Gifts of the Valar.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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The day passed pleasantly and as they gathered for dinner, Alexandra noticed her husband had not joined them.

“What did you do with Legolas?” she asked Vanurion, Rumil and Erestor, who had searched the tower with him.

“I have not seen him since we cleared the tower,” Erestor replied. The others shrugged.

“He was heading back downstairs when last I saw him,” said Rumil. “Perhaps he decided to take watch for a bit.”

“Surely he would have said something,” she said. “I’m going to look for him.” In her heart she could feel him so she knew he was safe. Still, uneasiness nagged at her.

“I will accompany you,” Orophin and Glorfindel said at the same time.

She looked from one to the other and laughed. “I’ll be fine. No boogeyman is going to jump out and get me.”

“I do not know what a ‘boogeyman’ is,” Glorfindel replied as he stood from where he had been putting another log on the fire, “but I would feel better if you did not stray too far alone. With Goroth loose and whatever it is that stalks Charika moving through the place, it is best if none of us go anywhere alone.”

She sighed. “I seem to recall a conversation recently about the over-protectiveness of Elves.” The others had the good grace to look somewhat chagrined and she smiled smugly then went in search of her husband.

Alexandra scoured the tower where Legolas had last been seen to no avail, finally reaching the gallery that topped each of the three tall structures. It was terribly cold up here and the cause became immediately apparent. The door to the roof was open.

She navigated the path to the other side of the gallery and climbed out into the frigid night air. Legolas stood near the edge of the rooftop, looking out across the white landscape. There was no snow falling today, and the sky was clear, the stars shining like diamonds on a black velvet background. He did not turn so she could not see his smile.

“Ah, my love. It is a beautiful night, is it not?”

“Yes,” she said. “We’ve missed you inside. Have you been up here all day?”

The prince turned to her and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker behind her husband’s eyes.

“A good part of it. I found things of interest and did not notice the passage of time.” He noticed Alexandra remained standing near the doorway back into the tower. “Well, my love. I trust you have had an interesting day.”

“It was pleasant enough,” she said warily. Something was different about her husband, but she could not put a finger on it. “Come inside, Legolas. It’s time for dinner, and I’ve missed your company today.”

“Oh, I am sure you have had adequate companionship in my absence,” he replied, his eyes flicking over her body then back to meet hers. The woman felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Something was definitely wrong with Legolas.

She smiled nervously. “I always enjoy our friends; but I want my husband with me always.” She could sense him in her heart, but there was something else there, something she didn’t recognize; something angry.

Legolas smiled and walked over to her, his feet leaving no sign in the snow. She had seldom seen Elves in snow, though she knew they were light of foot. She’d always thought it somewhat fascinating that they could walk on top of the snow or sand without leaving tracks. Now, however, it just seemed eerie.

She hurried down the steps ahead of him, glad to be on solid flooring when her husband arrived by her side.

“We will join the others shortly,” Legolas told her. “I have a hunger that will not be satisfied by food,” he added softly, though instead of giving her a feeling of comfort and desire, his words chilled her.

“Legolas, are you alright? Are you injured?” she asked warily.

“Come, wife. Is that any way to greet me after being separated all day?” The beautiful smile on his face did not reach his eyes and her mind warned her to be careful. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her close and kissing her lightly. “I have missed you. You were all I could think about during my solitary musings today.” His arm slipped around her waist and he rested his cheek against her hair. “The day has been filled with visions and thoughts of you. Of your arms, your lips, your body; the scent of your passion, the taste of your kisses, the sound of your cries as you achieved bliss.” He did not mention that his visions and thoughts had been of her engaging in illicit encounters with his fellow Elves … or of her body on its knees, bound and stretched over a saddle, open to his use.

His words should have been comforting and should have called to her through their bond, but she felt nothing there. It was as though he were simply saying what she wanted to hear, but did not feel it. She sought him in her heart and found his love as well as an underlying current of coldness and anger. Where being embraced by his strong arms had always brought security and comfort, she now felt trapped and frightened and her unease was blossoming into full-blown panic. She gently tried to extricate herself from his arms and found herself held in a steel grip.

“What, my sweet,” his voice was at once gentle and frightening. “Does my touch not please you?”

“I fear you are unwell, my love,” she tried to answer calmly, but knew he would be able to sense her anxiety.

“Oh, I assure you, I am clear-headed and capable.” His choice of words struck her as odd. When she looked into his eyes she thought she saw an icy fury that caused her heart to almost stop. There was nothing of her beloved in that gaze; no tenderness, no love, no mercy.

“Legolas, release me. You are not yourself.” She tried to speak firmly and not let her panic show.

His smile was beautiful and terrible and a part of her brain told her this was the last thing his enemies saw; she was reminded that her husband, a noble, warm, loving Elven prince, was also a lethal, cold, efficient Elven assassin.

He did not speak, but walked through a door leading to one of the rooms off of the main hallway, dragging her effortlessly along with one arm, his dagger, she suddenly saw, held casually in his other hand. Kicking the door closed behind him he suddenly twisted her around so her back was to him, his arm holding her like a vise.

She could feel his breath against her cheek as he delicately nuzzled her neck.

“Perhaps you prefer not to see me when I hold you; if I am behind, you can visualize anyone you like.” The knife point pressed against her lower belly and he used it to slice through the lacing of her leggings. Panic turned to horror as she realized his intention. He sheathed the dagger, out of her reach, and with one swift move, yanked her leggings down, exposing her smooth hips and thighs.

“Legolas, you don’t want to do this,” she said shakily. Not like this, please, she thought. Still, she craved her husband’s touch---her body had known nothing but bliss from his and, despite his current evil mood, she could not help but respond, as though she thought he might find himself in their joining.

“Oh, but I do,” he answered as he bit her neck; not a lovers nip, but one meant to convey dominance. He pushed her forward against the table in the center of the room, kicking her legs apart. She grasped the wooden surface for balance, the edge digging into her flesh. She could feel it gouging her belly along the sharp corner over which she was pressed, the discomfort serving to distract her momentarily.

Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed the encounter immensely. But his words sent a chill through her. It was one matter to say things in the heat of passion; however, the coldness in his voice terrified her.

She prayed this torture would soon end, although her body still craved her husband’s. They had always enjoyed a very imaginative and varied physical relationship; but right now, she wanted simply to hold him and heal whatever wounds had been inflicted on his soul, causing his desire for her to become twisted.

He began to unlace his leggings; he would show her that he could use his body to punish as effectively as he used it for pleasure. But something in his heart stayed his hand. Was he actually going to rape his own wife? The thought repulsed him and he tore himself from her and left her bent over the table trying to catch her breath. When she managed to secure her leggings and turn to face him, he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as calm and beautiful as ever. But the eyes that regarded her from that angelic face were cold and his voice lacked any warmth.

“Forgive me, my love,” he said coolly. “I did not mean to frighten you. I have simply missed you today and I have craved your touch. Perhaps I was too enthusiastic in my attempt to satisfy my yearning for my beautiful wife.”

She moved slowly toward the door her eyes on her husband. He looked the same: handsome, calm, the picture of Elven grace and strength. Still, there was something different that spoke to her on a deeper level than mere looks or words.

Legolas watched the woman he had married and saw the fear and confusion in her eyes. A part of him cried out that he was frightening her. But the insidious voice that now shared his body and his mind---the voice that had spoken with him so much during the day, it now seemed to be his own---reminded him of the visions his mind had conjured and twisted and slipped into the prince’s subconscious thoughts. It did not matter that they were not real; once the suggestion was placed, it could not be completely avoided. Some of the false memories had been quite beautiful, in a terrible way. The sweetest memory, though, had been of her tied helplessly to stakes as he took her roughly. Her body felt so good when it fought his.

Legolas caught himself. That was not one of his memories. He tried to focus on it, but his new friend whispered in his head that it was indeed something he had enjoyed very much and soon the part of Legolas that still belonged to himself was suppressed for the time being and the other part held free rein.

He watched and knew she was trying to get out of the door. He did not make any threatening moves; he didn’t have to. She knew he was quicker and stronger than her. Normally, they were evenly matched, but she had never faced strength fueled by Elven wrath. When she reached out to open the door, he did not try to stop her. She pulled it open and stepped back into the hallway.

Legolas gave a small laugh and she was suddenly unsure of what had just happened. Her love for her husband caused her to immediately grasp at any explanation that would fit within their perfect relationship. Perhaps the atmosphere of the place had affected her more than she thought and she had mistaken his actions. They were never shy with their sport in private and at times it was quite … aggressive. Maybe she was finding threats where there were none.

“Come, my lady. Let us leave this place. I long to eat and drink and hold my wife.” He placed a hand against the small of Alex’s back in what appeared outwardly to be a husbandly gesture of affection. However, she could not help but flinch at his touch, thinking how it would only take a slight bit of pressure and he could easily push her down one of the flights of stairs leading down the height of the tower. She dared to glance at Legolas as they descended and, although he looked as beautiful as ever, the eyes that met hers, and the smile he gave her, seemed, just for a brief second, to be full of ice and anger and … malice.

She shuddered and thought she saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he recognized her fear before he turned his attention to the Elves gathered in the dining hall. His smile was guileless and his expression one of good humor as he greeted the others of their group.


Alexandra was wary of Legolas, though she would not say anything around the others. She did not understand why he was so angry with her; it was as if he enjoyed her pain and fear. His actions brought to mind the things he’d told her about Morgoth’s temptations. Had the fallen Vala somehow insinuated himself into her husband’s psyche? She needed to speak to Glorfindel, but with Legolas in his present mood, she could not find an opportunity that did not entail the risk of increasing her husband’s ire.

She could not eat anything at dinner and noticed Legolas’ eyes occasionally wandering over to her. At times his gaze was pure and loving; at others, it chilled her with its coldness.

For his part, her husband could not understand her reticence. He was trying to ask her what was wrong. He had only snippets of memory after going into the tower with Vanurion, Erestor and Rumil, mainly of how good the fresh air felt on his skin atop the roof. He was not aware of time passing and when he tried to remember, nothing came other than Rumil leaving him in the tower, standing on the roof, something in a room with Alexandra …

He could not remember what had occurred, but he had an odd feeling about it. The looks she gave him were cautious and she seemed to be frightened of … him? The part of him that was still her bondmate wept for the pain and suspicion he saw in her eyes. That part of him could still find her love and faithfulness, now tinged with fear and hurt, in the bond they shared. He did not understand what had happened to bring about this change and when he thought on it, he found it difficult to concentrate.

The one who was inside of Legolas, however, knew exactly what was going on. The fear in the bitch’s eyes was sweet and satisfying; if her troublesome husband would just cooperate, this adventure could turn out quite to his liking. He had discovered the young prince had a touch of insecurity where his wife was concerned. Apparently he had pondered the possibility that she could be tempted by Elven beauty at some point in his past. All the sinister visitor had to do was encourage those feelings. The little escapade in the upstairs room had been a test and the prince had proven most malleable, not questioning which thoughts were actually his and which were the thoughts of his ‘guest’, though he had balked at the last moment.

There was still time, however. He even imagined elaborate scenarios in which he tortured her creatively before ending her treacherous life. He included his kin and those of the prince’s friends closest to him in his musings. Outwardly, he appeared serene and happy; what they did not know was the contented smiles on his lips were in response to visions in his mind wherein his host’s wife and friends suffered for their sins against him.

The others would be the problem; they were Elves and any slip could rouse their suspicions. He kept a tight rein on his thoughts and was careful to shield them from Glorfindel. The Elf-Lord would be able to recognize the evil that had taken root in Legolas’ soul. He could become a problem if not handled correctly, and could hamper the being’s plans. The golden-haired warrior had the power to thwart his will. If he could somehow get the young prince to send him back to Mandos …

First, though, he would need to have the trust of everyone, especially Alexandra. It was much sweeter to twist the knife in the back when your enemies thought you their friend; and what better revenge than to have the prince be the one responsible for his beloved wife’s gruesome demise? He would be able to take his satisfaction from both of them before the end, and then he would use Legolas to regain his power and punish the others who betrayed him.

Patience had never been one of his virtues and he forced himself to play the part of devoted husband and could feel his ‘wife’ relaxing. Stupid whore; she wanted to believe her beloved husband was safe and sane. He smiled, remembering to let it reach his eyes and kissed her fingertips as the prince often did.

The Elves would not leave the keep until the spring thaw. They would not risk traveling with mortal females through the snows as deep as they were---and would be for several months. He could take his time and savor the sweet taste of vengeance.


Legolas was scheduled to join the watch during the night and for the first time in their marriage, Alex breathed a sigh of relief that her husband would not be with her. His behavior had frightened her in a way such as nothing else she had ever faced. She had often thought on losing him to the sea or to the Elven equivalent of death; even to her own death. The prospect of losing his love, however, had never occurred to her and there had been moments when she thought he hated her in that tower room.

But, since dinner, he had been attentive, loving and she began to question her perception of what had occurred earlier. Still, a bit of time and distance may help her gain some perspective.

Rumil was also taking watch that night, so Alex and Charika stayed together, ostensibly so she could watch over the eastern woman. However, Alexandra was loath to admit she really did not wish to be alone after her recent confusion regarding her husband, and took more comfort from her friend’s presence than Charika likely did from hers.

The days passed and Legolas’ behavior was nothing if not that of her loving, devoted husband, and she began to wonder if she had imagined it all. Perhaps she had misinterpreted his actions; misheard his words. In retrospect, she could not really remember what had been said, likely because she did not want to think her husband would behave so cruelly and such actions were completely out of character for him. His tenderness and passion toward her did not seem diminished in the least and, as the days passed, her memory of the incident in the tower faded into what the mind of a woman in love would wish it to be, not what the mind of a warrior insisted it had been.

Legolas was confused. He had moments when he felt as though foreign thoughts invaded his mind and he was conscious of an uneasiness and sense of danger. Mostly, however, he felt oddly detached, as if he was watching from outside as he interacted with his wife and friends. He wanted to talk to Alexandra about it, but every time he started to bring the subject into conversation, he forgot what he had been going to say and something else came out.

The prince’s ‘guest’ was finding he enjoyed the young Elf’s life and began to rethink his plans for revenge. His ‘host’ was strong and apparently well-liked and respected by his friends, something he himself had never experienced. And the woman’s body was as delightful as he remembered, except this time she welcomed him whenever she took her husband into her. Not even with his favorite concubines had he known what it felt like to be so truly loved as when he joined with her through her husband’s body. Even their quiet moments of companionship were strange and new to him and he caught himself at times wondering how different his life could have been if he had known these simple pleasures.

Then, he would remember the pleasures in which he had indulged and would feel the arousal that an insatiable lust for power could bring. He was pleased to find the woman was not as fragile as most mortals he had known and was an enthusiastic partner in some of his rougher games, though he was careful not to do anything he sensed would be too out of character for the young prince.

He longed for the day when he could indulge his desires, both of the flesh and for vengeance, without inhibition. It would come soon enough. In the meantime, he found the role of devoted husband, tender lover, and faithful friend an interesting change of pace.


Charika sat working on a new gown in the sunny sewing room. Pomea and Durisia were both on watch and Alexandra was off somewhere prowling the keep. Her friend was not much on quiet pursuits except for reading, and had taken to running up and down the many flights of stairs in the towers “to stay in shape”, she explained, though Charika thought Alexandra’s shape just fine, if a bit too ‘strong’; her friend did not have the soft, lush curves prized by men, though, she supposed, Alexandra’s body seemed just right for Elves.

She concentrated on matching the grain of the cloth perfectly so the seams would be virtually invisible, her smooth forehead slightly furrowed as she became absorbed in her task. She did not notice the presence of anyone else in the room until she happened to glance up when she paused to stretch.

The shadow-Elf stood near one of the tables where she cut her patterns. She had become accustomed to his presence and so felt no fear upon seeing him. He had become quite clear to her and if he appeared in a room with the others, she was hard put to tell the difference between him and any of the eastern Elves except for clothing.

Charika smiled at him and he returned the gesture, adding a slight bow. There was no sense of dread or danger as sometimes accompanied his visits and she was inclined to agree with the Elves’ theory that he perhaps came to her in response to the danger at times rather than bringing it with him.

Today he turned his attention to the window where some of the Elves could be seen going about the business of making certain the horses were exercised and fed and the other day-to-day tasks that kept the fortress functioning. She saw him smile when Vanurion passed by with a basket of some sort of stores from one of the outbuildings and she felt a sense of peace and familiarity. This Elf knew Vanurion perhaps?

He watched the activity from the window for a bit and Charika watched him. He had not tried to speak to her since that day Alexandra had first seen him in this room. Of course, she had not asked him anything since then. She opened her mouth to pose a question to see if he could perhaps now speak, but paused as his expression became wary and thoughtful.

She followed his gaze and saw Sarendir speaking to Legolas. Nothing seemed amiss and she looked back to the shadow-Elf. He had not moved and she noted his eyes followed the prince when he walked on to the stables.

“What is wrong?”

The shadow-Elf’s eyes met hers, then moved to Legolas and back. She could see him saying something and she could not hear him clearly, though the fact that she heard anything at all surprised her. It was barely a whisper in her mind and she struggled to understand. It finally occurred to her he spoke a language she did not know, probably Quenya and Rhunian, that peculiar combination the eastern Elves used, though most of them were fluent in Sindarin now. She had barely learned the Elvish tongue, but had always been adaptable and, since living in Ithilien, it was the language she was surrounded by.

“I am sorry, but I do not understand you.” She saw a hint of frustration in his eyes and he looked back to Legolas and repeated one of the words.

“Is Legolas in danger?” she asked and the shadow-Elf looked at her sharply with a short nod, then said something else. She shook her head again. “I do not understand, but I will warn him to be wary.”

At her words, her visitor shook his head and frowned. Why would he not wish Legolas to be warned of danger?

She heard voices in the hall and stood.

“Wait. Glorfindel is here; he can understand your words.” She ran to the door and opened it, calling to the Elf-Lord who was speaking with Haldir. The golden-haired Elf looked up and smiled and she asked if he could come to the sewing room for a moment to answer a question.

Haldir gave her a slight bow then proceeded down the hall as Glorfindel joined her.

The shadow-Elf had not moved and looked at the newcomer with interest. Glorfindel could see him quite clearly and for the first time, the being did not try to fade from view.

“He is trying to tell me something and I think it is about Legolas, but I cannot understand him. I do not speak the language.” Charika seemed embarrassed by what she considered her shortcoming and the Marshal of Imladris smiled.

“I would imagine his language is quite different from yours.” Turning back to the dark-haired visitor he continued. “What is your name?”

He said something Glorfindel could not hear and he looked at Charika. “Neverdeer?” she guessed. It sounded like what she had faintly heard.

“Naveradir?”

The shadow-Elf smiled and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. Glorfindel raised a brow and pondered this new information.

This was the Elf who had journeyed to Cuivienen, drunk the Sacred Waters, been believed killed in a war thousands of years ago; yet here he stood, almost completely solid to Glorfindel’s eyes.

“What is it you are trying to warn the lady about?” he asked. There would be time for questions later. First, he wanted to know what the shadow-Elf---Naveradir---felt Charika needed to know.

The dark-haired Elf looked back out of the window and nodded toward the stable Legolas had entered.

“Gwanwen.”

Charika repeated the word.

Glorfindel frowned. “Legolas is not dead---is he in danger?”

Naveradir closed his eyes and nodded, then looked toward the stable again.

“As gwanwen.”

Charika told Glorfindel what the other Elf said and he tried to understand what was meant.

“Legolas is with a dead Elf?” That made no sense, but Naveradir nodded, then said something else.

Charika stared at him for a moment and Glorfindel turned to look at her. She finally turned her eyes to meet the Elf-Lord’s.

“Goroth.”