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

Chapter 16. Revelations.


Thranduil chose one of the alleys that led away from the palace and Gildor followed him, not paying much attention where they were going. Any route was fine with him as long as it allowed him to put some distance between himself and Haldir. They walked along the path that was taking them deeper and deeper into the darkness of the park, and the din of the revelry was gradually fading away. Neither of them spoke. Thranduil kept watching his friend furtively. He felt Gildor’s tension: the Vanya was strained like an overly bent bow. Add just a little more pressure - and it would snap.


Thranduil was at a loss as to what to do: obviously Gildor was nearing his breaking point and Thranduil did not know how to help him. Glorfindel’s report of the events prior to Gildor and Haldir’s split-up had led Thranduil to assume that the reason for it all was major misunderstanding and miscommunication. The Mirkwood ruler had believed Haldir’s feelings for Gildor to remain just as strong as Gildor’s for him. Thranduil earnestly had thought that all it would take to remedy the situation was a good push in the right direction. But Haldir’s inaction baffled and worried the king. He started to fear it truly could have been no more than an infatuation for the young Galadhel; something Haldir had mostly got over by now. Thranduil was not going to judge Haldir; neither was he going to analyze his behaviour in order to perceive his motives. All he was interested in and concerned about at the moment was Gildor’s feelings and the pain his friend had to deal with.


Gildor heard the soft murmuring of water and turned in that direction, following the sound. It led him to a secluded glade with a tiny fountain that chirruped cheerfully and tumbled down into a small basin of pale rosy marble, shaped as an open water lily. Gildor walked up to the fountain, scooped a handful of cool water and splashed it in his face. Thranduil came up to his friend and turned him around by the shoulders.


“Gildor... ” Thranduil wiped the water from the Vanya’s cheeks and curled his hand around Gildor’s neck, pulling him forward to press their foreheads together.


But Gildor suddenly tilted his head up and caught Thranduil’s mouth in a desperate kiss. Thranduil froze for a moment, taken by surprise. However, he was quick to realize that Gildor’s kiss was nothing else but a plea for understanding and support and Thranduil could not possibly refuse him *that*. He wrapped his arms around Gildor’s form, feeling his nervous shivering, pressing him closer reassuringly, and opened to him, allowing Gildor to drink his fill from his lips.


After a while Gildor pulled away, panting, and looked up into Thranduil’s eyes.


“Take me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.


“What?” Thranduil could not believe his ears: he was least of all prepared to hear *that* sort of request.


Gildor took a couple of steps back, unfastening his belt, and shrugged off his robe. The slippery fabric streamed down in a shimmering waterfall and pooled on the grass around his feet.


“Take me. Now.” Gildor’s eyes were feverishly bright. “Is it not what you have always wanted?”


Thranduil’s gaze wandered without his bidding over Gildor’s perfectly shaped form. He took a careful breath and exhaled slowly, his own body reacting acutely to the splendour of Gildor’s nudity and to the temptation of his offer. Still when he spoke, he managed to do it in an even tone.


“Are you sure this is what *you* want?”


“Yes... ”


Gildor once again stood close to him, his deft fingers swiftly undoing the clasps on Thranduil’s robe, shifting the material aside, sliding under the silk of Thranduil’s shirt. The king was unable to suppress a gasp at the familiar tingle spreading over his bare skin from the touch of Gildor’s hands.


“You want me to purge your old memories for you and to give you new ones, don’t you?” Thranduil asked huskily.


Gildor’s wide dilated eyes met Thranduil’s questioning look for a moment.


“You know me so well,” he murmured then, his lips barely an inch away from Thranduil’s. “Yes, this is what I want... ”


‘This is what comes of spying on people,’ Haldir told himself as he had to witness Gildor kissing Thranduil the second time during one day. ‘One often sees something that one would rather not see.’


He watched the kissing pair from the deep shadow of an old tree on the edge of the glade. He felt pained but impassioned at the same time.


‘What are you waiting for?’ he mocked himself. ‘Go away, move! Don’t stand like a monument to your lost happiness. Go, Haldir, leave!’


But his feet refused to obey him. At this moment Gildor stepped back, shucked off his robe and stood in front of Thranduil, dressed only in his high boots, mithril adornments and moonlight. The emerald drop on his choker was trembling ever so slightly over the hollow of his throat. The sight he presented was almost barbaric in its beauty and sensuality.


Haldir felt his lungs burn and realized that he had stopped breathing. He took a hungry gulp of air, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. But the next instant he received yet another shock.


“Take me.” Gildor’s voice rang in the quiet of the glade. “Now.”


Haldir gasped aloud. Take me? Take??? No one but *him* had ever taken Gildor! A red haze started to gather around the edges of Haldir’s vision. This could not be happening, could it? But he knew Thranduil would not be able to resist. No one would, being in one’s right mind... Gildor was already opening Thranduil’s clothes, impatiently pushing the fabric aside. As his hands disappeared under the silk of the king’s shirt, Haldir saw Thranduil’s chest start heaving faster. He could not take it, just could not! Haldir’s vision went completely red and he rushed forward - but two strong hands grabbed him by the arms and held him back. Haldir fought blindly.


“Let go! He cannot do this!”


“Who do you think you are, to decide what he can or cannot do? Eru almighty?”


The sound of the familiar hateful voice penetrated Haldir’s hazed brain; he blinked and found himself facing the twins.


“Oh, is that *your* exclusive prerogative then?” Haldir hissed, jerking his arms free. “Do you *ever* leave him alone?”


“*Someone* had to take care of him after your disappearance thing,” Elladan remarked sarcastically.


“Your ‘care’ will kill him one day!” Haldir spat.


“It is *you* who will kill him,” Elladan growled. “You have done it once and you are still doing it.”


“What?!” Haldir stared at him in confusion and fury.


Elrohir gave his brother a warning look: they were becoming too loud. Elladan nodded. They once again grabbed Haldir by the elbows and dragged him away. Haldir fought to free himself but the twins’ grasp was implacable. They pulled him deeper into the park, away from the fountain glade, and then shoved him against the thick trunk of one of the trees. Haldir turned to face them, infuriated.


“Just try to touch me again and... ”


“And you’ll do what? Challenge us?” Elladan inquired sarcastically. “Oh please, do us a favour. I have been waiting for a chance to spill your blood.”


Haldir was slightly taken aback by the elder twin’s ferocity. “Why do you hate me so?”


“Have you not heard what I told you? You killed Gildor. You killed him!”


Haldir stared back at him, confused and shocked by the horrible accusation. “What are you talking about?”


“When you left Imladris, Gildor went after you,” Elrohir started explaining, his voice deceptively calm. But it was chill calmness. “He found you. But you were so obviously… busy at that time that he decided not to bother you.”


Haldir winced. “It was not what he thought.”


His excuse sounded so lame that neither of the twins bothered to answer to that.


“Gildor never came back,” Elrohir continued dispassionately. “We found him only the next day, unconscious and hardly breathing. By the time we reached Imladris, he was dead.”


Haldir stared at him, wide-eyed, all colour gone from his face.


“Adar managed to bring him back but Gildor has never been the same ever since.”


Haldir was shaken to the core. “But why did he die? Was he attacked? Did he take a wound?”


“Oh no, Marchwarden,” Elladan replied, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotions. “Gildor was not attacked.”


“Then why, for the Valar’s sake?”


“The wound he got was not a bodily one. He died of a broken heart and that was *your* doing.”


Haldir gave him a bitter smile. “You are exaggerating my powers, prince Elladan. I never meant that much to Gildor. He never really loved me.”


The twins looked at him in mute bewilderment.


“What makes you think so?” Elrohir asked finally.


Haldir shrugged. “He never told me he loved me. Not even once.”


“Manwë and all the Valar!” Elladan burst out. “Did you have to be *told* that? Didn’t you have eyes to see the obvious??”


“When you first arrived in Imladris, you were wearing the braids that Gildor had made for you, weren’t you?” Elrohir asked.


“Yes. So what?”


“Those braids were as good as a silver ring on your finger!” Elladan growled. “He wanted to bind himself to you, you idiot!”


Haldir’s head swam with yet another shock.


“How was I to know?” he shouted back, his nerves frayed. “I am not a Vanya to know all their traditions!”


“Neither are we,” Elrohir replied coldly. “But we know, because we asked. Did *you* ever take the trouble?”


Haldir stared back at them, momentarily silenced.


“Did you ever take the trouble to ask what *he* wanted and what *he* felt?” Elladan asked accusingly.


“He did not need *me* to ask him all that. He had *you* to take care of such things,” Haldir replied bitterly. “Each time I looked away, you instantly stepped in between us.”


“You looked away too often for your own good then. Otherwise you would have seen what there was there to see. He complied with your every whim. He broke and remoulded himself to be what you wanted him to be. He gave himself to you completely to use as you pleased. Do you think it did not take any toll on him? He came to us because with us he could be himself once again. In fact, he did not come to us to be *with us*. He came to us to be *away from you*.”


“Oh yes?” Haldir sneered. “Was it for the same reason then that he chose to sleep with you?”


Once again the twins were bewildered beyond speech. Finally Elladan shook his head as if trying to clear his brain.


“Sleep with us? You must be crazy!”


“I am not!” Haldir stood his ground stubbornly. “That night during the thunderstorm. The one you spent together in the cabin. I saw you!”


“No, you did not.” It was Elrohir who answered. “Because if you had seen us, you would have known what exactly happened that night.”


“I saw it all in Lady Galadriel’s Mirror,” Haldir admitted. “Even before it all came to pass.”


“Didn’t she warn you that the Mirror was a treacherous source?” Elrohir asked incredulously. “That it is not enough to manage to see something in it – one should also know how to interpret what one has seen?”


“Do you want to say you did *not* sleep together that night?”


“We did,” Elrohir replied calmly. “Literally. Sleep was exactly what we did. We all were cold and drenched to the skin so we huddled together for warmth. Gildor was off to Imladris as soon as the storm ended.”


“Only to find you gone.” Elladan stared at the Galadhel inimically.


Haldir felt the ground sway under his feet. Could it be true? Could he have committed such a grave blunder?


“I did not know,” he murmured. “I could not even imagine… ”


“Of course you could not.” Elladan’s lips twitched contemptuously. “You just assumed the worst.”


“I heard gossip of him and you even before I came to Imladris!” Haldir defended himself.


“Hm? Shall I tell you what we heard of *you* even before you came to Imladris?”


“It all does not matter now,” Haldir sighed dejectedly. “Even if he did not sleep with you then, he does it now.”


“Yes, he does. Shall I tell you why?”


Haldir kept silent, sensing he would not like what he was about to hear.


“He has been having constant nightmares ever since his return from the dead. He wakes up screaming if left alone for the night. We share a bed with him to give him a chance to get some sleep.”


Yet another blow added to the shock Haldir had already got and he started to feel numb. He tried to process what he had just been told but his mind refused to function properly. He was able to understand only the simplest and most obvious things at the moment. He looked from one twin to the other, searching their faces. “You mean… you are not his lovers?”


Elladan gave a huff of frustration. “Sweet Elbereth, give me patience… Why are you so obsessed with the idea? Will it please you to hear that Gildor has not taken any lovers after you deserted him? Not even a single one. And not for the lack of candidates, believe me. *You* have not been that abstinent as far as we know.”


Haldir did not answer: it was a fair accusation, no matter what reasons lay at the root of his promiscuity.


“All these years he has believed himself to be dead,” Elladan’s voice became dark and dangerous. “And now that he has finally come to the only person who can prove to him that he is wrong, you show up in his life again! When he has at last allowed himself to feel something else besides pain and despair, you have the impudence to say ‘he cannot do this’!”


The twins’ faces were those of avenging fiends. Their pale silver eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight.


“Don’t you dare come near him again,” Elladan snarled at Haldir. “If you even as much as try to hurt him or rob him of his chance to find peace, if not happiness, I swear I’ll risk being cursed as a kinslayer.”


Elrohir did not say anything but his face was just as grim and resolute as his brother’s. Seeing that Haldir was not going to reply, the twins turned as one and disappeared soundlessly into the darkness.


Haldir slid down slowly to sit on the grass and buried his face in his folded arms. He was trying to wrap his mind around all he had learned but the revelations were too sudden, too incredible, too painful… Gildor *had* loved him… Gildor had loved him enough to want him for his soulmate; enough to die of a broken heart after he had left him. Haldir moaned in mortification. He had been blind and deaf and had ruined everything with his own hands. Elladan was right: *he* was the cause of all Gildor’s afflictions. The guilt and remorse Haldir felt were choking him. He leaned back against the tree, taking in slow painful breaths.


He knew he could not approach Gildor now, even if only to tell him how bitterly sorry he was and to explain that he had left him not because he did not love him enough but because he loved him too much. No, he was not intimidated by Elladan’s threat. His entire concern was for Gildor: Haldir did not wish to cause him any more pain or trouble. He hoped with all his heart that Thranduil would be able to heal Gildor’s wounds, to teach him to feel the joy of life again, to make him whole and happy. Gildor deserved all the happiness in Arda…


Haldir closed his eyes. The pain in his chest was searing, unbearable and… welcome. It was the punishment *he* deserved.


A short distance away, in the glade with the fountain, Gildor was weeping in Thranduil’s arms. For the first time since his return from the dead…


The Crown Prince of Mirkwood was lying in his bed, propped on one elbow, and studying the elf that was sleeping by his side. The young Noldo looked sweet and innocent. Ah, how deceptive appearances could be sometimes…


In spite of Lindir’s bold offer Aranaur had not really expected him to keep their date. But the Imladris minstrel knocked at his door later that night and when he opened it, Lindir entered without hesitation. The young elf was beautiful in an exquisite, delicate way and at first Aranaur treated him like something fragile and vulnerable. But soon he found to his surprise that the Noldo could take as much as he could give him. Lindir was generous in giving of himself and his passion burnt bright and pure. The Imladris princes had known what they were talking about when they praised the skills of their minstrel: his technique was honed almost to perfection and his stamina could shame quite a few of Aranaur’s warrior lovers. But Aranaur sensed there was more to the little musician and that mystery kept him intrigued and fascinated.


The Mirkwood prince twisted one of Lindir’s dark strands around his finger and gave it a gentle tug. The young Noldo sighed, blinked and the mist of reverie cleared from his eyes.


“Finally you have chosen to wake up,” Aranaur grumbled in mock displeasure. “It was not very polite of you to fall asleep on me, you know.”


Lindir blinked again. “I did not mean to,” he mumbled guiltily.


“I am only teasing,” Aranaur smiled. “You did need to catch some sleep. And you well deserved it too.”


Lindir’s cheeks coloured a little. The prince pretended to study him closely.


“You look thoroughly… er… ravished,” he announced then and watched, pleased, Lindir’s charming blush intensify.


The young minstrel indeed bore the telltale evidence of a night of passion. His braids were in ruins and only the Valar knew where the beads that had been woven into them were now. His lips were still swollen from kisses and there were shadows of fatigue under his eyes. He looked endearing in his morning-after state. And absolutely irresistible. The prince gave in to the temptation, bent down and caught Lindir’s mouth in a kiss. The young elf sighed softly under his lips, opening to him willingly. When Aranaur pulled back finally, Lindir looked up at him with wide bright eyes.


“I love you,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.


“Oh.” Aranaur was slightly taken aback. One could usually make such impulsive avowals in the sultry darkness of the night but not in the sober light of the morning.


Lindir read his thoughts easily. “You do not believe me.” He bit his lip, trying to conceal his anxiety.


Aranaur found that Lindir’s dejected look was too much for him to bear. “I believe you,” he hurried to assure him.


Lindir’s eyes searched the prince’s face. “Please, do not think I have made this declaration on the spur of the moment. I have come to Mirkwood to tell you I love you.”


Aranaur felt confused. “Wait, what do you mean you have come to tell me? How could you…? Have we met earlier then? I do not remember seeing you before.”


“Of course you do not,” Lindir smiled a little sadly. “We met in Lórien thirty eight years ago. To be more exact, we did not *meet* in the full sense of the word. We were there at the same time. I saw you but you had eyes only for Haldir then.”


“Ah, *that* time,” Aranaur murmured. “I see… Do you mean to say you fell in love with me thirty eight years ago?”


“Yes.” Suddenly Lindir grinned. “The twins thought I was pining for your father.”


“What?” The prince laughed incredulously. “Why would they?”


“There is a likeness of your father in one of the frescos in Imladris. They often caught me admiring it. Only they did not know that when I looked at him, I saw *you*.”


For some time Aranaur studied Lindir’s face silently.


“You do not have to do anything about it; or to say either,” the minstrel assured him quietly. “I simply wanted you to know… ”


Aranaur nodded, gave him a quick kiss and rolled off the bed.


“Oh, I am sorry. I must be delaying you.” Lindir sat up. “Surely you have things to do.”


He looked around, trying to spot his scattered clothes.


“Yes,” Aranaur answered as he rummaged through his wardrobe. “Ada is expecting me for breakfast in his chambers. This is sort of family tradition,” he explained, turning to Lindir with some garments in his hands, “to gather for a late breakfast on his terrace the next morning after large celebrations.”


“I understand.” Lindir suppressed a sigh, pushed away the coverlet and crawled to the edge of the bed to get up.


“Good.” Aranaur dropped the clothes he had been holding on the mattress in front of Lindir. “I do not think I can find anything in my wardrobe that will fit you, so this will have to suffice. We do not have time for you to go to your room for your own clothes.”


Lindir sat back on his heels and for a moment simply stared at the prince in amazement.


“You mean… you want me to go with you?” he managed to bring out at last.


“Yes. Or do you have other plans, perhaps?” Aranaur grinned as he pulled on loose silk pants and bound the cord.


Lindir felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. “No, I do not have any plans. But I cannot go with you.”


“Why not? This is not any official occasion, just a family meeting.”


“Exactly.” Lindir plucked at the coverlet uneasily. “I do not belong there.”


Aranaur came up to stand in front of him and the young elf had to raise his head to look him in the face.


“Gildor is going to be there,” the prince told him. “And so is Glorfindel, I am sure. Your princes are likely to be present as well.”


Lindir shook his head slightly. “Gildor and Glorfindel are as good as members of your family. And the twins are royal guests. I am neither family nor royalty.”


But Aranaur shrugged off his objections. “You are my guest so you have all the right to be there.”


He pulled Lindir up by the elbows, making him rise on his knees.


“Stop denying me,” he murmured against Lindir’s lips darkly, sending delicious shivers down the minstrel’s spine.


Lindir felt his member twitch and swell eagerly at the prince’s imperative tone. He exhaled sharply and Aranaur’s mouth instantly covered his, Aranaur’s tongue sliding confidently in between his parted lips. Lindir brought his hands up and laced his fingers around the prince’s neck, moulding himself to his solid form.


But Aranaur did not take it further than a heated kiss. He pulled away and commanded a little breathlessly, “Get dressed.”


Lindir climbed out of bed reluctantly and picked up the clothes Aranaur had chosen for him. He looked dubiously at the loose pants and the dressing gown and then turned his questioning eyes to the prince. Aranaur laughed.


“Do not worry. Everyone is going to be dressed like that. I told you it is an old family tradition. No formalities whatsoever. When I was younger and Legolas was just a little elfling, we used to have breakfast in bed. In Ada’s bed, that is.” Aranaur smiled at the fond memories.


Lindir pulled on the garments and looked down at himself. The prince had been right: his clothes were far from a perfect fit for the smaller minstrel. Aranaur came up to him and helped him roll up the sleeves. Then, surprising Lindir to no end, he slid down to one knee and turned up the legs of his pants.


“You owe me,” he smiled, rising.


“I could have done it myself,” Lindir argued half-heartedly.


“Not for this, silly!” The prince laughed and Lindir relished the rich sound. “We struck a bargain, remember? I have met my end of it. Now it is your turn. I still have not heard you sing.”


“Oh.” Lindir felt his cheeks colour in embarrassment. “Very well. Name the place and the time.”


“My rooms. Tonight.”


The minstrel’s heart missed a beat. “Is that an invitation?”


“No, this is an order,” Aranaur replied imperiously. “A royal order.”


“I obey, my Lord.” Lindir bowed his head in an exaggerated obeisance.


“Good. Now we must hurry,” the prince urged him, opening the door. “Or my brother will finish all the cinnamon cakes by himself, the little glutton.”


But it turned out Aranaur worried for nothing. Just as they went out into the hall, they saw Legolas and Glorfindel exit Legolas’s suite. The Crown Prince chuckled to himself: his brother had the same freshly ravished look as his own Noldorin lover. But to make the picture even more impressive Legolas sported a vivid love-mark on his throat. As they exchanged greetings Aranaur playfully made a face.


“Eek, little brother, that must have been painful. Perhaps you should see a healer about it?”


Legolas smirked. “No. This is a mark of honour. I shall wear it proudly for everyone to see.”


He beamed at Glorfindel and the Elda wrapped his arm around Legolas’s waist possessively, unwilling to let go of his prince even for a short time.


“I think you are simply jealous, Naur,” Legolas teased his elder brother as they all started walking along the corridor, “because no one has marked *you* as his own.”


Aranaur gave a huff of mock indignation and turned to Lindir.


“See what I have to put up with?” he exclaimed accusingly. “This is all your fault!”


“Mine?” Lindir feigned total lack of understanding.


“Of course! Why haven’t you left me any token of your admiration?”


“But I have,” the minstrel argued, giving him a mischievous side-glance.


“That does not count,” the prince said quickly. “I cannot flaunt it in public.”


“Oh well… ”


Lindir stepped in front of Aranaur, making him stop, curled his arms around the prince’s waist and latched his lips to his throat. When he pulled away in several moments, there was a purple bruise on the golden skin.


“Better?” he asked with a smile.


“Yes, now I look more respectable, don’t you think, little brother?”


As Aranaur turned to Legolas, Lindir met Glorfindel’s eyes. The Balrog slayer quirked an eyebrow, looked at the elder prince quizzically and then back at Lindir. The minstrel blushed, smiled and gave a slight shrug. Glorfindel grinned and winked at him. The bantering princes totally missed the exchange.


When they reached Thranduil’s chambers, they found the king on the large terrace in the company of Gildor and the Imladris princes. The twins grinned broadly at the sight of Aranaur’s and Legolas’s matching love-bites but refrained from any comments in the presence of the king. Glorfindel ignored their knowing looks, since long immune to their teasing, but Lindir sighed, feeling a hot blush spread over his face and neck.


Aranaur took the young elf by the hand and pulled him forward.


“Ada, this is Lindir, Lord Elrond’s… ”


“…minstrel,” Thranduil finished. “I remember that, ion. We have been introduced.”


He turned to Lindir. “I hope you are enjoying your stay in Mirkwood, Lindir?”


The minstrel wondered if the king’s question had a double meaning but then he saw Gildor’s reassuring smile and decided he was simply imagining things.


“Yes, Your Majesty, I am, and very much so. Thank you.”


They all moved to the table that was served for breakfast and took their seats around it. During the meal it was the younger generation that did most of the table talk. Thranduil and Glorfindel made occasional remarks but Gildor was quiet, just smiling silently now and again. The Mirkwood princes were surprised by his unusual taciturnity but did not let it show, taking their clue from their father who was behaving as if everything were as it should be.


After the meal was over, the company moved to the wicker settees and armchairs in the shaded part of the terrace for the sun was already high and it was getting hot. Elladan dropped a cushion on the floor by his brother’s feet and sat down cross-legged, resting his arm across Elrohir’s lap.


“So, Aranaur, have you heard our minstrel sing yet?” he inquired merrily.


“No, not yet,” the prince smiled.


Elladan shook his head in mock reproach. “For shame, Lindir!”


“I had no occasion for that,” Lindir murmured, his cheeks colouring slightly under the amused looks he received.


“Perhaps you could sing for us now?” Elrohir suggested.


“Perhaps I could. But I am afraid that it will not be a very good performance: my voice is somewhat hoarse… for some reason… ”


“Oh.” The twins did not try to hide their mirth.


Aranaur came to the minstrel’s aid. “Well, little brother, maybe *you* will treat us to one of your songs?”


He looked inquiringly at Legolas, who was resting casually against Glorfindel.


“No, I must beg to decline,” Legolas laughed. “It seems I am in bad voice today too.”


“This is becoming suspicious,” Elladan muttered. “Is this ‘bad voice’ thing contagious? Gildor, can *you* sing?”


“I?” Gildor looked taken aback. “No!”


“Of course you can,” Thranduil said confidently, wrapping his arm around the Vanya’s shoulders. “If you could dance yesterday, you can very well sing today. You are not dead, remember?” he added then in a soft murmur so that only Gildor could hear him.


“Must you always have your own way?” Gildor sighed.


Thranduil grinned. “Yes, when my way is the right one.”


Legolas jumped to his feet. “I shall bring you a lute.” He knew his father had one in his suite. He was back within moments and handed the instrument to Gildor who accepted it with a sigh.


“So what would you like me to sing?” the Vanya asked, resigning himself to the inevitable.


“’If you go away’,” Lindir asked eagerly and instantly realized his blunder when the twins turned sharply to glare at him. “I am sorry,” he mumbled. “Perhaps this is not the best choice… I simply love the song so much… ” He fell silent, realizing unhappily that he was making things even worse with his apologies.


Gildor’s face remained placid. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Lindir. It does not really make much difference to me what to sing, and that song *is* beautiful. My compliments to the author.” He smiled at Legolas.


Then he touched the strings of the lute tentatively. His fingers were more used to the string of a bow nowadays than to those of a musical instrument.


“I only hope I have not entirely forgotten how to do it,” he murmured.


The first chords he played were halting and uncertain, but gradually his fingers remembered the skill and the sweet music they elicited from the lute flowed smoothly and fluently. The poignantly beautiful and sad melody of Legolas’s song had never failed to enchant Gildor. This time was no exception either and by the moment he started singing he forgot all about his audience. His voice was a little husky from the lack of singing practice, but this little imperfection strangely added to the effect it produced on the listeners.


“If you go away as I know you must,
There’ll be nothing else in the world to trust.
Just an empty room, full of empty space,
Like the empty look I see on your face.”


Legolas’s eyebrows crawled up: those were not *his* lyrics. He heard Glorfindel give a heavy sigh. Worried, the young prince turned to his father but Thranduil was watching Gildor, looking as upset as Glorfindel sounded.


“I’d have been the shadow of your shadow
If I thought it might have kept me by your side… ”


Suddenly Gildor became aware of the tense silence around him. He pressed the strings of the lute with his palm, breaking off the music abruptly.


“I am sorry, Legolas, they were the wrong words, weren’t they?” he said quietly. “I must have forgotten all the songs.”


At this moment Thranduil’s steward appeared at the terrace door.


“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the Lórien delegation is preparing to leave.”


Thranduil nodded. “Thank you, Lamdil. I shall get dressed at once and go out to see them off.”


“Well, I think Legolas and I should join you, Adar,” Aranaur said, rising. “So we’d better get dressed too, little brother,” he added, addressing Legolas.


Lindir caught Aranaur’s hand. “I need to get my clothes… from your room,” he whispered.


“Let us go then.” The prince pulled him up to his feet.


“I think I shall also go out and say good bye,” Glorfindel announced.


The twins rose as well as they were princes and had to observe the formalities. In several moments Thranduil and Gildor were the only ones left on the terrace.


“Do *you* not wish to go out and say good bye?” Thranduil asked.


Gildor shook his head. “I said my good byes long ago.”


Thranduil sighed but did not press further. “I shall not be away for long,” he promised. “I shall come back as soon as they leave.”


Gildor nodded, plucking at the strings of the lute absently.


“Haldir.”


The Galadhel looked over his shoulder to find Glorfindel by his side.


“Seneschal,” he greeted him in an even tone and turned back to his horse.


“You cannot leave like this,” Glorfindel said. “You should talk to him.”


“Talk to whom?” Haldir asked in the same disinterested voice, checking the girth of his horse.


“Gildor,” Glofindel replied, trying to be patient. “He loves you.”


Haldir turned around to face him. “He *loved* me,” he corrected, his eyes opaque and unreadable. “And what do you want me to talk to him about, anyway? Yes, I am sorry we parted like that. I am even ready to admit that it was my fault. Probably I should have done it differently. But I doubt that hearing me say this will change anything for Gildor.” He shrugged. “Believe me, things are better left the way they are. Perhaps he can be happy again yet.”


Glorfindel stared at him in mute disbelief: could the young Galadhel be really as cynical as he sounded?


Haldir did not look disposed to continue the conversation. “Forgive me, Seneschal, I have to go now. It is time for us to start on our journey.”


He swung himself up into the saddle.


“I thought you loved him,” Glorfindel said bitterly.


Haldir looked down at the Elda dispassionately. “I did. Farewell, Seneschal.”


He turned his horse around and rode away to take his place at the head of the Lórien party.


Two days later the Imladris delegation departed too. Prince Legolas left with them, setting off on his first – and prolonged – visit to another elven realm.