Pen-Estel

I fear that there is not very much Elrond/Legolas in this chapter, ElenaDiVita, but I hope that you will enjoy it nevertheless - and thank you for your comment. :)


Chapter Seventeen

Glorfindel knew that it could not go on like this... but he just could not confront Legolas – or himself – with the truth. It was so easy to forget when he held the youth in his arms, when he lost himself in the spell the slender body and the sweet moans wove around him so easily.

But then there were the nights, when he was all alone and unable to find sleep because of it. How many nights had he spent in a chair next to Gîlríon’s small bed, watching his sleeping child because Gîl was the only thing that could bring him solace anymore?

He could not say how many nights passed that way, but there were weeks of them – weeks during which he desperately tried to find an answer to the one question that threatened to take all happiness away from him.

Could he love a child if he was not its father?

Could he... could he love Legolas when it became obvious that he was pregnant? When he would be reminded of it every single time he looked at him?

Did he even want to try?

Glorfindel groaned, turning in his bed. It was early, although he had not found much sleep yet. But very soon, Legolas would come to quietly slip into his bed, and he thought with longing about the perfection of falling asleep with the youth in his arms.

He wanted Legolas, more than anything, but it was a pain quite unlike anything else he had known to hold him in his arms and think about that how it was Elrond’s child growing in his belly.

Glorfindel threw an arm over his face as if to ward off that line of thought, but it was to no avail. These thoughts would not leave, and slowly he was beginning to realise that maybe they would never leave him again.

Perhaps his thoughts were to blame, but this morning it proved to be more difficult to lose himself in the youth’s sweet embrace. His hunger and passion were encouraged by the need to get close enough to be free of them… just a little closer.

Legolas was moaning, and he couldn’t stop, feeling that delicious friction – wanting more of it. He didn’t find release, but he cried out and stopped anyway, resting his head against Legolas’ chest in defeat. The thoughts weren’t going to leave him, not ever, and yet he just couldn’t bring himself to let the youth go.

Now as he lay still, Legolas breathing fast beneath him so that he moved a little to make it easier for the Prince to catch his breath, his hands moved under Legolas to hold him close.

“My Lord?” Legolas asked uncertainly. “What is wrong?” Those slender, graceful fingers moved over his cheeks as they had once before, when the anger had left, and Glorfindel knew that he must have shed tears.

“You have to be mine, Legolas!” he declared possessively, speaking his mind at last, jerking forward in an attempt to make him understand. The resistance of Legolas’ body was just not enough to hold him back, and he groaned in pleasure. “Only mine.” That tender flesh squeezed around him perfectly as Legolas gasped, making him moan the last word against Legolas’ hair. “Only mine,” he repeated, less forceful this time, but with just as much conviction. But the youth didn’t understand.

“I am yours,” he replied softly, and Glorfindel finally met Legolas’ eyes. He didn’t want to do it – he never wanted to do it – but as he looked on Legolas’ features, seeing his uncertainty and confusion… he had to stop pretending. Slowly, he brushed the back of his hand down Legolas’ face. So beautiful, so perfect. Down further, over his neck and chest, so that the youth arched up into his touch. So responsive, so wonderful. At last, he stopped the movement of his hand when he reached Legolas’ flat stomach. He imagined what was beneath, but it was different now. Elrond made it different. He, Glorfindel, made it different. Or perhaps they all did.

“And what of this?” he asked, so softly and tenderly that Legolas gasped. He rubbed his hand over the warm skin thoughtfully, but he knew his mind had decided already. He shook his head and hid his face in the youth’s hair. “What of this?” he repeated sorrowfully, knowing that nothing Legolas could say would make it go away.

“I am so sorry, my Lord,” Legolas began, shaking in his arms. “I want it to be –” Glorfindel looked up again at that, and Legolas stopped short, revising his words. His eyes shone with tears, and he closed them briefly. “I want it too.” There was no doubt what he meant, that he wanted the child to be theirs, but it wasn’t enough. If Glorfindel could make it enough, he would, but none of his reasoning would enable him to accept it – he knew that now. Even if the child were his, all of Legolas’ pregnancy would torture him. He would become angry and resentful, and yet for now, he still loved… He recognised his feelings at last, when it was too late, and they still couldn’t change anything.

“It is not enough,” he whispered regretfully, as if it was a confession of sin, and Legolas cried then. Glorfindel held him while he sobbed, both of them wishing without hope for a change. But what could change? They made love to each other as dawn threw it’s golden light over them. The world began another day… and it felt like goodbye.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Legolas was no longer crying, but Glorfindel did not need to see tears to know what the youth felt. Every look, every touch was a plea to be forgiven, to be allowed to stay – and Glorfindel wanted it more than anything else.

Yet he could not, and deep in his heart, Legolas understood. They dressed slowly, as if both felt reluctant to leave the bed they might just have shared for the last time, and when it was time for Legolas to nurse Gîl, he took his time with that as well, holding the child in his arms for a long time after he was finished.

“Legolas...” Glorfindel finally said, and the youth sighed as if in despair, his grip on Gîlríon tightening for a moment, and Glorfindel thought he understood. “You will continue to nurse him until he is weaned, and you can of course play with him during the day.” Glorfindel smiled when Legolas kissed Gîl’s head with obvious relief, but then, suddenly, he felt bitter jealousy when he imagined Legolas standing just like that, with a dark-haired child in his arms.

“But,” he continued, his voice dark and menacing now, so that Legolas looked up in fearful surprise, “you will not take him to Elrond’s rooms. If you want to see him, it will happen here – do you understand?”

Glorfindel began walking towards him, and he nodded instantly, his eyes wide. When he reached the youth, Glorfindel put out his hand to touch Legolas’ face. With some surprise, he found he had to unclench his fist to do so. Legolas trembled, and yet he closed his eyes in trust, and Glorfindel found himself wanting to take the youth again. Just once more. But he was aware that if he did it would never end, and they would finish hating each other.

“Yes, my Lord. Of course… this is his home.” Legolas stopped speaking then, choking, looking down suddenly. Glorfindel sighed, and Legolas glanced up again, desperate tears in his eyes.

“Please! Can you not punish me? Just let me stay, my Lord! I’ll endure it, whatever you decide is enough…” Glorfindel shook his head at the idea, and he growled at the thought this could all come down to a question of atonement. “Please…”

“Punish you?” Glorfindel laughed coldly and looked away. “But what should I punish you for?” Legolas didn’t answer. “Betrayal?” His lips twisted in a strange attempt at a smile as he turned his gaze on Legolas again. “Did you betray me, Legolas?” he asked menacingly, and as expected, Legolas whimpered and shook in fear already. He grasped a handful of hair, and the youth almost screamed. Glorfindel squeezed his eyes tightly shut, as if in regret, and his hand became gentle and soothing when he was confronted by Legolas’ fear.

“I do not know, my Lord,” he confessed in misery, but Glorfindel only sighed.

“Hush, aras neth,” he said softly, with a faint undercurrent of amusement even now, stroking over the silver hair until the youth calmed and his trembling subsided. “There can be no punishment, Legolas.” He looked down at Gîl, now sleeping, and then lifted Legolas’ chin to look into his eyes. Glorfindel smiled, but there were tears in his eyes too now. “I am sorry.”

Legolas nodded once more, and Glorfindel finally let him go. He debated what to do. There was nothing else to say, nothing else to stay for. It was torturing them both to prolong it, he decided then, and so he left. He didn’t return until early in the morning, having spent the day wandering out in the open air with his horse, and by then, Legolas was gone too.

Legolas had not hastened to Elrond’s rooms this time. Instead, he walked slowly, completely lost in thoughts, and as he ignored everyone whom he met on his way, he was ignored in return as well.

He could not really believe that now, he had truly lost Glorfindel for good – and so he made himself think about other things instead. About how his Lord had cried when they had made love that last time. About how he loved to watch the bright sunshine in Glorfindel’s and Gîl’s hair. About... about how he would never again be woken by his Lord’s passion for him –

He sobbed once, the loud sound startling him so much that he gasped and looked around, but there had been no one in the corridor to witness his pain.

Legolas forced himself to walk on, holding himself proudly upright. He would not let anybody see his pain – their pain. It was a private thing, this pain, shared between he and Glorfindel only, and like a treasure he would keep it deeply buried in his heart, to only take it out again in times of need. Despite everything, this was theirs alone, and it would always stay so. No other could understand or intrude in this kind of pain – not even Elrond.

It was no comfort at all, Legolas thought – but it would have to do. There was nothing else now.

At least there were no more tears. They would have been wasted, as there could be no regret now – regret would only hurt both of them even more. Legolas felt numb, and he almost hoped that he could find a way to keep this feeling – yet he knew that all too soon, it would pass and once more make way for a pain that would break his heart, if he was not careful.

He did not knock this time when he reached Elrond’s rooms; instead he simply slipped inside as if they were his rooms – and that was true now, he thought. Slowly he made his way towards what would from now on be his only bed; feeling as if he were sleepwalking – wishing this was only a dream.

“Legolas?” He didn’t turn to face Elrond, but he sighed and stopped moving as he felt the Lord embracing him. He closed his eyes.

“Neither you nor Glorfindel was present at dinner,” Elrond stated. So – Glorfindel had not felt like eating either. Legolas opened his eyes again and looked at Elrond blankly. “What happened, pen neth?”

“Nothing,” he replied in a monotone, and then tried to break free of Elrond’s grip, but the Lord wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he felt familiar lips on his and he began to struggle helplessly. “No! Please!” The assault carried on, and Legolas laughed as he tried to push Elrond away from him. Then… then he cried while he held Elrond close. At last the Lord seemed to realise something was wrong, because he backed off.

“Don’t you want me?” Legolas asked forlornly, feeling disorientated and lost. “I thought you did,” he continued in the same dreamy manner, wishing for something like insanity to save him.

“What is wrong? Did he hurt you?” Elrond frowned at him as though he would see the answers in Legolas’ eyes.

“Hurt…?” Legolas tried not to breathe as a wave of something that was very physical came over him. Oh, it hurt! “Yes!” He sobbed again as he was pulled against the Lord, resting his head on Elrond’s shoulder. But his strange mood left, and he thought clearly. Before Elrond rushed off to ‘deal’ with Glorfindel, he ought to say what had happened, he thought. At least, some of it.

“He knew about the child,” Legolas said sadly. “Somehow he knew. And now… Now it’s over.”

He rested a hand thoughtfully over his belly while Elrond did the usual things. He led Legolas to sit on the side of the bed, and then made him tea, finally holding him close silently. Eventually someone had to speak, and Legolas was determined that it should be Elrond.

“Whatever he said, pen neth,” Elrond began softly. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Legolas laughed again, still resting his hand in the same place. Now he looked down. “No, I know he doesn’t,” Legolas sighed, remembering how upset Glorfindel had seemed – how he had said sorry, and a fresh wave of the strange pain and heartbreak washed over him. But then he felt anger, and his voice when he spoke was full of fury. “He hates this!” he declared in contempt, glaring down at his hand. “And so do I!”

At that, Elrond’s expression changed to one of fury. Legolas had never seen Elrond like this before, but he only laughed, because what was there left to fear, now that he had lost Glorfindel?

“How dare you!” Elrond said, his voice trembling with rage. “How dare you do this to a child after what your own father did to you! I once heard you tell Glorfindel that your child will always know that it is loved, no matter what happens, because you know so well just how much it hurts to be despised by your family. Is that only true now for Gîlríon? Shall my child grow up like you did, Legolas? Hated by his father for something that is not his fault? For something that was completely out of his power?”

Furious, Elrond pulled away from Legolas, stalking through the room in agitation, finally coming to rest at the window. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but still he was almost trembling from the strength it took to force himself to stay still.

“You did not hate Gîlríon then, when you came here,” he finally said, sounding a little calmer now, although he still refused to turn around and look at Legolas. “And yet Gîl was the product of a rape, and it was his fault that you were exiled by your own father.”

His words were met by silence, and his anger returned when Legolas refused to react to his words. Yet finally, a sob broke the silence, and when he turned around in surprise, he found that Legolas’ strange, detached calm had finally gone, and that Legolas had hidden his face in his hands, sobbing with such deep despair as if he had just lost everything.

And that was the truth, Elrond remembered then, and the rage left him when he saw the youth fall apart before him.

“Hush, Legolas,” he whispered, hurrying back to his side to pull him into his arms. “I am sorry I was so angry. I know you did not really mean what you said – but you must remember that you are talking about a child, just like Gîl is, and I cannot bear it to hear you talk like that!”

“I am sorry!” Legolas sobbed, “I am so sorry! I do not want to be like my father, never that! I am so sorry! But I just... I cannot...” He gasped for air, almost choking on his sobs. “I do not want to hate it, but what if I cannot... what if...” He cried harder with such despair that for a moment, Elrond did not know what to say.

“Things will change, Legolas. This is just a moment. You feel that, don’t you? Moments pass, and even years are moments too, for us.” Legolas calmed a little at the tone of Elrond’s voice, and he wondered if the Prince even heard his words. “Glorfindel loves you, Legolas. You must know that.” Elrond thought about saying it, about telling Legolas how he knew. He loves you so much he was going to make you choose. But he never had the chance to speak.

“I know he loves me,” Legolas said softly. “That’s why it hurts like this.” Elrond held him while his trembling and sobs quietened, and at last he realised Legolas had fallen asleep in his arms. The Lord undressed him and covered him with the silken sheets, stopping once he had done to reach down and touch the Prince’s face.

“It is just a moment,” Elrond said then, tenderly, and in his sleep, Legolas almost seemed to smile.

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The music was captivating, as always when it was these two elves. Legolas sighed and leaned back in the comfortable chair, smiling a little. He rested his hand over the slight swell of his belly, which was still barely noticeable as yet, and wondered if the child could hear the beautiful combination of flute and harp.

It had been around two months since Glorfindel had sent him away. It was the longest moment of his life so far, he thought wryly, but as always now, he schooled his mind away from the hurt. It pleased him that he hadn’t begun to hate the child. How could he have thought such a thing? It seemed like silliness now.

He was alone at the moment, while Elrond went over some discussion or other with Erestor on the other side of the hall. How things had changed in such a short time, he reflected. He still didn’t have what he would call friends, but at least now he was accustomed to being given respect by others. Attitude, he found, was the key, and he cultivated it… with the Lord Elrond’s help.

As he let his gaze drift over the assembled elves, feeling at peace, if not perfectly happy – he came across Glorfindel. The Lord was staring at him again. Legolas smiled a little, but when Glorfindel did not smile back he looked away.

How had this happened? After he was sent away, he was free to enter Glorfindel’s rooms to be with Gîl, and his Lord never refused him entry. When Glorfindel was there, although nothing ever happened between them, the Lord was still polite and interested in him. Often Glorfindel enquired after his health, and made sure to remark on how his new behaviour was making Imladris better inclined towards him.

But there was never anything truly personal. Nothing of feeling. He would have been hurt by that if he didn’t realise that it meant Glorfindel still loved him. As he still loved Glorfindel. Thinking that, he lifted his eyes again, to look if he could not touch – but Glorfindel was gone. And now the pair of musicians who were his favourites were taking a break too.

Perhaps he should retire early. He was becoming more easily tired, and without the music to soothe him, he would no doubt start nagging at Elrond to leave. It was difficult to control his lust sometimes. Before when the pregnancy had affected him, he had Glorfindel to satisfy him, and so he had hardly noticed his wantonness. Now, it was more of a burden to him.

Calling over a servant, he asked the elf to inform his Lord that he was leaving early, and then got up to walk slowly from the hall, already wondering how he would occupy himself until Elrond came back to their rooms.

He sighed almost as if in despair when as soon as he had left, the familiar need assaulted him. It was not as if Elrond did not satisfy him – he was just not as aggressive and demanding as Glorfindel. During his first pregnancy, the only difference really had been that he had enjoyed Glorfindel’s demands even more, but with Elrond it now felt as if he were the one to initiate things all the time.

It was a little embarrassing still, even though he trusted Elrond, and although the Lord seemed always delighted to give Legolas what he wanted; Legolas could not help but feel somewhat uncomfortable at his neediness.

Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like with both... Right now, it seemed like he was made for that, satisfying them both, as if that was what his body wanted. But he could only have one now, and all he had of the other were his memories, and his dreams.

Legolas had slowed down and now found himself standing in front of a window in an empty corridor, looking out into the gardens without really seeing anything. With some embarrassment he realised that thinking about what it would be like to still serve them both had aroused him – yet again. He sighed helplessly and pressed his palm to his aching flesh, wondering how he would survive until Elrond had the time to follow him. He could take care of this himself, of course – but it was far less satisfying than to find his pleasure at Elrond’s hands. If he touched himself, it would only take a few minutes until he would ache for Elrond’s touch again...

He moaned softly, thoughtlessly stroking himself for a moment as he lost himself in thoughts of what he could make Elrond do to him, and then he gasped when he realised that he was no longer alone.

Glorfindel stood next to him now, his face an emotionless mask, and Legolas flushed a bright red.

“I... my Lord!” he gasped, quickly pulling his hand away. Glorfindel had seen him do far worse things than just touch himself through his robes – but with the way things were between them now, he thought that he would rather have been surprised by Erestor.

Despite what had happened, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Glorfindel.

When Glorfindel only continued to stare at him, Legolas began to feel nervous. “I d-did not know you were there, my Lord,” he stammered uselessly, as he wondered how long Glorfindel had been watching him. For a moment Glorfindel looked like he would say something – Legolas waited, watching him with eyes that felt large as saucers, beginning to feel flushed and aroused by his proximity – but then, instead, Glorfindel smirked.

He was unresisting and pliant when Glorfindel pulled him close. Oh, it felt like heaven! To be close again after all this time. It made him feel dizzy and weak – Glorfindel’s body heat next to his, surrounded by him again, so large and overwhelming... and something else. Legolas moaned in helpless lust as the evidence of Glorfindel’s desire pressed into his lower body.

It was like melting, he thought incoherently, forgetting everything but the way Glorfindel felt pressed against him. When the Lord kissed him, it felt like coming home. Legolas surrendered completely, whimpering as Glorfindel dominated his mouth so thoroughly it made him want to weep.

Then he was turned around, so that he stared out of the window again. Glorfindel was behind him now, his hands curling around Legolas’ body, slipping under his robes until he felt the electric touch of Glorfindel’s fingertips against the front of his leggings. Not far enough down, though, just brushing over the slightly stretched skin of his belly as if to torment him.

Quivering, Legolas stared outside, and saw a couple taking a stroll through the gardens. They didn’t look up at the window – why should they? He heard the music strike up in the hall again, and hoped it would mean no one ventured out. He realised he could once more feel how huge and hard Glorfindel was behind him, even through the combined material of his robes and leggings.

“Ohh…” he gasped out. He had dreamed of this for so long, wanted it every time he visited Gîl – but it was so much more than he could have anticipated. I still belong to him, Legolas thought with a moan. Then he thought for an instant about the relationship they shared now, and he wondered if this would change it. Glorfindel’s hands changed position, venturing behind him, moving aside the robes with a clear intention.

“Please, my Lord!” Legolas whispered urgently. For he knew that as much as he wanted Glorfindel – he didn’t want to endanger the friendship they had. “Please don’t…”

“And why not?” Glorfindel asked, finally speaking at last, while his hands continued to bare Legolas to his touch… to his need. Despite his words, Legolas leaned forward already in acquiescence, his palms flat against the cold of the window, his heated breath fogging the glass so that he couldn’t see out anymore. As much as he wanted to feel his Lord again, he had changed, and he didn’t want to be used like this. He didn’t want to lose Glorfindel’s friendship or respect by allowing it.

“Because –” Legolas gasped again when he felt Glorfindel touching his bare skin now, and moaned in a mixture of regret and desperate need when one hot, oiled finger delved between his buttocks to test him. “Because I love you!”

The low, amused chuckle behind him almost made him fall. Oh, how he had dreamed of this! “But roch neth,” Glorfindel purred confidentially. “That is why you will allow me to do whatever I want.”

Legolas almost sobbed. It was the truth, he knew it; but he still did not want this... did he?

His body quivered beneath Glorfindel’s touch, greeting every brush of fingers with little explosions of pleasure, and Legolas moaned when Glorfindel’s finger ceased the delicious torture. No, he did not want this – but his body did.

“Please!” he begged again, although he was no longer certain what he was begging for. He could not think clearly anymore, all he knew was that he needed to feel Glorfindel take possession of him, and that he should not, could not allow it! Not if he wanted to keep Glorfindel as a friend!

“Don’t do this...” he whispered helplessly, although his voice already trembled with desire. Glorfindel was positioning himself, and to feel how hard he was, how much Glorfindel must need him, made him moan once more.

“I don’t want it to change... I don’t want to make it worse,” he whispered, a first tear falling while his body seemed to act of its own accord, his back arching so that he could feel Glorfindel teasing at his opening. “Don’t make it hurt more, my Lord!” he begged again, “It is so painful already, to be without you...”

“I won’t hurt you, roch neth...” Glorfindel purred, completely disregarding Legolas’ plea. “I could not hurt you, you want me too much for that...”

Legolas’ dismayed moan was more agreement than protest, and when Glorfindel finally slid inside, it truly did not hurt, just like the Lord had promised. Yet nevertheless, Legolas was crying again, the tears running down his face as he stared unseeingly at the fogged window. “I love you,” he sobbed, and then he cried out when Glorfindel hit just the right place.

“I know, roch neth... I know,” Glorfindel whispered sadly into his ear, and then he was silent, taking Legolas with slow, deep thrusts while the sweet notes of harp and flute wove around them.

It didn’t take long for Glorfindel to pick up the pace though, and Legolas moved his hands to the windowsill for fear he would be pushed through the glass. This wasn’t like the games Elrond played – this was truly being used – to stand still with his legs wide apart while Glorfindel filled him up, mastering his body. But for as much as he didn’t want it – he did want it, and his body encouraged Glorfindel to continue even as he pleaded for the Lord to stop with his words.

“Please,” he moaned as Glorfindel thrust into him, losing his breath when he pulled out again. “Stop!” But the Lord didn’t stop, and Legolas couldn’t hate him for it – he could only love.

“As much as I love to hear you plead, Legolas,” Glorfindel said darkly, “you have to be quiet or we will be discovered.” And then one of Glorfindel’s large hands was over his mouth, muffling his words, and his protests, and his moans when he felt fingers curling around his member, the thin cloth of his leggings still there at the front of him, still a barrier to Glorfindel’s touch.

The music was so incongruous to what was happening, the peaceful serene melody was a mockery as he felt his own violent need for Glorfindel taking him over. He begged for more now behind the hand that covered his mouth, and then he felt the Lord’s fist against him, his knuckles dragging softly up Legolas’ length so that he might have whimpered if he could at the menace of Glorfindel’s action, and the pleasure it gave to him.

“Come for me now,” Glorfindel commanded, and Legolas’ body responded as it always had, squeezing around the Lord so that he groaned quietly against Legolas’ shoulder as he began to empty himself into Legolas’ body.

How he remained standing, Legolas would never know – but he did – and he took it all, trembling in Glorfindel’s grip as he felt the warmth within him that meant Glorfindel had spent himself. It made him feel cheap at the same time as he felt jubilant, because he had wanted to please Glorfindel.

He hissed when Glorfindel pulled out of him and tidied up his clothes. He was turned away from the window at last, and the Lord pushed him back against the wall. With some wonder, Legolas realised the same melody was playing, and he couldn’t believe how quickly it had all happened. Glorfindel smiled at him, and he closed his eyes against it, because he just wasn’t sure if they were still friends. But what else could they be? Enemies? Legolas remembered how he had told Glorfindel he loved him – and realised then it was the first time he had been able to say it. Would the Lord taunt him with it now?

But Glorfindel only chuckled. “You love it… you know you do,” he whispered into Legolas’ ear as if he was revealing a secret, and Legolas whimpered because it was the truth.

“Don’t hate me,” he begged softly, forcing himself to open his eyes again although he was trembling now, fearing that this would have changed things between them.

“Hate you...?” Glorfindel slowly repeated as if he were tasting the words on his tongue. “Hate you... no, I don’t hate you.” He smirked, leaning forward so his cheek brushed Legolas’, and laughed softly when the youth gasped. “Be careful, Legolas,” he threatened softly. “You already know that I do not care if you want it or not. The next time I find you in a corridor, the gardens, the stables or the library, and see you so obviously begging for it... I’ll take what I want again. And don’t try to hide, aras neth... We both know that you love it to fall to the hunter’s sword – to my sword!”

“Oh...” Legolas moaned, feeling flushed and weak and overcome with a strange excitement at Glorfindel’s threatening words. Helplessly he leaned forward, drawn to Glorfindel’s lips by a need out of his control, but just when he wanted to take the kiss he so longed for, Glorfindel moved back, and Legolas cried out softly at the loss of his body’s heat.

“Be careful, aras neth...always!” Glorfindel purred darkly, and then he was gone. Still breathless, Legolas found himself all alone in the hallway, and while he was still trying to understand what had just happened, the music in the Hall of Fire wound to an end, the last trembling notes reverberating through the hallway while the sound of Glorfindel’s steps died away in the distance.

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aras neth - young deer