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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3386 -:- 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
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Chapter XII: By the Skin of Their Teeth

Elladan cursed loudly as the door began to give way before the combined heft of the orcs behind it. Elbereth! What was taking Gimli so long?!

In the meantime, the Dwarf was filled with glee when a crack began to form in the transparent dome. Hah! It was not indestructible after all! He struck it again. The crack lengthened and deepened. Just a little more.

The door burst open. Snarling irately, Elladan did not wait for the orcs to enter the chamber but plunged his sword repeatedly into the massed bodies jammed in the doorway.

*******

Legolas skidded to a stop as he espied the shut door. He frowned, wondering if his senses had deceived him. But then he heard cruel laughter from within and apprehensively peered through the barred opening into the chamber. Such a sight as he had never thought to see greeted his horrified eyes.

Elrohir lay helpless upon a low divan, his tunic and shirt rent, his breeches half unlaced. He was strangely immobile yet the spasmodic clenching of his fingers betrayed his continued resistance to the tawdry attentions of the dark figure hunched over him. Maeglin had forced a kiss upon the twin, prying apart his tightly pressed lips to plunder the recesses of his mouth. Drawing back, he sniggered as Elrohir nearly retched in repulsion.

Legolas hurriedly tried the door but it would not budge. Furiously, he threw his weight against it, exerting all his strength against its unwelcome solidity.

Within, eyes tightly closed in loathing, Elrohir forcibly turned his face away, attempting to evade the greedy mouth that sought to ensnare his lips once more. Chuckling harshly, his tormentor bent low to brutally suckle his exposed throat instead, tainting the pale skin with dark bruises and bite marks.

Legolas!

The mental cry of anguish and revulsion issuing from his brave Elf-knight lent Legolas the extra strength he needed. With a mighty heave of his shoulder, he broke down the door and burst into the room. The picture of his binding-mate being subjected to the other’s salacious attentions curdled his blood and blackened his rage.

With quicksilver speed, he fit two arrows to his bow and let loose. They caught Elrohir’s would-be ravager by the shoulders for Maeglin had leaped to his feet to confront the intruder. The impact of the speeding missiles flung their victim backwards. Moving swiftly, Legolas scooped up Elrohir’s fallen sword and hurled it straight at the still stunned Elf. The lethal projectile struck Maeglin squarely in the belly and passed through his body to embed itself with a thunk in the wall behind him.

Not bothering to check his handiwork, Legolas hurried to Elrohir and slipped an arm under his shoulders and back. He lifted him gingerly, pushing the dark hair from his face.

“Elrohir, are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Are you hurt?”

Elrohir shuddered, turned his face into the prince’s shoulder. “Poison on his sword,” he breathed harshly. Legolas glanced at the black-bladed weapon on the floor nearby. “It paralyzes the body. I cannot move my limbs.”

“I will carry you out then,” Legolas decided. “I will take you away from here.”

“You will take him nowhere, Elf!”

Legolas whipped his head around and stared in shock at the impaled figure. Maeglin was glaring at him with the iciest orbs he had ever seen. His mouth was curled into a murderous scowl.

“You will pay for this sacrilege, pup,” the Elf snarled. He began to impossibly, improbably, pull at the sword that pierced his body.

Instinctively, Legolas grabbed at the sword on the floor. He felt the Elf-warrior’s hand on his. In his extreme need, Elrohir had willed his arm into cooperating with him.

“Beware of its edge, Legolas,” he cautioned. “One cut will render you helpless yet will have no effect on him. Not until the talisman is destroyed.”

Maeglin yanked the offending sword out of his belly and hefted it. He then leisurely plucked the arrows from his shoulders and cast them aside with flamboyant condescension.

“You dared to interrupt my pleasure,” he growled, looking down at the prince with menacing regard, scornfully recognizing his Silvan raiment.

“You dared to defile my mate!” Legolas spat.

The dark eyes widened in surprise. Maeglin stared incredulously at Elrohir. “You bound yourself to a mere Wood-elf?” he demanded. “What possessed a high-born Elda like you to demean yourself in such a manner?” He regarded Legolas with jaundiced eyes. “He is a beauty, I have to admit. I suppose you were swayed by that among other things. But be that the reason, you need not have tied yourself to him. You could have bedded him yet left yourself free to seek a more suitable spouse.”

Elrohir saw how Legolas’ face whitened at the other Elf’s contemptuous insinuation. In an instant, he knew the woodland prince, already flayed by guilt, was ready to believe the cruel assessment of his worth.

“Who are you to speak with disdain of one of the noblest princes of the Sindar?” he flared. “Or have you forgotten from whose loins you are sprung, son of Eöl?”

Maeglin bristled at the challenge. “I am the son of Aredhel of the House of Fingolfin,” he growled. “Nephew to Turgon, King of Gondolin. My father’s base blood has been more than washed away by my mother’s great Noldorin lineage.” He looked at Legolas sneeringly. “What have you to offer your noble spouse, Sinda?”

Before the prince could respond, Elrohir replied in a more quiet voice but imbued his answer with conviction so stirring it soothed the hurt in Legolas’ heart. “More than you can ever imagine or understand, traitor. You are not even an inch of the Edhel that he is.”

Maeglin glowered at him angrily. “Such loyalty,” he snipped. “I will have to think of a suitable punishment for your insolence.” He looked from one prince to the other and seemed to ponder something. The thoughtful gleam in his eyes filled the lovers with renewed apprehension. Legolas clasped Elrohir closer to him, ready to protect the helpless Elf-lord from whatever mischief their foe might choose to wreak upon them.

A cruel smile split the pallid face. Maeglin suddenly chuckled, the sound drenched in pure malice. “What say you, Alieth?” he purred evilly.

A delighted cackle rent the gloom. Legolas gasped in shock, uncertain what devilry lay behind the unseen owner of the unpleasant mirth. Elrohir flinched in his arms and grasped his hand even more tightly.

“Yes, my Lomion,” the feminine voice cooed. “Such an excellent idea. Fitting punishment for their demeanor toward you.”

For several seconds a stunning but malevolent face shimmered into being in place of Maeglin’s pale features. Then it was gone and the younger Elves looked upon the hated countenance once more.

Maeglin circled them mockingly, unmindful of the passing time, uncaring of any sudden attack from Legolas. He knew the fair-haired Elf was well aware of the fruitlessness of such an attempt.

“A pity,” he drawled, jeeringly contemplating the archer, his voice now blending eerily with Alieth’s. “You are just as comely as your chosen one. But we have no liking for assassins who would dare deprive us of our prized possession. Idril’s heir will be ours despite your best efforts, Sinda. But as for you...” He smiled humorlessly. “You will have the dubious privilege of dying by your own beloved’s sword. Yet it will not be a swift and merciful death, that we promise you!”

He leered at Elrohir whose face had blanched several shades whiter while Legolas narrowed his eyes with barely contained ire. He added tauntingly: “The last memory you will bear with you to Mandos’ Halls will be the sight of your precious Elrohir as we take our pleasure of him. Mayhap we shall even keep him to warm our bed until Middle-earth falls to us. If he survives that long.”

His blood seething with the fury of a thousand Wargs, Legolas began to rise to his feet, eager to shed his enemy’s blood, nay, rip out his heart or whatever passed for a heart in this demented creature’s breast. A hand stayed him. He looked into Elrohir’s defiant eyes.

“Give me your knife, Legolas,” he whispered. “I will not let that abomination profane my body or spirit.”

Legolas nodded and slipped his white-hilted sigil into Elrohir’s hand. If he failed to best Maeglin, he knew what the Elf-knight would do. He would sooner take his life and follow Legolas to the timeless Halls rather than endure prolonged savaging at the demonic Elf’s mauling hands.

The two combatants faced off, circling slowly, Legolas with understandable caution, Maeglin with chilling confidence.

Elrohir forced his gaze from his mate, concentrated on forming a link with his twin. As soon as he felt Elladan’s presence in his mind, he poured all his energy into sending his thoughts to him.

Elladan, you must destroy the talisman now!

The answer came swiftly.

Hold on, gwanneth!—younger twin! Almost there!

********

Elladan all but broke the neck of the last orc. He shouted up to Gimli: “Hurry! They are in peril!”

Gimli roared wrathfully at the thought of his friends endangered. With one last heave of his axe, he shattered the dome encircling the talisman. Elated, he brought the blade down hard on the pulsating talisman. The mithril webbing snapped, exposing the crystal. Another blow and a hairline crack appeared on the stone’s darkly iridescent surface. Gimli slammed his axe down one more time.

The crystal crumbled under the impact then came apart. The Dwarf leaped back as the blackness within seeped out like a dark mist, eerie tendrils creeping out like the tentacles of some foul creature of the deeps. And then, to his relief, it faded into nothingness.

“Elladan!” Gimli bellowed to the older twin. “‘Tis done!”

********

Elrohir harkened to his brother’s mental message. The talisman is no more, muindor!—brother! Do what you must!

Elrohir turned his eyes to his battling mate. “Dago den, Legolas!” he cried imperatively. Kill him!

The archer deftly parried a jab to his chest then slipped under Maeglin’s outstretched arm. In one fluid movement, he swung the black sword upward, slicing through the other Elf’s lower body, gutting him like a stag being readied for the spit.

Maeglin howled in agony as pain struck his nether regions. He stared down at the gaping wound from whence blood dripped and his entrails peeped out. The poison began to make its presence known in his limbs. He staggered backwards, Elrohir’s sword falling with a clang to the floor, his hands spasmodically clasping the terrible wound.

“How—?” he gasped, eyes wide with fear and incredulity. “My talisman...“

“Destroyed,” Elrohir coldly replied.

Maeglin sank to his now paralyzed knees, clutching at his belly as if to keep his innards from spilling out. But the toxin seeped rapidly into his arms. His hands, now bereft of sensation as well, fell uselessly to his sides and his entrails began to slip out of the open cavity in his abdomen.

The prince stepped closer to the dying Elf, his blue eyes gleaming with glacial satisfaction.

“You will have the privilege of dying by your own sword, thrall of Morgoth,” he informed his victim with all the hauteur of a son of Thranduil. “For though you would have shown me no mercy, I am not of your ilk. Extend our greetings to your former master and take your sordid witch with you.”

With one quick sweep of the sword, he neatly decapitated the would-be despot. Maeglin gave one abbreviated cry as the blade struck and then all was silence.

Legolas sagged wearily against the wall. Though he was reasonably sure the enemy was dead, he did not take his eyes off the headless corpse on the floor for a while. Maeglin had all but come back from the dead. He could not quite trust that he would not do so again.

He finally turned to find Elrohir struggling to his feet. The poison was apparently starting to wear off. He was at the warrior’s side in an instant, lending him his arms for support. As the latter fumbled for the loose lacings on his breeches, his fingers still somewhat lacking in sensation, Legolas quickly took over. When he went on to check him for any hidden injuries, Elrohir glanced up at him curiously, his face still white from the terror and exertion of the past few hours. He felt the archer’s hand brush his dark hair from his shoulder.

Legolas sucked his breath in sharply when he saw the bruises and bite marks on the side of Elrohir’s neck, reminders of the enemy’s assault on him. He felt his heart clench with remembered horror. The very thought of his proud Elf-knight ravaged, dishonored, reduced to a mere bed-treat, clutched insidiously at the edges of his mind.

With a groan, he drew Elrohir into a near-crushing embrace and pressed his lips against the dark stains, as if to kiss away the desecrations on the twin’s white skin. Elrohir could not help a sharp gasp at the heated caresses Legolas bestowed on his flesh. At the sound, the archer lifted his head and captured his mouth in a feverish kiss, one hand gripping a fistful of sable silk. Unable to resist, Elrohir gave in to the ferocity of the archer’s willful advances.

His lips were quite swollen from the prince’s ardor by the time he was finally released. He looked into Legolas’ still troubled eyes, wondering if he would ever learn to deny the archer his love, admitting even as he thought it that it would never happen while he had life and breath in his body.

“I nearly lost you,” Legolas murmured, his voice catching slightly.

“And I, you,” Elrohir responded, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. Though feeling was returning to his limbs by the minute, he was still unsteady on his feet and had to lean against the prince for support.

“Would it have mattered to you?” Legolas queried in a low voice.

Elrohir raised his head in surprise and peered at the prince with a slight frown. “I was ready to turn your knife upon myself had he bested you,” he said quietly. “I would have followed you to the Halls of Awaiting, Calenlass.”

Legolas swallowed hard, his eyes tearing. “You have not called me thus for many a day,” he whispered.

Elrohir hesitated then sighed. “I was resentful of you,” he admitted.

“And now?”

The younger twin’s answer was a tight hug. It did not completely allay the archer’s anxieties but it calmed him down considerably. And for the moment, it was enough.

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

Glossary:

Edhel - Elf

sigil – knife or dagger

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

To be continued…
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold