italics indicate thoughts
(elvish translations in parentheses)
This chapter Beta'd by SarahAK
Caro Nad Tir [Do the Right Thing] (apologies to Spike Lee)
Elrond paced, relentlessly retracing a short track in the blighted earth before the sick house doorway. Erestor stood just to the left of the resultant path, regarding him with restive caution. He had decided to let Elrond know of his plans and the Lord of Imladris was not pleased with this spur of the moment resolve to inform Legolas of their real beliefs regarding the Wraiths' interest in Mirkwood.
The Elf Lord stopped abruptly in front of his old friend. He still could not believe the elf had arranged this little meeting with the intent to divulge such sensitive information.
"You are doing this for the purpose of garnering the Wood Elf's good graces? Erestor, this is foolish. We cannot risk having our conjectures find their way back to the Thranduil's ears. What madness is upon you? Whatever our wrongs here, the fate of all our lands and peoples is jeopardized and this is paramount compared to your contrition," the Noldo was red-faced in his fury and thudded his finger against his advisor's chest rather sharply.
"It has nothing to do with salvaging my character; we have both gone quite beyond the limits of forgiveness. It is the right thing to do; that is all and that should be enough. This is his home; he deserves to know. Should we not have trusted him from the start, as Aiwendil has said? Your own instincts were to reveal all to him the night you had such brutal coition; or so I was told in justification of being defamed as a loose-tongued quisling," the seneschal countered and stood fast to his principles.
The Lord of Imladris raised his brows in surprise at Erestor's apparent retention of ill feeling over that conversation between them and resumed his circuitous march without comment. He glanced up at the cloud shrouded white sky, dully lit by the obfuscated sun, to gauge how long before the noon meal was announced. As though in answer, a robust clanging called the midday halt to work and all the humans left their labors and retreated to their respective huts and cabins.
Elrond scowled at Erestor and stalked back inside the sick house briefly to issue final orders for the child's care to the aunt keeping vigil over the unconscious babe. Only recently had he allowed the doting woman to take part in the tending, and with a last cursory check of the pitiful creature's bandaged body, the Elf Lord returned to his friend and together they made their way to Aiwendil's cottage.
He could see Legolas already there, waiting, but there was no sign of the wizard. Elrond shook his head partly in admiration and partly in discontent; the wild elf looked a shambles. He kept himself clean, of course, but the hair was a mass of thick, densely felted strands and the breeches had seen too many years. The heavy locks were caught back from his face, tied with a leather string, and there was evidence of recent mending on the garment where a brighter, less worn patch of hide had been sewn on.
The humans girls' work, undoubtedly. I must remember to give Legolas the clothing I brought, he thought.
Never had Elrond seen an elf this disheveled retain so compelling a manner and bearing. There was never any doubt, no matter the rough edges exposed to view, that here was an elf of presence. A discernable sense of authority enveloped him and added to the allure of his physical form, battered though it was. Even the marring was less noticeable than the lean and wiry compactness of his musculature wrought by the constant physical extremes to which he was subjected. The hardships gifted the Wood Elf neither weakness nor coldness; rather the severe predicament had brought to the fore an intensity of inner strength that was rare to behold, particularly in one who had not witnessed the atrocities of First and Second Ages.
Without his quiver and bow and removed from his primal environment, the Elf Lord observed, the austerity of his long deprivation is more evident, the old scars more visible, and the new one still stands out across his clavicle. An elf this young in relatively peaceful times should not have such marks upon him nor present the haunted look common to the surviving battle-weary warriors of the Last Alliance; indeed, the very look I have seen in my own eyes many a time.
"Erestor! I did not expect you to be here, how is Cemendur? Who is watching over him? What if you are needed there?" Legolas' words spilled out as he stepped forward to meet the Noldo Lord, who lifted his hands to halt the interrogation.
"Do not worry. The child is in the care of his aunt; she is skilled in what must be done and will send for me if she cannot manage," Elrond paused and reached out spontaneously to clasp the younger elf's shoulder. "How do you fare, Legolas?"
"I am well enough," the feral elf's bewildered look was edged in skepticism. After his last encounter with this Noldo Legolas was less inclined to believe him capable of any genuine feeling for his health and welfare. Still, there was that penetrating sensation of care within the grasp upon his arm, as real as the ground below his feet.
Elrond felt the muscles tense as the archer's body stiffened under his grip, and sadly dropped his arm to his side. The silence following their brief exchange was unpleasantly rich in unspoken regrets and withheld trust. All three turned with something akin to relief as Aiwendil approached from the general direction of the Elder's home.
"Well," the Istar surveyed them, "we are all here it seems. Berenaur," he spoke the name with careful emphasis, "this was your idea so perhaps you should begin this discussion."
All eyes fell upon the seneschal as he wormed a mite under the combined inspection. He had rather hoped Elrond would take over and do the explaining. Now that he had everyone's full attention, Erestor found himself reluctant to speak.
"I wished to ask for your assistance more directly, Legolas, by telling you what we believe to be the danger in Mirkwood," he began, and no one made a sound. "We have tried to understand the reason for the continued presence of the Wraiths in Dol Guldur. As you know, we drove away the Darkness that had harbored there before and "
"Thranduil's warriors drove the Necromancer out," Legolas cut in harshly. "Imladris had nothing to do with it."
"That is not entirely true. There was help from Lothlorien, and many of those that fought were from Imladris," the Elf Lord interjected.
"Be that as it may, the Greenwood bore the brunt of the assault and received the greatest numbers of casualties. The sum lot of external forces was minute in comparison," the Woodland denizen defended his peoples' contribution and sacrifice.
"Yes, yes; I did not mean to insinuate any failing or diminution of the efforts made by the Woodland Realm," Erestor hastened to regain control to prevent these two from escalating the disagreement and venting their more deeply held antagonisms. "The point is that the Wraiths have returned and continue to attack Thranduil's lands. Has anyone in the Kingdom ever addressed with you the possible reasons for this?" he asked the fallen prince.
"I have discussed it with Mithrandir. As I told him then I still believe, that the Wraiths carry out their Lord's desire to destroy elf-kind, and focus upon the Wood Elves because there is no Elven Ring to offer a magical resistance," Legolas replied. "The Ulairi mistakenly believe we present an easier target, yet they persist to no avail."
At this statement the Elf Lord laughed. "Nay, not to no avail! Look how far back Thranduil has withdrawn his borders. He has been run to ground and is desperate."
A crimson flush bloomed across the archer's countenance as he registered this insulting judgment.
"You are unwise to speak so, for you stand within the very Realm you denigrate. At a word, these humans would hand you over to Thranduil's patrols and you would be telling this tale to him instead of me. Too easily do you forget to whom your life belongs within these lands."
"We are subject to no one here. The Woodland King has abandoned the southern forest; thus, it is a free land for anyone strong enough to take and hold it."
"No one has that right! The Laiquendi have been here since before the First Age," Aiwendil countered before Legolas could retort. This was just the sort of petty squabbling the wizard despised.
"What good is that? The Masters of Dol Guldur do not recognize that claim and Thranduil is incapable of defending it," Elrond retorted.
"Then perhaps the other Realms should offer aide rather than threatening to invade," Radagast's calm words held a disquieting anger, which pleased Legolas.
"Thranduil is too proud to accept aid. He would rather sacrifice thousands of lives than admit he is insufficient to the task at hand." The Lord of Imladris ground out these words in tones reminiscent of chewing stones, all his old hurts and grudges coming to the surface.
"That is not true; he has struggled ceaselessly against the Shadow," in spite of his personal misgivings, Legolas felt compelled to back the Woodland King as a matter of personal honor. "Aid he might refuse, but an alliance he would entertain, and has done before."
"Oh, you cannot be serious," Elrond's mocking snort was brutally cold. "He did not honor the terms of the Last Alliance; he obeyed his father instead. Nor is that the only instance. Why did he not share his knowledge of the Orc host that had taken the Redhorn Pass? How many died in ambush there before Imladris drove the beasts out? How many were lost at Erebor? What was he there for? He sacrificed you, Legolas, for a share of a dragon's horde."
These charges were dreadful to hear and Legolas actually stepped back on unsure footing as the allegations assailed him, for he knew not what to answer. In the scandalized aphonia that followed the Elf Lord's outburst, he tried to collect his thoughts and formulate some response.
The difficulty lay in that he did not entirely disagree with his combatant's assessment of Thranduil's avaricious rule. Yet much of this was beyond his sphere of understanding, never having cared to engage in the affairs of state, and he felt ill equipped to explain the Woodland King's actions. The reference to his own disgrace was most troubling and caused an uneasy sinking in the pit of his gut, as if the weight of this denouncement bore the gravity of truth. At last he met the Noldo's eyes squarely.
"Of these matters, I know little," he began, "In the Last Alliance there was fault on both sides and Oropher did indeed refuse the High King's commands, but not for unjust reasons. Yet even if they were so, how can Thranduil be faulted for obeying his King and Father?
"At the time of the troubles in the Misty Mountains, I was stationed to the northern regions of the Greenwood and do not know if Thranduil was cognizant of the infestation of the divide. I have no knowledge of the Wood Elves using the High Pass except for messengers, and do not recall hearing of losses from among these. I only learned of the Orc hordes there after the news of the assault on Celebrian made its way to the north, months later. To this charge against the King I cannot answer, but I say to you that I will seek out the truth of it.
"As for Erebor, I have not considered my own circumstances in exactly this manner before, and am forbidden to discuss the situation even among my own people. Yet this will I say. However much you may ridicule the cause for being there, the reason for fighting was just. The free peoples of all Realms have benefited by the sacrifices made on that day. Not since the First Age has the destruction of so many foul and fiendish works of Melkor been achieved." Legolas completed his statement and waited for the Noldo to reply, but the Elven Lord only stared at the wild elf, speechless.
For these were well spoken words and the elf that uttered them stood before him nobly and accepted the responsibility for the grievances voiced. Instead of justifications and rationalizations, the Wood Elf had responded honorably and with appropriate respect for his people. Somehow, this ragged and outcast member of Thranduil's Realm had managed to convey a sense of dignity and decorum the best-trained diplomat in the court at Imladris would envy. Commensurate with this exemplary statesmanship was his desire to hold his people to high standards of integrity and learn what culpability their regent owned. It was not what Elrond had expected, and all his anger drained away as he continued to meet the steady gaze of the fallen prince.
"Well-said, Legolas," Aiwendil broke the silent regard between them, reaching out to physically turn the Wood Elf to face him. "Yet, these are not the concerns that confront us now. I believe the elves of Imladris suspect a more sinister reason for the Dark Lord's interest in Thranduil's Kingdom."
"That is so," Erestor rejoined the conversation before his Lord could reply. "We have come to suspect that the Ring of Sauron is hidden in Thranduil's vaults."
Legolas' jaw dropped. "What?" he could barely speak the word. "What are you saying? Aiwendil, what does he mean?" the archer turned to his friend in confusion, and then spun back to challenge Elrond. "Are you accusing Thranduil of, of, just what are you implying here?" he was shocked at the very idea that such a horrendous doom could be harbored within his own country, and feared what this portended.
"Peace, Legolas! No one is incriminating anyone," the seneschal began.
"We think that the Ring is there, but that Thranduil is unaware of it," Elrond said calmly and observed the mixture of relief and terror that swept through the wild elf's eyes. "The King has accumulated much wealth over the centuries, and all the lore we have concerning the One Ring indicates it was lost somewhere close at hand, near the River Gladden. It may easily have passed into his treasure horde unremarked, for it is simple in appearance and unadorned."
Legolas felt as if caught in some whirlwind with no sense of what direction he was being taken. This idea was too raw to assimilate fully; he kept repeating the seneschal's phrase over and over through his thoughts:
Sauron's Ring is hidden in Thranduil's vaults?
As his mind began to slowly recover from the numbing dread this concept encapsulated, Legolas began to see the reasoning behind the thesis. Thranduil did indeed have artifacts of numerous cultures from all over Middle Earth.
The Elf King was quite proud of his possessions and had an incredible propensity for unearthing the stories behind each antiquity. Thranduil could recite the histories of various battle swords, daggers, long bows and scimitars, explaining who had forged them and who had owned them, what wars they had been used in, how they had been passed from hand to hand and at last ended up in the vast caverns that housed his priceless collections.
As an elfling, Legolas had always been overjoyed when noble guests or foreign emissaries came to visit, for then he would listen as Thranduil regaled his visitors with exciting recounts of the deeds surrounding his treasures, spinning out the stories in elegant webs that ensnared the imagination and bound all attention to them until their completion. These were the only good memories the disgraced prince had of time spent with his Sire.
Countless were the jeweled ornaments of all diverse manufacture and purpose from distant Kingdoms, long since fallen ere the Second Age had ended, from Beleriand, Numenor, and even from Aman. Thranduil could trace each one through time and reveal the tale in exacting detail and vivid imagery. He had also riches from far lands to the south in Harad and to the northeast beyond the Sea of Rhun. Rings, amulets, coronas, circlets, chaplets and pendants were stored in excess, all bejeweled and wrought in the finest of precious metals from gold and silver to mithril.
And some of the items were minimal in design and spare of decoration, even as the Noldo Lord had described; Legolas had seen many such simple yet sumptuous things: chains, bracelets, and rings formed from mithril, silver, gold, and even cut from individual crystals of precious gemstones.
It was possible that the Ring of Sauron might have found its way into the huge keep, there to lie concealed for centuries within the vastness of the vault. If the ominous talisman was among the horde, then this did indeed explain the persistence of the Wraith's occupation of Dol Guldur and their unending harassment of the Wood Elves.
Even if the Ring was not in Thranduil's stronghold, the Dark Lord might suspect it to be even as did the Noldor. In order to verify his assertion, he would have to drive out or destroy the Wood Elves. Once emptied, the fortress could be readily plundered for whatever evil relicts might reside within it.
Legolas shuddered to imagine his people exiled, Tawar laid waste, and the creeping blackness of the Nazgûl rummaging through the emptied passageways and chambers of the great halls in the mountainside.
Elrond saw the ripple of horror and dread rifle through the feral elf's body and was moved. He reached out and ran his hand down Legolas' back in that long slow caress that the elf had responded to before. The archer did not pull back; instead he leaned into the touch as the Noldo repeated the gesture, leaving his palm at the base of Legolas' spine.
The Istar's brows crinkled inward as he watched this but he made no move to separate the two. He sensed no distress from his friend due to the contact; instead, the Wood Elf's fears seemed to subside as Elrond maintained the gentle lambency. Radagast glanced over to Erestor who was also watching with wary disapprobation.
The seneschal felt the wizard's eyes and met them, transmitting his belief that the inevitable joining of these two would lead to no good. He turned away, wrapping his arms about him as though caught in a sudden draft.
The two lovers did not remark these reactions, too engrossed in their own tactile communication to perceive their companions' body language. Elrond was thrilled to feel his young lover return some measure of the former trust he had previously granted, and Legolas was wrapped up in deciphering the message conveyed through those emotive fingers.
As before, his senses discerned the true compassion he had seen the healer display in caring for the injured humans, and he welcomed it.
A barely audible exhalation signaled the archer's dismay in incorporating the Noldor's disturbing concerns within his mind, this unwelcome complication of his convoluted existence, and he sent a small and rueful smile to the healer before turning his attention to the Istar.
"I assume that Mithrandir is aware of this theory as well?" he asked and Aiwendil nodded assent. "Right," the wild elf said crisply, not too pleased to have been left in the dark over such a serious matter. He had thought Gandalf trusted him and now felt somewhat befooled. "Then you are all wrong."
"Legolas, how can you dismiss this so summarily? There is good evidence to suggest we are correct," this from the Elf Lord as he removed his hand from its comforting emplacement.
"I do not dismiss it. It is an understandable assumption; the Wraith's continued attacks are well explained if the Ring is lost within Thranduil's treasures. I am simply saying it is an erroneous conclusion to make. Surely you can understand, this is not even the importunate point," he responded and all three of his companions looked at him in embrangled consternation. The fallen archer's sigh was louder this time. "Do you not see; it does not matter that the Ring is not there. As long as the Dark Lord suspects that it may be, my people are in grave peril."
"Yes, I understand this," the seneschal spoke up, "but how can you say for certain that this talisman is not in Thranduil's possession?"
"You would only ask this because you know so little of the Woodland King," Legolas sneered, not so much at the Noldo's ignorance, but at his own memories of the King's covetous nature. "He knows what is in his vaults and keeps, to the least Numenorean coin and the smallest sapphire gem. He can tell you every detail of the making and the uses for each item housed there. He comprehends more about those inanimate baubles than he does about any living being in his Realm." The bitterness of these words and the harshness of the tones in which they were spoken startled them all, and the healer again reached out and soothed his hand against the wild elf's spine.
"If the Ring of Sauron was in his possession, Thranduil would have been aware of it long ago," Legolas concluded.
And he would have used it, he added to himself alone.
But his sorrow and shame were conveyed to his lover's understanding where their skin met, and the Elf Lord reacted, pulling the younger elf closer to him.
"Then, what can be done? The Woodland Realm cannot resist these incursions indefinitely," Aiwendil queried, as much to remove attention from Legolas as to invite discussion, for he immediately comprehended the archer's unspoken proof for the inaccuracy of the Noldor's conjectures.
"I do not know. We have believed the Ring to be here because the Ulairi are here, and because the Dark Lord abided in Dol Guldur so long, personally overseeing the invasion of Mirkwood," spoke the seneschal.
The next instant he, the Wood Elf, and the wizard received the surprise of their lives in the reply from the Lord of Imladris.
"Thranduil must be told."
Before any rejoinders could be made the three elves suddenly became alert turning simultaneously towards the path, and the healer disengaged himself from his lover's side. Elrond was already running back towards the sick house before Sarah even came into sight, crying out for him to hurry for the child had awakened and taken a turn for the worse.
Legolas at once set off after them, but as on the first day Aiwendil and Erestor stopped him, knowing Elrond would not approve for he would only become more upset and prove a distraction to the healer's concentration. The archer did not force the issue but stood stock-still staring in the direction his lover had gone.
"Tirno," the wizard said to get his attention. "Return to the glade; I will follow after I have seen to some matters with the Elder. Berenaur, accompany him to see that he goes. And try to get him to eat something," the Istar did not wait for any rebuttals or refusals, leaving them before the little hut as he walked back to the village center.
"I have no wish to leave until I know if Cemendur is alright," Legolas protested to the Noldo, who merely shrugged.
"Best not to argue overly much with wizards. My Lord will let us know the fate of the child, and remaining here will not change it one way or another. Lead the way, Legolas, for I could never find that glen again," he said.
Legolas moved forward, but not toward the perimeter of the town. He headed down the path to the sick house and Erestor quickly caught up with him and gently took hold of his arm to halt him. The archer stopped, and stood with arms crossed defiantly as the Noldo shook his head. "Nay," Erestor said quietly. "Aiwendil knows you well; would he ask this if he did not think it best? Obey, Pen-rhovan; it is for your own good and that of Cemendur."
The wild elf stared at the seneschal irritably a few moments, but reluctantly nodded acquiescence.
The Noldo visibly relaxed and smiled. "Come along; the wizard enjoined me to provide you with food, for we have talked past the noonday break. Let us retrieve my pack and then we may be off," and so saying he tugged Legolas down the walkway.
The preparations took little time and straightaway the two elves left the village, carrying not only the pack but Legolas' quiver and bow also.
The hike was arduous, as it had been when first they walked it, yet for Legolas at least there was no added strife from the death dirges of the ancient trees, for all the fallen had at last drained their departing energy into the earth from which it was initially drawn. Still, he did not wish to converse, for the memory of the terror and sorrow in the trees' final isolation was a burden he would carry all his days; one that few save Fearfaron and Aiwendil would understand.
The hazy half-light of tinnu filled the glade with its subtle glow as the elves entered and a soft rumbling preamble foretold the arrival of the storm that had weighted the skies all day while it advanced upon the forest. The moisture in the air was eagerly circulating around the lower atmosphere and the clouds seemed to be bulging as the droplets grew to fullness like ripening apples on an over-laden branch.
Every tree and shrub surrounding the glen seemed to host an entire flock of one sort of bird or another, all apparently awaiting the rain, and the rushes and lily pads on the banks and in the eddies of the brook were ringing with the cheery vocalizations of anxious amphibians. Exposed beneath the broiling heat of the season's sun, the sanctuary and its inhabitants welcomed the promise of the summer shower.
Legolas inhaled a delighted lung's worth of the cooler, watery air, threw back his head, and stretched up onto his toes with his arms reaching out to the heavens, feeling the effects of the protected glade at once and rejoicing to again be in its embrace. Almost instantly he allowed the cares and worries, the guilt and sorrow to be flushed from his body by the soft invasion of the gentle magic of the sanctuary. He smiled as he dropped back into a normal stance and looked over at the Noldo and then laughed merrily, for the seneschal had a woebegone expression plastered over his features as he surveyed the lowering clouds.
"Do not worry. This will not be a long drenching, only a fast swallow of liquid life; much needed by the forest dwellers here! You will not become water-logged tonight, this I promise," the Wood Elf said, but Erestor had his doubts and his looks revealed them.
"I think our ideas of what represents a quick cloudburst are probably vastly opposed," he muttered, but it was hard to be very disgruntled when Legolas was smiling at him that way, and he soon returned to more pleasant thoughts. "Is there perhaps a nice canvas awning for the flet, as you so generously provided for my colleague?" he inquired. "And warm woolen blankets to chase away the damp and chill?" And a heated orifice in which to spend my passions?, he added inaudibly.
"Nay, none of those things are here, but they will not be missed. There is adequate shelter for so small a storm there, within the brambles," the Wood Elf indicated the thorny blackberry tangle on the opposite side of the stream, and the seneschal's hopes sank.
"What, in those prickles? You cannot be serious, Pen-rhovan!" he exclaimed amid the feral elf's sparkling laughter.
"Yes, there. Here, it is not so bad; follow me," he said and waded into the brook.
Erestor had no choice but to follow as another round of thunder rolled through the air and a few fat droplets struck his head. Once on the other side, he realized his lower body was now thoroughly wet anyway and made an irritated tsking noise against the back of his teeth. Legolas seemed to have vanished, and the Noldo looked about in bewilderment.
He wandered around the edges of the brambles searching for something that remotely resembled an entrance without success. The rain began to fall faster and his head was soon as well-soaked as was his good temper. Soft laughter reached him from nearby, but where he could not determine.
"Down here, Berenaur," the archer's words drew his attention to the stream's bank, where a cleverly concealed archway had been woven among the thorny stalks from which Legolas' head was visible leaning out. Erestor dropped to his knees immediately to crawl through but the wild elf barred the way. "Pass me the pack first, for you will not fit through with it over your shoulders," he said. Erestor complied and at last he squeezed in through the narrow passageway to find himself inside a very cozy sort of burrow inside the shrubs.
It was not very high; sufficient to be able to comfortably sit upright if one was not too long in the torso, but the ceiling was tightly woven from the dead stems of the berry bushes themselves. The feral elf had removed all the previous season's growth and pruned and trimmed back the living woody vines to provide a fair sized room of sorts. The floor was covered in soft mosses, and was probably lovely to rest upon, Erestor imagined. Over and around this, the living thicket grew and the natural leaf cover provided an added layer of insulation. The little den was quite dry, effectively invisible from the outside, and in addition all the thorns had been carefully removed from the in-facing sides of the stems to prevent any accidental snags or scratches.
Legolas was seated cross-legged watching him with curious scrutiny to see what his reaction would be, and so the seneschal smiled to show his approval.
"You are right, this is a very tight little shelter and probably better than a canvas cover, for no water can blow in from the sides," he praised the clever, hidden home and settled himself with his knees drawn under him as he reached for the pack. The Noldo shifted a little in discomfort, however, as his wet clothing started to make him chill. "It would be better to have a way to get in dry, though," he said wistfully, and Legolas just shrugged.
"I do not have to worry about keeping wet things on when I am alone, or if Aiwendil is here. Take yours off if you would be more comfortable," he said nonchalantly, and the Noldo stared to see if this was some sort of trick or ruse.
Yes, there is definitely a malicious gleam in those eyes; he means to repay me for that night on the flet. The advisor's eyes widened as he recalled how angry Legolas had been and his intentions with the dagger. "Nay, that is alright; I am sure I will be warm enough," he murmured in what he hoped were conciliatory tones.
Legolas sniggered quietly as he reached for his quiver and fished around a moment until he had found his dagger. With a great flourish he drew it forth and set it on the floor next to him, smiling sweetly all the while.
Then he looked down at his own saturated garment and frowned as he cocked his head to one side, thoughtfully pondering his options. It was with great difficulty that he maintained a straight face as he suddenly wriggled out of the offending breeches and tossed them aside, returning to his cross-legged position. The wild elf caressed the blade of the knife as he did so and the seneschal gawked in shocked amazement, his eyes traveling from the dagger to Legolas' completely exposed nakedness and back, before finally meeting the sparkling blue gaze.
"I really see no reason for me to be uncomfortable in my own home," the Wood Elf said calmly and smiled.
"Oh," was all Erestor could manage, his eyes wandering over the wild elf's body before being drawn to the movement of the hand that complacently patted the dirk's haft.
Legolas had no intentions of harming his guest, but he honestly felt he was entitled to some satisfaction at the seneschal's expense. The Noldo would spend this night watching Legolas' intently, observing his every movement and shift in position, studying each nuance of his changing expressions, relishing every glimpse of his lithe body, but with an intensely unpleasant mixture of lubricity and trepidation.
"What did you bring to eat?" Legolas asked.
TBC
Disclaimer: just borrowing, the characters and settings are Tolkien's, the words and original characters here are mine. No profit earned.