Not an entirely happy ending then...
What will your father say?
They laugh, both having asked at the same time. Legolas brushes his hand through Elrohir’s hair and watches the light in his eyes that are not always grey, but change so there is green and blue in them too.
‘My father will say I go against the Laws and Customs,’ Elrohir says and Legolas smiles but in his heart there is a little bit of doubt. He does not let this show.
‘Mine will rage against the Noldor for a full ten minutes perhaps...or he will say nothing at first and then Galion will hug me and my brothers will be shocked and excited and...’ he trails away.
‘Glorfindel will take me to one side and lecture me,’ Elrohir continues. ‘He will tell me that Woodelves can shoot a bat’ s eye in the dark,’ He stops for Legolas looks horrified.
‘A bat? Why would we shoot a bat?’
‘No, it’s a figure of speech.’
‘Oh.’ But Legolas’ mind, now that it is appeased, drifts... to Glorfindel. And he chews his lip. His childish infatuation embarrasses him. But there were others too, with more than just fancy. Though it seems long ago that he arrived in Imladris, drenched with rain from his travels, it was months, not years or centuries.
He glances sidelong at Elrohir. He is a jealous lover, Legolas knows. Would he brook any notion that Legolas had had many lovers? He thinks back to Elrohir’s reaction towards Eomer, who rides behind them and sometimes Legolas still feels the heat of his gaze as he lingers too long on Legolas. The hurt.
He tries to be discrete with Elrohir to save Eomer’s feelings as much as anything, but most of the Men closest to them know... how could they not? They had seen Elrohir kiss him on the battle field of the Morannon...That day, all had believed they were going to die and there were many Men too who swore things they could not keep after.
But he does not want to deny his love. Elrohir is his soul.
‘Elrohir...you know, before we met...I was not exactly a virgin you know,’ he begins and Elrohir laughs a little. But Legolas thinks it is a little nervous or tense, not the full hearty laugh he gives when they are together in their tent or in the trees, and close and trusting and loving.
‘I tell you this because I love you...’
And then Elrohir turns his grey eyes upon him and they are full of pain and hurt. ‘Hush, beloved. Not now. Do not tell me. It is still too near, too close, too new. ‘
And Legolas knows he is right but they approach the White City.
In the White City, he finds memories. At least they are shared, if painful. At least Elrohir knows the fullness of them; he knows that Legolas had attempted a seduction of his brother. Legolas is unsure if Elrohir has forgiven that.
Legolas leans his chin in his hand, staring out over the rather dry and sparse gardens of the King Returned. When Arwen arrives, all her entourage will be there, and will inevitably include Elves from Imladris. And possibly Lorien. He looks down at his hands, thinks what they have done.
He finds himself wandering beneath the iron wrought balconies and lines of washing and laundry of the city. It is different now of course. The upturned cart has been cleared away and made into firewood no doubt. The sheets that flap and sway in the fresh wind are clean and smell of soap and lavender, and the Sea of course. Women lean on the balconies and call to each other, they stare at him as he passes, but smile and wave and sometimes call out. He smiles back and bows slightly. This is where Elrohir had caught him and called him whore...It still hurts deeply. In the Wood, they do not keep the Laws and Customs.
Legolas cover his eyes with his hand. He has a shrewd idea that Elrond has no idea about his son. No wonder Elrohir is worried how he will tell him; the Noldor believe they will be doomed for their love. And it makes the Sea-Longing complicated.
So he seeks out Elrohir with intention of confessing all so that at least there is honesty between them, but when he tries to speak, Elrohir simply takes his hand and looks away.
‘Please,’ he says quietly and intensely. ‘Spare me this. It is enough to know I have you for a while. I do not wish to know, to imagine you...It is still too new, too tender.’
So Legolas has still not told him when the trumpets sound and the Valley and the Golden Wood arrive.