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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter X: Forebodings

The Harad delegation presented itself to the King bearing gifts and words of goodwill. The ambassador was a Man of great stature and dignity who drew the respect and approval of the many lords and counsellors who had gathered in the great hall. All that is except for the tall Edhel who stood at Aragorn’s side and eyed the Southrons with unease.

Elrohir did not quite understand his misgivings about the Swertings. They seemed peaceful enough, spoke the proper words and made the right gestures. But he could not dispel his distrust of them. He wondered if he was not being unreasonably prejudiced against them.

He took a quick glance about the hall. Aragorn was seated upon his throne with Eldarion to his right. Elrohir, as befitted his status as the King’s brother, stood to Aragorn’s left. At the sides were gathered several vassals and advisors of the King.

The most telling absences were those of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Faramir, Steward of Gondor. Both men were headed for Rhûn on a diplomatic mission at the express invitation of one of the Easterling nations. Interesting, Elrohir thought. Had the Haradrim arrived on time, both Imrahil and Faramir would not yet have departed for the east. He wondered if there had been any collusion between the Easterlings and Southrons to ensure that Elessar’s most trusted and staunchest supporters would not be present to sway those of less certitude in their opinions.

He swiftly dismissed the idea. There was no love lost between these two lands at present. Not since Harad duped several eastern tribes into parting with precious oils and rare silks and paid them far less than was agreed upon. War had nearly erupted if a sudden drought had not struck the unfortunate Easterlings’ lands. Nay, the men of Rhûn would not care to cooperate with the Swertings. More likely someone in court had simply tipped off the Southrons to delay their arrival. Who knew what rewards had been promised if the resulting treaty was to Harad’s advantage? Treachery was not unknown even in these supposedly enlightened days. Not when ambition reared its ugly head.

The Imladrin Elf glanced to his right. There, standing unobtrusively with his arms crossed, was the Lord of Eryn Gael. Legolas had done his utmost to avoid drawing attention to himself. He had silently slipped into the hall and taken his place behind the others before anyone realized he was present. Elrohir studied his friend’s expression.

Legolas’ mien mirrored his own. The prince was also distrustful of the Southrons. Elrohir paid closer attention to the Harad ambassador. It was not so much what he was saying but how he was behaving that intrigued the dark-haired Elf. He was simply too amenable to everything Aragorn and his counsellors were demanding. It did not sit right with the son of Elrond.

Yet the men of Gondor seemed all too eager to treat with the Southrons. They wanted peace so badly they were quite ready to set aside the accumulated caution and distrust of centuries past.

The following days of negotiation did nothing to dispel his misgivings. Matters were hurried along instead of discussed at length. He would not have been surprised had they begun at once to pressure Aragorn into making decisions soonest. He supposed it had much to do with the briefness of mortal life.

An Elf could bide his time before making a decision for he had an eternity in which to do so. But Men in their short lifetimes did not have that luxury. What they desired they sought much more quickly than was sometimes wise or prudent. That was perilous to his thinking but he had no solid evidence to back up his apprehensions about the Haradrim’s terms.

By the fourth day, he’d had his fill of their unseemly haste. As always he remained by Aragorn’s side while Legolas stayed on the sidelines, never saying a word but simply watching and listening.

Elrohir felt a chill creep up his spine as the Harad diplomat oh so gently pressed Aragorn to accede to the treaty conditions. The king was not inclined to make a hasty choice but he was also cognizant of his nobles’ leanings. King he may be of Gondor but that did not mean he could run roughshod over his people’s wishes. The line of Isildur was too recently restored for Elessar to recklessly have his way. He would have to tread delicately, seek a balance between their wants and his own natural caution. In this he relied on his most trusted advisors for help.

Not for the last time did Elrohir think it a pity that neither Imrahil nor Faramir were present. Once more he paid minute attention to what was being discussed, trying to read between the lines of the Southrons’ amiable spiels.

The ambassador was saying something about the benefits of trade between Gondor and Harad. “There is much we can offer your people, Majesty, as I am sure there is much you might want from us. It would be advantageous for both our realms to open our borders to each other. Imagine the opportunity for economic prosperity.”

The attending nobles and counsellors were nodding in agreement. It sounded logical of course. But Elrohir did not care for the logic of it. What he was watching out for was possible treachery behind the smooth persuasive words. Open their borders to each other?

He flicked his eyes to Legolas. The prince’s eyes were riveted on the ambassador, his expression a mask. Warning bells set off in Elrohir’s mind. So did Legolas look in public when he suspected something was seriously wrong. The more impassive his features, the more suspicious he was.

“Under the terms of this treaty, we would allow safe passage for our merchants and other tradesmen when they travel to our respective kingdoms,” the ambassador explained. “Eventually, our peoples may even choose to migrate from one realm to the other thus forging even closer ties between our nations. After all, there are those of Edain blood in our realm, the heritage passed down from our rulers of old. It would be a chance to unite your race once more, would it not?”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Aragorn and caught his eye. The King raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Elf’s silent request, then nodded his acquiescence. Elrohir turned his eyes back to the delegation. He addressed the ambassador.

“Excellency, I would ask of you one thing.” He maintained an even tone that revealed nothing of his thoughts. The Southron turned to him expectantly then started when he realized he was facing the king’s Elven foster brother. Elrohir permitted himself a small smile. “You speak of safe passage for our peoples. But how are we to determine who are on legitimate business or not? Shall we ask that our tradesmen subject their wares to inspection at the borders?”

The ambassador smiled ingratiatingly at the Elf-lord. “But of course, my lord. We would have to set up ports of entrance for this purpose. Ours in Umbar for example and yours in Pelargir mayhap.”

Elrohir leveled a stare at the Man. Something was not quite right.

“And once within our respective borders, I suppose they are to be allowed free movement anywhere?” he asked.

“Well, that is the purpose of trade, is it not?” the ambassador reasoned. Seeing the scepticism in the Elf-warrior’s eyes, he added, “Is my lord worried about espionage and other such dealings?”

“Shouldn’t we all be?” Elrohir asked with a smile that was as dry as a scorched dessert.

One of the nobles frowned and interrupted the exchange. It was none other than the ambitious Gethron. “My Lord Elrohir, this is an attempt to establish peace between our kingdoms. How are we to accomplish this if we immediately suspect our guests of duplicity?”

Elrohir flicked an icy look at the man. “I, too, seek peace for our lands,” he said. “But I would count the cost first before making the purchase.”

Aragorn placed a soothing hand on his foster brother’s arm. “Your concern is valid, gwanur”—kinsman—he said diplomatically. “We will study the matter before making any firm commitments. But the terms seem fair enough and it would serve Gondor well to have trade relations with other kingdoms.”

“Besides, the Haradrim are not alike to us,” remarked a counsellor called Duindor. “Just as we have not been able to penetrate deep into their territory, so will they be conspicuous within ours. Any that should linger where they are not supposed to would be immediately noticed, would they not?”

Many others apparently agreed with this observation. It was true to a great extent. The Swertings were swarthier of skin and blacker of hair than the people of the Reunited Kingdom. They could never be mistaken for citizens of Gondor. The physical differences were too acute.

Elrohir scowled when he saw where the consensus was heading. He glanced at Legolas. The prince’s expression was positively frozen.

He thought furiously. Something niggled at the back of his mind. The ambassador had mentioned something about the race of the Men of Gondor being united once more. And what was it Duindor had said about their differences? His grey eyes darkened dangerously.

He knew now what questions to ask but he realized he was not the person to do it. He had expressed his distrust earlier on and anything he did would be subject to doubt if not outright disbelief. He swiftly but quietly voiced his suspicions to Aragorn. The king frowned in consternation.

“We must find a way to prove this,” he murmured. Elrohir nodded then looked at the archer again.

Legolas felt his stare and met his eyes. Abruptly, Elrohir knew they were of like mind on the matter. And he also realized that the task of unraveling the Haradrim’s deceit would have to fall to the fair-haired archer.

Gondor’s nobles might envy the Elven prince his proximity to Gondor’s royal family and crave it for themselves, but few questioned his loyalty to the kingdom. Furthermore, in keeping silent so far and remaining out of sight, he had managed to maintain outward neutrality and therefore his credibility. Most would believe him and that was all Elrohir needed. He placed a warning hand on Aragorn’s arm; merely waited for the king’s slight nod before acting.

“Excellency,” he said abruptly, cutting through a discussion regarding the types of goods and services that they would allow to be exchanged. “Would you subject yourself to a test?” he asked pleasantly. He sensed the court’s curious glances on him but did not remove his eyes from the Southron ambassador.

“A test?” the Man repeated, black eyebrows rising questioningly.

“Aye,” Elrohir replied. “It would be a gesture of goodwill on your part to our King.”

“What would you test me for, my lord?” the Man asked a little uncertainly.

“Why, your veracity of course.”

A concerted gasp followed his words. The Haradrim were obviously outraged while the men of Gondor turned disapproving stares on the Elvenlord. How could he treat a diplomatic delegation with such disrespect?

Elrohir was unperturbed. “Is it too great a price to pay for unlimited trust between our peoples?” he reasoned. “Come now, do you not wish to establish relations between these two great realms soonest?”

“Majesty, this is insupportable—” Gethron began to growl.

Aragorn held up a hand to forestall the baron. He nodded at the ambassador. “We await your answer,” he said.

The Swerting bristled. “I had thought the Edain of Gondor men of honor and civility,” he said. “But though I am much offended by your methods, Lord Elf, I will accept your test for the sake of the success of these negotiations.” He straightened up proudly.

Elrohir’s answering smile did not reach his eyes. “I would ask Prince Legolas to assist us,” he said, flicking his gaze to the prince.

Legolas inhaled sharply as all eyes turned to him. Uttering an elvish curse beneath his breath, he made his way to the dais. As Legolas took his place before the man, Elrohir stepped down from the dais to take a position slightly to his side behind him.

The Southron found himself confronted with two pairs of penetrating eyes, one dark azure, the other twilight grey. Elrohir said, “You need only answer his questions. Speak the truth and there will be no need for concern.”

The man wondered what the Elf meant. He had never dealt with the Firstborn before. All he had were the tales and superstitions about these strange beings that had been passed down through generations. Were they going to use magic on him? Did they use magic at all? He stared at the golden-haired Elf and found he could not tear his eyes away from the other’s unnerving stare.

“Do all Haradrim look as you do?” Legolas asked.

The ambassador was startled by the unexpected query. “Of course, we all look alike,” he could not help snapping.

“You lie,” Legolas said flatly. The ambassador gasped at the intensity of his blue gaze. He felt himself begin to sweat.

“I do not know what you mean,” he stuttered. It was difficult to maintain one’s composure in the face of the elvish gaze. “We are of one race. If there are any differences amongst us, it is minimal at best.”

“I think not,” Legolas said. “You spoke of Edain blood flowing in the veins of some of your people.”

“What of it?” the man scowled. “As you well know, in ancient times there was some mingling of blood between our peoples.”

“Then you are not of one race. There are those among you who would not pass as Haradrim but as Gondorrim.”

More gasps followed this assertion. The Southron glared at the Elven prince. “This is outrageous! How dare you treat me in this manner. I am a diplomatic representative of my—”

“Answer my question,” Legolas cut in with ominous gentleness. The threat behind his voice paralyzed the Man.

“Well, I – I suppose—” he stammered.

“And if they were to come as tradesmen and gain safe passage into this land, they would be able to mingle quite freely among its people with no one the wiser.”

“I-I – that is absurd!”

“Is it? Look me in the eye, Man of Harad, and tell me you do not lie.”

The Swerting swallowed hard as he was forced to stare into the eyes of the Elf. They were painfully piercing. Few there were who could withstand that awful knowing stare. The ambassador was not such a man. He began to wilt before the prince and his tongue suddenly turned thick in his mouth. Sweat poured down his face as if he were in the midst of a furnace.

Legolas very quietly stated: “Thus would you sow the populations of the Reunited Kingdom with Men loyal to Harad and bide your time until they were well entrenched and swollen in numbers even should it take a generation or more. And when the time was ripe they would rise up against us and you would invade Gondor from without and within. Tell me I am wrong, Southron.”

The man shuddered as the Elf’s stare seemed to bore into his very soul. He whimpered and then moaned. With a strangled gasp he tore his eyes away. But the damage was done. He had not been able to speak. His deceit had been laid bare for all to see.

Aragorn’s face was still but his eyes were bright with anger. “I believe there is nothing more to discuss,” he said in a glacial tone. “I will give you safe passage to our borders and you will tell your masters that Gondor does not treat with treacherous vermin.”

The proceedings broke up in an uproar with the very men who had earlier advised cooperation with the Haradrim now calling for their heads. The guards swiftly hustled away the Southron delegation before the more intemperate chose to express their anger through violent means.

Elrohir heaved a sigh of relief. He looked for Legolas and was surprised to see the prince already exiting the hall. After a hurried consultation with Aragorn he hurried after his friend. He espied him rapidly traversing the passageway leading to the royal pavilion. Elrohir raced after him wondering why Legolas had left the hall so precipitately.

“Legolas!”

The prince came to a halt in the middle of the corridor and waited for the other Elf to catch up with him. Elrohir was shocked at the expression on his face. Legolas was furious. It showed in his blazing eyes and tightened lips.

“You should not have asked me to question him!” he almost spat out. “Do you never listen to me, Edhel?”—Elf?

Elrohir stared. “We needed to know the truth,” he protested. “‘Twas the only way to find out.”

“You could have done it yourself. There was no need to use me.”

“Nay, I could not do it. The others already knew of my distrust of the Haradrim. They would have suspected me of manipulating the man. But you were above suspicion in that regard.”

Legolas glared at him. “If you had not revealed your feelings so hastily there would have been no need for my services,” he snapped. “For a supposedly seasoned diplomat you committed the most serious blunder of all!”

Elrohir glared back at him. “Mayhap I made a mistake,” he conceded angrily. “But why should that matter now? We have what we wanted.”

“And you have undone what I have striven for in the last eight years! Aragorn’s nobles will now suspect me more than ever of currying favor with him and wielding influence beyond what is proper. And they will think me capable of unholy means of persuasion as well.”

“They would say the same of me had I undertaken the task,” Elrohir growled. “What difference would it make whether they suspect one Elf or another?”

“You are his beloved kinsman,” Legolas pointed out. “You are expected to do everything in your power to aid him. You would not be suspected of trying to control the King for your own purposes. But I do not have that luxury and you have thus placed me in a most uncomfortable position!”

With that, he turned his back on the dark-haired Elf and strode off. Elrohir stared after him with impotent rage. He clenched his fists spasmodically before ramming one into the stone wall beside him with such force it crumbled the masonry and left a shallow crater in its wake.

He was still in a foul mood that evening as the family gathered for the evening meal. For once, he did not seek to stay by Legolas but chose the seat farthest from the Elven prince. It was not that he had taken his criticism hard. He did not doubt the truth of his friend’s harsh words nor was he of the nature to disregard them just because they were not to his liking.

What had hurt him was the manner in which Legolas had confronted him. To be attacked so scathingly by one he loved dearly was too painful to swallow with any equanimity at all. Especially when it was suggested that he had been careless and callous at the same time.

Had there been another present who could have forced the truth from the Southron, he would have used him instead. But there had been none and he had not been about to urge the King himself to take on the task. There were certain things in which Aragorn had to maintain strict neutrality.

But Legolas had not given him a chance to present his side. And having lashed out so brusquely at him had pointedly turned his back on him and left him to stew. And he purposely avoided Elrohir for the rest of the afternoon as well much to the latter’s frustration. He would not even give me a chance to apologize, much less explain myself and set things right, the Elf-warrior fumed to himself. So much for friendship!

For the better part of the meal, he devoted himself to entertaining Eldarion’s endless questions regarding what had happened earlier as well as enduring Arwen’s alarmed queries as to the state of his badly bruised knuckles. He did not trust himself to look at Legolas lest he lose either his temper or his pride. The first would occur if the other returned his look with enmity or contempt. The second if Elrohir found his desire to be with the prince greater than his anger. He decided he did not need the added aggravation of either response.

Nevertheless, his mood turned melancholic as the evening wore on. His instincts were proving all too correct. How much longer before...?

By the time the meal ended, he only wanted to retire to his chamber and wrestle with his troubled thoughts in solitude. However, Arwen detained him as everyone else departed. But since his sister’s reason for delaying him was to inquire about the state of his heart, he could hardly cut her short, especially when she made it clear that she knew about his renewed relationship with the woodland prince.

“You gave him your ring,” she smiled knowingly.

He sighed. “A mistake it seems.”

Her smile faded slightly. “A mistake? But he wears it.”

“Perforce.” When the Queen’s face registered perplexity, he explained, “I made it clear ‘twas not to pressure him into a choice but I suppose it was too much to ask that he would not feel trapped by my gift.” He let out a weary breath.

Arwen peered at him wonderingly, all her sisterly concern coming to the fore. “Tell me what has happened, Elrohir,” she urged. “I wish to help you.”

Knowing she would not relent until he told her of his worries, he confessed to her his fears, starting with the encounter on the battlement and ending with their spat over his handling of the Harad incident. Something had changed between him and Legolas.

Legolas was marking virtually every error he made. And there was a distance between them that had not been there previously. He had tried to bridge the gap but felt a barrier firmly in place. There had never been one before.

“His heart is resisting me and every false step I make is being adjudged against me,” he painfully told her.

“He would not do that to you, muindor”—brother—Arwen tried to soothe him.

Her distress showed in her expressive eyes. She had thought her brother’s love returned; so sure had she been of this after observing Legolas since learning of the state of affairs between him and the younger twin. Had she misread the prince so completely? Since when had her perceptiveness been so blunted?

Elrohir smiled sadly. “A trapped creature will strike out with whatever advantage it possesses in order to regain its freedom.”

Arwen was aghast. “Surely, Legolas would not hurt one as dear to him as you,” she protested. “And why should he guard his heart against you? You were ever his best friend. He trusts you with his very life.”

Elrohir shook his head. “A friend is different from a lover. A friend need not give all of himself but a lover must. A lover is far more vulnerable than any friend and therefore knows more pain. In truth, he swore before Elladan and me that he would never give his heart to anyone.”

Arwen was taken aback by this revelation. But her conviction regarding what she had discerned of the archer’s feelings refused to falter. “He yields to you,” she pointed out. “Surely that means that he cares.”

“I am always meldir or gwador to him”—friend or sworn brother— Elrohir said pensively. “Never melethron.”—lover. “Nor will he suffer me to address him as a lover would. The one time I did, he was so unwilling that I have desisted from doing so since.” At her disbelieving reaction, he added: “What the body feels is fleeting. But the heart remembers all too well. Legolas is willing to be pleasured for that can be set aside and forgotten at will. His heart he fears to venture lest the giving of it renders him weak and helpless.” He hesitated. “And even now his demeanor in bed has changed.”

“How has it changed?” Arwen queried in puzzlement.

“In Ithilien, he did not merely respond to me but took a more active role in our couplings. But here, now—” Elrohir let out a frustrated exhalation of breath. “He rarely allows me go to his room but insists on coming to mine.”

“But what is wrong with that,” Arwen asked in confusion, “if he continues to seek your bed?”

“Only to leave it at daybreak, oft times even before I awaken,” Elrohir said somberly. At Arwen’s start of dismay, he bit his lip and said,” And lately he just – lies there as if he were merely doing me a favor—”

He stopped then, averting his eyes from his sister, his pale cheeks staining. He never spoke so bluntly about such matters save with Elladan and, until recently, Legolas. But Arwen radiated so much love and concern that she broke down his walls of reserve. And having started, he found he no longer had the will or pride to desist. Too long had he kept his hurt to himself.

“I do not know what do,” he murmured. “I am losing him if I have not already done so.”

“Nay, that will not happen,” she objected. “Legolas cannot be such a fool as to let you slip through his fingers.”

The twin gave a harsh laugh that startled his sister. “That is exactly what he said!” he exclaimed. “And I trusted his sincerity, believed his words to be true. Now I do not know what to trust or believe save for my instincts.” He quivered visibly. “He is just waiting for me to break,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” she asked in alarm.

“I am not blind as to why he is so tender at times and unbearably harsh at others. He fears to hurt me yet cannot stop himself from doing what he must to drive me away. He is pushing my tolerance to its limits in the hope that I will finally lose my patience and thereby free him. He would have me be the one to end it that he need not be burdened by the guilt of my grief.”

“How could he be so cruel,” Arwen whispered.

“Nay, not cruel. Never that,” Elrohir demurred. “I would not have anyone think him capable of evil or malice. He is only afraid. I chose to pursue this course,” he softly pointed out. “I will bear the consequences of my decision. If I have one regret, ‘tis that in declaring myself to him I have also ended our friendship. It will not survive should we part ways now for he will wish to forget what passed between us. Sooner or late, I will be nothing to him beyond a memory of what once was.”

He spoke the last words with such sadness that it wrenched his sister’s heart.

“He loves you,” Arwen stubbornly insisted, refusing to believe that her reading of the woodland prince had been so false. “I can see it in his eyes, hear it when he speaks of you. ‘Tis only because he cannot admit it to himself that he withholds himself from you. But you can make him see the truth in his heart, Elrohir.”

"'Tis not so simple as that,” he said. “If it were only a matter of persuading him to give me a chance, it would not be so daunting. But he also resists me because he cannot let go of his love for someone else.”

Arwen blinked in disbelief. “He loves another? Who?”

Elrohir shook his head. “I cannot tell you. All I can reveal is that this love is not free, which is why Legolas deigned to turn to me at all. I want to believe that ‘tis but an infatuation on his part, born of great respect and admiration. But whatever the truth of his feelings for this one other, it looms like a shadow over our relationship and I am powerless to dispel it. I cannot fight a war on two fronts, Arwen,” he finished hopelessly.

The Queen stubbornly persisted. “I cannot conceive of him clinging to an unattainable love when he had vowed to close his heart to any love at all,” she reasoned. “Do not give up, Elrohir. Legolas will eventually see the error of his ways and then you will find your just reward and your joy. Surely that is worth fighting for.”

He did not try to counter her but only added: “Arwen, say nothing of this to Estel or Eldarion. I would not have them turn against him on my account.”

She stared at him, awed that he would protect the very one who was breaking his heart. On that note, they parted for the night.

He proceeded to his room, his shoulders drooping as his spirits sank ever deeper. He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice that someone awaited him in his chamber until that someone spoke up.

“You are still upset.”

Elrohir visibly started. He let his breath out as he focused on the fair-haired archer. “What are you doing here?” he asked a little crossly.

Legolas raised a golden eyebrow at the less than friendly tone of the twin. “I thought I was always welcome here,” he replied quietly.

Elrohir stared at him. Then he bit his lip and said, “You are. But I did not think you would want my company tonight. You made it quite clear what you thought of me.”

Legolas shook his head. “I was angry. I did not mean to be so harsh with you.” He hesitated then took hold of the twin’s injured fist. “How did you come to hurt your hand?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb gently over the purpled skin before brushing his lips against the bruise.

Elrohir tamped down on the involuntary shiver the caress sent coursing through his limbs. “I punched a wall,” he muttered. He pulled his hand away, not trusting himself to remain collected enough to have his say. “I do not blame you for being angry nor do I take exception to your harshness,” he said. “I have done worse to you in the past and always received your pardon after. It is your lack of trust and confidence in me that wounds me. It pains me that you would believe me insensitive to your wishes.”

He moved past the prince to look out his window. It was more soothing to look out at the darkness than gaze at the one who had such a vise-like hold on his emotions.

“I never intended to ask any service of you. I only wanted to protect Estel and Gondor. If in doing so I have jeopardized your position in any way, then you have every right to castigate me and I hope you will forgive me.” He glanced back at Legolas, his eyes somber. “Not that it will matter. You have already deemed me incompetent and unworthy of your regard.”

The last sentences were uttered so tonelessly that it emphasized his discouragement even more distinctly. He turned back to stare at the dark outside. Moments later, he felt the other’s arms curl around him from behind, shivered as his warm breath brushed his nape.

Legolas murmured: “That is not true, Aduial.”

“Is it not?” Elrohir whispered.

“For you to doubt me proves how deeply I hurt you,” the prince said regretfully. “I am sorry. I was not completely in the right in this matter either. There are gentler ways of getting a point across and in letting my anger rule me, I failed you as well. Please, I would not have this come between us.”

He coaxed the twin into facing him and drew him into a heartfelt embrace. Elrohir hugged him back, savoring their renewed closeness. But something marred his enjoyment of it and he could not completely dispel his earlier forebodings.

He sighed to himself. Ordinarily, the prince’s words and actions should have smoothed away all his doubts and fears. But tonight, the weight remained in his heart. For the first time, he accepted the possibility that this was a battle he might not win. He knew the price of losing could be his very life. But he also knew that he could not stop himself from loving his Greenleaf no matter the cost.

*********************

Glossary:

Aduial - Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

To be continued…
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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince