His head was buzzing. Awash with images. Memories so real he could touch them. Aragorn shouting. Haldir looking at him, wild-eyed…then falling. Haldir on his knees, blood streaming from his brow and midsection. Haldir in his arms, blood covering them both. Haldir's blood. Haldir's eyes closing, his spirit fading. Gimli hollering at Legolas to get up. Reminding him that not only one life was at stake.

And afterwards, the bodies of the dead were burned, and he had not been able to say goodbye.

In his heart he had never said goodbye.

The marchwarden haunted him. The tangy voice growled in his ears. The silver hair brushed his cheek when he closed his eyes. His scent came to Legolas on the wind. He was everywhere, except the one place Legolas needed him to be – in his arms. Legolas knew not how he found the strength to see the War of the Ring through until the end. Perhaps it was in that he expected to die, himself, now. He was ready for it. There was no fear, because death would mean he would be reunited with Haldir.

"Death…" he whispered.

"Pardon me?"

"Death… Death!"

"Ai, Legolas, please stop saying that. It is depressing. Wake up, will you?"

Who was speaking to him? It sounded so much like Haldir, down to the exact note of irritation. He tried to open his eyes and became aware that someone was pounding his head with a hammer. No, that was not accurate. The hammer was inside his head. Light seared his brain, competing with the pain of the hammer, and he realized that his eyes were open.

He tried to focus them and found himself looking at Haldir. He blinked a few times.

"Am I dead, or dreaming?"

"No. We are both very much alive. You may still be drunk, however."

Legolas felt so confused that each word had to be considered separately and by the time he had done this, he had nearly forgotten what Haldir had said.

"Drunk. Yes, I have been drinking tonight."

"I can see that."

"What happened?"

"To what are you referring?"

Legolas paused. His head ached. He tried to sit up and nearly vomited. Haldir pushed a pan at him, but in the end Legolas held it back. He gasped for breath, and Haldir put the pan aside, put his arms around Legolas. Legolas turned to hug him back and saw pain flicker in Haldir's eyes.

"You are hurt."

"Yes," Haldir said.

"But, you are alive."

"Yes, that as well. Legolas, why do you not lie back down. We will have our reunion in the morning, and mayhap your nightmares will fade."

"And yours?"

Haldir did not reply. He pressed Legolas down onto the couch. He pressed his lips gently to Legolas' forehead.

"No," Legolas protested. "Kiss me properly, Haldir. Otherwise I will not truly believe that you are here."

Haldir kissed him. There was an intense heat that flooded the prince then, and he felt his heart knock against the inside of his chest, as if it, too, had just awoken. Carefully he slid his hands onto Haldir's shoulders. He remembered the wound. It had been deep, no wonder it still pained him. Elrond must have been healing him, Legolas thought. Then he could think no more as their lips slid together. He bit at Haldir's full lower lip, tugging gently. His tongue slid hungrily against the marchwarden's and he groaned low and deep in his throat.

"I have missed you," Haldir said so fervently that Legolas felt dizzy. When the other elf let go of him, Legolas sat back up.

"I cannot go back to sleep," he insisted. "Sit here, next to me, and let me hold your hand. I need contact."

"I need contact as well," Haldir said, sounding amused, "But holding your hand is not likely to be satisfactory for either of us for long."

Legolas felt his cheeks heat up, but Haldir did as he asked and moved to sit next to him on the cot. They leaned against each other, and Haldir took the prince's hand in his own. It was a simple gesture but it meant everything to Legolas. The connection between them hummed.

"I am too drunk to offer more satisfaction than this," Legolas sighed.

"Then how did this happen?" Haldir's fingers pressed against his throat and Legolas felt a sharp sting.

"I do not—"

"Try to remember." The marchwarden's voice was cold and dangerous.

"Are you jealous? I thought you were dead, Haldir."

"I forgive you," Haldir muttered. "I just wish to know who—"

"And what will you do then? It matters not who. I gave in to my sorrow, abandoned myself to alcohol and whoever would have me. They did not, by the way, and you may thank Lord Elrond for that."

"Legolas, forgive me. I have no wish to argue with you. Let me fix your hair. It is a mess."

Legolas glanced at the mirror across from them and saw that this was true. He watched his own face turn red, but Haldir calmly produced combs and brushes, removed his ill-placed hair ornament, and set to work on straightening him out. He saw the bruise on his throat as well, and thought of the twins. What must they think of him now? Ai, Valar.

Yet, Haldir's gentle touch felt so good and so right. The prince's heart ached with joy so strong it made him near sadness. He did not tug at the tangles, but patiently removed them. He began fixing the braids, concentration evident on his face.

"I should be looking after you, not the other way around," Legolas said guiltily.

"Why is that?"

"Your wound…"

"It is fine. Do not trouble yourself in thinking on it any longer. I survived."

"I am glad you did. Had I known you lived, I would have sat by your side every moment!"

"Why do you think you were not told? You were needed in other arenas, Legolas. Aragorn and the Dwarf needed you."

"You needed me," Legolas dared.

"Nay," said Haldir, but they both knew it was not true. "There, you look much better."

"Thank you." Legolas turned to face Haldir, whose lips twisted in what for him was as close to a tender smile as he arrived. He lifted his hand to the prince's cheek, and Legolas felt heat rush through him again. "I want—" he began, but they were interrupted by a sudden, frantic pounding at the door.