A Trick of Moonlight

Summary: A meeting of old friends and a meeting in dream.

Author's Note: Apparently, I can't write a short story. The plot never listens to what I say, and I'm too stupid to write an NC scene. ::hangs head in shame:: Forgive me, I've tried my best. The story follows book canon in which there's no elven army in Helm's Deep. This fic is more like an overture to the angst-fest I have in mind, so please ignore any unelaborated details such as Legolas being sick, or Haldir having the secret gift of�. ::coughs:: Will not spoil you so soon. I hope you may still enjoy the story despite the disjointed quality of it. A heartfelt shout of thanks for my beta, Ignoblebard, and a thousand apologies for the things I put him though despite being unwell. Somebody please give him a hug for me.

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Ithilien, Fourth Age 15, Hr�ve�

It was too warm inside his ordinarily cool and airy study. Legolas wondered with a touch of exasperation if Galion might have ordered the servants to empty half of their winter stock of firewood into his fireplace to simulate the heat of summer. Just because he had let slip a casual remark of how chilled the breath of gw�vorn [northern wind] was this turn of the year was no reason to try to cook him. The former steward of his father, and now, ruefully, his might have the best of intentions, but if his sense of subtlety was likened to a pair of shoes, then Legolas' well-being was that of the bed; and he was altogether sure that Galion never slept with his shoes on.�

Galion could be worse than a mother hen at times. Left unsupervised, the elder's concern and protectiveness would be stifling at times. Any child could have been easily spoiled into a deplorable, puerile character in Galion's care, and the prince thanked the Valar every day to have escaped that fate.�

Without lifting his attention from the topmost page of the patrol reports, Legolas reached for his tea mug. Upon finding it empty he pouted.�

Realization made him slam the earthenware down on the desk with a sharp thump when he realized what he had just done.�

"Oh dear Valar, it was too late!" wailed his mind. He had been unwittingly ruined! �

"What is it, Brannon neth?" [young lord] The spectral intrusion of Galion's voice elicited a startled flinch and a gasp. "If the lack of tea distresses you so, I've brought a fresh pot for you straight from Eryniel's [forest daughter] capable hands."�

Even after all the centuries they had been rubbing shoulders together on daily basis, Legolas had yet to solve the grand mystery of Galion's supernatural power to grant simple, prosaic wishes of his even before he could form a thought to ask.�

The tall Sinda walked in with a tray containing a painted ceramic teapot filled with the prince's favorite Rosemary mint tea, sweetened with a few drops of peach essence, and a hand-picked assortment of light, bite-sized pastries ensured to bring only the utmost pleasure to his palate, Legolas noted with chagrin. Could not a prince skip lunch in peace nowadays? Galion was getting closer and closer each day to getting sacked and shipped by his irked lordship to Valinor.�

"Galion," Legolas began with a sigh as the steward set down his load not on the pier table where he could pretend to overlook its existence in his assumed rapt diligence to attend the more pressing matters of his princedom, but right on the tabletop of his broad office desk, in a blatant signal of 'I want to see some of these disappear behind your tongue right now if you would be so kind as to make my life easier.'�

"'Tis not that I fail to appreciate the nurturing qualities with which you have ever so devotedly imbued my life ever since I first laughed at the comical faces you made for me in my infanthood. But lately, you have grown unconscionable to the point of getting up my nose. Granted, I never did like being coddled any more than a wild buck would. But I am not completely without forbearance either. I really wish you would stop breathing down my neck on any little excuse. I may be sick, but I am not an invalid. I can take care of my own needs without your anticipatory intervention."�

"Does that mean you do not wish a refill?" asked Galion, unperturbed.�

"Have you been listening to me?--No, wait! �.. The tea may stay." Yes, it had been confirmed, he could no longer deny the truth. Legolas son of King Thranduil, the great bowman of the Fellowship whose tales of heroism were sung across Arda was, in all honesty, a piteous pushover.�

"So shall its entourage, if you would honour the tea's wish." Galion calmly poured the florally fragrant tea into the young elf's cold mug.�

"What? You have mastered the art of conversation with tea leaves now?" Legolas received his mug with a hint of a mutinous pout.�

Galion gave a benign smile. "I figure that given the strong affinity you feel for this particular drink, you would appreciate its well-meaning entreaty more than an old butler's."�

Right. How could he have forgotten how low the elder could stoop to get his way? Of all the people he got on well with, only Galion would underhandedly exploit any weakness of his with such an innocent, parental smile.�

"I will take it as soon as you are out of my sight."�

"Ah, no doubt such a thing would appease a lowly elder's concern for his beloved child. Heed not my nonsensical impatience, h�n valthen. [golden child] I shall make myself comfortable in the hallway and await your summons when you are ready to evaluate the preparations for Midwinter festivities with me."�

"Galion!" �

The older elf smiled - genuinely smiled - to hear Legolas' nearly unchecked desperate wail as he reached the threshold. It was no hard task, really, to manipulate the fair child when he did not have a single malicious bone in his slender body. One need not fight his stubbornness with equal stubbornness when guilt worked like a charm every time.�

Galion was careful to mask his amusement from his young lord's perceptive eyes when he turned around. Legolas' comely face was a picture of flushed frustration, his bright blue gaze would occasionally dart away from contact and back again, seemingly deep in internal remonstration.�

"Fine. I will eat, if only to get you off my back." �

A morsel found its way into Legolas' sulky mouth so quickly it nearly escaped Galion's attention, the fingers that transported it moved with a graceful flick of the wrist, a dexterous swiftness fascinating to see� and most troublesome to catch in the more devilish age of his youth.�

"So, speak your true purpose," said Legolas in the transitory lull before popping another square of flaky pastry in his mouth. This time his fingers moved less like a pickpocket and more like a diner - though their manner was no less smooth and nimble now that Legolas was coming down from his fit of temper.�

Galion did not proceed until a few more tidbits disappeared from the tray. Truth be told, he did not wish to broach the subject until his prince could finish the entire tray, and for a good reason, too. He did not need the gift of foresight to see where this would lead. Yet, he also knew that Legolas would not suffer his reticence for long.�

"I just received a message from our border guards," intoned Galion sedately. "I am to inform you that, come sunset, our halls will be graced by the presence of our cousins from the Golden Wood, led by the Marchwarden himself."�

Galion watched carefully as sapphire eyes grew distant and the faint chewing slowed. Seconds crawled by and still no response was forthcoming. The seneschal did not say a thing, even when the silence began to stretch impossibly long, even after a slight bob of Adam's apple, Legolas had gone still like the placid waters of Mirrormere. Galion followed the crystalline blue gaze toward the windows.�

Outside, beyond the frosted glass panes, the silvery wilderness beckoned.�

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Had there ever been love lost between them? Legolas could not help wondering, or brooding at those infrequent times when life and duties ceased occupying his thoughts. Doing so would bring naught but more unresolved grief and pain, he knew, yet his heart was a strange creature and he had long since given up trying to fathom its many mysteries. It had borne wounds both small and grievous, had witnessed firsthand the darkness of evil and horrors of battle, had aged and hardened through them all. However, a part of it would forever contradict the rest, like a mischievous sprite who had no greater pleasure than simply being unpredictable. Above all, it hated being told what to do.�

Sometimes he wondered if that part secretly harbored some masochistic tendencies as well.�

Haldir. The very mention of that name still made his heart soar to such unbelievable heights of light-caressed joy� and subsequently plummet to the dark depths of endless night. Legolas highly doubted that this feeling would ever change. Some things were just meant to be.�

"Mae govannen, brave wardens of the Golden Wood. You are a sight long awaited in Ithilien. The House of Green Leaf welcomes you with immense gladness and boundless delight."�

The Galadhrim band dismounted from their steeds and brought in attendance several familiar faces from his fledgling days under Lothl�rien's gracious but firm tutelage. It was Thranduil's desire to have his youngest son raised in the diverse societal climate of different elven realms and their respective ways of life, albeit with heavy heart as a widowed father.� Long ago the king had grasped the foreknowledge that his little greenleaf's destiny belonged not to his people alone. Thus, he could not in his selfishness keep his precious child by his side and protect him from all harms. His doe-eyed child must learn to find his own way in the world, the strength in body and spirit to face all imaginable perils, and virtues he would not discover were he surrounded by love and protection accorded to a royal prince. �

There had been a time when Legolas had not understood this. Then he was only a confused elfling, finding himself always housed in strange places, with folk not his own, moving from one to another in seemingly endless cycles. Then he could only perceive loneliness. Yet, standing here now, regarded with unclouded gazes that spoke of fond recognition by people who had come to deem him as one of their own, a strange sort of peacefulness descended on him.�

Upon perceiving that all members of the company intended to execute formal bows, Legolas quickly spoke. "Please, my friends. We need not stand on formality. You are close to me in heart. Verily, I am still the same elf whom you had no qualms putting in my due place all those centuries ago. And I do not wish the rapport between us to ever change." �

The Galadhrim exchanged a brief glance of slight surprise among their rank, but it was swiftly replaced with a look of amicably smug approval. One of them broke forth from the group and marched in confident strides towards the elven ruler of Ithilien, and without so much as a by-your-leave, grabbed and pulled the shorter elf into a rib-crushing, hearty hug. Legolas made a muffled cry from the vicinity of the tall soldier's broad chest as if he was in urgent need of a rescue, which in truth he was if the situation did not improve in another moment or two.�

"Orophin!" yelped the woodland prince after he was finally allowed to emerge for air. "When I expressed my good will to renew our close acquaintance, I did not mean to include your forceful display of affection!"�

The fair-haired Galadhran answered the mock-vehement protest with a deep-chested, resonant laugh against the background of his traveling companions' pleasant chuckles and the nonplussed observation of his host's accompanying retinue. Galion simply exhaled a long-suffering sigh.�

"I miss you, too, Legolas." Orophin playfully petted the impeccably groomed crown of the young elf who once vowed to outgrow him one day (and had yet to make good his solemn promise), causing several strands of shorter flaxen locks to tumble out of his backswept fringe. Several elves of the more strait-laced bunch from Legolas' household who happened to take part in the welcoming committee looked fit to bundle their prince away from any more abusive treatment. Of all manners of their Middle Earth kindred, they never took their Golden Wood cousins to be the ones most eager to discard protocol to the four winds, and roguishly so!�

"I would appreciate it if you would cease handling me like a stray puppy you have smuggled home," groused Legolas half-heartedly. "I do not see R�mil."�

"Ah, so you do not know yet. R�mil has�" Whatever Orophin was about to recount was cut short by the intrusive sound of Galion clearing his throat. Both elves had the grace to cast the elder a sheepish look. With a subtle flicker of eyes, the seneschal directed his young lord's attention elsewhere.�

The elves of L�rien had parted to make way for a tall, advancing figure cloaked in muted grey. There was an undercurrent of reverence that ran thick in the collective gazes and body language of the Silvan warriors surrounding him. None who laid eyes on him, even for the first time, could deny the dawning awareness that they were beholding a kind of presence rarely found in Eru's first children, even those of noble birth and destined for greatness. The impenetrable fortress of his dark gaze was not cold and unkind, yet it laid a plinth of inexplicable dread and awe in many a lesser heart, or instinctive wariness to those not easily impressed. Many would claim to find his stolid demeanor unapproachable, his stance a little too brazen, but few among them could honestly profess to be immune to his charismatic charms, not to mention his sensuous appeal.�

The elf came face to face with the prince. In deference to his brother and captain, Orophin stepped aside and slightly away.�

"Haldir, it has been a long time," greeted Legolas with an unconcealed tender expression.�

The Marchwarden gave a brief, deferential bow, despite Legolas' earlier objection to excessive decorum, for he was a faithful emissary of his Lord and Lady and esteemed representative of his people before anything else. He then met the seeking gaze of his former charge with gentle warmth.�

"Indeed it has. Too long for my liking, I confess. It is good to see you again, Legolas."�

"Welcome to my new home," breathed Legolas. They held each other's eyes for a few more soulful moments before Legolas took a small step back to address his guests.�

"My steward, Galion and my Chief Advisor, Saelbeth will escort you to your rooms. Let us leave the discussing of diplomatic purposes of your visit for another day. I shall have to insist that you tarry here at least until the end of our Midwinter Celebration."�

Both Galion and Saelbeth inclined their heads slightly to show their readiness to guide the weary travelers to the comforts the servants had prepared for their advent. As all elves turned to follow, a hand reached out to belay the prince's departure, curling almost tentatively around his pale wrist. �

"I would have you walk me to my room, if you do not mind."�

To everyone's surprise, the request was rebuffed by the auburn-haired steward before Legolas had the chance to respond.�

"Forgive my speaking out of turn, Marchwarden, but it would seem to me that a few misconstructions must be set straight. Indeed my Lord has offered you everything he could give and more, such is his benevolent and jovial nature, and I do not intend to begrudge you this gift. However, as a chief manager of this household and a concerned elder who only has his young lord's best interests in mind, I must ask you to keep yourself within the bounds of practicality, by your leave, of course." The last phrase was said in a subdued, icy challenge.�

Galion did not bother to camouflage the disdain he felt toward the stalwart Galadhran the moment he made the first suspicious move. The ancient Sinda might not be well-informed on the real score between these two elves, but what he saw and discerned so far from Legolas' side was enough to make him stiff with mistrust and raise his vigilant hackles.�

Haldir endured the steward's obvious displeasure stoically, meeting his resolute glare of disfavour with a deep one that betrayed not a bit of disturbance. Legolas was curiously silent; the Silvan archer looked as if suspended between reverie and wakefulness, staring at their conjoined hands wearing the countenance of a wayfarer who had walked countless miles and did not know where he ended up. He visibly snapped out of his fugue the moment Haldir decided to relinquish the butterfly pressure of his grip, and could not suppress the rising abashment born from his wayward reaction and Galion's boorishness.�

"Galion," Legolas said with mild reproof. "You spoke of incommensurable things. Haldir is an old friend and former guardian of mine. By rights, I should be the one personally tending to his needs. Would you have me besmirching my father's name by showing so little respect to my benefactor?"�

The old butler did not look the least bit surprised to find himself on the receiving end of his lord's dissent. He graciously backed down, for his purpose was already attained. His stance had been made clear to all who were watching.�

Legolas had the mortifying feeling that he might know what was brewing in his noble steward's mind, and he did not wish to confront the issue under the attention of half his court and the L�rien visitors. He sent a meaningful glare of warning in the elder's direction before turning to face his guest.�

"My apologies, Haldir. Come. A joyful honour you shall render me to be your guide."�

They wended their way through spacious corridors in companionable silence, each content to absorb the feeling of nearness after what seemed an intolerably lengthy period of separation. Occasionally their eyes would meet, followed by an exchange of secret smiles. Servants, guards, and office-bearers alike would subliminally hold their breath as the pair passed them, while their hearts would palpitate in giddy appreciation, for such a riveting sight they did make; one possessed the beauty of clear summer sky as the other of cool, deep blue lake.�

At length, Legolas spoke quietly, "It has truly been a long time, Haldir. I have missed you a great deal." �

"We did meet less than two decades ago, remember?" rejoined Haldir, a gleam of humour in his midnight blue eyes.�

"Nay! 'Twas too short a meeting to take into account," laughed Legolas. "Besides, after the first night, you left me to fend for myself in your talan. I could find nothing of you until the fellowship was about to depart. 'Tis a good thing it was me. Your sense of hospitality would have appalled anyone else."�

"'Tis a good thing as well that you are not given to exacting retribution since you took up the mantle of maturity." Haldir pretended to look distantly unconcerned.�

Legolas could not suppress a mischievous grin, recognizing the underlying challenge intended to bait him. "Do not be so cocksure, Marchwarden. It is early still."�

"Ah," was all Haldir could say by way of immediate response. A long pause, and then, "Is it too late to turn back now?"�

The clear notes of Legolas' laughter rang like the tinkling of silver bells in a gentle breeze as he pushed open the doors to the guestroom. "I am afraid so."�

The chamber was clearly appointed to quarter royal guests and noble lords. The interior was plush and roomy, though not ostentatiously so. In addition to the luxuriously outfitted grand four-poster bed and a balcony, the room also boasted a private bathroom and liquor cabinet, which tugged the corner of Haldir's lips. In that area, Legolas was definitely his father's son.�

The fireplace had long been kindled and well-stoked prior to their arrival. The welcoming embrace of its soothing warmth, after being subjected to a considerable duration of exposure to the elements, had the renowned marchwarden nearly sighing in bliss. Legolas moved behind him to help him remove his cloak, and proceeded to hang it on the rack.�

"Dinner will be served in an hour. You will find a tub of hot water with your name on it beyond that door. Shall I help you unpack?" asked Legolas without a hint of reservation, He moved about the room to light extra candles and perform little tasks of making the room more cozy, as if he was at home doing thus for a guest.�

"Truly, Legolas," Haldir's tone carried a hint of suppressed chuckle. "If this is the extent of care a guest may expect to find under your hospitality, I am at a complete loss as to why I did not encounter a queue of visitors shortly after I left Rohan."�

"Oh shush, you ungrateful churl," scolded the young elf through his merry smile, as he unloaded several more towels from the linen closet. One of the maidservants must have stacked the white goods wrong because suddenly from the upper shelf, a heavy pile of cloth wobbled and soon tumbled out over the unsuspecting prince.�

"Legolas!"�

In a flurry of white, gold and grey, Legolas found himself dumped on the floor, buried underneath heaps of freshly laundered, crisp-smelling fabric. Logically, he should have a twinge somewhere in his back, seeing as the floor was of stone. Yet, his senses were clear and pain-free, if a bit flattened. �

Legolas caught his breath when he heard a muffled grunt, obviously coming from a nearby source, and registered a shifting bulk he was all but draped upon. He tried to dig himself out but his hands fumbled uselessly. A few long seconds later found the breathless elf rolling off his cushion, throwing the mess of linen right and left, and crawling back to carefully frisk his hapless saviour's face and head for signs of hurt. �

"I see that your luck with domestic incidents has not changed at all." Haldir waved off his host's fussy concern with a hint of mirth while propping himself up on his elbows. It did not escape his notice that Legolas' fingers had gone slightly chilled and tremulous.�

Legolas failed to see the frivolity of their mishap, so panic-stricken he had been that he neglected to soften the edge of his verbal outburst. "You could have knocked yourself out cold, making a rash dive like that!"�

"Better my head than yours," offered the Captain of L�rien's guards breezily, though his eyes projected a tender regard. "You know how I hate to see you hurt."�

Faced with such propitious kindness, Legolas was suddenly inundated with great sorrow, steeped in a longing so devastating he could barely breathe. For everything between them that could not be, for lines he was not allowed to cross, for love that was turned down in gentle compassion, for a dying heart that still refused to surrender.�

Haldir must have discerned the vulnerability in his wavering gaze, for the sanguine mood had palpably changed. Eyes that reflected the warmth of the hearth were now dark and grim, hooded with guilt and regret and something much more powerful and elemental, something that bore a resemblance to the eye of an untamed beast struggling to break free from its chains and shackles in cold fury. Believing his mind to be conjuring up fictitious spectacle, Legolas shook his head lightly and decided that time was past ripe to remove himself from the other's presence.�

"Forgive me, mellonen [my friend]," Legolas said as he got to his feet and extended a hand to help the other elf do the same. "If our past is the source of your discomfort, you need not worry."�

The prince emphasized his next words by looking deep into his old friend's eyes. "I will not bother you with any love declarations again. So stay in my realm in peace." He hoped the echoing sincerity from the depth of his spirit would finally put the older elf at ease.�

With those parting words, and the affirmation that he would send a servant to clear the mess they have inadvertently created, the lord of Ithilien left behind a silent marchwarden embroiled in a turbulence of oppressive thoughts, unbeknownst to the world.�

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Later that night, Legolas hazily awoke to the sensation of ticklish wetness gliding down his bare spine and back up on a roundabout trail. It was far from unpleasant, and he was still lethargic from sleep, so he let the matter be.�

He shifted lightly and hugged his pillow closer. It was an embarrassing habit of his, to always end up hugging a pillow like an elfling would his favorite toy, no matter how prim and neat he arranged himself on the bed ere giving in to repose. That's why he would choose to forego sleep than be forced to share a bed with another person. He simply could not keep to his own space and his subconscious, irrepressible urge to cuddle up to anything warm or soft would make a laughing stock out of his heirs for many generations to come, were he so lucky as to sire any.�

Strange, the thought stirred in his half-awake mind. His bed felt firmer than usual, almost as if he was lying on the ground, yet the rumpled smoothness beneath him was positively his bed sheet. Something did not feel right, but he still had his pillows with him so things were fine, or at least that is what a random part of his still inchoate mind reasoned.�

Right on cue, as if responding to his mental garbling, a quiet chuckle nuzzled into the sensitive flesh under his earlobe, causing a rousing thrill to play havoc with his dreamy languor.�

"You are too adorable for words." That voice sounded awfully familiar.�

"Haldir?" Legolas sleepily called out, not expecting to hear an answer.�

"Yes, meleth?"�

The slack grip on the pillow turned impulsively rigid. Then slowly, almost cautiously, Legolas opened his eyes and chanced a glance over his shoulder.�

A handsome smile greeted his wide-eyed stupefaction, which swiftly dipped to catch his unprepared lips, at first light and teasing, and then deep and plundering, milking every nuance of the small, helpless moans that arose from his throat. Dimly, in his air-deprived brain, a few grey cells held council and came to a uniform conclusion that this figment of reality must be one of Irmo's whimsical ideas for a jest.�

Such a sweet, sweet cruelty.�

The kiss left the young sinda light-headed and breathing irregularly. Legolas lolled his head to one side, hoping that this manoeuvre would buy him some time to clear his head. He drew in a deep breath and looked up to the sky. The night was fey and the moon dauntingly majestic.�

And he was indeed lying on the ground, bedclothes and all, in the middle of a verdant dell that could not possibly exist in the dead of winter, surrounded by swaying blades of grass, and trees that bore glowing fruits that hung down from the droopy branches like a myriad of tiny lanterns. The place was more enchantingly beautiful than anything he had ever seen before, save for the bewitching creature that was currently eyeing him from above with intimidating hunger.�

"Why are you here?" �

The inquiry was gasped out as the taller warrior descended on the trapped prince again, this time targeting the delicate point of his right ear. Haldir seemed to be more interested in nipping and licking his way down from one erogenous peak to another than answering the question. He visited his undivided attention upon Legolas' supple flesh, raising both heat and color to the creamy skin - and hardness to certain protruding parts on which he intended to glut his desire. His strong hands were no less rapacious conquerors than his mouth, roaming fingers as cunning a tormentor as his clever tongue and lips. They conspired and worked together to bring the most intense, speech-robbing pleasure to the hesitant prince.�

"I am here for myself," spoke Haldir at last.�

"What do you mean�.? Wait�. ah, stop that! Let me think for a minute!" panted Legolas.�

"I cannot grant your wish. That is simply too much to ask of me." The expression of shock rapidly blossoming on the younger Elf's countenance, as his former guardian unveiled the glorious form of his body with a mere wave of hand, was a joy to behold. Haldir lowered himself again to whisper huskily into his ear.�

"I ache too much for you."�

The joining of their bodies was like the scintillating flash of summer lightning, so sudden and overpowering it tore an eruptive wail from the prince's open lips. The sharp jolt of pleasure that shot through his being darkened his sight for several frantic heartbeats. Legolas reached out blindly to grip his lover's shoulders, desperately pulling him down so he could lock the elf in the tight grip of his arms, to save himself from drowning, from oblivion. �

"Hal�. dir�. Haldir�." gasped Legolas weakly.�

Haldir held Legolas' trembling body in comforting support. "I am here, my heart. I am here with you."�

The dream spun on, the pleasure intensifying into a firestorm of passion. Within the few thrusts initiated by the phantom of his dream, Legolas realized he was poorly prepared to handle the delirious rapture that threatened to end his life on the spot. He could only cling and moan and pray that his traitorous body would not be the first and only one rushing into climax without looking back. How unfair, he wanted to protest. Who had decided to make him play the role of virgin maiden? It was not amusing. He should have a measure of authority to govern his own dream.�

"Perhaps next time," commented Haldir, as though having read his thought. Then, with a wicked smirk, he flexed his hips and dashed the prince's hope of maintaining reason and coherence. There was little need to add any more stimulation to aid the completion of his lover's climax, but Haldir did it anyway. Weapon-callused fingers wrapped themselves around the stiff column of flesh, and with no more than a handful of strokes, Legolas cried out his release. The sight of his young lover's undoing was enough incentive to wrench a deep groan of fulfillment from the marchwarden's broad chest. Legolas was barely awake when he was gathered into loving arms.�

"Sleep now, my love. When the time comes for Anor to chase the night away, like a fading mirage in the land of eternal summer, you will remember naught but a trick of moonlight."�

Come morning, Legolas would also forget the glimpse of a sad smile that whispered words of love into the darkness.�

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In the late hours of midnight, a lone figure rose from the bed and slipped into a silk robe. The biting chill of winter invaded the room in full blast as he opened the door to balcony, absentmindedly wiping the stain of seed splattered across his toned belly, seemingly not affected by the bracing chill upon his skin. He stood silently, accompanied by lonely moon and icy breeze. �

"Please forgive my selfishness," he whispered to the night sky. "You deserve someone better than me."�

Yet your heart yearns, mocked the moon.�

"What my heart wants is of no consequence."�

Fool of an elf.�

You will regret it.�
�

THE END