The memory of the elves was legendary, and Legolas was no exception.

When he first saw Boromir at the Council of Elrond, he recognized him at once. This was not surprising, but what was surprising was the detail in which he recalled their first... encounter, for Boromir had vanished rather hurriedly before so much as an introduction had taken place. Legolas smiled when he thought about that day in Gondor.

He had been riding for days, growing weary and eager for a hot bath. He'd had no trouble finding a guest house in Minas Tirith, and his standing assured him good treatment and an excellent room. He was not surprised at the attention he attracted, for it was very rare that an elf - let alone an elf prince - ventured into the lands of men.

There were hushed whispers - on the streets outside as he passed, and in the pub where he inquired about a room. He caught a few words here and there and dismissed them for the typical foolishness of men - both the awed comments on his beauty, and the suspicious rumours of his nefarious reasons for being in Gondor.

He collected his key and walked back outside and down a narrow, deserted lane to the guest house indicated to him, when a large hand slammed down on his shoulder and gripped him tightly.

Legolas did not turn. He merely said, calmly, "You will remove your hand from me, if you wish to keep it."

Snorting laughter echoed behind him, and hot breath heavy with ale and rot assaulted his left ear. "Think you're too good for us mere men, do you, princeling?"

Legolas sighed and prepared to turn and deliver a blow the drunkard would not soon forget, when another voice bellowed, "Get your hand off him. Now!"

Amazingly, the hand was gone instantly, and Legolas turned to thank his would-be rescuer who appeared to hold such authority in this city.

"My Lord, I meant no harm," groveled the drunk, beating a hasty retreat.

"Come near him again, and you will find that I do." The man - tall, no more than twenty years of age by the reckoning of men, broad-shouldered and with a stern set to his jaw - glared at the other until he was out of sight, and then turned to Legolas. "I trust you are unharmed, Prince Legolas?"

Legolas smirked, touched by the unnecessary concern for his safety. "I am. But I am well able to defend myself."

The man grinned. "So I have heard. You are known for it."

"Then why...?" Legolas began.

The man seemed uncomfortable and unwilling to answer. "I do not wish your kind to think all of us men little above common beasts."

Legolas laughed. "Then you have achieved your aim, my Lord. Some of you are not only chivalrous, but amusing also."

The man's sensuous lips twitched as he gave a small bow. And to Legolas' annoyance, he moved to leave.

"Wait! I have not yet thanked you."

Surprise raised the man's brows. "There is no need. It has been my pleasure."

Legolas smiled and walked up to the man. He was taller even than he, and possessed the most inviting green eyes the elf had seen in his long life. "Then this shall be my pleasure, my knight." And he gracefully wrapped long arms around the man's neck, tilted his head, and pressed his lips to that handsome mouth.

At first, there was no response. But then a crushing embrace combined with a forceful taking of his own mouth robbed the elf's breath, and he could do little except hold on as the man's hands held him close by his nape - fingers tangling in the mane of golden hair - and the small of his back. No one had ever kissed him this way, and he managed a fleeting thought that the elves' restraint in such matters was something best abolished immediately.

And then it was over. His eyes focussed again, there was an arm's length between them, and his would-be lover stared at him in a mixture of awe and horror.

"Forgive me," the stranger stammered, turned, and vanished from the alleyway and back into the crowded streets.

It took all the elf's self-control to not run after him and beg him to... be his lover? Bring his skills to the elves? No, Legolas thought. He would see this man again. If the fates did not comply, he would find a way. The man was a prominent figure in Gondor, that much was clear. It would be easy to learn his identity.

Satisfied for the time being, Legolas made his way to his accommodations.

"Prince Legolas?"

The elf's thoughts returned to the present at being addressed, and he watched Boromir of Gondor approach him, somewhat coyly, across the courtyard. Smiling, Legolas met him part of the way.

"I was rude," Boromir said.

"Oh no, the council's purpose was to hear the opinions of all," Legolas said, glad to hear that voice again, even if it chose to speak of such impersonal matters.

"No, I do not refer to the council. Though my shock at seeing you again did nothing for my composure and manner, I fear." Boromir cleared his throat. "I speak of that day we met in Minas Tirith."

He remembered as well? Legolas' heart beat a little faster. "I probably frightened you, Boromir."

Boromir's brows rose, and he actually looked offended. "You certainly did not."

Legolas smiled. "My apologies."

"I was rather young and... inexperienced. I acted like a child," Boromir admitted.

"Not entirely," Legolas said, looking at Boromir from under his lashes.

Boromir blushed endearingly. "I have often regretted my hasty departure. And have wondered..."

"Yes?" Legolas did nothing to keep his interest from his voice.

"I have wondered what might have occured had I not fled."

Legolas stepped close, looking into those beautiful eyes - now older and wiser and even more passionate - and suggested huskily, "Shall we find out?"

This time, Boromir did not flee.

End