Aearlinn - Aint'waedh

Elrond leaned against the frame of the doorway, not exactly slouching but certainly a more relaxed posture than he would ever present in public. His gaze was fixed in attentive appreciation, not on the majestic landscape of his peaceful realm but inside to the graciously appointed chamber that comprised his bedroom. Clad in a soft, white cotton robe, barefoot, long ebony hair loose about him, afternoon sunlight streamed over his shoulders and burnished his pale aura with the rich golden-red rays of Anor, creating a radiant nimbus that perfectly portrayed the status of his soul. He could not recall ever feeling so contented, so right with life, enveloped in absolute certainty that this role was the vital one, his fate finally, fully realised and accepted with wondrous joy.

The view before him was enough to move him to exuberant song, but Elrond restrained the urge, posed there in silent admiration. The source of this incandescent heart-glow was Aearenn, of course, seated naked and cross-legged amid the catastrophe of bedclothes left rumpled and ravaged in the wake of their love-making, softly singing his soul-song. Elrond wanted to go and gather Legolas close, yet chose to remain where he was, revelling in the simple pleasure the sight afforded him.

He was smiling; how could he not? It was the gentle, protective expression his features always assumed whenever he contemplated Legolas in Ôlpathu. The shape of his smile shaped in turn the conformation of his heart, reorganising the chambers, squeezing here, enlarging there, so that a sharp affliction accompanied the steady throb of the vital organ. Close to overwhelming him, replete with responsibility, sheltering love, possessive and untempered pride, the dulcet pang rose up and made breathing difficult, left the burning sensation of swallowed tears on the back of his throat. He was this amazing elf's mate, father of the babe sheltered there within that glorious form resting on the bed.

He let these ideas engulf him with all their implications intact and inhaled a deep breath, releasing it slowly as a shivery exultation touched his thoughts; how far they'd come!

Aye, the view was exalted, a true depiction of all that was best in his life, all that dwelled in the very centre of his being. The arch did not so much frame the vignette as enshrine it, searing forever in his mind this image of Legolas on their first evening back in the Last Homely House after the formal marriage ceremony.

With ten years together, they'd spent uncounted hours in these rooms, but this time was different. Everything was official now; Legolas was his. Not his bond-slave, his temporary diversion, his sylvan catamite, or any of the host of other derogatory terms with which the woodland archer had been described, but Elrond's soul-mate and an equal partner in all that life might bring them in the years ahead. Never again would anyone dare utter crude jests, lewd remarks, or make lecherous advances. None could ever surmise the Wood Elf's place in Imladris to be anything but permanent, eminent, and honourable, and while it had not been stated, his influence would be felt throughout the valley. This was already a fact and Elrond would not have it otherwise.

His smile grew as the chaotic, sombre beauty of Legolas' soul-song acquired a sweetly sentimental cadence. He believed the change was due in part to the new accord between them. Aearen was contentedly re-examining, for probably the twentieth time, the gift Elrond had presented to him in honour of their bonding day. It was this gift, the noble Lord felt, that best illustrated the change in his relationship to Legolas. Sharing it represented Elrond's first effort to unburden his heart to his young mate, pouring out his misery for Legolas to absorb, expressing his dependency and exhibiting a level of trust he had never granted Aearen previously.

The result had done more to seal up the remaining fissures in their strained relationship than either could have imagined. Both of them were healing and the ancient lore-master knew himself to be the greater beneficiary of this renewal, finding his spirit lightened by the absence of a burden born so long he had forgotten how to see the beauty still abounding in the world around him. He could see now that this was the first gift Legolas had given him: the ability to wonder at the vast variety of Yavanna's creations, to feel genuine delight in all that was, for him, new and never seen before. The horrors Legolas had endured had not diminished this faculty but instead worked to enhance it.

Another breath came and went, invigorating Elrond's mellow heart-glow into a brighter flare of domestic harmony. Yes, everything had changed, even the room. He raised a brow and shook his head in bemusement, goggling at the new furnishings with pleasure and approval. His sons had done this, exchanging all the old, dark, heavy furniture with newly crafted pieces, painting the walls, hanging new tapestries and art, rolling out a thick, plush carpet over the floor. Their gift to Legolas. Faelon must have abetted their efforts.Even Arwen was implicated. The combined plotting was more important to him than the result it produced, representing acknowledgement and acceptance of Legolas' place in his life, in all their lives. They were a family now.

He had to admit, at least to himself, that he liked the room better. Against the far wall stood matching wardrobes in a pale, buttery teak-wood inlaid with a fine ribbon of mahogany. Upon the doors, the carving of the new seal Arwen had created was prominently displayed. Where Elrond's over-flowing writing desk with its perpetual reminder of duty and work had once dwelled stood twin dressing tables, one on each side of the natural alcove between the airy entries to the balcony. He and Legolas would be able to see one another's reflections in silvered glass as they prepared for the day, their personal toiletries set out neatly. Having already explored everything, he knew Legolas' stash of odds and ends was now housed in one of the drawers of his new dresser while their collection of naughty toys was stored in a drawer in Elrond's.

Thinking of which brought him to the bed, by far the best piece in the room. Elrond found the style agreed with him, though he had never given any thought to altering his sleeping accommodations. It was simple, an elegant design of sleek, slim lines instead of the heavy and overbearing construction of the old one. The head and foot were made of beautiful verdigris bronze open-work, the metal cast in the pattern of interwoven vines. The four bedposts were plain but each foot was buried in a tall pot in which a climbing rose had been planted. It was too soon for them to have grown much, but eventually the plants would encircle the narrow columns and cover the canopy, supplying the beauty of both the flowers and their scent to the room.

On first seeing it, Legolas had gasped aloud and then whooped like a child, running to fling himself on the new mattress, grinning and laughing. He sat up and pulled the sheer, leaf-green curtains round him, peering out in sultry invitation. Elrond, irked to know how much the original furniture had displeased his mate, was nonetheless glad to join him in breaking in the bed. That had been a wild, rabid romp of unbridled lust which thoroughly infused the linens with the scent of their mutual passion so that every now and again the breeze filled his nostrils with the lingering aroma, stirring his hunger with vivid memories. Legolas had drifted gently into Ôlpathu afterward, reaching for the little box that he was barely able to set aside, instantly absorbed in its contents. Thus, Elrond had this opportunity to enjoy the view and reflect on all that had so recently transpired.

The sylvan wedding ceremony had gone on for six days and was less a formal, solemn invocation of rites and vows than an irrepressible, irreverent, and rowdy festival. It seemed to the Lord of Imladris that nearly every Wood Elf there had given three speeches a day, praised the couple, honoured the King and Queen, and even addressed the stuffy Noldorin folk with cordial welcome. Strong wine was consumed in astonishing quantities. A virtually unending banquet of delectable delicacies kept appetites appeased. Several deer were roasted over open fires and even more boars. Music and singing and stories were shared, all enmity forgotten as the celebration progressed.

The trouble over the dowry and the restitution owed Thranduil's insulted House went much more smoothly once Aras left the valley. In fact, it was dropped completely and the mood of every person in attendance, not excepting Elrond's councillors, improved once the elder prince departed. Only Rhûn'waew was melancholy over his banishment, though she had been the first to realise it would be necessary. Yet Legolas had gone to her the following morning and the two spent most of the day alone together. When mother and son rejoined the festivities, the collective mood elevated to new heights.

Legolas later revealed to Elrond that he'd reminded his mother that Galbreth would soon return and eventually take his eldest son in hand. Aras need not be her burden any more. She blamed herself, it seemed, for spoiling Aras after his mother died. As always, hearing this made Elrond wonder over Legolas' innate desire to shield his loved ones from pain and remove the weight of guilt from their souls. He could do this for everyone except himself. The Lord of Imladris shook off those darker thoughts and returned to lighter memories. Sorrow had yielded, at long last, to happiness and he refused squander a second of it.

It had at first been difficult to understand the unstructured nature of the sylvan bonding tradition, expecting to repeat the formal gathering that had been been disrupted that first day, but discovered that was the only meeting in which specific terms and documents and oaths were to be presented. The public, solemn presentation of himself and Aearen as a mated couple to Greenwood's King and Queen had been all that custom required. Bonding was not something to be conferred upon them by rubrics, words, or signs but a state of being into which they had entered. Acknowledging them as a bonded pair naturally followed.

Normally, according to Lindir, the traditional preliminary courtship rituals and haggling over dowry were concluded privately between the families prior to the couple consummating this bond, but the reality was that the negotiating happened after the fact in most cases. Legolas, by virtue of his elevated status and unique physiology, was a special case, and beyond this the fate that had befallen him had initiated an entirely different set of conditions that none of his people could have predicted.

For him, the moment when he and Elrond stood before all his kin and friends, redeemed at last by the open acknowledgement of their bond, an equal before family and all the Lords and councillors of Imladris and Greenwood, hearing the stirring oath of loyalty spoken by Glorfindel; this had answered his every hope. What he wanted now, he had informed his enthusiastic mate, was a celebration, a chance to share his joy.

To this Elrond was more than glad to accede. Making Legolas smile was all he cared about now and once he understood the sylvan way, he could not find any fault with it. Their bond was deeply personal; not even the Powers could contravene a union such as this nor could any but Eru craft fate to generate such a potent connection. He and Legolas were mated one to another. That they had found love for one another within this vital confluence of souls was a source of great happiness and cause for rejoicing. He found he wanted to flaunt his high good fortune for all to see, and the party was spectacular.

Now, it might be thought that Legolas' family would prefer to see the haughty and arrogant nobles of the valley submit themselves in obeisance before Legolas and beg mercy from him. Thranduil and Rhûn'waew certainly felt this way and were not alone in that desire, yet the dire confrontation and banishment of Aras had left their hearts wounded. That this hideous injury had been done to them before the very worst of Legolas' detractors made the altercation more traumatic. Beyond this, everyone, even the Imladrians, were attuned to the developing life present and the strain upon the life-bearers. What was best for these four governed the decision to postpone that moment of redress for another time.

There would be a second presentation of the newest, youngest Lord of Imladris to the citizens of the realm. The woodland folk anticipated this event with relish, eager to watch the tendering of oaths of fealty to their woodland prince along with pleas for Legolas' forgiveness, made all the more humiliating for the snobbish Noldor since all of the valley's populace who could get through the gates would be on hand to witness it.

A brief note sent to Elrond made him aware of this pending chastisement and he could not condemn it, asking only that Erestor be excluded from this public dishonour, given what he was already suffering. To that the Royals agreed and no further reference was made to the Day of Retribution, as Thranduil termed it in his note with bold flourishes, capitol letters, and a double underscore. Even this caused Elrond no strife and after seeing the bonding bower built in the mighty hemlocks of Lanthir Fân he could only think warmly of his unlikely law-father. It was obvious the King had discovered Legolas' blueprints and the construction represented the beginnings of the birth-talan.

The effect upon Legolas was particularly gratifying; their first night there had been, beyond doubt, the most glorious the couple had ever spent together, even counting Ened Ethuil and the day of the courtyard fountain. Legolas had vanished behind a simple screen of silk hung from the overhanging branches, emerging in nothing but the golden chains. His young mate's bonding day gift had certainly contributed to the heightened mood, so much so that Elrond only pondered in passing the piercing and his sons' role in it. He'd traced each delicate strand to its anchor point, testing the effect on Aearen by varying the tension, tugging, twisting, tweaking, and tasting the unique flavours of metal and skin as he fucked his mate as many ways as he could comfortably manage in a swaying, treetop bed-hammock.

The memory stirred Elrond's passion, but it was a languid and lazy lust; he was not yet ready to claim his mate again. He sighed soulfully, watching Legolas, pleased yet mildly incredulous over how well everything had turned out, given the dramatic circumstances swirling throughout his troubled courtship of the woodland archer. Born in disaster, indeed, verily defined by it, their union might have been doomed to end in a similarly cataclysmic tragedy and had nearly done so on many occasions. Elrond shivered. They had come through it all to the very brink of bliss, the fullness of happiness theirs to claim, and it was surely Legolas' indefatigable devotion that had secured them this future of domestic harmony.

Aye, this is bliss; he is bliss. Bliss incarnate, Aearen."Ah, Legolas," he whispered.

Legolas glanced up, eyes meeting his across the distant depths of Ôlpathu, and smiled, features serenely resplendent. He sang, the lilting faer'lir different than it had been just a few short months ago. His grief, sorrow, and guilt had always been the dominant components of this spontaneous music, never exactly the same from cycle to cycle, but always variations on the central theme of his tortured existence, and this unwholesome element was not yet vanquished. Yet, now their child's spirit joined his, enhancing the soft, sad, ethereal vocals with a whimsical and wonderful innocence underscored in unwavering trust and love: Tinu Mín was happy.

The lore-master's chest expanded in exuberant thanksgiving and he silently praised the Powers for his unexpected child. He loved the babe almost as much as he did Legolas and anticipated the birth with anxious impatience, something he hid from Legolas as much as possible. Watching him with the box, he was struck by its similarity to the archer's hodgepodge collection of rocks, feathers, leaves and pot sherds. Soon, Tinu Mín would have a stash of such oddments, too. The objects were physical representations of memories and thoughts, marking moments for which words were not sufficient, for emotions so powerful they utterly were inexplicable. What was simple, he reflected, often harboured what was most complex.

The revelation of the anticipated wedding present and Elrond's explanation of what it was had clearly and absolutely stunned Legolas, rendering him dumb for several seconds after which he'd thrown himself at Elrond, locking arms about him so tightly that breathing had been impossible for several seconds. They had spent their second evening in the bonding bower reviewing the contents of the humble box, a harrowing, liberating, cathartic experience for Elrond, a gruelling, soul-rending, but empowering one for Legolas.

It was not a treasure Elrond would ever have imagined he would share with anyone, but as soon as he began revealing the details to Legolas he knew it was what his plagued and beleaguered spirit had for Ages out of time required. He had verily felt the knitting together of the frayed and eroded fabric of his soul, wounded when he was so young in years. The simple box was made of wood and clad in finely engraved tin, the design his own creation depicting a map of his and Elros' realm: the wilds surrounding the falls where the twins had been captured. It held the assorted trinkets of childhood, mementoes of happier days when the brothers played together, imagining themselves the captains of a mighty fleet about to sail to Aman or courageous heroes defending their homes and families from the minions of Shadow.

Just trinkets, but what horrible, wonderful trinkets!

Would Elrond ever know greater satisfaction than that accompanying his mate's reverent and gentle curiosity? Perhaps, but that night he could not envision such a thing.

They had just come from the unending celebration in the wooded glen, Legolas dressed in simple, comfortable, but lovely garments made in the sylvan style. His shirt was abbreviated, one of those embroidered sleeveless vests that ended just an inch short of his navel and the thin band of bare, baby-plump belly was daring indeed for one so modest by nature. The little dangling jewel anchored there winked and glittered and drew many eyes as he walked. He was constantly blushing, but proudly, for apparently this piercing of the body was a sylvan bonding tradition and he wanted to show off. Over this spare top he wore a pale, diaphanous, eggshell-coloured robe, also sleeveless, that enveloped him and yet revealed him, being made of sheer, gauzy fabric. The outfit was completed with silk pants dyed indigo blue, wide-legged and full, unbound at the ankle, flowing from his narrow hips and swishing about in a distinctly flirty way when he walked.

When he danced - Ah! What a vision of alluring fecundity!

How could it be, Elrond wondered, that never until this party had he seen Legolas dance? Had he ever participated in any of the stately soirees which the Lord of the Valley held on special days and for honoured guests? He had not, remaining apart or simply not attending and of course the reason why was well known now. Not even on Ened Ethuil had he danced, preferring the daring demonstration of his bonfire leaping skill.

Nothing restrained his exuberance any longer. Safe within the acknowledged bond between them, Legolas was free to be himself, and Legolas loved to dance and to sing. The first dance was another sylvan tradition, a solitary expression of both possession and enthralment, Legolas whirling round his mate, blonde mane streaming, silken garments billowing, the steps bold and provocative, sensual and deliberately enticing, now touching Elrond lightly with his fingers, next taking up a hand-hold of hair and drawing him into the motion for a kiss, blue eyes shining, cheeks flushed with both joy and desire. It left Elrond breathless and wondering how he was going to make it through the rest of the festivities without spiriting Legolas away to a more private spot.

It ended abruptly, Legolas' arms about his neck, the archer's lips devouring his while the gathered elves hooted and cheered and called out mildly lewd suggestions. They broke apart and Legolas exhibited his mate to the crowd, handing him forward much as Thranduil had presented his regal wife, and one and all bowed low before them. Elrond was overwhelmed and could only smile and laugh and then hug his Wood Elf close for a time, the two of them locked in the cosy embrace, gently swaying.

After this, everyone joined in the dance and the proud Noldorin Lord had made sure Legolas spun through every reel with him, almost giddy to realise Aearen was just as jealously ensuring no other tried to dance with Elrond, all the while making open display of the thrall in which he held this mighty legend among the First-born. It filled them both with exultation and they cavorted and capered until the musicians could play no more.

Hand in hand, then, they returned to Lanthir Fân, speaking hardly at all but smiling on one another with incandescent splendour, sharing little kisses and whispered endearments. They were weary, though, and Legolas wanted his gift, having waited this long only because he'd wanted to go dancing at his party. Elrond poured them both a cup of wine and handed over the box without any flourishes, hesitantly, almost reluctantly.

"It is beautiful," Legolas said, examining it, "and very old. Tell me." His clear, knowing eyes locked with Elrond's cautious grey ones.

"I made it when I was very young, only seven years old. I meant it to be a begetting day present for Elros, but he refused it." He broke off abruptly. Why had he said that? He had not meant to introduce such gloom into the explanation. But the gloom is there.The next instant those long lethal fingers grasped his and squeezed; he looked into sorrowful eyes, more than a little bit angry on his behalf.

"Refused it? Why would Elros do that? Did you have a quarrel?"

"Oh, a terrible quarrel!" He barked out a bitter laugh and shook his head, settling closer against Aearen on the swaying bower-bed high amid the sturdy arms of the hemlocks. "Look inside."

Legolas did so, elegant fingers dipping in to withdraw a seashell: a flat, bony disk pierced in five spots arranged round the faint impression of the petals of a flower, and indeed he called out the common name of the object: Merilaer (Sea Rose). Seeing it, Elrond had paled and his smile vanished, recalling why he'd kept it, and his heart lurched at the sight of it resting there on Aearenn's palm.

"Ai! I forgot this was in there. Please, choose another," Elrond instantly pleaded, face wan and eyes wide.

"Nay, this one first," Legolas insisted, seeing the shadows gather in his mate's heart. "Tell me why you kept it. Is this part of the fight?"

Looking into those blue eyes, Elrond had seen a strength and determination he had often noted before, the stubborn tenacity Legolas displayed whenever he would impose his will on the world, and well the mighty Lord knew that will would not be thwarted. And Elrond found that he wanted to tell him, needed desperately to tell him. Without even thinking he began the tale in its middle.

"We each had one. Really, they are common and we had many. They broke frequently during our playing and we would just get more the next time the tide receded. We pretended these were medallions of honour bestowed upon us by King Turgon for our bravery in fighting the vile demons at the gates of his palace in the last defence of Gondolin. Of course, we changed history in our games, certain that had we been there we would never have let the city fall. That day we played until luncheon and when we went home, our Nana made us put the shells away and clean up ere we ate."

"You and Elros?" Legolas asked quietly, for Elrond did not speak of his brother often and it had never before been his right to ask. "You were identical, as are your sons?"

"Yes," Elrond nodded, his forced smile subsiding into a pinched, melancholic expression. "We were much like them, both in appearance and manner, our personalities complimentary one to another, our actions synchronised without conscious awareness of it, inseparable for nearly our whole lives prior to achieving majority." His voice faltered. Did he dare speak the words? Elrond glanced into the bright azure gaze trained upon him and took courage. "We changed, you see, and I feared to leave his side for even a moment."

"Changed? How so?"

"Oh," an awkward shrug, eyes downcast, "he was consumed in sorrow and anger. He did not call himself by the name our Ada bestowed, saying he was no longer the son of Eärendil and Elwing. That's why he refused the box. He named himself Pen Awarthad, but this I would not call him for, as I reminded him, I had not abandoned him and never would. As it turned out, he abandoned me."

There, I said it.

"Nay, it was not you he turned from, Nín'ódhel, but the weight of the sorrow engulfing him." Legolas had spontaneously hugged his mate then, for of course he knew the history behind this woebegone pronouncement, as did every elf in Middle-earth and Aman.

"I understand this now, but it hurt me deeply then. We were only six years old. I could not understand why he was so certain, so angry, for I still denied that she was really gone and had left us behind." Words failed him; this was too awful to tell.

The wound had been covered over for too long to treat it now and what good could it do? Its poison had already worked its change upon him. She never returned and he had grown up without her into who he was now. Whatever he had been meant to be when he was born, that fate was beyond his grasp and irrecoverable. A sudden shock jolted his heart and he gasped sharply; Legolas had likewise been changed by an unlooked-for fate. Elrond understood better the discontent of the Wood Elves' King.

"Speak to me, Nín'ódhel," Legolas physically shook him, frowning into the serious countenance. "Let me share your sorrow as you have shared mine."

That nearly overwhelmed Elrond, for he was ruefully cognisant of how much of Legolas' suffering was his fault. That was not what Aearen meant at all and he knew that, too. The harrowing night of the disappearing fires returned to him and he recalled the calm, insistent voices exhorting him to confide everything to his mate and reveal the depth of his need for acceptance and love without qualification or reservation. Until that night, Elrond would have been appalled at the notion of showing his vulnerable inner hurts, fearing that Legolas loved the majesty and might of the Lord of Imladris instead of frail and flawed Elrond Peredhel. Now, he saw the hypocrisy of this notion, for that fault of equating status with worth was his and never one Legolas harboured.

I must trust him. He shares my soul and has already seen the worst of my pain. And it is his right as my mate to share this. He needs me to need him.

So Elrond's inner heart told him and while he could not rightly determine how this understanding had come to him so suddenly and so forcefully, he believed it. In the furthest corners of his mind, he had begun to suspect his law-mother of sorcery of some kind, but had no wish to examine this notion fully. Elrond took a deep breath for courage, gave himself a brief nod, and began again:

"There we stood upon the strand, Anor high and bright, the sky a magnificent blue, the waves rippling in and wetting the dun-coloured beach; the tide had turned, hastening inland. We had followed her, abandoning our bowls at table, for news had come to her by courier. We did not know what it meant. She dropped the letter, our Ada's name upon her lips, and raced from the house.

"Elros took up the missive and we read it: a curt demand for the jewel and a threat of war and death if she refused. A cry of alarm broke from us in unison and we ran after her, instinctively going to the ocean. There she stood, moaning incoherent noises and swaying, hands clasped about the gem hanging at her throat. We thought she meant for us all to sail away, and Elros began to ask if she had a ship ready, had she prepared for this day. But I saw no boat out in the deep waters, no dingy dragged up on the beach.

"She made no answer, didn't seem to see us there. I went near and tugged on her sleeve; her face jerked to stare at me, eyes narrowed and hard. I gasped aloud as she shoved me off her. I called to her, miserable, afraid to touch her again. That was no expression I had ever seen in her eyes before. Often we had seen her consumed in sorrow and pining for our Adar; she could not hide it, but never this angry, impatient dismissal. Elros spoke a curse word, something that should have earned him a slap on the mouth, but she ignored him, too, and he came to me, wrapped his arm round my shoulders.

"There were birds everywhere, wheeling and diving in the surf for food, and even as we watched she darted to them, splashing through the waves, arms outstretched. Even as we watched, she changed form before our very eyes, lost in those soaring bodies. I stared, dumbstruck, uncomprehending. I must have cried for her then and made to follow. I don't know what was in my mind; perhaps I thought I would change form, too. Then there was Elros, snatching me by the arm, dragging me away to the dunes, and I fought him off. 'We must follow her!' I yelled at him as we struggled.

"We could not change shape as she did, he informed me. How he knew all this I have never understood, but he said the jewel had made her change and we had none. 'Then we must wait for her to return. She has gone to fetch Adar.' He slapped me, hard, when I told him this. 'Fool! She is never coming back! She has gone to Adar and took the jewel with her instead of us. We are alone now.' Those were his words, so grim, so bitter, so relentlessly true that they broke through my denial and tore my soul in twain.

"I screamed and cried and called for her. I ran into the ocean and would have begun to swim but Elros came and hauled me out, struck me again, his fist this time. He told me to stop it, to never speak her name again, never weep for her, never call him Elros again."

"Ai, Elrond!" Legolas gathered his mate close, horrified by this tale. Wisely, he had kept silent until now, permitting Elrond the distance required to look upon this event and tell of it. Now he enveloped the noble ellon within his love and wept for the child's abandonment,seeing it all unfold as if he'd been there to witness it first-hand. "What a terrible thing to experience." He shivered; he knew something bout the terror of losing a parent's loving regard, though he had not had to face it until he was fully grown. Legolas could not imagine what it must have been like for children to be rejected with such chilling finality. "You were strong together or you would not have survived that day."

"We survived it; that is true, but I don't believe strength had anything to do with it. I was shocked by Elros' cold acceptance; I still am. How did he know this? Yet instinctively I clung to him, though it sounded as though he rejected me, too. He chose to protect me but his help was grudging in part, resentful. I would have perished without him, we both knew it, and he accepted me as his burden to bear. In a way, we mirrored one another's needs: my terror allowed him to stifle his, to transform it into seething rage and disgust for me and my fear. I see it now: if he could not trust our Nana to remain with us, how could he depend upon my loyalty? He was trying to keep his heart from breaking by despising me.

"We fought that day, savagely, burdening one another with our fury and terror until a kinsman found us and divided us, taking us back to his house in the city. That was Erestor's Adar, our mother's great-uncle. We had never been apart before and it startled us into reality. We knew then we could not be parted and endure this. I escaped my minders to find Elros, such a wreck I did not notice his suffering, for to be honest I had always depended upon him. He seemed so much older all of a sudden, wiser, as though he was now grown up, a child no more. I looked to him to tell me what to do next, how we would live without her.

"He promised he would not leave me but that I must be bold and brave, like him, if this would be so. Of course I agreed to whatever he suggested and his words inflamed my heart. 'We must go and avenge our loss on these Noldorin princes,' he said, such venom and hatred in his voice I did not recognise it. 'We have no weapons,' said I and at once he struck me. 'Are you craven?' he demanded and I denied it, though I was absolutely petrified. If we tried to avenge our parents, we would be killed. 'It is because we are young that we will succeed,' he explained. 'We have our daggers. Each of us must take one of them to Mandos and the judgement of the Valar or die in the attempt.' "

"Oh, Elrond!" Legolas' cry was barely a whisper but packed with anguish and his arms tightened round his mate protectively.

Elrond paused his narration, gently stroking Aearen's back, damp cheek resting on the golden head, smiling even as he wept, recalling that dreadful day, glad at last to be able to speak of it for never had he done so before, not to Lindir, not even to Elros, who forbade it. It hurt so to speak of it, terribly, as he always knew it would, but doing so did not diminish either his dignity or his sanity. That was due to Legolas. With him, it was right to reveal this pain, this weakness, this ultimate failure. He hadn't been able to stop Elwing from leaving, hadn't succeeded in easing Elros' fury, hadn't been able to stop the horror that came next, but Legolas understood and did not condemn him. Elrond gathered that security to his heart and continued.

"We escaped our kinsman's house and fled the Havens, only to nearly run into the advancing host of Maedhros and Maglor. All our high ideals evaporated as soon as we saw them: armoured cavalry in endless ranks, banners flying, Maedhros at the head of the van, his twin brothers flanking him, majestic and lethal and unstoppable. We ducked out of sight and found shelter in a cave behind a waterfall where we often played, our hidden sanctuary. The great army passed by and we remained hidden; thus, we were spared the destruction wrought upon Siriombar.

"No sooner were they beyond sight and hearing than Elros berated me, calling me a coward unfit to be his brother, though he had run from them, too. We would have a second chance to do what was honourable, he said. We must be ready, he told me, for they would leave once they found out the jewel was gone. They would be battle weary then, he said, and we would have our chance. We must prepare an ambush, he said, and I agreed, though in my heart I knew I could not do it. I could not use my dagger and kill these people no matter what they had done to me. Neither could he, as it proved.

"Days passed, I forget how many because I did not count them then. We waited, using up all the stores left in the place, for it was our favourite hide-out, though of course our Nana knew about it, and we kept food and clothes and bedding there. I prayed the Noldor would never come, hoped they had been destroyed by the elves in the villages or perhaps by Círdan's soldiers sailing in from Lindon. I was disappointed in this hope and fled back into the cave as soon as we head them on the road.

"Elros chased after me, scolding and scoffing and mocking and disowning me in such scathing terms that soon we were fighting again. Our noise drew them and soon we were parted, Maedhros snatching at Elros while Maglor corralled me. I was defeated immediately and hung limp in his arms, begging him shamelessly to let us go. Elros spat upon Maedhros and challenged him to single combat for the loss of our mother and the jewel. And he smiled, hearing that; Maedhros smiled."

Again Elrond stopped speaking, lost in the memory, his eyes blank as he stared upon the scene and watched it play out. He spoke without realising he did so, voice strident, tone pitched high in the range of a child's anguished tenor. "No, you will not hurt him, you will not! He is all I have left and you will not take him from me! As long as we live, there is a chance you might trade us for the jewel. Our Nana has gone to fetch Ada; they will come back for us."

"Elrond?" Legolas peered into the stormy grey eyes, concerned, yet hesitated to react too precipitately, seeing his mate coming to the climax of this rending tale. "I am here; I hear you, beloved. Go on. What happened?"

A great gusting sob heaved out of Elrond, an ancient and stagnant wind of air long trapped in his lungs, stale and bitter as the breath he had held all those aeons ago waiting to learn what fate Maedhros would decree for Elros and him. Gladly he vented it from his body now and shuddered, coming out of the fugue to look into the worried face examining his so keenly, aware of the tight embrace, the security and safety of the love within which his battered soul was now sheltered. He smiled, took up one of the archer's hands and pressed it to his lips. "Aearen," he whispered and found himself again on the verge of tears. It was a few moments more before he could finish.

"Elros, shamed by my words, refused to look at me. Lindir stepped in, bloody and bedraggled and probably half-mad, and boldly took him from Maedhros' hold. 'Only one fallen so low as you would accept challenge from a babe,' he intoned, 'but even if you would do so, I forbid it. These children you will not slay while I am breathing.' And Maedhros laughed with bitter mirth, dismissing Lindir's taunt, meeting my eyes instead, nodding his head. 'This one is wise and I will heed his counsel,' said he, pointing Elros' own dagger at me. 'I will hold these two hostage to be ransomed by the Silmaril stolen from us by Luthien and Beren.' Thus we ended up captive in the house of our enemies and Lindir became our guardian."

"Valar," Legolas swore quietly and let silence spin out for a bit as he gently rubbed Elrond's back. "What of Elros? Did he forgive you?"

"Eventually. It was many days. You must understand; his belief that he would have avenged our parents is all that kept his grief at bay, that and his anger toward me. He scorned and berated me daily, yet he would not leave my side and watched over me when exhaustion forced me to sleep. The journey north was long and arduous. I never thought about how he was managing until much, much later. Lindir saved him, I believe, for he revealed the story of his sister's death and how he had been unable to make himself spill the blood of those who killed her.

"This you must never repeat, not even to Lindir, for we are the only ones he told of this. His survival made ours a reality, for we shared nearly the same fate. Erestor was part of it, too, for his parents were slaughtered that day before his eyes and he followed, the same desire for revenge drawing him, and Lindir took him in charge as well. The Noldorin princes didn't even notice he was part of the household for months. By then they didn't care, I suppose."

"It is dreadful!" Legolas shivered again, his appreciation for his good fortune to have both his parents quite obvious, and hugged Elrond harder.

Another huge sigh moved through the lordly elf and Elrond shifted, taking the small shell from him and holding it up to the light so that the surface became nearly transparent, revealing within it internal chambers and tiny, wing-shaped bones. Legolas caught his breath, thinking of Elwing and her bizarre transformation, her incomprehensible abandonment of her only children, so young and defenceless. "Truly, those jewels were nothing but a curse upon your people," he said. "She would not have gone from you but for that." He took the shell and laid it carefully aside.

"Aye, so I believe, too." Elrond shook his head sadly. "It is strange; though so many centuries have passed, I still long for her, grieve for her."

"I am sorry for your loss," said Legolas, wondering how to comfort his mate, bothered by something yet fearing to probe this cankerous wound too deeply. Yet he knew from personal experience that true healing required that the poison be flushed thoroughly out, all hint of toxicity removed. He hesitated a moment more, caressing the braids that marked Elrond as his own, glimpsed the sad, slate-coloured eyes, and took courage. "You must still be angry, too."

Elrond had physically flinched when he heard those words, stunned by them, and denied them immediately. "Nay, not at all. She did what she was compelled to do." He avoided his mate's eyes and tried to break from his arms, but learned he truly hadn't the will to do it.

"I know this, that you understand it now, but you were only a child then," Legolas prompted gently. "How long did you believe she would come back and claim you?" To his dismay, Elrond crumpled, reduced to morbid despair in seconds, bawling in unfathomable misery as he clutched so tight the grip was painful. The choked and muffled words were barely intelligible, but Legolas made them out:

"Nearly my whole young life. Until the Powers came. I knew then she would never come back, for she was not with them. That was when Elros made his choice. Before I could make the same and follow him, he forbade it, said he'd had his fill of coddling me and I was on my own now. I thought he still hated me and we parted with bitter acrimony. Later I realised he was trying to save me. Again. He was always trying to save me from myself, from my fears." Elrond sobbed and moaned and wept copiously as he had not done in Ages, not since that day, in fact. "I lost everything," he wailed. "Why? What did I do to make it happen this way? What were they punishing me for?"

"Ai, Nín'ódhel," soothed Legolas, rocking the distraught elf in his arms, glad the worst of it was out and he could truly give aid. "You were not being punished by anyone. It was not anything you did. It was those wretched stones, beloved. It is over now and they are gone from here forever and their curse gone with them. Someday, you will see your parents again and be given the grace to forgive them. Your mother must suffer so much from guilt, knowing what came to pass because she wore that jewel. Imagine it: her own children left behind, one twin lost forever to the Gift of Men. She will need your love and forgiveness."

Elrond had drawn back, the tears gone just as fast as they had arrived, his face haggard and his eyes red, and he'd stared aghast at his mate. "I don't know if I can do that," he admitted, the fury rising suddenly to the surface. "I lost everything, Legolas, everything! My family, my home, my very identity. Elros. Why did she choose that bloody gem over her own flesh and blood? How can I ever forgive that?"

"She was not the first taken in by the lies it whispered. Feänor was the first, then his sons one by one, and through them nearly all his people. Melkor claimed all three and after immersion in his foetid halls, what hope could there be that they would ever be clean? Then Thingol fell under the spell, demanding one as the bride-price for his only child, and even Luthien would not spurn this hateful thing for which her father was murdered, but wore it on her neck until she, too, died. To Dior it went next and he did not refuse it, either, not even when war arrived on his doorstep and all his family was riven. To save that cursed stone, he gave it to Elwing to spirit away before the Noldor arrived."

"She should have dashed it from his hands!" seethed Elrond. "How could she take so vile a thing and own it?"

"Ah, beloved, don't you see? One must instead ask, how could she give it up since so many of her people had perished because of it? Truly, she felt it hers by right of the blood spilled to keep it. This is the lie whispered by these sentient gems, Elrond; jewels wrought in magic and filled with untameable light, raw and devoid of conscience or scruple, owning only the instinct to live, to live at any cost. It is easy to wish they had never been made, but they were. It is not a thing you can undo. I give to you the advise you spoke to me not so many days ago; the only choice you have is to wallow in this grief and guilt, eternally ruminating on what-ifs and might-have-beens, or to accept the truth of it for what it is: your fate. That is something you can render magnificent through noble effort even as you have done these many centuries.

"Are you not Elrond, Lord of Imladris, Keeper of Vilya, champion of all that is right and good in this world? Have you not fought the Darkness and defied the Shadow time and again? You were at Eregion and Dagorlad, were you not? Is this not Rivendell, haven for all who seek shelter and respite from the ravages of evil? You hold an important seat on the White Council and your advice is heard by wizards and ancients. All of Middle-earth turns to you for counsel. You have fathered fine children and those raised to the fullness of adulthood shine as examples of your wisdom, your dedication, and your love.

"Mourn no longer, for what you have lost is only changed instead. Your mother lives, though perhaps you will need to get to know who she is, when the time comes for you to sail home, the same for your father. Your brother is not gone from Arda, but lives on in the robust and regal people he fathered. Have you not fostered your nephews through these many generations? Will you not continue to do it, loving these men for your brother's sake, seeking in each that reassuring glimpse of Elros?"

It was a long speech and Legolas blushed, worried he had gone on a bit, for Elrond looked dazed. He shook his mate anew, gently.

"And if all that is not enough, then hear this: You are my mate and I need you. I need your strength and your wisdom. Most of all I need your love, the love of a great and giving heart that has been restrained too long for fear of new hurts. Hold back no longer, beloved Nín'ódhel."

Through all of this Elrond had simple gaped in disbelieving awe, stunned to hear this outpouring of support and encouragement, this litany of praises, exoneration of his forebears, complete validation of his entire life and his conflicted feelings, those pleasing to experience and those that tended to shrivel the soul. He must not have made himself clear, he thought, perplexed. Legolas could not love such a wretch as he. A coward. A failure. A pompous fraud.

He scrutinised those cobalt irises trained upon him and found in them only vindication and absolute adoration. He snatched the Wood Elf close, thrilled to feel the slight pressure of the growing child against his middle, laughing and crying all together. It was a little while before he could regain his composure enough to speak.

"I will not restrain my heart, Aearen. It is yours since you have rightly broken it free and opened it up. In it you may wander and I pray you will for all that remains of time. Ah, whatever I have suffered, whatever I have lost, the gift of your love balances all. I will mourn no longer." After this he had wanted his mate and Legolas had no objections. The Lord of Imladris quite forgot his sorrows for a time and when they were sated, Legolas once more retrieved the humble box.

Together they had gone through its remaining contents, Elrond able now to relate many happy events as each item was brought forth: a mithril broach with which he'd attempted, innocently, to woo an Avarin maid who worked in Maedhros' keep, he twenty-two and she nearly thirty. The lady had spurned him, Legolas was pleased to hear. An arrowhead from his first kill on the hunt; a belt buckle found on a pathway in Ossiriand, kept because he and Elros thought it looked 'Dwarvish'; an elaborate ring Maglor had given him on his twelfth begetting day, a name seal stolen from the ruins of Caranthir's palace; a tail feather from his favourite falcon; a bright; smooth green pebble for which he could not remember any reason or rhyme; a fragile bracelet of shells he made for his mother when he was five.

Elrond leaned against the arch and smiled, watching Legolas examine these simple items again, handling them one by one with love and real delight, stroking the soft fronds of the feather quill against his cheek. His faer'lir was enhanced briefly by the softest trilling coo as dreamy eyes drifted over his mate's form and then back to the box. It was enough to make Elrond's libido awaken, instantly stirring his passion, for Aearen was still naked. His brows rose and his grin turned into a leer, but he waited, enjoying the view, deciding a second prompt was in order before he pounced.

The chains had been removed but the little studs remained embedded in the ruddy flesh of distended nipples swollen from his ardent suckling. His gaze lingered there, smugly proud of the almost raw condition of the tender titbits. His eyes fell lower, hoping to find evidence of Legolas' desire, and were not disappointed. The rosy shaft was gradually filling, the bright mithril ring through its pinnacle lying heavy against the velvety glans. Elrond's heart skipped as he thought about how that came to be there and his ardour quailed a little imagining the pain accompanying the piercing. Legolas seemed unconcerned and had shrugged it off, simply pleased to see his mate so excited by the results.

The light caught in the facets of the dangling jewel at his navel and drew Elrond's gaze. He let his sight roam back over the tantalising figure, pausing to enjoy the sultry, hazy cast now suffusing the dream-struck eyes. This would be the second time Legolas indicated his wish to end Ôlpathu in carnal union and Elrond's heart was thumping with delight. He wondered what the appeal could be but not for more than a few seconds, gaze migrating to the long, elegant points of the archer's ears where each was pierced with gold along the rising rear ridge right to their blushing tips. Tweaking them had revealed extreme sensitivity and Elrond was careful not to overdo his plucking, tonguing, or lapping when the chains were attached. He rather hoped to preserve that level of responsiveness in Legolas.

The trilling call lilted through the air again and that was all the signal he needed, casting off his robe and racing to the bed in a fluid surge of motion that mimicked the rising desire in his loins. Yet it was not a domineering assault but a carefully controlled advance and he climbed up beside his mate, leaning in to cup the fair face and kiss the lips still parted in the meandering melody of dream-time. His free hand began collecting the trinkets and replacing them in the simple box, shutting the lid and drawing it away from Aearen's long-fingered, faltering hands. The kiss ended with a stronger example of the sylvan's unique expression of desire and Legolas blinked twice, focusing eyes sharp and bright and dancing upon his mate's.

"Elrond," he whispered, smiling broadly. "My wanting surpassed even my dreaming."

"Aye, beloved," Elrond agreed, gently uncrossing the crossed knees, pushing him back, and rolling atop his compliant husband. Legolas' shaft was a hot, pulsing rod pressed against his belly and he pivoted his hips to make sure the archer fully appreciated its counterpart.

Legolas growled and shivered in anticipation, parted his legs wide, and grabbed a handful of Elrond's hair, pulling him down for a deeper, hungrier kiss, then yanking the devouring mouth off him quickly. "Slowly," he commanded, eyes blazing, "Deeply. Forcefully."

Elrond obeyed, entering the anus initially to show who was in charge, but after a few hard thrusts and a delightful plea from his mate, pulled out and repositioned himself, rising and standing beside the bed as he dragged Legolas to the edge. He lifted and spread the bent legs higher and wider so he could better observe his cock's progress as it bored into the secondary hole. A long groan sounded from his chest and he had a more difficult time maintaining the sluggish pace Aearen desired, ramming with bruising intensity against the firm buttocks with each push. Their eyes met and they shared brilliant smiles; Legolas reached for his erection and began stroking it in rhythm with Elrond's punishing thrusts.

The pace quickened, Elrond unconscious of it as his sight remained fixed on the elegant hand playing so expertly with the rosy organ, caressing and squeezing and stroking it most lovingly. Legolas sighed out a low, sweet moan with every impact and his free hand roamed his body, traipsing over ear tips and rigid, scarlet nipples. His eyes drifted half shut and he seemed lost in this combined stimulation, almost as though Elrond's cock was but another of their pleasure toys he needed for the moment; his pleasure was his alone.

The idea excited Elrond and he felt his shaft expand, his pulse pounding in his ears. He struggled to restrain the urge to let loose and pour his seed into this erotic vessel, determined to give Legolas the experience he wanted and then take him as he would for his own delight. The chains flashed into his mind along with the emeralds. His thrusts came closer together and Legolas had fallen silent, a true sign he was near his peak. The blue eyes opened and met his, alive with comprehension of what awaited, and the expression took on a devilish glint. Legolas' hand slowed and stopped completely, holding the organ out temptingly for Elrond's notice, pressing it toward him until the angle must surely be painful.

The Lord of Imladris resisted, well acquainted with his mate's ability to take control of their love-making in the blink of an eye, but it was difficult not to stare at the inviting shaft, ruddy and slick, the glans exposed and oozing. Oh, to taste that nectar.He could not, not without pulling out completely and changing his plans entirely. Still, he could not entirely ignore the offer and on the next forceful lunge grabbed it in his left hand roughly, squeezed tight, and pumped.

Legolas' fingers were caught under Elrond's relentless grip and he smiled, acknowledging defeat, relinquishing to his mate's intentions, and just let himself go. His body rocked back into the down-filled mattress with every thrust and he let the motion propel him, a bit of leaf adrift on the waves of the sea, rising and falling at the mercy of the tides. Elrond's surging passion was all-encompassing and matched his to perfection. It did not take long before he shuddered in ecstasy, his seed a spare and sluggish dribble after their previous encounter, but sufficient to fill the room with his distinct scent. He lay limp and panting, watching in dreamy delight as Elrond hastily consumed the sticky essence, lips parted in a smile he hoped would win them a kiss. It did.

Elrond, still hard and unfulfilled, drove deep between the splayed legs, his cock shoved so far inside his mate that the pressure against his root was painful, and strained forward to capture the smiling mouth. He groaned loudly, shoved his tongue firmly against the archer's palate, and thrilled to feel Legolas' answering caress. They parted, eyes locked, and came together anew, the embrace sweeter despite the lore-master's elevated state of arousal. Once more they disengaged and Elrond slid back enough to afford both a measure of comfort, but found he could not resist reaching for the golden strands, carding through it as he surveyed Legolas' status. At once he noted the signs of fatigue and wished he'd let him drift in dream longer. He soothed a hand down the lean body, carefully tweaking each studded nipple and petting the little mound where their child grew, unconsciously rocking ever so slightly in and out.

"You are weary?" he asked quietly.

"Aye, a little," admitted Legolas. "It was a good party, though." He shifted and sighed as the gentle friction worked against his most sensitive core. "Ah, that is sweet indeed," he breathed.

"Yes?" Elrond smiled, finding this simple phrase had his desire soaring again. It required great effort to keep his pace slow, the pulses so shallow. What he had wanted before, his image of flipping Legolas over and claiming him anally from the rear, vanished. He wanted to make Legolas come once more even if there was nothing left the sylvan could contribute. He had witnessed more than one of these dry orgasms and knew there was pleasure that came close to transcendence for his mate. He wanted that for Aearen now, tonight, and fully intended to take him there more than once. Somewhere along the way, he would come, too, and maybe then they would rest a time. While this went through his mind he measured his motion in miniscule moments, watching Legolas keenly for every indication of building arousal.

His cheeks and ears were flushed, the nipples ripe and ruddy, and his respiration gusted through wispy soughs and hitched, murmured encouragement. Sluggishly his lax penis responded, filling in tiny increments, rolling back and forth across his thigh as Elrond pushed in and out. Legolas reached forward, ran his fingertips through the swaying raven locks drifting against his abdomen. The touch made Elrond grunt and a dark blush stained his face for a moment.

Legolas smiled. "Ai, Nín'ódhel, the things you do to me," he muttered, taking an inky tendril and wrapping it round his index finger. Elrond groaned and shut his eyes, clearly fighting the urge to pound against the pliant body containing him, and Legolas grinned, supplying the response his mate could not find means to utter at that particular instant. "But we both know how much it pleases me."

"Ai, Legolas!" Elrond moaned, shivering as his resolve began to waver. He struggled to ride out the cresting wave of passion building down in his belly and compromised, increasing his speed but retaining the docile pressure of each compression. Sweat stood out on his brow and his breathing became laboured and when Legolas buried both hands into his hair, it was nearly too much.

"Do not hold back, beloved," whispered Legolas. "I am close now. Let go."

The command was spoken with such profound love that Elrond could only obey, wailing as his heart leaped at the same time his body did. His cock erupted and sent his senses reeling into a euphoric dimension of exploding starlight and absolutely comforting warmth. He drifted back to normal awareness to find his knees trembling and Legolas trilling, tugging on his hair to bring him onto the bed. One look in the liquid aqua eyes told him he had succeeded in his goal and Elrond was pleased. Huffing for air, he retreated from the slippery cavity, deflated and sated. He climbed up, gathered Legolas close, and rolled to his back, sighing in contentment as Aearen's head fell against his chest.

"Ah, Legolas," he panted, reaching to raise the fair face to meet his gaze. They shared their joy silently and Legolas wriggled close enough to reach the lore-master's lips. The kiss was short as Elrond was still struggling to recover his wind.

"Nín'ódhel." Legolas pillowed his head against the broad chest anew and was prepared to let himself slip into light reverie, thinking how much better sex was now that the bond had been recognised. Life would be good henceforth. He drifted off with scenes of his child's life delighting his heart and saw himself smiling into a trusting little face much like his own. 'Ada' said the babe and raised his arms to be lifted. Legolas' spirit was soaring.

For his part, Elrond had no need for sleep and knew he would not begin Ôlpathu for many days yet. He was pleased to simply hold Legolas, sensing in faint glimpses the joyous images flickering through his mate's imagination. This was new and most welcome and he stilled his own thoughts so to concentrate on catching Legolas' visions. He saw huge blue eyes and long ears their child would have to grow into and laughed quietly. Soon, it would be time to start discussing a proper name and Elrond hugged his mate close, anticipating the days to come. Again his chest expanded with infinite gratitude for the blessing of this sylvan elf who had so successfully disrupted his staid and sombre life, healed his shattered soul, and claimed his heart.

And my sons, he healed them, too.

The house by the brook arose in his mind and he recalled the vision he'd had of all of them together there. The mental connection proved reciprocal, for just then Legolas trilled a call filled with such joyous contentment that Elrond at last gave in to song. He sang old ballads Lindir had taught him Ages ago, sylvan songs he had loved since childhood, and found that fitting. Almost all his formative years were governed by the minstrel and even Elwing sang these same songs to him. How strange, he thought, that he had ever imagined himself a Noldorin elf. In his heart of hearts, Elrond knew, some remnant of a sylvan soul still dwelled.

Gradually, the estate grew quieter around them, the perpetual music subdued, voices muted as the night deepened, encouraging a more contemplative mood throughout the realm. Night was a time for introspection, study, and personal reflection. During Ithil's hours, many of Imladris' citizens might be found out doors star gazing or wandering the gardens in search of night bloomers and Yavanna's nocturnal creatures. Others retreated to the library for reading and study or composing works within the numerous artistic media in which the First-born were adept, be it music, verse, sculpture, or an intellectual treatise of some sort. Night in Imladris was serene and stately, especially so after the raucous gala hosted by the Wood Elves, who, if Elrond's ears could be trusted, were still making merry away in their corner of the vale.

Elrond smiled; it was good they had come. Rivendell was entirely too stuffy and staid indeed. He chuckled softly, catching a hint of chiming bells of some kind carried on the breeze. Truly, he had not had so much pure fun since his childhood by the seashore. Perhaps there was a festival coming along in a month or so and the woodland folk would host another grand fête. Or perhaps he would have Lindir arrange for it to be held here at the estate. A faint but brassy bugle rang out rudely and he grinned; these Wood Elves were irrepressible. He decided that he admired them for the determination with which they pursued happiness in the face of all they had endured. As though to affirm his appraisal, a gong sounded and the fragment of a loudly sung chorus reached him.

Why, he wondered, were the Noldorin people so prone to dourness and severity? Surely, having spent so much time in Aman, the Noldor might have learned more than science and rigid formality. Was happiness really meant to be compartmentalised into rituals and rubrics? Where had their spontaneity gone? The Wood Elves had suffered as much if not more and remained free to express themselves, as they did even now. Surely that was an entire horn section trumpeting out there under the trees tonight. Elrond reflected that he could not recall ever seeing a Noldorin elf blowing a bugle or beating a drum except in time of war. What a waste of energy and effort that was. War, he reflected, had not dampened the sylvans' spirits to any appreciable degree.

A particularly earthy razzing blared out and Elrond's eyes widened as his brows came down. That was much too loud to be coming from the north woods. He stirred but fretted over disturbing Aearen; Legolas needed rest more than anything else. Now the gongs were clanging, the horns were tooting, voices were rolling with laughter and song, the lyrics obscured by the rollicking music. Evidently, a few of the Wood Elves had been unwilling to stop the party, or were unable due to overindulgence in strong wine, and were roaming the estate gardens. He strained to hear the words of the song but it was in Nandorin and the singers were all out of time with one another, clearly intoxicated.

He frowned; the racket was definitely growing louder by the minute and must shortly rouse Legolas from his cosy reverie. Elrond did not want that, but if he got up to order the revellers off the grounds that would have the same result. To his indignant horror, the rowdy crowd sounded as if it was coming right through his private garden. Bells jangling, cymbals crashing, horns yammering, harps twanging, and voices caterwauling announced the arrival of the throng right below their balcony and Legolas came alert instantly, a huge grin lighting up his weary features. Elrond met his eyes in confusion.

"What is all this?" he asked helplessly, glad Legolas was not upset but completely bewildered. His mate suddenly laughed aloud and then blushed bright red as he sat up and searched for his robe, grabbing and tossing Elrond's to him as he did.

"Oh, Nín'ódhel, it is a great honour they do me, and you, too," Legolas said, but there was something in his voice that bore a note of apology and Elrond did not miss it. His frown deepened.

"Legolas, what are they singing about? Why are they singing it here and now?"

"It is a wedding song for the new couple." Legolas tied the sash of his robe and took the robe from his husband's hands, holding it out for him. "Come, we must go out to them."

"Go out?" Elrond squeaked, feeding his arms through the sleeves obediently, watching as Legolas tied the sash. "Why? I will just send Faelon down to chase them off."

"Faelon is not made for chasing people off," retorted Legolas, laughing, and leaned up to settle a cajoling kiss on his mate's nose. "They will not go until we greet them. Come." He took Elrond at the hands and tugged, stepping backward toward the balcony.

As though to prove Aearen's judgement, Faelon's voice could suddenly be heard below, frantically exhorting the Wood Elves to 'please go home for the love of Yavanna' or if not then to sing a bit more softly for the sake of their prince. He was shouted down and the clamour increased. Next, Erestor's furious wrath assailed them, but for once the seneschal's imitation of Maedhros' dour demeanour failed to generate the expected terror and the revellers only laughed, called him names in Nandorin, and banged the drums and gongs and bells louder. The singers managed to get their timing in order and the words switched in mid-verse to Sindarin.

"Peniaur, man le coren?
Alae! Peniaur gâr rodwen neth.
Elo! Nay, Alrodwen si, si hervenn vain ah neth.
Eddolo ah dâf ammen cenn lí hervenn vain ah neth, Bain ah neth, Peniaur, neth ah bain!
Galu an le, Peniaur, galu an le ah lín hervenn neth ah bain!

(Ancient One, what have you done?)
(Behold! Peniaur has a young, noble virgin.)
(Look! No virgin now, now a husband fair and young.)
(Come out and let us see your husband fair and young.)
(Fair and young, Ancient One, young and fair!)
(Blessings upon you, Ancient One, blessings upon you and your husband young and fair!)

Elrond's brows rose into his hair while his cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Legolas! What is this?" He could not believe after all the celebrating that the Wood Elves would mock him. Yet, for all his irritation, he could not pretend they had neither right nor reason.

"Nay, do not be angry, Nín'ódhel; they mean no disrespect. It is just a jest; a wedding jest for a pair such as we are," grinned Legolas.

"Peniaur! Why are they calling me that except to be disrespectful? They make it sound like I stole you away from your parents in the night." Elrond fumed, breaking lose from Aearen to storm about the room, uncertain how to handle this situation.

"So you did, in a way," reminded Legolas gently. "Please see it for what it is: a means to accept what has happened."

This quiet rebuke stopped Elrond in his tracks and he turned to find Legolas smiling, the burden of his fate clear within the slender expression. At once the mighty Lord felt remorse and came back to take his mate to him, kissing him fervently and holding him close a time as the singing grew ever louder and the lyrics became more risqué. There was reference to begetting babes and with this Elrond made up his mind.

"How do we get them to stop?" he pleaded.

"It is simple," announced Legolas, mirth returning to his bright eyes. "We go out to the balcony and just ask them what they want. Whatever they answer, this you must give them."

"Aearen, what are they going to ask for?" Elrond felt a spike of panic stab at his thoughts and he instinctively clutched Legolas tighter.

"Nothing so terrible," chuckled the Wood Elf. "Come on, let us go and find out."

He led Elrond outside and at once the singing stopped and loud cheering broke out as the drums and horns and gongs and harps were blown, twanged, thumped, and rung in frenzied cacophony. Elrond held up his hands and pleaded for quiet and after a little while the noise subsided. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Why have you come here to disturb Aearen's rest?"

"Oh, is he tired, Peniaur? Why is your young mate so weary tonight?" someone called out and much laughter followed.

"I am weary, indeed," attested Legolas proudly to more gleeful hilarity. "We are here, mellyn, at your demand. Tell us what you wish."

"Only to see you well," cried a voice.

"And well bedded!" shouted another and the crowd affirmed the query with merry shouts.

"As you see," smirked Legolas, "you have roused me from our bed and to it I would return. Is that good enough for you?"

Elrond gaped at this bawdy exchange but could not take affront, seeing Legolas enjoying it so fully. He caught Erestor's astonished eye and saw something he had not expected: anxious excitement. He was thinking of the day he would formalise his union to Lindir and the two old friends shared their amused chagrin to find themselves mates to wild sylvan elves. At that moment, Elrond came to appreciate the humour of the scene and decided to play along. "Aye, Aearen was sleeping, a much needed respite, and now with your curiosity satisfied I will take him to bed again." The roar of delight was deafening, bugles blaring, horns razzing, cymbals clanging, and whistles tweeting shrilly through the night. He turned to escort Legolas back inside but the throng protested.

"Not so fast, Peniaur!"

"What more do you want?" asked Legolas, feigning exasperation.

"Food and drink and song and dance!" they all shouted.

"We have been feasting for days!" exclaimed Elrond.

"At our expense, too!" laughed Faron, foremost in the crowd.

"Aye, but now you have your husband home and should be proud to show him off," another chastised. "Are you not pleased and proud to have so young and fair a mate, Peniaur?" This was Thranduil himself, dressed in simple hunter's garb and clearly intoxicated.

"I am," nodded Elrond happily and shared a smile and a shrug with Legolas. "Welcome, mellynen, and come inside to the Hall of Fire. We shall make merry until dawn!"

Which is exactly what they did.

NOTE: this final scene resembles a Charivari, an old Cajun custom in some parts of Louisiana and a few other states in the south. When an older man takes to wife a young bride, the families and friends disrupt the wedding night by grabbing up pots and pans, horns, anything that makes noise, and standing outside the newlywed's window. They shout jokes and keep up the cacophony until the couple come forth and demand what they want. The crowd insists on being hosted by the new couple and an impromptu party ensues with music, dancing, and food. It goes on until dawn, or until they pass out.

TBC

Aint'waedh: Bond Gifts
Mereth-en-Gwedhel: Bonding Celebration
Ennyn Laer: Gates of Summer
Miren Dithen: My Little Jewel
Aen he gâr sîdh: May she be at peace
hervenn vain: primary husband
Ant-en-Govódiel: welcoming gift
Gellam: Jubilation
Alphdal: Swan-foot
Rhûn'waew: East Wind
Aras: Stag
Laeross: Summer Rain
Loss'waew: Whisper Wind
Orbelain: Day of the Powers
Leitho Aras, Elrond Ion An'wedh: Release Aras, Elrond Son-by-law

Aearen: my ocean
Nín'ódhel: my Deep Elf

© 06/10/2011 Ellen Robey

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.