Nepenthe [Legolas]

25

They returned to Rohan the same day, two Hobbits now within their companionship once more.

The people gathered with a palpable energy between them. They were eager to celebrate their wins and remember the fallen, honoring their deaths through tributes and grand speeches by the king before dissolving into song and mighty feasts.

"Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead." The king had called, raising a glass as he started the evening festivities.

"Hail!" The crowd had chanted, raising their own pints and tipping them back until they felt the cool liquor trail down their throats.

Viridis, who stood at the back, tipped his own glass back at a leisurely pace, a contented air about him as he drank.

He'd been given a change of clothes when they had gotten back. Seeing the torn fabric that failed to cover his shoulder, he was supplied with a new tunic. Very much similar to the one he had worn before with a brown chest and grey details that wrapped around his forearms and trailed upwards in etched designs, both elegant and fluid in their motions to allow for easy motion and a natural grace.

He wore it now, feeling the fabric beneath his fingertips as he watched the hall become transformed into a mighty feast and tavern where joyous men and women alike shouted songs and emptied tankards of the many.

Gimli had coaxed Legolas into a drinking competition, indoctrinating him to the drink of Man and hastily shoving a glass brimming to the brim with froth toward him.

Legolas' eyes wandered around the hall, as if looking almost uneasy, until they found Viridis. He was looking for reassurance of some kind.

The notion was almost confounding. Not once has Viridis ever seen the prince so profoundly perplexed before. And to think all it had taken was to be shoved a pint of liquor in his hands and told to drink.

Viridis merely offered a shrug and watched as Legolas gave in, raising the brim to his lips, drinking as cheers of the other competitors rang out and the competition officially started.

Legolas had also been given a tunic in thanks by the people of Rohan. He wore it now as he drank, steadily growing more confident as he went. The cloth was a silver-white, decorated by the moonlight itself. Legolas then, in the middle of the hall with dozens of people around, stood out brightly, brilliantly. With his blond hair that reflected almost silver against the moonlight and paired with his garments, he was also Ethereal. An enigma in the center of the universe.

And he'd chosen him.

It was a strange thought, and it struck Viridis so squarely in the chest he almost scarcely knew what to make of it.

Here sat the prince of Mirkwood, son of the great Lord Thranduil, throwing back ping after pint, an adorable smile on his lips as he did, eyes tracing back to Viridis' again and again, so full of love.

A smile has found its way onto Viridis' lips without his knowledge and he only grinned wider when he realized this.

The stretch of his lips as they turned upward was becoming routine, customary each time he laid his eyes on the prince.

It was an odd thing at first. Viridis knew he wore a stoic gaze routinely. It was safe territory for him, to reserve his emotion and to put on the brave face so that the there around him would believe as such.

What a pleasure in life it was to be able to be so profoundly in love that your heart aches.

Merry and Pippin startled Viridis from his daze as he brought his attention to the two Hobbits that had hopped up on the long table closest to them and sat, legs crossed and elbows balanced on knees as they rested their heads within their palms.