None of these chaps are mine. Pity.
Warning: slash.
Chapter 1
When Aragorn left Elrond sat long in thought. He thought and he listened; he listened to the music and to the strands of fate woven into the melodies, a faint harmony of tiny plucked strings. He listened and thought of the strings he might pull to steer fate where he willed. He thought and thought and beside him the fire died down to embers and the embers grew cold. He sat in darkness and did not heed the cold of night for the coldness of his own heart.
Did it go wrong because his fingers were clumsy, because he was chilled to the core ? Was he so blinded by despair ? Still – when Legolas, son of Thranduil, came to Imladris he knew exactly how he would act. He watched as one evening in autumn the princeling rode into the valley; he welcomed him into his home. While Legolas washed himself and changed from his riding clothes into a cleaner, more formal outfit, he read Thranduil's letter. At dinner Legolas sat not far from him and he observed covertly the prince's easy grace, the way his thick, dark blonde hair fell about his strong shoulders; his handsome features and the way his sudden smile brightened his face like the light of the sun upon newly sprung leaves. In his mind he set gold against jet, this cheerfulness that wisdom tempered against another's stern, grim will and thought – yes, this will do.
He invited him to his apartments that very night. They sat together before a fire as the night deepened, listening absent-mindedly to the music and song that rose faintly from the Hall of Fire, and drank wine that Legolas had brought from the cellars of Mirkwood – Dorwinion wine, fragrant and heady, a particularly good year. 'One of the last bottles,' Legolas had said, and the sweetness of those last drops had been almost unbearable. They talked long into the night, for for all his resolve Elrond did not dare speak quite as directly as he would; and so they spoke of war, of growing darkness in Mirkwood and the shadow in the South; of Erebor and Esgaroth...And about them silence fell slowly but for the sound of the Bruinen in the distance, the murmur of the wind, and sometimes a bird's solitary cry; and the nightly air was warm and mellow like miruvor. Elrond watched the play of firelight upon Legolas' face: how it made his fair cheeks glow, and how the shifting shadows sometimes seemed to turn his reserve into self-consciousness; yes, how he seemed almost nervous. He wondered if Legolas had guessed at why he had invited him that night and gently steered their discussion where he willed. They spoke of spiders in the depths of Mirkwood, and from there they came to the growing numbers of Orcs in the Misty Mountains; and they spoke of Eriador, and the never-ceasing fight of the Dunedain.
'Aragorn was here a few days ago,' Elrond remarked – casually, leaning back, his face in darkness and his keen eyes trained upon Legolas's face. 'He thought you would be here, and was rather disappointed not to find you.' A pause. 'I believe he is very fond of you.'
Was that a dim, sudden flush blooming upon Legolas' cheeks ? Elrond watched his face as he once watched the eastern sky in Mordor.
'And I love him dearly,' the princeling answered guardedly, his eyes lowered.
Legolas did not elaborate. Silence fell. Elrond waited; Legolas remained silent, watching the fire; although once, perhaps – such a fleeting sight that Elrond had caught out of the corner of his eye – he raised his eyes towards Elrond, and in their light he thought he caught a glimpse of a strange and poignant longing that was swiftly smothered. But still he did not speak.
'He is very lonely,' Elrond said at last, carefully, awkwardly. Legolas looked at him without speaking. 'But if you were to assuage that loneliness, I would not be adverse to it,'
Now doubtlessly Legolas was blushing; a red glow swiftly flooded, but then receded just as suddenly, leaving deathly pallor behind, and Elrond wondered if perhaps he had overstepped his mark. Legolas sat very still before him, his face a mask, his grey-blue eyes unreadable.
'And in what way would you have me assuage this loneliness ?'
Elrond braced himself. How thin the ice he trod. Legolas kept staring at him, unblinking, needing, perhaps, to hear this from his own lips.
'In every possible way.'