"I will break them," he hissed. "It is the will of Sauron, the Ever-living."

The orc shuddered as he gazed at the terrible creature swathed as it was in black rags and the mists of hell. Yes, he was frightened of it. Why should he not be? "What will you have me do, my lord?" he asked.

"Take this into their city . . and break it." The shrouded figure held out his hand and opened it to reveal and egg.

It seemed harmless enough. An egg. What harm could an egg wreak on the strong elves? He did not understand, nor did he care. Plucking the egg from the Witch king's hand, he turned to leave, but was forced to stop by the blade at his throat.

"Stop at nothing and for no one, until you task is complete. You will not return."

The orc blinked. Shouldn't there have been an 'or' in there? He had not heard one. Whimpering softly he scurried away.

He had been running for days. He had not counted them, but had noted the change from dark to light and back again. He had avoided being seen, which had not been difficult, since men had fled Ithilien when Sauron had come to Barad-dur and never returned.

The Brown Lands lay desolate and empty. To the north appeared a great strip of black on the horizon. He smiled as he ran. He was almost there.

The river snaked silver to his left, on and on and soon he would come to the great forests of Rhovanion.

At daybreak the forest looked green and alive with birds and all manner of edible crunchables, but he did not have the time. He would eat once he was across the river, he promised himself. As he ran he saw them . . .Elves! More than twenty of them.

He dashed into a darkened shadow and waited, watching them with their clean faces and their clean clothes and their clean bows. He became increasingly disgusted the more he watched, but they had something that he wanted. It was a boat.

He eyed it and licked his lips. He wanted that boat. He had to have that boat. He needed it to deliver his gift to the elves. Yes, that's what it was; a gift.

The orc lifted his head, wondering if he should wait for nightfall and steal one, but it looked as though the elves were already moving away, and worse they were carrying their boats with them. It had to be now

Rushing from his hiding place he barrelled into the elves at full speed and toppled six of them before they had even seen him. The boat splashed into the water and righted itself in a second, the time it took for the orc to snatch a falling oar, slap both feet against a tree trunk, turn and push off in the opposite direction.

He landed in the bottom of the boat just as the first arrow whizzed over his head. Shouts followed as did the sound of another boat hitting the water. He rowed for all he was worth, nothing he had ever envisioned himself doing, but here he was, racing a bunch of self-professed pious tree urchins across the mighty Anduin.

He grinned, but the grin fell off his face barely a second after its conception. He winced at something biting his back. Pinkling ingrates! He cursed them as the boat hit the far bank and he jumped out.

In mid air something else bit into him. He flopped to the ground beneath the thick cover of forest ferns and lay still, stunned.

Pain tore through him as he lay quite still. Elves rushed up and over him in a great flood of shouts and pounding feet. The sounds faded in the distance and were silent for some time before he realised that they had not found him. The woods were growing dark with the approach of night.

With a grimace he rose to his feet and stood painfully. Reaching behind his back he managed to pull an arrow from his thick hide. He could not reach the other one.

Leaning against a tree he forced himself onward. He had to reach the city, but had to accept that he had no way of knowing which way it was. Forcing one foot in front of the other he lurched from one tree to the next. Taking a rest against each tree his breath began to gurgle sickly in his chest. He coughed and spat black blood on the ground.

There was a shout above him before he even registered the skip of his heartbeat. Trying to further his grip on the tree he missed and sank down into the soft leaves that covered the ground. His hand opened and the egg began to roll away. He watched it and saw beyond it feet approaching his prone form.

Arrows showered him and he grunted uncaring, unfeeling. A booted foot stepped on the gift, crushing it beneath its soft leather. The orc blinked and smiled, and closed his eyes.

"Eww!" the March Warden grimaced at his boot. "That is going to stain."

Orophir clasped his shoulder in sarcastic sympathy. "Would you like a state funeral, brother?"

Haldir glared at him. "And people wonder why I have no sense of humour," he retorted.

Rumil peered over his shoulder. He tisked softly and shook his head. "I believe new boots are in order. Oh wait, these are new boots."

Haldir cuffed him in the arm and wiped his soiled boot on a nearby clump of grass.

"The orc is dead at least," Orophir said, kicking the creature just to be sure.

"Nevertheless, we should burn it. We do not want to fowl the city's air with the stench of rotting orc," Haldir said.

"It already smells rotted," Orophir muttered.

"True," Rumil replied. "I wonder where it was going."

"And why," Haldir added. "I have never known an orc to act alone."

All three heads rose in unison at the sound of singing coming from the banks of the river.

"That is no Lorien elf," Rumil noted. "The cadence is of the Sindar."

"What a bad time to choose to invade," Haldir grumbled. "The orc will have to wait. Back to the flets!"

As one they vanished up the trunks. They eyed each other as they listened to the elf now directly below them singing of Tinuviel in the Westron tongue. Haldir almost smiled.

It was a language his brothers had never bothered to learn, but the tune was recognisable at least. What amused him most was that this lone elf was travelling with a group not of Elvenden. They were all half-breeds mostly.

To his horror, as they watched, the elf had stopped singing and had begun to climb up the very tree he was sitting in. That would not do at all.

"Darro!" he cried out. With some satisfaction he watched the startled Sindarin elf slip back down the tree and stumble backwards several paces before finally regaining his feet. His face stared up at him, but, to Haldir's amusement, the wood elf could not see him.

"What do you want in Lorien?" Haldir called down and listened for an answer. He heard Sindarin spoken between the elf and a man. He did not recognise the elf, but he did recognise the man.

"These are the Nine sent from Rivendell," Orophir noted. Haldir nodded.

"It is we, come for rest in Lorien," the wood elf called up in halting Quenya.

Haldir hid a wince. "Then you had better stick with a language you know, elf of our woodland kin," he suggested pointedly in fluent Sindarin. Haldir gazed down at them, noting how neither of them seemed to know exactly where he was. "Is Frodo of the Shire with you?" he asked, this time spoken in Westron, again fluently.

The elf below looked decidedly uncomfortable with the switching of languages, and he knew it was the elf's intent. "Yes, he is with us," he replied in Sindarin, his shock now having left him.

Haldir's eyes flicked to his brothers.

"Shall we show this lowly Sindar where to go?" Rumil asked, hand on his white blade.

"You shall do no such thing!" Haldir snapped and shoved a rope ladder down to the wood elf with the toe of his boot. "A wood elf he may be, but he walks with the Nine."

Legolas lifted his head, listening to the lament. It drew sorrow from the depths of his heart and it took great effort not to turn it to tears. His eyes, large and shining, gazed around him.

"The grief is too near," he whispered, wishing he could raise his voice among the chorus, but it would not. Instead, he retrieved his water pouch and took a long drink, feeling uncommonly thirsty.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw shimmering silver and looked up as he re-corked the pouch. "Lord Celeborn," he greeted with a bow.

"My kin's son," Celeborn responded. "I wish to speak with you."

"What concerns you, my lord?" Legolas asked.

Celeborn smiled gently and rested a hand on the elf's shoulder. "It is not a concern. Do not be troubled. It has been too long since I have had meet betwixt Lorien and Mirkwood. Let us share news."

Legolas was most surprised by this, and his surprise must have been evident for his friend, Gimli, stiffened. Without taking his eyes from Celeborn, he waved discretely for the dwarf to stand down. Legolas took several steps away from the tents and lowered his voice. "I was told that you wished not to speak with us again. What has changed?"

Celeborn studied him for a moment. "It was not by my will or desire that brought your world from under your feet, son of Thranduil. If it had been my will, Lorien would still be yours, and I would have sailed with the Norldor and never married the warrior who crept into my bed and stole my heart. When you chance upon an ethel such as her you do not argue, nor do you make too much fuss over who is kin and who is not. She would have slaughtered you all. It was Lorien, or total carnage. I chose Lorien."

Legolas gazed at him, almost eye to eye in height. "Lord Celeborn, I did not come to raise a dispute over lost land, nor to discuss past transgressions that have been forgiven and forgotten by the Valar. I came under an oath I made to the ring bearer. No other care do I place above nor beside it."

Celeborn nodded in agreement and thanks. "No one here knows of the division. If we welcome dwarves, we welcome Sindar. Come. Share with me news of my northern kin."

Legolas walked with him through the trees at a comfortable amble, slowly circling the huddle of tents. "My grandfather spoke of you when I was young, referring to our expulsion from Lorien as something to be cursed and used as a threat upon the lhaes who were disobedient. Since his death at the hands of orcs, which resulted in my father's unplanned ascension to the throne, the lhaes are gone from our lands, but the fear of more war with the Noldor still exists, even now two ages since."

"Your father is king, you say?"

"He is. My grandfather and uncle were both killed many seasons past. I am now the heir," he added, as if it sat uncomfortably in his stomach like a cold rock. He looked up to find Celeborn smiling at him. "Does something amuse you, my lord?"

Celeborn sobered. "It should not, but it does," he admitted. "There are events in motion that cannot be undone, and none have occurred or will occur simply by chance."

Legolas' brow twitched. "I am aware that our presence here is troublesome, that it poses a threat to Lorien. If it is her Lady's wish, I can suggest that we move on . . ."

"Nay," Celeborn stopped him. "You misunderstand. The events of which I speak concern the heart." Legolas gazed at him in confusion and Celeborn did not stop for him to voice it. "Just as I interceded between Galadriel and my remaining kin, so you intercede between us and the dwarves. The time truly has come when we shall see both races side by side at sup, but more so is the love between Sindar and Naugrim."

Legolas' eyes widened alarmingly. "You really are mad. With respect, Lord Celeborn," he added quickly. "I do not think it wise nor prudent."

"It is both," Celeborn interrupted.

Legolas gazed at those steel-blue eyes, and for a moment saw his grandfather staring back at him. "You are asking me to mate with a dwarf."

"I am not asking anything."

Legolas opened his mouth, but closed it again. "Why did you truly come here?"

"I desired to see you," Celeborn replied. "In truth, it has been many a long year since I saw any but Noldor. We get little by way of contact from across the river. Most attempts to journey into Mirkwood are met by fierce opposition from Dol Guldur. They are massing for an attack from both the fortress and from Moria. I can feel it."

"I feel it, too." Legolas eyed him for a moment. "Lord Celeborn? You are looking flushed. Are you unwell?"

Celebron swayed for a moment and put a hand to his forehead. "I do not feel well," he said, not completely there.

"Shall I walk you home?" Legolas asked in alarm. In truth, he was not feeling his best either, but Celeborn looked a lot worse.

"I shall be fine," Celeborn assured him as he slowly walked away. "All I need is a lie down."

Haldir cupped the water up in both hands and splashed it onto his flushed cheeks. The water was cold against his hot skin, but he did not feel any cooler. He huffed a sigh, opened his tunic and pulled it off. He unbuttoned his shirt exposing his hairless chest to the dawn breeze. He frowned. It was winter. Why was he so hot?

He had woken from disjointed dreams and distorted images, and felt uncommonly restless. Standing in the doorway of his talan he let the breeze flow over him, lifting his shirt about him like a banner. It had no effect except to make him shiver.

Haldir rubbed his palms over his goose-bumped chest in a attempt to warm his cold skin and abruptly shuddered. He drew his hands away and gasped feeling a spark of uncontrollable need course through his body. That was not supposed to happen. Even by elven standards, his desire was unlike anything he had ever imagined.

What a time to begin the lust fever, and there being no elleth around, he grumbled silently. It was no problem, in truth, he had ignored it before and he could ignore it again. First order of the day was to take a walk, a good brisk walk and sing . . .something.

Gimli observed his restless friend's frustration for some time before coming to a conclusion. "You're sick."

Legolas huffed a disparaging sigh. "Elves do not get sick!"

Gimli regarded his flushed cheeks and the beginnings of a sweat breaking on his brow and top lip. "Uhm, you can but not as bad as we lesser beings, nor will you die of it."

Legolas threw down his mug of water and stood up. He growled uncharacteristically, pacing on the spot. "I feel like I am dying. My skin feels like there are a million or more ants crawling all over it. And my head is pounding, but not hurting. My heart is beating faster than normal and I . . ." he whirled, snarling into Gimli's face, "I want to tear the clothes of something!"

Gimli's eyes shrank into his head. Legolas stepped back and swallowed. "I am sorry," he panted. "I am sorry. Gimli, please forgive me."

"Like I said," Gimli began unsteadily and coughed to clear his throat. "You're sick . . .with something."

Heads had risen at Legolas' snarl and eyes were gazing at him in consternation. Legolas returned their looks. With exaggerated care he picked up the pewter mug and set it on a mallorn root. "I am fine," he assured them. “I have been through this before. It is not as if it is of major importance. I am simply sick."

Aragorn rose from his bed and eyed him quizzically, wearing just his undershirt and breeches. "Sick? I have never seen an elf look like you do now." He pressed a hand to his flushed cheek. "Legolas, you're burning up."

"I know. It has been this way since nightfall, and has been getting worse ever since. Lord Celeborn is also sick, with the same thing I fear."

In alarm, Aragorn lifted his eyes in a wide arc. "I wonder who else is sick. This is a bad time for Elvenden to fall to a plague. If I did not know better, I would have pointed the finger at Sauron, or perhaps Isengard." He turned back to the gently shivering elf. "Alright, Legolas, if you just admitted that you are sick, then you are feeling far worse than your face suggests."

"M-my face?"

"Your eyes are dark and you are flushed red, sweating and shivering."

"My heart is beating faster and I am . . ." Legolas glanced at Gimli and then at the concerned faces of his friends before stepping back against the tree, his eyes wide with some recognition he dared not name. "This is not good," he whispered.

Aragorn frowned. "What is not good? What is wrong? Legolas?" he called out as the elf sank to his haunches, panting. "Tell me what herbs you need and I will get them."

Legolas shook his head. "This will not require nor respond to herbs."

"What do you need?" Aragorn asked again, kneeling in front of him.

Legolas regarded them all, one by one. None of them seemed to be sick. Of course, they weren't, he reasoned. They are not elves. Elves have high libidos as it is, but right now I am feeling ten times worse. Like I am going to burst.

He struggled to think. He could have been having a heavenly sinful time, but he had no mate, and was surrounded by a bunch of unaffected, confirmed males. Things could not get any worse, except that Gimli alone seemed to have more of an inkling was to what the problem was.

Oh, this is just great, he cursed silently. Poor Gimli, he looks rather shocked by this turn of events but I am really, and I mean really desperate. For the good of the fellowship, I will ask his help, he decided. He was no good to them like this, and Gimli was very alluring. Stop it, he screamed at himself. You cannot . . .not with a dwarf! Then again, Celeborn has said . . .nothing personal Gimli, but an elf's got to do what elf's got to do . . .

By now, Legolas hair had begun to stick to his face and sweat began to pour in rivulets down his neck. "Nothing . . .that you can provide," Legolas told him forcefully. He would not do that to Gimli, not use him like that.

Aragorn stared at him for a long time. "Do you know what it is that ails you?" he asked, already having guessed the answer.

Legolas nodded. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. His eyes flew open. He had not done that, his eyes begged agreement from the man less than a foot away from him, but the eyes that stared back at him told him otherwise. Legolas pushed up with his feet and Aragorn followed. "I . . ." he panted, trying to decided what he could and could not do. He chose the best option he could think of. "Need to be alone."

Suddenly the elf began to run, and Aragorn could not follow this time. Elves, when in the mood, could run faster than the wind. There would be no way to catch him.

Haldir knew this was not normal. It had to be a virus, something he had touched or breathed in. His brothers were equally sick as he. He had gone as far as his brother's tree on his brisk walk, and had turned back again. No point walking into the city and infecting everyone.

Haldir told his men to stay put for now, in case it was some sort of epidemic. It was the last thing they needed right now. Orcs were coming. He would call for reinforcements, but they would become as sick as he was. He could hear the orcs in the distance.

"Rumil, Orophir, get up. Yrch!"

His brothers and his company rose, all groggy with the sickness. Despite feeling less than their best, they fought the vanguard off, and watched with withered gazes the last of the orcs fled. They would be back, they knew. It was only a matter of time.

Haldir lowered his bow and rubbed at the front of his leggings. His eyes slammed shut as he swallowed a threatening groan. "Elbereth!" he gasped. Hunched over, he tried to feel embarrassed, but somehow it didn't happen. Every elf on his watch was feeling bad . . .or was it good?

Haldir winced, a cheek muscle rippling beneath his eye. He turned and walked back towards his talan. "Those of you not so badly affected by the sickness stay on watch," he ordered. "The rest . . .rest, or try to."

He stepped into the shadow of his talan and sighed, eyes closed. He drew a hand down the front of his leggings again and shuddered. It felt good, he could not deny it, as did the touch of a hand across his chest. He did that too. He moaned loudly and stopped, hoping no one had heard him.

His leggings were far too tight, and he could not forgo the call of his need any longer. Unhooking the clasp, he pushed the cloth off his hips and pulled it from his ankles with his feet, leaving it a tangled heap in the middle of the floor. Leaning against the trunk of the tree he closed his eyes. He could hear his heart pounding, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. There was only one thing he needed, but it wasn't here. He had to find the next best thing. Perhaps he would feel better for it, he reasoned.

But then, this was not normal.

His hands smoothed across his chest, and he gasped. Two pebbling points of pleasure hardened. His fingers paused over them, hovering over the ends feeling a jolt of ecstasy flow right to his groin. He looked down at them and then to his member, pointing straight out and almost purple with swelling. In shock, he took hold of it and moaned.

Haldir tipped his head back and closed his eyes. His hips slid forward and his jaw dropped open as he released a shuddering breath. Drawing his hand towards him, he sighed . . .it felt . . .just like his mate. He tightened the grip and slid back along the shaft.

Without thinking, his hips joined in the play, and another moan drifted around him. Haldir opened his eyes. That was not his voice. He pushed away from the tree and looked down. Below him, a golden head was bowed, almost in suffering, against the trunk of his tree. The shoulders were dressed in greens, and only one elf wore green. It was Legolas, face flushed in the same rush of passion that was effecting him.

Haldir frowned. Legolas was sickening as much as he was, and with the same symptoms. Haldir looked out towards the city hidden from view. If Legolas had it, that meant the whole city was infected. This was definitely not the work of nature. It was the work of some insidious mind.

His eyes noted a movement below him, someone was coming through the trees. The closer it came, the more he could discern it's size and features. It was the dwarf. He watched him walk boldly up to the elf below him and call his name.

"Legolas?" Gimli said softly. There was tender concern in the way he said the name.

Legolas looked at him, hunched over as he was against the mallorn tree. "Please, I . . ."

"What is it? What do you need?"

"I need . . .Gimli, do not ask that. I left because what I need I cannot ask of the fellowship."

"Why?"

Legolas glared at him, astounded. "Because they are all male! Stupid dwarf!"

Gimli let it ride. Legolas had not meant it, he understood that. The glare told him to back off, but he stood his ground. "I know this might sound ludicrous to you, elf, but I have noticed that we are all male . . .except you, of course. You're an elf."

"I am as male as I choose to be!" Legolas retorted. "Or not," he added, and narrowed his eyes. "So, unless you wish to find out exactly how male I am, I suggest you run!"

There was something menacing in that last word, and something alluring at the same time. Gimli took a tiny half step back, but held still. "I am not leaving," he responded. "I have a friend who needs me, and I do not abandon my friends."

Legolas straightened from the tree, his darkened eyes glaring at the dwarf. "You have no idea how I need you!"

Gimli swallowed and resisted the urge to reply that he was beginning to get an idea. No words made it to his lips as suddenly the elf barrelled into him and knocked him onto his back. Lips fastened themselves to his in a crushing, but tender massage of flesh on flesh.

Their bodies met, length for length, one only barely shorter than the other. Legolas pressed his hips hard against his groin, allowing him the benefit of his solid form. Gimli grunted with surprise. Elves, he realised quickly, were fast, and far more powerful and strong than their slight frames would suggest. Even so, Gimli was not about to be outdone.

Reaching for the elf's shirt buttons, he began to push them open, returning the kisses that were bruising his mouth. A tongue had invaded and began to duel with his own. If this was what his friend needed, then this was what he was do, but he slowly realised that he wanted it too.

Haldir could not believe what he was seeing, more than that he could not believe he was watching. He scolded himself. Perverted . . .! He hand smoothed his member and his eyes returned of their own accord to the scene unfolding below. His hips were moving of their own volition, pushing his need through his fingers. His breath rasped softly in his throat.

He should not be here, but he quickly dismissed the thought. This was his home, they were invading, in more ways than one.

They were naked, and pressed together. His need slid against him, searching for that sweet centre. Gimli lifted his knees and felt him nudge closer. He groaned and jolted, his need thrust against his opening. He breath faltered, as he felt him enter and withdraw, little by little, deepening the strokes.

Legolas thrust harder, moaning at the feel of him. A hand snaked round to pull his buttocks closer, sliding further in, burying him to hilt.

Legolas gasped suddenly, lifting his head with sudden surprise. His hips began to slow, shocked at himself for what he was doing. Gimli's hands moved down his back to his buttocks and pressed him closer as he gazed up at him. He pressed him closer again, feeling him fill and slide out.

Hesitantly Legolas smiled. Gimli was enjoying this as much as he needed it. Lowering his head, their lips met again. Hips rocked gently for a moment before he parted his knees a little and began to thrust faster and deeper.

He huffed a breath against Gimli's mouth, and lifted his head. Dark eyes were half closed and panted breaths groaned against his cheek. Legolas moaned deeply and arched upward. A part of him could not believe he had waited all his life to make love to a dwarf, but another part new why. He did not want an ethel, as fair as she might be. Celeborn was right. Was this love, or was he simply acting on a primal need for a lustful encounter?

Legolas thrust harder, a breath came out somewhere between a gasp and a growl. Arching upward, he trembled, feeling his heat rise. Gimli shuddered beneath him, whimpering wordlessly, as he thrust deeply against a certain spot.

Legolas did it again, feeling his insides quiver around him. Drawing back a little more he thrust in harder, forcing the air from his lungs. He gasped at the feel of it, his rhythm faltered, alternating between thrusting and arching up. He leaned in to kiss his sweet lips, but didn't make it. Gimli's breath stilled for a moment before his eyes popped wide and he cried out, shuddering. Legolas could feel his body squeezing him and suddenly he cried out loudly, spilling his all.

Above them, unseen, Haldir pressed his back against the tree trunk, grunting softly, hips flexing into his hand. He panted, moving ever faster. He brushed a thumb against his nipple and thrust harder. A groan came to his lips, a chorus of need entwined among the trees. He was not alone. His impassioned breaths thickened.

He let his head drift back for a moment before he looked down as himself. He was glistening, a drop of his precious seed dribbled from him. He was going to . . .

Haldir forced his hips into his fingers, feeling the cry rise. He gasped and growl, feeling it build and suddenly explode. He roared into the air, and stood still, panting and quivering. Slowly his eyes opened as he slowly realised something. Unlike the lust fever that would begin from the age of maturity and continue to come now and then until death or end of immortality, he was feeling better already. The lust fever lasted several days, this had barely been hours.

Haldir lifted his head, hearing cries from around him in other talans. Very many elves were making love this morning. That was the strangest thing, the fever could not strike the entire city all at once. It had to be unnatural.

He looked down at the pair below him. Still joined, and talking softly one with another. Perhaps some of it was natural. They were in love, but there were precious few mated pairs still in Lorien. Most had left for safer places.

Quickly freshening up, he dressed and exited, finding his brothers, looking better than he had a few minutes before.

"What happened to us?"

"A sample of Sauron's evil, or Saruman's witchcraft. Either way, I believe I know how to beat it," Haldir replied.

"You do? How?"

"Tell the Galadhrim to make love," Haldir told him.

Rumil gaped at him in astonishment. "Surely there is a mistake?"

"I do not believe so," Haldir replied. "If there is no mate, take matters in hand. I must speak with Lord Celeborn." Rumil watched him walk back along the flet to his talan. He took a brief glance downward. The two below him were reaching climax again, a clear sign that their activities were not exclusively caused by the plague. He smiled to himself, if only they knew how beautiful they looked together, not to mention how embarrassed they were going to be in a few moments, because the only way down was from this tree.

He carefully lowered the rope ladder and climbed down. Not until his feet touched the ground did the two occupied lovers realise he was nearby and look up at him.

"Excuse me," he said. "Please continue," he added and stepped passed them, disappearing into the trees.

Legolas looked down at Gimli and both suddenly chuckled softly.

"Did you not know he was there?" Gimli asked. "Elf hearing and all that."

Legolas shook his head. "An elf can be as silent as a grave when needed. I expect he had known we were here all along."

Gimli broke eye contact for a moment. "That could make things interesting when we get back to the others."

"Why?" Legolas asked huskily.

"Well, you being an elf and me being a dwarf," Gimli said softly. "We are supposed to be the bitterest of enemies."

Celeborn's words echoed in his mind, but he doubted that he had had this in mind when he had said it, Legolas supposed silently. "You are not my enemy, friend-Gimli."

Gimli smiled up at him, and feathered his fingertips down the elf's cheeks. "No, I don't suppose I am," he chuckled. Lifting his knees a little further up his silky sides, he moaned softly feeling him shift within him. "I love you."

Legolas gazed down at him. "What did you say?"

"Are you feeling better?" Gimli asked quickly.

Legolas eyed him strangely. That was not what he had said. "I believe I felt better almost before we began making love."

Gimli panted softly, feeling him arch against him. "So we don't need to continue then?"

"No," Legolas agreed, moving languidly. He grinned wickedly. "And I don't need you."

Gimli grinned. "So I noticed."

"You notice many things, meleth nîn, but did you ever notice that elves have a keen sense of hearing?"

"I did."

"Good," Legolas whispered. "Tell me again that you love me."

"I love you."

"I love you, Gimli," he whispered. A covered his lips with his own, slowly tangling his tongue with his own.

Haldir stepped onto the flet and found the audience talan deserted. From beyond the shimmering curtain of silver beads, he could hear soft cries of love, which diminished as he stood there.

A bed shifted gently and Galadriel's voice drifted out through the archway. "I feel much better now."

"As do I," Celeborn replied with a chuckle. "You have not loved me like that in centuries."

Outside, Haldir pursed his lips. This was more than he needed to know. Silently he turned and descended the steps. His message could wait.

The second orc attack was upon them before Legolas and Gimli were fully dressed.

"Legolas! Gimli! I insist that you both return to the city immediately, and stay there."

Gimli recovered from his start and growled. "I do wish you would stop jumping out at me like that. It's really stretching my wits."

Legolas smiled and tapped his shoulder and led him away from the edge of the forest. The sound of fighting grew more and more intense. It was a timely attack, it seemed only too convenient. Resisting the urge to turn back and help, he remembered that neither Gimli nor himself were armed. At a run they returned to the tents and collapsed together on the first bedroll they reached, Gimli's.

Gimli rested a hand on his thigh, quite out of breath. "That was close," he said.

Legolas smiled widely and laced his fingers between Gimli's. "Too close," he agreed.

Aragorn eyed them both and straightened from the task he had been performing and eyed them together. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you," Legolas replied. "I was not the only one ill with . . .whatever it was," he explained. "And I do not believe it was an accident, nor was it natural. Lorien is under attack."

Aragorn looked around him, hands reaching for his weapons. "Then we must assist in the defence of the city."

"Wait," Legolas stood up, a hand on Aragorn's arm. "Haldir said to remain here."

"If what you say is true, the elves are defenceless."

"They are recovered," Gimli replied. "As a matter of fact, they are feeling very much better than they had been before they were infected."

Aragorn looked at him, wondering what he was talking about.

Legolas quashed a snicker, but it escaped as a short, irreverent snort through his nose. Covering his mouth with his fingertips, he turned his eyes to Gimli. "I am sure Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel will wonder how you came by that conclusion."

"They're not the only ones," Boromir frowned at the two of them.

Gimli drew his lips together in a tight O and looked away. Legolas smiled ethereally and said nothing.

Sauron listened to the reports coming back from the attack on Lorien and was sorely displeased. Had the orc reached the Elf city? Had the worthless creature even left Barad-dur? Why had it not worked? Fuming, he realised he had sorely underestimated the power of the elves.

His next attack, on the other hand, would annihilate them once and for all. The ring was getting closer and it was only a matter of time.

El fin