My Heart's Desire - Part 2. If You Go Away.

An update. Finally. Ladies, let me present the longest chapter in the story. I hope the size of this part can be a compensation – at least in some way - for your long wait and of course I hope you’ll find it worth waiting for.

I think I should warn you that I'm leaving for a vacation soon so I'm nor sure if I'll be able to finish the next chapter before I leave. If I'm not, then there won't be any updates before the end of July. I'm sorry about that. ^^ But I can swear I will *not* leave this story unfinished, have no worry about that.

Thank you all for staying with me through this long fic, for the wonderful comments you leave for me and for checking for my updates even when they are so sparse in between. I"m really grateful to you. :) *hugs*

Chapter 13. By My Own Choice.


Mirkwood


“I know what your orders are, Captain. And I know you got them directly from your king. I do not ask you to violate them. All I ask of you is to send one of your guards to deliver my message to king Thranduil.” Glorfindel’s voice was urgent and insistent. “In the meanwhile I shall stay with you and take your guard’s place so that you will not be a soldier short.”

The commander of the Mirkwood patrol looked at the Imladris seneschal thoughtfully. He had heard a lot about the legendary Balrog slayer, though he had seen him only once before when Glorfindel came to Mirkwood with Gildor a decade ago. King Thranduil seemed to be quite friendly to Glorfindel at that time. But then, the captain mused, their king always was in a joyful mood when his fair lover came to visit him. Perhaps Glorfindel should have brought Gildor with him this time too. The captain did not know what the Imladris seneschal could have possibly done for king Thranduil to forbid him entrance into his realm, but whatever it was, Glorfindel had probably come to make amends for it. Judging by the way he looked and spoke, it was really important for him to see the king. The Sindarin captain wished to help the renowned warrior and, besides, there was nothing in his orders about not allowing Glorfindel to stay at the border of Mirkwood, only about not allowing him inside. So the captain made his decision.

“Write your message, Lord Glorfindel,” he said. “I shall do as you ask.”


* * *

Elrond was not at all happy when Glorfindel marched into his study and announced that he had to go away on private business.

“How long will it take you?” he asked, displeased.

“About a month, at the least.”

“There seems to be an epidemic of personal problems in Imladris,” Elrond grumbled. “It has already cost me my Captain and now my seneschal has fallen prey to it too. I thought you two were old and experienced enough to deal with any situation without making silly blunders.”

Glorfindel smiled a little self-consciously. “We may be experienced in war craft, but the matters of love are still unknown terrain to us and we explore it by trial and error.”

Elrond sighed and was silent for several moments, playing with the quill in his hands.

“Do you really have to take off in such a rush, Glorfindel?” he asked then. “I have a feeling you are about to do exactly the thing you have been maneuvered into doing.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “Even if it is so, I’d rather do what is expected of me. Actually, I am prepared to do anything and everything to put things right. I do not want to repeat Gildor’s mistake and lose the only person I love because of not saying things that need to be said.”

Elrond nodded. “Go then. I only hope you will come back in one piece for I shall be truly hard pressed to find a replacement for you.”

“Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

During the whole journey to Mirkwood Glorfindel prayed for everything he had learned from Erestor to be just Legolas’s plan to remind him of what he had been risking with his liaisons. Glorfindel had no idea what he would do should his beautiful prince really have had a change of heart. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would do anything to win Legolas back.

When he was stopped by the Mirkwood patrol and its captain informed him he was not allowed into the woodland realm, Glorfindel understood to his dismay that Erestor’s report had been correct and things were really that bad. But Glorfindel was not one to give in so easily. He was prepared to use every means to get to Legolas even if he had to sneak into Thranduil’s kingdom without permission.


* * *

Glorfindel watched anxiously as one of the Sindarin guards mounted and rode away, hoping fervently that Thranduil would act rationally and he would not have to resort to extreme measures.

Thranduil and his sons were finishing their lunch when Thranduil’s steward entered the room discretely, handed the king a small message and whispered something into his ear. Thranduil nodded.

“Thank you, Lamdill. Tell Magor he will not be riding back tonight.”

The steward bowed respectfully and left. Thranduil opened the message and then looked up.

“Your stray suitor has arrived, Legolas,” he said.

Legolas sat up and Aranaur leaned back in his chair, grinning.

“Is he *here*?” Legolas asked in wide-eyed excitement.

“Not quite. He was stopped at the border,” Thranduil replied calmly.

“Why?”

“Ada forbade to let him into our realm, remember?” Aranaur reminded his brother, amused.

“Ada?” Legolas looked at his father expectantly. “What will you do now?”

Thranduil chuckled. “What will you have me do, ion?”

“Allow him to come, of course!”

Aranaur snorted and Legolas threw him a dark look. “I mean, allow him to come here.”

“All over the… ”

Thranduil looked at his elder son warningly and Aranaur bit on his tongue to check the comment.

Thranduil turned to Legolas again. “Do not be too hasty, Leafling. Let him stew in his own juice for a while. Besides, he offered to take Magor’s place while Magor delivered his message to me.” Thranduil winked at his sons. “I do not want to miss the chance to have the renowned Balrog slayer serve as my patrol guard for a day or two.”

“Ada, you are wicked,” Legolas sighed with a smile.

“So I assume he has come alone?” Aranaur asked then, watching their father with shrewd eyes.

Thranduil nodded and looked down at the strip of parchment he had been twirling between his fingers.

“Oh.” Legolas felt an instant pang of guilt for having forgotten in his excitement of everything and everyone else. “Gildor has not come again? Why?”

“This is what I intend to find out,” Thranduil answered, throwing the message on the table.

There were only two words in it: “Legolas. Gildor.”

The servant opened the door of Thranduil’s study for Glorfindel and bowed respectfully. Glorfindel took a deep breath and entered. The door closed softly behind him. Thranduil was standing with his back to the window and Glorfindel could not see his face properly because of the sunlight streaming into the room through the window panes. There was a moment of silence and then, realizing that Thranduil would not be the one to start the conversation, Glorfindel made the first move.

“Greetings, Thranduil,” he said.

“I shall not say ‘welcome’, Glorfindel, for that will be a lie,” Thranduil replied.

Glorfindel sighed and nodded. “I understand your feelings.”

“Oh? You think you do?”

Glorfindel winced slightly at the quiet fury in Thranduil’s voice.

“You think you know how I feel about your playing with my son’s heart? I strongly doubt it. I was not overly happy about Legolas’s choice from the very beginning. But Gildor spoke for you and I decided to give you a chance because I thought he might know you better than I. Well, you have failed him as well.”

Glorfindel tried to remain calm, understanding that he was getting no more than he had deserved.

“You have all the right to be angry with me, Thranduil,” he said evenly. “But I swear that I did not mean to hurt Legolas. Never. I love him more than my life.”

“Indeed.” Thranduil’s voice was as cold as a mountain spring. “You love him that much and you could not remain faithful to him for a mere fifteen years?”

“I do not love Legolas less because of the elves I bedded. Those trysts did not mean anything to me. There was no love in that, only lust,” Glorfindel tried to explain. “Surely you should understand that. I do not think you remained chaste between Gildor’s visits. Not to mention the fact that you have a bonded mate.”

“We shall not go into that,” Thranduil cut him short. “The arrangements between my wife and myself are none of your concern. As for Gildor, we never promised or expected anything from each other. We always knew exactly where we stand with our relationship. While you – you swore eternal love to my son and he *believed* you! This is why he takes your behaviour as a betrayal and an insult and he has every right to do so.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment. “Please, Thranduil, let me talk to Legolas,” he pleaded then. “Give me a chance to explain everything to him. If after that he still cannot forgive me and does not want to see me, well… I shall not bother him again.”

There was a long ominous pause. Glorfindel still could not discern the expression of Thranduil’s face and the king’s silence made him grow more and more apprehensive. Finally Thranduil spoke.

“Fine. I shall not prevent Legolas from meeting you if he decides he wants to hear what you have to tell him. But I will surely not make him do that if he decides against it. And you must give me your word of honour that if he refuses to see you, you will not try to seek him out and will leave Mirkwood at once.”

Glorfindel nodded, accepting Thranduil’s conditions. “You have my word.”

Thranduil left his place by the window, walked up to his desk and sat down in his chair.

“Now tell me about Gildor,” he demanded, motioning for Glorfindel to take a seat opposite himself.

And Glorfindel told him everything, including the reason for Gildor’s refusal to go see Thranduil. When Glorfindel finished, Thranduil was silent for a long time. Glorfindel could tell he was genuinely upset.

“So he does not trust anyone now,” Thranduil murmured, shaking his head. “Not even me… I hope he still plans to be present at Legolas’s majority ceremony?”

“Yes, he does,” Glorfindel confirmed.

“Good. Well, Seneschal, remember what you promised me. I shall give my son a day to make his decision. If he does not grant you an audience till tomorrow, you will leave without further argument.”

Thranduil called a servant and ordered him to take Glorfindel to one of guest rooms.


Glorfindel spent the day in anxious expectation, his hope fading by each passing hour. Lunch was brought to him, then supper - and still no word from Legolas came. Twilights outside his window gradually darkened into a starlit night and Glorfindel understood that all was lost for him. He would have to leave next morning and to try to find a way to survive the greatest loss of his second life.

He lay down on his bed and waited for the dawn, dully looking up at the ceiling above his head. He almost slipped into fitful sleep when there came a sudden sharp knock and his door opened. Glorfindel blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of drowsiness but when he saw who his late night visitor was he jumped up, instantly wide awake.

“Legolas!”

The prince was dressed in a long robe and at that moment looked very much like his father: beautiful, regal and unapproachable. Legolas let his eyes slide down from Glorfindel’s loose golden mane over the hard planes of his bare chest to the low-sitting sleeping pants and back up again. Then he looked Glorfindel in the face, his own countenance betraying nothing.

“You wanted to speak with me, Seneschal,” he said. “Well, here I am. Speak.”

Glorfindel took several tentative steps forward but did not dare come close enough to Legolas to touch him. He had not decided upon the things he would say to Legolas when they met, hoping that the right words would come to him when he needed them. But now, looking at the young elf’s dispassionate face, he suddenly felt tongue-tied. He had never doubted the fact that Legolas still loved him, so he was prepared to face his fury, resentment or indignation but he was not ready at all to see Legolas’s utter *indifference*. That baffled and frightened him.

“I am sorry, Legolas,” he uttered finally.

“You have a sound reason to be,” the prince replied dispassionately.

“I did not want to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I never meant for that to happen. I love you.”

“Are you sure?” There was a trace of emotion in the prince’s voice for the first time. “Am I even close to what you love these days? They say you take only girls to your bed now and I am no girl, Glorfindel.”

“Of course you are not! Thank the Valar for that. I am afraid you confuse the reason with the consequence, Legolas. I bedded ellith because they have *nothing* in common with you. I thought that as it was so different, I could believe I remained faithful to you, even if in a very peculiar way.” [female elves]

Baffled, Legolas stared at Glorfindel, trying to perceive his logic. “This is a weird idea of fidelity, Glorfindel,” he said finally.

“I know.” Glorfindel smiled guiltily.

Now that Legolas’s mask of equanimity slipped off and he looked more like the young elf he knew and loved, Glorfindel felt hopeful again.

“Please, Legolas,” he pleaded, “try to understand. All those elves – I took pleasure in them and gave pleasure in return, but there was no love in that. This is how I have lived all my life. I shared my body but never my heart. *You* hold it in your hands, Glawar, and no one else will ever have it, whether you keep it or throw it away. I love *you* and only you. It was the constant thoughts of you that made my longing unbearable and forced me to seek relief of some kind. For nothing more than seeking relief it was. I confess I gave no thought to my actions and I bitterly regret my thoughtlessness now because it cost you so much pain. I am sorry. If you would only give me a chance to earn your forgiveness… ” [Sunlight]

Legolas’s eyes were no longer cold but something in the way the prince was looking at him warned Glorfindel that his troubles were not over yet.

“I hope you understand that you will have to make up nicely to me?” Legolas inquired.

“I will,” Glorfindel promised, almost swaying on his feet with relief. “In any way you wish.”

“Good.”

Legolas walked up to the bed, shrugged off his robe and stretched out on the silk coverlet in all the glory of his nakedness. Glorfindel gaped. It was the first time he got a chance to see what was hidden beneath the prince’s clothes. He marveled at the sight, drinking in every inch of golden perfection, laid out in front of him.

“Legolas, what are you doing?” Glorfindel managed to bring out at last, his throat suddenly dry.

“You said you love me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, prove it.”

Glorfindel’s heart missed a beat. He started moving before he realized he was doing it. But he managed to check the motion by the remnants of his willpower and stopped two steps away from the bed and the golden temptation on it.

“We cannot do it, Legolas,” he sighed, making no attempt to conceal his regret. “This is not right. You are under age yet. Your father will have my hide for it.”

“You said you would make up to me,” Legolas reminded relentlessly. “In *any* way I wish. Will you go back on your word now? Yet again?”

Glorfindel did not respond to Legolas’s baiting though his body was screaming an eager ‘yes’ to the prince’s offer and only millennia of training allowed his will to bridle his raging desire. He had messed up things once. Now he was determined to do everything properly. Even if it meant saying ‘no’ to something he would gladly face another Balrog to get.

Legolas had no idea what inner struggle Glorfindel was going through. He could not even guess what it cost the older elf to remain still and outwardly calm. He was puzzled and disheartened by his lack of reaction.

“What is wrong, Glorfindel?” he asked, his voice betraying his confusion. “Do you not like what you see? Am I not… Do you not find me desirable?”

It was the insecurity in Legolas’s eyes that tipped the scales for Glorfindel.

“Oh, Legolas!”

He quickly crossed the remaining distance to the bed and slid into it next to his young lover. He propped himself on one elbow, mirroring Legolas’s pose.

“You are the most beautiful and the most desirable elf I have ever met, Glawar, ” he said, cupping the prince’s cheek with his hand. “I love you. And Valar help me, I want you so much that my heart can burst any moment.”

Legolas laughed, relieved. “Are you sure it is your heart, Glorfindel? I always thought that the heart is situated somewhat higher.”

“Cheeky brat,” Glorfindel growled in mock indignation. “You definitely take after your father.”

Legolas laughed again but his laughter changed abruptly into a startled gasp as Glorfindel suddenly pushed him back and rolled over to lie fully on top of him. Glorfindel grabbed Legolas’s wrists and brought them swiftly over his head. He smiled, looking down into the wide blue eyes, framed by almost ridiculously long thick lashes. Then he dipped his head and captured Legolas’s mouth. The prince sighed beneath his lips, his own lips parting with only the slightest pressure. Glorfindel accepted the invitation and deepened the kiss, adding more passion to it.

The world began to spin around Legolas. It seemed to him his lover wanted to take his breath out of his body and it felt like he had almost succeeded. Legolas started sliding into the wondrous, heady, star-specked darkness, but Glorfindel suddenly let go of his wrists, and raised himself on his elbows, tearing his mouth from Legolas’s. Legolas gasped for air and arched up, trying to recapture Glorfindel’s lips, anxious for the kissing to continue: it felt so good and so hard and so hungry. But Glorfindel wove his fingers into Legolas’s golden hair and held him in place, starting on a thorough, intoxicating exploration of his young lover’s body.

His lips trailed down Legolas’s throat, pressing soft, moist kisses to every curve, every angle and Legolas moaned helplessly in pleasure. Glorfindel moved down his body with excruciating slowness, pressing here, stroking there, seeing what made the loudest cries or the most helpless whimpers. If Glorfindel had harboured any dark doubts as to how close Legolas and that friend of his brother’s could have possibly become, now they were dispersed by the look of pure wonder on Legolas’s face and by the ingenuousness of his responses. The prince was still his, his alone. Glorfindel was a little ashamed of the relief that swept through his body just as his heart swelled up with love and gratitude.

By the time Glorfindel reached his stomach Legolas was dizzy with need, his body thrumming with some unknown, potent, voracious sensation that made him crave more, more, more. The taste of Legolas’s skin, his soft moans and gasps spoke directly to Glorfindel’s loins and his own arousal throbbed painfully but he refused to be hurried. He paused to press wet kisses to the soft of Legolas’s belly and to dip his tongue in the shallow cave of his navel. The trembling of Legolas’s body increased, he was desperately clutching at the sheets.

Finally Glorfindel had pity of him and took him into his mouth. Legolas cried out and arched off the bed, tossing his head back. He ended up resting on his elbows, his hips thrusting helplessly upwards. Glorfindel felt his own heat rise and spiral rapidly beyond control at Legolas’s rapture. It did not take the young prince long to reach his peak. After several frenetic thrusts his spine bent in a perfect arch and he sprayed his lover's mouth with liquid warmth. Then he fell back onto the bed, gasping for air and trying to regain focus of reality. Glorfindel laid his cheek against Legolas's stomach, feeling the gradually slowing intake of his breath.

“I… ” Legolas began but his voice failed him and he had to try again. “I love you,” he finally managed to bring out, still dazed by his new experience.

“I love you too, Glawar,” Glorfindel whispered against Legolas’s flawless skin. Then he slid up the bed to lie next to his young lover. “I love you more than my life, Legolas, never doubt that.”

He dipped his head and kissed the prince tenderly on the mouth. Legolas’s eyes widened slightly at the strange flavour of the kiss. Glorfindel chuckled at the wonder on his face.

“Do you like your own taste?” he teased gently.

“I… ” Legolas licked his lips thoughtfully. “I think I do. It was amazing… like… like… No, I am too inarticulate right now.” He gave Glorfindel a blissful sated smile. “I’d better make a song about it. Later… ”

He raised his hand and ran his fingers over his lover’s broad chest, brushing over one of his nipples unwittingly. Glorfindel hissed, his whole body tightening at the feel. Legolas blinked up at him in surprise but then the reason for Glorfindel’s reaction dawned on him.

“Oh!”

He shot up so abruptly that Glorfindel, who was leaning over him, had to plop down on his back to avoid collision. Legolas swiftly turned around and kneeled by his side, looking down at him with guilty eyes.

“I am sorry, meleth, I should have remembered. Let me take care of *your* wants now.”

“There is no need for that, Legolas,” Glorfindel replied chivalrously, making a desperate effort to will his raging arousal to subside.

“Liar,” Legolas grinned, looking pointedly at the wet smear on the silk of Glorfindel’s sleeping pants.

He crawled forward to place himself between Glorfindel’s legs, pushing his thighs wider apart to make himself comfortable. Then he undid the cord on his lover’s trousers, pulled the fabric over his hips and looked down at the firm curve of flesh that eagerly sprang free of the cloth. Legolas’s lips parted softly around a breath of simple wonder.

“So all those legends are true,” he murmured. “You *are* a mighty warrior.”

Glorfindel half laughed, half moaned at his young lover’s reverence. Legolas flashed a quick smile at him and then his eyes returned to the object of his admiration. He raised his hand and touched it tentatively. It felt like warm polished marble in a velvet sheath. Glorfindel stifled a sharp groan as Legolas’s fingers danced over his swollen arousal. Legolas shot him a glance to make sure he was doing everything right, Glorfindel gave him a weak smile of approval and the prince became bolder and more explorative. He closed his hand around the proud column and gave it several experimental strokes. Legolas’s light touches were pure torture for Glorfindel. He was unable to stifle a moan of frustration and Legolas immediately looked up with worried eyes.

“You are doing everything right, meleth,” Glorfindel assured him. “Just grip it harder. Like this.”

He brought his own hand down to join Legolas’s. Then he guided the prince’s hand up and down his shaft, setting the rhythm that he knew would propel him up to the peak of this excruciating pleasure. Legolas easily adopted the pace and soon had his lover gasping and groaning. The prince was drinking in the sight of Glorfindel in his impassioned state, marveling at how beautiful he looked: his golden mane mussed up, his perfect face set in concentration, his eyes flashing bright blue from under the heavy lids.

“Valar, I love you,” Legolas breathed.

His husky avowal was the last straw for Glorfindel. He went rigid for a moment and then cried out his climax, splattering his flat stomach with white, hot liquid, his entire body shuddering, the hard lean muscles of his thighs tensing and untensing. Legolas watched his lover coming undone at his hands and his heart swelled with happiness and pride for having been able to give Glorfindel so much pleasure. He laughed softly with relief, his anxiety finally gone completely. Glorfindel looked up at him, still struggling to get the breath back into his lungs.

“He laughs!” he panted in mock indignation. “He has the insolence!”

“I am laughing because I am happy,” Legolas explained with a smile.

Glorfindel wiped his stomach with a corner of the sheet, caught Legolas’s hand and pulled him down. Legolas slid along Glorfindel’s body and lay atop of him, propping his chin on his clasped hands. Glorfindel stroked Legolas’s silky strands, while basking in the afterglow of his own climax.

“You are mine now, you know that?” Legolas said suddenly. “Mine alone. And I do not share with anyone.”

“You will not have to, meleth,” Glorfindel assured him softly.

“I might be able to do it one day,” Legolas went on hesitantly, “when I am as experienced as Ada and as confident of the strength of our bond as my parents are of theirs.”

Glorfindel looked at him silently, marvelling at the fact that so young an elf could be so wise.

“But not now. Not yet.” Legolas searched his lover’s face to see if he understood him. “Do you think I alone can be enough for you till that time?” he asked then hopefully.

“Oh, Glawar, I do not deserve you,” Glorfindel breathed. He caught Legolas’s face between his palms and bent forward, lifting his head off the pillow to press a kiss to his prince’s lips. “You will always be enough! It is you I love and no one else. I want to bind myself to you one day.”

“You do?” Legolas could not believe his ears.

“Yes,” Glorfindel laughed softly. “I intend to do it as soon as your father gives his consent. That is, if you want it too. Do you?”

“Oh… ” Legolas thought his heart was about to burst from happiness. “I hoped you would ask me that.”

“Well, I shall ask you properly when the time comes. As we shall *properly* celebrate your majority.”

Glorfindel gave the prince a meaningful look and Legolas’s face flushed at the innuendo in the promise.

“And now… ” Glorfindel pushed Legolas off himself and sat up. “Go back to your rooms, Your Highness, and promise me that you will sleep in your own bed till you come of age. That is, till I am here again.”

“All right.”

Legolas sighed, got out of bed and put on his robe. Glorfindel got up as well, adjusting his sleeping garment. He took Legolas into his arms for a goodbye kiss.

“And will *I* be enough for *you*, Glawar?” he murmured against his lover’s parted lips.

“Always,” Legolas whispered back.

Next morning Glorfindel was ushered into Thranduil’s study again. The woodland king rose from behind his desk politely to greet him.

“So my son has decided to give you one more chance.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am grateful he has,” Glorfindel replied sincerely.

“I believe there is no need to say that you cannot afford the luxury of disappointing him a second time?”

“No need at all,” Glorfindel confirmed.

Thranduil studied him for several moments, his eyes shrewd and sharp. But Glorfindel had checked twice before his mirror that he sported no evidence of his nocturnal activities so he did not waver under this scrutiny.

“I would never intentionally hurt him, Thranduil,” he assured his lover’s father earnestly. “I told you I love him and I truly do. I want you to know that I intend to ask Legolas’s hand in marriage.”

There was another pause. Thranduil’s face remained unreadable.

“This sort of arrangement is way premature,” he said finally.

“I am aware of that and prepared to wait,” Glorfindel replied. “I simply want you to know that I am serious about Legolas and my intentions are honourable.”

Thranduil’s lips curved up slightly. “Very well. I shall enter you into the list of eligible mates for my younger son.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Yes, do.”

“I have a request to you, Glorfindel,” Thranduil said then, changing the subject. “I would like to send a letter to Gildor with you.”

“I would gladly act as a messenger,” Glorfindel answered. “But I can deliver your letter only when Gildor comes to Imladris. Only the Valar know where he can be at the moment.”

Thranduil nodded his agreement and walked around his massive desk to hand Glorfindel a sealed parchment.

“Make sure Gildor comes here in nine years,” he said.
Suddenly Glorfindel’s eyes danced with mirth. “I shall make sure he is here in nine years. But *you* make sure he comes, Majesty.”

“Smartarse,” Thranduil smirked.

They clasped each other’s forearms in farewell.

“In nine years then, Thranduil.”

“In nine years, Glorfindel.”

Lórien

The Vanya appeared to be very different from what he had looked like when Orophin and his brothers met him for the first time six years ago. Now he would not be recognized for anyone else but for what he really was: a warrior. And a warrior freshly out of battle at that. He still was in his armour; his clothes dirty, torn at places and smeared with blood. He looked pallid and his ashen lips were pressed tightly. Judging by the stiff way he was sitting in his saddle, Orophin would say the Vanya was in pain but he was doing a good job concealing it. Well, no surprise there.

Gildor and Elrohir rode up to them and stopped by Elladan’s side. Gildor met Orophin’s eyes for a moment, answering his greetings, his own eyes distant and bereft of any emotion. Then his gaze swept over the semi-circle of wardens and suddenly got riveted to one of them. Gildor looked the elf up and down slowly, as if trying to decide something for himself. The young guard turned his head to throw an anxious glance at his commander and when Gildor saw his profile, his eyes darkened and narrowed. Orophin noticed Mergil fidgeting uneasily under the Vanya’s heavy stare and wondered at the meaning of it all.

“We shall need to use your medical supplies,” Elrohir said in the meantime. “Could you send someone with us, Lieutenant, to show where you keep them?”

Orophin nodded and signed to one of his guards. “Hadron.”

“No!” Gildor said suddenly, turning back to Orophin. “Him.” He indicated Rúmil with his chin.

Orophin’s lips tightened at the Vanya’s insulting manner. He was about to give him an appropriate retort but Rúmil surprised him.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “I’ll go.”

“What was that about?” Elladan asked Gildor quietly as they followed their guide off the path and into the forest.

“It is safer with his brother,” Gildor answered just as quietly, staring steadily ahead of him. “I do not have to look at him and wonder if he slept with him or not.”

Rúmil led them to a large mallorn and pointed up. “Our sleeping quarters are up there. You are welcome to choose any place you like, as you are guests here. You can leave your horses to me. I shall take them to the glade where we keep ours.”

The princes got off their mounts. Gildor followed suit more slowly. The twins did not even try to offer him help, aware that to do so in front of a stranger and Haldir’s brother at that would be an insult to Gildor’s pride. So all three of them silently endured the painful process of Gildor’s dismounting.

“Shall I bring down a rope-ladder for you?” Rúmil asked, still playing the role of a hospitable host.

Gildor shot him a quick glance and then looked at Elrohir.

“I need to bathe first,” he said.

“It is hardly a good idea in your current state,” Elrohir replied, his voice full of concern.

“I am filthy and stink of orc blood. And I need to wash off the slime before you stitch my arm.”

“He has a point,” Elladan seconded Gildor, coming up to stand behind the Vanya and urging him gently back to lean against his shoulder. “I shall help him. There is sure to be some spring around, isn’t there?” he asked Rúmil then.

“There is a hot spring a short distance from here,” the guardian pointed with his hand.

“All right,” Elrohir conceded. “But do not let him soak and be careful with his ribs.”

Rúmil watched them with acute interest. After all, it was why he had agreed to show them around in the first place: he wanted to find out if the rumours about Gildor’s relationship with the princes were true and if it could have really been the reason for his brother’s broken heart. He was surprised to see how easily Gildor submitted to the twins’ bossy care. The familiarity of their interaction spoke volumes. He hoped his little brother had not had to witness what he was witnessing now. Rúmil was brought out of his musings by Elladan’s question.

“Do you have any clothes to spare?”

“Yes,” Rúmil replied. “But they are very plain and hardly fit for princes.”

The barb was unexpected and unasked for and Gildor heard Elladan draw an angry breath. He touched his hand soothingly and the elder twin refrained from a retort.

“As long as they are clean, they will do,” Elrohir said in a level voice. “Where do you keep your reserve stock?”

“On one of the flets up this mallorn.”

“Very well.” Elrohir turned to Elladan and Gildor. “Rúmil and I will go up and find some clean clothes for you. I shall bring them down so you could go wash and change. And in the meantime I shall have a look at the medical supplies and see what I can borrow.”

When Elrohir and Rúmil disappeared in the boughs of the giant tree, Gildor turned to face Elladan.

“You should forgive him his hostility, El. He is Haldir’s brother. It is only natural he has taken his side and probably blames me for everything.”

“I do not see why you should be the one at fault,” Elladan grumbled.

“See: you have also taken a side.” Gildor gave him a faint smile.

Elladan raised an eyebrow. “Is it a reproach I hear?”

Before Gildor could answer there came a warning of ‘look out’ and a bundle landed at their feet.

“There is soap and a towel inside,” Elrohir called from above. “Do not be gone for too long.”


When his brother and Gildor left, Elrohir turned back to Rúmil.

“Now let me have a look at your medical supplies.”

Rúmil indicated a smaller chest. Elrohir took it, put it on a larger trunk and kneeled in front of it to inspect its contents.

“I’ll need a needle and a thread,” he murmured. “Here they are. Some clean bandages… good, these will do. Now the herbs… ”

He was pleased to see that he could find in the box all the necessary components for the pain-killing potion he wanted to make for Gildor.

“Have you any honey?” he asked then.

“Honey?” Rúmil raised an eyebrow.

Elrohir smiled. “The mixture will have a foul taste. I want to sweeten it a little.”

Rúmil pursed his lips contemptuously. “Cannot he take a few drops of a bitter drink?

Elrohir’s smile faded. He stared at the Galadhel for a moment as if deciding whether to answer or not.

“Of course he can,” he replied then evenly. “He can take that and a lot more. But the fact that he *can* do it does not necessarily imply that he has to take it the hard way.”

That was a sentiment Rúmil heartily disagreed with.

“It would be only just if he paid with a little pain of his own for the suffering he caused other people,” he muttered darkly.

Those were fighting words and Elrohir felt his irritation stir. But he did not want to get involved in something that would result in nothing else but heated and fruitless argument. He looked up at the Galadhel, his expression carefully guarded.

“If I were you, I would not presume to make judgements of things I had only partial knowledge of,” he said dispassionately and returned to his inspection of the medical chest, leaving Rúmil to seethe.

“Is there any lemon-balm oil? It helps to fight off exhaustion and stress and it’s exactly what Gildor needs right now.”

“I do not give a damn for what he needs,” Rúmil hissed.

That did it for Elrohir. He regarded the guardian with narrowed eyes.

“I bet you do not,” he said, his voice vaguely sarcastic. “It must be in the family.”

Elrohir’s quip finally gave Rúmil a chance to voice all his resentment and righteous anger.

“And why should we care about him? He has broken my brother’s heart!”

Elrohir rose to his feet to face the infuriated Galadhel.

“Oh yes? How so?” he inquired with polite interest. “It was your brother who left.”

“But why did he do it?” Rúmil argued passionately.

“This is a good question indeed,” Elrohir agreed, his cool tone a sharp contrast to Rúmil’s heated one. “We would also wish to know the answer to that as your brother never took the trouble to give any explanations.”

“Of course you would blame Haldir for everything,” Rúmil defended his sibling. “But if your Vanyarin friend loved him that much, why did he let him go? If he so wanted him by his side, he should have gone after him and tried to bring him back, shouldn’t he?”

Elrohir looked at him for a long moment before answering. “As a matter of fact he did,” he said then slowly. “Shall I tell you *what* he saw when he overtook him?”

The prince’s face was deceptively calm and he spoke in a neutral tone but Rúmil suddenly felt that he did not want to hear what Elrohir was about to say.

“Gildor found his inconsolable lover shoving down the throat of his fellow guard,” Elrohir hissed, allowing his anger to permeate his voice for the first time. “And they were hardly out of the valley of Imladris. So do not tell me what he should or should not have done.”

Rúmil stared at him, stunned, feeling as if the ground had been cut from under his feet. “How do you know? Did Gildor tell you that?” he asked then, hoping it could still be just a hostile insinuation.

“No.” Elrohir smiled coldly, once again his composed self. “He did not tell anyone about that.”

“Then how…?”

Some indefinable emotion flickered in Elrohir’s eyes.

“He talked in his sleep,” he said dispassionately.

With the help of Elrohir’s potion Gildor slept through what remained of the night and through the following day as well. He stirred only in the evening, awakened by a mouth-watering smell. He blinked away the remnants of drowsiness and found Elladan squatting by his side with a bowl of steaming stew in his hands. The elder twin grinned down at him.

“Hungry?”

Gildor sat up, wincing slightly, and moved to lean against the mallorn trunk.

“How are you feeling?” Elrohir asked him.

“Better.”

The twins sat down cross-legged on both sides of Gildor to share the meal. Gildor heard the muted murmur of voices, turned his head that way and saw the Lórien wardens talking quietly over their supper on a nearby flet.

“So, do our hosts mind our presence here?” Gildor asked.

“Oh no,” Elrohir assured him with a slight smile. “They have been very courteous.”

“And very cautious,” Elladan muttered under his breath.

Gildor looked from one to the other. “Have I missed something?”

“No,” the twins said together.

Elrohir had told his brother about his confrontation with Rúmil but they did not want to let Gildor into the incident not to upset him.

“Hm.” Gildor regarded them suspiciously.

“Grandmother knows we are here,” Elrohir informed him to prevent further inquiries.

Gildor noticed the swift change of the subject but let it pass. Whatever the twins tried to keep from him, they were doing it for a reason. He did not feel up to facing any more problems at the moment.

“Of course she knows,” he sighed in response to Elrohir’s remark.

“She asked why we stopped at the border. Will you farspeak with her?”

“No. *You* brought me here. *You* carry on all the negotiations.”

“She invites us to the city.”

“No,” Gildor reacted at once. “I will not go there. But I do not see any reason why you should not. I could wait for you here.”

It was the twins’ turn to disagree.

“Either we ride to the city together or we all stay here,” Elladan said firmly.

Gildor sighed. “This is blackmail, El. It will not work with me.”

“This is no blackmail,” Elladan argued.

“Besides I have already told her we are all staying here,” Elrohir added.

“You have? So what was the point of telling me about her invitation then?” Gildor pressed his head back against the trunk, dull pain throbbing in his temples.

Elrohir shrugged. “I just wanted to be on the safe side. What if you change your mind and wish to go there after all?”

“No way.” Gildor closed his eyes.

“That is why I told her we would stay at the border and why grandfather is coming to meet us.”

Gildor’s eyes flew open again. “Celeborn is coming here?”

The twins nodded.

Gildor hesitated. “I hope he is coming… ”

“… alone,” the princes assured him together.

“Good. I shall be glad to see him.”

Rúmil watched from his flet as the twins woke Gildor up and made him eat. But the Vanya did not stay awake for long, soon falling into healing sleep again. The princes sat at the edge of their platform with their legs dangling on the outer side, talking quietly. Suddenly Gildor started moaning and tossing in his sleep. Elladan was instantly by his side. He slid down onto the bedroll next to him and gathered Gildor into his arms.

“It’s all right, I’m here. I have you. It’s all right.”

The Vanya clung to him with all his body, moaning in pain.

“Careful with his ribs, El,” Elrohir said anxiously, kneeling by the bedroll.

“I cannot soothe him. It hasn’t been that bad for a long time,” Elladan complained softly. “Come join us, Ro, I need your help.”

Elrohir lay down, spooning behind Gildor, and between the two of them the Vanya gradually calmed down and relaxed. The trembling of his body subsided and his breathing became even again. Soon the twins fell asleep as well, their entwined hands resting comfortably on Gildor’s hip.

The unexpected and unannounced arrival of their Lord caused more agitation among the patrol guards than a massive orc attack. But Lord Celeborn assured them that his visit was neither emergency nor inspection. He had come just to see his grandsons and his old friend.

Celeborn brought a change of clothes of better fitting sizes for the trio, some cookies and sweets from Arwen and a flagon of wine. They shared a meal and exchanged news and then Gildor urged the twins to go and spend some time together while they had a chance. He told them he would be quite safe in the company of the Lord of the Wood so they did not have to guard him so closely. The twins conceded and left, heading for the hot spring.

“So you have your own bodyguards now?” Celeborn said jokingly. “Do they guard you from dangers or dangers from you?”

Gildor smiled. “They are very protective of me and my interests. They are very loyal friends, Celeborn, and I am grateful I have them.”

“They love you,” Celeborn said simply. “They always did.”

“Believe me I return the feeling wholeheartedly.”

Celeborn looked at him thoughtfully. Though Lórien was a much more closed and secluded place than Imladris or Mirkwood, gossip had no trouble finding way into the Golden Wood. So Celeborn was aware what kind of rumours concerning Gildor and his grandsons circulated the elven realms. He had never given them much thought though, recognizing them for what they were: nothing more than hearsay. But now he could see what had given cause to all the idle talk. Even from what little time he had to watch the twins and Gildor, he saw that they had become very close. Elladan and Elrohir treated Gildor as if he were their third twin. And what was even more surprising – Gildor accepted the role. He endured the twins’ fierce protectiveness without argument. But Celeborn was inclined to think it was not because Gildor enjoyed it too much but because he simply had neither wish nor vigour to argue.

The Vanya was strikingly changed. There was nothing left of the roguish and flirtatious Gildor Celeborn had known, the Gildor who wore his seductiveness as casually as everyday clothes. Gildor’s inner light was dimmed now. Celeborn thought that even when they had met for the first time many millennia ago, when Gildor was Nairalindë yet and his kith and kin had just sailed back to Valinor – even then the Vanya did not look so lost, so dejected, so lifeless.

“Gildor, what happened between you and Haldir?” Celeborn asked tentatively.

Gildor shrugged. “There was some attraction, then it was over so he left. End of the story.”

“But why was it over? Why did he leave?” Celeborn insisted.

“You should ask *him*. I expect he would know the reasons better.”

“He did not say anything about that to anyone.”

“Well, I can hardly help here: he never told me anything either.”

Celeborn could see quite plainly that Gildor did not enjoy the way their conversation was steering, but still he decided to take it a little further.

“He is unhappy, Gildor. Everything Haldir does now he does to fight off his unhappiness.”

Gildor felt as if he were driven into a corner. Each word caused him almost physical pain. He could not think of Haldir, let alone speak about him: it was too painful for him and too depressing. He desperately wanted this talk over.

“It was his choice,” he said in a distant voice.

“But maybe he regrets it now,” Celeborn argued.

Gildor could hear his heart start hammering inside his head.

“I… I do not want to speak about it any more,” he managed to bring out. He felt like he was suffocating and had to fight for breath.

Celeborn was taken aback by Gildor’s violent reaction to the subject. It almost looked like a panic attack. Whatever had happened between Gildor and Haldir, it had been serious…

Haldir and his hunting party returned to Caras Galadhon late in the evening so he went straight to his home and to his bed. When Amarion knocked at his door around noon the next day, Haldir had not been out yet.

“So how was your hunting?” Amarion inquired after a greeting. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Haldir shrugged. “I believe I did. What is new here?”

“Well… ” Amarion paused. “Lord Celeborn left for the border two days ago.”

“What?” Haldir was instantly alert.

“He went to meet your patrol and he went alone.”

“Has anything happened?” Haldir asked, alarmed.

“I have no idea,” Amarion replied with a sigh. “We have had no word of trouble at the border so it is not likely to be the reason for his abrupt departure. Besides he would not have left alone, should that have been the case. I think you should talk to the Lady. Perhaps she will agree to explain everything to you.”

Haldir found Amarion’s advice sensible and hurried to the Lady’s talan. She was glad to see him.

“You are back, Haldir,” she greeted him with a smile. “Was your hunt a success?”

“Yes, my Lady, thank you,” Haldir answered, anxious to be through with pleasantries.

Galadriel sensed his worry. “What is troubling you, pen neth?” she asked, concerned. [young one]

“My Lady, I have heard Lord Celeborn left the city some days ago. Has anything happened at the border?”

“Oh no, Haldir, do not worry. Everything is fine.”

“Then maybe my patrol committed some blunder…?”

“That neither,” Galadriel assured him. “Our grandsons came to Lórien and Lord Celeborn went to meet them, that is all.”

“Oh.”

Haldir swiftly processed the information. If the twins were in Lórien, Gildor had come too. But if Lord Celeborn went to meet them at the border, it meant they did not want to come to Caras Galadhon. There could be only one reason for that – Gildor did not want to see *him*. It was only to be expected and it did not come as any surprise but still Haldir was hurt by the realization. Gildor hated him… Gildor’s unwillingness to take the risk of running into him in Caras Galadhon was a solid proof to that. Valar, that did hurt… It seemed to Haldir he once again had a poisoned bolt in his chest. He took several careful breaths, waiting for the pain to subside. He knew his feelings were irrational but he could not help it. He started to turn to leave but then abruptly remembered his good manners.

“Forgive me, My Lady. I… I need to go now… ”

“Haldir,” Galadriel began saying but the young elf gathered the shreds of his composure around himself like a cloak, closing his mind from her.

“Please, My Lady, I cannot talk right now. Do I have your permission to leave?”

Galadriel looked at him with compassion. “Yes, hênen, go. You have my permission.” [my child]

Haldir made a hurried exit but once outside the Lady’s chamber, he slackened his pace. He walked stairs and bridges slowly, not paying much heed to where his feet were taking him. All he could think of at that moment was that Gildor was in Lórien. Haldir had not expected him to cross the border of the Golden Wood in the foreseeable future and the news that Gildor was so close excited and tormented him. He longed to see him again, to hear his voice. Haldir preferred to forget that the words Gildor was likely to greet him with could hardly be friendly. The mere prospect of meeting Gildor again deprived him of his ability to think rationally. But to be frank, he did not want to think at all; or be rational either… Acting on impulse, Haldir headed for the stables and soon his white stallion was taking him to the border.

Gildor felt sick and tired of being confined to the talan so he informed Elrohir he was getting down to stretch his legs. Elrohir thought it was still too early for him to do that, but he knew Gildor would not listen to his protests so he did not argue. They decided they would walk to the hot spring and have a bathe. All four of them climbed down to the ground but they did not get far. Suddenly Gildor felt it: the familiar touch of Haldir’s presence. It enveloped him like a tender comforting embrace, filling all his being with warmth and light. Gildor almost moaned at the blissful sensation. But then he remembered and came abruptly to his senses, gasping for air and tugging at his collar.

“Gildor, what is it?” Elladan asked, alarmed, while Elrohir pushed Gildor’s shaking hands away and quickly opened the upper buttons of his shirt.

Gildor took a deep breath, pulling himself together. “I am leaving,” he said. “Now.”

“Why? What happened?” Celeborn inquired, concerned.

“He is here.”

“Who?”

The Lord still felt at a loss but the twins knew.

“Haldir,” Elladan stated.

Gildor nodded. “I am leaving.”

“Gildor, wait,” Celeborn tried to stop him but the Vanya was already singing out a call for his horse.

“I’ll wait for you outside the border,” he told the twins.

“No.” Elladan was adamant. “We have come here together and we shall leave together.”

“I shall fetch our bags,” Elrohir offered. “And you get the horses, El.”

“Forgive us for taking off like this, Celeborn,” Gildor apologized, when the twins were gone.

The Lord of the Wood shook his head slightly. “Why are you running away, meldir?” [friend]

Gildor looked away, his face pale, his eyes clouded. “I do not have enough strength or courage to face him at the moment. I cannot allow myself to fall to pieces in front of him. My pride is the only thing left to me, Celeborn.”

“You are making a mistake,” Celeborn said urgently. “You *must* talk with Haldir.”

Gildor shook his head. At this moment the twins were back.

“You are not strong enough yet,” Celeborn tried another approach. “How will you make it over the mountains?”

“Do not worry, meldir.” Gildor gave him a pale smile. “I shall manage. I always do.”

“Goodbye, iaurada.” The twins embraced their grandfather quickly. [Granddad]

Then all three of them mounted and took off at a gallop.

The wardens watched the trio’s abrupt speedy departure with bewilderment. They received yet another surprise when a short time later they saw their Captain appear unexpectedly out of the wood.

“What is he doing here?” Rúmil asked his elder brother anxiously.

“I cannot say for sure,” Orophin murmured, “but I think I can guess.”

Haldir threw a quick glance around, then dismounted and approached Celeborn.

“My Lord,” he bowed respectfully. “I am sorry I have turned up here so suddenly but I have come… ”

“…a little late, Haldir,” Celeborn sighed. “They have left, though not too long ago. I do not think they have gone very far yet.”

He looked at Haldir steadily and the young Galadhel wondered if the Lord could really mean what he thought he did. At this moment Rúmil came up to them.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” he addressed Celeborn. “May I have a word with my brother, please?”

“Of course,” Celeborn smiled.

Rúmil pulled Haldir behind a tree.

“What are you doing?” he asked in an angry whisper, bringing his face close to Haldir’s. “Do you want to make a fool of yourself?”

“What are you talking about?” Haldir pushed his brother out of his personal space.

“Why have you come?”

Haldir frowned and kept silent.

“Haldir, please, listen to me,” Rúmil pleaded. “I do not want you to get even more hurt. Why do you think he left? I am sure he did it because *you* were coming here. He rode off at such speed that one would think all the Nine were after him.”

A faint smile touched Haldir’s lips. “Gildor would never run from the Nine.”

“For pity’s sake, Haldir!” Rúmil exclaimed in exasperation. “Do you understand at all what I am telling you? It is too late for second thoughts. You cannot have him.”

A stubborn expression appeared on Haldir’s face. “Why?”

“Because if you planned to go back to him one day, you should not have let Mergil put his hands – or rather his mouth – on you when you were so close to Imladris.”

“What?!” Haldir gasped, shocked.

“Gildor went after you and saw you with Mergil… on his knees.”

“Oh no... ” Haldir looked at his brother in horror.

He remembered that back then in that glade he had felt Gildor’s presence but he had thought that his imagination conjured the illusion for him. Now he knew the reason… Suddenly something else Rúmil had told him registered with him.

“He went after me?” he whispered in disbelief, the implication of Gildor’s act sinking in slowly.

Rúmil sighed. “He will not do that again.”

“Why not?” Haldir looked at his sibling, his eyes bright with renewed hope.

“Haldir, wake up!” Rúmil shook him slightly by the shoulders. “You left him. He started a new life. He does not want you any more.”

“You do not know that,” Haldir argued obstinately.

Rúmil shook his head at his stubbornness. “He is with the princes now, tôren. Elrohir told me so himself and in not unclear terms.” [my brother]

Haldir fell silent. The younger twin would not have made that up. The tender sprout of Haldir’s hope withered and died.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” he said quietly. “I need to be alone for some time.”

Rúmil watched with a heavy heart as his younger brother strode away.

Haldir climbed one of the tallest mellyrn, from the top of which he knew he would be able to see the foothills beyond the forest. He looked west and his breath hitched in his throat: three riders were making their way towards the mountains, two dark-haired ones flanking one golden-haired.

‘Gildor, please!’ he sent out a desperate thought, though he did not know himself what he was begging for.

The fair rider stiffened and started to turn his head but checked his motion halfway. It was one of the twins who turned. He wheeled his horse round and scanned the trees as if he knew that someone was watching them. Then his brother called over his shoulder and he resumed his way.

Haldir followed with his eyes the bright beacon of Gildor’s golden head for as long as he could make it out in the distance.