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Rating: R (E/L explicit, G/Elr assumed)
Characters: Thranduil, Legolas, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elrohir, others
Summary: Ancient curses clash with ancient promises, leaving Elrond and Legolas caught in the middle.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no harm intended.
Thanks: to Emma for the beta, and to Kiristeen for the input. Hugs to Helmboy.
Feedback: PLEASE!!!!
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"It can only take place
When the struggle between our children has ended
Now the Miracle and the Sleeper know that the third is love
Love is the Dance of Eternity"

-- Dream Theater, "Metropolis - Part I: "The Miracle and the Sleeper"

Part 1:

[Laire 30, a long-abandoned pass among the Hithaeglir, known in the Common tongue as the Misty Mountains]

The final, fiery-golden gleam of the setting sun danced along the rim of westward ridge, signaling the final defeat of daylight and the unstoppable rush of twilight. The approach of the stars was usually welcomed by the Eldar with peace-filled hearts and vibrantly-sung ancient tales, yet here, amidst the secreted passages of the rocky spine of Middle-earth, the return of the ebony cloak of night was always fraught with chances for misadventure. Thranduil urged his party onward, desperate to reach the relative safety of a vaguely-remembered set of shallow caverns set high atop the next ridge -- at least the hazy halls of memory assured him it was the next ridge.

Grim faced, Brethilas rode closely behind his father, his new bride by his side, an uneasy passenger awkwardly seated upon her own horse. His father had greatly underestimated the time required to reach their intended camp for the night, yet the crown prince of Mirkwood could not fully lay the mantle of blame upon his sire's shoulders. If truth be told, it was the leisure in the pace of the entire party, set by the inexperienced riders who had been joined to their family in marriage scant few weeks before, which had proven their greatest enemy on their travels. Despite the urgently precious additional moments of illumination the longest day of the year provided, nightfall would soon be upon them, and despite the keenness of Nelladel's elven eyes, Brethilas had no illusions that her horsemanship was up to the challenge of night travel through the mountainous terrain. "Father -- perhaps we should camp here," he eagerly suggested, silently winging a prayer to the Lady of the Night that his father's pride could be overcome, just this once.

"No, we ride on!" Thranduil curtly barked over his shoulder. "The caverns are only another league's ride, at the most."

Completely unconvinced by the vehemence and self-assuredness in his sire's voice, Brethilas conceded defeat and instead forced a comforting smile at his visibly wearied and nervous bride. "My father knows these mountains as well as his own hand," he offered, possibly more to convince himself than his wife. "We will enjoy the comfort of rest and a fire soon enough." Nelladel forced a weak smile in return and nodded slightly, gripping the reins of her horse with nearly bloodless tension.

At the rear of the party, behind several of Thranduil's ministers and guards, rode Legolas and his new brother by marriage, Celairos. With each beleaguered uphill step of his steed, Mirkwood's younger prince felt his patience and his confidence in his father's sense of direction seriously waver. He had stridently suggested another path, one more heavily traveled by the various peoples of this region, and known to be free from the trouble of foul creatures, but his father had called the High Pass far too difficult a ride for the inexperienced princess.

Exhaling a tension-filled breath, Legolas tried as best he could to ignore the inane drone of Celairos' incessant, mindless chattering. He had learned their first day on the road from Ered Luin that the young elf had the curious habit of trying to hide his inexperience and hesitation with frivolous babblings about matters which had seemingly no discernable connection one to the next. Legolas had also discovered, to his great horror, that both the volume and lack of clarity of his brother-in-law's verbal meanderings increased directly in proportion to any situation's need for concentration and silence.

The relentless approach of night in an unfamiliar pass of the Misty Mountains most certainly fit that unwelcome profile.

Finally reaching the limit of his forbearing tolerance, Legolas raised a hand to hush the nonsensical verbal stampede emanating from his side, only to find his fingers unexpectedly grazed by the sting of a black arrow. "Yrch!" he shrilly cried in warning, instinctively drawing his bow and an arrow.

The brigade of misshapen brigands was upon Mirkwood's royal family in a heartbeat, Thranduil not able to roust his party into a protective circular formation before the attack began in earnest. In the chaos of those first few horrific moments of panic, Brethilas became separated from his now-shrieking bride, her cries of sheer terror filling the deepening gloom of the dusk air.

Without thinking, Legolas spurred his horse into action, riding between the hysterical princess and three grotesque attackers to create a barrier between them and his newest and most defenseless kin. While the fury of battle whirled around him in a graceless dance of death and despair, Legolas focused himself on only two equally vital tasks -- to slay as many of the beasts as his arrow points could find, and to protect his brother's bride from death, or worse.

The first arrow pierced his body from behind, grazing the side of his quiver before entering his shoulder. Gasping in shock at the icy hot fingers of pain stabbing through him, Legolas tightly grit his teeth and continued to fire a nonstop flurry of deathly precise shots at the enemy. In the automatic reflex of battle mindset his fingers sought yet another arrow and found his quiver alarmingly empty. After only a blink of a pause, he ripped the arrow from his flesh and set the blood-dripping black shaft in his bow, sending it winging back at the foul creatures who had crudely fashioned it for their nefarious use.

His supply of arrows finally and utterly at an end, Legolas sprang from his horse with an audible wince of pain, and held off several waves of menacing orcs with the well-choreographed ballet of his twin knives. The second arrow entered his chest just above and to the right of his heart, precariously close to the jeweled necklace which bobbled beneath his tunic next to his increasingly clammy skin. Despite the rough fire in his lungs stealing each breath before it could be earnestly made, and the peculiar icy chill spreading through his flesh, Legolas battled on, spurred forward by the insistent rally calls of his father and brother, and the desperate cries of his sobbing sister-in-law.

When defeat finally claimed him, he felt neither fear nor anger, merely sorrow at the thought that he would never again enjoy the sweet pleasures of his lover's embrace. With the Lord of Imladris' name upon his lips, Legolas succumbed to the darkness, wondering if he would finally find the answers to questions he had not dared ask once he met the High King of the Noldor face to face in Mandos' Halls....
 

Part 2:
 

[The next sunset]

In the comfortable silence of their unhurried watch, the twin sons of Elrond allowed their horses to drink from the river before continuing their habitual sentry of the river's edge. The passing of the recent season had been mercifully uneventful, the only hint of discontent in the nearly idyllic perfection of Rivendell being its Lord's ever-growing impatience for the return of his heart's desire.

Elladan smiled slightly at his brother, understanding the distant expression of calm abiding on the identical face to be that of love and contentment. He had been utterly caught off guard by the announcement of his brother's deep love for their former tutor, but in the leisure of solitary reflection, much of the inconsistency and secretiveness of his brother's actions, both recently and from their younger years, seemed to fall neatly into place. He had given his blessing to the betrothal of his brother and Glorfindel, and eagerly awaited Legolas' return to their land if not only to return his father to a more fair mood, but to witness the prince's reaction to the announcement of the upcoming nuptials.

The rough clomping of urgent hoof beats and shouted voices seized Elladan's attention and forced it into a heightened state of alert. A swift glance to his side assured him that his twin had indeed also heard the unexpected sounds, and he unsheathed his sword from the side of his saddle in a defensive posture.

Without pretense of stealth or apology, the source of the commotion emerged from the thick grove of trees on the far bank, the rag-tag party of bloodied and battered elves and horses at first completely unfamiliar to the twins. The apparent leader, a golden haired elf with a deep, fresh gash rudely carved down one side of his face, waved urgently to the twins, directing his horse into the river without so much as a moment's hesitation. "We have ridden hard since before the rising of the sun, seeking the sanctuary of Imladris, and the healing skills of its lord," he hoarsely beseeched as he neared the shore, his eyes equally as begging as his words.

Elrohir swiftly sized up the stranger and found no sign of duplicity or threat. "Both are freely given to all who require it," he answered, his eyes training now on the more sluggishly moving remainder of the elven band. "We are the sons of Lord Elrond, and no harm shall come to you from this moment on, so long as you are under our protection."

"May the Lady bless you and your land," the sorrowed stranger choked, extending a bruised and chafed hand to clasp the younger twin's forearm. "I am Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood, and my family follows behind."

The obvious question simultaneously forming in the twins' minds, two sets of storm-hued eyes peered intently at the three remaining horses which slowly forded the river. The first carried a pale and shock-faced elf maiden, snuggly held into place on the animal's back against the body of golden haired elf who bore more than a passing resemblance to Elrond's paramour, despite the ugly purplish bruises marring his delicate features. The second white steed held a single rider, a youthful appearing, dark-haired elf with his arm bound against his chest with a crude sling made from the tatters of a torn and blood-stained tunic.

The final beast to cross the river, the most weary and burdened of them all, lacked a saddle. Instead, the bedroll-covered back hosted a relatively whole and hale elf gently cradling before him, straddled across the horse's back and laying against the horse's neck, an unconscious golden haired form.

Recognizing the bloodied and battered body, Elrohir sprang instantly from his horse and sprinted into the river to aid the gravely injured prince and his guard across the ford.

Thranduil wiped moisture from the corners of his eyes with a swift brush of a bandaged hand. "My younger son is no stranger to your lands, and I pray that the time he has spent here, and the affection he holds for your family, will bear fruit at this moment." Sniffing loudly, he watched as Elrohir gently assessed Legolas' condition while simultaneously guiding the horse and its riders across the river, then turned his pained gaze to the other twin. "I dressed his wounds as best I could, but I have not the skills of healing which it is said your father possesses." A loud strangled cry lodged in his throat as his eldest son and his bride finally joined him at his side on the Rivendell side of the shore. Thranduil desperately clutched the twin's shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into the other's flesh. "I beseech Imladris to set aside the arguments of our past and keep my youngest from Mandos' grasp." His voice falling to a barely audible whisper, Thranduil added with the grief of one who had suffered more than most, "He is far too young to pass on."

With a grim, steeled jaw, Elladan shot his brother a knowing expression. "My father will not allow him to die, of that I give my word," the elder twin swore. "Not if it is within his power." Noting that the entire party was finally safely on his side of the river, Elladan urged his horse back toward the path. "I will tell Father of your arrival," he shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared around the bend, his dark hair flying behind him as he rode like the very wind.

Elrohir gently lifted Legolas' barely breathing body from the horse with the help of the prince's elder brother and the guard, and carefully set the unconscious elf onto the twin's own, unwearied steed. Thranduil remained on his own horse, hushedly offering comforting words of support to the wide-eyed, whimpering elf maiden.

"He was protecting his brother's bride when he fell," Thranduil softly explained, although he realized Elrohir was not in need of such explanations at that moment. He flashed Celairos an unreadable expression, found the young elf remained uncharacteristically silent, then retrained his worried gaze back on his younger son.

Climbing onto his horse behind Legolas' nearly lifeless form, Elrohir gingerly wrapped one arm around the prince to stabilize him in the saddle and tightly grasped the reins with his free fingers. "My father will *not* allow him to die!" he loudly swore, urging his horse into action. The others followed suit, climbing up the winding stone path which lead into the very heart of the secret rock-hewn valley behind their battle-fallen prince.

Elrohir felt his heart grow colder and more troubled with each passing second. The prince was as pale as Ithil, the only color in his flesh the mottled blackberry of bruises and the dull ochre streaks of his own blood seeping through his roughly wrapped bandages. Even his lips were nearly colorless, save for the unworldly tint of blue Elrohir uneasily spied. It reminded the twin far too much of his own mother, and how she appeared when she was rescued from her own ambush those long years before. Cursing the evil ruined race of beings which plagued Middle-earth seemingly without end, Elrohir also silently rued his and his brother's promise to their father to refrain from the obsession of their previous hunt for orcs. Somehow the twin expected his father to soon have a new appreciation of their vengeful passion for the hunt.

He just prayed to the Lady of the Stars that his father's anger would not be fueled by grief. <<You cannot die, Legolas. My father would rather follow you to Mandos' Halls than suffer another age alone....>>
 
 

Part 3:

Elrohir and his most precious burden crossed the final stone bridge to find his brother, father, and lover awaiting on the far side with stone-hard faces. Halting his steed, he carefully slid from the saddle, making sure the unconscious prince remained safely in position until his twin brother helped him lower the lifeless form. Laying Legolas upon a blanket spread upon the hard surface of the path, the twins stepped back and allowed their father to drop to his knees beside Legolas unobstructed.

Behind them, Thranduil slowly dismounted from his horse, and with an audible moan of sharp pain arisen from the body and the soul, staggered to his son's side. "They say you have the greatest powers of healing among our kind still in the east. I beg of you to use them now."

If Elrond had heard a single word Mirkwood's king had uttered, he did not give a sign. Lost in the single-pointed concentration of his examination of Legolas' condition, his hands floated over the prince's prone form, surveying all signs of injury, both those visible to the eye, and those which were not so obviously evident. "How long since he was wounded?" he gruffly queried, the emotion in his voice both impossible to read, and equally impossible to ignore.

"Since the last sunset," Thranduil whispered sorrowfully, kneeling beside his son's blood splattered legs. He glanced up at the increasingly quenched sunlight and silently cursed his inability to lead his family here in a more timely fashion.

Elrond continued his intense inspection of his lover's barely visible signs of life, noting with increasing dread the feeble sluggishness of the rhythm he felt beneath the unnaturally ashen skin. "He has lost much blood," he roughly announced, that fact already painfully evident in the dark pooled stains discoloring much of the prince's garb. "Too much blood," he murmured under his breath, his eyes briefly closing while he attempted in vain to retain mastery over his emotions. He had to remain strong, in control, for his lover's sake. Swallowing hard, he forced down the rising tide of bile, and worse. "Has he been unconscious the entire time?" he barely managed to articulate, opening his eyes to continue his necessary examination of his lover's injuries. <<May it be so -- I could not bear to think of him enduring such pain for so long.>>

Wiping a hand across his exhaustion-creased brow, Thranduil wearily nodded. "Yes, and has but uttered a single word in his unnatural sleep." He watched with pained eyes as Elrond lowered his ear to Legolas' chest to carefully check the prince's shallow and uneven breathing. "It passed his lips more than once, though I do not know its source, or its reason." Swallowing back his ever-increasing sense of helpless, hopeless, dread, Thranduil softly revealed Legolas' subconscious mantra.

"*Ithilas*."

Visibly shaken for the briefest of moments, Elrond forced himself to not meet the understanding gaze of his dearest friend, faithfully kneeling on the opposite side of the prince's body. With a sharp clearing of his throat, Elrond dipped a fingertip into the fresh, ruby dampness seeping through the hastily dressed field bandage Thranduil had set above his son's heart and raised the stained digit to his lips. With a grimace, he spat the vile yet hauntingly familiar taste from his tongue and scooped Legolas' limp frame into his arms before rising to his feet. "There is poison in his veins," he explained curtly. "We must not delay another moment." Flashing Glorfindel a rushed expression of desperation, Elrond turned away and sprinted up the path toward the Hall of Healing without seeming care for the weight in his arms.

"Heal him, Elrond, and anything I possess -- *all* I possess -- will be yours!" Thranduil cried after Elrond's retreating form, pushing up to his feet. "I beg of you, just spare him from death's hand," he more quietly added, his words lowering to merely a whisper. "He is far too young to pass over."

Glorfindel rose and strode over to the nearly distraught King, clasping his shoulder with cognizant care. "Yes, he is," the ancient elf lord agreed sorrowfully. "Elrond will not allow him to leave us without waging a war of his own." Glancing over his shoulder at the equally pained eyes of his own much younger lover, Glorfindel lingered for the briefest seconds in the flash of understanding of Elrond's inconsolable pain. "Elladan and Elrohir will see to the proper dressing of your wounds, and those of your party. I must go assist my lord." With that, Glorfindel released his grasp on Thranduil's shoulder and raced up the path on swift elven feet toward the front line of the ceaseless battle between life and death.

--------------------------

Just as Glorfindel had explained, the twins had led Mirkwood's royal family to a quiet hall on the far side of Imladris where several sets of skilled elvish hands had immediately set to work assessing, cleansing, and medicating the party's various injuries. Thranduil had suffered several broken ribs and various angry scrapes and bruises, in addition to the gash which marred his noble features. Celairos had broken an arm in two places. The cries of pain of the young elf echoed across the valley as the limb was reset before being splinted and properly wrapped in a sling.

Findegil, the sole remainder of the company of advisors and guards which had accompanied the wedding party from Mirkwood, had sustained no injuries of serious note. He sat, stone-faced, while Elladan applied healing oils to several superficial cuts and scrapes before bandaging them. Images of his fallen prince, the brave warrior he had known since birth, haunted the faithful guard, and he whispered a prayer to the Lady of the Stars that Legolas somehow be spared. He would have gladly traded places with his prince, would have more easily accepted his own death rather than have to bear the possibility that Thranduil would have to suffer the unbearable pain of losing another child. <<Has not Mirkwood suffered enough, My Lady? Why does my King seem cursed in the eyes of the Valar? Spare the prince's life, as he has spared those of others at his own risk.>>

Another prayer was simultaneously winging its way to the Lady's ears, this one uttered by the prince's elder brother. Brethilas had also managed to escape with injuries far less grave than those his brother had suffered, and required only the application of several bandages and a liberal amount of soothing oils to accelerate the healing of his bruised and battered flesh. His new bride's wounds seemed mainly of the psyche, and while herbs and skilled hands were of no use in healing such injuries, the kind words of Lady Arwen seemed just the balm the princess required to restore some semblance of peace to her mind.

Thranduil watched in silence from across the room as Arwen gently held Nelladel's hands in hers, stroked her hair, spoke to her in a low, indecipherable voice which seemed after many minutes to finally bring some calm to the timorous young elf bride. Before long, the slightest hint of a smile had returned to Nelladel's lips, and Arwen left the bride to sit calmly in her chair with a glass of miruvor clutched in her hands awaiting the completion of her husband's healing.

With an earnest word of thanks to the unnamed elf who had tended to his wounds, Thranduil slowly rose from his chair and followed Arwen to the door of the chamber. He had been told many tales, by Findegil and his youngest son's other traveling companions of the obvious affection of Legolas for Rivendell, and the undeniable bond all had witnessed between their prince and the Lady of the Valley. He had originally been quite concerned when word of a possible relationship between his son and Elrond's daughter had found his ear, yet with the passing of time he had come to ponder the possibility as not completely without merit. Arwen's beauty was legendary, even in the forests beyond the mountains, and after seeing the Lady with his own eyes, Thranduil knew those stories to have been far more understatement than exaggeration. Certainly his youngest could choose much worse in a prospective mate. In addition, despite his own family's pained relationships with Rivendell and Lorien, a union between his younger son and the only daughter of Elrond, and only granddaughter of Galadriel, would most assuredly guarantee beneficial alliances in the uncertainty of this age.

Thranduil waited until he and Arwen were both outside in a solitary side courtyard before he spoke. "Lady Arwen -- I beg a moment of your time."

Arwen turned to face the voice without hesitation, her beauty darkened with the depth of her worry and sorrow. "King Thranduil -- I am heartened to finally meet you, although I wish the reason was one of joy and not pain."

With pursed lips, the King nodded stiffly. "As do I, fair Lady. But although we have not been allowed to choose the moment of our meeting, I, too, have long waited this moment. You are, indeed, far more lovely than words can hope to relay."

"You are too kind," Arwen accepted humbly, bowing slightly. "Yet as much as I appreciate your words, they cannot lift the suffering from my heart, nor, I know, from yours."

"That is true."

Arwen silently studied the sorrowed and freshly battle scarred features. She could see some manner of superficial resemblance between the King and her father's lover, yet her thoughts ever returned to the conversation she and the prince had once shared concerning their mothers. <<"They say she was more of a sister than a daughter to my mother, so alike they were in temperament and fairness. They whisper in the palace that I am more alike to them than my father, the words always sounding more like an insult than the honor I take them to mean.">> "Yet you must feel some pride in how well your sons fought in protecting Nelladel, especially Legolas."

"Yes, especially Legolas," Thranduil softly parroted, his eyes lowering to the smooth stones of the courtyard floor. "I know you feel the pain of his wounds as deeply as I," he offered conspiratorially, after a brief pause.

"All of Imladris shares your pain. Legolas has become as a part of our family. Your fair son is most dear to us all."

"But to *you* above all others, my lady." Thranduil slowly raised his eyes from the floor and was puzzled at the unreadable, confused expression reflecting back at him. "Have I misjudged your return of his affections?" the King curiously queried. "I did not wish to offend you."

The lady's lips parted ever so slightly, but only silence filled the gap for several moments. "You have not.... But I... I cannot speak of this now," she finally offered most uneasily.

"I understand," Thranduil uncomfortably replied, his skin feeling strangely separated from his body in his confusion and embarrassment.

With apprehension written across her features, she sadly whispered, "No, I fear you do not," then turned away and swiftly hurried out of sight, her gown flowing behind her like the wings of a fleeing bird.

------------------------

Glorfindel and Elrond worked in dread-filled silence, cleaning out the prince's wounds one by one, carefully wrapping each in a special poultice to draw out the poison before affixing a soft bandage. Hand-picked herbs and specially mixed potions were cautiously passed between the pale lips, and the softest of blankets wrapped around the chilled flesh. Legolas remained silent and still throughout, and the distressing lack of color in his skin was increasingly matched by the distressed blanching of Elrond's face.

Although no words passed between the ancient elves, save curt requests for a specific herb or liquid, Glorfindel well knew the contents of his friend's mind. Despite the folly of the flawed logic, Elrond blamed himself for his lover's injuries, for dissuading his sons from their routine routing of the foul beasts from their lairs. Glorfindel had seen that so clearly in his friend's eyes from the very moment Elladan had breathlessly announced what had happened.

Yet there was also another, equally agonizing, manner of torment plaguing Elrond's soul. Glorfindel could clearly recognize the same, haunted emptiness he had come to loathe so deeply in the years after Gil-galad's demise. Glorfindel doubted Elrond could bear the loss of another he loved so deeply without losing all reason for life.

Despite their most skillful attentions, Legolas grew weaker with each passing minute, and Elrond clearly closer to complete and utter collapse. Glorfindel silently watched with pain-drenched eyes as Elrond spooned miruvor between the blue-tinted lips, then pressed a tender kiss against the stilled mouth. Blinking away the hint of moisture which collected at the corners of his eyes, Glorfindel affectionately clasped his friend's shoulder, his eyes raised to the likeness of Elbereth reverently carved into the headboard. "You have done all you can," he softly suggested. "His fate lies with the Valar now."

Loudly sniffling back the tears which brimmed in his eyes, Elrond shook his head with iron resolve. "No, Glorfindel. I will *not* lose him. Not now, not *ever*!"

"That is not you decision to make."

Stiffening beneath Glorfindel's touch, Elrond then spun around out of the grasp to face his well-meaning friend. "No -- you are wrong. The decision *is* mine to make." Turning back toward his dying lover, Elrond gently ran his fingertips against a frozen cheek. "I just pray I have not waited too long to make it." Swallowing hard, he sharply barked, "Get the box from my bed chamber, Glorfindel -- you know the one I mean."

Glorfindel  became rigid in his palpable shock. "My Lord, I know well your pain, but surely you cannot.... You *should* not...."

"Glorfindel -- *NOW*!!!!!" Elrond ordered, his voice a pain-racked combination of a scream, a cry, and a desperate plea. As his friend flew from the room to comply with the order of which he so obviously disapproved, Elrond remained alone in the silence, save for ghosts and demons both past and present.

 
Part 4:

Glorfindel swiftly returned to where Legolas lay, bearing the secret coffer his friend had requested. His eyes widened as he recognized the hand of death clearly laid upon the prince's lifeless body, the chest stilled, the flesh paler still than it had been when he had left. "It is over," he forlornly whispered, his eyes glistening with instant emotion and liquid pain.

Elrond rose from the corner of the bed, and spun to face his newly arrived friend. "Leave us!" he barked, the tears streaming down his face as he ripped the small mithril case from Glorfindel's fingers.

Stunned, Glorfindel backed away toward the door and watched for a moment as Elrond fumbled with the lock with trembling fingers. With one last glance at the prince's corpse etched forever into his mind, he turned away and rushed off to find much-needed solace in the arms of his own much younger love.

The box opened with mercifully little struggle, desperate fingers fishing among the collection of baubles and trinkets until they claimed the most valued of gifts. <<"Never use it openly, never bear it upon your finger, so long as the One Ring exists," >> an ominous voice from his past echoed in his head. Elrond closed his eyes and held the ring to his heart as the memory of his reply haunted him, tormented him, tested him. <<"It will remain hidden, as you ask, until the end of Middle-earth, if need be.">>

He had sworn to his King, his lover, that he would never use the ring, yet now he was prepared to break that oath with seemingly not a moment's regret. For although the One Ring had passed out of all knowledge in this age, there was little doubt in Elrond's mind that it existed still, and was merely hidden, for the moment. Could he so flagrantly disobey Gil-galad's urgent command?

"Forgive me," Elrond whispered, sliding the gold-set sapphire upon one finger as he snapped shut the lid of the chest and set it aside on a small side table. With tears freely coursing down his face, he knelt upon the bed, the droplets raining down upon the prince's lifeless face. Lacing the trembling digits of his ring-bearing hand through the limp, chilled fingers which had once raised such fire in his flesh, Elrond brought their conjoined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into a pale palm. His eyes raised in supplication to the peace-filled face of Elbereth's likeness which looked down upon him from the headboard, he raised the tightly clutched fingers to his heart and whispered a desperate prayer more beseeching than her outstretched arms. "A Elbereth Gilthoniel, do not take away my heart again! Bring him back, I beg of you, My Lady!"

The words clinging in his spasming throat in the choke of a sob, Elrond bowed his head and stroked the death-stilled fingers against his cheek. <<Help me, My Lady. I know not what to do. If Mandos' Halls are so desperately in need of another resident, then I freely offer myself in his stead. He is young and will learn to love again if I am gone. But do not take his beauty from this world. Without it... I find there is no reason to exist.>>

The swift bolt of knowledge blazed through his mind, more brilliant than the sun, more clear than the stars of Imladris, more pure than the illumination of the Trees of Valinor. His tears ceasing in the blur of an instant, he straddled the prince's waist on his knees. Releasing Legolas' hand, he lowered the blanket to expose the eerily still chest and pressed Vilya above the motionless heart, then finally bent down his mouth to claim the death-stilled lips. Without hesitation, without regrets, without doubts, without fear, Elrond exhaled deeply through the prince's slightly parted lips, a single, compelling thought upon his mind.

<<Cuino!>>

He remained motionless, his breath spent, unwilling to take another lest he rob his lover of a chance for life. His lungs bursting, his heart beating faster and more furiously than a galloping steed, Elrond remained locked in the kiss of life and death until he could stand it no more. With a loud, gasped explosion of breath, he pulled away from Legolas' mouth in time to feel the first feeble sensation of motion beneath his pressing hand. Staring down in disbelief, he held his newly claimed breath and wondered at the next, stronger, pulse he clearly felt beneath his hand.

Reclaiming the other's lips, Elrond eagerly shared his breath with the golden prince again and again, finally rewarded when Legolas feebly sputtered and coughed back the air in return. "May the Lady be praised!" he cried out in a sob of joy, carefully moving off the other's body to lay beside his now-gasping lover. Tenderly stroking the prince's cheek, Elrond whispered words of encouragement, rejoicing as expanding hints of pink swiftly returned to the much-beloved lips with each increasingly strong and sure breath.

Finally, after the passing of a virtual eternity, the delicate veils of the prince's eyes fluttered unsteadily, then raised, the elegant brushes of their lashes combing the air as they moved. "Ithilas," he whispered, his voice hoarse, uncertain, and desperate.

Shifting ever so slightly beside the warming flesh, Elrond lowered his face clearly into Legolas' view. "Here, meleth-nin," he soothed, his fingers stroking over the smooth plain of the prince's chest just beside the large bandage while his lips lowered to sup a much deserved, true kiss. Feeling the sting of tears, this time those of utter joy and relief, return to his eyes, Elrond released the lips in a smile. Lingering a few inches above those tantalizing lips he feared he would never taste again, he raised his fingers to gently caress one artistically sculpted cheek. "You have been grievously hurt, Malthenel-nin. Conserve your strength, so you will heal more swiftly."

With the hint of a weak smile upon his lips, Legolas raised a hand and wrapped it around one of his lover's loosely plaited braids. "I have had the most beautiful of dreams, Ithilas. The Lady... she spoke to me." His smile brightened, strengthened, and the fire seemed to return to his eyes. "She is more lovely than you could ever imagine."

"Not nearly as lovely as you appear to me at this very moment," Elrond whispered before swiping a gentle kiss. The warmth had begun to return to the prince's mouth, the taste more sweet than any nectar the Valar could produce.

"She asked me what I desired most," Legolas murmured into the kiss, sighing at the sensations of love lavished upon him.

Elrond grinned broadly, lazily brushing his mouth against the other's. "What did you reply?" he asked, playing along with his lover's dream-dazed hallucinations.

"To feel your lips against mine one last time."

The tears returned unabashed and unabated, streaming down the elder elf's face. "You will have as many chances as you wish, I swear," Elrond promised, a smile catching the tears as they crossed his lips. "By the Lady's grace."

"By the Lady's grace," Legolas whispered weakly, his eyelids closing under the weight of his weariness.

Elrond held his breath, his ring-bearing hand instinctively moving to press against the prince's chest once more in case the heart failed to keep its rhythm. But after the passing of a few moments, Elrond was convinced that his lover had passed safely out of harm's way and was merely wrapped in the welcome arms of much-needed sleep.

The Lord of Imladris lay beside his slumbering beloved for the passing of some time, his nose nestled in the unruly net of the prince's gilded locks. The night covered his kingdom in its ebony cloak, and the dim illumination of distant candles caught his attention. <<I must tell the others of his recovery,>> he finally realized, and with the greatest reluctance slid from his lover's side. Covering Legolas' chest with a blanket, he blew out all but a single candle, then slid the ring from his finger and raised it to his lips. "Thank you, ar-nin, melethron-nin, for this most priceless of gifts." With a smile lingering upon his mouth, he glanced down at the peacefully calm visage. "Thank you, My Lady, for *this* most precious of gifts."
 

Part 5:

Elrond found Thranduil rhythmically pacing the floor of the candle-lit guest room, Mirkwood's monarch stiffly spinning at the sound of his breathing to face him with beseeching, hope-filled eyes.

"You bring word of my son?" a strangely tentative voice inquired.

Nodding, Elrond wiped a hand across his exhaustion-wearied features. "I did not wish to leave his side and bring word until I was certain of his recovery."

Thranduil closed his eyes and raised his face toward the ceiling, his hands clasped to his lips in relieved supplication. "May Elbereth be praised," he murmured in choked, staccato phrasings before regaining his characteristic control with a loud clearing of his throat. "May your skills be praised, as well," he added more firmly, reaching out a hand to tightly grasp Elrond's shoulder.

"The loss of blood was grave, and the poison obstinate, but he has the tenacious strength of your House."

"May *your* House receive the full blessings of the Valar," Thranduil earnestly replied, releasing his grasp on the other's shoulder.

Elrond smiled slightly, the fatigue in his face instantly replaced by more peaceful airs. "It already has," he contentedly offered.

Silence owned the space between the former adversaries for a lingering moment, then the fair-haired ruler of the distant forest shrugged his borrowed robes around his shoulders. "I wish to see my son," he firmly announced, his tone easily regaining its usual insistence. To his surprise, his reasonable-sounding request was rebuffed with a sharp shake of Elrond's head.

"He requires as much rest as he can manage. If you wish to do him the greatest good, allow him to sleep undisturbed until the dawn, then after he has awakened in his own time, gladden him with your company."

A hint of momentary indignation flashed in Thranduil's eyes, then the calm of further reflection muted his reaction. "Your wisdom in healing has proven to be beyond question. I will do as you ask, although it sorrows my heart to wait thus."

Elrond turned away and slowly walked over to a small table in the far corner of the room. Removing the glass stopper from an elegantly hand blown decanter, he poured two portions of miruvor. "It would sorrow your heart more still if you exhausted him and delayed his healing." Turning back, he offered over one of the glasses, then raised his own glass in toast. "I drink to your son's recovery, Thranduil. May it be swift and without further incident."

After gesturing with his glass, Thranduil sipped the exotic liquor, delighting in the fragrant rivulet of warmth which flowed down his throat.

"I must bring this good news to my own family," Elrond announced, gulping down the remainder of his toast before setting his empty glass back onto the side table.

Thranduil savored his own drink, leisurely supping the slightest of sips before entering the verbal doorway he had expected would open soon enough. "Your daughter's heart will be much gladdened by the news."

Perplexity punctuated by the arch of an eyebrow swiftly recovered the coolness of still-necessary discretion. "As will my sons'," Elrond offered without zeal. "They consider Legolas as a part of our family."

"Indeed." Thranduil studied the inscrutable strata of meaning he knew to be exhibited before him, yet could not seem to find a toehold with which to easily scale the wall Elrond had seemingly set up to divert what he considered a long overdue conversation. His lips parted slightly, yet no words ushered forth, the obvious exhaustion and distraction witnessed in the other's face signaling a necessary cessation in serious discussion. His lips met without a sound, then pursed as Thranduil shook his head in the truce of his momentary satiation. "I hope your own dreams find you great peace tonight, Elrond, as I know will mine."

A smile brighter than Thranduil had ever remembered seeing crossed the Lord of Imlardis' lips. "They shall, Thranduil. They shall." Without another word, Elrond crossed the stone tiles of the floor and left his lover's father alone, eager to inform his own children of the prince's continued existence before returning to Legolas' side.

Thranduil stood in silence, watching absently as Elrond swept away from his sight, yet in the very last moment he caught a flash of carefully rendered silver clasped in the long dark hair. He blinked away his palpable shock, then muttered a reassuring denial of reality under his breath. His weariness was clearly affecting the acuity of his sight, his emotions and memories far too intertwined and raw, like his physical wounds, to help but intrude in such a nonsensical way. "'Tis an ordinary ornament," Thranduil reasoned aloud. "Perhaps an eagle of the valley...."
 

-----------------

Glorfindel raised his eyes from Elrohir's and trained his sight eagerly toward the entranceway of the library, his actions naturally directing the vision of Elrond's three children in the same direction. Elrohir turned in his lover's loose embrace, his twin taking a few hesitant steps away from his side and toward the doorway. Arwen stiffly pushed up from her father's favorite chair, her fingers nervously dancing upon the soft fabric of her gown as she rose. "Father?" she tentatively inquired, her arms instinctively encircling her sire's waist as she met him just inside the room.

With a world-weary sigh upon his lips, Elrond lovingly brushed the hint of moisture from the corners of her full azure eyes before pressing a deep kiss upon her brow. His eyes peered over the lady's head, meeting the intent focus of his old friend's stare. "What news did Glorfindel bring?" he tenderly asked, ensnaring his daughter more firmly in his embrace.

Arwen looked up into her father's face and searched his expression for some indisputable sign of hope. "That he believed there would be no joy in Imladris come the dawn."

Curling his lips into the sweet smile of satisfaction and triumphant victory, Elrond murmured a slight chuckle. "I am most pleased to say that my old friend is much mistaken. There is joy now, and forever more, in my house, and in my heart."

Glorfindel relaxed with a visible exhalation, his eyelids closing tightly as he pressed a protective kiss into the back of his own lover's head. "May the Lady be praised," he offered lyrically, winding his arms around Elrohir from behind and pulling the younger elf into tighter contact against his body.

"The Lady, and my father's healing hands," Elladan happily declared, tightly gripping his sire's shoulder while signaling his boundless relief with a bright smile.

Warily, Glorfindel caught his Lord's eye, his embrace still encircling the younger twin's waist. "Indeed, your father's skills at healing are unmatched." Allowing a weighty pause to fall between them, the ancient elf then added, "He knows how to use any means within his power for the sake of those he loves. He would not allow the Prince to leave us for the Dark Halls."

"As he would not allow our Mother," Elrohir naively offered, his smile as beaming as that of the identical face in his happiness for Legolas' recovery.

Knowing pain creased lines into Glorfindel's ageless visage while Elrond uneasily slid from his daughter's arms, a similar expression weighting down his features. "I must go look in on Legolas once more and make certain he is resting comfortably," he offered in disturbed reply, actively avoiding meeting any of the well-intentioned pairs of eyes which watched him leave.

"Make certain *you* rest, as well, Father," Arwen urgently pleaded, her hand lingering against the velvety fabric of the rust-hued robe as it shifted away from her. "He has used all of his own strength -- he needs for you to have full use of yours."

"I would gladly give him every ounce of my strength," Elrond murmured, tarrying at the doorway. With a soft, rustling shift of his robes as he spun back to face his family, he lingered in the expressions of love and joyousness mirroring his own rejoicing spirit. "I would deny him nothing, especially if it be for his health and happiness," he resolutely swore, ensnaring Glorfindel's conflict-laden gaze in his sight. "Nothing." Certain an uneasy understanding had been reached with his eldest friend, Elrond flashed a comforting smile to his daughter, then turned sharply on his heels and rushed from the room and back to where his heart lay waiting.
 
 

Part 6:

The weariness of his flesh authoritatively pushed aside by the rejoicing of his heart, Elrond checked his lover's life signs with hopeful held breath. The prince was still as pale as Ithil itself, yet his heart beat with a sure cadence and his chest rose in the rhythmic waves of slumbering peace. The soft rustle of released air rushed through the Lord's nostrils, a smile finding a natural resting place upon his lips. He had not been hasty in proclaiming his lover's recovery to his family and the prince's. "Praises in the highest to you, Lady Elbereth," the grateful elf muttered in a whisper, carefully brushing an errant wisp of golden hair back from the artistic face to fall upon the pillows with a single finger.

A momentary scowl of disapproval darkened the ancient elf's expression as he studied the sleeper's exposed skin. In their haste to tend to his more deep and dreadful wounds, both Mirkwood's and Rivendell's healers had overlooked the slight abrasions and bruises which peppered his skin, had neglected even to properly clean the grime and grit of battle from what flesh remained remarkably unblemished by injury. Turning away from the veritable miracle cocooned in the safety of dreams, Elrond silently crossed over to the tiny fireplace kept ever burning while there were injuries to mend and poured some hot water from the hanging kettle into a small basin. He mixed in some herbs, soothing oils, and enough cool water to lower the temperature to a comfortable level, then returned to his lover's side with his makeshift bath and a small, soft cloth.

Setting the basin on the table beside the bed, Elrond soaked the cloth, wrung out the excess wetness, then carefully cleaned the prince's fingers one by one as they lay exposed and easily accessible against the outside of the blankets. After removing all hint of travel, toil, and torment from one graceful hand, Elrond blessed the much beloved flesh with feather-soft kisses, then rinsed out the profanity of grime from the cloth and repeated his ministrations to the other set of fingers.

Thus he worked his way slowly along the trail of Legolas' bow-sculpted arms, replacing haunting echoes of hurt with the libation of loving kisses. Brushing away the carelessly tousled tresses from the other's shoulders, Elrond tenderly blotted away the sweat and soil from the bruised and chafed skin, again consecrating each cleansed morsel of flesh with a dressing of soft, barely felt kisses. It was only upon reaching the elegantly sculpted lines of the younger elf's neck that Elrond realized one final insult to his beloved -- the absence of the necklace which he himself had lovingly fastened into place as a sign of his unending devotion. The sorrow of loss quickly fled from his heart, the unwavering sweet song of gratitude and grace chorusing through him. How could he mourn a simple piece of stone and silver when the Valar had heard his supplications and returned to him the most precious of all treasures?

Legolas softly stirred in this sleep, murmured an unintelligible phrase, then hesitantly blinked open his eyes. His lips instantly curled up into a bright yet weariness weakened smile, the fingers of one hand instinctively raising to caress the side of Elrond's cheek as he hovered above him. "I had the most wondrous of dreams, Ithilas," he hushedly whispered, his eyes as bright and clear as the great stone of Vilya.

Setting aside the cloth, Elrond sat on the edge of the bed beside his awakened lover and cupped the richly sculpted cheeks with both hands. "Of the Lady?" he warmly teased, a smile twitching the sides of his mouth.

"No -- of you. You were bathing me in kisses."

"That was no dream, meleth-nin, unless we shared the same blessed reverie." Lingering over the beauteous sight of his beloved's features, Elrond lowered his lips to meet the other's in a tender, restrained kiss, then likewise graced the prince's nose and forehead in turn. "You are much in need of peaceful dreams tonight. They will help you regain your strength."

"Then stay beside me, Ithilas," Legolas urged, his voice momentarily regaining all of its musical lilt and much of its usual insistence. "I have been far too long absent from your arms."

As Elrond had to admit to himself, it had also regained all of its power to bend him to his lover's will. Finally succumbing to his own well-earned exhaustion, Elrond relented without a fight, shucking the silver circlet from his head and setting it beside the basin. "You find me without the power to resist, Malthenel-nin," he playfully teased, curling up beside his lover on top of the blankets. "Dream of me, or the Lady, or whatever else you will. Just rest your body so that you may truly return to my arms, and my bed, before long."

Legolas claimed the elder elf's mouth in a proper kiss of barely restrained passion, the oral embrace ending in the sly slide of a smile. "It has already been an eternity," he whispered, then swiftly sipped a final taste of his lover's lips. With a contented sigh he snuggled against the solidity of the other's familiar form, his head instinctively finding its favorite resting place in the crook between the Elrond's shoulder and neck.

Gently wrapping a protective arm around the lithe form beside him, Elrond was mindful to avoid the more heavily bruised and battered portions of his lover's flesh. Resting the side of his face against the prince's golden hair, he softly sang a heartfelt hymn of thanks to the Lady of the Stars, the final words barely sliding from his lips before the mantle of sleep welcomed him into its succoring embrace.

----------------------------

The low hum of nocturnal insects and winsome rustle of the light breeze whistling through the leaves accompanied Thranduil on his silent sleepless travels through the stone paths of Imladris. Despite his obvious relief at his younger son's improving condition, the peace of dreams had long eluded him this night. Something was amiss, despite the tranquility of the valley and the long-missed security his family now appeared to enjoy under Elrond's protection. Perhaps it was his unease at being beholden to his former rival. No, rival was not the correct term. Mirkwood and Imladris had never been outright enemies, and had in fact been reluctant allies. Had not Elrond recently sent his finest fighters to aid in Mirkwood's defense against the incursion of the orcs from the mountains of the forest? Should he not now put aside all petty differences and past pains in the name of friendship and peace?

Yet, Thranduil remained puzzled as to precisely *why* Elrond had so eagerly offered aid which had been unasked for, yet much appreciated. Was it because of a great affection between his son and Elrond's daughter? He had finally made some semblance of peace with the idea that his son might wish to bind with the Lady of Imladris, only to find the words and actions of Lady and her father strangely unsettling.

"What manner of madness reigns in this valley?" he murmured under his breath. Reaching the end of one side path, Thranduil realized he found himself the Hall of Healing without intentionally meaning to do so. Elrond's words of admonition replayed in his head, ominous and strangely mysterious, now appearing somehow more than they had originally seemed in light of the obvious yet still undiscovered secrets of Elrond's household. Shrugging the poorly fitted borrowed robe around his body he stealthily walked through the archway into the anteroom, determined to see for himself that his son rested peacefully in the safety of healing dreams.

Following the dim, dying illumination of a single flickering flame, Thranduil crept uninvited through the doorway into the room where his son lay. His feet froze into place against the stone floor, his eyes and lips gaping wide as the Sundering Seas at the most unexpected tableau which welcomed him.
 

Part 7:
 

Thranduil stood there in the silence of his breathless shock, his heart beating with the ferocity of a galloping horse within his chest. There, not more than a few steps before him, lay his son... *his* son... in the arms of the Lord of Imladris. The disorientating dizziness of sheer fury swelled up within him, his fists clenching at his sides in his utter contempt and revulsion. <<He has even less honor than my Father believed. I cannot believe he would profane my son, my flesh and blood! How can he think himself a Lord of our kind when he takes advantage of my son's state!>>

A low growl arose in his chest, yet choked into stunned silence somewhere in his throat as the scene shifted in the slightest, yet most significant of ways.

As his father watched, mesmerized in his horror and disbelief, Legolas stirred in his dreams, brushed a sloppy parody of a kiss against Elrond's lips, then curled the fingers of one hand around a dark plait of the Lord's hair before settling back into the deep serenity of somnolence.

Waves of nausea interchanged and alternated with the somehow equally unsettling cascade of memories flooding through the Lord of Mirkwood, repelling him backward through the doorway without a sound. Several steps back into the antechamber he felt his progress unexpectedly halted by the solidity of another. Twisting around to face the intruder, he scowled at the strangely calm visage of Elrond's chief advisor. He watched in the incoherent silence of his still muddled thoughts as Glorfindel obviously glanced over his shoulder through the doorway into the other room and, to Thranduil's unbridled disgust, smiled at the criminal conduct of his Lord.

"Why are you here, Glorfindel?" Thranduil hissed, his words louder than they needed to be.

"For the same reason as your unexpected visit, Lord Thranduil," came the unhesitant volley of a reply. "To check on those close to me."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed to slits, the fire in his cheeks all too apparent even in the pale illumination of the night. "You knew Elrond would be here?"

A far too smug smile painted across Glorfindel's face, then receded slightly in a modicum of self control. "Where else would I expect him to be, other than by the side of the one he loves more than his very life?"

Pushing past Elrond's cocky co-conspirator, Thranduil angrily spat, "I will not hear any more of this travesty. I brought my son here to be healed, not seduced and molested." He gasped in shocked indignation as his progress was halted by a rough hand grasping his shoulder. He spun around in the outer doorway of the antechamber and after brusquely ripping himself from Glorfindel's insolent restraint backed several steps into the open air.

Glorfindel kept pace with the retreating Lord of Mirkwood, his features awash with the steadfastness of sanction of the very same love Thranduil would so offhandedly condemn. "If you believe it to be anything of that sort, then you surely deny what your eyes have truly witnessed. Do they look as two who have never enjoyed the company of each other before now?"

Blinking hard, Thranduil shook his head resolutely, stumbling several awkward steps farther into the stone pathway. "'Tis a bewitchment Elrond has set upon my son. How can Legolas hope to withstand the treachery of ages of experience such as his?"

Consciously willing all hint of self-righteousness from his demeanor, Glorfindel wrung together his hands and drew in a calming breath. "Lord Thranduil, I truly mean no disrespect. I have come to regard your son with much fondness and the highest esteem. He has brought joy beyond measure to this valley, and for that I will be forever in his debt. I understand how the truth of his affection for my Lord must come as the greatest of shocks, but surely you cannot deny what you have witnessed with your own eyes. 'Tis not bewitchment which binds your son to Lord Elrond, but love."

Thranduil stared up at careful handiwork of Elbereth above, the stars' constant clarity a sharp contrast to the muddled mire of his thoughts and emotions. "I cannot believe my son would feel more than mild respect for one his family has held in contempt. The thought that he would...." The words could not, *would* not emerge from his throat, the mere possibility that a son of his would actually have feelings of affection for one of the Peredhil beyond his ability to comprehend. Tightly shutting his eyes, Thranduil asked a silent question of the Valar, Eru, and himself.

<<Why?>>

"Your son did not wish to deceive you, yet he dreaded your reaction as deeply as I am sure you dread facing him now. He has proven himself to be stout of spirit and wise of means on the field of battle. Why would you believe his choices to be any less worthy of respect in matters of the heart?" Glorfindel paused, waiting as Thranduil reluctantly met his earnest gaze. "He is your son -- that much has not changed. He desires your approval in all things, whether he admits it or not."

Thranduil scowled once more at Elrond's overly-confident aide. "Would you expect your Lord to be as broadminded as you would have me be if I were to profess love for one of *his* sons?"

Despite his solid understanding of the need for the delicacy of diplomacy, the irony of Thranduil's remarks instinctively raised a deeply-humored smile to Glorfindel's lips. "It would mightily depend upon which of his sons you desired as your own." Sensing the insipient rage of innocent ignorance welling up behind Thranduil's haughty expression, Glorfindel raised his right hand into plain sight and drew the other's attention to the silver band which encircled the first finger. "If you would look with care, you will find its mate borne upon the hand of one of Lord Elrond's sons. Elrohir and I but wait until your son is recovered enough to bear witness before we take our vows before his kin and the Valar."

Allowing a timely moment to pass for Thranduil to respond, Glorfindel finally closed the silence himself when the other failed to offer words of his own. "It was because of his great love for your son that Elrond sent his finest archers to guard your homeland. He would have sent his very sons, without hesitation, had they not been in Lothlorien. It was because of the great joy which your son has brought to *my* home that I asked my Lord to allow me to lead Rivendell's band in your defense."

Thranduil stared at the stride-smoothed stones beneath his feet, conflicted emotions waging their visible war in his features. "I would never have believed I would rue my promise to Elrond to heal my son at any cost to myself, or my kingdom."

The light of reluctant understanding, and, Glorfindel hoped, possibly incipient acceptance, dimly shown in Thranduil's downward-directed, distracted gaze. "There was no cost to your kingdom, only the reward of the prince's joyful existence gratefully shared by both our lands. Rejoice in my Lord's deep and abiding love for your son, Thranduil, for truly *that* is what has saved him this day." Once more, Glorfindel offered a space of silence in which Thranduil could make reply, but found none was forthcoming. "Would you give them your blessing?" he softly urged. "That is the finest medicine you could offer to your son."

Shaking his head, Thranduil kept his gaze firmly fixed upon the safe anonymity of the ground. "Much past blood and pain have flowed in Mirkwood in agreeing to the requests of Imladris."

"And from much blood and pain has Mirkwood been spared by my Lord's hand. Would *you* be the cause of your own child's pain and suffering?"

"It would not be the first time."

Thranduil muttered that seeming admission so softly Glorfindel was not certain he had heard correctly the words. "Think upon all I have said, and listen to the truth of your heart," Glorfindel finally urged. "Remember the peace your eyes have found in Legolas' face this night. You will do what is right."

"I will protect my family, as I have always done." Shooting Glorfindel an inscrutably tormented expression, Thranduil turned sharply on his heels and speedily disappeared down the path toward his abandoned bed.

Releasing the breath he had not realized he had held, Glorfindel glanced upward to the stars and winged a prayer of his own, beseeching the Lady who had shown such compassion for Imladris this night to deign to one last miracle.
 
 
 

Part 8:

Anar's first light bathed the Healing Halls in delicate hues of amber and gold, the warmth of its newly-born rays upon his face reluctantly rousing Elrond back into the waking world. Murmuring softly in his half-conscious state, Elrond instinctively burrowed his nose more deeply into the safe haven of his lover's hair, his fingers carelessly brushing against the exposed skin of the prince's chest. He froze upon contacting the impediment of a bandage, his eyes flying open in sudden remembered realization of the events of the past round of the sun.

Mindful of the injuries his beloved had suffered, Elrond carefully propped himself on one elbow and surveyed the other's still-slumbering form. A hint of color continued to deepen in the prince's delicate features, now accompanied by the deepening shades of violet heralding bruises which had finally ripened in their fullness. Legolas' breathing was strong, his heartbeat true, and the scrapes and cuts which lined his flesh had already begun to heal. <<His strength will return in its own time,>> Elrond mused, forcing himself to embrace a patient perspective. "Remain in your dreams, meleth-nin," he whispered softly, pressing a line of butterfly kisses down the center of the prince's face before silently rising from the bed.

Stretching away his stiffness with arms raised over his head, Elrond lazily wandered over to the permanent stone basin set in the far corner of the room, ever-filled with the cool water of the Bruinen, then splashed several handfuls of the refreshing wetness upon his face. After wiping his face with a towel, he glanced down at his somnolent beloved one last time, then silently padded out to the antechamber.

Elrond bonelessly molded to the form of a high backed chair for moments uncounted until his solitary reflection was interrupted by the arrival of his chief of staff. Glorfindel remained just inside the doorway to the waiting room,  a tray of food and drink balanced in his hands, the expression on his face becoming troubled and uncertain as he studied Elrond's weary features. "My Lord, is everything well with Legolas?"

Unaware that his face had reflected anything but the joy of his soul, Elrond broke into an earnest smile. "More than merely well, my friend. He still sleeps."

With obvious relief, Glorfindel briefly closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then continued his steps into the antechamber. "I knew you both would require sustenance to renew your strength after the long night," he offered, setting the heavily burdened tray upon an empty tabletop next to Elrond.

"You know me well," Elrond humorously chuckled. Catching Glorfindel's gaze, he lingered in the comfort of the familiar and the steadfast. "Many thanks, dear friend, for all you did last evening to aid me, and Legolas."

<<You know not *all* that I endured on your behalf.>> Glorfindel lingered in uneasy silence for a fleeting flurry of seconds, then nodded slowly. "I would do anything in my power to serve you, or the prince, my Lord. You both are as family to me. I only regret that I even questioned your methods of healing."

Brushing off his friend's guilt with a wave of his hand, Elrond shifted in his chair, then slowly rose. "You were right to question, as you were to obey my commands. What I asked of you was not something to be taken lightly."

"And I know that you did not do so. You believed it to be the only means to save his life."

Elrond blinked hard, his expression reflecting uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Was I wrong to believe so?"

"Only the Valar know the answer," Glorfindel softly offered. "What I know with utter certainty is that your children were greatly relieved by news of the prince's recovery, as was I."

Wearily wiping a hand across his face, Elrond stood in silence, then murmured, "My children greatly overestimate my means and my methods."

Glorfindel sighed loudly, understanding well the hidden shades of meaning behind his friend's words. "Elrohir knows not what he said last night -- how his words caused you hurt."

With a brief catch of Glorfindel's gaze, Elrond caught the expression of sympathy, then swiftly tore his sight away. "I deserve any pain his innocent trust has caused. I used the ring without hesitation to save Legolas' life, yet I did not even consider its use when my wife, my children's mother, was likewise hurt."

"Celebrian's wounds were not nearly as grave, my friend. Your hands and herbs were balm enough for her flesh."

"Perhaps for her flesh, but not for her soul." Hesitantly, Elrond returned his agony-filled gaze to meet Glorfindel's eyes. "If I had used the ring, I might have taken away her pain, and she would have had no need to travel West and leave our home and our children."

Glorfindel warmly clasped a hand onto Elrond's slumped shoulder, a slight smile of empathy and encouragement upon his lips. "Her heart was weary, and any pains she held beyond the skills of any to heal. She knew you loved her not, as she had from the first moment marriage had been proposed."

"I do not blame her for leaving my side," Elrond curtly countered. "I know I caused her naught but pain."

"She understood her duty, and her fate, and willingly embraced both. You gave to her the blessing of children, and with that joys beyond measure. You know in your heart that she found much worthy of rejoicing in Imladris."

"Yet not enough," Elrond wincingly admitted. "Not as much as she deserved."

With a loud release of frustration-tinted breath, Glorfindel squeezed his friend's shoulder one last time, then withdrew his hand. "Do not waste time or regrets for *anything* you have or have not done, my Lord." Catching Elrond's eye, he more emphatically stated, "*Anything*. Let us, instead, celebrate the prince's return to life." After lingering in the hesitation of a pause, he advised "Do not take all the credit, nor all the blame, for none can return from Mandos' care, no matter how brief the sentence, save by the word of the Lady." A sly smile of knowledge painted across the canvas of his face. "I know this to be true."

Elrond chuckled softly and nodded, the conflict of remorse and regrets finally retreating from his features. "You do, indeed, my old friend."

"The Lady has her reasons for wishing the fair prince to remain by your side. The ways of the Valar are beyond the ability of any to fathom. Let us rejoice in the pronouncement, and not bother to ponder the purpose."

The barely heard sound of soft, elven footsteps caught their attention just in time to see Thranduil stride in through the archway. Glorfindel exchanged an uneasy gaze with Mirkwood's lord, then turned away, regretting that he had waited too long to warn Elrond of last night's confrontation.

"I hope I do not come at an inappropriate time," Thranduil warily inquired, his eyes strangely avoiding contact with Elrond's face.

"Not at all," the Lord of Imladris warmly replied. "I expected you would arrive with the dawn to see your son."

"I wish to speak to you in private first, Lord Elrond," Thranduil flatly announced, his eyes turned unmistakably and menacingly toward Glorfindel.

"I will leave you both, then." Glorfindel flashed his friend a final boost of an encouraging smile, then slowly strolled past Thranduil, his eyes locked with Thranduil's in unflinching combat until the very last possible second.

Thranduil waited patiently until Glorfindel was safely out of earshot, then uneasily faced Elrond, his emotions seething barely beneath the surface. "How is my son this morning?"

Elrond flashed a relaxed smile, completely oblivious in his own delight. "His strength slowly returns. He remains asleep, but I do not see the harm in waking him for a short visit from his father."

"Do you monitor the sleep of all your patients as closely as you have my son's?" Thranduil sarcastically spat.

Deep furrows of confusion etched across Elrond's brow, his mouth visibly tightening in wary alarm.

With a smug chuckle of satisfaction in the obvious unease he had caused, Thranduil strolled several steps closer. "Despite your *warning* I came to check on my son before the dawn. Imagine my surprise when I found the great son of Earendil curled up at his side like a faithful watchdog...." The shock of knowing guilt flashing in Elrond's eyes both enraged and delighted Thranduil at the very same time. "Or something else," he icily added. "I saw how you held him, Elrond."

Elrond exhaled loudly, his eyes lowering to his hands as he wrung them before his robes. The moment he had dreaded for far too long had finally arrived, and yet found he had no desire to explain or deny the truth of his feelings. "Then you also witnessed how he held me in return, Thranduil. Even *you* cannot deny that we held each other." The seething sea of fury rippling beneath the other's façade of control was impossible to ignore, yet Elrond would not back down from the truth, no matter how unpalatable Thranduil obviously found it to be. "I do not expect you to believe my words. Ask the question directly of him," he cautiously proposed.

"I will ask my son of this in my own time." Thranduil spat, the venom of perceived insult coloring his cheeks. "What say *you* now, Elrond, about your unnatural feelings toward my youngest child?"

Whatever trace of sympathy Elrond held for the unexpected manner in which Thranduil had come to knowledge was devoured by his own insult at the suggestion of any profanity in his love for Legolas. "He may be your child, but to me he is nothing less than the very light of the stars and the song of my heart. They are the most *natural* of feelings," he fervently exhorted. Seeing Thranduil wince in discomfort at the forthright honesty and bluntness of his words, Elrond felt the magnanimity of victory color his timbre. "Much pain and sorrow has passed between our lands, Thranduil. Is it not time for that to become relegated to the past, and rejoice in the love which binds us now?"

Breaking the contact of their eyes by turning away, Thranduil glanced up toward the airy arched ceiling. "I was foolish enough to swear to you free possession of anything that was mine to give so long as my son be saved by your hand," he bitterly remarked.

A smile curled upward the edges of Elrond's mouth. "He is not your *possession* to give."

"So I have discovered." Drawing in a loud, lengthy breath, Thranduil lowered his gaze to the floor, then slowly turned to face Elrond once more. Pausing, he reached into the pocket of the robes Elrond had loaned him and extricated something in the clenched palm of his hand. After the briefest of hesitations, he held out his hand out toward Elrond and slowly opened his palm. "We found this lying next to my son where he fell, and I have kept it for safekeeping. I thought it to be a gift from the Lady Arwen, but you and I know the truth."

Elrond stared dumbstruck at the broken necklace, now merely an empty, gem-less setting.

"I regret its condition, but it appears a horse's hoof has caused it severe damage."

Extending out a hand of his own, Elrond allowed Thranduil to pour the necklace into his palm without contact. "Legolas will be heartened by its return, regardless of its condition."

Thranduil pursed his lips and nodded, the undeniable flash of indignation returning to his eyes. "My son is, of course, free to love whom he chooses, as I am also free to heartily disapprove of his choice." Shrugging his robes around his body, he stiffened up his posture and assumed as regal a pose as possible. "We will not speak of this again."

Elrond nodded in understanding of the uneasy truce, all the while understanding well that Thranduil's moratorium would not stand for long.

"I would speak to my son now. *Alone*."

"As you wish. I will change his bandages when you have finished your visit." Elrond moved away from the doorway and gestured for Thranduil to enter. The two Lords warily watched each other in return, Elrond finally leaving father and son in privacy once Thranduil had passed through the doorway into Legolas' chamber. Determined to remain within shouting distance in case the reunion went badly, Elrond tarried not far outside the antechamber, pacing restlessly along a stone path just on the other side of a conveniently screening wall. He would not risk Legolas' recovery for anything, even the right of a father to talk to his son.
 
 
 

Part 9:

With held breath Thranduil slowly entered the recovery room, uncertain as to what he might find awaiting him. The wind shucked from his mouth in a loud exhalation of shock as he claimed his first true glimpse of his son's condition. Legolas looked so pale, so still, so frail and unprotected and vulnerable. His son's condition made Thranduil loathe even more what he had to do -- what he was being *forced* to do. A swelling tide of anger arose within him at the thought of Elrond taking advantage of his child, especially in this state. Trying to remain in control, he focused on the fact that his son would live, quietly grabbed a chair and carefully set it beside the bed. There he sat in silence for the passing of some time, content to watch his son enjoy the remainder of his well-earned sleep. Conflicting emotions continued to rage within him, all that he had seen and heard replaying in his mind in an endless loop of torment. His gaze floated over Legolas' exposed flesh, the sight of his son's skin peppered with untold bruises, scrapes, and small cuts raising the bitter taste of bile to his lips.

Seeing his youngest child's battered body reminded him too acutely of the last time he had seen his eldest child. On the day of her death....

Legolas stirred softly in his sleep, rolling over to the near side of the bed. His fingers brushed against the empty space beside him, obviously seeking someone he expected but could not find. Thranduil felt his heart plummet into his stomach, understanding full well who it was his son unconsciously sought.

The prince rustled among the bedclothes uneasily and finally awoke, taking a moment to focus his eyes before smiling in recognition. "Father, it is good to see you."

"'Tis far better to see *you*," Thranduil sighed. "How do you feel this morning?"

Legolas stretched, winced slightly and raised a hand to the bandage covering the deep wound above his heart. "I feel stronger each time I awaken, thanks to the skills of Lord Elrond."

Thranduil visibly reacted to the sound of that name rolling so affectionately off his son's lips. "Who is Ithilas, my son?" he inquired, not caring about the abruptness with which he appeared to change topics.

Sky-hued eyes widened despite the lingering hand of sleep. "Where did you hear that name?" Legolas asked in a tremulous whisper of shock.

"From your very lips. You called out so in your pain before we brought you to Lord Elrond's care."

Legolas rolled away toward the far side of the bed, fleeing from the scrutiny of his father's sight, but not before the torment in his expression was plainly seen.

Thranduil swallowed hard, feeling the last tendrils of hope for denial evaporating before him. "You cannot bear to tell me the true name of the one you supposedly love? That says much about the strength of your feelings."

The prince tightly shut his eyes, still unable to meet his father's gaze. "I do not wish to cause you pain, Father. That has never been my intent."

"And yet you do so now, as you did last night when I found you in *his* arms."

Clearly shaken, Legolas whipped his head in his father's direction. "You would spy on us? Invade my privacy, and that of Lord Elrond, in his own house?"

"I did not expect to find Lord Elrond laying beside you after he had so  vehemently warned me that you required undisturbed sleep for the entire night," Thranduil barked far more loudly than he intended. With a steeling sigh, he explained, "I merely wished to see for myself that you still lived. That is all."

Finding some semblance of truth in his father's explanation, Legolas relaxed slightly. "It grieves me that you had to see us together without warning, but I do not regret the comfort and strength his closeness gave me through the night."

Thranduil closed his eyes and glanced away, his face contorted into a grimace of disappointment and revulsion. "My own son would betray his family in such a foul way. You would sleep with the master of your grandfather's ruin. What would you say to him about this?"

"If my grandfather were here, I would say to him no less than what I tell you now. You cannot lock away my heart as you would your treasures, Father. I will love whomever *I* choose, whether you approve or not."

<<"My heart is not a gem you can hoard away along with your dwarfish gold. I will give my heart to whomever *I* choose!">> Thranduil blinked hard, his face awash with the blanching of shock and sorrow as the voice of his long-dead daughter tormented him from across the gulf of years.

"Father?" Legolas inquired with vivid concern, struggling to sit up against the pillows.

Instinctively, Thranduil stopped him, pressing his son flat back against the bed. "Do not concern yourself with my troubles, but conserve your strength and rest." Tenderly brushing back the golden hair, Thranduil neatened up the face-framing braids as best he could. "You oft remind me so very much of Minuial," he softly spoke, the sadness glistening in his eyes. "But never so much as you do this morn."

"You speak of my sister," Legolas murmured in wonder. "You have not spoken her name since the day of her death."

"For fear my heart would break under the burden of my guilt and sorrow," Thranduil reluctantly admitted, settling back into his chair.

Legolas studied his sire's agonized expression but gained no obvious insight. "I do not understand."

"There is no reason why you would. You were merely a child." Thranduil's expression grew more sorrowed still. "A child who lost both his sister and his mother at my hand."

Wordless in the confusion of his shock, Legolas tried to make some sense of this seeming madness. For so long he had been accustomed to his father's silence concerning the untimely death of his sister and mother that he could not fathom why the sudden urgency to speak of them. "Why do you claim blame for their deaths? Minuial chose to climb the cliff, despite your forbidding her to do so. It is not your fault she lost her footing and fell."

A choked sob hung in Thranduil's throat, then broke free in the rush of heart-rending admission. "She did not fall, Legolas. She leapt to her death."

Part 10:
 

Legolas felt his heart skip a beat, then pound with a hammering thump which thundered in his ears. "Minuial *chose* to die? How could that be?"

"To cause me as much pain as I had unwittingly caused her," Thranduil lamented. Wiping a hint of moisture from the corners of his eye, the Lord of Mirkwood spoke of events he had forced from his memory for several centuries. "Your sister was always as a spirit of the forest, free as the wind and brilliant as the sunshine. I had tried on several occasions to direct her thoughts toward those of our kind who would make suitable husbands for one of her station, but she had always rebuked my suggestions, with her mother's blessing."

"She was always Mother's favorite," Legolas recalled with bittersweetness.

A hint of a sorrowed smile twitched the corners of Thranduil's mouth. "They were kindred spirits, my wife and my daughter." Exhaling loudly, he wiped a hand wearily across his brow. "Imagine my surprise when Minuial announced to me that she had found one to whom she wished to be bound." His features darkened with the gloom of memories still pained after centuries. "Not one of our kind, but a *man*." Thranduil raised his eyes to meet his son's intense stare. "A man from Dale."

"You would never allow one of your children to bind to the race of men," Legolas correctly surmised, the resentment and condemnation rippling off each individually enunciated word. "You would much rather our line end than our blood be mingled... be *weakened*... in the production of peredhil heirs."

Thranduil bristled at his son's obvious sarcasm. "Do not judge me too harshly, my son. Our line is one of the few which remains strong in Middle-earth."

Legolas refused to succumb to his father's twisted logic born of the long-seated blindness of prejudice. "You mean remains *pure*. Whatever strength remained in our line was diminished by my sister's death."

"All the more reason for *you* to reconsider this madness which has overtaken you!" Thranduil shot up from the chair and paced angrily around the chamber. With clenched fists and more tightly clenched eyes, he wore his rage as a cloak, his body trembling in passion of the warring between his emotions and his self control.

"My love for Lord Elrond is no madness, Father." Legolas paused, swallowing hard before daring his next words. "Neither was my sister's love. I remember now what has eluded me for so long. The happiness which lightened her face in the moons before her death. I had never seen her so filled with joy." A sorrowed frown furrowed the prince's delicate features. "Nor had I ever known her spirit to be as dark as the night she died." The long-locked doorway to haunted childhood memories suddenly swung open, reacquainting the prince with torments of the heart that he had rightfully buried.

Thranduil slowly spun to face his son's distressed expression. "That was the night she learned of her lover's death." Raising a hand, he tried in vain to ward off the horrific thoughts which must be playing out in his son's mind. "Do not believe me to be so cruel that I would intentionally cause the death of one my children hold dear, no matter my feelings in the matter. Yes, I had forbidden them to see each other again, and your sister was devastated. What I had not foreseen was the foolishness which possessed both their hearts." Thranduil wrung his hands together, pacing beyond the bed and breaking eye contact with his son as he absently studied the stonework of the floor. "How was the sentry to know that the intruder who so stealthily found his way uninvited to our borders was your sister's beloved?"

"He was killed for trying to see her, against *your* will," Legolas whispered, his heart breaking for his sister just as surely as he knew hers had been shattered.

"Do not blame me!" Thranduil roared. "I knew nothing of what had happened until his corpse was brought to the court." His shoulders slumping, his chin dropped toward his chest, Thranduil sighed loudly. "Your sister's cries echoed through the chambers, and not even your mother could console her in her grief."

"I remember hearing her," Legolas softly murmured, his eyes reflecting the devastation of his soul. "I was asleep in my bed, and her screams awoke me. I dared not leave my room, for fear of what I might find. I heard nothing more, so I believed it to be a nightmare, and tried to return to my dreams."

"Were it a nightmare," Thranduil slowly muttered, raising a hand to his face to quickly swipe the moisture from his eyes. "She ran from my sight, and I sent none after her. Such was my blindness." Pausing, he raised his eyes to the ceiling, trying to hold back the flood of tears which threatened to consume him. "She would climb that path to look east, toward Dale, awaiting any sign of her lover's illicit visits. Now I know she wished to look upon his land one last time before she punished me the only way she could -- so I would ever remember what she believed I had taken from her, and what she had taken from me. Herself."

"Mother knew this, that is why she cried out curses against you before she died," Legolas remembered faintly. "I did not understand. I believed her to be angry with everyone, with the world itself, for Minuial's death. I never imagined...."

"How could a child believe that of his own father, that he be the heartless monster others claimed him to be?"

Legolas had no words for his father. He had not had time to process all he had been told, let alone sift through all his conflicting memories and feelings.

Sniffling back the sting of tears from his eyes, Thranduil reluctantly faced his son. "I do not pretend to understand what manner of love passes between you and the Peredhil, but I can no longer deny that it exists. I bore witness to it myself, whether I wished to or not, not only while you slept, but in his eyes...." Slowly stepping closer to the bed, he studiously scrutinized his son's expression. "And in yours." Smiling weakly, he tenderly arranged the blankets around his son's chest with the fussiness of a mother. "Glorfindel believes you live still not because of Elrond's skills as a healer, but by the power of his love. Either way, I owe him a great debt."

"You are still disappointed with the choice of my heart."

The bitterness in Thranduil's tone was matched by that in his expression. "I have become accustomed to being disappointed by love. 'Tis our family's curse."

"So Lord Cirdan explained to me."

Visibly unnerved, Thranduil blinked hard. "It was not his place to speak of that, especially with my sons."

"We spoke in private. Brethilas is unaware, and will remain so, unless you believe he should be told. Lord Cirdan is kin -- he meant no harm."

Thranduil was not appeased in the slightest by his son's explanation of the shipwright's motives. "As my father said, Cirdan has spent too much time among the Exiles to hold loyalty toward his own blood."

"As Grandfather believed of Elrond."

The Lord of Mirkwood remained silent in his maelstrom of emotions, unable, or, more correctly, unwilling to engage his son in further verbal sparring.

"I pray my brother is not touched by the pains of our family," Legolas earnestly offered, a hope-filled, weak, smile brightening his features.

Nodding, Thranduil picked aimlessly at his son's blankets once more. "That is my fondest wish -- for *both* my sons."

Legolas clasped his father's forearm. "Then let us hope that he and I have paid the remaining debts of our family." Releasing his father's arm, he encouraged, "He and Nelladel will bring our family heirs both fair and strong."

"And you?"

The smile on Legolas' face brightened further, his strength appearing to swell for a moment. "I will follow the song of my heart."

"Then no matter what I wish for you, you will surely fall into pain," Thranduil cynically offered. With a final expression of disappointment flashed upon his features, he turned to leave without further word.

"No, Father, I shall soar upon the wings of joy, with the Lady's grace," Legolas called out after him.

Thranduil kept walking and disappeared from sight, any reaction he had to his son's words kept tightly to himself. With a sigh, Legolas relaxed against the pillows, his mind racing at all he had been told. His sorrow at his sister's death was as acute as the day she had left for Mandos' halls, yet he found he could not bring himself to lay all of the blame upon his father's feet. He knew far too much of his family's cursed history.

Would that their future be far brighter, from this moment onward. <<With the Lady's grace.>>

--------------------

Elrond plainly paced outside the doorway of the antechamber, having moved into closer proximity upon hearing Thranduil's voice briefly raise some minutes before. He had been hard pressed not to intercede at that moment, but realized Legolas would wish to handle this in his own way. <<I swear, if you cause him but a single day's delay in healing, I will fling you from the falls, Thranduil!>> His face locked in the grimness of his thoughts, he swiveled around on his heels at the sound of hastily departing feet.

His own jaw set as firmly into place, Thranduil stared at Elrond with fatally piercing eyes. "Will you ever cease to cause me pain, Elrond? Not only do you steal away my son's heart, but you mock me by wearing my wife's favorite adornment in your hair."

After a moment's pause, Elrond reached his fingers around to the back of his head, unfastened the silver clasp which bound the top of his back braid and retrieved it in one hand. Holding out the butterfly in the open palm of his hand, he stared at it for a moment, then with the slightest shake of his head, possessively curled his fingers over it and raised his clenched fist to his chest. "No, Thranduil. I *honor* your son by wearing his gift. If he means for it to be returned to you, then it will be given freely to your hands. But not until *he* bids me to do so."

With a low growl, Thranduil spun sharply to his right and stalked down the path, soon disappearing around the corner along with the cloud of his gloom. A smug smile of victory upon his lips, Elrond carefully refastened the clasp into his hair, then hustled through the archway to where his heart lay waiting for his return.
 
Elrond found his lover laying restlessly in bed, his fingers clutching the blankets at his side. "I saw your father leave," he offered, taking the empty seat beside the bed.

"He knows," Legolas forlornly said, lacing the fingers of one hand through one of Elrond's.

With a great sigh, Elrond nodded sharply and raised their conjoined fingers to his lips for a kiss. "Yes, Malthenel-nin. He and I spoke briefly."

"What? How could I have missed the screams?" Legolas teased uneasily.

Returning a cheeky smirk of a smile, Elrond volleyed, "His, or mine?"

The humor drained from the prince's face in the flash of a moment. "He does not approve," Legolas despondently admitted.

With a soft hint of a smile still remaining on his lips, Elrond leaned over and pressed his mouth against his lover's. "That does not concern us, meleth-nin. So long as he would not dare to come between us."

"He will not, of that I am certain."

"Then let us rejoice in those victories we claim, no matter how small they may seem." Winding the fingers of both hands around the tangled and tousled gilded locks, Elrond celebrated the victory of his heart with a deep and lingering taste of the prince's sweet mouth.
 
 

Part 11:
 

After smoothing his beloved's furrowed brow with the sweetest of kisses, Elrond brought Glorfindel's most thoughtful of gifts to bed and the elves leisurely shared food, drink and the comfort of their mutual company. After cajoling Legolas into consuming healthy portions of all three, Elrond removed the tray and changed the dressings on his lover's wounds. "The healing has already begun," he contentedly explained, a smile lightening his face.

"I would heal much faster if I were in your bed," Legolas cheekily offered, a sly, seductive smile resting upon his lips.

Pressing a tender kiss against the prince's forehead, Elrond shook his head as he set aside the remainder of his healing herbs. "I will welcome you properly back into my arms, and my bed, once you have recovered your strength, meleth-nin." An evil glint twinkled in his eyes, his lips twitching under the strain of humor before he voiced his huskily breathed postscript. "Once you have returned to my bed, you will require use of your full strength."

"I am stronger than you believe," the prince purred sultrily, purposefully stroking one of the elder elf's dark braids.

The veil of shadow and sorrow swiftly drew across Elrond's face, the light in his eyes dampened by the return of still-too-pained recent memories. "You were closer to death than I ever wish to see you again. Humor me if I am overly protective of you now." Cupping the delicate curves of his lover's face, Elrond drank in the sight of its full beauty returning, despite the lingering hint of pallor. Drawing their lips together, he claimed a deep, breath-thieving kiss, then lovingly stroked the richly sculpted cheeks with his thumbs. "I would have gladly given you every ounce of my strength if I could."

"You give me more than you know."

With a comforted smile of understanding, Elrond drew in to collect yet another kiss.

Stiffening without a sign, Legolas pulled away from his lover's lips, sinking into the pillows with a glum expression.

His own brow knitting together, Elrond studied the other's troubled visage with hesitant breath. "Malthenel-nin? What troubles you so?"

Legolas glanced away, biting his lip slightly while the fingers of one hand nervously raised and brushed against the bare skin just above his bandage. "I lost it -- your gift."

"You mean this?" Elrond reached into his pocket and extricated the broken and battered pendent, gently allowing it so slide from his hand into Legolas' awaiting palm."

"'Tis ruined," the younger elf forlornly lamented, studying the remains of necklace with pained intensity.

A secretive hint of a smile upon his lips, Elrond insistently reclaimed the silver from the other's possessive grasp and slid it back into his pocket. "Do not worry about silver and such, meleth-nin. All that matters is your health and healing." His smile broadened into the secretive mirror of the desire he ever wore just beneath the fine veneer of stateliness. "The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner we will taste each other anew."

After sharing a shuddered kiss of anticipatory delights, Elrond tried to push up from the bed, only to find his departure insistently blocked by grasping hands. Without resistance he fell forward, tumbling into his lover's waiting embrace with a well-humored chuckle.

"You doubt my strength?" the cheeky prince lyrically teased before stealing a smile-framed kiss.

"I doubt nothing where you are concerned, Malthenel-nin. You are a miracle wrought by the none but the Valar themselves." The relaxed smile on Elrond's lips instantly melted away in the recognition of dread suddenly painted across his lover's face. Twisting around as he swiftly rose from the bed, he was met by an unsettling expression of shock hosted on an elfish face near the doorway.

"I would not believe Father's words to be true," Brethilas awkwardly explained, slowly, cautiously stepping further into the room. "I could not believe so, had I not seen it with my own eyes."

Legolas froze in open-mouthed shock. "Brother, I...."

Mirkwood's elder prince raised a hand in protest, waving off his brother's instinctive words of self-defense. "I do not come with words of condemnation. I am sure our Father had sufficient of those."

"Then why have you come, Brethilas?" Elrond protectively interrogated, steadfastly creating a barrier between the brothers with both his words and his body. "As you say, your brother has already had to endure more than enough of your family's 'words' this day. What he requires most from you is respect of his need to conserve his strength and rest."

Brethilas stepped closer to the menacing elder elf, his face reflecting much more calm than Elrond's fuming expression, "I most certainly do not wish to delay my brother's healing, Lord Elrond. On the contrary. I hope my words of comfort and concern will speed his return to health."

"Ithilas -- it is all right."

Both Elrond and Brethilas turned to face the youngest of them assembled. Legolas smiled slightly, gesturing to the empty chair beside his bed. "I wish to speak to my brother alone."

"Delay his return to health, and you will find my hospitality has its bounds," Elrond hissed under his breath before leaving. Boring his words into the other's intense gaze with an even more fiery stare of his own, Elrond lingered in the unspoken addendum to his threat until he reached the doorway. Flashing his lover a questioning expression over Brethilas' shoulder, Elrond held his breath as he awaited any sign of second thought, but finding none, instead returned the full fury of his glared warning to the elder of Mirkwood's princes. With a final, silently growled, measure of sternness Elrond turned stiffly on his heels and vanished from the room in a flutter of robes.

The brothers hesitantly faced each other in the accompaniment of stilted silence, alternately meeting, then avoiding the other's soul-searching gaze. "So why *have* you come?" Legolas finally questioned, his fingers nervously dancing over the soft blankets which covered his chest.

Brethilas pulled the chair a few inches farther from the bed, then made it his temporary home. "I require a reason to visit my own brother while he recuperates?" Finding no humor reflected in his sibling's face, he glanced down at his hands, limply laid in his lap, and after a brief, nervous clearing of his throat, spoke his mind. "I wish to offer my thanks for your bravery."

"I do not recall one of our family ever needing to express *thanks* for what is justly expected of us," Legolas responded, the stain of insult coloring his tone.

"You have done far more than merely your *duty*, my brother. It is only now that I fully understand the sacrifices you have made, and those graver still which you nearly made, for the sake of my bride." The heady weight of regrets nearly made unbearable save by the intervention of the Valar and Lord Elrond's healing touch darkened the elder prince's gaze. "Now I understand why you wished to visit Imladris when we passed by the Bruinen -- why you insisted upon riding up the valley on your own despite my hastily spoken condemnation of your 'foolishness'." Brethilas smiled slightly at confusion-veiled memories now made strangely clear. "I had thought your devotion to the House of Elrond peculiar, and had finally given credence to the rumors of your supposed infatuation with the Lady Arwen." His smile deepened, then turned bittersweet. "None could have fathomed the true meaning behind your heart's obvious affection for this place. *I* could not fathom it, even hearing the truth from our father's lips...." Brethilas drew in a stilted breath, only to release it in a sigh. "Until I saw the way your eyes looked upon him, and how *he* would protect you from all perceived harm, whether it be of deeds, or merely words."

"I would gladly do the same for him, and more," Legolas musically swore, the flash of passion's fire returning the life to his debility-dulled eyes.

"Of that I have no doubt." Brethilas leaned forward and grasped one of his brother's forearms in typical warrior fashion. "You saved my bride's life, nearly at the cost of your own. I cannot deny you your own happiness, even if I do not understand the manner in which you find it -- in the arms of the champion of our grandsire's demise."

"What is there concerning love which you do not understand?" Legolas stridently offered, shrugging his brother's touch from his skin. "For what I feel toward Lord Elrond is nothing less than what you and Nelladel share, or our parents, or their parents before them. Nay, I would say 'tis more, since we both came to this of our own free will."

The fire of his brother's exhortation caught Brethilas by surprise. "I did not mean to offend you by suggesting otherwise. I merely mean to say that your heart's choice catches me, and Father, off guard."

"Our father would rather believe that Lord Elrond has bewitched me than that I would give up my heart so freely to one he considers 'unsuitable'."

With yet another sigh of reluctance and empathy, Brethilas slowly shook his head. "That is not what troubles him, truly. Father worries that you have been saved only to be lost from us in another way. He worries that in the bliss you have found in Imladris' arms you will forget your duty and your home."

"Have I not proven my loyalty to my own?"

"Yes, of course. But what of the future, Legolas? You were born a prince of Mirkwood. Would you forget that, forsake that, for this valley and its Lord?"

"I would forsake neither my family *nor* the calling of my heart."

Brethilas smiled, reclaiming his grasp on his brother's arm. "You and I have often found ourselves on opposite sides of an issue, yet that seems unimportant now. You are first, and always, my brother. If it is your decision to give your heart to Lord Elrond, then it is not my place to come between you and what you most desire. It is only my place to offer my arm in your service, as you have done for me."

With a relaxed smile of comforting understanding returning the lovely grace to his face, Legolas wrapped his fingers around his brother's free arm. "As we have ever done for each other, and ever will. By the Lady's grace."

Nodding, Brethilas echoed, "By the Lady's grace."
 
 

Part 12:
 

[The next morning]

Legolas impatiently lay wrapped in his blankets and a rather pronounced pout, watching with defiance as his lover aimlessly fussed around him. "Surely I am strong enough to walk to your chambers," he protested for what seemed an innumerable time.

Ignoring the younger elf's ongoing complaints, Elrond finished disposing of the old dressings, a smirk of a smile crisply curtaining his mouth. "What if I were to give you yet another reason to conserve every morsel of your strength? Would you *then*, finally, obey my charge to rest and mend without debate?"

His interest piqued, Legolas shifted eagerly against the plumped pillows. "You withhold something from me?"

"First, a promise of your cooperation."

"Is that the ransom I must pay for the truth?"

Elrond's lips twitched slightly as the lord tried to refrain from breaking out into a grin of victory too soon. "'Tis the price to which your curiosity must concur."

"Lord Cirdan was right to suggest you have naugol blood in you," Legolas unhappily muttered under his breath. Noting the inquisitive arch of an eyebrow directed at him, he shimmied uncomfortably beneath his bedclothes and sighed in surrender. "As you wish. No further complaints about being a prisoner in this bed." Legolas purposefully paused, his eyes pleading one last time, then added, "*Alone*."

Disregarding that last feeble volley of oral artillery, Elrond sat on the edge of the bed, brushing the back of one hand against the prince's cheek. "It seems love has been a frequent visitor to this valley of late. One of my children wishes to bind themselves to another, but has chosen to await your return in order that you might join in my family's joyous celebration of the union."

The prince's eyes widened in mimicry of Ithil's fullest face, then relaxed, a smile blazoning with the brilliance of Anar finding a home upon his lips. "Lady Arwen has finally given her heart?"

"No, one of her brothers. Elrohir."

The slightest hint of disappointment crossed the prince's features. "That is joyous news, indeed," he offered with noticeably mixed emotions. The shadow of trepidation and concern curtained his gaze, his brow creased with lines of apprehension. "I hope he gives his heart freely, and for love alone. Not for position, or politics."

"It is, indeed, for love alone, my friend," a voice merrily affirmed from the direction of the doorway. Elrohir stepped fully into the room, his face awash with pride and undeniable happiness. "I am sorry to interrupt, Father, but I wished to deliver the joyous news myself."

"As is your right." Elrond stood up and fetched a chair, setting it beside the bed. "I will leave you two alone." Smiling at Legolas one last time, he brushed the loose tendrils of naturally spun gold from his lover's brow. With a final tender kiss pressed against the exposed skin, Elrond turned to leave, granting an affectionate grip to his son's shoulder before departing from view.

Elrohir watched his sire leave, then with a steeled breath claimed the chair which had been set for him. "'Tis wonderful to see you awake and looking stronger," the twin began, a smile flickering upon his lips.

"'Tis wonderful to *feel* my strength return," Legolas agreed most eagerly. "Your father tells me you bore me up the valley upon your own horse. I should thank you for the care and speed with which you and your steed traveled. If Lord Elrond's words are not exaggeration, my life was within minutes of ending when I arrived in your care."

"No exaggeration, my friend," Elrohir sadly replied. "We feared you would not survive the night." A smile once more finding a home among his fine features, Elrohir patted the prince's forearm. "'Twas not the first time you proved to be a surprise to us."

Chuckling, Legolas stretched awkwardly beneath the soft sheets, adjusting his still-stiff muscles into a more comfortable position. "So, tell me of your fair maiden. Why did you not bring her here with you? Is she from Lothlorien, perhaps?"

"It seems it is my turn to take *you* by surprise," the twin amusedly began.  "Although Glorfindel will be much annoyed to learn he was spoken of as a 'fair maiden' by you."

Palpable perplexity blossomed across Legolas' features, his mouth frozen in stunned silence for the passing of several seconds. "Glorfindel? He... you...."

Elrohir grinned, his utter amusement at the prince's reaction painted across his face. "I see we have made you speechless. I did not believe that to be possible."

Legolas found his tongue soon enough, although his thoughts were slow to find true coherence. "Forgive me, I do not wish to insult you, or him, but I would have never expected... never suspected... that any feelings of this... manner passed between you.

"No offense has been taken. Such feelings between us have been so long buried that it took both the example of your devotion for my father, and harsh words, to wrest them from the slumber of our hearts." Elrohir's smile brightened further. "It is to you that we owe our reunion, and our future happiness."

"Reunion? You have shared love with each other before?"

The twin studied the simple silver ring which encircled one finger of his right hand, a distant expression reflected in his features. "Yes, when I was far too young to understand that love is worthy of battles of its own. What you and my father have suffered in its name has made that valuable lesson apparent even to such a blind, stubborn dullard as myself."

"I would never call a son of Elrond a 'dullard'," Legolas teased, then sighed. "Although I chafe under the stubbornness of your family line myself, of late."

"Do not think Father mad in his overbearing manner where your health is concerned. If it had been instead me who was injured so grievously, I would fully expect Glorfindel to hold short rein over my recovery."

"Understanding the good intentions of their smothering does not make it an easier burden to bear," Legolas grumbled softly. Meeting Elrohir's empathetic eyes with a silently lamenting gaze of surrender, the prince of Mirkwood finally succumbed to the humor of the situation, chuckling softly.

"So now Glorfindel and I anxiously await your complete recovery so that we may truly become as one in the eyes of the Valar and my family," the twin encouraged with a bright smile.

Legolas' expression grew strangely stern. "Why the haste, Elrohir?"

The twin laughed heartily, shaking his head in disbelief and hilarity. "I understand well how you confound my father. You nearly leave us for Mandos' Halls, and yet you can ask why Glorfindel and I believe time to be the most precious of jewels?"

Legolas felt his heart uncomfortably torn between the purest empathy he felt for Elrohir's joy, and the unsettling hand of jealousy. Part of him seemed as if made of the most rotten of wormwood, envy of what he knew he could not have with Elrond eating away at his very soul. "No, I well understand," he sorrowfully murmured. Closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, he winged another prayer to the Great Lady, the Starkindler herself, begging her for some sign that his prayers would one day be answered.

Oblivious in his own blanketing mood of bliss, Elrohir cheerfully smiled. "We make plans even now. Since Glorfindel has no close kin in Middle-earth, we would have you as his witness to our union."

"I am indeed honored," Legolas earnestly replied, a pure smile of joy for the happiness of others overpowering the self-centered grief of his heart.

"So, will you *now* heed my father's advice, and direct all your energies into healing, rather than constant complaining?"

Legolas bristled under the accusation, his eyes suspiciously narrowed to slits. "He would tell you of my rebellion?"

"It is written across your face clearly enough without his grumblings," Elrohir laughed. "Again, if our paths were reversed, I would be as uncooperative and impatient a patient as I expect you have been."

"And if our paths were reversed, I would be impatient for the ceremony to arrive." With a bittersweet smile upon his lips, Legolas relaxed against the pillowy mattress, raising the top of the blankets to just under his chin. "Continue with your plans, my friend. I will do as you ask and think of naught but recovering my strength."

With a contented smile on his lips, Elrohir warmly clasped the prince's forearm. "And your rightful place at my father's side." Rising from the chair he withdrew his right hand, flashed a final smile at the prince, then turned to leave, not seeing how the prince forlornly studied his own barren fingers.
 
 

Part 13:
 

[Early that evening]
 

True to his word, Legolas had rested without complaint for the remainder of the daylight hours, surprising and simultaneously delighting his lover with his sudden change of heart. After sharing a hearty meal and light-hearted conversation with the Lord of Imladris, Legolas patiently waited, leisurely snuggled amidst the bedcovers, while the elder elf drew him a much-anticipated and long-overdue bath.

With a complex symphony of scrumptious and exotic scents entreating his nose, Legolas allowed Elrond to gently help him slide from the safety of the sheets which had been his home for these long few days. Together they slowly strolled to the waiting water, where Legolas gingerly stepped into the herb-steeped warmth with softly winced stiffness. While Elrond slid off his outer robes and carefully knelt beside the tub, Legolas settled down into the welcoming watery cocoon. The prince delightedly sighed, eagerly surrendering to the luxury of his lover's fingers carefully cleansing the accumulated stain and stiffness of the past few days from his skin.

Heeding his lover's whispered orders to keep his most severe wounds clear of the soaking water, the prince bonelessly rested against the back of the smooth, stone-carved tub, a soft cloth carefully folded and propped behind his injured shoulder, his eyes shut, his arms lazily laid upon the rim. Purred murmurs of contentment tickled his throat as he felt his lover's fingers deftly move over every morsel of his flesh. The touch lavished upon him was a surprisingly surreal combination of the sensual and the chaste, the unquenchable fire of incontestably overt love intermingled with the cool calm of medicinal detachment.

A weighty groan of disappointment slid from the prince's lips as the tantalizing fingers retreated from the water without bestowing their blessing upon his most needful flesh. "You have not yet finished my bathing," he pouted most sincerely, watching with baleful eyes as the elder elf stood up and smiled down at him.

"No, indeed, I have not," Elrond volleyed in agreement, slowly stepping behind his lover before kneeling once more. "There is still the matter of your hair to attend to."

"My *hair* was not what needs attending to most," Legolas grumbled quite vociferously, twisting his head to glare over his shoulder. A sudden spear of pain tore through his wounded flesh, the prince freezing in a whined wince.

"Relax, Malthenel-nin," Elrond encouraged in a whisper, gently settling his lover back against the edge of the tub. Wrapping his arms around the other's shoulders, he protectively crossed his hands over the prince's chest, his lips nuzzling kisses into the unblemished perfection of the alabaster neck. "I know what I have left untouched, yet it is for the best, is it not? Why torture you with my touch when we both know what we cannot yet have."

Legolas moaned at the deliciously affectionate contact, the stirring in his flesh becoming more insistent still. "Nine rounds of the moon have I been absent from your bed -- 'tis a torture worse than any others I have faced."

"'Tis a torment we share, meleth-nin," Elrond huskily murmured amidst the trail of lightly tongued kisses he spread up the graceful entirety of the rapidly pulsing jugular. "'Tis also the eventual reward which awaits us both, once you have returned to health." Drawing away from his beloved, he shifted around to sit upon the edge of the tub and lowered his mouth to claim a lingering, promissory taste of those sulking lips. Releasing the other's mouth in the birth of a smile, Elrond playfully tugged on a delicate frayed and mussed braid. "Now, allow me to make some manner of sense of *this*...."

---------------------

After his hair was unbraided and carefully cleansed, Legolas gingerly pushed up from the tub and was slowly escorted by his lover to the dressing table chair. The prince smiled in appreciative pleasure at intimacies so simple yet so delectable as a flurry of kisses placed both upon his wounds and then the bandages which were expertly fastened into place over them. Shrugging into a loose fitting robe his lover offered, Legolas sank down upon the chair once more, shuddering at the sumptuous sensation of fingers loosely combing through his still-damp hair. The comforting cloak of starlight had covered Imladris, and they had not taken the time to light even a single candle. So keen were elven eyes that the timid luminosity of Ithil was more than sufficient for the tasks at hand.

Closing his eyes, the prince drank in the sensation of pampering as a comb gently stroked through the length of his hair. He allowed the gentle tug of the teeth to pull his head backward to rest lightly upon his shoulders and sighed in utter delight. Legolas savored the sensuous simplicity of his lover's luxurious attention, the outpouring of purest love and patient, yet unyielding, desire. He felt fingers reach out and capture a fine lock of hair from the side of his face and pull it back with the obvious intention to fashion a braid, and instinctively nuzzled his face into the retreating fingers. A loud, clearly stunned gasp caught him off guard a heartbeat before the stiff thud of the comb impacting with the stone floor. Legolas spun around in his seat, only to find Elrond's ghostly pale, shocked expression staring back at him in the dim illumination of Ithil's rays. "Elrond? What is it?"

The elder elf stood in stunned silence, then blinked hard, and slowly shook his head, his tongue nervously moistening his lower lip. "'Tis nothing, just... just a memory I had long forgotten." Forcing a mask of calm to his face, Elrond stiffly bent down and collected the comb from the floor, then carefully set it upon the table. "Let us return you to bed now," he softly urged, the slightest hint of a tremolo in his voice. "Your braids can await the morning."

Legolas voiced an initial breath of protest, then swallowed the rest of his objection in instant acknowledgement of his lover's curiously flustered aura. Without further questions or protest he allowed Elrond to help him up from the chair and back into bed, laying utterly still as the elder elf carefully covered him with blankets. "Ithilas?" he finally queried, his voice hesitant, his expression equally so.

Elrond smiled slightly, then bent over him and pressed a protracted kiss onto his forehead. Cupping one of the prince's cheeks in the palm of a hand, the ancient elf lord stared into those ageless, perfect features. "Meleth-nin, si a an-uir," Elrond whispered huskily, repeating the words they had shared at their last parting. His expression grew strangely clouded, sorrowed, then brightened as unexpectedly as the rainbow emerging from the gloom of a storm cloud. "Meleth-thenin-nin." Leaving his lover breathless and wordless, Elrond hurried from the chamber without further explanation.

------------------------

He found himself on the balcony of his private chambers staring out over the valley had had called home for all of this age, and much of the last. His fingers gripped the cool, smooth hardness of the railing, his elbows locked as his arms struggled to keep himself upright against the stunned shaking in his legs. His sight was drawn south and east, toward the land of his wife's parents, until now never a source of discomfort. Now he stared accusingly toward the font of the memory which had nearly stolen the breath from his breast and the beat from his heart. How could he hope to explain to Legolas that which he had only now begun to realize -- the depth of the calculating treachery of one he considered not only a long-time ally in strategy, but also by blood.

<<"Look into the mirror, Elrond. There you will see what joys will be yours if you choose the path I offer as your own.">>

Galadriel's silvery voice echoed in his head, full of the same beguiling logic which had ensnared him at the start of this age. She had summoned him to Lothlorien under the pretext of military strategy, but it was affairs of the heart which had truly interested her. *His* heart, and how his weakness in the agony of the loss of his radiant King, his beloved, could be turned in her favor. So cunningly smooth were her words, how flawless her meticulous arguments. Elrond had come to believe the sincerity of her plan without question, save for the nagging tickle of hesitation seated in the center of his heart. *That* she had swept away in the cascading flow of water pouring into her mithril scrying basin and the visions it had willingly shown.

Elrond had smiled at the time, despite the burdensome tonnage of his grief, at the glimmers of beautiful children careless frolicking among Imladris' paths, the proud parental expressions he had seen on his and Celebrian's faces. He had witnessed his sons grow strong and tall, his daughter become the dazzling Evenstar of their people, all reflected in the still surface of the watery mirror.

Yet it had been the final vision which had unfolded before his eyes which had convinced him that the road Galadriel offered to him was the one best taken, one not completely bereft of joy, despite the serious misgivings of his heart.

The delicate illumination of Ithil flooding through his bedchambers....
His hands tenderly combing a flowing mane of pale hair....
An loving nuzzle of the side of a face against his hands....

He had not seen the features which had so plainly bestowed affection upon him in the vision, but had naturally assumed they belonged to her to whom Galadriel tried to convince him to bind -- her daughter.

Now, *now*, Elrond knew the truth, that the fair hair he had seen in the mirror was colored not with the icy hues of Telperion, but instead with the glorious golden of Laurelin. It had, indeed, been a vision of true love and devotion which he had witnessed in the mirror, but not between himself and his wife.

Had Galadriel known the truth of the images she witnessed by his side?

The answer was undeniable, and rose the bitter fire of bile into his throat.

Squeezing shut his eyes, Elrond clenched his fists, then pound them into the railing in his grief and frustration. With a shuddered exhalation of despair, he opened both his eyes and his fingers, his gaze drawn to the finger which had borne the false gold of schemed design for much of this age. For although he no longer wore the outward sign of his marriage, the weight of the oaths he had sworn most surely encircled and ensnared him more tightly than any mere band of gold.

Utterly ensnared, and prevented him from truly realizing the final reward the Valar had laid before him -- to bind to his heart's *true* desire.

<<Meleth-thenin-nin.>>
 
 
 

Part 14:

[The next morn]

The lovers had uneasily endured the previous night as they had the one before, in the solitary confinement of separate beds. Despite the tense truce between the lords of Imladris and Mirkwood, concerning the golden prince and the unwavering path of his heart, Elrond was unwilling to risk further moments of tension between father and son. Hence, he and his beloved were reluctantly resigned to pass the interminably lengthy hours between their final kiss of the eve and the first kiss of the dawn bereft of the presence of the other.

With the eagerly anticipated arrival of the dawn, Elrond arose from the prison of his loveless bed and swiftly traveled the pathways which led between his private quarters and where his heart's desire impatiently awaited his embrace. Softly murmured affirmations of affection intermingled effortlessly with desperate kisses and tender strokes of fingertips against all manner of both blessedly exposed and tantalizingly robe-covered flesh.

Reacquainted with the sumptuous taste and silky texture he had long ago found truly existed only in his lover's skin, Elrond reluctantly withdrew from the sanctity of Legolas' arms and turned to another, less joyous, ritual of the dawn. With winced recollections of Legolas' brush with Mandos' Halls flooding unbidden through his mind, Elrond blessed each vivid violation of his beloved's normally flawless flesh with a tender kiss before carefully setting a fresh bandage into place.

Legolas lay wordlessly against the plumped mound of pillows with a leisurely smile, drinking in the outpouring of affection as the most potent of medicinal potions. After the last bandage had been skillfully secured, he insistently captured Elrond's hand in one of his, pressed it to his lips, then lay their conjoined fingers over his heart, his smile brightening as the increasingly radiant golden rays of Anar. Pausing to enjoy a purposeful, returned perusal of his lover's eyes, the prince stretched his neck to sip a tender, heart-stopping kiss. Sighing with the mournful memories of months apart as Elrond slowly drew away, Legolas curled the fingers of one hand around one of the lord's delicately laced braids. "Why must I only savor the joy of your touch when you tend to my wounds, Ithilas? I would regain my strength much quicker if I could spend each day, and each night, in your bed -- beside you."

"No, Malthenel-nin," Elrond replied with much melancholy. "You know you must remain here, alone, out of respect for your father."

"My father knows of our desire, and my wishes to ever be by your side."

"He knows, yet he does not approve." Lost in the sea of sorrowed longing brimming in his lover's eyes, Elrond recaptured the forlorn lips in a tender, lingering kiss. The elder elf lovingly lingered in his gently fingered framing of the artistically sculpted cheeks, his mate returning the innocently intimate expression in kind. So engrossed were they in the simple enjoyment of each other that the soft padding of approaching elvish footsteps caught them unaware.

Thranduil hesitantly paused at the doorway, instinctively glancing away in winced discomfort at the obvious love passing between his son and his father's bane. Dredging up a ruse of disconnected calm from some reserve deep within himself, he loudly cleared throat and awkwardly entered the room in earnest.

Elrond pivoted sharply to face the ruler of Mirkwood, guiltily pushing up from the bed as his fingers instantly fell away from his lover's face. "Lord Thranduil. I did not hear you enter."

Thranduil paid no heed to Elrond's platitudes, instead looking cleanly past the lord of the valley to catch the prince's stunned expression. "How does this morn find you, my son?"

Feeling the hesitation of concern leave his tensed flesh, Legolas sweetly smiled at his father, then his lover. "Stronger still, thanks to Lord Elrond's care." Stretching out the fingers of one hand, he claimed one of his lover's hands, pulling it toward him in an undeniably affectionate way. Catching the instant flash of pained discomfort in his father's face, Legolas regretted his innocent gesture, yet did not release the other's hand.

Thranduil pursed lips, his forehead scrunching in obvious ill-ease and disapproval. "Your returning strength is, indeed, reason for celebration." Pausing for too long of a moment, he reluctantly caught Elrond's gaze. "What say you in this matter, Elrond? Does my son overestimate his progress toward full health?"

The Lord of Imladris glanced down at the brilliant smile reflecting upward and squeezed the fingers which held his their willing captive. "It is as he said himself -- his strength indeed grows more full with each passing day."

Thranduil nodded knowingly, his lips pursed as he obviously pondered the implications. Shrugging his shoulders into obvious regal rigidity, he flatly announced, "I leave for Mirkwood with the next dawn."

Elrond was visibly shaken by this most unexpected of events, his grasp of his speechless lover's fingers tightening still. "This is madness, Thranduil! Legolas will *not* be strong enough to travel...."

His passionate protestations were immediately and definitively dismissed with a curt wave of Thranduil's hand. "It is my intention that my son remain here, as he so obviously desires, until he is fully recovered." Returning Elrond's protective expression with one of his own, Thranduil forced a reasonable imitation of accepting calm to his voice. "No matter how long that may t