King's Courtesan - Chapter 4

Title: King's Courtesan
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Pairing: Elladan/Lindir
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 4 - Council

The night passed slowly for Legolas. He had been sent from Erestor's chamber nearly before the sweat of coupling had dried. Sent without so much as a word, neither praise nor disappointment. He could only hope that he had passed the test he had been assigned. Unable to sleep, he made his way out onto the balcony. His room faced the gardens, and the surrounding mountains beyond. Even though autumn had come to the valley, still a few roses clung to their vines, scenting the air with the last of their sweetness. Ithil's light shone through the trees and over Lord Elrond's marble statues. The sculptor was clearly a master. Each captured an elf in motion, as if time stood still for that being. It was as though the vines of ivy twining their forms would slip from them at any moment and allow them their freedom.

He rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion hanging heavy on him. In that moment of darkness, all he could see was Erestor, as he had been so many times before, lying casually across his bed, lips curled in that secret smile, skin creamy against the blood red satin sheets, hair spread across the pillows in a sable wave, waiting for Legolas' touch. But it was Elrond who touched him now, his name Erestor whispered in the deep stillness of night. For the first time Legolas knew; Erestor had never loved him, he had finally seen the truth reflected in those kohl black eyes. Erestor had never cared for him beyond offering what he could teach, and that only because Elrond had asked it. Legolas was his pupil, nothing more. And now, much less. He was an instrument.

Legolas had forgotten how slowly dawn came to the Last Homely House in the valley. The first hint of the coming day was the fading of the night stars. They never disappeared all at once, but winked out one by one as though one of the Valar extinguished them. He liked to imagine it was Elbereth’s beloved – Manwe. Then fingers of light stained the edges of the surrounding mountains, setting their snow capped peaks aglow. Birds were just beginning to wake, they sang sleepily to each other, the only sound in the stillness of the day’s dawning. This was the time he liked best, the quiet before the bustle of the day. It was often the only moments he had completely to himself without thought of another. Unwilling to give up this time of peace as well as the night’s sleep, he firmly pushed thoughts of Elrond, Erestor and the upcoming council to the back of his mind and drew his flute from his pocket.

He shifted slightly on the balcony rail, leaning back against the wall and lifted the pipe to his lips. His fingers fit easily over the proper holes and, taking a deep breath, he exhaled gently sending a thread of music up and out on the breeze. At first the notes were hesitant, soft... and then, as he found the tune whispering through him, he played more confidently. He focused himself on the music alone, infusing in the notes everything that was in his heart and sending it from himself in a liquid swirl. The wind caught the music and it spiraled around him, stirring his hair, offering him solace. He closed his eyes and let it flow through him, losing himself.

He took a long breath and let the sadness spill from him on the plaintive cry of the flute. In its voice he bid Erestor farewell. He released the hope he held deep in his heart – hidden even from himself until the night before – that Erestor would one day look down at Legolas kneeling before him and see the devotion in his eyes. In that moment, Erestor would decide to keep him as his own. More the fool he, for believing that a Noldor Lord could desire a courtesan for more than a moment of release. He allowed the music the tears he would not shed. He played until his heart was empty and his mind calm. Then he breathed again, and the music shifted. It called out, as his heart called out with longing though he knew not what he called, or for what he longed.

Legolas had no way of telling how much time had passed, but the sun had appeared over the tops of the mountains, when he became aware of a presence nearby. Slowly he allowed the music to fade into silence and opened his eyes. For a moment, the sunlight dazzled his eyes, and he could see nothing. Then his vision cleared. Elrohir stood in the garden below, leaning against one of the rose trellises and gazing up at him. Rose petals had drifted down, dusting his hair and shoulders. Unlike his father, who was always draped in formal robes with ornate embroidery, Elrohir wore a plain white shirt under a grey tunic and grey breeches. His hair was pulled back from his face in a single plait rather than the more elaborate braids and knots of nobility. He seemed ready for a hunt rather than a formal Council. The silence between them held for a long moment, and they simply watched each other. The previous night’s sadness had faded from the younger twin's gaze as though it had never been and Legolas found himself heartened. At last Elrohir raised a hand and spoke.

“Good morning, Legolas Thranduilion. I hope I did not disturb you?”

“No, you did not. Was there something you required?” He could not imagine what had brought the twin to his balcony, unless perhaps Lord Elrond had sent him. Could it be time for the Council to meet already? But no – Elrohir would certainly have come to his door, rather than approached through the gardens. And he would surely not have stopped to listen to him play if his errand were that important.

Elrohir shook his head. “I woke early and decided to walk, as I could not sleep. I heard you playing. You have some talent.”

To his surprise, and some chagrin, Legolas found heat rising to his cheeks. He ducked his head, hoping Elrohir had not noticed. “Thank you, my Lord. I fear my ability is minor, however, and mostly untrained. Because I am his youngest son, King Thranduil is lenient with me, often allowing me to indulge in whatever lessons I prefer as long as I do not neglect anything the King deems necessary. However, he has allowed me only minimal time to engage in these pursuits and I believe the music has suffered for it.”

Elrohir stepped closer, and Legolas realized he was frowning. “I do not offer compliments idly. I say exactly what I mean, often to Elladan's dismay. Empty flattery is his specialty. Though he would chide me for saying so. He calls it tact.”

Legolas laughed, delighted by the young elf-lord's mercurial moods. “You surprise me, Lord Elrohir.”

“Indeed? And please, Elrohir is plenty. There is no need for such formality.”

“Elrohir, then. I have met many elvish lords and ladies, those from Lorien, those of Imladris, even a few from the Grey Havens beside the sea. They are, as a rule, a rather staid and colorless lot, given to obscuring the meaning of their conversations with diplomacy. With a few exceptions, of course.”

Elrohir raised a brow. “Perhaps it is my mortal heritage.” The words held an edge and Legolas wondered at it.

“I meant no offense. I find your... honesty refreshing.”

“And I meant not to be so curt. I believe easy misunderstandings arise from empty stomachs. If you have not already broken your fast, would you care to accompany me to the dining halls for a meal? We have a bit of time before the Council is to convene.”

“I would enjoy that.” Suddenly mindful of his state of disarray – his sleeping shirt and breeches were comfortable, but hardly appropriate for a meeting with Lord Elrond's son. He should have dressed before going out of doors. “If you would give me a moment, I will be down.” Elrohir nodded, and Legolas slipped from the balcony rail and back into his chamber to change. Purposefully leaving the formal robes where they lay over the back of a chair, Legolas selected more somber attire. A simple tunic in the greens of Mirkwood, and a pair of tan breeches allowed him the freedom of movement and subtlety he desired. Eschewing the intricate braids of royalty, he plaited his hair in the manner of a Mirkwood warrior.

He made his way quickly through the halls of the guest house and out into the garden where Elrohir stood waiting.

“I am surprised I had not met you during your previous stay in Imladris,” Elrohir said as they walked. “Were you here long?”

Legolas shook his head. “No, only for a year and a day. I believe you and Elladan were in the North, hunting orc with the Dunedain.”

“That is very likely. There was a period of time that we were away from our home more often than we were here. But it was necessary then, and in these darkening times I believe it still is. Though the mountains and the Bruinen offer natural defenses to keep our city safe, there are outlying villages that depend on our skill with the bow and the sword to keep them from harm.”

“As does our lands. My brothers and I have oft ridden out in defense of our people. King Thranduil does not believe that nobility deserves to sit safely behind our walls while those of less station are not able to do so.”

“'Tis something our fathers agree upon, then.”

Legolas smiled. “I sense that those things are often few and far between.” Were the truth to be told, he knew there was very little that Thranduil and Elrond agreed upon. Tension between them had its roots in an old conflict between Oropher and Gil-Galad. Legolas did not know the details, but he did know his father held the High King responsible for Oropher's death in battle and, by extension, any who had been a member of his council.

Elrohir laughed. “You speak the truth. I believe one of the only things our fathers agree on is how much they dislike each other. But tell me, you said Erestor tutored you during your time here. This surprises me. Did Thranduil not believe there were scholars enough in Mirkwood?”

Legolas composed his features, hoping to hide his discomfiture, thinking quickly. “I cannot speak to the King's motives. Perhaps he desired me to see more of the world than our lands alone. I believe there were certain subjects in which Erestor holds a particular expertise that Thranduil hoped I would gain from him.”

At that moment they reached the dining hall and joined a number of other elves in line to be served. Legolas hoped this would offer some distraction to Elrohir and the topic would be dropped. For a bit it seemed as though he had been granted his wish. They each took a plate and served themselves from the selection of fresh breads, cheese, fruits, spiced meat and stimulating tea that was offered in silence. It was not until they had found a place at one of the tables distant from other diners and close to the doors that Elrohir resumed their conversation.

“Erestor tutored Elladan and I as well,” Elrohir commented, taking a bite of a grape. “Elladan did quite well in diplomacy, but I preferred history, myself. What did you study?”

Legolas took a long sip of tea, giving himself time to formulate an answer. He could feel the force of Elrohir's gaze upon him, sharp as a dagger. What did he want to hear? Did he know the truth?
Legolas did not want to risk revealing more than absolutely necessary. He wiped his lips with a napkin and met Elrohir's eyes. “I learned much of the law from Lord Erestor,” he said slowly. “He is quite well versed in crime and punishment.”

Elrohir's eyes narrowed slightly as though seeking the truth of the statement. Then he sat back with a small smile, letting the moment pass. “Elladan and I have had many lessons of our own on those subjects. I do believe they are two of Erestor's favorites. You shall have to ask Elladan...”

“Ask me what,” Elladan interrupted from behind Legolas.

“Do sit down, brother mine, and do not interrupt our conversation,” Elrohir said lightly.

“Well if you'd get your huge arse out of the way, I'd be able to sit.” Elladan nudged his brother to the side with his hip and joined them at the table. “Now, what were you saying?”

“I was just telling Legolas about our lessons in law with the illustrious Master Erestor.”

Elladan affected a look of horror. “Ai, do not remind me.” He shuddered obviously, then leaned forward across the table and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Elrohir used to get me in the most terrible trouble with Erestor.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elrohir feigned a look of affront.

“You are pardoned,” Elladan said magnanimously. “I assume he has not told you about the time he convinced me to abandon our ever-so-important translation lesson in favor of exploring the caves at the foot of the mountains... no? Why Elrohir, I am ashamed...”

“Clearly age has begun to addle your brain, gwador einior (elder brother),” Elrohir interrupted. “As I recall, it is you who desired to spend the afternoon gallivanting through the countryside, despite the storm Adar warned us was coming.”

Elladan pressed a finger to his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are correct this once. However, as I recall, you did not require much convincing. And I certainly heard no complaints once we reached the caves.” Elladan winked at Legolas. “Show him something shiny and bright and he is immediately entranced. Just like a magpie, this one.”

Elrohir elbowed Elladan, who clutched his stomach and grimaced. “Take care, gwador tithen (younger brother), lest you bite off more than you can chew,” Elladan warned.

“Erestor caught you,” Legolas asked, striving to avoid any bloodshed, but enjoying the story nonetheless.

Elladan looked shocked at his assumption. “Not at all. We were nearly home when the storm broke. If Elrohir hadn't been such a drag-foot we would have reached the house. We were soaked to the skin.

Unfortunately this was not something we could hide. Then he had to go and fall ill...”

“That was certainly not my choice,” Elrohir said indignantly. “I was practically on my deathbed...”

Elladan rolled his eyes. “Exaggeration,” he mouthed at Legolas, who grinned at their antics. He could not help it. For the first time since he had entered Erestor's room the night before he was feeling at ease. At leisure, the Peredhil twins were quite different from the grim warriors he had faced the day before. They intrigued him.

“Both Father and Erestor were waiting when we returned,” Elrohir took up the thread of the story. “And they were none too pleased. However, I do believe he made Erestor's century when Father allowed him to choose our punishment.”

“He assigned me three hundred pages of translation, from dwarvish,” Elladan said, his mouth twisting as though he tasted something sour. “Have you ever attempted to translate dwarvish? Not only is it complicated, but it is such an ugly language. Guttural.”

“As if you did any of that translation,” Elrohir chided.

“You have a point.”

“We decided that it would be much better for everyone if I completed the translations,” Elrohir amended.

“And what was your punishment,” Legolas asked. “I assume Elladan performed it?”

“Indeed. He had several extra rounds of patrol duty with Lord Glorfindel,” Elrohir said.

“It all worked out for the best,” Elladan said. “With none the wiser.” Suddenly glancing up, Elladan caught somone's eye from across the room and waved. “Lindir,” he called. “Please join us.”

Legolas looked over his shoulder only to see the bard making his way through the crowd with a small plate of fruit and a mug of tea. He smiled lightly at Legolas and took a seat beside him.
“It is good to see you again, Legolas,” he said. His tone was surprisingly warm. “I trust you have been well since last we parted?”

“Indeed,” Legolas nodded, covering confusion with idle conversation. “I heard much of your performance in the Hall last night. Only unfortunate circumstance prevented me from staying for the entire evening. I am not sure how, but you have managed to become an even more talented bard in the intervening years. If ever you tire of your place here in Imladris, I am certain King Thranduil would appreciate your presence in his palace.”

Lindir laughed, the sound nearly as melodious as his song. “I do not doubt it, however, I am happy here.” With these words he turned to Elladan with a fire in his gaze that could not be mistaken.
“We would be lost without him,” Elladan agreed.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Sickening, is it not?” He leaned across the table and spoke in a mock-whisper. “They have been together for a century now, and you would think they were elflings new to the ways of love,” he said, shaking his head with dismay.

Legolas forced a laugh. Fortunately Elrohir turned his attention to some tale Lindir began to recount, freeing Legolas from the intensity of his gaze. He attempted to eat, but even the softest of cheeses seemed to stick in his throat. How strange to be sitting across from the bard once again, and in such a circumstance. No longer a bond-servant, but neither yet free to follow what path he would. And if Lindir had chosen to speak to Elladan of what had passed in Erestor's chambers... Legolas glanced up through his lashes, but Elladan's focus was completely on the elf before him. If they had spoken of it, Legolas would not find out here.

The clarion call of a bell rang out and Elrohir and Elladan glanced up at the same moment, identical expressions of grim concern falling over their features.

“'Tis time for the Council to convene,” Elrohir said, before Legolas had to ask. “Come; we must not linger.”

As they drew closer to the porch where the Council gathered, the sound of murmuring, rose on the breeze. Languages mingled in a dizzying rush – Khuzdul, Westron, Sindarin – as members of the Council attempted to foresee Lord Elrond's reason in bringing them there. Lord Elrond had already arrived; he was one of the few council members who was seated. Erestor was at his left, Glorfindel beside him. It was as though an island of silence surrounded them, for they merely watched as Man, Elf and Dwarf argued.

Elladan took the empty chair at Elrond’s right and Elrohir sat beside him. Though there was an empty chair beside Elrohir, Legolas moved further away from them and seated himself beside a delegation from Lindon, finding Cirdan’s emissaries somewhat less formidable than those of the House of Elrond. As others entered and took their seats, Legolas closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply, bringing himself into focus. It was imperative that he miss nothing of what passed here. Slowly the voices separated and he began to pick out bits of the conversations around him.

It seemed that few knew the full of Elrond’s reasons for the summons. Men and Elves were concerned with the spreading darkness, Dwarves with the silence of those who had passed to Moria. Despite their common concerns, a thread of mistrust wove through the chatter like a dissonant note.

Legolas was beginning to wonder when Elrond would call the Council to order, when two others appeared – Mithrandir and one of the hobbits. At their entrance a hush fell over those gathered. The halfling ducked his head, avoiding the accompanying stares. Mithrandir set one hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. The hobbit, seeming to take comfort from the gesture, raised his head again. The silence deepened as they took the last two remaining chairs and into this quiet Elrond rose to his feet.

All gazes were drawn to Elrond, Lord of the Valley – imposing in his formal robes. His eyes glittered with a banked fire, magic held firmly under the reins of reason. “Thank you all for gathering. Some of you I expected, invited here to discuss an imminent threat to Arda. Some of you are here by chance only and I believe fortune smiled upon us in this. Each of the free peoples of Middle Earth is represented, as is meet for what we will here discuss.

“Gloin, would you please begin by informing us as to what brings you to this council.”

The elder dwarf stood. His voice, when he spoke, was gruff but confident. He said that Sauron was seeking Bilbo and a ring. Though Sauron’s messenger did not describe the ring, the dwarves believed it would be no simple ring, but perhaps one of the rings of power. The dwarves had agreed not to give any information to the servant of evil, and so Sauron threatened Dale and Erebor. Darkness was gathering. He also spoke about a disquiet had grown among the dwarves, a restlessness which sent Balin and a company of his supporters to Khazad Dum. There had been a long silence from them, and concern began to grow.

As Gloin finished speaking, Elrond rose once again. He confirmed the dwarf’s statement that Sauron now threatened the western world. He spoke of the ring which Sauron sought. He gave the full history of the Ruling Ring, telling truths at which Thranduil’s tales had only hinted. As he spoke about the decline of Gondor and the rise of evil in Mordor, Legolas began to grasp the full magnitude of the hardships the quest would face. For the first time he realized that he may not survive the quest. He may not live to see whether they would usher in the dawn of a new world, or with their failure condemn Middle Earth to darkness and death.

Elrond took his seat and the light haired man stood. “I am Boromir and I bring greetings from the Steward of Gondor.” He cast his searching gaze around the circle, brushing over each person in turn, hesitating longest on the halfling at Mithrandir's side. Somewhat to Legolas' surprise, the hobbit did not flinch under that piercing regard, but merely held his eyes until Boromir turned back to Elrond. “I have made my way across the Misty Mountains to bring a warning from our lands. The Nameless Enemy’s strength is increasing. Ithilien has fallen, and Mount Doom smokes, but Gondor holds the west banks.” He spoke of a dream that had come to his brother – a dream of the Eastern sky darkening and thunder. But also of a light in the west. A broken sword in Rivendell and Isildur’s Bane, the coming of a halfling.

As Boromir fell silent, the dark haired man cast the pieces of a broken sword upon the table in the center of the group. He was revealed as Aragorn, heir of Isildur and he offered to assist Boromir in Gondor. Somehow Boromir did not look pleased at this revelation. There was more than a hint of distrust in his eyes and Legolas wondered what trouble this might portend for those who accompanied the quest.

The morning drew on as the halfling, Frodo, brought out his ring and the the recent adventures of its finding and travel to Rivendell were told. It was drawing neigh upon the noon hour when the group turned to debates on the fate of the ring. Erestor believed it should be sent away, perhaps to Bombadil. Galdor thought it should be hidden, perhaps in Lorien, the Havens, or Rivendell. Glorfindel thought it should be cast into the sea. Both Boromir and Gimli, Gloin’s son, thought they should use it to fight Sauron. But Elrond firmly held that it needed to be destroyed. No one was strong enough to protect it or keep it hidden. And anyone who tried to use it would be corrupted by the strength of its evil. At last agreement was reached.

The noon bell rang loud in the silence following Frodo’s offer to take the ring to Mordor, where it was to be destroyed. Legolas blinked, coming back to himself in a rush. His head ached dully and he felt full with all that had been said, all that he had learned. He had been impressed once again with how little he knew of the lands beyond Mirkwood and Imladris. For the first time he was truly grateful for his tutor’s lessons in memorization. When he returned to his rooms he would be able to digest all he had heard. It was too much to take in at once. He barely registered Elrond’s dismissal of the council. It was only when someone touched his shoulder that he realized most of the others had gone. Legolas glanced up to find Elrohir standing before him.

“You look much as I feel,” Elrohir said, wryly.

“I had not grasped the full import of what is to come,” Legolas admitted. “Even now I am not sure I understand the whole of it.”

Elrohir nodded. “Though my father suspected much, I do not believe even he saw the web entire. And so he meets with Elladan, Erestor and Glorfindel to plot and strategize, and to decide who will accompany Frodo on this quest. As I find myself with much to consider and an empty belly, I wonder if you would join me for a light repast in the gardens, away from the noise of the dining hall and perhaps between us we could piece together more than either could alone.”

Legolas studied the young elf lord for a long moment. The invitation seemed nothing more than the words said; there was no guile in those storm-grey eyes. No promise of further entanglement. And yet he hesitated. Even if Elrohir did not know what he was, others in Imladris did and tongues were rarely still when a courtesan spent time alone with any, especially were they a Peredhel lordling.

A polite refusal was on his tongue when a strange sensation drew his glance over Elrohir’s shoulder. Boromir stood just at the edge of shadows. The afternoon glimmered on the hilt of his sword and his gaze was hot upon Legolas’ own. In that instant Legolas understood – the Man knew what he was and the knowledge fired his desire. A chill crept up his spine and he shivered slightly. Boromir caught the tremble and a wolfish grin touched the corners of his lips.

Suddenly, recklessly Legolas smiled at Elrohir. “I would be pleased to join you,” he said, rising in one smooth motion. Drawing his charm around himself like a cloak, Legolas gestured for Elrohir to proceed him. “Thank you for the invitation.” Even as he walked away, Legolas could feel Boromir’s eyes upon him. Hungry. Legolas smiled to himself, just the barest hint of an expression and allowed himself to glance back once, promise in his eyes. Were this Man to join the quest, Legolas doubted not at all that his services would be required.

To Legolas’ surprise and delight, Elrohir took him down to the kitchens where he wheedled a basket of bread, meats, cheeses and a flagon of mead from Meril, the head cook. She brushed the damp tendrils of hair from her forehead and gave Elrohir a mock scowl.

“Do you not think yourself a bit old for ducking out of dinners of state, Elrohir?” Her tone was scolding, but her eyes twinkled and before she handed him the basket, she slipped in a couple of honey rolls, still warm from the oven.

Elrohir affected an air of injured innocence. “Father did not express a wish that I joined him. I would never shirk a duty.”

“And Elladan prefers one of Erestor’s lectures on the First Age to patrolling with Glorfindel,” Meril retorted. Legolas could feel her eyes on him, sizing him up through covert glances.

Elrohir laughed. “How is it you know us so well, Aunt,” he asked, using the honorific easily. He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek.

“Are you not going to introduce me to your beautiful friend,” Meril asked, as though she had just now noticed him.

“Aiya, forgive me Aunt. Legolas, this is Meril daughter of Galdor and head cook of Imladris. Meril, Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood.”

“Mae govannen, Meril. It is you then, who orchestrated such a wonderful feast last night. My compliments, especially on the greens. ‘Tis one of my favorite dishes and never have I tasted one so delicately spiced.” Legolas bowed slightly.

Meril flushed, looked suddenly younger. “You are too kind...” she began when Elrohir interrupted.

“And you are too modest. Meril is the best cook in all of Arda. We are fortunate to have her.”

“All right, then.” Meril shook her head, but laughed. “I have already given you all that you requested. Leave me in peace now, or Lord Elrond’s meal will be delayed and he will want to know why.” But she added another packet to their lunch even as she shooed them from the kitchens.
“I believe this is for you,” Elrohir said as he peeked in the last packet to reveal a serving of the very dish Legolas had complimented.

Legolas took the greens with a smile. Elrohir had led them through the gardens until they reached a secluded spot under a vine covered trellis. The air was fragrant with the scent of grapes and Elrohir had picked several bunches to supplement their repast.

“Meril is certainly fond of you,” Legolas said.

“And I of her.” But Elrohir did not elaborate, merely took a bite of cheese. They ate in silence for some time. Finally Elrohir sat back, took a long swallow of mead and gazed at Legolas with a searching expression.

Legolas found himself wanting to shift away from that frank scrutiny which seemed to see so much of him. He felt naked in a way he never had, in all of his assignations; not even Erestor had made him feel this. It unsettled him. He was just about to succumb to the urge to begin babbling about the weather... anything to break the silence when Elrohir spoke.

“My father plans to send you on this quest.”

It was not a question, but Legolas nodded anyway, wondering where the conversation would lead.

“I will admit to some surprise at this decision,” Elrohir said slowly. His grey gaze was frankly considering, but not hostile. “I mean no offense, but you are young.”

Legolas shrugged. “That may be so, but Lord Elrond believes I have talents which are necessary to the journey.” His tone was slightly prickly, though he strove to keep it smooth.

Elrohir held up his hands, palms out. “'Tis not that I doubt your abilities.” He hesitated a moment as though choosing his words more carefully. “I would speak freely, if you would permit?”

Legolas tensed, expecting the worst but nodded nonetheless.

Elrohir leaned forward. “You are most comely. You seem as though you would be more at home in a court of nobles or at a festival than wandering the hinterlands with a motley group and battling orc and warg.”

“You have not been to Mirkwood, then?”

It was Elrohir's turn to look puzzled. “Not for many years. I believe I was yet an elfling when last I visited Thranduil's realm and it was still called Greenwood the Great.”

“So you have not seen the changes firsthand. My home is nothing like this.” Legolas gestured widely, encompassing the gardens surrounding them. “So cultured, so tame. The wood has gone wild and strange. Every year darkness extends its reach into the lands my father, brothers and I keep safe. With each passing decade we lose a bit of ground to spider and orc, but still we fight to keep our people from harm. We all do our part. We have none of your father's magics to protect us and so we rely upon skill and cold steel.”

Elrohir nodded. “But you have not seen the horrors of war.”

“I am no innocent babe just out of my mother's bower, Elrohir,” Legolas said with some heat. Never before had his skills been doubted in such a way and he found himself growing angry. “I may not have seen the fullness of battle, but I have seen the damage orc and goblin and warg can wreak upon body and soul. I lost my mother...” but he stopped himself there, swallowing the words. He had not spoken of her in years beyond count. “I have seen elves who have lost their homes, their limbs, their lives. There are none who come of age in Mirkwood who escape knowledge of pain and loss.”

Suddenly Elrohir's eyes softened and a hint of warmth touched their depths. “Please accept my apology, Legolas. I fear I allowed myself to be fooled by your age and appearance.” He shook his head ruefully. “Usually 'tis my twin who speaks before thought and so spends much of his time with a foot in his mouth. I fear I have followed in his footsteps this day.”

There was something more in his eyes, though, an understanding, a kinship even that Legolas knew not how to explain though he felt it. It was this sensation more than Elrohir's words that he found himself responding to with a true smile, on of his first in he could not recall how long. “Do not worry. I take no offense. And I will admit to some trepidation about this undertaking. I never imagined myself a part of something like this.”

“I believe there would be more cause for concern if you did not feel some trepidation,” Elrohir said. “It is not every day that one joins a quest on whose success the fate of Middle Earth rests.”

A short chuckle escaped Legolas, born more of anxiety than true mirth. “Thank you, that calms me immensely,” he said with slight sarcasm.

Elrohir grinned, the smile transforming him completely from stern warrior to someone more... accessible. Legolas found himself warming to the younger son of Lord Elrond. “Then my work here is done.” Elrohir began to return their goblets and dishes to the basket. “I know you spent a year here, but I know how busy Erestor keeps his pupils. Would you like me to show you around the valley?”

“I would enjoy that,” Legolas agreed and so it was that he found himself spending the remaining hours of the day with Elrohir.