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Legolas awaited Lord Elrond in his study. Silently, he chastised himself for getting into the awkward circumstance he found himself. Of course, he only had himself to blame...himself and the miruvor.

Alas, it had been quite easy to become swept up in the camaraderie he felt with the twins for they were most entertaining and exceedingly welcoming of him - so welcoming, that he found himself forgetting that he was indeed a guest and not a member of the Elrondion clan.

While Aerlinniel seemed concerned for his injuries and displayed no obvious offense or grudge toward him, he knew he had not fully won her forgiveness. He surmised the happening with her father would likely drive a wedge further between him and her. It seemed whenever he thought himself comfortable with the flow of things with her, the tides shifted leaving him adrift and having to work all the harder to get where he longed to be – in her good graces. And now, he would have to regain her father's too. Both would be a formidable feat. And this night, he did not think himself prepared to smooth over Elrond's ruffle.

Legolas wondered if Lord Elrond truly cared about his injuries or had he wished to make a spectacle of him by prolonging the situation under the guise of treating him – making the entire situation something Legolas would never forget. Elrond had been clearly peeved and reasonably so, he thought anxiously glancing around the elf lord's study. An intoxicated suitor of the elf lord's daughter found loitering, sans his tunic, at a dinner party was quite crass and would not be befitting of any self-respecting elf.

He had suffered a lapse of decorum to be sure. If only he had not had that third glass of miruvor, he would be sleeping comfortably in his bed, dreaming of his next encounter with Aerlinniel.

If Elrond were the less forgiving kind, like his father, then the elf lord would likely make him understand his place. And if what happened to Thalen was any indication as to how Elrond might handle his impropriety, then he might find himself saddled on his horse headed back home in the morning.

Legolas decided it would be of no use dwelling on the uncertainty of his fate and thought it best to distract himself with the weaponry that graced Elrond's walls. According to Elrohir, most had been forged during the first age; long before Legolas had been born. The most eye-catching was a crossbow and quiver filled with what appeared to be, dragon bone tipped arrows. Very hard to come by, he thought in amazement. They had been situated alongside a sword, shield, plackart, and helm - each with similar markings suggesting that they belonged to one, lone warrior.

Each was emblazoned with a white swan in flight bearing a gleaming jewel upon its breast. The sigil, he found to be haunting and beautiful. He imagined that there had been good reason the weaponry held a special place of prominence, hung in direct view from where Lord Elrond sat while at his desk.

"The pale flame on wings of a storm," a low voice murmured from behind causing Legolas to turn his head and find Lord Elrond standing near, gazing wistfully at the weaponry.

Legolas concealed his start and turned to face him with his curiosity piqued. "The emblem is enchanting."

A faint smile spread across the elf lord's face, "The flight of the Silmaril," he said drawing up his hand as he traced his fingers reverently across the sparkling white gem embedded into the sword's grip. "These belonged to my father."

Legolas smiled and gave him a respectful nod and it was then that he noticed Elrond to be displaced in the past. And so, he stepped back to allow Elrond to reminisce whilst he marveled the weapon's craftsmanship.

"I have no memory of him," he whispered.

Legolas' eyes widened at the weight and irony of his confession. Never had he known this personal detail about Elrond and there were no appropriate words to utter and thus, he remained silent.

And then as if a page had been turned, Elrond drew himself from his reverie and moved to his desk and set his leather scrip upon it and then without a word, he took to pouring two drinks into small crystal vials. Legolas did not have the heart to tell him that he had had quite enough to drink this night.

"My father was a seafarer and so he was gone much of the time. He had gone to explore the West, leaving my brother, Elros and I, who were quite young, behind to fend with our mother in Arvernien." He gazed up at Legolas as he corked the crystal vessel from whence he poured. "The memories are vague but the story is known to me."

Legolas nodded gravely sensing the gravity of his words.

"It was not until I was long into adulthood that I gained full knowledge of my family's plight," he said as he strolled over and handed Legolas a small vial.

He seated himself and relaxed back into his chair and gestured for Legolas to do the same. Still mindful of the prior incident that Elrond had yet to mention, Legolas graciously sat with the intent to appease the elf lord in hopes of further quelling his pique.

"Whilst my father was away, the Sons of Fëanor, took advantage of his absence and sought out my mother in hopes of procuring the Silmaril that she carried."

Elrond gestured to Legolas' chalice and then took a leading sip of his own, inviting him to follow suit. And so as not be rude, Legolas did and discovered the drink to be miruvor. A drink he found went down smooth and easy. Its potency deceptive and had the potential to dim his inhibitions. He gave himself fair warning to mind his intake of the sweet cordial lest he winds up making himself more of a fool.

"Blinded by their greed and oath to their father, the brothers sacked our village in search of the Silmaril. My brave mother absconded with the jewel - casting herself into the Great Sea. It was horrifying...for it had appeared, to me and Elros, that she had sacrificed herself when in reality, her life had been saved," he said with a rueful smile. "Through the power of Ulmo, she did not die. She took the form of a swan – glorious and white."

A shiver surged through Legolas at the story's miraculous turn. Of course, the swan and jewel upon the weapons was the sigil of Elwing, Elrond's mother, who carried the Silmaril to safety.

"In the dark of night, upon my father's ship, she came to him from the sky. My father had said she came 'like pale flame on wings of a storm' - with the Silmaril glowing upon her breast. She fell upon his deck in a swoon - near death for the urgency in which she flew. He took her to his chest and whence morning came, he marveled that he beheld her, in the flesh, safe and very much alive."

Legolas exhaled in relief, which caused Elrond to smile.

"Her love for my father was so great that she refused to be separated from him ever again."

"They are no longer a part of this world," Legolas remembered aloud for he had learned of the flight of Elwing the White and of her brave mariner husband, Eärendil.

Elrond sighed gravely as he toyed with his chalice. "Forever they would be hunted for the jewel she carried; and so, they could never return for me and my brother." His grey eyes beheld a sad glimmer as they turned upward towards the weapons. "The Valar were relieved that, at least, one of the Great Jewels had been salvaged with good intentions and thus, they granted them passage to Valinor. It is there, they now reside- together, in peace."

Legolas could not mistake the wistful longing he saw in Elrond's eyes. The elf lord had been orphaned by both his parents – like Aerlinniel had. Certainly, his past had contributed to his charitable heart towards orphans. He found it curious that Elrond remembered little of the events surrounding the siege that took his parents from him and, like himself, he had no memory of his father at all.

"You were so young to be taken from your parents; what was the fate of you and your brother?"

Elrond washed the rest of his miruvor down and sat his chalice upon the oaken side-table between them.

"It is vague in my mind, you see."

"Forgive me...I should not have asked -"

"It is alright," he said stretching back in his chair. "I have had years to come to terms with their fate and reckon with my own." He reached over to his desk and grasped the neck of the crystal vessel and poured himself another drink. And before Legolas could protest, the elf lord had refilled his chalice too.

Legolas forced a smile and took a small sip so as not to appear impolite. Elrond, on the other hand, drained half his vial.

"We were abducted during the siege and held as captives in hopes that my parents would search for us and thus, the Silmaril would fall into the Fëanor brother's possession. Alas, that is not what was to happen, and so it was, that our captor, Maglor, the only repentant Son of Fëanor, had compassion for me and my brother and raised us as his own."

Elrond finished the rest of his vial with relaxed regality before speaking again. "Maglor's guilt had been so great, he could not reconcile what he had taken from us." He paused harbored on the edge of memory.

What a troubling fate, to have been raised by his captor, Legolas thought. There were no words he could offer as consolation and yet he imagined Elrond did not require any.

The elf lord closed his eyes and massaged his temples. His face seemed on the verge of pity and the words he bespoke were conciliatory and evocative – lingering like a morning fog.

"He did what he could to protect us."

Elrond's words were latent with innuendo and Legolas felt sure there was more embedded in his story than he could ascertain at the moment.

His own thoughts had turned dark and dismal. To think that such evil, spawned from the enemy – could cause such sway; that greed had corrupted the hearts of even the highest of elves.

Fëanor, the once great Noldor prince and creator of the Silmarils, and his seven sons, were corrupted by the evil, Melkor. In the name of Ilúvatar, they swore an oath that they would not rest until, once again, they possessed all three of the stones. Disrupting the peace of the Eldar forever, they threatened their own kin with the wages of war upon any that harbored one of the precious gems. But it was folly, for the Silmarils were enchanted with the sacred light of Valinor and would burn the skin of any that grasped them with evil intent.

Fëanor's own creation, blessed by the Valar's own light, in the end, repelled him and his sons. Maglor and Maedhros, driven by greed to possess the gems, even in death; took their own lives and the two remaining Silmarils with them. Maedhros cast himself into a fiery fissure and Maglor, Elrond's captor and foster father, threw himself into the sea.

The room fell silent and forgetting his resolve, Legolas, took a comforting sip of miruvor to wash away his ill thoughts.

"Tell me, did your father reclaim the jewels he sought from the Lonely Mountain?"

Legolas snapped from his brooding to an equally unsettling feeling, now that the conversation had turned personal- specifically entailing his father, he could not help but feel on the offense.

"Why do you ask?"

"He has told you little."

"Little - about what?" Legolas quipped feeling annoyed at the sudden change of direction and the conceit laden in Elrond's words.

"The gems. The dwarves have harbored a treasure of your father's that hold a value- beyond measure."

"Of course, I know of the jewels hoarded in that ghastly mountain. Bounties robbed from elves - fallen into the hands of loot mongering dwarves."

Elrond snickered with mild condescension. "The gems of which I speak are not mere heirlooms that graced a good lady's neck."

Legolas found that his head began to swirl with suspicion and cloud with the slow haze of inebriation.

"Have you heard of the Silme Turma?" (Starlight Shield)

Legolas bristled. He knew nothing of what Elrond spoke of and for a moment, a flame of animosity for his father had gotten the better of him.

"I can offer you no information?"

Elrond sighed. "Your father would have much to gain if he reclaimed the Silme Turma."

Dizziness began to overtake Legolas - so much, that it was difficult to keep his head from drifting forward. Dread seeped through him, thinking that Elrond might discover his inebriated state. Perhaps that is what Elrond had intended, he thought, steadying himself whilst glaring at the smug drink in his hand. Like a petulant child pushing away a dreadful dinner, he set the crystal vile down with an abrupt flourish.

Elrond exhaled grimly and spoke seemingly unprovoked by his ill-manner. "Legolas, does your father know that you are here?"

"I have already told you; he would not know, for certain, I am here. Why?"

"There is prophecy that follows the Silme Turma. If your father has reclaimed it, then it will be of great import to me."

Legolas had no idea if his father had reclaimed the gems, and to what value they held, or if his father would want Elrond to know.

It was in his heart to trust Lord Elrond but he struggled with an equal measure of suspicion, born from his allegiance to his father. And growing up in the Greenwood amongst the Silvans, there had always been a legendary distrust for the Noldor, which had been perpetuated by his grandfather, King Oropher.

Legolas found himself not equipped to field Elrond's questions with the grace and knowledge that he should. Curse - his father and his secrets!

"I can assure you, I do not know if he has reclaimed the gems," was the answer he settled upon.

Legolas held Elrond's gaze for a long moment attempting to determine the elf lord's motives, when suddenly; he felt the psychic divide between them subtly traversed. It was as if a growing harkening penetrated his thoughts. A voice, not his own – heard; growing in his mind; willed him to trust and absolve himself of his emotional reticence. And then by no effort of his own, a settling comfort crept through him like honey poured from a jar; saturating him with calm.

"Did your father ever speak of Aerlinniel?"

"He spoke of all your children...but he tended to favor her," Legolas obediently answered, feeling clear and calm as a wide blue sky.

Elrond smiled. "Did he ever tell you he and Celebrian whished for you two to meet?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes. Perhaps they foresaw a link that might bind us?"

Elrond raised a questioning brow. "Your father did not suggest you travel to Imladris, and yet you found your way here?"

Legolas felt his suspicions tug at him, but the honeyed voice commandeered his mind and soothed him; encouraging him to be forthright.

"The battle awoke in me a yearning for something. I did not know then - for what. But now, I believe, I have found what it is I have been yearning to find."

"And what is it you think you have found?"

Legolas bit his bottom lip to stave off a smile. "I have found hope in a child of man...and an answer to my heart's call in your daughter.

Elrond's eyes closed and a faint smile graced his features.

"Though, I must confess, that I have offended her and we are barely on speaking terms," Legolas unwittingly confided.

Elrond's eyes opened abruptly. "What?" He chuckled. "And I would have thought the pair of you had hit it off splendidly. Pray tell me, Legolas, how could you cause her such an offense?"

"I...rather not say."

"I think you better," Elrond admonished with a stern nonchalance.

"I have done nothing to...dishonor her, Sir. I swear, I would never-"

Elrond gave him a watery smile. "Then what would cause her such an offense?"

Legolas kept his gaze steady on the elf lord though his vision began to blur again.

"Well out with it, boy!"

Legolas swallowed thickly and imposed himself to focus on the elf lord before him. "I told her...I did not think she should return to work."

Elrond let out a smug chuckle as he leaned back. "That is all? Surely, you could smooth that over."

A compulsion to divulge more brimmed his tongue. "I told her that you...shelter her." Legolas blinked up at Elrond whom beheld a displeased smirk.

"And that upset her, did it?"

"Well, yes."

Elrond took his time to reply and donned an air of superiority. "You will find that Aerlinniel can be a little strong-willed..."

"A little?" Legolas sniffed, forgetting himself.

"And loyal; like her father," Elrond said glowering at him with a chastening look down his nose.

Legolas sat, somewhat dazed, with a vacant look; though inwardly the battle for his wits waged within. The miruvor clouded his clarity and seemed to be lulling him to sleep despite his best efforts at staying coherent.

Elrond sighed as if losing his patience. "It would do you well to remember that you are a guest here, Legolas. I have done nothing but oblige and welcome you. And whilst I see that Aerlinniel has taken an interest in you; I am not yet- impressed with your behavior and therefore not convinced that her attentions are to be anything other than guarded with you."

Legolas knew there was little he could say to redeem himself for it was his actions that spoke most profoundly. "My lord, I can assure you that I hold both you and your daughter in the highest esteem and only wish for your approval and Aerlinniel's happiness. And for my fumblings, I ask for your forgiveness."

"Hmmmph," The elf lord's cheek crept back considering Legolas' plea. "If you intend to pursue Aerlinniel, then you must follow the traditions of your kin and your station."

"Of course-"

Elrond raised his hand to quiet him. "You have acted foolishly in haste and do not think I have turned a blind eye to the way I found the pair of you the morning after the feast."

"Lord Elrond-"

"I needn't remind you that your father would not approve of such tawdry behavior."

Legolas dropped his gaze to the floor. His father would be appalled at the scene Elrond had come upon that morning when he found them huddled beneath Aerlinniel's tree with a discarded bottle of Dorwinion at their feet.

"You are a prince. And she is a lady...and my daughter."

Legolas gave Elrond a submissive nod.

"And as such; if you intend to court her, you will – first; ask for your father's blessing and then, as tradition dictates, gain permission from me before proceeding any further with her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now," he said rising and demarcating the end of the discussion, "it would seem that you have no qualms with bearing your skin."

He sauntered over to Legolas who had also stood out of respect for the elf lord.

"Remove your tunic and let's have a look at that back – shall we?"

I apologize for the length of time it has taken for me to update the story. I promise; I have not given up on it. I am just swamped with real life. But, I still intend to continue writing the story and hope to regain your readership. I am on summer break and have more time to update. So expect more frequent additions posted soon.

I have taken some time to do some digging on my characters and rereading some of Tolkien's work. I am taken with Elrond's heritage and his story. I have highlighted some of it in this chapter and will continue to weave his story into Aerlinniel's, Legolas' and eventually, Thranduil's, which you got a little taste of in this chapter.

Be aware that I will be morphing Tolkien's Middle Earth history to suit the direction of my story. I will be sure to point out my departures, as best, I can. In this chapter, my own twist was the detail that Elrond has no memory of his father but the rest of the account of his life is painfully true. Elrond has had a very emotionally trying life and yet he endures Middle Earth and cares for the races within it. I have gained a renewed reverence for the old elf lord and I hope to do him justice. That being said, I did play with his motivations in this chapter, which I am sure you noticed...and that, my friends, you are on a need to know basis. Sorry, it makes for a good story to flesh it out slowly.

The other departure is the Silme Turma. This was my creation and you will learn more about it in further chapters.

I will leave you with Tolkien's description of Elrond to savor...

"The face of Elrond was ageless, neither old nor young, though in it was written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fulness of his strength. He was the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men."

"He was as noble and fair as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer."

― J. R. R. Tolkien

Please review and let me know what you think.

Love to You ALL and Thank You for Reading!