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Feud	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 27233 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
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Feud
By erobey
Beta'd by Sarah AK (remaining errors mine alone)
www.feud.shadowess.com

Disclaimer: The setting and known characters belong to Tolkien and his estate. Only the words surrounding them and the original characters belong to erobey alone. No monies earned, just for fun!

Gwedeir ar Gwedier-vi-Gwaedh (Bond Brothers and Brothers-in-Law)

Now the Wood Elves were a species attuned to nature in every aspect of their existence and few among them could ever fathom life beyond the cool, shaded world of the Greenwood under the protection and beneficence of Tawar. Every action among the elves of the forest occurred in congruity with the cycles of Arda and their habits reflected the every-changing constancy in the turn of the seasons. The Danwaith had developed a harmony within the structure of Yavanna's design that was in all ways a true symbiosis. Before the Sindar returned to the woods from Beleriand, bringing with them Melian and Thingol's concepts of immortality and the will of the Valar, the Wood Elves felt no need to call upon the absent cohorts of Oromë and Yavanna in order to understand the world and their place within it.

Indeed, in the centuries that passed before the coming of Anor and Ithil, the moriquendi forgot the majesty of the Valar dwelling in the distant realm of Valinor. Maybe they had not really believed Oromë's tales of these beings in the first place, unable to understand why such mighty lords would seek to remove them from the lands that sheltered them. While they felt the presence of Manwë in the wind and the air, the silvans thought not of the King of the West, closest to the ear of Eru. To the Danwaith, the Wind Lord seemed subject to Arda, as were they, for did not the breath of Iluvatar moving over the lands contain him? Truly, he served the rhythm of the world laid out for it by Yavanna, and thus he was judged a lesser spirit than she. For who among them had seen Súlimo?

In the rushing voice of hurrying streams and the driving torrents descending from menel in the season of rain, the Wood Elves heard the voice of Ulmo but instead of comprehending a being beyond the strength of these waters they saw him as subordinate to them. Were the rivers not confined within channels and meers, pools and lakes? Did not the very trees consume the vital fluid, and they themselves do the same? It did not seem logical that something lesser could contain the might of a higher entity. Perhaps, had any of their folk ventured West far enough to look upon Aearon this view of Ulmo would have altered, but no silvan of the Greenwood had ever done so and returned to speak of it.

The woodland folk gazed upon the stars and recalled Varda but the story surrounding her was somewhat at variance with the accepted legends of Beleriand. The Nandor named these bright points of gleam the eyes of Eru, ever watching over them in vigilant concern. The gift of the mightiest queen among the Valar was thus not the stars themselves, but an inky veil she cast between the world and the glorious majesty of the One, for to look upon such magnificence unceasingly, unshielded, would bring them to despair for being parted from it. Between the fine threads of her lacy mantle shown enough of the holy light of Iluvatar to hearten and encourage the elves, but not so much to cause them pain.

As for Oromë and Yavanna, the only members of the Ainur known to the Wood Elves, some misunderstandings arose. Yavanna was thought to be the wife of the Hunter, for none had seen Vána and if he spoke of her it was lost to the memory of the elders. The Danwaith believed Oromë kept his beloved hidden away and that only when the entire world was locked in slumber would she come forth from her bower and tend to her creations. The Forester, though later revered as the champion of elf-kind, had at first been feared as one of the captains of Melkor if not the Dark One himself.

And in the end, Oromë left them anyway and the trusting moriquendi could not understand. Why would their benefactor abandon them instead of completing his labour, destroying the vile emanations of Shadow still striving to defile and subjugate Iluvatar's Children? How could Yavanna expect the Danwaith to forsake the very world she had designed for them? Nay, the lesser children of Eru did not completely forget the Valar, yet the concept of them evoked resentment and insecurity while the notion of the Powers' purpose dimmed.

.

Over the passage of unnumbered aeons after the final retreat of the Ainur from the wide lands east of the Hithaeglir, the Wood Elves developed their own philosophy in order to render the unaccountable into wisdom. In this way they came to comprehension of Tawar and felt within the Spirit of the Great Wood the presence of Eru manifest in their world. The stars high above lent fortitude and awoke joy in their hearts; the trees protected and sheltered them. If this was not the expression of Iluvatar's being then there was none such that the silvans could understand it. Oromë had retreated, Yavanna turned her face away, but Tawar would never forsake them, be they living or dead.

And mortality was always stalking, a tireless tracker and remorseless predator.

Before the return of Lenwë's remnant late in the First Age, the Nandor believed death restored their essence to the elements of the world and consciousness was lost forever. Immortality was a delicate and fragile state to be jealously protected. Those who were reckless with another's existence and wasted it owed a debt of blood paid in service to the deceased elf's family. Not until the Laiquendi shared what Thingol's wife had taught concerning the division of life imperishable into hroa and feä was the notion of reincarnation was introduced. Yet Wood Elves felled by violence or lost to grief did not heed the call of Námo or require the keeping of Mandos, nor were their feär driven to flee the trees but encouraged to stay and harbour near to their kinfolk and loved ones.

The Lost were neither dreaded nor scorned in those ancient times but rather were hallowed and coaxed to dwell in sacred places set-aside for them. The dead were remembered for relatives visited these sites often and parents sought to rejuvenate their disembodied children by producing new life. In this way it was believed these unhoused ones came to be reborn among the elves of the woods.

The coming of the Sindar from Beleriand changed this for they enlightened the silvans. From refugees of Doriath and also the few Noldor among them, the fullness of the history of the Powers was explained. The immigrants laughed at the Danwaith's rustic credo propounding new elflings held old souls, claiming this was a gift only Námo could grant. They told tales that brought great sorrow to the woodland folk, saying all their kin lost since the time of Awakening had been enslaved first by Melkor and then by Sauron, turned into demons and monsters that obeyed his will and sought destruction of the First-born.

But among these newcomers were also Laiquendi from Ossiriand, and they disputed the dire doom proclaimed by the Sindar and the Noldor. They too held that, by the grace of Iluvatar, a soul could return to a body generated from its original progenitors without the need to dwell in Mandos. Gradually, a blend of the warring philosophies emerged, such that feär must be attended to upon death, else the Darkness claim them. Thus, rejuvenation required judgement and travel to Mandos yet peace might be found by immersion within Tawar for those that did not desire rebirth or feared to face the unknown Vala.

By the time of Thranduil's ascension to rule, the Wood Elves had come to regard Mandos as less terrible than enthralment by any entity, for by then the Shadow had begun overtaking the Greenwood and Tawar was no longer revered as immutable. Better to have the chance for reincarnation than to wander and face the possibility of entrapment by some evil power. Wandering souls were feared as possible agents of Darkness, encouraged to flee to the Halls of Waiting. That more and more of the moriquendi now sought the shores of the Undying Lands only added to the confusion, for sometimes mated couples became separated. How could a Lost feä hope to be reborn without the parents' union?

The sacred sanctuaries of the forest that harboured unhoused souls gradually fell to neglect and were forgotten by the population at large. Who could continue believing such places were protected when the Sinda King had so easily dispersed the fallen warriors of the Last Alliance into the Enchanted River and the surrounding trees?

Even so, the alternative was only marginally less intimidating. Námo was unknown, faceless and formless, and his standards were harsh and difficult to meet; thus came about the rigid demands for some sort of noble sacrifice to justify and balance a violent demise. Any elf that caused the death of another, whether wilfully or by negligence, was guilty of kin-slaying and must tender over either his own immortal existence or complete the Tasks of Release as payment for the victim's passage into the Vala's keeping.

In all of the long history of this convoluted notion's evolution, only one elf had ever actually completed such a task without dying in the process.

That elf was Legolas, chosen champion of the Greenwood, the last voice of Tawar upon Arda. And while most of this ancient knowledge was but partially known to him, instinctively he was drawn to the consecrated fields where in ages past a sundered soul might safely rest awaiting rebirth. Such was the original nature of his sanctuary by the blackberry bramble far to the south near the woodsmen's settlements. Likewise the small clearing near the stronghold where he had practised archery alone in his elfling days was one of these holy fanes. And this was also the dell where he had brought his secret lover and where his heart had been broken, the very glade reclaimed by Lindalcon, Gladhadithen, Fearfaron and the good elves of the Woodland Realm to become the new home of the Tawarwaith and his bonded mate.

There must have been at least a few among the eldest of the silvans that recalled the once blessed purpose of the location and felt it more than fitting for the Greenwood's defender to make his home there. None could know, for even Fearfaron did not, how much pain had since defiled the area or how important their unselfish actions were in rejuvenating it. The elves just wanted their world set to rights and the majority had come to the conclusion that Legolas was the key to this.

Besides, it was autumn and thus the time when many couples bonded, and that meant a number of really fine parties. It was a tradition looked forward to every year as a means of defying the Darkness surrounding their beleaguered world. The silvan folk were eager, for Legolas' would be the first Mereth Bardolel of the season. Every turn in the annual circle of the world brought its own distinctive activities to the Woodland Realm.

In spring as the trees renewed their foliage and wild-life set to mating, the silvans also tended to reproduce, at least those that dared generate new progeny under the siege of Dol Guldur. Elves bonded in the days surrounding the autumnal equinox sought to procreate near the time of the vernal equinox. The resultant nativities the following year were causes for great celebration. The forest remained brighter than the dawn both night and day as lanterns burned within every talan and hung from nearly every branch and twig. Unceasingly, elven voices mingled with the cheerful singing of warblers and finches, all heralding the arrival of new life in the greening branches of the oaks and beeches. Few were the Wood Elves that slept in the spring.

The cold months were not joyous in the Greenwood. Winter was spent in vigilant defence and aggressive campaigns against the Orcs and Spiders. The grotesque arachnids slumbered more in the frigid weather and thus were their colonies more easily targeted. Orcs, on the other hand, became extra energetic when Anor retreated and the reduced cover of the trees made elven warriors easier to keep in their sights. This was not a period of settling in and holding fast; the silvans pressed hard into the enemy's outposts, attacking relentlessly through the light hours in hopes of depleting their foes beyond the ability to retaliate in the night. The winter solstice was marked by brutal battle that bled into the reign of Ithil and spilled into the lengthening days that followed.

Gathering and storing up the bounty of the forest against the dearth of winter began with summer's arrival. This semester of long light was a contradiction in attitudes, promoting both a flurry of industrious activity and an easy, indolent attitude of lazy relaxation. The oppressive heat and humidity promoted this strange combination of motivation and lassitude, and socialising in summertime invariably involved water.

In fact, there was an entire Pae-tâd Aur (twelve-day) devoted to a series of competitive games centred on various skills required for manoeuvring in and on water. Nearly all the elves participated and since these sports necessitated shedding as many garments as possible, sometimes all of them, it was not to be wondered that autumn bonding rituals succeeded summer's exhibition of bare skin. The games were a rather enjoyable means to establish courting rights and those already bonded relished the sport of matchmaking.

Even elflings too young to understand the concept of courting joined the festivities, gleefully attending the events appropriate to their years. A carnival atmosphere prevailed and it was likely elves of the other realms would be amazed to see the continual party transpiring under the shadowy verdure of the canopy, were they ever invited.

Swimming and kayaking races, barrel-dancing, and running the rapids were serious events and among competing warriors the hazard of mock combat was invariably added. The contenders, whether male or female, tended to regard this portion of the trials rather seriously. It was considered a matter of honour to best one's challengers and personal status depended on the ranking achieved through these endeavours. Those wishing to impress a prospective mate were especially aggressive and Gladhadithen frequently had to halt the proceedings, disqualifying combatants that took things too far.

The event culminated in a grand celebration of the summer solstice. Awards were given to the victors and for the younger participants these included sweets and clever toys wrought by dwarven hands far away in the Iron Mountains. Adult prizes often took the form of fine weapons, bows and knives, jewelled ornaments for adorning the hair and body, with the grand prize being not some sort of water craft as one might expect but rather the finest weanling foal from the King's stable. Even so, the lesser items were more coveted for the tokens were exchanged between eligible elves and their would-be paramours as signs of their intentions. The acceptance or rejection of such gifts marked the progress or suspension of a suitor's cause.

Lindalcon had competed in some of the adult levels of the games for the first time in the summer just ended and had not made too poor a showing. He had won a fine dagger for finishing first in a race through the lower rapids, a speed competition only with no war skills involved. He had also received a small sapphire jewel for taking the third spot in barrel-dancing, which was a very lively and popular sport among the populace. It was not, however, as mild and carefree as it sounded.

The skills employed were minimal, for the only directive was to leap atop an empty barrel dropped from the King's cellars into the Forest River. One had to remain on one's feet as the floating containers flipped, spun, bobbed and wobbled in the current, not an easy feat even for gracefully athletic Wood Elves. Sitting was not allowed and using hands to grip any part of the bloated wooden casks was forbidden; once in the water, an elf was out of the running. The name of the activity derived from the body-gyrating, arm-flailing, one- and two-footed hopping required to maintain balance. The objective was to be the last elf upright as the barrels crossed the boundary marking the completion of the course a league downstream.

All opponents had the same goal and thus everyone was equally concerned with dislodging their fellow barrel-dancers. There were few moves deemed too underhanded to disqualify a competitor and the only stipulation was that no weapons could be used. Rock throwing was a favourite tactic as were kicking an opponent and/or their barrel and hair yanking. Over the centuries during which winning techniques were perfected, it became obvious that less clothing meant fewer handholds for tugging and locks were kept tightly bound up in topknots and buns.

Barrel-dancing was undeniably invented for showing-off.

Lindalcon was certain he had never seen Legolas participate in the spectacle. He was recalling all of this for he knew that the archer had won many of the more dangerous competitions including running the upper rapids while being fired upon by 'enemies' in other kayaks and along the banks of the foaming stream. Remembering the games had occurred because Lindalcon had found himself rejoicing for the unexpected chill that had changed a drenching farewell-to-summer down-pour into an elegant veil of frosty white. That had got him thinking of the seasons and how clever he was to manage bringing about Legolas' bonding at the traditionally appropriate time of year.

Or perhaps he just had water on his thoughts in general.

In any case, Lindalcon found himself wondering whom the wild elf had given all his tokens to, and whether or not it was Maltahondo. Somehow, he did not think so. Somehow, he rather thought Legolas had never given anyone such a courting gift. This had come to the young elf's mind while pondering the fact that his initial offering to an amazingly beautiful potential mate had been refused.

The inu in question, one of the other Councillors' apprentices, had later accepted a ruby dotted hair clasp from a warrior who had only placed fifth in the same race. Lindalcon solemnly shook his head as he walked along the quiet pathway toward the baths; he simply did not understand how it was all done.
Nor does Legolas, I am sure.

It staggered his comprehension to consider the harrowing events that had been required in order for Legolas and Erestor to find their love for one another. Included within this catalogue of woeful happenstance was his father's demise.
Bloody Vairë!

Valtamar's son came over the rise above the stony grotto with its clear pools and stopped abruptly. He stood transfixed as though the baths were something never seen before, which was not the case.

The small depression was the location of a natural spring and the Wood Elves considered the mineral rich liquid to hold healing properties. It was customary for the silvans to take the waters frequently and communal soaking was not only accepted but cemented the sense of unity between the individuals of the populous city. In comparison, publicly cleansing the body was taboo for washing was a deeply personal experience, a display of trust shared only between mates, and the grotto was not used for such purposes. The unexpected cold and the healer's warnings had ensured the spring would be empty except for the new couple.

Surrounding the site was an elegant octagonal pavilion of cedar wood that blended well with the natural environment. In spring and summer, flowering vines of Morning Glory and Clematis covered the structure and provided living curtains for the open-sided building. In winter there were of course silk screens to shield occupants from cold wind and icy drafts and bitter rain or snow. These were tightly drawn shut now to ward off the unexpected blast of arctic air.

Inside, the stone floor had been sanded smooth and the naturally terraced contours enhanced to create broad steps that led down to the sheltered spring. There were three deep pools and around them elves had scattered a number of comfortable benches of the same cedar wood. These were grouped near tables and in winter could be dragged close to the iron braziers so commonly used by the woodland folk when heat was demanded. Of course, Gladhadithen had seen to it that these were all blazing brightly to ensure the newly-bonded couple enjoyed their ablutions.

No, Lindalcon was familiar with this place and had not halted upon sighting the pavilion, but rather because he heard the sound of song floating in the snow-filled air. Erestor was singing to Legolas, his rich melodic baritone insinuating the notes between the feathery flakes, the words imbued with a compelling level of emotion as his love resonated within every syllable of the lyrics. It was a composition Lindalcon had not heard before, sung in Quenya so that it had the eerie quality of belonging to a time and a land forgotten, destroyed centuries before even his father's father had been born.

Not before this moment had the Noldo advisor seemed so alien or foreign, yet now the young son of Valtamar wondered how this elf could find ease among the altered landscapes and diminished glory remaining in Arda. Such as Erestor belonged across the sea in Valinor not here beneath Greenwood's ancient trees amid a people that had shunned the company of Valar and Eldar alike. Yet the music rising over the quiescent hollow bespoke commitment, a feeling of peace and of returning to home, of kinship and family.

Lindalcon hesitated. Should he go down? He was charged to lead the new couple back to the glade, for both thought they were expected at Fearfaron's talan. The baths were screened and it was not that he would be spying on the couple, yet he was uncertain. He did not wish to interrupt the lovers in an erotic episode, for all joking and curiosity aside, Lindalcon wanted Legolas to be happy and fulfilled.

Nor did he wish to cause Erestor to stop singing. There was no need to translate the words to understand how important for Legolas was the hearing of such heart-thoughts, sung for him alone and no other, ever. For surely this was Erestor's equivalent of the song Lindalcon had invented this very dawn; held back until it could be voiced for the one who would spend eternity by his side. He marvelled at this sudden parity to that youthful Erestor, facing the rising of Anor with a canticle of love building in his spirit, therein to be cherished, patiently sequestered through millennia of lonely longing until his soul broke free to mingle with its counterpart, made whole at last.

And the Tawarwaith's brother knew then that he could not go down, for this moment was more private and intimate than any physical intercourse of two bodies would ever be. Erestor was offering Legolas his feä and the wild elf was bound to receive it in joy.

Even as he turned to leave, a warm breeze, whispering like a soft sigh sprung from a being submerged in serene contentment, gently rustled the trees and wafted through his tresses. Lindalcon inhaled in amazement, for suddenly it seemed he stood less then a metre from the lovers within the pavilion, so clearly could he discern them. His mind whirled, disoriented by the impossibility, then settled as he recalled Aragorn's description of the phenomenon. He was being permitted this vision through the intercession of Tawar.

The lovers were not in the pools but the relaxed familiarity of the pair told Lindalcon their carnal union was not long past. They were naked, seated astride a padded bench before the incalescent hearth to dry.

Legolas had his back to the Noldo, hands resting on Berenaur's knees between which he was perfectly ensconced. The long curved lashes of closed eyes formed a dark golden fringe upon the elegant perfection of high cheeks. The wild elf was smiling in dreamy tranquillity, chin tipped up slightly to make the long fall of wet locks spill freely down his spine. Legolas was still flushed from the heat of their love-making and the warmth of the glowing grate, deep garnet of parted lips and small erect nipples contrasting against flesh all peachy-pink. The silky patch of flaxen hair between his thighs was barely visible, for the seneschal's right hand was gently draped over the lax genitalia, and there was in that contact a sense of both a privilege bestowed and a right of possession.

Erestor was combing the fingers of the other hand slowly through the honey-coloured mane as he sang. He ran the slender digits from crown to the frayed and felted ends as if trying to touch each individual strand, seeking to know every atom of the wild elf's being through this simple action. The Noldo's form loomed behind his mate and even the air around him exuded the palpable, nearly desperate need to simultaneously encompass and belong to the wild elf. Intermittently as the grooming progressed and his song swelled, the seneschal planted kisses upon the archer's head, the refined jaw, the crimson tips of his ears, the pulsing vein in the long, ivory throat where a love-bite stood out in stark wine red.

Next to the apricot and roses of the Tawarwaith's skin, the Noldo was pale as moonlight and his curtain of onyx tresses rained silver droplets that sidled sinuously down his silvan lover's body. Erestor chased one with his tongue, bending low and curving his lithe body around his mate, greedily collecting up the transparent bead racing toward the old dagger wound. Legolas sighed and leaned back against him. Erestor wrapped his arms around the slender frame and propped his chin upon the shoulder above a straight pink scar that was barely noticeable at all, humming and murmuring into his beloved's ear.

Legolas opened his eyes and the cobalt irises alight with the fire of Erestor's love for him shifted and locked upon Lindalcon's. Smiling, the Tawarwaith reassured his younger brother, sending confirmation that he had sanctioned this uncanny vision's transmission.

No words were exchanged yet the councillor's apprentice understood clearly the message he was meant to have. All was well, Legolas knew he was waiting upon the hill and the lovers would join him soon. Lindalcon smiled back and the apparition dissolved leaving him gazing once more upon the fluid curtain of weightless wintered water, the grotto and its healing pools at his back.

Lindalcon swallowed a huge lump forming in his throat for it was quite overwhelming to have been given such a glimpse of his brother's heart. And while all this filled him with jubilance some of the old sorrow wormed its way back into his soul, for the young elf suddenly felt very alone once more. He sniffed and sighed and shook his head, chiding himself for such a selfish reaction, stamping his boots in the drifts against the coldness encroaching on his tender toes.

He felt quite conciliatory toward Erestor at that moment, more confident than ever that his instincts had been right and this elf would provide the exact solution to all his brother's problems. Somehow, the Erebor situation would be resolved, Thranduil would retract his vile banishment, and the Noldo would remain at Legolas' side for all the days to come, ensuring no nightmares would ever haunt the archer's reverie again. Lindalcon exhaled again this time in magnanimous omnipotence. Yes, he felt almost fraternal enough to call off the magnificent and memorable stunt he was about to unleash upon the worthy noble from Imladris.

It suddenly registered in his consciousness that the singing had stopped and Lindalcon wondered how long he had been standing there grinning like a fool, but chuckled to himself anyway. He gazed about, seeking a likely tree to scale and await the couple's arrival. No need to waste such a perfect opportunity. His snickering took on a decidedly devious undertone as he bent down to scoop up a double-sized handful of the wet snow.

And took the full force of the Noldo lord's considerable strength, compactly contained in a solid, icy bomb of a snowball, which impacted the young elf's backside with a resounding slap and a splatter of little snow slivers while the chilly mass of the frozen salvo clung ingloriously to his rear. Lindalcon staggered under the force of the blow and gave an indignant shout, rounding on the couple just in time to see Legolas topple into the drifts, unable to remain upright as he whooped with laughter. Lindalcon's searing gaze transferred to Erestor, who was boldly grinning with smug self-satisfaction, poised for his opponent's next move.

"I warned you," he reminded his mate's brother and glanced at Legolas to make sure he was breathing in between his unrestrained merriment.

Well that convinced the son of Valtamar that his compassionate consideration over cancelling the elaborate hoax was misplaced. He matched the older elf's insolent smirk.

"Quite, quite," he murmured amiably as he reached back and pried off the offending conglomeration of melting crystals slowly soaking his breeches. He then casually approached the elf lord, calmly pressing and moulding a new handful of the fluffy stuff between his palms.

"Get up, Legolas!" hissed Erestor, keeping his eyes on the approaching Wood Elf edging toward the pair.

Lindalcon drew back for his throw, Erestor dodged away deftly, and Legolas lifted his head just in time to see the flying glob of freezing ice the second before it pelted him between the eyes.

The minuscule span of time that followed seemed to transpire in increments so small that even the falling flakes appeared to have ceased their descent and were hanging suspended in the welkin. The young statesman-in-training goggled with mouth agape and eyes brightly gleaming, the Tawarwaith flopped back into the cold gloss with a stunned grunt, and Erestor tried unsuccessfully to contain a loud peal of high-pitched giggling.

And then normalcy returned to the passage of the day as Legolas flung the freezing ice from his eyes and exploded out of the drift with a dangerous sounding growl.

"It was Erestor; he stepped aside on purpose so I would hit you!" declaimed the younger elf as he backed away a few steps, turned, and fled.

"Torog! (Troll!)" screamed Legolas. "You cannot escape!" He took off after Lindalcon, who was speeding with every ounce of energy he could generate, and Erestor jogged along behind his love, still laughing.

Now Lindalcon was not running haphazardly through the city for his assignment was to steer the couple to the reclaimed glen where the rest of the wild elf's irregular family was awaiting their arrival. If the youth's methods were a bit extreme at least he was leading his pursuers in the proper direction.

And despite his justified wrath over the growing red spot of snow-burn upon his forehead, Legolas was not so incensed as to fail to comprehend where his brother was running. As Lindalcon slipped through the bordering ring of trees about the glade, the archer slid to a halt and stood motionless, panting as he caught his breath and Berenaur joined his side.

"Valar," whispered Erestor, for he was not unmindful of the effect this place had upon his mate. He laid a hand upon Legolas' shoulder, concerned that the symptoms he had witnessed before would return.

"Why did he come here?" mourned the wild elf as he slumped against Berenaur, grateful for the strength of the arms that instantly wrapped around him.

"Pen-rhovan, let us go; we can play his game some other time," coaxed Erestor and nuzzled his lips against his beloved's cheek. He felt Legolas nod mutely against his shoulder and turned to guide them back to Fearfaron's abode when the carpenter's voice called out from beyond the barrier of slumbering beeches.

"Legolas? Erestor? Come forth, we are waiting for you!" his words were cheerful and the sound was followed by the grinning elf's appearance between the bolls. His smile vanished immediately when his son lifted sombre eyes to peer into his. The carpenter rushed to join the retreating couple. "Ai! What is amiss?"

"I know not for certain, but this place holds pain for Legolas," complained Erestor, unable to prevent the accusatory reprimand from entering the response. "Why have you led us here?"

"Is this true?" Fearfaron queried and at the archer's brief nod the talan builder groaned and pulled his hair in frustration. "If I had known, I would not have done this thing. Please believe me, we all meant only to give you joy in this."

"What have you done?" the Noldo demanded.

"Never mind; it can be undone and the idea reinvented once we have consulted you both more directly," the carpenter sought to usher them away from the site but unexpectedly his adopted child offered resistance.

"Wait, I wish to know what it is. I can put the memories aside for it is clear you have attempted to do me a kindness and I would hear of it," he stated with a shaky smile and reached out for Fearfaron's hand. "Tell me," he encouraged at the wary look on the kindly elf's features.

"It was to be a home for you and Erestor," Fearfaron sighed dejectedly. "We thought this place was one that was special to you in your youth, for Gladhadithen reported that you stayed here more often than within the stronghold."

Legolas' brows arched skyward for he was astounded. Truthfully, he had been wondering about where he and Berenaur could stay, for Fearfaron's talan was small and had no means of ensuring privacy for him and his mate. Legolas was definitely not comfortable with the thought of his foster father observing his intimate moments with his new spouse. Equally distasteful was the notion of returning to the Noldo's guest quarters in the mountain fortress, for that would put them in nearly daily contact with Thranduil and Meril.

But this glen he had not considered. Yet Gladhadithen was correct; this had been the haven of his choosing all those long years ago. The sorrow contained here was of recent deposition in comparison to the time preceding Malthen's breaking of their union. Legolas had tried once to take back what was rightfully his; for he had indeed felt ownership over this small clearing for longer years than he could even accurately number without sound introspection. The anguish generated by that initial effort had landed him in Berenaur's arms just four short days ago. Legolas smiled.
That was surely a good thing.

The Tawarwaith was not one to shy from a difficult task or a venture that promised the risk of injury. He squared up his shoulders and let go his hold on his mate's and his father's fingers, instead linking arms through theirs' with a confident, bold flare in his icy blue eyes. He met their concerned and confused expressions with the look of stubborn defiance that so easily shaped his features and gave each a brisk nod.

"The healer was not wrong; this was my home. Come, I would see it once more and determine if still it belongs to me." So speaking he stepped purposefully forward, fully prepared for the stabbing flare of wrenching torment to tear at his soul but willing to face it down.
I have survived worse than this and Berenaur is beside me now.

The trio broke through to the clearing and halted for Legolas had frozen in step once more. This time he was not overcome with dismay as he gazed upon the hallowed spot. His heart leaped, not with the expected surge of dreadful woe but rather in a plume of upwelling warmth and gratitude, for he looked not upon a straggling and neglected meadow filled with bitter images but a gracefully groomed and tended garden. His eyes lifted to the tree where his old flet had slowly decayed into ruin and found within the ancient boughs as smart and tidy a home as any within the Greenwood's bounds. A gasp broke from his lips then and he shared his delight with Berenaur.

"Three levels!" he spoke and pointed excitedly.

The Noldo only nodded, grinning back, unable to find words to express the joy he felt to observe such transported wonder upon his beloved's features over this simple domicile and its humble grounds. Yet for all its rustic austerity, Erestor felt he could feel happier and more at peace here than in his apartment in the Last Homely House or even the finest palace in Eldamar.

The archer noted everything from the neatly trimmed hedges festooned with bright ribbons in the colours symbolising his mate's lineage to the long table crammed with food set beneath the snow-burdened canvas awning. The sturdy buffet was decorated with blue streamers and a cloth of soft olive and sienna, the colours of the woodland realm. The small croft was adequately warmed by two merrily crackling bonfires and little puffs of steam issued from them as the wintry drizzle fizzled in the flames. Much consideration and care had gone into the renovation of the glen and there was simply no room left for any sorrow to take hold.

It only required an instant for Legolas to understand; the pain had not resided in the place but within his wounded heart, and that Berenaur had healed.

With an exuberant laugh he turned to grapple his mate in a lung deflating squeeze, whispering words of thanks and love into the Noldo's ear, delighting in the sensation of Berenaur's heart pounding against his chest when the advisor responded by crushing them tightly together. Legolas kissed him quickly and let go, turning to fling ecstatic arms around his father's neck and repeat the sentiments.

Fearfaron held him gently and smiled at Erestor, mouthing a silent 'hannad' (thanks) over the wild elf's head, and softly pressed his lips into the unruly mane before Legolas disengaged.

One by one the archer advanced upon his friends in turn where they stood before the bonfire, silently observing the former outcast's reactions. Legolas embraced each and uttered his appreciation for such an unparalleled gift.

Gladhadithen did not bother trying to stop her tears and employed the handkerchief she had brought along, having fully expected to need one. Aiwendil was laughing and smiling and shaking his head and periodically clapped Gandalf on the back. Mithrandir was pensive for a moment when the archer's lithe arms encircled him but quickly his visage resumed its appearance of corrugated delight and he kissed Legolas' forehead lovingly. Aragorn was slightly overwhelmed by the force of the wild elf's embrace but deeply gladdened, recalling how he had feared to lose the uncommon silvan to grieving sickness just a handful of days gone by.

And lastly Legolas came to his brother, who gazed in mild trepidation to see the bruise he had caused with his silly play. The smile that beamed from the archer's face was enough to relieve the younger elf's concerns, however, and he eagerly leaped into the Tawarwaith's opened arms, matching the benevolent countenance with equally filial devotion upon his own. Just as he was about to beg forgiveness for the prank, he felt the back of his leggings jerk as someone yanked on him from behind, followed by the indescribable sensation of a huge wad of frigid snow being stuffed down his pants.

"Eru's arse!" his outraged shout echoed in the small clearing and he must have jumped a metre.

"Actually, I believe that is your arse," jibed Legolas, moving rapidly out of reach.

The glen bubbled with mild laughter.

Realising the offender could not have been Legolas, Lindalcon wheeled to confront the culprit, squirming and twitching as he tried to work the stinging ice particles out of the cleft between the cheeks of his freezing derrière. He was expecting to face Erestor and instead was shocked to find himself glowering into the mirth wrinkled, laughing face of the wily grey pilgrim. The young elf's jaw went slack and he actually forgot the numbness creeping over his gluteus maximus for a moment. Lindalcon clamped shut his lips and turned to find the Tawarwaith safely shielded behind his mate.

"That is not fair! You used mind-speak to recruit an accomplice!" the youth accused his brother.

"Nonetheless, we are even," Legolas proclaimed.

"Aye. For now," the diplomat-in-training intoned with foreboding, retreating to the fire to attempt to return feeling to his flesh and dry the cloying cold from his pants.

Continued

Reviews:

Atanpalpa: Thank you so much for reviewing! I am glad you have been reading and have not got tired of it yet! Thank you for the compliments!

Belty: Yes I agree Thranduil should not get off too lightly. His attitude made all the difference in how Legolas was raised. I feel he has much to answer for! Legolas, though, is also very stubborn. I do not think he cares much for Thranduil and will not easily forget all the years of scorn and derision, as well as that very public disclosure of his sex life! Thank you so much for reviewing!

Ash: Thank you so much! Sorry though about any unpleasantness that made your snack unpalatable!

Jasmine: Gald it ws helpful!

Night breeze: thank you for reviewing! Sorry it takes me so long to post these days, but little by little we are getting there!
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