Title: Son Rise
Author: Helmboy/Arctapus/]:>
Codes: LOTR, E/L, Many 
Sequel to Fortunate Son
Post: Appropriate places.

Disclaimer: This universe is of JRR's making. I borrow it for 
entertaining and no copyright infringement is implied.

Summary: After the fall. This continues the story  begun in Fortunate 
Son and continues with the Orc Uprising therein.

Feedback is welcome, suggestions written down, criticism given ample 
thought, and comments weighed. Thank you in advance.

Thank you, AC, for the support. 
************************************************************************

It was quiet at the house, no one really too enthused about much. The
situation along the frontier was grim and the skirmishes had become a
daily fact of life. Most of the men who were able to fight were gone,
necessitating much of the drudge work to those who were left behind.
Things therefore didn't get done and among those who labored, frayed
nerves were a fact of life.

In Imladris and the Lorien Wood, the rings of power, hidden by their
wielders, were powerful protection against the tide of evil that was
lapping around their shores. In the Great Green Wood however, no such
protection existed. They bore the brunt of orc aggression and with skill
and courage kept them at bay.

Legolas rode with the men, lending his bow to the protection of their
lands and in the doing of it became cold and dangerous. He sought out
the enemy in reckless ways and no amount of commands from father and
captains could change his ways. That he often turned the tide in battle
was secondary to the danger he attracted by his actions.

"I don't want my son going out with the riders," his mother said one
night.
Thranduil, preoccupied by that worry and others, turned and sighed, once
more marshaling his arguments. "We have our duty. All of us. I cannot
keep him out of battle just because it might make it dangerous. I have
ordered him to be careful and he won't listen to me."

"Why is that, Thranduil?" she would demand. "Why is it that my son's
heart lies in ashes on the ground and that he sees no reason to be safe
anymore?"

Most of the time he wouldn't answer. Most of the time he would stalk
out, as frustrated as her about this most enigmatic of sons. This time
however he turned on her, offering an anguished expression of his own.

"You would have him chattel of the Lord of Imladris? You would have him
whore himself to the man who more than any drove my father to his
death?"

"Your father! Your father! How sick I am of hearing about the grievances
against your father! He made his decision, Thranduil, and he died for
it. He didn't listen to reason then and you aren't now. How can you
demand of his heart not to feel what it does?"

Thranduil stared at her and sighed. "I can demand what I demand because
I am his father and his king. He is my son, in his minority and until
the day comes that he can make his own decisions without the spells and
conjuring of those who wish him ill, he will abide by what I command."

"You believe what you will," she said, tears in her eyes. "You will
drive him to his early death and when you do I will leave you and go
west."

He stared at her, at the only woman he ever loved and blinked. For a
moment he wavered and then he sighed, shaking his head sadly. "You speak
as if I don't love him. He is my boy, my youngest. I have not always
been the father to him that I wished to be. I know that. But I love him
and seek for him only the best."

"And his heart?" she demanded.

"His heart ... what knows he of love? There are many among our own and
in the kingdoms lying elsewhere that would take his name as their own. I
have looked and have found many."

"You cannot betroth him to others."

"I already have," he said, staring at her with anguished eyes. "I have
made inquiries with a family on the coast, a family with a good heritage
and a beautiful daughter. I ask that you support me in this. I think our
boy needs to have a goal beyond his own misguided infatuations. This
will do it."

She stared at him, frustration rising in her. "You didn't seek my
counsel on this matter? You have already sent embassies to them?"

He nodded. "I was clear in my head, in the state of mind you feel now,
that you would not support me. I have done what I have done with love
for my son. I wish you could see that."

She stared at him, sorrow filling her. "And when do you expect to tell
him?"

"When the time is right," Thranduil replied. "Promise me that you won't
tell him sooner. I claim that right."

She turned and wiped a tear from her cheek, sighing sadly. "You do what
you want, Thranduil. You will anyway. Just don't expect my support. My
son is too dear to me for me to play god with his affections. It will
end in ill, your efforts, I assure you."

She walked away, leaving him alone and he sighed painfully. There was no
easy road with his youngest child and he felt the pressure ever more to
save him from himself. He turned and walked out, heading for his war
room and the battle to protect his kingdom from the rising tide of evil
from the south.

***Imladris ...
They were near to moving, taking an army to the Lorien Wood and beyond
that to the edge of Mirkwood. The hosts from the Havens and the coastal
plains were moving toward them, their leaders in liege to the commander
of the Rivendell forces. Glorfindel, a warrior of great note and fame,
was chosen by Elrond to lead their combined forces. He himself would
stay in his valley, doing his part from behind lines.

"Your father is too valuable to risk at the front," Erestor said,
helping with Elladan's packing. He handed him his shirts, watching as
the youngster stuffed it into a battered pack and sighed. "You are ever
the sloven aren't you."

He grinned. "I am. Though from which parent I received such an
inclination I know not."

"Neither," Erestor assured him.

"Father was a great warrior," Elladan said. "I wish I could have seen
him."

"He was. He stood beside Gil-galad and rode at the head of hosts. It was
astonishing I tell you, the glory of it all."

"I almost wish he would come and work off his great grief on the necks
of the enemy."

"Your father would get himself killed, so great is his grief. I worry of
his future if he cannot accommodate it in his heart."

Elladan sat on the bed, staring at the floor. "My mother was a good
woman. He loved her and so did we. I remember how much of a family we
were, the three of us and them."

"You were," Erestor said, squeezing Elladan's shoulder.

"My brother and I ... we are driven to revenge. I don't know how to keep
the images of my mother's suffering from my mind. They lurk there like
shadows and when the urges become too great we ride out and excise them
on the enemy. It's a sickness, we know."

"It worries your father greatly, so much does he love you. He wishes you
could redress this wound so that it vexes you less."

"We don't know how. We are of one mind on this matter," Elladan said
with a sigh. "I can only imagine my father's hurt, that he can still do
what he must around it. He doesn't go off and kill something to assuage
it, to remove the festering of it from his heart."

"Your father is of a different mind about much," Erestor replied,
rising. "His grief is a private thing which makes it much worse. He
buries it under a facade of dignity and normalcy and in the end when it
overtakes him, the sorrow of it will be much worse."

"He should come with us. I have asked him and he demurs, stating that he
can do more from here than on the field of battle."

"Then give him that illusion, if illusion it truly is," Erestor said,
walking to the door. "Dinner will be soon. Do not be late. When you
leave he will have no one to dine with but me and I am poor company
since the loss of our Prince."

Elladan nodded and watched as he left, the image of Legolas in his mind.
It was a different house, a house subdued as if a death had occurred in
the family and he felt the pressure of his concern for his father war
with the need to leave and fight the common enemy. He was too skilled a
warrior to stay behind and he knew that his father would not allow it.

With a sigh he rose and finished his tasks, determined to make light of
things at dinner. It was all he could do for his father's grief.

***

Celeborn sipped his wine, the reports of the battles nearby in his
hands. Galadriel had reviewed them, offering her suggestions and he had
taken her wise counsel to heart. Thranduil was holding his own and their
offers of more help had been given a polite thank you, but no thank you.
Yet. He knew that when Thranduil required it that he would ask. His
stubbornness really had its limits, this Celeborn knew.

As he sat reading, a lovely girl walked in, staring at her grandfather
quietly. He noted her presence and smiled, watching as she walked toward
him. She kissed his cheek and sat on the floor, resting her head on his
lap.

"You have been long away from your home, Arwen. I will miss you when you
leave but your father needs you."

"I wish I had been here when he came last. I don't know what I could
have done but try and comfort him."

"He is beyond comfort now, I believe. The grief that informs him is vast
and deep. You can begin what healing you can by being his shadow."

"I will do my best, Grandfather," she said, images of her father's
grief, written across his face at the passing of her mother, filled her
mind. "I have not met this Prince of Mirkwood. What is he like that he
captured my father's heart so completely?"

"I have seen him but once. He is remarkable in his beauty even for those
among us. It's as if the light of the two trees shines from his face."

"I am sorry for this," she said, closing her eyes as her grandfather
stroked her hair.

"We all are, child, everyone of us," he replied, sighing softly.

***

He stood on the terrace, staring at the stars. They shown above him as
silent witness to the futility of his life. All about him was unchanged
but all he could see was in darkness. The light of his life had
disappeared, going back to a place where he was only marginally well
treated.

Here in this place, Legolas was the center of his thinking, the first
thought on his mind and the last at repose. The magnitude of his power
over the Lord of Imladris has shaken Elrond. He had given his heart so
completely to the youngster that he didn't know how to cope. Retreating
into silence and work had been his refuge and so he committed himself to
both to the sorrow and worry of all around him.

He knew they were concerned, their many attempts to draw him out meeting
polite resistance and so they watched him with anxious eyes, something
almost worse than if they pursued him.

He took the news everyday, asking of the situation in Mirkwood, aware
that a bowman of Legolas' caliber would be used for the defending of
their kingdom. He lived in a deep and mortal dread of hearing that some
fell arrow had pierced his heart. In his dreams he saw this and it made
him restless, the endless pacing of night and day a by-product of his
grief.

It was now his lot to toil for others, to work for the common good, to
direct the strategy of the enemy even as he felt nothing but cold and
sorrow in his heart and his mind. He would do what he did best, counsel
and lead and advise. In the end it would be that which would lead them
to victory, something he had done more than once in the past.

In the end this threat would pass and all would fall back into normalcy,
or what passed for normal now. If the warring ended, it would be as all
the same to him. He was alone and the only one he loved far away.
Nothing would change for him but the task at hand.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked back inside.

************************************************************************

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part two
************************************************************************

He rode in, jumping down with a weariness that suffused him, long his
journey from Lorien. Walking to the door, he gave his message to the
Lords' man and followed another to the dining table. Sitting and eating,
he looked around, the beauty of Imladris fabled and now true.

He had come from Lorien and before that Mirkwood, carrying messages
between the great houses. He was a boy from Mirkwood who had grown up
with Legolas, one of the few true friends that he had. His father was
the King's friend and advisor and so he had the task of taking messages
here and there.

Elrohir stood in the doorway, staring at the youngster and considered
his options. Deciding on boldness, he walked over and sat across from
him, watching as he ate. Accepting wine from a steward, he cleared his
throat, catching the hungry youngster's eye.

"You are from Mirkwood."

He nodded, considering the markings on the stranger's tunic. "I am. I am
my King's messenger."

Elrohir nodded. "What news of the Prince? The one called Legolas?"

The messenger stared at him, his eyes suddenly wary. "Why ask you?"

"Because I knew him while here. We played many games and rode the high
up trails. I am his friend."

"The King says that my Prince has no true friends here."

"Your King is long in wisdom on many matters," Elrohir said with as much
diplomacy as he could muster, "but his knowledge of his son is lax at
best. I am his friend. I inquire about his well-being and the tasks that
preoccupy his time."

The messenger considered his words and then sighed. "He is much changed
from his time here. He is filled with fury and throws it at the enemy.
Many is the time that he takes chances, inviting injury and death in his
haste to defeat the enemy."

Elrohir swallowed hard. "So, why is this?"

"I know not. I was as close to him as a brother since our birth yet he
seldom speaks to me or any other. He moves in his solitude and makes the
enemy flee before him. Much do we owe in victory to his hatred and
sorrow."

Elrohir nodded, licking dry lips. "Does he say of his time here
anything? Does he mention anyone?"

The boy considered him. "He speaks not of his time here. He speaks to no
one, not even his much beloved mother. She grieves and worries after him
as we all do."

Elrohir nodded. "He much loved the Lord of this house, even to his own
distraction."

The youngster stared at him, their eyes measuring each other. "Between
you and me alone, I am convinced that if this is what it means not to
have him, then have him he should. He is a ghost moving among us, taking
his solitary path as he hunts the enemy without care for his person.
This is not the actions of one who wishes a long life."

Elrohir nodded, drawing a ragged breath. "I would ask that you take a
message. If you can lay it in the hands of the Prince without being seen
then it might assuage some of his great sorrow."

The youngster considered him and then nodded. "I am fearful of his
thinking now, so consumed by sorrow is he. I will do this thing but you
must not tell anyone. The King of my country is very firm in his
beliefs. There are some who whisper that he is seeking a match for his
son in another family far beyond Mirkwood."

Elrohir nodded, his stomach sinking at the sound of this news. "I will
compose a letter and bring it to you. Do not leave here until you have
it. Promise me that you will deliver it yourself and put it into the
hands of the Prince without fail or discovery."

"You have my word," the youngster said.

Elrohir rose and walked from the room hurrying up the stairs and down
the hallway to his father's study. Elrond was there, looking at
dispatches and so Elrohir took a cleansing breath and entered.

"Hello, Father," he said, slightly nervous and feeling foolish.

Elrond turned, his dark and distracted gaze meeting his son's. "Hello,
Elrohir."

"Father ... I have been in conversation with a messenger, the one who
brought those dispatches to you. He is a friend of Legolas."

The sound of Legolas' name spoken was like a lash on his back and he
turned away, staring out the window. "Indeed," he said, composing
himself.

"He says that the Prince is well but grief-stricken at the separation
from this place. I asked him to deliver a message and place it in his
hands without discovery. He had agreed."

Elrond turned, considering his son's words. "He would do this."

"He is much aggrieved at the change in his friend," Elrohir replied. "He
has agreed upon condition that no one tells that he will do this."
Elrohir moved closer. "Compose a message and I will give it to him. He
will deliver it to Legolas."

Elrond stared at the desk and gathered his fraying emotions together. "I
will do this for him."

Elrohir exhaled, relief filling him. "I know you will."

Elrohir squeezed his father's arm and turned, walking to the door. He
paused. "If you could do it now then I will give it and he can go. The
sooner he goes, the sooner Legolas will receive it," he prompted.

Elrond looked at him and nodded, his dark eyes filled with emotion and
he watched as his son left the room. For a moment his stood silently and
then he sat, pulling a snow white sheet of paper from a drawer. Using
his quill, he sat a moment and then he composed a letter in his perfect
hand, pouring onto paper his anguish and his love, writing of his
desolation since Legolas' departure.

***
Some days later in Mirkwood ...

He left the King's study, his saddle bags draped over his shoulder. He
had done his duty and had a day to rest before more riding was his lot.
He had tucked into the smallest part of his pouch a letter sealed in wax
and bearing the words of a great lord. He sought out the one he wanted,
finding Legolas standing on a terrace, the green wood stretching out
before him.

"My Lord," he said, moving to stand next to him.

Legolas turned and glanced at his friend, nodding to him. "How goes the
trail?"
"It is filled with people running hither and thither, including
companies of men from the other kingdoms. They come in advance of the
van, reinforcing with bow and sword the armies of our kingdom and
Lothlorien."

Legolas nodded and sighed. "I am sure that there are many from all
places flooding to our aid. That is to be expected in these trying
times."

He stared at Legolas, at the pale shadow of the youngster he had
cavorted with for most of his life. "Legolas, I need to speak to you in
private."

Legolas shrugged. "Here is as private as elsewhere. What do you wish to
say?"

He looked at Legolas, frustration filling him. "I bring a private
message from elsewhere, from a place that you love far away."

For a moment Legolas looked away, staring at the trees and then he
turned, fully composed. "That part of my life is over. I care not to
know what message you carry and I would advise that you keep such a
thing to yourself. It would bode ill for you should my father find you
have compromised your duties by such actions."

Legolas turned, pausing a moment and then continued on, walking down the
staircase that led to the stables beyond. He watched Legolas go,
mystified by his coldness and turned, walking away to his own home.
Standing nearby, watching without being seen, Galdor noted their
conversation. He hadn't heard the words but he saw the brush off and it
was added to the storehouse of images that he had gathered since the
return of his youngest brother.

***
A week later, in Lothlorien ...

Elladan walked through the wood, heading for his horse when he saw the
messenger from Mirkwood. Elrohir told him of his actions and said for
him to watch for the boy should he be out of Imladris. He turned and
walked to him, watching as he mounted his horse.

"Hello!" he called out, watching as the boy mistook him for his brother.

"Hello!" he called back, riding to where Elladan stood. "I did your
bidding and the Prince was told. He rejected the message without reading
it. He warned me against further actions in future."

Elladan stared at him, alarm in his mind. "His manner ... what was it
like?"

"As the frost on the trees in winter," he replied, nodding as he moved
off to continue his journey.

Elladan watched him and considered this great change. It was a fell
thing, this coldness in the Prince. It did not bode well considering
what he had heard. His recklessness combined with indifference didn't
spell a long life ahead and so with a heavy heart, he turned and walked
up the trail to his grandparents' house, determined to have a long talk
with the both of them.

***
Rivendell ...

He rode in and Elrond noted it, anxiety for a reply filling him. He
called for the messenger and he was brought before him, handing
personally to the great lord the dispatches of his pouch. For a moment
Elrond wavered and then he threw pride aside.

"Is there no message from the Prince?" he asked.

The messenger shifted his feet, loathe to speak and then friendship and
concern won over. "The Prince refused the message unseen. He warned me
of ever doing this again, my Lord."

Elrond felt the pain of ten thousand arrows pierce his heart but his
iron control prevailed. "Well ... it must be for the best then."

The messenger sensed Elrond's grief. "There are those among us that
think otherwise."

He then excused himself and left the room, his own heart filled with
sorrow. Elrond watched him go, the empty room becoming silent and then
he rubbed his burning eyes with his hands.

He felt desolate, the illusions so carefully crafted to insure his
functioning falling one by one. Legolas hadn't read his letter. He had
rejected it. It was as if he had been mortally wounded. He moved to a
chair and sat silently, staring at the fire beyond. He wouldn't move
again until evening and only when Erestor came to him and implored him
to eat.

************************************************************************

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part 3
************************************************************************

Three weeks later, the leaves were turning golden on the trees when word
arrived from Gondor of their dealings with the orcs. They had
encountered a lot of raids and wished to seek advice from the Elves,
asking to meet in a locale where they could come more swiftly. The
Lorien Wood was chosen and all the lords who placed soldiers into
service were called to come. Elrond demurred, refusing to place himself
into proximity to Thranduil until Elladan braced him.

"Since when does the great Lord of the Valley fear the King of
Mirkwood?" he demanded, watching his father as he sat before the fire.

For a moment anger flared in his eyes and then Elrond looked at his son,
his expression carefully neutral once more. "Since when do you attack me
at my weakest point?"

"Since I began to fear for your life," Elladan said, his chin trembling.

Elrond stared at him and then the fire, the deadness of his soul
couching the anguish in his son's voice. He sighed deeply, turning to
gaze at his boy once again. "I will go."

Elladan let go of a breath he had been holding and nodded.

"I am relieved. I will go with you. So will Glorfindel and Elrohir and
Arwen."

Elrond nodded, staring at the fire. He didn't argue. He didn't care. If
he had to go he would.

***

The ride to Lorien was very quiet, the seriousness of the situation very
clear around them. Many people had to flee the raids to the east and
they flooded into Elf territory, seeking shelter among the inhabitants.
They had taken them in, men and elves, and gleaned a great deal of
intelligence from them in the process.

Elrond rode his white stallion, the purple of his cloak vivid in the
gray overcast of the day. His contingent was distinguished, many Elves
of the First Age riding along. Elladan had asked for their presence, his
concern for his father was great and they had made a reason to be in
Imladris when the journey was to begin.

The time it took to arrive passed, as did the days and when they reached
Lothlorien, they were greeted by the Lord and Lady. Salutations were
given, solemn ones from the pale Lord of Imladris and Galadriel took his
arm, leading him into the house herself.

Elladan and Elrohir entered the house and behind them Arwen and
Glorfindel followed, the good cheer of the greeting damped considerably.
Celeborn noted his pale complexion and considered that Elrond had not
been out of his home in days. He would see that this was not the case
here.

Two days would pass before the Steward of Gondor would arrive and one
day before Thranduil's kingdom was represented. It would be time enough
to talk and figure what to do about the sadness that clung to Elrond
like a cloak.

They gathered together and Elrond excused himself, unable was he to sit
and make conversation. He walked toward the room where he stayed, his
sorrow following him like a wake and they watched with concern as he
disappeared into the corridor beyond.

Celeborn turned to his grandchildren, a frown on his face. "How long has
he been this way?"

"Since Legolas left us," Elrohir said with a sigh.

"I was afraid this would happen." Celeborn sighed. "It is in our nature
to love someone and love them well. It is also in our nature to give up
on life and die if deprived of good reasons for continuing. I have seen
it myself," he said, pacing back and forth before them. "I fear for
those among us that take this much to heart over anything, that the full
payment for feelings should be so dear."

"You should talk to him, Grandfather," Arwen said. "He won't listen to
us. He won't talk. He eats only to stay alive and then only in private.
I fear for him and the thought that I might lose my only parent
remaining troubles me greatly."

Galadriel sighed, nodding at her husband. "You must take him with you on
your walk tonight."

He nodded, looking at Cirdan and Glorfindel. "And you? Have you any
luck?"

They shook their heads. "I fear not," Cirdan replied. "I fear that the
sorrow he feels will not be easily assuaged."

"In a few years Legolas will be in his majority," Celeborn replied.
"Surely--"

"He flings himself into battle, caring not if he is injured. He is
seeking a battlefield death," Elrohir interjected. "He cares not if he
is well or no. He just cares for nothing at all."

It was silent a moment.

"Is Thranduil coming?" Glorfindel asked. "Or is he sending one of his
pups in his place?"

"We are told that his son is coming, the one who cannot hold his
tongue," Celeborn said, slight aggravation in his voice.

"Galdor?" Cirdan replied, grinning slightly at Celeborn's
uncharacteristic irritation.

"That one is trouble," Celeborn said, resuming his pacing. "I cared not
for him from the moment I laid eyes upon him."

"He is a rough cob," Elladan replied dryly. "What will you say to
motivate our father, Grandfather?"

Celeborn paused, sighing. "I don't know. I will try what I can, where I
can. When an Elf decides to die, there is very little one can do about
it."

The room was heavy with his words and then Galadriel rose. "I can assume
you are weary. Perhaps some food and wine will make you feel better."

They rose indifferently, following her to the dining area, an open space
under the trees. Sitting and beginning, no one forgot that one of the
places of honor characteristically filled by Lord Elrond sat empty at
the side of his father-in-law.

***

He lay on the bed, his cloak flung carelessly on a chair nearby. He was
tired and sore at heart, his desire for company at its lowest ebb yet.
Not fifty feet away the dearest friends and family of his life sat
together, probably worrying about him as they waited for the council.

It was going to be a silent affair for him, the idea of being this close
to the King who had deprived him of his heart almost more than he could
countenance. What had happened to Legolas to change him from a lover
into someone who had rejected him, he didn't know. He only feared for
the youngster out of hand.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep but when he tried he could
not accomplish this. All that he longed to do was talk to Legolas, to
find out why his heart had such a sea change. It was more hurtful than
he could bear to feel this rejection when all his being cried out to
find the one who could make him want to continue.

But it wasn't to be. Not now, perhaps not ever and so he lay quietly,
grief suffusing him and waited for the night to end.

***

He crept through the house, walking to where the messengers hung their
saddlebags, looking for one with a star inscribed upon it. He found it
and crouched, listening for sound and tucked his message into the corner
of a pocket.

For a moment, he listened again and then he crept away, certain that no
one would see his actions. Rounding the corner, Legolas slipped up the
stairs, barely a shadow in the flickering torches that lit their palace.

As he did, another figure slipped forward and opened the pouch where he
had put his message. Reaching down inside, he pulled out a snow white
sheet, neatly folded and sealed in wax. Turning and walking toward his
father's suite, Galdor carried the message that he thought his brother
had written.

It wasn't of course. It was the message from Lord Elrond, forgotten in
the strain of travel by the young messenger friend of Legolas.

***

The darkness was complete, the thin moon overhead casting very little
light on the earth below. Celeborn and Elrond walked together, the night
sounds their only companions. It had taken persuasion for Celeborn to
get him to come out, something that had never been the case before.

They walked together and Celeborn gathered his thoughts as he felt the
sorrows of Elrond in his spirit.

"You are very sad tonight, Elrond," he said, glancing at his son-in-law
for a moment.

"These are sad times, my Lord."

"It is more than that. The loss of the young one has broken your heart."

Elrond stopped, staring at the ground. "I cannot talk about it, Father,"
he said, using a word he had not used in a long time. A joke had
rendered the term dear between them and he used it now to gently beg off
inquiry.

Celeborn sighed. "You would use my love for you against me as I struggle
to find a way to help you continue. Your family believes that you are
trying to die, as such is possible among our kind."
"I don't seek it. It seeks me," he said, shaking his head. "I have
children and responsibilities and once they were enough."

"But not now," Celeborn said gently.

"No," Elrond said, suppressing the rising tide of tears that threatened
to drown him. "I am beside myself with grief and I don't know what to do
about it."

"There has been no word between you and the Prince?"

Elrond turned to him, naked anguish on his face. "He has spurned me."

Celeborn shook his head, moving closer and putting his hand on Elrond's
shoulder. "Have you considered, my dear friend, that he had to? That
perhaps he couldn't speak freely or send proofs of his love?"

Elrond stared at him, at the glimmer of light in the universe of
darkness his father-in-law was offering.

"I am told that he is fighting in a dangerous manner with little regard
for his future. If he had no need for your love, he would have gone home
and returned to his duties. As it is, he is endangering his life through
his sorrow."

Elrond sighed and looked at the man before him, his heart filled with
agonized hope. "I would pray that your wisdom extends to this tragedy."

"He gave you proofs of his love before he left?" Celeborn asked.

Visions of Legolas lying beneath him, his soft staccato cries of
pleasure filled his mind and he nodded. "He did, my Lord."

"Then your anguish is misplaced. You have not been rejected. His options
are few and he cannot tell you what you seek. You must not lose hope
that his heart is no longer yours for I feel in reflection that he is
yours still."

Elrond sighed and rubbed his face, only slightly mollified by the
supposition that Celeborn had proposed. "I am gratified that your wisdom
sees hope, Father, but I am worried beyond vexation for his safety if he
is taking chances."

Celeborn nodded. "I will ask for the young one to come to my house and
talk with me over the matter of his behavior. Even Thranduil will not
deny me my request."

Elrond looked at Celeborn, a thousand kindnesses extended parading
before him and he stepped forward, embracing him tightly. Celeborn
embraced him back, holding him until he let go and then, with his hands
clasped behind his back, the two walked on arm-in-arm, talking about the
war and the meeting to come. Standing together, their hands entwined,
Galadriel and Arwen watched.

***

They arrived as a group and Elladan watched them from a high up walkway.
Leaning on the railing, Elrohir did as well, noting that Thranduil was
not among them. There were many Elves with Galdor and they dismounted
together.

Walking with a herald, they went to their quarters to await the morning
meeting. The Steward of Gondor and his party was coming late this night
and then they would all be present.

"Loud mouth represents his father. I wonder where his older brother is?
Perhaps he is not the favorite of his father any more."

"Or he is stupider than his brother, the pig," Elrohir replied.

Elladan snorted and regarded his brother for a moment. "Let me do any
talking if its required."

Elrohir snorted and straightened. "If you wish, *my Lord*," he said,
smirking as he walked away.

Elladan smiled and turned to watch the last of the party walk away. He
worried in spite of himself, the feeling that disaster was looming never
far from his mind. With a sigh, he turned and followed his brother up
the stairs.

***

That night there was dinner in the gardens, each side keeping to
themselves, neither side willing to incur the wrath of their hosts by
discord. Instead they sat glaring at each other, the Mirkwood Elves and
the Rivendell. When the Steward of Gondor finally arrived, his party was
welcomed and seated at the table, good cheer attempted for their honor.

It was a long night for all concerned and when they retired for the
evening, it was in total silence.

************************************************************************

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 part four
************************************************************************

The next morning the entire group convened. They sat in chairs in the
garden of the house that was home to Galadriel and Celeborn. Everyone
was dressed as a regal personage, the atmosphere of tension prompting
such display. Elrond sat in a chair to the right of Celeborn, a place of
honor that was his by birth and station. Galadriel sat beside Celeborn
and to her left sat Cirdan, also senior among them in rank and honor.

Elladan and Elrohir stood behind their father while Arwen sat slightly
behind him. Around the circle the others sat, Thranduil's representative
his sons and Elves from Lorien, the Havens, and other places. Gondor's
Steward sat with his sons, the strain of their predicament clear on his
face. Celeborn waited until all were seated and then rose, his stately
dignity quieting the gathering.

"Our good neighbor, the Steward of Gondor has come to us and asked
assistance and advice on our common problem. The troubles in Gondor are
of such a nature as to put into jeopardy our common security. The flood
of refugees into our lands and beyond are taxing the ability of our
people to sustain. Therefore, it behooves us to consider other ideas, to
put into motion such as to arrest this plague among us."

He turned and nodded to the Steward, sitting as he did.

The man arose, his enormous charisma reaching out to all attending. He
spoke in a quiet voice of the trials of his country. He talked about
raids without cease, striking here and there in the most unrelenting
fashion and of the efforts his people had made to keep them out. He
asked for help, the effort of doing so apparent on his face.

He spoke for a long time, everyone listening gravely and then he sat,
waiting with great dignity for an answer. Celeborn rose and nodded to
the Steward, pausing and staring around the assembly.

"Our neighbor has done a valiant job in protecting his lands from the
invaders but more is needed. Courage alone cannot turn back the flow of
the enemy into our lands. If Gondor falls, then who will be next? None
of us are immune from this evil. He has asked for assistance from our
people and I feel on solid ground in seconding his request. The armies
of our nations are massed and waiting. I ask Lord Elrond of Imladris to
speak to us now."

Elrond rose and looked around, meeting evenly the cold stares of the
Mirkwood delegation. He considered the situation and began.

"Our armies are engaged to some small extent in the defense of Mirkwood
and the Lorien Forest. We have assembled and trained our people, making
them ready to force an assault on the enemy in their lairs. We are
prepared to do this in concert with the people of Gondor, indeed ... we
are more than ready."

"Mirkwood is plagued more greatly than any of you with the scourge that
faces us. We are less able to supply the soldiers that you might
require. We give security to all by our vigilance in the north." Aranel
rose and moved forward, pausing near to Elrond. "Our resources are not
as plentiful as those who sit behind the lines of battle and wait."

Elrond stared at him, at the perfection of his features and yet noted
that there was a coldness about him that marred his beauty. It was a
hardness, brought about by the war and a lifetime of hating. He wondered
what it meant to be so fixated on hatred and images of his sons entered
his mind.

"Speak your piece, son of Thranduil." Elrond turned to him, his gaze
fixing levelly on the other.

"Speak my piece you say," Aranel replied, fairly spitting the words from
his mouth. Elladan and Elrohir turned, their eyes following Aranel as he
circled their father. "You have a fascination with words do you not,
Lord Elrond?"

Elrond stared at him, noting his progress behind him. His body was taut,
ready to move but the need for it didn't present itself. Aranel finished
his perambulation and paused before the older man.

"You are full of words. Shall I quote them back to you?" he asked,
pulling a snow white letter from his tunic.

The blood in Elrond's veins chilled, his iron control collecting his
shattering emotions as he stood as a statue before the younger Elf. He
raised the letter, holding it high and smirked with triumph.

"Lord Elrond sent his expressions of love and longing to my brother, the
youngest son of my father. He was expressly told that such things were
counter to the wishes of Lord Celeborn and yet he persisted." Aranel
turned, facing Elrond coolly. "Do you wish that I read them to our
distinguished  colleagues?"

Elrond gazed at him, his mortification complete and then he shook his
head. "No. I will tell them what I wrote." He moved, his body filled
with the electrical energy of too much emotion and he paused before
Celeborn, sighing. "I was indiscreet in my longing and penned words of
love to the fair Prince of Mirkwood. I do not deny them." He turned and
looked at Aranel. "I wrote them from my heart, a hasty thing I can see.
I shall repent of the cursed luck that they didn't reach his eyes. But I
shall not repent of what I feel. My love for him is clear and sacred to
me. To deny it would be to tarnish a most perfect thing. It was not a
right thing, nor was it the ordered thing, this action that I took but I
tell you I do not repent of it because it is what I feel. I love the
Prince of Mirkwood even to my own disgrace. I love him even to the
mortification of my body in death. That is what I said on that note and
that is what I feel. I will not deny it to make you happy. Do with it
what you will."

It was silent a moment and Glorfindel rose, moving to stand before
Celeborn. "I have a portion of the blame."

Elrond turned, staring at his friend. "Glorfindel ..."

"I saw your loneliness. It hurt my heart to see you alone. I fostered
the relationship knowing you would not act on your growing feelings. I
knew it was wrong but you are like a son to me and the Prince is a good
match. It would be the end of troubles between our two countries if
others could see to it at some point in time. The boy is five years from
his majority and therefore will be ready to take steps as he sees fit."

"To go against his family's wishes would be to sever connections that
could never be put right again," Aranel replied, tossing the note on the
floor. "Your honor, my Lord Elrond, is as flexible as your morals. It is
the wishes of my family and the King of my country that you no longer
sully our honor with your attentions." He turned to Celeborn. "You are a
man of honor. We request that you make this so. My brother's good name
is at stake and the peace of his mind as well as his father. It is our
request in this matter that you find a way to contain the 'ardor' of
this person," he said, turning and staring at Elrond with contempt.

Elrond met his gaze, all his emotions whirling inside of him like a top.
He met the young man's gaze evenly but his heart was in tatters. He was
wrong, the orders of his father-in-law and the wishes of the wise
overturned in a moment of weakness. He stood before them without an
excuse and he offered none even as they waited.

"This matter will be addressed later," Celeborn said, rising and picking
up the note. He stared at it sadly, holding it out to Elrond and waited
as his son-in-law struggled to think. "This is yours, my son," he said
softly.

Elrond sighed, a sad sound and took the note into his hand. It was for
the Prince of Mirkwood and he understood as he stood there why it had
never reached his lover. Nodding his head, he turned and with as much
dignity as he could, he walked to his seat and sat.

Celeborn watched him, disturbed by his humiliation and turned cold eyes
on the Prince. "Your justifications do not warrant the condoning of this
mortification on the premises of my house. It would be so even if the
victim of your venom were not an honored and much loved member of my
family. It was a private matter which you have taken public, discharging
your anger in the presence of my guests."

The Prince opened his mouth but Celeborn raised his hand. "It mystifies
me why it is that you do not have the decency to keep private matters
private. Your grievances have been heard but they have been compromised
by your actions. I will make a decision about this matter in good order.
Our business was with the request of the Steward of Gondor and nothing
more. Sit down and let us reason together. A country is as stake and
more."

The Prince looked at him and then bowed slightly, turning and walking to
his chair. Elrond watched him, frozen into his seat that he was, and for
the rest of the meeting he heard nothing.

***

They disbanded, the Steward getting promises of aid from the Council and
he went off much relieved. The Lords of the respective armies would meet
again in the evening to decide the dispensation of the troops. Elrond
sat, unable or unwilling to move and Celeborn nodded to his family and
friends to leave.

They left reluctantly, their faces filled with anguish and Celeborn sat
in his chair, his own emotions clear. "I am sorry that this has come to
pass. If I believed in fate I could cast aside my own guilt in this
matter."

"What guilt do you have?" Elrond asked, his voice soft with pain.

Celeborn squeezed Elrond's cold hand, sighing deeply. "It is the way of
our people to find the middle ground, to make a path for all to travel
together no matter how different our manners and thoughts. I have found
this division too painful to contemplate as it hurts our peace and
prosperity. This was a way to build a bridge but I fear I have
underestimated the depth of passion that animates the major players."

"Passion. I have not felt its fire in too many years."

"It makes a man a fool," Celeborn agreed. "You will turn away from
reason and little else matters. We are at a pretty pass. Tonight we must
work out a plan to forestall the tide of evil that laps at our doors. It
should be enough for us to work in concert but I fear that the past will
repeat itself."

Elrond lay his head back, closing his eyes. "I am beyond shame."

Celeborn smiled, squeezing his hand again. "We all are." He rose and
tugged at his son-in-law, drawing him to his feet with effort. He turned
and looked at Celeborn, sorrow suffusing his features.

"You are a kind and noble man, forgiving me my faults even as you
enforce our traditions. I have no excuse for my disobedience. I do not
wish that Glorfindel suffer a loss of honor over me, an old fool with a
broken heart."

Celeborn smiled, shaking his head. "Love will do that. I have little
latitude here but I am sentimentally in favor of your heart. It gives me
no pleasure to be the judge of this matter. I hope you know that."

Elrond nodded, sighing with fatigue. "I know." He turned and looked at
the forest beyond. "Do you ever think that you stayed on too long? That
you outlived your life and usefulness?"

"Often," Celeborn replied, squeezing Elrond's hand. "However, when you
have lost your way you must cast out a line and someone will pick it up.
Do not forget that you are a much loved son to me and that your family
needs you desperately. In time things will smooth out and the young man
can make his decision. As it stands now, he is the property of his
father. You know that is our way and you know that is not negotiable."

Elrond nodded. "I know it is so. Even as I anguish in my misery over it,
shedding honor and my good name because of it, I know this to be true."

Celeborn turned, walking to the steps. He paused, holding out his hand.
"Come. Let's go inside."

Elrond turned and walked toward him, Celeborn's hand touching his back
comfortingly. They walked up the stairs together, Elrond to his friends
and Celeborn to his deliberations and for a few hours it was quiet in
the garden.

***

They met again, gathering together to sort out the logistics of their
situation. The combined forces that were gathered under the leadership
of Imladris would march, heading beyond the forest of Lorien and into
the Dunland, making a place of defense against the orcs at the edge of
the great forest. Gondor would drive the enemy before them, catching
them between the two with little avenue of escape. Rohan would be
defended to the east and all escape short of crossing the North Ithilien
would be cut off, forcing them back into Mordor.

Rohan was prepared to defend their own territory and Lorien and Mirkwood
would resupply the army in the field. Archers and horsemen would be
first in the line, followed by infantry and light bowmen. They worked
out their plan and turned to Mirkwood, the Prince listening carefully to
the line of march.

"We will supply the field army and add to it our own soldiers but we
require assurances of command."

Cirdan sighed, his head falling back against his chair. "Here we go."

Aranel rose and stared at him. "It is not in me to offend a goodly man,"
he said pointedly. "I am merely asserting my right."

"My own soldiers are under the flag of Imladris and I give to the Lord
of the Valley full authority to manage them. I know that it will be done
with great care and expertise. His commanders are in place and I support
his decisions."

"The Lord of the Valley will not be in the field. Our people will be. I
wish that they have the opportunity to make decisions that are not
caravanned from far away," he said, turning and staring hard at Elrond.

Elrond stared back, images of Oropher filling his mind. The arguments
were the same. Only the faces changed. He considered the anger in the
room and rose, moving to stand in front of the younger man. He stared
back levelly at Elrond, his posture prepared to fight.

"I am commanding the army of Imladris."

For a moment it was quiet, so great was the shock and then an exhale
could be heard as all of the attendees expressed their surprise.
Celeborn glanced at Glorfindel, the Elf looking at him in surprise. Then
he rose and walked to Elrond, standing beside him as he faced the
younger man. "I concede my generalship to the Lord of Imladris with
great pleasure."

Cirdan stared at both, considering that the world had turned upside
down. He sighed.

"What do you say, Lord Cirdan? Do you give your soldiers to this man,
this man without honor?" Aranel asked, his voice filled with amazement
and surprise.

Cirdan looked from one to the other and glanced at Celeborn, who sat
with composure, his eyes betraying very little. Then he rose and walked
to face Elrond. "Are you prepared to do this?"

Elrond nodded.

"Then I am good with it."

Aranel exhaled his disgust. "I cannot give over the command of my troops
to this man. It would be more than can be asked."

"It repeats itself," Celeborn replied, speaking to no one in particular.
They all turned to face him. "We go to face a great evil divided. We
have learned nothing in twenty-five centuries."

Aranel stared at him and then at Elrond. "My father will command his own
army. We will fight as we always have, as the army of the Great Wood. We
submit ourselves to no one."

He turned and looked at Celeborn. "We will met you at the Dunland." He
bowed, and with his brother and entourage in tow, he turned and left the
gathering.

Elrond stood silently, staring at the forest beyond. Glorfindel looked
at him with worried eyes. "My friend ..."

Elrond turned to him.

"Are you sure that you wish to do this?"

Elrond sighed and nodded. "It is my duty to my country to win on the
field of battle the honor that I have lost this day." He turned and
walked away, heading into the forest beyond.

Celeborn rose and moved to stand with them. "This could be a momentous
occasion," he said. "It could be the rebirth of his heart or the end of
him."

Cirdan sighed. "Then we must prevail against the enemy." He turned to
them. "There is added incentive to win."

They nodded and turned, filing out of the gathering place as Celeborn
turned and sat. He relaxed in his chair, his mind on better times as he
waited for Elrond to finish his walk.

************************************************************************

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part five
************************************************************************

He came back after a long time walking and saw Celeborn sitting, waiting
for him. He paused and then moved, sitting on the chair next to him.

"You are still here."

"I worry about you, Elrond. You are my family. I am yours. I hope in
your perambulations that you found some accommodation for your sorrows."

He sighed and shook his head. "I have found little peace for the sorrows
that animate me but I have found my middle path. My country and that of
others is in danger and I have to put my own woes aside."

Celeborn nodded. "I will delay my decision regarding your indiscretion
until the battles ahead are over. I am not in the mood to distract the
leader of the soldiers of my country with any penance that might befall
your actions."

"What do you suggest? Should I stand in the snow and plead for
forgiveness or would standing in the corner suffice?"

Celeborn smiled at the dryly delivered self-condemnation. "I am half
inclined to just let you abuse yourself, my friend. You do such a
thorough job of it."

Elrond smiled, a slight thing and leaned back, relaxing against the
chair as the stars began to shine. "It is beautiful out tonight. It is
hard to believe that men shall be led into battle soon."

"I know," Celeborn replied. "I am coming along with you."

Elrond looked at him. "It is not necessary. I am of a sound mind.
Mostly."

Celeborn smiled, patting Elrond's hand. "I am sure of it. I just believe
it would be a good idea if I came. I fear a repeat of the debacle of
Oropher and if my presence can sway the contrariness of his descendents
from making a bold statement that will end in death and failure, then it
is a good thing."

"It will be strange to see you out of the Wood. It has been a long time
since you traveled abroad," Elrond said. " I would be honored to have
your company."

"Good. Then it is done."

Elrond sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Celeborn, for everything."

The tall Elf stood and turned to Elrond, looking at him with fondness.
"I care about you and how you fare. This is a bad storm that has tossed
you from your port. Come inside with me and join our friends and family.
They care about you."

Elrond looked at his hand, the note still clutched in it. "I know that.
But I don't know if I can go in just yet."

Celeborn stared at him. "When can you? In an hour? In a day?"

Elrond sighed and rose slowly. He put the letter inside of his robe and
walked up the stairs with Celeborn. Inside, his family waited and they
greeted him warmly, settling before the fire to discuss their plans for
moving a large army from Rivendell to northern Gondor to catch the orcs
in a vice.

***

He stood before his dresser, putting into a box a small pin that he
always wore as a token in battle. Gil-galad had given it to him long
ago, years before his marriage and his children. He had been young,
gifted and in love and the pin had been a source of great consolation
when he was made alone. The battle of the First Alliance shifted in his
memories, the piercing sense of loss almost too hard to bear even now.

The one ring, the Great Ring, had been his bane, causing him searing
grief and as he stood in the silence of his chambers, he wondered for a
moment where in the world it could be now. Sighing, he stared at the box
and then opened it again, taking the small silver pin out, staring at
its many swirling lines that crisscrossed in a breathtaking haze of
workmanship.

It had been his, Gil-galad's and he had given it to Elrond when they had
become lovers. He still remembered it, the fire blazing in the hearth
and the two of them lying in bed together, satisfied for that moment in
all the pleasures of the body and soul.

The big man, his dark hair flowing over his shoulders and down his back,
had picked it up and handed to Elrond, kissing him like a man dying of
need and he had worn it always, keeping it near his skin. He had worn it
that day, when the world ended and he wore it afterwards for a long
time.

Then he put it away along with his happiness until the day he married a
woman, the daughter of his friend, Celeborn. They had a good marriage
but he seldom if ever talked to her of his past. He never showed her the
pin, even though he was sure she had seen it and he never wore it when
she was with him. It was too personal and too terrible and too
important. It was his alone.

He took it and fastened it inside his tunic, feeling it against his skin
once more. He turned and walked to his bed, fastening his sword around
his waist, the red leather belt of his weapon crisscrossed around him.
He wore his purple cloak, a garment of light fine material and it draped
over his gold-armored shoulders elegantly.

His hair was pulled back from his face, clasped with a silver pin and he
wore mail under his armor, the workmanship of which was marvelous. The
sun glinted upon him as he turned and walked to his study, his sons and
daughter waiting there for him. They rose and stared at him, a smile
crossing Elladan's face.

"You look like a lion," he said, clasping his father on the shoulder.

"A lion in winter," Elrond said, picking up his mail gauntlets and
armored gloves.

"A lion in the prime of his life," Arwen said, smiling. "A man from whom
the enemy will fly."

He smiled and kissed her, hugging her tightly. "Give my best to your
grandmother," he said, moving into the corridor with her on his arm.

Lining the long path, Elves dressed for battle waited, their eyes filled
with pleasure at the sight of their lord. As he passed they turned and
followed, walking down the stairs to the great room and the courtyard
beyond. There were horsemen waiting, the area surprisingly quiet and he
turned, staring around at them all. They filled every space, his
household and his guard, the main army forming in order in the valley
and flatlands beyond.

They had been gathering for a week, more than two passing since
Lothlorien and today was the day to leave. He took leave of his daughter
and Erestor, of the many who would stay behind. He turned and mounted
his horse, riding forward as he did, men forming on all sides of him as
his sons took their place of honor. Banners furled in the breeze as they
rode out of the great house, moving down the road to the cheers and
ululations of the crowd. It resounded off the hillsides, echoing back to
them and they made an impressive sight as they headed out of the shelter
of their protected valley.

The road wend on and they reached the main force, gathered in long lines
of horse and footmen. Banners proclaimed their battle groups, their
homelands and their kindreds. They gathered behind their captains, their
weapons glinting in the sunlight.

The van had gone on ahead, leaving in the early morning to make camp on
ahead. It would take days to get to the north of Gondor. The first step
was crossing the Ford of the Bruinen that sheltered the haven of
Imladris. Glorfindel was there, garbed as he was and so was Cirdan, the
fillet of Mithral on his head glinting in the light. They rode to him,
smiles on their faces.

"Isn't this a pretty sight," Glorfindel said with a laugh. "It is long
since we have seen this sight today."

"And long may it wait until we see it again," Cirdan said, grinning.

"The messengers have been sent and a great army is on its feet. By the
time we reach Dunland, Gondor shall be rallying. They will force the
enemy into our hands and we shall be ready," Glorfindel said.

"It is a long march over rough land to the North-South Road but we shall
follow it and make haste to the Angren River. I do not wish to stop at
Isengard," Cirdan said as they watched the army begin to move. Turning
their horses, they moved forward, leading the great convocation toward
the south. "I wish to keep this simple, Elves to Elves until we meet the
Men of Gondor."

"Rohan will be ready," Glorfindel said, peering over his shoulder. "We
sent riders a week ago and they will be there. If the orcs flee our
grip, both Gondor and Imladris, they will find at the other end of the
Fords of Isen a great enemy."

"The horsemen will take them," Elladan agreed, moving to ride with
Glorfindel. "Behind them will be the forces of Mirkwood and they will
have no place to go but back to their dark holes in Mordor."

"It will not be easy," Cirdan said. "We must be very vigilant and very
smart."

"We will be both," Glorfindel said, determination in his voice. "I have
been to my grave once already. It is sufficient for me."

Elrond smiled, glancing over his shoulder at one of his oldest friends.
"I would hope so."

Glorfindel just smiled.

***

They stepped out of Mirkwood, an army of archers on horseback. They
moved swiftly, their light horses running effortlessly. They crossed the
Anduin, picking up a force from Lothlorien, archers and swordsmen led by
their Lord. Celeborn rode a white steed, sunlight making brilliant his
already bright visage. Moving to join the leadership, he noted that
Thranduil was sitting pride of place. He nodded and moved beside him,
the force joining in rankings and turning south.

"Good morrow, Thranduil. I am surprised to see you here."

"I had heard, Lord Celeborn, that you were to take part in the
festivities. I could hardly stay in my fastness when the cream of Elvish
society set forth to war."

Celeborn smiled, staring ahead. "As could I."

They rode on together silently.

***

Arwen walked up the winding staircase, entering the house of her
grandmother. Galadriel was reading when she entered the private quarters
and she rose, hugging the girl tightly.

"You are back again, my little butterfly. I am glad of heart."

"I couldn't sit at home with our whole family at war," she said, sighing
sadly. "I am aggrieved that this is our lot. I wish the world were
different."

Galadriel nodded, smiling. "The world is as it is. We cannot do anything
about it. All we can do is wait and see what fate spins for us this
day."

Arwen nodded and sat down beside her, resting in the silence. She would
stay here until they came back, comforted with her grandmother and the
safety of the great green trees.

***

They made the North-South Road, following it as it traversed Enedwaith.
They were moving at a goodly pace and the Dunland plains were soon in
sight. The far off mountains greeted them, cozened in the western
embrace of the Fangorn Forest. Isengard was there, a tall tower built
long before by the Men of the Westernesse, a stone wall surrounding it
as it buttressed the mountains from whence it was carved.

They moved on, traveling far each day and by the time they sighted the
Angren River, they were skirmishing along the leading edge of their
forces. Great Orcs, Uruk Hai had been spotted and that heightened
security as they were fond of eating flesh. Man flesh was preferred but
they were feared nonetheless by Elf as well.

Their camps were pitched and the forces arrayed along a three-prong
front, stretching from the fork of the Angren and the Adorn through to
the flat grasslands that signaled the river-rent Fords of Isen. They
roved out, hunting for sign and when they found orcs, they engaged them
head on.

Far to the south, riding hard and fighting as they went, the Men of
Gondor drove the enemy forward. They massed and ran, they massed and
fought and many is the barrow that stands testament to this day of the
valor of Men.

Elrond rode out each day, watching from a hilltop at the fighting
beyond. Every day he helped repair wounds and bind hurts and every night
he sat and redrew the plans for the following day. All day and all
night, messengers rode and they flew along the Fords into Rohan,
carrying the news to the Riders who waited.
Orcs there had harried them but they had fled to Mordor, many of them
dying at the hands of Men. They were killed in great numbers and their
bodies gathered and burned, leaving nothing behind of their tyranny but
their black blood and the destruction of the forest where they camped.

Thranduil and Celeborn took the dispatches, sending out their forces to
catch the orcs that ran for the shadow lands beyond. They slew many,
their archers aim true and by the time that the orcs reached the Angren
in Gondor, they were ready to take on the flood.

Over the river they came, driven by the maddened war cries of Men and by
the score they fell to the arrows and blades of Elves. Elrond joined
them, holding a faltering line with his sons and when it held, he
mounted his horse again, riding along the line, exhorting his men to
hold and fight, offering himself as a target to the enemy.

He rode without fear, his purple cloak unfurled. His hair blew behind
him as he waved his sword in hand, calling in a rage on Elbereth to
support them. The line held and the orcs fled east, heading in great
numbers to the Ford of Isen.

They ran down the steep sides, falling into the rushing water and many
drowned as they sought escape. Others scrambled up, heading through the
Gap of Rohan, unaware of the massed forces waiting. Riders on
magnificent horses clashed in great battles, slaying and being slain as
Elf arrows filled the air. Behind them, pursuing, the great armies of
the Havens, of Imladris and the seaside kingdoms rained down death as
the foes of peace found no place to go.

Some of them ran north, losing themselves in the dark and primordial
trees of the Fangorn, legendary home of the Ents. They would never be
seen again, legends would tell, and their mysterious ending would not be
foretold for many centuries yet to come.

The Elves and Men of Gondor pursued them, killing all that they found.
In their maddened frenzy, they fought with fury but in the end they were
caught between two sides of a vice. It closed on them and finally, after
two months, the last of their kind was tracked down and killed.

***

It was late at night and they were camped on the east side of the Gap of
Rohan. Tents stretched out as far as the eye could see and in the
middle, battle standards and banners galore, the Lords of great armies
met to talk. Celeborn, himself pulled into the battle, sat in a place of
honor while the Steward of Gondor, the Lord of the Mark, the King of
Mirkwood and his sons and the Lord of the Gray Havens sat around him,
all of them filled with good mirth, their many captains arrayed as well.

Elrond, called away for an injury returned, stepping into his tent, the
sight of his fellows warming. His sons stood behind their grandfather,
talking with much laughter to three Elves from Lothlorien and when
Elrond sat, the conversation was stilled. Celeborn rose, smiling at all
assembled.

"This is a blessed day for on this day we have achieved ascendancy over
the foe. We have driven them from our lands and now can turn to the
peaceful obligation of rebuilding our cities and villages. We did this
together and long may it be said in legend and song that on this day the
world came together for the good."
There was cheering and clapping, shouts of gladness and Celeborn turned
to Elrond. "You were a leader today, my Lord Elrond. You brought this
plan together and I am much beholding to you." He turned to the others.
"All of you have shown great courage, your people's valor will not be
forgotten. The Men of Gondor and Rohan stood together with Elves of many
lands and a terrible threat was ended. It must never be forgotten that
we have done this together. For when we were alone, we were greatly
scourged."

"I am in agreement, my Lord Celeborn," the Lord of the Mark said,
rising. "I have long heard of the greatness of your people and the
splendor of your armies. All of the tales that are told among our people
were made real on the battle field. We have been honored to stand with
you today. Our songs will long sing of the great glory won this day."

Cheering went up and all turned to the Steward of Gondor. "I cannot
improve on your words, my friend. You have stated what is in my heart. I
am so gladdened this day, that we can turn to the prosperity of our
people once more without the dangers of the darkness reaching out to
us."

"That is true," Thranduil said, rising. He was a handsome sight, his
armor bearing the marks of many blows. "It is a good thing that has
transpired and I can hope that this means peace between our many
countries."

Celeborn looked at him, as did the other Elves included. For a moment
there was no sound and then Celeborn nodded. "I am gladdened to hear
this from you, Lord Thranduil. It is good to hear that in this moment of
peacefulness that old wounds can be healed."

Thranduil looked at him, staring with coolness. "You misjudge the depth
of my forgiveness, my Lord. I have only limited amounts of goodwill for
some who are here."

Cirdan sighed. "That is a private matter that will be solved at another
time. It is not the time and place for us to bring in issues unrelated
to this great occasion. I implore you to speak of this in private where
those that are needful of hearing may do so and those that have no
purpose therein can be spared."

Thranduil looked at him and considered his words. "The time of waiting
is over. My grievances will be addressed. They will be," he said,
looking squarely at Elrond, "Or I will be forced to take measures to
restore my honor and that of my family."

Elrond rose, anger in his eyes and Celeborn did too, stepping into the
middle between them. "This will continue no more. It is not the time and
place for it and I command it to cease."

Thranduil stared at Elrond and then looked at Celeborn, nodding as he
did. "As you wish, my Lord. For now."

He turned and glanced at his sons and lieutenants, then he turned and
they all left the tent. It was silent for a moment and then Celeborn
turned, looking at the intense stares of the outsiders among them.

"Such are the ways of families," he said dryly.

The Steward of Gondor grinned. "Speak no more," he said to general
laughter.

Elrond glanced at his father-in-law, grateful for the diffusion of the
moment. He knew it would eventually come to a head but not tonight, not
at this supreme moment of their victory. As he looked around, he
considered the only thing that would make things perfect. But no matter
how hard he wished it to be so, Legolas was nowhere near this place.

***

He hurried onward, riding hard and as he splashed across the Ent-wash,
he knew he only had a short hard ride to go to reach where the scouts
had said the encampment was. He rode onward, passing leagues in the
dark, eternally grateful to his mother.

As the night wore on, Legolas of Mirkwood rode, determined to reach his
family and the others before the sun was too high in the sky.

************************************************************
************************************************************
part 6
************************************************************
He stood by his hearth, the fire keeping back the dank dampness that
underground dwelling always raised. He had been left behind, locked in
his room by his frustrated and angry father. They had gone to war and he
was here, a virtual prisoner in his own home.

His mother came to him often and they would have awkward conversations,
the easy rhythm of their togetherness before Imladris disrupted. They
had argued, his father, mother and himself and he had been confined to
his room for who knew how long. His father's frustrated inability to
bend him to his will was going to guarantee that it would last as long
as he was gone, of that he was certain.

He sighed and listened as the door opened, his mother entering with his
dinner. She put it down on a table next to his lunch and stared at him,
frustrated herself. He was her youngest, the one that had not been
earmarked for duties and responsibilities and so he was hers to shape
and guide and love.

He had artistic abilities like all Elves and a love of beauty. He was
musically inclined and a good singer, like all Elves. He was a natural
bowman and a rider of skill. He was her companion and her dotage was
focused upon him. His silence wounded her and so she approached the
delicate subject between them with trepidation. She walked over and sat,
waiting for him to acknowledge her.

"Mother ... I am not hungry."

She nodded. "I know. Love will make that happen."

He paused and turned, gazing at her quizzically. "You say that but do
you understand me, how it is for me now?"

She smiled slightly. "I know what it is to love. Your father is my
friend, my companion and my lover. I know that is hard for you to
believe but it has been so for my heart since I was younger than you."

"I am five years from my majority," he said, sighing deeply. "It might
as well be fifty."

"Do not hurry your life, my son. Don't rush your dreams and hopes."

"My hopes don't matter. My father controls my life and even though I
know why he does it makes me weak with sorrow anyway."

"Lord Elrond broke a trust," she said. "We sent you to him with the
belief that he would be honorable in his fosterage. He took advantage of
a boy away from home, one much loved and missed by his mother and
father."

"He wasn't alone," Legolas said, turning and facing her. "He wasn't
prepared to act on his feelings. So I did. I made him cross the line."

"There should have never been a question in his mind, no matter how much
he loved you, to do such a thing. You are in your minority and it is the
duty of all adults to protect you from exploitation."

Legolas turned from her, staring into the fire. He knew she was right
but it did little for his heart. He was in love and he had considered
the slow progression to the moment of realization, when he knew that
Elrond was the one he had waited for.

"Mother, he was kind to me. From the moment I entered his house, he took
time for me. He was attentive and forgiving and would talk to me."

She nodded sadly. "Your father is a different man, Legolas. It doesn't
mean he loves you less. He knows that he has not been the father that
you wished all these years. I have my own regrets. I have monopolized
you in my love for you and it hasn't been fair to either you or your
father."

"Lord Elrond is of another kind than Father," Legolas admitted. "I know
Father loves me, even in his own way but he doesn't see me when he looks
at me. He sees a boy, a little child. He sees someone who he has to
marry off to a total stranger from another place. I don't want to marry
any woman. I won't take a woman into a bond."

She sighed. "Your father didn't consult me and first steps have been
taken. I wouldn't have agreed with him if he had talked to me first. I
don't think a wife is what you need right now."

"Or ever," Legolas said stubbornly. "I am not drawn to them, no matter
how much I enjoy the company of women. I am drawn to men, *this* man. I
want this man only in my life and if I wait and choose him my father
will disown me. What kind of love is that?"

"Complicated love, Legolas," his mother said. "Your father is a very
complex man. He's a product of much history and his baggage is
complicated. I have watched him struggle with it, to be a good king, a
good father and husband all of my life. I feel so much love and
frustration for his battle. No son ever loved a father the way that your
father loved his. Oropher was a good man but his ideas drove him to a
horrible death. Your father saw his body and saw him fall. It's not
something easily set aside and you must be patient with his struggle."

"I am. I feel such emotion when I think of my father. I want his love
and acceptance but I cannot have both without conditions. I give him my
unconditional love and he doesn't return it."

"Your father has your future in his mind. He has your heart and safety.
Lord Elrond took that and broke the most basic rules of our culture and
society. That can't be forgiven by your father or by me. It has sundered
you from me in your spirit. The closeness that was most natural is not
there between us."

Legolas sighed and looked at her, at the hurt on her face and walked to
where she sat, kneeling down beside her. He sat and lay his head on her
lap, closing his eyes as she stroked his hair. "I mean you no offence. I
am broken with sorrow over this non-life of mine. I cannot be a man for
my father if he treats me like a child each time I make a step forward
into the adult realm."

"Men and their sons ... they are a strange lot. This is a blow to your
father, the idea of a man taking your innocence when he should have
protected it. Your father wasn't there to ensure your safety. It offends
his heart to know that you were with someone in intimacy when you were
supposed to be safe."

Legolas sighed. "I am aware of all this, Mother. But I am also aware
that in my heart I was a man. In my moment of surrender I was as old as
the earth. I am not a child to be manipulated by someone who has power
over me. It wasn't magic that made me come to him. It was gradual, a
slow journey and at the end of it I was at the most happy of my life."
He looked at her sadly. "There was a note from him and I rejected it. I
was watched as you know."

"I was not aware of it."

"He had a note..."

"I saw it. Your father gave it to me. Galdor captured it from a
messenger's pouch."

"What did it say, Mother?" he asked, his face filled with longing.

She considered it and sighed. "He spoke of his sorrow at the loss of
your company. He professed great bonds of affection for you and prayed
that you were safe and well."

Legolas sighed sadly and lay his head on her lap. "I love him. I wrote
to him and put it in the pouch with the star on it. I don't know if he
received the message. I hope he did. I can imagine the sadness he feels
that I rejected him so flatly."

"This is not right, Legolas. You know why we are filled with much
consternation."

"I know," he said. "I know what you feel and the laws and the whole
thing. I know this. But I know that in my heart he is the one that I
will love. Only him, no one else. I will not marry the girl that my
father has chosen. I cannot."

She looked at him and felt her own sorrow multiply. Rising and leaning
down, she kissed his forehead. "I have to do some things but I will be
back. Please, for your mother's own heart, eat your dinner."

He sighed and rose slowly, staring at the food on the tray. He nodded
and watched as she walked out the door, the guard in the hallway closing
it behind her.

***

She stared at the bag hanging on its peg and took it down. Rummaging
around, she found a small pocket and inside of it a folded letter.
Taking it out, she rehung the bag and walked to her parlor to sit. She
opened it and read the note, the words of aching sadness that her son
had penned. She sat back and considered them, the happiness of her
youngest child and made up her mind at that moment.

By the time Legolas left the palace, riding off into the night, she had
made peace with her demons. Pacing through the night, she called
together her household guard. Informing them of a long ride ahead, the
Queen of Mirkwood changed into riding garments and once on her horse,
surrounded by armed men, she galloped out of the courtyard and onto the
forest road that her son had taken ahead of her.

***

Celeborn sat in his tent, his things arrayed around him. He traveled
light, his weapons, books that were important to him and the wardrobe of
war. He was faced with a situation that had to be resolved and when it
was, the issue had to be dropped completely.

It would require a big solution, not the payment of things that didn't
matter in the long run. Intangibles mattered in this situation and he
fashioned in his mind a solution that would resolve all outstanding
grievances. It would require
a solemn oath and attentiveness on his part but he was anxious to solve
this matter once and for all.

Rising, he summoned Cirdan and Glorfindel, Ellan and Haldir and when he
was finished discussing his solution with them, all were in agreement.
It would be the way to end the bad blood between Mirkwood and Imladris,
to resolve the issue of the youngster, Legolas, and restore to both men
their dignity and honor.

When the sun came up, Celeborn sent each man in pairs to the tents of
Thranduil and Elrond, asking them to come to listen to his decision.
Both men came followed by their sons and they stood before Celeborn, who
sat outside his tent surrounded by captains and commanders and the four
Elves who first heard of his solution. In his lap, he held a gauntlet,
an armored glove that bore the emblem of his country.

Both men stood, their sons with them, and it was silent in a deep and
intense way. Celeborn considered their calm facades and then he stood,
speaking.

"It is my lot to make a decision regarding the bad blood that exists
between Mirkwood and the Valley of Imladris. Suffice it to say, I am
vexed that it continues. The grievances are real, I do not discount
them, but they plague us in their continuance at the cost of our joint
security.

"This disobedience you display, my Lord Elrond is of a personal affront
to me. I have made my decision before and you have broken it. That is
not to say that your feelings are not important to me. They are. You are
my family and I love you dearly. However, the offenses that you have
been accused of required attentiveness to my directives and you have
failed to follow them to the vexation of us all."

Elrond didn't respond, his face purposefully composed and he listened to
the intent as well as the content with great care. His sons shifted, the
unaccustomed scolding of their father a source of great pain. Thranduil
stood before Celeborn, his face a mask of none emotion and his sons
stood, pleased at the words of the Lord of the Wood.

Then Celeborn turned his gaze onto Thranduil, his voice equally stern.
"Thranduil... your grief on this issue is not unseemly to me but your
behavior and that of your sons is inexcusable. They have disrupted in
your name the fair
running of my household, bringing shame onto your own in the doing. At
an open Council at Imladris, at my own home and last night, you have
taken things of a private nature and driven them into the public
consciousness. Outsiders know our business and you have compromised your
proclamations of much love for your son by making his plight everyone's
knowledge. This is shocking and counter-productive to a solution."

Thranduil's face paled but he held his tongue, the smiles of his sons
fading under the admonition of the angry figure sitting before them. He
rose and stepped closer, the gauntlet in his hand.

"You have both made it difficult but this is not new business we are
addressing. This comes from the past, reaching out to wreak havoc on the
present. We are all leaders and our responsibilities extend to our
people first and foremost. Your families are to be cherished and loved,
but they must not be an excuse to wage war amongst ourselves because the
consequences are not limited to us alone. Our people deserve better from
us all."

They stood silently, their captains and friends watching with pale
expressions. Celeborn turned, looking at Glorfindel.

"Lord Glorfindel, I am asking that you be a second for Lord Elrond. Do
you agree?"

Elrond glanced at him, his mind racing through the complications to come
and he saw Glorfindel nod.

"It would be my great honor, my Lord Celeborn."

Celeborn turned to Ellan. "My Lord Ellan, would you be a second for your
king, Thranduil?"

Ellan nodded. "My honor, Lord Celeborn."

Celeborn nodded and looked at Haldir and Cirdan, both standing quietly
by the edge of the circle. "I am asking for your assistance in assessing
the solution that I have contrived for this matter. I believe that what
will come will satisfy honor for all. I believe that when the combat is
finished, no one will any longer have valid grievances against the
other." He turned to Elrond and threw the gauntlet on the ground. "You
are the one accused of this grievance, my Lord Elrond. Therefore, in the
name of satisfying honor, if you so choose to do so, you may pick up the
gauntlet and thereby accept the challenge of single combat with King
Thranduil of Mirkwood." Celeborn turned to Thranduil, noting the
surprise on his face turn to satisfaction. "I am offering this outlet
for your grievances to be resolved. It is up to you, Lord Elrond."

For a moment Elrond stared at the glove and then he knelt, picking it
up. He turned to Thranduil, their eyes meeting levelly and then he
tapped him with it.

Thranduil smiled, a cold expression on his face. "I accept your
challenge, my Lord Celeborn. I accept this chance to avenge the honor of
my son and my House with relish."

Celeborn took the gauntlet, stepping between the two men. He turned to
Cirdan and Haldir. "You are of neither House and therefore your judgment
is not tainted by bias. You are lords of the First Age, eye witnesses to
the birth of this moment. Therefore, I impose the following rules and
ask that you judge them fairly. It will be a single combat, swords only.
It will be fought until one concedes or first blood is drawn. It is not
to be more than a duel, the rules of single combat applying. To kill
your opponent will be considered a deliberate act and punishable by all
the means available to the surviving kingdoms and their allies.
Understood?"

Elrond nodded and so did Thranduil, both men gazing at Celeborn rather
than the other. Celeborn turned to the group assembled, walking in a
slow circle, his gaze meeting all. "I will order it to be. And... make
no small mistake... this matter is closed at the conclusion of this
combat. Woe be it to the honor of a combatant and his country to make
more of this matter when it is resolved. I will take it as a direct,
incontrovertible and personal offense against my honor. Do you
understand and agree?"

They both nodded and Celeborn sighed. "This ghost should have been
buried long ago. Given the right circumstances and more maturity among
many of us, this could have ended on a better note. It could have ended
with an alliance between the families of Imladris and Mirkwood. As it
is, we have all been diminished by this matter. Therefore, when it is
over, it is over. No appeals are available and woe be it to you if you
ask."

Celeborn sat, staring at all of them with a baleful eye. "I will hold
this challenge at dawn. You may go and make such preparations as you
require."

They both bowed and turned, walking toward their respective domiciles.
Celeborn watched them go and considered the world. It was a strange
thing indeed, this feeling that swept over him. He hadn't felt this
aggravated since his daughter used to pull stunts on her mother as a
small child.

Haldir moved to stand before his lord. "My Lord, what do you think will
come about in the morrow?"

Celeborn sighed and glanced at his Captain, shaking his head as he did.
"Peace?"

************************************************************************

************************************************************************

 Part Seven
************************************************************************

It was breaking dawn when he stepped from his tent, dressed in trousers
and dark boots, a tunic of white material tucked in and clasped by a
black belt completed his attire. He wore his hair back off his face,
clasped with a silver pin.

Glorfindel stood waiting, holding his sword in its scabbard. He took it,
pulling its blade out where he could inspect it and then slid it back
inside, handing it back to Glorfindel. He nodded and they turned,
walking through the camp toward the meadow nearby.

His sons and captains followed, the unit commanders of both Imladris and
other places, the men who were under his command in the unified army he
led. They walked through knots of soldiers who watched silently, their
eyes following the dignified figure as he walked past.

Further away, similarly attired, another royal person stepped out of his
quarters, following in the wake of his foe. They walked on, heading for
the field where on this day the matter between them would be forced into
settlement.

There was a crowd there already, men of certain rank and privilege. They
were there to be witnesses, to insure that the ritual battle of combat
that would follow would be clearly and resolutely known to all  when it
was concluded.

Elrond projected a serenity that he didn't feel, the turmoil of the
moment flaring through him. He didn't feel that he wasn't up to the
challenge. He had confidence in his ability to fight and fight well. He
felt turmoil over what sort of news Legolas would receive when this was
over, win, lose or draw.

He walked into the crowd and they parted, moving aside so they could
step into the cleared space in the middle. Sitting on a rock, leaning
against it, Celeborn waited. They nodded to each other and then Elrond
moved to his side of the field, watching as Thranduil entered.

Thranduil was a tall man like himself and well made. He was more lean
than Elrond, less obviously muscular but he was strong and fast,
something Elrond had seen himself in combat and had a strength to the
right side of his body. If there was going to be a weakness in his
technique, it would draw from the left. He also was intensely
aggressive, working out the style and flaws of a foe with a precise,
almost chess-like intellect. He would be no easy foe.

He, himself had the distinct advantage of reach and stamina, his own
technique honed over the centuries by the best kind of partners,
Gil-galad included. He watched as the fair-haired King of Mirkwood,
white shirt blinding in the sunlight that began to flood the sky, turned
and faced him.

Their seconds held their swords, as was their duty, and as they did,
Cirdan and Haldir turned from Celeborn and walked to other parts of the
field to take up their duties as referees. Celeborn rose from the rock
he was leaning against and walked to the middle of the field.

He stared around slowly, the array of might and intensity before him
written large in the solemn expressions of the participants and
spectators. He sighed internally and began.

"We are gathered here today to settle the Matter of Mirkwood and
Imladris. We are here today to make right wrongs perceived by both and
to settle honor. The rules are clear. This is a duel, not a battle to
the death. Your swords are capped. They cannot be used for purposes of
death.

"The duel will commence and continue until one side yields or first
blood is drawn. At anytime in the proceedings there is concern for life,
I will halt the battle myself. This proceedings will end the matter at
hand and there are no appeals, short of forfeiting honor. The referees
are from neutral kingdoms and their decisions hold precedent up to but
not surpassing my own."

He turned and walked back to his rock, leaning against it as he did.
Then he raised his hand and both men turned to their seconds.

"You must not let him rush into you. He will go for a quick cut, an arm
or leg. Keep your sword up and keep moving," Glorfindel said, holding
out the sword in its scabbard. Elrond pulled it free and nodded, turning
and walked to the middle of the field.

Thranduil watched for a moment and then turned, nodding to Ellan. Then
he pulled his sword and walked to the middle, stopping five feet from
Elrond. Cirdan stepped forward with Haldir and they affixed on the tips
of the swords guards that would blunt any jab that might be made with
them.

They moved to their spots and nodded to Celeborn, who raised his hand.
Elrond and Thranduil watched it fall and then turned to each other. They
touched the tips of their blades and then it began. Thranduil rushed him
and he fell back, blocking the swift and aggressive blows of his
opponent.

For ten minutes they moved around the center of the clearing, their
blades clashing as they both sought the technique of the other. Elrond
was less aggressive, more probing and he allowed Thranduil to expend his
energy against his own well constructed defenses.

Far around them, echoing off the hillsides, the clash continued as blade
struck blade and when an hour had passed, Celeborn raised his hand, the
battle halting for a breather. Elrond walked back to Glorfindel, taking
the cloth from his hand. He wiped his face off, the silken material of
his shirt clinging to him as he sweated.

"He's trying to find your weaknesses," Glorfindel said, handing Elrond a
flask. It contained miruvor, the wine made at Rivendell that carried
invigorating properties. He sipped it, relief pouring through him and
sighed.

"I know," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Any advice?"

"Don't let him," Glorfindel said, smiling slightly. He sighed as Elrond
shot him a jaundiced look. "Watch his left. You can catch him when he
spins. He lowers his sword or raises it too high to protect his side.
When he spins away from you, check his left side."

Elrond nodded and turned, moving away at the raising of Celeborn's hand.
They moved together and touched swords, the fight breaking out
immediately. Elrond parried his blows, forcing him to work to the left
of his advantage and as they moved back and forth, it was clear they
were well matched.

For the next two hours they would duel under the hot sun, breaking at
intervals as they fought each other. No one would leave and no one would
interfere. It was up to the two to settle their complaints together.

***

He rode on, his horse tiring and as he reached the edge of the main
encampment, he was unaware that behind him by little more than two
hours, his mother rode just as hard. It had taken days to get here,
crossing the Ent-wash and the plains of Rohan but he had arrived, tired,
hungry and sore.

He moved onward, passing tents of soldiers, searching in the maze of
shelters for the banner of his father and his lover. He found the banner
of Mirkwood, his father's own and when he arrived, jumped down from his
horse. An aide saw him and moved forward, surprise on his face.

"My Lord, what are you doing here?"

"My father? Where is he?" Legolas asked, moving toward the tent in a
hurry.

"He's not here," the aide said.

"Where is he?" Legolas asked, turning and waiting with ill-concealed
impatience.

"He is beyond that hillock," the aide said. "He is dueling for his honor
with the Lord of Imladris."

Legolas stared at him, trumpets sounding in his head and he turned,
staring at the far off hillock from which he could hear faintly the
clash of swords. Turning without a word, he ran through the camp,
hurrying to where his father fought.

***

She flew as fast as she could, the men with her keeping up. A renowned
horsewoman in her own country, she was put to the test as she hurried
toward the encampment that a passing group of Riders had told her of.
She was only a short distance behind her son and she knew she would
arrive, all things being equal, not that far behind him. She wanted to
be there when it all came apart and try and hold them in check as the
problem between them came to a head.

She galloped across the grassy plains, her long hair flying as she
struggled to close the gap ahead.

***

He parried a blow and fell, rolling away, scrambling to avoid the blows
that rained down upon him. Once more on his feet, he hit the King of
Mirkwood with an awkward blow, landing it on his left side, forcing an
air-expelling groan.

Thranduil pulled back, hugging his side and all paused including Elrond
as Haldir jogged toward him. He pulled his arm up and Haldir inspected
him for blood, shaking his head in the negative as he moved back out of
the way.

Elrond moved in on Thranduil, sensing weakness and the other man moved
as swiftly out of his reach, sucking up the pain of the blow delivered.
They clashed, swords flashing and around and around they went, each man
becoming more conservative as their fatigue deepened. The sun was
relentless, bearing down on them and they felt it in the sweat that
poured from their brows.

Elrond moved forward, swinging his blade and Thranduil caught it,
slipping on the grass. Elrond pressed his advantage until Thranduil's
boot caught him, flinging him back onto the ground. He rose immediately,
his blade in a defensive mode as he felt the hard landing in his bones.

Thranduil rose and they began to slug it out, each raining blows on the
other without regard to technique. It was a fools game, this sort of
brawl, but tempers were wearing thin and so were the reserves of
strength that both men had in dwindling supply.

It had been more than five hours since they began and the sun was rising
toward the midday mark. They were tired and worn, bruising injuries were
beginning to build up and as they circled each other, swords flashing in
the bright light, Legolas finally muscled his way to the front of the
circle of spectators.
He stared at them, a stricken expression on his handsome face and he
stood silently, watching as they beat on each other for his sake. It was
almost a surreal moment, this unholy sight and he stood rooted to the
spot, unable to speak or move.

Celeborn raised his hand and the two were stopped, standing before each
other seething and exhausted. As Elrond turned, he caught a glimpse of
Legolas, standing by a soldier from Mirkwood. He froze and stared at
him, everything telescoping down into the matter of seconds. Nothing
else seemed real but the distraught youngster and he stood there, sword
at side, staring.

Thranduil turned to walk away and saw his son, freezing for a moment in
surprise. He glanced back at Elrond, his expression of longing clear to
all before he turned and walked away. Thranduil stared at him and then
his son, sighing with frustration as he did.

They walked to their seconds, talking quietly for a moment. Glorfindel
had spotted the youngster in the crowd the moment he arrived and had
waited anxiously for Elrond's response. He was quiet and pensive, his
exhaustion evident. This duel wouldn't last much longer Glorfindel
thought.

"Keep going to his left," Glorfindel whispered, watching as Elrond
walked back to the center of the meadow.

Elrond paused, his eyes focused over the shoulder of his opponent at the
sad and miserable figure of Legolas. He was desperate with anxiety as he
stood watching them and Elrond felt his heart squeeze in sympathy.
Thranduil came toward him, his sword outstretched to touch blades and
Elrond made a decision, the only one he could.

He raised his own blade and then, without flinching, drew it over the
palm of his left hand. Thranduil froze, watching as red blood flowed
down, staining the white sleeve of Elrond's shirt. He watched as the
hand raised, held up for all to behold, and then he turned and looked at
his son standing in the gallery.

The expression on his face had changed from intense sorrow to surprise.
Then it morphed into love, a deep and intense expression as Legolas
stared at Elrond. He turned and looked at Elrond, the expression on his
face the same and with disgust and aggravation he turned toward
Celeborn.

"This is an abomination! He has thrown the match."

Celeborn considered the surprising move and then rose, walking over to
the two men. "This is indeed surprising but it follows the rules of the
match. First blood has been drawn and you, Thranduil are declared
default winner."

Thranduil turned on Elrond, fury on his face. "Why! Why did you do this
evil thing?"

Elrond sighed and turned his gaze on the furious King of Mirkwood. He
nodded toward Legolas. "For his sake."

It was silent a moment and then Celeborn turned. "Honor has been
restored to both men. This matter is closed. It will not be brought
between us again."

Thranduil stared at him and then turned, walking off in agitation toward
the camp. As he passed, he gripped Legolas' arm, pausing as his wife
emerged from the crowd, fighting her way to the front. They stopped,
staring at each other and then moved on, his Queen taking Legolas' other
arm as they disappeared into the crowd toward camp.

Glorfindel materialized at Elrond's side, wrapping a cloth around
Elrond's bloody hand, held obliviously at his side. He sighed and
turned, Celeborn stopping before him.

"You have done interesting things all your life, Elrond. Why you should
stop now that you are older, I can't imagine."

Glorfindel grinned and watched with sadness as Elrond stared at the
place where Legolas had stood seconds before. "Come. You need attending
to."

They walked forward, the dispersing crowd making way for them and
continued onward toward the camp beyond. Elladan  and Elrohir followed,
walking with their grandfather and by the time they ambled in to their
father's tent, he was bandaged and changed, dressed in riding clothing.

The camp was breaking up, each force making ready to return triumphant
to their own countries and they were no exception. By the end of the
night, they would be ready to leave at dawn and in a few days,
Rivendell's Ford would signal their return to home and hearth.

Elrond stood by his door, staring out into the slowly changing camp and
sighed. Some place close by, Legolas stood and he couldn't come near
him. He was banned from doing so, the duel resolving more than the old
grievances. He was not allowed to make new ones at the expense of his
country.

He turned and walked back to his bed, sitting down and lying back,
fatigue overtaking him at last. He closed his eyes, listening as others
stepped out and when they were gone from his presence, only then did he
allow his grief to show.

************************************************************************

************************************************************************

Finale
************************************************************************

It was strange to be home, the adrenaline of war and being in the
wilderness excessive for the life they led at home. He had ridden in at
the head of his victorious army, his armor gleaming and his people
calling out to them their delight and joy. The sound washed through the
valley, the ululations of the women and the shouts of men and it carried
on the water that punctuated the serenity of their homeland.

He rode into his courtyard, his family surrounding him and into the
house to a meal of splendor they went. Cirdan had left them earlier,
taking his people up the North-South Road. Celeborn had gone with the
King of Mirkwood, riding across the plains of Rohan with the horsemen of
many lands.

Now he was home, victorious in his efforts and even as he gave the
appearance of happiness, he was internally as empty as ever. The dinner
was rousing, all of the stories being unfolded. The one that wasn't
told, at least not in front of him was the story of his duel with
Thranduil. The tragic romance of that tale would flash through the
grapevine to people everywhere, spreading from one end of the Elf lands
to the other. He would not hear of it for a long time. No one dared to
bring it up before him.

He excused himself at the earliest possible moment available. Walking
through the house and up the stairs, he covered familiar ground on the
way to his private chambers. Entering, he moved to a chair, shedding his
armor as he did. He shucked his mail, the weight release a big relief
and then he pulled his tunic from his body.

Covering his pale skin, bruises were fading and the soreness was
receding, the healing properties of Elf physiology more than up to the
challenge. He sighed and walked to his bathing chamber, noting that a
cistern of cool water had already been released into the big basin. He
turned and walked back into his bedroom, stripping his clothing off,
feeling every sore muscle as he did.

Turning and walking inside, he emptied a container of hot water that was
sitting on a wood fed heater in the corner. He remembered the night that
Legolas had done this for him, the last night that they had been
together. He sighed and poured more, regulating the temperature and when
it was just right, he climbed in and sat. He relaxed into the perfect
bliss of the refreshing soak. He trailed handfuls of water over his
head, the warm liquid dribbling down over his face. He lay in the water
until it began to cool and then he rose, stepping out and toweling off.
He rubbed his long hair, uncaring about the tangles that would surely be
there and then he walked into the bedroom, pulling his robe around him
as he did.

It was a trial freeing his hair of the tangles that filled it but soon
it was combed free, hanging straight and long around about his face and
down his back. He tossed his brush on the dresser, considering how late
it was and then he caught a flash of something in the mirror and he
turned, his eyes searching the room.

There was no one there of course and he cursed himself for being a fool.
There was no one here but himself and as he moved to his bed, he lay
back and closed his eyes, trying not to think of the days that stretched
ahead, days where he could be alone once more.

The night passed and so did the next day, followed by more. He fell into
his routine, going about his business and if one didn't know him well,
one would think him his old self. His family knew better, seeing in his
silence evidence of his broken heart but there was nothing to be done
but move forward. At least he was doing that, they thought, watching him
as he ate and worked and walked along the river. At least he wasn't
actively courting his death.

One small step at time, Elladan thought, watching his father reading one
night. One small step at a time.

***

It was fall and the leaves were drifting from the trees, leaving golden
trails along the footpaths along the river. He walked there often,
listening to the earth as it gave over to winter, the soft settling of
autumn as a sigh to his ears.

It had been months since he had last seen Legolas and he had fallen into
a deadened routine of low expectation and work, his days following one
after the other as the seasons changed. His sons had ridden out, hunting
for signs of orc activity but they had found none, so thoroughly had
they won victory.

He turned and walked back up the long winding staircase, the cool chill
of evening calling it a day for him. He walked up the steps and down the
corridor and into his rooms, closing the door behind him. Walking to the
bed, he unfastened his robe, his mind distracted by things of the day.
He tossed it on the bed, turning and pulling his silver fastener from
his hair.

He walked to the dresser and tossed it on the top, pausing as he heard a
sound behind him. He turned slowly, his eyes searching and when they saw
him, they filled with tears.

It hit him like a blow, the sight of Legolas standing by his mantle, the
light of the fire flickering against him as he watched Elrond disrobe.
He considered it a ghost, a magic trick conjured by his deepest desires.
Turning, he moved toward a chair, gripping it as his emotions fell to
pieces inside of him.

"Elrond," the apparition said, moving to stand in front of him.

He sighed and looked at the figure before him, golden hair and pale skin
blurring from the tears in his eyes. For a moment he just stood and then
he turned, picking up his robe and wrapping around his suddenly chilled
body.

"You can't be here. Nothing that wonderful can ever happen to me again."

Legolas closed the gap between them, his hands resting on Elrond's
shoulders. "I'm here. Turn and look at me. Touch me."

Elrond turned to face him, his eyes searching the pale figure before
him. The light of his fireplace gave Legolas an unearthly halo and as he
stared at him he considered the Valar. They could only match him in
beauty, he thought, his disjointed mind not willing to hope that his
eyes were telling him the truth.

"I came to Imladris. I couldn't be away from you any longer."

Elrond groaned, his sorrow welling up in inside. "You cannot stay. This
whole thing... its become more than you and I."

"I am going to stay," Legolas said stubbornly. "I am here, Elrond. It
will be all right."

"No one will think so," Elrond said sadly, turning and staring at
Legolas with wretched sadness. "It was settled in Rohan, this ... this
thing between us."

"You settled a dispute with my father. It isn't settled between us." He
paused, looking at Elrond uncertainly. "Is it?"

Legolas was encompassed, swept into a warm bare chest as strong arms
encircled him in a crushing hug. He hugged Elrond back, his arms
wrapping around the older man's neck and they stood together for a
moment, the silence of the room only broken by the soft sigh of Elrond.

"I missed you so completely," he said, looking into Legolas' blue eyes.
"I felt such utter desolation when you left."

"You fought for me," Legolas said, reaching down and taking Elrond's
hand into his. He searched the palm and then pressed a kiss into it.
"You did what you did for me and I knew at that moment that I was
loved."

"I didn't want to hurt you. I've never wanted that but I have," Elrond
said, squeezing Legolas' hand.

"No," Legolas whispered softly. "You gave me a new life, one of my own
choosing as well. You could never hurt me."

"How can you be here?" Elrond asked, his voice filled with worry.

"I am here because I have a champion," Legolas said, a slight smile on
his face.

Elrond looked at him, his confusion mingled with his grief. "I don't
understand."

Legolas leaned in and kissed him softly. "My mother is my champion too."
He smiled again. "She loves me more than she hates you."

Elrond looked at him for a moment, struck dumb by the comment and then
he smiled, shaking his head. "I don't pretend to understand what I have
become since you came to me but I begrudge very little, Green Leaf."

Legolas sighed, sliding his hands up Elrond's arms, the robe slipping
off one shoulder. He leaned forward, kissing the base of Elrond's neck
and the older man sighed, shivering slightly. He closed his eyes, giving
in to the soft lips that trailed up and down his neck. Nothing mattered
more to him than that soft sweet sensation and he stood captive to the
younger man before him.

"Elrond."

He sighed. "Yes."

"I love to say it," Legolas said, slipping his jacket off. It fell to
the floor and was followed by his shirt, their chests touching without
hindrance of clothing. Elrond sighed and pulled Legolas against him, his
half naked body warm and taut against his lover. Legolas sighed, his
lips touching Elrond's and he whispered softly to him.

"I want you to take me."

Elrond's breath caught in his throat and he stared into smoky blue eyes
filled with love. He took a ragged sigh and nodded slightly, turning and
moving toward his bed, the younger man draped over him, his lips making
short work of his neck.

They fell to the bed and with almost no conscious effort, Legolas'
clothes fell away piece by piece. They lay side by side, Elrond bent
over the younger man and for a moment they just stared.

"This is not real," Elrond whispered, his hand roaming down the warm
slope of Legolas' chest to rest on his flat belly. "I cannot be so
lucky."

Legolas smiled, sighing softly. "I am here and I am yours. Please, you
said you would."

Elrond nodded and rose, conscious of the eyes that followed him. He
walked to his bathing room, searching feverishly for the lotion that he
kept for dry skin. Turning, he walked out, the image of Legolas bathed
by the light of the fire impressing itself into his brain. He sighed and
moved gently, lying down on his lover and they kissed softly for several
moments.

"Your ardor needs stoking," Legolas said, pressing Elrond over onto his
back. He took the small vial and set it on the table beside the bed,
smiling as he looked over Elrond's body with hungry eyes. He sighed and
moved lower, gripping Elrond's cock in his hand, watching as the older
man groaned, moving slightly with the sensation. "You feel good to me,"

Legolas said, leaning down and kissing dark hair, rubbing his lips
against it. "You feel so wonderful."

Then he opened his mouth, the sweetness overwhelming his lover as he
sucked along the full length of his shaft. Elrond groaned, grasping
Legolas' hair as he felt a velvet vice grip him. Legolas very slowly
pulled back, the sensations of silk and heat tugging at his lips as he
did.

He leaned down again and kissed Elrond's stomach, lingering over an old
scar as he made his way to the mouth he had craved for so long. He lay
on Elrond's body, capturing his mouth as they kissed in a delirious
rapture. Then he rolled over, his leg hooked around Elrond's hip and
pulled the older man onto his body.
Elrond stared down at him, at the impossibly beautiful figure beneath
him. He sighed and kissed Legolas, lingering in his sweet mouth and then
he could wait no longer.

Gentle hands turned him onto his side and the familiar but unfamiliar
sensation of warmth and pressure began its work. Legolas shifted,
offering more of himself and Elrond kissed his shoulder over and over as
he worked gently to make Legolas ready for him.

Legolas sighed, feelings flooding him of desire and ownership and
submission. Elrond was his in the most complete sense of the word and he
gave himself to his lover with every desire to please. He was awash in
the tenderness of his lover and in his surrender he found possession. In
this most intimate moment between them, age and station and obligation
fell away.

He sighed as Elrond gripped his hip, sliding his hand down his leg and
raising it upward. He felt a moment of pressure and then it came to him,
his lover entering his body slowly. He sighed and rubbed his cheek
against Elrond, moving his body slightly now and again, helping his
lover find the core of him.

He moved backwards, the momentary flash of pain giving way to the
fullness that he craved, the sensation of Elrond inside him possessing
him even as he himself was possessed.

He could hear Elrond's breath, the heat of it on his shoulder, and he
gripped Elrond's hand with his own. For a moment there was pressure and
then there was stillness, each resting against the other as Legolas
absorbed the intrusion. He sighed and threaded his fingers through
Elrond's hand, whispering to him as he pressed backward.

"Love me, Melme. You promised," he said, groaning as Elrond began to
comply.
He felt Elrond behind him, the sweat of their bodies mingling and as he
found his rhythm, Legolas surrendered to the rising electrical
sensations of his own lust. He gasped, his own groans mingling with the
heavy panting behind him. Elrond moved against him, his eyes squeezed
shut, so completely was he engrossed in his task.

Legolas was before him, joined to him in love and all he wanted to do
was make it last. The fire in his groin was matched by the fire
surrounding his cock and he moved faster, the rhythm falling away as he
felt the abyss approaching.
He groaned, a cry escaping his lips and he bit on the soft skin of
Legolas' neck as he rode him. Closer and closer, the blackness reached
out and when he felt it coming, the fire in his head exploded into a
million tiny suns. He slammed into his lover, biting into his shoulder
and felt the answering quiver of Legolas' orgasm grip him tightly.

They shuddered, nearly curling into a ball and when it passed, relaxed
against the bed, Elrond's arm tightly around his lover. It was
impossible to breathe for a moment, impossible to talk or move and so
they lay together entwined.

The fire flickered and then sputtered, casting a strange shadow on the
wall before him and Legolas watched it, content for the first time in
months right where he was.

"I love you."

Elrond sighed, kissing Legolas' neck. "I know."

Legolas smiled, peering over his shoulder. "You don't say that much do
you, Melme?"

"I do everyday," Elrond said, kissing the red mark his teeth left on
Legolas' shoulder. "I say it when I am awake and its the last spoken
words from my lips when I go to bed." He sighed and lay his head next to
Legolas', the two spooned tightly together. "I love you, Green Leaf."

Legolas smiled. "I know."

Elrond smiled, raising his head to peer into the sweat-sheaned face of
his lover. "You can stay?"

He nodded, pulling Elrond's arm around him tighter. "I can." He grinned
and laced his fingers through Elrond's. "I have a champion."

Elrond smiled and settled against him. "So I have been told," he said
with a chuckle. "That is what I have heard."

Legolas only smiled.

END

************************************************************************

Continued in 'Winter Heart'