What Cannot Be Had
What Cannot Be Had
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Title: What Cannot
Be Had
Author:
Warnings: Slash
(L/E), (G/El), PG-13 to mild R
Summary: “I am not
one to be taken by love; for the thousands of years I have lived I can happily
say that that is one emotion that I have not fallen victim to”
AN: love feed back,
flame constructively
Disclaimer: own
nothing…nothing! Tolkien owns everything…everything! (Characters,
you please do not read it**
*~Legolas~*
Imladris
is beautiful, not as much as the
expanse of green grass is luxurious and the waterfalls are the music of nature,
but the trees are not as many as I am use to and the House of Elrond is
very…open. But it is where I shall stay so I must make the best of it.
Dusk
is falling over the
before night falls. As of late little is safe even for the elves. After seeing
that Mithlilien is taken care of properly (I did not know what to expect of the
stables of these elves but happily my expectations were exceeded) I was shown
into the house for evening meal.
The
inside of Imladris was indeed as impressive as the out; tall gracefully vaulted
ceilings and ornate decorations which sang of lore. I must remember that Master
Elrond has been a part of these depicted legends, though I wonder why he revels
so much in the past.
so openly on the walls; he is even reluctant to verbally relate his stories of
the past, especially the Last Alliance.
The
beings of the house are different from what I expected. There are other
ledgends besides Lord Elrond (whom I have not encountered, as of yet).
Glorfindel, formerly Glorfindel of Gondolin, resides in Imladris, as well as the
daughof Eof Elrond (Awen Evenstar) who is said to resemble Tinuviel, and
Isildur’s last heir. There are many strange folk of races I have had little or
no encounters with: Halflings, Dwarves, men, and the like. While I have seen the
cities of men and dwarves, to have all these races congregate together in such
close proximity (peacefully) is a first. It seems to me a strange gathering
folk after having dwelled so long in Mirkwood where wood elves prevailed and
few visitors came through on a regular basis, save Mithrandir.
Curiosity
satisfied I cease my exploration and retire to my room. I think tonight at
least I will forego the Great Hall and the elaborate feast, rather slip off
into the shadows and into the privacy and comfort of my own company. Besides I
may find myself next to a dwarf at table and…well…
So
sleep comes to me as I lie in Imladris, an inner peace to juxtapose what
morning brings.
What
happened in the counsel the next morning of yet I am still not sure.
*~Elrond~*
My
heart leapt at once into my throat; beside me, feeling my start Erestor glanced
side long asking in his gaze, “What are you doing?”
I
have known many fair elves, many wise elves, powerful elves, warriors. And now
before me was a culmination of everything that was perfect, a powerful reserve
in the grace of his movements and a blazing, prideful soul in his eyes which
will become my undoing.
His
father, Thranduil, may have a love for silver but I have fallen for the
Woodland King’s gold.
*~Legolas~*
I
am not one to be taken by love; for the thousands of years I have lived I can
happily say that that is one emotion that I have not fallen victim to. Romantic
love that is to say, for I bear plenty of healthy affection for those of my
family and friends. Even by elven standards I consider myself (and am
considered by others) to be fair of face and voice, and being of high ranking
among the elves of Mirkwood has made for many possible romantic encounters with
a number of enticing females. However, I have long scorned the possibility
(much to my father’s distress) of finding a wife; love renders one vulnerable,
occupies and poisons the mind. I had long assumed this and now I am sure of the
fact.
And
currently, as I leave the council of Elrond I find that, despite fury at
myself, I am poisoned and rendered useless though every ounce of logic in my
soul protests. But love it seems is not interested ogicogic. Nor am I
interested in the flood of new feelings that has come over me but reason and my
distaste for this new situation has been overruled.
At
the appearance of the elf lord at the counsel he hosted, my heart was gone. I
had fallen into his voice, his movement, the dark hair that was so unlike my
own, and as I sat listening to his clear voice relaying the story of Isildur’s
Bane, I was drowning.
Forced
to action by bearing the news of Sméagol’s escape I relayed my message. I was
almost ashamed! (And I have never known shame before!) I had been sent to
Imladris to report a failure, which until being in the presence of Lord Elrond
had not seemed very disgraceful at all; only unfortunate.
There
did not seem to be an upset; as a matter of fact Mithrandir did not even appear
troubled. I was relived, and the counsel commenced until the ringing of the
to sort out my newly jumbled thoughts.
Throwing
myself onto Mithlilien we tore out of the stables. I am not sure how long we
were gone or where we went, all I could think about was him.
Now
I understood the beauty of Imladris for it is a reflection of its founder,
though the ethereal glow of the Last Homely House is but a faint shadow of Lord
Elrond. The songs, the tales - though told to me briefly - did not do him
justice. He was starlight, he was the darkest
living he was vulnerable. His eyes held the greatest of wisdom and had seen
joy, terror, defeat and triumph of the ages, had fought along side the greatest
of our kind. His hands were those of a warrior, a ruler, a healer, and given
the presence of his three offspring, a lover.
I
hated myself for this weakness that love has brought! Never before had I felt
unworthy of anything, far from it; but now…to even dream of being held and
loved by one so high seemed unattainable, built up into legend yet he was
tangible. He was one of the mightiest of the Firstborn, he had dwelt in the
light of the Two Trees and his father watched on him from the heavens.
But
these were not the reasons why I was so sure that love was impossible for the
two of us, for I am male as is he. Love beyond the deepest friendship between
two males was forbidden, deemed perverse and unnatural, and even if he should
return my sentiments to sully the glory of this elven lord would be a wretched
happening indeed.
The
fruitlessness of the situation and my yearning for this immaculate being humbled
me, possibly for the first time in my life.
Sweet,
sweet poison of love crept through my veins, unfulfilled it would slowly
consume me, fulfilled it would condemn me and my lover…
Again
I forwent the evening meal, and back in the cherished privacy of my rooms I
paced, one hand cradling my elbow, the other hand clenched in a fist set to my
lips where I gnaw at my fingernails. For the first time my body awake and
keenly aware of its connection to my soul’s desire; I was unable to think of
little else except what I could not have, even the Ring of Power seemed
unimportant. I wanted the Lord of Imladris.
>
There
came a soft knock on the door.
I
cease pacing, wondering who it could be; Mithrandir perhaps, or possible
Aragorn. “Enter.”
The
elegant handle turns and the door opens.
My
heart stops as the object of my thoughts enters the room, closing the door
behind him and crossing the carpet until he stands an arm length away from me.
He is tall, a breadth under my height, ageless, glorious. His mere presence
makes me tingle and shiver, sensations I never knew existed rushing over my
body till I know I will melt into a puddle at his feet, I just know it! I am
sure he can see my knees quaking; I am sure he can see everything, and all will
be lost!
“I
am sorry to disturb your retreat,”
“There
is no need to be sorry,” I counter, sitting on a long reclining sofa. The bed
is not far away. He sits next to me, body angled to face me and our knees
almost touch. His gaze is piercing me right down to my shaking core; how young
and foolish I feel, vulnerable to him, yet somehow I do not even care.
*~Elrond~*
Whatever
I sought, I had gotten.
I
had lead females on in my youth because I could, not because I loved them – but
starting a game knowing you are already the victor becomes boring rather
quickly. Celebrían; we were very much the same; I had gotten her but she had
also made it her quest to “get” me as well, so our union was a stale victory
for the both of us. She was love, light and playful; simply fun with no heavy
ties. We had both understood that upon marriage, and had joyfully raised our
children and had parted ways.
Whatever
I had sought, I knew in the end I would attain. Until now. Until Iluvitar had
seen fit to breathe life into a slender shaft of sunlight that had filtered
through the trees of Mirkwood, I knew that there were few elves of Middle Earth
that, with some effort, I could not have made mine. Until his eyes met and held
my own at the first bell of the council; then I was gone in his eyes, in his
soul, and there would be no return. To me he was fair and golden as the morning
sun which seems to shine brightest on him, blessing his very existence and he
moves with dignity and pride that rivals the most regal of our kind.
I,
master of Imadris, bearer of Vilya, warrior of old and herald to Gil-galad…now
these things seemed irrelevant and unworthy to this god of the sun…surely he could
not really be of Mirkwood! Surely he could not even be an elf…
And
the first thing I crave so much is what I cannot have! I am mystified; I have
never wanted a male lover before, but I have never more strongly desired any
lover until I set eyes on this Prince of Mirkwood! To be lost in desire for
something forbidden is death of your soul. My heart weeps for what will never
be, yet sings for joy in this perfect, flawless creature!
I
seek him out for business purposes, but he is nowhere to be found in the Great
Hall for he seems to value quiet and seclusion. Erestor, giving me a funny
look, points me toward Legolas’ chambers; what fate or folly would have them be
a breadth away from my own out of all the bedrooms in this vast house! And now
he was standing before me, we were alone, and I could not have him.
“I
have come to you as I am to send out scouts before the Frodo the Halfling is to
depart, for news of the Wraiths, tidings of Gollum and other necessary
information.” Dignity and decorum long practiced is the only thing that keeps
me from following the raw impulses of my body, especially with his eyes – oh
those eyes! – looking into mine.
“I
would travel back to Mirkwood for any possible information for my kin are most
familiar with the habits of Gollum,” Legolas replies.
Inwardly
I smile, noting that his tone is one of forced calmness. “That would be very
well, and you would return to Imladris,” I say, more a command than a request.
“The scouts will leave tomorrow at dawn.”
“Then
I will depart from here tomorrow at dawn.” His eyes say so much more.
I
nod.
He
is proud, he holds his head with stateliness yet he glows; there is joy and
youth in his character. Scarcely know what I do I briefly reach forward and run
my finger tips down his jaw line, and want flares in his eyes. He can see into
my heart, and as he looks into my eyes I know that he desires me. Words are not
needed; for long minutes we stand, gazing, and immediately know all yet we both
are telling ourselves and each other that it is outlawed.
“I
cannot let myself be conquered so easily, by love or by another elf,” he says
softly.
I
drop my hand. “Very well,” I nod, biding him good night; he follows me to the
door and I can sense his gaze follow me until I disappear into my bedchamber a
few doors down the hall.
*~Legolas~*
I
lie in bed, fury at myself tightening in a knot in my chest until I clench my
fists in frustration. A few rooms down lies everything I want. Possibly I could
have had it tonight.
Do
elf lords sleep? What consequences are there for creeping through the darkened
halls of Imladris to find out, to gaze upon the nocturnal exquisiteness of an
elven lord as he sleeps?
Throwing
caution to the wind I toss back the crisp sheets. My heart is in my throat as I
move toward the door, slightly ajar, behind which so much lies! I push it open,
just wide enough to let me through and ease myself through the crack. His
private rooms are immense and lovely, filled with lore and love but it is short
work to find the most intimate chamber holding the ultimate reward.
The
bed cradling him is vast, making even his powerful form seem small in it;
clearly it was made for two. In the soft starlight I can see his long form
draped with a deep red coverlet. He is on his back, dark hair unbraided and
spread out over the white pillow, head turned slightly toward where I stand,
lips slightly parted. One long, elegant hand rests lightly on his chest, rising
and falling slightly with every soft breath.
I
am entranced. I cannot breathe; I dare not. Nothing can end this moment;
nothing!
The
moment stretched on and before I knew it, the pale fingers of dawn were
creeping slowly across the bed, ready to seize us both into the grasp of
daylight to push us on to our duties.
And
so scarcely two days after my arrival, I am now pelting back to Mirkwood…and
what a change two days has brought me!
My
father, ever lantlant, can tell.
For
six weeks we prowl through Mirkwood, going as far as we dare in tracking this
Sméagol, this foul creature, looking, hoping for any trace or tidings but there
is none. At length, we give up hope and return to
“You
will return to Imladris, Legolas, to report your findings – or lack of – to
Lord Elrond. And,” he smiled at me sidelong, “To tie up the unfinished business
you may have there. I trust she is lovely?”
I
twitch my mouth and shift slightly, unable to find a suitable answer to his
prying question. “I will return to Imladris, and I will most likely be gone
from Mirkwood for quite some time,”
idea of the reason of my absence varies greatly from my intensions. No doubt he
would feel the opposite if he knew that I have every intent to accompany this
Halfling in his quest as Elrond had requested of me, to represent the elves in
this mission…And I cannot even think of what he would do to me and the Lord of
Imladris if…
*~Elrond~*
bringing little news of encouragement. Gollum was unaccounted for, and while
there were no tidings of the Wraiths…no news was not good news; it only left
one guessing when and where they would return. It brought me great relief
though, to see my sons returnely ely from their journeys.
Legolas
has returned to Imladris. At last I have peace of mind knowing that he is here,
that he is safe, that he is within my reach. Yet I myself asked him to
accompany the Ring Bearer possible to his doom; for some reason my heart tells
me that there is no other elf suitable for this journey, not even Glorfindel.
The stealth annninnning of the wood elves may prove more valuable for this
mission than a seasoned warrior.
The
members of the Fellowship have been determined and they will depart in a week,
taking with them my greatest desire.
In
the meantime I have a week, he he avoids me. Briefly I wonder at this; has he
spoken with Thranduil? How much could the elf king
know of his son’s heart? Briefly I despair.
I
look into his eyes from across the room and watch him slowly melt, and then he
jumps back into awareness when another requires his attention and exits hastily
from the room and from my gaze.
I
smile into the palm of my hand. No, all hope is not lost.
At
first I am the one initiating the unspoken looks then I find him looking at me,
a slight smile threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth and give us both
away and I hold his eyes, something pulses hot in between us and I forget that
there are others present.
"'>
*~Legolas~*
Four
days of these ridiculous stare downs take place, and I am becoming hard pressed
to hide my growing physical let alone emotion reactions to his mere presence.
I
have been plunged head long into more love and the physical implications of
longing in four days than I have experienced in my entire life! My body comes
alive in my dreams, in my waking, and I learn.
One
night, as Elrond holds my blue eyes in his grey ones, he makes his way to the
door. Not looking away I follow as he silently bids me slowly out into the
night, into the seclusion of a garden surrounded by a high hedge that blocks
all light from the house and nearly all sounds.
Under
thers hrs he is luminescent, delicate, yet I know he holds the power to possess
anything he wants; he has told me in his eyes. He has told me many things in this
matter yet he chooses to state the obvious aloud:
“You
leave in three days,” he shrugs off a heavy, ornate formal robe and tosses it
aside.
Carefully
I look for lust in his eyes and find none; his eyes only emit gentleness but I
keep my gaze guarded. “Indeed,” I reply, tugging at my hair until it is loose
and flowing freely around my face and shoulders.
We
are now pacing a slow circle like warriors in a stand off yet we are lovers,
and instof fof fighting to the death we would struggle against each other in a
fight for dominance of ecstasy. The circle is growing smaller; his body is
growing nearer.
“You
want me,” his gaze is momentarily broken as he peels his tunic off over his
head.
All
the more obvious; I do want him…by the stars above do I want him! But I would
not be so foolish to admit to him aloud. “You want me,” I throw his words back
at him, replicating his movements and shedding my own soft green tunic. Our
small ring of stand off is becoming fringed with clothing, hair ties, his elaborate
circlet cast atop the soft folds of his robe.
“Is
forbidden,” I remind him, belt hissing as it snakes off my waist with a sharp
pull.
He
raises his eyebrows, hands on the waistband of his leggings, and smirks. “It is
forbidden, but only if we are caught.”
That
is true.
Still
we pace, and finally we are bare and rippling in the moonlight. His body is
sleek but more powerfully built than my own, refined and groomed with centuries
more of experience and wisdom in…everything.
I
stop but he does not, circling around to my back where I can feel the warmth of
his body emanating onto my skin. For the first time he touches me, ever so
lightly trailing his fingertips up my side then brushing my hair off my
shoulder as the other hand skims up my spine and I nearly collapse against him
for want of more contact. His fingers trail fire over my skin!
No
other has touched me, no one; ever.
I
turn to face him, watching my hands as they trace up over his narrow hips to
his chest, where I rest the tips of my fingers on his collar bone and look up
to his face. He tilts his head so slightly and his experienced, expressive lips
alight on lighlightly clumsy, unsure mouth, but he is more than able to
compensate for my lack of know how. I let down my guard slightly, melting
against him and oh…his skin on mine is all I have dreamed of and more! Without
meaning to I moan and he purrs, nearly a laugh in the depths of his throat.
Wrapping
his arms around me he pulls me to the ground, the cool of the grass contrasting
to the hotness of his body over me. His hands and his lips are everywhere; I am
struggling as pleasure overwhelms reason; I am desperate for him, my own hands
cannot touch him enough, my own awakening heightenwhenwhen I hear him cry out
my name in delight.
At
length, when I think I cannot stand it anymore, he flips me over and I feel him,
hot, huge, against the inside of my thigh.
Oh,
no. I may be (as of yet) un-pierced and innocent, but I am not ignorant to the
ways of lovemaking. He will not master me - no one shall! - and so begins the
battle of determination and pride. We are desperate to take each other but
neither wants to be the first – he is un-penetrated by males as well; I can see
it in his eyes. Our fierce pride tightens to near snapping between us.
furious. Pushing him off I stand, pick my clothes up from the ground and stalk
off, still naked.
“Where,
Prince of Mirkwood, are you going?” he calls after me, tone mildly inquisitive.
I
turn; his eyes betray his tone and I am pleased. “To bed.”
*~Elrond~*
For
the first time in many thousands of years, I have a childish but very strong urge
to throw something at the perfect and receding backside of Legolas, I , I love
him, but even those that you love can make you angry (as Elladan and Elrohir
managed to demonstrate almost daily when they were growing up)! I draw a small
smirk of satisfaction when I hear Erestor’s voice, just inside the door.
“Erm…good
evening, Legolas…”
“Good
evening and good night,” came the golden elf’s
nonchalant reply.
Unlike
Legolas, I have not the desire to traverse the halls of Imladris with nothing
but my cast off clothing held in a practical spot and I dress quickly,
billowing robes hiding the uncomfortabledencdence of our incomplete liaison.
The
fact that he was forbidden was no longer an object to me. I was sitting under
the starlight thinking of exactly how I would finish what had started when
Glorfindel came through the small opening in the hedge.
“I
had almost forgotten about this place,” he began conversationally though he
looked surprised to see me, and maybe a little troubled?
Nodding
in acknowledgement, I wondered if he had a purpose in coming here.
“I
just saw Legolas of Mirkwood making his way to his rooms in a rather
interesting set of attire, or rather, lack there of.”
That
was the last thing I wanted to think, much less talk about. Glorfindel
definitely does not have a purpose in coming here.
Trying
to hide my frustration I rise, bid the elf lord good night, and flounce off to
my chambers where I can sulk, ache, and scheme in peace.
*~Legolas~*
I
want Elrond.
Anything
s, as, any female, myself, anything else is unsuitable. Any acknowledgement of
forbiddeness is now gone, replaced by the memory of his touch, his kisses, the
scent of his skin and the swell and ebb of muscle under the taunt sleekness of
his skin. I want his voice in my ears and his hands in my hair. I do not care
anymore if it is what I should not have, nor indeed what will happen.
Again
I am pacing in my room, fingernails against my teeth, uncomfortable, the
furious pacing agitating me beyond measure yet I do not stop. Perhaps I should
go to him after and submit, or perhaps with a little more encouragement he will
submit to me after all, inexperienced I may be. Perhaps he is still in the
garden…
Yes,
I will go to him in the garden, for my want is swallowing up my pride…
Before
I can change my mind I am racing out into the night, swiftly and silently
skimming over the cool stone path toward the break in the tall hedge. As I near
my destination I slow, making an attempt to stop the pounding of my heart. Breathing
steady, I pause.
There
are strange noises; moans of pleasure coming from within.
I
do not know what it was that prompted me to poke my head where it most
certainly did not belong, but had I not beheld it things between myself and
Elrond might have taken a very different turn of events.
In
the moonlight, in the (unsuccessful) privacy of this enclosed garden, were
Elladan and Glorfindel. Dark hair mingling with light, Elladan taking this
powerful Balrog slayer, making him sob and plead with want between a stream of
unending Quenyan love words. Elladan too was swept away in the bliss of his
lover’s body as Glorfindel moved under him, pleasuring him, making Elladan cry
out as fervently as he; the dedication in their eyes was enough to make me cry.
They were in tune to each other, every stroke, every kiss; they knew each other
like they knew their own bodies. At the peak of their ecstasy they cried out as
one, then fell boneless together tangling and kissing and murmuring promises of
unending devotion.
Suddenly
aware of the fact that I was trespassing on the most intimate of happenings, I
fled down to the safety of my room, shaking; sweating. The love between them
was so intense; there was no dominance…it did not seem weak; it was
beautiful…and they were males. They were males! One of them was the son of
Elrond! The other one of his oldest friends!
My
mind was still in a jumble over its self when there was a quiet knocking at the
door. I hesitated. Who could it be at this hour and what the stars would they
want? Begrudgingly I rose and yanked open the door…and nearly fell backwards
when I saw that it was Glorfindel on the other side! At least he was dressed,
and though his hair was down one could never guess he had had such an intimate
connection scarcely a quarter of an hour ago.
My
brain and my tongue took a minute to function properly. “Erm…come in?”
Glorfindel
stepped inside, closing the door and leaning against it casually, expression
unreadable though his blue eyes are staring into me to the point of discomfort.
I
sit on the couch but he makes no move to join me.
“I
know what you saw earlier, Prince of Mirkwood.”
He
did? Raising my eyebrows I question, “And?”
Ever
the diplomat, he continued. “I know that your father, King Thranduil, is known
for his – forgive me – intoleration of things that are not conventional of
elven society. I do not mean dwarves in this case.”
My
mouth twitches and I nearly smile. “I know of what you speak.”
E'>Emotion
suddenly flashes through Glorfindel’s eyes but his face remains unchanged and
his words are low but steady. “I would do anything to protect Elladan; but I
suppose you do not understand the nature of our relationship. If you understand
anything I will say to you, understand this: I have lived, Legolas; I have fought,
I have slain and I have died, and I would do all these things again if it meant
keeping him from humiliation and shame.”
I
lower my gaze to one long hand resting purposefully on his sword hilt.
“Will
you go for your knife?”
Slowly
I lick my lips as realization of his fear comes. “Do not fear me, Glorfindel.
I, unlike my father, would not expose you and Elladan to shunning and death.” I
hesitate and blanch as I think of what would happen if
“What you and Elladan have,” I admit softly, “Is beautiful.”
I
wish I could have it.
Glorfindel
nearly sags to the floor with relief, and comes to sit beside me on the couch
seeming almost conversational. “And of you?” he probes gently.
“And
what of me?” I return, startled at the question and my own reaction, perhaps
harsher than I meant; I have always shielded my thoughts and feelings
jealously. I inhale sharply, and let it out through pursed lips. “No, forgive
me,” I say quickly as he shrugs and makesleavleave. “I…” Suddenly I long to
tell him of my wants, of what I cannot have, of what nearly happened, and even
though I am sure he would understand, it is not my place to expose the Lord of
Imladris. “I love another,” I finally settle on. “But, like you, it is
forbidden and to bring to light the both of us would not be prudent.”
Regarding
me with gentle comprehen Gln Glorfindel sits down again. “A male?”
I
nod. I am shocked at myself; I have never opened my thoughts to anyone like
this; not even my friends and family.
In
an even gentler voice he murmurs, “Your first?”
“My
first anything. His first male.” Taking Glorfindel into my confidence is a
welcome liberation; I must tell someone or I will pace myself into the floor
and chew my fingers bare!
“Love
is precious, is it not?” He smiles. “Have you made love?”
Elf
lords of all kinds can look mischievousp>
“Almost,”
I admit. “We got in a bit of a disagreement of who would take who. Maybe we are
both afraid, though I never thought that lovemaking could be…the way you and
Elladan were together.” I have a feeling he could see much of my thoughts, just
like Elrond.
Glorfindel
raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling to himself as his gaze searched my
thoughts. “I think you need to go to the one you love, and trust him. Relax. Do
not think about anything else except his touch, and in the end you will not
care who takes who. Love making is beautiful if you let it be. It is not about
power, or being mastered.”
Oh. And *~Elrond~* I Gone!
I did not le be be beautiful. Or something as such.
I have already forgone once chance; the Fellowship will depart in a matter of
days; what am I to do?
would give myself to him, I decided. I would give anything to him, of only it
meant being by his side or in is arms. At first I had refused because I had not
anticipated his resistance but that error had proved treacherous, and then he
was gone.
He would really be gone in a few days...The thought made a sob rise in my
chest; the six weeks he had been absent I could think of little else except his
safety, and now I will wonder for him again. Yet there is so much more at stake
and I think of love! Love has the capacity to make one very selfish indeed.
I
will give myself to him, I need him, I must go to him
now! Thankfully he is not but a few hurried steps outside of my chamber; my
heart begins to beat faster in anticipation. I can already feel his skin under
my hands, feel him arching under me in delight…
Without
even knocking I burst in on his bedchamber, stopping short as I see him sitting
next to Glorfindel.
“Elrond,”
Legolas says softly, looking surprised but pleased.
Surprise,
shock cross Glorfindel’s golden features, and he exchanges a look with Legolas,
bids us both a late good night, and makes a hasty exit, closing the door firmly
behind him
Suddenly
I have a feeling these two know something I do not, but as of right now I am
not troubled by it; there are more pressing matters at hand. Any thought of
what transpired in the garden is forgotten and rendered irrelevant, we forget
that the cup of love we are about to drink from is forbidden, and we forget
that discovery would mean shunning or even death. All this is vanished by both
of us as he stands, reaching toward me and whispers, “Come to me. Come to me
and take me. Take me now.”
*~Legolas~*
I
had never hoped for love such as this. I had never dreamed of love like this.
The falling of silk and velvet to the floor, the long fingers untangling
braids. The guidance, the fear and ignorance evaporating from my pleasure in
heart and mind. The wash of dark hair over red red skine eye eyes that held
mine and spoke a thousand words without a breath of sound. The slow, rhythmic
dance of love making. The screams into the darkness of the night.
We
awoke slowly, still a tangle of limbs and love. Waking up beside him after a
night of love making was the most beautiful part yet…or maybe it was just that
each new thing seemed the best. I am not sure. He is so beautiful; dark hair
entangled with my pale hair and fingers, eyes still half distant sleep but he
smiles at me, whispering, “Good morning.”
I
kiss him gently and he smiles again, watching me as I sit up slowly, wincing
slightly. Walking for the both of us might be uncomfortable today. He clasps my
hand and rises too; I can see blood and semen smeared on the bed sheets and our
bodies, but it is of little consequence.
Now
instead of staring to antagonize we spend the last three days together. We must
be careful of our interactions around others but every single moment spent in
the presence of this elf lord is worth anything to me. I do not understand. How
can love, pure and true love, be forbidden between any?
Nights
are passion filled, but on the last night he lies spent in my arms and murmurs
sadly, “Tomorrow you go. We may never see each other again.” He means: the task
you take is dangerous; deadly.
“Do
not think of such things,” I reply, kissing his ear, but the same thought
clouds my mind.
*~Elrond~*
I
watch from the gate as the Fellowship departs.
His
hair shines in the sunlight, brighter than any jewel, any burnished metal,
moving slowly further and further away. I fight the urge to run after him, take
him in my arms, and forget that everything else exists as I lose myself in the
scent of his hair as I close my eyes.
I
see Arwen standing next to me and in her eyes there is doubt, fear, and love
which mirror my own feelings. We worry.
I
wonder at the corruption of men, the corruption of a soul and agonize of the
trouble that weakness brings. I agonize of the weakness of my own soul, for
whom it loves. Sometimes I think that it would be best if no one loved; that
way no one would hurt.
*~Legolas~*
The
other members of the Fellowship are oblivious to my internal debates during the
day and only at night am I free to let my mind wander back to the happy days in
Imladris, into the nights that seem so long ago.
Perhaps
the only one who can see my turmoil is Mithrandir; he is wise and sees much
from beneath his bushy eyebrows. While he says nothing directly his thoughts
touch mine, offering a soothing word of encouragement.
It
shall all be done and over with soon, he says. Patience.
Yes,
patience. With the passing of time, one must learn patience. For more than two
thousand years patience is something I had never needed until I met Elrond.
Briefly
I fear that the Lady of the Wood shall see my heart and for a moment I think
all shall be lost! While she senses my trouble I do not think she can see my
thoughts, and I breathe freely once again.
Alone
among the silvery trees I miss Elrond and mourn for
the loss of the one who sensed my debate, though comfort seems to have arrived
from the most unlikely of places…Gimli. He has followed me to my hide out, in
the lower branches above a talan and thankfully is without that wretched axe.
He
bows stiffly. “Master Elf,”
I
nod in reply, wishing he would leave me alone.
Instead,
grim and determined, he leaves the ground and begins to ascend toward my perch.
“We dwarves,” he grunted, “Are best in caves.”
His
climbing skills, or lack thereof, leave no doubt in my
mind of his statement.
He
heaved himself up onto the ledge of the talan, and would have attempted to
reach me but fearing for his safety I jump down.
heavy sigh of relief.
“Why
do you follow me?” I question, hoping my voice does not betray my annoyance.
“You
are troubled, Master Elf.”
Is
that sympathy, compassion perhaps in his beady eyes? I narrow my own shrewdly.
“And what is it to you?” I demand.
He
raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. “If you wish me to leave you in peace,
I shall. If there is a matter that troubles you that you wish to share, I will
stay.”
I
am surprised. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I am sorry for my hostility, but I do
not think this a matter that you would understand.”
“
“
*~Elrond~*
In
the shadows of the evening I wait. I wait for the inevitable end that the
passing of time brings and I mourn. I mourn the loss of my daughter to mortality;
the corruption of death and passing weighs heavily on my soul, the burden of the
half elven. I think of Elros and I miss him. I miss
Aragorn, wishing that the burden that he must bear must not be so great. I miss
Legolas, this brief, golden glimpse of what it is to love another (that is not
your child) more than you love yourself. I worry for Legolas, await word of his
safety, and mourn what shall never be.
There
is a soft knock on the door and without awaiting an answer Glorfindel enters,
taking a seat next to me in the window. “You are troubled,” he says softly, and
from his melancholy eyes I can see he is troubled as well. “The house is so
empty.”
“Yes.”
His blue eyes remind me much of Legolas, though Legolas has a spark of fire
while Glorfindel emits cool wisdom of many, many ages. How I long to tell him
of my sorrow, fear, and longing but I cannot. I cannot even tell my greatest
friend of my sins and I seem to hurt even more.
Pain
is a bitter emotion but prohibited love is worse; it is a sweet poison that
once you have had a taste of it, you will forever be in need of more, and the
more you have the more you will suffer. If it was me alone suffering in
unfulfilled want, I could bear it. The thought, the mere possibility that if we
were ever known that this golden flame could be snuffed out in what would be
allowed kin slaying…I could not bear it.
*~Legolas~*
I
see him again three months from now. The burning of love has not died between
us; at Elessar’s wedding I catch his eye and our hearts sing out to each other
but reason muffles it painfully in my chest. As I watch the wedding I am joyful
for my friend as he joins with my lover’s daughter, but admittedly my heart
aches with a slight pang of jealousy. They may stand before all and profess
their love but others, such as Glorfindel and myself,
cannot. I have stopped questioning why.
My
penchant for unorthodox liaisons have also manifested in the deepest but most
unlikely friendship in the dwarf, Gimli, who can sense my internal turmoil.
“And what is it that troubles you so, Master Elf? Is this not to be a joyous
occasion?”
I
do not answer; I cannot answer. I cannot even look at him for fear that I shall
give myself away.
Sensibly
the dwarf says nothing, standing on his stout legs one hand on my arm as he
offers his silent support and I am grateful.
Before
our company parts ways, Elrond and I steal a moment alone in the shadows of the
woods, the trees whispering to me, “Forbidden, sinner, illicit lover…you will
never have him.”
I
ignore them, not caring for they tell me what I already know. We have this
moment - I have this moment - reveling only in the bliss of love, the shining
of his eyes and the scent of his skin as his dark hair flutters in my face. Again
love has reduced my reason to jelly but I do not curse and fight the emotion
now for it has brought me Elrond.
“That
you and my sons have returned safely from the War of the One Ring will forever
be my greatest joy.” An embrace, a kiss. “And you must know that I belong to
you and to you only.”
My
heart catches in my throat at his words of devotion and I long to sob and be
held by him, be seen by everyone together, to sing out to all of Arda that this
is the one I love! But he is the bearer of Vilya; to sully his legend to the
eyes of others by acknowledging my heart…I would never forgive myself. I cannot
make my tongue function to return his words of dedication but looking into my
eyes he kisses my forehead.
“I
know,” Elrond whispers, cupping my face to his chest.
Finding
my voice I choke out, tears threatening, “For the thousands of years we have
lived this is a heart beat in time…I wish…I do not want…!” It is not what I
want to say but I am shaking and can think of nothing more.
“Shh,”
he soothes, and is about to say more, but then a twig snaps under an
approaching foot and we jolt apart before Erestor rounds the corner.
And
so we part; his dark hair and strong shoulders disappearing into the distance,
moving softly with the strides of his mount, and not once does he look back to
where I stand alone under the trees. Whether we will see, talk, spend time, or
make love to each other again I do not know.
I,
Legolas Greenleaf, have loved one and will love no other, but it cannot be
known for what I carry in my heart is forbidden, for all time.
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