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Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 3337 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 2
- 3
- 4
Part III

Glorfindel’s departure the following day at the break of dawn was regarded with dismay by the rest of the household. It wasn’t that they feared for him; a warrior who had fought in the wars of the First Age, slain a Balrog at the end of his first life and been sent back to Middle-earth by the Powers themselves in his second, was virtually unassailable by any creature of less power or stature than the noblest of the remaining High-elves in these Hither Lands.

But Glorfindel was the one Elf aside from Elrond and Celebrían whom the twins dared not cross overmuch. His presence had a dampening effect on their ebullience and they were more restrained when they knew he was around. That they still indulged in an occasional prank or two was acceptable; at least, the lessening of such incidents gave their victims enough time to recuperate from the last or brace themselves for the next.

Yet none sought to dissuade the Elda from his duty. Although the north now knew a measure of peace, everyone was well aware just how frail it was. The Dark Lord was overthrown but the evil creatures he had forced upon Middle-earth still roamed its plains, peaks and valleys.

Orcs spawned without surcease in the depths of the Misty Mountains, issuing from their noisome holes every now and then to ambush unwary travelers and ravage whatever settlements and towns their malevolent wanderings put in their way. Trolls took their toll as well, mauling and slaying all and sundry who fell into their ungainly snares, leaving gnawed bones and cracked skulls as evidence of their grisly feasts. And everywhere, brigands and other men of ill repute plied their honorless trades, testament to the lingering extent of Sauron’s black influence.

Rivendell and the other elven realms of Lórien, Greenwood and Lindon were sometimes all that stood between their less ably defended neighbors and probable erasure from the maps of Middle-earth. As such, Glorfindel and his fellow Elven captains still led occasional sorties into the wild to curtail the threats to the security of their respective areas of responsibility.

Unfortunately, the golden Noldo’s absence guaranteed that the security of his colleagues would be virtually nonexistent. Erestor began to consider a move to the Grey Havens in the wake of the captain’s leave-taking. Particularly after a chagrined Lindir appeared before him two days hence with a ranting merchant from the Bree-land demanding that someone explain how it was that the wine in his guest chamber had suddenly turned into honeyed vinegar and why the berries in the dish by his bedside had been dredged in sea salt.

“Give me one good reason why I should not move my place of residence to Lindon,” Erestor caustically queried after he’d finally pacified the man and sent him on his way.

Lindir shrugged and said: “Because the twins would only think up something more dastardly and simply send it to you in Lindon.” At Erestor’s groan, the housemaster added sympathetically: “If it’s any consolation to you, the twins will probably leave you alone for a while until they’ve gone through everyone else first. That should give you some breathing space.”

“Small comfort, Lindir,” Erestor snorted. He contemplated the brown-haired Elf curiously. “I do not recall you complaining about anything to date. Are you so blessed as to have been spared thus far?”

Lindir shook his head ruefully. “If I have kept my silence, ‘tis only because of my wounded pride.”

“Elbereth, what did they do to you?”

“They stole my clothes while I swam in the river,” the minstrel wryly explained. “I had to sneak back into the house after dark in naught but my skin. Thank the Powers no one saw me apart from those imps!”

Erestor stared at him aghast. “Remind me never to take another dip in the river again,” he said faintly. He let out an exasperated exhalation. “Glorfindel offered me the use of his chamber while he is gone. I am now seriously considering the offer. The pin nith”—young ones—“never enter it without his permission even when he is away. Would you care to join me?”

“For a whole week of fearless slumber?” Lindir nodded his head vigorously. “Aye, I most definitely do!”

While Erestor and Lindir prepared themselves as if for a siege, the three Elves who had educed that state of mind in them chose to indulge in a harmless pastime for a change. With Mithrael and Heledir in tow, they headed for the river to cool off for it was a particularly hot summer day. While Elves were not as susceptible to the vagaries of climate or weather as mortals, even they could appreciate the refreshing effects of a bracing swim on a sweltering afternoon. The Loudwater’s clear, rushing waters were perfect for this purpose.

The five quickly stripped and dove into the Bruinen’s depths. As graceful as the sleek seals that graced the seas off Middle-earth’s coasts, they cut smoothly through the sweeping current, untroubled by its chill or force. Then they were swimming hardily against it, heading for the cascades. But unlike the far northern salmon that struggled upriver to reach their spawning grounds, none was hindered by the powerful rush of water that sought to stay them. Such was the strength of their young bodies, fed by the power of their inner elven fire. Finally, they reached the majestic waterfall whose tumultuous roar could be heard all the way to the house.

Grinning with elation, they clambered out onto the steep banks. As they flopped down on the springy grass to dry their bodies in the heat of the summer sun, Mithrael suddenly became conscious of their states of undress and volunteered to run back for their packs. A grinning Heledir agreed to accompany him.

They were swift runners and soon returned, Mithrael already fully dressed in shirt and breeches. Chuckling at the scholar’s un-elvish modesty in the company of fellow males, the twins and Legolas followed Heledir’s example and donned their breeches to spare Mithrael more blushes.

With a contented sigh, Legolas leaned back against the trunk of a willow tree. Nearby, Elladan lay on his back, his eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he were asleep.

Elrohir grinned at the indolent figure his brother cut as he tossed their packs into a neat pile. He idly watched Mithrael and Heledir move towards the near perpendicular rock face beside the cascade. A moment later, he chuckled as the two began to make their way up, intent on reaching the high cliff above. He turned his attention to Legolas.

Something about the prince’s appearance stilled his aimless perusals. He regarded his lounging friend thoughtfully before reaching for his pack and rummaging in it until he found what he needed. He drew out a thick, loosely bound artist’s sketchbook and a length of tapered charcoal. Flipping the parchment sheets to a blank page, he set to work, his argent eyes flicking to the archer every now and then.

Stirring, Elladan opened his eyes and turned his head to speak to Legolas when he saw what his twin was about. The grey blue orbs gleamed with amusement and a knowing smile curled his lips. Legolas saw his expression and started to turn his head to see what the older twin was looking at. But Elladan grabbed his hand and shook his head.

“Do not move, mellonen”—my friend—he murmured.

Puzzled, Legolas did as he was bid but he managed a peek through the corner of his eyes. With a start, he realized Elrohir was sketching him and from the intent cast of his fair countenance, he was obviously serious about his task. Faint color stained the prince’s cheeks. No one had yet sought to commit his image to any form of art, whether drawn, sculpted or molded. He wondered that Elrohir thought him worthy of his skill or effort.

Finally, the younger twin finished his endeavor with a satisfied sigh. It was then that he noticed both his brother and the subject of his sketch looking at him curiously. This time, it was his turn to blush.

“May I see it?” Legolas asked shyly.

Elrohir hesitated then rose and sauntered over to them. He handed the book to his friend. Elladan scrambled to sit beside the prince that he might see his twin’s handiwork as well. His eyes softened at first sight of the image on parchment.

It showed Legolas as he had been earlier, lounging languorously against the tree, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, an arm resting easily on the bent limb. His fair hair clung wetly to his neck and shoulders in molten tendrils calling attention to the lean lines and well-defined muscles of his upper torso.

Elrohir had captured not only Legolas’ countenance and form but his character as well. The Greenwood prince was beauty and grace personified when seen through the eyes of the younger twin. But Elrohir had also somehow managed to convey the banked fires behind the languid pose; had revealed the wild spirit behind the serene front.

Legolas raised his azure eyes from the sketch to lock gazes with the Elf-knight.

“I am not—” he started to say in a hushed voice. “You think too highly of me to render me so...so...”

“Beautiful?” Elrohir said seriously. “But you are, malthernil.”—golden prince. “How can you think otherwise?”

Legolas colored anew at the praiseful epithet and dropped his eyes to the sketch once more while at his side, Elladan darted a sharp glance at his brother. But Elrohir simply looked back at him with a questioning gaze.

Legolas drew a deep breath then looked up at Elrohir. His eyes were now warm and glowing.

“I am ever so grateful for your regard, Elrohir,” he softly declared. “‘Tis soothing to my spirit and a boost to my esteem as well that you should find me comely.”

Something in the way he uttered these last words caught Elladan’s notice. He studied Legolas incredulously.

“Why, Legolas?” he queried. “Have the woodland folk not sung your praises? Surely many have told you of your beauty in the green wood.”

The prince shrugged. “Aye, many have told me,” he agreed. “But I cannot wholly trust their intent. The men flatter me in the hopes of gaining influence over my father through me. And as for the women...some see a tumble with a king’s son as a conquest worth flaunting while others seek a consort’s crown. They sing my praises but the praise comes at a price I am not willing to pay.”

He turned his gaze upon Elrohir once more, the blued pools of his eyes incandescent with gratitude and affection, the beginnings of a radiant smile slowly lighting up his features.

“However, such praise from the friends of my heart strike to the very core. I know it to be true. I do not know if I deserve it but it fills me with great pleasure and joy that you should regard me so highly, Elrohir.”

The Elf-knight had sobered as he listened to his friend’s exposition of the less commendable side of Eryn Galen’s politicking. But at Legolas’ patent happiness, he now returned the smile.

“I will keep this sketch always,” he quietly stated, tracing gentle fingers over the charcoal image. “In remembrance of this day’s revelation.”

Elladan looked at Elrohir speculatively. His twin had discerned that Legolas would not only appreciate his sincere compliment but would be hungry for it as well. An instant later, he recognized the true nature of their seemingly sudden intimacy. He, too, smiled then, approving and relieved for his brother’s sake.

Too often had Elrohir foregone close friendships with Elves of their age out of caution and mistrust. Indeed, in the valley itself, few counted themselves amongst those the Elf-knight would willingly lay down his life for and they were to be found solely amongst the older Elves. Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, Iorwen and Almariel had long earned Elrohir’s love and loyalty. But the Elves nearer or of their own years, even amongst the warriors with whom they regularly trained, had not elicited that same devotion from the younger twin.

Now here was one who had finally tapped the vast reservoir of love Elrohir possessed who was near his equal in age and stature. The fact that it was a stranger to the vale, an Elf of another realm that had done so was amazing but posed no problems to the more welcoming residents of Rivendell. And it was of no matter to Elladan that their peculiar closeness was exclusive to them. So long as Elrohir had found that elusive heart-felt comradeship he’d long sought, Elladan was gratified and well pleased.

He allowed his feelings to surge along the intangible bond they shared in their close twinship and was rewarded by the sparkle in the brief look his brother cast him.

“Hannon le, Legolas”—Thank you—he impulsively said.

The Elf-prince looked at him in surprise. “For what, meldiren?”—my friend?

“Exactly,” Elladan grinned. “For being our friend. You bring the sun’s radiance with you wherever you go and we are blessed to bask in it.” Especially you, tôren—my brother—he added silently to his twin through their unseen connection.

Legolas turned an even deeper shade of red than before. “Really, you two will spoil me,” he murmured. But there was no denying his deep pleasure at their tender attention.

The magic of the moment was broken with the return of Mithrael and Heledir. But not the bond now firmly forged between the woodland prince and the younger twin, the warmth and affection of which was so great as to encompass the older one as well.

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These