Thranduil slipped out of the Hall of Fire and walked aimlessly in the gardens of Imladris. Grey eyes narrowed as he slid out of the festivities and, unbeknownst to the Sinda, he acquired a dark shadow trailing after him. The king’s mind was plagued with worry for his people and he was not fit company. As Ithil rose and bathed the greenery in cool, silvery light, the hidden depths of the forest beckoned and he heeded their call.

As the forest welcomed him, Thranduil felt his mood lighten. The trees of his home had always calmed and soothed his weary spirit and the ones in Imladris were no different. While slowly walking the moonlit path, his hands slid across the bark, each touch restoring him. So lost in his thoughts, he was unaware of being followed, until he lingered against a particularly wizened oak. The tree, ancient by ordinary standards, had roots which reached far and wide and could sense the follower’s nervous intent from his rapid heartrate and breathing. This concerned the oak and it conveyed the follower’s presence to the king.

Elladan questioned his judgment as he watched Thranduil slip silently into the dark woods. He had hoped to speak to the king in the gardens, but it was now obvious that Thranduil was unaware that he was being followed and seemed to greatly desire being alone. Taking a deep breath, he tracked the king, barely keeping the golden head in sight. As he wound through the trees, Elladan realized that he had not caught sight of the king for far too long. His eyes darted nervously, searching for glimpses of blond hair, but finding none. Hesitant at revealing himself, he finally moved out of the treeline and onto the moon-dappled path.

A wicked smile lit Thranduil’s face as he recognized who had been trailing him. Dropping down silently behind the half-elf, he quickly wrapped his arm about Elladan’s neck, pulling him tightly against his chest. “Why do you follow me, young one? That can be quite foolhardy.” His words hissed softly past Elladan’s ear.

Startled, his reaction too late to prevent capture, Elladan quietly gasped as his back was pulled firmly against a muscled torso. The king’s hot breath sent frissons of desire down his spine. This was not how he had envisioned their encounter.

“You have no answer?” Thranduil had been surreptitiously studying Elladan in Council, and wanted to see those grey eyes and full lips up close. He twisted Elladan’s body in his arms and pressed the Peredhel’s back against the oak, his own body fully aligned with his captive’s.

Now that the surprise was behind him, Elladan lifted his chin defiantly and glared at the king. “I am not afraid of you.” It was not fear that had his heart pounding against his ribs and made his breathing shallow.

Thranduil’s pulse quickened at the challenge in those steely eyes. He leaned closer and whispered breathily, his cheek pressed to Elladan’s. “Oh, but you should be.” The Peredhel’s scent caught in his nostrils sending sharp arousal flaring in his groin. Not only was Elladan beautiful, smart and caustically funny, he was simply intoxicating and Thranduil had no will to resist.

Their eyes met and Elladan shivered. He froze as the intense desire in the king’s darkened gaze rooted him to the spot. He nervously licked suddenly dry lips as Thranduil held his head between calloused palms. The kiss was nothing like he expected. Instead of a furious, hard claiming invasion, the king’s lips met his tenderly, gently asking for entrance. Though light and almost teasing, the kiss set Elladan alight as none had before. He felt his knees give way and grabbed tightly to mithril-encased biceps to steady himself.

The young one was enticing and his responsiveness only fed the king’s hunger. Pulling back so that their lips were a hair’s breadth apart, he husked, “Nectar. Pure heaven.”

The Mirkwood king was proving to be all the rumors had said of him. Elladan was feeling overwhelmed by emotions that a mere kiss had never before inspired. He could form no words, but nodded, his lips parted slightly as he tugged on the firm muscles. Almost drowning in sensation as he felt an answering hardness press into his own, Elladan wanted more.

The next meeting of lips was exactly as Elladan had expected: bruising, claiming, and soul searing. Breathless, his head dropped to Thranduil’s shoulder as the world spun.

Warmth infused the king’s being and the cold dark places of his heart began to thaw. Sliding one hand through silken dark tresses, he reveled in the lithe body pressed close as a soft smile lit his features. Not wanting to move, but needing to see those eyes he pulled back and dropped a quick kiss on Elladan’s nose. “Are you certain, young one? Your Adar... you were forbidden me.”

Elladan frowned. “I am long past my majority. It is not his concern.”

Thranduil smiled, heartened, even though he knew they were playing a dangerous game, but that worry was for another time. He leaned in, pressing Elladan against the tree as he kissed him again. From the first kiss the king felt he could never get enough of those sweet lips. “Then come. I want to know if all of you tastes so fine.”

~~~*~~~

Elladan shut the door silently behind him and moved to sit on the edge of Elrohir’s bed. As he leaned down to tug off his boots, Elrohir sat up in bed, bleary eyes blinking at his twin. “Elladan!” He glanced to the window, before continuing, “Where have you been? It is nearly dawn.” The younger twin took in his brother’s disheveled appearance, a grin crossing his face as he noted the love mark blooming on Elladan’s neck and the fact that his shirt had been on backwards. “No need to tell me… your debauched appearance is explanation enough. But I would like to know who?”

Elladan, now in only barely-laced leggings, stretched out in bed next to his brother, a satisfied grin upon his face. He answered, smugly, “Playing with fire,” but would reveal nothing more.

Elrohir simply stared at his twin, watching over him as sleep quickly took him. Tenderly he plucked a leaf from Elladan’s mussed hair. Sighing, he kissed his brother’s brow, “I hope you do not get burned, tôren.”

The End

Elrohir walked into the rooms he shared with his brother; closing the door behind him, he slumped against it wearily. The long days in Council were wearing on the younger twin and the evening meals, filled with quiet tension, did not ease the strain. He longed for his brother’s presence, but had no expectation of their usual camaraderie. Elladan had a secret and he was not sharing, not even with the one that he kept nothing from. This, too, added to Elrohir’s stress. Each night, his twin disappeared from the Hall of Fire after making a cursory appearance, and Elrohir felt compelled to cover for his brother.

Elladan stepped from the bathing chamber, and looked up, startled, when he realized his twin was in the room. A flash of guilt shone from his eyes before he looked away. Striding to the armoire, the elder twin tried to make idle conversation while he carefully selected his attire and tended his hair.

Waving away his brother’s futile attempt at pointless words, Elrohir spoke. His concern was evident. “Tôr, I do not need your words, I know who, but please? For Valar’s sake! Practice discretion. Adar is getting suspicious and I am running out of excuses.”

Unable to meet his twin’s gaze, Elladan dropped to the bed. “Forgive me, ‘Roh. I did not mean for you to be dragged into this…”

Elrohir moved to the bed and sat by his brother, bumping their shoulders. “You know that where you go, I go. How could I not help? I have not seen you this happy since we last visited Lórien.”

Chuckling, Elladan finally met his brother’s gaze and only found love and acceptance there. “I expect this to turn out far better than that did.”

Returning his brother’s smile, Elrohir stood and pulled Elladan to stand with him. Even this small renewal of their bond restored him greatly. “I hope you are a better judge of character this time around,” he teased gently, well knowing the sour feelings his Lórien dalliance had left with Elladan. “We should hurry. I doubt your king will be pleased if you did not arrive before he makes his excuses.”

His smile blissful at the mere mention of his king, Elladan hugged his brother tightly before practically dragging him from their room.

~~~*~~~

Elladan sat in the Hall of Fire, his eyes continually glancing around, but purposefully avoiding Thranduil. The king soon made his apologies and left. Shortly thereafter, Elladan snuck away, hoping to avoid further questions for his twin. Elrohir watched, and worried that his brother was not cautious enough.

Elrohir was not the only one that noted Elladan’s passage. Haldir’s cold blue eyes glinted from a dim corner and he soon followed Elladan. When the Peredhel disappeared into the forest, the blond grinned maliciously. He would have no trouble finding Elladan and his lover. He was Silvan, no wood was barred to him. Once the Galadhel’s footsteps set upon the path into the dark forest, he was not as successful as he expected to be. The very trees seemed to be keeping him from his destination.

Haldir wandered, frustrated, until he heard soft moans and gasps carried aloft on the slight breeze. Stealthily, he climbed into the trees and sought his quarry. Soon he spied the pair, caught in more than an amorous embrace. His eyes widened when Thranduil slid down Elladan’s bare torso and eagerly engulfed the half-elf whose back arched into the king. Haldir angrily tried to pull his eyes away, but the pair was too compelling, locked into each other as though the very world did not exist around them.

Finally, with their shared cries of ecstasy ringing in his ears, Haldir fled. His destination clear. Elrond.

~~~*~~~

Elladan collapsed onto Thranduil, his dark hair cascading around them both. Thranduil gently stroked the still trembling muscles, soft words spilling from his lips as he placed tender kisses to his lover’s elegant ear and neck. When both hearts slowed from their frantic pace, the king nuzzled his lover’s chin, urging him to lift his head. A soft smile curled Elladan’s full lips and Thranduil could not resist them. He lifted his head and began to nibble and kiss the still bruised lips.

Thranduil rolled them to the side and tossed his cloak over their bodies as he tucked Elladan’s head under his chin. He had no words to describe the overwhelming tenderness he felt for the dark-haired elf. A completely foreign sensation had wrapped itself around the king’s heart and he was left marveling at the warmth and light Elladan brought to his world.

With a contented sigh, Thranduil relaxed into their makeshift bed of cloak-covered moss. It was no king’s chamber, but he had never felt more comfortable. Elladan looked up at his lover from heavy-lidded eyes and asked, “What are you thinking of?”

“You.” Thranduil kissed him again and again, leaving them both a bit breathless as he rolled onto his lover. “Your lips…” he placed a light touch to them, “your eyes…” two more light presses of his lips, “your neck…” longer, lingering kisses and licks, “your ears…” two quick nibbles, “your body…” the king moved down Elladan’s torso, trailing kisses and light bites until his cheek rested upon a strong thigh, “your perfect cock…” no more words were coming as the king licked and suckled the awakening shaft, “but most of all…” Thranduil smiled wickedly at Elladan’s moan of displeasure when he released his erection. He stalked slowly up Elladan’s body and seized his lips once again. “I find I cannot stop thinking of all of you, young one.”

Elladan’s eyes went dark and he pushed up against the thigh that rested between his legs. “You tease! Will you leave me needy and wanting?”

Thranduil raised himself on his arms and drank in the sight of his beautiful lover. The strength and power swathed in silken flesh enflamed him. “Never. I will take care of you.” With his own need overwhelming him, Thranduil pushed Elladan’s legs open and sheathed himself in the still relaxed channel. Their cries and moans echoed through the forest once again until they came in unison, their cries muffled by desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

When Thranduil was at last able to speak without panting, he gave his lover a soft smile. He wanted to mark his feelings and let Elladan know how much he was cared for. If they had been in his realm, he would have insisted on piercing his lover’s left nipple, but this was Imladris and that was not the custom here, nor would such a visible reminder of the Mirkwood king be tolerated by Elrond. Sighing, he shifted and felt Elladan’s hand grasp one of his wide mithril armlets.

“Elladan?” He gently nudged his sated and sleepy lover as he pulled off the left armlet. “I want you to have this… as a symbol…” The king was afraid to put words to his feelings, so he hesitated, “Of what you have come to mean to me.” From Elladan’s startled expression Thranduil feared that he had mis-spoken, so he rushed on, “It is no more than a trinket and does not do you justice, but I would see it against your skin.”

Elladan was stunned, unsure of the meaning of such a gift, and even less sure of what he meant to the king, but he had always liked the way the armlets highlighted Thranduil’s biceps, and the feeling of gripping them tightly while in the throes of passion. He nodded, shyly, and felt the cool metal slide up his arm. It was a snug fit, but the twining vines and leaves seemed to sway as though in the breeze and the silver accentuated Elladan’s lightly tanned skin.

“Beautiful.” Thranduil whispered. “It highlights the color of your skin to best advantage.” He gathered Elladan back in his arms and tucked them tightly together. “I think we should rest now. The morning will come all too soon.” He kissed Elladan’s brow and inhaled the scent of his lover mingled with spent passion. The Council would end long before Thranduil desired it to.

Elladan nodded, sleepily. He was unused to such long nights and never had he had a lover as passionate and insatiable as the king. He most definitely needed rest.

The two lovers dozed, safe in each others’ arms, hidden in the bower amongst the eldest trees.

~~~*~~~

Thranduil strode into Legolas’ bedchamber, threw open the curtains, and heartily greeted him, “Good morning, iôn!” When the only response was a muffled curse and the blankets pulled tightly over his son’s head, the king chuckled. “Over did it last night, did you? I was certain you were not going to be in any shape to spar with me this morning, so I let you sleep in.” He slapped the prince’s bum and tugged on the covers. “Up with you.”

Hearing a soft knock upon the outer door, Thranduil turned away. When he returned to the prince’s bed, he smirked mischievously and planted his feet. Holding the bedsheets with both hands, he gripped tightly and pulled with all his strength. Unfortunately, Legolas held on with a death grip and both he and the sheets were dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

Thranduil tried not to laugh but his chuckles only made the prince growl louder. “I had breakfast delivered. Have some tea and you will feel better.” He offered his hand to help Legolas stand and slung an arm around his son as he walked him to the table.

Legolas looked at his father and even though he felt horrible from too much drink and too little sleep, he smiled. He could not recall seeing his father so carefree. Not even when the prince was an elfling were Thranduil’s eyes so completely open, hiding nothing. Pushing his father away, Legolas huffed, “You smell like an orc, Adar. What have you been up to?”

“Sparring with Glorfindel. You were in no shape when I left before dawn, so I had to find a suitable partner.” His eyes twinkled. “I daresay I acquitted Mirkwood well, though Glorfindel has no equal with the sword.” He rubbed his shoulders at that. “It is a good thing I am no slouch with a bow, but even there he is formidable.”

Gaping, the prince sat marveling at his father. His bed had not been slept in, how did he have the energy?

“Break your fast, Littleleaf.” He waved toward the large platter of food and began to walk toward the bath chamber. “I will relieve you of my noisome presence so you can eat, but do not dawdle. The Council meets shortly and you could use a bath too.” He ducked as a roll sailed toward him.

~~~*~~~

Elladan’s heart was in his throat as he stood before his father’s door. He had been summoned from the dining hall and came straight away, after exchanging worried glances with Elrohir before he left breakfast. Swallowing nervously, he knocked.

A muffled, ’Enter’ came from beyond the carved wood and Elladan pushed the door open, trying to feign nonchalance that he did not feel.

Elrond’s eyes were sharp and he quickly noted his son’s nervousness, his words were measured and clipped, conveying no warmth. “Sit down, Elladan. We need to talk.” He waved to the sitting area.

It had been many long years since Elladan felt like a misbehaving elfling, but that was exactly how he felt as he sat in the offered chair before the dark hearth. Elladan swallowed once again and tried not to fidget. “What is it, Adar? The Council is almost done and has gone more smoothly than we expected.”

Elrond chose the chair across from his son and sat down, stiffly. His eyes glittered as he listened to Elladan continue as though nothing untoward was occurring. “Enough! Do you think me a fool, Elladan? I know. This business with Thranduil… it stops… now.”

Stunned speechless, Elladan gaped at his father, quite unsure what to say even if he had words. Slowly, anger kindled and caught fire, regaining the elf-warrior his tongue. “Adar! I am long past my majority. You cannot dictate who I spend time with. I will do as I please!”

Elladan stood, ready to storm out when he was grabbed by the arm and forced to sit. His father’s eyes were dark grey pools. “Aye, I can dictate… and will, if you are unable to see sense. But I think you will agree with me… if you will sit and listen.” Wide eyed at his father’s intensity, Elladan nodded. “Thranduil is not what you believe him to be. You are merely another notch on his scabbard. He will cast you aside once he has tired of you or another has caught his eye. It is his way.”

Angered that his lover was being demeaned, Elladan interrupted. “Stop this! I do not understand why you hate him so, but he is not like that! Do you not think I could tell if I was being lied to?”

“Of course you could… from any but Thranduil. He is a master at seduction. He wanted you. He always gets what he wants. He will tire of you and cast you aside.”

“Nay! You lie! Why, Adar?” Elladan was growing increasingly upset as Elrond continued to lay out each and every transgression and the numerous dalliances in Imladris and Lothlórien of the Mirkwood king.

Elrond’s own emotions and temper flared. He was no liar! “Damn it, Elladan! Do you truly believe you are special? That no other has felt the intensity of those blue eyes when they look at you? How he makes you feel as though no other exists but you? How his whispered words and soft kisses so easily make you beg?” He stopped short when he saw the expression on his son’s face.

Elladan froze. Cold realization dawned and he paled. Barely audible, he uttered, “You? And Thranduil?”

Elrond closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding. He did not want to see that look in Elladan’s eyes. It was near unbearable to think that he had said the words that put it there. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he spoke quietly, trying to soothe. “Aye. It was a long time ago, ‘Dan, but I well remember how it felt to be Thranduil’s lover. I understand.”

Blinking, Elladan stood. His head spun. He needed air. “Thank you, Adar. Forgive me for not listening.” His voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion.

“Elladan? Forgive me. I warned him away from you and Elrohir. Mayhap if I had not, he would have sought out a different conquest.” Elrond was scrabbling for any words that would help.

“You… you told him not to seek us out?” Cold certainty gave way to white hot fury. No one toyed with him, nor would ever again.

“Aye, my son. I am sorry. I did not want you hurt. I will speak to him now… if you wish it.” Elrond clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to offer physical comfort, but could sense that it would not be welcomed.

Elladan set his jaw and lifted his chin, a cold fire flaring in his grey eyes. More than his pride had been assaulted this time. He would deal with the perpetrator. “Nay, thank you, Adar. I will handle the king of Mirkwood in my own manner.” His eyes glanced to the door. He wanted… needed to escape. “May I go?”

“Aye, of course.” Elrond watched, his heart aching, as his son strode purposefully from his office. He prayed he had done the right thing. Damn you, Thranduil!

~~~*~~~

While Legolas ate, Thranduil bathed. Once done, the king stood on their balcony, enjoying the morning cacophony of Imladris – the song of birds and chirping of insects were pleasant, but he delighted in the happy calls of children and their minders, the sounds of shovel meeting earth in the garden, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones, the clatter from the kitchens and the sounds from the training fields. Imladris was vibrant and teemed with life. His own realm lived too much in darkness for such simple joy to echo across the halls. He had forgotten how pleasant life could be when not under constant siege.

Legolas walked out on the balcony, toweling his hair dry from his own morning ablutions. “What has you so pensive, Adar?”

“It is nothing, iôn. I am just noticing the freedom from darkness that they enjoy here. It makes me ache for our people all the more and I wish to release them from the constant threat. Our children should know a full day outside, not merely stolen moments.” He sighed and shook his head, trying to dispel his melancholy. “You look better.”

“I feel better. I think I will reconsider next time Elrohir convinces me to try Dwarven brandy.” He grimaced.

“You and Elrohir?” Thranduil waggled an eyebrow at his son, the rest of the question unspoken.

“Adar!” Legolas shoved the king away. “Not everyone I speak to is a bed partner. I consider Elrohir a friend… a good friend. I like his company, and with you and Elladan otherwise occupied, we often find ourselves at loose ends so we pass the time together.” At his father’s suggestive expression the prince continued firmly, “Talking, Adar. Merely talking. We found we have much in common.”

Thranduil threw his hands up and laughed, relenting. “Very well! I just find it ironic. It would drive Elrond mad, if both his sons took up with Mirkwood royals.”

Legolas grinned and began braiding his still-damp hair. He spoke up when he remembered a delivery, “Oh, a small parcel came for you while you were showering. I placed it on the bed.” Smirking, he continued. “It had no name on it, but I suspect it is from El-la-dan.” The last was said in a sing-song manner causing Thranduil to roll his eyes at his teasing son, but he found himself hurrying to his bedchamber nonetheless.

Sitting on the bed, Thranduil eagerly opened the package but stopped, his heart thudding when his mithril armlet dropped onto the coverlet. Swallowing, he opened the letter and began to read. The words tore through him, slicing his heart to ribbons, but he could not stop reading every last line. An idea crossed his mind that it had not been Elladan that penned the letter and hope flared, but the intimacies revealed crushed that notion. His lover had cast him aside, brutally written him off.

His head fell back against the headboard, a single tear trailed down his cheek. He recognized what had occurred, but it hurt no less. His past had been revealed and used against him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath he stood, his decision made. “Legolas!” He bellowed.

The prince ran into the bedchamber and stopped. The ice cold fury radiating from the king could not be mistaken. “Adar?”

“We leave today. There is nothing to keep us here and I want away from this accursed place!” his voice was angry but laced with bitterness.

“But… but, Adar,” his mind awhirl, the prince knew that if he did not act fast there would be no changing his father’s mind. He glanced at the bed and saw a crumpled letter and one of his father’s mithril cuffs. One he had not been wearing earlier. Legolas’ eyes widened. “We cannot leave today. We need this agreement. You know that. We need the armor and weaponry.” He spoke quickly, hoping to appeal to his father’s love for their people. “It is only the formalities and actual signatures. I am certain we could have everything done in two day’s time.” He hoped that was true.

Thranduil knew that Legolas was right. To leave at this moment was worse than foolish and his own personal considerations should not outweigh his people’s needs. Ducking his head so that he could calm himself, he eventually looked up again and nodded. “Fine. We leave two days from now. You and Galion can finish off the details. Make sure everything is ready for me to sign by tomorrow evening.” With that, Thranduil strode from the room, the slam of the outer door signaling that the discussion was ended.

Floundering, Legolas hastily finished dressing and sought out Galion who would need to take his father’s position in council. Once he had explained everything to their chief advisor, the prince went to find Elrohir. He needed someone to talk to, and possibly learn what had gone wrong.

~~~*~~~

Thranduil was being avoided. He knew it and hated it, but was powerless to remedy the situation. If Elladan would not even be in the same room with him, he could not explain and try to regain the half-elf’s trust. Sighing, he dripped wax upon the letter and pressed his seal into it. He handed the small parcel to a page for delivery. He had paid well to ensure that it was delivered into Elladan’s hands and no other’s.

Standing, he took one last look around the room, certain he would not return. Shouldering his pack, he headed for the courtyard where his escort was already assembling. As he passed the double doors to the gardens, Thranduil hesitated. His feet decided for him and he walked through the forest, bolstering his memories and drinking in the solitude. When he trod upon the flattened moss of their bower, scents and memories overwhelmed him. Breathing deeply, his heart thudding, the king leaned against the wizened beech that had been their silent guardian and allowed everything to wash over him.

As he opened his eyes, no anger remained there, only muted sorrow and silent resignation. Elladan was not to blame, but there was one who was.

Shouldering his discarded pack, Thranduil patted the tree and silently offered his gratitude before striding back through the Last Homely House. By the time he arrived at the top of the steps, his guards were already mounted. Legolas was talking to a dark-haired ellon and for an instant the king thought it might be Elladan, come to see him off. That hope was quickly smashed when he turned and Thranduil knew it was Elrohir.

His eyes continued to scan the courtyard, hoping to alight upon another dark head, but Elladan was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, he moved to the landing and noted the Imladris’ dignitaries that were there to see their party off. As Elrond turned, their eyes met, and white fury overwhelmed Thranduil. He stalked to the elf-lord, his whispered words laced with venom. “I am surprised! To use your own son to take revenge upon me? I never expected you to stoop so low!”

Celebrían gasped at his open hostility and Elrond stood, speechless. Thranduil started down the stairs before turning back to the lady, “Please forgive my outburst, but if you need to know more, I suggest you ask your husband. Thank you for the courtesy of your home, my Lady. You are always a most generous hostess.”

Legolas and Elrohir both turned and witnessed the exchange. None but the three on the steps heard what was said, but their faces made the topic clear. Both elves sighed in frustration. After a mutual hug and quick assurances of continued contact, Elrohir rushed to his parents’ side as Legolas moved to the horses.

Mounting up, Thranduil surveyed the courtyard once again, hoping for a last glimpse of Elladan. As he threw his head back in frustration, a movement in a tower window caught his eye. When he locked his gaze upon the darkened window, he knew Elladan was watching. Thranduil placed his bent arm across his chest, his hand over his heart while he stared, his eyes open and unguarded, revealing his pain. Briefly he bowed his head. When he looked up again, the blue gaze was cold and emotionless as he rapidly urged his stallion away from Imladris.

~~~*~~~

Elladan stood in the dim tower, staring down at the courtyard. Elrohir called him a coward for not facing Thranduil, for hiding, but he knew he could not be near the king and stay strong in his determination. Elrohir did not understand the pull Thranduil exerted. Even from this distance, the king’s presence beckoned.

Thinking he was unobserved, Elladan moved into the window when Thranduil mounted his horse. But somehow, the king knew he was there, and Elladan felt pinned by that steady gaze, the pain and longing stealing his breath. As quickly as he revealed himself, Thranduil’s emotions were once again veiled and he was gone. The clatter of hooves and muffled shouts covered Elladan’s stifled sob as he rested his face on the cool stone window frame.

Anor moved across the valley as Elladan sat in silence in the dim room, his thoughts continually circling like vultures over, ‘what if’, ‘might have’, and, ‘should have’. The questions were not helping and his legs finally grew restless. He stood and stalked back to his rooms, the scowl on his face keeping any from approaching as he passed.

When he placed his hand upon the door, a small voice spoke up, “Excuse me, milord?”

Elladan whirled and was ready to shout down whoever had dared to disturb his dark thoughts, but the young page had obviously been waiting for him for quite some time, and the wide eyes that greeted him silenced the harsh words. “Aye. What is it?”

A trembling hand held out a small parcel, “I was to give this directly to you and no other. Please?”

“Forgive me, pen neth.” Elladan took the parcel, and offered a slight smile. “Thank you. You have done your duty. You may go.”

Relieved of his burden, the young page hurriedly raced away without a backward glance. Elladan looked down at the carefully wrapped parcel. There was no writing on the outside. Stepping into his rooms, he was glad Elrohir was elsewhere because he did not feel like talking.

Elladan tossed the parcel on his bed and moved to start a bath. He had not slept for two nights and fatigue was overcoming him. Once clean and dry, he physically felt better. As he donned loose sleep pants, his eyes drifted to the plain package on the bed. His curiosity finally won out and after sitting back against the headboard in bed, he opened it.

Inside, he found a plain brown box and a letter addressed to him. Opening the box revealed Thranduil’s mithril armlet. Elladan fingered the vines and scroll work, the touch recalled how the king’s biceps felt when they were wrapped by the cool, silvery metal. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he opened the envelope. The letter was short, written in a vibrant script.

Elladan,

Believe of me what you will, young one, but I never spoke aught but the truth to you. Aye, I did not reveal past dalliances, but I did not dream that your father’s hate for me would overrule his love for you. Forgive me for so gravely misjudging him and for the hurt I have caused you. I would do it differently if I could keep you from any and all pain.

I cannot accept the cuff back. It is yours. Please honor the memories that we made by keeping it. I pray the day will dawn when you can think of me in a better light.

Yours eternally,
Thranduil

Elladan re-read the words. Had he mis-judged Thranduil? Curling up, he held tightly to the cuff and letter. Would he ever know the truth?

A/N: You’ll notice this story now has dates. The first two were really okay in some unspecified time, but now events are intruding and this all needed to be ‘placed’ in its proper time. Hope it all begins to make sense by the end.



Laer, Imladris, 2459 T.A.

Elrohir stood by the practice fields, watching as Elladan continued to spar with Glorfindel. He shook his head as his twin was disarmed and thrown yet again, but refused to stay down. His twin’s battered emotions were reflected in his black mood and sparring seemed to be the most constructive way to release his anger.

“Your brother is quite persistent, but Glorfindel seems to grow tired of besting him.” Haldir’s hot breath against Elrohir’s neck caused him to stiffen and quickly step away. Elrohir clenched his jaw and ignored the Galadhel. He was not going to take the bait. But Haldir would not be dissuaded. “I wonder why he is so adamant? Mayhap he is working off his frustrations… since his king left so suddenly.”

Elrohir spun and turned steely grey eyes upon the Marchwarden as he hissed, “What are you implying?”

Haldir leaned in close, his smile wicked. “I imply nothing. I watched as your twin opened his legs for Thranduil. Even though he is nothing but that Sinda’s slut, I would take him back to my bed... I will make certain to work him hard to relieve his frustration.”

Eyes narrowed in fury, Elrohir reached back, balled his hand into a fist and punched Haldir, then set upon him. His brother and father had been through far too much, and Haldir stood here, reveling in the misery he had caused! “You orc spawned bastard!” Caught off guard, and stunned by the ferocity of Elrohir’s attack, the Marchwarden went down and could do nothing but try to deflect the punches and kicks flung at him. “You Valar accursed son of a warg! How dare you!”

Soon Elrohir was dragged away from Haldir by Elladan, while Glorfindel pulled Haldir to stand. The younger twin was still furious and Elladan had to restrain him. “Tôr! Stop this!”

Glorfindel glared at Elrohir and Haldir. Elves under his command did not brawl. “Elrohir! Explain yourself.” Haldir wiped his cut lip and bloody nose on his sleeve; he was about to protest when he was cut off. “You will get your say, Marchwarden.”

After jerking his arm from his twin’s grasp, Elrohir straightened up and looked Glorfindel directly in the eye. “I was merely defending my brother from this… this son of a Nazgûl!” He turned to Elladan, his eyes pleading for understanding, “I could not stand idly by while he said such things, ‘Dan. He… he is the one that told Adar.”

Elladan frowned, his lips drawing tightly together and his eyes flashing. “I know that, ‘Roh. I do not need your protection from such as him.” He spoke contemptuously, and ignored Haldir. “Do me no more favors.” Elladan stormed away, leaving a stunned Elrohir in his wake.

Haldir looked up at Glorfindel expectantly, “Are you not going to do something about this unprovoked attack upon my person?”

Glorfindel smiled maliciously at Haldir, “Aye, Marchwarden, I am going to forget that anything untoward occurred here and you will do the same… or live to regret it.” The Elda’s voice was low and filled with tacit menace. His lord’s entire family had been buffeted by emotional storms since the King of Mirkwood left, including ice that had not yet thawed between the lord and lady. Now that he had learned that it was Haldir that set everything in motion, Glorfindel wanted to wipe the ground with the arrogant Galadhel, but his honor and sense of duty held him back.

Haldir’s eyes glittered, but he recognized that now was not the time to argue with the Elda. Raising his chin, he straightened his back and strode away with as much pride as he could muster under the circumstances.

Elrohir glared after the Marchwarden and then turned to follow his brother when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “What? Surely you understand why I hit him?”

Glorfindel nodded his head, “Aye, he deserves far worse than you gave him, but I hold you so that you will not follow Elladan.”

“What? But, I need to explain…”

“Leave him be for now, ‘Roh. He needs time. There is much for him to think on.” Glorfindel wrapped an arm about Elrohir’s shoulders and tugged him toward the practice field. “Besides, I need some help gathering and cleaning the weapons.”

Elrohir gazed after Elladan, but reluctantly acquiesced. “Very well.”

~~~*~~~

Elrohir walked into the rooms he still shared with Elladan. The tension surrounding his twin had continued to fester; the culmination occurred when he announced his decision to leave with Gildor’s band. The resulting outcry from both their parents had left Elrohir exhausted from defending his brother’s choice. Elladan had stormed out earlier, and would not be deterred from his course.

Elrohir found his twin dozing on his stomach, a wide mithril band cupped in his hand, with his pack at his feet, his belongings strewn half in and half out. Though they had never spoken of it, he well knew from whom Elladan had received the armlet. He knew what was going on in his brother’s mind and heart. He silently threaded his fingers through raven hair, sighing softly. They had never been parted for any length of time. This extended separation was going to be painful, but if it was what Elladan needed, Elrohir would support him.

Elladan awoke at the soft touches and quickly slid the mithril band under his pillow. “Tôr?” he asked, his voice fuzzy from sleep.

Elrohir sat down on the side of the bed before replying, “Though neither are happy, they have agreed…”

“And you?”

“I cannot lie to you… I do not wish to be parted. I would gladly go with you, but I have heard you, and I think I understand. I will be here when you return.”

Elladan sat up and drew his brother to him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, tôr. I needed your agreement.”

Elrohir hugged him back and quietly whispered. “Always. I hope you find the peace you seek.”

~~~*~~~

Ethuil, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.

Thranduil stood as the Great Gates slowly opened and watched from the top of the stairs as the colorful procession of wagons, carts, and elves filled the large outer courtyard. He smiled widely when he saw the familiar golden blond head as Gildor rode up. Hurriedly he strode down to meet his old friend, uncaring if Galion or Legolas could keep up.

Gildor grinned as he dismounted and met Thranduil. They embraced tightly. The king pulled back and surveyed the wanderer. “It has been too long. I began to believe that you were too afraid to travel in my realm…” his voice teased as he snaked an arm around Gildor’s waist. He turned, and Neledhon, Gildor’s second, had dismounted and was standing before him. Releasing Gildor, he grasped Neledhon’s arm in a warrior’s greeting. “Well met. I have missed our games of chance.”

Neledhon chuckled, “Only because you always win. Somehow there is no ‘chance’ when we play games together, your Majesty.”

Thranduil was nodding and smiling, happy to have such good friends back for a time, but his face froze when a third rider dismounted and walked slowly to the group. He could not hear Neledhon’s words as a thunderous pounding began in his ears. The sight of Elladan, even after this long, still affected the king greatly and only long practice at impassivity kept him from revealing just how much. When Elladan stepped beside Neledhon and wrapped an affectionate arm about the wanderer’s waist, Thranduil was almost overcome.

Quickly regaining his composure Thranduil nodded politely in greeting to Elladan. “Welcome to Mirkwood, Elladan Elrondion.” He silently prayed that the others had caught up to him just as he felt footsteps behind him. “I am sure you remember my son, Prince Legolas? And this is Galion, my seneschal. He will lead you to your rooms and see that you are well looked after. I apologize for such a curt greeting, but I have urgent business to attend to. Legolas and Galion are quite capable hosts in my absence.” He directed a firm glance to Galion before continuing, “It was a pleasure.” With that, he turned and fled, barely stifling the urge to run.

Gildor watched intently as the entire scene unfolded. Though Thranduil was a consummate actor, his slight flush and widening pupils gave away his feelings on meeting Elladan once again, and his abrupt departure signaled that this would be a tension filled visit, especially as Elladan seemed intent on publicly proclaiming that Neledhon was ‘his’.

~~~*~~~

Thranduil stretched his aching muscles and hurried toward his rooms. He would normally have soaked in the public baths after sparring, but he did not dare while the Wandering Company was visiting. The last thing he needed was to see an unclothed Elladan ministering to Neledhon. Sighing, his steps quickened at the thought of a warm bath. As he turned the corner to his rooms, he saw Gildor leaning against his door. Having been seen, he had no choice but to continue on to his rooms.

“Gildor, what are you doing here at this hour?”

Gildor took Thranduil’s arm in his own and tugged the king into his chambers. “Crack open your private stock and then we can talk about why you have been avoiding me… among other things.”

Protesting, Thranduil allowed himself to be dragged into his rooms. “I am not avoiding you.” Waving toward the sitting area, the king walked to his wine cabinet and poured two glasses of a deep, rich, red Dorwinion wine. Handing a glass to Gildor, the king sat down next to the Wanderer. “I have been busy and was looking forward to a nice long soak.”

Taking a sip of the heady wine, Gildor breathed in as the complex flavors bloomed upon his tongue. Finally satisfied at the vintage, he turned an intense stare to Thranduil. “You may fool everyone else, but you cannot lie to me.” He cupped the king’s chin in his hand and forced their eyes to meet. “I know you. Sparring with the last round, near midnight? Sitting in Council the entire day? That is avoidance, so tell me… why? Have I angered you in some way? If so, tell me, that I can remedy it. I will not have hurts between us.”

Thranduil slumped in the sofa. He was bone tired and heart sore. Leaning back, with closed eyes, he spoke, “It is not you. It is those shadows of yours…”

“Neledhon? But what…”

The king interrupted, shaking his head. “Not Neledhon… his… companion.” Thranduil wondered what Gildor thought of Neledhon’s relationship, but he left that question unspoken.

Gildor nodded. “Oh. I wondered.” He sighed, clearly remembering Elladan’s state when he joined the Wandering Company and now Elrond’s request made sense. “Elladan asked to join the company and I agreed, but Elrond spoke with me before we left. He requested that we not come here…”

Thranduil snorted, but did not open his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You should speak to him.” Gildor’s voice was low and he expected an outburst at his comment, but instead Thranduil slumped further.

The king opened his eyes and turned toward his friend, “It is too late for that. Elrond loathes me and would see me dead before he would speak to me now. I only furthered the problems between us when I ignored his warning to stay away from his sons.” He shook his head ruefully, “Nay, no words can undo the past.”

Gildor disagreed, “You are wrong. It is never too late to make things right. I, of all people, should know.”

“Can we not change the subject?” Thranduil hated the almost petulant tone that crept into his voice. Even after all these years, Gildor still had the ability to make him feel like a misbehaving elfling with a mere look or shift of his voice.

“Nay.” Gildor shook his head, asking, “Is what Elrond says of you true?” Thranduil’s brow creased in confusion, so the wanderer continued, “That you have no heart.”

“You know me better than that…” Thranduil’s voice trailed off and his head fell back, his eyes closed.

Gildor rested his hand upon the king’s shoulder. “Aye, I do. But I need you to hear his side. He has cause to be bitter.”

Thranduil sighed, but did not open his eyes. “He does. I handled everything badly... Adar and half my people were slaughtered before my eyes. How was I to handle suddenly being thrust into my father’s place? I was king… responsible for what was left of my people… and totally unprepared.” He shook his head, not wanting to revisit the memories from that time. He had been hurt and scared witless, but could not fail. His voice grew soft, “I never intended to cast him aside, but he was not… we were not in love.”

Gildor stroked the king’s cheek, offering comfort. None who were there had good memories of the Morannon. “Do not deceive yourself, if he did not care for you it would not have been such a blow. And, now look at what you have wrought.”

Pained eyes opened and met Gildor’s. “Are you saying that I deserve this?”

“Nay, just that it should not be unexpected.”

“It was not a complete surprise, but I was shocked that Elrond would seek his revenge through Elladan instead of directly with me.” Thranduil closed his eyes and swallowed, willing the hurt away. “I never even saw him again, but I could feel his pain from his letter.”

Gildor pressed his hands against Thranduil’s cheeks and forced the king to look at him. “It is not about vengeance, pen neth. He truly believed that you intended to use and cast Elladan aside. He only wanted to protect his son. It is nothing you would not do for Legolas.”

Thranduil met Gildor’s glare and cringed. “Forgive me?”

“I am not the one you need to ask that of.”

Resigned, the king nodded. “You have made your point.” Exhaustion overwhelmed him and he tossed his arm over his eyes.

Gildor gently tugged Thranduil up. He had not intended to dredge up the past and flail the king with it. “Go take the bath that I so rudely interrupted. Rest. You look as though you have not in far too long.”

The king was drained, and revisiting all the old conflicts and emotions left him feeling vulnerable. He allowed himself to be pulled up, but wrapped his arms about Gildor, needing comfort and reassurance.

Gildor sighed and held tightly to Thranduil. At this moment the king reminded him much more of the young princeling that he had mentored than the confident ruler he had become. “Forgive me, pen neth. My intent was not to wound you, I was worried that you were angry with me. After all that we have been through, I could not bear for you to avoid me.”

Thranduil pulled away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I know you would never knowingly hurt me. From the first, I placed my trust in you, and that has never been a mistake.”

“Then get some sleep. You will need it. I expect a full tour tomorrow, some sparring, and then you must introduce me to your newest courtesans,” Gildor leered.

Laughing, his mood much improved, Thranduil showed the wanderer out. After bathing, his sleep was more restful than it had been since the company arrived.

~~~*~~~

Summer Solstice, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.

Elladan was glad for the familiarity of Neledhon’s arm as they entered the Great Hall. The cavern was so large that the ceiling was lost in darkened heights, but the visible portion was aglow and for a moment it was hard to remember that he was deep underground. The room sparkled under the glow of thousands of candles and lanterns whose light glinted and reflected off a myriad of surfaces: cut crystal, polished metal, and gleaming gems. The effect was dazzling and brought a smile to the elf-warrior’s features as he leaned in to speak to his lover. “It is amazing!”

Neledhon nodded and guided them toward the high table where he knew they would be seated, in deference to Elladan’s position. “Did I not tell you? Mirkwood puts on an incredible celebration… the feast is merely the beginning.” Smiling widely, Galion greeted the new arrivals and introduced them to the other guests as he showed them to their seats. Elladan noted that the king was not yet in attendance as he continued to take in the wonders of the hall. The buffet tables were groaning with the abundance of food and drink, and soft music filtered throughout the hall, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

Neledhon leaned close to his lover and whispered, “It gets better… just wait.” He grinned mischievously and then kissed Elladan tenderly.

As their lips met, Elladan stiffened momentarily, but then enthusiastically gave into the kiss and tangled his hands in his lover’s hair, holding tightly. Neledhon could not see that the king had arrived in the hall at the same time that he leaned in for the kiss. And now, the elf-warrior was unreserved in showing his passion for the wanderer, not bothering to stop until Thranduil and Gildor approached the dais.

The meal was a relaxed affair, and both Elladan and Thranduil kept their eyes diverted from the other except for the stolen glances that each took when the other was not looking. As dinner wound down, servants began to remove tables, replacing them with couches, benches, chairs and cushions. Soon the center of the room was bare and only the high table was left. More servants efficiently cleared away the last of the dishes before the high table itself was collapsed and taken away. This left the esteemed guests on the dais with the best view of the upcoming entertainers.

The first performers were the children. They walked in slowly, their green robes mimicking Yavanna’s finery as they raised their voices in heartfelt songs to the Lady of the Earth, the giver of the fruits that sustained and fed their souls as well as their bodies. The performance was warm, and earnest, and many proud parents beamed as everyone applauded loudly. The children were ushered out by their minders and changed before spending the evening at a carnival in the gardens.

Gildor smiled after the elflings. Even the few young ones from his troop had joined in and reveled in celebrating the Solstice in Mirkwood. The Silvans had once again created an unforgettable festival.

Bright, gay music swelled after the retreating children, and a company of entertainers burst into the room. More and varied colored lanterns were added as the jugglers performed amazing feats that left the audience in awe, but it was nothing when compared to the acrobats whose frenzied human pyramids, tumbles, dives and contortions left mouths agape. The crowd roared its approval as the company left.

Songs, both happy and mournful, were next as a makeshift stage was being built. Then the local troupe performed a play in honor of Oromë. The hour was growing late and Thranduil’s eyes more often rested upon Elladan, watching as he held and swayed to the music with Neledhon. He stared at the glass of wine in his hand and tensed to stand, needing to be away from this place of torment, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. His eyes met Gildor’s and he turned to glance where the other indicated. Thranduil stifled a gasp as he glimpsed Elladan, standing in a lone shaft of light, wearing nothing but leggings and holding a bright sword aloft.

He should have known… the Wandering Company always performed a dance when they attended the festivities. That Elladan would star was something he had not contemplated. He tensed and icy blue eyes turned to glare at Gildor who was smiling as a primitive drum beat began. Suddenly, lights flared and Elladan was surrounded by the minions of darkness. The music swelled and a battle raged. As the half-elf was about to be overcome, a golden light appeared and Oromë strode in, loud blasts from his horn destroying the evil ones.

The crowd shouted and roared as Oromë lifted the rescued elf and swept him up into a blistering kiss. Thranduil turned his head and grimaced. He had seen enough of Elladan and Neledhon together.

Every muscle in the king’s body was rigid, held tightly in check to keep his emotions at bay. He needed to escape, but could not until the last performance was done. Once the formal entertainment was finished, he could leave and let the others delight in the wildness and freedom of the night, but there would be no revelry for the King of Mirkwood, not this Solstice. He refused to look toward the performers and merely stared into the glass of wine he held.

Gildor nodded toward the king and sipped his wine, unaware of Thranduil’s turmoil. A soft drum beat began to fill the room. It started so low that it could only be felt, but as it grew in intensity, a single flute added to the cadence. Soon a harp joined in and the soft sultry song began to speed up. As hearts in the hall quickened, the notes ceased and standing in the center of the room were four courtesans, two ellith and two ellyn. The silky garments they wore clung to their bodies like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. In the flickering candlelight, the cloth seemed to change colors, shifting and mutating as their bodies twirled and intertwined. The music resumed and the dance began in earnest. It started slow and sinuous, highlighting the lithe bodies and their flexibility. As the music swelled, the ellith fell aside, lying stretched out upon the ground, their arms held up in entreaty, while the two ellyn leapt and twirled, their dance growing increasingly erotic and throbbing. The final notes crashed through the room and Surion leapt into the other courtesan’s arms, where he was held aloft, his body parallel to the ground. As the final note died, Surion arched, his body bending into a perfect bow, long raven hair sweeping the ground.

The crowd was completely silent for a brief instant and then the room erupted; loud applause and cheers echoed throughout the hall. The king’s eyes slid from the performers and briefly met Elladan’s. The moment their eyes met, Elladan leaned over and nuzzled his lover’s neck, never breaking the charged glance he shared with the king. Thranduil growled under his breath as pain and anger flared in his chest. The four courtesans approached the dais, and he smiled at them, acknowledging each, but silently making his wishes known to the raven-haired beauty.

Standing, the King of Mirkwood said the Solstice blessing and gave his own blessing for the fullness of the coming year. Music and dancing immediately consumed the room as he stepped down and took Surion’s hand in his. Surprise showed on Thranduil’s face when Gildor wrapped his arm about his waist as they left the great hall together.

Unbeknownst to the king, silver grey eyes stared after them as the three elves left the festivities.

~~~*~~~

They arrived at the royal enclave and Thranduil smiled, taking pity on the two guards stationed at the entrance. “Go. I will not need you tonight and you have missed enough of the revelries.” At the hesitation displayed by his guards, the king chuckled, “This is no test… go! I will make sure your captain does not misunderstand.”

The guards needed no more words. It was the worst of duties to miss out on the festivities, but it was exceedingly cruel to miss them while being near enough to hear the music and revelry. They were off in a flash.

The three elves smiled after their retreating forms as they entered the private quarters of the royals. Thranduil locked the door behind them and entered the large sitting area. He poured three glasses of wine and nodded to the others. “Surion, this is Gildor Inglorion, head of the Wandering Company.” He tipped his head toward Surion. “Gildor, this is Surion. He is one of my newest courtesans and quite a talent, as you have seen.”

He handed the glasses out and then dropped gracelessly to the leather sofa. Surion stood awkwardly for a moment, but quickly gained his composure and placing the glass aside, he dropped to his knees before the king. With bowed head he spoke, his voice filled with promise, “Sire, what would you have of me? I am yours for the night.”

Thranduil looked at the bowed head, the raven hair reminding him too acutely of the only dark hair he desired. He looked up to Gildor and raised his eyebrows, the offer clear. The wanderer smiled, but shook his head, refusing. The king reached down and tilted Surion’s chin up, gazing into bright green eyes, “I am giving you to yourself for this night, my beauty. Go… do what you will… I ask but one thing… that you stay away from all of those in Gildor’s company.”

Surion looked up, confused. He smiled suggestively at Gildor but received no response, so turned his eyes back to his king. “If that is your wish, Sire. You know that I enjoy your company, although it has been exceedingly rare of late.”

Thranduil stood and pulled Surion to stand. He wrapped strong arms around the lithe form and kissed the courtesan’s temple. “It is my wish. On this night, I would see you free to do nothing, if that is your desire.”

Surion nodded, still hesitant, “A night to myself?” He mused, shocked at the notion. “With merely a book and some tea?” He wrapped his arms around Thranduil’s neck and stood on tiptoes, kissing the king brazenly before pulling away. “Thank you, Sire!” He quickly left the room, reveling in an unexpected night of freedom.

Thranduil watched him leave, a bemused smile on his face. He sat back down on the sofa, gesturing for Gildor to join him, inordinately grateful for the Elda’s presence.

After finishing his wine, Gildor broke the lingering silence, “So tell me what is on your mind that you refuse such a beauty on this night, of all nights?”

The king toyed with his empty glass and sighed, “I have lately come to the realization that I cannot have what I want and all others, including that one, pale in comparison. The act has lost meaning, as has so much…” His voice trailed away, and he dropped his head to the back of the sofa, closing his eyes.

Gildor scooted close and brushed blond strands away from Thranduil’s face. Lines and dark circles painted the fair face. “Pen neth, I had no idea… what can I do?” His brows creased with worry for his friend. He had never seen him so lost before, not even after his wife died.

Without opening his eyes, he spoke softly and asked, “Take him away from here?”

Gildor’s eyes stung as Thranduil’s pain wounded him. He pressed a soft kiss to the king’s temple, and nodded, “We will be gone before the week is out. But what of tonight?”

Thranduil opened his eyes and met Gildor’s blue-grey gaze. “Stay?”

Wrapping his arms about the king, Gildor nodded. He tipped his head and tenderly pressed their lips together. “Aye.”

~~~*~~~

As he strapped his belongings onto his mount, Elladan realized that he had left his belt pouch in the drawer of his bedside table. Not wanting to delay their departure, he rushed back to his room to retrieve it. In his hurry to return to the courtyard, he rushed through the corridors without paying attention.

Thranduil left the council chambers with relief. The wandering company was leaving and things could at last return to normal. Lost in thought as he turned a corner, he collided with a firm body. He froze as he recognized whom he had ran into. Elladan. The king’s eyes locked onto the Peredhel’s full lips and he unconsciously reached out to run his thumb over the petal soft flesh, wondering if it was still as inviting. His callused thumb grazed lightly over Elladan’s lips, recalling how their first kiss had been his undoing. A sudden intake of breath pulled Thranduil from his reverie and his eyes shot up to meet Elladan’s. Instead of meeting the remembered warm gaze, he saw only narrowed eyes flashing angrily. His hand hovered for a moment longer, then fell. He managed to croak out, “Forgive me…” before turning and hurrying away.

Elladan stood unmoving as he watched Thranduil flee. He lifted his hand to his lips, gently touching the still tingling skin. Closing his eyes, he collapsed back against the wall and drew in deep breaths. It was good that they were leaving. His resolve faltered from a simple touch. If they remained any longer, he knew he would no longer be able to stay away from Thranduil. Steeling himself, he straightened and rushed to the courtyard.

Gildor stepped from the shadows, saddened beyond measure. Both were so affected by the other, it was maddening that they were determined to stay apart. Shaking his head, he followed Elladan with slow steps and a heavy heart. They were leaving, but they should not be. He hoped that one day soon, they could face each other and talk.

~~~*~~~

Iavas, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.

The grey rain sluicing down his arms and face, obscuring his vision, perfectly matched Thranduil’s foul mood. He barely heard the frustrated curses of his guards when the soaking rain kept the pile of carcasses from igniting. They could manage without him. At the moment he was lost in his own world.

“Sire?” Brandor tried to gain the king’s attention, but failed. He surreptitiously eyed Thranduil’s wounds and thought that none were life threatening. There were others to see to, and even though the king was not himself, he would want his warriors tended first. The captain stepped down from the raised outcropping. He surveyed the area and shook his head. They had been badly outnumbered, but somehow still prevailed.

A short while later the pyre was finally burning, and Brandor looked up when a rider approached. Recognizing the prince, Brandor stood and saluted. “Your Highness? Is there something wrong?”

Legolas jumped down from Amrûn and greeted the surprised captain with a strong clasp of arms. “Nay, Brandor. The delegation from Lake Town is here. They expected the king to meet with them.” The prince huffed slightly, his frustration evident. His eyes widened as he took in the number of wounded elves and the large pyre. “What happened?” His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed. “Where is Adar?”

Brandor tilted his head toward the outcropping. “We were ambushed. It was a huge party… well organized… I fear what this means…” He let the words fade away. They had enough to contend with at the moment. Sensing the prince’s annoyance, he put his hand on Legolas’ arm. “Go easy on him, ernilen. He is… not himself of late.”

Legolas looked into the elder captain’s eyes. Brandor was loyal and steadfast, having served the realm under Oropher. There was almost nothing that he did not know about Thranduil, so the prince could be honest. “I worry for him. He neglects his duty and, instead, spends all his time out on patrol. It is almost as though he wishes to be injured… or worse.”

His voice low, Brandor sought to ease the prince’s fear. “He is more reckless than usual, but I never leave his side. Menelglar has his back. We will not let him fall.” The captain worried about his king’s mental state, but never doubted his fighting ability. “If he had not been here, we might not have prevailed. There is none better at inspiring the best in all of us. I know he needs to be there, but if being out here, fighting, eases his mind, can you not take his place in the palace?” He tried to cajole the prince. “You are a better diplomat than he ever was.”

Legolas smiled in spite of himself. It was true. His father was no diplomat, but he was still the king. He clasped Brandor’s arm and nodded. “I promise to shout no more than he ever has at me.” His eyes were bright, but when he turned and looked up at the solitary figure standing in the rain, his face fell. This was not going to be easy.

“Adar?” The prince hated how tentative his voice sounded. When the king did not turn or even acknowledge his presence, he touched his father’s shoulder. “Please, Adar? We need to talk.” His eyes scanned the king’s form and noted the many small cuts and bruises. Legolas sucked in air when he noted the gash on his leg. It was still seeping blood, and had to be painful; it was long overdue to be looked after.

Anger warred with fear and Legolas forced himself in front of his father and into his face as he snapped. “Adar! Stop this… this wallowing in self-pity! It is not like you nor is it becoming for the King of Mirkwood to behave so!” The prince’s heart thudded in his ears. Had he pushed too hard?

Thranduil blinked a few times and shook his head to clear it. Legolas stood before him, fuming, his arms crossed and his face contorted with anger… or was it fear? The words slowly registered and the king looked down at his leg. It should hurt, but the empty numbness that had slowly engulfed his heart seemed to have spread to his limbs and he felt nothing. It was like looking at someone else’s leg.

As his father finally looked at him, Legolas bit back a cry. The king’s eyes were wide, blank pools in a too pale face. The prince grabbed his father tightly and held him, fearing that his injury could be life threatening if he had no will to live. “Adar. I am here. Your wounds need tending.”

When he was in his son’s arms, Thranduil could feel once again. He realized then that Morgul poison was quickly overtaking him from his leg wound as the world came crashing down on him and he collapsed.

~~~*~~~

Galion rushed into the healing rooms only to be stymied from going further than the waiting area. Legolas was then summarily pushed from a room, the door hastily closed behind him. Galion looked up at the prince whose face was drawn with worry, his clothes and hands covered in blood. “How is he?”

The prince could only shake his head. Tears threatened and he could not speak and keep them at bay.

Galion moved to the prince and wrapped his arms tightly around the younger elf. Legolas was like his own grandson and he needed comfort. “Your father is strong. This is not the first time he has fought off vile poison. He will not leave you. He swore that to your mother.”

The strong embrace and reminder of his mother loosed Legolas’ resolve and the tears flowed. He was scared. If he lost his father, his people would expect him to take the throne. He knew he was no king, no leader, not yet, no matter what others might say. “He cannot die! I… our people would suffer.”

Galion pulled back to force Legolas to look at him. The prince looked lost and frightened. “You are Thranduil’s son. The blood line of Oropher is strong and no matter the circumstances, each takes on leadership in his own way. You could be king, if necessary, but do not count your father out just yet.”

Legolas nodded, still unconvinced, but certain that he could do what was needed. It was his duty and responsibility. “I know he is strong, but lately…”

Galion sighed and dragged the prince over to a sofa so they both could sit. Lack of sleep and food caused Legolas to look as though he would fall over any moment. Nodding, he replied, “He has been worrying me as well, your highness. The king is strong, but his heart has always been his vulnerability and seeing Elladan here… with another… it seemed to crush something inside of him.”

The seneschal was deeply worried for Thranduil. He had watched over him since he was an elfling. The possibility that he might lose him was too horrible to contemplate. He spoke, as much for himself as for the prince, “Your father will not give up, especially if we both remind him of his duty… to our people, and to you. Once the healers are done with him, we will watch over him, but for now, you should clean up and sleep. I will send for you if anything changes.”

A large yawn overtook the prince who was curled up next to Galion. He nodded and slowly stood, stretching out stiff muscles. “Aye, if I do not go now, I will be asleep in two heartbeats here. Watch over him for me and I will return in a few hours.”

~~~*~~~

Iavas, Lothlórien, 2509 T.A.

Elladan bolted up in bed, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Gradually his vision cleared and the dimly lit room came into focus. It had only been a dream… a horrible nightmare. The thundering of his heart slowed, and he tried to relax back into the bed. But instead of being comforting, the warm body next to him felt stifling. Huffing in frustration, the remnants of the dream refusing to be banished, Elladan stood and walked to the railing.

Lothlórien in the darkest hours before dawn was beautiful. The woods’ silence and diffuse silvery glow was soothing and restorative. As Elladan leaned upon the rail, breathing in the scent of mallyrn blossoms and moss, he calmed and the horrifying images dissipated. It was only a dream, but reminded him that he missed his home and family, now more than ever.

Glancing at the strong form gracing his bed, Elladan’s eyes were sad. Neledhon had offered him everything, and eagerly stayed in his bed once the half-elf tired of further pointless encounters. But Elladan ruefully admitted it was not burnt umber hair and clear grey eyes that he still dreamt of. He had hoped that his travels and the intervening years would weaken the hold Thranduil had on his heart, but seeing him again in Mirkwood merely highlighted how futile that hope was.

Sighing, the longing for home overwhelming, he relented. Elladan dropped his walls and opened his mind. He reached out, seeking his twin. It might have been years, but the feeling of warmth and reassurance and unconditional love instantly surrounded and enveloped him. Smiling, he could almost feel Elrohir’s soft, even breaths. //’Roh? Wake up, tôren.//

//Wha…? Who…? Elladan!// Elladan smiled. Why had he blocked out Elrohir? Even though he was awakened from a deep sleep, Elrohir’s joy was evident.

//I have missed you. I am in Lothlórien… but even here is not home.//

Groggy from sleep, but overjoyed that he was connected to his twin once again, Elrohir laid back and opened his mind and heart. The letters had never been enough for him, but he had been willing to wait as long as it took Elladan to realize that, too. //So you are coming home then? Giving up the wanderer’s life?//

He hesitated, but wanted to talk to Elrohir, to tell him everything just as he once did. //Nay… maybe… I am unsure. We visited Mirkwood…//

//Oh.// Elrohir scrambled for something to say. //Is it as eerie as I have heard? Or is that really just a tale to scare elflings?//

Elladan appreciated his twin’s diversion, but he did not want to be diverted. //He… // Closing his eyes, the vision of Thranduil in his element swam into view. //He is everything Adar said of him… and more. He even bedded Gildor while we were there!//

That news surprised Elrohir, but he hid his emotions for his brother’s sake. He could not reconcile the picture Legolas painted in his letters with the image Elladan recounted. Shaking his head, he feared that Thranduil had merely put on a show for his brother, but he could not speak of the confidences that he had been entrusted with. //Gildor? Are you certain?//

//Aye, he left the Solstice festivities with the king…and a courtesan. I saw him leave Thranduil’s chambers early the next morning…//

//What? Were you spying on them?// If the situation had not been such an emotional morass, Elrohir would have found the image of Elladan skulking in shadows, watching Thranduil, almost comical.

Elladan had the grace to sound embarrassed. //Nay! I… I did not sleep well, really at all, so I was wandering the halls early and saw Gildor leaving, in Thranduil’s clothes…// he finished rather lamely.

//I understand, tôren… I truly do.// Not wanting their time to be maudlin, Elrohir changed the subject. //Naneth heard the instant you arrived in the Golden Wood. She wanted to come sooner, but I believe she should have left by now. We all missed you, ’Dan.//

Elladan delighted at the idea of seeing his mother, but he needed to see Elrohir most of all. //Tôr?// He hesitated, knowing that since he was the one that had left, it was his duty to seek out his twin, but he also knew how well Elrohir understood him. So he continued, fumbling, //I… would you… could you…? ‘Roh, can you come, too? With Naneth?// He rushed on, //I know it is sudden…//

Elrohir smiled. He had missed Elladan and was glad that he was finally being allowed back into his brother’s life. //I cannot leave this moment… some of us still take patrol duty.// The hint of teasing was suffused with warm affection. //I will try to talk Rilfin into covering for me. If I hurry, I should catch up to Naneth before the mountain pass, or shortly after. I will come, tôr…I have missed you.//

//Thank you.// Somehow, in the aftermath of Thranduil, he had allowed himself to forget how much he benefited from Elrohir’s mere presence.

//Meet us at Redhorn Pass? We can ride to the Golden Wood together and you can regale me with your tales of far away places.// Elrohir was eager to be with his twin once again.

A sleep warmed voice called out, “Elladan?” Turning, he was greeted by the sight of a barely covered body, back arching as Neledhon stretched. “Come back to bed, melethron. It is chilly.”

Elladan smiled, as he walked to the warm bed and inviting body. //I will do so… soonest, tôren.//

//Soonest, ‘Dan.//

TBC