Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 3337 -:- 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
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 1
- 2
- 3
Part II

A few days later, Elrond and Celebrían departed for the Golden Wood, Arwen and her nurse, Almariel, in tow. It would be the little girl’s first visit to her mother’s parents and her first sojourn away from Rivendell as well. The twins were originally supposed to go on this long-scheduled trip but upon receipt of Legolas’ letter informing them that he could at long last come to Imladris, both had backed out of the journey at once.

Friendship notwithstanding, this did not sit well with Elrond’s household at all. For as sure as the sun rose each morn, they would likely bear the brunt of the twins’ machinations. Add a spirited woodland prince and that could only mean headaches at best and full bodily collapses at worst. Only Glorfindel did not seem overly concerned but, as Erestor grumbled, that was to be expected since the twins knew better than to test the deceptively mild-mannered captain’s patience or temper.

The elder Elves’ dire predictions soon came to pass. Within days of their parents’ departure, the brethren and their noble guest engaged in a series of scrapes surely meant to hasten a reasonably sane Elf’s passage into the Halls of Waiting. One by one, Elrond’s hapless counsellors and retainers fell victim to his sons’ well-planned capers in which they were ably assisted by the Greenwood prince.

Having been spared timorous Ailios’ embarrassingly noisy encounter with bristly spiders and horned beetles in his beddings, Erestor thought himself quite lucky. And when it was staid Gilrion who found himself with a lapful of quarrelling red-crested hens after he’d inadvertently dozed off while reading in the tranquil shade of one of the porches, the steward had reason to believe that perhaps the twins had finally decided to leave him alone. Until he became the butt of the age-old prank of a bucket of water perched atop his bedchamber door.

It was all Glorfindel could do not to laugh out loud when he saw the dignified, always meticulously attired advisor storming through the hallways, trailing brackish pond water behind him and fuming that he would hang, draw and quarter the first of the miscreants he came upon. It took all of the fair-maned captain’s diplomacy to convince his colleague to forego that barbaric form of punishment.

In the wake of Erestor’s inelegant dousing, Gildor Inglorion suddenly decided it was time for him to take another journey. Better to sleep and eat under the open skies and in all weathers than run the risk of being the princelings’ next victim, he reasoned with all the logic of one bent on escaping insult and injury to one’s dignity.

Two days before his departure, a small company of Elves arrived in the valley. Legolas watched curiously as Gildor avidly welcomed them. He and Elrohir were perched upon the balustrade of one of the porches that faced the courtyard of the house languidly observing the comings and goings of the afternoon. It was one of the few times they were not engaged in an activity of a more energetic or purposeful nature.

“Who are they?” he asked Elrohir.

“They are members of one of the wandering companies that roam the north,” the Elf-knight explained. “Gildor travels with them quite often for they once dwelt in Lindon where he has kin.”

“Lindon!” Legolas’ eye’s lighted up with fascination. Lindon was but a name to him; as much the stuff of legend as the Golden Wood. To behold Elves of that realm was no little thing to him, so sheltered had he been in the fastness of his father’s kingdom in Eryn Galen.

“And does the noble shipwright, Círdan, still ply his craft?” he asked.

Elrohir nodded. “Now more than ever. Many of our kindred are leaving these shores. Our time in Middle-earth is slowly but surely drawing to a close and we will all have to make the choice whether to sail West or remain in these mortal lands, to become a hidden people.” He suddenly turned pensive. “At least, others will have that choice. My siblings and I do not.”

Legolas wondered at his friend’s sadness.

“What do you mean?” he softly prodded.

Elrohir glanced at him. “What do you know of the choice of the Peredhil?”

The prince shrugged and duly recited: “‘Tis told in Eryn Galen that your father and his brother, Elros, were given the choice to be either of the Edhil or the Edain. Lord Elrond chose to be of the Firstborn but Elros became as a mortal man and was thus appointed the first king of ancient Numenor.”

Elrohir nodded. “Elladan, Arwen and I must also make that choice,” he soberly explained. “But we must do so before father departs these lands or forfeit our immortality.”

Legolas frowned. “That doesn’t sound too difficult,” he remarked. “Surely you would choose to be of Elvenkind. ‘Tis the only life you’ve known.”

Elrohir shook his head. “‘Tis not that simple. To claim our Edhil heritage we must perforce take ship with Adar”—Father—“when he leaves Middle-earth whether we are ready to forsake these shores or not. ‘Tis what the Valar decreed when first they gave our family the choice.”

Legolas stared at the Elf-knight. “That is—that is not—fair,” he protested. “Why should your destiny be ruled by another’s desire?”

Elrohir sighed. “Only the Valar can answer that question. Elladan and I try not to think on it as yet. After all, Adar will abide here for many more years.”

“But your choice?” Legolas pressed. “You do not sound certain as to what it will be.”

“I am not,” Elrohir admitted. “Elladan seems inclined to cleave to Elf-kind but I do not know for certain what path I am meant to take. My father’s or my uncle’s.”

Legolas was astounded. “How can you choose to become mortal?” he gasped. “‘To willingly embrace the accursed Gift of Men? ‘Tis madness to seek their doom!”

“Nay, ernilen”—my prince—“not if one carries the blood of Men in one’s veins. I feel the Gift’s lure, Legolas, its siren call.”

“What call?” the archer asked bewilderedly.

“The call to freedom. To not be bound to the circles of the world. To be unencumbered by the ever growing weariness of living for centuries uncounted.” The twilight eyes were aglow with a strange fire. “Only the most profound of reasons could make our eternal lives worth living, would ensure never-ending bliss.”

“And what reason could this be?” Legolas queried, awed by the fire in the darkling Elf’s silvery eyes.

“Love, Calenlass,” the Elf-knight quietly replied.

The prince regarded his friend curiously.

“And think you that love will come your way?” he asked.

Elrohir sighed. “I hope so,” he murmured. “Else the shortness of men’s lives will prove the more tempting if I must exist in loneliness, alone, unloved.”

Legolas’ eyes widened at this alarming pronouncement. “Then I most sincerely pray you will get your wish, Elrohir,” he declared tightly. “I do not want to lose you or your friendship. Swear that you will not make this choice without letting me have my say,” he suddenly insisted with startling vehemence.

“Legolas—”

“Swear!”

It was Elrohir’s turn to stare at his friend. Legolas looked positively haunted. His sapphire eyes burned with unmistakable fear.

“Legolas!” Elrohir exclaimed. “I did not mean to upset you so deeply. Forgive me.” He clasped the prince’s suddenly chilled hands. “I swear, meldiren”—my friend—“I will not make that decision without your counsel.” Seeing that the golden-haired Elf was still troubled he raised one hand and cupped the other’s chin reassuringly. “If it will console you, know this, the love of friends can be as potent as the love between spouses. You may very well be the one to hold me to our kindred for your friendship is something I treasure above all others.”

Legolas felt his dread fade away as the Elf-knight’s words washed soothingly and tenderly over him. With a tremulous smile, he gripped Elrohir’s hand tightly and turned his head to press his cheek into the cup of the Elf-knight’s warm palm.

“I will remind you of your oath as often as I must,” he solemnly stated. “I will hold you to our kindred as best as I can.” He took a deep calming breath. “I will not be parted from you by fate itself, Elrohir. That, I swear.”

Elrohir stared at the prince with wonder.

“You feel strongly about this,” he remarked.

“I feel strongly about anything that concerns my closest friend.”

A sable eyebrow rose in surprise.

“I am your closest friend?” he inquired. “But what of Heledir and Mithrael? Of Elladan?”

Legolas fell silent for a moment. At length he said: “‘Tis difficult to explain. Heledir and Mithrael are the friends of my growing years; as such, they will always have a place in my heart. But you and Elladan I consider my very best friends despite the brevity of our acquaintance. Such is the pull both of you exert upon me. Yet you alone seem to know me better than anyone else, Elrohir, even better than I know myself. Seldom has anyone shown me such trust and concern as you do or doted on me without shame or regard for the opinion of others. In this you are closer to me than my own brothers, my old playmates and Elladan. In this, you are dearest to me of all my friends.”

Elrohir looked at him wordlessly for several heartbeats. “I am...deeply touched, Calenlass,” he whispered at last.

“Then you understand why I cannot do without you,” the prince said quietly. “‘Twould be like losing a part of myself.”

The Elf-knight nodded somberly. “‘Tis an honor that you should feel thusly about me,” he murmured. “I will confess, I have never felt such profound affection for any not of my kin as I do for you, Legolas. I, too, cannot conceive of a life without your friendship.”

The golden Elf smiled happily at the other’s admission. Then the smile faded somewhat and he looked at Elrohir uncertainly. “Should Elladan find out about my sentiments, would—would he—?”

“Resent you?” Elrohir shook his head, beaming gently. “He would understand. Indeed, I think he already knows for he has many times remarked upon my swift and unwonted regard for you and your ungrudging return of it.”

The smile returned to the prince’s lips. “I am glad for I would not like to lose his esteem either. I am twice blessed in having met both of you. Few ever come to know the love of a true friend, let alone two of them.”

The darkling Elf beamed with pleasure then glanced over the prince’s shoulder to espy his brother approaching. Elladan had that peculiar gleam in his slate blue eyes that boded ill for whoever was on his mind.

“May I assume that you are planning something wicked, gwaniuar?”—older twin?—the younger twin mildly inquired.

“Indeed you may,” Elladan grinned. “Tell me, muindor”—brother— “when was the last time you saw the interior of Iorwen’s bedchamber?”

Elrohir stared at him. “Iorwen? Valar, Elladan, that was a long time ago. We were but Elflings then. Why do you ask?”

The grin widened and the gleam brightened. “Do you not think it time we took pity on the counsellors?” he murmured with spurious compassion. “I would that we turned our attentions elsewhere for a change.”

Elrohir and Legolas looked at each other then grinned as well.

“Aye, a change would be interesting,” Elrohir agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come and I will show you what I have in mind.”

********

Rivendell’s golden-haired captain strode out of the house and scanned the garden in perplexity. He had been searching for Erestor for the better part of an hour to no avail. The only possible clue to the Elf’s whereabouts was a muted burgundy robe the chief steward had been seen to be wearing earlier in the day. Glorfindel had found it carelessly flung over the back of a chair near the doors leading outside.

Seeing no sign of Erestor, the Noldorin Elf decided a further exploration of the garden was in order. He walked on, following the grassy slope that led away from the river and towards the well-kept orchards beyond, looking to and fro for some sign, any sign, of the steward’s passage. Finally, he came to a stop below a thickly crowned oak of immense age.

“Erestor?!” Glorfindel shouted, wondering where the steward had taken himself. “Where in Arda can he be?” he muttered in frustration.

A sudden hiss caught his attention. It came from the thick foliage directly above him. The warrior Elf looked up and gaped in astonishment.

Perched amidst the branches was the wontedly impeccably attired and well-mannered steward clad only in a lightweight tunic, sturdy long breeches and light shoes. The better to climb a tree, Glorfindel mused, torn between amazement and hilarity.

“What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

“What does it look like, Glorfindel?” Erestor replied tersely. “I am trying to get some peace and quiet!” He glanced up and into the distance, stiffening at whatever he beheld. He looked down and sharply told the other Elf: “If you intend to prolong this conversation, get up here this instant!”

Glorfindel did not hesitate but jumped lightly to grab a branch. With practiced ease and agility, he swung himself onto a limb hardly wider than his own arm. He looked in the same direction that Erestor was intently staring at.

The twins and Legolas were sprinting at full speed down the slope, laughing uproariously. Bearing down on them with most unfeminine rage was Iorwen. The cook was brandishing a homegrown weapon, one of her heavy skillets. She looked more than intent on using it on the younger Elves. The reason for her vengeful attitude was all too apparent. She was drenched in the same pond water the twins had used to such spectacular effect on Erestor previously. Only they had embellished their earlier endeavor by adding dye to the water. Thus, the Elf-woman’s head and shoulders and a goodly portion of her torso were a disconcerting shade of bright orange.

The two counsellors remained absolutely still and quiet as the lordlings dashed by beneath them followed closely by the infuriated Elven lady. Only when the voices of both perpetrators and victim had faded into the distance did they release their breaths, which they had not realized they were holding.

“I suppose we should be grateful that Legolas’ two friends do not often join in these activities,” Glorfindel commented shortly.

“‘Tis because Heledir and Mithrael are sensible, considerate Elves who know better than to plague their elders and court retribution!” Erestor scowled, his usual equanimity and haughty mien breaking down under duress of a most uncommon nature. “I will never agree to baby-sit this motley crew again!” he growled. “Elbereth, ‘tis at times like these that one wishes one were not immortal!”

“Take heart, meldir”—friend—Glorfindel consoled him. “They will sober quickly enough when Elrond and Celebrían return.”

“Would that Imladris will still be standing when they do!”

“Aye,” the captain agreed with a faint smile. “I have oft feared these past three months that our beloved refuge would pass into legend way before its time.”

The intrinsic humor of the notion drew a gust of laughter from the normally grave steward. “Ai, you are fortunate that they fear you too much to play such pranks as they have foisted on the rest of the household,” he said.

“But not enough to keep them from tormenting me just the same,” Glorfindel replied. “I have had much to do trying to keep them from breaking their precious necks. I warrant Elrond will not be too pleased to be presented with less than live princelings upon his return. His rage should that come to pass would be far more dreadful than unbidden baths or creatures in our beddings.”

Erestor shook his head in exasperation. “And I’d thought Legolas would have a calming effect on the twins.”

Glorfindel guffawed. “As much chance of that happening as an Orc devoting itself to a life of good works!” At Erestor’s resigned sigh, he added, “Thranduil said much the same thing to Elrond regarding the twins’ hoped-for effect on Legolas.”

Erestor gaped at the fair-haired captain, dignity forgotten for the moment. “He thought the twins would calm Legolas down?” he gasped. He rolled his eyes. “‘Tis most apparent he knew nothing about our resident terrors.”

“He does now,” Glorfindel smirked. He turned serious once more. “The reason I sought you was to inform you that I am leading a patrol out tomorrow at first light. We should be back in a week’s time.”

Erestor nodded. “Good hunting then.”

Glorfindel rose to his feet on the branch. “Are you not coming down?” he asked when Erestor made no move to follow suit.

“Nay, I will stay here for as long as they are up and about.”

Glorfindel laughed. “You would spend the night up here?”

“‘Tis safer up here than in my own chambers with those three planning their next prank.”

With a last chuckle, the warrior Elf nimbly dropped to the ground and sauntered away. There were certain advantages to being known as the Balrog slayer of Gondolin, he thought good-humoredly. At the very least, it spared him the worst of the twins and Legolas’ frightful schemes. What they did dare to play on him he had thus far been able to stomach with adequate grace. The Valar willing, they would continue to hold him in enough awe to stay their all too gamesome hands.

His thoughts went to his less fortunate associate. Poor Erestor, he grinned. Mayhap I should hide him in my quarters until Elrond and Celebrían get back!

*********

Glossary:

Edhil - Elves

Edain – men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir's pet name for Legolas)

Peredhil - Half-elven/Half-elves

To be continued…
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These