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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6313 -:- 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.

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Chapter XIV: Passages

Tirion FA 179

The sounds of strife seemed strangely incongruous in the supposed everlasting peace of Aman. But in truth, such sounds were familiar and of no great import to the citizens of Tirion so long as they emanated from the wide public exercise court on the outskirts of the city.

Though war did not stain the Blessed Realm, the Elves who made the journey from Middle-earth did not forsake the arts of warfare they had so assiduously cultivated in the Hinter Lands. Millennia of life without certitude had ingrained in them the need to be prepared. Who knew if another Dark Lord might rise to mar the peace of Valinor? And discord could never be completely eradicated, not even in Aman.

To this opinion, the sons of Elrond wholeheartedly subscribed. Elladan had continued to maintain his hard-won, much admired skills whilst Elrohir had plunged eagerly into the lessons that would help him regain the form and talents that had made him such a fearsome foe in his former life.

An enthusiastic student of all manner of combat and weaponry, he swiftly developed the warrior’s frame Legolas had admired and once knew so intimately. It would only take the honing full maturity would bestow to fully bring him to the sleek, muscular form that inspired covetousness in male and female Elves alike.

The brethren did not make it their habit to draw attention to themselves. Most of the time, they chose to train in the drill yard beside the barracks of Artirion. But every once in a while, they took to the exercise court of Tirion because of the opportunity to spar with Elves other than Glorfindel’s warriors. Today was one of those days.

Elladan had taken his younger brother and sons to the court early to avoid the crowds of non-combatants that tended to congregate whenever they showed up. In recent years, fascination with the Peredhil had increased in direct proportion to the number of the latest arrivals from the Hither Lands. The Elves who had made the journey west from Elrond’s time up to the last of the Imladrins’ advent had tended to be reticent about the family’s part in the events that had shaken Middle-earth. But the later comers were not.

All Sindar or Silvan, they had sought a means to establish themselves as equals of the resident Eldar of Valinor. In the Peredhil they found their champions; worthy examples of the valour and glory of those who had not seen the Two Trees yet lived and served to the fullest of their admirable abilities. Thus, detailed tales of Elrond and his sons’ exploits had begun to circulate in Elvenhome at last--with predictable results. Whatever prejudices some Elves may have harbored against them slowly diminished until they were all but negligible. And admiration swiftly grew. As well as interest in the re-born Elf-knight.

Elrond and Elladan were wed, Elros long betrothed and Elendir lately seen in constant company with one comely Noldorin maiden; there was talk of another betrothal in the air. But Elrohir was free and just ten years short of his coming-of-age.

True, he was bound to Taur Galen’s prince. But until he regained all his memories, he was, for all intents and purposes, available. As was the custom of the Firstborn, he was allowed to rediscover his past at his own pace and in his own time. And he would be permitted to relive his earlier years as he had passed through those same years in Middle-earth. If that included learning all over again the nuances of courtship and intimate relationships, that was permissible. For so long as he did not recall his binding, it would not be considered a transgression against his mate.

In effect, all his oaths, marital and otherwise, would be held in suspension until the time when his spirit remembered them. Until then, he would not be held culpable for any vow breaking he might commit. This was the proverbial thorn in Legolas’ side.

Ideally, a re-born Elf regained most if not all of his memories by his majority but this was by no means an ironclad occurrence. Some memories could emerge well beyond the fiftieth year. There simply were no guarantees of what or when recollections would surface. But the archer was not allowed by custom or ethics to remind Elrohir of their love or espousal. That would place unwarranted pressure on the younger twin. Yet he would be forced to grant his mate the freedom to explore his world, to go through his paces all over again--even it that meant enduring the pain of watching him share himself with others once he reached his majority.

He oft wondered how the Elves of times past had borne that hurt. But then again, the Elves of times past had not been as libidinous as the twins had been in their carefree youth. He doubted any Elf in the centuries after the kinslayings had endured what he would undoubtedly go through. At least, not in such woeful abundance. It was something he had yet to learn to steel himself against.

He was present this morn at the court as was Gimli. The Dwarf enjoyed employing his axe in martial practice now and then. Not for him the retirement from the battle-readiness of a veteran warrior. Valinor had rejuvenated him and he was always ready to wield his considerable skills in the name of keeping his edge. Not to mention show some snooty Elves a thing or two about the perils of facing a dwarven axe.

Legolas, too, had taken to the field, finding it all too easy to gain sparring partners amongst his many unwanted admirers. Avoiding those who dared to press their suits, he chose Elves who did not cross the line from simple appreciation into outright aggression. But now he was done and he joined Gimli on the court’s perimeter to observe and comment on others’ performances.

“The re-born Peredhel is beautiful.”

Legolas stiffened slightly at the admiring utterance from behind him tinged as it was with the slightest bit of lewdness. At his side, Gimli took a quick look backwards then glanced up at him with concern. A young Noldo had made the comment to a warrior maid formerly of Lindon. She answered him in like strains.

“He will be even more beautiful when he attains his maturity. Not to mention talented.”

A suggestive snicker answered her comment. “Ah, I take it you have some experience of it?”

“Aye.”

“I have heard tales of the brethren. Surely they are exaggerated?”

“I should say not! Ask any of the Galadhrim for their opinions. I assure you, the tales are true.”

“Then let us pray his memories of his time with our golden prince will be late in returning!”

“Nay, I would pray they never return at all!”

Frigid with fury, Legolas slowly turned around and leveled his gaze on the errant Elves. Caught in the middle of lubricious laughter, the two sensed his glacial regard; they flinched with some alarm. The glitter in Legolas’ eyes told them that he would not forget them and that he was most capable of wreaking havoc on them if they dared to act on their unsaid intentions. They hastily moved away.

Legolas felt Gimli’s hand on his arm. “Do not let them trouble you,” the Dwarf counselled. “I am quite certain naught will come of their desires.”

Legolas trembled angrily as he watched the two Elves leave. “You did not know Elrohir in his first youth,” he said tightly.

“Nay, but I know him now,” Gimli quipped.

The prince turned a puzzled gaze on his friend. “What bearing does that have on this?”

“Only that he esteems you so highly, I believe he would inhibit himself rather than settle for less.”

“Less than what?” Legolas asked in surprise.

Gimli chuckled. “Only a blind Elf or a bird-wit would not mark how much you are sought by half the unbound Elves of Eldamar,” he pointed out. “And for good reason. I would not be surprised should Elrohir’s idea of perfection be your very self, my friend. Think you he would care for anything less than perfection having been exposed to it since infancy?”

Legolas caught his breath. Suddenly he remembered his Elf-knight’s oft-repeated words to him. You are the closest thing to perfection I have ever known. For the longest while, Legolas stared at the Dwarf. And then he smiled, the sweetness of it making even Gimli’s gruff soul melt somewhat.

“You are indeed a blessing, dear Gimli,” the archer said softly. “Though I cannot trust that all will turn out to my liking, your words comfort me nevertheless.”

This time Gimli grinned with pleasure. “I did make a promise to him,” he said. He ambled away to watch an interesting wrestling match on the far end of the court.

Legolas’ smile did not fade as he turned his attention back to Elrohir. His eyes gleamed with pride when he realized the twin was engaged in knife-play with a young Tirion Elf. His every movement bespoke the disciplined grace of a true warrior, the fluidity and swiftness of his strokes and turns evincing a rapidly emerging mastery that was inborn and not merely learned.

As oft happened in these instances, Legolas found himself responding to Elrohir’s allure. Such was the Elf-knight’s hold on his affections and desire that he could not help but yearn for their intimacy of yore. Getting a hold of himself, Legolas tamped down on his desirous reactions to the younger twin and staunchly reminded himself that he had to wait just a few more seasons. Nevertheless, it was hard going when Elrohir continued to grow in beauty, wisdom and skill.

He glanced to his side when an Elf brushed against him. Suggestively so. Legolas gritted his teeth. It was not the first time that someone had dared to flirt so egregiously with him. But he disliked it just the same. He had always been reserved and selective in such matters before Elrohir won his heart. It had never been his way to be forward whether he was doing the wooing or not.

When the Elf repeated the action, he scowled and turned to give him a piece of his mind. But before he could say a word, a knife sped past between him and his amorous stalker to embed itself in the tree behind them. The other Elf stared at it in shock then jerked his head about in time to see Elrohir stride up to them.

The Elf-knight’s lips were turned up in a smile but his eyes did not reflect it. He wordlessly yanked his knife out of the tree trunk then glanced at the would-be interloper.

“I believe Prince Legolas desires to be left alone,” he coolly said. He slammed his knife back into its sheath.

The Elf paled and, with a stammered apology, retreated. Legolas noted with a grin that others who had intended to approach him were now having second thoughts about doing so. He became aware of Elrohir’s scrutiny and looked at the darkling lord.

“I trust you are pleased to be rid of him?” Elrohir mildly remarked.

Legolas nodded, smiling. “In this you have not changed, Elrohir,” he commented.

“How so?”

Legolas chuckled softly. “You were never one for diplomacy if you could achieve your desire by a more direct path,” he answered. At the incipient frown on the other’s face, he added affectionately: “And I am more than glad of it.”

The frown vanished to be supplanted by a smile. “It pleases me to help you, Legolas,” he softly said. “In any way I can.”

With that, he returned to his amazed sparring partner leaving Legolas to wonder how it was possible to love him even more than he did already.

*******

The unexpected happened that very night. Legolas had just emerged from his bath and was donning a pair of night-trousers when he heard the cry of fear and confusion in his mind.

Alarmed, the prince threw on a bed-robe and raced to Elrohir’s room. Entering hurriedly, he found the Elf-knight, already dressed for bed, half-hunched over his writing table, hugging himself as if he were in pain. A bottle of ink had fallen to the floor along with several sheets of parchment.

“Elrohir!” he exclaimed, hastening to the young Elf. “What ails you?”

Elrohir stumbled to his feet and reached out trembling hands to the prince, his eyes wide with shock and terror.

“It was Gilwen!” he gasped. “‘Twas she who killed me!”

Legolas stared at him before catching him when he crumpled against him, his entire body shaking violently as he relived the tumult of his passing. Bewilderment compounded his terrible distress. He lowered Elrohir to the floor and knelt by him, holding him tightly.

Elrohir was panting in panic. “I remember the house in Osgiliath. We were about to leave when she offered us wine.” He shuddered. “There was pain! Like fire rushing through my veins. And my head was spinning. Elladan said something to her – I cannot recall what – but he said she had poisoned me.” He put his hand to his suddenly throbbing head.

“I do not understand,” he moaned. “Why did it poison me? ‘Twas only mandrake that she put in my wine if I recall it aright.”

“You are not mistaken,” Legolas said, stroking the younger twin’s dark hair. “‘Twas only mandrake but it poisoned you because you—“

He abruptly halted. He could not inflict that piece of information on Elrohir. He said instead, “Mayhap it had been brewed wrong.”

“Nay,” Elrohir protested, shaking his head. “I can remember its aftertaste. There was nothing wrong with it. It should not have killed me yet it did.”

Legolas stared at him in some awe. His grief had been too overwhelming at the time to wonder at it but now he could fully appreciate this particular talent of his mate. He supposed it was not strange that Elrohir had recognized the flavor of the aphrodisiac even if masked by the wine. As Elrond’s son, he would have been trained to identify virtually every herb and potion and medicament known to Elfdom by sight, taste, scent or texture.

He realized Elrohir was peering suspiciously at him. “That was not what you were going to say,” the twin said. “What are you hiding from me, Legolas?”

“‘Twas only a conjecture,” Legolas smoothly evaded. “What else do you recall?” he queried, neatly leading Elrohir away from the subject.

Elrohir closed his eyes tightly, as if to shut out the images of that ordeal. “She ran to the wall. Elendir chased after her.” His eyes snapped open filled with horror. “Valar! She threw herself into Anduin!”

“Aye, she killed herself,” Legolas grimly confirmed. “Out of guilt and despair, no doubt.”

“She-she loved me.”

“Beyond sanity or rectitude.”

“Elladan and the twins took me away. To you.”

“‘Twas your wish.”

Elrohir glanced up at Legolas. The blue eyes had never looked so intense.

“You were grieving over me,” the younger twin whispered. “You begged me not to leave you.”

“I did,” Legolas quietly admitted.

Elrohir’s eyes glistened. “I made Gimli promise to take care of you for me.”

“And he kept his oath.”

Elrohir shuddered once more. He nestled his head against Legolas shoulder. “If you had not been here...” he whispered. After a moment, he lifted his head and looked at the archer curiously. “How did you know that I needed you?” he queried.

Legolas hesitated. He could not tell Elrohir of their bond. It was quite obvious that the Elf-knight still recalled nothing of it and had not even been aware that he had called to Legolas through it.

“I did not. I was only going to see if you wished to take a walk with me before we slept,” he said, hoping the other Elf would not question him further.

Elrohir sighed and leaned against him once more. “Thank Eru you did,” he murmured. “Please, do not leave me alone tonight. If I should dream of this...”

Legolas shook his head. “I will stay with you until you sleep,” he said. “But after, I must inform your parents and Elladan of this.”

Elrohir frowned but acceded. He rose to his feet and allowed Legolas to guide him to his bed and tuck him in. The archer stayed by him, cradling him in his arms until at last he drifted off into slumber. Legolas gazed at him longingly. When Elrohir was fast asleep, he dared to press a gentle kiss to his temple before slipping out of the room to tell the others what had happened.

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight