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Greenleaf & Imladris 14 - Crucible of Love	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 6738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 1
- 2
Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 14 - Crucible of Love

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Legolas and Elrohir’s peerless friendship is severely tested by the most bitter of misunderstandings and a grievous betrayal of trust.

Disclaimer: All the Elves belong to Professor Tolkien whose works have never ceased to enthrall me from the day I read the first volume of LoTR.

Author’s note: This story contains a non-con situation. Let it not be said that I didn’t give fair warning. FYI, a crucible is a pot used by smiths to melt and refine precious metals such as gold and silver. In modern parlance, it refers to an extremely difficult test or trial that often further improves, purifies or even perfects what or whoever was tested.

Crucible of Love

Part I

Imladris, yavië TA 2933

“Arathorn!”

The golden-haired Elf cried out the name in warning, lunged forward in a desperate effort to push the Man out of the way. Too late. With a gasping groan, the Man toppled over, an Orc-arrow protruding from his eye.

Even as he caught the fallen Man the Elf staggered backwards, pierced by two arrows in his side and leg. But he did not let his wounds deter him and he half-carried, half-dragged the man’s body away from the violence around him.

There were so many Orcs. The Rangers were hard pressed to beat them off. Though they eventually had the victory, it had cost them dearly. Their Chieftain was dying. They gathered around him in his last moments, forgetting that the Elf who had sheltered him was injured.

One grey-eyed Ranger, however, suddenly realized that the Elf was swaying wearily. Only then did he see the broken shaft sticking out of the other’s side and the wound in his thigh. Sweet Eru, why did no one notice?

He was reaching out to his friend when the Elf toppled over unconscious, his face stricken with a deathly pallor. Elrohir threw back his hood in fear and horror and cradled Legolas in his arms.

Elbereth! The younger twin son of Elrond of Rivendell sat up in his bed with a jolt. That nightmare again, he thought. Would it never go away?

He sighed. Several months had passed since Arathorn, latest Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North, had died while riding against the orcs, leaving behind his widow and child. Yet Elrohir still dreamt of that event and it always left him shaken. So much loss, so much anguish, he thought as always.

An hour later, he emerged from his chamber to join his father and brother in the hall for breakfast. But only Elladan was there to greet him good morning. He had no idea where their father was. It did not take long, however, for Lindir to approach them with the message that Lord Elrond wished to see them in his study. Finishing their meal, the twins complied.

They had changed much since the loss of their mother, Lady Celebrían. Her passing West had stripped them of most of the youthful jubilance that had once been the despair of their father. Now, they spent many a day riding out with the Dúnedain, intent on avenging the wrong done their mother, a wrong that had in turn deprived her husband and children of her loving presence. Though Elrond approved of their now constant sobriety, he had to admit that, sometimes, he missed the days when they had made Rivendell the liveliest place this side of the Anduin.

The twins entered their father’s study and halted with a start on the threshold. Flanked by Rivendell’s chief counsellors, the steward, Erestor, and Glorfindel, captain of the Imladrin forces, their father was speaking with a woman who sat by the window, a sleeping child of two years of age in her arms. She was dark-haired with grave grey eyes. And though she was young of countenance, she seemed old in spirit. Yet she was no Elf; she was human.

“Lady Gilraen!” Elladan gasped.

He hurried forward followed by Elrohir. The twins paid their respects to Arathorn’s widow then glanced down at the child in puzzlement.

"'Tis Arathorn’s son, Aragorn,” Erestor explained.

“This is Aragorn?” Elrohir said. “Last we saw him he was but a babe. He has grown so quickly.”

Gilraen smiled proudly. “Yes, he has. He will be a great Chieftain like his father and grandfather before him.”

“Aragorn is coming to live with us,” Elrond announced. “The Enemy seeks him and we are no longer certain that the Dúnedain can shield him.” He paused. “I have taken it upon myself to raise him. He will not know of his heritage until we deem it wise to reveal it to him.”

His sons stared at him in surprise.

“You have fostered the Chieftains’ sons since Arahael but seldom at such an early age and never was their heritage hidden from them,” Elladan said hesitantly. “Is it right to conceal this from Aragorn?”

Glorfindel sighed. “We do not know the answer to that. We only know that his survival will depend on utmost secrecy.”

At that moment, the child awakened. He looked at the twins, eyes widening at the likeness between them. Elrohir curiously bent down low to study his face. Aragorn reached out a chubby hand and grasped a fistful of the Elf’s raven hair. To Elrohir’s consternation he began to suck on the dark strands much to others’ amusement.

Gilraen laughed softly at the Elvenlord’s expression. “He must like you,” she said. “He is usually shy and would never be so bold.”

Aragorn let go of the Elf’s tresses and reached out his arms to Elrohir. For the space of one heartbeat, Elrohir hesitated. And then he took the child into his arms. A look of gentleness replaced the earlier confusion. “Welcome to Imladris, Aragorn,” he quietly said.

Elrond smiled, glad that his son had thawed if only for the moment. “It would be best if we do not use his name,” he stated. “It would put him in grave danger.”

“Then what shall we call him?” Elladan asked.

“If Gilraen will agree, I think we shall call him Estel.”

“Hope,” Gilraen murmured. “Yes, ‘tis fitting. My little Estel.”

*******

lairë TA 2939

Elrohir wondered at himself. He had closed himself off for the past five years to all emotions that were in any way associated with love. He had become cool and aloof even with his own family. And his dalliances had been reduced to being mere means of pure physical release much to the resentment of many an Elf lady from Rivendell to Lothlórien. Frustrated admirers had come to dub him ‘The Ice Prince.’ Even Arwen, sojourning these past many years in the Golden Wood with their grandparents, had oft written him, decrying the increasing remoteness in his manner of writing when he corresponded with her at all. It had not affected him in the least.

Yet here he was caring for a human child and finding that he enjoyed it. In the years since Gilraen had brought her son to Rivendell, Elrohir had found himself unable to close himself off to Estel as he had done to others. I am not supposed to be doing this, he would scold himself. I do not wish to feel anything. But all Estel had to do was cry out his name and reach out his arms and he was lost. What was it about children that one could not resist them?

Sometimes he worried about his attachment to the child. He is mortal, he would remind himself. Someday he would age and pass away beyond the circles of the world. There would be no reuniting in Arda until the end of time. It would be a devastating loss for as sure as the sun rose each morning, Elrohir knew that he had come to love his foster brother.

But perhaps I can bear this, he would reason out. I have managed to deal with my fears for father and Elladan. Surely, I can cope with this. He refused to consider the illogic of this when he had failed so miserably in dealing with another relationship the result of which had blighted his life six years ago.

*******

“I wonder what he sees in you,” Elladan smirked as Estel clung to Elrohir, refusing to go with Almariel who was supposed to take care of him in his mother’s absence.

They were in Elrohir’s bedchamber. He had watched over Estel until Arwen’s former nurse was free to take over. But when he tried to hand the boy over to the Elf-woman, Estel had balked and bawled and held on tenaciously to Elrohir’s tunic instead. Compared to other children of eight summers, Estel seemed so much younger and ill prepared for the vicissitudes of life he would one day face.

Slow in their early growth were the Dúnedain, more akin to the Firstborn in this matter than to the lesser races of Men. But when they came to full maturity, they were also the stronger, the wiser and the more enduring than any of their kindred who came to their complete growth more swiftly but also waned and fell into dotage whilst the Men of the West still lingered in their prime.

“I wish I knew,” Elrohir muttered. “That is all right, Almáriel. I will take care of putting him to sleep.”

After the nurse departed, he sat on his bed and looked at the little boy. Estel stared back at him and said with a grin, “I win!”

Elrohir sighed. “I see I shall be stuck with you for the rest of the afternoon,” he commented.

Elladan smiled. It was good to see his twin showing some warmth once more even if it was just with Estel. Too long had Elrohir shut himself off from feeling anything for anyone. It was pleasant to see him rediscovering the joy of caring for others.

The thought reminded him of something else. He glanced at his brother; saw the small smile on his face as he strove to entice the child into taking his nap. Well, this is as good a time as any to tell him, he thought. And at least he will not take my head off as he might if the message came from someone else. There was no predicting how Elrohir would respond to the news Elladan bore.

“I thought you should know,” he said. “We are expecting visitors.”

“Oh?” Elrohir replied absently. “Who?”

“Elves of Mirkwood.”

He watched as Elrohir went very still. His face paled then gently stained with color. The younger twin turned his head and stared at him.

“Why?” he asked tersely.

“Ada”—Papa—“has asked King Thranduil for his counsel regarding Estel. I imagine they carry his answer with them.” Elladan paused. “And it has been a while since our friend last graced Imladris with his presence. Ada invited him to stay for the summer.”

Elrohir could not speak at first. Finally he drew a deep breath and said, “When do they arrive?”

“This afternoon at the latest.”

Shock registered on Elrohir’s face. “This afternoon?” he repeated. “And no one thought to tell me?”

Elladan shrugged. "'Tis not easy to tell you anything regarding Mirkwood.” He looked pointedly at his brother. “Not since your quarrel with Legolas.”

Elrohir swallowed hard. Legolas. He had tried so hard not to think of his friend. In the years since their last parting no one had dared speak his name around him. And now, he was coming. It would no longer be his name alone that Elrohir would have to contend with but Legolas himself.

Elladan studied him for a while. “I thought you should know,” he said. His brother simply looked at him somewhat dazedly then nodded his acknowledgement. Elladan shrugged and departed.

Elrohir cradled Estel against his shoulder. The child tucked his head into the crook of his neck. He was sleepy now and would soon drift away into dreamland. Elrohir stroked his curling dark hair absently, his thoughts on the visitors who were about to arrive. He was particularly concerned with one visitor.

He closed his eyes. He could still remember the last time he had seen him. It had not been pleasant. And it had been Elrohir who had made it so.

*******

Legolas walked to Elrohir’s room, wondering as he did why the younger twin had been reticent with him of late. He had ceased to visit him in the healing rooms once Lord Elrond declared him out of danger and had not sought him out while he recovered in the comfort of his bedchamber. This aloofness troubled him and he thought to question his friend about it. He also desired to inform him that he would accompany him and Elladan when next they went a-hunting. Arathorn’s death hung heavily over everyone in Rivendell; the twins would not let it go unavenged.

Elladan was also within and welcomed him warmly. Elrohir’s demeanor, however, was anything but. He cast a cool gaze upon the prince as the latter spoke of joining them in errantry.

“Perhaps ‘tis time you returned to Mirkwood,” Elrohir bluntly suggested.

Legolas raised an eyebrow, startled. “Why?” he asked. “I am recovered now and can ride with you tomorrow.”

Elrohir refused to look at his brother who had started in surprise at his words. “Nay, there is no need for you to come with us.”

Legolas frowned. “But I wish to assist you in hunting down those orcs. Why are you turning my help away?”

“It is not needed. You are not needed.”

“Elrohir!“

He ignored Elladan’s sharp exclamation. "'Tis for us to avenge Arathorn’s death, Legolas, not you,” he said cuttingly. “We do not need you meddling in our affairs.”

The dark blue eyes widened in shock then narrowed in bewilderment. “Meddling?” Legolas repeated. “When have I ever meddled in your affairs save when you asked me to? If this is a jest I fail to see the humor in it, Elrohir.”

"'Tis no jest and I did not intend to humor you either,” Elrohir curtly replied.

“Muindor”—brother—“why do you speak so harshly?” Elladan cut in. “What has Legolas done to offend you?”

“Aye, what have I done?” Legolas inquired, his voice now edged with anger.

“Nothing save to remain here when you would be of better service in your father’s halls. I oft wonder why you linger here when your duty lies in Mirkwood.” Seeing the darkening expression on Legolas’ face, he added sarcastically, “Unless of course ‘tis your way of escaping the responsibilities of a prince of the Woodland Realm.”

It was a terrible thing to say. Legolas whitened upon hearing his words. His eyes turned glacial with barely contained rage. “You should watch your tongue, Elrondion”—son of Elrond—he said coldly. “If not for the respect I hold for your father I should slit your throat now and be glad of it!”

“You could try,” Elrohir taunted. “But ‘tis questionable if you can succeed.”

“Enough!” Elladan cried, seeing the murderous flicker in the prince’s eyes. He swiftly interposed himself between the two, certain they would come to blows otherwise. “Elrohir, have you gone mad?” he demanded.

“Nay, I only spoke the truth.”

“Stop it, you fool!” Elladan hissed. He turned to Legolas, hoping to still placate the golden-haired archer. “Pay no heed to him, gwador”— sworn brother—he said. “His wishes are not mine or our father’s. You are still welcome here and always will be.”

Legolas continued to stare at Elrohir. “Nay, I will not remain where there is one who sees me with such contempt,” he responded in a hard voice. “I will not demean myself so. I shall leave tonight.”

He turned to exit the room. Elladan followed and caught up with him at the door. They spoke in low voices but Elrohir still heard part of their conversation.

“I do not know what has come over him,” Elladan said. “He has been cold to us these past many weeks.”

“He was not merely cold to me,” Legolas retorted. “His words were offensive beyond bearing.”

“I agree. They were insupportable. But would you abandon Adar and me because of him?”

Legolas fell silent for several seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was no longer hard. It had become soft and gentle and heartbreakingly sad. “I would not abandon you. But I cannot stay knowing that he eyes me with such scorn. I have never known how it is to be hated by one I hold so dear. I do not wish to learn it now. I must go.”

Elladan could only sigh and nod his acquiescence. He remained at the door staring at his friend’s retreating form. When he turned back to Elrohir, his countenance hardened. “What are you about, brother?” he demanded angrily. “What did you hope to gain?”

Elrohir shrugged. “I have already gained it. He is leaving.”

Elladan stared at him. “I do not understand you. Why have you turned on him? Elrohir, ‘twas Legolas you drove away! How could you treat him so basely after professing love for him?” When Elrohir remained unresponsive, he caustically asked: “Have you already forgotten how he succored you though it went against his very grain?”

He had the bitter satisfaction of seeing his brother flush at the reminder. But Elrohir refused to speak and turned away instead. Frustrated, Elladan strode out of the room.

Only then did Elrohir let his guard down. He was more shaken than he cared to admit. Elladan’s last words had recalled memories he’d hoped to bury so deeply he would not be able to retrieve them. But now that they had emerged he could not push them away. Images, feelings, words...he could no more suppress them than he could stop breathing.

“We have been friends for years beyond count. I do not wish to lose you!”

“You lost me the day I learned to desire you.”

Shining hair...pale gold by day, mithril by night.

“You are the closest thing to perfection that I have ever known.”

Eyes like pools of darkest sapphire, by turns open or guarded.

“I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be intimate with you, to know you as no other man has or ever will.”

“I will give you what you desire.”

Finely shaped lips, wondrously soft and pliant.

“Let me warm you.”

Smooth pale skin, slender muscular limbs.

“I have sated my desire but I am not sure it was worth the price you paid.”

“You are wrong. It was worth the price.”

Heated nights, languorous days, secrets in the twilight.

“If the madness has not passed, I will be here for you for as long as you need me.”

Golden smiles, silvery laughter.

“I never want to lose you be you lover, friend or brother.”

Giving, yielding. Ever caring.

“I promised I would be there for you for as long as you need me. You know I never break my promises.”

“Then I am truly blessed.”

*********

Elrohir drew in his breath with a shudder. He steeled himself against remembering more. He should not have let himself slip into the past. Could not allow his memories to overcome his resolve. Would not permit himself to feel anything like that again.

With a start, he realized that Estel was asleep. Gently, he lowered the child to the bed. But as he drew away, Estel cried out and clutched at his tunic. Sighing, Elrohir eased himself into the bed beside his charge.

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

Glossary:

yavië – Quenya for autumn

lairë - Quenya for summer

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 14 - Crucible of Love