FANARTISTS: We love fanart. Saying we adore it would not be using too strong a word. Our desperate plea is for all of you to read this story and if any moment – any moment at all – captures your imagination, then to please, please draw, paint, sketch, photomanip, or sculpt it. The art will belong to you; all we want is the honor of putting it on our site and linking it with this story. All art will be accepted and displayed regardless of medium, so please contact us. We truly hope that one of you will be inspired.

Disclaimers: We don't own them. All characters belong to the brilliant J.R.R. Tolkien or the splendid Peter Jackson and Newline Cinema – in either case, that's not us.

Warnings: The rating will be climbing steadily higher. This is heading very purposefully toward slash and an NC-17 rating (those portions to be posted on the authors' homepage), so if you don't like that sort of thing, then don't get hooked now. For the slash fans, there is also het involved as Tolkien established Arwen and Aragorn as a pair and we had to adhere to that.

Authors' Note: Ellon Melethril is the combined writing mind of Maeve and Lemur. As great fans of both Tolkien and slash, we set out to write a slash story that was as canon-friendly and Tolkien-friendly as humanly possible; this is the result. These events take place in October, three years after Aragorn's crowning (the year 3021 or Shire Reckoning 1421, for those detail-hungry Tolkien fans). Every attempt was made to portray the correct Sindarin translations, but when we couldn't find the right word, Gaelic was substituted - we noticed a great similarity between the languages - so all you Sindarin-purists, be aware. This adheres to both book and movie verse, but the descriptions are purely from the movie because why describe other fantastically attractive men when the movie provided perfect examples? Enjoy! Please review - and create artwork. :)

THE LOVE OF ELVES

By Ellon Melethril

~A Warm Welcome~

Bearing easily both Dwarf and Elf of his passengers, Arod steadily climbed the rocky pass. Legolas held to him loosely, heeding that the stallion needed little steering, and listened with amusement to the restrained grumbling of Gimli behind him. If his quiet growls were reliable indicators, the Dwarf had been unhappy for quite some time and now his elven companion was just waiting until the grumbling would no longer suffice.

"Stop! Legolas, stop here," he demanded. "We are near now and I would walk."

"Diola ile, Arod," whispered Legolas, and the horse obediently slowed to a stop. Gimli gracelessly swept his leg around and slid off the back of the steed, falling instantly to his backside when his short legs proved unready to support him.

"I was beginning to believe that you had grown accustomed to riding, Gimli," the Elf teased, stepping fluidly to the ground. He extended a hand to help his smaller friend back to his feet.

"Tolerant, not accustomed," Gimli corrected, standing and rubbing his sore seat with a weathered hand. "And not for hours on end up a winding mountain path. We cannot be far from Rivendell now and I will only slightly delay our arrival by indulging my legs."

"Very slightly, and I believe Arod will appreciate your indulgence as well." Legolas joined his companion in walking up the rocky course. "Arod, khila amin." The horse complied, following the pair, happily snuffling the moss-covered rocks.

"This way is quieter than I remember it," Gimli commented.

Legolas looked up the path, noting the lack of traveling Elves or arriving visitors, such as themselves. When he had last mounted this walk, dozens of travelers of every race had been swarming through the city, with even four hobbits among their numbers. But now, he and Gimli represented the whole of the traffic.

"Since Lord Elrond's journey to the Undying Lands, I think Rivendell will have grown much quieter," he acknowledged. "For as always was with him, where he goes, many of my kind will follow."

"As the most wondrous already has," Gimli added sadly.

"It will be good to see Aragorn once again," Legolas stated, quickly drawing Gimli's mind from where he was sure it had gone to think mournful thoughts of Lady Galadriel's departure. "I wonder what revelries Rivendell holds for the newly-crowned King of Men."

"Undoubtedly some airy elf-nonsense." Gimli laughed under his breath.

"Undoubtedly, but I was wondering specifically what kind." Legolas smirked at his friend's jibe. Rounding the bend of the mountain, the expanse of Rivendell suddenly appeared before them, nestled between the cliffs. "Ah! You have expertly chosen your breaking point, Gimli; our destination lies just ahead," he declared.

Legolas admired once again the aesthetics of his mountain-dwelling cousins' architecture. It had always looked to him as if the city had never been built, but rather had simply grown. Rooms, balconies, gardens, and corridors – all had seamlessly ripened, timber emerging from rock, as the waterfalls and rivers had continued flowing around them. The air was thin and the winds a slice too bold for a wood-elf's taste, but the flourishing trees and thundering waterfalls made such imperfections nearly invisible.

Within the hour, they neared the first bridges of the Last Homely House. Seeing the travelers approach, one of King Elessar's stable boys rushed toward them, preparing to accept Arod. Legolas patted the horse's flanks as he passed by and turned his attentions to the boy. "Please tell King Elessar and Queen Arwen that Legolas of the Wood of Greenleaves and Gimli, Elf-friend, have arrived," he requested regally. Nodding, the boy rushed after Arod, who was already heading toward the stables.

"Legolas," Gimli said. "I would prefer you allow me to choose when I affix that title to my name."

"Why? Is it inaccurate? Are there times when you are not my friend?"

"In that I think I have little choice," Gimli grumbled fondly. "No, I am always your friend, but I would not always choose to declare it so loudly upon my arrival." His wry smile shone through his beard as he peered up at his towering companion.

"As we were presenting ourselves in an Elvenhome, I thought the title appropriate," Legolas replied, smiling brightly. "But I shall from here on let your designation be at your discretion."

He looked about at the mountain city, his ears detecting the waterfall still distant. Breathing in deeply, he filled his lungs with the crisp air. "Come, Gimli, son of Glóin, let us find a spot of sun. It has been years since we were last here and I long to reacquaint myself with the trees of Rivendell. And you have, no doubt, missed the rocks."

Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow. "All I require is a seat, and that I will find more readily from a rock," he countered.

"Legolas! Gimli!"

Both travelers turned to see the handsome face of King Elessar coming toward them. "I thought I had heard visitors, but I did not dare to hope they would be the two of you."

Aragorn welcomed them cheerily, but Legolas was unable to immediately return the expression. Though his look was outwardly happy, somehow, he sensed, the king had grown weary.

"We found our travels took us Rivendell-way," Gimli said.

Aragorn turned to Legolas and the Elf quickly supplanted a warm smile for the concern that had cloaked his features. "It is good to see you, Legolas," Aragorn stated, shaking the archer's hand and clamping his other firmly to his shoulder in their usual warrior's salutation.

"And you as well, Aragorn," Legolas said, peering keenly into the man's striking eyes, as if he might glean the cause of the change from within those depths.

"Arwen is walking in the gardens, else she would be here to greet you as well," Aragorn continued, oblivious of the inspection. "And, I fear, at Arwen's absence and Elrond's departure, it falls to me to make you feel welcome in Rivendell. We have food and drink ready for weary travelers and seats far more comfortable than rocks, Gimli."

As Aragorn lead them toward one of Rivendell's more welcoming halls, Legolas stole glances at his friend, seeking out the source of this intangible transformation of spirit. His hair was grayer, his leonine face more lined, but mortals aged that way, or so Legolas had observed. No, this change was deeper and far more elusive.

***

On the heels of the messenger bearing glad tidings, Arwen quickly climbed the steps to the balcony, desiring a better vantage point from which to begin her search. She scanned the people below, peering over the courtyards and gardens for a flash of golden hair that would stand out even when the city was at its most brilliant. And now, it certainly was not.

Far below, she spied what she sought: the tall, lithe figure of a fair-haired Elf. Beside him, she was far from surprised to find the dark, mottled form of a Dwarf.

Hurrying down the stairs once more, she chastised herself for indulging in a sorrowful walk through the gardens. Their visitors had arrived hours ago and had she not been thinking futilely over her concerns, she might have already had Legolas' agreement upon a solution. The wind blew at her heels, pushing her toward the travelers and feeling decidedly unfamiliar on the bare skin at the back of her neck. She had not been often in Rivendell since adopting the upswept, bound style of her royal title and it still felt strangely unyielding amid the smooth sensations of her father's dwelling.

She traced her way through the usual paths toward the garden courtyard where she had seen the unlikely pair. Legolas would be able to help, she was certain. She thought more highly of him than of any other Elf, aside from her father.

When she had met him, she had instantly known him to be the fairest of her kindred. Her young heart had swelled at his smile and her cheeks had flushed pink at the gentle point of his ear. The purity of his features and his blond locks aided his appeal, but it was the strength of his mind and the bravery of his heart that had made Arwen give him a new title in her mind. In actuality, he held clout as the prince of Mirkwood, or the Wood of Greenleaves as it was happily now called, but Arwen had long since considered him the Prince of Elves.

When she had heard that he, of all the Elves, had joined the fellowship to destroy the One Ring, she had secretly and silently rejoiced. In the years since the terrible duty of the company had been fulfilled, he had only grown in her estimation. It was he who dared to befriend a most worthy dwarf. It was he who ignored his own calling to the Sea to remain with his loved-ones while they still needed him. And it was he who had earned Aragorn's love, friendship and trust.

She knew him to be worthy of her husband's esteem, and she could give no creature – Man, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit or Wizard – a higher compliment than that.

Arwen approached the garden, happy to find Legolas and Gimli had not moved. Her sensitive eyes and ears detected them long before she neared them. The archer sat on the stone wall, hefting the Dwarf's cumbersome axe in his slender hands.

"There is no delicacy is such a weapon, Gimli," Legolas said. His voice was genuine, but clearly aimed at goading his companion. "No mastery is required. It is no more than a common club." He dropped the weapon brusquely back into his friend's grip.

Gimli held the dwarf-axe tightly, his calloused knuckles whitening with the intensity of his grip. "Battle is not delicate, Master Elf," he growled. "And a great deal of mastery is required to properly wield an axe. Were you caught in a field full of angry Orcs armed only with this 'common club' you would not live to touch your quiver of arrows once again."

"And I would take great interest in seeing you handle a bow on that same field, my friend," Legolas replied, arching a brow.

Gimli's bearded face reddened in counterfeit fury and Arwen did not doubt that he would have let fly a challenge for yet another friendly duel had her approach not interrupted him. Upon seeing her, the Dwarf kneeled gracefully on one knee, his axe at his side as if pledging his service in war. "Queen Arwen," he said reverentially.

"I would not have you kneel, Gimli," Arwen refused. "Not when I have come in friendship and bearing no adornments of my title."

Lumbering to his feet once more, Gimli still bowed his head in respect. "Your beauty is an adornment of your title, my lady," he insisted sweetly.

"Nay, rather it is an adornment of her race, Master Dwarf," Legolas disagreed with mock sincerity. "For all Elven females are pleasing to the eye and among them, Arwen is nothing special."

Gimli shot his friend an upbraiding look, but Arwen felt solely pride at the barb. Legolas only jested with those he loved most deeply, of which Gimli himself was ready proof. However, the displeasure blooming on the dwarf's coarse face showed he did not interpret it so, or more likely that he felt such affection was too rough for the soft woman standing before him.

"Do not glare so fiercely, Gimli," she said. "Legolas only meant that I pale in comparison with fair creatures such as Queen Galadriel."

At the Lady of Lórien's name, Gimli's expression cooled and an adoring serenity glazed over his thick features. "She is beauty in its purest form. I should very much like to see her again one day."

"And perhaps you shall, Gimli," his friend interjected.

"If that was truly your meaning, Legolas, I cannot disagree," Gimli said. "But all living creatures pale in the light of her so it does not cheapen my compliments, Lady Arwen."

"I would have it be no other way," Arwen replied. "It would be a great burden to be the fairest of the Fair Folk and I believe only Lady Galadriel has the strength to bear such a weight."

"It is hers to carry, though she no longer dwells on these Shores," Gimli agreed readily. "But she feels no strain so strong is her carriage, though her shoulders be delicate and narrow."

"To inspire Dwarves to poetry must also be a tremendous burden," Legolas interrupted, clearly familiar with his friend's eager admiration of the Lady of the Galadhrim. "Should we not resume this ever-engrossing conversation another time and now seek to discover why the reasonably fair Arwen has sought us out amidst the gardens?"

Gimli shot Legolas another dark look. "Pray continue, most beautiful Arwen," he stated suavely, showing off before his bold companion. "Please tell us how we might serve you."

"In truth, dearest Gimli, I have come wishing to speak to Legolas alone," she said, surprised at her own boldness. But then, she had noticed she did tend to become bolder around Legolas, as if following his roguish example.

"Ah! So you have come seeking my absence," Gimli declared brightly. "That I will gladly give. My mind is not suited this morning to endure the wit of bothersome Elves." He lifted his dwarf-axe from the ground, preparing to depart. "Good day, Arwen."

"Good day, Gimli."

"Legolas, when you wish to apologize, you shall know where to search for me," he informed severely.

"I shall, Master Gimli," Legolas replied, "beneath a canopy of trees, gazing at the stars."

Gimli muttered angrily to himself and trudged off down the path, scowling, but Arwen knew, despite his grumbling, that he would sooner part with his beloved axe than his bothersome Elf. Legolas watched his friend depart, amusement and affection blended handsomely on his face.

Then, he turned to her, his expression saddening with compassion. "How have you been, Arwen? Gimli and I heard tell of Lord Elrond's passage 'cross the Seas."

"I think I grieve for him much as I would if he were dead, for our separation is just as permanent, but I flatter myself that I manage it well," she said. The memory of her father stung her heart even through the heavier worries cloaking it. "To the last, he wished I had never chosen as I did, but I do not regret my decision. Therefore, I choose to view this sorrow as ever narrowing the gap between my new mortal kinsmen and myself. Grief of eternal loss has long been theirs and though I miss him more than sometimes it seems my body can withstand, I welcome the opportunity to share this experience with Aragorn."

Lifting her eyes, she saw sympathy dulling Legolas' dazzling features. "But I have longed for company just such as yours, Legolas," she said, making great effort to brighten her own demeanor. "Last I heard, you and Gimli were exploring the wilds of Middle-earth, far beyond my reach, so how came you to be here?"

"During our travels we met a trio from the forest of Lórien bound for the West," came the ready account in Legolas' soothing, fluid tones. "The return of the Evenstar to Imladris is news on these Shores, even to those leaving them."

Arwen smiled brightly and it felt as though her face had not made such an expression in sincerity for weeks. Indeed, it was likely it had not. "I am glad that gossip roams so freely for it has brought two very welcome visitors to my door," she said.

"What is it you wish to discuss, Arwen the Fair?"

With that question, her anxiety returned in full. "I wish to discuss my lord Aragorn," she answered, watching concern darken Legolas' bright eyes.

"How fares the king?"

"Were he not king, he would perhaps fare better," she replied bleakly. "You have noticed a change in him as well?"

"I have," he said with a firm nod. "But the weather has been fair; I have never understood the emotional tides of Men. What is it you see?"

"He takes greatly to heart the hardships of the kingdom," she explained, sitting beside him on the short wall. "The people talk harshly of him and he cannot bring himself to accept it as merely the ebb of politics: when things are well, the king is loved; when things are ill, the king is blamed."

"He wishes always to be loved?" Legolas inquired perceptively.

"Yes, and he feels he must have failed them if they do not. He has become once again the uncertain Estel who doubted his readiness to rule…his worthiness of being loved."

She raised her eyes to Legolas knowing the gravity of her last words would not be lost on him. Not on an Elf, whose immortality could be dissolved by something Men so trivially called 'a broken heart.'

"What would you have me do?" he asked firmly, his tone speaking of his willingness to comply with any request.

"Aragorn has always thought highly of Elves, this you know as well as I, Legolas. Were it not that the age of our race draws to a close, I believe he would have left the whole of Middle-earth in our hands and never have taken the throne; his admiration runs so deep. I fear the recent departure of my father has only served to increase his burden. He is now truly alone as King.

"I have reminded him that his actions have won the love of many Elves and the admiration of them all, but he does not feel it to be so," she uttered despondently. "Though I am an Elf, I am also his wife and he therefore believes I am bound to say, not the truth, but what I think he wants to hear."

He rested a comforting hand on her own. "We know what he is, you and I," she continued, her eyes looking searchingly into his. "We know he is the rightful and only king. We know he is no mere Man, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn." As she spoke his true name, admiration warmed her too-chilled heart and she was elated to see her own inspired adoration reflected in Legolas. "He is King Elessar of Gondor. We know this, Legolas."

"We do," Legolas conceded, "but how do we remind the man himself?"

"I have long thought of that," Arwen said, her voice strengthening as she neared her point. "He has not been sleeping, and for several months now he has denied my touch, which I find most distressing of all. There is comfort in contact and he refuses himself that comfort. I am his wife, so he can regard my touch as obligatory and sink further into his own fears and insecurities, but you, Legolas, you have no such obligation."

Understanding lighted in Legolas' eyes as he regarded her. There was no shock in his look, nor did Arwen expect to see any. "I offer myself willingly," he said sincerely, "but Arwen, I remind you that their ways are not ours. Mere comfort is to them indistinguishable from the possessive subtleties of the act. I fear I myself know too little about the ways of love among Men."

"It is the love of Elves I feel he needs," Arwen stated imploringly.

Legolas read her expression and nodded with resolve. "I will do all that you ask of me," he agreed loyally.

Arwen sighed, feeling as if a large part of her anxiety traveled out upon the exhalation of breath. This could not fail to work; such comfort radiated from the depths of Legolas' eyes, she could only imagine what wealth of it was to be had in the sinew and flesh of his body. And trustworthy whispers told her he was attentive and skilled at more than just archery.

Grasping his hand, she kissed his fingers gratefully. "You are wonderful, Legolas," she said, feeling tears of relief just behind her eyes.

"I have done nothing yet, Arwen. Save your praise," he laughed. "Forming this alliance was the least of your obstacles. What ideas have you?"

"I confess I need your help with that as well for I do not know what and how much should be planned for the week," Arwen uttered, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Then, let us take a turn about the gardens and see what we can devise." Legolas smiled, standing from the wall and extending his arm to her. "It's a lovely afternoon for conspiring."

***

To be continued….

Fanartists, we repeat: Please! Keep reading and let your imaginations run wild.