Title: The Middle Days, Chapter Three

Author's Notes:  Thank you to Vampire Poet, di, dshael, lady heledriel, annakas, Nikki, dark angel, Mercuria, goldmund, keisha, lilypotter, Andrea, katsuai, VampyrLavinia, cynical, and Lady Osolone for reviewing. Phew!  I loved all the feedback.  And a special thanks to Riley, who did a wonderful job beta'ing for me.  As for the questions: liss – actually, when I said 'pale hair' in the last chapter I was referring to Elrond and not Estel, but thank you for noticing.  Aenigma – Estel's nineteen, nearly old enough to be told the truth of his heritage.

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            Dinner was a lavish event – as was the custom on the Enderi minui – and the long tables were draped with finely embroidered white cloths, groaning beneath the weight of an elven feast.  Imladris was famous for its banquets, and Estel was not surprised to find himself surrounded by elves from realms even more distant than Mirkwood and Lórien.  He produced quite a bit of interest as – for some of their guests – the only man they had seen behave so like an elf.  One of the visitors, who Estel named as one of Haldir's brothers by his face, was currently rubbing his palm against the mortal's cheek, fascinated by the faint stubble that grew there.  It bothered Estel less than it would have other men, for he was well accustomed to the forwardness of elves, but he was rather wishing he had remembered to shave before coming down.  He would have moved away, but for the fact that his path was blocked by the young maiden elf amusing herself by braiding his dark hair.  Estel sighed, praying to wake up and discover this a nightmare.

Then a slender hand grasped his with a strength that would have surprised most, leading Estel safely away from his unwanted admirers.  He exhaled in relief, and opened his eyes to find Legolas laughing at him.  Confused, Estel cocked his head and stared blankly at his friend.  The elf prince chuckled lightly.  "You look very pretty tonight, Estel," he teased, reaching out and tugging on his friend's long hair.  Frowning worriedly, the young man lifted a tentative hand to his coal dark tresses, groaning audibly as his fingers caught on the woven strands.

"Becursed elf maids," he grumbled, causing Legolas to laugh harder, and fumbled with the tangled braids, only making the knots worse.  Lithe, archer's fingers batted his clumsy hands away and diligently set to unweaving the braided hair, green eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Do not be so hasty in cursing, Estel," his friend recommended with a smirk, "for I fear that you will someday find yourself enchanted by one of these very maids you now abhor."  Having said so, Legolas quickly raked his hand through Estel's dark hair, making certain that all the tangles were gone.  Estel's reply was serious, and his smile wistful.

"Your fears are unfounded, my friend," he told Legolas quietly, his solemnity drawing the elf's anxious gaze.

"Do you swear off love, then?" the prince questioned perplexedly, his tone a little sad.  Estel shook his head, refuting his friend's words.

"No, for how can I hide from that which has already made me its captive?"  Legolas' green eyes widened, and he was silent for so long that Estel feared he had offended.

"You are in love?" Legolas asked disbelievingly, blinking at Estel with an unreadable expression.  In a trait he had learned from his father, Estel sighed.  There was no denying such a thing, he knew, but Legolas would surely want to know more than Estel was willing to tell.  Sometimes the truth hurt more than the silence.

"Aye," Estel admitted, and Legolas gaped at him.  Then the elf's eyes glowed with pleasure, and he caught Estel's hands in his own and went dancing merrily around the crowded room.

"That is wonderful," he cried, spinning them lightly around.  Estel watched in quiet adoration the way the evening light shone on Legolas' golden hair, and made the elf prince flicker with a faint light of his own.  "What maid is this," queried Legolas curiously, "that has stolen your heart from me?"  He smiled at Estel to show that he jested, but the young man was not blind to the hurt hidden in his friend's beautiful face.

"No one could take me from you, my friend," Estel reassured, and Legolas broke into a true grin, then.  If only he knew how true the oath was, Elrond's foster son thought sadly, then pushed the thought away.  Some secrets were not meant to be told.

"Of course not," Legolas agreed, "I'd send an arrow through their heart."  Estel laughed as the two headed over to their chairs.

"You would not," he argued, and Legolas pouted in defeat.

"Perhaps not," the elf prince said cheerfully, "I'd only tie them to the nearest tree like I did with Haldir."  That recollection made Estel laugh so much that his stomach ached, for it was not often that one saw the Guardian of the Golden Wood bound by his wrists to the lowest branch of an Imladris tree, a blonde prince smirking beside him.  Legolas had been teaching Estel the advantages of ambushing your opponent, and decided to show them in action.  Estel had learnt that not only did startling the enemy would very nicely, but that Haldir knew a great many words he did not use around his queen.  The Lórien elf had fallen quickly silent when Legolas told him levelly that if he did not stop cursing in front of Estel they were going to gag him.  Legolas' lessons had always been the most interesting, Estel thought dryly, looking up just in time to see the hall fall silent as his father entered.

The lord of Imladris was dressed simply, in almost the same silken robes as his children, but his presence alone was enough to silence the entire room.  They regarded the elf lord with awe – even those that had met Elrond before – and one elf made a gesture Estel recognized as the homage of a soldier to his commander.  He must have served under Elrond during the Last Alliance, Estel thought abstractly, and made a note to try to speak to the elf after the feast.  He loved to hear the elves tell stories of his father during the War.  Next to Círdan, Estel believed Elrond had been the one responsible for saving Arda from the dark lord.  If only Isildur had listened to their counsel, the boy thought despairingly, then shuddered.  Estel hated Elendil's fallen son, loathed him for his weakness and greed and . . . humanity.  Círdan would have had the strength to destroy the ring, Estel knew, as would Elrond, or even Legolas, if the task had fallen to him.  But Estel didn't know the measure of his own strength, remained unassured that he could have conquered where the wielder of Narsil had failed.  He was certain only that he despised Isildur, and would do all that he could to never become such a man.

Sensing the youth's turmoil, Legolas gripped his hand comfortingly, though the elf prince's green eyes stayed respectfully fixed on Elrond.  Starting guiltily at his inattentiveness, Estel looked up only in time to see his foster father take his seat at the head of the table, directly on the lad's right.  Traditionally Elrohir should have sat at Elrond's left as his second son, but he preferred to sit beside Elladan so the chair had been given to Estel.  Upon Leoglas' arrival five years past the left hand place had been accorded to him – a royal guest in the Peredhil house – but as the prince's "brief" visit wore on he returned the chair to Elrond's foster son.  And if it annoyed some of the elves to see a man feasting beside their lord, they knew better than to speak of it aloud.  Lifting his brimming wine glass high into the air, the lord of Imladris made the toast of the Enderi and commanded the feasting to begin.  Clinking glasses and hearty cheers revealed that it had been a suggestion well taken.  Estel stared hard at his father, wondering if it was only the evening light that made the elf lord look so sorrowed.  Sorrowed and fatigued, ethereal aura slightly worn, as if Elrond's soul had been dimmed.  A quick glance at Legolas' worried face proved that it was not simply the way the light fell on Elrond's face.

Leaning forward, the young mortal caught the lord's left hand in both of his, causing Elrond to look up in surprise.  Estel took advantage of the brief instant that their eyes met, and spoke without thought.  "I love you, Father," he whispered, forgetting that it was wrong for him to call Elrond "father" when they were not alone, forgetting – in fact – that there was anyone else in the hall but the two of them.  His father's smile seemed to brighten the whole room, and the sadness that had hung heavy round the elf was dispelled.

"Thank you, my son," Elrond replied softly, squeezing the rough hand beneath his.  And it was as if his father's sadness had been no more than a vision of Estel's dreaming mind, and never existed at all as Elrond smiled and chatted lightly with an elf visiting from Lórien.  Estel blinked and hastily rubbed his eyes, which made the elf beside him snicker.  Turning, the young man glared indignantly at his amused companion.  Legolas gripped Estel's forearm, bending his head to the mortal's ear.

"It would seem," the fair-haired elf murmured kindly, "That your skills in healing encompass not only the body, but the heart as well."  Estel blushed, though at the compliment or the feel of Legolas' breath on his ear it could not be told.  Berating himself for letting his emotions show so clearly, the mortal lad closed his face and gave his friend an unthinking response, ignoring the bewildered and slightly hurt look that Legolas gave him.

Confessing his feelings to Elrond, Estel worried, must have caused them to surface more easily than usual.  He was accustomed to keeping them well hidden, for he had been in love with the elven prince for two years and none – save now his father – knew of it.  That was the way it should be, Estel reminded himself sharply.  The elven prince could never hear of the regard that his friend held for him, would never hear of it if Estel had a choice.  They were best friends – closer even, than brothers – and the young man would not ruin that bond simply because he desired Legolas as a lover, as a mate.  He had decided that long ago, when he had first realized the true depth of his emotion for the beautiful elf.  Sometimes, though, when Estel could not sleep, he went wandering wraith like down the deserted palace halls and through the darkened forest paths of his elven home.  And as he trod sleepless in the shadows of the moon, his unsettled mind would dream of passion dark emerald eyes and a lither, slender body pressed achingly close to his, of lips and tongue clashing in a heated kiss.  And sometimes, when there was no moon to see him, he would dream that Legolas loved him.  That somehow the prince of Mirkwood could love one so far beneath him, so repulsive to his kind.  But thoughts such as those were foolery, Estel knew, and so shook them away to be remember late at night, when he was alone.

For even now Legolas bent his head to converse with him, wondering why he had not yet touched his sumptuous plate.  "Is it your love that troubles you?" questioned the archer hesitantly, and Estel could see that the subject preyed yet on his friend's mind.  There was a frown sharpening Legolas' delicate face, and Estel berated himself for putting it there.

"Does it bother you," he anxiously asked, laying a hand over his friend's, "that I am in love?"  Legolas hastily shook his head – too hastily, in fact, for Estel to believe him – then offered an apologetic smile when he caught sight of Estel's skeptical gaze.

"I am sorry, Estel," he said hurriedly, trying to remove the offense he nay have given his companion.  "'Tis not that I disapprove," he explained slowly, cocking his head thoughtfully as he spoke, "Merely . . ." Legolas trailed off, unwilling to say aloud the things that Estel could read in his eyes.  It had been he and Legolas for the past five years, and the elf feared that this would mean change, would spell the end of their solidarity.  Don't you see, Estel thought sadly, that that is why I keep silent?  Can't you see that by saying nothing for two long years I have saved us both?  But of course Legolas could not understand, for he did not know that it was he who Estel loved.  Sighing softly, Legolas lifted his eyes to the clear grey gaze before him and smiled steadily.  "What are they like," he asked curiously, "this elf that has ensnared your wild heart, my friend?"

Estel looked long and hard at Legolas before replying, with a tender voice, "They are lovelier than the dawn, and yet remain humble and kind.  They are gentle yet passionate, with a soul so beautiful that it makes the sun seem dim."  Estel stopped, biting his lip to keep any more poetry from pouring forth.  He sounded like a lovesick churl instead of a nearly grown man.  Legolas, however, listened attentively to Estel's description, but protested as his friend continued, "far too good for me, at any rate."  Estel saw the protest brewing in the prince's eyes even before his lips began to move.

"I think," the elf prince murmured unhappily, "that your looking glass must bear a stain, Estel Peredhil, for though you bear the features of a man and not an elf, you are handsomer than any other in these halls."  Estel's reply was a distinctly dubious glance, but Legolas persisted fervently.  "It is true!" he declared, emerald eyes ardent, and Estel felt himself blushing.  "You are handsome.  Your bearing is as graceful as any elf's, and your body –" even Legolas, as an uninhibited elf and Estel's closest friend flushed a delicate red as he tried to put his thoughts into words.  Finally he gave up, and gripped Estel's muscular upper arm to demonstrate.  "- is more sold than those of the First-born.  Closer to the earth."  Pleased that Estel seemed to have understood his explanation, Legolas continued.  Elrond's son studiously attempted to ignore the firm grasp the elf prince had on his arm.  "Your eyes are like your brothers – but darker, as if you know a secret that you will not tell."  Legolas' slight frown revealed that Estel's secret keeping had not gone unnoticed.  "And your hair –" the blonde elf grinned "- well, I believe it very lovely when all done up in braids."  Estel glared at him and Legolas laughed aloud.

Shaking his head, the young man silenced the prince.  "Enough," he demanded, but he was smiling.  "I believe you have extolled all my charms, Legolas."  The older one of them shook his flaxen head in fierce denial.

"Ai, but I have not yet mentioned your skills at tracking – or with a sword – your fondness of nature, your wisdom, your passion, your devotion, your –" a large hand descended over Legolas' rapidly moving mouth, muffling the compliments issuing quickly from it.  Looking annoyed, the mute elf purposefully stuck out his tongue and licked the palm of his friend's hand.  Estel found it necessary to remind himself that shuddering in delight was not an acceptable response to such a gesture.  The youth hastily removed his hand, and the mouth he uncovered curved slowly up into an elven smirk.  "Does my tongue offend thee, milord?" asked Legolas slyly, the double meaning of he words gleaming clearly in his rakish gaze.  The bested mortal sighed defeatedly, thrilling to hear the triumphant laughter on the striking elf's lips.

When Legolas' mood was playful it seemed as though all of Imladris could not help but smile.  Estel loved Legolas' laugh, loved watching his friend's clear green eyes sparkle with joy.  Most of Rivendell knew the companion of Elrond's sons as a cheerful, carefree sort of child, naïve and happy.  But Estel was confidante as well as companion, and knew that Legolas' cheer was often no more than a sweet ruse to hide himself behind.  The prince was not as untouched by life as he had others believe, and Estel was one of few who knew of the sadness that lingered back of his friend's smiling eyes.  He saw it flicker there now, tainting the edges of Legolas' golden smile, and wished nothing more than to be rid of the other festers so that the elf could unburden his heart to his friend.  However, Estel knew that leaving the table so soon was not an option – they were royalty, both, and first of their duties was to their people and not themselves.  Secret sharing would have to wait.  For now, there was roasted pheasant to eat and elven wine to be drunken.  And drink they did.

To be continued in Chapter Four (whose title I have yet to figure out).