Imladris, Viressë TA 1053

Gandalf the Grey was not known to settle in any abode long enough to gather moss. Of the five Istari who had come to Middle-earth from across the Sea, he was the most itinerant. Small wonder the Elves had dubbed him Mithrandir or Grey Pilgrim. But there was one realm, one place he was pleased to call a base of sorts if not home and that was Imladris.

This breezy afternoon in spring, the wizard watched his young companions with an indulgent smile. He was seated beneath the shady branches of a large oak near Rivendell's roaring cascades, enjoying a picnic of all things with Elrond's children and their good friend, Legolas of Mirkwood.

The woodland prince was set to return to his father's kingdom the following morn after a stay of nearly eight months in the valley. The brethren, Elladan and Elrohir, had conceived of the idea to hold a picnic both as a going away party for him and a bid to lighten their collective melancholy at his imminent departure.

For Legolas was more than the twins' friend; he was their sworn brother as they were his. The first months of the prince's stay had been fraught with tension, sorrow and near-catastrophe but these travails only served to further seal the threesome's formidable bond. Now, they were evermore united in their long friendship and fast-deepening brotherhood. Hence, the reluctance to part from each other despite Legolas' lengthy visit and the desire to féte the archer in this intimate manner before said parting.

In this they'd had their sister's assistance. Arwen had helped them coax Iorwen into preparing a sumptuous lunch for them replete with the cook's famous pastries. Armed with food and wine, they'd headed for the falls for an afternoon of camaraderie and ease. To this end, they were all more dressed down than usual, the twins and Legolas clad only in shirts, breeches and light shoes and Arwen in her simplest gown. None had bothered to plait or bind their hair; their freely flowing locks made them look even younger than they actually were.

Gandalf's inclusion had been sudden. They'd invited him to join them when he showed up unlooked for that very morning. All four Elves were fond of and fascinated by the Istar who could be, by turns, kindly, awe-inspiring, merry or irascible. For they sensed the power his rather nondescript appearance veiled though they did not comprehend what or who he truly was. If Elrond knew, he had chosen to hold his tongue on the matter and they'd had no luck prying any information out of him.

But as much as they observed him, he studied them even more keenly. Gandalf always seemed to be aware of what was going on around him even to the slightest nuances in people's speech or demeanor. It was a pleasant exercise to the wizard and also a useful one.

He paid sharp attention when Legolas, coming in on the tail end of a discussion regarding the ancestry of the Peredhil, said a little peevishly: "I still don't see why you must leave Middle-earth with your father to be of the Firstborn. It seems most unfair that you must abide by a decision made ages ago."

Elrohir shook his head and placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "We do not understand either, gwador, but we do not have much choice. 'Tis the will of the Valar."

"Aye, for if that is what the Powers decreed, who are we to gainsay it?" Elladan added.

"But is there no way around it?" Legolas insisted. "What if you are not ready to leave these lands when your father chooses to go? Surely the Valar would not be so obdurate as to hold you to so onerous a decree."

"They would not," Gandalf interrupted, eliciting starts of surprise from the others. "You are right, young Legolas. There are always possibilities even with the Powers themselves."

Awen frowned. "But their decision was clear," she said. "For so long as Father abides here, we shall have the youth of the Eldar. But when he sails West, we must take ship with him or remain in Middle-earth to die as mortals."

Gandalf nodded. "So was the choice appointed to the Peredhil at the end of the First Age," he agreed. "But you of all Elves should know that the decisions of the Valar and even Eru himself are not always immutable. Else your foremother, Luthien would not have been permitted to join her fate to a mortal spouse. Nor would the Valar have allowed Eärendil to plead his cause before them in Valinor, waged war on Morgoth or rescinded the Ban on the exiled Noldor. The Powers' decrees are not to be gainsaid as you put it but they are by no means set in stone either."

"Are you suggesting that we need not go with Father when he departs these shores?" Elrohir asked baldly.

Gandalf had to smile at the younger twin's straightforwardness. He pursed his lips humorously.

"I am suggesting that your choice is still far in the future," he said, his beard almost but not quite concealing his mischievous grin. "Many things may happen or change ere you must decide your paths."

"Meaning you do not desire to enlighten us at present," Arwen said somewhat astringently.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in agreement. The Elves sighed. Trust a wizard to leave you hanging in either anticipation or frustration.

"Well, I hope what Mithrandir says is true whatever it may take," Legolas declared. He yawned without warning, barely clapping his hand over his mouth in time to stifle it. Arwen giggled. "Pardon me," he smiled drowsily.

Elladan and Elrohir chuckled. Legolas' languor was not surprising considering the number of pastries he had consumed. Iorwen was truly a wonder in her own right when it came to making the most toothsome delicacies this side of the Great Sea.

"Lie down, Calenlass," Elrohir said, patting a thigh invitingly.

Legolas accepted the offer with alacrity and lay his head on the Elf-knight's lap. His unbound hair spilled onto Elrohir's thighs while his limber frame stretched out on the springy grass. In seconds, he had dozed off into light slumber. The others laughed softly then sought cozy positions themselves. It was a lovely afternoon and they felt deliciously relaxed as well.

Elladan lay on his back, arms folded under his head while Arwen curled up with a contented smile on the picnic mantle. Gandalf, for his part, leaned languidly against the oak tree and absently regarded the pair before him. He smiled slightly at the picture they presented.

Elrohir was stroking Legolas' flaxen mane, idly brushing stray strands from his friend's face. He was also looking down at Legolas with the gentlest, most appreciative smile the wizard had ever had the privilege to see. Gandalf wondered about it.

Well, mayhap 'tis nothing more than admiration for a friend's comeliness, he mused. They are very close after all. He glanced down at the sleeping Elf. And Legolas was wondrous fair. One hesitated to use the word handsome on so seemingly ethereal a creature. Beautiful was closer to the mark. Yet the Wood-elf was a warrior of note, as fearsome in battle as Elrond's formidable sons.

He considered Elrohir once more. The wizard's bushy eyebrows drew together slightly and a speculative glitter appeared in his eyes. If anything, the younger twin's expression seemed to have turned warmer and more affectionate than before. Was there something else there?

Elrohir deftly tucked a wayward lock of silvery gold behind a delicate ear. For a moment, his fingers lingered before he drew a forefinger ever so lightly along the curve of Legolas' ear. Sensitive as all Elves were in that vicinity, Legolas smiled slightly in his sleep and made a sound that sounded like a muffled chortle. Elrohir gazed at him intently, his argent eyes gleaming oddly, before resuming his stroking of the wheaten tresses.

Gandalf's eyebrows drew apart and rose in fascination instead. Yes, there is something else, he thought. Was the woodland prince just the Elf-knight's heart's brother...or also his heart's desire? He mentally shook his head. He was not about to jump to any conclusions just yet. Let time tie loose ends if they are fit to be tied, he told himself.

Elrohir looked up then, sensing the Istar's scrutiny. But all he saw was Gandalf looking back at him benignly. Becoming conscious of what he was doing, he smiled a little embarrassedly at the wizard and ceased the movements of his hand.

"Don't stop," Gandalf softly advised him. "He was enjoying it."

Elrohir looked down and saw a small frown mar Legolas' smooth forehead. After some hesitation, he resumed his soothing ministrations. The frown vanished and Legolas' features turned serene once more.

The Elf-knight gazed at his friend gravely for a spell then glanced up to see if Gandalf still watched him. He swallowed a chuckle.

The wizard was in an attitude of deep repose, his long white beard fanning out upon his chest. Indeed, everyone was asleep; it seemed he was the only one left with his wits still about him. He returned to his appreciative contemplation of Legolas' countenance. A tender smile curled the corners of his sinuous lips.

Across from him, unseen, Gandalf lifted one lid and observed him briefly. Definitely something else, he decided. And then he closed his eye and finally nodded off into real, restful slumber.