Title: Winter Heart
Author: Arctapus

Codes: LOTR, E/L, R-ish maybe, m/m, Continuation of Fortunate Son and Son Rise, this is a slash relationship continued.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien created the universe that I dabble in.I make nothing from doing so but satisfaction at having such wonderful creatures and landscapes to work in. No copyright infringement is implied by the use of his universe. Summary: A glimpse into a relationship.

=0=

In the House of Elrond, in the Kingdom of Imladris ... winter ...

The snow was falling, each flake tiny and individual, falling and landing silently. They were collecting, casting a white blanket all around, a foreshadowing of the long sleep that was coming over the land. It was welcomed, this turning down of nature's blankest as the land desired a rest from the strenuous exertions of the past growing season.

The war with the orcs had gone well, the vanquishing of that blight from the body politic for another year or so assured. It was safe to ride over the Misty Mountains, safe to travel across the marches and plains of Middle-earth. It would be so for some time he considered, some time before the plague overtook them again and they had to amass once more.

Right now, it was enough to be in the doorway, standing in the pool of light that poured through it out into the night beyond. Elrond could hear the falling of water over the cliffs beyond, the eternal murmurings of Ulmo as the waterfalls made music to his ears. He had chosen this place for many reasons, not the least among them the sound of the water.

The Bruinen was his river. He could command it and he did. Ulmo had special attachment for him, this son of gifted parents, and Ulmo had never failed hear him when he called. Elrond knew that the great god of waters responded when he had to bar the ford. He had done it time and time again. That protection he never took for granted and his prayers were given to all who aided him in his burden of responsibility, ethereal and corporeal.

He smiled slightly, the distinction between the two ever more blurred for him. Time had erased some of the wonder from his heart and until a lovely presence came into his life of late, he had ceased to see the splendors around him for what they truly were. The waterfalls were soothing to his ears but he didn't see the beauty of the light on the spray. He didn't see the spectrum of the rainbow caught in the shower of droplets when the warm rays of the sun pierced them in the
midmorning.

The birds had always sung and he listened sometimes. He heard them talking, taking their tales to Manwe as they had since the beginning of time. All things of the air, even the breeze itself was Manwe's and all the tales, both good and ill, made their way to him. Now he listened more, hearing their loveliness when before they had merely been another sound in the background.

Elrond sighed, exhaling into the cold evening air. He could see the white fog of his own breath hanging for a moment like gauze before dissipating away. It was cold and he tugged his robe around him, the soft silken texture soothing to his bare skin. He stepped one foot out, pressing down and then he withdrew it, noting the shape of his toes in the melted depression left behind. He smiled, rubbing his foot on the soft rug.

It wouldn't pay going out barefooted on a night like this. He turned and glanced back, noting the fire burning in the fireplace. It was warm and cozy, the only light in the rooms from the flames themselves and candles here and there. He turned and looked out again, the darkness on the other side of the canyon punctured with light here and there from homes of others who shared his valley.

He had stood here a million times before, looking out into the night. He had seen the same scenery before but it looked different now. It was more textured and more shadowed, more vivid and more beautiful to him. He didn't just look at things anymore, he saw them again. That pleasure, that awareness had come back into his life and Elrond reflected on the other man he once was, who had occupied his days without once living them.

That other Elrond was dedicated and decent, a hard-working fool who found little beyond the responsibilities of his station and the loveliness of his children to occupy him. Friends like Glorfindel and Erestor, men who took care of him almost with a maniacal dedication were precious to him and he didn't take them for granted. But they did nothing for the central core of loneliness that had filled him for too long.

That he had felt that way, an empty hollowness that was only marginally acute to him at the time as he worked and thought and made his way through his days was a preposterous thing now. It had not struck home to him how lonely his life was until a bright light entered it and illuminated all the dark corners he inhabited. Until Legolas had come to his home, he was a man without a clue.

Turning, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, he stared at the door of his bathing chamber. He could hear sounds, water and the soft humming of someone he loved. It had been a long time since he had stood waiting for someone to come to him this way and memories of others came to him unbidden.

Long ago, almost in a time beyond time, he had loved another. A good man he was, too. Big and robust, the king of his people, Gil-galad had taken him into his confidence, then his heart and finally into his bed. They had a remarkable, scandalous relationship, a lusty and deeply personal friendship that had blossomed into love almost from the moment they first met each other. Gil-galad had been his mentor, his partner, his lord and his first deep and deeply passionate lover.

Their time was long and fulfilling but even as long as it was, it was too short. When Gil-galad had died, when Elrond had stood and watched him die, all that was good and warm and personal in him had perished too. He had stood rooted to the spot, unable to even cry to Iluvatar, so great was his shock and anguish. He knew, even at in that terrible moment, he would never love that completely and deeply again.

He wouldn't allow it.

Time passed, responsibilities and ambitions diverted him and he found his footing again. Imladris was his refuge and he was loath to leave it for nothing less than great cause. Going to Lothlorien, meeting with the greatest Elf lord still living among them, discussing trade and security and other matters of mutual concern had helped him forge a friendship with a unique person.

Celeborn was among the last of the great and powerful lords of past times left and most of the Elves of Middle-earth with few exceptions, acknowledged his will and his wisdom. He was the husband of Galadriel and the father of the great beauty, Celebrian and it was well into their friendship that Elrond noticed small and subtle movements on the part of his good friend toward moving him into a relationship with his golden-haired daughter.

Riding home after one visit, he brooded on what it would mean to take a wife. He had not done so in the manner of his people. That made him an anomaly, as it had Gil-galad, hence part of the 'scandal'. The taking of a spouse happened as soon after the fiftieth year of one's life as possible. He had not done that. The relationship with Gil-galad was not a secret one. Everyone knew about their ill-fated partnership. Celeborn knew it and so did Galadriel. He was sure that Celebrian knew it too. Everyone knew it even though no one talked about it, most notably himself. Some things were too hard to verbalize, he considered.

What it would mean to have her as a wife, he didn't know. Feelings of the nature of love, a love that would lead to marriage and children, they were hard to imagine emerging from his heart again. He had given it to his king and the idea of loving another was almost more than he could conjure.

But time has a funny way of playing with you, he considered, holding out his hand for a flake or two. They landed and melted immediately, the coolness of their landing almost like a prickling. He smiled and dropped his arm, looking up at the moon as it peeked through a break in the clouds.

/... Ithilas ... you look down at both the mighty and the small ... what tidings do you keep hidden away in the heart of you .../

The moon disappeared as the break in the clouds closed and he looked down at the snow again. The depression his foot made had filled in, leaving no trace of his passing. He thought about it, about the way a hole closes when you go away. Gil-galad had left him and the hole in his heart still existed. Celebrian had been a stop-gap, a venture into living in the light once more. He still felt her presence in the house and even more so, her absence.

They had been great good friends, people who did their duty and grew to a closeness born out of necessity and real affection. She had given him children, three lovely beautiful children. He could still remember looking at his boys for the first time and thinking of his mother. Was this what she felt when she saw Elros and himself for the first time? What great love and humility filled his father's heart? Was it like the emotions he felt now? He didn't know. The memories of his parents were so dim, they registered only as a warmth and a dim light in the darkness of his oldest thoughts. But he remembered feeling a connection to them at that moment that he would always love Celebrian for creating. Such things were extremely rare for him in his life.

They had raised wonderful children together and then it all came to an end, as it always did. Gil-galad ended and took the light with him. Celebrian had been hurt and he had been forced to let her go, to give up the one confidante that had been so loyal and kind to him. She had taken the warmth of the sun with her, leaving him with empty days and nights and grieving and embittered sons. Arwen had fled to the House of Celeborn, finding in the company of her grandparents
something of her mother.

He himself hadn't gone for a long time when Celebrian had left, the sadness of loss overtaking his will. He had spent all his energy and his time with his sons, trying to help them cope with the strange and unexpected departure of their mother from their lives. He knew they would never find their way along that tortured path. They tried to assuage their pain with the black blood of those responsible but it was a momentary fix of a lingering illness.

He had long since given up in his attempts to talk them out of going on their foraging expeditions, hunting with a grim-faced and relentless will the tortured relations of a long-past age, killing them wherever they were found. He knew that it would only be short term, whatever consolation they found from it and so he made do with the small comforts he could extend to his boys.

They were a close family but each had their own hurts and interests. Each went their own way, delivering their duties for their people all the while pursuing their own path through the days that stretched out so emptily, devoid of the warmth of the sweet woman who had made their house into a home.

He remembered when he had returned, the strange emptiness of their home and it had taken a long time to accept that the footsteps in the doorway were not Celebrian but likely Glorfindel or someone else, someone who took it upon themselves to fill whatever part of her empty space that they could. And so it went, days passing into months and months into years. It had continued on until that summons to Lothlorien and the chance meeting with the golden son of the enemy of his house, Legolas of Mirkwood, youngest son of Thranduil and grandson of the late King of the Greenwood, Oropher.

Visions of handsome men came into his mind, the tall and elegant Oropher and the graceful and hard Thranduil. He could still remember the day when Oropher had led that charge, an ill-fated move that led to his horrible death and the end of too many good men. Thranduil had fallen on his father's body and wept unashamed. It was always clear to Elrond that he had loved his father even to distraction. Thranduil was proud to be Oropher's son, even as he himself was proud to be the son of Earendil. However Thranduil had a real person to love and emulate and try and please. Elrond had no one, his own father and mother passing into myth and legend even as the age they had dominated passed into the mists of time.

He had always felt a sadness when he was near to Oropher and Thranduil. Their closeness was heartfelt and he often would watch them as they talked, played games or sat together, always side-by-side, always comfortable and comforted by the nearness of the other. That would never be a memory he himself would have and so he made it a mission of his life to insure that his sons and daughters would have such for themselves.

They were his gold, his passion and his pride. He was the father of sons, a rare thing indeed and had a daughter for whom music was composed, such was the admiration of her by others. She was the Evenstar of their people and the greatest treasure of her father's heart if he allowed himself to quantify his children. He would not be parted from them no matter how battered he became in body and soul. Some day they would all board a swan ship and sail that elegant vessel to the shores of heaven. On that day, two people would hopefully be waiting and his heart would be complete.

So it was, for all the ages of his life, Elrond had waited, worked and dreamed. And then it all changed.

"Tell me about yourself, son of Thranduil," he had asked, smiling at the startled look on the youngster's pretty face. He had noticed Legolas' beauty at that moment, he realized now, the perfection of his features and the paleness of his skin. His eyes were very blue, very blue and guarded.

He had continued, probing gently against the walls Legolas had erected around himself. "I am pleased that books matter to you, young Legolas. Many young men are occupied by things other than learning. Ladies become important all too quickly to many." Elrond remembered now that he had almost held his breath. Then Legolas surprised him.

"Fair ladies are fine enough but I am not interested in them."

He had absorbed the words, watching as the boy rose and began to look around at the various curios that he had collected over a long and eventful life.

"That time will come in due course," Elrond remembered saying, his eyes never leaving the sturdy yet slender figure before him. He remembered how long Legolas' legs were and how broad his shoulders. Well muscled, he considered, strong and well made from a life spent working hard.

"Perhaps, but I think not," Legolas had said, turning and fixing that blue and direct gaze onto him once more.

Elrond sighed, remembering in the present what had been overmuch at the moment. He remembered the kernel of emotion that simple exchange had planted in him, a kernel that would germinate and produce a full flowering of emotion for the first time in too long. It would bear poison fruit, inciting strife and discord that would make him almost question whom he truly believed himself to be.

A sound caught his attention and he turned, noting a pale figure emerging from the bathing room. Wrapped in a robe, his hair unfettered and flowing over his shoulders, Legolas paused by the dressing table, picking up a brush. Without a hint of self-consciousness, he began to brush his long hair, the sweep of his hand reveling well muscled arms. When he was finished, he carefully put the silver brush down and turned, smiling as he saw Elrond standing in the doorway.

"It's snowing."

Elrond nodded and held out his hand, watching with appreciation as Legolas closed the distance between them. He opened his robe and Legolas stepped inside, loosening his own belt as he pressed his naked body against Elrond's. He watched with satisfaction as Elrond's eyes closed, a soft sigh of pleasure issuing from his lips. Bare skin against bare skin, snow flakes falling and the flickering light of the fire and candles gave counterpoint to the beating of his heart. He was at peace and he lay his head on Elrond's shoulder.

"You won't be able to leave the valley easily until the spring comes."

Legolas nodded slightly. "I know."

Strong arms surrounded him, hands drifted in lazy but comforting circles over his back. Elrond's touch was magical and he felt the tensions of the day falling away. He had ridden to the ford with Elladan and Elrohir, inspecting the river to see how much ice had built up. It would be a vulnerable point for them, the ice making fording much more easy if one went with care.

The ride was exhilarating, the company great fun and by the time they arrived back home, it was getting dark and they were all very cold. They entered the house, stomping off the snow that had fallen on them on their return ride. Dinner was served and they regaled the master of the House with tales of adventure and discovery, all greatly exaggerated of course. By the time they had retired, he was stiff and ready for bed. A long soak in Elrond's tub had been greatly appreciated.

"That feels good."

"I'm glad," Elrond said, kissing Legolas' temple. "It feels good to make you feel good."

Legolas snickered, looking into Elrond's gray eyes. "You are a quirky fellow. One wouldn't think there was that much humor in such a serious person. I am always no end surprised by you."

"I am your fool," Elrond said, pulling Legolas back into his arms. "You make me do things that would make a sane man weep."

"Are you claiming mental impairment, my Lord?" Legolas asked, sighing.

"Are you calling me 'Lord' again?"

Legolas chuckled and nodded. "I beg your pardon. I lapsed."

"One could be spanked for lapsing these days."

It was silent a moment and then blue eyes filled with love met his gaze once more. "I realized, my Lord Elrond, that I am not yet to my majority, but I believe I am well past the age of a good strapping."

"That depends on the strap." Elrond smiled and shook his head. "Here I am, speaking as if I know what I'm talking about."

"There are those who find pleasure in pain," Legolas replied, a story from his brother, Galdor, entering his mind unbidden.

"I don't feel that way. I could never hurt you. I could never strike you. I would never do that, Melme."

Legolas nodded, leaning forward. Their lips touched, softly brushing and then Legolas sighed. "I know."

They stood a moment, holding each other and then Elrond turned Legolas, directing him toward the bed. As Legolas climbed into the covers, Elrond banked the fire and put out all but two of the candles. His keen eyes spotted Legolas in the gloom, watching him expectantly and then he moved toward his side, shucking his robe without embarrassment.

Legolas watched him, his eyes taking in the firm flesh of his lover. Elrond was ancient among their kind still in Middle-earth but his body was that of a young man. He himself was more than aware of the strength in the arms and legs of his lord and when Elrond moved to cover him, he wrapped himself into that familiar warmth with gratitude.

Lips touched Legolas, his face and neck, his chest and his legs as hands gently stroked him here and there. Lifetimes of experience were given to him freely, experience with men and women, all of it Elrond's. Legolas absorbed it, returning equally the pleasure he was given and by the time they were spent, he was ready to sleep. Arms pulled him toward a firm chest and he burrowed in, wrapping his own legs around a body that cherished him. He sighed against a smooth chest and listened to the waterfalls outside, thoughts of his homeland coming to him once more.

=0=TBC

c2010