At least, Legolas thought bitterly, Estel had the decency of looking him in the eye, though the final words that the Elf already knew were coming still lingered, unpronounced.

“Why?” Legolas asked and saw the weight of his own hurt, anger and sense of betrayal hit his loved one as a nemesis would. He knew that he would have cared far more, that he would have suffered, had the topic of their conversation been any other.

Their weeks of healing together were such perfect peace, a kind that he could not have imagined having had grown up in a time of wars. His home in Mirkwood was becoming a faint, loved memory. Yet he would not have left this place, would never have relinquished the time he had spent with his ragged Ranger in that most magical of forests to which Gandalf had brought them to enjoy a safe process of recovery.

Their lovemaking had been the universe and, for whatever reason, tended to take on the aspect of the time of day in which they coupled. Their mornings had therefore been passionate and playful, their afternoons calm and lazy. The evenings had brought a wordless, thankful prayer to the temples they had been discovering each day in one another. The nights had been wild with desperation and resentment towards the sleep that might tear them apart.

They spent several life times together in those weeks. Yet somehow, it had not been enough.

And now, Legolas’ dark blue eyes conveyed the depths of his disbelief. Estel’s were filling up with tears and the noises that began to emanate from the man confirmed that he was weeping and that he lost control over it.

Legolas, on the other hand, did not cry. They had arrived at Rivendell but six days ago and now his world was being shredded into pieces. Lord Elrond, he knew, the very same Lord Elrond whose occasional looks of sympathy he caught but could not interpret, was the one responsible for Estel’s attempt at a request right now. There had been a dinner last night, a meeting in the lord's private guest hall and a decision the father and adopted son had reached together.

The Mirkwood Prince’s wonderment coaxed him into speaking instead. “I do not understand. You would risk your life for me, you would give it away in order for me to have mine back, yet when we both find ourselves well and far from danger, you will not let us share them with each other, not even as friends? For the sake of a duty that you think your love for me would drive you away from?”

Even as the charges were being formed vocally, Legolas’ mind tried to comprehend the meaning of this duty, which took precedence with him and of which Estel would certainly not confess if he was otherwise sworn by Lord Elrond.

Nearly as immediately as those questions were phrased in his mind, their only possible solution presented itself to the troubled Elf.

He gathered his weeping Estel in his arms, seeking to comfort the man even as his own grief could not be consoled. Estel buried his head in the Elven shoulder and his crying grew even more bitter and debilitating.

Legolas spoke again, this time his voice low and its stability deceptive. No signs of interrogation remained in it.

“You would ask me to leave and never return, not for you or for your family, but for those souls who depend on your carrying the bloodline and the prophecy of Isildur.”

Estel’s shudders answered in the affirmative for him. Legolas gently raised his beloved’s head by caressing the sides of Estel’s face. The latter discovered that reserved astonishment was marked in the fair features.

“I would think I love you even more, had I only reckoned that such a thing might be possible.” Legolas said before chastely leaving the seal of his conviction on Estel’s lips and, consequently, leaving for the stables, determined to grant this last lovers request.

To be continued...