Elladan slammed his fist against the ground, fighting to hold back a howl as he was unceremoniously sheathed in velvet heat. Though not by nature prudish, the elder twin found his attention torn between the sounds of activity beyond the unsecured tent entrance and the almost painful tightness of his lover's unprepared passage. "Wait, 'Las," he gasped, gripping the prince's hips in a vain attempt to still them. "You will injure yourself. And the door flap is not lashed."
Pushing the restraining hands away impatiently, Legolas leaned forward, his fingers splayed across the dark elf's chest, nails scraping at pebbled nipples. "None will dare disturb us, melethron," he purred, nipping sharply at Elladan's jaw before pushing himself upright once more. "The noise alone will discourage intruders." Without waiting for a reply, the woodland prince lifted his hips and quickly sank back onto the piercing length with an unstifled groan, a faint grimace crossing his face.
"Please, anor nín," Elladan managed, bucking up in spite of himself as his partner's movements became more rhythmic. "Let me..."
"Hush, 'Dan," Legolas ordered, his hand covering the elder twin's mouth firmly. "There is naught you can do, lest you wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop protesting, and enjoy."
Meeting the dilated emerald eyes searchingly, Elladan nodded and allowed his arms to fall back to the blankets, forcing aside his own unease at the other's fey mood.
"Very good," the golden elf crooned, a triumphant smile spreading as he bent to capture his lover's mouth in a fiery kiss, tugging and nipping at the already bruised and swollen lips. "I want no tenderness, maethoren vain," he breathed, lapping at the tiny spot of blood that gleamed on Elladan's lip. "I want to forget."
For a time the elder twin struggled to remain quiet, trying to calm and soothe his near-frantic lover. In the end, his awareness of the world outside fell to the desperate hunger of the woodland prince, and he made no attempt to stifle the shout that burst forth as hot fluid dappled his chest and strong spasms drew him to the brink of release.
A moment later Elladan's eyes flew open in disbelief, his climax abruptly halted by a painfully tight squeezing at the base of his aching erection. "What in all of Arda do you think you are doing?" he growled, staring at his still-shuddering lover.
"I am not yet finished," the prince panted, arching his back as he lowered himself again, never loosing his grip on the dark elf's shaft. "Not yet..."
"Then take it up with 'Roh," Elladan said, his eyes flashing dangerously, though his voice remained deceptively soft. "Because I am quite finished. Or I will be in a moment. Let go."
The golden elf hesitated, his eyes narrowed as though considering his lover's resolve.
"Let go, Legolas," the elder twin hissed, his fingers tightening painfully on the wood-elf's arms.
The building anger behind the command finally penetrated the prince's haze, and he relaxed his hand, letting go a keening wail as he was breached by two savage thrusts before a rough groan signaled Elladan's release.
Collapsing bonelessly on top of his lover, Legolas buried his face in the dark elf's neck for a long moment before raising his head to meet clouded grey eyes. "'Twas not so bad, was it, melethron?"
Holding the prince's gaze, Elladan answered quietly, "If you would have the truth, I usually prefer to remove my leggings."
Looking down in surprise, the prince noted his lover's lowered leggings with a chuckle. "Let me help you with those," he said, removing the offending breeches before pulling a blanket up to cover their damp bodies. "I was in something of a hurry, it would seem."
"Aye, it would seem that you were," Elladan replied without inflection, making no effort to cradle the body that curled tightly against his own.
Settling his head on the nearest shoulder, Legolas pressed a drowsy kiss to the pale skin beneath his lips, sliding immediately into an exhausted sleep.
Elladan was still for a moment, then sighed, brushing back a twist of tangled golden hair before carefully turning to his side and pulling the limp form closer. "Posto mae," he whispered against the prince's flushed forehead.
When Elrohir entered the darkened tent, the elder twin was still idly stroking the silken strands, seemingly oblivious to his brother's arrival. "I see you started without me," the elf knight teased quietly, stripping off his own tunic. Catching sight of the tangled pile of clothing that littered the ground, he added, "And neglected to replace your leggings."
"I will dress ere I go to sleep," Elladan answered, his tone causing the younger twin to frown in concern.
"What is amiss, ttren? " Elrohir probed, dropping to the ground beside his brother. "Is 'Las not..." Catching a glimpse of his twin's bruised throat, the elf-knight grasped Elladan's chin, forcing his face into the dim light. "Sweet Eru, 'Dan!" he breathed, taking in the scratched and swollen mouth, and the liberal spattering of abrasions that marked the pale jaw. "What happened?"
Sensing his brother's discomfort through their bond, the younger twin stiffened suddenly, his eyes hard and fell. "Did you...He did not...Did he hurt you?" Elrohir demanded hoarsely, his hand already moving toward the sleeping prince.
Catching his brother's wrist, Elladan shook his head. "'Tis still 'Las we are speaking of, ttren," he reminded his twin. "He meant no harm."
"His intention comforts me little, and you less, I wager," the elf knight retorted acidly, though some of the tension left his face. "I will cleanse those scrapes for you, el nín," he said, rising to rummage in the packed supply of herbs and elixirs.
The elder twin closed his eyes, allowing the gentle touch to soothe his spirit even as it eased the sting of his broken skin. When the light contact ceased, he raised his eyes to meet Elrohir's worried grey gaze.
"Do not concern yourself with your clothing. The guard is plentiful, and the enemy vanquished," the elf knight murmured, running his fingers through the rumpled raven locks. "Is there naught else I can do, melethen?"
Licking his tender lips carefully, Elladan hesitated briefly. "Will you hold me, 'Roh? Just for a moment?"
"For always, ttren, " Elrohir replied, stretching out and wrapping his brother in a snug embrace.
For always.
Legolas woke reluctantly, with a nagging sense that something was not quite as it should be. Taking a careful inventory, he identified the problem almost at once.
The air was unseasonably cool, and his back was cold.
The prince reached instinctively for the warm body that should have been behind him, but encountered only fur-covered ground. Sitting up in surprise, he regarded his lovers with a rising sense of unease.
Elrohir lay close behind his brother, his face buried in the still-mottled throat, his arms wrapped protectively around his twin's body. Legolas carefully lifted Elladan's hair away from his face, swallowing a guilt-laden oath as he took in the healing scrapes and fading bruises. His hand moving impulsively to smooth the tousled ebony strands, the woodland prince froze motionless as a single harsh word echoed in his thoughts.
Nay.
Legolas raised his head to meet the elf-knight's cold grey gaze, flinching as though slapped when the scathing voice continued.
You have done enough.
Disentangling himself cautiously, Elrohir stroked his brother's hair until the elder twin settled back into a drowsy reverie. Then the elf knight rose and pulled on his tunic, only speaking when he turned to go, his words curt and commanding. "Get dressed. We will talk outside."
Elrohir prowled restlessly around the quiet camp, nodding wordlessly to the guards who manned the watch fires. When he saw Legolas emerge from the tent, the elf knight waited for a moment then turned and headed up the path, toward the relative privacy of the bathing pools.
Hurrying after his obviously disgruntled lover, Legolas tried frantically to formulate an adequate response to the tirade he felt certain was coming. He failed spectacularly.
Elrohir stopped suddenly, just short of the lower pool, and met the prince's wary gaze with apparent calm. "Would you care to explain what you did to him?"
Desperate to break the tension that threatened to steal his very breath, and reassured somewhat by the younger twin's quiet manner, Legolas teased weakly, "Surely you are not jealous, 'Roh. You were nowhere to be found."
Both ebony eyebrows arched sharply as Elrohir regarded the prince in disbelief. "Jealous?" he spat out in amazement. "I am not jealous, wood-elf, I am as angry with you as I have ever been with anyone whose life I value."
"I was joking," the golden elf said defensively. "I did not really..."
"'Tis not a matter for mirth, Legolas," the elf knight retorted tersely. "'Dan looks as though he has been mauled. I have seen fewer marks on those taken by force." Pinning the other with a furious glare he added, "And you are untouched, ernilen."
Staring at Elrohir in horror, the prince snapped heatedly, "He had no complaints."
"Are you sure, Thranduilion? Did he make no protest, or did you choose not to hear?"
"I...I...he did not..." the woodland prince began, the planned rebuttal trickling into silence as his own words came back to accuse him. "...There is naught you can do, lest you wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop protesting, and enjoy..."
"I meant no harm," Legolas finished lamely.
"I do not doubt that," Elrohir replied, his voice a shade less hard. "Yet harm was done."
Drawing a deep breath, the younger twin said, "I remember a time when you accused me of seeking to use you for my own pleasure, without any regard for your desires."
"Aye, I remember," the golden elf agreed quietly. "I was hurt."
"'Dan is hurt, also," Elrohir stated flatly. "He would have done anything you asked to ease your pain, Legolas- but you did not ask. You used him like a common whore. As though he was nothing more to you than a conveniently hard body."
As Legolas started to protest, he was silenced by an upraised hand. "It may have not been your intention, but that is what happened nonetheless. And though 'Dan may tell himself that you were grieving, that you meant no harm, it hurts still."
The woodland prince was silent for a long moment before answering morosely. "He tried to calm me, to hold me, but I would have none of it." Shivering, Legolas met the elf knight's frosty gaze. "I do not know what to say to make it right."
Though Elrohir's face remained stern, a hint of warmth reached his eyes for the first time since rising. "I believe 'I am sorry, melethen,' would be a good beginning."
Elvish translations:
melethron - lover (male)
anor nín - my sun
maethoren vain - my beautiful warrior
Posto mae - sleep well
ttren - my brother
el nín - my star
melethen - my love
ernilen - my prince
Imladris 2151 III
Elrond hid a smile as he watched the woodland king succumb to Erestor's gentle but insistent public seduction. Thranduil quickly fell under the spell of the advisor's quiet attention and light touches, his earlier unease fading in the comfortable surroundings.
The crowd was large in the Hall of Fire, many elves joining the gathering simply to catch a glimpse of the Mirkwood royal. "You are causing quite a stir, mellonen," Elrond remarked, his smile widening. "'Tis a good thing you are spoken for, else I should have a riot on my hands."
Thranduil snorted good-naturedly, shifting closer to Erestor in his attempt to reach the bottle of miruvor the three elves were sharing. "I cannot believe...," he began, stopping to nod his thanks as the advisor poured more miruvor. "I cannot believe that your people are so taken by my hair, híren, when they live daily with Glorfindel and the Lady Celebrian."
"'Tis not the hair in this case, meldir," Erestor explained, his indigo eyes sparkling with mirth, "but what it crowns. The exotic King of Mirkwood is a figure of legend among the younger elves of the valley."
As the woodland king began to shake his head in disbelief, Elrond broke in seriously. "'Tis true, Thranduil. Anteruon is what, fifteen centuries?"
"Nearly sixteen," the proud father agreed with the ghost of a smile.
"'Twas several years before his begetting when you last visited Imladris," the peredhel pointed out. "Legolas came to us one winter as a young elfling, but you could not leave Taur-na-Fuin to travel with him."
"Has it truly been that long?" the golden elf mused in amazement.
"It has, indeed," Erestor answered, smiling at his friend's surprise. "Many of those vying to see you are of an age with the gwanûn, or even younger. The rest are elders who wish to see how Oropher's son turned out in the end."
Falling silent, the advisor tilted his head as though listening, then turned and took Thranduil's arm. "Glorfindel has returned from patrol, and he is going up to bathe. Come along, mellonen. We will take up a tray, as he is sure to be hungry." Leaning closer, his breath tickling the woodland king's ear, Erestor murmured, "Quite hungry."
Grey Mountains 2151 III
Legolas walked slowly back toward the camp, reluctant to face Elladan, yet eager to have the meeting behind him. When he reached the tent site, the woodland prince stopped in consternation, watching as the lightweight fabric was expertly folded and packed away. "Where is 'Dan?" he asked Tiriadon, looking around with a frown. "I must speak with him ere we leave."
"I am not sure," the captain replied uneasily. "He headed for the stream." Looking intently at the golden elf, Tiriadon lowered his voice. "Is something amiss, mellonen? I have never seen him so solemn, not even in the midst of battle. And his face...his throat....'tis as though...as if...."
"'Tis as if he were mauled. Say it and be done." Casting a bleak look at his captain, Legolas said hoarsely, "Aye, Tiri, something is amiss."
The woodland prince hurried toward the shallow stream, his heart pounding in his throat, and caught sight of Elladan almost immediately. The elder twin had obviously bathed in the icy water. He stood tying his leggings, a sheen of moisture still visible on his bare chest and arms, his raven dark hair tied back to reveal the full extent of the past evening's folly.
Legolas inhaled audibly as he came near enough to see the myriad of bruises, bites and scrapes that marred the dark elf's skin. Stopping several paces from his silent lover, the prince found himself at a loss for words, and he started visibly when Elladan addressed him without meeting his eyes. "Was there something you needed?"
"I...I...wanted to talk to you," the golden elf said in a rush, taking an uncertain step forward. "I know 'tis little comfort, but I am sorry, melethen. So sorry."
"You are right. It is little comfort," the elder twin replied after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. Raising clouded grey eyes, he met the pained blue-green gaze. "But I know you meant no harm."
"My intention matters little when my actions have hurt you so, 'Dan," Legolas said, reaching toward his lover. The prince's stomach knotted sickeningly as Elladan stepped back, avoiding the impulsive touch. "Will you forgive me, el nín? Can you forgive me?" he asked fearfully.
"I have already said that I know you meant no harm, Legolas," the elder twin answered. "Let us speak no more of it."
"But we need to speak of it, " the woodland prince began imploringly. "There must be..."
"We need to prepare for the journey," Elladan interrupted, pulling on his tunic. "There is much still to pack."
"I will braid your hair, if you like," Legolas offered hesitantly, as they started back toward the rest of the camp.
"'Tis kind of you, but you need not trouble yourself," the dark elf said formally, turning away before the prince could protest. "Elrohir will do it."
Thranduil smiled as the sounds of an impromptu water fight spilled from the open bathing chamber door. His anxiety much relieved by Erestor's warmth and Elrond's cordial, the woodland king slipped off his formal tunic and boots before settling in one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs to wait.
A waterlogged wail was abruptly silenced, replaced by a kiss-smothered chuckle, and Thranduil found himself suddenly a bit melancholy. Though he had taken lovers since his queen's death, the woodland king had not allowed himself to become close to any one bedmate. He could offer naught but pleasure, for his soul was bound, and he feared forming an attachment that might end in pain for an unwary partner.
More than anything, he missed the daily interaction with his queen- the teasing, talking and cuddling that were so much a part of a strong bond. Thranduil sighed and reached up to unbind his tightly woven braids, only to have his hands pushed aside.
"Let me do that, mellonen," Erestor insisted, leaning down to brush a soft kiss over the other's mouth. His nimble fingers flying, the advisor soon had his hands full of silken strands. "Your hair is paler than 'Findel's," the dark elf announced with interest, smoothing the waves left by the binding. "'Tis more like sunlight than gold."
"Is that a fault or a blessing, then?" Thranduil asked teasingly, his spirits brightened unaccountably by the simple attention.
"A blessing, definitely," Erestor replied with a smirk. "I shall know who has been shedding on my pillow." Releasing his friend's hair, he added, "Go on into the bathing chamber. Glorfindel likes company, save when he is in a foul mood. I will lay out our robes to warm."
Though Thranduil entered the bathing chamber uncertainly, he was quickly put at ease by Glorfindel's cheerful manner and obvious delight at his company. The Balrog-slayer kept up a continuous stream of banter as he stepped from the tub and toweled himself dry, mercifully ignoring the woodland king's covetous stare.
A half-hour's passing found all three elves sprawled on the heavy rug in naught but robes, quickly polishing off the last of the cheese and fruit from the seneschal's dinner tray. Stretching lazily, Glorfindel turned his sapphire gaze on their guest. "Have you given thought to how you would have us begin this night?"
Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil noted idly that miruvor really did help. He was only vaguely discomfitted by the frank question. "I would have Erestor choose," the Mirkwood royal responded readily. As the advisor began to protest, he raised one hand in a plea for silence. "Please, mellonen," he said, touching the dark elf's arm. "'Twould assuage the last of my guilt."
Arching one ebony eyebrow at Glorfindel, who shrugged agreeably, Erestor turned a contemplative gaze on the woodland king before rising gracefully. "I believe I shall enjoy this greatly," he purred, extending a hand to Thranduil. "And I will make sure that you do, also."
The woodland king accepted the offered hand, his glance flickering between his two companions. Some communication to which he was oblivious had passed between the bonded pair, of that he was sure. Fighting a flash of unease, Thranduil allowed himself to be led to the pillow-strewn bed.
Erestor urged his companion to sit, meeting the wary emerald eyes with concern. "We would not harm you, mellonen," he said soberly, unbelting his robe. "I would not harm you, nor distress you. A word, and all will cease."
"Aye," Thranduil breathed before speech failed him momentarily, his attention completely captured by the sensual slide of blood-red silk over pale flesh. The robe slid unheeded to the floor, revealing a lightly muscled form, the translucent skin warmed by the glow of candlelight. Enormous eyes of an indigo so deep as to seem black met his own with no hint of reticence. Obsidian-dark hair spilled unbound down the advisor's back, the ends just brushing the tops of his thighs.
"Do I please you, then, pen vain?" Erestor asked impishly, amusement glimmering in his arresting eyes. "Or has distaste stolen your voice?"
"Not distaste," Thranduil managed, as his robe joined the other on the floor, and then he was borne down onto the soft mattress by surprisingly strong arms, his mouth thoroughly explored by an invading tongue. All anxiety fled before the hands and mouth that expertly plied his body, tugging and suckling at his pierced nipples, blazing a trail of wet fire across his chest and abdomen, stroking him quickly to full hardness.
A groan of unrestrained pleasure escaped the woodland king's lips as a gossamer light touch brushed his groin and his arousal was engulfed in a warm mouth, beset by teeth and tongue. Groans and whimpers increased in volume as fingers slick with some unknown fluid pressed into his body, stroking him from within. A fierce pressure began building low in Thranduil's belly, and he tugged urgently at the silken hair that was spread over his trembling body. "Wait," he gasped, "I cannot...I will..."
Erestor raised his head to look at his nearly incoherent victim. "Aye, you will," he agreed with a grin before lowering his head to swallow his lover's weeping length, his fingers moving to deftly flip and twist the gold nipple rings.
Thranduil arched off the bed, biting his own hand to muffle the howl that burst from his chest as he spilled into the caressing warmth. Shuddering in the aftermath of his climax, the woodland king weakly returned offered kisses, moaning at the taste of his own seed on Erestor's tongue.
The dark elf buried his face in golden tresses, nipping sharply at one flushed ear. "Now we will play," he announced silkily, causing goose bumps to crawl over Thranduil's body. Lifting his head to meet the satiated emerald gaze, he continued, "I would take you, if you will let me, melethen."
Not trusting himself to speak, the wood-elf nodded, offering no resistence as firm hands urged him to elbows and knees, his flushed face cradled in the rumpled coverlet at the foot of the bed. Then his hips were caught in a sure grip and he was mounted without preamble. There was but a moment's respite before Thranduil felt his body lifted, and he settled fully onto the impaling flesh with a whimper, his back pressed snugly to Erestor's chest.
"Are you well?" the dark elf breathed, his hands moving soothingly over his lover's skin.
"Aye," Thranduil sighed, the practiced touches quickly reawakening his desire. As the word left his mouth, a warm fist folded around his filling shaft and sharp teeth sank into his shoulder. "Watch him, then, pen vain," Erestor ordered, his tongue easing the sting of his teeth.
Raising his eyes obediently, the woodland king was unable to suppress a yearning groan, or still the tremor that ran through his body.
Glorfindel stood near the foot of the bed, his blue robe open to reveal a powerfully muscled body, golden hair hanging in sensual disarray over his broad shoulders. As Thranduil stared with rapt attention, the seneschal ran one strong hand over his own chest, stopping to lazily tweak a pebbled nipple.
The woodland king licked his dry lips as the robe fell away, and the wandering hand moved lower on Glorfindel's shimmering body, sliding easily across the sweat damp skin. Sapphire eyes dilated with desire met Thranduil's astonished gaze, and a sultry smile spread across the Balrog-slayer's fair face. "Do you like it?" he murmured, shuddering as his hand continued its descent, cupping kneading his tight sac.
"I do," Thranduil answered hoarsely, rocking instinctively into Erestor's grasp, drawing a satisfied chuckle from the dark elf. The wood-elf watched breathlessly as Glorfindel continued his exhibition, somewhat surprised that watching another pleasure himself should be so arousing.
At last one large hand closed around the seneschal's straining erection, and a groan of relief escaped all three elves as he began to stroke in earnest, his hand moving rapidly, as thigh and buttock muscles began to clench rhythmically.
Thranduil's head fell back, his eyes closing in anticipation as the hand moving on his aching length drew him nearer and nearer to release. He was taken unaware when Glorfindel's mouth closed over his arousal and the seneschal's fierce grip steadied him against brutal thrusts from below. Eyes flying open in shock, the woodland king watched the golden head move once...twice, then he was wailing without thought or reason, his body trembling in a violent release that left him limp and dazed.
Caught in a complacent fog, Thranduil was only idly aware of Erestor's climax a heartbeat later, or the hot rush of fluid that dappled his thighs as Glorfindel spilled at the same instant. Long moments passed before he stirred to find himself snugly cradled between his lovers.
Turning his head to meet the seneschal's brilliant blue gaze, then the dark elf's soft indigo eyes, the woodland king drew a deep breath. "'Twas amazing," he said, pleasure warring with exhaustion in his voice. "Amazing."
Glorfindel chuckled, the affectionate sound sending a wave of warmth through Thranduil's body. "And it has only begun," the Balrog-slayer promised with a grin.
Elvish translations:
mellonen - my friend
híren - my lord
meldir - friend (male)
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
gwan{n - twins
melethen - my love
el nín - my star
pen vain - beautiful one
Thranduil stretched carefully, reveling in the gentle aches and twinges that assured him the previous night's events had not been a fevered dream. Pushing back a wayward strand of ebony hair, he studied his lover's face intently in the dim predawn light. The deep indigo eyes were closed in peaceful slumber, the often solemn lips curled in a contented smile.
"Erestor surprised you, did he?" an amused voice whispered, and the woodland king raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel's sparkling gaze.
"He did," Thranduil admitted. "I find the experience hard to reconcile with the quietly impressive elf I greeted yesterday, or the reserved advisor Legolas spoke so fondly of after his visit."
"But not with the warrior you knew in the Second Age, mayhap?" the Balrog-slayer chided gently. "'Tis understandable that Legolas should mistake the role for the elf, mellonen."
"'Tis folly that I should make the same error, though?" the Mirkwood royal asked with a wry grin. "I suppose so. In my defense, I was regaled with tales of pranks and blushes during the gwan{n's visit to Taur-na-Fuin."
Glorfindel chuckled softly. "'Rohir could oft cause a crow to blush, meldir," he replied. "He learned from a master."
"Meaning yourself?" Thranduil snorted, then bit his lip apologetically as Erestor's eyes fluttered open.
Stretching lazily, the dark elf lifted one elegant eyebrow at the Balrog-slayer. "Yet another dawn riser, I see?"
"Aye, it would seem so," Glorfindel answered with a grin before pressing a quick kiss to his mate's cheek. "You shall have to adapt."
"Hardly," Erestor retorted with a smirk. "If I have not adapted after near three millennia in your bed, melethen, I doubt I shall change now."
Turning his head to meet Thranduil's questioning gaze, the advisor explained, "I am completely uninterested in sunrises, abhor the early morning twittering of birds, and require several cups of strong tea before facing the breakfast hall."
The dark elf snuggled comfortably between his companions, his eyes closing again even as he added, "I am, in fact, a slug."
Legolas stared disconsolately at the starry sky, reluctant to face yet another night sleeping in the ever-widening chasm between himself and the twins. The bodies that had once curled tightly against him now lay stiff and straight, a perfunctory hand occasionally lighting on his shoulder. Each night the woodland prince considered moving his bedroll, and each night he stubbornly refused- to sleep otherwise seemed akin to admitting defeat.
Rubbing his face wearily, Legolas sighed. Not only his nights were restless and broken. The days of travel had been filled with Elladan's excruciating politeness, and Elrohir's obvious irritation. The elf-knight seemed increasingly exasperated, as though the prince was failing some unknown test.
The battle party was but a day's ride out of Thranduil's realm, a realization which chilled Legolas to the heart. For once they arrived at the Halls, there was naught to stop the twins from turning for Imladris, leaving him alone and their centuries-old relationship in tatters.
An empty ache lodged in the prince's chest at the very possibility, and he angrily blinked back the tears that stung at his eyes. 'It cannot end like this,' he thought. 'It cannot. But I see no clear path...'
"You must talk to Elladan, híren."
The voice broke into his anguished musings, and Legolas raised his head, disconcerted, to meet Tiriadon's determined gaze. Shaking his head slowly, the prince replied, "I have tried, Tiri. He will not..."
"How many times have you tried?" the captain demanded. "Twice? Thrice? Try again."
"Once, the morning after...after it happened," Legolas admitted, wincing at the astonishment on his friend's face. "He said he did not wish to speak of it," the golden elf added defensively.
"Elbereth, Legolas!" Tiriadon exclaimed. "What did you expect him to say? I wager his pride was damaged enough, without showing you the wounds."
His tone softening, the captain continued, "'Tis destroying you all, mellonen. You are moping. Elladan is brooding. And Elrohir, Valar preserve us, is muttering and cursing like an enraged dwarf." Squeezing the prince's shoulder, he repeated, "Talk to him."
As Legolas opened his mouth to protest, Tiriadon raised one hand, forestalling any objections. "Talk to him now. Before I lash the three of you to a tree."
Elvish Translations:
mellonen - my friend
gwanûn - twins
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
meldir - friend (male)
híren - my lord
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