Rating: PG – some brief mentions of sex
Pairing: Gil-galad/Elrond, Aragorn/Legolas
Summary: War breaks out in Valinor, and some of those lost to the elves return
Notes: First part of a series, I hope, but this story can also be read alone, the plot is resolved by its end.
Warnings: Somewhat AU. This story has reincarnated characters and the elf history is not strictly canon, for example all mention of the Vanya on Valinor is omitted, and the convoluted political ties have been simplified so that we can focus on key familiar characters. I hope that this does not detract from your enjoyment of the story.
Glorfindel stepped outside Thranduil's feasting hall and took a breath of fresh night air.
He felt out of place in his ceremonial robes, and longed for the weight of armour and sword.
It had been more than two hundred long, bloody years since Elrond had been exiled for plunging Valinor into war.
He had endured the trials of the Crossing, an ordeal so terrible that no elf except the mighty warrior Glorfindel himself had ever survived them. And then the half elf had pleaded at Mandos's door for fifty years until the god relented and released Gil Galad to him.
But their joyous and long awaited reunion also heralded the sudden appearance of large orc hordes in Valinor, as if the gods had had to balance the goodness of Gil Galad's return with the horror of an enemy army.
There were three great lordships in Valinor at that time. Lorien lay to the far west, stretching from forest to sea cliffs and sharing a border with the western most lands of Thranduil's green and fair weathered kingdom. The Wood of Greenleaves was mainly nestled between Lorien and a large uninhabited, fierce, windswept mountain range, except where her south eastern border met with Rivendell's frontier on a narrow strip of lush forests and green meadows. To the east of Elrond's idyllic new territory, which stretched far up North on the eastern face of the mountain range, lay the Wild Lands, untamed and apparently waiting for little elflings to grow up and claim her in the fullness of time.
But this tender peace did not last, and with their whole eastern border exposed, it was Elrond's people who bore the brunt of the first orc attack that came unforeseen from the Wild Lands one moonless night.
Glorfindel had rallied the warriors while Erestor and his pregnant wife, the lady Arwen, who had eventually returned to her people with her brothers on Legolas's ship after the death of King Elessar, fled to the Wood of Greenleaves.
He had lost two score good fighters that night alone, and two score more during the terrible seven-day flight.
Every night since, he heard the screaming. Every night since, his heartbeat thundered in his ears as he relived the desperate moments as he and his warriors formed a protective circle around the women and children when at last the orcs had overwhelmed the Rivendell party, just two days away from Thranduil's border castles.
Their arrows became useless in close quarter fighting and they were hemmed in and overwhelmed by hundreds of war-thirsty orcs.
Glorfindel remembered hacking and slashing until he was sure his lungs would burst, and then the indescribable horror of hearing the snarls for the first time...
Wargs!
When the enemy released the wargs, the circle of warriors had collapsed in on the elves they were trying so desperately to protect. Even seasoned warriors simply could not fight off the fearsome beasts and stay in protective formation at the same time; they were simply not trained for it.
There was chaos and blood and screaming everywhere, and he had known, with a sickening twist in his guts, that each elf would now have to fight for himself. He had found Arwen, and together with Erestor they had protected the lady, but both had shed tears even while they killed, hearing the desperate screams for help all around them, but powerless to aid anyone.
All of Elrond's people would have perished on that bloody battlefield, if Legolas had not come with his war band.
But their victory later that violent eve was a truly bitter one.
Among the dead were Elladan, Elrohir and the Lady Galadriel, who had been with Arwen to comfort her during her pregnancy in her father's absence.
Glorfindel would never forget the look on Elrond's face a few days later when the latter, holding Gil-Galad's hand, arrived drenched and exhausted but triumphant at the south-western shore of Valinor, the disembarkation point for the realms of the dead, and part of Lorien's vast territory.
He had been so surprised, so utterly overjoyed to see Arwen again, for he had left on his epic journey from Valinor before the death of Elessar on Middle Earth and did not know of her return.
And the faithful guardian of Elrond's line had grieved deeply when he saw the short lived happiness flee from his lord's features and the terrible sadness return to his eyes at the news of the death of his sons and of the Lady Galadriel.
In her wisdom, she would not have blamed him, but Celeborn and Celebrian had cursed Elrond for leaving his people on a fool's quest that had resulted in such a devastating terror being unleashed in Valinor.
From the moment the accusation was made in a fit of anger by Celeborn, it had become truth, and since Gandalf was not there, having disappeared in the Wild Lands some years ago upon Frodo's death (the sweet hobbit had been the last non-elf in the undying lands), the charge was never verified or refuted.
In their anger, the people of Lorien forgot that it was Celebrian who had abandoned her husband shortly after he set foot in Valinor with the ring bearers, and prompted him to leave on a dangerous quest that could easily have claimed his life.
Even Arwen and Erestor had turned from Elrond when Celeborn had exiled him from Lorien and banned all of her people from lending him aid. Some of the older elves who had served under Gil Galad took no joy in their former High king's return, for his sudden reappearance among them at the half elf's side tainted him with Elrond's "sin" of unleashing the orc army in Valinor.
Legolas had taken Elrond and his few followers into his own household, and had negotiated a lasting peace when his bellicose father had threatened to throw Gil Galad to the orcs; Thranduil still blamed the former High king for Oropher's death, although most of the elite few who had survived that late king's unfortunate campaign during the time of the Last Alliance, knew that it was more Legolas's grandfather's rashness and conceit that had gotten him killed, rather than any poor command on Gil Galad's part.
Ultimately, Thranduil's well-hidden kindness got the better of him, and he had great respect for Elrond while his son loved the half elf because all friends of Aragorn were friends of Legolas. Thus, the king allowed the refugees from the now nonexistent Rivendell to settle in his lands.
Out of gratitude, Gil Galad and Elrond built a mighty wall, strengthened by three border castles along the narrow eastern frontier of The Wood of Greenleaves that used to face Rivendell but was now instead exposed to the threat from the Wild Lands. As the conflict dragged on, young elves would train in these strongholds, honing their fighting skills in the frequent battles that took place just outside the stout walls.
Under the command of Gil Galad, Glorfindel and Elrond, the war bands that guarded the wall with its three mighty border castles ensured that no orc passed into Thranduil's territory, and it seemed that they would hold out on their own, without the aid of Lorien's well trained and numerous infantry. The war like king was confident in their abilities, and always eager for battle, but the peace-loving prince grew more worried daily as the orc numbers seemed to grow.
The ancient warrior perked up when a sudden silence descended on the merry party indoors, and rushed back into the feasting hall to discover the cause.
Aragorn, adopted son of Elrond, had entered the hall and he was now kneeling at Thranduil's feet.
He was covered in grime, and his manner was urgent. He must have made the long ride from the border castles in record time and in extreme haste.
Glorfindel remembered the awful day about two hundred years ago, when a dark haired child and another small redheaded elfling had been found huddled under a fallen warrior's shield after the devastating warg attack two days from Thranduil's lands.
Many children had been orphaned after that horror, and they were all eventually sent off to live with various relatives, except for these two.
Nobody from Rivendell had ever seen them before, and they were too young to provide any information, being only able to speak their own names and no more. It was not uncommon for the post-War of the Rings elflings to be named after great men; it was a popular trend among young elf parents that began during the reign of King Elessar.
Many would have liked to adopt the one called Boromir, for the child had beautiful red hair, a desirable rarity among elves, common enough as it was among humans. But Aragorn had run to Elrond immediately when their eyes met, as if the tiny toddling elf recognised the great healer, and promptly refused to be adopted by anyone else. Boromir would wail lustily whenever the other elfling left his sight, so both children had followed the half elf into exile.
Glorfindel would always be grateful for the mysterious arrival of these two little elves, for they soothed Elrond's terrible pain during the years immediately after the death of his own twin sons.
"The border castles are heavily besieged, we need to march the war bands out tonight," Thranduil announced in his ringing, commanding voice.
"Surely you are not going to deprive me of Legolas's company at our betrothal feast?" Celeborn asked irritably.
The King of the Wood of Greenleaves pursed his lips and swallowed his harsh words when his son gave him a pleading look.
The fierce warrior elf was opposed to this union. He knew his son was only doing it in the hopes of getting Lorien's mighty infantry to finally end the long and terrible war against the orcs, and that Celeborn viewed the fair elf more as a prize than a lover.
The tall Lord of Lorien scowled fiercely as Thranduil waved off his remark and said, "Lord Elrond's forces have so successfully harried the enemy that they have united in a last ditch attempt to break the wall. Aragorn informs me that all five recognised orc leaders are among the besiegers. If we fight tonight, we will break the back of their army!"
The blonde elf, so slight and dainty, seemed to grow in size and majesty as he threw up his arms and addressed all the elves in the hall, "The sons of my land march to victory this night! We bring peace to our borders, we tame the Wild Lands with our swords and bows and spears and our courage this night!"
The elf king's ice blue eyes blazed as he clenched a fist and punched the air, "Who among our bold brothers in brave Lorien...in mighty Lorien...in glorious Lorien...would share this triumph with us?"
Thunderous applause and shouting burst out in the hall as the warriors from the Wood of Greenleaves roared their support for their king.
Glorfindel shook his head in awe, just now beginning to understand how these rustic, simple elves had held on to their land in Middle Earth without aid and without any Ring of Power.
Some warlords of Lorien jumped up from their seats and shouted their support as well. Haldir, the greatest of them, even ran enthusiastically to the front of the hall and stood next to Thranduil, adding his piercing battle cry to the din.
"Any warrior from Lorien who marches out tonight will be exiled," bellowed Celeborn.
A terrible silence descended on the hall, and Legolas blushed furiously. It shamed the prince that his betrothed was denying his father aid when the king had so eloquently and publicly asked for it.
Thranduil made a sudden lunge for Celeborn, and he would have throttled the elegant elf lord if his son and Glorfindel had not charged forward and contained him.
Haldir started to approach his Lord to ask him to reconsider; this refusal was terribly bad manners, especially as Lorien's once mighty infantry was sitting around growing fat while war was waged on Thranduil's eastern border.
Before he reached him, Celeborn spoke, "I offer no insult to the Wood of Greenleaves, but I will not send sons of Lorien to die in the name of the exile who has visited this evil upon all our blameless and peaceful people. How many more slain souls need we place on the altar of Elrond's and Gil Galad's selfish love?"
There were murmurs of agreement from the Lorien warriors.
It was at that moment that the assembled elves noticed that Aragorn and Haldir had locked gazes.
The younger dark haired elf moved with deliberate slowness, and the blonde warrior's eyes grew wide as a long-fingered, expressive hand reached behind his ear and stroked that secret, sensitive spot which made the whole body tingle.
Haldir flushed, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he clasped the hand in both his own and brought it to his lips. It seemed to those watching that he might dissolve into sobs, but his smile when he looked up was ecstatic.
"Lord Celeborn, you must forgive me. But I am bound by an oath, greater even than my oath of allegiance to you and our dear departed Lady, to help Aragorn whenever he asks, and he has asked tonight."
Haldir's words drew gasps of surprise, and even Glorfindel gaped in wonder. When had the seasoned warrior and Aragorn had the time to perform the intimate act that would bind them in such an oath?
Thranduil laughed. "You've chosen your First Lover well, Aragorn! You could learn something from this youth about choosing partners, Legolas; I would say Haldir's loyalty is virginity well spent."
The elf king did not care if he was being crude.
"All warriors oath bound to me are freed from their promise for this campaign. I only want the willing to come and fight this night," Haldir declared.
Immediately, a few score Lorien warriors scrambled to join their warlord at the front of the hall, and Haldir noticed more than a few peers and their war bands having suddenly "developed" oaths of allegiance to him, but he said nothing and just smiled.
They may have been growing fat, but certainly not soft.
Many could remember Elrond fighting at their side as Sauron's forces pressed on the elfish lands during the War of the Ring, more than a few owed their lives to his healing skills, and they felt shame for sitting out the current war for so long.
"I'm sorry my lord, but you know what they say. Haldir keeps his oaths and thus he lives. I survived the Last Alliance battles and Helm's Deep only by the mercy of the gods, for they must know as you do that I am neither gentle nor pure (the other prerequisites for surviving bloody battles according to folk wisdom)," the blonde warlord grinned.
Celeborn was stunned into silence, but he could not object to the ages old tradition of oaths. But his baleful glare made the blood in Haldir's veins run cold.
Ever since Galadriel's death, Celeborn's deep and absolute grief had become an icy, consuming rage that none could soothe, and somebody would be forced to pay for thwarting his will this night.
But he was a very intelligent elf, and even while recognising defeat, he saw a chance to strengthen his own position.
Taking Legolas's hand, he smiled falsely at the assembled elves.
"What can I do but yield, Haldir? Your oath, that spurs you to defy your lord," Celeborn paused, and Haldir winced, but the Lord of Lorien continued, "stems from love, and I too understand the madness of such a feeling, for am I not soon to be wed myself? And not to any elf, but indeed to the brightest jewel in King Thranduil's famed treasure trove, the fairest bloom in his lush land of flowers, the sweetest leaf in his land of endless green leaves."
Thranduil frowned. What an about face the devious elf ruler was performing, but he did have a way with words.
"Forgive me my rash words. As a wedding gift, my darling, I will let Haldir and his forces aid your father, and moreover, I shall come and fight too, just so you know my love for you is true," Celeborn finished sweetly.
Haldir frowned deeply. He was an old hand at Lorien politics, and he knew what Celeborn was doing. Thranduil, naïve when it came to courtly posturing and hiding behind words, was placated, and Legolas even smiled gently with pleasure. But Celeborn was not doing this out of affection, he was stating without a doubt that after this night, the Wood of Greenleaves would be in Lorien's debt, although Haldir suspected that his aid, freely offered, would more than suffice.
The assembled warriors cheered, but the veteran warlord shared tense looks with his peers, who also understood the intricacies of Lorien politics.
Nobody saw the heartbreak in Aragorn's eyes as Legolas offered his betrothed a kiss on the cheek.
Gil Galad watched in horror as a large segment of the wall collapsed, and flames burst out from the ground around the rubble.
"What happened? We built those walls to withstand ballista missiles...and they have not even come close enough to launch any!" Elrond exclaimed.
"They've sapped the foundations! All these two weeks while we've been protecting the walls and sending sorties, a group of expert miners have been tunnelling beneath us. That's why the main army has just been sitting there, taunting us! Damn it!" Boromir, Elrond's adopted son, seemed suddenly far older than his 200-odd years.
"We must retreat. Thranduil's army can be no more than two days away," Gil Galad said.
"If we fall back, the enemy would have breached the border, they would be in the king's lands! How do we stop them then? The frontier castles are scattered enough to be bypassed, and they could break off into small groups and we would never hunt them all down. They will be a menace to Thranduil's people for centuries to come."
"We hold them here or we lose the war," Boromir said. He cast his eyes over the fallen wall and the advancing enemy. They were a mere hour away, out of bow range, and their torches seemed to have set the fields alight in the dark night.
"They are advancing, it must mean that that tunnel is the only one they have dug, they would not risk plunging their men into battle on unstable ground," he added.
"A shield wall of three score warriors, two deep could hold that breach. The remaining walls and castles can be manned and held by fewer elves," the redhead nodded to him self, and Gil Galad and Elrond exchanged glances.
"Surely the younger elves should flee while there is time," Gil Galad said. "The veterans can hold the breach."
"Even twenty of you would not hold out under the onslaught, my lord, and the old warlords number less than 15 now and good Glorfindel is away at the betrothal feast. It will take a shield wall of 60 elves," Boromir smiled.
"But we are not trained to stand in a shield wall; even the famed infantry of Lorien only uses shields to advance in ranks, before spreading out. That technique was...," Elrond stared at the handsome, elfin face in sudden alarm.
"...A tradition in Gondor." Boromir grinned, and before either of the older elves could decide what he meant by that, he had hurried down the tower stairs to the courtyard below, where the bulk of the army was milling around in confusion, gaping in horror at the collapsed wall nearby.
Gil Galad called for everyone's attention, and then graciously gestured for the young elf to step forward.
"All of you have fought bravely these past two weeks...," he began.
"None so bravely as Boromir!" roared one of the warriors, and many among those assembled who had ridden out on sorties with the redhead shouted agreement.
"Thank you! All here should be proud of your courage. The wall has been undermined, and whatever happens tonight, the orc army must not break through."
A heavy silence descended.
"We will have to form a shield wall, and hold that breach, until Thranduil comes, and he is very close," Boromir said.
"That is very brave of you, Boromir, but you are too young to know that shield walls cannot hold! You are too young to remember the slaughter of the people of Rivendell when we were beset by wargs. Glorfindel could not save us, and he has slain a Balrog," a veteran warrior cried out in protest.
Fear crept into the eyes of the younger warriors, all knew that tale, knew why it was so important that they held these border walls.
"Shield walls can hold!" Boromir retorted heatedly.
"The war history of men shows that the shield wall of Gondor was as sure as a tower in battle. They trained with the Riders of Rohan, and even such renowned cavalry charges, one of which won the day at Helm's Deep, broke before the shields of Gondor. At the re-taking of Osgiliath, there were only four score men, the youngest was a lad of fourteen, and it was only with shields and swords and courage and will that they faced down hordes of orcs. No time to sleep, or to build, nowhere to hide, having only the strength of their wills and trust in their shield-brothers to keep them going. They were mere men, and they prevailed! We are elves, we must prevail!"
"Think of it, that is your home beyond those walls. Your mothers and sisters and wives, your hopes and dreams for your future...the one thing standing between the enemy and all of that, all that you love, all that you are...is our courage this night."
"Let the enemy come!"
Courageous fire burned in Boromir's eyes, but they suddenly seemed to be looking elsewhere, as if he was no longer an elf standing in a torch-lit courtyard, but a man, standing at the borders of Osgiliath, fighting down his fear that he might save his besieged people: "And if I should fall, let me fall beside my shield brother, with my sword in my hand, and my face to the enemy, and the song of my home in my soul...that I may cross the Bridge of Swords to the afterlife, and see that my people have saved a seat of honour for me."
Elrond looked away as tears welled in his eyes, and Gil Galad gasped in surprise. Both elves had heard those words before, on the eve of the battle that would claim his noble life, it was that simple prayer to fate and to the gods that Elendil spoke to lend courage to his tired men.
"Who will stand with me?" Boromir asked.
The night sky was dotted with lethal arrows from the walls still standing on either side of the breach.
Many orcs fell, but they soon got too close to the shield wall of elves for archer fire.
The whole enemy army was hell bent on bursting through this breach, but their foot soldiers stopped within sight of the shield wall.
A horn sounded, the enemy ranks parted, and the wargs charged forward.
"Hold! Hold!" Boromir thundered as the ground shook beneath their feet and the night air filled with the stench of the killer beasts' bloodlust.
The first warg charged right into the centre of the shield wall, and a ripple of force blasted across the shining shields, but no one fell.
The warg rider was thrown right off his steed by the unexpected impact; the orcs had been expecting the shield wall to fold as it had 200 years ago, but this one comprised determined warriors defending their homes, not a handful of panic stricken fighting elves fleeing with women and children.
Gil Galad's spear caught the beast right in its jaws, and he never dropped his shield although every instinct screamed at him to throw down the sight-obscuring implement and rush forward for the kill.
Because of their strength, elves were aggressive fighters, trained to advance and slaughter, their compact lines fanning out after their first arrival on the battlefield, thereby allowing individual warriors to kill. But humans, mortal and frail, found little victory in fighting alone, and thus they had developed tactics that lent them the strength of groups. From shield walls to cavalry charges, men had perfected the art of creating one giant killing "being" that focused and enhanced the strength of the warriors within it.
Blood and brain matter sprayed on to the former high king's shield and on to those of the elves closest to him, but the beast was dead, and their line remained unbroken.
A second warg was urged to leap on to the stalwart line. The sight of the beast practically in flight was a terrifying one, but it soon learned a lesson that every Rider of Rohan knew from the time he was five years old.
Boromir's shield caught it in the chest, and his sword, swung overhead in an arc, took off the head of the warg. The creature clawed uselessly against the shields to the redhead's right and left, and the orc rider, knocked to the ground and trapped as his beast fell dead on top of him, was dispatched with one lightning stab from an elf warrior who quickly fell back into the safety of the shield wall, having needed to step no more than two paces forward to make his kill.
The enemy were horrified at this unforeseen setback, but the effect on the elves was far greater. Hope burned in their hearts again and every last one of them swore to him self then and there that they would hold this shield wall for every long day that it took for Thranduil's army to arrive.
It was the eve of the second day after the first warg attack in the darkness of night when the shield wall fell.
Gil Galad had uttered an unearthly howl of pain as the enemy infantry pressed forward, somewhat hindered by the huge pile of dead orcs and wargs that stood between the elves and them, and had run limping, head bowed, to the back of the line.
The orcs, smelling victory, charged forward even more fiercely, and they heard with delight the frightened whimpers of the tired elves.
The line collapsed inward only a half hour after Gil Galad's cowardly flight, and the orcs burst through the breach, their leaders eager to be the first to slay the renowned former high king. Only a wicked few stayed behind to toy with the elves hiding under their shields.
There was chaos for long moments as the orcs shoved the carcasses from among their ranks aside and thundered through the breach.
Shouts of encouragement urged the enemy on, there was a small war band surrounding Gil Galad, and they were dragging him towards the woods that lay next to the flat meadows directly behind the border walls.
There was so much noise and excitement and bloodlust filling the air that the orcs racing into Thranduil's territory and the chance at glory, rape and plunder, failed to hear the screams behind them, where a few orc war bands had lingered to torment the remnants of the shield wall warriors. They were looking for the red-headed orc slayer that had harassed them so fiercely these many years, they would make his death a long drawn out, deliciously painful affair.
Arrows rained down on them as Thranduil's warriors, hidden since their arrival two hours before in the nearby border castle, revealed themselves.
And then, mounted warriors burst out from the castle gates, and the orcs were all herded through the breach into the meadow just behind the border walls...
...where, the woods suddenly came alive with scores upon scores of elf warriors.
Gil Galad stopped limping, and turned to face his pursuers at the mouth of the forest. As his war band fanned out on either side of him, the orcs realised with horror that he was not wounded at all, and his dramatic display of injury had been a ruse to lure them in and trap them in this meadow.
They had never seen the infantry of Lorien before, that marched out in orderly, trained blocks of elf muscle, bloodlust and golden armour, but one glance was enough to let even the fiercest orc leader know he was already defeated.
Many turned, hoping to run back to the shelter of the Wild Lands through the breach in the wall, but they now faced an advancing shield wall, with a red mane of hair at its heart that taunted them for their stupidity.
The archers lining the battlements on either side of the ruins turned their attention from the Wild Lands and inwards to the meadow. Haldir, Gil Galad and the elf warriors were out of archer range, but the trapped orcs were not.
And then the shield wall parted, and the cavalry, led by Aragorn, adopted son of Elrond, thundered through into the meadow, bringing gleaming death with them for the enemy army.
"I am not intruding, am I?"
The soft, genteel voice sounded out of place among the roars, bawdy songs and war chants that filled the grandest feasting hall in majestic Lorien.
It was a month after the resounding victory over the orc army had ended the 200-year-old war, and even the wounded and mourning had sufficiently healed to feast, sing, dance and make merry. The spirit of triumph and joy and love cavorted everywhere on this moonlit night.
Boromir put down his glass of wine and tried to place the dark haired, aristocratic elf lord standing timidly before him.
"You may not know me Boromir, my name is Faramir, Son of the Lady Arwen and Erestor, Great-Grandson of Lord Celeborn and the dear departed Lady Galadriel," the elf said.
"Then I am your uncle, for is not Elrond, my adopted father, your grandfather?" the redhead asked. He was a little put off by the posturing way the elf introduced him self, but was in too good a mood to frown.
"Yes, I met him for the first time after the battle, and mother has always said he is a good, kind, forgiving lord. His exile has been very difficult for her, but she must stand by grandmother, who's so frail after Lady Galadriel's passing. Grandmother has always said mother and I are all the joy she and Lord Celeborn have left in the world, and we mustn't be taken from her by Elrond too. Oh, I am so grateful that Legolas is to be married to Lord Celeborn, for how else would our people ever be united?" Faramir gushed earnestly.
Boromir chortled, warming to the young elf. The skilled warrior was younger in years than this child of Lorien, but growing up in border castles under the care of a half elf used to raising humans had matured him far quicker than most other elves. Or so the elves had believed, for in truth, Boromir the elf lord had the soul of a man.
"You refer to your kin so formally. You can relax here, you are among friends," Boromir said kindly.
"I didn't get a chance to fight at the battle, we were in the back with Lord Celeborn and the others of high birth, and now we may never get the chance to fight again, unless...oh please, Boromir, will you accept my oath? I will serve you tirelessly and loyally..." the young elf lord looked hurt as the other burst out laughing.
"Lord Celeborn will kill me if I do such a thing!" Boromir exclaimed. Then, sensing the youth's wounded feelings, he continued more seriously.
"I am touched, Faramir, by your honesty and it is heartening to see your fierce spirit. But I must impress upon you that the measure of a man is not in the battlefield, but in the eyes of those he loves, and who love him back."
The high born elf was startled to hear those words from a young fighter of such incredible renown. They seemed the words of someone much older and worldlier.
"Do you know much about the man after whom you are named?"
"He was the last Steward of Gondor," Faramir said. "And he was a good friend of mother's first husband and Eomer, the King of Rohan."
"I am glad your mother remembers him with enough fondness to have named you after him. Faramir was never a great warrior, but listen, do not hang your head in shame! His greatest strengths were his compassion, his gentleness and his ability to love unwaveringly and completely. Anyone, given enough training, can be an efficient killer, but few men had the ability to light the souls around him with his own goodness, to win the title friend from so many great and powerful men. In times of peace, when people begin to mend broken ties and soothe old grudges, we need all the Faramirs we can get," Boromir said earnestly.
"It is no small thing to have the love of people like Celebrian and Celeborn who have lost so much. If you wish to fight for me, Faramir, then do so where you are most needed, and where you will be strongest. Fight by your mother's side, and help her heal the pain that keeps our family torn asunder."
Faramir left, uplifted, and resolute in his new course.
"My goodness, Boromir, I would be hard pressed to decide which you wield with more power and grace: your sword or your words. Gondor missed you sorely after the war."
Boromir startled and turned, to see Aragorn's chiselled face staring at him from the shadow of an arch in the hall.
"Still skulking about, I see. Ah, you were lucky to have Faramir by your side; I would have been out of place, a warrior with no more war to fight, and a speaker who must stand silent behind a king who would address the crowds I once used to lead. It was my time for death, and Faramir's time for glory – though I suspect he drew more joy from your friendship than his high office."
"Gentle Faramir, how he missed you, how I missed you. The memory of you led us to our greatest works, you know. You should see your White Tower now," Aragorn said, sitting noiselessly next to Boromir.
"I miss Gondor every day, or at least a part of me does. How about you? It must hurt, seeing her in her new life...," the redhead followed his adopted brother's gaze.
"Not as much as the day I saw her crying over Erestor's robes. She had kept it hidden for years...decades. But on the day I told her I was tired of living and could endure no more, her longing for her people overwhelmed her. She gave him up for me, to save Middle Earth because Galadriel had foreseen that her love was the one thing that would guide me to my destiny. Much as that moment broke my heart, I rejoice that it happened, if not I would have been ignorant of her painful secret, and would have foolishly asked for her love for eternity when her one life time with me was already so large a sacrifice.
"Arwen deserves her happiness now, and Elrond deserves the joy of her presence. Elessar of Gondor is dead in a tomb, and we shall leave him there," Aragorn said quietly.
His eloquent adopted brother was struck speechless. It took a great heart indeed to choose happiness for the one he loved when doing so brought so much sorrow to him self.
"In all honesty, Boromir," he continued in a lighter tone before the silence between them got awkward, "some days I hardly recognise myself."
"I still get pangs of discomfort whenever I see you or myself clean shaven and with pointy ears. And our skin! Sitting on our features, such glowing, smooth skin renders us almost unrecognisable, even to ourselves," the redhead said.
Aragorn laughed. "Hmmm. But my hair's still curly and unmanageable, and yours is still red and smooth."
"I can't believe we have hidden the truth about our identities for so long. Even Elrond did not really listen to his own suspicions until I spoke to him about shield walls," Boromir said.
"Haldir could not believe himself either, at first, until I touched him. I can not blame him, for at 25, I did not believe it myself. I thought I was going mad with these memories of a life so removed from the one I was leading in Valinor under Father's care. If you had not confided in me shortly after my dreams and memories of Middle Earth started I would have asked him to perform an exorcism on me!
"175 years is a long time to keep a secret, my friend, but I will never know the purpose for which we were reborn in Valinor," the dark haired elf said.
"It certainly wasn't to watch a great spirit and warrior-prince reduce him self to being the decorative spouse in some good-for-nothing, vindictive Lord's halls. You know in truth that Legolas owes Celeborn nothing. Haldir and his forces would have helped us win that battle well enough on their own; it's a real shame the high-and-mighty Lord of Lorien stole the credit with a last minute trick of devious speech, and undid all your careful planning. Yes, Glorfindel told me everything," Boromir huffed.
Just then, shocked gasps filled the hall.
Elrond and Gil Galad were seating themselves at the edge of the High Table!
"This is an outrage!" roared Celeborn, leaping to his feet.
"Please, I invited them. On such a joyous day, can we not put aside our differences to share this meal? I know it would please my dear mother greatly, as it would your radiant spouse and his royal father," Faramir pleaded.
Arwen grabbed Elrond's hand and leaned into his shoulder, silencing Celebrian's protests.
"Please, my lord. Won't you let the spirit of love that moved you to battle prevail here in your feasting halls? We are family...why, I can imagine how pleased the Lady Galadriel would be to see us all sitting here together. It would be like the old parties that mother always tells me about, when the whole family would join hands and sing and dance and feast in gratitude for all the joy in their lives," the youth continued.
Celeborn's glare softened. Whenever he saw Elrond, he saw the person he held responsible for Galadriel's death. But suddenly, this young elf, the baby that the late Lady had been so longing to hold in her arms, reminded him of the great love, wisdom and forgiveness that she had always shared with her people, and how important family and unity had been to her.
It was as if, for one shining moment, her beautiful, gentle presence lived again, reflected in the pleading hope and joy in the eyes of her granddaughter and great-grandson.
Even his rage against Elrond was not great enough to move him to destroy the happiness that breathed momentary life into her cherished memory.
He nodded just once, and then resumed his seat.
A sigh of relief passed like a spring wind in the hall, and there were many cheers as the musicians were told to continue playing and more food and wine was served.
Legolas smiled warmly at Elrond and Gil Galad, and squeezed Celeborn's arm appreciatively. But the elegant elf lord seemed cloaked in sadness. The joy and love and laughter only made the pain of her absence fiercer, and he wondered how his heart could bear it.
He would turn to his side at rest and see another in her place, he would awake in the morning and find another in their bed, he would sing in the evenings and a voice not hers would join him, he would gaze upon the stars at night and their healing light would fall upon a face not hers.
How could he ever let his grief for her go, for surely that would mean he would lose her completely, and forever? Eternity without his Galadriel, how even time could not make that reality less impossible to endure!
Legolas turned gently from his spouse and smiled politely at Faramir, who was keeping awkwardness at bay and inviting lively laughter to take its place with his engaging chatter. Arwen's laughter was the brightest, she was so happy to have her father at the same table with her mother and family again.
Nobody at the table could see it, indeed none had ever seen the secret that self-possessed Legolas had hidden for so long that it had become his constant companion in a life full of loss.
That is what happens when you love a mortal.
He knew, although many did not believe he possessed the perceptiveness and intelligence to know, that Celeborn was still completely bound and in love with a dead elf lady.
They would make the perfect couple then, for the fair elf prince's heart had been buried along with King Elessar in that grand, cold tomb on Middle Earth.
"Surely, you can't be planning to sleep, my darling?" purred Gil Galad as he prowled towards the bed where Elrond was nodding off.
"I am half human love, although I hide it well, and why are you so energetic anyway? I think even Glorfindel will have to sleep after such a feast," he replied softly, trying not to lose the fuzzy delight of sleep.
A positively cheeky and lightning quick caress brought him wide awake with a yell though.
"Gil Galad! For shame!" Elrond hissed as he sat up, his lover's hand still wriggling in his sleep trousers.
"We're far too old for such...I mean; we just made love this afternoon!" Elrond whispered.
"How serious you've become, my sweet. Are you sore, because if you are, I proffer my behind!" chuckled Gil Galad loudly, divesting Elrond of his trousers.
The half elf cringed. Their chambers were part of a large flet, and only a heavy tapestry hung upon an upper branch separated their chambers from the two smaller ones, also divided by cloth, occupied by Glorfindel and the two adopted elves respectively.
"I'm off for a walk with Glorfindel, Father, and Aragorn's out anyway...he'll usually go find somewhere to sleep in the open," Boromir called out, and Elrond blushed as he heard quick graceful steps disappear down the ladder.
"You're incorrigible!" Elrond said, as Gil Galad divested him of sleeping robes too, completely unperturbed.
"And you're hard! Come, come, no need for all the fuss, I'll just...," the former High king lifted a leg to get astride his lover.
Elrond groaned in delight and protested no more.
"Thumping on the flet, and we're not even down the ladder. We serve a hooligan," Glorfindel said shaking his head in disapproval.
"Heh! I doubt Father's to blame. Also, it's a really tall tree. I'm just amazed lovers do not topple off the platforms more often. Hey, aren't you wearing Aragorn's forest clothes?" Boromir said, peering down over his shoulder, being careful not to step on the hands of the elf descending the long ladder below him.
"My luggage is with Elrond, I thought to unpack tomorrow morning and didn't think to be running around so late at night. I didn't want to wear my night dress or the fussy clothes from the feast. I'm sure Aragorn wouldn't mind, he's probably wandering somewhere and won't be changing clothes until late tomorrow, if he comes back here at all," the blonde said, glad that his flowing locks were contained in the hood of his cloak. He had undone his plaits to sleep and had not had the time to re-do them in the hurry to descend and his loose hair would have obscured his vision.
"The ladder's shaking a bit," Boromir said with some concern.
Glorfindel clicked at the vigour of the couple's lust in the flet above.
"There, on the ground at last. I think I'll just go rest awhile beneath that little tree," the older elf said.
Boromir waved goodbye and went off in search of Aragorn. The latter was very wild in his elfin incarnation, more Ranger than King, constantly running or riding somewhere far from the coldness of fortresses and into the untamed embrace of nature.
It was almost as if he feared stone walls and people and responsibility, having had too much of all these during his last life.
Boromir loved Aragorn, although he couldn't understand him. The redhead, in this life as in the last, wanted more than anything in the world to have a safe home with sturdy walls, a bed covered in warm fur and tapestries of heroes adorning the stalwart stone. He had that now, at last, but rather wished he had a brother or a friend to share it with.
Glorfindel frowned when his sharp eyes, alert even in sleep, espied an approaching figure.
He hoped that the intruder would retreat upon realising that he was at rest, so he made no move to stir or acknowledge the other's presence, but the impudent fellow just peered briefly down at him before striking a dramatic pose and bursting into song.
The veteran warrior usually had no patience for such matters, and doubtless the passionate and rather inebriated bold singer thought he was the young and handsome adopted son of Elrond, as his hair and half his face were obscured by the hood.
But on this night, something stirred within him that had been lying quiet in his soul for lifetimes past counting.
Maybe it was the moon that bathed the tender scene with silver or the euphoria after a victory or even the warm wind that caught the notes and threw them up high so that they fell again like spring blossoms, swirling and then finally settling lovingly upon the ears.
Or maybe it was the indescribable beauty of the singer, or the pure and moving richness of his voice, or the way he breathed life and meaning into the words of the ancient love song.
Maybe it was fate.
With startling suddenness, Glorfindel the mighty warrior found his courageous and cold heart warming with the first blush of love and tender passion.
The singing stopped, and the suitor knelt gallantly to present him with a bowl full of flowers, within which was hidden some lovely piece of jewellery, a courting gift.
The blonde elf lifted his eyes coyly, and the bowl went flying as Haldir of Lorien shrieked at his dreadful error and withdrew hastily.
He had very cheekily interrupted the rest of the great Balrog slayer, an elf so stern and old and masterful that he made Lord Elrond look like a merry babe. He would surely be smacked for this dreadful transgression, and probably chased at sword point through the forest.
"Glorfindel, forgive me! I thought you were Aragorn," he said, the flush of passion draining from his face and leaving it as deathly white as he felt.
The flowers and bowl lay upturned upon the older elf's lap! Haldir could not believe he had been idiotic enough to throw the bowl at Glorfindel on top of all his sins, and was struck speechless and nerveless.
The older elf regarded the fine pair of emerald drop ear-rings that fell out as he righted the bowl.
Then, with quickness remarkable even for an elf, he launched himself at Haldir and soon had the famous warrior with the gorgeous figure pinned to the ground.
The younger elf winced and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow that would surely come and was startled when gentle lips found his instead.
Never one to delay when it came to taking action, he only gave one grunt of surprise before throwing his arms around the mighty Balrog slayer and caution to the wind.
Legolas stepped on to the balcony of the royal flet, his duty done for the night.
His new spouse's touch had neither pleased nor hurt him, but it was during the quiet, breathless moments after the crest of pleasure that the pain had come, fast and fierce, for them both.
The fair prince had quietly retired to the wash area, pulled on his night robes and left the bedchamber as much to soothe his own sorrow as to offer Celeborn time to grieve and then compose him self.
Legolas looked up, not allowing his tears to spill.
He could not believe how bright the stars were. What irony that tonight of all nights, the beauty of the world was so palpable! He cast his eyes out beyond the fires of late feasters and to the forest beyond. Somewhere far away, just at the edge of elfin sight, silver moonlight fell brilliantly and carelessly over wind swept rocks.
His heart fled to the trees at the foot of those wild and free mountains, and memories rushed like a river over him.
"You used to say that nights like this were worth all the kingdoms of history. There was a time, Aragorn, when all you ever wanted was the wind in your face, the stars in your eyes, and the song of the open land in your heart. And all I ever wanted was to share nights like this with you," Legolas's smile faded.
Of course, Aragorn had died on a throne, weighed down by robes of state and a heavy crown, hemmed in by courtiers and the hard, unyielding walls of Minas Tirith. He had grown old and grey in those majestic rooms, leaning precariously out a window on a windy night the closest he could ever come to running free among the trees that he had so loved in his youth.
There was no place in the world for a king with a Ranger's soul, and Legolas remembered how it hurt seeing Aragorn's face in death. The man had passed away sitting quietly on a window sill, his face turned out towards the never-ending sky and the green forests to the west of his great kingdom, as though he had been trying to run into their embrace but had been held back by a ruthless jailer.
Aragorn, who had once been so full of courage and fire and joy in life, had looked...broken.
Had she been worth it?
Had the good cause been worth it?
Legolas was startled out of his reverie by the sound of a flute. That was strange, so late in the night. Most feasters were asleep in the grass, chatting quietly in small groups or busy with the business of lust.
The solitary redheaded musician and the singer had only the guards at the foot of the tree as an audience; the beautiful elf lord was not sure if he had been noticed high among the mighty branches.
When the singer began his song, Legolas's heart missed a beat and his eyes widened, as the haunting notes flew like well aimed arrows through his defences and pierced his soul.
When rain cleanses bloodied fields
When the battles all are done
When free people tend the land
Then will I watch the sun come
Come to me, run to me
To the land where no man is king
Where every heart is free
I will put away my sword
Free my hands of warrior rings
Rest my shield upon the ground
And end my days of yearning
My bed will be of green grass
Only the wind be my walls
I will run gladly to him
When my patient lover calls
Come to me, make love to me
In the land where no man is king
And every heart is free
The soft sun there shines warmly
Rivers blue as my lover's eyes
Gentle grass grows there greenly
Beneath endless, carefree skies
More rich than grand halls of gold
Greater than the highest throne
Is this wide, wild, windswept land
This place we will call our home
Love, come make a life with me
In the land where no man is king
And every heart is free
My castle of trees and sky
My pillow my lover's hair
My treasure his loyal love
My crown a heart free of care
In the land where no man is king
My love, and I, at last will sing
The last notes of the flute died gently in the night.
Boromir looked at his adopted brother, moved beyond words even if he could not understand the desire for freedom when he him self longed for nothing more than a well fortified home.
"That crown must have been heavy indeed," the redhead said quietly.
Aragorn smiled with terrible sadness. "For another man it would have been glorious. For me it was almost too much to bear.
"Forgive me, Boromir, I am off to the woods again. Will you sleep here by the fires of late feasters?"
"Well, I certainly can not return to the flet of wild pleasures!" the other elf lord laughed heartily in the most un-elfish fashion. "Wander to your hearts content, but come back to us with the dawn?"
"Always, Boromir. I will never leave you to hold the home front alone ever again," Aragorn said warmly, before disappearing quickly into the woods.
The elf lord startled and sprang to his feet, a split second too late to avoid the stunning slap that stung his well made face. His vision blurred with flashes of light for a moment before he collected himself and caught the breath that had been knocked out of him.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me you had returned?"
In all their years together in the last world and this, Aragorn had never seen Legolas so possessed by feeling.
He had seen him filled with bloodlust but never beyond cold, calculating reason, seen that fine brow furrow with rage but never in wanton violence, seen the eyes fill with sadness but remain dry, seen that sweet little mouth curl with mirth but not open in laughter.
But now -- the tears, the redness of his face, the tautness of his stance...the power of his rage and hurt and joy awed Aragorn into silence.
"Tell me!" bellowed the fair prince, losing all his characteristic composure.
A sob escaped him, and he looked so desperately lost that the dark haired elf rushed forward and grasped his hands.
"I have remembered since I turned 25. But what could I say? Until a couple of months ago we needed Lorien's goodwill, Celeborn was furious that your father was sheltering Elrond, our people would have been destroyed if there was war on both our borders," Aragorn said urgently.
"And a very wise friend of mine once told me that for the chosen few, our duty to our people must always come before personal desire, or we were not worthy of the high regard our birth granted us."
Legolas seemed to collapse into him self.
"I told you that as I was told...before you came to me I had asked Elrond if I might court you, even though I understood what it meant, to love a mortal. The elves have sung enough sad songs to fill a world with sorrow, but for me your love would have filled my soul with a song sweet enough to last through the ages – and to comfort me in your absence. I had never been so sure of any one thing in all my thousands of years.
"But Galadriel had foreseen a glorious fate for you far different from the one my heart so dearly desired. She saw that the only hope of beating back the darkness lay in you reaching your destiny through Arwen's love. What did it matter if one heart was broken, if so many lives would be saved?" he whispered.
"I thought you were being kind, I was all of nineteen and rough and landless...," Aragorn began.
"How could you have ever doubted that I loved you? That I love you still? Have I not stood beside you in the most desperate battles, before a Balrog's wrath, even facing death itself? Did I not watch over you and your growing family when peace came at last? Did not my actions speak louder than any poetry or song?"
The elf prince's voice grew soft and strained with the fullness of his emotions, and the dark haired elf with the soul of a king wondered if his heart could bear the might of the emotion that gripped them both so fiercely.
"Tell me, Aragorn, did you need my words to understand that I love you in such a way that I live only when you are with me?" Legolas smiled suddenly, and he gazed at his long beloved, speaking more eloquently with his delicate, beautiful face than with all the words he possessed.
And Aragorn's soul heard what his ears could not, and his heart saw what his eyes could not.
"Ah! My heart beats again."
They locked glances, and all around them the woods whispered, echoing their sudden realisation of all the tender possibilities that would come when this moment had passed. There was no great fanfare of trumpets, no tears, no rush of words. All was said and promised in their locked gazes and intertwined fingers, all that should have been spoken but kept secret for duty and valour was suddenly revealed.
The wind embraced them, and the moon lit them with softest silver.
Time stopped passing for them, and all things beyond the touch of the other, beyond the fierce beating of their hearts, melted away into nothing.
"And so does mine," Aragorn said softly, and drew him close.
In the morning, Haldir and Glorfindel joined the eager crowd at the foot of the tree that held the royal flet, all chattering with unusual noisiness for elves as they prepared to greet the newlyweds.
"Lord Elrond, how tired you look!" said the warlord of Lorien cheerfully.
"And you, my dear lord, have huge circles beneath your eyes," Elrond chuckled warmly. And then his eyes widened as Glorfindel, standing quietly beside Haldir, blushed furiously and looked away from his lord's inquisitive gaze.
"Those are beautiful ear-rings, Glorfindel," Gil Galad said, unable to resist teasing the usually stern warrior. And then, he moved closer to his always composed lover and whispered naughtily, "I should buy you some drop ear-rings, love, you have such pretty ears."
A quick flash of pink tongue darted out and licked the tip of his left ear, and Elrond almost yelled with alarm at the impropriety. Gil Galad just laughed, delighted at the self possessed half elf's shock. They had been parted for too long, and the former High king intended to make up for lost time.
The contingent from the Wood of Greenleaves arrived, accompanied by the mouth-watering smell of fresh deer roast, dressed according to a popular recipe from Gondor.
"The prince's favourite," Thranduil explained.
"You know, Boromir and Aragorn love such roasts, but for the life of me I still can't get your recipe just right," Elrond said, sniffing admiringly.
Most of the other elves were put off by the inelegant, human style food, but the young redhead trotted forward and inhaled rapturously.
Then, he startled. "Oh! Majesty! I didn't realise it was you!" He promptly pulled his nose back from the royal roast.
Thranduil laughed heartily. "Well, yes, you're too young to remember my hair like this. I thought it was time for a change, I'm someone's father-in-law now, and it will be a new period in my life."
The dark, wild curls cascading down Thranduil's delicate face and neck, decorated with small gold rings embedded with tiny jewels, were considered too wild for a monarch. Oropher used to scold his son heartily and subject him to straightening irons and bleach dyes so that Thranduil would look more kingly and more characteristically Sindar.
Boromir looked at the laughing king, and marvelled at how boyishly sweet he now looked, like a squire at the cusp of knighthood. In his past life as Steward's Son, and an unusually handsome and discreet one at that, the redhead had had ample opportunity to taste the most secret and sweet fruit of Gondor before they went to their wives' beds, and he had become very skilled in the art of man-on-man lovemaking.
Thranduil of course could not know this, but remembered that as a chubby elfling growing up in the palace before his training began in the border castles, little Boromir had always been an enthusiastic fan of his cooking.
"You should visit me more, Boromir. Come to my kitchens now, and I'll cook you a roast," he said generously.
"Shall I help you carry this one, Your Majesty?" the younger elf wrapped sure hands around Thranduil's and smiled winningly.
Elrond's eyebrows arched in alarm, he was too well bred to gasp, for this would draw attention to Boromir's boldness. Approaching Thranduil, and touching his person, was tantamount to prodding a sleeping cave troll when you were unarmed. Like so much else in the famed warrior king's life, it was deadly business courting him. But Thranduil yielded his roast without reluctance, not noticing anything amiss or the happy grin his touch evoked in the younger elf, and proceeded to applaud and whoop in an attempt to draw the newlyweds out.
Everyone cheered as Legolas emerged, but shocked gasps soon filled the air when they realised he had been shoved out of the chambers. Celeborn advanced on the prince, and then grabbed him by his hair and threw him off the high flet!
"Legolas!" a few elves screamed in dismay. The others gaped in horror.
The elf prince landed heavily on the ground, and then lay still. Elrond rushed to his side.
And then a clash of steel was heard overhead.
"Aragorn? What is he doing up there?" Gil Galad's hand went to the pommel of his sword.
"Do not draw that," Haldir said softly but with an absolute hardness in his voice.
There were two Lorien guards on the flet, but they were standing to the side, obviously having been given orders to just witness the one-on-one combat taking place.
"Please, Haldir, do something. Aragorn is like my own son, and he can not fight off Celeborn, he is barely an adult! What madness is this?" Gil Galad pleaded.
"Forgive me, Gil Galad, but as a warlord of Lorien, I can not let you go up there and threaten my lord. If Celeborn's cause is unjust, then surely Aragorn will call for help...please understand, it hurts me too that I must leave him up there to fight by himself!" Haldir said.
The combatants had retreated into the royal chambers, away from the sight of onlookers below, and all they heard was the clash of weapons and the occasional shout, until with terrible suddenness, an anguished scream was heard.
"Elrond!" the pain and sorrow in that sobbing cry tore through the healer's soul, and he was past Haldir and up on the flet within seconds, desperation giving him speed.
He did not think he could live if fate snatched away another son. And it was his Estel, his hope, who had returned to him. The half elf was sure that he would die where he stood from the raw agony that gripped his being's very core.
His eyes swam with tears, and for long moments he fought with him self, forced him self to see inside the chambers, even if his heart might break with the seeing.
Aragorn, covered in blood, sat propped up against the bed, sobbing – quietly now, as if the last of his strength had been spent in that terrible scream for aid.
And in his lap lay Celeborn, eyes glassy in death, impaled through the heart by his sword.
"I did not mean to kill him, Father," Aragorn sobbed. Elrond flung his arms around both elves, crying with relief and dismay intertwined in equal fierceness.
A young guard stepped forward, eyes brimming with tears, "We bear witness, Lord Elrond. Aragorn pleaded with Lord Celeborn to stop fighting so that they might speak, and we recognised the manner of his sword raised in defence rather than attack. Our lord...ran forward on to the sword!"
"What?" Elrond asked in disbelief.
"He said but one word," replied the other guard as his colleague was too overwhelmed to speak.
"Galadriel."
Gil Galad was waiting when Elrond finally returned. Two days had gone by since Celeborn's passing.
The look in the half elf's eyes made the former high king rise to his feet and enfold Elrond in strong, protective arms.
They were quiet for many long moments, and Gil Galad soon sat back on the bed, tucking Elrond's long limbs, despite their length and weight, neatly into his own lap and arms with the ease of long practice.
"Celeborn will not come back to us. I tried all the medicines that I used to bring Haldir back from his near mortal injury, but failed. He has gone to her, and I can understand the emotion that drove him," Elrond finally said sadly.
"You would, my darling love. You risked all to come for me," Gil Galad stroked the long dark hair tenderly, his heart full, knowing what a privilege it was to be holding his lover now.
"The Ruler's Council of Lorien has elected Celebrian and Haldir to be the new Lady and Lord of Lorien. This will be publicly declared and celebrated in a fortnight, after the mourning period," the half elf sighed.
"Aragorn was devastated at the pain he had caused, entirely unintentional as it was. He revealed him self to Arwen just two hours ago, and by the Valar, I never knew such selflessness existed in any being, mortal or immortal. He has been carrying the burden of his memories on Middle Earth all this time, since he was 25 years old. He loves her still, I can see it in his eyes, and yet he truly wishes her happiness with Erestor, her first and true choice.
"I am glad Legolas was recovering from his fall in Thranduil's care when they spoke, it was heartbreaking having to see him let her go. I do not know how he found the strength, even if he knows another waits patiently and devotedly for him. It hurt us to see him smile through his tears, I would not like to imagine what pain he was bearing so bravely," Elrond cuddled closer to his lover.
"Then, it is done as it must. I hope he will heal with Legolas's love," Gil Galad said quietly.
"I am sure that they will go out together to try and tame the Wild Lands. Our border castles will become quiet. Especially as Glorfindel will be staying in Lorien, to nurture his newborn love with Haldir," Elrond laughed suddenly when he saw the look on his beloved's face.
"The ear-rings, oh, I should have guessed!" Gil Galad exclaimed.
"Well, that leaves us with only one lonely soul...,"
"Father!"
Boromir knocked twice and entered the room to take leave of his adopted parents.
Elrond gaped. He looked positively magnificent, complete with sword in a fanciful new scabbard, fur and velvet robes over leather trousers, with his long red hair plaited and adorned with jewels.
"Have you been possessed by the spirit of a little minx?" Gil Galad asked, flabbergasted. Boromir had always been neat and tidy, with a fondness for fine clothes, but he preferred battle clothes to extravagant elfin costumes and he never did his hair.
"Ha ha," the redhead chortled in that distinctly un-elfin manner, and his adopted parents marvelled again that they had not seen the man's soul behind the pointed ears and almond shaped eyes before.
"I'm off to get some Gondor-style roast, and maybe some dwarf spirits...I'm sure Gimli taught Legolas how to make some, and perhaps some sparring after with His Majesty the King," he explained with a naughty twinkle in his eyes.
"Now, Boromir, don't be rash! Even I can't heal you if he runs you through. And he hasn't taken a lover since his queen died giving life to Legolas, all those centuries ago" Elrond said.
"Does he even like males?" Gil Galad asked, amazed at Boromir's boldness.
"Oh, I'll be careful, Father. But I think Thranduil will respond most favourably to my wooing," the redhead beamed, before bowing quickly and disappearing out the door.
"Well, well, who would have guessed? Better start ordering rich robes to be made, looks like there are to be many weddings very quickly in the coming years," the former high king chuckled.
Then, with a twinkle in his eye he added, "And get some new velvet under robes as well, I still consider this our honeymoon period."
And then he kissed Elrond.
The End
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