Strings

by Faoiltierna

Slash. Lindir/Legolas. Written for the Ardor in August challenge. Lindir is hired to teach Legolas how to play a musical instrument.

Strings

Author: Faoiltierna

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Legolas/Lindir

Warnings: Some suggestive talk about being turned on.

Beta: TribalKnight

Request: My assignment was to write a Legolas/Lindir pairing, light-hearted, with an archery contest between Legolas and a centaur. And no MPreg.

Summary: Okay. Legolas/Lindir, check. Lighthearted…hopefully. No MPreg, easily done. Centaur…there are no centaurs in Tolkien! (Are there? :goes off and checks resources and reference materials:) Nope, no centaurs in Tolkien. Uh. Huh. Okay, I'm going to have to use my imagination! Here is your story, hope you like it! :grin:

Written for: Ignoblebard for the Ardor in August Fic Exchange

This is of course all Tolkien's. I am only playing in his pool!

/…/ is thought

* * * is a scene/time shift

Strings

Lindir looked around the sitting room nervously. The king of Mirkwood had asked to see him after his performance last evening, but he wasn't sure why. /I hope none of the pieces I played offended him. He can be kind of touchy Erestor said./

The king, standing by the window, turned suddenly and pierced him with his glare. "I know you have ties to Imladris, but would you be willing to teach my son how to play a musical instrument?"

The bard fumbled a bit, startled by both the topic and king's intensity. "Uh—I have closer ties to Lothlorien, if it pleases your majesty. My cousins are of the Galadhrim."

"Celeborn's folk rather than Galadriel's, eh?" the king visibly relaxed. "So you are Sinda like me, then?"

Lindir raised his silvery brows, surprised. "Do I look like a Noldo, your majesty?"

"You never can tell these days, with all the mixing going on," came the bitter reply.

/Such as with your Silvan wife?/ Lindir kept any hint of his thoughts off his face. It was well-known that Thranduil still mourned his late wife who passed away-- "Uhm, how old is your son, your majesty?"

"He'll be 1736 on his next begetting day."

He blinked. "That's…a bit older than my usual student, your majesty. Most start before their majority."

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Yes, well, you wouldn't be his first teacher."

"Oh, so he's not a beginner then!" Lindir said, relaxing. "That's—"

The king held up a hand to stop him. "You would be the seventh. None of the others lasted even a month. Some cited a lack of skill, others a lack of interest. One dared to say it was a lack of discipline!" Thranduil's face clouded in anger. "My son is a dedicated woodsman and the best archer on Arda—he has discipline!"

"If-if I last longer than a month, do you think I could get lessons?" Lindir asked impulsively.

"You wish lessons? In what?"

"Yes. I am fairly decent with a sword and my knife skills are improving, but to my cousins' shame I have never learned the bow. I would trade music lessons for archery. Your majesty."

Thranduil looked thoughtful. "Hm. You did manage to teach those twin terrors of Elrond's, which is why I approached you…yes. If you last out the month, I will have Legolas teach you the bow."

***

One Month later…

"You've been with us for an entire month, Master Lindir," King Thranduil said over the hum of conversation. It was his habit to take dinner in the main cavern with all invited—it made for quite the ambient noise level, Lindir found.

"Yes, your majesty."

"How do my son's lessons go?"

Legolas's shoulders stiffened, but he did not turn to join Lindir and his father's conversation.

Lindir paused. How do you tell a proud father that his beloved son isn't very good? Especially with said son listening? "They're…" He wet his lips and tried again, "Your son's enthusiasm…uhm." He smiled weakly. "He's showing remarkable consistency."

"I...did tell you that you were not my son's first music teacher?" Lindir nodded. "Yes, well you are the first to manage even that faint praise, let alone last this long. I believe your archery lessons begin tomorrow?"

"Yes, your majesty," he paused, looking at the back of Legolas's head. "I am almost looking forward to it."

The king threw his head back and laughed. "I assure you my good minstrel that my son is a far better teacher than he is student!"

***

"No, no, stop! Not all your fingers at once! One at a time." Lindir frowned down at Legolas, wincing in pain. "Go slowly, it's not a race. Now, just one finger; gently. That's it. Now, slowly move it up and down. Like that, yes. When you feel confident, go ahead and add a second finger--but don't rush it! That's…better." Lindir smiled down at Legolas who was diligently applying himself to his task. "But you still need to work on your breathing, your highness."

Legolas lifted his head and grimaced at the bard. "And you need to make this sound less like I'm giving a pennywhistle a blow job."

Lindir blinked at him. "I did no—hm. Okay, you perhaps have a point. Although," he said, feeling a bit malicious, "if that is your technique, then you need to practice that more as well!"

Legolas glared at him. "My father asked you to teach me to play a musical instrument, not to critique my lovemaking skills. Why did we have to start with this silly thing anyway?"

The master minstrel nodded, ashamed of his outburst. "You are right, highness, I beg your pardon. I am sure your lover is quite satisfied. As to the pennywhistle, it is one of the more simple instruments, one that most have no problem picking up quickly."

The glare intensified. "For your information I have no lover. Currently. And do not think I missed that insult." He carefully placed the whistle down, clenched his fists and stormed out of the room.

Lindir sighed and began putting away the sheet music. King Thranduil had tried to warn him, but he thought he could handle it.

Lindir tucked away the last of the music and put the pennywhistle back in its case. Why did he think this would be easy? The prince was so beautiful, but so obviously disliked him. The king said that Legolas was only doing this because it had been a wish of his mother's.

Legolas stuck his head back in the room. "Come on then! This arrangement included me giving you archery lessons in return and I will keep my end of the bargain."

Lindir sighed again and followed the blond out through the various communal caverns and tunnels outside to where the archery field lay. /Oh this should be fun. I wonder if it is too late for a sincere sounding apology./

By the time he'd made it to the field Legolas had already strung three bows and was making short work of a fourth. Watching as the archer tested the string, eyes unfocused as he listened to the bow gave Lindir an idea. /The harp is a far more difficult instrument, but he does have a great deal of experience plucking strings. I would not normally—but he's no normal student. Hm./

"All right, Master Lindir, first we need to properly fit you to a bow."

"What's wrong with mine?" Lindir furrowed his brow, waving to where his sat, unstrung.

"Even from here I can see that is not going to work. I've seen you carrying all those instruments of yours; that bow is underpowered for your strength. Try this one."

Lindir blinked as a dark brown bow was thrust into his hand. He started to draw it back, but was quickly stopped.

"No, still too weak. And your technique needs a lot of work. Try this one."

The next two bows were also judged not acceptable, though Lindir did see a flash of approval in Legolas's eyes when he carefully moved back to the start position after fully drawing the last, rather than just releasing the string. /Dry firing is bad. Now I'm glad for those recruit horror stories cousin Haldir likes to tell!/

Legolas strung a fifth bow. "Let's try this one. If it works, we'll move onto arrows."

"Why—right. Arrows." Lindir found it was much more difficult to pull this bow. It had a lovely pale color and was more ornately carved than the other had been.

"Hm," was Legolas's only comment. "That'll do. Let's get you some arrows now."

Lindir looked at the bow again, more closely. "This—this has your name on it."

"Yes, it was my first adult bow."

"I—I cannot take—!" He tried to hand it back, surprised, knowing the prince's low opinion of him.

"It is just until a proper one can be made for you, do not worry," Legolas said firmly. "Now hold out your left arm."

A few hours, several arrows, a more robust arm guard and the joy of striking the target for the first time later, Lindir was chin deep in the hot water of one of Mirkwood's underground bathing pools wondering how crippled he would be in the morning.

The water rippled as another joined him in the pool. "How are you feeling, Master Lindir?"

Lindir opened his eyes to see the clear blue eyes of his tormentor on level with his, but a few inches away. He started only to immediately regret it. "Wishing we had stopped much, much earlier." He sighed. "Only, I am glad we kept at it until I finally hit something."

The other smiled, his face lighting up and taking Lindir's breath away. "It is a glorious feeling is it not? It will be like that again with your first bull's-eye, I assure you."

"I—I wanted to apologize for mocking you earlier, highness. It was quite rude of me," he said softly.

"Forgiven. And," those beautiful eyes glanced down at the water, then back up, "please call me Legolas? Highness always makes me look to see if my father is present!"

Lindir happily smiled at him, feeling instantly better. "Only if you call me Lindir. It felt most awkward being addressed as Master on the archery field when I am so obviously a beginner!"

The return smile again lit up Legolas's face, making Lindir's breath catch again. "Deal."

"May I ask you a question, Legolas?"

"Of course, Lindir."

He raised his left arm up out of the water so that the reddened skin was visible. "Where do you keep the healing cream?"

Legolas laughed and Lindir felt his heart beat faster. /I shouldn't have apologized—I think I just fell in love./

"I'll show you. I'm sure you will need help getting the sore muscles in your shoulder and back as well."

Watching the golden haired Silvan rise out of the water made Lindir wish the pools were much colder. /How am I going to get out and get dressed with him watching me? Thank the Valar I am only looking at his back! …but how I wish it was his—no! Bad thought! Ice! Facial hair! Dwarves! Yes, dwarves…/ he sighed gratefully as the unappealing image started to deflate his rock hard arousal.

From over his shoulder Legolas addressed him. "There are massage tables in the next chamber. Why don't you go make yourself comfortable while I go fetch the salve?"

"That sounds like a good plan, thank you," Lindir replied, mentally thanking the Valar for their mercy.

******

By the time Legolas rejoined him, Lindir had his leggings back on, a towel draped over his hips and was laying face down on one of the tables. He watched as the prince, now fully dressed, though with his tunic sleeves rolled up, placed a jar on the counter, next to one identical.

"Huh," Legolas said, touching the second jar hesitantly, "I thought someone had said we were out. Oh… well!" He opened the container and scooped out some of the cream and set to work on Lindir's back and shoulder. After a moment, he paused. "What is that you are humming?"

"An old dwarven love ballad. Just trying to see if I remember all the verses."

******

Next morning Lindir awoke feeling refreshed, though starving. Fortunately someone had been thoughtful enough to bring him a dinner tray of mixed fruits and sweet rolls. He eagerly broke his fast, then changed and headed for the music room.

Legolas was already there, staring—or rather glaring, at the pennywhistle case.

"Oh! Am I late?" Lindir halted in the doorway. /He beat me here? How long did I sleep?/

The Silvan looked up at him. He was wearing a dark blue tunic this morning that did lovely things to his eyes. /Not like that faded green one he had on yesterday,/ Lindir mused absently.

"No," Legolas assured him, rising to his feet. "I am early. After your enthusiasm learning the bow yesterday I-I feel I owe you an apology. I promise to try harder at my own lessons." He glared at the case again and sighed. "I am ready when you are."

Lindir laughed. "Your—Legolas, I have given some thought to this. I mean you no insult…but you do sound rather like an angry constipated bird while playing—perhaps the whistle is just not the instrument for you."

Legolas raised an eyebrow as he mouthed the words 'angry' and 'constipated,' then he too laughed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you…though your description is so much more…descriptive."

"Forgive me, I am a teacher; we sometimes tend to get set in our ways." He walked over to the case holding his most prized possession and began to unpack it. "Normally I would not allow a student anywhere near this until they had mastered at least two other instruments—but I have seen you handle a bow and I know you will respect these strings every bit as much."

The master archer looked at the harp Lindir held out to him, then up to his face. "Are—you sure?"

"You will need to pluck them more gently and your off-hand fingers will undoubtedly get quite sore, but yes, I am certain that this is the instrument for you."

******

It took three days of trial and error, sore arms and tender fingers before they worked out an acceptable schedule. In the early morning they would study musical notation, then would pack a lunch and spend the rest of the morning and afternoons at the archery field, each practicing their new skills. As the afternoon wore on they would switch over and Lindir would play while Legolas would skewer the targets. After dinner there would be a long soak in the pools, occasionally followed by Lindir playing a concert for the king and the citizens of Mirkwood.

******

At the archery field, Legolas ran his fingers over the harp strings, first up the scale, then down again. "So," he cleared his throat, "how long did Adar hire you for?"

Lindir came back to the shooting line, having had to retrieve his arrows from behind the target, again. "Hundred years," he said, aiming at the target.

The music ploinked to a stop. "A hundred—why did you agree to that?"

Lindir frowned back over his shoulder. "I insisted on it. Your father said he wants you to master an instrument, Legolas, and mastery starts at a hundred years. Especially for something like the harp."

Legolas blinked at him, then down at the harp, then back up at him. "So you'll be here for a hundred years--?"

The bard unnocked his arrow and turned around. "Well, the king did mention something about travel—you go on diplomatic missions for him?"

"From time to time." He idly started the scales again and looked downrange at the pristine target. "A century. You could be a fair shot by then. If you keep practicing."

"Yeah, yeah." Lindir turned, drew and let fire an arrow. "Yes! Okay, that would have been more poetic if it had hit the target rather than the backing, but I'll take it!"

******

During dinner one evening, about a year after Lindir started his archery lessons, he leaned around Legolas and addressed the king, "Your majesty, I have a special treat for you this evening."

Thranduil raised his blond eyebrows. "Really? I enjoy special treats. What is it?"

"I am going to show Legolas what a pennywhistle is supposed to sound like—" Legolas poked Lindir in the side, making him laugh, "and he is going to accompany me on the harp."

Conversation around them died as the king, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, stared at Lindir in shock.

After a full minute passed, Legolas shifted in his seat. "Not funny, ada."

"You—actually learned how to play?"

Legolas glared at his father. "That was the idea. What do you think we've been doing for the past year?"

Thranduil smirked back. "Honestly? I thought you two were—"

"Ada!" Legolas turned bright red.

/I wish,/ thought Lindir, also blushing.

Thranduil grew thoughtful looking between the two of them, making Lindir nervous. "So, what are you going to be performing this eve?"

"An old dwarven ballad Lindir has taught me."

/I've hummed it often enough,/ Lindir thought.

******

Lindir groaned as his arrow went wide, again.

Legolas looked up from where he was practicing the harp, spotting where the arrow had gone. "At least you are more consistently hitting the target."

Lindir frowned. "I'm not hitting the target, I'm hitting what the target is sitting on!"

"Consistently," Legolas pointed out.

The bard glared at him. /Consistent is the arousal I feel whenever you are near me…or look at me…or touch me…or I smell that beautiful scent of yours!/ He groaned again. "You are not being as helpful as you think!"

The Silvan carefully put down Lindir's harp and stood up. "All right. Prepare another shot and I will check you out—check out your form."

Lindir paused a moment. /Did he--? No. Stop it, Lindir, there is no way the prince of Mirkwood is interested in you! Stop trying to read things into innocent comments!/ He pulled out another arrow, nocked it and drew the bowstring back.

Legolas came up behind him and put a hand on his left shoulder. "I'm going to sight—"

The Sinda shuddered as he felt Legolas's breath on the back of his neck and his suddenly nerveless fingers let go of the bowstring. The arrow flew ten feet and buried itself in the ground. Lindir stared at it, his body quivering as hard as it was. He felt Legolas move away from him. /Please don't say anything about premature release, please!/

"Uhm, sorry," the other blond said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay!" Lindir said quickly. "I was just—yeah, startled." He pulled out another arrow. "Can we try that again?" /What's more unappealing than dwarves??/

******

"Lindir!"

He turned to see the king approaching. "Yes, your majesty?"

The other blond stopped and looked at him, reproachfully.

"Sorry. Yes, Thranduil?"

"Better. It's been four months since I told you to use my name, Lindir, I thought you were brighter than that."

"Two decades of habit are hard to break, but I am trying."

"Speaking of trying…" Thranduil paused. "Do you think it would be a good idea to present Legolas with his own harp? I wanted to wait to be sure he would stay with it, and he has, and it cannot be easy you both sharing an instrument like that, it must make—"

As Lindir listened he realized that Thranduil was nervous, /He never rambles like that. Ever!/ He laid a hand gently on the king's arm. "Thranduil? You want to give Legolas his own harp?"

The Sinda nodded.

"I'm sure he will be quite grateful. He complains that I keep hogging mine whenever I take it back to practice."

Thranduil sighed, the tension visibly flowing out of him. "I wasn't sure if it was time. I've had it for a while."

"How long?"

"Since shortly after he started playing in the evenings with you. Do you think I could present it to him tonight?"

/That long!/ Lindir thought a moment. "Can I see it now? If I tune it, we can play a duet together for you."

The king smiled broadly. "An excellent idea. I like it when you play together. You look good together."

Lindir pinked. /It's that blond thing, I'm sure./

******

The two elves crossed the stream into Lothlorien proper and were immediately called to a halt by a disembodied voice.

A silvery rope dangled down in front of them, two figures in gray swiftly descending it. As the first touched ground he sprang to the side, making room for the second.

"Welcome Prince Lego—Lindir? You—are you carrying a bow?" the first exclaimed.

Lindir drew himself up, though not as tall as his cousin. "Yes, Orophin, I am. And I know how to use it, too!"

The second figure cut Orophin's response off with a sharp gesture. "It is good to see you again cousin, I hope we have time to catch up while you are here."

"Thank you, Haldir. And congratulations on your promotion!"

"Thank you." Haldir turned to Legolas as a third figure came down and enveloped Lindir in a fierce hug. "What business—Rumil, stop that! What—"

Orophin and Rumil took Lindir by the arms and were helping him up the rope ladder.

"Will you two stop that, we have to find out why they're here!"

Orophin looked down at his older brother. "Wouldn't it be easier if we were all sitting comfortably in our flet?"

Haldir turned to Legolas with a sigh. "It is good to see you again, your highness. I trust your father is not about to declare war on Lothlorien?"

"No." Legolas smothered his own smile. "Just random diplomacy today."

"Excellent. Shall we go up? I am also curious as to how you came to be traveling with my cousin!"

******

The three brothers would not let their cousin leave Lothlorien without a demonstration of his new bow skills. Lindir was still self-conscious, especially in front of the three marchwardens and kept refusing.

"Come on—Legolas, make him show us!" Orophin pleaded.

"Me? You're his cousin, if he won't do it for you—" Legolas protested.

Rumil put his arm around the prince's shoulders. "Yes, but you're his…teacher." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Lindir cough in embarrassment.

Haldir pried Rumil off of Legolas. "Show some respect!"

Legolas, his cheeks pink, shook his head. "I've finished the diplomacy, Haldir. I'm just plain Legolas now."

/Never plain./ Lindir thought, grateful Rumil had stopped touching his Legolas. /Ah! He's not mine! Damn it, I have to stop thinking that!/

"Very well, Legolas," Haldir said. "Would you convince Lindir to show us his new skills?"

The Silvan shook his head. "You aren't going to let this drop until he does, are you?"

"Nope!" Rumil and Orophn chorused.

Haldir also shook his head. "Lindir has never shown any interest in the bow—he was always too involved in his music. The fact that he is using one now…I must see this for myself!"

Legolas stepped over to where Lindir stood. "It's up to you, mellonin," he said, his voice pitched low for the bard's ears only. "But you are good enough. Your cousins will not laugh at you, I promise."

Lindir peered up at him, his head still down. "You promise?"

"If they do, I will shoot them." He held out his hand. "Okay?"

The bard smiled, then laughed. "Okay!" He turned to his cousins. "All right, I'll show you. But you better not laugh!"

******

They set up a wand shoot—where the target is a six foot tall, six inch wide piece of wood. The trick to hitting it was to adjust to the wind.

Lindir stared at the target for several minutes before he finally drew back his bowstring. His three cousins stopped ribbing and teasing him at that point, he noticed briefly. All his focus was on the wand and on the lessons Legolas had given him.

The first arrow flew down the range…and struck the target near the bottom. Not giving himself time to over think Lindir fired again, and again. Each one hit the target, each a little higher.

"Good job!" he heard Legolas say as he finally lowered his bow. "I told you!"

Rumil and Orophin put their arms around him, one on either side. "Your arrows hit the target!" Rumil said, overly enthusiastic.

"And the pattern almost looks deliberate!" Orophin added.

He looked at them both. "Your teasing lacks bite…so I did well?"

Haldir patted him on the back, under the other two's arms. "Well indeed. That was excellent shooting, in fact."

Lindir flushed with pleasure. "Really?"

"I would not be embarrassed if you were to join the Galadhrim…unlike when these two did," his oldest cousin told him.

"Hey!" Orophin let go of Lindir and glared at his older brother.

Rumil didn't let go, but also glared. "We did just fine. Your standards are too high!"

Legolas freed Lindir from Rumil. "It has been fun, but we do need to get going before the day gets much older. I hope to see you all again soon."

Lindir grabbed up his pack and followed closely on the Silvan's heels. "Got to go, you heard him. Bye!"

The brothers escorted them back to the border, disappearing back into the trees as soon as the two had crossed over the stream.

"Thank you, Legolas…I love my cousins, but they can get a bit much, quickly!"

"I've seen that myself on previous visits. Though they seemed especially…enthusiastic, this time. Even Haldir teased you!"

Lindir nodded. "I'm glad you were there. He acts all mature and responsible when others are around, but I assure you, he can easily be the worst of the three!"

******

"Your skills as a bard are only equaled by your abilities as a teacher, Master Minstrel. That you have managed to teach my son to play—at all, let alone the harp—is simply amazing."

Lindir blushed and demurred, protesting that Legolas had done the more difficult part.

"No, no. Most of the others I tried washed their hands of him before the first lessons were over—you accomplished a feat that, well, you could easily compose an ode about!" Thranduil's eyes twinkled merrily at the Sindan elf, making his resemblance to his son even more pronounced.

"Write an ode about what a great teacher I am?" He blinked. "That would be…a trifle arrogant of me, I would think!"

"But you are far too modest, Master Lindir. Indeed, had my son not told me I would not have known it was you who shot our dinner this eve."

Lindir's blush deepened. "Only a couple of the birds were mine, your son brought down the rest."

"Yes, to be expected and I did thank him for it—which is when he told me of your skill. I am glad he took his duties as teacher as seriously as you have. Soon we will be calling you Master Master Lindir…or perhaps something a little less silly!"

******

"Ah!" Legolas exclaimed, sliding into the hot water. "Shooting a stag is easy…carrying the thing back to the caverns, on the other hand…"

"I offered to help," Lindir reminded him, slipping in beside him.

"No, my father's rule is 'you shoot it, you carry it.' I'll let you shoot the next one, though!" He stretched, moaning as his muscles complained.

Lindir fought down his arousal at the sound, then froze at the words coming out of his mouth: "Would you like me to give you a massage?"

There was a pause, then, "Yes, I think I would, thank you," Legolas said, rising out of the water and walking quickly to the massage room.

/What was I thinking? No, I wasn't thinking…why did I offer to touch his…body. Oo…Stop it! This is going to be torture!/ He got out more slowly and stopped to put his leggings back on before following the other.

By the time he got to the other room Legolas was face down on the table. And still naked. Though under a towel. But naked. /Naked!/ Lindir kept repeating to himself.

He finally got himself together and started gently massaging Legolas's shoulders. /Well, this is easy. I just have to be sure not to brush up against him. Yup. Easy./

"Harder?" Legolas asked.

/Not possible./ Lindir thought. "Oh! Uhm, you want me to rub harder. I can do that." He pressed and rubbed harder into the other's sore muscles.

"Mm, that's perfect, thank you," Legolas purred.

Lindir stopped and looked down at himself. /Oh, good, I can blame that on being wet when I put my leggings on. Did he have to purr?/

******

"Legolas's begetting day is in three weeks, which marks the end of our agreement. I was hoping you'd say a few words—or does he lack sufficient skill? To a layman like me he sounds quite exceptional, but if you think—"

"No! No, he is quite exceptional! I-I mean his skill is—" Lindir waved a hand before his face as he tripped over his words. /Master Bard indeed!/ He took a deep breath and tried again. "I would be happy to present a-a sort of graduation ceremony, your majesty. Forgive me for not being prepared, the years have slipped past me unnoticed, it seems."

******

The woods were filled with noise as the two elves carefully, quietly made their way through them. The river rushed, the leaves rustled, the birds sang…in other words there was no sign of the great spiders that were a deadly reminder of when Dol Guldur was inhabited by Sauron. Lindir noted he was getting better at passing without notice, but it was not enough to cheer him up today.

He internalized his depressed sigh. His time with Legolas was swiftly drawing to a close. /Perhaps he'd like to learn another instrument?/ He pulled his thoughts and himself to a halt at Legolas's signal.

One large animal. Stag likely.

Lindir signaled back and carefully readied an arrow. Now he could hear it too and it sounded really big! Through the trees and brush he saw his shot and took it, firing so as to hit his target in the ribs behind his front legs, right below the torso—

"Look out!" both Lindir and Legolas shouted.

The strange creature, most definitely not a stag, turned toward them, shifting about as he did so that Lindir's arrow, instead of killing him, only grazed his flank.

The strange creature cursed, loudly, in quendi. "What do you think you are doing?"

The two elves cautiously approached, bows at the ready. Its lower half resembled a horse—four hooves, tail and all, but where a horse's neck and head would normally be was the top half of an elf! /And a very angry one at that./

"Are you a friend to the Greatwood, or a servant of Sauron's," Legolas asked it, his bow steady and pointing at the creature's upper chest, his voice hard.

The peredhel's hair was the same deer brown as his hide. He flicked it back over his shoulder and glared down at the woodland elf. "If this is how the Greatwood treats its friends, then no to both!"

"That was my fault," Lindir stepped forward, lowering his bow slightly. "Please forgive me, I thought you a deer."

"A deer?" the creature scoffed. "Lord Oromë calls me a centaur."

"Lord—the Vala?" Lindir asked in awe, putting away his arrow. /I think I'm in a lot of trouble./

The centaur raised an eyebrow and looked down his impressive nose at the bard. "Is there any other? I am in service to him, yes."

"You're a maiar, then," Legolas stated, lowering his bow.

"Of course."

"What are you doing here then?"

He looked even more haughty. "Private business for Lord Oromë. Except now I've been shot."

"You are almost healed," Legolas pointed out.

Lindir glanced at the wound, then looked again. It was visibly healing.

"Maia heal even faster than you elves," the centaur stated proudly. "Now, if you," he pointed to Lindir, "will climb onto my back, we will be on our way."

"What?" Lindir stepped back in shock.

"Why?" Legolas stepped forward, an angry look on his face.

"He shot me! I demand a forfeit. And rather than shooting back at him, I shall take him back with me to Valinor where he will serve me for the next hundred years or so." He looked Lindir over. "Do you have any skills other than shooting people?"

"I-I'm a bard," Lindir heard himself say. He felt numb.

"Excellent! I enjoy playing music myself. We should—"

"He's not going with you," Legolas said, pulling Lindir behind him.

"And who are you to stop him?" the centaur asked, folding his arms across his chest, sneering down at them.

Legolas considered him for a moment. "I am the best archer in the Greatwood."

Lindir blinked slowly, then took in how the creat—centaur was equipped. Bow, arrows, bracer, obviously he too was an archer.

He snorted, shifting his hooves a bit. "I'm sure you think you are—when I'm not here."

The Silvan nodded sharply. "A contest then?"

The centaur smirked, pulling his bow from his back. "Agreed. The prize shall be your friend there. When I win he comes with me and writes a song of my victory…IF you win, then he is yours."

******

/It's rather odd being on the sidelines of a contest for which you are the prize,/ mused Lindir. They had moved to a nearby clearing, and the two others were arguing about the contest itself.

Fortunately Legolas had quickly negated the centaur's first suggestion: "How about we use him as the target? Closest without hitting wins!"

"No!" both elves said.

"Hmph. Don't trust your aim?"

Legolas sneered back. "Don't trust yours—you were the one hit in the butt! Do I know that you wouldn't willingly throw the fight in exchange for pay back? No."

******

After some discussion the two combatants decided on clout archery, meaning they would aim at a cloth set in the ground some distance away and would each score based on how close his arrows fell to it. They would both shoot six 'ends' of six arrows each and then determine the winner.

The distance figured, the flag set and the point rings place, the two archers began—and as quickly finished.

/One end down,/ Lindir thought. /I am going to be quite tired of walking before this is over, I can already tell./

The outermost ring was only two hand spans (from thumb to pinky) wide. All twelve arrows were within its boundaries, most within the smaller rings. Lindir dutifully wrote down the points as each arrow was retrieved and all three walked back to the shooting line.

A half hour and four ends later the scores were still very close; the centaur was ahead by a single point.

The centaur shot first, then stepped back. Legolas stepped toward the line, but Lindir stopped him, his heart in his throat and his palms as moist as his mouth was dry, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "For luck."

Lindir couldn't watch—but he couldn't not. With one eye open Legolas's last six arrows seemed to fly down range in slow motion, each striking the ground with a solid air of finality.

This final walk seemed longer to Lindir. Was he off to Valinor for a hundred years? /And I was just bemoaning having only three weeks left with Legolas! Now I'll never get to tell him of my love!/ Or—

The flag fluttered in the breeze—or at least part of it did, the rest being trapped by the arrows surrounding it. As they neared, all Lindir could see were the centaur's arrows; when they got closer Lindir saw why—all of Legolas's arrows were inside the narrow space the centaur had left around the flag.

"You—you won!" Lindir yelled, throwing his arms around Legolas and kissing him again, this time on the lips.

The centaur stared, open mouthed at the display. "You—you won." He shook himself, then tilted his head to look down at Legolas. "You really are the greatest archer."

Legolas stared in shock at Lindir, his arms holding the bard close when he would step away. "Huh?"

"Ahem. I said," the centaur spoke louder, pulling both blonds' attention to him, "you really are the greatest archer!"

Legolas looked down, putting him eye to throat with Lindir. "In the Greatwood, anyway," he responded, far too modestly in Lindir's opinion.

"No. I have shot against some of the best, those that now live in Valinor, and not one could have made that combination of shots. Lord Oromë was right."

"About what," Legolas asked, blushing as he stepped back from Lindir, his arms finally loosening their grip.

The centaur smiled. "About me trying my best, which I did. Now—your prize."

Lindir shifted, pulling his arms around himself. He felt oddly cold now. "I really do apologize for having shot you."

"Thank you. Come here, please."

The two walked over and stood side by side, not touching and carefully looking only up at the centaur's elven face.

The maiar bent down to take their hands, placing them together. He said a short prayer to Oromë and a warm glow enveloped both elves. They each gasped as their souls reached out and touched the other's.

"There. You are bound. And now, I must leave."

Legolas looked down at their hands in shock. "Bound?"

"W-wait! Bound?" Lindir stared at him. "But we haven't—"

The centaur laughed, his hands on his withers. "That is the traditional method, yes, but sometimes the Valar get impatient and step in, and after watching you two waltz around for the last hundred years—they stepped. Have sex if you want, but you are married. Deal with it. Bye."

As the two stared in shock, the maiar faded from sight. After a few moments they both turned and looked at the other.

"M-married," whispered Lindir.

"Yeah," responded Legolas.

"Well," Lindir said.

"Yeah," responded Legolas.

"Guess this means I don't have to leave in three weeks…" Lindir started laughing. "And I can stop thinking about dwarves!"

Legolas grinned and caught his husband in his arms. "I always wondered about your fascination with them! But there was no way I was letting you leave…even if I had to learn to play that stupid pennywhistle."

"Oh." Lindir saw the love shining out of his husband's eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks to Oromë. "I-I love you."

"I love you too."

They kissed.

Fade to black…