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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3363 -:- 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 XV: The Elven Way

His thoughts all a-jumble as he awaited Elrohir, Legolas stared unseeingly at the text of the open book upon his lap.

After his talk with his sire, he had thought a visit with Nimeithel and her infants would soothe his frazzled spirit. But one glimpse of Elrohir gently laying little Elros in his cradle beside his brother, the most tender of smiles gracing his sinuous lips, accomplished the opposite. Not only did it remind him all over again of what was lacking in their relationship but also reawakened his long-unquenched desire for his mate. He retreated from so enticing a sight lest it best him there and then and led him to do something rash. Not to mention highly inappropriate within the healing halls.

He had then wandered aimlessly about the palace grounds, trying to sort out his feelings and calm his nerves. But he had not quite succeeded by the time he met up with Gimli in the dining hall. It did not help any when Elrohir failed to join him but sent word instead that the healers had already released Nimeithel and her sons from their care and that he was helping Elladan settle his family in their apartment. He found that the longer he had to wait to be with Elrohir, the more nervous he became.

After dinner, he returned to their chamber and took a good long soak, letting the warm water ease his travel-worn body and worry-muddled mind. Drawing on a thin bed-shirt and trousers, he sat on the bed and tried to distract himself with a good book.

But the book remained unread upon his lap as his mind refused to comprehend its contents. It was preoccupied with other, less calming ideas.

He started visibly when the object of his thoughts suddenly entered their apartment. Elrohir smiled tiredly at him before quietly taking out fresh clothing and entering the bathing chamber. Legolas almost forgot to breath as he listened to the sounds that emanated from within the adjoining room. His imagination provided overly vivid images of his mate bathing and that only served to fire up his body. That distressed him. He did not need his fevered stirrings to further roil his already befuddled thoughts.

When at last Elrohir emerged from the bathing chamber, he did not know whether to be pleased or perturbed.

Elrohir’s damp raven hair hung between his shoulder blades like black silk. And his raiment clung to his still bath-moist body, calling attention to its splendid proportions. He had donned thin night-trousers and a matching bed-robe. But the robe was partly open, as Elrohir had not bothered to tie the belt snugly around his waist. And so the lights from candle and hearth played teasingly upon the sculpted plains of his exposed torso and the shallow valley that defined his broad chest.

Legolas swallowed hard as smoldering images flooded his mind. He strove to set them aside when Elrohir did not come to their bed but walked to the hearth instead and silently regarded the flames for a while. It was quite obvious that bed-play was nowhere on the Elf-knight’s mind whatever the state of his mate’s. Another tempering point was that Elrohir seldom wore more than sleeping trousers to bed; for him to throw on a robe was another indication of his deferment of all things carnal at present.

The prince set aside the book and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “How is Elladan holding up?” he asked.

Elrohir turned to look at him. “Well enough under the circumstances,” he grinned with true humor.

Legolas was heartened by his reaction. “What is it about the Peredhil and twins?” he remarked. “Is your line bewitched that there must be a set in every generation?”

Elrohir chuckled at the notion. Legolas felt hope flare up in his heart. Elrohir’s laugh had sounded genuinely merry. It had not been so far longer than the archer cared to remember. Despite his acknowledgement that his father was correct and that they should resolve the matter between them soonest, he could not help wishing to delay the inevitable confrontation. But just as he thought himself spared this night, the twin’s smile faded and he glanced at the archer somberly.

“I never meant to confine you,” he said quietly.

Legolas started at the sudden change in topic. “I know you did not,” he replied softly. “You only wished to protect me.”

Elrohir nodded. “I cannot help it,” he said. “From the moment I loved you it has been there, this need to protect and nurture. And it has strengthened since I bound myself to you.”

“I realize that now,” Legolas responded. “But I am a warrior, Elrohir, born and bred to fight. I can take care of myself.”

Elrohir gazed at him, his thoughts hidden, much to the archer’s frustration and concern.

“I know you can,” the twin finally answered. “Else I would not have been able to watch you go when you left on the Quest.” He frowned. “‘Tis not your abilities I wonder about, Legolas. ‘Tis your continued independence of me that I question.”

The prince stared at him. “But I rely on you. More than I ever thought possible.”

Elrohir shook his head. “You are still separate from me,” he explained pensively. “Even when you bound yourself to me, you did not—” He sighed. “You did not surrender yourself to me as I did to you.”

Legolas fell silent. “I am yours, Elrohir,” he said at length. “Surely you do not doubt that. But I must keep a part of myself free. I have always savored it, the freedom to think and act and do as I will. I do not relish being restricted by...by expectations and traditions.”

He felt a sudden pang when Elrohir’s visage saddened. “Then you did not truly understand what binding to me would entail,” the warrior said. “But I suppose that should be no surprise. You once vowed never to give your heart to anyone and therefore did not trouble to learn the ways of our kindred in matters of love and espousal. Someone—I should have told you all the consequences that you might have made an informed decision. My error. I wrongly assumed you understood at least this much.”

Legolas’ anxiety rekindled. “What did I not understand?” he asked.

“That to our kind, to wed is to become one with the other, heart, body and spirit. There is no you and I...or there should not be. There should only be us – one whole and we the two halves that make it so.

He sank down into the couch by the hearth, his eyes turning to the window and the forest view beyond. “We are not like Mortal-kind. We cleave wholly and willingly to our mates. True bindings require total commitment.” He looked back at the archer. “I always desire your well-being, to take care of you and your needs, and I yearn for your nurturing in return. And I have never felt ‘restricted’ by your desire to protect me yet I am as stubborn and independent as you are. ‘Tis the knowledge that you do it out of love that makes it acceptable and even desirable. Our bond demands it of us and ignites it in our hearts.”

“At least,” he hesitated, “in my heart. You do not seem to feel it as I do.”

“But I do,” Legolas protested. He paused, suddenly discomfited. “Though I confess I have been fighting it.”

Stunned silence filled the room for several seconds.

“You fought the pull?!” Elrohir was incredulous.

“I did not like the feeling of being led...of not being in control of my own desires and impulses,” the archer answered honestly.

His mate stared at him in shocked comprehension.

“That explains your demeanor with me,” he said in a disbelieving voice. “‘Tis no wonder you have been so brusque and demanding. You have been spending all your energy battling the pull and the very effort has curdled your sweet temper.” He stared at Legolas speculatively, which made the Wood-elf uneasy.

“Do you recall that incident three years ago when I came north without you?” he said. “You sent me letters of such fearsome desperation that I returned to you sooner than planned.”

Legolas flushed uncomfortably as he remembered the contents of those missives. Never had he written so mawkishly before or since.

“Aye, I remember,” he murmured reluctantly.

“You had already began to distance yourself from me even then,” Elrohir quietly said. “But that was the longest time we’d spent apart since our binding. My long absence must have caused you to feel the pull more acutely than you could bear. Hence your frenzied need for me when I returned to you.”

Legolas started at the observation. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment at having his secret struggle laid bare so completely and succinctly.

“‘Tis also the reason why you run from me should we couple more lovingly than usual,” Elrohir continued musingly. “You do not want to need me overmuch; you think it a snare that robs you of your will. But the pull overcomes you nonetheless and so you strike back however you may...at me.”

“You speak nonsense, Elrohir,” Legolas barked. “I am not overcome!”

“Nay? Listen to yourself just now, Calenlass,” Elrohir softly suggested.

The prince inhaled sharply, recognizing the edge his voice had taken. “That was not intended,” he said more temperedly.

“I know,” Elrohir acknowledged. “But it grieves me to learn the cause...the reason why you have been so combative of late and why you have not been as – as solicitous of me as expected of one who is espoused.”

Legolas shook his head in vehement denial. “‘Tis not natural for me to play the tender lover,” he reasoned. “I was well-trained in the arts of war but not in courtship.”

A raven eyebrow rose in tacit scepticism. “My grandsire, Celeborn, is a lord and warrior without peer and has lived such a life since the Elder days,” the Elf-lord pointed out. “Yet he never resented it when my grandam, Galadriel, wove spells of enchantment to protect him or give him ease. He knew she did it out of love for him and cherished her efforts all the more because of this knowledge. You cannot have failed to see this in your own father, a warrior king of great renown yet a most tender spouse to your naneth. As is my adar to my mother and Glorfindel to Erestor, Elladan to your sister and even Estel to Arwen though he is many generations removed from our shared Elven forebears.”

Chagrin skewered the prince as Elrohir concluded the formidable list that rendered his previous excuse hollow. “You are right, I did not know,” Legolas finally conceded in a low voice. “I thought you were only being...”

“Over protective? Too demanding of your attentions?” At the other’s mute nod, Elrohir looked away once more. “Nay, ‘twas the binding of my spirit to yours that guided me. But if you felt it as well yet managed to resist it, then…” He trailed off uncertainly. He drew a deep steadying breath. “Elves are bound, not delivered into bondage,” he murmured. “We exchange one kind of freedom for another. If you do not see this, if you cannot accept it, then ‘tis no surprise you were able to fight the pull...which no true binding-mate should have been able to do.”

The prince’s eyes widened in patent dismay. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “That we are not truly bound?”

Elrohir’s expression turned unsure and melancholic. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I have never heard of a binding where one spouse felt as you do. But if you went into this withholding a part of yourself, then the vows you uttered were but words and you did not really seal yourself to me.”

“But the blood Rite! Surely that—”

“Would be akin to a couple who have children despite a loveless marriage. The blood Rite confirms the vows just as children are tangible evidence of the promises between husband and wife. But ‘tis our will, our cleaving hearts, our conscious choice that make our oaths true. Only in the full surrender of two Elves to each other are the vows duly sealed.”

At the archer’s appalled expression, Elrohir felt sorrow wash over him. “You truly did not know,” he whispered. “You were not prepared to be bound.”

“But I was – I am!” Legolas cried fiercely. “I love you, Aduial. I gave you my heart!”

“Nay, Legolas. If you had, you would not have resented my efforts to care for you or be your shield.” Elrohir now gazed at him with the awful authority of a true son of Elrond. “Nor would you have resisted the compulsion to cherish me. And you would not have demeaned me as you so oft did, intentionally or not. You did not surrender to me and do not wish to. I may possess your body fully but only a portion of your heart and a fragment of your spirit. You are not mine. Not wholly. Not yet.”

Legolas felt the distance between them yawn wider than ever. So it had been since their quarrel amidst the hills of the Ered Mithrin. It had darkened his days, blackened his nights. Even their couplings, no matter how fierce or consuming, had not dispelled the feeling of separateness.

He had reveled in the intimacy their binding had wrought; had savored the security of Elrohir’s closeness whether in body or spirit. Now he realized he alone had known this wonder, this contentment, for Elrohir had given himself wholly and freely. But the Elf-knight could not have felt quite the same joy. Not if Legolas had failed to give himself as completely as he had promised at their Rites.

Shame shriveled him anew as did remorse, grief and trepidation. The knowledge that Elrohir need not have suffered because of his stupidity weighed heavily on him. All he’d had to do was tell someone – anyone – about his conflicted feelings. His father, Elladan, Nimeithel, most especially Elrohir himself. Enlightenment would have come sooner and prevented his misguided attempts to extricate himself from his seemingly alarming addiction to Elrohir. An addiction that he now understood was wholly natural and even expected of him. Had he set aside his reservations, he would not then have subjected his mate to so much hurt and humiliation. But no, he had let his misbegotten pride and recalcitrance rule him and in the process irrevocably tarnished himself in Elrohir’s eyes.

Will I ever be worthy of him? Legolas thought disconsolately. How could an ignorant, wrong-headed woodland Elf ever be a fitting match for a scion of exalted, lore-steeped Imladris?

As the feelings of dread and wretchedness increased, tears started to roll down his cheeks and tremors began to wrack his body. He hunched down, his hands clenched convulsively on his lap, and wept unabashedly. The last time he had shed tears so copiously had been after his beloved mother’s death. But was not this the same thing? He was about to lose someone even more beloved to his heart and spirit. He could not conceive of any reason why Elrohir would wish to remain with him.

“I am sorry,” he sobbed harshly. “You should not have loved me, Elrohir. I am not worth it. I do naught but bring you pain, taint you with my touch. Maeglin was right. You should have chosen someone as learned as you, a highborn Noldo, and not a benighted Sinda like me. I am not fit for—”

His self-castigation was abruptly cut off when strong arms encircled him and pulled him close against a hard, reassuring chest. He flung his arms around the twin, holding him desperately, as if afraid the other would forsake him. Soothing hands stroked his hair and a low voice whispered loving words into his ear.

“Hush, do not blame yourself, Calenlass. I am sorry, too. I did not intend to make you doubt your worth. ‘Tis not your fault; you did not know. Not that it would matter whether you knew or not. I love you. I always will.”

When the prince still shook violently in his arms, he said grimly, “I would kill Maeglin again for slighting you so cruelly. He spoke falsely, melethron nîn.”—my lover. “I want no one else. You are all I need, all I want. You have brought me more joy than I’d ever hoped for.” He felt the enclosing arms tighten around him further. “I loved you even when you struggled against your feelings for me,” he murmured. “I can hardly cease now when you have given me your love at last.”

“Only to hold back once more what should have been yours in full,” Legolas flayed himself. “I am but a foolish, obstinate Elf who was fortunate enough to catch your eye.”

Elrohir shook his head and said softly: “Say rather an innocent, headstrong prince so fair of face and form and spirit that he not only caught my eye but stole my heart as well.” He smiled as a blush stained the archer’s cheeks. “Do not abase yourself. I have not forgotten how you selflessly succored me when I needed you and beyond the bounds of what friendship required of you. I have seldom known such nobility of heart and soul.”

“That does not change the fact that I have wronged you once again. I would not blame you should you tire of me and my willful ways,” Legolas whispered fearfully.

“Never, meleth.”—love. “How can I? I am yours.”

“Yet you are no longer so close to me,” the prince said brokenly. “Even less now after all I have done to you. What I did and said... Forgive me, melethron,” he whispered. “I am shamed by my cruelty and...” He shuddered. “And my disregard for you as my mate...and equal...”

Elrohir marked his woeful countenance, his continued self-debasement. He stroked the shining strands comfortingly.

“Methinks you panicked at your lack of control,” he said softly. “By mastering me you sought to prove your mastery of your own body. But the pull would not let you alone and so you had to keep asserting your will and your dominance over and over again.”

Legolas shuddered. “What of my shameful jests?” he asked in a small voice. “There is no excusing that.”

“There is no excusing that, aye,” Elrohir agreed. “But I wager ‘twas another way of convincing yourself that you did not need me to make you feel whole.”

Legolas could not help a low moan of revulsion at his actions. He made to turn away, conscious all over again of just how undeserving he was of his spouse. But Elrohir refused to release him and held him ever more snugly.

“You did not know,” he repeated. “You thought it an unnatural impulse within you and therefore tried to rid yourself of it.”

“But had I confided in you—” the archer said. “I should have asked you...”

“And I should have instructed you,” Elrohir gently pointed out. “As I swore to do on our binding night.” At Legolas’ startled expression, he continued. “Even then you owned your lack of knowledge of what a binding entailed. You asked me to teach you and I promised I would. Yet this most significant matter I took for granted and did not trouble to relate to you.” He pressed a kiss to his spouse’s temple. “I was as remiss as you were willful. We both reaped what we sowed, Calenlass.”

Legolas did not reply but only pressed his face against his mate’s shoulder. Elrohir looked insistently at him. When Legolas sensed his gaze upon him, he cravenly lifted his tear-stung eyes for only Elbereth knew what he might see in the twilight pools.

He started when warm lips caught his and proceeded to suckle them tenderly. And when he gasped, Elrohir took advantage of this and, slipping between his parted lips, plundered his mouth with aching gentleness. Sensing a bridging of the chasm that separated them, Legolas eagerly responded, hungrily seeking emotional intimacy. Conscious only of his need to be as close as possible to his mate, the archer let go and immersed himself in the feeling of incompleteness that needed the other to feel whole. The fear of losing Elrohir overrode all other concerns.

For several sweet moments, they lost themselves in the bliss of their lips’ deep embrace. Legolas quivered as passion began to mount slowly in the very depths of his being, so needful had he been of his mate’s touch. He lowered a hand to tug at the belt of Elrohir’s robe. He was startled when a strong but light grip on his wrist stopped him. The darkling Elf drew back, breaking their kiss. The prince stared at him. The twin’s eyes mildly chided him.

Legolas flushed. He was doing it again. Asserting his will without taking Elrohir’s side of the equation into consideration. After all, there had been no indication that his spouse wanted to proceed any further than their kisses. His bowed his head, disconcerted.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “What...what do you want?”

A finger under his chin compelled him to raise his head and look at the Elf-knight. Elrohir’s eyes gleamed with understanding and something else besides.

“Heltho,” he softly told him. Strip.

Legolas stared in surprise then, turning rosy with sudden shyness, he reached for the ties on his bed-shirt and started to undo them. When he lowered his eyes, however, he felt Elrohir’s thought brush his mind.

Do not look away. I would see your eyes.

Obeying, he looked up again at Elrohir; realized the warrior was also disrobing though his gaze stayed locked on the archer. They shed their garments thus, their connected gaze never wavering. It came to Legolas that, by holding his gaze, Elrohir was plumbing his very soul, reading in his eyes his true feelings and thoughts.

Legolas opened himself to the knowing stare; pushed aside all his previous resistance. He felt his heart beat wildly as Elrohir bore him down upon the bed and kissed him with such heart-stopping gentleness it rendered him breathless. Warm, thrilling caresses brushed his lips, his cheeks, his throat and shoulders, wandered down to his chest, pausing to lightly nibble the roseate nipples into aching stiffness.

Elrohir ground their groins together, rhythmically sliding their rigid lengths against each other, causing sharp bolts of pure sensation to steal up their spines. Then blessing Legolas’ mouth with the deepest of kisses, he took the archer’s hand and guided it between their lean forms. With a purposefulness that left the prince aflame, he folded Legolas’ fingers around his shaft then did the same to the archer. Together, they fondled each other even as their lips clung in heated harmony, their breaths quickening, becoming shallower with every caress of their fingers.

Legolas could not suppress a moan when Elrohir reached down and proceeded to stroke the slicked columns in unison, all but undone by the stabbing pleasure that nearly pushed them both over the edge. They were soon trembling with an even greater need.

When Elrohir released his mouth to press kisses upon his neck and throat, Legolas could no longer hold back and he rasped pleadingly, “Please, Aduial, I need you. Have me...please...”

Elrohir paused then raised his head and regarded him thoughtfully. Legolas felt a pang of apprehension smite him. The twilight eyes were veiled once more. He wondered why yet feared to know the reason.

“Would you have a mere half-breed Elf take you?”

The quietly voiced query stung Legolas to the quick. Tears pricked his eyes once more. He swallowed painfully. It was apparent Elrohir still did not trust him completely. Anxiously searching the other’s impassive countenance, he thought he espied the slightest glimmer of emotion. Of incertitude.

The truth came to him in a flash. When had he last yielded to the Elf-knight? He could hardly remember the moment himself. For so many months now, he had demanded and received his mate’s compliance. And then he’d maligned Elrohir’s Peredhil heritage and led him to believe that he had resented submitting to one who was only of the half-blood. Was it any wonder that the warrior now doubted his desire to be taken?

He thought his heart would break at this revelation. But he took his courage in hand and swallowed what pride he may have still harbored. He would not fail Elrohir again.

“Aye, I would,” he whispered earnestly. “If he would deign to soil himself with one so base as I.”

The impassive gaze turned warm with wonder and deep affection. Elrohir stroked his fingers across the damp cheeks, watched the blue eyes light up with pure, unabridged love.

“You are not base, ernilen”—my prince—he murmured, bestowing kisses upon the pale fluttering lids, easing away any remaining tears. “Mîren.”—my treasure. He showered butterfly caresses on the finely etched cheekbones, tasting the salt of the archer’s previous grief. “Inden.”—my heart. He lowered his mouth to Legolas’ and captured the trembling lips with searing need to taste the sweetness within.

Legolas was nearly undone by the power of such profoundly affectionate words. He snaked his legs around Elrohir’s waist in a mute plea.

Without releasing the archer’s lips, the twin eased into his lithe frame, slowly, deliberately, so that each felt every sensation until they were both breathing raggedly into each other’s mouth. As the warrior buried himself to the hilt, something else connected as intimately as their bodies.

Legolas felt their spirits speaking once more, reaching out eagerly, hungry for the other. He shivered in sheer delight, moaned against Elrohir’s lips as the twin began a motion as ancient as the Elves themselves, driving deep into him even as he delved the honeyed recesses of his mouth. Reaching for Elrohir’s hands, he grasped them and intertwined their slender fingers.

Equal parts pleasure and joy coursed through the archer’s body as he pushed onto the warrior’s thrusts. The last barrier was gone. His Elf-knight was open to him once more, his trust fully restored. Their renewed closeness stoked their passion into a virtual conflagration of pure sensation.

Elrohir gently freed his hands, slipped his arms under the prince and, rising to a sitting position, their supple forms still joined, scooped him up, letting the archer straddle his thighs.

Legolas uttered a ragged gasp as his impalement grew more acute when he came to rest upon Elrohir’s lap. Gathered against the Elf-knight’s body, he found his lips devoured anew. He savored the intense intimacy of their position, mouths, torsos, groins and limbs pressed against or wrapped around the other.

At Elrohir’s behest, they took it as slowly as they could. When Legolas would have pushed down hard onto him, the warrior held the archer’s hips, keeping him from moving overmuch, controlling the intensity of their motions yet angling his upward thrusts to languidly stroke him within. Slowly, gently, they rocked their hips together, ardently whispering their love and desire to each other, savoring the crawling tendrils of sensation as they seeped into their veins, crept into their muscles, leaked into their nerves, gradually but inexorably building the ravaging pleasure of completion.

Tremors savaged their sinews, the thrill of impending release snaked through their limbs. And the feelings flowed through their tightly wrought connection, washing inexorably over both of them until, at last, they could take no more. With a groan, Elrohir grasped Legolas by the hips and pressed him down urgently upon his piercing length. It proved the archer’s undoing. The Elf-knight’s name sobbingly wrenched from him, Legolas was swept away on a wave of wondrous sensation as his release overwhelmed him, taking Elrohir along with him into utter, incomparable bliss. They held each other tightly, waiting for their trembling to subside, reluctant to part after such voracious loving.

There had been a purity to this joining, a sweetness they had not experienced for quite some time.

After a while, the prince lay down beside his beloved Elf-knight. Strangely, despite their protracted coupling, neither Elf longed for sleep. If anything they were still wound up, their bodies not yet fully spent. Loath to separate from the twin even after the other had withdrawn from him, Legolas promptly entwined his long legs with the others’ limbs and lay his head in the crook of his beloved’s neck. Elrohir chuckled softly at this long unseen display of affection.

At the mirthful sound, Legolas raised his head. Regarding the smiling warrior, he asked, “What?”

“I missed this,” Elrohir answered simply, placing a hand on the prince’s thigh, which lay atop his.

Legolas looked so contrite that Elrohir took a moment to ease him with a gentle kiss. The prince beamed almost shyly then laid his head down once more.

“Elrohir?”

“Hmm?”

“You said we exchange one freedom for another kind. Forgive me my ignorance but could you please explain this?”

Legolas looked at Elrohir again as he spoke, crystalline eyes gleaming with curiosity. His determination to learn and set things right between them moved Elrohir immensely.

“‘Tis true that Elves give up the freedom they once knew upon taking a spouse,” he explained. “‘Tis the reality for all races that honor the traditions of mating. But the Edhil are accorded a special grace. Our bindings are eternal and therefore our passions must be without diminishment. Yet we would be hard-pressed to maintain such feelings for eternity. Even Elves may grow weary of the endless effort to love and succor a mate without the help our very nature provides us.”

He smiled at his golden mate who was rapt with attention and fascination. “The pull we feel when we are bound was placed there by the One himself to help us sustain our eternal bonds. ‘Tis a gift that allows us to turn our conscious thoughts and deeds elsewhere whilst keeping us secure in the knowledge that our love and desire remain constant. Call it instinct if you will but, if we let it, the pull guides us in our demeanor towards our mates, teaches us the ways of immortal lovers...all these without our having to put our full minds and efforts into pleasing each other. We can thus turn our energies to other things: to better our race, our culture and ourselves. In this sense, it is liberating. ‘Tis a different kind of freedom but sweeter I think for having someone to share it with.”

He studied the archer who looked thoughtful with belated comprehension. “You did not lose yourself to our union when we were bound,” he quietly concluded, “but gained me instead...my whole self, heart, body and spirit.”

The sapphire eyes were brilliant with enlightenment. Legolas gazed at him musingly. “Think yourself up to loving me through this night?”

One darkly elegant eyebrow shot up. “Is that a challenge?”

“Nay, an invitation.”

Both eyebrows rose in amusement. “So lustful, melethen?”—my love?

The archer’s adoring smile took his breath away. He thought he had never seen his prince so enchanting or beautiful. “I would be wholly yours, Elrohir,” Legolas said reverently. “I would belong to *you*, heart, body and spirit.”

Elrohir gazed at him, eyes aglow with love and reawakening desire. He had felt the archer’s surrender during their rabid coupling, known that Legolas had finally sealed his vows to him in full. But this heartfelt declaration warmed him immeasurably, recognizing as he did the humility it had taken for Legolas to openly voice it.

“Then I will love you through the night, Calenlass nîn”—my Greenleaf —the Elf-knight whispered. “I will make you mine.”

And make him his he did, repeatedly, until the night grew old and their sated bodies, still melded together in love, Legolas’ fair head tucked under his chin, finally gave in to the siren song of sleep. But not before he heard the archer’s emotion-infused whisper against his neck, each endearment emphasized with a kiss.

“I love you, rochbenen...iaunen...faeren.” My knight, my refuge, my soul.

With a contented sigh, Elrohir slipped into deep repose, holding his heart’s choice in the circle of his possessive embrace.

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

Glossary:

naneth - mother

adar - father

Aduial - Twilight

Edhil - Elves

To be continued…
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold