Authors Note. The last instalment in this little story. Later that evening, Legolas seeks Elrohir out when they can finally have some privacy!

It was late and all was quiet. He should be sleeping, or at least resting yet how could he? He had to see him for he still found it hard to believe he was here. He was overrun with joy, his spirit sang with it.

Yet they had barely spoken, had but a moment before duty and convention separated them. Now all was still and men asleep. Now he would seek him out. Now they could talk and touch and be.

There was much to tell and he was no longer the same. His travels had changed him, were changing him. Would his lover notice? Would they still fit as smoothly as they did before, as if they belonged? As if there were none for the two of them except themselves?

Or would they be all discordant edges and awkwardness? He found he could not bear the thought of that. Yet he knew he was somehow different and it worried him.

Would he accept the parts of him which had been transformed?

Shadows filled the corridors and he moved as ever with grace and silence yet as he neared his destination his heart fluttered, with both excitement and unease. He yearned to see him, so long he had only had his memory to ease him and now the reality in all his glory was here within reach, but would he still be loved? Would he love in return?

Would they still be the same when so much about them was not.

He hovered outside the door uncertain, suddenly filled with trepidation, a strange and alien feeling. He should not be afraid of this, of him! He would not let his hesitation win out, he was stronger than that and his elation at the opportunity to renew what they had drove him on.

Silently he entered.

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud which echoed across the room of stone.

Torchlight flicked dappled colours across the Noldor's face as he turned to gaze upon him, as if fire licked at his very edges.

His words caught in his throat and he was transfixed by his beauty. A wave of desire surged from the silent man before him. It hit him in a rush until he was awash with it, drowning in it, enfolded and made speechless by it. How he loved him.

So much he had to say and suddenly none of it important.

His lover stared, he made not a sound and yet before he could move he was upon him. A hand reached out, entangled within his hair and pulled him near, no explanation, no permission given. Lips on his, strong, unyielding yet soft and enticing. How he burned. He was being consumed alive by this internal fire.

Hands on his body, shredding, tearing at his clothes as he did the same in desperation to feel skin. And there it was. Heat against heat, silk against silk, skin against skin. Breath merged as one and the flames surged within him, pleasure and pain, until he felt with a cry surely he could feel no more.

It was in the aftermath as they lay, entwined with a desperate need to touch, that his lover finally spoke. Soft and gentle they were then belying the hunger and need that had previously devoured them.

As he stroked his hair, kissed his lips, caressed his limbs, and held him the words were said with a sigh.

"I love you."

And he knew,

All he needed was here.