Princes Three: Any Shelter | By : nuwing Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10324 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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. |
*Title: Princes Three: Any Shelter (1/?)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing
*Rating: NC-17 overall
*Type: FPS
*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir; Elladan/Elrohir/Legolas, and various combinations thereof ; ) ...Glorfindel/Thranduil/Erestor
*Warning: Explicit TWINCEST- if this squicks you, please don’t read it ;)
*Chapter 1 warning- Reference to an OC death (but it’s not one you’ve met before)
*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM, Naughty Elves. Others: I would be honored-Just let me know, please!
*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…
*Summary: Sequel to ‘P3: Shadows of Mirkwood’’ -- The Princes wander in the wild, and Thranduil visits Imladris.
*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple emphasis. In plain text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis, two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.
*Beta read, as always, by my two favorite people: First, my incredible husband, who is thankfully not a slash fiend, but approves of my grammar and phrasing, and thinks some of the activities might be fun in the right company (**grin**). Melin chen, ernilen.
Second, my Sindarin-speaking friend of many years, the Lady Alana Elwing. She trusts my judgment in matters of grammar, but knows her canon, and has learned to love hot elf sex. Hannon chen, meldis. Any remaining errors are all mine.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
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Author’s Note: As usual, my elves have seen fit to mess with my good intentions. ‘Any Shelter’ was originally planned as a short, ‘interlude’ installment, written mainly to work off a bit of elf-smut I have promised around before continuing with the main line of the P3 tale.
While I do still expect it to be relatively short, and certainly smut-filled, this initial chapter has taken an unexpected direction, and thus managed to postpone the first glimpse of tumbling elves. ’Las insisted that the chapter end here…I think he wanted a good exit line! **grin**
The last section of this chapter is in honor of Ebe's fantastic 'wet princes' pic...if you've never seen it, go to First Light and have a look! Here's the URL:
http://www.geocities.com/minuial_nuwing/princes2.html******************************************************
Grey Mountains 2151 III
His far-seeing eyes searching the tumbled rocks frantically, Elrohir sighed with relief when he caught sight of his lover, wandering among the fallen to retrieve spent arrows. Hurrying toward the tattered form, he frowned uneasily at the scene before him.
Legolas stared emotionlessly into the face of a dying human. Planting his foot firmly on the man’s chest, he grabbed the shaft of the arrow that protruded from the swollen belly.
“No, ’Las,” Elrohir said quietly, quickly placing a restraining hand on the prince’s shoulder. “He lives yet.”
The woodland prince spared only a passing glance for his companion before he drew one knife and slit the brigand’s throat from ear to ear. “He lives no longer,” Legolas announced impassively. “May I retrieve my arrow now, híren?”
Without waiting for an answer, the archer took a firm grip on the embedded arrow and tugged savagely, freeing the shaft with a sickening pop that sent a spray of blood over both elves. Looking the implement over dully, he raised his eyes to meet the elf-knight’s concerned gaze.
“’Tis broken,” he said unsteadily, sinking to his knees. “The tip is gone”
Disregarding the blood-soaked ground, Elrohir dropped beside the prince, gathering him in a snug embrace. “’Tis alright, anor-nin,” he murmured softly. “Come, let ‘Dan look you over.”
“I am fine,” Legolas choked out harshly. “But Tiri…”
“Tiri is well, ‘Las,” the younger twin reassured the shaken elf. “’Dan has stitched and bound his wound. ‘Tis naught to worry over.”
“Praise the Valar, “the prince breathed, burying his face in his lover’s neck. “I thought…when I saw the blood, I thought…” Shuddering, he asked hopelessly, “And Berioron?”
Shaking his head slightly, Elrohir tightened his hold on the trembling form. “I am sorry, melethen,” he said, stroking the bloodied golden braid. “So sorry.”
“’Tis my fault,” Legolas began tonelessly, his body gone rigid. “’Twas my idea, this sortie. We should never have come to Ered Mithrin. I should not have turned my back when Tiri fell…”
The elf-knight drew a deep breath, and pulled away slightly. Sympathy was not the answer to battle-shock. “Enough, Thranduilion,” he said sternly, causing the prince‘s gaze to meet his in surprise. “Your warriors fought well, and Berioron died doing his duty. Mourn him, aye, but you do his memory no honor by indulging in self-pity.”
With relief, Elrohir saw tears well in the clouded blue-green eyes. “’Tis not your fault, ‘Las,” he went on more kindly. “’Tis the price of battle.” Rising to his feet, the dark elf extended a hand. “Come on, ernilen,” he said firmly. “We need help piling the ruffians to burn. And your captain needs you.”
*****************************************
“He will be fine,” Elladan reassured the woodland prince. “’Twas not deep, but a scalp wound bleeds freely.”
“Bleeds freely?” Legolas retorted ruefully. “There was so much blood I feared him near beheaded.”
“Only be-braided,” Tiriadon chuckled, rising to his elbows on the blankets. “Your peredhel lopped one off in his hurry to clean the wound.”
“I did,” Elladan retorted without rancor. “I could not stitch your scalp closed, captain, without easing the weight.”
Does he know of Berioron, ‘Dan?
Aye, he does, melethen.
“You are not to blame, híren,” the Mirkwood captain said quietly, as if aware of the silent exchange. “There is no profit in chastising yourself. Berioron fought honorably, and died quickly. A warrior’s death, as he would have chosen. He will not be forgotten.”
“He died defending me,” Legolas said with a sobbing sigh, finally giving in to his tears as he sat down beside his friend.
“And me,” Tiriadon added earnestly, his pale face tear-streaked, yet calm. “Just as you or I would have died defending him. Let it go, Legolas. Let him go in peace.”
“Stay here with Tiri, ‘Las,” Elladan broke in gently, bending to squeeze the prince’s shoulder. “I will see to the cairn.”
“Hannon chen,” Legolas said gratefully. “’Tis more than I could bear just now, el nín.”
Elrohir stuck his head into the healing tent, easing the somber mood that had fallen over the three elves. “The scouts have found a spring just up the trail that they think could be secured for bathing, ‘Dan.”
Smiling at the hopeful expression that spread across his twin’s face, the elf-knight added, “I am going to take a look. Water creature.”
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“Wait until you see it, ‘Las," Elrohir said with a grin as they headed up the rock-strewn path. “’Tis as though the Valar themselves designed this place just for bathing. Flowing water, and unapproachable from the back rise. ‘Tis safe as the pools in the valley, as long as the trail is guarded.”
“I would be glad to see any water just now, rohir nín,” Legolas retorted with a grimace, looking down at his blood-drenched clothing. “I shall have to soak my leggings off, I fear. They are plastered to my skin.”
“Aye, ‘twill take a good soaking lest we part with skin as well as leather,” Elladan agreed, tugging experimentally at one leg. “And I fear that tunic is beyond redemption, ‘Las. Best burn it when…”
“Elbereth! Would you look at that?” Legolas broke in, his voice tinged with amazement. “’Tis Middle-earth’s largest rinsing trough!”
Elladan stood frozen, as though beholding the shores of Valinor.
A wide, thin sheet of water poured briskly over a high ledge of rock, spreading smoothly into an ankle-deep pool before spilling again to form a fast-flowing yet shallow stream that meandered off among the trees and boulders.
The woodland prince drew a deep breath as he hurried toward the falling water, his exhaustion and sorrow soothed by the gentle din of the falls, and the familiar fragrance of evergreens. “Come on, ‘Dan…’Roh,” he urged, ripping off his tunic and kicking off his boots before stepping into the shallow basin.
Elladan eased off his soiled upper garments, pulling the matted fabrics gingerly over his unbound hair. Toeing off his boots at the edge of the lower pool, the dark elf was stopped by a light touch on his bare arm. Turning in surprise, he faced one of the elder Mirkwood warriors who was returning from the upper pool. Three more of the Mirkwood contingent stood a short distance away, obviously waiting for their comrade.
“Your pardon, híren,” the elf said quietly. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course,” the elder twin answered immediately, fearing an unknown injury had surfaced. “Are you harmed?”
“Nay, I am unscathed,” the warrior returned quickly. “I wanted only to say that we are the last. All are finished bathing save the captain, and we will carry water to him from the stream.”
Looking intently at the somewhat confused peredhel, the Mirkwood elf smiled slightly. “We are the last, ernilen,” he repeated. “And I will see that the path is well-guarded while you bathe. None shall disturb you.”
The corners of Elladan’s mouth curled upward as he realized exactly what the other was offering. “Hannon chen, mellonen,” he replied. “’Tis most appreciated.”
“Any shelter, eh, ernil neth?” the seasoned warrior chuckled as he turned down the trail. “Any shelter is precious out here. Take your time, híren.”
*********************************************
Legolas sighed in appreciation as he waded into the nearly waist deep upper pool. “’Tis beautiful, is it not?” he asked, and his companions could only nod in agreement.
A thin band of trees grew lushly at the edge of the soft grasses surrounding the pool, shading the clear, bubbling water from the worst of the sun, and providing a welcome sense of privacy. The back wall of the spring rose sharply, a lichen-covered cliff that plunged steeply beyond sight on the other side. The muted gurgling of water entering the pool could just be heard over the splash of the falls into the lower basin.
Joining the woodland prince in the water, the twins stood quietly for a long moment as the gently swirling water carried away the last traces of blood from their leggings. Elrohir flexed his legs cautiously, relieved to find that the leather was once again moving over his skin freely. “I believe I am unstuck,” he said gratefully.
“Aye, the soaking has done it,” Legolas agreed, sinking to his chin in the pleasantly cool water. “I may not have to live in these things for all eternity, after all.” Standing, the prince reached to loose his leggings, only to have his movement stayed by a touch from behind.
“Let me help you with that, anor nín,” the elf-knight offered silkily, moving closer to wrap his arms around the other’s waist. “Let us take care of you, hmm?”
“Do not tempt me so, melethen,” Legolas protested, gripping Elrohir’s wrists, even as he leaned back into the embrace. It had been far too long. Nearly six moons had passed since the raiders set out from Mirkwood. Early spring had turned to summer with little chance for more than fleeting kisses and frantic couplings just beyond the fire’s glow.
“’Twould not be wise, I fear, ’Roh,” the prince sighed. “The others must bathe as well. We are likely to find ourselves with company at any moment.”
“There will be no interruption, ‘Las,” Elladan said smugly, a smirking grin on his face. “We are the last, and the path is well watched.”
One golden eyebrow arched questioningly, “’Dan? Surely you did not…”
“I did nothing except express our deepest gratitude,” the elder twin chuckled, stepping closer to nuzzle his lover’s neck. “It would seem that we have the blessing of Taur-na-Fuin’s troops.”
“Indeed?” Legolas asked breathlessly, tipping his head back against Elrohir’s shoulder. “Then why are we still dressed?”
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Name:
Berioron - protector
Elvish translations:
híren - my lord
anor nín - my sun
melethen - my love
Ered Mithrin - Grey Mountains
ernilen - my prince
hannon chen - thank you
el nín - my star
rohir nín - my knight
mellonen - my friend
ernil neth - young prince
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