Fire

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Legolas is not only Thranduil's son.  He has some of the other side of the family tree in there, too.  Kept all the names Sindarin because I'm lazy.  This story is, of course, part of the same tangent as "Cheat" and its offshoots, as well as "Subtle" and includes Erestor's fabricated backstory.  If you haven't read those this probably won't make a lick of sense to you, so good luck :D, it'll be a mystery!  Takes place around the time of the Council of Elrond in Imladris in the late Third Age (obviously).

Disclaimer: The Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings belong to Tolkien

Pairings: Glorfindel x Erestor (in the background)

Characters: Glorfindel, Legolas (mentions other people at the Council, Frodo, Meadhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Fëanor, Eru, Morgoth, Thranduil and Aragorn... I think that's everyone)

Warning: extreme AU, canon compliant mostly, hints of slash and m!preg, intoxication, allusions to war and murder

Song: In Memoriam

Words: 863
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fire (noun): the phenomenon of combustion manifested in light, flame, and heat; burning passion: ardor; liveliness of imagination: inspiration
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fire

The first time Glorfindel of Imladris laid eyes on the Prince of Mirkwood, he thought he was having delusions--perhaps he had had a draught to many of rich Dorwinion last evening?  Because he had to be imagining things!  It was simply not possible!  Were it not for the pale blond hair and the short stature and the face staring back at him with the Elvenking's lovely features, he could have sworn that it was actually Maedhros Fëanorion before him, jaw set and body ramrod straight, readying himself to take on all the armies of Morgoth singlehandedly.

Except that was ridiculous.  This young elf--hardly more than a child, really--was nothing like the great and feared warrior prince of the First Age.  He was skinny and waif-like and short and used a bow for Eru's sake!

No, at first Glorfindel dismissed such thoughts.  They were positively absurd.  Following this assessment, he went down to the kitchens to track down a herbal cure for hangovers and wondered if perhaps he should just go back abed until noon, no matter that his lover would chide him for it later and demand an explanation for his odd behavior.

He quickly discovered that it was not a fluke.  His instincts screamed.

When next he saw the child, again, the same feeling buzzed in the back of his mind, an annoying little insect that would just not go away.  Glorfindel stood and observed carefully from the corner of his eye as the young prince walked past him down the hallway, eyes never shifting from their straightforward position, itching to reach his destination, body moving with swift, predatory grace and not a lick of awkward hesitation.  Like a hunter.

And it suddenly reminded him of Celegorm Fëanorion on the prowl.

That was when he knew something strange was afoot.  No gangly young Sindarin prince should remind him of the legendary, bloodthirsty warriors of old, not at a mere glance.

But the more he watched, the more confusing and astounding he found the prince.

It was in the way he walked, in the measured movements of his arms, in the set of his sharp jaw and the angle of his cheekbones.  Legolas would turn to address someone beside him with a certain tilt of his head and a certain pursing of his lips and suddenly recall to mind an image of Maglor Fëanorion delicately acknowledging a dignitary to his right with exactly that same silly inclination of the head, teetering on the edge between respect and insult.  With amusement, Glorfindel noted the natural angle of Legolas' head was further towards "insult" whenever the addressee happened to be a rude dwarf or uncouth human.

More striking, still, was when the prince smiled, how his dark brows would furrow ever so slightly, how his lips would curl up just so, ever so slightly sardonic.  And then he would laugh smoothly, low in the back of his throat, almost purring.  It reminded him of Erestor, and Glorfindel felt as though he had been banged over the head with a hammer by Aulë's immeasurable strength.

Never did he personally speak to the sinda, but kept his distance during the days leading up to the Council.  It was not until the Council itself that he finally saw it, the undeniable proof that this child could not possibly be the mere son of Thranduil of Doriath, a stubborn but cold-hearted creature who had none of the intrinsic, unmistakable passion that marked, like a blazing torch in the blackness of the moonless night, the presence of temperamental blood.

Legolas had the fire.  During the Council, he leapt to his feet as though struck by a whip, beautiful face marred by an all-too-familiar scowl, and Glorfindel's mind whispered of Caranthir Fëanorion traitorously. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.  You owe him your allegiance," Legolas growled, wild eyes burning at the sting of insult towards a man he considered to be a worthy friend and companion.  Such an expression sent shudders running from the base of Glorfindel's spine, up his back and down again, icy understanding settling in the bottom of his stomach and radiating sharply outwards through his knotted innards.

Thranduil was keeping a secret.

And when Legolas leapt forth and threw himself into the heart of the quest--"You have my bow!"--Glorfindel's throat tightened, bewildered at the dread tugging at his heartstrings.  It was an oath, an oath to give away his young life to the Ringbearer to use as the naive little hobbit saw fit.  And those eyes were brighter than stars in the day's twilight, that lithe body near humming in anticipation and power.

The Spirit of Fire was molded into this young soul as surely as it was entwined with all the descendants of that cursed House.

And all things started well by the Dispossessed were doomed to end in failure.

Glorfindel could not strike the memory of heat radiating outwards from the young soul, even long after the Fellowship of the Ring had departed.  He could not help but wonder... and suspect...
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For fun.  Originally, I wasn't going to write anything even close to this.  Actually, I was going to do a "retake" of a story I had written to this same prompt more than two years ago, but then I was reading Hobbit fanfiction and focused on dwarves and was reading about Kíli and started thinking about characters who had "fire" who weren't members of the House of Fëanor and came up with Legolas.  And then, thinking about it, it all made perfect sense and everything in the world was good.  That is how this came about.  New plot-bunny maybe?

Listening to In Memoriam, a Globus play off of the Immediate Music piece Journey to Glory.  I like the male singer's voice, which is partially why I picked it.  That, and I accidently found the Immediate Music version and was like "Hey, I recognize that!", and so like a dork I had to go and listen to the Globus version and... yeah...

If I ever find a satisfactory fanart of Legolas I'll let you know.  You I must say that Orlando Bloom is a pretty damn hot elf.  Definitely looking foward to seeing him in the next Hobbit movie.  You seen the interesting little blog preview that Peter Jackson did?  I have! *is so hyped*  I can't wait!