(Part Twenty-five: Gifts of Friendship, Signs of Possession, Tokens of Love)
It wasn't until Legolas was actually standing before the entrance to Lady Arwen's apartment that he recalled exactly how he came to have her shoes in his possession. Her brothers had pilfered them from her wardrobe without consent and now here he was, footwear in hand, about to offer them back with his thanks for their use. No doubt she had noticed them missing before now and some unfortunate servant had been chastised for their loss. For all the time he had been away in Greenwood, the shoes had been in the talan in the oak tree behind Glorfindel's house, and he was sure the Twins had forgotten all about them in the course of the important task of scouting the route for the Fellowship. He wasn't about to get into a sibling conflict by indicting the brothers.
Not only that, in addition to the ones on his feet, he had the second set of boots from Lindir in the other hand. These he set aside next to the wall, hoping she would not notice them and wonder if perhaps he had some sort of shoe fetish that impelled him to steal the footgear of various and sundry folk he encountered. And, of course, he had already pulled the cord that tolled a fair silver bell to announce visitors and could hear someone approaching; escape was now impossible. Legolas sighed in resignation; he would just have to brazen through it and accept the blame for the missing shoes.
What he had not imagined was that someone else would answer the summons and when the haughty auburn-haired page peered at him, arm firmly secured on the door to block free passage, Legolas was startled into silence for a few seconds. The servant's sight fell to the shoes in his hands, travelled on to inspect the boots on his feet, journeyed to the pair on the floor by the wall, and back to his face. It was the same odious retainer he seemed to encounter every time he was in a less than complimentary condition, beginning with his initial interview with Galdor. This time, however, Legolas looked regal in his elegant attire and stood as tall and straight as possible, presenting a passable impression of his father's majestic stance, and though he could not look down upon this servant, since the squire was an inch or two the taller, he held his head high and feigned a dignity he did not quite feel.
"Yes?" inquired the detestable Lochgaer, brows arched and lips sneering. Then he seemed to recall that he was door warden for fair Undomiel and assembled the demeanour of cool detachment presented by every butler ever born when facing the latest peddler at the door.
"Is the Lady Arwen within?"
"She is. Whom may I say is calling?" Now the servant spoke politely, but the mocking glint in his eyes was sufficient to reveal the dare in his words. He wanted to know how the bastard prince would answer and had the satisfaction of seeing colour rise in the Wood Elf's face.
"Legolas Cuthenin, third son of Thranduil, King of Greenwood the Great." The words rolled off Legolas' tongue with pride and just a hint of a sharp rebuke, for he was not ashamed to belong to the House of the Beeches whatever his standing within it.
"Indeed," intoned the page, a touch of uneasiness tainting his bully's enjoyment, for the authenticity in the archer's voice was indisputable. He suddenly recalled, too, the news of a betrothal between the sylvan and Lord Glorfindel. On top of that, Lord Erestor, Lochgaer's mentor, was in disfavour and had dismissed him upon learning his part in the revelation of Legolas' secret. It occurred to the page, rather too late to do anything about it, that Lady Arwen's request for him to serve at her luncheon might not be due to lack of knowledge about these inter-related facts. Nervous dread replaced vague uneasiness. Lochgaer cleared his throat. "I will announce you," he murmured and disappeared inside, leaving the door open.
Legolas' heart fell for he had no wish to hear the derogatory tone in which this unpleasant person would identify him. He hastened after and caught up with Lochgaer just as the loud pronouncement commenced:
"Legolas Thranduilion, Ernil-en-Gladgalen Daer!"
The ringing titles contained no trace of disdain or derision, sounding forth in respectful timbre, the deferential mode a servant maintained for his betters. Lochgaer stood at attention beside the arched entrance into the sitting room, peering hard at the opposite wall so to avoid eye contact, and Legolas paused beside him, no small amount bewildered and pleased as Arwen and her guests rose to greet him. Aragorn was there and several elves Legolas had spoken with briefly once or twice in the Hall of Fire or the refectory. There was also an ellon he had only glimpsed once, speaking quietly with Lord Elrond. Well-schooled in courtly conduct by Galion, Legolas assumed the proper mien of a lesser baronet before the great nobles of the land and watched the fair Evenstar approaching, hand outstretched and lips smiling. He took her white fingers carefully and bowed gravely beneath them.
"Cuthenin, how good of you to stop in at my humble little party," she cooed, retaining hold of his hand, amused and curious to see the shoes, after which she glanced at his feet. Then she seemed to comprehend everything. "Oh, thank you for bringing those to me; I have been searching for them for days and days." She motioned to the page and took the shoes, shoving them in Lochgaer's hands. "Take them to my dressing room," she ordered sternly, "and return at once." Then she took Legolas' arm and escorted him in, introducing the guests graciously.
Every one of them greeted him cordially, not so much as a whisper of shock to see him there apparent; they seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. Before the pleasantries were concluded, the page had returned and stood silently awaiting the Lady's commands, but she ignored him. Next, there was a small tussle over who would have the woodland prince beside them and Legolas was radiant by the time he ended up seated beside a beautiful elleth with eyes of green, a cousin of Círdan. She was visibly gloating over her coup to have won the Wood Elf's company and kept a proprietary hand on his arm. Now all eyes turned to Arwen, who had remained standing, Aragorn beside her.
"I am so pleased to host this gathering," she began. "Everyone here has in common a singular sorrow: we have all lost our mothers, whether by violence or grief or mortal fate or the long parting of the Sundering Sea. Those of us in the last category are fortunate, indeed, yet we also feel the pain of loss, though perhaps not so keenly."
"Aye; yet I do not believe any separation is easy to endure," said Legolas' companion. She smiled at him kindly. "We thought to initiate you into our clan, finding the support we grant one another makes the burden less onerous."
"I thank you!" said Legolas. "It is an honour to be included."
"Much as I derive solace from our gathering, it is equally important for me to demonstrate that not all the folk of Imladris are such biased and judgemental people," added a tall, dark haired elf, serious to the point of grimness. It was the one observed in converse with Lord Elrond, his bearing noble though his garments were simple and unadorned with any ornament or jewel. "Most of us are not so narrow-minded, Legolas, and I hope you will not take away with you only unfavourable recollections of your time here."
"Indeed not," Legolas bowed, instinct telling him this was an ellon of Noldorin lineage and Ages ancient, for the light in his eyes could only be gathered from lingering in the presence of the Two Trees, while the anguish there betrayed wearing trials of body and soul. Legolas wondered if he had come over from Aman at the rising of the Sun with the host of Feänor's warriors. He couldn't prevent his mind from considering if the ellon had been involved in the kin-slayings, but at once Legolas rebuked himself; he did not know anything about this person. His eyes fell away, for he was dismayed to find himself so quick to judge, but a quiet laugh brought them back up.
"Nay, I hold no grudge against a fleeting thought so rapidly checked and discarded," said the noble ellon. "We all succumb to such minor biases; there is no fault in that when they are recognised for what they are and rejected. The error comes from holding on to these prejudices as justification for intolerance and outright abuse. If more could behave as you have just done, it would be a better world." The austere ellon smiled faintly and dipped his head as though in thanks.
"Your words are both wise and gracious," Legolas said and he bowed again, not sure what the correct protocol might be in such a circumstance. He was spared too much anxiety over it by the next person to speak.
"We are distantly related," declared another ellon, stocky for an elf, chestnut-haired, and of less lofty stature, "for my fore-mother and your grandfather's great-great grandmother were second cousins. I despise the unseemly light cast on the sylvan elves by some here! My kin followed the Noldor into Eregion in days of old and thence to Imladris and thus my heritage includes all the races of the First-born, save Vanyarin, as well as blood of mortal people."
"I fought beside your father at Dagorlad," another Noldorin ellon suddenly announced. "I hope he will forgive me for not coming to your defence sooner. I admit I believed the entire scenario was a hoax and you were not his child, for you do not favour him. Yet, your courage and your temper give you away rightly enough." That raised a soft chuckle from all, including Legolas.
"There is another thing we all share," said Aragorn, "for each of us here has been subject to gossip, our personal histories or secret embarrassments revealed."
"Oh," Legolas faltered. "I…"
"Yes, it is not the easiest topic for any of us," inserted the Noldorin lord. "I am of the House of Feänor and fought bravely in the wars of Beleriand, but rumour spread here that I was among the killers at Alqualondë and joined in all the other kin-slayings. And I was there, it is true, and I fought. Much blood was spilled but less killing than many suppose, and I am among the majority of Noldor who gave grievous wounds but never death. This is my crime, drawing sword against my own, drawing blood, but I am not guilty of taking life. I committed this sin freely and do not expect forgiveness nor have I sought it, but none of my actions were undertaken for any of the false reasons put forward. There is a level of fealty that one may not deny and some oaths that cannot be renounced, no matter how dire."
"That is a terrible burden to bear." Legolas had not often thought on those Noldorin folk who had not taken life in the fighting, the shame and guilt they must carry, but he did so now. His compassion must have showed, for the noble ellon smiled.
"I do not often speak of it," he said, "and for long years have remained silent, deeming it just to endure these vicious smears without complaint. Yet, other victims deserve no punishment and have suffered unduly all the same."
"I am one of them and tried to ignore the wagging tongues, but that tactic failed to discourage the perpetrators," the emerald-eyed beauty began her tale. "I arrived here from Mithlond not long after Imladris was founded. I came alone and kept to myself, seeking only peace and serenity. I did not attend parties or go often to the Hall of Fire or seek some post of service, and this reticence aroused curiosity. Since I would not speak of my reasons for being here, speculation ran rampant. I heard everything from a broken heart to banishment from Círdan's realm for treason, and he a distant cousin!"
"Ai Valar," Legolas sighed, shaking his head in sympathy.
"As for me," his burly distant kinsman said, "my vulnerable spot is the comprehensive quality of my pedigree. As I mentioned, my people settled in Eregion and became acquainted with Durin's folk. We are all smiths in my family; I am one of the best here in Imladris. It is no accident, for it is in my blood. My ancestors include a Dwarf or two. This was a carefully guarded family secret, even in those more lenient days, and I was not happy when it became public knowledge. So you see, I know somewhat of your despair."
"Yes," Legolas was overwhelmed; what could he offer as consolation? "Would that your family had not had need to keep this secret, for there is honour, dignity, and much to appreciate in Durin's race."
"Your words are gracious," the ellon bowed.
"My relationship with Lord Elrond, who is to me as a father, was nearly destroyed," Aragorn said seriously. "I had not yet spoken to him of my love for Arwen, yet she and I knew what would be. We were content to let this bond grow as our hearts permitted, agreeing that it was too soon to share the news. Somehow, our mutual feelings were discovered. My mother knew it, but she would never betray her son's trust. Even so, Elrond was informed in such a way that it seemed Arwen and I purposefully meant to deceive him. He was more hurt by that than by the notion of our love."
"It was a bitterly hurtful day for us all," sighed Arwen, "and it was many many days before the pain dulled enough for Adar to reach acceptance."
"I can imagine your sorrow and distress," Legolas murmured, for he had spent his whole life fretting over his father learning of his secret desires. This had stood between them, preventing the closer bond he had been so long denied. "And Lord Elrond's, too. I am glad understanding was achieved and peace restored."
"That leaves me," said the old warrior gruffly. "I am not guiltless, as some others are. I was, and still am, entangled with two families at once, having a wife and child in Lothlorien that I left there, bringing with me the second to birth our son here free of the scathing contempt and scorn of my relatives and hers. Elrond knew our situation and agreed for the children's sake to keep it quiet. Well, that did not last beyond a year and all of us have suffered by the revelation of our private business."
"Oh, what cruelty!" exclaimed Legolas, furious on the unknown child's behalf, for his heart still stung with the hurt he'd suffered through his young years. "The ones who spread such news and do such harm should be stopped! How is it they are permitted to continue?"
"The nature of our situations made it such that we did not share our individual shames willingly," said the Noldorin lord. "Remember, much of what was spread was truth, as in your case. Our stories were not publicised all at the same time, but one by one, each unfolding as the last rumour finally became so oft repeated that it lost its power to titillate. Had we thought to exchange information sooner, we would have realised there were only two principals responsible for these many rumours: Erestor and his protégé, Lochgaer."
In the ensuing silence every eye fell upon the page, who stood trembling and sweating in dread. His eyes darted from one to the other, barely able to meet the cold glares. "I am but his lackey," he cried suddenly. "Lord Erestor is the true culprit, but he remains protected behind the shield of his kinship to Lord Elrond, and so now you turn your wrath upon the lowly Lochgaer."
"Be silent!" chastised Arwen. "I have gone to my father about him before, though Erestor is also my kinsman, but since none of the people involved wished to draw extra attention to themselves by refuting the odious gossip, Elrond did nothing. Yet we are now united in our purpose, as you see, and Erestor will be punished."
"Yet that purpose mentioned may not be what you imagine it to be," suggested the lovely lady from Mithlond. "We realise you were trained specifically by Erestor over long years. We believe the unique qualities you possess have been misdirected and thus corrupted. We hope to rehabilitate you."
"Such an inquisitive mind would be better bent upon the gathering of knowledge that is beneficial to all rather than detrimental to a few," continued the Noldorin lord.
"Not to mention a distinct gift for sneaking, or perhaps subterfuge is a more palatable word," remarked the old warrior. "You would make a most excellent spy."
"Spy!" cried Lochgaer. "You mean to send me into enemy country and thus do away with me!"
"Do not be so histrionic," scoffed the smith. "We do not want you to be killed in battle."
"We want you to become a productive and useful member of this community," said Aragorn, "though few in the days to come may escape the foment of war. Our intent is to send you to train among my Rangers of Eriador, which means Elrohir and Elladan will take you in hand."
"What if I do not wish it? I am no warrior and am too old to start training for it now," whined Lochgaer, shaking more than ever.
"If your courage is so lacking, then you should go from Imladris. I would say join Erestor and Lindir in Greenwood, for they will spend their banishment there, but I do not want my own people to be victimised by you three," opined Legolas.
"Agreed, they should be separated, Erestor and Lochgaer, for they feed upon one another's depravity, bolstering one another and countering whatever check the conscience attempts to provide," said the Noldo lord.
"It might be best if you sailed from these shores," said Legolas quietly, "for you have become like a foul mere, poisoning the air with rotten words that weigh upon the soul and spread division among folk who long for unity."
"Well said," nodded the fair lady of Mithlond. "That is why we wanted to invite you into our circle, for we needed to hear the voice of someone more objective about the atmosphere here. You have confirmed what we have all felt."
"So then, Lochgaer, what will it be?" asked the old warrior. He stood and folded his arms over his chest. Behind him, all the others rose. "For your part in subjecting my child, an innocent, to misery and sorrow I could demand the severest penalty our laws allow: forcible expulsion from the country and warning of your character sent ahead of you to the other elven realms, that you may not take your bitter malice elsewhere. I am content to let you choose Aragorn's option, or that of Legolas, should you prefer it."
"I will not be subjected to banishment in this manner!" he fumed. "By what authority do you lot convict me? I have not been charged with any wrongs and even then only Elrond may sentence me."
"As you wish," intoned Arwen, shrugging. "You may go to your quarters and await my father's summons."
The page stood staring, sight tracking from one to the next and ending on Legolas. His face grew dark as his wrath rose and he raised a pointing hand. "You are behind this! I would not have credited such an outcome: that a low-born Wood Elf could wreck my life so utterly, but I suppose Glorfindel's esteem clings even to such as you. A curse upon you and all…"
He was cut off as the Noldo Lord sprang forward and struck him sharply, knocking him to the floor. "Enough!" he shouted, looming over the cowering page. "Do you dare call down doom upon one of the Nine Walkers, knowing the future of all free people rests upon their Quest? Now there shall be no choice and I sentence you here: To the Havens you shall go, under guard, and out to sea as soon as a boat may be readied. Whether the Powers will permit you to cross over with hroa and feä intact, I cannot say, but such is your fate, Lochgaer."
"You cannot sentence me!" he whimpered. "Only the Lord of the Land may demand banishment."
"Elrond will not gainsay my will," intoned the daunting lord. He crossed to a door and opened it, revealing a narrow hallway: a servants' entry to the suite, and called down it. A tall ellon hastened to the summons, dressed in finer livery than that of the Noldo lord before whom he bowed low. "Take this person away and lock him in the cellars, for I do not trust his word even should he give it and promise not to fly. I will inform Lord Elrond."
"Sui pedich, Hiren," said the guard and toed the moaning Lochgaer. "Up now and come with me; do not make me draw sword in the Lady's rooms."
He would not budge, but lay grovelling and weeping at the Noldorin lord's feet, pleading incoherently for mercy. The smith and Aragorn heaved him up and the guard dragged him away still wailing and mewling, and all the house came forth to watch their progress, more than a few applauding his removal, for not all the tales he'd taken to Erestor had been so serious, but hurtful nonetheless, and his victims were pleased to be avenged.
"An unfortunate outcome," Arwen sighed unhappily. "I truly thought he would accept censure from us and choose to be retrained."
"It is no fault of yours, Arwen," the lady from Mithlond consoled.
"Aye, he is stubborn and hard-hearted," said Legolas and set his hands on his hips, frowning. "Now, why may that be? Did he undergo some trial or tragedy that has made him bitter?"
"Nay, he has not," informed the Noldorin lord. "Lochgaer has lived in Imladris all of his days, knowing neither war nor want. His parents sailed when they realised what he was doing, for they were ashamed. He chose to be as he is, even as you chose how you would meet the fate into which you were born. Hardship is neither cause nor justification for malicious behaviour, Cuthenin, and you are a fine example of that truth. You need not pity Lochgaer."
"As for myself, I have spent enough of the day dealing with him," said the smith and laughed suddenly, a deep, rolling, merry sound. "Legolas, I know of your friendship with Gimli, Gloín's son. How if I teach you a traditional Dwarvish greeting in Khuzdul?"
"You speak the Dwarven tongue?" Legolas was amazed. "Do you have a Dwarvish name, too?"
"Of course!" affirmed the smith. "Though, that I may not speak except among family and I hope you understand it is no slight against any of the company here." He bowed to all formally.
"Nay, we are not insulted," smiled Aragorn. "Let us learn this Dwarven greeting then, though maybe some of us already know it."
"Show off!" Arwen swatted him and all laughed, and the party grew gay after that until duty or work called the Elves away, one by one. Ere long, only Legolas and the Noldorin lord remained with Arwen and Aragorn.
"I must depart as well," he excused himself, "for I have an appointment I dare not miss without earning an exasperated complaint from Elrond, for Bilbo will go seeking me in the Lore-master's study, and there is serious work afoot there." He turned to Legolas. "I am glad to have met you, and gladder still that Mithrandir chose you for this great task. Know that all our hearts go with you and if I do not see you before you depart, I pray the Valar will surround you, protect you, and bring you back safe out of doom and destruction."
"I thank you, Hiren," Legolas said, moved by the invocation. "Galu-en-Tawar an le," he returned, for he had no holier blessing to bestow, but worried as he spoke that his humble words would sound like mockery to someone who had dwelled beneath the light of the Two Trees.
"You honour me," said the lord and his voice was strained as though he fought strong emotion. Indeed, Arwen laid a hand upon his arm, eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked upon Legolas. Then the Noldo turned quickly and strode for the door, calling Aragorn to him as he went, and the Dúnadan gave his love a hurried kiss and left.
"Did I misspeak?" Legolas asked. "I did not mean any affront; it is the highest blessing we can give, those who hold to Pâd-en-Tawar."
"Nay, Legolas, you have given him a powerful gift and he is too deeply touched to command his voice, or he would thank you more properly," said Arwen, and smiled as she shook her head. "And to cause him, of all the elves still in Middle-earth, to fail in voice is a wonder in itself. He is very old and his history filled with darkness and terrible deeds, as he admitted to you here, but also unbearable loss and deeds of great valour and compassion. Even so, none have blessed him since those evil times."
"None?"
"Nay, not even my Adar."
"How so, Lady? Who is he?"
"That is not for me to speak," she said, "for the name he gives is his own to choose after so long a life. Who am I to reveal his past? Nay, I do not chastise you for asking, only explain why I cannot answer," she reassured, seeing Legolas' abashed countenance. She took his arm and led him into her private sitting room where a cheery fire crackled in the hearth, surveying his appearance as they walked. "You are dressed as though for the court of Turgon in Gondolin. This attire suits you well," she remarked and laughed, pleased by his proud smile. "I am glad you came to the party, for I was not certain you would accept my invitation."
"Your pardon, Lady Arwen," Legolas said, "but I received none. Mithrandir asked me to return your shoes and…Ai!"
"What is wrong?"
"Tawar nin beria! I was supposed to gather the Fellowship to join the wizard for the noon meal. It is far past that now; what will Mithrandir think of me?"
"Be at peace!" Arwen patted his arm. "I believe he must have learned about the party, or guessed, and will excuse your disobedience."
"I hope you are right."
"It is no use worrying over it now and I will vouch for you. Our effort with Lochgaer may have been in vain, but it was a worthy attempt and one Mithrandir would approve."
"Yes, I suppose so." They were beside the fireplace and Legolas began to feel self-conscious, alone with the fair Even-star, and fiddled with the hilt of his long knife.
"Sit, Legolas, and let us talk together," she encouraged, taking a seat on the sofa and patting the cushion next to her. "I have a favour to ask of you," she added as the Wood Elf awkwardly settled, adjusting the scabbard and sash.
"I will be glad to assist you in any way. What do you require?" Legolas felt more at ease hearing this, uncertain what they could possibly talk about together otherwise, so great did he deem the gulf between them, for she was both fair and regal. Yet, he deemed it wise to earn her friendship, for she was dear to Glorfindel, and she had shown him only compassion and kindness since their first encounter. Suddenly he understood that the barriers between them were of his own making, for she had never assumed a lofty or distant air. Legolas relaxed somewhat and smiled; she was more Telerin than Noldorin after all.
"You know I am betrothed to Aragorn and desire nothing more than for him to achieve his destiny. You may not be aware that choosing him for my mate means I am never to step foot on the shores of Aman."
"Nay! Surely not! Why should you be punished for loving Aragorn?" Legolas blurted out, truly shocked.
"It is no punishment but my own choice, part and parcel with mortal life. Those of Eärendil's lineage are given this opportunity to decide their ultimate fate, a gift granted to no others in all of time. Some choose to belong to Eärendil's people, mortal Men, while others remain among the First-born. The time came for me to choose and I chose Aragorn."
"Ai, my Lady, what you name a gift I deem a harsh burden to bear!" Legolas cried. "To hold true to your heart's desire, you must relinquish all your people, your family! What sorrow envelops your happiness and now I comprehend better Lord Elrond's reaction to the news of your troth. Cannot some exception be made? Or could you not postpone this choice until after the years have worn away and Aragorn goes to the fate of all Men?"
"Nay, for to wed him and bear him sons I must be a mortal woman. The choice does not pass beyond this generation of Eärendil's line."
"I'm afraid I do not understand it," Legolas faltered, not wishing to offend Arwen's beliefs but feeling the Valar were unduly cruel in their demands.
"So it is for much that we encounter in life," she said. "I, also, find some of your peoples' beliefs arbitrary, the ban against like-sex union, for example."
"Aye, I confess I do not see any sense in that, either," admitted Legolas. He gazed at her sadly. "Then there is nothing to be done?"
"I cannot change the gift of the choice, no," answered Arwen, "yet I can do what I may to safeguard the future I desire."
"What do you mean?"
"It would be cruel indeed to make this decision and then have no love to share my numbered days," she said. "I mean to protect Aragorn and have always appointed someone to watch and guard over him when he is far from my side. For long years my brothers have had this charge, and when they are not present then Halbarad is sworn to the same guardianship. Yet now fate takes him away from those who would protect him on my behalf. He goes alone into this dire Quest, Legolas, and I fear for him."
"Nay, Lady, he will not be alone. Mithrandir's power will safeguard all."
"He will safeguard the Ring-bearer and that is as it should be," she corrected, "nor would I ask him to turn from so important a commission. Boromir's allegiance is divided and I trust him not, no matter how brave and noble he may be. Gimli I do not doubt, yet he is a Dwarf and I find I cannot unburden my heart to him. So I come to you, Cuthenin." Arwen took up the young warrior's hands and clasped them tight within her own, peering at him with clear eyes; eyes that laid bare all the fears of her gentle heart, already so tried and wounded from loss of a mother's counsel in such tribulation. "Will you not pledge to me your loyalty and promise to guard my love? No other can do this thing, Cuthenin, and it may be as important a duty as that laid upon Frodo."
Legolas felt no hesitation whatsoever, grateful to be permitted a part in easing the course of so great and tragic a love. He slipped from the sofa down to his knees before her, filled with the power of her words and the depth of her trust in him. He drew the long white knife and laid it in her lap. "I do so pledge; henceforth, I am yours to command, second only to the will of my father and King, and take up this commission with a glad and a grave heart. Your faith honours me and I will not fail you, my Lady. Aragorn shall not fall, though Legolas fall to prevent it."
"That will not be necessary, I pray," she cried and raised him up, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "I doubt you know what comfort you have granted me," she murmured. "I cannot confide such fears to Ada; my choice has hurt him so deeply, though he tries hard to hide it from me. My brothers would do too much, if I shared my dread with them, hindering Aragorn and weakening him in their efforts to spare him. That is not the way to make a Man into King, for he would know their purpose and guess the source. You he will not suspect, for you are young and he thinks to watch over you!"
"Indeed!" Legolas giggled, grinning. "This is a fine joke on him, and I shall tell him all on your wedding day, Lady."
"So be it," laughed Arwen, "you will have earned the right to your jest, Cuthenin!" She hugged him again, sighing, so much lighter in heart that it showed. "I wish I could do something to ease your burdens, but here I have added to them."
"Nay, not so," Legolas disagreed. "My sorrows have ended and only happiness awaits me at the end of this Quest, for Glorfindel is true and we will be wedded even on the day you and Aragorn take your vows. Yet, there is something you could do, for I have similar fears over my beloved's role in this war."
"Glorfindel is more than an able warrior, Legolas; surely you do not fear he will fall?"
"He has fallen before; how can I not think of it? Sometimes the images of that dreadful day are so vivid it seems a memory, that I was really there, seeing his end. This is probably due to the communion of our souls during Úcaul Annaur. I don't believe I can endure losing him, yet I also have no desire for him to know I would meddle in his life. He is proud and rightly so, for he is a mighty warrior, yet I would have Lord Elrond withhold him from battle until the last extremity. Your voice added to mine might sway the decision in my favour."
"Now you and I both know that shall never be," Arwen shook her head, "whether Elrond ordered it or no, but maybe I can give my brothers some work to do, since they chafe under the rejection of their enlistment with the Quest. They shall become Glorfindel's shadows and fight beside him. They will not let him fall, Legolas."
"You have eased my heart," he smiled and dared to hug her back.
"That is well, for I begin to think on you as a younger brother now that you are to be bound to Glorfindel. If ever you require a feminine ear to discern the wisdom or folly of your thoughts, I welcome the role of sell-en-'waeth." (sister by bond)
"Aye, this is an unlooked for blessing. There is much I cannot confide to anyone save Galdor and though he is sage and encouraging, I fear he finds me puzzling and rather a trial to his nerves. Just the other day I knocked him down and struck him accidentally."
"What?" Arwen was wide-eyed, imagining this, and laughed in spite of herself. "Why so, Legolas? What did he do to rile you, and how, if I may ask, can you accost someone 'accidentally'?"
"It is the truth," insisted Legolas, grinning with her, but then he sobered. "It happened right after I found out Boromir had my courting gift from Glorfindel. The first gift is so important, you see, and none but my Tirn'wador or my immediate family are meant to handle it before giving it to me."
"Ah, Faras-uin-Ind," she nodded. "Glorfindel told me about this and that you accepted Ant Minui."
"I did."
"Why do you sound so wistful, then? Do you regret your decision?"
"Nay! I only wished I could share the moment with my Nana. It is tradition, you see, for a son to seek his mother's approval for his mate, since the union will join the families together forever."
"And she is gone," Arwen sighed and examined the Wood Elf's miserable expression. "Tell me, what would you say to her to gain her approval for this match?"
"She has given me that already," Legolas' face brightened, "during Úcaul Annaur." He fished in his pocket to draw out the tortoise shell box, handing it to her. "What do you make of this gift, my Lady?"
"Legolas, I am to be your sell-en-'waeth. There is no need to address me by formal titles anymore, is there?"
"As you wish, Arwen," he nodded and motioned again to the box. "Well?"
"It is beautiful," she remarked as she turned it in her hands, for it was, but then she gave a soft exclamation, observing no means to open it. "A magic spell seals it! Is that part of the tradition?"
"It is," he smiled. "Glorfindel has done well in this, for the unlocking words are chosen by the suitor and must be such words that I would think to use. In this way, he shows his affinity for my thoughts, shows that he understands my heart. Of course, after Úcaul Annaur, he could not err."
"I see," Arwen found this reference intriguing, having listened to a brief description of the ritual from Glorfindel and observed the brand on his side. She thought this practise an extreme reaction to loss, but considered the spell-bound box a good means to test the depth of attraction between young couples. The Wood Elves were wise in some things. "He chose the right words, then, and you have opened it. What is inside it; is this something you can share with me?"
"If you will," he said shyly, "since you are to be sell-en-'waeth to me and my Nana is not here."
"Of course," she leaned closer and pressed the box into his hands, her gentle heart in her eyes. "Demonstrate this box, Cuthenin, and prove to me how fitting is this mate you have chosen."
Proudly he held up his palm, the simple container balanced there, and softly spoke the words: "Thôr Orthad." A faint glimmer surrounded the perimeter of the plain sides and defined a line of soaring eagles in flight graven in the smooth shell. As the spell dissipated, the box was revealed to be beautifully decorated to honour Legolas' maternal family history. In the top was set a delicate seal, the insignia of his mother's clan among the swallows. On the bottom was cut the well known crest of the Rising Sun with rays outstretched, Glorfindel's seal, and beside it Legolas' personal seal, the same that he carried with him always and with which Glorfindel was forever marked.
"See? Above, that which is known and represents all the people who have gone before me: The Unnumbered Swifts. Underneath, all that is coming into being now, a new conjunction of Houses: The Rising Sun and the Soaring Eagle," Legolas breathed the words, both pleased and awed. "Are they not fitting together?"
"Aye, they are," Arwen murmured, fascinated by the Wood Elf's demeanour of joyous satisfaction limned in reverence. "What is inside it?"
"When I received it, nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Aye," chuckled Legolas, enjoying her puzzlement. "I have since filled it and will return it to Glorfindel. His acceptance of this present leads to the third and final exchange. Then the courtship continues but is less a courtship than a beginning of life together. In our case, that will have to be postponed." He returned the box to his pocket.
"Not for long, I pray, and we will have such a celebration in Gondor that the histories will record it," Arwen said.
"That is my hope also." There was a pause as both thought on that future, so far away it seemed. Then Legolas stirred, giving her a hesitant smile. "There is one thing more I would ask you. Glorfindel calls you his only family here," he began cautiously. "I would not expect you to disclose anything he told you in confidence, yet he mentioned something to me and I was thinking you might elaborate."
"I am not sure," Arwen hedged.
"It is about his first life, when he was young," Legolas hurried on. "He told me many things and spoke of an ellon to whom he was drawn before he wedded Erestor. Someone he might have come to love."
"Truly? Of this he has said nothing, Cuthenin," the Lady was sincerely surprised. She watched Legolas' hopeful expression crumble into woe. "Why do you need to know? Whoever it was is no longer here, surely, but in Aman or Mandos."
"How can I be certain?" asked Legolas. "What if this ellon is still in Middle-earth and he comes here to Imladris. What if he comes here when I am gone away? What if that old love blossoms?" He got up and paced the room in his agitation. "I could lose him that way, too."
Arwen went after him. "Nay, Legolas, that would not happen, not even if this person arrives and tries to woo Glorfindel. I distinctly heard you announce that his heart is true. Did you not tell me he considers the two of you already bound?"
"He said so, but he is rueful about this lost love of his youth," complained Cuthenin.
"No, that life is behind him now, completed and finished as it was meant to be," smiled Arwen, taking Legolas arm and walking him through the rooms toward the door. "Put such worries from your mind; I am sure if there was true regret over this ancient affinity, Glorfindel would have revealed it to me long ago."
"Yes?" Legolas lifted his eyes to hers as they halted before the exit.
"Definitely. Did you never feel such heart stirrings as a child? Such feelings are intense but of short duration, for they are born more of the rapid changes of growth than any real connection, spirit to spirit."
"You experienced such a young love?"
"Of course, did you not?"
"No, none that remains in my memory," Legolas' uncertainty was apparent in his voice. "Unless…there was once a guardsman I idolised. I never even spoke to this person, merely watched him from afar with much anguish and sighing."
"You see? It happens to us all. That is what we are discussing in Glorfindel's case, I am sure of it," insisted Arwen."
"You are sure?"
"I am. Now you must forgive me, but I must close our visit for now. I need to ready myself for the evening meal, for Aragorn and I are dining together privately." Arwen kissed his cheek and presented hers for him to do the same, which he did. "That is how siblings in Imladris greet and part from one another."
"I have seen it," Legolas was beaming, exultant to belong to two such fine families now. Seldom had he known such acceptance as he'd experienced today, even in Greenwood. "I will let you know how the gift is received."
"I want to see the next one he gives you, too."
"So be it; I will let Glorfindel show you mine, if he wishes," Legolas grinned and bowed to her as he backed out the door. He waited until she closed it to collect his second pair of boots and made his way with a much happier heart to his rooms.
He stopped outside Galdor's door and knocked, but no answer came. The Sadron must be in the Hall of Fire again, he surmised, and went inside his apartment, carrying the boots to the dressing room. There, the disaster created by the effort to concoct a suitable outfit for the aborted meeting with Lord Elrond had been cleared away and Legolas found the garments all neatly arranged in the wardrobe, the position of the tall mirror adjusted slightly to allow easier passage beside it. His bedroom was likewise tidy and clean, a fire in the hearth, the bed made, and the covers turned down for him. A glance in the bathing chamber revealed two huge ewers of hot water in the cabinet beside the copper tub, which itself was warm to the touch. Intrigued, he wondered how that was achieved, getting down on the floor to peer underneath, looking for a heat source. There was nothing.
Legolas went back to the dressing room and removed his fancy robe, hanging it up beside the other garments. His fingers grazed the fine frame of the mirror as he pondered the workings of the house, staring about curiously, for he was unused to having servants wait on him, and wondered who this unseen person could be. He knew many of the people coming and going through the house were not guests, and sometimes it was easy to tell who was whom by where one encountered them: cooks were found in kitchens, scribes occupied the offices, healers were in the infirmary. So it was in Thranduil's stronghold, also. Beyond that, he could at times identify the nobles by the finery on display, but not always. The ancient Noldorin lord was not dressed as he imagined a noble would be, and some folk were not nobles but residents nonetheless, like Lindir, and tended by servants just the same. It was a strange custom.
Then he bethought himself of that inner doorway in Arwen's suite and went to investigate his sitting room. Sure enough, he located the unobtrusive portal and it opened into a short, narrow hallway which turned a sharp corner into the unknown. "Is anyone here?" Legolas called tentatively, but no reply followed. He waited a moment more and then withdrew, shutting the door carefully and examining it for a locking latch. That he found and turned it, striding through to the main entrance where he locked that, too. It was not that he had any fear of being physically harmed, but Legolas did not want any stealthy servant creeping in without his knowledge. He had awakened in the morning without any sign of such a thing, but he had no wish to be disturbed or spied upon.
A shudder of revulsion worked through him, thinking of Lord Erestor ogling him while he lay naked in the Oak grove talan beside Glorfindel's house. Even worse, the sly seneschal had seen him fully aroused, pleasuring himself. Had Erestor witnessed the moment of release, too? Unexpectedly, the notion wrought a distinct, warm throb in his groin and Cuthenin blinked in surprise. He shook his head, returning to the dressing room, and sat on the bench to work loose the boots, catching his reflection in the glass.
He stared at the image, intrigued, and could not deny he had been thinking of this since the wardrobe session with his friends, having glimpsed his naked form then. Here was an opportunity to see himself as Glorfindel did and he was both eager and hesitant. He leaned an arm upon his knee and bent forward, arched a brow in a sultry expression, then snorted out a laugh and dropped his head in amusement.
That, I pray, is not what he sees!
A moment more he gazed upon the floor, lids dropped low, then raised his eyes and studied the face in the glass. It was a comely countenance, he decided, handsome even. His features were refined and his mane glorious, to say nothing of the delicate points of his sensitive ears. He liked his eyes, the blue colour of them rare, the openness evocative of trust and fellowship. Others liked them, too, he knew, but Glorfindel never commented on his looks very much.
Nor have I remarked on him except in global terms. He is magnificent; he finds me beautiful to behold.
He stood then and began to disrobe, slowly removing each item: sash and long knife, tunic, silken shirt, and then he stopped, exhibiting to himself the tattoos upon his arms and chest. He traced the spiral inward to his nipple, already a dark maroon peak, and stroked it, whispered a soft moan and sat down on the bench. Eyes back on the mirror now, he teased the tender bud again and the sensation spurred him to arousal. His free hand massaged his hardening cock beneath the tight leather leggings and another hungry groan issued from his lungs. Legolas stopped and untied the snug lacing, watching his reflection in fascination as he parted the fabric and his erection escaped, stabbing out into the air, pointing at him from the glass. He caught his breath and touched himself with trembling fingers, just lightly running them over the engorged organ, and a violent shudder rocked him.
Heart racing, he stood and slid the pants off, stepping out of them and then reaching for the tunic again, searching the pockets. He found the box and sat, breathed the magic words to open it and drew forth a delicate net of mithril to which smooth, round moon-coloured beads of pearl clung at each intersection where four strands connected. There was means to expand it or draw it tight at both ends of the lacy tube of glittering metal, and Legolas opened it to its fullest diameter. It was made for Glorfindel, who was in all ways broader and thicker than Cuthenin, but it could be adjusted to fit him. He slipped it over his rigid shaft and the cool metal flowed over him like water, melding to his shape as he pulled at the draw cord at the base. The mesh covered him from root to head and he tightened it there, too. Only then did he lift his eyes and look in the mirror, spreading his legs wide.
A harsh breath left him and he heard his lungs' efforts to meet the needs of his elevated pulse. The sight was an erotic shock, ruddy skin wrapped in silver gleam, soft glans peeping above the net, balls drawn close against the root below, and he wished Glorfindel was here to see him now. He grasped the sheathed erection and the pressure of the pearls against the taut flesh made him grunt and twitch. Watching in the mirror, he pumped a few firm strokes and felt his cock expand, the friction of the beads wondrous, the sight of the hand moving over him exciting, the sparkle and flicker of the mithril mesh mesmerising. His pace increased and he wished dearly he had something to use to stimulate himself internally, too. A vision of Glorfindel's scrubbing brush blazed into his mind and Legolas leaped up, hurrying to the bathing chamber, but there was nothing like it there, and nothing designed with a long enough handle to be useful for his desire.
Legolas exhaled a disappointed moan and returned to the bench, resumed the pleasing masturbation, fascinated by the perspective the mirror granted. How would he look when he came? The idea raised his ardor higher and he increased the motion, moaning, leaning back on one arm, squirming a bit for the mesh was tight about him now, digging in at the base so that every downward stroke burned. He shifted, eager for orgasm, and softly thumbed the tender slit. That brought forth a long shudder and he prepared for the exhilarating rush of seed, letting go, but the desired ejaculation did not result. Instead, pressure and tension coiled tight within his groin, uncomfortable and almost painful. He redoubled his efforts, imagining what it might be like to feel Glorfindel penetrate him with the mesh on his rigid cock.
That sent an electric jolt through him that should have left him spent and drowsy, but again there was instead intense frustration and yearning need. Legolas wailed and stopped, for the beads had begun to chafe hisflesh, and stared at himself, panting, sweating, aroused, and flushed. The wild, frantic fire in his eyes was foreign to him and he wondered that this was his own face before him. The throbbing burn in his cock distracted him from such observations and Cuthenin realised the problem at once: the mesh was pulled too tight about him. Removing it should be easy enough, yet he found the slender strands of metal relentless and the clasp stuck fast.
"Ai!" Panic blossomed and Legolas tried to use the mirror to help him find the release for the catch, but the reversed image confounded him. Desperate, he picked up his long knife, but seeing how his hands shook made him put it down again. "Valar, I can't get it off!" he wailed and stood, cupping his aching shaft carefully as he ran to the bathing chamber.
There he found a jar of slippery soap and slathered it all over himself, but the tight net would not let him go. The upper end loosened easily and the soft web puddled around his root, the nearly purple organ arising from a metallic nest. Legolas gripped the sides of the tub, bent over in misery, eyes squeezed shut as he pulled, twisted, and picked at the steely grip of the deceptively delicate sheath. Close to tears, he gritted his teeth, grasped the mithril fibres, and yanked hard. That raised a horrific howl of agony and he found himself on his knees, shaking, still trapped in the silver vice, the sound of his miserable moans echoing in the copper tub.
To his horror, that was not the only sound. A loud pounding sounded from the front room: someone knocking at his door.
"Legolas!" the voice was faint but packed with fear and rage and unmistakably Glorfindel's. "Open the door, Cuthenin; what is happening in there?"
He forced himself upright, again supporting the abused erection gently, and hobbled toward the sitting room. "Glorfindel, I am not hurt," he called, but the pain was in his voice and even he could hear it. The pounding fist gave way to the ponderous thud of a sturdy shoulder ramming the wood. "Wait, I am coming!" he cried and wished that it was so. He quickened his shuffling gate when the next concussion of Balrog Slayer and locked portal strained the hasps and cracked the thick oak wood planks. "Hold! Hold!" Legolas gasped, at last within arms' reach of the door, then leaned gratefully against it. "Tawar nin Beria," he groaned.
"Legolas?" Glorfindel sounded less frightened and more bewildered.
"Aye. Are you alone out there?"
"What? Yes, of course I am. Who else would be with me? I came from patrol straight here to find you screaming behind a locked door. Let me in, Cuthenin."
"Swear you are alone first. Check and make sure nobody followed you."
"Elbereth," the muttered reply came back, muffled by the boards, but Glorfindel complied. "There is no one here. I do not believe anyone else heard your yell. Now open up and tell me what happened."
"I will show you instead, and if you laugh I think I'll have to break our troth."
"Legolas, I…" Glorfindel was stunned speechless. The archer's voice was low and ruinous and filled him with a strange mixture of relief and dread. Relieved, for at least he was well enough to sound such dire threats, yet anxious to understand their cause. "I will not laugh. Open the door now." He heard the mighty sigh of resignation even through the thick barrier and the warrior's heart stung to be kept apart even the few seconds required for the latch to be released. The handle turned and the door parted a sliver. Legolas' eye peered out, wide and filled with misery, met Glorfindel's briefly then scanned the hallway. Unwilling to be patient any longer, the Balrog Slayer gently pushed inward and slipped in, watching his young mate slam the door and re-lock it. Legolas peered at him over his shoulder, still crouched against the door, long golden mane cascading down his back and tickling his buttocks.
Slowly Glorfindel's eyes travelled the nude form, searching for signs of hurt or injury and finding none. Instead, his nostrils flared, picking up the unmistakable scent of his Wood Elf's aroused state. Then Legolas shivered and the hair moved and he caught a glimpse of something new. Impulsively his hand darted out and brushed the locks aside, sucking in a breath at the newly inked mark there: the seal of his House in vivid reds and golds on Cuthenin's left cheek. "Oh," he sighed, smiling, raising his eyes."Is this the source of that tortured cry?"
"Nay!" Legolas snapped, flushing dark. "I cannot mark myself there; Galdor made it for me yesterday." He glared and tense silence accumulated around them.
"Then what?" Glorfindel asked softly, unable to prevent his natural response to Cuthenin's naked presence. He drew closer, fingers stroking the inked arse. "Why are you…"
"Ai, Glorfindel, this is not how I wanted it to be," Legolas could not believe he must reveal the gift he'd chosen in such a manner. Swallowing back another sigh, he shut his eyes and turned until his shoulder blades met the wood. He took away the protecting hands and spread them against the door. A sharp inhalation reached his ears, but he dared not look for fear he'd see either a huge grin or worse, an angry scowl. He need not have feared, for instantly Glorfindel was beside him, fingers cautiously exploring the engorged penis slick with soap and its bizarre confinement. "I…I cannot get it off," Legolas ground out, trembling under the careful touch of loving fingers.
"I see; be still now," Glorfindel said softly. The light was not sufficient, for Legolas had not lit any lamps, but he lifted the mesh tube and realised how it was meant to be worn. His heart gave a mighty jolt of a beat as the stunning vision of blatant sexual allure assailed him. Had Cuthenin met him at the door presenting his erection sheathed in that mithril net, he'd have taken him without thought, and found restraint almost impossible now. Suddenly Glorfindel bent and gathered the Wood Elf in his arms, carrying him into the bathroom where he set him in the tub. He paused long enough to bestow a reassuring kiss. "How could you think I would laugh at such pain?" he scolded and then turned up the wick in the lantern hanging overhead.
"I didn't, really," Legolas sniffed. "Can you undo it?"
"Aye, I think so. Let me wash off the soap and I need to reattach it at the top, too."
"Nay, nay! I want it off, Glorfindel! It hurts!"
"I know this, be at peace, Cuthenin," he whispered, wrapping the archer in his arms gently, careful not to press his body against the swollen shaft. "I must move the net out of the way to find the catch. Just be patient and trust me." Glorfindel carefully examined the abraded skin where Legolas had made the unsuccessful attempts to pull the sheath free and poured the warm water over him, sluicing away the soap. He raised the net and tightened the draw cords lightly, just enough to keep the tube extended, and the sight brought him to full arousal. The dark red flesh peeped through the mesh, the bluntly rounded tip poked above the glittering rim.
Cuthenin visibly relaxed as the soothing water ran over him but the fullness did not diminish nor did his need grow lesser. Even so, he felt calm in Glorfindel's hands, certain the Balrog Slayer would take care of him. When Glorfindel dropped to his knees to examine the closure of the mithril net, Legolas began to tremble again, unable to quell the image of being devoured by that succulent mouth. He groaned and their eyes met and abruptly Glorfindel stood, lifted him from the tub and hurried into the bedroom, laid him down upon the bed.
"Glorfindel…" The name was a breathless whisper.
"Legolas."
He stood poised above the archer, gaze molten as it travelled the svelte figure and returned to the wide, sapphire eyes ablaze with passionate yearning. Slowly, Glorfindel sank lower and lower until their lips engaged once more. Frantic fingers ran through his hair, grazed his cheek, clutched at his biceps; a soft moan passed into his lungs. His hands made their own journey, testing firm nipples and barely ghosting over the exposed glans of the engorged cock. At this Legolas cried aloud and they parted, smiling, giddy. Glorfindel found himself half on the bed, one knee planted between wide-spread legs. He inhaled a deep breath and put both feet on the floor, reached for the hands clutching him and drew them away, kissed the lethal fingertips, and gathered his resolve. There was still the problem of the net.
The lamp beside the bed burned softly, the golden light that fell upon Legolas became dazzling sparks where the mithril sheath caught it. The rigid penis flexed up toward him and Glorfindel exhaled a low growl.
"Release me, Faer Hebron."
"Easy, be still now," he whispered, finding his respiration ragged and his heart racing. His fingers carefully explored the base of the organ and found the trouble right away: the small closure was covered by a fold of skin where one of the testicles rested against the swollen shaft. Unable to resist, Glorfindel stroked the little gland in its taut pouch and was rewarded with a convulsive spasm that shook Legolas' entire body. "I found the clasp; it does not look to be broken," Glorfindel announced quietly and opened it, sliding the draw cord loose. The silvery mesh relinquished its pincer hold and Legolas exhaled a grateful moan. The upper restraint was easily loosened and Glorfindel lifted the shining sheath away, barely noting where it fell as he climbed back on the bed.
Without preamble, he settled beside his mate and enclosed the erect organ between his lips, enveloping nearly all the over-excited flesh within his mouth, sucking carefully for he knew the skin would be sensitive, but it would not take much effort on his part to effect a cure for Legolas' discomfort. Indeed, he felt a hand grab at his hair as Legolas rocked forward, wailing a long shout of ecstatic delight as he erupted nearly at once.
The orgasm swept Cuthenin away and emptied him of thought, flung him back sprawling on the mattress, and he returned to awareness out of the heights of euphoria to find Glorfindel watching him, eyes alight in absolute adoration. Legolas smiled, unable to speak, and opened out his arms. Glorfindel fell into them, collecting him close, kissing him soundly. They lay entwined for some minutes as Legolas recovered, amazed, fingers caressing one another in wonderment, each touch filled with joyous recognition, tongues sampling one another, hearts beating in synchrony, spirits mingled.
And while Glorfindel was as moved by the experience as Cuthenin, he was also hard as iron and managed to disrobe as he lay beside his young mate. No words were required for Legolas was eager to provide the same fullness of the erotic phenomenon; he found the potent root and took it in hand as the Balrog Slayer rolled to his back. Never having done this before, Legolas was not so skilled, but let Glorfindel guide him, tuned to the elder ellon's every sigh and quiver, every whispered exhortation. The sensation of the hot, rigid flesh as his lips closed round it was a shock, but not an unpleasant one, the scent pungent and the flavour ripe and salty. His tongue laved the smooth heat of the glans and swabbed over the weeping slit. Slippery fluid rolled over his tongue and did not dissolve in his saliva, which felt strange; he swallowed to clear it and his heart swelled to hear the shout of delight this wrenched from the mighty warrior prone beneath him.
Legolas did not attempt to use his mouth alone, fearful of trying to take in so much, fearful of accidentally grazing the thick protrusion with his teeth, fearful of spoiling the joining for Glorfindel, but these worries vanished almost at once. He became absorbed in the newness of the experience, the exhilaration of his mate's response to his efforts. Carefully he adjusted the speed and pressure of his hand, employed in the vital work of holding the organ and supplying the necessary friction, following instruction to squeeze harder, go faster.
Glorfindel propped himself on an elbow to watch, hands carding through Cuthenin's golden tresses, then holding them out of the way so he could see. A bright blue eye swivelled to catch his and he grinned; but then shouted in delight when the archer's slender fingers lightly brushed his balls. "Again, yes!" He knew he was approaching the moment of ejaculation but had no time to consider whether he should lift away that delectable mouth, unsure if Legolas was prepared to accept the rush of bitter fluid. The next sequence of stimulating touches occurred in chorus and it was impossible to hold back longer, and this gave the Balrog Slayer a quick flash of surprise even as he soared away into ecstasy, warm tongue massaging him as Cuthenin rapidly swallowed.
He remained aware as the richness of the pleasure rippled through nerve and sinew, cognisant of Legolas' pressing kisses all over him, gripping his hand, fingers entwining, the warm dampness of the palm resting on his chest. He looked up into a radiant face, Cuthenin seated beside him, hair spilling over his shoulder and half obscuring the heart spiral tattoo. Staring into those azure eyes, a new realisation solidified, a concept he had appreciated unconsciously throughout the encounter that only now rose above the turbulence of sexual elation: the bond between them was sealed and set. A thrill ran through him; he reached for the wrist above his chest and clasped it tight. "Legolas, hervenn."
"Aye, melethen, gwedhim (Aye, my love, we are bound)," Legolas whispered. He sidled closer and bent low for a kiss, his pride in granting his mate such pleasure overborne by the unsurpassed sense of contentment, of belonging, a reassuring certainty that he would never be alone, that all the remainder of his days would unfold against the background of this omnipresent love, this essential link of body and soul. He did not resist when Glorfindel drew him down, draping himself with a happy sigh over the broad chest still heaving to regain sufficient air after the glorious consummation. "Gwedhim."
"Gwedhim," repeated Glorfindel, his voice a faint whisper, and he wondered that no distress accompanied the acknowledgement. Somehow, he knew Thranduil would understand and accept, if not approve. How could they endure a year of teasing temptation after the unity achieved during Úcaul Annaur? Impossible. He laughed, rubbing Legolas back and reaching lower to caress the place where he knew his seal was marked in gold and red. "You will of course protect me from your brothers."
"They would not dare molest you now," Legolas promised and flexed the muscle beneath Glorfindel's hand. He lifted his ear from the steady beat of the noble heart he so loved and met the beryl eyes. "I did not intend this, but I am glad."
"I know; I am equally satisfied with the outcome. I guess this is Ant Edwen?" he grinned cheekily and gave the firm arse a soft slap.
"Nay!" Legolas denied. "The mark is traditional, but not as one of the gifts. The mithril sheath is Ant Edwen."
"Ah, I see; you gave me something you would choose for yourself."
"Is that not sensible? I thought it would enhance your majestic form perfectly."
"And tried it on yourself before the mirror to see how it might look."
To this Legolas merely giggled and shrugged a shoulder. "It was not pleasant after the first few minutes, but the ending was worth the pain." He returned his head to its comfortable pillow and shifted closer, warmth suffusing every empty place in his heart. They lay in quiet communion for some minutes before Glorfindel spoke.
"So this tattoo is solely a sign of possession? I would like to have a mark, too, signifying my claim."
"I don't know if possession is the right concept," Legolas raised a delighted countenance, "say it is symbolic of belonging. I would like that; I cannot pretend I haven't been hoping you would want one. What would you choose to honour me?"
"An honour, yes I see how that would be true," Glorfindel mused, carefully running a finger down one of the prayers on Legolas' forearm, powerful incantations for protection and strength indelibly marked in elegant script. "Will you teach me the way to honour you?"
"Ai, Glorfindel!" Legolas buried his face against the broad chest, consumed with emotion, and could only hold on to Glorfindel for some little time. Finally he inhaled a deep and shaking breath and lifted his head again. "Everything you do honours me," he said quietly, and now it was his turn to be clutched in crushing arms and hugged as kisses descended upon him in unexpected places: his ears, his chin, his eyes, his hair, finally his lips and there they stayed. The languid oral exploration roused his passion anew and he felt Glorfindel's ardor rising also, but they made no move to advance their desires, content for the moment with the union that had fused their hearts. They parted with paired smiles and settled back into relaxed entanglement. "What would you choose?" Legolas asked again.
"I am not sure," Glorfindel mused, fingering the flaxen strands strewn over Legolas' shoulder. "The seal of your father's House is noble, but that is only one aspect of who you are, while mine verily defines me. The soaring eagle is too…unique? personal? I do not know exactly, only that it should not be repeated elsewhere. It defines you too fully, perhaps, to be displayed on another's skin."
"Aye, you understand perfectly," Legolas marvelled. "The totem may not be reproduced anywhere else; that is one of the tenets of my faith."
"You see how true the bond is? How else would I sense that?" Glorfindel was pleased to have this proof, for a small tingling of apprehension had begun to creep into the edges of his thoughts. He sighed and pushed these vague, unformed fears aside and pondered again all he knew of Cuthenin. Readily, the memory of the crossing at the Gladden meres filled his mind; his wonder to see Legolas charge ahead, placing himself between danger and his Faer Hebron, remembering the startling revelation that Legolas was his most secret dream of the perfect mate incarnate, the one for whom he had waited so long, so patiently. It was as though Legolas had been designed according to his deepest needs. None of that was easy to translate into a single image. He sighed and looked into the expectant visage peering at him.
"It is more difficult than I deemed it would be at first. I would like to indicate the importance of your mother's people, for I believe you are more like the Swallows I knew in Gondolin. Steadfast, courageous, the most skilled archers, the fiercest warriors, incapable of deceit or malice. The mark should show a swallow in flight and a single arrow entwined within a fair, yellow gladden."
Legolas pulled back enough to gaze in wonder. He had desired for Glorfindel to choose the swallow, but the arrow and the blossom were a surprise; their significance instantly apparent. He smiled. "The bond is true," he agreed, "for that is exactly what I would have."
"So shall it be. We will speak to Galdor on the morrow to see it done." He paused and searched the clear azure eyes. "Do you fear what will happen when our union is discovered?"
"Fear it? Nay, I am proud and have no wish to conceal our new status. Only, I do not want anyone berating me about it; it is done and I want only to hear joyous congratulations from all I encounter. And I want the spies to keep this out of their reports so that my words are the first Adaren reads revealing the news. And I want a fine party."
Glorfindel laughed in relief, for Legolas' resolve bolstered his. "I think the last two are easy to arrange. As for the hearty congratulations, I don't know if Galdor will be overjoyed. It is his responsibility to answer for you to Thranduil."
"Adaren will not be angry when I explain it. Really, Galdor fulfilled his duty to me and to my family when he secured you to become my Faer Hebron. They may not follow Pâd-en-Tawar, but my family understands enough about its demands. Once you were selected and accepted the role, all else was but waiting for the right moment. That we found it ourselves should surprise no one."
"So I feel also," Glorfindel nodded and pulled his mate close. Again a period of quiet contentment wrapped them in tender felicity and they drifted into a light reverie together. They came alert to tapping at the door and realised the night had passed into dawn.
TBC