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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 - Ened Ethuil

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Three Weeks Later, Mid-morning on the 20th Day of Ethuil ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Well? Is he coming or not?" Glorfindel demanded, impatiently tapping out an annoying staccato on the table with his nails.

"Yes, I am sure he is, but not to this meeting," returned Erestor drily.

Glorfindel scowled, a darkening of his fair countenance that was terrifying to enemies of his Lord, and muttered a curse his father was wont to say when things did not go according to Plan. "Bugger a Balrog." The re-born warrior, like his father before him, detested alteration from the prescribed and agreed upon Plan. "This is intolerable," he announced and stood up, the chair that held him scooting backwards with a rasping scrape upon the stone floor. Glorfindel stalked to the balcony and roughly tore aside the gossamer drapes to stare in belligerent displeasure at the pleasing view. "Elrond has missed three of the last five scheduled sessions. How does he expect me to continue when he fails to listen to any account of the state of our defences? A dragon could dry up the Bruinen and he wouldn't notice."

"Oh really, Glorfindel, you are exaggerating. For myself, I am happy for him. This all turned out much better than it might have, given the family propensity for tragedy."

"You are either joking or have come under the spell of that Mirkwood faun, too," snarled Glorfindel, turning to point accusingly at his old friend.

"What has made you so set against the youth? He hardly had any control over the circumstances and has made Elrond smile and laugh, laugh, Glorfindel, for the first time in centuries." Erestor was neither impressed nor intimidated by his colleague's elaborate posturing and calmly reached for the copious notes inscribed with meticulous accuracy by Glorfindel's elegant and flowing hand.

"I don't trust him; I don't like the changes his presence has wrought upon Elrond. Laughter and smiling are fine, but look at the facts, Erestor. Elrond is neglecting his duties in favour of fornicating with That Wood Elf." Glorfindel came back to the table and slapped his palms down flat upon it, fixing his piercing eye upon the unflappable Chief Advisor. To his dismay, not only did this rough language and jarring noise fail to shock Erestor, the Elf actually snickered like an adolescent, a decidedly lurid expression fleeting through his dark eyes.

"What's the matter, Glorfindel, no one to warm your bed? Or perhaps you are jealous? Have you been harbouring an unrequited desire for my noble kinsman?"

"Be careful, Erestor, for our friendship will bear only so much. That Wood Elf has proved an unrelenting distraction to Elrond and even you can't deny that."

"Nor would I try. I simply believe the distraction is a most healthy one. I have not seen Elrond so relaxed and at peace in more time than I care to recall. He loves The Sylvan, you know."

"Ai Valar, you are so blinded by your foolish romanticism," groaned Glorfindel, resuming his seat. "This isn't love, Erestor. It is purely a physical attraction. I'm telling you, there's something unnatural about the way That Wood Elf has so thoroughly seduced him. Think about it; they have absolutely nothing in common. One is a noble and learned leader among our people, refined and sophisticated in his tastes, descended from the princes of the Noldor. The other is little more than a primitive savage.

"Read the third page of that report; it details a skirmish from our last patrol to the Trolllshaws. That Wood Elf killed two Trolls and cut out their hearts, carrying the bloody organs into the sun where they were changed into garnets. Then he yanked out all their teeth to keep as souvenirs, placing them in the light to turn them into gems as well."

"Aye, he made a pair of lovely anklets out of the pale pink stones and I know he wears his, though whether Elrond does is still a mystery. He took the garnets over to Aegas Mírdan but you know Aegas; keeps his lips sealed about secret gifts. Can't wait for Ened Ethuil to learn what The Sylvan has commissioned for Elrond."

"Ah yes, another holy day approaches. That such archaic, superstitious religious celebrations are now held in Imladris is embarrassment enough. Now, this lamentable custom coincides with both the frenzied escalation of their lust and the impending arrival of delegates from Dol Amroth and Gondor. How are we to conduct a successful mediation between those two realms if the Men can't respect our Lord any longer? He looks a fool, Erestor, cavorting like a…a stag in rut."

"On the contrary, mellon, he will gain in their esteem." Erestor smiled at his friend's description of Elrond's renewed libido. "Men find exhibition of virility important. This is the way of mortals. They have little regard for the virtues of abstinence and self-restraint, thinking them signs of age and impotence. In fact, if I can arrange it I will make certain the emissaries 'accidentally' come upon Elrond when he has The Sylvan stripped, aroused, and pleading for penetration."
"Erestor, you're incorrigible!" A new voice joined the conversation from the doorway to the advisor's office. There upon the threshold, hands on hips and an amused but slightly disapproving smile on her lips, stood Arwen Undomiel, the fair Evenstar of Imladris. She had been there long enough to hear nearly the entirety of their dialogue. "Spying on Ada's intimate activities is very bad form, Muindoradar. Making a spectacle of it would be unforgivable." She stepped into the room amid Erestor's apologies as both Elves rose and bowed to her in deference. Taking her father's accustomed place at the table, Arwen held out her hands for the multi-page report. "Now then, let us not have it said that all Glorfindel's efforts are wasted. Is there something in this account that particularly concerns you, captain?"

With that the Balrog-Slayer and the Chief Advisor ceased their gossiping and gave all attention to their Lady, but Arwen was concerned nonetheless. Imladris' citizens would never accept her father's new arrangement if his closest friends and family continued to use the situation for their merriment. Whenever he was discussed, the only talents credited to the woodland warrior pertained to his erotic allure and proficiency in casting spells of enchantment. How could the majority of the populace ever afford Legolas some measure of tolerance when Glorfindel and Erestor made it their chief pastime to enumerate his shortcomings and point out his differences? When the meeting adjourned she remained in her chair as Glorfindel bowed himself out of the room.

Erestor sighed for he knew what was coming. "Arwen, I love your father dearly and thus it is more than my sworn duty to ensure his safety. That is my motivation and well you know it. Now, say what you must."

"Erestor, I do understand your reasons and I know your intent is genuinely benign; however, you must stop this. We know that Glorfindel is correct on the issue of love; everyone in Imladris knows. It doesn't help matters when you use the affair as a source for crude jokes."

"Well, one must either laugh or cringe. The whole situation is too bizarre and defies comprehension. Many people feel Glorfindel is right about enchantment, thinking The Sylvan has achieved a sort of mental control over your father. If I fail to poke fun at their antics, that simmering worry will erupt into explosive fear! I don't know what might become of the Wood Elf if mass hysteria breaks out."

"There are other ways to counter such notions without mockery."

"And what would those methods be?"

"We could have Mithrandir examine Elrond from a Maia's perspective. If anyone understands magic, it is he. Once he declares my father is not mesmerised, the citizens will dispense with the idea once and for all."

Now Erestor was quiet for a time, considering this, and found the suggestion not only sound but one he should have come up with himself. That he hadn't truly bothered him, for The Sylvan had been in the valley over a decade now. The Chief Advisor wondered if he, also, was being subjected to some form of magical interference from the woodland fey, thus to prevent the truth from being discovered. Arwen had returned only two months ago, evaluated the threat, and determined the best course. "That is a brilliant plan. I'm very disappointed that I can't claim it as my own. Arwen, I do wish you had rejoined us sooner."

"Well to be honest I dreaded coming back and seeing Ada with someone else, especially after Elrohir's scathing denouncements of Legolas' character. I didn't want to think about Ada engaged in a scandalous romantic intrigue. I wanted him to stay true to his vows and win back his wife's love. It pains me that Nana just turned away from their bond, though I understand her reasons and love her dearly for wanting Ada to find happiness. It took some time to work up the courage to face this new Elrond."

"I'm sorry, penneth. Yet you can be consoled, knowing this is just a temporary infatuation. Your Adar will come to his senses eventually and everything will be as it was before that regrettable day when fate shoved the Wood Elf into his path."

"How cold you are, Erestor! Can't you envision this from Legolas' perspective? I realise you imagine him to be stupid but I assure you this is a false conclusion. He is quite intuitive, almost to the point of mind-vision like Minya'mmë, and he has considered exactly the same puzzle Glorfindel expounded. If he has reached the same evaluation of Adar's feelings for him, what pain must he endure?"

"You give him far too much credit, Arwen, and now I must accuse you of romantic fantasy. The Sylvan doesn't love your father but simply craves the attention bestowed upon him, sexually and emotionally. He is enjoying a most advantageous promotion in status, living in luxury he couldn't have dreamed existed, and is catered to in every way by a most solicitous lover. I don't think he is suffering."

"Yet I think you may be the one who fails to grant Legolas his due. Many have attempted to lure him to their beds; indeed I tried to seduce him myself, but he is loyal and dedicated to Ada."

"You didn't!" Erestor was shocked and looked it.

"Please don't gawk at me with quite so much lurid fascination evident in your eyes, dear uncle," pleaded Arwen, her cheeks flaming. "And before you enquire, no, I will not give the details. Suffice it to say I was positively mortified and so was Legolas. He makes certain he is never alone with me now. He didn't tell Ada, though, and for that I have become his champion. He is very honourable."

"Perhaps so. I did not employ your methods to test The Sylvan's constancy," Erestor shrugged and grinned. "I still think he is shrewd enough to appreciate his improved circumstances. Besides, I believe the relationship is good for Elrond. If I didn't, I would have acted long ago to end it.

"Don't you see, Arwen, it doesn't matter that there is no love between them. Your father needed this outlet; he has been miserable since Celebrian's departure, trying so hard, out of love for his children and respect for Celeborn and Galadriel, to honour a commitment from which your Nana released him. Let him fuck The Sylvan for all he's worth; he'll tire of the golden Elf in a century or two anyway. By then the woodland warrior will either have acquired a sufficient veneer of refinement to occupy a niche in Imladrian society or he shall go home to his trees in the east."

"Erestor! Such crude language!"

"Don't even try, Arwen; your brothers taught you every nasty word they know, in every language you learned in the classroom. Saying it in Quenya doesn't rob the term of its meaning. I used the mannish form to emphasise the mannish connotation: a purely carnal act with no purpose other than the transient pleasure it imparts. That sums up Elrond's affinity for The Sylvan, and vice versa."

"I hope you're right about them," answered Arwen, but her voice carried her misgivings. No less lacking in ability to read hearts than her mother, Arwen's assessment of the unlikely pairing was not so straightforward. During her few encounters with the elusive Wood Elf, she sensed a disturbing combination of helpless devotion and deep sorrow emanating from his soul. Elrond, however, she couldn't read at all. "He's very young, and a young heart is prone to love."

"Your words hold the unmistakable ring of romance, the stuff of which ballads are composed," an engaging ellon remarked from the hallway where he leaned in through the open door, his golden hair cascading forward, a captivating smile lighting his handsome features. "Right about whom, Lady Arwen?"

"Lindir!" Arwen cried in delight and sprang from her seat to envelope the tall and willowy singer in a crushing embrace. "When did you arrive? It's been so long since we were both in Imladris at the same time that I almost forgot what you look like."

"Ai! My heart is shattered, Lady; how could you forget your first love?" The elegant minstrel held her back with one hand, dramatically seizing his breast with the other. "I shall fade from such a wound to my soul and it is entirely your fault."

"Oh you rogue," Arwen scolded, laughing as she landed a slap devoid of all force upon the upper arm of her dear friend. "Every maid of thirty summers swoons over gallant Lindir the Minstrel; why must you make me the culprit in your affliction?"

"That's easy; you are the only one whose sentiments I've ever returned," quoth the fair poet and bowed under her hand after laying upon it a chaste kiss. "Now, elaborate on that portentous phrase I overheard before I burst from curiosity. There are twenty-two years' worth of news and events of which I am wholly ignorant. How I have missed Imladris!"

The three sat down to tea and discussed the recent history of Elrond's hidden realm, informing Lindir of the latest immigrant to Rivendell and his unique link to their Lord.

Said Lord was at that precise moment in his private gardens strengthening that link. Glorfindel was correct; Elrond had skipped the dreary meeting in order to expand his carnal knowledge of his youthful lover. Not that he had planned to do so, of course, for he had only sought for Legolas to remind him of the weekly council with his advisors, lest the Wood Elf had forgotten. Elrond didn't want Legolas to become distraught when tea-time came and he didn't arrive for their daily substitute: a swim in a secluded pool the archer had discovered on his rambles through the vale.

It hadn't taken long to find Legolas for Elrond had come to realise that the sylvan Elf was able to generate a sub-audible sound that alerted his mate to his whereabouts within the valley. This had been quite a puzzle to the wise Lord, how he could so unerringly locate the woodland warrior no matter how cleverly he was concealed from others. Four years into the relationship, he had chanced to remark upon this talent, rather proudly at that, only to have Legolas send him the most scornful gaze one can possibly imagine followed by a full explanation.

"You come to my call," he had declared possessively, at which Elrond had bridled.

"I have heard neither cry nor song, Aearen. I seek you with my heart and always find you," his tone had been one of indignant affront and wounded pride. The Lord of Imladris was not to be had at anyone's beck and call; he was the dominant partner in this affair.

"Aye. I call you. You hear it, not with ears but with the soul. And always you come. Why does this displease you? On the day your heart doesn't answer, surely I will die."

That statement had erased the injury to his ego, replacing the hurt with joy so profound it left Elrond dumbstruck with awe and completely awash in love and desire. He had coupled with Legolas more passionately than ever, for the first time acknowledging the bond growing between them. Every day since then, he had fervently prayed for this gift of silent vocalisation, that Legolas might have the same reassurance he now appreciated so tremendously.

Eru had not seen fit to grant this boon and the learned healer had wondered if it was a physical trait particular to sylvans or an ability any elf could develop with practice. Elrond then decided to examine Legolas' larynx to determine if there was anything significantly different about it, but Legolas had misinterpreted the throat palpitation as a new brand of foreplay. The intellectual analysis had ceased rather abruptly and neck-caressing was now a favoured method for arousing the young archer.

In any case, having failed to discover how to generate a similar silent call, if Elrond needed to let him know where he would be, he had to seek Legolas out.

His heart lead him true, as it ever did, right to the chuckling brook where the Wood Elf was working, painstakingly smoothing a branch of oak wood with abrasive cloth and water. "What is that you're doing, Aearen?" he asked with interest, for Legolas was a skilled bowyer.

"Revealing the inner Power of the nine sacred woods," said Legolas, smiling up with mischievous delight as he dropped the cloth into a basin of clear liquid drawn from the stream. "Have you forgotten? It is only four days until Ened Ethuil. Would you like to see?"

"I would, but I thought I wasn't permitted, not being an initiate of Pâd-en-Tawar." Elrond quickly joined the sylvan on the grass, reaching for the carving, only to have it coyly drawn back and hidden under Legolas' shirt.

"Wait! It is true you are forbidden to see, but veil your vision and let your other senses resolve the nature of this power," commanded Legolas, his gleaming eyes promising the outcome would be worth the effort as his body gave off the unmistakably earthy scent of arousal.

Elrond shut his lids into tight grooves and held up his hands to receive the carving, smiling in anticipation for he had a fairly good idea of what this was all about. As soon as the weight of the wood met his palms he grasped the rod and ran his sensitive fingers over it, a hugely lascivious grin transforming his face. Then he gave a little cry of surprise and Legolas giggled.

"Elbereth! You didn't!" the Elven Lord gasped out, fighting the urge to open his eyes and make certain.

"Trust your feelings, Nín'ódhel. Have you truly never guessed this?"

"Nay, I didn't think on it. I knew one of the symbols was a phallus but not that mine would become the model!"

Legolas had crafted a very accurate facsimile. With over six-thousand years behind him, Elrond had been lonely often enough to know the shape and feel of his own cock. He grasped the thick shaft with his fists, one above the other, and used the thumb of the top hand to circle the tip of the virile effigy. He heard a deeply in-drawn breath as the archer sidled up and wrapped him in a tight embrace, claiming his mouth in a decadent, inspiring, entreating kiss. While the sylvan sucked his tongue, impatient fingers quickly unfastened robes and leggings. Elrond moaned, tossing aside the oak wood shaft, and shifted to give the younger Elf room to manoeuvre.

"I have need to assure myself the sculpture is made to the right dimensions and proportions," Legolas panted and shoved Elrond hard, sending the venerable Lore-master sprawling backwards in the grass. He leaped but the Noldorin elder was faster and Legolas missed his chance, his fingers just catching the hem of a flowing robe before it was torn away. The next instant he was hoisted up and tumbled over, landing on his back, and found himself staring in breathless anticipation into grey eyes brimming with desire.

"You may satisfy your doubts as to the precision of your carving but there is a price."

"What is it?"

"I want you naked, of course."

Elrond proceeded to divest Legolas of his clothes and quickly had the sleek, resilient body exposed. He took a moment to admire the utter perfection of face and form that defined the archer's physique and smiled as Legolas rolled to his side, propping his head on a hand and bending a leg at the knee to flaunt his arousal. He flexed his hips provocatively and dropped the free hand down to fondle his penis. Elrond reached over and snatched the fingers away, swooping in to kiss his eager lover, savouring the taste of the warm wet mouth: not flavoured of wines or fruit or sweet confections but natural and clean. He probed gently against the mobile tongue dancing with his and the muscle curled up like a petal, allowing Elrond to stroke its tender underside. The soft moan this incited was no less exciting than the quivering shiver that ran through Legolas' frame from head to toe. It was Legolas who retreated from the kiss first, though, sitting up and scooting so close he was almost in Elrond's lap.

"Want to touch you, Nín'ódhel. Let me."

He reached out only to have his grasp deflected, his hopes thwarted. Legolas knew a challenge when he saw it and he wasn't averse to using dirty tactics to win. He leaned forward and buried his nose in Elrond's hair, breathing in the scent of the dark locks as his fingers corded through, pulling out clasps and ties and elaborately decorative knots. The noble Lord made a soft, urgent cry, high in his throat and highest in his vocal range, that signalled emergence of the more primal elements of his personality. Hair-play was Elrond's weakness and Legolas exploited it, taking up a handful of ebony hair to rub against his cheek, his limber carmine tongue slithering out to lay down a tantalising lick across the point of the ear thus revealed. "Let me," he exhaled the words in a husky whisper, the vibrations shimmering through the slick residue left on the skin.

Now it was Elrond who shuddered, a sparklingly delicious frisson travelling through every nerve of his body. "Where would you touch me, Aearen?" he whispered back, scarcely able to retain either air or reason enough to manage it, and gasped when ivory teeth closed over the sensitive cartilage just as strong fingers wrapped around his penis. A few brisk strokes and Elrond was practically wailing, eyes fixed on the slender hand as its owner continued to lavish attention on the exposed ear. "Wait!" he hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing Legolas' wrist to halt the increasingly exquisite tempo. "Not like this, Aearen."

Then Legolas sat back and met his eyes, the light in them all warm and hazy like a summer sunset, and dragged the Elven Lord's heavy fall of locks over his chest, pressing the silken strands against his nipple, the motion circling, then back and forth, back and forth, circling. Legolas let his head loll backwards and removed his hand to lean upon his arms. The black filaments fanned over his flesh. The erect red peak poked out through them in wanton invitation.

Elrond promptly bent low to kiss it, lick it, suckle and bite it, the sensitive skin hot and hard between his lips. He straightened to see the results of this stimulation and the motion caused most of the hair to slip away. A few strands clung on, stuck to the heaving breast by his saliva, a dramatic contrast to the inflamed bud and its puckered, goose-pimpled areole. It made Elrond think of his dark burgundy cock, protruding from his robes, encircled by the black tangle of pubic hair, and the engorged organ twitched impatiently. He looked up to find Legolas breathing hard through parted lips, eyes locked on his own nipple, so Elrond flicked it, a sharp tap that made the sylvan jump. Grinning wickedly, Elrond took finger and thumb and tweaked, pulling and twisting a bit.

"N…Nín'ódhel!" Legolas cried out jaggedly.

Nipple-play was definitely the sylvan's weakness. Elrond's soul buzzed with erotic triumph, for the Wood Elf was not noisy by nature, and increased his efforts, taking Legolas' aroused penis in hand and working it whilst fiddling with the pert little nodes. He watched with glee as his lover arched up and shimmied into every tug. Fascinated, he sought to make Legolas rasp out his name again, wishing to hear his real name, the one limned with the power and prestige accumulated over the span of his life. He wanted the word to come out of those voluptuous lips coated with longing, reverence, perhaps even awe. Suddenly the archer's eyes, which had been sealed as he endured the tormenting stimulation, flew open and fixed on his, desperation bordering on panic plain within them.

"Daro! Nín'ódhel, daro!" his strained voice implored, fingers trying to stay the teasing hand pumping him even as he pressed into the tight, pinching pull. Every touch drew bright, slicing shards of ecstasy through his thoughts. "Elrond, saes Nín'ódhel, I shall…" The sentence was completed without need for words as the archer's orgasm overtook him, a rush of semen perfuming the air and a quick, ragged gasp joining the light breeze. The arm holding him up gave out and he flinched when all his weight abruptly yanked the nipple from Elrond's grip. Legolas sprawled out on the lawn, eyes shuttered, flushed and shaking, one hand cupped protectively over the bruised peak but not daring to apply even the slightest pressure.

Gently Elrond touched the flat lean belly, sliding his fingers into the warm residue of seed, scooping it up and rubbing it between his fingers. He carried them to his lips where the acrid smell made his nostrils flare. He sucked all the bitter juices off and then crouched over Legolas, lapping up the rest of the sticky extrusion from creamy skin that rippled under his mouth. He moved up the expanse of that glorious body, all sheened in sweat and madder stained, impressing upon it adoring kisses.

It moved him beyond description to see Legolas reduced to this state of somatic slavery, lost in sensations he couldn't control, every response of his body under another's command, brought to exhilarating completion by Elrond's touch alone. The incongruity of this naked vulnerability and the courage it took to permit such total subjugation always amazed the Elven Lord. Legolas gave himself unconditionally, without reserve, with absolute trust.

Elrond's lips reached the archer's sternum and encountered the covering hand. Today he had unintentionally betrayed that trust. A twinge of dismay rumpled his conscience and he stopped, sitting straight to carefully lift away the fingers and inspect the damage. Elrond was relieved it wasn't too severe; a purple contusion was already forming but Legolas would be tender there no more than a day.

"I'm sorry," he spoke earnestly, meeting the half-lidded gaze of the spent warrior. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You asked me to stop; I should have listened."

"Nay, 'tis the kind of pain that pleases," Legolas smiled, feeling all gooey and warm upon hearing this heartfelt apology. He rolled to his side and reached out to part the concealing robes, grinning in devious delight to find Elrond's cock rigid and ready. "I wanted something else, though, and you said I could."

He registered Elrond's bright-eyed smile as permission and dragged himself a tad closer, clasping the heavy erection firmly, running his tight grip up and down swiftly in a teasing promise of pleasure to be tendered. That achieved the expected gasp and pivoting relocation of Elrond's arse as the Lore-master shifted into a more comfortable reclining position. Legolas chuckled with smug assurance as he handled the aroused penis, ringing the head with finger and thumb, tracing the prominent vein from root to rim, examining the slippery tip minutely so that Elrond groaned and fidgeted. In short, he gave every indication that he was carefully measuring the organ's dimensions in order to ensure the reproduction in oak was correctly proportioned.

Then he cradled the substantial weight of the testicles and squeezed gently, wringing a deliciously lustful growl from his mate. He felt a palm connect with the back of his head and nudge him, a beseechingly tenuous jog accompanied by the enticement of legs parted wide.

Legolas toyed with the idea of holding back, pretending he didn't want to taste what his hands were investigating so thoroughly, that he wouldn't use more than his slender fingers to pleasure his lover. It was not in him to do it, though, for he loved being the one Elrond needed so desperately. Besides, the huge crimson cock sticking up through the gaping leggings and the flowing formal robes was an erotic vision he couldn't resist. This close to the exposed genitals, the musky smell of the pearly secretion welling at the slit made him salivate. He opened his mouth and carefully enveloped half the scrotum, his tongue swabbing the sensitive gland within, thrilling to the excited shout this provoked. The hand on his head clutched at his hair.

Cautiously Legolas released the hidden globe and nipped at the base of the stiff shaft, working up the column slowly, letting his fingers close around the girth and begin to pump as he neared the head. By now Elrond was frantic, rocking his pelvis in anticipation, impatient for the slippery suction to envelope him, the talented tongue to lave him. Legolas watched from the corner of his eye, noting how firmly the upper teeth had hold of the lower lip, how strenuously the air entered and left the aquiline nose, how dilated the grey eyes had become, losing their mask of detached superiority to reveal the fiery craving of raw, feral hunger. The sylvan judged the timing perfect and closed his lips over the blunt pinnacle, his hand simultaneously supplying a slow down-stroke that made the penis buck.

"Yes, Aearen, yes!" Elrond called brokenly, pushing the archer's head lower until he felt breath move through the tightly coiled pubic nest. The tongue was hot against his strained flesh and convulsed briefly as Legolas swallowed. Then the golden crown began to ascend, oh so slowly, and the faintest pressure of hard teeth razed him. Elrond groaned; the suction broke and a delicate bite pinched his glans for the barest second before he was encased in the wet tempest anew. He watched, enthralled, as Legolas began to work him in earnest, the devouring mouth rising and falling in a steady, unfaltering rhythm. All the while his hand alternated between gripping the thick root and coddling the brimming balls. "Eru! Go faster!" Elrond shouted, trying to thrust up every time the slick suction pulled him in, and quite suddenly Legolas stopped, raising eyes infused with delirious triumph and scorching desire.

"Do me, too," he pleaded, voice rough and thick with lust. "Saes."

Elrond didn't need further encouragement, for it nearly made him come whenever Legolas demanded pleasure. He grasped a leg at the thigh and dragged the Wood Elf's lower body around to align with his face, pleased to see the ruby erection presented for his consumption. They settled side by side facing each other's crotches, each striving to get legs out of the way while still ensuring stability. The arrangements were awkward at first for Elrond was taller and had to curl up a bit more. After one or two tentative licks to determine orientation of orifices and protrusions was sufficiently adjusted, each took the other in.

Muffled moans, low and lurid, mingled with the rustle of Elrond's garments against Legolas' hair, silk and velvet on shining gold. The pair rocked together, slowly building momentum until the pace was right, each supplying and receiving the delights of such conjunction, until at last Elrond bucked hard, unable to contain the impulse, and had to stretch one arm above his head, clutching at the grass to prevent rolling atop Legolas and thrusting down his throat until he gagged. His knuckles touched on the discarded oak phallus and a vivid image of using it burst upon his mind. Before he could question the phantasm, Elrond snatched it up and let the archer's genitals slip from his lips.

"Why did you stop?" Legolas groaned and lifted his head, straining to find out what was wrong, but he couldn't see past his own rump. Then Elrond looked up, too, and sent him a wicked grin that made him tingle. He'd been hard all day dreaming this very fantasy and was prepared to wait, anticipation building as a warm, tight tension settled in his groin. He dropped his head back into the crux of the Elven Lord's legs and blew across the wet penis, snickering to see it jump and hear Elrond's yearning grunt. He resumed his contented suckling, just a bit disappointed the mutual stimulation had ceased. He hummed a restless sigh and pinched Elrond's bottom hard.

It was exactly the sort of thing Elrond liked and he gave a sharp yelp, playfully tapping his fingertips over Legolas' anus, pressing enough to let him know an intrusion was imminent. The puckered opening flexed under the feather-light impact and permitted two fingers entry. Elrond groped for Legolas' sweet spot and rubbed it, drowning out the archer's quietly pleased groan with his own cry of delight as the vibrations tickled through the nerves in his cock. He withdrew the fingers and reached to dip the phallus in the basin of water.

As soon as the muted sloshing began, Legolas ceased all movement and let the engorged organ slide from his mouth. He pressed his forehead to Elrond's hip and tried to calm his excited heart. It was going to happen just as he'd dreamed.

Their eyes met again; Elrond judged his mate receptive and quickly inserted the head of the wooden penis, pushing in half the length. The sight was more exciting than the fantasy, the thick brown rod protruding from Legolas' quivering arse, surrounded by tight red flesh.

"Ai!" Legolas shouted, squirming against the foreign object, unaccustomed to the sensation, familiar though the shape might be, for this hadn't been done before and it wasn't exactly as comfortable as his imagination had told him it would be. Instinctively pulled his leg forward in an attempt to get away. He surrendered instantly as a firm grip took hold of his knee and halted the motion.
"Don't. I won't harm you, Aearen," Elrond promised, the words dancing over the softened penis all coated with his spit.

He kissed it, drawing the phallus out a fraction and then pressing it in, deeper this time, angling for the sensitive zone overlying the prostate. He grinned as Legolas' entire body jerked, pleased to have struck home on the first try. He repeated the movement, maintaining the same level of penetration, easing the rigid tool in and out carefully. The persistent internal pressure worked its charm; Legolas writhed against the phallus and moaned wantonly, his cock rising under the stimulus. Just as his lips brushed the archer's lovely red tip, Legolas sucked him in, humming out a decadently subdued wail as he did so. Elrond gasped and the penis beneath his mouth jerked towards the exhaled heat. He opened wide and enveloped it all right down to the balls.

The double stimulation was beyond Legolas' most vivid illusions and he quickly lost all control, relenting to the beat of the piercing rhythm and the escalating exhilaration. His heart was pounding so fast he would have feared to pass out had he been capable of rational thoughts. Instinct guided his motions and he matched the pace of his lover, subconsciously noting the signals of impending release and driving Elrond toward it. Their erotic duet built to a glorious crescendo and they spent in concert, sweating and shivering and shocked from the intensity of their physical and emotional union. Gently, Elrond withdrew the oaken tool. In perfect harmony, each rolled to his back and gave a satisfied sigh.

"Elbereth."

"Aye."

They rested in peaceful accord, Elrond's right hand seeking and finding Legolas' left; they held to one another thus for a time. Then the archer got up and tugged on Elrond's arm to draw him to his feet as well.

"Let's go to the lake. There's something I want to show you and I crave a bath."

Elrond laughed, pleased at the glowing, eager, hopeful enthusiasm suffusing Legolas' features and permitted himself to be led away. He could always arrange to meet with Glorfindel after the midnight gathering. He pulled the naked sylvan close and they left the garden in step, arms wrapped around each others' waists.

Now it was funny that Elrond should think of his old friend and commander of Imladris' troops just then, for Glorfindel was in fact right there in the garden, not a hundred metres distant. Well of course he had come to interrupt exactly what he'd witnessed, but upon arriving to find the lovers' coupling in full swing, he hadn't been able to do it. As discreetly as possible he'd disguised his presence within a small stand of maple trees. His fear of being discovered proved baseless, for the pair were too engrossed in one another to notice anyone else.

Glorfindel was confused. Not embarrassed and guilt-ridden over spying on such an intimate and private moment, but bewildered over his lack of same. He was not given to such lurid and salacious habits and never before had he considered playing the voyeur, yet he did not feel disgusted by what he'd seen or shamed for having seen it. That was the confusing part. Neither was he aroused physically as he surely would be had he imagined the scene in his mind. Somehow, he felt just the opposite. A strong urge to shelter and protect Elrond and his youthful mate filled every corner of the warrior's heart. He knew now that Erestor was correct, though he had only been joking in his sarcastic way. Elrond loved the Wood Elf and the sentiment was returned tenfold or more.

Worried and perplexed, he strode away for his house. Two decisions solidified almost simultaneously. First, he must come clean and admit to Elrond what he'd done and beg forgiveness. Second, he must find a way to deter the twins. He had sent for them two days ago, convinced someone had to make Elrond break with the sylvan and send him back to Mirkwood before his black magic infected all of Imladris. Elrohir, he'd decided, was just the one to do it, for his animosity toward Legolas was beyond reason. Now, the re-born warrior sincerely regretted taking matters into his own hands, but contrition was worthless if his impulsive action aroused the genie of ill-fate which plagued the House of Eärendil. Glorfindel would never forgive himself if fresh sorrows assailed his Lord's beleaguered heart because of his interference.

TBC

Ened Ethuil: Mid-Spring

Aegas Mírdan: Mountain Peak the Jewel Smith, an Elf of Rivendell

Muindoradar: brother-father, Uncle

Minya'mmë: first mother, grandmother

Aearen: my ocean

Nín'ódhel: my Deep Elf

Thenin: True. (Yes.)

Man le presta, Aearen?: What troubles you, My Ocean?

Alnad, alnad, Nín'ódhel: Nothing, nothing, My Deep Elf.

Advae?: Better? (Well again?)

Pan vae: All right

Ringe: cold

Note: the celebration of Ened Ethuil: Mid-Spring is just made up. It is going to be patterned loosely on the old Celtic Beltane festival. The reference to nine sacred woods is from a description of a modern day Beltane celebration. Here's a list of the woods and what they were used to represent in that celebration. I thought it would fit nicely with this story.

* Birch - The Goddess, or female energy

* Oak - The God, or male energy

* Hazel - Knowledge and wisdom

* Rowan (Mountain Ash) - Life

* Hawthorne - Purity and fairy magic

* Willow - Death, sacred to Hecate

* Fir - Birth and rebirth

* Apple - Love and family

* Vine - Joy and happiness
© 04/29/2007 Ellen Robey
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Aearlinn

Aearlinn - Ened Ethuil

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Three Weeks Later, Mid-morning on the 20th Day of Ethuil ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~