"These Visions of You"
When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf.
hi guys!
um so I think I said something about having the discipline to pace my posts to once a week, just two days ago...? I guess that got scraped, lol. Thank you so much kind reviewers Aqua Fortis, arisucci, cheetahluke (you raised a valid point on posting a new chapter sooner!), Elvenprincessarcher, Hawaiichick, Jaya Avendel, Lord of the Gauntlets, and Starfox500 for the inspiration! Will be sending out personalized responses soon, but i thought i should thank you with an update. As usual, comments and constructive criticism are ever welcome. Hope you all have fun reading, and I wish you all a lovely weekend!
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2: Taking Flight
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Glorfindel knew where to start.
He arranged to have a small field emptied for the day's exercise, and brought along a few things he felt he and Legolas could use. He raided the kitchens for bags of flour, and drafted some eager, early-rising elflings into service, asking them to divide the flour into smaller sacks. Elrond's house, he thought, would have to be a few loaves of bread short today.
When the Prince arrived at first light, he and two of his soldiers - Renior and Telion again - were dressed in full battle regalia and they made a threatening sight, coming up a small incline to where Glorfindel waited. They were in scarred but shining and well-kept scale armor and fully weapons-ready. It was, after all, not much good to train without what one usually wore into battle. Many soldierly movements were faster by instinct and muscle memory, so they had to know how to move in the weight they usually carried.
Glorfindel for one, was grateful Legolas' bow and quiver were on his person, even if he was theoretically ill-positioned to use them. But this was precisely where Glorfindel intended to start; if Legolas could find successful use of a bow - as the warrior suspected the Prince would - it might unleash a confidence of action that could create the best start for the work they were doing.
"Good morning, Prince Legolas," he greeted jovially.
The Prince gave him a bow, though from his stern expression his day had so far been unpleasant.
"My escorts would not be left behind, my lord," Legolas said. "I hope you have the patience for three wood-elves."
"We are expressly instructed to your care, hir-nin!" protested Telion.
"We can hardly be expected to pass upon an opportunity to work with The Balrog Slayer!" said Renior at the same time. Glorfindel could well hear the title capitalizations in the giant Silvan's proclamation.
"Worry not, Prince Legolas," Glorfindel said easily. "I expected you to have escorts and we do have need of sparring partners. Not to mention companions for a few other uses."
He picked up one of the small sacks of flour he had prepared and transported there. He tossed and caught it in his hands, and Legolas tilted his head as he contemplated its sound. It slapped against Glorfindel's palm dully.
"Do you hear this, Prince Legolas?" Glorfindel asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"'Glorfindel' will do," he told the younger elf in passing.
"As would 'Legolas,'" the other returned.
"I expect you to follow the sound," Glorfindel instructed him, "and shoot where it lands, archer."
The younger elf shook his head. "If the shot goes wide I can hit someone. If I follow the wrong sound it can be lethal. There are too many things that can go wrong."
"The field is clear and ours," Glorfindel promised. "I've made arrangements."
"I can really hurt someone."
This was what Glorfindel wanted to combat from the beginning, any sense of self-doubt. He'd heard of Thranduilion in his travels and he wanted to see him unleashed. Yesterday's display with the knives was but a taste of what he was capable of, if the stories hold true, and seeing him with a bow could unlock the rest of him.
"Trust me, Legolas."
The younger elf took a deep breath, and nodded. He drew out his bow, and reached for a shaft from his full quiver. He ran his fingers along its length, as in a revered greeting. He had been blind for six months, and had kept himself from his weapon of choice for that same length of time. Glorfindel wondered at the last time he had shot at something, and at how many times since he lost his sight that he must have held his beloved weapons with the longing he displayed now.
"It's been too long," Legolas said softly, thinking along the same lines.
"Prepare yourself," Glorfindel said. He tossed the small sack of flour up into the air in a wide arc. It landed a few meters in front of them.
Legolas listened, aimed, blinked in hesitation, and shot. They all held their breaths.
The arrow was not true. It hit the ground with a twang a few paces away from where the target landed.
All four elves released their breaths. Even Legolas knew he did not hit it. The miss was a disappointment, and Glorfindel watched the emotions warring on the Mirkwood Prince's face.
There was crushing disappointment, a complex anger that he was pressed into an activity where his disability was proven, and something else. A spark that was fighting to stay alive.
"I would like to try again," he said quietly, but determinedly.
Glorfindel grinned. He picked up another sack, and Legolas opened his palm out toward it. The older elf handed it over and the prince played with it in his hands and pressed it close to his ear. He rubbed at the sack and listened to the grains grinding together. Legolas tossed it back at Glorfindel, who caught it cleanly.
"I'm ready."
"You've not set your bow," Glorfindel pointed out.
"I'm ready."
Glorfindel shook his head in amusement, but let the younger elf dictate the terms for this second effort. He tossed the bag of flour high in another wide arc. In moments Legolas had a shaft aimed and his target set. He did not even wait for the sack to smack to the ground. He released, and hit his target mid-air.
Renior and Telion whooped in unabashed joy and started clasping Legolas on the back. Renior then started a jig and dragged the comparatively tiny Telion along with him as he sang, rather poorly, a popular lively tune.
Legolas laughed, and his eyes shone in unshed tears turned into sparkling diamonds by the sunlight. He fixed them on Glorfindel as he mouthed, "Thank you."
It hit him like a bolt of lightning, but he managed to say after the barest of a missed beat, "Don't thank me yet. Let's get to work."
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He meant it too.
They filled the day with similar archery drills, Legolas gaining more and more confidence with each successful volley. He missed some shots but made most. Elrond's household ran fewer and fewer breads throughout the day's meals until even Glorfindel was chastised by the bakers. By the time supper needed to be prepared, even he couldn't charm or legend his way out of their displeasure and Lord Elrond laughingly restored peace to his House by relegating the four soldiers to the use of sand next time.
They stopped only for small periods for rest, water and meals, and concluded the day after the sun set. Legolas wanted to do more, but Glorfindel could see signs of weariness in his slower movements and testier temperament.
"Legolas come on, I cannot go on!" Renior moaned, rubbing at his throwing arm. Suffice to say his eagerness at training with 'The Balrog Slayer' has waned since Glorfindel used Renior's considerable strength to keep throwing Legolas' moving targets all day.
"There will be a tomorrow," Glorfindel told Legolas mildly, and added a tease to soften their conclusion, "not all of us are gifted with maneuvering in the dark."
The elf prince was restless, but nodded in acquiescence.
"The stars will be out soon," Telion added, which softened his prince's dismay further.
Glorfindel looked at Legolas is puzzlement, and recalled his fixation on the heavens from the night before. What a blind elf finds in looking up at the stars was a mystery he would have to inquire of another day, however, as they concluded their exercises and retired to their respective rooms in preparation for the evening meal.
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Their days unfolded thus –
Mornings practicing archery to invigorate the prince were followed by exercises on hand combat and then sword and knife, each phase broken by periods of rest and sustenance. They would conclude their affairs at the setting of the sun to prepare for the evening meal.
The daily training would be broken on occasion by other duties. Glorfindel was often called to counsel or a particularly challenging patrol, while Legolas had the sporadic missive from his father that needed prompt handling. But they crafted a program of habits and drafted a collection of sparring substitutes they could call upon, so that the absence of the other wouldn't preclude whoever remained from training.
On one morning however, Glorfindel left word he would be unavailable indefinitely. He and a party of Rivendell elves had been sent by Elrond on an errand dealing with a pack of orcs hovering the paths toward the Last Homely House.
Legolas received the news with angry, impotent frustration at the disability that prevented him from being useful to the fight, and in fear for the soldiers of the House that had sheltered him and treated him so kindly. He feared especially for the ancient warrior who had taken him under his wing.
Legolas spent the time continuing with his own exercises, drafting Renior and Telion, his other guards and whoever of Rivendell he could dragoon into sparring, going down the list of substitutes Glorfindel had arranged. Legolas bested most of them, but that only seemed to anger him more.
"What use are these skills if I will anyways be kept from fighting?" he had growled more than once. He seldom indulged his princely temper, but it was out in force in the days of Glorfindel's absence.
When the warrior of Gondolin returned along with all the members of their victorious hunting party, it was in the final hour of daylight days later. He had with him a sack of spoils, which stank of orc but he held aloft with a smirking pride as he sought out the Prince of Mirkwood.
He was directed to the training fields, where he found Legolas concluding his day. The elven prince sensed his arrival right away, and stalked in his direction to meet him halfway. Legolas stopped an arm away from the older elf.
His blind eyes settled on Glorfindel's again, but Glorfindel had come to expect it by now. They looked at him searchingly however, which made the older warrior's heart ache.
"I am unharmed, princeling," he assured him.
Relief flooded Legolas' face, but he promptly schooled it into an expression of casual calm.
"You're late."
Glordindel laughed. "And you're impertinent." He surprised them both by chucking the other elf playfully about the chin, but he caught himself and masked it cleanly by declaring, "My welcome is so poor, when I have brought you spoils."
"Is that what I'm smelling?" Legolas asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Brace yourself to smell them some more, Legolas," said Glorfindel jovially. He jangled the heavy, clanking contents of his sack. "I was in a position to collect for you some orc armor, generously musked, and most certainly bloodstained. A macabre offering, yes, but by the time we are through working on these, no elf would have a finer sense of the sound of their armor and the scent of their bodies than you."
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They made good use of the orc armor. Glorfindel would conceal them and have Legolas search and shoot them. Renior got his arms' worth of throwing them too, for Legolas to aim at. The training was progressing well.
Elrond had warned him not to be lulled in the false belief that the Prince of Mirkwood was well save for his eyes, but it was so easy to slip into complacency, because all Legolas ever displayed was determination and strength.
I've been warned, Glorfindel thought, on that day when the painful reminder finally came, of Legolas' continuing struggles. Glorfindel had indeed been warned, but it still squeezed at his heart.
The elven prince and his usual companions did not appear with the rising of the sun, and Glorfindel knew immediately that something was amiss.
He stalked from the fields, determined to check in on his protégé in his rooms, but found Legolas' party on the paths leading to the fields of their usual training regime. What he saw stole his breath and sent him running forward.
The prince was lying on his side on the ground, in the throes of a convulsion. His body was taut from his head to his feet, locked in a battle with itself. His knees knocked and turned toward each other, bending his feet and legs at an unnatural angle. His arms were folded at the elbows and locked there. His hands were in tightly curled fists folded inward at the wrists. His head was lowered, chin to his chest, and his eyes were rolled up to whites. He shook violently, and made small, disconcerting grunts as his body moved beyond all his awareness and control.
He was... depersonalized, Glorfindel thought with horrifying realization. For an elf who had almost feline, incessantly self-possessed movements, whose body and emotions were always in careful control, the seizure was an affront, almost a brutalization.
Telion was with Legolas, jaws set tight in determination as he gathered blankets and towels around the ailing prince's head. It was clear from his schooled expression that they've done this before. In the near distance, Glorfindel could see Renior running for help.
"What can I do?" Glorfindel asked, kneeling on Legolas' other side. Telion startled at his arrival, so focused was he on the prince.
"For now we wait," came the tight reply. "And keep him from hitting things."
Glorfindel nodded, and watched as helplessly as Telion did. It felt like hours.
"He cannot breathe like this," Telion hissed. "Come on Legolas, stop now for the love of the gods!"
Glorfindel, alarmed, watched as the convulsions continued even as the prince's lips were turning blue. Finally they stopped, and even as Legolas' limbs were still loosening, Telion started getting busy. He shifted Legolas to lie flat on his back.
"Lower his hands to his sides and open his tunic at the chest," he then ordered Glorfindel, while he himself held Legolas' head gently in his hands and positioned it with chin tilted up to clear his airways.
Glorfindel struggled with the various warrior's straps that Legolas had on, but managed to do as instructed. He watched as Telion opened Legolas' slack mouth and listened for breath. Glorfindel knew there was none when Telion lowered his ear closer.
Glorfindel had some healing knowledge of his own and employed them promptly. He grabbed one of Legolas' wrists, where there was a gentle pulse. He kept a hold on it, but fisted one hand and started rubbing it on Legolas' exposed chest. Telion was apparently about to do the same, but settled on calling upon his prince when he saw Glorfindel sufficiently on the task.
"Breathe, hir-nin," he urged, "come on, now. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe." Every word was said with escalating alarm the longer his charge proved unresponsive.
Glorfindel closed his eyes and pressed Legolas' hand over his own chest, so that the other elf may feel its rise and fall. In his mind's eye, he could see their souls. Here they were physical matter, they could touch and be touched. He reached for Legolas, and his fea brushed the other's.
"Legolas," Glorfindel said sternly. He knew not if he said it aloud in the physical world as well, or only in that of the separate plane where souls dwelt.
"Legolas. Breathe, Thranduilion. For the Earth that needs you, and for those that love you. Breathe..."
He did. A small gasp compelled Glorfindel to open his eyes, and he saw Telion deflate in profound relief. As Legolas' breaths became more even, Telion busied himself with pillowing his head in a folded towel, and using a cloak to blanket him.
"The fits leave him exhausted and cold," he explained softly.
"Perhaps a prompt transfer to a warm bed would do him a world of good," Glorfindel murmured and not waiting for a reply, he gathered the younger elf into his arms and hoisted him up. Telion rose too, and fixed the blankets around the lightly shivering prince.
Legolas stirred awake at the movement, and his vacant eyes skimmed past Telion in front of him, up the firm chest he was encased against, and then drifted to where he found Glorfindel's gaze looking down upon him.
He murmured something the older elf did not understand, before his eyes drifted shut and he fell back into weary slumber.
Telion was more versed in Legolas' disoriented ramblings. He scoffed at the words and said to Glorfindel, "He says he will be good as new tomorrow." He sighed and fussed with Legolas' blanket again. "He wouldn't have wanted you to see that, but here we all are."
Glorfindel wasn't fully sure what it meant, but with a nod signifying readiness, he held Legolas close to his chest and started to bear him away. They were met along the path by a cadre of concerned Mirkwood elves, two Rivendell healers and Renior, who almost aggressively tried to wrest the prince from Glorfindel's resisting arms.
"He's breathing, mellon-nin," Telion assured him quickly. The giant Silvan received the news with a curt nod.
"We will care for him now," he told the Balrog slayer sternly, all awe for the legendary warrior gone now, decisively superseded by his devotion to Legolas. But Glorfindel was loathe to yield the burden.
"We will care for him now," Renior said again, breaking the trance. He took Legolas from Glorfindel's slack arms then, and the group of them spirited him away.
The golden-haired warrior felt... bereft... as he watched them go. He stood in between field and hall, suddenly empty, suddenly alone. He looked at his hands and was surprised, after all he had seen in life and beyond, that they should still shake from an incident like this. It was beyond his understanding, but something about the young wood-elf's situation had touched at his heart.
He gathered himself, and looked behind him at the mess they had left. There were abandoned weapons and packs, and things strewn on the ground, likely from Telion and Renior seeking towels and blankets for their Prince when his symptoms started. Glorfindel walked toward the abandoned things, and his eyes settled on Legolas' beloved bow. It looked forlorn.
He went to his knees on the ground and picked it up.
He picked up everything.
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"He wouldn't have wanted you to see that," Telion had said, and Glorfindel quickly realized what it meant when he attempted to visit the prince but found his doors shut and well-guarded from everyone, save for a handful of soldiers and the healers of Rivendell assigned to his care.
The Mirkwood elves, Glorfindel gathered, took care of their prince's physical well-being as well as his dignity. Glorfindel let them have the space they needed, and sought solace elsewhere. He briefly considered the companionship of a lover - there were plenty of choices here - but thought it could be more trouble than it was worth.
He drifted to the libraries, where histories of Arda, many of them he had witnessed, were painted on the walls. He studiously skipped the panel that featured his infamous fatal battle.
It was here that Elrond found him hours later. The Lord of Imladris walked up behind him.
"I did not comprehend completely," said Glorfindel. "When you spoke of his health. It never dawned on me that the condition of Legolas was so dire."
Elrond took a deep breath. "But your sense that the gods have greater plans for him fill me with hope." Glorfindel closed his eyes and let the same thought comfort him. He had seen it, hadn't he? Of a golden head walking amongst a group of fellows? But senses were no guarantee and they both knew it.
"How is he?" Glorfindel asked instead.
"Tired mostly," Elrond replied, "well enough to be embarrassed, at least. He despises the unavoidable spectacle of his fits, and is especially displeased you witnessed such an episode." He rolled his eyes at Glorfindel's confused expression. "Come now, Balrog slayer. Legolas' princely status and his own achievements aside, he is still a young soldier eager to impress an ancient renowned warrior. No one is immune to you."
Glorfindel grimaced. "'Ancient?'"
Elrond laughed quietly. "Old friend. Prepare yourself for an overeager protégé tomorrow. He will try and compensate for what he believes is the weakness you had witnessed. And when the prince has his heart set on overachievement... well let us say he is of Oropher's house and is unquestionably Thranduil's son. They can be... unforgiving, even and perhaps especially of themselves. He will be relentless."
"Is he even well enough to return to training so soon?"
"Oh believe me, he will be."
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Legolas was in their designated training grounds well before Glorfindel and from the look of things, in escape from his own soldiers. He was outfitted for war and already on his white knives. He turned to the newly arrived warrior with glacial eyes.
"You're early," Glorfindel noted, shedding the packs he had brought with him as their day's supplies, already knowing by how Legolas looked that he was spoiling for a fight. If this was how the Mirkwood elf wanted to cope after yesterday's unfortunate incident, Glorfindel was willing to indulge him - for now. He readied his own sword, and lowered himself to a fighting stance.
"Not even a 'good morning?'" Glorfindel teased.
"Good morning," Legolas said curtly as he made the first move and struck. Their blades met, and they pressed against each other before using the pressure to push back and jump away. The two warriors walked around each other warily, before engaging again.
They were a surprisingly even match, for the wrong reasons. Legolas was handicapped by his anger and blindness, but Glorfinfel was handicapped by what he had seen of the day before. It was not... the best of either of them.
"Do not treat me like an invalid!" Legolas demanded as he swung, sensing how the other elf restrained himself.
"And do not regard me as if I were heartless!" Glorfindel retorted, finding frustrations of his own because the other elf was being reckless and could hurt both of them because Glorfindel refused to take advantage. "Do not ask that of me!"
Legolas growled, and the match went on in wide angry swings and frantic defenses. But Glorfindel has had enough. He let himself be disarmed by Legolas, and then stepped back with a wary stance, hoping they were done.
The Mirkwood elf was far from finished. Glorfindel's voluntary disarming angered him, and he threw aside his knives and attacked Glorfindel with bare hands. The legendary warrior, caught off-guard, took the hit full on, until they were rolling on the ground by the force of Legolas' attack. By skill and considerable luck did Glorfindel find himself blessed with the upper hand, and he straddled the other elf tightly. He freed a dagger from his boot and kissed the barest of its sharp, cold edge to Legolas' cheek. The wood-elf hissed.
"Listen close, Thranduilion," Glorfindel snapped. He was out of patience, but not compassion. "You have nothing to prove to me. Nothing, do you understand? From what you endure so gracefully, you are the strongest person that I know."
Legolas looked up at him defiantly. "A likely story!" he spat out dispassionately, but his squirming resistance became half-hearted.
"All right fine," Glorfindel said, "perhaps not so gracefully, as this awful display has proven."
Legolas' chest bubbled in a surprised laugh, which he restrained futilely. Glorfindel clung to that ray of good, even if macabre, humor.
"Is this how you talk things through in your kingdom, princeling?" he teased. "I would need a translator when I visit."
"I should think not," Legolas said, raising a slow, wary arm up to indicate the knife against his face. "You already have a firm grasp of the language."
Glorfindel laughed.
"Release me," Legolas said quietly after a long moment. Glorfindel was going to tease him and ask for 'please,' but he sounded chastised enough and the warrior of Gondolin had a feeling this was as much as he was going to get. He did as requested, and the two elven warriors lay side by side, regaining their breaths and their composure.
"I think I made a worse spectacle of myself today than yesterday," Legolas said. "I apologize. Sometimes I do not understand myself."
"You will heal, Legolas," Glorfindel promised him. "One way or another."
"Either by my broken eyes or my acceptance of them you mean," the other said softly.
Glorfindel shrugged. "There are plans for you."
"Is that all you can say?" Legolas asked with weary exasperation. "It is so hard to find greater meaning in things like this. My people are dying. My skills are needed. Yet I am here, depriving them of my abilities and those of the likes of Telion and Renior and perhaps even yourself, who by some compulsion, find the need to waste their time on me. Is that really all you can say?"
"It is all I know to say."
The younger elf threw up his hands. "You speak like a wizard!"
"I was sent back for a task, Legolas," Glorfindel replied quietly, "but even I cannot know the precise plans of the gods. It would take the common mind I think, because there is a path set for every strand of hair, seed, petal, pollen or speck of dust. Our kin cannot conceive it, that kind of design, that kind of attention, that kind of... love. I can only see shadows, feel snatches of things, and I do with it what I can."
"So what do you see for me?"
Glorfindel looked up at the skies, and conjured up some of the visions the gods have seen fit to equip him with for his renewed purpose on the Earth. "I see a head of gold - "
Legolas laughed. "That could be a great many other people, my lord. It could even be you."
"I've seen your bow," Glorfindel continued, "and in these visions, I feel your heart."
Glorfindel heard the rustle of clothing against grass as Legolas turned to face him. Strands of both their golden hair had caught, lost and twined in each other. Their heads of hair were subtly different, but with each one a type of gold with depth and nuance, one had to look closely to tell them apart, especially as tangled as they were. Glorfindel felt a small pull on his head with the other elf's movement. He kept looking up at the skies, however; their heads were too close together, and to turn to face Legolas now was too much intimacy.
"And what, pray tell, does the Lord Glorfindel know of this heart of mine?"
He was being taunted.
Glorfindel never was one to back down. Not from creatures of fire, and certainly not from particularly fiery upstarts like this young wood-elf. He'd lived too long and too hard, and had never shied away from fighting or from... whatever this was. The princeling was trying to be clever, perhaps even coquettish. Glorfindel did not live all these years just to be toyed with. This wood-elf country cousin will learn, never to dare a courtlier elf with games of words and flirtations either faux or real. The ancient warrior turned to the young archer, then.
"It is clear to me you have great gifts, Legolas. But more than that you have a love for this Earth and the people in it. You have a generous heart of light and song. You know how to find and share joy. Your people love you for it. Time on you is not a waste. It is both a pleasure, and a small part to play in the great things meant for you."
Legolas smiled. "I think you mean to embarrass me."
"That does not make it any less true."
"It didn't work," Legolas said. His eyes were dancing with an entrancing, mischievous light. They were so close that small beats of his warm breath played with Glorfindel's cheek as he spoke.
"First," said the wood-elf, "because I have heard all manner of embarrassing proclamations before, some of them attached to shall we say, far baser propositions. I grew up in a King's court, and have been in many others; I can handle myself. Or perhaps it is only because I cannot see your reportedly beautiful face. Small mercies," he said with sham gravity, "Thus, your effect is diminished."
"Diminished?" Glorfindel mocked offense. "Really now, princeling, you do not know the half of it. I can charm in the pitch dark."
"I'm sure," Legolas said magnanimously. After a long moment of thought, he sighed and turned away from Glorfindel and looked up at the skies. Again, the departure of his gaze proved unwelcome to the older warrior.
"I cannot imagine of what you speak," he said softly, "all these greater plans and gifts for the purpose of them. Mostly I feel... sometimes... I wonder if I am dying." He shook his head in dismay at himself. "I do not mean to trivialize death or exaggerate my disability to equate it. Especially not with you, who've known first hand. That perspective should be harder won. I am sorry for indulging in this undeserved line of thought."
"Don't be."
"So was death like that? To lose the senses? When I woke and realized my sight was lost, I found myself clinging desperately to all I had left."
"It's why you reach for your ears when there is silence," Glorfindel realized - as he eschewed answering the other elf's questions about what his particular death was like. It was Legolas' turn to indulge him and thus did not press. Instead, he conceded,
"They remind me I'm still in this world and not some black, empty void."
"In the meantime you show a weakness to your enemies."
"I will remedy it," Legolas said, "or perhaps you will, my lord."
"When we finally get to work," Glorfindel said wryly. "So. Have you released your frustrations with satisfaction? May we please continue according to our program of action?"
Legolas' response was cut short by the huffing approach of Renior and Telion. The two golden elves watched them approach, looking a lot alike from a distance.
"Ah, the rescue team is it?" said Glorfindel. "I'm glad I didn't harm you, your highness. The tiny one terrifies me."
Legolas laughed openly, then. It was like the sound of birds taking to the skies. Glorfindel felt his heart ride those flapping wings and flutter with them...
... a beat before he reined in himself at the sense of danger of that. One can fall brutally from such heights. The teases and sighs faded from his lips, and he felt himself scowling in displeasure.
He had promised Elrond he would not make a conquest of this one, but in afterthought, he wondered if he should have been offended rather than flattered at the implications of that. Why would the Lord of Imladris believe he would be the one to break hearts, rather than be the one to emerge broken? He might not be making a conquest of Legolas, but the same rules did not seem to apply to the elf prince to exercise the same restraint. This was going to be far more difficult than he first thought.
He reined in his heart. But there was... a certain violence... to pulling back something in earnest flight. A momentum that pushes back, like a wild horse bucking and rearing against restraint. It was how this nascent affection stated turning into simmering anger.
"My lord, are you all right?" Telion asked breathlessly when they arrived.
Legolas favored him with an indulgent smile. "Yes. Lord Glorfindel and I were just –"
"Let's get to work," the ancient warrior snapped, rising abruptly to his feet.
TO BE CONTINUED...
