He turned and looked back the way he came and was overcome with nausea again as he took in the boiling, churning ground, no longer a glowing green-gold, but a sickening, dying brown with great slashes of red spread across it, like a morbid life-sized painting. With a growing feeling of dread he looked down at himself, at his left arm wrapped firmly around his middle, at the red stain spreading under his fingers. He slowly pulled his hand away and gawked at the ugly slash in his belly, at the blood still bubbling out of it, at the way he could feel his insides pushing against the wound, like they were trying to get out. He stared at his blood soaked hands for a long moment before his eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out before he’d even hit the ground.

*****

He woke up gasping.

Just a dream. Just a meaningless snippet of memory from a life he couldn’t remember. He relaxed, forced himself to catch his breath, and sighed when he realized he was alone in bed. His lover would be back soon, but suddenly he just couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stand to be in their bed by himself, overcome with depression and melancholy. It wasn’t often these moods hit him, but when they did it felt as though they would consume his entire soul. He couldn’t help it; memories were what made a person; you were the sum of your experiences. So what was he then, but a two year old in an adult’s body.

He made his way slowly through the halls, enjoying the decorations, the carvings etched into the wood. Their home was beautiful; all of the people here had beautiful houses high up in the trees, living houses. His feet knew exactly where he was headed and he soon found himself staring at the great carved doors to the library. The library never failed to comfort him. Something about being surrounded by the leather-bound tomes brought peace to him, deep inside. He felt a sort of contentment that he normally only knew around his lover. He had no idea about his old life, about where he used to live, who he used to be, how he ended up here, but he knew without a doubt that books were his life. So when he woke from the unsettling, recurring dream to an empty bed, he found himself in the library, running his fingers gently over the spines facing out from the shelves while he lost himself in the endless rows.

Speaking of an empty bed, his lover would be back any time now and would undoubtedly come searching for him when he was not in the room. Even with his broken memories, he had no doubt that Legolas was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

*****

He pushed the carved wooden doors open smoothly, sure he would find his missing lover in here. Long smooth strides brought him behind Wesley and he wrapped his arms around the waist of the broader man and rested his chin on the shoulder in front of him.

“You could not sleep, thoron?” he asked softly.

Wesley shook his head. “Nightmares.” He shuddered. “So much blood.”

Legolas hummed softly, agreeing. “I too have nightmares of the day we found you. The day my heart nearly died without me ever knowing.”

Wesley started to speak, and then stopped. He tried again when Legolas gently prodded him with his chin. “Do you… do you ever wish I was whole? That I knew who I was… that I remembered?” he asked hesitantly. He knew the answer before it was said, he knew the answer every time he asked this question, but after the nightmare he always needed to ask, always needed the reassurance.

“You are whole to me thoronya. You are everything to me. Looking upon you warms my old heart in ways even I don’t understand.” He rained delicate kisses along the back of Wesley’s neck, gently brushing aside the dark brown hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. Wesley moaned and tilted his head to the side, encouraging the attention. Legolas chuckled quietly, the sound like tinkling glass. “Come to bed órenya.

He turned the other man towards the doors of the library and they slowly made their way to their room, still tangled up in each other, sharing soft kisses and murmured words of comfort. He would not trade him for anything, his human lover.

Finally they fell upon the plush, silken coverings of their bed, still kissing and touching and caressing. They lay beside each other, their limbs hopeless entwined as they stripped each other, never separating. Soon they were skin to skin, pressed against each other tightly, the air around them filled with the soft sounds of their gentle lovemaking. Wesley’s hands were tangled in his fine blond hair and his own hands were clasped around strong arms, unwilling to ever let go.

He could feel Wesley writhing and gasping in his arms as they thrust against each other and he knew the other man was close. He began to whisper words of love in the other man’s ear, knowing how much Wesley loved to hear them and soon he felt the other man go completely frozen in his arms before shuddering helplessly. Just feeling Wesley’s release on him was enough, and then he was gone too, marking Wesley so the whole world would know he loved this man, all of him, and that was enough.

*****