Upon the Branching Years by IgnobleBard

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. - Tolkien

Legolas spun around as the orc attacking him was felled by an arrow from behind. Glorfindel, standing some hundred yards away, bow in hand, gave him a nod before joining the fray again. Legolas frowned back at him. He didn’t need Glorfindel looking out for him, especially in the heat of battle. He returned his attention to the stream of orcs that continued to spill from the surrounding mountains hemming the Black Gate, continuing his onslaught, trying to will his tired muscles to respond with greater speed. They were losing, and badly.
 
After the One Ring showed up in the Shire, Gandalf told the hobbits to meet him in Bree but had then been captured by Saruman. Aragorn found them and was leading them to safety when Frodo was stabbed by the Witch King. By the time Glorfindel showed up they were surrounded by Nazgûl. He and Aragorn did their best to protect the Hobbits but only Sam had the presence of mind to take the ring before the Witch King could gain it. Glorfindel put him on Asfaloth and sent him racing to the Ford as the screeching Black Riders gave chase. Through some stroke of luck he had actually made it without falling off. Meanwhile, Aragorn and Glorfindel took the other hobbits by another route so that, in the end, they all gained the safety of Rivendell. Unfortunately, it was too late for Frodo, and the brave halfling had succumbed to his injury.
 
It was a somber day when Elrond led the council to decide the fate of the Ring. Gollum was still locked up in Mirkwood and Legolas had come to Imladris to relay the news that the Elves had gotten nothing of use out of him. After much discussion and debate, it was decided that the only way to keep Sauron from gaining the One Ring was to launch an attack on the Black Gate. Gandalf argued for stealth, but Boromir of Gondor was keen for war, as was Aragorn after the fate of Frodo. It was too dangerous and would take too long for a party to try to sneak into Mordor and get to the Mountain of Fire undetected. The Men of Gondor and the remaining Elves and Dwarves could, by mustering their armies, force Sauron from his lair to fight. Aragorn reasoned that without the One they had a chance to defeat him. Gandalf and Elrond remained steadfast in their opinions but even the hobbits agreed a preemptive attack was the only sensible thing to do.
 
They had not counted on the sheer numbers Sauron had managed to wield against them, nor did they know that the traitor Saruman was sending his Uruk-hai, along with the Dunlendings, to march through the lands of Rohan and take them from behind. They had also underestimated the force Sauron commanded in the land of Mordor. At their approach, the Black Gate opened and armies marched forth, led by the Witch King. Orcs and Trolls began to spring up from the mountainside, Men of the East and South flanked them from behind with their Mûmakil, sweeping through their defenses like a hot poker through cheese, the rest of the Nazgûl struck from the air, taking out the whole of the forces of Dol Amroth in a single sortie, while all around Men and Elves fell like leaves in autumn to the wretched sound of the Easterling battle horns.
 
Legolas fought on despite the hopelessness he felt. He did not despair dying, for that was surely what would happen at some point this day. He despaired for the darkness that would cover the world and destroy the fair lands and peoples. He wished he had stayed in Mirkwood to fight alongside his father in this terrible war.
 
A cry behind him and he turned again, just in time to see Glorfindel go down under an onslaught of orcs. He ran to help and managed to kill three of the creatures before the others took off toward the rocky pit beneath the mountain whence they had sprung. He let them flee, looking to Glorfindel, but it was too late. His eyes stared sightlessly into the muddy brown sky, a look of grim determination still on his face. Legolas’ eyes clouded with grief and rage and without thinking of the consequences he chased after the orcs, stumbling down into their foul tunnel. His only light was the bleak rays from outside and within a few steps he was almost in pitch dark. Had he not been raised in the caves and dark paths of Mirkwood he would have fared ill, but he was able to see well in the dark, certainly well enough to make his way after the retreating orcs. He could have tracked them by their smell with no light at all, but there was a dimness far ahead he knew was some sort of opening in the solid rock.
 
The tunnel was damp and occasionally his feet found the small puddles and pools caused by water seeping down through the cracks above. As water splashed up from one of these pools, a voice suddenly brought him up short.
 
“Hold, Legolas Greenleaf. I have need of you.”
 
“Who speaks?” Legolas said sharply. “If this is some trick…”
 
The voice became stern and imperious. “I am Ulmo, the father of waters, and you will heed and obey!”
 
“Ulmo speaks from the sea, not some crack in a mountainside.” He tried to maintain his air of bravado but he could feel a mighty presence surround him, and that voice was deep, so deep.
 
“My power runs through the veins of this world. The waters speak their secrets to me and are mine to command. That is why I come to you, and that is why you must be the one to save Arda, if you will.”
 
“What can I do against the might of Sauron or the power of the One Ring? We are losing the battle and when it is over there will be nothing left to save.”
 
“That is true. Your forces cannot win this battle, but there is another way.”
 
“What hope do you bring?”
 
“A hope that will inflict upon you deep sorrow but will turn the tide of this war and destroy Sauron. Will you accept this charge?”
 
Legolas thought of Glorfindel, his love, dead on the battlefield above, and his heart twisted at these words. How much deeper could his sorrow go? If he went back and fought upon the plain above he would die, but he and Glorfindel would be reunited in Aman. If he accepted Ulmo’s edict he did not know what sacrifice he might have to make. Yet he knew Glorfindel would expect no less from him, for he loved Middle-earth more than he had ever loved Aman. Glorfindel had left the undying lands in his youth and often said he never regretted a day of it, despite the many hardships the Elves had suffered.
 
“I accept.” His voice echoed down the tunnel, resolute.
 
“Swear it.”
 
“I swear to obey whatever charge you give me.”
 
“Then follow this tunnel to the end. It will lead you to the city of Gondolin in the days of its glory long hence. By taking part in the battle for that city and allowing Glorfindel to fulfill his destiny you will change the fate of Arda through the Ages to come.”
 
His blood ran cold at these words. One of the most famous and lamentable battles of the First Age. He must go into the hell of that war and face the horrifying creatures of Morgoth, creatures he had only heard of in legend? His courage would have left him if not for the thought of Glorfindel.
 
“What is his destiny?”
 
“Go now to Gondolin and let events unfold as they will. You will know, when the time comes, if you have succeeded.”
 
Legolas immediately regretted his decision to accept a responsibility with no clear direction or guarantee of success. He remembered the admonition of his father about words given in haste. Yet what other choice was there with the fate of the free peoples hanging in the balance. With a troubled heart, he sheathed his knife and trotted down the tunnel for many miles until at last he saw bright daylight ahead.

When he stepped out onto the mountainside the sight of the city across the wide green plain, set high upon it’s bed of stone, made him pull up short in awe. He had never seen an open space so large as the valley of Tumladen. The stories and poems were but pallid praises to the glory of this land, so vast it was nigh unfathomable to one who had spent a life in thick forest groves or traversing small plains and hills.
 
It was springtime, he could scent it in the freshness of the breeze that washed over him, see it in the blades of grass that rose strong and green, intermingled with clusters of white and yellow wildflowers, beneath his feet, feel it in the brush of butterfly and grasshopper wings against his arms and face. He felt as though he could live as comfortably upon these grassy, paradisaical meadows as any fine hall or deep forest he had ever made bed within.
 
Presently, he saw a group of riders coming toward him with weapons drawn. Legolas stopped short and raised his empty hands. One of the riders dismounted and drew his sword, gleaming bright silver in the sun. He looked so fierce and determined that Legolas took an involuntary step back. The man was as tall as Glorfindel and just as beautiful, with dark hair beneath a silver helm and piercing blue eyes. The sword he carried looked a bit like Glamdring, though it was not the famed Foe-hammer.
 
“How come you to this city, unescorted and unlooked for?” he barked.
 
His Sindarin was accented like Glorfindel’s but was thicker and more difficult to understand.
 
Legolas thought quickly. Ulmo had not told him how to handle the natives.
 
“I am Legolas Greenleaf of the… uh… Laegrim. My settlement was set upon by orcs of Morgoth and I alone escaped thralldom in the pits of Angband.”
 
“How does an Avari find his way here?”
 
“I came upon the mountains and was looking for a pass to take me through. Little did I expect to discover the famed city of the Gondolindrim.”
 
“Yet our patrols seem not to have espied you.”
 
“I cannot speak to that.”
 
The man’s look hardened. “You must surrender your weapons and come with us.”
 
Legolas allowed them to take his knife, which was all that was left to him. There was no danger here save what he had brought upon himself with his inexplicable arrival. He was ordered to mount one of the horses with the admonition that he would be killed if he attempted to escape, and they rode to the Amon Gwareth.
 
The sound of the waters reminded Legolas of Imladris, though the waterfalls were neither as high nor as loud and the steep hill that supported the city was not as formidable as the cliffs there. The stairs leading from the base of the hill up to the massive gate of steel were white marble, gleaming in the light of the midday sun. The riders dismounted and gave care of the horses to grooms who led them away. Legolas wondered where the stables might be. Perhaps carved into this high hill somewhere.
 
The sentries that met them at the gate bade them pass, giving curious glances to their guest. His escort took him through the city to the palace, urging him along when he slowed or stopped to gaze raptly at streets of marble and white stone, crystal fountains and gardens with profusions of strange, magnificent flowers such as he had never seen. It was said this city rivaled Tirion in Aman and its splendor was to his eyes the very pinnacle of Elven achievement. The halls of his people were as troll caves compared to this.
 
Upon approaching the king’s palace, he halted, struck dumb at the sight of the glorious fountain with its waters like music and two trees of silver and gold on each side of the portico. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep for the glory of a world long past, but a shove brought him out of his musings and he walked on, committing the sights and sounds to memory, as precious stones laid within a velvet box.
 
The king’s hall was no less impressive, appearing to have been carved from a mountain of pure white marble with no visible seam between the stones. The ceiling soared high overhead. Upon it were many frescoes of Aman. There were the Two Trees, the high mountain of Taniquetil, the harbor at Alqualondë where swan ships plied a sea so true to life Legolas was certain he felt the movement of the waves. The floor was grey-veined marble seamed with gold. Two massive pillars, carved in representations of Ulmo and Ossë, stood on either side of the King’s gold and white throne.

Legolas turned around and around taking it all in while a messenger was sent to inform the king of his arrival. At length Turgon appeared, dressed all in white, his raiment belted in gold. He was the tallest man Legolas had ever seen and carried himself with a regal air. His dark hair tumbled over his broad shoulders, held back from his face by a crown of garnet. In his hand he carried a long staff of ivory capped by a garnet encased in gold filigree. His bearing was imperious, yet not stern, and Legolas could see the curiosity mingled with concern on his fair face.
 
“I see our city is neither as well hidden nor as well guarded as I supposed,” he said with a pointed look at the guard. Then to Legolas, “How come you hither?”
 
Legolas made to bow before speaking but was rudely forced to his knees by the guard. Turgon frowned. “Come, it is not as dire as that,” he admonished the guard. “Rise, and let us speak together as men,” he said to Legolas.
 
Legolas rose with equanimity, having been on the other end of such antics in his youth when strangers were brought before Thranduil, and was as quickly chastened by his king.
 
“I’m sorry to have caused your people alarm, oh High King. My settlement within the forests of Mithrim was beset by the minions of Morgoth and I was the only one to escape. Since then I have been traveling in search of Doriath, but I lost my way and came to the mountains, where I sought a pass that I might cut through and perhaps find kindred upon the other side. Little could I have hoped to find this fair and fabled land.”
 
Turgon looked skeptical. “Our kingdom is well guarded with enchantment. You should have wandered long and still not have passed through the mountains. Your dress and manner are like that of the Sindar, yet your speech carries the lilt of the Laegrim.” He turned to the guard. “Let me see his weapons.”
 
The guard handed over the knife and Turgon inspected it closely. “No sword, and this is crudely forged, the runes upon it strangely wrought. You carry a quiver but no arrows or bow. Perhaps you are escaped from some evil fate, but there is yet a mystery here.”
 
As he spoke, a group of men came into the hall and Legolas’ heart leapt into his throat to see that one of them was Glorfindel. His golden hair he wore in one long, thick braid that swung jauntily between his powerful shoulders. His face, exceedingly fair and youthful, was lit by arresting sea-blue eyes that radiated his familiar spirited charm. He wore a white tunic of the type he still favored, broidered with gold celandines upon the hem, sleeves, and neck. Legolas’ attention was so caught by him that he didn’t notice the king was still speaking.
 
“If you cannot answer for yourself you must remain prisoner until a proper answer is forthcoming.”
 
“Forgive me, High King,” he said quickly, snapping out of his trance. “I seem to have missed the question.”
 
The group of men stopped and bowed low. Turgon acknowledged them with a nod and indicated Legolas. “What say you in regard to this mysterious Elf who has breached our lands when so many have failed or fallen captive to the pits of Angband?”
 
Now Legolas looked upon the others for the first time. One he took to be Ecthelion for the crystals upon his tunic and belt, the other could only be Galdor, for the striking green leafed tree he bore upon the breast of his tunic and for the heavy cudgel he wore at his side.
 
“An odd specimen to be sure,” Ecthelion sniffed. “The whole of the city seems to have heard of this… evasion of our defenses, which is why we have come. How did he avoid our wards and make it onto Tumladen without being seen by our patrols?” He looked to Legolas for a response.
 
“I cannot speak to that,” Legolas said with a shrug.
 
“Bah, that’s his only answer,” grumbled one of the guards. “It is not possible.”
 
“His eyes are too clear, his bearing too straight to have been a thrall,” said Glorfindel. “As such, perhaps we are not dealing with a spy. Still, there may be some purpose to his wandering we have not guessed. Perhaps he is a pet of the enemy. Fed on dainties to fortify him and then sent as a scout.”
 
Legolas’ eyes grew wide. A vehement denial rose to his lips but before he could utter it, Galdor spoke.
 
“Nonsense. He looks all right to me. Strong of limb and heart to have escaped such a dark fate. He is obviously of the forest folk, you can see it in his dress. And the braids he wears are for hunting, not fighting. I have several of the Grey-elves among my folk. If the king will allow it, I will take him on as part of my house and train him up with my men. I will be responsible should he turn out to be other than an innocent that has strayed by happy chance herein.”
 
Legolas was beginning to feel like a sheep on the market block in Lake Town, but whether he was to be shorn for his wool or slaughtered for his meat seemed to be the question at hand.
 
The king looked him over thoughtfully. “Very well, Galdor. I will accept your sponsorship of this mysterious young Elf. But I insist he show you the way in which he entered our lands. Take him to the mountains tomorrow, for if this pass he found exists I would know of it.” To Legolas he said, “You have reached the sanctuary you sought. You may live here in peace as long as you may. As this realm is hidden for the safety of our people, you must never travel to the mountains without escort, under pain of death. Is this arrangement agreeable to you?”
 
“It is, High King. Thank you for your forbearance.” Legolas executed a proper, courtly bow. He caught amused smiles on the faces of Glorfindel and Ecthelion.
 
“As noble as a prince,” he heard Glorfindel mutter under his breath and Ecthelion nodded, a wide grin showing his perfect white teeth.
 
Galdor gave them a sharp look, clearly displeased with their lack of manners. “Come with me,” he said to Legolas. “I will see you well bestowed.”
 
He fell in at Galdor’s side as he strode from the palace, wishing as they left that he had time to study the magnificent trees and listen to the crystal fountains and birdsong.
 
“Thank you for speaking up for me, my lord. It was most kind of you.”
 
“Silly to keep a man locked up when he may be of use.” Galdor gave him a sidelong glance. “I recognize a noble heart when I see one. Whatever your story may be, you are not an enemy, though what you are is harder to see.”
 
“You are wise, my lord. I shall strive to be worthy of your faith in me.”
 
“You had better,” he said shortly. “My life depends on it.”

The tower of Galdor’s great house was tall and white, like all the other Great Houses in the city. Inside its gates the courtyard was bordered by tall poplar trees. The white marble flagstones were veined in green and red, laid out in a decorative geometric pattern. The great hall was of white marble also, with mosaics of trees wrought in mica and jasper upon the walls and a large tree of topaz and jade inlay upon the floor. Along one wall a cascade of water over mountain rock tumbled into a mossy pool where turtles and fish swam, and this fountain was surrounded by ferns and other forest greenery.

Galdor hailed a servant who hurried over. He pointed at Legolas. “Limhir, this is a new addition to the city. His name is…”
 
“Legolas Greenleaf, of the forests of Mithrim.”
 
“Happy to make your acquaintance.” Limhir held out his hand and Legolas gripped his forearm in a warrior’s greeting then awkwardly changed it to a simple handshake, cursing himself for the error. If Galdor noticed he did not call attention to it.

“Take him to the kitchens and show him his duties, then find him a place to sleep.” He raised an amused eyebrow at Legolas’ stunned look. “What? You didn’t expect to start at the top did you?”
 
“No, not at all.” Legolas recovered quickly. “Thank you, my lord.”
 
Limhir led him through a series of halls and rooms such that Legolas thought he might become lost for weeks in this building before anyone even noticed his absence. He pictured his skeleton being found in some lavishly appointed corner of the palace without ever having found the kitchens again once he left them.
 
“How did you get into the hidden city?” the servant asked him.
 
That seemed to be the only topic the people here were interested in.
 
“It’s a long story,” he said, suppressing a sigh.
 
“Whatever path brought you here it was the right one. Things will be better for you now. This city is the safest in Arda.”
 
Legolas’ thoughts turned again to the battle he had left to be here and his heart clenched in grief, but this time he felt the grief of the time before him as well as the time behind. “Yes, I’m very lucky.” He was grateful his voice did not break.
 
When they reached the kitchens Limhir turned him over to the chief cook, who put him to scullery work while he and the kitchen staff tended to the cooking and baking. The work made Legolas appreciate the staff in the Greenwood more than ever. He had given little thought in the past for the time consuming and difficult task it was to serve meals to so many. He was rewarded for his labors with a bowl of fine stew made for the staff and a chunk of bread fresh from the oven.  
 
When he was shown to the sleep chamber he found it to be a sort of dormitory with four to a room, though it was spacious and the bed quite comfortable when he sat upon it and gave it cursory bounce. The others were eager to hear his tale and so he told them his made up story. But this time he got a much better reception as they all clapped him on the back and assured him he need fear the enemy no more. When he at last tumbled into bed he was so exhausted no dreams troubled him until a messenger shook him awake the next morning.
 
“Lord Galdor sends for you,” the messenger said urgently.
 
It took Legolas a moment to remember where he was and another to remember the king’s admonition of the day before. He would be taking a trip to the mountains today.
 
The messenger left a new set of clothing for him, a tunic like the other servants wore, brown with a green tree on the front, and a pair of forest green pants. The ensemble was supple and much to his liking, though he did not care for the light shoes and so wore his sturdy boots instead.
 
Galdor greeted him cheerily enough. He seemed to think that his charge would be weary or apprehensive about the day’s activities but Legolas greeted him with equal cheer. They set out at once, accompanied by three other guards sporting clubs and slings at their side. When they reached the base of the Amon Gwareth, horses were waiting for them and they rode across the vast expanse of green with a sunny blue sky above.

Legolas led them to the place he had entered the city. The tunnel would speak for itself, he thought. He only hoped Ulmo had a plan to keep them from ending up on the dusty plain of Mordor should they decide to explore it to its end. As it turned out he needn’t have worried, the tunnel simply wasn’t there anymore. He searched among the rocks and boulders but he was too unerring in his skills to not recognize the place.
 
“There is no pass through here,” Galdor said as he and the others searched around. “I know you did not simply pop out of a hole in the ground.”
 
“I must have lost my bearings. I’m sure it was right around here.” He pretended to search with the others, at a loss of what else to do.
 
They spent another hour traversing the steep mountainside before giving up. “I know I crossed over jagged peaks and narrow pathways,” Legolas said, “before coming downward into the valley.”
 
“You speak of the Cirith Thoronath? That is a dangerous path indeed, for it is guarded by the Great Eagles. You are lucky to have made it through there without injury or death. It is east of here.”
 
“That must be the answer,” Legolas said, relieved. “I was mistaken in my directions, I fear.”
 
“It’s a wonder you didn’t climb the mountains of Angband with a sense of direction like that. If Glorfindel suspects you of being a scout it is he who is mistaken,” Galdor said. “Very well then, that should settle things with the king. I will make my report to him when we get back.”
 
As they spoke, a snake came slithering from the stones above. Morgoth sent such creatures as spies, and the Elves always made short work of them when they could. One of the guards sent a stone from his sling flying at the creature but it missed, chipping the rock next to its head. He loaded another stone but Galdor stayed him.

“Let Legolas try.”
 
Legolas had hunted with a sling in his youth before he was old enough to wield a bow and had never missed a shot. Nor did he now. He sent the stone flying straight into the retreating snake’s head, killing it instantly. The others murmured their approval.
 
“You have some skill with the weapon. Definitely of the Green-elves.” Galdor sounded gratified.
 
“I have had much practice, I admit. Not so much with your heavy clubs though.”
 
Galdor nodded. “I’ll note that for the future.”
 
When they returned to the city, Galdor and Legolas went again to the king’s palace where Galdor made his report. Turgon wasn’t entirely convinced but he did agree to remove any restrictions from Legolas at some point in the future, provided he proved worthy.
 
As they prepared to leave, Turgon stayed them. “One moment, I would like you to meet those whom I see have just arrived. This is Tuor, Lord of the House of the Wing, and Lady Idril, my most lovely and wise daughter.”
 
Legolas perked up and bowed, interested to meet Elrond’s kin. “Pleased to meet you Lord Tuor, and you as well Lady Idril.” He could see in Tuor the fair twinkle of Elrond’s eyes while the shape of his nose was almost a match for that of Idril.
 
“So this is the Green-elf that has the whole city astir,” Tuor said, his voice booming across the marble expanse of the hall. “I too endured many trials to find my way here, though I had some divine and Elvish assistance.” He was tall and broad, with arms and legs as thick as young saplings. His loose blond hair framed a guileless face while his brilliant blue eyes were filled with the eagerness of Men, who knew much but often saw little. His friendly grin was infectious, however, and Legolas flashed him a ready smile of his own.
 
“Our stories are both unconventional it seems. I hope the same providence that you received might in some way have guided me here as well.”
 
“Time will reveal all, I suppose. Well, wife, what is your feeling about this one?”
 
Idril was much more reserved than her husband, with the grace and beauty of Elvish nobility. Her golden hair was pulled back from her face and her grey eyes held much serene wisdom. Legolas remembered that she was supposed to have been able to see into the hearts of Elves and Men. His whole future might rest on her appraisal. He resisted the urge to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers.
 
She did not bother with an overall perusal but looked him straight in the eye as she spoke. “Auspicious is the name Greenleaf for this one, for he is as a breath of spring upon frozen ground and from him shall bloom hope after the bitterness of evil times.”
 
The room went so silent Legolas could hear the beat of his own heart. Everyone stared at him as though he had sprouted a horn from his forehead. When Turgon broke the silence the king looked visibly relieved. “Fair words, my daughter. I consider the matter settled then. Galdor, he’s all yours.”
 
Dismissed, Galdor and Legolas departed the halls, Galdor in better humor than Legolas had yet seen. “It seems you have passed the test, my young friend. You are blessed by the Valar indeed.”

They returned to Galdor’s halls where Legolas promptly got lost on his way to the kitchens. Fortunately, he was discovered by a maid who gave him directions with a coquettish smile. Legolas thanked her and returned to the scullery.
 
For many weeks he spent his days cleaning and polishing and making up fires in the kitchens. After the meals were served to the nobles, the kitchen staff had their repast around a long table. Their conversation mostly centered on palace gossip and the mundane details of their lives. Legolas was most keen on the contrast between their talk and that of the court as he was used to. It was a refreshing change and he found himself caught up in their daily struggles and small triumphs.

After the day’s work was over, he would wander the streets and empty markets or visit the the Square of the King to listen to the fountains. The gold and silver trees especially fascinated him. Once he had attempted a closer look at the glowing golden blossoms of Glingal and was immediately stopped by a guard.
 
“Do not touch the trees.”
 
“Come, she and I are kin,” Legolas joked, indicating the emblem on his tunic.
 
The guard chuckled. “That may be, but you two are not familiar enough for such niceties.”
 
“Only a closer look then? She may take a liking to me.”
 
The guard shook his head at such foolishness and waved him on. Legolas stepped closer, studying the golden blossoms with dazzled eyes. They looked like tiny sunrays, giving off radiance along with a perfume that seemed to encompass all the warmth, scent, and feel of summer itself. Belthil was equally beautiful, but her silver blossoms and scent were the cool promise of a cloudless spring night with many stars. He committed the sight and smells to memory knowing they would cheer him through difficulties whenever he revisited them in dream or reverie.
 
One evening as he lingered in the square, he saw Glorfindel arrive. It seemed there was to be a fête of some sort within, for several of the Lords and Ladies had already swept through the door in their finery. Legolas stood beneath one of the trees that edged the square, all but invisible due to the lights outside the palace and the camouflage of his clothing.

Just like every time he saw Glorfindel, Legolas’ heart fluttered with longing. How he ached to walk up and speak with him. Yet he could not. He was dressed in the simple livery of a servant and this was obviously a formal affair. Glorfindel looked stunning, every inch an Elven Lord. The blue silk of his tunic was studded with the celandines of his house, twinkling like stars in a midnight sky. His resplendent golden hair was fashioned in two braids that were twisted together with shining gold and silver ribbons. Legolas imagined tugging those ribbons loose and letting that hair flow through his hands like sunlight.

Just before Glorfindel reached the door, Ecthelion strode out and greeted him. “I didn’t know if you would be attending tonight,” he said in a low voice.
 
“Yes, well, I could hardly avoid it since it is a celebration of Idril’s anniversary.”
 
“It is gracious of you to come, considering how you dislike all this pomp and formality.”
 
“It’s only an evening,” he laughed. “I’m not that much of a shrinking violet.”
 
Ecthelion chuckled. “I myself am driven by curiosity this eve. Galdor seems so enamoured of his new toy I thought perhaps he might drag him along tonight to introduce him around the court.”
 
“He does seem quite taken with the lad. But why not? He’s pretty enough and doesn’t fawn or grovel. Or perhaps you have a different sort of curiosity.”
 
Ecthelion shuffled his feet and looked down for a moment. “What if I do? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it yourself. Fresh blood and all that.”
 
Glorfindel shook his head. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t cross Galdor in this. It’s not worth it.”
 
A fanfare of music drifted out the door and the two moved inside. Legolas turned away from the square and set his feet back toward Galdor’s house. Could they have been talking about him? Did they think Galdor…? The thought angered him should it be so. Galdor had shown him no special favor, though perhaps the gossip said otherwise. And if Ecthelion was interested in him, well, that was a most emphatic no.

By the time he reached the house he had calmed down a bit. It stung him to possibly be the subject of court gossip, but he supposed even Tuor had been the topic of much tongue wagging upon his arrival. It could not be otherwise in a society so insular. It was one of the reasons his father encouraged interaction and trade with the Men of Lake Town. Still, the thought that Galdor or Ecthelion might have designs on him while Glorfindel remained disinterested was the most painful wound.

When he turned in that night he lay staring at the ceiling for a bit, wanting to ask the advice of the others but trying to decide how to formulate his question. Finally, he said, “Has anyone heard scandalous talk aimed at or concerning me? I would not wish to repay my master’s kindness with any dishonor to his reputation.”

The others hastened to assure him it was not so. “Certainly your presence has generated interest and questions, but no one thinks ill of our master, or you,” said Ereglos kindly.

“It is not good to linger often within the square,” Dalfarion said, sounding cross. “Court gossip is none of our concern and can lead to ill feelings. Stick to the markets and public spaces.”

This seemed to put an end to the discussion and the others settled in without another word. Legolas decided he shouldn’t have spoken up. There was much he had to learn about the structure of the classes here. These people did not need to get caught up in palace and court matters. A careless slip of the tongue could cost them dearly. There were few Sindar of high rank within the city, which put the reputations of the ones of lower stature in a more precarious position. He chastised himself for his error.

The next day brought another unwanted surprise when Legolas was ordered to report to Galdor immediately. The others pretended not to know or see him when he was called away. This was bad. First he had eavesdropped on a conversation between his betters and now came an order to report to his lord. He must have been noted. It was foolish to think he had escaped the eyes of the palace guard. His heart was in his throat when came into the hall.

Galdor greeted him with a jubilant air and a wide grin, which faded when he saw his demeanor. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a Balrog.”

“Nothing, my lord. I feared bad news when you called for me.”

“Why?”

“To tell the truth, I thought you had forgotten about me so when I received the message to present myself I thought I might be in trouble.”

Galdor laughed and clapped him on the back. “Quite the opposite, I assure you. I have been told your performance has been exemplary. Never a complaint, and doing the most unpleasant work. As such, I am promoting you to the armory.”

Legolas wasn’t sure this turn was to his liking. Despite the general grunginess of the scullery, he found he enjoyed the company of his fellows there. Yet he couldn’t remain hiding in the kitchens forever. He had a mission, despite knowing little about his part in it. He had to let events play out and hope, as Ulmo had promised, he would know when he had succeeded.

“That is most kind of you, my lord,” he said.

“Perhaps I have not made it clear, and for that ask your pardon, but I intend to move you up to my guard one day.

Legolas felt his stomach flip with nerves. “Indeed, my lord?” he said uncertainly.

“I am not a fool, Legolas. I know you are more than merely a Nandor living in some rustic forest settlement. You are, or once were, a warrior. I don’t know who you served, Thingol perhaps or Finrod, but I would be a fool if I didn’t take advantage of your skills. I cannot simply make you a guard, for that would raise too many eyebrows, but I can have you work your way up and test your mettle and loyalty at the same time.”

Legolas knew he was caught. He looked Galdor in the eye. “I’ll not dishonor you or myself by denying it, but neither do I wish to say more about my experiences. It is difficult to ask for trust without reciprocation so I will not do so with words. Instead I offer my actions and hard work as proof of my intent.”

“We have all been through more than we bargained for when we left Aman. I will not press you. If you have lost your stomach for war, I will not even ask you to fight should war ever find us. Yet I would like to work you into the patrols in the mountains. If you were able to find your way here you may prove quite useful in navigating the terrain in those high places, which can be as arduous as they are treacherous, and your hunting skills will be useful against the creatures of Morgoth who seek ever to find and report our location to their dark master.”

“That is something I would enjoy very much. I have no great stomach for conflict, but will, whenever I may, combat the forces of Morgoth who have marred our fair lands for too long. It will be a privilege to fight for your house should the need arise. I owe you much for your kindness, but also I believe honorable leaders deserve the loyalty of their men.”

Galdor’s eyes glistened. He covered the emotion with a gruff clearing of his throat. “I knew I was right about you from the first moment I saw you standing boldly before the king. I look forward to seeing you thrive here. Now go tell the kitchen staff you will be leaving and report to the armory. You will bunk in the barracks there.”

“Yes, my lord.” Legolas hurried off, relieved to have surmounted another obstacle in his quest to fulfill Ulmo’s command, and excited for the elevation in rank that might make a meeting with Glorfindel at least possible at some point. He also took satisfaction from the fact that Ecthelion's assessment of Galdor was dead wrong, arrogant Noldo that he was.

He said his goodbyes, offering Aerant his hopes that her vegetable garden suffered no more ravages from the cutworms plaguing it, and congratulating Gaerion on his son’s new apprenticeship with the house scribes. They all wished him well in return, even those in his dormitory who had abandoned him to his fate earlier. Legolas understood and bore them no ill will. They were good people, comfortable, or at least accepting, of their station in life and fearful to challenge the status quo lest they lose what they had achieved.

When he reported to the armory he found another change of livery awaiting him. This time the tunic was the pale green of newly budded foliage, the tree on the front was cunningly wrought with silver thread and the pants were the color of bronze.

He was introduced to the Armorer and was put to work polishing and oiling the armor of the house guard. The work was harder than that of the kitchens and with the ringing of metal and heat of the forges it was louder and hotter. There were twenty workers in the armory that cared for and kept inventory of all the weapons within. Unlike the kitchens, where the staff was comfortable with their roles, here the object was to become a knight and so, though there was camaraderie and laughter here, there was also the undercurrent of tension competition always engendered. Legolas would have hardly considered the armory a promotion except that it marked a rise from a lesser to a higher station.

The days in the armory started later and ended earlier, so Legolas had more time to explore the city. Now the markets were open when he strolled through them, and he had coin to eat at a restaurant or visit a pub on occasion. His clothing, marking him as part of the military branch of his house, earned him a modicum of respect, though he remained a focus of curiosity to many.

One day as he was wandering the Great Market looking for a book or two to settle in with in the evenings, he saw Glorfindel at the next stall over trying on a pair of gloves. He wanted desperately to make his acquaintance but it would be unseemly for him to make the first move. He lingered before the book stall, unable to focus on the titles and casting occasional surreptitious glances in his direction.

“Are you planning on buying that or reading it right here?” the bookseller snapped, startling him.

Legolas dropped the book he had been pretending to read and, at the seller’s angry cry, snatched it up and fumbled for his purse to pay.

Suddenly Glorfindel was beside him with an amused smile and Legolas felt heat rise to his face. “You seem to cause a disturbance wherever you go, young Sinda. Can you not at least comport yourself with a bit of decorum in public?”

“Apparently not, though I also seem to be the cause of so much scrutiny perhaps my errors are merely magnified,” Legolas said when he found his tongue.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows shot up at his impudence. “To a person with nothing to hide, scrutiny is not a cause for concern I should think.”

Legolas averted his eyes and rebuked himself for his insolent remark. He was disappointed with both himself and Glorfindel. This was not the man he knew and loved. His inability to accept things as they were might be putting the fate of Arda in danger. Why had Ulmo chosen him to set things right? It seemed supremely unfair just now.

“Forgive me, Lord Glorfindel,” he said deferentially. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Not so fast,” Glorfindel said. “Galdor thinks highly of you and you seem to have proven your worth. From the kitchens to the armory in record time I have heard.”

Legolas’ shoulders sagged in defeat, yet his look remained defiant. “Lord Galdor has been good to me, but I like to think I have earned his favor, whatever the wagging tongues of Gondolin might say.”

“I’m sure you have,” Glorfindel said with a suggestive grin that sparked Legolas to anger.

“If you were not a Lord I would make challenge for that remark, but then if your manners befit one of your title you would not have said it!” He started to stalk off but Glorfindel grabbed his arm and spun him around.

“The favor of your master has made you too bold,” he began heatedly, but then his grip loosened and his face took on an apologetic aspect, “yet your words strike true. Galdor is a good man and a great Lord and so it is I who must ask your pardon for my boorish inference.”

“I don’t understand what I have done to merit the scorn of Lords such as yourself and Ecthelion, but it is unwarranted. I am neither a threat nor an upstart.”

Glorfindel sighed. “You are worse than either of those. You are new. You are not easy to categorize, and that can be a threat to those who have become complacent, knowing complacency could well be their doom.”

Legolas self-consciously fingered the spine of the book he held, uncertain how to respond. Perhaps the Noldor were more concerned with one's station and background in this Age. He had to remind himself it wouldn’t always be so.

“Then Gondolin is nothing but a pretty prison, a place were gossip and frivolity have replaced passion and progress,” he said at last.

“Fine words coming from a forest dweller who never battled a threat greater than a bear,” Glorfindel said, offended. “Your people have largely given up the fight while the Noldor remain ever at the ready. The enemy does not realize the strength of Gondolin and our twelve Great Houses. Our armies are in constant training, our patrols prevent spies, even from common beasts, our secrecy is ensured by wards and enchantments and constant vigilance. The city is strategically and cunningly built and positioned. Even if enemies could cross the mountains they could not easily retreat and would be cut down if they tried. This place is impregnable, and so peaceful our knowledge and power increase unabated. What we have accomplished here rivals, nay surpasses, anything you would see in Aman!”

Glorfindel’s speech was becoming so fervent that people were starting to gather to listen. Legolas glanced around, increasingly uncomfortable as the crowd grew. When Glorfindel realized the sensation he was causing, he stopped. He and Legolas stared at each other in silence until the press of people, seeing no more proclamations were forthcoming, again drifted off to their shopping.

“Good thing I’m not a spy,” Legolas said drolly, his eyes twinkling at the absurdity of this conversation.

Glorfindel let out burst of laughter so sudden and hearty it made heads turn toward them again. “There is something disarming about you, I confess it.” he said. “I can see why Galdor took you on.” A look of confusion crossed his face, and the smile he gave to cover it was enigmatic. “I regret not speaking up on your behalf that day at the palace.”

“It is no great matter,” Legolas said. An odd feeling came over him then, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. He had never felt its like before. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Glorfindel hesitated as if there was something else he wanted to say but didn’t know how. At last he said, “Well then, enjoy your fish book.”

Legolas looked down to see the book he held was titled Raising Spell Resistant Trout For Fun and Profit. He groaned inwardly. He had been hoping for some pleasant reading before bed. When he raised his eyes Glorfindel was gone. He couldn’t seem to catch a break, but the Lord of the Golden Flower had finally acknowledged him. He had to consider that good fortune at least.

His fortune was short lived, however. Galdor was in the armory waiting for him upon his return, and his look was stormy. “Are you trying to bring disrepute upon my house or are you completely unable to function outside a forest? It has been reported to me that Lord Glorfindel was forced to give you a public dressing down in the Great Market today.”

“It wasn’t like that, Lord Galdor, I…”

“Then explain yourself.”

Galdor stood with his arms crossed, glowering angrily. Legolas understood that he had become as complacent in his Lord’s favor as the city had become in its concealment. Though he had done nothing wrong, he was only a servant and so the fault fell upon him. He should not have allowed Glorfindel’s provocation to best him.

He hung his head. “I cannot, my lord. I apologize for my conduct and assure you it will not be repeated.”

Galdor’s tone softened, but only a little. “I am disappointed in you, Legolas. You are confined to this house for a week.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you,” he said softly. Though he knew it pained Galdor to have to punish him, it pained him more that he must forgo his daily walks around the city. First the King’s Square had been spoiled for him, now it seemed the Great Market was off limits as well.

He fell into bed that night and halfheartedly flipped through his book on trout. “So that’s how Ada does it,” he thought, wondering if the fish in Mirkwood’s enchanted river were of Gondolin stock.

The next week passed slowly. Since all Legolas could do was work and sleep that is what he did. After the day was over and everyone else had left, he would make sure the armory was clean and tidy, with every tool and weapon in its place, before going back to his room. On the fourth day, one of the knights came in as he was finishing up and asked him to pound out a dent in his helm and polish it for a tournament on the morrow. He was almost as tall as Galdor, with thick dark hair and stern looking grey eyes that did not match his good-humored smile.

“I didn’t know there was a tournament tomorrow,” Legolas said as he pounded away. “Where is it to be held?”

“At the House of the Heavenly Arch. They have a big practice field for their archers and have made it available to all for training and tournaments. There is one every few months.”

Legolas remembered some of the others mentioning the upcoming event with a great deal of enthusiasm but had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t paid it much attention.

“You should come,” the knight said. “It is quite a spectacle.”

He gave the man a wan smile. “I would love to, but I’m under house arrest I’m afraid.”

“Whatever for?”

“Does the name Legolas mean anything to you?” He glanced at the knight as he put the helm between his knees and began to buff a shine into it.

Recognition flashed across the knight’s handsome face but he tried to play it off like he wasn’t sure. Legolas laughed at his expression. “It’s all right.” He handed him back his helmet. “Much luck to you though. Try not to get another dent.”

The knight looked the work over with an appreciative eye. “Well done, Legolas. It is like new.”

“Thanks, but not quite. I still have much to learn.”

The knight lingered a moment more, looking at him thoughtfully, then he thanked him and took his leave.

That evening, Legolas was enjoying a nice long soak in the tub before heading to his room when the knight burst in, flushed with excitement. He flushed deeper when he saw Legolas was in the tub and turned away quickly. “Oh, excuse me.”

“What can I do for you?” Legolas asked. The man’s modesty amused him. He got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“I just wanted to let you know I have spoken to Galdor.” He glanced over his shoulder and seeing it was safe turned around. “I hope you don’t mind. I convinced him you should come to the tournament. You are to be my second tomorrow.”

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. The others would kill for an opportunity like this. Then he thought of the talk that would follow and his excitement was momentarily dampened. The look on the knight’s face was full of pride in himself for helping him mingled with the hope that Legolas would accept.

‘If they are determined to talk, let them,’ Legolas thought. ‘If I can’t stop it I might as well enjoy the looks on their faces.’ To the knight he smiled and said, “You do me great honor… Forgive me, I never asked you your name.”

“It’s Erestor,” the knight said with a happy grin. “Be ready at dawn.”

“I will, and thank you, Erestor. It will be a privilege to serve you.”

The next morning saw Legolas ready to go long before Erestor called for him, having slept little in his excitement. He transported Erestor’s weapons and armor on a small cart that he pulled along as they walked to the House of the Heavenly Arch, along with a throng of people all animated and chattering together about the promise of the day. Someone even teased Erestor about the blow he had taken to his helm during practice a few days prior, asking if his ears were still ringing.

“What did you say?” he asked, a roguish glint in his stern grey eyes. “I can’t hear you over this ringing in my ears.”

The crowd, along with Legolas, burst into laughter and a few even cheered. Legolas found Erestor’s geniality a welcome balm to his spirit. Everyone seemed to be in a merry mood as they made their way en masse to the House of the Heavenly Arch.

The Heavenly Arch looked much like all the other Great Houses in Gondolin, save for the rainbow of precious gems set into its gates and glittering upon the pillars of the courtyard. It’s tower rose, opalescent, into the pale blue spring sky, its pennants flapping in the stiff, chill wind that heralded a pleasantly cool day ahead.

Erestor led the way to a wide promenade trimmed with multitudes of flowers that ran between the house and gardens. Three fountains in three separate garden areas, ringed by neatly manicured shrubbery and topiaries, sent their crystal waters high into the air creating small rainbows as the morning sun shown through the spray. Past the gardens the path split, with the crowd of spectators going one way while Erestor, Legolas, and the knights took the other. They passed under a marble archway and into the house armory. It was much bigger than the one at the Tree, and many workers scurried about finishing up small tasks so they could watch the tournament.

Beyond the armory was a field almost four hundred feet long and over two hundred feet wide with pavilions set up along one side of the perimeter sporting the colors of each house. On the other side of the field spectators were being entertained by singers, acrobats, fire eaters, and a host of other performers prior to the beginning of the competitions. The air was festive, and as the knights arrived sporadic cheers went up from their admirers. Erestor received an enthusiastic ovation, and he smiled and waved in acknowledgement before he and Legolas entered the pavilion.

While Legolas saw to Erestor’s weapons and armor, the knight gathered with his fellows to greet each other and discuss the day’s strategy. Sometimes the lords of the houses participated in shows of skill and strength but they did not compete, instead taking pride in the skill of their men.

While he worked and listened, a fellow Armorer’s Assistant from the Tree greeted him. “Mae govannen, Legolas! I did not expect to see you here.”

“Mae govannen, Orthul. Nor did I expect to be. Erestor championed me and got me an early release.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, I heard that it was but a misunderstanding. You have fared well, however. Erestor is one of our best.”

“I am most grateful to him and look forward to seeing him in the tournament today. This is my first time to attend an event of this grandeur.”

“Oh, then you probably don’t know how it works.”

“No, this is all new to me.”

So Orthul launched into an explanation of the day’s events. The competitions comprised target shooting, a round robin hand to hand combat session, and an endurance test. The endurance section consisted of a kind of obstacle course where the contestants would target shoot as they ran, climb a series of increasingly higher walls and hurl axes at orc effigies, which were made moving targets by a system of ropes and pulleys, then run a gauntlet of twelve soldiers, one from each house.

The contestant must best each opponent along the gauntlet before moving on to the next until reaching the end of the course, if he was able. The endurance test was timed and the winner determined by the speed and accuracy of each skill demonstrated. The final winner, based on points and time for each event, was awarded a sash that marked him champion until the next competition. All contestants had to show proficiency in the bow and axe but could fight the combat rounds with a weapon of choice.

Legolas took this all in with amazement. He had attended shooting and combat matches in Imladris, but never anything as elaborate and difficult as this. His excitement grew as the contestants began gathering their bows and quivers for the first round, which was the target shooting.

He stood beside Erestor, watching a knight of the Heavenly Arch take his stance and draw. Legolas felt a streak of envy for his intricately crafted longbow, set with emeralds and opal, with its red fletched arrows. The distance was the entire length of the field but he hit the target with ease, just off the center mark, to a round of wild applause. When it was Erestor’s turn, Legolas handed him his bow and quiver. He had inspected every arrow beforehand to make sure it would fly true and had adjusted the bowstring to make sure it was perfectly aligned and that the pull had the correct tension for the distance.

“You are a good second, but that will not help Erestor. Archery is not his strength,” Orthul said.

Legolas just smiled. Elrond had once told him that his Loremaster had been considered an excellent bowman in his day, though that had been a very long time ago.

Erestor took his stance and when he nocked the arrow and pulled it back, a look of surprise and delight stole over his face. He let the missile fly and it hit the target with a satisfying thunk, dead center. His fans in the crowd leapt to their feet and shouted with joy and surprise at Erestor’s amazing shot. Even the folk of the House of the Arch applauded, if a bit more sedately, to see such a display.

Orthul raised an eyebrow at Legolas as Erestor came back and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, lad. That’s perhaps the best shooting I’ve ever done.”

“The best!” Orthul mouthed behind Erestor’s back. He gave Legolas a thumbs up.

Erestor turned to him and was met with an innocent grin. “Don’t you have a knight to see to? He’s up soon, I believe.”

“Yes, my lord.” Orthul rolled his eyes as Erestor turned away, then winked at Legolas and scampered off.

After the rounds were over, and Erestor was declared the winner of the event, the contestants took a break as the entertainers and food vendors began to move among the spectators. Erestor and Legolas were chatting about the upcoming combat round when Glorfindel and Galdor made their way over. Legolas was not surprised Glorfindel was there but was surprised to see him with Galdor. It made him a bit apprehensive. He was determined to hold his tongue should Glorfindel choose to bait him again.

Galdor greeted Erestor with an exuberant smile. “Well done, Erestor! Your performance was superb.”

“Thank you, my lord, but it is all due to Legolas. If he magics my other weapons I might even win today.”

Galdor chuckled and said to Glorfindel, “Our Legolas has many talents. One of which is getting out of trouble almost as fast as he gets in.”

Glorfindel gave Legolas a nod of acknowledgement along with a rueful look. “Trouble for which I must ask your pardon,” Glorfindel said to Legolas. “The fault was mine that day in the market, not yours. Had I known, I would have spoken to Galdor at once.”

“My words that day were hastily spoken and my resulting punishment just, Lord Glorfindel,” Legolas said. “Though I very much appreciate the courtesy of your apology.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Glorfindel said sincerely.

The urge to grab Glorfindel and kiss him right there in front of Galdor and Erestor and the whole crowd of people was nearly overwhelming. He realized he had to get a grip on himself before he caused another, more scandalous, scene.

“Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. You are most kind.” Legolas felt the color rise to his face, the flush deepening into embarrassment at his inability to hide his sudden rush of emotion.

“Why, Legolas, you are blushing,” Erestor teased, making Legolas wish he had stayed at the armory.

“It’s only the heat,” Legolas said, trying to cover his chagrin. A chill breeze blew through the pavilions just then, flapping the pennants and making Legolas’ hair dance around his face. ‘Thanks a lot, Manwë,’ he thought, annoyed.

“Yes, well, perhaps we had better leave these two to prepare for the next round,” Galdor said diplomatically. “Good luck, Erestor.” He gave Legolas a small, knowing nod and he and Glorfindel moved on.

Erestor won his combat round handily. Legolas made mental notes on how he wielded his club, both offensively and defensively, using his considerable strength combined with elegant footwork. He used his sling in the endurance round, running the swift zigzag course while sending nearly each projectile solidly to its mark. Legolas could see he was tired before the combat gauntlet began, but Erestor was game. He defeated all but one of the soldiers, a real bruiser of a knight from the Hammer of Wrath, before succumbing to the man’s relentless attack, nearly earning another dent to his helm in the process. In the end, Erestor managed to win the day by a single point, his score in the archery section putting him over the top.

He accepted the golden sash to the cheering and whistling of the crowd while the house staff set up a feast for the warriors on the field in front of the row of pavilions.

It was a night of merriment and fellowship. Much food and wine was consumed, many stories were told and songs sung. Erestor sang the praises of Legolas and his forest magic to anyone who would listen, until he began to feel like some mythological figure from the beginning of the world. As the hour grew late, they made their way back to the Tree awash in tipsy cheer. Legolas fell happily into bed that night, thoughts of Glorfindel lulling him into a most pleasant sleep.

Legolas didn’t know what he expected to happen after Erestor’s triumph, but the days went back to normal, save for him resuming his walks around the city. He delighted in the wonders Gondolin had to offer, never growing bored. Being unused to large crowds, he enjoyed the bustle and activity of the markets as much as the tranquil gardens and groves. He watched the work of artisans take shape under skilled, assured hands, marveled at the intricate artworks displayed throughout the city, and enjoyed meals in small cafes considered simple fare by the Gondolindrim that yet was as a king’s feast to him.

Often on his daily wanderings he was accompanied by Orthul who had become a fast friend since the tournament. The younger Elf enjoyed presenting the favorite places of his beloved city to someone not jaded by its beauty. Legolas was glad for his company, deeming it safer to wander with a companion so as not to become entangled in any further misunderstandings.

Then one day, as he labored over a particularly frustrating bit of leather work in the armory, Erestor came in and greeted him. “Ah, Legolas! Still working your magic I see.”

Legolas smiled. “I may have met my match this time, but I am determined to persevere. How have you been?”

“Very well, indeed, thanks to you. The reason I have come is that there is to be a formal ceremony at the King’s Palace tomorrow and your attendance is requested.”

“Me? Why?”

“Galdor has asked for you and he wanted me to be the one to relay the message. You will be provided with formal attire and details soon.” His eyes sparkled with delight. “I think it will be much to your liking.”

“I look forward to it then,” Legolas said.

They wished each other farewell and Erestor left with a sprightly step, leaving Legolas to his unspoken misgivings. Was Galdor going to dress him up and parade him among the nobles as some sort of amusement, as Ecthelion had said, or was this to be some sort of reward for his attention to his duties?

A note from Galdor followed the next day telling him that he was to present himself to his lord’s spa to prepare for the fête. There he was scrubbed, perfumed, and manicured within an inch of his life by a host of attendants. His blond hair was brushed to a golden gleam and braided with ribbons of green and silver. He was dressed in an iridescent green silk shirt with a silver oak tree wrought upon the breast and russet pants of the softest, lightest wool he had ever encountered. It was perfectly tailored and when he was placed in front of a mirror he looked like a true prince of the realm. If only Thranduil could see him now, as splendid as the High Elves of old. He grinned at the thought.

Erestor let out a gasp when he saw him. “Legolas, you look stunning!” he blurted out. “Not that you didn’t before,” he added quickly, it’s just…” he trailed off.

Galdor smiled and shook his head. “What he’s trying to say is that you look like you belong, which you do. Now come on, let’s get going.”

When they entered the palace they encountered Rog, Egalmoth, Maeglin, and Tuor also arriving with their attendants and knights. Legolas was introduced to them and they introduced their knights to Galdor. It was then Legolas realized that the ceremony was to present the newly chosen knights who would be part of their houses’ men at arms.

Galdor, pleased at his astonishment, clapped him on the back so hard it nearly knocked the wind from him. “Yes, Legolas, your time has come, and well earned it has been.”

“My lord, this is a most unexpected but truly welcome honor.”

Erestor was beaming. “I look forward to the day you best me at the tournament.”

“That is a long mark to strike, but I look forward to the challenge. Just don’t expect it to happen soon,” he said with a broad grin. This was more than he had hoped for or had imagined would happen this quickly, despite Galdor’s plans.

“Go now and mingle with the knights and Lords of the other houses,” Galdor said. “You will be working closely with many of them from now on.”

So Legolas began to circulate around, chatting with the other knights who were as dashing as he in their formal house uniforms. He was having a lengthy talk with one of Egalmoth’s men about the bows used by the Heavenly Arch, when Glorfindel approached with two men of his house. He made the introductions, giving Legolas a lingering look before moving on.

Servants swept deftly through the room with drink and small refreshments as the guests chatted and mingled. Then a horn was sounded and an official ceremony began, where each new knight was presented formally to the king by the Lord of his house. Some of the houses had as many as ten new men, whereas others had only one or two. Legolas was the only new knight from the House of the Tree. He recited his oath of fealty to his house and king without hesitation or falter.

After the ceremony, music and dancing began. He stood on the sidelines sipping a glass of wine as he watched the dancers swirl in a colorful circle around the floor. The next thing he knew, Glorfindel was at his side. Damn, but the man was as silent as a cat.

“Congratulations, Legolas. Galdor has made a wise choice.”

Legolas paused before replying, waiting for the follow up remark about how quickly he had risen through the ranks. When it didn’t come, he said, “You think so?”

Glorfindel put a warm, friendly hand on his shoulder. “Indeed. You are a remarkable young man. Your acceptance has come slowly for one who has suffered the losses you have. I regret my part in that.”

Legolas felt a strange sense of portent he could not understand, like some unseen shift in Eä itself. He wondered if this was what Galadriel and Elrond felt during their moments of foresight, though this feeling carried no vision of either future or past. A profound grief of loss washed over him like a dark wave, but his greatest loss had been Glorfindel and he did not understand the feeling. The image of his death still lingered in a dark corner of his heart, yet Glorfindel stood before him, gloriously alive in the here and now. He swayed a bit, suddenly lightheaded. Glorfindel grabbed his arm to steady him.

“Are you all right?” Glorfindel frowned in concern.

“Yes, it must be the wine. It’s a bit stronger than what I’m used to.”

Glorfindel signaled a servant and put Legolas’ wine glass on the tray. “Will you bring us some tea? We have had enough wine tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Legolas insisted after the servant moved away. He grinned at Glorfindel’s skeptical look. “I promise not to create another scandal tonight.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for so long Legolas began to feel a familiar heat. Apparently Glorfindel felt the same for he said, “By the Powers you are beautiful. I am the one tempted to create a scandal by kissing you right now.”

Legolas laughed lightly but Glorfindel was not letting him off the hook so easily. “Don’t think I missed your expression at the tournament. I’d wager I am not the only one of us who is smitten.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Legolas said doubtfully, “Are you sure I’m not merely fresh blood?”

Glorfindel’s mouth dropped open and a mixture of surprise, anger, and guilt flashed across his face. “Damned Ecthelion and his cynicism,” he said tersely. “I swear to you it is not that! I… I…”

Just then the servant returned with their tea. Glorfindel looked away as he thanked him, his face glowing like a firebrand.

Legolas took pity on him. “Forgive me, but I had to know if my feelings for you would be returned honestly, for they are both deep and true.”

“I desire you, that is the truth, but beyond that I cannot say.” He could see in Glorfindel’s eyes that the man wanted there to be more, but something held him back. Glorfindel glanced quickly around the hall to see there were no others watching their exchange before he continued. “If you are willing to accept that, I am willing to explore these feelings and see where they lead.”

Though not the undying love pledge he had hoped for, Legolas could not refuse. After all, this Glorfindel knew little about him. Their previous relationship had grown with each of his visits to Imladris until it had culminated in the love they would share far into the future. Even if it cost him the world he knew, he could not let this chance to love Glorfindel all over again slip away.

“I am willing,” he said, hoping Ulmo didn’t make him regret it.

The life of a knight was taxing, with hours of exercise followed by weapons, combat, and melee training. Every night the first week he fell into bed, exhausted, after bathing and getting a rub down from the trainers. As much as he wanted to be with Glorfindel he was simply kept too busy to seek him out. Nor did Glorfindel call for him, making Legolas wonder if he had changed his mind.

Legolas took his first patrol four weeks later. By then he had developed his stamina to the point that leaping up and down small peaks and boulders among the steep mountain paths became as easy as strolling the wide streets and boulevards of the city. His navigation was infallible, impressing the knights of the Tree as well as those from other houses with which he shared the watch. The patrols were changed every two weeks and Legolas learned that in times past there had been greater numbers with longer tours, but those had been cut back years ago when the king decided their concealment was ensured by their location and enchantments.

After returning from patrol, Legolas returned to the training schedule until his next patrol assignment. He still needed a lot of practice with the heavy spiked clubs the Tree guard favored. They felt awkward and took much brute strength to wield. Erestor showed him the technique many times but try as he might, Legolas could never best him in combat.

“Your footwork is good, but your heart is lacking. How is it you can kill a fly with an arrow from a hundred yards, yet cannot deliver a killing blow to a man directly in front of you?” he asked one day.

Legolas was panting heavily while Erestor was barely winded from their exchange. “Perhaps because I don’t have to face the possibility of the fly caving my head in.”

“That’s not it. You find the weapon inelegant I think, but you must work with what you have. Each house has its own weapons and fighting style for a reason. If one system fails, the others will win through. That is why you must learn, even if you don’t like it. It might save your life one day.”

“I’m trying,” Legolas said, barely ducking in time as Erestor swung at his head.

“As long as your reflexes are good, you’ll be all right,” Erestor replied genially. “Just try harder.”

“I would rather just use the sling, and perhaps a long knife,” Legolas grumbled.

“Neither will help you against a Balrog.”

Legolas remembered the book of history he had loved as a youth, with illustrated pictures of the battle of Gondolin. Reading about the events would not prepare him for the time to come, this training was the only thing that would. At times he got so caught up in everyday events he neglected to remember his mission. He had to be ready and so he resolved to develop the skill to the best of his ability.

“Then let’s go another round,” he said, swinging at Erestor with all his might.

One evening he asked Orthul to accompany him to dinner. They had not seen each other since the knighting ceremony as Legolas lived with the men at arms now. Orthul was thrilled, eager to catch up with him on his adventures. After the meal, they strolled to the King’s Square to listen to a concert. Legolas was certain he caught a glimpse of Glorfindel at the concert but when he looked for him he was nowhere to be found. At last Orthul bid him good night, saying he had an early day tomorrow and could not lay abed like Galdor’s lazy guard. Legolas laughed and gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

“Ow! You don’t know your own strength,” he said, rubbing at the spot.

“Sorry, I guess all that practice with the clubs is paying off.”

“Looks like I’ll have to bet on you at the next tournament,” he teased.

“Is that allowed if you are my second?”

Orthul’s eyes grew wide and then he broke into a delighted smile. “I hope you are not jesting with me.”

“No jest, I was going to surprise you.”

“You succeeded!” he said happily, giving Legolas a hug, then pulling away quickly. “I’m sorry, Captain. I forgot myself.”

“Think nothing of it. When not forced to bow to protocol I am still only Legolas.”

Orthul gave him a grateful smile. “You’re one of the good ones,” he said, then hurried off, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

Legolas thought he should turn homeward as well, yet was loath to leave the square. Ithil was full and bright overhead, sailing through Elbereth’s crystalline sea. He sighed as he gazed at the stars, nearly toppling over when he heard a voice beside him.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He took a step back to keep his balance and there was Glorfindel beside him. “How do you do that?” he asked irritably.

“Do what?”

“Never mind.” Legolas glanced at him, then quickly away. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to seek you out. I wanted to.”

“I was going to approach you earlier, but I saw you were with your friend.”

Was that a tinge of jealousy in his voice?

“He’s a friend from the armory. We haven’t had much time together lately so I invited him to dinner.”

“I know, I saw you at the Laegel ar Larma.”

“Have you been following me then?” Legolas asked with a teasing gleam in his eye.

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel admitted. “I must say it gave me pause when he hugged you. I feared you might have expanded your interests.”

Legolas took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I have a couple of weeks off before my next patrol. Maybe we could spend some time together, get to know each other, as you said.”

“I would like that, but we must be discreet. Turgon discourages fraternization between the Lords and their men. It can lead to problems within the ranks.”

“Yet the Lords do it anyway,” Legolas said with a knowing grin.

Glorfindel chuckled self-consciously. “Indeed we do. There are only twelve of us after all.”

“I find this system odd and restrictive. It it different where I am from.”

“Mithlim, is it?”

Legolas had almost forgotten his lie, which caused him to hesitate a beat. “Yes.”

“Honest about your feelings, but not much else.” He heard the challenge in Glorfindel’s voice.

“You still distrust me?”

“You have to concede that your mysterious appearance and rise within the Tree is quite exceptional, especially for a Laegrim. And you are almost too good to be true. A forest dweller with an inferior weapon but fighting skills greater than you should have. Loyal, hard working to a fault, eyes like a cat’s in the dark your fellows say. The only survivor of a terrible attack. Your background must be fascinating.”

“There is a lot of luck in my story, and a lot of speculation in yours.”

“Easy enough to clear up,” Glorfindel offered.

Legolas turned away, grief stricken. Glorfindel could not accept him and he could not tell him his secret.

A touch upon his arm and Legolas turned despondent eyes to Glorfindel. “Then perhaps we are not meant to be.”

“Or perhaps this will tell me everything I need to know,” Glorfindel said, and kissed him.

Legolas returned it with his whole being. He rested his hands lightly upon Glorfindel’s upper arms, deepening and lengthening the kiss, trying to communicate every emotion, expressed and unexpressed, he had ever felt for him.

When they parted Glorfindel looked dazed. “Whatever you are, you are not evil,” he panted.

“No,” Legolas said breathlessly, “I am most assuredly not.”

Glorfindel led him to the House of the Golden Flower, showing him a secret entrance that took them through a passageway and up the back stairs to Glorfindel’s rooms, which were near the top of the tower. They were not lavish, as Legolas had expected, but were finely appointed with cushioned chairs, intricate tapestries depicting, surprisingly, pastoral scenes, and sturdy tables of jet and ivory. A corner of the main sitting room was set up as a study with a tidy desk sporting a large conch shell on top. There was also a sea glass paperweight of turquoise green with the image of a swan ship carved into it.

Legolas looked out the large window of the tower that offered a spectacular view of the city. The blue lamps of the Noldor twinkled softly in the streets below, mirroring the profusion of stars above. Legolas took in the scene for a long moment, captivated by the sight. Glorfindel joined him.

“It is stimulating to see the city through your obvious wonderment. It makes everything seem new and splendid.”

“It is grander than anything I ever imagined,” Legolas said. "I could live here a hundred years and never become dulled to its wonders.”

“Tell me that again in a hundred years,” Glorfindel said with a wistful chuckle. “It has been almost four hundred for me and I find its luster a bit tarnished. I preferred living close to the sea.”

“I have never been,” Legolas said.

“Oh, you really must one day. The cry of the gulls, the breaking of the waves upon the shore. It is a very spiritual place. Ulmo is very present there.”

“I find the forest to be that for me. The tall, sturdy trees, the ferns and mossy streams. It is so much a part of me I don’t think I could ever truly be happy anywhere else.”

“If you love the forests and I the sea, where then shall we live?” Glorfindel said with a grin.

“Why here, of course,” Legolas said readily. And he meant it. He would have lived here with Glorfindel forever if not for the burden of destiny.

They placed chairs in front of the window and sat talking long into the night, until the first rays of Anor climbed over the distant mountains, bathing the towers of Gondolin in a rosy glow.

“I must get back to the Tree before I am missed,” Legolas said with a yawn.

“How will they know you didn’t go out early?”

Legolas thought it over. “A good ruse for another time, perhaps, but I have training to get to. There is no day off from that.”

“Ah, the life of a knight,” Glorfindel said expansively, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. “I myself can sleep in as long as I like and exercise when I will.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Legolas said with a laugh. Then he paused, feeling a bit awkward. “When can we see each other again? Do I come to you, or you to me…”

“You are easy enough to find, don’t worry. I will see you again soon.”

“Very well then.” He hesitated once more. “Good bye,” he said at last and started for the door.

“You can do better than that,” Glorfindel said.

Legolas turned and Glorfindel stepped into his arms, giving him a kiss that lingered pleasantly in his memory all day.

For the next couple of weeks, Glorfindel sought him out often, and they spent many pleasant hours hiding in quiet corners of the city or visiting taverns that catered only to the Great Houses, where the watchword was secrecy and discretion. They fell into a relationship so quickly and easily, after such a rough start, that the days flowed by like euphoric dream.

One day Legolas was in the Square of the Folkwell, wandering among the trees there when Glorfindel, as was his wont, appeared suddenly beside him while his mind was fixed on other things.

“How did you find me?” Legolas asked.

“You are easy to find, as I said. Just locate a tree or fountain and there you are.”

“You are ruining my mystique,” Legolas said with a teasing pout. “But your methods are sloppy. Only one person knew I was coming here today.”

“Yes, but you don’t know the network I had to set up to get the information from Erestor and have it relayed back to me.”

“Now you are ruining your mystique,” Legolas quipped.

“How would you like to have supper in my rooms tonight?” Glorfindel said abruptly.

“Not the tavern?”

“No, I want you all to myself.”

“I would like that.” Legolas' stomach fluttered at the prospect. They had been taking things slow, getting to know each other, but this was different. He could feel it.

Legolas waited until the guard’s wing at the Tree quieted down for the night, with the residents either in their rooms or out about the town, before heading for the Golden Flower. He took sparsely traveled back streets to the place, hoping he wasn’t randomly spotted by some gossip, wishing he had Glorfindel’s stealth.

When he entered Glorfindel’s suite, he was surprised to find himself alone. After a moment Glorfindel came in from another room dressed in a loose tunic and pants, his hair braided with white ribbon. He smiled happily when he saw Legolas and kissed him in greeting.

“Sorry, I was a bit late getting ready. I had some business to take care of first.” He came over and sat down. Legolas took a seat also.

“So, you’ll be going on patrol again day after tomorrow, is that not so?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes, two weeks on and two off, as usual.”

“Good, this time your tour will be with the guards of the Flower. I will expect a good report from them when you return.”

“On my performance, or on my discretion?” he asked, slightly amused but also a bit offended that Glorfindel thought him so unwise.

“Both,” Glorfindel said. “Not that I think you indiscreet, but I know how easily the talk can turn to… let’s say less military matters, when men get bored.”

Legolas gave him an exaggerated salute. “Yes, my lord.”

“Oh, come, don’t be angry,” Glorfindel soothed. “It is as much for your honor as for mine.”

“Forgive me, it’s just that I thought we knew each other better, that’s all.” He sat back with a frustrated sigh.

“You may not have noticed this about me, but I leave nothing to chance,” Glorfindel said solemnly.

Legolas knew this to be true. He also knew this Glorfindel was just as concerned about protecting him as the Glorfindel he had left behind on that battlefield what seemed seven lives ago. How could he be angry at a man who would do anything for him, face any danger to shield him, even at the cost of his own safety?

“I know you are just trying to protect me, but it is truly not necessary. Even so, I will use extra caution with your knights.”

Glorfindel looked regretful. “I should have trusted to your judgement. You have not given me any reason to doubt you, yet sometimes I fear losing you.”

“That you will never do,” Legolas said with certainty.

Glorfindel pulled him to his feet and they began to kiss until they were breathless with need. “I think we both wanted something more from tonight than talk of patrols,” he said, panting slightly.

“Indeed,” Legolas said, kissing him again.

Glorfindel maneuvered them to the bedroom amid many kisses and mutual groping. A cool evening breeze wafted through the open window and Legolas tugged gently at Glorfindel’s braid, freeing the white ribbon and letting his golden hair, stirred by Manwë's breath, flow freely through his eager fingers.

Legolas took a step back from Glorfindel’s embrace and unfastened his pants, swelling pleasantly against the breach as his desire grew. He helped Glorfindel divest himself of his shirt, fingers playing lightly over his broad chest, smooth skin taut over supple muscle. His heart quickened to Glorfindel’s touch, gentle and reverent upon his body. They kissed and nipped each other with unhurried languor, letting the passion build before removing the rest of their clothing, their flushed, naked skin mirror images of their passion. There was nothing more arousing than being the object of desire to a man like Glorfindel. Legolas could wait no longer.

He urged Glorfindel onto the bed, straddling him before filling himself with that blissful heat. Legolas shuddered, rocking his hips in a slow steady rhythm while Glorfindel’s roaming hands instinctively caressed the places he most longed to be touched.

“By the Powers,” Glorfindel moaned as Legolas rode him with unbearably sensual slowness. “So good,” he mumbled, his eyes clouded in dazed ecstasy, “so perfect.”

Legolas pressed himself closer, quickening his pace, biting his lip when Glorfindel nuzzled and nibbled his ear. He shifted his hips, taking him deeper, wanting more, craving more of the powerful feelings consuming him.

“Great Eru!” Glorfindel cried, coming undone beneath him. It was more than Legolas could take and he threw back his head and spilled himself between them with a strangled cry. He fell bonelessly against Glorfindel, his head on his shoulder, his sweat-slick body cooling in the soft breeze until the world righted itself again.

At last he raised his head, still gasping softly. He looked into Glorfindel’s eyes, the blue driven almost to black with his rapture. Glorfindel’s slowly steadying breath grazed his face and neck warmly, making him shiver with pleasure. Legolas inhaled deeply and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, Glorfindel,” he said, kissing him tenderly.

“And I love you, Legolas Greenleaf.”

They smiled, clinging to each other until, with a wicked gleam in his eye, Glorfindel tumbled him over and made love to him again.

The most difficult thing he’d done since arriving in Gondolin was leaving Glorfindel to report for patrol duty. The days seemed to drag on and he found himself having to ask his fellows to repeat a comment when he lost himself in reverie of that most wonderful night.

The weather was sunny and warm, save for a soaking rain at the end of the first week. The only inconvenience it presented was that it made the rocks slippery, and Legolas was forced to focus to keep from injuring himself as he leapt about the boulders near the Eagle’s Cleft. Twice other patrols they met reported bands of orcs moving through the hills on the far side of the peaks but the rule was not to engage them and so the Elves merely monitored their movements.

Legolas’ company didn’t encounter them, but the knights of the Hammer of Wrath were concerned about their numbers. It had been a long time since anything other than birds and beasts had been spotted so near the hidden ways. There was much discussion about advising their lords to convince Turgon to increase their numbers again. Some thought it unnecessary to raise any sort of alarm, since such talk had a tendency to distress the king and a few orcs posed no great threat. Others thought it prudent to err on the side of caution, even if the king didn’t like it.

Legolas did not say yay or nay in these discussions. His opinion on the matter could not change what was to be, though despite his foreknowledge he found it increasingly difficult to accept that Gondolin must fall. He tried to put such thoughts from his mind, knowing it was dangerous to even consider what might be done to save it. All this had already happened, and whatever part he was to play in events had happened already as well. The important thing was that he and Glorfindel survive to defeat Sauron in the Third Age and bring the world back into alignment with Eru’s plan.

When his tour was ended, he returned to the city with a heavy heart. The Gates of Summer was just a few weeks away and he was no closer to understanding his role in the events of that fateful night.

Upon his return, he found a message waiting for him in his rooms. It was from Glorfindel requesting his company at the tavern that night. He was a bit disappointed it wasn’t another invitation to the Flower but was happy Glorfindel had not wasted even a day seeking him upon his return.

He was surprised and yet more disappointed when he entered the tavern to see Glorfindel and Ecthelion sharing a table, chatting and laughing over tankards of ale. He paused at the door for a moment before summoning up his courage and striding over.

“Ah, Legolas, good to see you!” Glorfindel said. He stood and hugged him in greeting. Legolas stiffened, then returned the hug companionably so as not to give Ecthelion any ideas he might be harboring.

Ecthelion stood then and offered his hand in greeting, which Legolas returned reservedly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I trust your patrol went well.”

Legolas glanced at Glorfindel before answering. “Yes, the men of the Flower are agreeable company.”

“Well, come then, let’s have a drink and a chat, shall we? What are you having?”

“Ale is fine.”

Ecthelion raised his hand toward the bar and a tankard was in front of Legolas within seconds. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you and Glorfindel this evening.”

“Not at all.” Legolas sipped his ale, trying to force his misgivings aside.

Legolas wore his hair in a single braid, adorned with ornate ribbons, as was the custom here. Glorfindel smoothed a hand possessively over his hair, giving his braid a little reassuring tug and shooting him a smile.

“It’s all right, he knows. Ecthelion is first among my friends, and I thought you two should be properly introduced.”

Legolas relaxed, but only a little. There was still the matter of Ecthelion’s behavior toward him in the palace, and that overheard conversation in the King’s Square when he was new to the city still niggled at his thoughts from time to time.

“Very well,” he said, looking at Ecthelion expectantly.

“It seems I am to start then,” Ecthelion said smoothly. “In that case, I ask your pardon for misjudging you when you arrived and for my discourteous behavior that day.”

His words were fair and his look sincere, still Legolas was wary. “I accept. Though I must wonder what causes you seek me out for an apology now.” He could not help glancing at Glorfindel again, but his lover’s face was impassive.

“For that I also must ask your pardon, though the reasons are a bit complicated. You see, my knights are a reserve unit, drawn from the best fighters among the houses. We guard the city gates and the way of escape. Your circumvention of these defenses put a bit of a black mark on my record, so to speak. When Galdor took you on, his ready acceptance of you irked me, especially in light of your refusal to answer for yourself. I thought you arrogant and devious, putting on courtly airs to conceal your true motives. But when Glorfindel spoke with you in the market, he came away with a different impression of you. I remained unconvinced, I confess it, but Glorfindel has persuaded me of your integrity. So I asked him if he would introduce us in order that I might make my apology in person.”

“Does your change of heart have anything to do with my… relationship with Glorfindel?”

“By the Powers you cut straight through!” Ecthelion exclaimed. “I will be as frank with you. It does not. But since we are making this a confessional, it might surprise you to know, despite my reservations, I thought about attempting to bed you myself at one time.”

Legolas was suddenly amused by the unaffected sincerity of Ecthelion’s disclosure. He could only imagine what secrets the man might have revealed to him in bed, despite thinking he was a spy. It made him wonder about the intrigues he was missing in this legendary city if these Noldor were so starved for variety.

He drew himself up and looked Ecthelion in the eye. “It does not surprise me for I heard your words to Glorfindel in the King’s Square at Idril’s fête that night.”

Now Ecthelion did have the decency to look embarrassed, which caused Glorfindel to laugh. “It seems you are something of a spy after all,” Ecthelion said, “but your discernment was correct and so I apologize for that as well. Now that Glorfindel has won the prize, I hope we can all move forward as friends.”

Legolas would have taken offense to being called a prize, but he could see Ecthelion was complimenting Glorfindel and not insulting him. If he had been forced to choose between them Ecthelion might have had a chance, but he and Glorfindel were simply meant to be no matter when and where they were destined to meet.

“I would like that very much,” Legolas said, raising his tankard in salute to Ecthelion.

With the air cleared of all previous wrongs, they spent a pleasant night of drink and talk. Ecthelion proved amusing company, and Legolas could see why he and Glorfindel were friends. They had practically grown up together in Aman and shared many of the same interests. He told a story about Glorfindel’s attempt to become a bard in Aman before meeting his match in Maglor that had Legolas laughing himself to tears. Glorfindel had never much liked talking about his youth and Legolas often wondered what life in Aman was like. From the stories they told, he gathered that their lives in Gondolin were in many ways like their lives in Tirion had been. As much as he loved Glorfindel, and as splendid as Gondolin was, he did not envy them their grand city with its white towers. The forest would always be his true home.

A few days later Legolas was sparring with a knight of the Tree. By now he had improved his skill with the club such that only Erestor could still best him with the weapon. But on this day his thoughts were so taken with his time with Glorfindel the previous evening that he failed to properly counter his opponent’s blow. The spike of the heavy club grazed his arm, opening it from just below his shoulder to his elbow. The knight apologized profusely and helped him apply a tourniquet before accompanying him to the healer. It took forty-two stitches to close the wound and he berated himself for his carelessness at each stitch. The healer applied a bandage as well, telling him he could remove it the next day. As she was finishing up, Galdor came in to check on him.

“Erestor told me you had improved,” he said, obviously unhappy.

“I have, my lord. This was an accident only.”

“How did it happen?”

“The fault is mine. I lost focus for a moment and Sídoron’s club grazed my arm. The wound is not bad. It will heal quickly.”

Galdor sighed. “Well then, it seems you have your wish. Until your arm heals you will use the sling only. You are also relieved of patrol duty until further notice.”

“That isn’t necessary, my lord. I can still…”

“This is my command, Legolas!” he said sternly and Legolas fell into a morose silence. Then Galdor clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “There is no reason to push yourself and invite further injury, lad. Enjoy a little extra time off.”

Though displeased with this turn of events, he acquiesced graciously. “Yes, my lord. And I will be more careful, I promise.”

“Good thing your reflexes make up for your lack of sense,” Galdor said gruffly, but his lips showed the hint of a smile.

Legolas finished his training then bathed, carefully so as not to get his bandage wet, and had just finished dressing when a knock sounded on his door. It was a message from Glorfindel requesting his company that evening at the Flower. He thought some time off from patrol might be a good idea after all.

When they went to make love that night, Legolas winced when he removed his shirt. Glorfindel looked at the bandage, instantly concerned.

“What happened?”

“Just a scratch I got during a sparring match today. It’s nothing.”

Glorfindel gave him a doubtful look. “Stitches?”

“A few. The healer said I can remove the bandage tomorrow, then you can see for yourself.”

Glorfindel lifted his arm. “There’s some seepage here. I think this needs to be changed.”

“Don’t be a mother hen, it’s fine,” Legolas insisted.

Glorfindel ignored him, unwrapping the wound to see for himself. “Hmm, that’s a lot of stitches, but it doesn’t look too bad. Let me get a clean bandage.”

Legolas sighed and put the old bandage into the refuse bin. Glorfindel returned with a strip of cloth and Legolas allowed himself to be taken care of. He had to admit it felt good to be treated so tenderly, and by the lord of the manor no less. He was less happy when Glorfindel tied off the bandage expertly and said, “Well, that’s that. It’s dinner and chess tonight then.”

“What are you talking about? We can still…”

“Out of the question,” Glorfindel said, and Legolas was reminded of Galdor. What a bunch of worrywarts these Noldor were. Fine lot of warriors that fell apart over a few stitches.

Glorfindel grabbed his arm and bent it at the elbow. Legolas yelped. “See, you’re in more pain than you think. And it will be worse tomorrow. You get to tom catting around and you’ll open that arm right up again. I won’t have you laid up for a month because you didn’t have the sense to give it time to heal.”

“The Noldor seem to think the Laegrim lack sense. It smacks of bigotry,” he grumbled.

Glorfindel laughed and stroked his hair. “Not all Laegrim, silly boy, just you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Glorfindel kissed the sour look off his face. “How about a game of strip chess? I’ll make it worth your while if you lose.”

Legolas had never played so badly in his life.

Glorfindel was right, the pain was worse the next day and it was nearly a week before he was able to bend it without discomfort. When the healer removed the stitches, she warned him not to lift anything heavy for a few weeks, until the flesh had healed inside.

“It might look and feel better,” she told him, but it takes longer for the inner layers of skin to knit strongly.” She gave him a tea to drink that would accelerate the healing.

That night when he went to the Flower to meet with Glorfindel, he found him dressed in evening attire with his hair in an elaborate braid of gold. Legolas loved freeing Glorfindel’s braids from their ornate trappings, and he found many inventive uses for the ribbon that pleased them both greatly.

Tonight he looked like he was set to attend a party, making Legolas wonder if there was not some event for the lords of the houses he was not privy to.

“Are you going out this evening?” he asked, confused.

“Yes,” Glorfindel said, “and so are you.”

He led a surprised Legolas down to a secluded section of the gardens, where two of his most trusted guards greeted them. Glorfindel had set aside this place and this evening just for them, making sure they would not be disturbed. A table was laid out under a silver lamp that glowed soft as moonlight under the sprawling branches of an oak. They had a fine supper with a good wine, and afterward Glorfindel laid him down and they made love amid the music of the fountains, enveloped in the scent of moon flower and jasmine.

The next day, Legolas began a light training regimen to strengthen his arm. The evenings Glorfindel did not send for him he spent in the city with Orthul or Erestor. Without the patrols, his days began to run together in a blithe, comfortable routine that left him with little thought for what was to come.

Finally, he received word that he would be rejoining the patrol in two days time. His arm had healed well but as much as he enjoyed the city, he was anxious to get back out in the wild. He and Erestor were assigned the same company this time and he was always a welcome companion.

That night, for the first time uninvited, he made his way to the Flower with stealth and up the secret passage to Glorfindel’s rooms. He hesitated outside the hidden door for a moment, listening for any sounds of conversation within and hearing none, gave a light knock.

There was no answer. After a moment he tried once more. There was still no answer and he was just turning to leave when Glorfindel said, “Who’s there?” from the other side of the door

Legolas had to wonder how often he had visitors come this secret back way that he didn’t know that it had to be him. “Legolas,” he answered quietly.

The door flew open to reveal Glorfindel in a snow white shirt stitched in gold with his customary celandines. He looked so grand Legolas was rendered speechless.

“This is most irregular, Glorfindel said. “I didn’t send for you.”

“I… I’m sorry. I have patrol duty coming up in a couple of days and I wanted to see you. Forgive my impertinence.”

“No, come in. I didn’t expect to see you tonight but your visit is a delightful surprise,” he said, standing aside so Legolas could enter.

“I didn’t know when you might send for me again, and though it is only two weeks it seems long this time to be away.”

Glorfindel pulled him into a welcoming kiss. “I feel the same. Let me give you a night to see you through your lonesome mountain vigil.”

“That would be pleasing indeed.”

“I just need to send a quick note first. I was supposed to meet Ecthelion tonight.” He sat down at his desk and jotted off a few lines, then rang for a page.

“I apologize again for interfering with your plans. I could come back tomorrow.”

“No, he will understand. It is no great matter. We will have two weeks to catch up with each other after all.”

There was a knock on the door and Glorfindel handed the page the note. He turned and gathered Legolas into his arms and gave him a long, satisfying kiss.

“Supper first or…” Glorfindel began.

“Or, definitely or,” Legolas said with a merry laugh, reaching for the ribbon in Glorfindel’s hair.

Sometime later they lay contentedly in each other’s arms, lost in reverie, when something odd began to nag at Legolas’ mind. It took him a moment to realize the problem. The tower was completely silent. There were no sounds wafting up from the usually busy streets, no scrape of foot or cart against the stones. A chill ran up his spine.

“You said you were meeting Ecthelion tonight. What for?” he asked, trying to fight down the feeling of panic welling up in his breast.

“It’s just the festival of Tarnin Austa. I don’t usually attend, but Ecthelion and a few others were going tonight and I was pressed to join them.”

Just then a slow wave of muted voices began to drift through the window. Terrified, Legolas leapt out of bed and gazed upon the city below. The faces of the people on the streets were turned to the north with growing expressions of confusion and horror as the snow capped peaks far beyond the plain of Tumladen grew red as blood.

“I must get to the Tree!” Legolas cried, pulling on his pants and boots, throwing his shirt haphazardly over his head.

“What’s happening?” Glorfindel said. “He grabbed him painfully by the shoulders. “What do you know?”

Legolas groaned, his eyes filled with horrified tears. “Morgoth attacks! Gondolin is compromised. Please, I must go!”

But Glorfindel only gripped him tighter. “How do you know this? How?” He shook him roughly.

Legolas could not meet his eyes. “Ulmo told me. Ulmo sent me here. I was not allowed to tell anyone. I was told events must play out as they will. Don your armor and call your men. There is no time!”

Glorfindel released him, a look of stunned betrayal on his face. “This is what you’ve been hiding, all this time. We could have prepared. We could have…”

“Not for this,” Legolas said. “Never for this. Call your men, now!”

The armory at the Tree was chaos. The knights were putting on armor or being helped into it, grabbing weapons, falling into line. Legolas armored up with the rest and hefted his heavy club with his good arm. He would not swing with his still healing fighting arm until he had to. A few moments after Legolas had readied himself Galdor strode in, formidable in his temper.

“Everyone fall in. Follow me to the gates. We fight with the Hammer of Wrath. Remember, if we fall, the city is breached.”

The forces of the Tree strode forth to battle. Rog’s men were already at the gates and in their formation when they arrived. A host of Orcs and Balrogs, with Gothmog leading their charge, was surging across the plain like a tempest through the branches of a great oak. Immense serpents and fire drakes advanced with them, writhing obscenely across ground quaking beneath their massive bodies, but they did not unleash their fire - not yet.

The history of the battle Legolas had read was utterly inadequate in its account of this hellish scene. He and the knights of the Tree used their slings, dropping orcs from a distance, the onslaught barely making a notch in their numbers as they drove forward. Arrows struck from the walls above as the men of the Heavenly Arch and Swallow rained their volleys upon the enemy, their arrows felling many orcs though they could not pierce the Balrogs nor the armored scales of the worms. When the distance closed the knights of the Tree fell upon the orcs with their spiked clubs but the forces of Melkor broke through their lines, as well as those of Rog, and stormed the gate.

No foe Legolas had ever faced made him feel the weight of despair he experienced at the sight of these monstrous, sinuous serpents of metal, birthing multitudes of orcs from their iron bellies. Yet the courage of Galdor inspired him and he laid about with his club, fighting with the ferocity Erestor and the others had drilled into him on days when he thought himself too weary to strike another blow.

In the chaos, the knights of the Hammer of Wrath began to fall in ever greater numbers but the remaining knights doubled their efforts and fought on tirelessly. The image of Rog in all his valorous fury was a sight burned into Legolas’ mind and heart in that moment. When it became clear the battle for the gate was lost, Galdor ordered a retreat and they entered city streets befouled by Melkor’s unholy hordes, its houses and gardens aflame.

They fell back to the Square of the Folkwell, watching helplessly as the great trees there went up like torches under the breath of a fire drake. Smoke and ash filled the air, choking and hot, but Galdor regrouped their reduced numbers and they fought on. Tuor came running out of the smoke, carrying a wounded Ecthelion, pursued by a host of enemies. Galdor and the knights of the Tree attacked these pursuers, killing many. They couldn’t hold the enemy at bay long and were slowly forced to give ground, retreating to the King’s Square.

For hours the battle raged until, with the last of the remaining men, barricades were erected to give them breathing room while the city fell around them. Glorfindel arrived at the last after a narrow escape from the Great Market. He turned a grim eye to Legolas who gave him a helpless, pleading look. Turgon, distraught and realizing the hopelessness of the battle threw his crown at the roots of Glingal with a dreadful cry.

“Go now! I am no longer your king.”

Galdor picked up the crown and held it out to him but Turgon refused. “This punishment is my due, but my people, my courageous knights, my loyal Lords do not deserve this fate. You must follow Tuor now. Save yourselves and as many others as you can. Go!” He turned and entered his tower, a shattered man, followed by his loyal personal guard.

“We cannot stay here,” Galdor said. “We must gather the people and make for the Way of Escape.”

“No,” Tuor said. “There is another way, a secret way made at Idril’s behest. It leads to the Eagle’s cleft. Whoever you are able to find, take that way from my House.”

“But that will take us over the widest part of Tumladen,” Erestor said. “We will be seen and cut down.”

“Tuor is right. It is the only way,” Legolas said.

A debate began as the Lords and knights began to talk over each other. Glorfindel cut through their voices with a shout. They all stopped and turned to him in surprise.

“Listen to Legolas,” he said shortly, his eyes hard.

Before anyone had time to answer, the barricades crumbled and Gothmog, flanked by a contingent of orcs, strode into the square. “Which of you dare face me?” he challenged.

Ecthelion, who had recovered his strength, stepped forward, sword in hand. Yet before he could attack, Gothmog struck him a mighty blow from his flaming whip, curling it around Ecthelion’s sword arm, melting through his vambrace. He cried out in anguish but rushed the Balrog, striking him with the spike of his helmet. The others fought their way past the barricades in sheer desperation as Ecthelion and Gothmog disappeared with a splash into the massive fountain of the king.

Tuor led them to his house where Idril, bearing a bloody sword, was directing survivors down the stair leading to the secret tunnel out of the city. When she saw Tuor she ran to him and they embraced. She explained that she had sent Eärendil ahead of them with the last of their soldiers. Then together they began gathering the stream of traumatized, frightened Elves and directing them to the stairs. The house was in flaming ruins and Legolas turned for a last look at the city. To the east were the crumbling towers of the Tree and Heavenly Arch. To the north the steam of the city’s ruined fountains rose in thick mists, blotting out the dim lights of of the festival lamps, to the west he saw a fire drake sending sheets of flame into the fighters defending the broken wall to the last man. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, startled when Galdor touched his arm.

“Come, Legolas. Down the tunnel. Our battle is not over yet. We must get these people to safety.”

He and Galdor went down into the tunnel, urging people to keep going as fiery heat from the surrounding conflagration above and dust within turned the escape route into a chaotic, choking nightmare. Rocks caved in from the force of the destruction above littered the floor while the dead created a dreadful gauntlet for the escapees to pass, their cries and weeping echoing piteously from the narrow walls as they struggled forward.

The way was long and difficult but eventually Legolas and Galdor stumbled out into a brushy ravine, turning to assist anyone who needed it as the refugees spilled, frenzied, from the tunnel. While everyone huddled together looking to their leaders for guidance, a debate arose as to which direction to go. One group decided to seek the Way of Escape but Tuor advised that, though longer, the Cristhorn was the safer because if they could make it through that way the Great Eagles would aid their flight.

The Lords of the Houses that still had men in their command followed Tuor. Galdor, Legolas, Erestor and a few others of the Tree took the vanguard and they led the way across the plain. A thick fog of smoke and steam settled over the land like a shroud, making it nearly impossible for the Elves to find their way in the dark.

Legolas continued forward until he was halted by a cry from Galdor.

“I’ve lost sight of you, lad. It’s dark as the pits of Angband out here. How will we find our way?”

“I know the way to the Cristhorn and Cirith Thoronath if you trust me to lead,” Legolas said.

“Then lead on, but keep steady so those following can see you.”

It was painfully slow with so many, but Legolas led them unerringly across the plain. Accustomed to navigating the darkness beneath the trees of Mirkwood he set the smoothest course he could manage over grass and hillock to ease the way of the women and the wounded. The mist covered their escape even to the peaks of the Eagle’s Cleft, where the feeble rays of the rising sun touched his heart with a tenuous hope.

Knights of the Tree led the way along a narrow shelf of rock upon those soaring mountain peaks. A sheer cliff face rose higher than the city’s walls on one side, while on the other was a vertical drop into a deep gorge. Along this perilous track the fleeing Elves made their way, clinging to each other, carrying children and litters of their wounded. The light strengthened but still the sun did not rise in those towering escarpments.

Suddenly, rocks came tumbling from above into the refugees, sending some plummeting, screaming, into the abyss. Shouts of warning mixed with shrieks of terror as orcs came sliding down onto the ledge armed with clubs. The knights of the remaining houses leapt to meet them and the great eagles swooped to their aid. From the ranks at the rear of the line of civilians, the men of the Flower fought back another assault. Galdor sent an orc that swung on Legolas plunging into the gorge before he could strike a fatal blow. It was over as quickly as it had begun and everyone was still reeling from the shock when the Balrog appeared.

It sprang over the knights of the Flower positioned between it and a line of women and children. With a mighty shout, Glorfindel charged and the Balrog leaped onto the jagged rocks above. Glorfindel followed, hewing off its arm as it raised its flaming whip to strike. They bounded from one sharp peak to the next, the Balrog trying to gain an advantage of footing over the warrior, who matched him move for move. At the last, Glorfindel struck its breast a fatal wound and toppled it from the rocky path. Yet even as it fell, its grasping hand snagged the golden hair, free and loose beneath Glorfindel’s helm, and dragged him down to his death.

To Legolas the scene happened with heart stopping swiftness, yet the moment of Glorfindel’s fall played out agonizingly slow. The look of amaze and horror on his face when he went over the edge etched itself forever into Legolas’ heart. It was then, with suffocating awareness, he understood the part he had been tasked to play and that he had, indeed, achieved his obscure and detestable goal. Ulmo had told him he would know if he had succeeded and he did, oh he did, but the knowing burned his spirit like dragon fire. In the time he knew, Glorfindel had not died, but in this time he had to die. Legolas had been sent to make sure of it. He saw, as in a vision, that Glorfindel’s death would give him a chance to be more, to return to Arda in its need with the full power of the Valar behind him.

Legolas fell to his knees and cried out in wretched anguish at the horrific realization that he had been chosen to be the instrument of Glorfindel’s doom. It had to be him for only his love could have compromised him in this way. His head rang as though from a violent and terrible blow. He felt the shift in Eä as a physical wrenching of his fëa from his hröa before they merged again within him and the world settled back into place.

An Eagle dropped into the gorge and rose with Glorfindel’s broken body, placing it gently before the weeping, distraught Elves. A litter was brought forward and Legolas helped carry his fallen love until they came at last to an easier pass among the peaks. There he carried stones with the men of the Tree and Flower to create a cairn over his body.

Before the stones were laid, Legolas produced a gold ribbon adorned with seed pearls he carried in his pocket from their last night together. He braided it tenderly into Glorfindel’s bright golden hair, past caring what impression this action might create in others. When the cairn was constructed and the Elves moved on, slowly in their grief, he yet lingered, gazing upon the mounded grave as the wind blew warm and gentle through the pass. When at last he turned away he spied a small cluster of celandines growing through the rocks beside the path. He picked one and placed it beneath his shirt next to his breast before moving on.

The Elves made it through the passes of the encircling mountains, but as they traveled under Tuor’s leadership, looking for Sirion, they began to fall victim to their grief and wounds. Legolas discovered Orthul among the survivors, badly burned from the attack on the Tree. Legolas and Erestor stayed with him. They both learned how to change his bandages and mix the healing herbs which they often gathered themselves in the wild. Legolas hunted game for the cooks to turn into hearty stews to give him strength. But in the end, his body and spirit were too damaged to survive, and Legolas watched him fade, his grief at his friend’s loss almost unbearable.

That night he and Erestor sat together at the small campsite they shared with others of the Tree and watched the stars. “When will we find the Sirion?” Legolas asked him. “I wish I knew these lands better.”

“Not even Tuor or Voronwë seem certain of our path. If we don’t find fairer lands soon, I fear for us. How long can some of these people hold out when their bodies and minds are so broken? There are times I feel the grief so keenly I wonder if I will make it myself.”

Legolas looked at him uneasily. “Don’t even jest about it, Erestor. If you don’t make it there is no hope for me. I cannot bear more sorrow.”

Erestor gave him despondent look. “It is no joke, my friend. I feel my spirit diminish with each passing day. If we were not the defenders of those who are left, I’m not sure I would still be here now.”

They wandered long and their despair grew but Erestor did not fade and neither did Legolas, who was desperate to find Ulmo. He cared nothing for the plans of Eru or the schemes of the Valar, he only knew that he and Glorfindel must be together. He must have the chance to make things right with him.

After a footsore year or more within the wilds, when Legolas and many others had all but given up, they came upon the Way of Escape and discovered the charred remains of the Elves who had taken that route. Burned by dragons, their bodies were twisted in horrible attitudes that made a bitter discovery for the much reduced numbers of survivors. Yet finding this convinced Voronwë of their path and soon they reached a stream that led them to the Sirion which they began to follow with renewed hope.

One evening, as Legolas made camp beside the waters, he heard the voice he had been seeking for so long.

“Legolas, you have fulfilled your charge. With the sacrifice of him who you most loved, you have given this world hope.”

“And yet none remains for myself,” he said with a sad weariness. “Even if we are never allowed to love each other again, I implore you that I might be permitted but one moment more with him to beg his forgiveness. He died thinking I had betrayed him and this grief is more than my spirit can endure.”

“That I cannot do, but I can ease your grief, Legolas Greenleaf of Gondolin.”

Legolas felt his mind fog as though caught in a spell and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Legolas woke to a knock on his door and a summons to the king. He rose, feeling like he’d spent a restless night even though he had slept through with no dreams. His arm hurt and he rolled up his sleeve to see a small scar he did not remember having from what looked to be an old wound. Having no time to explore the mystery he filed it away to consider later.

When he presented himself to Thranduil, the king bade him come in and sit, a concerned look on his face. He got straight to the point, as was his wont.

“I received a message from Elrond this morning requesting an envoy from the Greenwood attend a council on how best to address the matter of Isildur’s Bane. Through a stroke of luck, Bilbo Baggins’ nephew was given the ring and managed to get it safely to Imladris, thanks to the help of Glorfindel and Aragorn. The poor fellow was wounded by the Witch King and lay near death but has now recovered. I want you to go and inform them of Gollum’s escape and then report back to me with the council’s decision.”

“If this is true, war is a certainty. I can’t leave now. We must prepare.”

“No, you must go. I will manage the forces here and by the time you return we will be ready to do what must be done.”

“Then I will accept this honor and leave at once. I have always desired to look upon that fair land.”

“Whatever the decision of the council, assure them that the Greenwood stands ready to fight. And keep your head around Elrond, he can be quite shrewd and difficult to read.”

“I will,” Legolas said, with an inward smile at his father’s suspicions of the Noldor.

When he came at last to the hidden realm, Legolas was immediately taken by its beauty, despite the seriousness of his duty. He was greeted with warm respect by the Noldor and told that the council would convene in a few days. There were many places within the Last Homely House to explore and beautiful gardens without surrounded by open grasslands and thick groves of trees. He spent the first day wandering as far as his feet could take him, trying to see everything at once. When he looked at the high cliffs rising up on both sides of the valley a surprising feeling of familiarity gripped him. The musical sound of the many waterfalls and the rainbows of color from their spray played a longing tune upon his heart, though he knew not why. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he scolded himself for his foolish sentimentality.

As evening neared, he was reluctant to leave the garden with its profusion of flowers he had never seen and sculptures so lifelike he could swear he saw them breathe, but then a servant called him to board. He ate with Elrond and his family, meeting his twin sons and Erestor, one of his councilors. Erestor was an interesting character, thick dark hair and stern grey eyes that didn’t match his warm smile. He was merry company and they found they had a lot in common as they chatted like old friends. Erestor told him he had been quite a good archer in his youth, though Legolas doubted it to see him now in his fine robes.

Weary from his travels, Legolas thought to turn in early that night, but Erestor invited him to the Hall of Fire and he did not wish to refuse. When they entered, he saw a man lounging in a chair. He had one long leg thrown over the arm and was reading a book.

“Erestor leaned in to whisper, “That’s our Glorfindel, the famed Balrog slayer. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Of course Legolas had. Everyone knew of Glorfindel and his notorious battle upon the peaks of the Cirith Thoronath. Sitting there reading some mundane book on trout he could have been anyone if not for that gleaming, golden hair. For some reason, the sight of him made Legolas want to run and hide. He was just about to make his excuses when Glorfindel looked up and noticed them there.

“Erestor!” he said with a smile that lit his fair face in a most enchanting way. “Come, who is this young Sinda that graces our halls tonight.”

“This is Legolas Greenleaf, of the woodland realm. He has come to take part in the council.”

Glorfindel’s face held a momentary look of confusion and his welcoming smile was enigmatic. “I knew a Legolas Greenleaf once, many years ago, in Gondolin. I never knew what happened to him but it is said he passed over the sea to Tol Eressëa where he lives to this day.”

The sensation of familiarity hit Legolas again, hard, but this time there was another feeling as well, one of longing and desire from deep within that he had only felt before in his most elusive dreams. Something within his fëa shifted and the song of Eä grew deep and resonant within him as though he had awoken from a dark spell, making the world seem urgently radiant and new.

Without conscious thought or concern for any who might be watching, he leaned in and tilted Glorfindel’s head down to kiss him, his fingers playing over, but not quite loosing, the gold and pearl ribbon of his braid.