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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 12116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Advent
- 2-Bridging
- 3-Pledges
- 4-Serendipity
- 5-Deepening
- 6-Request
- 7-Bedfellows
- 8-Liaison
- 9-Catalyst
- 10-Tidings
- 11-Profession
- 12-Rift
- 13-Seeking
- 14-Confluence
- 15-Oneness
- 16-Assignation
- 17-Covenant
- 18-Gambit
- 19-Recovery
- 20-Bond
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter V: Deepening

Events and affairs moved swiftly after the timely rescue of the Mirkwood contingent by the Imladrin troop. True to his word, as soon as he reached Rivendell, Elrohir arranged for a plentiful supply of provenance to be sent to the Woodland Realm. With the bounty was a formally worded letter from Elrond requesting in exchange a goodly number of bows, a sampling of the Wood-elves’ renowned tapestries and a staggering quantity of bolts of wool. The last was not surprising for winter was approaching. Elves were amazingly resistant to cold weather but it did not mean they did not appreciate keeping warm in the midst of a blistering winter either.

Elrond wisely sent a party of handpicked envoys led by Erestor to deliver the goods. These Elves were the most dispassionate of his people – they were not inclined to hold grudges, cling to prejudices or pick a fight because of some perceived insult to their honor. They presented the Imladrin supplies with just the right amount of pride to elicit the Wood-elves’ respect yet with enough humility to avoid embarrassing their beleaguered hosts even further.

Within the week, they were on their way back to Rivendell with their wagonloads of Mirkwood goods and an escort of woodland soldiers to ensure they arrived at their destination safe and sound. And to witness the Imladrin Elves’ reaction to said Mirkwood goods.

For Thranduil had not only sent the finest bows, wool and tapestries to be had. They were also the handsomest bows, the softest, warmest wool and the most delicately and intricately embroidered tapestries the forest kingdom had to offer. The effort paid off.

The Elvenking’s soldiers returned ere the cold season set in with stories that not only increased the Wood-elves’ pride in their work but also warmed their hearts in the middle of one of the most brutal winters to hit northern Middle-earth.

When word got out that the woodland goods had arrived, Elves from all over the vale converged on the Last Homely House’s shaded courtyard. The Silvan soldiers could only gawk when several Noldorin warriors nigh came to blows over the coveted bows. Only Glorfindel’s intervention brought the incipient scuffle to a halt. The wool was swiftly snapped up by the valley’s drapers, tailors and seamstresses – not so much as a swatch of fabric was left by the time they were done. And the most uncivil exchanges occurred between various Elven nobles over the limited selection of tapestries. There simply had not been enough to go around and more than one Elf-lady got into a quarrel over who had gotten her hands on which tapestry first.

But tales were not the only things the soldiers brought back with them. Along with more laden drays of foodstuff - enough to see the Wood-elves through winter – were several cases of warming miruvor and a long list of orders for the coming spring. Not only for several bows for the Grey Havens as well but also the short yet wicked knives the Wood-elves sported. Not just for extra wool but also lengths of brightly hued falding and sendal, which the woodland Elves wove and spun with peerless skill. And more of the highly prized tapestries were needed to stave off petty feuds, which looked likely to burgeon between the few fortunate haves and the more numerous have-nots. Last but not least was a request from Elrond and his healers for aromatic angelica-root, perilous belladonna and dried leaf of soothing chamomile, for these medicinal plants grew in abundance in the compost-enriched soil of post-winter Mirkwood.

It proved to be one of the harshest winters in memory but, thanks to Rivendell’s aid, the Woodland Realm survived it.

By the time Elrond’s sons visited Mirkwood the following summer, the forest had come alive once more, the plague had ended in Esgaroth and with it the fear of the Lake-men, and the long-held dislike and suspicion the Wood-elves harbored against their Eldarin kind had finally began to erode.

They no longer treated the brethren with the chilly civility of old. True, they remained reserved, but warmth had crept into that reserve. All knew that they owed their survival to the younger twin’s judicious intervention. And the memory of the Rivendell envoys negotiating with their king with heartfelt deference and utmost diplomacy also blunted the edges of their earlier hostility. Their Noldorin cousins had succored them in their extreme need and in such a manner as to spare them further shame. Mayhap it would not be such a terrible thing to treat for a more lasting and sincere peace between their tribes.

Within the year, a new treaty came into being, this time with less belligerence on either side to mar its ratification. A three-year later, Thranduil invited Elrond and his family to Mirkwood to attend the springtime wedding of his daughter Celebrethil. Elrond returned the gesture and asked the Elvenking and his handsome brood to come to Imladris for the much-awaited harvest festival.

There was no more felicitous sight than that of Elrohir welcoming Legolas to his home at long last. None looked askance at Thranduil’s fifth-born all but flying into the warm arms of Elrond’s younger son, the widest of smiles lighting up his face. What they had once shared in spite of their respective people’s grudging tolerance could now flourish unimpeded and with the approval of most.

This was not to say that all was good and trouble-free between the Woodland Realm and its Eldarin counterparts. Centuries of distrust and restrained strife lay between them. It would take the passage of perhaps as many more years to finally lay all the old quarrels to rest once and for all. But at least, the Elves were truly at peace. They now talked civilly, even amiably, where once they were apt to throw verbal punches at each other at first sight.

None were as pleased by this turn of events as the Elf-lord and woodland prince whose remarkable friendship had started it all.

*****

Imladris, lairë TA 2158

Blades crossed and clashed repeatedly while their wielders swung, parried and thrust, their lissome forms turning, dodging and leaping with almost unbelievable grace to the admiration of the small crowd of warriors, maidens and sundry valley-dwellers who had gathered about the drill yard of the Last Homely House to watch them spar. The older, raven-tressed Peredhel moved with a nimble deliberateness born of long experience with adversity while the younger, fair-haired Wood-elf evinced the barely suppressed exuberance of one not yet rendered all that guarded by countless encounters with foes bent on his ruination.

But the promise of excellence was already clearly apparent in Mirkwood’s youngest prince. Even as he challenged Legolas to do his best, Elrohir took great pride in the knowledge that his friend would be a formidable warrior; one of the finest Middle-earth would ever come to know. He would be a match for the most seasoned Elf-soldiers, even the brethren themselves who were renowned throughout Elfdom for their prowess in battle.

Forty-eight years had passed since Legolas first set foot in the fabled valley of Rivendell. Since then, the prince had visited as oft as he could, enchanted as he was with the twins’ home. Here the land lay open to the sky, the trees did not sprout cloyingly close to each other and the air remained fresh and sweet-scented no matter where one stood. The shadow did not lie on Imladris as it did on Mirkwood, pestilence did not cripple the lives of Elf, beast or vegetation and hideous monsters did not roam its hidden pathways to prey on unwary victims. Indeed, so enamored was he of the valley that he would have celebrated his coming of age here had it not been an impolitic thing to do.

As such, Elrond’s family and household doted on him and he in turn regarded them all with much affection. Even Arwen whom he thought a tad too stately and serious compared to her brothers. Still, she was their beloved sister and that was enough reason for him to esteem her as well.

They ended their morning’s exercise with Elrohir showing Legolas where he still needed improvement. The younger twin knew the archer required no further prodding. Legolas would follow his instructions with zeal and master his lessons within the shortest time imaginable. It was typical of the prince to throw himself wholeheartedly into any thing he chose to undertake.

A muted rumble caught the Elf-knight’s attention. He glanced up and noted the swift approach of grey clouds. While their audience hastily dispersed, he motioned to Legolas to return to the house. Sudden summer squalls were not unheard of in the vale and this one looked to be a particularly forceful one.

As Legolas caught up with him, he could not help perusing him with some wonder. Such moments struck him when he least expected it when he realized all over again the near perfection of his friend’s features and form. In a few more years, Legolas might well be hailed as the fairest ellon, or male Elf, ever to grace Middle-earth. Elrohir could not recall any other as luminously beautiful or deceptively fragile-looking yet blessed with the agility and strength, sleek thews and steely grace of a full-fledged male warrior Elf.

Legolas noticed his regard. It was not the first time he had observed Elrohir studying him so intently. He slowed down, compelling Elrohir to do likewise. He looked at the Elf-knight curiously

“Why do you look at me thusly, Elrohir?” he inquired.

The twin started slightly then sighed. He admitted: “‘Tis only that I am taken aback now and then by how much you have grown and how comely you have turned out.”

“You think me comely?” Legolas repeated with delight.

“Of course,” Elrohir said. “Which feels so strange considering that I watched you grow from infancy onwards. I knew long ago that you would one day be possessed of great beauty but ‘tis still a matter of astonishment to me just how bountifully you have been blessed.”

Legolas’ smile was radiant. “Coming from you, ‘tis the highest praise and one I cherish above all,” he declared.

Elrohir looked at him bemused. “Come now, Legolas,” he protested. “All of Mirkwood sings your praises. You are more than used to receiving even more lavish flattery than mine.”

Legolas shook his head. “But not as sincere,” he pointed out. “There is always some reason for their blandishments whether ‘tis so that I may arrange for them to meet with Adar, accord them some prestige by dint of my friendship or invite one of them to be the first to gain entry into my bed. But you speak only the truth with me and if you say I am comely, then I can believe that I am.”

Elrohir stared at him in some amazement. “You need to look into a mirror more frequently if you need me to tell you how beautiful you are,” he remarked. “But it saddens me that you cannot accept praise from your folk without suspecting ulterior motives in the bestowing of it.”

“Yet it is so,” Legolas said sourly. “And has become ever more rabid now that I am nearing my first century. You know how it is in Mirkwood.”

Elrohir nodded in cognizance of the tradition wherein Mirkwood had diverged quite strikingly from the other elven realms. The coming of age of any Elf was of great import because it was then that one came to be legally recognized as an adult. But it was the hundredth year that portended real change in a Mirkwood Elf’s life for it was only then that he or she could actively seek a mate whether for one passionate night’s worth of loving or an eternal lifetime. Before that age, a woodland Elf could indulge in some exploratory play but had to refrain from the most intimate of the love acts. Just what had precipitated the practice was no longer known - its origin was lost in the deeps of time. But the Wood-elves conscientiously observed it.

Elrohir could just imagine the anticipation that went hand in hand with the approach of the archer’s first century. If Legolas chose to take a lover then, that Elf would not merely count it a great honor but also an enviable coup to be the one to divest Mirkwood’s youngest prince of his bodily innocence.

Elrohir shook his head in sympathy. ‘Twas no wonder his friend was not too enthusiastic about that event. How could he be when he well knew that he would be regarded as the most prized notch on someone’s belt? He would not be surprised were Legolas to choose to forego learning his bed-manners soonest than do so in an atmosphere of distrust and wariness.

He was about to comment on this when he felt a large droplet of water on his cheek. Before long, more began to splash upon him and Legolas. The dark clouds were finally releasing their contents.

“Hurry, we can still reach the house before it gets any stronger,” he told the archer.

To his surprise, Legolas grinned and pulled him back. “What is a little water, Elrohir?” he said.

Elrohir stared at him then snorted. “A little water?” he countered. “From the looks of those clouds, ‘tis a veritable cascade that is about to be unleashed on us.”

“All the better!” Legolas chortled.

A moment later, Elrohir’s prediction was fulfilled and sheets of water poured liberally from the swollen clouds. In seconds, the two were drenched to the skin. The Elf-knight looked at the archer, astonished by the other’s reaction. Legolas’ face was alight with pure delight, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Valar, Legolas, ‘tis only rain!” he remarked. “One would think you’ve never gotten soaked in a storm before.”

“But I have not!” Legolas gleefully informed him. At Elrohir’s look of disbelief, he added: “The canopy of the forest is so thick, the elements rarely vent their full strength on us. The last time I recall playing in the rain was nigh eighty years ago and it was no more than a heavy drizzle. Ai, Elrohir, this is wonderful!”

Elrohir shook his head in amusement, pushing the sodden mass of his dark hair from his face. He watched his young friend as the latter stretched out his arms in wild abandon and lifted his face to meet the downpour. Silver-gold hair streaming wantonly, shirt and breeches clinging to his slender form and flesh gleaming under the steady torrent, Legolas did not look so much like an Elf as he did a water sprite of children’s tales.

“And you claim to be all grown up,” he chuckled. “Anyone who sees you now would find it hard to believe that you are past your majority, pen neth!”—young one!

“Anyone who thinks that does not know how to have fun!” Legolas retorted with a smirk. “Including ancient Half-elves who have forgotten the joys of play!”

“Ancient!” Elrohir growled in spurious umbrage. “Watch your language, pen dithen!”—little one!

Legolas mock-bristled. “I won’t have you calling me names, Elrohir! I am not little any longer!”

“I should hope not!” Elrohir gibed. “‘Twould be a pity for a warrior to have nothing to show for all his proficiency on the field.”

That effectively silenced Legolas if only out of puzzlement. Elrohir nearly choked on his mirth when he realized the prince had not understood his double entendre. With a guffaw, he pointedly dropped his eyes to Legolas’ crotch. The archer followed suit. A moment later, he burst out laughing.

“You are wicked of tongue!” Legolas gasped. “And here I thought only Elladan was capable of such lewd wit.”

“We are twins,” Elrohir grinned. “We may not share the same preferences in everything but we do think alike in most.” He glanced up - the pelting rain was beginning to relent. “Come, meldiren.”—my friend. “I think we’d best get into dry clothes and shoes. The housekeeping staff will not appreciate having to mop up after us all over the house.”

Legolas acquiesced but as they walked, he looked curiously at Elrohir. “In what do you differ when it comes to taste?” he queried.

Elrohir shrugged. “Very few actually,” he replied. When Legolas pressed him, he said: “Certain foods, styles of combat, lovers—”

“Lovers?” Legolas interrupted. “What do you mean?”

Elrohir snickered at his all too apparent interest but told him nonetheless. He wondered at Legolas’ thoughtful expression afterwards. By now they had reached the house and made for the side porch that led directly to the stairs that in turn led up to their second-level bedchambers.

“I have noted Elladan’s penchant for more, shall we say, generously endowed Elves,” the archer commented as they mounted the stairs. “But I just realized that I have not seen you with anyone in all the years I have known you. I took for granted that you shared Elladan’s proclivities in bedmates.”

Elrohir snorted. “I have had more than my fill of coupling,” he said. “I do not seek it as frequently or as fervently as I used to.” He grinned faintly. “And I have always been the more discreet twin,” he added.

Legolas chortled. “I can believe that,” he conceded.

When they came to their neighboring bedchambers, Legolas suddenly turned and clasped the Elf-knight’s arm. A faint frown creased the archer’s smooth brow.

“I have been meaning to ask you,” he said. “Elladan mentioned earlier that you and he will be travelling to Gondor anon. Is this true?” When Elrohir nodded, he pursed his lips. “What for? To study another Steward?”

“Nay, this time we go because Arahael’s son Aranuir desires to visit Gondor and has requested our company and assistance,” Elrohir explained.

“You are so solicitous of your fosterlings,” Legolas commented a little tartly. “And how long will you be away this time?”

Elrohir’s eyebrows rose at the tacit reproof in the archer’s tone. “Not so long as a score of years,” he reassured his friend. “Mayhap a half-decade at most.”

Legolas sighed. “Just make sure that you get back in time for my hundredth begetting day,” he said.

Elrohir stared at him in surprise then curled an arm around his shoulders. “You know I would not miss so important an occasion, Legolas,” he murmured. “I will be there.”

The prince gazed at him searchingly. “I will hold you to that,” he said. “‘Twill not be complete unless you are present, Elrohir.”

“I will come, pen neth,” Elrohir firmly repeated. “This I swear.”

Legolas finally smiled with some confidence. On that note, they parted for the morning. Or at least as long as it might take to change into dry clothing.

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

Glossary:

lairë – Quenya for summer

Adar – Father

To be continued…
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond