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Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Ringsand no money is madefrom this story, main characters and settings created by JRR Tolkien.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Chapter Six: Fête in the Forest

"What do you mean, they must all think you're a seron?" demanded Thranduil, stupefied to hear this response from Legolas.

The statement was not obviously germane to the account Idrê and Etsiri had just delivered, the two having revealed the unseemly rumour circulating through the stronghold and the forest city. The story had Legolas involved in a steamy three-way love affair with the Twin Lords of Imladris and their human foster brother, whom the ellith had just passed in the corridor, and included accounts of public fornication. Thranduil was beyond furious, but his son's comment momentarily checked his anger as he hovered near him.

"Aragorn thinks I'm a seron," Legolas sighed. He stirred uneasily in the comfortable armchair in which he'd slumped, head thrown back, eyes shut, and brow furrowed. His chest and sides ached fiercely, two ribs having been cracked in his fall, but he hoped to hide the present discomfort from his father. Which is Aragorn's fault for interrupting the long soak the healers prescribed as remedy. "His foster-brothers must believe the same." As expected, Thranduil was nearly incoherent in his bilious rejoinder.

"That…that echil (human) has the audacity to think you…and this incident at the baths must have involved an attempt to engage your services! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I can manage him," Legolas snapped, in no mood to be babied, "and I forgot once I met Elladan."

"How bizarre!" Etsiri almost laughed. One of the elite warriors Elboron captained, she and Legolas were as close as siblings, sharing a friendship that spanned their entire lives. Her courtship and bonding ceremony a year ago had somewhat reduced their time together, but she still considered herself his boon companion. "Where would they get such an idea?"

"From the same source as this other rumour: that atrocious Man, Andaith. He must have seen you with Elladan in the hall and started the stories then." Idrê saw her nephew wince as his cheeks coloured and he looked away from her, but she was not sorry to have brought the news even so. Legolas was far too naive when it came to matters of the heart.

"To what end? I have done nothing to him," wailed Legolas.

"Pure spitefulness," said Thranduil. "According to Elboron, he is labouring under the assumption that he has been treated with contempt by our people. Apparently, he has quite an elevated view of his importance. He is the one sure to make the trade talks tedious and unproductive. Rather, he would if I permitted him to attend them. I doubt he expected to be identified as the culprit; he will be leaving Greenwood with the dawn."

Four smiles emerged on the faces of the four elves, presenting four variations of gleeful, righteous, savage vindication. Andaith was leaving, but he would be taking the long road home to Lake Town, alone. Any number of tragedies might befall a lone traveller through the dense and dangerous darkness beneath Greenwood's gloomy canopy. Even so, the Wood Elves would ensure he lived to regret his loose tongue to the end of his days.

"Wait, Elladan must already have thought Legolas was a seron to proposition him so openly," Etsiri pointed out. She did not really trust those Orc-slaying Noldorin princes and decided to say so for perhaps the tenth time. "I am not comfortable with the idea of you being with him like that, Legolas."

"Ai! Elladan did not proposition me," Legolas insisted, face much redder now. He heaved himself up, pacing around the sitting room and running fingers through his hair in agitation.

"Perhaps he did but you failed to interpret his invitation correctly," suggested Thranduil, more and more certain Etsiri was right. "Under the circumstances, Elladan must be ruled out as a potential suitor."

"Nay, Ada, he just wants to accompany me to the fête." Legolas' voice was strong but his face betrayed his confusion and the kernel of truth he could not deny. Had he not found Elladan's choice of words indicative of more than a simple opportunity to be in one another's company during the feast?

"Possibly, but maybe he wanted that and more," warned Idrê. "Can you recall exactly what he said to you, muindorion?"

Legolas could indeed remember everything about the encounter in intricate detail, but found he had no wish to repeat the conversation verbatim. He sighed and collapsed back into the chair, crouching forward and covering his burning face with his hands. "It doesn't matter now," he mumbled, "everything's ruined."

The King shared his silent dismay with his law-sister and she in turn expressed her unvoiced pity with Etsiri, but the warrior maid was having none of that.

"What rubbish!" she exclaimed, sneering and contemptuous. "It is better to learn these things rather than suffer the consequences of your profound ignorance regarding courting, attraction, sex, and bonding."

"What?" Legolas straightened up at her disdainful expression, at first insulted and then angry. He blasted out of the chair and in seconds was nose to nose with her, looming in a menacing manner that had no effect whatsoever. "I am not ignorant, Etsiri, and I was not planning to bed him tonight."

"Huh," she snorted, looking him up and down in his elaborate party clothes. "I have eyes, Legolas; that costume is meant to entice and you can't deny it."

"That doesn't mean I'm trying to seduce anyone."

"It might be better if that's what you hoped to do," Etsiri said, voice softer and more compassionate.

"We are closer than friends, Etsiri, but these are not very complimentary words," growled Legolas, stepping back from her. "How could you think I would want to use Elladan for a night or two? I could engage a seron for that."

"Which is actually the course I would counsel," interposed Idrê. "The Seronath would not touch upon your heart and could teach you all you need to know. You would not be the first to receive such an initiation into adult pleasures."

"Valar! Enough! I cannot believe we are discussing my personal life so…casually…so coldly." A flurry of denials met this outburst but Legolas waved them off. "Ah! I don't even know what this is!" He really just wanted them to go away and let him think. What had started as a fluttery, dizzying approach to love had instead become a quagmire of rumours, lies, and misgivings.

"Ion, we love you, that's what this is. All we want is for your first experience to be healthy and fulfilling, not upsetting or damaging," Thranduil soothed.

"I know, but now I have all this doubt. The entire population is talking about me, too; it has become an ugly scandal."

"That's why you must rid yourself of these starry-eyed visions of Elladan. He obviously wants you, Legolas, but only because he thinks you're a courtesan," cautioned Etsiri.

"Once he knows who I am that will change."

"This is what I mean about your ignorance. It will change, but not the way you think. He will no longer seek your company once he realises he can't just bed you and go," groaned Etsiri.

"I see," Legolas intoned icily. "I didn't realise you thought me so repulsive. You should leave, Etsiri, before our friendship founders." He turned his back on them all and walked to the desk to give himself something to do, hurt and unwilling to show it.

"That isn't what I think," denied Etsiri. "It just came out wrong. I speak plainly because I care about you and you know it is so. Your allure is not in question here; it is the Noldorin prince's intentions that must be faced."

"Indeed, no one finds you anything but perfect," cooed Idrê, following her nephew and enveloping him in loving arms. "Let your father talk to Elladan and explain the situation. Perhaps he still might serve as long as there are no expectations of emotional attachment."

"That isn't what I want," Legolas protested, leaning into the security of her love. "I want what you have with Elboron, Aunt Idrê. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, pen vuin, I just worry for…"

"Wait a moment," Thranduil intervened, for this was not what he and Legolas had discussed. He joined his son and extracted him from Idrê's embrace. "I thought we were talking about a lover, a first experience, someone who would not be permanent. Now you are saying you want a life-mate?"

"I know. I wanted a lover, but then when I met Elladan the idea that I could have someone like that come to love me didn't seem so impossible." Legolas shrugged, eyes imploring his father's understanding. "I guess I want both."

Thranduil smiled kindly and squeezed his son's shoulder, but he was shaking his head to negate this notion. "That makes things a bit more complicated, ion. I, too, doubt that Elladan would make a suitable life-mate, and I don't think he is seeking one. He and his brother have darkened even more since last they were here. Their hearts are already torn, filled only with bitterness and hatred for Orcs, and they are bound by a sworn oath to avenge their mother's defilement. Neither of them will settle any time soon."

"You don't know that," Legolas said. "Perhaps, after meeting me, Elladan feels differently and…"

"Elbereth! Wishing for something and imagining it does not make it so," Etsiri growled. "Legolas, you have misinterpreted his desire to have sex with you as something else. Open your eyes!"

"You speak as if you were there," retorted Legolas, hurt again, for why did she seem to think he was only deemed suitable for bed-sport? Surely he was as worthy of an eternal commitment as any other Wood Elf? "He was not merely attracted. He was…he was considerate and just as anxious as I was. Does that sound like a person grown cold and dark?" This he addressed to his father.

"Ai, Legolas, I fear Etsiri is right in this. You may not be skilled in the arts of seduction, but Elladan most certainly is. He can present whatever countenance he judges most likely to win him the prize he seeks." Thranduil felt his own heart quail at the crestfallen expression that overtook his child's face on hearing this evaluation.

"Then why did you encourage me?" asked Legolas, so confused now he didn't know what to think.

"Because he would be a fine choice for a first lover, unlikely to place any burden upon your heart while ensuring your pleasure," Thranduil explained. "His character is not in question; indeed, he behaved respectfully even though he believed you a seron, but we were talking about finding you a companion to ease your loneliness, not a mate for all eternity."

Legolas frowned and shook his head. "I don't know if he is the one or not, but I cannot believe the ellon I met is incapable of love."

Before anyone could argue this, a brusque rap on the door interceded and Etsiri answered, being the closest, revealing one of the servants on the threshold.

"A message for Ernil Legolas," announced he, "from Elladan of Imladris. He asked me to carry this to you personally. Why he could not come in person he did not say, though I told him where to find you." He held forth a folded bit of parchment which Etsiri snatched impatiently before shutting the door in his face.

"That was rude," scolded Legolas, hurrying to take the letter from her. "You'd better go apologise." He retreated to his bedroom, closing the door firmly on his clamouring, crowding relatives and friend. The missive was short and reading it required little more than a matter of seconds. Legolas emerged, eyes alight with triumphant joy. "He wants to see me to allay these misunderstandings," he said, waving the parchment at them. "Obviously, he has heard the rumours and wants to clarify his position."

"Do not go," Etsiri warned. "If you must see him, summon him here."

"Absolutely not!" shrieked Idrê. "That would send entirely the wrong message, Legolas. Let your father go to him."

"No, I can manage my own affairs." His chin lifted in stubborn defiance. "I will tell him the truth. Whatever he says in return, I am prepared to hear it."

He was on his way down the hall before anyone could object, and while Etsiri was all for following and eavesdropping on the encounter, Thranduil ordered her to let them be. Legolas was right; he was not a child and would handle himself with dignity, courtesy, or menace as the situation might demand. Worried though he was, the anxious father bade the ladies leave so to grant his son the freedom to express whatever emotions the meeting raised once he returned. Thranduil fretted out the next few minutes with greater dread than he'd suffered on Legolas' first foray into battle, with good reason. Physical wounds were not so difficult to heal as those of the soul.

The journey to the small study where Elladan was waiting passed by in a blur of unacknowledged places, things, and people as Legolas' thoughts churned over the best way to handle the meeting. Should he insist on speaking first and tell Elladan who he was or let the Imladrian Lord state his intentions? Following the latter course might give him insight into Elladan's real hopes for their relationship, if any. On the other hand, was it not rather sneaky to withhold his identity and thus entrap his potential beaux into revealing desires that might be influenced by the mistake? It was to be expected that Elladan, or anyone else, might seek the services of a seron.

Why should my station in life change his feelings?

Legolas reflected on the combination of wanton heat, exhilarated confusion, and gentle compassion mingled in the Orc-slayer's grey eyes just hours ago. An unbidden smile reworked his features and a soft sigh left his lungs. That was not the visage of a predator seeking a quick morsel to sate his appetite. Elladan would not care whether he was a courtesan or a king; what they had shared transcended heritage and calling. Nonetheless, Legolas was glad to be Thranduil's son, for he did not want to feel beneath his mate in culture or class. Not even Lady Galadriel could object to her grandson's choice. With a small leap of his heart, Legolas realised he was thinking of his courtship with Elladan as an established fact and tried to rein back his hopes.

Let me learn where his heart trends first.

Such wisdom was a ruse and a lie. Beneath it, Legolas was wholly convinced Elladan shared his overwhelming sensation of yearning attraction and joyous recognition. Indeed, if he wanted to test the ellon's heart it was only to know the exhilaration of being right after the trepidation of doubt. They would all see, his kinsmen and his countrymen, that he was neither loathsome nor repugnant, and they would rejoice with him, for the years of loneliness would be over at last.

As it turned out, his instincts about the Noldorin Lord were accurate. Unfortunately, fate inserted a rival for Elladan he could not have imagined.

He reached the room and boldly entered, not bothering to knock, glad he had not changed out of his new garments first. Three paces in he halted, for there was Elladan rising from an armchair to greet him, a vision of virile strength and beauty even now, fully clothed in luxuriant fabrics as befitted a noble Lord descended of the Three Kindred. The Orc-slayer's eyes swept over him in obvious and startled delight and he stood as though dumbstruck, lips parted and hand half-raised toward him. The moment hung in the air, a pause of suspended time, one of those minutely eternal instances in life upon which the future of all the universe seems to turn. Then the debonair cavalier spoke.

"Legolas?" The name faintly sounded as a query, but Legolas interpreted this as amazement to see him transformed from dripping wet disaster into the vision of elegant sophistication he knew he now presented.

"Aye, it is just me," grinned the prince. He moved closer and then suddenly faltered to a stop, bewildered, peering at Elladan, the vague tension of a subconscious frown tightening his forehead. There was something different here. What was that expression filling his eyes? Had his smile seemed such a randy smirk before? Elladan seemed…changed. "I…I got your note."

"Obviously, since here you are," Elrohir quipped, for of course it was he and not Elladan. He strode eagerly forward, reflecting that this was not going to be so onerous a chore at all. It was easy to see how this engaging seron had so quickly entangled Elladan's heart; Legolas was magnificent. The ellon at last moved toward him, step hesitant, and pinned him with the most amazing blue eyes Elrohir had ever seen. In them swirled a mix of trepidation and anticipation usually associated with innocence.

He had never met a seron who betrayed anything but extensive worldliness and open desire; the unusual demeanour of this one gave Elrohir pause and it crossed his mind to abandon his scheme. He recovered, reminding himself that Elladan's heart and soul were at stake, recalling that this ellon was a courtesan carefully trained to be what his clients needed him, wanted him to be. It was, on consideration, a most enticing fantasy. Who would not enjoy being the first to savour such an exquisite specimen? He took a breath and smiled, resuming a languid stroll that led him both closer to Legolas and deeper into the shadows of the room where tall bookcases lined the walls.

"You look ravishing." An ebullient smile lit the blue eyes and Elrohir felt his lust rising. He recalled Thranduil's words that first evening and his heart bounced in frantic excitement. What a combination - this virginal exterior and a penchant for rough-housing. It would be a shame to destroy such a becoming outfit, but Elrohir relished the image of ripping it from Legolas' body.

"Thank you. So do you," Legolas answered without thought and immediately regretted the inane response. Could he sound more callow? Still, it did not seem to deter Elladan, who continued his slow approach, edging them toward an alcove between the ceiling-high shelves of historical scrolls.

"Did you lock the door?" Elrohir let his eyes fall to the ellon's crotch, hoping to see signs of arousal, but could not tell anything conclusive. Just a few more steps and I won't need to guess.

"What?" Legolas' pace dwindled again and he glanced uncertainly over his shoulder at the door. "No, I didn't think to. Why?

"I do not want to be interrupted." Elrohir was less than an arm's reach away now. He cast another appreciative leer over the inviting figure before him. "I find I am unwilling to wait after all." With that he pounced, snatching Legolas at the biceps in a crushing grip as he whirled and slammed him hard into the bookcase. As expected, the impact forced a sharp breath from the seron's lips and Elrohir dived for them, sealing his mouth over the soft red flesh, delving inside with his tongue as Legolas' shocked exclamation reverberated down his throat.

The supple arms he'd thought to find within his clutches were instead hard as a warrior's and Legolas flinched as though pain coursed through him. Elrohir had no time to make sense of these impressions, however, for the next instant a knee connected with his groin with sufficient force to make his mind go blank in the explosion of brilliant light and excruciating pain that followed. He folded up in a heap on the floor, beyond the ability even to groan or moan in his agony, and wrenched his eyes open in time to see an elegantly booted foot aimed for his head. Everything was black and quiet after that.

Aragorn sat in perturbed discontent at the high table, one empty seat separating him from Elladan; Elrohir was absent. The seats for the King and his immediate household were also vacant, though many of Elboron and Idrê's many generations of progeny were present. A table one step lower was occupied by all the delegates to the trade convention and the mood there was one of gloom and open animosity toward the representative from Lake Town. The folk of Dale had unanimously turned their faces from Andaith, literally adjusting their seats so that they presented only their backs to him. The Man feigned indifference, but his raucous outbursts of laughter in response to his sole companion's remarks were forced and fearful.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was festive with an undertone of prickling suspense, though the nobles of the Woodland Realm sat smiling and chatting with one another amiably, sipping a pale vintage from fluted silver vessels and favouring the guests with occasional stares that communicated a peculiar combination of restrained wrath and amusement. There was no need to wonder at the reason; by this time the story of Legolas' unseemly affair was all over the stronghold and its surrounding city of tree-top talans. Everyone was discussing it, but not, of course, with the principals involved.

Opinions were mixed, some believing the tales, others denouncing them soundly. As in any population, there are those who simply enjoy the notoriety of others and feed on the high emotions generated by controversy of any sort. There were even those who were not unhappy to see the exalted heir brought to a more common footing, but even this was irrelevant. One and all were outraged to have their warrior prince become the subject of bawdy discourse among these foreigners, these lesser people. One and all anticipated the visitors' ultimate humiliation.

Elladan had no difficulty understanding the sylvan tongue and picked up enough to comprehend the nature of the donnybrook at once. His first reaction was to track Aragorn down and accuse him of starting the rumours so to ruin his chances with Legolas. Aragorn, appalled to learn the tale, denied any involvement and convinced Elladan of his innocence. The pair then sought for Elrohir to discuss the best means to counter the gossip, deeming their House defamed and indicted falsely. Unable to learn his whereabouts, they decided to confront Andaith, who seemed to be the most vocal proponent of the story. They'd arrived at the wing assigned to the mortals to find Baragûr holding a trial of sorts, complete with various elven witnesses who recounted the lurid scenes described to them by the Man and his friend. It was during this contentious interrogation that the two brothers learned the 'seron's' true identity, the sylvan informants referring repeatedly to Ernil Legolas.

The realisation prompted triumphant exultation in Elladan and downcast defeat in Aragorn; the former vindicated in his instincts, the latter made aware of how high he'd set his sights and how low his expectations had been. He wondered at Legolas' tolerance and willingness to extend such a cordial demeanour toward him. Elladan had departed with the intention of locating Legolas and declaring himself more clearly, but on reaching the residential wing of the fortress was summarily blocked by closed doors and armed guards. The royal family was not available to visitors at this time, he was told with cold formality, and while his arranged assignation with their prince was known, the insouciant sentries informed him Ernil Legolas would see him in the Great Hall.

As for Andaith, he scoffed in Baragûr's face, reminding him that Dale had no jurisdiction over Lake Town. He could make a formal complaint to the Mayor but that would have to wait until after the trade talks. Maybe they would be thanking him then, he said, for this disconcerting story about his son was sure to throw the King off his usual shrewd and manipulating style of negotiating. Hearing this, Baragûr and all his contingent shared silent disbelief: if the Man thought he was still going to participate in the trade talks, he was monumentally misinformed. Baragûr and his Men felt justified contempt for Andaith, who appeared to prefer the judgement of Thranduil to that of his own people. So be it. The rest of the humans were more than willing to distance themselves from Lake Town's arrogant and foolish delegate.

And so here they all were, waiting in anxious impatience for the arrival of the King and his House. Musicians played light tunes on their harps and flutes; servants wandered amid the tables with trays of delectable titbits to defray hunger until the feast began; conversation remained subdued and eyes regularly scrutinised both the nobles from Imladris and the perpetrator of the unseemly situation.

"Where is Elrohir?" Aragorn leaned closer and ventured to ask his foster-brother. "You don't suppose he has been accused of wrong-doing in this debacle, do you?"

Elladan turned to offer the young Dûnadan a rather condescending smirk. "Are you asking me if I think Elrohir is in the dungeons? Put that old bruit from your mind; Thranduil never uses those for any but Orcs and Dwarves."

"That is well, but where then is he?"

"I do not know."

"I thought you shared consciousness with him."

"Where did you get that idea?" Elladan shook his head. "We are twins but the similarity does not go beyond external appearance. We have separate minds, Estel, which I would have thought you would notice before now."

"I know that!" snapped the Man irritably. "Yet it is commonly held that in times of distress the two of you have an uncanny ability to know what is happening to one another."

"It takes a far greater level of danger than this," laughed Elladan. "We have not done anything save make an error in identification. King Thranduil will accept our apologies and allow us to participate in the judgement of Andaith."

Aragorn sighed in frustration, deciding it was futile attempting to pick his brother's brain. Elladan was lost in mentally rehearsing his explanations to Thranduil and imagining his evening with Legolas. The Man had no doubt he would be able to do little more than greet the prince, bow low, and mumble out his contrition once all the misunderstandings were eliminated. Why would the heir of the mighty forest realm bother with a lowly human of rather dubious heritage? By all accepted lore, the woodland folk held Isildur responsible for stealing the merit from the sacrifice of their people at the Last Alliance. Elladan was an imminently more appropriate suitor for an elf of such exalted lineage as Legolas possessed.

Morose and bored, the Man scanned the cavernous hall, marvelling anew that such a sumptuous room was in fact housed in a real cave far below the ground. Aragorn had never beheld so many lamps and stared in awe at the huge, gilded chandelier dropping seemingly from nothingness so high was the vaulted roof of the place. The warm light glimmered and winked over remarkable formations hanging from the same black obscurity and danced amid bejewelled goblets, utensils of gold and mithril, and the finery of Greenwood's nobility. The same light sent shadows of bizarre shapes wobbling about over the faces nearby and the tables' polished wooden surfaces. It was a truly dazzling display of opulence encompassed within primitive and wild surrounds.

As he considered the similarity of Thranduil's kingdom with what he'd read of Menegroth and Nargothrond, movement from the rear of the hall caught his notice. There Elrohir made his way through the tables and offered a rueful smile as Aragorn's mouth fell open: there was an ugly knot on the twin's head that no amount of careful grooming could hide. Elladan stood, a slight exclamation of consternation escaping his nostrils, and reached for his brother as Elrohir came near.

"What happened to you?" he demanded.

"Where have you been?" appended Aragorn.

"I was struck unconscious," shrugged Elrohir as he lowered himself carefully into the chair his brother pulled out for him. He had managed to get himself into suitable dress for the grand event, but his head was throbbing fiercely and his genitals were not fairing much better. He reached for his goblet and drained it, not caring what was in it but grateful for the kick contained in all of the wines fermented under the eaves of Greenwood.

"I see that you are not jesting, but how did it happen, Muindor?"

"Does this have anything to do with those horrible rumours?" asked Aragorn.

"What rumours?" asked Elrohir, looking from one brother to the other as they exchanged groans of disbelief. "Seems I have missed something. Will you tell me or should I start guessing?"

"We have been accused of dallying with Thranduil's son," said Elladan.

"All three of us," added Aragorn.

"What? At the same time?" Elrohir's eyes were enormous by now. "But we've not met him yet!"

"Oh, you haven't; we have," informed Elladan darkly. "Andaith is at the bottom of a truly egregious affront to the young prince and to the honour of House Eärendil."

"Varda's Veil! Why didn't either of you come tell me?"

"We tried, but you were not readily available. No one had seen you since the morning meal and the attitude of those we tried to enlist was decidedly chilly," groused Elladan.

"So we thought you were simply lying low until the fête," concluded Aragorn, "and hoped you would arrive in due course."

"Which you did. Estel thought you might be imprisoned in the dungeons," chuckled Elladan, relieved for all his previous show of indifference.

Instinctively, the trio fell quiet as a new mood of anticipation gathered in the hall. The music ceased and a hush enveloped the room. All eyes focused on the entrance nearest the high table. There two warriors stood in full armour that gleamed in lustrous splendour, the protective suits relics of the royal family's ancient ties to the might and wealth of Doriath. These guards came to strict attention of which Glorfindel would have approved and in the opening between them appeared Galion. The King's seneschal was dressed as richly as any of the nobles present and commanded the respect of all who looked upon him. Next to Elboron, there was none closer to Thranduil than he while for Legolas he was both grandfather and loyal guardian.

Galion's discerning eye tracked the room, marking those who were amused by the rumours and relished his prince's predicament. He understood their mean-spirited mirth could never be entirely eliminated, for jealousy was a common failing and many harboured a lingering resentment from the controversy over Thranduil's choice for Greenwood's Queen. Even so, the seneschal made it plain he would not tolerate open derogation of the result of that union. More than one haughty and sneering smirk dissolved into bald dread. Galion could make life supremely unpleasant for those he judged unworthy of the protection Legolas' tireless efforts against the Shadow bought them.

His gaze moved on to pierce Aragorn's, delving so deeply into his private soul that the Man gasped, his heart rate escalating dramatically. He held that stare as long as he could and broke just as Galion turned his inspection upon Elladan. Elrond's elder son let him look as long as he wished, desperate to transmit his genuine desire to make everything right between him and Legolas. When the seneschal's sight beheld Elrohir, it changed to one of such chilling hatred that the guilty ellon drew breath sharply.

He knows, then so must Thranduil. Well, if it spares Elladan, no punishment is too much. Elrohir averted his eyes, absently touched the swollen, purple lump, and flinched.

The seneschal, satisfied that everyone was suitably grave and solemn, stood forward to clear the way as he began the formal presentation of Greenwood's ruling House.

"Ernil Elboron Oropherion a Hiril Idrê Denwegosell," (Prince Elboron, son of Oropher, and Lady Idrê, daughter of Denwego) he called loudly and bowed low as the King's brother and law-sister entered in. The couple were elegantly garbed and fittingly bejewelled, looked serious and grim, passing frowns of disapprobation over the guests from Imladris. Elboron nodded stiffly as he seated his Lady, but Idrê refused to acknowledge the visitors. Neither spoke, turning expectantly to watch the arrival of the King and his Heir. Galion permitted a tense second or two to elapse and then: Thranduil Oropherion, Aran-en-Eringalen a Legolas Thranduilion, Ernil Rîn-en-Eringalen."

There was a general, muted commotion as a hundred or more chairs softly pushed back to allow their occupants to rise, all save Elrohir's. One and all bowed low as Thranduil and Legolas filled the space in the arched opening; all save Elrohir who sat stunned, gaping in disbelief. Again his hand went to his head as his heart fell to his stomach, realising exactly whom he had hoped to ravish mere hours ago. Desperately he tugged at Elladan's robe but when his brother's irritated glare turned upon him, Elrohir found his tongue cleaving to his palate. Elladan grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed. "Do you want to insult the King and his son?"

"His son?" queried Elrohir, voice a hoarse whisper, swallowing against the bubble of nausea rising through his oesophagus. "Nay. That is the seron with whom you became so enamoured."

"So you assumed, but see now: your fears were unfounded. Legolas would never trifle with my heart, Muindor." Elladan did not even try to keep the excitement from his thoughts, but it was quickly extinguished.

"Yes, Elrohir," Elboron said quietly, eyes fixed on the bulbous contusion. "Did you not know Legolas is prince of Greenwood?"

"No," Elrohir choked out, deathly pale. "I did not." Forgive me, Muindor. I meant to spare you hurt, not cause it. The contrite words, buried deep in his heart and soul, remained there, for Elrohir had not the courage to admit his errors. In this way he erred a third time, for had he spoken all might still have been forgiven and forgotten. Instead, he dropped to his chair, head bowed low in misery and shame.

Oblivious to all this, the King stood resplendent in rich robes of green trimmed in white gems, a mighty broadsword belted over his fine clothes and a crown of white blossoms wrought of iridescent jewels. Beside him, Legolas stood tall and proud, his elegant clothes enhancing the vibrant blue of his expressive eyes, his golden mane loose and long, held back from his face by the delicate mithril fronds of the ancient circlet. Father and son ignored the table of delegates and barely acknowledged the nobles at the high table, vision raking the three Lords of Imladris with cold, indifferent dismissal. Thranduil and Legolas did not take their places, waiting as the throng re-seated themselves. An uneasy murmur of wary voices whispering rolled through the hall and dissipated into the vast space overhead. The King spoke:

"People of Greenwood, my sylvan and Sindarin kin, there is little cause to celebrate this night. The visitors from Imladris have brought word of a new invasion of our home: a trio of Nazgûl speeding to the Black Tower. War is upon us once more. The conference on trade with our allies in Dale is therefore cancelled. All who are not of our folk must leave, returning to their respective realms with all haste. Please, remain and partake of the food and drink as long as you may, for this may well be the last such feast for many a day. Galu-en-Tawar an li."

With that dire pronouncement, father and son turned and left the hall.

Stunned silence evaporated under the heat of frantic speech that erupted from the throats of every person at once. Amid the babbling confusion, servants poured into the room bearing trays heaped with meats and breads and delicacies galore, plunking them down in the centres of the tables. Stewards emerged with bottles of the best wines to be found in the King's cellars and set about filling every cup. The musicians struck up a lively tune. The roiling tempest tempered into heavy dread, suffocating and leaden as the rains of a monsoon, fuelled by the dark wind howling out of the Southeast. The Wood Elves' ruckus turned ponderous and subdued. This was not the first time they had faced a future so bleak and no people in Middle-earth new better the need to pull together and treasure every instance of joy and peace, no matter how fleeting. As the guests from Imladris looked on, the sylvans commenced their feast with nearly desperate fervour.

"Please, have some of the duck," urged Elboron, spearing a hefty portion onto Elrohir's plate. He paused, again permitting his eyes to linger over the purple lump. "You have met with some mishap, Elrohir," he said, tone sarcastic. "It is Elrohir, isn't it? Not Elladan?"

"You know it is Elrohir," said Elladan, instantly on edge. "What is this about? Do you know how my brother was injured?"

"Aye, he surely knows," groaned Elrohir. He made to rise but Elboron leaped up and prevented it, pushing him back down in the chair.

"No, you'll not be running off just yet," he commanded, resuming his seat as the chatter round them faltered and faces began turning their way.

"I only wished to go and make my apologies," mumbled Elrohir.

"For what?" demanded Aragorn.

"Elboron, explain your actions," barked Elladan, displeased to see his brother treated so rudely.

"I think it would be better for your brother to do the explaining." He flashed Elladan a searing glare. "Assuming you were not part of the ugly scene, but perhaps that is a premature judgement. Are you truly ignorant of Elrohir's infraction against the House of Oropher?"

"Of course he is," sighed Elrohir. "If he knew, he would have stopped me."

"Ai Valar, Elrohir, what have you done?" Elladan was beyond alarmed now.

"I met with Legolas today," said Elrohir. "Believing him to be a seron…"

"While pretending to be you," Elboron inserted with a grim smile at Elladan.

"Oh no," said Aragorn.

"Why," asked Elladan, rigid in his chair, already realising the answer.

"I hoped to avail myself of his services," Elrohir licked his lips and continued. "He instantly quelled my ardour, delivering the kick that laid me low and raised this knot." He gingerly brushed the knobby bruise, daring a glance at his brother's face.

"Surely not." Aragorn was shaking his head in disbelief. "You didn't try to force him, did you?"

"One cannot force a seron," whispered the shamed Twin, eyes on his hands where they lay clenched in his lap.

Beside them Elladan sat pale and silent, trying to assimilate this news and what it meant. He could not see past the image of Legolas struggling against his brother and dark red rage began pooling in his gut. "How far," he said, voice trembling, the words packed with his restrained fury.

"A kiss, nothing more."

Aragorn heaved a great sigh of relief, but Elladan remained unmoved, face a flinty mask of loathing that closely bordered hatred.

"You have dishonoured both him and me," he said, the cool tone belying the blazing wrath inflaming his heart. "For this you must answer. You are under my doom; meet me in the arena and bring your sword." With that he rose, so intense his pent outrage that the chair toppled over behind him with a loud clatter. Elladan strode from the hall without waiting to hear his brother's pleading cry for forgiveness.

"Curse of Námo!" Aragorn swore. "What possessed you?" Elrohir ignored him and made to rise. Aragorn snatched his sleeve to prevent it. "You cannot face him when he is like this, Elrohir."

"Oh, I really think he must," said Elboron blandly. "If he doesn't, Elrohir will have to face Thranduil instead, for Legolas is injured and cannot undergo close combat just yet. For the sake of the long accord between the realms of Imladris and Greenwood, if personal honour does not move him, Elrohir will meet the challenge. Won't you?" The cold smile he offered when the denounced ellon lifted his gaze held no comfort.

"Yes," nodded Elrohir. "I will meet his challenge. Put your wager on Elladan, mellon vrûn." He stood and cast his sight over the sea of faces watching the drama, meeting none of the avid eyes so hungry for his defeat. "Let it be known here by all present: my brother was not privy to my errors and has done no wrong to your prince. Elladan's intent is wholly honourable." The announcement was met with frigid silence and he quickly retreated from the place.

"Elrohir!" Aragorn called after him but received not so much as a glance. He stood slowly, staring at the open arch through which both his brothers had left, debating whether to go after them and attempt to stop this duel or seek an audience with Thranduil to beseech intervention.

"Do not interfere," warned Elboron.

Aragorn presented a scowl as he stalked from the table, though he knew Elboron was right; there was nothing he could do to stop the contest. He could only hope, since Elrohir clearly accepted his fault, the battle would be short and the injuries minor. A visit to the infirmary to ensure the surgery is prepared would be wise. Elladan would never imperil his brother's life, not even as angry as he was now, but there would be blood. Considering all this as he moved toward the exit, Aragorn heard Idrê's cutting dismissal.

"You see we were right. None of them can get past his own reputation to consider Legolas' position in all this mess. The Twin Lords' hearts are cold and unfeeling while Isildur's Heir runs to play second to them both."

He pretended not to have heard, but the words struck Aragorn as unfair. Elladan was certainly not indifferent to Legolas, no more than he. Yet what hope had either of them to convince the prince of this fact? His brother was doing what he thought honour demanded, both his and Legolas'. Surely Elboron would understand that, and Legolas also.

Yet, they are not Noldorin folk. Mayhap things are not viewed the same way here.

It occurred to the Man that maybe his brothers' duel was deemed another insult to Legolas. By defending the honour of his House, did it really seem Elladan ignored the prince? An apology was in order, he decided, a personal apology rather than a public display of chivalry conducted only partly in Legolas' name. That had worked wonders for him earlier when he still believed Legolas a seron. The prince had accepted the present and even King Thranduil had smiled on his son's acquaintance with a mere mortal. The monarch's light humour over the encounter was a little unnerving, but on the other hand it was a tremendous relief not to be competing with so majestic and imposing an ellon.

Suddenly the possibility of actually wooing and winning Legolas seemed plausible. It was up to him, Aragorn decided, to present the requisite penitence and explain how the mistake in identity came to pass. That pulled him up short as he realised this, too, was Elrohir's doing. Nor could it be denied that Aragorn perceived the advantage the Twins' conflict granted him. He directed his steps not to the infirmary or the arena, but to Legolas' apartment, meeting none of the obstacles Elladan had encountered. In short order he stood before the door. Gathering his nerve, Aragorn knocked softly. No response came forth and so he tapped again, adding a sombre entreaty.

"Legolas? It is Aragorn, may I enter?" Still there was no indication anyone was within, but the Man was not ready to give up. Again he rapped, louder this time, and almost immediately the portal opened to reveal the prince.

Gone were the fabulous clothes and the regal circlet. Legolas had opted to don his loose, silk sparring trousers and was in the act of gathering the open tunic top about him. His brows rose in obvious surprise, but quickly contracted into severe and glowering furrows as he clutched the fabric even tighter across his torso. "Yes?"

Aragorn drew deeply to steady his hammering heart, fully cognisant that his foster-brother's fate might well await him should he proceed, but unwilling to run and be proven cowardly. "I came to learn if you are well," he said.

"Why wouldn't I be?" spat Legolas, indignant and defensive.

"Well, I know what happened," began Aragorn cautiously.

"Do you? Then I suggest you go see to your foster-brother. I noticed he has a rather large lump on his head. Other injuries will not be so readily apparent, but I assure you they are present."

"I only hoped to try and explain things, to apologise," insisted Aragorn, daring a step over the threshold, hands held up in supplication before him. "May I come in?"

"Why, are you hoping to succeed where Elladan failed? Or was it Elrohir? I confess I do not know for certain even now." Legolas' words rang with disgust.

"I would never impose myself on anyone that way," assured Aragorn. "You've already endured the worst of my boorishness at the pools." He smiled a self-deprecating smile. "You forgave me for that."

"So I did," Legolas sighed, unconsciously cradling his injured arm at the elbow as he observed the Man. There was nothing deceptive in his face and it took courage to come here alone. "You really knew nothing of your foster-brother's plans?"

"Nothing, I swear it; may Eru snuff out my spark if I lie," averred Aragorn.

"No need to be so dramatic," murmured Legolas, but he was reassured by the vehemence of the response.

He had many questions about the incident but no wish to approach either of the Twins, nor was he willing to unburden himself to Etsiri and hear her 'I told you so's'. His father had already done enough of that and firmly discouraged any further contact between him and the Orc-slayers. Aragorn was not guilty just by virtue of being from Imladris, and perhaps the Man could enlighten him. "Very well, come in." He stood aside and let Aragorn pass, snorting at the courtly bow tendered to him. He closed the door and the two stood staring at one another awkwardly. Again Legolas blew out a heavy breath, reluctantly recalling his manners. "Would you care for something to eat or drink? Ada had the kitchen send up more than I can possibly finish alone." He motioned, arm extended stiffly, toward the inner chambers.

"That's very cordial of you," said Aragorn and could not prevent another bow. He came up rather red-faced but noticed Legolas's eyes were smiling even if his expression remained sceptical. "I am very hungry, for I was too nervous to eat anything and left before the feast even started."

"Too nervous?" Legolas led the way to the sitting room where a table was heaped with tempting victuals. On the floor was a basket bearing three bottles of wine, one opened, a half-empty goblet beside it. "Help yourself, please." He retreated to his favourite chair and slithered into it, careful to mask his aches as he relaxed, legs splayed, head back, eyes drifting shut. He blinked them open suddenly and adjusted his position, retrieving the cup and draining it.

"Thank you." Aragorn watched all this with dismay. It was now apparent that Legolas was exhausted and had probably been asleep, in that very chair perhaps, when he knocked. He hadn't missed the indications of pain, either, but bided his time. Legolas was unlikely to welcome any advice from anyone associated with Imladris right now. He loaded a plate, balancing it on Legolas' knee before taking up a serving for himself, and perched in the matching seat. The prince eyed him with faint suspicion. "I dislike eating alone," he shrugged and filled their goblets. "As to the nervousness, I heard the stories circulating and then found out who you really are, so I feared the worst."

"Who told you I was a seron?" Legolas began his interrogation, nibbling at the food.

"No one, exactly," Aragorn began and through bites of the meal told the tale as he understood it. He was relieved that Legolas seemed to find Elrohir's misconception amusing, after the fact. The Man refilled the glass Legolas held forth and watched as the prince downed it in three gulps, presenting the goblet for more.

"Adar will be livid with indignant wrath when he hears this part of the tale. What has Elrohir got against me?" he laughed, but the question was no jest and he peered intently at his guest, awaiting the answer.

"Nothing. He thought you were a seron and hoped to prevent you and Elladan from becoming lovers. I beg you will try to understand his reasons before you condemn him. He feared Elladan would lose his heart to someone who cannot return his feelings."

"Valar, that is exactly what my family says about your brothers." Legolas did not know what to think of Elrohir's motives, stuck on the reference to the possibility of Elladan falling in love with him. I could not be entirely wrong about him, then. Yet, it was a confusing situation for neither of the Twins had bothered to seek him out with explanations as had their foster-brother. "Did they send you here to speak for them?"

"No, they've no idea I'm here." Aragorn did not want to reveal they were fighting a combat of honour over Legolas, and did not contradict this erroneous view of the Twins. He studied Legolas instead, documenting carefully the discomfort he was trying to hide. He had kept count of how many times the prince had drained and filled his cup, enough to empty one bottle and half the second, cognisant he was drugging himself with alcohol to dull the pain. How to get him to admit to the injuries and permit him to tend them? The trust between them was a tentative thing as yet. Perhaps the direct approach is best.

"Legolas, it is plain that you are uncomfortable and I was told you were injured. I am a healer, too, in addition to being a warrior. Will you let me have a look at your arm?"

"Not likely, is it, under the circumstances," Legolas scoffed, shaking his head. "It's true, I was already injured and the confrontation has mildly aggravated those wounds, but I can tend them myself."

As though to emphasise the point he filled and then emptied his goblet again, raising it to Aragorn in mock salute. He was a bit intoxicated and didn't care. All his hopes for a lover were now spoiled by the invasion; the fantasy of Elladan as a potential life-mate quashed. If the Orc-slayer wanted to explore that possibility, surely he would have come in person to make things right. As it was, he'd not even sent Legolas a note. Etsiri was right after all. He sat forward with a grunt and reached for the wine bottle, which was empty. Another sigh left him and he flopped back in the chair, frowning into the air at nothing in particular.

"Permit me," offered Aragorn, settling his plate on the floor at his feet and taking up the last bottle. In the bottom of the basket was an opener and he worked the cork loose, waited as a wisp of smoky vapour exhaled from the wine, poured for Legolas.

"My thanks." Legolas mood was becoming decidedly morose but he felt inclined to indulge his misery a bit. He watched Aragorn watching him swallow and that gave him a thought. He hauled himself more upright again, pointing an unsteady goblet at the Man. "Don't imagine the wine dulls my reflexes. I can still best you if the need arises."

"I believe it," Aragorn presented a lop-sided grin, "but I have no plans to attempt a seduction."

"Of course not. Why should you when there are seryn readily available for whom you need feel nothing but lust," Legolas complained. "At least Elrohir stole a kiss; I suppose that is the most I can expect. Adar will banish them now and that will only serve to frighten off any other eligible suitor I might consider."

Aragorn frowned and shook his head. "That is a pity," he said. "The ellyn here must be fools. King Thranduil did not object to your friendship with me; an interested suitor need only be bold and forthright."

"Aye, that's so; he was very pleased when you came and made peace with me." Legolas considered this as he evaluated the Man again. Still dressed for the fête, Aragorn was every inch the heir of that most noble lineage of Men. His behaviour was exemplary, too, refraining from making any inappropriate advances. Then again, why hadn't he? Was he still interested or had the knowledge of Legolas' identity stifled his desire? Legolas squirmed a little in his seat, thinking to test the Man, and let his shirt gape wide as he gingerly brushed fingers over the bruised ribs. "Ai, the wine only does so much. This is your fault, of course, for interrupting the long soak the healers prescribed as the cure." He moaned softly and shook out his flowing mane, peering through lash-veiled eyes as Aragorn's sight tracked his hand.

"I am truly sorry," Aragorn swallowed, heart racing, and raised his eyes to Legolas'. He caught his breath, for there was no denying the sultry heat emanating from those deep blue depths. "I could examine the hurts anew, if you wish it."

"How do I know you have any training as healer? Maybe this is just another ploy to get my clothes off," challenged Legolas but the words were couched in tones that clearly invited the Man to accept that challenge.

"Fairly said," Aragorn frowned to conceal his delighted grin and dropped his head. Things were moving along much better than he had imagined possible. "I do not know how to convince you, save to reiterate that I am but a mortal Man and you would have no trouble disabling me."

"That is true," giggled Legolas. "You are both bold and brave to chance it, then."

"I am genuinely concerned about you, Legolas," Aragorn said seriously. "I will not press beyond the clinical bounds of a healer's liberties." At least, not by much.

"Those are quite extensive boundaries!" snorted Legolas. "Still, I did promise Ada I would see a healer. I consent to your examination, Aragorn."

"So be it," said Aragorn. He took a steadying breath. Now that the moment had come, he was almost afraid to touch Legolas. Really, he could not avail himself of an invitation obviously made under the influence of heady wine. Were he sober, Legolas probably never would have let him in the apartment. To top it all off, the prince was substituting Aragorn for Elladan and would likely regret the swap later. Besides, the Man's pride did not allow being chosen as a mere consolation prize. Well, I already agreed to it; there's no turning back now lest I offend him again.

Rising, he looked about and spied a small foot stool which he retrieved and carried to Legolas' chair. Seating himself there, he took the goblet from Legolas' hand and set it aside, noting that the prince was flushed, compliant, and aroused. Thinking this was going to be the most difficult examination he'd ever conducted, he presented a grim countenance to counter the ellon's excitement and reached for the loose top. Taking pains to remain aloof and professional, he slipped the shirt free and set a trembling hand over the injured ribcage, utterly unable to refrain from noticing how tight and dark and delicious the prince's nipples looked. Aragorn swallowed hard as his heart hammered so loudly he wondered if Legolas could hear it. He pressed the bruised skin lightly and was shocked by the reaction. Legolas flinched and bit back a small groan.

"Carefully!" he hissed, glowering at the Man. Apparently he meant to perform a real inspection. Not very romantic. Legolas sighed and shifted, considering whether to dismiss him, when the pressure returned and he gasped aloud.

"The ribs are broken," Aragorn announced in surprise. "At least two." He met the prince's aggravated glare with an admonishing one of his own learned by observing Elrond's demeanour with difficult patients. "These should be wrapped, Legolas." From that point forward he was absorbed in his task and ignored all Legolas' attempts to explain. He took up the arm the prince had been shielding and palpated the limb along its entire length, noting soreness at the wrist and a break above the elbow. That made Legolas grit his teeth, his entire frame rigid, for the fracture was misaligned.

"No wonder you were favouring it. The bone needs to be set again," Aragorn declared, certain this had been caused by Elrohir's mishandling and feeling sick about it. "It would be wise to bind the wrist as well and then immobilise the arm. Is there any way you can send someone to the infirmary to get the bandaging required?"

"No need, I have ample supplies in here." Legolas was about to raise himself up when the Man's hand settled with careful but firm pressure on his good shoulder.

"Stay still and tell me where to find it," Aragorn insisted.

"I've a trunk in there with all you need."

Legolas pointed to a door in the back wall and Aragorn went through to find a neat and tidy bedchamber, simply appointed even as the sitting room was. The apartment was not the sort of rooms he would imagine a prince would inhabit, he reflected, but then again none of Greenwood's royal family behaved with the arrogance often associated with those of high birth. They were warriors first and foremost and that was understandable given the dangerous conditions afflicting the ancient forest. Aragorn recalled his decision to remain and help in the coming battle and renewed his determination with greater fervour. Even if the King sent his brothers away, he would stay and fight beside the sylvans.

All this crossed his mind as he crossed the room to the ample and comfortable looking bed, at the foot of which was the trunk. This he opened and found clothes, weapons, books, and a very well put together field kit. Unable to restrain his curiosity, the Man lifted out an exquisite long knife in a beautifully tooled leather scabbard. Before he could unsheathe it, a slight noise behind him warned that he was not alone. He turned to find Legolas carefully lowering himself to sit on the bed.

"Do you generally rummage through your patients' personal belongings when you treat their hurts?" he demanded. "Put the knife back, Aragorn."

"Yes, of course, forgive me." Aragorn hastily set the blade down and closed the trunk, bringing the field kit along to the bedside. "I thought I told you to stay put."

"I am weary," complained Legolas. "My ribs hurt and I want to stretch out. Are you going to bind me up or not?"

Under different circumstances, that query might have far more enticing possibilities and Aragorn could not suppress a slightly leering smile. He caught Legolas' eye and his interpretation of the remark must have shown, for the prince smirked and tossed his head. Aragorn proceeded to do his job and set the arm neatly and quickly, binding the break and the sprained wrist. He moved on to the ribs and wound them tightly in gauze, all of which Legolas endured without complaint, though he was somewhat haggard when all was completed.

"Done," Aragorn said and smiled.

"My thanks," Legolas dipped his head politely. "I do feel better; you are indeed a skilled healer." Then he set about trying to heave himself up onto the mattress, exhausted and ready to rest.

"Wait."

Automatically, Aragorn moved to help, tugging down the counterpane and stacking the pillows into a fluffy pile. Without preamble he gathered Legolas' legs and draped the long limbs out across the bed, then took Legolas under the arms and cautiously slid him against the soft support. This placed him close enough to feel the ellon's breath across his face and Aragorn lifted his eyes to find the blue pools intently watching him, the light therein fairly smouldering. The Man was suddenly very aware of the warmth of the bare skin beneath his hands and the silky texture of the fine hairs confined to the underarm. Legolas' scent filled his nostrils, musky and indicative of arousal, and the Man let his sight drop to lips moist and plump and already parted. The inviting image scattered the inhibitions he'd so sternly set upon his actions and Aragorn bent the few centimetres required to claim that lovely mouth.

Legolas opened for him readily, sighing in pleased delight as a mobile tongue darted in to taste him. He lapped at it and was rewarded with a frenzied, exuberant exploration, the mattress compressing as the Man's weight settled on the bed. Fingers gently brushed a nipple and he startled, the touch electric and sufficient to ignite his desire fully, but as he flexed his back to encourage those fingers a sharp twinge ripped through his side. He went still as stone, a groan got free, and Aragorn retreated at once.

"Ai! Forgive me, Legolas, I can't imagine what you must think," blustered Aragorn, mortified to have left those clinical boundaries so far behind and caused Legolas pain to boot. He peered anxiously at the ellon, worried about how this new offence would be treated, and found instead an expression of weary disappointment clouding the azure irises.

"Nay, you did no wrong," said Legolas and smiled, suddenly more tired than he would have thought possible in light of the moment just shared. His cock was rock hard. "Was a fine kiss," he announced, smiling, and then to his chagrin yawned hugely. When it was done, he found Aragorn grinning at him, hands propped on his hips as he stood tall and proud. That made him chuckle a bit, no small amount proud of his achievement himself, and snuggled into the pillows, pulling the covers over his knees. "Perhaps we should stop now, at least until I know something more about you."

"Indeed, we ought to be friends before we become lovers," Aragorn replied quietly, eyes running over the lean, supple body. The soft cloth left little to the imagination and he felt a surge in his groin as he noted the small damp spot marking the pinnacle of the prince's organ. He met Legolas' eyes anew and was overwhelmed with warmth and the most deliciously frustrating form of anticipation he'd ever known. He took a step backward. "Will you join me for the morning meal?"

"Yes, in fact, I expect you to bring it when you come."

His eyes widened and Aragorn felt his cheeks flush as his heart thudded, mouth dry. "When do you want me?"

"Come as soon as you wake in the morning," rejoined Legolas, pleased with himself even though this was rather a common double entendre. Aragorn seemed to appreciate it, too, and the Man bowed low as he backed from the room, lifting shining eyes for a last farewell before closing the door. Sure he would never fall into reverie, Legolas dropped into oblivion almost at once without even realising it, finally succumbing to the stress of the injuries and the excitement of the day.

Aragorn, not tired a bit, his brothers forgotten, and completely unable to imagine sleeping, went in search of King Thranduil.

TBC

Glossary:

Idrê - thoughtfulness

Etsiri - river's mouth

Seron - lover, courtesan

Seryn - more than one courtesan

Seronath - all courtesans as a class

Baragûr - Fiery-heart

Andaith - a mark denoting a long sound for a vowel.

Ela! Elladan ar Elrohir, tultâ di gwa-lassiê - Behold! Elladan and Elrohir, come under the leaves. ( a traditional sylvan greeting in primitive elvish)

Brûn flad-en-gwaew, pedich farn - Old bag of wind, you speak enough (you talk too much)

melethron - male lover

Ernilen - My Prince

Elboron - Brave Star
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Ranger's Folly, Prince's Fate

Chapter Six: Fête in the Forest