Request: I would like a diffident, inexperienced Legolas pursuing a much older, somewhat elusive Elrohir and eventually winning his love.� There can be gentle humor and/or angst as a result of Legolas' lack of experience and the way this affects their courtship and seduction of each other.� Please maintain their equality as male Elves and warriors throughout.� Explicit sex is fine but keep it emotionally engaging, i.e. not a passionless, blow-by-blow description of the act.� The story can take place anytime during the Third and/or Fourth Ages. Do not include:�� Please do not include rape or non-con, incest and AU and avoid feminizing (e.g. physically weak, hormonal, etc.) the male characters, slashing/pairing off every Elf in sight or turning characters who are not canonically evil/abusive into villains.� I am also not fond of reading fluff or sappy romances though I can tolerate mild doses of either.

Summary: Legolas and Thranduil arrive in Imladris to celebrate Mid Winter with Elrond and his sons � and Legolas remembers a very special night twenty-two years before...

******************

Two weeks before Mid Winter, Elrohir stood in a corner of the courtyard of Imladris, watching the hustle and bustle as grooms and servants scurried here and there in frantic, last minute preparations. Messages were relayed from the guards: Thranduil’s party had been sighted at the ford; were on their way; were nearly here. The frenzy increased.

Elladan appeared at his elbow. “They are a few minutes away. Father says to join him to welcome them.”

He followed Elladan across the courtyard to the top of the steps, just as Elrond came out of the main doors. They stood, one on each side of their father, and with immaculate timing Thranduil and his warriors rode beneath the arch and stopped at the foot of the steps.

Elrohir watched as the formalities commenced. His father spoke first: “King Thranduil, Prince Legolas – you are most welcome to my home to join our celebrations. You know my sons: Elladan,” – Elladan stepped forward and bowed – “and Elrohir.” Elrohir also bowed in greeting.

As he straightened he saw Legolas watching him with great interest. As the formal greetings ended, Legolas turned to him with a smile. “Thank you for inviting us to share your Mid Winter festival – I am greatly looking forward to it!”

Elrohir nodded. “Welcome to our home, Legolas. It must be … over twenty years since we came to Lasgalen for your coming of age celebration.”

Legolas smiled again. “Twenty-two years and five months,” he agreed. “And ten days. I have not forgotten, Elrohir. I missed you.” There was a faint flush on his cheeks as he added, “I hope we will be able to spend some time together.”

“I shall look forward to it,” Elrohir replied politely. His heart sank, and he hoped that Legolas was not expecting too much. They had spent just one night together, twenty – no, twenty-two years ago.

Elrond finished his conversation with Thranduil, and turned to his sons. “Erestor and I will escort King Thranduil. Elladan, Elrohir – would you take Legolas to his rooms?”

Elladan agreed with a smile. “Of course, father – it would be our pleasure.”

As Elladan led the way into the house, Legolas followed him, though he glanced over his shoulder to make certain Elrohir was with them. “Thank you.” He dropped back to walk beside Elrohir as they ascended the staircase. “I have been looking forward to this – to seeing you again.” Very casually, his hand brushed against Elrohir’s. “Though I know you are a captain here, and will no doubt be busy?” He cast Elrohir a hopeful look.

Elrohir was torn between amusement at the blatant flirting, and sheer horror at the prospect of four weeks of this. “Well, I have some free time for the festival – though very little! – but I will also be helping my father with the preparations. We both will,” he added, determined to make Elladan suffer as well.

“Oh.” Legolas fell silent, though he kept casting Elrohir sidelong glances and shy smiles. At last – and Elrohir had never before realised how long the corridors were, or how big the house was – they reached the suite of rooms Legolas was to use.

Elladan threw the door open with a flourish. “Welcome to Imladris!”

As Legolas crossed the room to admire the view down the valley, Elladan drew Elrohir aside. “It seems you made quite an impression on the young prince!” he whispered with a grin.

“El – it was just one night!” Elrohir protested.

“For you, perhaps – he seems to regard it differently. It was his first time, El – you know what a deep impact that can have.”

“Not for you!” Elrohir retorted under his breath. “I have never seen you look at Erestor like that.”

“Only because I know Glorfindel would kill me if I did! That was different. We both knew Erestor and Glorfindel were together, and not for us. They just gave us … an introduction.”

Legolas turned back from the window, his eyes sparkling. “It is so beautiful! I would love to explore. Would you be able to show me the valley later? Both of you,” he added belatedly, though his eyes never left Elrohir.

“Alas, I cannot.” Elladan did not sound in the least regretful. “I have work to do. But Elrohir is free – I am sure he would be delighted!”

Elrohir sent his twin a look of pure hatred. “Of course. It would be my pleasure,” he said politely. “I will kill you for this, El!” he told Elladan silently. Elladan merely grinned as he left, amusement flooding from him.

“That would be wonderful – thank you!” If Legolas had had a tail, he would have wagged it, Elrohir thought sourly. The young prince stepped a little closer. “I have been looking forward to this for so long.”

Elrohir moved away from him, brushing a speck of dust from the table. “Then I hope Imladris lives up to your expectations. It is very different to Lasgalen.”

“It was not just Imladris I wanted to see.” Suddenly Legolas was right behind him, arms around his waist – and groping lower. “I wanted to see you, Elrohir. I missed you.”

Elrohir turned swiftly. This was a complication he did not need, and he was determined to put an immediate halt to it. “Legolas. We shared but one night – a long time ago. I am sure there have been others for you in that time.”

Legolas shook his head, and raised one hand to touch Elrohir’s face gently. “It was a special night – do you not remember it too?”

“Of course I remember it. I counted it a great honour to be your first lover. But …”

Legolas interrupted him. “Not just first. Only. You are the only lover I have ever had, Elrohir – the only one I want.” He edged closer again. “I remember how gentle you were.”

Elrohir caught the hand, and lowered it carefully, his mind racing. He had to put a stop to this now. But how could he dissuade the young prince gently? He did not want to hurt him, and had to be tactful. “Legolas,” he began carefully. “I am flattered that you remember it so pleasurably. But you did not need to wait for me. I wanted you to take what you learned, and use it, and enjoy the company of the warriors of Lasgalen. Or I am sure that there are many here in Imladris who would be delighted to share Mid Winter with you. You do not need me.”

“But I do. It is you, and only you, that I want. I love you, Elrohir.”

He tried again. “No. You do not love me – you do not know me. Love comes with knowledge, Legolas – knowledge of each other. It comes from times shared together, from good times and bad.”

“I know enough,” Legolas insisted. “I know how kind and gentle and patient you are. And the time we shared – even if it was just one night – was enough. I know. I love you.” A sudden brilliant smile illuminated his entire face. “But yes – I would love to spend more time with you, and come to know you even better.”

That was not what he had meant at all, but Elrohir was saved from answering by a knock on the door. He moved quickly towards it as Thranduil came in. “Legolas. I wondered if you were ready – Elrond has asked us to join him in his study before lunch.”

Looking rather flushed, Legolas looked from his father to Elrohir. “Would he mind if I said ‘no’? I would like to bathe – and Elrohir said he would show me the valley.”

“My father will not mind at all,” Elrohir assured him, seeing his chance to escape. “You are guests of our house, and he only wishes your comfort. If you wish to bathe, I will get one of the servants to prepare a bath for you. If you will excuse me, I will see you later.”

Ignoring Legolas’s look of disappointment, Elrohir left hurriedly. He found Elladan in their shared sitting room, reading through some week-old patrol reports. “Your work was so pressing it could not wait?” he enquired acidly. Dropping into a deep armchair by the fire, he continued, “I have a problem.”

Elladan chuckled. “I noticed.”

“Young Legolas fancies himself in love with me. And now he is here in Imladris, he seems to want to continue our relationship.”

Elladan laughed again. “And what relationship would that be?” he asked with a grin.

“The Valar only know! I have tried to dissuade him gently, but he does not seem to understand the meaning of ‘no’. It was just one night, El – one night!”

“But a momentous one for him. His coming of age celebrations, his first lover … ”

Elrohir sighed. “And only lover, apparently. I think that is the problem – he has no comparisons. Because I was gentle with him, and made sure he forgot his nerves and inhibitions, and listened to him – he thinks it means that I care for him, too.”

Elladan abandoned the reports, and joined him by the fire. “So what will you do? You cannot avoid him all the time, and it seems he will not be easily dissuaded.”

“I do have one idea – and it is something I have already discussed with Glorfindel anyway. This would be an excellent opportunity to exchange skills and ideas – Thranduil’s warriors can show us some of their training methods, and we can demonstrate ours. There are bound to be differences, after all. For one thing, they fight from the trees far more, while we usually keep to the ground.”

Elladan nodded with interest. “That would be a good idea. I was speaking with Thranduil’s captain, Tavor, when we were in Lasgalen – he was telling me how they fight the spiders. I would like to learn more.”

Elrohir leaned his head back in relief. “Good. I will speak to Glorfindel and Tavor to arrange it.”

“Young Legolas will be very happy to spend so much time with you!” Elladan commented with a grin.”

“But he will be busy. And he will not be alone with me,” Elrohir pointed out. “There will be other warriors around all the time, so I will be safe from him. And when he sees what a harsh taskmaster I can be, perhaps I will lose a little of my gloss!” He grinned. “This way, perhaps we will both survive this visit.”

o-o-o

At the evening meal that night, Elrohir was not surprised to find Legolas seated next to him, and he suspected the prince had rearranged the place cards. Throughout the meal, Legolas brushed his hand against Elrohir’s as he reached for his wine glass, or helped himself to a platter of bread. Although he spoke politely to Elrond, Elladan, Glorfindel and Erestor at times, most of his comments were directed at Elrohir alone. “Elrohir – could you tell me what this dish is?” “Elrohir, would you pass me the Dorwinion?” “Elrohir, have you ever been to Dale? They say the markets there are wonderful!”

There were a thousand casual touches, and Elrohir was not the only one who had noticed. Erestor cast several amused glances at them, and nudged Glorfindel, who smiled broadly. They seemed to enjoy Elrohir’s predicament. Elladan of course took no notice at all, and pretended to be unaware of his twin’s plight.

To his surprise, Elrohir found he was unsure of how to handle the situation. All his life he had received covetous looks and longing sighs from others, both elves and maidens. He was used to it, and usually ignored it. Some he had taken to his bed for a night or two. There had been a few bolder, more persistent admirers, but he had dissuaded each one with a gentle rebuttal. But Legolas – he would not be deterred, seemed unaware of the smiles he was attracting, and ignored Elrohir’s attempts to explain that no relationship existed.

Beneath the table, Legolas pressed his leg against Elrohir’s again, and a hand rested on his thigh. Before long, the hand began to inch higher and higher. Eventually Elrohir could take no more, and he slapped the hand away. “Stop it!” he hissed.

Legolas smiled at him, quite undeterred. “You are right – this is not the place. Another time, then!” Then, at last, he turned away to talk to Glorfindel about Gondolin and Balrogs.

The announcement at the end of the meal about the warriors’ exchange was met with great interest by elves from both realms, and Elrohir spent the rest of the evening deep in conversation with Glorfindel and Tavor as they finalised the plans.

“Good – demonstrations, one-to-one combat, advanced training classes, and competitions,” Glorfindel listed. “I think that is all. Tavor?”

Tavor nodded. “If this is successful, perhaps a few of our warriors will be able to stay, and learn more – and some of yours can travel to Lasgalen. And perhaps this will keep certain young elves out of trouble, too,” he added. He turned to Elrohir. “I can see he’s besotted with you, lad. But Legolas is like a son to me. Do not hurt his feelings.”

There was little Elrohir could say to that. He managed to avoid Legolas as he left the hall, and made his way to bed, blessedly alone. It had been a long day.

He was drifting on the edge of sleep when there was a knock at the door, and Elrohir tensed. Surely even Legolas would not dare to come to his room like this? The door opened a crack, and a voice called, “El? Are you asleep?”

He ignored his twin – Elladan would pay for his lack of support tonight! Lost in pleasant thoughts of retribution and revenge, Elrohir fell asleep.

o-o-o

The demonstrations began after breakfast the next day. A large crowd gathered of warriors from both realms, novices, and interested maidens. Glorfindel and Tavor began with an exhibition of knife-fighting; circling each other cautiously while they assessed each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Elrohir watched carefully as Tavor lunged towards Glorfindel, but the latter slid away from the blade with ease. They were closely matched, he realised – both leaders of their warriors, both with centuries of training and fighting behind them. Glorfindel seemed to have the edge with two lifetimes of experience, but it was still tense and close fought. At last Glorfindel feinted an attack to the right, then suddenly moved his dagger to his left hand and touched it against Tavor’s neck – the symbol of victory.

Laughing, Tavor dropped his knife and acknowledged the win to Glorfindel. “Who is next?” he called. “Unarmed combat!”

From the ranks of the Lasgalen warriors, Legolas stepped forward. Tavor nodded in approval. “And your opponent?”

“Elrohir!” Legolas responded without hesitation – indeed, almost before the words had left Tavor’s mouth.

Elrohir groaned. Behind him Elladan gave a sudden bark of laughter, which he quickly changed to a coughing fit. “What was that about being safe from him, little brother?” he murmured.

“I am glad you find this so amusing!” Elrohir hissed. Knowing there was no choice, he stepped forward. At least this would be an easy victory. He was many centuries older than Legolas, had a thousand and more years of experience in fighting and training, and had greater physical strength. It would be easy.

Very much to his surprise, it was not as easy as he had imagined. Legolas, though very clearly enjoying the close-quarters combat, was nimble and fast, and slid away before Elrohir could engage with him. Time and again he dodged a hold Elrohir was sure would be successful; as sleek and lithe as an otter.

He began to enjoy the challenge, realising that Legolas, young though he was, was rather more skilled than he had realised. He closed in for another encounter, but Legolas twisted away again, counter-thrusting his weight against Elrohir. Off balance, Elrohir slipped on the dew-damp grass, and nearly fell.

There was a gasp of surprise from the watching crowd, and a cheer from someone in the Lasgalen ranks. Breathing hard, Elrohir regained his balance and circled Legolas again, more wary now. His best option, he decided, was to take Legolas by surprise. Throwing himself forward, he pushed Legolas back, and with a deft twist knocked his legs from under him.

At last he had Legolas pinned on his back on the ground. As Tavor declared Elrohir the winner, Legolas stared up at him in surprise, still breathless. Then he gave a wicked grin. “Mmm – I like this. Do we have to get up?”

Elrohir leapt away from him as though scalded. “Yes!” he snapped. He held out his hand to help Legolas up – as courtesy and tradition demanded – and Legolas held on to it for a moment too long, squeezing his fingers gently.

“I enjoyed that,” he murmured. “Perhaps we can do it again?”

“No!”

They walked off the field to cheers and applause from both sides, and Legolas was dragged off by his own warriors amidst much congratulation. Elladan turned to his twin. “That was close, little brother. For a moment I thought he nearly had you!”

Elrohir nodded. “He did,” he admitted. “He is far better than I expected.” It was one thing when he could dismiss Legolas as an infatuated youngling – but Legolas had just proved to be very nearly his equal in combat.

The ranks of warriors began to split up – those from Imladris interested in knife-fighting to work with Tavor, while those from Lasgalen joined Glorfindel. Others wished to know more about unarmed combat. Elrohir counted a dozen elves from the woodland realm clustered around him – but there were rather more of his companions who seemed most eager to learn from Legolas. The young prince had clearly gained a great deal of support.

The next few days followed a similar pattern – demonstrations of different skills by warriors of both realms, then training sessions where those skills were exchanged. During this time, Legolas proved to be a complex mix. He continued his dedicated pursuit of Elrohir, the blatant flirtation a cause of much mirth among some of the warriors. At the same time he showed himself to be remarkably skilled for his years. Although he lacked the sheer experience of older warriors, he made up for it with a natural talent that many ignored to their cost.

Curious, Elrohir often watched from the sidelines when he was not leading the sessions himself. Legolas was quick to pick up new techniques from the Imladris warriors, and full of enthusiasm to learn even more. He was already respected among his own warriors, and could defuse a heated argument between them with a few quiet words. It was very clearly the sort of respect that had been earned, not simply given due to his birth.

Tall and slender, what he still lacked in muscular strength he made up for in speed and agility, and his lithe body and sun-gold hair drew many admiring glances from both maidens and elves. Elrohir sighed. Why could Legolas not develop a passion for one of them? As if called, Legolas turned at that point and saw him watching. He smiled and waved, bowed to his opponent, then hurried to join Elrohir.

“I saw you watching me!” he greeted Elrohir breathlessly.

“I watch most of the training sessions,” Elrohir replied shortly. “I like to see how our warriors compare to yours, and how well the new skills are being learned.”

Legolas slid a hand around Elrohir’s waist. “And what do you think?” he asked, leaning close.

Elrohir sighed, and moved the hand away. “I think it is time to watch the next competitions.”

o-o-o

It was inevitable that his obsession caused much comment. Elrohir was passing a small group of warriors on the third day, when he heard Legolas’s name, followed by a burst of laughter. “The little princeling is quite smitten with Lord Elrohir!” one agreed. “Have you heard him? ‘Oh, Elrohir, may I sit with you?’ ‘Elrohir, will you be my partner for the sword fighting?’” His imitation was cruelly accurate, and caught Legolas’s breathless tone perfectly. The other two howled with laughter again.

“Calion, stop this mockery!” Elrohir snapped behind the speaker.

Calion turned swiftly, flushed with guilt, then relaxed. “How do you stand it?” he asked. “He fawns over you like a puppy, yet you just ignore him!”

Elrohir frowned. “He is young, that is all. He does not deserve your contempt and ridicule. And he has proved himself a far better archer than you, Calion!”

Calion scowled. “A fluke! But are you defending him? Perhaps I can guess who will be gracing your bed on Mid Winter’s night?”

“I doubt it,” Elrohir said coldly. “He is a little inexperienced for my tastes.”

“Inexperienced?” one of the other warriors echoed. “I would have thought our young prince has had far more than his fair choice of bed mates!”

Elrohir remained silent. He saw no reason to explain that Legolas had only ever had one lover. These warriors would regard it as yet another cause for mirth.

“Well, if you don’t want him, give him a few nights with us!” Calion leered, unrepentant. “We’d soon add to his experience!”

“Enough!” snapped Elrohir. “He is a guest here, and a prince of his realm – and you will treat him as such. With respect.”

Calion swallowed and nodded, quelled. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Or you will find yourselves on a month of night patrols – including Mid Winter’s night! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Annoyed by the warriors’ attitude and their disrespect, Elrohir left them to ponder. Joining Elladan, who waited at the edge of the field, he jerked his head towards the three. “Did you hear that?” he demanded.

Elladan nodded thoughtfully, though he was watching Elrohir, rather than the other warriors. “Yes. Yes, I did,” he agreed.

o-o-o

A few days before Mid Winter, the weather changed. A bitter wind blew from the north, straight from the mountains of Angmar by the feel of it. Sleet was hurled in freezing, horizontal flurries before it, and the training sessions and demonstrations were cancelled.

Faced with an unexpected free afternoon, Elrohir headed for the library. It would be quiet, peaceful, and warm; and above all he could browse among old and half-forgotten friends until the call for evening meal.

He found someone there before him, and hesitated when he recognised Legolas reading by one of the windows. He really did not relish the prospect of another declaration of love, or being cornered in some shadowy alcove. He was too late, though. Legolas looked up and his face brightened. “Elrohir! I have only just found this place, or I would have been here days ago. I never imagined so many books existed! Have you read them all?” His vague gesture encompassed the thousands upon thousands of books that lined the shelves and walls.

Elrohir had to smile at his enthusiasm. “No. Not all of them – and my father adds to his collection all the time. And there are always some tales I read again and again, rather than search out new stories.”

Legolas nodded. “I know what you mean! Our library at home is wonderful, but so much smaller. It is difficult to find new books. Few of the men of Esgaroth read, so the traders never bring them.”

“You enjoy reading?”

“Oh, yes! Tales of the First Age, of the Last Alliance, stories from Gondolin. And to think that Glorfindel is the same Glorfindel who battled with the Balrog!”

Elrohir laughed. “I remember my own astonishment – and the nightmare my brother and I had when Glorfindel told us his story. What are your favourite tales?”

As they talked, the dull grey afternoon outside darkened into night. The wind whistled and howled, and sleet hissed against the windows. To Elrohir’s great surprise, Legolas – when he was not trying to seduce or impress – was an interesting companion. He had a surprising depth of knowledge of history – not just political events, which could be expected, but also of the people behind the events. He had a deep love of stories and poetry. He also had a shrewd mind, and an acerbic tongue.

Realising that the room was completely dark, Elrohir rose to light the lamps. “Where is your father today?” he asked.

Legolas shrugged. “A messenger arrived this morning. He will be reading through the reports which Lanatus sent, and all the ills which have befallen Lasgalen in our absence.”

“Ills? What ills?”

Legolas grinned. “Nothing of a serious nature. Lanatus is my father’s Steward. He very good at his job, but is what you might call a worrier. He is never happy unless there is something wrong, and always takes the bleakest outlook.”

“I know the type,” Elrohir commented. “Every silver lining has a cloud.”

“Yes!” Legolas exclaimed. “That describes him perfectly! I must tell my father.” He smiled. “I have enjoyed this afternoon – being able to just talk to you, with no-one else around.” He paused, and his tone changed. “Elrohir – it is nearly Mid Winter. I know it is the custom here to share Mid Winter’s night with … someone. Someone special.” He reached across the table and took Elrohir’s hand. “Sometimes it seems as if you are trying to avoid me. Why? You know I love you.”

Elrohir sighed. “Legolas …” he began again. As he tried to pull away again, Legolas clung to him.

“Elrohir. Please. Will you spend Mid Winter with me?” He leaned across the table and kissed him swiftly. “I love you,” he repeated.

After Legolas had gone, Elrohir stayed in the library staring out at the darkness beyond the windows. Despite everything he had done to discourage it, Legolas’s infatuation had not faded in the least – if anything, it seemed stronger.

“What am I to do, El?” he asked later. “Nothing I do or say makes any difference! I must say, he is very persistent.”

“Aye – nearly as stubborn as you!” Elladan agreed with a grin. “Perhaps you have more in common than you realise. You would be well suited! Why not just give in and agree?”

Elrohir did not bother to reply. It seemed that this Mid Winter would be another long and lonely one for him. There was no-one who held his heart, and he no longer had any desire for casual liaisons. There had been many over the years, occasional bed-mates for a night, a week, a month – but never any longer. There had been no-one at all for many years now – not since his return from Lasgalen. He wanted someone to share his heart and soul with, not just his bed.

He wished he had a little of Legolas’s certainty – he was so sure, so eager! He rather envied the prince his youthful enthusiasm, and grinned to himself. Perhaps he should agree to the fervent demands after all – maybe then Legolas would leave him in peace. Thinking of Legolas he hesitated, remembering his final plea, and considered the idea more seriously. Perhaps they should spend the night together – would it be such a bad idea? It was for just one night, after all. And Legolas was passionate, eager, and more than willing.

“Perhaps I will,” he said slowly, in response to Elladan’s words. “After all, why not?”

Elladan gaped at him. “El, are you mad? I was joking!”

“But why not? I can think of far worse things than to spend Mid Winter’s night with him. He is attractive, and very eager. This is what he wants!”

“You said yourself that he fancies himself in love with you,” Elladan explained. “He will only take this as encouragement that you return his affections!”

“Elladan, it is just one night! Where is the harm in that?” Even as he spoke, Elrohir wondered which of them he was trying to convince.

“Where is the harm?” Elladan echoed in disbelief. “Elrohir, Thranduil will have your balls for table decorations if you hurt his son!”

Elrohir snorted. “Of course I will not hurt him – he was well pleased last time, if you remember!”

“I did not mean that, as you well know! Think, El. You are doing this for all the wrong reasons. Is it worth it? You will end up breaking his heart.” Elladan paused, then continued softly, “I know you are not that cruel.”

Exchanging a long look with his brother, Elrohir sighed. He hated it when Elladan was right. He nodded. “You are right, of course. I know you are. It would only cause more problems. And I do not want to hurt him.” He gave a small smile. “I find I am quite fond of him.”

Elladan grinned. “Like a lively puppy. He is impossible to dislike.”

o-o-o

On Mid Winter’s eve, the rooms and hall of Imladris were decked with prickly leaved holly, and branches of resinous pine adorned the mantels. Ivy trailed along the windows and doors, and sprigs of mistletoe with its pearly berries hung from the rafters. As dusk fell, Elrohir waited outside with his family and the rest of the household and guests to watch for the appearance of the first star – the traditional start of the festivities.

A child’s excited voice rang through the waiting silence. “I see it! Happy Mid Winter!”

“Happy Mid Winter!” The traditional greeting was exchanged all around, between families and friends and lovers.

“Happy Mid Winter, Elrohir.” Legolas murmured behind him, sliding his hands around Elrohir’s waist. He circled round to face him, then looked up with a grin. “Look – mistletoe! You cannot deny me now!” He leaned forward and kissed Elrohir passionately to a chorus of laughs and whistles. Then, mercurial, he slid away and whirled Elladan around as well, bestowing a fleeting kiss on him too before disappearing into the crowds.

Laughing, Elladan watched him go. “If it was not for Gildor, I think I would be tempted to keep him company tonight! El, do you think he would notice the difference between us?” He turned to look at his twin. “Elrohir? What is wrong?”

Elrohir swallowed. “Nothing!” he snapped, wondering at his sudden urge to thump Elladan, and trying to ignore the aching erection that Legolas’s kiss had given him. “Nothing at all.”

o-o-o

At the Mid Winter feast, Elrohir decided that his reaction to the kiss had been the result of the cold, or too much wine. He felt no attraction for Legolas at all – and his flash of anger at Elladan’s words was just sibling rivalry, nothing more. To add to his discomfort, Legolas again sat next to him during the meal, with question after question about other traditions of Imladris, and describing some of the rituals of Lasgalen.

At length, Elrohir interrupted with a question of his own. “I was rather surprised that you chose me for your coming of age celebration – an outsider. Surely there were many in Lasgalen who would have been more than happy to oblige?”

“There were,” Legolas agreed. “Too many. It was a difficult choice. Most of my father’s councillors were vying for the opportunity – I felt like a piece of meat being bartered over in the marketplace at Esgaroth! And they kept trying to curry favour with my father for the honour.”

“Surely Thranduil would not agree …” Elrohir began, aghast.

“No!” Legolas was scornful. “Of course not. He made it very clear to them that the choice was mine, and mine alone. He told me to bide my time until I was sure, and make no hasty decisions. But I realised what resentment and divisions it would cause if I favoured one over another. Then, when you arrived, I saw my answer.”

“That sounds very pragmatic,” Elrohir replied, obscurely disappointed. “So it was more a practical, political reason, rather than my own charms?”

Legolas nodded. “But for one thing I had not counted on. I did not intend to fall in love with you. Elrohir, I know you think me an infatuated child – but that does not change the way I feel. I learned enough of you in that one night to lose my heart.” He took a long gulp of wine. “I know you do not feel the same way. You have made it very clear, and I am sorry if I have embarrassed you. I just …” he paused, then shook his head, draining his cup. “It does not matter.”

He stood, and turned towards Thranduil. “Father, I think I will walk outside for a while before I go to bed. I feel a little light-headed – I think I have taken too much wine.”

“Not as much as some!” Thranduil responded, gesturing to the lower end of the hall. Several warriors there – elves from Imladris and Lasgalen alike – were singing loud, bawdy songs, somewhat off key. Elrohir glimpsed Calion among them, conducting the chorus with his cup.

Legolas glanced at them and grimaced. “No. Probably not. Goodnight.”

After he left, Elrohir considered what he had said. He felt sorry for Legolas, and rather guilty – he seemed so despondent and miserable on what should have been a festive celebration. Was he wrong? Was he doing the right thing in denying the growing attraction he felt for Legolas? Yet he was far too young, and all too soon he would leave Imladris to return home, and the chances were that he would never see Legolas again – or at least, not for many long years. He had no desire now for a casual, chance-met lover, nor a fleeting bed warmer.

No, it was better this way. Legolas and his infatuation would soon be gone, and then he could get on with his life. It was better this way. It had to be.

The hall was quieter now, and the singers had fallen silent. Calion had disappeared, and without their conductor the singers seemed to have lost interest. Elrohir rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling oddly tense.

“Alone at last, brother? Where is your shadow?”

Elrohir looked up and smiled. “He went for a walk. I think he was a little drunk.”

Elladan laughed. “It is Mid Winter! Of course he is.” He sat down next to Elrohir and reached for another bottle. “You look worried, little brother. What is wrong?”

“I feel uneasy about something – but I do not know what. Something feels wrong.” He glanced around the hall, and the prickle of unease deepened.

“What is wrong,” Elladan announced as he poured two brimming cups of wine, “is that we are both alone and sober tonight. I had hoped Gildor would have arrived, but he must be delayed.” He took a long drink from his cup. “At least we can cure the second problem.”

Elrohir accepted the wine, a deep, rich red, pleasantly warmed. The wine did nothing to dispel his disquiet though, and he drank again, still oddly troubled. He sighed, knowing his main problem. “El, am I doing the right thing? I cannot decide if I am being noble, or making the biggest mistake of my life,” he admitted.

“Do you really need me to tell you? I think you know,” Elladan replied softly. “I think you are a fool. I think you love him, even if you do not realise it.”

“Love him? I … no, El! How can I? He is so much younger!”

“What difference does that make?” Elladan protested. “Glorfindel is a whole lifetime older than Erestor – do they care? And Gildor,” – he smiled at some private memory – “Gildor is far older than I am. Are we wrong?”

“No, of course not. But Legolas – he is just at the beginning of his life …” Elrohir knew his protests sounded ridiculous, yet he was not ready to admit the alternative.

“And you are at the end?” Elladan grinned. “But Elrohir, you have to do this for the right reasons. Because you love him, not because you feel sorry for him. And …” he broke off as someone blundered against the table where they sat.

One of Calion’s cronies stood unsteadily before them. “You pardon, lords,” he blurted. “But I think there may be trouble. Calion – he went out after Prince Legolas. He said something about showing him who was best.” He swayed, then added, “Legolas beat him in combat again yesterday.”

Elrohir’s odd twinge of foreboding exploded into full fledged alarm. “El, wait here,” he ordered. “I may need you later.” Pausing only to snatch a cloak from the rack by the door, Elrohir let himself out into the night. He paused, trying to think where Legolas might go, then hurried towards the redwoods.

His guess had been right. As he neared the grove, he heard Legolas; his voice low and angry. “You are drunk, Calion – take your hands off me this instant!”

Calion sounded slurred. “Don’t be like that – I’m only offering to keep you warm tonight! Elr’hir doesn’t want you, and I can show you what you’re missing, pining for him.”

“No, Calion. Do not be a fool. Now leave me!”

Calion’s voice suddenly hardened. “Am I not good enough for you? Is that it? I’ll show you who’s the better elf!” There was a sudden flash as moonlight gleamed on the knife which had appeared in Calion’s hand.

Without stopping to think, Elrohir hurled himself across the grove of redwoods. As he seized Calion by the scruff of the neck there was a blur of movement, a sharp cry of pain, and a spray of blood. A chill went through him at the sound. His heart pounding, he threw Calion to the ground, stamping on his wrist to disarm him. His other foot pressed down on the back of Calion’s neck, pinning him to the floor. Twisting, he turned to stare at the young prince in fear. “Legolas! Are you hurt?”

Legolas gave an abrupt shake of his head, his eyes glittering coldly. He had wrested Calion’s knife away from him, and looked feral and dangerous. “No. I can deal with idiots like him – but thank you.”

Calion lay gasping, the side of his face, parchment pale, pressed against leaf-mould and pine needles. One eye gazed up at Elrohir and Legolas in fear. “He – he cut me!” he gasped, pointing at a deep gash on the hand beneath Elrohir’s foot; then at his knife, which Legolas still held. “He cut me!”

“Cut you?” Elrohir echoed in fury. “You are lucky he did not slit your throat!” He shifted his weight on Calion’s neck, and pressed down on his injured hand a little harder.

Calion choked. “Stop!” he gasped.

Elrohir gave him a single cold glance. Calion stared at him, and his face turned a sickly green as he became very sober, very quickly. He gave a low moan of terror and lay quite still.

Elrohir flung a silent call through the night, and in moments Elladan appeared with two guards. Hoisting Calion to his feet, Elrohir pushed him towards the guards. “Take him away,” he said in disgust. “Lock him in a cellar, and tell my father and Glorfindel. They can decide what to do with him after the holiday.” He turned to Legolas. “We will turn him over to you and Thranduil if you wish. You can take him back to Lasgalen and leave him to the spiders for all I care!”

Calion paled even further, and he whimpered. “Please. I meant no harm. It was just a joke!”

“A joke?” Elrohir hissed. “To threaten a guest – an unarmed guest – with a knife?” He pushed Calion again. “Get him out of my sight!”

As the guards dragged an unresisting Calion away, Elladan remained. “El?” His tone was questioning as his gaze flicked to Legolas.

Elrohir gave a slight nod. “Do not worry.” He smiled. “All will be well, I think.”

Elladan grinned, and slapped his twin on the shoulder. “At last! Then I will see you later.” His grin widened. “Or maybe not!”

Legolas frowned as Elladan left. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. Elladan was just reminding me that I am a fool. Legolas – are you truly well? I am so sorry …”

“Hush. It is no fault of yours.” Legolas dropped his gaze, glancing at Calion’s knife, which he still held. He gave an exclamation of disgust and threw it to the ground. “Why – why did you come out here?”

Elrohir moved a little closer. “I came after you. I was warned that Calion would cause trouble.”

Legolas raised his head and met Elrohir’s eyes. “You were worried about me?”

“I realise it was unnecessary. But when I saw his knife I did not stop to think. I was terrified. If he had harmed you …”

Legolas took a step nearer. “But he did not.”

“No …” Elrohir raised his hand and cupped it around Legolas’s head, drawing him close. “Legolas …”

Legolas leaned towards him. “Yes …”

Their kiss was cold but very sweet. Elrohir remembered the first time he had kissed Legolas, when a hesitant and apprehensive young prince had waited for him at the end of another long evening of feasting and celebration. The hesitation was gone now, and Legolas responded to his kiss with all the passion that had been unleashed during that first unforgettable night. A hand twisted in his hair, and another twined around his waist. Elrohir noted idly that Legolas was a little taller now, and broader in the shoulder – and then he stopped thinking, and felt only the firm, lean body pressed against him, the lips beneath his, and the hands that caressed him with such confidence.

At last Legolas drew away. He touched his fingers to Elrohir’s mouth, and caressed his face gently. “Elrohir, why?”

Elrohir caught the caressing hand, kissing the palm, then pressing it to his cheek. “Why? Because I am a fool – and because I love you. I know I should not. I know you will soon be leaving, and it is not possible – but that is why I have been trying to resist the temptation of loving you.” He turned his head, and kissed Legolas again. “Alas, it is too late,” he murmured.

Legolas stirred against him. “It is not too late. It is still Mid Winter – and the night is not over.” His fingertips, icy cold, brushed against Elrohir’s ear; a delightful contrast to the warmth of his breath as he whispered, “Will you celebrate Mid Winter with me?”

“Yes …”

They walked back to the house. The stars glittered overhead, and ice-frosted grass beneath their feet sparkled in the reflected light. The dining hall was nearly deserted, with only a few lingering couples still talking softly over linked fingers and empty cups. The gently lilt of a ballad drifted from the hall of fire as Elrohir led the way up the stairs.

Opening the door to his rooms, he halted in surprise. The fire, which he had left banked for the evening, blazed in the hearth. Candles flickered on the mantel, on tables and bookshelves; beside the bed. The curtains – which had been closed – had been drawn back to frame the stars.

Legolas turned to gaze at him suspiciously. “Were you expecting company?”

Elrohir gaped at the room, then smiled. “Elladan.”

“What?”

“Elladan. He did this. I think he approves. He told me I was being a fool!” He drew Legolas further into the room, and pushed the door shut with his foot. “He was right.”

A bottle of spiced wine had been placed before the fire, already hot to the touch. Elrohir poured two goblets, and took a long sip before turning to Legolas. He swallowed dryly, then let his heart speak. “Legolas. I have tried to deny the fact that I love you. I tried to tell myself that you were too young, too inexperienced. I tried to tell myself that you would soon leave, and my life would be my own again – but empty and lonely.” He drew Legolas to him, threading his fingers through the loose, sun-gold hair, breathing in the scent of sunshine. “I tried to tell myself that I do not want yet another casual bed-mate for just one night – and I do not; but Legolas, if that is all I can have of you – just one night and no more, then that will have to be enough.”

Legolas leaned against him, his breath soft and warm on Elrohir’s face. “So what do you want? What would you have of me, if you could?”

“I want someone I can share my heart and soul with, not just my bed. You, if I could have you.” He sighed. “It will not be long, I know. But I will take what time we have.”

Warm, soft lips caressed his neck, smiling gently. “And I would have you, Elrohir; tonight and every other night; for as long as we can.” Legolas smiled again. “Longer than you may think. The warriors who will be staying for further training? I asked my father. He agreed that I can remain here when he returns to Lasgalen if I wish.”

Joy soared through Elrohir at the words. His fears that he would be left alone in two short weeks vanished – they had six months, a year, maybe more. Smiling, he slid his hands around Legolas’s waist. “Do you remember the first time?” he whispered softly.

Legolas nodded. “You kissed me,” he breathed.

“Yes. Like this.” As he had before, Elrohir kissed Legolas on the brow, his eyelids, his nose, and finally his mouth.

“Yes,” Legolas whispered at last. He drew a deep breath. “And then you did this,” he continued. He trailed his fingers down the side of Elrohir’s face, his neck, and around to the hollow of his throat. He released the silver clasp that fastened Elrohir’s tunic, and pushed it back off his shoulders, then his mouth replaced his questing fingers.

Elrohir shivered as cool lips caressed his heated skin. “You have become very good at this,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I remember,” Legolas said simply. “I remember every touch of yours, every caress. You made me feel things I had never felt before, never believed possible.”

“And I would do it again,” Elrohir murmured. He unfastened the laces on the front of Legolas’s shirt and slid his hands inside, exploring the soft skin within. “After so long – it will feel much like the first time again,” he warned, leaning forward to kiss his young lover once more.

Legolas twisted his hands into his hair, pulling him closer. “I hope so,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “I do hope so.” He took a step backwards, towards the bed, but Elrohir stayed him.

“No. The bed is too far away. Stay here.” He sank down onto the furs before the fire, pulling Legolas with him. “This is what I want. You. Here. Now.”

Legolas wound sinuous hands around Elrohir’s neck and into his hair. “Good,” he breathed. “Because that is what I want, too.”

“Then relax,” Elrohir instructed him, as he had so long before. “Relax, and let me teach you …”

As he reached out blindly to put the empty goblet down on the hearth, his hand brushed against another small bottle – a phial of sandalwood-scented oil. He flushed a little as he realised how very well Elladan knew him.

He slid easily into the tight heat, and Legolas gave a low moan of pleasure. “Yes,” he whispered. “At last. I have waited so long for this.” He continued to thread his fingers through Elrohir’s hair, and Elrohir shivered at the touch which he had always found intensely sensual and erotic.

“Too long. I am a fool – but no longer. My eyes have been opened.” He moved with slow, gentle strokes, penetrating deeper each time, until Legolas gasped with each thrust. Hands tightened in a painful grip in his hair, driving Elrohir near the edge.

He began to stroke Legolas in time with his thrusts, until Legolas arched beneath him, moaning and almost incoherent. “Yes – more – E – El – Elrohir – ai!” As he shuddered and gasped, Elrohir gave a hard, deep thrust, then another, groaning as he reached his own completion and filled the pliant body beneath him with his seed, before collapsing against Legolas with a long sigh of bliss.

o-o-o

Later, Elrohir lay sleepy and content with Legolas in his arms, enjoying the comforting weight as Legolas rested his head on his shoulder. Turning his head, he kissed Legolas lightly. “Was that worth waiting twenty years for?” he murmured.

“Twenty-two years, five months, and twenty-four days,” Legolas corrected with a smile. “I have not forgotten, Elrohir. I love you.”

Elrohir gave a sigh of pure contentment as he held Legolas close, and kissed him again. “I know. I love you too.”

He blew out the last candle, and fell asleep with Legolas in his arms, as the flickering firelight bathed them in its warm glow.

The End