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Rating: R (E/L and Gl/Elr assumed)
Characters: Elrond, Legolas, Cirdan, Glorfindel, Elrohir, miscellaneous others
Summary: Family responsibilities keep Legolas from his heart's desire.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no harm intended. If you would like to know when other stories in this series are posted, go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/follyofstarlight/join
Note that I used the Calendar of Rivendell to write the dates in this story. See end notes for correlation with our calendar.
Thanks: to Emma for the beta. Hugs to Helmboy for the German incentive <G>. No lederhosen were abused in the writing of this story.
Feedback: PLEASE!!!!
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"Forever is a mountain we've yet to climb,
Tears are a part of what is yet to leave behind,
Strength in numbers, all you need is two
Everyone's a winner, but still so many lose."

-- King's X, "We Are Finding Who We Are"
 

Part 1:

[Coirë 36, the Year 2715 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, the subterranean palace of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, known in a previous, less dangerous age as Greenwood the Great.]

The unsteady, muted flickering of time-whittled candles softly filled the silent, stone-hewn bedchamber. Yet despite their earnest illumination, the tapers did nothing to chase the ever-deepening shadow from the heart of the room's sole occupant. The time of stirring was drawing to its joyous, hope-filled conclusion, the reawakening of Middle-earth's fauna soon to occur in earnest. Outside the thick, well-guarded walls of his father's palatial fortress the greater forest stirred, even in the calmness of the hours before the arrival of the dawn. The bud-weighted branches of jubilant trees swayed leisurely in the gentle caress of the breeze, the animals and birds of the night foraging amongst their branches and roots ever more easily for their sustenance as the days lengthened and the nights warmed with the increasing strength of the sun's rays.  Yet, even as the promise of spring rapidly approached, the frost of winter's gloom failed to thaw from Legolas' heart.

He should be rejoicing in this task, packing for an extended stay in the vale he now secretly called his one true home -- the land of his heart, the sanctuary of his soul, the beckoning, all-encompassing embrace of one particular, ornately carved bed, set high in an isolated tower at the most private end of the secluded valley. Yet, instead of the joyous promise of nights of exquisite ecstasy beyond measure, and days of learning and lore spent in the finest library in Middle-earth, or knowledge supped firsthand from the limitless fount of experience that was the Lord of Imladris, Legolas was faced with a stark reality of far greater barrenness than the winter's landscape.

The prince had arrived home -- or, rather, back -- from Imladris what seemed an eternity before, yet it had only been five cycles of the moon. To his horror, he found his firmly determined plan to visit Rivendell, and the true home of his lover's embrace, on a schedule as regular as the coming of the seasons had been thwarted by the long-ignored duties of his station. During his most recent absence from Mirkwood, his father had had the good fortune to be unexpectedly offered a properly pedigreed wife for his eldest son, the heir to his throne. The preliminary betrothal had gone flawlessly, despite the noticeable absence of Thranduil's youngest son from the ceremony. Yet after Elrond's inexplicably beneficent offer of aid in routing the last round of orc invasions from his land, Thranduil had apparently been equally uneasy to visit Imladris, himself, to collect his errant son, on the way west to Ered Luin and be placed in the position of having to thank Elrond in person.

Legolas winged a silent prayer of thanks to the Lady of the Stars for his father's convenient discomfort with anything even remotely related to Imladris. He understood he would not be able to hide his love for its lord from his father forever, nor did he truthfully wish to do so. There was no shame in his heart, no regrets, no hesitations. Yet, he understood well the tension his choice would create in his family's home, and did not wish to agitate his father and destroy  what appeared the happiest moments his father and brother had shared since his mother's sorrowed last breath.

He had freely made his choices, each bearing with it a palpable weight of its own, yet not necessarily of its own making. He loved Elrond without question, and would not deny his heart's desire for a moment longer than necessary; he had also been raised a prince of Mirkwood, and as he had explained to his lover, could not completely turn his back on the responsibilities of his birth and family. Thus, he had accepted without complaint the charge his father had placed upon him his first night returned from the cascade-kissed valley where his heart ever dwelt -- to lead the ambassadorial parties from Mirkwood to Ered Luin over the next two rounds of the sun, to finalize the details of the upcoming nuptials, the dowry, and the details of the marriage itself.

Marriage -- that word hardly fit the situation. Brethilas had described his betrothed in much the same way a farmer would his most prized cow. What did his brother know of love? How ironic, and how tragic, that his family would give its heartiest blessings to a politically motivated union of bloodlines, yet would, in the same breath, assuredly accurse the pure love of Legolas' heart. If only his mother were still alive, or his sister. Surely they would understand. They would support him, encourage him. Yet, he could assuredly live without his family's blessings, as he most certainly had the blessings of Elrond's daughter and closest friend. He had thought he could count on the acceptance of his lover's sons, the very ones who had first introduced him to their father, and their fair home, yet the tension of their last encounter left significant doubts in his mind as to that possibility.

Unconsciously, his fingers moved to his chest, clutching the silver, gem-studded leaf ever close to his skin. After the unfortunate indiscretion with the twins, Legolas always wore it beneath his clothes, always out of sight from the profanity of prying, unsympathetic eyes, and close the sanctity of his heart. The next two rounds of the sun would be as the greatest torment to him, passing by the burbling ford of the Bruinen every few moons either on his way toward his appointed task, or on the way back to his father's eagerly awaiting ears. He could not tarry on his predetermined route more than a single night each time, even that hopeful plan doomed to failure if his companions could not be convinced of the wisdom of forsaking the timely efficiency of another campfire beneath the stars for a detour up the valley to spend a few hours taking advantage of Rivendell's famed hospitality. If he could cajole his dutiful escorts to humor their prince and spend but one night surrounded by Rivendell's beauty, he was sure they would not deny him -- or themselves -- such a respite in their weary travels on each of the successive tours of duty.

If that tack was not successful, he would pull rank and command them to stray from the road for a night, in order for him to pay tribute to the generous Lord of the Valley. He would argue it to be in the best interest of Mirkwood, a repayment for Elrond's unexpected aid in their recent time of need. Yes, he would even stoop so low as to pander to the whispered rumors of his affection for the Evenstar, and pretend that his heart was held captive to the Lady of the Valley, even as it was, in truth, its Lord who claimed him, body and mind, heart and soul, and ever would. Surely, Arwen would not mind the role of conspirator, if only to bring a few moments of happiness to her much-beloved father's life. <<Yes, how like Minuial she is. A Elbereth, how can I ever hope to repay her faith in me? Grant me the opportunity to try, at least, when she needs me best.>>

With a weighty sigh forged by the hammering of his heart between his station and his duty, and his undeniable need for the sanctuary of his lover's arms, Legolas continued to fill his travel pack with the necessities of the road. Staring sorrowfully into the neatly folded collection of clothes, he strangely felt as if he was going to travel in barren nakedness. Something more important than mere garb was needed if he was to survive the lonely travels facing him. Glancing over his shoulder back at the heavy chest set in one corner of the room, a gentle smile graced his face for the first time that night, or many others of late. Releasing his grasp on his leather pack, he turned and walked wordlessly to the chest, lifted the lid, and fished into the deeper contents for a well-worn volume. The smile increased on his face, its light far outshining the ever-waning feebleness of the fading candlelight. With the affection of a child clutching his favorite toy, he tightly gripped the book to his chest with crossed arms, then tenderly kissed the top of the faded binding. It was the very first gift Elrond had ever blessed upon him, a volume recounting the history of the Silmarils and their fate. It was not a particularly valuable volume, nor had it the emotional attachment of the *other*, more sacred volume of Elrond's pain-soaked words faithfully transcribed by Glorfindel's hand. *That* would remain in the safety of this palace, ever awaiting his return. He would not risk that on the road, even to keep his lover's words close to his heart and his mind.

Yes, this tale would arouse no suspicion, yet keep him company on the long nights to come. If he could not have Elrond by his side, at least Legolas could read his name, chronicled in the history of his family. It would have to suffice, as would the all-too-brief moments of pleasure spent with the better part of his heart. His duty would be discharged faithfully, yet without joy, beginning with their departure in two mornings. For next two years, his own life would be suspended in the hibernation of the deepest winter, save for the temporary thaw found in the warmth of his beloved's embrace. It would have to suffice, until his life truly became his own, again. And when it finally did, he would dedicate each and every precious moment spent under the rays of Anar, Ithil, and stars, themselves, to supping his fill of love's delights.
 
 
 
 

Part 2:

[The Great Road, just west of the Ford of the Bruinen. Mettarë, known in the Common tongue as Last Day]

The gentle, slightly chilled breeze of late afternoon whistled happily through Legolas' sensitive ears as he traveled, his senses stretched and strained to their fullest extent in anticipation of the very first sign of their arrival at the borders of Elrond's lands. His heart beat with an rushed rhythm, his blood singing with the sweet, memory-driven eagerness of lovers long separated and soon to be reunited. It had taken surprisingly little work to convince his comrades to tarry in Imladris for the night, the promise of a proper New Year's celebration an offer none of Legolas' five companions seemed eager to refuse. Not that it took a great deal of convincing after the ever-arduous crossing of the Misty Mountains to forsake a bedroll for a real bed. Of course, the urgency of his exhortations of Rivendell's awaiting charms renewed the hushed snickering of rumors concerning his supposed thralldom to the legendary beauty of the Lady Arwen. <<Let them have their innocent humor -- they will find their tongues stilled when they meet her in the flesh.>> He smiled to himself, knowing she would most willingly distract his companions so he could slip off to a long-awaited reunion with his *true* heart's desire, her father.

With the most welcomed gentle burble of the Bruinen finally audible in his ears, Legolas urged his horse faster, forcing his surprised companions to follow suit lest they risk being left behind in unfamiliar territory. Emerging from the thick curtain of the woods, the prince slowed his horse at the top of the gentle swell of the river's far banks and sucked in a tremulous breath. He could already smell the subtle scent of the exotic collection of imported trees and flowers Elrond had collected from his many travels, and could easily imagine the taste of wine and wisdom intermingling upon his lover's tongue as they kissed. One night could be as an eternity -- with the Lady's willing grace, he would make it so. Cognizant of his companions' breathless arrival at his side, he smiled slightly and slowly led them down the bank to the river itself, directing his steed to sure-footedly ford the relatively shallow waters.

The sound of pounding hooves and shouted elvish words caught his hearing off guard, his attention jerking to the far edge of the river, to the place where the path emerged from the forest beyond. He continued his slow, patient ride across the swirling waters unabated, nonetheless the prickles of concern were raised in his skin. A wary expression crossed his face as the source of the sounds became known -- Elrond's sons stood upon their white steeds as sentries observing his approaching party with unreadable expressions. Given the tension of their last meeting, Legolas was most uncertain as to how he, and his party, would be greeted this time.

A brilliant, cheeky smile suddenly broke the mock sternness of the younger twin's face. "Brother, look whose arrival ushers in the New Year!"

"Why am I not surprised that *he* would wish to be here on the very first day of the year?" Elladan volleyed playfully in a snort.

Reaching the far edge of the riverbank, Legolas nudged his horse alongside the brothers' and eagerly accepted the younger twin's offered forearm to momentarily grasp. "It is good to see you both," he happily announced, the relief flowing through his words. "Off on one of your many adventures?"

Elrohir accepted the good-humored banter with a smile and a stiff shake of his head. "Nay, we remain closer to home, of late. It is our father's wish that we turn our attention to our own borders, and those of our neighbors."

"Your father is ever wise," Legolas noted, a hint of a sigh coloring the edges of his voice.

The twins smirked in tandem, equally at the comment and the emotion behind it. "Perhaps not in all things," Elrohir playfully teased, "but even then, we cannot find serious fault with his intentions."

Elladan chuckled contentedly while turning his horse back toward the path. "Escort the Prince and his party, Brother. I will ride ahead and announce their arrival."

Sidling his steed alongside the Prince's, Elrohir gestured to the rest of Mirkwood's representatives with a wave of his hand then nudged his horse to follow the familiar winding path home. The throng's leaders rode side by side in comfortable silence for a few moments, then, with a smile, Elrohir tilted his head toward Legolas. Under his breath, the twin quietly muttered, "I need to thank you, although I fear I cannot tell you for what, as of yet."

Legolas glanced at the twin with amused confusion coloring his features. "As always, Rivendell does not fail to confound me."

Elrohir chuckled softly, shaking his head at his own lack of clarity. "I have confounded myself greatly, in the last few moons. Suffice it to say that you have caused me to reconsider my choices in life, and reclaim what I once dreaded had permanently passed beyond my grasp." Noting the increasing confusion now painted in the other's gaze, he abandoned his tortuously worded attempt at an apology and explanation. "One day, you and I will speak of this. After I have spoken of it with my father."

"Whatever it is you wish to explain, you do not seem overly eager to discuss it with your father," Legolas keenly noted.

"There are days I believe I would rather sit upon my sword, for it would be far less painful."

Legolas noticeably winced at that rather vivid pronouncement. "Whatever it is that you dread confiding in you father, I believe your hesitation is truthfully unfounded. He is the most accepting of our kind I have yet to meet, and his adoration for his family is unquestionable. I am sure you will find your admission is far less momentous than you believe. But, if you still feel the need for another opinion, why not ask Glorfindel? He knows your father's mind far better than I."

The twin's fingers clutched his horse's reins with bloodless ferocity, trying to retain sufficient composure and balance to keep from falling out of his saddle. "Perhaps we should discuss this matter another time," he managed to squeak with the barest modicum of decorum. <<By Elbereth, let the golden prince distract my father sufficiently this visit, bring down his guard sufficiently, and open his heart widely enough to hear my words, lest Glorfindel and I find ourselves still caught in the bed of lies we have wrought for ourselves....>>

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When the party arrived at the main bridge, they found Lord Elrond impatiently waiting, the joy in his expression only surpassed by the blinding spark in his eyes. With a sweet smile upon her lips, Lady Arwen the ever lovely stood at her father's right side, her brother at his left, with the Lord Glorfindel standing approvingly just behind the lady of Imladris.

Legolas dismounted and eagerly handed over his steed to one of Elrond's faithful attendants, and, not waiting for his companions to do likewise, excitedly bounded up the steep stone walkway to where the greeting party waited.

"Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen," he respectfully offered, bowing far lower than he needed.

"Prince of Mirkwood, as always, we are delighted by your unexpected arrival," Elrond likewise replied with the decorum of artificial propriety. "My daughter and I always eagerly anticipate the delight of your company."

Arwen remained wordless, but the intensity in her smile was certainly not overlooked by the remainder of Mirkwood's company. Several of its members exchanged knowing glances of humor, their gossiping words waiting for the more proper privacy of the evening.

"My companions and I hope we do not intrude upon your celebration," Legolas diffidently spoke. He found every moment of maddening restraint the most egregious of squanderings of the few short hours of bliss he and Elrond could yet enjoy this night, and wished the game to be ended as soon as possible.

"Nothing of the sort," Elrond snorted jovially. "The hospitality of Rivendell extends to all our friends. On this day, and for as many days as our guests can spare." Warily, he studied Legolas' eyes, easily recognizing the pain and regrets mixed with the smoldering desire he was sure echoed in his own intense gaze. "How long may we expect to enjoy your presence?"

With the regrets of his heart heavy on his tongue, Legolas sadly replied, "Alas, we are but passing through this part of Middle-earth on the road west to Ered Luin, on a mission from my father. We can afford to spend but a single night enjoying the beauty of Imladris."

Elrond barely managed to suppress the disappointment in his expression, knowing it might raise suspicions he would rather not waste his precious time defeating, nor did he wish to add to the already plentiful pain in his lover's eyes. "Then let us not tarry in formalities any longer. Come -- the evening feast is nearly prepared. My sons will see to your company's comforts, so they may settle in before the festivities begin." Pausing, he found he was unable to prevent the barest hint of a smile from twitching the corner of his mouth.  "Legolas, your usual accommodations await you, as always."

Smiling as broadly as he dared, Legolas bowed slightly. "I believe I shall retire there until evening falls. My companions will be in good hands." <<As will I, thank Elbereth....>>

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In the privacy of Elrond's chambers, the Lord of the Valley urgently collected his beloved into a much-anticipated proper welcome, his lips claiming the very breath from the other's mouth and chest. "Do you truly leave with the dawn?" he forlornly whispered between deeply tongued kisses.

Legolas moaned into the fervent assault, both with the pleasure of his flesh, and the sorrow of his soul. "Yes, but not of my own free will."

Sweetly, Elrond forced a false hint of a comforting smile to his lips and pulled just slightly out of the embrace, his fingers lovingly smoothing the creases of care from the other's brow. Perfection such as the marble of his passionate prince's skin should never be blemished by the profanity of worldly concerns. He certainly never wished to be the cause of that apprehension. "Then let us not waste precious moments lamenting your departure, when we can, instead, celebrate your arrival...."

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If Mirkwood's citizens thought much of Elrond and Legolas' rather tardy arrival at the holiday dinner, or caught the uncharacteristic color of fire in their prince's cheeks, or the askew angle with which Elrond's hastily replaced silver circlet crookedly sat upon his brow, none dared mention it, either during or after the festivities. Perhaps they were far too caught up in their delight of Elrond's magnificent collection of wines, or Glorfindel's heart-poundingly vivid battlefield stories of ages past, or the ever-lovely grace of the Evenstar, their hostess, to pay much mind to anything else.

For her part, Arwen welcomed the lovers with a knowing smile of approval, directed them to their awaiting seats on either side of her place at the head of the oversized oval banquet table, and seamlessly returned to her role as beguiling hostess.

Not coincidentally, the lateness of the lovers' arrival was balanced by their individual, relatively swift departures from the festivities. Elrond begged his leave a few scant minutes before his lover's impatiently paused exit, so keen were they to wrest every possible moment of delight from the cover of this night, to share every imaginable passion possible wrapped in the intimate sanctuary of each other's flesh. Thus it was that after many hours of desperately tasting of each other in every way they wished, Legolas reluctantly greeted the dawn, grateful at least to begin the new year in the one place he wished to awaken every day for the rest of eternity.
 
 

Part 3:

[Lairë 56, the Year 2715, the road East to Imladris]

Despite considerable initial misgivings, Legolas was forced to admit the trip had been pleasantly uneventful, even slightly interesting. He had never been this far west of Mirkwood, and he found that his travels through the remainders of the lands Gil-galad and Elrond once called home raised a sense of slightly jealous wonder in his mind. His father's experienced guides had kept them on the main road until the outskirts of the periannath's realm, where they had taken to the anonymity of the woods to keep beyond the range of the Halflings' curious eyes. Despite their stealth, Legolas had still found occasion to spy his first wonder-filled views of the jovial race, finding them strangely like children, even those bearing the gray of hair and lines of face clearly denoting the passage of years.

They had been welcomed to Ethuilas' enclave with the richness of the hospitality reserved for relations far closer than those shared by Thranduil and the lord of Emyn Beraid's southern shadow. Both Mirkwood's royal family and this land's claimed some distant kinship to Cirdan, Ethuilas through his wife, Gwaloth. The accommodations were certainly less luxurious or finely appointed as the majesty of Imladris, but were nonetheless comfortable for a short stay. The quiet hillside enclave was a few days march from Cirdan's haven, close enough for the frequency of trade, yet sufficiently distant to quell any concern Legolas had about awakening the sea-fire lying mercifully dormant in his Sindar blood. Ethuilas also enjoyed some manner of trade with the dwarves who still mined the veins of the southern fork of Ered Luin. Several generations of friends and relations had prospered in the tightly knit collection of homes, yet in their blood was ever the desire to pass beyond the sea and forsake the dimming of their kind in Middle-earth.

Even as their elders desired to pass into the West, Ethuilas' children desired to remain in Middle-earth, far too innocent in their experience to know of the troubles of this world and their kind. Legolas found them likeable enough, if a tad bland in personality. Celairos, the eldest, was only a few years younger than he, and certainly not nearly as proficient with the bow, nor as well traveled. His sister, Nelladel, soon to be Legolas' sister by marriage, was fair enough of face, but barely into her majority, and seemed to have silently wished she been given the choice of marriage to Thranduil's younger son, given her first moon-eyed conversations with him.

Dutifully, Legolas discharged what had been asked of him, but found no joy in his work. He felt he was dooming his brother and, more importantly, an innocent young elf maiden barely into her majority, to a loveless match. He had heard far too much from Arwen about her own parent's sham of a marriage to be less than enthusiastic about his role in what he considered a conspiracy against the truth, against the very nature of love itself. Yet, his opinion had not been asked for, nor would it be, and to offer it freely would serve no useful purpose. The decisions had already been made, and it fell to him only to see to the final details of the ceremony and the merging of their families.

Ethuilas and his wife, and most of their people, would sail West soon after the ceremony, with Nelladel and Celairos joining Mirkwood's royal household as the crown prince's wife and Thranduil's surrogate son, respectively. <<Perhaps I should take him to Imladris with me one time -- surely Glorfindel could tutor him in the proper ways of battle more efficiently than either my brother or I could hope to do. Celairos could certainly be no more of a handful than Elrond's sons must have been.>>

With the amusing mental image of the twins as rambunctious youths trying Glorfindel's patience to its very limits playing through his head, Legolas increased the pace of his steed's trot. The heat of the afternoon clung to him like a thick cloak, and yet it could not hope to match the fire burning in his heart. The sun was sinking ever lower into the western sky, and he was determined to reach the sheltered vale of the Bruinen ere the golden globe sank below the tree line. Just as his companions were increasingly eager to arrive at their respective homes in his father's land, so, too, the Prince could barely contain his desperation for that one precious night of paradise spent in his lover's arms.

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Lord Elrond and his children warmly welcomed Mirkwood's own with the same affection and generosity they had those moons before. Arwen graced the Prince's cheek with a brazen kiss, surely knowing the erroneous titters of hearsay which would be carried back to the dark forest. Shooting his daughter the slightest of disapproving expressions, Elrond gestured to his sons and explained that they would tend to Legolas' attendants' comforts for the night, leaving the fate of the Prince's *comforts* strangely mysterious, yet clearly separate.

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While his companions boisterously wagered their bets as whether he was currently in vociferous negotiations with Lord Elrond for a betrothal of his own to the Lady Arwen, Legolas passed the majority of the evening without so much as a word to anyone. Tucked away in the secluded privacy of Elrond's bedchamber, situated on the farthest corner of the glade, the lovers continued their joint authorship of the never-ending story of their passion.

Panting breathlessly as the final waves of ecstasy faded from his flesh, Legolas pushed up from Elrond's chest, locking his elbows to grant him the fullest view possible of the glorious body he had just possessed. A smile graced his lips, his peace profound, his love limitless, yet his satisfaction only momentary, as there were many more hours of passion still before them to enjoy this night. His glorious golden mane of braid-freed hair cascaded down around his shoulders, brushing ticklishly against his lover's skin as he slowly lowered his face down to sup in a well-deserved kiss.

The soft rustling sound of a robe-covered form silently encroaching upon their sanctuary caught the lovers' ears simultaneously, Elrond becoming rigid in ways other than what he had intended that night as Legolas pushed away from his embrace and shifted to warily sit sentinel on the edge of the bed.

"Who goes there?" Legolas sharply called as Elrond shifted behind him, not caring that it was not his rightful place to make such inquiries.

"I beg your pardon, and my Lord's, for my well-intentioned intrusion," a voice instantly recognized as Glorfindel's called out from behind the privacy curtains. "I did not wish for either of you to go without food or drink this entire night, so I have prepared a tray of both for your pleasure. I will leave it outside until you are ready for it."

"Many thanks to you, old friend," Elrond sang out in a throaty chuckle of great amusement. "Apparently he believes an old man requires constant nourishment to keep up with the likes of you," he teased lovingly, gently pulling Legolas back into the tangle of his embrace.

Lyrical laughter erupted from the Prince's mouth as he allowed himself to be ensnared among the sex-stained sheets and his lover's limbs. "Or, more likely, that I require it to keep pace with *you*!" Melting into an eagerly proffered kiss, Legolas purred in his delight of Rivendell's complete and faithful endorsement of their relationship. How different it was from his traveling companions', and family's, assuredly different reaction, if they had any inkling of his true reason for wishing to spend even one evening in a hundred in the airy halls of Imladris. "Glorfindel has ever been our champion," the prince reminded them both.

"Far beyond my right to hope, or expect," Elrond agreed, with a sigh. Hugging the other firmly to his chest, he stroked his fingers through the silken net of spun gold, his thoughts drifting back to moments far less fair. "It was he who helped convince my sons that what we share is true and blameless."

"I had wondered at the marked difference in their demeanor the last time I arrived. I should have guessed." Sighing in his own joyful completeness, the peace of the prince's face suddenly turned into the hint of a disappointed frown. "It is a shame he has not been blessed as we. He has suffered much."

The embrace tightened around Legolas' shoulders, a weighty, knowing sigh whistling past the prince's ear. "Indeed, he has, much of it for the sake of my House. He is much deserving of the healing power of love, but I fear he may never find its grace."

"Perhaps he will, at last, by the Lady's grace."

Smiling at the limitless bounty of love in his partner's heart, Elrond pressed a tender kiss amongst the carelessly tossed strands of gold. "Yes, by Elbereth's grace. I wish for him to know the peace you have brought to me." The sensation of a nearly silent snicker ever so slightly trembling his lover's body caused one of his eyebrows to rise. "What amuses you now?"

"I wondered if you wished to rest and take some food, before I have my way with you once more?" A surprised squeak of shock flew from the prince's lips as he found himself roughly flipped over onto his back and his mouth reclaimed with the unmistakable answer of a possessing kiss.

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

The sun climbed ever higher above the cascades of the Bruinen, yet Legolas' heart sank lower with each hoof beat of his horse down the stone-carved path. Glancing back over his shoulder one last time, he memorized the lines of his lover's robes, caught the pained expression of undeniable melancholy staring back at him from the far side of the bridge. <<I take a part of you with me, Ithilas, and ever leave a piece of myself behind,>> he silently promised, his fingers clutching the priceless pendent always worn close to his skin. "Si a an-uir hun-nin dortha ned bain Imladris," he whispered under his breath, desperately wishing his lover could hear his words. <<Now and for eternity my heart dwells in fair Imladris.>>

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

[Quellë 34, Imladris]

Another trip west, another convenient excuse for an all-too-brief night of passion in Elrond's embrace. A chill heralding the approach of winter frosted the early morning air as it swirled around them, but all they could feel was the fire of each other's love. In the fleeting, stolen moments of joy this year had brought, the elves had somehow managed to learn the secret of holding back the hands of time, if only in their hearts. They had found they could live an eternity in an hour, love more times in one passing of the stars than many could in the cyclic passing of the moon.

It was during those brief moments when they resorted to the inadequacy of words that Legolas had learned something unexpected concerning his brother's bride. Thranduil's family had been Ethuilas' second choice, after Lord Elrond had turned down his *gracious offer* of Nelladel as a suitable match for either of the twins. Elrond had gently suggested that he would never deign to speak for his sons in matters of the heart, but that they were both free to accept Ethuilas' kind offer, if they so chose. The lovers had shared a comfortable chuckle, comparing mocking imitations of the twins' reactions if Elrond had ever actually delivered the offer to them....

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

[Coirë 25, Imladris]
 

Legolas had barely awaited the retreat of the snowline past the halls of his host before leading his companions back east toward Mirkwood. He had feigned an eagerness to return to his family, yet as always, the only enthusiasm in his heart was for that one blessed night of passion he could secret in the arms of Imladris, which would truly mark the end of the long, bitter winter of his heart. Elrond had welcomed him back into his bed with such patient tenderness that it was difficult to believe they had ever spent a single night apart, let along an entire season and more.

They had loved each other masterfully, and often, stealing brief moments of rest for their bodies as they spoke of Legolas' travels. Unspoken in their discussion was ever a dread of understanding that Thranduil's smug satisfaction at achieving a wife of suitable station for his elder son might lead him to soon enough seek such an alliance for his younger. Their shared fear was never given the dignity of voice by either elf, yet its obvious presence made itself known in the subtlest of ways. The intensity of a claiming kiss, the deep expression in a piercing glance, the vigor of an clutching embrace -- all spoke volumes even where their words dared not. Legolas tried in vain to push those unsettling thoughts from his brain, assuring himself that even as he would never consent to be betrothed to another against his will, Elrond would rather face the challenge of his father's entire army by himself than let them be separated -- not while love bound them as surely as any marriage.

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

[Enderi 1, Imladris]

The first of the Enderi, the days outside of months, found Legolas once more in the blessedness of the great lord's embrace. Their reunion had been marked with the bittersweetness of far greater than usual discretion, as the prince's elder brother was in his company on this trip. Elrond had had to play the gracious, yet disinterested host, the lovers unable to risk even a glance at each other during the excruciatingly long dinner, for fear of revealing something of their true feelings to Brethilas' keen eye. The frustration of restraint during the evening meal had been unleashed in a fury of fervid lovemaking, kept utterly silent of necessity only through the muffling influence of pillows and rough bites of one another's skin. Yet the exasperation of constraints put on their reunion only seemed to fuel their zeal for a forbidden taste of each other. And taste they did, and touch, and move as one, for moment after moment until the first golden rays of Anar intruded upon them, streaming uninvited through the windows of Imladris.
 

Part 4:

[Quellë 46, the road east to Imladris]

The final arrangements for the wedding now completed, Thranduil's sons and their escort hastened home along the Forest Road ever mindful of the approach of winter's harsh hand the closer they rode toward the Misty Mountains. The brothers had quarreled that morning, Brethilas arguing they press further than Rivendell before resting for the night, Legolas equally insistent that they pay proper tribute to the Lord whose lands they now passed through. Elrond would be expecting their return, and he did not wish to insult, or disappoint. In the end, an uneasy compromise had been reached, and Legolas broke away from the party, galloping up the steep, cliff-side pathway toward the secret valley to steal a final moment of peace before the ice claimed his heart.

Both rider and steed winded, Legolas hastily dismounted once across the stone bridge and handed off his horse to the sentry. "Where is Lord Elrond?" he breathlessly inquired, his eyes desperately searching the windows of Imladris for his own answer.

"He was in his library not long ago," the sentry offered.

Legolas patted the neck of his horse, then rushed off. "See to it he has water and a treat. I will return shortly," he called out over his shoulder as he dashed up the stone walk toward his heart's goal.

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

Elrond closed the book he had absently been attempting to read around his hand, rising from his chair as he cautiously awaited the arrival of whomever approached with the speed of an eagle. A glorious smile of recognition and delight brightened his features, and the book was hastily discarded into the seat of his chair before he met his lover halfway in a reckless, impassioned embrace. The fury of the other's kisses sucked the very strength from his knees, the desperation in the fingers digging into the muscles of his back raising the specter of problems unspoken and unforeseen in his mind. His suspicions were confirmed at the palpable ache apparent in the mournful gaze which reflected back at him. "Malthenel-nin, what troubles you?"

Steeling himself with the vigor of another sweet taste of the lord's lips, Legolas wrapped his fingers around the dark, delicate twisted plaits framing those noble and much beloved features. "I cannot stay -- my brother rides on without me, even as we speak. I merely remain for but a moment, to taste your kisses before I pass beyond the mountains again."

Elrond was silent in his incredulity, saved from having to form a coherent response for another passing of minutes by the prince's instant possession of his mouth. Gasping for air, he buried his nose in the road-fragranced, travel- mussed tresses of silken sunlight, his thoughts still having difficulty finding their voice. "You rode up from the ford for merely a kiss?" whispered in lingering disbelief, his heart thumping within his chest with the same force of blood which rose the tension secreted beneath his robes.

"I would ride all the way from Mirkwood for the blessing of such pleasures," Legolas lyrically lilted in his ear between tender nibbles of the pointed, sensitive flesh. "And if no horse would bear me, I would crawl upon my hands and knees if need be, just for such a moment as this." Mindful of the insistent passing of precious seconds, Legolas laid claim once more to his lover's lips, memorizing every sensation, each nuance of taste and texture, for repeated reviewing in his mind's eye over the arduously long seasons alone to come.

With the burden of his duty weighing down his heart, Legolas reluctantly tore his mouth from the other's, forcing a mockery of a smile to his lips while he stroked the deep creases his manic mood had obviously created in the other's brow. "I shall not be able to return to your bed, or even your eyes, until after my brother's marriage," he sorrowful explained. "But once my family has returned safely home with its newest members, I shall return here as swiftly as my steed will allow. I have been my father's dutiful son and ambassador, as he asked of me. Soon I must be dutiful to the calling of my heart." His smile turned earnest, his lips pressing tenderly upon the noble brow to kiss away all the worries written upon its immortal slate. "When I finally return, I shall remain for as long as *I* desire -- or until you tire of my constant presence in your bed, and your house."

"As I have said before, the end of Ea would not be time enough for me to ever drink my fill of you." Lingering for a moment in the unfathomable depths of purest love reflecting back in those sea-hued eyes, Elrond consecrated his earnest vow with a soul-sharing kiss.

When the lovers finally parted, their bodies trembled with the ache of need which could not be fulfilled, all their strength spent in restraint. "I shall walk you to your horse," Elrond offered after a loud clearing of his throat.

Legolas shook his head, his fingers tenderly tracing out the edge of one sensitive ear. "No, Ithilas, remain here. You will only make it more difficult for me to leave you behind." With the saddest smile imaginable, he pressed one last kiss against the other's lips, then turned away to leave, yet only managed three slow, half-hearted steps away before he pivoted on his heels and rushed back for one last impassioned embrace and mutually-moaned kiss. Releasing the other's mouth and shoulders with a low groan of loss, Legolas grasped one of the lord's hands and raised it to his lips for a lingered kiss, then brought it to his breast, laying it upon the sign of Elrond's affection he wore beneath his clothes. "Meleth-nin -- si a an-uir," he whispered reverently, then released the hand and retreated from the other's view, walking backwards until he reached the stairs, then disappearing into the sunlight without another word.

"Meleth-nin -- si a an-uir," Elrond whispered to the air, longing for the moment when he would be able to speak those words in person to the possessor of his soul. He stood stone-faced for the passing of minutes he could not count, reliving the precious recent past in exquisite detail until it became forever burned into the expansive library of his memories. The slow approach of footsteps momentarily raised the banner of hope in his heart, yet he was not surprised when it was not his lover who rounded the staircase into view, but his younger son.

"Legolas leaves as soon as he arrives?" Elrohir hesitantly inquired. "Is all right between you?"

A bittersweet smile softening the severity of his disappointment, Elrond squeezed his empathetic son's shoulder. "All is well, except that he could not stay more than a moment."

Confusion colored with amusement crossed the twin's face. "He rode up from the river merely to tell you of this? That seems madness."

"Love oft brings madness, my son," Elrond admitted willingly. He cupped the side of his son's questioning face and broadened his smile. "Embrace the madness, when it finds you at last," he urged. "Wherever it finds you. *However* it finds you."

Elrohir stood silent, then licked his lips nervously. "Do you truly mean what you say, Father?"

"Yes -- I always speak my true intentions." Elrond studied his son's anxious expression trying to discern the meaning behind its sudden emergence. "Have you something you wish to tell me, concerning matters of *your* heart?" he sagely surmised.

"Yes... it is time you knew. I find I cannot keep it hidden without driving myself to madness -- of another sort."

The protective pride of parents ever singing through his heart, Elrond released his son's face and turned toward the nearby table to pour them some miruvor in anticipation of a toast of celebration. "Tell me of the fair maiden who has finally tamed your wild heart."

Uneasy silence hung in the air, then Elrohir dared the truth. "It is not a maiden, Father. I... I fear I follow in your footsteps in matters of love."

Several drops of the fragrant liquor spilt upon the table as Elrond's hands shook in surprise. Glancing back at his son, he regained his composure and set the decanter carefully down onto the table. "Still, I would hear you tell me of the one you have found worthy of your love."

Elrohir allowed the silence to engulf them again, drew in an audible, steeling breath of strength, then uttered the name he knew his father surely expected least. "Glorfindel."
 

Part 5:

Precisely as his son had anticipated, Elrond's eyebrow arched to the very vault of the stars of heaven, the honest fire of disapproval briefly flashing in his eyes before he was able to rein in his understandably instinctive emotions. "I should not be surprised," he carefully offered, forcing his voice into an even tone. "You and he shared much time together in your youth. It would seem to make sense that such bonds might ripen and mature into love with the passing of many years." He turned back to the table and finished pouring the drinks. He had no sooner collected the glasses into his hands then Elrohir decided to complete his confession.

"We were closer than you ever knew, Father."

The delicate crystal crashed to the floor, shattering upon impact and creating twin tiny pools of liquor and shards at Elrond's feet. Turning to confront his son with the grimness of death itself upon his face, he slowly stalked to just a breath's distance away. "When?" he spat between gritted teeth.

"It was not his fault, Father.... It was *I* who pursued *him*...."

As Elrohir slowly backed away from his sire's glare, Elrond kept the space between them uncomfortably tight with footsteps of his own. "When?" he repeated, the fire in his eyes, and his voice, burning every brighter and more damning still. "How long before your majority?"

"I... he... he tried to resist my advances... he tried to turn me away, but... but I would not allow him...."

"Elrohir! How long?!?!?!"

Certain that the mighty bellow had been heard as far as the Grey Havens, Elrohir acquiesced and damned himself for the second time this day. "Ten rounds of the sun." He winced under his breath, watching helplessly as the storm clouds gathered in his father's expression, then, without warning, broke harmlessly into a sadly smiled expression he could only read as the reluctant defeat of acceptance.

"You have the tenacity of my blood in your veins, of that there can be no doubt," Elrond sighed. Shaking his head slowly, he chuckled under his breath. "My old friend did not have a hope of victory in this battle."

"He would say that in the end, he won -- that we both have," Elrohir honestly offered, a smile born of love lighting his lips.

"Indeed," Elrond agreed. Sucking in a loud breath, he pursed his lips and pondered the full weight of the revelation now unveiled. "I had no idea there was anything more between you. You were discrete."

"Not discrete enough -- Mother knew of our forbidden passion."

Visibly taken aback, Elrond turned away and walked several steps deeper into his library. "Celebrian knew?"

Elrohir nodded. "Yes, and she gave her blessing to Glorfindel. I was not told of this myself until several seasons ago -- when we renewed our... relationship."

Elrond's shoulders rose and fell quite noticeably before he turned back to face his son. "What sayeth your brother?" he softly asked.

"He is ever too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay mind to my comings and goings," Elrohir laughingly explained. "'Tho, I suppose I will have to explain it to him now. He would be assuredly less than pleased if he were to find out on his own."

Despite his lingering discomfort with the idea of one of his oldest friends and his son as lovers, Elrond had to chuckle at the idea of Elladan stumbling blindly upon his twin in a *delicate* situation. "What of your sister?"

"Sworn to secrecy, yet it was she who urged me to reveal the truth of my heart to you." Elrohir sighed softly, shaking his head as he brushed a hand wearily across his forehead. "I could never hide anything from her, even when she was just a child. She can peer into your heart with the keen sight of an eagle."

"I understand that well, my son. I believe she knew the contents of my heart before I could even admit the depths of my feelings for Legolas to myself, let alone another."

Elrohir enjoyed the comfort of the conversation, feeling the earlier tension had long since fled from the room. "Do we have your blessing, Father?" he softly dared ask.

Pursing his lips in the depths of earnest thought, Elrond considered precisely what his son asked of him. "If I had known of this when it first began, while you were still in your youth, I would have been greatly displeased. *Gravely* so."

With a nervous swallow of his returning fears of his father's disapproval, Elrohir whispered, "And now?"

The smile reemerged from behind the curtains of gruffness. "After the passage of this much time, and the joyous state in which I currently find my own heart, I would be a hypocrite of the worst sort if I rejoiced in my own good fortune, yet denied two of the hearts I hold dearest to mine an equal chance at love. You have my blessing, and my wishes for nothing but happiness, by the Lady's grace." Reaching out a hand, he firmly clasped his son's shoulder and squeezed affectionately. "However, I expect you will not deny me a bit of fun at my old friend's expense. I wish to make him *earn* my blessing, with a few moments of extreme discomfort."

Laughing, Elrohir nodded his consent. "So long as you do not leave him with permanent scars, either of body or mind, I will leave you to your fun."

A devilish smirk of a smile accompanied the ever so slight, uneven rise of Elrond's brow. "I believe I will enjoy this more than I truly should...."

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

"Glorfindel!!!!!"

The golden haired lord instantly sprang to his feet, the book he was leisurely perusing falling from his lap and onto the floor with a loud thud. "My lord?" he questioned to the air, his face contorted by the concern and surprise in his heart. He had not heard that distinctively ominous tone from his old friend since the twins had questioned his relationship with Legolas, and he had not wished to hear it again so soon.

The fuming expression on Elrond's face as he entered Glorfindel's private chambers left little doubt as to the reason for the bellow. It was obviously, once again, over a matter of the heart, but now Glorfindel's own. "My lord -- what disturbs you?" he innocently inquired, trying to keep his own expression as neutral as possible.

"What disturbs me?!?!?!? You mock me, my old *friend*! You know very well what *disturbs* me. The freedoms you take with my *son*!!!"

Blinking back his emotions, Glorfindel fortified the defenses of his calm demeanor against the enraged onslaught of Elrond's indignation. "I take nothing that is not freely offered, my Lord."

The brilliance of the sun shown in Elrond's eyes, the tension in his body coiled like the tail of a dragon. "No? Not even when he was but a child? Tell me how you would explain *that*?!?!"

"He was not a child, except by the strict measure of his years," Glorfindel retorted, a protective passion arising in his tone despite the voice of reason in his brain urging him to walk the path of composure. "I knew then, as I know now, that I was wrong to fall under his spell, yet I have paid for my lapse in judgment with one far graver, I fear."

"And what is that?"

A somber expression of regrets piled higher than the loftiest peaks of Middle-earth darkened Glorfindel's face. "I have allowed us both to waste untold years in the sorrow of separation, when we should have spent them as you do now -- in the blessed paradise of love's jubilation. I did not realize the true folly of my denying us what we both desired most until I witnessed the rebirth of your heart. As much as I truly rejoiced in your happiness, I found myself becoming more bitter with each passing season. I realized that I, too, could have found such happiness... nay, that I had once been blessed with it, but had chosen to throw it away in the damnable name of duty and loyalty. No longer, my friend. With or without your blessing, I find I cannot deny myself, or your son, the happiness we have long been denied. Could I honestly say that what I feel for him is love if I could refuse him what he still desires most?"

Elrond blinked hard at that revelation, unable to continue his half-real ruse of outrage in the face of his friend's heartfelt discomfort. "If you cause him but a moment's pain, my friend, you will feel the sure sting of my sword against your flesh," he sternly warned.

Glorfindel returned with an equally uncompromising vow of his own. "I would rather fall upon my own sword than cause him pain. Surely we have known each other long enough for you to believe the truth of my words."

With pursed lips, Elrond searched his heart for any doubts of Glorfindel's sincerity and found none. Despite the apparent reasonableness of his initial concerns, he came to the utterly surprising and strangely comforting realization that he could never hope to find a more worthy mate for any of his children than his dear and trusted friend. "What plans have you where my son is concerned," he found himself asking without consciously meaning to do so.

"We have not discussed the future, beyond how we would eventually tell you of our feelings, but I have thought much of the possibilities open to us, of late. If he would have me, I would bind myself to him without hesitation, and with the joy of my soul." Noting the shocked concern darkening Elrond's features once more, Glorfindel swiftly explained himself. "Do not think I suggest this glibly, or without due consideration. I have had the better part of this age to think of nothing else."

The interweaving layers of inscrutable emotions cloaked Elrond's face. "You wish for such a thing, knowing that one is forever held to such bonds, even past the time of death, or passage beyond the great sea?"

Glorfindel lay a hand upon his friend's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "I understand your hesitation, my lord, and your pain. Yet even as it haunts you, that thought brings me great comfort, knowing well as we both do the battles which are to come. I would willingly choose to face the darkness with him I love more than my own life by my side, and with our love blessed by the Lady and all the Valar, as would you, if it were in your power so to do."

"The Lady has blessed us, in her own way," Elrond responded, hiding his pain as best he could. "If my son wishes to be bound to you, I will do nothing to dissuade his heart. But I repeat my warning to you, my friend: Take care to love him well and true, Glorfindel, or I will send you back to Mandos' care a second time."

Removing his hand from the other's shoulder, Glorfindel smiled with the comfort of sure knowledge. "I found myself in his Halls once for the sake of the love of others -- for the sake of the love of your father's parents. Would I risk any less for sake of my own love? It is only in my second life that I have truly learned the meaning of love, and have found myself blessed with its gift. Perhaps it is the Valar's will that I find it thus in the same family I once gave my life to protect."

Elrond smiled in return. "They say the ways of the Valar pass beyond our understanding. Who are we to question what they have decreed?" Pausing, he nodded sagely. "You have my unconditional blessing, my friend, and I will welcome your new role in my family as I have ever welcomed every other important part you have ever played -- with my unending gratitude."

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

As so it was that soon after, on the anniversary of the twins' conception, that Elrohir and Glorfindel formally announced their desire to be bound one to the other for all time. Setting aside the traditional length of a year or more between betrothal and marriage, it was decided that the ceremony would take place upon the Prince of Mirkwood's next return to their home, so he could share in the happiness he had unknowingly set into motion with his purity of his own love for the Lord of the Valley.
 

Part 6:

[Lairë 1, The year 2717 of the Third Age of Middle Earth. The domain of Ethuilas]

Legolas silently sprinted up the gently rolling hillside, each step taking him farther from the jubilant songs of the wedding festivities, and closer to Elbereth's stars shining brightly above. His steps also brought him one heartbeat closer to the east, toward that secret valley where he truly wished to be this night, and every other. Reaching the crest of the domed plateau, he spun around in a lazy circle, his wonder-filled eyes ever trained skyward in awed homage to the Lady's flickering handiwork. So far from the home of his family, and so very far from the abode of his heart, yet the stars and their patterns looked ever the same. Elrond could be gazing upward at nearly the very same stars at this moment, thinking of him with the same frustration born of love long denied which threatened to swallow Legolas in its drowning pool. It had been six cycles of the moon since they had tasted of each other's lips, and longer still since they enjoyed the fullness of expression their passion truly demanded, and the agonizing ache in the prince's body was only matched by the dream-stealing sorrow of his soul.

With a lament of a sigh, Legolas forced his mind from the morass of his loneliness, focusing instead on the beauty of the Lady's works, and the recognition of patterns he had viewed more than once from the sanctity of Elrond's embrace. There, high overhead, the Valacirca brazenly defied Morgoth's treachery and heralded his doom, while lower in the north the delicate symmetry of Wilwarin's wings hung mid-beat against the solid onyx of the night. It reminded Legolas far too much of the precious silver clasp Elrond now wore in his hair, an heirloom surreptitiously claimed by the Prince of Mirkwood from his mother's dressing table on the day of her death, and given with much love to the single soul who brought him complete peace of both body and soul. Oh, how he longed to tangle his trembling fingers through the dark mane of the elder elf's hair, to unfasten the captive braid which was ever tightly claimed by that silver clasp and transform the neatly restrained locks into an unruly curtain cascading down upon him while their bodies were heatedly joined in the most intimate of means.

A shudder ran through his flesh, both of the tormentingly real memories of moments shared in love, and the promise of equally delicious experiences to come pledged in the solemn vow he had sealed with their last kiss. He *would* return to Imladris as soon as the regrettable bindings of duty allowed, and would remain in the company and comfort of the only space which brought him true serenity. With a weighty, impatient sigh whistling from his lips, Legolas gathered his regal robes around him and sat down upon the soft grass of the hilltop, his fingers eagerly removing the gold, leaf-decorated circlet of station his father had insisted he wear and laying it upon the ground beside himself. He had no wish to be a Prince of Mirkwood this night, nor, he easily admitted to himself, on any other night he could recently recall. Instead, there was only one role, one honor, one blessing he truly required in his life -- the sanctity of his beloved's embrace.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he whispered earnestly to the vault of the heavens above, his eyes passing from one constellation to the next, seemingly invoking the blessing of each in turn. "Le nallon! Revio gwaedh-nin a lhaw-tin...."

"Have not we had enough of solemn oaths for one night?"

Legolas twisted around in his tangle of robes, frozen in silent shame at the most unexpected audience to his private desires. "Lord Cirdan... I did not hear you approach."

The elder elf smiled knowingly, cautiously closing the distance between them. "No, obviously not. You and the Lady were deep in one-sided conversation -- and unless I am gravely mistaken, my distant kin in Rivendell was the subject of note." Even in the faint illumination of the stars, and the glow of the candles and torches flickering skyward from the weddings reception both had stealthily left behind, Cirdan's keen elven eyes could detect the hint of guilty ruddy hues arising in the prince's perfectly sculpted cheeks. It would be so easy to ripen those colors with a single comment about the relationship which had blossomed between Mirkwood's youngest heir and the Lord of Imladris, but there did not seem a point to that tactic. "I appear to have grown weary of the festivities and seek some relative silence. I see you share my feelings," he warmly explained, hoping his smile was sufficiently disarming.

Legolas chuckled comfortably, the color dimming slightly in his face. "Yes, it has become a bit much for my taste. I would rather listen to the silence of the stars than another one of my father's stories."

"As would I. Forgive my intrusion, but may I share your hilltop?"

"Of course!" the prince eagerly invited. "I have been wishing to speak to you in earnest since you arrived last evening."

"And I you, young prince." Carefully pulling up the hem of his thick robes, Cirdan claimed a grassy seat beside the prince and adjusted his attire around him. "I have heard much about you, and I wished to discern what manner of truth was behind the lauding words Elrond's letters have spoken."

Even without the additional discomfort of the mention of his lover, Legolas was, quite simply, intimidated by the Lord of the Havens, both by his reputation and the factuality of his appearance. Cirdan's thick mane was the color of the first clouds of a storm, light and gray and possessing a strange iridescence in its hue. Noticeable lines crossed his face, at least the portion of his face not curtained by the most curious and un-elvish feature of a beard. Some whispered that Cirdan's aged appearance was an outward reflection of all the sorrows he had suffered throughout the ages of this world, or the weighty burden of his knowledge of the sorrows which were still to come, and the ultimate fate of his kind. Still others blamed Cirdan's close relationship with the mysterious Mithrandir, of whom Elrond sometimes spoke, but whom Legolas had never actually met. Yes, this ancient lord, mighty and just, possessed many of the very same high qualities which Legolas found so daunting in his own lover. "What has Lord Elrond said of me?" he inquired, his voice strangely unable to rise above a whisper in his awe of the Haven's Lord.

The smile upon Cirdan's face grew in intensity. "Nothing I could relate without returning the color to your features, I fear. I had thought his moonstruck meanderings about your beauty to be a vast exaggeration, but now I see they were not."

The ruddy hue blossomed upon Legolas' cheeks, the heat of its flame extraordinarily noticeable in his skin. "I... I find I am at a loss for words."  Pausing, a sad sigh was his only farther explanation for a moment. Feeling the intensity of the ancient elf's scrutinizing gaze piercing his very soul, Legolas turned away. "I sometimes feel that his affection cannot possibly be true, that it is unwarranted... mistaken. That one day he will awaken to his senses and realize that I am woefully unworthy to claim the precious jewel that is his heart." Instinctively he fished the necklace from beneath his layers of robes and tightly clasped his hand around it as if to permanently clutch onto what he dreaded would slip away as easily as the cloak of night in the dawn.

"Why do you feel so? Has he ever given you reason to doubt the truth of his feelings?"

Legolas vigorously shook his head, his eyes still remaining safely focused on the night and not his companion. "Nay, never. And yet, I find these doubts return to torment my heart when I least expect them. I know I am not a child, yet I cannot help but feel one beside such as you and he. He does not treat me that way, but it is still how I sometimes feel."

Cirdan chuckled warmly, the deep rumbling musicality of the sound somehow comforting in itself. Reaching over, he clasped a hand onto the prince's shoulder. "Think what the race of Man would believe themselves compared to you. Even Elrond and I are but as children compared to the Valar, or to Ea itself. Do not be troubled by the fact that you have not experienced as many of the pains of this world as Elrond, or me. You will experience your fair share, of that there can never be a doubt -- do not wish for the burden of more than what has already been allotted."

Legolas slowly nodded in understanding as Cirdan' withdrew his hand. He reclaimed the discarded circlet from the grass and absently fingered it while he pondered his heart's insecurities. He had kept them hidden, as buried as the mines of Moria, and it felt both damning and freeing to finally be able to give them voice to one who would certainly understand and yet not judge. "I still somehow feel... unworthy of his love. He is one of the greatest among us in Middle-earth -- a mighty warrior, a wise leader, a healer of note. The blood of kings runs through his veins, from both sides of his lineage. He even claims the Maia as kin."

"Yes, my kinsman does, indeed, claim relation to all the clans of our kind, as well as the races of Man and Maia. If you wish to chide him, ask him about his long lost Perian ancestor, or, even worst, the Naugol one."

The prince could not help but laugh at that unexpected levity. "I would do so, except that I would not wish to be on the receiving end of the book he would most assuredly throw at my head in response."

"It would be worth the danger, would it not, to see the expression on his face?"

Despite his pained uncertainties, Legolas dared a hint of a devilish grin as he turned to face Cirdan's probing eyes. "Yes, I believe it would."

Cirdan smiled at the insecure young prince, able to now make a more complete study of the delicate features more intently than he had since his arrival. "The blood of the Faithful makes its presence far more strongly felt in you than I have seen it in any other of your line."

"My Lord?" Legolas inquired hesitantly, confusion slightly creasing his brow.

With a reverence usually reserved for priceless mementos of his extensive past, Cirdan gently fingered one of the prince's gilded braids. "The Firsts, the Faithful -- those whom we now call the Minil in song, and whom very few in this land have ever met in the flesh. The people of Ingwe, the mightiest of the Elven kings, those who followed the call of the Valar without question to the West, where they forever enjoy the Blessed Ones' grace. They are the fairest of face of all our kind, and their hair is of the rarest gold, even more brilliant of hue than that found in our kind here in the east. The Minil have always been much beloved of the Lady, and it is said that their prayers never go unanswered, if it is within her power to grant their request."

"I have heard the legends of the Firsts, yet I still do not understand why you tell me this."

Cirdan carefully released the prince's braid and pondered the innocent confusion in the other's expression and tone. "Have you never heard the name of your grandfather's wife, or the name of her people?"

"No -- my grandfather passed to Mandos' care long before I was born, and my father has never spoken of his mother in my presence. She was not of your clan?"

Cirdan pursed his lips and nodded sagely. It did not surprise him that Oropher's son had kept his own in the dark concerning much of the history of their family. Still, was it his place to overrule a father's decision to withhold information? <<How can he understand the true power of the beauty within him, or the undeniable worthiness of his blood if he does not know its source?>> "I see there is much you have not been told of your family's past," Cirdan wearily offered. "Some of it I can easily understand your father not sharing openly, but the remainder...." He paused for a moment while the firmness of his resolve deepened the creases in his face. "Let me tell you of your family's blood, Legolas. *All of it*...."
 
 

Part 7:

Ignoring the expression of curiosity-tinged dread reflecting back at him, Cirdan calmly began his tale. "Your father's father traces his blood back to the House of Thingol, and thus your father calls Celeborn, and I, kin, although I am sure he has never mentioned the Lord of Lorien in your presence. If he were not blinded by his disdain of Lord Elrond's Adan blood, he would admit that he must call the Peredhil cousin, as well."

Long legs shifted uneasily beneath the cover of regal robes. The mention of his lover and his father in the same breath reminded the prince of the daunting task which eventually faced him -- to explain to his family that he had given his heart to one they obviously regarded as unworthy of such an honor. How ironic that he believed *himself* the unworthy one, that the blood of his family paled in comparison to the nobility of Imladris. "My father would rather lose the use of his tongue permanently than admit to sharing kinship with Elrond," Legolas sadly noted.

"That is his own egregious loss. To share kinship with Imladris is considered the highest of honors in most parts of Middle-earth."

Legolas picked at the hem of his robe, the shame of his family's narrow mindedness weighing heavily upon his heart. "Apparently my father considers Lord Elrond's *kinship* tainted."

Cirdan snorted loudly, the derision in his voice as clear as the deep azure skies above. "He is a fine one to judge the worth of another's family tree. *His* father called Eol of Nan Elmoth a true cousin, as their fathers were brothers. The House of Thingol would have been far better off without the stain of Eol and his son, Maeglin, upon its name."

A shudder ran through Legolas' skin in uneasy recognition. "My father has never uttered either name, yet I have read of the sorrows both caused in the books of Elrond's great library." His eyes reflected shame and ill-ease, regrets and disgust. "I had no idea my family harbored such disgrace amongst its past," he whispered forlornly.

"I do not mean to imply that *you* should share in the shame of that line," Cirdan quickly explained. "Eol's deeds were his own, as were those of his son. Nay, I do not believe you should waste a moment in guilt or shame thinking of the ties your family has to his. Rather I would have you understand something of your father's obsessive disdain for much of our kind, and the curse that befell your grandfather."

"Curse?"

Cirdan curtly deflected his question with a stiff wave of his hand. "Forgive me. I tell my tale woefully out of order, to the benefit of no one. Let us return to Eol, and *his* curse. If you have read the tales of his life and death, you know that he left Doriath, your father's home, and that of their kin, forsaking the safety of Melian's powers for the wild darkness of the deep forest. It was there that he later found Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin, and through enchantments made her his wife. Your father learned of this only many years after Eol's tragic death, and believed his cousin had cursed himself by taking to his bed and his heart one of the kinslayers."

"I know my grandfather had no love for the House of Feanor, and neither does my father." Legolas sighed loudly. "That lesson was taught at my father's knee from my earliest days -- never trust one of Feanor's blood, what few remain in Middle-earth in this time."

"Eol shared that belief. He blamed them for the return of Morgoth to Middle-earth, and the sorrows which then, and later, befell our people. It was in his hatred for the House of Feanor that he forbade his wife to return to her people, and utterly prohibited his son from any mention of that side of his blood."

Lifting his eyes from their absent study of the grass surrounding his garments' hem, Legolas met the elder elf's keen gaze with a resolute expression of his own. "One cannot deny what is in one's blood," he sagely offered. "That is to deny who one is, and whom one has the power to become."

"You speak with a wisdom far beyond your tender years, young prince," Cirdan noted with a slight smile. "I hope you will not feel the sting of insult if I maintain that is from your father's mother's line."

Legolas smiled uneasily in return. "How can I feel insult when I do not even understand much of what you say, and imply?"

"Very true. Allow me to continue, and all will become clear, ere long. As the stories faithfully tell, Eol lost both his wife and his very life in Gondolin, and cursed his son to find no peace in love or life."

"Such curses seem to carry great power," Legolas reverently noted.

"A greater power than you know, Child," Cirdan sternly warned. "Their taint can pass from generation to generation, ensnaring entire families in their icy grasp. It is only with the full strength of the heart, and sometimes the sword arm, that such curses can be finally laid to rest."

Sorrow-filled understanding darkened Legolas' gaze. "Eol's family was never allowed that chance."

"No, it was not. Maeglin was lost to the twin dark powers of lust and ambition, desirous of two honors he could not have, he had no true right to claim -- the throne of Gondolin, and the hand of his cousin, Idril, in marriage." A knowing expression painted itself upon the ancient elf's face. "If Lord Elrond were as judgmental as *your* sire, it would be *he* who felt disdain toward the House of Mirkwood for injuries wrought long ago. It was Maeglin who tried to seize Idril and her son, Earendil, the sire of Lord Elrond, during the Fall of Gondolin. If the black desires of your family's past had been realized, Lord Elrond would never have been born."

"Middle-earth would, indeed, have been a far darker place without Lord Elrond," Legolas grimly mused. "As would my life." Glancing up at the stars, Legolas wondered if he would truly appreciate the rare beauty of the Lady's craft, the care with which she placed each individual glimmering jewel among the lesser lights of heaven, if Elrond had not reawakened the child-like wonder his father had discouraged after his mother's death. The answer to that question was as obvious as the thrill thrumming through his flesh whenever he thought of his absent lover.

Cirdan nodded slowly in agreement. "Fortunately we do not have to contemplate such a world. Glorfindel and Tuor succeeded in defeating Maeglin, and Earendil survived to wed Elwing, sire Elrond, and bring hope to Middle-earth in ways beyond measure by his own sacrifice."

Legolas pondered this for a moment before he offered a further thought, his eyes still trained upward at the stars. "The sacrifice of Glorfindel was just as great, was it not?"

Smiling, Cirdan nodded once more in understanding. "Yes, Glorfindel paid for the life of Elrond's family with his own. It did not surprise me when he chose to serve the House of Elrond upon his return from Mandos' halls. It is the fate which the Valar have selected for him, and from which he cannot stray."

"I know he considers it less a fate than an honor."

"And Elrond considers his friendship and loyalty with equal honor."

A loud sigh of frustration and envy hissed from the prince's lips, his gaze falling, once more, toward the grass beneath him. "I wish my family knew such loyalty."

"It could, if it did not consider all its distant and not-so-distant kin unworthy of such ties."

Legolas reflected upon the undeniable truth of those words. Cirdan was not idly condemning his father, and his father before him. Thranduil actively chose to shun the company of his kind beyond his own kingdom, and only deigned to tolerate dealings with the Men of Dale because it supplemented his treasury. He had heard enough of the Last Alliance from Glorfindel to understand that his grandfather had come to his ruin upon the field of battle due to his own pride and refusal to march under the banner of Gil-galad and Imladris. "Celeborn -- I have heard his name from the Lady Arwen. He is her mother's sire. Why does my father act as though Lorien does not exist if it is our kin which rules there?"

"Because the Lady Galadriel is of Feanor's line," Cirdan flatly replied. "Galadriel and her brother were long ago Thingol's guests in Doriath, and Oropher, your grandfather, protested vehemently. He resented the very presence of kinslayers, despite the fact that Galadriel was only guilty of sharing their blood, and not their deed. Oropher saw not the difference, and when Celeborn gave his heart to Galadriel, he became a traitor to his kind, in Oropher's eyes. It has been the passing of two ages, and yet your family still considers this imagined betrayal worthy of continuing note."

Indignation colored the prince's cheeks, his eyes flashing with the heat of argumentation as they raised to meet the other's eagle-eyed keenness. "Not *all* of my family, Lord Cirdan!"

"No, indeed not," Cirdan slowly replied. "Your wisdom brings great joy to my heart. There is hope for your House yet. May the rest of your line one day share in your sage philosophy."

Another sigh was given breath from Legolas' lips. "I fear that may be a battle none of us can hope to win, but at least I will fail in the attempt."

"There is no true failure if the attempt is sincere."

Legolas was visibly taken aback by that foreign concept. "You are so different from my father, as the night is from the day. Such words would never be uttered from his lips."

"Perhaps they should."

They lingered in a knowing expression, then Legolas turned his attention to the green blades of the hilltop. Silence passed between them as the prince absently plucked individual emerald strands slowly from the soil, the only audible intrusion to the still of the night the continuing joyous reverie of the celebration they had chosen to leave behind. "I have heard my father speak of Doriath," Legolas finally dared, in a voice just slightly louder than a whisper. "But he speaks of it as one who only knows it from story, not in life."

With pursed lips, Cirdan allowed his mind to travel through the halls of memory. "Yes, that is true. After Galadriel and Celeborn departed its forests for lands farther east, in the days of the first battles with Morgoth, Oropher believed Thingol's land to be doomed by the curse of the Exiles. When Thingol demanded of Beren nothing less than a Silmaril in exchange for Luthien's hand, Oropher considered it madness of a supreme sort. Your grandfather never wished for Feanor's accursed jewels to pass through the Girdle of Melian, knowing as he did the bloodlust which followed in their wake. In this, he was perhaps right to harbor distrust in the line of Feanor. For just as he had understood, once the Silmaril was in Thingol's possession, Doriath's days were numbered. The naugrim betrayed and murdered Thingol in his own palace to possess the jewel, and once Melian had passed West in her sorrow, Doriath itself was laid to waste by their axes. Beren and his son Dior, Elrond's mother's sire, reclaimed the jewel, and along with the survivors sought to rebuild Doriath. Your grandfather was among their number, and despite his misgivings that only ruin would befall any place tainted by the Silmaril's curse, he remained loyal to his home, and Thingol's heirs, despite his not-so-secret repugnance of Dior's mixed blood."

"My father has often made comment that Lord Elrond is not pure of Eldar blood on even one limb of his bloodline. He says it with a sneer, but I find nothing truly lesser in Adan blood mixing with that of our kind if the likes of Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen come from its mingling."

A secretive smile, muted with a hint of knowing sadness, crossed Cirdan's face. "If only the order of birth of Thranduil's sons were reversed," he murmured under his breath. "The light of wisdom might finally overcome the darkness of ignorance in Mirkwood's realm."

"What say you?" Legolas inquired.

Cirdan answered first with a smile, then an affectionate squeeze of the prince's shoulder. "Nothing which should concern you. We were speaking of the fall of Doriath, and your grandfather's hatred of the House of Feanor. You have heard how Thigol's realm finally came to ruin?"

"Yes," Legolas answered in a forlorn whisper of his own. "The sons of Feanor came to claim the Silmaril, and killed all who stood in their way."

The full weight of his years suddenly seemed to reflect in Cirdan's face. "That was the second kinslaying of Eldar upon Eldar, and the first to spill blood upon the soil of Middle-earth. Your father escaped with a handful of others, fleeing south to the mouth of the Sirion, where I gave them sanctuary. Elwing, Dior's daughter, was among their number, and it was there, among the survivors of the Fall of Gondolin, that she came to meet Earendil the fair, who easily won her heart, and bore through her twin sons."

"Lord Elrond and Elros, King of Numenor, his brother," Legolas reverently offered.

"Yes, the Peredhil, whom your grandfather saw as a reflection of the doom of the Silmarils born into Thingol's line. To the day of his own death, he believed the day of their birth heralded the downfall of his people."
 
 

Part 8:
 
 

Anger sparked in those sea-hued eyes, flashing brighter than the celestial jewels mounted high in the firmament above. "How could my grandfather truly believe such things? He would blame Lord Elrond for the sorrows of Middle-earth? Next you would tell me he believed Elrond to be a servant of the Darkness!"

With an understanding sigh, Cirdan shrugged. How could he hope to make Legolas understand the insanity of his forefathers when Cirdan barely managed to make sense of it himself? "He was blinded by a curse of his own, in those days -- the curse of hatred and pride. Both would become his own doom in later years. He believed the direct line of Thingol should be allowed to come to an end, just as had the accursed blood of Eol. He wished for the Silmaril Elwing bore to be destroyed, lost, or taken to the farthest reaches of creation, where it could no longer be as a curse to his people. His wishes were realized, although not in a way he could have possibly foreseen." With a smile, Cirdan pointed behind them, toward the western horizon, where the brilliant beacon of Earendil's ship could barely be seen shining on the horizon for just another few moments, then suddenly sank out of view.

"I still feel such awe in my heart when I look upon Earendil's clear light and know that is Lord Elrond's sire," Legolas hesitantly began. "To have the blood of the brightest star beating through your heart... it makes him even more unreal to me, at times."

"He would assuredly not wish to hear you say that of him, Child," Cirdan gently warned. "I am sure he would feel forced to demonstrate his... 'reality' in the most creative of ways." The hint of hue he knew to be rising in the youngster's cheeks reminded the ancient elf of his own younger years, when he was, likewise, convinced of the 'reality' of a lover he had then deemed utterly unworldly. "Elrond was but a boy when he was taken from his parents," Cirdan explained.

"Taken by the sons of Feanor," Legolas far too quickly added.

The weariness of heartbreaking memory overtook Cirdan for a moment. "Yes, during the third of the kinslayings. Too late Gil-galad and I arrived from Balar, and the only task which fell to us was to ferry the few survivors we could find back to my island, you father amongst them, yet again. He had survived two massacres of his people at the hands of the Noldor, and his heart was permanently turned against all of their kind, without discrimination between individuals, or hope of forgiveness. He even felt Gil-galad, himself, shared the blame for all he had suffered, for the blood of Feanor also flowed in the High King's veins, several generations removed."

Legolas visibly perked at the mention of the High King's name, a thousand questions instantly raising in his mind. Here was one who knew the mighty warrior well, who also knew firsthand of the great love which had passed between Elrond and the king. There was so much he wished to know, so more much he *feared* to know, yet he understood it would be rudeness of the worst sort to interrupt Lord Cirdan's story with his lovesick insecurities. For although he still did not quite grasp the reason for Cirdan's exposition on his family's history, he realized that the Lord of the Havens felt it to be of the gravest importance that he listen, so that was exactly what he would continue to do. Questions concerning the previous owner of his lover's heart could easily wait -- of course, assuming 'previous' owner was the correct assumption.

The continuation of Cirdan's story mercifully prevented Legolas from falling back into the swirling maelstrom of his insecurities. "Oropher was never truly at home on Balar, despite my best intentions at hospitality and repeated offers of the celebration of our kinship. I believe your grandfather chafed under the yoke of Gil-galad's reign by its very existence, not because of any words or actions of the King himself."

Legolas nodded slowly, his lips slightly pursed in contemplation. "If my grandfather is as alike to my father as you have painted him, he would have rather died fighting Feanor's sons than find himself the subject of one of their line."

Cirdan cracked a faint hint of a smile. "You understand him well. His first years in Balar were as the most painful of torture to him, and if he had been able to flee anywhere else in Middle-earth, he would have leapt at the opportunity. Yet, his choices were quite few in number -- he could have possibly found his way east to where Celeborn and Galadriel hid with some of Doriath's earliest refugees, but the way was perilous, and none would risk such a journey at his side when orcs and worse ruled the lands between. Yet it was in those darkest of days, when all seemed hopeless, that the Valar finally heard our prayers, brought to their very lands by the sails of Earendil's ship." A broader smile blossomed on the ancient, line-creased face. "How sweet the irony that it was only in the time of the Great War that your grandfather finally found true happiness, no matter how fleeting, in the heart of another."

"My grandmother -- you finally speak of her," Legolas eagerly interjected, the prince shifting upon the grass in anticipation of this new wrinkle in the story.

"Yes, although you probably believed I had long ago abandoned the reason for my tale." Cirdan paused to catch his breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he allowed the vivid images of the mighty host's arrival to replay in his mind. "From the Blessed Lands they finally came, the majestic Host of the Valinor. Our kind who had long before completed the journey across the sea now sailed back to Middle-earth in their great swan ships, carrying Eldar and Maia dressed for battle to our shores. Our closest kin in the West did not choose to fight Morgoth for the sake of Middle-earth, remembering far too well all they had suffered at the hands of Feanor's sons. Yet under Fionwe's leadership, the people of Ingwe and those of Finwe's line who had not chosen exile willingly joined together to fight on our behalf, while we on Balar awaited the final fate of all Middle-earth. On the very first ship arrived Ingwion, son of the High Lord Ingwe, leader of their people into battle, accompanied by his entire family. His two sons, tall and fair, were to fight at his side, while Lady Ninquiel, his wife, and Lady Aziel, his daughter, were to remain in my care on Balar until either Morgoth was defeated, or we would all be remanded to Mandos' Halls."

"A general would bring his family into the peril of war?" Legolas incredulously inquired. "Why would he do such a foolish thing?"

"You have obviously never met a lady of such tenacious perseverance as Lady Ninquiel," Cirdan cautiously drawled.

Chuckling, Legolas nodded his insight. "If she is half as tenacious as the Lady Arwen, I understand quite well how she came to be on your island, if that was her desire. What I cannot see is why she wished to leave the safe shores of the Blessed Lands for the dangers of war?"

"She once told me in confidence that it was her dreams which led her to demand passage for her entire family. She feared that the sea would separate them forever, so she was determined that they would never find themselves on opposite sides of its breadth." A bittersweet smile found a temporary home among the ancient features. "She was also desirous of seeing for herself the source of the pearls Osse often brought West from our shores."

"You speak of her with fondness, and yet a great sorrow, as well."

Exhaling his barely-contained grief along with his breath, Cirdan nodded slightly. "She did not save her family from the hands of doom by bringing them to our shores -- instead, she delivered them straight into its icy clutches."

"What manner of evil befell the Lady and her kin?" Legolas hesitantly inquired, knowing somehow that the answer would bring him no peace of mind.

"The most subtle of its kind; the one which comes unbidden and catches one completely unawares, and once you have been ensnared in its grasp, one cannot hope to escape with one's life unchanged. I speak of the 'evil' of forbidden love."

The expression of unbridled horror on the young prince's face mirrored well the tremble in his voice. "Forbidden love? The lady did not transgress her vows...."

"Nay, nay, that is not what I mean," Cirdan quickly corrected, understanding well the reason for Legolas' apparent shock. Infidelity was anathema to their kind, a crime virtually unheard of in their history. "It was not *her* heart which was ensnared, but that of her daughter, the Lady Aziel. And to answer the question which I see forming already upon your lips, it was not *my* heart to which hers was lost, but your grandfather's. The Lady Aziel, daughter of Ingwion, granddaughter of Lord Ingwe the High King of all Eldar in the Blessed Lands, is your father's mother, and your grandmother."
 
 

Part 9:
 

Legolas stared at the ancient elf in incredulous silence for several full breaths. Surely this was an error, the clouding of memory over the gulf of ages between the present and the reshaping of Middle-earth in the Great War. Cirdan was confused, mistaken, unable to recall clearly events which had happened when the world was younger and his people cowered under the greatest threat they had ever faced. Surely his father would never keep such knowledge from him and his brother -- why would *any* of the Eldar deny the existence of the blood of Ingwe, the highest of their kind, the King of all their kind in the Blessed Lands, if it truly flowed within them?

"I see in your eyes, and the frozen gap between your lips, that you do not believe me," Cirdan playfully chided.

Lingering in his shocked gape for a final moment, Legolas finally found his voice. "I mean no offense, but surely you are mistaken, my Lord. The honor of such nobility in one's blood would be trumpeted from the rooftop of any palace of Middle-earth...."

"Save the only one who can claim it as truth," Cirdan firmly offered.

Legolas searched the other's eyes for any final hint of delusion, humor, or intentional mistruth, then was finally forced to accept the ancient lord words as certainty. "It is as you have said -- Minil are legend enough in our time, and Lord Ingwe is spoken of only in the whispered tones of reverence. He is almost as of the Valar themselves, so mighty were his deeds, so loyal his heart. Those who claim relation to his sister have just cause to hold themselves in high regard -- I have never heard of any who claim to be of his direct line!"

"That is because there are few who know of the very existence of his heir in Middle-earth, and fewer still who are willing to speak of such things openly."

The strain of confusion further distorted the prince's fair features. "I do not understand! Not speak of it? You make it sound as if to be an heir of the mightiest of our kind should be a source of shame!"

"Such innocence," Cirdan gently offered with a smile, his voice musical with affection. Exhaling within a sigh, he collected the circlet of office which Legolas had long discarded upon the grass and studied its handicraft without true interest. "If it were only such a simple matter."

"Then explain to me why it is not!" Legolas impatiently demanded.

"Because it is as I have said -- a *forbidden* love." Allowing that disconcerting realization to sink to the proper depth within the prince's mind, Cirdan shifted upon the grass, raising one knee under his robes and resting his elbow upon it, the circlet of station still ensnared by his fingers. "No one could blame your grandfather for finding her the fairest flower to ever grace our shores. Hers was a beauty which rivaled that of Luthien herself. Even as Luthien was the exquisite loveliness of the twilight given breath, Aziel was the glory of the newborn day. Her features seemed far too delicate to be carved of the inferior materiel of flesh, and her hair glimmered in the light of day with a golden hue which rivaled the very color of Anar itself. To this very day I have never beheld a maiden who could rival her beauty, save perhaps only Lady Arwen herself. I still remember her voice to be as the music of the Maia, even when spoken in a whisper, and her eyes shone with the furious intensity of one who had once beheld the light of the Two Trees, and had somehow managed to retain a spark of their purity within her gaze. No, anyone who was sound of mind would *have* to understand how Oropher found himself under the spell of her beauty. What some would, and *have*, found to be a transgression against commonsense and station was to pursue his affection for her and dare to ask that she return his love in kind."

"So my grandfather courted her despite the disapproval of others," Legolas softly murmured, his eyes directed toward the ground, yet not truly focused on anything of this world.

"Few were given the chance to disapprove, until it was too late. I believe that I was alone in my knowledge of Oropher's intentions, and I only happened upon that wisdom by happenstance. I spoke to your grandfather, begged he abandon this folly, this madness. I knew that Ingwion would never give his consent to allow his daughter to marry one who had not seen the Blessed Lands, nor would the Lady Ninquiel have allowed the relationship to even begin, let alone blossom to the fullness of love, if she had had any knowledge of its existence."

"My grandfather was singular of mind when it suited his purposes," Legolas noted, remembering the fond stories of his father, and those not so affectionate told by Lord Elrond.

"Indeed, he was, to the ruin of all involved in this particular case." Cirdan wearily wiped his empty hand across his brow, the sorrows of the past darkening his heart. "How long your grandfather pursued the lady before she returned his affection none but they ever knew, but the time was surely measured by the passing of years. One night they pledged their hearts one to the other, without the witness of kin, as our kind may do in times of war and other troubles. By the time the Lady's mother knew what had happened, they were bound, one to the other, and none beside the Valar themselves may interfere."

"So one does not *require* the blessing of one's parents to bind himself to another?" Legolas eagerly inquired, the thought behind his keen gaze more than obvious. "Nor does one need the toils and trappings with which my family has been so concerned over the past many seasons?"

"All that is required is the true love of two hearts and the blessings of the Lady of the Stars and her Lord," Cirdan answered, warily studying the secretive smile blossoming upon the other's lips. "Two *free* hearts," he purposefully added, painfully aware that his message was being selectively ignored.

The smile halted before reaching fullness, yet lingered upon the prince's lips. "Tell me of my father's birth," Legolas pressed with barely contained eagerness.

Cirdan gently set the circlet back upon the ground near the prince's feet, then clasped his hands around his raised knee. "Your father was conceived in much love and hope, in a time when Middle-earth had precious little of either. In all the years the Great War waged on, over forty rounds of Anar, over forty passings of the seasons while we waited for out fate to be determined, his was the only birth to grace our island. Despite the sage misgivings many had as to the final fruits of this secretive union, none could help but rejoice in the brief glimmer of light your father's arrival brought to the darkness of those days." Cirdan flashed a hint of a smile at the awed expression reflecting back at him. "Yes, even I, and Gil-galad himself, took comfort in that most welcome respite from our fears. And yet we knew full well that the joy of your father's birth would eventually be followed by the storm clouds of doom, when Lady Aziel's father returned from the fields of battle to reclaim the fairer side of his kin."

"He did not approve of my grandfather as his daughter's mate, even after she had borne her husband a son, and her father another heir?"

"Lord Ingwion would never consider one of Moriquendi blood his heir," Cirdan sternly lectured. "You forget of whom we speak. The line of Ingwe was that of the Faithful alone, even down to that generation. While Ingwe's niece had taken her mate from among the Seconds, at least she had wed Finwe himself, one of those who had heeded the Valar's summons and passed into the West. Aziel had seen the light of the Trees, as had all her kin before her. To bind herself to one of the Dark Elves, the Forsaken, that was an insult to her family's honor, an insult her father surely could not forgive."

"What of her brothers, Ingwion's sons? Surely *they* could sire the 'pure' heirs their noble blood would require?"

Cirdan noted the bitterness dripping from each nearly spat word, his heart grieving for his role as the one who would give the prince the bittersweet gift of his true heritage accompanied by the complete knowledge of the politics which destroyed many a life. And yet it was only in the true wisdom of complete understanding that Legolas could ever hope to avoid the follies of his family's past, and perhaps, with Elbereth's grace, claim the most priceless of jewels which had eluded his sire and his sire's sire before him -- the gift of true love, and the freedom to reap its rewards without limits, without the shadow of sorrows forever looming like the mountains which shadowed Imladris' eastern border. "Both his sons fell in battle against the forces of Morgoth, without ever taking to themselves a wife or bearing an heir. Aziel was the last of her family's line."

Holding Cirdan's sorrowed gaze captive, Legolas remained silent in contemplation for a moment, then softly, yet resolutely, challenged the other's facts. "No, my Lord. That honor, and responsibility, have passed to my brother and me, and when my brother and his bride welcome an heir of their own, the line of Ingwe will continue ever on."

With pursed lips, Cirdan slowly nodded in knowing agreement. "You speak of your brother carrying on your family's line, yet do not you also have that very same opportunity?"

The smile returned in earnest to the younger elf's lips, pure and true, without hesitation or regret. "My mind would tell me that I will never see a son of my own loins, and yet my heart finds no grief in that fate, so long as I may pass the remainder of this world's life in the company of the one I love."

"You speak so surely of the feelings of your heart, yet you do not fully understand what it is you ask, nor do you see that what you seek might not be truly within your grasp."

"I believe that *anything* is within love's grasp, if that love be true, and freely returned," Legolas instantly returned, the passion of conviction arising in his voice along with its volume.

To Legolas' surprise, a decidedly melancholy expressed reflected back at him, accompanied by a forlorn sigh. "You sound as your grandfather once did," Cirdan somberly stated.

"If I do, then let that be my fate."

The shipwright's eyes flashed with the fury of Earendil's star. "Do not wish for his fate to become your own, young prince, before you truly understand what sorrow you would bring upon yourself, or, rather, what doom has already been appointed to you unless you have the wisdom, and the favor of Lady Elbereth, to avoid its doom."

The grimness of both the words and the manner in which they were spoken chilled Legolas to the core. For the first time in their conversation, Cirdan truly appeared the measure of his age and experience, and unlike previous chiding rebuffs, there was no gentleness nor humor to soften the blow of his words. "What was his fate, besides to fall in battle beside many of his men?" Legolas bluffed, his thin veneer of confidence nearly a transparent window giving clear view to his growing uncertainty and anxiety.

"To lose that which he desired most and had waited the entire First Age to find -- his sole chance for love."
 
 

Part 10:
 

His heart sinking within his chest like the leaden anchors of Cirdan's ships, Legolas glanced away and stared, wide-eyed, at the ground beside him. "Ingwion would come between a husband and wife, between a mother and her child?" The thought was so repugnant, so very unlike the nobility he had heard flowed through the veins of the Firsts, that he had to be mistaken in his impudent assumption. Yet, Cirdan both confirmed and allayed his worst fears in a single breath.

"It was not Ingwion's anger alone which caused the schism, but in large part your grandfather's pride. Oropher was given the choice, as were all the Eldar who survived the Great War, to journey west to the Blessed Lands, yet he was loathe to leave behind Middle-earth. Ingwion would not suffer to leave his daughter behind, and so the two argued endlessly, all the while the fleet of ships was being built for just this cause. In the end, no common ground could be found, each deciding to return to their homes with their respective child by their side."

Legolas listened intently, awaiting with dread the inevitable final tragedy this tale would surely entail. "What of the lady's feelings -- surely they could not ignore what *she* desired in this matter?"

"If it were any but your grandfather and her father who argued, perhaps that would be a sage assumption. As it was, each was convinced *he* alone understood the truth of her heart, and that the other sought to turn her against her family, either of blood of marriage. The light had been extinguished from her eyes in those days, the unfathomable sorrow of forever abandoning one side of her heart for the other as a permanent funeral pall veiled across her face." Cirdan paused, tightly squeezing shut his eyes while he swallowed with purpose. With a great, melancholy sigh he exhaled his breath and held the prince's tentative gaze for a second of steeling silence. "When she learned she would eventually be separated from both her husband and her son, your father, who was still a child, she was inconsolable, and under the cover of night threw herself from the western cliffs of Tol Morwen into the sea in her grief and was drowned. When her lifeless body was found and brought to her parents the next day, her mother lost all delight in life, either in the east or west, and passed into Mandos' care before the next sunrise."

"As did my mother, when my sister was taken from us," Legolas hushedly offered in his shock. "I cannot believe such tragedy would befall by family in one generation and again in the next."

"Perhaps it was only true innocent tragedy in the first, and the hand of revenge in the second," Cirdan carefully suggested.

"Revenge? I do not see how... or by *whom*?"

Once more, Cirdan prefaced his explanatory remarks with a weighty sigh. "When his wife took her final breath, Ingwion cursed Oropher and disowned his heir, your father, and all who followed in his line. With Elbereth as his witness, he begged her to withhold her grace from all in his line from this time forth, and to curse them to find no peace in love, only bitterness and sorrow." Cirdan paused, his heart heavy with the burden of knowing the pain in the prince's face was solely of his doing. Yet, he deserved to know of his legacy, for good or ill, and perhaps, just perhaps, ancient wrongs could be put to rest and some semblance of the glory of Ingwe's line be restored. "I did not believe the curse could hold more than the mere power of its suggestion, yet after I heard of the deaths of your sister and mother, I understood the true weight of what I had witnessed in the First Age's end."

"What happened afterward?" Legolas inquired half-heartedly, the dread of accumulating more unhappiness along with knowledge looming large in his mind.

Shrugging, Cirdan wrenched a handful of soft, verdant vegetation from the ground, then picked out individual blades for ground-ward release. "Ingwion left on the very first westward ship, his wife and daughter's bodies accompanying him for a proper burial on more hallowed ground. I have heard that in the West he founded a city of great beauty, and erected a gleaming tower in his wife's honor. It is said he ever awaits her return from Mandos, and roams the city each day hoping the loveliness of his creation will entice her to once again find joy in the land of the living and in his embrace."

Legolas found no solace in that mournful saga. "What of my grandfather and father?"

"They left Tol Morwen and the few other small islands which remained of the sunken lands, along with most of our kind, following Gil-galad to Lindon where he reigned as High King of the Eldar in Middle-earth. Elrond had newly made his choice to be of our kind, and was a favorite among the King's advisors. Even though he was born of our clan, of Thingol's line, your grandfather never treated Elrond as such, believing in his bitterness and anger that Elrond had been turned against his kind during his captive years in the kinslayers' care." Cirdan turned over his hand and allowed the remainder of the grass to silently slip to the ground. "Before long Oropher found he could no longer live under the reign of Gil-galad and the shadow of Balar, and Feanor's kin, and journeyed east beyond the Misty Mountains with what few of his distant kin would make the journey. It was among the tawarwaith, the elves of the wood, that he and your father made their new home, created a kingdom for their family, and tried to regain the joy and simplicity of life it was said reigned before the Valar had enticed our kind to travel to the Blessed Lands."

"My mother was of the tawarwaith," Legolas noted with a bittersweet smile of memory upon his lips. "She was so beautiful, so kind...." His words trailed off in a pained whisper, unable to articulate the avalanche of repressed feelings welling up within him. "She left us far too soon," he barely managed to add before the threat of tears choked the voice from him.

"Yes, she was all of those, and more," Cirdan agreed, tenderly clasping the prince's upper arm. "Your father took her as his bride not only in love, but in hope, the hope that he could avoid the politics of the Eldar and bring some manner of peace to his line. Yet it was not meant to be, as we both know."

A spark of desperately grasped hope glimmered briefly in the prince's eyes. "Yet he found some happiness in love, even if for a limit of years."

Cirdan removed his hand and rubbed his beard in brief thought. "True, and yet there was always the wraith of doom casting its long shadow upon him, even in his happiest hours. Thranduil reluctantly left behind his young bride only a few moons after their wedding to march alongside your father and their people in the Last Alliance. When the battle was done, your grandfather lay dead, along with two of every three who had marched alongside him down from the great forest. Your sister, Thranduil's firstborn, was conceived the night of his return, in sorrow and joy both. Some said she was thus cursed from the moment of her conception, and was fated to taste of both darkness and light as that was how she was brought into being."

"There was no darkness in my sister," Legolas swiftly interjected, indignation fiery upon his tongue. "She was a creature of beauty, both within and without."

"Yet she no longer lives, does she?" Cirdan pointedly offered.

The prince's reply was as swift and sure as his previous. "T'was an accident!"

"You speak that with certainty, yet after all I have said, can you truly believe that in your heart?"

Sky-hued eyes widened in understanding, then just as speedily narrowed in the sorrow of reluctant understanding. "You speak of the curse."

Cirdan solemnly nodded. "Yes. What joy your father had believed was his was taken from him in a double-stroked flash of fated lightning. His heart was hardened, as was his father's before him, and he is no longer a believer in the reality of love."

The blinding illumination of realization blazoned through Legolas' mind, awakening a sudden insight into much of his father's actions. "That is why he would seek an alliance, and not true marriage, for my brother, his heir."

"It would seem a logical course of action to one in his place, would it not?"

Legolas uncurled his legs and pushed up from the ground he had made his home for long enough. "I could never bind myself to one I did not love with the full depth of my heart," he swore with the conviction of the young and unjaded.

"Rejoice in your brother's apparent willingness to obey your father's orders in this matter," Cirdan firmly urged, staring upward at Legolas' nervously fidgeting form. "Also pray that his marriage bears swift fruit in the production of an heir. That may remove the burden from you to do the same, if you truly wish to follow the path of your heart, despite all I have told you."

Turning back to face the shipwright, Legolas stared down into the aged features with pained confusion screaming from his features even as his voice strove to remain calm in the face of this emotional storm. "Why do you seek to dissuade me from my heart's intent?"

Cirdan slowly pushed up from the ground, readjusting his robes around himself before meeting the other's accusations face to face. "It is not my place to either encourage or dissuade, fair prince. I merely suggest that you reflect long and well upon all that you have learned before rushing into oaths and vows of which you truthfully have no concept."

"You think me too young to possibly know the meaning of love," Legolas argued with palpable affront.

"Your age is not the issue at hand, but rather the consequences of what you would ask of him, and yourself."

Legolas stared blankly at the elder elf for the passing of several heartbeats, then fingered the visible sign of his lover's affection which hung around his neck. "You doubt the truth of Elrond's affection for me," he dejectedly whispered, the light of his eyes unable to pierce through the depths of his insecurity.

A twitch of a smile reflected back at him. "Do not fear, sweet prince. There is no doubt in my mind that what he feels for you is true, not is there any doubt, after speaking with you, that you do, indeed, reciprocate in kind." Cirdan drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly allowed it to escape in silence while a smile more completely graced his lips. "You have captured his heart in a way I have not seen in the entirety of this age. That is a feat not to be taken lightly."

"I do not," Legolas reverently whispered.

"Indeed, I can well see that truth in your eyes." Cirden noted with eager interest the delicate reflection of starlight in the emerald jewel adorning Legolas' necklace and his smile deepened further still. "A gift from my old friend?" he correctly surmised.

Legolas guiltily clutched the pendent more tightly as would a child when asked to share his favorite possession, then released his grasp and allowed Cirdan free study of the gift. "One I treasure above all others, just as I treasure he who gave it to me."

"You are wise in both respects, my friend." Cirdan carefully lifted the silver leaf in his fingers and appreciated its detail for a moment, then set it back against the prince's chest while a sorrowed expression clouded his features. "Among Gil-galad's people such a gift was often given a sign of a betrothal, from one family to another." Regretting that instant the spark of innocent hope immediately visible in the prince's eyes, Cirdan wrung together his hands as he chose his words. "It is the way of our kind that the vows of love are for all eternity, and continue even as one passes out of this world, whether to the Blessed Lands, or even to the Halls of Mandos. Once one has pledged oneself to another in the name of Elbereth, none can sever those bonds except those involved, by mutual consent, and then only with the grace of the Lady of the Stars and her Lord."

The heavy ebony mantle of sorrow stilled the delicate wings of hope beating within the prince's heart. "You speak of the Lady Celebrian," he whispered sadly.

"I speak of any who willingly pledge their hearts one to another," Cirdan evasively offered.

Legolas stood in silence for an uneasily lengthy pause, then offered another possibility. "Are those bonds earnestly made if there is no love in their hearts? Or, is it merely a pretense, without solidity or form, like a shadow which exists only so long as the sun shines?"

Unwilling to wrest the final glimmer of hope from the prince's heart, Cirdan acquiesced in a manner. "That is for the Lady alone to decide, or, perhaps that task falls to Eru himself."

"Then I will pray to her that it be so," Legolas joyfully sang out. "If it is as you say, that she heeds the prayers of the Minil best, then perhaps I can put the strength of my blood to good use."

With a melodious chuckle, Cirdan shook his head. Here, indeed, was the stubbornness of Thranduil and Oropher tempered with the joy and faith of the tawarwaith. <<The line of Ingwe has finally produced one who truly is fit to bear that name in Middle-earth.>> "I pray the Lady hears you well, and soon," he simply offered. "It would give me the utmost pleasure to see my old friend enjoy the rich reward of happiness he so greatly deserves." He reached out his arm and offered it for Legolas to grasp.

The prince eagerly accepted, gripping his fingers around the sinewy forearm. "I will break the curse of my family, Lord Cirdan. By the Lady's grace."

"By the Lady's grace," Cirdan echoed with the sincerest of smiles.
 

Part 11:
 

The Valacirca had pivoted around its heavenly post an appreciable amount while Legolas kept his silent vigil upon the private hilltop. Cirdan had excused himself long before, with a parting smile and an earnest wish for the prince's happiness to last as long as the world itself. Legolas had returned the smile, yet not as broadly, the burden of the shipwright's words weighing heavily upon his heart and mind.

Facing east, toward the truest home of his heart and his sole refuge against the pains of this life, Legolas reflected upon all that his been revealed this night. He had always felt there was a cavernous hole in his family's line, at least in what he had been *told* of his heritage. Cirdan had not only filled that gaping hollow in his understanding of from where he had arisen, but had also granted to him a much greater understanding of the actions and motivations of the two who had remained as mysterious as the stars to him despite their proximity in blood -- his father, and his father's sire.

The ancient ills inflicted by Feanor's line upon the citizens of Doriath and the Havens of Sirion still held sway in his father's heart, as they had in his father's before him, even though Thranduil himself had not experienced the sorrows of invasion and exile firsthand. And yet, Thranduil *had* been as an exile, in a sense, even as a child. The burning grief and anger of Oropher, his sire, the loss of both his mother and the innocence someone of his tender years deserved, had robbed Thranduil of any kind of security and certainty until he was older than Legolas now was. For it had only been once he crossed the great mountains and placed them between his family and the sins of the past that Oropher had been able to find some modicum of peace. How ironic that now his grandson had found the complete opposite to be the truth.

Elrond. So many connections between their lines, yet for all the commonality in their blood, their families could be separated by the gulf of the great sea and seem closer still than they were in truth. How could Legolas ever hope to make his father understand the joyous purity of love with which he had been blessed? "By the Lady's grace alone," he murmured softly to himself, stroking his fingertips across the dew-kissed grass beneath his grasp. Dare he hope Elbereth would give an ear to his self-serving prayers? Why were *his* desires, his wishes, his dreams of more value than those of any other of Eldar blood? Yet, had not Cirdan just explained that the Minil were most beloved to her, that Legolas not only had their blood coursing through his veins, and that in Cirdan's eye this most precious portion of his heritage ran especially strong, particularly true, in him?

The Lady had witnessed Ingwion's curse, and only with the Lady's blessings and aid could it be overcome, of that Legolas was most certain. Even if Cirdan were mistaken, and the legacy of the Faithful was not strong enough in his blood to warrant special note, surely the Lady blessed Imladris. Undoubtedly she would wish for the happiness of one who had suffered the greatest ills of three ages and still loved Middle-earth enough to forsake the lure of the Blessed Lands. If the Lady cared nothing for the concerns his heart, perhaps she would care enough for the desires of Elrond's to answer *his* prayers. For surely Legolas and his lover wished for the very same blessing above all others, and whispered identical supplications to the Star Kindler each night they spent apart.

Shrugging into place his resolve along with his robes as he stood up from the grass, Legolas swiftly swiped the discarded fillet from the grass and set it back upon his brow in reflection of the solemnity and reverence with which he regarded his self-appointed task. He had been witness to a mockery of the sanctity of love this day; now, with the stars above his sole witness, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, would rejoice in the reality of love's blessings in his own life, in his heart. He not only understood with a certainty more solid than the foundations of Ea just *who* he was, but more vitally *what* he desired, above all else.

No matter the obstacles which strove to separate him from his chosen path, nor whether his family would offer him blessings or curses of its own, he would not be deterred. For if he had learned nothing else from Cirdan's words, and his family's tragedies, it was that of all the gifts one could be granted in the lengthy passing of the ages, there was only one which truly mattered, that rarest of all treasures -- true, complete, abiding love. As a hoard of jewels and gold, it could be lost in a twist of fate, never to be regained, no matter how dearly missed and eagerly pursued.

With one hand tightly wrapped around the delicate, elf-crafted pendant adorning his neck, Legolas raised his eyes and his voice to the stars above, both directed toward the eastern shore of the heavens from whence Anar's golden rays would soon arise. East, toward Imladris, where his very own private sun would soon rise from the loneliness of the bed he so longed to share.

"Elrond Earendilion
Le gweston meleth-nin
Si a an-uir."

A tremble crept into his voice as suddenly as it did his skin, not of simple thrill, nor hesitation, but of something far greater and more sacred. It was the joy of his heart given the freedom of voice in the solemn vows he eagerly and willingly swore, far more true than those his brother had likewise uttered those hours before.

"A Daer hir Thuiathron, le nallon
Or-tiro men!
A Elbereth Gilthoniel, le nallon
Berio erthad ammen!
A Eru Panadar, le nallon
Anno galu men!"

Lowering the lids of his eyes, Legolas conjured to mind a vivid image of that noble visage, so real that he actually reached out his free fingers toward the empty space before him, half expecting to find contact with the velvety texture of Elrond's robes. Though all he found was the stillness of the fleeing night, yet no sorrow filled his heart. He would return to Imladris within the passing of a single season, and reclaim the fullness of both the lips and love of its Lord. They would be free to pledge themselves one to the other unreservedly and truly one day, if the Lady allowed.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
Lheitho hun-in o iaur gwaedh
Gwedhi hun-in a nin
Si a an-uir
Hun-nin dortha ned bain Imladris"

With a tremulous sigh, Legolas opened his eyes to the panorama of the sky above and wondered if She had heard his prayer. A gasp flew from his lips at the stunning sight of a brilliant gold and green bolide, brighter than Earendil himself streaking across the heavens from west to east, finally exploding in a starburst of silent sparks just shy of the eastern horizon. As he recovered from his stun a smile blossomed across his lips, perceiving without reservation that he had received his answer in full.

One day his vows would be returned, of that he had not the slightest of doubts. The Lady had given a tangible sign of hope this night, and Legolas would patiently search the stars above each night thereafter for the proof he required that the time had finally arrived to seal his dreams with sacred words. Until then, he would rejoice in the blessings of love's domain, and keep his *own* vows most pure.
 

The End
 

Notes:

1) For a general discussion of the Calendar of Rivendell, see http://www.astrochick.com/calendar.html . Here are the equivalent dates of events in this story:

Coirë 36 = March 9, 2715
Mettarë = March 28, 2715
Lairë 56 = July 17, 2715
Quellë 34 = November 1, 2715
Coirë 25 = February 26, 2716
Enderi 1 = September 26, 2716
Quellë 46 = November 13, 2716
Lairë 1 = May 23, 2717

2) A note on Legolas' interrupted speech in part 6: "A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Le nallon! Revio gwaedh-nin a lhaw-tin...." should hopefully translate as "O! Elbereth Gilthoniel! Hear my cry! Fly my oath to his ears...."

3) On Elf mating habits (from "Morgoth's Ring"):

Elf engagements lasted a year or more, during which time either party could back out of the agreement without penalty. Silver