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True Bow (Cuthenin)	By : fremmet Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 9639 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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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For Naledi: With Best Wishes for a Wonderful Holiday

NOTE: Naledi asked for a chapter of Cuthenin dedicated to her and I am so happy to do it. Of course, it was supposed to be done by Christmas (and thus the gift theme) but now it is February, hence the Valentines design. For the long delay, my apologies. I thought this was going to be fun, light-hearted, and easy to write, but it just did not follow my hopes. Though the story is not complete yet, nor even the ideas mentioned here, I simply must end this instalment. I hope you can forgive me and that this meets everyone's expectations. As to the story, I combined a couple of ideas I had and hopefully still kept this within the proper timeline thus far. We get to see Legolas interacting with other members of the Fellowship here and, of course, with Glorfindel. ;) Enjoy!

Ant Aglareb (Glorious Gift)

Part One

Legolas walked amid the quiet grounds of Elrond's lush estate scarcely noticing the changes in the living plants as the mild winter of Imladris approached, failing to note the lobelias and wild hyssop still in flower. He was heedless of the delicate scent these provided or the occasional butterfly drawn to them, while a wind brake of crab-apple trees boasting abundant ruby red fruits and branches filled with birds of every sort could not penetrate his awareness. None of it intruded upon the Wood Elf's introspection as he sought a secluded spot to work on his arrows, a task requiring enough of his attention to defray his grim brooding yet not enough to occupy him entirely. Having just left the morning meal and the company of his well-meaning new friends, Legolas wanted nothing more than a place apart where he might let his thoughts dwell upon Glorfindel.

Since returning from Greenwood, Cuthenin had not been able to find his way back to the balance he'd achieved after Úcaul Annaur. The separation from his father and brothers, his friends and comrades, had been much more difficult due to the deeper bonds forged between them by their acceptance of his need for Glorfindel, the recovery of the remains from the heights of Hithaeglir, and the looming war about to break upon the world. The parting in the western foothills of the imposing peaks had been acutely painful, during which each of his brothers presented him with gifts 'for luck'. Now these were in addition to the new bow, quiver, and garments bestowed upon him by Thranduil before departing Greenwood.

From Inarthan Legolas received ten arrows fletched in white and marked with the seal of their Adar's House to be used in the definitive battle, thus invoking his family's strength and protection in that dire hour. Igeredir presented him a dagger with an exalted history, being one cherished by Oropher who had in turn received it from his father at his coming of age. Should the struggle devolve to single combat, the second prince was certain this blade in his sibling's skilled hands would furnish victory. A separate, special token from his father they also tendered over: Thranduil's own long knife, a weapon he seldom used but always carried, for it was given to him by Lhoss in the early years when their friendship was strong and untainted by their illicit affair. That last bit of information was imparted privately in written form, for not even Inarthan and Igeredir knew the weapon's origin, and Thranduil had no wish to re-introduce contention between his Sindarin and sylvan sons.

Everyone had something to offer, the most common gift being the traditional ten arrows marked with the giver's insignia, each elf exhorting Cuthenin to use them in battle to kill his foes, thus allowing them a small part in the fight. There were so many of these bundles that Legolas would scarcely be able to carry them all; his new quiver was packed and Alachas laden with extra cargo. Thus it was that an army of Wood Elves ventured with him on the Quest, if only in spirit. Sûlchim gave a water-skin and the cousins ritually exchanged seals, though neither would be on hand should death claim one, which was the very point, symbolising faith that neither would have need of a host to bear the feä home to Greenwood. The irrepressible sylvan had offered to accompany Legolas to Imladris and there remain until the Fellowship departed, but this was not feasible, for to Sûl had Legolas entrusted the final burial of his Naneth's bones, being of Noss Tuilinn. To no other would he bestow the honour and the duty, not even his brothers, the princes of the Woodland Realm.

Legolas missed them keenly, a novel experience, for while he respected and admired Inarthan and Igeredir, he was much younger and his illegitimate conception kept them ever at a distance, no matter how minor that division had become over the years. Before, he'd marked his leave-taking from them with relief, for they were demanding task-masters and expected him to be better at everything than any other warrior they commanded. Besides, time apart from his brothers had up to now been minimal, mere days in length, and he knew he would see them soon; perhaps sooner than he might even wish. As things stood presently, they might not be reunited for a very long time. Or never until Mandos releases me, should things go badly. The thought sent a shiver through him and he wished he could seek out his father and gain the reassurance of his counsel.

That was a recent realisation, too; not the desire to confide in his Adar but the ability to do so, the expectation that should he wish it he could garner the King's attention wholly and for as long as he needed it. The reconciliation with Thranduil had sealed a gaping wound in his soul and the healing of it was not without its own smarting pain, for until its eradication Legolas had not realised the extent of the misery it caused him, spanning all the years of his life. Dearly did he love his Nana Edwen, yet he could no longer deny that she had cheated him of something vital in so severely restricting access to his Adar. For so long he had simply accepted that it could be no other way, assuming the distance was mandated by his father as much as Calarlim. Cuthenin had learned to protect himself from that hurtful notion, holding himself back for fear of being pushed away. Now he thought daily of his father, longing to be able to ask his advice regarding the courtship, the Fellowship, his concerns over the quest, his fears for Frodo; in fact, Legolas found he wanted the chance to talk to his Ada about everything.

He sighed as he abandoned this contemplative cogitation, eyes scanning the all but deserted pathways for this was an area of the estate he had not visited before. He was not sure if this was part of the public or the private areas of the Last Homely House and hesitated; he had no wish to stumble upon the domain of Lord Erestor, nor to intrude upon anyone's dwelling. Yet as he glanced about, he became convinced this was still part and parcel of the commons, for the style and layout of these gardens resembled those of the main courtyard, albeit the beds were empty and forlorn. At last he spied a trim, chest-high hedge of interlocking quince bushes bounding a small rectangular space, its entrance a trellised arch covered in vines. All the branches were bare and the vines a grey tangled mass of naked threads, but this unlikely sight beckoned him. Surely this was a place where solitude abounded; none would think to seek him here.

With a satisfied smile Legolas entered in and surveyed the interior, finding a simple geometric design within which a series of dormant beds flanked a central circle. Therein a fountain, the bronze font formed in the image of a maiden pouring water from a ewer, stood silent and dry. The place had a wistfully desolate quality of abandonment that appealed to his mood. He strolled about the perimeter, touching on the thornless hedge or gracing the bark of a slumbering tree with his caress, coming last to the waterless fountain. The broad rim of the empty basin provided a suitable bench for sitting and other groups of chairs claimed the four corners of the garden, but Legolas eschewed them all and settled on the drab brown grass instead. He unpacked his supplies, ostensibly to repair old and prepare new bolts for his quiver, but at the last he retrieved from the depths of the pack a scroll of parchment.

He unrolled it and weighted its corners with a few arrowheads, smiling at the image there: the symbol of the Rising Sun, the well-known device signifying Glorfindel's noble House. This was the emblem he desired to have inked upon his flesh to honour his Faer-hebron and Legolas planned to have the tattoo imprinted before the Yule celebration. He hoped to show Glorfindel this unique and fitting gift on Solstice night. The placement of the indelible mark was proving a difficult decision, Cuthenin uncertain whether he should display the tattoo upon his abdomen just left of his navel or on his right arse-cheek. Situated on his front, Glorfindel would be unable to ignore the excited extremity acting as the design's pointer and Legolas would surely enjoy the attention that would generate. Recalling the feel of Glorfindel's hand on his flesh made him tremble and grow hard. Legolas responded as instinct decreed, sliding his fingers beneath the waist of his leggings to stroke his penis, imagining the digits were not his own.

Oh, to have Glorfindel do this once more.

The memory of that day came back in full detail and Legolas hastened to duplicate the scene, opening his shirt and tunic and lightly running his hand up from his belly to his breastbone, just brushing over the left nipple arising from the centre of the heart spiral. He caught his breath and repeated the touch, pressing harder this time and watching as the flesh grew darker and uplifted beneath his fingertip. With shaking hands he wetted the same digits and then soothed the slickened pads over his ears, first one and then the other, the pressure soft and tantalising, the pleasure rippling through muscle and sinew. He suppressed a groan as the other hand dug deeper into the leggings and pinched the glans of his cock. The organ twitched in its confinement and Legolas hastily opened the pants, gripping the rigid erection tight and pumping. He resumed the gentle caress of his ears, intermittently squeezing the nipples, eyes shifting from the red, engorged points to the head of his penis as it appeared and then vanished with every stroke of his hand.

He remembered how Glorfindel had kissed him, the tongue so playful and yet so eloquently expressive of desire, as though he had kissed Legolas a thousand times and knew every means to render him breathless with longing and giddy with delight. He remembered the masterful way the swordsman's hand had exposed him during those exhilarating kisses, leaving him fully clothed and yet utterly laid bare, every intimate feature on open display, save one. He remembered how quickly he'd been undone by his Faer-hebron's tactics, spilling much too soon, his hot semen dripping down the tight fist and spattering his chest. He remembered Glorfindel licking it off him, savouring the bitter substance as though it were a delicacy, sucking it off the nipple it dappled and finishing with a soft nip at the ruddy peak. He remembered the tightening coil of anticipation in his gut just before he came and felt the same sensation now. At once he stopped all stimulation, breath ragged and pulse elevated. He was determined not to bring himself to orgasm too soon.

Cuthenin heaved a great sigh and shrugged out of the gaping upper garments since he did not have his quiver on and could not use the straps to hold them open. He ran his hand over his lean, flat belly again, wondering how the emblem would look there. Before seeing the mirror in Galdor's room, he'd never contemplated how the symbols on his body appeared to others, and sitting in the grass fully aroused, he wished he had that mirror so to envision how he appeared to Glorfindel's sight. The idea made him shiver and he was of half a mind to dress and go to the Sadron's apartment to find out.

Yet if Galdor is there, what excuse would I give for my visit?

That was enough to chase the idea away and momentarily squelch his raging libido. In the pause that ensued, he contemplated having the tattoo inked on his flank instead. For that he would have to uncover his entire lower body, always a deterrent since adolescence. Could he bear to have his Tirn'wador see and touch his naked rump? Then he realised that he would need to expose his backside to Glorfindel, too, in order to show him the gift. That made him grin in wicked delight. Legolas acted out the thought, kicking free of his shoes and sliding his leggings down his thighs and off, moaning as his cock filled and presented him with an even harder erection than before. He rolled to his side and reclined upon the grass, caressing his hip with one hand, cock tightly gripped in the other. What would the Balrog-slayer do?

Mayhap he would claim me on the spot.

The idea filled his mind and Cuthenin's heart thudded wildly. Would the sight of the mark, a clear indication of possession, inspire Glorfindel to mount him, thrusting his hot, hard shaft inside until he spilled? Just thinking this almost made Legolas come and he slowed his masturbation again so to prolong the experience.

He soothed his hand over his rump just as he was sure Glorfindel would, touching the spot where the tattoo would be with both pride and love. He had yet to see his Faer-hebron aroused, though the organ he'd viewed in the baths was not modest of presence even when relaxed. When it was erect and solid, surely that would be no humble blade to sheath within his body, and Legolas' stomach clenched in a spasm of both fear and anticipation. There was only one place for it to go and that did not seem yielding enough nor conjure images of pleasure. Never had anything gone inside that channel and Legolas wondered what it would feel like.

Tentatively, he slipped his fingers down within the crease, shifting his leg forward to make access easier. He ran a quick touch over the sealed opening and gasped; the sensation was electric. Would Glorfindel do this? He tried it again, this time exploring the zone more fully, circling the puckered flesh and rubbing against the opening. Carefully he pushed against the resisting muscles until he forced a finger inside, imagining it was something else entirely, panting as the sensation coupled with his imagination. The feeling was strange and lacked the dazzling flares of delight touching himself in other places yielded. Perhaps the sensation was restricted to this quality of fullness, the pleasure derived from the giving of such access, satisfaction achieved by the act of submission, a true indication of trust and love. Vigourously his other hand worked at his cock, pumping faster to counter the discomfort and maintain his state of arousal as he began to move the finger in and out, trying to push farther each time.

Yet Glorfindel would not take him so daintily and so Legolas tried to insert the finger deeper, finding the way he was settled on the grass inconducive to achieving that goal. Awkwardly he pulled the digit out and rose to his knees, spreading his thighs wide as he leaned back and reached beneath his body. Once more he shoved the finger inside, wincing at the burning resistance, and eased it back slowly, resuming his attention to his flagging cock. Then he pressed forcefully on the next intrusion, pushing each knuckle past the ring of tense muscle until he could go no further, and unexpectedly struck a hidden region he never knew was there. Stars exploded behind his shuttered eyelids as tremors of pure delight raced over his entire body, all terminating in the weeping tip of his penis.

A rasping grunt fled his lungs, which could not seem to get enough air to do more, and that was well as he had no wish to advertise this experiment. Desperate to feel that again, Legolas plunged the finger in, striking the internal gland so hard that his entire body shook with the sensation. His shaft swelled in his hand as he pivoted into his tight hold, the red penis becoming so firm and hot it ached. Now he was eager to have the two sensations coincide and managed to favour his excited organ and the internal source of such raw pleasure with equal and simultaneous stimulation. The effect was more than he could comprehend, being lost entirely in the new feelings that turned his entire being into a throbbing instrument of sublime elation. Yet, even as he repeated the move a sound reached his ears, a garbled and incoherent exclamation, the source much too close for his comfort. He froze and his eyes flew open in time to see a quickly retreating figure, the flowing dark hair making his heart falter and his stomach churn in dread.

With a silent curse he burst into motion, snatching at his clothing and dressing more speedily than he had ever done before, frantic to learn and yet terrified to know who had discovered him in a pose so flagrantly prurient and so thoroughly vulnerable. There were only so many elves living in the Last Homely House with hair that dark: Lord Elrond, his children, and Erestor. As Cuthenin ran through the catalogue in his mind, he found it impossible to determine which would be worse, which one's eyes would be the least mortifying to meet. Please, Eru, let it be one of the Twins. As he was tying up his leggings, having shoved the recalcitrant cock back under wraps, a quiet voice reached him.

"Perhaps you might find Cuthenin in the orchard, Galdor. When I see him, I will let him know you wish to speak with him."

His courage plummeted; there was no other voice in all the world as filled with quiet strength and wisdom. His intruder was Lord Elrond. Legolas wanted to disappear right where he sat and his lithe frame curled up, knees drawing to his chest as he folded his arms over them and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Just like a child, he dared hope that if he could not see this terrible thing, it would simply cease to be. But he was not an elfling and knew well enough that here was a situation he would have to meet with maturity, presenting a composed, almost insouciant disregard for the interruption. He would never manage it.

All the diplomatic training Galion has ever forced me to undergo will be insufficient to prevent me from flushing scarlet every time I meet him now.

Legolas ground his teeth in bitter frustration, waiting until he could be sure not to run into his Tirn'wador, who had obviously been searching for him and enjoined Elrond's help. Finally he collected his tools and rose, walking toward the vine covered arch with a heavy heart. No sooner had he passed its threshold than he spotted the austere Lord waiting for him some paces distant. He stalled, mouth dry and mind numb, until Elrond's beckoning hand prompted him to move forward. How he covered those few steps of open ground ever remained a mystery to him, yet he was gratified to see the noble elf watching him with neither anger nor amusement. There was only the usual, inscrutable expression of quiet dignity the elven Lord always presented and Cuthenin breathed deeply to flush the tension from his lungs. When he was close enough he bowed low.

"I beg you will forgive me, Lord Elrond," he said, pleased that his voice sounded much steadier than he truly felt. He met the calm grey eyes and was relieved to see the lore-master smiling gently, his features expressing only compassion and reassurance.

"There is nothing for me to forgive, Legolas," said Elrond. "Indeed, I am the one who disturbed you and for that I am sorry; it was not intentional. Please understand, I waited here not to distress you nor to take you to task. My purpose is simply to make certain such an undesirable interruption does not recur."

"Yes, Hîren, I thank you for this caution. It will not happen again, this I swear." Legolas felt the blood rush to his ears and cheeks and just stopped himself from bowing again.

"Nay, that is not what I meant," corrected Elrond, a gentle smile upending his lips. "I only want to inform you of the customs here in Imladris. When one desires solitude, it is common practice to place one's shoes beside the entrance to the chosen place, so to communicate the need for privacy to any who might pass nearby."

"Ah, that is a wise custom and in Greenwood we have similar means to convey such wishes. I should have thought of that first." Legolas was even more embarrassed now, for no doubt Lord Elrond imagined the people of Greenwood engaging in all manner of intimate activities out in the open with no thought for propriety or modesty.

"That is well then; let us speak of this no more, yes?" Elrond's smile grew; how could he not be moved by this young elf's solemn and subdued torment? He reached an arm to draw him near and kept it firmly over the ellon's shoulders as he led the way from the garden. "Your Tirn'wador is searching for you everywhere, Legolas. Make certain to meet with him at some point today."

"I will, Hîren," Legolas was not exactly comfortable being this close to Elrond but did not resist for fear of giving offence. Finally they stopped, for Elrond intended to return to his study, and Legolas found himself face to face with the legendary elf, the perceptive grey eyes analysing him keenly. He swallowed.

"You are much better; the danger has passed," remarked Elrond, "but still your heart is troubled. I am thinking this is a difficult time to begin a courtship."

"Aye." Legolas really did not know what to say or if he should speak at all, but he held the insightful gaze nonetheless.

"This is but a formality? Is there a clear understanding between you and Glorfindel?"

"We are betrothed," answered Legolas, not certain what he meant.

"Indeed? Perhaps sylvan customs are different in this regard also. Here in Imladris, rings would be exchanged by the couple," remarked Elrond, his gaze intense but not intrusive. Truly, he was concerned whether Glorfindel was prepared to give his commitment this visual endorsement.

"There are courting gifts among my peoples' traditions, too," admitted Legolas, suddenly downcast for he had received nothing from Glorfindel as yet.

"Perhaps that is why Galdor is looking for you so diligently," hinted Elrond, his smile returning as Cuthenin's blue eyes expanded and the gloom was chased away from his countenance by an exuberant grin.

"Oh!" said Legolas, breaking loose and bounding away three steps before his manners resurfaced. He ran back and bowed low, still grinning madly. "Thank you, Hîren!" he exclaimed and immediately raced away at top speed.

Elrond watched him go with a light laugh and a shake of his head, thinking Glorfindel was much favoured by Iluvatar to be granted this second chance at happiness with so glorious and unspoiled an example of elven grace and beauty.

Part Two

It was a fine morning, Frodo thought, the air balmy and warm despite the time of the year and he could not help but wonder anew how extraordinary was Imladris. Back in the Shire, it would likely have snowed two or three times already and the trees would have been bare for two months. The fields would be brown and crusted with icy ridges at sunrise and all of Hobbiton's inhabitants would remain indoors beside warm fires for most of the early hours. Even now with Yule approaching, folks would not venture forth until the sun was up and the air a little warmer. If weather was too wintry, no one came out at all. Travellers spying the village from afar would see nothing but an array of chimneys belching continuous columns of white and grey smoke. Indeed, keeping those fires burning was pretty much the only thing that might force a Hobbit outside during the frigid mornings.

Well, of course it wasn't anything like that in Imladris. Bilbo had often related stories of his brief stay in the enchanted vale during Frodo's formative years, but the descriptions had seemed too fantastic, too fanciful to believe. Now the reality surpassed all those quaint attempts to illustrate the wonder of the place. Here, the temperature was comfortable enough to go about without even a coat or hat to guard against the chill. In fact, the weather was more like autumn than winter and though the trees lost their leaves, Frodo could already see new buds growing fat. Any day they might burst open and spring foliage would unfurl again, blooms and flowers of all kinds would quickly filling the landscape. It was intriguing and Frodo hoped to see this elvish spring, yet the Fellowship would be on its way by then.

I might not ever see another springtime.

This dark thought chased the enjoyment from his after breakfast stroll and Frodo sighed. With a heavy heart he turned away from the magnificent gardens and trudged along a less worn pathway. The white paving stones wound around through an orchard and then over a hillock and through a paddock where goats were kept. The ruminants eyed him with interest and several kids ambled along behind him, knowing the Hobbit generally brought a few treats along for them. Frodo didn't disappoint and distributed the fruit and pastries he'd scavenged from the pantry, his spirit lightened by the animals' antics as they jostled and butted heads attempting to get to the food. An over-zealous lop-eared doe nipped his fingers and fixed her deep brown eyes upon him, the rectangular pupil granting her an air of intelligence rarely seen in quadrupeds of this variety. Frodo had to laugh.

"You are greedy this morning, Fern," he scolded. The Hobbit had taken it upon himself to give the creatures names, having learned from one of the elves that this was not a custom the folk of Imladris practised regarding livestock. "Just for that, I'm going to give the last apple to Sniffer."

Instead of hand-feeding the aptly named goat, Frodo tossed the goody away, laughing lightly as the entire herd trotted after it. He went on his way and soon scrambled over the low stone wall separating the goats' pasture from the countryside. There was no path now, at least not an elegantly paved one, but he knew where he was going and strode off confidently. In a matter of minutes he reached his destination: a little hill crowned in oaks, the rise overlooking a picturesque dell where a still pond rimmed in lily pads reflected the white clouds drifting across the endless blue sky above. There were one or two statues and a couple of benches scattered around the place, but otherwise it was left to nature.

Frodo didn't know what it was about this spot that drew him, but found it serene and peaceful. The place almost had an aura of holiness about it, for all was still and quiet. Even the stirring of the wind was subdued and the voices of birds reduced to occasional calls and songs rather than the constant twitter and chatter common throughout the rest of the valley. No one ever seemed to come here and while the Hobbit could not imagine why, he was grateful for the solitude. Everyone at the Last Homely House was gracious and kind, generous and felicitous, always seeking to include him in singing or dancing or outings, always asking after his health and offering him some rejuvenating herb or concoction said to be miraculous for its healing properties. It was at first gratifying but as the weeks wore on, the constant attention became a burden. Frodo had never felt more fragile and vulnerable, for while the elves didn't mean to, their concerns only called attention to the unpleasant reality of his situation.

How am I to actually accomplish this monumental task?

So, Frodo came to Pond Vale (for so he thought of it) almost every day to escape the earnest good intentions of the elves and the unending scrutiny of the other Big Folk still hanging about Lord Elrond's estate.

As was his habit, he settled at the base of one of the trees and gazed upon the quiet glen below. Perhaps he would go down, perhaps he would not. A whip-or-will sounded its signature song and received an answering call from the opposite side of the little knoll. A breeze briefly ruffled both his hair and the surface of the quiet pool. Frodo exhaled a pleased breath; just being here soothed his nerves and helped him focus. Whatever awaited him beyond the gates of Rivendell, he would not face it alone. He had the strength of Strider and Boromir to protect him, the skill and daring of Legolas to defend him, the stout and mighty heart of Gimli to shield him, the wisdom of Gandalf to guide him, and the courageous loyalty of his dear, good friends to comfort and cheer him. Somehow, they would all see it done, one way or the other, or perish in the attempt.

It was hard to keep positive thoughts flowing through his mind at times, and this he attributed to the lingering darkness instilled into his flesh by the Witch King's blade. Frodo sighed and was about to rise when movement down on the far side of the glade caught his attention. Two elves were strolling toward the pond and soon they were close enough to be recognised as Glorfindel, the joyful and fierce elf Lord who had aided his escape from the Nazgûl, and Legolas, the youthful Wood Elf he'd met at the baths. He was about to hail them when a bizarre thing happened. Legolas opened his mouth and began to speak, or it looked like he was speaking, yet there was no sound to be heard.

Then Legolas led Glorfindel to the edge of the pond and leaning down cupped his hands, filling them with the water. This he carried to the Balrog-slayer's lips and from it the warrior drank, settling his hands around the Wood Elf's. Legolas also drank, letting Glorfindel guide this living cup of overlapping palms, and their actions had about them an aura of solemnity and of ritual. Then Legolas retreated a small way and slowly began to circle Glorfindel, his movements rhythmic and graceful, his steps more reminiscent of dance than simple locomotion, now drawing nigh as though to lightly rest his fingers on Glorfindel's arm or shoulder only to step away quickly if the older elf reached for him, and all the while his mouth worked as if forming words, yet not a one carried to Frodo's ears.

Frodo stood up, perplexed indeed, for he was close enough to hear Legolas, though mayhap not all the words would be distinct, and if he was singing every note would surely be clear, even if the lyrics were in Nandorin and utterly unintelligible. He was about to move closer to see if perhaps the elf was simply singing very quietly when a voice hailed him from behind.

"Frodo! What are you doing out here?"

He turned to find Strider ambling up the hill, smiling, arm lifted in greeting. He had a wreathe of flowers tucked under his other elbow and was uncommonly neat and tidy this day. Frodo decided to comment on that just for fun.

"Good Morning, Strider. I didn't realise you were there; the air is so fresh. I would think I am down-wind of you except it is clear you have finally succumbed to the lure of hot water and clean clothing."

"Hah! You are an impertinent scoundrel, Frodo Baggins," laughed Aragorn. He came to stand beside his friend and spied the elves in the glade below. At once his eyebrows rose and his expression exhibited both amusement and concern. "Ah, now what's going on here?"

"That's exactly what I am wondering," said Frodo. "Legolas looks to be singing, but I can't hear anything.They are not so far away as that and you know elves' voices carry much clearer and farther than mortals' do."

"Oh yes, that's quite true," agreed Aragorn, turning a baleful eye on Frodo, "but it is your activity that garners my surprise."

"What? I'm not doing anything." Frodo's brow wrinkled in aggravation. "I just came here to enjoy some peace and quiet and then those two came along and all this peculiar swaying and posing and silent singing started."

"They do not know we are up here," commented Aragorn, "and yet we are little more than a stone's throw away. Does that not strike you as unusual, especially for Legolas, upon whom it is impossible to sneak?"

"It does," agreed Frodo. "What does it mean?"

"It means you are eavesdropping, nay, worse; you are spying on them. Frodo, I am surprised at you! Pippin, perhaps Merry, too, might fall prey to such a temptation, but never you."

"What are you talking about? I was here first and they came along after. I am not spying on them and in fact I was about to go down and find out what they're doing when you arrived."

"You were?" Aragorn's eyes grew huge and he struggled to keep his laughter in check, knowing this would surely alert the elves to their presence. "Why, Frodo, I had no idea you had such lascivious leanings."

"Lasciv…!" Frodo found he could not even complete the word, so furious and flustered the charge made him. He glared and raised a pointing hand at the Man. "Now you look here, Strider…"

"I am looking, though normally I would turn and walk away at once, mind you, for standing here watching is thoroughly rude and will earn us no merits in Glorfindel's ledger, nor advance us in Legolas' good graces, either." Yet Aragorn smiled as he spoke these words.

"What do you mean? Aragorn, are you implying those elves are, well, courting?"

"Aye, courting is the word Legolas would use and, according to Lord Elrond, he and Glorfindel are now betrothed; the mission home to Greenwood had many goals I'm guessing. What you are witnessing is certainly a prelude to, putting it nicely, love-making. This must be a sylvan mating dance of some sort. No doubt this will go on for quite a long while before anything more intimate transpires; elves like to make it last."

"Mating dance?" Frodo really did not know what to make of it but absolutely refused to be shocked, especially since he felt Aragorn was purposely trying to shock him. He studied Legolas' stylised dance again and while the movements were fluid and artistic, they were also exactingly precise and there was nothing provocative in them. The subtle use of hand and wrist motions, the way he would cock his head or suddenly turn away and duck behind a curtain of golden hair made Frodo think more of a pantomime play than of romance. Strider could be pulling his leg, getting him back for the numerous jokes concerning the Man's rugged and ripe olfactory presence, for what could he know of sylvan mating practices? In the back of Frodo's mind, proper upbringing warned him to leave at once for it was impolite to spy on the couple in any case, but somehow he couldn't manage to stifle his curiosity.

"So the rumours are true, Legolas has become Glorfindel's lover. I didn't believe the stories, for folks sometimes spread tales just for the enjoyment of knowing people are repeating them. Both are male elves, correct?" he ventured.

"You know they are."

The two gazed at one another in silence for a few heartbeats, each measuring the other's reaction to the situation. Yet neither were elf-kind capable of reading hearts and minds and so Frodo opted to quiz Strider.

"And what do you think of that?"

Aragorn took a moment to reflect before answering. "I have known Glorfindel all of my days and his open fascination with our woodland friend is quite out of character."

"What do you mean?" That was not the kind of reply Frodo was expecting. "Are you saying Glorfindel does not generally prefer males?"

"Nay, I am saying the preference of gender is the least of the obstacles standing in their way," admonished Aragorn. He had been wondering about the Hobbits' reaction to the same-gender match and hoped to make his opinion plain. "I was raised to accept bonds of this type, though among Men it is frowned upon. I think that is a bias shared by many mortal people, as the need to reproduce before we die is imperative. Even so, such desires are as common among mortals as immortals, and I will neither ridicule nor denounce the feelings blooming between Legolas and Glorfindel simply because both are male."

"Nor will I," insisted Frodo. Aragorn was peering at him intently and the Hobbit realised more was required of him. "I have to admit we don't talk about this much in the Shire. Folks that feel as they do keep quiet and everyone ignores it. Do not fear; I will speak to Merry and Pippin and make certain of their good manners."

"That is well, for I think the sudden emergence of such intense attraction is likely to be difficult for Legolas. As elves reckon it, he is actually very young and still innocent. Add to it that our intrepid First-age hero is hardly an easy elf to love. If that were not sufficiently daunting, consider that Legolas just lost someone dear to him and is far from his family now. His rapport with Glorfindel developed very rapidly, which is unusual for Wood Elves, and he will have to figure out how to handle this relationship on his own without very much time to do so, given his part in the great work ahead of us." Aragorn glanced over at the elves and grinned. "Our woodland archer seems to be getting the hang of things fairly quickly, though."

Frodo turned just in time to see Legolas kiss the palm of Glorfindel's hand, to which romantic action the Balrog-slayer leaned close and stole a taste of his lips. It was a quick kiss, for Legolas leaped back, face transformed with a radiant smile, and began his slow and sinuous dance anew, letting Glorfindel hold to his fingers as he turned about. The silent singing resumed as well and Glorfindel joined in, mouth and throat working in silent harmony with Legolas'.

"Well, it certainly looks like love to me." Frodo's smile dissolved into an expression of perplexity. "So why can't I hear anything? Are they whispering the words?"

"Nay, they aren't whispering. You know that elves can hear and see more clearly than mortals, yes?"

"Of course, even children know that, Aragorn."

"Well think about it, then. If they can hear more clearly, that probably means they can hear more sounds."

"Like a hound, you mean?" Frodo had never considered such a possibility and turned to watch Legolas again. Somehow, during the brief interval when the Hobbit's attention was diverted, the elf had discarded his shoes and loosened his hair. The flaxen strands fanned out and traced across Glorfindel's cheek as Legolas made another circuit around him, elegantly spinning every single step.

"Exactly like a hound but don't dare make that comparison within earshot of any elf, especially an elf of Imladris. Wood Elves, maybe, would not find the allusion too insulting for they honour the non-speaking creatures of the world," nodded Aragorn. "Now, since they can hear more sounds, does it not make sense that they can produce more sounds, too? There is much in their vocal range that exceeds the limits of our hearing."

"I never even imagined that," said Frodo, awed, "but it does seem logical. Is there no way to know what he's singing? What a loss for us, for elvish songs are fair indeed."

"It is impossible to hear them the way they are heard by elves," answered Strider, "but I have read many of the lyrics. Elves have some poetic and fanciful ways of explaining that they are horny."

"What? Nay, you must be joking." Now Frodo was truly shocked and his eyes flew back to the couple by the pond. Glorfindel's hand gripped the Wood Elf's hair, keeping him near as he continued to dance. Legolas' fingers rested on the Balrog-slayer's waist, holding tight as the two turned together about a common axis. The scene had definitely acquired a sultry ambience that defied the cool autumn air.

"Does it look like I was jesting?" Aragorn asked, pointing toward the elves as he crouched down to eye-level with Frodo. "Legolas seems very eager, yet I know the Balrog-slayer was lectured for quite a long time by Galdor, specifying what is and is not allowed during this courtship. He would not risk angering Legolas' father and brothers by disregarding that instruction."

"How could you possible know that?"

"I overheard Glorfindel complaining of it to Arwen last night."

It occurred to Frodo to inquire as to why Aragorn had been unable to make his presence known to his friend and his betrothed, but he decided he really did not want to confirm his suspicions. The idea of Arwen hiding Aragon in the closet to prevent their late-night liaison being discovered by Glorfindel ran counter to the Hobbit's internal perception of the fair Lady of Rivendell, and besides, it was none of his business. Neither was the scene below and Frodo resolved to slip away before he was discovered.
"We must leave, Strider; this is wrong. Besides, I've no wish to see…"

"Ai! Legolas, daro. Baw!"

The unexpected command from Glorfindel interrupted Frodo mid-sentence. He and Aragorn turned attention to the glade in time to behold the intrepid Balrog-slayer fishing Legolas' hand out of his leggings while trying to create some distance between him and the Wood Elf.

"What's wrong? Glorfindel, let me…"

"No! We mustn't. I will let you do nothing more, Legolas." Glorfindel deflected Legolas' attempts to embrace him, pushing on the archer's chest gently but firmly.

"Mustn't? Why? I…I only want to pleasure you as you did for me on the journey." Legolas stepped away, suddenly uncertain, his hands worrying each other where he held them at his waist. "Tirn'wador told me he spoke to you about the courting gifts. He said we are free to share them and I thought…

"This is not the sort of gift Galdor mentioned to me," scolded Glorfindel. "Nay, we must hold to the correct order of things and abide by the guidelines of Faras-uin-Ind. I gave my word to your father; that is as sacred as a vow to me."

"But that was no obstacle when we crossed the valley of the Anduin. How can it be wrong for me to give you the same delight?"

"That was different; I acted spontaneously and without thinking carefully. Since then I have spoken with your brothers and your Tirn'wador. They all agree…"

"My brothers!" Legolas hissed, sudden wrath flaring up in place of his thwarted passion. "What have they said that would turn you away from me?"

"I have not turned from you; I just believe, as they do, that we should let this courtship progress more slowly henceforth. I love to watch you dance, but anything more is far too tempting and will only taunt us with a goal we cannot yet achieve."

"This is but a traditional sylvan courting dance." Legolas folded defensive arms across his heart. "It is a prelude to greater intimacy, an invitation to go further, but I had no intention of consummating our bond here in a public place."

"Even so, we must stop now."

"But we haven't done anything!" Legolas' arms unfolded long enough to lift and fall in an expressive gesture of frustration before closing tight over his chest again.

"Precisely, and so it must be. I intend to keep my promise and complete this courtship honourably, a difficult task when your hands go wandering. Please, respect my decision, Legolas, and accept that your elders know what is best." Glorfindel offered this with as kind a smile as possible, knowing his words could do nothing but anger the younger elf. Too late did he regret his impulsive decision that day, exposing his betrothed to the delights to be had from a lover's touch, relishing the eager surrender of Cuthenin's body to his manipulation.

"What did they say to you?" demanded Legolas, furious with his brothers in order to counter his distress over the chastisement. "This is not how you felt before. It is not fair to me, Glorfindel, to make such decisions alone without even consulting me."

"I realise that, but I was in the wrong to take you so quickly to that level of gratification. You are not ready; the ability to resist the urge to go beyond it has not had time to develop. I don't want to be placed in the position of rejecting your advances; I would not hurt you that way."

"Yet you have rejected me," he said, voiced pitched low and wavering with betrayed trust. "Had I believed you capable of that, I would never have shared this with you." He turned away, unable to bear looking into those pained yet pleading eyes, scanning the ground as he paced the area where his feet had lightly tripped amid the faded grass. At last he spied what he was seeking and snatched up the discarded ties for his hair, hastily braiding the locks, back to Glorfindel all this time. "You were not averse to the greater intimacy of Úcaul Anaur. What I hoped for is much less intrusive."

"Saes, Cuthenin, I am not rejecting you," implored Glorfindel. "Please understand, your life was at stake and thus I was willing to undergo Úcaul Annaur with you."

"I thought I understood. I believed there was more to your reason than that, especially after the experiences we shared during…"

"Lord Glorfindel!" a loud voice interrupted Legolas, the sound near enough for the speaker to have overheard the argument.

"Here," answered Glorfindel, turning to find one of Erestor's pages entering the quiet glade. "What is it, Lochgaer?"

"Forgive my intrusion, Hîren," the page managed to pass his disdainful leer over Legolas as he bowed to Glorfindel, "but Hîr Elrond has requested your presence at the house. Elladan and Elrohir have returned and he wishes for your counsel during their report."

"I will be there anon."

Glorfindel did not even attempt to hide his grimace of absolute frustration and disgust nor his sigh of resigned capitulation as he gave the page a dismissive nod. His cutting glare marked the insolent servant's departure and then he turned again to Cuthenin, only to find Legolas already leaving in haste up the hill, his soft leather shoes left behind. The Balrog-slayer gathered them up and hesitated, wanting to go after his betrothed, yet at the same time he feared to continue the unpleasant confrontation. Truly, he was the one unprepared for the realities of courtship with so alluring and bold an elf. A lusty affair or a vigourous romp with a willing partner he could handle, so long as no demands were made upon his heart. Now that his heart was utterly captivated, he didn't know how to act or what to do; could not differentiate between thinking rationally and responding out of fears spawned by the past. Glorfindel obeyed the summons from his Lord and left the glade, this the one and only time he ever ran from trouble.

As for Legolas, his rapid retreat had not been solely due to his embarrassment over Lochgaer's intrusion or the anguish generated by Glorfindel's resistance to his advances. No sooner had his attention been diverted from his Faer-hebron than he'd discerned the unmistakable noise of feet trying to bear away their owners without making any sound, something impossible for anyone except elves. His sharp ears pinpointed the location and his perceptive eyes soon sighted the culprits. Anger flared at once and Legolas sped across the dell and up the hill, closing on Ranger and Ring-bearer, barring the path before they could escape. His vision tracked from one to the other, all his wrath and misery threatening to explode any second.

"Ah, Legolas, we did not intend to pry," Aragorn began, a deep bow accompanying the words. He did not like the wild look of the Wood Elf's countenance.

"It is all Strider's fault!" Frodo blurted out. "I was going to call out to you but he started talking about sylvan mating…Ah!…Nay, that is I mean he was saying how elves are like dogs."

"Dogs?" Legolas' eyes narrowed until the irises were nearly invisible as he glared down at Frodo. Slowly he transferred this cutting stare to Aragorn and favoured the Man with a look of such searing repudiation that the Ranger hung his head.

"Please, forgive me, Legolas, I was playing a joke on Frodo, hoping to embarrass him, and I may have exaggerated things a little," he said.

"A little? I had no idea you knew anything at all about sylvan mating customs, Aragorn." The scathing words left no doubt as to Legolas' opinion of the Man's grasp of his peoples' traditional courting rites.

"Well, I don't really know much," Aragorn backed away as he spoke, hoping to get a little distance between him and the irate Wood Elf. "I learned a small amount from the friends I made during my service in Mirkwood…I mean Greenwood."

"I see, enough to liken me to a dog," snapped Legolas. "How long were you watching?"

"I didn't mean to imply you are like a dog," objected Aragorn, another step moving him further away, wreath of flowers held before him as a symbolic shield. Legolas followed.

"Aye, he said your singing was like a hound, not your actions. The mating dance was quite lovely," Frodo offered in the Man's defence. The comment stopped both his friends and the Wood Elf glared over his shoulder at the worried Hobbit while Aragorn's eyes bulged in disbelief.

"Wonderful, Frodo, thank you so much for clarifying that," he moaned.

"I sing like a hound baying?" growled Legolas, turning back to the Ranger, brows contracted in furious distemper, fists balled up and ready to strike.

"No!" shouted Frodo and Aragorn together.

"You sing beautifully, Legolas," assured Aragorn.

"Aye, it's just that we can't hear you when you sing about being…"

"Frodo!" Aragorn desperately tried to cut him off.

"…in love," the Hobbit continued, "and Aragorn explained how elves can make many sounds beyond the range of mortal ears."

Light dawned in Legolas' eyes and his anger melted, for he hadn't thought of this himself until this moment and much of his embarrassment vanished. At least these two had no idea what the words actually were. He inhaled deeply and relaxed a bit, but as soon as the outrage left him the sorrow returned. His shoulders slumped and he turned from his friends.
"Aye, that is true," answered Legolas. "Please forgive me; I should not have menaced you over so trivial a detail, Aragorn." He left without waiting for a reply, for the terrible ache in his heart suddenly spawned a surge of tears that he fought to control. He wandered away over the fields, every atom of his being radiating gloom and despair.

The two mortals watched him go and simultaneously exhaled relieved breaths, venturing to look at each other in order to evaluate how damaging this episode was likely to become.

"We should have left at once," admonished Frodo. "You should have explained what was happening and we should have left them alone."

"I know it," admitted Aragorn. "I never expected things to go so wrong and rather thought we would have plenty of time to make our getaway without being discovered."

"I suppose you were right about this being hard on Legolas," said Frodo. "Whatever that was about, Glorfindel seemed unwilling to hear his side of it."

"It is clear enough to me what it was about," noted the Man. Then he shook his head sadly. "Enough. I have said too much already and will not add to my errors by speculating on what has happened between them."

He set off toward the pool, carefully returning the crumpled flower garland to order, and Frodo watched him for a moment before trotting after. "What brought you here today, Aragorn?" he asked, eyeing the flowers with blatant interest.

It was a little while before the Ranger spoke again and during that time the two reached one of the statues. The lifelike marble image depicted a smiling woman with long straight hair caught back in a mantle resplendent with small starry gems. Her gown was elegant and she had the bearing of a noble lady yet her eyes were sad and focused far beyond the world around her. Her hands she held before her as if in offering and within them rested a bright white jewel set in a simple mithril fillet. Aragorn settled the garland around her shoulders and cleared away a few stray leaves and twigs collected at the figure's feet.

"She was beautiful, was she not?" he said softly, smiling down at Frodo.

"Aye. Who was she?"

"My mother, Gilraen. She left the world before her time just about nine years ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss. I didn't know."

"Thank you. I wish she had waited just a little while longer, but that was not her wish," sighed Aragorn.

There was nothing more to say. He began to sing a hymn in elvish and while Frodo did not know the words, he stayed and lent the comfort of a friend's presence to Aragorn during the hour of his remembrance.

Part Three

"No, he wouldn't normally leave them behind, Pippin," opined Merry, his tone rather condescending as he addressed his kinsman. "Obviously, he was in a hurry to get here and just didn't stop to gather them all up."

"Oh, and I suppose you know all about it since you've had so many dealings with Elves," scoffed Pippin. He leaned forward and poked Merry in the stomach with the long stem of his pipe, just removed from his mouth so to make the cutting rejoinder.

"Oy! Respect your elders, Peregrine Took," Merry snapped, sitting up and making a foiled attempt to snatch away the pipe so rudely introduced to his mid-section. Pippin snickered and blew a huge cloud of smoke at his cousin's scowling face.

"Stop, you two," said Sam, aggravated to have to interrupt his peaceful smoke in order to referee another argument. "Can't we just enjoy this little bit of quiet time without any bickering just once?"

"We're not bickering," insisted Merry. "Gandalf said we must make the effort to get to know our fellow Fellowship members before the journey begins. I'm just trying to help Pippin understand Legolas better."

"Well, you are not fit to teach me anything, much less lore concerning Wood Elves," snorted Pip. "Here's Frodo, I'm sure he would know the answer."

Pippin stood and waved to the Ring-bearer walking along the garden path, beckoning him over to the cosy gazebo where he, Merry, and Sam were digesting Second Breakfast as they waited for an appropriate opportunity to request Elevenses. They had learned by trial and error that Lord Elrond's kitchen staff were less likely to run them off if they waited at least two and a half hours after the morning meal served to the general household was cleared away. A suitable place to wait had to be found, for hanging about the kitchen doors only earned them dark glares and exasperated complaints from the staff. The Hobbits had located this quaint pergola amid a profusion of climbing clematis after a week of wandering the grounds and had thereafter spent most mornings beneath the blooming vines, smoking and chatting and dozing.
"What is it now?" asked Frodo, irritation clear within his tone and visage. He halted and propped his fists upon his hips so to favour them all with his displeasure. "Slouching about again, I see, when you might be studying up on the geography or the history of the lands we have to cross. It wouldn't hurt to spend a few hours in practice with the swords Strider gave you, either."

"Here now, what's the matter with you?" demanded Merry, indignant. "We're just enjoying the few days of ease and comfort left to us."

"And just so you know, we were learning about something important, or trying to at least, and that's why I called you over. But if you plan to be so grumpy, I'll just go find Gandalf and ask him," sniffed Pippin with matching resentment. Yet he made no move to leave the comfort of the gazebo, instead settling back onto the cushioned bench and clamping his pipe between his teeth. He glared over the bowl and puffed determinedly for a time.

"Mister Frodo, is something wrong?" asked Sam, rising and going down to meet his master. "Have you had bad news of some kind today?" He eyed his friend keenly, seeking for signs of the poison left by the Morgul blade. Frodo did seem flustered and upset about something.

"No, Sam, nothing is wrong," Frodo lost his grimace and settled a hand on Sam's shoulder, glad for such a vigilant and loyal friend. He offered a rueful smile and continued. "I suppose I should apologise to all of you. It isn't anyone's fault but my own, and Strider's, but it can't be undone now."

"Oh, that's all right," offered Merry generously, sitting up with a bright gleam filling his eyes, for he knew a story was in the offing, one that would likely be most amusing since it had Frodo so flustered. He longed for a good long belly-cramping laugh and was sure he'd found a source, if his cousin could be persuaded to elaborate the details. A quick glimpse at Pip revealed he had exactly he same idea. "What happened? Were you caught stealing blueberry tarts from the pantry?"

"No! I would never do…"

"Perhaps he interrupted Gandalf and Master Elrond in an important meeting again," suggested Pip.

"Nay, I only did that once," huffed Frodo. "How was I to know the meeting was private? No one said so. I asked where Gandalf was and that page told me where to find him. I did not intend to walk in on a full council session. So many stern and regal Elves!" he shuddered at the recollection of all those staring eyes aimed solely upon him. "Anyway I haven't seen either of them since breakfast."

"Ah, then it must be something else," Sam intoned the obvious with a solemn nod, rubbing his chin as he delved his thoughts for other ideas. "Did you get lost and end up in someone's private quarters and then used their privy and got caught by the servants?"

"No!" Frodo gaped at Sam and then his gaze turned speculative. "Have you?"

"Weeellll…I ain't sayin'" Sam giggled and shrugged and blushed all at once.

"Oh, Sam," Merry grinned. "Whose was it?"

"Never you mind."

"Oh come on, tell us!" urged Pip.

"Yes, we better know in order to be extra cordial to that person should we meet them," coaxed Frodo. "We can't have these Big Folks thinking we're a lot of blundering trespassers."

"I wasn't trespassing," insisted Sam, "at least, not on purpose. But these elvish folk of Imladris have created quite elaborate furnishings and fixtures to accommodate so humble a natural function. This privy was more fancy than the one in our suite by far. Marble and gold and sculptures and all! There was absolutely no smell, either."

"Really? Now there's something I never thought about. Do you suppose they don't…well, you know, or does it just not stink like everybody else's?" Pippin wanted to know.

"We'll find out once we're on the road with Legolas," chuckled Merry.

"Are you going to set a watch on him and follow along when he goes to do his business?" laughed Sam, slapping Merry on the shoulder. "I've a feeling you might get an arrow in a painful location for your curiosity."

"I'll tell him you told me to do it and then we'll see who gets an arrow shoved up his…"

"Merry!" Frodo interrupted sharply, trying hard to hide a grin with a glower.

"What? You were thinking the same thing," Merry defended his crude reference. "Anyway, what did you do that was so upsetting that you had to lash out at us?"

"I didn't lash out; I just suggested you might use your time to better purpose," Frodo claimed. "I don't know if I should tell you lot, for this is not something that should be repeated. The people involved would not be happy about that and I have no wish to earn even more disfavour than I already have."

"Master Frodo, you know you can depend upon me," Sam said, drawing himself up with no small amount of dismay stiffening his spine. "Have I ever repeated a secret?"

"Yes!" All three of his fellows chorused together, but they were smiling.

"Oh! I have never! Not about something important and not when you told me not to," Sam folded his arms over his chest and turned his back on them.

"We were only joking," soothed Pip, rising and patting the insulted gardener on the back. "We know you can keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, I'm sorry, Sam," laughed Frodo. "You're just too easy to rile sometimes!"

"Well then, if you really trust me, prove it." Sam exchanged glances with Pip, receiving due appreciation for this back-handed means of forcing the story from their friend. "Tell us what happened."

"Aye, we all give our word never to repeat it," added Merry.

"All right, but your promise must go further than that. You must swear not to use the knowledge to poke fun at anyone. No jokes or jests about it, hear?" Frodo demanded.

"We swear," Merry eagerly answered. "Now come and sit down. Here, fill your pipe with my leaf, if you like."

Frodo took advantage of these offers and for a few minutes silence reigned as he packed and lit his long clay bowl. Sam sat beside his master watching him smoke. Merry and Pippin kept their eyes fixed on Frodo intently, anticipation and smiles already apparent on their faces. Finally, Frodo favoured each with a serious glance and explained what he and Strider had witnessed just moments ago. At the end of it, he was even more sombre and distraught, worried for Legolas in light of the recent battle against grieving, and the faces of his friends revealed their thoughts ran along a similar vein.

The Hobbits reflected on the melancholy ending of this narrative in pensive silence. Merry, who had hoped for a good laugh, found himself homesick with longing to see his folks at Yuletide. Pippin tried and failed to suppress a sniff, eyes turned down. Frodo picked morosely at the hem of his vest. Sam kept sighing and shaking his head, methodically cleaning the inside of his pipe with a much stained rag as he did.

"It just goes to show," he finally spoke, "we are all alike even those of us who are most different. There's Strider, so fierce and stern yet he was born of a woman just the same as us and mourns her passing. There's Legolas, immortal and perfect to behold, and yet he has as much trouble with love as I would."

"Well, I am sad for Aragorn. Master Elrond said the Dunedain are supposed to live long lives but both his parents are gone," said Pippin. "And I am sad for Legolas, too. Everybody's talking about him behind his back for being so quick to engage in bed-sport with Glorfindel and now Glorfindel rebuffs him. I don't believe Legolas meant any harm by the singing or the dance. It's probably just the way they do things in Mirkwood."

"Aye," agreed Frodo, "and it's all lies, the gossip we've heard, according to Aragorn. He said Legolas is very young and still innocent."

"Really? Then at least I am not the only one," grinned Pippin. He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "Perhaps now someone else will bear the brunt of your ribald jokes about the pitfalls of sex for the uninitiated."

"No, we promised not to tease Legolas about anything we heard today, remember?" said Merry. "I guess that means we can keep on making fun of your youth and inexperience for the duration of the quest."

"I don't think so," Pippin sat forward and made a grab for Merry's pipe, pulling the stem right from his cousin's smugly set lips, and tossed it over the lattice-work banister of the gazebo.

"Hey!" Merry cried, bounding over the rail to retrieve the pipe. "If it's broken you'll be buying me another."

"Oh stop it!" fussed Sam. "Can't you two be serious ever? Legolas could be in real danger if he's fallen in love with Glorfindel. Elves can die from a broken heart, or so old Bilbo says. I just don't see how he can find another male attractive, though," admitted the conservative gardener. "What makes a person desire one kind or another?"

"That I could not say," answered Merry. He returned with the pipe and put it away, scowling at Pippin as he answered. "Love has no rules, from what I can tell. The most unlikely people end up together as couples."

"Well, I am expected to marry and have a family," said Pippin, "so I suppose it's a good thing I only find females attractive. Lucky for Legolas he is not the heir to a vast realm."

"Fool!" Merry lightly slapped Pippin on the side of his head. "Elves live forever; the Lords among them don't need heirs."

"Lord Elrond has heirs," countered Pippin, trying to get Merry back and missing as his cousin ducked away neatly.

"He has a family because he is blessed by Iluvatar, not because he needs heirs," said a fair voice behind them. All the Hobbits jumped in startlement and turned to find Legolas staring from guarded and distrustful eyes.

"You gave my heart a shock and no lie," said Sam with a nervous laugh. He stood and bowed. "Won't you join us, Master Legolas?"

"Just Legolas, if you please, and no. I was sent by Mithrandir to fetch you. He wants us all, the Fellowship that is, to meet with him in his apartment in Lord Elrond's house."

"Now?" asked Pippin. "We haven't had Elevenses yet."

"Now."

The Wood Elf turned on his heel to go, shooting Frodo a sharp look filled with affronted and wounded dignity as he did. The halflings held back a bit and then ambled out in his wake, but he neither paused nor looked back and soon drew far a head.

"Do you suppose he heard your story?" whispered Sam to Frodo.

"I hope not," Frodo rasped back grimly, "but with my luck he probably did."

"What should we do?" worried Pippin. "I wish you'd kept your tale to yourself, Frodo, for now he'll be angry with us all."

"I have no room in my heart to be angry with you," the elf's voice called back, sullen and morose, "but I am displeased to find the ugly scene retold so soon. I suppose it will be the talk of all Imladris by luncheon."

The Hobbits remained silent after that and saw no more of Legolas until they came to the wizard's rooms. There they discovered Gimli and Boromir already seated by the fire, while the Wood Elf had gone on to locate Strider. Within minutes the two arrived, Aragorn quiet and serious while Legolas remained aloof, choosing the window sill on which to sit and ignoring the others entirely after offering Mithrandir a respectful bow.

The wizard scowled, not knowing what it was about, and surveyed his hand-picked team of adventurers. Boromir, Gimli, and Aragorn removed to the broad table strewn with maps and charts, quickly falling into evaluating each others knowledge of the lands and people they might encounter. The Hobbits gathered by the hearth where a table of light refreshments was set, and while they nibbled on these and chatted about the weather, they kept sneaking anxious glances at Legolas and Aragorn. The Wood Elf was concentrating on mending arrows, having brought his quiver and supplies along specifically for that purpose, and pretended not to take note of anyone else's activity, though he was clearly alert and on edge. The mood in the room was decidedly tense and Mithrandir was not pleased.

"Well, perhaps you are wondering why I asked you to join me," he began.

"Yes, I am," said Boromir. "I hope it is to plan out our route on this dangerous quest, for the lands are rugged and fraught with danger."

"Aye, we need a strategy," agreed Gimli, "a means to work out the easiest road for the Hobbits while yet eluding the Enemy's notice."

"We made it over rough roads to get here," argued Merry, miffed to be called weak, even obliquely.

"And faced down Black Riders," added Pippin.

"And would have perished utterly but for the aid of Glorfindel," interrupted Legolas sternly.

"I meant no offence," said Gimli, "but the fact remains: this journey will be long and treacherous. It is no time to be boasting of strength untested and courage untried. We are nine against a multitude and we must work together or fail."

"Aye, Gimli speaks wisely and Legolas is right; but for Glorfindel's timely arrival we would have all been cut down before we reached Rivendell," Aragorn said, offering Legolas a respectful nod which the Wood Elf only barely acknowledged.

"Well, we've got an elf along," shrugged Gimli. "Legolas is hearty enough and maybe knows something about Black Riders. We'll be all right." He offered the sylvan a smile, concerned over the black mood afflicting his friend, and received one in return that was a meagre and dilute facsimile of the sylvan's usually vibrant countenance.

"Is that true, Legolas?" asked Boromir, eyeing the Wood Elf with undisguised distaste. "Do you know something of the Black Riders?"

"Something," Legolas nodded, "but I have not fought them hand to hand and arrows wound them not. Yet I doubt they will be our greatest dread, as no scouts have turned up indications of them since the drowning at the ford."

"With that I agree," said Mithrandir, moving to Legolas and settling a firm hand on his shoulder, his keen grey eyes searching for answers, but Legolas remained closed. He sighed and a landed half-hearted pat to the rigid shoulder as he turned back to his other guests. "Yet this is not the cause for which I brought us together today. The danger of the road we will face soon enough and it is best to do that with people we know and trust.

"Now, some of you know each other well, for example all the Hobbits are life-long friends and I have known both Frodo and Aragorn for many years. Some of you know each other a little, as Aragorn has spent several days with Frodo and company, each learning of the other's temperament and personality, but the rest of us are virtually strangers. This must be remedied.

"It is the season of Yule and this provides the perfect means for becoming better acquainted. We will each prepare for Yule according to the customs of his own lands, inviting the other members of the Fellowship to visit his apartment and enjoy the activities and delights particular to that realm. What say you to this idea?"

"Will there be gifts exchanged?" asked Pippin excitedly, jumping from his chair.

"If that is your peoples' custom," nodded Gandalf, grinning hugely.

"This is a waste of time," complained Boromir. "We need to spend these precious days preparing for the quest. There are so many elements to consider and numerous routes we might take, yet not one have we discussed together as a group."

"I've nothing against a good party," said Gimli, "but I believe Boromir raises a valid point. Can we not do both these things?"

"Indeed we shall," averred Gandalf. "I am not proposing that we spend all the remaining days here in merriment and feasting, yet there is time enough to consider our options before we go. Besides, I am in daily conference with Lord Elrond and until the information his sons collected is properly evaluated and understood we will not finalise the itinerary."

"Are we not to be included in these discussions?" demanded Boromir. "It seems to me we have become little more than foot-soldiers awaiting the generals' orders. That does not set well with me, for I am a general in my country and have intelligence of the roads east that none here in Rivendell possess, be they thousands of years my senior."

"Mind how you speak," Legolas rebuked him. "It is elves of Imladris who wandered far into the most dangerous regions between here and Mordor, places no Man could venture undetected, and the Twins' report is not to be discounted so."

"It is not a question of generals and soldiers," said Aragorn, "but of wisdom versus folly. I for one am not willing to make any plan until the knowledge gained by Elladan and Elrohir is made available to me, though I am a leader of Men as well."

"Of course you are not concerned, for you will be included in this war council, Ranger of Arnor," snorted Boromir, "being betrothed to the daughter of the Lord of this Realm, but that leaves the rest of us on the outside. I am not content."

"Whether or not you are content is of no consequence," stated Legolas. "Aragorn's inclusion in any council will be based on his attitude of respect and his grasp of the scope of this grave undertaking, not his relationship to any elves here."

"Oh, how foolish of me." Boromir gave an exaggerated half-bow and a smirking grin. "No doubt you were chosen for this mission based on those same qualities of intelligence and deference. Your intimate affiliation with a renowned Elf Lord had no bearing whatsoever on your selection."

Legolas was across the room in seconds. He was intercepted by Aragorn barely a hand's length from Boromir though the Ranger's grip upon his arm would not have held him had he truly wished to do harm to the Steward's son. He glared at Boromir in fury, casting his sight up and down the length of the human with absolute contempt, the shaft of the arrow he'd been crafting clenched in his fist. With all he had endured today, he was in no frame of mind to weather such slurs.

"I am betrothed to Glorfindel of Gondolin and he to me," he announced proudly.

"Well, that was quick," smirked Boromir.

"What does that signify?" hissed Legolas.

"It signifies nothing," Mithrandir interrupted before the Wood Elf's wrath boiled over. "Legolas was chosen by me," he growled. "If you want to know my reasons, I will be happy to enumerate them, but this kind of calumny I will not tolerate. Your vituperative backbiting leads me to question your place in this undertaking, Boromir."

"That does not surprise me," scoffed the Man. "My father cautioned that I would find little sympathy for the plight of Gondor here."

"It is not only Gondor that is imperilled," reminded Aragorn.

"But it is Gondor that has the most to lose and who will lose it first, should the Ring fall to Sauron," disputed Boromir. "Even so, you all countenance this mad scheme, leaving the dread devise in the keeping of the weakest member of the group, purposing to aid him in carrying it to the very heart of the Enemy's realm! Yet I am the one whose participation is questioned?"

"Frodo is not the weakest point in this chain of nine links," intoned Legolas darkly. He tapped the man lightly on the chest with the ash-wood shaft. "You are. Out of us all, only you speak of mastering evil, an utterly vain solution which is not only impossible but, were it not, would place you in a position to rule over all other realms and nations."

"What say you, sylvan?" thundered Boromir, and now it was he who found Aragorn a barrier betwixt him and his adversary, yet the son of the Steward was trying very hard indeed to get around the Ranger. "Do you dare name me a confederate of that very demon who seeks to destroy my home, my people?"

"Let him go, Aragorn," urged Legolas, ready to meet the infuriating Man and teach him his true place in Arda.

"Stop this!" boomed Mithrandir. He retrieved Legolas from the confrontation and escorted him to the deserted window sill. "Enough, son of Thranduil," he whispered. "Remember who you are. We are allies here and not foes. Let us act the part."

"I am not the one who chose the path of contention," growled Legolas.

"Yet you elected to walk upon it," murmured Mithrandir.

"My apologies, Mithrandir, for disrupting the meeting," he said and bowed low, for this was a just charge. "If you please, I will wait without until things are settled in here." Legolas ducked through the window and sat on the balcony floor with his tools so that he was beyond eyesight, but not earshot, of the rest of the Fellowship.

Gandalf sighed and turned to chastise Boromir, yet before he could begin the Man spoke.

"You need say nothing, Mithrandir; I hold no grudge against Legolas. As for my remarks, I realise they were considered insulting to Frodo, and yet they were not intended so. I am simply trying to force you, all of you, to realise what you ask of the Hobbits. Is it fair to place this burden upon them? When have they faced battle or hardship such as the quest must certainly exact?"

"I seem to recall that Frodo volunteered to do this thing," growled Gimli, "when none the rest of us would speak up, and that includes you, Boromir of Gondor."

"Aye, we can make decisions for ourselves. We are not children," fumed Merry. "Gandalf trusts Frodo with the Ring and so should you."

"And this is all but a part of it," said Frodo. "You had no reason to slight Legolas that way."

"I was concerned about his true value to our mission, but now that Mithrandir asserts the sylvan is his personal choice, I would certainly back him," Boromir rationalised.

"Hummph!" Gimli grumbled and stomped over to glower up at the nobleman. "So far you've denounced Aragorn as a pretender to the throne of Gondor, labelled Frodo and all the Hobbits as incompetent and weak, and Legolas you've accused of trading his body for a place among the Fellowship. I wonder what you say about me behind my back?"

"I never said any of those things," declaimed Boromir.

"Well, I heard exactly what Gimli did," said Sam. "Gandalf, if it's all the same to you, I'm going outside with Legolas."

"Me, too," said Pippin. Merry joined him and Frodo followed as well. Before they reached the door Gimli's rolling laughter caught up with them.

"Gandalf, you'd best adjourn this meeting, for you've just lost six of the nine members. I'm with them," he said and sauntered across the room, casting one last withering stare of utter contempt upon Boromir as he passed.

"Sorry, Gandalf, but my place is with the others also," Aragorn made the revolt complete. "Boromir, know that you cannot insult one without offending all. Until you can come to terms with Legolas and the Hobbits as your equals in this endeavour, I'll oppose you in every way at my disposal."

"Aye, he might just use his influence with the Lady Arwen to convince her father to have you sent back to Gondor," sneered Merry.

"And making an enemy of Glorfindel's betrothed isn't exactly wise," snickered Frodo. "You are either very brave or incredibly ignorant."

"Oh, Axe-foot would level the grand Lord of Gondor long before Glorfindel ever had the chance to defend his fiancé's honour," chuckled Gimli. "Beware, Boromir, the Wood Elf is more than your equal in strength and skill at arms."

Boromir's face had turned an unpleasant shade of maroon by then but his reason finally managed to get hold of his tongue and held it captive, though his hubris remained evident beneath his anger. He stood stiff and proud before the table, glaring as the rest of the Fellowship went out the door and joined the Wood Elf, their words of welcome clearly discernible as was the tone of friendship with which they were spoken. The Man of Gondor had to admit; he had made a serious error in judgement. Best qualified he was, of this there was no doubt, but the leader of this group he would never be. Indeed, it was doubtful now that he would even be allowed to take part at all.
"Very well, let us gather again at the evening meal and see if we cannot resolve this," sighed Mithrandir. "The rest of you may go; Boromir and I have many things to discuss." He turned and eyed the Man with supreme disappointment.

Part Four

Never had he endured such an exasperating day. Accustomed to maintaining a strict guard over his private needs and personal habits, Legolas had somehow cast all his normal reserve aside and now must bear the humiliating consequences. How had things become so horribly convoluted? The encounter with Elrond was enough to ruin his mood and could certainly do nothing to improve his reputation among the Imladrian elves. What had prompted him to indulge his hungry urges in so public a place eluded him and Cuthenin decided it was due to the power of the attraction he felt, the strength of the bond between him and his Faer-hebron. Normally, that would be cause for joy, but the unexpected discord with Glorfindel had sent him into a downward spiral which now threatened to sabotage his role as the Fellowship's eyes and ears. There was no denying his frustration and confusion over the argument had made it easier to give in and speak out against Boromir's niggling insults.

Cuthenin sighed; it felt as if everyone in the valley who was of any importance in his immediate circle was against him this morn. The list was long and he tallied its entries: Lord Elrond probably believed he lacked any basic sense of decency, his beloved Balrog-slayer took him to task for escalating Faras-uin-Ind, Aragorn and Frodo spied on him, not to mention that odious page, Lochgaer; Frodo freely related every detail of the argument to his countrymen, whose tongues wagged almost as much as a puppy's tail, and then more insults and innuendo were delivered by that arrogant human, Boromir. Legolas was distraught over how to mend things, especially with Glorfindel, and went searching for Galdor so to discuss the situation. The Sadron was not in his apartment and Cuthenin was on his way to the Hall of Fire when he turned a corner and came face to face with Erestor.

"Oh, Cuthenin, there you are. Galdor is looking for you," said the seneschal and then just as the Wood Elf opened his mouth, continued. "I am not sure of everything he wants but I can reveal that you have been assigned new quarters."

"I have? Where?" Legolas was too surprised to answer with anything more erudite.

"In the very best wing of the House," announced Erestor, gazing down upon the young archer with imperious appraisal. "Right across the corridor from Lord Galdor's suite." The sylvan archer stared at the tall Noldorin elf blankly and the noble statesman stared back, trying to gauge whether or not Cuthenin knew about his ability to spy on the talan from afar, which would mean Glorfindel had told him. That would explain Galdor's sudden demand to change the Wood Elf's sleeping arrangements. Several more seconds of tense silence ticked by and Erestor made a vague sort of peeved frown. "Lord Elrond deemed the oak dell an unsuitable place for the son of King Thranduil to reside. He thought being near to your Guardian might be more comfortable for you."

"Oh. Yes, I'm sure he did. I will move my pack today." Legolas spoke dully, his hopes taking another blow, for he had counted on the treetop abode as the one safe place where he might indulge his passionate longing for Glorfindel. Not to mention that the talan was scarcely five steps from the Balrog-slayer's home and Cuthenin had envisioned how convenient that might be in the days ahead. He wondered if Elrond's early morning discovery had anything to do with the relocation. Could anything else go amiss?

Aye, it could for Anor is but half way through her daily trek. Best not to tempt Vairë. Tawar nin beria!

"There's no need; I sent Lochgaer to see to it," added Erestor.

"Thank you," Legolas intoned, feeling anything but grateful, and turned to go inspect his things, certain the leering page would have burrowed through his few possessions and mayhap even helped himself to some of them.

To return to that section of the house more quickly, Legolas decided to traverse the dining hall and could not fail to note the sudden hush that filled the room as he entered it. Was every single eye focused solely upon him? Surely it seemed so.

The Noldorin elves appraised him with poorly concealed disapprobation, a few offering a terse nod but no word of greeting as he passed. The humans from Gondor watched him with what they thought was well disguised fascination, a light illuminating their faces that was equal parts curiosity, contempt, and strangely enough, deference. The Rangers cast swift, evaluative glances in his direction and thereafter pretended not to notice his presence. The Hobbits gaped in open awe, the magnitude of their wonder significantly greater than ever, while the Dwarves' former cheer was replaced by grim glowers and grumbling rumbles reminiscent of a small avalanche about to pour down a mountainside. Gimli especially looked ready to erupt in another fit of axe throwing. Legolas struggled to maintain a placid visage as he walked the room, scanning the scattered groups for his Tirn'wador in vain. He was almost to the exit when Boromir came in through it and blocked his path.

"Ernil Legolas! I am glad I found you so quickly," he exclaimed, an ingratiating smile covering his features, left hand out thrust in friendly greeting.

Legolas' eyes widened and his surprise was evident. Why was this bothersome Man calling him by such a title? He could not know the truth. Suspecting some new insult, his heart filled with foreboding. "Suilad, Boromir. Excuse me, perhaps someone has misinformed you of the definition of that term. It is generally used to denote the heir to a King. There is no reason to employ it when addressing me." With high distaste he gripped the out stretched palm and squeezed, giving it a solemn shake before letting it go.

"Ah, you need not maintain this subterfuge any longer," Boromir laughed. "I know what the word means and it certainly applies to the son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. I hope you will accept my apology for treating you with such a distant manner; I had no idea we were equals."

A burst of derisive laughter arose among the elves, which they contained at once for Gimli leaped to his feet and stormed his way to the Wood Elf.

"Don't look so shocked, prince of the trees, for we know all about you now. How could you pretend to offer friendship to me when your father unjustly imprisoned mine? I will have retribution from you for this grievous offence!" he thundered, brown eyes dark with fury and heavy hands curled into fists that were thankfully empty.

"Gimli, my friendship is not false," Legolas began, ignoring the Man in light of this more serious issue. "I was not in the stronghold when the Erebor Incident occurred, but if you deem me at fault by virtue of my lineage then I will gladly do whatever I must to make amends."

"If that be true, then why did you try to hide who you really are?" demanded the Dwarf.

"I did not intend to deceive you; I am no prince of Greenwood. Must everyone submit his pedigree before establishing accord with another?"

"When you put it thusly, no," Gimli grudgingly admitted.
"But are you not the son of the Elven King?" insisted Boromir. "I have uncovered this truth by a most reliable means."

"Might I know the name of this person?" inquired Legolas, pulse pounding as he considered who would betray him. There were so few who knew the truth and he had believed none among those would disclose his secret, not even Lord Erestor, because of Lord Elrond's gracious decision to help protect the House of the Beeches from dishonour or scorn.

"Oh, it was entirely accidental," the Man said. "In my rooms I discovered a small box of tortoiseshell upon the table by my bed. A scroll, bearing your name, title, and lineage accompanied the object. No doubt the gift was placed in my suite by a servant by mistake. Here it is." He produced the small brown and black mottled container, smiling brightly to have done the noble prince this favour. "I hope our past differences may be forgotten; I plead ignorance and a mind overwrought with worry. Please accept my apologies for my inhospitable remarks and my congratulations on your recent betrothal."

Legolas stood transfixed, eyes glued to the ornately carved box in disbelief, failing to acknowledge Boromir's words as he tried to comprehend what was happening and why it was coming to pass. He lifted his hand tentatively toward the box and then faltered, swallowing hard as he let it fall back limp and lifeless to his side. He raised stricken eyes to the human.

"This was in your rooms?" he asked quietly, his voice so crammed with sorrow that it was painful to hear. "And this scroll, do you have it?"

Boromir's smile was gone as he began to realise his efforts to right his erroneous opinions was going horribly wrong. "Yes, I left it behind but I am certain it is still there. Will you not accept this token, for surely it was meant for you. A lover's keepsake, mayhap?"

"What you hold is dear to me indeed, yet I cannot take it from your hands," said Legolas darkly. "I would ask that you deliver it to Lord Galdor, for he is my Guardian and will decide what is to be done now." With a final forlorn and lingering glance upon the box, Legolas shouldered his way past the Man and made for the nearest door out, breaking into a frantic sprint in hopes of reaching some secluded place before his anguish overtook him.

Back through the gardens he tore, ignoring the stares of any he happened to pass; indeed, Cuthenin truly never noticed they were there, too distraught over this unheard of disaster. How had that selfish and stupid Man come into possession of a sylvan courtship gift? Only he, Galdor, and now Glorfindel knew that three gifts were required during the course of Faras-uin-Ind. Only the three of them comprehended the significance of Ant Vinui (First Gift). It was not possible that Glorfindel would do something so cruel as to deliver the gift to the wrong person and in the same stroke reveal Cuthenin's unfortunate origins; was it? Prior to the argument that morning, he would have denounced such a suggestion vehemently.

"Cuthenin! Daro, saes!"

A voice called but he failed to heed it. Tears blurred his vision just as a looming shape darted out in front of him and Legolas veered right to avoid collision, too late. The figure careened into him and both went down. Frantic to get loose, the sylvan struggled against his assailant for a couple of seconds, managing to knee the miscreant in the stomach before realising it was Galdor.

"Ai! Enough, Legolas! Stop now before I respond in kind," the agitated Sadron warned. He could not help feeling that Thranduil had raised an inordinately reactive trio of sons, having now been assaulted by all three.

"Forgive me, Tirn'wador, but I couldn't tell it was you. Why did you do that?" Legolas jumped to his feet and helped the noble leader rise, cautiously brushing down the elder's robes and daintily plucking a stray twig from his locks. When at last he dared to meet his Guardian's gaze, he found the Sadron's anger abated and the deep brown eyes filled with worry and compassion.

"To stop you before you made any more thoughtless errors. I just learned of what has happened," Galdor said quietly, reaching for Legolas and taking him at the elbow. "Things are not as they appear. Come, we have much to discuss but we must do so in private. Let us walk together out here for the house is abuzz with esuriant tongues eager for new spectacles to report and cavil."

"I can't believe it," Legolas struggled to say amid slowly cascading tears, permitting himself to be led without regard to the direction. "If he wished to end the courtship he need only have said so. I would not have thought him capable of such heartlessness."

"He is not," insisted Galdor. "There is more going on here than we know, but I can assure you Ant Vinui was not left in Boromir's rooms by Glorfindel. Nor did he pen any scroll, for that was not part of the instructions I gave him, as you and I know. I am much interested to see it for I would recognise the Balrog-slayer's hand at once."

"Someone else did this? I want to believe that but none know the rules of Faras-uin-Ind save the three of us." Despite this fact, Legolas took hope from his Tirn'wador's calm declaration.

"That is what we assume, yet it is possible we are mistaken. Lord Erestor is clever and resourceful; if he wants to learn something he will find a means to do it. I suspect it was he, for he alone has reason to attempt breaking you and Glorfindel's bond, or so at least he must still think. In truth, Glorfindel's heart will never be his, regardless the outcome of Faras-uin-Ind."

"Your words hearten me," Legolas inhaled deeply, releasing the pent air in a shaky sigh as his nerves calmed and the tears ceased. "Ai Valar, how could I imagine Glorfindel would hurt me thus? Am I so wary and mistrustful a mate as that?"

"Nay, perhaps you had cause to surmise something of the sort. News of the misunderstanding between you two reached me earlier and I've been hunting for you since. Legolas, know that I respect you and find myself daily growing more fond of you, but what were you thinking?"

"I don't know," exasperated and frustrated and confused and angry, Legolas was far beyond the ability to restrain those emotions from voice or manner. He halted and shook loose from the Sadron's hold, favouring Galdor with a black scowl. "Tirn'wador, I am too many years past majority to weather such a scolding well. I won't justify myself; nothing I did was in violation of Faras-uin-Ind. If you must know, I never got the chance to do anything, thanks to you and my brothers. What did you say to him that has made Glorfindel so averse to anything more than a kiss and a dance?"

"I did nothing but repeat the warning made prior to Úcaul Annaur," said Galdor, "and elucidate the particulars of the stages of courtship. Glorfindel did not seem overly anxious at the time. As for your brothers, I was not present when they had this conversation. For these answers you must speak with your Faer-hebron."

"He will not come near me," complained Legolas. "How can I learn what is beneath this sudden change of demeanour if he refuses to speak of it?"

"He will not refuse," smiled Galdor. "You have forgotten something important: since we know Glorfindel did not author this horrible practical joke with Ant Vinui, we can safely deduce he wants you to receive that gift. Even now he waits in tormented solitude for your response."

For the second time that day brilliant, beatific realisation illuminated every corner of Legolas' soul. The certainty that Galdor was right filled his heart with both peace and urgent longing and Cuthenin's face transformed from a mask of bitter acrimony to an expression of joyous exaltation.

"Exactly how intimate are we allowed to be without breaking the rules," he asked boldly, "and be specific. I do not want to go to Glorfindel with incomplete knowledge."

"The Laws state it plainly: 'the couple must not join bodily one to another in carnal intercourse nor mingle the essence of body and soul until the day the bonding is formally recognised'. You know this, Legolas."

"But what defines carnal intercourse? Glorfindel said the things we shared during the journey across the Anduin valley were not forbidden, yet now he will not permit me to initiate the very same activity."

"It is very simple: any form of penetration with the penis is forbidden, and that includes any orifice the body possesses which seems amenable to such penetration. In other words, neither anal nor oral intercourse is permitted." Galdor explained plainly and patiently, knowing that despite Cuthenin's protests of being far past his majority, the young archer was woefully ignorant of the intricacies involved in the act of love-making. He continued:

"If he is resistant to other types of stimulation, there must be a reason. Perhaps it is what your brothers said to him, perhaps it is something else entirely. Here is where you must tread carefully and recall what I first warned. Glorfindel is not perfect and has as many flaws as anyone, probably more considering he's had two life-times to accumulate them. I know him not as well as I did all those years ago in Gondolin, but in one regard he is still the same: the Balrog-slayer has a very difficult time expressing emotions. At some point, he learned to ignore them and thus finds it hard to identify and explicate his motives when emotion is driving his behaviour."

"How will I get him to reveal something he doesn't himself understand?" demanded an exasperated Wood Elf. "Sadron, as my Tirn'wador, perhaps you should approach him and…"

"Oh no," chuckled Galdor, shaking his head. "I will be happy to listen, to advise, and to support you through this process, but you are the one betrothed to him, Cuthenin. If you cannot learn how to draw him out now, what will the years ahead be like? The thrill of physical pleasure is but one aspect of mated life; you two must learn to share in other ways also."

Legolas could not argue with the logic in this but neither could he feel much hope that he would succeed in light of the disastrous outcome of their morning tryst. He frowned, glancing around the environment for the first time since the Sadron's unusual method of garnering his attention, and noticed they had walked nearly all the way around the perimeter of the grounds. Just beyond the next rise, the oak dell lay nestled in the small depression behind Glorfindel's house. Indeed, the peak of the roof and the chimney were already in view. Legolas sent his Tirn'wador a devilish smirk.

"So what is my curfew, Tirn'wador? And while I am sorting things out with my Faer-hebron, will you be investigating this unscrupulous attempt to drive us apart? I am going to tell Glorfindel what happened and I can imagine he will be furious."

"Do not be impertinent, Cuthenin, there is no curfew." Galdor was unable to be angry over such insubordination, feeling it a healthy sign that Legolas had come to terms with Calarlim's loss and was finally growing more independent. "I had just cause for changing your quarters for I learned from Glorfindel the talan is under frequent watch by Erestor. In short, he spies on everyone in the valley with his long-sighted tubes and has admitted keeping the oak dell under his surveillance. Otherwise, I would not have acted for I trust you to uphold the precepts of Pâd-en-Tawar."

"Ai! Lord Erestor is insufferable!"

"Indeed. As to the rest, I had planned to do as you ask. I am rather counting on you to keep Glorfindel occupied until I can determine who is at fault. He is likely to assume it to be Erestor and while I tend to agree, Lord Elrond would prefer not to have one of his top advisors murder the other. If it was his cousin, Elrond will punish the seneschal severely enough."

"Very well, we are in accord," smiled Legolas. "There is one other favour I would beseech."

"What is it?"

"I want you to imprint a new design on my body to honour Glorfindel. Will you do it?"

"Aye, you need not even ask; I will be happy to do it. I was wondering if you had discussed this with Glorfindel. Will he agree to be marked to honour you as well?"

"I haven't mentioned it yet," admitted Legolas. "I would rather let him offer freely than have him feel obligated to agree. He is not an initiate of Pâd-en-Tawar and I would make no demands upon him to follow our ways."

"Well said," nodded Galdor, reaching over to bestow a kindly thump on the Wood Elf's shoulder. "Go and settle this trouble with Glorfindel, Cuthenin, and we will speak of other matters at the evening meal."

"Ai! I cannot dine with you for Mithrandir has called a meeting with the Fellowship. You would not believe what Boromir…"

"Oh, I have heard about it; everyone has. You accused him of seeking the Ring to control it for his own ends. That is not very diplomatic," Galdor remonstrated.

"It is the truth and everyone knows it," argued Legolas. "Now that he thinks I am royalty, suddenly he wants to be my dearest comrade. The Man is utterly false and should not be on this quest."

"Yet Mithrandir sees a need for his participation and that is where the matter must end," lectured Galdor. "Do not forget, many have expressed uncertainty or even open opposition to your inclusion as the person to represent all elf-kind. Difficult as it may be, you must find a way to tolerate Boromir. Mayhap the influence of less greedy hearts will inspire him to be better. In any case, you exemplify all elf-kind as well as your father's House and Realm. Would you have it said you are unable to set aside your prejudice for the good of the Fellowship?"

"No, you know I do not wish that."

"Then exert yourself and learn why this Man feels the need to hide his real agenda. Inspire his trust and get him to confide in you. At the root of most distrust and hatred abides a deep and consuming fear. Living as close to Mordor as he does, this should not surprise you. Now that he is here in Imladris, his heart is shielded from those evil influences. This is the time to reach him and reawaken his true nature, for he comes of courageous stock, a family of loyal protectors to the throne of Gondor. He is worth salvaging, Cuthenin."

"Sui pedich, Tirn'wador," Legolas bowed as he spoke the traditional capitulation. "I will try."

Galdor smiled but made no further remarks, heading away instead to the Last Homely House, there to unravel the plot to sunder the bond between his ward and his friend of old.

Legolas stood alone in quiet contemplation of the bit of red tiled roof and clay brick chimney that proved his proximity to Glorfindel's house. He had no idea what he should do or say. Should he apologise or demand Glorfindel do so? Perhaps it would be best simply to go in the guise of visiting, of wanting to invite his Faer-hebron for a walk or to go riding through the countryside, acting as though nothing untoward had occurred between them. Then again, it was ever his way to get right to the point and just struggle through a disagreement until both parties could see beyond it.

That was how he generally dealt with nay-sayers and antagonists back home and it seemed to work, earning him respect if not acceptance. Indeed, it was this trait of determined, some would say stubborn, insistence on challenging his detractors that had first garnered his brothers' admiration. Of course, he was more willing to listen and discuss an issue now than in his elfling days, when Cuthenin was known for changing other elves' minds with his fists and feet.

He sighed, mouth set in a thin, grim line, wishing again for the opportunity to speak with his Adar. This one morning held enough troublesome conundrums to keep them in counsel for a week, yet he would settle for an hour of the elder elf's time and wisdom.

What retribution might he consider fitting for Erestor's underhanded betrayal? What would he say about this Man, Boromir, and his flawed valour? How would he treat Glorfindel's rejection?

Sadly, Legolas realised he could not conjure up any likely suggestions Thranduil would make, knowing him so little; indeed, all that he'd thought to be truth turned out to be only half-truth or even wholly inaccurate. In so many ways he'd only just met his father; he truly knew Glorfindel better due to the the melding of spirits during Úcaul Annaur. That fact stung, for how could his Faer-hebron turn against him for initiating Hwiniad-en-Melethryn (Lover's Dance)? Perhaps this aspect of courtship was unknown except among the sylvan people, yet it was not as overtly seductive nor as flagrantly possessive as the exciting manipulation to which the Balrog-slayer had subjected him on the plains of Nan Anduin. Cuthenin frowned; there had to be something more, perhaps something he'd inadvertently done to make Glorfindel balk, but what?

I will not find out by standing here.

Legolas hesitated but a moment longer before jogging toward the Balrog-slayer's house. A thousand possible scenarios zipped across his inner vision as he ran, everything from abysmal failure and the breaking of the bond forged during Úcaul Annaur to a sizzling reconciliation and the consummation of that same bond into something permanent and eternal. The distance was covered in time he could not reckon for it seemed to pass in a handful of heartbeats; all at once he was standing before the trim, white-washed door. There his nerve faltered a second and his resentment over the incident returned. Why should he have to seek out Glorfindel when he was the abused party? This petulant gripe he refused to entertain and, with a deep breath to bolster his resolve, raised his hand and knocked. It was but a moment before the door was opened and when it did the Evenstar stood upon the threshold, her calm grey eyes presenting both surprise and gladness to behold him there.

"Suilad, Cuthenin," she smiled and stood aside to permit him to enter. "I am so pleased to see you. Glorfindel and I were just speaking of you."

"Suilad, Hirilen Arwen," Legolas returned the smile faintly, not so sure how to interpret her remark, embarrassed to think she knew all the details about the disagreement. He edged past her into the vestibule. "I hope I am not intruding."

"Legolas?" the query came from within and was followed by Glorfindel's immediate arrival in the hallway. He gaped at the archer in silence, unable to believe he was truly standing there. "You are here."

"Aye. If it is to your liking, I would speak with you," Legolas ventured carefully, his eyes watching for any hint of the wary discomfort he'd witnessed earlier. There was only anguished remorse and relief there and this made Legolas smile warmly.

"I will take my leave," Arwen said, grinning as she gripped Legolas' biceps in passing. "I expect you both to join me in my apartment for the evening meal." With that invitation delivered, the fair Lady of Rivendell left the lovers.

Part Five

In silence the two warriors, one ancient and one vernal, gazed upon one another, each awaiting the other's next move, until at last Legolas shrugged and spoke.

"I hope she will not think me rude, but I cannot join Lady Arwen for the evening meal tonight. Mithrandir has called a meeting of the Fellowship."

"I will tell her for you; she will understand."

Another brief pause ensued and then finally Glorfindel smiled, though it was rather half-hearted and anxious expression. "I did not think you would come," he said. "I am happy to speak with you and was about to go and look for you. Please, come inside." He led the way into the familiar study and nervously offered his betrothed a seat. Carefully he sat next to Cuthenin, uncertain how or where to begin, though he'd spent hours pouring over the details of the unpleasant incident with Arwen, gleaning her incisive advise.

"I want to apologise." The two spoke as one and stopped, grinning over this synchronism, and promptly repeated it.

"I don't understand what I did wrong," Legolas replied uneasily. "There is nothing for which you need apologise," said Glorfindel at the same time.

They laughed awkwardly together and Cuthenin nervously passed a hand over his hair. "You had best go first," he suggested.

"Very well. Legolas, you did nothing wrong, at least not intentionally," the Balrog-slayer assured, one hand resting lightly on Cuthenin's knee with a consoling pat. "There is no possible way you could comprehend."

"What do you mean?" Legolas disliked the tinge of patronising arrogance that had crept into his Faer-hebron's tone and he physically recoiled from the touch. "How can you say that?"

"I don't mean that the way it sounds."

"That is well for it sounded rather demeaning."

"Ai! Nay, Legolas, saes; do not make hasty judgements," implored Glorfindel, regretting the ill-spoken words. Where Cuthenin had drawn back, he scooted closer. "I just find this difficult. This is not about you at all. I merely reacted to your advances instinctively." No sooner were the words out than he winced and at once raised a hand to stall the expected outburst. Too late.

"What say you? Am I to understand your first instinct to my overtures is to put a stop to them?" Legolas was on his feet, face flushed with fiery indignation that failed to hide the bruised heart beneath it. "This day, this day is as an unending curse and punishment!" he seethed, dodging to get past his host, who had of course jumped up to halt him, and though he surely could have evaded capture, Legolas let Glorfindel stay him.

"Forgive me, Cuthenin; my tongue cannot seem to wait for the right words and blurts out whatever runs through my head first. The problem is that these are things hard to admit, things I don't like to think about." Glorfindel silently murmured a prayer for courage. "It all has to do with the past, I'm afraid, the events that marked my first life. Arwen pointed out long ago how unfair it is to make you responsible for those old fears and failings, and truly I meant to heed her warnings."

"Ah. You discussed this with Lady Arwen at length?" Legolas tensed again, chagrined to imagine the noble Lady's reaction to his exploratory activities.

"Aye, just as you no doubt discussed it with Galdor," Glorfindel pointed out, releasing his clasp on Legolas' arm and folding his arms tight. "She is the closest to family I have and if I can endure the fiery admonitions of your brothers and your father, not to mention your Tirn'wador, you can learn to tolerate my reliance on Arwen's counsel and affection."

"I never meant to imply I was against it." Cuthenin stared in consternation at the return of this combative, defensive manner. He sighed and shook his head. "We should perhaps wait to talk about this. I have no wish to argue with you." He made to go but the Balrog-slayer reached for his elbow again and held fast.

"That is not my wish, either," Glorfindel agreed. "Yet we must find our way through this. I confess I find the amount of cautions, warnings, and outright threats levelled upon me by your family to be daunting. My hope is to be with you forever and I don't want anything to come between us, but the conditions imposed by them and by your religion are hard to bear."

"Yet something has come between us, whether it be your past or my family. What did my brothers say that so easily turned you from me?"

"I have not turned from you. I am just not comfortable with the aggressive way you are conducting this courtship. I am trying to obey all these rules and keep my promises, but you are actively pushing me to fail in both endeavours. Besides, I should be the one initiating each aspect of Faras-uin-Ind," Glorfindel blurted out.

"Aggressive?" Legolas jerked his arm from Glorfindel's grasp. "I've done nothing that fulfils the definition of that word. How is Hwiniad-en-Melethryn (Lover's Dance) aggressive?"

"The lyrics made your intentions explicitly clear," intoned Glorfindel. "Besides, one may be aggressive in a more clandestine, cunning way. There is no use denying it; your goal was to seduce me." The Balrog-slayer turned and marched to the window, seeming to stare out past the panes when truly he was watching Cuthenin's reflection in the heavy glass.

"I was not going to deny it," fumed Legolas, frustrated by these strangely belligerent remarks and charges. "Glorfindel, I only wished to celebrate the first phase of Faras-uin-Ind." He paused, recalling his Tirn'wador's words. If they were true and Glorfindel really hoped he would accept Ant Vinui, then all this fuss and bluster must be some kind of decoy or diversion to keep from discussing whatever was really going on. With measured steps he went to his Faer-hebron, stopping an arm's length away and proffering an uncertain smile as Glorfindel turned to him. "I will, of course, accept your gift." That at last brought a gleam of happiness to the Balrog-slayer's eyes and Legolas took a half-step forward, extending his hand, holding his breath until it was taken into the older warrior's protective hold.

"For that I am glad. I know this makes little sense to you, but I need to be the one deciding when and how we move the courtship along," said Glorfindel, trying again to voice his true fears with little success. Even he could hear the undertone of imperious authority in the words and as expected, Legolas balked.

"Faras-uin-Ind is not a solitary endeavour," he reminded, slipping his hand from its resting place against the Balrog-slayer's palm. "I am part of it, too. Why must I refrain from expressing my delight in our growing bond? You have had no resistance from me to anything you wished, from the first. Why does it displease you for me to take the initiative?"

"Because you know nothing of such intimate activities," Glorfindel improvised, cheeks growing red with both embarrassment and frustration. "I am older and should be the dominant party. I AM the dominant member of this partnership and won't tolerate such forward behaviour." He stood rigid, knowing the way this sounded but unable to stop himself. Arwen had cautioned him to mind how he broached his fears but he couldn't seem to find words that were not contentious with which to do it.

"You are my chosen Faer-hebron," Legolas bridled, a shadow of hurt and anger darkening his features. "You are older and wiser and have far more experience, in love and in life, than have I. Even so, I am not a…a person of lesser value nor unworthy of standing beside you." Unexpectedly and most alarmingly, tears stung his eyes and he had to fight to keep them at bay. "Your words seem to say I am not…that you are ashamed of the feelings between us." He swallowed hard after that, unable to go on and ready to flee. Only the dawning look of horror on Glorfindel's face held him.

"No, no! That is not how I meant it at all, Cuthenin." This was far worse than Glorfindel had imagined and much worse than Arwen had warned. Now his blundering had caused Legolas to think he held him in low esteem. Given the long years enduring the scorn and contempt of others because of his illicit birth, this was especially egregious. "I have let my pride rule my tongue, as it ever has," he mourned. "Please forgive me, I never meant to imply that you are not wondrous to my eyes, or that I am anything but elated to have you as my betrothed, soon to be my mate for all time. Let me try again to explain this," he pleaded, devastated to see the gleam of unshed tears in Cuthenin's eyes and the flinty restraint with which he held them in check. A short nod was the only answer he received and counted it a blessing as he followed the woodland elf back to the settee and sat beside him.

"I cannot pretend that your boldness does not make me uneasy," he began.

"Why are you wary of my advances? I would rather hope that you exalt in my desire for you," Legolas managed, voice subdued and eyes downcast, finding it much easier to examine his fingers where they lay listless in his lap than look upon his intended mate.

"Indeed, so it should be and I am not a small amount ashamed to have this failing," Glorfindel agreed, silently relieved that Cuthenin was no longer peering at him through those distraught and wounded eyes. "Even more so I am mortified by my unseemly words. You have done nothing to earn them. While I thought all this was truly expunged from my soul, my behaviour today proves otherwise. This antagonism stems from long ago, as I began to say and then so cruelly diverged. It is difficult…" he had to pause, desperate to voice his fears in a way that did not implicate Legolas, and inserted his hand between the archer's. At once it was clasped tight and Glorfindel's heart bounded. A glance into Cuthenin's eyes found them wary but expectant.

"Go on," Legolas coaxed.
"Aye. I am not comfortable being the one pursued. There are reasons but let me say what I must for it is best you know now: I have no wish to be claimed by you, dear though you are to me. I must be the one to claim you." At last it was all out and the mighty re-born warrior waited in trepidation for the expected outburst, either of hilarity or ferocity, from the volatile Wood Elf. Instead there was silence; long, painful, unbearably profound, the kind of silence known only in places where one was utterly isolated and truly alone.

"I see," Legolas said grimly, unable to answer with any sort of intelligence for in fact he failed to understand at all. What did it matter which part one played: scabbard or sword? Was the experience not pleasurable either way? His initial experiments with penetration this morning seemed to support that assumption. He hadn't thought of one role as dominant and one submissive, nor had he imagined retaining only one position as his permanent state. Ought they not experience both ways, all ways of sharing this physical expression of their bond? It did not make sense to do otherwise, yet somehow he had to decipher what this was really about, even as Galdor had said.

"Why do you feel like that? It almost sounds as though coupling with me is not to your liking, for you would restrict the manner of our joining to that of partners of opposite gender. Am I a substitute for a female lover?" He knew this could not be true for Glorfindel would never have trouble securing a female for a mate, should he have wished it, yet Legolas had no clue as to the nature of this unexpected condition set upon their bond.

"Nay, you are no stand-in but my true desire," Glorfindel had to smile over this theory, a fleeting, bittersweet expression that faded into intense and solemn remorse, for it was clear he was putting Legolas through an agony of uncertainty and doubt. Cuthenin's willingness to endure this harrowing discussion emboldened him, boosting his determination to visit this place of anguish and regret. He must overcome his resistance to sharing with Legolas and learn to trust the sylvan archer, else their chances for happiness were doomed.

"I was born in Gondolin soon after the hidden enclave was populated. Then, I was more like you: very aware of the disparity between my station and that of others in my House. I was just a minor baronet, hoping to rise in rank through valour in battle, but at the time our people remained concealed and went not to the wars ravaging the surrounding lands." He paused an instant and then plunged ahead. "Even before I came of age, I knew I was fair to see and had caught the eye of many an elf. One in particular that pleased me most."

"Erestor." Legolas interrupted.

"No, not Erestor. Someone else, someone I would have come to love dearly had I listened to my heart instead of my ambition, but he was of even lesser rank than I from a House of lower standing. It had already occurred to me that my allure could be used to secure a higher station. I was drawn to this elf but never considered pursuing him for such a union would offer no advancement. Soon after my majority, Erestor made his desires known. He formally proposed and presented such a flattering offer that I felt I could not refuse. My heart was not encumbered and he was fair, powerful and fair; wedded to him, I would be elevated to a rank far beyond my hopes. I accepted even though I felt nothing for him, assuming those emotions would grow in time.

"Yet he was not unaware of my pecuniary, self-serving reasons and resented it. He never let a day go by without reminding me that he had 'purchased' me, body and soul, for his personal amusement and cared not if I ever felt anything for him. He never forgot to make a point of exaggerating the difference in our social status, ranking me lower than I truly had been. He used sex to reinforce that inequity. I was made to do things I hated, to beg and to abase myself before him. I never knew when he would demand his conjugal rights and he would purposefully wait until I was among my peers in the guard or some other public place. He was blatant and coarse, groping and caressing and kissing me in a manner too familiar to be decent with others so near."

"Nae, Glorfindel," Legolas breathed, his own woes forgotten as this sordid tale unravelled. He settled his hand atop the Balrog-slayer's and gave a firm squeeze, beginning to comprehend how his eager desire to test the dimensions of his Faer-hebron's arousal in an open, public place might have triggered unpleasant memories.

Glorfindel responded with a swift, worried glance, and continued:

"Everyone knew about my situation but of course none dared say anything to my face. The relationship failed to grant me the esteem I thought the lofty title of 'Lord' would provide. I had to work doubly hard to advance within the guard and struggled to become a trusted lieutenant. My status among my peers fell, for I was perceived as trading my self-respect and dignity for mere wealth and position. That was the truth but it was hard for me to accept it, so I blamed Erestor and grew to despise him. I was too proud to ask for him to release me from the false bond; I did not want to give up the position I had paid for with such suffering. He was too proud to admit I would never learn to love him, unwilling to relinquish his prize and watch as I found happiness with another. It was humiliating for both of us.

"Since my restoration to life, I have feared to replay that scenario. I have submitted to no one. I've become accustomed to being the one in control and will not give that up. With Erestor I was never treated as an equal and I will never allow myself to be denigrated like that again. While you didn't intend it and could not have known, your tender advances struck a chord of warning, for your brothers cautioned me that you were not easily swayed from a course of action when once you had made up you mind. After our tryst upon Nan Anduin, your fervour increased ten-fold and a distinctly predatory look filled your eyes whenever they chanced to be upon me, which was almost always. I didn't know what to think, for Inarthan implied you would not accept 'no' should you decide to advance our intimacy. I did not mean to hurt you and should not have spoken so harshly, but I won't be manipulated."

Throughout all the remainder of this long soliloquy Cuthenin remained quiet, taking in the disturbing story with growing alarm. Simultaneously, he felt relieved to understand the cause and upset to be cast in the role of a controlling, sadistic, devious lover. Mixed with those conflicting emotions simmered an unreasonable jealousy for this unknown and unnamed elf who might have - would have - won his Balrog-slayer's heart had events transpired differently. Yet above all swelled an indignant and vindictive wrath against Erestor, who had so abused his beloved's heart and soul, reducing this magnificent and proud warrior to grovelling indignity. Because of him, Glorfindel feared to be mastered and Legolas found his disappointment less than his sympathy. He was eager, but not so much that he would make his beloved suffer to satisfy that hunger. His heart filled with gentle compassion and he resolved on the spot to treat his Faer-hebron with tenderness and patience, winning his trust gradually and his love eternally.

"I was not trying to manipulate you," he insisted softly. "I don't want to take away control and feel no need to achieve mastery at the cost of wounding your soul. My brothers have done me an injustice; I can accept a refusal from you as long as I know it is just a temporary one, as long as our union is merely postponed and not annulled. No doubt their motive was to ensure we adhere to the long courtship, unsure whether sufficient wisdom has accrued to me to know my own heart. It is true that I have been considering whether we should wait out the year or seize the moment and consummate our bond while we have these last few days of peace to share, but never would I force you to agree to that if your heart is not ready.

"Indeed, I will submit to your every whim if that is what will give you ease and bring you comfort. I trust you with my entire being and know you would never abuse that trust. In time, you will come to understand the same: that you can rely upon me to support you in whatever way you most need my love and strength. I yield to you with joy, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, my heart's desire, Faer-hebron nin, and on our bonding day you will claim me for your own. Or you could do so now."

Glorfindel gasped aloud, shocked breathless by this complete surrender, having expected a battle at best and the breaking of their bond at worst. Could it be possible that this incredible creature could so easily relinquish his will? Without realising it, he spoke that thought aloud and was stunned when Cuthenin smiled warmly and leaned close, capturing his face between those elegant, deadly hands.

"It is not against my will to do this. I did not mean to be aggressive; I was only imitating you and what you have done with me. I wanted to give you the same excitement, the same thrill, the same breathless ecstasy; just in my own way, a sylvan way." Glorfindel's cheeks was warm against his palms and the firm lips were so near, yet he feared to attempt any contact. Never had he imagined the stalwart warrior could be this vulnerable and never would he have guessed how appealingly erotic that would be. He was growing hard already and very much wanted to check if his Faer-hebron was experiencing the same sensation, but again he restrained his desire and waited, meeting the blue eyes with hope and encouragement. "And I confess it, I did long to know how you are made and the form your desires assume. I didn't think you would be against it or I wouldn't have dared unsheathe that delectable blade."

The response to this was beyond his expectations, for Glorfindel caught him at the arms again and pulled him close, demanding the very kiss he'd hoped to steal, invading his mouth with proprietary fervour and a rumbling growl.

"This is how it should be between us," he said, breath coming and leaving his lungs through flared nostrils, "how I need it to be. I want you so much, Cuthenin, but I want to be the one to introduce the pleasures lovers share. And it was not wrong for you to be curious."

He dived in and claimed the archer's lips again, relishing the compliant and yielding tongue that graced his with adoring caresses, a soft moan arising from his beloved archer's heart to accompany their amorous duet. The echoing vibrations at once calmed him and eased him into a less demanding state; his mouth migrated to other areas of the exquisite face, sampling the jaw and the neck and the temples and finally the ears, which made Legolas twitch and cry out.

"Ai! Glorfindel! That is wondrous; do not stop."

Paradoxically, the plea initiated the opposite response as the Balrog-slayer met the shining blue eyes with a cocky grin and a smug chuckle. "'Delectable blade'! What an artful accolade, ernilen o gelaidh. (my prince of the trees)" He stood and lifted Cuthenin to his feet, circling strong arms about the slender waist and pulling him hard against his body, making no secret of the growing erection trapped against his thigh. He leaned close to the Wood Elf's ear and whispered: "Would you wish to wield it again?" adding a little thrust of his hips to bump the solid mass against Cuthenin's groin.

"Aye," the breathy word slipped free in the same hushed tone as Legolas nodded vehemently, wishing he could get his hands loose to touch the hidden organ, the heat of which was evident even from beneath the Balrog-slayer's clothes, but Glorfindel had his arms effectively pinned in an encompassing bear-hug. Instead, he waited for his Faer-hebron to pull back far enough to meet his gaze and then swooped forward and stole a kiss of his own.

Part Six

Despite Glorfindel's firm statements of preferring the dominant role, he allowed Cuthenin to freely sample every aspect of his mouth, imitating and repeating whatever moves the archer's impetuous tongue made, and Legolas revelled in the experience. So much so that he failed to realise he was being denuded until cool air caressed his bare chest. Their lips parted as Glorfindel slipped the tunic and shirt off his shoulders.

"Now do as I have done," he said simply, running his hands appreciatively, possessively over Cuthenin's shoulders and down his arms, catching hold of his hands lightly and drawing them up to rest upon his chest. He held Legolas' gaze as the slender fingers quickly, nervously unclasped the fastenings of the uniform tunic and then worked loose the lacing that held closed the silk shirt beneath it.

Then Legolas' vision switched to the body his efforts were uncovering, sliding the garments back and over broad shoulders warm and hard beneath their sheath of resilient skin. He caught his breath; Glorfindel was magnificent to behold, virile and well-formed beyond even the standards of the elves, unmarred by any scar or blemish, boasting a creamy golden caste as if the light of dawn collected round him and could not bear to leave. Consumed with yearning, Legolas could empathise with such fortunate sunlight. Then, unable to resist, he rested his cheek against the muscular chest, listening intently to the steady, powerful beat of the noble heart, smiling in recognition; yes, here was the place where he'd found a sheltering home for his wandering soul. Dearly he wanted to repeat the experience but steeled himself to wait patiently for his Faer-hebron's next move, pressing an impulsive set of lips in the spot where his ear had lain before standing back to meet Glorfindel's eyes with quiet anticipation.

The renowned warrior was astounded and deeply moved by Legolas' simple expression of reverent admiration and desire. Never had he so longed to live up to the expectations that accompanied his fame, wanting to be courageous and bold, wise and worldly, compassionate and passionate, perfect in every respect for Cuthenin deserved no less. He would make this initial unveiling an experience his young mate would remember always. With casual grace and a pleased smile, Glorfindel reached behind him and unfettered his hair, flexing the muscles across his chest, flagrantly tempting Legolas with an invitation he knew the sylvan must refuse having just given over control to his Soul-keeper. The motion drew the archer's eye unfailingly to well-defined pectorals and the small maroon points rising in the sudden exposure to air, though the atmosphere was anything but cool.

"Ah!" Cuthenin exhaled abruptly, took half a step, halted and fell back again, finding it difficult both to breathe and to remain still, as he followed every ripple and swell across Glorfindel's svelte torso. Those mighty hands delved into the luxuriant locks and combed them through, fingers fanning the flaxen mane across his shoulders. Glorfindel tilted his head back and shook it, sending the long tresses behind him in a rich cascade of flowing gold, exposing the long column of his neck and the indentation above his clavicle, the inverted delta miming the symmetry of his battle-hardened build.

Pleased and proud to note the Wood Elf's rapt fascination, Glorfindel wondered if Cuthenin would be able to hold to his word and wait until given leave to explore to his heart's content. A glint of mischief twinkled through the Balrog-slayer's smile; it would be no great offence if Legolas failed. In truth, realising he would be the first, the only person Cuthenin had ever touched in this way raised his desire to have him memorise every plane, curve, and dimple of his body's contours. Glorfindel let his arms fall to his sides and waited, giving a brief nod as Legolas glanced to him.

Cuthenin was not so bold or self-assured as he copied this latest example, for his scars had not faded much over recent days and his body was not formed with the robust grandeur that denoted his Faer-hebron, or indeed most elves. He dropped his head a bit as he unwound the long plait that fell down the centre of his hair, hoping the uniqueness of his painted skin would compensate for the perceived deficit. A sharp spike of fear lanced through him as he wondered how he compared to that unknown and unnamed lost love from Glorfindel's youth. He shut his eyes to force the idea out and when he opened them found his focus centred on his groin and the fullness there, a small damp dot marking the confined tip of his imprisoned penis. From beneath his lowered lashes he flickered his sight over the half-meter of open space between him and his beloved, peering at the corresponding area with avid interest. Having held the heat and hardness of Glorfindel's cock, if only for a mere second or two, his heart leaped in expectant hope of repeating the experience more thoroughly.

Suddenly his Faer-hebron's hand entered the field of view and Legolas startled, catching his breath when the fingers seductively rubbed against the bulge, raising a tremor of sympathetic harmony in its counterpart. Wondering if he was expected to copy that move, also, Cuthenin did, envisioning himself grabbing Glorfindel's hand and pressing it into service to provide the erotic caress. He exhaled a faint whimper and lifted his face to the ceiling as he shook back his loosened mane, the golden strands swaying. Glorfindel's answering smile was both fiery and adoring and rebuilt Legolas' confidence. He reached for the trio of small braids at his temples, swiftly untying each one, and combed his fingers through the kinked and crimped tendrils which refused to lie flat.

"You have hair so fine, Cuthenin, it is like filaments of pure sunshine." These words produced a wide grin and sent a deep flush of pink to the archer's cheeks and ears, a bright light of gratitude and pride kindling his blue eyes. "I have definite plans for how to use it." That initiated a confused and speculative expression that made the Balrog-slayer chuckle; there were so many ways to incorporate such luxuriant tresses during love-making and he was fairly certain Legolas had never before considered even the most obvious ones. He inhaled deeply, letting his nostrils draw in the musky perfume of the young elf's arousal, relishing the distinct, unique aroma, memorising it so thoroughly that he would never be able to think of Legolas without a trace of the scent wafting through the thoughts. He settled his hands at his waist and watched the sharp increase in respiration this initiated in his betrothed.

Cuthenin observed those hands rearrange themselves, one moving to dip just the very tip of an index finger beneath the waist of the leggings, the other lifting only to slither down the Balrog-slayer's chest from breastbone to navel in a slow seductive caress. There the fingers paused to circle the small indentation before lightly traipsing down the fine line of blonde hairs that arose below it and disappeared beneath the pants. Cuthenin found it maddening, wishing those were his fingers instead, or better yet his tongue, and unconsciously licked his lips. The idea consumed him; what did Glorfindel taste like? He lifted his eyes, hungry and yet begging for mercy, to find the Balrog-slayer's intense gaze upon him, studying him with potent desire clear in the handsome countenance.

Recalling that this game required him to copy Glorfindel's every action, Legolas complied, finding his libido heightened dramatically as he soothed his hand over his body and traced the outline of his belly button, for now of course he imagined Glorfindel doing this to him. "Would that it were so," he whispered and laughed self-consciously when his beloved's arched brows revealed that he had spoken aloud. "That your hands would touch me like this," he explained, voice hushed and tinted with ardent yearning as he petted the tight abdomen and slid his fingers under the waist of his pants, not burrowing too far but enough to make Glorfindel's eyes dilate and his breath quicken.

"In time," promised Glorfindel and garnered his love's full attention by briskly undoing the ties of his leggings, boldly pulling them open and pushing them down, revealing himself in one smooth, practised gesture. His shoes proved a momentary glitch as he toed each heel and forced his feet free, but this might rather have been intentional for the movement of his legs caused his exposed genitals to bounce and bob provocatively, and there Legolas' vision was transfixed, mouth open enough to make his breath audible and convert his expression into appreciative gawking. He was drooling mentally if not in reality, and Glorfindel's stance expanded in virile pride.

"Are you pleased?" he queried, meaning to tease but his voice betrayed the insecurity underlying the question. It was apparent even to him the uncertainty in these words and Glorfindel was stunned, used to being confident of his seductive allure, his ability to ensnare any heart he wished. With Cuthenin everything changed, for now it was he whose heart had been bewitched and bound to this lissom young elf of the woods.

"Pleased beyond thought," sighed Legolas, torn from his intent inspection of his betrothed by the note of vulnerability in the humble question. He raised his sight from the elegant column of maroon flesh arising straight as a lance above the soft contours of the hairless sac. How could he not be pleased? Glorfindel was perfect, even as he'd said to Galdor that very first day. "Pleased beyond my dearest fantasy. You are magnificent, Glorfindel. My soul is content while my mind still reels to know we are betrothed, you and I." He smiled to increase the level of reassurance he hoped to impart, awed to think Glorfindel of Gondolin needed confirmation from him, and was gratified to see a more vibrant glow surround the golden warrior. "Yet I would be more pleased to combine sight with touch. Saes, Faer-hebron, let me learn what your body feels like. Let me touch you."

That impassioned request made the Balrog-slayer suck in a sharp breath. "I want that," he hesitated, "but let us both be patient a little while longer." It occurred to him that Legolas had failed to reveal the remainder of his sleek, wiry form and since he had been granted the privilege of command, he employed it. "Remove those, Cuthenin," he said, motioning casually toward the offending leggings. He watched as Legolas hastened to get out of his boots first and suddenly smiled. "Which reminds me, I have your shoes in the bedroom for you left them beside the pond."

"Did I? Thank you," whispered Legolas, rapidly discarding his footgear, heart hammering and desire surging. With speed he didn't know he possessed he unlaced his pants and whipped off the snug garment, tossing it away to proudly display his rosy red cock. His hand reached for it, seeing Glorfindel's eyes focused there, and at once the brilliant gaze lifted to his. As one they took a step forward, each reaching for the other's erection, taking hold and drawing them closer still until they stood pelvis to pelvis, free hands entwining as their mouths sealed tight in a heated kiss that was poignant in its simple unity of heart and soul.

Words failed, plans vanished, thought ceased as pure feeling swept them away in a surge of glorious welcome, a sense of being home, safe, protected, loved, desired. Their hands moved in perfect synchrony and at some point let go only to reconnect, each capturing both shafts together, Legolas' hand overlain by the Balrog-slayer's, the unified grip pumping both florid organs in time to the rising beat of passion's tempest. Kiss merged into kiss, lips sampled chins, cheeks, noses, the tender join where the throat and the jaw connected. Lost in the essential comfort of pleasuring one another, they peaked together, crying out in surprised joy as though they'd forgotten this was the inevitable conclusion, clasped together at the vital juncture, foreheads touching, eyes blind to all but the soaring jubilation of the moment.

With trembling limbs they held each other up, an almost graceless, slouching effort to remain standing as the waves of ecstasy washed them to and fro, consciousness fused, buoyed in this warm and blissful sea. In the aftermath they shifted, closed the gap, sweat-filmed bodies pressed tight, hearts pounding out the same rhythm, respiration gusting the same giddy wonder, each one's head nestled in the crook of the other's shoulder and neck, content and at peace.

Joined in spirit, they had no need for words as thought and feeling were freely exchanged, each acknowledging the wonder of such complete communion and simultaneously yearning to take it further, to experience the ultimate expression of their unique bond. Yet in this state nothing was hidden and so quite suddenly the question resurfaced: Legolas eager to ratify their bond for all eternity, Glorfindel disposed to keep to his word and wait out the full year. His reasons could not be shielded from Legolas' either and these produced a sad and resigned sigh from Cuthenin. He eased back from Glorfindel's arms enough to stand straight and gaze into the Balrog-slayer's eyes.

"You do not trust me," he whispered mournfully, but there was no anger in the words and his hurt was tempered by the knowledge of how deep Glorfindel's fears ran on this topic. His Faer-hebron was terrified to commit his heart again only to learn it was a mistake. "Not yet, at least, but you will. I will prove myself to you, Glorfindel. I, too, want our joining to be free of any doubt or hindrance from the past."

"Ah, Cuthenin, you know the guilt I suffer to have failed you in this."

"You haven't failed," insisted Legolas. "Are we not betrothed? Have you not tendered Ant Vinui to me? My impatience can be tempered, my disappointment borne." He smirked as he cast his gaze up and down the fine physique. "We can indulge as we have just now, though it is somewhat messy," he teased, chasing his finger through the smear of their combined ejaculate coating Glorfindel's belly. Then suddenly his heart lurched and he grew serious in wondrous amazement. "Ai Valar," he whispered. This was the first time he'd seen and touched an aroused male, the first time he'd witnessed any one's passionate orgasm besides his own. Hesitantly he stepped closer, laying his palms against the firm pectorals, sliding until his hands rode over the rigid nubs of the Balrog-slayer's nipples. They were hot and hard and rose higher as he uncovered them.

Fascinated, he caressed them with his thumbs, pressing down so that they popped up dark and tempting when his fingers passed. Without stopping to think he leaned low and licked one, moaning at the salty taste and the heat beneath his tongue, and dared to do the same to the other. A heavy hand descended upon his head and a deeply gratified groan rumbled up from Glorfindel's belly. He peered up and smiled, exhilarated to know this pleased his betrothed, and settled his lips around the choice bit of flesh. The sensation as it rolled against his tongue was like nothing else and feeling the increase in Glorfindel's heartbeat excited him. Cock filling rapidly, he began a thorough exploration of the warrior's body, licking, tasting, gently trying the firmness of the flesh with his teeth, noting every reaction and quickly deciphering what was pleasurable for Glorfindel and what was merely tolerable because it was Legolas doing it.

His efforts took him in a winding spiral as he moved around the upright form, caressing and soothing and sampling every millimetre of naked skin. He licked a trail from the nape of the warrior's neck to the base of the spine, kissing the dimples that marked the joint of back and arse, stopping at the taut mounds and moving back up, giving special attention to the small brand of his seal upon Glorfindel's side. Ribs were grazed, underarms nuzzled, ears lapped, their whorls mapped, elbows pinched, which made Glorfindel snicker and Legolas shrug, until he was again in front and slowly dropped to his knees, hands coming to rest firmly on tight round buttocks, and he was at eye level with the proof of his Faer-hebron's desire for him.

The Balrog-slayer's cock was hard and dark and pointed forward, the scent of it pungent with the recent release still coating the tight, hot skin. Legolas could not deny his curiosity; he'd heard much talk of the exquisite pleasure wrought by fellatio and opened his lips, fitting them over the bluntly pointed head and running his tongue over the smooth, sensitive glans. Immediately a loud cry escaped Glorfindel and the penis jumped and slid deeper inside only to withdraw and then plunge in even farther. He nearly gagged and at once Glorfindel groaned a complaint and pulled out with a soft pop, staggering back as he grabbed his cock.

"Ai, Legolas, you mustn't, beloved, for I have not sufficient will to stop you should this go further." His words were rushed and gasping and his eyes burned with both hunger and regret as they met the Wood Elf's.

Reluctantly, Cuthenin got to his feet, a sheepish apology on his lips that never found air to give it voice for Glorfindel at once pounced, arms trapping him, mouth sealing over any outcry as he kissed the sylvan with forceful stabs of his rigid tongue, obviously doing with the oral organ that action prohibited to his penis. Once more their bodies were crushed together groin to groin and Glorfindel began to thrust against the archer's slender erection, relishing the slippery friction where his cock rubbed against Cuthenin's in the groove between hip and abdomen, balls tingling when they brushed the corresponding set clustered at the root of Legolas' shaft. One of the Balrog-slayer's hands migrated down and around to knead and squeeze a supple rear, gripping the taut flesh and using it to slam Legolas hard against him on the next thrust, all the while spearing that hot, wet cavity from which muffled and stifled cries failed to escape.

His potent lunges propelled them in jags a few steps until the seat of the sofa met the back of Legolas' knees and the next shove sent them sprawling across the furniture, legs and cocks tangled in an excruciatingly erotic knot, the Balrog-slayer atop the woodland archer, still pivoting against the body captive beneath him. Their mouths were no longer locked but their eyes were, Glorfindel's afire with hunger and brilliant with exaltation over his mastery of his mate; Legolas stunned by the power and strength of the elf rocking against him, dazzled by the searing lashes of delicious friction whipping through his cock, awed by the idea that surely he was going to be mounted and claimed any second. Even as a spark of panic flared within his gut, a hand reached under his thigh and pulled it aside, making access easier, and then fingers softly pressed against his anus.
"Nae, Legolas, would that I had not made that promise," Glorfindel whispered and on the next thrust they were shoved inside, two at once, burrowing quickly toward Cuthenin's centre and even as the burning pain registered in his brain it was supplanted by a bright explosion of glorious pleasure.

"Glorfindel!"

He didn't realise he cried out, wriggling under the heavy, pounding weight as the fingers probed him, fucking him just as the massive cock would surely be doing next. Suddenly the weight lifted from his chest; Glorfindel shifted and sat beside him, watching the results of his fingers' efforts with avid delight.

"Ah Elbereth, you like it well," he smiled and jabbed with greater force, stroking the small hump with relentless pressure, devouring the Wood Elf's writhing attempts to push them deeper. He bent over the recumbent form and whispered in a blood red ear. "You want it, need it. But for that promise I would breach you, sheathe my hot, hard cock to the balls, stretch you to fit me, and fuck you so hard, make you spill and scream my name, make you mine." He paused to breathe and lick the tantalising ear, biting it so that Legolas whimpered and squirmed. He trailed his lips down the elegant throat, over the clavicle, on to the the painted pectoral and its dark red hub. Generously he lapped it, flicking the distended point with his tongue, watching Legolas arch toward his mouth. "Is this good for you?" the words blew over the wet nipple and Legolas' body shuddered from head to naked toes.

"Aye," he whispered, a breathless affirmation and a desperate plea. "Saes, saes."

Then Glorfindel's mouth was on him, licking and kissing and tasting of his lips, his ears, his neck, his chest, and all the while the doubled digits pierced and penetrated, the sensations startling and confusing. The intruding flesh pumped in and out of his arse, striking him in the hidden gland perfectly every time. Fingers or an erect penis? Was Glorfindel fucking him? Every part of his body capable of erotic sense was electrified, the points of his ears tingling, nipples thudding with a tight, achy pulse, the tip of his penis so full and distended and ready to burst, alive with jagged streaks of pure delight that disrupted his thoughts. Legolas felt his body coiling for an orgasm of unprecedented proportions.

"Are you…are we…Glorfindel… you're inside me?"

"Nay. You'll know it when I take you. This is nothing, a shadow," he whispered, spellbound as he watched the erotic display of Legolas slowly coming undone, eager to see the rigid shaft convulse and expel its bitter nectar, hungry to see the Wood Elf shaken to his core. He reached out and grabbed the elf's erection, fisting the penis tight and squeezing as he stroked in time with his delving digits. "Only my fingers inside you now, but Oh! what pleasure that will be when I take what is mine, spending my seed deep within you, driving you over the edge. Ai! You're so close, Cuthenin; let go! Let go."

It was a command he couldn't disobey even had he wished it, but Legolas was beyond any such rational considerations and on the next stroke he came to a shuddering, fulminating crescendo of song and light and love and Glorfindel, in him, fingers buried up his arse pressing that vital button; on him, hand milking his erupting penis; beside him, lips kissing his gaping and gasping mouth, whispering of love and pride in his ringing ears, daintily nibbling his tight, red nipples. He expelled semen and clear fluid and then a warm golden spurt followed, for Cuthenin was so overwhelmed that his bladder involuntarily emptied, extending the unbelievable experience a little longer. It seemed an eternity of wingless flight, of soaring free of mind and body, drifting on warm currents of pleasure unnamed and indescribable, and when it ended it left him unconscious, a limp, debauched heap draped over Glorfindel's sofa, legs spread wide, head lolling off the edge, one arm slung over the back of the seat.

The Balrog-slayer could not have been more pleased, following quickly after his young mate's explosive culmination, letting his orgasm overtake him as the sight of the pale yellow stream greeted him, its acrid scent intoxicating in a way Glorfindel had never considered it could be. Leaving his hands buried inside Legolas he primed his cock and pumped into the grip, going up on one knee to lean forward and spill his seed over the senseless elf. Seeing the spatter of white flecks hit the flushed cheeks, chest, and stomach spurred him to even greater intensity of delirious pleasure and he groaned as his softening penis suddenly hardened in his hand and he continued pumping, coaxing another spurt of seed from its minute mouth. Panting for air, he collapsed back onto the sofa and surveyed the scene, well pleased and proud of the glorious mess to which he'd reduced Legolas, already planning what games to play with him next, for it was abundantly clear the young elf's potential for startlingly erotic responses was immeasurable.

Glorfindel grinned and gently flexed his fingers, still buried inside Cuthenin, and relished the jolt that rattled through the archer, bringing him back to consciousness with a great gulp of a gasp as he called his Faer-hebron's name. The Balrog-slayer shushed him and stroked the tender spot, catching his breath as Legolas drew his knees in and laid them wide apart, exposing himself, eyes pleading, for pity of punishment he couldn't tell and for the moment did not care. Glorfindel slowly pulled the fingers down the tight, cramped canal and just when it seemed he would withdraw them completely, thrust them in again just as slowly, ending with another tickle at the swollen gland.

"Ah! Glorfindel!" Legolas wailed, grabbing at the back of the sofa for support as he weathered the waves of sensation, something between agony and delicious solace. He stared, mesmerised by the devouring beryl, eyes that noted every twitch and tremor his body made with obscene relish. The fingers probed him again and the Balrog-slayer spoke.

"That was magnificent, Cuthenin. Watching you surrender to my touch was almost as wondrous as covering you in my essence," he said, voice husky and edged in smut though he had yet to lap up any of the piquant residue of their mutual gratification. He probed the archer's secret spot and grinned when Legolas strained both against it and into it. "I'm going to make you come again, but I have a feeling it will take quite some time before there's anything to spill. If I recall our instructions from Galdor correctly, the only thing that cannot go in here," he made another deep thrust that had Cuthenin trembling and made him moan, "is my cock. As long as I do not spill in you, nothing else is forbidden. Nothing."

The way he pronounced the word turned it into a seductive promise, or a titillating threat, but either way Legolas felt his penis hardening under the relentless stimulation as the fingers retreated and re-entered him so sluggishly, infiltrating by degrees, penetrating him until the bony knuckles of Glorfindel's hand dug into his flesh. Gently he petted the dear, tender place inside that yielded a feeling that was some kind of magic elixir or dark spell, potent wine or bitter poison, holy incense or heady aphrodisiac. He wanted it to stop; he needed it to continue unending for ever more.

"Ai! What have you done to me?" he cried, voice breaking as the relentless hand stimulated him, turning his gut to jelly and his mind to a thousand buzzing stars. Urgently he tried to press down as they retreated, trying to keep them there in that sensitive place, trying to expel them from his body. "Don't stop," he gasped, seeing concern flicker through Glorfindel's eyes as the fingers momentarily faltered.

A triumphant grin replaced the worried look and the digits plowed in, plunging hard and landing such a forceful jab at the prostate that Legolas' whole body shook and he was momentarily blinded by the streaks of brilliance lancing through his nerves. His back arched off the cushions, his head bent back, his legs struggled to fly wider still, his nipples protruded, thrust forward in hopes of finding something to suckle them, and his cock stood up straight as an arrow, supported by the emptied testes tucked tight under the rejuvenated root.

"Ai Cuthenin," Glorfindel breathed, awestruck with this vision of wanton submission. He leaned over the jutting cock and kissed it, a sweet lingering kiss that ended with a lavish lick at the dry slit, fingering the internal gland softly at the same time. Legolas screamed, an unintelligible cry that might have been his name but it really didn't matter.

"Have pity!" Legolas gasped out, watching as his Faer-hebron shifted, advancing closer to his chest, pausing to rub his insides again and enjoy the twitching lament this raised before closing in on the heart spiral. "Have mercy, Tawar nin beria, have me!"

Legolas was near tears as the mouth settled on his nipple and sucked, the tongue dancing over the sensitised flesh as suction drew it in and held it bound. He watched as Glorfindel pulled back, retaining the suction as long as possible and adding his teeth to the procedure. Frantically Legolas leaned up into the delectable pain, never having imagined anything could feel so good and so bad simultaneously. He watched as the skin stretched, escalating the searing, tingling pleasure until the aureole eased out, indistinguishable from Glorfindel's ruby lips at first, and then the whole node at last popped free, bouncing back wet and rigid. Cuthenin groaned, writhing as the fingers stroked him and Glorfindel did the same to its twin.

The Balrog-slayer experienced his first disappointment of the afternoon when he discovered he could not reach Cuthenin's ears while he had his fingers inside him, at least not with the archer in this despoiled and debauched position, and that he had no desire to alter. The only answer was to find a substitute for his fingers and while he ran through a long list of items he could use, Glorfindel began to clean off some of the fluids smeared over the slender body, savouring especially the sharp taste of the urine, wondering if Legolas was aware of how far he'd fallen, how much he'd surrendered. Not wanting anything to make such complete collapse rare, he decided to keep quiet about it until he devised the right way to compliment and praise Cuthenin, for truly Glorfindel was impressed and no little bit proud of having elicited such total loss of control.

"Glorfindel, saes, I can't…" Legolas moaned, caught between the delight these attentions invoked and the unendurable stress and tension of being ever on this narrow edge, too close to orgasm to think of anything else, too far to be comforted by the relentless stimulation. He raised frantic eyes to Glorfindel, not knowing how to express this, unable to find words in his state of elevated arousal. "Saes," he wailed, bearing down on the digits that had just stroked him again.

Glorfindel heard the desperation in those tones and realised he had perhaps pushed things too far. Legolas was wound so tightly he was no longer enjoying the experience. At once guilt flooded every thought and he chastised himself; this was not the way to train his mate and would serve only to make Legolas wary of future experiments in penetration. He deemed the time ripe to ease the sylvan down to a calmer mood yet to leave him in so excited a condition would likely make him testy and sullen. The only way to avoid this ill-humour was to take Cuthenin back to the heights of release as quickly as possible. Eagerly, Glorfindel took hold of the rigid pole projecting from the crux of the far-flung legs.

"Nín anirad-en-ind, (My Heart's Desire) do not neglect me so," he whispered plaintively, once more rising to his knees on the sofa, shuffling closer so that his cock was within arm's reach of the prone elf. As he spoke, he began stroking the shaft within his grip more quickly. "I would come with you."

As he'd known it would, this plea for attention was instantly answered and a warm, firm fist encircled his erection, making him groan and buck into the touch. Yet the greater goal was not merely to assure his pleasure, too; Glorfindel rightly concluded that forcing Legolas to focus beyond his somatic responses would enable him to relax and enjoy the activity again.

"Valar, Glorfindel, you feel so…" Legolas truly had no adjectives sufficient to render this description. His Faer-hebron was well endowed both in length and girth and the balls at the base of the shaft were equally impressive, swaying as he moved into the steady beat of Cuthenin's hand, slapping lightly against it. Impulsively he let go and palmed the smooth sac, tenderly squeezing the hidden glands, and immediately the Balrog-slayer let out a roar of surprise and delight. At the same time, his fingers zeroed in on Legolas' prostate and wrung a shout from the archer. Before Legolas could catch his breath, Glorfindel's tongue invaded his parted lips and kissed him thoroughly. They parted with a soft sucking sound, faces transformed into smiles as the joint effort to bring them to completion escalated.

"Tell me," Glorfindel panted.

"What?"

"What were you going to say?" he asked, eyes glinting with roguish devilment. "About the cock you are so masterfully teasing." He leaned in for another kiss, half-chuckling, half-moaning, for Legolas repeated the careful palpation of his scrotum.

"I am not teasing it," insisted Legolas."

"But will you not tell me?" Glorfindel thrust forcefully into the compelling grip, watching the penis slide through the hole made by the archer's deadly fingers. "Tell me," he whispered.

"I was going to say only that you are magnificent," sighed Legolas once his mind cleared from the searing jolt of plunging fingers, which were now keeping time with the rhythm of his hand.

"Only that?" Mock disappointment cloaked the words and Glorfindel lifted baleful eyes.

"Nay," he breathed, a sharp gasp punctuating the word as the Balrog-slayer's thumb caressed the glans of his penis. He imitated the gesture and felt the bulging organ twitch in his grip. "Potent. Magnificently potent." He groaned in an agony of delicious sensation as Glorfindel simultaneously stroked his core, squeezed his cock, and daintily licked at his nipples. "I want to see it explode," he managed several panting breaths later. This being his first time sharing such intimate converse with his Faer-hebron, Legolas was unprepared for the effect of these words. His wish was granted; the dark red tip suddenly disgorging a thick clot of white semen which fell with a heavy splat upon his navel, the sound covered by the exultant cry from Glorfindel's lungs as he rocked forward and collapsed atop Legolas.

Stunned for a second, Legolas slowly felt his heart expand in a new emotion comprised of pride and nurturing love, ecstatic to have brought about so complete a loss of composure and obvious pleasure, as well as having learned an important point: Glorfindel was very receptive to banter of a lewd and lascivious nature whilst engaged in love-making. Legolas grinned, letting go of the sofa to caress the head bowed against his chest, murmuring silly endearments to his beloved, not caring in the least that he was still hard and horny with those inexorable fingers buried inside him.

Glorfindel was too dazzled by the experience to remember at first that the entire purpose of distracting Legolas had been to ease him into orgasm. He simply lay still and shivered, transported on fleet wings of desire to regions of existence only visited when he was with Cuthenin. That thought alone made it through the cresting waves of pleasure, for while he had known many lovers and enjoyed them all, this was the first time Glorfindel had experienced release with the companion of his heart and soul. It was enough to bring him perilously near tears until he became cognisant of the hard nub of a pert nipple poking him in the cheek. It was the simplest move to turn his head and devour it. Legolas snatched at his hair and squawked out an unintelligible exclamation, wiggling under the stimulation without much success, weighted down as he was.

Energised and enervated, Glorfindel lifted himself from the prone body, keeping hold of the tender flesh until the last possible moment, relishing the continuous cries of delight from Legolas, and once more took up the archer's cock. Eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction, Glorfindel sat back and pumped it for all he was worth, pressing the inner zone of erotic fulfilment repeatedly, his fingers cramped and going numb from the incessant compression imposed by the surrounding walls of muscle. He watched as Legolas grunted and strained, tensing under the dual assault, knowing it would not take long now, wondering whether there would be anything to expel when the moment of climax came.

"Ai Valar, you are beautiful like this, Legolas," he whispered, enthralled by the sight. "Come for me, Cuthenin; come for me now."

As before, his command was obeyed and a harsh gasp stole the air from Legolas' lungs as his body convulsed, going stiff and motionless as the sudden fire of a dry orgasm raced through him, a hot and searing sensation that was almost painful as his muscles rippled and rocked in the effort to pump out fluid it did not have. Mercifully, Glorfindel stopped tickling his insides and let him get through it, the fingers finally easing out of him as the tight grip around his penis relented. A burst of panic filled him; he'd become so used to the fulness that all at once he felt empty and abandoned. He called for his Faer-hebron in despair and longing and the cry was answered at once. As soon as his hands were free, Glorfindel reached for him and gathered him up, cradling him close against his heart, rocking him to and fro.

"Beloved," he spoke, the tone half-fearful. "Carnal intercourse or not, I think this bond is sealed."

Legolas was too happy and too exhausted to do more than nod his affirmation against the broad, warm chest where his cheek rested, content to listen to the mighty heart where his spirit was nestled, safe and secure.

Part Seven

They were in the tub when the rude disturbance interrupted the necessary ablutions.
Nearing its close, the day had taken a decided turn for the better, Legolas reflected, a pleased smile upon his lips and a soft sigh in his soul. He'd fallen into reverie in Glorfindel's arms, the two of them curled around one another on the sofa, and there he'd rested in the snuggest, warmest corner of his Faer-hebron's soul, rebuilding his strength and renewing his stamina. The slow emergence into alert and wakeful consciousness was accompanied by a soft and gentle song of love and he found himself smiling, gazing into those amazing beryl eyes. Kisses were exchanged and then he was gathered up as Glorfindel rose, carried off into areas of the Balrog-slayer's house Legolas had never visited. They passed through the sleeping chamber with its neatly made bed, the mattress beckoning them to come and reduce it to complete deshabille, but they resisted temptation and went on through another hallway to the bathing room.

Here they soaked and washed one another until Legolas' obvious discomfort was too much for Glorfindel. He made Legolas a fresh new bath with steaming water, rejuvenating herbs, and essential oils, the fluid shallow so to concentrate the effective properties of the healing ingredients. Back into the tub he put the woodland warrior and stood back to survey the scene, unable to hide his growing excitement. He hurried to gather the remaining supplies he needed and climbed in, watching the water slosh over the enticing figure of his betrothed and wishing he could be like the liquid which surrounded, enveloped, lapped, caressed, soothed, and seeped inside the Wood Elf's body.
Cuthenin reclined on the floor of the half-filled basin, braced up, knees bent and arms locked behind him. He was panting lightly and let his head fall back, slowly leaning down onto his elbows so that his hair floated on the water's surface and his nipples pointed to the ceiling while between his legs everything was on open display. The cock projected just its head above the water line while the balls rose to bob around its base, revealing the raw and inflamed hole. Into it Glorfindel slid the long wooden handle of his back-scrubbing sponge, the implement well greased with a soothing lotion designed to promote rapid healing of bruises and abrasions, both of which Cuthenin had sustained during their adventurous experiment in sexual stimulation permitted by the precepts of Faras-uin-Ind.

Of course, if the tool just happened to reach a certain spot and gently massage it, there was nothing Glorfindel could do about that. In fact, the Balrog-slayer was determined to coat every inch of Legolas' abused anal canal with the healing salve, filled with regret to have invaded that virgin channel with dry fingers, two at once, and then rammed them with repeated force against the sensitive internal gland. Not to mention that the ridge of his knuckles had punched Cuthenin's rear end with every intrusive thrust. It would be neither easy nor comfortable for him to remain seated at the Fellowship dinner that night. To make up for his thoughtless deed and to ensure Legolas' discomfort was minimised as much as possible, he worked the handle slowly it in and out, swirled and turned it, removed it to reapply the ointment, inserted it at a different angle, wiggled it up and down and in general fucked Legolas with it as thoroughly as he knew how.

"Ai, Glorfindel," Legolas cooed, shuddering as the slim rod tap-tap-tapped at his prostate, in and out, out and in.

"Like that, do you?" smirked the Balrog-slayer, giving the back-scrubber a twisting thrust on the next move, fascinated by the way the puckered entrance had sealed around it and fought to keep it inside, the red rim alternately protruding when he drew it out and folding back inside itself when he reinserted the wooden dowel. Never had he used the cleansing implement in this manner and doubted he would ever be able to look at it without growing hard and needing to masturbate, this image of Legolas seared upon his brain as he pumped. Indeed, right on cue the Wood Elf groaned and strained forward, trying to take more of it in, and Glorfindel obliged, easing it deeper, sawing it briefly against the internal swell.

"Valar!" Legolas shouted, gasping for air, wishing he could grab his cock and pound it into glorious, spurting submission. He raised his head with difficulty, for Glorfindel probed him again more deeply, working the hard stick in a quick circle, the motion feeling like he was being reamed and bored, fitted with a new hole, one ready to accept the Balrog-slayer's cock whensoever he chose to give it to him. "Oh, I'm ready now," he moaned in heated yearning, peering at his ramrod rigid penis where it quivered between his legs. "Saes, Glorfindel, I want you, need you."

"Nay, Legolas, nay," Glorfindel whispered, almost salivating as he watched, stroking his erection rapidly while he teased his betrothed closer to orgasm. He glanced at the head of the shaft rearing out of the water, hungry to see it shoot off, to hear Cuthenin scream his name and beg for more. He pulled the dowel almost all the way out and then shoved it back its entire length, which he had to admit was longer than his organ even at its most distended, and thrilled to see the reaction, for Legolas did scream, jerking and pulling his legs right up out of the water as he curled onto his back, head thrown back and throat exposed, panting through gaping lips, blue eyes hidden behind lids sealed into creases. Surely the next plunge would send him over the edge even though no other part of his body had been touched since the 'treatment' began. Before he could conclude the therapy, an abrasive staccato of banging and rapping arose from the parlour.

"Glorfindel!" a muffled voice drifted to them, the anger and volume with which the name was shouted evident to both bathers. They shared a surprised and aggrieved look upon recognising the voice.

"Nae, do NOT answer," demanded Legolas, frantic to experience his third climax of the day, a personal best, wriggling his bottom to secure a firmer grip on the elusive tool which seemed ever to want to slip away, just as it was now. "Glorfindel, don't!"

"What in Mordor does he want?" complained Glorfindel, thrusting the handle back briskly and smiling as Legolas nearly came up off the floor of the basin, his shout certainly loud enough for Erestor to hear it. He eased the back-scrubber out to what could only be described as a sob. Quickly he coated it with the thick salve and inserted it again, gasping when Legolas howled, the cry feral and harsh. There he held it fixed, watching the tremors racing through Cuthenin's body as he strained to draw it in, to get it to move. "Ai, you are almost there, aren't you?" At last he shoved the handle deeper and touched on the tender spot, thrilled by the idea of the seneschal being an auditory witness to his command of the young elf, knowing the Noldorin Lord would assume he was fucking Legolas.

"Yes! Valar, I need…"

"Glorfindel, I need to speak with you! It is important!" the strident tones of the seneschal's words could not hide the lurid fascination he felt, knowing what was going on, or at least assuming he did. Erestor simultaneously wanted to interrupt this erotic encounter and hear it come to conclusion. More than once, he'd considered approaching Glorfindel about sharing the Wood Elf, thinking he could keep his beloved if he allowed the sylvan archer into their bed to be shared between them.

"I think I must go and see what this is about," suggested Glorfindel, ramming the tool home with almost vicious force. Again a tremendous shout left Cuthenin's lungs and he struggled in the throes of the sensation. "We'll have to stop for now." Glorfindel started retracting the dowel, hoping the reaction would be as he imagined.

It was.

"No! Don't you dare stop, Glorfindel," panted Legolas, awkwardly trying to follow the disappearing rod, sloshing water everywhere as he shimmied in the tub. "Finish me!"

"Legolas, if I do that Erestor will hear everything. Do you want that?" He whispered, sliding the scrubber against the prostate more gently, wiggling it around for good measure. Legolas' cock was distended and dark, seeping a trickle of clear fluid from its tiny orifice. As he watched, a drop welled up and flowed over the glans, draining into the tub in a delicate dendritic spiral.

"I will not be ignored, Glorfindel! Nor will I be unjustly accused and your precious sylvan sylph will answer for it!" From outside, Erestor pounded harder on the door, hoping to get inside and witness in fact what his imagination presented.

"No, I don't want that; he's vile," wailed Legolas and the next second screamed as the slender pole jabbed at him so sweetly once more. "Oh, please, touch me, Glorfindel, make me come."

"I think it would be better to leave it inside you while I deal with Erestor. When I come back, I'll resume the treatment, all right?"

"Answer me, Glorfindel!"

"Valar, Glorfindel, don't leave me like this!"

"As you wish," he crooned, so hard himself now that he could stand no more. He plunged the handle in and out rapidly, deeply, vigourously so that Cuthenin bucked in the water and cried a continuous stream of unintelligible expletives, going silent and freezing as the moment came, gulping in a huge breath as his back bent in a lovely arch and his legs parted wider in a spasm of ecstasy. The air came back out in a howl of pure delight as the ruby red cock spat a trickle of seed into the savagely crashing bath water. Before the glorious experience dulled, the Balrog-slayer gave the handle a few more thrusts just to take Legolas higher and could not suppress his own eruption, watching the way the muscles rippled and rolled across his betrothed's body as the sensation washed through him.

"Ah, Legolas, nín orthoradron lend (my sweet conqueror)," he groaned, lurching forward until his spurting cock rested atop Cuthenin's deflating one, the resultant ribbons of seed twisting and slithering over his belly to join the archer's expended essence.

For several minutes there was only silence, within and without the house, save for the laboured efforts the lovers required to meet their bodies' need for oxygen.

"That was amazing," sighed Legolas, shivering in the residual rivulets of glorious gratification. Then he giggled. "Orthoradron lend?"

"Aye," said Glorfindel, defensively sheepish, not having realised he'd actually voiced that resounding thought, and forced himself upright again. With care he eased out the long-handled stick. "Well, such mastery of the heart is not so difficult to bear after all."

Into this gentle dialogue the knocking on the door resumed, the sound now muted and mournful, and the voice that joined was no longer demanding or insistent. "Glorfindel, please, I would not come here if the cause was unimportant. My integrity and my very career are at risk because of these charges."

"What is he talking about?" Glorfindel dreaded to even ask, certain whatever was going on would spoil the wondrous accord just developed between him and Legolas. Besides, he was not prepared to discuss how exciting the idea of having their love-making observed by Erestor had been.

"I have not made any charges," insisted Legolas, pulling himself into a sitting position, unable to hide the wince as his much used rear throbbed in protest. "Tirn'wador is taking care of it. Someone stole your gift from my room and placed it in Boromir's." He raised a hand to stall the inevitable outburst gathering in Glorfindel's eyes. "Along with the traditional box, this person left a scroll to make sure Boromir knew whose property he held in his possession. My name, rank, and lineage were clearly defined. He scoured the Last Homely House seeking for 'Ernil Legolas of the Woodland Realm'. Everyone in the valley knows."

Glorfindel was already out of the tub, snatching up a towel and stomping into the bedroom, muttering curses under his breath as he went. He did not wait to find clothes, pulling on a robe and cinching it at the waist with a vicious flourish. Motion caught his notice and he glanced over to find Legolas peering wide-eyed through the bathroom door, no doubt wondering if the Balrog-slayer was about to lose his temper and what would happen if he did.
"You'd best remain soaking until I return; you'll be sore tonight for certain otherwise. I'll handle Erestor," he commanded. Not waiting for confirmation, he strode from the room, robe billowing in his wake.

Legolas was not about to miss this and trotted with stilted steps to the prominent wardrobe rummaging amid the garments for one of Glorfindel's tunics and belting this around his slight frame. All his clothes were scattered on the floor of the sitting room but he could not deny a certain smug satisfaction over that, knowing Erestor would see the horrific mess they'd left there and understand its cause. To drive the point home and solidify his claim on Glorfindel's heart, he would go forth just like this: still wet, still flushed from his release, genitals barely covered by the tunic that just reached his thighs. Maybe he would have to bend down to reclaim his garments; maybe he would let Glorfindel pick them up and hand them to him to prevent it.

Smiling over the look certain to cross the haughty seneschal's face, he moved to the mirror on the dresser to fiddle with his hair but a sight reflected there stole his attention. As promised, his shoes were here, settled toe first just under the edge of Glorfindel's bed right next to a pair of dark blue velvet slippers embroidered in silver thread. Seeing them there, as though they belonged, as though they were accustomed to resting here in this room, made his heart swell up and turn over in the sweetest kind of aching longing he had ever known. He let them stay and padded off down the hallway barefoot, halting just outside the parlour where the former lovers were already arguing.

"I should not have disturbed you," Erestor said quietly, the pain in his voice evident.

"Yet here you are," answered Glorfindel, annoyance and undeniable gloating pride evident in his. "Say what you must; Legolas has already informed me he hasn't made any complaint against you."

"Galdor has. I came to tell you I am not involved in this scheme. I have held to my promise to let Legolas be. When I give my word, it is as the will of Manwë. You know this about me."

"So I have long believed," sniffed Glorfindel, "yet few were aware of Legolas' situation in Thranduil's family. How do you explain it?"

"I cannot. Lord Elrond is interrogating the servants. He hopes to find someone who will indict me and I fear the true miscreant may do just that to cover his or her own transgressions."

"It is unlikely anyone else would care so much to cause Cuthenin this anguish. I know not why you sought me out; there is nothing I can do to prevent someone from speaking against you."

"You could speak for me when that time comes," pleaded Erestor. "Your support would mean everything, the difference between permanent banishment from my home and only a protracted, unpleasant stay among Gildor's roaming outcasts."

"You expect me to plead your case?" Glorfindel's brash laugh echoed through the room. "If this fate befalls you, can you deny you have earned it?"

"I do deny it!" whined Erestor. "I swear I had nothing to do with it."

"Even so, your sins are many, especially against me. I will not intercede for you, Erestor of Imladris. Go; I will hear no more." Glorfindel escorted him out, eager to return to Legolas and console him over this new vexation, only to enter the corridor and find his beloved Wood Elf leaning against the wall beside the threshold, head bowed upon the arm that supported him there. "Cuthenin? Do not be upset, Elrond will punish him, as you surely heard."

"Aye, I did and thought I would be glad about it, but somehow I feel terrible," admitted Legolas, lifting confused eyes to Glorfindel's. "Faer-hebron, I believe him."

"He is clever and well-versed in the art of inspiring others to believe in him," groused Glorfindel, taking Cuthenin by the arm and leading him to the bedroom, examining his garb with amusement. "You were coming in there to boast and make your claim abundantly clear," he said, feeling very proud and pleased by that notion, but Legolas' gloomy features clouded with guilty remorse.

"I was. What cruelty is in me to do that? He has repented his early mistreatment and while that elf I would like to beat into unconsciousness for the wrongs he did you, he is no longer here. Just as you are changed and renewed, Erestor has finally awakened to a new self also. His heart, however, has not forgotten you. I pity him now and want no part of hurting him further."

"How can you name yourself cruel and say these things?" Glorfindel wondered, surprised by the wisdom and compassion in the younger elf. "You shame me, for I was indeed pleased to lead him to the place where our bond was sealed. Ai! It did cause him pain to be there and I gloated over it. Cuthenin, you're betrothed to a loathsome ogre of an elf."

"What are we to do about him? I don't want him to suffer more; the heartache is sufficient for he is grieving. Is it not enough that his pining may bring him to fading?"

"Aye it is. We should see Galdor and Elrond and speak in Erestor's behalf."
So saying, the two collected their garments, dressed, and left the house together. Scarcely had they gone ten steps when they encountered Gimli, the dwarf lurking about near the hedges fronting Glorfindel's property. Coming upon him was clearly a surprise to the elves, for he had remained silent in his vigil and shorter stature ensured invisibility until the Balrog-slayer opened the gate. Realising at once what he was intruding upon, based on some rather noisy evidence, Gimli had elected to wait patiently for the lovers to emerge.
Lovers indeed, Gimli thought, sight flickering between the elves, noting the proprietary way the elder warrior's hand rested in the small of Legolas' back. He also caught the uncertainty and embarrassment in the sylvan's eyes, the faint tinge of rose rising in his cheeks, the anxious glance he gave the Balrog-slayer. Gimli frowned; this was not how he wanted things to be and for that reason he'd come to settle this matter with his elven friend. He chewed on the word, appraising Legolas objectively, removing the unpleasant familial relationship to Mirkwood's King, and found the term still appropriate. He smiled suddenly and bowed low so that his beard nearly swept the ground.
"Gimli, son of Gloín, at your service," he announced gruffly and stood straight to observe the result of this, the nearest he could come to apology.
Legolas swallowed, throat tight and achy. He knew the proper greeting and dreaded to give it, but failure to do so would indicate he had no wish to continue his friendship with the dwarf. He stepped forward beyond Glorfindel's steadying hand and bowed. "Legolas Thranduilion, at yours and your family's." He found the dwarf giving a pleased nod when he straightened up. "Gimli, I want to explain why I didn't tell you who I am."

"No need!" bellowed Gimli, face clouding in ferocity as he lifted his broad hand up.

This, too, was a typical tactic among his people, who prized their privacy and for whom sharing a secret was the greatest sign of trust and friendship. The polite thing to do, and the only way to ensure the person's desire to share was genuine, was to feign no interest and then wait to see if the other party repeated the offer. This must be done twice before the actual information could be told. To say he waited in anxious hope was not an exaggeration, for Gimli found he truly enjoyed Legolas' company. The sylvan elf was a warrior first and foremost, upheld a strict code of honour, and was devout according to the precepts of his religion, strange though Gimli might find them. It was all a rather dwarvish demeanour that he secretly found highly commendable and rather amusing in an elf.
"Nay, you must permit me to tell you," Legolas pleaded. "Only in this way can I hope to make you understand that the slight was not intentional."

"You do not need to convince me. Besides, this is personal business of an elvish nature, perhaps."
"It is personal, that's true, but I would prefer to tell you about it and remove any doubts from your mind before we venture from the valley to face Eru alone knows what horrors. Mayhap even death. I would not have this remain between us."
"As I have said, I require no proofs from you, elf, but if it will ease your mind to speak then I will gladly listen," Gimli's grin was tremendous as he silently laughed at the sylvan's ability to conduct himself as a proper Khuzd. (Dwarf) He directed his next words to Glorfindel. "If you will excuse us, this is a private matter, Lord Glorfindel." With that Gimli motioned Legolas to follow and set off. Hearing no footsteps, he glanced back to observe the couples' good-byes.

"Namarië, Mellethen," said Glorfindel. He'd understood at once what this trouble was about, for he remembered well the party of dwarves Mithrandir had led into Imladris on the way to Erebor. The wizard had carried the tale of the adventure back with him and everyone in the valley knew about Thranduil's decision to imprison the dwarves. He gave Legolas a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder and a smile.

Self-consciously, Legolas leaned up on his toes and brushed his lips over Glorfindel's in farewell, but when he moved to withdraw found himself suddenly captured in a steely embrace, his lips devoured in a searing kiss of smouldering promise. "Oh!" he gasped when he was released, Gimli momentarily forgotten as he stared in wonder at this amazing elf who was now his. "Ab'eveditham, Mellethen." (We will meet later, my love.) he managed.

"Aye, abdolo enni sen dû," (return to me tonight) murmured Glorfindel, and let Legolas go, watching the slender sylvan saunter off with the stocky dwarf, amused and proud of Legolas for facing up to the unpleasant issue. Elbereth, he is unique and familiar, fascinating and comfortable, erotic and comforting all at once. Am I a fool to wait out the year? Unable to judge this coherently, Glorfindel took himself off in search of Arwen, certain her guidance would enlighten him.

"Where should we go?" asked Gimli, eyes upon Legolas' pensive features. The estate was tremendous and he had explored little of it, sticking to the main house and the training grounds. "The valley teems with listening ears and peering eyes."

"Truly," Legolas shook his head with a disgruntled frown. "I just learned that the talan where I was staying is subject to the leering inspection of Lord Erestor at any time, day or night. Tirn'wador has moved me inside next to his apartment."

"Mahal! That is not seemly behaviour," exclaimed Gimli. "I saw and heard his yammering excuses just now. I would not believe his story, Hammer Hands, if it were me who had been slighted." He kept pace with Cuthenin, noting with approval how the lanky legged Wood Elf shortened his stride without making any show of it.

"I don't like him, that I must admit," sighed Legolas, "but now I no longer think he was responsible." As he walked he tried to think of a deserted spot where he might speak freely to Gimli. At once the little garden by the pond came to mind and he altered his direction. "Come, I know a quiet glade not far away."

In a matter of minutes they reached the place where the horrendous day had taken its most terrible plunge into misery. Surveying it now, Legolas found it no longer pained him to think of the argument, considering the new level of understanding he and Glorfindel had achieved because of it. Perhaps the same will be the result with Gimli, for he seems as eager as I to mend this old grievance between our families. Resolved to do whatever was necessary to convince him, Legolas turned and motioned for the dwarf to take a seat on the bench. As he had done once before, the sylvan warrior suspended his natural pride and settled down on the grass close to Gimli's feet, so to look him in the eyes as he spoke.

"What I have to tell you might cause you to despise me or view me with contempt," he began quietly, holding the dwarf's eyes bravely. He had no idea how the dwarves viewed an illegitimate birth but rather thought they would scorn such a dishonourable start to life.

"How so? You have already said you were not in the stronghold when my father arrived. You could not have had any say in how he was treated," Gimli replied, intrigued by this serious and solemn warning.

"Aye, but what I must tell you has nothing to do with Erebor," Legolas went on, finding he had to drop his eyes. "I wanted to keep my real status secret from everyone because it is such an embarrassment to my father, to my people, and to me." He stopped, a pang assaulting his heart as he considered the consequences of his next few words. Even the idea of losing Gimli's respect was distasteful beyond expectation. He hadn't sufficient energy to be surprised by that, simply accepting that it was so.

Gimli's face folded into a scowling mask of confusion. What could make a father embarrassed to have so fine a son? Suddenly his eyes went wide and colour rose to his bearded cheeks. "Oh!" Now he felt certain what Legolas was about to tell him. Only that most ancient of shames could taint the character of such a valiant elf and the dwarf had no desire to force his friend to speak of it. "If it is nothing to do with Erebor, then you need say no more."

"You have guessed," Legolas watched him keenly, hurting inside for if Gimli figured it out surely the others would, too. His shoulders slumped and he sighed, folding his legs under him and covering his face with his hands. "I just wanted to be Legolas Cuthenin, a warrior of the Woodland Realm, determined to help defray our error in losing Gollum. I was so proud to be chosen by Mithrandir. Valar, can you imagine Boromir's reaction? From prince to bastard in a matter of hours, and of course he'll think I was the one who left that scroll, trying to make myself seem more important than he."
"Nargûn," (Mordor) growled Gimli, his expression as black as the curse he uttered. "I for one will not permit that haughty man to defame you," he announced, sitting forward to settle his huge hand upon the Wood Elf's shoulder. Legolas did not look so fierce and valiant right now and the dwarf was of a mind to wonder just how old his new friend really was. The wide blue eyes lifted to meet his, the elf's gaze filled with relief and gratitude.

"You would still support me? I didn't know whether it was unseemly for someone of your rank to have a friend with such base origins," he said. "It was amazing enough to find we are so compatible, an elf and a dwarf." He smiled and his back straightened somewhat.

"I will remain your friend and make no distinction between you and me. Though a Lord among my people, as is my father, I have many brothers who are not," Gimli paused, watching Legolas' interest build. He could not help but trust the elf after such a wrenching admission. "I do not hold them less my friends and kin because of their lack of status."

"I am gratified to hear it. Is it dwarvish custom to keep more than one female? Has your father many wives?" Legolas was intrigued.

"Well, it is not something we talk about, even among our own kind, but there are few dwarf females, much fewer than there are males. It is common for one wife to keep many husbands; a primary mate whose name and family she will join, and numerous other 'little husbands' who provide extra children for the clan. As long as these secondary lovers are within the same clan as her primary, none of the children suffer scorn. Even so, those male children remain lesser for all their days and are doomed to become nothing but secondaries themselves when they mature."

"Ai, I feel for those who have no chance to make a change in their fortune simply because they were not born of the primary mating. That is how it is for me; no matter what I do I can never be more than a mistake my father learned to love."

"No, I do not believe that. A mistake? Hardly!" boomed Gimli, thumping the elf on the shoulder as though to crush that notion flat. "Eru does not make mistakes. You were born to take part in this dangerous endeavour, Legolas. Why you were meant to be born outside the sanctifying shield of marriage, I cannot guess. Perhaps it is to make those of us who do have that benefit realise what a gift it is, and not something we earned." He slid from the bench and tugged the Wood Elf upright. "Come along; we're expected at this bloody dinner. Do not spare a thought for Boromir; his opinion is meaningless."

"But I will have to serve beside him on the quest. How am I to endure his sneering looks and derisive insults? No doubt he will find this both amusing and disgusting at the same time. As for the Hobbits, I don't know what they'll make of it. Do you suppose they will shun me?" Legolas gave no thought at all to the ease with which he entrusted these fears to his comrade, for it felt perfectly natural and comfortable to do so. He missed Sûlchim terribly and found Gimli an admirable replacement.

"Boromir may be arrogant and self-serving, but he is also a soldier. He will not let his personal bias endanger the mission. Besides, Mithrandir will not permit him to antagonise you. As for the Halflings, I can't imagine they will hold this against you. They do not seem like that sort of people to me. In fact, I'd be willing to wager they will continue to treat you like a prince, gazing with awe and respect and admiration. Especially Sam." Gimli relished the role of 'elder brother' and that was the main thing he missed about being so far from home. Among his many lesser brothers, he was regarded as wise and thoughtful; never a day passed that one of his kin did not seek him for counsel or simply to pour out a tale of woe, as Legolas was doing now.

"Ai! That's almost just as bad," laughed Legolas, considerably more light-hearted than he had been before unburdening his soul. "Sam is always just on the verge of speaking to me and then he loses his nerve and just stares and stares."

"Hah! Pippin is worse. Have you noticed his hints about learning to use a bow? He wishes to emulate you."

"I could make him a bow," Legolas said, thoughtful as he considered this. "It would be just for hunting small game, but I'm sure he could learn."

"Nay, better to teach him to throw a good, solid axe. That way, he can catch a meal and kill an enemy both," argued Gimli.

"He is not made for axe-throwing. Hobbits are not built like small sturdy mountains, as are the dwarves."

"Well, they aren't shaped like tall springy saplings as you are, either," laughed Gimli.

"Sapling? I am not like a sapling."

"You are. You are young and very very green."

"Nay, I've been in many battles. More than you, I'm sure. I've probably killed over a thousand Orcs by now."

"Oh a thousand, is it? That's a very large number." Gimli's sarcasm was as thick as his incredulity.

"Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration," Legolas blushed. "Still, I am an accomplished warrior among my people."

"No doubt."

"You do doubt it?"

"Did I say anything?"

"Your tone implies it. I know I have killed more Orcs than you, for I fight them every day."

"Of course you do," Gimli teased, having great fun making the elf get all flustered and bristly.

"Ai! You mock me!"

"Nay, I simply cannot say I entirely trust your claims." The dwarf's eyes twinkled merrily. "Perhaps we could place a small wager on it."

"On what?"

"On who shall kill the most Orcs on this quest. Naturally, I'm certain to be the winner."

"Oh, that is a bet I will gladly take!" exclaimed Legolas, looking upon his friend with no small amount of pity. "You are doomed to lose."

"You are ripe for a come-uppance, with that arrogant attitude," chuckled Gimli, rubbing his heavy hands in avaricious glee. "Now, what do you wager?"

"I haven't much," admitted Legolas. He considered long and frowned. "I confess I can think of nothing I possess that a dwarf would want."

"Mayhap there is something an elf would want that you can offer," said Gimli. "You can craft me a bow."

"What? You can not draw a bow; your arms are too short."

"They are not! What you are really saying is that you lack the skill to adapt the craft to withstand the power of dwarven muscles. I would snap that bow of yours to splinters if ever I should pull the string."

"Impossible, for you could never even extend it to a full draw," scoffed Legolas, "but maybe I could make you a bow of iron or steel."

"Haw! Haw!" Now Gimli almost fell over laughing. "A Wood Elf thinks he can work metal! Mahal save us, it will crumble in a pile of brittle fragment on the first use!"

Legolas bore the ribbing with good grace, admitting he knew nothing of working metal of forging steel. They continued the friendly bickering all the way back to the Last Homely House and by the time they entered Mithrandir's suite the bets had been decided. Legolas would craft a fine elvish cross-bow for Gimli to spare his arms the strain, and he in turn would wager a small axe he carried with him always, saying it had been his grandmother's and was a worthy weapon, light-weight enough even for a frail elvish princeling to wield.

Their jovial mood did much to set the tone for the meeting, as it was infectious, and soon the Hobbits were asking what it was all about and picking sides. Pippin and Sam backed Legolas and Frodo and Merry backed Gimli, to be fair. Aragorn agreed to be the score keeper and Mithrandir promised to safeguard the pot. Boromir alone abstained from the hi-jinx, observing the interactions among his fellows with cool reserve, still uncertain how to reconcile his objectives with the goal of this haphazard band of unlikely knights errant.

TBC

MORE TO COME…

NOTE: Well, I know there re many cliff hangers here and I do apologise. The good news is this means I will be revisiting this tale soon, after I work on a chapter of Aearlinn and then the remaining Xmas stories.Yes, I know. Now it is February and it has taken more than a month to get this part done. I cannot explain why it was so hard to do nor why it turned out so differently than planned. It has been so difficult, I never even got to three elements I had hoped to bring up in this chapter(s). I hope it is not found to be boring, what with trying to work in some of the Fellowship and the evolving relationship between legolas and these other diverse people, but I do not want to ignore the reason he is in Imladris. Hope everyone enjoys it, especially Naledi :)
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True Bow (Cuthenin)

For Naledi: With Best Wishes for a Wonderful Holiday

Ant Aglareb (Glorious Gift)