Chapter Four: A Brief Interlude on the Dangers of Drinking Too Much Elvish Wine.
Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone for reviewing! I'm grateful to you all, but since I'm figuring you don't have this desperate need to have your names emblazoned in bold print at the top of this fic – feel free to tell me if you want your name up here - I'm going to skip personal thanks and get to the story a little quicker. However a quick thank you to Riley for reminding me that the sun is a 'she' in the elvish tongue. (And for beta-ing.)
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Perhaps, considered Estel thickly a few hours later, he'd overdone it with the wine. He hadn't meant to have so much, but some stodgy elf at their table kept talking and talking about clothes – or was it his toes? – and the wine had made him ever so much more interesting. Plus, Legolas looked so very pretty, and drinking distracted Estel from trying to kiss his best friend. Now Legolas was part of a colorful fog and Estel was reminded vaguely of the time Elrohir had dunked him in a river. Except this time he wasn't cold . . . and there was no water. Lord Elrond was talking now, and Estel was certain that his father would have been much more interesting than the boring elf with toes, if only Estel could understand what he was saying. Estel decided to find Legolas – who was very learned – and maybe he could explain Elrond's speech.
Looking over to his left, the child of Imladris was startled to find two Legolases, and both of them were wiggling back and forth. Estel blinked, and the identical blonde heads turned to stare at him. "Legolas," he said to the closer one, his tongue proving very difficult to maneuver, "why did you never tell me you had a twin?" The Legolases laughed, then rose to their feet, going from two to one and again to two. The whole thing made Estel very dizzy, and he stared at the floor to clear his head. He was beginning to feel a little nauseous, and the multiplying Legolases were not helping. How nice, though, to have two of them. A firm hand hauled Estel to his feet, and he swayed unsteadily for a moment while one of the Legolases – where had the other one gone? – slipped under Estel's arm, supporting most of his friend's weight on his deceptively slender shoulders.
"I think," Legolas grunted, still trying to adjust to Estel's weight, "that it is time we take you to bed." Estel thought that sounded like a delightful idea, and had planned to do just that as soon as the room stopped spinning. The room, however, did not seem to be cooperating, and the feel of Leoglas' body pressed against his was proving a rather welcome distraction.
"All right," the young man murmured sleepily, yawning. "Are you coming?" Legolas chuckled again – that was a very nice sound, thought Estel hazily – and answered the question by propelling them both forward, pausing only to collect a small vial from Elrond. The lord of Rivendell also seemed amused, and his foster son wondered why.
"Come now," Legolas prodded gently, wrapping a steadying arm around his friend's waist. Estel found they made much better progress if he kept his eyes closed – and the tapestries were beginning to look very threatening. The pleasantly sleepy youth discovered that his head was becoming unnaturally heavy, and dropped it gratefully to Legolas' shoulder, burying his face in the archer's silken tresses.
"Pretty hair," he mumbled, sniffing as it tickled his nose. "Soft, pretty hair." Legolas bit out a hasty, "thank you," that sounded almost as if the prince was suppressing laughter. Estel pondered the idea for a minute, but found that thinking took far too much effort and so stopped trying. Inhaling happily, he wrapped both arms possessively around Legolas' slim waist, nearly pulling the archer off balance with his embrace. "My elf," he declared solemnly, liking the feel of the delicate being in his hold. Finding a sliver of skin uncovered by Legolas' tunic, Estel experimentally brushed his thumb across it. The beautiful prince shivered beneath the light touch, and his answering words were a little sad.
"I fear you mistake me for someone else," murmured the elf softly, his voice tinged with something that Estel's blurry mind could not understand. Startled, he opened his grey eyes and squinted hard at the elven prince.
Gold hair, leaf green eyes, smooth, pale skin – it was Legolas beside him, Estel was certain of that. There was no one else so lovely in all Middle Earth. Who, then, did his friend think Estel had mistook him for? "I know who you are," the youth protested indignantly, tripping over his feet and sending them both tumbling into his room and onto the floor. Legolas moved gracefully onto his knees – a frown marring his perfect face – but did not respond as he tenderly divested Elrond's son of his royal garb and fetched a sleep robe from the nearby dresser. Naked and sitting on a cold floor, Estel's teeth chattered, the fog in his mind clearing the slightest bit. Then warm, sure hands helped him to his feet and soft material slipped over his head and fell to the ground. Legolas lightly brushed the dark hair back from Estel's face before guiding him to the soft, wonderful bed.
"Drink this," the prince commanded quietly, lifting Estel's head and administering the vial of sweet smelling liquid. Estel grimaced – though it smelled sweet, it tasted of bitter herbs – but accepted it, and sighed contentedly as Legolas tucked the blankets under his chin. The mattress shifted as his friend sat beside him, and Estel struggled to focus on Legolas' warm touch instead of the darkness slowly enveloping him. "Where does your heart lie?" the elven prince wondered, his tone subdued as he stroked the drowsy youth's brow. Estel frowned, unable to comprehend why his friend sounded so sad.
"In my breast," he replied hesitantly, listening for the pulse to make certain he spoke true. Legolas' small sigh told him that – true or not – he had not answered aright.
"'Tis not what I meant," came the mild response, but Legolas did not explain himself and Estel was too tired to make sense of anything but the lyrical tones of the elf's speech. Still, he wanted to understand. As if sensing his friend's turmoil, Legolas rubbed the frown from Estel's face with compassionate hands. "Sleep now," whispered the prince, and Estel obediently snuggled deeper into his bedding, yawning in exhaustion. It was only when he was almost asleep that Legolas spoke again, and he was too tired to register the hushed words. "I would that it did, my friend," came Legolas' hushed voice, hands still threading unconsciously through Estel's dark hair. "I would that your heart lay in your breast and that the sun would rise and set over us as she has these past five years." He sighed, and his dark green eyes filled with pain. "But I fear that it is not to be. I fear that our time draws ever nearer to its end." The elf's velvety voice broke as he uttered the last words, and his pale face spoke of a sorrow that would have made the strongest man weep. But Estel slept, and did not know.
TBC (That's chapter four, folks. Things speed up – and go a little screwy – in chapter five. So, uh, grab a helmet. Or something. But review first!)
