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Legolas Greenleaf strung his bow and let fly a string of arrows so swift that the six Orcs standing at the crest of the knoll doubled over and rolled down either side of the hill before they could even raise their awkwardly shaped axes to strike. He repeated this action three more times in the span of 30 seconds. Legolas’ bow was quickly adding to the growing pile of Orc carcasses the Galadhrim had made at the bottom of the sparsely-treed hill. He looked up for the next sign, and then sniffed the air for the scent of the rank stench of any approaching Orcs. None came, and in a few seconds he heard word from a sentry in one of the few trees lining the knoll that all the Orcs had been vanquished.
Legolas retired his bow to its holster around his shoulder and replaced the remaining quiver of arrows in the pack across his back. He turned to his brother-in-arms standing a few feet away on the grass, and called a greeting to him. “Suilaid, Haldir. When do you think these foul creatures will ever learn not to come with intent to raid the borders of Mirkwood?”
Haldir of Lothlórien brushed some of his light blonde hair off his shoulder before returning the smile that graced the Prince of Mirkwood’s face. “I fear it will never be so, my lord. They have not the brain capacity with which to do any deed worth meriting. They are quite good for archery practice, though, would not you agree?”
“Indeed. This is much more engaging that shooting at some lifeless board from 50 paces.”
“Shall we adjourn to the palace, my lord? I expect the Galadhrim to have returned by now.”
“Mae. We shall depart presently.”
*******
Suilaid ~ greetings
Mae ~ yes
*******
Life for the Prince of Mirkwood was one of privilege and adventure. He could come and go as he pleased and anything he wished to have, he was granted. Legolas was also not lacking in suitable bond-mates. Elven men and women alike flocked to Thranduil’s court to be blessed with the presence of his fair son, some considering him to be the fairest male Elf of this Third Age. Legolas had eyes of sapphire, skin of pearl, hair of golden sun, and a beauty that shone through with an incandescent glow, almost as if the light of the Valar itself flowed through his veins in place of crimson red blood. Of his body he was proportionate and stately in the tradition of the First Born. As befitted the son of a king, the Prince of the Woodland Realm was as skilled with a bow as he was at hand-to-hand combat. He could lose himself in the trees until not even his own brethren could spot him. And his grace in personal and public discourse only succeeded to glorify him further as the epitome of the perfectly calm, perfectly poised, perfectly contented Elf.
Calm and poised though he may have been outwardly, Legolas was far from content. He felt a chasm growing deep in his soul, one which he would not soon be able to leap across if he did not seek to repair this gaping hole in his being. But by what means to repair it, he knew not. What would indeed even be the source for the cure, he knew not. This troubled him greatly, and each day a little more melancholy seeped into his soul. As a matter of course, he did not let this inner sadness show to the outside world. It was not even hard to do, for it was the custom of the Fair Ones not to be too outwardly emotional towards one another, save maybe for one’s bond-mate. Elves were not physically close beings as concerning friends or family, choosing instead to bestow praise or counsel in the form of sweet songs or cunning phrases. Feelings of anger and thoughts of war were expressed through the universal method of warfare, perhaps the only occasion when it was expected and encouraged to be physical when facing one’s opponent or helping one’s kinsman.
After two weeks of idleness following the failed attempt of the Orcs’ raid, Legolas could stand still no longer, and summoned Haldir to gather his men for they were going to go on a journey west of Mirkwood towards Imladris, the last bastion of Elven archers in Middle Earth. Men called this place Rivendell, as it was perched atop a high cliff overlooking water falling into the mouth of the great river Anduin before it flowed out to a sea that led to the Grey Havens, the final destination of the Elves of this Age. Fifty years had passed since Legolas had last journeyed to Imladris. The time spent there had been pleasant, with many places to go where one could be at peace with nature, or to seek out the company of others of his kind. He had also spent much time with Elrond Half-Elven, the Lord of Imladris, and his daughter Arwen, lovingly called the Evenstar by her people for being the loveliest of Elves on this Middle-Earth. Elrond had also raised one of the last remaining Dúnedain, a race of Men blessed with long life, as his own son when the young man had come in his childhood seeking the Elven side of his heritage.
Legolas never met the Dúnadan as he was away on a trip with his tutors learning about the natural world around him. Legolas wondered to himself why it was suddenly so irritating that he could not place the Man’s name, because that at least he had known. But after all this time he could not remember. Nevertheless, it would be nice to see Elrond and Arwen once more. He doubted not that she had become even lovelier than ever. And if the Dúnadan were still with them, Legolas might meet the Man for the first time. One thing he did remember was what he heard about how enamored the young mortal had been with the Evenstar. Legolas was mildly surprised that they had not been bonded in that time, for he surely would have heard tale of it at home… but he was torn from his reminiscing when Haldir appeared at the door of Legolas’ bedchamber.
“Man anírach cerin an le?”
He collected his thoughts and replied, “I want to go on a journey west towards Imladris. I have long wished to see the Fair City again and I would not wait any longer. Do you wish to journey with me?” Legolas asked truthfully, knowing that Haldir knew he had the option to decline. Legolas was not a greedy or selfish prince, but then Elves seldom were, and he did not like to order his friends about like servants if they did not wish to be treated as such.
“You have but to name the hour of departure and my men and I will be ready and waiting at the gates, my lord.” Haldir replied without even pausing to think about it first.
“So you have felt this irksome idleness a little too much for your liking as well, lau?”
“I have. I would enjoy the country air and fine company on such a journey west. How long are we to part from King Thranduil’s court?”
“Two months, perhaps three. I do not feel the need to make this a rushed quest. But that it may be a quest is still left to be decided.”
Haldir waited for Legolas to elaborate. When he did not, he asked gently, “And what sort of quest would this be, my lord?”
Another minute passed before Legolas made a solemn reply. “I know not, mellon nin, but I hope to encounter it on the long road to Imladris.”
*******
Man anírach cerin an le? ~ What can I do for you?
Lau ~ no
Mellon nin ~ my friend
*******
Legolas, Haldir, and his company of Galadhrim journeyed west through the forests of Mirkwood before leaving Rhovanion for the Old Ford south of Carrock. From there they trekked across an ancient path through the Misty Mountains and emerged on the other side along the roaring waters of the mighty Bruinen River in the valley of Rhudaur. A month and 10 days they had traveled, and were now but a fortnight’s distance from the great city of Imladris.
Legolas and Haldir scouted a pleasant place to set up camp for the night alongside a grove of Golden Weeping Willows and tall grasses. Then the company of Galadhrim set about preparing for the night. A blanket of twilight had spread across the sky, many faint stars shining like tiny diamonds strewn across dark sapphire velvet, some creatures of the earth resting while others just beginning to rise.
This is what Legolas had longed for. This communion with nature, with the earth, and his place in this world. He had not felt this at home in the world for a long time, and was very relieved to be feeling this healing connection with the natural world. The one gap that remained in his soul, however, had not shriveled in size during their journey. Legolas was no closer to discovering what might be the anecdote for his soul’s suffering, but he hoped to find it at last in Imladris, if not somewhere along the way.
Elves were by nature deep thinkers, given that they had eternity to ponder life, never speaking lightly of one thing or unnecessarily of another. They spoke their minds when they felt cause to do so and not before. But Legolas was tired of thinking. He had not had much else to do in the previous five weeks. He rose from his place at the campfire and told Haldir he was going for a walk in the forest.
Haldir rose and replied, “Would you care for some company, my lord?”
“I would walk alone for a while, mellon, to stretch my limbs and gaze at the stars, but thank you. I shall not be away long.”
“Good eve, Prince.”
“Good eve, Haldir.”
Legolas wandered about through the tall grass, listening to the swish of reeds against his slender boots and feeling the way they brushed his legging-covered thighs. He watched the undulating waves of golden grain sway to and fro like an Elven maiden dancing in the breeze. He came upon a grove of great Golden Weeping Willows; their majestic branches bent over so far the hanging leaves swept along the ground when the wind blew gently through.
A smile appeared on his face and an idea sparked in his mind; quick as a deer Legolas ran forward and leapt into a nearby willow tree with thick, bold branches bearing long green leaves. He surveyed the ground from his perch halfway up in the tree. In the diminishing light Legolas spotted a deer grazing in the tall grass he had passed on his way to the grove.
‘Such a graceful creature,’ he thought to himself. Legolas watched the doe for a few moments and was about to look elsewhere when his eye caught the movement of another graceful creature. He sat there transfixed as the hunter moved through the grasses, his broad frame moving stealthily through the blades. Legolas knew this was not an Elf, for he was too broad, and could not be a Dwarf, for he was too tall, so he must be a Man. He would not have been so interested in a Man if he had not shown the characteristics of an Elf hunting. This was unusual indeed; for Legolas had only previously seen his own kin stalk their prey in this stealthy, traditional method. And for all that he knew there were no Men who had the patience or the grace with which to move the way this intriguing long-haired stranger moved.
Legolas had to have a closer look at this hunter, so instead he climbed higher up in the tree and jumped to an adjacent tree’s branch to improve his view. Once he had a better vantage point Legolas looked at the trappings of the hunter to determine his origin and status in the mortal world. His left eyebrow rose as he recognized the familiar long cape, dark brown vest and similarly dark leg coverings and boots that belonged only to the Rangers of the North. Rangers were the only mortals that Elves truly respected, their honesty and quiet valor being values that Elves seldom saw in most Men. Legolas looked up to gaze at the Man’s face and nearly forgot he was perched in a tree.
The Man had a face worn by many hard days in the sun, with a scraggly beard of deep auburn hair roughly covering the lower half of his face. The thick brown hair on his head was in much the same condition but that did nothing to take away from the beauty of his eyes half hidden beneath the wavy strands. Blue eyes that Legolas stared deeply into as the Man walked toward him, although he was not looking up at the trees, but intent on his prey. Legolas found that even more than the beauty of those brilliant pools of light, he was drawn to the ruggedness of the man’s form, the shaggy shoulder-length hair, the existence of any hair at all on the curved jaw. Elves were stately creatures, always with long, flowing, straight hair that never seemed to fall out of place, and always with skin on their fair faces as bare as the day they were born. Something in this Man called out to Legolas, something he wished to explore, something he did not have in his life, something different and a little bit frightening. This Man that bore himself as an Elf but represented something Legolas had never before known he desired. The company of a mortal Man. The company of a Ranger.
*******
The company of Galadhrim rested in that glade for the next several nights before they planned to continue on their journey to Imladris. During the day Legolas would spend time with Haldir, talking when the need arose, hunting and gathering food to complement the lembas bread they had brought along, and practicing his archery. At dusk Legolas would tell Haldir he would be away for a while ‘walking amongst the trees’ and would make his way back to the edge of the grove of willows where he had seen the fair hunter the other night. He perched on an outlying branch in the same tree and waited to see if the Ranger would again appear. A short while later his heart surprised him as the steady rhythm picked up its cadence when his eyes and ears caught sight and sound of the approaching Man. Legolas had wondered just what might be his reaction to seeing this Man a second time in so short a time, and he found he was pleased with the warm reception and accelerated heartbeat. With intense interest Legolas watched the Ranger hunt down his prey before he turned back the way he had come and disappeared into the whispering meadow. For three nights Legolas held a vigil up in that tree, for he was fortunate that the hunter seemed to always be hunting his prey out in the same general direction- towards the grove of trees and away from any open spaces.
On the fourth night the Moon and Stars were hiding from Legolas behind thick dark clouds that threatened to let loose their deluge, hoarding the shining silver light for parts unknown, leaving the grove and meadow in a veil of darkness before he arrived at the edge of the grove of willows. This disheartened the Elf, for even with his keen Elven eyes he would not be able to find the Man in this thick darkness. ‘The Man might not even be outside tonight,’ he thought. Legolas knew that the animals would have already sought their woodland dens in the premature darkness. But climb into the tree he did, if not to catch a glimpse of the hunter, than to gather and sort through his thoughts.
Legolas leaned against the tree trunk staring off into the encroaching darkness with a confused and heavy heart. He wished for a rhyme to the reason of his sadness, for he knew not when it had enveloped him and he could not foresee when it might depart if he did not find a remedy for this cursed malady. Discovering the existence of this Ranger had been the first time Legolas had felt any change in his melancholy state.
Legolas was torn from his dark thoughts by the sound of something moving through the tree above his head. Before he had a chance to rise and move away from whatever was climbing down the tree a Man landed on the branch in front of him, holding his hands palms out, in a sign of peace but saying nothing. Rain had been falling straight down like arrows on a faraway target into the meadow for the last little while, and now it was making its way through the hole in the canopy that the Man had left when he came crashing through. Lightning and thunder had soon followed and now every few minutes there was a bright flash of light that crackled on the soaked air, giving Legolas precious few seconds to gauge the intentions and appearance of this stranger.
Fathomless cerulean eyes that shone in the darkness were staring at Legolas, apparently waiting for the Elf to make his first move. Legolas thought he was staring at an apparition. That the Man had surprised him was bad enough. That the Man had been waiting for him scared Legolas to his core. He had this sudden ache in the pit of his stomach that he had somehow given himself away and his devious pursuits had angered the mysterious Ranger and that he was here seeking retribution. Legolas felt terrible and wanted to slink down the tree and back to his camp but those eyes held him there, captive. The Ranger finally broke the silence.
“Mára aurë.”
For the first time in his life, Legolas was tongue-tied. After a few seconds and an expectant look from the Man, he replied.
“Suilaid.”
“Iston le?”
“Lau.”
Legolas wanted to curl into himself until there was nothing left to see. This Ranger even spoke their tongue with the accent of someone born into it. This Man that had intrigued him so much the previous three nights was now nigh on terrifying him, not because of his seemingly kindred spirit to the Elven world, but because Legolas had been caught red-handed and could not even hide behind his own culture to claim ignorance. Elves were very proud beings, and were not especially adept at acknowledging their misgivings because they often had few to speak of. What Legolas could barely stand was the thought of what the Ranger might say in accusation to Legolas’ character for his shadowy actions studying the Man from his high perch.
********
Mára aurë ~ Hello
Suilaid ~ Greetings
Iston le? ~ Do I know you?
Lau ~ No
********
The Ranger continued speaking in the Elven tongue, Sindarin. “Why do you watch me so?”
Legolas looked down at the growing puddle of water dripping from above the right side of his head as he answered. “I was interested to see how it was that a Man purported himself as an Elf.” At least he had overcome his hesitancy to speak. If there was one thing one knew for certain about Elves, it was that they never lied. There was no need for deceit if their ambitions were pure.
“Have you never seen such a thing before?”
“No, I have not.”
The Man continued his questioning. “Why did you keep yourself concealed high in this grand tree?”
“I did not wish to intrude upon your territory. And you were hunting. I did not wish to scare away your meal.”
Legolas finally returned his gaze to the rugged Man’s face, though not quite meeting him eye for eye. “How… how did you know I was up here?”
“I felt…something, a presence, watching me, studying me, and I began to look around for the source of this concealed attention. I caught a glimpse of movement from one of these willow trees one night and walked into the grove to find a graceful creature descending from a bough and walking off yonder path along the edge of the meadow. I waited for the next night to see if the mysterious stranger would return and I was not disappointed. But when it happened again yestereve, I grew more curious and decided to uncover the identity of this observer myself, should he not choose to reveal himself of his own accord.”
Legolas studied the Man’s face. He looked neither angered nor hurt nor spiteful. Curious he looked. This gave Legolas more confidence and he rose up to a proper upright sitting position and crossed his legs, regarding the Ranger. “Yes, it is true. I am from the northern woods and we seldom have been in the company of Men, but for the few hardy Rangers that wander around the plains to the West, and sometimes come wandering through our realm. So, I recognized you for being a Ranger, but what caught my eye and my attention was how you moved yourself like an Elf. For even Rangers are not given to graceful movements such as yours; they are still Men after all.”
“Aye, that we are. But tell me, have you never been to Imladris, the great city to which we are so near? There dwell a heartier number of Men, given the blessing of Lord Elrond to live amongst the Elves, most often because they are of mixed heritage.”
“Are you one of those kin?”
“Aye. I spent my childhood there before I made the decision to lead the life of a Ranger of the North. Thereafter I left the Fair City to train with others like me from Gondor, from Osgiliath, Edoras, and beyond. I try to return home as often as I can to visit with Lord Elrond and his kin.”
The Ranger’s voice was practically a whisper when the last word was spoken and his eyes were downcast. Legolas sensed there was a hidden meaning behind that, and a simple guess would be that this Hunter thought fondly, if probably from afar, about one of Lord Elrond’s family. Could the Evenstar of his people be the one of which this Ranger would not speak?
“Well, that does explain a lot, thank you. Although I think your years spent among Men have changed you in ways you may not see.” Legolas’ mouth tilted up into a sly little smile. He looked at the mortal from under his long dark lashes. He wanted to laugh at the befuddled and slightly worried face of the one sitting across from him.
“And what might those be, mellon?”
“You speak so openly and informally about your birthplace. And you speak to me as though we had known each other for many seasons. I think that if I should have heard you before I saw you I would have never spent all this time perched here in a tree like a squirrel.” Elvish humor is a strange thing indeed, and had he not been raised in Imladris, the Man would have considered Legolas’ comment an affront. But he knew that the joke carried with it a compliment to his prowess as well.
“Well, then let us be glad you did not hear me initially. If I had been speaking in the Common Tongue, you might never have even glanced my way.”
Legolas smiled, a genuine smile now for the Man was conversing with him jovially, and returned the jest. “What a foul tongue. Not as horrid as the filth those yrch speak, but it cannot capture in rhythm or rhyme the beauty of nature or the heavens.”
The Ranger laughed out loud at this comment, throwing his head back in merriment, to the Elf’s astonishment. Legolas sat there just staring at his companion in the tree. He had never seen anything so beautiful as in that moment. He determined silently to himself that he must find a way to enjoy this Man’s laughter on a far more regular basis. He had a strange feeling that it could lead to the cure for his internal anguish.
*******
yrch ~ orcs
*******
Over the next few nights the Ranger and the Elf whiled away the hours getting to know each other better, always on the same branch in the tree bordering the meadow at the edge of the Golden Willow grove. They never spoke of the odd choice of venue or the nocturnal timing of their meetings, for it mattered not to them. The Ranger gathered from their talks that the Elf had been unhappy in his life recently and sought to distract him with the wild tales of his life on the road, though he could not fathom why he should take such an interest in this charming Elf. Something drew him to the tree each night where he would wait for Legolas to leave his camp and make his way through the grove in the darkling twilight. When the Elf approached the grand, sweeping willow tree, a brilliant smile would immediately lighten his face and the elf would leap into the tree to greet his friend. Maybe it had something to with that gorgeous smile that the Elf graced him with every night as a greeting, or in response to a joke the Ranger had made.
Back in the camp, Haldir had noted a remarkable and sudden change in his friend that at first he was glad to see, but at length, began to worry him. He wondered what could possibly dwell in the forest adjacent to their camp that could be exacting this rather abrupt change in the Prince of Mirkwood. It could not be simply the forest itself because Legolas lived in a woodland realm, surrounded by nature on all sides. He presumed it must be something living in the grove of willows that had livened Legolas’ spirits. Legolas began to spend more time away in the grove at night, always returning before the dawn, but it seemed to Haldir that he was leaving to go on his ‘walk’ a little earlier each day. He wanted to know what this presence was, but would not broach the subject unless the prince did so first.
Legolas caught Haldir regarding him a little more closely over the next few days, and he knew what the leader of the Galadhrim wanted to know, but Legolas did not want to ruin the first chance he had had at recovering from his melancholy, so he pretended not to notice. He told Haldir that he wanted to stay in that spot a little while longer before they moved on again towards Imladris.
“Am I to assume that you are enjoying a respite beside this grove of weeping willows, my lord?”
“Mae, mellon, I am indeed. There is something soothing about this wood, something that we do not have at home. I feel it is refreshing my body as well as my mind, do you not feel it also?”
“Of course, my lord. Golden Willows abound in my homeland, and they are reputed healers of a suffering soul. But might I inquire as to when we may proceed on to the Fair City? Autumn advances and its cousin Winter will be arriving on the wings of the North Wind. We must consider where we will spend the wintry months if we are to remain in Imladris for such a time as you seem to desire.”
The familiar mask of suppressed sadness fell upon Thranduil’s heir at the thought of leaving the warm company of the Ranger and Haldir immediately regretted his words, but in truth, he needed to know the prince’s wishes if he was to make proper arrangements.
“Legolas?”
The Elf looked up to the sound of his name. His mind was a whirlwind of swirling emotions, all vying for prominence. It was enough to drive him to the willow tree in broad daylight to seek solace from making any more decisions.
“Goheno nin, Haldir. Your question brought many concerns to my mind all at once and I was trying to sort them out. I will think on the matter and give you a response soon.”
“Very well, my lord. Do not trouble yourself needlessly.” Haldir said, looking pointedly at the prince.
Legolas knew what Haldir meant by his carefully chosen words and smiled softly. “I will try. Hannon le.”
********
Goheno nin ~ Forgive me
Hannon le ~ Thank you
********
Another week passed. The Golden Willows began to drop some of the leaves that gave the tree its colorful name. The two males sat in the tree one stormy night and laughed at the lesser points of all things related to the Common Tongue and the world of Men, one of their favorite subjects, until the rain stopped pouring and they were left in darkness by the cessation of the lighting strikes. A little while later the waxing Moon finally peeked around the dissipating storm clouds and bathed the land in her gentle silver glow. Legolas marveled at the shadows that danced across the Man’s face as he talked about one trip or another over the Riddermark. He was at a loss to understand where these strange feelings were coming from. He could sit there indefinitely listening to this man speak, this man who seemed more at home in his skin than Legolas had ever felt in the long age that he had been here on Middle-earth. There was something about this Man that Legolas felt was familiar and yet totally foreign to him all at once. He could not place it though.
Legolas knew he should give Haldir an answer that day, but he did not want to do anything until he found out where the Ranger was going next, and when he planned to depart the wood. Legolas did not doubt that he surely had delayed the Man from whatever important business he had outside of Imladris. He realized that he did not want the Man to leave. He wanted him to go on to Imladris with him. Legolas sat there lost in thought, his chin in his hand, staring at the fallen leaves on the ground below.
The Ranger turned his head from the meadow he had been looking at as he talked to glance at Legolas’ downcast eyes and stopped abruptly. The look of deep thought and consternation on the beautiful face concerned the Ranger.
“What is wrong, mellon?” He reached out to touch Legolas’ left knee to get his attention.
This broke Legolas from his thoughts and he looked over at the tanned hand grasping his knee. A small smile appeared on his otherwise sullen visage.
“Another influence from living amongst Men seems to have claimed you.” Legolas’ eyes traveled up the outstretched arm to meet grey-blue pools of light.
The Man just stared at him for a few moments. “We view it as a sign of affection or concern. It is meant to be comforting.”
Legolas looked down at the warm, callused palm still lying on his leg. Then he looked back up at the Man and asked, “That is an odd way to show one’s feelings or concern. Are there other places on the body to touch when you show this affection?” Legolas was suddenly very interested in this human tradition if it meant the Ranger would lay his hand elsewhere on the Elf’s body.
There was a strange look on the Man’s face that Legolas could not decipher, but then the look vanished in an instant. “Aye, there are. One of them is to grasp the shoulder on either side.” The Ranger glided his hand light as a feather over the fabric of the Elf’s leggings and up his left arm to clasp it on his shoulder firmly. In doing so he had leaned his head in a little closer to the Elf, who could only stare into those glittering grey-green eyes.
Legolas’ whole upper body seemed to be leaning just the slightest bit forward of its own accord. “Any other places?” his voice quivered as the question came out more of a whisper than anything else.
Without replying, the Hunter lifted his hand from Legolas’ shoulder to place it gently against his cheek, his thumb softly rubbing back and forth across the porcelain skin, his fingers wrapping around the luxurious, long hair at the nape of his neck. Their faces were only inches apart now and still they gazed upon each other as if one would disappear if the other one but blinked.
At length the Man spoke quietly. “There is one more way, the most significant way to prove one’s fealty,” he paused to glance down at the lush red lips that were slightly parted as the Elf’s breaths became shallower.
“And what would that be, mellon?” he replied, though the Elf had a feeling he already knew the answer. It sent a tingling sensation throughout his entire body, awakening every nerve ending, making him feel more alive than he had felt in all the long years he had walked this earth. He mirrored the Ranger’s action and gazed upon the red lips partially in shadow from the moonlight by the beard covering the lower half of his face.
“A kiss…” the Ranger whispered as he brought his other hand up to cup Legolas’ face with both hands and closed the distance between them as their lips met in a sweet albeit chaste embrace. The Ranger pulled away to gauge the Elf’s reaction, and seeing only a glazed pair of half-lidded beautiful blue eyes still focused on his lips, he leaned back in and embraced the Elf with full force the growing passion that he had been trying to control over the last few days. The Elf was taken by surprise and gasped into the Man’s mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to seek entrance inside the jeweled lips of this creature in his arms.
Legolas sighed as his tongue became entangled with his hunter’s, exploring every recess of the sweet mouth, his beard tickling Legolas’ chin. Legolas had closed his eyes so he did not even realize the two of them were reclined until he felt the smooth bark of the broad Golden Willow branch under his back, near the trunk of the tree. The sensation of that warm, throbbing body pressing against him was more than Legolas could take, and he cried out, “Aiii, melethron!” arching his back up into the muscular chest lying on top of him. It was in that moment of bliss that he realized he had no name for his beautiful Ranger.
“Man eneth lín?” Legolas asked when he was able to string three coherent words together.
The Ranger spoke softly as he began nipping brusquely at the Elf’s throat. “Estel eneth nîn.”
Legolas’ eyes shot open at the sound of that name on the Ranger’s lips and he grabbed the man by his shoulders and pulled him far enough away so that he could look into his face. That name belonged to only one mortal. It was the son of Lord Elrond that Legolas had yet to meet but had heard much about regarding his heritage as the last of the Dúnedain line and the heir of Isildur, the great leader of Men from the First Age, who fought in the Battle of the Ring against the Dark Lord and smote the evil Ring from his dark hand.
*********
melethron~ lover
Man eneth lín? ~ What is your name?
Estel eneth nîn ~ My name is Estel
*********
“It is you!” Legolas gasped. At that moment a bolt of lightning struck the ground away in the meadow, lighting up the Willow Grove brilliantly for a split second. The sound of the air crackling from the sparkling electricity startled both Archer and Ranger before the Man even had a chance to ask the Elf of what he was speaking.
‘Where did that come from?’ Legolas thought to himself frantically. He had not seen nor heard the new storm clouds rolling over the meadow. ‘Could I have been distracted so by the presence of this Man as to not notice the returning storm?’ He was disconcerted by this failure to be ever-aware of his surroundings, something to which he was accustomed as an Elf. He quickly rolled out from under the broad form and lithely slipped to the leaf-covered ground. A gentle rain had started to fall and little beads of moisture were gathering on top of his cloak and misting his eyes. He looked up with trepidation at the man still in the tree.
The Dúnadan was very confused, and still trying to get his over-excited body to cooperate with him so that he could descend to the ground and ask the beautiful Elf what troubled him. ‘Obviously, the Elven name from my childhood means something to him, but what I cannot imagine.’ He tried to recall if he had ever seen this Elf in Imladris during his time there, but no such memories came forward. ‘And surely I would remember such an alluring creature, would I not?’ He mused to himself. ‘Actually, now that I think of it, possibly not. I was still much too caught up in the allure of a very different side of Elven splendor…’ After a few more seconds, the Ranger felt he now had sufficient control over his body and he rose to his feet and went into a crouch to grab the branch on which he stood and swing under it, landing firmly on the ground in front of the First Born, who was regarding him warily.
Legolas was still breathing hard from their recent exertions and he felt the blood coursing through the lower extremities of his body. The cool rain was a pleasant feeling on his overheated skin and flushed face, quite a feat for someone as pale and fair as the Moon herself.
The Man approached the Elf slowly, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture of good will. When the Elf continued to regard him with those sapphire gems, but did not back away, the Ranger came to stand directly in front of him. He said nothing while waiting to see how the Elf reacted to the close proximity they shared once more. Had he been too aggressive? Had he scared this lovely creature, who was probably not used to the comparably rough, more rugged ways of Men?
“What is the name those who speak the Common Speech use when addressing you?” Legolas finally asked. He needed something to be confirmed before he could decide what to do next.
The Man inwardly cringed at the Elf’s return to the formal speech he had used when they had first met over a dozen nights ago. He sighed and hoped that a long-over-due explanation of who he was would be enough to placate the fair creature into returning to his arms and to his trust.
“Estel is the name that Lord Elrond gave me during my childhood years in Imladris, and sometimes he still uses it when he is trying to persuade me of one thing or another,” the Dúnadan chuckled at that, hoping it would make the Elf at least smile but, with no such luck, he continued. “The name my mother Gilraen bestowed upon me is Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” at this Aragorn noted a look of recognition cross the Elf’s luminescent face for a moment before it faded away and the somber look returned. “As a Ranger, such people as those from Bree in the Northern Lands call me Strider. In my service to Rohan and Gondor I am known by some as Thorongil.”
“‘Eagle of the Star,’ a very appropriate name for one who has traveled to so many distant lands.” Legolas replied softly, referring to the name the Rohirrim called him. The rain had now soaked through his cloak, but he barely noticed it. He was still trying to gather together his scattered emotions. And he did not even know why he felt this way. Something was nagging at the back of his mind but he could not think of what it was right now.
Just then another streak of lightning rent the sky with its awesome light, and Legolas felt as if he himself had just been struck, for the connection between this Man and the strange feeling he had in the back of his mind became clear… Legolas was nearing the mark of 800 years spent on Middle-Earth and among elf-kind that was traditionally considered the time when one would start looking for a bond-mate, or in the case of Royal Elves, sometimes promises of alliances between Elven Houses sought to bond their children together when they came of age to forge new Houses amongst the eternal Elven realms. These alliances were meant to be sought agreeably, and therefore were not held in earnest if such a bonding never took hold between any two of the First Born. Alliances were met in many other ways as well, so that is why Legolas had long forgotten about the alliance that his father had once spoken of to him when he was just an Elfling of 400 years. ‘I have signed an accord with Lord Elrond of Imladris that one day when you are of age, you might bond with one of his children if you so desire and form an alliance between the Houses of Mirkwood and Imladris. Such would be a welcome and comforting event for me to see my only son found his own House for the coming Ages.’
“It seems we have both inadvertently hidden our identities from one another. Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?” Aragorn asked cautiously, careful to be formal and polite while the Elf was still looking at him like he was again a complete stranger and had a far-off look in his eye.
This seemed to pull his attention back to the present and the Elf graced him with a short incline of his head towards Aragorn, and pulled himself up to his full, stately height. He said with the ever-present pride of the Elves, “I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood in the Woodland Realm away yonder to the East and to the North.” After a pause, he added with the smallest of smirks twisting his red lips upward in one corner, “I am known by only one name, for I have not been as swift as the Eagle in my travels.” If Aragorn had let his ears wander for just a moment he would have missed it. Elven humor was such that only Men blessed with the opportunity to be in their company regularly could understand and appreciate it.
‘So this was the fair prince of the Silvan Elves.’ He had wondered what the child of King Thranduil might look like; he had heard Elrond speak of him often enough, and was even told of an alliance drawn up long ago between his surrogate father and the Mirkwood King but Aragorn had always assumed that if a bond ever formed that it would be between Arwen and the Silvan Prince. That is why he had never developed amorous feelings for her, developing an undying admiration instead. There was also the matter of the prophecy written about him:
“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring;
renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”
Being the heir of Isildur, bound to a certain duty that he would one day have to perform, had been another factor in repressing any desire for someone he would most likely never get to know. In the following years his desires had ventured elsewhere amongst those that he spent the most time with…those years surrounded by Horselords and Rangers had been intriguing indeed. And now he had fallen prey to the very being he had never imagined would ever scout him from the sky.
Aragorn gave a small laugh at what he hoped was the Elf’s renewed trust in him. He tested this theory by raising his calloused hand to brush some wayward strands of silken hair, glowing silver in the light of the full Moon, away from his eyes. The rain had plastered his hair to his face, giving off an uncharacteristically disheveled look. To Aragorn, this made the prince even more desirable. Aragorn felt the almost imperceptible tilt of Legolas’ head into the Man’s palm. His thumb gently caressed the smooth, wet cheek, watching rivulets of water run down the ethereal face.
Legolas realized that the Man standing before him was indeed one of Lord Elrond’s children, if only by shared common ancestors and a childhood spent in his house growing up and not familial blood. Something stirred in his soul that he had not felt before. The loneliness was waning, and a new feeling was replacing it. A feeling of hope. Of longing. Of love. He finally knew the answer to the riddle of his ailing soul…
Legolas’ eyes sparkled with a renewed glimmer as they rose to meet the heir of Isildur’s, and asked in a voice as soft as the wind, “And what shall I call you, O Keeper of Many Names?” Their bodies were now pressing lightly against each other. Both Elf and Man could feel the other’s desire and how the now-pouring rain did little to cool off their fiery skin.
“Yours.” Aragorn’s mouth crashed down on Legolas’ almost before he had finished uttering the word. His arms encircled the Elf and crushed him to his heaving chest. Tongues dueled, arms roamed, and legs rubbed together, each trying to slake the painful burning sensation becoming an evermore pressing concern in their minds.
Aragorn started walking forward, never pausing in his attack on that sweet mouth, forcing Legolas to back up until the trunk of their favorite willow tree stopped their progress. Now Aragorn could begin his assault on the Elf’s senses in earnest. He melded every inch of his body that he could to the immortal’s, and sank his hands into the golden mass of now-tangled hair and just clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the silky strands wrapped around his fingers.
Legolas gasped at such contact. His body was on fire, his veins positively glowing in the darkness with all the blood flowing through them. He released a most un-Elf-like groan of pleasure when Aragorn’s wandering hands found their way down his back and gripped his buttocks and pulled his groin into full and wondrous contact with the Ranger’s. This, of course, only spurred Aragorn to do it again, living for each groan, gasp, and shudder that emanated forth from the sweet creature in his arms.
Legolas had lain with more than a few women and men in his time, but they had always been Elves, and the males had always been so reverent that they were almost as gentle as the females were with him, though for what reason Legolas could never fathom. But this, this was different. Aragorn was mortal. Aragorn was Dúnedain. Aragorn was rough, demanding, aggressive, and oh-so-skilled with his hands and mouth…and yet, at the same time, more tender, more passionate then all those who had come before him. Legolas wondered with the brain cells that were still functioning in just what else the traveler was skilled.
“Aiii, meleth…” Aragorn had just found out that Elvish ears were very sensitive towards the curved tip, so he licked a sensuous trail up and down Legolas’ left ear. Legolas felt his legs going weak, and if Aragorn continued his ministrations he was going to lose his ability to stand up completely.
Aragorn must have felt his legs trembling, because just then he reached down slightly and grabbed both legs around the back of his thighs, sliding down to grip behind his knees, and pulled Legolas’ legs around his waist, trapping Legolas in between himself and the tree.
“Man mathach?” Aragorn purred into his ear.
“Im maer,” Legolas tilted his head back against the tree, panting mouth hanging open, exposing his delectable pale neck to the Dúnadan’s hungry gaze. Aragorn’s lips hovered right above the skin on his neck right behind his ear, his warm breath driving Legolas crazy at the tantalizing feeling it spread throughout his body and in anticipation of his lips claiming his skin for themselves. But the lips did not touch the smooth skin. Instead the tip of a hot tongue barely passed over the skin behind his ear downward along his neck. Aragorn unclasped the water-logged cloak and brushed aside his tunic and continued trailing his tongue across the now-exposed collarbone. Legolas tasted of nature, if such a flavor could be defined. Unlike mortal skin which is salty to the tongue, the skin of the immortal, mixed with the fresh raindrops of water, made for the most delectably sweet taste that Aragorn had ever tasted before in his life.
“Edro gûr lín,” Aragorn whispered in Legolas’ ear as he loosened the belt around the Elf’s tunic. He pushed away from the tree with Legolas still wrapped around him and turned around to fall to his knees and lower the Elf to the leaf-covered ground. The rain had abated to a drizzle and now a fine mist permeated the grove as dawn neared. He laid the Elf upon the previously discarded cloak and laid across his body to gaze into that ethereal face.
His left hand sought the heated length underneath the leggings of the tunic and immediately Legolas’ eyes rolled into the back of his head as he arched into the touch. He had never known pleasure like this, oh no, and he knew why. Mating this powerful, this passionate, meant only one thing. It was to form a bond; to become a bond-mate to the other being. Such a thing was not to be taken lightly. He had to know if Aragorn knew of this, if he wanted this.
“Meleth, do you know what we are about to do?”
Aragorn knew Legolas was not speaking literally, he knew that he spoke of the bonding point they were nearing, and he also knew that he wanted to do nothing else in his life more than he wanted to do this right here, under the trees and the stars, out in nature where his Elf blended in with the surrounding beauty and yet outshone it all with his own brilliance.
“Le melon…” was his immediate but soft reply.
Legolas’ eyes glazed over with tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks if he blinked. He was so relieved to hear the two most precious words in the world that he closed his eyes and let the tears fall where they may. He felt the soft pad of a finger wipe them away and an even softer mouth kiss the skin where they had scorched a trail down his face.
Legolas’ voice hitched as he whispered, “I love you, too,” as Aragorn bonded them together for now and eternity, and through the love that they shared, bonded a new life to them in glorious celebration of their union and future together.
*******
meleth ~ love
Man mathach? ~ How do you feel?
Im maer ~ I am well
Edro gûr lín ~ Open your heart
Le melon ~ I love you
*******
Epilogue ~ 4 years later
“Aragorn…” came the plaintive cry from the bedchamber.
“…Elessssar…”
“…Estel!!!”
Aragorn was playing with his son, Thoron, which was Sindarin for ‘Eagle’, in the next room when he heard his husband’s laments. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Then he picked up his son and carried him into the bed chamber where his bed-ridden Gift from the Valar was lying restlessly.
He set Thoron down on the bed. The four-year-old immediately scooted up the length of the grand canopied bed to hover over his adar in the wondrous curiosity of children. “What is wrong, ada?” Thoron asked, his bright green eyes shining brilliantly in the soft morning light.
Aragorn came to sit next to Legolas on the bed and took the Elf’s left hand is his own. Then he said in a stage-whisper to his son, “I think your ada is a little irritable right now,” then he chuckled at the evil glare he received from his husband.
Thoron looked from his papa to his ada and then back again. He asked, “Why is he irribbable, papa?” Then a thoughtful look came over his face and he turned back to Legolas. “What does irribbable mean, ada ?”
Legolas laughed and stretched his right arm out to brush his son’s unruly, long brown hair out of his eyes and cooed, “Do not trouble your self over it, dearest. I simply did not wish to be alone, and I heard the laughter of father and son coming from the other room, but I could not come join you.”
********
Adar ~ father
Ada ~ daddy (when addressing the father)
********
Aragorn looked down at his beautiful husband and sighed. He thought he would be used to this by now, but apparently that was not the way it was meant to be. Legolas was in the last stages of pregnancy and had been ordered to stay in bed for the remaining few weeks because he had refused to tone down his activities as he lost his agility and ability to do simple tasks due to his expectant state. Even as an Elf born with the gift to bear children, he could not accept the less-than-graceful condition he would endure to give birth to Aragorn’s, now King Elessar, children. That made for a very stubborn and surly Elf. And that was just Thoron. Legolas was now carrying their second child, a girl that they were going to name Tinúviel after the storied nightingales in Elvish realms of the First Age, and Aragorn was starting to wonder if maybe they would be happy to have just a son and a daughter. He wasn’t too sure if he could go through this trial a third or fourth time. If it had not been for his sister Arwen’s calming presence through both pregnancies, he feared he would have throttled his obstinate Elf in his sleep by now.
“I am sorry, melethron; we did not know you had already woken from your slumber. What can I do to make you feel less lonely?” Aragorn asked in his deep, sensuous voice. Legolas’ eyebrows immediately rose and a smile appeared on his face. Aragorn laughed at the sudden change in temperament of his bond-mate and leaned down to place a tender kiss on those luscious red lips.
Two seconds later they were interrupted by a squealing, “Ewwww!! Ada and papa are kissing!!” Thoron’s face was all scrunched up as if he had just seen something disgusting and he was hiding his eyes in a very dramatic fashion.
Aragorn lifted up off of Legolas and winked conspiratorially at him. Then he turned to their son, who was peeking at them through a space in the fingers still covering his eyes to see if the ickiness was over, and said in a mock-menacing voice, his hands making pretend claws out in front of him, “I’ll give you something to squeal about! Com’ere you!” And he launched himself at his son, mindful of the full belly of his husband lying under them on the bed.
Thoron screamed in child-like glee and tried to roll off the bed to escape his father. But he never made it off the edge because Aragorn had him by both feet and dragged him back howling with laughter, still trying to get away. Legolas had turned to his right side and created another barrier to keep their son on the bed. Aragorn lay behind Thoron and together Legolas and Aragorn tickled the young half-elfling until he had curled himself up into a ball and was holding his breath until they relented or he turned blue. Not wanting a blue child, they stopped and Thoron took that opportunity to make a mad dash for the floor off the end of the bed where he could hide and they could not reach him with making an effort to move.
Legolas, wanting to continue what had been developing into a very hot kiss, grabbed a hold of Aragorn’s tunic and yanked towards him, crashing their mouths together.
Two seconds later, they were interrupted again, but this time not by a squealing child. This time it was a throat-clearing Elven woman. “*Ahem!*” Arwen did it a second time.
Aragorn reluctantly lifted his head from the swollen lips of his lover to glance at this new intrusion. “Yes, Arwen? Did you need something?”
Arwen rolled her eyes at them and tried to keep her face from cracking up into a grin and a laugh. Those two would not even notice if all of Gondor were standing in the room watching. When they were only focused on each other, which was only when they weren’t focused on their son and soon-to-arrive daughter, everything else disappeared. She hoped she found a love like that one day.
“Yes, I need to borrow your son for a little while. It is time for his first riding lesson.” Arwen replied as she beckoned with a hand to the young heir of Gondor.
Thoron obediently rose from the floor and ran up to her, hugging her flowing skirts. “Can we go now, Auntie Arwen? Papa and ada were kissing again!!” And he scrunched his face up again for emphasis.
Ignoring the sardonic look he received from his sister, Aragorn asked, “His riding lesson? Arwen, the boy is only four years old!”
“And is perfectly capable of learning to ride. When he goes to visit his grandfather in Imladris all the other Elven children will already know how to ride and shoot from a distance, so do not you think he should be just as prepared? He is half Elf, half Dúnedain; I should think you would have had him in the saddle before he could walk.”
Aragorn was speechless, and apparently, the only concerned one in the room. He looked down at his husband and Legolas nodded in ascension. “It is true, my love, Thoron will do splendidly and will make you very proud. Do not worry.” He tilted his head the few degrees it took to reach Aragorn’s neck and kissed it once, then twice.
Aragorn realized what they said was true, and said to Arwen, without moving his head so that Legolas could continue making a trail of kisses down his neck, “Alright, proceed, just please be careful, ok?”
Arwen assured him they would be and quickly left the room with Thoron. She knew Aragorn would have to come see his son ride another day, for no one was leaving that bedchamber anytime soon.
“So, where were we?” Aragorn said as he rubbed his right hand over the beautiful baby girl growing inside of his beloved.
Legolas pretended to contemplate that question, tapping his forefinger against his chin. Aragorn laughed out loud at his impersonation of a mortal and teased, “Whose customs are rubbing off on whom now, eh? Hahaha.”
Legolas smacked him on the arm and said, “Very funny, human… I do believe you were about to remedy my feelings of loneliness.”
“Ahhhh, a worthy task if ever I saw one.” Aragorn chuckled, but his face sobered at the now-serious look on the face of his precious.
“Indeed you already have. I consider the night I first saw you in that grove of willow trees to be the night that saved my life…and the night that you first told me you loved me to be the night that saved my soul.” Legolas reached up to cup Aragorn’s cheek and brush away the emerging tears with his thumb.
Aragorn swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and reciprocated the gesture, caressing the perfect, luminescent skin on Legolas’ face. “It was you, Dear One, who made me the happiest man on Middle-Earth the night that you returned my love with a love of your own so brilliant as to bequeath us with a son. And now, a daughter.”
Legolas’ eyes smiled through the tears running down his face and sang softly in his lyrical woodland voice an ancient Elvish lullaby as Aragorn laid with his head over Legolas’ heart.
“Lay down, your sweet and weary head
Night is falling; you have come to journey’s end
Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before
They are calling, from across a distant shore.
Why do you weep? What are those tears upon your face?
Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms, you’re only sleeping
What can you see? On the horizon
Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea
A pale moon rises, the ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water, all souls pass.
Hope fades, into the world of night
Through shadow’s falling, out of memory and time
Don’t say that we have come now to the end
White shores are calling; you and I shall meet again
And we’ll be here in my arms, just sleeping
What can you see? On the horizon
Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea
A pale moon rises, the ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water, grey ships pass
Into The West"