Expectations

Expectations

Posted: June 29, 2007
Title: Expectations
Series: The Sons of Elrond
Sequel to: Conjectures
Author: Eresse
Type: FCS
Characters: Elrohir/Legolas, Elrond, Celebrían
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Prompt: 014. Green.
Word Count: 1123

Summary: A fledgling friendship upsets some long-held assumptions.

*****

Elrohir never thought that something as intangible as a scent could enchant him. Yet he owned himself well and truly beguiled by the merest whiff of his companion. It was an aroma unlike any he had ever known.

It was sweet and invigorating and - oh, he could not quite put his finger on the right word to describe how he felt. He only knew that partaking of Legolas' scent was akin to taking a deep breath of fresh air. Of walking down verdant forest paths when the redolence of spring and awakening flora and foliage perfumed the breeze. He could make a habit of it if he was not careful. He glanced sideways at the archer. No, it would not do to become so accustomed to it that he would seek it even when Legolas had quitted the valley.

Since the woodland prince arrived a fortnight ago, they had taken strolls every day. Mostly in the evenings and in the gardens as they did now. But also on occasion in the early mornings ere they partook of breakfast, exploring the woods beyond the bridge or walking between the rows of laden trees in the orchard.

Elladan oft teased him about this unexpected turn of events. He who had been so certain that he could be of no consequence to a centuries-older Elf now found himself said Elf's favored companion. Yea, even above the wise and the warriors of the valley with whom Legolas duly kept company during much of the day. But in times of leisure, it was Elrohir he sought. Elrohir in whom he confided some of his less than heroic moments and laughed freely with when treated to the younger twin's share of tales.

What others made of their strange alliance, Elrohir did not bother to discover. It was enough that this so very comely being with whom he was infatuated deemed him better company than others closer to his age and wealth of experience.

He felt the stroke of knuckles down his cheek and nearly shuddered from the heady sensations the touch set off. He looked at Legolas questioningly, wondering why the prince had caressed him. The Wood-elf was regarding him with similar wonder.

“Your skin is different,” he commented. “It is neither as fair as mine nor as dark as that of the Men I have chanced to see.”

Elrohir colored slightly but all he said was: “I am Half-elven.”

Legolas considered his answer thoughtfully. “Would that my house had been as enriched,” he judged. “Do you grow as Elves do or are you more alike to your mortal kin?”

“Elladan and I are more elven than mortal, or so Naneth says,” Elrohir affirmed. “But we own ourselves less keen of sight or hearing than pureblooded Elves and we do feel the bite of the elements when they are at their harshest. We are as fleet-footed however and stronger than most Elves.”

“Stronger?”

The young Elf-knight nodded. “My father can easily throw most of our warriors and hold them down. Only the likes of Glorfindel can withstand him. I doubt it will be much different when I come to my full strength.” He grinned impishly. “If you wait until I have grown up, you may find yourself pinned under this Peredhel.” An instant later, Elrohir's grin vanished and he looked at Legolas in horror. “That was not - I did not mean-” he stammered.

Legolas softly laughed and placed a soothing hand on Elrohir's shoulder. “I am sure you did not,” he said. “At least, not consciously.” His eyes positively twinkled with mischief when Elrohir began to sputter in earnest protest. “Oh come now, you are at an age given to such flights of fantasy. And while you may not deliberately think about them, I warrant they hover in the back of your mind, waiting to unsettle you at the least opportune moment.” He smiled sympathetically. “Do not be shamed by your feelings. I knew them well when I was your age. Indeed, I still know them to this day though I am more skilled at controlling them.” He winked at the still flustered youth and added: “Or concealing them.

Elrohir peered at Legolas curiously. “Why would you need to conceal your feelings?” he queried.

“Because there are situations where they would be most unseemly,” Legolas pointed out. “Such as when the Elf in question is not yet of age.”

That left Elrohir speechless for several seconds. At length, he managed to get around the seeming thickness of his tongue to muster a comprehensible rejoinder. “And is there an Elf in question at the moment?” he hesitantly asked.

Legolas did not reply at once. Elrohir wondered if he had overstepped his bounds and started to apologize. But the prince suddenly gazed at him and the words died in his throat.

“Not only your skin is different but your scent as well. Did you know that?” he murmured. Elrohir caught his breath when the archer leaned close and delicately sniffed the side of his neck. “It makes me think of heather and moonlight and pools of cool, clean water. I wager when you are full grown, many will count it a rare privilege to know you. And a great honor to be the first to do so.”

That was more than Elrohir could stand without shaming himself with a swoon. He came to a stop and stood still for a goodly while, awaiting the halt of the tremors that rendered his legs useless for walking and set his hands a-shaking.

“Forgive me, I should not speak of such matters with you,” Legolas said though his voice was warm with laughter. “Here, give me your arm, pen neth, and permit me to be of aid.”

Elrohir could only comply. He did not know whether to welcome their further proximity or regret it. Legolas' singular fragrance assaulted his senses all over again. He shyly looked at Legolas and saw that the archer was studying him in turn.

Summoning his courage, Elrohir declared: “I do not mind if you speak of these matters. Indeed, it pleases me that you do not think me beneath you to engage in such talk.”

“I would never think you beneath me,” Legolas agreed. He smiled broadly. “But I can think of you thusly arrayed.”

Before a once more dumbstruck Elrohir could respond, the woodland prince chuckled and, pulling his charmingly discomposed young friend along, conducted him back to the house.

Elrond watched them from his upper floor bedchamber balcony. “Do my eyes deceive me or has Legolas succeeded where others have not?” he mused. He glanced at his wife.

Celebrían shook her head. “Your eyes do not deceive you, husband. Methinks Elrohir has met his match.”

*****

Glossary:
Naneth - Mother
pen neth - young one

*****

THE END

Go to the next story in the series: Temperance

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