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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6313 -:- 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.

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Chapter XVIII: Fraught Desires

Legolas came to Elrond’s halls bearing gifts from his father. But upon ascertaining that Elrohir was at the cascades, he quickly made his excuses and went in search of the younger twin. It did not escape Nimeithel’s amused scrutiny when her brother furtively slipped one of the gifts back into the pack in which he had borne them to Artirion.

It was but a month since the Elf-knight recalled their first tryst in Mirkwood.

Several minutes later, he was questioning the wisdom of going to Elrohir. He found the Elf a short distance from the falls, lounging in the shade of a massive oak. He was lying on his side reading a book, his lanky muscular frame stretched out in leisurely repose. Clad only in a thin shirt, long breeches and light shoes, his obsidian mane spilling carelessly over to one side, he presented an image that would incite even the most measured of Elves to pure lust.

Legolas was no exception and his previous experiences at the enthralling hands of the twin rendered him even more vulnerable to such turbulent feelings. He had to struggle for calm before approaching the latter. Recalling Elrohir’s distress in the aftermath of their swim in the forest river, he firmly pushed away the passion threatening to fog his already love-befuddled senses.

Confident that he had his wayward yearnings under control, he made his presence known to Elrohir.

“Were this Middle-earth and I an orc, you would have been skewered like a wild boar long before you knew of my approach,” he teasingly chided the warrior Elf. Elrohir’s start of surprise made his deliberate stealth well worth the effort.

“Then I suppose I should thank the Powers that this is not Middle-earth,” Elrohir muttered, his cheeks flushing.

Legolas knew it touched on his pride to have his warrior’s senses questioned. The archer relented at once. “You were deep in your perusal of that book,” he smilingly offered. “You have no reason to be wary in the heart of your father’s realm anymore than in the hidden vale of Imladris.”

Elrohir beamed gratefully at the archer’s gracious rescue. “Would that I could hunt orcs again as I did of yore. Valinor is a mite too peaceful for my taste.”

Legolas grinned. “Which is why you are so fearsome at the chase and seek the most perilous game to pursue,” he remarked.

Elrohir chuckled. “I do not think you came here just to poke fun at my restless spirits,” he drawled. “What is it you have in that pack?”

“A gift from my father to yours,” Legolas replied. “One of them anyway.” He pulled out a slender bottle filled with a burgundy-hued liquid.

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “Dorwinion wine! How in Arda did you get hold of that?”

“Some of our people passed over sea. They brought quite a store of luxuries from the Hinter Lands with them.”

“‘Tis truly a gift fit for a king,” Elrohir smiled. “I wish Erestor would put that scholar’s mind of his to reproducing it here.”

“I believe he was already mulling over the problem when I left your father’s halls,” Legolas replied.

“Then he will succeed,” Elrohir predicted confidently. “There is nothing Erestor cannot solve when he sets his mind to it.”

“Especially when he has Glorfindel helping him,” Legolas added archly.

Elrohir laughed with him briefly before he blushed anew. Evidently, the allusion to the two Elves’ relationship reminded him of the incident at the river. Legolas discerned this at once and sought to stem the darkling Elf’s embarrassment.

“I do not mind if you feel thusly with me,” he softly assured the twin. Elrohir’s startled stare told him the Elf-warrior had not been aware his brother had divulged his secret to the prince. “‘Tis natural to have unruly feelings after such lengthy continence.”

“Aye, so Elladan suggested to me,” Elrohir said. He bit his lip. “But I do not recall being so unable to control myself in all my years in Middle-earth. I was all undone by you and I could do nothing to stop it. Forgive me, gwador”—sworn brother—“it shall not happen again.”

“You cannot command your body to stop feeling as it does, Aduial,” Legolas pointed out, his blue gaze suddenly intense.

Elrohir stared at him in surprise at the unexpectedly bestowed name. There was something unmistakably intimate about being addressed thus by his friend. And hauntingly familiar.

Twilight?

’Tis the color of your eyes. Am I the only one who has ever thought to call you thus?

He caught his breath at the flitting remembrance of its first utterance. A rush of pleasure coursed through him, recalling the unbidden desire for the archer that had overwhelmed him by the forest river. He swallowed hard at the turbulent feelings that welled up within him anew.

Legolas espied the confusion in the warrior’s eyes but could not bring himself to regret his usage of the pet name. He could not deny the need to establish some measure of intimacy between them and the appellation had been particularly cherished by the Elf-knight.

Still regarding the darkling Elf intently, he softly added, “And as I said, I do not mind.”

Striving to bring his capricious emotions under control, Elrohir took a deep calming breath. “As long as I do not act upon it,” he finished for the archer. Or thought he did.

He was quite perturbed when Legolas did not concur with his pronouncement. To diffuse his tension, he cocked his head and gestured with his chin toward the bottle of wine in the prince’s hand.

“Did you bring that merely to torment me or do I get to taste of it?” he asked cheekily.

Legolas grinned, diverted from his heavy mood for the moment. “I will let you taste it,” he grinned, “but I get to say how much. I would not have you return to your father inebriated and then be blamed for your condition.”

“Inebriated!” Elrohir was outraged. “I could drink you under the table, Thranduilion. That I clearly recall!”

“Aye, that you could,” Legolas conceded. “But your reborn form has not yet remembered how to handle excess drink even if your mind knows you once did.” He added wickedly, “Or have you forgotten who had to help put you to bed after you downed five bottles of Maltaurean ale last Girithron in Alqualondë?”

Elrohir glared at him with such indignation that he burst out laughing. After a moment, the Elf-knight ruefully grinned and said, “Mayhap you are right. Very well, I leave it to you. Only have pity and do not stint so much as to only whet my thirst further.”

Legolas smirked. “I will be generous, never fear.” He pulled out the cork with his teeth, the roguish manner making Elrohir shake his head with amusement.

“Barbaric Wood-elf,” he muttered under his breath.

“Have a care, gwador,” Legolas threatened good-naturedly. “I hold the wine, remember?”

“I beg your pardon, most gracious prince,” Elrohir shot back, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“First you call me barbaric, then you name me gracious. Which am I, O Confused One?”

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and let me have some of that blasted wine!”

Laughter claimed them both for a while until finally Legolas acceded to the twin’s demand. He hoisted the bottle up high and tilted it temptingly.

“Open wide, meldiren”—my friend—he mischievously ordered the other.

Elrohir stared at him then choked, “What am I, a drinking cup?”

“Elrohir.”

“What?”

“Shut up and do as I say if you want some of this blasted wine.”

The warrior mock-scowled then finally decided to submit to his friend’s cajoling. He threw his head back and opened his mouth. Legolas tipped the bottle and poured a thin stream of wine into the twin’s mouth. Then he took a swig of the wine himself, grinning as Elrohir shook his head with amusement. Chuckling, he convinced the twin to take his wine the same way two more times.

It was on the third try that a little wine trickled from the corner of Elrohir’s mouth and down the side of his throat. The twin gasped then laughed ruefully, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Legolas was about to lift the bottle to his lips when he stopped, his eyes riveted on the dribble of wine that snaked its way down Elrohir’s neck. At the same time, he suddenly became aware of the twin’s scent. The familiar, oh-so singular scent that belonged to him alone. How strange that he still evoked memories of the hidden vale, of Imladris, and not Valinor, land of his rebirth.

The memories were too much for him to resist. Long repressed desire forced its way past his barriers, breached the walls of his self-control. Reason abandoned him in the same instant his body betrayed him. Casting lucid thought aside, forgetting all his long-held convictions, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the twin’s neck, letting his tongue lap up the wine in a series of sensual caresses.

Elrohir caught his breath at the archer’s unexpected actions. “Legolas?” he gasped as his friend’s lips travelled up his throat to his jaw. “What-what are you d-doing?” he said shakily.

The prince made no answer save to capture his mouth in a heart-stoppingly tender kiss that set his head spinning and inflamed his senses with shocking swiftness.

Elrohir was dumbfounded. He had never expected Legolas to make such a move. But even more disturbing, he was responding to him once more and so very readily at that.

He felt the archer’s hands slowly map his torso and gasped at the thrill of passion that shot through his veins. As soon as his lips parted, the prince invaded his mouth with a hunger that left him shuddering with need. He found himself unable to resist or protest when Legolas pinned him against the tree, straddling him to hold him immobile.

Elrohir felt a familiar surge of pleasure and desire sweep through him. He knew these feelings, had sought and enjoyed them before. And, suddenly, he knew what to do and how to do it. Though his re-born body was as yet untouched, his spirit was not. Sensations, thoughts, skills—all returned with startling clarity. Along with an irresistible yearning to seek release.

Legolas moaned as he felt the twin’s hands on him, stroking him, touching him, feeling him just where he was most sensitive. He trembled as his kiss was returned with stunning mastery and passion, the warrior’s hand grasping him by the nape to pull him ever deeper into their lips’ embrace. He had missed this! Yearned for this closeness for so long. He could no longer rein in his desire. Aware only of his need, Legolas reached for the ties on Elrohir’s shirt and began to undo them.

As he tugged on one lacing, it caught on his finger and nearly knotted. Impatiently, he jerked it loose with a sharp pull of his right hand. The motion, slight as it was, caught Elrohir’s attention. Through the corner of his eyes, the twin saw the glint of gold on Legolas’ slightly upraised hand. Reason flooded his passion-dazed mind with sudden force.

With a ragged gasp, he managed to pull away from Legolas. The prince frowned, leaned forward to reclaim his lips.

Elrohir held him back. “Legolas, we cannot do this!” he said hoarsely.

The archer was visibly upset. Frustration shone clearly in his eyes. “Elrohir, I need you!” he growled. “By the Valar, do not deny me now!”

“But I must,” the twin responded pleadingly. “‘Tis not right!”

“What is not right?” Legolas demanded. “We were lovers once.”

Elrohir shook his head almost desperately. “Before you took a mate,” he said. “Legolas, you are vowed to another.”

Legolas stared at him, anger and reason battling it out in the depths of his heart. The struggle was all too clear in his expression. Anger won out. He suddenly pulled away from Elrohir, rising to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion.

“You do not want me!” he hissed. “Just say it, Elrohir! Mayhap ‘tis another you desire!”

“Nay, that is not so!” Elrohir cried, leaping to his feet, reaching out to the other Elf.

Legolas yanked his hand away. “Leave me alone!” he spat out. “Stay away from me!” He fled from the twin.

His last words were said with such despair, they smote Elrohir to the core of his being. He sped after the archer, catching up with him as the latter faltered to a stop and leaned wearily against a tree.

Hesitantly, Elrohir placed a hand on Legolas’ arm. He winced when the prince stiffened against his touch. But he pressed on, determined not to part from his friend in anger and hurt.

“If I could have you in honor, I would,” he said softly. “Elbereth knows how much I want you. You are the only one who has made me burn with need. But you are bound and yearn for your mate. I cannot take advantage of your loneliness. I would not have us betray him and you bear the burden of guilt ever after. Yet even more than that, you are my dearest friend. I would not destroy our friendship over mere lust.”

Legolas could not accept his Elf-knight’s reasoning. He was too distraught to accept anything rational at the moment. He refused to respond, declined to even look at the twin.

He felt Elrohir’s hand slip from his arm. Heard the other’s low, pained voice say, “You have changed since my coming-of-age. You oft become pensive when you are with me. I do not know what I have done to cause you so much pain but whatever it is, please, forgive me, Calenlass.”

Calenlass. Elrohir had unknowingly uttered his pet name for the prince. The intimate name none but the younger twin ever used on Legolas. Love welled up to quell his anger. It calmed him, soothed his turmoil and helped his mind return to coherence.

He is honorable, the prince mused. He always has been. ‘Tis one of the reasons I loved him as a friend and loved him even more as my spouse. Legolas realized he could not now mar what he had so assiduously protected for the past eight decades.

He wanted Elrohir to come to him in love-spurred passion, not in desire born of seduction. That the twin responded to him and him alone was evidence that their bond was still intact though not recalled by the latter. And the remembrance of the endearment indicated that other memories were finally coming back to him. He could only pray the rest would return soonest. He turned to look at Elrohir, saw that his twilight eyes gleamed with uncertainty and anxiety.

“Nay, you have never given me anything but joy, Aduial,” Legolas murmured. “You were right to protect me from my own weakness.”

Steadying himself he drew Elrohir into his arms, tamping down on the desire that threatened to rise up again when the twin embraced him in return. He would not let his passions get the better of him again, he vowed.

He felt a shudder pass through Elrohir’s frame though the warrior quickly took control of himself. Legolas knew it for what it was. Elrohir desired him just as much but was manfully suppressing it. The prince bolstered his spirits with the knowledge.

The line that divided desire from love was treacherously simple to cross. He would bide his time and wait for Elrohir to take that crucial step. And when he did, there would be no holding back. He would reclaim his Elf-knight. And woe to any who stood in his way.

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

Glossary:

Aduial - Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

Girithron - Sindarin for December

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

To be continued…
- 18
- 19
- 20
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight