Bound

by BelleGreenleaf

Summary:

Glorfindel and Erestor have a long history together, but Erestor's troubled past has prevented their relationship from progressing as they would have chosen. We join them just after Fin is jolted into proposing, and Erestor has accepted.

A simple trip north to gather a rare herb, throws them into the path of another with a painful past, as a chance run-in with Uruk hai begins to unravel a dark history of elven slavery that will play a key part in the events to come. The couple find themselves wrapped up in the fight to save a future champion betrayed, and an elfling from a line that was never destined to continue.

Positioned between The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring, with a history that spans back to just before the Fall of Gondolin.

This story is part of a series that has some very smutty chapters, but whilst this main storyline has mature themes, the pure smut has been annexed off into separate chapters for those who wish to read them! Smutty chapters can be found in Bound - Naughty Bitz! Apologies if this breaks the flow for some readers, but I will try to post links in the chapter end notes where there is a jump.

Notes:

Each chapter will have notes and possibly a link in the footer so it’s probably best read chapter by chapter.

Feedback appreciated but please be kind :) x

Chapter 1: Birds of a Feather

Summary:

Following Glorfindel’s long overdue proposal, the couple awake to a request from Elrond. A simple mission to collect a healing herb from the wilds appears to be an intimate trip at just the right time.

Notes:

I have tried to keep the heavy smut out of this series, but there will be a bunch of cutscene chapters in the following series. I have already mucked up the linking though!

forgive my poor Sindarin - what I meant was...

meleth nin - my love
baneth pen nin- my strong one
hador nin - my warrior

Glorfindel awoke as the sun began to reach through the window, the first pale shards of dawn beginning to light the sky. He stretched lightly and took stock of his body, there did not seem to be any aches and pains following his night of passion with his now husband-to-be. He looked down at Erestor who was still sleeping gently in his arms and his heart swelled with love and pride. He gently stroked a long black curl off the perfect cheek it was draped over and was briefly caught in the dilemma of the kiss he so desperately wanted to bestow on his beloved and the equally powerful urge not to wake him from what appeared to be a blissful slumber. All of a sudden, the conflict was resolved by a light tapping at the window.

Glorfindel suppressed a hiss of irritation and immediately changed tactic, trying to gently untangle himself from Erestor without waking him. Having eventually managed to extricate himself, the infernal tapping had ceased and turned to flapping, then to a cacophony of agitated caws and rattles. Glorfindel swore under his breath in annoyance and picked up his pace to the window. The window was cracked open, Erestor always left it so for Yucalië his jackdaw to come and go as she pleased, but before he even reached the window he knew the source of the commotion, Elroval, Elrond’s magpie had been sent with a message, and the confounded bird could not resist provoking Yucalië as usual.

Yucalië was clearly not in a forgiving mood and having been awoken by the upstart’s teasing, had now driven him far out along the ledge outside the window even as he battled to get inside. Glorfindel opened the window wide and reached out, but not before Elroval made a leap onto Yucalië, attempting to land on the aggravated jackdaw’s back. Following the pleasant but surprising lack of aches and pains on awakening, Glorfindel now felt a headache coming on; he would wring the neck of that infernal feathered menace if he caught hold of him.

Yucalië, obviously of a similar opinion to Glorfindel, responded to the bird’s final taunt with an outraged burst of noise and a flurry of beak and claws just as Glorfindel got his hand to the hapless magpie. The fool of a bird chose that moment to realize that the jackdaw responded to irritation with a similar level of tolerance as her sharp-tongued master, and he made a frantic, noisy scrabble up Fin’s arm to escape her wrath. Fin hissed more curses and threats at the terrified bird and pulled it in through the window leaving Yucalië preening herself in a disgruntled but self-satisfied way on the sill.

“Morgoth’s balls, you stupid bird, have you not the sense you hatched with?” Fin rubbed angrily at the long scratches that marked Elroval’s escape route up his arm “I’d separate that simple head of yours from your infuriating body if it wouldn’t upset Elrond so much!” He mused, absentmindedly stroking the bird’s head gently as the magpie hopped up his arm, affectionately tugging at his hair and letting out a low rattle near his ear.

“That’s as may be, but she will have your beady little eyes from that feather-stuffed head of yours if you try that again, and she will pay no heed to Elrond’s feelings on the matter!” Fin chided affectionately as he began the struggle of removing the note from the magpie’s leg, but the bird sensed a new game and hopped up to perch on his head, giving his hair another yank.

“By all that is sacred, stay still you spawn of Sauron!” Fin hissed as the bird cackled delightedly and defiantly evaded his grasp once more. Fin heard a chuckle from the bed and spun to see bright silver eyes looking at him amused.

“When I awoke alone and saw you attempting to exit by the window, I was concerned for a moment that the sun had brought you regret meleth nin!” Came the gentle voice from the bed.

Erestor’s tone was teasing but Fin did detect a genuine hint of a question seeking reassurance. Fin’s face lit up in a loving smile for his mate, despite the magpie, who sensed he was in danger of losing the blond’s attention pecking at his sensitive ear tip and making him curse again with pain. A sharp whistle came from the bed and Elroval immediately took flight, landing gently on Erestor’s hand, obediently staying still as the note was removed and Glorfindel glared. Seeming to take pleasure in Fin’s exasperated look, Elroval paid little attention to Erestor’s light admonishment about his behavior, and proudly puffed out his chest before taking off and soaring gracefully back out the window.

Fin huffed and closed the window sharply behind him before turning back to Erestor who was skimming the rolled scrap of parchment he had removed.

“Why does he seem to take such delight in my pain?” Fin scowled, rubbing at his ear and arm simultaneously.

Erestor smiled solicitously, “I believe it to be the delightful noises you make meleth nin! But for clarification, do you mean our Lord or his bird?”

Fin’s agitation turned to interest at his beloved’s suggestive tone, and he stalked closer to the bed. “Hmmm, does the content of that message allow time for you to tend to your husband-to-be’s injuries healer?”

Erestor’s eyes seemed to somehow turn from shining silver to a sultry smoky grey.

“It depends on what treatment is required, my brave magpie wrangler!” Erestor’s voice was full of desire despite his joking, and it made his betrothed burn for him.

As Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed, Erestor knelt up close behind him and a shiver ran down Glorfindel’s spine as a gentle tongue ran from the lobe to the pointed tip of the reddened ear, chased by soft kisses and warm breath ghosting over it.

“Mmmm, that is much better baneth pen nin.” Fin closed his eyes and lifted his arms as his mate slid his nightshirt off over his head and trailed feather-light kisses down his arm, spidering over the reddened skin, though the scratches there were now barely visible.

“Are there any other areas that require attention hador nin?” Erestor breathed through fluttering lashes.

“When does Lord Elrond require us?” Fin whispered the question, not wanting to break the bliss, his eyes still closed as his long-term lover’s soft lips hovered over his shoulder where they had paused.

“I think I can get to here, and we will still have time for breakfast!” Erestor mused as his hand crept down to rest in Glorfindel’s lap. His mate sighed in pleasure at the touch of the peredhel who after thousands of years, he still desired more than any being he had ever known.

“What if I am not hungry my love?” Fin teased wickedly, twisting his body into Erestor’s to allow his lover better access to his chest as the kisses began to travel over his collarbone again.

“Then I will have to see what I can do about returning your appetite my love! Our Lord sends us on a long trip, I won’t have you faint from hunger tumbling from Asfaloth into the Bruin!” Glorfindel shifted naturally as Erestor worked his way around to straddle his lover’s lap.

“Any ideas my love?” He queried as he stole a deep kiss and used his weight to encourage Fin to lie back on the bed, running his fingers through golden hair and caressing his ears as the blond obligingly sunk down taking Erestor with him.

“Mmmm, lose these!” Fin murmured, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his lover’s light cotton leggings having already loosened the ties.

“Patience meleth nin!” Erestor was still enjoying the novelty of the endearment not seeming to cause his mate alarm. In one fluid motion he lifted his weight from Fin pulling down Fin’s leggings, leaving the seneschal naked below him.

Erestor grinned as his mate sprung free of his leggings in all his glory. “I am hungry! But don’t worry, I will see you work up an appetite first my love!”

Notes:

There is an additional 'smutty chapter' in between this and C2 of this arc here for those that wish to read it here...
At Last!

Chapter 2: Two become One

Summary:

Glorfindel and Erestor begin their journey into the wilds and find a treetop talan to spend the night in.

Notes:

meleth nin - my love
hador nin - my warrior
osanwë- mind speech
rhaw - body

Glorfindel was still laid in a relaxed heap on the bed as Erestor busied about the room preparing breakfast and flinging garments into bags.

“Set the bath running my love, as much as I love you, I have no intention of riding to the north of Trollshaws sticky from you!” Erestor said smiling coquettishly at Fin’s look of mock disappointment.

“Fear not husband-to-be, there is a little lodge we are headed for that will afford you ample opportunity to make me as sticky as you please once we arrive!” The salacious tone of his voice made Glorfindel have to force himself to turn to the bathing room, fearing that otherwise, they would never leave.

Erestor hummed lightly as he packed the things that they would need for a week alone together in the forests. He couldn’t help but wonder at the fortuitous timing of the rare gift of private time given Fin’s recent proposal. He had a strong suspicion that the circumstances surrounding Elrond’s finding he was desperately short of a rare herb that grew only in the north of Trollshaws and would need to be gathered over a couple of nights, were more than coincidental. However, if Lord Elrond had discerned that the time together would be particularly appreciated right now, he was not going to grumble, and he happily tossed items into their bags in an uncharacteristically carefree manner.

After a hearty breakfast of eggs, cheese, fruit, and bread and a quick bath, the couple were in high spirits and ready to set off. Fin’s mood could not even be marred by Elroval riding atop Asfaloth’s head for half an hour, squawking happily in his stallion’s ears, making him toss his head in agitation until Yucalië came to Erestor’s whistle and the young magpie had the sense to make himself scarce.

It was two days ride out to where Erestor had pointed out on the map that the cabin they targeted was located, just south of the waterfalls where the herb grew. He had visited it many years before and though it was remote, it was occupied on and off for around two-thirds of the year as it was on a key defensive patrol route into the north. Erestor had diligently checked with Elrond around the guard rotas and was confident that the cabin would be empty but well-maintained and stocked, so they were traveling just with their clothes and the provisions they needed for the trip. As the herbs were to be fire dried before their return, their load would be light and there was no need for a pack horse, so their pace was brisk.

As the evening settled on the first day of their travel Glorfindel took them a little off their route to find an enclosed talan that the guards also used. It was empty although it had been left neat and tidy by the last occupants and the heaps of rugs and skins designed to keep sleep rolls off the rough-hewn timber floor had been carefully hung over the narrow wooden rafters. Erestor made the sleeping space comfortable as Fin made a fire to roast the partridges he had shot as they crossed the farmlands on the outskirts of Imladris. The smell of the roasting game was making Erestor’s mouth water, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was after the long ride. He was about to head down to Fin when Elroval landed on one of the wooden rafters with a loud rattle, having swept in through the ventilation gaps under the eaves of the talan.

Elroval had a note on his leg from Elrond and the contents had been mildly distressing, King Thranduil had been in contact about an exile of the woodland realm who was believed to have headed in the direction that they were moving in. Little was said about the elf in question beyond the fact that despite being exiled, the Elvenking maintained more than a passing interest in their whereabouts.

Erestor felt that if the elf was believed to be a danger to them that Elrond would have said so, but it made his mind wander over what sort of trouble the Silvan could be in to warrant exile and then such a prevailing interest from the Elvenking. Particularly as he appeared to be so cagey as to the details.

There was no further information beyond an instruction from Elrond that any sighting of the exile or anyone believed to be tracking them should be reported by bird immediately to Elrond as opposed to the woodland realm. Erestor didn’t like the feel of it, and although his words on the matter were minimal, he could tell that Elrond did not either. He made a quick decision to ask by return if the exile should be offered sanctuary in Imladris if they were discovered and had only just attached the note when Fin’s head appeared through the hatch of the flet. He glared at Elroval.

“Had you told me we had company meleth nin, there might have been more supper! As it is, the two birds I did roast are cooked pen vain.” He growled at the magpie as it cocked its head and regarded him with interest. Deciding there was no fun to be had in the immediate future, the bird puffed himself up as Erestor spoke softly to give him direction to return to his master and gently smoothed his feathers. He took off with a gleeful caw, swooping Glorfindel’s head and tugging a braid loose as he went before disappearing back through the gap under the eaves. Glorfindel cursed loudly and Erestor simply laughed.

“Only you, my brave and mighty Balrog slayer could have an ongoing feud with our Lord’s messenger bird!” Erestor chuckled in response to the latest string of expletives the bird had inspired, and leaned down to kiss his mate, tucking the braid back into place gently, his feet dangling through the hole in the flet either side of where Fin’s shoulders came through the platform.

Fin huffed playfully, “If it didn’t know better, I would say our Lord had employed the reincarnation of that infernal Balrog as a messenger bird simply to torment me! Tiny, winged menace!”

Erestor laughed affectionately again, “Now hador nin, as grateful as I am for the dark brooding looks that Elroval commands in you, I have news, and you have food to share, I believe we should attend to that first!” Erestor had intended to conceal the fact that the brief seriousness of his mate and the reminder of his heroic past had once more fired up a want in him that was now magnified by the nagging remembrance that they were alone with no one to overhear them for miles, but the tone of his voice gave him away.

“First? What plans do you have for second my love?” Fin enquired; his voice had turned gruff in response to the desire he picked up on from his mate.

Erestor swallowed, he knew exactly what he wanted from his lover and centuries at his mate’s side meant he knew how to get it. He smiled angelically at him even as images of being naked, basking in the glow of the campfire ran through his head.

“Food and news first my love, there will be time to play later!” Erestor beamed innocently, before worrying his lower lip with his teeth in a subconscious gesture that drove a spike of desire through his lover.

The pair ate the partridges with the fresh bread they had brought, and sat close in a happy, companionable silence once Erestor had shared the contents of both Elrond’s latest note, and his response. Both delighting in being truly alone together and having the luxury of time they could devote to the other. They were enjoying the beginnings of the sunset that was framing the blissful moment, the sunlight beginning to redden and dapple through the trees. The firelight danced more vividly over their faces as the sun faded, and Erestor was acutely aware of how intently his mate watched him as he dropped extra logs onto the fire, sending a cloud of sparks spiraling up into the night sky. Erestor basked in the attention, drinking in Fin’s adoring gaze as he moved smoothly, feeling his lover’s desire almost crackle through the air around him, making him feel alive with power.

For all his self-confidence Erestor rarely cared to place himself in a position that would warrant the scrutiny or the company of others. He freely accepted that most would never truly appreciate or love what they saw in Elrond’s sharp-minded, sharp-tongued chief of household, so he simply avoided them, considering that he didn’t care enough for their opinion to wish to change it.

There were a small number of exceptions to this, the most important of which was Fin, he never had to hide from his Fin. Regardless of their commitment level, in his heart, he knew his mate saw him and loved him exactly as he was. In moments like this when he was alone with his love, it was hugely freeing.

Glorfindel watched Erestor deliberately put aside his empty bowl, and he matched the same movements moments later as his lover’s smooth, purposeful motion sent a pulse of energy and desire down his spine that made his skin tingle and every hair stand on end. Erestor shot him a knowing look and Fin’s bright blue eyes blazed with curiosity, as they locked onto the lust-blown, smoke-grey eyes of his beloved.

Suddenly, it was as if he sank into them, sucked down deep into dark swirling water, Fin was drowning in Erestor but he had no desire to struggle or fight. The sensation was that of being surrounded by his lover as he felt Erestor’s strong mind reach out and then flow into his, but it felt natural and more comforting than being surrounded by the cool air and the light evening breeze.

Erestor rarely attempted sustained osanwë in Imladris, the pair knew each other so well that the connection was not needed, merely a bonus, but blocking out the crowd of noisy minds in such close proximity took too much effort and was draining. But here, alone in the quiet evening, the unique melody of his fëa and the golden light of his beloved’s mind took no effort to focus on, it was crystal clear and called to him. He had heard that being bonded to his lover would pinpoint Fin in his mind like this always, and the thought chased pleasure through him as he honed in on his mate’s melody and captivating time signature. He edged closer to Fin’s consciousness, nuzzling up to the comforting light, and he felt his mate readily make space and welcome him in. The sparks as their minds touched were thrilling, and they flowed a warmth through his rhaw that made him shiver.

Erestor held eye contact with his mate, focusing on the rhythm of his heart and his breath and how it combined with the song of his fëa. Erestor opened his mind and relaxed his body, now allowing it to bend to the urge to mirror Fin’s, his heart rate and breathing naturally falling into line with that of his lover.

Notes:

There is an additional 'smutty chapter' in between this and C3 of this arc here for those that wish to read it here...
Dance For Me!

Chapter 3: Love’s Last Gift

Summary:

Glorfindel and Erestor find the exile and her tracker from the woodland realm, but nothing is ever simple!

Apologies to Tauriel fans, I love her, honestly, I do, but sometimes a good/evil switch is irresistible, but believe me when I say I shed tears over this chapter.

Warnings: Character death and parental loss. Although there is no infant loss, this was still somehow a trigger for me around this topic.

Notes:

The Sindarin as it was intended:

meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
fëa - soul
Û, uiveleth nin. Na cranthannen! - No my everlasting love. It’s perfect!
belaith pen - strong one
Penneth nin - young one
melui pen - sweet one
elleth - female elf
ellon - male elf
Na pel penneth nin, dhe nabarn. Gellanin! Aule anhapen ammen - Be still young one, you are safe. Rejoice! Aule gifted someone to us
Ion nin - my son
hest nin - my captain
athon - yes
heruin nin - my warrior
Im mel cin ion nin! - I love you my son!

Erestor lay sated and floppy in Fin’s arms. Left boneless and floating above his body from the climax Glorfindel had ripped from him. His beloved had somehow carried him back up to the flet from the fireside. He had tenderly laid Erestor on their bedrolls, cushioned by soft pelts, and had pulled blankets up over his lover having deftly rubbed salve into tender skin.

Erestor smiled dreamily up at Glorfindel as the powerful seneschal fondly stroked and braided his hair. The natural way his Fin understood and offered unquestioningly exactly what Erestor needed, was now only enhanced by the clearer bond that had been formed by Erestor opening his mind as he had to his mate and Fin opting to complete the merge. Erestor silently explored the new feeling of their fëa having been fused together as two parts of a whole. Erestor had allowed Fin full access to all he was, the Erestor that maybe only one or two others had ever even glimpsed, and no other would ever be permitted to hold or tame as Fin did.

Glorfindel gazed lovingly at his mate and a wave of contented tiredness washed through him making him realize that their mental connection had not fully closed. Erestor’s eyes looked heavy, looking at Fin through dark lashes as he bent towards him to kiss him softly on the lips.

“My love, do you need anything? I don’t want you uncomfortable in the morning.” Glorfindel offered his beloved. To his shock, although Erestor was almost asleep, Fin still had an awareness of his lover’s body.

“Has something changed? Between us I mean.” He formed the phrase tentatively, not wanting to alarm his mate but a wave of contentment simply surged through his mind.

“I believe we may have saved Lord Elrond a job meleth, your fëa appears to have bonded itself to mine without his assistance.” Came the sleepy response as his bondmate snuggled in against his warmth near purring with pleasure. “You aren’t disappointed are you my love? we can still dress you in white and cover you in flowers when we get home.” His tone was teasing but there was a touch of genuine worry in Erestor’s voice and his eyes seemed momentarily more awake as he looked for Glorfindel’s response.

His golden warrior kissed him softly, “Û, uiveleth nin. Na cranthannen!” (“No my everlasting love. It’s perfect!”) He soothed, enjoying experiencing the way that his peredhel gave in to sleep in a way he had never experienced before.

Glorfindel spent the night wondering anew at the sensation that was mannish sleep. It had taken a while to become accustomed to the way his beloved slept relaxed and curled up in his arms, eyes closed and mind somewhere else, though his body sometimes seemed fitful. He had been distressed the first time that he observed it, after weeks, distress had turned to mild discomfort then eventually fascination. It had been thousands of years ago but he still remembered those first months when he had held Erestor as he slept, how fascinating it had been, how he wondered at how animated his lover seemed compared to elvish sleep, moving and muttering though his body seemed vacant. Now he experienced it as near to first hand as he ever would, finding as he dropped into meditative sleep, he could walk Erestor’s dreams by his side. Despite himself, Glorfindel found as the sun rose, he had deep regret and irrational anger towards those closest to him. He could have had this for millennia, Erestor would not have denied him, but he had been too blind, too afraid of the past to grasp what was right in front of him, and none of those around him had opened his eyes.

As the first rays of light crept across the sky. Erestor’s sleep became noticeably lighter, and before dawn, smoke-grey eyes opened to his, accompanied by a light smile. “Good morning beloved, did you rest?” Fin returned the light kiss that Erestor twisted slightly to deliver as the peredhel squinted closer at the warrior’s face, immediately picking up that something was not quite right but unable to pinpoint what.

“I fear I was too captivated by you to rest as well as I should. Your dreams are unlike those I have ever had. Are they always so… new?” Fin asked earnestly.

Erestor chuckled, “New is a subjective word my love, they change yes; but you are almost always at my side, even when Lord Elrond’s study is full of custard and Galadriel is about to come to visit!”
“That has never happened!” Exclaimed Glorfindel in astonished confusion.

“It has not my love!” Erestor said with a wry smile, placing a light kiss on his mate’s lips “And may we hope it never does, I am certain Lindir’s fëa could not withstand it, though I daresay Celeborn would find it amusing! Nevertheless, peredhil, like men are not limited to walk the paths of memory, sometimes we go elsewhere in our minds, into a more chaotic dreamscape. I must ask Lindir for his version of the custard dream, I don’t doubt he has had it many times! Though in his, he is probably naked and has lost our Lord’s hairbrush or something!” Erestor struggled to suppress a laugh at the confused but thoughtful look on Glorfindel’s face.

“That is a great deal of custard, how did it get there?” He mused, looking altogether too serious on the matter. “Something to do with Elrond’s two no doubt, sounds like one of their pranks.” He muttered returning to crossness at the whole scenario. “How have I spent four millennia without knowing this about you?” He grumbled beginning to gather up their belongings as Erestor stretched lazily and began to rummage through the supplies in search of breakfast. He grinned broadly and tossed Glorfindel a pastry before happily munching on his own.

“Dreams are a phenomenon I have experienced for more than six millennia, and I am yet to understand them either!”

“But why custard?” Glorfindel persisted perplexed, shaking his head at the thought. As Erestor gleefully eyed his mate’s confusion.

“Fear not belaith pen, now we are mentally bonded, you have an eternity of every odd scenario a peredhel mind can cook up ahead of you, with and without custard no doubt!” He chuckled as he swung up onto Leginae and clicked his tongue at the mare whilst fondly working his fingers through her coarse mane.

“I still don’t understand the custard!” Glorfindel mumbled mounting Asfaloth, “Maybe you could swap with Lindir and be naked and we can simply forget about the hairbrush?” He was still unsure why his confusion appeared to be such a source of mirth to his mate, but he followed on where Erestor led without further questions.

**

They had been riding for most of the day and by Glorfindel’s estimate were now only a few hours from their destination. Asfaloth followed once more behind Leginae, Glorfindel feeling better with his lover where he could see him the further they progressed outside of the patrolled lands. Erestor pulled Leginae up hard and spun her, his face contorted with pain. “Do you hear that?”

Glorfindel stilled his breath and strained his ears, but he could hear nothing. Erestor opened their bond further and projected, and Glorfindel’s mind almost shattered with the cacophony of sound. The pain in the noise was unmistakable but Glorfindel could distinguish no more.

“What is that?” He dared not speak until the threat was more apparent, but he longed for the connection to shut down and spare him the pained sounds. Erestor obliged and closed himself off.

“Three fëa, two badly injured, one of whom should not still be here given its extreme distress, the third is not with them. It is newly formed, in pain, though I don’t think physically, or even mentally, I can’t read it.” He glanced at Fin, the pain in his mind was visible in his eyes.

“What are we to do my love? Can you find them?” Glorfindel asked of his lover.

“I think we must split up, the two I think are captives, they will be easy to track, not far off the road at a guess and there will likely be orcs or goblins holding them, I don’t sense elves or men. The third I may be able to pinpoint if the others become quieter.” Fin was already scanning his surroundings more closely for any sign that someone had passed recently. He urged Asfaloth in a little down the track and waited for Erestor to join him.

“Here, there was a struggle, and footprints lead east down the hill into the thicker woodland no doubt.” He glanced up, “There are arrows further down the path, stay here!” The command was from Glorfindel, Chief Warden of Imladris, not his husband. Erestor watched as he silently dismounted and made his way stealthily through the trees. The woods were still around him though the trees murmured their distress to the elves and Erestor tried to focus on their muted lament rather than the screaming discomfort in his head. Fin returned after about 10 minutes.

“Uruk, nine dead, someone fought bravely, but I think still six remain. The arrows were elven, of the woodland realm from the fletch and the wood.” Glorfindel peered into the undergrowth where there was a faint trace of a trail through. “A woodland elf, maybe two, that came from in there I would say, my love.”

Erestor followed his gaze. “That is where the third remains.” Glorfindel nodded as his eyes roamed over his lover, he seemed distracted by the noise his mind could pick up and it worried him.
“You will catch me up?” Glorfindel muttered, still on full alert.

“I will. Be safe my love!” Erestor directed Leginae through the thicket with no resistance from his loyal mate and he quickly vanished from view.

Glorfindel turned Asfaloth and headed carefully down the hill where he suspected the remaining orc band now held their prisoners.

**

Erestor glanced back over his shoulder as his mate head down the hill and then turned and focussed on his task. He eyed the undergrowth, barely discernible, there were broken stems that suggested someone had passed through. Leginae pushed a little further through the undergrowth and Erestor stilled her, his sense of the fëa he picked up on was lessening so he strained his other senses in an attempt to pick it back up. Nothing! Erestor cursed under his breath, allowing Leginae a few more paces before he halted her again. “Where are they girl, do you sense anything I do not?” Leginae huffed at him and tossed her head in agitation, snorting loudly.

Erestor paused and sniffed the air, there was a faint scent of something, it was not a pleasant smell, a mixture of spoiled milk and something else. It reminded Erestor of something, but he could not place it, for some reason Elrond came to mind but that was entirely out of place as the elven lord never smelled of anything other than his characteristic warm cinnamon and ginger soap that emanated from him. Erestor scowled and turned towards the source of the odor, dropping lightly down from Leginae to continue on foot. The smell became a little stronger and he noticed a scrap of green material reminiscent of the hunting garb that he associated with Prince Legolas. Could it be something discarded by the exiled woodland elf Elrond had written about? Erestor bent to examine the material and found that it was attached to a much larger bundle of cloth. A traveling cloak that was indeed of the woodland realm and within it was wrapped a tiny, sleeping, and rather ripe elfling.

Erestor looked at the babe in shock, it was asleep but was clearly barely a few days old. He scooped the babe up and could tell it had been abandoned for some hours. The cloak was soiled and damp with dew that must have gathered overnight. The babe was naked other than the cloak which Erestor rapidly discarded. The cold and damp of the undergrowth had been kept out, but the cloak was soiled and the babe cold to the touch. “Penneth nin, melui pen, what are you doing here all alone?” He soothed, adopting the voice he had cooed to Elrond’s elflings in all those centuries before.

Erestor used the unsoiled portions of the garment to tenderly clean the infant, cradling him gently against his chest, before tearing a clean, dry section of the cloth to act as a makeshift napkin. His memories flashed back over a thousand years to the time he had played second Ada to Elrond’s brood, and he hurriedly secured the cloth with the ornate pin that still clung to the remnants of the cloak he had tossed aside. It was military in nature and belonged to a warrior of high rank he was certain. The baby boy was weak, no doubt in dire need of food and his lethargy alarmed Erestor greatly. He opened his robes and reached into the saddle bags that were strapped to Leginae to retrieve a light blanket. Deftly he slung the tiny elfling against his bare chest, securing the minute and fragile form, before gently wrapping his clothes back over the newborn.

The babe was smaller than he remembered the twins having been, but time did much to warp perception. He gently stroked a light tuft of flame-red hair and his fingers traced over gently pointed ears, just like his, could this child be half-elven as he was? He needed to find food for the babe. He needed to find the child’s mother. His mind spun to his mate and the captives that he was aiming to free. His first thought was to follow immediately, but now his priorities had changed; his first task had to be in caring for the tiny elfling who was mercifully growing warmer where he was bound to Erestor’s chest. The warmth of the adult’s body was rousing the elfling who was beginning to root against him in hunger.

Erestor eyed the pack, he had no milk, but he had lembas and miruvor, it was hardly a great substitute but he had no other option, he broke off some of the waybread and ground it into a paste by adding a little miruvor and some of the water from his skin. Dipping his finger into the gloop he offered it to the babe who latched on to the digit and sucked strongly. Erestor fed the infant finger scoops of the paste until the babe appeared to drift back to sleep against him. Erestor fretted over the situation, but he could think of no better course of action than to go after the child’s parents. He sprung lightly up onto Leginae and headed to where he would meet his mate and, if the Valar smiled upon him, the tiny elfling’s parents.
**
Glorfindel readied himself, nocking an arrow to his bow as he trusted Asfaloth to pick his way silently along the path. He had ultimate faith in the seasoned war stallion, trusting that his senses would compliment those of his master. Glorfindel’s sharp ears picked up on a shift in the denser woodland and the arrow that he had nocked was loosed and a body dropped heavily into the scrub. If his count of six was accurate, that left five live uruk, the one he had just felled having been hit directly through his eye.

Asfaloth didn’t falter and continued to move forward stealthily as his rider nocked a second arrow as his eyes searched for additional sentries. He became aware of the sound of loud, labored breathing somewhere in the clearing up ahead and when he paused he caught the faint scent of coppery blood on the breeze. He stifled the sigh of relief, realizing that whilst someone was badly injured possibly dead, for now, as least one of the captives was alive.

Another dozen stealthy paces and Glorfindel’s hunter’s eye spotted another sentry, this one leaning against a tree, his eyes engaged with another, not roving as they should have been. Instantly Glorfindel took out the sentry and there was a bellow instantly unleashed from the comrade he had been fixated on. The noise was instantly stilled by a third arrow, but the alarm had been raised.

As Asfaloth surged forward unbidden, sensing the new urgency, Glorfindel prayed to the Valar that his initial count had been correct, and the group had not been reinforced. Bile rose in Glorfindel’s throat as he heard a sickening, soft, gurgling sound in the undergrowth, there was a moan and a stomach-twisting frothing sound. But the breathing he could hear continued though it apparently became even more pained. Glorfindel leaped from Asfaloth, sword drawn.

Within a heartbeat he had felled an uruk who was trying to slit the throat of a blond elf who although gagged, blindfolded, and bound wrist and ankle was flailing wildly, fighting his aggressor. The uruk dropped lifeless onto his intended victim and Glorfindel turned his attention to the uruk who had plunged a filthy blade into the abdomen of an elleth with hair so red it instantly sent him back to the courts of Feanor and his kin. Glorfindel bayed his frustration at not having reached the elleth in time. Even as he separated her aggressor’s head from his body, he could see that he was too late as the blood flowed from her, tainting her perfectly formed lips with a bright red froth as the life ebbed from her and he felt the chill of Mandos draw near.

Glorfindel looked up, tears brimming slowly in his eyes as he dropped to his knee and swept into a deep bow. “My Lord!”

“Rise child! You and I are too well acquainted for such formalities!” The doomsman of the Valar smiled gently upon Glorfindel as his hand reached for the fëa of the fallen elleth, his fingers wrapping comfortingly around hers.

“Na pel penneth nin, dhe nabarn. Gellanin! Aule anhapen ammen!” (“Be still young one, you are safe. Rejoice! Aule gifted someone to us!”) Glorfindel watched entranced as the fiery redhead gazed distracted over Námo’s shoulder, pulling Glorfindel’s gaze with hers. He saw a stocky but strong figure stride forward, near the height of a man with wild, dark hair and regal features. He was unmistakably a dwarf, but Glorfindel found his fëa open to his own and it had a distinctly elven feel. Then he understood, this was a dwarf who had pledged himself to an elf. A dwarf who had been released by the mercy of Aule to walk the path of the firstborn through the halls of waiting. Glorfindel automatically bowed once more to the newcomer.

The dwarf halted; his attention temporarily captured by the golden warrior. “I thank you my friend, but it is I that should bow to you. I fear there is far more that My Lord Námo would have me ask of you.” He looked at the redhead and although Glorfindel clearly saw undying love and gratitude, there was also a deep sorrow in the dwarf’s eyes. “The only one I once thought I could hold this dear has been returned to me; but I never thought I would feel such sorrow at our reunion. You know the ways of the Valar my friend, and you know loss. May we trust in you our most precious gift?” His arm was now around the waist of the elleth and Glorfindel met her green eyes for the first time in death. They were bright and bold, but they bored through him far more deeply and less kindly than the dark eyes of her mate.

Glorfindel looked to Námo for guidance, feeling entirely out of his depth, he vaguely registered the arrival of his own mate, mainly because he felt his lover’s mind retreat from his even as he could feel the warmth of his body in close proximity. Glorfindel wondered where his lover’s energy was being channeled as he briefly recognized how distant he looked and caught the flecks of starlight that began to exude his lover whenever he was engaged in healing another.

“Ion nin!” breathed the redhead, Glorfindel felt the male’s heartbreaking simply in the look he gave Erestor who appeared to have a tiny elfling bound to his chest.

Erestor could feel the power of the exchange in the clearing even if he could not see that which his mate did, but he was preoccupied with something else, the desperation of the stricken ellon. He surged forward to touch his mind, realizing that something was draining the elf and fast. He had seen this before and his blood ran cold, surely such barbaric practices were long departed. He immediately acted, setting himself as a wall between the last of the ellon’s energy and the force that was literally sucking the life from him.

The fëa of the departing elleth surged vividly into his mind demanding he pledged to surrender his life in protection of the infant who squirmed against him. He blinked the strength of the compulsion away, but it focused his mind on the needs of the child. He deftly lifted the child free and dropped him to the body of his mother. Erestor loosed her bodice and helped the starving infant to latch.

Glorfindel regarded his mate, beyond horrified that he could let the infant desecrate the dying elleth in such a way. He moved to pull him away but was caught in a fierce hold. He spun to face commanding green eyes “You will not Captain!” the voice was vicious and unforgiving and sent a shiver through his very core. “Would you deny a dying mother her last moments of comfort?” she raged.

Glorfindel cowed, stooping before the trio, no longer able to trust his judgment when the dwarf took pity on him. “Ai Tauriel! He acts through respect for you, and he will be Nornion’s Ada for a time, do not be so quick to judge.”

Tauriel looked upon her lover with fire tinged with forgiveness, before turning back to Glorfindel with a slightly more forgiving countenance. “I do not chastise your ferocity Hest nin, it will guard him well. You will ensure we are known to him?”

“Athon heruin nin!” Glorfindel uttered sincerely, searching the somehow familiar green eyes avidly. Maedrhos sprung to his mind as Námo caught his gaze with purpose and nodded gently before redirecting his gaze to the elf still bound on the floor.

“Your husband has changed his destiny Laurefindelë, it is no longer his time ion nin, look to him!” Námo looked at the raven-haired peredhel with what appeared to be a mixture of pride and amusement, “I knew he was destined for greater things when he first turned his back on me!” he smiled fondly at the peredhel who was still absorbed in wherever he had gone. The odd endearment jarred with Glorfindel, but he let it slip.

Glorfindel bowed deeply, “My Lord! How can the fates be changed by one elf?” Glorfindel breathed the question as much in awe for his lover as anything else.

Námo hummed, as if assessing how much to reveal. “You know that elf more intimately than most ion nin, I am surprised you have to ask that Laurefindelë. But if you ask, you would more accurately ask how he could change them a second-time penneth! I would urge you to tell him that his Ada is proud of him, but he would not believe you!” Námo’s tone somehow saddened at that, yet his eyes burned with bright emotion. “There is more to him than meets the eye, and he had a stubborn streak, I can’t believe that would be something you would have missed?” He grinned at the look of shock on Glorfindel’s face and stepped close to Erestor barely audible he breathed “Im mel cin ion nin!” ("I love you my son!") before appearing to drift.

Suddenly the visions of the three began to fade and Glorfindel found himself once more plummeting back to a cold woodland where his tormented beloved looked miles away as he supported a babe who suckled the last gift of nourishment from the bloodied and broken body of his mother. He was shaken from the horror scene by the racked breaths of the other captive elf that was pinned under the uruk corpse.

“Ernil nin, allow me to help you!” he sighed as he reached for the blond. He rolled the heavy uruk corpse off the Prince and reached for his knife to cut free his wrists as the elf gasped deeply, almost as if he were drowning on land. There was a pained whimper from the ellon and in a final act of panic or rebellion, he struck out in a double-footed kick sending Glorfindel reeling backward onto a blade and then a firm body.

Glorfindel slumped down, his breath coming hard as pain lanced through him, spreading like tendrils penetrating him further and further, wracking each fiber they touched. The pain curled around his organs, gripped his muscles, and squeezed his bones until they felt like they would shatter within him as the poison of the blade leached through him. He felt the air move near to his cheek, like a lover’s breath but cool and swift. There was a long exhale of foul breath from behind him and sticky warmth flowed against his face, creeping down his neck, under his tunic as the blackness took him.

Chapter 4: Hidden Hero

Summary:

The couple continue their journey but stumble over the Woodland exile who had been captured by a group of Uruk.

Warnings: Character Death, non detailed references to past rape/abuse

Notes:

The narrative jumps points of view, if a section is not otherwise indicated, it is written from Erestor’s angle.

Explanations of my terrible attempts at Sindarin:

Fëa - soul
Rhaw - body
Û - no
hîr nin - my lord
Ernil nin - my prince

Erestor was struggling to maintain the connection to the ellon, fighting for what little life force remained to bind his fëa to his rhaw. The heavy presence in the glade lifted and Erestor sensed that the redhead has crossed to the halls and dropped his guard on the last of the ellon’s energy. Turning his attention back to the infant, he removed the sated elfling from the corpse of his mother. He hated himself for the decision he had made, feeling it wrong in every aspect bar the fact that his need to keep the elfling alive trumped all else in his mind. Even as his sensibilities challenged his decision to allow the babe to benefit from the last gift his Naneth could ever offer, a cold, logical part of him knew it had been the right thing to do.

As the redhead’s fëa had departed, a stream of memories poured into his mind through the bond he was blocking to the ellon he guarded; an unexpected love, the ferocity of true love celebrated, and the heartbreak of a mate lost.

Images clamoured for his attention, memories melded with his own and it felt for a moment as though it was he who, exiled and wandering, had crouched in the undergrowth and birthed a perfect baby boy onto a warrior’s cloak. As if it were he who had wrapped the babe, prayed to the Valar not to forsake his son on account of his actions and risen with his last ounces of strength to flee through the thick undergrowth to draw the uruk war-party back towards the one who had pledged his sacrifice so many years ago, blinded by grief.

It was he who had stumbled and been caught as he turned his back on the one who had pledged his life to him, having observed what he endured at the hands of his captors. He who still unrelentingly pulled on the energy of one he had bound to him in deception, and eventually, his fëa who reached gladly, for the comfort of his soulmate who stood at Námo’s side. Erestor had felt sullied even as he fought back the bite of ancient trauma, long-buried, desperately trying to reach out for his balance, the other half of him that kept him tethered, he reached out for his husband and relief washed through him as their minds melted into each other.

Pain tore through the bond he had with his mate, ripping his consciousness back into the small clearing in the trees, only to see his beloved skewered and helpless on the sword of the Uruk commander.

Time stilled, the Uruk eyed Erestor’s slight frame, registered the pain on his face and he leered. He was going to twist the blade, Erestor could see it in those eyes that ignited with perverted desire at the thought if the pain he could cause. Erestor growled, the Uruk had sealed his fate.

**
Maulúk

His unit were dead, but he had taken out the golden warrior and the other blond had proven very entertaining over the last two days. It was a shame about the redhead, she would have been almost as entertaining to break, even if she clearly lacked the endurance of the male, he would have enjoyed having his way with her too. Elves tasted so sweet, it was so unfortunate that they never lasted long after he took what he wanted from them, the blond had surprised him, outlasting any he had known before. It didn’t matter though, there would always be more, and the one in front of him with midnight black hair had caught his eye.

The combination of purity, torment and millennia of experience sang out to him. This elf would be a fine addition to the collection of memories of those over the years he had possessed, tortured, deconstructed and ultimately crushed. Each pure soul he claimed held forever in his mind like a butterfly pinned to a board, its fragility as appealing as the delicate, patterns. This elf would be a particularly rare and savoured addition, his strength was clear and was matched by his beauty. He longed to feel his essence flee beneath him, he craved the power it bestowed.

The fire in the dark elf’s eyes called to him, the elf was built to endure all the pain and shame he could hope to bestow upon him, and the prospect set him aflame. This elf would not quickly fade to torment, he felt sure of it. This elf smelled different, the blood that flowed in his veins did not resemble wholly either man or elf he had encountered before, he would make him suffer and he would endure, oh the sounds he would draw from him. This elf’s strength could so easily be exploited, if he placed value on himself, he would have fled. His loyalty to these others outshone his self-preservation; he would be the easiest and most delightful mark of all.

He leered, sure of himself, imagining how sweet the flesh of the infant would taste as he took his pleasure from the dark elf. He could see love burn in the elf’s eyes for the one on the end of his blade, and he shuddered with desire at the primal growl the blond’s plight drew from the raven beauty.

He fixated on delicate features marble white with the soft blush of adrenaline, he intended to twist his wrist to see if he could draw a whimper from the dying elf on his blade. He was so focussed on the other’s pain that he barely registered the arm that reached back before extending. For a moment he felt shock but he could not pin why, something had hit his chest and catapulted him backwards with force.

There was a moment of confusion, he searched the face of his victim as cold flooded through him and an alien and barely discernible look of self satisfaction appeared on the beautiful face before him. The cold flooding through him was contrasted by the heat that bloomed around where the long knife pierced his heart. His disbelief shuddered through him.

Blackness descended and his body released his soul, it fled with that of the redhead. He felt different, a tiny part of his soul still remembered that it had once been of the firstborn and it knew its way to Mandos, eager to be cleansed of the evil, corrupted shape it had been twisted into. The redhead would soon escape the halls of waiting and return to Valinor. What was left of his own fëa would take millennia for Námo to mould back to its original form, but he had an eternity.

**

Erestor

The Uruk fell motionless, even as the long knife that had felled him pinned him to the trunk of the tree he had stepped out from behind. The look of surprise still on his face.

Erestor scooped up the elfling and descended on his mate, uncharacteristically for the healer he was, he yanked him off the blade that pierced him, pushed his fingers into the gaping hole in his mate’s chest.

Miraculously the blade had missed heart, lungs and spine but the injury was still mortal, his husband was dying, Erestor focussed as he had not in millennia. His voice rang out pure and clear through the glade, filling it with reverberating sound, as though the wind dared not carry it away. Each note hung in the air, resonating and adding to the one that came next, creating a deep harmony that seemed to move as he continued to direct it, all the while flowing energy through their bond into his beloved.

A hand grasped weakly at his wrist, and he allowed it but was mindful that he would push it away should the drain become too much. He could feel the flesh knit from his lover’s back through his torso to his sculpted chest. Erestor drew his fingers back carefully as the wound closed, leaving two then one finger on each hand inside his mate, coaxing the wound closed before withdrawing. As the wound became smaller, he cut his own finger, allowing his blood to mingle with that of his lover. He sang the final chords and felt the poison from the blade ebb into his veins, guiltily moving away having taken only as much as would leave his senses slower and his mind muddied, the rest his husband would have to fight himself.

The wound had mostly closed leaving only a blood red heart-shaped mark where his fingers had been inside his beloved. He could tell it would become another scar his mate would carry. He smiled weakly at the shape; his warrior would endure a great deal of teasing from his comrades when they came to know of it.

He felt weak, but not as weak as he would have had the other elf not intervened. He cursed himself for allowing it, his mind now dredging back the details of the fight that the younger ellon had ahead of him, he turned towards the panting captive who having struggled free of his bindings still gripped his wrist weakly. The identity of the ellon had finally sunk in and somehow it made his heart grieve even more. He smiled sadly, reaching to stroke the sweat soaked brow, “Mae Govannen Ernil Legolas Thranduilion. Saes, senddh mellon nin.”
(Well met Legolas son of Thranduil. Please, rest yourself my friend.)

**

Legolas

Legolas lay still, all his energy was being drained from him, the weight of the one-sided bond he had entered crushing him, causing his heart to grieve his naïvety once more as he had so many times before. He pushed it out of his mind, and he focused instead on the fiery pain of fighting for each breath. There were sounds, he drifted in and out of them, his head still foggy from the blow that had felled him. His body burned, he felt the life ebb from wounds formed for the pleasure of his captors that would not knit, his natural healing abilities all being poured into another. His whole body throbbed with hurt and shame, he desperately wanted to flee to the comfort of the halls but the Valar forsaken bond held him captive and even the way that the Uruk had cruelly used and defiled him had not been enough to break it.

Suddenly the one-sided bond severed, jerking his body with the shock of the separation. Had her fëa fled where it seemed his was incapable of following? He knew he should be sad at the loss of a kinsman, but all he could focus on was maybe he was free to flee, the tormented half-life he had endured these last centuries was over.

The crushing weight of the bond lifted from him, and he drew what he was sure would be his last breath, a deep lungful of cool air, savouring the sensation. He realised with surprise that he was about to draw breath again when a weight landed back upon him and he felt the bond flicker anew. He attempted to guard himself mentally but found the position occupied by an impenetrable, steadfast wall that penned him in, the freedom had been a trick, it had to have been, a way of getting him to drop the guard he had placed around the meagre amount of energy he had walled off to keep himself alive.

He was barely hovering in consciousness and now was struggling to breathe once more, but he realised the renewed bond felt different. His mind tentatively explored the one that touched it, open, concerned, powerful. It belonged to someone new, someone gifted, someone like Lord Elrond. Legolas knew the elf-lord’s fëa though, his Ada had sought his old friend when he discovered what his son had committed himself to. This was someone he did not know.

Tauriel was gone, he was sure. So why did the crushing weight that the bond placed on his body still linger? His head swam, he couldn’t get air into his lungs. He could feel himself spiralling into unconsciousness, he reached out with his mind in desperation, and someone caught him once more. It was barely fingertips that reached out mentally, wrapping around his and saving him from falling into the crushing cold. The new mind curled around him, and the fire of gifted energy pulsed through him.

He barely registered the voice that spoke warmly to him, his mind was still teetering on the brink of consciousness. Suddenly the weight on him lifted once more and he felt cold metal at his wrists. He panicked and kicked out hard as the blade sliced through his bindings, freeing his hands. His hands shot to his face, clawing at the gag that was hampering his now ragged breathing before stripping away the blindfold.

He realised he had made a grievous error, striking out at his rescuer and thrusting Glorfindel onto his enemy’s sword. The next seconds passed in a flash, a long knife sailed through the air and dispatched the last Uruk and a dark elf surged forward to Glorfindel and to Legolas’s shock, began to sing words of power to heal the legendary warrior. This was the fëa he had felt touch his. This elf was old and powerful, older than his Ada. He knew he was weak but he could not be the reason the legendary Balrog slayer was lost from Ardar a second time, so he reached for the elf’s wrist and channeled what little energy he could spare.

**

Erestor surveyed the carnage, they needed to relocate to the cabin and quickly for the sake of the prince. And he would need to arrange food of some description for the babe. They had two mounts between three elves, and the prince was barely conscious, his mate was dead to the world, plunged into the healing sleep that would shroud him until his body had dealt with the poison. Erestor’s own mind felt muddled, he was drained from the poison he had taken from Fin and the connection he was holding with the prince, and the healing energy he had spent. He could not afford the energy to farspeak with Elrond.

“Mae Lovannen Ernil Legolas, i eneth nîn Erestor, nost hîr Elrond.” (“Well met Prince Legolas, my name is Erestor, of Lord Elrond’s house.”)

The formal greeting was delivered with a respectful nod which Legolas returned. He had heard of Erestor and looking more closely realised the elf looked familiar from when he had passed through Imladris.

“I don’t suppose your mount lingers near? There is a cabin we were headed for that would be a much safer place to recover, but it is a few hours ride.” Erestor continued, a soft expression that could not be described as a smile lingered on his face but his eyes were alive with compassion and the keen observation of a healer. Legolas instantly warmed to him, recognising immediately one who kept his feelings well guarded but was anything but severe, he had too many years of watching his Ada not to.

“Û, hîr nin. I followed her on foot.” The prince struggled to stand and just about made it to his feet, leaning heavily on a tree.

Erestor eyed the blond prince carefully, “Are you injured ernil nin, can you ride?”

Legolas avoided meeting his eye “Not badly so Lord Erestor, I can ride or continue on foot if I must.”

Erestor doubted this assessment was accurate, the forbidden bond the young Mirkwood royal had been subjected to would have weakened him even without further injury. Though the Prince had done well to protect himself, Erestor suspected he would have fallen when the redhead’s fëa left Ardar had he not intervened. There was a strong possibility he would still fade. Erestor knew of only one thrall who had survived the death sentence the cursed bond represented, but that had been millennia ago and the circumstances had been very different. He swore silently that he would not allow the Prince to fade, and he would demand Elrond get to the bottom of how the Prince had come to be so abused. He tamped back his anger, it would serve no purpose and he nodded at the younger elf. He made up his mind to keep the fragile contact that he had with the Prince’s mind in place. It meant he could not push energy to his mate, but he deemed Fin to be less at risk than the fragile Prince.

“Then you must choose your riding partner ernil nin. Either you must keep my slovenly husband to his mount, or you must bare the child. He must travel skin to skin.” Legolas eyed the babe as though he may bite and then the heavy, unconscious form of Glorfindel. Even if the pain of the elfling’s heritage were not so sharp, the thought of exposing his skin and the cuts and gouges that covered him was too much.

“Even if your husband would wish to punish my ingratitude for sending him onto his enemy’s blade, I would rather take my chances with Lord Glorfindel my Lord. I wish the babe no ill, but my pain at his mother’s hand is still too bright, I do not trust myself.”

There was a more confidence behind the blond’s words that his nervous tone betrayed, the thought of being so close to another chilled him. He knew Glorfindel they had once fought spiders side by side when he had accompanied the twins in a visit to Mirkwood. He forced back his panic at the thought of proximity, focusing on how his rescuer was a fair commander and a good-hearted elf. Legolas had no idea what Glorfindel’s reaction would be if he awoke to find himself restrained by the one who had near killed him, but he doubted he would harm him. No, he would not harm him. He would not! Legolas focused and pushed back his fear, it would not take him, not now he was free.

Besides, there was no other way, even were his chest not ripped apart, the thought of being entrusted with the care of Tauriel’s son when he could not guarantee his bitterness towards the elfling’s mother would not impact his ability to protect the innocent babe terrified him.

Erestor nodded acceptingly, whistled the horses back and prepared to depart quickly. Asfaloth knelt to allow them to haul an unconscious Glorfindel onto his back and Legolas managed with Erestor’s help to mount behind him. It was an awkward hold but manageable even in Legolas’s weakened state and the taller blond even in sleep had scrunched his fingers into Asfaloth’s mane where he was slumped on the stallion’s neck.

Erestor noted how nervously the young prince sat back from Fin and awkwardly stooped forward to loosely encircle his waist and steady him in the saddle. He was clearly worried about close contact and Erestor was unsure why, but he decided to tackle one possible reason.

“That does not look comfortable ernil nin and we have several hours ride ahead. He will hold you no ill will, my prince, you have nothing to fear from him.” Erestor delivered the words gently but he felt the apprehension flare before it lessened in the younger elf’s mind. Legolas inched closer to Glorfindel, steadying his charge between his legs, allowed him to sit upright and take up the reins. Erestor smiled at the changed position which at least looked manageable though it was still no doubt awkward.

“Nor knowing my husband, will he object to waking in the arms of one so fair!” He added, attempting to lighten the mood but inwardly cursing himself as Legolas started backwards and looked mortified. Erestor schooled his features, keeping his expression and tone light to try to lessen any further damage his ill-aimed humour may cause.

“Lord Erestor, I would never presume…” Legolas began to stutter and was amazed when Erestor looked sad and concerned but continued to smile fondly at him.

“Nor would he penneth!” Legolas seemed to relax a little at the reassurance so Erestor risked continuing “But I have no interest in listening to him moan all night about bruises from a fall, so I would consider myself indebted if you are able to keep hold of him ernil nin!” He grinned conspiratorially and Legolas forced himself to relax and smile in return as the older elf clicked Leginae forward whilst whistling out a shrill rhythm.

Barely minutes later Legolas observed a magpie smoothly descending and alighting on the shoulder of the raven haired peredhel and gently sorting through the midnight strands, tugging affectionately as deft fingers fastened a message to his leg.

Erestor was sending for aid and ensuring the location of Tauriel’s body was known, so she could be transported to wherever her final resting place would be. With luck, there would be patrols near enough to aid them, he didn’t doubt the twins would ride out, but even at their pace, they would not reach them until nightfall tomorrow.

Chapter 5: Past Sins

Summary:

Legolas’ and Erestor’s back stories are revealed and they share more than first meets the eye.

Warnings: referenced character death (canon), referenced sexual abuse/rape (not graphic), slavery

Notes:

A quick guide to my shocking Sindarin!

Naneth - mother
Ellon - make elf
Fëa/fëar - soul/souls
Mellon nin - my friend
Ernil nin - my prince
Athon - yes
ninhên - my child
Ithil - the moon
prestatain/prestatân - troublemakers/troublemaker (this is a construct as part of a nickname - more to come in this vein, sorry!)
Ada - father/dad (familiar)

As Asfaloth moved off of his own accord, Legolas soon realised that his only task was to keep himself and his charge in the saddle, the snow-white stallion would do the rest. Despite the fact that he knew he should remain alert, his mind began to wander. It had been a long time since he had even considered that freedom could be a possibility, having been trapped in the half-bond with the elleth for well over two thirds of his life.

He had been young, well beyond his majority, but yet to experience true loss when his naneth was attacked. Neither he nor his Ada could save her when the dragon attacked, though his Ada had nearly lost his own life too when he swept her from its grasp. But her injuries had been too severe, stabilized by the best healers and then later Lord Elrond, she had been forced to sail as the peredhel turned the healing powers of Vilya on his Ada, fighting to heal the burns that afflicted his whole left side.

Reeling from the loss of his naneth, and near broken by survivor’s guilt; looking back Legolas could see how vulnerable he had been to the white wizard. The lure of a purpose, a quest that could help save an orphaned elfling, an elleth with an important role to play going forward. Not yet fifteen full years, she had lost her parents and without a parent bond and reeling from the effects of trauma she was fading.

Saruman’s request had seemed simple, welcome even, and he had been too consumed by guilt to question why everything needed to be so secretive, hidden even from his beloved Ada who was desperately fighting his own demons. When Galadriel had brought him to the child, he was under no doubt that he would bind himself to the frail elfling. She was locked in a deep sleep and so pale she was almost translucent with bright white, brittle hair. He remembered with a shudder how vividly the drops of his blood that Galadriel had marked her with during the binding stood out against her pallid skin.

85 years spent supplementing her weak fëa with his own had seemed like no price to pay to save her, especially when he had failed his naneth so badly. Saruman had assured him that she needed him, and Galadriel had spoken of a great love in her future, hinting that once Tauriel reached her majority, they would discover that their fëar were fated to match and they would complete the part-bond and make it a true lover’s bond.

Legolas had always known the futures that the Lady saw in her mirror could be fickle and there was a chance that Tauriel might not be meant for him in that way, but he had never thought through the impact on him if that future came to pass. The years to Tauriel’s majority had seemed like the blink of an eye compared to his hundreds. And as Saruman well knew, Legolas’ vulnerability at losing his naneth even as a full-grown ellon had made his gentle nature open and pliant to the needs of the orphan.

Legolas wondered, not for the first time what would persuade someone to grow to abuse another in such a way. Though initially Tauriel had not been afforded a choice, she had been a vulnerable, unconscious child when he had first been bound to her. He wondered when whilst in Saruman’s care, she had become so ruthless, or if she had always had that nature hidden below her fragile physical state. It was clear when they met again at her majority that she was true to the maia’s cause in a way she would never be true to him.

As Tauriel had grown she became fierce and strong, and a favorite of his Ada, whilst she unknownst to all leaned heavily on the strength she drew from Legolas. The connection drained him more and more as she gradually learned to take from him even when she was not hurt or weakened. He had realized after a millennium he was a prisoner within Mirkwood as being away from the restorative effects of the trees of home for drawn-out periods was impossible.

Out of desperation, he had turned back to Galadriel for guidance, but she had shunned him when she looked into the mirror and saw Tauriel’s Fëanorian features, finally realizing the heritage of Saruman’s choice of the elleth who would fulfill the destiny she had foreseen.

Galadriel would have no further part in the survival of the child of Maglor who so clearly resembled her grandmother. She had suggested that Legolas should end himself rather than serve the descendent of kin-slayers further, the only thing that moderated her rage and prevented all-out war on the Woodland realm where Tauriel resided, were Saruman’s assurances that he had personally seen Maglor’s broken corpse, felled by orcs in defense of his wife and child. But it was infinitely clear, Galadriel would play no further part in the destiny she had condemned Legolas to. Legolas was alone, trapped in a drawn-out death sentence, serving one who tolerated him for the sake of appearances only. The drain on his fëa only deepened from that day.

There had been a brief period a decade ago when Legolas had thought Tauriel was trying to love him. She had stopped draining him so completely, and her looks and words had become kind, even when they were alone. He had been without hope for so long that this faint kindness was enough to rekindle it, and he had dared to imagine that her heart may lead her to bind herself to him in turn.

In retrospect, he could see that she realized their bond was about to be discovered as Thranduil had every healer in the realm focused on why his cherished son was weakening with no apparent cause. Tauriel simply wished to cement Legolas’s loyalty sufficiently that she was certain he would defy his beloved Ada when the time came. And a little over a year ago, he had.

The promise of a scrap of kindness had been enough for him to follow her out of Mirkwood against the wishes of his Ada, even after their bond had been unveiled. Then, he had experienced the pain of watching her fall in love with another; offering Kili every loving word and look that he himself had craved over the centuries.

He recalled painfully how the draw on the cursed bond had intensified once Tauriel conceived the dwarf’s heir and she lost her mate. The energy drain as she grieved and the child grew had brought Legolas to his knees and he had been forced to follow her when she fled, banished by his Ada’s fury which could no longer be contained. As painful as being close to the elleth had been, the agony of separation had been unbearable, so Legolas had slipped the watch of the healer Thranduil had assigned, and followed Tauriel into the wilds.

Legolas had only ever feared his Ada twice in his long life. Once when Thranduil found out why his only son and heir was weakened, and again ten years later when the state of his son caused him to fly into a bitter rage and banish Tauriel from his realm and confine Legolas to the healing wing.

On the day Thranduil discovered that his son was bound by old magic to be no more than a slave to the whims of the captain he had favored, Legolas had thought Thranduil’s fury to be unmatched. Thranduil had seen through the elleth’s outwardly soft manner and sweet temperament and warned her to keep her distance from his son, seeing that Legolas was not truly in her heart, he suspected she simply wanted to further her position. He had not been prepared to accept that for the son he treasured dearer than his own life. So, when the full truth bore out, his wrath had only been tempered by the fact that he feared what harming the elleth would do to his son.

In desperation Thranduil had appealed to Elrond and Galadriel to see if the bond could be broken, but the Lady had once again turned her back on Legolas, still unmoved by his situation and Legolas had been glad that his Ada was unaware of her part in things.

Lord Elrond however, had visited immediately and had been good to him. Elrond had touched his mind, he had used Vilya to help him heal and recover and had taught him to wall-off enough of his lifeforce to preserve himself. Legolas was in no doubt Elrond had steered his Ada away from a fourth kinslaying, spending long hours with the monarch helping him to deal with his rage and always returning him to Legolas in a more balanced state. Even once he had returned to Imladris, he had far-spoken with his Ada frequently and had left his collection of healer’s records and journals on the topic of part-bonds, preserved in his archives since the second age for Legolas to pore through.

Legolas had studied them eagerly when Elrond expressed they may bring him hope. It seemed that in times of kinslayings one-sided bonds were discovered as a device of Morgoth and also weaponized by the opposing forces. Used to sustain the strength of those in power through battle or injury, or simply to ensure the loyalty of those who were deemed to be volatile. Once a thrall was held in a bond, their purpose was solely to sustain and protect the one that they served. Many died in servitude, some died from the pain when they tried to flee, a few had ended themselves in their desperation to be free. These bonds had long since been outlawed for their cruelty, but the healer responsible for the last surviving elf held in such a bond had documented his story in the run-up to the battle of the last alliance. It was this journal that Legolas had read so many times it was burned on his memory, desperate to find the promised grain of hope, and it was this document alone that had made Legolas dare to believe that there might be a way back for him.

The thrall the journal documented had been a peredhel. Before being bound, he was a gifted healer from Gondolin as well as an accomplished swordsman of the House of the Golden Flower. He had fled with Glorfindel and survived his Lord’s demise, helping to lead and defend the refugees that fled to the Havens. He had retained his place as protector of his kin once they arrived, and when Maedrhos and Maglor attacked, he was discovered barely alive, unconscious within Elwing’s dwelling by Ereinion’s forces. He immediately offered fealty to Ereinion, and over the next centuries became greatly favored by the High King but his talents, his peredhel heritage and his quick rise in status attracted jealousy and bigotry, a dangerous combination.

It seemed from the vague texts that the young peredhel continued to be regarded with suspicion; jealous advisors stirring hate by querying his survival when so many of the firstborn had perished. There were a few letters in his intricate, scrolling hand, and Legolas had been enchanted by the beauty of the script and the words of the writer. It seemed to Legolas he had an exceptionally sharp mind and gentle spirit even in the face of ever-growing prejudice.

As his closeness to Ereinion continued to grow, several top advisors petitioned the High King to condemn him to death, presenting falsified evidence accusing him of being a kinslayer. The peredhel’s opposition had secured the support of powerful allies and they eventually won out, forcing him to offer himself wholly to Ereinion or be put to death. The peredhel protested his innocence and swore he was faithful to Ereinion without such a tie, but ultimately bowed to the judgment and offered his bond. Ereinion also bowed to the pressure, and as counseled, he accepted. Whom it was that had advocated such enslavement when the advisers wished the peredhel dead was unclear, but faced with the prospect of a power division that would split the realm, Ereinion sacrificed his friend and the peredhel had endured almost three and a half millennia of servitude.

The peredhel should have faded when Ereinion fell, but the writer recorded that the high king had accepted a true bond with another, in turn binding himself to them; weakening the draw on his cursed thrall. But this was where Legolas’s story differed, unlike Tauriel, the High King had been kind and noble in spirit and clearly cared deeply for both of those bound to him. Ereinion had sought to release both from their eternal ties ahead of his final battle, swearing to the Valar that the two who loved him must be free to love again if he were to face death at the hands of Sauron. Despite their King’s orders, both remained faithful beyond the bond, strengthening him in his final duel, sending what energy they could spare even once released. But as Ereinion had predicted, it was not enough to defeat Sauron and Ereinion himself had forced their bonds closed ahead of that ill-fated final blow. Refusing to drag his loyal advisor and his beloved to the halls at his side.

The journals said very little about what had happened after the high king’s death, but an entry made decades later suggested that Ereinion had succeeded in his efforts and both lover and thrall had survived his loss. He left Vilya, and it had helped to strengthen them until they were ready to enter a true bond with another.

Legolas was still not clear what his fate would be now that Tauriel had traveled to Mandos, she had not released him, quite the opposite. He had fought to keep back those final threads of life that he clung to. He suspected he would inevitably fade. Even if Elrond could or would help him, living more than two millennia bound had drained him and there was a tiny, tired part of him that welcomed the thought, but even as the thought surfaced, he rebelled, full of fire; he was certain his destiny was yet unfulfilled.

**

Erestor stewed over the fragments of thoughts that the prince inadvertently shared and quickly decided that he traveled with three casualties and that he was in desperate need of Elrond’s assistance. He decided that as soon as they reached the safety of the cabin, he would risk the energy and the distraction of far-speaking with the healer whilst they awaited whatever aid the twins could bring.

Glorfindel stirred, drawing his attention. “Erestor, meleth! Im mel cin. Nîngar a nîn.”
(“Erestor, love! I love you. Hold me close.”)
he murmured, pushing back against the body heat of his mate.

“Uiveltheth nin, it is Legolas at your back, not me. Our poor prince is burning with embarrassment, you must stop before you drive him off Asfaloth in panic!” Erestor urged in response to the stricken look that Legolas cast at him. Legolas’ flighty behavior sent warning signals through his mind and he vowed to investigate further when he could approach the Prince in confidence. For now, he simply fought to keep the situation light.

“Ah, you are awake my slovenly husband! I had begun to think you would sleep all day! Can you sit upright and spare Asfaloth’s neck if the fair prince aids you?” He called over with a bright tone, he was still concerned for his lover, but there was no sense in making that known and causing wider worry.

Glorfindel muttered something that sounded like agreement, but he appeared to be drifting back into sleep. He shifted a little, pushing his weight backward, eventually managing to slump back against Legolas.

Erestor regarded the prince, he had tried to hide the flash of pain as Fin leaned against his chest and Erestor decided to allow him to think the attempt was successful, but he realized Legolas had sustained far more severe injuries than he was making known. Additionally, Glorfindel’s height made the position awkward on the younger rider, but with Fin’s weight off his neck, Asfaloth was now free to move at a faster pace and Erestor urged both horses into a smooth canter, turning what would have been hours at the slow plod they had been moving at into minutes.

**

They arrived at the cabin within half an hour, and as anticipated found it secure and well-stocked. Set up to take a scouting patrol of six comfortably, there were two small bedchambers, each with three low cots and bedding hung up over the rafters. Erestor made up all of the beds immediately, hoping that by some miracle that the twins would arrive sooner than he estimated. With his mate deposited straight in bed and the babe still slung against him, he turned his attention to the store cupboards. He was grateful to find a few rations of the dried milk that the patrols often carried in a storage tin in one of the cupboards and mixed a small amount for the babe, combining it with a little of the lembas and miruvor made a thin paste he could spoon into the infant without fear of choking the little one. Fed and swaddled on one of the cots Erestor finally regarded Legolas.

Despite his weakened state he had not been idle, there was a fire in the hearth, the basket that stood to the side was filled with dead wood gathered from the forest floor and next to it was a bucket of water drawn from the well. However, even those small actions had taken their toll, leaving the prince visibly drained and pale.

Erestor approached him, “Would you remove your tunic and allow me to tend to you ernil nin?” he asked gently, sensing the prince’s reluctance but knowing now that Legolas carried injuries from his captivity.

“If you allow me to treat you now, you can change into my spare robes before anyone else is around.” Erestor recognized the trauma in the elf’s eyes, it would likely be sometime before he willingly bore the touch of another. Erestor’s tone was kind but firm and it reminded Legolas of his Ada’s healers when they made a request that they would not see denied.

Legolas flinched and stripped his tunic revealing a crisscross of gouges and cuts over his back and torso. They clearly extended below the waistband of his leggings and as Erestor’s eye drifted he took a deep breath. “Are you willing to remove your leggings in my presence mellon nin?” Legolas looked ashamed but lightly shook his head.

“Forgive me ernil nin, but I must ask if you are to treat the rest of your injuries alone. Are your wounds limited to external damage Legolas?” He was relieved when the blond nodded affirmation but Erestor noted the prince would not meet his eyes and he felt a stab of regret for the shade of red the question had caused Legolas to turn.

“You arrived in time to spare me that fate my lord. They tried, but I managed to fight them off. Then Lord Glorfindel arrived.” Legolas lied, hoping it would prevent the healer from pressing the point again.

Erestor nodded grimly and worked quickly and in silence, only touching when he needed to, deftly cleaning, treating, and binding the wounds. He opted to wrap the whole of Legolas’s strong torso, it would limit his movement and he would likely be unable to draw a weapon, but he had none on him. Presumably, they had been taken by his captors and they had neglected to retrieve them in the chaos that preceded their departure.

Erestor handed clean clothes to the Prince. “The wounds are not healing as they should, but you know that. And I believe you know why.” He looked at the tired blond wondering how much to reveal, quickly deciding that honesty would likely be best. “I am not sure how quickly you will come back to yourself Legolas. The curse you were subjected to will have depleted you. How long was it in place?”

Legolas had startled a little at the mention of the bond, wondering how Erestor knew of it. In answer to the unasked question, the weak presence in his mind flared a little brighter, enveloping him comfortingly as an odd sensation of warmth flowed into him. Confusion joined the intense fatigue as he registered that Erestor was doing for him what he had done for Tauriel all these years. It felt good; like love and light and warmth were pouring into him, and as the flow continued. the world became a little clearer.

His eye fell on the dressings, and then to the jar of salve that Erestor had placed on the table for him to treat the wounds on his lower half. It had a handwritten label in a beautiful scrolling script, the lettering was unusual but perfectly formed, and he realized it was a hand he knew. He looked up with surprise into the grey eyes opposite him and scanned over the tips of Erestor’s ears which formed the gently rounded points that hinted at his peredhel heritage. “It is you! You are the one in Lord Elrond’s documents who was bound to the High King.”

“Athon, ernil nin! I was forced to live as Ereinion’s thrall for over three millennia, though I suspect my experience was kinder than yours. I loved Ereinion and he loved me in his own way, his hand was forced by others. Whilst my position was never comfortable, he was careful never to abuse me as I fear you have been abused. How long have you lived this way?”

“I lose track, over two thousand years, but not yet three.” He had so many questions for Erestor, but as the energy that Erestor gifted him began to trail off, he felt exhaustion and fatigue wash through him once more. He fought the urge to sleep, he was concerned that his fëa would flee if he dropped his defenses before he could be close to Vilya. Vilya had sustained Erestor and he prayed it would sustain him too. He dimly noted that the warm glow that enveloped him had withdrawn, but the weak but comforting mental connection lingered. Though it tethered him as the old bond had, it was passive and undemanding, reassuring even.

Erestor indicated the empty bedchamber, “Sleep ninhên, you are safe here. I will ensure you wake again.” He soothed, feeling hugely protective of the prince as he had for Elrond’s young brood. For now, at least he was satisfied that he had boosted Legolas’ reserves sufficiently to safeguard him for a few hours at least but he realized that he would not be able to spare the energy to far-speak, as it was likely he would need to continue to sustain the prince until they were safely back in Imladris.

**

Ithil had risen when Yucalië appeared through the open window bearing a message from Elrond, the twins had ridden out ahead of Erestor’s message arriving, in response to the news from Thranduil. They were barely a day behind them. Provided they had not met trouble, they should arrive within a few hours, but they had departed before Erestor’s news that there was an infant in the party. They were traveling with two extra horses, healing supplies, and standard rations only, Elrond wrote that he would contact Elrohir to see what he could acquire on the journey, but the number of settlements this far into the wilds were few, so Erestor was not very hopeful.

The powdered milk might last two days mixed with miruvor and lembas, but it was far from ideal as a diet for a newborn although Nornion seemed to like it, having eaten twice more since Legolas retired. As Erestor mused by the fire he heard Fin stirring, he rose and ladled the thick stew he made from the pot that was warming on the fire into a bowl and placed it on the table. Fin came through from the bedchamber, looking remarkably well for one who had been as good as dead only a few hours before. He was stripped to the waist and examining the heart-shaped mark on his chest where the sword had pierced him. He ran his fingers over it and looked enquiringly at Erestor “I don’t want to think about how much danger you put yourself in to fix this meleth nin but thank you!” He swept Erestor into his arms and kissed him deeply.

“You are not cross at the mark you must bear? I fear it will be with you for eternity, but I knew no other way to fix the damage inside.” Erestor queried when the kiss broke, studying his warrior’s reaction closely.
“Meleth nin, I would gladly wear the mark of your touch on me even had it not been given as you saved my life. You have my heart anyway, and now it seems I have yours too!” He grinned, fully aware of how cheesy he sounded, his eyes sparkled as Erestor landed a playful swat on his rear.

“Mmmm, if I had known that was what it would earn me, I would have been stealing Lindir’s love poems years before now meleth!” Glorfindel teased, grabbing Erestor and pulling him into another passionate kiss as his hands drifted down and took hold of his mate’s backside. Thoroughly distracted by his lover, he jumped at the sound of the door swinging open.

“For Eru’s sake, put him down Uncle Fin! Ada would throw a fit if he knew this sort of thing was happening in the middle of dinner, you know how he insists it is a formal occasion!” The cheery voice had started at the door but drawn closer and Glorfindel looked up with surprise but joy to see Elladan striding towards him.

“Sweet Elbereth! We arrived just in time to stop him eating you as a starter Uncle Tor!” Came a second voice from the doorway as Elrohir joined the good-natured banter.

“Don’t be so sure I will stop on your accounts prestatain!” Fin teased back, using the nickname the twins had earned as elflings and making a show of squeezing Erestor’s ass and causing his peredhel to flush bright red.

“Very well, carry on if you must! But if you aren’t going to eat that stew…” Elladan jostled past Glorfindel as Erestor struggled to extricate himself from the blond’s strong grasp, and plonked himself down at the table grabbing the bowl. Elrohir followed suit and headed straight to the fire to help himself to the stew, though he had the sense to serve three bowls and place them on the table as Erestor smoothed his robes and glared daggers at his amused husband.

“Newlyweds!” Elladan playfully rolled his eyes at his twin as Erestor blushed fiercely again.

Elrohir met Glorfindel’s enquiring gaze with a grin, “Ada did warn us what was likely to happen with you two alone in the wilds now you finally decided to bond.” He offered in explanation and Fin returned with a roguish grin, looking rather too proud of himself in Erestor’s opinion.

“I don’t think you should assume that just because we were alone together, we can’t control ourselves!” Erestor began to fluster before he reached out automatically to catch something Elladan threw at him over the table. He looked down and turned beetroot as he eyed the empty oil vial from their night in the talan.

“A tracker need not assume Uncle Tor!” Elladan beamed before breaking out into a good-natured, open laugh. “We are thrilled for you, although we still don’t know why on earth you waited all this time for that old cad to get his act together. We would have given him a beating for you and made his intentions honorable decades ago!” Now it was Fin’s turn to blush and the twins looked at him curiously as he forced himself to realize that the comment had been purely coincidental as Elrond was nothing if not discrete, and would not have dreamt of sharing the events leading up to his proposal with his sons.

Even more surprised by the lack of response about their being able to best their sparring tutor in a fight, to Erestor’s horror, it looked as though the twins might question the deep blush for a second. Erestor’s mind was reeling for a distraction as he silently cursed his husband when Elladan leaped up with a huge grin and swept a bleary-eyed Legolas into an enthusiastic hug. The hug went on a little too long as Dan waited for the elf who went rigid in his arms to hug him back, but the prince remained frozen and it was Elrohir who grabbed his twin’s shoulder to pull him off the prince, stepping between them and forcing Elladan back.

“Mellon nin…” the words died on Elrohir’s lips as he observed the fear in the shaking elf’s eyes. He just about managed to suppress the gasp of horror at the change in his childhood friend. “Legolas…” he stepped back again and raised his hand to his friend’s shoulder in a warrior’s salute, which Legolas smiled thinly and managed to return briefly before dropping back even further.
A thin, bleating howl cut through the moment, causing both twins to spin in shock. Nornion was awake and hungry again.

“I don’t suppose you brought milk, did you?” Erestor smiled weakly.

Chapter 6: I Have Loved You

Summary:

The full extent of the damage done to Legolas slowly begins unveiling itself to his travelling companions, though as long as no one holds all of the pieces to the puzzle he remains vulnerable.

Glorfindel discovers what Erestor is doing for Legolas and it brings their own history into painful focus. Erestor stumbles out a revelation that causes his mate to snap and walk out.

warnings - references to past slavery and past rape (non graphic)

The vibe for this chapter was intended to be very 'I have loved you for a thousand years' by Christina Perri, hence the title.

Notes:

Quite a bit of my terrible Sindarin in this chapter (sorry!) and several are nicknames so probably have no real translatable value but they are meant as follows:

prestatân - trouble maker
naneth - mother
meleth - love
mellon nin - my friend
ellon - male elf
elleth - female elf
uiveleth nin/uiveleth - my everlasting love/everlasting love
mir nin - my treasure
Atartaid - second father (the twin's nickname for Erestor based in Sindarin)
Adar - father (formal)
penneth - young one
Atarattëa’s - second father (the twin's nickname for Glorfindel based in Quenyan)
Bain dû - good night
Goheno nin - forgive me

An hour or so later, order had been restored. Nornion had been fed, the twins had no fresh milk having not received Elrond’s message, but they were carrying dried milk amongst their supplies meaning they now had enough for several days which should be more than enough to get back to Imladris. Were it not, then he and Legolas would become their biggest issue Erestor thought to himself.

Legolas sat by the fire, curled up tight in a chair, seemingly appearing intentionally small and unobtrusive Erestor noted to himself. Legolas was the only one who had not managed any stew, Elrohir went to sit at his feet, handing the prince a leaf of Lembas and a cup of miruvor. Legolas seemed to manage Elrohir’s proximity rather than tolerate it as he did with the others, so the others remained seated around the table.

The synergy between the two was unsurprising when Erestor thought about it, though the others had known Legolas for many years, Elladan and Glorfindel were innately tactile beings, initiating contact frequently, small touches to another’s arm or shoulder, a pat on the back. All innocuous and well-intended, but the prince was clearly skittish and wary of any contact. Erestor hoped it was only the pain of the unhealed wounds that was driving the reaction and channeled healing energy whenever he noticed a flinch or detected the blond’s anxiety flare.

He kept his distance, understanding that he was intimidating simply because he knew what the young prince wished to hide. As a healer, he was a reminder of the wounds the woodland prince concealed, desperate to disguise that he could not heal himself. Elrohir though was calm, thoughtful, and passive in his movements, automatically seeming to realize that the bland, familiar waybread that Legolas would only have to stomach a few bites of, would be more palatable and less challenging than the thick, fragrant stew of salted venison.

Erestor was glad when Legolas willingly retired to the second bedroom, guided by Elrohir who somehow directed the prince without crowding or touching him. It seemed Elrohir grasped perfectly the balance of proximity and distance that the prince needed from him and Erestor’s mind unwillingly flitted back to how the young peredhel had cared for his naneth after she had been attacked. The youngest lord of Imladris had taken the role of caring for both her and his Ada as Elrond was either actively healing his wife or laid in exhausted sleep by her side, having poured every bit of himself into his wife.

The thought set alarm bells ringing in Erestor’s mind once more for the fair prince, but he tried to push the feelings aside. The twins were loyal and capable and extremely bright, they combined some of their parent’s most admirable qualities as well as their most annoying ones and Erestor felt comfortable trusting the vulnerable prince to Elrohir’s capable care.

Erestor’s mind swam as he reflected, his thoughts seemed to flee from him, and the voices in the room seemed to grow distant. He wrangled his thoughts back into focus and tried to concentrate on the enthusiastic conversation between Dan and Fin, but the words seemed only to spark dreamlike scenarios that dragged him further into lethargy and confusion. There was a noise that made Erestor startle, and he realized Nornion had stirred in his arms again. Automatically he reached for the bowl of milky mush on the table, fumbling it clumsily, sending the spoon clattering to the floor and spreading mush over the table and his sleeve. He looked at the mess in a distanced haze, fretting over the loss of the precious food. Tears brimmed in his eyes. His limbs felt so heavy.

**

Glorfindel had noted there were points of the night when Erestor seemed vacant, and when his attention eventually returned to the room, he seemed drained. The clatter of the spoon and the sad but detached way in which Erestor stared at the gloop that had catapulted over his sleeve was all the excuse Glorfindel needed to intervene. He looked at his valiant mate as he fought to stay awake and smiled indulgently as his peredhel’s eyes pricked with tears over the stained clothing. Fin hummed quietly, rose, and kissed Erestor lovingly on the crown of his head before gently plucking Nornion from his arms. Removed from the comfort of the only parent he’d had the opportunity to bond with, the babe began to fuss once more, but Glorfindel could see his exhausted mate was barely able to lift his arms to attend to the infant.

Glorfindel expertly bounced and shushed the babe gently on one arm, he was no stranger than his husband to the tempers of Elrond’s brood; Estel had been particularly fond of the blond warrior he called uncle. Fin reached over Elladan’s shoulder and tugged sharply on the laces of his tunic, roughly pulling them open before depositing the babe snugly against the surprised younger peredhel’s chest.
“It’s time to pay Erestor back for all those nights he spent rocking you prestatân!” Glorfindel grinned, tousling the mop of dark hair fondly. The older twin had always been the fussier and more forceful of the pair, but even as a babe, Erestor had been the one who cooled his blood when no other, even his naneth could. Fin moved the bowl of baby mush closer to Dan and sniffed vaguely before grinning mischievously.

“You need to change him!” He winked at Erestor over Dan’s head, before pulling his husband with him into the bedroom before the young elf-lord had a moment to object.

Gently but authoritatively he herded his beloved into the bedchamber “There are only a few hours until dawn. You need to rest meleth! Dan can play naneth whilst you sleep. He can rest later; I remember teaching him his lessons all too well, he has never had trouble sleeping through the day!” Glorfindel’s tone was teasing but was clearly hearing no more on the matter.

**

Elrohir found himself alone in the bedchamber with Legolas. He carefully moved past the prince to the unused cot that was closest to the one that Legolas had been using. He considered the other but didn’t want to allow the possibility that his boisterous twin could end up between them. Elrohir sat down and removed his boots and his light leather armor before stretching out on the cot fully clothed. Legolas who had been standing near the doorway watching, now collapsed onto his bed also fully dressed. The tension which had been vibrating through the woodland warrior’s frame almost audibly snapped away when he realized the peredhel would not strip, and in turn, he would not be regarded oddly for remaining clothed. Legolas exhaled the breath he had been holding and folded down, curling himself into a tight ball on the cot.

Elrohir grabbed three light blankets, he threw one folded on the empty bed, spread one out over his own bed and then shook the other loose and indicated it to Legolas “I know peredhel sleep is strange to most, I’ve known Dan to sleep in something more reminiscent of a nest than a bed! But there is a chill in the air tonight, did you want a blanket mellon nin?” Legolas nodded gratefully. He would not be cold, but the blanket was another layer he could hide behind. As Ro draped the light cover over him, he felt extremely grateful that his old friend seemed to be reading his needs so well. He glanced over at the peredhel who had arranged himself comfortably under his own blanket, stretched out gracefully on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

The silence was blissful, but somehow Elrohir did not shatter it when his soft voice chimed through, “It has been too long since we traveled together old friend. Times are dark and duty has held us long parted. I often yearn for those carefree times we spent hunting and camping together... Centuries have passed but I’m pained to say that Dan’s cooking has not improved a jot!” Elrohir heard a light chuckle from his right and turned to look at Legolas for a second. He pushed back his visceral reaction to the haunted look that he saw immediately in his friend’s striking blue eyes, but he was too late to repress the shiver it sent through him.

“It is cold is it not?” He diverted, pulling the blanket closer around him. “Do you remember the ‘strange phenomenon of mannish sleep’ as Uncle Fin would say?” Legolas nodded once more, this time a faint smile pulled fondly at his lips.

“That is good! Then you won’t scare me rigid by shaking me awake when my eyes fall closed!” Elrohir chuckled, “You have no idea how many young guards have done that over the years! It reached the point where I suspected Dan and I to be an initiation ritual!”

Elrohir closed his eyes and turned his head away deliberately. He listened carefully to Legolas’s breathing as it deepened and slowed after several minutes. Once he was sure the prince slept. Elrohir turned gently to look at the blond, he too slept with his eyes closed, the sleep of an elf close to their physical limits. Ro’s keen healer’s eye had caught the flashes of pain on the prince’s face as he moved, the end of the shallow scratch that was visible at his cuff that had yet to knit despite the hours they had been there.

Elrohir knew well the scent of Erestor’s potent herbal ointment; and Legolas had been slathered in it given the strength of the scent. But worst of all, he knew the haunted look in the prince’s eyes, and he recognized how he shrunk from contact. Elrohir had spent too long looking into the tortured eyes of his Naneth to ever forget it. He had seen the same look only twice since, once in the eyes of a young warden rescued from a large group of bandits, and once in an elleth who lived amongst humans and had been set upon by a group outside a tavern. Both had been taken forcibly, and both had faded before Arnor had set.

For the first time in many years, Elrohir doubted his skills would be enough. He wished he had the healing abilities of his Ada or Erestor, but his ability for mindwork was far less, and he needed either Vilya as a bridge, or intimate physical contact to establish a connection with any bar his twin or one who was able to control the connection. He reached for his Ada and waited to see if he had been heard, moments later he felt the comforting touch of his Ada’s mind. He relaxed into the connection and opened his thoughts to Elrond, showing him all he knew. He could feel his alarm as he browsed through his thoughts, then his mind filled with Erestor. Erestor was the one who could help Legolas until they reached Imladris. He knew how to guard a peredhel who healed another, he had cared for his Ada alongside his Naneth as they both fought to keep her from Valinor or Mandos.

Elrohir was about to drift to sleep, still surrounded by the comforting presence of his Ada when a door slammed so hard it near shook the walls. He sat bolt upright, a glance at Legolas showed he had not moved and Elrohir resisted the urge to reach for him, reassuring himself that the blanket still rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Instead, he moved to investigate the source of the commotion. He emerged in time to hear the end of a ferocious whispered exchange between Fin and Dan and see Fin storm out into the night with a second wood-splitting crash of a door.

**

Erestor had been dragged from his half-stupor at the table and pulled into the bedroom where he still stood in a daze. Fin moved efficiently around him; shutting the door he immediately began stripping his outer robes. “You need to rest meleth!” Fin repeated the soft words he had spoken only moments before.

Erestor looked at him gratefully before snapping to his senses, blinking owlishly. “As do you uiveleth nin. Not hours ago, you were run through by a poisoned blade!”

Glorfindel scowled lightly at him, “I have a talented healer, as you well know uiveleth!” He flashed the charming smile that melted Erestor each time he saw it light his beautiful face. “Besides, that was yesterday, and I’m a fearsome Balrog slayer if you hadn’t heard!” He teased lightly, removing his mate’s shirt with little resistance. Erestor found himself pressed down onto two cots that had been dragged together before being pulled into strong arms.

Erestor nestled into his husband’s embrace but even through the comfortable silence he felt the question forming in Glorfindel and pre-empted it. “I can’t stop Fin. Please don’t ask me to. I don’t need to ask you to trust me, I know you do. But please don’t ask me to stop; I won’t, and I don’t want to deny you.” Erestor’s silver eyes scanned his husband’s face closely, looking for a reaction.

“You are draining yourself; I can’t see what could need that amount of energy. Unless… Did the Uruk take him forcibly?” Fin paled at the thought of what could have befallen the innocent-looking prince.
“He is badly injured, and a number of the wounds are located intimately. But Legolas said they were not able to exert their will, that you arrived in time to spare him that fate.” Erestor reassured, though nagging doubt meant he did not feel quite as sure of himself as he sounded.

Glorfindel sighed his relief “Then he is wounded but young, and strong. He will heal quickly, and I can think of no other reason for you to risk yourself so readily to speed what will happen naturally quickly anyway meleth. I won’t ask you to stop, but I will ask you one thing, are you sure it is necessary, that it is worth it?” He pleaded with his mate, desperately hoping to persuade him to stop of his own volition.

Erestor stroked his cheek and smiled weakly “That is two things mir nin!” he sighed but continued before Fin’s exasperated look could become an objection, “Remember when you were first returned to me, and you had seen from Mandos all I had been through?” Fin moved back, surprise in his eyes, and growled as hot rage seared through him at the memories, he knew more than even Erestor did, such was the torment of observing from Mandos. If his oath to protect Elrond and by extension, all his kin didn’t bind him, he would have ripped the elf responsible for his beloved’s torment in two and gladly claimed the title of kinslayer for the privilege.

“It has been done again my love, someone inflicted a forbidden bond on Legolas, and I will not stand by and let it take him. I was given a second chance, I survived long enough to find this happiness with you. He is strong, his fëa is fighting fiercely, and I will not stand by and watch him fade if I can stand by him between him and Mandos.” Erestor curled into his mate, twisting his fingers into golden hair as Fin’s lips claimed his with a renewed desperation. Erestor could tell his mate was swimming in the past, not having had time to come to terms with recent events and torn by the fierce urge to protect his husband at all costs.

“How long meleth?” Fin’s voice was barely a whisper.

“He claims he has forgotten, but more than two millennia and he has not yet aged three. At a guess, Legolas was near 500 when they bound him. I remember Elrond spending time then in Mirkwood when the dragon took the mountain. Queen Calathiel could not be healed, only stabilized enough to sail, and Elrond and Galadriel barely reclaimed Thranduil. Legolas would have been alone as his Ada recuperated, and no doubt extremely vulnerable.”

Erestor could hear the raw anger in Fin’s normally musical voice and his golden warrior’s body was rigid under his touch. “I won’t stop you meleth, but I won’t lose you either. And if I find the one responsible, you will find yourself bound to an unrepentant kinslayer. I swear, they will pay!” Glorfindel growled, bristling with rage at the memory of what his husband had been through and the thought of what the young prince had suffered.

Erestor didn’t even try to comfort his lover, he knew it would be futile, it would take days for his mate’s protective streak to stabilize beyond hair trigger now that it had been roused in anger. Erestor kissed his mate and sought to offer him some control, “Now we are bound, I will be able to draw from your strength too and it will help. If you are willing my love?” Fin’s response shocked Erestor to his core. He shoved his mate aggressively away from him with an enraged expression on his face.

“You can draw from me?” He clarified, his voice seething with quiet fury that made Erestor sit back with shock.

“I would never do so without your permission meleth…” Erestor faltered, taken aback by the sudden hostility in his mate.

Fin shook his head and gripped his lover’s shoulders in a bruisingly tight grip and fixed him in a cold stare, his eyes welling with rage. “You could draw from me to sustain yourself?”

Erestor gasped, reeling at the aggression that underlaid the question as though his husband had punched him in his stomach.

“Now we are bonded I could but… It’s different, I would not drain you… I would never hurt you…” he faltered, desperately searching his fogged, tired mind for the source of his husband’s displeasure as his mate once more shook his head and held him at a distance. Erestor blinked in confusion, his world felt like it was falling away. He longed to be back in Fin’s arms as he had been only seconds ago.

“Who knew?” Glorfindel growled the demand, turning his face away from Erestor.

“I… My Love…” Erestor faltered, desperate to undo what had upset Fin and feeling tears prick his eyes once more. He tried to blink them away, but they simply streamed down his face in hot rivers.

“Who else knew?” Glorfindel hissed, his voice shaking with barely controlled emotion, still refusing to look at Erestor but holding him firm. The question finally penetrated Erestor’s distress, and he fumbled for an answer.

“Elrond, Galadriel, Mithrandir. Probably Celeborn, no one else, I swear meleth! But I…” he sobbed. But it was too late, the door slammed, and Fin was gone.

The floodgates burst, and a sob wracked through Erestor before he could catch himself. He curled tight on the cot, his back to the door, and drove his fingernails into the palms of his hands to focus himself,

There were angry whispers and then he heard the main door of the cottage slam so hard it near shook off its hinges. He took a deep breath and tried to control the swell of emotion and insecurity that washed through him. Tried to push away the thought that his beloved would abandon him because of his healing gift, just at the point he thought he was safe. It had never occurred to him that Fin would not have realized the full implication of a bond with him.

Erestor focused on his breathing, trying to tamp down the fear of the thought of being bound once more to one who did not truly want him, desperate to push back the dark abyss of panic before he fell. He had waited so long for this perfect eternity with his beloved, and now it seemed he terrified and angered him, and possibly driven him away. His mind raced through how he could fix this, maybe he would be able to make him see that he wasn’t, that he would never be a danger to his golden elf. Maybe Elrond or Galadriel would know a way to bind his abilities and reassure his husband. He had to fix it, the thought of being in a loveless bond, with Fin of all people was the worst fate he could think of. The thoughts and panic spun like a whirlpool in his mind, and it felt as though they would drown him.
The door of the bedchamber clicked, and within moments the mattress dipped as someone sat on the edge. Their presence was calm and soothing, but it was not who Erestor wanted. A hand laid gently on his shoulder, unmoving and undemanding as another deep sob shook him.

“I don’t know what happened, but I do know he will be back as soon as he has mastered himself Atartaid. You know what he is when his temper rules him. There was barely a door left mounted in his quarters when Dan decided to make himself a warg appetizer, but he came around eventually and the doors of Imladris stood to see another day!” Elrohir was every bit his Adar, calm and comforting.

Erestor fought the tears back, he should not be crying in front of Elrohir, it had always been his job to soothe the twins. “That was different penneth, he was not angry with Elladan. He was furious with himself for failing him. Had Fin been at the patrol point as he was scheduled, Dan would never have been attacked and Fin knew it.” Erestor reasoned, glad to have a thought to focus on that didn’t make him want to simply stop breathing.

“Hmm. That Uruk axe had near removed Atarattëa’s foot, he was not merely tarrying for his own diversion!” Mused Elrohir with a knowing look on his face. Erestor smiled fondly knowing how high his mate’s expectations of himself were when it came to protecting his own, particularly Elrond and his brood.

Elrohir squeezed the shoulder his hand rested on gently, sensing his beloved teacher’s calm returning he withdrew. He smiled to himself, “But regardless, his face appeared very much the same to me as he shot out the door. But maybe you are right…” There was a thoughtful pause and Erestor felt a blanket being pulled up over him, only then realizing he had begun to shiver.

“Tell me, once Atarattëa’s leg healed, what did he do with himself all that time Dan was in the infirmary?” Erestor could feel Elrohir’s body heat close to him, but the younger peredhel made no effort to encroach on his space.

Erestor huffed a distracted chuckle. “What didn’t he do? He filled your rooms with firewood and blankets and gathered enough pinecones for the fire to burn sweetly for a month. He hunted rabbits until there were near none left in Imladris and picked every wild strawberry for miles.” Erestor smiled fondly at the memory of his beloved’s self-inflicted penance.

“Dan is still very partial to rabbit pie and strawberries; I’m amazed he didn’t raise Atarattëa’s ire at least once a month since ever since he realized the result!” Elrohir wondered aloud, gently sweeping tear-soaked midnight strands away from Erestor's face where they had pulled free of his braids and clung to wet cheeks.

“Even Dan wouldn’t have been fool enough to waste his time on that penneth! Nothing he could do could ever anger Fin like that, he loves you both too much. Besides, when did you ever know your Atarattëa to even lose his temper with another unduly? He is the most generous, kind, and protective elf on all of Arda!” Erestor felt the gentle hand move back to rest lightly on his shoulder briefly before Elrohir rose.

“You are right; and wise as always Atartaid! We would have been lost these long years without you. An amrûn Atartaid.” He murmured in the calm, subdued tone he had undoubtedly learned in Elrond’s healing halls.

Erestor smiled, suddenly realizing where his young charge had led him. “You are your father’s son prestatân!” Erestor used the old endearment with purpose. The twins had not been troublesome elflings for many long years, but the term always made them smile brightly so it had stuck.

“Bain dû Penneth! (Good night young one!) And… Thank you!” Erestor’s mind still spun, but it was steadier than it had been, and he was no longer fixated on a future bereft of his mate. The cot seemed cold and empty, but he was so tired that sleep took him regardless. He slept deeply but fitfully, moving, and calling out in his dreams, not registering the fingers that loosened his braids and fondly carded through his hair.

Hours later Erestor stirred, bright sunlight crept around the window shutters, and he saw the silhouette of his husband sat by the bed watching him. Erestor blinked drowsily in the half-light as he focused in with eyes and mind. “You are crying meleth?” He asked, reaching gently for the tears that streaked over golden skin.

 

“Goheno nin uiveleth. (Forgive me my everlasting love.) I did not know. They did not tell me. But I should have known. I should have seen.” The words were filled with sorrow and held none of the anger of the night before, nor the joyful musicality that normally infused his golden warrior’s every word.

“Meleth?” Erestor questioned, still bleary as Glorfindel held out a measure of miruvor to him. He sat up and accepted it but simply cradled the healing liquid, it was too sweet for his tastes, and he was entirely focused on the fact that his husband seemed to be falling apart in front of him.

“Did you never wonder why I did not offer a bond sooner meleth?” Glorfindel studied his hands where they rested in his lap. “I could not risk that I might do what Ereinion did to you. He loved you; you know? In his own way, he loved you, but he still enslaved you… But if I had known that you could draw from me, that I could lend you my strength, not just take; you would have been mine millennia ago.” He confessed, finally meeting Erestor’s gaze.

Erestor felt his heart near break as everything fell into place. “Uiveleth nin! I have been yours since I first laid eyes on you! I gladly waited for you; you have always been in my heart.” He pulled Fin into a tender kiss and gently streamed all the love he had for him over their bond. His mate pulled back from him abruptly.

“Don’t meleth, I am well!” He breathed, feeling the energy flow and attempting to shut himself off from his mate.

Erestor took his hands patiently and stroked them gently with his thumbs. “Nay my love, I am drawing what I need from you, if you are willing?”

Glorfindel looked shocked but eventually nodded gently and Erestor felt his walls come down. Erestor let his love flow once more, and seconds later, he felt Fin’s love for him wrap around him. His entire body slumped into the embrace of his lover and his fëa glowed, with his mate’s love, recharged and revitalized.

“You see my love. It is not the same. Ours is a true bond, and true love is never one-sided.” He realized his eyes were closed only as Glorfindel stroked adoringly over his cheek and unseen lips met his in a tender, featherlight kiss. He pulled his mate against him, wanting nothing more than to surround himself with his lover and drift back to sleep. “Hold me?” He whispered.

Glorfindel beamed at him and tenderly kissed his forehead. “Drink your miruvor!” He chided softly.

Erestor wrinkled his nose like an errant elfling, but Fin’s stern cocked eyebrow made him concede and he downed the sickly liquid. His face flashed with surprise. “Sloes?”

“I know they are your favorite meleth.” Glorfindel flushed a little.

“You found these in the dark?” Erestor shook his head in disbelief.

Glorfindel grinned, “No, I caught catfish for breakfast in the dark. I picked those on the way back from gathering the mushrooms you like just after first light!”

“Come here husband of mine and let me love you!” Erestor caught Fin by the wrist and deftly rolled him over the top of him before pinning him to the bed and delivering a leisurely kiss to his lips. He pulled back a little from his warrior. “I would have waited another thousand years and not grieved them as long as you were by my side meleth nin, but you have made me happier than I thought I could ever be.” He whispered into a sharply pointed ear before his tongue flicked over it, sending a little shiver of anticipation through his beloved.

Notes:

This chapter does link to another 'saucy' interlude should you wish to read it Hold Me Closer. If the smut isn't your thing, the next relatively clean chapter is currently being obsessively re-edited!

Chapter 7: Separate Paths

Summary:

The party separates as Glorfindel leaves to take the elfling to Imladris and Legolas' healing journey begins in earnest.

Notes:

meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
Adar - father (formal)
mellon/mellon nin - friend/my friend
hîr nin - my lord
ernil nin - my prince
hannon le - thank you
Naneth - mother

Glorfindel’s mind floated weightless, limbs splayed and completely relaxed as he drifted through the haze. It was rare that their lovemaking was quite so intense, but when it was, Erestor seemed to tear apart at the seams with the very light of the trees. Suddenly thoughts began to manifest in Glorfindel’s clouded mind. Erestor was a cousin of Elrond, his mother a peredhel, but like Elrond, Glorfindel was more and more certain that there was something more. Could it be the gift of a Valar? “Meleth nin, you glow like you sparked the light in the stars themselves!” he whispered, gazing in awe at the ancient but brilliant light that still shone out from his husband’s eyes.

Erestor stirred and kissed his lover fondly before rising and looking guiltily over at the remaining empty cot in the room. “I should allow Elladan to rest,” He caught Fin’s skeptical gaze, “I know he is young, but he is also peredhel, and they rode hard to reach us. And infants can be waring...” Erestor tailed off, but grabbed his tunic and robes, dressing quickly.

Fin beamed knowingly at him, “I know you just want to hold the elfling meleth!” he teased, stretching, and throwing on his robes. “Let us hope that Nornion has kept Dan away from the fish at least!”

The couple emerged from their room onto an odd scene of domesticity. Dan was reclined in an armchair by the fire, Nornion slung against his chest, both slumbering peacefully. Legolas had lit the range and was tending the fire as Ro deftly gutted and cleaned the fish that Fin had caught before turning his attention to a bowl of leaves that had been recently gathered. Within half an hour the group sat down to a lunch of fried fish, wild mushrooms, and greens with bread rolls brought from Imladris. Legolas and Elrohir easily proving themselves to be the most accomplished cooks of the party.

The atmosphere was oddly charged, outwardly, it was friendly and relaxed, but Erestor glanced frequently at Nornion, Glorfindel watched his mate closely and all bar Elladan subtly observed Legolas. Elrohir noted that Erestor was channeling energy into Legolas in the same way that Glorfindel had noticed his husband’s absences the night before, though he noted that the effort did not appear to be draining the advisor as much as he would have expected. Still, he served him the miruvor that Fin had flavored with sloes, and he rested his hand lightly on the peredhel’s shoulder when he was near and noticed Erestor focused intently on Legolas.

Legolas sat once more in front of the fire to eat with Ro reclined on the rug at his feet. Ro made an excuse of tending the fire, occasionally poking at it but ensuring his shoulder was always just barely in contact with the prince’s calf. Erestor noted that the plate Elrohir served Legolas contained only a small portion of unseasoned fish and greens and a small, plain roll from the ration packs. The prince poked at the food, managing a few bites before Ro swept the uneaten portion subtly onto his own plate and unseen by the others, slipped the prince a chunk of the waybread that he clearly found less challenging. Erestor smiled proudly at the young peredhel he had helped raise, he had always been sensitive and empathetic, but he had channeled this to enhance the healing skills he had learned at Elrond’s side.

Erestor’s attention was drawn back to Nornion as the babe gurgled his displeasure at finding the spoon Erestor had been feeding him with empty. Erestor forced himself to concentrate and finished the feed before burping the babe. He kept his amusement to himself as Glorfindel’s feigned indifference to the elfling, but as he swept in with a cloth for his mate’s shoulder, tugging dark hair out of the firing line, paused to hum an ancient lullaby that Erestor had once sung to twin peredhil millennia before, then again to his charge’s children many years later. Fin lifted the sleepy babe away and rocked him, gently cooing soothing sounds until Nornion settled into the blond contentedly. “Not so out of practice as some might assume meleth!” Erestor grinned fondly.

“Nay, t’was only a blink of an eye since Estel was this small, and this hungry!” Fin eyed the tin of dried milk. “We need to ride within the hour to be certain of reaching the talan by sundown. Are all well enough to travel?”

Elrohir sensed the tension surge through Legolas immediately and interjected quickly. “The three of you should ride ahead; Dan wields on his left so Nornion can sling on his right and be well protected between you. You can be clear of the talan by the morning, and we can follow once things have been set straight here. There is really no room for more than three in the talan, and besides, Adar is sending a guard to bring Tauriel to a resting place that may comfort Nornion in years to come; they will arrive tomorrow and will need instructions.” He glanced nervously at Legolas to try to read the blond’s reaction to the suggestion, but his face was passive.

Fin seemed to consider the plan, and something unspoken passed between him and Erestor before he nodded assent and turned to Elladan who also nodded and left to saddle Rovnaur and Asfaloth.

**

Legolas had initially been grateful that the baby had been removed by the two warriors. Nornion through no fault of his own was a more painful reminder of the past than he felt able to cope with at the moment. Besides, the atmosphere in the cottage had gained an air of calm that it could not have had with so many boisterous occupants. But now he was alone with the two whom he suspected had guessed more than he had hoped he would have to reveal. He once again felt awkward and ill at ease, not wanting to discuss the matter, but feeling unable to focus his attention elsewhere.

As usual, it was Elrohir who seemed to pick up on his unease most quickly and left the cottage briefly, returning with the weapons he thought he had lost forever to the Uruk, his knives, war bow and empty quiver. The cleaned knives were placed quietly on the table, but Elrohir strode towards him with a wide smile and dropped his quiver on the rug by his feet as he propped the war bow against the chair. Legolas noted the distinction and scanned Elrohir, he had always found the younger twin easy to read somehow, and when he met the peredhel’s eyes he could tell that he had noticed elven blood on the blades and had reached the correct conclusion.

Once more Legolas felt grateful for his friend, wondering at how he and his twin were so identical physically yet so different in nature. Not wishing to further stir memories of having been tortured with his own blades, Legolas turned his attention to the items Elrohir had placed close to him.

Elrohir had seated himself in the chair opposite and was handing him rough-cut arrow shafts and a satchel containing tips, fletch, and binding. The younger elf grinned and tossed him a pocketknife, “Dinner will not catch itself and we are both out of arrows mellon nin!” before busying himself with mending some of the arrows he had recovered.

“I see you have taken the easier task hîr nin!” Legolas teased his friend, flashing a shy smile, though he had already reached for the familiar supplies, and was deftly cutting to shape a selection of white and grey feathers.

“Workload should be divided by skillset ernil nin, and I readily defer to yours! When I make them from scratch, they only fly to the left!” Elrohir responded with a wink.

The statement made him laugh out in surprise, and his cheeks flushed a little with remembered embarrassment. He was amazed that Elrohir remembered that trip. He had been in Imladris to visit the twins when they had decided on the week in the woods. Arwen had been just reaching her majority and had taken a brief shine to him, insisting on being allowed to accompany them. She had found quickly that she did not like the reality of camping in the wilds as much as she liked the idea. Not being as familiar or as skilled as the others in many of the tasks had vexed her, and her brothers had noticed her infatuation with him and teased her mercilessly for it.

The claim of leftward bound arrows had been a clear play for his attention but one he had only realized when the twins had pointed out how close she sat, and how she had feigned ignorance so long that he had patiently guided her hands with his own for three full arrows before Elrohir had declared his little sister a lost cause and set her to another task. The line had become a particular favorite of the twins, and they had both endured much teasing over it until Arwen threatened to use her superior knowledge of herblore to give her brothers diarrhea for the remainder of the trip.

“I seem to remember hearing that before mellon nin, but I’m certain you do not need a lesson on fletching!” The flush on his cheeks seemed to mirror itself on Elrohir’s as the peredhel laughed fondly at the shared memory.

“I am not so sure ernil nin! You must be an exemplary tutor; Lady Arwen still makes the straightest flying arrows in Imladris!” He teased back gently, briefly meeting blue eyes that were for now free of the sadness they had been brimming with since he had reunited with his friend.

Legolas was quickly lost in the task, finding the familiar, repetitive motions regulated his breathing and heart rate, almost like a meditation. Elrohir made light conversation, secretly admiring how deftly his friend’s fingers moved as their quivers slowly refilled. With each arrow that he dropped into the quiver, Legolas found that he felt noticeably calmer until even the brushes of Elrohir’s hand when they reached for the same item did not cause him to jump or pull away.

Within a few hours, both quivers were full and Elrohir handed him his bow. It felt odd to have the familiar weapon feel so unnatural in his hand. He was fairly sure he couldn’t draw the bow given the wounds to his chest and arms, but he did not want to reveal that to the others. His hands traveled over the smooth wood in a fond caress, the bow had been a gift from his Ada and Naneth for his 500th begetting day. It had not been given to him until after his Naneth had sailed, but as she had designed the carvings that ran its length so it felt as though a part of her still protected him. The wood had been recently oiled he noted, someone had taken the time to clean and care for the weapon since its retrieval.

He felt Ro’s eyes on him. “Hannon le mellon nin! I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have these back.” He ran his fingers down the string as he had many thousands of times and felt a nick part way down. “It needs a new string; this one will not hold.” He spoke, almost to himself. He reached for the pouch that normally hung at his waist before he recalled it had been stripped from him, his belt and the straps that held his light armor in place all slashed with his own knives.

He pushed back the memory and glanced into the bag of supplies that Elrohir had placed on the table. There was a mild look of surprise on his friend’s face at the comment followed by an apologetic sigh.

“I’m sorry my friend, I have wasted your time! I used my last spare string on the way here, and Dan took the rest of the supplies. I fear we will have to make do with one bow for our hunt, but I would appreciate your sharp eyes and your company if you are willing?” Elrohir sounded sincere but Legolas was not stupid and suspected he had been extended a kindness by his old friend and decided the test his theory.

“Has Dan taken up archery then mellon nin? If so, I hope he has had the patience to practice. Last I knew, he was a hazard even to those who stood behind him!” he teased, knowing the slight was undeserved, though it was true Dan heavily favored his sword.

Ro chuckled, “He won’t be out shooting either of us in the near future, but these days he shoots well enough to be more of a worry to foe than friend! After he nearly became a warg snack, Erestor insisted!” He flashed a glance to Erestor who smiled at the second time the topic had come up.

“Aye, he shoots well enough, but he still shows too little interest for my liking. That old bow of his was so brittle it near snapped last I picked it up!” Erestor fretted.

“Worry not Uncle Tor! He is carrying the new one you got him last midsummer, and I have ensured it cared for.” Elrohir grinned indulgently at his tutor’s fond scowl at Dan’s characteristic lack of dedication to that which did not interest him.

“Thank Eru that your brother is so accomplished in the things that do interest him and is blessed with loyal loved ones who pick up what he neglects; in that he reminds me of your uncle Elros!” Erestor looked a little distant as though remembering pleasant memories that were tinged with sadness. “Though his temper is that of your Naneth! I was never so afeared to beat anyone at chess!” he grinned broadly at them.

Legolas smiled back and rose, the banter had confirmed his suspicions, Elrohir had been the one to clean and oil his bow, there was no chance that the younger elf had not noticed the state of the string. He knew there was no possibility of Legolas hunting, but had wanted to give him a graceful way out and an excuse to leave the cabin. Without thinking, he reached for the peredhel and offered his hand, smiling openly as the young elf lord took it and pulled himself to his feet. “We should go, I have no doubt that you would welcome the opportunity for some peace and quiet My Lord!” he smiled at Erestor, the healer still unnerved him a little when he looked so serious, he supposed that this must be how his Ada made those who did not know him well feel.

Erestor nodded and smiled a little, even the hint of the expression softened his face, and it was once again easy to see the kindness in his eyes. “Do not tire him out!” he replied looking at Elrohir before returning his sharp gaze to Legolas, “And for the love of Elbereth, encourage him to shoot something that is not a rabbit or an orc!”

Elrohir laughed brightly and head out the door, it was only as the peredhel began moving that Legolas realized that he still gripped the younger elf’s hand from when he had pulled him to his feet. He let him go abruptly before realizing the hot flush on his cheeks was that of embarrassment not panic.

Chapter 8: Touch Me Like You Do

Summary:

The dynamic between Legolas and Elrohir begins to play out and the reasons for the increased orc activity begin to unravel as it becomes clearer that there is a strategic power that is driving their activity.

Notes:

mellon nin - my friend
hannon le - thank you
ernil nin - my prince
ada - dad
ion nin - my son
fëa - soul
rhaw - body
penestad - healer
Goheno nin - forgive me

They had been hunting for several hours, the woods were quiet apart from the sounds of the nearby stream as it tumbled over small waterfalls on its way down from the mountains. The sun was bright and dappled through the broadleaf canopy in a most pleasant way. The trees were open and friendly, and Legolas felt at ease. He had detected several woodland creatures that the peredhel had not, but in truth, his heart was too at peace to hunt, but he gathered mushrooms, fruit, berries, and wild vegetables into the large satchel he was carrying, he would not see his companions hungry. Elrohir had added elder leaves and a purple flowering plant that he did not know the name of but recognized the smell from Erestor’s salve.

“Woundwort.” Elrohir had supplied without being asked when he had caught his gaze.

Both were about to suggest heading back with their haul when Legolas froze. He grabbed Elrohir’s wrist making him still instantly as well.

**

The walk in the woods had done Legolas good, Elrohir could feel the woodland prince become more alive with each step. His memory took him back centuries to how jealous he and Dan had been of how Legolas survived in the forest by instinct, now he was simply filled with admiration. As he watched, he noticed that the scratches that peeked from Legolas’ sleeves had at long last begun to close. As he leaned close to place more healing herbs into the bag Legolas carried, Elrohir had to check his urge to linger and dwell on the details of his scent and the sound of his breathing.

His thoughts shocked him and once again roused old memories of more carefree times spent with the prince. For as long as Elrohir could remember, he had felt drawn to his friend’s quiet calm, he was always a safe haven, whatever chaos was unfolding; but there was one summer, millennia past where his feelings had been more turbulent, almost possessive. It was the summer Arwen approached her majority and had fussed over Legolas, doe-eyed and infatuated by the prince’s fair face, courtly manners, and kind bearing. He had thought at the time that the feeling was an embarrassment for his little sister’s obvious and immature fixation on his friend and irritation at how she shadowed his every step, but now as those feelings fired again, he began to question himself.

He forced himself further from Legolas, lagging steps behind him, he noticed he favored his left leg and the way that he stood with his legs wide as though he was shielding wounds. Elrohir’s eye roved over his friend and he noticed faint blood spots on the dark leggings, and the way the loose fabric clung to his thighs gave tell that he was heavily bandaged underneath. His mind flashed concern, then guilt as he questioned whether his observations had been entirely those of a healer. His face flushed red as another possibility nagged at him.

Elrohir knew he was not concentrating on the hunt, his heavy footfalls undoubtedly keeping potential game distant, but currently, his desire to extend their time alone together outweighed his hunger. The forest and his companion seemed in perfect equilibrium, and he barely dared breathe for fear of tipping the balance, yet at the same time, he longed to restore the exhilarating feeling he had when Legolas held his hand.

In a heartbeat, something about the forest changed. Elrohir had no idea what it was beyond a feeling until Legolas’ fingers wound around his wrist and in a second, reality seemed to change. He seemed to sink two inches into the forest floor, in shock he looked down at his feet to see nothing unusual, but everything felt closer. All of a sudden, he sensed the whispers of the trees, the pulse of the forest seemed as clear as his own felt in Legolas’ grip. And it raced.

Death! Intrusion! Outrage and urgency; all dripped into him via the melody that surrounded him. He was glued to the spot despite the urge to run flooding his nervous system with energy, followed by a fierce protective flare for the elf at his side, but the fingers that held his wrist circled calmly and gently over his pulse point. He felt his body synchronize with the forest, just as surely as he had felt himself sink into the rich soil that connected all the greenery.

Suddenly Legolas filled his senses, he was all around him though he had not moved. 'There is a spider in the clearing ahead. It is small but should not be here, eggs were brought by the Uruk!' Elrohir’s mind raced; the thoughts were not his, nor were they spoken to him. They just were.

“Ro! Do you see it?” Legolas’ whisper was urgent but calm.

The sound shook him, though he was still not certain if it reached him through his ears or his mind. He shook his head.

“Draw your bow!” The command was quiet, patient but expectant.

He felt Legolas move behind him and map his body. For a moment all he could focus on was how the blond’s form matched his exactly, drawing him into an archer’s stance, pulled in and held tight against lean muscle.

“You know I cannot draw. We have one shot, and we are discovered, and neither of us has our swords, do you trust me to be your eyes mellon nin?” Legolas’ voice was deliciously commanding, all his attention on their foe.

Did he trust him? Oh, sweet Eru! How did those words breathed into his ear set Elrohir on fire when all he should be focused on was the danger ahead? In answer, he nocked an arrow, drew, and held. Willing himself to stay focused as Legolas’ cheek made contact with his, Elrohir synced their breathing and yielded his strength to the prince to command.

Legolas adjusted their aim, squaring their bodies so they moved as one, his slim hands hovering over Elrohir’s where he gripped his bow.

“Now!” Barely a whisper.

The word breathed over Elrohir’s ear and a bolt of lightning raced down his spine as he loosed the arrow. Elrohir’s mind spun, but he somehow found it in himself to step away from the Prince’s hold and draw his daggers in a combative stance. The song of the trees still burned in his blood, and he knew he would die before letting further harm befall Legolas. Elrohir felt the power of the forest surge, the song was deafening now, triumphant, sure of the kill he could not see. Exhausted and overwhelmed by the power flowing through him, Elrohir dropped to his knees, glad of the soft soil beneath him. He was panting, but he wasn’t sure why. All of a sudden, his vision swam until radiant blue eyes gradually came into focus, blocking out everything else, filled with intensity, concern, ferocity, control, and passion. There was a hand back in his, and another on the small of his back and they pulled him to his feet.

“Well held master peredhel!” The tone was intimate and breathy, and Elrohir felt a dizzying surge of pleasure as the words washed over him.

**

For a moment Legolas had doubted the wisdom of the shot but then he felt Elrohir’s body tune in to his own. The world seemed to shrink back, and it was just them and their target, the familiar clarity of the marksman; and he knew they would make the shot.

Legolas relaxed as the peredhel’s breathing mirrored his own. He calculated the angle, the rise and fall of their chests and shoulders, the gentle breeze, as Elrohir held their frames strong. He exhaled the cue to fire as lithe fingers released the string and he didn’t even need to look to know that the arrow had pierced the spider’s eye and killed it outright.

Ro moved away from him as the forest exploded with energy around them, the relief and celebration were overwhelming, Legolas used skills learned as an elfling to shield himself from the surge, but he heard labored breathing and swept around to face his peredhel only to see him buckle. His?... Legolas dropped to his knees with him. He gazed into those glazed silver eyes until they became aware, before pulling his friend to his feet with a shy smile and a light touch to his back, he wondered curiously how much Elrohir had felt.

**

“T’was a good shot mellon nin! There will be meat tonight! Hopefully, Erestor will not be disappointed, it is not rabbit at least!” Legolas smiled a lopsided smile that had burned itself into his memory.

“We cannot eat the spider!” Elrohir breathed, incredulous.

Legolas chuckled, “That is inaccurate! The elves of Imladris may not eat spiders, nor have need to. Whilst we probably ‘should’ not, it is both possible, and… some would go so far as to say desirable. I hear it heats the blood in a most... stimulating way!” he grinned cheekily as Elrohir’s eyes darkened and a light blush spread over his cheeks.

“I was however referring to the boar bound in its webs, it is mortally wounded; we can afford it a kindness and have it repaid. Cooking the meat will neutralize the venom. But be careful as you approach, there may be others.” The pair crept quietly closer. Legolas reached out to still Elrohir, but he had already stopped. Legolas looked to the peredhel for permission, his hand hovering over the closest of the pair of daggers that hung from his belt, and was granted it by way of a nod. The dagger flew and the spiderling fell. Legolas had spotted the eggs, only two hatched and he indicated that Elrohir should ease the passing of the small boar the spider had ensnared. Legolas gathered sticks quickly and heaped them on the eggs, efficiently setting them alight before hauling the larger spider carcass onto the blaze.

When he turned back to the clearing, Elrohir had made a clean kill and hung the carcass near the fire, kicking blood-soaked leaves and soil onto the flames to deter predators. Legolas reclaimed the dagger he had thrown at the smaller spider as Elrohir deftly butchered the hog, he bound the smaller spider and hefted it over his shoulder. Elrohir looked at him questioningly, the spider was larger than the boar and it seemed like an unnecessary burden.

“It did not bite; the venom is a powerful anesthetic. Extracted and diluted correctly it will treat many patients. And the meat, well as I said, it is prized for other reasons; but our healers use it to make the blood flow. I suspect Lord Elrond and Erestor will be glad of the additional supplies for the apothecary.” He explained, noting the embarrassed curiosity on the other elf’s face.

Elrohir drew closer and nodded, though he seemed somehow too captivated by his friend’s gaze to really acknowledge his words. Legolas realized the peredhel was now so close they were sharing breath. Legolas’s thoughts veered at the proximity and something inside him leaped, though it was not unpleasant it was unsettling, so with their kills secured, he awkwardly set off walking back in the direction of the cottage. They walked in comfortable silence for much of the way, enjoying the way the sounds of the forest returned now the threat had been neutralized.

“I thought maybe you could place some stitches for me.” The words blurted out before Legolas was really prepared for them, he looked down but didn’t stop walking, the words costing more than he had anticipated, his breath now caught in his throat. He forced himself to look at the younger elf, “I know you have noticed.” he stopped walking as he caught the guilty look in Elrohir’s eyes. Shame burned through him, but the thought of the pain of riding again spurred him on. “My wounds heal more slowly than they should and if we are to ride again…”

“Erestor is more skilled than I, I’m sure he would…” Elrohir fumbled, panicking at the thought of the intimate touches that his friend was trusting would be clinical and detached, but made him flush with emotion and arousal. He felt sick with himself, his friend needed his help and his thoughts toward him should be anything but lustful given how Legolas had come by his injuries. But the look of pain that flashed in his friend’s eyes stopped his reeling mind and rambling tongue.

“It matters not, they will heal.” Deflected the blond, turning to leave.

“No!” Elrohir caught his wrist gently. “I did not mean I would not. If you prefer it to be me, I will of course. I’m sorry, I should have offered before.” His grip was gentle but firm and sure though his voice sounded anything but, breathy and almost trembling he prayed it would not reveal his thoughts.

Legolas smiled, nodding gracefully but looking uncharacteristically timid, “Hannon le mellon nin. Your eyes don’t feel as heavy on me, and your touch...” Legolas hesitated, torn between what he wanted to say and what he thought he should say. He sighed opting for the latter.

“It is easier to bear. For some reason, yours is the only touch I can stand since...” He looked into the peredhel’s eyes, frightened for what he would see there, but they remained filled with compassion and generosity, bravery, and loyalty, all that Elrohir was. Still, he could not stand to finish the confession though there was no expectation in Ro’s eyes as the words fell away.

“You ask too much of yourself ernil nin!” Elrohir found he could not stand to call the blond ‘friend’, it was not enough, but he had forced back the first words his brain had supplied, so the formal title came out in a strangely intimate tone. He coughed a little, flustered once more, chastising himself that he was not the calm, trustworthy healer that his Ada was.

“Not all wounds are clear to the eye, but your body knows which it must heal first. And you are still here... With me.” Elrohir cursed himself, the last two words had seemed to add themselves of their own volition, just as his fingers had found their way from Legolas’ shoulder to caress his soft cheek as his steps paused.

Elrohir caught himself and jumped back and began to walk once more. “I can help you with the others until they are ready to heal.” He looked up, they had reached the cottage and he handed the boar to Legolas. “Erestor will attend to supper. Wait for me in our room, I will bring what we need.” Before Legolas had time to wonder why the words felt jarring, he nodded, and turned to do as requested.

**

Elrohir went to the well to draw clean water, pausing a moment to process his thoughts. Finding only an unfathomable maelstrom of emotion and unsettling subjects, he pushed them away and walled them in, he would deal with them later when he had brought Legolas home to his Ada; Legolas was his priority. A comforting warmth wrapped his mind, and he felt the emotional blockade he had constructed strengthen. He smiled, knowing his father must be worrying over him if such a fleeting thought had attracted his attention.

“I am well Ada! For now, we are well.” He reassured.

“I feel your doubt ion nin. Tell me?” His father’s voice soothed his fëa, it always had. It flowed through him, effortlessly putting things in order as it went.

“I am not sure I can look upon what they did to him Ada!” For now, he neglected to mention the other thought that scared him about working so intimately on the prince. “He is so resilient; he does not deserve to shoulder my pain as well, but he will allow no other to touch him. I fear he has placed his trust unwisely; why is it so hard to be strong for him when I desire it so much?”

Elrond flinched at the powerful emotions that were surging through his son and the memories that the situation unleashed, catching even what his son had left unspoken.

“If your suspicions are true ion nin, and those foul creatures defiled him, his dislike of close contact is to be expected, but the fact that he allows your touch is good; he wants to live. Legolas is strong, he has borne much in his life, and he is still fighting hard, lest he would have faded. But you must get him fit enough to ride. Erestor can only do so much, he needs the strength Vilya can offer. It is his only chance penneth.”

Elrohir nodded, he knew his father was right, but was struggling to find the strength that was needed of him, he dreaded the damage he would do if he failed to control his reaction to the assault on his prince’s body, or worse, his reaction to being that close.

Elrond smiled lovingly at the slip as understanding dawned. His son never hid anything from him, and Elrond’s attention turned to what was behind the wall he was helping his son hold back. His heart warmed; it was time Elrohir showed interest in another though he was saddened at the timing. He had become afraid that the harrowing experience of watching his parent’s bond shattering had made Elrohir too afraid to love. He had long known his son carried a torch for the woodland prince, but this was the closest his Elrohir had ever come to realizing it. He did not know Legolas’ feelings on the matter, but he knew the prince’s fëa and innately he knew that he and Elrohir were well matched. He could not wish for a mate more worthy than Legolas, and the prince deserved to be loved, but even if they both accepted their feelings. their paths would be far from easy. Elrond pleaded with the Valar that they would not lead either to heartbreak.

“Be strong ion nin, look at each wound clinically, and think only about how you can treat it. Nothing else. Focus on his breathing and the tension of his muscles to monitor his pain and ensure you do no harm, but do not let your gaze stray until the last wound is bound. Only then do you look upon the face of your… friend!” He considered repeating his son’s phrasing but decided he was not yet ready for the realization it would likely awaken. “I will not leave you ion nin, and Erestor will not leave him. You are not alone, you have the two sourest, sharpest, and grumpiest elves on Ardar at your side; be they help or hindrance!”

Elrohir smiled gratefully, steeled himself, and head inside.

**

The exchange with Erestor had been mercifully brief, Legolas had handed over the supplies, and the pragmatic advisor had acted as though they were exactly what he had asked them to gather. It was no wonder that Erestor had been a pivotal figure in the history of middle earth, even amongst his Ada’s most trusted, there was none who could rival him in thought or grace. He had handed Legolas a tray that contained a bitter-smelling herbal tea, a large measure of miruvor, clean bandages, and the jar of salve with the beautiful handwritten label. Legolas nodded gratefully and escaped to the bedroom, the room that Elrohir had referred to as ‘ours’, the term had sent a sensation through him that he didn’t dare inspect.

He carefully placed down the tray and noted another clean pair of dark-colored leggings on the bed, presumably belonging to one of the twins; his own lighter-colored clothes had been cleaned and skilfully stitched. He pushed the mended garments into a bag at the end of the bed, opting not to deal with the memories they held. He stood still, eyes closed and focused on his breathing, on pushing back the panic. The link to Erestor in his mind which he saw as a light blue-silver thread, lit up and energy dripped from it once more. He focused as each tiny pulse helped push back the panic, securing his fëa to his rhaw, lessening the dark pull he still felt on his fëa to follow Tauriel’s to Mandos, calming him and making him believe that he could stay here with the people he loved.

His mind slowed but still reeled, he forced another breath, he was safe. He focused on the feel of the wooden floor beneath his feet, the quiet sounds of the forest outside the window, and the residual, cleansing feel of the energy he had drawn from the trees. His heart slowed in its frantic beat and the sound of the blood pumping in his ears lessened. He had asked Elrohir to tend to him, the second the request left his lips he had regretted it, but the pain of his wounds was becoming unbearable as the salve Erestor had given him wore off. He tried to ignore how the touch of the peredhel had felt but the memory popped up unbidden.

He wondered what he should do and cursed himself for making things so awkward. He downed the tea, noting the bitter taste of willow bark and poppy, and longed for the numbness they would bring, he gulped the miruvor, sickly sweet in comparison but warming. The tea acted quickly as his stomach was empty and though it fogged his mind, it seemed to create space for more rational thought to creep back. He decided that undressing in front of Elrohir would be awkward, so he stripped, removing the soiled bandages he had bound so tightly they made his limbs tingle when he was at rest, hoping it would stem the blood flow. The wounds were still open and bleeding though it had been near a week since the first ones were inflicted. Blood also still seeped from inside him staining the insides of his thighs, he used the soiled bandages to try to wipe it, feeling ashamed of what he had allowed himself to become. He was about to redress the wounds and tell Elrohir they were no longer a bother when there was a light tap at the door followed by a quiet voice.

“Can you make yourself comfortable on the bed for me? I only need access to the cuts you wish me to treat as I reach them. Pull the blankets around you so you are not cold.” Elrohir was going out of his way to be discrete, and it was not lost on Legolas.

“I am ready!” he called back; trepidation clear in his voice.

The door opened and shut and Elrohir approached him, laid his bag on the floor, and spoke gently. “Where would you prefer, I start my Lord Thranduilion?” the greeting sounded false and constructed for a second until both relaxed into the distance it offered. Legolas indicated a deep gash to his lower abdomen, it had been where his courage had failed when Erestor had treated him. He closed his eyes and reminded himself to keep breathing as Elrohir drew closer.

Elrohir continued in the soft, bright gentle tone. “May I get you cleaned up so we can see what we are dealing with?” It was a question, but Ro was already on his knees by the bed, wet cloth poised over him, his gaze locked on the wound. Legolas murmured his assent, feeling sick to his stomach and trembling, blinking back flashes of being forced to his own knees.

The cloth was soaked in fragrant warm water, he recognized the smell of witch hazel, yarrow, and lavender, the water stung. Elrohir must have noticed him flinch, “If you are in pain, I can ask for more tea, though it will make you sleepy?” He enquired gently, not pausing in his task of gently cleansing the wound inside and out.

Legolas dismissed the suggestion, not wanting to prolong things or give Erestor reason to see him like this.

**

The abdominal gash was deep and needed two layers of stitches, Elrohir applied a stronger painkiller before using gut for the deep stitches needed. As he worked, warmth seemed to flow around his fingers and the tissue slowly began to knit. By the time he placed tiny, neat stitches in porcelain skin, the breadth of the wound seemed a little reduced.

He moved from wound to wound following his patient’s direction, until he was working between the blond’s legs, forcing himself not to think about how the slices and jagged gashes had been formed, focusing only on cleaning, stitching, and binding. He observed the dried blood on his patient’s thighs that extended up under the sheet he had placed over Legolas’ pelvis, and a vice clamped around his heart and stomach as his blood boiled. But he made no comment, no indication he had even noticed, beyond gently wiping the blood away.

He pulled the sheet back over, hiding the angry crisscross of cuts and scratches and the dressings he had placed, and packed away his healing tools. Removing the bag to outside the door, he fixed a smile, turned, and finally met blue eyes. “It will be an hour or so for supper. You should rest.”

“Hannon le penestad!” Legolas smiled weakly and pulled the blanket closer around him before rolling over, turning his back to Elrohir.

“Elrohir… Would you stay a while?” his voice was different, smaller, and vulnerable.

“Of course, whatever you need!” Elrohir hastily sat on the floor alongside the bed.

“Could you?... I mean would you move closer? I feel stronger when you touch me.” There was a drawn-out pause and Legolas began to balk. “Goheno nin…” he began until he felt a warmth curl against his back and a gentle arm reached over to pull him nearer.

“So do I mellon nin, so do I.” came the breath in his ear.

Chapter 9: Hunted

Summary:

The party has split and each faces their own challenges. for Glorfindel and Elladan it is a party of marauding Orcs and for Legolas and co. we continue to navigate the path of his healing as Elrohir wrestles with his feelings.

Apologies, these chapters are getting long but it doesn't feel right to break them. For those that are still with me - thank you x

Notes:

Sadly, my grasp on Sindarin does not improve, yet it does not deter me. Allegedly the Valar love a trier!

For clarity, this is what I meant...

rhaw - body
mellon/mellon nin - friend/my friend
fëa - soul
ellon - male elf
ernil nin - my prince
An amrun - until morning
bain du - good night
hanar nin -my brother
Meluiôl - sweet dreams
belaith pen - strong one
gwinig - baby
Elroval - Star Wing (Elrond's magpie)
penneth - young one
Valar - gods
elleth - female elf
prestatân- troublemaker
Atarattëa (Quenyan) - Second father -nickname for Glorfindel
Hest - captain

His mind was groggy, his body warm and relaxed, but Elrohir was becoming more aware of the rich scent of roasting pork as Erestor prepared their supper. As his mind latched onto the smell of food his stomach growled. He picked up a background scent of something else he dimly recognised as a surgical smell familiar from the healing halls, bitter and cloying, Erestor must be dealing with the spider venom. He lay still, enjoying how Legolas slept peacefully, curled against him. Occasionally the prince would startle or murmur in his sleep, but a light squeeze of his hand where Elrohir’s arm reached over him was enough to soothe him. Elrohir’s thoughts drifted to Legolas’ dreams, but the memory of the cruel slashes and bruises that marked him, and the blood that Elrohir was certain came from within him drove the thought from his mind and the air from his lungs.

His shocked exhale startled Legolas awake and he quickly turned to face Elrohir as he took stock of his surroundings. Elrohir released the hand he held and shifted back to give Legolas space. In doing so, he dislodged the covers, exposing the pale skin of Legolas’ shoulder, as Elrohir’s eyes were drawn to it, he realised the skin was smooth and unbroken. He stemmed the urge to reach for his friend, but smiled brightly at him.

Legolas looked at him questioningly but then followed his gaze down. The lighter wounds on his arm and shoulder were gone, all that was left were faint silver lines most of which would fade in days. Legolas pushed back the cover, fingers exploring his body; his chest looked much the same as it had hours before, but his left arm had healed. Elrohir’s hand hovered hesitantly over a dressing on Legolas’ forearm, it covered a deep defensive wound he had opted to bind rather than stitch as the dull blade that made it created a wide wound with ragged edges that would draw the skin unnaturally if stitched. “May I?” He asked gently.

Legolas nodded and held out his arm for Elrohir to remove the bandage. The wound had finally closed, appearing as Elrohir would have expected a firstborn rhaw to heal near a week after injury, “There is no need of the bandage unless you find it more comfortable mellon, this is almost healed.” Elrohir glanced over the cuts to his friend’s back and torso, though they had now scabbed, they had not progressed with similar speed. He allowed his fingers to drag delicately over the smooth skin as he discarded the dressing, and it felt as it had when he dressed the wounds, almost as if he could feel Legolas’ body stir beneath his touch. He cocked an enquiring eyebrow, wondering if the prince could feel what he did. Legolas flushed a little.

“Your touch seems to reconnect my fëa and rhaw.” Legolas tried to explain, still groggy from sleep. “After so many years guarding another, it’s as if my fëa has forgotten it has its own rhaw to care for.” Legolas sighed. Ro looked at him curiously, clearly confused and Legolas froze, suddenly realising he was unaware of his bond to Tauriel. Legolas’ blood pumped in his ears and his stomach was gripped with cold as he battled with his foggy brain to come up with a plausible explanation for his words. The sounds of the table being laid distracted Elrohir and his stomach growled loudly once more. He looked sheepishly at Legolas.

“The task of protecting your people must indeed weigh heavily on you mellon nin, we should not have let you carry such a burden alone; Imladris should have come to your aid before now. It is no wonder you are exhausted, but at least for now you can rest… and eat!” Elrohir conceded with an apologetic smile as his stomach protested loudly once more.

**

Erestor had gathered plums to dress the meat, explaining in length how both heat and acid neutralised spider venom. As much as he loved his husband and Elladan, Erestor admitted it was refreshing to be able to discuss healing, herblore and chemistry without eye rolling and exaggerated yawns. Much to Elrohir’s embarrassment, his tutor had been fascinated to hear in return, about how the meat of the spider could be used to speed the blood and to enhance sexual performance in both men and ellon alike.

It seemed the elves of Mirkwood had discovered a lucrative trade stream with the nearby mannish settlements as a convenient by-product of the necessary protection work that Legolas and his patrols undertook clearing spider nests. When Erestor took an even keener interest in the recreational consumption of spider meat during the midsummer festival, Elrohir found the limit of his embarrassment, turning a shade of beetroot and excusing himself to clear the table. Legolas chuckled lightly and took pity on his friend, promising Erestor that he would write out all that he knew about the meat, dosing quantities, preservation and the full extent of its effects on the body before neatly changing the subject.

In honesty, distraction had not been difficult at that point, Erestor was so entirely absorbed with furthering his new knowledge that he had already begun hypothesising on the potential medicinal effects of the exoskeleton. He was spellbinding to watch, busily alternating between making observations in his notebook in his fluidly beautiful calligraphy and meticulously preserving and labelling the spider parts, with precise but practised movements. All the while an endearing look of wonder in his eyes. Even if you knew nothing more about him, simply watching him, it was easy to see what Glorfindel found to love in the peredhel.

Legolas and Elrohir found a battered chess set in one of the cupboards and played for a while before Legolas announced his intention to retire. Erestor glanced up distractedly, suddenly guilty that he had not been channelling energy to the prince, but pleasantly surprised at seeing him looking so strong. “I would not be averse to sharing quarters if our woodland guest would prefer a little privacy penneth!” he called over to Elrohir.

Elrohir glanced at Legolas, he could not precisely gauge the look in his eyes, but it was somewhere between fear and disappointment, so he spoke up quickly. “Legolas, I would like you to take more herbs to ease your sleep, yet your reaction to the last dose was not entirely as expected. It would soothe my mind if you would permit me to remain close at hand tonight. Though I doubt you are in any danger, I would count it as a favour were you to indulge me.”

Legolas’ face broke into the shy lopsided smile, “If there is indulgence it would be mine by you! I have lived centuries on patrol and always sleep more soundly with the sound of another’s breathing close. The night seems too silent now I am alone. Though I do not wish to rob you of a comfort my Lord?” he glanced at Erestor, concern lacing his features.

“Erestor!” he corrected absently, his attention already being called back to his spider parts, “And fear not fair prince, I shall sleep all the more soundly for not having a legion of soldiers breathing in my ears!” He responded, still distracted. Though his compassion could never be fully diverted, and he captured Legolas’ eyes with his “Though I remember a time when it was not so, and the world did indeed seem lonely and empty without one’s accustomed comrades. Exhilarating, but unsettling. But as was my privilege, Fin, Elrond and his rabble soon filled the silence, and now I am simply glad of an occasional night’s peace ernil nin.” He smiled knowingly.

Legolas felt the silver-blue thread blaze and warmth flooded him, making him feel cosseted and sleepy. “Legolas!” he corrected in kind, “An amrun Erestor!”

“An amrun Legolas, Elrohir. Bain du!” (until morning Legolas, Elrohir, Good night!) Erestor smiled, satisfied that Legolas now had both his feet firmly on the path to recovery and confident that the journey would accelerate in a couple of days with Vilya’s presence. He reached for Fin in his mind, he was too far away to speak clearly to without effort, but there was nothing that troubled him about the feel of his lover’s fëa, so he happily went back to cataloguing his spider parts.
**
Elrohir had given some thought to what Legolas had said and though he did not pretend to understand why, it seemed that Legolas’ body did heal itself far faster when in direct contact with his own. This discovery however left him in an awkward situation, particularly given the intimate location of some of his friend’s wounds. Inside the small bedroom with the door shut, Legolas seemed to feel it too and looked at his feet.

Elrohir sat on the edge of the cot he had slept on the previous night, “Legolas, the discovery we made earlier is not an insignificant one, but it is up to you how you wish to use it. As your healer and brother, I would see you well again.” He said softly, trying to keep the pressure and tension out of the offer.

Legolas eyed Elrohir and then the narrow cot they had both crowded onto earlier, looking a little nervous. Elrohir’s gaze followed his friend’s.

“We could move these two together for more space” Elrohir began, “then that one would still be free in case you need to move when I snore in your ear or drool in your hair!” He quipped, hoping it would lighten the mood a little. Legolas smiled and taking that as approval of his suggestion, Elrohir quickly shifted the cot he was sitting on further from the one Legolas occupied but tight against the third. He shifted over onto the far side so that Legolas would not have to sleep trapped between him and the wall.

Now came the dilemma Elrohir had not wanted to face. How much clothing would Legolas be comfortable with his removing? He seemed to need to be skin-to-skin with the elf to help him, and with a long ride coming up he knew which wounds he would soonest see healed, but he was aware that would see them in a very intimate position. He was not sure Legolas would manage it. Doubt tapped at the edge of his mind and a strange feeling rushed through him, flipping his stomach; he was not sure he would manage it either. He shifted uncomfortably, eventually settling for stripping his shirt only and settling into the blankets.

Legolas reluctantly followed suit, stripping to the waist he realised he was not as uncomfortable as he had expected. As he considered his position, his thoughts wandered. The wounds on his back were painful but not deep, made by the Uruk commander’s grasping hands and vicious teeth as he had held him bound and gagged, face down to abuse him. The memory sent shivers through him and now it had stirred so vividly he was unsure he could rest again with Ro to his back. The visions had lurked even as they rested earlier. Those on his chest were neat but deep, made with his own blades as the Uruk tormented him simply to watch his pain.

“I would feel safer if I could draw my bow mellon nin. If my chest was to heal a little then maybe…” Legolas suddenly felt crestfallen, he had no bow; the string was all but snapped.

“That is wise brother. Erestor restrung yours earlier, it seems he carries more supplies than me.” Elrohir said gently and turned on the cot, offering his back so that Legolas could move in behind him. He felt the cool, smooth skin against his, the roughness of the dressings he had placed. He pushed gently back into the tentative embrace, taking Legolas’ right hand and drawing his arm over him, laying his hand against his chest before releasing his grip to lightly cover Legolas’ hand with his.

“An amrun hanar nin,” (until morning my brother) Elrohir whispered softly,

As Legolas was relieved that the peredhel faced away from him and didn’t see his eyes fall closed, allowing him to simply enjoy the comforting feel of Elrohir nestled into him. Where their skin was in contact, there was a prickling feeling that whilst not pleasant, made him feel more alive than anything he could remember. As though his rhaw had awoken after centuries of slumber and now life was flooding back into neglected flesh. He remembered the fleeting contact Erestor had made with him when he treated his wounds and wondered why his touch had not felt the same. It was as though his fëa recognised something in Elrohir that it did not in others.

Elrohir knew instinctively that Legolas’ eyes had closed but was comforted when in minutes the rise and fall of the other’s chest slowed and the tension dropped out of him. Without thinking he lightly raised the fingers of the slim hand to his lips brushed a light kiss over them “Meluiôl, belaith pen.” (Sweet dreams, strong one.)

**

Glorfindel and Elladan had made good time to the talan, even given the stops required to tend to the babe which had been numerous. Elladan had favoured riding through the night rather than stopping, feeling his patience tried by the care of the tiny elfling. Glorfindel however had not wanted to risk the elfling’s cries giving away their position, insisting they seek the relative safety of the talan.

Elladan had the watch, he had been glad to offer to stay the whole night alert rather than be on babysitting duty any longer. Fin rolled his eyes at him, “It might serve your patience better to play Ada prestatân!” He teased as Elladan settled himself by the fire. Still smirking from the grimace Dan pulled in response to his comment, Fin made his way up the ladder to feed Nornion his customary milk thickened with lembas, “When we reach home you can have a bottle and some proper milk gwinig. Estel favoured goat’s milk with honey, but don’t tell your Atartaid about the honey, that will be our secret!” Fin finished the feed and snuggled the sleepy form against him before settling back to listen to the sounds of the night.

A few hours before dawn, there was a bellow from Asfaloth and a shout from Elladan. Glorfindel scooped Nornion against him, deftly removing his leather bracers, slinging the elfling securely on his chest and wedging the light armour between Nornion and the sling. He dropped lightly off the flet straight onto Asfaloth who was pawing the ground urgently, desperate to carry his master away from the danger he heard. Elladan was already mounted with his bow in hand.

“How many?” Hissed Glorfindel.

“Too many! One or two score, all mounted. We ride hard, and whatever happens, you don’t stop.” Elladan said decisively glancing at the way Glorfindel’s tunic bulged over the babe and his makeshift armour.

“We don’t stop! No heroics Elrondion, I will not permit it!” Glorfindel corrected sternly as he urged Asfaloth forward. The warhorse had no doubt about what was required of him and took off at breakneck speed for home.

They had a good lead, but the horses had been running hard for at least half an hour, and their pursuers remained on their heels, gradually gaining ground. This was no chance encounter; this was a targeted hunting party, and they were bent on capturing them. Glorfindel knew the alarm had already been raised in Imladris, and there should be patrols on their way to meet them, but there was no way of knowing how close they were. An arrow whistled past him and somehow Asfaloth found more pace and sped up. Fin was aware that Elladan was falling behind and chanced a glance over his shoulder but when he looked, the peredhel was still riding hard as instructed.

An aggravated rattle sounded from above him, Elroval! The bird swooped low appearing annoyed that his target was moving so rapidly. Even with the adrenaline coursing through him, the brazen bird’s attitude pricked at Glorfindel’s patience. The magpie circled them once before appearing to give up, landing on an enemy arrow stuck in a nearby tree. Glorfindel cursed the bird’s stupidity, praying to the Valar that he had been sent with word of impending aid and nothing more of value if the enemy got their hands on him. Good luck to them! Hopefully, the little menace was as fond of orc ears as elven ones. Asfaloth thundered forward as another volley of dark-fletched arrows flew past him, there was an angry squawk, and for a second Fin thought the bird had been hit, but his heart lightened when he saw a flash of white soar high into the night sky before heading back towards Imladris. Elladan was closer now, he could hear Rovnaur’s hoofbeats, Fin was reassured by Dan’s proximity until he heard two dull thwacks and a light cry from behind him that made his stomach knot.

Rovnaur snorted and surged forwards, drawing level with Asfaloth, his reins slack. Elladan was still mounted but he leaned heavily forward onto the pommel of his saddle and two arrows protruded from his right shoulder where they had pierced the leather spaulders he wore. Glorfindel’s blood ran cold, though he noted with irritation that the younger warrior’s quiver was empty, and his bow had dropped from his hand.

“I said no heroics penneth! I swear to the Valar, I will have you cleaning armour and sharpening blades for a month once your Ada gets those out of your shoulder!” Fin growled at him, disguising his fear that the tips may be poisoned.

The horses were sweating and panting, they could not keep this pace much longer and dawn was still over an hour away, but their pursuers were unrelenting. Fin desperately ran his options, Elladan was barely holding his seat and he was fairly sure he couldn’t draw his own bow with Nornion swaddled to him as he was. Dan drew on his left but was injured, outnumbered it would be a short fight as the odds looked poor. His only hope might be to somehow secure Nornion so Asfaloth could carry the babe without him and hope that he could slow their aggressors sufficiently for Asfaloth and Dan to get to safety.

Suddenly Glorfindel heard hooves ahead and offered silent thanks to the Valar as a patrol of twelve approached at speed. He whispered to Asfaloth “Get past them mellon nin and we are safe!” He glanced over at Elladan, Rovnaur had clearly come to the same conclusion and was headed at full tilt for the gap that was appearing in the formation of elves. Their pursuers had spotted the reinforcements and there was brief confusion as some broke away in retreat and others fired upon the newcomers. The moment they were past the reinforcements, volleys of elven arrows started, and within ten minutes, the enemy who had hunted them for miles were no more.

Elladan had been pulled from his horse and a healer had dosed him with a syrup containing poppy milk, before she had removed the wrecked spaulder and the arrows and cleaned and bound the wounds.
“No poison flesh wounds only – you’ll live!” she confirmed, encouraging Elladan onto her mount with a playful slap to his thigh before swinging up behind him. Glorfindel easily recognised Lossiel even below her helmet, originally of Lórien, she was well named for her snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes. She was a ranked commander of the Imladris guard, having relocated with Lady Celebrian, as well as a skilled healer and one of their best archers. He suspected her bow to have been one of the key factors in putting down their pursuers so quickly. Rovnaur trotted alongside them, despite being exhausted and wet with sweat.

As Garavion the captain circled his mount back to walk alongside Asfaloth, he bowed his head to his commanding officer. “Mae Govannen Lord Glorfindel! It is good to see that Asfaloth still runs with the grace of the Valar, we owe him and Rovnaur a debt of gratitude this day.” He smiled as the warhorse nickered and tossed his head, clearly pleased with himself too. “Unless you command otherwise, I will send three to escort you home and take the rest to hunt the Uruk that fled.

Glorfindel nodded his agreement at the plan, “Hannon le Garavion, you appeared not a moment too soon. Even with such loyal mounts, we would not have made it much further without your aid; they hunted with purpose.”

Garavion smiled respectfully, though his look was grave. “If any survive, we will try to find out their purpose.” His face was grim at the prospect. “Though our fortuitous timing is a merit to your quick thinking; we would not have been alerted to the danger you were in had you not sent the bird.”

Fin looked at him with unveiled curiosity.

“The magpie, it sought us out with a beak full of Uruk fletch, we assumed you had sent him.” Garavion explained with a shrug as he guided his horse to follow after the rest of his party. Glorfindel called the remaining three to him, Lossiel who still held Dan to his mount, Hwestion and Himdir, all three experienced warriors. It was a well-chosen combination, the elleth took point and the other two flanked him and the elfling. As they set off, Elroval landed on Fin’s shoulder and pecked at his ear tip making him jump with pain.

Glorfindel suppressed the curse on his lips and reached to pet the bird. “You only get one of those!” He growled in warning, rubbing at his ear before stroking smooth feathers to an excited cackle. Elroval hopped up onto his head and gave his hair a yank instead. “It seems Lord Elrond’s pets are as disobedient and troublesome as his sons!” He exclaimed loudly, glaring daggers into Elladan’s back.

“Ouch! I felt that Uncle Fin! It’s as well I’m being treated for stab wounds to the back when we return!” Elladan shouted good-naturedly. Clearly whatever Lossiel had given him had lessened his pain and lightened his mood.

“It’s as well you are beyond your majority, though you fail to act it prestatân! Otherwise, I’d be tanning your hide for the stunt you pulled back there!” Glorfindel had calmed enough to engage in the banter now danger had passed.

“Atarattëa! You will note that I was shot in the back, not the front, so I was in fact shot whilst doing as you requested! Besides, my hide is quite comfortable where it is!” Elladan added in a smug tone as he moved fractionally closer to Lossiel.

“Ai Elrondion! For now! Let us hope you felled at least one for the full quiver you shot, or my punishment will be the least of your worries given you ride ahead of one of the finest archers in Imladris.” Glorfindel smiled and winked at Lossiel who grinned back at him.

“True Hest! But I too gave up spanking him years ago; he enjoys it too much!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She and Elladan had openly engaged in bed play over the years; he was attractive, good-natured and an attentive lover, and had even suggested that he would be open to making their arrangement more permanent, but she was almost a thousand years older and had wanted to give him time to explore. However, his current proximity was alluring, and she was not averse to a little time spent kissing him better.

“I will have you know I hit at least six, probably more!” Elladan sulked but it didn’t stop his hand from straying to rest on Lossiel’s thigh, she batted it away playfully, but not so quickly as to indicate genuine displeasure.

Fin rolled his eyes. Elroval, who was still perched comically on the chief commander’s head was fed up with having lost the blond’s attention and bent forward to peer into Glorfindel’s eyes and squark curiously at the lump in the blond’s tunic that was never normally there. Fin sighed at the bird’s audacity and reached once more to smooth him, whilst muttering under his breath. “Vala sent, feather-stuffed menace of a bird! Stay there if you must, but for the love of Eru, do not wake the baby!” Hwestion broke into a smirk at his superior’s poorly disguised affection for the magpie.

Hwestion laughed, “I have heard men say that magpies only serve the Doomsman, but I believe you are safe, I think he likes you, Hest!” He risked teasing his captain a little, he had trained under Glorfindel for centuries and could easily read the seneschal’s moods.

“Mmm.” Glorfindel hummed doubtfully, muttering what Hwestion assumed were curses in the old tongue as the magpie relocated to his shoulder, using his ear for purchase on the way down. He growled and rubbed his ear again. “He never does this to Erestor!” He complained.

Hwestion grinned as they approached the gates, “That’s because Erestor carries a pouch of dried mealworms Hest! For all he’s a nuisance, the bird’s not stupid!”

They clattered into the courtyard of Imladris and swung to dismount, Glorfindel hurried to collect Elladan and help him over to where Elrond was waiting with a concerned look on his face. Glancing over his shoulder only to check their horses were being tended, Glorfindel swept a protesting Elladan away from a gently chuckling Lossiel into the halls of healing, protective of his charge despite his feigned annoyance. As they walked, a sharp whistle caused Elroval to abandon the blond warrior braid he had patiently been unravelling, resting briefly on his master’s hand before taking off up to a high window sill with a beakful of dried caterpillars.

**
The homely house was back at peace, Elrond had examined Nornion, who had howled as though every orc in Mordor hunted him at the imposition; before calming down to Lindir’s magical voice. Once Nornion was truly content and placid once more, having been offered fresh milk with miruvor from a proper bottle, he was swept away by the doting minstrel, drifting sleepily at the sound of his voice.
Elrond had inspected the wounds to Elladan’s shoulder, concurring with Lossiel that they were superficial. His son’s ruined spaulder having done its job, the wounds were shallow and Elladan, much to his delight, had been discharged to Lossiel’s care.

Content that he was not needed as a healer, Elrond went to find Garavion for an update on the hunting party who had dared come so close to their borders.

Notes:

This will drift to a smutty cutscene for Elladan and Lossiel, if you wish to read it, the link is: Beyond Your Beautiful

Chapter 10: One for Sorrow

Summary:

Elrond gets confronted with some home truths from his past that shake the normally steadfast ruler as he hears the truth from another's point of view.

Normally portrayed as the unshakeable father figure I have had a little fun in this fic tormenting Elrond's character and flipping the power dynamic on him.

Notes:

mellon nin - my friend
hîr nin - my lord
fëa - soul
rhaw - body

symbolism used:
violet - grief, humility
ladybird - forgiveness

Magpies - messengers of the underworld and... One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold. Seven for a secret, never to be told.

It was well past breakfast by the time Elrond retreated to his study to find a hastily showered Glorfindel waiting for him. “So, tell me old friend, much has happened in the last few days.” Elrond said, his tone already strained and weary.

Glorfindel, sat in one of the large, soft chairs by the fire, Elrond eyed the tea tray Lindir had set out before walking past it and pouring two generous glasses of wine. Glorfindel gladly accepted the proffered glass and took a deep swig. “Ai, you are right my friend,” he said, though there was an unfamiliar tightness to his voice, “too much has happened. Most too strange and too dark to comprehend.” Glorfindel frowned as he mulled recent events, agitation flaring once more for the part he perceived Elrond had played. Though his rage had lessened, it still simmered.

Glorfindel’s eyes scanned Elrond’s face and the worry and sorrow he saw etched on it tempered him a little. He took a deep breath and another long sip of wine, to gather the calm he needed to respond levelly.

As Elrond waited patiently for Glorfindel to collect his thoughts, Fin observed him carefully. Unlike most of the elven race, the weight of Elrond’s fëa showed on his rhaw, and whilst he could never be described as ‘aging’ in the way that other races did, he did not have the flush of youth so common in his kinsmen. Even Erestor, for all his trials and peredhel heritage still looked younger than Elrond, despite being many centuries his senior. Glorfindel wondered whether it was the weight of Vilya or the burden of leadership that made it so.

“Where is Nornion?” Glorfindel enquired carefully, knowing Elrond would have seen the babe well cared for, but not yet trusting himself with other topics that might cause his emotions to swing.
“Lindir fed him and is sat with him. His crib is in the nursery in the family wing, I wondered if you and Erestor might consider taking Estel’s old room for now? It adjoins the nursery as mine does; as I understand it, you, Erestor, and Dan are the only ones Nornion has had opportunity to bond with, and you know as well as I that Dan is too easily distracted to care for an elfling. Do not feel obliged, but I would welcome your presence, and it would comfort Nornion until a more permanent solution can be reached. I do not intend to leave you alone with this… problem.” Elrond finished wearily.

The statement was met with a tight smile by Glorfindel. “I will make the arrangements, but Nornion is not a problem. He is really quite sweet, and I swore in the presence of Lord Námo I would care for him. His father was a dwarf, though by the grace of Aulë he travels via Mandos to Valinor, but I know no more. His mother was the one they called Tauriel, exiled from the woodland realm. It would benefit him to find out more about them; Legolas would certainly know, but it would be insensitive to ask. You must ask Thranduil.” The statement was firm, and he sipped slowly, holding eye contact expectantly with Elrond.

Elrond scowled at the prospect of contacting Thranduil, knowing how sensitive the subject was, and he feared his reaction when he learned of Nornion. Whilst he hated being dishonest with his commander in chief, he needed to play for time, these were not his secrets to disclose.

“The matter is delicate.” He feigned ambivalence and watched Glorfindel carefully to see if he had been successful. There was no obvious reaction on the warrior’s face and no reply so in indecision, he continued. “As you say, she was an exile mellon nin.” He reached for what he could say that would not betray any trust. “The history between Tauriel and Legolas is complicated.” As Glorfindel’s face changed he knew he had misjudged the situation.

Glorfindel felt his anger flare fiercely for the woodland Prince anew, as he realised that Elrond knew how the young Prince had been condemned to slavery. “You knew!” he spat, his tone cutting as he shot to his feet and strode threateningly towards Elrond, his anger having got the better of him.

Elrond watched his Seneschal advance on him and schooled himself not to back away. Normally he would trust that the warrior would never hurt him, but this topic was both raw and personal for Fin. It was for him too he realised, surprising himself as guilt overtook him, realising he could have… should have done more for Legolas. The look in Glorfindel’s eyes made Elrond think he might grasp or strike him, and for a second, he hoped that he would. For a second, he yearned for the judgement of the Balrog slayer to ease his conscience. The carefully constructed dam broke and he was drowning in regret, though it was still his damaged reputation in the eyes of his Captain that hit him first, not Legolas, and that in itself tortured him. He deserved all Glorfindel could throw at him for his negligence towards the prince.

Elrond looked distraught but resigned as Glorfindel advanced on him. He nodded gently and spoke calmly though his voice wavered, “Thranduil approached me a decade ago,” the confession felt dangerous but cathartic, “having discovered that Legolas had been subjected to a part bond. I do not know how it came about, but Galadriel and I were petitioned to help. The Lady had more urgent callings, but I rode immediately and counselled Legolas as best I could. But Thranduil…”

Glorfindel growled at the mention of Galadriel and stepped closer to the elven lord, commanding and certain he was holding the moral high ground. Elrond backed away, but Glorfindel pressed forward again until he met his gaze.

“I was sworn to secrecy! Forgive me mellon nin. I promised I would investigate further, find the one responsible. But I had to save Thranduil Fin! You didn’t see. His anger, his grief. How close he came to fading.” Elrond sorted back through the memories. It had not just been anger that the discovery had triggered in Thranduil, but overwhelming pain and sorrow that his son had been living a half-life for millennia. When Elrond had touched the king’s mind, it had been almost too broken for him to help, the agony in each breath unbearable. In his distress, Thranduil had begged Elrond to help Legolas, offered him anything if he would only save his son.

“When it became clear I could not break the bond, Thranduil became so desperate he begged me to take Legolas as a bondmate as I had Ereinion in the hope it would weaken the bond with Tauriel. But whoever created the bond was powerful. More powerful even than the one who tied Erestor to Ereinion. I could not see a way out that would not risk Legolas’ life.” Elrond sighed; his tone defeated as memories overwhelmed him.
“Thranduil and Legolas wanted no one else to know, lest the information be used against Legolas.” Elrond near pleaded with the ire he saw in Glorfindel, needing his commander’s forgiveness.
“Would a lover’s bond have helped Legolas?” Glorfindel asked, his voice quiet but seething. “Would it have helped him as I might have been helping Erestor all these years? What other secrets have you been keeping hîr nin? Who else must suffer for them?” His tone was biting, and he turned his back on Elrond. “I never thought the day would come when I questioned if you placed enough value on your friends My Lord.” His tone was acerbic, and he paused, forcing himself to bite back the vindictive words that jostled to get out of him. He saw the pain burning in Elrond’s eyes, but it was no longer sufficient to offset his anger.

“It may help him, but bonding with him simply to strengthen him would not be the right thing to do. After all he has been through, he deserves a bondmate who sees him as an equal, not as something fragile and broken.” Elrond looked down.

“Why do you suppose Erestor never told you what would happen when you bonded mellon nin?” Elrond’s voice now barely audible as it quavered.

Glorfindel paused as he remembered the fear and surprise on his husband’s face when he had found out, and his anger erupted and he surged towards Elrond, it was all he could do to keep his hands at his side. “Do not dare suggest that he doubted my love, or that he thought himself weak in my eyes. He thought I knew!” Glorfindel flamed, furious that Elrond would try to turn this back on him. Elroval startled from his perch at the raised voice and took off out of the window.

“He thought that because I had watched him from Mandos that I understood how his healing gift works. But you! You knew I did not!” Glorfindel fought to keep his anger from consuming him, fought the urge to strike the one he was sworn to protect.

“Ai, I knew!” Elrond confessed, backing away as tears threatened in silver eyes, guarded and defensive, shaken and unsure, “But I did not know what held you back from offering your bond mellon nin, and I would not see Erestor in a one-sided relationship again, so I elected to say nothing until you were sure of your feelings. I had not anticipated it taking so long.” He said with bitterness in his own tone now.

Glorfindel looked at Elrond incredulous, not even aware that he held Elrond’s arm in a bruising, tight grip. “I have been sure of my feelings for Erestor since before we fled Gondolin. Had I made it to the Havens I would have bonded with him if he would have had me. But after what happened to him when I was in Mandos, what they did to him! I would never risk draining him as Ereinion did.”

Glorfindel glared at Elrond, hatred now blazing through his core for those who so sorely mistreated his beloved. “You didn’t see fully what that bond did to him, he kept it even from you. Having his life-force wrenched from him whenever Ereinion faltered in fëa or rhaw; regardless of whether he had enough to give. Battles fought at Ereinion’s side, taking injuries in defence of him and being left unable to heal himself, all his energy stolen to strengthen the one he protected. There were wounds that he lived with for months but told no one. Centuries spent bleeding, in pain; so tired that every breath was an effort.” Elrond was mortified, visibly beaten down but it did not slow Glorfindel’s skewed persecution of justice for his husband.

“Come now my wise Lord Elrond! Esteemed healer!” The words were brimming with vitriol now. “Have you never noticed how graceful and captivating Erestor is when he moves? It is borne from centuries of practice. Centuries spent conserving his energy to feed to another, needing to consider each movement and find the most efficient way. Centuries of hiding his pain so those closest to him would not grieve it. It is beauty forged from cold, cruel, hardship. But that is Erestor. He took it all, without advocacy or assistance from you who should have protected him, and he turned it into something truly spectacular.” Glorfindel gulped a breath and took a perverse satisfaction at the finches of his friend as every word cut through him.

“He would have died for you, any of you. Without a bond, without hesitation, and without regret. He would have given what was taken from him gladly, day after day. There was never any need to force him. But he never once condemned any of you. He freely offered his counsel, his healing skills and his swords whenever you needed him.” Glorfindel’s rage had yielded to the pain of having watched for centuries, helpless to intervene and he choked on a gulped breath.

But anger and emotion still drove him, even as Elrond wept openly, his words flooded out, quiet but purposeful. “Even when Ereinion believed he had the bond under control he still drained Erestor. So Erestor paid him yet another kindness and hid how the ‘mighty’ high-king’s failure resulted in his suffering once more, because he wanted to spare Ereinion the guilt.” Another glance at Elrond showed he was at breaking point, but Glorfindel was beyond being moved by his Lord’s pain. He simply turned his back and continued to vent the anger that had begun to build the day he had watched the betrayal at Námo’s side, as Erestor’s blood dripped onto Ereinion’s lips, and his love and loyalty were rewarded with slavery. Kneeling at the feet of the one who should have protected him, Erestor was condemned to allow the king he would have died for, rob him of his essence every day, devoid of the power to deny him.

Blind retribution fuelled Glorfindel’s next words, he wanted someone else to suffer some of the pain Erestor had, to share the pain he had felt watching, unable to comfort his beloved. “He forgot you; you know. Barely weeks after he entered the halls. Ereinion was no longer at my side watching over you.” He knew the words were spiteful but the ability to wound Elrond drove him forward with a bloodlust.

“Neither you, nor Erestor’s sacrifices were sufficient to move your flawless king in the end. Had you not been too besotted with Ereinion to care for Erestor properly, you would have noticed. Maybe you would have been moved enough to find a way to help him. But he made it too easy for you, so you just waited for him to come to you which he only ever did when he was so agonizingly close to fading, he feared his fëa would flee in his in sleep.” The combination of anger and pain made his tone flat now, ironically devoid of emotion give how he burned fëa and rhaw.

Elrond’s broken mind staggered through the pain of the revelations; it was true, there had only been a few instances when Erestor had come to him. Exhausted, afraid, and begging Elrond to connect with him via osanwë. He had occupied the bed in the healing halls next to Elrond’s desk and Elrond recalled more than one occasion when he had been irritated by the way his friend held him to his duties all night after a long day.

Shame blazed through him. All Elrond had offered his friend was the tenuous mental connection he requested and miruvor and bites of lembas when he awoke, and that had on occasions been begrudging. To the elf who never bore his hardship with anything other than extreme grace. Looking back, it was a pitiful, unforgivable attempt at help for one he claimed to love as a brother.

Glorfindel’s voice continued, still detached and icy, “Yet I saw it all. I felt every last bit of his pain, and though it racked me with guilt, in those moments when he was so close to fading, I called him to me. I would have had him in Mandos rather than watch his torment a moment more. But he is so much stronger than me, somehow, he resisted my calls, he knew that his work on Arda was not done.”

Glorfindel sniffed, his memories echoed all too brightly through him and he didn’t notice Elroval flutter in and perch silently to his right shoulder on the mantel piece. “Watching him try to guide you through the pain of losing Ereinion moved even Námo, and I was allowed back to comfort him, provided I swore to protect you and yours as an emissary of the Valar. So, when I returned, I vowed to bind my love for him where I was certain it could do him no harm. To love him in in the only way I could be sure would keep his fëa whole.”

“When he offered me his bond, it broke my heart to deny him, and every time I saw insecurity or doubt in his eyes since that day, it was like a knife twisting in me. Never speaking my heart to him for fear of giving him hope I could not fulfil was the hardest. But still it was easier to allow him to believe I was lacking than to chance putting him through that hell again. It was only when you made me see that I could not risk us being parted again without my ever having truly been his…” Glorfindel’s voice broke as the emotion crashed over him and he saw his grief reflected on Elrond’s face.

Tears streamed down Elrond’s cheeks now, and in trying to avoid Fin’s gaze he met the dark, curious eyes of his messenger bird. Elroval hopped down to the desk and dropped a single violet next to Elrond’s hand as the peredhel searched in vain for words that might heal. Elrond absently picked up the flower, looking at the delicate bloom with its bowed head, his voice grew quiet and husky with grief. “You have every right to be furious with me for the rest of eternity mellon nin. In blindness I have failed Erestor and misjudged your heart grievously. I am at a loss as to how to put this right or begin to earn your forgiveness. I think of you as my family, yet it seems I have done more wrong by you than most enemies.” The reality of the tears streaming unchecked from his friend’s silver eyes dissipated Glorfindel’s anger as he realised, he was not the one to blame. He loosened his vice like grip on Elrond’s shoulder. A ladybird crawled from the flower that Elrond held gently and fluttered clumsily to land on Glorfindel’s hand.

“The fault is not yours alone mellon nin. We are none of us perfect, nor are we gifted with clarity of vision when love is concerned. I could have shared my worries or asked for your help to control a bond, but I was too afraid.” He said sadly, realising as the fog of his anger cleared, that Elrond had not deserved to bear the full weight of it.

Glorfindel watched thoughtfully as the ladybird continued to explore his hand, his mind still reeling, somehow found a memory of a bright ladybird pin Ecthelion had gifted him millennia ago, seeking forgiveness for accidentally dropping Fin’s favourite sword into a deep, narrow crevice from which it could not be retrieved.

Forgiveness. The words somehow found him as he reached for Elrond’s wrist, the gentle touch allowing the tiny insect to cross back to Elrond’s hand and head back to the violet it had travelled in on.
“Forgiveness is gifted, not earned mellon nin! We have as you say, been as good as kin for an eternity. Maybe some mistakes should stay in the past.” He mused quietly, his touch lingering on the inside of Elrond’s wrist lovingly.

Elrond nodded and smiled sadly, placing the flower down gently as the tiny red insect settled on it, he scrubbed his sleeve over the tears that tracked down his cheek.

Notes:

Not my most popular fic by a long stretch but thanks to those of you who read and feedback <3 x

Chapter 11: The Heart Sees What Eyes Cannot

Summary:

This chapter jumps about a bit, apologies, I really struggled with the editing as it was originally part of the previous chapter but with all Fin and Elrond's angst, it just got too long! We catch back up with Legolas and his growing attachment to Elrohir is beginning to confuse him.

Please note, I have added the very last section of this chapter, I felt it needed to come into the main chapters rather than being in the 'out takes' as it explains the relationship dynamic between Lindir and Elrond which will be important later and I realise lots of people will likely opt to skip the follow on from this.

Warnings: residual angst and (probably) irresponsible alcohol consumption

Notes:

fëa - soul
rhaw - body
Leginea - Erestor's horse
Gwaedal - Elrohir's horse
Sírdal - horse who decides to adopt Legolas!
Adar/Ada - father/dad
Naneth/Nana - Mother/mum
Goheno nin - forgive me
im nanîn - I am sorry
meleth - love
mellon - friend

Erestor awoke with a start, it was still a couple of hours before dawn, but adrenaline surged from his bondmate. With a full day of travel behind them, they should have reached the talan safely enough, but Fin had hit trouble he was sure of it. His anxiety flared but there was nothing he could do that would not simply distract Fin and place him in more danger. Erestor got up and went into the kitchen to make tea, needing something to distract him and sooth his nerves. He risked reaching out for Elrond and received reassurance that reinforcements were on their way from Imladris to intercept Dan and Fin, having been dispatched as soon as Elrohir had warned they travelled ahead. Help could not be ,ore than an hour away Erestor tried to reassure himself

A light cry from the bedroom distracted him and he wondered if he should investigate, but hearing shuffling behind the door, he simply poured a second cup of chamomile tea. Legolas emerged from the room, looking slightly stunned at his presence but Erestor simply gestured to the tea and the prince sat down opposite him.

“The paths of our memories do not always become easier to tread however many times we walk them penneth, but I have found that as time passes, I travel them less frequently.” Erestor smiled a distracted but kind smile at the blond as he cradled the teacup in his hands inhaling the scented steam that rose from it.

“Is it memories that hold you from sleep too my lord?” Legolas asked cautiously.

Erestor smiled and shook his head fondly “Erestor, or Tor if you prefer.” He corrected patiently “No Legolas, it is the present that concerns me, Glorfindel is in danger. I feel in our bond he is troubled, it is distressing to be in possession of that knowledge but to be unable to assist. It is a hardship Fin lived through many times when he watched us from Mandos and I truly have no idea how he bore it.” Erestor smiled sadly as Legolas quietly noted how quick the peredhel was to extol the virtues of others yet ignore his own trials.

Legolas’ brow furrowed deeply, but he could think of nothing helpful to say so he simply blew gently on his tea, enjoying the simplicity of how his breath rippled the liquid. His sleeves had dropped back to his elbows and the skin on his forearms that was visible was clear and unmarked.

“I am pleased to see your rhaw is remembering how to heal. You are recovering far faster than I would have expected Legolas, it is a credit to your strength." Legolas blushed, knowing it was somehow Elrohir who was the key to his strength but not yet ready to share the information with another. "How do your other wounds fare, do you need any more dressings or salve?” Erestor asked lightly, spooning a little honey into his tea, and offering the pot to Legolas.

Legolas shook his head and then lowered his eyes back to his tea, “Elrohir treated them.” He deflected.

Erestor smiled with genuine pleasure at the bond of trust that seemed to be developing between his young charges. “All of them? You have no need of anything additional?” Erestor chanced pushing the prince a little.

Legolas nodded mutely, acutely aware of the injuries he had tried so hard to conceal as his memory flitted back to an injured guard whom his father's healers had suspected bled internally; they had prepared a blend of herbs to help. He was unsure how to ask, but the embarrassing prospect of riding into Imladris with blood staining his leggings spurred him on. “At home we have a tonic that stops hidden injuries from bleeding.” He attempted, feeling his skin flush hot and his eyes prickle with unwelcome tears.

Erestor’s stomach knotted as he became certain his worries over the extent of the attack on Legolas were legitimate, but he tried to keep the concern from his face and answer lightly. Turning away to rummage through his healing supplies Erestor sought a subtle way to offer Legolas what he needed. “It is quite common to bite one’s tongue when you have nightmares, I’m afraid. But I do have a salve that is perfectly safe to use inside the body. It reduces bleeding and swelling and will speed healing, it can be applied as frequently as needed.” He offered Legolas a small jar, “Do you think that might help? I can brew the tonic if you prefer?”

Legolas flushed at the thought of applying the cream, but it seemed like it might offer a faster solution which was a blessing in itself. He reached out to accept the jar. “No! Thank you Erestor. This will be better, I am sure.” He was glad of the healer's assumption and wondered if he should endorse it by making a show of applying the salve to his mouth, but Erestor appeared to have no such expectations, so he relaxed. Legolas heard the door open behind him and Elrohir appeared, hazy with sleep, he plonked down and wrinkled his nose at the tea. Erestor smiled fondly and poured hot water into a third cup and a richer, stronger smell wafted up, that given the smile on his face, was far more to Elrohir’s liking. As Elrohir settled into easy conversation with his old mentor, Legolas excused himself to the bedroom to apply the newly acquired salve.

**

Both Elrond and Glorfindel had struggled to collect themselves following the tense exchange but the sentiments of forgiveness were genuine and they had millennia of love an trust to fall back on. Glorfindel had backed away and stood gazing out of the window as a shaken Elrond collected himself behind his desk.

“How did the others fair when you left them?” Elrond asked Glorfindel, reaching for firmer ground; feeling as though his energy had leaked out of him like water from a punctured skin, leaving him listless and deflated.

Glorfindel already regretted the impact of his words on his old friend and turned, attempting what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “They are well given the circumstances. Legolas is injured but Erestor is helping him heal, they will ride for Imladris as soon as they have briefed the retrieval party.”

Elrond grimaced at the thought of being the bearer of more bad news but given what had passed between them, he refused to conceal the truth from Glorfindel again. “Elrohir told me that Legolas’ wounds do not heal. He suspects that his treatment at the hands of the Uruk-hai was worse than he has admitted to. That he is ashamed of the truth. Elrohir is trying to reach him.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened in shock, and he felt sick to his stomach, both for the young prince whose suffering seemed fated to continue, and for having left him more vulnerable than he had imagined possible. “Elrohir?” Glorfindel stumbled over the word, with no idea where the sentence was going, his wits not yet fully regained from their earlier discussion.

Elrond nodded looking drained by grief and the pain of his own memories. “Elrohir says that his is the only touch Legolas can bear, and I suspect that my son may finally be discovering that there is more between he and Legolas than he realized.” Elrond smiled weakly.

Glorfindel was numb with shock for the prince, he got up abruptly and headed for the door. “I should return to them; I should not have left them alone.” He stuttered.

“Elrohir is a skilled healer and knows more than any so young should have to about treating this type of grief. If any can help Legolas navigate the path he is on, then it is the two he is with. There is nothing to be accomplished by riding out to them now. Rest! Allow Asfaloth to rest and take extra patrols out in the morning to ensure their route home is safe, there have been many enemies too close to our borders.” Elrond’s words were back to being calm and decisive.

“Did Garavion’s patrol return yet?” Glorfindel questioned, the threat on the borders of Imladris snapping him back into the role he had undertaken for millennia. Elrond nodded.

“They left none alive of the party that tracked you. His patrol found where they had camped, they had been there some time and reinforced more than once. Your encounter was no accident, they were well informed and hunted you with purpose.” Elrond shared the news as he moved to his desk, absently leafing through reports and maps of recent activity.

Glorfindel paused to think before adding his own assessment. “I am not convinced they knew who they hunted. I believe they thought us to be Legolas and Tauriel. It was dark, they would only have seen a light- and a dark-haired elf. Their weapons were not poisoned, their aim was to take prisoners. Someone organises them and whoever it is wishes to gain influence over Thranduil. He should be informed.”

Elrond’s brow furrowed deeply as he pieced together the conclusions with the information from Elrohir. “The recent attacks on our lands have become more organised," he agreed, "and Elrohir tells me that the Uruk who captured Legolas were transporting spider eggs to the northern forests.” Fin raised his eyebrow but remained quiet.

“Someone wishes to divide the elven realms. They intended to replicate the pressure that the spiders have placed on the woodland realm to distract Imladris and fragment our alliance.” The statement left Elrond cold, there was an evil arising, he had foreseen that the time of the elves was drawing to a close but this was too fast.

Glorfindel nodded and rose, “We have soldiers experienced in battling spiders, I will have them lead training. I will rota in our best archers and increase the number of patrols, comb the forests to ensure there are no more. When Legolas returns, we will find out from him how best to aid his people. Whomever drives this will not be succeed.” Glorfindel paused and waited for Elrond to dismiss him, the elven lord nodded tiredly.

Elrond turned back to his wine, clearly shaken and still deep in thought, eventually he sighed deeply, “Things are changing mellon nin, the darkness grows rapidly, but there is still hope.” He swirled the wine absently, “It will be nice to have an elfling running the corridors of the homely house again.” Glorfindel saw Elrond’s eyes regain a little of their light at the prospect of a baby to be fussed over once more.

Glorfindel recognised the opportunity to instill a little levity back into his old friend. “Ai, do not fret mellon nin! That elfling will eat us out of house and home before I see Imladris fall to spiders, uruk or ought else. His appetite surpasses even Estel’s; were his Adar not bearded and a foot too tall, I’d have thought him half hobbit!” Glorfindel grinned.

“Then you had best start thinking of a way to hide all those empty honey jars from your husband ‘Atarattëa’!” Elrond teased affectionately, knowing full well how Glorfindel had secured Estel’s favour so early on.

“Indeed! And you had best remember how to fold napkins 'Ciwada'! I shall be instructing 'Uncle Lindir' that he is not to let you off the hook this time!” Glorfindel jibed back, using the names that Estel had lisped for his first few years before smirking at his old friend and sweeping out.

Elrond was left in the silence of his study, he heard footsteps in the hall and gave thanks to the Valar when he recognized them as Lindir's. HIs eyes flicked nervously over the abandoned tea tray and the half empty wine bottle but his songbird knew him well, simply tapping the door to indicate he had brought a lunch tray before retreating down the corridor. Elrond sighed deeply and reached for the bottle again.

**

The day in the forest cottage had passed quickly with no sign of the retrieval party from Imladris. Erestor went to gather the herbs they had come for, needing solitude as although he was confident his husband was now safe, he felt his emotions rolling uncontrollably but with still no explanation as to why.

Legolas was grateful of the extra time to heal, though as they settled to sleep another night, he took the single cot closest to the door. The wounds on his legs and buttocks still pained him, but he could not bear the thought of skin to skin contact there, even with Elrohir. As the night closed in around him, Legolas found he missed the proximity of his friend, but he could not justify asking to share Elrohir’s bed when he could not stand the touch that would heal him. His rest was fitful, the Uruk commander’s face appeared in his mind the moment his eyes fell closed. As his sleep deepened, the image was joined by the memory of his of his voice and his foul breath, and then panic would jolt him awake. Legolas stared at the ceiling, desperate to keep his eyes open, trying to slip into the light meditative sleep that had been beyond his broken fëa for centuries, but his rhaw was exhausted, and inevitably his eyes would fall closed and within minutes he would jerk back awake.

Finally, he gave in and nervously moved to the other cot, creeping under the light blanket to lie close to his friend. His intention had been to sleep for an hour or so and then move back over to the other bed before morning; but Elrohir almost immediately rolled in his sleep and nuzzled close to the warm body he discovered next to him, draping his arm over him, face pressed into his hair.

Legolas surrendered to the warm embrace and finally his mind emptied of all but fleeting images of Elrohir that danced away when he reached for them.

**
Elrohir awoke first, pleasantly surprised to find Legolas spooned tight into him, sleeping soundly. But the gentle pleasure of awakening so delightfully was short lived when he realised to his dismay that he had awoken hard. He shifted his hips back, trying to create some distance, stuffing more of the thin blanket between them. Whilst he was grateful that they were both dressed, his thin sleep leggings were hiding little. Legolas continued to sleep deeply, and as hard as it was, gazing on the beautiful, relaxed features of his prince's fair face, by the time Legolas awoke Elrohir had mastered himself but had noted his friend was about to experience the same conflict, so had rolled him gently away.

When Legolas opened his eyes, he was laid on his back with Elrohir to his side, snug in the peredhel’s embrace. He opened his eyes as he felt fingers gently stroking through his hair. The motion felt tender and natural, and he regretted moving into it when it caused the hand to retreat. He realised with a little shock how the tender touch made him feel alive, (and aroused?) but suddenly vulnerable.

Vulnerability that reminded him of when he had been brought to his knees by Tauriel, how it had been the memory of his Nana’s tender touch that had comforted him, her voice, her scent. In those darkest moments, when he had tried to reject the bond, he had pleaded silently for Námo to claim him, only so he could return to her. Nothing more than an insecure elfling, clinging to the skirts of his Nana. An embarrassment and danger to his devoted Ada. He knew the pain that his decisions had caused Thranduil, he had seen how much of Lord Elrond’s energy it had taken to pull his father back from the brink when he learned what Legolas had done. The foolish elvish princeling who brought pain and sadness to those closest to him. He didn’t deserve the kind words and patience Elrohir had afforded him, Elrohir definitely did not deserve the suffering he would bring him.

“Goheno nin Elrohir, im nanîn!” (forgive me Elrohir, I am sorry) he blushed, shifting away from the peredhel.

Elrohir’s arms around him tightened for a moment before he relented and let him go. “Dan and I used to sleep close when we had nightmares after we found Naneth. It’s a simple comfort but one I will always be pleased to offer mel…lon.” He supplied simply as Legolas rose and tugged his tunic on hurriedly. Legolas had noticed something about his body that he had hoped Elrohir had not, and the unfamiliar sensation as well as the timing had shaken him.

**

The retrieval party of six from Imladris arrived just ahead of dawn having ridden through the night. The handover had been quick, Erestor instructed the retrieval of the remains, the inbound party would retrieve the remains, rest the night and then travelling more slowly would reach Imladris several days behind them. Legolas, keen to spare himself the details of the operation, had excused himself to the stables to ready Leginea, Gwaedal, and Sírdal who was to be his mount for the journey.

They were on their way not long after dawn broke; Sírdal was a joy to ride, sired by Asfaloth, he had the same even gait, required little instruction, no saddle and responded to commands in the old tongue, something more usual to horses of the woodland realm. It was quickly evident the ride would be surprisingly easy on Legolas, and Elrohir judged that they could make Imladris an hour before nightfall if they altered their route. It meant travelling cross-country away from the river, along the north edge of the forest to approach Imladris from the north. Crossing the Bruinen was more challenging to the north, but the horses of Imladris were not intimidated by the waters that answered to their joint master.

They met the Bruinen late in the afternoon and travelled along the foot of the mountains in tense silence, all too aware of the foul creatures that haunted the mountain passes looking for weary travellers.

**
Lindir understood why Elrond had missed breakfast, he had been mildly frustrated when the tray he had left for him at lunch had remained untouched, but when his Lord was not present in the Hall of Fire for supper Lindir went striding through the homely house to find him. Lindir burst into Elrond’s rooms to find him stood gazing into the fire, a glass of wine in hand, an empty bottle on the desk and half a bottle on the mantle, his eyes puffy and red.

Lindir placed the tray of food he carried noisily on the sideboard, but Elrond did not turn.

“You must eat.” He said quietly.

In answer Elrond simply downed the last of the liquid in the glass and reached for the bottle on the mantle. “Why?” He asked, his voice full of misery and self-pity.

Lindir watched as Elrond carelessly slopped the last of the bottle into his glass. It was evident that whatever news Glorfindel and Elrohir had sent regarding the young prince of Mirkwood had shaken Elrond. Lindir was no gossip, he had no interest in affairs he knew did not concern him, but it was many years since he had seen Elrond this rattled. The peredhel Lord had a hot temper and often needed the heat taken out of him, but this was different. Lindir resolved to see if reason could penetrate what was threatening to become a wine fuelled haze of self-pity followed by a morning in bed with a splitting headache. He strode over to Elrond, plucked the glass out of his hand, and set it down on the mantle before spinning to face him.

“Why? If you ask me why you must eat healer, then you have most certainly drunk too much on an empty stomach. If you ask me why I care, then the wine has taken your memory as well as your sense!” He gently directed Elrond into a chair by the fire and offered him the tray of food he had brought. Elrond refused as he fought back the tears that glistened in his eyes.

Lindir shook his head, “Would you like to tell me what has you in such a dark mood, or must I guess?” He asked, perching lightly on the arm of the chair, and gently removing the circlet Elrond wore, carefully placing it aside before undoing his braids and lovingly brushing out the dark mane.

Elrond sniffed and looked at Lindir, his eyes glazed, before anger flashed across his face and he grabbed at the hand that held the hairbrush, seizing the delicate wrist roughly, causing the brush to clatter to the floor. “Leave me! I am not worth your concern. I am blind, and weak! Too self-absorbed to see the suffering of those who depend on me. Just leave!” On the surface Elrond’s shout was angry and ill-tempered, but Lindir could hear the misery and hysteria in it.

Lindir drew a deep breath, nodded, bent deliberately, and retrieved his silver hairbrush from the floor and returned it purposefully to the side table as he made up his mind how best to respond to the outburst. He moved slowly, his voice was quiet, calm, and level, “Very well!” He stood up and moved towards the door.

Elrond reached for the wine Lindir had taken from him but froze as he heard the lock on the chamber door turn. “We will do this my way!” Lindir mused.

Notes:

There is a glimpse into what is going on with Lindir and Elrond but most of that will be dealt with in the 'explicit' accompanying out takes. It will be posted soon as an immediate follow on from this chapter but as a warning up front it contains bdsm themes that will not be to everyone's tastes but they fit precisely into what I wanted from their relationship dynamic in this one. And frankly, I'm not going to lie, I love a sub Elrond, and Lindir gets sold short too frequently!

here it is, please don't hate me... Songbird Uncaged

Chapter 12: Two for Joy (pt 1)

Summary:

Legolas, Elrohir and Erestor head back to Imladris to complete Legolas' healing with Elrond. But the events that were set in motion when Erestor was born cannot be derailed and he and Legolas are now tied tightly into the battle between light and darkness in middle-earth, as are all those who have bound themselves to them.

Sorry, the editing on the most recent chapters has been kicking my ass, I have re-read them so many times now they are burned on the backs of my eyes and they are still not quite right. Thank you so much for reading x

Notes:

Other explanations before the abuse of the elven language:
This story operates around the old rhyme about magpies, my version of which is in the footnotes if anyone is unfamiliar, and is tied to an old belief that magpies were messengers of the underworld. Elroval translates roughly as Star-Wing which is relevant when Namo gets cryptic with Glorfindel!

What I meant translations as follow:
elleth - female elf
Valar/Vala/Valië - gods/god/goddess
Laurefindelë - Quenyan version of Glorfindel (Námo is old-fashioned!)
ion nin - my son
mîr ionneg - precious son (affectionate/familiar)
Naneth/nana - mother/mum
fëa - soul
Ada/Adar - dad/father

Imladris had been quiet all day, Elroval dozed on his perch, enjoying the early afternoon sun as it streamed through Elrond’s study window. He awoke and flapped his wings, before preening contentedly, until he sensed his master’s distress.

His feathers ruffled and he let out a caw of mild protest as he felt his focus split and he recognized what his Lord Námo had done. He had a feeling this would get confusing before it was over, but he had to admit his master’s way of dealing with things without being officially seen to interfere was efficient.

Elroval resignedly watched himself as he hopped down, snatched a parchment scrap and stick of charcoal off the desk, and took off out of the window headed south. He flapped his wings once more before hopping down to the desk where the blue jeweled ring glistened, before snatching it up in his beak and soaring out the window, headed north.

**

The sun was dropping in the sky by the time the group of three met with the road that skirted the foot of the mountains. The trip had been pleasant with easy conversation, but the group grew quiet, knowing the dangers that lurked on the mountain roads in search of weary travelers.

Sunset was still nearly four hours away and Erestor estimated that they were only two hours from home when Legolas’ sharp ears picked up the sounds of many heavy feet. The small group was outnumbered and ill-positioned to fight, especially as the way that sounds bounced off the rocks made it hard to tell where or how close the enemy was. Elrohir scanned the surroundings, the caves and shrubs nearby were insufficient to hide the horses, there was a large patch of gorse in the distance to the west that might offer cover, but if the orc band spotted them before they reached it, they would be dead.

Elrohir thought quickly, “We will send the horses away and hide in the caves.” He knew they were next to a well-hidden entrance to caves that he and Elladan had camped many nights in. Large and dry inside, but with a low entrance that was well hidden by undergrowth and bushes. As they turned the horses loose, Elrohir noticed Legolas whisper into Sírdal’s ear, before the three horses set off west at a full gallop. Elrohir silently directed Legolas and Erestor to the mouth of the cave, it was so low they had to squeeze through one by one on their bellies.

Waiting in the dark as the battalion of feet got louder, even Elrohir felt vulnerable, and he could sense the fear in his beloved prince, so he simply moved closer. “Beloved? What was he thinking? He had no right to think of Legolas that way… did he?” He noticed the hand that had slipped into his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What did you tell Sírdal?” Elrohir whispered the diversion.

Legolas’ response sounded distracted even as a hushed whisper, “To head for cover and wait no more than an hour for us before returning to Imladris, and to go immediately if the band moved south or captured us.”

“Tactically that was wise,” Erestor reassured, “we will be on our way shortly or help will be here just after sundown.”

Elrohir was unsure if even a horse as bright as Sírdal could process such complex instructions, but Legolas was part Silvan and seemed to have a strong connection with the animal. Either way, Legolas’ confidence in Sírdal appeared to be a source of comfort so he would not question it. They fell silent as the loud voices that went with heavy boots drew close.

**

Erestor was completely absorbed in the orc’s conversation, but Legolas still felt the comforting silver-blue link with the peredhel’s mind. He could not understand the black speech as Erestor could, but he could tell the group was arguing. The loudest voice sent chills through Legolas, triggering memories of being held face down, vicious claws and teeth on his back; pain, shame, and fear threatening to break him. The silver-blue bond flared gently, and Elrohir pulled him a little closer.

Legolas noticed Erestor’s body tense, and he silently herded them nearer to the cave mouth. There was a scuffle outside and one who had disagreed was quashed violently, immediately quelling the other voices of all bar the voice he assumed belonged to the commander. During the sparser chatter that followed, Legolas caught a single word with terrifying clarity… ‘Saruman.’ He felt fear flood through Erestor as the advisor’s body tightened like a bowstring. There was a pause before a final bellowed command caused the orcs to retreat at speed.

Erestor’s urgent whisper broke the silence in the cave, “We must get out! Now!” Elrohir was first out into the undergrowth, and he reached back to haul Legolas through the narrow tunnel. The last thing Legolas remembered before the explosion that seemed to shatter the world around him was another whisper from Erestor. “Saruman ordered them to collapse the pass and isolate Mirkwood.”

**
Erestor’s ears rang painfully, his body crushed and broken beneath the rocks as the mountain shattered above him. Warmth surrounded him, no not warmth. His surroundings were simply the same temperature as him as the cold light that filled him was suddenly everywhere. His ears popped and he was no longer pressed painfully face down against the rocks but stood, weightless in a huge hall hewn from dark, polished rock. A tall, dark form stood in front of him. Beauty epitomized, as dark as midnight yet bursting with light. Erestor recognized the Vala instantly and bowed low, “My Lord Námo!”

He felt a heavy hand rest on his shoulder and felt a thumb stroke up his neck fondly. “Rise Erestor! You have never before feared me ion nin, do not start now.” The voice reverberated with power though there was a kindness, even a humor to it.

**

Elrohir’s world dimly came back into focus. The Uruk had fled just before the blinding flash that shook the mountain to its core and lit the terrified expressions on his friend’s faces. The vision of them would be burned on Elrohir’s memory forever.

He had been helping Legolas out of the cave. He flexed his arm to bring his friend closer, but there was only a sharp pain that shot through his arm. His ears rang, he tried to blink the sparks away from his eyes and locate his friends, but Erestor and Legolas were gone, the cave entrance now just a wall of smashed rock.

Elrohir called out, but he couldn’t hear his own voice and the effort made his head spin. He tried to move but was pinned by his forearm which was crushed under the fallen rock. He tried to focus on where the limb disappeared at the elbow, his thoughts hampered by pain and confusion until he saw strands of blond hair amongst the fallen rock, and he felt his heart break.

**

Legolas’ mind floundered, lost in semi-conscious visions, he felt ashamed of the fear that had swept through him on hearing the voice of the Uruk. All that had bolstered him was the silvery connection to Erestor and Elrohir’s grip of his hand when he had reached for the peredhel. Erestor’s warning had caused Legolas to call again to the protective trees as Elrohir tried to haul him from the cave.

Roots had spread and curled around to shield him from the falling rocks, but now he was trapped, cocooned. His extended arms had felt the full crushing weight of the fallen rocks and now held him fast, buried alive in the darkness.

**

Glorfindel’s scouting party had been out all day and had tackled several straggling groups of orcs either separated from the main group or late reinforcements. Frustrated on reaching the talan and finding it empty and exactly as he had left it, Glorfindel was conflicted. His remit was to stay close to home and protect the roads that led into Imladris, so despite the urge to travel west along the edge of the forest in the hope of meeting his husband, they had turned back towards Imladris.

They were approaching the Ford of Bruinen when the faint sound of the explosion reached them. They would have barely registered it if Glorfindel had not a moment later, to the shock of Elladan and the others that trailed, dropped like a stone from Asfaloth.

**
Elrond was in surgery when the distant bang sounded over Imladris, the like of which he had not heard since the explosions of Mount Doom haunted his nightmares. Elrond froze and instinctively his mind scrambled to reach first for his sons and then his friends.

Finding only Dan’s fëa within his reach, his memory dragged him down into a cold, unforgiving whirlpool of pain and fear. This was how it had begun when he felt the attack on Celebrian, the cold shock of reaching out and not finding enough of her fëa intact to connect with.

He could not stand losing anyone like that again. He stepped back wordlessly from his patient, unable to draw thought or breath. He stood, thoroughly lost before looking glassy-eyed at Lossiel, muttering something unintelligible at the capable elleth who nodded and took over as he fled.

**

The chill quiet of Mandos seemed to ripple as Námo shifted things to call his son to him. He smiled sorrowfully as he watched his treasured son sweep into a low bow in front of him. Erestor, his only son, the outcome of a forbidden union, Námo had remained unknown to him his whole life.

It had only on Erestor’s birth that the Vala came to understand why such relationships were forbidden. He had never loved anything as much as the tiny elfling; even the will of Eru, which had been his only truth until that moment paled comparatively. The instant he had gazed at the babe with eyes of shimmering silver, wisps of raven black hair, and porcelain skin that barely contained the light of the trees that shone from it, nothing else mattered as much as Erestor did.

Erestor was never destined to exist, and much aligned to curtail that existence, but Námo had massaged the fates of middle earth to ensure his son survived. But Erestor’s survival meant that refugees destined to die instead made it to the Havens, and the desperate fight he put up in defense of his peredhel kin not only ensured the survival of twins whose roles would be great but also placed them in the care of Maglor.

But Erestor had paid a high price for the mistakes of his father, and Námo had been forced to watch as Vairë delighted in twisting his son’s destiny in retribution for his adultery. As Vairë weaved Erestor’s torment, he had been forced to watch the half-life his beloved son suffered at the hands of those who tussled to dominate the power imbalance he had created.

Eventually, the purity of Erestor’s fëa had won over even the scorned Valië, and when the time had come for Námo to bring the last Elven High-King to his halls, Vairë had offered Erestor a choice. Freed from the forced bond, Erestor continued to sustain Ereinion to the last moment. The way Erestor looked beyond how his king had held him in servitude for millennia and sacrificed himself once more for his people, moved Vairë. She could extract no more satisfaction from tormenting one who had channeled his divinity into holding on to love and hope so purely, despite all he had endured.

When the attention of the Valar turned to the fact that the void of hope the High-King’s departure had left must be filled to prevent the balance tipping unduly into darkness; Vairë had surprised all in supporting her husband’s choice of champion.

Námo had noticed Laurefindelë millennia ago, long before he had claimed him when he felled the Balrog. He had also seen how every day since; Laurefindelë’s fëa had called to out to that of his son. He often found Laurefindelë, watching Erestor from the chill quiet of Mandos. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower did little else beyond watch the one he had not even been bonded to in life.

The golden warrior’s interest in the living, in Erestor, never faded as it did in the others who reached his halls, as they quickly embraced being reborn to Valinor with those who had gone before them. Ereinion soon lost sight of those he left behind, but Laurefindelë never forgot middle earth, his love for Erestor tied him there in a way Námo had seen no other remain bonded.

So, with Vairë’s blessing, Námo had returned his son’s soulmate. A champion and protector, a sign that the Valar would not abandon the firstborn, and a reminder that those who journeyed to the Halls of Waiting were not lost.

But Námo’s manipulation of the stories woven changed the path of destiny so acutely that it was unclear if they would right themselves. The survival of Maglor’s line may shift everything one last time. Galadriel had teetered on the brink for many years now, her vicious past following her like a dark cloud. Her part in the survival of the Feanorian bloodline that she hated so much, could prove to be all that was needed to tip her into darkness. The time of the firstborn was ending, and the fates were more uncertain than ever, much hung on how those who remained chose to play their parts, and Erestor was needed. Námo pulled his shocked son to his side and summoned his son-in-law.

Three sets of eyes met in the darkness, Erestor’s wide with shock, Námo’s emotion, and Glorfindel’s with dread as he saw his husband standing with the Doomsman in the entrance to the halls. Out of habit, Glorfindel dropped to his knees, intending to plead with Námo to take him back in exchange for his beloved mate when Námo’s musical voice surrounded them, a smile curled on his lips as he read his son-in-law’s thoughts.

“Laurefindelë! I did not entrust my only son to you for you to be four hours south of where you are needed when he is grievously injured. Make haste, rocks must be moved, summon reinforcements.” Námo chided affectionately but it did nothing to soften his urgency.

Námo regarded the look of horror and disbelief on the Golden Elf’s face and moved agitatedly toward him and pulled him to his feet. “Laurefindelë, stand! You can pay me no greater honor than loving my son. I am bound to intervene no further, his fate rests with you and his kin now, if he is pulled to my halls again, he must stay, I can twist fate no more.” Glorfindel could hear the urgency laced with sadness and suddenly realized who had kept Erestor from him all those times he had called to him from Mandos.

Námo smiled, and Glorfindel could see where Erestor got his exquisite looks, their eyes swam with the same liquid silver and the light of the trees that was bursting to get out of his husband glowed gently around Námo. “Leave! Both of you, do not trouble my halls with your presence again! I will walk with you on the shores of Valinor ion nin. Until then, may your sorrows turn to joy, and the light of the stars be your wings.”

Námo released Laurfindelë immediately but drew his son close, not wanting to return him to cold and pain but knowing he could not risk keeping him any longer. “I am sorry you have not known me, but I have known you, I never stopped watching you, ion nin. You have long held the power over life and death and despite all that has befallen you, you have never wielded it in anger. You have shown me what it is to love, so many times and in so many ways. Your Naneth awaits you in Valinor, in but a blink of an eye we will all be reunited, but you have much to do mîr ionneg.”

He stroked a hand through raven curls that didn’t move as his fingers slid through like smoke. Erestor could see that his Adar’s hand rested on his cheek, but there was no sensation of it, only the cold rock that his face was pressed against as his eyes again strained for something to focus on in the pitch-black cave.

**

Glorfindel awoke abruptly and found himself on the ground with Asfaloth looking at him curiously and the sound of the rest of his company thundering towards him. He could feel his insides in turmoil as he settled back into time from the timeless halls, his stomach churned as he dragged himself to his hands and knees.

He reached for Erestor in his mind but found nothing. His mind swam and his body rebelled in grief and emotion, combined with the effect of being dragged through time and space by the Doomsman, who was apparently his father-in-law. He lurched forward and lost his last meal to the long grass. Frantically wiping at his face, desperately trying to process all he had learned, he pulled himself up using Asfaloth for support.

Eventually finding enough strength in his voice to call to his company to stay mounted, he swung clumsily up onto Asfaloth. There was a familiar, loud rattle as Elroval descended and landed lightly on the stallion’s neck, dropping a charcoal stick into his mane and peering up at Fin expectantly.

Námo’s words echoed in his mind, ‘May the light of the stars be your wings’ - Elroval! Realization dawned as he looked at the impudent bird aghast. “Am I to believe that the myths of men for once are right, and you truly serve the Doomsman?” Glorfindel whispered under his breath, glad his company was not yet close enough to hear. Elroval eyed him and let out a nonchalant caw but stayed uncharacteristically still, offering him a leg with a scrap of parchment rolled around it, watching Glorfindel and apparently waiting.

Elladan pulled his horse up alongside Asfaloth and looked pale and strained. “You fell?” He directed at Glorfindel, but his eyes were fixed on the magpie.

“I received a message, Erestor is in trouble, four hours north of here. They are in a cave and there has been a rockfall, Elroval will summon reinforcements, we ride!” Glorfindel scribbled with the charcoal on the parchment the bird carried, and the magpie took off without further instruction.

Elladan’s face looked grim, “Four hours? Then they approached from the north, there are many caves in the foothills, they will not be easy to locate.”

Glorfindel’s eyes turned to ice and his jaw set resolute, “We will find them. You speak of the other half of me, I found him in death when his fëa was stretched so thin it was barely there. I will find him again.” Asfaloth took off and Elladan signaled for the rest of the company to follow.

**

After the shock of the explosion, Elrond bolted from the surgical room out into the stone courtyard. It was empty, the early evening sun had cast it into the shade, and he sat heavily on a bench before reaching out with his mind again. This time he found Glorfindel’s golden light, as he touched it, images and emotions crowded into his mind. Erestor was gravely injured, and he still could not sense Elrohir. He needed to get to them with Vilya. They were somewhere to the north, he whistled for Elroval, wondering if the magpie could somehow find them and guide a rescue party in. He would ride north immediately. Where was that confounded bird? No matter, he was leaving, and he would take every guard and healer he could scramble.

Lindir had found him, he was asking questions, but for once Elrond couldn’t focus on his songbird, he was in his office searching his desk for Vilya. He always left it next to his silver inkwell, but there was no sign of the ring. He frantically began to tip drawers out onto the floor, but it was nowhere to be seen. He barked at Lindir who jumped at the ferocity ‘The ring would be found if Lindir had to sack the homely house and search every dwelling in Imladris doing so!’ as Elrond turned his office upside down, Lindir scurried to meticulously search his rooms.

Elrond reached for Elrohir and Erestor again there was nothing. And there was no sign of the ring, or of his accursed magpie, but he had no more time to waste. He would not lose another loved one, not today, not ever. He grabbed his healing bags, and stormed down the corridor to his rooms. He wrenched his light armor from where it hung and threw it on, reaching for his sword as Lindir efficiently secured buckles.

Notes:

Magpie rhyme:
One for sorrow, two for joy.
Three for a girl and four for a boy.
Five for silver, six for gold.
Seven for a secret never to be told.

Chapter 13: Two for Joy (pt 2)

Notes:

Atartaid (Sindarin)- second father (the twins nickname for Erestor)
Atarattëa (Quenyan) - second father (the twins nickname for Glorfindel)
In my head, this is deeply affectionate but also the twin's way of ribbing both their father and their two tutors. In my world it also amuses me that they don't dare tease Lindir in the same way, even though on the surface they buy his shy and retiring act.

Anor - sun
Ada/Adar - dad/father
fëa - soul
ion nin - my son
ernil nin - my prince
Min, tâd, neledh - one, two, three
Napell - be still
gant muig - more gently
meleth - love

Erestor lay in the pitch black cave trying to take stock, his legs were crushed, if he survived, he would never walk again he observed detachedly. His left arm was twisted below him, pinned under his immobilised body. His right arm was free, so he groped forward, and his hand connected with a foot. Legolas! It had to be the young prince, Elrohir had been outside the cave. His skin was reassuringly warm, and as he traced upwards, he could feel a pulse at the ankle.

Erestor reached out over the connection that he had with Legolas, it was tentative, he knew neither of them could afford for energy to flow. He found the woodland prince and gently nudged his consciousness closer to him, it felt comforting, each just knowing the other was alive. Their hopes for now rested with Elrohir and Sírdal.

**

Elrohir’s world was mired in grief, he was desperately trying not to picture Legolas crushed under the rock, but the image of his perfect face, crushed, battered and bloodied kept haunting him. He wished himself back in the cottage holding his prince. He remembered how perfect it had felt laying with Legolas asleep in his arms, how much he had wanted to run his fingers through that soft blond hair, how he hadn’t been able to resist stroking it. He would do anything to be back in that moment, to erase the memory of the look of terror on his prince’s face that felt as though it would be frozen in his mind forever. He pushed away the thought that it could be his last memory of Legolas alive.

As he focused on the woodelf, for a second he thought he felt Legolas, a pulse of green and just a whisper in his mind that he lived. The possibility that it was not just a desperate hope dragged Elrohir into action.

He clawed at the rocks and found that some were loose. He might be able to free himself, but he had to be careful that he didn’t cause a further collapse. Somehow his healing training cut through the clamour in his mind. He quickly assessed his own body before reaching down to remove his belt. With some effort he managed to clear the smaller rubble around his elbow and fasten the soft leather below it. He almost blacked out with pain as he twisted a stick into the belt and bound it off, but he was able to create a suitably tight tourniquet to ensure he would not bleed out if the arm turned out to be severed once the crushing pressure of the rocks released.

He would help his friends. If he couldn’t clear the rocks, he still had his daggers, he would remove his arm to get free if he had to. Elrohir’s stomach clenched as his mind took him back to holding his bow drawn with Legolas tight behind him. If never drawing his bow again was the price for rescuing them, he would gladly pay it he decided as he forced himself off that track of thought and tried to focus. He suddenly realised he was getting wet. Water was seeping up from the ground and trickling down into the cave, the explosion must have tapped an underground spring and though the flow was slow, it was steady, and it would eventually flood the reduced space below him. He had to believe his companions were still alive, in which case, he did not have much time, he could not afford to wait for help to arrive.

**

Legolas had been swallowed by fear and now his world seemed to be shifting in and out of existence; he couldn’t see, or hear, or move, and he become unsure if he was dead or alive until Erestor tapped on the edges of his mind. It was only then he became dimly aware of the touch to his ankle and he remembered that Elrohir’s hand had been in his.

His mind cleared a little, he was buried, shielded by roots from the weight of the mountain but pinned in place by his arms with water was running in rivulets past him into the cave where Erestor was trapped. He breathed slowly, knowing he couldn’t afford to let panic take him, he focused on where Erestor was touching his mind.

He called out but couldn’t hear his voice over the ringing in his ears and his throat felt dry and full of dust and smoke. His arms were numb, he couldn’t feel if his fingers still held anything. His body ached, the roots had undoubtedly saved his life but there were sizeable rocks that had got through the mesh and hit him. He tried to move his hands, but he couldn’t tell whether his efforts had been successful. He begged Erestor to help him reach out to Elrohir, but Erestor either didn’t hear or couldn’t help, the light in his mind remaining passive and unchanged. Legolas focused on Elrohir and perhaps it was imagined, but his friend’s thoughts, lit in blue seemed to crystallise in his thoughts for a few seconds.

**

Working with grim determination, Elrohir continued to scrape at the rubble that trapped his arm, trying to ignore the state of the battered flesh as he unearthed it. After what seemed like an eternity, he had cleared the stones as far as his hand. He could dimly make out pale fingers clasped in his own, but he could not feel anything, it was like looking at the misshapen limb of another.

There was a lot of blood, he could not tell if it was his alone. He tugged from the shoulder and his arm pulled free. He felt no pain beyond the throbbing bite of the tourniquet, but his head swam as he looked at the mangled limb. His stomach churned and he felt faint, but yanking bandages out of his pack, he clumsily bound and slung the arm out of sight inside his tunic.

He laid back down and reached for Legolas’ fingers with his good hand. They were cool and sticky with blood, but he thought he felt them flex slightly beneath his touch. He would give anything to know for certain Legolas was alive, or if hope and imagination were simply taunting him.

Suddenly, emerald light leaked into his consciousness, and he had a clear image of how Legolas was laid in protective roots with warm fingers grasping his ankle. Relief flooded through him, and he gave the fingers in his a gentle squeeze, trying to send reassurance to Legolas. He had no idea how the connection had suddenly formed, but he was grateful for it.

The light would soon fade, sunset should be a couple of hours away, but the air was darkened with smoke and dust, they would not be easily spotted. If Gwaedal had escaped, he should arrive in Imladris shortly, but even so, help would not reach them before darkness fell.

He tried calling out to Legolas and Erestor, there was no response that he could notice, but he could still barely hear his own voice. He pushed out through the bushes, he could see what was left of the tracks of the orcs, but the rock fall had collapsed the High Pass they had retreated via. If they had not made it clear, then they would be dead, if they had, there was no chance of them returning.

Elrohir sighed with relief, and began to build a small fire, its light and warmth would soon be welcome, and it would guide the rescue party he hoped would arrive imminently. Even with one hand he made quick work of the fire and returned to the hole to free his prince and his Atartaid.

Elrohir needed to reach the void in the rock that Legolas was in without causing a further collapse. He had cut some branches to support the rocks was about to recommence clearing when something stirred in the gorse behind him. He felt a bird hop onto his shoulder and down his good arm. The oily colours and white flashes on the bird gleamed in the firelight the blue gem it gripped in its beak glinted before it was dropped into the palm of his hand.

**

Glorfindel and Elladan had been moving at full speed since Fin’s vision, when they heard hooves pounding ahead. Glorfindel drew his bow on full alert but the instant the chestnut stallion with the blaze on his face rounded the bend, Elladan recognised Rovnaur’s twin immediately. “Hold your fire, it is Gwaedal!” Elladan called forward as the stallion whinnied to his twin and sped to greet him joyously. Sírdal greeted his sire and Leginae her mate in a similar fashion, turning and keeping pace alongside Asfaloth. The remaining two nickered but turned and took the track to Imladris, their instructions from Legolas were to return to Lord Elrond.

**

 

Elrond stood in the courtyard, staring into the distance, watching as Anor sank over the mountains. He looked distracted, dressed for battle and carrying his healer’s bag, surrounded by soldiers and healers ready to ride out. Elroval had swept in some time ago with instructions from Glorfindel, but it had taken Lindir and Malpomeon time to gather what was needed, even Lindir’s efficiency no match for Erestor’s.

Elrond had conceded that Vilya had been taken rather than lost, but dealing with that didn’t begin to compete with his current worry for his youngest son and his companions. The group would travel in two waves, mounted soldiers and medics, followed by carts and lifting machinery to follow. Elrond would lead the first party; he urged his mount forward as Elrohir’s beloved Gwaedal clattered into the courtyard without his rider.

The horses were quickly fed and checked over before they turned around to head back out with the rescue party alongside Elrond. Every half hour Elrond had been reaching out with his mind, searching for Elrohir or Erestor but so far, he had not been able to link with either. An hour or so into their ride, the cobalt blue light of Elrohir’s fëa reached for him. He signalled for the company to move on without him, and all bar his personal guard of two did so. He dismounted to concentrate on his son, working to unjumble the thoughts and images that were flooding into his mind from Elrohir. He felt the adrenaline surging through Elrohir, and in surprise noted the green light that had begun to tinge the crystal blue, and somehow… Vilya. He breathed deeply and tried desperately to keep his own thoughts calm to steady his son.

**

The light was now all but gone, the red tinge of the setting Sun lengthening the shadow of the mountains as it sank, no longer strong enough penetrate the thick dust that still clung in the air. The ring the magpie had dropped into the palm of Elrohir’s hand was strangely warm and glinted blue in the firelight. Even without being able to see it, Elrohir would have recognised Vilya. He had been fascinated by it as an elfling, but his Ada had always been very clear that he was never to put the ring on. It was no trinket and now, holding it after all those years he realised that as an elfling he had never felt its full weight or the thrum of power that surrounded the ring.

“Did Ada send this?” He questioned the bird before realising the stupidity of asking a magpie when it could not understand, and he could not hear. The bird cocked its head and blinked at him, preening in the firelight. He must be losing his mind, or else the explosion had shaken it loose, but it was as if the magpie had shrugged. Elrohir shook his head, he had no hearing, lights still danced in his eyes and now he could probably add hallucinations to the list of things hampering him. He squeezed the ring tighter and felt it dig into his palm, warm metal that sang with power, smooth crafted lines, not some rock or rubble he had picked up in frenetic hope. He focussed and pleaded for his Ada to hear him.

The familiar warm amber of his Adar’s fëa touched his and relief and adrenaline surged through him as he let everything tumble free, comforted by how his father sorted through the thoughts, ordered them soothingly, and breathed reassurance through his mind. Help was only an hour away, and his Ada reassured him he would not leave him. He suddenly remembered Vilya and showed Elrond the jewel. He sensed both relief and surprise in his Ada followed by a little trepidation which was quickly shut down.

“Put it on ion nin, I know not how it came to you, but there are forces in play that are beyond you or me. If it has been brought to you then you are meant to wield it.” his Ada's voice was smooth and comforting but panic rushed through Elrohir once more as he slipped the ring on, he was not prepared for this.

“When Ereinion was lost I felt the same, but things happen as they must. You have already drawn on Vilya to reach me, if you need to wield its power again you will find you know how. But don’t focus on that now, what must you do to get to your prince?” Elrohir missed the warmth that spread out of the attribution but spurred on by his Adar's presence he looked back at the rocks he had begun to clear and the supports he had cut, and went back to work. Within twenty minutes he could see blond hair clearly and he tentatively reached forward.

**

Legolas had felt the weight lift off his arms and groaned at the sudden pain as the blood rushed back into crushed limbs. As the feeling returned, the pain in his left arm eased but his right throbbed. He gradually regained the use of his fingers and when Elrohir’s hand slipped back into his, he once more gripped his peredhel tight, afraid of what might happen if he let go. Suddenly the silver touch of Erestor’s mind retreated and there was a surge of bright, vivid blue. The power of it shocked him and made him instantly let go of the hand in his. He had not felt anything so overwhelming since the blood bond that Galadriel and Saruman had forged between him and Tauriel surged into life, but this seemed even stronger. Less well defined, warm and gentle rather than piercing and cold; and as the previous bond had been, still strong, but fiercely protective.

The fingers reached gently for his again and he allowed the contact, Elrohir surged into his mind, his thoughts, his scent, his warmth. For a second it was as though it was his peredhel’s body that cocooned him, not the mass of roots. The contact retreated a little, he felt freer to move. He tried to shift himself back into the warm, comforting embrace but realised that it was cold, hard roots and stone that surrounded him.

“Can you move ernil nin?” It took Legolas a couple of seconds to realise that Elrohir’s voice reached him through his mind, not his ears which were still ringing, but Elrohir’s voice was crystal clear. He must have lost his mind. His body, still weakened by the bond and his previous injuries must have finally let go of his mind. He had seen it happen to victims of venom, beyond the skill of the healers, their only options to sail and put themselves in the hands of the Valar or stay and fade. He felt sad that his long fight had come to this, but there was relief in resignation. The fight was over. He breathed a deep sigh, closed his eyes and waited for the Doomsman to claim him.

“You will not give up on me now, I need you! Now answer me. Can you move, or must I drag you?” The fierce passion behind the words startled him into motion. Wriggling experimentally, he found he could move a tiny amount, but with his arms pinned in front of him and his feet hanging free in the cave he couldn’t propel himself forwards.

“I can, but I can’t get free.” The thought seemed to echo in his mind as though bouncing around an empty cavern until it hit the soft blue glow of Elrohir’s presence and was absorbed.

“I’ll pull, you push! Min, tâd, neledh!” Elrohir hauled for all he was worth, and Legolas wriggled, elated when he felt himself move forward a few inches. Elrohir adjusted his grip and heaved again, and Legolas levered his arms and shifted again, jagged shards of rock cutting into him. After many tiring minutes, his head and shoulders were free, but his broad chest was now squeezed into the space where his head had been and he could barely breathe, he pushed against the rock face hard in panic. Loose rocks began to roll down from above him and his eyes went wide with fear once more.

“Napell Legolas” (be still Legolas) Elrohir’s voice was soothing in his mind and gentle fingers stroked his cheek. “Gant muig!” (more gently!) Legolas felt panic edging his mind as he tried to take shallow breaths but the soothing fingers that kept up their trace over his cheekbone helped him feel a little less like everything was spiralling out of control.

Elrohir leaned over him, so close he could feel the peredhel’s breath on the back of his neck and one by one, Elrohir selected roots to gently pry away with his blade to make a little more space to pull him free. He looked up and silver eyes met his, the thumb stroked over his cheek once more before shifting to tuck a dirtied blond strand behind his ear. “Ready meleth?” As the word reached him, Elrohir looked distracted, but Legolas jolted in shock and examined what he saw in Elrohir’s eyes. Elrohir braced his feet either side of Legolas, wound his fist into his tunic and once again pulled. It was all the help Legolas needed to drag his chest then his narrow hips free. He clutched at Elrohir’s shoulders as he landed on top of him, the peredhel’s eyes brimming tears of joy.

Elrohir was breathtaking and his fëa sang out to Legolas who without thinking bent to meet his lips. It was barely a brush, barely a moment, but for a second, Elrohir blended into him, and it felt wholly right. Their fëa met and it was as if the cool, clear waters of the Bruinen flooded into his veins, making him feel alive. He felt the silver presence nudge his mind again – Erestor! The healer was still trapped.

As Legolas struggled painfully to move off Elrohir a flurry of feathers shot past him into the caves, the sound of hooves drilled though his muffled hearing. He looked up and saw boots silhouetted against the fire. Help had arrived.

**

Glorfindel had seen the fire a mile back and Asfaloth had sensed his master’s urgency and sprinted forward, Rovnaur and Leginea shadowing him. When they reached the carefully constructed blaze, Glorfindel could feel his mate close but could see no sign of him, until there was movement in the bushes. He spun at the flurry of noise and feathers and rushed forward to find Legolas collapsed on Elrohir barely able to move.

“Where is he?” he pleaded urgently, gently lifting a trembling Legolas off Elrohir and helping both to sit up. His heart froze as Elrohir shook his head but then indicated his ears before speaking unduly loudly.

“Atarattëa! Atartaid is trapped in the cave. Legolas was crushed as the entrance collapsed.” He pointed to the tight opening that was barely the width of his shoulders.

Glorfindel looked at the small hole, it was a tight fit for a full grown ellon, but Glorfindel would find his way through the eye of a needle if it meant saving his mate. There was a familiar squawk and a flapping mass of feathers emerged from the cave, soaking them with a fine spray of water. Elroval hopped directly to Erestor’s pack and began determinedly dragging the contents out and spreading them over the floor.

Elrohir waved at the bird in agitation, but Fin stayed his hand, watching incredulous as the bird retrieved a small glass phial marked with his husband’s meticulous script and disappeared back down the hole.

**

Erestor knew he could not hold on much longer, just breathing was making his body scream in pain. He saw light leak into the cave when Legolas was pulled free. After hours in pitch blackness, it seemed magical. Oddly, Elroval had appeared, the bird had tugged at his hair, seeming frustrated when he did not respond, he had no idea how he had found him, but he could barely think through the pain. As the magpie pecked at his ear, he realised the bird might be the one at his side when Námo claimed him. He considered the thought; he had always pictured it being Fin. Even when Fin had reached the halls ahead of him, he had pictured his mate greeting him in death. It was strange how things worked out he mused. Fin might still reach him. Mustering his strength, he reached for their bond, his husband was close.

As Erestor passed in and out of consciousness, he revived enough to realise the bird was pressing something into his hand. He felt the smooth, cool, slim phial and his fingers just about managed to flip the small cork out of it. He recognised the smell instantly. Spider venom, it would numb his body, slow his heart and breathing, and ease his passage to the halls. With a grateful sob and trembling fingers, he brought it to his lips. Pinned face down, the angle was awkward, and he wept in frustration as half the dose spilled onto the floor, but he swallowed a mouthful of the bitter liquid and prayed that it would be enough.

**

When Elroval emerged drenched once more Elrohir knew they were out of time. “I will go to him, you dig us out!” he instructed, blunt and loud due to his impaired hearing. Glorfindel shook his head and pushed him aside but Elrohir shoved back frustrated.

“You will not fit, and I have fewer injuries than Legolas.” Elrohir felt a tug on his arm and was turned roughly into his brother’s embrace. He could not hear the inevitable brotherly jibe he knew he was on his twin’s lips, but he melted into the familiar hug, smiling gratefully as he stepped aside for Elladan to enter the cave.

**

Elladan quickly stripped to his shirt and leggings, and with a rope around his waist, arms lifted to narrow his shoulders he struggled feet first through the tiny gap and made towards Erestor’s prone form. He called out but there was no response. Erestor was pinned by large rocks crushing his legs and was submerged in water to his waist, his chest and head mercifully higher on the rocks. One look told him that not even firstborn strength would shift the rocks, it would require a lifting device; but Erestor was still, and deathly pale and he did not think he had that much time.

Dan waded to the cave entrance once more and called out the situation to those above the surface before he went back to Erestor. He freed Erestor’s trapped arm and began to treat the wounds he could access. It had not been half an hour before an uneasy feeling came over him, Erestor was drawing close to Mandos. He could hear elves working outside in earnest now, the hole had widened, and he could see firelight blazing brightly outside. He had dressed the wounds to Erestor’s arms and upper body, with the exception of a gash to his left forearm there was nothing serious, but the way Erestor’s legs were crushed made Elladan feel weak. Although Erestor had not roused, Dan stroked through raven black curls, matted with blood and dust and spoke soothingly in an attempt to comfort his Atartaid, pleading with the Valar for a miracle. He was glad when he saw the hole black out as a large figure squeezed through. Within moments Glorfindel was by his mate’s side and the second he made contact with Erestor the smaller elf began to stir.

**

The venom Elroval brought Erestor had worked mercifully quickly and the world drifted away from him as his body became numb. There were pleasant dreams and visions now, and with effort he could place himself in them. Out of the darkness came the face and voice of Elladan, soothing him as he had soothed the discontented elfling so many times. Erestor focused then smiled as eventually in his place was his beloved husband. Fin stripped his shirt and placed it under Erestor’s cheek where he lay on the rock and his mind conjured the memory of his lover’s scent.

Erestor keened under the touch of the vision of his mate, he could feel nothing, but he was overjoyed to see his face once more, even if he were only a figment. He felt warmth flood their bond, he had always imagined, hoped, that this was how Ereinion felt when his own energy flowed into the high king. Held, cared for. It was fitting this was the last vision that the drug would give him before he stood at his Adar’s side.

**
Legolas and Glorfindel both felt Erestor’s light dim and there was no holding Glorfindel back any further as he disappeared into the still unstable cave. Legolas moved closer to Elrohir, embarrassed by how their fleeting kiss had made him feel, but still Elrohir was his only source of comfort. Their hands touched and Elrohir was in his mind again. “We cannot wait for Adar, I must do it. If it claims me meleth, know I loved you!”

Legolas reeled with shock, emotion, and confusion but Elrohir was gone from his mind as quickly as he had appeared. As he held tightly to his hand, Legolas felt the bright blue light of his fëa surge out in waves around the ellon, his face glazed over. He felt a surge of power and the forest sang out. Suddenly Legolas knew what Elrohir was attempting, and he drew on the forest and surged the power through the ellon at his side to boost what he was channelling.

The sound of water rushed in Legolas’ ears, but he knew it was not him it surrounded. He urged the roots of the trees and shrubs on the rocks to reach down and bind them in place. He felt the Bruinen, its power to move the immovable, its memory of cutting through rocks and mountains, its knowledge of how the living forms it sustained should be arranged. The power of creation and destruction in balance.

Legolas fought to hold his side of the energy flow and watched as Elrohir trembled as the ancient powers he called on became uncontrollable. Legolas pushed his own fëa towards his peredhel, wrapping around him as Erestor had, his emerald green entwining with sapphire blue, each strengthening and stabilizing the other. Eventually the flow eased, and they collapsed into each other.

**

In the cave Glorfindel had not given up hope, he focused on how it had felt when Erestor had drawn from him and begged Lord Námo to guide him. He felt energy begin to flow and he pushed harder, filling his mate with his own fëa, wrapping gold around and through silver, forcing it to hold its form.

He felt the mountain begin to move, he spared enough of a thought to order Dan out of the cave then turned back to his mate. If Erestor were fated to rest forever under the mountain, then it would be his destiny too.

The water came up around him, flowing unnaturally, swirling around the rocks that trapped his mate, crushing and shattering them, they fell away as sand to the tide. Erestor floated free in the waist-deep waters as they grew warm. Glorfindel pulled Erestor to him, cradling his broken body to his own. He felt his mate’s skin grow warmer with the temperature of the water. Still, he pushed energy through his mate, but his golden flow was dwarfed by a brilliant turquoise flood that came from the water and filled his lover. He strode towards the cave mouth, the gap now wider and sured-up by tangles of roots to its edges. He gently eased Erestor through and Elladan lifted him away.

When Glorfindel emerged from the cave there was a buzz of activity Elrond’s party of healers had arrived and, Elrohir, Legolas and Erestor were surrounded, laid by the fire which had been stoked high. A healer attended Erestor’s arm though he had not regained consciousness, Glorfindel pushed in and grabbed his husband’s hand. “Why do you not attend his legs?” He demanded gruffly.

The ellon did not look up but continued to place careful stitches inside a deep gash to Erestor’s forearm. “His legs are merely bruised my Lord, I need to ensure he retains the use of his hand.”

Glorfindel hissed at him impatiently seizing a senior healer who was treating Elrohir. “His legs are crushed; he will bleed out.” Glorfindel indicated his mate’s leggings which were indeed soaked in blood. The healer swiftly cut away the fabric and inspected her patient.

“He is very fortunate, Vilya has repaired a great deal, there is only bruising left, arnica paste will help.” Fingers moved to his pulse then she dipped close and sniffed at his lips. “No other pain killers until Lord Erestor can tell us how much he has already taken.” Turning to Glorfindel she gave him a sympathetic look. “Lord Elrohir and Prince Legolas care enough to have been thorough, only superficial damage remains. He is comfortable, but he will need to rest at least a week; he lost a lot of blood. You may connect via your bond if it comforts you, but do not channel any more energy, he has absorbed quite enough.” With that the elder turned back to Elrohir and Legolas who remained motionless.

**

The decision had been made to move the casualties on horseback, Lord Elrond held his unconscious son gently against him, Erestor predictably was in Glorfindel’s arms, as he happily indulged the magpie perched on his shoulder, and Dan had Legolas on Sírdal who was at the Prince’s side from the moment he arrived back at the site of the explosion. They set off at a slow and gently pace flanked by healers and a small number of Glorfindel’s unit. The others stayed to resume the work of clearing the high pass, knowing with it blocked they were isolated.

Chapter 14: Three for A Girl

Summary:

With Erestor, Legolas and Elrohir out of immediate danger the group returns to Imladris and Tauriel's backstory begins to unfold and Legolas is forced to see their bond more as she did.

Notes:

As always, my terrible attempts at the elven languages are explained here:

gwinig - little one/baby
Adar/ada - father/dad
fëa - soul
penneth - young one
meleth- love
Gilith nin - my Starlight (N) Lindir's nickname for Elrond
Fileg - little bird (N) Elrond's nickname for Lindir

Glorfindel had refused to surrender his husband to the stretcher bearers, riding into Imladris cradling him ahead of him on Asfaloth, Elroval perched quietly on his shoulder. As they reached the courtyard and elves scrambled to assist the casualties, Glorfindel’s sharp eyes spotted a magpie take flight from Elrond’s study window and soar off in the direction of the healing rooms, “You have a mate! And here I was thinking you were everywhere at once.” He whispered to the magpie, chuckling at the simplicity of the explanation now he was thinking clearly.

No one opposed his taking his husband to their new quarters in Estel’s old room, mainly due to their proximity to Elrond’s rooms. Glorfindel had lovingly stripped his husband and supported him in warm water, washing away blood and mud before patting him dry with the fluffiest towel he could locate. He wondered at the long, strong legs that miraculously bore nothing worse than bruises as strong warrior’s hands, more used to the feel of a sword hilt, coated them with more arnica salve before choosing a pair of his own sleep leggings to loosely cloth his smaller mate.

The wounds to Erestor’s left arm had been treated and dressed, but Glorfindel easily coaxed it into the oversized silk sleep shirt he had chosen before pulling the covers up over his lover. He carded his fingers through raven curls, watching perplexed as Eucalië allowed Elroval to preen her in a picture of rare harmony. He decided to braid his husband’s thick hair into twin braids akin to those he had seen female elflings wear. He grinned to himself at how much his mate would chastise him when he saw them, but it was the best way of keeping the hair tidy without moving his husband again. Once satisfied his lover was comfortable, he climbed under the covers, pulled his peredhel against him, burying his nose into his hair and inhaling deeply. He gave thanks to Námo for his husband, and for a second, the light that always lingered just below the surface in Erestor seemed to glow more brightly from him.

Elroval had flitted to a perch in the corner and magpie watched attentively as Glorfindel settled alongside his husband before seeming to decide that all was well and settling to roost though one eye periodically opened to scan his charges.

**

Elroval kept watch over his master’s son, never allowing himself to drift completely to sleep, as his alter ego soared back over the forest having delivered the message he had been bid, he was content that he had done as his master commanded. The air seemed to ripple around him and, he felt that familiar tug at his body as he watched nonchalantly as he flew out of the window in the direction of the infirmary before turning his attention back to the gentle rise and fall of the chest of his charge. Something else had obviously caught his lord’s attention.

Dan dozed in the chair in the healing rooms, oblivious to the figure that crept out past him and the black and white bird that seemed to appear from nowhere to settle on the sill.

**

Legolas had awoken gently, he was laid between cool cotton sheets and for a moment he thought himself at home, then he became aware of a surgical smell and faint noises of elves quietly at work and the shallow breathing of another’s sleep. Remembering the surge of energy that had knocked him out, he flexed his body experimentally, his muscles ached, his arms felt badly bruised, and his head felt foggy but otherwise his body felt more comfortable, more ‘his’ than it had in centuries. He stretched and felt fingers curled in his and he glanced over to see Elrohir on the bed that had been pushed next to his.

Elrohir was pale but his fingers felt warm in his, the feeling was comforting, and he remembered how much more comforting it had been to awaken held close on beds similarly pushed together. As it had then, a brief and confusing feeling of arousal flushed through him at the memory of contact with his friend. He chased it away until Elrohir’s last words came back to him. Elrohir has said he loved him. But what did that mean? He has not said he was in love with him, although that was how it felt when the stunning, sapphire blue of his fëa had touched Legolas. It had felt like fireworks.

Legolas had limited experience of connecting with others, but Elrohir felt comforting, a little like his Adar. There was power in the touch, but not like the power he felt when Erestor and Elrond reached for him. There was also compulsion like there was with Tauriel, but Elrohir was not hard and demanding as her energy had been. But none of those connections had ever sent the waves of heat through him like rippled waters that would never be still again. None had blended with his own light, making a colour that looked as though the green of the trees had been tipped into a crystal blue lagoon and stirred until the world learned a new tone.

The memories warmed him until he realised, he could still feel the cobalt blue of Elrohir’s fëa in his mind. He attempted to shut down the connection, push it away but he could not. There was nothing aggressive or sinister about the way it lingered, it was almost as if he simply could not persuade his own fëa to relinquish its hold. He instinctively walled off his mind as he had with Tauriel, but found it accomplished nothing. Elrohir’s light was entirely passive within him, it was not drawing from him, there was nothing to protect; it simply existed in him, his fëa clinging greedily to a treasure it was not prepared to surrender. His heart skipped a beat, and his blood ran cold as he pulled his hand away. He had just escaped a bond over which he had no control and now he was tied to another.

Panic flared brightly in him as he staggered from the healing rooms to the stables. He went via the guard quarters, hastily strapping on light armour and a sword, he picked up a full quiver and bow, a couple of water skins and Lembas. Sírdal was pleased to see him and nuzzled into the elf he had adopted as his new master, allowing Legolas to mount with no tack, Legolas whispered in his ear and the stallion happily trotted over the bridge and out into the quiet night. As Sírdal weaved his way between the trees, a flash of black and white followed, swooping from branch to branch, but never straying more than twenty meters from the blond as he urged Sírdal forward into a gallop.

**

Elrond paced the nursery, shushing an unsettled elfling as Lindir played his harp, but even his songbird’s music would not settle Nornion’s fiery temper. Maybe I should tell you a story gwinig, would you like to hear what I know of your naneth? Elrond made his voice soft and soporific, a trick he had learned from Erestor when he used to be the only one who could settle Dan. Erestor had spent long hours rocking both twins to sleep in the depths of the night but Dan had always been the more fretful of the two and frequently only Erestor could soothe him. Elrond had never mastered it as well as Erestor, the older peredhel could make his voice so low and gentle and musical, but maybe with the help of Lindir’s harp he had a fighting chance. Elrond glanced at his lover who slowed the tempo of the melody, dropping an octave so the notes resonated in the same range as Elrond’s voice.

“Your naneth was born to a very powerful line gwinig, a line full of unmatched genius and unmatched folly. Her Adar raised me as his own, had the fates been different, we might have been kin, but Maglor was lost to me many centuries ago. Had known he and Faniel had survived I might have searched harder, but it has recently been brought to my attention that I have often been guilty of overestimating my powers of observation.” Elrond took a deep breath before finding the strength to continue.

“Once I learned of your naneth, I did all I could to understand her story. Your grandparents had been living in seclusion on the edges of the Greenwood and had been blessed with the birth of an elfling. Your grandfather was a great musician penneth, like your uncle Lindir, he was skilled with his harp. Though I do not imagine he could still play given the damage to his hands,” his voice had turned musing, away from the soft tones of sleep, there was a light noise from Lindir and Elrond glanced up to a disapproving look, “but that tale can wait until you are grown.” He hastily redirected the narrative.

“He took many a wrong turn, the path that was set out for him was never fated to be easy. Barely fifteen summers after your naneth was born they were attacked, and your grandparents fell trying to protecting your naneth from Sauron’s vile hordes but they failed and she was captured. When out on patrol, Prince Legolas attempted to rescue your naneth but was also captured. Fortunately, they were not held long, Saruman the wise saw what had befallen them, he killed the orcs that held them and freed them.” Elrond paused for breath, thinking back through the story he had heard from Saruman ten years ago when Thranduil had pleaded for his help for Legolas.

“When Saruman found them, Legolas had somehow tied his fëa to that of your naneth, strengthening her and preventing her from fading. Prince Legolas swore he did not know how it happened, he must have wanted very badly to save your naneth to achieve such a thing.” Elrond suddenly remembered that the quieting babe was not the only one in the room as he registered the pained gasp his lover suppressed.

“Saruman raised your naneth until her majority, he knew her lineage, so he kept her safe away from the elven realms. He looked for a way to sever the bond but found none and once your naneth was of age, the intensity of her bond with Legolas increased and their separation was too hard to bear so Saruman sent her to live with Legolas in Thranduil’s realm.”

“Your naneth grew as a sister to Legolas, but the bond he had offered was eternal and he was never free to love another as your naneth was. You need not worry though penneth, I have come to know his fëa almost as well as one of my own children, he is incapable of malice, he will come to love you very much as you grow penneth.” Elrond stroked the elfling’s nose gently as his eyes drifted closed.

“Your naneth grew strong, a brave and skilled warrior, she and Legolas stood victorious against the foulest beasts that Sauron could summon even a dragon.” Elrond looked down at the sleeping babe in his arms.

“Her love for your Adar burned so brightly, and though he was lost in battle, from that love you were born. It is rare for mortal love to move the Valar penneth, but theirs did, and they have left you in the care of two others whose love has endured ages and moved the powers.” Elrond ceased his rocking as Nornion sighed contentedly in sleep, he smiled over at his lover as the music faded gradually as he laid Nornion in his crib.

Elrond leaned in to place a gentle kiss on the crown of his head adorned by the flame red of the Feanorians. The fates of middle earth marched on heedless of anything that would stand in their way he realised. He felt the reassuring weight of his lover’s hand on his shoulder as his songbird steered him to his bed.

“I take it that was the child friendly version of the tale meleth?” Lindir queried once the door to the nursery was shut. “The bond of a thrall to their master is hardly that of siblings as well you know.”
Elrond could sense the disapproval in his lover’s voice. He had taken the horror out of the story, though Nornion was too young to understand, it still felt wrong to relate the reality of the suffering the survival of his naneth had caused Legolas.

“If Legolas wishes him to know the truth when he is older, I will allow it, but for now it would serve little purpose even if Nornion is too young to understand.” Elrond mused, though retelling the story had made him question some of the detail he had accepted when Saruman had initially related the story. Neither Thranduil or Legolas had ever mentioned Legolas being captured, and it surely would have been communicated widely, even on a swift return. Also, if Legolas had initiated the bond to save Tauriel, why would he have kept it from his Adar? Elrond made a mental note to check with Legolas, something about the story was rankling him, and he was not sure that it was just the bitter taste that Glorfindel’s words had left him with. Elrond had begun to retreat into himself once more when his songbird’s voice broke through.

“Do you need a little attention following your ride Gilith nin?” he smirked, running his hand gently over Elrond’s rear in a way that made passion for his lover burn through him.
“As long as it does not involve your belt or mine, I think I could stand a little attention Fileg!” he smiled shyly, suddenly aware that his rear was indeed protesting after Lindir’s handiwork had been tenderized further by hours of riding.

Lindir smiled indulgently, “I think I could be persuaded to be gentle starlight as long as you can behave for me? You know how much I miss the way you squirm and all those delightful noises you make when you don’t force me to be stern with you meleth!”

**

The first rays of dawn dappled through the trees as Legolas drove Sírdal faster, the sapphire blue in his mind was still present but the further he rode, the thinner and more fragile it felt. All Legolas could think of was his need to flee, to be free the threat of more years of captivity. He felt certain that Elrohir would never use him as Tauriel had, he had said he loved him, and Legolas had felt the truth in it. But it was only a matter of time before Elrohir realised how weak he was, what he had allowed to be done to him; and then his feelings would change. Elrohir would realise what he had bonded himself to and his love would fade, he would come to see him as Tauriel had, simple sustenance, to be consumed whenever needed. He could not live through that servitude again, he just needed to get home to his Ada.

Something in his mind felt as though it had almost broken free, but it did not offer the relief he had expected, quite the opposite. He halted Sírdal and breathed deeply. Something in his mind was now screaming louder than his fear and it was dizzying. There was a melancholy cry from above and a magpie swooped down to land on his wrist. His first thought was to ignore the messenger bird as it carried no parchment, but something about the way the bird regarded him caught his attention.

Worry screamed through him, he desperately needed the support of his Ada, he was about to urge Sírdal forward once more when the bird began to preen its feathers in a strange way. Tugging methodically, it drew a long strand, out of its downy chest feathers and wrapped it around the Prince’s wrist. The strand was thin and soft like the fine wool used to make the light blankets and cloaks of Mirkwood soldiers, the thought sent another pang of want for his home through him. Legolas looked more closely to find it was comprised of strands of deep chestnut hair woven intricately into strands of his own golden blond.

Legolas looked at the messenger bird, his emotions tilting him wildly beneath him, swinging between the urge to run to the comfort Elrohir and the urge to run from the unexpected bond to him. The magpie rattled urgently and thoughts of Elrohir surged into his mind, how the bird had brought him Vilya; the fear in Elrohir’s eyes as he had prepared to use the ring to attempt to save his beloved tutor. The concern that had caused him to bolster the energy stream that Elrohir had released, and how he had felt his peredhel yield to him as he flowed power through his body and out through the ring.

Tears formed in his eyes as he tried to fight the draw to return to his homeland, his finger stroked over the strands on his wrist and blue flooded his mind followed by a sudden, jarring awareness of his friend’s distress.

Legolas’ mind shuddered back to what Galadriel and Saruman had done and the nature of his bond with Elrohir was suddenly clear to him. Elrohir had opened to him as he laid trapped in the cave, their blood mixing via the open wound in their arms. That was why the peredhel had suddenly filled his thoughts. He had accepted his friend’s pledge when Elrohir had confessed his love and Legolas had flowed his fëa through Elrohir’s, his friend opening himself and allowing Legolas in. But he had not returned Elrohir’s pledge, he didn’t know if he knew enough of his own fëa to be able to. He could feel Elrohir’s crystal blue straining where it linked with his, but his own energy was still strong and unaffected.

He felt sick, this must have been how Tauriel felt each time she had left him behind whilst he suffered the pain of feeling his fëa stretch that thin, and with a stomach clenching jolt he realised why he was upright and riding Sìrdal when Elrohir still laid unconscious. His blood ran cold as he remembered what both Elrond and Erestor had told him. It was rare for a thrall to survive prolonged separation from the one that held their bond, and Elrohir was bound that way to him until he reciprocated. Legolas had no idea if he was ready to surrender himself to a lover’s bond with Elrohir, but he was certain he would not bring him to suffer as he had suffered at Tauriel’s hand. Without a second thought Legolas spun Sírdal and urged him forward.

**

Erestor and Elladan both woke abruptly to a cacophony of noise as a magpie’s warning rattle sounded out loud and clear into the quiet of Imladris. Elladan grabbed at his twin whose shallow breathing had ceased, and Erestor shook Glorfindel violently, an urgent look on his face.

Notes:

This chapter links to a smutty cutscene for Elrond and Lindir, or that can be bypassed and it will move straight on to Four for a Boy (when it is edited) if you prefer to be free of my smutty brainrot!

Chapter 15: Four for a Boy

Summary:

The reality of the bond that Elrohir has invoked hits Legolas and he panics, fleeing into the forest where hunters await him.

Erestor walks Glorfindel's dreams and pieces together what no one else has realized. And Lindir... Well, Lindir kicks ass!

Warnings: predatory behavior, violence (slaying of enemies), references to a very consensual bdsm dynamic within an established and loving relationship.

Notes:

Explanations of the carnage I create when I attempt to use the elven language...

Ada/Adar - dad/father
penneth - young one
Athon - yes
Atartaid - second father (the twin's nickname for Erestor)
hervenn nin - my husband
meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
naneth/nana - mother/mum
Mae Govannen - well met
Goheno nin - forgive me
mellon nin - my friend
ernil nin - my prince
Eithos - thornbush (noldorin) a nickname Lindir uses for Elrond when he is 'prickly'
gilith nin - my starlight (noldorin) Lindir's usual nickname for Elrond

Elladan was in a state of panic, he had awoken to the frantic cries of his Adar’s magpie as the bird yanked at his hair and cawed in his ears. He shook off the confusion as the bird flew over and landed on his twin’s pillow. Elrohir looked deathly pale and his chest no longer rose and fell in the shallow rhythm it had been. Elladan rushed to the bed and relief washed through him as he grasped at his twin’s pulse point and felt the faintest flutter there. It was followed by a surge of shock and adrenaline and yelled at the top of his lungs for the healers to attend. The room erupted with activity as healers flooded in and began breathing into Ro. The room seemed to swim and the next thing he knew, he was sat heavily on the floor, watching a sea of grey-clad legs move purposefully about him.

**

Erestor had also awoken to the sounds and activity of a magpie determined to wake the dead. Let alone sleeping elves. He disentangled the cacophony of beak and feathers from his irate husband’s golden hair and pried himself up off the bed as Elroval flew to tap at the door.

Glorfindel asked no questions, simply sweeping his peredhel into his arms and following the bird through the corridors to the healing halls. As they were about to round the corner, Glorfindel instinctively placed Erestor on his feet and helped support him, knowing full well he would not want to be carried in front of the healers he commanded so much respect from.

As they burst into the room Elrohir and Legolas had shared, Elroval immediately settled next to an identical bird on the windowsill. Glorfindel looked around the room, his first concern was for the blond prince who was nowhere to be seen. Erestor glided forward, the healers stepping aside for him, the only sign he was not at full strength was that he sat on the edge of his patient’s.

Erestor put a hand to Elrohir’s throat and smiled grimly before turning his attention expectantly to the rest of the room. There was a moment of confusion as everyone looked at the stern advisor perched on the bed in oversized nightclothes and lopsided pigtails before Erestor’s voice sounded, raspy but clearly exasperated. “Well, where is he?”

**

Elladan glanced around and realized that Erestor meant Legolas. He had not even noticed that the prince was no longer there in his intense panic over his twin, but now started to try to calculate how long he had been asleep. He looked through the open door to the great clock that was mounted in the hallway of the infirmary, it was a little before six, he last recalled looking at the clock it was just after two “I know not, and in truth, he could have been gone as long as three hours” Elladan admitted red-faced.

Erestor touched Elrohir’s forehead and the worry on his face eased a little. He turned to Elladan and scowled “Wake your Adar, he must send for Thranduil, and he must do it now. Tell him he must far-speak, this cannot wait for a bird, and it cannot risk interception – not by anyone, especially your grandparents. Tell Lindir to dress in his Mirkwood greens and make ready to ride in ten minutes, Elroval will guide him.” Erestor snapped out the instructions still distracted by the younger twin, Elladan nodded and made to leave. Erestor turned, lightning fast even in exhaustion, and caught his wrist, gripping it hard “I mean it penneth! If you value your brother, you, Lindir, and Elrond must heed me exactly!” Elladan looked terrified by this new ferocity.

“Athon Atartaid!” he swallowed the words, nodded contritely, and then scurried away.

“Leave us!” Erestor commanded. The room emptied instantly, the healers were more than familiar with his sharp tongue and exacting rule over the household staff, and none were prepared to risk his wrath, even with his hair arranged in the comical lopsided pigtails he seemed unaware of.

Erestor turned to address his husband, “I can sense Legolas, he is on his way back; less than two hours away but if I am right there will be hordes of orcs heading for Imladris. Lindir must ride to meet him, only Lindir!” Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the odd choice, Lindir could wield a weapon, any elf of his age could, but he was hardly a warrior. Surely it would make more sense to send a full guard to intercept, but the look in his husband’s eyes told him not to question the request.

“When Lindir has been gone half an hour, send Garavion and Hwestion to track him on foot, they should keep to the canopy.” Erestor looked to the silk distractedly, “They can take errr, the other Elroval.” He nodded in the direction of the window as Glorfindel turned perplexed.

“Surely that is his mate?” He blinked at the identical birds who both cocked their heads and blinked at him as if he were a particularly slow student and they were patient tutors waiting for him to catch up.
Erestor shrugged, “Adar’s handiwork.” He offered in explanation before returning to his instructions, both missing how one bird took off and flew to the courtyard, leaving two still sitting on the sill. “They must stay hidden, and only on threat to life do they break from that. Kidnap is not to be considered a threat to life, they may prevent direct attack only, but if either Legolas or Lindir fall or are taken, they must not lose sight of them. If they cannot be trusted to obey and remain undetected hervenn nin you must send two who can.”

“What do you know meleth?” Glorfindel paused before he left to ready Lindir’s horse.

“It seems I can also walk the paths of your memory meleth. I know Saruman has already betrayed us and wishes to gain influence over the woodland realm. And I know that the fate of the Lady Galadriel hangs in the balance, she must not learn of Nornion.” Erestor smiled sadly as his warrior left, with one of the Elroval’s sat on his shoulder, cackling delightedly as he wrenched strands of hair out of golden braids, but he turned his attention back to the young peredhel at his side.

**

Legolas had covered around half the distance back to Imladris, Elroval was perched between Sírdal’s ears, but the stallion did not appear to mind. His body tautened at the sounds of hooves ahead and the magpie took off into the canopy to greet and perch next to an identical-looking bird that appeared to accompany the new arrival.

Legolas slowed Sírdal to a trot, half expecting to see Elrond or Elladan mounted and baying for his blood. But the silver-blond elf that approached he recognized, he had been of his naneth’s people, a minstrel, and composer of great renown, skilled with his harp and famed for his sweet voice. His mind flashed back to the way his naneth played and sang, music that had seemed so beautiful to his young ears, it was as though all the forest paused to listen. Lindir had been a favorite of hers, he had left the Greenwood when she did, and Legolas had simply assumed that he was one of the many she favored who had chosen to sail when she was lost.

“Mae Govannen Thranduilion, Prince of Greenwood! It has been many years since I last laid eyes on you. Elves speak the truth when they say you have grown to be a fine warrior, though you are graced with your naneth’s features penneth. She truly left us much of herself in you, my Lord.” Lindir’s eyes shone in fondness for the elf he remembered best as a lively but shy elfling and an easily embarrassed youth.

Legolas scanned his eyes over Lindir, he was dressed in the familiar greens of home, light dual knives like those Legolas favored on his back and a bow and quiver slung across him. He felt familiar and safe, but Legolas knew his appearance alone in the forest at dawn was not coincidental. Legolas smiled shyly, “Mae Govannen Lindir, it has indeed been too long. Goheno nin mellon nin, (forgive me my friend)I assumed you had sailed west as so many of our people did, though it is unfortunate that we meet again under such circumstances.” He paused to smile wryly at the one who had helped care for him as an elfling.

“Though this time I assume you seek me on Lord Elrond’s orders to drag me back to the healing wing and a lecture rather than naneth’s! Maybe things have not changed so much!” He chuckled at what had been a long-standing joke between them. One of his earliest memories was of Lindir carrying him home from the orchards, bruised and weeping for his nana when he had fallen from a tree on a quest for the sweetest cherries. His parents’ ire had softened at his insistence that he be allowed to retrieve the fruit he had harvested from where it was scattered on the ground, carrying it carefully on his lap for them.

Lindir smiled gently, clearly indulging himself in the same memory, “Most elflings who have not yet seen five harvests content themselves with gathering fruit from the forest floor before they take to the treetops ernil nin! I never did decide if you wept more for the fruit’s bruises than you did your own. You have always demanded much of yourself, particularly in service of others my lord. But nay, it was Lord Erestor who sent me. The woods can be disorienting at this hour, and he wished to be certain you found your path safely. Am I to assume from your direction you are headed back to Imladris my prince?” Lindir smiled politely, he was obviously stressing he would not demand Legolas return against his will.

Legolas felt a surge of honesty looking at the Silvan who reminded him so much of his Adar and his home. “I had intended to return home Lindir.” He confessed looking down and fussing with Sírdal’s mane. “So much has happened, and I was overwhelmed by the need to be back in Adar’s halls.” His finger moved in a soft caress over a narrow twine that was wrapped around his wrist. His eyes grew dark with emotion though he forced his voice bright. “But I realized that I had left behind something very dear to me;” He tried to keep the depth of feeling from his voice, “although I confess, I am still drawn to the comfort of our homeland.” he finished as he urged Sírdal forward.

Lindir nodded and smiled softly as he bid his mount to follow, “I am sure master Elrohir will find himself equally drawn to its comforts before the season changes ernil nin.” He muttered softly, to himself, easily reading the detail that Legolas elected to omit. As they traveled, the woods fell unnaturally quiet. The prince’s magpie left the trees to perch at the base of Sírdal’s mane, close to Legolas. Lindir glanced over and it was clear that Legolas was on high alert scanning the surroundings. He spotted the tiniest movement high in the canopy but beyond a flash of black and white feathers, there was nothing more to be seen in the thick evergreen.

There was movement behind them and Lindir drew his bow as his voice struck out in a crisp and clear melody. Two uruk charged from the bushes before pausing and dropping stone dead, pierced by elven arrows. Legolas felt disorientated by the unsettling melody and barely had time to wonder at the speed of Lindir’s shots before the strange song broke. “Go! Do not stop ahead of the gates of Imladris!” Lindir instructed, and both horses took off at full speed.

As Sírdal slowed before the gates of Imladris, the pale lanterns that shone out offered Legolas the first clear glimpse behind him. He knew they had not been followed; he had heard only the hoofbeats of Lindir’s mount trailing him. But as he glanced behind, he realized in horror that the horse behind him was riderless.

As Sírdal trotted into the courtyard Elrond was mounting in full battle dress, flanked by Glorfindel who appeared to have yet another magpie on his shoulder, and a full platoon of elves. Elrond glanced at the riderless horse.

“Where did he fall?” He asked, his voice straining with barely contained emotion that made the words catch in his throat.

“He did not my Lord, I would have heard him. We were attacked, he killed two orcs and he sang in a way I have never heard before. I thought he was on his horse, but he could not have been.” Legolas floundered, drained, and disoriented. Erestor was suddenly at his side, and he felt the pale blue light reach for him. He was too tired and confused to consider any course other than to yield to the powerful elf whose presence now seemed so familiar and comforting. He caved into himself and pulled Erestor into his mind, he felt the advisor gently take control and sift through Legolas’ memories. Legolas cowered, awaiting judgment and disapproval or chastisement for his desire for his friend, for abandoning him, for endangering Lindir, but to his shock; he felt only the warm glow of pride, relief, and contentment from the peredhel as he helped him dismount and drew him close.

Erestor had the information he needed, and he withdrew exhausted from Legolas’ mind, turning the prince over to the peacock blue that was now woven through the prince’s emerald green, though physically he continued to hold the archer close, noting that for now, he didn’t flinch at the contact.

Erestor addressed a glowering Elrond, “He sang a glamour and dismounted. Their aim was to capture you ernil nin. They were sent by the one who bound you. Lindir is nothing if not astute, he saw there was an end to be served by allowing your persecutor to think he has you. For now.” Erestor explained, one eye on Elrond as the lord’s grief turned to anger.

“You sent Lindir knowing he would do this?” Elrond bit the words out, struggling to contain his anger despite all his friend had been through.

“No.” Erestor mused, “I sent him in the hope they might mistake him for Legolas. I felt guilty doing so, but I have known Lindir long enough to know he has survived worse. That he sang the glamour has removed that guilt. This is a path he took willingly.” His eyes met Elrond’s belligerently, daring him to say he should not have protected the prince.

It was Glorfindel’s quiet but considered voice that cut through whatever rage fuelled admonishment was about to spill from Elrond. “My Lord, I know you would congratulate Erestor for doing what you could not, but we should ride, Garavion and Hwestion keep watch, but they will be outnumbered.” His eyes darted to meet Elrond’s and dared him to contradict him.

Elrond shifted uncomfortably on his horse under Glorfindel’s white-hot gaze and Erestor’s expectant look. Lindir was alive and unhurt, he could feel that much in his mind. He was not even afraid. He dug deeper into their connection; his songbird was amused!

His probing garnered a response from his mate, “Now, now Eithos, you will gather yourself lest you disappoint me. I will not have the rumor mills of Imladris saying that I surrender myself to any but the finest lord and hero in the land… and I have no desire to bend over for Fin or Tor! Be assured, I am more than content with my choices, but you should hurry if you wish to join in the fun!” Elrond bristled at his lover’s teasing until he felt the love flood through.

For a second, his heart seemed to beat along the most recent stripes on his backside, remembering the delicious anticipation and adrenaline as he had begged his lover for them only hours earlier. His insides fluttered, and he could hear the satisfaction in his mate’s voice in his mind. “Very good gileth nin, I knew there was a reason I desire only you!” came the sultry, satisfied purr in his mind and Elrond conceded defeat, signaling Glorfindel to ride out ahead of him as his messenger bird took flight as though he knew where they were headed.

**

As soon as Lindir had noticed they were being tracked he had fallen his horse back, they were only fifteen minutes at most from home, the enemy had grown bold indeed, and that in itself made Lindir realize they were being hunted with purpose. He became determined that the enemy would not achieve their goal, his mind worked fast… kill or capture, either goal would be hindered by two identical elves. He had seen through Elrond’s sanitized version of Legolas’s history being one of the few who knew of Erestor’s past. He had no intention of allowing the prince he had cared for as a babe to fall into the hands of these foul creatures.

He used the glamour he sang to disguise his dismount from his horse before changing to a song that would urge all who heard it to flee.

The horses took off and the uruk that charged him froze in transfixed confusion. It was long enough for them to be felled by the two elves he had sensed in the treetops. He shouted a warning in Silvan, he had a good idea who Erestor would have sent, and Sindarin was too widely understood. He swapped his song drawing deeply on his power reserves and projected, his voice sending powerful waves of vibration out him. The next five Uruk that ran at him screamed, dropped their weapons, and gripped their ears but still dropped heavily to the ground, black blood streaming from their eyes and ears.

Lindir knew the elves in the canopy would be unable to assist, stuck protecting their ears from his song, but Lindir had to draw breath. He knew the next wave of five that moved in on him would overwhelm him, but he drew his knives, deftly slicing the throat of the first before plunging a knife into another’s chest through the weak point under his attacker’s arm.

Two more arrows from the canopy found their mark in a third uruk’s neck, but the remaining two took advantage of the fact he was down to one knife and overwhelmed him, dragging him away from the tree cover and out of the area where his guard had a clear shot. The remaining five enemies subdued him quickly, the leader leaned in and leered, inches from his face as one of his grunts held him with his arms wrenched behind his back.

“Come now my pretty little princeling. I heard from the messengers you were taken by Maulúk! I’ve seen first-hand how much he enjoys his captives; I am surprised how spry you are. I served under him, I know his games well, yet I have never known an elf live through them, you must be a special kind of whore, my pretty prince! Behave for me and I will give you all the attention that slutty little body of yours can take. Besides, it’s a long march to Isengard, it will be easier on you if you retain all your body parts.”

Lindir smiled sweetly at the commander, “You will have to prove yourself more of a male than your comrade if you wish to avoid his fate! His cock did not satisfy me, did your messengers tell you he died without it?” He taunted in black speech, his musical voice making it oddly lilting as he smiled beautifully, and his weight shifted almost imperceptibly. There was a moan from the orc that pinned Lindir’s arms behind him, and the bard felt warm wetness spread over his back as he studied the now uncertain face of the commander. The grunt holding him dropped to his knees before falling backward and realization spread over the commander’s face that Lindir had opened his belly with a dagger that had been concealed in his sleeve.

“Fool! Grab him!” The commander screamed at his second, even more unsure as Lindir made no attempt to flee. As the unfortunate lieutenant lunged at him, Lindir barely seemed to move but the dagger snicked through the air in closely concise arcs, efficiently removing both his would be captor’s hands before the other three regrouped to disarm and overpower him. The leader howled with rage and turned to his maimed second, slicing his head clean off as his remaining two soldiers bound Lindir.

“Do not think you can best me princeling, you would be dead already if my orders allowed; but as you have assured me you will not fade, my soldiers and I have an extra incentive to keep you alive pretty thing!” He snarled regarding Lindir hungrily.

“I look forward to their efforts!” Lindir smiled sweetly once more, running his tongue over his lips sensually, thoroughly unseating the commander.

“Gag him!” He ordered. This elf was making him feel uneasy with his confidence and predatory air despite being their captive. He decided to add a further threat, hoping he could call the elf’s bluff. “I have no need of that pretty mouth of his until we stop for the night.”

Lindir shot him a dazzling smile and opened his mouth obligingly, looking expectantly at the two remaining uruk who eyed each other treacherously, neither wishing to approach this peculiar elf.
Lindir couldn’t help that the osanwë with his lover and the image of Elrond riding out in full armor to rescue him had turned him on a little, and now to his delight, the bulge forming in his leggings was serving to confuse his attackers even further. “I would offer to tie it myself, but you have me bound.” He prompted, shrugging his shoulders and smirking inwardly as the commander growled his displeasure and struck out at the nearest soldier. The aggression was sufficient to shake him to life and he moved to gag the elf who was staring at him as though he was merely a toy.

As his underling fastened the gag so tightly it clearly pinched the skin of the elf’s face, he bent close to the blond and taunted “Very good Ragnak, you will be the second to claim that skinny little arse of his. Now march sweet prince!” He kicked out at Lindir but the blond somehow evaded him lightly and had set off at a brisk pace in the direction of Isengard, leaving the uruk to scurry after him.

Notes:

Symbology.
Magpies are associated with being messengers to the gods of death in several cultures so this is played upon, as is the rhyme 'one for sorrow'

"Four for a Boy" is essentially the arc of Legolas' story but we also have Erestor and Lindir starting to shine. Elroval is a very busy bird, his four instances are at various points with Garavion, Lindir, Legolas and Glorfindel.

Chapter 16: Love Me Like You Do

Summary:

A heart-to-heart between Legolas and Erestor shows that both their pasts and their futures are already laid out as part of the greater scheme, but as ever, free-will will play its part.

Legolas and Elrohir are reunited and tentatively discovering how their relationship has changed; and yes, you guessed it, this chapter will skip out to a gratuitously mushy, and hopefully, steamy cutscene once it is edited.

Notes:

ernil nin - my prince
adar/ada - father/dad
penneth- young one
rhaw - body
fëa/fëar - souls/souls
meleth - love
Û - no

Legolas was in a daze as Erestor shepherded him slowly through the corridors of the homely house. He was alert enough to notice that Erestor moved minimally and kept his arm looped through his as he glared away a hovering Melpomaen who looked as though he may be considering offering assistance. When Erestor turned towards the stairs, Legolas realized they were not returning to the hospital wing but followed happily, grateful for the privacy of a guest room.

Erestor paused at the top of the staircase and Legolas felt him lean a little more heavily on him, his breathing noticeable and Legolas’ face screwed up with concern, remembering how close to death the adviser had been only hours ago. He was about to speak but Erestor got in first. “Forgive me Legolas, I have not thanked you for the efforts you went to in saving me.” He met Legolas’ eyes with a knowing look, “I know it cost you a great deal. How do your own wounds fare?”

Legolas blushed, “Elrohir gave up more than I.” He looked down guiltily, “And they are mostly healed already.” He deflected. Erestor looked thoughtful, but then slightly pained.

“Yes, together you and master Elrohir are something special, and quite the power source it seems. I doubt Vilya has ever accomplished quite so much in so short a time.” Erestor was regarding him carefully, but it was with quiet empathy rather than judgment or inspection. He sighed deeply, “Could I trouble you to help me to my room Legolas? I would talk with you, but I fear I cannot stand any longer.” Erestor asked gently, meeting the prince’s eyes with open sincerity.

Legolas flustered, suddenly realizing how taxed Erestor was and nodding, his brow knitted into a frown as he realized how far they were from the staff wing and Erestor’s quarters. Erestor smiled gently, “Fin and I have taken Estel’s old room, this way.” He indicated.

Once inside, Legolas knelt to attend the fire and Erestor rang for tea and breakfast and sat in the armchair by the fire gently petting Elroval. He took a deep breath and began. “Many things have begun to fall into place Legolas, but I believe we will both continue to have more eventful lives than either of us may truly wish for, at least for the next century or so as the fates play out.” He paused when breakfast was delivered, thanking the attendants as they hurried out.

“You deserve to know what I do my prince.“ Erestor said wearily as he watched Legolas pour the tea. “My birth twisted the intended fates of middle earth; I was born to a powerful lord out of wedlock. I did not know my Adar, but Saruman did and became bent upon neutralizing my influence.” He picked his words carefully, unsure if he wanted to reveal that it was not mannish blood that made him ‘half-elven’.

“As my status in Ereinion’s court grew, Saruman had already been seduced by power, and he saw in me a way to twist the destinies of three who were destined to be great.” Erestor accepted a steaming cup from Legolas and relaxed back into the armchair.

“Guilt and grief are powerful Legolas, they can twist a pure fëa far more readily than it can be corrupted or coerced.” He met clear blue eyes in earnest. “It was also Saruman and Galadriel who bound me as a thrall to Ereinion, Legolas. And in doing so, Saruman twisted Ereinion, Galadriel, and eventually Elrond with guilt for the parts they played; in the hope that it would weaken and divide them. It worked to some degree, but he had not anticipated the Valar would return Fin when Ereinion was lost.” Erestor sipped thoughtfully as though drifting through memories.

“Without the love Fin and I shared I would have faded, but with it I was able to help Elrond, to guide him until he married Lady Celebrìan. Children bring hope ernil nin, Elrond’s were his salvation. Just as you were to your Adar, and as Lady Arwen remains a shining light for Galadriel whose path still runs closest to the darkness.”

Legolas looked a little pale, but Erestor knew that little of what he had said so far was new to the prince, despite how much had changed for him in the last days.

“For Saruman, your birth presented an opportunity to entangle the last great elven ruler, so he lured Galadriel to bind you to Tauriel to gain influence over your adar. Of course, it also increased the burden of guilt Galadriel carries, Saruman’s final card to topple the Lady will be exposing her part in your suffering and Nornion’s survival. Elrond and your adar will move against her, and she will be lost even to herself when she discovers she is responsible not only for the survival of Fëanor’s grandaughter but for uniting his bloodline with that of the house of Durin. To Galadriel, Fëanor’s entire line is beyond redemption, she would tip into darkness, bent on eliminating Nornion; it would be our final undoing.

But we may yet set things right Legolas. Saruman is making a final play against the Woodland realm, but it will be the start of his demise, our opportunity to tip the balance and make what comes next a quest for the dawn of the fourth age, not simply a watch over the sunset of our time.”

Legolas was clearly deep in thought, but he was calm, Erestor observed, smiling inwardly at how similar they were in many ways.

The younger elf met his eyes. “My part in this is not done then?” He asked simply.

Erestor smiled kindly, “Oh no my prince, there is much more that will be asked of us yet, and I imagine it will be challenging.”

Erestor stopped to regard the quiet acceptance on the young royal’s face as his eyes scanned his in return. Erestor could sense he had moved on and could feel the question forming in Legolas, but he could also tell that the young prince was holding back.

“I am very old penneth, older than your grandfather, and an advantage of being so old is that you run out of ways to be shocked or offended! Whatever your question is, you may ask it without fear.” He encouraged gently.

“You loved Ereinion.” The statement was halting but Erestor simply smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Legolas pushed on, “And you love Lord Glorfindel.” Erestor sighed happily.

“I do penneth, more than I ever thought possible.” Erestor seemed to drift dreamily for a moment.

Legolas’ voice became timid, “Then is it no different? Your bond, it feels the same.” Legolas’ face fell into pure misery. Erestor suddenly understood, and his heart ripped open again for the young prince.
“You loved Tauriel.” He breathed the words softly, reaching for Legolas’ hand but detecting renewed nervousness, he simply rested it on the arm of the chair close to him.

Legolas flushed deep red and gazed at his knees, shifting in his chair. “I do not know why. I am a fool, but I could not stop, even though I wanted to, even though I hated her sometimes…” his words trailed, and his face burned with shame.

“Legolas, you are no fool.” Erestor’s heart bled for the prince, “Tauriel was badly used and in some ways, she deserved your love. She was afforded few choices; she was ultimately what he made her to be. She never belonged in this world, he shaped her to serve only his drive for power and influence. You ernil nin, you belong, but you were thrust out of your proper place to the same end.” Erestor’s voice was sad but soothing.

“That you remained true enough to yourself to feel love and empathy for the defenseless elfling she once was, probably saved you. It kept your fëa intact enough, despite the years of pain that tried to twist it, so its mate could still recognize it penneth.” Legolas looked confused so Erestor thought a little before his memories volunteered an analogy.

“Do you remember the year you spent in Imladris sharing the twin’s lessons penneth?” Erestor grinned when Legolas nodded and glanced up at him in surprise.

“Then you remember weeks in the Rivendell Forge mastering and crafting magnets?” Erestor prompted and was rewarded with another nod and a smile at the memory.

“When heated and hammered the magnets were reshaped but their pull on metal all but disappeared. But a magnet that was one of a pair still stuck to its mate regardless; and in time, with the right stroke, its mate would restore it in a way the iron never could. Tauriel could not love you ernil nin, it was not what she was made to be, but it is testament to your strength that you held onto your love for her in spite of all you endured. And just like the magnet, the one your fëa was made for still reached for you.” Erestor hummed internally in satisfaction as the peculiar analogy seemed to reach Legolas.

“So Elrohir is different?” Legolas ventured.

“I believe Elrohir is your mate, the one who will complete your fëa. But I know he loves you; I saw that in his heart centuries ago. Another perk of being ancient penneth!” Erestor smiled wryly.

“Your path together may not be easy, but you need never fear that it will be as it was with Tauriel. Does that offer you any comfort?” Erestor did not need to ask, he could feel Legolas relaxing into Ro’s deep blue fëa and his music shifted. It was still unique to the prince, but Erestor could hear it toying with Elrohir’s familiar harmonies, blending two melodies into an exquisite symphony.”

Legolas placed his cup down and shifted a little, beginning to look agitated once more. “Errr, how does one complete a bond? I mean I know that males and females… and blood magics… but if… Is there another way?” he floundered before Erestor took pity on him.

“Both your rhaw and fëa must merge, but your blood has already mixed with Elrohir’s. You need not join your rhaw’s again unless, of course, you wish it; but it will not complete the bond between you, it is the merge of your fëa that is incomplete.

Some can merge privately, others need the help of one skilled in such things at a binding ceremony, but in either instance, both fëar must be willing. Elrohir’s fëa does not bear the same scars as yours Legolas, and when your fëar merged via Vilya with mixed blood in your veins, it appears his willingly bound itself to yours, even though he may not be aware yet.”

Worry spread across Legolas’ face “Then my fëa is too broken, or maybe I cannot bond again. Bonds unless released are forever, are they not? Tauriel did not release me.” His tone was so sad, Erestor longed to comfort Legolas, but he still seemed skittish, so he stayed where he was.

“I promise you, your fëa simply needs time to heal. As for Tauriel, whether she meant to or not, she released you in part when she bound herself to the line of Durin, ernil nin. She has been granted an eternity with her bondmate, I am sure she has released any lingering claim on you penneth. Elrohir’s fëa could not have attached itself to yours otherwise.” He reassured, but Legolas still looked skeptical.
“Would it ease your mind to know for certain penneth?” Erestor asked kindly. Legolas’ mind boggled as to how the counselor might achieve such a thing, but there was a certainty in his tone that caused Legolas to nod rather than question. Despite clearly being bone weary, the peredhel rose and moved gracefully to the window, Legolas had only recently noticed how he sometimes seemed to float. On a shrill whistle, Elroval appeared, Erestor stroked the bird’s head and spoke gently to him, and the magpie took off with a beak full of dried mealworms.

Turning back, Erestor eyed the chair before gliding to the bed and sitting. He looked exhausted Legolas thought guiltily. “You will have your answer, I am sure. But be assured, Elrohir will wait for your fëa to heal if you decide to offer him your bond penneth. You will need to trust him enough to surrender yourself willingly which will take time. He would never demand it, but it would be much better for Elrohir if you kept him close until then, but he will wait for you Legolas; and what is more, he will count each moment his privilege.” There was a dreamy look in Erestor’s eyes now and Legolas could tell that he was no longer the blond that occupied the counselor’s thoughts as he sank back onto the bed.

Legolas rose to leave but recent events nagged back into his mind, “Lord Lindir will be well, won’t he?” the way his childhood caretaker had sacrificed himself for him pricked his conscience.

A knowing smile flickered over Erestor’s lips before it was quickly banished, and the neutral expression returned. “Oh yes! I am quite sure that anyone attempting to master Lord Lindir is in for quite a surprise!” Erestor said mysteriously before promptly changing the subject, “Turn left, two doors down on the opposite side.” He smiled making it clear that would be the only answer to the perplexed look Legolas shot him.

“Thank you, Erestor.” He muttered sincerely, holding the gaze of silver eyes that danced with the light of the trees before he turned and headed for the door. He paused as he grasped the handle, a little mischief returning to him. “It is a daring look, but for what it is worth, my lord, I prefer your hair loose!” he shot over his shoulder as he slipped out of the door to find his peredhel.

Erestor’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, as his hand groped the lopsided pigtails his mate had placed. He wrenched them loose cursing Fin in seven separate languages before vowing that his husband would be begging to be turned over to his Lord and his surprising songbird before Erestor was done with him.

**

Legolas headed down the corridor filled with trepidation and hovered by the door trying to screw his courage in place. He heard movement inside the room and Elladan emerged. Legolas froze and looked at the ground in shame. Internally he braced himself in case Dan swung at him and a hand did come up, but only to rest lightly on his shoulder in a warrior’s greeting, delivering a smile and a light squeeze before disappearing down the corridor.

The door had been left ajar and Legolas could see there was a still figure in the bed. Suddenly the wave of tiredness hit him too. There were sleep clothes on a chair, too tired to even question who had set them out, he changed and slipped under the covers next to Elrohir.

He lay on his back, Elrohir’s hand in his as they had been in the infirmary, but it felt too distant, he could feel his fëa pining for more. He rolled onto his side and slipped one arm under the sleeping peredhel’s neck as the other encircled his waist and drew his cool form close. Almost immediately as he pulled him closer, Elrohir began to flush with a more natural warmth.

Elrohir shifted a little, turning his head to rest his cheek on Legolas’ chest and making a quiet, contented noise in his sleep. Legolas held him a little tighter and dared to drop a kiss onto dusty, chestnut locks before he drifted into light-elven sleep for the first time in over two thousand years.

**

Elrohir stirred to the familiar sound of his aide placing down a tray of food before running water indicated that the bathing pool his room shared with those adjoining was being filled. He felt as though he had not broken free of his dreams, wrapped as he was in strong arms and held against a warm form, another’s hair trailing his cheek.

A finger gently swept the hair away and lips placed a fleeting kiss on his forehead, and he realized that he was not dreaming. The door clicked shut and he blinked to bring bright blue eyes into focus. “I dreamt that you left.” He sighed foggily, squirming himself closer into Legolas’ embrace.

“I did,” Legolas responded sheepishly, “but I couldn’t stand riding away from you.” He answered, determined to be honest but unsure where to start. There was a drawn-out pause as both seemed to contemplate what should come next but neither broke away from the other. Legolas broke the silence, “Did you mean it?” He asked tentatively.

The broad grin he knew so well spread over his peredhel’s face. “Did I mean that I love you, or did I mean to bond myself to you meleth?” He chuckled.

Legolas bit back the shock but was glad he would not have to break the news of the bond. “Both… either.” He supplied as Elrohir turned to face him and brought his hand up to run his thumb over his cheek.
“I do love you. I did not mean to bond to you, not without your consent, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. It pains me that you might though.” He shifted his head on the pillow so that their foreheads were near touching. “I am sorry meleth, I can sense how much discomfort this causes you.”

Legolas decided to take the plunge. “It is complex meleth,” he said trying the new endearment and finding he liked the way it sounded when he spoke it, almost as much as he liked the flush it brought to Elrohir’s cheeks. “How much do you know of part bonds and how they were once used to control and enslave?” He attempted.

Elrohir looked horrified and backed away. “I would never! I could not do that to you. I swear, I…” Legolas moved in, boldly silencing the shocked protest with a chaste kiss.

“You never would meleth, I know. But someone once saw fit to bind me to Tauriel in that manner. As a result, my fëa is… well it does not feel whole, and I fear I now hold you in a similar fashion.” His eyes slipped closed in shame and a tear slid out under dark lashes. Warm lips met his gently once more, but this time they lingered in the most tantalizing way. To his embarrassment the simple kiss made his body stir. He had never before experienced a lover’s touch, and after thousands of years alone, the light kiss that was so full of promise made his body and mind race.

Elrohir withdrew from him, and Legolas blushed as he realized, he had leaned forward in an effort not to relinquish his lips. Elrohir’s eyes met his sincerely “I am sorry Legolas. For all the world has put you through, but by the will of the Valar, you are mine to protect now, as I am yours. I have never felt stronger than when you stand at my side. Your fëa has always fit mine perfectly and it still does, no part of you is lost, but you must allow yourself time to heal. Regardless of whether you are ready to bond to me, whether you are ever ready; nothing will change the fact that you have already made me more than I was.” Elrohir searched his face, looking for something, and clearly found it as he sighed happily and drew Legolas into a searing kiss that stole his breath and drove a fire through him, he had never imagined feeling.

As they parted, Legolas was glad that he was lying down. His world felt as though it was spinning as he recalled the feeling of Elrohir’s lips opening to his and their tongues touching lightly. He tried to calm his breathing, conscious of the flush that had crept across his cheeks as Elrohir smiled indulgently at him.

“Did you want the bath first, or shall I bathe whilst you eat?” Elrohir questioned lightly. As Legolas considered it, there was a commotion at the window. Elrohir got up and opened it and an indignant magpie swooped in and unceremoniously dumped a dozen yellow rose petals on Legolas before settling on the coverlet next to him.

“Someone seeks your forgiveness meleth!” Elrohir quipped, turning his attention briefly away from picking at the tray of food to smile playfully as his prince brushed at the petals that adorned him like confetti. “Is the note from ada?” he enquired as he watched Legolas remove the unusually large piece of parchment from Elroval’s leg, no wonder the bird was in a temper.

Legolas smiled, but to his alarm, Elrohir saw his eyes fill with tears. “Û meleth, it is from someone far further away than that.”

Within a second, Elrohir was at his prince’s side and Legolas wept openly as he handed Elrohir the note.

“Im leithian le mell mellon nín, savastor a meleth athatov le. Saes, díheno nin i úgerthen. Himannadh, Tauriel.” (“I release you beloved friend, have faith and love will find you. Please forgive my sins. Thankful always, Tauriel.”)

Notes:

Symbology
This is essentially the second half of "Four for a Boy" so Elroval is still one of four!
Yellow roses are associated with friendship, asking for forgiveness and farewells.

Links to the E rated cutscene Andante

Chapter 17: Five for Silver (pt 1)

Summary:

Poor Elroval continues to be spread thinner as Namo stretches the definition of not interfering further with his son's destiny.

We catch up with Lindir who has taken Legolas' place as a prisoner, and has his own very unique ways of dealing with evil Uruk-hai scum. But as his escort are forced to drop back and the Uruk commander's intentions become clear, even Lindir is beginning to think his luck is wearing thin.

Thankfully, there is another Mirkwood warrior who is not too far away.

Warning: Kidnapping, violence, and non-graphic description of sexual assault

Notes:

Explanations of my poor translations (in Sindarin unless stated otherwise):

rhaw - body
naneth/nana - mother/mum
elleth - female elf
ellon - male elf
Adar/ada - Father/dad
durbash - dominant one (black speech)
fëa - soul

Elroval had been tracking the silver-haired elf with the fascinating voice since they had been dispatched by his charge. The elf was well known to him from his Lord’s rooms, he regularly snuck him morsels of cake and meat fat from his pockets, and he didn’t even chastise him when he pulled captivating strands of silver from the hairbrush that lay on the dressing table, to add to his horde of strands of gold from his charge’s beloved. Elroval knew the silver elf’s melodious voice, but these new songs fascinated him, and he mimicked one or two phrases once more.

To his glee, the notes seemed to aggravate the loud, foul-smelling beasts that held his silver-haired patron. Even without the will of his master, Elroval had decided that the creatures were far more fun to taunt even than his charge’s golden elf who generally offered such sport.

He swept down close again and sang the melody that seemed to cause so much irritation to all bar the silver one who glittered in the late afternoon sun. His efforts were rewarded by one of the stinking creatures loosing an arrow at him which he effortlessly rolled away from as it soared up high before dropping down inches from where another of the acrid-smelling beasts marched. He cawed delightedly and sailed up into the sun, cackling joyfully as a loud scuffle broke out below him. His three other selves were not having nearly as much fun he gloated, as he once more peeled away from his body and had the surreal, but now familiar sense of wheeling around himself as he caught a thermal and soared in a tight upward spiral.

**

They had been marching for hours, but despite being tightly gagged with his hands bound behind him and the occasional rough shove or kick being aimed in his direction; Lindir found he was rather enjoying himself. His captors had made it clear he was to be presented to their unnamed master alive, and the nervous side glances that the two remaining uruk soldiers kept giving him were amusing.
Adding to his light mood, Elroval had followed him and had now recruited a friend, and both birds were expertly tormenting his captors. Both doing a passable enough job at mimicking the avoidance melody he had sung in the woodland, that they were causing the weak-minded beasts distinct discomfort in between dive-bombing them with stones and other small missiles and swooping at their ears and eyes. The mischief and irritation the birds were causing was rankling the commander, and the fact the ill-omened birds sportingly stayed well away from their prisoner, had the uruk guards even more agitated.

Around midday, the party was briefly joined by a mounted scout instructing them where to meet reinforcements. Lindir listened as the captain countered that they had been marching for three days solid and would take the rest due to them, refusing to force his remaining soldiers to march through the night again. Lindir doubted his motives, as did the scout, both suspecting he simply wanted his prey to himself for a while. The captain’s perverse motives were chilling, but it suited Lindir to have less company, so he swooned theatrically and hit the floor.

The arguing uruk looked across, the scout suggested he take the prisoner ahead, but met fierce opposition from his original captor. The commander threatened and postured and eventually won out, and the scout was dispatched to gather together the rest of the parties that were searching for Legolas.

On his knees, as the pair fought over his travel arrangements, Lindir took the opportunity to farspeak with Elrond, communicating his current position and the divulged location of the proposed meeting place. His attention was drawn back to his rhaw as a long shadow fell across him in the fading evening light.

The commander approached and sliced away the gag with a rough-edged blade that cut into his cheek and carved off a thick strand of his hair. Lindir was relieved that the foul creature was too distracted by salaciously licking the trickle of blood that ran down his cheek to notice that the severed strands turned from golden blond to silver as they dropped away.

Lindir shuddered at the stench the uruk’s tongue left on his skin, wanting more than anything, a bowl of the steaming witch-hazel scented water that Elrond always prepared for cuts and grazes. He knew hardship well enough to know it was the little things you missed, and he made a mental note not to object the next time Elrond wanted to fuss over some minor wound he came by.

A foul-smelling water skin was forced between his lips and stale, warm water poured into his mouth. He swallowed a little but made a show of coughing and choking to keep his captors’ attention away from the brief flashes of green behind them as two elves darted between the now sparse trees. Lindir inwardly smiled in satisfaction, the scout would not live long enough to rally more reinforcements.

Ahead, the tree cover ended, and his escorts would not be able to follow closely without giving themselves away. He had no doubt they would continue to track him, but they would have to stay hours behind to remain out of sight. Only close enough to retrieve his remains were something to go badly wrong.

Cruel eyes watched him in satisfaction, gripping his hair and forcing his chin forward, claws digging into him hard as he gagged on the fouled water. Lindir was in fact attempting to flow water over his cut face, reasoning that even stale water had to be better than stinking saliva and whatever was on that blade.

The commander gripped his chin, roughly yanking up his face as water spilled out of his mouth, “A most alluring site princeling, almost makes me want to set camp right now and see what else I can do to make you gag!” He snarled, laughing at his own dark humor, glaring at his remaining troops until they stopped glancing nervously at the magpies and joined in.

Lindir smiled sweetly again, glad that the stale water he’d spilled had removed the worst of the stench that clung to his skin where the foul creature had licked him. He allowed the commander to drag him to his feet by his hair and tolerated the deep, crude sniff that he took, his face buried against Lindir’s neck. Lindir blinked, stretched his jaw several times, and ran his tongue over swollen lips before answering magnanimously. “I am certain you can be very inventive captain, but it is hardly a challenge when that gag has my jaw so stiff, I can barely close my mouth!” He lisped manipulatively.

The Uruk eyed him suspiciously, twisted desire flaring as Lindir shaped his mouth into a tight ‘O’ in the guise of exercising his stiff jaw, but he swam in self-satisfaction as he was not gagged again. They set off once more, and Lindir now marched with a broad grin on his face. As they departed, Lindir’s keen eyes did not miss the magpie that swooped down to gather the cut, blood-stained strands of silver hair from the floor before flying off east.

Lindir marched once more in between the two Uruk, the remaining bird now soared high above him in the fading light. Lindir quietly sang a tune his naneth had pressed him to learn for just such an occasion, and to his satisfaction, both Uruk began to eye him salaciously. For miles, he entertained himself by shooting each captor surreptitious glances and worrying his lips swollen with his teeth, interspersed with a few more carefully placed bars of the infatuation charm.

Eventually, the Uruk he had decided was the younger and more impulsive moved closer, grabbed his ass hard, and squeezed, bringing his face close with a drooling leer. His comrade howled in jealous protest and launched himself at his fellow, flooring him. They scuffled for a moment, rolling around on the floor for some time until the aggressor eventually fell still, and the younger uruk rose gloating and victorious to claim his prize, only to meet the lust-driven wrath of his commander.

As Lindir stepped back to watch in satisfaction as the two tore into each other, he just about held his mirth back sufficiently to throw out a few more bars of the infatuation melody. He had contemplated using the vibration charm once more, but he was tiring and had neither the reserves nor the distance to make it work effectively with the effort he was pushing into sustaining the glamour.

He had to say, the infatuation charm was doing a pretty good job though, and he once again silently thanked his naneth. Outwardly a slight, athletic-looking peredhel elleth with soft blond hair, she had been the last surviving bodyguard of Oropher. They had found her unconscious and near death on top of his body, ultimately unable to save her King from the blade that had run through them both.
She was the most skilled spy and assassin in the King’s ranks and had taught Lindir well that lust could serve purposes that reason could never hope to. A skilled dancer and gymnast, her performances had shown him how to hide in plain sight and exposed him to the musicians who had taught him his craft.

It should have been a hard life for the slight, silver-haired elfling born outside of a bond, but the respect his naneth commanded had always been extended to him; and she loved him unreservedly, despite always having been honest that the union that created him was one of business not pleasure.

He had neither missed nor grieved the lack of an Adar in his life. Why should he when he had played in Oropher’s lap and grown alongside Thranduil when the King had married and been blessed with an heir in Lindir’s twentieth summer. The two had been close, his protective love for the elf he regarded as his younger brother unfalteringly and unquestioningly returned, and he had been afforded all the same privileges as the young Prince.

His attention returned to the scuffle, though his memories had made him feel even more powerful, these uruk had absolutely no idea of the magnitude of the storm they stood down. The younger uruk fell still, but not without inflicting several nasty injuries on his commander. Lindir circled the uruk where it lay panting on the floor, his movements stalking and predatory even with his hands bound behind him.

“I was rather hoping for your undivided attention durbash!” (dominant one) He purred, his sweet tone not matching the predatory look in his eyes as the blood-stained Uruk regained its feet.
Lindir’s plan was coming together, he knew he was unlikely to come out of this entirely unscathed, but he also knew power over him was something he could choose to withhold. If his naneth had taught him anything, it was that choosing to submit was not a weakness; allowing another to control his feelings or strip him of choice on the other hand... He would be no one’s victim. So, he stilled himself under the commander’s possessive touch as the last notes of the infatuation charm he had cast controlled the beast’s feeble mind.

He was down to one would-be assailant, he could bide his time until the opportunity arose to dispatch the creature. If sacrificing his rhaw to the uruk’s perverted desires was the price, it was one he could easily afford, he had endured worse. His mind flitted to Legolas, it was astounding that the young elf still drew breath, he had inherited his Adar’s strength. That he was riding around the forest showed that neither he nor his new mate’s warrior’s spirit would be easily crushed.

Lindir hummed softly to himself, standing stock still as his captor lunged at him, gripping his hair once more and biting painfully down on his ear. To his attacker’s obvious irritation, Lindir did not flinch nor halt the light melody he hummed. There was one thing Lindir had made no bluff on; he had endured worse. Far worse. And regardless of what this creature did to him, he would not fade.

The Corruptor had failed to break Lindir. Lindir had served his realm loyally, playing the broken captive, carefully feeding Morgoth tactical misinformation; suffering his ‘Lord’s’ wrath time and time again whilst having to bear whatever devastation wreaked on his kin he was unable to prevent. He had survived enough torments to break an army, proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Erestor, unseen and unremembered. Part of the unacknowledged group that allowed their heroes to… hero. And now he fought for another once more; he would endure the pain of a thousand deaths before he broke his promise and left his starlight alone.

They marched until the moon rose high in the sky before he was forced once more to his knees, hands still tightly bound at the base of his back. A quick mental check on his lover revealed that Elrond would not be his salvation, still half a day’s ride behind, having met several large bands of uruk. Lindir simply reassured him he was well before shutting him out and finding that place of calm in his fëa he could retreat to, intent on waylaying his captor long enough for his beloved to intercept them ahead of meeting reinforcements.

Lindir knew what was coming as the commander gripped his hair and yanked his head back. He’d tried, but there was no loosening his wrists, and he was drained from physical exertion, maintaining the glamour, and farspeaking with Elrond; he had nothing left to pour into his songs. There would be no sleep tonight, and he could not risk being knocked unconscious, as in either case, the glamour would fail. If his captor realized he had the wrong elf, there would be no orders to moderate his treatment. There was no merit in fighting, so he simply divorced his mind from his body, screwed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth as willingly as if it were his beloved lord he served.

Lindir focused on controlling his body from his distant place of retreat, not allowing his assailant the satisfaction of his discomfort, and focusing purely on efficiency. Lindir knew he neared his goal as his aggressor’s grip on his scalp sent trickles of warm blood through his hair. He would win this round, successfully controlling the assault so he would not have to sacrifice his rhaw further. The commander was alone now and would have a refractory period, Lindir’s earlier activities to prevent himself from simply being passed from attacker to attacker had worked, he just needed to prevent this one meeting with reinforcements until his opportunity came. Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of approaching hooves that interested him.

**

Thranduil had already been trailing his son when Elrond had reached out to him. He had been overjoyed when the peredhel lord had informed him that his son had been found and that cursed bond was broken. He could feel there was something more that Elrond was holding back, the peredhel had never been able to close himself entirely to Thranduil, but whatever it was, it was a source of joy to the half-elf, so it did not worry him. However, the next element of the message filled him with rage. His son’s suffering had been inflicted to gain control over him, and his son was still being targeted.

It had been just before dawn when Elrond had stirred him from sleep, but now every elf he commanded was awake, the shockwave of his rage having spread through their camp like an earthquake. He strode towards his elk, barely acknowledging the chaos around him as elves scrambled to deconstruct the camp and move off alongside their king and commander. He moved through them with grim purpose. Let any try to hurt Legolas again, he would cut them down where they stood.

Several hours later, they were still riding hard when Thranduil felt Elrond reach for him again, but he pushed back the contact. He would be damned to an eternity in the void as a kinslayer before he let the peredhel moderate the wrath from him. He had held back from vengeance for too long at his son’s behest and he would no more.

Thranduil spotted the magpie well before the bird fluttered to rest on his shoulder, the connection was immediate as it was with all forest dwellers, but power had been invested in this creature. He thought nothing could drive him as hard as a threat to his son, but as bloodied silver locks were dropped into his hand, memories of a fiercely protective big brother surged through him.

Memories of the older ellon’s quick thinking that had spared him lines and spankings, diverted the jealous taunts of peers, and saved him from embarrassment as an awkward youth. An ellon who had comforted him when he lost his Adar. Every step of his younger years, Lindir had looked out for him. But it could not be, Lindir had been taken with his queen, his charred corpse found alongside his injured wife, she claimed he had been the reason they escaped their captors.

Thranduil held the strands against the scar on his face and he felt the signature of his foster brother’s unique magic still resonating through them, there was no mistaking it. However it had come about, this was the blood of the elf he had called brother, and any who challenged their reunion would pay dearly. He tucked the silver strands under his breastplate, against his heart and his elk surged forward, one with his will.

**
Lindir listened for a few seconds, the sound was definitely hooves, and they were headed this way at speed. He chanced reaching out with his mind and touched a fëa thrumming with power and thirsting for vengeance. Despite the tenuous link, he knew exactly who approached, and Thranduil would arrive in moments.

In the certainty of immediate rescue, Lindir decided revenge was worth suffering a little for and bit down as hard as he could on his attacker. The revolting bitterness of black blood washing over his tongue, made him gag and retch for the first time during the assault. The commander howled in shocked pain and anger. He drew his weapon and paused, trying to work out the worst damage he could inflict without killing his mark, when his head rolled slowly from his shoulders.

Lindir eventually stopped coughing and spitting long enough to look up, his face was covered in black blood, but he smiled as tears welled in his eyes at the sight of the elf in front of him. He dragged himself to one knee before sweeping into a deep bow, “My King!”

Notes:

Apologies the editing was drowning me so I ended up cutting this chapter in two.

Chapter 18: Five for Silver (pt 2)

Summary:

Continuing to follow Lindir. Taken by orcs, bound and committed to a glamour that makes him appear to be Legolas, Lindir continues to survive as only he can. But Lindir's desire to save Legolas puts him on a collision course with one whom he sacrificed himself for in a similar way millennia ago.

Triggers: Warning for referenced sexual assault and violence.

Apologies, I royally cocked up the formatting on this chapter and then managed to post it twice! Should now be correct.

Notes:

Beren pen - brave one
Aran nin - my king
hanar nin - my brother
Taiglin - deep pool (Doriathrin)
adar/ada - father/dad
belaith pen - strong one
penneth - young one
fëa/fëar - soul/souls
Gilith - starlight (Noldorin) Lindir's nickname for Elrond
Fileg - little bird (Noldorin) Elrond's nickname for Lindir

On his knees, his face, hair, and clothing covered in the black blood of his last captor, Lindir looked up at Thranduil, feeling more nervous than he had at the hands of his captors. There was a strained silence as the company of Mirkwood elves looked down with evident distress at their prince, bound and kneeling next to the corpse of the one who had been in the process of defiling him.

“Beren pen!” (brave one) Thranduil’s voice was exactly as Lindir recalled, like caramelised sugar, searing hot, silky smooth, with an edge of smoke and bitterness. “It has been too long Lord Lindir. Too long that I believed you had been snatched from me.” There was a faint ripple of confusion through the onlookers until Lindir dropped his gaze to the floor to hide a tear and then ended the glamour.

“Forgive me Aran nin (my king, the price I paid for freeing our queen was high. When I later heard she had been lost despite my efforts, and that it had almost drowned you in grief, I deemed it too high to disclose. I feared it would finish you, and it was better you thought me lost. Besides, how does one return quietly from the dead Aran nin? Unlike Lord Glorfindel, we are not all suited for the halls of heroes! I much prefer to sing the heroic deeds of others than be named something I am not when I acted as any would and through necessity.” Lindir attempted a weak smile as he closed his eyes, unwittingly allowing one of the gathered tears to roll down his cheek, trailing a clean track over his blood blackened skin.

Thranduil’s glazed in sorrow before he averted them to glance in disgust at the uruk he had slain and then back to black blood that smeared Lindir’s face and had begun to crust in has gleaming silver hair. Thranduil beckoned for a healer and jumped lightly from his elk using his dagger to deftly cut Lindir’s bonds before producing a handkerchief and kneeling to wipe the other’s face with surprising tenderness.

“There is nothing to forgive… hanar nin.” (my brother) His melodious voice dipped as he leant his forehead to meet Lindir’s in a tender gesture. A wave of confusion rippled through his guard as their proud, aloof king took to his knees, tenderly touched, and suffered black smudges to be transferred to him from this unfamiliar elf. “Though your presence will always be a comfort to me, no matter the circumstances under which you return.”

Thranduil’s hand closed around the back of his brother’s neck as Lindir’s came up in a mirrored gesture. Thranduil crumbled and his free arm moved to embrace Lindir, tugging the slighter elf tight against him. As their chests made contact, he felt the heart he believed lost centuries before pound against his and he already resented the moment he would have to let go, but his curiosity eventually bested him. “Legolas?”

“He has safe in Imladris Taiglin!” (deep pool) Tears pricked at Thranduil’s own eyes at the sound of his adar’s petname for him that no other knew, or maybe no other cared enough to remember. He felt off kilter but tried to regain his centre as he nodded and smiled at the information, releasing a deep breath he had not realised he was holding.

Thranduil rose gracefully and offered his hand to his brother who pulled just a little too much as he regained his feet for Thranduil not to notice how exhausted he was. “Then Mirkwood is once again in your debt hanar nin.” He spoke quietly but then stepped back and snatched a proffered flask of miruvor from the healer and passed it to Lindir before addressing him loud enough for all to hear.

“We had expected to find you keeping company with more uruk brother, but I see you are still as inventive and deadly as you ever were. I imagine we will pass what is left of the others who took you on our way back to Imladris?” he smiled tightly, trying to return his behaviour to normal for the sake of the perplexed onlookers.

“Fourteen and a scout whom I believe dead, though not by my hand, and I had assistance with three Aran nin.” Lindir confirmed steadily, several swigs of the miruvor having taken the foul taste from his mouth and the rasp from his voice which was back to being unassuming and melodious.

Thranduil eyed the slight elf who had more or less single handedly taken down a full command of uruk in close combat. And even weaponless and bound, had certainly left their leader doubting the wisdom of his choices in the seconds before he died. He mentally underlined Lindir’s name on his incredibly short list of elves never to cross, as he glanced with morbid curiosity at the part of the Uruk that the diminutive blond had recently spat onto the floor. Idly wondering if it should be kept as a trophy, it would make a most amusing dinner story and he could not help feeling proud of his big brother for his ferocity.

He smiled wryly, “You are truly tougher than mithril belaith pen!” (strong one) he announced, unable to hide the pride in his voice. “Though it still remains a mystery to me that such sweet, soft songs come from those lips mellon nin!” He teased, too quietly for other ears. Lindir grinned roguishly at him before glancing toward the mounted party. Thranduil followed his gaze. “Are you well? Do you feel fit to ride?” His voice held genuine concern, but twinkling eyes met his and Lindir nodded before indicating the corpse.

“He expressed a wish to hear me gag, and you know how well I like to please penneth!” Lindir whispered with a smirk as he hopped up onto the horse Thranduil whistled forward for him. Thranduil smiled fondly but a deep sadness burned in his eyes.

“Calathiel said you had freed her. I thought you had died by her side. Otherwise, I swear I would have come for you Lindir, nothing would have held me back bar believing you were already lost to me. Who was it I buried in your grave hanar?”

Lindir met the ice blue eyes he knew so well, “A young human male, he held no value to the orcs. Calathiel was unconscious, I cast a glamour on her that made the boy believe she was his sister; the girl was already dead. I set a distraction and told him to run, and the orcs were too stupid and lazy to follow, even when they discovered it was not Calathiel’s body by my side.” Lindir’s eyes had misted a little, but he still scanned Thranduil’s face for any sign of pain he might be dredging up with his words.

“I always felt guilty that the boy would discover the loss of his sister only after he had escaped with my queen; but I had hoped he would live. They were both so young, neither had seen a score of summers. I can only hope for my own redemption that men also return to the care of their ancestors in their next life aran nin.” They had set off and Lindir rode alongside the giant elk, Thranduil’s soldiers wisely staying back to offer at least the illusion of privacy.

“When I eventually freed myself, the first elves I encountered were of Imladris and they told me that Calathiel had been lost to her injuries. I could barely imagine your pain Taiglin, word was that both you and Legolas were near lost to grief, and I had no wish to add to it. Decades had passed, long enough for you to have already accepted my loss. I was tired and broken hanar nin, I had no desire to reawaken what you had laid to rest, so I settled in Imladris. The last centuries have been healing, few know of my past and I have lived in peace, offering my music as a comfort to Lord Elrond and his people through their own loss.” He smiled sadly.

“Letters from Mirkwood soothed my fëa when it ached for you; the occasional one is even penned in the king’s own hand, though our tutors would no doubt still be horrified by the speed of your quill Taiglin! Lord Erestor was kind enough to gift me those that were not needed for the archives, so it kept you closer somehow.” The silver minstrel now had a soft, apologetic air as he spoke, his voice lilting and poetic.

Thranduil chuckled at the reference to the frequent admonishment from their childhood tutors over his rushed work and scrawled script, always too eager to get onto the next challenge. As they fell into a comfortable silence, he found himself wondering if any of the replies from Imladris had been in Lindir’s carefully intricate script, feeling somehow disappointed in himself that he had not recognised the hand that wrote them, despite realising this was an impossible ask.

**

They rode on in quiet conversation though Lindir had already expressed concern that they had not yet encountered the two scouts Erestor sent to track him. They were drawing close to where they had parted when Lindir noticed two magpies circling over a dense patch of trees to the west. The birds were staving off a small flock of carrion crows and Lindir’s thoughts turned immediately to his missing escort.

Lindir’s hand drifted over his mount’s neck and he whispered lightly in the animal’s ear before turning to address Thranduil, “I know those birds; they are not drawn to uruk flesh. I fear for my trackers, if you would permit it, Arod would carry me to reach them faster?” Thranduil’s heart near stopped.

Thranduil’s eyes skimmed over the group that followed him, Arod was loyal to Legolas only normally, but something had made him whistle the fierce but neurotic stallion forward for Lindir. The two had apparently already forged a bond, but the horse was the farthest from his concerns; they were travelling with additional mounts as they always did when the distances were long and the pace taxing. He resolutely shook his head; he was not letting Lindir out of his sight until they were inside the gates of Imladris.

“Lord Lindir, if you think I am letting you ride into another battle with Arod only, then you have forgotten much of me.” He turned to call over his shoulder, “Battle ready, they will pay for attempting to bring down Mirkwood.” And without a moment of hesitation, he urged his elk forward into a charge.

Arod struggled to keep pace with the giant elk as it stormed towards the trees, but on the approach, he counted the trampled remains of at least twenty orcs and wargs alike, at least a day dead, felled by elven arrows. His trackers must have been attacked once they were forced beyond the cover of the trees.

Lindir spotted another cluster of corpses on the edge of the treeline. There was no sign of elves, nor kills from sword work, so he was still convinced this was the work of the two archers sent to flank him rather than the larger party he knew accompanied his lover. The two must have fought fiercely to have made it to the more defendable spot, and given how many they had felled, they must be out of arrows he observed grimly. He was relieved to see the carrion birds feasting on warg flesh and prayed to the Valar that the fate of his friends was not already sealed. He saw movement ahead and a volley of arrows unleashed from behind him, soaring over his head and dropping two orcs who lingered in the trees, out of the morning sun.

Thranduil had dismounted ahead of him, striding into the wood, his swords moving with familiar, closely controlled movements that looked deceptively lazy, but Lindir knew were anything but, triggering old memories. The morning sun glinted from his armour as he moved, and any that approached him dropped before they made it to within a weapons reach.

Thranduil advanced over the corpses of five more he cut down without even breaking stride as he cut his way through to where the magpies were splitting away from the rest of the carrion birds to move deeper into the trees.

**

Thranduil ploughed through the enemy, determined to dispatch them before Lindir entered the fray. He could hear swords ring as his elves fanned out to surround the small woodland, taking down any who tried to flee, and his keen ears had already noted the sounds of his archers moving through the canopy above him, ready to pick off enemies lurking hidden.

He channelled his energy into connecting with the trees and in doing so located the two elves he sought, both fëar still here but flickering in their attempts to resist the call of Mandos. He adjusted his direction slightly and cut down two more challengers. The orcs were numerous but poorly led, no doubt several groups come together and left leaderless by the Imladris elves.

Lindir had now caught up to him and they instinctively backed off against each other, moving forward swiftly, the orcs who were left now fleeing rather than attacking. His soldiers would deal with them, he wanted to reach Lindir’s guard.

**

The forest became quiet as the last of the fleeing orcs were dispatched and Lindir at last spotted what he had been looking for on the top of a high outcrop of rock and he sprinted forward. Within a few paces and a quick climb, he had found them. Garavion stood panting and exhausted, his eyes bound with a ragged, blood-soaked bandage. Their arrival had clearly pulled the attention of the enemy but he still stood, swords drawn, defensive and alert in front of his comrade who was slumped unmoving against a tree. The large oak was peppered with arrow holes and a number of broken arrows still stuck in its trunk and lower branches, which had also been hacked at by enemy blades.

“At ease soldier! You fought bravely. Sit, we have healers who will treat your wounds and tend to your companion.” Thranduil’s voice rang out, unmistakable to one who had once served in the Greenwood guard and Garavion had dropped to his knees before Lindir reached him.

Lindir automatically reached for the blinded elf’s hand, his other moving straight to his temple, a melody falling from him before Thranduil drew level with him. Garavion’s grimace of pain tightened for a long seconds before the pain lessened and he relaxed under Lindir’s touch as the healing notes he sang, coaxed damaged tissue back to its rightful state. After nearly a full verse, Lindir gingerly slipped the bandage up on one side to reveal a blinking, watering eye, criss-crossed with angry red scars.

“My King, it is an honour, forgive my state sire, it has been a long battle. Before you arrived, I fear Hwestion and I were for Mandos sire.” The commander had shifted into his friend’s touch, recognising instantly the voice that still sang softly into his ear.

Garavion turned to Lindir and tried to focus, “Thank you mellon nin, it is a relief to know you are well. My Lords, is there anything you can do to ease Hwestion’s path, or has his fëa already fled? He has made no sound for over an hour.” Thranduil’s eyes darted from the kneeling, near-blinded elf to the unconscious form at the base of the tree. The younger elf showed multiple wounds, some had been roughly bound, others unattended, two arrows still protruded from his thigh, but his chest still moved in shallow, uneven breaths.

“I will not claim he is well, but he lives.” Thranduil asserted. It would be the number of wounds as well as the severity that would threaten the young elf whose scouting garments and light bracers had done little to protect him. Thranduil’s gaze shifted to the two magpies who had settled on the branch above the two warriors “Though his fëa does not linger because our Lord Námo has forsaken him. My healers will tend to you now, it is they who approach.” Garavion nodded and slumped back as the healers swept in to take over from Lindir.

**

Thranduil surveyed the carnage around him and scanned Lindir who was doubtless more exhausted than he was showing. “We will rest here, we can easily get a message to Elrond!” he indicated as one of the magpies had fluttered to his wrist and was preening absently under the considered caress of the woodland king. Thranduil looked around appreciatively, “This copse was well chosen, it will be easy to defend if necessary.”

He moved closer to Lindir as he called out orders to no one in particular “Bring the horses within the trees and dispose of these stinking things!” He nudged the nearest orc corpse with the toe of his boot wrinkling his nose “Pile them far from the trees and the water, but do not burn them yet, we do not need to reveal our position unnecessarily.” He instructed as two young and presumably low-ranking elves moved quickly to comply.

His eyes surveyed their position, mature trees, a small, clear, fast-running stream; the position was defendable for days if needed. “Draw water and set camp here,” he directed the nearest soldier, “our Imladris brethren are in need of clean water, a hot meal and a place to rest.” He directed, nodding in satisfaction at the flurry of activity as elves moved around him. Lindir had moved alongside Hwestion and Thranduil could hear the light melody he sung under his breath once more.

“No more Lindir! Though they may not sound so sweet, but my healers are more than capable of singing his wounds closed. Sleep, save your energy.”

**

When Lindir awoke he was laid on his side on a bedroll, the sound of a fire crackled close by and a light touch ran over his skin where his clothing had been removed or loosened. The touch was accompanied by a pleasantly hot cloth moving over him, wiping away dirt and cleansing wounds, leaving behind the longed-for smell of witch hazel. Lindir smiled and purred a little, moving lightly against fingers which carded through his hair, cleaning away black and red blood that had mingled, plastering the silver strands to his sore scalp.

“I missed you Gilith nin,” he whispered lazily, not needing to open his eyes to know who tended him.

A light kiss dropped onto his forehead accompanied by an approving noise, “You were not easy to find despite the trail of dead Uruk you left in your wake Fileg!” the tone was light, although he could almost hear the arched eyebrow, he knew accompanied the statement. Lindir chuckled and rolled a little more into Elrond and leaned into his touch.

“And what will you do now that you have found me?” His body was suddenly a rush of arousal and Elrond’s scent was bringing it to a simmering boil.

“Wanton thing! Do you behave thus with all the healers?” Elrond teased.

“Only those with titles my Lord.” Came the grinned response as his fingers traced up over his lover’s chest.

“Then I will be having words with Lord Erestor to ensure he keeps his distance Fileg!” Elrond dipped, bringing his lips to hover a hair’s breadth from Lindir’s which curved into a sweet smile, face relaxed, eyes still closed. But his lover was quick, and he arched up to capture the kiss Elrond had intended to teasingly hold back.

The kiss broke for a second, “That is a shame, he has a delightful…” whatever part of his chief counsellor’s anatomy Lindir had been about to praise was lost as Lindir was engulfed in a possessively deep kiss, the fervency of which surprised even Elrond.

“Mine!” Came the growl in Lindir’s mind and the ferocity in it surprised him.

Lindir didn’t even register the canvas of the tent above him as he sunk into the deep, commanding, toe curling, kiss. The possessiveness giving him a taste of belonging to his lover in the way that he had always desired. He snuggled deeper into the strong hold, relishing the way that Elrond leaned over him. It drove a renewed spike of desire through him, but a tinge of sadness chased it with how badly he longed to belong to his lord fëa and rhaw, and to possess him in return.

“Then you shall have me Fileg, for I will not be parted from you again.”

The words caused Lindir’s eyes to open instantly in surprise and he met sincere silver eyes. He felt Elrond reach out and touch his fëa, realising the elf Lord held none of himself back. Lindir clutched his lover with the strength of one who is drowning as warm amber flooded through him, swirling into his own shimmering silver, creating a whirlpool that dragged him down. He longed to submit to the feeling, never in his long years had anything felt so perfect, though he spun so fast it was dizzying, until all that remained were the strong arms around him that held them in a tight embrace.

He still had to fight the instinct to wall himself away from his beloved that had become so natural to him in moments of intimacy. Suddenly, a wave of insecurity hit him. “What about Lady Celebrían? I would not see you sacrifice your eternity for me my Lord.”

Elrond pulled back from him and smiled wickedly, freezing brilliant blue eyes with his own soft silver. Lindir had barely registered his lord’s movements, so the blissful shock on his face as Elrond shifted his weight and Lindir felt his lover’s arousal press hard into his hip must have been comical.

“She moved on Fileg, and so must I. She released me from my bond to her before she sailed, there was another before me whom she lost, who her heart yearned to return to. I could not hold her to me and deny her that chance. She left me free to love, though I think I loved you long before. It was only my own weakness and guilt and the fear of losing you that held me from you.” His voice was rich and silky as he whispered what he knew Lindir had deserved to hear for decades.

Lindir’s heart soared at the words, none of the details mattered, all he heard was that Elrond loved him and would finally take him as the mate he had longed to be for centuries.

The last of his doubts melted away and Lindir’s senses flooded, there was nothing other than Elrond. His mouth claimed his once more and hands traced his ear and ran through his hair. Elrond’s warm balm-like amber fëa flowed through Lindir’s icy platinum silver, not mixing but interlacing in a pattern too complex to ever be unpicked. If he focused, Lindir could feel the delicious contrast between them in each of the thousands of touch points, he felt completely wrapped in the comfort of his lover. Lindir sighed in bliss, only heightened as he reminded himself that Elrond had chosen this, chosen him.

**

Elrond paused and smiled. There was more of Thranduil in his songbird than people realised, Lindir was clearly of Oropher’s blood. That news could wait though, Elrond coursed through Lindir’s fëa and his songbird’s life replayed for him as their memories merged. Elrond’s heart shattered and reformed, only to be shattered again a thousand times more. He had always known his lover’s strength, but to see the truth of all he had withstood over the years was another matter entirely. His Fileg had not kept his past from him, but the reality was far beyond the sanitized tales he had offered when asked.

Elrond was awed. His outwardly diminutive songbird was a fearsome bird of prey, lightning fast, deadly, and unrelenting. He had been the most blessed being on all of Arda to have his love and he had not even known it.

Notes:

This hops over to bound (naughty bitz) where Lindir and Elrond will be indulging their new bond Somewhere Only We Know

Chapter 19: Six for Gold (pt1)

Summary:

The focus shifts onto our golden elves, Legolas, Thranduil and Glorfindel as their plotlines develop a little. Thranduil arrives in Imladris to find his son bonded once more, but this time he has tied the lines of Imladris and Mirkwood, making Elrond family. Legolas is working through some angst and finds out that his new husband is as uncomfortable on the pedestal he has placed him on as he has always been.

This is another long chapter (apologies) and is mainly relationship setting for the second half. Fairly fluffy with a touch of angst.

Notes:

Nana/naneth - mum/mother
rhaw - body
meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
Ada/Adar - dad/father
Ion nin - my son
fëa - soul
penneth - young one
Almien! - Cheers!
mellon/mellon nin - friend/my friend
hanar nin - my brother
herdir - master

Thranduil walked back to the camp having conducted a perimeter sweep, he trusted his guard, but he would never ask any elf to do a task he would not. And he had found it paid to demonstrate that sentiment if he wished for his soldier’s loyalty, it was more enduring when earned through love and respect rather than fear.

He paused as he approached the camp, torn. The backlit images cast onto the side of the tent that his brother shared with the Lord of Imladris left nothing to the imagination. He had found little pleasure in the arms of the few males he had dallied with, but his heart soared with happiness for his brother, whilst in the next beat it vowed vengeance on Elrond were he to disappoint or hurt him.

His instinct was to move on, but he could not bear the thought of the private moment being encroached upon by other, not-so-innocent onlookers, so he seated himself at the base of an ancient oak and focussed on connecting with the spirit of the tree. Between him and the ancient spirit, there was more than enough power to ward others off and he was glad of the opportunity to commune with such a wise soul.

He cast a last glance at the obvious joy in the tent before he closed his eyes to muse over his next issue, how to tell his foster brother that he was due a sibling in two seasons. And to think, he had been concerned about broaching the subject with Legolas!

**

The light of dawn cracked through the window and Erestor stretched gently. The night had been most rewarding. His new ability to dreamwalk with his husband paired with the flexibility of peredhel dreams had been the perfect combination to demonstrate just how much trouble his golden elf had earned himself by allowing him to run around the homely house with that ridiculous hairstyle. It was quite an interesting development to be able to tease and torment his mate within a dreamworld he alone could control, elves being bound to the paths of memories. Erestor considered the endless possibilities of being able to take his mate anywhere, to offer him experiences that felt so real but left no mark or discomfort the next day.

Erestor rose to start the day, it was still before dawn, but Elroval would return soon with the message that the party would arrive in the homely house that evening and he needed to pre-empt the news of the unusual and unexpected news of the royal visit reaching Lothlorian.

He sat at the vanity and brushed out long dark hair, noting with interest that since the swell in the magpie population, his lover’s hairbrush had none of the long golden strands left on it. He looked at his reflection and it was almost as though the presence he had felt so many times before was shimmering in the mirror.

He picked up a pin from the jewellery box. Ancient but beautifully carved from black and white onyx into a perfectly shaped bird. When Glorfindel had returned to him it had been the first thing he had gifted him although he had no idea where he had come by such an exquisite trinket, they had both assumed he must have commissioned it in Gondolin before he fell. As Erestor stroked over it with a fingertip, a memory of his naneth came back to him, blue laughing eyes, the dark hair of the Noldor, held back with a pair of combes, on each a different portrayal of a magpie.

Erestor smiled as he pinned the tiny bird to his lapel, suddenly seeing the depth of its meaning and his heart ached for a moment for his naneth and he understood why she had been so willing to sail and leave him behind in Gondolin. There was a squawk at the window and one of the Elrovals soared in and Erestor shook himself from the past and returned to placing his customary braids in jet-black hair. As his fingers worked quickly, following the pattern they had many thousands of times over the centuries he smiled to himself again remembering the lopsided pigtails.

Inevitably his thoughts strayed back to his beloved husband, there was a certain satisfaction to warming that beautiful behind before Fin set off on a ride, but Erestor always fretted. His mate needed no distractions in circumstances as dangerous as the lands around Imladris currently seemed. He wondered if their shared dream had caused Fin to awaken confused as to how he could tolerate Asfaloth’s saddle so easily. He genuinely couldn’t see the experience dissuading his golden warrior from misbehaving, quite the opposite… but at least the next few thousand years would never be boring!

**
Legolas lay on the bed where he and Elrohir had collapsed after bathing and eating. Elrohir still seemed more drained and had drifted back to sleep in the new easy intimacy they shared. He glanced at the softly breathing form next to him, his heart and mind tussling in conflict over what there was between them.

He wanted more; he was certain of that. He desperately wanted the lover’s bond that dangled so tantalizingly in front of him. A lover’s bond had been all he had longed for since Tauriel had reached her majority. But that the object of his affection had changed so quickly made him feel shallow and undeserving of Elrohir’s love – if that was even what this was.

He felt like he wanted Elrohir more than he had ever wanted Tauriel. He had never known Elrohir to be anything other than kind, noble and loyal, and he had always loved his quiet calm and his gentle but sparkling wit. But doubts about how well he knew himself let alone another plagued him. Maybe this was just his touch-starved rhaw screaming out for attention from any who would entertain him, begging for kind words and gentle hands like a stray dog. But sense edged back in, pushing self-doubt aside, only to be quickly replaced by frustration. Elrohir was different. What he felt for Elrohir was different. So why was he so damn broken that he could not complete the bond he so desired?

Not every elf was fated to meet the one that Ilvutar had created just for them, and certainly not in their formative years. He had known Elrohir since they were elflings and he had always felt different. He had been ignorant in those early years, when so many things had seemed more important than settling down. He had enjoyed the attention that was offered to him at balls and parties, but the call of the wilds had always seemed more attractive.

Elrohir had fitted both needs, maybe had he not been a twin their relationship would have budded sooner, but at around 30 years his junior, the twins had not been focused on finding a mate any more than he had been. Reason was insufficient to prevent him chastising himself though, even in spite of this second chance he had been given. He still felt the pain of the last millennia bitterly and he levelled the blame at himself once more.

All Legolas had needed to do was behave like a normal elf and remain unbonded for a few centuries, and then they could have had those long years together. They could have claimed the time before he was broken and warped beyond usefulness. Elrohir had managed it. He had nursed his Nana through horrors no son should have to face, but he hadn’t gone running into the wilds and enslaved himself to a random elfling. Elrohir was stronger than that.

Legolas was so lost in his thoughts that he missed that his peredhel began to stir, his lashes fluttered lazily on his cheeks, and he reached for Legolas. “I can hear the clamour of your thoughts from here meleth they are so loud!” he murmured sweeping Legolas into a tight embrace, for once paying no heed of how his lover’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second before melting into him.

Legolas checked their connection, he could feel contentment with an edge of worry radiate from his peredhel. He doubted that Elrohir could hear his actual thoughts, although the maelstrom in his mind currently was probably obvious. He relaxed into their connection, idly observing that it felt a little deeper.

“There you are meleth!” came an appreciative purr in his mind as the comfort of his lover’s blue light engulfed him and he felt the doubts that had been lurking in the shadows of his mind chased away. Lips fluttered against his jawline until his mood relented and he smiled broadly.

“If you must think so loudly, would you at least be kind enough to acknowledge my sinful reputation and your selflessness my love?” Elrohir’s question was teasing in tone but genuine as he yanked Legolas’ arm more firmly over him and wriggled deeper into his embrace, sighing his satisfaction.

“Your error came from a selfless wish to help when you were vulnerable. We cannot trust our judgement at such times meleth.” Elrohir spoke quietly with an air of confession. “When Nana sailed, I couldn’t forgive myself or Dan for not getting there sooner. For not riding faster or tracking more closely. I threw myself at the feet of any elf I thought would have me.” He flinched at the memory of a traumatized younger self, fuelled by alcohol, bloodlust, grief and self-loathing.

“But pity and Ada’s station kept them distant, seeing I sought punishment, not comfort.” Elrohir paused and glanced away, unable to meet his mate’s gaze.

“Undeterred, I pursued trouble in the mannish settlements we patrolled; seeking out those who did not know I was the broken son of the Lord of Imladris. My officers hauled me senseless and beaten from more seedy inns than I cared count, normally Garavion, until he eventually conceded that I was safer seeking solace and atonement in his bed than at the rough hands of strangers. He saved me from a group I am sure would have raped and robbed me and left me for dead.” Nervous eyes flicked up as Legolas stroked over his hair gently, absently tucking a strand behind the delicately pointed ear.

“When I first pressed myself upon him, he refused as the others had, offering only healing, tender comfort and protection that night. He saved me from myself.” The confession was tentative now as he was unsure how his mate would take the news.

“My luck continued beyond what I deserved. Garavion is loyal, kind and intuitive. He saw how I craved physical comfort, and how I endangered myself for it. Eventually, he gave in to my pleas and took me as his lover. He forsook others and made himself available to me whenever I needed or demanded him. He tempered my destructive whims and steeled himself against my tantrums and hard words. He cared enough to ensure I could take what I needed without harming myself. I was blessed with good fortune when you had none.”

Legolas pulled his mate in tight as he felt Elrohir’s heartbeat against him. “I was weeping in the bed and arms of one who would die before he saw me hurt, thinking myself hard-done-by when you were bound in servitude and solitude to one who grew stronger each day from your suffering.” Elrohir’s breath caught, and he stopped to collect himself, his voice laden with emotion even as he reached directly for Legolas’ mind. “We are both broken meleth. Garavion offered comfort I will always be grateful for, but only in your light have I truly felt whole.”

Legolas couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss his mate. Their connection was already more complete, he could feel the tentative link back to Elrohir surge brightly as he channelled love into it. He braced himself for the feeling of exhaustion, but it did not come. If anything, his fëa felt brighter for what he had just gifted his lover.

They lay in quiet contentment until there was a light tap at the door and Elladan’s voice called out to them, “Is it appropriate for me to enter or do you have the fair prince in a compromising position brother?” came the cheeky question. Elrohir rolled his eyes at the harmless intrusion.

“If the fair prince has the energy to get up and unlock the door, then you are welcome to enter brother, but I for one am not moving!” he teased.

“If he has not, then I will be off to tell Erestor that your wicked ways have already worn our guest through, and that door will be off its hinges, and you will find yourself hauled by the ear to the fountain for a lecture and a dip that will cool your blood before you can defend yourself, brother!” Came the amused voice from behind the door, but on not hearing movement Elladan tried again. “I have those honey cakes cook always makes when you are unwell!” he coaxed.

Legolas laughed brightly at the banter and then the interest that the promise of cakes sparked in his lover before he jumped nimbly off the bed and went to unlock the door.

“If he lied about the cakes then feel free to toss him out and slam the door!” he heard Elrohir grumble from behind him as he straightened the loose garments he had donned but not fastened after their bath.

Elladan bustled into the room grinning broadly, and as promised he did have a large tray of cakes as well as a bottle of the sparkling elderflower cordial Ro had favoured since he was an elfling. Dan beamed at Legolas, “Cook wishes to know what you like to eat mellon, you had best tell her or she will no doubt write to your Adar.” He chuckled, the elleth he referred to had been in Lord Elrond’s service for longer than anyone cared remember and took special care of his rabble.

Much like Erestor she had a reputation for efficiency and severity, but she knew the favourite dishes of every elf in Imladris and whenever someone was injured, grieving or heartsick, their favourites would appear. Also, much like Erestor she had a soft spot for the twins who had flattened her herbs, helped themselves to fruit and berries and wound up covered in flour from being underfoot as elflings more times than she could count. Later they had been just as troublesome, obliviously causing many of the kitchen staff to moon around heartsick as a result of their relentless flirting.

Elladan looked on approvingly as his brother and Legolas wolfed the cakes, hastily grabbing a couple for himself before they all vanished. “I don’t need to ask what is behind your appetites!” he teased, his eyes settling on a faint passion mark on the blond’s collarbone, causing Legolas to blush fiercely and Elrohir to elbow him hard in the ribs. “I came to deliver the message that Ada has been reunited with Lindir, who is well according to the note. It appears he was intercepted by King Thranduil’s party travelling to Imladris.”

Legolas felt hope and happiness course through him, his father was on his way here! He didn’t even attempt to mask his joy and the twins grinned back at him.

“They rested last night and should return late this afternoon now they are all mounted. Though their party has two gravely injured and a host of battle wounds. It sounds as though their days have been eventful.”

“Were there no more details on the casualties?” Elrohir’s face was laced with concern and then guilt as his eyes flicked from his brother’s scowl to glance at Legolas.

Legolas was pleased his mate was concerned for the old lover who had been so good to him when he was in need and spoke up. “Was Garavion amongst the injured?” he asked.

Elladan looked at him with curiosity before noting the look of gratitude Ro wore.

“Ai! When Garavion and Hwestion were found, they were close to Mandos but Mirkwood has talented healers as you know mellon nin. They will return home.” Dan responded with evident caution. Legolas smiled like the genteel royal he was.

“Then I will help Elrohir ready the healing halls before they return, I spent enough time in the halls of home to know how Adar’s healers have them. Garavion has spent many years safeguarding a treasure of mine. I would see him well cared for.” Legolas announced decisively before rising to rummage in the wardrobe for something of his lover’s that would fit him.

**

Imladris had a fraught, but strangely empty feel to it as news continued to feed in from all angles. The elves who still laboured to unblock the rock collapse on the high pass requested additional protection troops as some returned with minor injuries from skirmishes with the orcs that freely roamed the area.

Additional troops had been sent south to meet the incoming convoy of Thranduil’s troops and the returning Imladris patrol with their casualties. The household staff were rearranging menus and guest accommodation to house the visiting king and his party and Erestor was managing the communications out to the Woodland Realm and with extreme caution to Lothlorian.

Erestor knew it was pointless to try to shield so much unusual activity from Galadriel, and that any attempt to do so would undoubtedly increase suspicion so he opted to communicate only what he perceived to be enough to satisfy but ensure the Lady remained at arm's length. He had strategized that in this instance the best method of ensuring her distance might be to appeal directly for help and bank on her guilt keeping her away.

As a result, one of the seemingly ever-growing numbers of magpies that haunted Imaladris courtesy of his Adar had been sent with a message announcing Thranduil’s impending arrival and begging Galadriel’s assistance once more for the wounded Woodland Prince.

Only moments before Thranduil and the extended Imladris party had returned, the magpie soared home flanked by a light-coloured dove bearing a message that the Lady was sadly indisposed and a polite request not to send that particular messenger bird again.

Allegedly, the message had arrived pecked at and barely legible and it had over an hour to persuade the bird to relinquish the parchment. Elroval preened proudly, producing several strands of silver hair that looked suspiciously like Lord Celeborn’s.

Legolas noted with amusement that Erestor fed the bird a rather large helping of bacon scraps as he recounted the incident to the pair who had arrived in his offices in the healing wing. Erestor petted the dove fondly and placed her in a large cage with a plentiful supply of food and water before calling down another of the Elrovals to carry a return message with whispered direction too low for even the others in the room to discern.

As the magpie took off out of the window, Elrohir quirked a questioning eyebrow at the advisor who simply shrugged. “That was not the same bird! Besides, it is a long flight back to Lothlorien, with as many enemies in the area as there are, I would be loathe to dispatch a tired bird. She will return when she has rested and be far safer for it!”

**

Thranduil’s arrival with the Lord of Imladris and their entourage had been memorable but not in the way of so many state visits. Lindir, Garavion and Hwestion had been immediately rushed to the healing halls by Elladan despite Lindir’s protests. Lossiel followed, having picked those from the Mirkwood ranks on whom her eagle eyes had detected an injury that required attention.

Elrond had clearly been torn as to whether to follow Lindir to the infirmary or to attend Thranduil and check in on his youngest son. Just as it looked like he would cause a diplomatic incident by abandoning the Mirkwood King, Glorfindel swept him in the direction of his study as Erestor went gliding after Lindir, promising all and no one in particular that the minstrel would be returned in time for supper.

Elrond felt as though he barely had the energy to keep pace with the two taller blonds as they strode purposefully through the corridors, Thranduil was near breaking into a run when the quiet voices of the elves who already occupied the study were audible. By the time Elrond had reached his study, Thranduil had a tight hold of his son and was not showing any signs of releasing him.

Elrohir stood awkwardly close to the pair as Glorfindel smirked over at his blushes. Closer inspection showed that Thranduil had sandwiched Elrohir’s arm between himself and Legolas, the newly bonded lovers having been hand in hand when the king swept in and grasped his son.

Glorfindel was near shaking with mirth as the embrace persisted and Elrohir’s cheeks and ears flamed progressively hotter by the second. Eventually, Thranduil stepped back from the embrace, delivered a kiss to Legolas’ forehead and looked his son up and down, seeming to scrutinize every inch of him.

He nodded gently and stroked over Legolas’ hair, bringing their foreheads together in the same tender greeting he had bestowed on Lindir the previous day. “Ion nin (my son), I had begun to fear we would not meet again this side of the seas.” He inhaled deeply before lilac eyes opened and a gentle thumb swept away a tear before it had a chance to track over the younger elf’s face. Thranduil hummed under his breath before breaking his hold and directing his icy gaze drifted across to Elrohir who had swiftly distanced himself from Legolas.

As the eyes of the elven king ran up and down him in assessment, Elrohir froze like a rabbit locked in the gaze of a mountain lion. “Peredhel!” Thranduil’s tone was cutting.

“Adar, Elrohir is…” Legolas began, taking a step closer to his mate but halting as his father’s hand came up to stop him.

“I know who he is,” Thranduil exclaimed curtly, “what is more, I know what he is to you.” In two long strides, Thranduil advanced on Elrohir and Glorfindel began to move forward to match him until Elrond took hold of his arm. Thranduil placed himself between his son and his lover and sniffed haughtily, “His fëa and his rhaw are saturated with you ion nin.”

Thranduil was now so close to the shorter peredhel that his mate was almost shielded entirely from Legolas’ view as his father seemed to almost breathe Elrohir in he examined him so closely. Thranduil threw a look over his shoulder at his son in a brief but dizzying change of the intense focus, “I do not know who forced your bond last time penneth (young one), but I know it was not of your own volition,” he scanned his eyes over Glorfindel and Elrond almost as if he expected the answer to simply present itself on their faces.

Thranduil turned sharply as his focus flicked back to Elrohir. “But I will find out who engineered it. And when I do, I will kill them.” Legolas looked as though he would start forward again but this time it was Elrohir who stayed him. His lover’s eyes were locked on his father’s but there was no fear in them. “And when I do, I expect your new mate at my side.” There was no room for movement in his words.
Elrohir met the elvenking’s eyes without fear, “Oaths bode ill for our kin, and I would not see Legolas suffer to be bound to one who held an oath higher than him, but for all my heart I would not see any who hurt him go unpunished.” He stated quietly, but the weight in the words was unquestionable.

“You are both wise and loyal penneth!” mused Thranduil to Elrohir before smiling grimly and turning back to Legolas. “When left to your own devices, you have chosen your bondmate well ion nin.” The tension visibly dropped out of Elrond and Glorfindel at the statement, but Legolas seemed so shocked he remained on high alert even as his Adar raised his hand to clasp Elrohir’s shoulder.

Thranduil’s eyes seemed to thaw and twinkle. “Yes, silver eyes, dark hair, Elwen would make a very good surrogate for my new grandbabes, I will have the request made!” he stated firmly, but a barely suppressed smile fluttered on his lips, visible only to Elrohir who struggled to keep his face straight at the gasp of shock and indignation from Legolas as his mate’s face flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Adar!” came the anguished protest before he was silenced by a rich laugh that shook through Thranduil as he took Elrohir’s arm before reaching for Legolas and towing him towards the seating area in front of the fire.

“Peace ion nin, we have much to catch up on! Glorfindel, you must know where half-elven keeps the good wine, for the Valar’s sake bring him and a couple of bottles and join us in a celebration!” Thranduil demanded playfully, meeting the golden warrior’s grin as Elrond’s brows arched and he sighed with mock irritation that did little to hide his fond amusement.

“Adar! You can’t call Lord Elrond that, we are family!” Legolas admonished, thoroughly scandalised by his father’s disrespectful tone.

“Ion nin, I have known half-elven and his trusty golden attack hound for many millennia, and it is precisely because we are family that I can now call him that. Besides, he may now call me ‘prissy woodsprite’ to my face and us being family makes it banter rather than a diplomatic incident!” he countered magnanimously, all three elder elves looking highly amused by the shocked look that the young lovers now shared.

Glorfindel had indeed acquired three incredibly expensive bottles of wine from the cabinet in the corner and emptied two into five generous glasses, one of which he was holding aloft. “Almien!” Glorfindel smiled brightly, offering the traditional toast causing all to hold up their glasses and sip the deep red wine before he added thoughtfully, “In fairness, my Lord Woodsprite, that nickname was entirely my doing, Lord Elrond calls you that stubborn as…”

Elrond coughed quickly as the two younger ellon nearly choked on their wine and the three elder exploded into familiar laughter.

Legolas sat both bemused and elated, it was rare he saw his Ada smile these days, and he realised he had entirely forgotten the glorious sound of his rich, musical laughter and it made his heart soar. The door swung open and before Erestor, Lindir and Elladan had crossed the threshold, Glorfindel was emptying the third bottle into another three glasses. He handed one to his husband who sniffed it delicately and raised an eyebrow at Elrond as soon as he recognised the rare vintage.

“We are celebrating!” he said deliberately, catching Elrond’s eye and remembering the anger his Lord had directed at him at their last parting as something unspoken passed in the glance.

Elrond looked a little abashed for a second until a rare smile lit Erestor’s beautiful features. “Ai mellon, we have much and many to give thanks for, in fact I believe there are more bottles once these are spent.” He said fondly as Erestor moved towards Glorfindel who seemed to fold his mate into him entirely naturally.

“That is well meleth, we should open three more before the stubborn ass Sindar hears Lord Erestor’s name for him!” Lindir called out merrily, accepting the glass of wine as he was swept into a deep kiss by his husband, emerging grinning from ear to ear.

Thranduil stretched regally back in the chair, surrounded by his son who was safe, well and very much in love, his long lost brother and friends who had seemed too distant for centuries, he was too content to be anything other than jubilant. “It is a solid plan hanar nin (my brother), but with three more bottles between us, I would be more interested to hear what Lord Erestor calls half-elven behind closed doors!” he teased, knowing the advisor’s reputation for a quick tongue but retiring personality, hoping the peredhel blushed as easily as his son.

“Herdir!” (Master!) replied Erestor without missing a beat, “Is that not so meleth nin?” he asked a gobsmacked Glorfindel before descending into fits of giggles taking Thranduil and Lindir with him as the rest of the room turned varying shades of pink at the innuendo.

Notes:

For anyone who wants to read about Erestor and Glorfindel's smutty dream, it is here... I Dreamed a Dream

Chapter 20: Six for Gold (pt2)

Summary:

Wine fuelled celebrations of the rescue of Lindir and reunion with Thranduil, and then the morning after the night before! A fluffy 'in between' chapter.

Notes:

Firstly, an apology. Somehow I had failed to realize when planning the chapters, that the divestment of the plotlines as the Elrovals increased would make them that much longer, hence I have split them to make them more manageable on various devices. The story does have an end, I promise. I am just hopelessly slow and a little neurotic over the editing!

naneth/nana - mother/mum
hir nin - my lord
meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
Gilith - starlight (noldorin), Lindir's nickname for Elrond
uivelith nin - my eternal love
mellon nin/mellon - my friend/friend
hanar nin - my brother

The celebrations had lasted long into the night and in the hours before dawn when the group parted, they did indeed feel as though they were all family. As the wine had flowed tongues were loosened and it had been announced that Thranduil and Lady Megilwen were recently bonded and expecting an elfling in two seasons. The news that united Legolas and Lindir each as half-brothers to the new arrival was received joyously by both, Legolas because he had long pined for a sibling and Lindir because his naneth had finally found the love match that she deserved.

Elrond had opted to stay quiet on the additional information he had with regard to Lindir and Thranduil’s shared blood until he had spoken to his husband. Although unusual and somewhat complex for Lindir, there was nothing biologically incestuous in the matching that might impact the health of the expected elfling.

Lindir had clearly been tempted by the offer to return to his previous home in Mirkwood drawn by the prospect of his naneth and the new arrival. Elrond spared him a difficult decision in the short term, suggesting that a prolonged diplomatic visit to the woodland realm was long overdue. Lindir’s gratitude made the elven lord feel entirely too generous, and each in the room had smiled at his blushes reaching their own conclusion of the rewards that Elrond would reap later.

Legolas and the twins had quickly fallen in with the easy air that existed between the older elves, as the strong friendships that may have been dulled by time apart but never extinguished reignited. The twins had always known their stern tutor to have a softer side, but his newly found playful nature was a pleasant surprise, and the difference in Lindir with Thranduil and Legolas at his side was extraordinary.

Elrond cast his eyes over the younger group of elves who had been joined by Lossiel and he couldn’t help but feel joy at the matches he could see forming for his sons, knowing they were both well made. The bond between his youngest son and Legolas in particular was proving quite extraordinary. Legolas was recovering at an astounding pace from his ordeal and to Elrond’s selfish satisfaction, his growing love was causing Elrohir’s fëa to shine as brightly as the day Elrond had delivered him. The pure light of a fëa enchanted and enthralled by the newness of being joined with its missing piece.

Since Legolas had arrived in Imladris, Elrond had attempted to use Vilya several times to flow energy into the young prince, fearing the drain from years bound as a thrall and his recent injuries could still prove fatal. He had seen many fade to far less, but other than the first attempt when his son had been unconscious, Elrond had been unable to match the healing properties of the reciprocal energy flow between Elrohir and Legolas. Now that Thranduil was close, he could also feel his deep red feeding into Legolas and was reminded once more of the ferocity of their father and son bond.

Elrond wondered if he should step back from the connection, but he felt how Vilya was strengthening the bonds that held every elf in the room in an interwoven web of energy. He could feel how the different colored energies in the room were feeding each other, coming together to form a light the like of which he had not seen since his naneth hid that cursed Feanorian jewel. It was clear all felt the exhilaration of the flow as the mood in the room grew ever more optimistic and powerful.

He and his twins had always shared a close bond, much as Thranduil and Legolas did. His husband’s golden fëa was now inextricably linked to his own, like the bind between Erestor and Glorfindel, it needed no strengthening. But the faint blood link between Lindir and the Mirkwood royals was strengthening as was the thread that connected Erestor and Legolas. Though it was not a traditionally formed parent or love bond, given their shared history and the way that they had come together to heal Glorfindel he doubted the connection would ever fully fade. There was something about the shimmering silver light of Erestor that was unique, and powerful, almost as if it were fed by something more powerful, something like Vilya. Not for the first time, Elrond wondered at his friend’s paternal bloodline, and whether, like him, the blood of a Maia flowed through him.

Elrond hummed, very pleased with himself as more wine was opened and he sent a pulse of energy through the room from Vilya once more, lighting up the fëar in the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The power that rippled through the room was heady and Elrond realized that they had all bar two of the most powerful elves left on middle earth in the room.

Something rippled hazily in his foresight as his thoughts turned to the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, but he was in no condition to introspect what it was at this point. Particularly when the wine and the company was so good. And when his attention kept being drawn to the fact that Elroval seemed to be particularly active but disturbingly quiet.

He glanced around his study, unsure if he was the only one who had noticed the magpie tuck himself onto the shelf behind the microscope. He racked his brain to recall when the bird had emerged from the cupboard where Mithrandir kept the trinkets and scrolls, he would not have interfered with. Elrond had noted Elroval sneak in earlier and had made a mental note to check all the small, bright objects the bird might covet were still there in the morning. The wine must be stronger than he realized, as now he thought of it, he had not noticed Elroval move from behind the thick drapes he had settled himself into earlier, they were still bunched and ruckled to the one side where the bird had tugged them around himself.

Elrond shrugged and turned back to the conversation that was happening around him. Thranduil had moved on from teasing their sons about grand babes and was now offering wickedly graphic advice on how to please a new bondmate, pulling a gleeful Glorfindel into the conversation whenever possible. Erestor had shot his husband a few looks but as both the younger elves kept obliging the pair by turning deepening shades of red, his disapproval was insufficient to curtail such well-fuelled sport. Elrond smiled and kept quiet, simply glad the attention was not focused on his new bond.

It had been so widely assumed for so many years that Elrond and Lindir had bound themselves in privacy, and neither cared to challenge that. Besides, Elrond guiltily thought, he would prefer not to offer his sons the opportunity to lecture him for his foolish procrastination. He knew Dan in particular would relish the opportunity to pay him back for the many lectures he had sat through over the years. Their obvious amusement when Thranduil had explained to him in detail an unfortunate accident that had befallen an ex-lover foolish enough to be cruel to his brother in the past had been bad enough. Come to think of it, even Glorfindel, Valar sworn to protect him had looked rather too amused by the poorly veiled threats to his elfhood, and Lindir had outright laughed.

Pulled from what might have become indignation, Elrond rubbed his forehead perplexed as he noticed Elroval preening on the handle of the large brass firewood hopper that stood on the hearth. His black eyes glowed in the firelight as the flames seemed to dance off the dark feathers that shone in hues of blue, green, and purple as he moved. Elrond carefully placed his empty glass down, refusing a top-up from an enthused Glorfindel. If his faltering observation was indicative of his sobriety, he had already consumed too much.

Lindir was settled tight against him, clearly enjoying the new dynamic between Imladris’ chief advisors and Elrond had to admit their bond suited them, particularly Erestor who generally kept his astute reflections to himself unless pushed. Now it seemed he was a little more comfortable sharing his wry observations with those in his inner circle, and his sharp tongue and cutting but good-natured humor glittered like one of Glorfindel’s meticulously cared for blades, and Elrond was not the only one who had noticed.

Glorfindel was transfixed by his husband, and on several occasions, unspoken words between them had seen the normally shameless protector of Imladris flush perceptibly. Each time, Erestor’s eyes were on him, and a faint smile played over the advisor’s lips. By the end of the evening, Glorfindel was well into the strong wine, but that was not what was causing the faint sheen of sweat that made his skin glow as he threw almost nervous, lustful glances at his husband. Erestor appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, sipping slowly on his wine, radiating calm and control. Elrond glanced over at him and the predatory eyes that swept over him in return, before shifting to Glorfindel and then meeting Lindir’s eyes which were equally wolfish, made him shudder.

“I am not certain I am the only one who is drawn to healers with titles this night hir nin!” Lindir’s voice broke into his thoughts, seductive and teasing, smiling outwardly at the way Elrond’s cheeks went pink, his eyes blackened and the tiniest pant escaped parted lips. “I hope you do not need Glorfindel for anything early tomorrow Gilith. I think it would be wise to send some willow tea and a little of that cooling balm you favor to their rooms and ensure the night nanny is watching Nornion meleth. It appears Erestor is feeling quite… demanding tonight.”

Elrond quirked an eyebrow at his lover, he knew his chief guard responded well to a little rough treatment, it had not been so long ago that he had taken his crop to his friend’s backside, but Erestor had always been too gentle to really challenge his mate. His mind started running scenarios and he realized his blood had begun to head for his groin, a fact that his keen-eyed lover did not miss either. “Be sure not to send it all though, Erestor is not the only one with demands to be met uivelith nin!”

Lindir’s tone was so preoccupying that Elrond could not excuse himself and his new husband quickly enough from the still merry gathering. Lindir moved quietly and calmly at his Lord’s request for a guiding hand to his bed. It was true, Elrond did look a little lightheaded, but it was also true that a significant part of his distraction was the series of images being fired at him over his new bond. So distracting in fact, that he entirely missed Elroval swooping in through the window to deliver a note from Lothlorien to Erestor.

**

Legolas woke, bleary-eyed and heavy-headed, his limbs a little stiff but he savored the aches as he recalled how they had been earned. He could hear water flowing in the adjoining bathing chamber and the cadence of his lover’s breathing told him that his peredhel lingered still in the mannish dreamscape he had left him in. That was one area where he had been grateful for Glorfindel’s insight, though nothing about the Golden Warrior was subtle, mannish dreams would have been even more surprising without forewarning.

He gently slipped his arms out from under his mate, taking a moment to smooth the chestnut hair on the pillow so it framed his handsome features perfectly, he placed an indulgent light kiss on rose-pink lips before slipping out from under the covers.

It was Elladan that was in the bathing chamber, his lover’s twin was laid out in the water, head tipped back, body bared. Legolas had never seen so much difference between the identical twins as he did now that his bond with Elrohir had been completed. Dan was striking to be sure, but he shone in proud scarlet in opposition to his twin’s deep blue.

“May I?” Legolas dared disturb the quiet air of contemplation with a wry smile.

Dan opened one eye and quirked a knowing smile, “You may! Judging by the sounds from your bedchamber last night your muscles will be glad of the lavender and rosemary oil in the water!”

Legolas felt so buoyant he was unabashed by the comment, and he beamed back as he stripped his nightshirt, “I apologize if we disturbed you and your fair guest mellon nin!” He offered, knowing full well the nature of the night Elladan had spent with Lossiel as their room had been far from silent.

Elladan grinned as his friend slipped into the water. “There are no apologies necessary hanar nin, in fact, I may owe you a debt of gratitude, my fair guest seemed to find the sounds from your quarters most… inspiring!” he countered with a self-satisfied smile. “And as long as I picture you making them and not Ro, it is of no mind to me!” he teased, eventually being rewarded with the flush he was after.

“It’s about time you were treated to a little of your own medicine brother!” came a voice from the doorway as Elrohir joined them. “Too many nights my sleep has been dependent on having waxed rags stuffed in my ears!” he grinned broadly as he stripped and eased himself into the hot water, his brother laughing raucously at the brief flinch of pain on his face as the steaming water made contact with a couple of tender areas. Legolas’ eyes narrowed with concern but Elladan beat him to the concerned enquiry he was about to make.

“I believe that congratulations are in order mellon nin, my brother must be truly smitten, it is ordinarily Garavion who pulls that face the morning after!” he fell into hysterics, near drowning when Elrohir reached across and dunked him firmly under the water, emerging still spluttering with laughter.

Notes:

There will be a smutty outtake (or possibly more than one) that sits between this and the chapter break but it is not finished yet, so look out on the naughty bitz series for those if you wish to read them! I will post the links here later.

What Are You Waiting For? the details of how Legolas and Elrohir spent their evening!

Chapter 21: Six for Gold (pt3)

Notes:

elleth - female elf
Adar/ada - father/dad
Taglin - deep pool (Doraithin) Oropher's nickname for Thranduil
hanar/hanar nin - brother/my brother
meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
uiveleth nin - my everlasting love
He will be humbled and perish by the hand of an oppressed slave - quoted from Tolkien

Breakfast was taken privately, Legolas and Lindir taking the opportunity to dine with Thranduil, reignite old bonds, and plan the communications back to Mirkwood carefully. Lady Megilwen had certainly never been of weak constitution, but Thranduil feared the news of her son’s survival may see the fierce elleth mounted and en route to Imladris despite her pregnancy.

Thranduil had no doubts his formidable mate would arrive in one piece regardless of the number of orcs in the area, but it took a toll on his nerves even thinking about it. Besides, it had been over a century since an elfling had been born in the halls of his home and he had no intention of depriving his people of that joy if the weather turned and they could not travel back.

The message was penned carefully in Lindir’s own hand explaining that he would be present in Mirkwood ahead of his sibling’s birth, and the first Elroval dispatched. Legolas had thought the communication lacking in explanation for centuries of absence, but Lindir simply smiled oddly and moved to sit behind his harp. Legolas looked curiously on as the minstrel began to play a familiar, light but slightly sorrowful song, the melody beautifully intricate as his voice rang out over the top in a clear crisp tenor.

“When the dawn nears, my love, I will find you,
Leave your grief and your loss far behind you.
Forgive me, my love, I knew I was falling,
Although I could hear that your heart was calling.

Born of the blade, felled far from home,
Where my deep regal pool lies frozen to stone.

A drab little songbird with broken wings,
Searching for hope in the notes that he sings.
Captured and crushed, a fragile life burned,
In starlight he rises, a phoenix returned.

Born of the blade, tormented, in pain,
Reformed and remade, hope burns again.”

The song was one that Legolas had heard many times over the centuries, a favorite with traveling minstrels. In the darkening times, many drew comfort from the haunting but strangely hopeful lament though it had always seemed to him somehow incomplete. As the song finished there was a ragged intake of breath from his Ada.

“Her favorite. She already knows.” he eventually choked out, disbelief written all over his face.

Lindir looked slightly guilty, and he met Thranduil’s gaze. “Enough to build her hopes on a strong foundation. I always thought to return, I thought when you were ready, hope would reach you too Taiglin, but you always were impatient about these things! I was not anticipating you showing up on our doorstep when you were still healing, though I will be ever grateful that you did hanar nin.”

The revelation of a message sent as only Lindir could, seemed to break the cheerful mood of the elvenking and send him into deep contemplation. His son and foster brother knew only too well to leave him to himself when this mood struck him, so did not follow when he left in search of his thoughts.

Thranduil’s feet bore him to Elrond’s study, his brow knotted as he tried to unravel how he felt about his failure to recognize his brother’s words. Hardly hidden, the song was familiar to all in the kingdom, he must have heard it thousands of times in the years since they were parted. He realized, the composer had never attempted to conceal his identity, the complexity of the melody, the sweet tenor refrain and the simplicity of the words were all as clear as a signature now he truly listened. Deep pool, his childhood nickname, Lindir had all but named him in the refrain; had his judgment really been so marred by his grief these long years?

He was distracted by a light cough and spun to see a dark young elf attempting a deep bow rather ineffectively, hampered by a large tea tray that he carried. Thranduil eyed the youngster, his nervous manner paired with the way his hair trailed comically into the milk jug as he attempted to hold the bow distracted Thranduil sufficiently to make something wicked in him flair.

“Sire, if you were waiting to see my Lord Elrond, I do not think he would leave you lingering in the hallway.” Came an unsure voice from the young attendant, breaking the silence but not the bow.

“I have no appointment; and Elrond knows as all good diplomats do, that no harm is done from keeping such a guest waiting for a short while. Though I confess it has been worth it to see how sweetly the Lord of Imladris flavors his tea.” Thranduil leaned in close causing the shorter elf to blush deep red and he took a deep sniff only inches from the deep brown hair.

“Honeysuckle if I am not mistaken?” he purred in his most charming voice, enjoying the tiny tremble that shook through the attendant as Thranduil’s breath ghosted his ear.

The younger elf looked confused for a second before starting upright, making the crockery jump loudly on the tray as milk-soaked locks swung, leaving a trail of white running down his cheek and dripping onto otherwise pristine bottle-green robes.

The noise brought Elrond to the door before Thranduil had the opportunity to torment the young elf further. On Elrond’s indication, the young aide darted into the room and placed down the tea tray before looking to Elrond without meeting the gaze of the other two in the room.

“Thank you, Melpomaen, we can manage from here if you have other things that require your attention.” Elrond soothed kindly, trying to hide his amusement at the flustered elf with milk dripping down his face and tunic.

The young elf still looked unsure if removing himself would cause offence and dark eyes nervously flitted to Erestor for reassurance. “I am afraid I am gravely behind with the household ledgers Melpomaen. I would be glad of your assistance before our credit lines with the local settlements outstretch their goodwill.”

The young elf grinned broadly, clearly, this was an area where he knew he excelled, and the smile lit his face handsomely as he nodded and moved to leave.

“Oh, and Melpomaen, could you ask Lindir if he would mind soothing Nornion? He has driven his nannies to distraction, and milk and song seem to be his only comforts.” Erestor added as the elf who now looked a little taller nodded serenely and exited quietly.

Thranduil took the empty seat indicated by Elrond’s having laid out four cups and pouring tea. He mixed a little honey into his own before offering the milk to Erestor who refused with a little wrinkle of his nose.

Thranduil accepted, countering Erestor’s pending objection, “If newly washed hair dunked in the milk were enough to put me off my fare my lord, I would have starved in the forests millennia ago!” He mused, glugging the milk into his cup before also stirring in a generous spoon of honey and offering the tray to Glorfindel who did the same.

Erestor arched his eyebrow at his mate in surprise as the blond shrugged and then broke out a mischievous smile. “Likewise, my love! As I am sure the company here will attest, I have put far worse in my mouth than a little Melpomaen infused tea!” He said provocatively, eliciting a snigger from Thranduil and causing Elrond and Erestor to roll their eyes in unison.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair as Erestor tried to ignore how like Glorfindel he was in his mannerisms as both of the blonds lounged regally. “I presume you mean to discuss how we return the child to his people?” Thranduil asked, the cold detachment in his voice painfully evident. “My soldiers will offer an escort to Erebor for the babe and any needed to care for him. His carers may stay in Mirkwood for as long as is necessary on their return until you can arrange an escort home. You need only to…” Thranduil was interrupted by a dark scowl and a cough from Erestor.

“We are Nornion’s people as much as Durin’s line. As a peredhel he will one day make his choice, and if he chooses to walk the path of the elves, it will serve him better to be amongst others who share his fate. Both of his parents will be returned to Valinor from the Halls.” At this final assertion, Thranduil wrinkled his nose, clearly showing his contempt for the idea.

“Nonetheless, his other kin should be informed. It is not fair to deny him an equal choice, and he has less time to get to know his Adar’s kin. A dwarf’s life is short in comparison to that of an elf.” Thranduil coaxed.

To Erestor’s dismay, Elrond nodded grimly and called down the second Elroval. Erestor began to object, but Elrond held his hand up calmly to stay him. “Thranduil is right Erestor, his father’s kin have a right to know of his existence, they are likely the closest relations he has. I will invite them here to meet him, we can take things from there.”

The note was written and dispatched with the bird, and Elrond’s attention turned back to Erestor, “Has there been word from Lothlorian?” he asked.

Erestor nodded, thinking back to the frustrated note that had come in late the night before with the Elroval who was currently sitting in his room with a very full stomach and a self-satisfied look. He tried to decide how to tackle the subject as Thranduil noted how Glorfindel stiffened up, immediately sitting forward, his suspicion clearly piqued as he waited for Erestor to answer.

“My Lords, I am not sure it is wise to involve the Lady in this matter. She may be compromised by her animosity to the Feanorian lines.” Erestor tried diplomatically as Elrond’s eyebrow arched quizzically, silver eyes boring into the swirl of smoke and starlight that was his advisor.

“Lord Erestor, we have known each other long enough for me to know when you are hiding something.” Elrond reasoned though he had the decency to turn red as Glorfindel made a scoffing noise under his breath.

Thranduil rose abruptly, walking to the window before turning sharply and pacing back to lean on the back of Elrond’s chair. “Lord Erestor, I have too much respect for you and your reputation to mar honesty with false diplomacy in an issue that is both sensitive and pressing. I know of your history and the nature of your ties to our high king.” Glorfindel’s eyes darted to Elrond, full of accusation which Thranduil spotted immediately. “Half-elven had nothing to do with it, though I see all in this room know of what I speak. There were few powerful enough to accomplish such a thing then. There were even fewer left when my son suffered the same fate.”

The other three elves in the room all looked at Thranduil, Glorfindel with the alertness of one who was not sure if a snake would strike, Elrond in frozen horror, and Erestor with something between sadness and relief. “Since their refusals of aid, I have thought Lothlorian to have been involved, I have just not been able to decipher whether it is her Lord or Lady who tie her to this.”

Erestor sighed, “She did not act alone, but I believe Lord Celeborn played no part. I am not even sure that he is aware of…” Thranduil looked as though he may counter the statement when a number of things happened at once.

Elrond went momentarily stiff before sliding from his chair to the floor, dragging the tea tray with him. Glorfindel leaped to his Lord’s aid but, hampered by the table, did not reach him in time to prevent him from hitting the floor hard. At the same moment, Thranduil strode towards Erestor who had trailed off mid-sentence ahead of Elrond’s fall and now looked as though he was trapped somewhere between concentration and terror.

Glorfindel faltered as he felt his lover pull hard on him and looked up with concern as Thranduil roughly dragged his mate to his feet and yanked his sleeve up before swiping his knife over his arm and then Erestor’s, pressing them together.

Glorfindel howled in rage and sprung over the table, sprawling the woodland king onto his back as awareness crept back into Erestor’s eyes. Elrond was out cold, both the king and his husband were bleeding and Glorfindel found himself amid rare confusion as to what to do when he had three apparent casualties with no obvious cause. Erestor snapped around first and barked at his blond warrior, “Send a message north, the high pass must be defended at all costs.”

Glorfindel knew better than to argue, promptly scribbled a note at Elrond’s desk, strode to the door, and hollered for a trembling Melpomaen to have the note dispatched via their Lord’s magpie and sent north immediately. He then returned to his husband’s side.

“You are hurt.” He stated, looking scornfully at where Thranduil lay on the floor.

“No, by his grace I am not. I was not expecting it, my guard was down. He stopped her from draining me completely. I have not felt the like since Ereinion’s last stand.” He gasped, clearly struggling for breath.

“Her? But Thranduil cut you.” Glorfindel countered.

“He offered a temporary blood bond so I could draw from him. It is an ancient Silvan technique, more commonly used to bond with animals.” Erestor laughed out loud at the look of horror and disgust on his husband’s face.

“Peace meleth! It is not like that, if an animal is sick or injured, an elf may lend a little of their strength to help it heal. If you recall, it has been done to me before, many years ago.” Glorfindel’s face darkened as his mind jumped to the enforced blood bond with Ereinion. “Lindir! He did that for me when I took the poison from Lady Celebrian. She survived those first hours because of me, and I because of him. They are truly half-brothers meleth, Thranduil suspects, but it is in their blood.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, “Why in the last week have the origins of elves become so complicated? It was never so before, elflings came only to those in a bond.” He grumbled, immediately realising the age of the elves concerned proved this assertion false, as his scowl returned. “This bond, he will have no draw on you? He cannot hurt you?”

Erestor shook his head and leaned forward to place a smiling kiss on his husband’s lips. “It is not lasting, though the magics used are no doubt the origin of the techniques used to bind thrall to master. But this is pure, if a little invasive. It gives the instigator the ability to give of their strength. Although it also opens the two minds to each other.” As his husband explained, Glorfindel grimaced, his strategic mind leaping ahead.

“How much does he know?” he asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

Erestor grinned weakly and looked his lover up and down, “Let us just say that you have few secrets left from our king, and Thranduil finds Elrond oddly attractive. It must be genetic!” he mused the last bit in a self-satisfied way as he shoved his astounded mate aside to pull a stirring Thranduil onto a chair before turning to Elrond.

“Meleth! I am glad you are well enough to joke but this is important, how much does he know?” Glorfindel implored.

“Everything uiveleth nin. He knows everything. It was Galadriel who reached for me. She has seen something and she is gathering power.” Erestor explained, sadness heavy in his tone. No, not sadness, guilt… “My survival may have been bartered for war once again.” The words flowed from him as a desperate plea for forgiveness and Glorfindel could not help himself but kiss them from his lips.

“There will be no war, but the Istari will die, I will make sure of it.” Came the interjection from Thranduil who was now back on the floor next to Elrond, “What ails half-elven, I did not sense an attack on him?” he offered, gratefully accepting Glorfindel’s assistance in lying Elrond on the sofa.

“A vision!” provided Erestor, “Though last I recall a vision this intense was when he saw the fate of Celebrimbor. We should call Lindir,” he looked to Thranduil, “your brother is best placed to help him now.” Erestor struggled with his foggy senses.

“That is true twice over!” Thranduil agreed mysteriously, scanning Erestor somewhat suspiciously before his gaze softened. “I’m sorry.” He pledged solemnly. “Had I known… Well, I don’t know what I could have done that would have eased your burden, but I would have done it.” There was a sincerity in the lilac eyes that was impossible to achieve in one who was not so typically guarded. Thranduil was so schooled in his emotions that when something slipped, you could be certain that it was genuine.

The moment was interrupted by a semi-lucid murmuring from Elrond. “He will be humbled and perish by the hand of an oppressed slave.” The words seemed no more than demented ramblings.
“Who will perish half-elven?” Thranduil asked, his tone surprisingly tender.

“Saruman! Erestor is the beginning of his end.” Elrond dropped back from the effort and his eyes closed in sleep.

**

After a long debate, Elroval had been dispatched to Isengard. The forests he loved were infected with the stench of vile creatures swarming like insects on a purifying corpse. He wheeled on a thermal, calculating his landing on the tower. It was oppressive, he could feel the darkness creep out of it. Like a fermented form of evil that had had too long to mature, leaving it dangerously potent and intoxicating.

He could see his target, but seeing and wanting were very different. Compelled by his master he had swooped to the necessary window and located the Istari who now taxed his patience as he waited for a response.

He was wary of the fragile looking being, he could feel the power in him and sense how he coveted it. He could feel the compulsion to collect it. He understood collections, he thought of his stash of soft, shining hairs. The drive to surround yourself with the simple, comforting beauty of small, perfectly formed things that others discarded. That he could understand. But this was covetous curation, an indiscriminate hunger for more power even though the Istari was already steeped in more than he could contain. His Lord Námo was the most powerful being in his world, but his Lord let power ebb and flow through him and gave it a home, a place. Used it in service of the fallen and lost. This selfish power was chilling.

The Istari attached a response to his leg, looking at him curiously as he looked back, the careless handling causing him to ruffle his feathers. But he was glad he could finally be away, and he flapped his wings to take off.

As he took flight, it dislodged a golden hair he had tucked into his thick breast plumage. It was from the young woodland elf. He glittered in a shade of gold Elroval had yet to collect. He looked at it with regret but the fallen Istari had seen it and reached to pick it up. He sadly decided to abandon it, the elf was kind, and he had gladly gifted him the hair that had fallen onto his tunic. He would understand, he would give him another. He probably had one of those brushes they all seemed to like to groom themselves with too.

Elroval was just soaring out the window and there was a bellow of rage, and something gripped him, dragging him backward. He panicked and flapped harder, but the unseen hand gripped tighter. He suffocated in the tight grip as he felt the familiar sense of pulling away from himself, of being stretched even thinner as a sixth magpie with a note pulled free of the force and sailed out over Fangorn, as the fifth was drawn back through the window to the waiting hand of the Istari.

Chapter 22: Whispers on the Wind

Summary:

The extent of Saruman's betrayal becomes clear and Erestor finally begins the stand against him and Sauron.

Apologies for the delay, the last few chapters have just suffered a bit of a rewrite, I hope for the better. Thank you so much for your continued attention and comments - they mean the world. x

Notes:

Please forgive poor translations, intended meanings as below:

fëa/fëar - soul/souls
Ada/adar - dad/father
mellon/mellon nin - friend/my friend
tithen pen - little one
beren - strong
hador nin - my warrior
uiveleth nin - my everlasting love
meleth/meleth nin - love/my love
pen vain - lovely/fair one
penneth - young one
hir nin - my lord
Atartaid - second father - the twin's nickname for Erestor
Atarattëa - (Q) second father - the twin's nickname for Glorfindel
ernil nin - my prince
penestad - trouble maker - Glorfindel's nickname for the twins

Erestor’s stomach clenched, and he attempted to swallow the lump that formed in his throat as an exhausted and sorry looking magpie fluttered in through the window. The bird was missing a number of his tail feathers and there was damage to one wing. He landed heavily on Erestor’s desk, dropping a green sprig with purple bell-shaped flowers that Erestor recognised immediately before the bird fell still, stirred only by occasional erratic breaths. Erestor tenderly scooped him up to inspect him.

The bird’s breathing remained laboured, his tiny heart raced as Erestor gently petted his head, and breathed a few words of calm over the fragile fëa. Erestor carefully unfastened the note from Elroval’s leg, he needed to establish where the messenger had come from so badly treated.

The note bore the white wax seal of Isengard.

**
After long debate, the communication dispatched to Isengard had been simple, intended to test how aggressively the fallen Istari would attempt to seize power. It stated Tauriel had been found distraught, injured, and with child. Unable to return to Thranduil’s realm she had been journeying to seek refuge in Isengard. Erestor had implied Legolas’ demise with carefully ambiguous words, “My Lord, I am certain you will join in our grief that Legolas’ capture and mortal assault placed him beyond Tauriel’s reach”.

The unfurled scrap that carried the return message near demanded Tauriel’s immediate return to Isengard with Erestor alone to accompany her. Travel light and alone, remain unseen, prevent Tauriel becoming overwhelmed. Saruman would send an escort to meet them. Erestor looked at the Deadly Nightshade that had been dropped on the desk, a sign of danger and betrayal. There was no doubt over the nature of Elroval’s warning, and it appeared as though the bird had barely got away to make it.

“Who attacked you, my friend?” Erestor whispered gently to the magpie, wanting to be certain. The bird picked up the part of the wax seal that had broken off the parchment, the white hand still clear.
Erestor sighed, his question answered he reached out and softly hummed a few gentle notes.

Erestor’s mind focused and he could trace the energy lines of the bird’s fëa, it was stretched thin and far. He could feel the threads that stretched out from this bird to the others his Adar had created.

“You are six mellon nin? It is no small thing you have accomplished.” He soothed in admiration.

His fingers caressed the damaged wing, and he remembered his Adar’s words, he had always found it easy to tap into the powers of life and death, though he had only ever exercised the skill to heal. He focused on the proper state of the tiny bones and muscles. As always, he knew exactly how to fix the dissonance in the little body. A couple of notes sung under his breath and the wrongs had been righted, the wing folded back, symmetrical and level with the other.

The bird puffed up its feathers and Erestor’s finger trailed lightly through thick, warm down, a trickle of energy passing from him into the bird as a soft smile began to replace the look of sadness and anger on his face. As their fëar touched, their memories merged, Erestor saw the Istari flame when he touched the fallen golden hair, heard his shouts of rage. “So, he knows the bond has been broken.” Erestor mused, his mind spun but he turned back to his task.

“There!” he spoke softly to the bird as its eyes closed. Erestor reached for the robe that hung on the back of his study door. He heaped the soft material on the desk before gently depositing the sleeping bird in the centre, ensuring the folds of the fabric came up around him. “Rest and all will be well little one. We will all see each other through this, you will yet soar in the skies over the sea, as we greet Adar in peace.”

He watched fondly as the magpie stirred a little to gather the folds of the cloth around him and pluck a gleaming black hair from the fabric, tucking it down under him before his eyes closed once more. “I will get you what you need tithen pen.”

The door swung open and Glorfindel entered the room and strode to the desk, dropping heavily in the chair next to the hearth that he had adopted as his own. He began his update without waiting for an invitation, sensing how tired and tense they both were and knowing that neither needed false platitudes from the other.

“Elrond is still departed from his senses, though Lindir does not seem concerned. He is noting our lord’s ramblings for you my love, he seemed to think they may be important. Dan is serving in his Adar’s stead running Imladris and Ro has taken your place in the healing halls. Oh, and Prince Legolas is ensuring that our icy woodnymph doesn’t over-exert himself with anymore cheap conjuring tricks!” the last element was said with clear bitterness in his tone, and it made his mate smile wryly.

“My love, anyone would think you are jealous of our fair elvenking!” Erestor said as he stalked towards the chair his mate slumped in and reached out to stroke his hair.

Glorfindel glowered, but his glare softened a little as Erestor bent to kiss him lightly on the lips. As his mate retreated there was a sharp tug at his scalp.

“Ow! Morgorth’s balls! Why would you do that?” Glorfindel cursed, rubbing the spot where his lover had yanked free a golden hair that he was now draping around the magpie on the desk that he had only just noticed.

Erestor glided behind the desk and tossed the flower at his husband. “Deadly Nightshade, you do not have to be a herbologist to understand this my love! Saruman knows more than we had hoped. We must act, or he has us beaten. Even before realising we sought to deceive, he moved to take control of me, Tauriel and Nornion. No doubt seeking power over you and Thranduil as well as Galadriel. Should Elrond even think to resist, then he too would be parted from his rightful destiny.”

Glorfindel’s brow knitted in uncharacteristic concern until he took the time to notice his mate’s contemplative air and the way that he spun the ring that he had gifted him on the last begetting day they had celebrated together before Gondolin fell. The ring had been the first signal of his intentions toward the shy, but obviously brilliant scribe and healer that Glorfindel had fallen head over heels for. He remembered commissioning the ornate mithril design set with opal, diamond, and onyx, imagining how perfect it would look on those slim, nimble fingers. Glorfindel snapped back from the memory. He knew the gesture as one that Erestor only made when he was conflicted.

“My love, I know that razor sharp mind of yours. You already have a solution to this, what is it about it that displeases you?” Glorfindel counselled, immediately understanding what his lover needed to draw him to whatever inevitably correct decision he had decided was unpalatable.

“It is not an option my love, it would destroy your reputation.” Erestor dismissed, throwing himself into his chair behind the desk, clearly agitated at himself that he could not come up with a better solution.

Glorfindel’s interest was piqued, but he laughed out loud, touched by his mate’s concern where he had none. He rose, stalking towards his pre-occupied mate. “And what in the name of the Valar would make you think that that would make it any less the right thing to do meleth?” Uncharacteristically, the powerful Seneschal climbed onto his lover’s lap and bent to nip at his pulse point.

Glorfindel regarded him thoughtfully, “Would it lessen me in your eyes or your heart meleth?” he asked, fluttering light kisses over his husband’s jawline.

“Well, no, but…” Erestor was agitatedly falling prey to Glorfindel’s attempts at distraction.

A sigh of exasperation escaped his husband. “No! This is not your price to pay my love.” Erestor stated determinedly, looking his lover in the eye.

Glorfindel chuckled and kissed the belligerent pout off his lover’s lips before adding thoughtfully, “No my sweet councillor! This seems like a price that weighs more heavily on you. I care not what others think of me as long as I still have your love.”

Erestor’s eyes melted, and the resistant lips yielded in turn as Glorfindel pressed his advantage and raided his lover’s mouth, tongue darting in quick caresses before retreating teasingly. “All bar me would think you an unfaithful cad my love, I would not have your reputation shredded by something so far from the truth beren hador nin.” Erestor’s brow furled once more in opposition to the fingers that tilted his chin up to meet an adoring gaze.

“There is no one’s ill opinion bar yours that I would grieve. I have seen what you have endured to preserve what little good is left in this world uiveleth nin. I would never pretend to be as strong as you, but as long as I have your love, the opinions of others mean nothing to me. Now tell me what I need to do to put in motion whatever that brilliant mind of yours has conjured up.”

“We need to raise Nornion to protect him. In order to do so, one of us would need a stronger claim than any other over the babe my love.” Erestor confided.

“One of us must claim to be the child’s Adar,” Glorfindel began to fall in line with his mate’s thoughts, “and I was at the battle of the Five armies where you were not meleth.” He stated his husband’s calculations aloud, and as he expected they were entirely accurate.

“Though it belittles your worth meleth, were we to suggest our long-delayed bond was a penance for indiscretion in my part, it would add credence to the tale.” Glorfindel nuzzled over his ear, “Neither of our reputations are worth more than the fate of middle earth meleth, you do not need me to tell you that pen vain. We have both given far more before.” He continued as Erestor hummed in irritated distraction.

Glorfindel could sense victory, and his tone turned sultry and teasing, “Of course, that would mean you had tamed a Balrog slayer. An ancient Lord. An incurable cad. An ancient elf, but still prize enough to bed the elleth the notoriously beautiful Prince of Mirkwood openly coveted. And that in turn, that elf lord would give up it all and his reputation, simply to be yours meleth.” Somehow the scenario his lover purred into his ear was turning Erestor on, not helped by the way his mate nuzzled his neck as Erestor struggled to remember what was so wrong with his plan.

All he could do was moan forgotten objection into the mouth that came to possess his and keen when his lover retreated from him.

Glorfindel ran kisses down his throat and the acceptance of his sacrifice burned like lava through him as Erestor’s mind searched in vain for the objections it had been caught on.

Glorfindel could see how close he was to winning and continued shamelessly exploiting his mate’s weakness. “But there are others who know the truth meleth. I believe we can be sure of their intensions, but you know better than others how a fëa may be broken by the unscrupulous. You have borne more than most ever could my love.” Lips and teeth descended on his pulse point, and Erestor couldn’t focus, the reasons for his disapproval vanishing in the face of his lover’s honest reasoning and talented mouth.

Erestor swallowed, blinking slowly as he tried to haul his thoughts back by the scruff of their necks as they blindly chased his husband’s manipulative lips. “I can make them forget my love.” He murmured through distraction.

The admission came hard to him, he had never wanted this power, he did not deserve it, it was his by accident alone. Before now, he had never had the strength to wield it, he needed his warrior’s support. “You and I only would know the truth, your knowledge comes from Mandos, I could not make you forget even if you wished to.”

“I would never choose to forget a moment by your side.” On this Glorfindel would never yield. “Are you certain of the others?” he queried, “Legolas has lived most of his life bound, can you take that pain away?” Glorfindel mused.

“No, I cannot even lessen it as much as he deserves. The best I can offer is heartbreak. The loss of his intended, who when his rival died in battle turned further from him to seek comfort in the arms of another. One that he still loved so dearly that he was captured and abused as he tried to free her from the grasp of orcs. That he still almost gave his life to save her… your son.” Erestor’s eyes shone with grief as tears of sorrow pricked his eyes. “Though he will remember how heartbreak delivered him into the arms of his true soulmate. I have faith that the love he shares with Elrohir will more than offset the memory of the pain I will need to embed in his fëa.” Erestor confided.

“And what of the others my love? If you have got this far in your consideration, I know you have thought through their stories.” Glorfindel gazed with compassion into his lover’s eyes.

“Lindir has little that must be tampered with, he will barely remember the chief guard of the woodland realm who passed in childbirth. Elrohir and Elladan alike will need little adjustment. The others may be more of a challenge.” Erestor conceded thoughtfully.

“Thranduil is gifted in mindwork as Elrond is, and there is deep trauma to erase, but if Legolas’ fëa can be soothed, it is likely his Adar will be assuaged provided nothing stirs the memories. Elrond, well I will do what I can, and hope to create enough suspicion of Saruman that he is not an ally Elrond leans upon should his foresight begin to unpick what I have woven. Then there is the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien.” Erestor sighed.

“Apart from the Lady, I would have consent from each of them before I act meleth, as I would have yours. All must play their part and I will not force sacrifice on any one of them. Even with their co-operation, there is a chance that this is beyond me; playing with memories is dangerous, the risk is significant.” Erestor’s eyes were apologetic as he met those of his lover, seeking permission.

“That is as it must be meleth.” Glorfindel reassured as he watched the doubt that Erestor had opened himself to seep through him as he inspected and examined each of his conclusions, searching for flaws and alternatives. Glorfindel watched his mate fondly before taking control.

Regardless of what he had pledged to Elrond, or how he admired his lover’s compassion; Glorfindel’s detached strategic mind could see this was a plan that could not afford to be derailed by the objection of any of his friends. If Glorfindel had learned nothing more in his millennia as a warrior, it was that you never let your partner’s weakness go unguarded. Erestor was the strongest elf he knew, but he had clear weaknesses, himself and his love of his kin. He would not let his peredhel doubt himself, nor would he see any objection play on his beloved’s compassion. Regardless of how compliance must be achieved he would see it done, and he swore to himself that his beloved would never know to grieve it.

“You have the power to do this flawlessly, but even if you did not.” Glorfindel paused to deliver another slow kiss. “Even if you did not, those you speak of would rather be used poorly for good than used at all for evil. Both you and I know that Saruman would not hesitate to destroy any of them to serve his own means. I will forever be strong for you my love, but you are the only one who can do this, Saruman sees it, he has done for millennia. He even knows the tools that you will use to defeat him, and he has sought to neutralize each of them. He knows you and how your grace and compassion rule you, he is counting on me not to interfere because of my oath to protect Elrond and his kin, but he has failed to see the full strength in the weaknesses he tries to exploit.“ Glorfindel offered the soothing words to his lover before raining down adoring kisses on his mate.

As Erestor extended his neck, baring it to the comforting caress of his mate, he failed to see the dark look in Glorfindel’s eyes and the grim set of his jaw. The Valar would send his fëa to the void for breaking an oath he had sworn to them. But if crossing Elrond was the only way he could preserve the destiny that Erestor, Legolas and Lindir had suffered so much for, then he would have to come up with a plan to claw his way back to his mate from the void.

**

Nine elves had been gathered in the council chamber. The communicated charges against Saruman limited to the collapse at the high pass and instructing his uruk to capture Legolas and Tauriel which had led to Lindir’s abduction and abuse at the hands of the uruk commander. Erestor knew there were many in the room who possessed more detail, but the solution to this was to bind the secret of Galadriel’s involvement and Nornion’s identity away, and that would mean a complex manipulation of memories that would be fragile, the less all knew that needed to be altered, the better.

Erestor had met with Legolas earlier, bringing Elrohir in only after the woodland prince had calmly heard and agreed to Erestor’s plan. As Erestor had expected, Elrohir initially pushed back fiercely, not wanting his lover to be stripped of the acknowledgement of the years of suffering he had endured.

Legolas sighed deeply and taking his indignant husband’s hand, his piercing blue eyes looked disconcertingly deeply into Erestor’s eyes, “My Lord, were it an option for you to forget ties of this nature and remember only the aspects of the perpetrator that were dear to you, would you accept it?” He watched as Erestor smiled calmly and nodded without hesitation as in the outer field of his vision Glorfindel bristled.

“I would penneth. When put it like that, it is more of a gift than I had imagined, even though there is loss there.” Erestor conceded.

Legolas turned to Glorfindel, easily reading the warrior, “And you would stand against him?”

Glorfindel shifted and his eyes searched his mate’s face, he had heard the longing in his response to Legolas, his memories went back over the years in Mandos, how he had seen his lover suffer. He crashed headlong into the realisation that no amount of glory or acknowledgement could ever offset that suffering.

Glorfindel’s voice was measured and oddly contrite, “When I first heard your words, I thought I would… but no penneth, I would not oppose him.” He noted an amused quirk on Erestor’s lips and it caused him to elaborate. “You have met my husband; you know I would not be able to stop him either way. Erestor knows his own will quite well!” He looked lovingly at his mate, feeling a sudden pang of sorrow that he could not offer Erestor what Legolas would be getting out of the deal.

Legolas was examining Elrohir’s face. The younger peredhel may not be aware of Erestor’s full history but he clearly put weight on his insight regardless. He turned to stroke his thumb over the braid that ran over Legolas’s ear, in a caress that was thoughtful and filled with love. “If it is what you truly want my love, then I will stand by your side.” He turned back to Erestor, “Can this be done without losing the memories of our love hir nin?” a little concern flashed over his features as he dropped his hand to grip his husband’s protectively.

“If all goes as I intend, it will only be the relationship with Tauriel that will be altered in your mind, and some of what you know of my history. Sadly, the recent assault on you will stay with you ernil nin, as will the tie created between us when you leant me your strength to save the other half of my fëa.” He smiled fondly at Glorfindel as he confided the information and the younger elves nodded.

“There is one more thing that is important, though I confess, I am not entirely clear why. Though I have it on good authority…” Erestor blushed slightly, a phenomenon few had witnessed. Glorfindel coughed lightly to distract from his mate’s uncertainty.

Elrohir smiled his Ada’s smile, diplomacy it seemed was the younger twin’s cradle tongue, “that you know it is enough for me Atartaid. What would you have me do?” he asked taking his mate’s hand as the Prince of Mirkwood stood alongside him and Erestor realised with satisfaction just how impenetrable the front they presented together was.

“I need a hair from each of you.” Erestor said, smiling gently.

Both the younger elves blinked at the simplicity of the request, both granting it instantly. This time it was Legolas who spoke for the pair though Erestor could hear their fëar spoke in unison. “May the Valar grant the demands upon us remain so light, but do not be afraid to ask for what is needed. It will be willingly given mellon nin.” He smiled.

Erestor looked relieved, “If we are in agreement, then I believe it is time to bring in the others that will be crucial to our efforts penneth. Let us hope that between the wisdom of age and the exuberance of youth we have between us what is required to convince two of the most stubborn elves on Middle-Earth!” He grinned conspiratorially.

“Indeed, and if wisdom and youth fail, Atarattëa can always hit them with something!” Elrohir interjected, grinning cheekily at Glorfindel though he had seen the grim intent in the warrior that the others had not.

“Take note ernil nin of what you have married!” Glorfindel scowled jestingly at Legolas before turning back to Elrohir with an age-old scolding tone, “You are indeed young penestad, and not too large to fit across my knee if you continue such!” Glorfindel responded, his heart lightened by the carefree banter that had been sorely missed over the last days.

Notes:

will link directly to the next chapter in this work.

Chapter 23: Seven for a secret, never to be told

Summary:

Erestor reveals his plan to stall Saruman's advancement of his power bid having realised that the key to his complete corruption of Galadriel will be control over the young Feanorian heir that is currently sheltered in Imladris.

And of course Thranduil wouldn't be Thranduil if he didn't have something to say about it!

Notes:

Apologies, the more I read of other people's fantastic works, the further I realise my transgressions against the beautiful languages Tolkien created have progressed! What I intended the words to mean was:

mellon nîn/mellyn nîn- my friend/my friends
fëa/fëar - soul/souls
anor - sun
ithil - moon
aran nîn - my king
penneth/pennyth - young one/young ones
hanar - brother
Adar/ada - father/dad
hîr vuin- beloved lord
uiveleth - everlasting love

With everyone gathered in Elrond’s study, Erestor shared his plans more broadly. He assessed the assembled elves; Elladan would be simple to convince, he would follow his twin’s heart. Equally, no simple minstrel, Lindir was at his core a brilliant tactician. What was more, he had the Sinda’s trust; Erestor was confident that Lindir would agree with his analysis. He knew Elrond trusted him too, but his Lord’s fierier nature and drive to control would pose a challenge and his foresight could cloud things further down the line.

Erestor quickly concluded that of all those gathered, Elrond posed the greatest threat of tipping the fine balance he needed to achieve. Thranduil was also a risk; he too was unpredictable. Patient, cunning, and a shrewd politician, but his heart and pride had been deeply wounded and he had made it abundantly clear that he would have his revenge for the ills dealt to his beloved son. Thranduil was more cautious than his rash sire had been. But thirst for vengeance did much to skew even a highly rational elf’s judgement, and Erestor did not know how much the king might risk if the opportunity for retribution presented itself, which made him dangerous.

With a final glance around and a quick calculation on how to play the hand he had been dealt, Erestor took a breath and began, “It has come to my attention that a growing and dangerous force intends to divide the elven realms, starting by bringing the Golden Wood to its knees. This is a darkness already responsible for the abduction and harm of two here, for bringing spiders to our lands, and collapsing the high pass to separate us from our kin. It has already struck blows against all here and now targets our Lady’s grief to topple Lórien into darkness. An evil so consummate it would abuse and weaponize an orphaned elfling; just as it abused an elfling and a youngling two millennia ago and enslaved a young outcast ages before.” Erestor studied his friends’ faces, each grave with shock.

“By the grace of the Valar we have been gifted a means to fight this evil.” Erestor cast a distinct glance at Glorfindel, hoping that the subtle misdirection, would drive his audience to an incorrect assumption and allay further questions on the precise nature of the involvement of the Valar or Erestor’s entanglement.

“We must protect our kin in Lothlórien, and to do so, we must destroy what the enemy would use against us; the elfling’s identity must be concealed, beyond this, his very existence erased from the memory of Middle Earth. The truth of Nornion’s bloodline and her role in its proliferation would drive the Lady Galadriel to madness or grief. Just as the Feanorians and their crimes near did once before. Do any here doubt that the threat of a Feanorian heir tied by blood to the house of Erebor and controlled by a dark power would be sufficient to reopen deep wounds and plunge Our Lady into depths of irreparable grief?”

Erestor was relieved to see acceptance on each face. He had prayed he would not need to disclose exactly how pivotal Galadriel had been in Tauriel’s survival to convince them. The depths of the Lady of the Golden Wood’s guilt and her coldness of heart in abandoning Legolas to his fate, could for now remain hidden. All believed that grief and fear alone would bend her powers to the will of the dark masters that were revenge and retribution. A glance at the Woodland king and Elrohir, both sat protectively close to Legolas, reminded Erestor that the revelation would also see them bend to the same will.

As he had over the ages, Erestor thanked the Valar, suddenly slamming the door on the realisation that his heretofore unknown Ada was one of those he had diligently prayed to his whole life. Firmly locking the closet door on that particular skeleton until he had the presence of mind to deal with it, Erestor continued, his relief imbuing his words with new enthusiasm.

“Darkness rises. Once again, a great battle looms ahead, one in which we will all need to play our parts if light is to endure.” The reality of what he had to accomplish began to hit him as he heard his own words as if spoken by another. He instinctively sought his golden mate’s eyes, suddenly as desperate for the succour they offered as a drowning elf for air. Glorfindel looked grim but determined, his jaw set firm as his eyes roved over the others for any sign of dissention.

The way his mate’s brooding features comforted him triggered mild guilt. His lover’s displeasure was clear, but there was comfort in the fact that Erestor knew exactly what drove it. Comfort in how well he knew his husband and how the conflict that blazed in his blue eyes was exactly right, exactly Fin. A reminder of the stalwart, honourable and constant elf he cherished. And that made it comforting beyond measure. He never wanted false cheer or hollow encouragement from his love. Fin stood unquestionably by his side in this plan though it challenged his most deeply held values in forcing him to break his oath to Nornion’s parents. It strengthened him to know Fin did not think him too fragile to share his dismay, that he trusted Erestor would hold his course even without his support though offered it freely regardless.

Erestor knew instinctively how much his husband detested breaking his vow to Nornion’s parents that he would ensure them known to the babe. His lover prized his honour and integrity; Erestor knew that in convincing himself to break his oath, Fin would have mentally dismissed any further objections. Erestor’s gaze travelled to where he already knew his lover would have detected a glimmer of challenge. Elrond’s eyes were dark, his Lord’s jaw equally grimly clenched as his face set into a deep scowl.

Erestor continued quietly, trying to reach Elrond with reason before his warrior mate saw fit to involve himself. “I know that you have foreseen the battle of which I speak My Lord.” He softly asserted as he met brooding silver eyes. The elongated pause was becoming strained by the time Erestor was eventually granted a reluctant but distinct nod.

Erestor controlled the release of the breath he had been holding and schooled himself to continue gently. “He will be humbled and perish by the hand of an oppressed slave - They were the words that were sent to you were they not mellon nin? I have no doubt you have considered their meaning, though I suspect they will play out many times before this is over.” Erestor could see that he had struck a chord with Elrond.

The advisor was unsure what visions had accompanied the words that the peredhel Lord had babbled when the shockwave of Saruman’s anger had flooded Elrond’s foresight. But he suspected Elrond had seen much of the upcoming battle. Seconds dragged as Erestor watched as fear caused Elrond’s ageless face to gain years before the emotion was tamped down and shut away, replaced by the merest hint of pain in those silver eyes. Erestor knew he was right, Elrond had seen what they faced, and their paths would be far from easy.

Erestor met starlit eyes, his long-held instinct was to ease the grief they tried to hide, his mind brushed against Elrond’s
, sharing his strength as he had so many times before.
“We cannot shun our parts, though they may not be to our taste. The end begins here mellyn nîn. Those here possess the power to see this to its end; to see that this world we have guarded for ages spent, passes to those who will guard it in ages to come with the good of it still intact.”

Erestor’s eyes roamed the room, there were none left to convince though he could see the elven lord’s consent was fragile. The sadness in the broken nod for him to continue as Elrond’s gaze finally dropped defeatedly to the floor almost unseated him, but a look from his beloved steeled him and he drew breath as a hand slipped wordlessly into his own.

Erestor felt Glorfindel’s love and strength flow through him at the touch and it buoyed him to continue. “It will require old magic. You all know well enough that each fëa is unique in its melody and the light that binds it to its rhaw. As surely as anor and ithil carry fragments of the light of the trees, so too do the fëar of the firstborn; light so pure can never truly be destroyed.”

“It can be no coincidence that the fëar of those in this room shine with almost the full spectrum of that fragmented light. All bar the rarest, violet. It was only seen in the Eldar, and I know of only one still on middle earth who bear it since Lady Celebrian sailed, Lord Celeborn. I believe our best hope is with Celeborn, with him we could bind together a form of the ancient light with power enough to distort the memories of the past.” Erestor had held the rapt attention of the room for too long and paused to recover himself before the inevitable questions formed.

It was Lindir who spoke first. “I know a little of this magic mellon nin, the blending of just two lights requires a bond between those who lend their energy and the blessing of a Vala. There are seven here, and you would add Celeborn. Though some are bonded by blood or love, there are enough amongst us who have no such bond to each other, you will need to form them. You must believe such a thing possible, or you would not have suggested it but the only bonds I know of are permanent mellon nîn, should we presume that what you propose will endure?”

Erestor nodded, a perfunctory gesture before continuing. “The connections between us will endure. Mind-speech will be easier, even from afar, and likely even more so when you reach Valinor.” He glanced over a few of those in the room, “Those gifted in healing will find it easier to share their energy and in both thought and song you will find harmony more easily. Though you will not be mortally bound unless you chose it. You will grieve one departed but will not fade from that grief.” Erestor confirmed as he watched Elrohir cast a slightly nervous glance at Thranduil on the mention of mind-speech and the elven king smirked wickedly.

Erestor caught the stirring of mischief in the woodland royal’s violet eyes even before he spoke, his tone considered but softly teasing.

“Is it not the case councillor that in such bonds, intense feeling may also be shared, particularly when one’s guard is down?” The blond king drawled. The instant Erestor saw the ruler’s eyes run slowly and appraisingly over Legolas then Elrohir, he had to stifle a chuckle, knowing exactly what vagrancy the King was planning.

“Such a connection would not be for the faint of heart! Each here is a warrior and we might share the pains of errant swordplay… or mayhap the pleasure!” Thranduil smirked, his mischievously fond gaze moved from his now crimson son and his husband to slowly trace the full length of Elrond before settling unwaveringly on Glorfindel. “I hope you are well versed in sleeping drafts Lord Councillor, if last night is typical, they will be sorely in demand. Placing wax in one’s ears will block neither the sounds nor sensations shared over a bond!” He chortled with satisfaction as Elrond, Elladan, and Glorfindel flushed to match Legolas and Elrohir and each suddenly found their feet or hands so fascinating they required their undivided attention.

Erestor smiled ruefully before responding, ever glad of Thranduil’s calculated mischief and the levity it brought. “I am aran nîn! Besides, between those here we run two elven realms. Should your fears prove justified, I am sure we possess the organisational skills to schedule such swordplay so none go unrested.” Erestor jested dryly, but even he could not resist. “Lindir, perhaps you would be so kind as to make it an item on the agenda at the next household meeting, we can discuss it with the other rotas?”

The words drew unguarded looks of horror from the others as Lindir nodded solemnly before exploding with laughter, dragging Erestor with him. Unheedful of their mates who shot them looks that assured they would pay for their teasing later and Thranduil who looked altogether too pleased with himself.

Thranduil’s years fell from him as his face opened up with the sheer glee of teasing his long-time friends and he could not resist a final prod at the serious Lord of Imladris. “Come half-elven, save your blushes! I for one never doubted you to be as irrepressible between the sheets as our Balrog slayer. Whatever others might say!” Thranduil gloated as Elrond forgot himself, hovering between embarrassment and outrage, giving Thranduil the satisfaction of a strike well placed. Erestor grinned, dipping his chin to hide the expression from his Lord as he hurried to continue; remembering all too well how quickly banter could turn into the undignified bickering of their younger years.

“What is cast will bind the memories of all on Middle Earth excluding myself and Fin. Fin because the gift of the Valar will prevent it, and I must control the extent and nature of what is lost, and what replaces it. What we lock away will remain hidden until you leave these shores. Only then will what we weave unravel.” The room had regained the serious air that Thranduil’s teasing had momentarily lightened.

Erestor’s demeaner became particularly pensive. “It would be wise for each of us to write something to ease our transition when we sail. They can be sent to Círdan, he will see them returned when we sail. The truth though painful, may be more soothing in one’s own hand. I imagine the returning memories will be difficult for most. Once we set foot on Valinor both the truth and the construct will exist in our minds, and feelings that accompany them.” Erestor surveyed a room full of elves trying to process the full impact of what they would face.

“It would soothe my heart if you would include your consent in your letter. I treasure the regard and friendship of each here, and I would not lose it. Should I fall, it would comfort me in Mandos that you still think kindly of me and await my return with hope.” Erestor’s face looked uncharacteristically nervous as thoughts of what could go wrong flitted through his mind, but a large hand squeezed his and banished them once more.

Legolas’ voice rang out, surprisingly assertive given the flush that was still lingering at the tips of his ears. “I should consider it done my lord. I am certain none here would wish to lose your regard. Particularly as you ask so little.” He exchanged a warm smile with his husband. “We have offered you our pledge; we will do as you need… Whatever you need.” As anticipated, Elladan nodded in agreement with his twin and sword brother, and Erestor beamed at the loyalty the three younger elves showed him.

“I am glad of your confidence pennyth. You are each dear to me, I would not propose this course were I not confident of my ability, but your faith will make my task easier.”

Erestor paused again, knowing he was about to expose the weakest part of his plan. “We will need Celeborn’s cooperation.” Erestor had tried to think around it, but without the light that Celeborn embodied he doubted he could lend the charm sufficient power to effect a maia.

“Though I do not know how, our Lord is connected to this as is his lady. I am uncertain of his allegiance. We will try to convince him, but we should plan to distract, or at worst to force him. The task will fall to the twins and either Glorfindel or Lindir must accompany them.” The final statement was added with a look of guilt.

There was a moment of quiet as the words resonated with each elf in the room as the part each had to play gradually became clearer. Lindir looked thoughtfully at Glorfindel who was leaning back in his chair staring intently into a cup of tea he was nursing.

The distracted seneschal jumped as Elrond leapt to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor, clearly livid. “Then it will be your mate that you risk, not mine!” he glared at Erestor before turning and storming out tempestuously, slamming the door behind him.

Elladan quirked an eyebrow, frighteningly reminiscent of a calmer version of his Adar. “When did we become such poor travelling company hanar?” he grinned at his brother.

Lindir spoke softly, addressing Elladan though his eyes were on his friend and his golden warrior, “Your Adar has the gift of sight, and Lord Erestor the gift of strategy. I presume the magic Erestor intends to weave does not require both Glorfindel and I. Is that so mellon nin?” he directed the calm, impassive question at Erestor, whose face was now filled with conflict, his eyes stormy though power burned in them.

“The tones of your fëar overlap, either one of you could complete the charm.” Erestor turned his eyes to the floor. “But the twins fëar share their connection to what started as a single rhaw divided in two. Their true tone existed only when they are together. If things go ill, they will need the allegiance of another strong warrior.”

The unstated rang loud through the room; someone may be required to stand against the wrath of the Lady of the golden woods. It was too perilous a task to fall to one pivotal to the works Erestor was attempting.

Lindir took pity on Erestor’s struggle. “I shall say what all bar you are thinking hîr vuin. We know you deem none expendable, not least your soulmate. This is the only viable course in the circumstances, and all owe you a debt of gratitude that you are selfless enough to risk your happiness once again. We are all warriors, we would be foolish if we had not at least partly accepted that our fate could be to die in defence of what we love. Your actions have not changed this mellon nîn. It was our choice long before this moment.” Lindir paused and watched as the golden firstborn turned to his quietly imposing mate. Lindir saw much from his place at the head of things but always part of the background be it from the stage or Elrond’s side. He had not missed how the light of the trees haunted both of the couple, though Erestor had never walked beneath them.

Glorfindel broke the quiet reverie. “It will be me uiveleth. I have sworn to guard the house of Elrond, it is the reason I was returned. There is no question that the twins have my protection. Lindir, Elrond will need you here.” He grasped the other blond’s shoulder in solidarity and Lindir nodded solemnly.

“You are the more able of us Seneschal. But know I would go in your place were all things equal. You do not deserve to part again.” Lindir looked consolingly at Erestor before beaming at Glorfindel and forcing hope into his tone, “though the separation will be brief, you will be back with Lord Celeborn in less than two cycles.” Lindir saw pain glance across the golden warrior’s face as his straining positivity cracked a little.

Lindir reached for them both, applying a comforting touch to their upper arms, “Have faith! It is not for naught you are twice blessed by the Valar.” Both Erestor and Glorfindel swallowed at the comment and the knowing smile from Lindir who moved the conversation on swiftly lest the others question the statement.

“With regard to Nornion, I assume you will name him your son before we begin?” Lindir directed the question to Glorfindel, the elder elves present had gleaned what Erestor planned and knew it would be the only way Erestor could assert a claim on the elfling’s guardianship if Glorfindel were to fall.

Erestor nodded, “Messages have been dispatched to Erebor and Mirkwood with the truth of Nornion’s line. If all goes well, we will succeed before they arrive, in which case the birds will return with their messages. Should we fail, they will be delivered, and his true kin will be Nornion’s only hope for survival in whatever time Middle Earth has left before the darkness rises.” He spoke softly, his eyes on Thranduil who was yet to indicate support or otherwise.

Lindir regarded Erestor carefully, he rose gracefully and embraced Glorfindel “Too much sacrifice has been demanded from you both mellyn nin.” He sighed, pulling the taller elf close before advancing on Erestor and placing a reverent kiss on the peredhel’s forehead. “You are the most formidable being I have ever encountered; I doubt even the Valar could separate you from your soulmate again mir mellon nin.” Their foreheads pulled together, and gold hair briefly mingled with ebony as both shared breaths, understanding the strength and sacrifice of endurance beyond any other in the room.

“Elladan, Elrohir, we are needed!” came the brisk command from Lindir as he broke from Erestor and spun away, exiting with the slightly overwhelmed twins in tow.

**

Legolas looked uneasily at his Adar. Thranduil stretched, catlike, his eyes fixed on the couple. “It has been cleverly managed! I can hardly cite the grievance of forgoing revenge for my son when both you and he have given up your claims on satisfaction so selflessly.” He mused, his eyes settling fondly on his son as he recalled how happy Legolas had been recently.

“With his consent, I will agree to the alteration of Legolas’s story to one that will bring him less pain.” He glanced over the Balrog slayer before his eyes came to rest on Erestor. “However, we must negotiate over the reputation of Imladris’s golden attack hound if you wish for my cooperation in this matter!”

Glorfindel looked at the Sinda in both shock and annoyance and Thranduil returned his gaze with a smug satisfaction. “Do not be so surprised, we have known each other a long time and you are certainly not without your charms Seneschal.” Thranduil conceded though he could not fully resist the petty rivalry that had always existed between two vain alpha males.

“A raw sort of charm admittedly, though it seems to have won you an overly fair mate all things considered!” Thranduil eyed Erestor and a flash of jealousy spiked in Glorfindel as he saw what could almost be desire in the king’s eyes. Thranduil waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as Glorfindel floundered in his response to the jibe, both offended and in agreement. Glorfindel looked to his husband, but he was no help, simply grinning with pure amusement.

Glorfindel glared at the objection and looked near ready to haul the Sinda out to the sparring ground to free him of it. Thranduil dragged an appraising eye over Glorfindel as if he were a lot to be auctioned before turning back to his husband. “But the bottom line is you could die Seneschal. And this self-sacrificing scenario will leave Erestor cuckolded, raising the bastard you sired whilst tumbling a grief stricken young elleth after barely a cycle out of your marriage bed. That I will not allow! The Councillor has done much for Legolas, I would not see him ruined. Besides, think of all the new music Lindir would have to write if elves could no longer sing of the valour of Glorfindel the Great. Half-elven would be mad with pent up lust within two moons!” His glance over Glorfindel softened a little and a fond smirk played over his lips before he spun to conceal it in staged, distracted pacing.

Thranduil was a formidable opponent both on the battlefield and in the council chambers Erestor observed, glad he was on the same side as the astute ruler, he settled back to allow his riled mate to reach the same conclusion.

Thranduil addressed Legolas conversationally “Nor in truth would I see Rover’s reputation in shreds, given he might send himself back to the Halls on our behalf.” He conceded and Erestor felt the concealed admiration over their shared connection and smiled as his mate scowled deeper, and Legolas flushed in embarrassment.

Erestor waited patiently, engaged by the tactics of an equal, but far from bested by them. Legolas looked to each of the couple in quick succession as if torn over where to address his apology, and Glorfindel looked a degree below boiling point. The hesitation allowed Thranduil to retain the floor exactly as he had intended, he nodded magnanimously before continuing.

“There are three conditions to my cooperation, the first is the most complex. We all know that a weakened fëa may be sustained by a bond. The story will be that you both extended your marital bond to Her, purely to save Her from grief given that Legolas had found his true mate in Elrohir.” He glanced around briefly seeing confusion on Glorfindel’s face he sensed he was on the verge of objecting.

“Fido is blessed by the Valar for reasons known only unto them! None know how that manifests itself; why should it not mean he could divide his bond such should he have need? I will profess to have blessed a consensual bonding in the aftermath of battle. There are few who will not see what happened next as what was necessary to complete such a bond. It would be prudent to insert rumours that Erestor also bedded Her once they returned to Imladris.” Glorfindel visibly bristled at the thought, but a soothing touch to his arm from Erestor helped him find his calm.

Thranduil had cocked his eyebrow in invitation of the half-formed objection but as it never materialised, he sniffed, made a dismissive hand gesture and turned to pace back towards the window before continuing. “This way Bingo in not an unfaithful cur, but a self-sacrificing hero who saved a young elleth and prevented the beloved princes of two realms from having to sacrifice true love and a bond between our people. Besides, a three-way bond is the only way to give the councillor direct rights over the infant. That is unless any of you can come up with a way that Erestor could have fathered a child on the battlefields when he was so notably in Imladris. Translating maps to unleash gold addled dwarves and dragons on unsuspecting kin, or something equally as helpful with ‘don’t get involved half-elven’.” The look on Thranduil’s face was between amusement and scorn and he sucked as if tasting an imaginary sweet as he once again paused theatrically, spurred on by how much he was ruffling the Golden warrior he couldn't resist locking horns with as Glorfindel glared daggers in his direction.

“No? I suppose not, as talented in the bed chamber as Lord Erestor sounded last night, even he must have his limits!” Erestor felt the transfer of respect alongside the wry smile as the comment failed to draw a blush from any but Legolas. Very well, we appear to agree. This way Erestor retains rights over the child even if Lassie’s bite does not live up to his bark!” Thranduil’s eyes ran over those in the room feigning disinterest as Erestor flattered his ego with silence and Glorfindel growled making him beam in satisfaction.

“Very well! My second condition is simple, Nornion’s true parentage will remain known to half-elven. Elrond has presided over enough bonding ceremonies to know that coupling is unnecessary to complete a full bond, and he will know that you know this too. Besides, Dwarves lack grace, the child will fall from a tree before he has seen five summers and half-elven will heal him. The moment he does he will know; thus short-term deception is worth neither the risk nor the effort.” He grinned tightly before turning he eyes on his son.

“The same is true of Elrohir. Dwarves reach their majority early, and are equally poor riders, the moment he is placed on anything taller than a goat an accident will occur. Elrohir is a talented field healer, the child’s lack of coordination will be his problem within a score of years, but you may make your own judgement on that front.” Erestor nodded seeing through the aloof wall the elven king constructed, Thranduil was remarkably astute and wished to spare his husband unnecessary ill judgement in the eyes of his Lord.

“Then you have my cooperation mellon nin.” He grinned in a self-satisfied manner as he spun to leave.

Glorfindel rose, grateful but piqued by Thranduil’s ever superior manner and now flustered by what he suspected drove the fondness the king exhibited for his mate. The niggling jealousy more than sufficient for him to indulge his own pedantry. “You stated three conditions aran nin, yet you have only offered two.” Glorfindel snapped, though the feeling of having caught Thranduil in error pleased him.

Thranduil appeared to overlook the statement as he swept towards the door, but paused casually to address Erestor over his shoulder. “Oh, and for the sake of the Valar Councillor, tie back his damned hair before he departs!” he shot a smug, knowing look at Glorfindel before grasping his son’s arm and sweeping out leaving Glorfindel groping for expletives in his wake.

Notes:

If there is anyone out there who is waiting for updates... firstly, thankyou for your time and attention, it means the world that someone choses to share these ramblings! Secondly, apologies for the slow updates. I had never anticipated being this slow but I am struggling at the moment. Hopefully back on track soon x

Chapter 24: Seven for a Secret (pt2)

Summary:

The preparations for the final move against Saruman gathers steam as Glrofindel and the twins set off for the Golden Wood to enlist Celeborn.

Notes:

rhaw - body
Valar/Vala - gods/god
fëar/fëa - souls/soul
Ada/Adar - dad/father
penneth - young one
Nana/naneth - mum/mother
Taiglin - deep pool (Oropher's nickname for Thranduil)
ion nîn- my son
hanar nîn - my brother
mellon nîn - my friend
meleth - love

The plan was set. Tauriel in the new history of Middle Earth, Tauriel, the orphaned child of two of Thranduil’s guards who had been raise in his military had fallen helplessly for her Prince. But Legolas’ heart belonged to another, the youngest Lord of Imladris. Her grief driven her to fading and the noble prince looked set to sacrifice his soul mate to save the elleth who was as a sister to him.

At that point the shining Lord of the Golden Flower had snatched her from Námo’s clutches and welcomed her into his bond with his lover of millennia, one who he had wed before he fell to the Balrog. A young orphan peredhel who never quite recovered from his mate’s death though he weathered it. Pale and wan through grief he had served his King and then his Lord with energy for no other until his mate had been returned.
But the fates of those on Middle earth were not easily changed and the elleth had perished birthing the babe that resulted from the union that had saved her.

The sharper tongues gossips might suggest that the Lords of Imladris had intended precisely that outcome when they had brought the grieving elleth into their bond. Long had the pair doted on the elflings of Eärendil’s line, it was to be expected that they would covet a child of their own.

The suffering of Legolas and Erestor would be erased from the memories of the few who knew, save those of Erestor and Glorfindel; though they would never be able to acknowledge what had been bound away until the day they left the shores of Middle Earth.

Though guilt flowed through him Erestor found he envied the young Prince. He would retain the memories of recent horrors; his abuse in the hands of the yrch. But the bonds of slavery would be lost to him, the only sacrifice the grief of losing an elleth who was as a sister to him.

Erestor sighed, focusing on the fact that his Fin at least would remember as he did. If they were to share their sacred bond in part with the others, these memories at least would belong only to them. No matter how dark they were in parts, they demonstrated all they had overcome in their fight to be together.

***

Once the agreement of all of the elves required was secured, Erestor set the plans in motion. He created the blood bond between himself and the twins. The Elroval who had flown to Elrohir’s side at the High Pass travelled once more on Asfaloth’s head with two identical strands of dark hair twisted around his ankle. Contenting himself with cawing into the stallion’s ears, making him toss his head in agitation before scrambling up the rider’s arm and tugging on golden braids until he was chased away by swats and curses in the old tongue.

The twins had been of no assistance though Glorfindel had realised the need for caution when Elrohir had looked at him strangely on his declaration that only he could be fated to have in-laws that commanded flock more irksome than a host of balrogs. He was mildly pleased that the lord king had retained more of his lessons than he would have credited, but limited his exasperated outbursts to cursing the bird and his kin.
The magpie was delighted at the mischief he wreaked, and by how the two dark haired elves whose locks he already bore laughed loudly at his antics.

He had always had an affinity for hair, it bridged the realms of the living and the dead in such an interesting way. So soft and shining, so alive. Yet it cut or fell away painlessly. Each silk strand unique to its owner, each likened to a different metal or gem, but each a far more precious bauble that he stashed and coveted.

The elves whose protection he was charged with didn’t seem to mind his collecting it, apart from when he plucked it from their heads. But that was his favourite game, particularly the golden strands so soaked in the powers of his master’s realm, they shone like the sun. He couldn’t fathom how little value the elves place on the fallen gossamer strands. Did they not feel how his one was enough to unveil the fëa whose rhaw it had fallen from. A single strand of hair from a failing elf was tether enough to allow Elroval to guide their fëa safely and peacefully into the care of his lord. A blessing given the race’s propensity for war and violent death. Without it and the willing help of his kin for centuries, his many a fallen warrior would have been left wandering the battlefields. His master still worked tirelessly to retrieve those fallen in the marshes where he could not reach them, the light of their fëar lingering too long and calling others to share their doom.

The strands around his ankle thrummed with togetherness, he could feel how they were both one and two. How they shimmered between scarlet and ocean blue before blending to an inky purple, only to separate again. He could feel how they were connected to his master’s son, and the dark peredhel lord. He could feel how the golden woodland elves were now woven into the intricate web of fëar.

He tested the connection and found his consciousness could shift between them as it could his own incarnations. How curious it was how each fëa flowed into the others but the nature of each connection felt different. In this it differed from how he flowed into the other iterations of himself.

The poetry was not lost on him, through his master’s will, he was many who had started as one; they were many who were becoming one, bound as they were by the blood of a Vala and their purpose.

His peace was disturbed by a rotting smell, he screeched and let off a warning rattle, soaring to the canopy. His elves would detect the beasts soon enough, they were far enough away to be well out of range, but a little extra warning never hurt. And he did so enjoy watching his charges hunt the stinking spawn of Isengard.

**

Erestor had rerun his plan many times. He had to believe that drawing their fëar together would generate the power needed to distort the memory of middle earth. He was old enough to remember the power and purity of the light when it was whole. Now the blessed light of the trees had fragmented and shattered through the fëar of elfkind, handed on through each generation of immortal beings.

He thanked the Valar that prisms and rainbows had always held a fascination for him, reminding him of how that sacred white light split into the contrasting components of its true nature. Wondrous colours. Vivid but soft and fleeting until once again they combined to conquer darkness.

It could be no coincidence that of the powerful elves that surrounded him, each encompassed one of the colours that he needed to weave together. Thranduil’s deep red and Elrond’s burnt orange that had deepened his Lindir’s shimmering silver into a warm rose-gold when they bonded. Different from Fin’s dazzling celandine gold, but alike enough that his beloved would not need to be drawn into his work, and that was as it needed to be. Though it grieved him, he knew more clearly than ever that his warrior would be needed for his other qualities before the end.

Legolas, well named, shone in vibrant green, the depth of young prince’s connection to the forests was undeniable even had he not experienced it firsthand.
Erestor prayed his own silver-blue would suffice, as Elrohir’s ocean blue would instinctively combine with his twin’s proud scarlet. The twin fëar that had cleaved one rhaw in two in the womb to be born into identical bodies would innately blend into the inky indigo inherited from their Naneth. Celeborn was the last, housing a rare, delicate shade of violet.

The arrangements had been made, the twins traveled to Lorien with Glorfindel, where they would beg Celeborn’s presence in Imladris. Galadriel had already refused her aid, but the twins would bring word that Legolas still teetered at the edge of Mandos Halls. All knew Thranduil’s attachment to his only living kin. It would be neither hard nor untrue to suggest that he would fade from the grief of such a loss, leaving the woods of Eryn Galen leaderless and vulnerable. Celeborn was the king’s kinsman and a healer of renown. If Eryn Galen succumbed to the gathering darkness, the hordes of Mordor would move on the golden woods next. It was this missive the twins carried from their Adar begging their ata-da’s immediate aid for the failing royals.

The twins would add their own heartfelt appeal to help save the youngest son of Imladris’ new love. Erestor was confident it would be sufficient, Celeborn had ever been a tender heart for the troublesome pair, just as Galaldriel could refuse nothing Arwen asked of her. In case it was needed, Glorfindel was ready to vouch for the strength and boldness of the gathering dark hordes that threatened them. To reiterate how much Lothlorien should value the eccentric elvenking’s warriors standing strong between them.

Each prayed that the Lady’s mirror would show nothing to counter their story to the extent that their request would be denied.

Erestor had felt fear attempt to claim him as he kissed his husband farewell, pinning a tiny magpie pin to his beloved’s lapel. The onyx and opal motif glinting in the first light of dawn. Erestor had imbued the token with what protection he could, whilst boldly reminding his Adar to whom the golden warrior’s fëa belonged.

He would not relinquish his lover a second time without a storm the like of which had not been seen on middle earth since the sinking of Nûmenor. This he had pledged to the Valar as he spilled his own blood, vowing to play his part and all that it demanded of him, provided they honour his eternity with his lover.

As the trio set out, Erestor had tested his bond with them and found it stood the test of distance. Elrohir was the more gifted of the pair with mindwork, things would pivot on him, but it would not take a great deal of effort for a third party to block their connection. He consoled himself with the strength of Elrond’s link to his twins.

He knew Elrond’s fëa as wholly as he knew Ereinion’s. The moment the King and his Herald had bonded, Erestor’s energy had been open to both to draw on, though Elrond had never realised it and Erestor had guarded the secret, even from his mate. Elrond would never come to know, but the sustenance Erestor had offered his Lord in secrecy had been the reason Elrond had weathered his wife’s departure.

His heart sank ominously as Erestor watched his golden mate disappear from view with the twins. He had watched his lover ride away to battle so many times, but this time felt different. Erestor once more tried to channel his fears into actions that would influence the situation where fretting would not. As he focussed on the twins, he felt both dutifully stretch themselves to meet him as he had schooled them before they left. He smiled, for all their high spirits, they had ever been diligent students when it mattered. The closer knit together the group were, the more likely this was to work and as such Erestor smiled grimly and set off to complicate Lindir’s world.

**

To Lindir’s credit, the stoic elf took the revelation of the identity of his sire with grace comparable to that Erestor had exhibited on his own recent discovery. Erestor ran his eyes over his friend as he sat next to Thranduil. Though Lindir more closely resembled his nephew, his mannerisms and the power they exuded was unmistakably Thranduil, though Lindir worked as hard to conceal it as Thranduil did to display it.

Thranduil too had taken the confirmation from Erestor in his stride. The challenges e'er his Adar had found his bondmate in his Naneth had been great. It was not wholly a surprise that the lineage of the bloodline had been assured in lieu of a suitable Queen. The chief of Oropher’s guard had been an agreeable substitute, fearsome and respected enough to bear a babe outside of a bond without losing the respect of those loyal to her, and trusted enough to keep the secret should Oropher survive long enough to sire legitimate heirs. It was not the way of elves, but elves were not perfect, and worse had been done in pursuit of power over the centuries.

Legolas however, paled at the news. “Then my new brother will be Lindir’s…”

“Nephew!” Erestor confirmed, in discord with Elrond who interrupted with, “Brother!”

Legolas looked panicked, “But the babe will be healthy, won’t it?” he fretted, distress plain on his face.

Erestor nearly rolled his eyes at his Lord’s uncharacteristic lack of tact. He sensed Elrond’s petulance, still aimed in his direction was causing him to lash out, unheedful of the still fragile state of Legolas’s emotions. Erestor drew a deep breath. “Half-brother, on Lindir’s mother’s side. Half uncle on his father’s side. There is no risk to the babe, there is no blood shared between your Ada and his Queen my Prince, you need not worry.” Erestor soothed, trying hard to conceal his irritation at Elrond’s carelessness.

Legolas’ expression relaxed as his worries faded, but his face remained locked in an expression of confusion as he attempted to unlace the relationships in his mind.

Lindir rose and was perched on the arm of the chair that the young prince sat in within moments. “Little has changed penneth (young one),, you were always kin to me, as was your Ada.” He soothed. Erestor observed how instinctively the older elf’s hand reached to smooth golden hair and a few idle notes of an old folksong found their way out of him at a hum just as they doubtless had when the Prince was an elfling. Both the elder and younger seemed to drift into the solace of the past for a couple of seconds.

Melpomaen slipped into the study with a tray of tea, the disturbance caused Lindir to abruptly pull himself back through the ages to the prince that needed him now. “At least now there can be no arguments over with whom I share all my most annoying traits!" Lindir whispered conspiratorially.

He shot a fond smile at Thranduil who let out a rich peal of laughter so loud that the cups were heard to jump on the tray that was being set down. The ruler’s eyes glinted at the promise of sport as his head turned towards the unfortunate young aide. Erestor watching the exchange could not help comparing the look to the one that Elroval had in his eyes when the corvid was bent on tormenting Fin. He nodded subtly at the youngling as Melpomaen flushed at having embarrassed himself once more in front of the imposing royal and scarpered from the study without even offering to set the table. Grateful acknowledgement in his eyes and Erestor’s subtle dismissal.

As Erestor sorted the refreshments, Thranduil somewhat grudgingly turned his attention back to the much tougher target that was his older brother.

“You are lucky you are blessed with your Naneth’s beauty brother, or I would be forced to demonstrate to Legolas who was always won when we sparred together!” Thranduil taunted.

Lindir chuckled indulgently at the memory. “True Taiglin, though I maintain that your arrogance and complete disregard for your own safety played no small part in those victories… penneth!” Lindir teased. For a moment Legolas was at sea. None had the gall to pit themselves against his Adar so flagrantly, but that one would do so deliberately and live to tell the tale demonstrated to him just how precious Lindir was to Thranduil.

A warm feeling of contentment washed through Legolas once more, so much seemed to be returning to how it had once been, before his world had been turned upside down and shaken. His friends and uncle had been restored to him. What was more, the strain that millennia of grief had placed on his Adar was lifting. The rush of contentment gave way to his joining the mood of the other Mirkwood royals as a look of devilry lit in his eyes. “Adar, I think you might need to be more careful. Uncle Lindir has twenty summers on you, that crown that suits you so well, might be considered his!” he teased.

Thranduil and Lindir both beamed in relief at Legolas’ return to the playful and astute elf he had once been. “Ai ion nîn! (my son) I cannot refute that your uncle Lindir would look most comely in a crown. Do you not think half-elven?” He teased the delicate circlet he wore loose from his hair and placed it gently on Lindir’s head, chuckling mildly at the look of undisguised lust on Elrond’s face.
“It does indeed suit you well too hanar nîn!” (my brother) Thranduil said with genuine admiration.

“Ai, it suits me well enough! But it was made for you Taiglin, and of us, only you can bear its weight as you well know.” Lindir rebutted, but the ease between the two meant he made no attempt to remove the headpiece.

“You should keep that one, it befits your station and is not dissimilar to the one that Legolas refuses to wear. You always were a good influence hanar! Mayhap you can convince the prince of two realms to act as though he is more than a simple warrior?” Lindir nodded gently at the gift, a micro transition in expressions marked a tender moment shared.

**

Those left in Imladris were cognisant that the twins must be closing in on the Golden Woods by the time they reconvened. And all worried about the plan’s viability as Legolas had become increasingly withdrawn, struggling to sustain himself without his mate. Erestor had tried to succour his fëa once more, but just as Vilya could not heal a pining heart, he could do little to comfort one who simply needed his mate’s proximity.

For Legolas, feeling the need for his mate in itself disquieted him. He had steeled himself against the painful pull of the half-bond he had known with Tauriel when Elrohir departed, but the feeling of desperately desiring his missing bondmate had taken him by surprise. The alien feeling was exacerbated by the conflict he felt over being quartered in Elrohir’s rooms without him. It felt somehow as though he was intruding on his privacy though he craved the smell of his lover’s hair on the pillows and the scent of the oils he used in his bath.

Legolas had once more admired Erestor’s perceptiveness when he had been relocated into guest chambers so that both the twin’s quarters could be readied for winter in their absence. Legolas’ new accommodation was next to that his Adar occupied and had oddly enough been furnished with a selection of items from Elrohir’s rooms that betrayed the fierce Imladrian counsellor’s purpose as clearly as his tender heart. Elrohir’s brush and comb sat on the vanity, his oils and soaps in the bathroom and his pillow on the bed, and tucked under it was the nightshirt he had worn the night before he departed.

Legolas found himself more at ease in the more neutral surroundings until his husband returned, and the smell of his lover on the pillow comforting enough to ensure a restful night as he reached for his mate in his dreams. Erestor had spent several hours of each day coaching Legolas on how to reach out over the bond that they shared and had strengthened once more before the twins departed. He knew Legolas was sorely in need of Elrohir’s comfort but also knew the dangers of the road they travelled and advised against reaching for his mate until they were within the safer woods of Lothlorien.

Legolas had also found himself besieged by merchants wanting to know which furniture he favoured for the extra storage that would be added to the soon-to-be jointly occupied suite, tailors advising on colours and styles for his Imladrian wardrobe, and drapers demanding he choose thick fabrics for winter drapes and bedding. Thus, the two weeks over which the small party journeyed and Imladris waited had passed tolerably quickly.

When a dove arrived informing them that the party had crossed the border into Lothlorian, Erestor had met first with Legolas, sharing the news of their husbands’ safe arrival in itself lifted a weight from the Mirkwood Prince. Legolas still looked nervy when Erestor informed him that the twins would rest a few days in Lorien before attempting to persuade Celeborn to accompany them back to Imladris but calmed when Erestor suggested that now he might try to reach out with his mind for Elrohir. Erestor watched Legolas settle in the centre of the large bed with a pillow clutched in his lap before smiling fondly to himself and quietly taking leave to finish his work in the healing halls.

**

As evening fell, the elder elves had gathered once more in the main council chamber, Lindir and Erestor were as usual in easy conversation about housekeeping and other matters when Thranduil and Elrond arrived. Elrond like Erestor had come from the healing halls, there had been more patrols returned with heavy injuries due to the orc that swarmed their lands. None had yet been lost, but it was only a matter of time and that knowledge weighed heavily on Elrond, casting him into a dower mood that his songbird had not yet had the opportunity to lighten.

Inevitably, talk turned to what they faced in the coming days with Lindir remaining ever open and practical in the face of his lord’s brooding. “Lord Erestor, you share a bond with my King and my Prince, will that be sufficient to work your magic, or do you require my bond too?” Lindir asked brightly.

Observing how distracted Elrond was, Lindir smirked, and his tone changed subtly, becoming teasing and a little sultry, “The Valar know I would not object to your claiming it. I find I have quite the weakness for titled healers, as my husband will attest mellon nîn!” he teased, knowing his old friend would not bat midnight dark lashes at his teasing, but his tone if nothing more would pull Elrond’s attention out of his own thoughts. He smiled innocently at his husband as jealousy flashed momentarily on his face.

“You should also confess to being a hopeless flirt mellon nîn!” Erestor ran a fond eye over the musician before turning to his Lord with a knowing smile as Elrond regained himself and his intense look broke to a light chuckle, smoky grey eyes hungrily scanning his incorrigible lover. “Though I must confess that it would serve our purposes better were we to establish a direct bond mellon.” Erestor acknowledged.

Lindir emitted a sound akin to a purr as he stood, his hands reaching for his belt as he advanced on Erestor, his face a flawless mask of desire. “Nothing would please me more mellon nin, I cannot begin to tell you how long you have intrigued me.”

Elrond’s eyes blew with lust even as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the interest his body undoubtedly had in his husband’s shameless flirting with his chief aide. Lindir theatrically reached for Erestor’s hand, bringing it to his lips with a flourish and kissing the palm more sensually than Elrond thought should be possible before roughly pulling the counsellor closer.

Elrond’s breath caught. With one hand still on his belt, Lindir looked for all the world as though he intended to throw the darker elf over the table and claim him in a lover’s union in front of them all. Elrond watched in fascination, lust stirring his body as his husband’s hand curled through midnight soft strands at the nape of his chief counsellor’s neck.

Erestor mirrored the gesture and hooked his hand around his counterpart’s neck, pulling their foreheads together as both sets of eyes closed in what looked like the beginning of a tender kiss. They made no further motion other than a whispered incantation that seemed to flow from them in unison.

The two broke apart and Lindir freed the knife from his belt, slashing Erestor’s palm and his own thumb, before pressing it into the cut hand where Erestor gripped it firmly.

Elrond had risen almost without realising, drawn by the somehow erotic look of the chaste intimacy shared between two he loved fervently. When he reached the two, his husband caught his left hand up lightly. There was a flash of pain as the knife ran over his thumb and his love pressed it with his own into Erestor’s palm.

Momentarily their memories fused and Lindir noted the resurgence of an old bond between his friend and his mate. He idly observed that Elrond for all he was gifted at mindwork did not seem to have noticed though he wondered if on some level that he would not admit to himself he already knew.

In all the years Elrond and his previous mates had indulged in occasional bedplay with others, Erestor had remained untouched by his Lord. Lindir had assumed that maybe his mate’s taste did not run to the peredhel who shared his son’s colouring, but since being bonded to Elrond he knew this not to be the case.

Elrond regarded Erestor with a degree of reverence that he felt for no other. Lindir felt Elrond sag a little as Erestor fought to limit what was shared with his Lord. Lindir felt guilt flare once more in his lover’s fëa, dragging it down.

Elrond began to feel overwhelmed once more by the visions that flooded his mind before his mate’s love rolled in like the tide, filling all the empty pools of doubt and remorse in his path. Dragging Elrond away from the memories that might mire his thoughts.

Elrond sunk heavily onto the couch and Lindir perched lightly on his bemused husband’s lap, running his fingers lovingly through dark hair, pausing to play with the beaded knot that his mate almost always wore. “Well, that was quite something!” Lindir breathed, appearing visibly aroused, “Though mine may be the blood of kings, yours mellon nîn, is quite something else!” He glanced at Erestor near panting as his hand found Elrond’s and hauled him back to his feet most ungracefully.

“Now, you must excuse us, the strength of your fëa was a rather fervent reminder of what may be shared between bonded elves Lord Counsellor. I believe I should investigate further the need for a rota to avoid mishaps resulting from errant swordplay as my brother so delicately suggested not two weeks past.”

Elrond looked a little bemused at his mate’s persistent tugging, casting a mournful look at his untouched tea. “Did you need my input meleth?” He asked tentatively, glancing at Lindir’s hand around his wrist.

“No my love, t’is well with me if you would rather play sheath!” Lindir responded wickedly, causing Elrond to flush as he realised he had missed his mate’s purpose.

Bustling Elrond out of the room Lindir paused for a second glancing over his shoulder at Thranduil. “I believe that makes you the only one our Lord Counsellor hasn’t claimed! Good luck hanar! You will need it!” He grinned broadly as the normally unflappable Woodland King flushed lightly before mastering himself and making a dismissive hand gesture, albeit with a little less self-assurance than usual.

Chapter 25: Seven for a secret (pt3)

Summary:

Because things weren’t complicated enough, enter Haldir and his brothers with the final part of the puzzle. Though it remains to be seen whether Erestor will see the truth in time to prevent everything going horribly wrong.

Notes:

Explanations for my abuse of the elven languages:

Atarattëa - twins nickname for Glorfindel (second father -Q)
Atartaid - twins nickname for Erestor (second father - S)
Penneth - young one
Hest - Captain
Fëa/fëar - soul/souls
Hanar - brother
Adar/Ada - father/dad
Athon - yes
Pînelen - little star (Glorfindel’s nickname for Arwen)

The twins had been glad to arrive in their grandparent’s realm. No strangers to battles with orcs, they were long passed the age where they relished them. The road had been crawling with the foul creatures. They had come to thank the diligence of the magpie that screamed out the discontent of the forest minutes before even their keen senses had detected the skulking beasts.

As a result, they had easily prevailed and slain every one of the stinking dark creatures that crossed their path. It would take a full battalion of orcs to come close to overwhelming the battle-hardened trio even caught unawares. Each fought to protect their sword-brothers, and each knew the others as well as they knew themselves. They arrived at the border to be met by graciously by Orophin and his command of Galadhrim.

The march-warden instantly sent a messenger bird to advise Imladris of their safe arrival, knowing it necessary if he wanted to spend any portion of the winter in a warm bed rather than camped out on the northern fences. Haldir was particularly protective of Arwen and her kin. He had assumed his quiet brother had fallen victim to the lady’s abundant charms, he never took lovers and brooded as though bereft from his beloved on every long tour of duty. He had warned Haldir repeatedly that the Evenstar’s heart would never be his, but the heart chose as it would, and Orophin’s warnings did not diminish the attentiveness Haldir’s lavished on the Lady of Imladris and indeed her brothers e’er they visited.

The trio bedded down in a single tent, all to glad to hand the watch over to ears and eyes more familiar with the Golden Wood. Both of the twins felt the pulse of their new bond with Erestor, but Elrohir and Glorfindel were heavy of heart from being parted from their spouses. Elrohir because he felt his mate’s struggle, and Glorfindel piqued in what he knew was needless jealousy as he felt the others encroaching on the fringes of their bond.

There was a particularly hard nip in the air. Cold enough to see the twins huddled together in sleep, dressed in layers and cocooning their blankets around them. As the night drew late Glorfindel woke, his breath steaming from him like smoke from a dragon. Even his firstborn form was too chill for comfort, though there was no threat to his wellbeing as there would have been to mortal or peredhel.

The cold roused him more than he would have chosen, and he shifted, restlessly longing for the peace he only found in the arms of his mate. He could feel the others uncomfortably crowding his bond with Erestor, and it irked him enough to prevent his moving closer to the twins and adding his blankets to the nest the peredhil had fashioned in their sleep.

He tried to drift again, focussing on his mate and trying to block out the others, pleading for Erestor to call him to the peredhel dreamscape where he hoped only he could tread. He suddenly wondered about the others; would his love’s dreams no longer be his alone? Erestor’s presence was warming, though he could feel his mate’s frustration with his discomfit and his unwillingness to remedy the situation as he would have done only days ago.

Suddenly, unexplained satisfaction drifted over the bond that left Glorfindel jealous as to the source, having recently felt Thranduil added to the outer vestiges of their bond. Even as he recognised his reaction as completely irrational, he felt Erestor’s gentle amusement at his plight though it was outweighed by his lover’s tender concern for his comfort.

As his irritation grew, it became apparent that even when they were leagues parted, Erestor could find means to best his golden warrior as Elrohir stirred from sleep enough to grab at his mentor and sharply tug him towards where the twins lay curled together.

“For the sake of the Valar Atarattëa! Come here lest Atartaid wake us all with his worry.” Elrohir mumbled drowsily. The peredhel’s grip was strong, even with sleep-soaked muscles and Glorfindel suddenly realised the absurdity of his behaviour and of doubting his mate’s fidelity. Wondering at his own lack of wits, he scooted over to lie alongside Elrohir, pulling both twins into him as he added his blankets to those wrapped around the pair.

**

The Lady of Lothlorien was polite in her reception of the Seneschal of Imladris and mildly affectionate towards her grandsons, but it was Celeborn who made them welcome, particularly when he detected the nature of his youngest grandson’s interest in Legolas. The threat of seeing Elrohir broken hearted had seemed to stir him more than Glorfindel’s counsel on the threat to woodland realm.

Celeborn in fact seemed avidly preoccupied with the relationships of both of the twins. Pressing to know if they had found their future mates and taking joy from Elladan’s glowing depictions of Lossiel. Elladan even blushed as his ata-da admonished the lack of action behind his intention to secure the bond he clearly longed for with his long-term lover.

The one thing that did not fit the doting grandsire’s pattern of behaviour was the reluctance to acquiesce to return with them to Imladris. The twins understood Celeborn’s reluctance to be parted from Galadriel, they rarely left their home and always traveled together. They could also see how their grandmother’s disturbing neutrality over Legolas’ plight clearly disquieted Celeborn. It was the closest they had ever seen their grandparents to arguing, yet Celeborn seemed unwilling to challenge his Lady’s silent decision.

On the night that the twins determined to make their most heartfelt plea to their surviving grandsire, Eärendil’s light shone bright in the heavens. Glorfindel had been approached and near coerced into taking dinner with the chief march-warden of Lothlórien and his kin. He had tried to politely decline, but the invitation from his equivalent in the Golden Wood had been framed such that further attempts at refusal would border on a diplomatic incident.

As such, Glorfindel found himself seated eye to eye, in stilted conversation with Haldir in the awkward march-warden’s talan as his more genial brothers played chef and waiter. More than once Glorfindel found himself tagging behind Orophin or Rúmil into the kitchen to break the strained silence, only to be turned back around and urged to relax and leave things to them.

Had he not trusted the trio with his life, he may have thought more on the short glass flask that Orophin swiftly tucked away as he attempted to assist Rúmil in clearing the debris from their main course. The plates had been studiously picked clean as both warriors are in strained silence. Glorfindel would have excused himself but was now curious as to the pressing nature of the meeting and the even more stoic than usual March-warden.

As ithil rose high, Haldir appeared to break, “My Lord, forgive me… I fear I cannot speak plainly. But I would be as blunt as I am able and beg your indulgence. It is a personal matter and not all is mine to tell. But the situation has become most pressing.” Haldir was clearly almost choking on the words as he attempted to master what was renowned as pride, but Glorfindel had long suspected was shyness knowing Erestor as he did. He nodded sympathetically as Haldir tripped over the words he forced out.

The commanding Galadhrim looked dazed and unsure for a second, but Glorfindel knew better than to interrupt as the other steeled himself. He simply met the warrior’s eyes and took the liberty of topping his host’s glass up, watching with curiosity as his comrade gratefully drained it instantly.

Haldir watched the golden elf of legend dutifully refill his glass again with the rich Imladrian wine he had brought, though he barely had he set it down. Haldir swallowed a more measured sip and appeared to gather his wits sufficiently to continue.

“I find myself in the untenable position of having split loyalties Hest.” The Galadhrim admitted, his failure clearly paining him as he no longer met the elder’s eyes. Glorfindel nodded indulgently, noting the use of the deferent term and accepting the commanding officer role he felt Haldir needed from him.

“And these loyalties conflict?” Glorfindel used the gentle fatherly tone he had long practised with young guards dealing with their first losses from battle. The elf before him seemed to fold in on himself as he nodded and gazed into his glass.

“I have long lost my heart to another. But ever have I know they were not free to pledge theirs in return. Though hope made me foolish. I have come by information that is not mine to share, but suffice to say, it has extinguished that hope. I have accepted that it is my fate to fade alone, but I will not stand by to see them suffer. I would make their path easier if it is within my power, such is all my love can offer.” The stoic warrior’s eyes misted as he clearly retreated to pleasanter memories that caused a weak smile to curl on his lips, even before Glorfindel could decide which of Elrond’s brood the march-warden could have been unlucky enough to have lost his heart to.

Haldir continued though Glorfindel’s heart bled for his pain, each indication of it in his voice seeming to quake him.

“I would see him whole, even if I must break an oath I have held most dear for as long as I remember. Lord Celeborn must travel to Imladris!” Haldir drew breath as though hearing his own words aloud shocked him. But he seemed to recover his composure before continuing.

“Though the Lady will not freely be parted from him. I will accompany my Lord to Imladris to ensure his safe passage. It is imperative that he depart the moment the twins sway him, if not, uncertainty will stay our hand. I have made ready his pack, and his horse is waiting with Rovnaur and Gwidal.” Glorfindel could not ignore the now conspiratorial tone in the other elf’s voice. Nor could he ignore that the summary of their leaving had pointedly excluded himself and Asfaloth.

Glorfindel was too old to assume that the information he was being offered was a simple courtesy, nor that what was excluded was coincidental, so the probed further. “So, what is it you need from me penneth?” He had deliberated between marking the march-warden’s considerable experience or their age difference and had decided that the latter would offer the other’s state of mind more comfort currently.

“We will be leaving against the wishes of my Lady. Though her powers stretch far, they are strongest within our borders. For us to have a chance at escape, you must aid our Evenstar in distracting our Lady long enough for us to clear of Lothlórien Hest.” Haldir sighed distractedly, his mind clearly on the progress that the twins made with their grandsire.

Orophin slipped in through the door, “It is near done. I believe they will have his consent within the hour.” He smiled grimly as Haldir seemed to startle at the news and rose sharply, instantly battle-alert.

“Then this is your final chance brothers. Know that if you throw your lot in with me on this, there is a chance you will not be welcome in our Golden Woods again.” Haldir sighed sadly as Rumil also appeared in their living room alongside his brother, silently handing one of the three packs he carried to Orophin before offering Haldir the third. Haldir smiled weakly at the resolute set of each jaw and accepted the pack from his youngest brother.

“We may not love him as you do hanar, but we will not stand to see him fade from so cruel a bond.” Rúmil reassured.

Haldir tensed and Glorfindel watched as the march-warden’s eyes darted to study his face. Haldir had noticed Rúmil’s slip and looked to see if Glorfindel had. But Glorfindel had many more years of experience hiding his emotions and remained entirely neutral even as his mind changed course, concluding it was Legolas who unknowingly held Haldir’s heart. It was unsurprising, all three of the Galadhrim had spent much time in Mirkwood. Though the realm’s rulers remained distant, it was not uncommon for soldiers to relocate to hone their skills in other realms.

Glorfindel wondered how Haldir and his brothers had found out about Legolas’ enslavement. He was certain the recalcitrant Elroval would have suffered none other than the rightful recipients to read the messages carried from Imladris. Recalling how he had returned with a beak full of silver hair and the chastising note from Galadriel about his difficult behaviour. Even as he racked his brain to recall the contents of the responses that had been carried by the doves of the golden wood. He decided it must have been one of these messages, no doubt entrusted to the three brothers to send that had revealed the situation. He felt mild anger that the warrior acted on information acquired dishonestly, but quickly reasoned that he would do as much if it was Erestor who lay mortally wounded and Elrond callously refusing to offer aid.

Either way, he pitied the warrior’s lot, to have spent centuries watching the object of his love, not knowing why Legolas could never return his affection, only for the Prince to pledge his heart to another barely days after freeing it. It said much for Haldir’s character that he was still willing to give-up his hard-won position and his home for the Prince. Glorfindel near crumbled and revealed that Legolas was no longer in danger, but the price of such a disclosure reaching the wrong ears was too high so he kept his peace and hoped for the sake of his conscience that the brothers would forgive him.

“You would all be welcomed in Imladris were such a thing to happen, I give you my word.” Was all the Seneschal could say to ease their sacrifice.

“You should remove yourself from our presence my Lord.” Rúmil ventured. “Were you not bound to Lord Erestor I could offer the names a number of elves who would happily vouch you had been abed with them all evening; but perhaps given the circumstances it would be better to head to the tavern. Drink and tip well and many will remember your presence. The hour is late, few there will be of sound enough judgement to mark the time of your arrival.” Rúmil was already moving to allow Glorfindel to get past him and make his exit.

Glorfindel nodded, “You have planned well my friends, but what of Lord Celeborn, will Galadriel not notice his absence?”

Haldir shook his head, “It has been many centuries since the Lord and Lady shared quarters and it is not unusual for my Lord to pass his evening with friends and depart early to hunt. I doubt he will be missed before nightfall tomorrow, possibly longer. It should give us enough time to leave Lothlórien though it will be his crossing out of the realm that is noticed.” Glorfindel noted an odd look pass between the brothers as Haldir finished.

Orophin smiled reassuringly, “We have miruvor brother, and we will take fresh horses. There will be no need to stop until we reach Imladris. At such a pace, we could be inside Lord Elrond’s borders five days from when our departure becomes known.”

Haldir looked resolute, “Then we shall have to pray to the Valar that his fëa is strong enough.” His tone was laced with sorrow and fear and again Glorfindel felt guilt pull as he struggled to resist telling Haldir that he had no reason to fear for Legolas but his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet enquiry about the very same elf.

“How did Legolas fare when Tauriel passed hest? You were there were you not?” Haldir asked.

“Athon penneth.” Glorfindel immediately embraced the new story they had agreed before he had left Imladris.

“Tauriel passed birthing. Legolas was attacked following her to Imladris. We have many talented healers they were able to sustain him, but they cannot heal him completely without Lord Celeborn’s aid. I doubt he has yet felt the full grief of his loss, she was as a sister to him.” He said diplomatically but it did not have the soothing effect he had hoped for on the march-warden who looked at him curiously before looking even more pained were it possible.

“We must hope our journey is swift. It is a fate none deserves - to fade at the whim of another.” Haldir concluded, nodding his goodbyes to Glorfindel as the Seneschal slipped away in the direction of the tavern.

**

Morning shone through the window of the room Glorfindel had been allocated. He woke face down on the bed, his head feeling as though a cave troll was waging a rampage through it. There was a tug at his hair and his heart stopped for a bleary second as he tried to work out who was in the bed with him. A loud caw resonated in his ear that threatened to split his skull and he raised an arm to bat at the jubilant magpie, only succeeding in creating a flurry of feathers and claws as he cursed the bird and groped on the nightstand for a glass of water.
A bright laugh tinkled, and his heart missed yet another beat, bile rising in his throat until the voice of the elleth it belonged to broke through his fog.

“Atarattëa! Rúmil said you planned to accompany Grandmother and I on a picnic, yet it seems the lure of the tavern has bested you!” Arwen teased as Glorfindel began breathing again and his mind tried desperately to stir what had happened the night before.

He had been to the tavern as the brothers had suggested, but he had not consumed much liquor, he remembered feeling lightheaded as he arrived, staying only long enough but a large round and nurse half a beer before tipping generously staggering out. He recalled the flagon Orophin had hidden. The brothers must have put something in his wine, something that would show him worse for wear but not loosen his tongue; they had certainly been thorough.

He groaned as Arwen pulled open the curtains and the warm dawn light streamed in.

“Here! Rúmil suggested a night in the tavern might see you heavy headed. He gave me the herbs the Galadhrim use when they must ride out early after a night spent in excess. See if they help.” She smiled innocently before tipping the mixture into the glass of water he was now holding.

The herbs proved most effective, no doubt as his medic knew exactly what he was countering mused Glorfindel, but he could bear the trio no ill-will for their pre-planning. He considered shooing Arwen out so that he might bathe and dress in peace, but the elleth was already enthusiastically relaying her picnic plans so he settled for simply shutting himself in the bathing chamber as she talked at him through the door.

Eventually emerging feeling a little less like he had been dragged behind Asfaloth, he collected his riding things and ushered the ever-effusive Evenstar out of the door and in the direction of the stables.

Galadriel was mounting as they arrived. “Are my grandsons not joining us?” she asked, blue eyes seeming to bore into Glorfindel.

“They are with Lord Celeborn my Lady.” Glorfindel explained smoothly, choosing his words carefully so he could not be caught in a lie. “They left ahead of first light with the hunt.”

Arwen wrinkled her nose before taking over. “They went north, that is why we head to the Anduin. I selected our lunch most carefully and I do not wish to have it trampled by my brothers pursuing some poor terrified creature!” she sniffed haughtily.

Glorfindel smiled conspiratorially at Galadriel, “Quite right Pînelen (little star), and what have we to look forward to?” he asked with a slight teasing tone that Arwen missed entirely.

Arwen’s face lit up, this topic much more to her liking as they set off on their path down to the river, “Oh, we have cold meats and cheese, those venison sausages that cook makes with the damsons in, game pie, and the honey cakes I know you like Atarattëa. I made those myself, with spices from the east, they are very good for you, Adar says…” Arwen chattered away happily, unaware of the smirks the older elves behind her had shared.

**

The day had passed remarkably well, Arwen had read them the poetry she had been writing and Glorfindel had to admit it was passing fair. The ladies had paddled whilst Glorfindel caught fish to roast for supper and afterwards, they had sparred with light swords, neither elleth too fragile to wield a blade damningly enough to terrify any sensible enemy. Glorfindel ultimately prevailed due to his superior stamina and strength, but he was proud to admit his little star who he had trained against his Lord’s wishes until her Nana had been taken, was fearsome enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with her warrior brothers should the need ever arise.

The light was waning, they needed to head back. The ever-watchful sentries in the canopy lit the torches marking the road home as more sparkled in the distance. Suddenly something in Galadriel’s easy manner changed. Her features tightened with a distracted air of concentration that only Glorfindel seemed to notice. He was in the final stages of a sparring match with Arwen, his young charge too stubborn to admit defeat, was beginning to make foolish errors and it was taking concentration not to injure her.

A quick mental calculation and Glorfindel realised that the twins and their party must be nearing the borders and he could only assume this was what had drawn the Lady’s attention. He saw her expression changed further her attention seeming to depart. Glorfindel hated every aspect of the decision he was about to make, but he gritted his teeth and made it anyway.

Arwen’s pained scream rang out into the night. But it worked, pulling Galadriel back to them instantly, she hailed the nearest sentries before hurrying to where Glorfindel was bent over Arwen on the floor. The elleth had a cut to her leg where she had deflected Glorfindel’s blade from striking high but had not got herself clear.

The Seneschal was clearly biting back tears as he bound the wound, apologizing to the young elleth who was trying equally hard to stop her own tears falling. “You were not to blame Atarattëa.” She soothed through her pain, shocked to see the effect the injury was having on her beloved tutor. “I should have heeded you when you bid me stop, it has just been so long since we last sparred. It is really not that bad.” She reassured the worried onlookers.

Glorfindel felt the guilt rise even higher, he had taught Elrond’s brood his craft since they were big enough to pick up a blade with nothing worse to show for their mistakes than bruises, and now he had injured his Pînelen to stage a distraction. The wound was shallow, he had placed it with the utmost care. It would have begun to knit beneath the dressings before they even reached the healers.

When Arwen was distracted by calling reassurances over to Galadriel Glorfindel cut his own arm above the cuff of his tunic and bloodied the bandages he had placed. By the time Galadriel had reached them, it looked as though the wound still bled profusely. Glorfindel insisted that Arwen mount in front of her grandmother, in case she became dizzy from blood loss as he rode ahead to warn the healers. By the time they were back in the healing halls and the superficial nature of the wound discovered, the twins and Celeborn should be well clear of Lothlorien’s borders.

**

The sounds of high-pitched warning calls and raucous rattles from at least two directions reached Erestor in his study. The sharp warning over his marriage bond meant Erestor was expecting the draw on him and had already raised his walls. The intruding mind was strong though and filled with rage. He felt two others pulled in and being drawn upon alongside himself. Only one could he identify. He tried to shield him without draining himself completely but he was losing his grip.

To his relief, Thranduil barrelled through his door looking positively livid, followed by Lindir looking concerned. “Legolas! She is trying to drain Legolas.” He gasped.
Lindir continued his path toward his friend though Thranduil growled and spun on his heel and the next sound Erestor’s grateful ears heard was that of Legolas’ door giving way to the ire of the king of the woodland realm.

Erestor felt Legolas’s energy retreat as Thranduil blocked access to his firstborn and stood firm against their aggressor. Erestor tried to determine the other in the equation as he felt them falter. He recognised the signature of the enslaving bond and realised to his horror there was one they had missed, and they were fading. He allowed a little more of his energy to ebb to ease their suffering. He felt Lindir’s energy flow into him in compensation as it had once before.

Suddenly Elrond’s energy and the bolt that was Vilya rushed through him. He felt the succubus-like drain on him retreat a little, but none were ready for the blinding flash of scarlet that flared over the connection. The surge flashed pain through Erestor’s head, as he was feeding the connection. The one that drained it must have been rendered near unconsciousness by the fierce blow.
“Go check on them please!” Erestor croaked at Lindir, fearing what the prince might have suffered given the ferocity of his sire’s attack. The musician scurried from the room and Erestor retreated into his bond. There was a singular thought from his lover, “Now! It had to be now!”

Erestor braced mentally, already weary he drew hard on each of the elves he sought. He dug deep into the blood bond the twins, Thranduil and Lindir had with Celeborn to reach him, and as he did he recognised the third enslaved fëa. Everything came together in a flash.

Seven fëar collided with his, six magpies, one soaring over the eastern plains towards Erebor with strands of Lindir’s bloodied hair rescued from the ground where it had lain. One soaring towards Mirkwood with a note that bore the seal of Thranduil with a single golden hair caught in the wax. A battered, caged bird in Isengard, coveting the hair from Legolas that had seen him held captive. The bird that rested in Elrond’s rooms, one of the two that had raised the alarm, twisting a strand of ebony pulled from the hairbrush on the vanity. The bird that rested in his study, silver hairs yanked from the Lord of the Golden Wood stashed in his nest. And finally, the magpie perched on Elrohir’s shoulder, with twin strands of ebony wound around his ankle.

Erestor pushed harder, reaching into the power he had access to and he felt the world begin to shift. He wove new stories, taking care over the details for those he held dear. He pushed again, the power was intoxicating. He felt Saruman and Galadriel weakening and pushed away the thought that maybe he could simply end this now. He shook it off and pushed. Pushed his will harder than he ever had before.

Erestor wavered as the energy he drew in began to fail. Celeborn fell first, weakened by his wife followed by Legolas. The twins fought on valiantly only to be pushed back by their Adar before they too lost consciousness. The power drain through them more than they could stand.

Thranduil dizzied and dropped to his knees but refused to give up the fight to guard his son’s energy, Erestor turned his attention away as he felt Lindir step in alongside his half-brother.

Erestor could feel the changes he had made resonate through the music of middle earth, even as he could still feel the resistance from Saruman. He appealed to his Adar to lend him the last ounces of power that he needed. The flow into him from Vilya deepened as Elrond called on the waters around Imladris and he could feel Thranduil drawing on the forests in the same manner his son had done.

Erestor saddened, in a moment of clarity, he knew it wasn’t going to be quite enough. Saruman was stronger than he had reckoned and his own life-force was going to give out before he could bend the will and the memory of one so old and powerful. He kept trying to force us focus, make them forget, hide him from sight. He fought to take control of the maia’s memories, no longer focusing on details, just wanting to hide Nornion.

‘Forget, hide, forget, hide’. The mantra was all he clung to as his life ebbed through his fingers. He was coming to his end with no idea if it had been enough. His mind slipped to Fin, murmuring an apology to his love as he pushed the last piece of himself into the work ‘forget, don’t let him see, forget, hide!’ He finally felt the last notes drop into the tune he desired.

He felt Fin’s panic but was too weak to stop the bolt of protective energy his husband unleashed.

As Erestor dropped to his knees he felt a tug at his hair, and then there was nothing.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, sorry also that this chapter should have been 2 but I can’t risk any more editing or I will never get the story done. There will be some additions to naughty bits in future but I promised myself I would conclude this main arc before I became distracted and took even longer. Thank you to those who have left such lovely comments so far, they keep me going <3 x

Chapter 26: Never to be Told

Summary:

The final chapter- at last!

The magic is done, now there is just the aftermath to deal with. After all, there are always consequences. Nothing happens without balance.

Notes:

I hope I got all the elements in this chapter

Fëa/fëar - soul/souls
Pen dithen - little one
Ada/Adar - dad/father
Meleth/meleth nîn - love/my love
Mellon nin/mellon - my friend/friend
Athon - yes
Silithion - son of moonlight (Nornion’s new name)

In the quiet of his halls Námo waited. This terrible mistake that he had made when he lost his heart to a firstborn maiden so long ago was drawing to a close. He had vowed to Eru he would not meddle further and though he could feel the stretch of the fëa of the one that he had sent in his place, he felt like he had abided by the demand.

Erestor was more powerful than he gave himself credit for, he watched pridefully as the changes that his son invoked rolled like unseen smoke over middle-earth. For most, the knowledge that needed changing was incidental but Námo realised as even Legolas’ memories began to change that his son had made a single oversight. And it was one that could be his undoing.

Námo knew Erestor had felt Galadriel draw on him once before in panic and the Valar had assumed that his son had realised at that point how deeply the Lady had been drawn into the distasteful world of half bonds. Galadriel had suffered. At the hands of her kin, she and her family had suffered more than any should have. That Galadriel had survived the horrors of her lifetime without fading was largely down to the strength of the one that was bound to her.

Annatar, giver of gifts. Terrible gifts. Powerful gifts. He had cursed Galadriel with a gift that had seen her endure far more than she should have been able to stand the day he had bound Celeborn to her in servitude.

Celeborn had been the first in a long experimentation with thralls and the power one could wield over another if their fëa was moulded correctly. He had been an easy target, his infatuation with Galadriel blinding him, it had been easy to convince him she was the one. She had been drowning in a sea of grief, tired beyond belief but with all the qualities Annatar needed.

It was this that Erestor had overlooked. For millennia none knew of the nature of the relationship between the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, all seeing the happily matched couple they played publicly. So engrained into his role, it was possible none would ever have seen, until the day Celeborn met his true soulmate in a young March-warden. The eldest of three brothers orphaned and left to the mercy of the realm.

For centuries Celeborn had not realised what it was about Haldir that made his existence feel tolerable after so many centuries of pain. And Haldir, though he realised that he had lost his heart to his Lord, did not know for centuries the nature of his bond with the Lady of the Golden Wood that kept them apart. It was only weeks ago when his love had fallen unconscious in his presence that he had he forced the confession from him.

Erestor had felt the pull when Celeborn was unable to meet his Lady’s demand for power.Had Elrond’s premonition not struck at the same time, he might have recognised the violet glimmer of Celeborn’s fading light.
Námo watched as Erestor struggled to complete his goal. The oath that his son had forced from him with spilled blood to protect his bond itched in the back of his mind. It would take seven. It was a good number, seven to bind a secret. He smiled, the neatness of it pleased him.

With a casual wave of his hand Námo created a seventh guardian as the magpie that was sat in Elrond’s room shimmered, split and seemed to peel away from itself. The new bird flew out of the window, only to enter a room a few doors down. He watched in satisfaction as the bird plucked ebony and gold hairs from the pillow of the bed his son shared with his bondmate.

Each of the birds was now tethering a fëa to middle earth and they would not cross-over without their escort. Such was the call of the servants of the doomsman.

The final burst of power that Erestor called forward felled the remaining four elves; binding the new truth in place. A fifth fell, an unintended addition having forced himself into the draw.

Námo smiled, it was done.

One by one he called his birds back into the one they had started as, and one by one they released the fëar they had been holding back into the elves they belonged to.

***

In Imladris Lindir sat in the nursery, the strange condition that held a number of elves in the healing halls was worrying but Elrond though concerned did not seem as perplexed as others. Lindir’s attention turned his attention back to his temporary charge, Erestor and Glorfindel’s new son Silithion.

“Come now pen dithen, it is time for elflings to nap.” The babe fussed as he was swaddled so Lindir jumped in with a bribe, as he rocked him.

“I will sing for you, and if you promise not to tell your Ada Erestor I will have cook put some lembas in your afternoon milk.” The musical tone of Lindir’s voice settled the babe and he sang, gently stroking the baby soft hair that has mellowed to a warm strawberry blond.

Lindir rocked the sleeping babe gently, before settling him in his crib in the nursery with his new nanny before he hurried towards the healing halls to ensure Elrond remembered to take lunch.

***

Celeborn had arrived near lifeless, held by Haldir ahead of him on his mount. It had taken five days for him to regain consciousness. Elrond’s healing halls playing host to several other elves who had been unconscious since the day Erestor changed history.

The three Galadhrim had revealed what they knew of Celeborn’s condition to Elrond upon their arrival, Erestor had tampered less with the peredhel’s memories than he had the others, if for no other reason that any manipulation would likely have unravelled with his Lord’s gifts of healing and foresight. Any hints of an alternate truth combined with Elrond’s stubborn streak would draw more risk of exposure as he investigated than leaving the Lord of Imladris complicit to the truth. As such he had only tweaked Legolas’ backstory and Saruman and Galadriel’s involvement, leaving his Lord to believe both his and Celeborn’s bonds the work of Sauron.

Celeborn’s half-bond with Galadriel had shattered by the time Elrond examined him. The act of his fëa departing his rhaw during the magics Erestor worked fulfilling the oath of being bonded until death. Though the ancient elf was still drained almost to death, Elrond marvelled that his law father’s fëa had not fled to Mandos when it had been freed, but something had held him back, quite possibly the same thing that had held Erestor Elrond mused.

Knowing what he worked against, Elrond streamed energy via Vilya into Celeborn, amazed by the power of the ancient elf as he regained his strength.

Within days of waking, Celeborn had taken Haldir as his lover. Finally seeming happy rather than tranquil and slightly absent as he had during his millennia of torment. But again, Elrond knew this was a fact only known to a few. Most attributing the ancient Lord’s change in manner to his sojourn in Imladris, away from the pressures of rule.

Outwardly, the Lord and Lady were still bound in love, though Elrond had already glimpsed what lay ahead and knew Galadriel would depart Middle Earth, long before Celeborn thought to.

Legolas has also regained consciousness when his mate had crossed the Bruinen. The energy that had returned to the young prince as his mate drew nearer had been remarkable. And judging his youngest son’s disheveled and somewhat dazed but happy look and awkward gait when he eventually emerged from their rooms to pay a brief visit to the healing halls, it had been a sustained recovery. Even days later, the looks Elrond kept catching between the pair, and the frequency with which they disappeared subtly, showed him Legolas remained well enough recovered to be testing his new husband’s endurance. Elrohir for his part had never looked happier and had joined the pressure his twin was placing on him to allow Elladan and Lossiel to forego the customary year of betrothal before bonding. He smirked to himself. He would of course relent but it would not hurt his eldest to sweat a little and he was rather enjoying his efforts to keep his Ada sweet.

***

Celeborn had been recovering in Imladris for over a fortnight by the time Glorfindel returned, accompanied by a full Galadhrim guard.

Erestor still had not woken when Glorfindel eventually rode in. Glorfindel’s arrival was strange, he rode Asfaloth with no saddle or reins as was normal, but something about his posture was different. It was only when he dismounted but remained standing next to Asfaloth until guided towards his Lord that Elrond realised what. His worry only deepening when no enquiry of Erestor was made as he escorted his Seneschal to the healing halls where his mate still languished in unnatural sleep.

***

Erestor woke in the healing halls, to find his Lord watching over him in Glorfindel’s place.

“Fin?” The words croaked out and Elrond rose immediately to help him sit and sip from a glass of miruvor that was on the bedside. Erestor grimaced at the sickly liquid, refusing more as he met his Lord’s silver eyes that seemed shrouded in sadness.

Elrond did what he could to hide his expression though he knew it was too late.

“He has not returned, has he? Something has happened.” The words left Erestor through sheer determination, his voice still raspy and unused and his body weak.

“He is back my friend, he has been within these halls since yesterday morning, but I fear…” Elrond’s tone was too schooled, too calm. Erestor had heard it a thousand times before when a healer informed someone of the loss or impending loss of a loved one.

Erestor’s body flooded with adrenaline and with it a cold surge of energy. He reached into his bond and found seven fëar. All faint connections, lingering on the edges of his mind, but not the one who belonged there. His Fin. There was just a haze where his beloved should be. He slammed the bond shut and leaped from the bed, no doubt with borrowed energy but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He looked to the room where Elrond’s eyes darted nervously, and he made for it with an animalistic ferocity. As Erestor made to rush forward, Elrond rose and blocked his passage.

“What is wrong, how badly is he injured? Let me pass Elrond, I can help him.” Erestor could hear the panic in his own voice.

Elrond looked uncomfortable, “He carries no injuries that I can tell, at least none that may be healed by herbs or Vilya.”

Erestor breathed in relief, but the panic did not subside and made again to push past Elrond.

“Wait mellon nîn, you should not go in there yet.” Elrond held out his arm, blocking Erestor once more. The strength of the elven Lord more than sufficient to beat Erestor in his weakened state though he struggled against him like a landed fish.

Erestor growled his anger and frustration at his Lord, “Elrond, I am your elder and a healer. One that has been without his mate for near two moons; you will let me pass!”

Elrond sighed, “I would not keep you from him Erestor, but I would warn you. He is not the same as when he left.”

Erestor’s heart leapt in fear and he scrabbled weakly at the door in an attempt to reach his lover even as Elrond kept him back. “What can you mean, how is he different?” He garbled feeling as though every nightmare he had ever had was hitting him at once.

“They found him unconscious. They were not sure how long he lay untended, but I would guess a day or more assuming he was struck down when you were. He may have taken a blow to the head though there was no visible injury. When he came around, he had lost his sight Erestor. The Lothlórien healers can find no cause, and nothing they did seemed to help. I to have tried but with no success.” Elrond gulped, as Erestor blanched and sat back heavily on the bed, his eyes glistening with the welling tears he blinked back. The older healer stuck out his chin proudly.

“I know healing techniques that others do not. I have pulled him back to me from worse. I would see him now Elrond. Why have you kept him from me?” Elrond could hear the anger in Erestor’s tone was barely veiling his uncertainty.

“He did not ask to see you Erestor.” Elrond confessed quietly, guilt and sadness washing over him at the hurt on his friend’s face.

“It was what alerted me that there was more amiss than the Lothlórien healers had noticed mellon nîn. Many of his memories have also been lost.” Elrond explained gently as Erestor bolted upright once more and grasped Elrond’s shoulders near shaking him in exasperation.

“His memory? For the love of the Valar Elrond, let me pass. I need to see him.” Erestor was near hysterical as fear pressed him.

“You will see him Erestor, but you need to know. The memories he has lost seem quite specific; he has forgotten you are bound. In fact, he has forgotten… your relationship. When I examined him, he asked me why he wore this.” Elrond opened his hand and the gold binding ring that matched the one on Erestor’s finger lay in the palm of his hand.

Erestor felt like a shockwave racked his world as he picked up the ring, barely hearing Elrond explain that Glorfindel seemed to have no recollection of Erestor at all.

Erestor’s memory coursed back to those last moments of the spell he worked. The thoughts he has been forcing through he had felt Fin’s energy. ‘Forget, hide’. All Fin’s love had poured into him, completely unguarded. It was his fault. He had done this. His miscalculation. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally made their way down his cheek, dropping forlornly onto the cornflower blue robes he wore, making splashes the colour of his beloved’s eyes. His fragmented thoughts reeled.

He had been through the plan so many times, knowing Fin could not lose memories gained in Mandos. He had not considered his mate’s involvement. But when he had felt it, he had done nothing to shield his Fin. How could he not have seen - not all memories were made in Mandos and now Erestor would pay dearly for his carelessness.

They had both survived, but by his negligence he no longer existed in his mate’s world. He had guarded against what the Valar might demand of him, but he had done this. His lack of consideration for his beloved husband had done this even as Fin had been ready to sacrifice himself for their future, he had carelessly destroyed it.

Erestor sagged against Elrond and his Lord simply held him. Grief poured out of him; the price of his actions more than he could bear.

Elrond’s voice broke through as his tears were wiped away and a gentle kiss placed on his brow.

“Your fëar are still bound Erestor, he will love you once more, even were he never to regain what he has lost. Go to him, have faith in what binds you.”

Erestor nodded, though he could feel his heart breaking as he slipped through the door gripping his mate’s binding ring so tightly it dug into his hand.

***

Glorfindel had spent a day trying to process what his Lord and friend had told him. How could he be wed to his soulmate of millennia and have forgotten him and their centuries together when he remembered everything else so clearly? He had no reason to doubt the explanation.

Though his memories seemed whole, under scrutiny nothing hung together. They felt like the transitions when he walked the path of memories in his sleep, each feeling seamlessly connected until examined in the morning light. It made no sense that he knew Erestor only by reputation when they had passed so many years in Gondolin and then Imladris together. Their positions worked closely together, they must have sat at thousands of meetings together, the empty chair opposite his own in the Hall of Fire was Erestor’s yet he had no memory of him.

Even the spell that they had cast remained fresh in his mind but try as he might, every attempt he made to picture the elf he was bound to failed. He had tortured himself to recall the smallest details, his favourite colour, the foods he preferred, anything. Fingering through the robes that hung in the closet next to his own he had felt like an intruder. Sat on their bed his fingers had traced the embroidery on the coverlet but he had no idea if he had been his choice or Erestor’s. As hard as he tried, whenever he tried to pull forth a memory of Erestor it was as if it were shrouded in most that he only noticed when he focussed on it.

It had left him feeling frustrated and less than whole. Elrond had tried twice to coach him to reach into their bond, but the first time had resulted in Glorfindel upending the table in frustration. The second time his temper at finding nothing but the same infuriating most that clouded his vision sent a water pitcher flying at an unfortunate Melpomaen and Elrond had given up for now.

Sitting, brooding over his failure, Glorfindel instinctively turned as he heard someone enter the room. He looked towards the sound but couldn’t see sparkling silver eyes, wet with tears though he could hear the rough breaths.
The scent of gardens at dusk and ink washed over him. It smelled of home. Of warmth and comfort, of love. And though no images returned to him, he knew instinctively it was Erestor who had entered the room.

There was movement near the doorway, the faint sound of clothing shifting, and the smell of celandine soap hit him as Erestor draw closer. In his mind, a flash of arms around him blazed, the sensation of a warm, always welcoming body with a gentle touch that knew him innately. But the thoughts washed away before he could grasp anything more.

He smiled in what he hoped was a warm fashion as the wary counsellor approached tentatively. He felt at sea without being able to observe the other’s face not being able to judge how his actions were being received.
Erestor drew closer, he could feel the air move as his long-term lover glided towards him. Somehow, he knew that the unseen movements were filled with grace.

“Fin?”

Glorfindel shivered, the voice was a rich tenor, he could imagine it raised in song, but then a smile curved his lips as he mused from nowhere that this shy elf would not be one to openly share his voice with others. But this name on his lips sounded nice, nicer than when others spoke his name. Beautiful even.

How much more beautiful must I have been soaked with lust. He wondered how often his ears had heard the counsellor’s voice in the throws of ecstasy and he frowned as he realised, he had no idea what kind of lover his mate was, though the thought excited him. He tested himself, he did remember encounters with other lovers, even bedplay with Elrond but none sent his blood racing like the thought of the counsellor though he couldn’t even recall what Erestor looked like.

His thoughts were broken by the strained silence between them. He could feel the other yearning for him to say something. To say the right thing.

“Erestor, I…” he tried to lean on intuition but there was nothing there. He didn’t know what to say to comfort the one he was supposed to love but didn’t know, even though he could feel the need radiating from him. Sightless eyes searched, and his stomach clenched as Erestor began to sob anew.

He grabbed at the space where the sobs came from and swept the smaller elf into his arms and held him against his chest. He fit. They fit. But he couldn’t deny that the action that should be comforting and familiar felt awkward and stilted by the expectation that there should be more.

Erestor’s face was buried in his tunic as the reputedly unflappable, aloof counsellor wept against him. He leant down to whisper the comfort he thought he should offer.
“It will be well Erestor, I will see it so. We will be well… meleth.” The endearment fell awkwardly between them, just as blind fingers clutched awkwardly at the disconcertingly familiar form. Even more so as close up, the scent of apples in Erestor’s hair mingling with the celandine soap and the feel of soft, nimble fingers caressing his face made his body stir in arousal, causing Glorfindel to start back in surprise.

It was more than Erestor could take. He turned and fled.

***

Elroval watched as his charge threw himself onto the bed he shared with the golden one. He missed being able to observe many places at the same time, but the tiny pin entwined with hair and blessed with the blood of a Vala still rested on the lapel of the golden one and it connected them. He hopped down to the bed and cawed softly into the ear of the distraught elf. He understood his pain, magpies too took but one mate and grieved their loss. Only there was no Valinor for magpies to be reunited. Their grief was so pronounced it called them into the service of the doomsman. His own beloved had been lost many ages passed. He tugged gently at dark hair, this one had not lost his mate, not yet. There was still hope.

***

Erestor had shut out all but his rage and his grief. How could the fates be so cruel? After millennia bound in servitude, to know only a few short weeks with his fëa united with its missing piece, only to be left with the shell of his love. Once more bound to one who had forgotten all that made him return that love.

He buried his face in the sheets he had freshly laundered for his mate’s return. Curled on the comforter Fin had gifted him last Yule, he wept with not even the scent of his love to comfort him.

***

Námo turned to Vaire with sadness in his eyes. “So, this is the end you saw fit to weave for him? I thought he had earned your forgiveness though it was never his to earn.”
Vaire smiled gently, “You are right that the fault was never his, but I forgave him your sins millennia ago bereth nîn. I forgave him the day his grace under suffering reminded me why I loved you so much. Be still now though and watch. His journey is far from over, and we are not the only ones who guide them.” She directed Námo’s attention to an elegant figure sat unseen on the bed where Erestor had succumbed to sleep. “Your brother has always had a tender spot for his only nephew as you well know.”

She smiled as Irmo stroked raven dark locks gently, making the flecks of diamond in it glitter like the stars themselves. Erestor moaned in his sleep, calling for his mate and his fëa shimmered from crystal blue to celandine gold through every shade of green in between.
Glorfindel shifted on his cot in the healing halls, answering his lover’s cries, arching into Estë’s gentle, sweeping touch over sightless eyes. Glorfindel stepped into the brilliant dreamscape and fell into the arms of the one who made his fëa whole. He could not quite see the Ellon’s face, but he smelled of twilight, ink and celandine, had a beautiful tenor voice and silken hair that fell over Glorfindel’s face in large, loose curls when they embraced.

Glorfindel didn’t need his eyes to love the body he had worshipped for millennia, his fëa took over and his rhaw knew his beloved’s form as well as his own. Their fëar pressed together once more and a glimpse or a memory of raven hair studded with the light of the stars as it moved flowingly fluttered through him even as he sought the lips he knew would taste of sweetened peppermint with a citrus tang before they met.

Glorfindel moaned in his sleep, stirring as Elrond moved into the room. He woke with a start and as he blinked the light from his eyes he realised the most in front of them had lifted a little and he could see where light streamed in through the window and the dark shape as Elrond moved in front of it. He growled in frustration at his friend as the memory of his dreams slipped through his fingers like sand.

“Elrond.”

“Yes mellon nîn?” The healer responded wearily.

“Does Erestor have beautiful raven black hair that falls to his waist in curls and shines with the light of the stars?” Elrond smiled at the poetic description from the old warrior.

“Ai mellon nîn, he does, though he only wears it loose at your behest. Why is it you ask?” Hope was audible in Elrond’s voice.

“T’was only a whim old friend. But I believe you are right. My fëa remembers what I do not.” Glorfindel felt about ready to boil over with frustration but for the first time, he dared to believe the words he had spoken to Erestor. Where he could not tread in the waking world, he could walk with his peredhel in dreams.

***

Vairë swept her husband into an embrace, pulling him into a tender kiss. “Fear not uiveleth nîn, Erestor has earned the love of many. They will guide him until he finds his way once more. Glorfindel must learn to fight what can and cannot be seen in his own realm, it will be pivotal if he is to fulfill the reason for his return. Erestor has done what he must for now, but it will be for nought if he cannot help his husband to see. And there can be no greater incentive do you not think?”

Námo looked once more at his son sleeping fitfully, alone in his room once more.

“Will Irmo return to him?” He questioned.

“Erestor has what he needs from your brother. It is down to him now.” Vairë smiled fondly before taking her husband’s arm.

“It seems such a heavy burden after all he has been through.” Námo’s sadness flared once more.

“He has strength and power in his blood and a fëa bound in love hervenn nîn. We must believe that it will be enough.” Vairë smiled enigmatically as she led her husband away.

Námo cast an anxious glance back at his son and his lover as they trembled in their sleep. There was something in his wife’s tone that made him feel their road would be neither straight nor easy. But he had sworn to Eru he would not interfere.

Though his brother had not.

Notes:

I finally finished. Apologies for any huge plot holes, I have no doubt they are plentiful but aS happens so regularly, the direction I wanted for the characters changed mid way through. It’s not my fault, I don’t own them, I just let them run and try to keep up!

Thank you for your time and attention. Your kudos and comments have been a blessing x

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Glorester Stories