This, And My Heart Beside *added ch. 20/part 1*

CHAPTER 13


“Wear something light,” Isalith had told Legolas earlier. “The evenings are growing quite sultry and you will be miserable if you overdress for the party.”

Legolas chose loose-fitting leggings of the deepest bark brown and an ecru-colored tunic made of a light, gauzy fabric. He decided to braid all of his hair into a single plait to keep it off his neck, and hopefully avoid overheating. He sat on the edge of his bed to pull on his boots, when Isalith’s voice came from the doorway.

“Why do you not wear these instead?”

Legolas looked up to see his friend leaning against the doorjamb, smiling gently. The image he presented the blonde Prince nearly caused Legolas to gasp.

Isalith was dressed entirely in white. His breeches were loose-legged, with a high waist that hugged his bare midsection enticingly and highlighted his wonderful physique. A long jacket with billowing sleeves hung to his thighs; he wore it open, exposing the carved muscles of his chest.

The luminous white gemstone that hung on a black cord around his neck nestled in the hollow of his golden throat. His ebony hair hung loose, its color contrasting with the dazzling white of his attire. Legolas swallowed hard. In the name of the Valar, how could anyone be so beautiful? He forced himself to focus on the strange footwear that Isalith was holding up.

“What are those?” he asked curiously.

“They are called “sandals,” they were introduced to us by traders some years ago. They take a little getting used to, but they are quite comfortable and perfect for summers in Ilandros. I will show you how they are worn.”

He knelt before Legolas and, taking his foot in the palm of his hand, raised it up. “Your toes go under these straps, thus. Then, you simply wind the laces around your leg, crossing them in the front and the back.” His deft fingers swiftly fastened the leather thongs up to the calves of his friend’s legs.

Astonished by the new and wondrous feelings caused by Isalith’s touch, Legolas sat staring at him, entranced, and surreptitiously inhaled the clean, citrus scent that rose from his lustrous black tresses. He started a little when he realized the direction his thoughts were taking. What are you doing, for Eru’s sake? This is your dearest friend! Isalith felt the slight jerk that passed through Legolas, and he looked up at him questioningly.

Before he could speak, Legolas touched the pendant around his neck. “What is this stone called? ‘Tis as if the clouds swirl within it.”

“It is called “mother of pearl”, Isalith smiled. “Another import; I am afraid we have nothing like this in Ilandros.”

Ever the diplomat, Legolas said reassuringly, “Your homeland has many of its own wonders, my friend.”

Isalith’s smile grew wider in gratitude. Those wonders are made all the more spectacular by your presence, he thought. Gazing at Legolas’ fair, beautiful face, he hoped the pounding of his heart was not so loud, it could be heard. He felt he could dive into the depths of those liquid blue eyes and happily drown there. The long de bde braid had fallen forward when the Prince leaned over to pick up his boots, and it still lay draped alluringly over his shoulder. He was dressed very simply, yet his luminous beauty was not dampened by it.

It was then that Isalith noticed the slight flush in his cheeks that had not been there before. The bedchamber was still cool; did he dare to hope that he was responsible? Before his staring made Legolas self-conscious and before he could make a fool of himself, he stood abruptly and said playfully, “I pronounce us both presentable. Shall we?” He swept an arm toward the door.

Legolas stood straight and tall. In his most officious voice he replied, “Lead on, my friend,” and they walked out into the Ilandros night.

It proved to be one that Legolas would never forget.


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The gala was spread out over three different levels, on verandas separated only by short stairways of gray stone. Long tables had been set up on each level, laden with opulent buffets of seafood, breads, cheeses and fruits.

The first meal Legolas had ever taken in Ilandros, as a child, had been a source of great consternation to him. He knew from his studies that the sea held many wondrous creatures, but he never dreamed that they were used as food, by *any* race. He had sat in his chair at the evening meal, staring at the shrimp that lay on his plate.

Isalith nudged him gently in sideside. “Like this, Legolas,” he said helpfully, and he picked up a shrimp from his own plate. Holding it between two fingers, he popped it into his mouth, biting down and pulling off the tail simultaneously. He smiled as he chewed with obvious enjoyment.

“’Tis good, you will like it.”

Legolas picked up one of the creatures, and held it up before him. For several seconds he did nothing, but his blue eyes remained riveted on the shellfish. Tyrion and Anylide exchanged amused glances, and the blonde elfling noticed them watching him.

“It *stares* at me,” he explained.

Tyrion suppressed a smile and replied, “I assure you, lisse hin, it does not see you, and it feels nothing. Why do you not close your eyes when you try it?”


He took the King’s advice, and had his first taste of seafood. His eyes flew open in surprise; it was tender, and its flavor was contradictorily rich and delicate. Legolas devoured many of the shellfish, and decided that they were now among his list of favorite foods.

As he stood beside Isalith now, at the edge of the uppermost veranda, his eyes eagerly scanned the banquet tables. His mouth began to water at the sight of the many elegantly prepared dishes; Legolas had sorely missed the Ilandrian fare.

“Ready?” Isalith asked him, smiling. Legolas nodded, smiling in return. From where they stood, all three verandas and their occupants were visible, and the Prince of Mirkwood saw many familiar faces.

“My friends,” Isalith called out in a strong voice, “I give you the guest of honor.” He gestured toward his friend and stepped aside. All faces turned to Legolas, and a happy murmur arose from the guests, as applause broke out. Many of them rushed up the stairs to greet him, and the Prince found himself in a receiving line of sorts, clasping hands with, and embracing, the Elves who filed past him.

The fete was unlike any he had ever attended, and Legolas grinned and laughed through most of it, until his sides actually ached. The beautiful Ilandrian Elves, with their sensuality and earthy humor, were as delightful as ever.


Everyone partook of the lavish feast and drank deeply of the sweet, spiced wine as they congregated in groups, while Ilandrian musicians played unobtrusively. Later in the evening, Legolas sighted Belorfilad and Uriong as they stood by the balustrade. He smiled at their almost constant nearness to each other; nothing kept them apart for long. Even now, with the noise and music of the celebration all about them, they focused solely on one another, touching tenderly.

Good for you, my friends, he thought, and was surprised to find that the slight covetousness he had felt earlier was dissipating.

As Legolas drank from his goblet of wine, he noticed the servants clearing off the tables and removing them, with the exception of the wine table, which had been replenished with rows of new bottles. The music, which up until now had played subtly in the background, grew louder, and many of the guests smiled delightedly as they moved into the now open areas of the verandas to dance.

“Will you join them?” Isalith’s voice beside him caused Legolas to start a little.

“Not tonight, I think.” he answered, smiling self-consciously. “Will *you* dance?”

Isalith smiled brightly. “I believe I will,” he replied, “if you will excuse me.” Legolas could tell by the slight glassiness in his friend’s eyes, that he had consumed a good deal more wine than *he* had.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Enjoy yourself,” he answered.

The raven-haired Prince wound his way through the crowd, until he found an unoccupied area, where he began to sway languorously. Legolas watched, captivated, as his friend was quickly caught up in the insistent, seductive beat of the music.

The sun had long set, and although it was now dark, the night was balmy and a little humid. As he grew warmer, Isalith removed his jacket. A servant quickly came forward to take it from him, and the Prince nodded his thanks.

A light sheen of sweat had formed on his golden skin, and he glistened in the flickering light of the torches that had been set into sconces at the edges of the veranda. As he undulated enticingly, the yellow light lovingly caressed his torso and his face, rapt with pleasure.

Belorfiland and Uriong observed all this from the banister at the side of the portico. The blonde Captain sat perched atop it as his lover stood between his widespread legs, his back pressed against Belorfilad’s chest. The dark-haired warrior’s hands rested possessively on the knees of the Mirkwood Elf, as he was held close by an encircling arm around his waist.

“That dance looks oddly familiar,” Belorfilad whispered archly into Uriong’s ear. “Did the Prince learn that from you?”

A mischievous grin spread across the lips of the Ilandrian warrior. “I taught him everything he knows,” he said proudly.

Belorfilad laughed huskily, replying, “In that case, someone here is about to be thoroughly seduced.”

After considering for a moment, he asked his lover seriously, “Do you know who it is that Isalith dances for?”

Uriong grew thoughtful. “If someone has captured my Prince’s heart, he has not confided in me. But, if ‘tis true, I wish him every happiness that I have found,” and he lovingly stroked Belorfilad’s upper thighs.

The blonde Captain smiled tenderly in response and nuzzled his lover’s neck.

The song ended, and after downing another cup of wine, Isalith returned to Legolas’ side, breathing deeply and laughing.

He was becoming increasingly unsteady, and he clasped his friend’s shoulders for support before touching their foreheads together.

“Legolas, my good friend,” he said solemnly, “I believe I have taken too much wine.”

“Yes nilde,” Legolas replied with equal gravity, “I was under that impression, myself. Would you like to turn in now?”

“That is a splendid idea.”

Legolas set down his glass of wine and took Isalith’s arm, wrapping it around his own shoulder. “Lean on me, nilde,” he said gently.

The Ilandrian Prince looked at him in confusion for a moment, before his friend’s intention became clear. “No, Legolas,” he protested, “you must stay and enjoy the celebration; ‘tis all for *you*.”

“In truth,” Legolas whispered secretively, “I find I am quite weary from the journey. Let the others carry on without us; I feel certain our absence will not affect the festive mood.”

Isalith agreed finally, and after they both said goodnight to the King and Queen, and Legolas thanked them sincerely for the feast, the Princes made their way to their chambers.

Swinging open the heavy wooden door of Isalith’s room, Legolas steered his swaying friend inside and ushered him to the side of his bed. He sat down heavily and the blonde Prince kneeled to remove his sandals.

Their positions were now reversed, from earlier in the evening, and it was the Ilandrian who now stared at the stunning Elf at his feet. The soft glow of the candles in the chamber illuminated the flaxen tresses of the northern Prince. Isalith brought up one hand to cup his friend’s face, and raised it toward him. Legolas gazed up at him in inquiry.

“So beautiful,” Isalith murmured, softly stroking the other Prince’s lower lip with his thumb.

A shudder ran through Legolas and he closed his eyes and leaned in to the caress, as he was swept along by the wave of sensations brought on by Isalith’s touch.

“Isalith, please,” he whispered weakly, as he grasped his friend’s wrist, “you do not know what you are doing. ‘Tis only the wine speaking.”

Isalith shook his head firmly. “My steps may be unsteady at this moment, but my eyes see clearly, and my heart knows what it feels. Legolas,” he added vehemently, “I truly do ….” He broke off, as he pressed a hand against his temple. “The room spins,” he moaned softly.

Legolas laid him gently back onto the pillows, and smoothed disheveled black curls away from his face.

“Isalith,” he began, but his friend was already asleep. The blonde Prince smiled and bent to press a kiss to Isalith’s forehead. “Sleep well, nilde,” he whispered, before leaving the chamber, closing the door carefully behind him.

He entered his own chambers, his thoughts racing as he undressed. When he stood in leggings only, Legolas walked slowly te woe wooden screen between their rooms. Peering through, he watched Isalith as he slept, and his eyes widened when he realized that the dark-haired Prince had removed his leggings and he now lay naked. He had pulled the coverlet up only partially, leaving a glimpse of the silky black hair at his groin. He lay peacefully, a sleeping deity bathed in the moonlight that flooded his chambers.

Legolas gazed, mesmerized, at the broad chest that rose and fell slowly, then at the lean-muscled, concave abdomen. What was happening between him and his closest friend? Surely there had been no deeper meaning behind Isalith’s words, telling him that he was beautiful; or behind the caressing touch on his lips. Nor in the enthralling, seductive dance he had performed on the veranda, or the brief kiss by the waterfall.

Legolas stopped short. How could all of those things be coincidental? And what of his own feelings since he had arrived? The serenity he felt in Isalith’s presence, and the absence of the persistent yearning for an unnamed “something” that had plagued him for years, suddenly came into crystal clear focus.

I am such a fool, he thought, smiling at Isalith’s sleeping form. I have been looking for you for so long, and I knew exactly where to find you.

Legolas determined that he would bide his time; he had no intention of forcing anything. At the right moment, he would look into his friend’s eyes and pray for the recognition that Belorfilad had spoken of on the journey to Ilandros. He could wait now, he was certain.

He could wait, because he already knew his own heart.

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lisse hin: sweet child

nilde: friend