elrohir was already gone.

He turned and looked at the ground. Tears began to form but then dissipated; it was as if he had none left to shed. As the night drew onward, he heard another set of footsteps. These were also familiar, heavier than an elf's, with a long stride and purposeful rhythm. He turned, donning his most congenial smile, and greeted the King of Rohan.

"'Tis a beautiful evening, would you not say so, my lord?" he asked softly.

"Aye," Éomer replied, motioning with his hand for Legolas to sit beside him on the bench. "I heard about the death of your father, Legolas, and I am most profoundly grieved by it."

Legolas sat beside Éomer, his posture erect and stiff; condolences were never comfortable for him to deal with. "My thanks, Éomer. But you did not know my father, did you?"

Éomer shook his head. "No, I did not. Nevertheless, I do know what it is to lose both a father and a king. 'Tis never easy, no matter when it happens." Legolas nodded in response but said nothing. "I was young when my father died, not yet a man, but not quite a boy. It was hardest on my mother, I think. She followed him not long after he died in battle. I have lived my life feeling his gaze upon me; I have tried to follow his example as best as I could." He looked at Legolas, seeing the tension in his lean frame, noting the sorrow that dominated his spirit; it was not the Legolas he knew, though he would admit he did not know the elf well. However, the fierce warrior who laughed at bawdy jokes and took delight in jesting with a friend seemed to be missing, and in his place was a grieving son. Éomer took a deep breath and reached out, placing his hand upon Legolas' thigh. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am to hear of your loss, and to offer you an ear, should you wish to speak of it."

Legolas gazed at the hand that rested on his thigh. He had not studied Éomer closely before; their time together had always been too preoccupied with matters of life and death. The king's hands were strong, weathered, as a horsemaster's would be, and he wore a heavy gold ring upon his finger that spoke of his office. Following the line of his arm, Legolas saw that the king wore robes of deep green and gold, heavy fabric that was ornately brocaded. The gold in his garments complemented the honeyed hue of his wild mane of hair, and his tanned face was partially covered by a neatly trimmed beard of deep auburn that framed full lips.

He cocked his head and looked at Éomer's face, so serious, yet there was an expression of understanding and empathy there. The man's large, warm brown eyes regarded him thoughtfully; those eyes had seen death like his own had, and inside their depths, Legolas saw kinship. They were brothers, the two of them, brothers in arms and brothers in grief. They were two warriors who reluctantly wore the mantle of king, not because they were born to it, but because it was their duty. In his own way, Éomer understood him like no one else did.

Legolas placed his hand over Éomer's and squeezed. A sad smile of understanding curved his lips and he watched the man nod in response.

"I was raised to be afraid of elves," Éomer said softly. "I feared them because I did not understand them. Since I have known you, I have seen that there is nothing to fear. It has been an honor to fight beside you, Legolas. Never have I known one so selfless and valiant."

Legolas lowered his gaze. "You flatter me, my friend. I did nothing that anyone else in my place would not have done."

"Perhaps not," Éomer answered. "But you did fight when you did not have to. You could have left these lands with your people; instead, you fought for this world, and for us. I shall not forget what you have done, Legolas, nor will my people. The elves will always be welcome in Rohan, for as long as I, and my kin, rule."

Éomer rose and Legolas followed suit. He was caught off guard as he was enclosed in the man's powerful embrace, and he faltered, leaning into Éomer. Éomer felt Legolas lower his guard and he held him close, feeling the elf's hands clutch at his back.

"I am so tired," Legolas whispered. "I have tried to be strong, but everyone wants so much of me - I just do not know if I can give it."

Éomer pulled back slightly, cupping Legolas' cheek in his hand. "Perhaps, in their efforts to give you comfort, they do not understand what you really need. I know what is in your heart, Legolas. I know you seek to be strong so they do not worry for you. It is alright to be weak once in awhile; it is alright to admit that you need." He looked deeply into the elf's liquid sapphire eyes. "Tell me what you need, Legolas, and I will do my best to give it to you. I ask nothing in return."

Legolas looked into the man's eyes; they were so beautiful and so wise. He needed to be held, to be taken care of, to be told that everything would be alright even if it wasn't true. He needed to be touched, to be kissed; he needed to replace the overwhelming grief he felt with something else.

Sliding his hand around the back of Éomer's neck, he drew the man forward to his lips, hearing the soft gasp of surprise. He pressed his mouth to Éomer's, allowing the man time to accept his request and to either answer it in kind, or turn him away. After what felt like ages, Éomer's lips softened and moved against his own, and he felt the man's strong arms tighten around his waist.

Slowly, he parted his lips, caressing Éomer's lips with his tongue, and he arched into his arms when he heard the soft, wanton moan that escaped the King of the Mark. Éomer's beard was softer than he had imagined, though it still scratched his skin slightly; he enjoyed the feel of it against his skin. His long fingers gripped the man's wild mane of wavy, honey-blonde hair as they deepened their kiss and he opened his mouth to allow the entrance of Éomer's tongue.

Yes, this was what he needed, he thought; he needed to burn with desire, he needed to surrender control to one who would expect nothing from him afterwards. He needed to be irresponsible, wanton, and selfish. Éomer was just the man to give him what he needed, for the king would not treat him like some delicate, bruised flower. Éomer did not seek to heal him; Éomer did not ask anything of him.

As they broke their kiss, Éomer's deep voice murmured in his ear, "Perhaps it would be wise to continue this somewhere more private?"

Legolas laughed huskily. "Aye, those are wise words, my friend. Take me to your bedchamber, Éomer."

Éomer released Legolas, and then motioned with his head for the elf to follow him. Legolas walked beside the king, chatting about such mundane matters as the weather and changes their lands would endure in the coming years. As they entered the long hallway where Éomer's chambers were, he watched the king dismiss the guard at his door. Éomer made sure the man heard him extend an invitation for a drink to the elf, not an uncommon thing for one ruler to do for another. Legolas accepted gracefully, then entered Éomer's chamber at his invitation.

No sooner than the door had closed he was engulfed by the man's large form. Powerful arms encircled him and Éomer's soft lips suckled at his neck. He buried his fingers in the man's hair, deep moans rose from deep in his chest, and he felt his desire stir after so long a time dormant.

"I must admit," Éomer said in between kisses and nibbles to the elf's soft flesh, "that I have only shared pleasure with males on a few occasions, and never have I yielded to one."

"Love between males is rare with Men, is it not?" Legolas asked, struggling to maintain the tenor of his voice.

"Aye, most often occurring out of necessity, when warriors have been away from the comforts of home too long," Éomer answered. "It is more common with your folk, as I understand."

Legolas smiled. "So, you have given this some thought then?" His long fingers began working the clasps on Éomer's robes.

Éomer smiled. "A little."

"For how long?"

"For some months now."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and pulled back to look the man in the eye. "Since Edoras?" He smiled as he watched the man's cheeks flush slightly; it was the first time he had genuinely smiled since his father died.

"Aye. You knew?"

Legolas' smile broadened. "I suspected, though I thought it was mere curiosity." He peeled Éomer's robes from his body, baring a tanned and muscled chest covered in rich, auburn hair. He arched into Éomer as the king's hands slid down his back, coming to rest just above the swell of his buttocks. He combed his fingers through the auburn pelt, his smile turning from amusement to raw sensuality.

Éomer closed his eyes and he leaned his head back as the elf explored his body. It was so unlike being with a man, or a woman for that matter. Legolas explored him without taking anything for granted. Each touch and kiss was a first for the elf. "You have never lain with a man, have you?" he asked quietly.

"No," Legolas answered. "I have lain with males of my own kind, but never a man."

"So this is a new experience for both of us," Éomer answered somewhat breathlessly as Legolas' fingertips found his nipples.

"Aye," Legolas answered. "I am glad it is you, Éomer."

Éomer cradled the back of Legolas' head. "And I am glad it is you, Legolas." He drew the elf in for a deep and thorough kiss.

To be continued...

Chapter 31:
Summary: Legolas finds comfort and understanding in an unexpected place.

Éomer removed the elf's tunic carefully. As much as he would have liked to tear the garment off, Legolas would need to leave his chambers eventually, and when he did, he would need to look as immaculately dressed as he had when first came in. Escaping the elf's arms for a moment, he draped the tunic over the back of a chair near his bed, then turned to see Legolas removing the intricate braids in his hair. Éomer watched as the stately elf-king transformed into the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. There was something about seeing Legolas this way, his hair loose and flowing around his shoulders, that made him appear vulnerable.

Legolas possessed an ethereal beauty that refused to be defined by gender. However, there was no denying the elf's strength, despite his lean build. Éomer had seen Legolas in battle often enough to know just how deadly that lithe body could be. Éomer crossed the room slowly; after years of having women tell him how handsome he was, he suddenly felt so common in comparison to this exquisite elf.

Legolas was slightly taller than him, but was leaner of build. There was not one speck of hair on the elf's body that he could see, other than his eyebrows and that which crowned his head. Legolas' skin was flawless, smooth and perfect, almost giving the impression of fine marble, if it was not for the glow that infused it. His hair was the color of the summer wheat that grew in the grasslands of his home, only the elf's hair shined like precious metal. His eyes, such eyes he had never seen before, bluer than the depths of the ocean as they sparkled in the flickering firelight. His lips were a light, rosy pink, soft and full and sinfully kissable.

Éomer placed his hands on Legolas' chest, allowing them to roam freely over its smooth and taut surface. "By the gods, you are a rare beauty," the man murmured. He moaned softly as Legolas reached for him and captured his mouth in a kiss. A deeper groan escaped him as the elf's fingers clutched at his buttocks, and he felt his length harden in his leggings.

"Have you ever taken a male?" Legolas murmured into Éomer's ear.

Éomer felt his heart skip at the thought. "No, my encounters with men have often been crude and rushed," he answered.

Legolas sighed and Éomer felt his length harden more fully at the soft, warm brush of air against his ear. "There is a first time for everything, my friend." Legolas guided Éomer toward the bed slowly, tugging upon the man's hands as he walked backward. He slipped his own leggings past his hips, taking his undergarment with them, then stood bared to the king's eyes. His fingers deftly unlaced Éomer's trousers and he slid them down, past the man's hips. Éomer wore no undergarments, and Legolas gazed at the thick and turgid length of flesh that jutted from between the man's thighs. It was wholly different from that of elven kind; it was surrounded by thick auburn hair and rippled with veins.

Kneeling, Legolas reached out and touched it, his fingers softly exploring the ridges, and he heard Éomer groan in anticipation. The man's scent was musky and wild, as he imagined it would be, and he offered a cursory lick to the weeping tip of Éomer's length, which caused the man to shudder. Legolas smiled as he gazed up the length of Éomer's body, his eyes meeting the dark brown pools of his soon-to-be-lover. "You smell good," he purred. "Like leather and wild grasses."

Éomer ran his hand through the heavy mass of flaxen silk that crowned Legolas' head. "Everything about you is a mystery to me," he answered.

Legolas rose to his feet and gazed deeply into Éomer's eyes. "Not everything," he replied softly. "I am male, as you are. . ."

"Not as I am. There is nothing about me that is like you. I am but a man, a soldier. . ."

"You are a reluctant king, just like me," Legolas answered. "We have both lost those we love and have been thrust onto the throne, when all we wanted was to serve our kings."

Éomer caressed the side of Legolas' face, his thumb softly brushing the elf's cheek. "Aye, that much is the same. And we have fought together, we share the same enemies."

Legolas smiled and nodded gently. "Aye, that we do."

"But you. . .you are ancient compared to my kind. You have seen so much, done so much. I feel like a boy. . ."

"Éomer," his name sounded wholly different when it left the elf's lips. "You are no boy. In so short a time, you have done so much. When I was your age I was still playing with trinkets."

Éomer chuckled. "I can imagine you running through the corridors of your home with a miniature bow and arrows."

Legolas caressed Éomer's soft beard with the back of his hand. "If this is too much to ask; if you cannot. . ."

"Ssshh," Éomer replied, then slipping his hand around the back of Legolas' neck, he drew the elf forward to his mouth.

Legolas' deep moan confirmed for Éomer that this was indeed what he needed. The elf needed to forget his pain and grief; he needed to feel something else in its place. Legolas' skin was so soft beneath his rough horseman's hands. The elf was smooth and firm, warm and alive. If not for the taut muscles that glided beneath the soft flesh, he might have thought it was a woman he touched. But the softness of his skin did not disguise the strength contained in the body he held.

Legolas drew him toward the bed and covered him with his body. Éomer could not stop touching him; everything about Legolas felt so good, so soft, so perfect. Their moans echoed one another's, their deep voices combining and surrounding them in the warm air. He closed his eyes tight, his jaw clenching as a deep groan escaped him. Legolas engulfed his length in his hot, wet mouth as he arched beneath him. No woman had ever touched him like this, with such boldness, such voracity. Each sliding pass of the elf's mouth sent him careening toward the abyss as he wadded Legolas' hair in his fists and began to thrust shallowly into the elf's wet embrace. Legolas' deep moans reverberated along his length, causing him to answer in kind.

Without warning, the warm, wet nirvana that he was immersed in was gone, and he opened his eyes to see Legolas' lean, muscular form crossing the room to his bathing chamber. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched as Legolas reentered the bedroom carrying a small phial of some kind of liquid. He felt his heart skip at the smile that curved Legolas' beautiful mouth and he watched his lover mount the bed and straddle his hips. Legolas' arousal was standing hard against his flat stomach, swollen and weeping and blissfully perfect.

Éomer was no doubt attracted to women more than men, but this elf, this beautiful warrior-king, was more beautiful than any other living being that he had ever seen.

"Hold out your hand," Legolas said softly. Éomer complied and the elf poured a small amount of bath oil into his palm. "Coat your fingers in it, then prepare me," Legolas murmured as he balanced himself over Éomer on his hands and knees.

Éomer followed Legolas' instructions, reaching behind his lover and sliding his fingers into the cleft of his backside. He found his target quickly, sliding two of his fingers into Legolas' entrance. Legolas hissed into his ear and he stopped. "Have I hurt you?" he asked softly.

"Slowly, lover," Legolas answered. "It has been quite some time since I have taken one inside me."

Éomer moved his fingers slowly, twisting them gently and bending them as Legolas instructed. He had never taken a male, nor participated in anything like it, so this was uncharted territory for him. Legolas moaned softly into his ear between kisses, nibbles and licks to his earlobe and throat. He felt as though he was going to burst before it was done. Legolas' legs were spread wide and the elf moved against his hand, his taut body rippling and undulating above him; it was more sensual than any performance by either Gondor's or Rohan's finest dancers.

Suddenly, Legolas cried out, his lover's voice muffled in his hair. It was not a cry of pain, but a cry of intense pleasure. "I am ready," Legolas whispered hoarsely into his ear. He watched as his elven-lover grasped his pulsing and weeping arousal then lowered himself down onto it slowly, taking him in inch by inch. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch every erotic second, but the pleasure was too much and he closed his eyes, groaning deeply as he was sheathed inside Legolas' body.

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Hot, tight, soft as velvet; he was wrapped and held and squeezed as Legolas began to move, sending waves of nearly unbearable pleasure coursing through his body. He grasped Legolas' hips, trying not to squeeze too tightly as his lover moved above him. Words failed him as he was undone by both the sensation and the vision. He watched Legolas' lean body bow and arch, rise and fall, muscles rippling under flushed skin, head thrown back, hair cascading down his back, eyes closed and lips parted. Legolas' deep moans were more like music than sounds any living being would make; like everything else about him, they were warm and beautiful.

Éomer felt it in his stomach first, that twinge that turned into a knot, the knot that turned into fire that roared through his body laying waste to all other sensations. With a deep growl, he tumbled over the edge, spilling his seed inside Legolas' body. Slowly, Legolas ceased moving. His elven-lover was bent over him, flaxen hair covering their faces like a silken veil, his soft, sweet breath fanning his lips. Éomer slid one hand behind Legolas' neck, drawing him into a kiss. As he plundered Legolas' mouth, he reached for the elf's arousal, swallowing the plaintive moan that issued from deep inside Legolas' chest.

He brought his friend-turned-lover to completion, feeling Legolas' essence splash his stomach and chest. Legolas collapsed upon him, breathing heavily as he slipped from the elf's body. Stroking the mass of flaxen hair beneath his hand, Éomer pressed kisses to the top of Legolas' head and he held him close, as much for his own benefit as for any comfort that he might offer. He didn't want to let him go; he wanted to hold on to this beauteous creature for the rest of his days.

* * * *

Twilight was his favorite time of day, both at the beginning and at the end. It was a time of change, when all things were possible. It reminded him of happier days when he would climb out of bed and race Éowyn to the stables to see who could fill the first bucket of grain to feed the horses in the morning, or nights when they would climb the trellises and sit upon the roof, dreaming of what life would be like when they were grown.

Éomer stood looking out the open casement of his chamber, watching the sun cast the first rays of light up and beyond the mountains to the east. The sky was a rosy pink, long shadows were cast on the ground and the last of the stars lingered in the sky over the mountaintops to the west.

His robe hung loosely on his body, put there more as a formality than to ward off any chill that might come from the open window. The city was silent; the revelry of the evening would keep many abed late that day. Indeed, even his own hardy friend was still sleeping; he had fallen into reverie soon after their lovemaking ended. Éomer looked upon the elf, lying on his stomach, his hands tucked under the pillow, his hair spread out across his back. What he wouldn't give to wake up to this every morning for the rest of his days; it seemed like a just reward for a life spent in sacrifice and hardship. However, that was not part of the bargain and he knew it. Legolas had looked to him for comfort, not for complication. An elven king was not a suitable prospect for a partner, or for a lover. No, Éomer knew he must take a wife and provide his people with an heir; that fate was sealed when Théodred fell.

If he was lucky, he might enjoy Legolas' company in his bed awhile longer and his friendship for a good time longer than that. Now was not the time to be selfish; those days were gone forever.

He crossed back to the bed and removed his robe, sliding into the bed beside Legolas and smiling as his elven-lover mumbled and rolled into his arms. It felt good to hold him, good to know him this way. No wonder Aragorn loved this elf so; there was so much to love about so beautiful, loyal, and gentle a creature.

He pressed a kiss to Legolas forehead and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep for a few more hours.

To be continued...

Chapter 32:
Summary: Éomer's secret is nearly found out; Legolas makes an apology.

The sun had risen fully when Legolas awoke. The smell of musk and cloves greeted his nose and he slowly combed his fingers through the rich auburn pelt of hair that grew upon Éomer's chest. 'How completely unexpected,' he thought as he gazed around the room. Éomer was the last person on earth he would have imagined being in bed with; well, not the last one, but certainly not the most obvious choice. As he went over the night's events in his mind, he cringed upon remembering his harsh words to Elrohir. 'He has done naught but offer me his love and friendship, and I repay that with cruel words.'

Legolas slowly disentangled himself from the man's arms and slipped from the bed. 'No need to tread lightly in Éomer's presence,' he thought with a grin as the man mumbled and snored lightly in his sleep. Padding into the bathing chamber in his bare feet, he cleansed himself of the evidence of their lovemaking, then returned to the king's dressing table and retrieved his clothing. He dressed, then sat down and ran Éomer's brush through his hair, working through the few knots that had formed from their activities. He braided it in his customary fashion, then slipped on his shoes and crossed back to the bed. Holding his hair back, he leaned over and bestowed a kiss upon the sleeping man's lips, whispering, "Thank you," softly as he drew away. He then opened the doors that led to the veranda and stepped outside. With a quick leap, he was gone.

Éomer awoke when he heard the doors close; before he could fully open his eyes and sit up, Legolas had departed. A look of disappointment clouded his eyes, but he understood why the elf had left. It would not look good for either him or the elf-king to be found together disheveled in bed. He lay back down, drawing the pillow that Legolas had slept upon part of the night to his chest. It still smelled like him, soft, clean, like the woods on a spring morning.

"Stop it, Éomer," he chastised himself. "You are behaving like a lovesick boy, not like a king."

A soft knock on his door was followed by a more insistent one; he heard his sister's voice calling him from the other side.

"Éomer? Are you awake? Are you going to sleep the day away or join us for breakfast? Éomer? Are you alone in there?"

He rose from the bed and wrapped his robe around his waist, crossing the room and unlocking the door. "Good morning, my dear sister."

Éowyn entered the room and looked at the bed. "For a moment I would have sworn you had someone in here," she said teasingly. "Although it is not as if that would be a strange occurrence for you."

Éomer playfully swatted her bottom and laughed. "You know me well, sister," he teased in return. "But no, I spent the night alone."

"Come, get dressed. The king and queen are hosting a breakfast for their honored guests. Those adorable hobbits will be there, as will Gimli, Legolas, and Mithrandir." Éowyn plopped on the foot of the bed as Éomer retreated into his bathing chamber. "Lord Elrond is a most impressive man, I mean, elf."

"Yes, he is," Éomer answered from the bathing chamber. "Elves are fascinating beings."

Éowyn smiled. "I remember when you thought they were not to be trusted." Her keen sense of smell picked up something she couldn't quite identify, and she looked around the room.

"That was what we were taught to think. Since I have met a few, I have changed my mind," Éomer replied. "Aragorn's half brothers are excellent warriors. Between the two of them, they have slain as many orcs as my regiment put together."

Éowyn continued to inspect the room, rising from the bed and walking around. "And Lady Arwen seems to be a most wise and good queen," she answered, half her attention directed to her search.

"Aye, she does," Éomer answered. "And she is most beautiful; Aragorn did well to woo her."

Éowyn rolled her eyes as she moved to the dressing table. "You men, that is all you think about, beauty..." She picked up Éomer's hairbrush and found a strand of very long, very shiny blond hair in it. She quirked an eyebrow as she pulled it out, then frowned in the direction of Éomer's voice. Walking toward the bathing chamber, she held it out.

Éomer jumped as his sister appeared in the doorway, and he quickly wrapped a cloth around his naked body. "For gods' sake, Éowyn!" he barked.

"You said you spent the night alone," she chastised as she held out the strand of blonde hair. "This is not yours."

Éomer squinted. "Where did you find that?"

"In your hairbrush. Tell me, should I look in the bed as well?"

"All right! I relent... I took a . . . woman into my bed last night. She was no virgin, so there is no fear of an angry father or brothers coming for me."

Éowyn sighed. "Really, brother, you must stop carousing and find a woman to settle down with. You are the king now, no longer the Third Marshal. I am sure she was lovely, but you need to be looking for a queen..."

Éomer placed both hands on the basin and hung his head. "I know this," he muttered.

Éowyn placed her hand on his back and leaned her head on his broad shoulder. "I met a lovely young woman last night, she is the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Faramir introduced us. I do think you would really enjoy her company..."

"I have been king but three months, give me some time to adjust..." Éomer grumbled.

Éowyn laughed softly. "All right, but it could not hurt to meet her, could it?"

"Of course not."

Éowyn smiled broadly. "I will introduce the two of you this evening, during feasting. Now hurry, we will be late." She departed the chambers and waited for her brother in the corridor.

Éomer hated lying to his sister, but he could not reveal the truth of what had happened the night before. He dressed in riding attire, needing some time away to work out how he was feeling, and then he joined Éowyn in the hallway and walked with her to the feasting hall.

* * * *

Legolas found Elrohir sitting in the wide windowsill of his bedchamber. Their rooms overlooked the Pelennor and had a view of Osgiliath. His friend sat on the wide stone sill, dressed for the morning meal, with his knees drawn up to his chest. The sound of running water came from the bathing chamber that he and Elladan shared, and Legolas surmised that the elder twin was bathing before the meal.

He crossed the room and sat down behind Elrohir, sliding his arms around his friend's waist and leaning his head upon Elrohir's shoulder. "Forgive me," he said softly. "I was cruel."

Elrohir closed his eyes. The sound of Legolas' deep voice always warmed him inside; it was rich, deep and smooth, like molasses. "You are grieving," Elrohir answered.

"That is no excuse to be cruel to one who has only shown me love."

Elrohir stretched out his legs and turned in Legolas' arms to face him. "I have been worried about you," he said softly as he caressed Legolas' cheek. "Both Elladan and I have been worried about you."

"I know, forgive me," Legolas answered. "I cannot explain it, Elrohir, other than to say that I have to keep things inside."

"Why? I fear that if you do, it will consume you."

"I cannot control it any other way," Legolas answered. "I cannot release a little at a time, I am afraid that if I release any at all, I will not be able to stop it. It is as if I would suddenly go mad. Can you imagine how you would feel if something happened to Elladan?"

Elrohir closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye. I fear I am not as strong as you are. I fear I would have faded already."

Legolas smiled sadly. "I am not strong, Elrohir, I am trapped. I have been dealt this lot and now I must handle it as best I can. I have no other choice."

Elrohir embraced Legolas tightly. "We can help you deal with it, you need not do this alone."

"I am afraid it can be done no other way, Elrohir," Legolas answered quietly. "But I do cherish your friendship, never doubt that. I know where to go when it becomes too much to bear." He pulled away and took Elrohir's face in his hands. "Thank you, for your forgiveness and your love," he whispered, and then placed a soft, chaste kiss upon Elrohir's lips before rising and leaving him alone.

Elladan entered his brother's bedchamber to find Elrohir wiping tears from his face. "What is it?" he asked as he sat beside Elrohir.

"I do not know what to do," Elrohir answered. "He suffers so much and there is nothing I can do."

Elladan wrapped his arms around his twin. "Was he here?"

"Yes. He came to apologize to me for what he said last night. He looks so weary, Elladan. I am so worried about him."

"He has to bear this alone, brother, there is no other way." Elladan sighed as he looked out the window. "Perhaps he needs to find comfort some other place; perhaps we are too much of a reminder of days gone by. It must be difficult for him to be near us, when he knows how much we love each other. We are a reminder of what he cannot have now. His fated mate is gone, Elrohir; anyone else will be a poor substitute."

Elrohir nodded. "I have been clinging to him out of fear."

"It is time to let him go," Elladan answered. "He will always be our friend, Elrohir. Never forget that. Come, wash your face, Estel is expecting us."

Elrohir nodded and rose from the windowsill, leaving his beloved to contemplate the future.

To be continued...

Chapter 33:
Summary: Éomer tracks Legolas, much to the elf's amusement.

Legolas walked through the forest outside of Osgiliath. It was a relief to be near trees and living things after being in the city for so long. The land was already healing; trees that had been barren for long years were beginning to sprout leaf and bloom again. The ruins of the watchful fortresses of the Númenoreans were overgrown by vines, a testament that nature would always be more powerful than mankind. It was comforting to him, that this world that had so long been under the stewardship of the elves would endure once they were gone.

He heard horses' footsteps behind him, heard the creak of leather and the soft jingle of buckles. A smile curved his lips as he shook his head. Will men never learn that they cannot sneak up on an elf? He kept walking as though he had heard nothing and was unaware of Éomer's presence. He cocked his head. Two more horses. Of course, Éomer was king now, he could go nowhere without an escort. Indeed, his own soldiers, not to mention Gimli, would have followed him had he not given them the slip amongst the ruins of Osgiliath. It was not so hard to do amongst the rubble and scaffolding that had taken over the once fair city.

Éomer's interest in him came as a small surprise, and the frank offer of friendship and understanding had come as a larger one. Now, as he walked through the forest, followed as he was by the King of Rohan, he had to wonder what other surprises lay in wait for him as he bided his time before sailing to Aman. Cresting a small hill, he found a pool of fresh water, fed at one end by a small waterfall. In the warmth of the day, the pool looked inviting. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the simple pleasure of bathing beneath a waterfall. He stood on a rock that overhung the pool, feeling the spray of the falls on his face and listening to the wind in the trees.

A smile curved his lips as he heard the king dismount at the base of the hill, and he listened to the man's heavy footfalls as he climbed. He turned at the waist, just enough to look over his shoulder and greet Éomer's gaze.

"You knew I was following you," Éomer said with a sheepish grin.

"Yes," Legolas answered, turning back to the falls.

"Would you rather be alone?"

"No. I enjoy your company," Legolas answered softly.

Éomer stood beside Legolas on the rock and wiped the sweat from his brow before removing his gloves.

"Warm?" Legolas asked, the corner of his mouth quirked into a half-grin.

"Aye. But it seems no matter what the weather, I must ride out wearing battle gear. One would think I was raised in an egg of some sort, not been the Third Marshal of the Riddermark these many years."

Legolas snickered. "Yes, but you are king now. A third marshal they can lose, a king they cannot."

Éomer snorted and shook his head. "It was once my place to guard the king, now I find myself guarded by those I have trained."

"Who better to guard you then?" Legolas asked, his face half turned in Éomer's direction.

Éomer smiled a bit wickedly, "I can think of one who would do better."

Legolas nodded. "Aye, but I think Aragorn has his own kingship to manage now."

Éomer smiled wider. "You know what I meant."

Legolas leaned in and murmured, "But who will guard you from me?" He winked, then turned back to the falls.

Éomer stepped closer. "I know no one who can protect me from you, my dangerous friend."

"Dangerous? Is that what I am?"

"Aye, most dangerous."

"Then it was prudent for you to bring your guards." Legolas felt Éomer's presence close behind him. The man stood close enough to smell, close enough to feel the heat that radiated from his body. He had but to lean backward and their bodies would touch; he knew the spark that would ignite from that contact, and he fought to resist.

"Wait here," Éomer said quietly, then turned and walked back down the hill.

Legolas found himself bewildered by this sudden and nearly overpowering attraction to Éomer. In the long months that they had ridden together and fought together, he had not so much as a hint of it before. It was not love, not in its truest sense, but it was most definitely attraction, augmented by a bond of friendship that was growing stronger by the day.

He heard Éomer's footfalls again, then heard the sound of hoof beats departing at a canter. He turned to see Éomer crest the hill; the look in the king's eyes was undeniable. It would be so easy to elude him, he had but to turn and jump to the small ledge beneath. Alternatively, he could stop the king in his tracks with one blow, render him helpless and gasping for air; but he was rooted to the spot as Éomer approached.

He did not resist as Éomer took him in his arms, rather he yielded willingly, allowing the man to clasp him to his chest. Éomer's battle roughened hands touched his face, his calloused thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

"I already know this is fruitless, I also know it is dangerous, but I don't care," Éomer murmured. "I have thought about nothing but you this long day. I am only grateful that you were flanked by Elrond's son and the dwarf, for I could not have borne sitting so close and not touching you."

Legolas' fingers explored the man's face, smoothing his auburn beard and tanned skin. Éomer's eyes were so full of emotion; passion burned hot in this man of Rohan. "I cannot be a substitute for a woman, Éomer," he said softly. "I was not made to yield always."

Éomer leaned in and nuzzled Legolas' mouth. "I know, and I am willing to give you whatever you ask of me. I will give you what I have given no one else."

"What have I done to earn such a gift?" Legolas asked.

"You have already given me more than anyone has before," Éomer answered.

"I cannot love you, not the way I should," Legolas whispered as he brushed Éomer's lips with his own.

"Then love me as you will," Éomer answered. "For I will gladly take whatever you offer." He moaned deeply as Legolas pressed his mouth to him, opening and yielding to the elf-king's perusal of his mouth. He was burning up, not just from the weight of his tunic and armor, but from the fire that his elven-lover had lit. Legolas released his mouth and he gasped softly, his eyes opening slowly to peer into the impossibly blue orbs of his lover.

"You are hot, swim with me," Legolas said softly as his fingers began working the buckles on Éomer's armor. He lowered the heavy chest plate to the ground and began working the clasps on the man's tunic as his own began to fall away. Éomer wasn't as graceful as his other lovers, nor was he as skilled in giving pleasure to a man, but what he lacked in grace and skill was more than made up for with passion. Legolas distractedly thought that it must be because men's lives were so short, they had far less time to experience life; therefore, they lived and loved to the utmost of their ability.

Soon they were divested of their garments, and Legolas turned and smiled at Éomer. "Follow me," he said with a grin, then dove off the cliff into the deep pool below.

Éomer watched in astonishment as Legolas jumped, his beautiful and powerful body slicing the surface without so much as a ripple. There he stood, on a low cliff in Ithilien, naked as the day he was born in the broad daylight, peering down at an elf-king who treaded water below him. "You have taken leave of your wits, Éomer," he chastised himself. He had done many adventurous things in his youth, but this particular situation was not one he had ever imagined.

His leap was not as graceful or elegant as the elf's. He let out a loud cry as he jumped, pulling his knees into his chest as he struck the surface of the water. Legolas turned his head and laughed as Éomer sent water flying upon striking the surface, then laughed again as the king emerged and shook his wild, honey colored hair, water flinging from its ends.

Éomer swam toward Legolas, who seemed to be retreating at an equal pace, and soon they were shaded by the overhanging cliff. He advanced upon Legolas, who only half-heartedly evaded him, and soon he had the elf against the cliff wall, his hands on either side of Legolas' head, his feet balanced on an outcropping of rock beneath the water.

"Why me?" Éomer asked softly.

"I do not know," Legolas answered as he caressed Éomer's wet face.

"Curious?"

"It was more than that," Legolas answered. "It was the way you spoke to me in the garden. For the first time in a long time I felt like someone understood; you made me feel. . .safe."

"Forgive me if I succumb to the temptation to want to keep you that way. I know you are no weakling; you could easily kill me with your bare hands. If I endeavor to protect you, to shelter you, it is only because I know no other way to act towards those I love."

Legolas smiled. "You love me?"

"Yes; that is most unfortunate, isn't it." Éomer answered, half teasing, half not.

"That is one of the things I love about you, Éomer," Legolas answered. "Your honesty." How easily that word had rolled off his tongue, and how easily it could be misunderstood.

Éomer smiled. "I only want to make you happy, Legolas. I know this cannot be forever." He closed his eyes as Legolas wrapped his legs around his waist.

"It need not be forever, Éomer. It need be only as long as we both need it to be." He took the man's mouth in a kiss and a soft moan escaped him at the way Éomer responded. The kiss burned itself in Éomer's memory; it was one that would never be equaled as long as he lived. The elf tasted like honeysuckle, wild and sweet, as if he had been born of the earth itself.

His feet lost their purchase on the ledge, and he gasped as he slipped and they both were briefly submerged. They came up for air and Legolas laughed as Éomer coughed.

"Are you well?" Legolas asked, his smile more broad than it had been for a long time.

"Aye." Éomer laughed as well. "Perhaps we should find a more suitable place to pursue this?"

Legolas winked. "Follow me."

"Why do I worry when you say that?" Éomer responded, swimming after his elven-lover as Legolas made his way toward the falls.

To be continued...

Chapter 34:
Summary: Éomer and Legolas share an intimate afternoon in Ithilien.

Éomer grunted as his back impacted with the smooth stone cliff. Legolas gripped his hair tightly, the elf's long legs wrapped around his waist, their bodies moving against each other with heated energy. There was a small cave behind the falls, the cave floor being only a few feet below the water's surface. He was seated on a smooth slab of stone that formed a bench of sorts, and they were shielded from view by the falls themselves. It was a magical place, cool and secluded, light danced off the cave walls and reflected off the waterfall.

He was moaning deeply, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the cave. His hands roamed with abandon over Legolas' slick, soft skin, alternately gripping and caressing as the elf undulated in his lap. He had never been so desperate to possess another, or to be so possessed. Legolas was the one in control, he always had been, Éomer realized. He would do anything, anything for this bewitching creature. Legolas nibbled his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, leaving love marks that would not be concealed. He mused that he would need another tale to tell, and would receive another dressing down by his sister, but it was well worth the price. As if the elf could read his mind, he felt Legolas' long fingers wrap around his hard length, gently squeezing and stroking.

"Out of the water," Legolas breathed.

Éomer fumbled backward along the ledge until he found where the floor rose. He was slowly pushed to his back, his legs still hung in the water but his upper body was above the surface. He gritted his teeth and groaned aloud as Legolas engulfed him, flexing his hips and gripping at the wet stone with his fingers. He would not use Legolas as he had used others. Not that he had ever been abusive or cruel, but he would not couple with his elven lover so roughly. He resisted the urge to grasp Legolas' hair and thrust into his mouth; the elf was more than voracious enough for the both of them.

He was on the verge of exploding and spilling down Legolas' throat when the elf gripped the base of his arousal tightly. He cried out as his body convulsed, yet his seed did not spill forth. Wave after wave wracked his body, and Legolas held him tightly, allowing only enough to escape to spread his length. He lay panting as his body stilled, yet he was still painfully erect. He opened his eyes to watch Legolas mount him as he had the night before, still gripping him by the base. He groaned again as he was sheathed inside his lover's body, and slowly, Legolas released him to grasp his wrists and pull him into a sitting position.

"Back into the water," Legolas murmured against his neck, and Éomer obeyed, lifting and sliding carefully back into the chest-high water. Legolas moved with him, their bodies joined as they were partially submerged. The elf held his face in his hands, covering him with kisses before consuming his mouth again. Each movement of Legolas' hips sent waves of pleasure through him; his lover's buoyant body seemed to hover above him effortlessly. Éomer held the elf's hips, guiding him as he had guided women in the past.

"You feel so good," Éomer murmured against the wet flesh of Legolas' neck, alternately licking and nibbling.

A smile curved Legolas' lips and he answered, "My ears, put your mouth on my ears..."

Éomer smoothed the hair behind Legolas' elegantly pointed and curved ears, admiring them before doing as instructed. He bestowed a long, slow lick along the curve and felt Legolas shudder atop him. Gripping the elf's backside he did it again, the second time he licked the point.

The shuddering moan that escaped Legolas caused Éomer's length to twitch inside his lover's body. "You should have told me about this sooner," he murmured, barely able to contain the tenor of his voice.

"More," Legolas whispered hoarsely as he rode Éomer's arousal with increased intensity.

Éomer complied, as Legolas' movements intensified. He reached for Legolas' length, stroking it in time with the elf's thrusts and gently suckling the point of his ear. With little warning, he felt Legolas' body tighten and the elf cried out, his essence spilling over Éomer's hand and into the water. Legolas' tightening body squeezed his length mercilessly and Éomer followed Legolas into the abyss, spilling his seed inside his lover's body.

Legolas collapsed against him, the elf's long arms around his neck. He wound his own tightly around Legolas' waist and held him close for long moments as the sounds of their ragged breathing echoed off the cave walls.

Slowly, Legolas sat back, a warm smile curving his lips as he caressed Éomer's face. "What a lovely way to spend an afternoon," he said softly.

Éomer chuckled. "Aye, that it is." He smiled as Legolas combed his beard with his fingers. "You like that, don't you?"

Legolas nodded slowly. "It is something I am not accustomed to. I like touching it."

Éomer grinned. "You can touch it anytime you like."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow. "Anytime?"

"Wouldn't that be grist for the Gondor rumor mill," Éomer answered wryly.

Legolas chuckled. "Aye, quite potent grist, I would say."

"My sister would be most confused and upset, I think."

"Do not be so impatient with her, Éomer, she only wants what is best for you."

"And she knows what that is better than I?"

Legolas shrugged. "Perhaps. Honestly, how would your people react if they saw us together? Love between males is common among my folk, but yours..."

Éomer drew him closer. "I know; you speak true. I never dreamed I would have a male lover, and when you and I are no longer thus, I will not take another."

Legolas nodded in understanding. "'Tis easier with me, I suppose. I am perceived as more feminine than those males of your own kind."

Éomer drew his hand from Legolas' face to his lover's chest. "Perceptions are just that; often they have little to do with the truth. You and I both know that you are not feminine. True, you are soft to the touch, but beneath this soft skin are muscles of iron and a heart like a lion. I have seen you too oft in battle to ever think otherwise."

Legolas smiled. "You know me too well, Éomer son of Éomund."

"Not nearly well enough," came Éomer's reply.

Legolas leaned in for a kiss. "That will change," he murmured against the man's mouth.

* * * *

Éomer cantered into the courtyard with Legolas riding behind him. In the heat of the day, their hair had dried and there was no evidence of their swim and encounter at the pond. Éomer's high collar hid the purpled marks Legolas' mouth had left on his neck, and any marks that he had tried to leave behind on the elf had already faded.

Legolas slid off first, gently patting the horse's flank in thanks for bearing him back to the city. The stable hands rushed forward, taking Éomer's horse, and the two kings walked toward the guesthouses. Éowyn stood waiting, a broad smile on her face as she saw her brother and his friend. She raised her hand in greeting and they waved back. She watched as Éomer clasped Legolas' shoulder and the elf-king returned the gesture before heading toward his quarters, making sure to pause and kiss her hand before he departed.

She hugged Éomer tightly. "It is so good to see the bond of friendship between you. It reminds me of watching you with Théodred." They walked toward the wing where they were housed. "Will you dance with Lothíriel this night?" she asked softly.

Éomer closed his eyes for a moment. 'Must it begin so soon?' he thought to himself. "If she wishes," he answered.

Éowyn smacked her brother's arm. "Do not make it sound like such a chore," she grumbled.

"My apologies, Éowyn. I do not mean to make it sound thusly. Lothíriel is a lovely maiden."

"And quick-witted, too. If you would speak to her in more than one syllable words you would see that."

"I am a soldier, Éowyn. I know nothing of wooing. I have never wooed a woman, I have only bedded them."

"Éomer! Must you speak so..."

"Forgive me, my lovely sister." He bent and kissed her cheek. "I am weary from my ride and I could use both a respite and a bath before the festivities begin in earnest."

"Go then, rest and bathe. I expect you to be on your best behavior this night."

"Of course," he answered, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating to his bed.

* * * *

Legolas lay on his side, his nude form covered only by a thin sheet. A warm breeze carried the smell of the sea and the call of gulls into his bedchamber. "Forgive me, Aragorn," he murmured, "But I do not know how much longer I can abide here."

If he listened closely enough, he heard the sound of his father's voice whispering to him on the wind. "Do you wait for me?" Legolas asked the wind. "Are you wandering a beach in Aman searching for my ship? Will you know me when you see me?" He closed his eyes and wept for the first time since the funeral, his sobs muffled by his pillow and drowned in the cry of gulls.

* * * *

Anor was rising, and the Vanya stood and stretched, feeling the waves lapping at his toes before his morning swim. Something was different about this dawning, though he knew not what it was. His whole life he had been consumed by a restlessness, haunted by dreams he did not understand. His modest home was filled with drawings of places he had never seen, beings he did not know. He trusted that all would be revealed in time, but it was so hard to wait.

Each dawn, he walked out of the wood and emerged upon the beach for his daily swim. He tossed his robe upon a rock and waded into the sea, slipping beneath the breaking waves before emerging on the other side, and he began his daily swim from the island of Eressëa.

To be continued...

Chapter 35:
Summary: Éomer learns a lesson in love from Legolas.

Legolas silently dropped down onto the balcony outside Éomer's room as they had agreed; for the King of Rohan to be entertaining an elf in his quarters two nights in a row would look suspicious. The doors were already open, and he stepped inside to find Éomer standing beside the bed. The man's arms were crossed over his broad chest and he was staring at the bed as though he had not seen one before. A grin curved Legolas' lips as he watched Éomer rearrange the pillows and smooth the sheets. The King of the Mark looked as nervous as a groom on his wedding night.

Normally, Legolas would announce his presence by clearing his throat or making some other kind of noise; however, this time he felt no such urge. He silently crossed the room and slid his arms around Éomer's waist.

Éomer jumped and nearly cried out, and Legolas laughed quietly as he stepped back. "Mae govannen," Legolas said softly.

"What does that mean?" Éomer asked as his heart returned to its normal rhythm.

"Well met," Legolas answered with a smile. "It is Sindarin, the language of my people."

"Is that the language I have heard you speak when you are angry?" Éomer asked with a grin.

Legolas chuckled. "Aye, one and the same."

Éomer admired his visitor; the elf-king was resplendent in the moonlight. His feet, as perfect as the rest of him, were bare, his flaxen hair glowed and spilled loosely around his shoulders, and his lean frame was swathed in a pale blue robe that was open to his stomach. "Is it possible that you are more beautiful now than you were just this afternoon?" Éomer asked in wonder.

Legolas smiled alluringly and took one of Éomer's hands, lifting it to his mouth. "I doubt I have changed overmuch." The elf pressed the palm of the man's hand to his mouth and Éomer swallowed as Legolas kissed it slowly. "You made Éowyn very happy this eve, my friend," the elf continued. "I noticed you are becoming more comfortable with dancing as well."

"Must we speak of that?" Éomer asked quietly as Legolas' lips caressed the inside of his wrist.

"Does it trouble you?"

"Lothíriel is a fair enough maiden, and she is quite endearing; however, she is not what I wish to focus on this night." He swallowed as Legolas pushed up his sleeve and explored the crook of his elbow with his lips.

"As you wish," Legolas answered. "You are apprehensive," he said softly. "May I ask why?"

"How can you tell?"

"I can sense it in you; you feel . . . tense."

"You must know what I am considering," Éomer answered quietly.

"Marriage?" Legolas purred.

"No, not yet. You know what I am nervous about, do not tease me thusly."

Éomer could not stop trembling as Legolas' lips moved from his arm to his neck. The elf's long fingers played inside the opening of his robe, dancing through the hair on his chest.

"I will not hurt you, Éomer, that I promise," Legolas murmured against the man's neck.

"I have never done this before."

"I know. You will not be the first that I have initiated; trust me, my friend, I will handle you gently."

Éomer laughed nervously. "You are the only male in Middle-earth who can make me feel like a maiden."

Legolas smiled and teased Éomer's lips with his tongue. "And you are such a handsome one."

Éomer sighed deeply as Legolas took his mouth in a kiss, moving his hands into the elf's hair as he cradled Legolas' head. Legolas' strong, archer's hands moved down his back to grasp his buttocks, and Éomer could not stop the needful moan that escaped him. Already his length was hard and pulsating, the fabric of his robe shifting against it in a maddening fashion.

"I promise you this, Éomer," Legolas whispered huskily. "You will never deflower a maiden the same way again after this night."

"You think I will be deflowering many maidens?" Éomer whispered.

"No, just one," Legolas answered before taking Éomer's mouth again. He deftly untied the man's belt and slid the robe from his shoulders. His hands explored the curves of muscle, making note of each scar that marred Éomer's skin. He slithered out of his own robe as Éomer untied it, allowing it to fall to the floor around his feet. Rolling his hips forward, he brought their lengths together, causing Éomer to groan anew.

"Gods," Éomer groaned. "How is it possible that I need you so badly so soon?"

"No more than I need you, my king," Legolas purred into Éomer's ear. He pushed Éomer to the bed and covered him with his form, his hands and mouth exploring Éomer's body with abandon. The wild, heady scent of the man heightened his desire, and he bestowed a long, slow lick to his lover's chest.

Éomer moaned and arched beneath his elven-lover, his hands greedily roaming Legolas' lean back. He began rubbing their lengths together as he grasped Legolas' firm backside and thrust into him. Legolas slipped from his grasp and he watched as the elf made his way down his stomach to his turgid arousal. His eyes closed and his head fell back to the bed as he was once again engulfed in Legolas' wet embrace.

The wet heat of Legolas' mouth disappeared and he opened his eyes to see the elf kneeling above his chest. Legolas' eyes asked a question of him, one that had to be answered. He remembered the elf's words that afternoon: "I was not made to yield always."

"Yes," he answered in a whisper, "but not like this."

Legolas stepped aside and lay upon his back, then propped himself up on his elbows. "Will this be more comfortable for you?" he asked softly.

Éomer settled between Legolas' thighs, as he had settled between the thighs of so many women before him. "Aye," he answered, and he pressed his mouth to the inside of his lover's thigh. The long, low purr that escaped Legolas caused him to smile. "Does this meet your approval?" Éomer asked huskily.

Legolas squirmed beneath Éomer as the man made his way up the inside of his leg. The soft scratch of his lover's beard was driving him mad as he breathed, "Oh yes..."

Éomer arrived at the apex of Legolas' thighs and gazed upon the elf's swollen length. It was beautiful in the way a man's never could be, smooth and perfect. Even the elf's sex smelled clean and sweet. He bestowed an experimental lick and watched Legolas arch and moan beneath him. He understood now, the power the elf had over him, for he was as eager to please Legolas as he was to be pleased himself. He knew what Legolas was feeling, that tingling in his thighs, the tightening in his belly, and the ache in his length. Only another male could know that.

Slowly he took Legolas' arousal in his mouth, working as much on instinct as on memory of what it had felt like. He could not be as bold as his lover, but he compensated as best as he could. Legolas bent his knees and spread his legs wide, offering a teasing glimpse of what would be withheld from him that night. But it did not matter, for Éomer meant what he had said. He would give Legolas anything. He did not bring Legolas fulfillment, for that would come later as his lover breached his body. Instead, he kept him aroused as he gathered his courage to yield in a way he never had before.

His own arousal was aching for release, yet he did not touch himself; that would be for Legolas to provide. He felt Legolas tug upon his shoulder and he moved back up his lover's perfect body. He hungrily kissed his elf-king, delving into the deepest recesses of Legolas' mouth as if he could climb inside and remain there always. Legolas' deep moans serenaded his passion; they were a siren call to his deepest desire. He allowed Legolas to roll him to his side, and then he waited.

The first brush of Legolas' slick fingertips in the cleft of his backside caused him to tremble, then the warm press of Legolas' body against his back calmed him. His lover murmured softly into his ear as he massaged his entrance, causing him to moan quietly and unconsciously arch into Legolas' touch. A single finger breached his body and he clenched tight around it.

"Ssshh..." Legolas murmured. "Relax, lover, trust me."

Éomer willed his body to heel, as he felt Legolas' finger moving slowly inside him and his moans intensified, as did his state of arousal. Soon, the unpleasant burn was replaced by the most erotic sensation he had ever experienced. A second finger joined the first; Legolas showed patience he did not believe he had himself. Again, the burn was replaced by a strange, erotic sensation; then, suddenly, stars exploded behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to cry out, yet his voice failed him; he could only arch helplessly into the elf's touch as he gasped.

"Does that not feel wonderful?" Legolas deep voice murmured into his ear.

Éomer whimpered as his blood turned into liquid heat and he thrust back against the elf's hand. His lover slowly kneaded his chest, occasionally pinching an inflamed nipple, causing him to moan wantonly. He knew not how many fingers were inside him now, but he was opened with great care. Suddenly he was empty, it felt so strange to be so, and then he felt the tip of his lover's arousal at his entrance. He tightened reflexively, and then felt Legolas' hand upon his aching length.

"You must relax, Éomer," Legolas purred. "I promise you, it will be worth it."

His breath was stolen as his body was breached; he was unable to move or cry out as he was stretched and filled beyond what he thought he could bear. He forced himself to relax, concentrating on the low, deep, honeyed moans of his lover, and the slow movement of Legolas' hand upon his weeping arousal. As the burning and pain subsided, it was replaced by the most memorable experience he would ever have. Legolas was inside him, around him, moving in a slow erotic dance, filling him and withdrawing, the elf's hand slowly working his pulsating arousal.

He began arching against his lover, the feel of Legolas' lips upon his neck was so right, as if this was what he had been born for. He found his voice, his deep moans joining those of his lover's as they moved together, the heat building between them.

It was over far too soon as his seed spilled over Legolas' hand. Éomer's constricting body, already deliciously tight, caused Legolas to find his own release, and he drove deep, spilling inside Éomer's body.

They lay together, breathing roughly, sweating and caressing one another. Legolas kissed Éomer's shoulders and neck as the man's hands caressed his hip and thigh.

"Stay with me, just until the sun rises," Éomer murmured.

"Yes," Legolas answered, and he curled tightly against his kingly lover.

To be continued...

Chapter 36:
Summary: Théoden's funeral escort departs Minas Tirith, the twins return home, Legolas and Gimli begin their travels.

Legolas reached down, grasping Gimli's hand and lifting the dwarf up onto Arod's back. He affectionately rubbed the gelding's neck; Arod had been a loyal and good mount to him. "It is our last ride together, my friend," he murmured to the horse in his native tongue. "I will now return you to the fields of Rohan." Arod tossed his head and nickered in reply, understanding his master's words.

"What is wrong with him?" Gimli grumbled as he bounced slightly upon the horse's shifting back.

"He is happy to be going home," Legolas answered. His words were for Gimli, but his gaze was focused on his lover as of late. What had begun as one night between friends had turned into a two-month affair. The only ones who knew were Elladan and Elrohir, for no matter how hard he tried, he could conceal nothing from them.

Éomer bowed his head to Aragorn, and then embraced his friend and fellow king before turning to face his sister. Éowyn would be married to Faramir before summer's end, and Éomer promised to return with her for the wedding. For now, she would ride with her brother to escort Théoden's body home. She and Faramir had already said their tearful farewell. It was hard to be parted, even if for only a few months. Kissing Éowyn upon the top of her head, he felt Legolas' gaze upon him. He also felt the questioning gaze of Lothíriel, the maid who seemed to be the most likely candidate to be his queen. It was unsettling having them both look at him, one glance knowing, and the other curious. He looked first at Lothíriel, meeting her gaze with his own and bestowing a gentle smile and nod of his head. She smiled warmly, a sight that tugged at his heart unexpectedly, and then she raised her delicate hand in farewell. He turned away after returning her gesture, then looked at his lover. Legolas' smile was one of reassurance; it told him that all would end up as it should one day, and that he would make the right choice, despite feeling confused now.

The hobbits sat astride their small ponies, and the host prepared to depart. Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Mithrandir, Glorfindel, Erestor, and the twins would ride toward Imladris, the hobbits would return to the Shire by way of the hidden valley, and Legolas and Gimli were to start a long journey that had been planned since Helm's Deep. Elladan and Elrohir worried about Legolas, Elrohir in particular. While they could still sense his grief, they knew the past weeks spent in the company of Éomer had eased it somewhat. Selfishly, Elrohir admitted in private to Elladan that he could not understand why Legolas could take comfort from Éomer but not from them. He was happy that Legolas had found some comfort, but he had to admit that knowing their former lover spent his nights in the arms of the King of Rohan caused a twinge of jealousy inside him. He never admitted such to Legolas; rather he kept it between him and his twin.

Éomer placed his hand atop the casket that bore his uncle's body, so expertly preserved by the embalmers of Gondor. He paused, his gloved hand caressing the fine ebony box, a wave of regret and remorse filling him. He felt it should have been he who had fallen; he should have been there to place himself between the Witch King and his beloved uncle. He felt a horse rub up against his leg, then turned as Legolas placed his hand upon his shoulder. His lover's eyes conveyed deep understanding; the two of them were kindred spirits, in a way. Nodding, he gave the signal to depart, and the Rohirrim rode forth from Gondor in peace.

Arwen watched from the peak of the bastion as her father and brothers rode out of the city gates below her, flanked by Glorfindel and Erestor. It was the last time she would see her father and his loyal friends; they were sailing into the West soon. A tear fell from her eye, even as she smiled, her delicate hand raised above her head as she said goodbye. A clear wind blew in from the sea, setting her long, sable hair aloft.

Aragorn felt knife-edged guilt cleave his heart, for while Arwen had made it clear this was her choice, he could not help but feel responsible. He had promised her father and brothers he would cherish her always, that he would love her until his dying day and beyond. It was of some comfort that they believed him, as she did. And it was of some comfort that he knew she would at least see her brothers again ere she passed.

He stepped up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and holding her tight. "I love you," he whispered into her ear. He felt her lean back against him, resting her hands upon his arms as she answered, "And I love you, my husband."

* * * *

It took two weeks to reach Edoras; that gave Éomer thirteen nights to steal away into the darkness to rendezvous with his elven lover. On the fourteenth night, he stood outside the city gates and watched as Legolas removed Arod's shoes before releasing him into the fields with the other horses. A smile curved his lips as he watched his elf-king cup his hands over the horse's eyes, speaking in a deep and soothing voice as he thanked the beast and said farewell. Legolas placed a soft kiss upon the gelding's velvety muzzle, then he stepped back as Arod turned and galloped toward the herd, whinnying as he went.

Legolas turned to see his lover watching him; he smiled as he climbed the short distance to the city gates. The sound of raucous music floated upon the air as the Rohirrim celebrated their fallen king and toasted to his good fortune in the afterlife. It was their way, to celebrate the life lived rather than mourn the passing. Théoden had been interred with solemn ceremony; now it was time to drink to the great fortune of those who had been honored enough to know him during his life.

"Your uncle was much beloved," Legolas said softly as he stood before Éomer.

"Aye, he was," Éomer answered. "I only hope I can be half the king he was."

Legolas' hand caressed his beard, and Éomer closed his eyes. "You will be," his lover said. "I know it in my heart. Blessed will be the days of your reign; blessed will be the time of Éomer King."

Éomer stepped forward as Legolas embraced him. He clasped his lover close to his chest. "What I would not give in this moment to be another man; to have been born in another body. What I would not give to ride away from this place with you, never to return."

Legolas closed his eyes. "Forgive me for what I have done. I have been selfish."

"Nay, say not selfish, my friend. For the days and the love you have given me will warm me all the rest of my life. I am wiser now, because of you; I am better, because of you."

"'Twould be easier if you were to strike me..." Legolas mumbled.

Éomer chuckled. "Even if I could, Gimli would have my head."

Legolas laughed softly. "Aye, I suppose he would."

"He is a lucky dwarf."

"He is a good friend, as are you."

"Aye." Éomer released his lover and took his hand. "Come, let us go inside and drink to good friends both present and departed." Legolas smiled and nodded. They started into the gates when Éomer paused. "Will you. . . just one last time?"

Legolas smiled and squeezed Éomer's hand. "With pleasure, when all have gone to sleep."

Éomer smiled, then they walked into the Golden Hall, dropping each other's hand before reaching the door.

* * * *

The hall was quiet; soldiers were sleeping soundly beside their wives and lovers, horses grazed quietly in the pastures beyond the gates. As Rohan slept, Legolas silently made his way through the corridors of Meduseld, arriving at the king's door and entering once he knew no one watched. He found Éomer standing before the window, his dark eyes scanning the moon-washed fields of his home.

"Peace has come at long last, my friend," Legolas said softly as he wrapped his arms around Éomer's waist.

"Aye, it has been too long in coming," Éomer answered. "But I am glad it is here, nonetheless." He turned in Legolas' arms. "I know I cannot have what I want. I know that you will leave and this will be the last I touch you and kiss you. I know that I must put aside my selfish desires and lead my people now, but it does not stop me from wanting."

Legolas caressed Éomer's beard, fingers softly combing through the neatly trimmed and soft hair. "I owe you a debt of enduring gratitude, Éomer. I still grieve, but you have helped me find the strength to bear it. Were this a different life, another time, I would stay by your side. I would serve you as I served my father, I would love you as you deserve to be loved."

Éomer smiled sadly. "Aye, but it is not." He ran his hand into Legolas' hair as he gazed upon his lover. "I need you to tell me something, Legolas."

"Anything," Legolas answered.

"Tell me what is to become of me; tell me how I will know what to do as the days wear on."

Though the man had not asked specifically, Legolas knew what he meant. He had watched Éomer with Lothíriel; he had taken note of the unasked question that existed between them. "You will know, Éomer. One day you will look at her and see that she is the one you love with all your heart. You will know with a certainty you have never felt before that she is the one you are destined to love. It might be a look she gives you, or a laugh, or a smile, or perhaps the touch of her hand upon yours, but when it happens, you will know."

"Thank you," Éomer murmured as he leaned in to kiss his lover.

They retired to the king's bed, where they made love until the sun rose in the East.

* * * *

Upon reaching the foot of Redhorn Pass, Elrond and his entourage said farewell to the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. The twins hugged their grandparents, then waved farewell. Elladan clenched his jaw as he watched them begin their ascent. Elrohir moved his horse and leaned over.

"What is it, brother?"

Elladan shook his head. "I know they are gone. I know that yrch no longer roam these lands, these mountains, but I cannot help but feel dread each time I gaze upon that road."

Elrohir looked up, as the figures of their grandparents grew smaller. "Everything is different now, Elladan."

"Yes, everything is different." He turned and looked at Elrohir. "I do not wish to remain behind, not after father sails and Arwen and Estel pass. There will be nothing left for us here."

Elrohir smiled. "So it is decided then, we shall sail on the last ship."

Elladan smiled, relief warming his heart after so long a time spent in unrest. "Yes, on the last ship."

"Come, brother," Elrohir crooked his head. "Glorfindel will fetch us if we tarry."

Elladan nodded and squeezed his horse into an easy canter, riding beside his brother through the wilds of Eregion.

* * * *

Glorfindel twisted upon Asfaloth's back, stretching skyward as he searched the road behind him for the twins. Erestor smiled and shook his head.

"Ever the watchful guardian," Erestor crooned.

"Old habits die hard," Glorfindel answered.

"Do you know what I am looking forward to?"

"What?"

"A large goblet of Old Wineyard, a tall tale from Bilbo, and a day's worth of lovemaking in our bed."

Glorfindel saw Elrond's shoulders twitch ahead of them. "You do know he heard you say that."

Erestor smiled broadly. "I most certainly do."

Glorfindel laughed. "You have grown bold in your old age, my love."

"Old? Whom are you calling old? I am most certainly not old."

Glorfindel leaned over and kissed his mate squarely on the lips. "Of course not, I but jest with you, my beauty." The sound of hoof beats came from behind them. "Here they come," Glorfindel murmured against Erestor's lips.

"Let them come; I am not finished with you yet, my lion."

The twins galloped by, shouting, "Do the two of you never stop?"

Erestor smiled as Glorfindel nuzzled his mouth. Neither noticed their lord laughing quietly alongside some astonished hobbits and an amused wizard.

* * * *
Legolas had taken his leave of Éomer, then he and Gimli had begun their trek north toward his home. They reached the elf path that led to the caves of Thranduil, the place where Legolas had been born and lived all his life. He was returning now, after long months spent away, only to be greeted by a grieving people. Gimli, in an uncharacteristic move, reached out and squeezed his friend's hand. "Don't worry, laddie. I will be with you all the way."

Legolas looked down at his dear friend. "I am most glad of that, Gimli." He took a deep breath and stepped forward onto the path, whistling to the guards who awaited them.

To be continued...

Chapter 37:
Summary: A new age dawns.

Legolas sat astride his young horse just inside the tree line as his gaze swept over the wide and rolling grasslands of the Mark. Autumn approached and the tall grasses, not yet spent, swayed in the breeze. Anor rode high above his head, bathing the lands in warm, golden light. He sat for a while, content to listen to the murmurings of the trees of Fangorn and the soft rustle of the grass in the wind.

He and Gimli had wandered far and wide in the past years, exploring forests, mountains and caves. His dear friend was now living in Aglarond with his people, busily tending to their new colony. It had been from Gimli that he had received word that Éomer's days grew short. In those long years, Rohan had prospered under Éomer's rule. He had married the fair Lothíriel and she had born him a son, Elfwine, who was strong and hale. When Legolas received the letter bearing the news that Rohan had an heir, he had smiled. His former lover and good friend had named his son 'elf friend'. No greater tribute could have been paid to their friendship.

He wondered if Éomer would see the difference in him, as so many others had. He wore his hair in a single braid that hung past his buttocks; he swept it over his left shoulder when he rode, tucked neatly beneath his cloak. His body was leaner than it had been in years past; there was no need for pushing his body to the limits of his strength any longer. His eyes told the story of recent years, no longer sparkling with mischievous optimism. He spent much of his days riding in the woods, communing with the creatures that now thrived in its depths. Occasionally, he would encounter Lord Celeborn in the southern reaches, and they would walk through the woods and speak of the future to come. Not two months hence, Celeborn had withdrawn to Imladris, though some of his folk remained behind. A strong friendship had grown between the elves in the north and those in the south; it was just as his father and Galadriel had hoped it would be.

Lórien was nearly empty now, the mellryn fading as the years marched on. Galadriel had sailed and with her had gone Orophin, Rúmil and Galen. Haldir remained behind to serve his lord until Celeborn chose to sail himself. Elladan and Elrohir lived in Imladris still, with Celeborn and the few who chose to delay their own departure. Glorfindel and Erestor were gone, as was the larger portion of Imladris defenses. As much as things changed, things remained the same; this brought a measure of comfort to Legolas. Flowers still bloomed, trees still grew, and the seasons changed. Middle-earth would live on, even when the last of his kind left it.

He was not looking forward to seeing his good friend. The King of the Riddermark would not look as he remembered, but that was not nearly as unsettling as the fact that it would be the last time he gazed into his warm, wise eyes. So many of those whom he had grown to love had passed on. He understood now why so many elves were so reluctant to form bonds of love outside their own kindred. Frodo and Bilbo had sailed, and the elder was most likely gone from this world. Sam's beloved wife had passed on, and the last of the Ringbearers had then sailed over the Sea and into the West.

Now it was time for one more of their happy few to leave, to go where Legolas could not follow. Of the Fellowship, only he, Aragorn, Gimli, Meriadoc and Pippin remained. Five out of Nine. The times before the War of the Ring were but a distant memory to him now. He could barely recall those happy days in Imladris with the twins, or the nights he had made love to Haldir. He spent much of his time alone now, solitude being a relief and a respite from maintaining a front of strength and good cheer to his people.

He stretched upon the back of his young stallion and took a deep cleansing breath, and then he gave the horse's flanks a gentle squeeze, cantering out of the trees and into the Riddermark.

It was not long before he was greeted by the Riders of the Mark. Elfwine was the Third Marshal, as his father before him had been in darker times. The young man sat tall in the saddle, his honey-colored hair lying close to his neck under his helm. Legolas placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head; he received a far different greeting this time than when he, Aragorn and Gimli had arrived so long ago. Elfwine bowed his head and smiled, honored to meet the elf whom his father had talked about all his life. He escorted Legolas to Edoras, asking him many questions along the way.

They passed the burial mounds where the kings of the past had been laid to rest. Legolas remembered Théodred's funeral, the day they had arrived from Fangorn. They then entered the gates of the city and Legolas gazed at Meduseld for the first time in over sixty years. It was a far different place now, this city of hardy men. The people who dwelled within its walls were hale and strong, prospering under the rule of their king.

He dismounted alongside Elfwine and followed the young man up the steps to the Golden Hall. The Third Marshal held the doors open and Legolas stepped into Éomer's hall.

He swallowed the lump that formed upon seeing Éomer, schooling his expression into one of kinship and goodwill. Éomer sat upon his throne, bedecked in the stately robes of his office. The queen's chair was empty; she had passed a few years before. Legolas removed his hood and pushed the cloak back over his shoulders, then strode forward, kneeling as he reached Éomer's throne.

"Rise, my dear friend."

Éomer's voice was as deep and commanding as it had ever been, yet Legolas noticed that the slightest rasp had crept in. He regained his feet and smiled as he gazed at the King of Rohan. Hair that was once the deep golden hue of honey was pale gray, his auburn beard had faded as well, though not quite as much as his hair. His skin was still tanned, but weathered, creased from the march of time. He seemed smaller, yet no less regal as he rested in his chair, transformed from a warrior into a wise elder.

Legolas leaned forward, clasping Éomer's hand in both his own, warmed by the gentleness he still saw in his friend's eyes. He had spoken true so long ago: blessed had been the days of Éomer. With a little effort, Éomer rose from his throne and embraced him. Legolas closed his eyes; his friend felt so frail.

"Walk with me," Éomer said softly, and Legolas complied.

They strolled out of the hall and outside the city gates. They stopped at the burial mounds, and Legolas noted one was newer than the others were. He watched as Éomer laid his hand on the door of the newest one.

"It was just as you said," the king began in a slightly rasping voice. "We were standing in this very place, and she had asked me about the significance of the simbelmynë. I was explaining to her that they had always grown on the mounds of my fallen kin, when a cloud passed overhead. A shadow fell across her face and she looked up; as it passed she looked back at me and I saw her bathed in the sun's light. Her eyes glowed and a smile of understanding curved her lips. It was in that moment that I knew I could love her. I asked her here, amongst my forefathers, to be my wife. It is a question I have never regretted; for she made me happy in a way I never thought I could be."

Legolas stepped closer and placed his hand upon Éomer's back. It felt good to know he had been happy in the last years of his life. Éomer turned and looked at him.

"Is it possible that you have not changed? Yes, your hair is different, longer than I remember, and you do seem more somber, but other than that, you are just as I recall."

Legolas smiled as Éomer caressed his cheek. "I am sorry I did not come sooner," he began.

Éomer shook his head. "Do not apologize, my friend. I know why you stayed away, and I thank you for it. As much as I missed you, as much as I regretted letting you go, I still found the one I was meant to be with; I still found the love of my life."

"I am glad of that, Éomer," Legolas answered softly. "Your son is a fine man."

"He will make an excellent king," Éomer replied. "A far better one than I, I believe. He is as much his mother's son as he is my own."

"He is you, yet he is not..."

Éomer smiled. "Exactly. He is both of us, and because of that, he is better than any one of us."

Legolas nodded. "My father used to say the same thing to me."

Éomer squeezed Legolas' shoulder. "He was right." He looked up into the sky as clouds passed overhead. "Meriadoc and Pippin are here."

A smile curved Legolas' mouth. "They are? It will be good to see them."

"I asked for Merry, it was most generous of him to come."

"He loves you, very much."

"I saw Gimli but a month ago, he came from Aglarond and stayed with me a few days. Aragorn was here this time last year."

Legolas looked at the ground and blinked back tears. "And now I am here."

"I wanted to see you last."

Legolas nodded. "And you will, should you wish it."

"You will stay then, until the end?"

"Aye, my friend. I will stay."

Éomer embraced him and held him tight. "Thank you, my friend."

They held onto one another for long moments, and then Legolas took the king's arm and slowly walked with him, back to the Golden Hall.

* * * *

There had been much feasting in the Golden Hall in the days that Legolas spent there. Merry and Pippin still regaled them all with raucous song and tales of days gone by, though they were not as spry as they once were. Autumn was waning, the days growing shorter and the nights colder. Legolas was summoned late one afternoon as a cold wind from the mountains whipped the banners outside the hall. One look at Merry and Pippin was all it took to know why he had been called to the king's chamber. He gave a gentle squeeze to their small shoulders before knocking on Éomer's door.

Elfwine answered it, tears brimming in his eyes as he bade Legolas enter. Legolas watched the young man depart his father's chamber and close the door behind him. Éomer lay upon his bed, dressed in a long nightshirt and covered by thick blankets and furs. A fire burned bright in the hearth, and the windows were still standing open at his insistence. Éomer held out his hand to Legolas and the elf crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the king's bed.

Éomer drew a labored breath and smiled despite the effort. He caressed Legolas' face, briefly running his hand into the elf's hair as he used to do long ago. "I am glad you are here with me," he began, his voice not much more than a whisper.

Without a word, Legolas removed his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside Éomer, resting his head on the man's shoulder and curling around him as he had so many times before. "I wish I knew what the road before you will be like, what you will experience once you pass beyond the borders of this world."

"I wish I did too," Éomer answered. "It will be a fine adventure, and at the end I will see my mother and father, my cousin, my king, and my beloved." Legolas squeezed him, taking care not to hold him too tightly. "You will see your own one day," he continued. "I have been assured of it."

"I hope you are right," Legolas answered quietly.

"I am."

"Thank you, Éomer, for your years of friendship and love."

"Thank you, Legolas, for teaching me how to love to begin with."

The sun set in Rohan, bathing Meduseld in an amber glow. Legolas lay in Éomer's arms as the last breath left the king's body. He lingered even after he felt Éomer's spirit leave his form, holding on briefly to what was left behind before rising from the bed and exiting the king's chamber.

Three days hence, after the funeral procession and wake, Legolas, Merry and Pippin left Edoras for the last time in a wagon gifted to them by Elfwine. Legolas sat in front, guiding it toward the White City while the hobbits rested in the back and his horse followed closely behind.

To be continued...

Chapter 38:
Summary: Legolas' people sail and only three elves are left in Middle-earth.

Legolas sat astride his stallion, looking up and down the long line of wagons, horses, and elves on foot. It was the final large contingent of elves to depart these shores. At the head of the line rode Celeborn, and next to him was Haldir. The elves of Imladris and southern Eryn Lasgalen came next, then his own people. Elladan and Elrohir brought up the rear of the line; though there was no need for apprehension, some habits died hard.

They made their way through Eriador on a bright spring day, skirting the towns so as not to disrupt the lives of the hobbits who lived there. After the ship sailed, the twins and Legolas would ride eastward, to Minas Tirith, where they would spend many of their final days in Middle-earth.

Legolas had lost more friends, though none of their deaths had been as hard as Éomer's. Shortly after their arrival in Minas Tirith, Merry and Pippin had passed and been laid to rest in Rath Dínen. Some twenty years after the passing of Éomer Éadig, Faramir had passed on; Éowyn followed her beloved some years later. They left behind a son, who took up the helm of Prince of Ithilien, and a grandson. Only Aragorn, Gimli and he were left, the three surviving members of the Fellowship.

Prior to their departure, Legolas had watched as the gates to his father's empty caves were locked. The heavy iron gates clanged shut and the elves who remained upon the bridge gasped as rocks began to fall. They retreated to the far side of the bridge and turned to see not only the entrance to the caves buried, but to watch the river swell and wash out the stone bridge. Not a trace was left of where they once lived. "It as if we were never here," someone had said. Legolas had winced at those innocent words; the thought of there being no evidence of his father's life there caused him some pain. Yet, he knew it was better than the alternative: having curious men exploring what was to him hallowed ground, changing it, making it something it was not. Better to have it buried and forgotten by those in Middle-earth; it would not be forgotten by him.

He smiled as Elrohir cantered toward him, nodding in greeting to his dear friend. "We should be at the harbor within two days, yes?"

Elrohir's horse slowed to a walk and he rode beside Legolas. "Yes, we can stop for the night up ahead; there is a grove of trees among the hills which will provide shelter." Elrohir regarded his companion as they rode side by side. Legolas had changed so much during the time he had known him. He was less the optimistic, fun-loving young prince and more the stately king now. At times, his friend reminded him of Celeborn in the way he carried himself. Legolas' appearance had changed as well, but not overmuch; his hair was longer, long even for an elf, and his build was leaner.

In all the long years since they had last lain together as lovers, Elrohir had never stopped missing him. Elladan was his beloved, the one who held his heart, but Legolas held a place within him also, and one that was not only friendship. Elrohir still desired Legolas, and he imagined he always would. He knew that Legolas had not taken a lover since Éomer, preferring to spend his days and nights celibate.

Elrohir's gaze followed the long, thick, flaxen braid that hung over his friend's shoulder like golden, silk rope. The end brushed Legolas' thigh as his horse ambled along, Legolas' hips swinging in time with his horse's gait. The Sinda King had left a long line of disappointed admirers in his wake, male and female alike. Scores of Rohirric and Gondorian females had swooned as Legolas' passed by, and many an elf maid and young elven male had longed to garner the king's attention. Legolas expressed interest in none of them; his heart had been lost long ago to one who no longer lived.

They were silent as they rode along, Legolas' thoughts preoccupied with the voyage of his people, Elrohir's thoughts preoccupied with Legolas. Elladan joined them after a short time; his twin's demeanor caused a wry grin to curve his lips. 'Go on, my love,' he thought. 'Weave your fantasies about him; I will soothe the ache for you when you are through.'

Anor dipped below the horizon and the sky glowed in a violet hue as they made camp. Elladan's gaze was upon Elrohir, Elrohir's upon Legolas as he watched the king see to his people. Elrohir noted the easy, long stride, the lean muscled thighs wrapped in velvet, the curve of a calf encased in leather, the swell of Legolas' buttocks beneath his tunic and the way his braid brushed them as he walked.

"You are hopeless, brother," Elladan murmured into Elrohir's ear.

"Can I help it if he is beautiful beyond the measure of many?"

"Apparently not, no more than you can help blatantly consuming him with your eyes. The entire camp has noticed it, no doubt Legolas has noticed too."

"Are you jealous, Elladan?" Elrohir whispered.

"Yes."

Elrohir turned. "Truly?"

Elladan grinned. "A little. But I know where your heart lies." He smiled wistfully. "I seem to remember when our places were reversed. It was you chastising me for my blatant interest in Thranduil."

"I was jealous," Elrohir answered softly.

"No doubt Legolas eased your jealousy."

Elrohir quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed he did..."

"I do not know where you intend to spend the evening, but I will be up in the hills there, should you require me." Elladan winked as he walked away, leaving his brother to his fantasies.

After seeing to his horse and storing his belongings, Elrohir followed Legolas at a distance as his friend walked through the woods. They were far away from camp when Legolas turned and met his surprised gaze.

"How did you know I was following you?" Elrohir asked. "I made no sound."

"I felt you there," Legolas answered. "It is easy to do when one spends as much time alone as I do."

"Do you wish to be alone now?"

"Nay." Legolas held out his hand. "Come, walk with me."

Elrohir advanced and took Legolas' hand, and they continued deeper into the woods. They followed a winding path into an outcropping of rocks, climbing over some before stopping in a sheltered area. Elrohir watched as Legolas looked at the etchings left on the rocks from humans who had lived there long ago.

"I feel your need," Legolas said suddenly, surprising even himself.

Elrohir flushed a little as Legolas turned to look at him. "Forgive me for not hiding it better. I know how you feel about it."

"It is not as if I do not find you attractive as well, Elrohir," Legolas said softly. "I have always found you to be most beautiful." He watched Elrohir's eyes darken a shade; he sensed the change in his energy. "You were a wonderful and giving lover to me, and you have been a dear and loyal friend these many years."

Elrohir leaned back against a large rock and swallowed, inwardly chastising himself for his heightening desire. After so many years away from Legolas, it seemed he wanted him more than ever. He closed his eyes, trying to bring his body to heel, trying to slow the rhythm of his heart, cool the heat in his skin, ignore the slow, persistent pulsing in his loins.

He did not open his eyes, yet he knew Legolas was there, hands on each side of his head, lips close enough to feel the Sinda's breath on his face. "Do not offer what you do not intend to deliver," Elrohir said quietly. "I ask only that of you."

"I always keep my promises," Legolas murmured, and then Elrohir felt his friend's mouth on his own.

A deep moan escaped him and the fire within him roared to life instantly. Without hesitation, he opened his mouth to Legolas' questing tongue, reaching around the Sinda's waist and loosening the long braid that hung down Legolas' back. He plunged his hands into the mass of flaxen silk as Legolas' mouth moved from his lips to his neck.

Legolas was different in this way as well, more forceful, more commanding than the last time they had lain together. Legolas controlled him with a murmur, a flick of his tongue, a touch of his hand. It was then that Elrohir felt what Elladan must have felt so very long ago when his twin lay with Thranduil. Legolas had inherited that same carnal sensuality that Thranduil had always wielded with such expert skill.

"Sweet Elbereth," he gasped as Legolas' hands slid inside his tunic and the Sinda's lips expertly worked his ear. He arched into Legolas' hands as his arousal pulsed maddeningly. He cried out softly when the king's long fingers wrapped around his overheated length, and he clenched Legolas' hair in his fists as he thrust into his hand. "Yes, Valar, yes..." he whispered hoarsely, pressing himself into Legolas, breathing into his long, flaxen mane. He achieved his release with a soft cry, shuddering as he spent himself over his friend's hand. Panting, he nuzzled Legolas' neck, murmuring words of appreciation and affection.

The world felt like it was spinning around him as he leaned his head back against the rocks; the feel of Legolas' tongue licking him clean caused him to tremble slightly. "I have missed you," he whispered. He opened his eyes and gazed into Legolas' sapphire pools. It was then he saw that Legolas did not share his state of bliss. "You did not have to do that," he said softly.

Legolas smiled. "I know. I did it because I wanted to."

"Yet, you are not desirous of me," Elrohir answered.

"I am not desirous of anyone, Elrohir. That does not mean that I do not love you, and it does not mean that I do not find you to be extraordinarily beautiful."

Elrohir took Legolas face in his hands. "I love you, Legolas Thranduilion..."

"I know you do," Legolas answered. "Yet, Elladan is your beloved."

Elrohir closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye, he is."

"Look at me, Elrohir," Legolas whispered. He smiled and then pressed a soft kiss to Elrohir's lips. "You and I will always love one another as friends." Elrohir nodded and he continued, "Now go, the one who holds your heart awaits you."

"What of you?" Elrohir asked.

"I am content to be as I have been."

"How long will you wait?" Elrohir asked.

"Until I can wait no longer," Legolas answered. "Go on, you know he is yearning for you."

He watched as Elrohir departed the circle of rocks, then sighed and gazed skyward.

To be continued...

Chapter 39:
Summary: Legolas says goodbye to another dear friend and prepares for a journey.

The day of Aragorn's choosing had come, and Legolas braced himself once again to say goodbye to one he loved. He stood in Aragorn's bedchamber, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing out the window. Arwen was walking in the gardens below, preparing herself for the last time she would hold her beloved in her arms. Legolas watched her from the window, wondering how she did it, how she found the strength to bear this with such grace and dignity. Eldarion sat on a bench and watched his mother; there sat another who would reluctantly take up his father's mantle, just as Elfwine had. Aragorn's passing would be difficult for the people of Gondor to accept, for their king still looked hale and strong. Only the gray hairs that peppered Aragorn's beard and hair, and the fine lines that creased his face spoke of his age. He was still the very picture of the ruling warrior-king that had given this land its freedom.

The land of Mordor was still barren of life, as it always would be; nothing could grow where such profound evil had existed. Rather than the threatening, ominous place it once was, it was now a barren wasteland. No sound other than the wind on the desolate plains could be heard there. Orodruin was silent, a shell of its former self, and the Morgul Vale was a whitewashed desert canyon. No threat existed from beyond those dark mountains any longer, Aragorn had seen to that.

Legolas' days in Middle-earth were growing toward an end now. He knew, as did Eldarion, that Arwen would follow her beloved beyond the borders of this world. It was a choice he had never been given, an option he never had. While the thought of Aragorn and Arwen's passing caused Legolas grief, he held hope that they would be reunited on the other side and once there, share an eternity together in blissful peace.

He waited. The twins were with Aragorn now, saying their goodbyes in the antechamber; Aragorn had seen Gimli earlier that day. The Dúnadan had saved Legolas for last, just as Éomer had, only for different reasons. Aragorn and he were close friends, brothers in arms. Of all the members of the Fellowship, they had been the closest except for perhaps he and Gimli. Once Aragorn took his leave of Legolas, he would retire with his wife and son, never to be seen alive again.

The door opened and he turned to see Aragorn enter, the sorrow in his eyes not quite masked by his warm smile.

"Legolas, my friend. I am so glad you are here."

"I would be no other place," Legolas answered with a smile.

Aragorn placed his arms around Legolas' shoulders and guided him to two chairs that sat near the window. Legolas sank down into one and watched Aragorn do the same in another. Legolas crossed his long legs, resting his hands on the arms of the chair he sat in.

"I never told you how much it meant to me to have you stand for me at my wedding. I know it must have been difficult with your father so recently departed."

Legolas gaze fell to his lap for a moment as he remembered that sad time, then he looked back into Aragorn's eyes. "I made a promise," he said softly.

"And you always keep your promises," Aragorn finished with a smile.

Legolas nodded. "You have been a dear friend to me, Aragorn. I shall look back on our friendship with fond memories for many long years to come." He smiled as Aragorn smiled back. "You pass on a strong kingdom and grand legacy to your son, I am confident he will rule this land well and cherish all that you have built here."

"I only wish he had the guidance and wisdom that I have had the benefit of during my lifetime," Aragorn answered.

"Ah, but he has inherited that from both you and Arwen. Elrond's wisdom is in the blood of his children and his children's children."

Aragorn smiled broadly and nodded. "I have been a lucky man to have the love of so incredible a being." He looked thoughtfully at Legolas and continued, "You will sail then, after she passes?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye. I am the last of my kind here. I have no kingdom, no kin, there will be no reason to remain."

"Gimli will miss you greatly," Aragorn answered.

"And I will miss him, he has been a dear friend to me these many years."

"And such an unlikely one, given your exchange at the Council," Aragorn replied with a grin.

Legolas chuckled. "For a moment, I thought he was going to remove my legs at the knees when he found out who my father was."

"I think his change in attitude first came upon him in Moria. While I know his pride was injured when you grasped his beard, you did save his life."

Legolas laughed and shook his head. "It was the first thing I could catch! I was not even sure I could catch that. I think the change came in Lórien; his admiration for Lady Galadriel changed his overall feeling about elves."

"Good old stout Gimli, I do love that grumpy dwarf," Aragorn remarked.

"As do I," Legolas responded. He glanced out the window and saw the sky turning from blue to amber. "It draws near then," he said softly. He rose as Aragorn stood, taking his friend into his arms. "It has been an honor, my friend," Legolas said softly.

"Aye. You are the best friend and finest warrior I have ever had the pleasure to know, Legolas."

They separated and Aragorn squeezed Legolas' shoulder. Legolas smiled and stepped back, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head before turning and heading for the door. He paused in the open doorway and looked back. "Namarie, mellonen," he said softly.

"Namarie," Aragorn responded, then watched as Legolas closed the door behind him.

* * * *

Legolas stood behind Elladan and Elrohir, his hands on his friends' backs as they watched Arwen retreat into the trees. The three of them watched her until she faded from view, then Legolas took them both into his arms and held them close.

"They say that in Aman the pains of this world will fade and leave behind only happy memories," Legolas said softly.

"I hope that is true," Elrohir said in a small voice, "for I have borne my limit."

"Ride now," Legolas said quietly. "Ride West and board the last ship, you cannot delay."

Elladan looked into Legolas' eyes. "You are not coming." It was a statement, not a question.

"What?" Elrohir exclaimed. "No! You have to come! This is the last ship; there will be no other. Círdan sails and the Havens will be deserted; you must come, it is your last chance!"

"I have something I must do," Legolas answered softly. "I promise, I will see you in Aman."

"But how?" Elrohir asked as Elladan squeezed his hand. "If you miss the last ship..."

"Have faith in me, Elrohir. I always keep my promises."

Elladan tugged upon Elrohir's hand. "Come brother, we must make haste." He quickly embraced Legolas, holding him close as he murmured into his ear, "I know you will keep your word. Do not tarry and be safe."

"I will," Legolas answered as he released Elladan. He then took Elrohir into his arms. "Ride hard, I will see you soon."

"Be careful," Elrohir whispered, then he pressed a quick kiss to Legolas' cheek before rushing to his horse.

Legolas watched as Elladan and Elrohir galloped out of the woods of Lórien; it was the last ride of the Sons of Elrond.

The sun was setting as he crossed the Wold and headed for the Gap of Rohan. His horse galloped smoothly beneath him, only the sound of his beast's breathing and the wind filled his ears, each surging stride carried him closer to his destination. Ithil rode high as he passed Helm's Dike, raising his hand to the sentinels who gave him leave to pass. His stallion's hooves clattered upon the stone ramp and he paused within the Hornburg to give greetings to the master of the fortress before continuing on to the caves beyond.

Suddenly he was filled with urgency, as if he had but mere hours to accomplish his task. With a certainty he had never felt before, he knew what would become of him if he remained; he suddenly and fully understood the link he had with these lands. He had always known that Arda was sustained by the Firstborn, the roots of their strength coming from the Valar. As the elves dwindled, so did the timelessness of the earth; he saw it now in the rapid changing of the seasons, in the severity of the winters. It had begun with Galadriel's departure and would end with Arwen's death, if not his own. Men did not sense it as he did, nor did any other race that inhabited these lands. But elves were bound to the earth, their fates were intertwined. Should he remain behind he would age; he would wither and die as the flowers in autumn. There had been a time when he would have welcomed it, the quick onset of death, yet he was now inexplicably filled with a will to live, to reach the shores of the Undying Lands before it was too late.

He reached the end of the Deep and traversed the Narrows, his stallion picking its way along the rocks. Reaching the passageway, he dismounted, leaving his horse to the care of the waiting dwarves. Dwarves were not horsemen, but after living amongst the Rohirrim, they had learned a few things. Legolas knew his mount would be well cared for during his brief stay.

Upon entering the main hall, he was greeted by raucous cheers and hardy slaps on the back. He had overflowing tankards of ale and legs of roast turkey foisted upon him. He smiled and greeted what had become a second family of sorts. Dwarven children screamed in delight, surrounding him and hugging his legs. 'Never would anyone believe this,' he thought, 'an elf, a Sinda at that, so warmly greeted by a colony of dwarves.' Amongst the din he heard a familiar voice, and he looked up and saw Gimli approaching. His friends parted, allowing their leader to properly greet his friend. Legolas knelt, handing his turkey leg to a young Dwarven male, his tankard of ale to an adult, and embraced Gimli warmly.

"Legolas, my friend, so good to see you!" Gimli exclaimed as he strongly embraced his friend.

"'Tis good to see you as well," Legolas answered, his voice muffled in the unruly mass of Gimli's hair.

"What brings you here, other than the good food and fine ale?" Gimli asked with a smile.

"Can we talk somewhere more private?" Legolas asked softly.

"Aye, laddie, follow me," Gimli answered, and they made their way through the crowds as the dwarves slowly went back to their routine of work and feasting.

They entered a small chamber and Legolas had to duck to get through the doorway. He sat upon a low stool as Gimli settled himself in a chair. Without preamble, as it was their way, Legolas spoke, "It is time for me to sail, Gimli."

Gimli nodded. "So it is done, the Lady Arwen has passed?"

"Not yet, but she will not linger much longer. She asked us to leave her alone in Lórien, and we granted her wish."

"Ah well, at least she will be with Aragorn again," Gimli said quietly.

"I have to leave, Gimli. If I remain here, I will fade and I will do so quickly. I have come to say..."

Gimli interrupted, "So, when do we leave then? In the morning?"

Legolas opened his mouth, then closed it when he found himself without words. He shook his head slightly, then continued, "We? Do you mean..."

"Aye, we, as in you and I. When do we leave?"

"You want to come with me?"

"You have always been a little daft, laddie, but this eve you seem to be slower than usual. I am coming with you. Now, when do we leave and what should I bring?"

"Gimli, there is no return from whence I go."

"I know that, Lady Arwen explained it to me months ago. I know all about the Shadowy Seas, about how the way cannot be found by anyone other than elves. Now, what should I bring?" The dwarf rose and grabbed a sack, then began looking around his quarters. "I suppose the seasons will be mild there, so I shouldn't need a heavy cloak..."

Legolas watched in amazement as Gimli began gathering his things. "You would forever leave this land and your kin, for me?"

Gimli sat down his sack and approached his friend, placing his hands on Legolas' shoulders. "I have no wife, no children, no close family. Of all those living, you are the dearest to me, Legolas. I will not be parted from you."

Legolas gathered Gimli into his arms and held him close. "Thank you, my friend," he said softly.

Gimli smiled and gave the elf's shoulders a squeeze before releasing him. "Now, we had best get some rest. Where do we sail from?"

To be continued...

Chapter 40:
Summary: The last of the Fellowship departs Middle-earth.

It had taken a mere week to reach Ithilien from Helm's Deep, and four days more to build the boat that would carry them across the sea. Gimli had said his goodbyes, and while his people were sad to see him go, they were not surprised; Gimli's love for Legolas was well known. During those days, Gimli and Legolas shared memories of days gone by, both good and bad. They felt the need to recount those days now that their time in Middle-earth was drawing to an end.

They sailed from the woods of Ithilien; the boat was carried south by the current to the sea. Men and women of Osgiliath and Pelargir waved as they passed, not really knowing who was in the boat. As they reached the mouths of the Anduin, Legolas placed his hand upon Gimli's shoulder.

"If you have doubts about this journey, now is the time to speak them, my friend. I can still stop the boat and let you return home." Gimli huffed and drew upon his pipe, propping up his feet on the edge. Legolas smiled and nodded. "Very well then. So begins our next great adventure."

Gimli toasted to it with his pipe, then settled in for the journey.

* * * *

Rúmil had regarded the elf that he saw at each of the ship landings with curiosity. Each time, the Vanya sat upon a hill, watching those who disembarked until the crowds faded, then he would leave without saying a word to anyone. Word had spread that the last ship was arriving, and like many of his kind who had dwelled in Middle-earth, Rúmil came to see who was upon it. The Vanya was there as well, in his customary place on the hill, sitting upon the ground with his knees drawn to his chest. Something about the elf made it difficult to look away, and it was not until he heard Celebrían's cry of joy that he turned his eyes in the direction of the docks.

Elladan and Elrohir disembarked with Círdan, and it was with mixed emotions that Rúmil regarded the scene. He was glad to see his friends from Imladris arrive and he knew how happy that would make his lady, but he was distressed when Legolas did not disembark.

"No," he whispered.

"But that was the last ship," Galen said softly, squeezing Rúmil's hand. "Where is he?"

"He will not return," Rúmil answered, and slipped an arm around his mate's waist. He looked up to the pinnacle of the hill, but the Vanya was no longer there, then he slowly walked with his beloved back to their home.

* * * *

The Vanya stared at the rippling surface of the sea. This day was unlike any other; one of their own would not be returning from Middle-earth and he knew what that meant. The heralded hero of the War of the Ring, the famed Legolas Thranduilion, would not walk among them. What would make an elf willingly go to Mandos' Halls, he wondered. What could he have seen, what could he have endured for him to willingly seek internment there? Those who took their own lives never escaped the depths of Mandos' Halls, surely this Sinda had known that. What could be so terrible that he would seek eternity in that bleak place?

He stretched his arms over his head, twisting at the waist as was his habit before a swim. He was unsettled by the events of the day, by the hushed murmurs of regret that had been uttered at the ship's docking. Why he felt such sorrow for an elf he had never met confused him. It was natural to be sad when one of their kind passed, but to be grieved? No doubt it was grief he felt, slowly picking away at him, threatening to rush in and overtake him. He shook his head as if to shake the thoughts out of his mind.

"Just swim," he told himself, his rich Quenyan tongue sounding in no one's ears but his own, then he waded waist high into the water and dove beneath the surface as he had so many times before.

* * * *

"Gimli, wake," Legolas said in a reverent whisper. His friend grumbled as he woke and sat up in the boat. "Look." He pointed toward an island that rose from the Sea. "It is Tol Eressëa!"

Gimli looked at the large island that loomed above them. He saw flashes of light, signals sent to the land ahead of them. "They have seen us," he said quietly, as if someone was listening other than Legolas.

"They send word of our arrival," Legolas answered with a smile. "I am sure we are expected."

"I thought you said that we had missed the last ship and that is why we had to build our own."

"We did, but I told Elladan and Elrohir I would be following."

Gimli nodded. "Knowing them, it will be a grand reception."

Legolas laughed. "Aye, knowing them."

* * * *

Rúmil sat beside the mysterious Vanya, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his hands. "I always see you here, yet you never greet anyone who arrives. Are you waiting for someone?" he asked.

The Vanya looked at him strangely for a moment, then understanding dawned on his face. "Forgive me, but I do not often converse with those who speak your tongue. I do not know anyone from Middle-earth," he answered in kind.

Rúmil raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then why do you come here?"

"I like to watch the ships," he answered matter-of-factly.

"I see," Rúmil answered, glancing quickly at Galen who stood a short distance away. He turned his attention back to the strange Vanya. "Have we met before? You seem rather. . .familiar."

Without looking, the Vanya answered, "No, I do not believe we have."

"My name is Rúmil," he pointed toward his beloved, "and that is my mate, Galen." He noted the change in the Vanya's demeanor and looked to the docks to see Legolas and Gimli disembark. The Vanya quickly gained his feet; his expression lightened, and it was the first time Rúmil recalled seeing him happy at one of these events. His mysterious acquaintance murmured something in Quenya, then disappeared down the hill.

"He is an odd one," Galen said quietly as his mate approached.

Rúmil watched the Vanya depart. "Aye, he is. Yet, I cannot help but feel as though we have met before."

"Surely you would remember him," Galen said as he offered his beloved his hand.

"I suppose," Rúmil answered. "Come, there will be a celebration this night."

Galen smiled. "Excellent! I do so love a celebration..."

Rúmil laughed and kissed the side of Galen's head before clambering down the hill.

* * * *

Anor was at her height as their boat slowly sidled up to the dock. Large crowds had gathered along the gangway, and Legolas spied the twins first. "There they are," he said as he pointed in their direction.

"Legolas!" Elrohir cried, and he rushed forward to gather his friend in his arms.

"Good to see you, Gimli," Elladan said without surprise. "Somehow, I knew you would be with him."

Gimli laughed. "I could not let the lad have an adventure without me, could I?"

Elladan laughed. "Indeed not! Come, there are others who will be glad to see you." He rubbed Legolas' back as they walked down the docks. "Welcome home, my friend," he said softly.

Legolas smiled and squeezed Elladan's shoulder as he was escorted toward the waiting elves. Glorfindel and Erestor were the next to greet him, and he smiled warmly as Glorfindel hugged him tightly.

"Well met, my friend," Glorfindel remarked. "You surely took your time in arriving."

Erestor smiled as he embraced Legolas. "We are most glad you are here."

"As am I, Master Erestor," Legolas replied.

He then met Lord Elrond, and for the first time, Celebrían. He could see where Arwen got much of her beauty; they shared the same large, deep blue eyes. He then greeted Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, Orophin, Gildor and Lindir, and finally Haldir, who introduced him to his wife.

The crowd departed the docks, and Legolas was surrounded by friends. As they walked along, he felt someone's gaze upon him. For a brief flash of a moment, he swore it was his father. Frantically, amid the joyous laughter of all those who had come to meet the boat, he searched the crowd. He made no connection with the gaze he felt as he was swept away toward the city.

That night, in Tirion on Túna, there was a second celebration in as many days. Elves he had never met toasted his arrival amid music, dancing and feasting. He was surrounded by those who loved him, best of all, his closest friend Gimli. Yet, he could not help but feel someone was missing. Certainly, there were many missing: the hobbits, Boromir, Estel, Éomer... but most notably, his father was missing, for Legolas knew that even if he did not recognize Thranduil's new face, he would recognize his spirit. He eagerly gazed into the eyes of each new elf he met; lingering handshakes and touches on the arm did no good. His father was not there.

The night wore on, then he and Gimli were escorted at long last to the home of Elladan and Elrohir, where they would reside until they found their own dwellings.

"You did not see him," Elrohir said softly as he opened the door to the bedchamber where Legolas would sleep. Elladan was showing Gimli his.

"Nay, I did not, though I had hoped I would."

"Elladan has searched for him as well, and not found him yet. Do not fear, he will find you."

Legolas smiled then placed a kiss upon Elrohir's forehead. "Thank you, my friend, for all you have done for me."

Elrohir smiled. "Welcome home, Legolas," he said softly, then closed the door behind him.

Legolas gazed out the window at the Pelóri and watched as Ithil traversed the sky. "Find me, father," he murmured to the wind. "I am waiting..."

~Finis

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