The Boon

Title: The Boon
Author: TICS
Rated: NC17
Genre: Romance, AU, Slash
Pairings: Elrond/Legolas
Summary: Legolas is sent by his father to Elrond of Imladris as part of an agreement to cement relationships between the two realms.
Disclaimer: I own nothing that anyone might consider to be of any value.


A/N: Requested by MDarkdreamer, who threw the bunny at my feet. The bunny was covered in super glue...it wasn't my fault.

Note: //____// indicates a flashback. *____* indicates italics.


The Boon, Chapter Seven


*18 years later...*


Legolas' life had settled quickly into a routine. Up at dawn with Elrond to break their fast, after which he would spend most of his day with Estel. Dinner would be taken with Elrond and his family, and often with Erestor and Glorfindel in attendance as well. Evenings would be spent in the Hall of Fire recounting glories past, then retirement to Elrond's chambers, where, more likely than not, he and his husband would make love before reverie took them both.

There were days, rare though they were, when Elrond and Legolas would not leave their bedchambers at all. Those were the days that Legolas loved most dearly...the days and nights that he would spend lying in his lover's embrace, their world reduced to four walls, a large, down-filled mattress, and the beating of two hearts.

It was a good life, a happy life, and Legolas was content with it. The only thing that would have made it even sweeter, the only regret he had, would have been had his husband seen his way clear to speak the words to Legolas that the Wood Elf always hoped to hear, but that never reached his ears. In all the years that had passed since their first night together, Elrond had never told Legolas that he loved him.

Legolas knew in his heart that Elrond loved him every bit as dearly as Legolas loved the Master of Imladris...he felt it in Elrond's kiss, heard it in the small compliments Elrond paid him, saw it the myriad of kindnesses bestowed upon him by the Elf Lord...but the words themselves were withheld from him. Legolas strongly suspected that it was the memory of Elrond's wife that kept the words in his throat and barred them from passing Elrond's lips to Legolas' ears, but the Wood Elf would not lower himself to ask...to appear to beg.

Aside from that one lack, Legolas' life as Elrond's spouse was full, and most of his time was spent with the young Adan. Elrond had seen the youngster's attachment to his fair husband, and had delivered to Legolas the responsibility of Estel's formal instruction. Legolas, glad that his skills were of use, happily accepted that role for himself, at first sharing it with Arwen, then taking the full burden onto his shoulders upon Arwen's departure for Lothlorien.

At first, the chubby youngster would toddle along after Legolas to the practice fields, his tiny bow over his shoulder and blunt arrows in his quiver, his little legs taking four strides to the Wood Elf's one. He would stand beside the Elf on the practice field and fire arrow after arrow at the target Glorfindel had had made especially for him at just his height, until he would begin to yawn. Soon after, he would be found curled up on the thick, green grass, fast asleep, where he would remain until Legolas woke him to return to the House for dinner. More often than not Legolas could be seen carrying Estel back up the hill, perched on his broad shoulders.

Later, when the Adan's eye and hand coordination became such that Legolas was certain that Estel would not shoot himself in the foot, he presented the wide-eyed youngster with a bow and quiver fashioned after his own...the bow of a Mirkwood warrior. From that moment on, Legolas's days were filled with formally instructing the young Adan in the art of the bow. Glorfindel saw the lad's intense concentration and willingness to learn, and added his own instruction in the wielding of a sword to Estel's daily lessons.

The youngster had grown swiftly to become a favorite among the Elves of Elrond's House, a sweet and loving child who rapidly grew to be a bright and earnest youngster. His frame remained small and slightly stubby, in the Elves' opinion, until he reached his sixteenth year. In a matter of days it seemed he sprouted, his leggings growing far too short, his boots far too small. He was suddenly a tall, gangly, knobby-kneed and sharp-elbowed youth with the barest traces of peach-fuzz on his jaw and a voice that would crack without warning.

He became proficient with the bow, and although he never approached the level of Legolas' skill, Estel grew to be a more than adequate bowman. His skill with the sword, however, grew to such a level that Glorfindel himself ofttimes had difficulty besting him.

It was in Estel's twentieth year, when the dark shadows of a beard had begun to grow into a wool that would warm his chin in winter, and his shoulders had broadened and filled out with sinewy muscle, that the problems began.

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"Something troubles you, Estel," Legolas said, sitting beside the Adan under the spreading arms of an ancient oak. He leaned his lithe frame back against the rough bark, and turned his sapphire gaze upon his young charge.

"Nothing troubles me, Greenleaf...I am fine."

"Do not allow your tongue to taste untruths, Estel...not with me, and not with any you care for," Legolas reprimanded the Adan. He smiled, and jabbed an elbow into Estel's side. "Come, let there be no walls between us. What troubles you?"

Estel's dark blue eyes lifted up to one of the windows of Elrond's House. His expression took on a bittersweet look as he gazed at the darkened window, as if saddened by what they saw - or didn't see - there.

Following Estel's line of sight, Legolas cocked his head in puzzlement. He knew whose room that window looked into. "Arwen? She has only just returned from Lothlorien...what has she done to displease you? Ever she was kind to you...I cannot believe that she would have changed her ways since her return," Legolas asked, looking again at the young Man sitting next to him. For a moment Legolas thought Estel did not hear his question, but then the young Adan muttered a word under his breath that nearly escaped Legolas' hearing for its softness.

"Tinuviel," he said, the word more of a sigh than a sound.

"Ahh..." Legolas said, as understanding dawned on him. "Yes, indeed...the Evenstar is as lovely as that legendary maid...ever has she been, both her inward self and her outward appearance, radiant and beautiful."

A slight nod of Estel's head told Legolas that the Adan was listening, even if only with half an ear. "And you have taken notice of her beauty since her return, is that it?"

"I would speak to her...but I know not the words to say, Legolas..." Estel replied, turning to look at the Wood Elf with pleading eyes. "She mothered me...as a child she held me in her arms until she journeyed to Lothlorien...to her arms I would gladly return, but not as a child."

Legolas clucked his tongue, shaking his golden head at the young Man. "You are barely past your adolesence...such things should not weigh on your mind yet, my young friend. Love is a stranger to you yet...decisions involving the heart are yet beyond your ken."

"You are old, Legolas...are you so old that you cannot remember what it is to be young?" Estel asked, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them to his chest. "I know what my heart tells me."

"Tread lightly, Estel. The Lady Arwen is the light of Lord Elrond's heart...he will not take kindly to someone taking that light for his own and leaving him in darkness," Legolas said softly, looking up again at the darkened window that marked Arwen's bedchamber.

Estel laughed quietly, then cast a sideways glance at his mentor. " In the dark Lord Elrond has you to light his footsteps to his bed, Greenleaf. I should think that is all the light he requires," he said, grinning at the blush that colored Legolas' cheeks. The Wood Elf had been unaware that Estel was privy to his relationship with Elrond, other than the fact that they shared bedchambers. He'd had no idea that Estel knew of what went on behind closed doors.

"Regardless," Legolas said, frowning a bit at his young charge, "to seek the favor of Arwen Undómiel is to risk the disfavor of Elrond Eärendillion. Mind yourself and your tongue in her presence, young one."

"It matters not. She would never glance at me with any look other than sisterly fondness," Estel murmured, turning his head away from Legolas. His hand unconsciously reached up to pull his dark hair down to cover his ear, a habit formed from when the Adan was very young. "I am of the Edain, not the Eldar..."

"Different perhaps, but no less worthy, Estel," Legolas said softly, putting his arm around the youth's shoulder. "Never seek to lessen your worth because of your heritage...it is a proud heritage..." he continued, reaching over to push the hair away from Estel's ear, exposing its rounded tip.

"I do not even know my heritage! No one does...I was found abandoned in the forest...you know this, Legolas. I could be descended from the worst scum of Man ever born, and would not know it!"

"Aye," Legolas agreed, "Or you could be descended from Kings..."

Estel snorted, and shook his head at the Elf. "Oh, certainly...the son of a King am I...perhaps we are related! Should I fashion a mithril circlet for my brow, Your Highness?" he laughed, nodding toward Legolas in an exaggerated fashion, a smirk on his handsome face.

Legolas smiled at the small jab at his own heritage, then gave Estel a quick hug. "Come, it is near dinnertime. Lord Elrond will be expecting us at the table and I, for one, am hungry!"

In a companionable silence, they walked back to Elrond's House, each lost in his own thoughts. Estel's thoughts were only of the lovely Arwen, but Legolas' ran along another track...he was wondering how he was going to convince Elrond that the time had come for Estel to know the truth about himself...that he was, indeed, the descendant of Kings.

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"Shadows fall across the land; an ill-wind rank with the foul breath of Sauron blows," Elrond said, his voice heavy with sadness, his eyes veiled and far-seeing. They cleared after a moment, and Elrond turned those stormy gray eyes toward his husband. "It is coming...looming on the horizon and there are none who will escape it, lest they sail West. Soon, very soon, our people will begin to leave these shores. What then, Legolas? What fate for the young Adan? To march bravely to certain doom? He cannot prevail against the horrors that will be unleashed. Is it not kinder to allow him to remain ignorant of his lineage...to keep this burden from his young shoulders?"

Legolas looked up at Elrond from his place on their bed, where he rested with his back to the wall, bolstered by several thick, silken pillows of goosedown. "My husband, never have I doubted your wisdom. Never have I asked you to question the truth of what your visions revealed to you...until now. Are you certain, Elrond? Are you certain that we could not prevail against the coming darkness? That we might have a chance against it is the possibility that brought me to you...to unite the three great Elven Realms," he reminded his husband gently, patting the side of the bed, trying entice Elrond to sit and cease his pacing. "Come, sit beside me, my Lord."

He waited silently as Elrond stood and stared out of the window into the blackness beyond, until finally the Elf Lord's shoulders slumped and he did as Legolas bade him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned back into his lover's arms, resting his back against Legolas' chest.

"You speak wisely, Legolas...and remind me of the truth. There is a chance for us...albeit it a small chance, an almost impossible chance. Still, it exists. But what you ask me to do will have far reaching consequences for my House...and my heart. What you ask me to do may cause the death of one I hold dear."

"Arwen?" Legolas asked softly, kissing the crown of Elrond's head as he wrapped his arms tighter around the Elf Lord's shoulders.

"Do you think I have not seen the way Estel's eyes follow her? Or how they shine when she turns her face to him? Do you think I have not seen that same look reflected in her eyes? I fear for her, Legolas...I fear for the choices she may make."

"We can none of us know the will of Ilúvatar, Elrond. And we can none of us fight what is meant to be. Not I...not Arwen or Estel...and not you, my love. We can only try always to follow the right path...as you must do now, Elrond. Set his feet upon the right path...give him his heritage, so that he might find himself and his purpose."

Tears threatened Elrond's eyes, but he saw the wisdom and truth in Legolas' words. Nodding silently, he allowed himself to be turned in Legolas' arms, and soon enough found the pain in his heart eased by the love of his husband as the Wood Elf's velvet lips touched his own.

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"This is the Ring of Barahir, given him by Finrod Felagund, Friend of Men, and has since stood an emblem of the House of Isildur. It has passed to Isildur's heirs and now...it passes to you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Elrond said solemnly. He held his hand out to a wide-eyed Estel, and nestled in his palm was a golden ring...a serpent with an eye of emerald. "Take it...it is your birthright. You are the Isildur's Heir. You are the rightful King of Gondor."

"Nay! It cannot be...my Lord Elrond, there has been a grave error...some magician's spell has cheated your eyes! I am no King...I cannot be!" Estel contradicted, shaking his head and backing away from the proferred ring in Elrond's hand.

"Never have I spoken you an untruth, Estel. Your mother sought to bring you to me to give you shelter from the Eye of Evil that searched for you...your father fell prey to Sauron's minions, and she feared for your life. She gave her own to put you among us, where you have lived since, safe and sheltered. The Vilya can protect you no longer, my son...we can protect you no longer. You must accept your place and face your destiny," Elrond replied, his voice stern. Turning to Glorfindel, he motioned his Preceptor stepped forward, bearing a bundle wrapped in plain white linen in his arms. Kneeling on one knee, he raised the bundle toward Elrond, who lay open its wrappings with one hand. "Behold, Aragorn...the Shards of the Narsil, the Sword That Was Broken. Held here these many years in wait for the one whose blood would sing to them...your blood, Aragorn. You *are* the Heir of Isildur."

His face paled beneath his beard as Estel stared at the broken pieces of the once great sword Narsil. Deny it though he tried, the truth of Elrond's words rang in his heart...he could hear the shards of the sword of his forefather sing to him in his very soul. With a shaking hand, he reached out and took the Ring of Barahir from Elrond's outstretched palm, and placed it on his finger.

Suddenly he hand felt unbearably heavy, although the ring was of lightweight, and it fell limply to his side. Words failed him and he simply nodded to the Elf Lord, then spun on his heel and walked out of the Hall of Fire into the darkness beyond.

Legolas turned to follow, but Elrond's hand on his arm restrained him. "Let him be, Legolas..another follows..." he whispered.

Turning, Legolas saw the slim shape of Arwen slipping through the hall, following Aragorn out into the night.

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midnighteyes: Thanks for continueing to read and review, and for liking this story!

DarKDreamer: Hey! No fair throwing that hocus pocus at me! I can't let this one go on much longer...snort! Thanks, Dark!

Daeomae: I suppose it's better late than never...but at least they apologized! Thanks for reading and reveiwing! And you're right, Elrond is NOT going to be happy...

Steph: Thank you! I kinda like forceful Legolas too...he when he's technically still on the bottom! Thanks for your generous reviews, Steph, but my muses really don't have a choice...they're the ones chained to the computer!

Tiryaroofshadow: It was about time, wasn't it? But poor Legolas...Elrond still hasn't *said* the words... A formal ceremony? Well, maybe later... Thanks so much for continuing to read and review!