You Said We Used To Be Lovers 3

You Said We Used To Be Lovers

Part 3 - Reconciliation

Posted: November 2, 2007
Title: You Said We Used To Be Lovers
Author: Jay of Lasgalen

*****

Elladan gazed over Elrohir’s shoulder and caught Legolas’s eye. He gave a very slight nod, and mouthed a single word. ‘Later.’

Rather shaken – had Elladan known he was there all the time? – Legolas retreated, thinking over what he had overheard. Despite Elrohir’s hesitation – and he could understand that now, could sympathise with his unease – Elrohir’s final words shone bright and clear; a beacon of hope. He had said ‘Yes.’

Elated, and more full of hope than since Elrohir had first regained consciousness, Legolas returned to his room to collect his weapons, then walked down to the training grounds. Weapons practice recently had been more of a way to escape his dark thoughts than a pleasure, but now he relished the pull on his muscles as he put himself through a series of limbering exercises, twirling his long-handled knife in a blur of movement before taking up his bow and arrows. He drew and fired again and again, aiming at ever more distant and tricky targets. It became instinct as he judged the slight breeze on his face, automatically shifting his stance to compensate. As the last arrow struck the furthest target, he became aware that someone had joined him, and turned to find Elrohir watching him.

“Elrohir! I – I did not realise you were there. Have you been here long?” He suddenly felt ridiculously tongue-tied and nervous.

Elrohir nodded. “I was watching.” He paused, then added, “You have lost none of your skill – you are as good as ever!”

Legolas smiled. “I am out of practice, though.” He hesitated, searching for something to say. “Will you walk with me to collect the arrows?”

They walked towards the targets. Elrohir seemed as nervous and skittish as a young horse, and Legolas found his own stomach tied in knots. As he tugged the last arrow from the heart of the furthest target, Elrohir turned towards him.

“You said … we used to be lovers?”

Legolas felt saddened at the hesitancy in Elrohir’s voice. “Not ‘used to be’,” he urged. “We are lovers. We are bound, whether you remember it or not. I love you, Elrohir, and you love me. And I will always love you, even if you never remember our lives together. And I will stay by your side for as long as you need me.”

Elrohir gave a small smile. “I think I would like that.”

He was elated at this encouragement, small though it was. Against his will – or, perhaps, very much to his will – Legolas leaned forward and kissed Elrohir, losing himself in the familiar touch and taste. The feel of Elrohir’s lips beneath his flooded him with longing, and he moaned softly. Yet something was wrong – although Elrohir returned the kiss, it was tentative and gentle, not the enthusiastic pillaging of his mouth he knew and loved.

He drew back with a sigh. “I am sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered. “I should not have done that.”

Elrohir touched his cheek. “Sorry? Why?”

“I promised Elrond that I would not push you. He asked me to do nothing to force your memories to return – to let matters take their own course.” He gave a sad smile. “It is not easy, though.”

Elrohir snorted. “My father is not here – I am!” he retorted, with a spark of the old Elrohir, missing for so long. “I love and respect my father greatly, but he does not know everything. If I did not want your embrace, I would tell you. It just feels … strange.”

“You loved me once, Elrohir,” Legolas whispered. “And you will again. You will remember, one day.”

Elrohir nodded. He ran his hands through his hair, and gave a deep sigh. “I hope so. I want to remember. I hate living this half life, knowing there is so much which has happened that you and Elladan and my parents know, but which I am unaware of. I want to know – I want to remember.”

As they began to walk back to the house, Elladan hailed them. “I was just on my way to the river to swim,” he called. “Why no join me?”

Elrohir nodded. “An excellent idea! It is far too hot today. Legolas?”

Legolas hesitated. “Do you want me to?” he asked cautiously. He did not want to push Elrohir too far, too soon.

“Yes, of course! I need …” Elrohir paused. “I need to learn to know you again. I want to know you again. We were friends once, and I know now that has never changed. I want that back.”

There was a wide, deep pool in a bend of the river, overhung by a tall cliff. “We used to jump from the top of that,” Elrohir reminisced. “Do you remember?”

“I am unlikely to forget it!” Legolas retorted. “We must have been mad. How could we have been so reckless?”

Elladan grinned. “We were children,” he explained simply. He sat on a rock to pull off his boots, and began to strip off his tunic and trousers.

It was an odd thing, Legolas mused, but although the twins’ faces and bodies were identical, he had never felt anything other than deep friendship for Elladan – yet the sight of Elrohir’s lean, bare body filled him with hunger and longing. He swallowed hard, forcing away such thoughts – now was not the time for them. He did not want to scare Elrohir away again.

He dived into the water, and swam until his aching need cooled, then turned to float on his back, blinking droplets of water from his eyes. The water felt cool and silky against his skin as he looked up at the high cliff, the trees overhanging the pool and the bright sunlight overhead. He was, he suddenly realised, happy – for the first time in weeks.

Elrohir stood waist-deep in the water, dark hair cascading down his back as sleek and smooth as an otter’s. He was staring at Legolas with a distant, thoughtful expression. “The tattoo on your shoulder,” he began. “It is the symbol of Imladris. “And I …” He reached back to touch his own shoulder.

Legolas swam to his side. “Yes,” he breathed. “Do you remember? What, Elrohir?”

“A golden oak leaf,” Elrohir whispered, touching the mark on the back of his own shoulder.

Elladan joined them. “El? What do you remember?”

Elrohir paused, his eyes closed as he searched his thoughts. Then he released a long breath of frustration and shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing more. For a moment there was something there – but it is gone again.” Very gently he touched the waterfall tattoo on Legolas’s shoulder. “But I remember this.”

Legolas shivered at the light, sensual touch. “You said it is a sign that I am part of you,” he whispered. “It is a tradition of Lasgalen, a sign that we belong together.”

“Together …” Elrohir repeated. “Yes.”

Elladan smiled with delight. “Finally! It is the first sign that you are getting your memory back, El. The memories are still there, just hidden.” He flung an arm around Elrohir and Legolas, embracing them both. “Tonight, perhaps I shall have supper brought to our rooms – just for the three of us. If we talk about the things we all remember, perhaps it will jog your memory again, Elrohir.”

The evening was relaxed and carefree, and Elrohir seemed happier and more at ease than he had for a long time. The awkwardness and distance that had grown between him and Legolas had evaporated – it was like the old days of their friendship before it had deepened into something much more, and for the first time since news of the orc invasion had reached them, Legolas felt light-hearted and full of joy. Elrohir was not back with him, not yet, but this was a start, and he knew now that it was only a matter of time. Even if Elrohir never fully regained his memories, he was certain he could entice Elrohir to love him again, and they would start anew.

Over the meal they shared stories of happier times and the days Elrohir could remember, and Legolas and Elladan regaled him with some of the adventures of more recent years which Elrohir had lost. Elladan told the tale of a chaotic patrol led by Glorfindel – in which the captain, trying to rescue a stranded novice, had himself fallen into the Bruinen.

Elrohir burst into laughter. “I wish I could have seen that!” he exclaimed.

“You did,” Elladan pointed out gently. “You were there. We both were.”

Elrohir sighed. “If only I could remember. So much has happened that I have forgotten …”

Elladan grinned. “I can think of one way to make your memory return. It was caused by a blow to the head – perhaps another will cure the problem? I have heard a theory that that could work. Would you like me to try?” He picked up a heavy candle holder and waved it at Elrohir menacingly.

Laughing, Elrohir fended him off. “No, thank you – knowing you, it would all go wrong and I would end up not even knowing who I am! You have my thanks, but I have no wish to be rendered unconscious again.”

Elladan shrugged, unconcerned. “Ah, well. But remember the offer is there!” He drained his goblet and pushed his chair back. “It is late, and I have a dawn patrol tomorrow. Goodnight.” He ruffled Elrohir’s hair. “It is good to see you laugh again, little brother. You have been far too quiet and withdrawn recently.”

After he left, Legolas leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I must go as well. Today … has been a good day. Thank you, Elrohir. Goodnight.” He clasped Elrohir’s fingers gently, then turned to return to the lonely guest room he had used for the last few weeks, rather than sharing Elrohir’s room – and his bed.

“No, wait.” Elrohir held onto his hand and pulled him closer. “You said we used to be lovers,” he said again. “I have been told that many times, by Elladan, and my parents, and you. I have had to accept it. But now … now I feel it to be true. I believe it. There is something I sense with you. A familiarity. A connection of some kind.”

Legolas swallowed. “It is a beginning,” he whispered, tears pricking at his eyes. “I will wait, Elrohir. Until you feel our bond fully, and accept me again.”

“No.” Elrohir was firm, the stubbornness that had always been so much a part of him clear to see. “I do not want to wait. I have lost fifty years of my life, Legolas – twenty of them bound to a good, decent, honourable elf who loves me. I know that now. I want my life back, Legolas. I want you to make me remember. I loved you once – I want to remember that.”

His hand curved around the back of Legolas’s head, and he pulled him into a soft kiss, his lips gentle and exploring. Legolas melted into the kiss, his heart soaring with joy – he knew it was only a matter of time before Elrohir remembered everything and loved him again. Then he stiffened and drew back. This was wrong, his mind cried. Elrohir did not love him; not yet – he merely believed he should. Although his traitorous body had responded at once to Elrohir’s touch and gentle kisses, yielding to his caress and thrusting into the soft, hesitant grip, he knew he had to stop.

With a shudder, he pulled away. “No,” he gasped. “No, Elrohir. It would be wrong to do this until you know me again. I cannot take you like this – and I promised I would not try to force you to regain your memory.”

Elrohir sighed, exasperation sparking in his eyes. “You think you are using me? Taking advantage of my vulnerable state? Legolas, I have never in my life allowed anyone to ‘use’ me – I do not need my memories to know that!” He drew Legolas to him again. “This is my choice. I want to remember. I want to know you again – now.” His fingers, slow and gentle, began to brush across Legolas’s chest, and he leaned forward to kiss him again. “Love me, Legolas.”

“No …”

Elrohir ignored him, his lips traced a delicate pattern from throat to pulse-spot to the point of his shoulder, then trailed back again, slow and seductive. Legolas drew a deep, shuddering breath. He knew he had to refuse. This Elrohir did not love him, not yet; and he could not do it. It would be wrong. He opened his mouth to deny Elrohir, and yet … “Yes,” he breathed, as Elrohir’s lips caressed his, and he returned the kiss, helpless with longing; unable to fight it any more. “Yes. We will remember together.”

Light, exploratory touches of sensitive flesh inflamed them both. Elrohir’s touch was hesitant and uncertain at first, but suddenly his tongue swirled around the tip of Legolas’s ear, and he nipped it gently.

Legolas arched off the bed with a gasp. “Yes!” he hissed. He took a deep breath, and turned wondering eyes on Elrohir. “How did you know to do that?”

“You did not like it? I thought …” Elrohir faltered, and flushed.

“Yes. Yes, I like it – I like it very much. But you knew that. You remembered.” In retaliation, he flickered his tongue against the hollow at Elrohir’s throat, suckling at the soft skin there. Elrohir moaned, arching his head back against the delicate touch. “Just as I remember how much you like this,” Legolas breathed. “You know my touch. You respond to it, even if you do not remember it.

He began to lavish attention on all the secret, vulnerable spots he had learned over their years together – the sensitive places that made Elrohir squirm and gasp, leaving him quivering with longing. “Yes …” Elrohir moaned. “I know this …”

“Yes. Yes, you do. You know me.” Legolas whispered. His hand moved lower, cupping and stroking his erection, wringing more soft cries from Elrohir. He found he was treating Elrohir as he would an untried youth, with slow, gentle touches – nothing like the enthusiastic, exuberant love play they both enjoyed. Yet the delicate, sensual caresses were overwhelming his senses, intoxicating and arousing, and he ached with need and longing. “Oh Gods, Elrohir,” he moaned. “I have missed this – I have missed you, so much!”

Elrohir caught at his free hand, gripping it tightly. “I am sorry – it must have been so hard for you, as well. Make me remember, Legolas. Make me remember everything.”

“Yes …”

Despite his misgivings, he could not have stopped now, even if he had wanted to. Elrohir’s encouragement urged him on, and he slid his hand lower, caressing the soft, downy testicles before his fingers probed at the tight entrance.

Elrohir tensed, and Legolas licked at the hollow of his throat again. “Hush,” he whispered soothingly. “You know this, too. And you will remember it.”

Despite Elrohir’s initial hesitation, his body responded to Legolas’s touch with eagerness, welcoming the familiar caresses he had forgotten. At last, helpless with the need to spend himself and bring Elrohir to a familiar, shuddering climax, he began to push into the tight heat.

Their love making was as slow and sweet and tender as it had been the very first time. He could feel the tentative brush of Elrohir’s mind against his and the soaring joy that matched his own.

Lost in the ecstasy of their joining, he missed the first twinges of unease. Elrohir began to tense beneath him, his body rigid, and he gave a low cry of distress. Legolas froze. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir’s breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were closed, and his face pale, twisted with pain. “No,” he moaned, raising one arm to cover his eyes.

Horrified, his heart hammering, Legolas began to withdraw. “Elrohir,” he breathed. “Forgive me – I should never … I knew it was wrong. You are not ready …” He felt sick, overwhelmed with guilt and remorse. He had known this was wrong. What if Elrohir’s battered mind interpreted this as assault – as rape? It could destroy him; and he knew that he had ruined any chance of ever winning Elrohir’s love and trust again.

Shaking, he stared down at Elrohir. “Elrohir – wait. Stay here. I will get someone: Elladan, or your father.” He swallowed, lost in misery. “Elrohir - forgive me …”

*****

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