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Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8921 -:- 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.

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Aearlinn - Fast

Gimme a head with hair

Long beautiful hair

Shining, gleaming,

Streaming, flaxen, waxen

© 1967, Gerome Ragni and James Rado

Elrond stood behind his desk, his official desk, the huge one of finely crafted golden oak with finely turned legs, the one in his Office of Magistracy, the center of governance for Imladris wherein met his council. Dressed in his most severely regal robes of state, the dark royal blue ones trimmed in silver satin and lined in mauve silk, mithril circlet resting atop his sylvan Betrothal Braids, he presented his most stern and forbidding face, forehead lined and frowning, mouth grimly set, eyes flashing in absolutely livid yet confounded outrage. Never in his entire life had he so desired to throttle another elf, yet he couldn't give in to the urge to wrap his fingers around Lindir's gifted throat and strangle the life out of him. It just wasn't the sort of behaviour one would expect from a wise and learned leader and not likely to be tolerated by the valley's citizens. The Lord's minstrel was universally beloved among the populace.

Besides, the Last Homely House was already pulsing with esurient fascination over the escalating disharmony between the principal inhabitants. First, the sensational poisoning incident; second, the twin Lords' sudden, acrimonious return to the valley, followed by Elrond's unexpected physical confrontation with Erestor in the hall, whispers of treachery among the humans, and finally Legolas' explosive outburst in the middle of a delicate diplomatic negotiation. All of this as Mereth Ened Ethuil was poised to unleash its erotic energy upon the realm and its agitated citizens. The Lord and his sylvan lover had become the locus of cathexis for the entire valley. The minstrel was no exception; indeed, he might be the very personification of that pent and escalating passion.

There stood Lindir on the other side of the desk, the petitioner's side of the desk, the subordinate side where that great expanse of polished wood provided the appropriate distance from which to address the valley's Lord with reverence and respect. The singer did not, however, look especially deferential and certainly presented no trace of penitence. Tall and slender, lithe and graceful, Lindir displayed that maddening opposition of moods, aloof and alluring, that many great beauties perfected.

His flowing golden hair was unbound save for a narrow braided band of mithril set upon his brow. A long, selnder staff nearly twice his height was in his right hand, red and yellow ribbons streaming from its obscenely life-like effigy, for Lindir had chosen to paint the dark wood to match his personal pigment. His garb was rich in subtle shades of emerald to match his eyes, a costume from another Age and culture, one that flaunted the essential procreative power of the physical form.

Soft silk trousers, the fabric so sheer it was almost transparent, dropped from his hips in luxuriant fullness to be gathered again at each ankle, secured by cuffs of gold studded with green garnets. The abundant cloth was slit down the outside of the leg from thigh to calf so that when he moved a hint of naked skin flashed a decadent temptation. The pants were held bound at the waist by a bold red sash that fit snugly just beneath his navel. In that small fold of skin was a sparkling jewel, a clear stone that enticed any fragment of light nearby to enter its planes and play within, casting winking glimpses of rainbow hues that changed with every breath the singer took.

From that point upward, Lindir was bare. No shirt or tunic covered his pale creamy chest or hid the pointed nipples from view, though he did wear over his shoulders a long, open, sheer, sleeveless robe that seemed to be spun from translucent strands of silver, each filament of warp and weft finer than any elven hair. The robe spilled upon the floor behind him, the hem edged in an elaborate border of knotted beads that when he walked somehow evoked the soft sound of a rustling brook. He wore no ornament around his neck but a glimmery tracing as of stardust outlined a design upon his breastbone that might have been a tree but then again might have spelled a name. Each biceps bore a broad golden band engraved in the same pattern, but while the etching made the image plain it did nothing to clarify its meaning.

"No shoes were on the minstrel's feet, no rings adorned his hands, yet despite the dearth of finery he'd never looked so grand." Lindir lilted lightly and laughed for Elrond's eyes had grown immense in startlement. "Yes, this is not my usual manner of dress for one of your soirës, but this is no ordinary feast."

Elrond found to his dismay that his carefully nursed outrage over the singer's interference had dulled down from towering indignation to minor annoyance. Here he'd been prepared to issue a scathing denouncement of Lindir's meddling, a cutting indictment of the brazen coaching afforded the twins in seducing Legolas, a blistering accusation of treacherous disloyalty, of punishing Elrond for wrongs Maglor committed against the minstrel in Ages past. Now he couldn't seem to find either the words or the impetus to do so. Instead, he found himself comparing Lindir and Legolas, discovering much that was similar, imagining his Wood Elf in such an outfit, and belatedly attempting to reign in the surge of blood to his groin.
Lindir laughed again, not exactly cruelly but with that smug and mocking delight, glorying in the power to evoke such a visceral response, for of course he knew. Elrond scowled, the teasing smile on the minstrel's face enough to bring him out of his lusty daydream. He wasn't sure exactly why, but to behold Lindir like this was more than a little unsettling. Elrond had never seen the minstrel look so deliberately sexual, so unbearably enticing, so thoroughly sylvan. He might be Tawaro sprung to life, that forest sprite from ancient fables he crooned to Eärendil's twins when they fought against Ôlpathu, fearing nightmares.

Elrond shook his head slowly, his eye travelling over the exotically beautiful elf before him, suddenly grateful that Legolas was so fastidiously modest in public. "Lindir, what is this?" he motioned vaguely with his hand.

"Ah, not a Sindarin style, I assure you. I've decided something important, Elrond. As of today, Imladris has two sylvan citizens. This evening's entertainment in the Hall of Fire will be a tale never sung before. It's a tragic account of spurned love and I want you to be there to hear it."

"You mean to tell of your own history," Elrond's gaze became softer, remembering Legolas' request to aid the lonely singer.

"Yes, and I would like you to be near." Lindir flashed imploring green eyes. "You are all I have to claim as family, though we share not a drop of blood in kind. I'm not as brave as your woodland archer and cannot stand alone through such a trial."

"You fear to be shunned? Mellonen, you are among friends here; none will hold your heritage against you." Elrond paused and cautiously evaluated his old mentor. There was more to the singer's change of mien than this change in manner of dress.

"I wish that were true but we both know otherwise. Still, those who fit the definition of friend will not turn from me. I'm weary of pretending and tired of hiding who I am."

That was but part of his motive. Lindir wanted Elrond to understand the shame enveloping Legolas. To be kept for pleasure alone after giving one's heart was a terrible fate among Legolas' people. Such an elf was pitied, not strong enough to master his emotions, not worthy enough to be loved. To remain in such a one-sided bond was wholly dishonourable and Lindir hoped that by revealing his history Elrond's eyes would be opened.

The Lord of Imladris was not satisfied with the answer. "Why are you doing this now, Lindir? Is it to teach me more lessons? I've come to terms with the situation, though your method of instruction was painfully harsh; I will not turn away from my beloved."

"I'm glad to hear you say so. I did try to use other means to teach you and indeed you should not have required educating at all. I would much rather you'd responded to the out-pouring of love Legolas has bestowed upon you. Since that had no effect other than to sponsor a tendency to take so great a gift as your just due, I decided a little competition might enlighten you. Jealousy is a powerful motivator, isn't it?"

"So you are responsible for inviting my sons home at this specific time of the year? I wouldn't have thought you would be so devious." The anger flared back a bit, but at least Elrond wasn't struggling against the desire to do the minstrel violence.

"Now you're just reacting hysterically. Think, Elrond; I only arrived a few days before the twins. I didn't even know of Legolas before; how could I have sent for them? I'm not surprised they're here, though; the bond draws them."

"Aye, the bloody sylvan bonding instinct! Tell me truthfully, Lindir, is there no other means to end their tormented attraction?" Elrond contracted his hands into hard and angry fists but remained calm despite the sudden rush of crimson wrath speeding to his ears.

"Nay. If there were, do you really believe I would withhold it from them? I love Elladan and Elrohir dearly; they are like grandchildren to me. Legolas is…" The singer paused and dropped his eyes from Elrond's face, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the robe. After a moment of reflection he drew breath and raised a resolute countenance. "Well, to you I will say it: Legolas is me, my chance to save what was torn from me. He's still innocent in spirit, still believes in love. I don't want that to change. If the three of you crush his heart, I swear I will take him and the elfling from you and sail with him myself."

"I will not let him come to harm," Elrond vowed, "for I love him more than I dreamed possible." Now it was his turn to pause and gather his thoughts. "My sons, though, do not hold any kind of feeling toward him besides this urgent craving. What's going to happen after they join with him?"

"I'm no seer," Lindir shrugged. "Much depends on you. If you give in to jealousy and lay blame upon Legolas, you will only drive him into their arms." Indeed, old friend, he is in their arms even now. "The twins don't love him, you say, but I say 'beware!' for they surely will, once they get to know him."

"Nay, I do not need to fear," Elrond scowled at his minstrel. "Legolas loves me and that will not change. If my sons learn to care for him, so be it. Since I must abide their inclusion, I'd rather they feel for him at least a little; however, I also want to establish my ascendancy in this unorthodox relationship. I'm the primary mate; I hold Legolas' heart and nearly all of his soul. Indeed, his feär and mine are so entwined that neither can exist separately any longer. Even so, I'll need your help. Teach me about sylvan courtship, Lindir."

"Good, that's an excellent attitude, Elrond," Lindir smiled his approval, but kept quiet on his speculation of what Elrond's reaction might be should Legolas in turn learn to love the twins. "I will help you all I can, starting now. What have you chosen for his Ened Ethuil gift?" The pleased expression on the singer's face slowly transformed into one of grim disappointment as Elrond gaped in mute chagrin. "You forgot. Ai, Elrond!"

"Valar! What can I do? I've no time for the market place, Lindir, I'm due to conduct the marriage ceremony in less than an hour, then there's the feast and the dratted ball, your 'entertainment', and then this awful Ened Ethuil ritual of fire!" Elrond paced behind his desk, berating himself for failing once again. He was brought out of his sour internal recriminations by a familiar scrape and tap noise in the corridor: Glorfindel's signature means of presenting himself. Elrond heaved a loud and ponderous sigh, rubbing at his eyes; he really didn't need anymore unpleasant surprises today. "What is it now, Glorfindel?"

"Lord Elrond, forgive me for…" The mighty Balrog-slayer paused in the doorway, frozen in mid-sentence, one foot off the floor. It came to rest with an ungainly little thump as his eyes travelled slowly over the under-dressed elf smiling at him so amiably. His sight reached the hand curled round the 'staff', followed the line of the lengthy rod, observed its crowning glory spurting streamers, and turned a vivd scarlet. It required a second or two of mental effort for his brain to realise that this was in fact Lindir, who burst into bright laughter at the warrior's reaction.

"Perfect!" purred the singer. "Glorfindel, that is exactly the response I was craving," his voice was unmistakably sensual and suggestive and he laughed again when the formidable ellon shut his gaping mouth and physically turned his sight from the seductive image.

"You pardon, Lindir; I didn't recognise you," he stammered.

"Oh no apologies required, Pen Vallen. Your appreciation is flattering but I won't ask your company during the night, for I know you're content with your trio of fair warrior nymphs," Lindir assured him with a wink.

"Trio?" Elrond couldn't help his raised brows and broad smile as the First Age hero became even more uncomfortable. "Never mind, I'm not sure I want to know if that's true or not. What did you need, Glorfindel?"

The re-born warrior glared at the smirking minstrel but wisely chose to ignore the reference to his private life and addressed his Lord instead. "Forgive me for not bringing this sooner, Elrond. Things have been a bit chaotic since Finduilas made her charges against Bertran and all the excitement incumbent with sorting them out." The Balrog-slayer smiled as he held out a wrapped parcel. "I spoke with Legolas this morn and he told me of your joyous news. Congratulations, mellonen! If there is aught I can do to lighten your burdens you need but ask. Here is the Ened Ethuil gift for Legolas. He told me he wanted a lovely comb just like this one."

"Glorfindel, I would kiss you if the rumours weren't already thick as the snow on Caradras." Elrond snatched the paper package eagerly, great releif rearranging his harried features, and brought forth the present, showing it to Lindir to garner his approval.

Lindir gasped, his hand rising to his throat as his eyes grew huge. "Oh!" His eyes riccocheted between both unenlightened elves. "Where did you get that and who in Imladris made it for you?"

The Balrog Slayer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back. "No one here made it. I bought it from a Dwarven peddlar out on the East Road last time I took provisions to the Rangers camped near the 'shaws. Is there something wrong?" he asked, for Lindir looked like he was going to have a fit.

"A Dwarf? A Dwarf had that among his wares?" he pointed accusingly at the ornate hair device.

"Yes. Why?"

"What's the matter, Lindir?" demanded Elrond. "It's just a comb and while I've my own reasons for appreciating such a gift I don't see anything about it to cause you such aggitation."

Lindir mastered his shock and decided the whole thing was quite amusing, really, and an irreverent gleam lit his viridian eyes. He nodded toward the innocent-looking mithril article and addressed Elrond. "Just run it lightly through you hair, just the ends there," he instructed.

Elrond took in the strange light dawning over his minstrel's visage, looked over at Glorfindel, cleared his throat and took up the comb with fingers that shook a bit. "Run it through…"

"Your hair, yes, quickly and just through the fringe," urged the singer.

Elrond did as he was told.

"Fuck me hard you…"

A sexy melodic male voice sang out softly through the room and Elrond almost dropped the comb while Glorfindel's eyes grew enormous and his mouth gaped wide enough to engulf a palantir. Before anyone could speak the sound of running feet preceeded Erestor into the room. The seneschal skidded to a halt beside Glorfindel, staring from one to the other as if to figure which one of them had voiced that abruptly silenced directive. His sight fell upon Lindir and remained, all but one thought leaving him as he regarded the singer with obvious lust, following the staff to its pinnacle with a gradually increasing grin.

"Dear friend, you look ravishing but don't waste your breath entreating these two; they're spoken for already," he said with a lascivious leer.

Lindir uttered a throaty growl and brazenly poked the Chief Advisor in the belly with the tip of his rod, Glorfindel laughed aloud, and Elrond's eyes implored the heavens, or at least the ceiling of the office, for some form of salvation from his randy comrades.

"It wasn't him," the Lord intoned and noticed how disappointed Erestor looked. "It was this obnoxious item," he held it up, "which seems to be possessed by a rather horny spector of some sort. Explain it to us, Lindir."

"Do NOT tell Legolas it was purchased from a Dwarven peddlar if you plan to use it as it was intended," admonished Lindir. Like everyone else, he believed the woodland folk were prejudiced against the Naugrim. "Such toys as these are quite rare in present times, for the art of making them has vanished. They were common among my people in Ossiriand where B'rittêjen, daughter of Aulë, taught some of the Green Elves to cast magic into molten metal. Whatsoever is whispered to the enchanted article as it cools it will reveal when put to the use for which it was crafted. Combs being traditional courting gifts became the recipients of some rather suggestive phraseology."

"Suggestive!" snorted Erestor.

"Gwaedhdain were highly respected and their's was a much sought after art," Lindir continued, "but one that disappeared after the Second Kinslaying. Or so I thought. Glorfindel, you said Legolas has seen this?"

Just then Elrond recalled the Wood Elf mentioning this very item during his enraged tirade that morning and his eyes narrowed to a chilling glare as he focused on his revered general anew. "Yes, Glorfindel, tell me how you came to offer my beloved such a…an indecent object?"

"I assure you, Lord, I had no idea of its unusual nature," insisted the valiant ellon, quite pleased that broad expanse of desk surface separated him from Elrond. "I only wanted to find some small token to demonstrate my regrets to Legolas, nothing more. As soon as he saw it, he reacted with extreme embarrassment and appropriate propriety, informing me he was yours and yours alone, suggesting I Iet you present it to him instead. I would say in retrospect that he certainly knew its hidden purpose."

"You offered The Sylvan that?" Erestor's grin showed more teeth than any of them had ever seen as he pointed at the lewd grooming tool.

Elrond scowled at his cousin. "I believe you, Glorfindel; have no concerns over any reprisals regarding the gift. These regrets, however, are another matter. What have you done to my Legolas?"

A heavy silence enveloped the office and the Balrog Slayer actually felt sweat break out on his brow. His eyes flickered to Erestor before he spoke. "I'm the one who sent for your sons, Elrond."

It is doubtful that any of them imagined the result of this announcement in the fleeting seconds of quietude which followed it, least of all Elrond. Then the Lord of Imladris bellowed out an unearthly war cry and lunged across the desk, clearing the obstacle with ease and tackling the Balrog Slayer to the floor. Lindir jumped back just in time but Erestor was thrown aside as Glorfindel staggered into him, reeling under the weight of the enraged elf. The seneschal ended up crashing against the bookcase, which teetered ominously as he tried in vain to steady it.

"Look out!" he shouted as he dove for cover.

The grappling elves on the floor froze as an eery creaky groaning filled the room, reminiscent of the sound a tree makes when it is felled in the woods, and rolled beyond the range of the crushing weight seconds before the bookshelf would have buried them. A stentorian cracking and a rumble of thunderous proportions accompanied the rending of the shelves, the avalanche of books, and the tenuous cloud of dusty motes that perfused the air.

In the echoing cacophony of scurring feet and alarmed voices that followed, the warrior from Gondolin and the second son of Eärendil picked themselves up from the floor and settled their clothing. No one was seriously hurt though Elrond's robe was torn and Glorfindel's lip was bleeding a little. Elrond looked at the destruction he'd caused and felt both relieved and contrite. The emotional turmoil that had been building all day was finally dispelled, but had anything really happened to Glorfindel he would never have forgiven himself. He met the Balrog Slayer's eyes bravely and placed his hand on the warrior's shoulder.

"Forgive me, mellon vrun. I know you did this out of concern for me and I had no right to attack you."

"I'm the one in need of forgiveness. I shouldn't have taken it upon myself to reorder your life." Glorfindel reached over and imitated his Lord's gesture, a smile upon his lips. "I didn't know you loved him and I was too busy looking for Legolas' faults to see that he almost worships you."

"Why we may never understand," inserted Lindir with a shake of his head.

"Don't stir things up," admonished Erestor testily. "Everything's resolved and we're all in accord for once."

"Oh? What about your deplorable attitude concerning Legolas?" Lindir accused.

"My attitude is not deplorable!"

"Yes it is," chorused the other three.

Erestor fidgetted, uncomfortable under the daunting glares of his three friends, and finally gave an exasperated shrug. "Well, but he' a Wood Elf! A male Wood Elf. Sort of. I'm happy you've found your soul-mate, Elrond, but why does it have to be a barbaric, ignorant, sylvan tree-climber?"

"There, that's the attitude we're talking about," Glorfindel shook his head as if he felt pity for the Chief Advisor.

"Indeed," droned Elrond, his features not surprisingly presenting a disappointed, one might even say affronted, scowl.

"Erestor, do you consider me a worthwhile companion?" asked Lindir.

"What?" The seneschal looked at him curiously and then couldn't help letting his gaze enjoy the full effect of the minstrel's abbreviated garments. "Of course, we've been friends a very long time. How can you doubt that?"

"I happen to be one of those 'barbaric, ignorant, silvan tree-climbers' you so disdain."

Erestor's face flushed a dark maroon. He knew this, of course, but it was something he usually managed to forget, mostly because Lindir did not present himself as anything other than a noble Sindarin refugee from Thingol's court in Doriath. "You're different," he insisted. "You've been among other cultures much longer than you spent among your own." He winced; even to his ears that sounded offensive and terribly insensitive.

"Laegel. Laiquendi. What you would term a Green Elf, though that's not what we call ourselves, born in the forests of Region early in the First Age. I told that other story because I didn't want to deal with attitudes like yours." Lindir replied, thumping Erestor on the sternum with his vaulting pole.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Lindir."

"Well, I'm not! Tonight in the Hall of Fire I will reveal the truth to all. It is my hope that those I consider my friends will stand by me."

"I won't abandon our friendship just because of your heritage, Lindir." Erestor actually was shocked, as well as hurt, that the minstrel would think such a thing possible. His heart sank; his manner toward Legolas certainly didn't show him to be tolerant. No wonder Lindir doubted him.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Lindir beamed at the nonplussed noble advisor, "and I'm going to make it my personal mission to enlighten you concerning the many laudable characteristics inherent to being silvan."

An eager gleam bloomed in Erestor's eyes as they once more tracked over the singer's blatantly enticing form. "You are? Is this outfit part of some silvan tradition you'd care to explain?"

Glorfindel snickered. "Seems fairly obvious to me what the costume is designed to do."

Elrond groaned; the conversation was heading in a direction he preferred not to travel. On top of that, the commotion had drawn every elf in the household and the hallway was packed. Various members of the Lord's staff gaped and gawked and assessed the scene with avid curiosity, their scrutiny lingering on Lindir. Elrond couldn't really blame them; this was evolving into one of the most exciting days in the Last Homely House any of them could recall. He decided it was time to restore order and turned to address them.

"Thank you, my friends, for your concern. No one was injured severely. If one or two would be so kind as to straighten up and arrange for a new shelf to be constructed, I will accompany Glorfindel to the House of Healing to tend this minor wound," announced Elrond in his lordly Unofficial-Heir-to-the-High King voice. He was answered with numerous calls of assurance that it would be done even as he wished and the crowd parted. Elrond led the general from the room, Lindir and Erestor following.

The seneschal looked his companion over with unhidden hunger, smiling as the singer tossed his golden hair. "What would you do if I presented you with one of those enchanted combs, Lanc Vallen?" he asked.
"You couldn't afford such a gift, Erestor, for you never save a single silver coin and you're a terrible card player. Be that as it may, nothing so elaborate is required for an Ened Ethuil offering."

"Oh? Does that mean…"

"Come to the bonfire tonight and if your gift is acceptable, perhaps I will expound upon the many uses of my long, slender rod." Lindir smiled coyly, gave his hips a little shimmy, and tapped his staff provocatively on the floor. With that he turned aside and exited the Last Homely House, leaving an excited seneschal, a snickering Balrog Slayer, and an Elven Lord much lighter in spirits than he had been.

~ ~ ~Wasn't that fun? Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.~ ~ ~

TBC

Fast: shaggy hair

Mereth od Ened Ethuil: The Celebration of Mid-Spring

Pen Vallen: Golden One

Thanks to Nikkling and miscanthus for reviews! Yes, Legolas' family will be here soon. THAT is going to be so much fun to write!And, here's yet another chapter!

B'rittêjen: Daughter of the Broken Rocks - from very ancient elvish forms. I made her up, no such person exists in Tolkien's world

Lanc Vallen: Golden Throat

Gwaedhdain: Bond-smiths - Matchmakers

iavas: autumn

Pethron: narrator

Kwingarô nethrâ: Archer youthful - from a VERY ancient form of elvish

Ech Vrassen: White-hot Spear - lightning

elenille: little stars - sparks - from ancient elvish forms

Ceryn o Cabor: frog's balls

Minnon?: May I enter?

hervenn mín
© 10/15/2007 Ellen Robey
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Aearlinn

Aearlinn - Fast

Gimme a head with hairLong beautiful hairShining, gleaming,Streaming, flaxen, waxen© 1967, Gerome Ragni and James Rado

~ ~ ~Wasn't that fun? Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.~ ~ ~

Gimme a head with hair

Long beautiful hair

Shining, gleaming,

Streaming, flaxen, waxen

© 1967, Gerome Ragni and James Rado