“Your highness?”

Thranduil looked down the grand hall to the entryway, where one of his archers stood. He gave a nod, and beside him, Galion – who had been asking him when he wished to take his afternoon tea – promptly closed his mouth and awaited the announcement of the warrior.

“Your son has arrived.”

A great wave of relief visibly washed over Thranduil, but his expression masked this as best he could. He gripped the arms of the throne as if he were about to get up, but either his knees locked or he stayed himself for some reason. “How does he fare?” he asked in the voice of the king, with the quiver of a worried father belying his question.

“Well, from what I can see and what he says, sire,” answered the archer. “I should warn you; he has brought one of Aule’s folk with him.”

In a less civilized court, one might have heard murmurs of elves questioning the idea of a dwarf in their realm, but the lords and ladies now looked to their king. Thranduil relaxed a little, and a smile tried to sneak onto his face.

“Galion.” Thranduil looked to his right as the butler bowed. The king sucked in his breath before further addressing the ellon, letting it slowly out. There had always been tension as far as Galion and Legolas were concerned. Though Legolas was the youngest of his sons and daughters, and there was never any thought that he might carry on the family line or be crowned the future king, Thranduil still wished nothing but the best for his son. It had been something of a shock to happen upon him in the kitchens late one night and find the family’s trusted butler rutting his son – his baby! – right there, on one of the preparation counters. It had been a ghastly affair, and what with the shouting and crying and yelling that ensued, Thranduil had been surprised that Galion had not left his employ, and that Legolas had not disowned his father.

Every time that Legolas had gone away somewhere, it was Galion who knew first and Thranduil who found out last, it seemed – if at all. There were times the king would only find out about an escapade due to a slip of the tongue by one of his daughters and a cheeky grin from his youngest, followed by a blushing butler fleeing as gracefully as possible.

That was another thing which puzzled Thranduil, and made him all the more upset. Why could Legolas not bring Galion into the family, then? Why did Galion insist on keeping his position, waiting upon the family, and even Legolas? Each time Legolas would raise his empty wine bowl and wave Galion to the table, a bitter taste came to Thranduil’s mouth. He knew he should simply be happy that his son was happy; he just didn’t understand why it could not be on his terms.

That was why it was so difficult for him to clear his throat and utter the words he did now. “I am sure the young prince is tired from his travels,” said Thranduil. “Ready a room for the dwarf, and then freshen my son’s quarters. Be sure you remain there and give him anything which he requires.”

Galion bowed his head and left the room, making haste to the royal wing of the palace. First to the linen closet to retrieve the needed items for the guest room, then to find a maid and set her to task. Recalling one of the letters his lover had sent him, Galion chose the blonde maiden to the dark-haired elleth, and instructed her to see to Lord Gimli’s wishes. He took another trip to the closet for fresh linens, and called upon the aide of the second maid in bringing a bottle of the favorite wine of the king’s youngest son to his room before hurrying there himself.

His hands shook with anticipation as he stripped the bed, and he fumbled with the crisp new ones. Just as he was making heads or tails out of the top sheet, a voice in his ear said, “Allow me to help you with that.”

Galion closed his eyes and felt a chill to his bones as strong, familiar arms came around him, a muscled chest pressed to his back. Legolas’ hands stilled his own and helped to unfold the lavender-blue sheet and smooth it upon the bed. The prince picked up the warm quilt that Galion had shaken to remove any dust that might have settled and he buried his nose in it. “How heavenly it is to be home,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of the lilac perfumed waters used by the washerellith to clean the bedding. “I almost thought I would never return.”

“I almost thought the same.” Galion’s voice cracked at the end and he blinked lest he should start crying. “Your father bid me to see to your needs.”

Both of Legolas’ eyebrows arched upwards. “Did he?”

“Yes... I think... in some way... he approves,” Galion said, his voice trailing off.

“And all it took was for him to think he might lose me,” contemplated Legolas in a sad and thoughtful voice. He set the quilt down as a knock came at the door, reaching the handle before Galion had time to cross the room. “Ah, thank you!” he exclaimed, and upon taking the bottle from the maid, gave her a kiss on the cheek in thanks and closed the door. “Is this from you or from my father?” he asked, holding up the bottle and walking to a cabinet where bowls and a corkscrew would be found.

“It was my doing,” answered Galion. “I thought... unless you were tired and wanted to rest.”

Legolas set the bottle down on the countertop, opened the cabinet, and contemplated as he looked inside. Eventually he closed the door again and approached Galion as he began to unfasten his jerkin. “I should rest, but I will not find peace tonight until I am in your arms.”

Stepping forward, Galion chased Legolas’ hands from their task and dutifully began to undress the younger elf. The blond’s hands rested upon Galion’s shoulders kneading them as the rest of his clothing was stripped from him. Before Galion could make it to his boots, Legolas managed to yank the plain cotton shirt off of his lover and toss it aside.

It amazed Legolas even after all this time how little time it took for Galion to have them both completely naked, with their clothing neatly folded on a chair and boots tucked underneath. The prince, who actually was a bit exhausted from the journey, had settled upon the mattress and waited for Galion to return from the tidying and the locking of the door. When Galion turned around to see Legolas idly tracing the bubble pattern on the quilt, he couldn’t help but gasp.

Legolas looked up innocently. “What?” he asked as Galion walked back over.

“You’re... so much more than when you left,” breathed Galion, his fingers gliding over toned muscles and some that were not even there before. It was true- the battles, the long trek, the constant vigilance and training had turned the ellon before him into an elf worthy of the title warrior. “I feel so... inadequate,” he said, looking down at himself. He was quite a display in his own right, but when once Galion would have easily been able to best Legolas in a wrestling match or some other such thing, the butler was sure he would be no match for him now.

“Nonsense,” replied Legolas, his own hands exploring the familiar terrain, touching and grabbing as he looked up at Galion with lustful eyes. “You will always be my stallion, and I, the eager yearling, a frisky young thing in need of taming and tempering. Ride me, and help ease my mind of the horrors I have lived through these months without you.”