Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5831 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 1
- 2
Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Pairings: Elladan/OMC, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas (implied)

Rating: R

Disclaimer: All the Elves belong to Professor Tolkien whose works have never ceased to enthrall me from the day I read the first volume of LoTR.

Summary: The twins seem destined to find their heart’s choices in Mirkwood but the paths they take widely differ.

The Choices We Must Make

Part I

Mirkwood, Gwaeron TA 2776

The appearance of two cloaked riders on the western bound of Mirkwood elicited little enthusiasm and much suspicion from the sentries who guarded the borders. That is, until one of the riders let down his cowl and revealed a head of raven hair and a countenance of uncommon comeliness even amongst the Elves. It was enough to send the sentries into a flurry of hasty action. There was no time to waste. The king had to be appraised of the imminent arrival of two such eminent guests.

While one warrior hurried back to warn Thranduil, the others all but goggled as the two riders made their way down the elven path. Such was the fascination with the brethren, Elladan and Elrohir, that even the seasoned Elf-soldiers of Mirkwood could not contain their excitement at the chance of setting eyes on Rivendell’s twin princes.

Their entrance into the delved palace’s great hall was enough to cause many an elleth’s—Elf-maid’s—heart to skip a beat (not to mention a few discreet ellyn—male Elves). Dressed completely in black even to their leather bracers and billowing cloaks, their midnight tresses bound into thick single plaits, they were breathtakingly beautiful to behold and fatally seductive to boot. Years of perilous errantry had infused them with an allure that was near impossible to resist.

Their exploits were well known in every elven realm and their names were cursed in every Goblin stronghold from the Misty Mountains to Mordor. Never forgetting their mother’s torment at the hands of vicious orcs, always mindful of the lives they saved with every goblin they slew, they spent months, sometimes years in the wild, hunting, snaring and slaughtering the foul creatures that infested Hithaeglir and neighboring regions.

They had also dared to venture far into the south, serving in the armies of Gondor or riding in the Riddermark with the fierce Rohirrim, oft offering such sage counsel to their human captains that they were treated with much respect and awe even by the highest-ranking amongst them. Yet they always maintained anonymity, passing themselves off as mercenary warriors driven by their hatred of the Enemy, concealing their most obvious elven features, their leaf-shaped ears, beneath their thick locks or heavy cloak hoods. Only in the coastal princedom of Dol Amroth did they reveal their identities to its rulers for elven blood coursed through the veins of this realm’s mortal princes.

Less than two centuries after their mother’s tragic abduction, the sons of Elrond were the stuff of legend.

But to Thranduil, they were as sons, so dear were they to most of his family. He strode forward now and caught them up in hearty embraces, unmindful of those who keenly watched them.

“I had wondered when you would think to visit this realm once more,” he mildly chided them. “Has Mirkwood’s charms so paled that you prefer the lure of mortal kingdoms?”

Elladan smiled. “Nay, sire, in truth we would have come sooner but for the troubles in the south.”

“So your father wrote me,” Thranduil said. “Come, you must tell me what you know.”

He led them from the hall and the curious, swooning gazes of their various admirers, arranging for food and wine be brought to his study. Halfway down the tree-covered path to the residential pavilion, they were unexpectedly halted by a whirlwind in boots. Elrohir laughed as he found himself with an armful of enthusiastic golden-haired Elf.

“At last, you have returned!” Legolas exclaimed as he drew back from the Elf-knight. He grasped Elladan’s hands in turn and looked him over swiftly. “You look well for a pair of roguish adventurers,” he commented.

Elrohir chuckled. “You would rather we looked as travel-worn as the Dúnedain?” he said.

“Nay, I am only amazed how you manage to appear so...so presentable despite your journeying.”

“It takes a certain panache to achieve it,” Elladan smugly said. “Mayhap you will learn it someday, Mirkwood prince.”

At Legolas’ mock-scowl, Thranduil smiled in amusement. “If you are done with your greetings, ion”—son—“I should very much like to speak with them. You may join us, of course.”

Legolas snorted. “As if you could keep me away!”

With a grin, he slipped between the brethren and linked arms with them in comradely fashion. Even before they reached the pavilion they were already deep in animated conversation.

Things took an interesting turn almost at once though mayhem no longer stalked the royal halls of the Woodland Realm. The twins, tempered by time and tragedy, no longer cared for the frivolity of pranks and such. Their considerable energies expended for the most part in errantry, they now preferred other more mature forms of entertainment when they returned from the wild. And there were many who were more than willing to accommodate them.

The twins had admirers aplenty. Of that there was no doubt. In fact, as Brethildor good-naturedly groused, they had too many. Not that Legolas’ brother begrudged them the attention. He was recently betrothed to an Elf-maid of good family and placid disposition. The perfect match for the stolid second son of Thranduil as the king was wont to say with an indulgent smile.

It was Legolas’ other brother who resented the brethren’s uncommon allure. Melthoron, his ill-temper and unruly tongue still untamed despite the passing of centuries, fairly seethed each time he was forced to watch yet another elleth make a lissome fool of herself before one twin or the other. That they welcomed the brothers’ promiscuity for the chances it afforded them to dally with either one did little to lessen his rancor toward them. Even more loathsome to the crown prince was the greater daring of some Elves, male and female, to more openly flout Mirkwood’s prejudice against same-kind relationships whenever the two visited the Woodland Realm.

The openness and acceptance with which Elladan and Elrohir regarded such partnerships gave impetus to these Elves to be more forthcoming about their proclivities. If the twin princes of Imladris were known to have indulged in such affairs, what mere Wood-elf even be he a noble of Thranduil’s court would dare scorn any who followed their example? Why, even the king himself, already remarkably tolerant compared to his sire, was inclined to further benignity when the brethren were around.

Melthoron proclaimed to all and sundry that the twins were a menace to society, promoting as they did the immorality of their kindred. A few listened, of course, particularly those who sought to curry favor with the heir to Mirkwood’s throne. But most paid him little heed, including his own family, which only curdled his already soured temper even further.

Perhaps it was not too surprising that three weeks into the brethren’s visit things finally came to a head.

*******

It was the day Elladan challenged Brethildor to a friendly game of Strategy. The darkling prince may have been no deep intellectual but when it came to all things martial, he was a veritable treasure trove of information and skill. As a result, he was a worthy opponent in this game of tactics and military wiles. Accepting the challenge with relish, Brethildor suggested they retire to the king’s study where they were unlikely to be interrupted or distracted by onlookers.

Elrohir and Legolas came along, as did the archer’s only sister. Nimeithel was a curious mix of solemnity and merriment. She was a striking beauty as only an Elf-maid who resembled Thranduil could be and generally sweet-natured but possessed of a disconcerting ability to utter the most unexpected observations. This latter trait had long endeared her to the twins who doted on her as they did their sister, Arwen.

A most intense and avidly contested game ensued with Elrohir and Legolas making the occasional witty if not very helpful side comment and Nimeithel shushing them as she tried to learn as much as she could of the game. It was when Elladan had just pulled off a masterstroke and Brethildor was mulling what move to use to counter it that Melthoron swept in.

The crown prince frowned as soon as he saw his three siblings happily partaking of the twins’ company. Legolas had always gravitated to them much to his eldest brother’s never-ending irritation. But to have even Brethildor and Nimeithel be on such good terms with the brethren – it was insupportable! He approached the gaming table and stared at the play in progress. He scowled when he realized Elladan had the upper hand at the moment.

“What, muindor”—brother—“you would let the Peredhel best you?” he growled at Brethildor.

The younger prince shrugged and grinned at Elladan, unmindful of his brother’s ire. “‘Tis a brilliant move,” he said. “But I think I can undo it.”

He moved a piece on the board putting Elladan on the defensive. Melthoron laughed approvingly.

“See that you keep him in his place,” he all but ordered Brethildor.

Silence descended upon the group. While Brethildor flushed uncomfortably at such discourteous language in front of the brethren, Elladan directed a cool glance at the crown prince. As a rule, neither twin paid him any mind, so used were they to his animosity towards them. But this morn, they were not inclined to take his abuse meekly. Not when it had been heaped upon them daily since their arrival.

“And just what is my place, ernilen?”—my prince?—he calmly queried.

“Why, behind my brother of course,” Melthoron smirked.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow at that. He suddenly grinned wolfishly, which put Melthoron off his stride. “And is Brethildor amenable to that position?” he quipped. “I would think he would prefer to take the more dominant role.”

Elladan and Legolas gasped in concert then burst into laughter. Melthoron, however, could only stare in bewilderment at the younger twin. His confusion increased when Nimeithel and even slow-witted Brethildor comprehended Elrohir’s lewd remark.

Brethildor managed to stop chuckling long enough to say: “You spoke true, Elrohir. Should I ever care to try that, I would prefer to be behind. Or on top!”

As the laughter grew more raucous, Melthoron finally understood what all the hilarity was about. He turned a most disagreeable shade of red.

“You would jest about so abominable a thing?” he snapped at Brethildor. “You have associated with these half-breeds far too long!”

The twins’ demeanor turned markedly icy at the slur but they still held to restraint.

“Have a care, Melthoron,” Elladan cautioned. “You denigrate something that is inherent in all Edhil”—Elves—“yourself included.”

Melthoron scoffed. “Bah! Everyone knows ‘tis but a myth perpetuated by the Gelydh to allow them to pursue their perversions!”

“Nay, ‘tis no myth,” Elrohir said evenly, refusing to let the crown prince lure them into losing their tempers. “Look about you, Melthoron. Such passions exist even amongst your people though they hide it for fear of censure.”

Melthoron snorted. “Spoken like a true Noldo. Twisting facts and spreading hearsay to serve your own base needs.”

Elrohir’s eyes darkened ominously but he kept his peace. Nimeithel however spoke up on his behalf.

“Melthoron!” she exclaimed. “Not even Adar ever spoke of Elrond and his kin in that manner. You go too far, brother.”

“Aye, you would do well to apologize to the gwenyn”—twins—Legolas agreed.

“Apologize to Peredhil?” Melthoron bristled. “I would sooner be spider bait than bring myself so low!”

“That can be arranged,” Elrohir said coldly.

Legolas quickly intervened. “Muindor, courtesy requires a civil tongue at the very least. Elladan and Elrohir are our guests and deserve that much from all of us.”

“You would take their part, tôr neth”—younger brother—the crown prince sneered. “Ever solicitous are you of their comfort; so kind, so generous. But then ‘tis to be expected for you have always been too soft of heart to be a proper king’s son.”

Legolas’ cheeks flushed with anger but he held his tongue. The heated argument was fast escalating into a full-blown quarrel. There was no telling what would happen next especially with the twins around.

“Is this the way of a proper king’s son?” Elladan remarked acidly. “To treat your brother with so little respect?”

Melthoron scowled. “If Legolas seeks my respect he should earn it first,” he retorted, disdain dripping from every syllable. “As it is, he has given me cause to scorn him.” He cocked his head at the youngest prince. “You grovel before them like a common lackey when ‘tis they who should bow before you!”

“Friends do not abase themselves before each other,” Legolas hissed.

“So you say yet I warrant you would do anything for these ‘friends’ of yours,” Melthoron taunted. “Even take them up your backside if they demanded it of you...Golodh pet!”

Before he could even blink, Melthoron found himself slammed brutally down upon the tabletop, a gleaming knife at this throat. Strategy pieces went flying as the board crashed to the floor. Hovering above him by a mere few inches was Elrohir. The Elf’s silvery eyes were livid with fury.

“Insult me and Elladan all you wish, Elf,” he snarled. “But do not vent your spleen on your own brother!”

“Elrohir!” Elladan cried, grabbing at his twin’s arm. “Nay, gwanneth”— younger twin—“do not sink to his level. He is not worth it!”

On his other side, Legolas placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Your concern for my honor is most appreciated, gwador,”—sworn brother—he said, “but I assure you I am quite used to Melthoron’s vile tongue. Let be, Elrohir.”

With an abrupt movement, Elrohir released the pop-eyed, terrified crown prince. He looked down on the Elf with undisguised contempt.

“You are truly Oropher’s grandson,” he spat.

With that, he strode from the room. Elladan and Legolas exchanged glances then hastened after him. Brethildor could only stare on with mouth agape and eyes agog.

Nimeithel, on the other hand, idly regarded her near-purple hued oldest sibling. “You should know better than to provoke the gwenyn,” she mildly remarked. “They are slow to anger but fearsome when roused. You are fortunate Elrohir did not slice up your pretty face just for the sport of it.”

Melthoron could scarcely stutter in his rage and humiliation. “He dared to lay a hand on me,” he gasped. “Adar”—Father—“will hear of this insolence! I will have Elrohir’s head and mount it on my bedchamber wall!”

“More likely Ada”—Papa—“will have your head for behaving in so unmannerly a fashion to our noble guests,” Nimeithel coolly pointed out. “And speaking of heads, really Melthoron, it would seem that the one you use for thinking is not the one upon your shoulders!”

She rose to her feet and gracefully swept out of the chamber. While Brethildor whooped with laughter, Melthoron stared after her in shock and unbelief. He could not accept the fact that his oh-so-sweet sister would stoop to such crude allusions.

Nimeithel followed in the wake of Legolas and the twins and finally found them in the gardens. To her surprise, Elladan stood apart whilst Legolas sought to appease a still fuming Elrohir. She sidled up to the older twin questioningly.

“This is a strange sight,” she commented. “Why is it Legolas and not you at Elrohir’s side?”

Elladan smiled humorlessly. “We are not joined at the hip, Nimeithel, though it may seem that way to many.” He nodded towards the pair. “Besides, ‘tis Legolas’ honor that was brought into question and the reason for my brother’s wrath. ‘Tis he who can soothe Elrohir’s anger.”

“He cares very much for Legolas,” she softly remarked. “Think you his desire but a passing thing?”

Elladan glanced at her, startled. “You know.”

“Legolas told me,” she replied.

“And you are not appalled?”

“Why should I be? Indeed, as you earlier pointed out, why should anyone look down upon that which is in our nature?” She sighed. “It only leads to needless hardship for many who dare not reveal themselves or their loves.”

“Yourself included?” Elladan queried, a little surprised.

“Nay, I have not felt that urge,” she said. “But one dear to me has known anguish because of it.” At Elladan’s curious expression, she said, “Do you remember my good friend, Lothrian?”

Elladan nodded, recalling the lovely but forthright elleth whose carriage was as graceful as a doe’s and whose tongue was as sharp as an orkish cleaver.

“She and Tathariel...they fell in love,” she quietly said. Elladan stared at her in amazement. It was difficult to imagine that beauteous but oh so stern warrior maid in the throes of love. “But they suffered for it, believing it wrong, thinking themselves twisted for loving each other. ‘Tis only when my dear naneth”—mother—“bless her tender heart, told them the truth that they were able to love each other fully. Yet even now they stay in the shadows, fearful of reprisal.”

“They have my sympathy,” Elladan offered gravely. "'Tis a pity they have not the freedom to be themselves.”

Nimeithel nodded, smiling sadly. “They oft speak of removing themselves to Imladris or Lórien. I fear they may eventually act on it if only to be able to have their love in the open. Not hidden in the dark like a shameful thing.” She gazed once more at her brother and Elrohir.

Elladan musingly regarded the Elf-princess whose serious mien was half-hidden by the veil of her dark tresses. She’d always preferred to wear her hair loose and her glorious locks fell about her shoulders and down her back like a midnight-hued waterfall. He thought how much a mixture she was of her forthright father and gracious mother.

She shook her head bemusedly. “How is it that something innate in us and therefore right, should be regarded as dishonorable and wrong among my folk?”

Elladan let out a resigned breath. “I will not bore you with a treatise on the divergence of elven cultures. I wager you already know more than enough. Suffice to say that fear of change and the unknown oft hinders the journey to enlightenment and acceptance.”

He paused as he noticed Elrohir and Legolas speaking together, smiles beginning to crease their lips.

“All is well,” he said in relief, his own mouth breaking into a grin.

Nimeithel musingly watched her brother and the younger twin. “You did not answer my question,” she reminded Elladan.

The grin faded from Elladan’s face. He pursed his mouth then heaved a troubled sigh. “In truth, I do not know. But I would rather it be but a fleeting passion. Elrohir does not love easily or lightly. If he were to truly love Legolas and not have it returned...“ He shuddered. “The consequences are unthinkable.”

“Then let us hope ‘tis not true love but only a passing desire,” Nimeithel agreed. But Elladan caught the doubtful note that crept into her voice. “His reaction to Melthoron’s taunts...“ She hesitated. “Does he rue his passion for my brother?”

“Nay, not his passion,” Elladan corrected, “but that Legolas felt compelled to assuage it. Despite your brother’s assurances, Elrohir has not ceased to worry that their couplings may have affected him adversely.”

“He should not burden himself with guilt,” Nimeithel said. “Assure him of that, Elladan; ‘tis no hardship for Legolas. He finds your brother’s touch pleasurable and most welcome. He has told me so himself.”

Elladan raised his eyebrows in pleased surprise. “That is heartening to hear,” he said. He nodded in Elrohir’s direction. “It will give him ease of heart and soul to know this. He has borne this burden far too long.”

“And Melthoron’s taunts only exacerbated his unease,” Nimeithel added frowningly. “Ai, he has always let his ill-temper and pride get the better of him.”

Elladan snorted. "'Tis difficult to imagine how your parents managed to produce such a thick-skulled creature as Melthoron,” he remarked acidly. “He is a cruel jest of fate!”

“As is my bone-headed brother, Brethildor,” Nimeithel added wickedly.

Elladan laughed. “Your words, not mine. But Brethildor has his heart in the right place even if he is rather wanting up here,” he said, tapping his temple. “I do not mind his company as I do Melthoron’s.”

“Yet you and Elrohir give him a wide berth whenever possible!” Nimeithel reminded him tartly.

“We have no intention of being the first Elves in Arda ever to die of sheer boredom,” he rejoined, eliciting a peal of laughter. His face grew thoughtful. “But Melthoron...“ he mused. “He needs be taught a lesson in humility and courtesy. Elbereth knows he could use a healthy dose of both.”

“And are you the Elf to do it?” she challenged.

“Mayhap.”

“What would you do?” the princess curiously asked.

A wide grin lit Elladan’s face with unholy glee yet rendered him even more breathtakingly handsome than Nimeithel had imagined possible. She drew in a sharp breath as an unfamiliar sensation snaked its way through her limbs.

“I am confident I can think of something...effective,” Elladan responded, unaware of the change in his companion’s countenance.

Just then, Elrohir and Legolas joined them. The younger twin immediately noticed his brother’s roguish expression.

“What are you planning, brother?” he asked suspiciously.

Elladan smiled sweetly. “Why nothing, gwanneth.”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do I get the feeling that something is going to happen shortly?”

“Now what could possibly happen so soon?” Elladan countered with patently false innocence.

“Short of the entire forest going up in flames?” Elrohir snorted. “In your hands, anything!”

“Do not fear, I am not contemplating so heinous a prank as razing Mirkwood to the ground,” Elladan assured him.

“I should hope not!” Legolas remarked, half amused, half alarmed at the very idea.

“Out with it, gwaniaur”—older twin—Elrohir growled. “You have never kept a secret from me. I am not about to let you start doing so now.”

Elladan chuckled. “Then come with me, muindor. I would have your opinion as to the efficacy of a ‘lesson’ that needs be taught.”

He took Elrohir by the arm and hauled him away. Legolas watched them saunter off, wondering at the nervous fluttering at the pit of his stomach. The twins were already discussing something that was obviously of great interest to both judging from their animated gestures. That didn’t bode well for whoever or whatever they were talking about, he mused. He glanced at his sister then regarded her curiously.

Nimeithel watched the brethren, too, a thoughtful expression on her fair face. But her eyes fastened more oft than not on Elladan with an intensity previously lacking.

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

Glossary:

Gwaeron - Sindarin for March

Peredhil – Half-elven/Half-elves (sing. Peredhel)

To be continued…
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make