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BETA: ANARITHILIEN – whose kindness and generosity is unbounded!

Chapter 13. Partings.

Legolas leaned against the wall, staring out of the open window. The sky was washed clean in that bright blue that comes after rain. A wind blew from the south and he could smell the sea, like a blue silk scarf on the wind. Gulls wheeled above crying and mewling. He felt that strange joy and elation that made him want to leap out of the window and run to the silver river in the distance, to plunge into its cold deeps. He had not yet seen the sea and its call pulled at his blood.

Instead he leaned a little further out of the window to catch the wind. It was not good for him, he knew, to be so inactive after all these months of fighting and skulking and living in the wild. It made him tetchy and restless. He wanted to go to the sea. Legolas mused. There was nothing to keep him here. He could easily go with Imrahil when Elrohir left.

A little guilt crept in then; he and Elrohir had had a week together with nothing else to do but love each other. It had made him limbs warm and sated with sex, and his heart felt peaceful, like he had found something missing in his soul. He smiled and slid his hands through his hair. But at the same time, they had argued and rowed and shouted at each other, even come to blows once or twice in the sparring ring. But that was part of getting to know each other, he thought dismissing it. They were both warriors after all and the bruises had been nothing new to either of them. It was the pattern of a new relationship. And the making up had been quite delightful.

Behind him, Elrohir was throwing things quickly into saddlebags and stuffing other items into drawers and closing them quickly. He packed like he lived, like a whirlwind, thought Legolas fondly, for Elrohir was to leave with Elladan today. They were to ride with Eomer and his army, and Eowyn was to go with them. It bothered Legolas a little that Eomer might be hurt by Elrohir's presence but he thought that Eomer perhaps remembered the time they had together more fondly now, and less painfully. Since they had fought together in Dagorlad, Eomer seemed to have accepted his place amongst Men as a King and therefore he had to find himself a wife he could love and have children with, who would make him happy as Legolas surely would not.

Legolas turned and watched Elrohir for a while, the stretch of his shirt over his broad swordsman's shoulders, lean hips and waist. His long legs, long hair swinging as he bent and scooped clothes from the floor where he had cast them as he entered the room and just as quickly, entered Legolas.

Remembering, Legolas gave a wicked smile. Elrohir had held Legolas' hands together and though Legolas could easily have wriggled free, he chose not to and allowed Elrohir the pretence of power. It had been arousing for both of them and Elrohir had been masterful and dominant.

Remembering, Legolas turned from the window and pushed himself away from the wall, his easy, loose stride reaching Elrohir within two steps, just in time to run his hands through his loose, unbraided hair and lick his lips. And then he was pressing Elrohir into the bed and pulling Elrohir's shirt free from the waistband. Legolas shoved it up and licked Elrohir from the navel to his chest and hummed as he did so. When he got to Elrohir's nipple, he looked up cheekily and grinned, then licked all the way down and lower this time, mouthing and nipping at the crotch of Elrohir's breeches. 'I love your smell,' he murmured.

Elrohir sighed, already aroused and kissed him hard. At last he pulled away reluctantly. 'Let me pack, Legolas' he said, smiling fondly. 'I have to leave soon and you have distracted me enough today.' He brushed his hand over Legolas' hair and pushed himself to his feet.

'Why don't I come with you?' Legolas asked for the umpteenth time. He lay on the bed with his hands behind his head and his long legs crossed. 'You could tell your father that we are lovers at the same time,' he added with a grin.

'I will tell my father nothing.' Elrohir stuffed a shirt into his bag vehemently and Legolas watched, a prickle of unease in his belly.

'You will not tell your father about us?' Legolas asked, uncertain and anxious. He wondered why Elrohir would not speak of him to Elrond. 'Are you ashamed of being seen with a wild Woodelf?' he said lightly, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge now.

Elrohir laughed. 'Am I ashamed of you? Never!' he declared.

Legolas breathed. 'Then what will you tell him?' he asked again, quietly, insistent. A small niggle wormed its way through his doubt, and he remembered how the elves of Imladris viewed his own folk. More dangerous. Less wise. It had been said by others too. Pippin had blurted out that Gandalf had told Bilbo that once. But he did not think that Elrohir believed that, he told himself.

'I will tell him nothing,' Elrohir said, his voice irritated now. 'I do not care what he thinks.'

Legolas stood up and went to look out the window again. He stood with his back straight and his long hair pulled over one shoulder. He did not understand why Elrohir would not tell his father of them unless this was not serious to Elrohir. When Aragorn had asked that they be discrete, for in Gondor there was still respect for the Laws which disapproved of the love between two men, Elrohir had been dismissive and annoyed and so this reticence to tell his father was unexpected and new to Legolas.

Elrohir was still shoving things into his pack. 'I do not wish everyone to know my business,' he said carelessly, as if that were an explanation.

'Your business?' Legolas turned. 'Your business? Is that all this is? You speak of our love as it were merely a…' He waved his hand inarticulately. '…something to be done.'

Elrohir shook his head, puzzled. 'I do not want everyone to know what we do!'

'What we do? You make it sound so sordid.' Legolas scooped up Elrohir's tunic where he had flung it earlier and threw it at him.

Elrohir snatched it out of the air and stared at Legolas in surprise that it had become so heated, so suddenly. He did not speak.

'Is that what you truly think?' Legolas continued, his eyes simmering. 'That this is just some little tumble that the Great Elrohir Elrondion had with some backwater Elf he met in the War, and never to be spoken of? Is that what this is to you?' He hated the note of despair in his voice, of pleading.

'No! No.' Elrohir moved now and stood behind Legolas. He sighed. 'No... You know I do not think that. You are the most glorious thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. How could you think that?'

'Come,' he said gently and brushed his fingers against Legolas' arm, and just the touch alone made Legolas shiver. Elrohir saw it and stroked him again, leaned in and pressed himself against Legolas so he felt the stiffness against his thigh. Elrohir's grey eyes were half closed in lust, heavy with desire. But Legolas shook himself and pulled away slightly.

'Please, answer me first.'

'No!' Elrohir protested. 'This is not just a tumble. How could you even think that?' Elrohir pulled away himself then, stiff-backed and rigid . 'Do you think so little of me?'

'Then why do you not speak of me to your father?'

'He already knows who you are,' Elrohir said and now he sounded irritated. 'I told you, I do not care what he thinks!'

'He does not know what I am to you.'

Elrohir stepped away and looked at Legolas. Legolas lifted his hand to his own cheek, feeling stupid, insecure. It was unlike him and he wondered why it mattered, for it had never mattered before. He looked down and let his shoulders drop. 'It doesn't matter,' he said defeated. Annoyed with himself. 'Tell him what you like. Don't tell him. It isn't important.'

Elrohir frowned. 'It is important,' he said suddenly. 'What my father thinks is not important but you are my lover, my beloved. You are everything to me.' He slid his arms around Legolas' waist. 'I love you. You are everything to me.'

Suddenly all the tension went from Legolas and he turned in the circle of Elrohir's arms and lay his head upon Elrohir's shoulder. He sighed. 'I am being a fool. Like some love-sick maid swooning and sighing and demanding assurances,' he said. 'Forgive me.'

'There is nothing to forgive,' said Elrohir with a smile. He smelled Legolas hair, the scent of meadowgrass and sunshine on new-mown hay. 'I love you. No one else matters.'

'I love you too.'

Elrohir pulled him closer. 'You do?'

Legolas blinked and looked at him, puzzled. 'Of course. Do you not feel how our songs entwine?'

Elrohir pulled a wry smile. 'It is not as easy for me to see this as you…' He leaned his cheek against Legolas' head. 'I need to hear the words,' he murmured.

Legolas laughed and shook his head. 'Listen to us!' he declared. 'I need you to tell me I matter enough for you to speak to your father about me and you need me to tell you I love you! Are we warriors who stood before the Black Gate and defied Sauron himself or a pair of love-sick maids mooning over our faithless swains?'

Elrohir's shoulders dropped too and he grimaced at himself. 'I do not feel like the warrior who stood before the Black Gates when I am with you,' he said humbly. 'I feel like the unworthy suitor who cannot quite believe he has even been allowed past the threshold, let alone stolen a kiss.'

Legolas snorted. 'You have to stop that,' he said. 'This adoration is not arousing.'

At that moment, a fist pounded on the door. 'My lord! They await you in the square.'

They looked at each other. Then Elrohir lifted a hand to Legolas' cheek. 'We are no longer before the Morannon,' he said. 'We must be more discrete. For Aragorn's sake.'

Legolas nodded. 'Kiss me now, before you go. And let us not embarrass Aragorn by falling upon each other in public.' He drew Elrohir into an embrace and clutched at his shoulders, pulling him close, wanting him closer than his own skin.

Laughing, Elrohir pulled away regretfully. 'I must go. I hear them gathering in the square. Do you want me to appear flushed and undone with desire?'

'Yes,' said Legolas firmly. But he released Elrohir and watched him as he stopped to retrieve his pack, his sword.

As Elrohir buckled on his sword, Legolas stared. He knew now it was called Áicanaro. The black metal gleamed dully, like some strange alien metal not found on this earth. He did not want to listen to its song for it was unearthly and bloody. He did not want to touch it either.

Elrohir stood before him, sword at his hip, pack on his shoulder, cloaked and booted. His long black hair was caught up in a high tail that accentuated his cheekbones, his grey eyes full of passion. It was as if Legolas saw him again for the first time all those months ago when Elrohir strode past him in Imladris, out of the blazing sun and passed him, merely turning his head to look at Legolas as he passed, leaving Legolas almost swooning with desire. He laughed and flung his arms about his beloved.

'Stay safe, my Ravéyön,' he said softly and ignored Elrohir's slight shudder. 'Do not fight orcs, slay dragons, argue with Elladan, dispute with Galadriel!'

Elrohir kissed him, smiling against his mouth and left.

0o0o

They were to ride with the Rohirrim and Elrohir had decided he would do his best to be civil to Eomer for Aragorn's sake. And Legolas', for he had urged Elrohir to be generous with Eomer. 'He has lost the Man who was father to him, his brother Theodred too. And now his sister will leave him too, to wed Faramir. He is newly King himself and unexpectedly so. Be kind.'

So he had decided to try. For Legolas' sake.

He glanced up to the palace and saw the gleam of pale gold of Legolas' hair amongst the nobles assembled to watch their departure. Legolas stood with the hobbits who were standing upon a low wall so they could see. Nearby stood the merchant, Bearas. Elrohir had not spoken to him since they had stood together awaiting Aragorn's arrival into the city, but Aragorn had elevated him to his court and council. All seemed to speak well of him, except Legolas who did not like him though the Woodelf could not say why when he was asked. Even now, he could see Legolas' face tighten and his dislike was clear as Bearas made some light comment that had the hobbits laughing.

Eomer's horse circled nervously and excitedly but his own Barakhir stood still, head flung up and nostril flaring. He could feel the muscles bunched and ready to fly at the merest suggestion and stroked his glossy black neck affectionately. And then Imrahil led his own grey horse from the stables and stood beside Elladan.

There was a loud cheering from the balconies above and Imrahil looked up to where two women waved and threw flowers at his feet. Their hands were stained with ink and their breath smelled of cheap spirits.

'Blessings upon you, Prince Imrahil!' they cried in voices only slightly slurred with drink.

Elrohir glanced up and Elladan gave a wry smile. 'You wonder at their fondness? ' he said. 'These two were drunk and in the gutter. The Night Watch was about to put them in the stocks but Imrahil intervened. They are ignorant and unlettered.' Elladan told Elrohir. He wrinkled up his nose and one of them now waved at him. 'And they smell rather dreadful.' He smiled at Imrahil fondly. 'But it seems they have become quite fixated, following him around and touching his robes for luck.'

Elrohir watched Elladan carefully, the way he stood close to Imrahil but not touching. His fond gaze and lingering looks were obviously those of one besotted. But Elrohir wondered if his heart were quite so easily won by fair words and fair visage. It was true that Imrahil was lordly and wise, but he was still a Man.

Elrohir did not want to think on that. It would break him to choose between Elladan and Legolas.

Imrahil mounted his horse and grimaced slightly for his bones clicked in his knees and Elrohir saw that in spite of his fair face, he was not a young Man. He was widowed and had children old enough to take the reins of government should he wish, Elrohir realised.

He glanced again at Elladan whose gaze was on Imrahil and Imrahil turned his head towards Elladan. His gaze was soft and pleased. Elrohir could not help the squeeze of pain in his heart at the thought of Elladan making the same Choice as Arwen.

He was still standing unmounted beside Barakhir when Eomer lifted his hand and led the Eored from the city, with Eowyn at his side. Clattering hooves and the soft harrumph of horses as they passed finally roused Elrohir from his thoughts. He stepped carefully onto the mounting block, for his leg was better but not yet strong enough, and swung his good leg over Barakhir's back. He gathered up the reins and settled into the saddle, turning to find Legolas again in the crowd.

At first, Legolas did not see him for he was staring at Bearas. The Man had his hand on Legolas' arm and Legolas was looking down at his hand as if it were a snake.

'Elrohir!' called Elladan, and Elrohir was distracted for a moment and then when he looked back, he could not see Bearas and Legolas had turned back to the square and waved at Elrohir. So he thought no more about the strange incident and with a final look at his beloved, he turned Barakhir and followed Elladan through the White City, the cheering crowds who threw rose petals and ribbons in their path. The gates stood open, although they were rough and repaired, and first the Rohirrim passed through, then Dol Amroth and finally the Sons of Thunder.

0o0o

Bearas watched the tall blond elf standing amongst the crowd gathered to watch the Men of Rohan leave the White City. He stood taller than any Man and many heads turned to look for he was very fair and graceful. There was a belief amongst the ordinary folk that he would bring plenty and good fortune to those he touched. It was nonsense of course, Bearas thought. More interesting was that which was between Legolas of the Woodland Realm and Elrohir, son of Elrond. And how he might use it.

He had already, he knew. Making sure that the King heard him defend the two against snide comments from two who should have been more careful.

The relationship between the two elves did not shock Bearas, for he had lived long in the mountains and there were stranger practices in the remote places of Gondor. It intrigued him in a way that confused and surprised him, for he held no superstition or prejudice, and yet…he reacted towards the son of Elrond particularly in a way that Bearas himself could not understand. He was drawn to him like a magnet. Wanted to touch him. To draw him closer than skin. To absorb and be absorbed by him…to kneel before him and bare his throat and watch the darkness devour him…

Bearas passed a hand trembling over his eyes. Such strange thoughts came to him. Now and again it felt like he had emerged from a pool and looked about and saw where he was, who he was and did not recognise himself…And then he was pulled back down, submerged and could only look out like he was seeing through a glass and no one could hear him. His mouth moving and words came out that he did not control, that he would not have even thought when he lived in the mountains. And now the King himself not only knew who Bearas was, but had listened to his council. How did he even come to be here in the palace of the King of Gondor?

He leaned against the flat, warm stone wall, breathing hard and feeling how his heart beat, blood pumped. He felt like he was burning up. Looking down at his hands, he noted how they were worn with work but not with age; beneath the weathered skin, veins pumped. He turned then over so the palms faced upwards and stared at them as if they were not his.

When had he gained this knowledge of how Men thought, how to influence them? Where did he find this impulse to manipulate, to politic? To have power? It had never been in his thoughts before. He used to long for ease and comfort, to have enough to give his wife and daughter. To make sure the babies did not die…

On his finger, the ring glowed softly. It warmed him, reassured him, seemed almost to speak.

This good fortune has come to me, he found himself thinking. I have been lucky, that's all. And this is just what I deserve. And I am bringing good to more people than just my own family. Look at the number of poor I have helped. Look at the widows and orphans who now have food and shelter because I have provided it, I have persuaded the King what to do.

You are doing good. The people have benefitted from you at the King's side.

Yes. I am doing good. No matter that he was not quite at the King's side.

Not yet perhaps…but soon. There is more you can do if you had more power.

If you knew where the Mirror was, you could bring others to help you…

Bearas did not know about this mirror but the benign voice was soothing and told him what he needed to do to bring riches and influence, so he listened and did what it bid him.

But it needed this mirror. And the mirror was in Minas Morgul so somehow he had to find a way of getting there.

He stroked the ring, feeling it warm his skin and the power leaked into the air, turned it faintly oily. Strange that Bearas himself felt it always , a constant, but no one else seemed aware unless he was actually using the ring to influence people. He did not dare to use it when the Elves or the Wizard were around, and faded into the background, assumed an air of diffidence and deference.

He found himself walking softly, through the crowd and away from the buzz and crush of the crowds and in the King's rose garden. There were no guards and no one challenged him for none expected anyone to breach the King's private garden. It was the King's refuge and that was well known. This was a peaceful garden, a place of quiet in the heart of the teeming, crowded city, thought Bearas and found a stone bench amongst the roses, half hidden and discrete.

He had not intended but fortune was on his side, as it seemed always to be in these times. For not long after, he heard voices, quietly speaking and approaching. Now Bearas was on the King's council but not yet, as he had already noted, quite in the King's confidence and it would surely be considered an impertinence that he was sitting here in the rose garden. So he sat quietly and leaned against the warm stone wall at his back, half closed his eyes as if asleep, his fingers curled into a fist about the ring.

'… stand down the guard or leave it as it is?' It was Faramir's voice. Bearas knew Faramir was over-sensitised to the feelings of others, he thought. Weak. Overly kind. It came from the cruelty with which his own father, Denethor, had shown him. This Bearas had learned from lesser nobles, anxious for Bearas' patronage, both money and influence.

And now the other Man with whom Faramir spoke, sighed heavily. 'In truth it is Gandalf should decide.'

Bearas froze. It was the King himself. He dared not be found skulking in the King's garden; it was presumptuous and the King may decide he had overstepped his mark and dismiss him from the council almost before he had even taken up his position.

The King and Steward were strolling down a path that ran parallel to the one that Bearas had taken. With luck, it would not run into this one and the roses were dense enough now perhaps to hide him. He clenched his fingers into a fist around the ring on his finger, old gold, wrought about with spells and sorcery it crept out from between his fingers, turned the air oily and Bearas suddenly felt like he was looking out through glass, like he was not really there but watching from another place.

'He does not say what it is, or what danger it brings but I think we must continue to guard it. Is it safe?' the King continued.

Bearas felt the ring still, and grow in its alertness, listening. What is it that the Wizard wanted guarding? That was dangerous and secret?

'I have it somewhere no one would think of looking,' Faramir said but his voice did not sound pleased. There was …an edge of fear? Of something, anxiety?

'I for one am puzzled as to why Gandalf ever brought it here,' the King said. Now they drew alongside Bearas where he hid and he drew back still further.

'Indeed. We do not question but perhaps it would have been better left where it was….' Faramir's voice faded as they moved further along the path. 'But the guard is nervous there and I cannot blame them. Perhaps a different place?'

'Perhaps a different guard?' The King countered and they moved out of earshot. 'One less afraid of ghosts?'

Bearas licked his dry lips. Now the danger had passed, he felt that sense of being behind glass slip away, like he had been allowed to step out from behind something. He let his head drop and looked at the ground. There had been some rain over the weeks but not much and the earth was dry and pale. Limestone, he thought. Like the mountains of his home and for a moment he wished to be back there, where life was harder but less complicated. Where he felt at least it was his own. But a stronger voice drowned out those doubts, was insistent, loud.

What is that is guarded and is dangerous, brought by the Wizard? Where has the Wizard been? Where would no one think to look and gives the Steward fear? Where Men fear ghosts?

Bearas felt a strange, fluttery excitement in his belly. Quietly he rose to his feet and almost as if something were thinking for him, he found himself propelled back out into the busy square, amongst the excited people of the city.

Where in the city would Faramir put something dangerous and secret? Where would make the guards nervous and anxious?

He looked across the city square and directly opposite him was the Rath Dínen, the Silent Street that led to the Houses of the Dead.

0o0o

The air was heavy and the sky threatened rain. Storm, thought Legolas as he moved about in the upstairs of the house Aragorn had given the fellowship. The hobbits were sprawled in the garden, wreathed in pipe smoke and laughing together. Gandalf had not really been seen for days, having closeted himself away in the library muttering to himself about Nimloth and Isildur. Gimli was thoroughly enjoying bossing about the engineers and builders of the city and supervising the reconstruction of the gates, hands stuck in his belt and feet planted firmly apart.

But Legolas felt he drifted like smoke, from one room to another, half listening to the various conversations. Not really part of one group, no longer the fixed point for Gimli …the Sea lingered in his thoughts and Elrohir was an emptiness in his heart that he longed for.

There was one room left unoccupied in the house and Legolas found himself standing in the middle of the room with his meagre belongings on the iron bed. He looked down at the worn pack that he had brought with him from the Wood, crossing the Hithaeglir to Imladris and then the secret journey with the Ring. He suddenly felt tired. So much had happened since he had found Anglach's torn and tortured body, limply hanging from the tree in which Smeagol had hidden, refusing to come down until Orcs had attacked to release him.

Legolas drew a breath but found his hands shaking. He stared at them, and then clutched one in the other and hugged them to his chest. But a sense of panic bubbled in his belly and chest and he found himself taking wide panting gasps of air as if he were running.

A small, silver-framed mirror hung on the wall behind him and he turned to stare into it in shock. His face seemed to swim in the dim light, paler than usual, eyes wide and the pupils huge. I look ill, he thought. Faded.

In the strange storm light, shadows seemed to creep in from the open window as clouds chased across the sky and the curtain lifted slightly in the wind, as if something had peeked in at him. He turned suddenly but there was nothing. Just shadows. He turned back to the mirror. Was that just his own shadow standing just behind him, at his shoulder? He felt cold and his fingertips prickled.

He turned his head quickly. But it was still only shadows.

Shuddering, he strode quickly to the mirror hanging on the wall and lifted it down, carefully turned it over and leaned it, mirror side against the wall.

0o0o

tbc