Archive of Our Own

“Come on, do it,” Elrond waved at the man who stood in front of him. The sweltering heat blurred his vision and his armour bent painfully against his chest, close to combusting. Sweat and dirt mingled on his forehead and dripped down his chin and the days of battle that lay behind him reduced his body to a coherent mass of trembling aches. Scrambling up the rocky slopes of Mount Doom had been a feat possible only by the adrenalin that pumped through his system and the visions of horror that filled his mind at the thought of the ring's continued existence. Elrond knew his knees were bound to give in and he wouldn't be able to stand the fires much longer. His insides felt molten.

“Throw the ring into the fire!” His cry was high and desperate and he gave Isildur a pleading look. It was destroying the ring now or having fought in vain. Seas of blood, endless cacophonies of screeches, human, metallic, beastly. Thousands upon thousands of deaths. The price for freedom. And this man was close, so close, to throwing it all away. Oh, the blood of men, Elrond's eternal doom.

“No,” Isildur announced and his smile widened, turned into a grimace of lunacy. “It is going to be an heirloom of my house. Those of my line shall bear it and it shall serve the Kings of Gondor henceforth.” With that the man closed his fist around the devilish piece of gold and disappeared.

Elrond's limbs shook violently. “Isildur,” he screamed. “Isildur, no.” But all hope was lost. Trembling hard, Elrond worked to stay on his feet. The fumes of the lava blocked the path ahead and he swayed were he stood, but was quick to regain his composure. He willed himself to straighten up and then he all but stumbled out of the mountain and down, down, always down the mountainside.

Elrond's foot caught on a protruding rock, and he hit the ground face-first, tasting ash on his tongue. Their fight had been in vain.

No, Elrond thought, no. Why? He got to his knees. Rested. Got to his feet and continued. What else was there to do?

“Oh Elbereth,” he gasped softly as he reached the plains of Dagorlad again, the battlefield stretched out at his feet. Littered with carcasses and fragments of an era that should have been burned from the history books on this day. The dead were everywhere. Orcs, goblins, trolls, beasts too unholy to be named. But also dwarves and elves and men. Eagles and horses and far away Elrond could see the bodies of two huge dragons that were curled against each other, lifeless on the ground. It was horrible. Elrond doubled over and retched. His stomach contracted painfully, his throat burned with bile, but there was nothing for his body to purge and so he writhed on the spot. Faught. Steadied himself on a pile of rocks which he belatedly realized was a pile of Gondorian soldiers. He recoiled, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes.

They had died for nothing.

Elrond didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it. All those years they had spent preparing. All those losses. Elendil and Gil-Galad and so many more.

“Oh why,” he cried, addressing the eternal dusk overhead. “Why didn't you help us?” His screams shattered the eerie silence of death. His knees gave in a last time. His sword clattered to the ground, its blade coated in blood, dull from days of slashing through armor and skin alike.

Grief gripped his heart like an icy claw and ripped it to shreds where he hovered. A whimper was all that came forth of the massacer. An urge overcame Elrond, an urge to lay down by his brothers' side and surrender his feä to the open, gray skies. The tether strained, strained. Elrond sighed deeply, closing his eyes. He heeded not the voice of reason that was as faint as his will to live, his heart stilled. And then he resurfaced with a gasp, pulled back to consciousness by a noise that broke through the carnage around him, inside of him.

Quiet and broken, almost inaudible, wispy sobs that carried for the lack of a gale. Elrond fought to get up.

Maybe it had all been for nothing, but there were still those who needed aid. Those who had survived, few though they were.

The source of the noise lay behind the pile of bodies that bore the White Tree on their chests. He rounded it with careful, unsteady steps so as not to scare whoever was on the other side. There was hardly ground to tread upon that was not covered by filth and blood, a piece of earth that would remember this day for eons to come. Elrond sighed. If he was honest with himself, he hoped that the noise was another orc to be stabbed and done with. To express some of the anger he felt in hot bubbles inside of him. Ready to burst.

It was no orc. Not even the relief of a stranger. Elrond's heart clenched at the sight before him.

On the ground, flanked on all sides by broken spears, sat an elf. Badly injured with blood streaking his hair, staining his hands and covering the parts of his face that were visible. His body was slumped and slack. At this distance, Elrond could hear that his sobs weren't soft at all. The elf shook violently, desperate and jagged gasps issuing from his frail form. Elrond should approach him. Check for the wounds that he was bound to find. There was so much blood.

Elrond opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw that the elf was holding onto something. Someone.

“Oh no,” Elrond gasped and hurried over. “Oh no. Please, no.” He fell to his knees in front of the pair.

He couldn't make out the features of either of them because their faces were hidden behind a rust and white curtain of hair. But he recognized the armour of the fallen one.

The elf must have heard him, but he didn't look up. Only held onto the body tighter, almost hiding behind it the oozing gash across his abdomen.

I need to get him out of here, Elrond thought, or he joins the ranks of the dead.

“Thranduil.” He placed a hand on the other's arm. Thranduil nodded though it easily could have been a sob, jolting his body.
Elrond moved his hand up, careful not to touch the wounds, and placed it under Thranduil's chin. Trying to be gentle and insistent at the same time, Elrond pushed it upward, forcing Thranduil to look up. His hand was wet already, but from blood or tears, he couldn't tell. Having lost this much, Thranduil shouldn't even be conscious, but Elrond suspected not all of it was his.

Thranduil hissed in pain as Elrond moved his face and when one blue eye met Elrond's, he gasped. Half of Thranduil's face had been torn apart and, in places, burned down to the bone. His left eye was closed and swollen, blood glueing his lids together.

“Look,” Elrond began, but Thranduil tore his face away. Another sob rocked him. “You need to listen to me. I have to get you out of here.” The blood loss had to be hard on Thranduil. The fact that he held the dead body of his father had to facilitate the shock. All factors Elrond had to work with, but his wit quickly running out, and all he could do was to keep his voice calm, low.

“No,” Thranduil pressed through his teeth.

"Yes. I understand you are mourning, but right now you need to let me save your life." Elrond tried to pry Thranduil's arms away from Oropher, but he held onto him even tighter and buried his face in golden curls that were matted with dirt and sweat. Oropher's face was untouched, almost serene, but the end of a spear stuck out of his backside.

“Ada."

“Please, Thranduil. Let me help you.” Here they were, at the end of all that was safe and sane and Elrond had no comfort left in him.

“I do not-” A sob caught Thranduil off. He hiccuped and started again. “I do not wish for you to save my life.”

“It is my will and my duty,” Elrond said using what strength he had left to sound authorative. He wanted to avoid using force, but if all else failed, he would personally haul Thranduil to safety.

“What does it matter? Night has fallen unto me and shall not lift until I am reunited with him. I have no reason to prolong the wait.” Elrond could feel his own heart shatter. Once. Then again.

“There is a lot to live for.” He forced Thranduil's face up again. The half that was uninjured was drained of all colour. Time was trickling away. “You are king now, cúron nîn.” Using a name that was a remnant of a past that was bright and happy, hoping it could raise Thranduil out of his stupor.

“Anor nîn,” Thranduil whispered, then shook himself. “There are others.” But his grip on his father had weakened.

“And what about Legolas?” A last stand, a last spirit to conjure. Elrond sighed. If he didn't act soon Thranduil would die right here. His voice was so faint.

“Legolas?” He looked into Elrond's eyes and the half-elven saw a thunderstorm of pain and despair raging, a storm of such magnitude nobody should be able to hold it. It equaled a miracle that Thranduil had held onto his body this long.

“Your son,” Elrond said. He tried to give an encouraging smile, but his face felt twisted and painful and he was reminded of his own ailments. Eru, but this was hopeless.

“Ion nîn,” Thranduil whispered and let go of his father's body. Elrond quickly rose and heaved Thranduil up as well, steadying him with one arm around his waist. The torn armour prodded his side.

“Very good. Now breathe deeply, the dizziness will pass in a moment. Yes, like that. Come now.” He turned Thranduil and took a step forward, but the blond elf leaned in the opposite direction.

“I will not leave him,” he announced weakly. “I will take his body home.” Thranduil tried to wipe his tears, but smeared blood all over his face in the process.

“Cúron, you can barely stand. How on Arda are you supposed to carry him?”

“I am not leaving him.” Thranduil tried to wriggle his way out of Elrond's grip, but he was too weak.

“Yes, you are.” Without waiting for a response Elrond made a decision. With Elbereth's light to grant him strength, he got a hold of Thranduil's legs and lifted him up, cradling his broken body against his own chest. Then he walked away from Oropher's body and into the direction of the remaining survivors where he knew they would get help.

“No!” Thranduil cried. “Let me go! Why? Why are you doing this? Ada!”

“You may despise me for it and I cannot blame you. But you need to live,” Elrond felt terrible and he yearned for a new sunrise, one not filled with misery, but with hope of a brighter future. Isildur had all but taken that from them, though at least there would be reprieve.

“Ada! Ada, please! Let me stay with him, Elrond. Don't do this! Ada. Oh Elbereth, Ada...” Thranduil sobbed and with all the strength he had left tried to escape Elrond's iron-grip.

But Elrond was determined. This was the right thing to do.

“Ada, oh ada. Forgive me." Elrond almost turned around.

It wasn't until they reached the camps that Thranduil finally slipped into unconsciousness. If Elrond was honest he wouldn't have been able to stand the other elf's helpless pleading for a second longer. One more miserable cry for his father and Elrond would have broken down and started crying himself and then Thranduil would have been beyond help.

Oh by the sea and stars, it hurts!

Keep breathing. Just one more breath.

This is pain beyond the bearable.

One more. One more breath and then you can sleep.

Why? I forgot why.

Keep breathing. Just do it.

But what for? What am I staying alive for? Everything is ruined and oh Elbereth the pain!

Breathe.

It hurts so much. Where is ada?

He is not here. But he would want you to live, would he not?

I do not know. There is nothing left.

Just one more breath.

One more breath.

It took them a month to travel back to Rivendell. A month of sleeping under trees and travelling roads that had been laid waste by orcs and whatnot. Elrond had barely rested at all for many had been injured and when he didn't stay with Thranduil he helped where else he could. He was the most skilled healer after all and thanks to him many survived who would have otherwise died. Yet he barely left Thranduil's side.

It was only when they reached Lórien where they could stay for a while that Elrond had a full night's sleep for the first time in what seemed to be ages. Of course Isildur had offered them shelter in the white city, but Elrond had declined. Half-dead elf or not, Elrond wanted no business with men if he could help it. All his trust had evaporated.
In Lórien, many elves left the company for they either lived there or needed rest for longer than a few days. The Lady Galadriel received them with friendship and was a great help although she too mourned the loss of her king.
She spent long hours in song over Thranduil's maimed body, and granted Elrond some time for rest.

Half a week they stayed in Lothlórien, and then with the company reduced to only about seven score people they set off, wanting to reach Rivendell as quickly as possible. The Galadhrim had given them horses and carts to carry the wounded. All the strength Elond had managed to gather in the beautiful wood had already left him by the third day of their journey.

The physical exhaustion he was able to manage somehow though he later couldn't explain to himself how he had done it. It was the emotional pain that haunted him. The loss of beloved friends and family members had opened wounds greater than he was able to comprehend. And there was also the persistent and never-ending worry about the Elven-King whose wounds still needed tending to and who hovered on the brink of death with a stubborn persistence. Every time Elrond bent over him, he expected Thranduil's heart to have stopped. Everytime he found it still beating, he felt a hundred years older.

What if he never woke up? What if he woke up and would try to kill himself? What if he would forever be crippled? Would Elrond even be able to keep him alive?

He prayed to all the Valar and their servants to make sure Thranduil would make it to Imladris. Of course, Elrond was on his own, no spirits to guide him or give him hope. And the worry preyed on his mind. It wasn't just a king he was concerned about. It wasn't just the simple fear of a realm being without a ruler. It was about a child losing his father. It was about losing a valuable warrior and a great mind. And first and foremost, it was about Elrond losing a dear friend.

Surely, he had had his fights with Oropher, the king had been selfish and annoying at times and even cruel at others. But the Prince of Greenwood the Great had always been the opposite of his father. Kind and sweet. Loving and compassionate. Oh, he had seen grief greater than many of their kind, but he had kept to being nice to every living thing he encountered be it men or elf, beast or bird and strangely enough even dwarves.

Sometimes Elrond forgot that Thranduil was older than him for he had always kept a sort of childlike demeanour.
Elrond knew he should be able to tolerate every ruler, but he would be lying if he said that he hadn't always been a little relieved when it was Thranduil who appeared at important council meetings and not his father.
Elrond feared that would Thranduil wake up that would change. Then again, change he could deal with, death he could not. Not again.

Thus, Elrond barely slept at all.

When they reached the Last Homely Home East of the Sea at last and the fair-haired elf was still alive, Elrond's heart was filled with gladness. Now, he thought to himself, I can save him.

And to the unconscious body of Thranduil he said:

“Welcome to my humble home, mellon. You will live, I will make sure of it.” And because he was overcome by his relief he kissed Thranduil's brow and allowed himself a small smile.

Can I sleep now?

No. You must fight and stay.

What for? I forgot what for.

Do it for Legolas.

Legolas?

Yes. Your son remember?

Others will take care of him. What good is a broken father?.

He needs you.

He will be fine.

Without his ada? Remember what you felt like when-

NO! It hurts, I wanna let go now.

Keep breathing. Do it for Legolas or Elrond, I do not care. Just stay alive.

Only one more breath okay?

Yes, one more breath.

And now?

One more. I promise. Just one and then you can go.

Okay...

It got better then. In a proper house with qualified healers and the chance of resting at least some hours of the day Elrond was able to help Thranduil.

Skin knitted back together, broken bone sealed, and, with the help of others, he was able to feed Thranduil.

It was a week before Elrond could take most of the bandages off. He didn't have to be around all the time now.. There was only one thing he couldn't take care of and it had to wait until Thranduil woke up: his eye which Elrond was sure was beyond healing.

Finally having time to take care of other things he visited Thranduil three times a day and could deal with a lot of business that had come up for one reason or another.

It was some three weeks after they had reached Rivendell that riders out of the Greenwood arrive. Elrond had expected them to bring Legolas to him, but when the moment came that he held the young prince in his arms he wasn't as ready to tell him about his father's condition as he thought he would be. In his despair, he had told him that he could stay if he wanted to, but that he couldn't see his ada lest he hurt him. Legolas did not agree with that and started crying and screaming for his father.

Maybe, Elrond thought as he gently stroked the head of the sobbing elfling, the cries of his son will wake him up. He seriously doubted it though.

And so, regularity found its way back into Elrond's life.

In the mornings, he would wake up and check up on all his resident patiens. Then, on his way to breakfast, he would carry Legolas and try to distract him. After breakfast, he went into his study and wrote letters. Middle-earth was still in ruins after all. There were things to take care of. After some hours, he would visit Thranduil and stay there for a while, having formed the habit of talking to the elf.

Afternoons were again taken up by taking care of the young Prince of the Greenwood. He read to him, he played with him. He would leave that task to others, but the child wouldn't speak to anyone else. After dinner, he would go to Thranduil's chamber for the last time and then he would go to sleep.

So, days passed and Thranduil didn't wake up. Weeks passed and Thranduil didn't wake up. Legolas got worse. Elrond's initial hope passed and he got agitated.

Another day, another three visits and nothing happened.

Well, he thought to himself now and again, maybe he won't ever wake up. And he found that it troubled his heart deeply. More even than the death of Gil-Galad. More even than the death of his wife.
Elrond wasn't too sure what to make of that. Maybe because his hope would not die and he was unable to extinguish it himself. Still, he carried on.

Someone's talking.

Yes, you should listen to him.

Him?

Yes. It's Lord Elrond, don't you remember his voice?

You're right it is him. For a moment, I thought it was naneth.

Of course, it wasn't her, silly. She has left a long time ago.

Aye, she did.

Stop drowning in self-pity and LISTEN!

“I worry about you, my friend. It's been too long. I don't think I can keep Legolas out of here much longer.”

Legolas? Is he here?

Yes, he is.

I want to see him.

Wake up then.

I can't. It hurts too much.

“It seems to me that I have undervalued our friendship, Thranduil. I find that I miss you greatly and your loss would be a heavy blow which undoubtedly would make me crumble. I've lost so many already, please just wake up soon, will you?”

He sounds tired.

Of course, he does. Who do you think has been taking care of you?

I never thought he would care so much for me.

Remember when you wanted nothing more than for him to care about you?

I was younger then. Less wise.

And less unconscious.

I told you I can't do it, it hurts.

You're causing him pain. And Legolas too.

I cannot. I don't think I'll ever be able to.

The sky was gloomy and Elrond needed to light a candle to finish off his last letter. It would rain later. With a heavy sigh, he set down his quill, careful not to spill ink on the freshly written words, and took a long gulp of water. He then stood up to make his way to Thranduil's room. It was only a matter of time until his footsteps would wear set paths into the stone. Elrond had stopped counting the days.

As he reached the door he hesitated for a moment. Each day that passed seemed like a lost battle to him and each time he was about to open that door it became harder and harder. When the day came that he couldn't stand being in the same room as the unmoving body of Thranduil anymore Elrond would break down, he was sure of it. Who was going to save him then?

He pushed it open gently and slipped inside. He locked it in case Legolas would try to enter. At first, he had always pounded against the door and had cried and screamed for Elrond to let him in, but the half-elven knew that it wouldn't have done any of them any good. These days, Legolas was always quiet and didn't even try any more.

He used to be a cheerful child. Now he was nothing, but desperation.

Elrond sat down on his usual place next to the bed and brushed locks of golden hair out of Thranduil's face. The elf didn't move. He could have been a statue.

A beautiful marble statue. Elrond sighed. He would give anything to see those eyes open. To have that piercing stare directed at him. To be amazed by the sheer blueness of them. He took the king's hand.

“Sometimes I wonder if your fëa has already left your body,” Elrond said bending forward. The skin on the left side of Thranduil's face was nothing but scare tissue and his ear and the hair on that side had been burned. He kissed Thranduil's torn cheek. “I don't think I'll be able to come here much longer, you see. You'll have to wake up soon.”

There was no reaction. Elrond took Thranduil's hand in both of his and pressed it against his own heart.
“Oh, cúron nîn, if only I knew what to do.” Gently he laid the hand down again and took from a bowl next to the bed a wet cloth which he used to clean the elf's face. He only applied the lightest of pressure, not wanting to cause him pain. It was only then that for the first time since the battle on the plains of Dagorlad Elrond allowed himself to be weak. Or rather couldn't keep his strength anymore. And he cried.

He cried noiselessly and without sobbing. He just sat there, holding Thranduil's hand again, and tears streamed down his face. Had he wanted to stop them he wouldn't have been able to.

Later he could not recall how long he had sat there, but at last he stood up, placed another kiss on Thranduil's brow and turned to leave. He laid his hand on the key to unlock the door and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Anor nîn?” It was barely audible. So quiet and weak that Elrond thought he must have imagined it. Trying to shake off his paralysis he took a deep breath. And another. And three more before he was able to turn around again.

“Cúron?” he asked softly.

“Aye,” came the reply.

“How?” Elrond was astonished. It took him two long struts and he was at Thranduil's side. And he really was awake. His healthy eye was looking at Elrond. Weak, but awake. Finally, awake. By Eru, he was awake!

“Oh thank the Valar,” the half-elven exclaimed and another tear slipped down his face. He almost bent down and hugged Thranduil. Almost.

“Mae govannen,” Thranduil whispered and winced in pain immediately. Elrond sat down on the bed and wiped away the tears on his cheeks.

“How are you?” he asked and smiled gently. As a reply Thranduil shook his head slightly.

“Talking pains you, does is not?” He picked up the cloth again. Thranduil had opened both his eyes and Elrond was finally able to wipe away the lasts spots of dried blood on his face. Thranduil winced, but didn't complain. The eye was as Elrond had expected dull. Blind.
He wiped once more around the swollen flesh and then laid the cloth aside.

“I am joyful for seeing you,” Elrond said. “I had feared for the worst.” The pain in Thranduil's eye was still visible, as was his despair, but his features softened a bit as Elrond smiled at him.

“Gi hannon,” Thranduil managed in response and coughed soundly.

“Hush. You should rest now. I'll get you water and something to eat and then you should sleep a bit more. After that I can tend to that eye of yours although I am certain that you shall never be able to use it again.” Elrond paused for a moment, waiting for the information to sink in. Losing an eye should be a shock to anyone, but Thranduil took it with dignity. “Is that alright?” The Elven-King nodded.

Elrond stood up once more and gestured for Thranduil to wait for him when the blond choked out another word.
“Legolas?”

“You can see him after you have rested some more. He can wait another couple of hours.” Elrond dismissed Thranduil's plea with a wave of his hand.

“No. Now!” Thranduil looked troubled. Elrond sighed. He didn't want to put him under more stress than necessary.

“Well, I guess I could bring him with me. But only for a moment. Then you'll rest. Understood?” Thranduil nodded another time and with that Elrond left the room to find some nourishment and the elfling.

See? You made it.

I did.

Have you seen how relieved he was?

He saved my life.

Aye, he did. You could show a bit more gratitude.

I can barely even speak. I will thank him when the time is right.

Will you tell him then?

Tell him what?

Oh you know what I mean.

No. I do not. What are you saying.

You still love him.

No. He's my friend. That is all.

Of course. Anor muin lîn. You don't love him at all.

So what if I do? It would not matter.

Maybe that was so once.

And it still is.

And if it goes your way it forever shall be. But there is always an alternative.

I almost died. I'm half-blind. Ada is... ada is dead and you think I should be worrying about a fancy that has long passed?

Has it though?

Shut up.

“Master Elrond,” someone knocked on his door. It was rather early in the morning and Elrond wondered what anyone could possibly want from him at such an hour. He finished off the last of his braids.

“Yes?” The door opened with a loud creak. It was Lindir.

“I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but pri- king Thranduil has asked for you.” The other elf coughed awkwardly and shifted on his feet. Immediately Elrond was alarmed. Had something happened? Thranduil was definitely on his way to getting better, but Elrond couldn't help worrying still.

Without another word, he rushed past Lindir and down the corridor. He burst into the room and found Thranduil sitting on his bed, sipping a cup of tea. At the sight of his torn face Elrond's stomach lurched. He would never get used to it. Not because it was ugly. But because it was a constant reminder of what they had gone through. What they were still going through.

“Are you alright?” He asked and rushed to sit on his bed, his trained eye already examining the elf in front of him. Thranduil chuckled lightly, almost not audible, and put aside his cup.

“Quite so. You did not have to come immediately I told Lindir this could wait,” he said and smiled his awkward half-smile. He couldn't really move the other half of his face. Elrond gave a sigh of relief. Obviously, taking care of the elf for such a long time had increased his fondness for him, but Elrond could not explain the graveness of his own worry.

“Why did you call for me?” Elrond directed his attention back to Thranduil.

“I want to walk. No, no. Before you say something let me talk speak. I want to try to stand up. If I sit here in this bed for another day I'll go mad. You know what I can do here? Thinking. And nothing but. I need to do something, anor. Because otherwise I'll get even more depressed.” He tilted his head when he was finished, waiting for an answer.

It was true. Thranduil got better concerning his physical wounds. But Oropher's death still lay heavily upon him. There were days when Elrond had to talk Thranduil out of trying to end his life. Those days were scarce and Thranduil was trying hard to overcome it, he could see that, but sometimes his grief got the better of him and he was overwhelmed.

One afternoon Elrond had spent sitting next to Thranduil, holding him, while he cried and cried and had said things that Elrond didn't think he wanted anyone to hear. But he had stayed. Had whispered encouraging words into his ear, had rubbed his back, had made him tea. Had simply held him for hours.

Today, Elrond knew, was a good day. Thranduil had smiled at him and that he wanted to get out was a good sign. It meant he was trying to get himself back. And only if he achieved that he could be Legolas' father again. Elrond knew it was the one thing that kept him motivated.

He should have been thankful for that, but it also made him sad.

“Alright,” Elrond said at last. “But only with my aid. I will go and get some breakfast for both of us and afterwards we can try.” He didn't leave him room for arguments.

After breakfast Thranduil had tried to walk a bit. He had managed three steps before Elrond had to catch him.

The next day he tried again and every time he got a bit better. That was the beginning of Thranduil getting back up.

You should approach him.

Approach him?

Yeah. You have been standing here for five minutes now, staring at his back. Do you not think he has noticed you already?

He probably has.

So approach him.

I cannot.

Do it.

And what would you have me say? Oh Elrond, anor nîn, gerog I chûn nîn mi I chaim gîn.

Well, you are considering it. It is what you want to tell him.

And what he will never want to hear from me.

At least say something.

Elrond was enjoying one of his precious breaks. They were few, but they were welcome. He was sitting on a balcony that looked over the whole valley of Rivendell. He could see everything and everyone from up here and no one except him barely ever came here. And if they did they left again when they saw him.

Elrond he sipped on a cup of tea, a book lay opened on his legs, but he didn't pay attention to it. He liked the silence and the feeling of having to do absolutely nothing for anyone. He sighed.

And then he heard footsteps approach. The step was uneven which could only mean one thing. Elrond's heart missed a beat and he closed his eyes for a moment. He knew now what always made him so nervous. He knew now of his own affections and he knew that they were futile. How he had grown to love Thranduil of all people, he did not know. He waited.

A minute passed. Two, three. Five minutes and Elrond believed he had imagined the noise, but then the figure began moving again and the chair next to him scratched against the ground. Thranduil sat, Elrond held his breath.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” the blond elf muttered and Elrond opened his eyes.

“You are not disturbing me,” he replied softly. “On the contrary, I am glad to see you. You seem better.”
“I am... somewhat better. But I would not have been, if it weren't for you.” Thranduil gave him a meaningful look and Elrond felt his piercing gaze unravelling him completely and utterly.

“Oh you know-” he began.

“Seriously.” He was cut off. “Thank you.” Thranduil cocked his head and gave a half-smile. Elrond was still not used to it.

“You are most welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Strangely, the elven-king laughed at that. A high-pitched, clear and frankly beautiful laugh. Elrond knew that this was his downfall.

“I lalaith gîn siria thar nin sui eithel,” Elrond muttered before he could stop himself.

For a moment, he was paralysed in shock and embarrassment. Never in all of his life had he lost control like that. Why would he, he couldn't, he wouldn't – oh Elbereth!

“Oh, I am sorry,” he exclaimed.

Elrond buried his face in his hands and tried to sink into the ground. He dared not look at his friend.

And then he felt a soft touch at his wrist and both of his hands were pulled away gently. Thranduil was kneeling in front of him, holding his wrists and smiling the sweetest and most heartbreaking of smiles at him.

“Why do you apologize?” His voice was gentle, his eyes were filled with an emotion Elrond couldn't quite place.

But Elrond could not answer him. He lost himself at that moment, being held in place by Thranduil's gaze, feeling the warmth of their touch spreading through him like wildfire, being comforted by that smile, Elrond fell like he had never fallen before.

By the Valar, he loved him. Loved him so much it hurt. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, he didn't know what had happened to him. But he could see himself loving the Elven-king for eternity and beyond. Yearning his touch, desiring him until Arda was remade and that scared him.

What is happening?

Can't you see? Didn't you see the look in his eyes? Come on, now's the perfect opportunity.

What are you talking about?

He's blushing! I think now is the perfect moment to tell him.

No way. That is not what this means. He's just embarrassed, that is all.

Have it as you will then. But if you continue like this you are never going to get him.

I know. But he does not want me.

Oh that is just stupid, and you know it.

“Cúron nîn,” Elrond breathed out and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. He could feel the burned and torn flesh of Thranduil's temple against his own. Thranduil gasped softly.

“Elrond,” he whispered and his breath tingled the half-elven's skin.

“Yes, my beloved?” Elrond had closed his eyes. He wasn't in control, not really. His instincts were taking over and had he wanted to stop, he wouldn't have been able to. He inched still forward, wanting desperately to let go.

“Don't,” Thranduil said and with a crash Elrond hit the ground. Startled he jumped up and brought some distance between them.

“What?” He looked dumbfounded.

“Don't kiss me.” Thranduil was still smiling and that hurt Elrond even more than the rejection. How dare he?

“Alright,” he said with all the dignity he managed to gather up. “I apologize.” And then he turned around and left.

Are you out of your mind?

No, I was-

Seriously, how stupid can you be?

I was merely -

You were being an ass-hole. You could have had him.

He thought my caution to be rejection.

Well, you could have told him. He thinks you laughed about him.

I would not ever do that.

I know that. He doesn't.

Oh by the sea and stars.

Avoiding Thranduil was hardly to be done. He was still under Elrond's care and he had to look after him at least once a day. Luckily enough the king spent most of his time with his little son, playing or reading stories. Some evenings Legolas would visit him and show him a story he had written with the help of his father.
Elrond adored the child, but he couldn't stand looking at Thranduil. He felt embarrassed and hurt.

And so he made his visits as short as possible and whenever Thranduil wanted to say something that wasn't about his physical well-being Elrond would politely excuse himself and leave quickly.
Several times these past couple of days Thranduil had to tried to talk to him, but Elrond always managed to get out of it somehow.

He had been reduced to an anxious man who was hiding in his own home. But, he told himself, this was still better than facing Thranduil.

Come on this is your chance. It might be your last one.

He does not want to see me.

He does.

He has been avoiding me.

Because you made him feel like you don't love him.

I love him.

Yes, you don't need to tell me. Tell him.

I don't know...

You'll be leaving sometime soon. Do you want to part from him like this? You could have his love, why take his absence then?

Well...

No excuses. I won't listen to this anymore. Tell him what you always wanted to tell him and do it. Now.

He was trapped. Standing in the pale moonlight, drops of water occasionally hitting his face, he was trapped. Thranduil was blocking the doorway and the other way out was jumping down a cliff. Which was not an option whatsoever.

Elrond straightened his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, but his lips trembled ever so slightly. He took a few steps forward.

“Would you let me through, please? I have work to do.” A quick examination told him that Thranduil was as recovered as he would ever get. A glamour was covering the broken half of his face, he looked like his old, gorgeous self. Except for two things. He carried himself like a king now, with broad-shouldered purpose. But he also looked like he had aged hundreds of years.

“No. I need to talk to you,” he answered calmly. Elrond took another step forward and wanted to push Thranduil out of the way, but the other elf grasped his wrists and held him in place.

“Thranduil, please, I need to-” he began, but Thranduil was having none of it.

“You need to listen to me.” Suddenly the king moved and swirled them around which resulted in Elrond being pinned against the wall next to the entrance and Thranduil holding him in place.

“What are you-” Elrond gasped as he was cut off by a small soft kiss.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” Thranduil murmured. “A most unfortunate misunderstanding.” Elrond merely blinked at him.

“You have my love, anor. You hold my heart in our hands.” He kissed him again, this time lingering a bit longer, but still not long enough for Elrond to react.

“Then why?” Elrond let out a small sob that was both disbelief and despair.

“I did not think you'd really want to kiss me,” Thranduil admitted and pressed his forehead against Elrond's. Their noses were touching.

“Besides,” he went on. “My face still hurt then.” Another one. Elrond's heart was overflowing. He had to chuckle.

“You are beautiful, Elrond. And I love you. I’ll love you for eternity.” This time Elrond initiated their kiss and it was everything.
He was happy. Indescribably happy.

“I love you too, cúron nîn,” he whispered against Thranduil's lips as tears mingled with their kiss.

“For eternity,” Thranduil responded and for a moment they forgot.

Forgot everything they had lost, forgot death and loss and tragedy. Forgot the threat that was still hanging over them, forgot the injuries they would not ever heal from. And for a little while, they lived happily.