Requiescence

Title: Requiescence – Part Seven
Author: Gloromeien
Email: swishbucklers@hotmail.com
Pairing: Legolas/Elrohir
Summary: The hallowed union of our two young gallants comes to pass, and the future beckons bright.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: Characters belong to that wily old wizard himself, Tolkien the Wise, the granddad of all 20th century fantasy lit. I serve at the pleasure of his estate and aim not for profit.
Feedback: Would be delightful.
Dedication: To Eresse, dearest friend, blessed writer, and shrewdest critic. Happy Christmas, indeed.

A/N: My many and grateful thanks to everyone who read, and especially those who took the time to review! More elaborate comments can be found at my live journal, www.livejournal.com/users/gloromeien. I cherish your support and hope you enjoy the conclusion!!

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Requiescence – Part Seven

Imladris, Year 929, Third Age

With a huff of resignation comparable to his Lord Adar’s more sobering gusts, Elladan nudged his heels into the gray’s dew-drenched flanks, as they had just clopped onto the main path from the dense recesses of wood about them. Elrohir, astride infinitely patient Virgor, had halted abruptly but moments before, his fourth such sudden stop in as many tens of minutes, his keen elven senses attentive to every rustle of leaf, every snap of twig, every skitter of squirrel and every chirp of sparrow in the verdant summer forest they ventured through.

The elf-warrior could hardly blame his impractically anxious twin for his manic eagerness. From the first bay of the sentry horn the previous afternoon, Elrohir had been fitful, rash, and painfully distracted, until he was so adorably, so uncharacteristically witless at the conference table that their father had given him leave to ride out, with Elladan as both his second and his security. He doubted he would have behaved with any more poise than his befuddled brother had he been awaiting the advent of his twenty-nine year betrothed in a procession sure to rival ‘The March of Gilganeth Triumphant’ for pomp. Yet twas not the opulence nor the glory of such a display that compelled him to a pre-emptive rendezvous with the Greenwood party, but merely the chance to reunite with his beloved but a few scant hours prior to their arrival. To embrace with him for the first time in nearly three decades not before a crowd of curious well-wishers, as was sure to gather in the courtyard and by the gates, but in the company of familiars by the roadside, where they could express the full, flourishing ardor of their devotion.

Who could reproach one so dear to him as his own twin the opportunity to revel in that sacred moment of reunion? Only the stingiest of brothers would not deem to escort him forth, would balk at his repeated, futile stops as they scoured the woods for a glimpse of the Greenwood goldenrods. Indeed, he would have accompanied him if only to witness their joy himself, though he was also charged by their sire with guarding his nervous one, who was so riled at present that he could barely navigate through a forest he once could have mapped blindfolded. Such was the thrall of his love for his princely archer, such was his hot anticipation of the ceremony whose precise and immovable date of Midsummer’s Eve had been confirmed by an officious writ from the Greenwood King but six short weeks before. Elrohir’s incredible endurance through his beloved’s absence would finally be rewarded with the binding he had dreamt of for the lion’s share of his nearly eight hundred years and none could be more thrilled than Elladan, save perhaps the elf-knight himself, for these last few years had been tense for them all.

Elrohir had expected, and rightly so, that the dawn of Laurith’s majority would light the way towards his marriage, but dire circumstance had delayed the union for three further cycles of the seasons. As lately as the last crisp of spring, the Lord Elrond had received yet another screed detailing the insurmountable reasons for another postponement. From the minor affront some of the dwarven miners had taken to an advisor’s comments during their negotiations to the major threat of a potential civil war among the man tribes of Esgaroth, the times were simply not meet for a massive portion of the Greenwood nobility to venture to Imladris for a sojourn of over three vital summer months. At first, their Adar had wondered if the King’s early-quashed desire to hold the ceremony in his remote realm had been the impetus for his reluctance, but Legolas’ letters were naught but frank, underlining his father’s wisdom and encouraging Elrohir to keep faith. Yet when not a note from the Prince had been coupled with this latest advisement of delay, dissent had been most explicitly implied. His brother had agonized over his own response to this silence for the most desolate month Elladan had ever seen him suffer through, until finally Glorfindel had himself personally delivered the scroll – direct from a Greenwood messenger – that had declared their wedding imminent. Twas then that Legolas sent off his own heartening letter to his wrought intended, which his newly ruddy brother had privately savored for weeks after.

Indeed, just the previous evening, as they camped beneath the high boughs in the very same spot where they had so fortuitously battled a cave troll precisely five hundred years earlier, Elrohir had hovered for hours by the plumes of firelight, reviewing the letters from his archer he cherished most, which he lately stowed away in his pack. Their constant correspondence had been so plentiful over the years, Elladan knew that these were just a few sheathes of the reams of parchment he treasured, with a thematically ordered bundle tucked away at various locations he frequented. Little comment need be passed on the in-all-probability crumpled and stained thatch hid in a locked coffer beneath his bed. The vigilant twin had noticed another such container upon the desk in his study, where the more elaborate tales of the archer’s many adventures waited to amuse on a dismal autumn day of containment indoors. A few ponderous writs were stowed beneath the pillows of the window seat he most preferred, where he would sit in pensive contemplation of the resplendent view and of the mysteries of eternity for many a solitary hour. Those in his pack were the most reassuring, necessary reminders of his purpose and his powers after whichever bloody battle he may have joined in, as well as more eloquent troths to soothe him through any injuries he might incur. Elladan had not the slightest notion if Legolas knew his letters were so meticulously kept, nor if even his most casual anecdotes were revisited with obsessive devotion, but he was sure he would be touched to know that his words had such impact upon his beloved, that whenever Elrohir faltered he sought out what meager scraps of care his prince could provide him.

When he had not been determinedly rereading the weathered parchments he had finally had the sense to preserve in wax, Elrohir had been gazing up into the canopy of foliage above them, his look at once tender, reverent, and reflective. No elf as intuitive as Elladan could mistake this for other than what it had been, a vivid re-conjuring of the event that had lead to their most fruitful acquaintance. He himself had taken a moment to stare up into the treetops, remembering his own first glimpse of the brash yet skittish youth who had lingered there to assure himself of the safety of two strange men. He could only imagine how deeply Elrohir had been affected by such visions of Legolas, even as immature as he had been then, an elusive, adolescent savior who he would soon bring home to his heart, who he would call husband for the rest of his days.

The entire night had been affecting for them both. Once his brother’s piety had passed, they had conversed into the wee hours of matters of great, grave, worldly and domestic import, from the generous schedule of cohabitation in their disparate realms their sires had agreed to thoughts on what protective measures needed be both foreseen and implemented in the routine of the patrols that secured their valley. Most dearly of all, they spoke of their parents, of what a sterling example their bond was to them and how they sought to emulate such effluent, yet sage, relations with their own beloveds. Elrohir had even confessed some mild insecurities about his own impeding marriage. While his tendency was towards diplomacy, Legolas was renown for his boldness and his adamancy, which he foresaw might lead to future complications, especially when darker times called them both to action in the wild lands abroad. He had even admitted praying to Manwe for the serenity of spirit that would allow Legolas the adventures he craved, for the strength of character that could center him while his beloved rode out to scout Shadow-stricken woods, or to battle heathen hordes, or to lead a charge that the elf-knight thought the nth of foolishness. While Legolas had lately cast off the impudence of his youth, the lovers had been known to disagree over matters of state, so Elrohir’s concerns were not unfounded. Yet Elladan had been impressed by the measures he had taken to reconcile himself of their differences, which bode well for the peacefulness of their bond. No two husbands ever concurred on every trouble set before them, but if their will to understand and to accept their partner’s opinion was as well practiced as the elf-knight’s, then surely there was no possible dissent that could, for a time, divide them.

At present, twas not their division, but their rejoining that the elf-warrior undertook to effect, though he was not much aided by his twin’s bristling excitement. Indeed, Elrohir was so aquiver with nerves that one could barely discern the mood of the forest about, which would be the most glaring indication of which direction would be the best pursued in their search for the Greenwood settlement. They had set off in the stagnant hour before dawn’s immersion into the tranquil sky, hoping to catch the Silvan company before they took up their road anew, so that they might deck themselves for the formal march into Imladris. This would also give the lovers a most needed chance for a private re-acquaintance; though necessarily chaste – as they had resolved to be in the weeks leading up to their nuptials – the moment would be one of near suffocating emotion for them both, as such best kept from prying eyes.

That Elrohir’s thoughts followed a similar, yet infinitely more scattered, logic was evident, as he all but angered Virgor with his twitching. The seasoned steed, however, was only too aware of his master’s frazzled state, and so barely uttered a snort in protest at his mishandling. Instead, he endeavored to guide both he and Elladan towards the faint sounds he had long ago discerned to the south of the road, where down a precipitous slope some of his fellows were gathered around a trough of fresh spring water.

Indeed, twas not until a precociously aimed arrow whizzed by the elf-warrior’s ear that he was alerted to the sentries that bemusedly observed their progress nearly past their barely camouflaged campsite. He saw his brother catch his breath, then literally battle within to rein in the instinct to charge forth; instead, and after a blustery breath, he nodded amiably at the guards in the trees, who whistled their own greetings while not rightly able to leave their posts. The ambled down the slope with more leisure than he would have thought his twin capable of, when he recalled just how esteemed Elrohir was for his diplomacy. The elf-knight was only too acutely aware of the once-stroppy King that would greet them, along with the dual force of brothers who clung to the strictest tenets of propriety, all of whom approved of him on a yet conditional basis, the condition being his hallowed and honorable behavior before them.

Yet he could not deny his own pangs of anticipation, as they trotted towards a circle of collapsed tents behind a veritable battlement of bracken. Most of those who were not busy striking the camp had retreated to the hot spring that pooled into the basin beneath a nearby rock formation, no doubt the very natural wonder that had compelled them to rest there. Thranduil himself, nursing a steaming mug by the smote fireside, was the first to spy them, his proud face impossibly alight with the discovery. Elladan had yet another occasion to marvel a the transformation his youngest son’s influence had effected upon his demeanor, from the jubilant manner in which he threw open his arms as he rose to the downright startling embrace he drew Elrohir into. He nodded affectionately to Elladan over the elf-knight’s shoulder, which he subsequently clamped his arm around as he commented on the lushness of the Rivendell valley.

Elrohir attended him as best he could manage, perhaps too obviously foraging about with his clever eyes for any sign of Legolas’ whereabouts, though to be fair the regent both understood his exigency and took some amusement in delaying him. When a gilded figure finally did stroll out into the open, flanked by two companions, the elf-knight stood utterly transfixed, until the flaxen-haired youth veered in their direction and they realized they were watching a living vision of the past. The adolescent that had saved them so many centuries ago loomed before them again, his spectral hair and peachy countenance only enhancing the conceit. Yet his features were far more refined, his bearing far less bold and his looks more docile, than the Legolas of old. Indeed, as Laurith caught sight of them, he smiled with a subtle warmth his sprightly elder never would have affected, in every way exhibiting the demure manner of a Loremaster’s apprentice. Twas instantly apparent that his early years ardor had been tempered by the usual adolescent bashfulness, especially among those who knew him as a child, and thus had overabundant expectations of his character. That he wanted to impress them was clear from the measured steps he took towards them, bowing with a formality that even his sire had not insisted upon.

Elrohir, however, felt no such obligations. He strode over to the youth with barely repressed exuberance, enchanted by his shyness and admiring of his beauty, then proffered out arms that would gather him close. After a slight hesitation, Laurith gave into what was quite obviously his desperate desire to embrace his former guardian, which he accomplished with a hug even more urgent than the elf-knight had expected from him. Yet one so invigorated by tale-telling as the young prince had been in elflinghood was not long mastered by timidity. The asides, anecdotes, and digressions came spilling forth soon enough, as if he needed recount the trials of some twenty-nine years in but an instant. His twin was manfully attempting to conceal his distraction, as well as find a polite way to momentarily cork in the gushes of information, when a scrubbed and anointed elf wandered into the clearing.

His skin honeyed to gleaming perfection, his brilliant hair braided into an intricate weave, bedecked in the breeches that forewarned of his entitlement but his torso covered in a sodden, clinging undershirt, even to Elladan’s long-settled eyes, Legolas was a vision of feral loveliness unmatched in this livid land or the undying realm across the sea. Yet when his iridescent eyes honed in on the starlit graces of his elf-knight, he was as an elf possessed, barely measuring out the strides that brought him into the incendiary arms of his beloved.

To say that their reunion was heartening was to redefine the term. They did not touch at first, just hovered inches from the other’s skin, relishing the promise of proximity as their eyes spoke in an eloquent gaze. When finally they melded into one, twas with the most gentle of caresses, whispering troths and murmuring vows as they immersed themselves in mutual thrall. The scorch of kisses came last, so potent that Elladan could see them sway and stagger dizzily, though neither would admit to being so overcome as to sink them down into the grass. There lay hazards they could not afford in the presence of even such dear familiars. Yet they were both too attuned to their shared need to converse to dally long in sips and sighs, as well as humbly content to be finally reunited, so Legolas soon lead Elrohir over to the fireside, where they would share a cup of tea and tell of their wares.

Elladan was soon beckoned over by a glinting glance, as the lovers welcomed both the King and Laurith into their quiet circle.

* * *

At the first uproarious blare of horns, his right lid began to twitch, a tic that had not afflicted him since elflinghood. As the crowd tensed, conserving its communal breath in the eerie calm before the thunder of galloping hooves, he felt a strange pricked sting his skin, though he blamed this on the breeze. By the time the green and gold banners peaked over the eastern ridge, a definite flutter queered his innards, which became a veritable flurry of wings as the first line of guards raced down the twisty mountain path, a pageant of typically Silvan majesty.

Yet this propitious day was hardly owned by the Greenwood elves. Indeed, a grand and grateful feeling of equanimity had infected the whole of Imladris, as company after company of pilgrims from Lorien and Lindon had come to witness the binding of princes Noldor to Sindar. The wilds about were abundant with elves, who respected the land and kept harmonious camps as they awaited the advent of their greenish kin from the east; while the guest residence could barely accommodate the nobles that had flocked to the valley, whether by formal invitation or by arrogantly divined right.

Elrond, however, could not begrudge them either their curiosity or their goodwill, as twas clear to him, through myriad conversations, that not a one bore ought but the blithest of well-wishes for the gallant couple. Indeed, those that did not pack the courtyard lined the very road that lead up to the gates, ensuring that the procession would be heartfully welcomed by every tribe of elfkind, as well as the few Dunedain that lurked in the foothills, desperate to be granted leave to join in the festivities. He did not doubt that Elrohir himself would venture over to their camps, once his gilded groom was properly settled in, to bid them down for midsummer revels, as he held friends among them and was ever attentive to these brothers-in-arms.

Yet none about could resist attending the pageant, each armed with the flourish customary to their respective cultures. Residents of Imladris had diligently saved baskets of petals from the blossom drop, while twas no surprise that the Lorien elves cradled bushels of mallorn buds. The Dunedain favored thistles for their toss, while the hardy shipwrights of Lindon threw gull feathers.

The guards that rode through each successive spray of laurels had never looked so proud, nor sat so straight upon their steeds, nor bore their banners as mightily as they raised their swords in battle. The wilding cheers that called them forth only further encouraged their uplifting cantor, though twas the charge of the three Greenwood princes over the hill that riled them into a frenzy. A roar of pleasure trembled through when the King took his considerable bask in the glow of their regard, but they hushed in his wake, for there were only three riders remaining and these the dearest to them.

He wove a tender arm around his lovely lady wife, barely able to contain the moisture beading his eyes as his blazing Elladan reared his horse atop the rise, its fierce whinny the perfect herald to the golden couple behind. The very earth seemed to quake as he shot down, a streak of formidable dark that made Erestor gasp too audibly for sake of his poise, but perhaps twas a day for raw emotion. Such as that which stormed forth from the thrilled crowd when the lovers came forth, an aura of purest essence adorning them.

All eyes were rapt upon their radiant forms as they rode, rather demurely, down the laurelled path, hands clasped when their stallions fell into a nearly preternatural synchronicity. Despite their bashfulness at being so unexpectedly acclaimed, they could not quite contain their enchanting smiles, though they saved their most lustrous beams for their stolen looks at each other. Elrond found himself seized by such a swell of feeling at the sight of them that his tears spilled willfully forth, but were thankfully brief, tempered some by the riders’ approach. Elrohir and Legolas lingered before the gates, as this was where their loyals were gathered, while the sires bid and bowed in officious greeting. Elrond was somewhat relieved to see that Thranduil was just as affected as he; indeed, the oft imperious regent was having a time of ensuring his usual stoicism, with great streams of tears gushing from the corners of his sapphire eyes. Yet both representative parents took their place atop the steps, as the couple struggled to extricate themselves from the horde that had swarmed around them, though they were merried by this show of care.

When their way had been sufficiently cleared, they dismounted, though the well-wishers continued to pack into the thriving courtyard. Egged on by the more strident among the crowd, the lovers shared a quick kiss, and Elrohir was seen to whisper something undoubtedly eloquent to Legolas before they strode over to the stairs. Their hair strewn with thistles, leaves, and petals, their faces sparked with the hot flame of enduring love, and their steps as buoyant as it was vigorous, they looked nothing less that the most impish of woodland sprites, hardly the valiant warriors they were. Elrond had the striking sense of a legend being forged before his very eyes, as the disparate tribes of elves assembled there leant their voices to a communal choir. The lilting song was a sacred one among their kind, a tribute composed in praise of their most hallowed warriors, one of the few that echoed through the races, as familiar to ebony-locked Noldo as to flaxen Sinda.

The solemnity of the moment impressed upon the lovers, they stood bravely before their betters, though none could dim the light that so flatteringly shone from them. With gracious ceremony, their binding pledge was formally accepted, though Elrond nearly choked on the words, such was the tide of emotion that broke over him. After every member of the gathered families had engaged in a fervent embrace of the pair, they turned towards their people, so moved by their reverence that they dared not speak. Indeed, they were so awed by the moment that twas not till Galadriel glided forth to murmur in her grandson’s ear that they realized what was being so melodiously demanded of them.

Twas then that his Elrohir turned towards his Legolas, and with the most tender caress to his cheek, beckoned him into a glorious kiss.

The thunderstruck crowd instantly stopped their singing mid-rhyme, then broke into furious applause. No matter what might befall them in the ages to come, the elven people had that brilliant afternoon crowned their favored champions.

* * *

For one who remembered little of his early-years adventures there, resplendent Imladris was a wealth of wonders to a youth long confined to the glades and the pastures of the Greenwood enclave. The balmy climate bequeathed the valley with a golden hue and a leisurely tempo, even in these days of elaborate preparations for the midsummer festival. The unique topography and the unusual foliage about was fascinating to one who was used to two states of verdure: woods and fields. The tradecraft practiced there provided endless hours of rapture to one who liked to reason out how even the most simple things functioned, to say naught of the diverse nations of elves gathered there, whose cultural mores he was gaining firsthand knowledge of, much to his utter delight. Lastly, and most preciously, there was the Great Library, but more specifically its Loremaster, to whom he would soon begin his apprenticeship. To say that such a prized station suited him was to note that eagles were made to soar.

On this, his twelfth day in Imladris the fair, Laurith could not have felt more enchanted with the lush valley. Indeed, as he sat devouring a savory lunch on the patio of his older brother’s new apartments here, stuffing as many scraps of food into his mouth as he could manage without the needless aid of utensils, he felt utterly primed to reap of her bounty. In many ways, he was as a courtly lover come to play his suit; to flatter her with his meticulous attentions, to woo out her more elusive mysteries, and to devote himself to her pleasure while ever ensuring his own. This marvelous, romantic place would richen every aspect of his character, for which he would forever be grateful.

Yet the forging of an iron heart was not without its trials. Laurith had already been shocked by some of the darker emotions that had spurred up in him even in his few days there, skeletons that he had not even known were buried within him dredged out of the muck of his murkiest fears and misgivings.

Chief among these was the question of his burgeoning desire, which he had successfully repressed since his calamitous majority, but which could hardly be ignored here in Imladris, where down every gabled corridor and garden path strolled a comely maid. Thoughts of these blooming beauties distracted him in daylight hours, commanded his raw adolescent body through increasingly sultry, solitary nights, and maddened him in the few moments spared him between, as one in endearing particular was slowly seeping into the softer caverns of his heart even as her plucky confidence made his flesh sizzle whenever he was in the slightest proximity. While he was not entirely shamed by his inexperience, he was more vitally at a loss as to how to proceed in such matters. He despised bumbling and indecisiveness, but was also only too acutely aware of his own bewilderment, to say naught of the momentousness of the occasion, both in terms of his deflowering and the impending nuptials of his fraternal guardian.

With every noble or ruler of renown assembled here in the valley, he hardly felt free to fumble about in hot pursuit of sensual experience. Yet among these peers, he was also somewhat liberated of the shackles of his entitlement, which in Greenwood crazed all the suitable maids with greed, ambition, and delusions of grandeur. While those impetuous maids salivated at the sight of his circlet, most of these ladies had not the slightest notion of his station, nor, if they had, did this necessarily impress them. Some were even more nobly born than he, which was the case with his current object of infatuation. He would perhaps never be better placed that in this bawdy season to truly engage in carnal exploration; to learn to flirt for mere amusement’s sake, to frolic with abandon from skirt to skirt, to dabble in the bed-arts, and to taste the thrill of ecstasy. He certainly could not be more fit for such exertions, as his voracious body proved nightly.

At the prospect of entertaining wretched Greenwood maids, his hunger had been easily mastered through discipline and study. Here, the bowl of ruddy apples before him conjured thoughts of… the stunning health of all his myriad appetites. Their acknowledgement, however, did little to appease them, nor to enlighten him as to how to best proceed. Thankfully, he still had the most attentive ears of his elder brothers, with the added counsel of the sterling Sons of Elrond, both of whom adored him as one of their own.

Indeed, he had been quite taken aback by how tender Elrohir was towards him, for – to his regret - he recalled little to naught of their earlier acquaintance. Though he had recognized the elf-knight readily enough, he only had the vaguest of impressions of him, and these further clouded by the overexcited mind of the impish elfling he had been. Even more strange to him was Legolas’ demeanor when in the presence of his beloved, the fervent tenor of which he had perhaps not been overtly exposed to in his younger years. Before his very disbelieving eyes, his caretaker brother would transform from an elf of supreme self-possession and mercurial affability into a fierce, impassioned, and, frankly, impossibly docile lover, who quite visibly craved the balm of his lover’s flame, as ferociously as he could demand his kiss. The influence of love upon his elder was a revelation to Laurith, who had come to appreciate how this gentle emotion could enhance one in bearing and in spirit. He had never thought of humble, mischievous Legolas as beautiful before, but beside Elrohir he was hauntingly so. When so coupled, they were as an ethereal pyre of light, so becoming was the effulgence of their mutual feeling.

He had come to understand so many nuances to affectionate relations just by observing them. The way they doted upon each other, but never imposed, was mightily instructive. Even the chaste kisses they were allowed in this time of compacted abstinence were riveting, each embrace revealed a palette of emotions such as Laurith had never known before. The ease of their social interactions as an established couple was equally fascinating; the grace with which they accepted compliments, the perfectly aimed retorts volleyed at those who subtly insulted their mate, the playfulness with which they twisted well meant taunts to their advantage, and the implicit connection that silently bound them together, even when they stood on opposing ends of a vast hall.

Yet not all of their attitudes were so heartening to him; not because he begrudged them their intimacy, but because of the unsettling comprehension that dawned within him as a result of watching Legolas in this unfamiliar element. Indeed, he could not help but wither some when he had realized that twas he who had kept his brother from his fulfillment, from his constant lover’s arms, from soldering a bond that had fired him for centuries on. The full force of the notion had struck him on the second night of their sojourn, when Legolas and Elrohir had snuck out of the Hall of Fire during a rather tedious symphony in their honor to gaze over the twilight shroud valley from the adjoining balcony. Anxious to escape the stultifying atmosphere himself, Laurith had thought to catch them kissing, but instead he had been stunned to find them merely conversing, and animatedly at that. Twas then that he had been enlightened to yet another color to the spectrum of their relationship; they were excellent, age-long, and the most giving of friends. That they could not couple as would be their wont was perhaps inconvenient, but their bond was hardly nurtured on sexuality alone. They enjoyed one another’s company regardless; if ought, they were lessened by absence. That evening, his brother had not seemed so much the forlorn lover renewed, but the friend reunited with a dear, distant fellow.

Legolas had spied him looming by the door and had beckoned him forth. While he had been pleased to attend them, he had not failed to notice how the conversation shifted focus towards him, their private cares shelved for later discussion. Elrohir had been particularly keen to banter with him, marveling at how he had grown and complimenting his beloved on the brilliant results of his rearing. Yet Laurith had been mulling over much more provoking matters, of the depth of Legolas’ sacrifice and of how much credit he owed his brother for this. In the days that followed, the sore festered within, until he knew he had no option but to speak to Legolas directly of his concerns. Indeed, that was his chore this very afternoon, as he waited upon a break in his brother’s schedule.

The golden pair preoccupied themselves, in the weeks leading to their nuptials, with the decoration of the apartments they would share whence in Imladris. Elrohir had made some progress in this regard, but had saved most of the major choices for Legolas’ advent, as they would both inhabit the rooms and thus both require certain amenities. Most of their brothers had been invited to contribute, as idle hands were best kept active when there were no troops to order about, and each had been quite excited to do so. As Elladan’s talents lay in construction, he was asked to mount various fixtures, trophies, and arms upon the walls. Lorindol’s skills in persuasion were early secured; his charge to ferret out from their familiars the gifts that would normally be presented at the feast, but which the couple would prefer be displayed in their home for their honey-time. Being warriors, they intuited that they would be receiving more than a few ceremonial swords, which they were presently busy fixing in the stones around their hearth. Lasgaren’s artistic talents were commissioned for two murals, one in the common room and one in the bathing chamber. For his part, Legolas had been granted leave to shelve some of his preferred volumes of history and of lore over their mantle, the selection of which he had wanted Laurith to make on his behalf.

He had delivered these just before the noon hour, then had lingered about, liberally observing the raucous camaraderie between the two sets of brothers. He had also been introduced to their frequent gaming nights a few eves into their stay; so rapt by their ribald interaction that he had barely learnt to recognize which suits he held in his hand. The elders teased each other mercilessly, the twins being particularly saucy between them, as no subject was too scandalous nor too sacred to be broached. Their fiendish jesting brought out the tyrants in his own clan, with Legolas the most accomplished imp and Lasgaren the drollest wit. Yet even serious Lorindol struck true on several occasions, though everyone took their turn as whipping post, even he. This morning’s business was no less perspicacious, but mostly at the happy couple’s expense, with Elladan casually assuring himself of the sturdiness of the bed and Lasgaren ensuring the opaqueness of the drapes. Laurith had been content to chuckle bashfully in his corner, though both Legolas and Elrohir had made bold allusions to the various maids who had engaged them in dizzy conversation, hoping to pry out some useful information about the new ellon in their midst. He had sampled a few of these tipsy things already, but found none to his liking, though he dared not tell that savage bunch of his exploits!

To his dismay, he was famished by eleven bells, but Legolas had been sharp enough to hasten the luncheon forth. The Lord Elrond had performed an exacting examination of him a few days earlier, upon his Adar’s request, and while he had been judged a thriving specimen, he had also been chastised for not giving in to his rather rapacious appetite, the thought of which had always embarrassed him some. The Master Healer had explained that he would still be growing for a half-century on and that, unlike older elves, he required nearly double the usual nourishment in order to fuel his form fine. The Lord had then dictated a special regimen for him to Master Erestor, which included double helpings at meals and an herbal tonic in his afternoon tea. Already, he felt invigorated by only days following this routine, though this also had the unforeseen effect (on his part, at the least) of enhancing the fervor of his desires. His endurance had improved remarkably, as well as the frequency of his urges, which only compounded his current troubles to an unconscionable degree.

Which made him only too grateful when Legolas gestured towards the luxurious gardens, indicating that they should enjoy a stroll there. Downing the last gulps of his fourth cup of mead and snatching one of those juicy apples for his pocket, he jogged after him, relief already washing over him at the prospect of his brother’s peerless company. Legolas did him one better, lacing an arm around his shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze, by his bright face the very picture of unilateral satisfaction.

“They are handsome, do you not agree?” Legolas opened, speaking of his rooms. “Made all the more so by the fact of our communal efforts. Whenever upon a stormy eve I might take up a volume of Vernaril’s Tales of Estorlad, I shall think of your wisdom in choosing just such a tome for my amusement.”

“You favor adventure tales, and myths,” Laurith shrugged, though he rosied at his praise. “Twas hardly an arduous task to accomplish, as I know you well.”

“Better than any save Elrohir, methinks,” Legolas agreed, giving him another hardy clench. “How I wish we could never be parted. Yet duty summons us both to the fight, and mine will soon be doubled, in service both to Greenwood and to my starling mate. I must confess, lass dithen, I am somewhat… I fret some, in shroud moments, over our future separation, though it be well in the distance yet. You have never known a time away from my care. Do you… do you have a sense of how you might weather such years? Will they be trying to you?”

“For certes, they will try me, Legolas, but that is the test of maturity,” Laurith replied, after some reflection. “And you deserve your joy! To focus your full attentions on the flourishing of your bond with the mate you have dismissed for countless in years in order to… to rear me. Indeed, had I known how such a separation truly grieved you, as I have learnt these last days, then I would not rightly have burdened you for so long!”

Stiffening in astonishment, Legolas turned him swiftly towards him and clamped adamant hands upon his shoulders.

“*Never* heed to such nonsensical reasoning!” he chided him, but with the ardor of the devout. “You are the dearest of treasures to me! I am a far worthier elf for being your guardian, a better lover and a better mate, to say naught of my relations with all my brothers, as well as our Adar. I mourn the time that I will not spend in your company, as your advisor and your confidant, and I will always cherish your growing as one of the most blessed eras of my eternity. Verily, Laurith…” At a loss for the proper tribute, he instead hugged his brother almost painfully tight. “Have I been too distant these last days? Forgive me my myopic preoccupation…”

“Nay, Legolas, you have ever been…” he trailed off, ashamed to feel tears welling up. With halting breaths, he centered himself, then squirmed until his brother loosed his grip some. “I like Imladris very well, indeed. Too well, perhaps, for my own betterment… I have come to make my fortunes here, to polish up the elf your care has given such a sterling start. Yet I would be remiss if I did not note how pleased I am that you will also be here, for though I must eventually acclimate myself to the need of our separate paths, I do not think I am yet prepared to do without you for such extensive lengths of time. I am still an unformed youth and you are still… still of vital necessity to me.”

If Legolas remarked the slight tremor in his voice, he made no bones of it, though he did pick precisely up on his need for a fraternal consultation. After a tender kiss to his brow, he motioned them over to a nearby bench, upon which he tucked up his legs to give Laurith his full, unguarded attention. Even when the youth proved suddenly reluctant to confess himself, Legolas knew just how to prod him.

“Is it perhaps in this elusive realm of your enjoyment of our valley’s splendors that I may be of some counsel to you?” Legolas proposed, with a slight smirk. “You have been quite adorably distracted, of late, whenever we stroll through the forest walks, as any newly anointed elf might be in the decades between majorities. Has your springtime finally come? Is the viscous sap of youthful vitality coursing through your veins?”

“Quite vertiginously,” Laurith admitted, with a fiery flush. “Its rush is so quick I am woefully imbalanced. I stumble about, constantly intoxicated by my swoon-worthy surroundings, barely able to control myself; my fingers atwitter, my head fluttery, my…”

“A touch insatiable, are you?” Legolas smiled, not without some spark of mirth.

“If you count how skilled I am at self-love,” Laurith grunted. “Yet the trouble is not with my designs, but their accomplishment. I want the knowledge my years have earned, but do not know how to go about attracting those who would indulge me. I am unskilled at flirtation and like not these disingenuous games others engage in. I do not seek to make a match, merely to explore the area of love-play, but…”

“But there is one who moves you?” Legolas softly inquired, the answer writ bold across his features before he dared utter a response. “Is she disinterested?”

“I know not,” Laurith sighed heavily, obviously confused by their every interaction. “She is a lively creature, and earnest, and sure, yet I have not the slightest notion of whether she shares my interest. Unlike most others, she is neither bold to the point of offense nor demure beyond reason, but amiable, loyal, affectionate in the most platonic manner… yet there are moments of intimacy in our conversations that set my skin abroil! I do not simple seek to bed her, Legolas, she is becoming far too dear a friend for that. But there are moments when I would willingly give up my eternity to taste her. She is the most luscious maid I have ever seen, her lips delectable, her curved exotic, her eyes… I could drown. I *have* drowned, for she owns me with a smile. I want to mate with her. To commune our bodies…”

“Enough!” Legolas chuckled, even as he halted him. “Elbereth, I had not the slightest fathom of such an incendiary preoccupation afflicting you, pen-toren. Does this sage nymph have a name, or is she but a nightly vision?”

“I cannot say,” Laurith muttered, afraid he would be pushed to out her.

“Very well,” Legolas waved away, not wanting to impinge upon his privacy. “I assume you wish to take revels with her at midsummer?”

“The thought had dawned upon me,” he nodded. “I am told that, in the wake of your binding, a rather potent atmosphere will imbue the valley. I had reasoned that… perhaps this might enliven the proceedings some, blunt anxieties and... ignite passions.”

“Which requires a possessing overture at this late hour,” Legolas considered, setting his agile mind to the trouble. “Methinks you must create an opportunity to kiss her.” As his brother looked entirely bewildered at such a solution, he hastened to elaborate. “Invite her for a stroll this eve, perhaps by the Bruinen. The stars are mesmerizing indeed in the blithe season. In a hush moment, draw her close. Tis perhaps best not to confess your regard, merely to act. Be gentle, but firm. Have her know by your kiss how dearly you hold her, how you will do right by her and how reverent you are before her. Trust is the most vital element to any love act, even one as easy as the press of plump mouths. If she is enchanted, sink down into the grass and tenderly explore together. If she abhors the thought of embracing you… she will strike you, flee, and then you must grovel as best you can the following morn.” At Laurith’s desolate groan, he laughed anew. “Do not be disheartened, toren! Such is the gamble of revealing one’s heart. I myself performed a similar ruse on my own dearly beloved, and witness for yourself the mate my gambit won.”

“But he did not bed with you for another two hundred some years!” Laurith exclaimed, though more for their amusement then out of spite, for he’d already secreted away his brother’s rather useful advice.

“Ah, but when we finally *did* throw down,” Legolas winked to finish his thought. “That, however, is a tale for the morrow. First, you must declare yourself in the most sensuous way possible to this maid, then we will tackle the weighty matter of how to prove yourself a worthy lover.”

Though this last did little to ultimately reassure him, as it introduced new and terrifying depths of purpose to his stealthy, seductive act this eve, Laurith was once again nearly sodden with gratitude that he had such an affable brother as his guardian, as his advisor, and most vitally as his great friend. After a soothing pat on the back from this caring elder, he let out a blustery breath, unaware that he had been holding a considerable gust within him. Feeling his paltry years quite viscerally indeed, he reclined out upon the bench and pillowed his head on his brother’s thigh, content to chat idly with him as his aches were further assuaged.

He would cherish these quite moments whilst he could, before the graying lands about called them to arms.

* * *

With the wickedest of snickers, he daubed his entire, fruit-bearing hand into the waiting pot, then mashed the resulting mixture of ripe oarberries and of sweet cream across his gilded lover’s chest. Legolas, the wanton, had the audacity to lay back, so that the purple juice might commendably outline the sculpted muscles of his bare torso, so that the thick milk might skip salaciously down the taut ripples of his abdomen. With an utterly precocious smirk, he grimed his fingers with berry viscera, then offered the gory digits to his rabid-eyed mate.

Twas thus that Elrohir began yet another meticulous mouth-mauling, of violet-tinted nipples, of a creamy navel-pool, and of every luscious swath of mired skin in between. That every lash of his tongue across that decadent chest made tingles of echoing sensation erupt over his own only heightened the proceedings beyond the most daunting peaks of delirium, the precipice above which their commingled spirit had been soaring over since the moment of its forging, their bloods surged together in the late afternoon upon the binding altar and their flames conflagrate as the first embers of twilight blushed the forest wilds.

Before the raptly absorbed, then exultant, crowd, they had sworn themselves forevermore, the pristine purity of their oath imbuing the entire assembly with a preternatural glow. After the blessing of their families, they had wandered into the woods, where the more elemental course of their communion would transpire. Yet not ten paces passed the treeline, his luminous Legolas had released such a triumphant cry that they very leaves about had trembled, then, with a flash of that deliciously mercurial smile, had darted off ahead. The stinging shock of physical absence that ached them both had been astonishing, such that he had hastened to tackle his beloved to the ground. They had thrashed gleefully about a patch of thistles, shredding the ceremonial garments that had taken weeks to fashion, until they were both beautifully bare, so silky and lustrous that they could be forgiven for indulging in a spate of tactile worship.

Yet one of Legolas’ wiles had not been long distracted, even by such a temptation as his newly mate, from his persnickety scheme, and so Elrohir had soon found himself scrabbling up a nearby elm into the lush forest heights. With the most rambunctious abandon, they had raced from bough to bough; the velvety leaves lapping at their thighs, the ricocheting branches swatting at their pert bottoms, the giggly breeze ticking across their exposed skin. The sense of liberation this provoked within the elf-knight had been the most potent foreplay he had ever experienced, this only further enhanced by the poignancy that welled within him when they alit upon the broadest bough in the most imperious oak in the vast expanse of wood.

A slender cot had awaited them there, along with a carafe of sparkling wine and two specially crafted flutes. The simplicity of the surroundings had not a whit detracted from the earnestness of the gesture; indeed, Elrohir had found he was quite vividly moved by his knowing prince’s thoughtfulness. Yet the view had been just as inspiring, at which they had stood admiring awhile, before he had been guided over to their humble binding bed. Legolas’ iridescent eyes, when he had deemed to finally regard him, had betrayed the most heartfelt reverence. An awe that had met its twin within him, for he had never seen an elf as radiant nor as lovely as the evanescent heart shining before him.

“Love me, my elf-knight,” his prince had beckoned, and he had ceded to this affecting request with the greatest of ease.

Before long, they had blazed as one, so completely immersed in the waves of emotional and spiritual rapture that they for a time had ceased to understand themselves as two separate beings, so enthralling and so consuming was their sacred bond.

As blistering Anor gave way to balmy Ithil, they had languished in the heady climes of the protective oak, until the sounds of thrilling revels lured them down again. Emerging from the forest blithe as two sea nymphs, their skins shimmering with the spark of their live bond, their bodies inscribed in silver and gold script with the totems of their respective houses, their heads adorned with princely circlets, their billowy waves of hair strewn with tiny jewels, and bedecked in only the most scanty of breeches, they had strode through the gawking celebrants as if the Valar themselves had deigned to walk among them. Met with wry looks by their bemused sires, they had lounged about the banquet table awhile before the dancing had been struck up, the sprightly silhouettes whirling around the bonfire of a primal call that Legolas never could resist.

They had danced as if possessed, as if mastered by the sexual synchronicity that matched them heavenly well in bed-play. As the sultry moon had loomed, mist-shroud, above the raucous festivities and the ferocious pyre had burnished its worshippers ruddy with desire, Legolas had taken but one glance at the flush faces around him to know how they might together ignite everyone’s passion. The fever of their binding thrall sizzled through the very midnight air, with every elf about drinking deep of this most intoxicating elixir. Quitting the fireside, his supremely mischievous archer had dragged him into the shade of an elegant willow, then had proceeded with a needless, though delectably flirtatious, seduction. From the font of their effluent loving, they had flood the hearts and had fired the loins of those that had assembled to pay honest tribute to their bond. As they had writhed through their most violent throes yet, a symphony of erotic moans rang through the darkling woods, as needful couples drifted in to find their own slip of shade, their own natural sanctuary.

When they later roamed, tipsy from their own sensual ablutions, through the lust-wretched woods, they played at identifying the pairs they happened upon along their path to the Homely House, spying a great many that were dear to them. Glorfindel had been coiled like a coppery serpent around his wife, who looked more than willing to be swallowed whole. Lasgaren had been simpering under the lively assault of a tawny Galadhrim, while Legolas had been certain he perceived Lorindol grunting with exertion in the near distance. Twas no surprise when they had discovered Elladan and Erestor meshed in the ivy of the inner gate, while beyond the far mound of the lawn he had been sure he had caught the moonlight’s reflection in his mother’s hair. They had spared a thought for the lonely King of Greenwood, who Legolas had assumed was praying solemnly by the altar, a spiritual conversation with his bonded wife all that was left him.

Yet, despite their obvious sympathy, they had focused themselves on a far more silly notion, that of wandering the corridors of Imladris nude as the morn they had been begot. As the forest was people with the majority of her denizens and those not in the wilds were most certainly abed, they had not encountered a soul in all their subsequent naughtiness, of which there had been quite an abundance. They had stolen into the baths, where they had immersed themselves in soothing mineral waters and massaged their raw skins most lasciviously supple. After, they had invaded the pantry for stores, interrupting two servants rutting in the larder with smirks so wolfish, the flare-red pair thought they very well might join in. When Elrohir had objected some to a naked tour through the hall of tribute, Legolas had quite rakishly ravaged him against a statue of Finarfin, his great-grandsire’s boots soon anointed with spurts of seed pregnant with his own, ancient essence. As they had toddled back to their apartments, he had sworn that the sculpture of Oropher would receive a similar hazing once they returned to Greenwood, to which his husband quite saucily retorted that he would rather bear the brunt of that threat presently.

Twas thus that they came to languish in these early hours of morn, exhausted from their night-long worship of their mate’s ethereal form, yet far from sated of the need to burn, so virtuously, so transcendently, as one.

As Elrohir crawled up from his impromptu ravishing of his prince’s sinuous chest, Legolas emitted such a luxurious purr of contentment that the elf-knight was nearly loathe to kiss such a perfectly plush mouth. Yet as he did so, he could not fail to note the tempering tides within his mate, who appeared more fit to bask in their dewy languor than to engage in another rough tumble. Indeed, a cloying fatigue had come over them both, which suited the darkling elf quite well, for he loved nothing more than to curl up with his husband into a downy tangle and be baked by the warmth of their glorious flame.

As Legolas snuggled into their tender, familiar hold and the silvery binding shine enveloped them in a gentle glow, Elrohir nearly wept for the feeling that besot him, for the bliss in his heart that they would never truly know solitude again, for the blessed heat of his soul that was bonded eternally to his golden one.
* * *

After their elegant flutes of ice wine were refreshed by an exotic-eyed elf, whose elongated fingers were so lissome with poise that a swan might weep with envy, Elladan found himself rather loathe to allow the graceful creature to wing away from his perch upon the peredhel’s limber legs. Bedecked in a peasant shirt of the rich cherry color of the liquor, which was embroidered with threads and beads in various hues of violet, crimson, and gold, with his lids traced seductive by agile lines of kohl and his tawny hair sensually loosed about his shoulders, Erestor looked every inch a prince of his Haradin ancestry, as well as possibly the most decadent of the myriad temptations fluttering about their garden patio.

Elladan pawed rather shamelessly at his husband’s posterior, for which he received a wink full of wicked promise before he swept away, which did little to appease the simmer of his quick coursing blood. Yet even as he downed a generous sip of the excellent wine to damped his desires some, he had to admit that Erestor’s talents as a modest and companionable host were without compare. With his renown finesse, he had arranged a leisurely soiree beneath the stars, a casual affair to ease the newly bonded couple of their house out of their honeyed bedchamber and into the society of their peers. That their gardens were adjacent to Elrohir and Legolas’ new apartments was ideal, for one of their chief concerns had been how to pry the voracious lovers away from their by-all-accounts scarlet bed to partake in a quiet evening among friends, as was traditional after the requisite seclusion.

As the bold pair were as apt to defy tradition as they were ravenous for their bonded’s delectable flesh, Erestor had executed the perfect marriage of warm atmosphere with relaxed company. Beneath the sparkling midnight firmament, lanterns of burnished amber glower from stunted tables, each surrounded by two banquette recliners, as well as a gluttony of velvet pillows in the desert colors of the southern realm. Only those longtime loyal to the couple were invited, young romantics who enjoyed sly conversation rife with innuendo, which leant to the implicit sensuality of the evening. Elders were notoriously absent; indeed, with the exception of a few brothers enthralled with their own comely lovers, the intimate party was populated almost exclusively with virile warriors paired to worldly artisans – a bohemian fete without a whiff of entitlement about.

The golden couple themselves were rather scandalously sprawled across the chaise longue across from him, as entwined as two serpents on a necromancer’s staff. Even from a pace at large, Elladan was flush from the heat of their so recently communed flame, though they did nothing more than caress discreetly. From the instant of their binding, all assembled before the ceremonial altar in the forest glade felt a swell of such suffocating bliss within them that they had thought themselves spelled by some divine power. The force of their bonded fire was a ferocious, effulgent thing, which had blazed from them for days after. Though in Noldor tradition, the welcoming meal was held on the third day after the couple’s vows, thus allowing them ample time to rut themselves wretched, when, on that telltale morn, they had not emerged from their chambers, his Lord Adar had suggested a slight delay. After consulting with their spectral grandmother, the White Lady of Lorien herself, the two sorcerers had ascertained that the bond between the two elf-warriors had been so highly preordained that it still raged with the godly bright of a sacrificial pyre. This was quite amusingly evidenced in anyone who had dared to even scurry past the entrance to their suites, who then suffered a rather precocious stirring of the loins, so adamant as to demand immediate attention. Erestor and Elladan, in residence just three walls away from the exalted chamber, had felt the effects firsthand; while hardly demure themselves, their lovemaking had not been so frequent nor so ravenous since their own honey-time in Lindon.

Indeed, all of Imladris was rejoicing in a summer of rare glory. Twas as if the fever and the devotion of the two princes nourished the very air about. Even before the rite itself, the mere advent of the voluminous Greenwood company had added an excitable element to the local alchemy. The woods had been teeming with trysting elves, blonde locks oft meshed with black as the races intermingled. Two weeks on from both the height of midsummer and the heady fugue of the ceremony itself, when tongues were glutted of pleasuring they wagged about brutally broken lovers now reconciled, once barren wives sown plentiful with babe, and doubting couples newly betrothed. If such honorable warriors as Elrohir and Legolas could commit themselves in such a tense time for their respective peoples, then why should their subjects loose hope? In the spirit of the love they had sworn that immaculate day among the willows, the Noldo and the Sinda committed themselves, for that one blithe season, to celebrating the wealth of their cultures and to dispelling the Shadow with the fury of their joy.

If the gilded couple themselves were somewhat oblivious to the wondrous effect their binding had, they could be forgiven their slight insularity by virtue of its earnestness. Elladan had early-on intuited that Elrohir and Legolas could not, with the long awaited hour of their vows upon them, be in any way distracted from their vigilant and relentless mutual enchantment. Two weeks on, they were ruddy as cherubs from the glow of love within them; his Adar had estimated that they would not dim to a more tempered manner for a month yet, so fierce was the bind that married them. Indeed, Elladan had counted them fortunate that their affection for their loved ones was also of uncommon strength, for otherwise they would not have emerged from their bedchamber until the chill of fall descended.

Twas consideration for their familiars alone that had urged their brief appearance here, or so Elrohir had confessed to him in the fleeting moment he had managed to secure his solitary focus.

Presently, they were surprisingly subdued, languishing in the lazy atmosphere and relishing the tingle of the spicy wine. He could sense that his twin was battling exhaustion, for surely they had barely slept for days on, though they were both affable, lucid, and egregiously interested in the goings on about the valley, especially where these pertained to their loyals. Before the all-too-felicitous interruption of his sultry husband, they had been nagging at him for gossip, as they had observed all too keenly the new matches and the recent relations that had sprung up while they were in the haze of lusty seclusion.

As Legolas took his bonded’s leg onto his lap, in order to massage the crampy muscles therein, his gaze flew about the room swift as a hunting falcon surveying the landscape for prey. Elladan could not help a wry smirk at this, for he had news that would strike the archer straight to the heart. Yet how to go about its revelation without upsetting the fluid bliss between the lovers, as his wise father had advised? The winning strategy the seasoned warrior seized upon was a feint of misdirection. Drawing Legolas’ hawkish eyes to the tangle of vines that spilled down the trellis upon the western wall, he raised a discerning brow at the two elves woven into the ivy, an ellon who supped quite liberally on a lovely ellyth’s exposed neck.

“Your brother seems far less lonesome,” Elladan dryly insinuated. “Than when last he graced the valley with his stern glower.”

Legolas chuckled softly, then nodded his agreement.

“Aye,” he seconded. “His lately years were spent mired in the most cherished distraction. A lady healer from Lorien came with her company of herbalists to deliver a store to our own medics, and he has not yet recovered from the day he quite by chance set eyes upon her. If his steward had not tripped on the upturned rug and spilt his wine upon him, Lorindol would have had no cause to hasten back to the palace to change his tunic before his meeting with the delegation from Esgaroth. As the Lorien elves do not tarry long in our realm, he would not have met the one who has maddened him since that scorching afternoon, nor would he have been so frazzled by that first sight of her – and he with his tunic front drenched with wine! – to toddle distractedly through the firing range where the novices were practicing and to earn himself an arrow in the thigh as a result. She came immediately to his aid, and he has been painfully smitten ever since.”

Elladan nearly cracked his side open, he found the tale so mirthful.

“I have never known Lorindol to be so buffoonish, even when under duress,” Elrohir noted, through his shudders of laughter.

“Tis by virtue of the potency of his besotting that he is utterly stupefied by her presence,” Legolas explained, smiling broadly. “Indeed, he has never quite managed to truly recover himself. His scrapes and tumbles, when she is near, have become legend in our woods.”

“I imagine the lady finds his wobbliness endearing?” Elladan asked, as merry as he was intrigued.

“I think she was first swayed by the tautness of his thighs, to tell true,” Legolas conceded, with a wink. “He has had a time of wooing, and not merely due to his jittery nerves around her.”

“Regale us with the tale, will you not?” Elrohir urged him, with a soft peck to his knuckles. “Twill certainly amuse.”

“Aye, be meticulous in your recounting,” Elladan seconded. “Twill hearten us to hear of your brother’s joy.”

“I fear his joy is not yet assured,” Legolas sighed, but hastened on to the more elaborate telling. “His thigh wound was not severe, but she is devout enough of a medic to see her patient well, and so their stay in Greenwood was assured, for at least a week’s time. I was summoned to carry him to his bedchamber, and the brother I found in the healing halls was sleeping from a draught she’d administered. Later, when he woke, I thought he was delirious from fever. How he raved on! When I’d finally got him calmed, he confessed to me that he’d been thunderstruck by her beauty, by the heart he had felt throbbing within her, and was desperate for my advisement. I knew how to treat a beloved, he reasoned. How was he to affect her as she had affected him? How was he to win her? First, I calmed him. I instructed him to take advantage of their brief time together, to speak with her and learn of her character. She came to tend to him every day, at which hour he usually managed to convince her to converse with him awhile. As he regained use of his leg, he would tour her around our vale. They were lively together. Even then, you could sense the sparks igniting. But their time ended soon enough, and twas a miserable brother who visited me in the dead of night, begging for counsel on whether it would be advisable to kiss her, when they had known each other so short a while. I told him that he should seize the moment, but Lorindol is bold in military purpose, but shy in his lover’s heart, and so he let her slip away.”

“Did she return?” Elladan anxiously inquired, despite his best efforts to remain aloof. “She *must* have retuned.”

“Aye, the year after,” Legolas continued. “Indeed, for a decade long, she came in the late of summer for a week’s stay, delivering stores with her companions. They spent noons and evenings in close company, for Lorindol has but spare moments through the day, but though he managed to trip over some tree roots on nearly every stroll they embarked upon, he could never force his tongue to stumble over the necessary troths. Though he soldiered on in public, he would come to me for private consultations, berating himself for months after and pining the winter long. I had never seen my brother so dim as through those bleak seasons, but by springtime hope would blossom anew, and he would secretly count the days until her return. Then, on the eleventh anniversary of their meeting, she did not come. He was a wreak for months after, though he hid it well enough from all others save myself, who he sought out nightly for commiseration. Indeed, I have grown quite intimate with my brother as a result, and for this I am grateful.”

“And the year after?” Elrohir queried, smiling with gladness that Legolas and Lorindol had found a common ground. “Did she come again?”

“Before she had a chance,” Legolas pursued. “I wrote to my cousins there, who made discreet inquiries on my behalf. Her sister had lost her bonded in a skirmish, and was ailing. The lady in question was entertaining the idea of sailing West, and Lorindol’s intended thought to accompany her. When I told him of this news, he departed immediately for Lorien, leaving me to explain his brash actions to my Adar!”

“Such gratitude for your care!” Elladan quipped, but did not snicker so long as to impede the story. “And then?”

“He returned just before winter, solemn as I’d ever seen him,” Legolas recounted. “He would not tell any of his trials, not even I. He went about his duties as tenaciously as before, and his few free nights were spent catching Laurith up on his lessons. He finally broke months later, when I forced him into a duel… he nearly let me kill him, such was the anger I provoked. But once cracked, the feeling came gushing out of him. She had welcomed him like a lost husband, and had clung to his strength for weeks upon weeks, as she nursed her sister. By the fire each night, she would curl into his lap and they would speak for hours, often ending with a spate of kisses that would dizzy him such that he could barely stand to lurch back to his bedchamber – alone. She was devastated when her sister finally departed, but she chose to stay. He was not sure if it was for him, or simply because she was not yet ready to go to Elvenhome. They spent endless hours together after, but remained chaste, mostly because of the dimness of her flame in the wake of her sister’s leave-taking. When, after a month, he rallied his energies and forced some discussion of their future, she unloaded a veritable trough of reservations upon him, chiefly that she was not sure she could survive as the matriarch of a royal house. She is a humble healer, not a princess, and I wish I could say that her fears have been snuffed, but they have not. Indeed, they had not again seen each other until our recent advent here. Why she has come to the celebration, I can only speculate, but she appears much recovered from her sadness. I thought he would faint when she met him down by the archery fields, and there was considerable heat between them as they hugged. I have since seen him all but devouring her on two occasions, and wonder if they are still so chaste. I hope she will heed him when he asks her to Greenwood. He has need of a wife to help him bear through the increasingly arduous days there.”

“Hopefully he is far less clumsy in bed-play,” Elladan snickered, which set them both off anew. “Else she may be widowed, before long.”

While Legolas snorted with indignity, Elrohir pinched his thigh to brighten him, which unsurprisingly had the desired effect. They stretched themselves out from opposite sides of the chaise longue, gingerly tussling with their legs, before engaging in a mutual foot massage. Their movements were so synchronized, Elladan began to wonder who exactly were the twins about.

“What other liaisons have come about, my bond-toren?” Legolas interviewed the elf-warrior. “Any of particular note, in this gilded time?”

“Indeed,” Elladan remarked, though inwardly gathered his courage. “There is one my husband has most fervently implored me to relate to you, for it concerns him as well.”

“How is Erestor affected?” Elrohir asked bluntly, worried himself over his brother’s affairs.

“His youngest sister, it seems, is dallying with a son of Oropher’s house,” Elladan stated quietly, though both pairs of ears instantly pricked up.

“Serinde, you mean?” Elrohir followed up, though Legolas appeared to have no need of her naming. “But she is just lately passed her majority.”

“As is the suitor in question,” Elladan demurred, then locked his eyes on the woodland prince. “He discovered them yestereve, among the further shelves, embracing with abandon. He was quite… disconcerted, by the rapid progress of your brother’s hands up her skirts.”

“The rascal!” Elrohir cackled, rather impressed with the youth’s wherewithal. “Here we thought him bashful due to his fascination with lore. He has certainly learnt some tricks from the ballads of yore!”

“To say naught of his elders,” Elladan taunted, with a quick glance over to Lorindol, who was making similar progress with his nurse-love. “Or the natural instincts of a wily wood-elf.”

“Cease your snickering!” Legolas protested, though mildly so. “Please beg my apologies to your bonded, Elladan. I seem to have accidentally encouraged him towards… verily, I did not know he intended to court Erestor’s young sister.”

“He approached you, then?” Elrohir requested some illumination.

“With aching earnestness,” Legolas elucidated. “In nature, he is far closer to Lorindol than I; bold in deed, but timorous of heart. He may be a jovial soul, but he has suffered the usual princely troubles with maids at home, doubled since he favors them. Even in the five short years he has been allowed to frequent them, he has been scarred by their callousness and their ambitions. Even one childhood friend he thought to shed his majority with turned vain and covetous when he hinted at his intentions. He was quite heartbroken, and so forwent the rites of his first age-coming. He has kept a steel focus on his studies ever since, knowing that he would soon tutor under Erestor… He must be roasting inside after their discovery!”

“So you think him honest in his suit?” Elladan pursued, seeing his silent entreaty to his husband for leave to seek out Laurith presently.

“As honest as the raging desires of an adolescent elf could be,” Legolas admitted. “Yet I doubt he would have allowed himself to be lured into such concealment if he thought her unwilling. He certainly spoke with considerable reverence of her intellectual abilities before our binding ceremonies. I had thought he was perhaps taken with her… he likes maids who possess both sense and wisdom, as well as a practical streak and a penchant for frankness. I cannot believe he would have kissed her without some notion of her consent.”

“I confess, I did think Erestor was a touch overprotective of her,” Elladan conceded. “Though please do not remark as much to him! You know how he dotes upon her… perhaps you should advise your brother to speak directly with him. To explain that his intentions are honorable, that he enjoys the entirety of her spirit, and that he agrees to only frequent her in casual circumstances.” The elf-warrior shrugged, a smile tippling on his features. “Perhaps there is a match in it. My bond-father could not do better for his youngest than a lore-mad prince of Greenwood.”

“Even a dalliance of like minds might prove educational,” Elrohir opined. “I am surprised that Erestor is so stingy over this, and he so giving in the bed-arts. Serinde is no longer an elfling. Surely, an appropriate liaison would mature her some.”

“I think we should endeavor to bring these two younglings together,” Elladan brightly suggested. “Now that we are all fatted by the delights of marriage ourselves, tis the occasion to turn our minds to inflicting our younger siblings to the tortures of matchmaking, as we once were by our elders! If you, Legolas, will entreat Laurith to behave with propriety and to solicit Erestor’s favor, I will work my influence on my distempered husband. Agreed?”

“Most enthusiastically agreed,” Legolas underlined, thrilled by the notion of his brother being paired with one so amiable and estimable as Serinde. The mischievous side of him was similarly appeased by such a plot.

“Elbereth save them, with you two impudent elves overseeing their courtship!” Elrohir exclaimed, chuckling hardily. He snatched up Legolas’ foot, then planted a kiss in the tender sole, which got him a bat to the cheek for his trouble.

Elladan’s focus, for his part, had drifted across the terrace, where his beloved was holding court among a throng of former lovers. Even as captivated as they all were by the beauty before them, he could not squeeze out a drop of envy from his love-sodden heart. He was long settled, forever adored, and the fate suited him terribly well. Long after they had faded into the night, clasping the hand of some willing victim, he would be bedding down with a elf as supple as silk, as mysterious as the pearly moon, and as frisky as colt in heat.

Their eyes met in meaningful complicity, for the night was young and the stars were bright.

* * *

Three Months Later

Theirs was a spare camp, a dim fire covered by an impromptu bank of pine-sap treated leaves and four prim bedrolls still bundled by their packs. Hardly the stuff of hardy adventurers, but then they were upon the peak that loomed above Imladris, not lost in the bramble marshes of Fangorn. For a stallion bred in the woodlands, Tiren had weathered the journey admirably; though he was fussing at present, for he had lashed his tail in the spindly branch of a fir.

As Legolas untwined the coarse strands of reddish-brown hair from the mesh of prickles, he stealthily observed the leisurely activities of his three companions. Laurith had surprised them all by offering to cure their store of meat, for he wished to develop his survival skills. The meal had been quite savory indeed; his brother was learning much of plants and herbs from his morning lessons with Celebrian. At present, he was just returned from cleaning their plates in the nearby stream, humming in his usual singsong fashion as he did so. Legolas felt a familiar pang of sadness that had lately plagued him when he had cause to regard his growing brother unaware, for as he learnt his way about the world, the more he relaxed his once tenacious hold on his elder’s securing guardianship, a fate that gave the archer as much melancholy as it did pride in his achievements. He would soon be an elf of his own conscience; one of undoubted majesty, but not of the same impish character as that rambunctious sprite of old.

The brethren Elrondion were chatting amiably by the cliff ledge, surveying the black sky resplendent with stars. As Elladan monitored the heavens, Elrohir sparked up a lantern by which to consult the celestial map Erestor had so thoughtfully drawn for them, for they were not come merely for a night of casual stargazing, but with a more loft intent. Elladan was of typical snarky cheer, teasing all and sundry to distraction, but most efficiently his poised twin.

Yet Legolas found himself utterly captivated by the lantern’s glow upon his mate’s ethereal face, his skin tone as pearly as the stars that shone upon them and his silver eyes like flints of molten mithril. The drape of his velvety locks, freed of the simple clasp that had earlier held them and that he had come to favor in this more domestic era of their lives, promised later sensualities, so rich in texture was the ebony spill. The subtle flex of his muscular arms beneath his tunic, in a shade of becoming azure, told of his virility, even for one of such effortless grace in bearing. His feral spirit simmered beneath those touchingly eloquent features, such that Legolas was instantly breathtaken by the thought that *this* lush one, this elegant elf, this kindly, valiant, and altogether incandescent creature was, by some miraculous twist of fate, his sworn husband.

For a longly while, Legolas was reverent upon him, the one in whom his very soul thrived and by whose troth his heart was forever nourished abundant with love. He remembered another night, five hundred years ago in daunting exactitude, upon which a rather confused Sindar youth implored his Noldor friend for some guidance in love arts, in mating rituals, in the wooing and winning of maids. He could not have known, as he plunked his woozy, befuddled head upon his ready shoulder, that twas in those very arms that he would be berthed eternally; his spirit cherished and his heart settled. Their subsequent journey towards an everlasting oath had been vertiginous, fraught, and altogether remarkable in its glut of affections. He could not imagine sharing such a incomparable experience with any other than his one, his darkling mate, his gallant husband.

Their gazes met across the camp, and Legolas knew he was not the only one besot by remembrance, charged by the thought of all they had felt together, and thrilled at what adventures were yet to come.

“Legolas!” a spirited voice beckoned him from his reverie, though deepened in tone, bearing some of the early-years sprightliness he was so achingly fond of. “Come, the time is upon us!”

With a last brush through Tiren’s tail and a consoling pat to her rump, he ambled towards the cliff edge, as hands that could barely occupy themselves without him latched onto his own. Eyes lifted skywards, they formed a chain laced with deep affection: Elladan in the loose hold of his twin, Elrohir woven tight with Legolas, and Laurith tucked tenderly under his brother’s arm. To the east, a blinding sparkle surged up into the sky, then slowly sailed to the highest, brightest point in the brilliant sea of stars. Laurith could not help but gasp in awe of the bedazzling Silmaril; while both of the brethren whispered their own personal prayer to their sage grandfather, which were answered by a burst of light so incredibly fierce, it could be meant for none but them.

Elrohir struggled to contain his rising emotions, as he ardently kissed his mate.

“He has blessed our union,” he explained, his voice thick with the moment’s import. “He is pleased to welcome you among our humble folk, my Greenleaf, and wishes us naught but plentiful joy.”

“As I am honored to be numbered in his exalted kin, melethron,” Legolas vowed to his sterling husband. “By my bow’s pledge to your safety, by my strength to your tending, and by my heart to your eternal adoration, I am sworn to our forever love.”

He sealed his troth with a wilding kiss, and hearkened to his darkling one forevermore.


End of Requiescence