Disclaimer : Let her bear her love for you into the undying lands. (Elrond, Two Towers)

Author's note : CountryChick challenged me to write a Legolas love story, with no bad language, no slash and no sex and since I love a challenge . . .

I slowly smile as my eyes purvey my wall of awards and cover arts of published books . . .fingering the picture of my late spouse, I let my mind wonder to that time long ago, (how many years ago remains a secret as I never reveal my age) when love’s first kiss was but an unknown point in the future . . .

Summary : Legolas is only as young as he feels, but also as old as the ancient forest. So when he gets the hots for the daughter of Angrod, brother of Galadriel, he is in for trouble. BIG trouble.

Legolas raised his head at the voice, broken as it was with emotion. Suddenly he was enveloped in a tender embrace. “You should have told us,” his mother said softly. “You should not have left it for chance to bring it to our attention. If we had not found the book, we would never have learned of your despair.”

"I am sorry, nana," Legolas said against her shoulder. "Ada, I meant no injury."

Thranduil sighed. "The injury is mine," he said. "I should have done this a long time ago, should have told you this. You are very special, my son, very much loved and very much begged for. I should not have kept you hidden within my palace for so long. It was cruel."

The queen looked at him. "Send him to Rivendell."

Legolas was at once elated and frightened. "Rivendell?"

"My son," Thranduil spoke softly. "Lord Elrond is a fine teacher, healer and is very wise in raising children. He is far more experienced than I,” he admitted.

“Ada, you have been a gentle and kind father. I have all I could ever want or need right here.”

Thranduil held his son to him and kissed his hair. “But?” he said knowingly.

“Except . . .that I crave younger . . .”

Thranduil nodded. “I know, my son. I have sent word to Elrond to request his tutelage.”

“Am I to take my bow? And blades . . .?”

“You make take your bow,” Thranduil agreed. “But the blades are not yours yet. They will be a gift to your upon your coming of age, and not before.”

His eyes had wandered from the book to a point beyond the window. Actually, his ears had drifted first, his eyes had followed, like sheep when one has found a hole in a hedge. Now he was watching as a graceful vision of beauty glided across the bridge below him. It was dancing, swaying this way and twisting about. He was spellbound.

“Legolas!”

The boy’s head snapped up. “I am sorry, my lord Elrond. I was distracted by a . . .swan.”

Elrond’s furrowed brows regarded him sternly. “There are no swans in Imladris, child.”

Legolas frowned gently, in an effort not to blush. “It seemed like one,” he fumbled. “It was just as graceful.”

Elrond turned his head out of the window, just as Arwen crossed the bridge. He stiffened imperceptibly. “You were ogling my daughter?” he demanded, although his tone never changed.

The boy looked up at him, startled. He glanced briefly outside to see the young elven maiden pass by wearing a dress made of jade-green velvet. “Your . . ? No, there was a maiden in pale blue with a shawl, down by the . . .” His mouth snapped shut, having realised he had given himself away. He had been ogling, and he had not denied it. Honest to a fault. He turned his grey-green eyes up to his tutor who now stood looking sterner than ever, one hand resting on the desk and one hand on his hip.

“My niece,” Elrond realised.

Does she have a name? was the question that sprang to his lips, but he dared not ask, not with that glare levelled at him. He swallowed. “Yes, Lord Elrond.” He cast his eyes back to the history book he should have been studying. Without being told, since he was certain what the next few words out of his tutor's mouth would be, he began to read. “In the year, 600 of the First Age, the first Númenorean ships appeared off the shores . . .”

"That is why Gondor's White Tower is still standing today . . ."

With his eyes out of the window as they were he did not notice Elrond move from the front of the room to the front of his deck. "And that also is why Legolas Greenleaf will fail his geography exam."

Legolas snapped to attention with a gasp, and looked up into stern grey eyes.

"There is nothing more embarrassing than an elf who gets lost between his flet and foot of the tree, is there, Legolas?"

Legolas blinked. "No, Lord Elrond," he replied.

"Repeat back to me, every word and inflection I have just imparted." The voice was emotionless, but Legolas could have sworn there was a smugness there, a gloating quality that meant every implied threat the words dripped with.

Legolas began. "The white mountains were forged at the dawn of time from the basin of the Great Sea. The movement of the land moved the rock high above the land into the mountain peaks and valleys. The stone is mostly limestone and marble, which was used to build the mighty city of Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor. The faultless, tight-grained marble was used to build the foundations of the royal palace, that is why Gondor's White Tower is still standing today." Legolas thought it best to stop there.

For a long moment Elrond regarded his student with wordless astonishment. He had recalled every jot, every dotted i and every crossed t. If Legolas had been a puppeteer, he was sure he would have impersonated his voice as well. He could barely conceal the wonder in his face as he dismissed his student early to his rooms to read the complete works of Earendil.

Legolas almost bolted from the room, happy to be free as the breeze once more. He had already read Earendil's epic tales, unbeknown to Elrond, and instead spent the afternoon beneath a willow tree. He sat writing in a small note book about his infatuation for the swan.

Legolas lifted his eyes into the distance and reflected on the day he first saw her. She had taken his breath away, as if he had suddenly been struck by lightening. The burn that had grown within him told him that this was love, that his heart would seek no other. He sighed contentedly. Such is love, he thought, and smiled.

As he neared the bridge he saw her, smiling with her cousin and laughing together. They looked up and gazed at him. There were two faces, but Legolas’ eyes were fixed on only one of them.

“Good morning,” he spoke in Sindarin, unsure if she spoke the common tongue as few Elda knew it. He was unsure if she even spoke Sindarin, since it was only one of several languages spoken by Elves.

She smiled. “Good morning,” she replied in Quenya.

Legolas held up the gift he had picked for her, a golden flower. “A gift for you,” he said, this time speaking in Quenya. “Although its beauty is paled by your own.”

She gently cupped the flower in both hands, her fingers brushing his as she did so. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled. “Oh, that is beautiful, my favourite flower. Thank you,” she said.

They stepped passed him and he slowly turned to watch her go, his fingers tingling with excitement where she had touched him. He sighed dreamily and continued on his way, lighter than air.

Upon reaching the classroom, however, Legolas sank back to earth with a thump. Elrond turned as he stepped through the door.

“You are late. Today, herb lore. Please be seated.”

As Elrond droned on, Legolas wrote the words down into his book, illustrating them with images of plants that he had never seen, and yet had. It bothered him somewhat that he could do this, and wished he could asked someone about it. He was certain Lord Elrond would consider him insane, or give him some foul-smelling concoction to ‘cure’ him, or tell him to concentrate and stop daydreaming.

Between writing and illustrating the information, he doodled on the opposite page. He had not been consciously aware of doing it, but as Elrond slowly walked passed him the flow of words paused just long enough for the older elf's eyes to register what he was seeing. There, on the page uppermost was an exact likeness of his niece. Worse, the portrait bore the Quendi inscription, mir iirima elda (one sexy elf).

Legolas cringed as Elrond glared at him, and then continued with his recitation of herbs and their uses.

"The next herb is called berithas. It grows in Gondor and its seeds are crushed to extract nost ortheri juice."

Legolas' eyes slowly rose to meet the clipped tone and hard glare. Nost ortheri, birth control, picture, inscription . . .Legolas groaned inwardly. He swallowed dryly, and turned the page.

He took his seat, in a quiet solemn manner, determined to behave with propriety, unlike the previous day in class. He cringed slightly, remembering the look of disapproval on Lord Elrond's face. His behaviour was totally un-princelike, totally unelvish, and totally uncalled for. No, today, he would act in a manner befitting his status.

With that thought in mind, an unbidden aroma of flowers wafted under his nose and his eyes popped wide. Outside the portico, on the bridge, sat the same maiden who had taken the flower he picked the week before. At least, he thought it was her.

Legolas nudged the desk a little closer to the portico so that he could catch a glimpse and adjusted his chair like wise. He looked and his heart jumped up into his throat . . .it was her.

His head snapped up as Elrond entered and smiled grimly. He always smiled grimly. Legolas wondered if Elrond ever smiled with the simple joy of living?

“Today, you will study common speech, syntax and grammar,” Elrond told him.

Legolas groaned inwardly. He had covered this material already, but did as he was instructed. So there he sat, reciting verb clauses, bored out of his mind. He wanted to put his elbow on the desk and rest his chin in his palm, but he did not dare.

"I am, you are, we are, they are, I was, you was-were,” he corrected. “We were, they were . . . ”

His words drifted into nothing as he heard the most heavenly sound. A maiden was laughing just outside the portico. His head turned and his ears took in the sound. And there she was. His face took on a dreamy quality as he watched her. She was beautiful. Her silver-blonde, almost straight, hair lifted slightly in the gentle breeze, like strands of gossamer. And more than that, she wore a token of a mithril around her throat. She was of age, and un-betrothed. A wild and fanciful idea came to him, but he wondered if he might already be too late . . .or too early. He wasn't old enough for another few days yet. In his mind he ticked off the days until he came of age . . .six. Just six more days and he could . . .

Elrond caught the wistful look and sighed. "I can see that this will get us nowhere."

Legolas swallowed. "I am sorry, Lord Elrond."

Elrond shook his head gently. "No, child. I do not believe you are."

Legolas sank into his chair. If elves could die, he was close to a death by mortification.

Elrond indicated to him with a wave of a finger. "Walk with me," he said.

Legolas rose and followed him from the classroom.

"You know that I have a gift of foresight?" Elrond voiced evenly.

"Yes, Lord Elrond," Legolas replied as they descended a wide stone staircase that led into an equally wide gallery. Legolas gazed around him, in awe. He had never been within this wing of the palace and was eager to take it all in.

There were murals and statues, velvet drapes and ancient stone mouldings. It spoke of a faded elegance, and yet, it spoke of love through boundless pain and loss and endless ages of inhabitancy and also of neglect, unintentional, but neglect all the same. Legolas had seen it before, it was everywhere where elves dwelt.

Legolas may have only been forty-nine years old, but he was knowledgeable of many things, and of one thing in particular that none of his kind could ignore or hide. The time of the elves was drawing to a close. He was the last born, the youngest, and why he had not been sent across the sea was a mystery. In fact, the reason why he had been conceived at all was a mystery.

Certainly his parents loved him, but . . .it had been incredibly lonely being the only child. No other elven child had been conceived for at least a decade prior to Legolas, and none since . . .of that he knew. And all the other elflings had long gone into the west before he had been born. The Necromancer and his ever-increasing armies of orcs had deemed the land too dangerous to bring forth children . . .so why had he been born?

Legolas gazed at one mural that caught his eye; Isildur cutting the ring from Sauron's hand.

Elrond noted his gaze. "Do you recognise this?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond," Legolas replied, not quite succeeding to suppress the shudder that shot through him. "It is the defeat of Sauron at Mount Doom. Isildur took the ring, but refused to destroy it."

"I brought you here to show you the truth. That whatever you have in mind for your future must be put aside. Your path is already set; that you must follow it, unquestioningly, is of greater importance."

A frown gently knit the fine brow as large grey-green eyes lifted to Elrond's hard gaze. "I do not understand."

"Your conception was not an accident, Legolas. You were asked for, indeed begged for."

"Are not all conceptions asked for, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond sighed with ill concealed annoyance. "Must I spell it out for you, child?"

Legolas gulped, he hated it when Elrond down dressed him like that. He was almost an adult, for crying out . . .

"You were conceived to aid the king, and that is what you must do. Your attraction for my niece is a distraction that we do not have the time for . . .least of all you."

Legolas frowned a little deeper. "I have wondered why I, alone, was conceived," he admitted. "Since the decree was written sixty years ago after the Necromancer's time in Dol Goldur, no child has been conceived in Elvenden . . .only me." His softly spoken words faded into the distance, belying his loneliness even when in company, his sadness even in delight. He lifted his eyes to Elrond and was certain he saw sympathy in those eyes, pity, or perhaps an understanding of his lonely childhood. “Why?" Legolas suddenly asked. "Why me?"

"I have spoken to you of the Halls of Mandos," Elrond began, turning away to save himself having to look into that deep abyss that was Legolas' eyes. It hurt too much.

"Yes, Lord Elrond. It is where the souls of the dead wait for reincarnation, the chance to be counted among the Eldar again and sail into the west."

"Many of those souls must wait until elflings are born in the west," Elrond murmured, his voice rich with an untold pain. "Many will never get the chance to return to their bloodline. There are too few left to which they can return." He turned his head to gaze back at the boy, almost a man. "You were lucky."

Legolas' wide eyes widened all the more.

“When a child is born of reincarnation they often retain the skills of the previous existence. Your conception was very much requested, that the soul of a warrior return to us in our hour of desperation. You will not remember, but your skills with the bow and the blade tell us that you are that warrior. From the time of your second celebration, when you took up that adult bow, your father knew. From the time of your third celebration when you defended your own mother against six orcs, alone, all of us knew. The Lady Galadriel expended great effort into ensuring the soul of the dead warrior returned at this precise time.” Elrond had moved towards him and rested a hand upon his shoulder. "Your skills with the bow and blade are no accident, Legolas. Your recall of history, places that no longer exist, of language and music is no accident. Our future depends on you, your skills, your single-minded devotion to your duty."

"To restore the House of Isildur to its rightful place, upon the throne of Gondor," Legolas replied. It had never been voiced, but it was suddenly clear to him that that was his purpose.

Elrond nodded and smiled grimly. "A hard task for one so young, but it is not a task we ask you to undertake. We do not beg, but you must understand that events are already in motion that preclude such choices."

"I have no choice," Legolas realised. His gaze lowered for a moment. "I cannot turn my back on my people, Lord Elrond. Even if it were in me to condemn them to all die, I would not. You taught me the principles of honour and duty, you taught me honesty and self-sacrifice. If the Valar has truly blessed me as you say, then I will do all I can to repay the debt of gratitude the Lady of the Woods. But . . ."

Elrond watched his eyes cloud over and waited. "Something troubles you," he said softly.

"Would the Valar truly deny me love?"

"Your parent's love you very much," Elrond replied.

"But what of the love of a maiden?" Legolas asked. "What of my future, after I have completed the task set before me?"

Elrond sighed gently, stepped away and closed his eyes. "I cannot answer that, Legolas."

Legolas stepped after him. "But, you have the gift of foresight. Tell me, please . . .does my future continue to be blighted by the loneliness of my childhood?"

Elrond's eyes slowly opened to regard him gently. "No. It does not."

Legolas released the breath he had not realised he had been holding as his heart leapt up into his throat. His elation played across his face as he realised, yes, he would marry, and he knew exactly who the maiden was that he would choose to fall in love with, as if he had not done so already. A cloud of uncertainty darkened his eyes. Would she choose him?

But he had further questions, one in particular that had haunted many a night since his early years. "My Lord Elrond," he called softly. "There is something I would like to ask . . of a personal nature, connected to what you have just revealed to me."

"You may ask," Elrond invited.

Legolas frowned slightly, indicating that he was thinking carefully. It belied his youthful years, and Elrond found the gesture fascinating. It reminded him of . . .no, he corrected himself. It could not be.

"When I was very small, I would waken from sleep after strange dreams; like memories, but memories that I could not possibly have. I travelled far and wide, my spear in my hand, my armies at my back. I saw great forests and elven cities, glistening as bright fresh-hewn stone, and the building of Imladris, and forests as far as the eye could see." There was animation coming to his voice now as he recalled events that had taken place at the dawn of the world. "Tremendous oaks, willows and pine trees were standing tall in the valleys beyond the mountains. And we stood before them and said, awake, hear us and they opened their eyes and looked at us, like new-born babes, waiting for their first word . . ." Legolas stopped.

Elrond stared at him aghast. "You . . .remember that?"

"Did I say something wrong, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond shook his head a little, unsure quite what to say. "I have not known this to occur before, ever." He sucked in an exploratory breath. "It is not considered possible, to . . .but here it has happened."

"These are not my memories," Legolas stated.

"No, clearly they are not," Elrond agreed. "They are his . . ."

"Who was he?" Legolas suddenly asked. "What was his name?"

"I . . .cannot say," Elrond replied, making it sound as if he did not know. In truth, it was blatantly obvious to him, but he could not destroy the child's youthful innocence any more than it had been already. "Memories are strange things. They play tricks on you."

"This is no trick," Legolas replied. "I know what I saw, the forests were waking up and we were teaching them to speak. The first word was . . ."

"Legolas," Elrond cried, almost cringing out of his skin. He pressed on, breathless. "Please understand, it . . .usually it is not recalled this clearly. Your wisdom and skills far surpass most elves of even my parent's generation, let alone one of your own. To speak thusly would frighten some. Be advised, that while you carry the memories of a past life, it is far from normal. It is exceptional, and may stand you in good stead, or it may not. You must separate those of your own life from those you have inadvertently inherited." All the words had come out in a rush, one breath, leaving him weak.

"Then, I am not insane?"

Elrond regarded him. "No, you are certainly not insane. I would call you gifted, not insane."

Legolas relaxed.

"Others might be of a different mind, of course. I cannot speak for them. I would suggest that you have a choice, and it will be a difficult one. You can choose to continue as though you are forty-nine years old, and I would advise that as being the wisest of the two."

"And the other choice?"

"Or you can use the knowledge you have, for want of a better word, gained. Live as if you had never died. Be the elf who has seen the ages of oaks come and go, and use all the wisdom that it entails. Use the patience and serenity of an elven lifetime, and combine it with the eager strength of youth."

"I must give this matter due consideration," Legolas decided. "I feel very young, but at the same time, I feel . . .very old. As if I have walked this world at its creation and never left." His voice turned wistful.

Elrond considered this and nodded. "I will leave you to decide."

"What about my lessons, Lord Elrond?"

"Oh, I believe you have concluded your classes, for today and for always," he said, suppressing the almost overwhelming urge to kneel before the boy. "There is nothing more I can teach you. Unless you intend to turn up simply for the amusement?"

"Elrond," Legolas said softly, as the Lord of Imladris turned to leave. "My Lord Elrond," Legolas corrected, lifting his voice a little. "I am still only a child in many ways, still overeager, too sure of myself and yet unsure of my limitations. Your counsel is very important to me. That I am remembering things of a life that is not mine is difficult to understand, does not change a thing. I need your counsel."

Elrond smiled gently. A moment ago he felt small, now he felt needed again. "In that case, I shall see you in class, next Friday. Oh, and do not forget . . .there is a party on Thursday night."

Legolas frowned. "Party?" It was a word he was unfamiliar with.

"Bilbo's idea, for your coming of age celebration. He tells me that he has planned - how did he put it - a big bash." Legolas' face was still blank. Elrond's shrug of clueless ness confirmed Legolas' suspicion. He had no idea what it meant either.

His celebration of coming of age drifted by without event, even his archery class had been cancelled. He missed his parents. As evening drew ever nearer he wandered through the orchards towards the bridge that led into the flowered terraces. There were already many people on the lawns, setting out food and drinks, and chairs. And somewhere out of sight musical instruments were being tuned, and singers’ golden robes are fluttering between the trees to his right.

At the bridge, Legolas stopped. His eyes were lifted to the banners waving gently in the breeze and the cloth sign stretched across the entrance to the Royal Gardens. His brow creased as he gazed at it.

A small figure strolled up to him, bearing a walking stick and a mass of curling white hair. "Legolas, come, join in the fun."

"I was curious about these words," he said, indicating the sign above his head.

"Ah, you can't read Shire lettering," Bilbo supposed. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget myself."

"I can read it," Legolas assured him. "It says 'Happy Fiftieth Birthday Legolas'."

"That's right. It is your birthday party, after all," Bilbo grinned.

Legolas looked down as him and smiled gently. "But, dear Bilbo, elves do not celebrate birthdays."

"Today will be your first, and your fiftieth, then," Bilbo crowed with delight. "That means double the wine and double the dancing."

"But . . what I mean is that our existence is measured from the day we are conceived, not from the day of our birth."

Bilbo stared at him nonplussed. "Really?" he breathed, his eyes glazed over, giving Legolas the impression that he had already drunk too much. "Umm . . ." He tipped his head up to gaze at his painted letters. "Well, I think, all things considered, that birthday would be better than writing . . ." He paused. "The other," he finished. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Legolas blushed lightly. "Very wise, Bilbo." His eyes turned wistful, as he gazed up at the beautifully crafted letters. He sighed gently. "I wish my parents were here."

"They are, in a way," Bilbo told him, and patted his hand. They strolled together across the bridge and into the garden, there were tables set up covered with mountains of food and wine. "As I used to tell my nephew, Frodo, after his mother and father were killed, if you live life for them, they will not feel as if they have missed it, and if you feel fulfilled you will not have missed them as much, because it will seem as if they had never left at all. Even though your parent's a still living, but a long way from here, the same principle applies."

Legolas watched him take a plate and fill it with more food than he could eat in a week, while he considered his words. "Are you going to eat all of that?" Legolas asked in astonishment.

"What? Oh, good heaven's no. This is your plate," Bilbo replied and pushed it into his hands and began to fill another. He eyed the mound with trepidation and remembered what he had heard of hobbits. He smiled. This one in particular seemed to be the wisest creature he had ever met, aside from Elrond and Gandalf.

"Bilbo, if I might ask you something?"

Bilbo stuffed a slice of cheese into his mouth and nodded, making agreeable noises. He shuffled over to a low bench and sat down. Legolas joined him.

"I am arriving at this party, for which I am delighted and grateful, thank you, with a heavy heart. I very recently made a discovery about myself. It has left me confused and unsure what to do."

Bilbo nodded. "And you need a listening ear?"

"I hope you do not mind my being bold?"

"Not at all, Legolas. I am good at listening and even better at giving advice. Just ask my nephew," he smiled, but the smile slowly faded. "I know you have been troubled, my lad. I have noticed it all week."

"Since I was a small lhaes I have been troubled with strange images. As I grew they remained with me, sounds, names, voices. Events that were supposed to have happened thousands of years before I was conceived were like yesterday in my mind. It frightened me."

"And a few days ago, you were finally told why," Bilbo stated knowledgeably.

"Yes."

"A reincarnation of a forebear . . not a thing to take lightly, I should say." Bilbo blew out his cheeks, and shook his head.

"You know?"

Bilbo smiled gently. "I overheard it all. Not by design, I assure you. I was studying the murals when you and Elrond came down the stairs. You were blocking the only way out, so I had to stay. Do you know who he was?"

"No, not clearly," Legolas replied.

"You will do," Bilbo told him gently. "Suddenly it will come to you, when you least expect it, and you'll know"

"I am uncertain if I would mind knowing or not, but it is the idea of having two sets of memories that disturbs me more. It is confusing, uncomfortable . . .I do not know who I am, or how old I am. One moment I am a fifty and single, and the next I am remembering a gift my wife gave me at the age of three thousand."

Bilbo regarded him for some time and smiled reassuringly. "Age is not how people judge you so much as how you feel," Bilbo said. "If you feel fifty, then you are. If you feel one hundred and twenty-eight, like me, you most definitely feel it," Bilbo laughed.

Legolas smiled softly, not understanding what old age felt like.

Bilbo regarded him gently. "What I'm trying to say, my boy, is this. You must follow your heart. Be the best you can be, but only be one. Certainly tap into the gifts you have, but do not try to be more than you are in this life. It would serve only to confuse you, and hurt others."

Legolas considered this all evening and for many years after that. The party was fun, and the company rewarding. He was delighted to be given the change to dance with several young un-betrothed maidens, but none of them enchanted him like the swan. Elrond looked on, hoping he would pick one, but when his daughter and niece arrived, Legolas spent the rest of the evening with only one.

Legolas could find nothing to say, could not even find enough breath to ask her name. He smiled at her as he danced, and watched her as she melted away into the crowds as if she had never been there.

Elrond entered with a small black leather case, which he laid with much care upon the table at the front of the classroom. He opened the case and gazed inside with a look of awe in his eyes. Gently he lifted out the long silver tube that lay there and held it out to Legolas with respect and reverence.

Legolas stood and looked at it for many seconds before he reached out to take it, resting its cool slender form within his fingers. He knew without being told or asking what he was meant to do. He lifted the flute to his lips and drew from its slumbering depths a perfect scale. Legolas lifted it from his face and looked at it before looking at his tutor, who was smiling, for once with delight. It was a gentle smile, one that would have been missed had anyone not spent so much time in his company. Legolas had never picked up an instrument of music, ever, in his short life. That he knew how to play should have been a surprise, but it was not.

He tried to ignore the sound of gentle maiden voices from beyond the window, deliberately facing away from the portico. He had to show his tutor that he could concentrate, for one lesson in the classroom, at least.

"What would you like to hear, Lord Elrond?" he asked.

"I would like to hear you play Hithui Iavas, by Elwë, in A," Elrond replied.

Legolas paused for a moment and lifted the flute to his lips. The notes rose up, filling the room and drifting out of the window to fly across Imladris. His attempt at the flute was flawless . . except that the tune he was playing was not the assigned piece, Autumn's Mists, but Spring's Kiss of Love, in C.

Elrond listened with delight at the error-free recital, but then with growing recognition. He opened his grey eyes and lifted them to the elf playing before him, the smile on his lips drifting away like a cloud scudding across the sky. He watched the student for a moment, whose eyes were closed, body swaying as his fingers played the music he seemed to be reading in his mind. Elrond realised with pinpoint clarity that a certain elf maiden's head beyond the stone portico had risen in recognition. Elrond winced. The piece was beautiful, yes, but not what he had asked for.

"Legolas," he called, half-hearted in his attempt at being stern. "That was not Hithui Iavas, but Angrod's sonnet, Ethuil fel Amel."

The prince stopped instantly and looked up . . .and then sank. "I apologise, Lord Elrond . . .I . . .got carried away."

"So it would seem." Elrond almost rolled his eyes, almost. "Please recite the requested piece," he said.

Legolas again lifted the flute and played.

"Good morning, Legolas. Today we will complete the study of herb lo . . ."

As he entered the classroom, the scuffmarks on the stone floor were too obvious to miss. He raised his eyes to the look of expectant innocence on the prince's face. "Etiquette," he finished.

Legolas frowned. What had brought about this change? he wondered. His gaze wandered to where Elrond's eyes had been drawn upon entering the room. There were scrapes in the marble where he had moved the desk. He managed not to groan aloud and sank in his chair.

Every morning, Elrond had entered the classroom and the desk had been a couple of inches closer to the portico. Not until today was he certain of it, but now there was no mistaking his eyesight. From its new location he concluded that Legolas would not have to crane his neck so obviously when ogling his niece, but he had obviously forgotten Elrond’s powers of recall. Nor had he accounted for the witness from the stone itself, which bore the record plainly for all to see.

“When carrying out your tasks, be it personal, or duties to the Realm, you must carry yourself with dignity, that is straight and tall.”

It was then that the heavenly voice started singing outside the window. A nightingale late for bed? No, not even close. Legolas was certain no swan had sung so beautifully, and yet it was her voice. Beyond the portico, where his eyes flitted, he saw two princesses dangling their dainty toes into the quiet pool beneath the bridge. He quashed a gulp and averted his gaze back to his tutor.

“The hands should be held before you, in plain sight, so that all who are in your company may see them empty of weapons and deceit . . .”

Legolas’ eyes moved again to watch those dainty toes and his ear to listen to the singing. He pulled his eyes back to his tutor, with an effort of centuries.

“Even with respect for an enemy, you do him honour, for his heart is no less intent on victory and his sense of purpose no less than your own . . .”

Legolas’ head turned a little towards the maiden sitting above the water, which fair glistened gold in the morning sun. She seemed to be wrapped it in, the water reflecting off her skin.

“At no other time will your manners be stretched than at official banquets. All eyes will be upon you as the heir to the throne . . .”

Legolas was now staring out of the window, his whole head facing the vision of loveliness before him. His eyes drank in the sight of her, his ears soaking in the sensuous dance of notes and words. Nay, the words were unimportant, all he could focus on was her voice.

Elrond was getting more and more impatient with his distracted student. “Legolas!” he almost roared.

The prince jerked round to stare at him, and the singing seemed to have halted just as swiftly. There was frustration in the face above his, but somehow he knew it was not aimed at him. Elrond was also distracted by the sweet voice. He took a moment to calm himself and crossed to the ornate stone portico. “Arwen,” he called to the now silent maidens. “Please, take your cousin into the walnut grove, my dear. I desire some walnuts for my repast.”

“Yes, adar,” Arwen replied. There was ill-concealed amusement in her half hidden smile. She knew that her cousin's singing was having an interesting effect on her father. He had been so stern of late, and she wanted to bring some softness to his severe heart, whilst her cousin wanted to impress the young prince of Mirkwood. Combining their ideas, they had contrived to do both at the same time. It seemed to her that it had worked. Her father was more distracted than Legolas was, only his great many years of life and patience had hidden that fact from Legolas. But Arwen knew.

Elrond watched them disappear and sighed, turning from the opening to his single student. “Now,” he began. “There is nothing to see, hear or smell outside the window. You may get more of your studies completed this way.”

Legolas gazed up at him, and dared not smile. It seemed plainly clear that he was not the only elf affected by the maiden’s singing. But, he thought with some triumph, Elrond was bonded. Even though his wife had already sailed into the west, the maiden was kin, which meant Elrond would not be interested. The law was the law, even if an elf was widowed or separated by the sea . . .which also meant Legolas was in with a chance.

It was signed simply L. The princess lifted her eyes to the portico and smiled. He was standing there gazing down at her, he hand raised to wave his fingers at her. She waved back a little more boldly.

Legolas she called within her mind. He drank it in like a sweet caress and smiled.

“I will be here,” she whispered, her breath reaching his ears. Just as she was about to say more, she saw her uncle appear at his shoulder. Oops, she thought silently. Caught again, poor Legolas.

“Legolas?” Elrond’s voice startled the young elf.

“I was just . . .” He looked down again, but the garden was empty. “Watching the sun play on the water below,” he said, not totally a lie. “It is so peaceful, do you not agree?”

Elrond looked and looked back at him. “Quite. Let us begin, shall we?”

“Yes, Lord Elrond,” Legolas replied with an edge of disappointment. “I have herb lore to finish.”

His disappointment was to deepen later that day, when the swan did not turn up.

A look of startled, deer in a hunter's sights did not so much flit but stumble across Legolas' face. If his classes ended, he knew he would have to return home, which meant leaving the swan behind, perhaps forever. True, she had not met him on the bridge, and true it had hurt him. True also, that he had not seen her since, not even that very morning, beyond the portico. Truer still, he needed Elrond's guidance, but more so was his need to be near the beautiful maiden that danced tantalisingly just beyond his reach. But, he had to concede, was she still in Imladris?

"You must be able to think on your feet," Elrond was saying. "To change tracks at a moment's notice. From one moment to the next, your skills will be put to the test, but . . .will you be ready?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond," Legolas replied with quiet confidence. What had he missed? The word 'exam' echoed in his mind. Oh Valar, preserve me!

Elrond gazed at him, his eyes hard, a single brow quirked upward. "Your task, on this, your finally day in my tutelage . . ." He watched Legolas swallow. An idea formed in his mind. "A poem, in the common tongue, subject of your choice."

Legolas' eyes glazed over and it seemed to him that Elrond appeared a little too smugly pleased with himself. He swallowed again. "Yes, Lord Elrond," he replied. "How long do I have to prepare?"

"Legolas," Elrond replied. "When you are in battle you will have a second before the parry strikes your throat. Will you say to your enemy, 'wait, I am in need of a moment to prepare'?"

Suddenly Legolas found himself on the sharpened tip of one such blade. He had not seen him draw, had not heard it sing from its bed of slumber, but nonetheless it now was beneath his chin. Caught unawares he blanched. His hugely enlarged eyes flicked from the blade to Elrond's face and something warm spread across his leggings. "Yes, Lord Elrond," he replied weakly. "An ode to a swan," he began in common speech.

Elrond's brow raised all the higher as he re-sheathed his sword. "Oh? Oh," he realised. "Continue."

"A swan it was that gave flight to my heart, gave spring to my steps and butterflies to my stomach. A swan it is that swept by me to snatch sleep and hunger, and chase childhood from my mind. A swan it is that eludes my eyes, is yearned for by my heart and is vacant from my arms. For it is that she glides across the earth, brazen in beauty but pure in spirit, her affect on flustered heart is unknown to her.

Legolas thought and for a split second nothing came. "She is infectious, like the breath of men when blight comes, and yet she knows not what ache she has imprinted upon my soul. Grace is hers and the kiss of Valar that in her shines, a majestic touch few are blessed with, which she has in abundance. her movement is as poetry, as water is to a thirsty man, her voice which entreats me follow where only one will tread . . .let it be me."

Elrond stared at him for a long, silent moment. "You may now change your clothes and join me for lunch," he said.

Legolas was at once elated, since he had never been invited before, and secondly mortified that he had been discovered in his terror. "Yes, Lord Elrond." Legolas rose from his desk and left the room, glad that his long grey-velvet tunic covered his shame.

Elrond watched him leave and smiled gently. Oh boy, he said silently. The prince has it worse than I did. Perhaps I was wrong to have kept them apart.

In his rooms, Legolas selected his favourite clothes, an outfit his mother had made for him. He gazed at it where it lay on the bed, its cream satin front richly covered with a hand-stitched filigree of fine silks. He missed his mother, and gently brushing the endless embroidered gold threads brought a smile to his lips.

He had finished his studies, but had yet to find out if he had passed. Would he return home a polished prince of the Realm? Or would he return home to less than pleased parents? He still had other matters to consider, but for now he would leave them to fate and not allow it to worry him.

He allowed the air to breathe across his skin for a moment before donning the fresh clothes. Lunch with Lord Elrond had peaked his interest. He had never eaten lunch with Lord Elrond, that was usually the domain of his daughter or advisers. He had had dinner with Lord Elrond, when duty had permitted it, and shared news, but lunch was a whole different thing.

Would he see Arwen? he wondered. She was a very sweet maiden, a willing smile and an enchanting laugh . . .Legolas paused. "Not as enchanting as her cousin," he whispered to himself, and again wondered where she was. Why had she not met him? That, too, he would leave for fate.

He wondered if the lunch would be to test his skills at royal functions. Manners and etiquette. Legolas considered this as a possibility, since it was one field in which he was yet to have any practice. He sighed gently to suppress the nerves he felt.

Legolas walked along the gallery towards the eating halls of Imladris, a light skip to his step. He wondered a little if he would see Elrond's niece. He hoped so . . .

Suddenly there they were, ahead of him, walking in the same direction as he was. "My Lady Arwen," he called out. Two beautiful faces turned to him, and almost made him swoon for the gaze of the Valar was surely upon him. He eased to a stop before them and his breath caught.

"I . . ." Legolas swallowed dryly. His stomach had turned to water. But he noted, Arwen did not wear a pendent, she was betrothed and therefore unattainable. The maiden beside her, on the other hand, still had hers. He had half feared that she had gone away to be married, or worse, or perhaps better, gone to the Grey Havens.

She held his gaze and smiled up at him and he smiled in return. There was a question in his eyes that for some reason refused his attempts to utter. In his mind, he heard her sweet voice telling him sorry, and even though he knew not the reason, it was enough. She most likely had royal duties elsewhere that had called her away.

His loose hair lifted in the breeze that blew down the hall and flicked across his face by way of a reminder to him that he bore not love-braids, for her or anyone else. He had no hold on her. "I am on my way to lunch at the request of Lord Elrond. Might I enquire as to your destination that I might accompany you? No fair maiden should travel alone in such times as these."

Arwen smiled. "Kind sir," she said. "There are no orcs or other unsavoury characters within the walls of Imladris. I am sure we shall be fine."

"Alas, My Lady, you wound me," he returned with great delight. "Must a gentleman walk alone in darkness when he may have light to accompany his journey?"

Arwen's eyes met her cousin's for a brief moment and the smiles widened. "In that case, kind sir, you may accompany us. We are also on our way to lunch with my father."

Legolas' heart leapt up into his throat. She was coming as well . . .he smiled gently, curbing his overwhelming delight. "My Lady Arwen," he bowed, and my Lady . . .Arwen's cousin, may I escort you to the dining room?"

The two princesses giggled softly.

They agreed, and Legolas lifted both hands for them to rest theirs open them, one on either side of him. And thus, giggling together they entered through the just wide enough arch to the surprise to Elrond, who had to look twice to be sure he wasn't seeing things. Legolas clasped the fingers of the younger maiden for a moment and turned slightly to Arwen. Gently pressing her fingers to his lips, he said, "Lady Arwen, you honour me." He bowed gently and then passed her to her father.

"Thank you, Prince Legolas," she smiled brightly.

Legolas turned to the other and kissed her delicate fingers. "My Lady," he said, "May I take you to your seat?"

"Of course," she smiled.

Legolas lifted an eye to Elrond to inquire which seat and saw his hand sweep to far side of the table. The lord of Imladris was speechless, watching him. Legolas smiled to himself and took the princess, whose name he had yet to determine, to the seat on Elrond's right hand. Releasing the soft digits, he pulled out the chair for the lady to sit down.

He placed his hands behind his back for a moment and caught Elrond's eye.

"Please be seated," Elrond said, his pleasure obvious in his voice. As Legolas took his seat Elrond spoke again. "Why did you not show Arwen to her seat?"

"My Lord Elrond, with respect, Lady Arwen's token does not adorn her," Legolas replied. "Therefore, it is not my place to do so. I would not wish to bring dishonour to her, nor to her troth." Say nothing of getting my throat cut by her father or mate, he added silently, but judging by the sudden amusement in Elrond's eyes he had the sneaking suspicion that his thoughts were not as silent as he might have liked.

The young prince, an immaculate gentleman all through lunch, teased both ladies relentlessly, and they teased him with equal measure. This delighted Elrond, until finally Arwen smiled up at her father.

"Adar, you have made Legolas wait far too long for what he was summoned to hear," she scolded in fun. "You are the worst tease of us all."

Elrond smiled with gentle amusement. "I apologise, Legolas. I am happy to announce that your training is at an end. You passed. May you gladden your mother's heart, and bring honour to your Realm."

Legolas was elated. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I am grateful for you tutelage. You have been a fine and patient tutor."

Elrond wondered at that last statement, but said nothing. "Elefrinen, perhaps you would like to walk our guest back to his rooms?"

"I would like that very much, uncle," she said.

Legolas rose at once. "By your leave, Lord Elrond," Legolas bowed. "Lady Arwen," he bowed again. Elefrinen smiled and rested her hand on his as before and left the room.

Legolas gazed at her with ill-concealed devotion. “Elefinen,” he whispered. A name to sigh upon any breeze and delight even the weak-hearted. It was several minutes before he realised that they had long passed his door, and were now walking in the garden.

He looked round, somewhat startled. "Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?"

A sound of wind chimes in a gentle summer breeze wafted up from her throat. She was giggling softly. It was then that he realised that she had taken him beyond the confines of the palace on purpose.

“I am sorry I could not meet with you,” Elefinen told him. “I wanted to. Indeed, I watched you stand by the bridge for most of the night. But, I . . .”

“There is no need to explain,” Legolas assured her with a gentle smile. “Elrond bade you not to come, and I understand his concerns. I believe his concerns are justified, in a way,” Legolas told her. His held the daisy lightly between his fingers as he deftly split the stem and threaded another daisy stem through it.

“How can you say that? Are you not angry with my uncle for interfering?”

“No, I am not angry. There is much that neither of us can understand, Elefinen. Coming to terms with my existence is trying on me and it must affect Lord Elrond. I was born of a reincarnated soul from Mandos. I believe it is possible that your uncle knows who I was. It has troubled him greatly, I have felt it.”

Elefinen regarded him softly. “Do you remember it?”

“A past life? Yes. I spoke of the memories I have. Your uncle was so shocked that I vowed never to speak of it again.” Legolas lifted his eyes to hers. “But, I owed you this much. I am a strange being, Elefinen,” he admitted, repeating her name simply because it gave him pleasure just to say it. “I am but fifty years old, and yet I have the knowledge of several thousands of years. True wisdom will come to me when I have ceased to wrestle with the two and found peace with it.”

“You are not strange to me, Legolas,” she smiled widely. “I know you are special. I feel it in my heart.” She thought for a moment. “What is it like to die?”

Legolas’ eyes clouded over. “I do not know. I do not remember. Sometimes I think it is better not to know, and at others I ponder on the past and wonder why there are some things I do not recall.”

Elefinen smiled gently and placed the garland of daises around his shoulders. Legolas lifted his less than perfect replica and pulled it over her head, but it got no further than her beautifully shaped ears. No matter how or what he tried, it was stuck there. Suddenly she laughed. “You made it too small.”

Legolas laughed. “Then it is a crown,” he decided. “For one so fair as Lady Elefinen, flowers should always adorn her hair.”

They gazed at each other for a long age. No words were needed, all that could be said was laid out in that gaze. It was Legolas who broke the silence, although not quite breaking the spell.

"Your name is enchanting," he said softly. "It is unusual."

"I am unusual," she said matter-of-factly, gazing up at him. "I was a happy happenstance."

Legolas frowned. "A what?"

"An accident," she smiled.

Legolas continued to gaze at her. "I . . .did not think that was possible. How can you beseech the Valar for conception by accident?"

Elefinen grinned and chuckled. "According to my father, he deemed four children to be enough. But my parents were fooling around one night and the words slipped out unintentionally. My mother was furious with him for days, but in secret, according to my brothers, they giggled."

"I have never heard of an elf who giggles, either," Legolas put in. "Except perhaps Gandalf." He gazed at her thoughtfully. "And you."

She smiled gently up at him, until he was certain that it had to be a permanent feature. He smiled back at her. She was stunningly beautiful. Her eyes were radiant, green as fresh leaves, her skin glowed as if they were starlight . . .he could have sworn that if the moon's eye were upon them the light would be reflected in her hair turning it into liquid mithril cascading down her back like the waterfall beyond his classroom window.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered softly.

He almost missed the words and it pulled him from his reverie with a gentle start. He sighed with contentment. "Just that you are the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen. I am enchanted by you, Elefinen." His fingertips brushed across her soft cheek, and he drew back, embarrassed.

As they walked through the orchards he held her hand in his. He sighed softly and felt her eyes on him.

“Why is your heart heavy, meleth?”

Legolas almost lost his footing to hear her call him that and the surprise must have been evident in his face. He had to gather his thoughts again . . .what had he been thinking about? Oh yes . . .

“I must return home soon. My father, the king, is waiting to receive me. I have not seen my parents for twenty years and I have missed them terribly. I am to inherit my first white blades, which had been held for me until I came of age . . .”

Suddenly his words froze as her hand pressed something into his palm. Legolas looked down to see the mithril emblem of the House of Olwë, one star and a curled leaf of Lorien sparkled in his hand. In astonishment he had lost the power of speech.

“I have been watching you for many months, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and many of them have passed without my telling you how I felt. I love you, Legolas.”

"You are marrying me?" he whispered.

"Yes," she breathed.

For the first time, they kissed. The press of her lips was like the touch of fresh baked bread, the warmth of spring and the purity of driven snow. He pulled back a little to gaze deeply into her eyes and knew she was meant for him, had always known it, but now she was his. He was hers. Without meaning too, his legs gave way and she followed him down into the grass.

"I will return all the faster to be with you," he promised.

She pressed her fingers to the pendant that hung at his throat and smiled. His fingers followed hers, down the hollow of her throat. Her skin was like cream, soft and smooth. Her hand pressed to that hollow in his chest where his heart beat wildly enough for her to feel it through his clothing. "No matter where the paths or life take us, I will be right here."

He sat cross-legged in the grass, and she knelt behind him, her delicate fingers braiding his hair in what would become his pledge braids, that all adult male elves wore once betrothed and married. To elves, both meant the same thing; to humans, Legolas knew, they were a world apart, mating being the largest and most obvious difference.

Legolas smiled, his eyes closed as he absorbed the sound of her voice as she sang for him, her gentle touch to the side of his head soothing and graceful. She was done long before he was done with the feelings of delight and contentment.

"The other side," she whispered.

Legolas' smile widened and he inclined his head the other way. He opened his eyes to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She was stunning, and he was still stunned that she had chosen him. He was the luckiest elf he could name, not that he was one to gloat. “It still surprises me,” he said. “That you should choose one so much younger than yourself.”

"Galadriel told me long ago that I would marry the last elf born in the west," she whispered into his ear.

Legolas looked up at her, and suppressed a gasp of surprise. "That would be me."

Elefinen nodded softly, her head crowned with the full moon rising behind her. "I know. I do not believe our being together began with a chance meeting, meleth nîn."

"Nor do I," he replied and drew her closer to sit her in his lap and tuck her beneath his chin.

In the silence, he fingered her hair, watching a group of rabbits frolic together away down the hill. He had been right - her hair, when kissed by moonlight, was liquid silver as it ran through his fingers. The delicate strands of gossamer glowed in the moonlight. Suddenly he opened his eyes, realising that his lips had met hers, although not entirely certain when and how it had happened. And just as quickly he realised that this was no gentle, chaste kiss. Gently he pulled back to gaze into her deeply emotive eyes.

"You should not kiss me like that," he told her. "I might lose control."

"But we have pledged our troth. All who see you will know. You accepted and wear my token."

"Yes, I did and I do," Legolas agreed.

She kissed him again and deeper still. As their lips moulded together and parted, their tongues danced together. He heard her mind open and lift her heart’s desire upon the air, to mingle with the many prayers and songs of countless elves to the stars.

Legolas gasped loudly and drew back a little, hearing her fervent prayer in his mind. "We should not."

Elefinen looked troubled. "Why not?" she asked.

"That would not be the wisest of tasks to undertake," he told her gently.

"But I want to. You said so yourself, you will be leaving soon. But I cannot leave Imladris except to go into the west."

Legolas wanted to, so very much, but Elrond's words came back to him. "Elefinen, I love you. With everything that is in me, I love you, but conceiving a child now is too dangerous. The law for one . . ."

"You were conceived after the law was written," she noted, with slight petulance.

"Yes, I was," he agreed. "For a specific purpose, meleth. I have made a promise to our people, to the descendents of Elrond's brother, Elros. I cannot turn aside from that."

"I am well versed in the prophecies," she told him, a little strongly. "You cannot be sure that the king's return is so close at hand. No one can. Legolas, why put aside happiness for duty."

"Elefinen, duty is of paramount importance. Surely you must understand this?"

Elefinen forged ahead. "How can you sacrifice the present for future that may never happen? It could be centuries before the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor is found. And who is to say he ever will be?"

"You do not believe in the prophecies?" Legolas asked in astonishment.

Elefinen paused. "Yes, I believe in them, but . . .I want us to be together. I want a child with you. Maybe I am allowing my heart to rule my actions, but how can I not? I love you."

Legolas wrestled with the idea of making her pregnant, the joy it would bring him to see her bear his child. He sighed. "I cannot, melethron nîn. I could not do that to you, knowing that if war comes upon us I would have to leave you alone."

Elefinen nodded. "I know," she replied, resignedly. "Duty comes first."

Legolas pushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her beautifully shaped ears. "If times had not been so hard, I would gladly have had a child with you, without a second thought, but I must think of your safety. I have a duty to all elvenden to consider, and that duty includes you."

Elefinen gazed up at him for a long moment. "You take too much upon your young shoulders, meleth."

Legolas gazed down at her, knowing that she did not understand and probably would not for a long time to come. He knew who it was that had borne the soul that had lifted his mortal vessel from his mother's womb, and although he did not possess the Master's spear to prove it to her, he still had that oath to fulfil. Sauron was still alive. "I take it gladly, as do all our fine warriors," he replied.

Elefinen accepted this and kissed him gently. "When peace returns, I will expect you in my bed and not a moment later," she teased gently.

Legolas smiled. "Then keep it warm, for I do not like cold sheets," he warned in fun.

It was only then that they noticed that the sun had long set and they were late.

They ran across the bridge, hand in hand, carefree as youth was, until almost too late. Legolas skidded to a halt, Elefinen bumped into the back of him. She looked up into the disapproving eyes of her uncle and gasped audibly.

"Elefinen, you should not be out so late. It is improper."

"But uncle . . ."

"Elefinen."

"Yes uncle." She turned to press a gentle kiss to Legolas' lips and whispered, "Good night . . .my husband," she added for her uncle's ears.

Elrond waited until she had gone before addressing the young prince. "Tomorrow at dawn, you will leave for home," he said evenly.

Legolas' eyes widened. "Tomorrow? But . . . "

Elrond suddenly noticed the troth pendent the glittered beneath the young elf's chin, and the braids that adorned his hair. "Do you love my niece, Legolas?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond."

"Then you must understand why other matters, such as duty to your people, are more important than a mere trifle in the moonlight."

Legolas frowned with indignation. "A mere trifle? I do not understand why you . . ."

"You have tarried here in Imladris far longer than you should have, just to woo my niece," Elrond noted. "You should have returned home weeks ago . . .and yet, you are still here."

"It was not . . .at least, it did not start that way," Legolas explained.

Elrond nodded gently. "I know," he replied softly. "Walk with me, Prince Legolas."

Legolas was most surprised at the address, it was the first time Elrond had ever called him by his title, and he followed in silence.

"Long ago, there was beautiful maiden of Lorien. She came singing beneath my window and I watched her for some days before I found the courage to speak to her. We met by moonlight, just as you have done this night, and we pledged our troth."

"Celebrian?"

"Yes," Elrond replied. "Galadriel’s daughter. For several months, I wooed her in secret. Celeborn, her father, noticed her without her token around her throat, and he knew she had given it to someone, but did not know who. She told him, of course. The following morning, Lorien had declared war on Imladris."

Legolas gasped in horror. Elrond smiled with amusement and Legolas sighed with relief. The older elf had been teasing.

"I do not believe Imladris will declare war on my father . . .would you?" he asked worriedly.

"That would depend on your intentions, young prince," Elrond replied in warning tones. "She is my niece, and in my care."

"I intend only that which is honourable in your sight, Lord Elrond, to marry her," Legolas assured him. "No wandering troth is good enough for one such as she, but a troth given in the open and witnessed."

Elrond nodded. "Then my mind is put at ease. Understand, Legolas, my kin and I have lost many of our maidens, too many. I would not want Elefinen's honour betrayed."

Legolas smarted. "We did not mate, Lord Elrond, before we pledged or since. You have my word."

Elrond regarded him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I never doubted it for a moment, but other's have questioned it," he revealed.

Legolas lifted his chin with pride, no longer defiant. "Let them be appeased. She is my wife, by troth, but I bade her not to give her virtue to me. Not until peace returns to Middle Earth."

Elrond stood in the gallery beyond her door, watching the walkers below him. He looked up and gasped at the sight of her. "Elefinen?"

"I must eave for the Grey Havens," she said. She cast her eyes towards the door beyond which Legolas would still be sleeping, but turned away with sadness. "Please, do not wake him. Let him leave for home knowing only that I am safe."

Elrond wrestled with the conundrum in his mind. She could have fought it, but then few could fight the call of the sea for very long. Elf maidens were not blessed with the ability at all. Could he tell her what Legolas had already woken, that her words almost matched his as he rose with the dawn and rode for home? The words stuck to his throat like a dry crust of bread. He couldn't do it. "We will meet again, Elefinen," he whispered and allowed her to pass.

Arwen ran down the corridor and stopped, watching her cousin drift away to join the others already leaving Imladris. She looked at her hands, which were still pink and wondered. "Adar?"

Elrond was quick to reassure her. "It is not your time, my daughter. The Valar still has a task for you yet, or he would have called you home."

Arwen gasped. "Legolas . . ."

"Is already on his way home," Elrond finished. "He left with the dawn. Thranduil sent word that Gollum is being sought in Rhovanion. He has been seen in Mirkwood and the prince's help was needed." He stepped closer and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. "I need you to pack a few things and travel to your grandmother's . . ."

"But adar . . ."

"For me, Arwen. You will be safer there, then here." He sighed gently. "You should have stayed there."

Arwen regarded him with tenderness. "I will go at once, adar," she said. "I will take as many guards as you deem fit. I will be fine," she promised. The journey between Imladris and Lothlórien always troubled them both. She delved a hand into her pocket and took out a ring. "Take good care of this," she begged him.

Elrond held it up. "The ring of Barahir," he noted. His eyes lifted to his daughter and he suddenly realised what she had done. "Arwen . . .you plied your troth with the heir, a mortal."

Arwen did not deny it. "I will make ready at once."

"I ride for Imladris at once. Lord Elrond must know what has happened here."

Thranduil nodded. Legolas gazed at him, torn between tending to his father's wounds and taking the news to Imladris. Gollum had been a formidable opponent, frightening to watch, and worse to go up against. No matter how strong his guards had been, the orc attack had given him the opportunity he needed to escape.

"Go, my son. I will be alright. I am not alone. My men will tend to me. Your task is more pressing." With a wordless clasp of shoulders they parted, neither knowing if they would see each other again. Taking what provision and clothing as they could, Legolas and his three aides left in silence.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas began. He dropped to one knee and bowed at once.

Elrond smiled and touched his shoulder, bringing Legolas' head up to look up at him with confusion in his eyes. His body followed gracefully. "It is I who should bow to you," Elrond noted softly.

Legolas suddenly felt embarrassed. "I would rather you refrained," he said, casting his eyes about them. "Someone might be watching. Besides, first and foremost, I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm, prince and heir to King Thranduil. We both know that to take up my former existence would not only confuse a great many, but belittle a great many."

"Far be it for me to be confused," Elrond said lightly.

Legolas noted his omission, but simply smiled. He would work out later how to amend that difficulty between them. "My Lord, I would ask after my wife. Is she here? Is she well?"

Elrond's smile drifted from his countenance. "Elefinen was called by the sea on the day you left for home," he told him sadly.

Legolas froze. Slowly he closed his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest, unable to quite drown the moan that forced its way passed his lips.

"I am sorry," Elrond added. “I considered sending word, but other matters were more pressing. I could not spare any riders.”

Legolas lifted his eyes to his former tutor. "Lord Elrond, you mistake me. I am relieved that she is not here."

"She wanted to tell you before she left," Elrond revealed. "But the pull was too strong."

Legolas held his gaze, deeply hurt, but understanding. It was one less elven soul he would have to fight to defend. "It is for the best. Although I miss her with every fibre of my being, I do not want her to witness the rape of this good land. Nor do I wish for her innocence to be ravaged by the cares of war and the not knowing if the dawn would bring news of my death."

Elrond sucked in an unsteady breath at the depth of his wisdom. He had indeed learned to bridge the gap between both lives and yet he requested no favour, even refused a bow that was his due. "I understand you bear ill enough news?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond. I must speak with you concerning a grave matter. The creature Gollum has escaped."

Elrond pursed his lips at this. "This is most dire. It should be heard at the council I have called for, which will be held at dawn tomorrow. Until then, rest and refresh yourself. You must be tired from your journey."

"My gratitude, Lord Elrond." Legolas bowed his head and departed.

The council was going more or less as well as he had expected, and he took an instant distrust of the man from Gondor, Boromir. Too eager, far too eager, to get his greedy hands on the One Ring, was he that he had ignored all the warnings. He shuddered on occasion, resisting the strong urge to jump up and reveal who he was, and shake them all to sense. His memories told him that he had been there, Sauron standing tall and grotesque on the battlefield, the One Ring glaringly obvious upon his hand.

"I will take it!"

The words jolted him from his reverie and the argument growing increasingly belligerent around him.

The argument had been brewing for at least one hour, if not more and came as no surprise to Legolas. The creature who had started it, on the other hand, was a surprise to him. He had set his two silver-coin bet on Boromir, but no, it was a dwarf.

But it was the tiny hobbit who finally shut them all up. "I will take it!" he yelled again and silence fell like a rock fall, immediate and devastating.

"You have my sword," Aragorn spoke.

Legolas finally understood that he was the king he had promised to restore to the throne. He might have lived as Strider, now he had to be Aragorn, and he would be king. He could see Elendil in him, the proud hold of his chin, the eyes, how he carried himself. This was the restored king, not Arathorn, not Aragorn’s son, but Aragorn himself. He did not doubt it for a moment. Without reservation, he stepped forward. "And you have my bow."

El fin

To dissuade earlier arguments, and subsequent arguments about Legolas' gender, I have finally located the link for the source of my information, which was eaten when I emptied my cache folder. http://www.ansereg.com/what_tolkien_officially_said_abo.htm

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