Title: To Know Who You Are
Type: FPS
Author: Neldluva (rockininlasgalen@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Glorfindel/ “OC”, Elrohir/ “OC”
Warning: mentions of non-con, mentions of rape, mentions of child abuse (later), angst, drama, enslavement
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns them, and they own me.
Timeline: Takes place about TA 930
Summary: While making his rounds of Middle-earth, Glorfindel makes a discovery. What can it lead to?

~

'At last,' Glorfindel thought to himself as he approached the village. 'At last a place to stop and rest.'

He had been traveling for the past few months, making rounds of the less-than-civilized areas of Middle-earth, offering his services as a warrior where they were needed. But the work had become wearying. He longed for a chance to return to his home, if it could be called that, in Rivendell with Lord Elrond Half-Elven. But he still had many miles of road to cover before he reached his destination, and winter came quick at his heels. Even great Elf lords cannot travel so far in a blizzard.

So he looked to stay for a night or two in this village of Men. It didn’t look like the most hospitable of places, but then what place of Men could look like home to an Elf? Glorfindel disliked the high walls around the village, the rickety shape of the houses, the grime in the streets, but all of these details could be ignored until he left.

He could pick the inn from the buildings around it because of the drunken Men standing outside it. The smell of vomit and strong alcohol filled the air around the building. Glorfindel wrinkled his nose and entered, sidestepping the Man sprawling across the threshold. It was noisy inside, and humid as well. The recent rain had drenched the clothing of the inhabitants of this village, and the hot fire burning in the soot-covered hearth only suited the make the air thick, like warm fog. Glorfindel kept his hood close to his face, searching out the innkeeper from the drunken brawling Men.

“What can I do you for, stranger?” A plump, greasy hand landed on his shoulder. Glorfindel struggled to maintain his composure as the innkeeper breathed his vile breath in his face. “Is it food and ale you seek, or would you like a bed as well? We’ve the finest beds in town, I’ll tell you that.”

“I have no doubts of that,” Glorfindel said disdainfully, casting another glance about the room. “I do seek a bed, should you have a spare one.”

“Of course, good sir, of course! Always pleased to honor strange folk!” He gazed at the Balrog Slayer with his beady eyes. “And you’re one of them fey creatures, I’ll lay money on it! Whence do you hail, lord?”

“I am a member of the household of Elrond Half-Elven,” Glorfindel proclaimed.

“I knew it! Ha! I’ll get right upon it, sir, supposing you have means of payment.” He watched greedily as Glorfindel drew his purse out of the folds of his cloak.

“Here is one gold piece,” Glorfindel said, dropping the coin into the outstretched hand, “for my room and board. And here is another for my privacy.”

The Man blinked in surprise, never having had a customer pay so much in his entire career. “Thank you most exceedingly, lord. You will be well looked-after.”

“I like my privacy.”

“I understand completely. We won’t bother you at all, lord. Thank you kindly.” The Man scampered off to the kitchens.

Glorfindel sighed and sat down at an unoccupied table, clearing the place before him of lingering crumbs. He drummed his fingers on the table, leaning his head in a hand. He hadn’t seen another Elf in quite some time, and he longed for the company of his own kin. Anything would be better than the coarse, unkempt Men that surrounded him. ‘Only a few more weeks,’ he thought to himself. ‘A few more weeks and I will be home.’

They brought food to him. Surprisingly, it was not too disgusting, though Glorfindel kept his distance from the suspicious-looking meat. He picked at his vegetables. Of course, there were stares directed at him. The entire inn, excepting those too drunk to focus their eyes, was curious about the stranger who sat alone and carried the fine sword at his waist. And he had paid two gold pieces! Who could afford such things these days? Surely only a fine lord! But they left him alone. Orson, the innkeeper, had threatened even his regulars should they trouble this guest.

Finished with his supper and not wishing to spend any more time in the crowded pub, Glorfindel rose from his seat. Orson immediately rushed to his side, spouting some simpering nonsense as he led the Balrog Slayer to his chambers. “I hope you will be comfortable here,” he said. “It probably isn’t what you’re used to, lord, but we have the finest establishment this side of the White Mountains . . .”

“It will suit fine,” Glorfindel said, hand on the doorknob. “Leave me now, I wish to rest.”

“Of course. Merely call and we shall get you whatever you need, lord. Any time of the night, you need anything . . .”

“Thank you. Good night.” Glorfindel promptly slipped into the room and shut the door, glad to be away from the annoying Man and his prattling speech. He began his perusal of the room. It would have to do. At least there didn’t seem to be rats or roaches hiding anywhere. He sighed and removed his cloak. A soft gasp interrupted his movements. Glorfindel spun around, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room. It was his turn to stand surprised before the unexpected guest.

~

“Up! Up, I said!” Orson smacked his bottom through the thin blanket. “Up now, lazy! We have company tonight!”

The boy tossed where he lay on the thin pallet, but sat up promptly, knowing the punishment that would come if he didn’t obey. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wondering what the trouble was. “What?” he asked.

“Are you deaf as well? We have company tonight, well-paying company. I want you to keep him warm tonight. Gods, you look terrible. Wash up now.”

He pried himself from the bed, still feeling sore from the night before. The Man was Master. His name was Orson, but he was Master, and Master liked him to share his body with the finest of guests. Or even those not so fine. He staggered to the washbasin, splashing his face with the cold water. A dirty mirror hung close, reminding him of his shame.

He grew no hair on his face, keeping him in eternal youth. He had the vaguest conception that he should have grown up by now, but his face had not changed in so many years. He could remember winters long ago, and yet he still had the slender, delicate body of a youth. Therein lay the shame. That and the ears. Freak, they had called him. Most didn’t like the ears. Orson took a knife to them, but they kept growing back. It had been a few days, and already the scar tissue was fading, being replaced with the smoothly growing point that marked him as freak. Orson would surely cut them that night before he went to the new guest.

He angled the mirror closer so he could apply the paint demanded by his Master. He carefully rimmed his already large, black eyes with the black paint. He scowled. He didn’t like the look, for he thought the rest of his face looked even paler and slenderer for it, but he had no choice in the matter.

“Are you done yet? You are so slow.” Orson reentered the room, carrying a bundle of clothing in his arms. “Wake up, you, it’s dark already,” he said, shaking the shoulder of the room’s other occupant. She rolled quickly out of bed, shaking her head of red hair. Orson grunted, tugging at a strand of red hair, and left the room.

“Let me help you with your hair,” she said, kneeling next to the dark-eyed boy. “Your ears are growing again. He will want to cut them.”

“I know,” he answered. She took a few strands of his dark hair and began to weave some gold thread in them.

“It must be somebody special tonight.”

“They are all the same.”

She softly kissed his cheek. “I’ll take over for you tomorrow. You need sleep.”

“If he lets me get away with it. You shouldn’t worry about me, Shan. I’ll get along.” He smiled slightly.

Their conversation was interrupted by a disturbance from the next room. They winced as they recognized the shouts of Rees, another young Man under the dominion of Orson. Furniture was upended and clattered to the ground, and there was a loud thud as something heavy was thrown against the wall.

“What did he do this time?” he breathed.

“He told me that Orson wasn’t pleased with the price he fetched,” she answered, chewing her lip. Another loud thud and a crash were heard.

“You should go to him,” he said urgently. “I can continue by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go.”

She nodded and rose to stand by the door. Orson hurled himself through the door, looking in a downright rage. He sent Shan a glare, but she avoided his gaze and slipped through the door. He allowed it; he didn’t want his merchandise ruined. But then his sight centered on the figure sitting before the mirror, staring at him with wide, black-rimmed eyes.

“You!” he shouted, storming over to him. He pulled on his hair, tipping his head back. “You had better - what is this! Your ears!”

“I am sorry, Master,” he said, averting his eyes.

Orson growled, flipping out his pocketknife. “I swear, you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered as he put the blade to the sensitive flesh of the ear. “Now, hold still and keep quiet. I don’t need any more disturbances tonight.”

He shut his eyes to the blinding pain as the blade made its way through his barely healed ear. He had learned, over the years, to keep quiet. But nothing could dull the pain. Another pain to balance on the other side of his head.

He gathered a towel to the bloody tips of his ears. “Thank you, Master,” he murmured.

“Shut up, fool. Here, put these clothes on. And don’t get blood on them! I expect you to be ready in five minutes.” Orson promptly left the room.

He sighed and took the clothes that had been set on the bed. He could vaguely remember a time when his life had not included Orson and his plotting. He had dreams, sometimes, of trees and sunshine, and they weren’t the meager sun and sparse trees of the village. But he also had memories of chains and long, long walks down dusty roads. And the whip, ah, never forget the whip. Orson used it sparingly, but he could remember a time when he could hardly move for the pain across his back. But it was not good to dwell on such things. He quickly pulled on the clothing, avoiding the towels about his ears.

He straightened, taking stock of how he looked. The shirt, too large, fell in white, near-transparent folds past his hips. The dark leggings were uncomfortably tight. He sighed, removing the towels from his ears. The bleeding had stopped. Carefully, painfully, he rubbed some healing salve into the wounds.

“You look good enough to eat,” came a whiskery voice. A hand curled about his waist to settle on his belly.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“Here, we will make you up. Nobody can say I don’t run a fine establishment here.” Digging in a bag of odds and ends, Orson removed a golden chain and placed it about the dark-eyed boy’s ankle. He then fastened a golden belt over his hips. As a finishing touch, so to speak, he opened a pot of gold powder and brushed it on the boy’s face. “There you are, a righteous prince, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now listen here, you. I don’t want stories of trouble. If he doesn’t pay at least an extra gold piece for you, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I want to hear screams of pleasure, boy!”

“Yes, Master.”

Orson squinted, looking him in the eye. “You’re too pretty for your own good, boy. Now run along. Let him have his money’s worth! And remember, treat him extra special.”

“Yes, Master.”

~

So he stood, waiting, in the empty room. His customer would come any minute. No matter how many times he had done such things he could not quell the nervousness in his stomach. What sort of Man would it be this time? A cruel one who took pleasure in hurting him? A lazy one who expected him to do all of the work? A brutish one who smothered him with his weight? Little matter. It was truth, what he told Shan - one was much the same as the rest. Though he hoped that he might sleep a bit that night.

He heard voices outside the door. He tried to calm his raging heart and rushing breath. He distinctly heard Orson’s slightly drunken mumble, but the other’s voice was more difficult to place. He couldn’t remember hearing a voice quite like it ever before.

“Thank you, good night,” the stranger said, sliding himself past the door and shutting it firmly. The boy’s hopes dropped. This one’s shoulders were quite broad, and a sword hung at his hip, half concealed by the cloak. He would be a rough one, and probably wouldn’t let the boy sleep.

His eyes silently followed the stranger as he glanced around the room. It was supposedly the best room in the inn, though that wasn’t saying much. But the bed was wide, and Orson had managed to find clean blankets somewhere. The candles cast many shivering shadows on the walls.

The boy tried and failed to stifle his gasp. The stranger had just taken off his cloak and hood, revealing a strong, lean body and long golden hair that shone brilliantly even in the dimness of the room. The stranger spun around to find the noise. The boy tried to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, but it was no use.

“Sweet Valar, what are you doing in here?” Two long steps brought him to the boy’s side. A strong grip wrenched his arm up by the wrist, and his head followed. The intense blue-green gaze that met his struck him speechless. The stranger scowled down at him. “I asked you a question!”

“Many apologies!” the boy said. He found it difficult to draw breath. “Master sent me to keep you company, sir, lord, if it is pleasing.”

Glorfindel frowned. What sort of place was this Man running? And to send him such a scared young child to “keep him company” . . . it was almost beyond tolerance. At first glance the child might have been female, but closer inspection dispelled that notion. True, his eyes were rimmed in black paint and his skin was dusted in gold, making him look like only the finest whore in Gondor. But there were no round breasts to conceal beneath the thin shirt, no wide hips hidden in the leggings.

“You should go,” he said to the boy, releasing the slender wrist.

“Pardon, lord?”

“I said for you to go. I have no need of your services tonight.”

“But I can’t, lord! He would find out!” The boy’s dark eyes grew wide in fright. There was also a small wound to whatever pride he retained. Never before had he been refused! And this stranger was plainly captivating. It might not even be so bad to share his body with this lord. “Don’t make me go.”

Glorfindel sighed. “What is your name, child?”

The boy blinked. “Name, sir?” What name could he give?

“Yes. What do people call you?”

He thought for a moment. Boy, slut, whore, these were not names. Had he ever had a name? He didn’t think so. He shook his head, letting his hair fall into his face.

“You have no name?”

“None but what you choose to call me.” There came a compulsion to look this stranger in the eyes, but he dared not.

“Ai me, look at you, you’re trembling like a leaf.” The boy was abruptly swept into an embrace. “There, little one, I won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t turn me away, please, lord.”

“I won’t turn you away, little nameless one,” Glorfindel comforted. “But I do have to ask how willing you are in all of this.”

“Lord?”

“Do you want to make love to me?”

The boy pushed away from the strong chest he was clutched to. He turned his wide eyes up at the stranger, wondering curiously what he meant. Willing or not, it was what he did. Never before had his permission been asked. He didn’t know what to say.

Then the sight of blood caught Glorfindel’s attention. “Sweet Valar,” he breathed, lifting the youth’s dark hair. While a healing salve had been applied and the blood mopped up, it was quite clear that the edge of the boy’s ear had been cleanly chopped away.

The boy jumped out of his arms, a look of fright on his face. “Oh, lord, I am sorry! Don’t tell, please, I’ll clean up!”

Glorfindel stopped him before he could reach the washbasin. “You were cut? Your ear was cut today? Why?”

“It displeases, lord,” the boy answered, trying to wriggle from his grasp. “Master doesn’t like it, for it makes me look different. Please, let me go so I can wash!”

“Your ear, child. Does it look like this?” Glorfindel pulled back the strands of golden hair that obscured his own distinctive pointed ear.

The boy couldn’t suppress another gasp. A hand wandered up to rest right above the wound. He hadn’t thought about it in years. Ever since Orson had become Master he had been cut. He had nearly forgotten what he looked like without the mutilation. But yes, when left untreated, his ear looked exactly like that of this golden stranger! How odd that he should find another with the same affliction.

The boy nodded slowly, setting his gaze to the floor. “Oh, Valar give me strength,” Glorfindel muttered. “How long have you been here, child?”

“A long time, lord.”

“How long?”

“I know not!” The boy blinked to clear the tears. “I cannot remember.”

“Do you remember who your parents were?”

“Parents, lord?”

“Did you come from Rivendell, or Lorien by chance?”

“I know nothing of these places you speak!”

“Greenwood, then?”

The boy faltered for a moment. The name sounded somewhat familiar, though he was at a loss to why it should mean something to him. “Can I ask, lord, why you demand such questions of me?”

Glorfindel sighed. It was becoming clear that he would get nothing out of this child, this lost Elf-child. He had heard of a few cases of attacks on Elvish villages and slavery placed upon his kin, but he had dismissed it as tall tales, for the most part. Elves were surely too strong and hale to be taken by Men and to be used in such ways. Of course, this Elf had clearly been very young when he had been captured. Perhaps that was the reason for his sustaining servitude.

“My lord, perhaps we had best get to business,” the youth said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The night is late, and Master expects me back in the morning.”

“Of course,” Glorfindel said, still mulling over a plan in his head. With no warning, the boy launched himself at him, wrapping his long slender arms about his neck and kissing Glorfindel with all his might and skill. Caught off guard, it took a few moments for Glorfindel to catch on. He gently pushed the younger Elf away.

The boy stared up at him, clearly crestfallen. What had he done wrong? “Do you not find me desirable, lord?” he asked.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth to see the expression in the large black eyes. “Ai, far from it, little nameless one. You are very desirable. I am just not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

“But . . . lord, I am here to keep you company. These are my orders. I could not disobey my Master. And lord, I am curious about this strange ailment that afflicts us both.” He reached his hand up to touch the pointed ear. He was surprised when the stranger shut his eyes and hissed in pleasure. Never before had any of his partners done such things, at least not when he was touching their ears.

“What a touch you have, little one,” Glorfindel murmured, stroking the youth’s cheek. “We shall have to think up a name for you.”

“Whatever you would call me, lord . . .”

“Ai, to me, you are Lissianto, for your sweet mouth. Vanagwath, ah, for your beautiful shadow-dark hair. What a little dream you are, young one.” And as he said the words he kissed the boy’s lips, delving farther into his mouth with every declaration. He had desired Elvish company, and Elvish company he had received, although this wasn’t exactly what he had planned.

“What do you wish me to do, lord?” the boy asked breathlessly. “I could touch you, or take you in my mouth. If you prefer it, you could take me.”

Glorfindel looked incredulously at the small young Elf. What he offered was perfectly decadent, and utterly desirable. Lust curled and clawed at his insides like a hungry beast. “Oh yes, little one,” he said, “I will certainly sample that which you have presented to me. On the bed, Lissianto, and let’s see what we can do.”

The younger Elf fell onto the bed, hair spread out beneath him. Oh, how the stranger could kiss! He could not remember ever feeling such pleasure. He took back his earlier words to Shan - they were not all the same. This one was infinitely better. He gasped as strong fingers ran up the sides of his chest, enflaming him with unexpected desire. He tugged gently on the stranger’s beautiful golden hair, pulling him up to kiss him again. Ah, another electric, sparkling kiss.

The shirt tore easily beneath Glorfindel’s fingers. What a beautiful sight before him. Young though the boy might be, he was not inexperienced in the ways of pleasure. How else could he know that such writhing sent Glorfindel into spirals of bliss?

The boy pulled impatiently at the ties to the stranger’s shirt. Ah, if the rest of him were so beautiful as what had so far been presented, he would truly be lucky. Sure enough, when the shirt was lifted clear, inch upon inch of smooth, flawless golden skin was bared. He hooked his thumbs into the stranger’s leggings and gently pulled them down his strong legs.

“Ai, lord,” he breathed. “Never have I seen . . .”

“Shush, young one,” Glorfindel calmed. “Now, I would have you say my name. Call me Glorfindel, oh, I would hear you shout it.”

“Glorfindel,” the boy said appreciatively. He liked the name. It flowed gently over his tongue. “Ai, Glorfindel . . .”

“And I will call you mine,” the Elf lord murmured in the youth’s ears as he slid the obstructing leggings off. What a slender, pale little thing he was. “Do you have something to ease our way? Oil of some sort?”

The boy looked down between their twined bodies. He slid down, wasting no time in placing small licks on Glorfindel’s erection. The Elf lord was hard-pressed to contain loud groans of satisfaction. “I have named you well, young one. You do have a sweet mouth.” A touch on the boy’s shoulders told him to stop. “But I would rather end this another way.”

He began to push into the willing body, as carefully as he could. Ah, the boy was as tight as a virgin, though clearly more skilled than one. His mouth was never disengaged from Glorfindel for long, pleasuring him with gentle licks and bites. Fully sheathed, he paused to gain his breath. The feel of such warm and slender limbs about him was indescribable. True, he had been apart from such company for a long time, but this was the stuff of ballads and epic poems, surely.

The boy bit away the pain. There was always pain, but sometimes there was pleasure. Surely Glorfindel would give pleasure. He distracted them both, kissing him as much as he could. At least this wonderful stranger with the foreign name was not so heavy upon him.

Ai, but then the Elf lord began to move! The boy cried out as the first sparks of pleasure spread out and prickled across his skin. Glorfindel grunted at the sensation of the gripping muscles of the young one beneath him.

“Oh, look at you, you pretty one,” he muttered in the youth’s ear. “What pleasure you give me! I should bring you away with me, bring you home, where we could do this every day. I would take you away from this village of Men and their foolish ideas of possession. I would keep you on a bed of velvet and silk, fed on lembas and miruvor and cakes. And I will make love to you every day, little pretty one!”

“Ai!” cried the boy. “Glorfindel, it is too wonderful to be true!” He gasped softly as he came.

Glorfindel soon followed, after a few hard thrusts. He collapsed on the boy’s shoulder. “Sweet Valar,” he said, kissing the skin of his arm. “By Elbereth and her blessed stars, lovely one, that was wonderful.”

The boy swallowed, trying to regain cohesive thought. “I am glad to have pleasured you, lord,” he answered shakily.

“Oh, it was beyond pleasure, and I think I gave some in return.” Glorfindel winked, trying to coax a smile from his partner. It worked in small part, and the corners of the boy’s mouth turned up slightly. “That’s better. Now let’s get to sleep.”

“You wish to sleep, lord?”

“Don’t you? I would think you would be tired.”

“Yes, lord, but they usually . . .”

Glorfindel laid a finger on his lips. “I am not your usual customer, little one. And I say we sleep. I am tired enough to slumber until the Fourth Age.”

~

The Sun shone through the open window, illuminating the young Elf to Glorfindel’s perusal. Such a fine creature he was. No wonder he had been captured and sold into slavery, though it must have been at quite a young age, for him to remember nothing about his previous life. Glorfindel planned to wrest him somehow from the Man’s grasp and place him back with his people, where he belonged. Such soft fine hair, such wide dark eyes, such a delectable body . . . truly this Elf was a gift to the senses.

Then Glorfindel noticed something strange curling about the Elf’s waist. Gently, so as not to disturb his bed partner, he leaned over to look at the boy’s back. An intricate marking was dyed into his skin, though Glorfindel could tell neither the meaning nor the origin of such a mark.

The boy stirred beneath his inspecting glance. He slept, as all Elves did, with his eyes open but clouded. His poor ears, mutilated for the sake of the Man’s vanity, would have been pricked for sound or danger. Glorfindel smiled indulgently. Surely he had to be a Greenwood Elf to be so sensitive to inspection, even while asleep.

“My lord?” he murmured, stretching languidly. “What interests you so?”

“Only you, little one,” Glorfindel said, bending down to kiss him. It was a long, luxurious kiss, and the boy sighed when it was over.

“Will you tell me now, lord, about this strange affliction?” the boy asked, pointing to his ears.

“Child, I think that is a story for another time,” Glorfindel answered, burying his nose in the youth’s neck.

“Ai, no!” the boy shouted suddenly, leaping out of the bed. He quickly slid into the discarded leggings.

“Why the rush, little one?”

“The light! It is light already! I should have been up and gone hours ago! Oh, no, he will know, he will find out, he will punish me . . .”

“Punish you?” Glorfindel asked with a frown.

The boy froze, turning his wide eyes on Glorfindel. They were filled with fright. “Forget what I said, please, lord, a slip of the tongue. Please, I must go now.”

“Will I see you again?” Glorfindel asked, rising from the bed to kiss him.

“I . . . I don’t know, lord, perhaps. I know not my Master’s mind. Please, I must not keep him waiting any longer.”

With that, the young Elf left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He rushed down the corridor, down the stairs, through the now quiet pub, back to his rooms behind the kitchen. With luck, the Master would still be asleep. He crept silently into the room, resting carefully on his creaky bed. He listened carefully for any sounds of danger, then, deciding it was safe, put his head on the thin pillow and fell asleep.

~

Later that day, Glorfindel went to see Orson, the innkeeper and the Master of the young Elf. The Man sat in his office, hands on his large belly, looking greedily at the piles of money that he had amassed the night before. Glorfindel knocked carefully on the doorframe, not wishing to disturb the Man.

He looked up, an expression of annoyance overwritten by one of slimy avarice. “Ah, my lord!” he greeted. “I trust you slept with that little present I sent up to your rooms last night!”

“Ah, yes, quite well,” Glorfindel answered hesitantly. “It was an experience I’ve never had before.”

“Good, good, I’m glad to hear it. My family bought him off a Man who trains the finest whores in Near Harad. I hear he is quite magnificent.”

“That much is true,” Glorfindel said, laying down three gold pieces.

The Man’s eyes widened with surprise and increased gluttony. “Lord, you are most generous,” he said.

“Now, I must ask you something,” Glorfindel began seriously. “How much would it take for me to, say, buy this boy of yours?”

The Man’s expression darkened and he gathered the gold close. “More than you would want to pay, I think. You must understand, lord, he is quite precious to my business. I would be most reluctant to part with him.”

“How much would it take? Name your price, and I will meet it.”

“He is not for sale.”

“Twenty gold pieces. Thirty. Fifty. Whatever price you name I can meet.”

The Man’s eyes grew increasingly wider as the larger sums of money were named. He had never even seen twenty gold pieces together, let alone fifty! What sort of odd stranger was this, who was willing to pay such a price for a common whore? “I am sorry, lord,” he said. “But the boy is not for sale. We have some other whores you might be interested in, a very nice young girl . . .”

“No, thank you,” Glorfindel said, getting to his feet. “Good day, sir.”

“Come back again!” Orson called to his retreating back. He sighed. If only all customers paid so well. But he couldn’t have anyone interfering with his business.

~

He sighed dreamily, thinking of the golden stranger. Glorfindel . . . what a beautiful name! And such pleasure. He had never before been actually happy to do his Master’s bidding in regards to sharing his body, but he found himself longing for the golden stranger’s touch. It made him feel like he was glowing.

But it was best to erase these thoughts from his mind. He blew a strand of hair out of his face. The stranger would leave, and what reason could he have to return to the little misery that was the village? Surely not solely the temptation of a young whore. And life would return to its previous monotony for the boy, the tedious sharing of his body.

He scrubbed harder at the dishes. It would be too simple to think that he only worked during the night. The sand made his hands raw and painful, but he didn’t mind. He was preoccupied with thoughts of the golden stranger.

The door to the kitchens open and shut, and the boy recognized the wheezing breath of the Master. “You, boy,” he grunted. “Wha’d you do?”

“Me, Master?”

“Yes, you, you idiot, you fool. Wha’d you do to him?” Master staggered over to where the boy stood by the sink.

“Nothing, Master, nothing but what you asked me . . .”

“I don’ believe you, you lying snake. He came and asked to buy you today, you worthless slug.”

The boy’s heart thudded in his chest. Asked to buy him? The thought of leaving Master and going away with the beautiful golden stranger was almost too much to bear. What a wonderful voice he had had!

“But I won’t!” Master cried, clasping the boy about the shoulders and whirling him about to stare him in the eyes. He leaned in close, breathing his putrid breath in the boy’s face. “You’re mine, you hear, you witch? No more witchery, you fool! I won’t have you gone!”

“Yes, Master,” he said sadly. He wanted so to go with the golden stranger, but Master seemed to have different plans.

“That’s right, you pitiful thing. You are mine! Now kiss me, you, kiss me like you would kiss them!” He stumbled forward, putting his lips on those of the boy. He gripped the slender hips before him, tugging the unresisting body towards him. “Open, you wretch, let me in!”

The boy obeyed. What other choice did he have? He opened his mouth, disgusting as Master was, and tasted the rotten breath of the Man before him. He should have expected such a reaction from Master. Time again to be reminded of his status beneath the burly Man.

The Man grunted, burying his mouth in that of the sweet youth. “Come, you dog, you wretch, you will pleasure me today.”

He dragged the boy to the room beside the kitchens, tossing him on the bed. The sight of the frightful thing on the bed, eyes wide and scared, breath coming quick, only served to excite him more. He tore off the boy’s thin, stained clothing and nudged a knee between his legs.

“Please, Master, I . . .”

“Shut your mouth, vile creature! I ought to chop out your tongue. What sort of poison do you whisper in their ears late at night?” He stripped himself of his own trousers, pleasuring himself for a moment while looking at the youth. “You want to go with him, don’t you, you want to run away with that stranger? You think me cruel, you ungrateful whore, and you would leave me. But you won’t leave me, will you, boy? I will have you here, now!”

With that, he shoved violently into the body of the youth beneath him. The boy couldn’t stifle a cry, and the Man slapped him hard across the face. “I told you to shut your mouth!” he shouted, between his gasps for pleasure. Ah, the boy was always so tight! “Tell me, you dog, you terrible thing! Tell me who you belong to!”

The boy blinked away his tears. “You, Master,” he whispered. “Only you.” The pain was nearly unbearable. He had no memory of ever being taken so cruelly. Every thrust threatened to rip him in half, every small movement shot daggers of pain through his bowels. But it wasn’t long before Master spilled himself, and the boy bit away a sob of relief.

“Thank you, Master,” he said softly.

“That’s right, you creature,” the Man said, voice still hoarse from his pleasure. “I own you, and you had best not forget it. Now, get back to work, wretch. We will have business again tonight.”

The Man left the room, left the boy, ignoring the blood that stained the bed. The boy levered himself up, wiping away the tears that streaked his cheeks, gathered the tattered remnants of his clothing about his bare body, and staggered back to the sink. He could not bring Glorfindel’s image to his mind, instead resigning himself to the terrifying numbness as he resumed his cleaning.

~

Glorfindel hadn’t ridden far from the village before he glanced back over his shoulder, questioning himself. His horse tossed her mane in the wind, eager to be gone, but his conscience told him to return. After all, who knew what would happen to that young Elf if he were to remain in the foul clutches of that Man? He jabbed the horse in the sides, urging her back towards the village.

He lurked around for a few hours, avoiding the inn as much as he could. When at last twilight fell and he was less likely to be seen by onlookers, he made his way to the back door of the inn. He opened it silently and closed it, finding himself in a kitchen of sorts. He crept through the pots and pans to another door. Beyond this were three beds. Two contained young women, one dark, another light. The last contained a young Man, his face mottled by bruises. He continued on to another door, and here at last he found what he was looking for.

Of the two beds, only one was occupied. The figure was deeply asleep by the sound of his breathing. He slunk closer to the sleeping person. Yes, this was his goal. Slightly scarred ears, eyes open and glazed in sleep. He touched the boy lightly on the shoulder, stifling a yelp of surprise with his hand. The boy blinked away his sleep to reveal eyes wide with terrible fright.

“Shush, young one,” Glorfindel comforted. “It is I.”

“L-lord?” the boy stuttered, once the hand was removed.

“Yes, little one.”

“What are you doing here, lord? You must not be here! He will find you, he will . . .”

“Shush, yes, I know. But I am very sneaky, little one. Now, I must ask you. Do you wish to come away with me? Do you wish to leave this place?”

With every ounce of his being the boy wished such a thing! But the Master would find out, he would hurt him again. “No, lord, I cannot. Master, he . . .”

“Worry not about your Master, little one. You want to come with me, don’t you? Now tell me the truth.”

“More than anything, lord,” the boy said quietly.

“Then stand up. We must be gone quickly.”

The boy stood carefully, still horribly sore from Master’s anger that afternoon. Glorfindel looked him up and down, noticing the rags that made up the youth’s clothing. “Have you any clothes, little one?” he asked.

The boy gestured to what he wore. Glorfindel sighed and removed his cloak, placing it about the youth’s shoulders. He gasped at the gesture. Such warm, heavy material felt pleasant on his chilled skin. Never before had he felt so warm, it seemed. Except, perhaps, for the night before spent in Glorfindel’s arms.

But then Glorfindel grabbed his hand and led him quickly through the doors, past the room where Rees slept with Sora and Meb, past the kitchen, out into the night. Ah, the night! Surely it had been ages upon ages since the boy had last been outside. “What are they?” he breathed, looking up at the glimmering points of light suspended above him.

Glorfindel shot him a questioning glance. “They are stars,” he answered. “Little one, how long has it been since you were last outside?”

“I remember not, my lord,” the boy answered, bowing his head, letting his hair hide his features.

Glorfindel felt a spurt of rage. Bad enough to enslave an Elf, but to deny him the right to walk outside and see the beauty of nature was without forgiveness! He had even forgotten the stars. What cruel sort of Man was this? “Come along, ?essë,” Glorfindel said. “We must be off.” He whistled for his horse, and she promptly galloped up to where they stood.

The boy shied away from the horse. “What is it?” he asked fearfully.

“It is a horse,” Glorfindel explained. “Here, I will help you mount.” He gathered the youth into his arms, cloak and all, and set him upon the tall horse. Swinging his long legs off the ground, Glorfindel mounted as well, and with a small cluck the horse was off.

The boy shifted uncomfortably. He decided he didn’t like horses. For one thing, they ran far too fast for his comfort. He felt as though he should blow off the thing at any moment. Luckily, Glorfindel’s strong hands about his waist kept him steady. But to ride was quite painful, what with the recent abuse he had endured. And no position seemed to change this matter. He leaned back against Glorfindel’s chest as an odd feeling of security overcame him.

But the entire case had a sort of dreamlike quality to it. He had so long belonged to Master and his family that he remembered no other place, apart from the dusty roads that haunted his dreams. “Where do you take me, lord?” he asked sleepily.

“To my home in Rivendell, little one. We will look after you there.”

The boy nodded and snuggled closer to the warm body, seeking shelter from the cold wind that buffeted him. Surely it was a dream, a wonderful dream, but one that he would wake from. It was far too good to be true.

~

When he woke again it was still dark. A small fire crackled nearby. He blinked, clearing his vision, and saw Glorfindel. The Elf lord smiled kindly at him. “So you are finally awake, ?essë,” he said.

The boy gasped. He was no longer at the inn. Those brilliant things that the golden stranger had called stars, they still shone just as gloriously overhead. Early morning birds sang in the trees, a sound that he had not heard in years. But they were trees, true trees! Tall, wonderful things with many branches that served for good climbing. Grass tickled his nose. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he whispered. “It isn’t just a dream?”

“No, little one, this is no dream. We are gone from that place of Men.”

“He will come after me . . .”

“We will ride farther and faster,” Glorfindel said confidently. “Once we are safe in Rivendell, little one, you will never have to worry or want for anything. But I suspect you are hungry now, aren’t you?”

The question needed not be asked. The boy could not remember a time when his belly was full. The terrible, empty, aching feeling had become as natural to him as not feeling the points of his ears. He had even forgotten the name to give to the want of food. “I - yes, lord,” he said. “I think so.”

“You are far too thin, little one. It comes as no surprise. Here, I caught it myself.”

A hare, skinned and cooked to perfection, was promptly dropped in his lap. It wasn’t a large amount of food, but the boy was overwhelmed. What to do with so much meat? “I can’t, lord, it is too much . . .”

“Nonsense. Eat your fill, little one. But not too quickly. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Hesitantly, the boy removed a leg joint. He lifted it to inspection. It didn’t look like any food he had ever been given. It was not scraps, it was not rotting. It stoked the hunger in his belly. He raised his eyes again to Glorfindel. “You are sure, lord?”

“Yes, yes. Eat all you want. It would be my pleasure.”

So he carefully put the meat to his lips and bit. Ah, what satisfaction! His mouth was filled with the incredible taste, and his teeth chewed contentedly at the wonderful food. Juice dribbled down his chin, and he reached for another bite. Again and again he sampled of this precious gift. The sound of melodious, beautiful laughter interrupted his feast. He looked up at Glorfindel, wiping at his chin.

“Slow down!” said the Elf lord. “You will surely give yourself a bellyache if you continue as you are!”

“I care not,” the boy answered. “It is so delicious, lord!”

“You might be the first to compliment my cooking skills, little one,” he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “But go on, continue with your meal! Don’t let me halt you.”

The boy did as he was told. But no matter how delicious it was for him to feast, he could not finish the haunch of hare. His malnourished belly simply would not take any more. He sat back, feeling oddly satisfied and full.

“Well, now that you have eaten, we must be on our way,” Glorfindel said, clapping his hands together. “Look, dawn approaches. It will take us two and a half weeks, perhaps, to reach Rivendell. So let’s be off!”

The boy tried to push himself to his feet, but terrible pain shot through his body at the movement. He cried out, falling back to the ground. He curled about himself, willing the hurt away. Glorfindel was immediately at his side, pushing the hair out of his face. “Oh, little one, what is wrong?” he asked.

“I - hurt, lord. Sorry, forgive me. I will get up.”

“No, stay where you are. Where does it hurt?”

The boy averted his eyes. It was not good to talk about past pains with a new customer.

Glorfindel frowned. Judging by the youth’s reluctance to speak, it was a sensitive area he needed to inspect. “Now, hold still, little one. I’m going to see how badly you are hurt. I need you to help me. Now roll over on your belly.”

The boy obeyed, of course, despite the fear that flared brightly in his mind. The golden stranger wouldn’t hurt him, would he? The boy could endure it, of course, anything to be away from Master. But he didn’t want to think of the golden stranger giving him pain. His fears became truth when the clothing was removed from the lower half of his body. ‘Just make it quick,’ he thought, not knowing to whom he prayed. ‘Whatever he wants, just make it quick.’

Glorfindel’s frown deepened at the sight of blood staining the pale thighs and the dark bruises marring the slender hips. “What happened to you, little one?” he muttered, digging some athelas out of his bags.

“Nothing, lord, I . . . fell.”

“And how did you fall? I know these wounds, child. Who was it that took you so carelessly?”

“Master was so angry . . . he didn’t want me to leave him, lord, he was so angry.” He tried to suppress his sobs. “Please, don’t hurt me, lord.”

“Ah, I won’t hurt you, child,” Glorfindel said, lying the healing leaves on the injured skin. He saw the flinch that passed through the boy’s body. “I speak truth, you know. These wounds are worse than I can treat out here. We must get to Rivendell.” He helped the boy to a seated position. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, lord,” he replied, eyes still downcast.

“Can you ride?”

“I will survive, lord.”

Glorfindel smiled, seeing the resolution on the youth’s face. “Come then, we must be off!”

~

It was the strangest two and a half weeks of Glorfindel’s long life. When the boy wasn’t asleep, he was staring in wonder at the places they passed. He looked upon the trees, the grass, the sky as though he had never seen them before. It seemed he took pleasure in the smallest things, even down to the small red insect that rode on the cloak. He gazed in amazement at the small flakes of snow that stuck to his hair.

And while the boy did sleep a great deal while they rode, he was exhausted enough by nightfall to fall asleep immediately. Glorfindel held him close, offering what warmth and comfort he could. There was no sharing of bodies for, pleasant as the boy had been, the trauma and wounds inflicted upon him by the Man had not yet faded. Glorfindel did nothing to disturb that careful balance. The boy was still frightfully subservient and submissive. Try as he might, Glorfindel could not get the youth to call him by his name. The Elf lord shrugged it off, relying in the company of his kinsmen to cure the boy of his strange attitude.

But soon they saw the sturdy, tree-lined cliffs that formed the valley in which Rivendell was contained. Glorfindel felt the soft shimmering of Elrond’s Ring of Power, Vilya. He breathed the fresh mountain air of the one place in Middle-earth that he could call home. The boy shivered in his arms.

“Is that it, lord?” he asked softly.

“Yes, child, that is our destination. We will be there quite soon. Do not worry, soon you will be warm, fed, and comforted to your limits.” Dropping a quick kiss on the youth’s cheek, he spurred the horse onwards.

~

“Ah, look who has finally decided to return to us!”

Glorfindel smiled, turning his gaze towards the Last Homely House. Elrohir, son of Elrond, was leaning in the doorway, a smug look on his fair face.

“Perhaps you ought to show a bit of respect to your elders, young one!” Glorfindel shouted back. He brought the horse to a stop before the younger Elf. “Is your father home? I have some business to discuss with him.”

“No, I’m afraid he isn’t,” Elrohir answered, looking curiously at Glorfindel’s passenger. “He’s gone to a something-or-other with Elladan and some Greenwood Elves. But Glorfindel, may I ask who accompanies you?”

The boy kept his face bowed and hidden by the cloak and his hair. The cold feel of this new place and the excitement of meeting anyone else were overwhelming, and he was quite frightened. Glorfindel softly stroked his hair, murmuring words of comfort.

“This is the matter of which I wish to speak to your father,” Glorfindel said.

Elrohir frowned in confusion. “Will you give me no more answer than that?”

“I know no more answers than you do. Are there any healers about?”

“Well, I am,” Elrohir said, rolling his eyes. “I could treat him, if he needs it. What’s wrong with him?”

“Many things, little one, and I think it will take a long time for him to heal. Here, catch him as I hand him down.” Glorfindel gently lifted the boy in his arms and handed him down to Elrohir. The slight flinch as the boy left his arms was not missed.

“He’s no heavier than eiderdown,” Elrohir said, amazed. “Can you walk?”

The boy peeked out from the cloak, realizing this new dark stranger was speaking to him. The language, while it sounded familiar, meant nothing but gibberish in his mind. “Lord?” he said softly, looking about for Glorfindel.

“He speaks no Elvish, Elrohir,” Glorfindel explained. “Can you walk, little one?” he asked in the Common Tongue.

The boy looked hesitantly between the faces, both so amazingly fair and wondrous. He nodded slightly. The darker stranger gently dropped him to his feet.

“Come along,” Elrohir said softly in the Common Tongue. “I can take you to the healing rooms and we will treat your wounds.” As he caught sight of the boy’s frightened glance, he frowned slightly. “You have nothing to fear in Rivendell. This valley is well protected.”

Elrohir took the boy’s hand and led him into the House, speaking softly to him as they walked down the hallways. Glorfindel sighed, removing the saddlebags from his horse and slapping her rump to send her back to the stables. Elrohir had a healer’s heart, that was sure enough. He had taken immediate stock of the situation and set about comforting his “patient.” Glorfindel spared a moment of worry over the boy, but he was in good hands. He wandered tiredly to his rooms, eager to bathe and get some fresh clothing.

~

“Well, seeing as you don’t talk much, I’ll tell you a bit about myself,” Elrohir said to the boy as he walked him down the halls. “My name is Elrohir. My father is lord Elrond, you might have heard of him. And my mother is Celebrian, the daughter of the Lady Galadriel. Mother is in Lorien now, visiting her family. I have a brother, his name is Elladan. He’s away with my father at the moment doing something with some Greenwood Elves. My little sister, Arwen, she’s here. Maybe you’ll get to meet her. She’s a nice girl, I guess.

“But I admit, I’m curious. Where do you come from that you don’t know Elvish?” Elrohir asked curiously. “Are you from Greenwood? I hear they have some strange customs in those forests.”

The boy shook his head. He knew nothing of the places, things, or people that the new stranger spoke of. And it sounded as though he must have been from one of these places, and yet he wasn’t. He had lived with Master’s family for as long as he could remember, or long enough that it didn’t matter what he remembered. And yes, the golden stranger was kind, as was his friend, but what was he doing in this strange place?

“No?” asked Elrohir. “And I was sure you would be from Greenwood. Oh well. You do make a strange-looking Lorien Elf, I’ll say that. Not that you look odd or anything, it’s just that you’re so much darker than most of them are. Ah, look, here we are. I bet you’re dying for a bath, aren’t you?”

The boy just gazed in wonder at the place around him. The House seemed to be built out of the living trees, and grand wide forests were visible from every balcony. Carved wooden doors promised comfort, beauty, and luxury. Never, it seemed, had he been in such an exquisite environment. He followed the dark stranger, Elrohir his name had been, though one of the doors.

He attempted to stifle the small gasp of surprise as he looked about. Double rows of beds lay along the walls, all covered in soft linen and warm blankets. Clean windows led to balconies and views of the picturesque scenery of the countryside. Elrohir led him to the back of the room through another door, and once again the boy was speechless. The window was covered in ivy, creating the sense of privacy. A tub stood in the middle of the room and soft towels were piled nearby.

“This is the bath room for the Healing Rooms,” Elrohir said quietly. “Would you like a bath?” Without waiting for the boy’s answer, he began filling the tub with water from kettles set to heat.

The boy approached both curiously and warily. It had been a long time since he was last allowed to clean himself, and he didn’t quite know what to make of the situation. He kept the tub between himself and the dark stranger so he could watch him more carefully. He didn’t seem very old, this one. His long lean body and smooth face spoke only of youth, and there was no sight of grey in his deep brown hair. His eyes were the warm color of slate in the sun. He was nothing like the golden stranger, Glorfindel. This other one was dark where he was light, and while there was no age on either of them, Glorfindel felt older and more experienced than this Elrohir. The dark stranger tilted his head at the boy, revealing a pointed ear. How strange, another with this affliction!

“You might have to take your clothing off,” Elrohir commented when the boy made no move to strip. “Do you wish me to help you? Here, I’ll put this over here.” He unclasped Glorfindel’s cloak and removed it from the boy’s shoulders. He did not miss the small shiver that passed through the other’s body.

It was Elrohir’s turn to stare in surprise. The boy was dressed solely in dirty rags that barely concealed his nakedness. What sort of Elf ignored modesty and self-respect in such a way? He thought up more questions to ask Glorfindel. “Here, lift your arms,” Elrohir said, tugging the rags out of the way. The boy was so thin . . . how had he survived? He seemed only skin and bones. Elrohir helped him into the tub. The boy sat carefully, seemingly not knowing what to do.

Elrohir sighed. “Would you like me to help you wash?” The boy only bowed his head in answer, so Elrohir took up the soap and wet the boy’s hair. The strands were long, thick, and dark, albeit stained with dirt and who knows what else. Elrohir mused that, when clean, this boy would be quite a beauty.

Pleasurable as it was to be in warm, clean water with the strong fingers massaging his scalp, the boy refused to let his guard down. Too often had he known people to be kind only when they were to get something from him. What did this dark stranger want? The boy was not at all eager to begin sharing his body again. Still, he thought, it might be worth it if he got to stay in this place. What a beautiful land it was, after all. And so many trees!

Elrohir gently rinsed the dark tresses. “There now, you’re a bit cleaner. Do you want to tell me anything about yourself? Do you have a name?”

The boy quickly shook his head, sending the wet strands of hair flying.

Elrohir smiled; this Elf was clearly quite shy. “Where are you from?” he tried again.

The boy shook his head once more.

“Here,” Elrohir said, tossing him a cloth with which to wash himself. “I’ll be outside, should you need me. Just call.”

So the boy sat alone in the bathroom. He picked up the cloth, eyeing it skeptically. He dragged it across the skin of his chest, wiping away the dirt that never really stuck to him. It did feel so good to be clean again. There was something about the place that was calming. There was no stench of evil here, as there had been at the inn; there was not even a whiff of oppression or suffering. The boy sighed. Surely it was too good to be true. They would eventually turn him away or, worse, return him to the inn and Master. It was only a matter of time.

The boy turned his head as the door opened again, ready to flee at any sign of danger. But it was only Elrohir, returning with a small bundle in his arms.

“I thought you might want some new clothing,” Elrohir said, sending a smile towards the boy. The smile was not returned. Elrohir shrugged. Was he to receive no acknowledgement from this new guest? “You might care to get out of the bath now, else your skin will wrinkle. You remind me of my brother. He always stays in his baths until he comes out looking like some dried apple.”

The boy took the offered arm and rose out of the tub, leaving behind the now-dirty water. Elrohir wrapped him in a soft towel but left him to dry himself. The boy kept one wary, watchful eye on the dark stranger as he wiped the water from his body. When he was done, Elrohir handed him the pile of clothing.

And what odd stuff it was! The leggings were warm brown wool, and comfortable despite the fact that they kept slipping down his thin hips. The shirt was closely woven linen, and just as big and warm as the leggings. The boy sighed into the clothing that was completely unlike anything he could remember wearing before.

“That’s better,” Elrohir said, looking him up and down. “I thought Elladan wouldn’t mind if we stole some of his old clothing, and I know it isn’t too nice, but it should do.”

“Thank you,” the boy whispered, the first words he had said directly to Elrohir. “It is very nice.”

“Ah, so you do have a voice!” Elrohir said with a wide smile. “That’s good. I thought I was speaking to a mute. Ah, well, we must do something with your hair now. Do you mind if I comb it out?”

The boy shook his head in reply and followed Elrohir out the door. The dark stranger sat behind him on one of the beds and gently began to comb out the sodden dark locks. As he performed this task, though, Elrohir noticed something strange.

“What happened to your ear, cousin?” he asked, reaching out to touch the faint scar tissue that surrounded the distinct Elvish point. The other Elf shivered beneath the touch.

“ ’Tis nothing, lord,” the boy answered.

“It looks as though someone cut you.” Elrohir frowned, wondering who could have done such a thing.

“Master didn’t like them,” the boy said, bowing his head again. “Sorry, lord.”

“About what?” Elrohir asked curiously. “And I would much rather you called me Elrohir, cousin. I am no lord.” After a few moments of silence, Elrohir realized that no further answer was forthcoming from the boy, and began to tackle the tangles once again. When finished, the dark, damp strands hung down almost to the boy’s waist.

“Well, I had best examine you now,” the Imladris Elf said. “Just hold still. I should finish soon.” He began to inspect the boy’s body, carefully and methodically, exactly as he had been taught. He looked into the dark eyes, searching for any abnormality. The only one he could see was the unnatural blackness of the boy’s eyes. He had never before seen such darkness in Elvish eyes. His teeth seemed healthy; his pulse was slightly quick, but within the realm of health.

“Here, you can lie on your stomach,” he said. “I’m going to examine your back now. Hold still.”

The boy obeyed. He didn’t flinch as the dark stranger lifted the warm shirt from his back. This would be the moment of payment, the compromise for living in this beautiful land, to give his body to the dark stranger. The boy didn’t mind so much. He hadn’t sensed any malice in the stranger’s eyes, and he mused that it might actually be somewhat pleasant. But then something unexpected happened. The stranger began to speak.

“You must have a name,” Elrohir said as he ran his fingers along the pale back. White lines criss-crossed the skin. He wondered if they were scars. “What do people call you?”

“Lord Glorfindel had a few names for me,” the boy answered.

“What were they?”

The boy frowned, trying to remember, as he laid his head on his folded hands. “?essë he called me once. And Lissianto, and Vanagwath.”

Elrohir gritted his teeth, attempting to suppress a smile. “Those are not names, cousin. But now I understand the circumstances under which he met you.” His fingers came at last to the base of the boy’s spine, where a strange dark marking was dyed into his skin. “What is this?”

“What is what, lord?”

“This mark on your back. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I know not, lord. I have had it as long as I remember.”

Elrohir frowned; there was something Elvish about it, though he couldn’t put his finger on what the mark would mean. “Do you feel comfortable removing the leggings so I can inspect a bit further?” he asked the boy.

“Yes, lord,” the boy said, complying and pulling off the leggings. Ah, this was the moment. He hoped the stranger would not be too cruel.

Elrohir licked his lips, attempting to stifle the nervousness that rose in his stomach. He hadn’t had much experience examining wounds of this sort, but he had a feeling that the boy had met unfortunate circumstances, wherever he had been. “Here, spread your legs a bit,” the Imladris Elf requested. He looked carefully at the torn skin, drawing the correct conclusions. He restrained from asking any embarrassing questions; they could wait for the morning, or some other time when he knew a bit more about this strange Elf.

“I’m finished,” Elrohir said. “You can get dressed again.”

The boy couldn’t keep surprise from his eyes. He had fully expected the dark stranger to take advantage of the vulnerable position he had been in, or at least to demand some compensation for staying in his house. “L-lord?” he stammered. “You are sure? You don’t want me to -”

Elrohir coughed uncomfortably and blushed. He knew what the boy was suggesting, but he himself was too young to have considered such coupling, especially not with a stranger. “Er - no, thank you. You can get dressed again. Here is some salve you can apply to the wound,” he said, handing the boy a small jar. “I’ll see if I can’t find some food for you. I’ll be right back.” He quickly left the room and his discomfort behind.

The boy was left staring, half-naked on the bed. What circumstance could the stranger possibly be waiting for? What reason could he have for refusing what was so temptingly offered? Perhaps Master had been right, and the boy was nothing but a hideous, vile creature, vile enough that the dark stranger would refuse him with such disgust in his face. Nothing to mourn. It would lessen his burden of payment for staying in the house if he didn’t have to share his body. It was even somewhat of a relief. He sighed, stifling a sob, and began to apply the salve, as the dark stranger had requested. The burning that had been his constant companion for days slowly faded, only to be replaced by a cool healing feeling. He pulled the warm leggings back on.

He stretched out on the bed and shut his eyes. It was a dark and cloudy midafternoon. A warm fire crackled reassuringly in the hearth at the end of the room. It was so warm and comfortable . . . and the boy fell asleep with his eyes open.

~

Elrohir returned a few minutes later, as he had promised, with a full tray of food and his feelings sorted out. It certainly wasn’t for lack of beauty that he had refused the boy. But Elrohir, barely eight hundred years of age, had not yet sorted out the attraction that he sometimes felt to other Elves. He still considered himself too young to be partaking in such activities.

He silently opened the door, peering about carefully. The boy was sound asleep on the bed, his breathing slow and even. Elrohir smiled, glad that his patient was receiving his much-needed rest. He shut the door again; there was time for him to eat later. He left the tray outside the room and went to find Glorfindel.

The Balrog Slayer was lazing about his rooms, enjoying being home among his own possessions and familiar company. He had bathed and dressed in clean clothing, and when Elrohir found him, he was sitting in a chair, reading a book.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” the younger Elf asked as he entered the room and sat opposite his long-time mentor and friend. “It wasn’t you that took him so terribly?”

Glorfindel looked up from his book, arching a golden eyebrow. “No, it wasn’t. I would never do such a thing, Elrohir. You should know that about me.”

“I am sorry to accuse you, my friend,” Elrohir said, bowing his head in fatigue. “But this Elf is plainly bewildering. Who is he? How old is he? He acts as though he is a child, but . . .”

“I cannot answer these questions,” Glorfindel answered. “I know very little about this one. I found him on my travels, when I stopped at an inn. He was in my room one night . . . you can guess what for.” Elrohir coughed and nodded. Glorfindel smiled reassuringly and continued his story.

“I won’t go into details of that night, unless you should wish to hear them later. But I found out that the innkeeper, a Man by the name of Orson, enslaved him. The Man would not part with him for love or money, and of the latter I offered a great deal. And so I stole him away.”

“And probably a good thing,” Elrohir said with a sigh and a frown. “He has clearly been mistreated. There are marks on his back that remind me of whip scars, though I’ve never known Elvish skin to carry scars well. And the fact that his ears were cut -” Elrohir gasped, cupping his hands about his ears and opening his grey eyes wide. “I couldn’t imagine it! It would hurt far too much!”

“I agree,” Glorfindel said. “I can’t conceive of the torture he must have endured. It is no way for an Elf to live. And yet, given his way of life, I don’t know why he hasn’t already faded away to the Halls of Mandos.”

“He must be very strong,” Elrohir said softly, “stronger than we know. Do you know anything of the symbol on his back?”

“No. It probably has something to do with his hidden past, but what the answer is, I know not.” Glorfindel sighed, putting his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know what we are to do with him.”

“He should stay here with us,” Elrohir said fiercely. “We won’t let him go back to the place he was before.”

“I agree. What is he doing now?”

“He was asleep when I came to bring him some food.” He looked sadly on Glorfindel. “He is so thin, Glorfindel. What shall we do?”

“I think that is a question better kept for your father, young one,” the Balrog Slayer answered. “But speaking of food, let’s go get some. I haven’t had a proper meal in ages!”

~

The boy blinked as he awoke. He stretched and yawned, casting a glance toward the window. It was later in the day, close to twilight. He had slept for a few hours, and now, feeling stronger and more refreshed, he was hungry. It had been Glorfindel who gave him a name to that empty feeling.

He stood from the bed and opened the door, glancing around the deserted hallway. He was alone but for the flickering torches lighting the dark passages. He bit his lip, wondering if he would be allowed to leave the room. But a prompt groan of his stomach convinced him that he had best search for food.

He wandered haphazardly through the corridors, staying in the shadows. He was still unsure as to whether or not he had permission to leave the room. Suddenly, a door in front of him opened, revealing a tall Elf with white hair, dressed in fine green robes.

Lindir blinked and stretched as he emerged from his room. He smiled at the startled, wide-eyed Elfling standing before him. “Hello,” he greeted in Elvish. “You must be new to Rivendell. I am Lindir, a bard, if I may say such a thing. Who are you?”

The boy shook his head in confusion. The stranger spoke in that oddly familiar language that he couldn’t understand.

“Common Tongue?” Lindir asked, frowning. “Well, I don’t know that one so well.” He cleared his throat, and began to repeat himself in the Common Tongue.

“I am . . . hungry, lord,” the boy whispered in answer to the other’s strongly accented questions.

“Hungry? That’s an odd sort of name, but . . . oh, yes, hungry, I remember that word.” He put an arm around the young Elf’s shoulders. “Well, come along, I am just heading down for a bite myself! I’ll show you the way.”

So the boy found himself led down the maze of corridors into a well-lit room filled with a long table. The table, however, contained few diners. Lindir shouted a hello to some of his friends and left the boy where he stood. There was Glorfindel, down at the end of the table. And next to him sat Elrohir, the kind dark stranger. There were a few others present, but the boy knew none of them.

As the conversation died, Glorfindel followed the gazes of the other Elves present. There, in the doorway, stood the young Elf he had rescued. He was hard-pressed to stifle some sound of amazement. Elrohir had clearly cleaned him up a bit. His pale, angular face was no longer smeared with dirt, allowing his wide, dark eyes to shine out beautifully. And his hair, for all it had been soft before, had turned into a long, dark, wavy fall down his back, shining in semblance of health.

The boy shifted his feet, unused to such scrutiny. There were far too many eyes on him, and he was quite uncomfortable. At the sound of Glorfindel’s voice, though, his head snapped up.

“Come here, ?essë,” he said, gesturing to the dumbstruck boy. “You need to eat.”

Elrohir slid over on the bench, making room for the boy beside him. The boy sat, staring dully at the plate before him. Elrohir heaped the plate with food, giving the boy a small smile.

“You really should eat, you know,” he whispered. “You are as skinny as a scarecrow!”

The boy frowned, not knowing what a “scarecrow” was, but obeyed the dark stranger. He hesitantly picked up a slice of bread and bit. Oh, this was better than hare cooked in the wilderness! The eyes of his onlookers widened in amazement as the boy began to shovel at his food with a relish rarely seen at Elvish dinner tables.

After a few moments of this, however, the boy realized the uncomfortable stares he was receiving, and immediately dropped his hands to his lap. He looked down, letting his hair hide his face.

“No, please, eat more,” Glorfindel said, pushing another plate towards him, this one full of fruit.

So the boy began to eat again, but slower than he had before. He remained conscious of the people around him, and kept sneaking glances at them when their attention was away from him. He noticed, over the course of the meal, that all of these strange people had ears with a point, exactly as his did! They spoke, most often, in that melodious language with which Elrohir and Glorfindel had conversed earlier, the tongue that was half-familiar but left him puzzled. And they were all so fair . . . they seemed to shine and glow with beauty! Dark haired or light, bard or lord, all of them held some sort of ethereal power to draw his attention.

“Are you too tired to relate to us some stories tonight, Glorfindel?” Lindir asked over his glass of wine. “We hear that you had more excitement than usual.”

“Well, yes, my friend,” Glorfindel answered, “this trip was far from usual. But I am afraid that you will have to wait until tomorrow night for the full story.”

A few of the Elves pleaded with him to stay and tell of his adventures, but Glorfindel waved his hand at them and retreated to his room.

“You look tired as well, cousin,” Elrohir commented to the boy, who promptly looked at him with his wide, dark eyes. “Would you like me to show you back to your bed?”

The boy swallowed nervously and nodded. He dragged his body into an upright position and followed Elrohir down the winding hallways. The boy was somewhat surprised when he found himself once again outside the doors to the healing room. He sent Elrohir a cautious glance.

“Here you are,” said the Imladris Elf. “Sleep well, cousin.” With a small smile, he turned his back and went to find his own rooms.

The boy shrugged and opened the door to the room he had inhabited before. If the dark stranger had no wish for his body, he wasn’t about to argue. He settled back into his bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

But sleep did not come. It had been easy to sleep that afternoon; he had been exhausted and warm and carefree, for the most part. With night came a different feel. The fire had died down to a few lingering embers that sent an eerie glow from that end of the room. It was otherwise quite dark, and while the boy could see well enough without light, he didn’t like it. He burrowed into the blankets again, trying to stifle his fear. The house creaked oddly around him, and strange nightmares crowded the edge of his mind.

He stumbled from his bed to the door. The hallways were deserted again, and most of the torches had been doused. He walked as quickly as he could back to the dining hall. It was empty, the places cleared, but the fire still burned merrily. The boy shivered, taking another doorway in hopes that he could find Glorfindel’s chambers.

The boy wandered haphazardly down the corridor. He had no way of telling which rooms belonged to Glorfindel apart from glancing inside, and he was too frightened to do such a thing. At last he came to a door that was elegantly carved with gold-painted flowers. He took a deep breath, set his hand on the knob, and twisted.

~

Soft birdcalls and morning sunshine woke Glorfindel from his slumber. He yawned and stretched carefully, blinking to rid his eyes of sleep. Something knocked his elbow, something he didn’t remember putting in his bed. He looked down to see the room’s other occupant.

“Ai, sweet Elbereth!” he exclaimed, nearly tumbling from the bed.

The excitement caused the boy to wake, and he looked up, startled, at Glorfindel. He put his arm over his head as if to block a blow. “Please, lord,” he said. “Don’t hurt me, lord!”

Recovering from his shock enough to focus, Glorfindel smoothed the boy’s hair. “Nonsense, little one. But why are you in my bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep, lord,” the boy answered, head still buried beneath an arm. “I can’t sleep alone. Sorry, lord.”

“Shush, child,” Glorfindel comforted. “I am not angry, just a bit surprised. Why seek me out?”

The boy shook his head, unwilling to speak.

Glorfindel sighed in resignation. “All right, then,” he said. “Well, let’s get up and get something to eat, shall we? I’m famished.”

The Elf lord proceeded to dress while the boy watched warily from his spot in the bed. Glorfindel had just finished lacing his boots when the door opened, revealing a flustered-looking Elrohir.

“Glorfindel, have you seen -” He stopped, having caught sight of the boy on the bed. His eyes widened a bit. “Oh, here he is.”

“Don’t look so worried, Elrohir,” Glorfindel said, patting him on the back. “I haven’t done anything to our young friend.”

Elrohir nodded nervously, extending a hand to the boy on the bed. “Come, we should eat.”

~

“Now, what are we going to do with you, ?essë?” Glorfindel asked as he munched a piece of toast.

“First we need to find you a name, cousin,” Elrohir said. He sent a sharp look to Glorfindel. “You have no name, as far as we know.” The boy nodded meekly.

“And we should try to find out where you come from, and return you to your rightful home, if we need to,” Glorfindel continued. “Do you remember nothing of your life before - er, your . . .” For the first time in a long time, the Elf lord was at a loss for words.

“Before my Master?” the boy suggested. “No, nothing. I sometimes have dreams, lord, but they mean nothing.”

“What sort of dreams?” Elrohir pressed.

The boy shrugged. “Mostly of dust and chains, lord. And there was an old Man, and he gave me water, but I had to walk all day long, and -” the boy clapped his hands over his mouth, afraid that he had said too much.

Both strangers frowned, contemplating what the boy had just said. There was a period of awkward silence, shattered by Elrohir’s voice. “Well, the least we can do is teach you some Elvish.”

“Elvish, lord?” It was the boy’s turn to frown. “What is that?”

“It is our language,” Glorfindel explained. “The language of your people.”

“My people, lord?” the boy said in astonishment. “But - I have no people . . .”

“We are your people, little one,” Glorfindel confirmed. “Did you not notice that the people here have pointed ears, just like yours? Did you not notice that your grace and agility nearly matches theirs? We are Elves, the Firstborn of the Valar, and you are one of us.”

The boy gazed between his two companions with wide eyes. “Surely - surely it cannot be true,” he whispered. “I have never seen such beauty, my lords, but it has no relation to me . . .”

“Come, cousin,” Elrohir said gently. “I can teach you a bit of our history. Perhaps that will bring back some of your memories.” With an arm around the slender shoulders, the Imladris Elf led the boy out of the dining hall towards the library. The boy cast one last frightened look back towards Glorfindel, who smiled and waved.

~

The boy stared in wonder at the sight of Rivendell in the daylight. Elrohir smiled, pleased that the boy was actually taking interest in something.

“What is that, lord?” the boy gasped, gawking at a painting.

“That is a portrait of Isildur, a Man, cutting the One Ring from the Dark Lord’s hand,” Elrohir said. “That story comes later in our history, though. I thought I would start at the beginning.”

“The beginning, lord?”

“Aye, the beginning, when first the Elves awoke beside the lake.” Elrohir gestured for him to enter the library. “My father has many books, most of which are historical. We can make our way through a few today.” He reached up to pull a certain old tome from a shelf. “Here’s one we can start with. Sit down over here while I stoke the fire.”

The boy found himself placed in a large armchair, clutching the heavy, dusty book. He looked it over carefully. There were some nice, curvy embellishments on the cover, though the boy was at a loss to what purpose it served.

“Here, why don’t you start reading?” Elrohir suggested, taking a seat nearby. “It’s quite interesting, I can assure you. Well, after you get past the first few chapters.”

“Read, lord?”

“Yes, read? You know, like . . .” Elrohir’s voice faded off, seeing the confused expression on the boy’s face. “You can’t read, can you?”

The boy shrugged his ignorance. “It’s a very pretty - book, though. What does it do?”

“It tells stories.” Elrohir sighed. “I suppose I’ll be teaching you to read as well, won’t I?”

“How does it tell stories, lord?” the boy asked. “Can it speak?”

“In a sense. Now come here, join me on the couch, and I’ll see if I can’t teach you something.”

~

A few hours later, the two Elves were sprawled before the fire. The boy could already read a few simple sentences, after Elrohir’s instruction, and felt immense pleasure that he could “make the book speak!” They had curled beneath a blanket to fight off the winter chill, and the boy rested his head on Elrohir’s shoulder.

“This is Gondolin,” Elrohir said, turning a page to the book he held. “Glorfindel lived here once, as did my father’s parents.”

“Can we see it someday?” the boy asked eagerly. The illustration of the shining city looked breathtakingly beautiful, and he longed to see the place with his own eyes.

“No, I’m sorry. It was destroyed long ago.”

“Oh,” the boy said sadly. He had found himself intrigued to no extent about the strange people Elrohir told him of, the people that had pointed ears like his. They were so beautiful and wise that it didn’t seem possible that he was of their ilk. The boy yawned.

“Ah, it’s late!” Elrohir commented with a glance out the windows. “We have long missed our midday meal!”

“One more page, please!” the boy said.

“All right, one more.” Elrohir turned the page again. “These are some of the warriors of Gondolin. See? This is Glorfindel.”

“Oh. They are very lovely.” The boy frowned. “Who is that?”

“That? Oh, that is Ecthelion. He was one of Glorfindel’s friends a long time ago. He was another Balrog Slayer, but he has not returned to Middle-earth yet.”

“Ecthelion,” the boy said, tasting the name. “He has a lovely name.”

Elrohir looked down, smiling at the boy. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“It should be your name,” Elrohir said. “ ’Tis not so uncommon to name someone after a hero of old. Would you mind it for your name?”

“No, lord,” the boy answered. “It is very beautiful, and I am honored to carry it. But I do not think myself worthy.”

“Nonsense. It suits you perfectly.” Elrohir pushed the boy to his feet. “Come, I am hungry. My stomach growls like a warg.”

The boy laughed, even though he was unsure of what a warg was, and followed Elrohir down the halls. His day spent with Elrond’s son had been educational. Perhaps, he thought, he would not be expected to share his body in order to stay in the house. Learning to read seemed to have made Elrohir quite happy, and even the boy had to admit to some small pride. He could even understand a few words of that haunting melodic language, Elvish.

He was glowing with happiness as they entered the dining halls. A few of the Elves lifted their heads and greeted them with shining smiles. The boy grinned shyly back, wondering how he could possibly be related to such beautiful creatures. He and Elrohir took their seats next to Glorfindel.

“Ah, you look happier,” the Elf lord commented, glancing the boy over. “What did you two do today? Anything of interest?”

“We began to learn some Elvish,” Elrohir said. “And our young cousin is learning how to read.”

“Ah, that’s amazing!” Glorfindel said with a caring nod towards the boy. “And you’re enjoying yourself, ?essë?”

“He doesn’t need that name anymore, Glorfindel,” Elrohir said proudly. “He has one of his own.”

“Ah, really? What is it?”

After some jabbing in the ribs by Elrohir, the boy answered softly, “Ecthelion.”

A strange look came over Glorfindel’s face. It seemed to the boy almost as if a cloud had passed in front of the Sun. He scooted carefully away from the Elf lord, wary of making any sudden movements for fear of inciting some angry reaction. Elrohir frowned at Glorfindel’s response; he had thought that the golden lord would be glad that another bore his dear friend’s name. Of course, Glorfindel was not wont to speak overmuch of Ecthelion, and it had been from Elrond that Elrohir had found out about the friendship.

“Glorfindel, is something wrong?” Elrohir asked cautiously.

“Nothing at all, young ones,” he said in an unconvincing voice. “Excuse me, I am wearied tonight.” With that, he abruptly rose from the table and headed off towards his rooms.

Elrohir frowned deeply. “Stay here,” he said to his still-shocked companion. “Lindir, will you watch over Ecthelion while I am away? I have some business to discuss with lord Glorfindel.” Elrohir rushed down the hall after Glorfindel and followed him into his rooms, slamming the door shut behind him.

“What was that about?” the younger Elf said harshly.

“You had no right . . .”

“You realize you scared him half to death? He’s close enough to some breakdown as it is, without you acting as you are. Now, I demand you tell me what is wrong!”

Glorfindel leaned his head against the wall, gulping his breath as though he had just run a great distance. “You shall demand no such thing of me, youngling.”

“Please, for the love you hold for my father and my family,” Elrohir pleaded, believing now that there was something truly wrong with the Balrog Slayer. “Please, for the sake of our friendship, tell me what ails you.”

Glorfindel eyed the younger Elf suspiciously. Deeming him worthy of knowing his secret, he said, with eyes downcast, “Your father never told the . . . details of my relationship with Ecthelion, did he?”

“What details were there to be known?” Elrohir asked. “You were friends in the time of Gondolin, and you were captains of your respective houses, and . . .”

The boy burst through the door, closely followed by a panting Lindir. “Very sorry, my lords,” the bard gasped breathlessly. “He was too fast for me, I could not catch him.”

The boy stood in the center of the room, casting his worried glance between Elrohir and Glorfindel. “I would know what I have done wrong, lords,” he said softly. “I would know what I have done to cause you such distress.”

“Lindir, out!” Glorfindel ordered. The bard complied with a quick bow. The Balrog Slayer sighed, gathering his wits. “Ecthelion was my lover. Long ago, in Gondolin. That was how we knew each other.”

Elrohir gasped, putting his hand to his lips. “I - I didn’t know, Glorfindel.”

The boy rushed to the Elf lord’s side, wrapping his long slender arms around the elder Elf’s body. “I’m sorry, lord,” he whispered. “I shall chose another name.”

Glorfindel, blinking tears from his eyes, stroked the dark hair of the young Elf. “No, little one, keep your chosen name. I think he would be happy that you carried it. It just came as a bit of a shock to me. I seldom remember the long-ago times anymore.” He kissed the boy’s forehead. “Keep your name. Though it might help me if you went by a byname of some sort . . .”

“What about Thel?” Elrohir suggested compassionately. “Do you like that?”

The boy nodded from his spot resting against Glorfindel’s chest. “Thel. I like it. Thank you, lords. You have been too kind to me.”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel said, embracing the newly-dubbed Thel tightly. “Now, are you still hungry, little one?”

“No, my lord,” Thel answered with a yawn. “I would rather sleep, if you don’t mind.” He turned his wide dark eyes up to the Elf lord’s face. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Glorfindel answered.

Elrohir cleared his throat. He frowned at the situation. He doubted that Thel knew what he wanted, and given Glorfindel’s lustful nature, he worried that his new young friend could be hurt again, either physically or emotionally.

“Just remember to behave yourself, Glorfindel,” he warned.

“Ai, don’t worry so much, Elrohir. Our young cousin is in safe hands,” Glorfindel answered, arching a golden brow at his lord’s son.

“ ’Tis your hands I worry about,” Elrohir muttered as he shut the door behind him. His mind was too restless to allow him to forget the fawning looks of adoration that Thel had bestowed on Glorfindel, so he went down to the practice fields to sweat off some of the day’s worry. The light of the moon was bright and sufficient for him to see well.

~

The sudden absence of the warm embrace woke the boy the next morning. Thel blinked himself awake as Glorfindel left the bed. “Lord?” he asked groggily. “Where are you going so early? The Sun is not yet risen.”

“I must leave, young one,” Glorfindel explained as he pulled his clothes on and began to braid his long, golden hair. “I have duties to my lord.”

“What sorts of duties?” the boy asked curiously, sitting up to watch.

“I patrol the borders of the valley and chase away evil.” Glorfindel grinned. “ ’Tis usually a fairly boring sort of task, but it is refreshing after all the work I’ve done over the past few months.”

“For how long are you gone, lord?” the boy asked fearfully.

“Only a few weeks, young Thel,” Glorfindel answered. “Ai, do not look so worried! ’Tis not so long! I’m sure you’ll find some way to amuse yourself while I’m gone.”

“I fear not the day, only the night,” the boy whispered, eyes downcast. “How shall I sleep alone? The nightmares will come if you are not with me to chase them away!” His slender shoulders began to shake.

“Shush!” Glorfindel comforted, taking the boy in another embrace. “I’m sure Elrohir can find something to suit you.”

“I don’t want to be a trouble,” Thel sniffed, wiping at his nose.

“You’re not a trouble, little one. Elrohir will be only too happy to find you something comfortable. Now, clean up your tears and we shall have some breakfast before I leave.”

~

Breakfast was a silent affair. Thel toyed with his food; the upcoming absence of Glorfindel’s protection left him depressed and in no mood to eat. The majority of their usual mealtime company was not present. Elrohir elbowed Glorfindel sharply at the laughing suggestion that Lindir was still enjoying himself with one of the kitchen maids.

“As soon as Father and Elladan and their group return to Imladris our mornings won’t be so boring,” Elrohir said confidently. “But they shouldn’t be back for a few more weeks yet.”

“Why did they have to speak to the Greenwood nobles?” Glorfindel asked. “I don’t believe you ever told us.”

“You know Thranduil is always asking for Father’s help. I heard something about a Necromancer of some sort, but I truly don’t know. Elladan handles most of the diplomatic issues.” Elrohir paused, noticing how little of the food Thel had eaten. “Eat, cousin. You want to regain your health, don’t you?”

“I’m not very hungry,” Thel answered, pushing his plate away and resting his head on his folded arms.

“He’s angry that I’m leaving on my patrols,” Glorfindel whispered. “You’ll watch over him, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And . . . I don’t know what to do with him. He can’t sleep alone; he says that he has nightmares if he has no company. Do you think he could sleep in your room? Only for a short time, of course.”

“Yes, probably,” Elrohir said softly. “If he agrees to it. He can have Elladan’s bed, at least until that brother of mine returns.”

“Brother!” All three Elves looked up to see who was shouting so loudly at such an early hour. A dark-haired, blue-eyed Elf-maid flew through the door and into the dining hall. “Brother, I have not seen you for the last two days!”

“Arwen,” Elrohir sighed, returning his sister’s embrace. “You should not be running about so early in the morning. What would Mother say?”

“Mother doesn’t care. She says running is good for me.” She kissed Elrohir on the nose, then noticed the Elf sitting next to him. “Who are you?”

“This is Thel,” Elrohir said, when no answer came from the wide-eyed young Elf. “He is going to stay with us for a while. Thel, this is my sister, Arwen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Arwen said, sticking out her hand. “Where are you from? Are you from Lorien? Mother is from Lorien. I’ve been there before. It’s a very pretty forest.”

Still Thel said not a word. Arwen frowned curiously at him. “Do you not wish to speak?” she asked.

“Oh, Arwen,” Elrohir said, finally catching on to the situation. “Thel doesn’t speak much Elvish, so you will have to speak in the Common Tongue if you want him to understand you.”

“Ai, Elir, I don’t like it!” the she-Elf complained.

Glorfindel smiled at the scene, a not-uncommon one in the Peredhil household. “Well, Elflings,” he announced, “I must be off. I’ll see you in a few weeks. Take care, and heed Lindir.”

“But he is so boring!” Arwen shouted at his retreating back. She turned her shining gaze to Thel again. “Can I show him my room, Elir? Please?”

Elrohir sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I suppose. Thel, I’ll be by to pick you up in a few hours.” He gave him a small smile. “Just be careful. Young Elf-maids can be quite unpredictable.”

Thel nodded, eyes downcast, as Arwen dragged him by his hand off to her rooms.

~

Elrohir sighed with satisfaction, having just finished transcribing some ancient Elvish poem or another. He looked out the window. It was growing dark beyond the wintry clouds. He hadn’t realized he’s worked the entire day away. Time to rescue Thel from his sister.

Elrohir knocked on Arwen’s door before entering to see a very entertaining sight. Arwen, still hardly more than an Elfling despite her nearly seven hundred years, had taken it upon herself to thoroughly indoctrinate Thel into her life. At some point in the day she had made him sit still long enough for her to apply a great many braids to his dark hair, and they were currently playing with her dolls.

“Elir!” Arwen cried, rushing to her brother’s arms. “Thel is fun. Can we keep him?”

“He’s not a puppy, Arwen,” Elrohir said, offering an arm to Thel so he could stand. “He’ll stay with us if he wants to. But now, dear little sister, you must go to sleep. The hour is late.”

Arwen pouted at her brother, but shot Thel a bright smile. “Good night, Thel. I’ll see you again tomorrow, and we’ll play with my dolls!”

“Thank you,” Thel said softly once he and Elrohir were back in the safety of the hallways. “I wasn’t sure how much more I could manage.”

“That I can see, my friend,” Elrohir said with a smile, fingering one of the long braids. “But you came through unscathed. That’s more than most can say. Beware my fearsome little sister!”

“Thank you all the same. I think I prefer - um, books, to sisters, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t blame you.” Elrohir smiled again, opening the door to his room. “This is my room. You can stay in here until Glorfindel gets back, if it suits you.”

Thel surveyed his new surroundings. It was a nice room, if a bit messy. But there was two of everything: two beds, two mirrors, even two wardrobes. He wondered who the other occupant was. He turned around and was about to ask Elrohir, but the other Elf was already undressing and preparing for bed.

“Ah, I’m tired,” said Elrohir with a yawn. “You wouldn’t believe my day.” He glanced over at Thel, who still stood where he had placed him, looking awkward and out-of-place. “Here, let me help untangle your hair.”

Thel nodded, and they sat together on the rug while Elrohir worked at the intricate braids adorning his friend’s hair. Thel, unused to the gentle caresses, sat stiffly. Elrohir noticed but didn’t say anything. He continued to run his fingers through the fine dark hair. He wondered again who this Elf could possibly be. ‘He is Thel,’ he reminded himself firmly, ‘my friend.’

“Elrohir?”

“Yes?” Elrohir asked, smiling though not commenting on the use of his proper name.

“What is a sister?”

Elrohir leaned close to Thel, trying to make more of the question. The large black eyes were downcast and unreadable. “A sister?” he clarified. “Well, a sister is . . . the daughter of your mother and father. A female related very closely by blood.”

“Oh,” Thel said. He was silent for a moment, then he spoke again. “Arwen reminds me a bit of a girl I knew. She . . . also belonged to Master. She was very kind to me. Her name was Shan.” He smiled to himself. “I remember her mother. I liked her as well.”

“I can’t imagine being caged with Men for so long,” Elrohir mused. “I mean, I’m not completely Elven, I had grandparents who were mortal. But they’ve always seemed . . . I don’t know, crude, to me. And I think no better of them after what they did to you.”

“We don’t even know what they did to me,” Thel said dully, “I mean beyond the obvious.”

“I’m sorry you remember nothing of your home. My father and Glorfindel and I will do everything we can to see you returned, if you want us to.”

“That is very kind of you,” Thel said, “but I don’t know if I have a home anymore. Would they welcome me back? I couldn’t go back. How long have I been gone?”

Elrohir smiled compassionately. “These are questions I can’t answer. I think that everything will make sense once we know where your home was. Here, we’re all done. Get into bed. You must be tired as well. You can sleep in Elladan’s bed. He won’t be back for a few weeks, so you don’t have to worry about being kicked out.”

Thel climbed into bed, and Elrohir blew out the candle that had lit the room. “Good night,” said Elrohir before sleep claimed him.

“Good night,” Thel answered softly. It wasn’t as comfortable as sleeping with Glorfindel’s strong arms around him, but it would do. Elrohir’s presence kept the worst of the darkness away, and Thel was able to sleep comfortably.

~

I woke the next morning with the sun. I didn’t move too much in the strange bed; I didn’t know its original occupant and I didn’t want him angry with me for any reason. Elrohir was still asleep in the bed next to me, I could tell by his breathing.

It was strange. I couldn’t remember thinking for myself, having my own thoughts. The concept of me as Thel was foreign to me. Maybe I was growing accustomed to the name. I had never had a name before.

But soon enough Elrohir woke, and we were out about our day again. Life in the big house was wonderful, for lack of better wording. I had never once been demanded to do something that I didn’t wish to do. Food was regular, plentiful, and delicious. After listening carefully to the words of Elvish, that strange language that tickled at my memory, I began to grasp the concept of it. Elrohir had begun to teach me to read, and I read in both Elvish and Common. The two were difficult to confuse, Elvish being much more fluid and melodic, but it happened. And Elrohir’s sister (that was a strange word), Arwen, seemed to enjoy spending time with me. I had never played with dolls before, and while I wasn’t sure I liked it so much, it made Arwen happy.

Friend was another word I learned during my stay at the big house. Well, I had known the word before, in theory, but Elrohir taught me the true meaning. His calm patience and understanding and undemanding nature put me at ease. I little knew how to act around him, based on my previous experience. I would not have objected so much if he had wanted me to share my body with him, but he never asked, never showed any sign of wanting me. So I merely did as he asked, continuing with my studies, and that seemed to please him well enough. What a strange people they were, these Elves.

I needed new words to describe how I felt. I had never before had any use for “happy” or “content” or anything of that sort, yet when Elrohir explained their meanings to me, I found that they captured my emotions almost perfectly. I was especially happy when, upon discovering Elrohir as he practiced with his sword, he offered to teach me instead of becoming angry with me. Not that I particularly needed to use a sword, but the lack of anger made me happy. So, clumsy though I was at the weapons, Elrohir taught me how to use a bow, a sword, and my favorites, the knives. And when he flashed me his bright white smile or used his long hands to direct me, I felt my heart swell with pride.

So I floated on my wave of happiness, content to follow Elrohir and learn from him, and to spend time with his sister, and any of these things that made me feel like I had a home.

~

Elladan yawned as he entered his room. He and his father and the rest of the diplomats had just returned from their negotiations with the Greenwood King. It was the middle of the night, and Elladan was exhausted to his very bones. An unexpected rainstorm, one of many that winter, had delayed them that day, but they had still arrived earlier than expected. And Elladan wanted nothing more than to fling himself into bed and fall asleep.

He wandered around the room, not bothering to light a candle and wake his brother, while he discarded his gear and clothes. When at last dressed in a warm nightshirt and reasonably dry, he did as he desired and flung himself into bed. His delight at returning home was dampened, however, by the discovery of something in his bed.

“What are you doing in my bed!” he shouted.

Thel tumbled out of bed before he was completely awake. He blinked, trying to focus on whoever shouted at him so, and raised an arm over his head to ward of any blows. When his sight cleared, he saw Elrohir. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, for what harm would Elrohir do to him? But then he saw the anger written across Elrohir’s face. He bit back a sob. Of course, it would have to end at one point or another. He would have to wake from the dream eventually.

“S-sorry, lord,” he said, the polite submission easily coming back to him.

“Oh, sorry isn’t the half of it,” Elladan fumed. “Stand up so I can see you! Who are you!”

The commotion soon woke Elrohir, who rolled out of his own bed. “Elladan?” he said sleepily. “What are you doing here?”

“Better answer me what is this doing in my bed!” Elladan said, pointing to Thel, who still lay on the floor covering his head with an arm.

“What? Thel!” Elrohir said, smacking his forehead with his palm. “Elladan, let him up! You’re scaring him!”

“Who?”

“I declare, brother, you are the most thick-headed Elf at times!” Elrohir growled, crawling around the bed to help Thel to his feet. “Come, cousin, stand up.”

“Elrohir?” Thel said softly, looking between the brothers with confusion. “There are two of you.”

“What? No, Thel, this is my brother, Elladan. We are twins,” Elrohir said with a smile, a stark contrast to his still-frowning brother. “I’m sorry to startle you, Thel. We didn’t expect Elladan home for another few days.” He gave Elladan a pointed look.

“We came home early,” Elladan grunted. “Listen, Elir, why isn’t he in his own bed?”

“I didn’t want him to sleep alone,” answered Elrohir.

“Well, I want my bed back.”

“Elan . . .”

“Elrohir, I have been traveling since daybreak. Don’t argue with me, will you?” Elladan rubbed his eyes.

“Well, Glorfindel isn’t back . . .” Elrohir said, looking Thel over. “Here, you can have my bed, cousin.”

“What? Elir . . .”

“I’ll sleep in this chair,” Elrohir said as he settled into an armchair.

“I don’t want to displace you,” said Thel quietly.

“You’re not displacing me,” Elrohir maintained. “Truly, I will be quite comfortable.”

“Brother, don’t be unreasonable,” Elladan said.

“Go to sleep, Elladan,” Elrohir said. “You look tired.” After giving his brother a strange glance, Elladan obeyed and placed himself beneath the warm sheets. His breathing was soon soft and even in the cadence of sleep.

But Thel remained standing, keeping his dark gaze on Elrohir. “What troubles you, cousin?” asked the Imladris Elf. “You need your sleep as well.”

“You won’t sleep well in that chair,” said Thel. “We could . . . share the bed, if you didn’t mind.”

Elrohir raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Are you sure? Are you comfortable with that?”

“I have had bed partners much more disgusting than you are, Elrohir,” Thel said with a soft smile. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” said Elrohir as he climbed between the blankets. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have slept well in the chair. And I’m glad that you trust me enough to let me do this.”

“You’re my friend, Elrohir,” Thel answered sleepily.

“In the morning, we’ll introduce you to Father, and we can start unraveling your mysteries.”

“Hmm,” Thel sighed as he surrendered to sleep. “That’s nice.”

~

I woke the next morning when Elrohir’s warmth left the bed. It was a cold winter’s morning, so I settled deeper into the blankets, preparing to sleep again. But I heard voices, so similar in timbre but so different in tone, so I decided to listen.

“Well, that was an interesting surprise, Elir.” That would have been Elladan’s voice.

“I’m sorry to have to bother you so late in the night with all this, but he refuses to sleep alone, and Glorfindel has gone away on his patrols,” Elrohir explained.

“To tell the truth, I’m surprised he wasn’t in your bed in the first place. He is quite lovely.” I flinched at what the voice implied.

“Stop,” interrupted Elrohir. “I would not do such things to him. Thel is merely a friend. He could not be more, for he has lived a difficult life.”

“How do you mean?”

I could sense Elrohir’s hesitation. “You must promise not to tell anybody what I am about to tell you now. This is a delicate subject, and we would not have it public knowledge.”

“You have my word. Now tell!”

“Glorfindel found him in a village of Men a few weeks south of here. A Man held him captive. Well, perhaps enslaved is a better word. He used Thel for . . . well, let me say that when I examined him, I found evidence that not only had his ears been cut, but he had been whipped enough to leave scars. He had also been taken against his will, probably numerous times.” By that point, my breathing came in quick gasps. I had no wish to remember what had happened to me in Master’s house.

“I . . . I had no idea.” I could hear the surprise in Elladan’s voice. “Good Valar, why isn’t he dead? Or worse?”

“Worse is more like it,” Elrohir said grimly. “It took three days to get him to call me by my name. He hardly speaks, and he barely eats.”

“Father will have to look at him. What’s his name again?”

“Thel. Well, Ecthelion . . . but you might have to ask Glorfindel for that story. We didn’t know his real name, so we decided Ecthelion would suit him.”

“Who is he, brother?” Elladan asked. I felt their eyes on me.

“We will have to find out. I know Glorfindel thinks he is from Greenwood, but we have no answers yet.”

Greenwood. I had heard the name before. It made something tickle in my mind, but I could not put my finger on what the word meant. Elrohir had shown me sketches and portraits, but none of them had sparked any memories.

I stirred, letting them known I was awake. I sat and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“Good morning, Thel,” said Elrohir with a smile. “Sleep well?”

“Aye,” I answered. “Good morning, Elrohir.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced,” said Elladan as he stood. He looked nervous. “I am Elladan, Elrohir’s brother.”

“Good morning,” I answered, sending my eyes to the floor. I remembered all too well the fright I had felt the night before at my rude awakening.

“I’m very sorry to have disturbed you last night,” he continued. “And I didn’t mean to shout at you. I’m very sorry.”

“No trouble,” I said softly.

“I mean, now that I understand -”

Elrohir shot him a silencing look. Elladan interrupted himself with a cough. “Er, I mean, I can help you, if you need it.”

“Thank you.”

“We had best get some food,” said Elrohir as he stood. “Would you like to get up now, Thel?”

So I accompanied Elrohir and his brother to the dining hall. It was still quite early, so the three of us were alone in breaking our fast. Lindir, the pale-haired minstrel who had helped me my first night in the house, floated through once, but had left again quickly. Elladan was careful in his speech with me. He said little to me, and that worried me little for I had little wish to speak to him. Elrohir sensed this and tried to lift our silence, but he failed. My focus that morning had turned inwards.

Both of them had spoken of meeting with some “Father” who had been away. Elrohir had told me, over the course of our weeks together, that his father was Elrond, a very old and wise Elf. My friend seemed certain that Elrond could figure out the mysteries of my past. Still, I wasn’t sure if I wanted my mysteries discovered. I was happy being where and who I was. If I had to be somebody else, my life would be different. What if I had to leave the house and Elrohir and Arwen and Glorfindel?

Soon enough, though, we had finished our meal, and the brothers led me down the halls, back to a door I recognized from my first day. The healing rooms looked the same as they had before, with the beds in two rows, neat and orderly. The one difference was that they were occupied, though not by those who were ailing. Glorfindel sat on a bed, engaged in rapt conversation with a dark-haired, grey-eyed Elf who bore great resemblance to Elladan and Elrohir.

“Ah, here they are!” exclaimed Glorfindel as he got to his feet. “Elrond, here is the Elf I was telling you about. This is Thel.”

At the nudge from Elrohir, I stepped forward, keeping my gaze down.

“Hmm.” A thoughtful sigh was all I heard from Elrond. Then I felt a hand on my chin, lifting my face until my eyes were forced to meet his. How endless and grey his eyes were!

“Well met, young Thel,” he said. His voice was deep, but calm and soothing.

I glanced at Glorfindel, who gave me an encouraging look. “I am p-pleased to be welcomed in your house, lord Elrond,” I said nervously.

“Ah, nonsense, it is the least of the kindness we can do.” He studied me for a bit longer. “I think I will need some privacy. Glorfindel, will you take Elladan and Elrohir outside, please?”

I felt a brief spark of fear rush through me, and looked to Elrohir for reassurance. He smiled back at me before the door shut and I was alone with Elrond.

“There we are,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat on the bed? I’m going to look you over, just to satisfy my own curiosity. Do you mind?”

I shook my head silently. He sat next to me, drawing the hair away from my ears. He carefully probed the scars that remained.

“Glorfindel told me a few of the details of your situation,” he said as he looked me over. “Do you have anything you would like to say?”

I shook my head again.

“Hmm, your ears are healing nicely,” he commented. “Now, Glorfindel mentioned a symbol on your back. Would you mind removing your shirt so I might see it?”

I did as he asked and took of my shirt. The room still had a warm fire burning at one end, so I wasn’t too cold, but the prospect of eyes on my body was not pleasant. At Elrond’s gesture, I lay down on my stomach. His touch was soft, and for that I was thankful. I heard some murmured noises of thought from behind me.

“And you have no memory of your former home?”

“No, my lord.”

“And no memory of where you received this mark?”

“No. I have had it as long as I remember.”

“You may sit up now and replace your shirt.” When next I looked at him, he was brooding and stroking his chin. “I have a feeling this mark will tell us of your story. I will need to look through my books in order to find the solution, for I know nothing of this custom.”

“And what am I to do now, lord?” I asked, feeling somewhat helpless.

In return, he gave me a warm smile. “Do as you have been, I think. So long as you don’t cause too much trouble, I think we can keep you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I said as I rose from my seat.

“It is a pleasure to house such pleasant individuals. And I promise that I will do whatever is necessary to find out who you are.” He smiled widely again, reminding me of Elrohir. “You are free to go. I hear that my son has been teaching you some Elvish. How are you liking it?”

“I like it very much, my lord,” I answered. “But to read and write is even more exciting.”

“You have the makings of a great lore master,” he said, putting a comforting arm about my shoulders. “Should you wish to, I would not object if you were to stay here. I could tutor you in the old ways of learning.”

“I would like that, my lord.”

“Oh, my, what time is it?” he said, glancing out the window. “You had best get going. I wouldn’t want you to fall behind in your lessons.”

~

“What do you think?”

After examining the newcomer to Imladris, Elrond had retired to his chambers. He was still tired from the long ride he had taken to return to his home. On top of it all, he had a mystery to figure out with the boy. Glorfindel, the captain of the Imladris guard, had known to find him in his chambers. Said Balrog Slayer was currently pacing before Elrond, who sat at his desk.

“I know not,” Elrond said, rubbing his eyes. “He is plainly a puzzle. I can think of no plausible reason that he should even be alive.”

“The mark on his back - did it give you any clues?” Glorfindel asked as he continued pacing. “I have never known of any Elvish colony to practice such things, yet it doesn’t seem the work of Men.”

“You’re right,” Elrond replied. “It is most certainly Elvish. But I will have to search my library. I have no knowledge about this sort of thing.”

“I could not believe it at first,” Glorfindel said, finally settling himself in the chair across from Elrond. “I mean, the idea of an Elf enslaved is impossible!”

“He was clearly very young when it happened,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “Probably not even a century old. And to make a guess, he isn’t much older than Elladan and Elrohir.”

“Ai, that one so young should have to go through such atrocities . . .”

“But that is over now. He is safe here.” Elrond yawned in an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion.

“Well, I can see that you need your rest,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “So I will go see what the children are up to. I’ll probably stay here for a few more days, but then I must leave on patrol again.”

“Of course.”

“And get some sleep. You look almost mortal.”

Elrond didn’t bother with a reply. He simply went back to a few unopened letters on his desk before abandoning his work in order to sleep.

~

As was gradually becoming routine, I spent the rest of the day with Elrohir in the library, continuing my studies. I was able to write a passable hand, and my reading had been getting more complex with each day. I could understand most Elvish words spoken to me, and answer back with good confidence. I couldn’t wait to show Glorfindel how much I had learned while he was away.

I nearly leapt out of my seat when a knock sounded on the library door. “Come in,” called Elrohir.

Elladan entered the library. “Good evening, you two,” he greeted.

“It is the odd day we see you in here, Elladan,” Elrohir said wryly. “Did you have something you wanted to tell us?”

“Only that supper will be served soon, so you had better come quick. All of us are hungry for good Imladris food.”

“I hadn’t realized it was so late. Well, come along, Thel. I believe my brother when he says we may have to fight for our meal.” He stayed behind to walk with me to the dining hall.

The room was so filled that all I could do for a few moments was stare in wonder. A great many Elves had returned with Elrond and Elladan, and they all flitted about the table like bright flowers. The torches were lit, illuminating the fantastic colors of the costumes of the Elves. There was a harp playing somewhere in the multitude, a pleasant background to the din of the melodic Elvish voices. I settled further into the anonymity of my drab clothing. Elladan and Elrohir had decked themselves out like the sons of lords that they were, but I felt safer in my worn brown wool jacket and leggings.

I silently followed Elrohir, answering as few of the questions as I could get away with. There were so many more Elves present than I was used to, and the conversation was a constant hum in the background. I listened to what they said. I understood most of the words, but I was at a loss to know what they spoke of. They named people I had never heard of, places I had only just begun to read about, and events that I could only imagine. So I listened and tried to absorb as much as possible, filing it all away for later inspection.

That night, for the first time since my arrival, the entire company departed the dining hall for the Hall of Fire. Elrohir explained to me in soft words that there would be music and dancing and much merriment, should I wish to participate. But I had no will to do so. It made me perfectly happy to sit along the wall, listening to the beautiful songs. The music of the Elves made me think of my dreams of trees and sunshine, and I wondered vaguely to myself if I would ever see such things with my waking eyes.

It wasn’t until a late hour that the merriment finally died down and Elves began to depart to their beds, yawning and stretching their arms over their heads. I saw Elrond send me a kind look before going to find his sleep. I smiled back, only to find myself surrounded again by Elrohir and Glorfindel.

“Come, little one,” said Glorfindel. “It is time to find our rest.”

I glanced at Elrohir. Did I really want to sleep with Glorfindel? I had become so comfortable with Elrohir’s presence during my sleep. “Excuse me, my lord, but I would rather sleep with Elrohir tonight.”

He managed to look quite startled. “Truly? Are you sure?”

“He’s right, Thel,” Elrohir pointed out. “We would have to share a bed again. Elladan has taken the other one.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t, Elrohir,” I said, keeping my eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“No need to say such things,” he said, though he still sounded a bit surprised. “I’m sure I can find company tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to be anything less than comfortable, Thel. Good night, you two.” With that, he left us alone in the Fire Hall.

“I’m glad you like me enough to do this,” Elrohir said with a wide smile. “To tell the truth, I’ve gotten used to having you close.”

I nodded tiredly, and didn’t object at all when he suggested that we go to sleep.

~

“I tell you, I am beyond my tolerance!” Elrond exclaimed as he threw the book to the ground. “I must have looked through every book in my library, and still not a clue! I don’t know where else I can look!” He shot Glorfindel a glance. The golden lord sat in a chair, feet up on a desk, twirling a strand of hair around his fingers. “At least you could help me with this little mystery you brought into my household!”

“Nay, Elrond, you know books aren’t my specialty,” Glorfindel said lazily, examining the hair wrapped around his finger. “You are a great lore master. Surely there is something in this great, dark, dusty library about symbols on a young Elf’s back!”

“You would think so, but I have found nothing remotely important to the origins of that young Elf.” Elrond sat down with a huff. “I’m about ready to give up. He’s happy enough here. Why shouldn’t he stay as Thel?”

“Because that is not who he is,” Glorfindel said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Does your foresight tell you nothing about him?”

“My foresight tells the future, not the past,” Elrond said, rubbing his eyes. “And it comes not by my will, nor anyone else’s. Is there nothing more you can tell me about the night you met him? Perhaps there is some clue . . .”

“Hmm, the night we met,” Glorfindel mused. “Oh, you had to have been there, Elrond! Decked out like a young prince he was, all dusted in gold and standing there, looking so nervous! It was a wonderful moment, Elrond, wonderful. I could not describe it to you.”

“A prince,” Elrond said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. Suddenly, his eyes lit with understanding. “A prince!” He leapt from his seat and returned to a book.

“Elrond? What is it?” Glorfindel rose to stand behind his lord. “What are you looking for?”

“I know it’s in here somewhere!” Elrond muttered, scanning the dusty pages. “Aha, here it is!” He clapped Glorfindel on the shoulder. “You have discovered the answer to our little mystery, Glorfindel!”

“That’s wonderful, but what is it?” Glorfindel asked. The book was turned to a page on the Dark Elves. “Elrond? What is the purpose of this?”

“I know who Thel is,” Elrond said triumphantly. “Come with me. We should tell him together.”

“And I would be happy to if I knew your little secret.”

A bright smile glowed on Elrond's face. “I will inform you as we walk.”

~

Elrohir woke reluctantly from his dream. It had been a pleasant dream, but one he hated waking from. The emotions and physical reality were too much to deal with in the waking world.

The dream was, as it had been for the past few days, of long pale limbs and soft dark hair. Thel’s shining black eyes haunted Elrohir from behind his eyelids. He quashed the feeling down, resisted it with all his might. He told himself that it was merely an infatuation, something to be ignored and soon forgotten. That was the way it had to be, for while Thel trusted him a great deal, he was in no way ready for a relationship of that nature. And when Elrohir faced the truth, he wasn’t sure that he himself was ready for loving of that sort.

He nearly changed his mind when Thel shifted in his arms. Sometime during the night the young Elf had scooted himself closer to Elrohir and buried himself in the embrace offered. He sighed, wrapping his fingers more securely in Elrohir’s hair and shirt.

Elrohir bit his lip uncomfortably. He found himself in a compromising position. Should his friend wake, he would find stark evidence of Elrohir’s desire, and no doubt he would panic. Of all people, Elrohir knew best how fragile Thel’s emotional state was.

Thel shifted again, and his breath brushed Elrohir’s neck. Overcome with an unexpected wave of desire, Elrohir pushed himself from Thel’s arms and out of the bed. He stood for a moment, calming his breath as he leaned against the wall.

“Elrohir?”

Thel’s voice was unexpected, and Elrohir attempted not to flinch away from the comforting hand on his shoulder. To look into his fathomless black eyes would bring his composure crumbling to the ground.

“Elrohir? My friend? Will you not speak to me?”

“Good morning, Thel,” Elrohir said, gritting his teeth to control his voice.

There was silence for a moment. “Worry not. I will trouble you no more.”

“Thel?” Elrohir said, finally turning around. His desire had faded at the grim tone his friend had used. Thel sat on the bed, calmly braiding his hair into a long, single plait. “Wait. What troubles you so?”

“It is not I who is troubled, Elrohir. I understand, though. You need not tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Elrohir asked. He suddenly became nervous that Thel knew of his growing attraction.

“I knew it would happen, so you should not upset yourself. I knew you would tire of my company. But I can see it plain in your eyes, so I will leave your presence. I will see if I can sleep with Glorfindel again.” The look in Thel’s eyes was bleak.

“Oh, my friend, you misunderstand,” Elrohir said, taking Thel in his arms. “It is not that I dislike your company - quite the opposite! But -”

The opening of the bedroom door interrupted him. Both young Elves looked up in surprise as the Elf lords entered the room.

~

“You might not remember, Glorfindel,” continued Elrond, “it was quite some time ago, more than eight hundred years. Do you remember that Thranduil asked us for aid at that time?”

“As he always does,” Glorfindel commented through clenched teeth. “Though I don’t recall the specific situation.”

“There had been attacks upon his people. At the time they were still living far in the south parts of Greenwood.”

“Attacks? By who? Surely not Orcs.”

“No, by Men.”

“Tell me more.”

“Well, there was a particularly nasty attack quite close to his city,” Elrond said as he strode through the intricate hallways of Imladris. “Quite terrible, in fact. Many were killed, many were wounded. On that day, Thranduil lost all of his children.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now,” Glorfindel said. “That sobered him up quite a bit, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, understandably. Now, we had thought that all of his children were killed.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with the Dark Elves.”

“Ah, yes, the Dark Elves,” said Elrond. “There are few now living on Middle-earth.”

“Except for in Greenwood.”

“Exactly. Thranduil’s wife, you’ll remember, was the daughter of a chieftain of the Dark Elves. Little is known about their customs, and what little information I have is buried deep. But it is a ritual among the Moriquendi to inscribe the lineage of a family upon the back of their noble-born children.”

“So who is Thel?”

Elrond didn’t get a chance to answer the question before they arrived at the door to the room that Thel had shared with Elladan and Elrohir for the past three days. He barged in without knocking, finding Thel and Elrohir already awake. Elladan mumbled and stirred in his bed.

“Father?” Elrohir asked. “Is there something you need?”

“I think we have discovered who you are, my boy,” said Elrond, gesturing to Thel. “Come, take off your shirt and let me examine that mark one last time.” The Elf lord muttered to himself as he made a final inspection of the mark that Thel bore.

Elrohir threw Glorfindel a questioning look, but the Balrog Slayer could only shrug in response. “I have some theories,” he said, “but I still wait for your father to tell us the secret.”

“Let’s see, how do I start?” Elrond said, sitting back in his chair while Thel put his shirt on. “At the beginning, I suppose. Like I was explaining to Glorfindel, more than eight hundred years ago there was an attack on Thranduil’s people of Greenwood. We didn’t know, until this point, than the Men had even taken captives. But you, Thel, they took you and enslaved you. Based on your age and the mark on your back, I have surmised that you are Legolas, the youngest son of Thranduil, the Elf King of Greenwood.”

The room was silent but for Elladan’s breathing.

“What?” asked Glorfindel with a frown. “Elrond, you can’t be serious. A son of Thranduil? What would . . .”

“I know these names,” Thel said softly. “I . . . I know the people you speak of.”

“But the idea is absurd!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “Why, he would have to have been . . .”

“You were only twelve years of age when you were captured,” Elrond said, covering Thel’s folded hands with his own. “It is understandable that you remember little of your former life.”

“But . . . I do!” Thel said shakily. “I do remember! I remember . . . Brethildur took me out beyond the boundaries of the city! And I was playing up in a tree - Breth told me to come down, but I wouldn’t listen. And then - then they came! They struck him down with arrows, and he was lying in his own blood by the time I got to him. I tried to fight them off, but they were too strong . . .” Thel buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

“Ai, sweet Valar,” muttered Glorfindel.

Elrohir put an arm around Thel, offering his comfort. “Shush, cousin. It will be all right.”

“It was my fault!” said Thel, though his hands muffled his voice. “It was my fault he died, and all the rest of them as well!”

“It was no one’s fault,” Elrond said sympathetically. “These sorts of things happen. You could hardly have been expected to do much of anything. You were so young!”

Thel sniffed loudly and wiped at his tears. “I . . . I think I would like some time alone, please, lords. I need to think.”

“Of course,” Elrond said. Glorfindel offered the young Elf a warm embrace, then left with Elrond.

“I will come find you if you haven’t emerged in time for supper,” Elrohir promised.

“Elrohir,” Thel said softly, “who am I?”

“You are my friend,” Elrohir answered. “I’m going to find some breakfast. Do you want anything?” Thel shook his head silently. “Then I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to get some rest. You look like you could use it.”

~ Flashback

“You can’t catch me, Breth!” I shouted as I ran far ahead of my brother. I heard him laughing from behind me.

“No, that I can’t, Legolas!” he said. “Your short legs run too fast for me.”

I laughed in reply, then skipped a stone across the glassy water of the River. The birds chattered overhead, and the woods whispered comfortingly. Brethildur ran towards me, panting in mock fatigue. “Ai, little brother,” he said, bending to catch his breath. “You shall be the death of me. Now, what are we doing today?”

“Show me how to fish, Breth!” I pleaded.

He frowned playfully at me. “Only if you promise to attend your lessons later today.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course!”

He lifted his head to the air like a hound catching a scent. “Where is Tathernil? He should be here by now, the lazy slug-abed!” he said, voice edged with exasperation. “But we will fish today, Legolas. Come here, I’ll show you how.”

But my attention had been otherwise caught. The trees muttered restlessly. I rose and wandered over to a beech, laying my hands on its trunk.

“What is it, Legolas?” Brethildur asked from his crouching position beside the River. “What do you hear?”

“It’s the trees,” I answered. “I’m going to find out what they’re talking about.”

“Legolas,” Brethildur said in his annoyed tone. “Don’t go climbing trees now . . .”

But I was already halfway up the beech. I placed my feet on the broad branches. “Don’t worry, Breth,” I shouted down. “I won’t fall.” I continued up until I reached the crown of the tree and the branches were too thin to climb. I glanced around. The forest was spread out before me like a shining green carpet, alive with birds and small animals. The leaves shone golden in the morning light.

I frowned, noticing something strange. To the south there rose a cloud of dust, an uncommon occurrence in Greenwood. “Brethildur!” I called. “Breth, I see dust!” The cloud was approaching quickly. “What is it?” I asked my brother.

“I can’t see anything,” he yelled back. “Legolas, will you -” there was an odd pause, and when he answered back, his voice was shrill and tense. “Legolas, come down now! It is imperative that you do so!”

“No!” I said. “I like it up here!”

“Legolas, I’m not playing with you!” His voice was filled with urgency, and I wondered at the odd tone, rarely heard in my brother’s voice. “Come down this moment!”

I sighed and obeyed, systematically crawling down the branches. The trees had become more restless. A nearby ash nearly shouted a warning. The anxiety surrounding me made me quicken my steps. “All right, Brethildur,” I said, hanging from a branch. “What is it that is so important?”

But my voice was stolen away from me at the sight before me. Brethildur stood in a defensive pose, sword naked before him. There were eyes hidden in the trees, strange glimmering eyes. I watched in horror as the figures accompanying the eyes began to emerge from the trees. They were strange people, with swarthy dark skin and fierce paint.

“Legolas, run back to the City!” Brethildur ordered, not daring to tear his eyes from his enemy.

“Breth, what are they?” I whispered fearfully.

“Go!” he shouted. “And don’t look back!”

But I could only hang, paralyzed with fear, as the enemy made their charge. I heard more than saw the flying arrows. Brethildur fell to his knees, gasping and clutching at his punctured shoulder. With a cry I dropped to my feet and ran to him.

A cruel voice accompanied by a brawny arm plucked me from my running. One of the dark people clutched me about my waist, grinning at me with his stained teeth and smiling from round ear to ear. He held me up and screamed, as though he had won some sort of prize. The rest of them turned to see. Most nodded hungrily.

“You shall not have him,” whispered Brethildur. He had crept up behind my captor. I fell heavily to the ground as the creature fell to the ground, my brother’s sword sticking from his back.

“Breth!” I cried, running to his arms. But before I could reach him I was lifted again from my feet, and I could only watch over my conqueror’s shoulder as another cruel arrow buried itself in his body. He fell to the ground, and red blood stained his clothing.

“No!” I screamed, wriggling out of the grasp. I bit hard on the hand that sought to contain me, and was promptly dropped to the ground again. I scrambled as fast as my wobbly legs could carry me to Brethildur’s still body. Desperately I shook his shoulder and called his name, but he gave no response. His face was frozen in death.

Once more I was caught, and I struggled again with newfound strength. This was to no avail. Their hands were too strong and too many and so, slung over the broad shoulder of my enemy, I was carried into the forest.

“Ai, Elbereth,” I heard in a whisper.

“Tath!” I cried, recognizing my other brother’s voice. “Tathernil! Over here! I’m being -” a sweaty hand muffled any other noises I would have made. I closed my eyes against tears. My brother’s bow brought a few of the dark people down, but in the end I heard him cry out as his soul left for the Shining Halls.

I bounced against the back of my captor. I felt an odd sense of numbness. Had I truly pondered my feelings, I probably would have been sobbing in pain and fear, but my mind seemed disconnected from my surroundings. Perhaps that was why it seemed both a short time and an eternity before I was thrown into a wagon. I hit the rail hard enough to have hurt my head, and I cried out with the impact. They shouted something at me, so I decided to be quiet. In the silence of the night I began to sob softly to myself. Over and over I saw my brother’s body succumb to the arrows, bereft of life and emotion. The vision haunted my sleeping thoughts.

I had no way of knowing how long I was in the wagon. They rarely let me out, only long enough to relieve myself and to hand me a bit of food, then I was hurled back in. I tried, one night, to escape while they slept. They caught me, and that night I first knew the bite of the whip, though it was not so bad with a clothed back. But it was enough to convince me not to attempt escape again, impressionable child that I was.

I could sense, even with my warped sense of time and distance, that we had traveled quite far from my home. Dust blew in my eyes and made it difficult to see, and I could not feel a green growing thing for miles. I shivered despite the heat of the place.

There were more of the strange people arrayed before us, the people with the round ears. They were arguing about something in a tongue I could not understand, and once in a while one of them would point at me. The one in the white robes strode over and took my face in his hands as he glanced me over. I resisted at first, but a sharp tug to my hair discouraged those thoughts. His stare seemed cruel and cold beneath the layers of fabric. The people came to an agreement of some sort, and I was handed roughly to the robed one.

Crude iron manacles were clapped to my wrists, and they stung horribly. Against my will I felt the tears start again, and I rubbed desperately at my eyes. Then, suddenly, I heard a soft voice from behind me. It was one of them, those with the round ears. He grew hair on his face, and it was as white as fresh snow. His skin was a deep brown, and wrinkled like a winter apple. He was utterly strange to me, and I shook off the hand that rested on my shoulder. But he kept up his murmuring, and while I could not understand the words, they comforted me nonetheless.

Then we began to walk. It was bad enough to bump along in a wagon for days on end, but the walking was even worse. My already-dirty clothing was quickly reduced to rags by the relentless sandy wind, and my soft shoes, more suitable for the forest, fell apart on my feet. Only through great strength of will and at the encouragement of the whip did I continue on across the scorching sands. The wrinkled brown one gave me water, but it was rancid and terrible, hardly a balm for my burning throat. He smiled at me, and he spoke to me, but by the chains on his wrists he was as stuck as I was.

The worst, however, came at night. I didn’t see it coming, the first night it happened. Exhausted after a long day of walking across the sands, I had collapsed on the proffered pallet next to the wrinkled one. But soon enough they came and removed the chains on my wrists, wrenching me up from my elbows and dragging me to the tent. The robed one sat there, eyes dark and glittering. They glittered like the gold that sparkled in the corners of the small place, like the fine fabrics that adorned the pillows and cushions. I knelt where I had been placed before him, wondering what was in store for me.

It was worse than the whip. Without warning I was tackled to the carpet-covered ground, and a foul tasting mouth was set upon mine. I writhed and wriggled in a vain attempt to escape, but a sharp slap across my face stilled my movements. My clothes were torn from me, reduced to rags, as the robed one’s hands roamed my body. Never had I been touched in such a manner, but my pride was quickly replaced by a heavy fear that rested in the pit of my stomach. The robes were drawn aside, and my sight left me as my most sacred area was plundered.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-díriel, le nallon sí di’nguruthos! A tíro nin, Fanuilos!”

I muttered the words, I mouthed them, I screamed them to the heavens! The fear was replaced by pain, wave upon wave spreading from my bowels to my very soul, it seemed. Once, twice, a thousand times he thrust terribly into me, his face wrenching into a horrible, sweaty smile. When at last his movements stilled, a blistering warmth filled me.

My face was wet with tears of pain, fear, and shame. They dragged me back to my spot next to the wrinkled one where I curled up, willing the pain away. I shook there, beneath the cool desert stars, and sent my fervent prayers to the one who kept them lit. “A Elbereth Gilthoniel . . .”

~

They woke the boy too early. They forced him to his feet, though he fell back when the pain overtook him. They cared little for the blood that ran down his thighs. The old one, Juma was his name, offered to carry him. They allowed it, for the time being, for they could see that the little one was too young to hold himself strong after such a working. He would learn.

Juma cradled the little one against his skinny chest and murmured softly in his pointed ears. He had never seen such a creature; in his homeland, they would have declared him a devil. Or at least Juma thought so. So long since he had been home . . . but that is of little matter. He had a little one to care for. He asked for the little one’s name, but received no answer. He had heard him speaking in a strange tongue the night before. Well, if this creature was a devil or imp of some sort, should he not have his own impish language?

When Juma had risen that morning, he’d noticed the blood on the little one’s body. Of course, that is what happens with the pretty ones. But he was so young! And so light. Even Juma, who was no longer a strong young man, could carry the little one with ease. It made him sad that such a young one would be put to such use, but there was nothing he could do but make it a bit easier for him. So he had the little one drink some water and eat some of the dry biscuit during mealtime.

“You must eat, see?” he said slowly as he crumbled the biscuit into smaller pieces. “You have good teeth, you can eat now.” Juma put the food to the little one’s lips, but there was no response. Juma smiled and shook his finger at his new companion. “Ah, you will be sorry later when you are old like Juma, when you have no teeth!” Juma grinned, displaying what few stubs of teeth he retained.

The boy turned away from the old one. He had no appetite, and no wish to hear the strange tongue. He thought desperately of his mother, who had always seemed to him so strong and wise. She would know what to do if she were with him!

Juma’s meal was startled by a muffled noise from behind him. The boy sat, sitting and shaking and trying to contain his sobs. “Ah, there now, little one!” Juma cried, putting his arms around the boy’s shoulders. “It will turn out right! Master, he isn’t so bad! You might even like him, eh?”

The boy cried and called for his mother, but in the strange land of sand and wind, his words were not understood. He reluctantly accepted comfort from the old brown one; after all, what choice did he have? Then they began walking again.

The sand burned. Dust seemed etched into every line of his body, even down to his eyelids. He found he had no more tears to spare for the sand had dried up all the moisture in his body. He was hungry and thirsty; his body ached everywhere, but especially so in his backside; he was lonely and longed for his forest and family.

But after a few days of travel and a few nights of the excruciating pain, those thoughts began to fade. The boy found that there was less pain if he didn’t resist, less pain if he did as he was told. So he obeyed his captors, the ones that the brown one called “Master” in his strange tongue. It became difficult for him to recall the faces that he had known so well, and the words in his mouth had become those of Juma and the Masters. And he learned that they were headed for Master’s house. Master was a wealthy man, they said. He owned many slaves and many women and many head of camel, to give a name to the cantankerous smelly beasts that the Masters rode. They told the boy that he should be glad to belong to such a generous and wealthy man as Master, but the boy didn’t have any kind thoughts to the one who brought him such pain.

Still, he found himself breathless with awe when he saw the Master’s house. It was located in a little oasis in the middle of the sea of sand. A few palm trees and bushes were the sole foliage, and the wells kept them watered. The house itself was a grand affair, made of mud bricks set to bake beneath the burning sun, and then washed a bright white. Dark holes were windows into the many rooms. As the boy watched, people emerged from the doors that led to rooftops. They wore long, flowing garments of many jewel-bright colors, and yet they kept their faces hidden. Gold sparkled on their wrists and necks beneath the light of the sun.

They led Juma and the boy inside and handed them off to the keepers. Their chains were removed for a short time, but the boy gave no thought to escape. The keepers held him tightly as they dipped him into the tub and scrubbed his body until it was raw. After that, he was shoved into a new set of clothes. He was about to rejoice, for his old ones had fallen apart long ago, but then he saw how little of his body the new clothing covered. He tried to protest to the keepers, but he did not remember his own language, and he did not know enough of the foreign tongue to make himself understood. So he found himself pushed into a room, nervously clutching a tray full of tiny glasses containing some sort of drink.

Tahj’s tribesmen nodded appreciatively as the boy entered the room, and the beauty the boy presented struck even Tahj himself. The slave keepers had done themselves proud. When clean, the boy was enticing. Dressed in the filmy scraps of clothes that left little to the imagination, he was provocative to a point of distraction. Tahj had to turn his face away in order to focus enough to give the boy an order.

“Come,” he commanded. Surely the young thing had learned that much. And obediently, albeit with a look of defiance on his down-turned face, he made his way over to Tahj. A few of the tribesmen made leering glances, but the look their chief gave them from above his black mustache was enough to quell their lust . . . for the time being.

Tahj helped himself to a tiny glass of liquor, looking the boy over as he drank the strong alcohol. An exotic beauty, to be sure. His house would be the envy of every brothel in Near-Harad and, perhaps, beyond. Without warning he dragged the boy down beside him, threatening to upset the glasses, and chained his feet securely to a pair of manacles hidden beneath his seat of cushions.

“You see what I bring you?” he called to his men. They licked their lips greedily. “Do you see the riches that Gondor has to offer?” Clutching the boy by his long, dark hair, he bent the youth’s head back, exposing his pale neck to the onlookers. “Is this enough to spur you to fight for what we can win?”

The boy closed his eyes against the burning tears of shame. He could hardly breathe, forcibly arched back in the position that he was. He wanted desperately to cover himself, to hide and cry until his mother came to rescue him from the terrible nightmare. But much as he longed for her, his mother did not come. There was only the sharp, stinging pain in his skull, then a sense of revulsion and fear as he was tugged back against Master’s plump body. To open his eyes only reminded him of how far from his home he truly was, so he decided to give up and close his eyes, the better to forget where he was.

~

He was not called to Master’s rooms that night, or the night after. But there was no lessening of the duties he had to perform. He scrubbed the dishes and helped prepare food; he plunged soiled clothing into the vat of warm water; he made his rounds of bedrooms, emptying chamber pots. In short, the boy did the sorts of tasks no one else cared to do.

And with the setting of the sun, his work did not decrease. He was sent to a dark chamber beneath the ground, lit only with flickering torches. There, his true instruction began. Painfully, unwillingly, he learned the art of seduction and desire and “pleasure” in the bedroom. Not a day went by that he did not feel the stinging bite of the whip, often for his noncompliance with orders, and often on his bare back. His keepers gloried that he healed so quickly, but he was in a great amount of pain for a long while.

Once more he tried to escape. In a spare moment when he was unguarded in the kitchens, he clambered up and out of a small window. The blowing winds covered his tracks in the sand, but malnourished and beaten, he was not prepared to travel very far. They found him in a few hours, collapsed in the sand, sheltered from the blowing winds by the lee of a dune. They took him home and beat him again.

The whitewashed mud bricks saw the boy change. From his rounded, childish body emerged the gawky form of a youth, and then gradually he filled out into his adult figure. Then something strange happened - he stopped changing. Ten years of Men passed, then fifty, then a century, and his body still retained its youthful pose. No hair grew on his face. His skin did not wrinkle. His eyes, while they became somewhat bleak over the years, lost none of their fresh sparkle. One Master passed and another took his place. It was the odd night he spent alone, the odd night he was even allowed to sleep. Once or twice he dreamed again of running away, but never again did he attempt it.

And he forgot his mother tongue, and he forgot his home and his family. He forgot the familiar feel of green grass and broad branches. All he knew were his orders. So when Howe, an ancestor of a man called Orson, offered Master a great sum of gold, the boy followed Howe as his new Master. It wouldn’t be for another two centuries that his location would change again.

~ End flashback

Strong arms curled about my waist. I panicked for a moment - had I found myself back in the inn, sleeping soundly after an exhausting session with another customer? But then I recognized the hands. Smooth, soft, brown hands that had never shown me a moment of anger or frustration.

“Are you awake now?” Elrohir asked from his vantage spot behind me.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You’ve been asleep since yesterday. I was starting to worry.”

I choked on a bitter sob. “Don’t worry about me,” I answered, willing away the sting of tears. “What is there to worry about?”

“You are my friend. I would not see you in distress.”

“What do you think has me distressed?” I asked him, turning in his arms so I might face him.

“I - I could only guess that you are startled about knowing who you are, after so long,” he said sweetly, and I could tell that he was honest.

“Ah, no, I have hardly thought about that. What your father said brought back some memories. I have few memories before that day, but I can clearly see my brother falling beneath their arrows. I can see their grimy fingers. I can even remember the first time it happened.”

“What happened?” he asked softly.

I looked deep into his eyes. I saw his curiosity and concern. “They took me. They unchained me and ripped off my clothes and stuck their flesh into my body.” I felt my muscles tense and shake. “I can feel it, Elrohir, and it threatens to rip me apart.”

To my immense relief he held me tightly, whispering nonsense into my ears, and it comforted me. “It killed Juma, after a while,” I continued. “He was the closest thing I had to a friend in those times. It killed him to work so long and so hard under the sun.”

“Who was Juma?” Elrohir asked.

“An old Man. He gave me comfort and water after that first night.” My hand wandered up to my ear, and I felt again the scars below the sharp point. “That was a long time before I came to live in Gondor.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Somewhere far away, a land of sand and dust . . .”

“Near-Harad?”

“Yes, maybe.” I settled further into the pillow. “I don’t ever want to move. The memories are too much. They’re too heavy.”

“Can I help?” he asked kindly. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face.

“I don’t think so. This is the sort of thing I should work through by myself.” I took a deep breath before asking the big question. “Will I have to leave Rivendell?”

He frowned in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Because we know who I am now, and that I have a family somewhere.”

“But don’t you want to see your family again?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I can’t even remember any of them - well, except for a very vague image of my mother. But I am very happy here, with you and your family.”

He sighed and held me closer. “You won’t be made to leave, my friend, but you are certainly free to go if you want to. I think Father has already sent a messenger to your father, so they should be here in a few days.”

“A few days,” I breathed. “That is a very short amount of time.”

“And you will see them again, and you will - what is wrong?”

I couldn’t stop a spurt of dark laughter. “But they will see me, Elrohir, and I will bring them shame. Look at you. Your father holds such pride in you, and rightly so. You are educated, and intelligent, and all sorts of things that I never was and never will be.”

“You must not say that,” he insisted. “Your family will love you because that is what families do.”

“We’ll see,” I said, and turned away from him again.

“Let’s eat,” he suggested. “I’m starving.”

I put on a smile and followed him out of the room.

~

My next few days were interesting, to say the least. My name was the main topic of discussion while we broke our fast - would they call me Thel, as had been my name for weeks, or Legolas, as it was my given name? I kept mostly silent for the conversation; Legolas seemed a stranger, and Thel was so much more comfortable to bear. If I accepted Legolas as my name, it would be an acknowledgement of whom I was and where I would have to go.

In the end, however, they decided to call me by my given name - after all, wouldn’t my parents be arriving in a few days to take me away? I ate my food, but it was tasteless in my mouth. What was I to expect from these faceless parents of mine?

~

Thranduil, the Elf King of Greenwood, and his Queen, Tarasule, eagerly handed their tired mounts to the stable hands. They had not yet reached their forest home when another rider had interrupted their journey. The messenger bore summons to Imladris, where lord Elrond supposedly had their son residing.

The Queen was especially excited, even with the lack of details. She remembered too clearly the day the report had come that all three Princes of Greenwood had been attacked by a ravaging group of Men. Despite her husband’s protestations about her safety, she had dressed in the clothes of a Greenwood warrior and rode off to the place where the attack had occurred. The tears still burned, the tears she had shed at the sight of her two eldest sons’ mangled bodies. Legolas had not been found among the carnage, but it was doubtless that he too had died only a short time later, wherever he was. But for the first time, Tarasule found herself questioning the evidently untrue statement that Legolas was dead.

“Tarasule, you must not be too excited,” Thranduil cautioned as he took hold of her arm to lead her into the courtyard. “Nothing was promised, and the report was vague enough to leave much room for interpretation.”

“I know,” she answered. “But can a mother not have a bit of hope that one of her sons may yet be alive?”

“Ah, you’ve arrived, highnesses!” Elrond cried as he swept into the courtyard. “Please, allow me to show you to my study, where I will inform you of the situation.”

“But - you said that you -”

“My Queen,” Elrond interrupted softly. “This is a delicate matter we need to discuss, and I would recommend we do it in private.”

Tarasule, recovering her senses and her calm, nodded in agreement. “Of course. Lead the way, please, my lord.”

So, with little more delay, Elrond led the Royals of Greenwood into his house. Tarasule, who had never seen Rivendell before, gazed in awe at the smoothly flagged floors, high ceilings, and magnificent portraits on the walls. The place was so open! When she had lived with her father and their small colony of Dark Elves, before Thranduil and his father came to the forest, they had always lived beneath the earth. It was easier to defend, and easier to leave when the time came for them to take to the road again. Thranduil had taken up the tradition, and their newest home, in the northern parts of Greenwood near the mountains, was a grand cavern.

Thranduil left her side to walk ahead with Elrond. They bent together, discussing something or other. Tarasule took little interest, preferring to absorb the beauty in the place and imagine her reunion with her son. Not even a hint of the Dark Elves in the entire room. It made her feel small.

She was startled as another door into the grand hall opened, revealing two young, dark-haired Elves. The taller one led his companion out to a balcony, and it was the smaller one that caught her eye. Her breath stuck in her throat as she saw his significantly black eyes and narrow features. She held his gaze for a moment, but he soon turned to follow his friend.

“Tarasule?” Thranduil’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He gave her an odd look. “What is wrong?”

“I saw him, Thranduil,” she whispered, rushing to his side and clutching his arm. “I saw him, I know it.” They both cast anxious looks towards Elrond.

“Follow me, please,” the Elf lord said. “There is much to explain.”

~

“Sweet Elbereth,” whispered Tarasule, bringing a hand fluttering to her chest. “I had no idea . . .”

Elrond had just finished explaining the story of Legolas’s trials to his parents. He looked now between them. Tarasule was plainly horrified; she even had tear tracks streaking her face. Thranduil was a bit less free with his emotions, but his shock was still palpable. “I’m very sorry that it had to be me who told you this,” Elrond said. “I’m sure it must have come as a terrible surprise to you both.”

Tarasule nodded faintly. Thranduil cleared his throat, then continued in a soft voice, “Where was it that you said your advisor found him?”

“In a small Gondorian village in the foothills of the Ered Nimrais.” Elrond sighed. It had been emotionally exhausting to explain Legolas to his parents.

“Can we see him?” Tarasule asked. Her voice was soft as well.

“Well,” Elrond began, shifting in his seat, “you must understand, highnesses, that Legolas is quite fragile right now. He requires a great deal of healing, mentally and spiritually. I would recommend you take that into consideration before you speak with him personally. To meet you now might upset him greatly.”

“I only want to see my son . . .” Tarasule said desperately.

“I know, I understand. I would feel the same way if I were in your position,” Elrond said. “But you must understand . . .”

“Perhaps tomorrow, my lord Elrond?” Thranduil suggested tiredly. “I think we all need some time to adjust to the situation.”

“Yes, perhaps tomorrow,” Elrond answered. “Very wise. I will tell Legolas that you wish to see him, though I can’t guarantee his reaction.” Elrond looked up as Glorfindel entered the room. “This is lord Glorfindel. He can show you to your quarters. And I beg you, highnesses, please do not occupy yourselves overmuch. I don’t doubt that Legolas will be pleased to meet you at last.”

Thranduil and Tarasule bowed their farewell to the lord of Imladris and followed Glorfindel out the door of the study. The magnificence of her surroundings failed to amaze Tarasule, for her mind focused only on what she had been told in the past hour. Ah, the horror her son had been subjected to! She could hardly comprehend it. How had he survived, stuck for so many years with Men? Forget that he had been forced to share his body - to deny him the light of the stars was certainly bad enough! Tarasule couldn’t wait until she could put her arms around her son again.

“I’m worried, Thranduil,” she admitted to her husband as soon as they were alone in their assigned chambers.

“Remember what Elrond said,” Thranduil answered as he began to strip off his travel-worn clothing. “Don’t think about it too much. I know that if I tried to imagine what has happened to him, I would . . .” his fists clenched in anger.

“I know.” Tarasule sat by his side to help him with his boots. “I know! But I can’t stop thinking about him . . . he is alive, Thranduil, I can hardly believe it!”

“Neither can I,” said the Elf King as he embraced his wife. “Come, let us rest a bit before we are called to supper.”

~

“Here, wear this,” Elrohir suggested, tossing a blue tunic to Thel, or Legolas, as they had decided on calling him.

Thel wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you. What is wrong with what I wear now?”

“Don’t you want to look nice for your parents?” Elrohir asked. He shook his head and sighed as the Wood Elf gave him another enigmatic glance. “Well, at least change your shirt. This one here is a little cleaner.”

“Thank you,” Thel said as he pulled on the shirt. He looked over his reflection in the mirror. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Of course,” Elrohir reassured him, tugging the shirt into place and smoothing a few stray pieces of hair. “They will like you, Legolas.”

“I still don’t like that name.” Thel looked himself over once more, then followed Elrohir out the door. “What do you think they’ll be like?”

“From what Elladan’s told me, he seems to like Thranduil,” Elrohir said with a shrug. “But I truly can’t tell you. I’ve never met either. Oh, here we are.”

They stood outside Elrond’s study. Thel’s heart pounded in his chest in his nervousness. Despite the fact that he truly didn’t know either of his parents, he wanted with all his soul for them to accept him. He wanted a family and people to love. He looked one last time on Elrohir, who gave him an encouraging grin. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

The room was still, as all of the occupants hesitated at making the first move or sound. Thel was plainly held in awe by the Elves before him. The male - Thranduil, it would be then - was tall and silver-haired, like most of his Sindarin kin. His green eyes shone keen and sharp from beneath his usually stern brow, though the expression on his face was more surprised and compassionate than otherwise. The tenseness in his posture told of a desire to rise and embrace his son, but he calmly and wisely waited for the boy to make the first move.

But it was the she-Elf that really captured his attention. He gazed in wonder at her tumbling dark hair and her soul-deep black eyes. From beneath the spill of hair and intricate jewelry and fine silks he saw a face that he knew very well, but had not seen with his waking eyes for a very long time.

“Nana?” he asked. He felt the tears start, and his voice stuck in his throat. “Nana?”

“Oh, my Legolas!” Tarasule cried, rushing forward to take her son in her arms. She clutched him as close as possible, cradling his head to her shoulder. And when he began to shake with the sobs suppressed for so long, she was able to comfort him. “Shush, my little one, my darling. It will be all right, just see.”

Thel was forgotten, and Legolas felt his knees grow weak. His mother followed him to the floor, never once loosing her arms from around his body. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had let himself truly cry, and each sob threatened to rip him in half. But all that mattered was that his mother was there to hold him through it all.

“Oh, but you’re not so little now,” she said softly, half to herself. “You have grown up, my Legolas. You are an adult, and no longer the child I remember.”

“I tried to stay strong, Nana, I tried to stay strong for you,” he said, his speech broken with wild sobs. “But I couldn’t - I couldn’t -”

“Shush now,” she comforted, smoothing his hair, which was nearly as dark as her own. She chose to ignore the tears that made their way down her cheeks. “You were very strong, my Legolas, and I am proud of you. I have missed you for so long, little one! I praise Elbereth that we’ve found you again!”

Legolas rested safe in Tarasule’s arms until his breathing slowed at last to a manageable rhythm. He wiped the tears from his stinging eyes and dared to look again in her face. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful or so wonderful in his life than her black eyes, shining as they were with love for him.

“Legolas?”

Thranduil had waited, patient at Elrond’s bidding, for Legolas to complete his reunion with his mother, but found himself unable to hold back from addressing his son again. By all the Valar in their shining halls, though, the boy looked like his mother! Thranduil found himself fighting away tears. “Legolas?” he tried again. “Do you remember me?”

The young Elf rose from his mother’s embrace and leveled his gaze at his father. When he thought about it, the long silver hair and green eyes did spark a memory. He remembered, very faintly of course, tugging on soft green robes and being lifted into a warm, strong circle of arms. A name floated to him from the depths of the remembrance. “Ada?” he said hesitantly.

Thranduil nodded carefully, and despite his effort the tears began to fall. “Yes, Legolas, I am your father,” he said softly. He stepped forward to envelop the younger Elf in an embrace. “And you are back with us now!”

Legolas settled gratefully into his father’s arms. The smell lingering on his clothes was overwhelmingly familiar, and he felt, finally, that he might have a home with these people. A slight rustling disturbed his thoughts, and he turned to see that his mother had risen as well. The reunited threesome shared another silent embrace, each of them savoring the presence of the other two.

Elrond had kept his distance from the family during the goings-on, and now found himself brushing away his own tears. The mere idea of losing either of his sons or, Valar forbid, his young daughter as the royalty of Greenwood had was appalling.

~

I spent a few hours reminiscing with my parents - my parents! Truly! My Nana could hardly keep herself from brushing my arm from time to time, as if to make sure I was real. But at their encouragement, and that of lord Elrond, I loosed the stopper from my throat and told them about my past few weeks at Imladris.

“Nana, you must meet Elrohir!” I exclaimed to her. Her eyes shone bright. “You must meet him! He helped me a great deal after I arrived with lord Glorfindel, and he has been teaching me to speak Elvish and to read and write . . . but I am sure you will like him.”

“I am sure we will, my son,” said my father with a warm smile. There was something incredibly warm and comfortable about the conversation, as though I had flown back in time to before I had been taken away from the forest I barely remembered. I sat between the two parents I hardly knew, my head on my mother’s shoulder and her hand in my hair.

“Legolas, we have something to tell you,” Mother said. Something seemed different about her tone, and I looked at her curiously. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Well, after you were . . . taken, we thought you were dead and gone from us forever. And, you know, it wouldn’t do for your father not to have a child who was his heir . . .”

“What your mother is trying to say, Legolas,” Father continued, “is that you have a younger sister. Her name is Harmae, and she is waiting for us at home.”

There was a moment of silence as I attempted to absorb what they told me. “Elrohir has a sister,” I said softly. “Her name is Arwen. She’s a nice girl. I’ve only recently found out what a sister is, and I think I would like to have one.”

“Ah, yes, Arwen,” Mother said, and by her voice she was relieved. “Harmae is about the same age as Elrond’s daughter, isn’t she, Thranduil?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Father agreed. “That is good, Legolas. Very good.”

~

I accompanied my parents to supper, still dazed and shocked with meeting them. At my mother’s insistence I dressed in some fine clothes in a style I had not seen before, and she had me sit before her as she plaited my hair “as befit me,” she said. So I found myself heading down to the dining hall, laced up in some confusing green outfit and without the safety of unbound hair to hide behind. Fortunately, my parents and I were not alone in our search for our meal.

“Elrohir!” I called, recognizing my friend’s hair and clothing. I ran to catch up with him. “Elrohir, you must meet them!”

He was silent for a moment and his grey eyes opened wide, and I wondered if I had said something offensive. “Elrohir?” I tried again.

“I - um, sorry, cousin,” he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I could hardly recognize you underneath the new clothing!”

“Mother had me wear it,” I declared proudly. “Come, you must meet her! I know she will like you!” So I dragged him by his hand over to where my parents stood, wearing expectant smiles.

Introductions went round, and Elrohir played his part beautifully. I could tell, by the expressions on my parents’ faces, that they approved of him.

Supper passed pleasantly, though I recollect little but my ongoing discovery of my parents. My mother was as shrewd and clever as my father was, and at times more so, though my father tended to be the more willing to voice his thoughts. Indeed, the two of them became quite involved in a conversation with Erestor, another of Elrond’s advisors. I, as usual, kept to my silence, for I was still ignorant as to most of what the rest of the Elves spoke about.

It seemed the night came to an end too soon, and I felt my eyes droop with happy exhaustion. It took some explaining to my parents as to my sleeping arrangements, but luckily Elrohir calmly assured them that I was in the best of hands. And so we retired to our beds.

~

The next morning, there was a big commotion in the courtyard. I leapt out of bed even before Elrohir had risen and pulled on my clothes, the plain old stuff that I had worn before. Down a flight of stairs and down a hallway and out the door. The morning was cold, and I shivered as I gazed out over the crowd gathered.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Elrond asked as he joined us, still in his dressing gown. “What is all this racket so early in the morning?”

“A trespasser, my lord!” one of the warriors announced, gesturing behind him. “We found her sneaking around the kitchens, and when we searched her, we found this!” He held aloft an expensive-looking piece of jewelry. The crowd gasped collectively.

Elrond frowned. “Let’s see what this is all about.” The gathering parted to let him through, and hidden behind the bodies I saw a flash of red hair.

“Wait, my lord!” I cried, rushing to his side. “Wait, I think I know her!” At Elrond's nod, I ran forward to where the warriors held the girl between them. I stood, shocked in recognition. “Shan?”

She looked up from between her captors. Her face looked bruised and her lips were blue, and her clothing was far from substantial in the winter chill. But when she saw me her green eyes lit up. “Oh, thank the gods, it’s you!”

“Unhand her, please,” I said to the warriors. They cast skeptical glances at each other, but reluctantly let her fall. I caught Shan before she could hit the cold paving stones of the courtyard. I grasped her cold fingers in mine and held her close.

“I came after you,” she whispered. “I came after you.”

“I know, and you are quite stupid and very brave,” I said softly. “My lord Elrond, can we heal her? She is a dear friend of mine, and I would not like to see her turned away from your kind house.”

“She will not be turned away,” the lord of Imladris promised. “Come, we’ll take her to the healing rooms.”

I carefully helped Shan to her feet. She would let no one but me touch her, so I let her lean against me as I led her to the healing rooms. She said little, for I could tell that walking was painful for her. It was with relief that I placed her on one of the warm, soft beds. A fire crackled in the hearth, just as I remembered it.

“What is this place?” she asked softly as she looked around.

“It is called Rivendell,” I explained as I began to peel back her stained and torn shawl. “Do you want to wash yourself? I’m sure that I can arrange a bath for you.”

“Truly?” she said, startled. “What a place! But . . . aren’t you curious about my presence?”

“Insatiably,” I answered with a smile. “But my questions can wait. Stay here for a moment, and I’ll see if I can get you a bath.” I opened and shut the door on her. Outside, I was pleased to see Elrohir had risen from his bed, and Elrond was clarifying the situation to him.

“Who is this girl, Legolas?” Elrond asked.

It took me a moment to recognize the name. In sitting with Shan, it felt like I had been swept back to Master’s house, where we would sit in quiet talk before one or both of us was sent away. I hadn’t had a name at that time. “Her name is Shan, my lord,” I said. “She worked for Master as well. But if you would please, I would wait to ask her any questions until after she has bathed and eaten.”

“Of course,” said Elrond. “And we should examine her as well. Did she work as you did?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at the floor. “She would like a bath, if you could arrange it.”

“I’m sure we can,” Elrohir said kindly. “Would she mind if I came in?”

“I don’t think so. I know we can trust you.” I smiled and led him into the room. Not surprisingly, Shan looked fearfully at Elrohir. “Fear not, my friend,” I comforted her. “This is Elrohir. He can prepare your bath and help me with you.”

She swallowed deeply and nodded, then gasped in surprise. “Your - your ears!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“This is what they look like when they aren’t cut,” I said, putting her hand to a point. She prodded curiously.

“But - but his are the same way!” she said, looking back at Elrohir.

“We’ll explain later,” I said. “Let’s get you clean.”

Shan insisted that I remain with her while she bathed, though for her sake I bid Elrohir to await us outside. Layer by tattered layer I undressed her and placed her into the tub. She was far too slender, I thought to myself.

“The warm water feels good,” she said, leaning her head against the rim of the tub.

“I can understand that,” I answered. “You were out in the freezing wilderness and dressed in rags. But I will keep to my promise, and I won’t ask any questions now.” I gently washed the dirt and grime from her bright red hair. “You will be happy here, I know it.”

Suddenly, she grasped at my arm with one of her water-slick hands. She looked up at me, eyes fearful again. “I - I didn’t . . .”

“Remember? I didn’t ask. We’ll wait until you’ve had something to eat.” I removed her tight clutch from my sleeve and went back to washing her hair. My curiosity was terrible, but I restrained myself as I had promised.

~

Some time later, Shan sat on the bed again. She was clean and dressed in one of Arwen’s spare shifts and kirtles and wrapped warmly in a shawl. She had eaten her fill, and I saw her eyes begin to close in want of sleep. Elrohir and I had kept her company the entire time.

“You should sleep,” I told her, tucking a stray piece of red hair behind her ear.

“Oh, but ’tis not even midday!” she exclaimed. “And I still need to tell you . . . about . . .”

“Yes, but I can wait.”

“No you can’t!” She rubbed her temples with her fingers. “And I can’t either.” She sighed deeply, then began her story.

“It started the night after you left,” she said. “Master had been searching for you all day. He was in such a rage - I’d never seen him so angry before. He shut down the inn that night.” Her eyes opened wide, but she continued with her story. “It is not far from the truth when I say I feared for my life. Rees, he took most of it, for us. But then Master hit him across the face, and Rees didn’t get up again. Sora and Meb, they helped me out. While he took his turn with them, I ran away. I’d heard from one of my partners that the stranger was from a place called Rivendell, so I set out for the place myself.

“I traveled for so long,” she said, tipping her head back. “And I was very tired. But finally I found this place. I didn’t know it was Rivendell, otherwise I would never have taken that necklace, truly.” She looked shyly at Elrohir. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm was done,” he said gently.

“Will you tell me now of your adventures?” she asked me. “What is this place, and who are these people?”

I glanced carefully at Elrohir. He nodded his encouragement. “This is Imladris,” I began, “the house of Elrond Peredhel and his kin. Those who reside here are Elves, also known as the Fair Folk.”

“And you? You are one of them?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

“I am. My . . . name is Legolas. My father is Thranduil, and my mother is Tarasule. They are the King and Queen of Greenwood.”

“Oh my goodness and by all the gods!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her forehead. “You know who you are! And you have a family! Oh, I am so happy for you!” She embraced me tightly, and I struggled to push away tears at the strong emotions her words evoked.

“Now you must sleep, dear one,” I said to her. “You need your rest.”

“Yes, I will,” she said with a yawn. “Stay with me until I sleep, will you?”

~

The next day, at Shan’s insistence, of course, I was present as Elrond examined her. He practiced the same careful method he had used with me as he inspected her body for injury or sickness. I had learned that mortals of the race of Men, such as Shan, were more prone to illness than Elves.

“Do you remember the last time you bled?” Elrond asked her. For a moment I wondered what he spoke of, then remembered that monthly bleeding that had come upon all of my female friends.

“It was before the first snows, lord,” Shan answered.

“Then I have some interesting news for you. Legolas, come here, sit down,” Elrond said, gesturing to a spot beside Shan. I held my friend’s hand tightly in preparation for what would come next. I could not deny a nervous fluttering in my stomach.

“Shan,” Elrond began, “you are with child.”

She gasped in surprise. “You - you are sure, my lord?”

“Quite sure. You are free to stay with us as long as you would like. There are some villages of Men close by, though, where you might feel more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Shan said softly. “You are very hospitable.”

“As I said to Legolas, it is no burden upon my household to care for such pleasant company,” Elrond said with a smile. “If you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

“Did you know?” I asked when we were alone.

“No,” she answered. “But I can’t help but wonder whose it is.”

“Don’t worry. No matter who fathered it, it is your child.” I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “You must truly take care of yourself now.”

She embraced me tightly. “Thank you for understanding. I - I was wondering . . . would you help me care for it? After it’s born, I mean?”

“I would never dream of anything else,” I said, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

~

“Your home is very lovely, Elrond,” Thranduil said as he entered the half-Elf’s study.

Elrond looked up from his paperwork. “Ah, my friend. Please, sit, make yourself comfortable. Care for some wine?”

“You know me too well, old friend,” Thranduil said. “Yes, please, pour me a glass of your wine. I shall have to remember to send you a bottle from some of our best vintage.”

“There you are,” Elrond said as he handed over the goblet full of the ruby-colored wine. He folded his hands on his desk, a contented smile on his face. “Now, what brings you to my study today, Thranduil?”

“Legolas, of course,” the Elf-King answered as he sipped at his wine.

“Some problem?”

“Yes and no. I suppose what I mean to say is - well, is Legolas able to leave?”

Elrond frowned thoughtfully as he considered the idea. When he spoke, his voice told of hesitation. “Legolas is healed in body, but I fear his spirit may still be in need of nurture.”

“The reason I ask, of course,” Thranduil continued, “is because we want to take Legolas to our home as soon as possible. You understand the position I am in. Legolas is now my heir, and the people need to meet him.”

“Yes, I understand that clearly,” Elrond said. “However, it might be wise to delay your departure for a short time, Thranduil. Spending time with my son Elrohir has greatly improved Legolas’s mental health, and I think that, should he stay at least until the end of winter, he would be much the better for it. There is also the matter of the girl who arrived the other day. Legolas knew her before, in his captivity, and seems quite loath to part with her, especially now that she is with child.”

“Ah, yes, Elrohir,” mused Thranduil thoughtfully, ignoring what Elrond had said about the human girl. “I’ve met the boy, Elrond. He seems trustworthy enough, and quite responsible for one so young. He’s younger than Legolas, isn’t he?”

“A bit,” answered Elrond.

“You should be proud to have such a son.” It seemed to Elrond that, for a moment, tears invaded Thranduil’s eyes, but when he returned his gaze to the Elf King, he seemed unfazed. “I take my leave of you now. There is still much of your house that I need to explore.”

~

A few days passed. I was astonished when I watched Shan. She had always seemed to me very brave when we lived with Master, but in interaction with the rest of Rivendell, she was always withdrawn and subservient. I wondered if I had been so helplessly passive when I had first arrived.

I also continued to learn more about my parents and the home I had left so long ago. Though my father said nothing of it, I knew that he wanted me to return to perform my duties as the heir I had become when my brothers died. An heir to a kingdom . . . I little knew what to make of it. Of course I was uncomfortable with the idea. All of my life I had been the servant of others, to use as they wanted. To take up the reins of power in such a way was unbelievable. Still, there was no discussion on it, so I waited for one or the other of my parents to bring it up.

Meanwhile, I did as Elrond had recommended more than two weeks ago and I continued with my lessons. Elrohir remained the patient and careful teacher he had been, so it took some convincing to get him to take me outside to practice with our weapons. I found my sword fell straighter, my arrows flew truer if fresh, cold air and clean trees rather than walls of wood and stone surrounded me. I could still claim little skill to any of the weapons, but Elrohir said that I was improving. I merely enjoyed the time I spent with him, whether or not my skills increased. And to be allowed outside the house was wonderful, considering I had spent the past two centuries inside Master’s house.

I went out on my own one day. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest of choices, but Elrohir had been called away, and there was something in my soul that longed for solitude. The trees muttered and rustled around me. I delighted in the newfound talent of speaking to the trees, a talent my parents said I had possessed since my young years. I did not climb, but merely sat against their trunks, listening to the quiet conversation over my head. The cold winter winds whipped through their upper branches - that was the main topic of discussion that day.

Then I heard something decidedly not in the language of the trees. A twig cracked, signaling the approach of something heavy. Thinking it was some forest creature, I remained where I was, content to let it pass me by. But I was startled to my feet by who did emerge.

“There you are,” Master said. I instantly recognized his gravelly voice, the promise of violent rage if the careful balance was not kept.

I cringed and my breath grew short. It was not happening, it was some trickery of my imagination. “No . . .” I whispered.

“Oh, yes, you fool,” he snarled as he stalked over to me. “I will take you back, back where you belong, doing what you were meant to do!”

“No,” I repeated. I began a retreat, but found my path blocked by the trunk of a tree. The familiar cloudy mindset entered my thoughts - yes, it was far easier not to resist. Less pain that way.

“Yes, you wretch!” he growled. He grabbed my hair, bound as it was in a long, single plait, and tugged. I fell to my feet, my hands covering my face.

“You will come with me,” he breathed heavily in my ear. “You will pleasure me until I am satisfied. And I will never let you leave again!”

At the demanding tug to my hair I said the programmed response, “Yes, Master.”

He began to drag me off into the trees, but then a strange, unprecedented thing happened. I heard Elrohir’s voice in my head as he instructed me about the use of weapons, of both attack and defense. I reached up to the hand, still firmly attached to my hair, and pulled.

To my surprise, my attack flipped Master to the ground. For a brief moment I stood in awe, astounded and slightly frightened by what I had done. But then I saw the rage transforming his features again. I scrambled away, but before I could get to my feet, something heavy hit my head. There was a moment of blinding pain, then nothing.

~

I stirred as I returned to consciousness. For a moment I imagined myself back at Imladris, safe in bed with Elrohir’s warm presence beside me. Then I remembered. I blinked, trying to clear my sight, and tried to scoot away. I found my hands bound firmly in front of me. I began to struggle in attempt to free my wrists from the rope, but the prompt presence of Master’s plump red face stilled my movements.

“Who do you think you are?” he said, taking my chin in his tight hand. “Don’t you dare look away, you little slut! You thought you could escape me, didn’t you? You thought you could run away with that stranger and never look back? Not so easy, you whore. You belong to me, and I will have you!”

“Master . . .” I said softly. I could feel the skin of my jaw bruising. “Please . . .”

“Be quiet, you worthless thing!” he shouted. Master swiftly hit me across the face. He sat so he straddled my waist. A dangerous position, as I had learned from past experience.

As I had both expected and feared, he put his greasy fingers beneath the laces of the shirt I had been given. With no care for the fabric, he slid his knife underneath my shirt and ripped the clothing from my chest. I bit my lip to contain my tears of shame as he buried his face in my neck and bit. He set his mouth to mine, and I knew better than to resist.

“That’s better,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Hmm, how many of them did you have to pleasure before they gave you this?” He gestured to the shirt. “And if I know you, stupid as you are, you didn’t get any money for it, did you? Did you!”

He had slapped me again when I had failed to respond. “N-no, lord,” I stuttered. “Sorry.”

“Yes, well, you will be sorrier later,” he said as he handled my leggings in the same manner as my shirt. I found myself fully bared to the mercilessly cold winter and his eager gaze. “The gods, you look better. Been keeping you fed on cakes and sweets, have they?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. I watched helplessly as he reached down to free himself of his own pants, and a ball of terror formed in my throat at the sight of his length. He pinned my arms over my head, thrusting against me and spreading my legs as he slid his fingers beneath me.

“Ai, no, please, Master . . .” I pleaded in vain. My voice shook with fear. “Please no . . .”

“You should have considered this before you left me,” he replied in a growl. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the intrusion of a finger. “Ye gods but you’re tight. What have you been doing for the past two months?”

Suddenly, he slumped upon me, unmoving. I recovered my arms from above my head and shoved at him until at last I was free. My breath heaved in and out of me, though it caught in my throat at the sight of an arrow in his back. I scrambled back into the trees, drawing my still-bound hands over my head in a meager defense. I sat against a tree, shaking as I awaited whatever my fate would be.

~

Elrohir had been experiencing increased difficulty functioning over the past few days. He was not so foolish nor so naïve in the ways of love that he did not know why; the reason for his continuing disability to think clearly was his friend Thel, or Legolas. But by whatever name, he had become entrancing to Elrond’s son.

The night of his parents’ arrival, Legolas had arrayed himself like the Prince he had turned out to be. Elrohir had been awestruck at the flattering green tunic and leggings his friend wore, so much so that it took him a few moments to recover sufficiently to respond. Hardly had he been able to tear his eyes away from Legolas through the entire meal.

Strong though his thoughts were, Elrohir stifled them for the sake of his friend’s trust. Any untoward comment or gesture could set Legolas far behind on his road to recovery. So the desire-filled looks were veiled; the nagging jealousy that clawed in Elrohir’s belly at the sight of Legolas with his friend, Shan, was smothered; the lustful urges that woke him in the mornings were quelled (albeit with a great deal of winter-cold water and concentrated thoughts on old Elvish poetry).

Elrohir had been called away the entire day in order to help his father and brother with some diplomatic issue or another. He bid his apologies to Legolas, but his inner thoughts were mixed. To be allowed space from the constant distraction his friend had become was both a relief and a torment, for he counted the hours until they saw each other again. So when Legolas did not appear come suppertime, Elrohir immediately felt a pang of anxiety.

“There is an empty spot at my table,” noted Elrond from where he sat at the head.

“Where is Legolas?” asked Tarasule, the Queen of Greenwood. There was the barest hint of panic in her voice. “Elrohir? Have you seen him?”

“Nay, my lady,” answered Elrohir. “I have been with my father and brother all day long. I know not where Legolas could have gotten to.”

“I saw him,” chirped Arwen. All eyes turned to my dark-haired little sister. “I saw him this morning. He went outside.”

“Outside the house?” asked Elrond with a frown.

“Aye,” she answered.

“Which way did he go?” pressed Thranduil.

“Um, southwards, I think. Or perhaps east.”

“I’m sure the time got away from him, and he is merely out enjoying an evening stroll,” Elrond reassured Tarasule and Thranduil. “He should be back in a few hours. You know how he has come to love the trees.”

“Yes, the trees,” muttered Tarasule to herself.

Elrohir, however, was not so easily reassured. He quickly finished his supper and dismissed himself, returning to his room to gather his traveling clothes and weapons.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

Elrohir didn’t have to turn around to recognize his brother’s voice. “I should think that would be fairly obvious, Elladan,” he answered somewhat snappily.

“Don’t be angry with me, brother,” Elladan said, putting a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. “Do you love him?”

“Must you be so blunt?” Elrohir retorted.

“No need to answer, Elir, I know that look in your eyes.” Elladan spun him around so they were eye-to-eye. Elrohir was surprised to see compassion on his brother’s face. “I have felt that before.”

“But ’tis no use,” Elrohir said, and his tone was softer. “He cannot love me.”

“Love is fickle. Think not that you know it so well.” Elladan rested his forehead against Elrohir’s. “We are both young, brother. Come back to me safe.”

“Only if you promise to comfort Father for me,” Elrohir whispered. “He will worry.”

“I know. Now hurry! I know you can find him!” Elladan smiled one of his wry smiles. “Valar forbid, I think I’m starting to like the skinny whelp!”

Elrohir smiled back before dashing down the hallway, out the doors, and to the stables. He quickly mounted his grey horse and set off.

~

It was somewhat more difficult than Elrohir had expected to find Legolas’s trail - he was, after all, a Wood Elf by nature, and that made him tricky when it came to forest trails. But he was an untrained Wood Elf, and did not know to hide his tracks. Eventually Elrohir found sign of his friend, and he was led to a clearing. Over his head the tall pines that populated the valley of Imladris stretched towards the sky, which was dark grey and threatening with the failing light of evening. There were signs of a struggle - bent grass and branches, and across the clearing was spilled blood. Only a small amount, but it was enough to spark fear in Elrohir’s mind.

While it was very dark with the sky overcast and the trees shadowing everything, the trail from then on was as clear as a beacon to Elrohir’s keen Elvish eyes. He led his horse on foot, the better to see the trail. And though by the little hours of the morning exhaustion dragged on him like heavy weights stuck to his feet, he carried on. The mere thought of Thel - Legolas, he reminded himself - being held against his will and possibly tortured drove his steps and opened his weary eyes.

It wasn’t until midday of the next day that Elrohir finally found his quarry. This was due, mostly, to the noisy sounds that Men make as they go about their business. Elrohir quickly hobbled his horse and bid her stay quiet, then leapt up into the branches. He silently crept closer to the sounds, his face hidden by leaves and needles and his body concealed by an Elvish cloak.

He saw a portly, unkempt Man standing over a pot set to cook upon some coals. Elrohir wrinkled his nose; whatever was cooking certainly didn’t smell appetizing. Returning his gaze to the task ahead, he saw a pale figure lying bound across the small clearing.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized Legolas. It would be - by what brief descriptions Elrohir had gotten from his friend, the Man was his Master, Orson. Elrohir felt a spurt of rage towards the Man.

Beneath his gaze, Legolas began to stir, awakening to find himself in his predicament. Elrohir hardly dared breathe as Orson approached him, taking his chin roughly in his hand. Disgust, anger, and a bit of fear showed clearly on his face as the Man proceeded to make rags of Legolas’s shirt, then his leggings. Elrohir fumbled for his bow and an arrow, nocking it and aiming at Orson’s sweaty back.

It took a moment to register that the arrow had left his fingers. He leapt down from the tree, glancing about in search of Legolas. He sat, shaking, huddled against a tree, bound hands held up for whatever sparse protection they might give him.

“Thel!” Elrohir called. “Thel!”

“Please, no,” the huddled figure whispered, curling about himself.

“No, no more, I promise, my Thel,” Elrohir said, dropping to his friend’s side. “Please, will you look at me?” He reached out a hand towards Thel, startled by the sudden recoiling.

“Look at me, my friend,” Elrohir pleaded. “I am here to help, I promise. You have nothing more to fear.”

“Glorfindel?” Thel asked softly, venturing a peek from behind his fingers.

“No,” Elrohir said with some disappointment. “It is I, Elrohir.”

“Elrohir?” Thel repeated, finally uncovering his bruised face. “Elrohir, I’m sorry . . .”

“Shush, don’t be silly,” Elrohir said, taking out his knife. “It was none of your fault. Now let me cut those ropes away, will you?”

Thel flinched as the knife was brought close. “He - he almost . . .”

“I know. Don’t worry yourself about it now. I will keep you safe,” Elrohir pledged.

“Ai, Elrohir!” Thel cried, burying his face in Elrohir’s shirt. “I disappoint you with my weakness. What shall my parents think? They will - what sort of . . .”

“Quiet yourself, cousin,” Elrohir comforted, returning the embrace. He could not help but notice the dark bruises that tarnished his friend’s pale skin. Bare skin, Elrohir noticed - but he stopped those thoughts. Could his lust have chosen a more inopportune moment to make itself heard? He swallowed hopefully, trying to calm himself. “Come, we must get you back to Imladris. Can you walk?”

“I - I don’t know,” Thel said breathlessly. “So - cold, Elir.” His teeth began to chatter.

“Yes, I know,” Elrohir said, rubbing the frigid skin of Thel’s arms. “Here, wear my cloak.”

“Won’t you be cold?” Thel looked up at the forbidding clouds. “It’s going to storm.”

“You need it more than I do,” Elrohir said, wrapping his friend securely in the folds. “And I will survive.”

Thel didn’t have the strength to argue as Elrohir placed him on the tall grey horse and mounted behind him. He was, however, incredibly grateful for the warm arms that surrounded him as they rode back the way they had come. The forest was eerily silent in the frosty winter weather, and their breath appeared before their faces as pale clouds of mist. Thel shivered occasionally, and Elrohir spared a moment every now and then to carefully rub his arms. For the most part, though, he occupied his mind with the image of Thel, and these were not images that Elrohir wished to voice. Then he would stop, and scold himself for thinking such things about his friend, but the thoughts kept returning.

So preoccupied was he that, even in the waning light, it took him a few moments to notice that the ground was growing steadily rockier and the trees were thinning out. “Ah, where have you led us, Thindae?” he muttered to the horse. A frustrated snort was his only answer. “Well, come, let’s turn around and head home.”

“Wait,” Thel said, reaching out of the cloak to place a hand on Elrohir’s arm. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Elrohir asked, but as soon as the word was out, he heard it. A great clanking, clambering, angry sort of noise, and a loathsome smell to match. “Orcs,” he breathed. “We have wandered far off our path, else they have grown over-bold to come so far into the valley. And they’re not far away by the sound of them.”

“What are you doing?” Thel asked frantically as Elrohir leapt from the horse.

“It will be easier for me to fight them off without you to worry about, and it will give you a chance to escape,” Elrohir said as he pulled his sword from beneath the blanket they rode upon. “Keep heading west. You should make it to Imladris by midday tomorrow, and you will probably encounter the patrols.”

“Give me your bow.”

“What? No, be gone!” Elrohir looked up at his friend with pleading eyes. “Please! They will find you, and I fear what they might do! Return to Imladris!”

“And what of you?” Thel cried in return. “Am I to leave you here to die? Give me your bow!”

Elrohir still looked reluctant, and Thel shot him a glare. “You said yourself it is my best weapon. I can help you!”

“No,” repeated Elrohir.

“I will not leave you,” said Thel. “Give me a weapon. Or would you have me remain here undefended?”

Elrohir sighed in resignation and handed over his bow and quiver. “Stay on the horse. And if the situation gets bad, leave me and return to Imladris.”

“I won’t leave you.” Thel resolutely turned his gaze into the forest from whence the rustling and clanking emerged. “What are we fighting?”

“Things that only deserve to die,” answered Elrohir with a shiver. “Remember what I taught you. Aim for their heads, chest, anywhere to wound them. Show them no mercy.”

Thel swallowed and nodded, nocking and drawing the bow. No sooner had he done so than the Orcs began to emerge from the trees. The arrow left his fingers, to his surprise firmly pinning one of the hideous creatures to a tree. He drew another arrow and shot another one. Had he a spare moment for thought, he might have felt a bit of pride that he was able to use the weapon. But his mind was too busy with the nearly mechanical movements it took to aid Elrohir.

Elrohir, meanwhile, had his hands full as he fought the Orcs sword-to-sword. He was still quite a young Elf, and as the son of a lord, he had never been forced to fight in reality. Still, his long hours of training paid off as the moves came automatically to his hands and feet. One by one the Orcs fell either by arrow or sword. Thel’s back and shoulders ached, and Elrohir’s arms grew tired, but still they fought on.

Suddenly, Thel heard Elrohir cry out with pain. He reached for another arrow, but the quiver was empty. He searched beneath the blanket, and finally found a long knife. Armed thus he marched towards the three remaining Orcs that slowly closed in around Elrohir. The first he dispensed as he buried the knife in his back. The second and third decided to attack him together, as he had just killed their companion. Thel was nearly overwhelmed with the double swordplay, but eventually he broke through their defenses. One he slashed across the neck, the other through the belly. And so, his hands black with Orc blood, he knelt beside Elrohir, who lay stricken on the ground.

“I - told you - not to leave the horse,” gasped Elrohir.

“And you would rather I had stood by and watched you die? I think not,” Thel said wryly. “What happened?”

“Tripped - my ankle,” said Elrohir, pointing to said limb.

“Can you walk?”

“Don’t know. Help me up.” And with much trial and pain, Elrohir finally stood on his feet again. Well, his foot. His left ankle had been injured, and would carry none of his weight.

“Leave me here,” Elrohir said. “You can go back to Imladris and get help.”

“I won’t take the chance that more of those Orcs will come,” Thel said stubbornly, grunting beneath Elrohir’s weight. “Isn’t there somewhere we can go? That storm will come soon.”

“There’s a cabin not far from here, if we are where we think we are,” Elrohir said. He had learned it was better not to fight with his willful friend. “I can direct you. But I think it might be easier if I was on the horse. Here, give me a boost.”

So, after more trouble and pain, Elrohir was finally seated atop Thindae again, and Thel began to lead the horse with Elrohir’s direction. They had not been long set out from the clearing where the Orcs had attacked when the sky decided to release its wrath. Down poured bucketfuls of icy rain, soaking even the thick cloak that Thel wore. On they marched, over the rough, uneven, at times rocky ground that hurt Thel’s feet.

At last, however, they came to a tiny wooden shack. Thel wiped the rain and wet hair from his eyes. “Is this it?” he shouted back to Elrohir, in order to be heard over the storm.

“Aye,” he replied, just as loud. His teeth had begun to chatter. “We’ve arrived.”

They decided to bring the horse into the cabin with them, little room though there was. Elrohir had a fondness for the poor thing and did not wish his Thindae to be out in the cold. Despite its dilapidated appearance, the shack was wind-tight and sound, complete with a small pile of firewood kept dry. After many failed attempts, Thel lit a small fire in the tiny hearth in the center of the single room. Thindae whickered softly.

“What more can I do, Elrohir?” he asked his friend, who was propped against the wall.

“Hang that cloak up to dry,” Elrohir said.

Thel did as he was told, though he kept one eye on Elrohir. The Imladris Elf was sweaty despite the cold, as well as pale and shaky. “You don’t look well,” Thel commented. “Should we do something with your ankle?”

“Take my boot off,” Elrohir gasped. “I might be able to examine it.”

As carefully as he could, Thel began to peel off the wet boot. Elrohir clenched his mouth shut to contain cries of pain. When he had recovered from that shock, he looked down at his foot. “Broken,” he muttered. “Sprained at least. I won’t be able to walk for some time.”

“Is that bad?” Thel asked nervously. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not at the moment,” Elrohir replied, falling back against the wall. “It needs another healer.”

“We will leave at first light,” Thel said, rearranging the cloak where it hung on the rafters. The black mark etched at the base of his spine was a stark contrast to his pale skin. “We can get to Imladris if you tell me the way.”

“No. Go alone. It will be faster that way, and you can bring help back to me.”

“Haven’t you learned by now that I’m not about to leave you out here?” Thel said with a small grin. “We leave together. Anyway, I can’t control that horse on my own. You big, smelly creature, you,” Thel said as he stroked the horse’s nose affectionately. “The storm will be gone by morning. Travel should be easier.”

Elrohir sighed and shook his head. He was feeling decidedly unwell. Not only did his ankle ache; his head had chosen to become stuffed-up and foggy, and his entire body felt alternately hot and cold as well as shaky. Not that such a grievance was foreign to him. One of the disadvantages to having mortal grandparents was the increased vulnerability to such things as a head cold. The chilly wet weather had caused it, he was nearly sure of it.

“Did you see, Elir?” Thel mused softly, calling Elrohir by his byname. “Did you see as I fought? I hit the Orcs!”

“That you did, my friend,” Elrohir agreed, before giving a fantastic sneeze.

Thel clicked his tongue at the sound. “You are sick now, and this cloak isn’t nearly dry. You need to be kept warm, I know that much.”

“There should be a blanket in that cupboard,” Elrohir said as he pointed. Thel found the warm scrap of fabric and arranged himself beside Elrohir, the blanket covering them both. “How did you learn so much about such things?”

“You forget that I lived with humans most of my life,” Thel said with a smile. “I know a head cold when I see one.”

Elrohir hesitated briefly before saying, “Thank you. For everything, but mostly for ignoring me. I’m glad you’re here.” He smiled to himself; for the moment, Thel was merely a friend, a wonderful friend. The lustful thoughts had been chased away thoroughly with the onset of broken ankle and head cold.

“Be quiet, Elir, and go to sleep.”

~

When they woke the next morning, the Sun was already well risen, casting a hazy yellow light over the valley of Imladris. Dark clouds were still clumped at the western horizon, though, promising more cold winter showers. It was with some difficulty that Thel managed to remove his stiff limbs from the warm blanket.

“We’d best be off,” he said softly to Elrohir. “The sooner we’re home, the better.”

“Aye,” Elrohir agreed with a yawn. “Oh, my head feels like a pillow!”

“Here, lean on me,” Thel said as he knelt to take Elrohir’s arm.

Eventually the both of them had managed to mount themselves on the horse, and at Elrohir’s instruction, Thel set them off on the path towards Rivendell.

“Sleep now,” he whispered to Elrohir, who sat behind him. “I know where we’re going.”

Elrohir yawned widely. “Wake me if you need me,” he murmured sleepily before resting his head on Thel’s shoulder. A few moments later he had settled into a deep sleep, arms loosely about Thel’s waist. And while Thel longed to join him, he forced himself awake in order to stay upright on the horse. Thindae seemed to understand, for she kept her gait smooth and even for her riders.

The Sun had just passed her midday position when Thel looked up wearily to see Rivendell in the distance. “Elrohir,” he said softly, nudging his friend in the ribs. “Wake up. We’re nearly home.”

Elrohir blinked as he awoke, then rubbed his eyes with a fist before giving a great sneeze. “Wonderful,” he said. “This head cold is miserable.”

Thindae picked up her feet a bit quicker; she trod familiar ground, and with the scent of home in her nose she was just as eager as her masters to return to the warm stable. Thel’s legs clutched the horse a bit harder at the change in pace. He felt he could never be comfortable around the big beasts.

But in no time they stood before the courtyards of Rivendell. They had met briefly with the border patrols, who had sent word ahead. As Thel had predicted, his mother was the first to come running out. He sighed and became Legolas again.

“Oh, Legolas, what happened to you?” she cried as she ran to him. “Here, get down from that horse! Come here, dear! Oh my, what bruises you have!”

“Mother, truly, I am hardly hurt,” Legolas reassured her.

“Oh, no you aren’t! Look at that head wound!” she gasped, pointing to the gash on his forehead. “And what happened to your clothing?”

Legolas looked down, remembering for the first time that he was naked beneath Elrohir’s cloak. He felt a dark blush spread over his cheeks.

“What happened to you?”

“Please, Mother, fetch a healer. Elrohir is injured,” Legolas said, gesturing up to his friend.

To everyone’s great relief, Elrond soon appeared to take charge of the situation. He hustled both of the wearied Elves off to the healing rooms.

“No, tend Elrohir first,” Legolas said frantically as Elrond began to clean the wound on his head. He pointed over to the next bed. “His ankle . . . and he has a head cold . . .”

“Quiet yourself,” Elrond said calmly. “Do you think he would like you worrying about him so much? Hold still, and I will get to Elrohir much quicker.”

So Legolas did as he was told, biding his time until Elrond went to his son’s bedside. He hastily pulled on the clothing that Elrond handed him. “You are lucky, Elrohir,” Elrond commented. “Only a sprain. Though I am quite curious as to how this occurred.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Legolas volunteered, “just please hurry.”

“Oh, there is no rush about these sorts of things.” Elrond began to wrap a bandage tightly about Elrohir’s ankle, and Legolas could see the pain his friend was in. “A sprained ankle . . . well, that is easy enough to solve. And a head cold only needs time. So I’m afraid you’ll be in this bed for quite a while, Elrohir.” Elrond gave a wry smile. “So, Legolas, do you care to relate your tale?”

Legolas swallowed and nodded, shifting his position on the bed. “I went out the other day by myself, just to sit alone in the trees.”

“Which wasn’t smart to begin with,” interjected Elrohir.

Elrond gave his son a sharp glance. “Elrohir . . .” he warned.

“Sorry, Father,” Elrohir said, hanging his head. “Go on, please.”

After a moment of brief hesitation, Legolas went on with the story. “I had not been long outside when I heard sounds of approach. I did not think it was cause for alarm, for my first guess was that it was some forest animal. But . . . it was not. Master found me. I couldn’t get away, though I tried. That’s when he - erm, threw the rock at my head. When I came to, I didn’t recognize the trees. He - he tried to - you know . . .”

“We know,” Elrond said compassionately. “Go on.”

“But Elrohir stopped him,” Legolas continued, fighting to keep his features under his control. “He shot Master. With his help, we mounted the horse and rode away, back here.” His eyes flickered towards Elrohir. “But then we were caught by Orcs. Though Elrohir was against it, I insisted on fighting with him. It is a lucky thing I did, else he would still be there, sprained ankle and all.” A slight smile touched his mouth. “We rode to a little cabin, where we stayed until the storm blew off. And this morning we rode back here.”

“The Orcs, Father,” Elrohir said. “Legolas, do you mind if I elaborate? Unless my sense of direction was far misplaced, they have grown quite daring. They were far enough inside the valley to cause sufficient worry.”

“I understand,” Elrond said seriously. “I will inform Glorfindel immediately. It may be that our patrols have been lax lately. But for now, the two of you must get some rest. I don’t want to see either of you out of your beds until tomorrow, is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” Elrohir said.

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas echoed. “Thank you.”

“Though Legolas,” Elrond continued with a smile, “I think you might have a visitor or two later today. Your parents and Shan have been running themselves ragged out of worry for you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Legolas said meekly. “I would welcome their presence.”

“Very good,” said Elrond. “Well, now I will leave you to your sleep. Call if you need anything.”

“Yes, Father,” Elrohir said to his retreating back. He fell against the pillows that propped him upright. “Well, what a grand adventure! I hadn’t realized until you said it all how exciting it had been!”

“Me neither,” Thel said as he rose from the bed. He stretched his arms tall over his head. “Mind if I join you? I won’t sleep alone.”

“Of course not,” Elrohir said before giving another great sneeze. “So long as you can sleep with that.”

“I could sleep through anything at this point,” Thel said with a yawn. He curled up next to Elrohir, still careful with his injury. And both drifted off into much-needed sleep.

~

“My sweet Elbereth!” exclaimed Tarasule, upon hearing Elrond’s retelling of Legolas’s tale. She clutched her heart. “I fear I shall never rest easy about that boy. Is trouble drawn to him?”

“It might seem that it was so in the past,” said Elrond calmly. “But I am confident that, now that Legolas’s previous Master is dead, we will have little more trouble with that.”

“The problem is not in Legolas, I think, my lord,” said Thranduil through his heavy frown. “How did this Man get through your border patrols, let alone the Orcs?”

“I have notified my Captain of the situation. Perhaps a tightening of our security -”

“No, my lord,” maintained Thranduil. “Pleasant as our stay here at Imladris has been, I think it is time for us to return to our home, where at least we know how to protect our own borders.”

“Thranduil, please,” said Tarasule, only to be cut off by her husband.

“Tarasule, there will be no argument.” He scowled heavily at Elrond. “We will leave tomorrow.” With that, he left the room.

“Let me take this moment to apologize for my husband,” Tarasule said softly. “We have all been distressed lately. I am sure he meant no disrespect.”

“No harm has been done,” reassured Elrond, who schooled his features so they did not display whatever anger he felt. “We will prepare for your departure.”

“Thank you, my lord Elrond. You have been nothing but kind to us.” Tarasule gave him a smile before leaving the Elf lord alone in his study.

~

When Elrohir awoke, it was already late in the afternoon. He began to stretch before remembering both his injured ankle and the weight upon his body. He tried to sneeze quietly, but the movement woke Thel, who blinked tiredly.

“It’s about time you woke up, cousin. You were starting to drool on me,” Elrohir joked.

Thel sat up, smiled, and stretched. “Feeling any better?” he asked softly.

“A bit. At least I’m warm.” He offered a small smile before turning his head to cough. “Ai, you should praise the Valar that you’re a full Elf. I feel horrible.”

“Thirsty?” Thel asked. “There’s some water here.”

“Thanks,” Elrohir said as he gratefully took a few sips. “Though you know, I should be the one asking if you feel any better. I know you don’t want to talk about - what happened with you and that Man, but . . .”

“I don’t want to talk about that, Elrohir,” Thel said quietly. “I’m sure you can’t imagine anything like what happened to me. I didn’t know who I was for eight hundred years, and could hardly have cared. I was barely alive. And that day . . . that day was hardly a singular event. I am no stranger to pain.” Thel had his eyes resolutely turned to the floor, and Elrohir was astonished at the contained anger his friend seemed to possess.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Elrohir whispered. “But I thought you might, you know, feel like telling me something. I want to help you, cousin.” He looked up as the door began to open. Contrary to what either of them expected, Elladan stood there, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Good evening,” he said hesitantly. “Am I intruding?”

“No, brother,” said Elrohir enthusiastically. “Come here and share some time with us! But don’t come too close. I’ve got quite a head cold, and I don’t want you catching it.”

Elladan smirked and took a seat at the foot of the bed. “From what small description I could wrest from Father, the two of you had quite an adventure out there.”

“That we did, brother,” Elrohir said. “ ’Tis not the most pleasant of subjects, though.”

“I understand. If you don’t wish to speak of it, then I shall find something else to occupy my time. Say, did you hear about what happened yesterday in -”

Elladan was cut off as the door opened again. All three looked up to see Shan, nervously clutching a tray full of food.

“Good evening, Shan,” Thel said kindly. “Come in, please. I think we could use a meal.”

“That we most certainly could,” Elrohir said with another sneeze.

So the red-haired girl shyly entered the room. “I - I wanted to make sure you were all right,” she said to Thel. “I’ve only heard rumors so far, but . . .” the expression on her face needed no words of explanation.

“Yes,” Thel said quietly. “It was Master. But he is gone now. “You no longer have to fear him.”

Shan attempted to contain a sob as she nodded. “I - I only wish that I had gotten to kill him myself,” she muttered harshly. “You didn’t see what he did - what he did to Rees and Sora and Meb . . .”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Thel enveloped her in an embrace, and she buried her head in his shoulder while she struggled with the anger that was expressed in tears.

The brothers watched silently. They understood, in a detached sort of way, that the two needed the time to heal from the shock of losing their Master and tormentor. Elladan reached out to clasp Elrohir’s hand. Elrohir smiled at his brother.

At last, Shan straightened and wiped her tears. “You must be starving,” she said. “Here, please, eat. The food here is delicious.”

“That it is,” Elrohir agreed. “Probably in part because we have so many unexpected guests all the time.” That won him a small smile from beneath the curly red hair. He grinned back as he began to eat.

The four sat in friendly silence for a while, merely enjoying the good food and company.

“So, um, Legolas,” Shan said to break the calm, “I heard.”

“About what?” asked Legolas as Thel once more handed over his power.

“Well, that you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“What!” Legolas exclaimed, nearly spitting out his food. “From where?”

“The servants are all talking about it,” she said. “Something about how they have to ready the horses by midday . . . what’s wrong?”

“You would think somebody might have let me know,” Legolas said, putting his head in his hands.

Elrohir’s hands had stilled where they rested at the plate. “Where are you going?” Elladan could hear the hints of trepidation in his voice.

“I’m going to find out what is going on,” Legolas said as he rose. He wore a frustrated look on his face.

“You shouldn’t be walking around,” Elrohir said, sitting up a bit straighter. “Father said . . .”

“I am going,” Legolas repeated slowly, “to find out what is going on. Stay here, Elrohir. You need your rest.”

“Legolas, wait!” Elrohir called as he attempted to lift himself out of the bed. “Wait!”

“Legolas has one point, brother,” Elladan said as he pushed Elrohir back. “You need to stay in bed.”

“But - but he’s going to -”

“Quiet yourself. I will talk to Father and find out just what is happening.” Elladan pressed his forehead to his twin’s. “I’ll be right back.”

“All right,” Elrohir agreed, settling against the pillows. “Just hurry, will you?” Elladan nodded comfortingly, and Elrohir mused that the look in his brother’s eyes was quite clear. It said, ‘You ought to tell him how you feel. Do not let the chance pass you by, for you may not get another like it.’ Elrohir sighed and turned back to Shan, who still sat at the corner of the bed.

“Well, good night,” she said nervously. She stood, straightened her skirt, and then promptly left the room with the other two.

Elrohir shook his head, running his hands anxiously through his hair. With one more sneeze, he decided that his friends were right, and settled back to sleep.

~

Tarasule stood alone on the balcony, gazing at the night sky. The dark and gloomy clouds had smothered the valley once again, but she still found it refreshing to be outdoors. She hugged her shawl closer to her body as a sudden breeze swept past.

She felt more than heard her son’s presence. He approached from behind, silent as a shadow, and rested his elbows on the rail next to her. She watched him wordlessly. He was upset; she could tell that much from the glowering and thoughtful expression in his black eyes, so much like her own. He reminded her, strangely, of her long-dead brother, what with his tendency to plain clothing and quiet. She smiled and resisted the urge to stroke his dark hair.

“The stars shine brightly tonight,” she commented.

He frowned and looked up at the sky. “Nay, they do not,” he said sadly. “They are covered by dark clouds. The stars do not shine at all tonight.”

She smiled again and took his hand in her own. “But they do. Beyond the clouds, they are shining as brightly as ever. Though they are covered quite thickly, I am sure of this.” He looked her in the face, and she took his chin in her hand. “You must learn to look past the clouds, my son.”

He smiled slightly, then turned his head back towards the sky. “But it is so dark.”

“Look not with your eyes,” Tarasule suggested, “but with your heart.”

He nodded and turned his gaze down. “We are leaving tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.” She gave in to the temptation of stroking his hair. “We are going home, at last. Back to our forests, Legolas. Back to our trees.”

“Nana,” he said, and his voice had a faint fearful edge to it. “Nana, I don’t want to leave!”

“Shush, little one,” she comforted. “This will not be the last you see of your friends. I promise you that we will return as soon as we can. But we must leave tomorrow.”

“Why?” Legolas asked harshly.

“Your father is doing what he thinks is best. He only cares for you, Legolas, and he wants what is best for you.”

There was a pause in the conversation before Legolas began to speak again. “You know,” he said softly, “this is the first place I can remember being loved. The first place I remember being free. I fear that if I leave, I will only be walking into another cage.”

“Oh, my son,” said Tarasule sympathetically, “it is no cage we bring you to! You will have responsibilities, some of which even I had to get used to, but you will also have freedom to do as you please! We will care for you, my dear one. And I promise that we will not cage you.”

Legolas smiled again, carefully, before taking his mother in an embrace. “Thank you, Mother,” he said.

“Oh, my Legolas! I am so glad to have you back with me!” She sighed and wiped away the dampness that had entered her eyes. “Now get some sleep. I think I recall lord Elrond saying something about you not leaving the bed until tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother,” he whispered before turning back down the halls. “Good night.”

“Good night, Legolas,” she said softly to herself. She turned back to the overcast sky, which suddenly didn’t seem so dark and forbidding.

~

It was deeply dark in the room when Elrohir awoke, save for the small glowing circle caused by the dying embers of the fire. Then he noticed something resting upon his chest. He stifled the moment of panic as he recognized the long, dark hair strewn about and the unreadable black eyes, even as they were clouded in sleep.

He sighed, stroking Thel’s hair back from the sleeping Elf’s face. “What do I do now?” he asked himself. “What do I do with you, my devastatingly tempting friend? Can I do as my brother said and tell you how I feel about you and how I want you to feel about me? Ai, if only you were not leaving tomorrow! I would rather think this out than risk what would come out of my mouth impromptu. I would never want to scare you away.”

Thel stirred slightly in his sleep, and his fingers dug a bit deeper into the fabric of Elrohir’s shirt.

~

Elrohir blinked. He couldn’t even remember having fallen asleep again - had he been so enthralled with his appreciation of Thel? Said Elf sat at the foot of the bed, combing the tangles out of his hair with his fingers.

“Good morning,” Thel greeted, somewhat sadly.

Elrohir frowned at the sound. “Good morning. Now what is troubling you so?”

Thel sighed and tossed the long braid over his shoulder. “I have to leave.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to.” He clasped Elrohir’s hand. “I don’t want to leave my friends.”

“Glorfindel?”

“You.”

“Me?” Elrohir repeated, startled. “Why me?”

“Elrohir, you are the first real friend I ever had.” Thel smiled gently. “Do you remember that first day when you began to teach me to read?”

“Aye, I remember,” Elrohir whispered in answer.

“And when you had to rescue me from Arwen?”

“Aye, that too.” Elrohir leaned a bit closer.

“And when you had to show me how to hold a sword, for I had never before held a weapon?”

“Aye.” Elrohir leaned in until their faces were hardly a breath away from each other.

“And when -”

Whatever Thel would have said was cut off by the sudden presence of lips upon his own. The kiss was inexperienced, unplanned, somewhat sloppy, but the programmed response was for him to open his mouth and let the other enter. Elrohir did so readily, sliding his hands behind Thel’s head in order to deepen the kiss. Elrohir felt sparks up and down his spine and a strange rightness about the gesture.

When at last they parted, both were breathing a bit heavier. Thel cast his eyes to the floor, and Elrohir leaned his cheek against his friend’s (lover’s?) dark head.

“I would do this,” Thel said softly. “I would do this for you, Elrohir.”

Elrohir frowned and backed off at the strange choice of words. “What do you mean? No, wait, I mean - why would you do . . . this?”

“Because you are my friend. Because you want me to.” Thel refused to look up. “Because I have done this so many times that once more could not hurt so much.”

“Ai, no,” Elrohir cried, cradling Thel’s body close to his. “No, my friend. If we are going to do this, I want you to do it for love.”

“Love, Elrohir?” For the first time since the conversation had started, Thel looked Elrohir straight in the eyes. Elrohir nearly winced. There was no kindness, no tenderness in the startlingly black gaze - only a bleak, accepting sort of despair. “What is love? Explain to me what it is that makes you feel so strongly.”

“Love?” Elrohir frowned again, attempting to construct the appropriate definition. “Love is when you can’t live without someone. Love is when you would give your life to see them protected and safe and happy. Love defies reason and - and tradition, and everything else.” He smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair behind Thel’s ear. “Love makes you do stupid things sometimes.”

Thel reached up to clutch the hand that soothed him. “Elrohir, I -”

“Legolas!” shouted someone from down the hallway. “Legolas, we must prepare to depart!”

Thel put on Legolas’s mask and smiled at Elrohir. “I must go now.”

“No, Thel, please, wait!” Elrohir cried, trying to wrest himself from the sheets. “Please, don’t go yet!”

“I must,” Legolas said sadly. “And you must stay in bed. Goodbye, Elrohir. And - I will think about what you said. About love. Write to me.”

“I will, I promise,” Elrohir pledged, kissing Legolas’s hand. “Have a safe journey. Come back to me.”

“I will come back.”

With that, Legolas left the room, Elrohir, and his identity as Thel behind.

~

Of course, there was a great deal more well-wishing before Legolas and his parents were allowed to depart. Most of the household of Imladris had become quite attached to the young Prince, and he to them. Arwen became quite teary when she stepped up to hug Legolas goodbye.

“Now, I promised your brother that I would write,” he said as he hugged her. “I’ll write to all of you.”

“All right,” she said. “So long as you promise.”

Shan was next in line, and she unashamedly wrapped Legolas in an embrace. “You won’t be here now for the birth.”

“I’m very sorry about that. You must describe every detail to Elrohir so he can write to me.” He smoothed her red hair out of her face. “I will be with you in spirit, my dear friend.”

“I know,” she said and kissed him. “Fare well.”

“Fare well.”

Unexpectedly, Glorfindel appeared out of nowhere and pulled Legolas close in what might appear to onlookers to be an embrace. But the Balrog slayer tilted his head close to the younger Elf’s ear and whispered, “ ’Tis only a fool who refuses what is offered on a silver platter.” With that, the golden-haired Elf broke away with a wink and a fond cuff to the shoulder.

Elladan had something equally enigmatic to say, along with a gift wrapped in brown paper and the request not to open it until he was away. Legolas nodded and accepted the gift, clutching it tight to his chest. This made it difficult for him to mount his horse, but he accomplished the task eventually. So he stood with his parents eager to leave and yet dreading the parting.

“Fare well, lord Elrond,” Thranduil said from his large black stallion. “I hope that, when next we meet, we might have something more pleasant to speak about.”

“As do I, King Thranduil,” said Elrond. “Have a safe journey, all of you.”

“Thank you,” Legolas murmured as the horses were spurred on their way. Though he was jostled and jarred by the movement of his own dappled steed, he managed to keep a tight hold on the package that Elladan had delivered into his care. He spared one final look back at Imladris, one final questioning thought after Elrohir’s wellbeing, before facing forward and rushing to catch up with his mother and father.