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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.

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Chapter XVI: Transition

Ivanneth FA 21 – Gwirith FA 22

They endured their inevitable separation only reluctantly. Legolas was thankful he’d thought to prepare the picnic breakfast for it enabled them to celebrate Elrohir’s begetting day in an intimate and affectionate fashion. After they shared the bountiful repast, the prince drew the warrior into further love-play, receiving him with all the eagerness of a wanton much to Elrohir’s delight. It was nearly midday when they parted their bodies for the last time and dressed. Legolas left to rejoin his people and ride back to Ithilien while Elrohir slipped back into the Citadel with none the wiser as to his activities that morning.

In these initial fragile weeks of their renewed liaison, they did not speak of the deeper stirrings of their hearts. They chose to take it slow, to accord themselves the benefits of courtship, which admittedly had not been part of their love’s progression. In particular and for their respective reasons, neither brought up the matter of the one-sided binding that held the Imladrin lord to the Greenwood prince. For now, they were content to simply love each other.

For the rest of the month and the first half of October, they met as often as they could without arousing the suspicions of others. For in one thing Legolas had been right. Discretion was still a must in this land of men where the customs of Elvenkind were not always understood and even sometimes condemned. And so they trysted with utmost caution, sometimes in the small inns along the road from Ithilien to Minas Tirith, at other times in sparsely populated Osgiliath.

Not once did Elrohir visit Legolas in Ithilien. It was not yet the right time for that.

He did not tell Arwen or Aragorn or even Eldarion of the sweet culmination of all his waiting, the end to his hopelessness and sorrow. Their shock and anger with Legolas was still too recent, too raw, for them to condone his acceptance of the archer’s avowal of love.

He knew Aragorn would caution him against opening himself to the possibility of renewed pain and he could just imagine his sister’s reaction. Arwen had been most vehement in her castigation of the woodland prince. Only Eldarion had inhibited himself from actively disliking Legolas though he had been deeply disappointed with the archer’s actions and no longer spoke of him with admiration as had been his wont. They would not understand his immediate capitulation and would only urge him to beware of one who might toy with his devotion anon.

Unfortunately, Elrohir’s state of health was still such that his sister and foster brother might not believe the archer’s loving true. While the waning from grief was swift and brutal, the recovery, if there was one, was slow and gentle. What had taken mere weeks to strip from the younger twin would now entail months of healing to restore.

Elrohir thought it prudent to let their understandable feelings of rancor diminish with time. They loved him. They feared to lose him. They had vented their fear and anger upon the one they perceived to be the reason for their imminent loss. That made for strained relations with Eryn Gael’s lord.

Legolas wholeheartedly agreed with him. He was in no haste to endure Arwen’s caustic tongue so soon or Aragorn’s cold glare or Eldarion’s lowered opinion of him. By all means, let the passing days temper the edge of their ire, he told Elrohir. He did not mind at all so long as his Elf-rider loved him. And so Legolas kept his communications with the king on a formal and official level while his relations with the king’s brother became progressively more personal and intimate.

Only once did he reappear in Minas Tirith and that was for the judgment of Gethron and his cohorts. The royal family was civil but cool with him. It actually worked to his advantage during the proceedings.

With Elessar’s distant demeanor with the Elf-prince suggesting some recent disagreement between the two of them, the traitors’ insinuations about undue influence and unholy practices suddenly rang hollow. Mayhap the prince’s friendship with the king’s foster brother was closer than most men were used to but it was evident neither the Lord Elrohir or Elessar himself were inclined to let the matter guide their decisions in matters of government. How else to explain the king’s less than warm behavior with the Elven prince?

And what unholy practices? None had seen evidence of anything unnatural between the woodland prince and Elessar’s Elf-brother. Indeed, if anything it seemed they were not as close as previously supposed. Why, look at the Lord Elrohir! He had obviously been ill as his almost delicate appearance evinced so glaringly. Yet had that stopped the Elf-prince from leaving the Guarded City? Nay! Was that the natural comportment of someone whose interest in another was more than platonic? Of course not! And so the discussions went and eventually wound down to die a natural death.

The upshot of all these events was Elessar’s startling decision regarding the fate of Gethron and company.

“Since you esteem the Haradrim even above the citizens of the land of your birth, you are most welcome to make your abode amongst them,” he stated, eliciting gasps of shock from all and sundry and cries of dismay from the accused. “You have until daybreak tomorrow to put your affairs in order and depart from this realm. May you have good fortune in your bids to start anew in Harad. Believe me, gentlemen, you will need it!”

The judgment was more than enough to dampen any further notions of trickery or treachery. In Gondor, the soon-to-be exiles had had some influence and that had made them of some worth to the Southrons. But in Harad, they were as nothing and, with no connections left to the Reunited Kingdom, they would be less than useless to the Haradrim. Elessar’s sentence was little more than a death sentence if these former lords failed to eke out an existence in the Swertings’ realm.

All throughout, Elrohir and Legolas maintained their professional miens, neither betraying by look or word or touch how much they longed to be alone that they might share more than a look or word or touch. Afterwards, Legolas returned to Ithilien and Elrohir prepared for his departure for Rivendell.

For in the latter part of October, they were perforce compelled to part when Elrohir made his once yearly sojourn to his home. Legolas did not protest or Elrohir refuse this duty. They were both princes born and reared and accepted the responsibilities their positions entailed to the people they ruled and protected. But so anxious was Legolas to store up as much of his Elf-knight’s loving as possible that, on the eve of the warrior’s departure, he recklessly took the risk of being seen by the wrong people at the wrong time and in the wrong place and spent the entire night with his lover in one of the inns of Minas Tirith itself.

Elrohir’s journey to Imladris proved a most poignant one. Just weeks earlier he had planned the trip with the intent of spending his last days on Arda in the valley of his birth. Instead, he arrived so incandescent with life and loving that his brother and law-sister were quite overwhelmed by his very presence.

To Elladan and Nimeithel alone did he reveal the reason for his joy and the compelling luminosity in his eyes. Nor did he hide the painful events that had preceded this reconciliation with his long-time love.

While Nimeithel smugly announced that she had known it would come to that, Elladan could not help proclaiming it was about time and he would tell Legolas so when they met again! But as that pronouncement was followed by a most tender embrace for his twin and a knowing grin, Elrohir’s worries that his brother might yet do Legolas bodily harm were largely allayed. Of course, as to whether Elladan would give him a piece of his mind was entirely the older twin’s prerogative and Elrohir would simply have to stay by Legolas’ side if his brother should push through with his threat.

During the months that followed, he assuaged his acute yearning for his prince by indulging in the task of altering his bedchamber from a bachelor’s sanctuary to a haven for two. In this he had Elladan’s questionable assistance and Nimeithel’s more substantial aid. He had no doubt that his lover was doing much the same with his quarters in Eryn Gael and the thought of the mercurial Wood-elf embroiled in such domestic activities oft brought an amused smile to his lips.

But his stay in Rivendell was suddenly abbreviated when word came from Gondor that war loomed once more. Unlike in years past, the Haradrim had not awaited the onset of spring before harassing Gondor’s borders again. In January they had engaged the Men of the West in an escalating series of skirmishes. And now a great battle was expected to take place before very long. Ithilien was in worst straits. As early as December, orcs had taken to making raids on the province. And so Gondor’s forces were split with King Eomer and the Rohirrim riding to Elessar’s aid while Faramir and Legolas contended with the incursions into their territory. Alarmed by the tidings, Elrohir headed back south, Elladan at his side.

His return was greeted with much astonishment and disbelief. King and Queen had been expecting the worse all through winter; had virtually awaited a letter from Elladan announcing his passing. When he arrived with his twin at the gate of the Citadel, looking as glorious as the day he’d first set foot in Gondor during the War, they were practically struck dumb. Relief and delight soon followed and with that their previous anger with Legolas slowly began to dissipate. That their gradual turnaround had to do with their belief that Elrohir had gotten over his passion for the prince was of no matter to the younger twin. Biding his time, he patiently awaited the proper moment when they would be most accepting of the truth.

In the meantime, the reason for his precipitate return to Gondor came to pass. The brethren rode to war with their king-brother. Formidable captains both, they helped Elessar lead and rally Gondor’s forces as the last great battle in the south was fought. When it was over, the Haradrim threat was ended once and for all. Flushed with the sweet rush of their victory, Aragorn and his son and Elf-brothers returned to a jubilant Minas Tirith. Mayhap peace would come to the kingdom in this lifetime after all.

If anything marred the triumphant mood, it was the reports of continued strife in Ithilien. If Faramir and Legolas were unable to contain the situation soon, Aragorn would be compelled to send his war-weary forces to their aid and that was something he did not relish. Yet it was not his forces the king wound up sending but two most dear to his family’s collective heart.

********

The royal family sat together in the small dining alcove for their evening meal. It was but two days since the men’s return from the decisive battle against the Haradrim. Arwen was now very great with child and her husband and son solicitously saw to her comfort before settling themselves. Their conversation was as usual. The worrying Ithilien problem. Eldarion’s training as prince and warrior. The impending arrival of Elladan’s wife, Nimeithel, to join him in Gondor for a spell. Aragorn’s indecision as to whether his daughters were old enough to take part in their oft-mature discussions.

They were midway through the meal when Elrohir suddenly gasped and an odd expression appeared on his face. Arwen noticed the change at once.

“Elrohir, are you all right?” she asked.

The twin lifted his eyes to hers then turned to the King. “Estel, I must go to Ithilien at once,” he said. “I am needed there.”

Aragorn was surprised. Arwen protested at once. Too often had Elrohir returned from the campaigns in the south accompanied by harrowing tales of his courage and near brushes with death. In Ithilien, battle was more often than not engaged after ambush if any survived the ambush in the first place. It was far more perilous than the open fighting on the plains of Rohan or Harondor.

“Can you not wait until they have cleansed the region?” she pleaded.

“Nay, I must go now. Legolas needs me.”

King, Queen and Prince stared at him. “Faramir reports that great numbers of orcs still ravage the countryside,” Aragorn pointed out. “Legolas will likely be far from his halls. There is still much fighting to be done.”

“And I shall fight at his side.”

“Elrohir—”

“I will go, Estel, whether you will it or not.” It was said calmly but firmly. The grey eyes did not waver.

Elladan studied him. “You sense him from afar,” he said. His brother glanced at him and nodded. The older twin turned to his law-brother. “Do not stop him, Estel.”

Aragorn looked from one twin to the other. He glanced at his worried wife then sighed. “Very well,” he said. “But bring a full company of soldiers with you. You will most likely need help.”

“I will go with you, gwanneth”—younger twin—Elladan said.

“My thanks.”

Elrohir left to prepare for the journey. Eldarion glanced at Elladan questioningly. “How could he possibly sense Legolas all the way in Ithilien, Uncle?” he asked.

Elladan shook his head. “There are some matters you know nothing about but I am not at liberty to reveal them.”

Arwen regarded her older brother thoughtfully then looked ruefully at her husband. “It seems we have been kept in the dark about more than a few things,” she remarked. “Not that we can blame Elrohir for that. We were rather hard on Legolas, I confess.”

Eldarion gasped. “Hard, Nana?”—Mama?—he sputtered. “You were quite ready to flay him alive!”

Aragorn shook his head, a small smile gracing his mouth. Patting his suddenly flustered wife’s hand soothingly, he said: “We were only fearful for Elrohir’s life, meleth.”—love. “Legolas will not take that against us.”

A spark of indignation flickered in Arwen’s eyes. “And he should not considering how he treated Elrohir!” she retorted.

“Ai, thel neth”—younger sister—“why did we bother to send our forces against Harad?” Elladan laughed. “We should have just dropped you in their midst and ended the battle soonest!”

********

Elrohir did not speak of what drove him to make the journey to Ithilien with all haste. He only broached the need to reach the province within the shortest time possible. And so he urged his men to move quickly, taking only the briefest of rests along the way. Only his brother understood his anxiety.

They came within sight of Emyn Arnen and turned south heading for Eryn Gael. Elrohir became more wary. The dryadic beauty of Ithilien was deceptive; orcs still made frequent incursions into the province. Only the valor of the Elves and the vigilance of Faramir’s warriors kept them at bay.

They were still many hours away from the colony when he suddenly brought his horse to a halt. He looked to the east as if waiting for something. His men watched him uneasily. But his brother trusted his senses and if he sensed that something was wrong then Elladan accepted that it was so. His conviction communicated itself to the others and none voiced their doubts about the Elvenlord’s actions.

Elrohir drew his breath in sharply. There it was again. It was just a whisper in his mind but it was enough. Without a word, he spurred his horse in the direction he sensed the thought had come from. The company followed him unquestioningly.

They passed through a wooded area. Elrohir continued onwards, drawn by some secret call. They did not get far before they saw signs of an ongoing battle. They saw the still warm bodies of Elves and orcs, fallen weapons and fresh blood staining the grass. And soon they heard the sounds of the fighting itself. They emanated from a great clearing towards the edge of the woods.

Fear clutched at Elrohir’s heart. What if he was too late? With an angry cry he drew his sword and dug his heels into his mount. The great warhorse plunged forward. The rest followed swiftly as the Elf-warrior led the way.

The Men of Gondor burst into the clearing and onto a scene of carnage. They fell upon the enemy with fury.

Quickly assessing the situation, Elrohir realized that the Elves were outnumbered by their foes. Yet they fought on valiantly, bringing down many orcs even as they themselves were slain. The men’s arrival was more than timely.

Elrohir cut down orcs with feral efficiency. A cold rage shook him as he became aware of just how many Edhil had perished in the battle and only his deeply ingrained sense of discipline prevented him from blindly lashing out without thought to safety or strategy. He loved the Elves of Ithilien as much as he did his own people of Rivendell and it filled him with fury that so foul an enemy should dare to lessen their already diminished numbers. Yet despite the confusion and violence about him, he still searched desperately, looking for one face, one figure amongst all the chaos.

A flash of gold caught his eye. He saw the Elf-prince a fair distance away. Legolas stood alone, sword flashing lethally as he fought off his foes. He was surrounded by fallen Elves. And he was wounded. Elrohir saw the broken shaft of a black arrow protruding from his right shoulder, the way he faltered when he moved his right arm. Alarmed, he urged his steed toward the archer as fast as the animal could go.

Legolas knew he was in great peril. He was surrounded, cut off from his people. And his injury hindered his movements. Each time he raised his right arm, the strain pulled at the wound and caused great pain to course through his body. He did not know how much longer he could hold out before an orc breached his defenses and dealt him a fatal blow.

He was more than relieved when two orcs behind him suddenly shrieked in pain and fell backwards in quick succession, arrows skewering their throats. He looked up and saw the great warhorse nearing him, its rider hacking away at the remaining orcs that sought to slay him.

“Legolas, behind you!”

His mount at full gallop, Elrohir bent down and reached out his hand to the prince. Legolas grasped it and using it as leverage, vaulted onto the warhorse behind Elrohir just as more Goblins converged on his position. One attempted to slay the horse but Legolas lashed out with his foot and caught the creature full in the face, sending it flying backwards onto some of its comrades. Elrohir rode the rest down, letting his steed trample them into the bloodstained ground.

The twin moved away from the thick of the fighting, his precious cargo now slumping against him. Once away from the brunt of battle, he scanned the clearing to see how the fighting had gone.

The tide had turned with the coming of the Men of Gondor. Already the fighting had begun to wind down. Before long, the sounds of strife faded away as the last of the orcs were hunted down as they fled, and slain.

After ascertaining that the danger was over, Elrohir helped Legolas dismount. The fair-haired Elf allowed himself to be half-carried to a tree against which he could lean. Elrohir wasted no time in greetings but swiftly cut open his lover’s tunic and shirt to bare the wound. The arrow was deeply imbedded but there was not too much bleeding. At least, the archer would not suffer from blood loss. He inspected the arrow’s position in the wound.

“It will have to go through, Legolas,” he tersely said.

“Do it then,” Legolas replied.

Elrohir blanched. He had frequently done this procedure on the battlefield for others. But to do it for his beloved was something else. He knew he did not have it in him to cause Legolas even more pain. He called to his brother for assistance. Elladan came swiftly to the fallen Elf, bearing bandages and healing herbs.

The twins had a hurried consultation. Elladan’s mouth tightened as he made his own examination. “There is poison, I think. You will have to draw it out after I extract the arrow.” He glanced anxiously at Legolas. The prince was paler than usual, pain etched into his features. Yet he made no sound beyond an occasional labored release of breath

“Muindor”—brother—“hold him,” Elladan ordered. The younger twin obeyed and cradled the prince against his shoulder.

Elladan took hold of the shaft. With a quick bend, he broke off the notched end. Even the slight movement jarred Legolas’ already agonized shoulder. A hiss of pain escaped his lips and his free hand clutched convulsively at Elrohir’s arm. The twin bit his lip knowing worse was to come.

Elladan manipulated the arrow, angling the head away from bone or cartilage. With each movement Legolas’ hold grew tighter until Elrohir thought his arm would break. Yet the prince refused to make a sound.

Elladan took a firm hold on the broken shaft. He glanced at Legolas. The archer simply nodded and braced himself. Elladan drove the arrowhead all the way through. This time Legolas could not stifle a gasping groan. Shuddering, he buried his face in Elrohir’s chest. The raven-haired Elf wrapped his arms around him and held him closer, trying to impart whatever comfort he could give, dropping kisses on the golden hair.

Elladan gingerly extracted the bloodied shaft from behind the prince’s shoulder. After examining the wound, he was satisfied that there were no splinters left within. He nodded to Elrohir. “You may let him go,” he softly said.

Slowly, as gently as he could manage, Elrohir laid Legolas back against the tree. “I will leave you to draw out the poison,” his brother said. “I must help with the other wounded.” He hurried off.

Elrohir set to work, his nimble fingers and healer’s skills manipulating the wounded flesh, coaxing most of the toxin out of the prince’s veins. There would be some poison left but, with time and enough rest, Legolas’ body would neutralize it on its own.

Legolas winced as the wounds burned under Elrohir’s ministrations. After a while, he gazed at the other Elf with some wonder. “How did you know where to find us?” he asked.

Elrohir glanced up at him. “I heard you in my thoughts back in Minas Tirith,” he said. “I knew you needed my help. And then I sensed you again when we arrived in Ithilien.”

Legolas nodded. “Aye, I did need your help. I was wishing you could come.” He looked questioningly at his lover. “You heard me in your thoughts? Was that how you knew that I was under attack from Gethron’s men?”

Elrohir only nodded. Legolas longed to ask more but he was distracted just then. A hiss escaped his lips as Elrohir began to clean the wounds using water from his flask. He heaved a sigh of relief when the other finally finished. The warrior began to apply the healing herbs, careful not to cause more pain.

“I cannot believe these Goblins nearly defeated you,” Elrohir frowned. “I have never seen you or your people so weary.”

Legolas sighed. “It has been four months since I have spent any length of time in my home, Elrohir. We have been fighting almost every other day. My people are exhausted.”

Elrohir looked shocked. “Why did you not send for help from Gondor?” he asked as he now wound bandages around the injuries.

“We cannot always ask aid of Gondor.”

“Yet Gondor always asks it of you!” Elrohir retorted indignantly. He finished binding the prince’s wounds.

Legolas cocked an eye at the other Elf and said dryly: “I know very well that Aragorn has been busy.”

Elrohir snorted but did not deny the archer’s point. “I am glad I came in time,” he said instead. “I feared for you.”

Legolas shook his head. “We have seen more battles than either of us can count, Aduial. You should not worry about me overmuch.”

“You cannot ask me not to worry, ind nîn.”—my heart.

Legolas smiled slightly. He conceded the point with a nod and relaxed against the tree.

Elrohir looked the other Elf over, seeking for other injuries. He was relieved to find none. But he did note the other’s appearance. Legolas’ pallor was far from normal and there were shadows under his eyes. The tiny braids that held back his fair hair had come undone. Smudges of blood marred his ivory skin. His tunic and shirt were ripped and his breeches and boots were smeared with mud and gore.

“You look a mess,” the Elvenlord remarked. A golden eyebrow rose caustically. Elrohir met the other’s gaze, his grey eyes glittering darkly. “Yet you are still the closest thing to perfection that I have ever known,” he said in a low voice.

The blue eyes warmed, a slow smile creased the well-shaped lips. Of their own accord, Elrohir’s eyes dropped to the prince’s mouth.

Later, melethron.

Elrohir blushed faintly as the thought brushed his mind. Legolas laughed softly. The sound cheered the weary Elves and filled the men with unexpected delight. Not a few of them looked at the Elven prince with awe, wondering at his undiminished comeliness. Elrohir noted their interest and frowned much to his brother’s amusement. With marked protectiveness, he drew his own mantle around the prince before seeing to the business of burying or burning the fallen.

It was late afternoon when the company of Elves and Men began the journey to Eryn Gael. The group did not hurry so as not to put too much strain on the injured among them. Elrohir had insisted that Legolas ride with him and had set the prince before him on his steed.

He knew great pleasure and contentment when Legolas leaned back trustingly against him. It had been long since he had felt the Elf-prince’s body and warmth next to his. Thankful that his lover was safe, he drew him even closer. The pure woodsy scent teased his nostrils in spite of the expected smells of blood and sweat and long travel. But enticing though it was, he did not attempt anything that would even hint at intimacy. Not when the men could see them. And anyway, Legolas needed rest and time to recover.

Nevertheless, under cover of darkness, when he saw that none were looking his way, he took his chance. He gently blew the prince’s hair from his shoulder, baring the side of his neck, and pressed a kiss upon the smooth skin. He felt the tremor that passed through the other’s body.

Legolas turned his face toward the twin, his eyes gleaming. Elrohir leaned forward and caught his lips in a quick but heated caress. They smiled at each other before Legolas relaxed against his Elf-knight once more and let himself drift into elvish dreams.

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

Glossary:

Ivanneth/Gwirith - Sindarin for September & April

Edhil - Elves

Aduial - Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

melethron - lover (m.)

To be continued…
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince