Chapter notes: this chapter takes place immediately after the events narrated in The Apprentice. It stands alone, but you may want to read that short side story first.
Chapter one: moving the pieces
South-western border of The Greenwood
Their horses ambled leisurely, heavy hooves thudding softly over the lush vegetation that lined the banks of the sparkling grey waters of the Anduin, just inside the tree line along the western edge of the Greenwood. In a few hours it would become the Mirkwood, and they would turn west towards Lothlorien, for that area was not to be traversed by two alone, however skilled they may be. For now, however, they could permit themselves the luxury of loosening their reigns and allowing their horses to lead the way, for the trees still rustled their late summer leaves, basking in the last rays of September sunshine, and the languid presence of their lord.
Galdithion rode a little behind his charge, bodyguard that he was. He was the first line of protection for the king's son, Yavanna's Protégé, his friend, and High King, if Elrond had his way. It had always been thus since he had memory of the world and himself. Indeed, Thranduil's naming him had been a mere formality, for it had always come naturally to the Silvan born and bred warrior to protect his friend. His love for Legolas was second to none, parallel only with the love he bore for Elrond's warrior son, Elladan.
The Forest Lord was quiet, introspective, lost in a world that Galdithion could not fathom. He had been that way since he had emerged from the forest, half naked and somewhat – absent, and Galdithion had been left wondering what it was that had happened in those strange weeks in which he had disappeared, in search of Radagast and tutoring in the magic bestowed upon him by Lady Yavanna herself.
Galdithion and The Company had waited for him, now almost a month ago, on a forward journey from the main caravan travelling from Imladris to Lothlorien. They had diligently scouted the area they imagined the odd couple to be in, ensuring their safety, yet not once had master and apprentice been seen, heard, or even intuited – 'not surprising,' he mused, for one was a Maia, and the other a mage. Yet that last night, just before Legolas' reappearance, a strange, haunting song had echoed through the woods, banishing all that was twisted and unnatural, infusing them all with giddy love, optimism and all-encompassing , nerve-tingling awe, for it had struck a primal chord in their hearts, wood-elves that they were.
His thoughts turned back to Elladan then, as they so often did – 'he would have reached the Golden Wood three weeks ago,' he mused, a soft smile gracing his lips as his lover's face came to his mind's eye, delighting it with that strong, noble face, one he had come to love so well, one that was now eternal, Peredhel in name only, he recalled with joy.
Elladan had travelled together with Glorfindel and Elrond, armed with scrolls and parchments, arguments and counter arguments, for so far, Galadriel had not accepted Legolas as high king, and neither had she agreed to the terms for the joint elven army. 'Stubborn and proud,' mused Galdithion, 'and somewhat ambitious,' he added, for though he did not dislike the Lady, he found her demeanor somewhat – unnecessary. He was pure Silvan, and as such he was nothing if not humble and practical – he appreciated straightforwardness. Of course he understood the necessity for a ruler to show strength and command – yet Galadriel was too … purposefully enigmatic, would not speak openly, preferring instead to speak in riddles or leave one to deduce the truth without ever confirming it - it did nothing but frustrate him. 'Funny,' he snorted to himself, 'how opposite she and Celeborn were, and yet one glance at the Silvan lord together with his bonded mate, told of deep love and respect.' There was obviously a side to her that Galdithion ignored, something he did not understand and so he kept his judgment at bay, for it was true – he did not dislike her – she simply…unnerved him, and he knew not the usefulness of that in one that ruled.
As he swayed idly atop his horse, he moved up to Legolas' side, watching his lord's profile for a few moments, something that his friend allowed, albeit he moved not, a sure sign he was not ready to break the prolonged silence. He was inexplicably beautiful, had always been since he had alighted from his mother's womb. Galdithion remembered her little, only that he had adored her, for she doted on them both, sat them upon her velvet-clad lap and fed them, sang to them, listened to their adventures – and then there were her eyes – those eyes of shocking green that he could never forget, for he saw them every day in Legolas' face.
A deep sigh and he focused on his friend's face once more. He seemed somewhat – disheveled, and that was unusual, for correct presentation had been high on the king's list of priorities, and again he wondered what magical events had taken place wherever it was Legolas had disappeared to. He seemed far away, not lost, but dazed – in a different world, unaware of his loose hair, tangled and rebellious, his dreamy, half-lidded expression and his unbuttoned shirt and open tunic – 'as a lover,' he mused, 'after a tumble in the woods.'
It must have been transcendental, he realized, for his friend was changed – in some deep way, as a newly emerged butterfly, still unsure of the brand new world around it.
Little did he know that that was exactly where Legolas was, in the world of nature, just as Aiwendil had taught him. He had hardly spoken a word since yesterday, and had only spared a few words of farewell to The Company before setting off towards Lothlorien. They had another three days before reaching its borders, three days that promised to be … quiet, mused Galdithion sourly.
Indeed, Legolas was ironing out the extraordinary events of the past few weeks, weeks in which he had finally learned of the nature of his magic, and although no expert just yet, he could now, at least, harness it somewhat, travel to that place that Aiwendil had shown him and 'see' the world of nature. He had also learned more of why he had been chosen for this task, rather than a more powerful being, such as a Maia – and, he had learned a little more of the Ainur – 'well, perhaps a lot more,' he smiled saucily…
However, his musings came to an abrupt halt, and he was cast back into the real world, feeling as Galdithion stiffened beside him, and a warning brushed over his own conscious mind, a soft but frigid caress of anxiety tightening his gut. Now fully alert, he cast his eyes about as he strained his hearing, seeking the source of danger. With his eyes now clear and sharp and his body tensed in anticipation, one hand caressed the fine wood of his carved longbow with deadly intent as his mind worked to provide the answers it sought.
"Wargs, Gal, from our left – inside the tree line, there are eight of them, mounted, and a group of around 20 – orcs or Uruks, I know not."
Gal's brow was no longer furrowed but creased with multiple lines from the strain of holding his eyebrows high upon his forehead. How on Arda had he gleaned all that information in but scant seconds? 'Nay, better not ask,' he berated himself, 'for it was surely magic.' Legolas had always been most blessed in his ability to communicate with the forest; but now, it was as if he read an open book.
"We cannot engage, and I do not think they are aware of us yet. Let us away quietly for a while, and then we will pick up our pace. We have dawdled for too long, my friend, I am sorry."
Well, Gal was not going to disagree with that, and the plan was sound, of course, and so they walked their horses briskly away in single file, their senses on full alert, until dusk had fallen and they had found a suitable place to camp. They lit no fire, made no noise, and took little rest, for their senses told them they were still too near to danger for comfort.
Legolas' senses had peaked uncomfortably just before dawn, and so the pair mounted and left, as quietly and cautiously as they had arrived. Once the sun had appeared, low on the eastern horizon, Legolas turned to Gal, this mouth set in a thin line – an expression that the guard recognized all too well - concern.
"Gal, I believe they follow us, though why they have not attacked is a mystery to me. The longer they wait, the nearer we are to safety. If their plan is to assail us, they will do so this very morning, for they surely know our destination – now is the time for speed my friend, we should reach the western borders of Lorien by tomorrow night, if we ride hard…" and with that, they shared a determined nod and spurred their horses into a gallop, for stealth was no longer necessary … they were being hunted.
…..
The Council Chamber, Lothlorien
"I know you are wary of our plans, of his plans, yet I also know you understand the wherefore of them. The need to unite us all is great, this you know, Lady Galadriel. Someone has to do it, and it will not be me – I do not choose that path, should not, for the Valar did not choose me, they chose him, crowned him, this you also know, for you were there," said Elrond from his place in the very centre of the imposing talan that Galadriel and Celeborn used as their council chambers.
The five chief councilors of their realm sat on the sidelines, opposite Glorfindel, Elladan, and Llyniel, the Greenwood advisor who had arrived just two days previously. Their faces were set in a rictus of stone, not the slightest tick or change of expression to offer some sort of insight into what they were thinking, or how they were reacting to Elrond's words. They looked haughty, thought Elladan, but then all politicians had that effect on him – this was his brother's realm of excellence. Yet his position as Legolas' herald made his presence necessary, just like Glorfindel's, who incidentally, marked Elladan, was sitting staring off at some point behind the advisors – he was bored, and Elladan smirked to himself. Well, who could blame him?
"…. and yet you resist calling him king, high king – for reasons I can only guess at, for you are a princess of the Noldor, your father king of those that did not travel East. Your own claim would be valid, Lady Galadriel, I will not doubt that – and yet, you are of that house; Artanis, daughter of Finrod, grand-daughter of Finwë and Olwë but also, niece of Fëanor... I need not tell you why this both validates and truncates any efforts that you would make to claim this right."
He paused a moment for effect, first arranging his black and burgundy robes around his arms, and then breathing deeply and continuing,. "I know your heart to be true, but what of your ancestors? Where are they? What of their intentions, should they ever be returned? They did not accept the will of the Valar, but then – neither did you. And then, what of the Silvans, the Avari, the Sindar? You know of their rejection, their refusal to be ruled by those they consider rebels to their own cause, for personal gain and a need for vengeance outweighed the common good, and many of their own were slaughtered by those that served under the rule of your house."
He paused again, for he played a dangerous game. He was provoking a reaction, anything that would leech the real problem from the stone. He chanced a quick glance at Celeborn, who sat together with his councilors, yet his face was a little softer, and it occurred to Elrond that Galadriel's husband did not, perhaps, agree with her opposition – it was a risk, but he was almost sure of it, and would most certainly take advantage of it.
"So tell me, Lady Galadriel, tell me why you resist, for if you do not doubt the need, then you doubt the chosen one, and you doubt the Valar for crowning him."
Harsh breaths drew attention to the Lorien advisors, who had, apparently, taken offence at the possibility that their Lady doubted the will of the Valar, their faces no longer stony and neutral but outraged. There it was, he had, finally, provoked a reaction, and it was Galadriel herself, however, that raised her perfectly manicured hand to stave off any comments on the matter.
"How to tell you of my reservations to what you propose – where to begin?" she began rhetorically, her shining white robes glittering around her, enveloping her in a shroud of purity that could never reflect her true self. She knew what Elrond was doing, and she was just as good as he was at the game. "You are right in that my claim would be true, of that there can be no doubt. Yet experience has taught me that for what is to come, we must choose wisely, Elrond, not choose by default. I do not say I do not trust Legolas to possess the strength that will be needed, but it is not only the strength of the body but of the mind – of the intellect – the ability to truly join not only our nations, but those of the other races – men, dwarves, – it will take great empathy and much tolerance to do this thing. I simply do not know that he can do it."
All five councilors turned their heads in unison towards the Noldorin lord that was their Lady's son-in-law. Celeborn, however, looked to the floor – 'interesting,' thought Elladan.
"Yet how to persuade you that he can?" countered Elrond. "You ask for proof that cannot be had save by the doing of this thing," cautioned Elrond, his brow furrowed in confusion now, for Galadriel asked the impossible, and he suddenly realized she was clutching at straws. But again, the reasons eluded him and she was still not forthcoming.
"You see, as for uniting humans, dwarves and elves… I must tell you that this first came from Lord Legolas' mouth – it was he who understood the need, and the importance of humans – one human …. And as for the strength of mind, my Lady, you will excuse me if I say that you would not doubt that, had you any idea of the battle that rages in the Mirkwood …"
More gasps of outrage heralded one advisor springing to his feet in indignation.
"Dare you claim that my Lady is ignorant of Thranduil's fight with Dol Guldur?"
However, before Elrond could placate the outraged advisor, Glorfindel had strode somewhat imposingly into the centre of the floor, his penetrating blue eyes boring into the scowling advisor's somewhat surprised face, his colleages' eyes cast to the floor.
"My Lord advisor," he began, his voice low, calm, steady yet oh so very intense. "In my presence, you will show due respect for my Lord King Thranduil, for I too, am Lord of that land," he said, his eyes lingering a little longer upon the advisor, who finally turned away before speaking again.
"You have my apology, Lord Glorfindel, yet no slight was intended. We in Lorien know what our Silvan kin face every day, we know of their losses and the slow, agonizing poisoning of its woods – do not presume to meet our arguments with fallacies of ignorance…" said the advisor, his tone picking up, his attention shifting from Glorfindel to Elrond once more, yet again, he ad not the opportunity to speak, for Llyniel stood at his side.
"Do you, my Lords? Do you truly know the extent of my land's suffering and sacrifice? For you speak of losses and that is true; you speak of the decay of our trees, and that too, is true – and yet, what of the cost to the soul, my Lords? What of our warriors that suffer the effects of darkness – that weapon the Dark Lord casts about the tower, emanating it like a dark tide of despair and deep suffering that suffuses the very soul – what of their cries, the atrocities they are forced to commit? What of the Sîdhoneth* that kills elven children, that they may be saved from rape or worse? What of our warriors that hold their tongues as their friends are tortured, raped or disemboweled? Do you, my Lords?" she asked softly once more, "do you truly know the extent of my land's suffering, and the strength it takes to hold it together?"
Silence now dominated the arena, as Llyniel studied the advisors' faces, just as her father had taught her. She had reached them, of that there could be no doubt. Elrond too, was watching them carefully, until one – a blonde elf with open features and rosy cheeks stood to speak – he was undoubtedly Silvan.
"Advisor, for my part, I doubt we could ever be aware of all that your people face; it is my hope then, that during this summit, we can come together and share these things, for you truly have my sympathy, and my deepest respect," he said, to which Llyniel bowed in thanks.
The incident had, in fact, helped more than it had hindered, for although the other advisors had not commented on it, they too, were sympathetic to the Greenwood's plight.
It was Galadriel who turned and walked to the edge of the platform before returning slowly towards the centre, now cleared of warriors and advisors who had taken their seats once more.
"I know you will argue that the Valar believe he can, and that is your biggest point of persuasion, but I am a pragmatic person, Elrond, I will believe when I have seen for myself that he does, indeed, possess those qualities that a high king must needs have. I have long since buried my qualms about the Valar, yet they are not infallible – this I still believe. Indeed it was to be Aiwendil to carry out this task, this did Lady Yavanna argue – a choice that ultimately, proved spurious. The…"
She broke off suddenly, her face turning to the side a little, her brow set deeply in concentration…
…..
It seemed so loud to his own, pounding ears, the pulse of his blood resounding in his head, his harsh breathing providing a counterpoint to it, and then the thudding of his steed's frantic gallop as Legolas pushed him harder, faster, the insensate body of his friend shielded under his own, bent low over the pumping, muscled neck of his loyal horse.
A glance behind him confirmed that Galdithion's horse was following, just behind and to the right of Legolas, just where his guard would have positioned himself, had done so when the skirmish broke out, taking the arrow that the Forest Lord knew had been directed at him.
However, his negative thoughts got no further, for he felt a brush against his mind, permission to gain entrance and save him the effort of explaining himself. He allowed it, for he was so very tired, so very worried.
He slowed his steed to a light canter, for the trees were becoming thicker. He was safe, he realized, inside Lorien's ring of protection. Yet before he could stop his forward motion, an arrow flew past his head – purposefully missing it, yet close enough to send thin strands of silken hair into the air around him. Pulling up abruptly, he wheeled his horse around, grabbed the offending missile from the branch where it had embedded itself and turned to face the four grey-clad warriors who stood defiantly before him.
His bright green eyes narrowed perilously until they were but slits of shining emerald, his nostrils flaring in anger. Only their leader held the fierce glare, smirked even, as Legolas drew closer to him, Galdithion's horse mirroring Legolas'.
"Is this how Lorien greets its kin?" he growled, throwing the arrow to the ground as if disgusted.
"Is this how the Greenwood presents itself?" sneered the one who stood slightly to the front , his eyes wandering to the obvious woodland designs of the elf's clothing - yet before Legolas could give his scathing retort to the arrogant warden, the leader visibly flinched, his face turning sour as he lowered his eyes.
"We will escort you into Caras Galadhon – my Lord, follow us," he commanded.
"On foot? Can you not see this warrior is injured? I must away with all haste – have you no sense, warden?" spat Legolas, fury beginning to show as his face transformed into a thing that would strike fear in the heart of the fiercest warrior, for his nostrils flared, and his green eyes flashed dangerously, and a hint of perilous unpredictability began to seep into the warden's conscience.
Indeed, Avorn himself was, by now, seething at the Forest Lord's disrespect, but he could not quite bring himself to take things any further than they had already gone, and his lady had made her wishes quite clear. And so, swallowing his burning desire to pull what he now knew was Thranduil's spawn from his horse and beat him senseless, he ground out the words he was honor-bound to say.
"Go then, the Lady will guide you. I will alert the other patrols … lest they shoot you in your haste," he drawled, allowing himself this one last luxury in spite of the tongue-lashing he had just received from Galadriel, and the promise of revenge plastered all over the Forest Lord's face. He could not, would not take back his words, but he was beginning to berate himself for his haste, for he had not cowed this – would-be-king at all, on the contrary he may very well have just caused himself a major problem.
"Let them try!" growled Legolas angrily, his jaw clenched, his face reflecting the promise of sweet revenge, indeed Legolas was not perfect at all, and was certainly not adverse to the prospect of roughing this one up – he would enjoy it. Yet not now, for Gal needed attention, and so he kicked his horse's flanks once more, cantering away from the on-looking guards and towards Caras Galadhon, where he knew he was not yet expected.
….
His shoulder was strangely numb, yet a throb emanated from it, down to his finger tips, across his chest and down to his belly. He felt warm and shrouded somehow, protected, yet how he could not say. His body was damaged, yet he felt inexplicably comforted, safe in the arms that supported him. He drifted away then, the promise of rest, food and the peerless presence of his dark lover lulling him with care and love, into contented reverie …he lurched to the side and the arms tightened around him, pulled him back until he rested against the solid presence once more, a steadfast heart, a peerless friend – Legolas.
…
He finally cantered into the sparsely built area where he believed the stables to be. How he knew that was beyond him, for he had never been to Lorien. He could only assume that Galadriel had, indeed, guided him, just as the warden had told him she would. He was conscious of not taking stock of his surroundings, for he was simply too tired. He knew it would be beautiful, could hear the strange language of the Mellryn humming in the background, but he could not bring it to the fore yet, for he would lose himself in it, he was sure.
Legolas was only half surprised to find Elladan, Glorfindel and Elrond, waiting together with Galadriel and Celeborn, the stunning Arwen at his side. A scattered group of dazed onlookers joined them, albeit they stayed further behind, having happened upon the scene quite by surprise.
The Forest Lord was the only visitor of importance due to arrive, yet if this was him, he was early. After so much speculation, paradoxically, hardly anyone would mark his coming, save for the lords and this smattering of lucky citizens. Gossip had been rife for many weeks now, and the ensuing debate had been as heated as it had been passionate. For some, he was their warrior king and savior, for others, the arrogant upstart son of a self-proclaimed king, and for yet others, simply the promise of a good lay. Yet the citizens of Lothlorien were, predominantly Silvan, with a large minority of Noldorin elves that had initially preferred the lordship of Galadriel to that of Elrond Peredhel. It was, however, the Silvan majority that swayed between the sometimes hateful words of certain sectors of the Noldo and the hard core of Silvan warriors, who were overwhelmingly favorable to Legolas and his aspiration to the throne as high king.
Glorfindel's eyes scrutinized his lover's body – he was beautiful, as always, yet today he seemed dangerous, fey, disheveled and oh so very enticing as he was, his mass of pale hair falling chaotically around him, down his back and past his saddle, brushing his thighs. He knew what the others were thinking, what they would be aspiring for, and he suddenly felt so very proud of himself for having won this one's heart. Oh, he would share his body, of that there could be no mistake, but his heart – his heart was his alone.
However, he seemed somehow absent, as if not quite aware of his surroundings. His eyes were unfocussed and his mouth slightly open – as if he were listening to something, thought Glorfindel.
A healer nudged Legolas' leg, gesturing silently to the body still nestled against his chest. Looking down as if seeing Galdithion for the first time, the Forest Lord slowly loosened his vice-like grip on his friend, feeling his bones and muscles crying out to him as he did so, for they had been in tension for many long hours.
As Galdithion emerged from the arms of his protector, Elladan rushed forward to help his colleague, Elrond a discreet few paces behind. They had been right, of course, it had been Galdithion that travelled with Legolas. Elladan had been fretting for the hours it had taken Legolas to arrive, yet he had been cautiously confident that his betrothed was not dead, for surely he would have felt that, or detected something in his grandmother's demeanor.
As they slowly lowered the body into the healers' arms, Elladan was, as a healer, perplexed, for the stub of a black arrow protruded from his lover's shoulder, yet his face was that of one who slept – serene, an almost imperceptible smile of contented reverie upon his lovely face. Elladan looked up to Legolas, a puzzled yet unvoiced question on his lips, his answer but an enigmatic smile from the exhausted Forest Lord, content it seemed, for having eased his friend's distress. Returning the smile, in spite of his distress, Elladan nodded his thanks respectfully, before slowly turning and accompanying his father and the Lorien healers, yet not before catching Glorfindel's eyes and gesturing subtly in Legolas' direction.
Elladan's warning, however, was wholly unnecessary, for Glorfindel was more than experienced as a warrior, yet he could not whisk his own lover away just yet, for protocol would not allow it, and neither, indeed, would Legolas, who remained upon his steed, looking down upon them blankly.
Galadriel had been granted a momentary glimpse into his mind, one that would give her many days of contemplation. She wondered though, why it was he had not dismounted as protocol dictated – was he imposing his authority already? she wondered somewhat petulantly – yet no sooner had she thought it, than the skeptical thought dissipated, banned to a dark corner of her mind where she knew it belonged, for she knew it was not true.
"Their voices are strange to me…"
"Legolas?" asked Celeborn, not quite understanding what the prince was talking about.
"'Tis hauntingly beautiful, sad, and yet – the power …" he murmured, his lips barely moving at all.
They waited patiently, for Legolas seemed to be in communion, with whom they could not say, only guess, but interrupting him was not an option.
It was but seconds before he blinked and his eyes focused once more, coming back to the present, only to realize the lords were waiting for him to dismount, a look of thoughtful curiosity upon their serene faces. He was a little annoyed at himself for losing control of his senses, however momentary it had been, and for showing his own weakness, his exhaustion.
It took a warrior's understanding to break the ensuing uncomfortable moment, and Glorfindel stepped forward, placing his open palm upon Legolas' bare, scraped knee. Closing his eyes a little longer than necessary, Legolas pulled his aching body together and slowly dismounted, feeling Glorfindel's hidden hand at his side, in case he should falter – he didn't, but moved forward with a somewhat stilted movement, until he was before the lords, bowing reverently before them as best he could, his mind now completely shuttered.
"Please forgive my errant behavior, my Lady, and thank you for your help," he said simply.
"I will have words with my marchwarden over the conduct of Avorn, you have my apologies for the rude welcome, my Lord," she said sincerely.
Their eyes locked momentarily, before Legolas nodded, registering the name in his mind for future use, and then turned to greet Celeborn, leaving Glorfindel to wonder what had happened, and who this Avorn was, that had dared hinder his lover.
"Well met, Lord Legolas, now please – dispense with the formalities and go with Lord Glorfindel and find your rest," he said with a kind smile, taking in the difficult movements, and the strange circular wounds upon his arms and his face.
"I will, my Lord, once I have greeted the Lady Arwen, he said, smiling adoringly at the dark-haired, silver-eyed maiden that could have been his, could still be his, should he want her.
"Well met, my Queen," he said, continuing with their nascent ritual of exalting each other with the words they had both used when first they had met, both lost in the haze of insight.
She smiled so that her light lifted his spirit in a way only Glorfindel could surpass. "Well met, my King," she answered, eliciting a subtle intake of breath from Galadriel.
They embraced then, and Legolas felt comforted through the suede and leather of his attire, for her essence seemed to seep through it, sink under his skin and then spread like a warm tingle through his tired body. "Go with your love, my friend," she murmured only for him. "Rest, and I will find you tomorrow, for I covet your presence."
Pulling away, Legolas looked long into her spell-binding eyes, the deep friendship they both felt burning brightly for all to see. The finally turned away from her, and to Glorfindel.
"I must ensure that Galdithion will make a full recovery – if you will excuse us?" he asked, to which Galadriel nodded, and Celeborn smiled, for he liked the boy, had done ever since they had met that strange night the Greenwood caravan had been assailed on its way into Imladris.
Now alone, although still under public scrutiny, they walked in proud silence towards the halls of healing, yet they got no further than the antechamber, where they were met by a healer, hands spread out before him in a gesture of appeasement.
"I am sorry, my Lords, but you can go no further. Captain Galdithion is being tended to by Lord Elrond himself – he is in the best of hands," he said calmy, although his eyes had not left Legolas' hair, and his eyes were altogether too wide for one that is collected and in control.
"We know," said Glorfindel equally calmly, "yet we would hear the prognosis as soon as it is available," he said, his face reinforcing the fact that this was not a request, but an order, albeit a polite one.
"I understand, my Lords, I will see to it," he replied, finally ripping his gaze from the disheveled yet incomprehensible beauty of the Forest Lord.
Once he had left, Glorfindel turned to his lover, alone for the first time since his arrival, and kissed him softly upon the lips, his hand covering the right side of his face, thumb brushing lovingly over the high, regal cheekbone.
"What happened," he whispered.
"We were tracked and then attacked by orcs – Glorfindel, that arrow in Gal's shoulder was meant for me," he emphasized, before continuing. "We were lucky, for he kept his seat long enough for me to reach him, yet they tried to bring us down with…stones… I can only surmise that they wanted to take us alive. From there we galloped for a day and a half, until reaching the borders…"
"And how did Galadriel help you?" he asked, wondering about the comment Legolas had made on his arrival.
"She – persuaded an over-zealous border guard to let me pass…" he said, a half-smile on his lips, for though he had not heard her words, he could well imagine it had been quite the opposite.
"Over-zealous?" asked Glorfindel suspiciously.
"Do not worry yourself, Glorfindel – let us sit, for I admit to feeling somewhat tired."
"Of course, forgive me. Come – as soon as we have gleaned enough information for you to relax a little, you will eat, bathe and sleep – and, you will let me see to those wounds – how did you get these?" he asked, prodding one of the circular wounds on his arm in fascination.
"I told you, stones…"
Glorfindel's face softened as he reached out a hand to caress the soft, dirt streaked cheek.
"I have missed you, and we have much to catch up on – once Elrond gives us his assurances, you will allow me to tend to you," he said, no question in his voice at all.
Legolas smiled sparsely, dropping his head for a moment before looking back up into his extraordinary lover's eyes. He moved closer, already feeling the brush of soft lips upon his own, yet he pulled back when he heard the door open once more, revealing Elrond, still wiping his wet, clean hands, and another Lorien healer at his side.
"Ah, Lord Legolas," he said, all business, yet any that knew him would have detected a slight undercurrent of smug realization – he had interrupted a private moment, one Elrond could all too well imagine.
"Captain Galdithion is resting and out of danger. He has three or four days of bed rest ahead of him, after which he should be fit to guard you once more."
Legolas' chest deflated then, the final traces of adrenalin rushing from him so that he almost visibly sagged, the tiredness of days of flight, stealth and battle finally manifesting itself in his taxed body.
"And Lord Elladan is with him?" he asked, knowing that he was, but reinforcing the idea that he would not have his friend left in the hands of the healers alone.
Elrond smiled kindly. "Indeed he is, go and rest, my Lord. I will see you on the morrow, for we must needs take council you and I," he said meaningfully.
"Of course," nodded the Forest Lord, understanding the need for protocol here in Lorien, for any political slip could endanger their plans. It was not that their relationship would be ethically unacceptable, indeed it was common knowledge, but Elrond's enthusiasm for proclaiming Legolas as High King could be misconstrued by the citizens at large – the crazed actions of a love struck elven lord. Legolas almost laughed at the notion, nevertheless it was true, he knew he was up for criticism, and as such, he could not give them the slightest ammunition against him or his plans. Let them question the facts and the arguments, not the person…
With that, Elrond nodded, and grabbed the arm of the healer at his side, for he had not moved at all, even when Elrond was already reaching for the door.
"Come, you fool," he said fondly, "close your mouth, lest you drool over your patients."
….
Heaven, he decided, was here. He had sat in the fragrant waters of the spectacular bathing area their talan was graced with, as Glorfindel had scrubbed every inch of his skin, including his scalp. He had then rubbed Elrond's special oil into his Red Fang wound, and then he had kneaded every knotted muscle in his body, leaving him a quivering mass of relaxed flesh that yearned for both sleep and sex.
He swirled the goblet of deep red wine he held, as he lay on one side, but a thin silken sheet slung, almost by accident, over his body. Before him, Glorfindel lay almost identically, admiring his lover in pleasant silence, a feeling of deep well-being washing over him such as he had never felt, even in these uncertain times could bliss be had in the simple contemplation of the one you loved, he mused, and then the questions were back and he wondered which to give voice to first.
Legolas smiled as he took a generous gulp of wine and swallowed noisily.
"You have questions," he stated, his gaze forthright, expectant.
"Aye, I have many, and if sleep can wait, I would ask them."
"Then come, and sate your curiosity," he said, drinking once more of the excellent vintage.
"You are changed somehow – I cannot fathom how, for you look the same as when last I saw you, and yet not so – whatever has changed I cannot grasp, cannot describe…"
Legolas held his gaze for a moment, collecting his own words, for how to describe what had happened to him in the weeks they had been parted?
"I have learned many things under the tuition of the Brown Wizard," he said softly, his gaze straying past Glorfindel, glazing slightly as if he were reliving something.
"I have learned to temper the magic, control it, move inside it, and especially – I have learned to enter the world of nature, cross the boundary of the mundane and see the nature of things as they perceive it, as they see, smell, hear and feel…"
"They?" asked Glorfindel.
"The trees, plant life, animal life, they do not perceive as we do. The light, the colours of their world, the way they communicate, move – it is all so very different, and so … enthralling, Glorfindel I do scant service to it with my poor words."
"You do well enough, but tell me, what is the importance of this, save the obvious?"
"It allows me to see – to really see, past outward appearances. It also allows me to join with others that can move in that place, there is no need for my body to be present. I can communicate in this place, take council – you see my point?" asked Legolas.
"Indeed, it is useful indeed – but, who else can do this? Who could give you council in such a manner?"
At this Legolas smiled enigmatically, for here was the true weapon.
"Any who possess this magic of course, yet more importantly – Mithrandir, Aiwendil…"
"Ah – useful indeed then," a gigantic understatement, but the revelation surely justified it.
"I will confess," began Legolas, "that when first I realized that I could really see the essence of a being – it was Aiwendil himself that I saw – not as a wizened old man of the forest, but as a shining angel," he said, a look of awe and wonder on his face. Glorfindel listened carefully, sipping on his own wine as he waited for the tale.
"At first I did not realize it was him, for his hair was so long, a red so intense it was as liquid fire and his eyes – so blue and bright against his skin of pearly white – Glorfindel, my love – he was, is, beautiful."
At this, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was guessing correctly.
"And you…did it….with a Maia?" he asked softly.
"He took me in his exquisite mouth and made me moan like a virgin, Glorfindel," he said, holding his love's gaze in something akin to challenge, sipping once more on his wine, his eyes dancing over the tipped brim. Tired he was, but hunger was fast winning the game.
Setting his own goblet down somewhat abruptly, Glorfindel shuffled closer to the reclining lord, looking into his laughing eyes with his own, hungry gaze.
"Then I will make you scream like no virgin ever could," he growled, covering his lover's lips with his own, one hand tangling almost desperately into his long silken mane as he brought his body flush with Legolas.
"No Maia, no Valar could ever love you the way I do," he whispered harshly, before he rolled Legolas onto his back and took his face in his hands. "Your body was made to be shared, for such perfection cannot be locked away, art is to be contemplated – yet your heart, Legolas, tell me of your heart…" he said beseechingly, his hands removing the silk sheet and replacing it with the warm, pulsating smoothness of his own, lustful flesh.
"My heart was ever yours, will always be yours, mighty warrior of Gondolin, twice-born and chosen of the Valar – come to me, then? For with but a touch of your hand, you bring to me such joy I cannot describe."
Glorfindel's smile was wide, joy lighting his face as it split almost in two in his happiness, and then he turned serious once more, as a wave of agonizing love hit him hard and he descended upon Legolas in desperation, until he was pushing himself inside, and every thrust was a declaration of his love, every gasp a thank you, and when finally he came, his moans were a promise of eternity in bliss.
*Sîdhoneth – peace-giver, elven warriors that take it upon themselves to sacrifice their own kin, should their suffering become unbearable.
