I really should say as well that although he does not appear in these first chapters, Tindómion is Spiced Wine's invention and I thank her for letting me use him.

* The memory of Phellanthir is from Through a Glass Darkly and this is as much a sequel to that fic as it is Sons of Thunder. In Glass, Glorfindel and Erestor find a mirror made by Celebrimbor. It is a Door to the Eternal Dark and when Glorfindel reaches it, a Balrog comes. Elladan is wounded by a morgul blade and he and Elrohir are trapped by the Nazgûl. In trying to bargain with Angmar for Elladan's life, Elrohir allows Angmar to plunder his thoughts and memories- including those of finding his mother- and which Angmar corrupts, he also exacerbates Elrohir's unacknowledged lust/desire for Legolas and gives him those violent images that plague him all through Sons of Thunder.

Warnings for this chapter: slash. Explicit.

Chapter 4: Memories

Elrohir dropped swabs and bandages on the bed, a bowl of hot water was on the floor. He let himself half sit half fall on to the edge of the bed and took a breath. His leg throbbed in pain. Carefully he unwound the soiled bandages and peered at the wound. It was healing. The skin was pink at the edges and shiny where it had grown anew. He sat on the edge of the bed, face contorted in pain, clutching at his wound and swabbing hot water over it. Clenching his teeth, he held the cloth over the wound, letting the water wash through, the heat burn away any bacteria.

He thought determinedly of Legolas while he scrubbed at the wound, punishing himself for his evil, purging himself of his wickedness. Four days since Legolas and Elladan had ridden out. Four days of unease and premonition. Of the deep sense of danger. He was ready to saddle Barakhir and ride to Minas Morgul himself to meet them in spite of the frequent messengers and Gimli's cheerfully practical letters to Aragorn. There were none from Legolas.

Suddenly his longing for Legolas was so intense he almost heard the light dance of green-gold notes drift on the breeze and he looked up almost expecting that beloved voice full of softened consonants and long lilting vowels, singing irreverently, the gleam of lust and long green eyes that slid a gaze towards him full of suggestion and desire, generous mouth promising seduction…

There was a light scuff of boots outside his tent and suddenly the tent flap opened. Sunlight poured through and around a dim shape but he would know that tall, lean figure even in the Eternal Dark.

Legolas.

'Are you really here? Not just conjured by my fevered imagination?" He lurched to his feet and then clutched the edge of the bed in agony. He could not stifle the cry that tore from his lips and instantly Legolas was at his side, kneeling beside him and carefully lowering him to the bed.

'Please, Elrohir. Let Elladan or Aragorn attend you. Look at the pain you are in!'

'I do not want you to see me like this,' Elrohir ground between his teeth but he could not conceal it and blew out, raising his eyes upwards as he leaned back onto the bed and allowed Legolas to fuss. 'And before you say it, I have let Aragorn attend me, as you say. I am not a fool to let a wound fester. It is just taking longer and needs more time…And I do not want to give it. I want to be healed!' he said in exasperation.

Legolas smiled. 'I know. I too have endured and even now, I am not fully recovered,' he admitted with a wry smile. 'I feel the…taint of the Black Web still and it lingers in my dreams.' He looked up at Elrohir with an earnest eyes. 'Neither of us are yet whole.'

Elrohir's pain was forgotten and he looked at Legolas with anxious concern. 'You still feel this?' he asked. His voice was soft and he gazed at Legolas, looked his fill, his heart filled with adoration. 'I would give you all my strength to make you whole!' he said earnestly.'

Legolas shook his head and laughed softly. 'Foolish Noldor,' he said fondly and caressed Elrohir, stroked his hand over his long, night-silk hair, cupped his cheek and drew him close. Elrohir felt the crackle of his desire, his absolute love fill him, swell in his heart and chest until he thought he might burst.

He leaned towards Legolas and pressed his lips against Legolas' mouth. The kiss was like a long drink of water in a desert, torrential rain in a parched land. Elrohir pulled Legolas towards him but his beloved did not fall onto the bed with him; instead he pulled back and looked at Elrohir sternly.

'Those bandages, that wound first,' he said firmly. 'We will get you sorted first and then…' He let his hand drift over Elrohir's straining crotch with a wicked smile. 'Then we will attend to other matters.'

Smiling, Elrohir conceded and leaned back on his elbows to watch. Legolas was looking at the wound with a critical eye and a faint grimace that made Elrohir want to cover it and hide from Legolas' disgust. His hand twitched in reaction, going to cover it but Legolas tutted and pushed him away.

'You think this is the worst I have seen? Is it painful? It should have thought it more healed by now but you keep overdoing it.' He glanced up at Elrohir's pensive face and grinned. 'I will have to be gentle with you.'

Elrohir closed his eyes and sighed for he did not want gentleness. No. He wanted fire and passion and for Legolas to pound him. He felt himself stiffen even more and heard Legolas laugh a little. But then the dressing was against his wound and it stung. He leaned back on his elbows and watched Legolas' quick hands that did not stop even when he could not help but gasp in pain. Legolas was swift and wound the bandage about him, frequently brushing his fingers over Elrohir's straining, bursting cock as if by accident and a small smile played about his lips as he did so. He tied it off and then kneeling before Elrohir, rested his hands upon Elrohir's thighs.

Elrohir's erection strained, felt like it would burst if Legolas did not touch him. He was still leaning back on his elbows and his eyes met Legolas', amorous.

'You are being coy, my beloved,' Legolas said playfully, and bit his lip as he stroked Elrohir's bulging cock. Elrohir thought he would faint with desire. 'Let me see if I can still seduce you,' he said mischievously and reached up, his fingers stroking Elrohir's ear so he fell helpless and swooning against the pillow.

Legolas crawled carefully upon the bed beside him, avoiding Elrohir's leg. He pressed his long, lean body against Elrohir's. 'You are wearing entirely too many clothes,' he said and with his teeth pulled loose the laces tying Elrohir's tunic. Impatiently he tugged them apart and pulled the tunic over Elrohir's head with a flourish. 'Give yourself to me,' he said, nuzzling Elrohir's neck and with his hand, pulling loose the ties of his breeches.

Elrohir reached out and pulled Legolas towards him.

'I have missed you. I love you,' he declared earnestly and Legolas laughed lightly and flicked his cock so his nerves shocked like a lightning strike. 'I love you, I love you,' Elrohir cupped Legolas' sweet and beautiful face and showered kisses upon him. Legolas laughed under them and dived beneath his arms, grasping his cock and balls with one strong, warm hand so that Elrohir arched and cried out.

'I have missed this,' Legolas grinned and knelt up, looking at Elrohir sprawled beneath him and completely undone. 'I love to see you like this.'

Their love-making was quick and hard and burst upon Elrohir like a wave and when it was done, he was sweating and hot. His hair stuck to his face and chest and his skin marked by Legolas' passion, and Legolas the same.

'That's better.' Legolas rose to his feet, naked and glorious enough to make Elrohir's heart burst and his cock surge again with appreciative lust. He watched Legolas pad to a travelling chest upon which stood a jug of wine and two empty glasses. He filled the glasses and turned back to Elrohir, lifted one glass to his lips and drank deeply, unappreciatively of the fineness of the red wine. 'And now…' He raised an eyebrow suggestively and ran his fingers over his own belly and already half-full cock, batted it cheerfully so it bobbed.

'Beautiful, insatiable melethron,' Elrohir murmured.

Legolas handed him a goblet but Elrohir put it in the small table beside the bed for he did not want wine to muddle his thoughts. He marvelled at how close they had become in so short a time and after such conflict between them, and then he thought about what Legolas had said but also what he had not said; I have missed this, he had said, and I love to see you like this.

He had not said he missed Elrohir. He had not said that he loved Elrohir. Though Elrohir had declared it, and cried it as he came.

But Elrohir would not ask like some needy maiden; he had already decided he had no call upon Legolas. In fact he was so deeply in his debt that should Legolas never return his heart and simply use him until he was bored and throw him away, Elrohir was determined he would not feel betrayed or used or misled, for he owed Legolas more than he could ever repay.

Outside the light had dimmed and twilight was upon them. A blackbird sang heartily somewhere outside, near the river perhaps

Legolas threw himself back onto the bed and leaned against the pillows, one elbow propping him up. His long, lean body was relaxed, his cock thickened and slack against his thigh where the ancient ink and wild colour wound and the dragon peered over his shoulder. Long winter-grass hair gleamed in the firelight, and Legolas' eyes were dipped towards the goblet which he held against his lips now though he did not drink, lost in thought.

Elrohir watched him, watched the firelight stroke the long silk of his pale gold hair and decided he did not care if Legolas had not said he loved him; he showed it in other ways and called him beloved. That would have to be enough.

Legolas did not move, so deep in thought was he and they lay together in silence until Elrohir asked, 'Did you find anything in Minas Morgul?'

Legolas sighed and glanced up, a strangely anxious expression in his eyes. Or was it accusing?

Elrohir blinked. 'I am glad you are back safe,' he said uncertainly, wondering what had changed Legolas' mood so suddenly and what he was thinking that had plunged him into such silence. It made him more hesitant. 'Was the city empty?'

Legolas stared into the wine for a moment and then spoke, slowly. 'It was empty in that it was abandoned. But…it did not feel empty.' He suddenly put the wine down and pushed himself to his feet. 'It is a haunted and evil place as you said. I wish never to go back there.' Restlessly he paced to the tent door and then turned and strode back towards Elrohir, his eyes resolute. 'But it is not Minas Morgul that bothers me,' he said sombrely, looking down at Elrohir. 'It is Phellanthir.'

Elrohir jerked back involuntarily. Phellanthir? The name itself sent a cold dread down his spine. He began to struggle to his feet but Legolas leaned down and grasped Elrohir by the arm.

'Tell me,' he insisted. 'What happened in Phellanthir? I know you were there with Glorfindel.'

Elrohir bit his lip, remembering the moonlight shining on the mudflats that surrounded Phellanthir, Elladan's rasping breath beside him and the horror that crept over him as he knelt on the wet mud before the Witchking, before Angmar.

Legolas was watching him, a knowing look in his long green eyes.

Elrohir steeled himself for it seemed he must bare his soul once more to Legolas to earn forgiveness. 'Very well,' he said heavily. 'In Phellanthir, I did offer myself to Angmar, in return for Elladan. He was wounded by a morgul blade and I could not save him.'

'You have a habit of sacrificing yourself.' Legolas' voice was dry. Amused even. 'For you did that for me too, at least twice….'

Elrohir bowed his head for it was here that Angmar had plundered his thoughts, stoked the wicked and unholy lust Elrohir had for Legolas, the desire for his pain and anguish. He confessed, 'Angmar promised you to me if I gave him the Ring.'

Legolas waved his hand impatiently and tutted. 'I know that,' he said dismissively. 'You told me. Several times in fact and each time it becomes more abject and more detailed. As if you wish to shock me at your vile and bloody fantasy…I know you have dreamed of me,' Legolas said, almost irritated. 'And it has been of violence.'

His voice lowered and his gaze dipped to where his fingers pulled at a loose thread on the sleeve of his tunic. 'But I too have done things I would rather not tell you; I have thought things that I cannot confess…' A sigh escaped his lips. 'I was in the company of the Ring for months and it whispered incessantly of things I should do, could do…' He batted his hand like he would drive away unwanted thoughts. 'I know how the Nazgûl work, Elrohir. I know what they would have shown you, tormented you with.' He raised his head and looked Elrohir in his eyes, held his gaze with such tenderness and compassion, understanding. 'You must release yourself from their clasp now. You must allow yourself to breathe again and stop this torment, this constant need for contrition.' He cupped Elrohir's face gently. 'You have atoned. Over and over and now I want you free.' He pressed a kiss to Elrohir's mouth and pulled him close.

But Elrohir pulled away in shame and slid to the floor in misery only to feel Legolas on his knees beside him, his arms cradling him and murmurs of comfort and concern.

'I am sorry, I am sorry. I did not mean to distress you, my beloved beloved Elrohir. Please do not be distressed…It..it is not Angmar, it is not what you dreamed of that torments me. I just need to know what happened to Rhawion.' Legolas bent his head and rested it against Elrohir's.

'Rhawion? Rhawion?' Elrohir turned his face towards Legolas, astonished. 'What has happened to make you ask this now?' Elrohir said, shaking his head. 'Rhawion is dead. I know you feel somehow to blame but you are not. How could you have done more?'

Legolas rubbed one eye as if suddenly tired, and turned so he was no longer on his knees but sat on the ground with his back against the edge of the bed. 'Glorfindel and Erestor went back to Phellanthir,' he said. 'They went back because they believed me when I said he…his feä was still there, trapped somehow in Phellanthir. You were there when they returned. I know that Elladan was wounded with a morgul blade…But there is more. I know there is.'

Elrohir sighed. This would do no one any good, he knew. Rhawion's death, his absolute death, devoured by the Nazgûl, might be more that Legolas could bear and though he guessed that sometime he would have to tell Legolas all, he did not think he had the strength to do it now.

But Legolas had not finished. 'It was something I overheard,' he confessed. 'In Minas Morgul we found a palantir… and an old mirror.'

Elrohir went cold. A mirror? He was very still and listened intently, but all the time, he was remembering more and more vividly the blast of heat, the roaring that deafened him, reverberating from the ruined hall, and Erestor, wild-eyed and half mad, seeing things in there that could not be true. Glorfindel, afraid.

Legolas continued, unaware. 'Gandalf had the mirror brought out of the tower by the Men who came with us, and he brought the Palantir himself,' he said. 'But when Elladan saw the mirror he was…disturbed, even angry perhaps. He shouted at Gandalf, asked him what he thought he was doing bringing that.'

Yes, thought Elrohir in cold horror. He would, for Elladan too had seen the Glass in Phellanthir bubbling red and fiery, and the surface moving, undulating.

Legolas paused for a moment as if thinking. 'Gandalf said he could not leave it there for who knows what might find it and Elladan said that he was putting everyone at risk. That no one knows what the mirror might bring with it. He asked Gandalf if it was the same as the one in Phellanthir.'

Elrohir could not speak. The memory of it suddenly overwhelmed him:

…a crushing heat growing in the Hall. A sense of immense danger rang in his blood.

'Get out!' Erestor had shouted to Elladan, 'Glorfindel! Get them out of here!' but it was overwhelmed by the deafening roar from the Glass.

A huge bellow of rage thundered through the hall and it was from the Glass. Glorfindel was white-faced, his bright sword held before him. Erestor cried out in fear for the Nazgûl were close and there were shapes moving in the Glass, a furnace that raged and lit them all fiery red. The roar of the flames thundered through the hall and the surface of the mirror bulged like a bubble and stretched into a bowl of flame.

Splinters seemed to burn off the Glass and exploded into the air, the roaring bellow filled the hall and the heat was unbearable, a furnace. Erestor seized Glorfindel's other arm and they dragged him away from the Glass.

Elrohir slammed against the huge doors and glanced alongside at Glorfindel, back against the doors too and breathing hard. Through the heavy bronze he could feel the searing heat, almost too much to bear. A terrible boom echoed within and a shudder ran through the doors. He could not see what Erestor or Elladan were doing but he heard them pulling something from the rubble.

'What in all the Hells is that?' Elrohir muttered.

'That is a Balrog,' Glorfindel answered grimly. 'It has come for me.'

Again, there was a tremendous thunder and the doors were pushed hard, a crack of fiery red appeared between the doors.

'Hold the doors!' shouted Erestor. Elrohir turned and leaned his arms against the burning metal doors. Beside him Elladan and Glorfindel braced themselves and pushed back hard but though they strained and pushed with all their might, they could not close the crack. Something, some great pressure was forcing them open. Elrohir groaned with the effort. He felt his skin seared with heat but he did not dare pull away. The huge bronze doors creaked open a fraction more.

A hand gripped his arm and he looked up into Glorfindel's noble face that was pale but resolved.

'I cannot leave,' Glorfindel was lit with the fiery glow that even now seeped beneath the doors, between the cracks in the roof and walls. 'Go, all of you! You must leave now. This is my battle, not yours. Go.''*

'A mirror you say?' Elrohir's voice seemed to come from somewhere beyond himself, far away.

'It was taller than me, and the width of three men perhaps. It was strange,' Legolas mused. 'It seemed to be coated in something, like a film of copper perhaps and the frame was very strange…' His eyes were distant. 'Yes- copper filmed the surface and…when I looked into it, I thought a ghoul looked out at me…but it must have been my own face.' He frowned as if puzzled, a little distressed. 'Tell me. Rhawion died in Phellanthir. Was it something to do with this Mirror that you say is also in Phellanthir?'

'No.' Elrohir shook his head and Legolas seemed to sag with relief. 'This is nothing to do with Rhawion, Legolas. This is about Celebrimbor and his knowledge. He made the mirror and I think he made the one you found as well.'

He did not say that a Balrog had been contained in the Glass, by the Glass. He did not say that it had come for Glorfindel. He did not say that he feared what might by in the Glass from Minas Morgul.

0o0o

tbc