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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 26417 -:- 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.

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Chapter XL

Imladris, lairë T.A. 2947

The topmost branches of the ancient oak tree by the tributary stream afforded one of the best views in the deep cleft that was called Rivendell in the Common Tongue. From there, much of the valley realm could be seen, from the grove of beeches whence the pebble-strewn track to Imladris emerged into plain sight to the stone bridge that spanned the rushing stream to the main enclave of the vale's residents even unto the wide courtyard of Elrond's house.

The Peredhel lord's home was the fulcrum of the valley, the hub around which the spokes that were the houses and halls of his people were built. From across the bridge, the closely packed buildings, all wrought with that distinctive touch from beyond the Great Sea, presented a picture that was both enchanting and challenging at the same time. Depending on a visitor's intentions, it could be construed as welcoming or as a warning. It was an enigma that few knew enough to unravel.

But to the lad who perched amidst the highest boughs, that enigma was simply home and the Half-elven lord who had founded it the only father he had ever known. Estel peered through the thinning foliage above him at the bright summer sky. With a grin, he leaned back against the stout tree trunk and bit into the apple he'd tucked into his shirt pocket.

At sixteen years of age, he was a tall and rangy youth, handsome of face and well knit of body as a scion of the House of the Mariner was expected to be, mortal blood notwithstanding. He bristled with barely restrained energy, his mind brimming with the promises of an exciting future soon to be. There was the imminent visit of his cousin Halbarad and other of his kin. The fast growing colt his Ada Elrond had gifted him with on the occasion of his last begetting day. And his twin brothers had informed him that they would take him with them on their next Orc hunt come the following year. 'Twas time he trained on the field, they told him much to his incredulous delight.

Yes, there was indeed much to look forward to and for the young Dúnadan it could not happen soon enough. But for now he had to content himself with what the valley offered. Today, however, he had naught to do but amuse himself. No lessons or training sessions on the exercise yard or pressing obligations to fulfill. Thus, he whiled away his time recalling pleasant incidents and the like while munching on his apple.

At length, he remembered the charms of the maidens he'd accidentally espied while they took a cooling dip in the shallows of the stream further down its length. Not that he'd come across so sordid a scene as wanton nymphets flaunting themselves to all and sundry. The Elf-maids had only shed their gowns, leaving on their thin shifts. But once plastered to nubile bodies when soaked, those shifts left little to the imagination as to the beauty they were meant to conceal. Estel thought it even more enticing to have beheld their comely forms barely veiled by filmy fabric than if they'd frolicked in naught but their skin.

He felt a burgeoning heat in his groin and grimaced. He should have known better than to indulge in such thoughts if he did not wish to deal with the subsequent discomfort. He sighed and strove to master his unruly body.

It was then that he glimpsed the approach of a party of cloaked riders coming down the path. He studied them, wondering whence they hailed. When they neared enough for him to spot glimpses of their raiment beneath their cloaks, he suddenly straightened in excitement. These were no mortals but Elves. And from their colors he guessed they were from King Thranduil's realm in Northern Mirkwood.

Reared amongst Elves of mainly Noldorin and Sindarin descent, Estel had only the most cursory acquaintance with the Silvan Elves of the great forest to the east and none at all with the Galadhrim of the Golden Wood. Small wonder he watched the woodland riders make their way down the path with equal parts elation and curiosity.

They passed under the arch over the gate to Elrond's halls and rode into the courtyard in single file. Estel saw that his foster-father and brothers had come out to welcome the visitors, Elrohir striding toward the foremost rider, his face all-aglow. That could only mean one thing. Legolas had returned to the valley.

Estel swiftly descended from the tree. Almost nine years had passed since he's last seen the youngest Mirkwood prince. He only had a child's vague memories of the archer. Of sun-bright hair and an indulgent smile and gestures of kindness to the mortal child who lived amongst his Elven kin. It would be wonderful to meet his woodland friend again.

He raced toward the gate and entered the courtyard in time to see the Elf-knight embrace his archer love. Elrohir eased Legolas' hood back revealing his fair locks. Estel paused to permit them their moment of reunion, his cheeks reddening faintly when they kissed with barely restrained passion. Afterward, Elrohir led his spouse to his father and brother. As affectionate greetings were exchanged, Elrond saw Estel where he lingered at the gate and beckoned to him to join them.

Hurrying forward, he heard his foster-father say, “And here is Estel, Legolas. I do not think you will recognize him for he is grown and no longer the little one who begged you for sweets.”

Legolas turned around, eyes widening with amazement and delight when he laid them on the Peredhil's ward.

“Estel! Why, you are a veritable giant!” he exclaimed. “You have indeed grown.” A warm smile curled the prince's lips.

About to speak, Estel felt his tongue cleave to the top of his mouth instead. He stared at Legolas, utterly stricken with awe. Here was no mere Elf-lord but a vision of perfection to his bedazzled eyes. Elbereth, had he ever seen anything so ethereally fair ere this morn?

Fingers slipped under his chin and, with a sharp tap, compelled him to close his mouth with a nearly audible snap. Startled, he turned and stared at Elladan's amused countenance.

“'Tis undignified and impolite to gape, adaneth”-young man-the Elf-warrior chided with a smile. “Really, Estel, would you have Legolas think we have not taught you any manners?”

Estel would have liked to make a smart response but his tongue and brain refused to cooperate and all he could manage was a rushed babble of stammered greetings. “Welcome to Imladris, Legolas, I hope you enjoy your stay here, how is the weather in Mirkwood, I am well, thank you.” Whereupon he turned as scarlet as boiled beetroot. Palpably cringing at the utter inanity of his outburst, he cast his eyes down to study his shoes with unwarranted fascination.

His Elven companions exchanged a four-way glance then heaved a collective sigh of resignation. There was no doubt about it. Estel had fallen in love. Again.

**********

Legolas did not as a rule sleep in. The Wood-elf in him oft had him up with daybreak or shortly thereafter. It was always an indication of spirited play late into the night when he awakened way past the sun's morning ascent. He turned in bed, groaned softly as an ache in his backside reminded him of the previous night's exertions then grinned as he also recalled his utter satisfaction afterward. He turned his head and saw that Elrohir was gone. Of course, the Elf-knight had scheduled a training session this morn with a number of novice warriors under his command. Legolas pursed his mouth a little ruefully. He should not have kept Elrohir up so late when he knew the latter had obligations to attend to early the following day. But verily his darkling spouse made it so difficult to desist.

Fully roused at last, the archer stood and snatched up his robe from the floor beside the bed. Donning it, he headed for the bedchamber balcony. Whether in Imladris or Mirkwood, he always enjoyed starting each day with a quick perusal of the view from his bedroom.

Legolas paused as he stepped onto the balcony. Someone had left a basket of honey glazed nut rolls on the table where he and Elrohir occasionally dined when the mood suited them. Nutty pastries were among the archer's favorite treats, a fact known around the Last Homely House. Legolas assumed that Elrohir had placed them there before leaving. On the brink of smiling, Legolas caught a sidelong glimpse of a slight figure on a balcony several rooms away. Said figure ducked back into its chamber when Legolas looked fully its way. But the archer did not require a more detailed glance to know just who had been observing him.

He blew his breath out with some exasperation. He could not quite believe that the young adan had climbed over several balconies to get to his quarry's in order to leave his gift. For gift it was and a most improper one at that. There could be no mistaking the intent of Estel's nigh daily offerings to the woodland prince.

He did not ply the archer with sweets and pastries alone. There were also nosegays of fragrant wildflowers and aromatic herbs meant to sweeten the bedchamber - Estel had taken Glorfindel's lesson to heart and his floral arrangements were for practical usage rather than adornment as might please an Elf-maid. If not these small bouquets, various miniature woodcarvings of the creatures that made the great forest of Mirkwood their home made their way to the archer's apartment or his place at table.

But to Legolas' mind, the most embarrassing of all due to their too obvious purpose were the poems taken from various tomes in the library, some extolling beauty and grace, others alluding to romance and related matters. The archer would have scolded Estel quite severely from the first ode's appearance under the sitting room door (and a most florid ode it had been having been composed by a mortal bard renowned for his extravagant style of writing) save for the fact that it had been painstakingly copied onto the finest sheet of parchment to be had from Erestor's office using the special and costly ink the counsellor reserved for official documents and missives. As he scowlingly told a mirthful Elrohir afterwards, how could he admonish the boy when Estel had risked Erestor's wrath for his sake? Instead, he had thanked the young mortal without imbuing his words or manner with more warmth than was absolutely necessary lest he encouraged him into further excess. A fruitless gesture it turned out for just that mere response was enough to spur the young man's hopes and enthusiasm. Thus did Legolas find himself subject to the relentless wooing for which Estel had gained rather dubious renown in the valley.

Legolas sighed again. If only that last Elf-maid Elrohir had written him about had not been the daughter of one of Gildor's people. Then mayhap Estel would still be happily engaged by her charms. Then again maybe not considering how changeable his choices could be if the tales of his courtships were true. It seemed the Peredhil's mortal kin could be a fickle folk, even amongst the scions of the line of the kings, he thought. Furthermore, Elrohir's prognosis was proving all too valid. Estel had not really absorbed Elrond's teachings about the inviolability of Elfkind's conjugal vows.

Arms slid around him from behind and he leaned into the familiar embrace. The faint aroma of sweat and leather wafted to his nostrils, teasing his sensibilities. He considered bedding Elrohir at least once before permitting his warrior-spouse to freshen up. There was something oh so enticing about his scent when he was recently come from a vigorous turn on the exercise yard.

But before he could put thought into deed, Elrohir said: “Methinks your admirer has struck again.”

Legolas glanced down at the sweets once more and frowned. “'Tis been a number of weeks and he is still infatuated with me,” he remarked.

“That goes without saying,” Elrohir agreed, resting his chin on the archer's shoulder.

“Then I would that we headed for our cabin forthwith,” Legolas said.

“We are to leave in a sennight,” the younger twin reminded him.

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, let us go this afternoon. I miss the solitude of our haven.”

Noting his mate's testy tone, the Elf-knight refrained from saying aught about his haste to depart. Instead he simply said: “We shall leave this afternoon then. I will inform Father and Elladan of our change in plans.”

Legolas shifted around to face him. He smiled at the sight of damp raven strands clinging to the younger twin's cheeks and the slight sheen of moisture on his neck.

“Exerted yourself again, have you?” he murmured, running a finger down the Elf-knight's throat to the hollow at its base where a few salty droplets glistened.

Elrohir shrugged. “They are a gamesome lot, these new recruits. Not that I have reason to complain.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Only a scant bite. I thought to wait for you.” Elrohir released him and walked to the wardrobe. “But first I must bathe ere I give Elladan a reason to tease me for unseemly conduct.”

He softly yelped when Legolas abruptly grabbed his arm, spun him around and shoved him onto the bed on his back. He stared at the archer as the latter straddled him, eyes glittering purposefully.

“The bath can wait,” the prince purred as he jerked his mate's leather jerkin open, unmindful of sundered straps. “Right now, I have a craving for Peredhel fresh from swordplay.”

**********

Enflamed by Elrohir's gasps and pleas, Legolas drove almost brutally into the Elf-knight, relishing the weave of strong legs around his waist, the unfettered rapture on his mate's countenance and the tight heat of the satin-smooth passage he repeatedly breached. 'Twas usually the archer who lay thusly when they coupled and at his express behest for Legolas enjoyed the sensation of Elrohir's bountiful flesh within him. But he was not any less eager when their roles were reversed nor did the younger twin find his skill wanting in any way. Not if Elrohir's steady undoing was anything to go by.

Forcing back his own completion, Legolas exerted every effort to ensure Elrohir's first. Not until he felt his love tremble at the onset of ecstasy, hear his guttural cry as his release began to sweep through him and see the spurt of creamy seed over his caressing hand did he at last permit himself to let go. The resulting union of body and spirit was as blissful and welcome as it had been on their binding night centuries ago.

The archer happily collapsed into his mate's arms, sighing as he withdrew from him. This breaking of that most intimate of bodily joinings always evoked a pang of regret in him, so fervently did he treasure the intense closeness they knew when they were one in rapture.

“Content, melethen?”-my love-Elrohir murmured against his forehead.

Legolas smiled. “Mmm, as always,” he mumbled. “I am glad to be here again. I have missed this seclusion with you.”

Elrohir smiled as well. He knew whereof Legolas spoke. Princes both, they were seldom truly alone even in times of leisure in the confines of their chambers in the Last Homely House. After all, any Elf could come a-knocking at their door as need dictated. But here in the sanctity of their woody haven, their time was their own, their comportment to keep or lose as they chose. Here they could be and were simple Elves and lovers.

Always jealous of his privacy, Legolas particularly looked to these periodic retreats with great pleasure and anticipation. It was not surprising that he had entreated his mate to come away soonest from his father's halls and the attentions of a rather persistent would-be suitor. Elrohir could not help a faint smile at the thought of his hapless foster-brother's endeavors.

Of a sudden, he felt the prince stiffen in his arms. Glancing at him, he saw Legolas frowningly look toward the windows and the open porch as if searching for something.

“What is it?” the Elf-knight asked.

“Someone is watching us,” Legolas growled.

The archer raised himself on one arm and stared at the window above the headboard. Though there was naught to be seen but the trees and their overhanging boughs, he suspiciously reached out with his senses. A moment later, he gasped and sank down beside Elrohir, a scowl on his face.

“Sweet Elbereth, he followed us!” he exclaimed, umbrage lending an unwonted harshness to his voice.

Elrohir stared at him then glanced out the window and up at the tree branches. There was no visible sign of anyone but his elven senses also detected the presence of an intruder. He allowed them to guide him and soon caught a glimpse of a dun-shaded tunic almost hidden by foliage. With an exasperated sigh, he lowered his gaze.

“Well?” Legolas prodded.

Elrohir looked at him sympathetically. “It seems Estel is more than just infatuated with you. Besotted is closer to the mark.”

Legolas' scowl deepened. “I sincerely hope he understands the impropriety of his actions,” he said.

“And I fear he does not,” Elrohir replied.

Legolas stared at him. “Why do you say that?”

The Elf-knight gestured toward the window. “He never purposely spied on those who came before you and even less invaded their privacy with the intent of getting more than a glimpse of their charms. Now he willingly risks censure should he be caught.”

Legolas gritted his teeth then let out a sharp exhalation. “All the more do I begrudge his discovery of our haven,” he grumbled. “I had hoped to escape his scrutiny for a spell. I do not feel comfortable under it.”

“Yet you have been subjected to the like before and endured it with nary a thought,” Elrohir pointed out. “Why do you feel uneasy now?”

The archer shrugged. “I do not know. I just do.”

Elrohir studied him a while. At length he said with no small amount of caution: “Can it be because you are… stirred… by his interest?”

Legolas jerked horrified eyes on him. “Nay!” he protested. “I care not for the desire of any save yours. Elrohir, surely you do not suspect me of harboring an attraction to him!”

“I did not suggest that you do,” Elrohir countered. “Only that you feel something when he looks at you thusly.”

The prince grew even more vehement. “I would never betray you!” he insisted.

Elrohir wove his arms around his agitated mate. “Legolas, feeling something is hardly the same as doing something about it,” he said. “Becalm yourself, seron vell. 'Tis quite natural to react to how others regard you.”

“But - but I have never felt so much as a smidgen of interest before.”

“And now you do. Wait, I do not accuse you of any sin.” Elrohir waited until the archer subsided. “I only state a fact. Look, 'tis nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to even the most aloof of Elves. I have known myself to be aroused by the sight of well-made bodies at spar in the exercise yard or an eyeful of more bosom than is proper. But the slaking of any desire others may initiate in me is a different matter. I care to quench it only with you, Legolas. May I venture to guess that Estel's regard has similarly inspired such feelings in you?”

This was met with such patent relief that he had to smile. “Aye!” Legolas eagerly affirmed. “That is exactly how I feel after enduring his gaze for too long. I yearn to haul you off and sate my lust forthwith.”

“A yearning you have indulged quite frequently of late,” Elrohir teased. Seeing Legolas manage a faint blush and a wan smile, he asked. “What would you have me do? Would you like me to speak to him?”

The prince considered the offer then shook his head. “Nay, I think I should confront him myself. Best he is left with no doubts as to the futility of his pursuit.”

“A wise course, ernilen.”-my prince.

“But I still do not understand why I react thusly with him when I have easily ignored others before,” Legolas said bemusedly.

“Perhaps something about Estel kindles your excitement,” Elrohir gently suggested. “After all, bodily desire can stem from our imaginations as much as from physical stimulation. Try to assay what besets your thoughts when he approaches you. Mayhap you associate him or his actions with something that piques your interest. What most oft comes to mind when you find him watching you?”

Legolas stared at him then turned his gaze to the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on his countenance. Hardly had a few heartbeats passed when comprehension lit in his eyes. “Oh Valar, I should have realized it. But of course!” He looked with some amazement at Elrohir. “When he stares at me so, I find myself wondering whether you resembled him in any way when you were that age. Did you look anything like him? And would you have followed me about as he does? Plied me with gifts and spied on me?”

Elrohir's eyes gleamed mischievously. “Pish! That is but child's play,” he scoffed. “Had I known you as you are now when I was still in my brash youth, I would have thrown convention to the four winds and bedded you long before my majority. And considering the relaxed mores of Mirkwood with regard to this matter, I think I know where I would have first had you.” The corners of his lips curled upward when he heard the faintest moan issue from Legolas. His smile widened as he felt the archer's shaft twitch then swell against his thigh. “Can you picture it, Legolas?” he murmured huskily. “A sultry night in your chamber. You beneath me, a lusty youth to your strapping warrior, gasping and writhing as I fill you to bursting? For in that the Peredhil males mature early and fulsomely.”

Legolas groaned and closed his eyes. Whether it was to shut out the image Elrohir had painted or to render it even more vivid in his mind the Elf-knight did not know. Nor did he particularly care. Not when he was summarily pressed back and blessed with a lapful of wanton Wood-elf.

“Melethron, I doubt he has ceased to observe us,” he softly cautioned though he made no move to stop the archer as the latter positioned himself above his waiting shaft.

Legolas' eyes glinted with a similar wicked light. “Let him. Mayhap watching how ardently devoted I am to you will douse his ardor. Not to mention seeing firsthand one of the reasons for that devotion.”

Elrohir gasped as he was gripped then stroked possessively. “You may douse his ardor somewhat but not utterly I warrant,” he managed to say when he caught his breath. “You are all too easy to love, calenlass, and nigh impossible to stop desiring. Witness my never quelled yearning for you.”

“Hush, Elf-knight,” Legolas hissed. “You will undo me too soon if you speak thusly. That will not do when I still wish to have my fill of you.”

Whereupon he sank down on Elrohir's shaft and, with a rapturous moan, sheathed him to the hilt. In that instant, Elrohir entertained the ridiculous idea of thanking his foster-brother for stalking his now blissfully occupied archer spouse.

**********

With a smothered whimper, Estel dropped from the tree in which he'd spent the night. He clapped a hand to the back of his neck and kneaded it, trying to ease the crick that seemed to have taken up lodging therein. His shoulders ached awfully, his back felt as if it would give out and he had never imagined his joints could ever feel so stiff that one would think he was an elderly invalid.

A rumble down yonder reminded him that he had not had anything to eat since lunch the previous day save for a small meat pasty he'd grabbed from the kitchens in his haste to catch up with Elrohir and Legolas when they left the house. Not anywhere near enough to satisfy a growing boy. As another twinge made itself known in his right shoulder he pondered whether this unexpected venture was worth all his pains. A grin tugged at his lips soon enough. Aye, it was worth it, he decided.

He'd read a bit about what the act of coupling was all about. Seen some illustrations in the bawdier tomes he'd had to dig out of the depths of the archives. Heard details thereof from various sources, not all of who had been aware that they'd had an audience paying avid attention to their gossip, discourses or wagers. But never yet had he actually watched two beings locked in passion, Elven or otherwise.

He knew he would never be able to look at Elrohir the same way again. Though he'd heard all the talk about his brother's intense physical relationship with his woodland spouse, he felt funny thinking of him as a sexual being. And his endowment was nothing to scoff at but verily something to admire and indeed hope to attain come his own full maturity. As for Legolas…!

Admittedly, it had disconcerted him when the archer had taken his Peredhel mate. It was not an image he associated with Legolas' ethereal countenance and slender form. Then again, he had not expected the prince to be so well muscled either. His clothing had obviously concealed much that Estel had never realized before. But the revelation did nothing to diminish the archer's beauty in his eyes. If anything, he'd been doubly stimulated by the sight of Legolas caught in the throes of passion, particularly when 'twas he who bore Elrohir's amorous onslaught. Unknowingly mimicking the archer's first brush with bodily desire and release centuries before after watching Elrohir in the act of self-pleasuring, Estel had spent himself while remembering the sensual scenes he'd witnessed.

The rumble in his stomach called his attention back to his lack of sustenance and his grin vanished. With a grimace, he rubbed his complaining belly, wondering how and where he could possibly get anything to eat short of stealing something from the cabin stores. Provided he could even enter the cabin without being spotted by either Elf. Hah! As much chance of that as besting Glorfindel in mock combat.

He sank down on the grass, folded his lanky legs and contemplated his unpromising situation. And almost jumped out of his skin when a bowl of steaming stew was plunked down before him. Heart pounding, he turned his head to find Legolas grimly regarding him. The archer tossed a quarter of a loaf of crusty bread onto his lap.

“Eat. You must be famished,” he curtly ordered.

Estel gulped, alarmed by the prince's expression. Yet his need was such that he could not decline either food or company. “I, um, thank you, Legolas,” he sheepishly said.

He began to eat, hesitantly at first, so conscious was he of the Wood-elf's presence. But his hunger soon got the better of him and he virtually wolfed down the stew and bit off large chunks of bread at a time. When he was done, Legolas silently handed him a cup of watered down mead. Feeling intensely ill at ease now, Estel slowly sipped the beverage.

“So, how did you find the view from your perch?”

The youth spewed out nigh a mouthful of mead. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand then stuttered in a vain attempt to make a sound reply. “I - I - that is-”

Legolas coolly ignored his discomfiture and said, “I trust you realize what an egregious transgression you committed against us?” When the boy nodded a little shamefacedly, Legolas went on and added a little sharply, “This is our haven, Estel. None have ever trespassed here knowingly, not even our brothers dear though they are to us.”

Estel caught his breath. “I did not realize-” he stammered. “I am sorry, I meant no offense.”

One golden eyebrow lifted in patent skepticism. “No offense? Wherefore your spying on our coupling then? Even amongst your kindred 'tis an act frowned upon by most.”

The boy lowered his head, in shame Legolas hoped. “I did not intend to watch you,” he muttered. “I only wanted to see what was going on inside. I never thought you would be so intimate ere evening fell.”

Legolas stifled a chortle at Estel's comment. “But watch you did,” he reminded the lad. “Why did you not stop?”

Estel flushed once more. “I could not take my eyes off you,” he admitted. “I had never seen you thusly before.”

“I dare say you had already seen me just a little less than thusly,” Legolas snorted. “Do not think that Elrohir and I have not marked your attempts to glean more glimpses of me than is proper.” When Estel's flush deepened to crimson, the archer sighed and asked, “Why in Arda did you set your sights on me when you know your infatuation is for naught?”

Unable to school his feelings, Estel lifted his head and blurted out, “Because - because you are so very fair!”

“You flatter me, Estel, but there are so many comely Elves in the valley and a goodly number are free to entertain you.”

“But none are as beauteous as you, Legolas,” Estel said earnestly. “You remind me of moonbeams and starlight and the mists that cover the meadows at night.”

Legolas stared at him, startled. A moment later his eyes narrowed speculatively. “In other words, you deem me a delicate creature. Someone you feel you must protect. Or am I someone you think you can bend for your purposes?” When Estel's flush spread to the roots of his hair, Legolas shook his head in mingled indignation and amusement. “You had best dispel that notion from your mind, pen neth”-young one-he chided, tapping the lad's forehead with his finger. “I have not survived nigh three thousand years by hiding in the shadow of another's valor. I am no fragile blossom for the plucking.”

Seeing the doubtful glance Estel cast in the direction of the cabin, Legolas sighed and added: “You think that because I play sheath to your brother more oft than sword, I am as soft as a sheltered maid. Do not mistake my preference for weakness. Elrohir may be gentle in his dealings with you but in our bed he can be and oft is a veritable bull.” He watched Estel's eyes widen in shock at his rather crude declaration. “I am his match for not only can I endure the force of his charge but relish it greatly as no gentle Elf can. And when I choose to, I can utterly master him, which I believe you witnessed yesterday. Tell me, did that shake your assumptions somewhat?”

When the color in Estel's cheeks spread down to his neck and he was unable to reply, Legolas chuckled humorlessly and said: “I thought so. But verily even were I truly as you think me, still should you desist from regarding me in any manner other than as your kin and friend. I am you brother's binding-mate and you dishonor us both when you covet what is his alone to own.” He leveled a stern gaze on Estel. For the first time, the boy felt the awful weight of the Mirkwood prince's reproach. It brought home to him how deeply he had underestimated the Wood-elf. Legolas said in a voice that brooked no protest, “I love you as I do Elladan. As brother and friend. I would trust you with my very life yet die for you if need be. Do not tarnish the love we do share with base yearnings, gwanur.”

If Estel had not been adequately abashed yet, he certainly was now. Mortified, he mumbled, “I am sorry, Legolas. 'Twas wrong of me.”

Legolas replied: “See that you remember this lesson, Estel. Not all will tolerate such unbecoming behavior and even less forgive you for it. You are fortunate thus far that you live amongst folk who love you and correct your errors without resorting to whipping sense into you - or worse. I cannot say the same of your kindred.”

Estel started at this reminder of the great divide between the ways of Elves and Men. A little dumbfounded, he could only nod his acceptance of the rebuke. Legolas rose to his feet and he did likewise.

“I will go home now,” he offered, thoroughly chastened. “And I swear I will not reveal the location of this place to anyone.”

“We would greatly appreciate that,” Legolas answered, gentling his tone slightly.

He watched Estel hurry away until the youth disappeared into the surrounding thicket. A moment later, his keen ears picked up the sound of hooves as rider and steed departed. He glanced at Elrohir when the warrior came up beside him and clasped his hand. With a smile, Legolas fondly laced their fingers together.

“I think he will turn his attention elsewhere after this,” Legolas remarked with some humor. “And Eru willing I will not have to endure another misguided attempt to gain my favor.”

Elrohir regarded his mate's countenance, noting his finely sculpted features framed by the luxurious fall of his fair mane. It seemed that Legolas grew ever more comely as time passed. He could not blame Estel or anyone else for that matter for becoming enamored with his golden spouse.

“I sincerely hope so,” he murmured.

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

Glossary:

lairë - Quenya for summer

Ada - Papa

adan - man

sennight - abbreviation of seven nights; defunct Middle English term for a week

seron vell - beloved

melethron - male lover

calenlass - green leaf

gwanur - brother or sister though a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness