Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8918 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 32
- 33
- 34
He awakened to soft light and the welcome caress of a cool breeze across his face, the throbbing in his side dull and persistent but that was better than piercing and incessant. He knew that if he moved even the smallest bit the level of discomfort would rise exponentially and so he tried not to shift, though his muscles ached with fatigue as if strained against an impossible force, the pressure enough to make him tremble. Then he exhaled and realised he'd been holding his breath as the boiling fury unleashed its searing tortures, digging at his side and pulling at his chest so that he could not be still and must try to get away from it, and yet where would he gather any strength for more than a feeble quiver? That nearly imperceptible effort to escape was enough to ignite the greater fire which surrounded his left leg, radiating out from a spot in his thigh just above the knee. It was too much and he prayed fervently for an end to it, thrashing in torment against the invisible enemy hacking at his flesh so mercilessly.

Then through it a set of gentle hands reached for him, a calming voice spoke his name, a soothing presence settled beside him. Legolas regained a corner of his sanity and became still once more, trying to focus on this person, concentrating on the sensation of the hands so carefully supporting him, easing his body back into the relative comfort of supporting cushions. He knew these hands and trusted them, recognised this voice and longed to answer it, to ask what had happened to him, where he was now and when the suffering would finally end. Most of all, he wanted to see the face, or more exact, the eyes; sombre grey eyes, worried and troubled yet filled with a kind of amazed wonder whenever he managed to meet them. They held more than concern, more than compassion; within them shone the glint of the bond that united them. Legolas could not focus through the darkness and gave up the attempt, succumbing willingly to the oblivion of exhausted unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He woke again, the pain grinding him up in its dreadful jaws, tossing him in a sea alive with writhing tentacles, snakes that hissed and bit and wrapped around his chest, constricting his lungs, strangling him, making his mind nothing but a railing scream of terror and despair. The voice and the hands were there and he tried to listen, tried to obey, trembling as a cool liquid, its scent acrid and bitter, trickled over his lips.

"Drink," urged the voice quietly. "This will ease the pain and aid the cure. Drink, Legolas."

He did, nearly gagging on it, and sucked in a huge breath, coughing it back out accompanied by hoarse and croaking groans that he realised, with no small shock, were generated by his own throat. Light filtered into his vision and he understood that he'd had his eyes squeezed shut against the torment. Now he blinked, desperate to clear his foggy sight and find once more those compelling eyes. He did and they were smiling, though fear and confusion were within them, too. He tried to smile back and had no idea if the expression was manifest upon his features. He parted his lips to speak, wanting to ask everything at once, but managed only one word: a name.

"Elrond." He was astounded by the sound, a faint and whispery noise that was nothing like his true voice. He sought the answer in the eyes silently: Am I alive? Are you real? Is this the punishment of Námo? Where is Galbreth? The grey eyes could not follow it all and instead the voice and the face and the hands answered.

"Yes, I am here."

"Where?"

"Just here, beside you," said the gentle voice and the comforting hands soothed across his brow. "Ah, but that isn't what you meant, is it?" Another kindly smile. "We are home, Imladris."

The potion worked quickly and Legolas' mind cleared as the level of pain decreased. He gazed intently at this elf who had undertaken to save him from death in the oldest of ways, the means of last resort. He had fully expected to die that day in the valley of the holly trees and was uncertain whether the alternative was a blessing or a curse, for now he was bound to this unknown person who was conversely known by all.

He studied the face that went with the name, an imposing and famous name, a name revered and respected throughout the entirety of Arda. Even his Adar spoke in respectful tones when he mentioned the name of Elrond. How could it be that this elf, a mighty Lord among his kin and kind, had been there at the battle, at that last moment? There had been others, yet Elrond had been the one to steal him from Námo's embrace.

"Why?" he asked, unable to prevent his distress from colouring the word.

"Why what? Why Imladris? That is easy enough; it is my home, my realm, my lands and the lands of my people. Do you understand me?"

"Aye. Nay. Why did you claim me?" This was a lot to say, for breath was precious and expending it thus exhausting. Legolas gasped to refill his lungs and this effort only caused the wound across his chest to pull sharply. He flinched, stiffening against the assault and shutting his eyes.

"Carefully, breathe slowly and deeply; try to hold the air a few seconds before exhaling." The legendary healer checked the bandage concealing the long gash to satisfy himself no bleeding was seeping through. Then he simply took hold of one of the tightly curled fists, opening it out and surrounding it with his own, offering what comfort he could until the pain ebbed.

When Legolas opened his eyes he found the serious grey ones upon him, their scrutiny honest and open, their expression almost apologetic and tinged perhaps with a sort of uneasiness the archer couldn't quite define. A resigned smile gathered about the Noldorin Lord's lips and chin and a firm squeeze compressed Legolas' fingers.

"I didn't have much choice in the matter, as I am sure you understand. The Valar must have an important use for you, Legolas, so strong was the urge to save you. I am not exactly comfortable with the quantity of light required to stabilise your spirit, but it is done and cannot be undone. I have fully recouped the loss and feel no ill effects from it."

"The Valar?" Legolas' thoughts were drifting and the effort to concentrate was taxing. What had he said of the Valar? Then a thought flared brightly and he seized upon it, eyes flying wide and his heart surging. "Is it Galbreth?"

"What?" Elrond frowned, uncertain what the sylvan was talking about. "Peace, Legolas, you should try to rest. Sleep for a time and rest."

Legolas obeyed almost at once.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Legolas? If you can hear me open your eyes, even a little. Please, you must hear me."

He could hear, though the words were faint and distorted, recognising the voice of Elrond, and wanted to awaken, but the energy needed to do so was tremendous. Darkness weighted down his eyelids and muffled his ears, choked his lungs and pressed upon his wounds like spikes of iron. He heard the voice again and the next second a sharp blow stung his cheeks, first one and then the other. He gasped sharply and struggled to get away, but found himself caught at the shoulders, shaken roughly. At last his lips parted and he called out.

"Daro!"

He meant the command to be sharp and fierce, but his voice was meagre and strained. He pried his eyes open, desperate to find Elrond and implore him to make this person stop abusing him. At once he locked upon the cool grey depths, their expression this time filled with worry and something like aggravation.

"Praise Elbereth!" the Elven Lord breathed, allowing a grim smile to realign his features. "I feared you were slipping into a coma."

Legolas stared at him, not comprehending this term, heart filled with relief and gladness. Elrond would not let anyone harm him. He tried to gather his thoughts and memory returned; he'd been left alone in the room. How long it had seemed! An eternity of unending isolation broken only by the intermittent care of strangers. "Where were you?" he asked.

"What?" Elrond's frown deepened. "Just now do you mean? I was in council with the representatives of the guilds. The attendants sent for me, saying you were failing even as they watched." Then he turned aside and Legolas realised they were not the only ones in the room. Hovering near were two healers he recognised, though they had never offered their names. "What has happened? He was improving steadily before, yet now the healing has stalled and the wound in the leg emits an odour as of infection."

"Aye, Lord, that is why we sent for you. He was unresponsive and scarcely breathing."

"You have not answered my question," Elrond's voice rose in stern tones of disapproval. "I entrusted his care to you; is the duty too great to accomplish?"

Legolas watched the attendants and startled when one turned her gaze to him, her bright brown eyes flashing with anger.

"Yes, it is too much. He refuses food and water and fights against our care. We cannot cleanse the injuries properly and…"

"Enough, you are relieved of this task. I will assign others," Elrond said, dismissing them. When they had left, he returned his attention to Legolas. "What am I to do? They are the third pair you've run off. Legolas, you must learn to be a more co-operative patient."

"Nay, I'm not."

"How's that?" Elrond had to bend close and put his ear next to the barely moving lips. As he did, he let his hand rest amid the golden strands of hair, fingering the luxuriant tresses.

Legolas sighed. "Stay," he whispered, too tired to attempt more, and licked lips parched from thirst.

Elrond straightened and shook his head, rising to fetch some water. As he helped Legolas drink it he replied, delivering a reproving lecture to his sylvan bond-mate.

"Legolas, you must permit my staff to give you aid. If you wish to recover, as I am certain you must, then it is imperative to accept nourishment and water from their hands and permit them to tend you injuries and your body's natural functions. There is no shame in this, for you are too ill to do these things for yourself. I was hoping to see you up and about when next I came to check on you, but at this pace…"

He couldn't keep up with it; none of it made sense to him; it was too much to take in. He closed his eyes, just for a moment to rest them, but instantly the comfort of the vacant darkness beckoned. He slipped between the enveloping folds of thick, impenetrable blackness where sound and light and thought were blocked, free of pain and fear and the admonishing grey eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His pulse pounded through his temples with deafening reverberation and he could not escape the fiercely resounding thunder or the piercing jab that accented each beat, like a bolt of white-hot intensity lancing through his scull. On top of that, or perhaps because of that, he was sweltering much as if he floated in the boiling bath of a hot spring, the air heavy and difficult to draw in, equally difficult to dispel. His head must weigh more than a full cask of his Ada's wine and lifting it was impossible, though his hair ran with trickles of sweat and lay matted behind his neck, twining around his ears and under his arms. In short, his hair was seemingly alive and trying to smother him with its wet, weighty strands and he twitched his head in defiance, hoping to clear it from his face.

The action momentarily halted the pounding concussions searing his brain and in that split second he caught the sound of voices near at hand. Once discovered, he honed in on them, hoping to learn who it was and whether they were close enough to hear him if he called out, that is if the unruly hair would permit it without strangling him for his efforts. He opened his eyes; the flame had died in the amethyst lantern and the room was half-lit by the faint tracery of dawn's approach. The elves were close, perhaps on the balcony, but who? He strained to concentrate beyond the return of the incessant kettle-drum beating from temple to temple. Aye, he must hear, for one voice belonged to Elrond, to his mate; a voice he'd yearned for and missed. The other he did not recognise.

"…can see why you want to keep him, Elrond. Everyone will, for he is uncommonly lovely to behold. It is unseemly to do so, however, for his beauty does not change the fact that it is beneath your dignity to keep a sylvan consort. Surely you must recognise this."

"I find your remarks inexcusable. I am a healer first and foremost and here is an elf in dire need. How should I act? The bond was necessary."

"Why? If he must die then it is no more than other warriors have faced. Why this sylvan warrior? I tell you, your sons have spoken truth. The so-called bond is no more than a vile enchantment."

"Nay, he must NOT die! How can you hope for such a fate upon one who has never harmed you? I am appalled, Erestor, but not enthralled. These is no reason to become so excited. The bond will fade away as the elf regains his strength and rebuilds his inner light to its previous brilliance."

"Brilliance? This is but a lowly Wood Elf, Elrond, not one of the Eldar. Why should he want his previous level of light when now he has access to yours, a much loftier and purer illumination than he can have imagined exists? Can you not see how improbable such an affiliation is? Send him back to his people."

"I cannot. Surely you can tell the grave nature of his injuries and his illness. For Manwë's sake, it is not as if I plan to wed the archer."

In the dreary room, Legolas could not hold back the despairing moan that left his lungs, hearing this. He could not doubt that this was true, spoken as it was by the very voice that had held him just this side of Mandos for how many days or months or years he could not calculate. It was all that had held him, that and the intense grey eyes filled with curious amaze and what had seemed so much like real feeling, real joy each time Legolas had met them. That and the lingering warmth in the touch of those hands. That and the brief, sweet escape from agony when their bodies initially joined, the flood of peace and contentment as their souls fused.

Had that not been real? Was all this but a dream? How long ago it seemed since Elrond had been close enough to hear, and now what he heard proved all the former sounds to be lies. He was nothing but a duty to be accomplished. The bond of extremity would never be recognised. Legolas struggled against the throbbing headache and sat up, pushing himself upright in spite of the nausea accosting his gut and the reeling dizziness scattering his thoughts. He felt the floor under his feet and forced his legs to stand. They did, for all of two seconds, crumbling beneath him in a violent eruption of tearing agony as the injury protested the exertion.

He never felt himself strike the floor, aware of the hands bearing him up, drawing him close and securing him against the wildly beating heart of the Elven Lord. The voice scolded, gently, with great trepidation, admonishing against such efforts, pleading with him not to tempt Námo so rashly. The eyes, he had to look, though his despairing soul warned him he could not trust those eyes now, not now. Legolas trained his gaze upon them; the grey depths were bright with fear and fretful anger beneath the high and anxious brow. They recognised the hurt within his and a sharp breath escaped the mighty Lord as realisation dawned. Now the voice placated and cajoled, trying to cover over the ugly truth revealed by the overheard conversation, imploring him to forget.

Legolas found he wanted to forget. Here, in this moment, he believed what the Elven Lord asserted for his inner heart echoed the same, and to that he would hold. Whatever Elrond said to others, whatever he might tell himself, those eyes betrayed his soul, and that soul longed only to join with his. Legolas exhaled a soft and trilling call of contentment as he slipped once more beyond the reach of torment, whether physical or mental.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You must make the best of it that you can," urged Galbreth. "These tears avail you nothing, muindor dithen. It will not be as bad as you imagine it and your bonding will make things good for our people."

"I do not want to be bound. Why am I like this and you are not?" Legolas could not stop his tears; this was a horrible fate and one he did not deserve. What honour could there be in this so-called gift? He wished for no elflings, especially if he must nurture them within his own body.

"I don't know the answer to that," sighed Galbreth. "Nana insists your life is marked by greatness and so the gift of dual gender must somehow be part of that. You know she sees most of what is to come in the years ahead."

"I wish she hadn't made me," sobbed Legolas. "No one else is like this. Does everyone know?"

"Nay do not say such things! I cannot imagine life without you here. And of course no one knows. This is personal knowledge reserved for family alone, at least for now. How could anyone know what you did not understand for yourself?" consoled Galbreth, reaching an arm around his young brother, wishing there was a way to appease the adolescent.

Legolas' knowledge had taken a great leap forward this day, their mother deeming him of appropriate age to understand the significance of the difference he'd long ago accepted between his body and other males'. He had run to Galbreth and revealed what he'd been told, unable to hide his fears or his tears.

"You are not the only one for there have been others, though not so many remain on these shores or have chosen to bear young. It is a private matter, though, and few are aware unless the ellon chooses to make it known," continued the elder prince.

"I am going to be a warrior and rid the forest of these Orcs, Galbreth. I will serve in Ada's armies. I, also, choose not to bear any young," said Legolas, stony defiance in the wet, determined glare he showed his brother.

"So be it; that is your decision to make." Galbreth nodded sagely but his brow was drawn in lines of doubt. "Yet do not despise the gift you have received. The day may come when you are glad for the chance to be a life-bearer, to create and nurture instead of to destroy."

Legolas' eyes opened and he searched the room for his brother, so real had been the dream. Galbreth's name escaped his lips and he felt he heard the echoes of the elf's parting words from within the vision. For it was not a dream but a memory, and not just a memory but a genuine link between them. Galbreth had come within his thoughts during Ôlpathu, reminding Legolas of that day so long ago, and the reason could not be more clear.

Carefully he sat up, shifting in gradual increments so to minimise the strain upon his injuries. He was in the healing room, still confined to the bed, the air cast in grey obscurity for no one had arrived to light the lamps. That was well; he didn't want to see anyone until he had this sorted out. Panting from the effort and damp with sweat, Legolas rested against the headboard and shut his eyes.

The dream remained vivid in his mind and Legolas let it play out again, a strong pang of sorrow wrenching his heart to see and hear Galbreth so clearly once more, to feel again the stabilising weight of that protective arm, to know the comfort of trust so deep he could pour all his troubles into Galbreth's lap and receive back courage, wisdom, and resolve.

He would need all of that now in triple abundance, if he would do what this contact with Galbreth so plainly demanded: he must make the bond with his new mate true and bring to life that which his foolish and reckless behaviour had destroyed. Indeed, had not Elrond himself stated that the Valar preserved him for an important cause? At last the long weeks of suffering yielded the hope of a positive conclusion to this tragedy. In his youth, Legolas had found that Galbreth was more often than not correct and so it was now. He was glad at last for the unusual gift with which the Valar had blessed him and with joy submitted to his fate.

I will bind my heart to this Elven Lord and together we will bring Galbreth back.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The light was soft and golden, flickering as if the sun danced upon the leaves of the forest in summer. He breathed in and out without more than a quick burst of convulsive anguish which faded back into the more familiar dull jab that was part and parcel now of ordinary respiration. Dared he try to move the leg? Nay! He must not disturb this welcomed respite at any cost, no matter how stiff his spine, how cramped his hips. Instead he concentrated on the light, opening his eyes wider so that he could look upon his surroundings, no longer strange and foreign to his senses.

Unerringly his vision was drawn to the desk nearby, a simple design meant for utility and durability rather than ornament, for it was from here the illumination emanated. Before it was an equally solid chair and upon this, pouring over a long document, quill in hand, sat an elf. He was deeply involved in his reading, concentrating on whatever the words revealed, and did not realise he was the subject of scrutiny. Legolas looked him over well, from the lengthy tresses of inky black to the elegance of the fingers gripping the writing tool, and decided he was not a displeasing sight to behold.

Nor was he as he'd imagined, those few times in his short life that he'd had occasion to think about the Lord of Imladris at all. Somehow, he'd pictured a stern, ancient face, a body tall and lean and lacking the strength of a warrior in favour of the ascetic discipline of the learned elder. A coldly distant demeanour, devoid of spark or vigour, aloof and imperious: this was the personage he had conjured while reading the histories of Middle-earth in the library at home. Legolas knew all that the books had to say about Elrond Half-elven, and yet found that none of the words came close to describing this vital, dynamic person seated so near.

Here is as fine an example of virile strength as any I have seen. Were he to spar hand-to-hand against Adar, who would be the victor, I wonder?

Thinking this, Legolas had to smile. His situation was bad but here at least was a fanciful image to distract him from the pain. A soft snort of amusement slipped past his nostrils and at once the majestic head turned toward him. Vibrant grey eyes regarded him, the firm mouth softened into an inquiring smile so slight it was more perception than expression, arched brows lifted in question. The great Lord rose, setting aside the pen and the document quickly, gathering the flowing robes up to make his passage more rapid, and in seconds he was seated on the edge of the mattress. With gentle touches he counted Legolas' pulse and tested the sylvan's forehead for heat, all the while gazing intently at his patient.

"Elrond," Legolas said, the word more invitation than salutation.

"Your mind is clear; the fever has broken," he said at last, his touch changing from clinical probe to affectionate caress as fingers trailed down the archer's neck to rest upon the clavicle. "Do you need something for the pain?"

"Nay, I can bear it."

To this Elrond nodded, smiling at the careful pronunciation and the lilting trill of the sylvan's accent, studying him with interest, eyes tracking over the compact form appraisingly, noting the long scar that was still bright red, having only closed a day ago, yet his inspection was not without appreciation for more than the status of the healing wounds.

"I am glad to note so much improvement. You remember all we said the last time we conversed?"

"Aye. I am in Imladris, this is a suite in the House of Healing, and you are Elrond, my mate-by-bond."

"Good. Excellent." Elrond nodded approvingly, a smile lighting his features. "Now the question comes before us, then. As you are healing and growing stronger, what am I to do with you?" Of its own volition, his fingers slid along the line of the slender shoulder, revelling in the smooth warmth of the supple skin beneath them.

"Make me yours." Legolas shivered and shifted, wishing to raise himself up somewhat so to speak more easily with his companion. At once hands took hold beneath his arms and assisted, propping him against the back of the bed and stuffing cushions behind him. The covers slid down into his lap and now the hands lingered, soothing over his naked chest, tracing planes and peaks with feathery pressure that set his heart racing and sent a thrill coursing through his blood.

"You are beautiful, Legolas," sighed the Elven Lord and bent close to take a taste of lips already parted to welcome him. "I had not expected to find this experience so pleasing," he continued. "How long will it last? Ah! I will mourn the day it passes, for I have known no experience like this before. I possess you wholly, though you know me not, and it is a thrill to take such liberties as this." While he spoke, one hand delved into the thick flaxen mane as the other tested the resilience of erect nipples. "Tell me, is it as good for you?"

Legolas moaned, unable to answer, eyes bright with anticipation, watching as the skilful hands teased and toyed with him. His ears were massaged and tugged and stimulated until they burned. A tongue lapped over one and then the other and made him squirm in unbearable pleasure. Nails traced the flesh around each nipple and then pinched the rising buds hard, twisting before letting go. Blood rushed to the throbbing nodes; they ached for more even as the gifted hands retreated to revisit the ears. Legolas shut his eyes as the sensations escalated, reaching beneath the covers to fondle his penis. Elrond claimed his mouth, plunging his tongue forcefully inside, sampling every corner with commanding dominance, breaking the kiss to bend low and suck at his throat.

Lips and tongue cavorted over his heated flesh, licking and lapping across his clavicle and into the hollow where the bones defined his throat. Demure kisses wetted his nipples, the lips parted over them, suckling hard and drawing more blood to feed the over excited nerves. No sooner did the suction stop than cool breath wafted across them in tingling waves followed at once by swift, sharp nips as incisors closed and bit the ruddy titbits. Legolas' eyes opened wide to find the Elven Lord watching him with hungry lust, avidly cataloguing his every response.

The blanket was snatched away, exposing his engorged erection of which he had firm hold, stroking himself rapidly. Then Elrond abruptly stood and for a moment stared down upon the wanton display, tracking over every inch of aroused flesh before returning to lock upon Legolas' blue eyes.

"Show me," he ordered and caught his breath as the sylvan instantly obeyed.

Legolas spread his legs wide, angling his hips so to expose the unique configuration of his genitalia, offering the red, wet hole which he parted with his fingers. An urgent call issued from his lungs, a trilling cry of need and want that demanded immediate answer. Elrond did not hesitate, opening his robes and his trousers, drawing forth his rigid cock, revealing the organ with which he would subdue his mate, presenting it boldly as he advanced.

In fascination Legolas watched the maroon penis filling his field of vision, growing to massive proportions as Elrond slowly approached, the head of it slick where clear dew crowned the orifice at its pinnacle. Respiration ragged and thoughts scattered, he wanted nothing but for his mate to claim him, to feel that cock burrowing inside, hard and hot, stroking him to frenzied ecstasy. He sounded the trilling call again and Elrond mounted him, penetrating him fully with a hard thrust, the smack as their bodies collided loud. An exultant cry left the Elven Lord as he pulled back for another go, hesitating long enough to favour Legolas with a triumphant leer before lunging into motion. He never once closed his eyes, peering with intense delight into Legolas' face, willing him not to look away, drinking in the fevered glaze that overtook the sylvan's sight as their passions peaked.

Legolas came first, a long shudder running through him as his eyes rolled back and his body arched into the glorious sensation, a small amount of clear fluid spurting from his slender cock. Elrond continued to fuck him, grinning hugely as Legolas regained his senses and focused on the Noldo's face. Then he stopped mid-stroke and pulled out, standing back and stripping off his clothes. He displayed his magnificent body and Legolas eagerly took in the sight, sighing at the fine masculine physique and the still-rigid penis jutting out between the powerful legs. Elrond chuckled as he climbed back on the bed, turning Legolas onto his stomach and entering him anally.

"Ah! So good, so tight!" he groaned, redoubling his pace and pounding into the constricted cavity, hands reaching down to lift and position the compliant body, allowing him to go so deep that his balls slapped against the sylvan's rear with every thrust. He continued for some minutes, moaning in pleasure, leaning over to press kisses across the archer's straining back, and finally succumbed to his body's demands, spilling within his mate with a delirious cry of gratification.

Motion ceased and Elrond disengaged, carefully turning Legolas to him as he laid down, drawing the sylvan close against his heart, stealing another kiss from smiling lips. For a time neither stirred, content to rest and recover, secure in one another's embrace, for Legolas had wrapped himself all around Elrond. Finally the Elven Lord inhaled a deep breath and shifted, tilting Legolas' chin up to look into his eyes. He smiled and traced the stubborn chin with his thumb.

"Perhaps I shall keep you after all," he said. "I experience an unaccountable delight, Legolas, that I never thought possible through such intercourse. And what of you? Does this union grant you any peace, any happiness, or is it only need that drives you?"

"Need drives me, but I don't understand. Are the needs of the person and the person's soul separate?" Legolas asked, hoping to learn what caused this magnificent elf to rebel against their bond, for there was no doubt that Elrond reacted with remorse and something like shame when he became aroused in Legolas' presence, retreating in grim silence to relieve the condition as best he might. As far as Legolas' needs, he had been too ill up to now and today was the first day he had become aroused by his mate. His desire had surely ignited Elrond's, and had their union not been both pleasing and comforting? He could not comprehend what was wrong.

"Nay, those needs are the same when two are united in love rather than lust. What we share is not so base, surely, yet neither is it grounded in love."

"It isn't?"

"No. How can I love you or you me? We know nothing of one another, save that we are as unlike as fish to fowl."

Legolas wriggled free and sat up, gazing in fear at Elrond, for now that he comprehended the problem he dearly wished he had not asked. It could not be possible, yet so it seemed: the Lord of Imladris would reject him and cast him aside after all.

"We are both elf-kind. You cannot imagine learning enough of me to love me?"

"No more than you could acquire sufficient appreciation of me to experience that emotion. It isn't possible."

"You are wrong. I have already chosen you and love will follow in its natural course. You have chosen me as well, else you would not have claimed me on the field of battle."

"That was purely instinct," cautioned Elrond, sitting up also, worry creasing his brow. "I was compelled, as were you. I claimed nothing, certainly not your heart. Our coupling meant nothing beyond that dire need to salvage your life."

"So for the Noldorin folk, the needs of the soul and the person are not the same. You will have the body and reject the heart it holds." His voice shook as he pronounced these words, wishing he had strength enough to quit the room and these devastating revelations. "It is my punishment, then, you so generously give with every caress. Ah! Námo could not have chosen a better one, or rather for me a more terrible one."

Alarmed, Elrond took hold of the distraught Wood Elf at the arms, squeezing his biceps and shaking just a tiny bit. Such reasoning was absurd; Legolas could not imagine himself to be in love. Certainly his people had explained the nature of the bond they shared.

"Legolas, no one is punishing you. Your heart is not mine to either claim or reject. Please, rid yourself of these thoughts for they will only hinder your recovery. It is best to let this strange link we share run its course. As time passes and it fades, you would regret sealing your heart to mine, which is not free to secure that seal."

"You are not free? Who is your mate? Does this elf know of me? Ai! I cannot bear this!" Legolas struggled to get loose but Elrond held him fast, shushing him with soothing platitudes he couldn't focus on and had no wish to hear. "I am your mate and you are mine. We are bound one to another and ever shall we be."

"Bound to me you are, but you are not my mate," answered Elrond firmly. "I see now that I was wrong to indulge the pleasurable aspects of the unusual bond. Doing so has confused your mind for you are young and had never shared the delights of the body before. For that I am deeply sorry, Legolas, I did not intend to deceive you." He rose from the bed and hastily dressed himself, refusing to meet the sylvan's woeful gaze. "I think it best to resist such temptations in future. Now that you are improving, I feel confident one of the other physicians on staff can adequately oversee the healing process."

"You are leaving now? When will you return, Elrond?" Legolas scrambled to the edge of the bed and sought to rise, but his body was exhausted and he fell back with a despairing cry. Instantly Elrond came and settled him against the pillows, covering him over and admonishing him not to be foolish, not to undo the work of so many weeks.

"Why must you go? What did I do that disturbs you? Will you not sit at the desk with your work, as always? I will speak no more of your other mate nor pose any obstacle between you. Will you not stay a while?"

Yet he would not reply to Legolas' questions, or rather he answered all when he gathered his papers and left the room, closing the door shut without a single word, not even a good bye.

Legolas stared at the barrier in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened, refusing to accept this bitter result to his foolish desire to see the land of his mother's birth. It was meant to be a simple, pleasurable excursion, one he could not deny himself, not knowing when he might be so close to the Hidden Vale again. How could something so commonplace yield so much strife and sorrow?

Rejected by my chosen mate, I have no hope of bringing Galbreth back. I will fade: a truly horrible death. Better to have died at Galbreth's side.

He covered his face with his hands, clamping them over his mouth even as it yawned wide to emit a scream of anguished panic. He bit hard upon the flesh to stifle any recurrence, heaving great gulps of air as he sought to compose himself, glad that he had not revealed his parents' identity to anyone in Imladris. How could he admit the truth, that he had caused such havoc and destruction of life; precious life that now could not be renewed? What shame would come upon his people if they knew! Bad enough that they must mourn for Galbreth; let them not come to despise their second son for taking away the first.

No! I will not permit it. Elrond does have feelings for me; I have seen it in his eyes. He cannot reject what his heart has claimed, even if he fails to realise it yet.

This determined notion drowned out the clamouring thunder of his pounding heart and struggling lungs. Legolas sank back into the cushions, all tension leaving him as he repeated the belief like a mantra, refusing to accept defeat. There was time enough, for the signs had not manifested. Elrond's heart would be awakened long before that time and their union would become true and abiding. He needed but patience and persistence and the bond would do the rest. Silently, Legolas sent forth a call from his soul, seeking out the Elven Lord's. Finding it, he let the call cling, giving it a second pulse of his essence.

That will bring Elrond back; his spirit heard the call and must answer.

He had no notion then of how long he would have to wait for that answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Empty of light, the entire world was nothing but an inky pit filled to the brink with desolation and despair: the air, the ground, this place, his very heart and soul drowning in unending black oblivion. What did it matter? Dark or light, morning or evening, nothing was as it should be. Days had come and gone, how many he could not say, passing without change. Elrond remained apart from him, denying the call of his soul. Now he was too weak to send it forth any longer; the light he had managed to generate expended in the effort to reach his mate.

Nay, not my mate, of this there can be no doubt. Elrond rejects me and will let me perish rather than cleave to our bond.

A strange sound punctuated the silence and Legolas realised it was a wail of misery wrung from the depths of his heart. He sighed and another hitched and broken exhale rent the dense and lightless air. He opened his eyes, realising he had closed them while he slept, and blinked, finding he was in the sickroom still, not banished to the Black Void just yet.

Not yet, but when? Have I not suffered enough?

His vision moved to the empty desk, now neat and tidy, its clutter of parchments and scrolls removed, the ink and the quill gone. Sharp flares of agony seared him as he gazed at the empty chair before it, tucked close underneath. The desk and the chair were only that once more, stripped of the more prestigious identity conferred by the elf who had employed them.

Elrond's desk and chair once, but no more.

Better to chop them up and cast the wood into the fire, for how could they be content without their master's attention? Legolas longed to rise and go sit upon the chair, to see the desk as Elrond had seen it all those weeks. Upon the table's polished surface wavered a thin and feeble light, a meagre incandescence radiating from a guttering flame clinging to a charred and depleted wick.

It was the lamp, its reservoir nearly empty, the oil-fed flame flaring minutely in the vagaries of the ambient currents of the circulating air. The vessel for the fuel was elegant, appearing to be a magnificent gem, swirled with violet and amber light within the planes of its prisms, the globe surrounding the single tongue of fire smooth and round and the colour of hoar frost on grass on winter's first dawn. It was mesmerising, the dance of the leaping light, and Legolas watched it avidly, for there was nothing else to hold his gaze. The room was empty but for himself and the amethyst lantern.

He was alone; the comforting voice, the gifted hands, the strengthening presence, the amazing grey eyes gone. A heavy sigh left him and a great well of sorrow arose, threatening to choke him unless he could dislodge it somehow and so he wept. He had no concept of the length of time he stared thus, no realisation of dragging his body from the bed, no memory of bashing the amethyst lamp against the desk, no sensation of pain as he seized one of the glittering shards and sliced it through his flesh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"See? Here is a selection of books and should these displease you I have many more, hundreds. They are in Sindarin but I will read them to you, if you like. And there, the view from the balcony overlooks the gardens and often birds alight upon the railings, serenading me while I work. That is my desk just there, so I will be near should you have need of me for any reason. Whatever you wish will be provided; you have but to ask, Legolas."

Elrond spoke quietly, gently; his inflection and pitch kept soothing, calming, assuaging while beneath the dulcet tones ran a brash note of anxiety. He knelt beside the roomy chair in which he had deposited Legolas and peered into the desolate countenance, those elegant features pinched and strained with defeat and despair. The Wood Elf rarely spoke any longer, his relapse after the suicide attempts almost complete and thus his health reduced significantly. Whenever Elrond had forcibly hauled him back from death, the sylvan tried anew to end his life. After the third attempt, Elrond had resorted to drugging him, hoping an extended period of rest might rejuvenate the failing spirit.

It had helped somewhat, though the effects of the sedatives were severe and Legolas lost weight from being unable to keep food down. Elrond was forced to reduce the medications gradually, watching and waiting for any change. The Wood Elf returned to consciousness was much changed: a listless, broken being who failed to respond to questions or stimulus with more than a brief glance from dull, despairing eyes. He was fading and the fact tore at the Elven Lord's heart and soul, infusing him with a terror he could not account and guilt he could not mitigate.
That Legolas truly had bound his soul to Elrond's the lore-master no longer doubted. Arriving at the sickroom to find Legolas covered in blood, fighting weakly against a healer attempting to wrench the glassy dagger from his lacerated hand, had been more than sufficient proof. Whether he could give the elf enough of his heart to sustain him was the question. He did not want Legolas to perish and while this desire he attributed to the bond of extremity, there was a different quality to this need than during those first weeks together.

He could no longer deny that he would mourn severely should he fail to restore the Wood Elf, and recognised the reason: so much of his soul was committed to the sylvan elf that his heart had begun to open, turning to this unlikely source of absolute acceptance and adoration as a flower opens to the rising sun. Legolas, unschooled except in the art of killing, unrefined in manners, ignorant of life beyond his gloomy, superstition-riddled forest, inexperienced in the ways of love, had been correct. The needs of the person and the person's soul were not distinct.

"We are bound together, you and I, and shall not be parted unless you wish it," Elrond said, his voice firm and sure, for this statement, this pledge of devotion and constancy, was not an empty promise but a true covenant between them. Intently he watched the abstracted eyes but Legolas' focus was through the open arches of the balcony, staring at the rustling leaves of the tree beyond the rail. Elrond sighed and stood.

The challenge now was to make this a reality for Legolas, one that he could trust. This day marked no less than the tenth month the Wood Elf had been under his care, and only today had Elrond deemed him well enough to leave the healing wards. Thus, he had escorted him here to his luxurious rooms in the Last Homely House, explaining that anything in the suite was to be treated as his own henceforth. The struggle to reach this point, figuratively and literally, had been considerable and Elrond was not deluded into thinking himself victorious. Legolas' soul was fragile, his heart a ruined and blasted mess, his physical vitality sapped. Elrond blamed himself, attributing the decline to his callous and cowardly retreat from the sylvan's impassioned plea for a deeper commitment to their unusual bond.

The suicide attempt had come close to succeeding but the physical wounds were the least of his concerns. There was a poison infecting Legolas more insidious than anything Orcs could devise, being a cancer of the heart and spirit. Elrond fought to bring him back from madness and the creeping destruction of grieving sickness and a broken heart. The Wood Elf's mind wandered in a strange state of disassociation, reliving the past, re-fighting the battle, mourning his brother and bargaining with Námo, begging forgiveness from parents far away. His only relief came when Elrond held him close and then he would sink into exhausted slumber.

When reason returned twelve days later, Legolas' first action was another attempt to destroy himself. For a second time he sliced open his veins, this time using a blade of glass from a smashed water pitcher. The opportunity had come about when once again he was deserted, the Lord of Imladris called away to confer with another healer over an elf wounded while on patrol. Fortunately, an attendant arrived in time to staunch the flow and stitch the gashes. Through that Legolas remained unconscious, having slipped into oblivion as soon as he'd done the deed.

He awoke screaming.

There sat Elrond beside him, mouthing useless words of consolation, begging for him not to fall prey to such despair. What could it matter if he died now or later? Why must he suffer this agony for so long? Was it not enough to give his life, that it must be dragged from him degree by painful degree?

All this Legolas had yelled and more, accusing Elrond of horrendous cruelty and torture, first saving him by the bonding and then pretending to accept their union only to cast him off, destroying all hope of ever repaying his debt and undoing his wrongs. He was cursed, doomed to fade and he refused to end that way, demanding a dagger be brought and that he be left alone, so that he could cut out his heart and die, since the hateful organ had brought him only humiliation and degradation. All this he shouted in Nandorin yet the meaning was clear.

Elrond silenced this raving outburst with seduction, using the bond against Legolas so that he submitted in tears and wept inconsolably in the aftermath of his release. Naturally this distressed the mighty Lord, for before his sylvan mate had complied willingly, even eagerly. He resolved never to attempt the same until Legolas was well, for this was not like the instinctive bonding at all, not for Legolas.

Nevertheless, what had been effective before must still provide some benefit, and this was so. Their intercourse strengthened and calmed the Wood Elf and he clung to Elrond desperately, obviously frightened he would leave again. The Elven Lord fervently swore never to do so and gradually Legolas improved. A month passed and Elrond's vigilant supervision lapsed, resuming his duties as leader of the Noldorin community. For a third time Legolas tried to die, this time his action halted before he could harm himself, for the attending healer found him rummaging in the pharmacy for a poisonous agent.

The days of sedation started and this time Elrond feared to stop it. Yet, he could not keep Legolas forever sleeping and the drugs were having a debilitating effect on the archer's health. His weight dropped dangerously and Elrond began to suspect this was another plan to seek death. Accordingly, Elrond tried to reach his mate, hoping to convince him to strive for life instead, to give their strange bond another chance to finish its work and finally heal him.

"We are bound together, you and I, and shall not be parted unless you wish it."

He'd said that a hundred times if he'd said it once, and always Legolas just stared at him in blank lethargy or ignored him completely, no indication on his drained features that he understood or accepted this proposal. So many days gone by with no response, Legolas watching him without seeming to see him, hearing him without ever listening to a single syllable.

What more to do or say Elrond could not think. He'd tried singing, he'd tried reading to him, he'd talked to Legolas constantly, relating tales from his elfling years and sharing stories about Elros, revealing the personalities of Maedhros and Maglor, the sons of Feänor who had raised the sons of Eärendil.

He spoke of Lindon and Círdan and Gil-galad; he extolled his mother's beauty and mourned her nearly constant sorrow; he revealed his sadness and his guilt for failing to remember what his father looked like. He described the cities in the Grey Havens and recounted anecdotes about the citizens living there, many of whom now dwelled in Imladris. Elrond shared the horror and despair of his defeat at Eregion, his determination and hope when founding Imladris, his joy in becoming a father. In short, Elrond poured out the entirety of his soul's contents, both its laments and its victories, trusting his most deeply held secrets to this lowly sylvan archer from the woodland realm, hoping that somehow he could convince the elf to stay alive.

The breakthrough came unexpectedly, without any warning or indication that Legolas had been improving. As was his custom, Elrond had a tray brought in for dinner and chattered away about the goings on in the valley as he handed Legolas slices of fruit and buttered little bites of bread for him. The day's events included the arrival of a party of traders from Rohan bringing a large caravan of fine horses, many with coats of shimmering gold and manes as white as drifts of flowing snow. Elrond related the qualities of each one, indicating he would probably keep at least three of the larger mares as breeding stock for the estate. In the midst of this Legolas had cleared his throat, silencing the Elven Lord instantly. Elrond waited, breath suspended, eyes locked on the pensive face turned to him where blue eyes gleamed with unequivocal recognition and comprehension.

"There is a mare already in foal, and that one you should keep, for the sire is a great horse, a descendant of the ancient ones," he said, each syllable articulated with care, for the language was known to him but little used in his homeland. The last time he'd spoken Sindarin was during a visit to Laketown and he'd practised with his Adar diligently for a week prior to ensure his accent was correct. How long ago was that? Somehow he could recall the event but not its location in time relative to now. This upset him and he clutched at the bow balanced across his lap, brow furrowing in confusion as he turned his eyes to the worried face bending near.

"When was it? Why have I forgotten?" he asked, but he reverted to his natural tongue in his distress and the elf watching failed to comprehend him.

"What is that? I'm afraid I do not speak Nandorin, Legolas, yet there is no cause for this dread I see within your eyes. Be at peace, tell me of this horse, if you can." Elrond smiled, ecstatic to have so lucid a reply, so normal a response and laid a sensitive hand over the fingers locked around the polished wood.

Legolas drew a sharp breath and unconsciously drew back from the touch upon his hand, staring at this austere and refined elf, this legend come to life, this great pin upon which so much of history was secured. Elrond Half-elven, renowned healer and lore-master. Elrond, scion of Eärendil, Herald, and veritable heir, of the High King. Elrond, Keeper of one of the Rings of Power. Elrond, Lord of Imladris. Elrond, my mate by bond. "Elrond?"

"Aye, it is only me; all is well," answered the noble elf calmly, not upset by the nervous retreat, for Legolas was not recovering either quickly or easily from the breakdown, but at last he could truly believe that he was recovering. He swallowed and offered an encouraging nod. "You were saying?"

"Was I? What?"

"About the horses from Rohan, when did you see the mare?"

"Oh, when the humans rode in." The befuddled haze cleared suddenly and Legolas peered at Elrond sharply. "One can see most of the estate from the roof of the balcony."

Elrond's heart leaped, frantic over the reason Legolas had been wandering about on the roof of the Last Homely House and how he had managed it without anyone noticing his absence from the suite. He squeezed the fingers tightly and fought the desire to give vent to his fears.

"You watched them from the roof?" he managed, a slight tremor in the tones betraying his emotion and, to his utter delight and consternation both, a twinkling gleam lit the azure depths focused on him. Was Legolas teasing him? He hadn't time to process that notion, as Legolas answered him, the words so unexpected and at once so welcome that Elrond was rendered speechless with emotion.

"We are bound together, you and I, and never shall we be parted."

"Aye, that is true. That is true, Legolas." Elrond could not get beyond that for several minutes, rising and enfolding the Wood Elf in a warm embrace, elated to feel lean arms wrap around him in turn. Finally he let go and resumed his chair, keeping hold of Legolas' hand as he sat and scooted a bit closer, all the while grinning in unabashed happiness. "You will not try to end your life again?" he asked calmly, feeling it best to risk the topic rather than minimise the seriousness of Legolas' despair.

"I will not," replied Legolas. "Galbreth was right, as is usually the case. He told me things were not as bad as they seemed to be."

"Ah," Elrond nodded, uncertain how to respond, for he knew of course that the elf was dead almost a year gone by. He wondered if this was a case of errors in speaking a foreign tongue or an indication of the shifting levels of awareness that had plagued Legolas for so many months.

Legolas took pity on him, smiling. "Not recently, but when I was growing up he was my confidante and closest friend. His counsel remains with me, though he is gone and, Valar willing, he will return to me soon."

"I hope that is so, for I would gladly welcome the elf whose words, be they out of the past or the future, convinced you to return to me. We will find a way to remain together, won't we?"

"Aye."

And then, after so many days and weeks and months of unending talk, Elrond could find no words to say, while Legolas was content in his silence. They completed the meal and then retired to the balcony to watch the stars, only this time Elrond did not have to lead Legolas out to the chairs. At length Legolas sighed, feeling hope growing within him again, and reached for Elrond's hand.

"I was wrong to despair. I should have trusted what my heart revealed to me," he announced. "The bond is strong and only time was needed to bring it to bloom in your heart, too. We have plenty of time, have we not? And all will be accomplished long before the appointed moment arrives."

His smile was exuberant and Elrond returned it. Though the Wood Elf's meaning was somewhat obscure, the Lord of Imladris attributed that to Legolas' limited command of Sindarin vocabulary. He did not want to spoil the moment by inquiring more deeply, instead anticipating the rest of the night, for surely their joining would attain a level of intimacy they had not previously known.

It would be ten years before the import of those words became clear.

Mithrandir awkwardly patted the Evenstar's shuddering shoulders as she bawled, a miserable heap slumped in the centre of the three circles of awareness encompassed within the twelve-pointed star. He was not exactly gifted in rendering sympathetic platitudes and comforting gestures and neither, truth be told, was he sympathetic, on general principle, regarding suffering wrought by obstinate and pig-headed actions for which he had issued due warnings and cautions.

"There there," he said drily. "There there, Arwen, they are but phantoms you have seen, long past and resolved now. You might consider rejoicing over that fact instead of dissolving in misery."

Arwen sat up sharply and glared, shoving his hand away as she sniffed and wiped her running nose against the sleeve of her gown.

"I am not 'dissolved in misery', wizard, but deeply disturbed and filled with regret and remorse and guilt. I should not have pried into this; these are not the kinds of things a daughter should know about her father, or her father's mate, or indeed about anyone save her own mate," she wailed, rising to her feet and pacing about in the glade. Her visage turned a sickly shade of watery green and she groaned, leaning hastily against a tree as she clutched at her stomach, gasping against the desire to vomit as the memories, now hers as much as they were Legolas and Elrond's, flitted across her inner eye.

"So I said at the outset," reminded Gandalf, shaking his head in annoyance. As he had served as the barrier between this spell and Legolas, he had shared everything Arwen had witnessed. "I will be having a talk with Galadriel about what she has elected to share with you. Much of what Melian revealed to her was not meant to be divulged to anyone else."

"What has that to do with anything? Did you see nothing of the past? Can you remain so removed from this situation?"

"That is exactly my point," groused the Istar. "I witnessed the same events you did yet I am not overwhelmed with the graphic details. I am capable of realising whence the Wood Elf's motives to bear life under such daunting circumstances arose. I am able to acknowledge the trials and troubles the two have endured and applaud the strength of the love between them, for it has borne all these catastrophes and continues to grow stronger. Seeing beyond the details, that is an indication of my wisdom, a valuable trait which you, my dear child, lack. Magic on the level your grandmother has revealed should never be taught to someone devoid of that essential quality, and that is what my remarks have to do with this situation."

Arwen gaped, far too wise at least to present any rebuttal to this scolding. Enduring this lecture from Mithrandir was, on consideration, much easier on the ears to the blistering denouncement she would receive from Elrond should he ever learn what she had done. Still, she could not deny that the spell had worked flawlessly and she had the answer to her questions.

Now at least she could face Legolas without resentment over the unborn babe. Clearly, he had thought these signs portending his brother's rebirth were far in the future; he had convinced himself that he and Elrond would have formalised their union according to the customs of both their respective cultures long before the time to conceive arrived. That the signs had manifested only ten years later, with Elrond still refusing to recognise their bond, had changed everything.

"You are satisfied?" asked Mithrandir, for he had been watching her closely and guessed the cause of her introspective silence.

"I am," she nodded. "I still do not approve, but I understand and cannot hold him at fault. I was hoping to learn if he ever explained and apologised to Ada, but truthfully I could not bear watching what was sure to come next."

At this Mithrandir laughed heartily, which she naturally did not appreciate. "Never fear, the hoped-for coupling did not take place, for Legolas lapsed again into distraction. It was like that for some time, it would seem: a few moments of clarity would devolve into broken despair. It was many more months before Legolas trusted your father enough to join with him, fearing to be rejected as had happened each time."

"How can you know this? Did you enhance my spell with one of your own, reading my father's memories as well as Legolas'?"

"What impertinence! Am I, Olórin, a Maia of the Order of the Istari, disciple of Manwë, subject to interrogation by one of the First-born? I think not. Besides, a long talk with your Ada is in order, child, and he will answer your concerns. As to the pregnancy, you have but to watch him with Legolas to see that there is only love for the young prince, openly and freely expressed. Nothing of bitterness over the child remains between them, if it ever did, and let us pray the days ahead are filled with sweetness and domestic bliss."

"Aye," Arwen smiled at last, for she wanted this for her father, regardless her early dismay over seeing a male Wood Elf replace her mother in Elrond's heart. "I am eager to meet Legolas' family now. What is King Thranduil like?"

"He is much like your grandfather, save more impetuous and gallant, and perhaps more handsome, if you will excuse my bias."

The voice supplying this answer was certainly not Mithrandir's and Arwen startled badly, spinning to face the source. There at the base of a gnarled oak stood an elegant female of regal mien, hair as black as volcanic glass with eyes both clear and infinite like a winter's night. With a sinking heart Arwen saw within those flashing depths understanding and comprehension of all that had been said and done within the glade.

Thus did Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of Imladris, meet Rhûn'waew, Thranduil's wife-mate, Greenwood's Winter Queen, descendant of Eluréd, son of Dior, son of Luthien Tinuviel, daughter of Thingol and Melian.

TBC

~ ~ Glossary ~ ~

Esgal Orthant: Raised Veil

Henen Vell: My Dear Child

Sell-en-Iellen: daughter of my daughter

Elei Velthin: Golden Dreams

Ôlpathu: Dream place

faer'lîr: soul-song

Pathrol na Gail: Filling with Light - Enlightenment

Adar ar Ionath nin go'aro: Father and sons have me together.

Údobin lín faer gall, Elrond Peredhel: I uncover your shady soul, Elrond Peredhel.

Boe anim baded an Ada: I need to go to Ada.

Lindi swarn: obstinate green Elf (Nandorin)

Nín'ódhel brui: My noisy deep elf

Elbereth nin beria dan tawarwaith vrêg: Elbereth protect me from wild sylvans

Sui Eru nin henia, gerich nín ind a faer, si an uir bân: As Eru knows me, you hold my heart and soul, now and for all eternity.

Ertho mín faer: Unite our souls

Nae: Alas

Tinu Mín: our little star

NOTE: OK, well this is a very long chapter and no doubt much of it could have been cut. On other sites, it probably will be, and on LJ it will be divided in three entries because of the limitation of characters allowed. Believe it or not, I actually did cut about 2000 words! But i trust you to skip what you feel has been covered enough in previous chapters and move on. I hope it meets everyone's expectations :)

I hope no one is surprised by Arwen's ability to do this sort of thing or her desire to find answers. Her 'gift' was introduced in the very first bonus chapter but that was so long ago that it might have been forgotten. Also, I hope it was apparent that as the timeline progressed, she was able to 'see and hear' more of her father's thoughts and feelings. This is meant to indicate his growing acceptance of the bond, his desire to share his inner heart with Legolas, even if that desire remained subconscious for so many months.

Just to remind everyone, Legolas did explain his reasoning to Elrond and offer his apologies, (Chapter 7 and again in Chapter 18 gives a fuller explanation) and initially planned to flee to Aman rather than force his mate to take responsibility for the child. Recall that Elrond only learned of the babe because of the poisoning incident. You will find some inconsistencies, for example in Chapter 7 Elrond internally reveals that he 'lost count' of how frequently Legolas tried to end his life while in the healing wards, while here an exact number is stated. Surely Elrond's earlier thoughts were a bit exaggerated, no doubt because really thinking of the suicide attempts was so painful to do. We also see that Legolas was not opposed to their physical union until Elrond told him plainly that he would not become his mate, no matter that they were already bound. I hope this chapter makes it clearer as to why Legolas resisted intimacy later.

Technically, they had sex four times in year one: at the initial bonding in Eregion, once right after arriving in Imladris, Glorfindel showing upright after, once in joy during the early days when the poison was finally defeated, and once in despair after the second suicide attempt. At one point, (the Ened Ethuil chapter, I think) Elrond stated that he and Legolas only coupled three times their first year together, but he was not counting the initial joining. If there are other inconsistencies, I apologise. If you find any let me know and I'll try to fix them.

So I guess Arwen's magical tactics were helpful, but I do think it was telling that she had to be sneaky about it, going behind Legolas' back instead of talking to him openly and just asking. Her reasons? I think she feared further alienation from Elrond if her questions offended Legolas. She is feeling vulnerable, having been replaced first by this new young love in her Ada's life,an elf much younger than she is, and now finding he is with child, and she will truly be replaced as Elrond's favourite.

Mithrandir played it cool, didn't he, but I wonder what his real reaction was? He certainly learned a lot of details about Legolas and Elrond he didn't know before. Still, I am glad he was there as I don't think it would be good for Legolas to be touched by magic of that sort, especially being pregnant. (The strands from the 'present' Legolas, used to construct the phantom presence, were thus a link he might have followed, subconsciously, and then relived all that horrible stuff again.) Fortunately, the 'veil' Arwen created was from the time prior to the pregnancy, so the unborn child was never in danger of being exposed to Legolas' desperate attempts to end his life.

A lot happened in this chapter. The Twins have officially made their presence known. Wonder what they were doing in their father's rooms anyway. Snooping perhaps? Well, maybe that too but they did have a legitimate reason for poking around. Note that when they left they took Faelon with them. The exciting thing is that the house must be nearly finished and we know what that means :D

Faelon shows his true colours and he is all right in my book. A good friend for Legolas. And of course he revealed that our sylvan archer keeps a pregnancy diary, which the Twins are dying to get a glimpse of for certain, and we already know they are not shy about reading other peoples' diaries. So do you think Legolas would keep a 'regular' journal and hide it away somewhere, perhaps in his old tulip poplar? I have no decided if that's the sort of thing he would do, especially with so many secrets to keep. i think he would worry more about someone finding it and reading it.

And if Rhûn'waew knows what Arwen was doing,what is her reaction likely to be? And if she is alone in the glade, where is Thranduil and what is he up to? With his wife being so intuitive, I wonder if he has gone in search of the Twins right about now? Now if so, that is going to be a difficult meeting,for him as well as for them. The bond changes everything. Where he might wish to tear them limb from limb, he cannot indulge such desires in light of Legolas' connection to them. As for them, what can they possible do to make amends? I am fairly sure this is something the brothers have been discussing in depth, so we'll see what they come up with.

I have not forgotten that we left this story on the verge of finally uniting our two heroes in a more 'legal' sense. We have some fun shenanigans courtesy of the Wood Elves, who cannot quite contain their desire to teach Elrond his place and punish him a bit for his treatment of their beloved prince. We have a talan to build in Lanthir Fân, we need to get aras out of Imladris, and then we need to go ahead and move ahead quite a bit.

Guess that's it for now. Thanks to everyone reading and to all you folks who send me such kind feedback, thoughtful well-wishes, and unending encouragement. I am indebted to you and deeply, deeply grateful. Now, I have some Xmas fics to finish, so I better get back to work :)
© 11/12/2008 Ellen Robey

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~ ~ Glossary ~ ~