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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3363 -:- 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 I: Troubling Matters

Elladan gently eased his wife onto one of the benches in the main dining hall of the Woodland Realm’s royal pavilion. In her eleventh month of pregnancy, Nimeithel was no longer the lissome Elf whose regal grace equaled that of the Queen of Gondor. But she was still jawdroppingly beauteous as evinced by her husband’s inability to take his eyes or hands off her for long.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked when she squirmed a little before settling down at last.

“Enough to have breakfast,” she replied with a smirk. “I seem to be a little sore.”

Elladan blushed at the implication of her remark. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to overdo it last night.”

Nimeithel swallowed a giggle at his discomfiture. “As to that, I would rather you always overdid it than hear that you’ve spent yourself in some wench’s bed.”

The Elvenlord bristled. “You know I care nothing for the charms of others,” he retorted reprovingly. Elfkind did not take kindly to infidelity or suggestions of it even in jest.

Nimeithel’s eyes widened a little, realizing the impropriety of her words. That she had uttered them rather than Elladan made them a little less offensive but that did not change the fact that they should not have been uttered at all in the first place.

“Forgive me, melethen”—my love—she cooed contritely. “I fear ‘tis my condition that loosens my tongue. I know you would never stray from me, which is why I bear the brunt of your attention even this close to birthing.”

The blush returned as umbrage quickly seeped away. Smiling entreatingly, the princess sneaked a hand beneath the long table to squeeze one hard thigh. Elladan promptly gave her a look that promised more of his attention at the first opportunity possible.

Such passion as they shared was uncommon even among the Elves, the most passionate of all Arda’s sentient races. It was mostly due to Elladan’s considerable carnal appetite, a trait he had in common with his twin brother, Elrohir. It was the reason Nimeithel had delayed conceiving for so long, this knowledge that her husband would feel deprived when she reached the end of gestation and during the recovery period after giving birth.

Many had argued that the wait would not be lengthy; she was an Elf, for Elbereth’s sake, she would heal swiftly by mortal standards. But Nimeithel knew her Elladan; knew he would chafe at the wait, no matter how brief. Even now, huge as she was with child, he still took her nearly every night, as if preparing for the famine that was to follow. That they now knew the full measure of shared rapture brought on by this first conception deepened his hunger for her even further. There were times she wondered what it would be like once she recovered from birthing and just as swiftly would put aside the thought when it reduced her to tremor-inducing fits of equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

Her imminent birthing was the reason they had come to Eryn Lasgalen. Although Nimeithel had stoutly asserted that she did not mind giving birth in Rivendell, Elladan knew she would be much more at ease in the company of her kin. There was Brethildor’s wife to see to her needs and her mother’s female cousins as well. And so, he had brought her to her father’s realm for the winter; she was due to have their babe in February.

They were midway through their meal when Elrohir walked in, looking rather distracted. Elladan gestured to his twin to join them. Murmuring greetings, Elrohir kissed his law-sister on the cheek and sat across from the couple.

He and Legolas had come north as well, taking advantage of a long bout of peace in Ithilien. With the southern orcs beaten into submission for a spell, the fair province was quiet and secure at the moment. Missing the company of their respective families they had asked leave of Elessar and arrived in the woodland kingdom soon after Elladan and Nimeithel.

Signaling to a servant to bring food for the Elf-lord, Nimeithel said, “I trust you slept well last night, gwanur?”—kinsman?

Before Elrohir could reply, Elladan snorted amusedly and drawled, “I doubt he or Legolas got any sleep at all, melethril.”—lover. “They were at it long before we retired for the night and I would not be surprised if they were still at it long after we fell asleep.”

Elrohir scowled at his twin’s remark and kicked him beneath the table. Elladan yelped and quickly pulled back his legs but the mischievous grin did not leave his face.

Not that his words were uncalled for. While many had commented on the lustful nature of his relationship with Nimeithel, no one could deny that Elrohir and Legolas surpassed them by far. Nimeithel was wont to say that such a state of affairs was not surprising given that theirs was a mating between two mettlesome warriors of concupiscence to match.

“I slept quite well, gwanur”—kinswoman—Elrohir pointedly addressed Nimeithel, sparing Elladan the mildest of glares. “Contrary to what my dear brother may suggest.”

Nimeithel giggled, enjoying as always the interplay between the twins. They fell silent for a while when a servant brought Elrohir’s breakfast. Once the Elf walked away, Elladan idly asked, “Where is Legolas?”

The smile suddenly faded from the Elf-knight’s face. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he admitted softly. “He was gone when I woke up.”

Elladan and Nimeithel glanced at each other. “Have you searched for him?” Nimeithel asked cautiously.

Elrohir nodded pensively. “No one in the palace seems to know where he is.”

The princess bit her lip, feeling a little guilty on behalf of her wayward brother.

Elrohir sighed. “I just wish he left me word of his plans whatever they were,” he said. “Even a note would have sufficed.”

“I wish we could help you, gwanneth”—younger twin—Elladan responded. “But Legolas did not see fit to speak to us either this morn. We have no idea where he might be.”

It so happened the servant had returned to their table with a hot-from-the-oven loaf of bread. Overhearing Elladan’s words, he respectfully addressed Elrohir.

“Hir nîn”—my lord—“Prince Legolas left with the border patrol just before dawn,” he offered diffidently, embarrassed at being the one to inform the Elf-lord of his own mate’s whereabouts. The utter stillness of Elrohir’s countenance upon being so informed unnerved him greatly. It was apparent he had not thought to inquire about the prince at the barracks but, after all, who would?

“Thank you,” the twin finally said. The servant hurried away.

Elrohir stared unseeingly at his food, appetite gone. Then without a word, he rose and left the dining hall. Elladan and Nimeithel stared after him then looked at each other.

“How could Legolas do this to him?” the princess murmured, shamed for her brother.

“He has been doing it for a long time now, herves”—wife—Elladan said curtly. "'Tis only a matter of time before Elrohir loses his patience. I fear the outcome when he does.”

Nimeithel felt her husband’s pain for his brother. She knew full well just how deep the rapport between the twins truly was. Even at far distances, they could oft sense the other’s well-being or lack thereof. Their respective espousals had naturally separated them to a certain extent as they turned their attentions and affections to their respective binding-mates. But the closeness they had always shared never vanished and would immediately rekindle when they were together.

Placing an understanding hand over Elladan’s, she softly said, “Go to him, ind nîn.”—my heart. “He needs you now.”

Casting a grateful smile at her, Elladan rose, kissed her gently and followed in his brother’s wake.

He found him wandering aimlessly in the gardens behind the royal pavilion. Wordlessly, he joined his twin and curled a comforting arm around his shoulders. Such was their accord that the simple gesture was enough to soothe Elrohir’s heart. Nevertheless, Elladan was perforce compelled to voice his worries. It was time the younger twin confided his troubles in him.

Elladan regarded him with concern. “Muindor”—brother—“are you happy with Legolas?”

“Of course, why do you ask?” Elrohir briefly replied.

“Really, Elrohir, you cannot deny that there is something amiss between the two of you,” Elladan said musingly. “From Eryn Gael to Imladris and Greenwood, no Elf with eyes has failed to see that Legolas is not as solicitous of you as others are of their spouses – including his own sister.”

“You can hardly ask him to be as tender as Nimeithel,” Elrohir answered somewhat defensively. “He is a warrior bound to a fellow ellon.”—male Elf.

Elladan snorted. “As is Glorfindel yet our valiant Balrog slayer was ever as tender with Erestor as any loving wife with her husband.” When Elrohir kept silent, he pressed on. “He refuses to let you cherish him, chafes when you seek to protect him, goes off without telling you of his intentions or whereabouts.” Elladan hesitated. “He behaves as if you are but casual lovers, not binding-mates.”

“Think you I do not know that?” Elrohir said in a low, hushed voice.

“Then why do you endure it?” Elladan demanded. “You have every right to question his manner, Elrohir. His demeanor is not normal for one who is bound. ‘Tis not the way of Elfkind.”

“One cannot force tenderness from another,” Elrohir said. “What would it accomplish for me to point out his failings? We would only quarrel needlessly.”

“Needlessly? You are no ignorant Elfling, tôren”—my brother—Elladan chided. “You know as well as I that it should not have to be forced from him, that a binding elicits such feelings effortlessly. Or it should. That he does not seem to feel the pull begs a question. What if your binding is not—?”

“Do not say it!” Elrohir said sharply, knowing as always what his twin sought to express. "'Tis agonizing enough just thinking about it. I do not need to have you speak of it in the full light of day.”

“I am sorry,” Elladan said quietly. “I only want to help.”

“I know, gwaniaur.”—older twin.

“You have to consider the consequences of an – error in his decision. You cannot continue thusly for all eternity.”

“That I know, too.” Elrohir closed his eyes. “Yet it matters not.”

“You love him come what may.”

“My heart is his.”

“Even if he does not cherish it as you deserve?”

“Even if he should break it, aye, it is his.”

Elladan frowned in frustration. “Elrohir—”

“Years ago, he gave me his heart because he trusted me to keep it safe,” Elrohir quietly elucidated. “I never sought the same from him. Why should I now take this against him? How can I?”

Elladan stared at him, torn between bemusement and amazement. "'Tis your right, Elrohir,” he insisted.

“Leave it be, Elladan, leave it be,” the younger twin pleaded.

Elladan sighed, shaking his head. “Ai, gwanneth, why is your path so oft strewn with obstacles?”

The sad smile of his brother nearly broke his heart. “Mayhap the Valar seek to test my strength in following such a path.”

“And are you indeed strong enough?”

“I have to be. For both of us.”

“Him again.” When his twin said nothing, Elladan pursed his lips. “I do not know whether to admire you or pity you,” he admitted.

“You can do both,” Elrohir softly suggested. “Elbereth knows I need all the succor I can get.”

Elladan let the argument rest though his heart beat with resentment against the friend who made his brother so unhappy. They walked on in silence, each pondering weighty thoughts.

Elrohir felt his fears rise up anew. His twin had broached a subject he had resisted opening because of its repercussions.

In the first year or so after their binding in Eryn Gael, Legolas had been as attentive a spouse as could be desired. Elrohir could not have asked for more and indeed would have been content with less. It was enough that he had finally gained what he had sought for centuries uncounted. But while the years had continued to progress, their relationship, strangely enough, had not. Legolas had changed and Elrohir had no idea why.

The Greenwood prince had always been of a fiercely independent bent, unwilling to own himself beholden to anyone in any way. His deep friendship with the twins had been the one exception that had deviated from his usual pattern of close but controlled relationships. Only with Elrond’s sons had he admitted to dependency on another. Only with them had he willingly reined in his inherent wildness of spirit.

At only one other time had he relied as much on others and that was during the War of the Ring when singular circumstances had demanded singular behavior. But that had been but a brief and never-repeated interlude in his long warrior’s life.

Elrohir loved his wild spirit, did not desire to purge him of that admirable independence. But he had not expected the archer to embrace his old ways so much as to actually exclude him increasingly from matters outside of their binding-bed.

How often had Legolas gone off on some errand or activity with nary a word to him? This morning’s embarrassment was but one in a long line of incidents that had Elves on both ends of the Reunited Kingdom wondering about them. He did not expect the prince to ask for his permission; that was perfectly absurd. But he did expect to be informed of his own spouse’s plans or whereabouts if only out of courtesy and concern.

Then there was the all too discernable lack of consideration one expected of a bound Elf. Legolas seldom if ever displayed such tenderness for him yet apparently did not mind being on the receiving end of the same behavior. But let Elrohir exhibit even the minutest amount of protectiveness or possessiveness and at once the prince took umbrage at what he called unwarranted attentions from the Elf-knight.

Another difficulty to contend with was the archer’s increasingly short temper. It was something Elrohir found perplexing. Legolas had always been the sweetest-tempered of Thranduil’s sons yet in recent years he had grown almost as snappish and impatient as his oldest brother, Melthoron, had been once upon a time.

He could not pinpoint the exact moment when the changes began. But he could remember when he’d become aware of it. Painfully aware.

A little less than three years ago, he’d gone to Rivendell for a half year of duty at Elladan’s side. Legolas had not been able to travel north with him and so they’d been forced apart for those six months, sustained only by the messages they’d sent each other. He’d noticed the almost desperate tone of Legolas’ letters by the latter half of his sojourn in the vale. He’d wondered at it for the archer had not been so needful of his presence during past separations. They had disturbed him enough to compel him to return to Gondor sooner than expected.

His reunion with the prince was both exhilarating and perturbing. He could still recall the turbulence of that meeting. Legolas had practically dragged him into their chamber, abruptly cutting off the gracious greetings his people had been extending to the Elf-knight. Before Elrohir had even had the chance to catch his breath at such haste, the Wood-elf all but attacked him.

He’d never known Legolas to be so voracious before. Their raiment did not survive the fury of the prince’s onslaught and, for the longest while, Elrohir had thought, neither would his lucidity. For Legolas had taken him with almost frightening ferocity. Even for one as experienced as the warrior, the Wood-elf’s need-fed urgency had been unprecedented and overwhelming. And he’d seen something in Legolas’ eyes that had troubled him even as he came to explosive release beneath his spouse’s wondrous form. Desire unfettered. Pure, undiluted lust. Far from the intensely loving if understandably lubricious welcomes of years past.

Afterwards, as they lay amidst the tangled sheets and shredded remains of their clothing, he’d sought to discover what had driven his binding-mate so hardily. But Legolas had dismissed the matter and only said he’d been badly in need of release. Then to add to Elrohir’s disconcertment, he’d behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred between them and for the rest of the day accorded him nothing more than cool, almost distant affection.

Only to bed him once more that very night with that same curious needfulness and distressing lack of emotional closeness. And afterwards, left him feeling as if he’d been...used. That had been the exact moment when Elrohir had realized that their relationship had begun to change even beforehand but had been so slow and subtle in the changing that he had not fully noticed its encroachment.

It had been there for some time – the erosion of the archer’s tender, caring demeanor towards his Elf-knight. Elrohir had deemed it but the effects of his sometimes burdensome responsibilities as the Elf-lord of Eryn Gael. He’d known that same feeling of being trapped by fate, duty and honor and how it could wear down one’s forbearance. And so he’d exerted more effort to soothe his spouse’s occasionally beleaguered spirit.

But matters only worsened. Soon after his latest return, he’d noticed how even the most basic displays of concern and affection due a binding-mate had diminished considerably where Legolas was concerned.

He’d tried to get to the bottom of the prince’s reticence only to be met with anger and indignation. After several fruitless, almost shockingly vitriolic quarrels over this, he’d given up and decided to wait out Legolas’ unreasonable behavior. And wait he had. For two whole years punctuated by occasional hurtful spats. Spats brought about by any attempt on his part to resolve the problem. And in all that time, he’d felt the steady loss of the closeness they’d once shared even as friends and pledged brothers. All the way to the present.

Only in their bed did Elrohir still derive any open affection from him yet even there…

He’d been the teacher to Legolas’ student being the more experienced in intimacy between male-kind. But in matters of dominance, he had no preference within their binding so long as it was with Legolas that he shared his body. It was not the yielding to his mate that he minded, which of late he’d had to do more and more, but that Legolas demanded it of him so peremptorily.

That troubled him greatly. There were times when he was no longer certain whether Legolas took him out of love – or to assert his primacy over him. The latter seemed more in keeping with the archer’s escalating willful demeanor. The one thing, the only thing that consoled Elrohir was an odd feeling that Legolas was not doing it on purpose. The archer seemed unaware of his unbecoming manner and would even apologize when he went too far. That is, if someone made him cognizant of going too far.

Elrohir sighed inwardly as he came back to the present. He could not deny the truth of his brother’s comments. Elladan was right. Their binding should have triggered the age-old impulses in both of them. He felt them strongly in himself.

The need to own and be owned. The desire to protect and cherish and seek naught but the pleasure and happiness of one’s binding-mate. The ability to depend wholly on the other and offer it in turn without shame or hesitation. Elemental urges designed to keep the flames of affection and desire between immortal lovers burning brightly for all time. Profoundly and eternally felt by Elfkind if the vows of love and fidelity were spoken with true hearts and souls.

That haunted Elrohir above all else. It seemed Legolas did not feel the pull to quite the same degree as all others did. That raised a deeply disturbing question. Why didn’t he?

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