Minuial had chased away the gentle rain from the sanctuary and bright glinting beams warmed the quiet shelter where Erestor rested with the exiled prince held close against him. He had slept little and awakened first, concerned to find Legolas still deep in slumber but also relieved that he was at peace enough to rest as much as he needed. He ran his hands cautiously over the slim figure recumbent at his side and fingered the messy locks of felted gold.
The Tawarwaith was truly amazing. He wondered if there was any way to convince him to leave the dark loneliness of his stark isolation and come to live in Lorien. Penbara and Penraeg could look after Pen-rhovan, and there he could see him often. And share in his considerable carnal talents! he thought with a small leap of his heart.
Legolas must have felt the momentary surge in his companion's pulse and shifted as consciousness returned to him. He woke smiling, a rare experience since the Judgement began, and stretched against the firm body curled cozily against him, tightening his arms in a welcoming hug around the seneschal's shoulders.
"Aur Maer! [Good Morning]" he said as he beamed his dazzling welcome up into the Noldo's eyes.
"And to you, Pen-rhovan!" Erestor grinned back and dropped a quick kiss onto the golden crown followed by a rub of his cheek against the hair. They cleaved one to another, blissfully contented to remain in the comfort of such closeness.
"I thank you for last night," Legolas spoke these winsome words and exuded happiness when Berenaur gave him an answering squeeze.
"It is I who should be grateful, Legolas! It was remarkable; we are well matched," he replied and felt the wild elf shaking with silent laughter, nodding wordlessly against his chest.
"Perhaps we should try and see if it is repeatable," he suggested and took a taste of the nipple so invitingly near. The seneschal exclaimed appreciatively as his penis stirred at the stimulation. They shared gleaming smiles and then Legolas sat up, admiring the elf that had so fulfilled him. "Come! It looks to be bright without, and the stream sounds full from the evening's rain! I did promise you would stay warm and dry yet a swim I would welcome. We can generate plenty of warmth afterwards," he said with genuine joy as he pulled on the Noldo's hands.
Erestor readily agreed and they exited the shelter just as they were, plunging into the invigorating brook.
They played for awhile in glorious abandon, as elflings might do, splashing and grappling each other to bring about thorough dowsings below the surface, sweeping great curtains of fluid up into cascading arcs that rained back over them. Slowly the raucous play became more subdued as Erestor began washing Legolas free of the grime their pleasure had created, and the archer responded by working away at the sticky remainders of his semen upon the seneschal's skin. Their touches became softer yet more heated and soon questing lips sealed together as they became closely entwined in each other's embrace.
Lost in their rising passion, neither heard the silent approach of the Elf Lord as he entered the sanctuary.
His duties with the child had kept him several hours in the village, yet the concerns of the humans were misconstrued, for rather than suffering another setback the babe was improving. The healer had determined Cemendur was experiencing his first hunger pangs in weeks and was bawling for this lesser and more easily remedied cause. Elrond stayed and supervised with satisfaction as the child greedily slurped down the nourishing gruel made by his adoring aunt. He remained in the sick house until the boy was sleeping soundly, having checked over the injuries and rebandaged the stump of his tiny arm.
Once he was confident all was well, the Elf Lord left in search of Legolas. When an exhaustive investigation of the village proved fruitless, he located Radagast and learned of the two elves' departure, and marched out into the night.
Finding the way had been rather difficult for him under the moonless sky, and the light rain slowed his progress by slicking the detritus and duff of the forest floor. Yet Elrond actually felt easier of heart as he hiked. Revealing his suspicions regarding Thranduil and the One Ring to Legolas had been right. The archer's logical refutation had convinced him; the cursed relic was far from the reach of his adversary and the future was suddenly less dark. Indeed, even the constant rain was welcomed to cleanse the air of the lingering scent of ashes and death. He had been eager to reach the sanctuary and tell Legolas about the child's recovery, hopeful of another chance to restore the broken bond he had glimpsed so fleetingly.
Elrond could not believe what the glory of Anor revealed. His best friend and his young lover, so deeply submerged in luxuriant foreplay that the pair did not even realize they were no longer alone.
Legolas was caressing the tight contours of Erestor's buttocks while his other hand rigorously stroked the advisor's erection. The exiled archer moaned softly against his companion's lips as the seneschal held him close with an arm around the shoulders, insinuating several fingers of his right hand carefully into the wild one's arse.
Elrond glowered; every muscle constricted, and beheld the languidly sensual display unfolding. Clearly, Erestor was preparing to take Legolas, and while he was loath to witness this, the Lord of Imladris could not seem to avert his eyes from the tableau. Even as he watched his seneschal lifted Legolas up round the waist and waded to the bank, settling him there against the cushioning ferns and mosses.
With swift movements born of heightened desire the fallen prince lifted his opened legs onto Erestor's shoulders and the Noldo entered him with a thunderous cry, filling him completely with the first thrust. With every invasive impact of Erestor's cock into the wild elf, the slosh of the water swirling in eddies around the seneschal's legs competed with Legolas' excited pleas for more. The Noldo drove into him with increasing force and Pen-rhovan arched back, arms splayed out, his entire body lifted off the ground, seemingly balanced between the penis spearing him and the crown of his head pushed nearly backwards into the soft moist ground. He begged loudly for Berenaur to fuck him harder, deeper.
The seneschal complied and caught the slender stiffness of Legolas' cock, handling it expertly as the archer screamed in delight and came, the silver fountain of his seed shining under the brilliance of the morning sun. Erestor's orgasm followed immediately and he shouted, pounding his cock into the clenching sphincter with even greater vehemence for two prolonged lunges that stole their breaths away.
Legolas flopped against the bank with a satiated sigh and reached for Erestor, who carefully removed himself from the tight enclosure of the wild elf's body. He wrapped his arms around Pen-rhovan and lay down beside him on the bank, drawing him over to rest upon his breast.
The voyeur heard his old friend ask if Legolas was all right, if he had hurt him in any way, and could tell by Legolas' encircling embrace that the answer was only of joy and satisfaction without pain or discomfort. They held each other as their heavy breathing gradually subsided. Slowly their composure returned and the soft cadence of easy conversation began.
Elrond shuddered, recoiling from their casual intimacy, and quickly retreated from the glade. He told himself this was no more than he had instructed Erestor to do, but the obvious delight of the couple rankled. He told himself this meant nothing to him, Legolas was merely a diversion from his lack of physical intimacy, a means to a political end, and not someone he cared about.
But he had expected Legolas to rebuff the seneschal's wooing and had even felt slightly worried for Erestor's health when he had learned the two had left together. Legolas was supposed to choose a bond with him, not couple with the first lothario to cross his path!
He attempted to convince himself he was pleased to know the truth; Legolas was just like his mother. Ningloriel was completely selfish, maintaining a string of lovers, inconstant, faithless and incapable of sustaining a true bond. Fool he had been to seek any sort of union with the spawn of such a one!
Below his upwelling anger a sense of betrayal emerged. It seemed everyone Elrond had ever cared about had left him, and now the pattern reasserted itself.
Elrond halted his progress and wearily cast himself down upon the fallen and blasted trunk of an ancient oak. Why was he locked in this unceasing cycle of sorrow? How had he come to be so ruthlessly cursed by fate, and what injury had he done to earn such torment?
Even more infuriating, each loss had near its center Thranduil's presence. The toll of the names rang through the Elf Lord's mind: Gil-Galad, lost trying to salvage the remnants of Oropher's warriors, one of which had been Thranduil. Celebrian, lost because the Woodland King's xenophobia prevented news of the Orcs in the High Pass from reaching Imladris.
Yet even more than these, the loss of Ningloriel burned against his soul.
The image of the Danwaith Queen filled his mind as he recalled the moment of their meeting. He had been in Lorien for some years when she arrived to visit her sister. Knowing nothing of her and little of her people, Elrond considered the Wood Elves too simple to offer anything of substance to the splendor of Imladris.
But she had known of him, had searched him out, and boldly stated her intentions. Not waiting for her father to petition the match or for Elrond to perform the appropriate rituals of courting, she had ticked off the tally of the advantages their mating would produce, listing the beauty of their resulting offspring foremost! They had coupled that very night and the fiery joining had been incomparable, for she was both demanding and extravagant in her fulfillment.
The experience had overwhelmed him and Elrond fell under the Woodland inu's spell, instantly wishing that his negotiations with Galadriel had not been so close to summation. He had already secured Celebrian's betrothal and to renege would have been not only brutally crude but also would have earned him an enemy of far greater power than he cared to face.
Had Ningloriel only arrived a mere handful of months earlier! Elrond would have sought to ally with the Danwaith, stretching Imladris' borders across the Misty Mountains. If he had known of her sooner, Ningloriel would have provided him with an exciting and satisfying union, a vast realm of great potential, and revenge upon Oropher.
Instead, it was Thranduil who wedded the impetuously passionate Sylvan, securing the ongoing support of the forest folk and continuing the regency established by his sire.
The philandering had continued. Thus he had developed his scheme regarding her usefulness as an informant against her husband to account for their frequent rendezvous. Convincing Galadriel of this had been easier than he would have thought. Indeed, he spoke the lie so often he even persuaded himself, and Celebrian had behaved as though the affair did not exist. When little news of value resulted from Ningloriel's gossip, no one seemed to notice or care.
But she had changed. Or perhaps, he considered, he had just come to understand her. After the birth of Arwen she had begun speaking of her aversion to Thranduil's touch, bitterly bemoaning his insistence that she produce an heir. Even so, it had been several loa before Legolas arrived. The child's birth had heralded a complete break with her role as wife, and the concept of motherhood she seemed to regard as an affront. It was then that Elrond realized the truth; Ningloriel had expected him to refuse Celebrian the comforts of their marriage bed as a sign of his love for her. This was never openly discussed, but was aired through the Elf Lord's indignance over her kept pet guardsman.
She refused to relinquish Maltahondo. That bond she neither tried to hide nor justify. She needed him; that was the entirety of her argument. Whenever the issue arose, she brought up Celebrian. If he rationalized using the import of his alliance to Lorien, she resentfully reminded him he possessed an equal power in Vilya. A power, she always added, that might lift the strain of darkness from her lands and return her people to tranquility.
And in the end she had left him, choosing to take Maltahondo with her, and this too was influenced by Thranduil through his decision to take a consort and beget a new heir.
How it burned, the faulty, callous nature of her feeble affection for him! Elrond would never admit to himself that she had wounded him deeply when she left forever. He disregarded his original motives for their entanglement, underlain with desire for vengeance upon Thranduil and lust for her sex. Likewise, he refused to consider what drove him to profane possession of the ostracized prince, never acknowledging his obsession was constructed from the identical blueprints, only replacing Ningloriel with the son she had so readily abandoned.
Legolas. So very like his mother: wildly passionate, beautiful to behold, entirely wanton, and completely selfish. Are all in Ningloriel's line so false of heart? he thought morosely.
Memory vividly accosted his thoughts, forcing the Elven Lord to relive the scandalous scene: Legolas' lithe body bent in lewd display as Erestor shoved his cock in and out relentlessly, the wild elf's desperate entreaties for deeper penetration, the sight of his exposed penis, crowded with the swollen sack, as the seneschal grabbed it, the ecstatic scream as Legolas' ejaculation pearled through the air.
Rage coursed through him and Elrond leaped up from the log. This offense would not go unanswered!
He returned to the village, recalling both of his promises to enlighten Thranduil. He would enjoy revealing Legolas' debauchery to the Woodland King. Let him know nothing in his House went untouched by Imladris, even as Thranduil's existence had hovered near all the losses the Noldo Lord had endured. And revealing the cause for the harassment by Dol Guldur would surely incite terror and havoc throughout Mirkwood. Perhaps the Nandorin Elves would no longer be so appreciative of their king's renowned wealth.
Especially, he mused, if the messenger learns the dire nature of the communication. Gossip will spread the words to every citizen in the Woodland Realm: their King is harboring the most destructively evil object in all of Middle Earth!
While the Wood Elf and the Noldo enjoyed their gentle post-coital chat, the Lord of Imladris composed his scathingly derogatory missive and included the cloth soiled with Legolas' blood and his own essence.
As the messenger left the village, Elrond cared not that his action could seal Legolas' fate as a traitor to the Greenwood, naming him the lover of its Regent's greatest antagonist. Such betrayal would mean permanent banishment from his homeland and severance from Tawar forever.
Safe in the protection of the sanctuary, lost in the consummation of their delicious lechery, Legolas and Erestor remained ignorant of the intrusion.
Erestor cautiously removed his spent organ from the searing envelopment of the wild elf's body, terrified to look for fear of finding Legolas' blood coating him. If there were such evidence of his impassioned ferocity he would never forgive himself. Carefully he transferred the completely lax limbs from his shoulders, laying the long legs out upon the bank. Legolas' feet dipped into the cooling water and Erestor heard a light exhalation as he shifted, rippling the fluid around his ankles. It did not sound like an expression of discomfort and so the advisor dared to examine himself. Relief flooded him and guilt departed for no discernible scarlet stains covered his slackened genitalia.
"Are you alright, Legolas? Have I hurt you in any way?" he whispered as he climbed up onto the refreshingly springy grasses and scooped the weary woodland warrior into his secure embrace. Legolas turned in the hold and snuggled against the Noldo with another soft sigh, resting upon the comfortable firmness of the broad smooth chest. Erestor felt the rapid impression of velvety lips caress the skin overlying his heart and a strong surge of joy engulfed him.
"Nay, you have given me no pain, only great pleasure. I have never felt this way with anyone else," Legolas whispered shakily and squeezed tightly in hopes of transmitting the fullness of his gratitude through the contact.
This admission was deeply moving for the advisor to hear, for it was confirmation of his own suspicions, and this was truly saddening. A joining such as they had shared was what Legolas deserved, and he should never have been taught to accept anything less. He gently stroked the golden hair and caressed across the scarred shoulders, desiring to comfort his partner.
"It pleases me to know all is well," he said and leaned his cheek against the mound of unruly tresses tucked against him.
But Erestor understood now what Elrond had meant about Legolas' demands and the overwhelming force of the sexual enticement his perverted appetite for pain created. He had refused to let the seneschal return to the thicket for the oil and Erestor had used only the water from the stream for lubrication, and had not been gentle in taking him. It was difficult to admit that the sensation of his penis scraping against the jagged ridges of the marred muscle within the misused elf had been unbelievably stimulating. He had intended to be careful, allowing his invasive piercing to be deep and thorough but not jarring or injurious. Yet Legolas had begged for more and Erestor had been unable to resist his own urge to use every ounce of strength he could rally to fuck the feral elf nearly into oblivious stupor.
"Many have shared their first experience with me," he resumed, "and I have never hurt anyone even under such delicate conditions! Indeed, I am considered very adept and skillful in this regard. I could not abide the thought of you being the first to know pain from my lovemaking!"
"Worry not; your reputation is well earned and quite safe!" the archer said, and Erestor thought he detected a hint of mirth tinting these words.
"You think me boastful, Pen-rhovan, but I am actually being quite humble!" he scolded indignantly and was dismayed when Legolas laughed outright.
"Berenaur, if this is modesty do not ever speak of your real abilities or I will be unable to restrain my unbridled cupidity!" he said within his gleeful chuckling.
Erestor gave an ungracious snort but smiled to have made Legolas laugh; it was a good sound to hear.
"There are no deficits in your own proficiency for giving pleasure, either," he praised and Legolas wriggled closer into his embrace.
"Coming from one who has sampled so many elves and shares body and soul with two lovers at once that is high praise indeed," he joked softly, and now it was Berenaur who laughed lightly in response.
"Ah! I have not felt so relaxed since my last visit to Lorien! Legolas, you are as soothing to the spirit as you are to the flesh!"
"Why do you not resettle in the Golden Wood, then? Clearly you long to be with Penbara and Penraeg," Legolas commented, comfortable using the nicknames since he had earned one himself.
"I am bound to the Court of Imladris by my oath of allegiance to the High King." the seneschal said, exhaling a wistful breath. "It is a trying position yet I could not in good conscience leave when I am so needed. You would scarcely believe what goes on in the Last Homely House, and without my attention the whole of Imladris would end up in disarray," he said with exaggerated drama and was soon explaining, in precise detail, exactly what he meant by these words.
Peacefully content in Berenaur's arms, Legolas lay smiling as the advisor prattled on about the most mundane things that occurred in Imladris. He complained of this elf's rudeness and that diplomat's hauteur, expounded on the hardheadedness of the stable master, slandered Glorfindel terribly as a lazy lout, and even disparaged the chintzy portions of honeyed butter allotted at breakfast.
Legolas found the incessant chatter endearing; he had never heard anyone talk so much! Malthen had rarely spoken after sex; usually leaving Legolas right after their completion to sleep in his own quarters. Even during the time they served together in the patrols it was Legolas who did most of the talking between them. Maltahondo, he remembered now, had a predilection for lecturing and instructions rather than conversation.
His one other lover had enjoyed talking only if he could speak obscenely and publicly embarrass Legolas, boastfully and explicitly describing every sound Legolas emitted, from the gentlest sough to his most lasciviously pleading screams, for all that would listen. They had argued bitterly over it, yet Legolas did not want to admit he was unable to make the match chosen for him work. When his lover had left the Greenwood permanently Legolas had not been upset in the least.
These musings were too dark and dreary to accompany the cheerful gleam of Anor and the tranquil familiarity of the Noldo's protective embrace, he decided, and banished the memories from awareness to concentrate on the rambling discourse.
The seneschal was completing a tale involving a prized Numenorean vase and the Elf Lord's daughter. Apparently she had given it away on a whim to the mother of a young courtier from Lorien, and the ensuing chaos and attempts to retrieve the priceless item had fallen on the advisor to remedy. Berenaur laughed softly and sighed, squeezing Legolas again and rubbing his palms luxuriously over his naked back.
The touch became assessing as he fingered individual scars, worrying them. The seneschal's words did not resume and his body tensed under his companion's weight, as he seemed to withdraw into melancholy introspection.
Legolas looked up to find a concerned and worried expression regarding him, and instantly became unsettled. "What is it? What is wrong, Berenaur?" he asked and did not understand why these simple words made the Noldo wince as if pained.
Of course, it was only that one specific falsehood that grieved the older elf to hear: the name Berenaur. Erestor's conscience was mercilessly berating him for continuing this egregious deception upon the Wood Elf who deserved not such abuse. He drew a shaky breath and tried to steel his nerve for the task at hand.
"Legolas, I wish to speak seriously to you. What I say will be difficult to learn, and even now I hesitate to relay too much for fear of adding to the injurious treatment you have already sustained!" he began, and Legolas leaned up on his elbows to stare at him with dread.
He was not certain he cared to have this information if it meant absorbing fresh insults.
"What is this about?" he asked guardedly, and the Noldo could see the anxiety seeping into him, dislodging his former tranquility.
"It is about Erestor. Or, actually, it is more about Elrond of Imladris that I would speak," he ventured cautiously into the suspect terrain. "And myself, for I have been a willing participant."
Pen-rhovan's response betrayed his conflicted emotions. He sat up to have a clearer view of his partner's features and wrapped his arms about himself, curious about the Elven Lord's part in the plot but instinctively withdrawing from the predicted shock.
"What does he think about me?" he asked tentatively, not yet brave enough to ask what he truly wanted to know.
The question threw Erestor off-guard a bit, for he had not expected the note of hopeful expectation underscoring the fallen prince's words. This could be stickier than he had at first comprehended, and the advisor began to understand why Aiwendil had not been overly eager to reveal the truth to the forest champion.
"Ah," he said lamely and tried to gather and reorder his thoughts. "Well, I know he thinks you are courageous and resourceful, fair-minded and intelligent, and unjustly accursed by this awful Judgement!" he revealed honestly and observed Legolas' brows ride skyward in surprise.
"All that? He has never even met me; how can what you say be so?" he demanded.
Erestor realized his error; he had not quite thought this through. He would now have to either construct more lies or just come out with the brutal truth, neither choice desirable.
He looked at the unsuspecting elf's expectant expression and read there the hopeful neediness for some sort of positive confirmation of the things he had just heard. The seneschal understood with a constricting sensation around his heart that Legolas wanted to believe there was a wise and noble Lord somewhere out in the faraway reaches beyond the Misty Mountains that knew of and cared about him.
Legolas was seeking his father.
This was far worse than he had considered. He could not explain his own true name without revealing Elrond's. But the wild elf obviously believed what Erestor himself thought likely: that the Noldo Lord had begot him. To learn his own father had viciously bedded him, that was a concept too hideous to entertain. The seneschal shuddered, thinking how he would react to such a grotesque situation, and fearing how this would impact upon Legolas' grief-stricken mind.
"Hmmm, yes," he stammered, "Even so, he does know much about you. You may be isolated here, forbidden to discuss anything of your situation, but others are not. Not everyone is subject to the Custom and Law of the Woodland Realm," he stalled.
"Mithrandir!" the Wood Elf devised his own conclusion and smiled. "Has he told Elrond about me, then?"
Erestor blinked and managed a shaky half-smile in answer. It churned his gut, this en-miring quickmud of deceit, but he could not bear to destroy the wild elf's hopes so completely as the truth would surely do. It occurred to him, in light of the illusion the younger elf had been harboring all this time, that the reality of his relationship with Elrond might actually kill him.
Better for him to remain in ignorance of the healer's true identity, he concluded and thus rejected his desire for full disclosure. Berenaur, it seemed, would remain a fictitious reality.
"Mithrandir, yes; I am sure he has spoken to Elrond about you. However, it is not so much this that I wanted to address." He said and attempted to steer the conversation toward a partial admission of the subterfuge perpetrated upon the outcast.
"I was not lying when I said earlier that my colleague and I had discussed how to go about getting you to grant us sexual favors. We thought you would be more open to revealing Thranduil's secrets if we courted you thus. My part in it all I completely regret, especially now after what we have shared."
Here Erestor reached out and gently stroked his fingers across Legolas' jaw and the archer allowed the caress to travel on around his throat and past his ear where the touch remained softly alight on the nape of the neck.
"However, I do not understand what my old friend is thinking regarding this. I do not want you to continue to have sex with the healer, Legolas; he does not consider how he harms you!" the seneschal finished all in a rush and waited apprehensively for Pen-rhovan's justified outrage.
To his amazement Legolas smiled hugely and flung himself back over the Noldo's body, settling himself securely back within his arms.
"You are worried about me!" he exhaled delightedly. "Do not; I have not given my heart to him and will not suffer much when he departs!"
Legolas was simply not in any frame of mind to generate anger. The Noldo had apologized so many times, and had already told Legolas this disturbingly erotic truth. It was somehow exciting to think of them discussing him so even prior to meeting him, desiring him before they even looked upon him. He found Berenaur's protective jealousy unexpectedly flattering, this was the first time Legolas had ever come between two elves.
Erestor was dumbfounded as he felt the delicate pressure of his companion's lips focus again on the spot over his very rapidly pounding heart, and squeezed back supposedly to reassure the feral elf but more to alleviate his own tension.
They remained silently contemplative as they re-established their previous comfort level, yet the seneschal could feel a slight restraint remaining in Legolas' limbs. After several minutes Pen-rhovan stirred and his fingers began absentmindedly twisting a lock of the Noldo's glossy raven-hued hair.
"Berenaur," he said and paused. "What else does Elrond say about me? I know about his relationship with my mother; you need not fear revealing a confidence in this respect," he cajoled. "Does Elrond consider me, does he think he is," Legolas struggled to get this question asked. Everytime he brought it up some appalling reply left him wounded; he was wary of repeating the experience.
"Legolas," the advisor frowned at the hesitant quality of his partner's speech knowing exactly what the Wood Elf wanted to say. "If you are asking whether Elrond believes himself to be your father, then I must answer no." He felt the tenseness dissolve away to be replaced by a palpable sensation of gloomy disappointment.
A great sigh escaped from Legolas and he lay limp and listless a long time, and Erestor could not think what to do other than to gently caress the troubled elf's shoulders. The silence stretched on as neither spoke, for the seneschal feared to make matters worse not knowing how the fallen prince was digesting this revelation. At last he felt another tremendous heave against his chest.
"Then, Elrond believes Thranduil is my father?" Legolas raised his head to look questioningly at Berenaur, as though he needed the confirmation to be able to accept this fact. The expression of revulsion in his eyes was clearly evident.
But about these matters Erestor did not see any need for lies and so he sought to mitigate that unpleasant reaction to the concept of the overbearing and avaricious Woodland King as a father.
"Nay! Elrond does not think that; indeed, few knowing the whole story would consider this true! The Lord of Imladris believes your mother's long relationship with her personal guardsman generated your conception!" he said.
The response this created was not what he had expected. Legolas shoved back and sat up from him, staring with the most horrendous expression of disbelieving shock and repugnance the Noldo had ever seen.
"What! Why would he say that? Malthen cannot be my father!" he wailed hysterically and reached for Erestor's shoulders, shaking him for emphasis.
The seneschal grasped his arms and tried to steady him, but Legolas was becoming more distraught by the second and began struggling to escape.
"It is a lie! It must be a lie! He would not do that to me!" Legolas was screaming these words in tones that could only pour from the rending trauma of a shattered soul and Erestor became terrified of what he had unwittingly done. He tried to wrap his arms tight around Pen-rhovan to hold him still.
"Legolas! What is it? Why is this such formidable news? Speak!" Erestor was beside himself to contain the wild elf's despair and calm him, for he had never intended to bring about the agony being experienced now. Legolas was far beyond the reach of such entreaties, however, and his rage and devastation boiled over as he assailed the Noldo with his fists and feet and broke free.
He sloshed across the water and disappeared into the shelter, Erestor close behind him, but when he encountered the seneschal on his way back out Legolas was dressed, armed, and had his dagger in hand. One murderous look was enough to send the Noldo backing quickly away.
In vain Erestor tried to convince him to stop and speak of the matter but Legolas merely allowed him a small glance into the depths of his tormented eyes and the seneschal was rendered paralyzed and wordless to see the despairing anguish there. Without another sound the Tawarwaith fled his violated sanctuary.
Erestor recovered himself and fairly dived into the brambles to retrieve his pack, intent on following the broken warrior and repairing the damage he had caused. Crawling inside the shelter on his hands and knees, he suddenly froze as his eyes fell upon the crushed and twisted mosses where they had enjoyed each other so fully through the night.
There upon the ground lay the braided souvenir of auburn tresses, severed from its long embrace of the wild elf's ankle.
TBC