"A Promise Told"

Epilogue to "These Visions of You": In and around the War of the Ring, Glorfindel and Legolas steal away snatches of time together. Three interludes.

Warning: Violence and Mature Themes

# # #

# # #

Interlude 1: In and Around The Council of Elrond in Rivendell

When Glorfindel bargained with the gods to save Legolas' life, he did not think he would put his beloved wood-elf on a much darker, more painful path

# # #

# # #

The Prince of Mirkwood was oblivious to the polite but increasingly louder calls of the young Mirkwood soldier.

"Hir-nin Legolas," he said, for the nth time, "Hir-nin Legolas I am sorry to interrupt..."

The blond prince was sitting on the ground in front of a roaring fire, his back to the soldier and the golden visitor who flanked him. Legolas had apparently just come from a bath and was en dishabille – hair still wet and unbraided, clad only in loose robes that hung off his shoulders and were pooled just beneath his hips and covering folded legs save for his bare feet.

It would have been a dreamy sight to the Lord Glorfindel, but Legolas' inattention was worrying, even before he noticed patterns of bruises and scarring all over Legolas' body that roiled his blood. There were faded, yellowing marks of gigantic paws?palms? on the wood-elf's arms and back, with smaller dots and slim lines of claw marks. There were sets of clean, minimal scarring from surgical cuts and stitches on one still-bruised shoulder, around his chest at the ribs, and his hips.

But the bruised handprints disturbed Glorfindel distinctly. Those who had inflicted them had held Legolas skin to skin. These were injuries inconsistent with what was usually acquired in battle. There was an intimacy to them. Time had been taken by the assailants.

Legolas had been held down and beaten, badly. Tortured, Glorfindel realized. Legolas had been tortured.

"Hir-nin? Are you well-" the young soldier reached out to touch the unresponsive prince, who suddenly took aggressive notice of their heretofore unrecognized presence. He grabbed the younger soldier's hand before it could reach him, and he pulled him forward in a dizzying flurry of movement that suddenly somehow ended with a small dagger pressed to the other's throat. There was breathless silence for a long moment.

"Do not touch me," Legolas uttered. The fire reflected in his burning eyes.

"Legolas," Glorfindel said softly, cautiously. He reached out with his fea too, only to be met by what felt like a forbidding, dark, thick, solid, jagged, impenetrable? wall. "We are sorry to interrupt. He was merely trying to announce me to you but you did not hear us."

Legolas gave the Balrog Slayer a glance, and in the blink of an eye he turned from lethal to anguished before he managed to steel his expression. It seemed he required supreme effort just to release his quaking captive. He managed it finger by finger, with a resigned sigh. He pushed away from the younger soldier and slumped back down on the floor, gathering his robes about him self-consciously. The knife was hidden beneath its folds.

"One announces first, Nibenor," Legolas said wearily, not looking at either of them in the eye, "And then allows entry of a guest. They are not done simultaneously. For your future reference and improvement."

"I am heartily sorry, my lord. Should I uh..." the younger elf glanced uncertainly at the famed, ancient warrior beside him, "Should I send the Lord Glorfindel away...?"

"I would love to see you try," Legolas told him, and in his blue eyes was a small light of humor that Glorfindel saw right away, but the younger soldier was too scared to.

"Lord Glorfindel-" Nibenor began.

"Gods spare me, Nibenor, please just go," Legolas said exasperatedly. The younger warrior, at his wit's end and just relieved to be dismissed, bowed before the two golden elves and scurried away. He closed the door to Legolas' suites behind him.

"He is new," Glorfindel remarked.

"All the old ones have died."

Glorfindel nodded solemnly. He knew not to ask where Legolas' two most loyal guards and constant companions were. At least, not yet. The last time they were here in Imladris together, Legolas had been tailed everywhere by the slight but stealthy Telion and his foil, the gigantic and marauding Renior. Nothing short of death could have torn the pair from their Prince. That they were out of sight now, coupled by Legolas' grievous injuries and the implication that enemies had gotten close enough to him that he could be captured and tortured, along with Legolas' impenetrable wall and frayed nerves meant only recent pain and loss.

"I am sorry to hear that," Glorfindel said softly. "They were most kind, I shall never forget them." He paused in short prayer, before asking, "May I sit with you?"

"Of course!" the prince had once said, with earnestness and not a shred of doubt. This was seemingly lifetimes ago. Legolas was sitting beneath the stars then, and Glorfindel was bringing him a tray of food and offering him a simple proposal - if they could train and spar together. It set off a chain of events that ended with an exchange of hearts. But the years have been unkind since. There have been so many things to occupy both warriors, and letters and visits were useless when neither of them were ever long enough in the same place with the rotation of their duties, not to mention increasingly dangerous and ill-advised unless done on behalf of pertinent business. Neither of them begrudged the other his work and preoccupations. Love was there and always would be, but it lay buried beneath a mountain of duties and tasks, bordered by the wider world and its invasive problems.

"If you must," was the Prince's dismissive, heartrending reply. Glorfindel winced, but settled in beside Legolas.

They both came from an important Council called upon by the Lord Elrond. It was not the reunion of Glorfindel's visions, hopes and longings. It was not even the reunion of his nightmares. It was simply that one moment Legolas was not there and the next, he was.

Glorfindel was coming from other duties and had swept into the dais Elrond had chosen for the Council, one of the last to arrive. Glorfindel despised tardiness and was so distracted it took him a heartbeat to realize the Prince of Mirkwood was looking at him from where he stood on the other end of the platform, huddled with a cadre of other elves.

One moment Legolas was not there and the next, he was...

Legolas was apparently more or less just arrived at Rivendell, for Elrond managed a small apologetic look at the ancient warrior lord of Gondolin, for not having appraised him sooner. Glorfindel cared not. He stalked straight for his wood-elf princeling. But restraint and custom had them doing naught but clasping each other about the arms, familiarly but as brothers-in-arms.

You've changed, Glorfindel ached to say, but told himself there would be time for that, later. Something about the eyes. Something about the restrained smile, the shaded expression, the close way by which he held himself and later, the quick anger.

But as usual, there were other things that had to come first. The Mirkwood arrivals were just one group of several, 'coincidentally' come to this same place at roughly the same time. They, like a surprisingly representative collection of free peoples of Middle-Earth, were each visiting for their own purposes, only to find it was a convergence of fated events that brought them all to Rivendell on the brink of doom or perhaps - salvation. Elrond called them together for a meeting, where it was quickly decided -

The Ring must be destroyed where it was forged in Mt. Doom.

That brave little hobbit, Frodo Baggins was going to do it but there was a further question of who would be sent with him on his perilous journey, which Elrond was currently contemplating. In the meantime, there was scouting to be done in the routes branching out from Imladris, and rest and recovery was available for those who needed it at Elrond's home. Glorfindel initially thought Legolas would be among those tasked with the former, but it seemed now that he would be more fitting for the latter.

"I am sorry to hear of the escape of Gollum," Glorfindel said, in reference to the dire news that Legolas, as messenger for his father the Elvenking's realm, had come to Imladris to share.

"Yes, yes, we have failed in that trust," Legolas snapped, "as Aragorn had made abundantly clear. But let this not be a slight upon my father or our people. I did not say it at Council for it would not have mattered much, but the failing is mine. All mine, all of it."

"I am sorry that it had cost you the lives of your soldiers, Legolas," Glorfindel expounded gently, "I did not mean to insinuate it is through some fault of yours or anyone else. There were machinations afoot beyond any of us."

Legolas shook his head. "No, no. I was... I had b-been..." he hesitated and took a deep breath. He clutched his robes tightly about himself. "I recently shared this Gollum's a-accommodations, so to speak, as I th-think you kn-know. When I returned f-from c-captivity I could not s-suffer the wretched c-creature to be kept in b-bars and chains b-beneath the g-ground, as I had b-been. I authorized the largesse by which he was allowed t-to roam and climb his tree, and n-no one had the heart to d-deny m-me. It was why we were so r-ripe for an a-a-ambush."

Glorfindel thought back to what Legolas had reported at the Council. He remembered the distress upon his beloved's fair features as he reported of Gollum's escape from where he was deposited for detainment in Mirkwood by Aragorn.

Glorfindel frowned. "Did Gollum's escape not happen a few months past? And your capture had been before that? You do not heal as you should, Legolas. These bruises and scars should be long gone. When were you..." he stopped himself from speaking of torture and settled instead with, "...captured?"

"I do not know anymore," Legolas replied breathily. His shoulders slumped. "Yesterday? T-today, t-tomorrow... I keep returning there."

"Legolas," Glorfindel said softly, and he scooted forward to gather his beloved, long-missed elf in a comforting embrace, but Legolas almost kicked back as he scrambled away.

"Come no closer," Legolas said, and there was a cackle of danger in the air. His entire body tightened, and his eyes had widened in mortal fear and lethal reflex. He looked lost and elsewhere. His chest heaved up and down in large, loud breaths. He looked like a wounded animal caught in a corner – at its most dangerous. Glorfindel was taken aback, but he raised his hands up carefully and he backed away.

"Legolas it is just me," he said quietly. "You are in Imladris and you are safe. No harm will come to you here, as long as you are with me. I swear it."

Legolas stared at him for a long moment, and Glorfindel could tell the very instant Legolas realized where he was and who he was with when his blue eyes pooled and his face crumpled. He turned away, and his body relaxed again to his defeated, weary slump. His robes fell loose again, exposing the same injured shoulder, the same injured ribs, the same injured hip. The same hand and claw prints. Glorfindel ached to touch him but kept his distance, especially as he realized one of the hand prints on the other elf's hip was only half-visible. It ran lower. Perhaps there were other such prints, and those lower still.

Glorfindel's heart clenched, and it felt like a punch to the gut. The hypervigilance, the simmering and unrelenting anger, the sudden distance, the fear of touch, the problems with concentration...

"I did not want you to see me like this," Legolas said softly, "but what is one more pair of eyes? What is one more? All my people know of that which has befallen me. Everyone must know by now. You deserve to know more than most, probably."

"I did not know," Glorfindel told him quietly. "No one in Rivendell knows, Legolas. Your people have been most discreet. They love you. They protect you. No one knows."

Legolas took a deep, shaky breath, and he ran his hands over his face. He had wiped dispassionately at tears, and looked at Glorfindel only when he had regained some of his control. Glorfindel trembled too, for when he had prayed for the gods to spare Legolas' life, when he had bargained with them so that Legolas would live, he did not think that his actions would bring his beloved such a fate as this.

"So, my lord," Legolas said, tone suddenly clinical. "I need your counsel on a matter that has been bothering me."

"I will do everything I can to help," Glorfindel said, but he found his voice hoarse. He longed to hold the other, but did not want to crowd him.

"I was captured with another elf," Legolas said. "Renior, you know him."

"Of course."

"I was b-brutalized in front of him," Legolas continued. He swallowed nervously, and his numb tone battled with his anxieties. "I do not r-remember anything of that. The orcs were trying to glean information from him, you see. Troop strength, movements, positions. They were... h-hurting me b-but it was h-him they were t-trying to b-b-break. We were all trained for the possibility of torture. But that I would have b-been v-violated in front of him, that he would be f-forced t-to watch... it was p-perhaps a failure of our imagination."

Glorfindel tried to remain calm as he listened, but his heart thundered in his ears and he could barely hear Legolas for all the images that flooded his mind. His fists clenched and tightened so much that he feared he would draw blood.

"Renior said," Legolas continued and in this his voice truly wavered, "he s-said he f-found a well of strength and r-rage within him at what was d-done t-to me. He f-fought off our captors and t-took me in h-his arms and we escaped t-together.

"I was... I was not myself for some time afterwards," he went on, "there are things I s-still cannot remember as I've said, and things I am only b-beginning to p-piece together now."

Glorfindel pressed his lips together in a grim line before deducing, "You think he gave them information in exchange for your safety and freedom. You think Renior told them of the creature Gollum."

Legolas closed his eyes and nodded. "I've said this at the Council - more is known of our doings than we could wish. And yes, perhaps the enemies' spies are many. B-but there are s-so many reasons why one will t-turn on his own p-people, do you not think so, my lord?"

"Why do you think the information came from Renior?" Glorfindel asked.

"The ease of our escape," Legolas replied. "I am n-not one to easily despair but I have some p-pragmatism. I would think. I cannot fathom its possibility unless we were left to leave. And when... when we returned home. Home..."

His voice trembled with longing, before he resumed.

"Renior t-tried to institute sweeping changes I was in n-no state to really consider, and adar and the others were too occupied with me to bother with. I th-think the enemy meant t-to hurt ada with me, too. And then when the... a-ambush? rescue of Gollum?... finally came, I was well enough only f-for duty near the stronghold and I w-was there. M-my loyal Telion – you remember him, my lord? - his life was amongst those first l-lost. Renior went on a mad bloodlust, I thought he'd lost his mind, perhaps he had. P-perhaps he had long before that, when-when he was f-forced to w-watch and b-barter for me. And yet he still s-saved my life at the end. He d-died saving me in the attack. He passed away as I h-held him, and even then h-he was so d-desperately s-s-sorry for everything and f-for the life of m-me I did not understand what he was s-s-sorry for, not really, perhaps not until now."

"Because it seems there is a great related danger around us," Glorfindel finished. "There is malicious design upon everything."

Legolas nodded. "So, my lord." The formality and distance was helping him reclaim some control. "Is this something I need to speak with Lord Elrond about? I did not know how to breach this at the Council. I could not speak of a lost f-friend's b-betrayal of our people, without speaking of what it took to b-break him. It would not do, you see, to simply say he was a spy. There is such injustice in it. He-he is a victim, and all that has befallen us, all of this, comes down t-to me."

For a long moment he was lost in himself and he murmured, "Perhaps I should not have screamed. I t-told him, I will do it because it will hurt, but that is only the body, it does not m-mean anything. But perhaps I should have tried harder... I should not have done it. I should not have done it."

Glorfindel closed his eyes in deep and profound unhappiness for the elf before him. When I saved you from death – a death in a peaceful home, in the arms of your beloved, surrounded by more who cared for you – I did not think I would doom you to this. To torture. To, to rape. To the betrayal of a friend. To their deaths. Should I just have had the courage to let you go? Are you being punished because I was not strong enough to let you go?

"I have much to atone for," Legolas said softly. "There is so much to do. The Lord Elrond needs scouts to leave tomorrow or perhaps the day after. I mean to bring a party with me for one of the routes. We can scout the paths and at the same time, seek the escaped wraith Gollum. If I cannot correct what I've unwittingly set into motion through his loss, I mean to accompany the Ringbearer south, if he would have one such as me."

Glorfindel opened his eyes then, and settled them upon the determined, ice blue gaze of the wood-elf.

"Anyone would be lucky to have one such as you on their side, princeling."

Legolas winced. "You shouldn't call me that. I was already too old when you started, and I am too sullied now. But I will tell you this. You once taught me to sense the orc. I've not lost that talent, and if anything this, this l-last c-capture of mine only honed it. I can s-s-scent them anywhere, my lord. I would kn-know it in m-my dreams. Their b-bodies. Their b-b-breaths..." he drifted away again, his presence like tendrils of smoke Glorfindel could not hang on to.

"Legolas-"

He returned abruptly. "So should I speak of this to Lord Elrond or not?"

"I believe it affects things not at all at this point," Glorfindel said, sighing but shifting the topic to more productive things as Legolas willed, "but if you wish, I can broach it with him privately and delicately, and let it inform his decisions. If he should need to speak with you further, then that can be arranged afterwards."

Legolas gave it a thought and nodded decisively. "That is kind of you, my lord. I would appreciate it very much. I have no desire to recount my foul experiences. Especially one of this n-nature, which is not unfamiliar to the Lord of Imladris by virtue of the t-tortures inflicted upon his dear wife. He might try to fix me, I think. I need no fixing. I need work. I need...redemption– do not look at me like that."

Glorfindel felt it only when the other elf had called it out. He had been wearing an expression of pity, hadn't he? He had come in here wanting to speak with Legolas, whom he had not seen in years. He wanted to comfort him for the ill news he had brought. He wanted to hold him for missing him all this time. He wanted to just be with him. He did not expect this. He did not expect to find this broken, angry creature.

"You are right," Glorfindel said. "You deserve better. I admire you, Legolas, perhaps now more than ever, and I did not think that was possible. You are the strongest person I know."

The other elf shook his head at him in disappointment. "The words of the past will not work this time, my lord. I am not who I was."

"No one expects you to be the same, not after everything," Glorfindel agreed, "but do not forget who you are."

"And what is that, exactly?" Legolas asked, derisively.

And what, pray tell, does the Lord Glorfindel know of this heart of mine? Legolas had asked him once. Playful, coquettish. That was a lifetime ago too. There had been such light and life in him then, even in the face of grievous injuries and an uncertain future.

Glorfindel closed his eyes, and with the gentlest nudge of his soul, he reached out to the other. He imagined what he had seen and admired of the young prince in the short time they had known each other. Legolas' intelligence and skill, his sheer ingenuity, his refusal to give up or give in to despair. He took pride in his work but he also had the humility to learn and always, always had the courage to try. He had easy humor and open affection, a truly generous heart, so able and ready to find and share joy both by deliberate design and even by the incidence of his existence. He loved, and was beloved...

These were small things, and though some of them bounced off of the hard walls Legolas had learned to put up since his brutalization, they found and made cracks and seeped in light and warmth.

Glorfindel reminded Legolas of that song he himself had never forgotten - Let the winds of fall not take / this last leaf of summer though it may tremble and shake / Let faith stay and stand throughout the winter cold...

Glorfindel opened his eyes, and found Legolas staring at him with a softened expression, through eyes of deep pools of blue. The moisture in them trembled and stirred with firelight.

"The burdens you carry are undeserved," Glorfindel told him, "Carry instead, the heart I'd given. You are loved, you will always be loved."

Legolas reached out a tentative hand, and Glorfindel reined in his own desire to touch. Legolas' long, beautiful fingers brushed at the strands of Glorfindel's golden hair, at the edges that have strayed over his shoulders. Legolas played with them, let the strands wind about his digits, before he rested his palm upon Glorfindel's chest, over his heart. The ancient warrior felt it thunder all the harder with the other elf's hand there.

"I've b-been had, do you understand?" Legolas asked quietly, as his gaze bore into the other's. "I need you to understand. I'm not certain you understand. I've b-b-been ill-used. Repeatedly. I am t-tainted, and I d-do not heal, and I have nothing to offer you or anybody but my fighting hands. All I know now is to fight."

"I know there are no words that can bring you comfort or change your mind at the moment," Glorfindel told him gently, "But please hear at least this - just do and be whatever you need to be, Legolas. Because I can wait. For you I can always wait."

"What if you wait for nothing?"

"I always have the faith to wait," Glorfindel promised. He hesitated, knowing he had to be careful, more careful now than ever. "I would hold you, but only if you wish it."

Legolas' hand over his chest spasmed in alarm, but he took a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

Slowly, so as not to alarm the other, Glorfindel moved closer. And all the while he infused Legolas' beleaguered mind with images of a golden summer of high heat near the soothing shade of breeze-stirred trees and the sounds of cool, running water.

The first point where their bodies met was Legolas' head upon Glorfindel's shoulder. It was like a jolt of lightning, and Glorfindel longed to hold him tighter, but Legolas' body was stiff against him, like that of a wild, distrustful animal ready to bite or bolt. He forced himself to slow and take stock and be gentle. He raised an arm slowly, letting the fabric of his sleeve graze Legolas' body from where Glorfindel lifted it all the way until his hand rested upon the other elf's shoulder, so that it was a contact that did not come from nowhere to catch him unawares. Everything he did he did slowly and with careful deliberation of how the other might react. For a long time they sat on the floor that way, quietly before the roaring fire – Legolas leaning against Glorfindel's chest, body slowly easing, and Glorfindel's arm about his shoulders. The ancient warrior did not hold him by both arms, not wanting to encase and crowd him. He wanted Legolas to know he could always be released from this hold, and that everything was within his desire and control.

He felt Legolas breathe in and out, taking in the scent of Glorfindel's closeness. He in turn, indulged in the scent of the top of the younger elf's head. How Legolas always smelled of rain-kissed spring leaves beneath the soaps of Imladris was beyond Glorfindel's knowing.

It wasn't long before Legolas became a heavier weight, lulled towards a weary sleep. He had come from a long journey after all, was dragged into a council where he had admitted his people's shortcomings, and was then cornered by Glorfindel into a confession of the damages done to him. He'd long felt alone in his undeserved burdens, weighed down by the grief of the loss of his friends exacerbated by the possibility of one's betrayal. It was a longtime coming, that he should find someone to literally and figuratively just lean against.

"Let's put you to bed, princeling," Glorfindel said quietly, and was relieved the endearment was indulged this time.

"Is too good here," came the inarticulate mutter.

"You used to have better diction," Glorfindel teased.

Legolas voice was muffled by him sinking deeper against Glorfindel's chest. "The roaring fire and the warmth of your presence are comforts I am loathe to forego."

Glorfindel laughed, and he knew the resulting rumble in his chest and belly must have been a comfort to the other for Legolas sank in deeper.

"You need not forego either," Glorfindel said, and he rose, pulling Legolas up almost effortlessly with him. The other had always been light as a feather, but made more so by weight loss from recent events. Legolas growled disapprovingly but cooperated and put some weight on his own legs. The movement dislodged his robes, and before Glorfindel could think, he reached over with his free hand and attempted to tug them tighter together.

Legolas, however, jolted at the sudden movement and grabbed at Glorfindel's offending hand with a vicelike grip. Their eyes met, and the wood-elf's glacial blues were wide with fear. Glorfindel took a deep, careful breath.

"I did not want you to get cold," he said softly, and though it took him a long moment, Legolas' eyes softened and he let go of Glorfindel's hand. He left red marks.

The ancient warrior went about his business, closing Legolas' robes over at the chest and ushering him to his bed. Legolas, still shaky from the sudden jolting, suffered to be led and tucked in. When Glorfindel finished fussing with his blanket, he looked down on the wood-elf prince, whose weary gaze met his.

"Stay."

Glorfindel's mouth widened to a smile.

# # #

# # #

Interlude 2: In and Around The Battle Under the Trees of Mirkwood

With his beloved Legolas away as one of the Nine Walkers fighting one front of the War, Glorfindel takes the Prince's place in Mirkwood... where the ancient warrior fights alongside Thranduil in the Battle Under the Trees, but against Thranduil in winning Legolas' love.

# # #

# # #

The fighting was over and the forest, while still partly aflame, was for the most part finally cooling and easing at last.

Glorfindel did not have his woodland kin's affinity and connection with the trees, but even he could feel their anger and torment at what had been done to them. Everything still smelled of burnt wood and ash, and the air was thick with smoke and debris. These oppressions were familiar to him - he'd been caught in the thick of such mighty, hungry, destructive fires before - but he'd forgotten too that conflagrations were so loud. The fire roared and screamed as it ate ground, and the quenching of them left everything in a sudden silence.

The otherwise hushed conversations, anguished moaning of the injured, the rustling robes of the harried healers, and the clanking armor and weapons of the remnant soldiers were outsize sounds in the post-fire quiet. But by these and the grumbling of the trees, there was life and survival and that was all that mattered.

The enemies have been repelled, the fires put out, and Thranduil and his people would continue to endure, as they always have.

Glorfindel, who had come to the Woodland Realm days past with a small relief force from Imladris, lent themselves to the service of the Elvenking. Thranduil's strategic mind immediately found good use of them. So as not to disrupt his well-oiled military force, the Rivendell elves were sent to do the just-as dangerous work of retrieving the injured and using their presumably Elrond-trained aid skills to good use in the healing tents. The healing tents were also the perfect place to determine where Thranduil's forces were faltering, such that whenever injured Mirkwood elves were brought in, a soldier from Rivendell would be sent out to his company replace him. The Imladris elves were thus scattered strategically, fighting enemies and fires alongside the wood-elf soldiers of Thranduil's formidable army wherever they were needed.

Except of course, for Glorfindel, who determinedly stuck to the King's side. Thranduil had a fine military mind indeed and let him. He recognized the importance of symbols and what they could do for both inspiring courage amongst soldiers in the field, and spurring fear amongst one's enemies.

Thus, the Balrog Slayer was on the frontlines alongside the Elvenking. They made a terrifying, sublime sight, these two ancient, golden elves with their gleaming swords streaked with orc blood, and the bodies of their enemies lying strewn at their feet.

They were at the front of the fighting and the last to leave the field when it ended. Thranduil, Glorfindel found with no surprise, was as relentless as Legolas.

That was hours ago. Glorfindel had since devoted his time to the healing tents, where amongst his many duties was sitting with the ailing. Many suffered from burns alongside battle wounds. He found himself comforting them using words and images Legolas had once soothed him with.

"It is only the summer," he would murmur, and he would brush their souls with memories of the bright, high sun, the shade of the trees, the cool, moist ground, and the sound of running river water. It ushered many a wood-elf into better, healing sleep.

"I used to tell my son that."

Glorfindel whirled around at the sound of Thranduil's deep, low voice. The Elvenking had come up soundlessly behind him as he calmed one soldier into slumber.

"You will join me for supper," Thranduil said, and he turned away without another word, fully expecting compliance.

Glorfindel's lip turned up in a wry smile. He rose to his feet and followed, but by the Valar, he took his sweet time. When he finally arrived at the Elvenking's tent, he found it to be a logistical feat of unexpected luxury in the fringes of the victorious battlefield.

Thranduil's people kept their ruler lavishly outfitted even in a crisis, with rugs and comfortable seats, a full, warm meal and good gods, plenty of Dorwinion. Glorfindel did not begrudge the exacting ruler his accommodations and well, vices; he had seen him on the field, and was unsurprised that his people would be so devoted to his comfort and happiness. Thranduil would die for them and everything in here was comparatively an easy thing to give back.

A valet started divesting the King of his weapons, armor and fighting tunic, replacing it with more comfortable clothes and a robe. Glorfindel was furnished with the same service, though he sent the attendant away once his armor was removed, content to remain in his own attires.

"I see now that you really have been within intimate the sphere of my son," Thranduil said. The divestment of his clothes revealed a nasty, sluggishly bleeding gash on his arm, which a healer was rapidly put upon to attend. Thranduil sat on a simple seat marked at the raised back with the crest of his House, and he motioned for Glorfindel to take a chair across from him at the filled dining table. The ancient lord and warrior of Gondolin accepted the invitation with a small bow.

"The Prince Legolas was a singular comfort to me when I took grievous injury some years past," Glorfindel said. He watched, impressed, as Thranduil's arm was stitched and the King gave it no notice. With his free hand, he drank from a goblet of wine and nibbled rather casually at a piece of bread.

"Please, eat," the Elvenking said.

Glorfindel did as he was requested, and realized he was hungry after all. They ate and drank quietly, until the healers and all the attendants left the King and the ancient warrior alone to their meal.

"I am grateful for your presence here, Lord Glorfindel," said Thranduil.

"You barely needed us."

Thranduil did not deny it. "Yes but ending this on our own would have taken more time, more trees, more lives. I am not so proud that I would refuse, nor feel no gratitude, for assistance when it is offered. It is good that the Lord of Imladris was able to spare you. I suppose that he had allowed you to leave his hidden, protected valley, must mean the tide of war is in our favor."

Thranduil had lingered on 'hidden' and 'protected,' a subtle slander for the fact that Rivendell had been spared many ravages of the enemy for a long time and was even now continuing to be spared, and that its ruler wielded one of the powerful elven rings. Glorfindel took no offense; Thranduil's folk had much to deal with in their forest, with no otherworldly forces with which to defend themselves. The Elvenking was well-known for his sharp mind, candid tongue, and fondness for baiting, besides. Glorfindel knew not to bite, but he gave Thranduil a wry grin in acknowledgement of the barb, before answering.

"The many fronts by which the forces of Sauron had been faced and felled along the course of this war, has rendered an attack upon Rivendell unlikely," Glorfindel said. "The Lord Elrond sent small contingents abroad – here as you know, toward Helm's Deep, and then some to Lothlorien and Gondor. Things will be decided in the next few days, one way or another."

"Ah," said Thranduil, "Our fates rest upon that foolish quest my son was dispatched to. The fighting has kept word of this 'fellowship' from reaching us. What do you know of Legolas' progress?"

Thranduil sounded casual, but Glorfindel detected a small tremble in his hands when he reached anew for his goblet and sipped at its contents.

"Not much," Glorfindel admitted. "Last I saw him was at Rivendell before he departed as one of the Nine Walkers. I've only heard snatches of things about him, since. They lost Gandalf facing a Balrog in Moria, but we received confirmation that the rest of them arrived in Lothlorien in reasonable health. The Fellowship thereafter broke at Parth Galen and lost another one of its own. Legolas then lent his arms to the stand at Helm's Deep and by all accounts, conducted himself most heroically. There, they also reclaimed Mithrandir in a more powerful incarnation. Last I heard, he was determined to take the Paths of the Dead with Aragorn toward Gondor, where more fighting is expected."

Thranduil flinched, and his jaws tightened. "How does that foolish wood-elf somehow find the worst fronts of the battles of this thrice-damned war?"

Glorfindel exhaled slowly. Legolas had been sent on a mission of stealth, after all. He wondered about that too.

"He is alive at least."

Thranduil tilted his head at what Glorfindel said, thoughtfully. "And you would know it, wouldn't you?"

Glorfindel had dodged one bait, only to be lured into a different, deeper trap. He'd long known of Thranduil's cleverness, had faced off against the Elvenking's equal and more before, along the course of his long courtly lives. But Legolas' father somehow knew how to get to the core of him.

"I saw your golden head approaching when you first arrived," Thranduil shared, "between the shadows of the trees and the thick smoke in the air, I thought at first that it was Legolas come home to his people in the hour of our need. I even felt his heart. But then I realized it was just you. Thankfully, you have your own usefulness."

"At least," Glorfindel said wryly.

"So," Thranduil said. "It is the least of my current worries, but it seems the stories are true. It is the Balrog Slayer who has stolen my son's heart."

"It was more the other way around," Glorfindel murmured. "And then his, he had given freely."

"Semantics," Thranduil said dispassionately, "I am still left with the same effective result. Lovely as your lineage and unmatched though your legend may be, Lord Glorfindel, your presence in Legolas' life will still leave me with a non-child-bearing heir." He set his lips in a grim line before continuing. "Then again, arrangements can always be made. What you do in your private lives will be your business, but an elleth can almost certainly be prevailed upon to-"

"This is perhaps premature," Glorfindel said quickly.

Thranduil shrugged, languidly. "Our Kingdom would not have survived this long if our outlooks were so short."

"Whatever Legolas and I had was years ago," Glorfindel said carefully. "And when we saw each other in Rivendell before he left for the Quest, nothing happened between us."

Well, perhaps it was accurate to say, nothing much.

The last time they saw each other was in Rivendell, before the Nine Walkers left for the Quest. Legolas had come to Elrond's home bearing ill news both for Middle-Earth's plight as well as his personal well-being, but he was just as he had promised – still an excellent fighter and an eager worker.

With Imladris as a temporary home, he was in and out of its boundaries, participating in any scouting missions precipitating the departure of the Fellowship that would have him. The remnant injuries he harbored that Glorfindel had seen seemed to weigh nothing at all, more scars upon his soul rather than his body. Glorfindel took the roads with Legolas as much as he could, but with the looming danger upon Middle-Earth, his own workloads were too heavy.

Still, he had worked with Legolas enough to note how the Mirkwood Prince's recent ordeal had actually improved his fighting, rather than diminished it. He was focused, productive, cooperative and precise. Moreover, he was breathtaking to watch on the field, and it was remarkable how someone could throw his body so fully into a fight. One might accuse Legolas of recklessness, but he would be a fool - there was a strange surety and conviction about the wood-elf's movements, as if he had foresight of where he and his enemies would land each time, or perhaps a singular understanding of the physics of the world and the capabilities of his own body. He won awed admirers anew every time he ventured out. When he was picked by the Lord Elrond to represent the elven race in the Quest, no one was surprised.

Glorfindel, in mild defiance of the visions that he knew were finally coming to pass, contested Elrond's decision privately. He knew Legolas not only deserved that place within the Fellowship and was perhaps fated for it, but it was Glorfindel that was the problem; just as before and just as he always knew it, he could not find it in himself to let the other one go.

"You always knew this would happen," Elrond had reminded him.

"Not like this," Glorfindel argued. "He is unwell. You know this, I've spoken of it with you."

Elrond winced at the reminder. Legolas' brutalization was news to him indeed, mentioned not even in hints or whispers in the correspondence and intelligence missives that have crossed his desk. His healer's hands ached to touch and mend, but Glorfindel bid him keep his sympathy to himself for the time being, and just watch first and take cues from the evasive survivor.

"Yet the past two months has proven his prowess and productivity if anything," Elrond pointed out. "Perhaps he needs this, just as it is a cause that needs him. And besides, who would you have in his stead? You? Your fea, it is too prominent, mellon-nin. This is a mission of secrecy and stealth, of unlikely fellows sneaking into a stronghold that would otherwise see the likes of you coming miles away. And I need you here besides, to prepare our final defense. We are a well-diminished people here and can be attacked at any time. All Rivendell will have is us, and such a refuge must stand and stay, even for just a short time, if the worst should come to pass. To keep it is to give some part of the free peoples of this Earth a chance to survive."

At any rate the choice would be taken from Glorfindel just days later. A grievous injury sustained during one particularly daring patrol had him flat on his back and robbed of his senses in the week drawing toward the departure of the Fellowship.

But it was in his days of crisis that Legolas shunned all other preoccupations and stayed by his side. He woke once, to the Mirkwood soldier washing his feet. Another time, his hair. The poignancy of it all made his eyes water each time, for they've both lived through something similar before and though the circumstances were the same, Legolas was not.

He still had gentle hands upon Glorfindel's broken body, a ready smile for reassurance anytime Glorfindel opened his bleary eyes, and a voice made for songs and summer breezes whenever Glorfindel feared, as he often did, that he was burning. But Legolas did not have the old, bright confidence of his youth, that certainty that if he only believed and/or worked hard enough and/or bled enough, things would be well. Glorfindel could see him trying though, trying oh so very hard to touch without flinching, to connect not only with the ancient warrior he loved, but with the part of himself that hoped for good things and cared openly with joy.

Every night, Thranduilion crawled into Glorfindel's bed and slept beside him. Legolas curled up near Glorfindel's bandaged arm, determinedly above the covers while the ailing warrior lay immobile beneath them. For a grown elf who fancied he was no longer a "princeling," it was an endearingly juvenile habit.

"You make getting skewered by an orc a stroke of luck," Glorfindel had the strength to mutter at him on one such evening, and he felt the other elf's body shake, first in relieved laughter, before it devolved rapidly into a shaking, desperate sob. Legolas scooted closer and hid his face shamefully on the sleeve of Glorfindel's robe. With his free hand, Glorfindel placed a palm soothingly over the other elf's head.

"I cannot lose you too," Legolas said huskily. "I will not. I refuse it."

"You have nothing to fear, Legolas. I am well now, princeling."

"You can even call me that for the rest of my life."

"I just might."

Legolas lifted his tear-streaked face. They were so close together that their hair tangled, that Glorfindel could feel huffs of Legolas' warm breath on his cheek as he spoke. It's happened before too. Of course it has.

"I will leave soon," Legolas told him. "It will be a difficult undertaking and I do not know where it will lead. But for the peace of my heart, promise me you will look after yourself."

Glorfindel found the energy to snort at him. "If you must know, I am seldom ever hurt. You are only incidentally around when it happens. It must be all this wood-elf distraction. And if I may remind you – I am not the one headed in the direction of Mt. Doom. Named thus for a reason as you can imagine."

Legolas smiled at him, the first truly warm one since their reunion a few weeks past. They reached his eyes. They looked like the deep, deep sea. They could pull in and toss Glorfindel around according to its whims -

"I promise," Glorfindel said grudgingly.

Legolas' lowered his head, and Glorfindel risked stabbing pain in his chest from a bark of laughter he could not contain, when the younger elf had the audacity to wipe his face and nose at the ancient, injured warrior's sleeve. Then he lifted his head and grinned, and Glorfindel knew it really had been intended as a joke. With that small light in Legolas' eye, it suddenly seemed as if the night sky was ablaze with starfire and not so dark or cold, nor the tomorrows so forbidding.

"Nothing happened," Glorfindel said to Thranduil quietly. "Legolas had...far greater concerns."

A flash of pain crossed Thranduil's eyes, and his sharp gaze clouded with anguished memory before he steeled his expression (oh so familiarly), and looked at Glorfindel thoughtfully. They both knew Glorfindel was speaking not just of the Quest.

"He was not taking it well," Thranduil said, "the escape of that wretched creature Gollum and the consequent deaths of his closest friends."

Glorfindel nodded solemnly.

"But there were – are - other scars," Thranduol murmured, "I wonder if he had spoken of them with you."

Glorfindel looked him squarely in the eye.

"You are right," said Thranduil, "It has been years since your... dalliance in Imladris. And these years have been extraordinarily unkind. Legolas spent some time in orcish captivity."

"I am aware-" Glorfindel interrupted, wishing very much that Thranduil would go no further.

"He'd been tortured," the Elvenking went on.

"I know-"

"He'd been ra-"

"I know!" Glorfindel bellowed, cutting Thranduil off at last. A rustle of sounds heralded the arrival of armed Mirkwood soldiers at the entrance of the tent, concerned for their king with the ancient warrior's mighty yell.

Thranduil dismissed them with barely a glance and a small wave of his hand. They bowed before promptly exiting. It all happened quickly, barely enough time for Glorfindel to completely rein in his temper.

"You speak of this so callously," Glorfindel seethed. "Do you mean to drive me away by reminding me of his, his... victimization?" Glorfindel did not like the word, no, not at all, especially toward someone of Legolas' defiant strength. But he could think of no better term, for his mind was scattered and his earnest heart could not believe a father - any father, even one with Thranduil's reputed incisiveness - would do what he was suspecting.

"Do you want him to sire this kingdom an heir so badly that you would sully him before me, just to keep me away?" Glorfindel asked, voice quaking in disbelief. "Would you hurt him so?"

Thranduil tsked at him derisively. "I am not trying to get rid of you by saying my son is tainted, Lord Glorfindel. I am trying to see if you deserve him. For to know his scars is to know the extent of his strength. To know what he survived is to understand how brightly his spirit shines. I want to know if the legendary warrior lord of Gondolin, the Balrog Slayer, feared by Nazgul, hero of ancient wars and beloved by the gods – is good enough for my son."

Glorfindel's eyes watered in fading anger and, and something inexplicable that he could only think of as touched relief. He ached for the love of Legolas, and thanked the gods he was loved so fiercely by Thranduil too.

"Why are you here, Lord Glorfindel?" Thranduil asked. "Like you said, the Lord of Imladris dispatched small forces in many places here and there. Why is the Balrog Slayer in Mirkwood when he could have had pick of any front in the war and would have been pivotal to winning any of them?"

There were echoes of Legolas' song in Glorfindel's heart –

"Let the winds of fall not take

this last leaf of summer though it may tremble and shake.

Let faith stay and stand throughout the winter cold,

A mark of spring, a promise told –

Dark now though home may seem,

In my heart and by my blood it will remain evergreen."

"Legolas is away fighting for all of us," Glorfindel said quietly, "It seemed only right that someone should stand in defense of his home when he could not, so that he may have somewhere to rest and return at the end of all this."

"That is my job," Thranduil pointed out.

"But home is not only your land," Glorfindel said. "I held him in my arms, years ago. He was dying you see, and I am uncertain how much of this he or the Lord Elrond had reported to you but there was no other way to describe it. He was dying and as his mind was fleeting he kept saying again and again, to tell you of his love. His home that I meant to protect was not merely your land, King Thranduil. I also came in the hopes of preserving you."

Thranduil did not deny either, that along the course of the fighting, Glorfindel had been instrumental in his personal survival. He took a deep breath and opened his palms up and shrugged in acceptance of this answer. "And so I am alive, victorious, and both our work is more or less done. What becomes of you now?"

"I will return to Imladris," Glorfindel said, "make preparations if the worst should come to pass in the next days and weeks. Things will move quickly, now. Afterwards, I mean to follow your son to Gondor if my duties can spare me."

I mean to follow him to the ends of the world if he would have me, he did not bother to add. The perceptive father of his beloved wood-elf could read right through him.

"Perhaps you are not so disagreeable after all," Thranduil said magnanimously. Glorfindel wondered if he was joking. There was a small light in Thranduil's eye, something of Legolas, and the ancient warrior realized by it that Thranduil was indeed imparting some of his dark humor.

"Neither are you," Glorfindel returned.

Thranduil tsked at him in mock offense, but reached over and filled Glorfindel's near-empty goblet with fine wine.

# # #

# # #

Interlude 3: After the Death of Elessar, in Rivendell

They've both survived the War intact, but struggle in its cruel aftermath

# # #

# # #

The elven lord of Ithilien - the breathtaking and prosperous, colony sitting upon a revived fiefdom of the King of Gondor and Arnor – was approaching.

He was in mourning blacks, visible beneath a light, well-worn traveling cloak, open from the neck at the end of a humble leaf clasp. He was alone and sat uncharacteristically hunched, morose, a dark figure upon his blinding white horse. His head hung low.

Glorfindel watched him approach from the vantage point of one of Imladris' balconies. He knew this day would come, the day Legolas would return to him, here.

But why does the world keep returning you to me more broken each time? Glorfindel wondered. It had broken your body. It had splintered your mind. And now you return to me with a heart that could very well be crushed.

For he knew what the mourning blacks meant.

Elessar – Aragorn, Estel - had passed on.

Glorfindel looked up at the cloudy skies. With the diminishing power and presence of the elves, the golden sheen which had always made Imladris a paradise in all weathers and seasons had diminished too. The sun still rose and it set, the stars blazed, and the moon hung low and large over the magnificent falls and foliage of the hidden valley. They remained beautiful, but the cackling magic and energy that stirred and connected everything had gone.

It's going to rain, he thought. And when once it had felt like hundreds of thousands of cool, tiny fingers drumming against his skin, a song of the Earth, a shower of kisses from the heavens - lately rain was just rain.

It is no wonder that all but a handful of Rivendell's people have left. Their time upon the Earth was ended, and most of the rooms of Elrond's House have been cleaned out and shuttered.

It was perhaps just waiting to ease the heart of one final guest.

Glorfindel hurried from the balconies toward the stables, determined to meet the new arrival part of the way. A house once thick with activity, where everywhere he turned he would run into somebody whether he wanted to or not, had been reduced to emptied halls. From the suite of rooms he maintained until he was out the gates on bare horseback, he ran into no one and it was not at all so strange, anymore.

The last time he saw Legolas was radically different.

In Gondor, Aragorn was about to be crowned the ruler of his reclaimed, hard-won Kingdom. Glorfindel had arrived from Imladris just before the beginning of the ceremonies, bearing with him Elessar's a secret prize – the Evenstar. He barely had time to change into his high formal wear from his traveling clothes, before he had to rush from his appointed rooms to a hall in the glorious White City, where representatives from other realms gathered in wait before the start of the formalities.

He expected Legolas would be there as part of the elven contingent preparing to parade into the ceremonies as arranged by protocol. But they encountered each other the same way as before; one moment Legolas was not there and the next, he simply was.

It felt as if the thick, resplendent crowds parted for them, and the sun rose higher and shone on his golden wood-elf. Legolas stood facing him, unsurprised by his arrival, catching his gaze right away. His lips curved into a gentle smile.

But something is amiss, Glorfindel thought as he walked forward and looked upon the deceptively serene, beautiful countenance of the Prince gradually looming before him.

He was not sure why. Legolas looked not merely fit and unharmed, but strong. Victorious. He became the royal with commitment again, in a silvery tunic that caught the sunlight and matched the winking circlet on his noble forehead. This was Thranduil's son, Oropher's grandson, heir to a kingdom, prince of the woods... but also now, his own person. Legolas Greenleaf, one of the Nine Walkers, veteran of many battles, victor against unlikely odds, master of bow and knife and there are even whispers of a felled mumakil or two, companion of Elessar, dear friend to man, elf, hobbit and of all unlikely things, dwarf too. He had become his own legend.

But as they stood almost toe to toe, in front of each other in the White City, Glorfindel felt that something was amiss with the prince. Something discordant. Something not quite right. If the last time Glorfindel had seen him in Rivendell and had been up against a forbidding wall, the Legolas before him was open and beautiful but flighty and less tangible, like the mirage of an oasis, a comforting lie in the middle of a vast, parched desert.

They clasped each other about the arms again, in familiar greeting of brothers-in-arms. But this time, their touches stayed.

"When did you arrive, my lord?" Legolas asked, delightedly.

"Just minutes past," Glorfindel replied, "I am here officially as escort of the Evenstar from Imladris, but along the road I've realized I might have come more as nursemaid to Elrond instead."

They both glanced in the direction of the elven Lord of Imladris, who stood apart from everyone else in apparent contemplation of his life. He looked both proud and happy but also inescapably morose over having to give up his daughter to a mortal man.

"I can imagine it," Legolas said gently. "Ah but no better person she could have – even with the promise of death."

"Our Estel has won you over, has he?"

Legolas smiled. "I understand he grew up in Imladris after the conflicts of my home hardened and I've ceased visiting. I missed him by a hair. I wish I'd seen it. He's become dear to me, you see. I fear I regret every moment that I did not know him, for time is already too short and runs too quickly. But to lighter things we must dwell, for this is a good day, is it not? I am delighted you are here. Will you be staying long?"

"Until the wedding at least," Glorfindel replied, and though he hesitated momentarily at what such effusive praise for Estel might mean for him and Legolas, his heart was reassured by how the wood-elf's smile widened and brightened at news that they would have time in Gondor together.

"I mean to do the same-" Legolas started to say, but he cut himself off abruptly, and his eyes took on an abstract glaze. The smile faded from his lips and perforce, also faded from Glorfindel's. Legolas mind was suddenly elsewhere, and when Glorfindel's soul reached out for the other's, he heard the insistent cry of the gulls and the crashing waves of the sea.

Glorfindel sucked in a long, careful breath, knowing the sounds and sensations for the sea-longing. He waited patiently for Legolas to return to himself. When one defies this call, Glorfindel knew, one draws the soul back from a distant place, piece by painful piece. One wrenches the self apart from where it belongs and puts it back together, elsewhere. Thus, the moment one is afflicted by sea-longing and until it is heeded, one is fractured. Glorfindel sighed in sympathy. Legolas would find no peace in these beloved lands he had so willingly bled for. He'd given so much for its peace and preservation, only to be forced to leave now.

The last time they saw each other, they were in Rivendell, standing on the brink of destruction. Across a veritable chasm of obligations later, here they were in victory. They were on the brink of a bright new age with Aragorn's crowing, and his beloved wood-elf was standing in front of him beautiful and unharmed. But inside, Legolas' fractured mind kept shifting. He was no longer fully here, in this place he helped to save.

Legolas all but reconstructed himself before Glorfindel's eyes. It was almost always going to be a reconstruction, from this point forward.

"Father had sent some councilors and soldiers to stand with me today as his representatives," Legolas suddenly said, moving to an entirely different topic with no acknowledgement of his momentary lapse. "He could not come himself, what with all the war damage to our forests requiring his undivided attention. They told me you, my lord, spent some time in my home during the worst of the fighting under the trees. Were you not going to tell me?"

"We are but mere moments into seeing each other again, are we not?" Glorfindel said gently. "I would have gotten to it, eventually."

"They said your presence was instrumental to our victory," Legolas said, his voice wavering, "you fought in my homeland, alongside my father when I could not. I will forever be in your debt."

"There is no debt to pay, Legolas," Glorfindel said. "The Elvenking had things well in hand, we were not so direly needed."

"It was good Imladris could spare you."

"As the war unfolded," said Glorfindel, "it became rapidly clear that with enemy forces repelled by the realms surrounding Rivendell, we had no reason to expect immediate danger. By your efforts here in Gondor and at Helm's Deep prior, and by the fall of Isengard, an impending attack upon us seemed unlikely. In the meantime the Lord Elrond sent out reinforcements for our kin facing the enemy elsewhere. It was both my duty and honor to offer my assistance." Glorfindel hesitated. "It was also... it was also for you. So that, so that you may have a home to return to. It was all I could offer."

Legolas worked his lip anxiously. "Home. Home..."

He drifted again, and Glorfindel knew the concept was now changed, more amorphous for the Prince who had already been called to the home of the elves across the sea.

"There was a fire," Legolas suddenly said. "I was informed many parts of my land burned. It could not have been easy for you. I know you dislike it with a passion."

It is only the summer, Glorfindel remembered repeating in his head, over and over, in the voice of his beloved as he fought beneath the burning trees. It is only the summer...

"You gave me courage," Glorfindel admitted after a long moment.

"You were caught in fires," Legolas murmured distractedly, "I was leagues away swept by waters of the sea."

Glorfindel nodded grimly. "Well it seems the call has been awakened firmly within you. You've done good work upon the Earth and if you mean to sail soon, this is perhaps a journey we can make together."

"No."

Glorfindel's brows raised. "No?"

Legolas shook his head, and he chewed his lip in anxious thought. "There is still so very much to see and do."

"The call will not suffer defiance for very long, princeling..."

But Legolas barely heard him. "I mean to sate myself with the joys of this land before I go – in its wondrous places, but most especially in its wondrous people. Gimli will tour these lands with me, and we will help Aragorn make repairs to his city. We went through places on the way here too, badly ravaged, ill-used you know, brutalized. I will fix it. And adar of course, he must have first command of all my time. Home must be restored and any lingering evil dispelled, I've been lax in my attentions upon it long enough..."

Even as they spoke and stood close together, Glorfindel could see himself diminishing in Legolas' crowded mind. Relegated to the edges, a smaller and smaller part of Legolas' immediate life in favor of the things he needed to do next. It was... painful.

"Ah, I run on too long," Legolas said with a sheepish smile. He fell silent, but Glorfindel could feel his soul and his mind skipping along from thought to thought to thought, all of them hovering lightly just above the song of the deep, crashing, insistent sea. It was almost as if Legolas feared that stopping would give it some ground by which to flourish, like a storm-swelled river finding a crack in the withholding dam.

"I have bored you now," Legolas added wryly, into Glorfindel's silence.

A protocol officer called for the attention of the elven party. It was time now to assemble properly, for soon they would move forward and come before the returning King of Gondor and Arnor.

"We must go," Legolas said, beginning to turn away.

Glorfindel could not help himself. He grabbed at the other elf's arm. Legolas jolted alert, and lashed out at the other elf. It was only by Glorfindel's quick reflexes that he caught the Prince mid-strike. Their movements caught the eye of the people around them, and Glorfindel ushered a shaking Legolas to quiet corner.

"Forgive me," Legolas said softly, "It's these blasted nerves."

"The failing is mine," Glorfindel returned. "I was not thinking."

Because in the midst of Legolas' latest malady, Glorfindel's desperation clouded his knowledge that Legolas was suffering not only the still-raw survival instincts of a war veteran, but also the hypervigilance of one who had survived the worst kind of torture. He reached for the other's fea with his chastised own, tentatively. Legolas' soul at that moment felt like it was being tossed in a stormy sea. Glorfindel sent him thoughts of warm and quiet, but it was just a small light in the middle of a tempest. He felt Legolas cling to it just the same, and it eased his mind and heart to find the younger elf trying to anchor himself.

Legolas closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you, my lord."

When he opened them again he looked more centered, and Glorfindel could feel the other elf collecting himself again, brick by brick, fixing, rebuilding. He was doing it inside for his mind and soul, but Glorfindel could see Legolas' hands physically twitching too. No wonder he found such refuge in thoughts of works and tasks.

Glorfindel felt it again, the way he diminished in Legolas' crowded mind, pushed to the periphery, becoming smaller and smaller. If it meant Legolas' salvation, Glorfindel could bear it. But there was one thing he had to do, for himself.

"Legolas," the ancient warrior implored the prince, "Please. Do not forget me."

It meant many things – Do what you need to do. Go where you wish. Be who you need to be. Push me to the edges, diminish me. But do not... do not obliterate me. Keep me in your heart. I love you so I can wait. I will wait...

Even with his drifting, distracted mind, Legolas understood. He nodded and returned, sadly, sweetly –

"Do not lose hope in me..."

Glorfindel did not.

He rode hard toward the approaching wood-elf. They met a few paces away from each other on a narrow, cobbled road lined by trees. The road was not kept in its old pristine fashion, and upon it were twigs and rotted foliage from the previous season, plastered wet by thawing snow. But the curving branches overhead, still-winter-barren, were generously dotted by sprigs of promised spring leaves.

Legolas dismounted his horse, and pulled his cloak away from his face. He let his beast follow on its own time as he walked toward Glorfindel, who had done the same.

There was a cackle of energy in the air as they stalked closer and closer together; it might have been by virtue of the cracking lightning and the rumbling thunder of the impending rain, it might have been just the looming nearness of one another. Either way, it was indisputably there, charging the empty distance that slowly shortened between them.

Legolas, Glorfindel realized, looked inexplicably younger. Elves ceased aging after a point, but they were not supposed to turn back time! Yet somehow, the wood-elf before him harbored a softness he had not seen since they first met in Imladris all those years ago. Perhaps it was the vulnerability of his grief for his fallen Aragorn, Glorfindel thought, though as they came closer and closer together and he reached out to Legolas by the spirit, there was a quiet, calm strength to him. Like solid, steady rock – dense, firm, grounded. Waves could crash against this, Glrofindel knew, and the water could shape and weather it, but it will always stand. Legolas it seemed, had found his peace, even in grief. He wasn't returned to Glorfindel broken. He returned, transformed.

They stopped an arm away from each other.

"I had no right nor courage to hope you would be here," Legolas said softly. "What we had spanned such a short time all those years ago, and I've been remiss in seeking you in the lifetime since. I didn't forget you, my lord, not at all. I've thought of you often, but I did not know how to write you and what to say, or if I even deserved or was still able to command the barest of your attentions at all." He reached, tentatively, for the strands of hair on Glorfindel's shoulder. He had done that, when they first met.

"You look the same," Legolas said softly.

"I feel the same," Glorfindel told him.

Legolas smiled at him shyly, and lowered his hand over Glorfindel's chest, above his heart.

"I mean to sail soon, bearing Elvellon with me," Legolas said. "He is away, making his goodbyes and I came from the same, with adar."

"How fares the Elvenking?"

"More inclined to stay than go," Legolas said wryly, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with warmth and love, "There is no surprise there. He distrusts those who will come to inherit the earth after us, even as he understands our time is ending. But perhaps my sailing is just the motivation he needs."

Glorfindel knew it was the motivation he himself, needed.

"He said something to me before I left," Legolas continued. "Adar steered me this way, said I should see Rivendell before going on. His words brought me to the path of, of Aragorn once." Pain streaked across his eyes, "and we know where that led, the joys it brought. I wondered what this would bring and here you are."

"I am sorry," Glorfindel said, "for the loss of Estel."

"I am sorry too," Legolas said, voice wavering slightly. "You knew him since he was a child. I cannot imagine it. I long knew this was coming but it is... it is different, when his passing finally came."

"What is the difference?"

"I wasn't sure I would survive," Legolas admitted quietly. He pressed his lips together and gathered himself. "Yet here I am." He smiled grimly. "Here we are. I was not aware you remained when the household closed, my lord. I came thinking I would be saying goodbye to a place that had once meant so much. I didn't think I would be saying..."

"Hello," Glorfindel finished for him with a smile of his own. He started to close the distance between them and leaned forward, but the wood-elf was faster. Legolas threw his arms around the other elf's neck and staked his claim upon the ancient warrior.

The clouds broke over them, sending down a shower of rain and by the gods, Glorfindel could have sworn they once again felt like hundreds of thousands of cool, tiny fingers drumming against his skin, a song of the Earth, a shower of kisses from the heavens...

When they pulled away from each other, breathless and drenched, Glorfindel looked down at his wood-elf hungrily.

"Let's get you inside," he told him, taking his hand and leading the way. They walked thus, holding onto each other, over battered cobblestone paths cleansed by rainwater. They let their elven-trained horses follow on their own time. They walked under the deluge, until the still-magnificent Main House came into view. There were still elves about the property, but so few that they ran into no one.

It was empty, but with Legolas' hand in his, Glorfindel felt his heart and home was full.

"It is more beautiful than ever," Legolas said breathlessly beside him, and Glorfindel frowned as he looked at the once carefully pruned and maintained mix of elven structures and foliage. They were weathered now, beginning to be caught and tangled in each other. Vines and branches wound around columns, and grasses grew from cracks on the floors. But the prince was being serious, and his eyes were entranced as he looked about him.

"The Earth reclaims it," Legolas said with wonder. He did not see diminishment and decay, Glorfindel realized, he saw transformation. The ancient warrior tried to see Imladris from this borrowed light, and looked upon the twining vines and branches upon stone not as restriction, but as embrace. He looked at the grasses not as ill-maintenance, but life, fighting its way through.

He found a smile tugging at his lips.

The world, he thought, it changes when one loves and is loved... A house is empty but by your presence it is full. A land I thought diminished is just wild and in its own way beautiful. Where I once saw decay there is suddenly, only change and transformation. Rain will never just be the rain again, because once beneath the broken skies, we kissed and you restored magic and wonder into my life. In all these things, the only difference between sorrow and salvation is a token change - you are here and you love me.

"You are here and you love me," Glorfindel murmured.

Legolas looked at him in mild confusion. "I've always loved you."

"I mean to follow you when you go," Glorfindel said, and he tried to chuck at Legolas' chin. "Try and stop me, princeling."

The wood-elf's quick hands caught his, but instead of the quaking fear and violence that had once powered those reflexes, Legolas' grip was firm and warm. He kissed at the older warrior's knuckles and held it over his heart.

"I actually hoped you would already be waiting for me there," Legolas said wryly.

THE END

August 31, 2018