Tales by Eressë

A Very Quick Hello

2009-12-12T14:58:11Z

Just dropped by to let everyone know that I'm still around and breathing. I've been writing like mad in the hope of finishing the second book by the end of the month or early January at the latest. Unfortunately, my laptop is a lost cause—its logic board gave up the ghost. So until I can buy a new one, I will be stuck sharing the family Mac with my sons. That means having a limit on my usage of it. Nevertheless, I managed to get several chapters done. *pats self on back* And I also hope to get at least one chapter of my WIP out by Christmas. I so dislike leaving Elrohir and Legolas (and everyone else!) hanging for such a lengthy period of time. So wish me luck in both writing endeavors. With my inevitable hectic holiday schedule, I'm going to need any and all the luck available!

The state of yours truly

2009-10-03T06:50:31Z

Just popping in to explain my lack of fiction updates.

My laptop decided to throw a tantrum. So while I'm trying to get it fixed or a replacement, whichever turns out to be the pertinent solution, I'm stuck with the family Mac which I have to share with my three sons. Not exactly conducive to writing much beyond the sequel to Sacred Fate. What time I've got for my share of computer usage, I've diverted into the completion of Book Two since I very much want to submit it to my editor before the year ends.

It's not at all easy, writing a sequel. It's actually harder than the initial world-building what with having to take first-time readers into account without being over repetitive for those who have read Book One. And then there's keeping track of all the timelines, events and laws set down in the first book and making sure they remain consistent in the second. I never realized before that in trying to keep as true as possible to the LotR universe in my fanfic writing, I was practicing for the time when I would create a fictional universe with its own set of rules and traditions and have to ensure that I did not wind up violating or changing those rules and traditions myself. (I've come across reader outrage in various forums over authors doing just this and I don't want to be on the receiving end of similar expressions of indignation and frustration!)

Anyway, my deepest gratitude to everyone who supported me in my first published literary endeavor. I really appreciate it. And I do hope the next book will be as much to your liking as Sacred Fate. ;D

I'm Published!

2009-09-15T01:48:48Z

My first original novel Sacred Fate has just been released by Liquid Silver Books. The realization that the product of my imagination and writing efforts is out there for sale—the feeling is almost indescribable. And I would wish it on every one of you. *laugh* I want to thank everyone for their support. And my deepest gratitude to those who stated their intention to purchase the book. I hope you enjoy it and that you'll like it enough to recommend it to others. I won't mind the extra boost!

For more details, go here

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #41: Completion

2009-09-01T17:25:46Z

Title: Completion
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elrohir/Legolas
Prompt: 044. Circle
Word Count: 2430
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: Though formal union is not yet possible, Elrohir and Legolas’ relationship comes full circle in another way. Part 31 of Prior Claim.

Completion

Rumpled sheets and scattered pillows attested to the vigorous use the bed had been put to. The faint but unmistakable scent of bodily union confirmed the nature of that use. There would be much tut-tutting in the morning among the chambermaids whose responsibility it was to put the bedchamber in order. That had been the case since young Elrohir began frequenting their prince’s quarters as much as his own.

Legolas could not remember a time when his ardor had been so easily roused or his passion so difficult to master once stoked. Nay, not even in those early years when newly awakened concupiscence drove him to gratify his desires with reckless abandon and scant consideration for the consequences of his actions. His youthful lechery paled in comparison to the lust that overcame him whenever he was in close proximity to Elrohir.

He had reasoned that their long separation was to blame for this state of affairs. It was natural to glut one’s self with something long wanted. But that could not explain the incessant hunger for his lover nearly a month into his visit. By now, he should have been sated enough to occasionally abstain from bedding the younger twin.

The shifting of the mattress beside him drew his eyes to the comely youth who shared his bed. Elrohir lay on his side facing Legolas, regarding the archer thoughtfully. Legolas raised his eyebrows in tacit inquiry.

Elrohir said, “I overheard talk this afternoon—amongst the housekeeping staff. They said it was surprising that I spend many a night here because you have never bedded anyone in your chambers before. Is this true? Am I truly the first?”

Legolas shrugged. “You are. What of it?”

“Then I had best refrain from coming here too often.” At Legolas’ surprised reaction, Elrohir explained, “This is probably another reason some of your folk resent me. Had I known your prior refusal to have your lovers here, I would have abided your preference.”

“My preference is to have you here,” Legolas corrected. “In truth, I was delighted when you boldly came to me that first evening. My bed had never felt so welcoming until then nor my sleep as sound when I knew I would awaken to the sight of you beside me.”

Gentle color suffused Elrohir’s cheeks. “I am glad that pleased you. But do you not mind the talk, Legolas?”

“Only if you do.” Legolas frowned. “Does it trouble you overmuch? I thought you said you could ignore their incivility.”

“I can. But I do not care to add to the tally of faults they hold against me. Not if their perception of me besmirches you in turn and lessens their esteem for you.”

Legolas shook his head. “Think first of your needs, Elrohir. Of what you can tolerate. Do you care what they say about you? If so, then I will agree that it is best you no longer come to my chamber.” He pursed his lips. “I will agree but I will not approve of it.”

Elrohir faintly smiled. “If you want me here, then I do not care what they say,” he declared.

Appeased, Legolas pulled him into his arms, letting Elrohir rest his head on his shoulder. He smiled when the young Elf snuggled against him, insinuating a slender limb between Legolas’ legs.

They lapsed into pleasant reverie for several heartbeats with only their steady breathing to accompany their respective thoughts. Legolas ran his fingers through Elrohir’s hair, enjoying the feel of the silken strands against his skin. He remembered the first time he’d shared a bath with the Elf-knight and helped him wash his dark locks. He’d been amused to learn that Elrohir had never bathed with another since his adolescence save for Elladan. He wondered if that still held true. Following on the heels of that idle thought came another.

In the ten decades since their last parting, had Elrohir known other than platonic company? It was a stray idea and a completely unwarranted one yet he could not stop it from taking shape in his mind.

A century was a long time to go without for an Elf of Elrohir’s age, especially if he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. And there was Elrohir’s newfound confidence in bed as well; his lack of inhibition in love play. Whereas before it had been Legolas’ wont to prepare him well ere taking him, now Elrohir yielded himself with ease and enthusiasm. Legolas told himself that it was simply the result of greater maturity as well as his familiarity with the act. But a part of him worried that some of the Elf-knight’s proficiency had been gained through actual experience in which Legolas had taken no part. The jealousy that smote him took him unawares and he tensed.

“Legolas?”

The archer turned his head to study his lover. Elrohir gazed back curiously. Goaded by his conjectures, Legolas raked the Elf-knight’s body with his eyes, noting as he did that Elrohir did not shy from being so boldly inspected. Not so much as a smidgen of color marked his cheeks despite the deliberately salacious appraisal. Interesting that suggestive words could reduce Elrohir to blushes but not the actual partaking of his graces, Legolas mused with some vexation.

“Have you yielded to others?” he tersely asked, the words spilling out against his will.

Elrohir stared at him. “I have not lain with others at all, even in the name of instruction,” he replied. When Legolas regarded him skeptically, he added, “You asked it of me, remember?”

Legolas grimaced. Torn between active relief and grudging guilt, he said, “You did not abstain because of me, did you?” Hard as it was to say the next words, he forged on. “I would not have you forego something you desire only for my sake.”

Elrohir did not hide his surprise. He looked at Legolas searchingly. What he saw apparently satisfied him and he smiled.

“Rest you, that was not the sole reason. Your counsel long ago was not only wise, it concurred with my convictions even then. Casual couplings hold no attraction for me and even less am I enamored of meaningless affairs. Under those circumstances, I can hardly give myself to another as I have to you.” He reached up and ran his knuckles tenderly down Legolas’ cheek. “I trust you. I feel utterly safe with you. And my heart is yours and always will be.”

Legolas took a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “You honor me,” was all he could say.

The Elf-knight shook his head. “I merely speak the truth.”

For several minutes they lay in companionable silence, Legolas idly drawing circles on Elrohir’s chest with his fingers. As his jealousy subsided, his thoughts turned elsewhere. And as they had for several nights running, the bulk focused on Elrohir’s twin and the Elf he had wed. Or rather, Glorfindel’s disregard for convention in his desire to please Elladan as much as Elladan pleased him.

He loves Elladan. That was all the explanation Elrohir had offered. That was all the explanation needed, Legolas admitted.

Elrohir turned further into his embrace and he felt the nudge of the Elf-knight’s length against his thigh. Legolas’ own shaft stirred in resurgent arousal. The archer drew a calming breath.

“Do you wish that I would yield to you?” he murmured.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then Elrohir shrugged and said, “I would be lying to claim otherwise.”

“Yet you have not asked it of me.”

Elrohir frowned. “‘Tis not anyone’s right to ask that of you and your privilege alone to bestow it.”

Another several minutes of silence passed. Elrohir glanced at Legolas with some concern. The archer seemed lost in thought. At length, he sighed and softly spoke.

“Strange as it may seem for an Elf of my years, I have never done so.” He wryly smiled at Elrohir’s palpable start of surprise. He met the Elf-knight’s curious gaze. “My grandsire and father thought it most unseemly for a male of our line to play the mare,” he explained. “I was discouraged from entertaining the notion in no uncertain terms. But even had there been no such prohibition, I would still have held that back. For there simply has been no Elf I have trusted enough or cared for that I would wholly share myself with him.”

He paused, looking so vulnerable, that Elrohir’s protective instincts were immediately roused.

“Until now.”

Elrohir stared at him. “Are you suggesting…?”

Legolas cupped Elrohir’s sculpted jaw with a visibly trembling hand, stroking his lover’s lips with his thumb. “Take me, rochir vell”—dear knight—he whispered. “I would have you master me this day. I would know what it is to be claimed and loved so utterly.”

For what felt like the longest time, Elrohir gazed at him in amazed disbelief. But just as Legolas parted his lips to question him about his silence, the Elf-knight preempted him with a kiss. Gentle yet searing, hungry but still imbued with deepest affection, it stole the very breath from Legolas’ breast. The need for utmost closeness between them flared and he pulled his lover atop him, parting his legs so that Elrohir could rest between them. Recollection of the vision that had started his yearning heightened his excitement and he groaned against Elrohir’s lips at the nigh unbearable ache in his nether regions.

They came together with the ease of long time bedmates who knew what pleased the other best and how to do so. Their forms moved in sensual harmony, lips and hands roaming over well charted territory. The progression toward their bodies’ joining was as reassuringly familiar as it was breathtakingly pleasurable. But when Elrohir reached down between Legolas’ legs to slip seed-slick fingers into the cleft of his backside, all that was familiar ended.

Taking over the reins of their lovemaking, Elrohir gave his archer love no chance to change his mind but slid a finger into him, kissing him hard at the same time to forestall any eleventh hour retreat. Legolas gasped at this wrenching of control from him, as much evinced by the constraint Elrohir imposed on him as the piercing of his body. He realized in that instant that his yielding had already begun.

Elrohir readied him as assiduously as he had once done for the Elf-knight. So well did Elrohir apply what he had learned that he soon rendered the archer more than ripe for the taking.

“Enough,” Legolas moaned in between kisses. “Elrohir, please—!”

Elrohir’s eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a wicked grin. “Please stop?” he challenged. “Or please get on with it?”

Legolas glared at him. “Impertinent whelp,” he growled. He curled a leg behind Elrohir’s thighs and insistently pulled him closer. “Do not make me beg, Elf-knight!”

The wicked grin gentled to a tender smile. “I don’t want this to be cause for regret, Legolas,” Elrohir softly said. “Are you truly certain?”

Firm, warm flesh barely prodded the crease of Legolas’ buttocks. When he found himself savoring the thought of being filled thusly, the last of his resistance faded away.

“Oh, aye,” he murmured. “Very certain.”

Elrohir’s eyes gleamed as he abandoned all restraint. Once more sealing their mouths together, he pressed into Legolas, slowly but steadily. The archer could not help flinching from the stretch and burn of that inward slide nor could he stop the hoarse whimper that greeted the full seating of Elrohir’s shaft inside him. When Elrohir parted their mouths, he was breathing hard and quite unsteadily.

The drop of feathery kisses on his heaving chest slowly soothed him as did the sensuous swirl of Elrohir’s tongue on his nipples. Legolas huskily chuckled and, wrapping his arms around Elrohir, arched up slightly against him. He was rewarded when soft lips closed around a nipple and tugged on it until it hardened most deliciously to a tiny peak.

The flesh inside him retreated slightly then pushed back in to the hilt. Legolas’ eyes widened at the surprising sensation. Once the tight entrance to his body had been breached, the discomfort quickly receded to be replaced by pleasure he could not quite define. Perhaps it was as much the knowledge that he harbored Elrohir’s shaft within him as its actual presence that added to the heightened rapture. Whatever the cause, it was a feeling that defied description and promoted a craving for more of the same.

Legolas groaned as he was repeatedly cleaved, acutely cognizant of Elrohir’s impressive endowment now that he was on the receiving end of it. His legs wrapped tight around the Elf-knight’s waist, he clutched at his lover, shuddering with every piercing of his body. He finally understood why Elrohir had willingly spread himself for him all these years.

This was pleasure beyond anything he had ever imagined. This was exquisite. This completed him at last.

He sought Elrohir’s lips, found them and captured the Elf-knight in a hot and fervent kiss, luring him into pillaging his mouth as thoroughly as he was spearing him. Elrohir’s thrusts quickened, plunging more deeply than ever, caressing him within until Legolas nigh sobbed from the bliss of it.

Elrohir curled his hand around his shaft where it lay between their heaving forms. Legolas wrapped his fingers around Elrohir’s hand, enjoying the added intimacy of the two of them stroking his length together. He moaned Elrohir’s name over and again as the pleasurable pressure continued to mount. Elrohir gazed at him with such lust and devotion, Legolas’ breath caught in his throat.

“You are so beautiful,” Elrohir shakily whispered. “Would that you could be mine forever.”

“I am,” Legolas gasped, the throes of his climax beginning to overtake him. “I have been yours since you first asked me to claim you. Ah—Elrohir!”

He had a glimpse of his young love’s shocked delight before completion hit him. Legolas muffled his cry against Elrohir’s shoulder, conscious only of the rapture that exploded in his groin and radiated outward to the very reaches of his body. But even as he rode out the waves of sensation, he was aware of the shudders that wracked Elrohir’s body and his gasping groans, conveying the Elf-knight’s powerful release. When Elrohir spilled his seed inside him for the first time, Legolas knew he would always treasure the moment.

Indeed, every moment of this night he would cherish for the eternity of his days. And if the Powers saw fit to grant him joy everlasting, his Elf-knight would share the memory with him always.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

Sneak Preview

2009-08-29T04:03:49Z

Soon to be released (Sept. 14, 2009) - Liquid Silver Books
ISBN: 978-1-59578-595-4

Most bonds evolve with time. But a precious few begin even before birth.

Yes, I know, the tag line sounds familiar. But it was so utterly perfect for this, I couldn't bear to pass up the chance to use it again. I hope you'll agree.

~Eressë~

Blurb:
In the dual-gendered realm of Ylandre, the great divide between the high-born True Bloods and the lower-ranked Half Bloods is deemed impassable by most. Rohyr Essendri dared to cross it when he took young Lassen Idana from his provincial town and made him his paramour. Lassen perforce learned how to navigate the intricate byways of life at court.

What he never expected, however, was to fall in love with Rohyr, a most inadvisable and impractical thing to do when one’s lover is sovereign ruler of the land. But anything worth having is worth fighting for, both figuratively and, as Lassen discovers, literally speaking.

Excerpt:
Lassen stared at Rohyr Essendri. Saints, but he’s handsome! Nay, beautiful was closer to the mark. His patrician features and rich sable hair bespoke his pure Essendri descent. But what distinctly marked him as the ranking member of Ylandre’s ruling family were his eyes. Lassen had never seen such eyes before – slate grey irises rimmed with smoky blue. As he continued to stare at Rohyr, his heart began to race and his cheeks flushed. In that moment, Lassen knew the befuddling throes of first infatuation.

He watched Rohyr graciously respond to the effusive welcomes and requisite introductions to each Elder and his mate. The Ardan did not raise his voice but what Lassen heard of it affected him nonetheless. Low and deep and spoken in the slightly clipped manner of the northerners, it rang with compelling authority yet was surprisingly melodious. A frisson of excitement singed Lassen’s suddenly unsteady limbs.

Dael invited Rohyr and his party to enter the town hall, gesturing deferentially to Rohyr to precede him. Before he passed through the doorway into the building, the king turned his gaze to where the Elders’ families were gathered. His eyes swiftly skimmed over them. Still awe-struck, Lassen continued to stare at him.

He nearly stopped breathing when Rohyr looked straight at him. Their gazes met and locked. The earlier frisson of emotion turned into a veritable quake of sensation as those grey eyes studied his features then swept over him in appraisal. Spellbound, Lassen could not move or speak or even think clearly. His head felt light, his chest seemed constricted and his knees threatened to give way. If Rohyr did not release him soon from his regard, he would swoon.

Just when Lassen thought he would disgrace himself before everyone, Rohyr turned away and entered the hall. Lassen breathed in deeply to ease his starved lungs. He glanced about him. No one was looking at him, not even his brothers. Had nobody noticed? How long had it lasted anyway?

The crowd began to disperse and Yuilan and Fileg hurried to join their friends. Everyone was talking about the king’s unexpected visit and Lassen’s brothers were no exception. He stared after them feeling a wee bit disoriented.

Mithre studied him with concern. “Are you well?” he murmured.

Lassen swallowed then softly replied in the affirmative. Mithre’s expression turned a shade more worried.

“The way he looked at you… Did the Ardan – did he impart anything to you?”

Lassen frowned. “How could he when he didn’t speak—” he started to say, then stopped and shook his head. “I heard nothing in my mind.” He shivered when he remembered the oppressive weight of that silvery gaze. “But I felt…”

“Felt...?”

“'Twas as if I were a book and he was turning my pages and reading a little of what I contained.”

Mithre sucked in his breath. He would speak with Dael after the meeting was over, he decided. Absurd as it seemed, he could not shake the feeling that there had been more to Rohyr’s perusal of Lassen than mere curiosity.

“Was it wrong of him to do that?” Lassen asked.

Mithre hesitated. It could be perilous to speak ill of the Ardan. Not that Rohyr had done anything that was not within his rights as monarch of the land. And in any case, it was said that he never employed his considerable mind-talents on a mere whim. Mithre hoped the whole incident was no more than a mare’s nest and that he was just seeing phantoms in his protectiveness of his children.

“‘Twas not wrong,” he said at length. “He had his reasons and ‘tis not for us to question them.” Mithre forced the frown from his face and smiled at his son. “I’ve been tasked with preparing our guests’ evening meal. Would you like to help?”

Lassen eagerly nodded. “Will you serve them your roehart stew? I think for a bite of that alone, the Ardan would readily grant our petition!”

The elder Idana laughed, his forebodings stilled for the moment. Fondly patting his son’s shoulder, he made his way out of the courtyard. Lassen fell in step with him.

Neither sensed the gaze that followed them as they wended their way through the thinning crowd.

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #40: Lacking

2009-08-18T10:45:09Z

Before anything else, I want to thank everyone who sent me birthday greetings last month. Just in case I missed anyone when I made my replies (there’s this nagging feeling that I did). It was lovely to be remembered even when I’ve been rather inactive on LJ recently.

Re book news: I’m done with the FLEs (final line edits) and approved the final draft of the cover art. I got my first choice of artist for the cover, something I’m still reeling from, and the result is simply stunning IMHO. Now all I can do is wait and pray everything goes smoothly from hereon.

In the meantime, here’s the next chapter of Prior Claim. I hope it pleases.

Title: Lacking
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir
Prompt: 080. Why?
Word Count: 2780
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: While Elrohir bears with ill-founded beliefs about him, Legolas discovers a sea change in his. Part 30 of Prior Claim.

Lacking

Legolas could not help chuckling as Elrohir gingerly seated himself at their table. By no means did he take joy in his lover’s discomfort or find it amusing in itself. But it was gratifying to know the cause of it was not unwelcome to the young Elf-knight and indeed cheerfully and regularly sought.

Elrohir was no longer the sometimes hesitant bedmate the archer remembered.

Lack of long experience did not intimidate him nor did the great gap in their ages. He did not always entertain Legolas in his quarters but would impishly slip into the archer’s rooms and await him there, greeting him when he arrived with an endearing roguish grin. At such times, it was all Legolas could do to keep himself in check and remember to bolt his door first before taking what Elrohir offered. It made for many a torrid tryst that left Legolas wishing for more hours in a night.

The previous eve had proved particularly heated due to the day of tedious meetings that preceded it. And Elrohir had exacerbated Legolas’ testiness, teasing him to distraction at the last meeting. For after all, how was a hot-blooded Wood-elf supposed to remain calm and composed when the object of his desire sat demurely across from him while lightly running his foot every once in a while up said Wood-elf’s leg under the table?

He stifled his mirth when Elrohir shot him a glare that was at variance with the charming stain that warmed his cheeks. In one thing Elrohir had not changed and that was the ease with which he blushed. Probably the mannish blood in him, Legolas thought.

“Ah, I nearly forgot,” Elrohir said after a few minutes small talk. “Arwen bade me to thank you and your sire for the majority gift you sent her.”

Legolas lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “That was eighteen years ago and she did write us her thanks for the brooch.”

“Aye, but as she has never met you, she felt a mere letter was inadequate after receiving so exquisite a jewel.”

“So gracious. Just like your lady mother. And grown into a great beauty as well no doubt.”

Elrohir grinned. “Not quite just yet but she is already more comely than most. I wager her hundredth year will see her full blossoming.”

“Indeed. Has she many suitors?”

“A goodly number but none has found favor with her. And in any case, she claims she is not interested in tying herself down so soon. But she did say that when she finds the one meant for her, she will do all in her power to win and keep him.”

A sudden spate of comments by the Elves seated at the table behind them preempted the jest Legolas had been about to make. Though the remarks were uttered in hushed tones, it was obvious their speakers meant them to be heard by those seated nearby.

“She is no different from her brother,” one sneered. “I pity the unfortunate soul she sets her sights on. He will find himself seduced and trapped ere he has a chance to give the matter due thought.”

“At least, she has no choice but to play the mare if she follows that course,” the other said. “The same cannot be said of him. Look how shamelessly he flaunts our prince’s mastery over him even now. Does he not realize what a spectacle he is making of himself?”

“Likely not. All he cares about is to hold on to Legolas by whatever means at his disposal. Now I do not wish ill on anyone but, verily, if it befalls this son of Elrond, I say it will be well deserved!”

Legolas’ first instinct was to call the venomous pair out and declare the truth of his relationship with Elrohir to everyone in the dining hall. But the quick clasp of his hand by the Elf-knight stayed him and he looked questioningly at his young lover.

Though pain shown clearly in his eyes and his cheeks burned with humiliation, Elrohir murmured, “Chide them for their rudeness but do not reveal the truth just to defend me.”

The archer stared at him incredulously. “They have impugned your honor, Elrohir,” he protested. “I cannot allow that to stand.” When Elrohir shook his head, Legolas scowled. “This is my doing,” he muttered. “‘Twas I who instigated that benighted ruse.”

“And I colluded with you to further it,” Elrohir pointed out. “I am as much to blame. Perhaps even more.”

“Do not even think that!”

Legolas swore under his breath when Elrohir flinched. This was helping neither of them. He rose to his feet.

“Meet me in the armory,” he quietly said. “And do not worry, I will go no further than to chastise them.”

He waited until Elrohir left the suddenly quiet hall. Whereupon he approached the Elves who had spoiled more than his breakfast.

The pair, Silvan nobles both, started to get to their feet as he neared them but he stopped them with a curt gesture. They calmly reseated themselves. Their lack of fear angered Legolas even more for it told him they thought their hurtful words had affected Elrohir alone. But mindful of his lover’s plea, he controlled the impulse to disabuse them of the mistaken assumption that Elrohir was nothing more than a favorite paramour.

“You may have cost me a warm bed this night,” he snapped, startling them out of their complacence. “And since you think so little of the Wood-elves’ honor to bother to extend due courtesy to a guest of this realm, I see no reason why I should uphold yours.”

Legolas felt little satisfaction when they paled with alarm. He was doing next to nothing to dispel their assumptions even if it was at the Elf-knight’s behest.

“Once you have cleaned up this hall after breakfast, you may report to Galion for duty. I am sure he will have enough for you to do this day. Perhaps he might even keep you busy enough to silence your vile tongues.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall, leaving the two Elves to gape at his retreating figure in shock, the other diners to plunge into whispered debate and Galion to review the day’s list of chores and select those he deemed arduous enough for the prince’s purposes.

As Legolas made his way down the corridor, he paid scant notice to the Elves scooting out of his way, oblivious of the effects his thunderous expression was having on all and sundry. And here he had assumed Elrohir’s arrival would becalm his fractious feelings, he mused in exasperation. If anything, the Elf-knight’s presence seemed to rouse his edginess even further. He chided himself. It was not Elrohir’s fault that he had harbored a curious sense of missing something in their affair for the longest time now.

Legolas slowed his stride as he neared the armory. His felt thusly not because Elrohir dissatisfied him. Indeed, his lover contented him so well that he did not care to recall the long lonely years before they met. Nay, it was not that Elrohir lacked in anything, Legolas mused. Rather, his discontent stemmed from the feeling that it was he who was lacking; that there was something he needed to do but had not as yet done it.

He wondered if it had aught to do with the lie he and Elrohir had perpetuated for more than a century. But almost as soon as he thought it, he discounted the notion. Had that been the only cause, he would have felt a lightening of his spirit earlier when he had wanted to and almost did reveal the truth. But if it was not that which caused him such disquiet, then what?

With a sigh, he entered the armory. A quick look around told him he and Elrohir were the only ones about. Elrohir quickly came to him, his expression inquiring and a tad worried. Legolas shook his head.

“I did not tell them though the temptation was great,” he said. “I only meted out a suitable penalty for their atrocious manners.”

Elrohir relaxed. “Perhaps they will be better behaved toward me from hereon.”

“Perhaps.” Legolas regarded him curiously. “Why did you stop me? ”

“Do you wish for them to know how you duped them?” Elrohir gently countered.

Legolas grimaced. “You were protecting me.”

“Nay, I was protecting what I have with you. If they continue to see me as your trophy and a mere diversion, they will not put overmuch pressure on you to wed as they wish.”

Guilt shadowed Legolas’ features. “Only a few are so ambitious as to dispense with civility and speak out of turn. But they are loud and crude and call attention to themselves and their cause. Ah, plague take them all! I never intended for matters to progress this far.”

“You did naught to encourage their assumptions,” Elrohir said soothingly. “‘Twas my carelessness that brought this about. I should have been more discreet if I did not wish to incur their disdain.”

“Then I should have counselled you thusly,” Legolas retorted. “You should not have to endure this. You do not deserve to be demeaned by these fools.”

Elrohir wanly smiled. “If this will gain me your company a while longer, I can bear it.”

Legolas gazed at him searchingly. At length, he drew Elrohir close, inclining his head so that their foreheads touched. “So strong. So brave,” he murmured. “I pray you never come to regret this, Elrohir nín.”

They soon headed for the archery yard, as was their habit most mornings. Elrohir had proved himself quite talented with the bow and Legolas was determined to send him home come autumn as skilled as any Silvan archer.

“I wonder what Glorfindel will say when he learns your sword has rarely left its scabbard,” he remarked as he watched Elrohir go through his paces. “I warrant he would prefer to make sword masters of Elladan and you rather than archers.”

Elrohir grinned. “He will scold me for being remiss in my drills,” he agreed as he nocked an arrow. “But he will not begrudge me my lessons with the most skilled archer in all Elfdom. Glorfindel knows he cannot train us well in all things and so he concentrates on what he does best and leaves the rest to others of comparable skill. But overall, he is without peer, Legolas. Then or now, none can compare to Glorfindel on the battlefield and none has ever wielded a sword as ably as he does. Nay, not even the greatest warriors of Gil-galad’s army, or so Ada says.”

“Oh, I have no doubt Glorfindel is a master of the sword,” Legolas said with a smirk. “Your accounts of Elladan’s uneven gait some mornings are fair testament to his prowess.”

Fortunately, Elrohir had already shot his arrow when Legolas made his statement. Otherwise, he might have skewered some unlucky soul, startled as he was into laughter by the archer’s lubricious comment.

“I cannot believe I wrote you about that!” he gasped around a snicker. “Elladan will have my head if he ever learns of it. Do keep it to yourself, Legolas, if you value my life.”

The archer chuckled. “No fear, my lips are sealed. But do caution Glorfindel to give Elladan a respite now and then. I’m sure your brother is no laggard in bed but all the spirit in Arda will be for naught if the body is too worn out to do its bidding. Even Elves need to rest occasionally from partaking of the pleasures of the flesh. Particularly if ‘tis one’s flesh that is pierced more oft than not.”

Elrohir wavered, startled by so blunt a declaration. He lowered his bow and took a moment to steady himself. But when he glanced at Legolas a little reproachfully, the archer knew it was not because he thought the latter’s remarks improper.

“Do forgive me for distracting you,” Legolas said with spurious regret.

The Elf-knight snorted and raised his bow once more. Taking aim, he replied, “He does allow Elladan a respite every now and then. But Glorfindel’s desire for union with my brother is such that, rather than abstain completely from coupling with him, he reverses their roles and lets Elladan play the sword.”

He loosed the arrow and watched it hit the target dead center. Turning to look at Legolas, he broke into a grin. The archer was staring at him in some astonishment. Elrohir guffawed.

“Oh, come now, Legolas, they are wed these many years! Surely you did not think they would restrict their bed play.”

Legolas smiled sheepishly. “‘Tis just that I could not conceive of such a one as your captain spreading himself for an Elf almost two ages his junior and possessing nowhere near the breadth of his life experiences.”

Obviously surprised, Elrohir looked wonderingly at Legolas. After a moment, he shrugged and said, “He loves Elladan.” He turned his attention back to his exercises.

Legolas fell silent, Elrohir’s revelation muzzling him as effectively as a gag. Such laxness in the observance of sexual mores was so rare in Eryn Galen as to be virtually nonexistent.

The archer blew his breath out. He really could not make comparisons. The customs of his father’s kingdom had diverged in more ways than one from the traditions observed in other elven realms. The Silvan Elves were the most conservative of all the elven tribes of Middle-earth and tended to uphold the conventions that governed their lives very stringently.

True, this uniformity of purpose and belief had lent them the strength and courage to withstand outside adversity through the centuries. But there was a downside to such rigidity and that was their resistance to change and the resulting inability to adapt to it as swiftly as their counterparts in other lands did.

Legolas could still remember the protests that had met Thranduil’s decision to send his son and heir to Imladris for a season. More than one Silvan noble had expressed the fear that Legolas would become enamored of heathen practices and return to Eryn Galen more Noldo than Wood-elf. Only the popular notion that Elrohir was little more than a favored bed-treat kept this vociferous minority from making a hue and cry of it. And Elrohir was right though Legolas was loathe to admit it. So long as they could take pride and comfort in the thought of Elrond’s son submitting thusly to their prince, they would mostly keep their reservations to themselves though not all did so with grace.

Given their stance on such matters, Legolas could just imagine what they would make of Glorfindel’s willingness to play the mare for Elladan. After all, he had been taken aback himself despite his open-mindedness. Intrigued, he tried to picture the legendary warrior sheathing his much younger, less seasoned mate. The resulting imagery predictably discomfited him even as it fascinated him.

But then, without warning, Glorfindel changed into another Elf. Legolas gasped in shock when his mind’s eye showed him in the captain’s stead, limbs wantonly splayed as Glorfindel’s had been. And there between his legs—Elrohir pressing into him with thrilling possessiveness until they were joined in full bodily intimacy.

Legolas groaned as his nether regions stirred into arousal. He closed his eyes and shook his head in attempted denial. It should not have been possible yet he was painfully hard at the thought of being speared by his sweet and gallant Elf-knight. At the same time, it appalled him that the thought should affect him so.

How oft had he been told that it was unbecoming of the heir apparent to yield himself to another? Over and again he had been counselled to limit such encounters or, even better, do without them. And so he had decided. Only they who gained his utmost trust would he deem worthy of the privilege. He had abided that rule ever since.

That had been no hardship for though he bore no aversion to the experience, neither did he seek it. So whence this intense unlooked-for desire?

“Legolas, is something wrong?”

The archer blinked away his daze. He stared at Elrohir, noting the anxious frown that creased his smooth brow.

“Nay, I was only thinking how beautiful you are,” he said.

Color tinged Elrohir’s cheeks but he did not shy away in embarrassment. Instead, he smiled and, leaning forward, pressed a soft kiss to Legolas’ mouth.

“Thank you,” he murmured against the archer’s lips before reclaiming them in a deeper caress.

In that moment, Legolas knew not only whence his desire sprung but also the depth and strength of it.

***************************

Glossary:
Ada – Papa
Elrohir nín – my Elrohir

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #39: Restive

2009-07-05T03:49:40Z

Title: Restive
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elrohir/Legolas
Prompt: 012. Orange
Word Count: 1259
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: The imminence of a long awaited reunion stokes the ever glowing embers of impatience into a steady blaze. Part 29 of Prior Claim.

Restive

Yavië T.A. 299
What remained of the thinning canopy of the ancient wood east of the Anduin was a veritable palette of warm colors while the forest floor was carpeted with the burnt hues of autumn. When leaf-fall came to Greenwood the Great, lush verdancy gave way to a riot of red and bronze, belying the reason for the forest’s name. But Legolas paid scant attention as he rode to the forest edge on its western bounds.

It was not that he did not appreciate the beauty of his woodland home as it changed with the seasons. The Wood-elves did not take their forest for granted even after countless years lived amongst the sheltering trees. But their love for it could be divided if the distraction was potent enough. Legolas doubted there could be a distraction more potent than the ample graces of the Elf who haunted his thoughts as ably as he had warmed his bed.

The clench of the archer’s fingers in his horse’s mane was telling. As was his testiness these many days past. So edgy had he been that few dared to approach him for fear of a tongue-lashing. Legolas was even-tempered as a rule but, when he let loose his anger, it was best to stay out of his way. It was fortunate none save his king-father had made the connection between his ill humor and the letter he had received just the previous week.

After nearly a hundred years, he would meet Elrohir once more.

Unfortunately, a century’s worth of waiting coming to a sudden end had manifested itself in impatience of such proportions that it had rendered him irritable enough for any ten Elves. It was with a collective sigh of relief that the royal household watched him ride away from his father’s halls.

Let Elrond’s son deal with their prince’s irascible mood, they said. Hopefully, entertaining a guest would sweeten his temper and they would not need to walk on eggshells around him any longer. Thranduil was amused no end when he got wind of the talk.

The subject of said talk strove to control his vexation as he neared the edge of the wood. It would not do to greet Elrohir while still in such a state and make him question whether he was welcome. Legolas did not care to have misunderstandings mar their reunion.

He could only imagine how his young lover had grown. In all this time, he’d only had Elrohir’s letters and the occasional report from messengers to give him an idea of how the twins were faring. They would have matured considerably but not so much that they would have left all vestiges of youth behind. Just as Elladan though wed these many years was very much Glorfindel’s junior in almost every way, Elrohir would still be a stripling to Legolas’ many-centuries-old Elf.

But he is Peredhel, Legolas reminded himself. And the Half-elven were not entirely alike to pure-blooded Elves anymore than they could be mistaken for Men. So there was every chance Elrohir might have changed far more than Legolas anticipated.

“I remember when I first met Elrond, when your grandsire and I still abided in Lindon,” Thranduil had once recounted to him. “I mistook him for one of the Exiles, so much older did he seem than what I’d been expecting of the Half-elven.”

“Elrond does not look old,” Legolas mildly objected.

“I did not say he looked old, only that it felt that way to me,” Thranduil corrected him. “‘Twas not how he appeared that misled me but rather the way he regarded the people around him, even the High King himself. As if he knew what they hid in their heart of hearts. And pitied them for their sorrows and their sins. His brother Elros was the same.”

Legolas reined in his mount. Glancing over his shoulder, he whistled three times. From far behind, a set of answering whistles faintly sounded. He grimly smiled. The forest folk did not like stepping outside the bounds of Eryn Galen if they could help it, not even the Elves who guarded the secret path and watched for trespassers. The decimation of Wood-elves during the last war had made them even more reluctant to leave the confines of the forest. The sentries had been more than relieved when he instructed them to remain within.

He glanced up at the lowering sun. The horizon was awash with the brilliant shades of a day coming to its end. He pursed his lips.

Scouts had previously reported a small contingent of Elves descending the eastern face of the Misty Mountains. By Legolas’ calculation, Elrohir’s party would arrive this day before nightfall. Barring any unforeseen problems along the way of course. Legolas hoped that was not the case.

Just as he was thinking about whether he would have to encamp for the night here at the forest edge, he spotted riders in the distance, dark figures against the slowly failing light. He peered at them searchingly. An instant later, he smiled when he recognized the colors and markings of Imladris.

It did not take long before the group neared him enough that he could tell them apart. The lead rider broke away, urging his steed toward the Elf-prince with noticeable eagerness. Legolas grinned.

Whatever else might have changed in a hundred years, the Elf-knight’s demeanor with the archer had not. Worshipful grey eyes swept over him while a radiant smile evinced Elrohir’s joy at seeing him once more. Legolas appreciatively appraised the younger Elf.

Elrohir was the same in some ways. He was still the heartbreakingly beautiful Elf who had entranced Legolas from the start. And though he had grown taller he had not filled out just yet to the stately brawn of a Noldorin warrior and thus bore traces of the willowy youth of memory. But in other ways, he was different. His mannish heritage had grown more evident in his countenance, the warmer cast of his skin and slightly meatier than elven frame. He was lissome but not ethereal and his finely sculpted features did not evoke the inaccessibility many mortals associated with the Elves. His was a cool beauty, not a remote one.

They reached across the space between their steeds and clasped hands. What a pity they could not greet each other in more intimate fashion, Legolas thought. Not here where his people might espy their affection. He glanced at Elrohir’s companions and wondered what they would make of his manner with Elrohir after having witnessed their warmth with one another in Rivendell.

“They understand that customs vary,” Elrohir assured him.

“And doubtless ‘twas you who schooled them thusly,” Legolas said. He briefly tightened his hold on Elrohir’s hand before reluctantly letting go. “So sage and politic already.”

Elrohir smiled. “We do what we must.” His smile turned wistful. “I missed you.”

“Likewise.” Legolas ruefully grinned. “But waiting for your arrival proved far more a trial than bearing through the years of your absence.”

“How so?” Elrohir asked in surprise.

“My store of patience ran out very swiftly once I knew you were coming. I have been ill-tempered and terrible company since your letter arrived. Never has a departure been so lauded as mine was when I rode out to meet you.”

Though Elrohir laughed, his eyes sparkled not with mirth but with pure and honest affection.

“I am here now.”

His voice had dropped to a silky murmur, promising Legolas more than convivial company during his visit.

The archer's impatience abruptly returned in full.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #38: Finally

2009-06-24T09:43:58Z

My first fic update in months and it turns out smuttier than I originally intended. *shakes head*

Title: Finally
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Glorfindel/Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrían, Elrond
Prompt: 006: Hours
Word Count: 1797
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: Whether the passage of time feels slow or fast oft has to do with what one is waiting for. Part 28 of Prior Claim.

Finally

Imladris, Midsummer T.A. 240
“Treading a rut into the floor will not make the hours fly by any faster, Elladan. Nor will looking at the sky every few minutes. The sun will set at its accustomed time and your incessant fidgeting and pacing is just making you fraught. Do sit down and get your nerves in order!”

For a moment, Elrohir thought he would have to manhandle his twin into complying. But thankfully, Elladan ceased his restless toing and froing and settled on the edge of his bed. He was not exactly a picture of complete calm but it was better than his frazzled behavior earlier. He picked at his sleeves then combed his fingers through his dark tresses. He pulled at a strand and glared at it.

“I still do not know whether I should braid my hair or leave it be,” he muttered. “Ah, Elrohir, what should I do? I want to look my best!”

“Of course you do,” Elrohir soothed. “But all this fretting is of no help. You have to becalm yourself else you will be a wreck before you even present yourself to Glorfindel.”

Elladan turned such alarmed eyes on him that Elrohir groaned.

“Glorfindel will think you glorious!” he insisted. “Sweet Elbereth! Has he ever thought you anything less than delectable in all these years? You’ve shown up enough times at the breakfast table barely able to sit through a meal, so ardently has he shown you just how much he adores you!”

Elladan’s cheeks turned a nice shade of red but his groin displayed no sign of embarrassment. Indeed, a burgeoning bulge alerted Elrohir to yet another addition to Elladan’s discomfort.

Elrohir had to grin at his brother’s plight. Well, it was difficult to school one’s self when faced with the prospect of warming the bed of Rivendell’s valiant captain. Especially when one had done so countless times before and knew what it was like to couple with so splendid an Elf.

He sat down beside Elladan and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Just two more hours, brother. Take heart, it will soon be over and he will be yours. For good,” he added with a smile.

That brought an answering smile to Elladan’s lips. He relaxed fractionally.

“I am glad my waiting is done,” he said. A moment later, he frowned and tensed once more. “Would that yours were, too.” He looked shamefacedly at Elrohir. “A pox on me to worry so when my dearest wish is about to be granted while you—“

“Hush, Elladan,” Elrohir gently cut him off. “How ridiculous of you to deride yourself just because you have gained your desire sooner! Our situations are completely different and not to be compared in any way.”

Elladan pursed his lips then nodded. He took a deep breath and said: “So—what should I do about this unruly mop of mine?”

Elrohir shook his head. Unruly or not, Elladan’s hair could in no way be likened to a mop. He had oft seen Glorfindel run his fingers through the lustrous black locks, a look of equal parts awe and delight on his face.

“I think you should braid your hair,” he counselled. “Just to give Glorfindel the pleasure of undoing it before he unwraps you for the night.”

“What in Arda has Legolas done to you?” Elladan exclaimed. “You were never so salty of tongue before he came along.”

The Elf-knight laughed. “The potential was always there. He just unloosed my tongue, that is all.”

“Not to mention your concupiscence,” Elladan said with a chuckle.

He suddenly became aware of red gold light dappling the bedcovers, spreading toward him and Elrohir. He glanced over his shoulder toward the balcony.

“The sun is setting,” he murmured.

“Then you should start getting ready,” Elrohir said.

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, the door opened and Celebrían entered. She came toward her sons, extending a swath of luminous white fabric to Elladan.

“As promised, your father’s own wedding attire,” she smilingly informed him. “Worn to honor his brother’s memory.”

Elladan caught his breath and quickly rose to his feet.

“Thank you, Nana.”

Celebrían eased the garment over his arms and shoulders then fastened its elaborate clasps. She and Elrohir stood back to admire the result.

The tunic was from another place and era. Cut in the style of ancient Númenor, it was knee-length and close-fitting with a low neckline and long sleeves that flared slightly at the wrist, revealing Elladan’s cunningly embroidered shirt and hose-clad legs. On one shoulder, a star had been sewn in silver purl and embellished with tiny crystal beads so that it glimmered in the light. The star’s rays ran from chest to waist in a spray of silver and more crystal beading. A low belt of gleaming mithril links and square-cut diamonds completed the ensemble.

Elladan turned to stare at himself in the mirror. His eyes widened at the vision that met his eyes.

“Valar…” he murmured.

Celebrían laid a hand on his elbow. “Come, let us decide how to do your hair, dearest,” she said. “Do you wish to leave it loose or to plait it?”

Elladan glanced at his brother, then smirked. “I should like to plait it.”

* * * *

They gathered in the garden just as the stars began to come out. Every Elf of the Last Homely House and then some came to bear witness to the binding of Elrond’s eldest to the warrior who commanded the valley’s military force.

Elrohir stifled a snicker when his brother could not look Glorfindel in the eye even as they uttered their vows. But how could he when the captain gazed at him with such abiding love and unabashed lust that Elladan must have felt himself stripped bare before everyone.

Indeed, Elladan wondered why he had been in such a hurry to get on with it. Suddenly, it seemed the hours were going much too swiftly, speeding toward the moment when Glorfindel would claim him not merely as lover but as his eternal mate. Eru help him, the warrior was going to be very thorough about it if the glitter in his eyes was any indication of his intent.

“It is only to be expected,” Elrond had told his sons earlier as they made their way to the garden. “The wedding of spirits unleashes a need for bodily union that is nigh unquenchable for a long while after.”

“How long?” Elladan had asked, then rued knowing the answer.

His father shrugged. “Oh, a few centuries or so.”

“Cen-centuries?”

“Of course, the lust abates somewhat as time goes on,” Elrond continued. “Twice contents most Elves when their passion relents, or even once when time is at a premium.”

“Weekly?” Elrohir ventured.

Elrond almost looked scandalized. “Of course not,” he snorted. “Daily.”

The twins exchanged looks of amazement. Wherever did wedded Elves find the time to do other things such as build cities and the like?

Elladan was abruptly yanked back to the present when Glorfindel pulled him into his arms and bestowed a kiss of such fervency, he thought his mother’s garden would go up in flames. Released from Glorfindel’s embrace afterward, Elladan could only woozily lean against the captain’s broad chest. Glorfindel’s next words served to addle his brain even more.

“Finally. Mine and mine alone.”

The rest of the festivities passed in a blur. Elladan’s first clear recollection of the evening after the binding rites was standing by their conjugal bed while Glorfindel unravelled his braids with a reverence that was as tender as it was sensual. His restraint was nowhere in evidence however when it came to ridding Elladan of his finery.

In less time than he’d thought possible, Elladan found himself pressed into the mattress, spread-eagled for Glorfindel’s pleasure. And take his pleasure Glorfindel did with a diligence that left Elladan giddy with sensation.

Perhaps Elladan would learn to master his magnificent spouse as well. But not tonight. And so he helplessly and so very happily bore the brunt of Glorfindel’s hunger.

The stroke of heated hands. The slide of probing fingers. The suck of a warm mouth. Elladan was steadily undone until he was all but pleading for mercy. Offered Glorfindel’s shaft to further ready him, he eagerly drew on it as avidly as Glorfindel dipped his tongue into his backside. So well did he tend his spouse’s shaft that Glorfindel came perilously close to spending.

The captain pulled him up with a growl and rolled him onto his belly. Elladan gasped as his buttocks were brusquely parted. The gasp evolved into a series of moans as hard flesh entered him in one smooth plunge. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to smother his too audible reactions to Glorfindel’s relentless ingress into his body.

“Nay, I want to hear you,” Glorfindel huskily said. He coaxed Elladan onto his hands and knees.

Glorfindel’s pace continued unabated, every lunge of his hips plunging him deep into his Peredhel mate. With every inward stroke, Elladan felt the flaring of ecstasy. And a strange and wondrous spiralling of bliss like no other he had ever known before.

“Glorfindel?” he quavered.

“Do not fight it, my heart,” the warrior enjoined him. “Feel the joy of our spirits’ binding.”

He reached around to grip Elladan’s straining shaft. Elladan cried out as his pleasure promptly rose another notch. Shaking now, he almost frantically pushed back against Glorfindel, actively abetting his piercing.

Completion came swiftly for both of them after that. And as their rapture peaked, so were they swept into that otherworldly plane of oneness that only wedded Elves experienced. Neither could later recall how long it lasted; they only knew that it was intense and unforgettable. Elladan finally understood the almost irresistible urge of mated Elves to join their bodies in sexual communion.

Afterward, they lay close together in sated felicity. Glorfindel pressed a kiss to Elladan’s damp brow.

“I hear you could scarcely bear the wait for our binding to take place,” he murmured. “Elrohir says you counted the days until this moment.”

“Not just the days but hours,” Elladan admitted with a smile.

Glorfindel chuckled. “You may rue your eagerness come morning. My hunger for you seems to have grown a hundredfold.”

He smoothed a palm over Elladan’s well-used backside. One finger lazily traced its way down the crease of the twin’s bottom before insinuating itself between and inward. Elladan arched against Glorfindel as pleasure radiated from the point of invasion.

“And mine twice that,” he replied, caught between a laugh and a moan. “What think you? Can you satisfy this Peredhel?”

In answer, Glorfindel rolled them over and pinned Elladan to the bed. “Is that a challenge?” he demanded.

Elladan grinned impishly. “Nay, beloved. ‘Tis my hope.”

Table of Prompts & Story Links

Tributes and Updates

2009-06-19T08:39:53Z

If there is one person or more on your friends list who makes your world a better place just because they exist and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.

Nothing could be truer for me. I will always be grateful for the friendship, support and laughter so many of you shared with me.

In other news, I'm currently working on the next installment of Prior Claim. It took quite a bit of effort to get back into the mood and immerse myself once more in the LotR universe but the thrill of writing is finally back. You can't imagine how pleased I am about that. Though how I managed to find time to write anything at all between edits I’m not quite sure myself. Did I mention edits? Oh yes, with regard to my last post...

I wrote an original novel last year. The plot and premise germinated way back in my college days. But I didn't think such themes were publishable so I placed the whole thing on the back burner. Eventually, LotR slash fanfic afforded me a wonderful outlet to indulge my propensity for M/M fantasy romance. The emergence of epublishers however and their willingness to publish material that are outside the box spurred me to return to my almost forgotten story and finish it. Dear gloromeien critiqued it for me and I'm sure she spotted at least one very obvious acknowledgment of my years in the LotR fandom.

To my delight, the novel was accepted by one of the established epubs I queried. So I’d been working on it with my editor and now that’s done and the manuscript is going through proofreading. I’m leery of going into more detail about it before I have a definite publication date. Things go wrong all the time, Murphy's Law and all that. But long story short, that was my other big reason for being remiss with my updates. Anyway, I hope you'll forgive me for the long delay.

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #37: Collusion

2008-12-26T11:13:38Z

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it. Thanks to sian265 for the virtual gift. And thanks to all who commented on the previous entry. Due to the even more frenzied pace of the holiday season I was unable to reply to them earlier but I will do so now even if it is overly delayed. Good grief, even this update is delayed! But better late than never as the saying goes. So here's my Yuletide offering. I do hope it pleases.

Title: Collusion
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir, Glorfindel/Elladan, Elrond, Celebrian
Prompt: 061. Winter
Word Count: 1522
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: The granting of certain wishes sometimes entails unorthodox means. Part 27 of Prior Claim.

Collusion

The view from Elrohir’s bedchamber balcony was a wondrous one. Beyond the gardens underneath their blanket of snow were the enclosing hills around the vale, all frosted in white, the pristine hues broken only by sturdy shrubs and dramatically shorn trees save for the evergreen pines. But even so lovely a scene could not compare with the splendid sight Elrohir awakened to most mornings this winter.

In the Elf-knight’s opinion, nothing could compare to the spill of pale gold hair on his pillows, the splay of strong, lean limbs on his sheets or the spread of glorious white skin swathing a supple, muscular body upon his bed. Best of all was a face so comely and elegant yet covertly sensual and hinting at mischief that even the faintest trace of a smile was enough to take Elrohir’s breath away.

No, nothing could surpass the beauty and grace of Legolas Thranduilion as far as Elrohir was concerned.

He bent to press an affectionate kiss to the Wood-elf’s slightly parted lips. And gasped when he was abruptly drawn down into a decidedly unchaste kiss of considerable length. When Legolas released him, his heartbeat had quickened. It continued to speed up when he espied the suggestive gleam in his lover’s eyes. And just about galloped when an enterprising hand purposely slid southwards.

“I thought you were still asleep,” he moaned as he was gripped and stroked.

Legolas chuckled, the husky sound making Elrohir forget aught else but his imminent undoing.

“The mere scent of you is enough to rouse me from slumber,” the prince murmured against a rosy cheek. “What more a kiss from so lovely an Elf?”

“I am not lovely!” Elrohir indignantly protested, unable to disassociate the adjective from female pulchritude.

“Beautiful then,” Legolas amended. “And delectable. And oh so very primed for the taking.” He rolled Elrohir onto his back. “For my taking.”

The younger Elf had but a glimpse of long fingers smoothing the combined cream of their emerging seed over flushed and hardened flesh before his bottom was lifted and his thighs parted for a slow, deep piercing. He shuddered with the pleasure of it and the thrill of being so thoroughly owned. He would need to cushion his backside when he sat down to breakfast. He had been doing so nearly every morning this year’s summer and autumn. And he would likely go on doing so for the whole of winter.

Never in his most fevered hopes had he ever expected to know three seasons worth of Legolas’ loving.

He raised a fist to his mouth to smother the sounds he inevitably made when taking an impressively endowed Elven prince up his backside. But Legolas pulled his hand away, jewel eyes glittering in the dim morning light.

“Your voice is as music to me, Elf-knight,” he said. “Especially when you spend yourself. You will not deny me the pleasure of hearing you sing your ecstasy.”

Elrohir groaned. Legolas had a way even with words!

He still tried to stifle the harsh sobs that escaped his lips as he was ridden hard or the choked screams that broke from him with each particularly deep thrust. To no avail. Legolas drew a litany of pleas and cries from him as they began to scale the heights to completion.

Desperate, he wrapped his hand around his straining length to stroke himself. An instant later, he felt Legolas weave his fingers with his. The stimulation coupled with the repeated plunge of Legolas’ thick shaft into him proved too much. With a strangled keen he broke and their bellies and groins were generously dappled with pearlescent seed.

In the midst of his throes, he heard Legolas lose himself in rapture. Warmth flooded his innards and he moaned at this evidence of their coupling. Neither knowledge nor sensation of Legolas’ spending inside him ever palled and he fervently prayed he would have the pleasure of it for a long, long time to come. Or if the fates were kind, forevermore.

Afterward, they lay snugly spooned together, heedless of the creamy smears on their skin. Elrohir sighed contentedly as Legolas trailed kisses along his shoulders and up the side of his neck to his ears.

“Elrohir nîn,” the archer whispered. My Elf-knight.

Much later, as he dropped by his father’s study to spend a few hours with his family – for a change, Elladan had teased him – Elrohir considered the chain of events that had led to Legolas extending his stay in Imladris.

Glorfindel had returned from the first of his autumnal patrols to report a marked increase in orkish infestation of the Misty Mountains and the foothills of the great range. Elrond had cautioned Legolas against attempting a return to his land through so perilous a path. Even an escort of Elf-warriors was no guarantee of safe passage over the mountains to the east. A letter dispatched to Thranduil by courier bird had elicited an agreement from the Elvenking that it would be best for his son to remain in Imladris until the onset of winter when the orcs retreated to their holes and hibernated the cold season away.

But come the start of winter, an early and heavy snowfall had caused blockage of the mountain passes. Once again, Legolas perforce delayed his return home and Elrohir found himself happily stuck with his lover’s company for nigh three seasons running.

The Elf-knight was neither so selfish nor indifferent to rejoice in occurrences that could cause harm or hardship for those whose lives and livelihoods involved regularly crossing the mountains. But he did believe that even the stormiest clouds carried silver linings and that one being’s misfortune could be another’s great luck. Certainly, he would not deny feeling overly blessed to have Legolas in residence for so long due to the aforementioned sequence of unfortunate circumstances.

Entering Elrond’s study, he found his parents seated within along with his twin and, unsurprising now that he and Elladan were betrothed, Glorfindel. They welcomed him and Elladan cheekily asked if he needed daily reminding of the existence of other Elves in the valley or that a few of them were actually related to him. Elrohir threw a cushion at him then settled in the small corner sofa, his cheeks nicely colored but his lips threatening to break into a grin.

“Hush, Elladan, your brother’s preoccupation is quite understandable,” Celebrían mildly chided. She looked at her younger son. “I trust you are enjoying yourself this winter?”

“Very much, Nana”—Mama—Elrohir said. His eyes sparkling, he added: “I know I should not think thus but, verily, for once I am glad orcs breed so speedily.” He looked a tad sheepishly at Glorfindel. “I confess, when you reported that it would be too dangerous for Legolas to cross the mountains, I thought it cause for celebration. I know you had naught to do with it but I felt like thanking you nonetheless just for being the bearer of such good news.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Well, I could not gainsay the wishes of my lord and lady,” he said.

“Gainsay… What do you—?” Seeing the twinkle in Glorfindel’s eyes, Elrohir’s own widened. Elladan’s smirk confirmed his budding suspicions. Elrohir turned to stare at his parents. “Then the report of increased orkish activity was false?”

“Of course not,” Elrond briskly replied. “Glorfindel would never utter a lie even at my command. He merely…”

“Exaggerated the extent of the problem,” Celebrían finished for her husband.

“But the report of the closure of the mountain passes was accurate,” Glorfindel assured a dumbfounded Elf-knight. “The need for Legolas to spend the winter here is completely warranted. It seems the fates have seen fit to conspire with you, Elrohir.”

When the younger twin gaped at him, Elladan quipped: “Well, it was your hope, was it not, that Legolas would lengthen his visit.”

Elrohir regarded them with wonder. “Aye, it was,” he admitted. A moment later, he frowned worriedly. “But what will Legolas say should he learn of this deception?”

“He said it was very well played out and that he did not guess at the truth until lately,” Elrond said, chuckling softly at Elrohir’s stunned reaction. “And he thanked us heartily for it. It seemed he had been looking for a good excuse to lengthen his visit and we provided him with it. Am I right, Legolas?”

Elrohir turned with a start to see Legolas enter the study. The archer sat beside him with a smile.

“You are, Lord Elrond,” he said. He curled an arm around Elrohir and drew him closer. “And if the fates are indeed in collusion with us, the passes will remain blocked longer than their wont.” He grinned at a speechless Elf-knight. “I may be forced to abide here until well past spring thaw.”

“That is possible,” Celebrîan agreed. She looked at Elrohir with spurious repentance. “I hope you do not mind our meddling in your affairs, dearest.”

For several seconds, Elrohir could only gawk. And then he collected himself and shook his head in awe.

“Mind?” he exclaimed. “By Elbereth, we should all be blessed with such a talent!”

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #36: Yearning

2008-11-30T14:12:04Z

I’m back – finally. I suppose it’s better to be busy enough to show that I do have a life. A real one. *LOL* But it’s also frustrating since I loathe leaving whatever I’m working on hanging for so long. It’s nearly three months since my last update. That’s a criminally long time in between installments. Anyway, here’s the latest chapter. I hope it makes up even the tiniest bit for the horrendous delay.

I also urge you all to read gloromeien ’s latest opus, A Slaying in Scarlet. She’s a blooming Agatha Christie in the making. Though Ms. Christie never wrote anything so dizzyingly romantic or gloriously smutty. But then she didn’t have a pair of exquisite elven detectives to work with either!

Title: Yearning
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir, Glorfindel/Elladan
Prompt: 034. Not Enough
Word Count: 1016
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: The longing for union goes beyond bodily need when the heart and spirit have been freely offered and received. Part 26 of Prior Claim.

Yearning

Imladris, lairë T.A. 199
“By Elbereth, what offense have I committed to be tormented so!”

Elrohir glanced at his twin, noting his fixed glower, which had naught to do with simple frustration but pointed to something more perilous. He looked back at the training yard where two golden-haired warriors sparred before a large audience of enthralled Elves. Glorfindel was in fine form as usual but Legolas was a huge surprise to those who thought Wood-elves little versed in the use of the sword.

They presented a breathtaking sight, these two splendid specimens of beauty, strength and masculine grace. Elrohir felt a familiar tightening in his groin as he watched Legolas. He was certain Elladan was experiencing the same thing with regard to Glorfindel. There was no mistaking the suppressed desire in his brother’s eyes. So why the accompanying emotion that seemed almost like anger?

“You are in love with a most estimable Elf,” Elrohir mildly said. “That is hardly an offense, Elladan.”

“Then why am I being punished?” Elladan retorted.

“Punished? How?”

“By having to wait forty years.”

“For what?”

“An end to waiting.”

Elrohir blinked. “Have you been sampling the contents of the wine cellar? That made no sense at all!”

Elladan snorted then turned and stalked back to the house. Elrohir stared after him, wondering at his dark mood. But loath to miss any part of his visiting lover’s impressive performance, he did not follow. Elladan would come to him if he wanted to share his concerns.

Sure enough, he had hardly returned to his quarters afterward when his brother showed up. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Elladan abruptly said: “I asked Glorfindel to bind to me.”

The Elf-knight caught his breath. “And?” he prodded, expecting a tale of rejection and woe.

“He said yes,” Elladan replied.

Elrohir stared at him, surprised and perplexed. “Then why are you—?”

“When I reach my hundredth year.”

There was a pause. “That is all?” Elrohir finally said.

”That is all?” Elladan repeated. “Elrohir, he is asking me to wait again!”

The younger twin shook his head. “I do not understand why you are so perturbed.”

Elladan threw his hands up. “Two score years!” he exclaimed. “I waited so long only to find that my waiting is not done.”

“Do you know why?” Elrohir cautiously asked.

“He wants me to be sure,” Elladan flatly stated. “As if I need more time to be certain of my feelings!”

That tweaked a memory. Elrohir recalled a conversation many years ago when Elladan had thought the captain unobtainable. And all because Glorfindel had counselled another young Elf to forego marriage until he had matured a little more.

“He had better think twice if he thinks I will put up with such idiotic notions,” Elladan sniffed.

“You told him?” Elrohir asked in faint horror.

“Aye. He should know my mind on this.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Really, Elladan, must you make a mountain out of a molehill?” he remarked. Before his brother could protest, he barrelled on. “Glorfindel has agreed to bind to you and you still find cause to complain? You should count yourself blessed beyond compare instead of dwelling on so inconsequential a thing as a delay in getting your wish granted!”

Elladan bristled at his twin’s reproachful tone. “And wouldn’t you?” he challenged. “I want our future together assured. I do not care for uncertainty, which seems to be the Peredhil’s lot in life.”

“Don’t be silly. Uncertainty is everyone’s lot in life.”

“But there is nothing wrong with wanting it diminished in some things. Or are you saying you are content with your infrequent trysts with Legolas?” Elladan challenged. Absorbed in his feelings, he missed the warning light in his twin’s eyes. “Surely it riles you that you have no set date of eternal togetherness to look forward to. I cannot believe that so fitful a liaison is enough for you, Elrohir.”

“Of course it is not enough!” Elrohir snapped. “But it is far, far better than not having anything at all. At least, he is mine today even if he cannot offer me forever.”

Silence fell upon them, Elrohir glaring at his brother with mingled umbrage and wistfulness, Elladan staring back in sudden abashment and fast growing remorse. After several tense seconds, he reached out an apologetic hand. Thankfully, Elrohir accepted it.

“Not just yet,” Elladan quietly said. “But one day, he will. I know he will.” He squeezed Elrohir’s hand. “I am sorry, Elrohir. That was thoughtless of me, complaining when I have almost everything while you must make do with…” He stopped, fearful that he was on the verge of offending his brother again.

Elrohir wanly smiled. “I know you did so out of deep yearning and not due to a lack of consideration for me,” he assured his twin. “And I certainly do not begrudge you your good fortune. I am happy for you and wish you everlasting joy when Glorfindel claims you in full.”

“And I wish you likewise when Legolas is free to do the same for you,” Elladan said. He pulled Elrohir into a quick tight hug. “Thank you. I will go to Glorfindel now. I pray he will not make me work too hard for his forgiveness.”

Elrohir chuckled. “I dare say there is one sure way to gain that. But it will entail putting your backside to good use for the rest of the day.”

Elladan blushed and lightly punched his arm. But a gleam lit his grey eyes and, when he departed, a grin curved his mouth.

The younger twin’s smile faded and he sighed. Waves of pensiveness washed over him, threatening to overwhelm him with sorrow and frustration much as Elladan had been earlier. Until strong arms slid around him from behind and he was pulled back against a strong yet lithe Wood-elf’s body.

“There will come a day when it will be more than enough,” Legolas murmured. “Trust me, my Elf-knight.”

Elrohir leaned into the archer’s embrace. A soft kiss brushed his cheek. Turning his face, he whispered against Legolas’ lips.

“Always.”

*******************************************
Glossary:
lairë - Quenya for summer
Peredhil - Half-elves or Half-elven

Table of Prompts & Story Links

eresse21 @ 2008-10-27T12:15:00

2008-10-27T04:37:14Z

I seem to be always apologizing for being so delayed with updates and this time is no different. As usual, RL obligations take up most of my time and energy. Furthermore, I'm heading for Shanghai tonight with the hubby for a week's holiday and, as we've never been there before, we've been busy preparing and researching for it. So, much as I would have loved to post a chapter before leaving, there simply was no time or inspiration to come up with something decent. But, hey, maybe the trip will get my creative juices flowing and I'll have something worth posting when I get back.

Eressë

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #35: Reckoning

2008-09-13T08:12:19Z

My abject apologies for such a delayed update. As usual, other obligations necessarily took precedence. But here's the next part at last and, as someone so succinctly put it, Elladan will finally be peeled off that damn door. As to any splinters down yonder, I think I'll leave that to Glorfindel to investigate.

Title: Reckoning
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Glorfindel/Elladan
Prompt: 083: And
Word Count: 1295
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: Glorfindel takes matters into his own hands and makes Elladan’s choice for him. Part 25 of Prior Claim.

Reckoning
Elladan cried out as he was relentlessly speared and filled, shocked by the sheer girth and length of the flesh he had often thought of sheathing. It was one thing to imagine the pains and pleasures of bodily intimacy; very much another to actually spread one’s self beneath an Elf of Glorfindel’s magnificence and yield to his passion. He clutched at Glorfindel’s arms, quite unable to take a deep breath, his body rocking with every lunge of the captain’s hips against him.

Crimson bruises marked his skin from throat to groin to straining thighs. His back bore similar signs of ravishment all the way to his bottom, which Glorfindel had readied for his taking with all the care due an innocent in bed and all the haste expected of one whose patience was at an end. Elladan could not decide which had unmanned him more swiftly: the plunge of a questing tongue tasting deeply of him or long slick fingers stroking and stretching him from within. What had alarmed yet excited him was the knowledge that he was being prepared to take another Elf into his body. And an Elf of spectacular endowment at that.

Gone, however, was his previous resistance to it. Glorfindel had not given him a chance to think clearly once he sealed their mouths together in Elladan’s first kiss. Indeed, Elladan had no clear memory of their progress from door to bed.

All he recalled were motion and sensation. Of being laid down and hands skillfully stripping him, scalding kisses to mouth and cheeks and neck distracting him so effectively, he had not thought to protest, much less struggle against the removal of his clothing. Once Glorfindel set his lips and teeth to work on the flesh he bared, any lingering rational thought fled until all that remained was a blur of pleasure limned with moments of fright that perversely enough only heightened his enjoyment of whatever Glorfindel did to him.

It was an object lesson in the dangers of teasing an Elf who had died while vanquishing a demon, walked the Halls of Mandos until he was deemed fit to be reborn, then returned to the madcap way of life in the Hither Lands and survived it a second time. Elladan wondered whether he could withstand mating with such a one as Rivendell’s mercurial captain. A particularly deep thrust left him incoherent with ecstasy and decided him to make Glorfindel his to the end of time.

Only an idiot would forego being loved so thoroughly. While Elrond’s older son might accept that he could have been more judicious in his manner of winning himself the resident Balrog slayer, he would never admit to being an idiot.

Glorfindel gripped his swollen length and stroked it as possessively as his own shaft repeatedly cleaved Elladan’s backside. Within moments, completion flooded Elladan, sweeping away every last vestige of fear or inhibition. He did not recall keening himself hoarse but his throat did feel strained afterward. What he did remember was sobbing breathlessly as the aftershocks of his climax slowly faded, bucking up instinctively to meet the last of Glorfindel’s nigh bruising thrusts and happily wrapping his arms around the captain when Glorfindel spent himself generously inside him.

“Mine,” Elladan thought in bliss, holding onto Glorfindel tightly.

“Aye, yours,” Glorfindel agreed.

Elladan started and stared at Glorfindel. Had he spoken out loud? Glorfindel’s slightly amused grin affirmed that he had.

“Are you really?” Elladan whispered, uncertain of a sudden.

Glorfindel sighed and gently pulled out of him. Using a discarded shirt, he wiped their bellies clean of Elladan’s spending and his own seed from Elladan’s thighs and bottom. He then lay back and drew Elladan into his arms.

“I think I belonged to you from the day of your birth,” he said. He chuckled when he was rewarded with a radiant smile. “But ‘twas only when you ceased being a child that I realized it. That you are also your father’s son complicated matters somewhat.”

“Did you think it improper to court me?” Elladan asked curiously.

“Courtship alone would not have been improper,” Glorfindel said. “But I knew it would not end there. Had you yielded so much as a kiss to me, I would not have been able to stop myself from claiming more, your father’s wrath be damned. And even if I could have controlled myself, well, one does not plot to seduce his lord’s son. Particularly if said son does not care to be seduced.”

Elladan stared at him. “Not care to be—! Glorfindel, I would have been thrilled had you hauled me into your office, bent me over your desk and buggered me into the next century!”

Glorfindel snickered. “So say you now that you have sheathed me and found that you enjoy it. Nay, my Elladan, I could see how reluctant you were to yield yourself to anyone. Which was only natural given who you are. I preferred to bide my time until I knew for certain that you were ready. What I did not expect was your method of letting me know that you were!”

A blush stained Elladan’s cheeks. “Oh, that…” he mumbled. A moment later, he huffed and said a trifle defiantly, “Really, it served you right.”

A golden eyebrow rose questioningly. “I beg your pardon?”

Elladan shifted embarrassedly but he did not retreat. “It must not have been too hard biding your time when you had Erestor to help you pass it,” he muttered. At Glorfindel’s puzzled reaction, Elladan blurted: “You cannot deny it. I saw the two of you some nights ago. He was waiting for you in your room and you did not resist his invitation to—“ Elladan looked away. “I know you had lovers before me but I never imagined Erestor was one of them or that you would keep company with him when you knew that I – that I…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish. “I am sorry, I have no right to dictate what you can or cannot do. We are not even betrothed, much less wed, and you are free to do as you wish with whomever you wish. I—”

Glorfindel cut him off with a lengthy, breath-stealing kiss that made him forget what he was going to say.

“Your imagination outstrips reality, pen neth”—young one—Glorfindel said when they drew apart. “I will not deny it, Elladan, I have had lovers before you. Aye, Erestor was one of them. We could meet each other’s needs and still be friends after. That was a gift neither of us refused. But I will deny that I shared my bed with him or any other since I realized I was meant for you alone. Verily, this is the first time in twenty two years that I have coupled with anyone.”

Shocked silence met his declaration. “But – but I saw you,” Elladan sputtered at length. “That night, he– You—”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I was particularly needful that day and he sensed it. And being the good friend that he is, he offered to assuage it. But I declined and we ended up drinking and talking for the better part of that night instead. I had come to the point that no body but yours could sate mine. And no one but you could make me feel whole.” He suddenly rolled Elladan beneath him. “And after more than a score of years' waiting, a single coupling simply will not do,” he huskily informed his surprised lover.

Elladan whimpered. Whether it was out of anticipation or apprehension even he could not ascertain. But of one thing he was sure. Elrohir would have much to say when he returned and found his brother unable to sit for any reasonable length of time.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #34: Reprisal

2008-07-23T08:47:46Z

Title: Reprisal
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elladan, Erestor, Glorfindel
Prompt: 033. Too Much
Word Count: 1777
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: One jealous turn deserves another. Part 24 of Prior Claim.

Reprisal
The problem with having too many spare hours on one’s hands and no brother around to while away said hours with was that one got to thinking over much and had no one to confide in when the results of that thinking became intolerable. Elladan had always been the better of the twins at maintaining his composure even in the face of adversity. But that was largely due to being able to confide in Elrohir, a practice that helped relieve him of the excess tensions and anxieties that might otherwise drive him to lose his temper or manners or both.

But a scant two days after that inopportune sighting of Elladan’s supposed suitor apparently keeping an assignation, Elrohir was sent on a scouting expedition with one of Glorfindel’s lieutenants. It was a routine mission and of minimal danger at most. Elrond would never permit either of his sons to participate in anything life-threatening just yet. But train them to fulfill their future roles in the valley realm he would and did and that entailed the occasional foray outside the protected bounds of Imladris. This was especially true for Elrohir who would some day be his brother’s chief advisor and one of the valley’s principal defenders.

Unfortunately for Elladan, two days did not provide enough time to empty himself of all his fears and frustrations. Nor had Elrohir had the chance to calm his twin’s frazzled nerves or help him decide the best way to approach the source of his present discomposure. Consequently, Elladan spent more time than was healthy dwelling on what threatened to be his first case of heartbreak and dreaming up every possible way to counter such an event. That he did not resort to the most direct method of getting what he wanted betrayed his inexperience as well as the mixture of confusion, agitation and lingering fearfulness that had taken hold of him. In years to come, he would blushingly trot out these reasons to explain (or excuse) his behavior one particular night in the Hall of Fire.

When he entered the hall, he saw that Elrond and Celebrîan had seated themselves in a secluded corner with Glorfindel and a few advisors and healers in attendance. Erestor, on the other hand, had chosen to sit alone in one of the couches on the opposite side of the chamber. The counsellor apparently intended to shed the day’s worries through solitary enjoyment of music and song.

Elladan would never really know what impulse drove him then. He would only later recall that he had never been so frightened or determined in all his life. With an uncharacteristic nigh rebellious glance in his parents’ direction, he joined Erestor on the couch.

But first, he snatched a cup of wine from a passing retainer’s tray, tossed back the contents then gestured for another cup, which he emptied by the time he sat down beside Erestor. The counsellor looked at him questioningly when he signalled the wine steward for more. Elladan managed a cocky grin.

“Why so surprised, Erestor?” he assayed. “‘Tis not as if I have never had wine before.”

“But neither has it been your wont to down it like water. Not since you and Elrohir made the mistake of mixing copious ale and Dorwinion wine all those years ago.”

Elladan smiled as his cup was refilled. “Surely an occasional binge is permissible. Not that I intend to do so tonight,” he hastily added when Erestor looked at him reprovingly. “I merely wish to loosen up a bit and pass the evening in convivial company.”

Erestor regarded him thoughtfully. “You miss Elrohir,” he said with a small smile.

“There is that. But we do have to learn how to manage without each other. We are not joined at the hip after all, contrary to popular belief.” Elladan hesitated then boldly continued. “Indeed, there are some things we will each have to undertake on our own. Elrohir has already begun and he oft says I should as well.”

Erestor did not reply at once but looked across the room at Elrond and Celebriân who were in turn surreptitiously observing their son. Elladan, however, paid their attention no mind, whether out of obliviousness or defiance, even the astute counsellor could not say for certain.

He did try to temper Elladan’s intake in the course of their conversation. Conversation the younger Elf seemed intent on deliberately peppering with innuendo in a voice he did not always trouble to keep low and discreet. The latter was obviously a direct result of the greater than usual quantity of wine he had imbibed. He was by no means inebriated but he had drunk enough to lower his natural reserve.

Elladan eventually marked that the retainers were pretending not to notice his gestures to pour him more wine. Annoyed with what he suspected to be parental interference, he rose to do it himself despite Erestor’s suggestion that he practice some restraint. The counsellor watched him corner the wine steward and demand that he refill his cup. Erestor pursed his lips when he saw Glorfindel leave Elrond’s side to intercept Elladan as the young Elf headed back.

He did not blatantly block Elladan’s way but rather crossed in front of him then half turned as if he had only just noticed him and thought to speak with him, staying him with a light tap on his arm. Not that anyone watching would not guess what he had to say. But Glorfindel was not one to humiliate others in public if he could help it.

“I think you are drinking more than is wise,” the captain murmured. “Your parents are a little concerned.”

“And did they send you to keep an eye on me?” Elladan retorted. “I am no child whose virtue needs guarding nor are you a nursemaid whose only function is to keep errant Elflings from stumbling.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose at the acerbic reply. “That you are a grown Elf is a foregone conclusion, but whether your virtue needs no guarding is still debatable,” he dryly commented. He paused briefly to allow Elladan’s currently less than quick wits to process the sentence. “Rest assured your parents have naught to do with my intervention; only my sympathy for them that they should have to witness their eldest and heir promising to make a fool of himself in front of everyone.”

Elladan bristled. “I am not anywhere near intoxicated, Glorfindel, if that is what you are implying.”

“But you are obviously looking for courage in the bottom of a wine cup.”

“And if I am? I need not be drunk in order to be emboldened enough to seek my desire.”

Forehead creasing in reproof, Glorfindel said: “Take heed, hîr neth”—young lord—“lest you test someone past the point of prudence ere you are ready for it.”

“Is anyone ever truly ready?” Elladan challenged. “And at least, if this should result in some action being taken, then there will be something for me to consider being ready for!”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Do not say I did not warn you,” he reminded Elladan before walking away.

Elladan glared at his back until he rejoined Elrond and Celebrían. He realized then that his mother was watching him with concern and he flushed with embarrassment at being caught regarding anyone with incivility. Particularly one as kind and well loved as Imladris’ captain. Chagrined, he averted his gaze and hastened back to Erestor.

The counsellor looked surprised, his dark eyes darting toward Elrond and company. Elladan wondered if Erestor had thought he would back off after having been chided by Glorfindel. For there could be no other conclusion one could make about the captain’s short but somber chat with him.

But Erestor’s smile returned as soon as Elladan sat beside him once more. He did look pointedly at the younger Elf’s once more full cup however.

“That is the last one, I hope,” he commented. “There is a thin line between being pleasantly relaxed and shamelessly soused.”

Elladan chuckled. “This will be the last, I promise. Besides, I would prove terrible company if I collapsed insensible onto your lap from a surfeit of drink.”

He dropped a hand on the counsellor’s knee. Erestor shook his head and a hint of warning tinged his voice though his smile did not vanish. “I should hope not,” he said. “But I think you are already on the verge of it. Else you would realize that a public gathering is not the best place to tryst with anyone.”

Erestor’s words were akin to being doused with a bucket’s worth of ice water. Reflexively, Elladan looked around and noticed for the first time the furtive and interested scrutiny of those nearby. His cheeks flared with color and heat.

“Elbereth!” he said under his breath. He glanced at Erestor and saw that the counsellor was looking almost apologetically in his parents’ direction. Elladan’s mortification deepened and he lowered his eyes for several minutes as he fought to calm his suddenly clamoring nerves. “I am so sorry, Erestor,” he whispered at last. “I never meant to cause you offense.”

“‘Twas not I you offended,” Erestor softly replied.

Elladan groaned. “I think I had better retire to my quarters,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

“Aye, that would be best,” Erestor agreed, his attention returning to Elladan. “You do need more privacy for what you have in mind, pen neth”—young one—he added with a faint smirk.

Elladan’s eyes widened. He stammered out a goodnight and just barely managed not to bolt from the hall. With every unsteady step, his mind cleared somewhat of its drink-induced fuzziness. And with that returned his strong sense of decorum. He became progressively flustered as he remembered his outrageous behavior even as he wondered if Erestor would respond to his flirtation. Eru preserve him if the counsellor did, he thought, sobriety firmly taking root once more. There would be the devil to pay if things got out of control and no one to blame but Elladan himself.

Hardly had he entered his chamber and closed the door behind him when he was brusquely thrust against it and pinned to it by a body of greater height, breadth and strength than his. Before he could so much as squawk in protest, he was silenced by a possessive, ravaging kiss. His coherence reduced to near nonexistence, he was half thrilled and half alarmed to hear the bolt sliding into place behind him.

When he was sufficiently subdued, his visitor drew back and he found himself gazing into smoldering ocean-hued eyes.

“I warned you not to test me overmuch,” Glorfindel growled. “Now you must pay the consequences.”

******************************

Author's Note: If anyone still recalls the earlier ficlet, Priceless, consider a certain event in that piece a foreshadowing of this story arc. I simply could not resist.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #33: Setback

2008-07-08T12:18:42Z

Title: Setback
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elladan and Elrohir
Prompt: 042. Triangle
Word Count: 1196
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: How does one distinguish between what is and what seems to be? Part 23 of Prior Claim.

Setback
Elladan shook his head as he exited his brother’s room and headed down the corridor for the Hall of Fire. It was clear from the rapt expression on Elrohir’s face that he would be utterly absorbed in Legolas’ latest letter for the next hour or so. More if the archer’s penchant for bawdy humor was reflected in his missive. Elrohir would likely have to calm certain body parts if he wished to eventually sleep in comfort. By then, the night would be old.

He considered his twin’s situation. Elrohir was now privy to the meanings behind even the subtlest of innuendos, so well had Legolas taught him his bed manners. Nuances that could go over an innocent’s head, as they sometimes did with Elladan, were no longer less than crystal clear to Elrohir. He could understand even the most obscure sexual references and knowledgeably participate in the salty banter of the vale's seasoned warriors.

It did rankle to admit on occasion that he, the elder of Elrond’s sons, was the less conversant and experienced in the pleasures of the flesh. But that alone would still not be enough to compel him to set aside his reservations and engage in said pleasures. Nay, what tempted him was Elrohir’s state of being since he and Legolas became lovers. His joy and contentment as well as leashed passion resounded through their fraternal link and oft left Elladan aching for the same felicity.

If anything could finally overcome his fears and pride, it was that yearning for a love he could call all his own. Once his heart was given and taken, Elladan could not imagine denying his chosen one his body or failing to enjoy coupling with him even if it entailed yielding himself in pleasure.

He sighed. Nothing would come of his longing if he did not do something. The first move would have to come from him even if it was not he who did the actual courting. His station as Elrond’s heir virtually demanded that of him and any prospective suitor.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around and headed back whence he came, turning left at the fork in the corridor instead of right. Making for the quarters of Elrond’s trusted household members. It was late enough that most of them would have retired for the night but not so late that they would already be asleep.

An Elf was strolling down the passage ahead of him, eyes cast down as if he was deep in thought. Elladan paused and waited for him to reach his door. But just as the latter came to it, the door swung open.

“Erestor, what are you doing here?”

“Wondering if you would ever arrive,” the dark-haired counsellor wryly commented. “Really, you can be slower than molasses in the dead of winter.”

Ere the other could respond, Erestor chuckled and, taking him by the hand, pulled him into the room, pressing a kiss to his lips as he did.

The color drained from Elladan’s face as he watched the door close, his mind awash with dismay and burgeoning anguish. Why had he not noticed? And since when had they…?

He turned on his heel and fled back to the family wing. Not surprisingly, he hurried to his brother’s room.

Elrohir looked up in surprise when he barged in, eyes welling with unshed tears and lips trembling despite his attempt to still them by biting down on them. In a flash, Elrohir was on his feet and hurrying to his twin’s side.

“Elladan! What is wrong, brother?” he exclaimed, arms solicitously going around his distraught twin.

“Too late,” Elladan shakily said. “I am too late.”

Elrohir blinked. “What do you mean?” he demanded, leading Elladan to the bed and making him sit down. “Too late for what?”

“I-I saw Erestor with… They were – are…” Elladan stuttered. “Ah, Elrohir, he has taken a lover!” he suddenly wailed. “He did not wait for me!”

The Elf-knight stared at him. “Impossible,” he whispered.

“I saw what I saw,” Elladan insisted. “That was no chaste kiss they shared.”

Elrohir frowned. “Tell me all,” he instructed. “And do start from the beginning.”

Forcing himself to calm down, Elladan recounted what he had seen to his brother. When he was finished, he looked at Elrohir imploringly, hurt gleaming in his grey eyes. The younger twin recalled Legolas’ observation in Greenwood all those many years ago.

“Nay,” Elrohir slowly said, shaking his head. “That is impossible. You must be mistaken. You are mistaken.”

Elladan snorted. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Legolas saw his desire long ago,” Elrohir explained. “And I have since observed it as well. He wants you, Elladan. I do not believe he has turned his eyes elsewhere now of all times!”

Elladan regarded him skeptically. “Then explain what I saw,” he challenged.

Elrohir hesitated then blew out his breath and cautiously said: “This could be no more than a diversion while he bides his time. After all, you have chosen to delay bedding anyone for Elbereth only knows how long.” He sighed when Elladan winced and averted his gaze. “It was hard enough for us to await our majority,” he went on as gently as he could. “What more for one who likely began his wait long before either of us even understood the meaning of desire?”

The older twin swallowed hard then nodded in faintest hope. “Perhaps you are right.” He closed his eyes, forcing back his tears, while Elrohir soothingly rubbed his back.

“Why were you there in the first place?” Elrohir curiously asked.

Elladan flushed. “I was going to tell him that – that I am perfectly amenable to, um, spending more time in his company.”

Elrohir stopped his rubbing and gaped at him disbelievingly. “That sounds more like a diplomatic proposal than a romantic proposition,” he remarked at length. “You will have to work on your choice of words if you wish to convince him that his courtship is welcome. Valar, better if you simply ask him to bugger you into the mattress!”

Elladan glared at him. “Mind your tongue, imp,” he tartly grumbled.

“Oh, I always do,” Elrohir cheekily retorted. “Legolas says I can do more things with my tongue than some Elves can do with their—”

“Elrohir!”

The Elf-knight grinned at the sight of crimson cheeks, glad to have diverted his brother from his misery even if only for the moment. After a few heartbeats, Elladan apparently agreed for he wanly smiled.

“Thank you,” he weakly offered.

Elrohir threw a comradely arm across his shoulders. “‘Tis time you made it clear to him that you are his for the taking,” he quipped. “And I mean in no uncertain terms, brother. No more of this dancing around the issue and moping like a feckless, lovesick Elfling.”

“So says he who moped like a feckless, lovesick Elfling not too long ago,” Elladan teased.

“‘Twas little more than a phase,” Elrohir airily dismissed. “And one I grew out of quite quickly.”

This last was intoned in a way that dared his brother to disagree with him. Elladan softly chuckled.

“You are right, Elrohir. ‘Tis time I stake my claim.”

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #32: Disabused

2008-06-12T13:52:59Z

Title: Disabused
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir
Prompt: 077. What?
Word Count: 1496
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: As Legolas’ departure draws near, one of Elrohir’s assumptions comes to the fore. Part 22 of Prior Claim.
Author’s Note: Real life hasn’t let up but I figured the only way to get something written is to just write whenever and wherever the chance presents itself. However, during the course of writing this part, my mind got stuck in the gutter (never mind the reason) and refused to climb back out. This isn’t anything like my original plan for this piece!

Disabused
Elrohir struggled to keep from alerting all the residents of the Last Homely House to his present circumstances: down on his elbows and knees, flushed face pressed into a Wood-elf scented pillow and said Wood-elf’s shaft plowing deep into him from behind, each inward slide reminding him that he belonged to one Legolas Thranduilion, Elven prince of Greenwood the Great.

He had known from their first meeting whose claim to his innocence he would recognize and accept. That Legolas would also lay claim to his heart had been no more than a hope on his part. But now Elrohir’s hope had become reality. A reality that was impressed on him each and every night and many a spare period of leisure in between. Legolas was ensuring that Elrohir would remember him most vividly not only in thought but also in body and heart well after the archer had returned to his forest realm.

Knowing hands mapped his torso, nimble fingers playing with his peaked nipples, skimming over the taut muscles of his belly and snaking down to fondle his groin and the tops and sides of his straining thighs before one hand crept toward his aching shaft and began to stroke it gently, teasingly. Soft lips and a wicked tongue roamed his back from his nape and the side of his neck down to the broad expanse of smooth skin between his shoulders. And all the while, hot, hard flesh relentlessly cleaved him and filled him to the hilt.

Elrohir let out a shuddery moan and clutched the pillow. He would definitely need it to smother his reaction by the time Legolas was done with him.

“Elrohir, look at me.”

The husky command compelled him to turn his head and peer over his shoulder at his lover. He had a glimpse of sparkling blue eyes and a heart-stopping smile before Legolas suddenly leaned forward and captured him in a kiss. He gasped against the archer’s lips whereupon he found his mouth invaded by a questing tongue. The stroking of his shaft quickened, the thrusts up his backside roughened. A despairing groan escaped him as he felt the mounting pleasure sharply evolve into imminent completion. It was simply too much.

Shaking helplessly, he spilled himself into Legolas’ hand, his sobbing cries muffled against the prince’s lips. Legolas nigh slammed into him ere he stiffened against his back, groaning harshly as he did. Elrohir closed his eyes when he felt the familiar flow of liquid warmth into him. Legolas’ seed was as copious in quantity as his shaft was generous in size.

Once they had caught their breaths, Legolas gently rolled them on their sides. But he did not release Elrohir nor did he withdraw from him. The Elf-knight adjusted his hips until he could lie comfortably with the archer’s shaft still lodged inside him. He was used to this by now. It was no longer a shock to him to awaken in the morning still joined to Legolas after a night’s worth of couplings.

The Wood-elf was astonishingly potent. Small wonder he had been a sought after lover back in Eryn Galen.

Had been? Or still was?

Legolas had indicated he would prefer that Elrohir reserved himself for him alone. But Elrohir had not dared ask the same of Legolas and certainly had not expected him to remain chaste during the years ere his coming of age, the archer’s profession of abstinence notwithstanding. Elrohir sighed. It was not his right to feel jealous of any lovers Legolas may have entertained during those interim years. Or for that matter, in the years to come when they were separated. Legolas had not promised to be his exclusively after all.

“What has put that frown on your face?” Legolas murmured. “Not my bed manners I hope.”

Elrohir chuckled. “Far from it,” he assured the prince. “I do not need another lover to know you are probably without peer in the bedroom.”

Legolas snorted. “How can you assume that if you have none to compare me to?”

“Fishing for compliments?” Elrohir teased. “But, nay, I need look no further than your own folk for confirmation of your prowess. Your reputation precedes you and I heard much last we visited Eryn Galen. But even did I not, your ability to leave me quite speechless should be enough proof of your skill, don’t you think?”

He was rewarded by a soft guffaw and an affectionate nuzzle against the side of his throat. A hand slid down to his abdomen, gently caressing the firm flesh. Elrohir started to relax.

“So, what was bothering you then?”

Elrohir started. He glanced back at Legolas and met a quizzical gaze. And a determined one.

“Surely you can confide your worries in me,” Legolas coaxed. “You always have.”

The Elf-knight hesitated then resigned himself to whatever reaction his admission would elicit. He looked away and drew a calming breath.

“I was only jealous,” he said in a low voice. “And mind you, I know it is foolish of me and that I have no right to feel thusly. And I know that it is ridiculous of me to wish that you had cloistered yourself all these years. But that still does not lessen the sting of - of sharing you with others.”

He fell silent and waited for the archer’s response. When none seemed forthcoming, he wondered if he had said too much. Fearing to look back lest he glimpsed displeasure, he dared to reach for the hand on his belly and squeeze it.

“Forget what I said,” he softly pleaded. “‘Twas just a child’s foolish fancy.”

He felt Legolas tense against his back. The Wood-elf suddenly pulled his hand out of his grip. Elrohir caught his breath. Had he truly offended the prince? An instant later, he gasped when Legolas all but shoved his shaft all the way into him while grasping him by the hip to pull him back tight against him.

“Child?” Legolas murmured roughly against his ear. “‘Tis hardly a child I now hold in my arms.”

“Legolas—”

“I told you I would abstain,” Legolas pointed out, the mildness of his tone at variance with the faint menace underlying it. “Think you I would go back on my own promise and share myself so easily? And I had set my sights on the greatest prize of all. Why would I waste my time on anything of less worth? Fie on you to doubt my word, Elf-knight!”

Elrohir closed his eyes, the verbal onslaught coupled with the sensual assault nearly bereaving him of his wits anew.

“The greatest prize?” he managed to say. “Was I worth the years of denying your body’s needs, Legolas?” he dared to demand. “Am I?”

Legolas laughed, a low throaty sound that made mincemeat of what remained of Elrohir’s resolve. “I wondered what had become of the Elf whose pluck and forthrightness enthralled me from the start,” he remarked. “You may be the younger and less experienced but, when we come together as lovers, you are my equal, Elrohir. Do not be afraid to tell me if I have displeased you or if you desire something of me.” He slipped a hand down to cup the Elf-knight possessively. “As for your question – you are more than worthy. Never doubt that!”

He abruptly pulled out of the younger Elf only to roll him onto his back, ignoring his startled bewilderment. With little preamble, he mounted Elrohir once more, hardly giving him the chance to catch his breath afore he resumed pounding into him. The madcap pace he set was nothing like anything he had treated Elrohir to since the start of their affair and it swiftly sent them spiralling into a climax as shattering as the previous one.

Elrohir weakly crawled into Legolas' arms afterward and laid his head on the archer’s breast. Elbereth! If this was Legolas’ manner of punishing a wayward lover, the temptation to transgress would never be far away.

His backside would be truly sore come morning. He would once more have to relegate his bottom to cushioned seats the following day. And he would need to brace himself for another round of raillery from Elladan. But no matter. His heart was full to bursting and his thoughts were awash with the wonder and joy of an unexpected confirmation of fidelity. He breathed in the singular scent of his Wood-elven lover and sighed, a contented smile curving his lips.

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Legolas idly inquired, running his fingers through Elrohir’s tousled hair.

Elrohir looked at him and grinned. “Aside from wondering if you will have me again this eve?” he quipped.

Legolas returned his gaze thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said.

Elrohir’s grin faded to a perplexed frown. “Yes, you think I have something else on my mind?” he ascertained.

The archer shook his head and pulled him up until they were face to face.

“Yes, I will have you again this eve.”

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #31: Stimulus

2008-05-26T06:57:07Z

Title: Stimulus
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elladan, Legolas/Elrohir
Prompt: 037. Sound
Word Count: 1160
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: Elladan discovers that eavesdropping can be both a pleasure and a pain. Part 21 of Prior Claim.

Stimulus
Silently cursing, Elladan attempted the impossible – to block out the sounds coming from his brother’s bed while he lay curled up under it with nothing to cover his ears but his hands. And they were not doing a very good job of muffling Elrohir’s inarticulate whimpers or Legolas’ salacious whispers.

Sweet Eru! Whatever had possessed him to hide beneath his twin’s bed? He should have realized as soon as he heard Legolas’ husky chuckle that the archer would stay the night. He should have seated himself, waited for them to pull apart and calmly explained his presence to them with as much dignity as he could muster with deeply flushed cheeks, his breech-laces undone and his shirt hem stained where he had wiped his hand.

Another imprecation nearly escaped him. What had gotten into his head to pleasure himself in a bed other than his own? Damn his sordid imagination! And all because of a glimpse of a certain Elf’s bared torso as he made his way back to his room, sodden shirt in hand. The sight had overcome Elladan so precipitately that he ducked into the nearest bedchamber all a-tremble. Unfortunately, Elrohir’s room had been the closest.

Elladan stifled a groan when he heard Elrohir’s guttural pleas. What in Arda was Legolas doing to reduce his proud brother to such mindless surrender? Not that he should be wondering at all, he reminded himself. Indeed, he should be contemplating escape rather than getting aroused all over again by what was happening above him.

That was what had landed him in this predicament in the first place. If he had allowed that moment of nigh unbearable lust to pass and returned to his own room to take care of the consequences of it, he would not now be cowering in a horrible state halfway between apprehension of discovery and steadily waxing arousal. But, no, he’d let his imagination run away with him, seeing in his mind’s eye far more than what had been revealed to him in the corridor. One thing had led to another and before he knew it he’d undone his breeches and desperately tended to the embarrassing bulge that had taken up residence within, completely forgetting that he was not in his own quarters.

Hardly had he spilled himself when he heard the door begin to snick open and hushed laughter drift through the widening crack. He did not stop to think. Even less did he consider his options when Elrohir’s mirth was cut off quite suddenly by the seal of Legolas’ lips against his. That brief pause before their entry into the chamber should have galvanized him into yanking his shirt down over his breeches and conjuring some explanation for his presence and the state he was in. Instead, he had panicked.

It was one thing to exchange bawdy banter with Elrohir when they were alone. Altogether another thing when it was apparent his brother was about to indulge in far more than mere talk with the woodland prince. And so he took the only course of action that occurred to him. He dove under the bed. And regretted it ever since.

Bad enough to listen to the rustle of clothing being stripped off and thrown carelessly on the floor right in front of him or the faint creak of the bed as two bodies toppled onto it and shifted about tellingly. But listening to the vocal expressions of their love play proved a trial he had never imagined undergoing. A trial brought to a spectacular climax by his brother’s hoarse intonation of the archer’s name followed by the most peculiar of sounds.

Elladan closed his eyes and futilely covered his ears with his hands when he heard the soft, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Elbereth preserve me, he nearly groaned aloud. His silent entreaty went unheard as evidenced by the hardening of certain parts down yonder and he only barely managed to suppress a sacrilegious opinion of the supposed efficacy of prayer.

Soon the nigh painful tension in his groin forced him to seek relief. He stroked himself to the strains of sharp, frantic gasps and low, lingering moans, all but stuffing his fist into his mouth to keep from uttering so much as a squeak.

Their completions ensured his, Elrohir’s strangled sobs and Legolas’ feral groans sending him over the precipice into rapture. Only by clenching his teeth on the cuff of his sleeve was he able to stifle his own cry of ecstasy. Afterward, he could only weakly lie there, as much enervated by the attempts to remain silent as by his intense spending.

He heard snatches of pillow talk. Gentle raillery, dulcet laughter, a subtle avowal of love. This last rendered him agape with awe, uttered as it had been not by Elrohir but by Legolas. Elladan forced down the sudden lump in his throat.

Their conversation slowly wound down, much to Elladan’s relief. Thank the Powers they had spent the better part of the day outdoors, engaged in strenuous activity. Otherwise, Elladan might well have been forced to bide the whole night in uncomfortable concealment. There was no reason to disbelieve his brother’s claim regarding Legolas’ lusty appetite for the pleasures to be found in Elrohir’s bed.

Elladan waited until he heard the steady breathing of slumber ere cautiously crawling out. He winced as he rose to his feet, his long limbs protesting their lengthy spell squeezed into cramped accommodations. But he kept his eyes averted lest he see the bed’s occupants displayed in all their post-coital glory. He stealthily made his way to the door.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

The older twin froze. He warily peered over his shoulder and saw that Legolas had raised himself on one arm to better see him. He was relieved to note that the blanket had been adequately drawn up but his relief was short-lived when he espied the questioning gleam in the archer’s eyes.

“Let me explain,” Elladan stammered, turning around. “I did not mean to—“

He halted, his breath catching as Elrohir stirred, a frown marring his brow. Legolas stroked his lover's flank soothingly until he settled anew in the prince’s cradling arms. He looked up at Elladan once more.

“I am sure you had good reason to conceal yourself as you did,” he murmured. “You may tell me come morning if you wish.” He smiled faintly when Elladan’s anxious gaze dropped to his brother. “He will not learn of it from me,” he assured him.

Elladan only realized he had been holding his breath when he released it. He hastily blurted his thanks to the Wood-elf then turned on his heel and dashed out.

“Legolas?”

The archer looked down into drowsy grey eyes.

“I thought I heard Elladan,” Elrohir sleepily mumbled.

“And I imagine Elladan heard too much for his comfort,” Legolas softly replied, his voice edged with mirth. With that, he proceeded to kiss Elrohir’s languor and puzzlement away.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #30: Affection

2008-05-14T06:28:51Z

My apologies for such a delayed update. Hopefully, RL will finally let up and I’ll be able to get back to writing more regularly. I'm leaving in a few hours for a much needed holiday with my family but I promise to respond to comments as soon as I get back. In any case, I hope this pleases.

Title: Affection
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir, Elladan
Prompt: 023. Lovers
Word Count: 1008
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: There is so much more to loving than mere bodily union. Part 20 of Prior Claim.
Author’s Note: A bit on the mushy side, I’m afraid, but my muses simply refused to let me tackle anything serious or angsty.

Affection
Elrohir gingerly sat down on the bench, wincing slightly as his tender bottom met unyielding wood. He heard a soft snicker from across the table and looked up with a faint scowl at his twin. Elladan pursed his lips in a bid to stifle more laughter but his eyes said otherwise.

“Should I fetch you a pillow?” the older twin brightly inquired.

That earned him a considerable glower when the comment inspired further curiosity about Elrohir’s circumstances. Their parents and grandparents’ wan smiles did not escape Elrohir’s notice while the occupants of the neighboring tables regarded him with varying degrees of furtiveness, a few not quite able to conceal their amusement. The Arnorian crown prince was numbered among these, much to Elrohir’s annoyance.

“How very considerate of you, brother mine,” he testily muttered.

The Elf-knight did his best to ignore the ache in his backside, fighting the urge to squirm and find a more comfortable position. He began to question the wisdom of presenting himself in public so soon after a night such as he had just experienced.

A hand dropped on his shoulder and he glanced up to meet Legolas’ clear gaze. A small smile curved the prince’s lips. Elrohir began to smile back until he saw what Legolas held in his other hand. His cheeks flamed when Legolas signed to him to stand up.

His eyes never leaving Elrohir, Legolas said: “There is no need, Elladan.” He slid a soft cushion onto the bench and motioned to Elrohir to reseat himself while he settled beside him. “Better?” he softly asked, placing his hand briefly on Elrohir’s lower back.

Elrohir nodded, half closing his eyes when Legolas ran his knuckles down one bright red cheek.

“Good,” Legolas murmured. “Forgive me, I should have restrained myself last night.”

Elrohir momentarily forgot his embarrassment at the hint of self-reproach in Legolas’ voice. “Nay, I wanted it as much as you did,” he blurted out. “There was no call for restraint at all.”

He caught his breath in horror when he realized he had spoken during a sudden lull in the general breakfast chatter and thus virtually divulged to one and all the extent of his night’s indulgence with the woodland prince. He dropped his gaze and kept it glued to the tabletop, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes and mortified to the core at drawing even more attention to the very thing he had taken such pains to downplay the previous night.

Elrohir felt his twin sympathetically nudge his leg with his foot but he refused to look up. Until Legolas curled an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer. Only then did he dare lift his eyes to glance at the prince.

He started when Legolas pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, the gesture not only marking him as the archer’s but also defining the nature of their nascent liaison. Quite a risk for Legolas to take, Elrohir realized, should word of it get back to his people. To charm one’s way into a would be conquest’s bed was only to be expected. To be possessive of a hard won prize was not unusual either. But to behave affectionately toward a mere trophy indicated some emotional attachment and that was what Legolas had concealed from his folk all these years to keep dissent at bay.

His discomfort forgotten and replaced by concern for Legolas instead, Elrohir murmured: “Your intent could be… misconstrued.”

The prince apparently discerned the change and treated him to a slow smile that all but dazzled the breath from the younger twin’s breast.

“It was a great honor, Elrohir,” Legolas distinctly said, his words carrying to the others at the table. “One I will treasure all my days.” He dropped his voice to a near whisper only Elrohir could hear. “And hope will ever be mine alone.”

The Elf-knight looked at him wonderingly. “Are you saying…?” he began. At the gleam in Legolas’ eyes, Elrohir broke into a delighted smile. “‘Tis my hope, too.”

“Even through a long wait?” Legolas softly asked.

Elrohir nodded. “I meant it when I said you are worth waiting for,” he murmured.

He was reminded that they were not alone when Elladan nudged him once more under the table but in less gentle fashion than he had earlier. A moment later, Elrond and Celeborn cleared their throats almost simultaneously, recalling Legolas’ attention as well to their present surroundings.

Legolas apologetically dipped his head to both lords and their ladies but neither couple was so obtuse as to believe him repentant in the least. Not when he kept his arm firmly around Elrohir then looked about at the nearby tables, silently shaming their occupants into casting their stares elsewhere. His gaze seemed particularly flinty when it alighted on Eldacar. The Man returned him a faint smile and a nod of acknowledgment ere deflecting his fellows’ interest away from the younger twin.

His protectiveness was not lost on Elrohir. When Legolas looked at him again, the Elf-knight was grinning at him with utmost fondness.

“Thank you,” he said.

Legolas shook his head. “I will not have my lover ill at ease in his own home,” he replied.

Elrohir’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose a fraction. After a moment, his mouth spread into a sweet smile, nigh tempting Legolas into further indiscretion.

“How do I show mine how much I appreciate his concern for me?” Elrohir inquired.

Legolas chuckled. “Need you ask?

The Elf-knight blushed slightly. “Tonight then?” he said under his breath.

“And every night of my stay here,” Legolas added.

Elrohir snorted. “Do you mean to render me incapable of sitting for the duration of your visit?” he tartly inquired.

Legolas softly laughed. “Not at all. I just want you in my bed whether we couple or not. Not to mention awaken each morn with you by my side. Or is that too much to ask of you?”

The Elf-knight shook his head and slipped a hand trustingly into the archer’s grip.

“Indeed, ‘tis not nearly enough.”

Table of Prompts & Story Links

Still Here

2008-05-08T00:31:09Z

I've received a number of inquiries about whether I am well and it's moved me deeply that people actually noticed that I haven't updated in a while. Rest assured, I'm fine; my absence is not due to poor health or a personal crisis. The culprit is lack of time for recreational writing and the attendant difficulty of getting into the right frame of mind for it when I do dredge up a spare moment. It's the main reason I did not sign up for the Ardor in August challenge much as I would have loved to participate again.

I do have a new chapter in the works - it's half finished and I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be done with it by next week. Nothing heavy I admit - a lighthearted piece was all I could manage at the moment. But I'm not going to abandon my current story though it will take me a bit longer to complete than previous ones. I shudder at the thought of an unfinished story to my name given that it frustrates me no end when I start reading something and get engaged by it, only to discover it does not and never will have a proper ending.

In any case, thanks to everyone who's asked after me and wished me well. It's really lovely of you. (And dearest gloromeien, I haven't forgotten you. Do give Starbuck a hug for me.)

Warmest regards,
Eressë

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #29: Shorn

2008-02-03T13:56:07Z

My apologies for the overly delayed update. Blame the usual suspects – work, family, colds, deadlines, Torchwood… I should have known watching John Barrowman and Gareth David-Lloyd snogging away would be much too distracting. I dare say others would consider it inspiring however. **snort**

Title: Shorn
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas/Elrohir
Prompt: 003. Ends
Word Count: 2944
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: A long ago wish is granted and the beginnings of a promised affair is finally realized. Part 19 of Prior Claim.

Shorn
Since his rooms overlooked the garden, Elrohir could hear the merriment still going on down yonder. He wondered how Elladan was doing and what his parents were telling the guests to explain his disappearance.

He would have stayed at the celebration for the requisite time. But after an hour of enduring his distracted manner, Elrond and Celebrían had given him leave to make an early exit, Celebrían’s encouraging hug in stark counterpoint to Elrond’s unexpected revelation that he had spoken to Legolas earlier in the evening and admonished him to treat Elrohir well or else. Elrohir did not quite know whether to be amused or horrified by his sire’s intervention. Elladan had been no help at all, laughing unreservedly at the notion of their stately father confronting the woodland prince over the matter of his younger son’s first bedding.

Under the circumstances, perhaps leaving ahead of time had been the best course of action to take. But a premature departure also entailed waiting a bit longer for Legolas to come to him, which was doing Elrohir’s presently over active imagination not much good. He did not know whether time was passing too slowly or overly fast for comfort. On the one hand, it seemed to be taking Legolas forever to arrive. On the other hand, were he to arrive this very minute, Elrohir was quite certain he would be frightened out of his wits.

Elladan was right even if he had obfuscated the real reason for his fears, claiming an aversion to the experience of physical pain during one’s first breaching. What truly troubled Elladan was entrusting himself to someone when he was at his most vulnerable. For there were few situations where one was as open to hurt and betrayal as when engaged in complete intimacy with another for whom one cared deeply.

It was a concern Elrohir shared. But unlike his twin, Elrohir was not one to let caution override his desires to the point of foregoing a chance that might not come his way again. And when that chance entailed winning him not only a skilled teacher but hopefully a lifetime lover as well, Elrohir was definitely not about to retreat before his fears.

Resisting the impulse to pace around his room, he seated himself on his balcony balustrade instead and strove to becalm his nervousness by watching the revelry below. This was Legolas, for Eru’s sake, he reminded himself. The archer cared for him; would never break faith with him.

He did not delude himself that Legolas would not dally with others when they were apart. He had not demanded sexual fidelity of him nor did he have that right. But personal loyalty was another thing entirely and this Elrohir believed he had the right to ask of Legolas just as he was ready to swear the same to the archer.

If he had to choose, Elrohir would take the latter over the former without hesitation. Not that he was incapable of being both but he would not hold it against Legolas if he was not of the same mind.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not realize he was not alone until he heard his name uttered. He looked up, startled, and saw Legolas standing at his door, openly appraising him. He rose to his feet none too steadily, feeling as if his heart would give out any moment.

Legolas approached him. “You look as you did the first time I invited you for an evening stroll,” he said as he came to stand before him. “All awash with moonbeam and starlight – you seemed as beautiful as a Vala to my eyes. And still do.”

Before Elrohir could stammer a response, Legolas curled an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Elrohir caught his breath as their lips met. And parted. And all but melted together. In that instant, he knew his fate sealed for good.

How they found their way back into the room and onto his bed, he only vaguely remembered afterward. What made far more lasting impressions on his memory were the leisurely shedding of their clothes and the tantalizing caress of revealed flesh by lips and hands and tongue and being pressed down onto cool sheets by a strong, warm body while his mouth was thoroughly pillaged in tacit declaration of ownership.

Legolas could not help his possessiveness. Elrohir had not been the only one to await this moment with fiercely suppressed impatience. The unexpected attempt to encroach on what he deemed his had only sharpened his desire to a fine edge. And the baring of Elrohir’s lean yet well-knit body did little to temper the urge to simply bury himself in the silken heat that awaited him.

It was Elrohir’s expressive eyes that stayed him. In them he saw innocence and anxiety and utter trust. But most of all, radiant affection shone in their depths the likes of which he had never seen before. It came to him that though this day heralded Elrohir’s coming of age, ‘twas he who had just been bestowed with a gift beyond compare.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling at Elrohir’s puzzlement, ere he caught the young Elf in a lengthy kiss of such torrid tenderness, it was as sweetly moving as it was heart-stopping.

He applied himself to a slow but scorching exploration of Elrohir’s graces. And what a bounty there was to be discovered. To go with his beauteous face was a body best kept under cover to keep it from being too much of a distraction when there was urgent work to be done. For who could resist such luminosity of skin infused with the warmth of color; the subtle play of finely hewn muscles in a frame too slender to be truly mannish yet more broad of shoulder and chest than the average Elf; or an engaging suppleness and sleek brawn which, when coupled with the Elf-knight’s astuteness and sharp wit, presaged the emergence of a warrior lord of considerable prowess?

That Elrohir looked at him just as appreciatively, if not more so, added to his already well-stoked arousal. Legolas was proud of his body and had excellent reason for it. He had never been above using his beauty to lure whomever he wanted between the sheets with him and had little patience for assumed modesty and protestations of worth – coyness simply did not appeal to him.

But with Elrohir, that changed. The Elf-knight neither exaggerated his admiration of Legolas’ attractions for courtship’s sake nor made a pretense of his uncertainties as to whether he deserved the archer’s reciprocation of desire. That shy forthrightness was vastly more seductive than anything Legolas had yet experienced in his long life.

Was it any wonder that he yearned to make Elrohir utterly his and ensure the youth would remember this first lesson for many years to come?

As for Elrohir, he was no prude. He could not be one in lore-steeped Imladris where bawdy tales were just as welcome as historical treatises. But to touch and be touched in places not seen by any other who was not his twin or his physician father since he left childhood behind had him torn between yearning for more and wanting to cover his flushed face with a pillow. Coupled with Legolas’ throaty chuckles whenever he saw evidence of Elrohir’s discomfiture and it was no mystery at all that the Elf-knight found himself in lovely turmoil throughout.

But then Legolas’ attention came perilously close to his groin and Elrohir realized he had not yet experienced the outermost bounds of sexual play short of coupling itself. He gave a startled gasp when he felt the archer’s mouth on him, the feel of his tongue stroking the length of his shaft almost enough to undo him, then choked back a cry when Legolas wrapped his lips around the rigid flesh and drew upon it with a lustiness that bespoke a great enjoyment of the delectable mouthful.

To say it was a shock to be serviced so was an understatement. Elrohir had always known that there were many ways by which one Elf could pleasure another. But he did not always know what he did not know and, in any case, even if he understood the basics of bodily intimacy, such knowledge could not equal first-hand experience.

Yet he was also a Peredhel of strong desires and a streak of shameless adventurer in him. Once he comprehended the beauty and bliss of the act not only for himself but for Legolas as well, he cast aside his inhibitions and set himself to responding in kind.

“Wait, Legolas!” he pleaded, struggling to still the need to spend soonest. “Can I not do the same for you?”

Legolas looked at him with glittering eyes and a smirk that promised enough to leave Elrohir a-jitter. “Indeed you may,” he huskily answered. He shifted about with a feline grace that showed his sleekly muscled body to full advantage.

Elrohir wondered if his heart could take the strain of so much frantic beating. But faced with the archer’s impressive endowment, he forgot all else as his mouth went dry and his senses chose the moment to collude in a plot to stoke his desire beyond his control. Worries about his abilities abandoned him as he attacked the wellspring of his lust, making up for his lack of experience with sheer eagerness for this first taste of his archer love.

The woodland prince nearly forgot that he was the teacher to the Elf-knight’s pupil in the wake of such happily voracious servicing. Elrohir was already proving a most apt student, Legolas nigh deliriously thought.

The years-long wait had its part in ensuring they would finish in a shorter while than either was accustomed to, even for Legolas who knew both his limits and what he was capable of. But as it took the edge off his desire, he did not mind. All the better if it helped prolong their pleasure for the rest of the evening.

He sat up and looked down at Elrohir who lay unmoving on his side, his eyes closed and his breathing uneven. The Elf-knight, unused to climaxing so intensely, had been somewhat enervated by it. Legolas let his gaze wander down his body all the way to his long legs, one bent slightly forward to reveal more of the delicate flesh hidden between the firm rounds of his backside. Legolas licked his lips unconsciously in the manner of a cat assaying its prey.

The tender pouch at the base of the Elf-knight’s shaft glistened with saliva and excess milky seed. Legolas reached behind the near somnolent youth and smeared his fingers with the slippery fluids. Elrohir’s eyes fluttered open, a question in their depths. They widened an instant later when Legolas worked a slick finger up his backside, teasing him a moment ere slowly sliding it in to the knuckle. Elrohir came completely awake then, eyes fastened on Legolas in mingled anticipation and fright.

Instinctively, he began to bring his legs together defensively. But Legolas softly said: “I want you, Elf-knight.” Elrohir promptly stopped. And, to Legolas’ everlasting admiration, rolled completely onto his stomach, staunchly keeping his legs parted.

“I will not pretend that it matters little to me to be first to sup of your graces,” Legolas murmured, pressing a kiss to Elrohir’s shoulder, then pulling aside his thick mane to suck at his nape even as he continued to ready him for breaching. “You are truly a prize, Elrohir.” His lips moved to the skin behind Elrohir’s ear. “And one I would not gladly share.”

It was risky to stake a claim when there was no surety yet of just when that claim could be sealed. But Legolas believed Elrohir insightful enough to understand that no promise was being demanded of him; only a hope that he would keep his heart if not his body for the archer alone.

Elrohir drew a shaky breath before he turned his head and, looking over his shoulder at Legolas, softly said: “Nor would I. You are worth waiting for, Legolas.”

Legolas groaned inwardly. Elbereth, his forbearance was at an end! He withdrew his hand. And heard the hitch in Elrohir’s breathing. Saw how Elrohir’s eyes darted to his shaft, all hard and thick once more from Legolas’ resurgent need, copious seed issuing from it again. The young Elf’s shoulders tensed and his buttocks flexed in anxious expectation of invasion.

Legolas smoothed his hand down Elrohir’s back. “We need not do this,” he gallantly offered.

Elrohir looked at him entreatingly. “Nay, I want this,” he insisted. “Just… be gentle.”

Legolas regarded him thoughtfully. “Turn over,” he suggested. “I think it will be better if you can see me.”

The Elf-knight stared at him then nodded. He shifted onto his back then tried to relax when Legolas urged his legs up and around his waist. He caught a glimpse of Legolas smearing his shaft with his seed and blushed at the sight. Then Legolas positioned himself and he felt the nudge of hard flesh, seeking entrance. He closed his eyes, shuddering a little as the nudge grew more insistent. He could not quite stifle a wince of discomfort when he felt the first press of Legolas’ shaft into him and he blindly reached up to grip the archer’s arms.

“Let me in, pen vuil”—dear one—he heard Legolas murmur. Hands soothingly stroked his hips and thighs.

Elrohir willed his muscles to relax enough to permit Legolas entry into his body. Though the slow inward slide burned, he did not fight the intrusion, adjusting his hips and legs instead to better ease the heady penetration.

And heady it was indeed for, despite the discomfort, the idea that it was Legolas inside him, that he had actually, finally attained what he had desired for so very long, superceded all other thought. And that was enough to spark frissons of pleasure within him. He caught his breath when he felt Legolas’ groin flush against his buttocks, evidence that the archer was completely seated within.

He opened his eyes to see Legolas watching him intently. Elrohir blew out the breath he had not realized he was holding.

“I am well,” he managed.

Legolas smiled, a funny, somewhat crooked smile that made him all the more endearing.

“Let us see if we can do better than well,” he murmured.

He withdrew a bit, shifting his angle minutely as he pushed back in. Repeated the movement twice more, each controlled lunge coaxing tight flesh to loosen up further. Elrohir gave a strangled gasp as pleasure erupted in his groin. The same pleasure he’d known when Legolas earlier prepared him only… only this one was more intense, filled as he was with thick, hard flesh.

“Better?” Legolas softly queried, brushing tendrils of hair from Elrohir’s forehead.

Elrohir swallowed, then let out a shuddery breath. “Much better,” he unsteadily replied.

Legolas leaned down to kiss him, pushing into him as he did. Before long, Elrohir was bearing down on every incursion, gasping as unfamiliar sensations coursed through him. It was the signal for Legolas to deepen his thrusts, every plunge a catalyst for rapture for his young lover. He reached for Elrohir’s shaft and gripped it; began to stroke it in time with his quickening movements. Elrohir’s eyes flew open and widened as another new sensation joined the already turbulent welter that gripped him.

“Wait, I cannot— Legolas… too much—!”

The incoherent spill of words coupled with Elrohir’s instinctual lifting of his hips to enclose the flesh that speared him and the flush that stained his fair skin from cheeks to shoulders to chest proved as compelling as any practiced act of seduction. Legolas knew himself mastered by his need for the first time in more years than he could remember.

He managed to hold back just a while longer. Enough to ensure Elrohir finished first. But the moment he felt his hand coated in warm cream, heard Elrohir’s smothered moans and saw his comely face tighten in the throes of completion, he let go.

A few more thrusts and he climaxed hard and strong, the contracting grip of satiny flesh around his shaft heightening the bliss. His body trembling from the most intense orgasm in his memory, Legolas leaned low to seal his mouth to Elrohir’s. Only with great reluctance did he pull out, missing Elrohir’s heat as soon as he left it.

They lay afterward in a pleasant tangle of limbs, Elrohir enfolded in Legolas’ arms, his dark head tucked into the crook of the archer’s neck.

“Definitely worth waiting for,” he whispered with a happy sigh.

Legolas chuckled. “The night is still young and so are you. Surely you are up for more,” he fondly teased.

Elrohir lifted his head and looked at him with such enthusiasm Legolas was hard pressed to keep his laughter at bay.

“I am but I was not certain you were,” Elrohir cheekily replied. “You do have a few thousand years on me after all.”

Legolas feigned indignation. “There are some things that vastly improve with age, pen neth”—young one—he pointed out. He pressed Elrohir back against the sheets, sliding between the Elf-knight’s legs in the same motion with practiced ease. “Elves have eternity in which to perfect their skills.”

IF Elrohir had some form of rebuttal in mind, he soon found himself unable to think clearly enough to voice it. Not when his woodland prince kept him too occupied, heart, body and mind, to string together enough words to form a sensible sentence, let alone eloquent speech.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

FIC: Beyond Reach

2007-12-24T10:22:41Z

Thank you to minuial_nuwing for the virtual lj gift and to melethen for the lovely card. And double thanks to sian265 for the card and virtual lj gift.

A blessed and merry Christmas to one and all!

Title: Beyond Reach
Written for the December 2007 slashy_santa exchange
Author: Eressë
Email: eresse21@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Elladan/Haldir
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Request: Elladan/elf of author's choice. Book canon elves only! Please include black leather, a fire of some type, and the phrase "Have you lost your mind?" Mild angst is fine, but it must end well. I generally prefer my Elladan on top, but I am willing to compromise on that point. No character death, rape, graphic violence or extreme angst. No parent/child incest. No heavy BDSM. No EVIL!Celebrian or EVIL!Elrond, and ABSOLUTELY no EVIL!Elrohir. No squicky characters paired, please. Silk scarves and general battle scenes are fine.
Summary: A Wood-elf learns that a dream come true is not necessarily the same as a wish granted.

Written for: Minuial Nuwing

Author’s Note: I did not write Haldir as he is portrayed in the movies, but rather as he is described in the book: a simple border guard who knew enough of the Common Tongue to communicate adequately with the non-elvish speaking members of the Company of the Ring.

****************

ACT I
From his perch on a partly hidden flet atop a tree of middling height, Haldir watched the brethren Elladan and Elrohir as they slowly strolled with their grandsire Celeborn down the newly made paths of East Lórien, shaded by green-laden boughs shot with varicolored blossoms and not the shimmering silver and gold of years gone by. It would take getting used to, living in the verdant heart of a forest rather than the gilded one Haldir had known all his life. He smoothed a hand over the dark brown trunk by which he stood, remembering with regret the grey bark of Lothlórien’s mellyrn, emblems of the Golden Wood’s glorious beauty.

Nay, Lothlórien was glorious no more, he reminded himself. With the unmaking of the One Ring, the power that had held the ravages of time at bay failed. The enchantment that had once shrouded the land and shielded it from the outside world slowly waned until, one day toward summer’s end of that year, the Galadhrim had awakened to the feeling of coming out of a long dream that they would never know again unless they sailed to the uttermost West.

Autumn and winter proved a trial for the Silvan folk of Lórien, burdened as they were by the heaviness of heart the change wrought on their home. The mallorn-trees faithfully bore their golden blossoms come the following spring yet, still, that sense of profound loss prevailed. Nor did it abate as time marched on. And then, Galadriel had wearied and at last passed over Sea. With the departure of their mistress, the mellyrn seemed to grieve and droop and dwindle in radiance. It was then that Lórien had ceased to feel like a home to many of its folk.

It was why the greater number of the Galadhrim had followed Celeborn when the Elf-lord relocated to the southern portion of rechristened Mirkwood or, as it was now known, Eryn Lasgalen. At least, here, though the sense of loss was never far away, one did not have to live with the oppressive feeling of it every day. He suspected it was also part of Celeborn’s reason for leaving Lothlórien.

Bad enough to bid his lady farewell for the Powers only knew how long; worse to walk alone amidst the forlorn trees that had borne witness to their love for so many centuries. And yet, Haldir suspected that Celeborn would not long call East Lórien home either for, though the Elf-lord had made it his dwelling place for now, he did not hold it dear as he had the Golden Wood.

Someone hailed the three walkers from afar and they halted and waited. Another Elf joined them. However, it was no Galadhel but a Wood-elf of northern Eryn Lasgalen, his green and brown raiment a contrast to the soft greys of the Elves of Lórien. Haldir’s mouth tightened as Legolas son of Thranduil came to Elrohir’s side and slipped his arm around the younger twin’s waist. He looked away when Elrohir returned the gesture, drawing the woodland prince closer.

“He is a beauty,” he heard his brother Orophin remark from beside him. “Small wonder Elrohir wasted no time claiming him.”

Haldir chanced another peek. In time to see Elrohir press a tender kiss to Legolas’ temple. Whereupon the archer lifted his face invitingly. Haldir did not avert his eyes in time to avoid watching the Elf-knight oblige the archer with a lingering caress that was equal parts lust and love.

Orophin clapped a hand on Haldir’s shoulder. “‘Tis a pity you did not press your advantage when you had the chance, brother,” he murmured. “After all, you knew him long before Thranduil’s son crossed his path. And he doted on you, too.”

“As an elder indulges a child,” Haldir retorted. “Even had I dared aspire to one such as he, any overture of mine would have come to naught. He never saw me as anything beyond what my service to him entailed. Aye, he was very kind and I will never forget that. But that is all he would have offered me; all that I could ever have expected from him.”

Though he resisted the memory, Haldir found himself recalling the day he first met Legolas. Four years ago, he was stationed at the northern marches when the Company of the Ring entered the forest of Lothlórien, grief-stricken and harried after their trek through the subterranean byways of orc-infested Moria. He alone had spoken the Common Tongue; so it had fallen to him to welcome them and, afterward, guide them to safety in Caras Galadhon, the city of the Galadhrim deep in the heart of the Golden Wood.

He had been amiable with them all, but more so with the Mirkwood prince who, even were he not kin to his liege lord, was still a fellow Wood-elf after all. But he would not soon forget his pained surprise when he espied the silver band that adorned the archer’s right forefinger. A ring bearing the crest of a scion of the House of Ëarendil. A closer if surreptitious scrutiny of its heraldic inscriptions revealed its owner. Legolas wore the signet ring of Elrohir, the younger of the twin sons of Elrond of Rivendell.

Haldir had barely managed to keep his friendly demeanor with the archer after that. He’d been glad of the order to return to the Northern Fences rather than remain in the city with the visitors. It would have been a torment for him to keep constant company with the Elf who had dashed even his faintest hopes to oblivion.

It was not that Haldir had ever thought himself worthy of any of Elrond’s children. He was a mere border guard of no particular consequence, sprung from a family whose menfolk had faithfully served Lothlórien’s rulers down through the centuries. But others could claim the same and Haldir did not see much of a distinction between them and himself. Save if one counted the fact that his father Glânthoron had become one of Celeborn’s trusted captains following the tumultuous period when the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm awakened the Balrog that slept in the bowels of their mountain realm. Fear of impending doom led to the abandonment of the forest by many of its folk, including Lórien’s last king.

Glânthoron never forgave elusive Nimrodel for daring to ask Amroth to choose between her security and his subjects. Even less could he forgive Amroth for forsaking his land and people for the promise of her hand in marriage. When word of Amroth’s death at sea reached them, following Nimrodel’s loss ere she could meet him, he was not able to summon much more than regret over the passing of fellow Elves.

Celeborn and Galadriel had proved very much to his liking. Fiercely protective and nurturing of the remnants of the Silvan folk they took under their wing, they won the Wood-elves’ unstinting fidelity. Glânthoron raised all three of his sons to be unquestioningly loyal to the lord and lady and, by extension, to their daughter and her family as well. Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil never met her though. Their father wed late and, by the time of Haldir’s birth, Celebrían had already sailed West.

She had suffered a ghastly captivity in a noisome orc-den ere her sons rescued her from its depths. Though her many wounds eventually healed, her injured spirit did not, and Elrond perforce sent her over Sea to recover from her ordeal in the hallowed land of the Valar. Her departure proved almost as devastating to her family as her initial torment. She it was who had been its fulcrum, her tender yet implacable devotion to her husband and children binding them together as powerfully as the ties of blood and name. With her loss came a loosening of those bonds, not so much from a lack of familial love, but rather from the vastly disparate methods of coping each of her loved ones undertook.

Elrond immersed himself ever deeper in his duties and responsibilities that he might vanquish his loneliness and longing even for a while. Their only daughter Arwen, on the other hand, made as much a home of Lothlórien as she did Imladris, for Galadriel provided the special closeness and affection her granddaughter had shared with Celebrían and which neither her father nor her brothers in their bereavement could spare her. The twins, however, found active expression of their anger in vengeful questing, eliminating the creatures who had struck at the very core of their family. Oft they journeyed with their Dúnedain kin and their bands of hardy Rangers.

Haldir would never forget the first time he laid eyes on the sons of Elrond as they stood before Celeborn and Galadriel, tall and proud, bowing their heads in due deference to their mother’s sire and dam.

Well into their third millennium, they made an impressive sight, clad in black and grey from their billowing cloaks to their rugged tunics and long breeches to the leather bracers on their forearms and the sturdy boots that shod their feet. Lofty of height even for Elves and broader of chest and shoulders than any of the Silvan folk, they were the handsomest beings Haldir had ever seen.

They had come to spend a season with their sister and rest themselves after many harrowing years hunting down orcs and other fell beasts. Haldir had not yet reached his majority then, but he was fortuitously chosen by Celeborn to act as his grandsons’ squire for the duration of their stay.

He was most pleased to discover that the Elf-knight could be as warm and affable with a child as he was cold and ruthless with a foe. Elladan, however, he found quite reserved, almost aloof at times, though not unfriendly. He did join Elrohir in teaching Haldir Westron, or the Common Tongue, which the Elf-lad’s own forest bred sire knew very little of.

Why Elladan felt so distant, Haldir did not comprehend. He could only surmise that the older twin was generally disinterested in his affairs and so made no attempt to go beyond his initial befriending of the Silvan youth. In contrast, Elrohir seemed the warmer and more accommodating of their young attendant’s adulation and it did not take Haldir long to become thoroughly infatuated with him.

Down through the many years, his feelings about the brethren changed little. He did not cease to be fascinated by Elladan; indeed, he hero-worshipped the older twin as much as the younger. But it was Elrohir whom he dared to entrust with his budding affection though the Elf-knight did not know it.

Shaking away the memories, Haldir resumed his perusal of the couple, his eyes gleaming as they fell on Elrohir. It was then that he became aware that he was being observed. Startled, he turned his head and met a knowing gaze. Elladan gravely regarded him, then glanced sidelong at his twin and law-brother before looking at Haldir again. At length, he shook his head and, turning away, followed his grandsire.

Haldir flushed with embarrassment and dismay. How long had Elladan been observing him? Had he seen his yearning and sorrow?

“Orophin? Do you think…?”

Orophin watched the group as they traversed the path until they finally vanished from sight. “Aye, he knows,” he said in a hushed voice.

Haldir groaned. “If he tells Elrohir, I shall never be able to show my face to him again,” he whispered.

“Elladan is no knave to spread gossip for the sport of it,” Orophin chided him. “How can you think ill of him?”

The guard flinched. “You are right,” he muttered. “‘Tis wrong of me to demean him even in thought.”

Orophin curled an arm around his shoulders. “Forgive me, brother, you are beset by disappointment and I have done naught but remind you of your loss. Come, let us visit Rúmil. I wager a spell with his rowdy brood will lift your spirits.”

* * * *

ACT II
The last evening of the twins’ visit, Celeborn held an informal feast in honor of Elrohir and Legolas. The couple would be journeying south the following spring. Legolas had been given leave by King Elessar to establish a colony of his father’s Elves in arguably the loveliest province of the restored kingdom of Gondor: bucolic, forest-rich Ithilien. Though still avowed to his brother’s service, Elrohir would aid his spouse in this endeavor, spending as much time in the south as he would in the north from hereon. It was cause for hope and rejoicing, this creation of a new elven realm in a time when it seemed that all traces of the Firstborn were doomed to fade.

Bonfires were lit in the vast glade nigh to Celeborn’s house. Abundant food and drink were passed around and music resounded in the great space as voices raised in song blended with the strains of flute and gittern in wondrous elven harmony.

Haldir sat with his brothers and their respective families around the fire farthest from the lovers, a desire neither Orophin nor Rúmil shared. After all, it was their privilege to settle themselves near Celeborn and his grandsons for gathered about them were the Elf-lord’s ranking warriors and counsellors. But out of sympathy, they accommodated Haldir even if it meant sitting apart from their parents. They understood why he had chosen thusly. Here, the Elf-knight and his love were not perpetually in his sight. Here, he did not have to bear through an evening of additional heartache.

Thus, they were startled when Elladan joined their group, settling himself down beside Orophin, across from Haldir and Rúmil. The siblings exchanged furtive glances, wondering why Elladan had forsaken his place for their company. But none felt familiar enough with him to voice their puzzlement, not even Haldir who had served as his squire in times past.

Soon, however, they saw that Elladan desired to partake of less rarified company when he engaged Orophin and his warrior spouse in lively banter. With Rúmil helping his wife attend to their lively progeny and no other Elf in near enough proximity to talk to, Haldir found himself in isolation amidst the revels. Feeling quite lonely of a sudden, he looked about, wondering if he should join the merry party to their right.

Just then, he heard laughter and realized with a start that it was Elladan’s. He looked up and saw that the older twin was looking past him, his eyes dancing with mirth. Haldir half turned around curiously to see what the Elf-lord found so humorous. He went utterly still.

Elrohir had pulled Legolas onto his lap, fingers playfully digging into his sides in apparent retaliation for some offense or other. Whatever it was the archer had said or done to merit the punishment, he now obviously repented of as he laughingly pleaded for mercy, struggling to wriggle out of the Elf-knight’s hold. But when Elrohir would not relent, Legolas twisted around, threw his arms around his mate’s neck and pulled him into a devouring kiss. The hilarity about them changed to bawdy jests and appreciative catcalls even as Elrohir promptly forgot his need for vengeance and wove his arms around his prince.

The pain in his heart increasing tenfold, Haldir turned his attention to the fire before him. He bit his lower lip to still its quivering and fought back the moisture that suddenly dimmed his vision. He felt someone lean close to him. It was Rúmil, his youngest Elfling cradled in his arms. The child was nodding off and so Rúmil carefully lowered his voice when he spoke.

“They have ceased, brother,” he murmured sympathetically.

Haldir swallowed and nodded. He defiantly blinked back his tears and looked across the fire at Orophin. But Orophin was momentarily engaged in selecting a sweet from the plate he and his spouse shared and did not see him. Haldir shifted his eyes to Elladan.

The Elf-lord was no longer laughing, but he still regarded his brother and law-brother with fond amusement. Attempting to distract himself from his heartache, Haldir studied him, unconsciously making comparisons between the twins as he had done over the centuries.

This evening, the brethren seemed so much younger than they had appeared to Haldir in many a year. Perhaps it was because they had let their midnight-hued tresses flow freely down their backs instead of weaving them into the thick single plaits of their years of errantry. Clad as simply as the Geledhil, both wore loose white shirts, sleeveless leather jerkins, buff-hued breeches and soft boots. But whereas Elrohir’s jerkin was of a dark chestnut hue, Elladan’s was a stark coal-black. It gave the older twin a distinctly raffish air.

Haldir blinked. To his confusion, bedazzlement suddenly overcame him as he continued to gaze at Elladan. As perilously beautiful as his brother, he thought. Another wave of shock washed over him at the ridiculousness of realizing this only now. The brethren were twins. Of course Elladan could not be less comely than Elrohir. So how was it that he had never truly acknowledged just how beauteous the older twin was?

He caught his breath when, without warning, Elladan looked in his direction and their eyes met across the bonfire. Elladan gazed back at him inquiringly, apparently noticing Haldir’s baffled expression. An instant later, his eyes glittered and he smiled at the warden with a warmth he had never bestowed on him before. A warmth that felt like a caress as surely as if he had reached across and ran his knuckles down Haldir’s rapidly reddening cheeks. This befuddled the young warden all the more. Elladan had always been reserved with him for all his kindness. Whence this – this feeling of connectedness tonight?

Perplexed, disconcerted, Haldir jerkily made to rise and depart. A hand on his elbow stayed him and he looked down into Rúmil’s worried countenance.

“What is wrong?” he asked, taking swift note of his brother’s strained features.

“Nothing is wrong,” Haldir tried to assure him. “I am only tired.”

Orophin had come around to his side to examine him closely. “Tired?” he anxiously scoffed. “That is most unlike you, Haldir. You are never tired.”

“There is always a first time,” Haldir replied. He looked at them beseechingly. “Please, let me go. I wish to be alone.”

The two regarded him a moment longer then finally gave in. “They are leaving tomorrow,” Rúmil quietly said. “Perhaps you will be at peace then.”

“Perhaps,” Haldir whispered. He wanly smiled at them, then got to his feet and quickly strode away.

Glânthoron’s house was set upon a large talan nestled in a tall stout tree in the northeastern section of the enclave. His married sons had made their homes in nearby trees with bridges of woven rope connecting their dwellings to their father’s tree-top halls. But Haldir had opted to build himself a separate two-chamber apartment on a smaller flet atop one of the tree’s great boughs. He still joined his parents for meals and kept them company in the evenings when he was not about doing his duty. But when he desired solitude, he would retire to his rooms whose short distance from the others’ domiciles gave him a modicum of privacy.

He paused just inside the door of his apartment. The sitting room was dimly lit by moonlight streaming in from its wide windows. Oblivious, Haldir listlessly toed off his shoes.

He bent to pick them up when, suddenly, he stiffened, sensing a presence behind him. But before he could react, a hand clasped his shoulder and he was propelled all the way inside. The door slammed shut behind him and he was whirled about and all but thrust against the wall. He stared at Elladan in shock as the taller Elf-lord loomed over him.

Elladan caught his wrists and, pulling them overhead, pinned Haldir’s hands to the wall. At the same time, he wedged a knee between the young guard’s legs, prying them apart. Outrage mingling with bewilderment, Haldir cast decorum aside.

“Have you lost your mind?” he angrily demanded. But then he gasped when a hard thigh pressed up against his crotch. He closed his eyes, desperately clinging to the tatters to which his prior calm had been abruptly reduced.

“Not at all,” came the rakish reply, which dispersed said tatters to the four winds. “But I intend to make you lose yours.”

* * * *

ACT III
Lips descended on his ere he could speak. He uttered an inarticulate cry. It proved a mistake for Elladan slipped his tongue between his parted lips and Haldir found himself locked in a kiss of such molten voracity, he almost forgot to breathe.

He had some experience. He could not have remained completely untouched after all these years. But for an Elf who had never permitted more liberties than a few kisses and the grip and fondle of needy flesh within the constraints of clothing, this was a degree of intimacy beyond anything he had ever known.

Fire raced through his very veins as his mouth was thoroughly ravished. Had anyone tasted of him as if he were a delicacy to be savored? Or mastered him with such sure authority that he could muster no reasonable defense?

He did try to struggle against his captor; to loosen the pinioning grip on his wrists. To no avail. The Peredhel lord was strong. Astonishingly so.

Prickles of fear but also unlooked for excitement smote him when Elladan lowered a hand to his collar and unfastened his shirt from neck to chest. Fingers lightly curled about his throat, sliding down caressingly afore tracing the fine ridges of his collarbone. A moan escaped him at the gentle yet sensual touch.

Elladan released his lips and gazed at him with a small smile. “Tell me to go and I will obey,” he murmured. “Otherwise, I promise you, we shall put your bed to good use this night.”

Only afterwards would Haldir understand why he acted as he did. But at that very moment, he could only wonder at himself for doing so.

He took a shuddery breath, acutely aware of how vulnerable he looked. Yet something kept him from saying the proper words and instead he heard himself whisper, “Do not go.”

Elladan’s eyes gleamed in the silver-shot dimness. “I did not think I was wrong about you,” he unexpectedly said.

He stripped Haldir there and then, every step performed with an economy of movement that bespoke his long experience in seduction. When Elladan loosened the Wood-elf’s breeches and pushed them down past his hips to slide to his ankles, Haldir braced himself against the wall, his suddenly unreliable legs threatening to give way under him. Trapping him thusly, Elladan treated him once again to a spate of scalding kisses that all but stole the breath from him and reduced him to clutching desperately at the Elf-lord’s shoulders, the leather of his jerkin creasing in the convulsive grip of Haldir’s fingers.

Haldir would swear they later moved of their own volition to the ties on the jerkin, undoing them so that he could shove the garment from Elladan’s shoulders. His palms came into contact with the warmth of flesh through thin fabric. Lucid thought gave way to primal need and he hastened to dispose of the barrier that kept skin from touching skin. In his lack of experience, he fumbled and cursed against the older twin’s lips as he worked with recalcitrant buttons and breech-laces.

He did hesitate when he felt the bulge prodding his belly, straining to escape its confines. But something egged him on and, at last, Elladan’s breeches slithered to the floor. Haldir caught his breath as hard flesh filled his hand. He gingerly, almost fearfully wrapped his fingers around the firm column. Sweet Eru, no Elf-male of intimate acquaintance had ever been so thick of girth or impressive of length!

He sharply hissed when the Elf-lord suddenly released his lips and lifted him in his arms. The change in position caused their shafts to slide against each other. Haldir parted his lips in a soundless cry, undone by the unfamiliar sensation. He clung to Elladan while the older twin bore him to the bedchamber, every stride bringing their lengths into delicious frictional contact.

He was laid on the bed and pinned down beneath Elladan’s heavier frame. Argent light coming through the bedside window washed over their bodies, imbuing them with an almost unearthly glow. Again, he was kissed to near breathlessness while his arms, flanks and hips were lazily stroked. And then the earnest mapping of his body began, Elladan slowly moving downward as he kissed and sucked and licked every inch of his flesh or so it seemed to the almost delirious Wood-elf.

The delicate tips of his ears, the sensitive line of his sleek throat, the aching peaks and surrounding plains of each dusky rose nipple, the rippled wash of his abdomen all the way to the tender flesh of his groin with its smattering of silvery curls – naught was left untasted and naught displeased the Elf-lord if his lengthy tending to each was indication of his enjoyment of Haldir’s graces.

By the time he closed his lips around the young Elf’s shaft, Haldir had long left his wits by the wayside. He no longer spoke but gasped, moaned and grunted his reactions. Before long, the wet sucking warmth wrenched from him a series of soft staccato cries that culminated in a shuddery wail when he spilled himself down Elladan’s throat.

Afterward, he could only lie in sated lethargy, watching in apprehension and anticipation as Elladan purposefully slicked his fingers with beads of his emerging seed. Haldir’s mouth went dry at the sight of the twin stroking the length of his shaft before running his fingers over its blunt tip to gather the glistening fluid. He gulped when more of the slippery cream issued forth, copious enough for the Elf-lord’s need.

Elladan leaned over him while his hand slipped between Haldir’s thighs. The Wood-elf held his breath then gasped when he felt himself partially pierced.

“You thought to save this last for him,” Elladan murmured, pressing his finger in all the way.

Haldir nodded, closing his eyes tightly as he was carefully but thoroughly probed. He winced when Elladan proceeded to stretch him, wondering how in Arda was he supposed to accommodate the Peredhel lord’s formidable shaft when mere fingers were enough to cause him discomfort.

“‘Twas for him that you kept so chaste. But now, I am here in his stead. Will you surrender yourself to me, Haldir?”

Something in Elladan’s voice compelled him to open his eyes and gaze at the Elf-lord. Elladan was regarding him with an intensity he found almost impossible to bear. But there was something more in the depths of his grey eyes. Uncertainty? Nay, there was no lack of confidence there. Deference then, Haldir comprehended. Elladan knew the warden was his for the taking, held in thrall as he was by the older twin’s beauty and skill. But he would not take what Haldir did not give with willingness unclouded by seduction or compulsion. Moved beyond words, Haldir reached up and drew Elladan down into a yielding kiss.

Smothering an imprecation born of long suppressed need now suddenly answered, Elladan withdrew his fingers and, quickly smearing his shaft with his seed, moved between Haldir’s outstretched legs. Hooking his hands behind the young Elf’s knees, he lifted his legs and urged them high around his waist. Haldir instinctively crossed his ankles then braced himself for his first breaching.

He caught his breath when he felt the initial press of Elladan’s shaft into him, opening him slowly to sensual invasion. Thick flesh slid wholly into him and he visibly winced. Ah, the stretch and burn of it was almost more than he could bear. As was the shocking intimacy of the joining of their bodies. Trembling, he gripped Elladan’s arms, acutely aware of how fulsomely the Elf-lord filled him. He had heard many a tale about how it was to be speared but no spoken word could ever have prepared him for the actual experience.

He felt the caress of lips on his temple, cheeks and mouth. Heard Elladan’s whispered assurances as they mingled with his own shuddery breathing. Gazed into searching eyes that seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

Elladan’s lips alighted upon his, coaxing them apart with a swipe and thrust of his tongue ere he once again supped of the Wood-elf’s sweetness. Keeping Haldir thus occupied, he began to push into him, shallowly at first so as not to hurt him.

Haldir gasped and instinctively sought to escape the incursive onslaught on his body. But Elladan caught him fast, firmly held his hips in place and relentlessly drove into him, stroking him within until the younger Elf was arching up into every thrust, torn between exquisite sensation and shocked disbelief at his repeated cleaving.

Elladan gave him no quarter but took from him as much as he bestowed. Enjoyed him while he plied him with bliss. Wrested from him all the pleasure his body could offer even as he strove to deliver him into ecstasy.

By now Haldir was half sobbing, unable to withstand the deluge of rapture that swept his body, overcome by the unravelling sensations in his belly. When Elladan curled his fingers around his shaft and caressed it, he nearly keened. No longer aware of anything but the wild pleasure within that was rapidly spiralling out of control, he let loose a litany of breathless pleas for Elladan to stop the wondrous insanity.

“Nay, only you can end it, my fair one,” Elladan murmured, his own voice now harsh with the need for release. “Do not fight it. Let go, Haldir.”

He broke then. Shattered into countless, tiny shards. Shuddering helplessly, Haldir spent himself in what felt like an endless stream. In the midst of his throes, he felt a gush of warmth fill him and realized with awe that Elladan had likewise come to completion and spilled himself deep within his body. Haldir’s cheeks crimsoned further at the thought of the Elf-lord leaving his seed inside him. He fought to steady his breathing, failed at first, then managed to calm down somewhat.

Lips meandered from his chest up to his throat. Haldir trembled as the salty moisture in the hollow at the base of his throat was licked off. He whimpered, surprised by the faint frisson that emanated from the caress. Surely he could not be ready for yet another coupling! Yet he did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Elladan carefully withdrew from him.

Elladan wiped away the evidence of Haldir’s spending from the warden’s chest and belly, using a corner of the rumpled blanket beneath them.

“So sweet,” the Elf-lord breathily murmured. “I should have claimed you long ago and plague take the consequences of my haste.”

“Why did you hesitate?” Haldir softly queried, a shiver of delight snaking its way up his spine.

Elladan snorted and looked at him. He raised his hand and stroked the guard’s still rosy cheek, then dropped a kiss on his nose ere brushing his lips against his mouth.

“You were so obviously in love with my brother, to have taken you then would have been little more than ravishment in your eyes,” Elladan pointed out. “Not that I would have balked at having you thusly had I thought it the only way to win you for myself. But, I preferred that you came to me willingly, even if out of a broken heart, than bear my attentions grudgingly merely because I had plucked your innocence.”

Haldir could not gainsay him. He had indeed kept himself chaste all these years in the unlikely event that Elrohir might yet look upon him with more than a mentor’s eyes. He had thought to gift this last vestige of virtue upon the Elf-knight should that dearest wish come to pass. Had Elladan seduced him then, it was indeed quite likely that he would have turned from Elrohir because he would have deemed himself sullied for his first love. At the same time, he would probably have resented Elladan for taking his dream away from him even as he dutifully warmed his bed. Aye, it would not have been wise to coerce him into a liaison not of his choosing.

He frowned. “You said, had you thought it the only way,” he commented. “Did you think me easily seduced then?”

“Certainly not,” Elladan retorted. “I know you to be constant; almost insupportably so. But I also know my brother. He cared for you but he could not love you. He was not made for you any more than you were made for him and we both knew it.”

“Both?” Haldir was aghast. “Then Elrohir knew all along of my feelings for him?”

“We are neither blind nor obtuse. Of course, he knew. And he worried about you for he did not wish to cause you hurt. But I told him I would prefer that he did break your heart. For then you would seek comfort and I would be there to give it to you.”

“How confident of you!” Haldir exclaimed, not sure whether to be admiring or reproving.

Elladan chuckled. “Nay, had we not been twins and I not his mirror image, I would not have been so sure of the outcome. But…” Elladan ran a fingertip along Haldir’s lips, grinning when the Elf reflexively sucked it. “…I was fairly certain you would be tempted by the idea of intimacy with one who bore so close a resemblance to him, you would be able to pretend that ‘twas he who held you in his arms and filled you to bursting.”

Haldir stared at him. “I did not—” he began. “I swear, I would never use anyone thusly!” he blurted out. “Least of all you, Elladan.”

“Nay? Then why did you yield to me this eve if not to assuage your yearning for him?” Elladan asked a tad skeptically.

“There is that,” Haldir honestly admitted. “But ‘twas also because…” He hesitated, abashed. “When I saw how you looked in the firelight, ‘twas as if I had never seen you before and yet… and yet I did know you well and worshipped you. Methinks I dwelt so much on your differences from him that I failed to see your similarities and – thus denied that I could want you as much as I did your brother.”

He stopped, astonished at this sudden insight into his own feelings. Guilt swiftly followed on the heels of his discovery.

He had judged Elladan according to his limited understanding of the twins’ roles in their valley realm. He had failed to consider that, as Elrond’s heir, Elladan could not be alike to Elrohir in all ways. It was not to his brother alone that Haldir should have compared the older twin but also to their grandsire and father. Only now had it occurred to him that Elladan comported himself much as they, while Elrohir had emulated the Elf he had seconded for much of his adult life. This was Glorfindel – formerly of the House of the Golden Flower in ancient Gondolin and reborn captain of Rivendell’s forces – who, upon his return to Middle-earth, had shed the somewhat dispassionate demeanor of one who ruled others, be they of a noble house, a sovereign community or a great realm.

Shamed, Haldir averted his eyes. “Forgive me,” he mumbled.

“For what?” Elladan said, drawing him into his arms. “You acted on what you perceived of us. There is nothing wrong with that. If I must chide you, it would be for hurting yourself for so long, pining for someone who had never shown you more than platonic affection and thus blinding yourself to those who would have given you what he could not. But I am not angered nor do I think less of you for it. I will be offended, however, if you do not offer me the same single-minded devotion you gave Elrohir. He had too much of it as it was, between you and Legolas. I confess that made me rather envious.”

Before he could say another word, he found himself on his back with an amorous Wood-elf atop him, kissing him almost insensible. A swath of silver curtained their faces and Elladan breathed in Haldir’s intoxicating scent. Wild and woodsy with just a touch of the fragrant blooms that gave the forests their color. His lust awakened once again and he wrapped his arms around Haldir’s slender frame, lifting his hips so that their groins met and his love might feel the evidence of his resurgent need.

Haldir groaned and pressed himself more closely against Elladan. At length, he broke their kiss and gazed down at him, eyes glistening and hooded with desire.

Elladan huskily chuckled. “May I presume that there is no longer cause for envy?”

Haldir nodded, a smile curving his mouth. “No cause at all,” he whispered. “You have plucked more than my innocence, my lord.”

“Oh? And what else did I pluck?” Elladan murmured, raising his head to nibble at the pale flesh of Haldir’s throat.

“My heart,” Haldir moaned.

He heard a low growl. He shivered with anticipation as he was rolled over, Elladan wedged between his thighs.

“Such a bountiful harvest I have reaped after the long drought,” Elladan silkily said. “And now, at last, I shall feast until my hunger is glutted. Ready yourself, beloved, for I refuse to waste this night in slumber.”

He allowed Haldir no further speech as he made good his claim and bent to partake once more of the spoils of his labors.

* * * *

EPILOGUE
Glânthoron and his family gathered in the vast clearing where, little more than a year ago, they had gathered around the bonfires of a celebration feting one newly wedded couple. Now, they would say their goodbyes to yet another lately married pair.

The Elf-captain smiled somewhat crookedly as his weeping wife embraced their eldest son. No longer would Haldir call Lórien home nor any other woods. Not even when he sailed West would he long abide in the heart of a forest. For he was bound to an Elf whose forefathers had built majestic halls of stone and great vessels that plied the waters of Arda.

Glânthoron gave Haldir his blessings, his pride in him shining brightly in his ageless eyes. Rúmil and Orophin also bade their brother farewell, catching him in fierce hugs, grinning even as they fought to keep their tears from spilling. Quite teary-eyed himself, Haldir glanced at his mate as he came up beside him.

“‘Tis time,” Elladan softly said. Behind him, Elrohir and Legolas waited, already astride their horses.

Haldir nodded then stepped before Celeborn. He bowed to him in liege obeisance one last time. Henceforth, his lord would be the noble Peredhel who had claimed him in wedlock.

He turned to Elladan and said: “I am ready.”

They mounted their steeds. With a final smile at his family, Haldir followed Elladan out of the glade.

As they travelled the wide tree-shaded path to the forest edge, he looked about him, committing every leaf and stone and blossom to memory. For the second time in his life, he was quitting one home to build a new one. Only this time, he would build it not with the family he had been born into but with the one he had chosen to join himself to.

He glanced down at his right hand where a gold band gleamed on his forefinger. Haldir smiled at the insignia inscribed on it, attesting to his station as the lawfully wedded mate of Elrond’s older son. Of Elladan, his gallant Lord of Imladris.

FINIS

********************

Glossary:
flet (also talan) – tree-top platform upon which the Elves of Lothlórien built their homes
mellyrn (also mallorn-trees) – the gold-crowned, grey-barked trees of Lothlórien found nowhere else in Middle-earth
Eryn Lasgalen – Wood of Greenleaves; Mirkwood’s name after the War of the Ring
Galadhel (pl. Geledhil) – Tree-Elf; a Silvan Elf of Lothlórien
Galadhrim – Tree-people; another name for the Geledhil
Moria - the Elves’ name for the Dwarven realm of Khazad-dûm after the Dwarves abandoned it
gittern – lute-like stringed instrument

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #27: Quandary

2007-12-10T09:56:05Z

Title: Quandary
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elrohir, Legolas, Elladan, Eldacar
Prompt: 091. Birthday
Word Count: 1664
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: The twins come of age at last and a long awaited promise nears fulfillment. Part 17 of Prior Claim.
Author’s Note: Upon looking back at the first chapters of Prior Claim, I realized I computed the twins’ elven ages incorrectly, making them much younger at the start of the story than I intended. I’ve made the necessary corrections with regard to dates and mentions of the passage of time but, rest assured, nothing else was changed.

Quandary
Imladris, Yavannië T.A. 189
The twins’ fiftieth begetting day dawned on a valley rife with the anticipation of revelry and joy. Two ages of the world had gone by since the last majority celebration of a scion of the lines of the Elvenkings of old: venerable Elu Thingol of Doriath, sage Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, and valiant Turgon of Gondolin. Was it any wonder that all elvendom and members of the House of Elros had marked the day’s significance?

The Last Homely House teemed with representatives from every extant elven realm left in Middle-earth as well as the Peredhil’s royal kin of Arnor. King Valandil himself had come, as had his wife and children foremost of whom was the heir apparent, Prince Eldacar. They mingled with Círdan of the Havens and a number of his mariners, Amroth of Lothlórien and many folk of the Wandering Companies led by Gildor Inglorion. Of even more import to the brethren was the presence of their mother’s parents Celeborn and Galadriel of whom they were very fond but did not see as often as they desired.

But no delegate from the woodland realm of Eryn Galen had yet arrived and this was cause for concern for at least one twin. Though he was savvy enough not to reveal said concern when in the presence of others outside of his family, there was no denying that Elrohir was not in the highest of spirits for so momentous an event.

Given the reason for the day’s excitement, most of the conversations centered on the festivities planned for the evening and abated little when the bells chimed to summon everyone to the midday meal. Celebrian’s impeccably beautiful garden was being turned into a veritable wonderland of torch-lit pathways, lantern-hung spaces and garlanded pavilions, tables and benches. The meats for the feast were already slowly cooking on their spits, their delectable aromas discernable to any who ventured near the outdoor pits by the kitchens. And every minstrel in residence had composed at least one song each with which to serenade the celebrants and their guests through the night.

Elladan and Elrohir found themselves at table with their royal kinsfolk. Valandil and his queen sat with Elrond and his wife and law-parents, their discussion covering a wide range of topics from the sublime to the mundane. The twins, on the other hand, were grouped with the Dúnedain princes and princesses. Glorfindel and Erestor prudently joined them to guide or temper any exchanges should the need arise.

By meal’s end, Elladan was embroiled in a debate regarding the not always aboveboard politicking at the Arnorian court. Not so Elrohir who faced a crown prince whose interest at the moment lay more in the twins’ upcoming majority celebration than in the goings-on of his father’s kingdom.

“I have heard that you hold in your treasury the original trysting cup of the royal house of Númenor,” he assayed.

“We do,” Elrohir replied. “Elendil spirited it away along with other ancient treasures when the Faithful forsook Armenelos and withdrew to Rómenna. He shared his father’s fear that calamity would overtake Númenor before too long and hoped to preserve something of his family’s heritage.”

“I have oft wondered how he managed so audacious a theft of royal property,” Eldacar mused.

“Ar-Pharazôn was not alone in employing spies to ferret out the secrets of the Elendili," Elrohir pointed out. "Lord Amandil also had agents sown amongst the royal household even unto the ranks of the King’s Men. They aided Elendil in his venture."

Eldacar considered the information with a small smile. “Strange that my foresire shared that story with your father yet kept it from his own sons.”

Elrohir grinned. “Perhaps he did not wish to encourage them to embark on a similar course of noble-minded thievery,” he suggested.

The prince snorted. “Little good did his secrecy do him then, considering that my grandfather dared to sneak into the courts of Armenelos and steal a fruit off Nimloth’s branches!”

They both laughed at this evidence of the reckless streak Elendil and Isildur had apparently shared.

“I have also heard that your father expects you and your brother to carry out our first night rite this eve,” Eldacar continued after their mirth subsided. “Is this truth or mere rumor?”

Elrohir shook his head. “Father does not expect it of us,” he clarified. “He only gave us the option to observe it if we are so inclined.”

“And are you?” Eldacar quizzed him. “Or perhaps, more to the point, can you?” At Elrohir’s perplexed expression, he added: “Forgive me if I am being too forward for your taste, but I noticed a dearth of eligible Elf-females amongst this assemblage. I wondered if there were any for you to choose from that I have simply not marked.”

“You are correct, there are none amongst our women who are free for such a purpose,” Elrohir said. “But the same cannot be said for the male-folk and we are free to choose from their ranks if we wish.”

“Then you are so inclined,” the prince remarked. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop, eyes alight with interest.

Elrohir hesitated, unsure whether Eldacar was referring to his proclivity for the male of the species or his perceived desire to observe the rite. He opted for the latter though the former was not at all improbable. After all, the Dúnedain had no prejudices with regard to like gender relations so long as they did not get in the way of siring progeny and the perpetuation of their race.

“Elladan is not,” he said. “He deems himself still unready for bodily intimacy. But even were he not, he would still balk at the public nature of it all.”

“But what of you?” Eldacar queried. “Are you opposed to our ancient tradition?”

“I am not opposed to it.”

“Then you are of a mind to observe it this eve?”

Elrohir shrugged. “If my choice desires it as well.”

“Desires it?” the prince repeated in puzzlement. “What does that have to do with a royal prerogative? One need only be willing to do one’s duty. Indeed, ‘tis unheard of to spurn a prince’s suit. To be chosen is counted a great honor amongst us and there are not a few who do not leave the matter to chance but actively pursue it.”

The bald assertion reduced Elrohir to momentary muteness. Aware of the younger twin’s slight disconcertment, Erestor smoothly intervened from beside the prince. “‘Tis a great honor indeed, Highness,” he agreed. “But it is not our way for the simple reason that we were made to relinquish life should we be forced into unwanted intimacy.”

“Ah, but of course,” Eldacar conceded. “Yet I cannot conceive of anyone refusing to take first night rites with one as beauteous as my kinsman here.” Before Erestor could respond, he looked at Elrohir and added with a smile, “If there are none among your folk who are willing, rest assured you need not choose from them alone.”

Elrohir caught his breath at the tacit invitation to look to the Dúnedain for his partner. It seemed he had implied that anybody would do so long as he or she did not object. About to amend Eldacar’s assumption, he realized the prince was regarding him with much more than mere admiration. Nay, Eldacar was not suggesting that Elrohir pick from among the Men of Arnor. Rather he was offering his own services. Elrohir found himself at a loss for words.

He had expected speculation about his and Elladan’s plans for the night. But not once had he thought that anyone would actually make an overture. He regarded his royal kinsman with equal parts astonishment and curiosity.

The Man was handsome, that went without saying. He had also likely experienced more than his fair share of bedding innocents. And he certainly was no laggard in seduction. Even now, he was exerting the subtlest of pressure, allowing Elrohir to see how much he appreciated his charms and making it quite clear that he would not mind being the Elf-knight’s choice of companion for the night. Elrohir would have had to be made of stone not to react in some way to the subtle importuning. His cheeks heated up with the beginnings of a full-blown blush.

Eldacar shook his head. “By Eru, you could tempt the Powers themselves, cousin,” he huskily remarked. “All the more do I hope that you will permit me to guide you this eve.”

The implication of his statement could not be mistaken. Dismayed, Elrohir glanced at Erestor for help. But the counsellor slightly shook his head. As Eldacar’s suggestion had been directly addressed to him, Elrohir would have to respond to it himself.

“There is always the chance I will prove too craven to actually carry it out,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I do not care to blunder my way through the rite in front of everyone.”

Eldacar chuckled. “Oh, you need not follow every step to the last exact detail,” he replied, his smile widening. “‘Tis the intent that counts. All else can be subject to interpretation.”

Elrohir stifled a sigh. His attempt at ambiguity had been taken as affirmation instead. Anxious not to embarrass either Eldacar or himself, he floundered for a diplomatic reply.

“It will be interesting to see how you carry out your interpretation of the rite then.”

For a moment, Elrohir thought his heart would stop. Even did he not know that voice, he would have identified the speaker from his scent alone. He swiftly rose to his feet, turning as he did, mouth curving into a delighted smile.

“You are here at last!” he softly exclaimed.

Legolas’ eyes swept over him in swift appraisal. But his questioning glance at the Arnorian prince alerted Elrohir to the fact that he had overheard their exchange even before the archer dryly voiced it.

“And not a moment too soon it seems.”

********************************
Glossary:
Yavannië – ninth month of the year; approximately the period between 22 August and 20 September
Armenelos – capital city of Númenor
Rómenna – city in the east of Númenor where the Elendili were forced to reside
Elendili – ‘Elf-friends’; also known as the Faithful, the party of Númenoreans who opposed the severance of relations with the Eldar and rebellion against the Valar
Ar-Pharazôn – last king of Númenor whose attempt to invade Valinor led to the destruction of the Land of the Star
Nimloth – the White Tree in the Courts of Armenelos that was descended from Galathilion, the White Tree of Tirion in Eldamar

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #26: Answers

2007-12-02T01:18:25Z

Title: Answers
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elrohir, Elladan, Legolas
Prompt: 072. Fixed
Word Count: 2623
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: The resumption of Elrohir’s trust in Legolas hangs in the balance. Part 16 of Prior Claim.

Answers
Imladris
The twins were on their way back to their quarters after archery practice when the retainer found them.

“Your messenger hawk has arrived bearing a letter,” he said to Elrohir. “But the falconers cannot approach it for a strange falcon guards it and refuses to let them near.”

The brethren glanced at each other in puzzlement. “Guards it?” Elrohir repeated as he and Elladan switched directions and headed for the mews instead. “How so?”

“It threatens to attack whenever they try to get close to the haggard,” the Elf explained. “Not even Herion managed to appease it.”

That was news indeed that any bird of prey should resist Elrond’s head falconer. The twins quickened their strides.

The mews were located behind the house, separated by a patch of lawn. But Elladan and Elrohir discovered that there was no need to enter the small building that housed their family’s winged hunters. The haggard and its protective companion were perched on the boundary fence of the weathering yard beside the mews. Herion and his assistants were gathered in the yard, keeping a decent distance from the birds. There was a ragged tear in the head falconer’s sleeve.

Elrohir peered at the smaller raptor, a frown creasing his brow. “Where have I seen this falcon before?” he muttered. A moment later, he caught his breath and gasped: “Elbereth! It is Legolas’ hunting bird!”

Elladan stared at him. “Are you sure?” he asked, glancing at the brown-feathered creature.

“Very sure,” Elrohir said. He began to walk toward the pair.

Herion caught him by the shoulder. “Be careful, young master,” he cautioned. “It can do you great injury.”

“It will not hurt me,” Elrohir assured him.

He lifted his hand to the falcon invitingly. To the others’ amazement, the bird flew straightly to him and almost daintily landed on his forearm, talons only loosely gripping him to keep from injuring his unprotected arm.

“It has been long since we last met, my friend,” Elrohir soothingly murmured to the creature. It responded by bating its feathers lightly then settling comfortably once more. Elrohir smiled and said, “What does your cousin bear that Legolas deemed in need of your vigilance?”

As he spoke, he walked to the haggard. Allowing the falcon to perch once more on the fence, he removed the message case from the hawk’s leg. The falcon made nary a move or sound of protest.

Elrohir motioned to Herion to come closer. When the Elf warily approached, he said: “Take good care of them. And do not fear. This one will not harm you now that its mission is done.”

Having seen to the birds’ care, he hastened back to his room, pulling Elladan along. The older twin looked at him curiously, noting his pensive expression.

“Are you certain you wish for me to know what he has to say?” he asked. “You did not even want to tell me what Beldulus claimed for fear of prejudicing me against Legolas.”

“I am certain,” Elrohir answered. “If his reply disappoints me, I will have need of your comfort. But if it does not, then I would have you know soonest that you may discard whatever hard feelings you nurse against him.”

Elladan sighed as they entered his brother’s room. “It will not be so simple as that,” he said. “You were hurt due to his failure to tell you what he was about. The reason for his silence will have to be very good indeed!”

Elrohir beamed gratefully at him. He got into his bed and scooted up to lean against the headboard. Elladan sat facing him, legs folded and arms resting on them. He waited expectantly as his twin unsealed the case and took out the missive within. The crackling sound of crisp parchment being unfolded seemed loud in the silent chamber. Elrohir glanced at his twin ere he began to read the letter.

My Elrohir,

You are doubtless surprised by the manner of this letter’s delivery. It was to ensure that you alone would receive it for there is much I have to say that would cause no small amount of trouble for us were the wrong folk to know of it. Not that I would permit anyone to bar my way but I did not wish to expose you to the petty machinations of those who fear to lose their places in my father’s kingdom.

Ere I begin, I must apologize for hurting you. I did not realize until late that my reticence was doing you more harm than good. But know my intentions were otherwise. I longed to spare you the sordid details of the ill will of a benighted few against you, as well as maintain the secrecy of our pact. Unfortunately, I tend to be incautious when I set my thoughts down on paper, a failing my father knows of and for which reason he refrains from having me execute documents that require utmost discretion.

Elrohir looked up at Elladan, his surprise mirrored in his brother’s face. He shook his head and continued reading.

Beldulus was not supposed to be part of the delegation. I drew up the list of who would go and chose only Elves who are loyal to me and, therefore, predisposed to be amiable toward you. But I left on an extended tour of our outposts that kept me away for nigh two months and, in that time, Father decided to include Beldulus in the party in the hope that, by spending a length of time under your sire’s rule, he would learn to be less insular in his ways. I only discovered this change when I returned and read your letter.

It is indeed the talk in my father’s court that my kindness to you is no more than a ploy to gain your affection and thus win your trust enough to demand the privilege of deflowering you. I have not refuted this and I confess to you now that it was I who instigated the rumor and allowed it to spread.

Elrohir could not help faltering to a stop at this point. He lowered his head and bit his suddenly trembling lip, feeling as if his heart would burst. He vaguely felt Elladan's hand on his knee, gripping it tightly. Swallowing hard, he raised his head and gazed beseechingly at his twin, seeking the courage to continue.

“Surely he had good reason,” Elladan murmured.

Elrohir nodded and forced himself to continue.

My demeanor toward you was never a ploy, my Elf-knight. But the rumor I spread is. I think you have guessed that the Silvan nobles had hoped to secure their place through a union between me and one of theirs, an ambition they had all but deemed realized since there are no eligible Elves amongst our Sindarin populace. Needless to say, our friendship threatened that hope and they did not hesitate to make their displeasure known.

Father does not fear a popular uprising against us for the common folk love and respect him and he has always had their full support. But any dissent can be perilous to us as a whole. The Elves of this realm have survived through the years because of their gallant hearts and nigh unbreakable solidarity. Discontent and frustration amongst their numbers however minimal can endanger us in that they can breed grudges and less than noble intentions. Even treacherous ones. Father and I can contain any mischief ere it becomes a menace to the kingdom. But to even have to do so would expose the presence of a rift at court and that in turn would serve to demoralize the others. Neither of us cares to test our people in sudden adversity when their mettle has been compromised even the least bit.

I thought it best to divert them from examining my interest in you too closely and at the same time salve something of their pride which took a blow when I paid more attention to you than they have ever seen me lavish on any of their own children. Most have since taken collective pride in the notion of a mere Wood-elf plucking the innocence of one of Elrond’s sons. A very few are not so easily convinced and are no doubt responsible for the occasional attempts to tamper with our missives. However, my caution was not due to fear that they would succeed in gaining access to our correspondence.

Foolish as it may sound, I kept my silence because I did not want your regard for me to suffer. I feared you would be disillusioned with me once you learned how capable I am of skullduggery when in pursuit of a desire and disgusted as well by the sordid effects of my scheme. I could not bear the thought that you might dispense with our friendship forthwith, not to mention rescind your request due to the current circumstances.

I cannot lie. I have avidly looked forward to that day since you made your request of me. But it was never the claiming of your first bedding alone that mattered. I saw it as another means to bind you closer to me. For so intimate an act, when undertaken with another dear to one’s heart, becomes the outward expression of that affection rather than a mere coupling of bodies.

Elrohir halted once more, the frank mention of what could come of his request causing a funny flutter in the pit of his stomach. He glanced with some embarrassment at Elladan but his brother smiled understandingly and gestured to him to continue.

Dearest one, you did not make your request with the fulfillment of an arcane ritual or the expansion of your education in mind, but because you trusted that I would see you through that event with all the care, affection and respect you deserve. I pray that trust has not been shaken and that you will still welcome me into your presence come your majority. I promise you, I will see to your needs to the utmost of my abilities and mayhap win myself more than a first taste of your graces.

Again, I ask your forgiveness and fervently hope that I may still deem you my own Elrohir.

At your service,
Legolas

Elladan stifled a chuckle at the sight of his brother’s crimson cheeks. He wondered if Elrohir now regretted sharing Legolas’ letter with him. For there was no denying that the Elf-knight had just received his first real love letter.

“Now that is what I call an explanation,” he finally quipped. “Are you appeased, brother?”

Elrohir looked at him, eyes shining in elation though his cheeks continued to burn. “And you?” he countered.

Elladan smirked. “‘Tis what you think that matters,” he said. “But, yea, I am. And obviously, so are you.” He regarded his twin as the latter dropped his eyes to the letter once more. Savoring ever word written in Legolas’ bold hand no doubt. “He feared you would be put off by his scheme. I assume you are not.”

The younger twin shook his head. “I am dismayed that he thought me so quick to judge him that he did not apprise me of it. But then, last he saw us, we were only mere lads and still quite sheltered. Small wonder he worried that I might not understand.”

Elladan snorted humorously. “And you are just as quick to defend him,” he teased.

Elrohir almost stuck his tongue out at him then thought better of it and nudged his brother’s leg with his foot instead. He rose from the bed and headed for his writing desk. Elladan rolled his eyes and got to his feet as well.

“Really, Elrohir, I am sure Legolas will not mind waiting a few days for your reply,” he pointed out.

“But I cannot wait a few days to make it,” Elrohir replied as he seated himself at the table. He half turned to look at Elladan. “Thank you for staying by me through this,” he said. “I would have been lost without your company.”

“Which you do not need at the moment,” Elladan retorted good-naturedly. He strolled to the door. “Give my regards to Legolas. But warn him that he had better behave himself if he hopes to be of any use to you.”

Elrohir laughed softly as his brother departed. He turned back to the desk and took out a sheet of parchment. Before long, the sharp scent of ink permeated the air.

**********
Elladan sends you his regards. But he also instructed me to tell you to behave yourself if you hope to be of any use to me. Those were his exact words and I suggest you heed them for Elladan is not one to make idle threats.

Legolas chuckled ruefully at the warning. Reserved, ever politic Elladan could be most acerbic and blunt when it came to ensuring his brother’s well-being. He sighed and went on reading.

Elrohir’s letter had begun with his customary recounting of events in Imladris, including news of the woodland party’s activities thus far, as well as his and Elladan’s latest accomplishments under Erestor and Glorfindel’s guidance. He referred to Legolas’ explanation briefly, saying only that he regretted their lengthy separation and that he understood the archer’s reasons for acting as he had.

Legolas would have liked a more explicit declaration of forgiveness but appreciated Elrohir’s caution nonetheless. After all, if there were any who would take inordinate interest in their communications, they were here in Eryn Galen. Best not to take the chance, however unlikely, that some fool of an Elf might force the letter case open and discover the truth of their relationship.

Coming to the last paragraph, however, he suddenly sat up straight. He all but held his breath as he carefully read the passage.

With regard to your inquiry, I would indeed appreciate it were you to instruct me until I have learned my lessons well. I hope that your difficulties will be resolved to your satisfaction soonest that I may partake of your able tutelage once again.

May the light of blessed Elbereth shine upon you always.

Yours truly,
Elrohir

Legolas blew his breath out. He leaned back in his chair and, closing his eyes, took a moment to enjoy his relief. There was no need for a more overt expression of forgiveness. The Elf-knight’s discreet affirmation of their pact said everything. After a while, he read the letter once more, relishing the renewed sense of closeness his opening up to Elrohir had fostered.

As he read, an image of Elrohir unfolded in his mind. He saw the young Elf-knight he remembered as the adult he would surely become: perilously beautiful of countenance, inordinately tall as the Elves and just as lean of frame, yet possessed of a solidity that could only serve to imbue him with an allure that was singularly Peredhil. Legolas’ intermittent pangs of craving bloomed into an aching lust to have that glorious form spread beneath him, yielding to the archer with all the sweet wantonness of an innocent learning the ways of the flesh.

He wryly smiled as he considered that his scheme was not altogether a ruse. That Elrohir’s virtue was his for the taking had not been entirely due to the younger twin’s wishes alone. Legolas could not deny to himself that he had encouraged Elrohir’s infatuation or that he had engaged in a long-drawn, subtle seduction of Elrond’s son.

But as he had earlier declared, the claiming of Elrohir’s innocence alone was not enough for him. Verily, it could never be enough once he had been bewitched, as his father asserted, by the considerable charms of Rivendell's incomparable Elf-knight.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

JRR Tolkien – The Sons of Elrond, Fic #25: Misstep

2007-11-21T09:39:55Z

Title: Misstep
Author: Eressë
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Legolas, Thranduil, Elrohir
Prompt: 087. Life
Word Count: 1756
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them.
Summary: When it comes to matters of the heart, even a seasoned warrior prince can make erroneous choices. Part 15 of Prior Claim.

Misstep
Eryn Galen
Legolas swore under his breath several times as he read the newly come letter.

Only lately arrived after nigh eight weeks away making the rounds of the woodland realm’s outposts on its northern, western and southern bounds followed by a patrol of the eastern borders as he and his band made their way back to the Wood-elves’ kingdom, he was more than ready for a leisurely afternoon. But hardly had he emerged from a much longed for bath when someone knocked on his door. It was one of his personal attendants bearing the messenger haggard through which he dispatched letters to Imladris.

He’d been delighted to receive a letter from Elrohir right on the heels of his return to his father’s halls. So much so that he did not take umbrage at the signs of tampering with the letter case, something which, in times past, had so befouled his mood that Elves scurried out of his way else they found themselves on the receiving end of one of his rare but fearsome outbursts.

The case was tied shut and only one who knew how to "speak" to the slender lacing about it could undo the knot instead of hopelessly tangling it. In the very unlikely event that someone did manage the feat, tying it up again was another matter. For again, only one who knew how could properly seal the case. Either way, there could be no hiding an attempt to gain unlawful access to royal communications.

The case was part of a set gifted on his father and him by their kinsman Celeborn and his Noldorin wife Galadriel upon Thranduil’s assumption of the woodland throne. Thranduil had asserted that it was likely Galadriel’s idea, claiming that only a Noldo could take joy in such deviousness.

But said deviousness had served Legolas well since the young Elf-knight’s visit to Greenwood the Great. He had taught Elrohir how to use the case ere he returned home to ensure their exchanges remained secure and private. He did not discount the idea of ambition and resentment driving someone to the point of no longer caring whether or not he was caught tampering with correspondence not his. But neither was he about to make it easy for potential malfeasants.

Hastily yanking on a shirt and breeches, he stalked out of his room and headed for his father’s study. The mere sight of his black expression was enough to ensure that the corridors he passed swiftly emptied of Elves. He burst in on Thranduil who was in the middle of a discussion with the palace butler. Galion knew his prince well enough to perceive what Legolas wanted without saying it. He took leave of Thranduil and left.

Thranduil frowned. Legolas was obviously in a stew over something. A dangerously simmering stew.

“What has you in such a state?” he inquired, eyeing his son curiously.

“How did Beldulus come to be part of the delegation to Imladris?” Legolas demanded, surprising his father with his vehemence. “I drew up the list of who would go, as you commanded me, and he was not on it.”

“He was not,” Thranduil agreed. “But after you left, it occurred to me that Beldulus is much too insular for his own good and that he would benefit from a spell in a foreign realm under another Elf’s rule.”

Legolas’ scowl deepened. “I wish you had informed me of your decision, Father. I had my reasons for keeping Beldulus and others of his ilk here.”

“Such as?”

Legolas shoved something at him so closely, the king had to pull back his head to see what it was that had nearly collided with his nose. With a frown, he took the piece of parchment from his son and unfolded it. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he read the letter’s contents.

Greetings, Legolas.

I noticed that you have been quite sparing with your last communications. I had hoped this was only due to your many obligations and that neither you nor your sire have been beset by troubles. But something has come to my attention that has cast another light on your reticence with me.

Elrohir went on to recount his unfortunate encounter with Beldulus. He did so in a straightforward manner but with a sparse eloquence even the Elvenking’s most diplomatically-inclined scribes would be hard-pressed to match. Definitely a son of Elrond, Thranduil thought with grudging admiration.

The youth refrained from florid language yet his hurt and bewilderment came across in every elegantly worded sentence. It was clear he harbored fears of less than respectful usage and desired clarity with regard to Legolas’ intentions. But so politely articulate was his letter that no word of reproach or demand was there to be read. By the time he was done reading, Thranduil’s esteem for the young Peredhel had risen considerably. As had his opinion of the Elf-knight’s suitability as partner to a forest prince.

Thranduil looked up at his son when he was through. “You never apprised him of your plan?” he said a little incredulously. At Legolas’ part angry, part sheepish confirmation, he asked: “Why?”

The archer shook his head, spreading his hands in what appeared to be a gesture of helplessness. “When he bade me farewell last we parted, he reiterated his trust in me,” he said. “And also his belief in my kindness and nobility. I could not bring myself to besmirch his vision of me by revealing how capable I am of deception and underhanded dealings.”

The king regarded him with some astonishment ere glancing at the missive once more. “And your ‘reticence’? Why did you turn miserly in your correspondence with him?”

Legolas sighed. “For the same reason. There was always a chance I would reveal however unwittingly what I was about. You know that has always been a failing of mine and your main reason for never entrusting crafty correspondence to me.” He hesitated then added: “I think you should know, there were attempts to unseal Elrohir’s first letters to me after his visit here.”

Thranduil’s baleful mien bespoke his anger at the thought of any Wood-elf sinking so low. “The bindings on our letter cases resist tampering. Whatever else I might think of them, the Noldor are masters of such devices," he pointed out. "There is naught for you to fear from that quarter. Nor from Elrohir were you to inform him of your deception.”

Legolas ran his fingers through his hair a tad agitatedly. “And if he disapproves?” he questioned. “Or thinks me a lecherous rogue and chooses to break off ties with me? What then?”

The king was rendered speechless for a space by his son’s uncharacteristic lack of self-assurance. Not to mention his tortuous reasoning.

“Legolas, your Elf-knight will understand that what you do is but a mere ploy,” Thranduil reasoned. “I hardly think he would deem you a cad for weaving an illusion to throw others off your trail. And even if his admiration for you falters somewhat, surely your repute can withstand a little tarnishing.””

“‘Tis not my repute I wish to protect but his innocence,” Legolas demurred.

Thranduil stared at him. “You speak as if he were still the lad you last saw,” he said. “Yet in two years, that innocence you speak of will be much reduced and by no less than your very own self!”

Seeing Legolas’ stunned expression, the Elvenking sighed and rubbed his brow in some exasperation. “‘Tis a mark of your regard for him that you are so careful with him even to the point of absurdity. And yet, in your desire not to hurt him, you have actually helped bring it about.”

Legolas had recovered his composure but not his former confidence. “So I have,” he ruefully murmured. “Ah, what is wrong with me? I have never been craven even in the direst of times.”

“Nor have you ever given your heart before,” his father said. “Verily, you have allowed your feelings about someone to muddle your judgment,” he wryly remarked. “Nonetheless, I must point out that you do Elrohir a disservice by treating him as if he were still a child in need of sheltering. He is a scion of the House of the Mariner and Elrond’s son. ‘Tis guidance you should render him, not coddling. You cannot always protect him from life’s difficulties, but you can help him learn to protect himself.”

Silence was his answer. For the longest while, Legolas stared at him, his eyes betraying a riotous mix of emotions. It was apparent that his attachment to Elrohir was far greater than even Legolas himself had realized for him to have allowed his feelings to get the better of his reason. For the first time in all his long years.

He wondered if young Elladan’s suitor had also been similarly stricken. Oh yes, Thranduil had not missed the possessive scrutiny that had followed the older twin about either, carefully veiled though it had been. It seemed Elrond had sired a pair of spellbinders.

“Beguilement is an egregious understatement,” he muttered in resignation. “More like bewitchment.”

Legolas heard and wanly smiled. “It would seem so, given the extent to which I have willingly permitted myself to be driven to secure my claim on him.” He regarded his father musingly. “Have you ever regretted sending me to Imladris that summer?”

Thranduil snorted. “You would have met him sooner or later and I doubt the outcome would have been any different. He draws you as no other has. And you likely owned him from your first words onward.” He handed the letter back to Legolas. “Speaking of words, you had best set some down in writing and soonest. It would be the height of folly to lose what you have thus far gained for lack of a proper reply. And that I cannot accept from an Elf of our House!”

Thanking his sire for his counsel, Legolas returned to his quarters. Sitting himself at his writing desk, he read Elrohir’s letter once more. For a long while, he thought about what he could say to assuage the youth’s hurt.

The time for dissimulation was over. Indeed, there had never been a need for it save in his own misguided imaginings. He hoped Elrohir would understand his reasons and forgive him for the confusion and anxiety his silence has caused him.

He picked up a quill, sharpened its tip and dipped it into the inkwell. With the Elf-knight’s fair countenance in mind, he began to write.

Table of Prompts & Story Links

Done and delivered

2007-11-15T11:24:16Z

After reading everyone else’s woes about writing their Slashy Santa fics, is it very wrong of me to feel like preening myself on finishing and submitting mine within two weeks of receiving my assignment?

At the same time, I’ve got first-time jitters since I’ve never joined a fic swap before. I’m curious about whose request I got, hoping that s/he will like what I wrote and terribly nervous that s/he won’t. Likewise, I’m wondering who got my request and what the story that comes of it will be like. I am certain, however, that I will enjoy whatever comes my way even if it doesn’t exactly meet my expectations, simply because it will be both a surprise and a gift born of someone’s creativity. How can anyone not appreciate that?

In any case, the best of luck to everyone. I'm looking forward to the windfall of fics this challenge is going to produce.