Promises Made: Legolas/ Elladan

Meetings
Part One

Legolas dismounted, Estar a heartbeat behind him. The gaze was sweeping. So much and yet so little had changed. Estar stared in awe at the realm he had heard so much about. They finally stood in Imladris after all the planning and pleading.

“It has been overly long.”

Legolas turned abruptly at the well remember voice. “Lord Elrond,” he smiled.

Elrond appraised the young prince who seemed young no longer as he embraced him. There was hard muscle beneath the fabric of a Mirkwood elf though the frame was slighter that those of his sons and shorter, but not by much. From what he had heard, Legolas matched his status as prince with being counted among the elite of Mirkwood’s archers.

“I had hoped to welcome you under better circumstances,” Elrond spoke, his arm still around Legolas, lost in thought as he cast his mind back to the little elfling who had run so excitedly about the halls, trailing behind Elladan as a small shadow. “I would that you had returned to us sooner.”

“It was my wish also, but evil lurks close to our borders, it was not possible to be granted such a luxury.”

Elrond nodded. “These are perilous times for us all,” he agreed quietly, “but let us not dwell on such things, there will be time for that later, now, the road between our homes is long, your company will want to bathe and rest. Rooms and refreshments have been made ready”

“It is most generous of you my lord,” Legolas bowed his head in acknowledgement of the hospitality.

“You and your lieutenant have adjacent rooms,” Elrond added, unsure of the relationship he had heard whispers of.

Estar had waited several steps behind Legolas, smiling as he averted his eyes to the ground. It was generous of the Lord of Imladris to seek to put the two young elves at ease, even if the conclusions drawn on their relationship were in error.

“May I present Estar, my lord, a valued friend as well as a second.”

Estar stepped forward, head bowed as Elrond offered his arm in salute.

Elrond indicated the way with a wave of his hand and the principals moved toward the steps. Their progress was halted part way up by the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones of the courtyard paving. The rider of the jet black horse was dismounted and approaching his lord before many realized the identity of the elf. He bowed his head as he cast aside his hood. Legolas stood stunned for a moment before he recovered himself to stand impassive as he gazed at the so familiar dark hair and sculptured features. He managed to calm the savage beating of his heart as he realized this was Elrohir.

“Ada, I rode ahead,” Elrohir answered to the quizzical gaze, “those that follow bring the injured home,” he paused looking to Legolas then back to his father, “Elladan among them, but none have wounds that would threaten life.”

Estar stared openly at the elf before him, noting with a glance to Legolas his reaction to both the elf and the news. If Elladan in any way resembled his brother, then it was not beyond wonder that he had made so lasting an impression on the young prince. And little wonder that that young prince had fallen in love. Elrohir was striking, dark hair tussled against pale skin, the perfect curve of his jaw and fine bones of his cheeks not marred by the smeared black blood, the supple frame encased in tight leggings and close fitting jacket, the great sword that hug at his waist emphasising the power of his body. Chastising himself, Estar focused back on the voices and activity around him.

Elrond was nodding, turning to convey his instructions to Erestor, who left immediately to prepare what was necessary to accommodate the arriving wounded.

It was only once these messages had been dispatched that Elrohir recognized the presence of Legolas formally. He clasped his arm in greeting then discarded protocol when a beaming prince embraced him. Elrohir stepped back with a smile of his own.

“You have grown,” he announced unnecessarily, admiring openly what his father had done silently.

Legolas laughed, feeling more like the elfling he had been when he had first set foot in the valley. “Much grown,” he agreed, “and much changed.”

Elrohir glanced to the tall elf that stood with Legolas. He was Legolas’ equal in statue and elegance, and with an appraising eye he noted, in beauty. They made an appealing couple, and if the rumours where true, Legolas was indeed grown from the young one who had shown such devotion to his brother. However, it was unmistakable that Legolas glanced repeatedly to the courtyard as Elrohir took over the escort duty to the guests, Elrond hurrying to await the arrival of the rest of the patrol. Stopping by the door to the rooms that Legolas would occupy, Elrohir put a hand on his shoulder.

“You will find Elladan much changed also Legolas, he is not as you remember, much as happened.”

Legolas looked quickly to Estar, his mouth tight as he took in the news.

“We will talk later,” Elrohir continued, “when the weariness of the road has been relieved somewhat.”

Legolas nodded slowly, turning his head sharply as the sound of hooves echoed. Changed or not, grown or nay, there was no mistaking the look in the blue eyes as they scanned the riders.

“It is no grievous wound, or I would not have left him, “Elrohir assured the prince, “it will trouble him some, that is all.”

Legolas nodded absently to the words, his eyes intent on finding the dark haired elf. He felt the closeness, felt his control waiver, felt the attempt to recall his training. His breathing deepened, Estar placed a steadying hand on his arm, neither noticing Elrohir regard them intently.

Elladan held his arm as he dismounted, the stains on his clothing a testament to the number he had slain, and the blood cost of it. His hair was pulled back hard from his face, held by a single leather throng as it flowed long down his back. Legolas was unseen from where he stood, but the brilliant grey eyes scanned the balconies so intensely that he felt the full force of the search. Estar held him, Elrohir unmoved for a moment, catching the swaying elves as they lurched to him. Elladan frowned, unblinking and still until he was lead away. Legolas could feel the uncertainty and the confusion within Elladan, clinging to both Estar and Elrohir as he struggled to regain control. For so long he had felt so little, all of it guarded behind the strength of his training, locked away for his own well being. None of it though had prepared him for the shock waves that had laced through his soul on sighting Elladan once more. And above all that was the ice he had glimpsed from Elladan.

“So cold,” he murmured, shivering at the remnants of the touch.

There was sympathy and understanding in the set of grey eyes that looked at him now, Legolas wondered what he would see in the eyes that matched these.

Legolas lowered himself into the warm water, closing his eyes to inhale the scents of the oils and candles that burnt around the room. The aches of the road gradually seeped away, relaxing his mind and body.

It came as a slow realisation this time, creeping through his thoughts, deadened by the medication given to Elladan to have him sleep. There was the hurt again cutting through the physical pain of the injured arm.

“What happened Elladan,” he whispered, “why did it all change?”

There would be no reply he knew that. In the tangled images that he remembered from so long ago was the answer, he knew that. War and death, tears and heartache, overwhelming loss and destroying guilt.

He is much changed Elrohir had said. The warm caring elf that had given him his first bow, who had watched him while he shot at the far away target, who had held him up as he picked the fruit from the tree, the elf who had had infinite patience as the little elfling followed him all day long was gone. Gone or buried under so much hurt that Legolas could not follow it.


Elrohir watched over his brother. The flesh and muscle had been cut but the bone was whole, small cuts had been dressed. Elladan would suffer no lasting damage but he would not hold a sword nor bow for some time. His brother had been given the sleeping potion before he had been able to speak with him, however, he had few doubts that Elladan was aware of Legolas’ presence upon his arrival, such a tremor from Legolas would not have left his brother untouched. Elrohir swiped a damp cloth over Elladan’s forehead, pushing away stray strands of hair.

Life had given Elladan the means to check his thoughts and feelings. Elrohir had at first seen the joy with which Elladan had sensed the young one, enchanted by the discoveries Legolas made and the excitement of living. Then he had withdrawn, explaining that he had no wish to become a voyeur on a life that held so much promise, that he could not stifle the destiny. Gradually Elladan had sought something that they both knew he would not find with any other. Yet he tried, he tried so very hard. And he had understood when Elladan found him, knew he was taking Elladan into his keeping for only a short time, but he guarded Elladan with such fierceness that at times Elrohir feared for Gelmir’s own happiness. He had so little to worry for, Elrohir sighed as he ran the cloth over Elladan’s cheek. Had Gelmir survived he would have given Elladan to his destiny and gone in search of his own with no regret. But it was not to have been. Elrohir watched the long span of years take away the joy and replace it with deep despair and guilt. Elladan took no pleasure in any activity, shying away from life, standing apart when forced to confront it. Only in battle did he become alive, only when dealing out death would he embrace life. Not careless, that was not the purpose he had explained one day in the face of Elrohir’s admonishment. If he were dead, how could he wreak revenge on those who had taken so much from him he had asked Elrohir and then walked away. No, he would live to kill, it was all that kept his mind blank, stopped him from wondering what might have been. How much Legolas had known of this Elrohir could only guess at, his brother had been rigid in his control, but there were always moments of intense emotion when the guard could slip, and there had been many such moments.

Elrohir sighed, looking up to the elf who stood beside him.

“He sleeps too,” Estar answered with a soft smile, “at last.”

“It will benefit them both,” Elrohir agreed as Estar took his hand in his.

“Let us walk awhile, the night is warm and the stars shine.”

Elrohir took one glance to his restful brother before turning to smile. “Yes.”