Welcome to part II of this fic, alternatively titled 'Glorfindel is good looking and boy does he know it'.

Translations and additional notes are at the end. My thanks for reading!

The Days of the King

Part II – The Feasts we Hold

The sun fell quickly from hazy pink skies on the evening of Elessar's coronation. Legolas sat in front of the looking glass in his room and watched the dusk darken and blur through his balcony doors as he readied himself for the evening's feast.

The Eryn Lasgalen delegation ─how Legolas' fae had sung when he had heard news of the Forest's renaming─ had brought him enough finery to wear to a full week of coronation celebrations. Legolas suspected some involvement on the part of his father, who knew well his son's dislike of formal attire and was possibly currently rather irate at said son's unannounced and prolonged absence on a mortally perilous quest suggested by Mithrandir and accompanied by four hobbits, a dwarf, and the dirty ranger who had left them the creature Gollum.

Legolas thanked the stars Elessar was a practical man and had chosen to host only one night of royal feasting.

He had not seen the King since shortly after his speech at the White Tree that morning, delivered kneeling on the stone before the brittle branches of his forefathers. Legolas knew well the sacrifices demanded by a royal mantle, and the weight of its burden was still fresh for Elessar. He would not intrude where he was not asked for.

"I will serve in life and in death", the King had said. Legolas slipped his signet ring onto his finger and traced the curl of mithril ferns looping around the Elvenking's rearing stag. He wondered how one could serve their realm in death, and why Elessar had thought to specify the inevitable.

The faint cry of a gull drifted through open balcony doors upon the breeze and a rush of seafoam and longing filled Legolas' ears. He clasped a band of mithril around his arm, braided a wreath of ferns and flowers through his hair, smeared a fresh star of blue paint upon his brow, and tried to forget the Sea. When he had finished his preparations and the waves still brushed his fae and the taste of salt lingered on his tongue, he stood, absently flexing his elbow, and made his way to the balcony, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind for the evening ahead.

His rooms were high in the White Tower and his balcony overlooked the sweeping vista of the plains below the citadel. Legolas leaned upon the cool stone of the balustrade, berated himself for taking injury at the Morannon, and dreamed of riding hard and free beneath the stars, bareback upon Arod, the wind in his hair and life in his laugh. He closed his eyes and imagined that bird cries were whinnies and the thunder of waves was the thunder of hooves. His fae settled slowly back into Arda, though a distant part of it still longed for the Sea, as it always did, these days.

Legolas re-opened his eyes and stood for a while, watching the last of the stars rise until they hung as glistening droplets from a laced net above the citadel. Eärendil shone bold and blue at its zenith, and Legolas looked upon the Star of High Hope and wondered what it was like to freely roam the skies night after night, and what it was like to be alone until the end of all days. He touched his brow where blue powder marked an Elvenprince's ceremonial star-smear and wondered at the symbolism of painting the same stars on his brow to celebrate a feast as he did to go to war.

"I will serve in life and in death," the King had said. Legolas wondered why it felt to him as if Aragorn had already died.

Legolas lifted his face to the stars. He would Sing to them if he had time, but time was precious, so he settled for a plea. Grant me your guidance, Eärendil, he asked silently, as you have ever done before battle, for I do not know what comes, and I am scared.

With that admission, everything changed, and nothing changed, and Eärendil looked down upon him and he felt hollow. Legolas gazed through the stars for another moment before turning to finish his preparations for the King's feast.

o-O-o

Legolas exited his room to find Gimli waiting for him at the end of the corridor.

"The hobbits went on without you, Ernil nin," Eluchon informed Legolas from his post at the door.

Legolas smiled in response. The older elf had been a close friend of his for many years and upheld his duties as a member of the Royal Guard with diligence and grace, though the arrival of Erebor's notably dwarven delegation had shaken his composure somewhat. He was not the only member of the Elvenking's household so affected; Legolas and Gimli had initially taken a perverse pleasure in winding up the other's escort, although they had stopped after a few weeks when the constant hostilities became rather wearing.

Gimli coughed loudly from the end of the corridor, and Eluchon's smile became slightly thin. The dwarf had pulled a crafty prank on him a few days previously and the elf's boots had yet to reappear, though Legolas knew they were behind the headboard of Gimli's bed. He dismissed Eluchon from duty for the night with a nod of thanks and continued down the corridor alone.

By the time Legolas reached Gimli the dwarf was pointedly tapping his foot and grumbling to himself through his beard, which flamed coarse red under the torchlight. He had combed it, waxed it, and re-knotted it with thick orange strings tied off with golden runic beads. It had become clear early on in their acquaintance that Gimli took great pride in his copious amounts of hair. This was something Legolas could respect.

"It took you long enough, lad," groused Gimli as they set off together. "My beard's grown to a fine length indeed in the time it's taken you to make yourself pretty."

Legolas had heard Gimli leave his room only a minute or so before he had. He diplomatically refrained from passing comment.

"This feast's been a long time coming, I'll say," continued Gimli. "I've heard a wee rumour our good friend the King's been stockpiling his finest salted pork for this very night." Legolas had never known Aragorn to stockpile anything, much less salted pork, and suspected Gimli's informant was either Meriadoc or Peregrin. He was unsure whether this gave the claim greater or lesser validity, considering the topic was food.

"Of course," continued Gimli, "the real treat'll be the ale. It'd be better if it were dwarven, make no mistake, but if there's one thing this city can do right, it's brew their hops." He elbowed Legolas and grinned up at him. "What d'you say to another drinking contest, eh laddie?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Gimli. "You remember our last one, Master Dwarf?" he asked.

Gimli looked up at him for a moment, then elbowed his side again, laughing deep from his belly.

"You watch yourself, lad," he said. "Us dwarves are natural drinkers. You'll be left in the dirt if you don't mind yourself."

Legolas smiled but did not reply, and they continued the short walk to the Feasting Hall in silence. They were stopped at the doors by a young herald in the black and silver livery of the King.

"Lords Legolas and Gimli?" he asked, eyeing them nervously, and Gimli grunted in affirmation. Legolas wondered how many other elf-dwarf pairs had approached the hall that evening that they required such identification.

"Lord Legolas Thranduilion, Elvenprince of North Eryn Lasgalen, and member of the Fellowship of the Ring," the herald announced, and Legolas entered the hall.

Columns of polished white marble several stories tall rose from pale flagstones to frame the two long sides of the room. Where they neared the ceiling, they branched and arched in thin white bands to border an intricate mural spanning the length of the hall. Legolas recognised the painted figure of Elendil stepping from foaming waves, draped in heavy silks with a winged crown of pearls and silver flashing on his brow. At the high table sat Elessar upon a dark chair of carven wood. The same crown rested on his head.

"Lord Gimli Glóinson, Dwarf of Erebor, and member of the Fellowship of the Ring."

Gimli came up behind him. "Let's go see the lad, eh?" he said, and they walked together to the King's table. Elessar stood to greet them as they approached.

"My friends!" he cried, and his smile was broad, and his eyes shone. "Look what the wargs dragged in. I feared I would have to come and fetch you myself." He eyed them briefly and smiled again. "Neither of you brush up so badly, I grant you that. Come, sit."

Aragorn waved a hand in the direction of the table and Legolas took his place between Faramir and Gimli near the end.

"My Lords," said Faramir with a nod, smiling and turning from his conversation with Éowyn, who was seated at his other side. Though slightly pale, they both appeared much improved from their time in the Houses of Healing. Their knees touched under the table.

"Lord Steward," said Legolas, inclining his head. "My Lady."

"Lady," echoed Gimli with a short nod. "Lord."

Éowyn smiled at them. "None of that, now," she said. "We are all friends here. My Lord Faramir has just been telling me of his preparations for the night's feasting."

Gimli leaned forward over the table conspiratorially. "Tell me, is it true the lad's been holding back the city's salted pork?"

Meriadoc stuck his head around Frodo from their place several seats away. "Did someone say salted pork?" he asked.

Legolas quirked a smile and settled back in his chair to let the conversation wash over him.

o-O-o

The food was long cleared and the night was lifting when Legolas was hailed in Sindarin from across the hall. He uncrossed his ankles and stood from where he leant against a broad column when he saw that the speaker had been the Lord Glorfindel, who was walking over to him from where the Lord Elrond was seated. The tables had been moved some hours ago to make space for dancing, and not a few maidens giggled at the elf-lord as he crossed the hall. Glorfindel smiled at each of them charmingly but kept his pace until he reached Legolas.

"Hîr nin Glorfindel," said Legolas, briefly twisting a palm over his heart. "You have need of me?"

Glorfindel smiled and returned the gesture. His sleeves were embroidered with large golden flowers, and the looping thread shone as it caught the light. "I thought I might keep you company," he said, before leaning in and lowering his voice as if sharing some great secret. The tiny bells adorning his ears tinkled as he moved. "My Lord Elrond can hold a dry conversation, at times. Extensive knowledge of obscure lore makes a wise Lord, but it does not always make for good entertainment."

Legolas blinked and leaned back against his column. The marble was cool and firm at his back. "Your company is much appreciated, my Lord," he said politely, glancing over to the dance floor. "Though company would not be so hard for you to find this evening, I think."

Glorfindel smiled at this and turned to wink at a nearby group of ladies, who all blushed prettily, giggled, and averted their eyes. He turned back to Legolas. "You flatter me, penneth," he said, with only a hint of dryness. "Do not think I have not seen them looking at you."

Legolas had not, in fact, seen them looking at him, and was unsure of how to reply. He kept silent.

Glorfindel smiled and gestured to the column Legolas was leaning against. "May I?" he asked. Legolas nodded his assent, and Glorfindel turned to recline against the polished marble next to him. They leant there for a while and watched the celebrations. Heavy silks swirled in rich waves as ladies were lifted for their spins, and the scent of perfume hung thick and sweet in the air. Music flooded the hall, swelling above the chatter and laugher of several hundred guests. Elendil observed from the ceiling with his sun-silver crown of winged pearls and an omnipresent gaze.

"I travelled to Minas Tirith for a coronation," said Glorfindel, after a length. "I travelled for a celebration of victory for light in Arda, and to see my blessed duties done, and to watch Estel become a man at last."

Across the hall, Arwen laughed as Elrond asked her hand in dance. She glowed with fair light amongst the torches and those she loved, her eyes bright with youth and her smile bright with joy.

"It is a joyous time," said Legolas.

Glorfindel followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. "It is," he said. His voice hung in the air with unusual weight. He waved a hand in Elrond's direction. "Yet everywhere I turn, people mourn."

Legolas watched Elrond twirl Arwen, her laughter lilting as fair music, and thought of Elessar kneeling before the White Tree to pledge his death to his people. He twisted his ring on his finger but did not reply.

When he did not speak, Glorfindel reached out to brush the circlet of leaves upon Legolas' brow. "Silver ferns I understand," he said. "Artafánë, too, for devotion and courage. But Sweet Peas, Legolas? This is no funeral. To whom do you say farewell?"

Legolas leaned away from the touch. His time as the only elf in a world of mortals had accustomed him to physical and mental distance with those around him. He had forgotten how tactile his own kind could be; he had not expected anyone to read into the flowers of his circlet.

"Come, penneth," said Glorfindel with a slight smile. "Do not look so surprised. I was Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, in another life." His gilded hair hung in loose curls about his shoulders, and he reached up to tuck a lock behind his ear so Legolas could see a sprig of golden elanor threaded by his temple. The bells in his ears tinkled brightly.

Lord Glorfindel slew a Balrog and fell, realised Legolas. He had been so preoccupied with the Sea and celebrations, the thought had passed him by until now, and the realisation twisted something in his gut. Elven minstrels still wove songs of the elanor that had blossomed on the elf-lord's grave. Of course, he can read flowers.

"Besides," Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow, "you were lurking alone in the corner. I do not need to speak in flowers to notice that. Where is your dwarf, hmm?"

Legolas turned his mind from gravemounds and elanor and gestured to the far end of the hall where Gimli had situated himself with Éomer and the ale casks for company. The dwarf was gesturing to the King of Rohan with sweeping movements that threatened to upturn his cup with every pass and seemed to be waxing some sort of poetry, likely, Legolas guessed, over the finer points of Dwarven women. As they watched, he listed heavily to the left. Éomer grabbed his tunic to pull him back to vertical, and Gimli thumped the table and took another swig.

Glorfindel hummed. "Ah," he said, then: "You would not dance?"

Legolas looked back to the dance floor as Faramir spun Éowyn in a swirl of white. They laughed as she landed and he brought her close, and Legolas twisted his fingers and looked away.

"Legolas," Glorfindel said then, and his voice was gentle. "Penneth, you think you are saying farewell. Tell me, why do you mourn?"

Across the hall, the King took Arwen's hand from Elrond and twirled her for a kiss. The gem at his throat shone vibrant green. Legolas' heart weighed heavy in his chest and his fae pulled for the Sea, and for a moment, he could not recall why he was here.

Legolas looked up at Glorfindel, and the Lord's pale eyes shone with the kindling wisdom of ancient stars, silver-clear with emotion just beyond Legolas' comprehension. Legolas found no answers; he did not know the questions. He turned away.

"We have won," he said, and he was not sure if he believed it.

Glorfindel leaned back against the column and paused a moment before answering. "We are warriors," he said at last. "You and I, penneth, we see battle in everything."

Faramir led Éowyn off the dance floor and whispered something in her ear. Her answering laughter rang bold and bright.

"We have won, Legolas, and you have fought hard for it," said Glorfindel. "Do not sacrifice more than you already have for a victory already secured."

The dancers swirled and the music swelled and Elendil observed from above. Legolas turned to the open doors and looked out upon the sky. The stars had begun to fall and the dawn had begun to lighten, the sun climbing from behind shadowed mountains to smooth the Fields of Pelennor with gold.

"This is winning?" asked Legolas.

"This is winning," said Glorfindel, and his pale eyes were weighted with six thousand years of sorrow and two lifetimes of hope.

Translations:

Eryn Lasgalen = Sindarin for 'Wood of Greenleaves'. This was the new name chosen for Mirkwood by Thranduil and Celeborn after the War of the Ring

Fae = Sindarin for 'soul/spirit' (More commonly referred to as fëa in Quenya, but Thranduil originates from Doriath where Quenya was banned by King Thingol, so I assume him and Legolas use the Sindarin term instead)

Morannon = Sindarin name for the Black Gate

Eärendil = The elves' brightest and most beloved star. He's actually Elrond's dad, floating around in the sky on his ship with a special stolen gem. Elrond's mum is a bird. Family reunions are weird.

Ernil nin = Sindarin for my Prince

Hîr nin = Sinadarin for my Lord

Artafánë = Quenya for noble-white, which translates into Edelweiss in German. These are small white flowers symbolising devotion and courage.

Penneth = Sindarin for young one

Elanor = Sindarin for sun-star. They are small, star-shaped yellow flowers, created by Tolkien

Notes:

Silver ferns symbolise sincerity, strength, enduring power, and new life.

Sweet peas symbolise gratitude, tenderness, and farewell.

Elendil was Isildur's father, and the first High King of Gondor and Arnor. They managed to hitch a free boat ride to Middle-earth when the Valar sent a massive tsunami to drown their old home, the Isle of Númenor.