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

Chapter List
- 19
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Author’s note: The blood Rite described in this chapter is by no means part of canon and is purely my invention as is the effect it has on Elves. But blood pacts were performed in olden times between would-be allies to seal their vows of allegiance to each other. Another custom, the ritual bedding of newlyweds, was practiced in England and some European cultures in the early centuries of the last millennium. I simply borrowed both traditions and used them for my own purposes.

Chapter XIX: Heart’s Pledge

The Elves gathered in the great clearing where they had held the victory bonfire less than a year ago. As was the custom of their kindred, the binding Rites would be held under the stars with all the Powers of Arda as witnesses to the nuptial vows. The sweetest, most lyrical songs wafted in the twilight breeze as they celebrated this latest, more joyous occasion.

Eldarion and Boromir looked about them with interest. The two were fairly close in age and had quickly become friends upon their first meeting years ago. As such, they were seated together, commenting on the proceedings. Though the entire colony seemed to be present, there was an intimacy and simplicity to the event, which was what Elrohir and Legolas desired. Yet the atmosphere was no less solemn or enchanting for the lack of grandeur or courtly trappings. Even the Elflings were hushed and respectful, seeming to understand the significance of what was about to occur.

Legolas slipped quietly into their midst with Aragorn at his side. There was a collective drawing of breaths when he appeared. He was resplendent in a snowy white over-tunic, which opened nearly to his waist revealing the high-collared silken white shirt beneath. The intricate yet delicate embroidery on the garment was done in muted gold purl recalling the beech trees and wildflowers of Greenwood. His belt was a gold chain in the likeness of overlapping leaves. A simple woven gold circlet crowned his fair head. But his long breeches and soft boots matched the whiteness of his clothing.

A golden prince indeed, Arwen thought approvingly. She sat comfortably between Gimli and Nimeithel. Across the small space wherein the Rites would take place were Faramir and Éowyn. They exchanged delighted smiles with her. They had never yet witnessed an elven nuptial ceremony let alone one between two ellyn—male Elves – though Faramir, ever Gandalf’s able student, had read about them.

It did not take long for Elrohir to make his appearance. With Elladan at his side, he came up the short path between the gathered Elves and made his way to Legolas. Like the archer before him, the younger prince of Imladris was breathtaking to behold. If Legolas was glimmering gold, he was shining silver and crystal.

He was clad in a pristine ceremonial tunic very much like the fair archer’s but a jeweled belt encircled his waist, tiny diamonds alternating with miniature sapphires along its length, the only hint of another color in his attire. Crystalline stars adorned the white raiment against skillfully wrought clouds of silver purl, mirroring the elenath— the starry host—in the firmament above. The shirt beneath was white and unadorned save for the silver edging on the high collar and sleeve cuffs. His breeches and boots were also white but upon his raven head was the pure mithril circlet he’d worn on the day of Eldarion’s betrothal.

There were no elaborate rituals, no prolonged speeches and the like. In low, reverent voices, the two betrothed called upon Iluvatar, the All-Father, and the mighty Valar to bear witness to their union and invoked their blessings upon it. Responding to some sign only the Firstborn could perceive, Elladan signed to Aragorn to take Legolas’ right hand and offer it to Elrohir even as he did likewise with his brother. Hands raised and clasped between them in the manner of sworn war-brothers, the two lovers then recited their vows, their eyes locked in solemn devotion, Elrohir renewing his pledge, Legolas making his for the first time.

Silence fell as they softly and tenderly voiced the ancient covenant of bound Elves, promising their hearts and spirits to each other for all eternity. Rapt wonder reigned and the stars shone ever brighter as they exchanged the gold bands of their binding, Elrohir slipping the exquisite heirloom ring of the House of Elrond down Legolas’ right index finger. In turn, Legolas presented him with a band of intertwined leaves of gold and mithril with a single emerald of astonishing color and clarity.

Intuitively, Elrohir knew the ring was of dwarven make and he sought Gimli’s gaze. The grin the Dwarf cast him confirmed his supposition and he smiled in return.

"'Tis beautiful, Calenlass,” he murmured as Legolas slipped it onto his finger. But he thought the prince’s smile of pleasure more precious than any treasure in Arda.

The lingering kiss they shared afterwards was the first they’d ever done in public. So tender and affectionate was it that not even the guests with no previous exposure to same-kind pairings could find anything abhorrent in it. Indeed, Éowyn was seen to brush happy tears from her eyes while the hobbits smiled indulgently at this display of profound love.

The feast following the Rites was less restrained. Music and laughter filled the air, food and drink flowed generously and gaiety was the rule.

Sam would never know how he and his wife and daughter came to be dancing a woodland jig with Elladan and several other Elves; he only knew he would forever treasure Gimli’s indescribable expression at being pressed into joining the same dance. Meanwhile, Eldarion and Boromir found themselves trying to outdo several Galadhrim in a drinking competition and were only kept from getting disgracefully inebriated by the sudden intervention of their respective fathers.

Content to remain at one of the long dining tables with the women, the newly bound pair none-too-patiently waited out the festivities. Even when the others rejoined them, it was clear they were aching to be elsewhere.

The King grinned at their patently desirous glances at each other and murmured something to Gimli and Faramir about the shameful lustfulness of Elves. To which the Dwarf, still red from embarrassment due to his questionable performance in the jig, testily said, “And they are far too gamesome as well. Why I ever allowed myself to be cornered by a passel of confounded Elves is beyond me!”

On the verge of reprimanding Aragorn for his cheeky observation, Legolas was suddenly distracted by the large bowl of plump berries and a low jug of cream an Elf set before them. He glanced from the mirthful monarch to Elrohir who was chatting with Éowyn. With a small smile, he took a berry and carefully dipped it in the cream. A light touch on the Elf-knight’s arm drew the latter’s attention.

Elrohir started when he found a luscious berry glistening with cream close to his lips but he obediently parted his lips at Legolas’ silent behest. The berry was gently tipped into his mouth, followed by a fingertip wiping a smidgen of cream from his lips. He watched in fascination as Legolas sucked that smidgen from his finger, his eyes never leaving the Elf-rider. Chewing the piece of fruit slowly, Elrohir curiously regarded his mate.

Legolas fed Elrohir more berries, each time deliberately smearing a bit of cream on the twin’s lips, which he wiped off with his finger and then sucked clean. It dawned on Elrohir that the prince was making amends for the incident the year before when he had unfairly chided the warrior for feeding him before Aragorn. His twilight eyes darkened thoughtfully.

Caught up in their intimate diversion, neither Elf noticed that the conversation had died down around them or that those at their table had paused to watch the two indulge in what was for all intents and purposes a subtle form of love-play.

When Legolas fed him a fourth berry, Elrohir caught the archer by the wrist and drew the latter’s fingers into his mouth. Under the prince’s wide-eyed gaze, he purposefully divested the trapped fingers of every bit of berry juice and cream. Legolas hissed when the barely repressed pooled warmth in his groin turned into active molten heat. He just knew that were it not for the table, no one would be able to ignore the needful state of his body.

Arwen could not suppress the happy smile that graced her lovely face. Nevertheless, judging from the popeyed stares of Gimli and the hobbits, the surreptitious glances Eldarion and Boromir exchanged, and the raised eyebrows of Faramir and Éowyn, it was time to bring the temperature down a little. She coughed ostentatiously to snare their attention.

The two glanced up in surprise. Only then did they realize that they’d become the center of everyone’s regard. Seldom unnerved by such instances, Elrohir managed a charming scapegrace smile but Legolas, always the more reserved in these matters, blushed deeply much to his friends’ amusement.

“I think ‘tis time this pair finished the Rites,” Elladan chuckled. “I have no desire to watch my twin take our golden prince upon this table.”

This time Elrohir scowled, affected when it was his irrepressible twin who teased him.

Aragorn laughed. “Aye, gwanur”—kinsman—“you are right. To bed, both of you!”

“But not to sleep!” Sam added daringly, much to his wife’s shock.

Tempted to retort, Legolas realized that this was just what he wanted. Returning the hobbit’s playful smile, he rose, pulling Elrohir to his feet. “Indeed, let us make haste,” he said with an uncharacteristic lack of constraint. “Before we scandalize all the pyn nith.”—young ones.

Neither Faramir nor Sam declined the invitation to their families to witness the completion of the Rites. Quietly slipping away from the revelry, the group walked back to the Elven prince’s halls. There they proceeded to Legolas’ bedchamber, which he would share with Elrohir from this day forth. A small fire crackled softly in the hearth, prepared by the prince’s faithful servants.

The newly-bound Elves were stripped of their tunics, shirts, belts and shoes, their circlets removed and hair unbound and unplaited, leaving them clothed in naught but their breeches. Elladan and Eldarion did the honors for Elrohir while Aragorn and Nimeithel did their part for Legolas.

It struck Éowyn that had only Elves been present, both princes would have been totally disrobed. Watching in fascination, she commented to her family and the hobbits on this fact and wondered at its similarity to the bedding ritual of newlyweds in Rohan wherein bride and groom were also unclothed before close kin as a gesture of good faith between their two families that there was nothing physically wrong with either spouse. Arwen overheard her.

“But the reasons behind the two traditions are very different,” she softly informed them. “They will seal their vows through their blood as they cannot do so through children. Therefore the blood Rite necessitates that they shed most if not all of their clothing for once they join hands they will not part them until the ritual is complete.”

For a moment, they all stared at her in perplexity. And then Faramir nodded in comprehension. “They must couple to complete the ritual,” he murmured. Arwen nodded smilingly at him.

Meanwhile, Elladan made his way to the hearth. He unsheathed the mithril-hilted sigil at his belt and, kneeling, held the blade in the flame to symbolically purify it. Glancing at Elrohir, he smiled at the joy he saw in his twin’s eyes. He found himself wishing this part of the night would soon be over that he and Nimeithel might retire to their own chamber. The amused glint in his brother’s eyes told him that his thoughts had been read and he turned his gaze back to the fire, his cheeks coloring a little.

When its blade was cleansed, he rose and silently handed the knife to his brother. Elrohir took it, ignoring the heat that travelled from blade to hilt. As he held the tip of the blade to his right palm, he heard the women’s soft intake of breath. He glanced up and noted their wide-eyes stares. He smiled at them reassuringly before continuing with the Rite.

He drew the blade diagonally across his palm, barely grimacing at the sting of heat and sharp steel on his flesh. The bright blood welled up from the wound. He passed the knife to Legolas. Unhesitatingly, the archer repeated the motion on his left hand, his slash a match to his binding-mate’s. He returned the knife to Elladan.

The two Elves raised and clasped their hands, fingers intertwining, wounds meeting in bloody harmony. Elrohir caught Legolas’ gaze and held it.

After a few seconds, a soft silvery glow began to emanate from their clasped hands as their inner elven fires burned more brightly than normal. While the others watched raptly, the diffused light spread out slowly, covering their joined arms, then their torsos, and slowly snaking its way down their slender frames. It was a wondrous sight to behold even for Elladan and Arwen who alone of the company other than Elrohir, had actually witnessed this part of the binding Rites between same-kind Elves before.

Legolas let his breath out, the sting of his wound dissipating slightly with the coming of the silvery light. He stared in awe at his mate’s appearance, his beauty increased threefold, bathed as he was in that soft incandescence. He became aware of Elrohir’s own appreciative gaze, realized he, too, glowed with the unearthly light. He was distracted, however, when he felt something pass between their palms. Something indefinable, a tingle followed by a slight pull and then a surging push. As if he had taken something from Elrohir and given something in turn.

He heard something in his head. Two pounding beats, faint but growing stronger by the moment. The beats were separate but they seemed to be chasing each other, he was not sure which was which. It came to him that he could hear their heartbeats and that the two were moving to become one as they grew louder and stronger.

The pain in his hand had diminished to a faint throb. He could only hear the paired beats now so close to each other that they were almost...one. He drew in his breath as the pounding drowned out all other sounds and again the sensation of push and pull between their palms, stronger this time, as if their very blood was mingling and being drawn into the other. Soon there was nothing but that single, united heartbeat, the intense tug and surge, the irresistible sensation of owning and being owned.

Legolas could not help feeling some fear and quickly sought assurance in his binding-mate. He anchored himself on the tenderness within the silvered eyes that stared back at him. They had darkened almost to black, their focus upon him undimmed. He realized that Elrohir, too, felt the indescribable connection between them.

After what seemed like ages, the push and pull between their cut palms seemed to lessen. By now they were fully enveloped in the silvery light, looking utterly otherworldly. Elrohir flicked his eyes to his brother for the barest of moments.

Elladan looked at the others and saw that they were enthralled by what they had witnessed this night. They started when he tapped their arms and gestured that it was time to leave. With a last amazed glance at the bound couple, they followed Elladan out of the chamber.

All but oblivious of their departure, Legolas became aware of another part of his being now intent on claiming his full attention. The need to be in complete union with the other on every level was irresistible. The tug was so strong and compelling he knew did not have the strength to resist it. Before long, the push and pull between their palms began to grow again as his body now demanded its own binding.

I cannot wait! I need to have you now!

His thoughts flew to the other. The twilight eyes glittered in response.

Then have me!

Almost desperately, Legolas pulled Elrohir to the bed and bore him down upon it, mouth seeking the other’s in a searing kiss. Their remaining garments were swiftly discarded without their hands ever parting. And then they began a duel that left them both gasping for breath and sentience.

Long after they would remember the sights and sounds of that physical binding. Of sable hair mingling with gold, long limbs entwining and taut muscles straining with and against each other and always the primitive music of ragged breaths, unrestrained moans and gasping cries playing sweetly yet heatedly without cease. And throughout their cut hands clasped tightly, the flow of their blood into each other’s veins heightening each and every delicious sensation.

Near the peak of their coupling, Elrohir gazed down upon Legolas as the fair-haired Elf lay beneath him. The prince clearly expected the warrior to take him as evinced by his submissive posture. Only once before had he reversed their roles.

Elrohir recalled Legolas’ delight upon discovering that he was the one lover ever to take him. His eyes had gleamed with deep pleasure at the unexpected gift of the twin’s first surrender. What Elrohir would give to see that particular light in the prince’s eyes again.

He smiled rakishly down at Legolas, relishing the sweet puzzled look that crept into the archer’s eyes. Holding the other’s gaze, he straddled his mate then levered himself into a position that would permit the latter to breach him.

Legolas’ eyes widened. “Aduial, what—?”

“You wanted to have me,” Elrohir whispered. “I am granting your desire.”

He lowered himself upon the prince, keeping himself relaxed to ease their joining.

Legolas gasped as he was sheathed to the hilt. Sensation surged through his nerves and he bucked upward involuntarily. He stared at the twin. Elrohir simply bent over and kissed him gently. Legolas sighed against his lips.

The prince knew his Elf-knight’s pride all too well but he had not thought it would extend to the pleasures of the flesh. When he had dared to take the twin that night in Minas Tirith, he’d been elated to find that Elrohir had never allowed anyone else to dominate him. It had been a matchless gift to be that first, that only one whom the warrior trusted so much that he would yield himself. Now Elrohir was offering him his complete trust once more. It filled Legolas’ heart with immeasurable joy.

His breath caught as Elrohir began to move rhythmically above him, repeatedly taking him into the velvet heat of his flesh, urging him to thrust upward in time with his movements. He stared up at the shining Elf-knight. The prince eyed his new spouse with ever increasing affection and lust.

“You are always full of surprises,” he said gaspingly as the sensations intensified.

Elrohir smiled. “I should hope so. I would not want you to tire of me.”

Legolas gazed at him, his eyes glowing with the light Elrohir had sought to educe with his submission. Of a sudden, the prince reached out with his free hand and grasped his back. With a supple twist of their conjoined bodies, he had the warrior beneath him.

He smiled in turn at the twin, enjoying the sight of the other’s raven locks spilling wantonly upon the pristine sheets. “I could never tire of you, Elrohir,” he murmured. “You are my life, my very soul. I want you as I’ve never wanted anyone else. I will always need you.”

Elrohir’s breath hitched at the open declaration of desire and devotion. “Have me then, Calenlass,” he whispered. “Make me yours.”

Legolas complied with all alacrity. They moved in perfect synchrony, as if nature had intended them for each other alone. Oblivious of everything but the sound of their wildly beating hearts, the sensual rhythm of their rocking hips, the singeing heat of their deep kisses, they loved each other with total abandon.

Legolas felt it again. That wondrous sensing when Elrohir approached his peak. But no longer was it a faint echo but a soaring melody that sang through his very veins, resonated through his mind and heart and spirit with more power and majesty than the triumphant chorus of a hundred-strong Elven choir. He shuddered in ecstasy as the Elf-knight’s rapture continued to spiral and swell and blossom even as he became aware that his feelings, his pleasure, his body’s race toward completion was also reverberating through Elrohir’s tall frame. His Twilight’s countenance betrayed myriad emotions – profound wonder, utter bliss, the welcome loss of control, but most of all the euphoria of experiencing his and his mate’s climax. It was an incomparable feeling.

They reached the summit of their joining together, moaning each other’s names, wholly engrossed in the beauty and pleasure of the other. This is what it feels like when the loving is shared, Legolas dazedly thought. So strong, so deep, so joyful.

Drained, they suffered to part their bodies reluctantly. Only then did the shining glow about their forms gradually dissipate though a trace of it would remain upon them until morning’s first light. Legolas lay his golden head on Elrohir’s chest, pleased to feel his lover’s smooth flesh beneath his cheek, delighting in his unique scent.

After a space, he lifted his eyes to the Elf-knight, resting his chin on the latter’s breast. “This sharing of pleasure,” he whispered. “What is it?”

Elrohir softly replied: “‘Tis a grace unique to bound Elves. With our spirits joined a channel opens up between us that allows our feelings and even thoughts to flow freely between us in times of intense emotion or passion.”

Legolas peered at him wonderingly. “Then ‘tis because you bound yourself to me that I could feel your pleasure though you could not feel mine?” he half asked.

“‘Twas not a full binding,” Elrohir said. “You did not know of it and while the connection was there it only flowed from me to you. Your spirit had not yet joined with mine. Nor had your consent or mine been confirmed by the blood Rite.”

“Yet you heard me in your thoughts when I was in peril. Twice.”

Elrohir sighed. “That was unlooked for,” he admitted. “Even Elladan did not know what to make of it. But then, neither of us really knew what to expect. There has not been another one-sided binding in elven history.”

Legolas stared at him. “None? You were the first?”

“And most likely the last,” Elrohir smiled wanly.

The prince shook his head in amazement then looked at him once more. “What of marriage between Elf and Elf-maid?” he asked curiously. “There is no Rite to confirm their vows.”

“But the pledge to beget children triggers this same grace,” Elrohir explained. “And upon the first conception of a child, it strengthens to its fullest.”

“Then Nimeithel and Elladan have not yet reached their – their peak?”

At Elrohir’s nod, he asked: “Is it always thus? So powerful, so – overwhelming. I did not always feel it when we coupled before.”

The warrior shook his head. “It is always present but not always strong enough to be felt. We can control the intensity of it in the same way that we control our passions or our ability to probe other minds. You need only train yourself as you have in all other skills.”

Legolas considered this with some awe. “It seems there is much I do not know,” he remarked ruefully. “I willfully ignored such lessons, convinced as I was that I would never have need of them. You will have to instruct me in the ways of matrimony, Aduial.”

Elrohir grinned. It was then that he recalled their wounds. He held up their clasped hands and said, “Look.”

He let go of Legolas’ hand. The golden Elf drew in his breath in wonder. Their wounds were healed and all traces of blood upon their skin had disappeared. Not even scars remained. Only the few stains on the sheets bore testimony that they had indeed shed blood earlier.

“We are fully bound, bereth nîn”—my spouse—Elrohir softly said.

Legolas sighed happily. “Then my dearest wish has indeed been granted,” he murmured thickly.

Slumber insistently reared its beckoning head as it always did when they coupled so vigorously. Just as he was beginning to fall asleep, he suddenly remembered an earlier source of umbrage. He lifted his head to glare mildly at Elrohir. “By the way, why did you bring Arwen to the spring?” he asked a little tartly. “‘Tis supposed to be our secret refuge.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I did not bring her there,” he said. “She followed me when I sought to be alone with my thoughts, hoping to be of help to me. I would never wittingly reveal a place you hold so dear.”

Legolas relaxed, feeling relieved and reassured. “I am glad,” he said. “‘Tis a place I have shared with no one but you, my Elf-knight. I do not desire a sudden intrusion when we may most need our privacy.”

Elrohir’s lips twitched humorously at the prince’s insinuation. “Ai, Legolas, ‘tis hard to believe you the same Elf I despaired of ever capturing,” he remarked. His expression turned thoughtful.

“What is it?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir smiled a little pensively. “I suddenly remembered Rohan, when we met again before seeking the Paths of the Dead with the Dúnedain.” He gazed somberly at the prince. “I was elated to see you, relieved to find you unharmed and glad to know I could protect you in the days to come. And I had thought to tell you how I felt before we faced the darkness of Mordor.”

“Why didn’t you?” Legolas queried curiously, nuzzling his neck.

“I saw how you regarded Estel. I knew your feelings about him had changed. How could I tell you of my love when you had apparently bestowed yours elsewhere?”

Legolas went still, raised his head and stared at his spouse. “You knew that – even then?” he faltered. “I thought ‘twas only Nimeithel who—”

“Who noted your regard for him then? Nay, I knew it when we spoke together at the Hornburg.” At Legolas’ look of disbelief, Elrohir said: “How could I not have known your heart? You whom I counted as dear to me as Elladan.”

At his words, a shadow passed over the fair-haired archer’s features. “And you bore this burden all these years. Silently. Valiantly,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I once told you that only a fool would let someone like you slip through his fingers yet, like that fool, I nearly did. Arwen was right and I so wrong.” He suddenly wrapped his arm tightly around the Elf-knight. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face against the other’s shoulder.

“Legolas, what are you talking about?” Elrohir asked frowningly.

“For so long did I turn a blind eye to what you offered me and shied from your love when you gifted me with it. And then compounded my sin when I judged you wanting,” the archer said with a shudder. “Yet you had already proven how much stronger you are than anyone I have ever known. Where others would have long faded, you did not succumb until...“ he swallowed painfully, “...until I betrayed your trust and treated you so shamefully. Forgive me, my Elrohir,” he whispered remorsefully. “You did not deserve what I did to you.”

Elrohir was taken aback by the hushed apology on top of the regret-stricken recitation. He had not intended that Legolas should feel guilty about that matter now of all times. But with the plea for forgiveness uttered, there was no recourse but to answer it.

“I knew the risks when I loved you,” he softly replied. “Do not apologize for being yourself. I never expected you to change for anyone.”

Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at him. The sapphire pools were limpid with contrition.

“But you were not just anyone,” he almost moaned. “You were my dearest friend, my pledged brother; yet I did not let that stop me from denying you. I hurt you, demeaned your strength and courage, drove you needlessly to despair, forsook you when you needed me most,” he berated himself. “That was inexcusable. You might have died had I not finally come to my senses. I should have—”

Elrohir stemmed the flow of words with a lengthy kiss. When he drew back, he placed a finger to the other’s lips. “Think no more of that, melethron nîn”—my lover—he murmured with a serene smile. “‘Tis past and done with.”

Comforted by the balming tenderness of his Twilight’s smile, the prince nevertheless felt compelled to voice his regrets.

“I am so sorry, Elrohir,” he murmured sadly. “I was so blind. I wasted so many years that could have been ours.”

“Hush,” the Elf-knight gently chided. “‘Tis past.”

“You are much too noble, seron vell”—beloved—the prince said.

“Yet, I, too, must beg forgiveness from you,” the Elf-knight sighed.

“For what?” Legolas asked in surprise.

“For being unfaithful to you,” Elrohir somberly replied. At Legolas’ bewildered reaction, he quietly added: “I broke my vow of fidelity to you when I took Gilwen to my bed.”

Legolas’ eyes widened. Though a pang of jealousy smote his heart, he swiftly dismissed it as unworthy. “I drove you to it,” he objected. “Besides, I did not even know you had bound yourself to me.”

“Which is still no excuse for betraying one’s spouse.”

“I do not consider it a betrayal at all,” Legolas declared.

“We have both committed transgressions against each other,” Elrohir pointed out gently. “If you do not hold mine against me, why should I hold yours against you? I would rather look to the future now that we are one.”

After several moments’ reflection, Legolas nodded. Feeling Elrohir’s embrace weave closer around him, he snuggled eagerly into his arms. “Never leave me, Aduial,” he whispered.

“I will always be with you,” the twin softly replied.

A contented sigh escaped the prince’s lips. He nestled his head against Elrohir’s neck, keeping his arm firmly curled around the darkling Elf’s waist. Soon, he was drifting into slumber.

Sated, deliriously happy, Elrohir blessed his dear Greenleaf’s temple with a tender kiss. For better or worse, come what may, now and forever, Legolas was finally his.

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

Glossary:

Calenlass – Greenleaf

sigil – knife or dagger

Aduial - Twilight

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