"Behold! I do not give lectures on a little charity.
When I give, I give myself."

-- Walt Whitman
 

Part 1:

[The Year 2714 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, the valley sanctuary of Imladris, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell.]

The first leaf-shuddering hint of Quellë's chill whistled through the rock hewn valley, bringing with it unwanted voices of conscience muttering in Legolas' guilt clouded mind. He had long enjoyed the brilliance of an unusually lengthy Rivendell summer and autumn, and the equally joyous heat of his lover's devoted embrace, from beginning to end. Yet, all things in nature had their waxing and waning, their stirring and fading, their jubilant birth, and regret-filled death. That is how it also needed to be with his stay in Imladris. Just as the foliage would soon be fleeing the trees of Rivendell, so, too, this leaf must take his leave. His father would surely sorely miss the accuracy of his bow in defending their borders, as well as his amiable presence at diplomatic dinners, and rather than risk another embarrassing "fetching", he would most rather return home of his own, albeit marginally, free will. <<Just one more night, to hoard enough memories to get me through the darkness of Mirkwood's long winter, and I will be on my way... back.>> He smiled sadly at that last thought. Until quite recently, he had thought of his father's cavernous palace as home. Now, home was a relative term, the home of the peace of his heart, and the joy of his flesh. Both abode in fair Imladris, even when he, himself, was absent.

The glimmering late afternoon sunlight flashed through the gold-tinted leaves, the sun struggling to keep above the cliff walls in the low angle of the season. Yes, there were myriad signs of winter's inevitable approach, not the least of which was the pain of incipient separation singing its doleful dirge in his heart. Legolas stared out over the valley from the archway, his hands absently fingering the tender amber foliage of a strapping sapling. It seemed only yesterday that he had arrived in Rivendell, in time to witness these very leaves unfurl for the first time and receive the blessing of the dawn. Now, just as the sun sank lower to tumble into the west and would soon pass out of sight, the delicate foliage would make its preordained plummet to the harsh stoned surface of the ground.

With a gentle tug of his fingers, Legolas pulled a single tapered leaf from the delicate branch, raising the season gilded greenery to his nose. It smelled of the crispness of the chilling air, spiced with the most subtle hint of incipient decay. Yet, there still remained a faint shadow of the sweet scent of spring, and the promise of renewal of all things. Clutching that first leaf tightly in his fingers, he silently snatched a few more mementoes of the Imladris flora from the easily yielding sapling. So rapt was he in the burdensome weight of his regret-filled decision and his desperate need to bring a part of the vibrancy that was Imladris to the gloom of his father's subterranean palace, that he was unaware of the baleful sound hissed from his own throat, and the silent, observant approach of another.

"Why the sigh?"

Legolas sharply spun around in his surprise, the handful of leaves in his grasp growing unintentionally as he turned.

The familiar, bemused face sported the delicate arch of an eyebrow, the storm hued eyes trained on Legolas' guiltily claimed prize. "The trees will shed their leaves soon enough without your help, Malthenel-nin," Elrond warmly teased.

Uncharacteristically, Legolas failed to respond to the gentle humor, instead eagerly closing the gap between them. "I know," he whispered despondently, urgently snaking his arms around the other's robe-curtained waist to draw them together into much-needed completion. He tucked his head into the delightfully convenient space of his lover's body where neck and shoulder became one, savoring with tightly shut eyes the triply delicious sensations of mildly tickling hair, sleek blood-warmed skin, and cozy, comfort-drenched fabric.

"Legolas? Is something the matter?" Elrond softly plied, his tone hesitant and ripe with apprehension.

<<Everything... yet, nothing.>> Pained at the discomfort of uncertainty his own melancholy had caused, Legolas concentrated on the utter perfection of the moment, and each moment he had spent in Imladris, claiming the other's mouth in a desperate, breath-possessing kiss. With not the slightest mind for decorum nor privacy, nor allowing himself to acknowledge the specter of the pain of separation looming larger than the sheer walls of the Bruinen valley, itself, Legolas desperately clung to the other's now-trembling body, brushing teeth-punctuated kisses along the sensitive skin of a artistically sculpted ear. "Panna-enni, noro-enni, meletha-enni o minuial. Echad-enni caun ned glass. Tog na-enni o lend leithian." Legolas felt the arms around him instantly tighten into the strongest grip he had ever recalled, a sigh of relief fluttering from his lips across the other's ear as he eagerly melted into the all-encompassing embrace.

"Until dawn, and beyond," Elrond swore huskily, before loosely unwinding his arms to allow careful study the prince's pained expression.

The elder elf's eyes fervently sought answers in the other's face, unsettling answers Legolas was certain were as transparent as the cloudless Imladris sky. <<Do not torment me with what I cannot have. Tonight, and no longer.>> "Until dawn," Legolas whispered forlornly, reclaiming the other's mouth in a desperation driven kiss.

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

Neither wasted breath on further words, saving that for the fuel of their kisses. Together they swiftly slid from the open space of the archway up the stone carved steps which led to the discretion blessed sanctuary of Elrond's chambers. As soon as the relative privacy of the second floor terrace was attained, fingers entangled through day and night hued braid-framed manes, desperately forcing their mouths into mutual supplication.

Legolas felt his body possessively pressed back against a curvaceously crafted stone pillar and moaned in the shivering delight of anticipatory joy. Bonelessly, he permitted his arms to be raised above his head and pinned against the column by a single hand cuffing his crossed wrists. He felt the fingers of the other hand pressed between their bodies, caressing, tweaking, and tantalizing the twin ripening buds of his chest through the lightweight, shifting fabric of his silvery shirt. A shuddered moan of urgent encouragement was torn from the prince's lips, the sensation of the taut, nerve-filled package filling the front of his suddenly too tightly laced leggings rhythmically pestled by the engorged, robe-hidden majesty of his lover driving him to the very edge of coherency. "Im-boe le-si... Im-boe le-si...," he groaned painfully, rubbing his cheek against the side of his lover's face while the other continued to suckle temporary rose colored blossoms against the pale alabaster palette of his neck. "Ithilas, Im-boe le-*si*!"

Gasping at the sensation of teeth lightly burying into his neck, Legolas felt his arms released without warning, his fingers immediately finding their favored nesting place, wound around the carefully twisted plaits framing the elder elf's face. As the face trailed slowly downward, the expert lips sprinkling a trail of kisses along the line of retreat, the loose braids became as reins. They were stretched to their fullest extent as the Lord of Imladris finally knelt before his young lover, his fingers already deftly snaked under the hem of the supple shirt, freeing the prince's weeping need from the confinement of the unforgiving tightness of the fully extended leggings.

A deep, throaty moan shuddered through the prince's throat even as a ripple of ecstatic anticipation thrummed through his flesh at the velvety thumb strokes circumambulated around the expectancy dampened crown of his need. The moan suddenly strangled in a shocked inrush of air, becoming a sharp, soft cry of disbelieving rapture when the first expertly placed tongue lash lapped across his most delicate flesh. As the full, sweet lips encircled and engulfed him, his legs swayed beneath him, and Legolas was reluctantly forced to release the braids momentarily to brace himself with outstretched arms tightly gripping the other's shoulders.

Somehow steadying himself against the onslaught of sensuous sensations cascading through his entire body, Legolas clutched ferociously at the dark mane of hair one more, nearly ripping the carefully fastened hair from its butterfly-clasp prison. He felt fingers insistently pressed against that most intimate entrance, and splayed his legs slightly to allow most welcomed accessibility. He was utterly owned, desired, and completed by the tandem pleasurings from front and rear, unable to fully comprehend the ever rising tide of nerve tingling sensations welling up within his flesh.

Distracted from his passion from the brief flash of motion seen from the corner of his halfslitted eyes, he instinctively turned his head in that direction, and recognized Glorfindel's shocked face staring at him from the far end of the terrace. Freezing, Legolas worriedly watched as the elder elf paused briefly, then silently turned away and stealthily crept back down the stairs and out of sight without a word. It was an innocent, unintentional intrusion, and yet there was something in those inscrutable eyes Legolas believed he saw in the too-lengthy stare. Feeling instinctive, childish pangs of possessiveness arise within him, he tightly wound his fingers around those delicate braided reins of hair, then abandoned himself fully to the boundless bliss of the moment, throwing back his head and screaming out his lover's name with no mind for the proximity of any other intruders.

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

After Legolas had regained conscious use of his legs, and his brain, the lovers hustled off to more private quarters. Ever true to Legolas' requests, Elrond had taken him with undeniable urgency and uncompromising authority, claiming a moaned taste of prince's neck with bruising force as a finale. Shortly thereafter, Legolas cried out in sharp staccato tones as he, too, tumbled into the welcoming arms of release, coating his lover's hand with the proof of his renewed passion.
 
 

Part 2:
 

The deepening cover of dusk's ever increasing darkness cloaked the breath-echoing room as the lovers lay conjoined, yet even night's veil could not conceal the prince's sorrow from his ever observant lover. With a nearly silent sigh, Elrond gently tightened the coil of his arm around the other's shoulders. "So why the pain in your eyes, Malthenel-nin? Have I done something to upset you?"

"Never!" Legolas instantly assured his lover, hoping the insistence of his renewed kisses would affirm his sincerity. Briefly, hesitantly, he dared a glance into those expressive noble features, and found he could not bear the unfathomable depths of the concern-driven trepidation, the boundless and unreserved love, and the all-encompassing need. Snuggling back to the anonymous safety of Elrond's chest, he sighed weightily, and pronounced his own damning sentence of doom. "I leave for Mirkwood in the morning." As he fully expected, he felt Elrond stiffen underneath him, around him, through him, despite the elder elf's obvious attempt to hide his disappointment.

"You return home," Elrond softly whispered, the remark carrying no pressure, no pleading. It was a vain attempt of neutrality, yet the pain was ever present, like the depths of the broiling ocean beneath the glassy veneer of its deceptively placid surface.

"No, Ithilas, I leave the home of your arms for my responsibilities." Raising up on one elbow, Legolas met his lover's sorrowed expression. "Do not think I decide this lightly," he whispered gently, his fingers drawing tender swirling traces across the other's sweat-sheened chest.

Elrond smiled sweetly, pressing a delicate kiss upon those protesting lips. "I do not. Your loyalty to your people makes you more dear still to me, if that be possible." Pausing to drink in his memorizing fill of the prince's exquisite loveliness, he claimed yet another, more insistent, consecrating kiss. "We both understand that you cannot remain here indefinitely."

<<Why not?>> a childishly selfish voice inside Legolas screamed. "Nor can I remain away for very long." Tenderly cupping the side of Elrond's face, he traced along the elegant lines of one cheek with his thumb. "I would become as homesick as a barely weaned child for his nursery."

"And I would be twice as desperate to have you return."

Eagerly forsaking the woeful inadequacy of the spoken word, the lovers confirmed the truth of their feelings with limb tangled, full-body embraces and breath stilting kisses. With a final, throaty sigh, Legolas snuggled back into the perfect home he had found resting against the elder elf's chest, the reassuring rhythm of the other's heart reverberating in his ears.

In the comforting cocoon of unspoken, yet ever-present emotion, they continued to lie, the unceasing flight of moments passing by unnoticed. A soft, low chuckle of apparent amusement thrummed through Elrond's chest, tickling Legolas' ear as it pressed against the shifting flesh.

"Are you ever going to explain your sudden fascination with Rivendell's dying leaves, or do I have to attempt to read your mind?"

Legolas smiled slightly at the bemused request, the comforting semblance of normalcy returning to their relationship. How could he resist, despite his considerable unease and mild embarrassment. "I... I wished to take them with me, back to Mirkwood."

"I am sure you will find all the fallen leaves you could ever require on the path home."

"Yes, but they are not of Imladris." Snuggling more insistently against the sleek, blood-warmed flesh, Legolas sighed his forlorn explanation in a whisper. "I do not wish to leave your home and take nothing of it with me." Feeling the intensity of the embrace within which he greedily burrowed deepen, Legolas squeezed shut his eyes and willed his mind to burn this moment into the eternal halls of vivid memory.

"You take my heart."

Such love, such promise, such purity in that simply whispered phrase. Legolas tumbled even deeper into that sweet abyss of pure love.  "Yes, but I cannot touch it in the darkness of winter," he whispered, barely hearing his own words above the siren's song of his lover's heart beating just for him, it seemed.

"You do, in ways you cannot imagine, Malthenel-nin."

Legolas nearly cried out in the perfection of joy as the other's lips brushed against his hair, then pressed more completely against his head. The towering heights of wondrous elation soon plummeted, crumbling into the despondent despair of loss as he felt Elrond carefully shift away from his and completely break their embrace. Rolling onto his side, he reached out for his lover, only to find his hands grasped, clutched, then briefly blessed with a kiss.

"I will return in only a moment," Elrond whispered, smiling knowingly.

"Tonight, a moment away from you is an eternity," Legolas urgently whispered, propping up against the pillows. He watched with intense interest as Elrond first lit a single candle on the nearby candelabra, then softly padded several steps over to his dressing table.

Without explanation, Elrond retrieved a small mithril box, an exquisite example of craftsmanship Legolas had admired, yet somehow never felt comfortable inquiring about. He certainly had never seen Elrond touch the box, and now he desired more than ever to know its contents. With curiosity-widened eyes, the prince observed as Elrond released the lock and opened the lid, then carefully fished among the apparent contents for a few seconds. Palming some small item without allowing a peek at it, or the other contents, Elrond refastened the box from unwelcome prying eyes and returned it to its usual place.

As promised, Elrond immediately returned to his rightful position, sliding between the soft elf woven sheets, still bearing something unseen in his clasped hand. "You gave me something of great sentimental value, as a token of your affection. I will ever wear it while you are gone, and think of you whenever I feel its weight against my hair." Smiling tenderly, he extended his clenched hand to Legolas and turned it over. "I return the honor. This leaf will last far longer than those you wished to collect," he teased, then opened his hand.

With a sharp gasp, Legolas stared at the contents of his lover's palm. It was a perfect, handcrafted silver replica of the very leaf he had held in his fingers that afternoon, set in the center with a brilliant green gemstone, and hung from a delicate, yet sturdy, silver chain. Still breathless, he watched in awed silence as Elrond opened the clasp and laced the chain around his neck, then fastened it into place.

"There -- now you take something of Imladris more obvious than my heart, yet much easier to keep close to yours than the books I have already gifted to you." Bending over slightly, Elrond pressed a tender kiss against the pendent, then each of the tiny, pert rose hued flesh pebbles laying on each side.

"It is truly exquisite, and irreplaceable," Legolas reverently whispered, as Elrond shifted slightly and lay his head on the prince's shoulder.

"As are you," Elrond whispered, lifting his head to reclaim the other's lips. "Grant me the rest of night's hours to prove that beyond any doubt...."

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

In the glorious sunlight of midmorning, Glorfindel and Legolas rode in silence down the winding pathway toward the great ford of the Bruinen. The escort should have been a mere formality, yet each had their own reasons for offering, and accepting, their brief companionship along the road. The uneasy silence was unnatural between the now-fast friends, a wall more daunting that the rock hewn, sheer cliffs of the valley, itself.

With a weighty sigh, the elder of the two finally gave in to the necessity of breaching the subject so obviously on both of their minds. "I apologize for my invasion into your and Lord Elrond's privacy last evening," Glorfindel uneasily offered, staring straight ahead at the winding road.

"It is not your fault, Glorfindel. We were reckless, and deserved far worse than your discrete incursion."

Nodding slightly, Glorfindel still kept his eyes intently focused to the blank space just beyond his horse's nose. "You did not tell him, I assume."

Legolas uneasily laughed, his own embarrassment as clear as the cloudless sky above. "By Elbereth, no! The shame would haunt him unto the end of Ea!"

Glorfindel chuckled warmly, finally feeling completely at ease with the situation. "You understand him well. It will remain our secret."

"Many thanks for that." Legolas warily searched the other's face in a surreptitious glance, then uneasily continued. "Please do not take this wrong, Glorfindel, but... I believed I saw something in your expression, before you turned away. I...." Pausing, he swallowed hard and tried to frame this as delicately as possible. "I understand fully if you feel resentment at *my* intrusion into Lord Elrond's life. I do not mean to come between him and any member of his household. I... especially do not mean to hurt anyone else who has feelings for him, feelings I can most definitely understand."

Palpable confusion etched across the ancient elf's face, stunning features becoming stunned seconds before a bemused smile brightened his face. "You misread my reaction greatly, Fair Prince. I feel nothing but the greatest joy at what has passed between you and my dearest friend. He is as a brother to me -- nothing more, and nothing less." The relief obvious in the other's face broadened the elder elf's smile considerably, before it faded into the reflection of pained remembrance. "What you saw was merely the ghost of memory haunting my mind. A moment when I, too, forgot my station and my rank and became as a thrall to the indiscretions of youthful persistence."

"You speak with regrets," Legolas sadly noted.

"Some, but it is long past."

Legolas studied the distance in the other's face, and caught the brief reflection of pains only barely buried beneath the surface. He was intrigued -- Glorfindel had never spoken of his own past, except his military campaigns with Elrond. Certainly the possibility that Glorfindel had once loved was not unexpected, still it still seemed the stuff worthy of quite curious questioning. "Is there a chance you could renew the relationship which obviously brought you such moments of joy?" he encouraged honestly.

The weight of his years suddenly a visible mantle bowing his shoulders, Glorfindel sadly shook his head. "It was truly only a moment, long ago. I put it out of my mind many centuries past, and honestly never think of it."

"Your eyes betray you, Glorfindel. It is not nearly as 'put away' as you would wish."

Pursing his lips, Glorfindel far too obviously pondered the proper response to deflect the prince's well-intentioned prompting. "Perhaps the happiness I see in Elrond reminds me of what I could not have, that is all." Stopping at the mighty river's edge, he reached out and affectionately clasped Legolas' forearm. "May the Lady guide your horse, and your bow, until we meet again, my friend."

"Yours, as well," Legolas returned. With a bright, hope-filled smile, he added, "May she also open your heart to the possibility of second chances." With a final, saluting wave, he watched as Glorfindel turned around his horse and leisurely started back up the path back to Imladris. With a heart-felt sigh, Legolas stared at the briskly rolling, shallow river and briefly reconsidered his decision to leave. Understanding that Elrond would be disappointed, albeit accepting, if he decided to completely abandon his duties, he merely turned his horse around one last time and stared back at the barely visible rooftops peeking above the dense treeline. "May the Lady send you sweet dreams of me, Ithilas, until I return," he whispered to the air, one hand tightly clutching his precious gift as it lay against the tunic. With that final benediction, he set off for Mirkwood, leaving his heart permanently behind on *this* side of the Bruinen.
 
 

Part 3:
 

Steady hoof beats brightly clicked along the pebble-lined ground of the great forest road, the elf-raised horses leisurely following the well-memorized way home at their own pace. Their dark haired riders silently drank in the increasing familiarity of the delicately gilded foliage, home-sick smiles framing surprisingly identical faces.

"I cannot believe we have been away nearly two full years," Elladan murmured softly, regret more than apparent in his tone.

"At least this time we arrive when the leaves are still on the trees -- even if only for a brief time," Elrohir offered in way of consolation. "We would have arrived sooner, if you had not wished to linger in Lothlorien."

"It has been longer, still, since last we saw our Mother's kin. We owe them more than merely a hasty stopover to see if our sister required an escort home."

Elrohir reached out and grabbed a leaf off an overhanging branch and smiled as he studied its delicate intermingling hues of green and amber. It reminded him of Imladris, itself, and found himself greatly anticipating the opportunity to spend more than a few nights dreaming in his own luxurious bed. "You are just eager to discover why our sister returned home sooner than we expected."

"And you are not?"

"Perhaps," Elrohir slyly volleyed, releasing the leaf and watching with childlike glee as it elegantly pirouetted to the ground. "But at least *I* can rein in my curiosity."

With a loud, amused snort, Elladan gently urged his trusty steed into a slightly more purposeful gait with a gentle pat to its sleek snowy neck. "You may have the ability, Brother, but you certainly do *not* exercise it often! Father would most assuredly agree with me on that."

Allowing the playful attempt at an insult to quickly suffer an unanswered demise, Elrohir instantly matched his brother's pace, his mount keeping its nose just slightly behind the other's flank. "Speaking of Father, I wonder what manner of mood we may find him in this time."

"I almost dare not guess, lest my inane humor find its way into reality." Elladan grinned broadly, recalling the curious change in his usually dour sire's demeanor they had witnessed when last they were home. "Perhaps our family has fallen into madness, and we are the only two who remain in control of their faculties," he joked playfully. "Perhaps it is to our benefit that we remain away from Imladris. Father has clearly been confined to its unchanging borders for far too long. Surely, it cannot be healthy to remain a prisoner in one's own home, even a home as grand as ours." The barely audible sound of approaching hoof steps interrupted his random musings, and he cocked his head to one side as he slowed his horse to a temporary halt. "Someone approaches from the Bruinen," he whispered to his brother, exchanging a questioning expression over his shoulder.

Before Elrohir could offer his best opinion as to the approacher's most probably identity, the issue became moot. A familiar fair haired elf trotted his mount into view, a smile of recognition curling up the twin's lips. "Look, Elladan -- it is Mirkwood's princeling, making good on his threat to call on us again!" he loudly sang out.

With a beaming smile of his own, Legolas halted his steed beside the twins' and eagerly accepted Elladan's offered forearm for clasping. "It is good to see you both, but I fear your timing is most unfortunate. I have finished my stay in Imladris, and am returning to Mirkwood." He reached over and clasped the other twin's arm with equal gusto. "I am, indeed, sorry that I missed you on this visit, as I did on my last."

The twins exchanged a shared, mirrored expression of unabashed puzzlement. "You have been here more than once since we last spoke in Mirkwood?" Elladan suspiciously inquired. "You have apparently spent far more time in our home of late than have we."

"So it would seem," Legolas agreed with a breathless sigh. Pausing, he became momentarily lost to the conscious world, as a particularly sweet memory of his most recent visit replayed in his mind, an obvious bliss-clouded expression painting across his face. "I do not understand how you can bear to be away from Imladris for so long," he asked in another exhaled sigh. "How can anyone leave its beauty behind so freely, and so often?" Unconsciously, he raised a hand to his chest and tenderly stroked the delicate jeweled leaf still openly displayed against the dark green of his travel tunic.

Elladan stared at the pendant with widening eyes, a shocked expression of recognition and outrage furrowing his brow. "Where did you get that necklace?"

Legolas protectively clasped the precious token of his lover's boundless affection in his fingers, concern washing through his expressive features before settling in the deep stormy pools of his eyes. "It was a gift. Why do you ask?"

"It once belonged to our mother," Elladan icily spat. Warily exchanging a knowing glance with his brother, he stared accusatory daggers into the prince's suspiciously unsettled face. "I was not aware it still remained in Middle-earth. I had assumed she had worn it when she traveled West."

Carefully tucking the pendant into the flesh contacted privacy beneath his tunic and shirt, Legolas nearly shimmied out his skin in his discomfort. "It is good to see you both, but I must be on my way, now," he evasively explained, urging his horse forward a few quick paces. "I have many miles to cover before darkness falls, and I have already lost several hours. I hope to see you both the next time I return." With that, Legolas sped off down the path, his horse's hoofs raising swirling clouds of road dust around him as he galloped.

The silently stunned twins watched him disappear into the thick tangle of trees beyond, then shared a most disconcerted expression of ever increasing alarm.

"How did he come to possess our mother's necklace?" Elrohir furiously spat.

"He *claims* it was a gift," his brother sarcastically replied.

"A gift? From whom could he receive it?"

Elladan shrugged slightly. "It could only be our sister. Father gave to her most of Mother's favorite things."

His twin pondered that unsettling possibility for nearly a full minute, the disturbance in his heart reaching greater heights as the entirety of ramifications played out in his mind. "That princeling has won Arwen's heart? I cannot believe it. What would they have in common? Why would she find him worthy of anything more than an amused trifling?" His face became grimmer still, his piercing gaze transfixed on his twin's equally disconcerted expression. "Our sister has clearly become mad in her loneliness, Brother. We should speak to her about this, immediately."

Elladan nodded most enthusiastically. "Agreed. He is clearly not a suitable choice for her heart, and especially not her hand in marriage. He is but a child, and an especially unworldly one, at that. She deserves far better."

An even more repugnantly ghastly thought crossed his brother's mind unbidden. "Is it possible that this could be Father's doing. Would he bind our sister to another against her will?"

Elladan pondered that very real possibility with a shudder, then drove his horse forward in haste with jabs of his heels. "In either case, we must put a stop to this madness before it goes too far," he shouted over his shoulder, as he rode off with ever increasing urgency. He feared his family's very honor, if not his sister's happiness, was at stake. Like his brother, he silently rued the day they so innocently first brought Mirkwood's prince into their home.
 
 

Part 4:
 

Still breathless with the hurriedness of their arrival, the twins boldly burst into their sister's most private quarters, ignoring the usual expected courtesy of announcing their arrival. Arwen instantly arose from her window side divan, eagerly setting aside her needlework as a welcoming smile brightened her already lovely features. "My brothers! You arrive home before winter," she joyously sang, automatically opening her arms to greet them in a proper way.

"Sister -- it is good to see you looking well," Elladan sighed with a touch of relief, anxiously accepting her embrace and planting an earnest kiss upon her cheek.

"You expected me to look another way?" Arwen playfully teased, eagerly releasing her eldest brother to repeat her affectionate greeting with the younger twin. "Elrohir, surely *you* would not insult me so," she sweetly mocked, lovingly squeezing the twin as he kissed her other cheek.

"We both equally worry for you," Elrohir gravely announced, lingering in her embrace.

Wary and confused, Arwen pulled out of his arms and searched his dark, cloud colored eyes for an explanation more rational than his words now offered. "Why? I am just as you both last saw me -- no evil has befallen me since then."

"We are not convinced that is the entire truth." Elrohir exchanged a private expression of uncertain apprehension with this twin, then stepped back and gathered one of Arwen's delicate hands in his. "We are concerned that you are not yourself."

Amused by that nonsensical statement, Arwen lyrically laughed. "Not myself? Who else would I be?" Noticing the seriousness in her brothers' faces, she, too, grew far more grave in expression and tone. "Elrohir, Elladan, what troubles you both? It is *you* who are strangely not as you should be."

Grasping his sister's free hand, Elladan raised it to his lips for a tender, affectionate kiss, then cupped it gently, holding it to his chest. "Before crossing the ford, we happened upon Legolas of Mirkwood, taking his leave of Imladris."

"Yes," Arwen noted, the sorrow cascading through her like the mighty falls of the Bruinen beyond. "He leaves for his own land, and his own responsibilities."

The twins shared a knowing glance, convinced they had correctly sized up the nature, and seriousness, of the situation on the very first try. "You sound saddened by his departure," Elladan noted with probing interest.

A bittersweet smile veiled the Evenstar's beauty. "Yes, his visits bring much happiness to Imladris. His absence will be increasingly obvious as the gloom of winter arrives."

With pursed lips, Elrohir joined his voice to his brother's in the inquisition. "He has visited our home twice since we last left, has he not?"

Unaware of the true intent of the twins' surgically probing questions, Arwen nodded innocently. "Yes, he spent a previous summer here, shortly after I returned from Lothlorien, until his attendance home was required to help stave off an orc offensive. Father sent along his best bowsmen to aid in Mirkwood's defense. If you had been here, he surely would have sent you both, as well."

<<Father sends Rivendell's best to aid Thranduil? Things are, indeed, more serious than even I anticipated.>> The expression on his brother's face led Elladan to believe that he agreed in this solemn and unsettling interpretation of events. "Then, indeed, Legolas has found far more favor with our father than on his first visit."

Smirking in the full blossom of her private knowledge, Arwen laughingly agreed. "That is certainly true."

With deeply furrowed brow, Elladan released his sister's hand and wandered a few steps toward the window, his mind clothed in a dense cloak of troubling thoughts. "He has obviously found special favor with you, if your gift to him is any proof."

"A gift?" Arwen naively inquired, her features reading of truthful perplexity.

"The necklace," Elrohir prompted. "He proudly wore it next to his heart when we came upon him on the road. It obviously means the world to him, as well it should."

"A necklace," Arwen parroted softly, her even voice a reflection of curiosity bereft of any hint of concern.

Alarmed at his sister's seeming lack of knowledge -- either feigned or real -- Elladan turned back and closed the gap between them. "Yes, the green-gemmed leaf -- the one Father gave to our mother to celebrate your birth." With a pregnant pause, he circumspectly studied her still unsparked expression. "You did not give it to him?" he curtly inquired, the hairs raising in alarm across the back of his neck.

Arwen came to a clear understanding of the discomfited situation just a shade too belatedly to prevent an emotional explosion, her vainly babbled words of explanation cut off by Elladan's fiery accusation.

"By the Valar, he stole it! I suspected he was far too nervous about it! Now I understand why! Ai, to believe it was we who brought this snake into our home!"

"Father will have his head for this!" Elrohir agreed, releasing his sister's hand and stalking angrily toward the door, ignoring her repeated attempts to interject into their anger-stoked volley. "Come, Brother, we will tell Father of the prince's treachery, then ride out and drag him back here in chains to answer for his unconscionable abuse of our family's hospitality!"

Elladan nodded his approval, noisely clapping his brother on the shoulder. "No, we must not wait to leave -- we can explain it all to Father when we have the thief in hand...."

"No -- both of you, listen to me, PLEASE!!!!!" Arwen cried out, following behind her fuming brothers with pleading hands.

The twins continued their stomp toward the door unfettered, until their sister's next words utterly froze them like statues in their anger-rushed tracks.

"It was Father who gave it to him."

Slowly spinning around to face Arwen in choreographed synchronicity, the twins stared, open-mouthed, at their sister, clearly disbelieving her startling, utterly unexpected revelation.

"You have both been gone far too long to understand," Arwen gently pleaded, her lips trying a hint of a smile as encouragement for their open-minded attention. "Neither of you spend enough time with Father to know *his* needs, *his* pain. You are too wrapped up in your own anger and revenge to think of anyone else." Mindful that her tenor had turned unnecessarily scolding, she drew in a calming breath and softened her tone. "You do not know how hopelessly lonely he has been."

With utter incredulity, Elladan stared first at his sister, then his equally shocked brother. "Father has taken the princeling to his bed? That is childish folly enough. But to gift upon him our mother's most treasured personal belongings? That is an affront I cannot bear! Surely, you cannot support Father in this!"

"I do, and Legolas, as well, without reservation," Arwen proudly affirmed. "He has become as another brother to me, since you both spend far more time chasing memories in the guise of orcs than you do with your own family."

The sting of that insult pierced Elrohir to the bone. "What? He not only usurps our mother's rightful place, but ours, as well?"

Not allowing his sister a chance to rebut or explain, Elladan flashed her a searing glare. "I cannot abide this! No, I *will* not stand for it for another moment! Come, Elrohir. We must confront Father immediately, and hear it from his own lips, before we dare believe such absurdities." Elladan stomped off with Elrohir closely at his heels, ignoring the fading pleas for understanding from their sister as their nearly running gait easily left her behind.

Part 5:
 

Memory-blurred eyes half studied the delicate, finger-clasped leaf, the visual feast revolving in the Lord's mind's eye a far greater enticement for his attention than the reality before him. Legolas had been absent from his presence for barely more than an hour, yet is seemed an entire century had passed by with agonizing sloth. His lips still tingled with the easily recalled ardor of their final kiss, the silken texture of the prince's hair still discernible in the tactile memory of his fingertips. Elrond tenderly stroked the captured foliage, imagining it to be the carefully woven braids he had watched his lover affix into his golden hair that very morning.

It was such a simple task, repeated without conscious thought by countless of their race on any number of days throughout years immemorial, yet it seemed the most sensual of undertakings when accomplished by the fluid movements of those deft, bow-strengthened fingers. Elrond had wordlessly watched from the proximity of his bed as his lover sat at his dressing table, and prepared his hair for the road, daring not even the loudness of breath to intrude upon the magic of the moment. He had committed to the library of his memory every fine nuance of sight, sound, and smell -- the oblique-angled glimmer of early morning sunshine off the individual strands of spun gold nimbly intertwined in the prince's fingers as he braided, the joyous twitter of songbirds perched on a branch just outside the window dueting with the nearly silent rush of the breeze gently rustling through the autumn crispened foliage, the distinctive, masculine musk of their passion wafting up from the sheets and swirling around him.

A shudder ran through Elrond's body at the intensity of the memories sweeping through him, the imagined touch of the prince's fingertips along the back of his neck so vividly real and utterly erotic.

The sound of rushed footsteps unwillingly roused him from the private enjoyment of his piquant remembrances, Elrond spinning away from his window to observe the source of the invasion to his solitude. A warm smile graced his lips at the most unexpected and quite welcome sight of the dark haired twins entering his bedroom nearly shoulder to shoulder. "My sons...," he instinctively greeted with joy, yet his outstretching arms paused nearly as soon as they had unfolded at the uncharacteristic and utterly alarming grimness of their faces. "What is wrong?" he coldly inquired, his heart booming in his ears.

Elladan stepped one foot closer than his twin and did not hesitate even to blink. "Father, we need to speak to you... openly, and plainly."

Not certain whether the formality in his son's speech was as ominous as it sounded, Elrond simply responded in the most natural manner, clasping his lowered hands together in front of his robe. "Of course, that is always your right. Of what do you wish to speak?"

"Legolas."

The leaf slipped from Elrond's shock loosened fingers, silently striking the floor at the hem of his regal robes. "Legolas? What of him?" Although his features instantly took on the stony appearance of the unyielding Bruinen cliffs, his eyes housed an unbridled cascade of emotion more furious than the tumbling waves of the waterfalls beyond his room. "Has something happened? Speak, Elladan!" he growled, despite his attempt at some modicum of control.

"Apparently, it has," Elrohir disgustedly remarked, sidling up next to his brother. "Your reaction betrays you, Father."

Blinking stiffly, Elrond searched both his sons' faces for some semblance of logic. "Betrays me? In what manner?"

"You can try to deny your folly, but you cannot silence the evidence of your indiscretions," Elladan fumed. "We saw the very proof when we met *him* on the road, and see far more than we need to in your eyes."

Finally glimpsing a glimmer of barely recognizable coherency in his sons' ranting charges, Elrond sucked in steeling breath. "What 'indiscretions' have I committed? If you refer to my relationship with Legolas, it is the concern of none besides he and myself."

The younger twin curled up his lips in obvious revulsion, his gaze passing between his father's face and the tangled bedclothes beyond. "He does not even try to hide his disgrace. By Elbereth, his own bed betrays him, Brother. I choke on the stench of their rutting."

Nearly uncontainable rage bubbled up to the visible surface of Elrond's usually cool countenance at the insult to what he considered his stainless affection for the prince. "You would do well to mind your tongue, Elrohir, before I rip it from your mouth," Elrond furiously spat, shaking a rage-trembled finger at his younger son.

But his sons had no mind for the respect of parents, nor the safety of their own flesh, their unfounded rage driving them to the brink of madness in the carelessness of their speech. "You have taken him to your bed, gifted upon him your wife's jewels. What next, Father?" Elladan fumed.  "Will you demand that we call this whore prince of Mirkwood 'Mother' in her stead?"

The power of Elrond's instant fury-forced backhanded slap of his face sent Elladan crashing to the floor, holding his pain-soaked cheek in stunned silence as he lay there splayed in a most undignified manner.

"Just because you were born of my loins does not give you the right to govern them now! Whom I love, and the manner in which I do so, it is *none* of your concern!" He glared at his elder son, then the younger, his accusatory finger pointed most directly at him. "*Neither* of you!" The unwisely timed rushed entrance of an old friend momemtarily distracted Elrond from his chastising of his brattish progeny.

Glorfindel halted just inside the doorway, staring in disbelief at the tableau displayed before him. "I heard raised voices," he explained guiltily, regret and embarrassment awash upon his face.

"You would have heard a great deal more, if you had not decided to intervene," Elrond icily barked.

The Lord of Rivendell's eyes flashed with a blazoning, hate-stoked fire the likes of which Glorfindel had not witnessed since the last great war. It was an expression which never failed to chill him to the very core, and the fact that it was currently directed at the Lord's own children did not bode well for the future of Imladris.

"You never *could* teach that one anything," Elrond growled lowly, gesturing to his still floor-bound elder son. "See if your counsel still holds sway with his brother, Glorfindel, before I feel the need to redden *his* cheek with the back of my hand." With a final, loathing sneer directed at both his sons, Elrond pushed past his old friend and stalked off for much needed solitude, leaving three utterly dumbstruck elves in his wake.

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

"Here -- this will take away the sting."

"I will gladly bear the pain," Elladan boldly rebuffed, waving off the water-soaked cloth Glorfindel offered. "It seems a fitting companion to my anger."

Glorfindel pulled out the chair from the dressing table and bade Elladan to sit upon its seat. "What manner is this improbable anger? I have never known either of you to have anything but the greatest respect for your sire."

Elrohir snorted derisively from his vantage point near the far window. "Father has always *deserved* our respect, until this moment." Noting Glorfindel's still bewildered expression, he sighed loudly and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I do not wish to be the bearer of troubling news, but it cannot remain secret from you any longer, Glorfindel. You are one of Father's oldest and closest friends, and if anyone can help him to see the madness of his ways...."

"He has made it abundantly clear that *our* opinions matter not to him," Elladan interrupted, finally acquiescing to Glorfindel in claiming the offered seat. "Why do you think he will listen to the advice of friends and counselors?"

"At the moment, *this* friend is still in the dark as to the reason for your anger, and the nature of your father's supposed madness," Glorfindel interjected impatiently, crossing his arms in front of his embroidered robes in utter exasperation.

Nodding in shamefaced understanding, Elrohir continued his temporarily suspended explanation. "We came upon Legolas of Mirkwood on the road just beyond the ford. He bore a pendent which was very dear to our mother -- the leaf set with a green gem she had received in honor of Arwen's birth. Do you recall the one?"

"Yes. 'Tis an exquisite piece of Rivendell's craftsmanship. One of Celebrimbor's own students fashioned it per your father's careful instructions."

"When we saw it around his neck, we believed Arwen had given it to him, in a moment of folly," Elrohir expanded. "We were naturally concerned that she had, apparently, given her heart to one so clearly undeserving of such serious attention."

"*Naturally*," Glorfindel icily noted, the sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

Blinded by his own all-consuming ire, Elrohir continued his recounting of events undaunted. "Imagine our horror when Arwen proudly boasted that the folly was not hers, but *Father's*, and that she heartily approves of his shameful behavior!"

"If you mean his affection for Legolas, it is hardly folly in *my* eyes, either."
 
 

Part 6:
 

Glorfindel relished the indignancy turned to shock in the twins' faces. "It interests me deeply that you are far more concerned with your father's perceived follies than Lady Arwen's. Is it that you are truthfully worried that it is not a mere flight of fancy? Perhaps you see the reality of the situation, whether it is your wish or not -- that all of Rivendell rejoices at the great love which has blessed your father's heart."

"Love? It is nothing of the sort!" Elladan spat disgustedly, pushing to his feet with such fury the chair knocked back against the dressing table with a sharp rap.  "The reality is that Father has lost his mind, and has become bewitched by that pretender to princehood."

"He is no pretender, either to his title or your father's affection," Glorfindel calmly pressed. "His father fought bravely in the Last Alliance, along with your father and I, and his kingdom suffered far more egregious losses than either Imladris or Lothlorien. Perhaps it is Thranduil who would have just cause to call Elrond a 'pretender'."

The elder twin shook his head stiffly. "You are masterful as ever in bending the truth, Glorfindel."

"Truth is in the eye of the beholder, Elladan, as is love." The ancient elf glanced over at the strangely silent younger twin and beseeched, "Would you rather your father suffer in his loneliness?"

"I would rather he honors our mother," Elrohir sadly retorted in a loud sigh.

Shaking his head in well-learned exasperation at the twins' seemingly never-ending stubbornness, Glorfindel found his tongue had lost its usual patience. "What would either of you truly know of her honor, or her heart? Did you ever speak to her about love? Did you ever understand *her* loneliness? Why do you believe she spent much of her time in Lothlorien?"

"I would then blame Father for that," the younger twin countered, the fire in his eyes and his tone returning with a vengeance.

"Take care where you assign blame, Elrohir. Would you blame your father for accepting an arranged marriage, or your mother? Both are equally to blame, in that respect. Or would you blame your grandparents, as it was their idea. Your sister understands this matter -- you would do well to listen to her."

Elladan found no convincing in this line of reasoning. "What would Arwen know of matters of love? She lacks the experience to give anyone counsel in this subject."

"Do you suggest your father does not have sufficient experience to understand his own heart?"

"Father is a fool," Elrohir hissed.

Glorfindel stared at him with piercing eyes so intense the twin was nearly knocked back by the ferocity of his expression. "So, wise Elrohir, you claim only a foolish old man could be swayed by the beauty of youth... and only a whore of a princeling would find pleasure in bedding an older and more experienced lover. No true affection could *possibly* pass between two so different in age and rank. Is that what you suggest as truth?"

Elrohir spun away to face the open window, but not before Glorfindel caught the stinging redness of shame color his cheeks. He swallowed hard, regretting the cruelty of his words, but realized their meaning had been understood by at least one of the headstrong twins.

"I will say it," Elladan chimed in. "Father has grown foolish in his dotage, and the prince uses him for his own gains. Naught but ill will come of this, Glorfindel! He will not come between us and our father, or between us and our rightful place in Rivendell's council."

"No, indeed, the prince does not *need* to become between you and your father, as you have created a large enough chasm in your family with your own rash tongue!" Glorfindel roared most uncharacteristically.

Visibly fuming, Elladan impatiently waited for Elrohir to chime in with some defense of their position, but hearing none, stormed off in anger-choked silence, leaving his brother face to face with the evidence of his own guilty indiscretions.

----------

Time passed steadily like the waters of the great river, flowing past the elves, engulfing them in its current, yet somehow not able to carry them to another shore where they might find peace. Sucking in a steeling, sighed breath, Glorfindel finally found he could no longer suffer the silent accusation of the other's palpable pain. He hesitantly walked soft footsteps to close the physical distance between them, yet he could still feel the true distance like a spear rending his very heart. "Elrohir, I am so sorry.... My words were unnecessarily harsh," he whispered softly.

The twin's shoulders raised slightly in a sighed breath, then fell again. "No, yours were not. My brother's, however, were inexcusable." Pausing, Elrohir glanced up at the ceiling, then ever so slowly turned around to face the elder elf. "As were mine." With sorrow-edged eyes he studied the other's elegant features, his heart seeking the comfort of events long past, and passions long forgotten. "Elladan misses Mother as much as the day she departed West," he whispered, with the boundless melancholy of one unable to speak his true feelings.

Glorfindel nodded slightly, a slight smile of encouragement further beautifying his face. "We *all* do. Her absence is still felt, in ways we sometimes do not consciously understand." Pausing, he tentatively reached out a hand and gently smoothed an errant braid, settling it back into place behind the delicate ear. A shiver trembled through his body at the sensation of the silky skin brushed against his finger, his flesh instinctively remembering even more erotic sensations he once felt at the contact of the twin's body so close to his own. "She once spoke of you to me, many, many years before she departed," the ancient elf huskily breathed, carefully retracting his fingers in a clenched fist, lest he fall victim to the baleful crying of his soul to claim another, more intense, taste of touch.

Surprise muted by the distracting veil of smoldering, yet unspoken, desire painted across the twin's features. "What did she say?" he softly inquired.

"She knew of my desire for you, even though I never spoke of it to anyone, but you." Noting the sweet rosed hue of lost composure tint the edges of the pale cheeks, Glorfindel smiled sadly, his sorrow fueled by memories of what he had once been his, and what could not be so. "I do not know if she was aware of what had already passed between us, but she gave me her blessing to pursue you in earnest -- if that was your wish."

A choked sound of sincerest emotion flew from Elrohir's lips. "She said that? I cannot believe it."

"You should. Your mother loved you without reservation, as she did all of her children. You were her life." Daring a fleeting surrender to his long-suppressed yearnings, Glorfindel tenderly brushed the back of a single finger against the younger elf's cheek, the responding tremble in the other's skin further expanding the dull ache of his undeniable need. "She told me that 'to deny passion is to deny life'. She would never wish her children to live without passion, without love, as she had chosen to do."

The sorrow and pain in Elrohir's twilight-hued gaze deepened as the unfolding of the very night itself. "Yet you did not come to me afterward, and she never spoke to me of this. Why?"

Breathing out a defeated sigh, Glorfindel allowed his finger to fall away from the delicately sculpted cheek. "By that time, your fancy had turned elsewhere."

"My *fancy* had been rebuked without warning, and *forced* elsewhere," Elrohir heatedly countered.

Glorfindel turned away, unable to withstand the depths of distress reflecting back at him from that much beloved face. "I believed it for the best -- at the time."

"And now?"

The elder elf said nothing, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in a vain attempt to expel the erotic visual replay of moments lost from his tortured brain.

"I *almost* came to you, after Mother set sail. Elladan was lost in his grief, and Father was more concerned with assuaging Arwen's pain than recognizing mine. Would you have turned me away, then?"

Turning back, Glorfindel decisively shook his head. "Never, pen-neth. I would never turn you away. You always have my counsel, and my comfort, if it be required. All you ever need do is ask."

A bittersweet smile flashed briefly across Elrohir's face at the sound of a long-missed nickname. "Our chance has passed, has it not?" he sorrowfully suggested, part of him secretly wishing that his assumptions would be proven wrong for a second time this day.

"I fear that may be true, but now is not the time to ask such questions. So much else distracts us."

Elrohir slowly nodded in reluctant agreement, noting with a glimmer of optimism the vagueness in the other's answer. "It is comforting to know that I always have your ear, and your words of wisdom. I will take those now and mend the rift in our family, if I can." He paused to linger in his own bittersweet remembrances, then flashed a bold, hope-filled smile at his one-time lover. "You and I will speak of this again, once peace has returned to Rivendell. If Father can find love in places most unexpected, perhaps we would do well to follow his lead."

Returning the brazen comment with a crafty half-smile of his own, Glorfindel offered eagerly, "Your father's leadership has never brought me to anything save victory. Let us hope it will be the same in this matter."

"It will," Elrohir confidently answered. "Although, I leave it to *your* glib tongue to explain to Father how his sons' most trusted tutor spent hours in bedding one of his sons when he should have been instructing them."

"Who says it was not instruction of a kind?" Glorfindel teased. "Yet, I believe we should wait to bring this to his attention until Legolas' next visit, so he will be... *distracted*."

With a wink, Elrohir turned to leave, happily shooting over his shoulder, "As always, your suggestions are most sage, pen-iaur. Wish me luck with Father."

Glorfindel smiled broadly as he watched the other's departure, wondering when the water of the Bruinen had become such a potent aphrodisiac.
 
 

Part 7:
 

After many minutes of eager searching, Elrohir finally found his father silently sitting beneath a small stone bridge, seated with his back to the pathway on a hummock of grass and staring into the burbled waters of the river. He waited several seconds for Elrond to acknowledge his presence, then finally cleared his throat with unnecessary volume.

"Why have you come, Elrohir?" Elrond accusingly drawled. "Is *your* cheek eager to receive the same abuse as your brother's suffered?"

"No, Father, I wish to apologize."

With a visible stiffening of his shoulders, Elrond cautiously turned around as he stood, his gaze warily studying the other's expression.

"Forgive me -- I did not understand," Elrohir respectfully explained.

An incredulity raised eyebrow arched further skyward. "And now you do? How have you achieved wisdom so rapidly?"

"Glorfindel has always been the best of tutors," Elrohir evasively answered, a hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his mouth.

Elrond smiled slightly in return, instantly softening his tone. "Yes, I seem to remember you always paid more mind to his lessons than your brother."

Wincing to himself, Elrohir silently thanked Elbereth for his father's oblivious innocence, and prayed that he and Glorfindel could hold to the bond of discretion until Legolas returned. "I fear my brother's guilt has clouded his judgment for far too long. You always taught us to honor our promises above all else. But now, I feel I must break one, for the greater good of us all." Pausing with vivid ill-ease, he sucked in a fortifying breathe. "It was Elladan's fault that we did not return home in time to escort Mother's caravan to Lothlorien."

Deep furrows of confusion lined the ancient yet ageless face. "It was on my order that you were both away from Rivendell. One cannot expect to arrive home precisely when one plans except with the greatest of luck. You had no means of knowing she wished to leave promptly because she feared the early approach of winter that year."

"No, Father, you do not understand. Elladan *chose* to tarry on the road back -- to play senseless games with a maiden he found comely, for the moment. The brief nights he spent in her arms cost us a prompt arrival, and our mother suffered needlessly, as a result. He blames himself, and has sworn to never again put his heart before his duties. It seems he cannot allow anyone else to do the same."

Elrond pondered his son's pained admission of unwilling collusion with distant-gazed solemnity, then purposefully pursed his lips. "I can fully understand his self-blame, yet it is woefully misplaced. Your mother would surely not lay any responsibility at his feet, nor can I see the use in doing so, especially after all these years. *She* chose to leave when she did, and not wait for your return." With a sweet, relaxed half-smile of acceptance, he stepped into his son's private space and gently cupped his face. "Thank you for telling me of this. I know it was not easy."

"I do not expect he will forgive me, once he learns of my treachery," Elrohir sadly whispered, gladdened at least that his relationship with his father appeared to be mended. "I have one further imperative thing to tell you," he softly offered, noting the barely perceivable steeling in his father's body. With a brimming smile, he happily announced, "Arwen was right -- I see it in your eyes. You have my blessing, Father. Love whom you will, just truly be happy. That is all I require. "

A relieved smile blossomed fully on the Lord's face, his fingers affectionately brushing back his son's hair. "Thank you, my son. That means more to me than you could ever know." He paused, then pressed a tender kiss against Elrohir's forehead. "Now, I must go pound some sense into your brother, this time using my words, and not my fist."

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

Elrond found Elladan in the very place he first expected, sitting alone in Celebrian's favorite private garden. An elegant, seated statue of the Lady of Rivendell resided over the carefully tended space from the stone bench on which the twin now sat. "You were her first born," Elrond gently remembered, a sad smile affixed to his face, "and her favorite, even though she tried her best to hide it." He respectfully gave his son time to respond, then hearing no protest carefully sat beside the sullen-faced twin. "Do you know she gave your brother his name because he galloped out of her womb right on your heels? He has ever been close behind you since that first day, your constant shadow, companion, and champion, whether you be right or wrong."

Elladan avoided his father's intense stare, instead passing his gaze over the  weathered texture of the bench beside him. "Loyalty is a virtue, Father, or have you changed your mind about *that* lesson, as well."

"Blind loyalty serves no one, Elladan. Neither does blind guilt."

A smirked smug smile of satisfaction grew upon the younger face. "You admit you have guilt over this?"

"I do not speak of myself, but of you."

Feeling the unnerving phantom of secrets kept for far too long taunt him, Elladan slowly shifted in his seat to face his father. "*My* guilt? What do you believe *I* have done to warrant guilt?"

"Your brother told me the real story of your mother's accident. The true reason for your delay."

Fury burned visibly through the twin, a torch blazoning in his eyes, his demeanor, his very breath. "He would betray me? My own brother?"

Elrond lay a hand upon his son's shoulder, his voice calm and true of purpose. "No, he would save you, from yourself. From your pain." The fingers squeezed reassuringly into the twin's guilt-tensed muscles. "Even if you had arrived home when you had planned, and had personally escorted her to Lothlorien, you might not have been able to prevent her wounds, and may yet have suffered worse yourselves. *That* would have increased her pain tenfold." Elrond affectionately smiled at his son, his fingers raising to cup the side of that pain-drenched face. "I do not hold you to blame, nor should you hold yourself responsible. She would not wish for you to suffer another moment on her behalf. She adored you with all her heart."

Tears of anger and pain welled up in the corners of Elladan's eyes, years of unexpressed regrets crashing over him like the very waves of the sea he had never seen. "If she loved us as much as you say, then why did she leave?"

Elrond flashed a bittersweet smile at his son, tenderly stroking the side of his head the way his wife used to do when their sons were unhappy over some childish trifle. "It has taken many years, but I have come to understand that it was *because* she loved her children that she felt she had to leave. The three of you were her most precious gems, but she did not wish for you to remain children forever. Her most fervent prayer was for your happiness -- all of you. Her continued pain would only serve to torment you further. She wished for you to remember her as she *was*, not as she feared she would become, as the fear in her heart began to consume her." He gently cupped both sides of his son's face and held his tearstained gaze captive. "She wished for you to continue to appreciate the beauty of Imladris, and all Middle-earth, even as she could not."

"And what of you?" Elladan hushedly asked, guiltily brushing away his tears with a hasty swipe of a hand. "Does Arwen speak the truth -- was there no love between you?"

Elrond released his son's face and sat back slightly, a sad, knowing expression of centuries of regret upon his face. "We shared a great love for our children, and our home. But no, Elladan, there was no great passion for each other. Great fondness and respect, and, yes, some physical attraction, perhaps, in the very beginning, but not true love."

"So you have found this, for the first time, with Legolas?"

<<Not for the first time, but, perhaps, for the last.>> Smiling, Elrond was fully appreciative of his children's blissful ignorance about the scars of his heart. Celebrian had known of them, and understood that she would never be equal in his heart to his battle-fallen king. She accepted that role with graceful dignity, something Elrond had not fully appreciated for far too long. He hoped that when he finally passed West, he could thank her for the long unappreciated lessons in true grace. "He brings me great joy," he simply answered.

"It is true -- I see it in your eyes. I noted a change in you, the last time Elrohir and I rode home, but we could not discern the cause. Perhaps Arwen is right. Perhaps if we spent more time at home, we would understand you far better."

Elrond paused, then quickly drew his son to his chest for a much-needed and long-delayed embrace. Stroking the other's hair, he lingered in the comforting contact. "I understand your desire to rid Middle-earth of the plague of orcs," he softly assured, "but be sure you are motivated by a just cause. If you hunt, hunt to protect the security of your home, and the peoples who currently live within its, and our neighbors', borders. Do not hunt simply for revenge."

Elladan nodded thoughtfully with pursed lips, then drew back to catch his father's gaze with a slight smile of understanding and long-overdue absolution. "You have convinced me, Father, and I respect your choice. You have my blessing, if it means anything to you."

Smiling broadly, Elrond firmly grasped his son's forearms. "It does, my son. More than you know." Releasing his son, he rose from the bench and gestured back toward their home. "Come -- I wish to hear all about your latest travels."

With an eager, relaxed grin of his own, Elladan arose from the stone bench, gently pressed a kiss to his hand, then laid them against his mother's stone-carved image. With a last, lingering love-filled gaze upon the faithful rendering of his mother's beauty, he turned to meet his father's awaiting gaze, and walked shoulder to shoulder up the path back toward the eternal beauty that was Imladris.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"There *is* one thing I will not do, not even for you," Elladan seriously hinted.

With held breath, Elrond raised an eyebrow and waited.

A smirking twitch on the corners of his lips, Elladan earnestly pledged, "I will *not* call him 'Mother'."

Laughing heartily, Elrond threw an arm around his son's shoulders and hugged him affectionately. "No doubt he will be relieved to hear that."

Grinning broadly, Elladan quickly added, "And do not allow him to wear Mother's gowns. I fear Arwen would not appreciate the competition for the title of the fairest maiden in Imladris."

"Your mouth has yet to be tamed, I see," Elrond growled in mock offense, gently cuffing his son in the side of his head. "I could not hope for that many miracles in one day." Spying his other son hesitantly watching them approach from the top of the path, he beamed a smile in younger twin's direction and waved him off. "Collect your sister, Elrohir. We are *long* overdue for a family meal...."
 

The End
 

Notes:
 

* The translation of the first Sindarin line is - I *hope* - is "Fill me, ride me, love me until dawn, make me cry out in joy, bring to me the peace of sweet release." You really don't want to know how much time I wasted figuring that out <G>. Im-boe le-si = "I need you now."

*  A note for those confused by the time line. Legolas first visited Imladris, at the twin's invitation, in the spring of 2710, and remained there only a few days. Arwen was in Lothlorien at that time. The twins had briefly seen Legolas in Mirkwood during the winter of 2712/2713 shortly before they returned home for a brief stay. Legolas returned to Imladris in the summer of 2713 remained for a few months. By that time, twins had already left for their latest orc hunting expedition, and Arwen had returned from Lothlorien shortly before Legolas had arrived. Therefore, at the time of the current story, the twins had not seen Legolas in almost two years, and had been absent from their home for slightly less than that. They had not seen their sister in a number of years, and would have no way of knowing that Legolas had ever returned to Imladris after that initial visit, nor that there was any relationship between him and their father.

*pen-neth = young one; pen-iaur = ancient one
 

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