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The Protege II: Training Day	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1724 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor do I earn any money - of course you knew this already!

Chapter List
- 1-Melven and the Short Swords
- 2-Legolas and the Long Knives
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- 2
CHAPTER TWO: Legolas and the Long Knives

With only half an hour before lunch, the meeting was adjourned, each lord or warrior moving together towards their respective rooms to dress accordingly. Each was lost to his own thoughts and there had been many questions left both unasked and unanswered, for the barrage of new information was too great for the time allowed to digest it all.

Long tables had been set up with cold fare of meats, vegetables, fruits and cheeses, but the event was informal, and spirits were high, as was the adrenalin after the morning’s displays.

As they sat to the meal, Melven and his closest companions were sharing a joke together, laughing together over some unheard jest.

Now, Legolas did not want to be paranoid, but he had heard something about swirling fairies. He decided not to react to this, and continued to eat heartily. By the look on Glorfindel’s face, he had also heard something, but again said nothing. Amiable conversation was struck up until the meal began to wind to a close.

Melven then turned his attention to the prince. “Well, prince. Are you ready to learn with me the art of the short swords?”

“Indeed, Melven. I will readily perform a demonstration with you, of the long knives.”

“Ah, that is good. You know there are very few here in Imladris who have mastered the art. In fact the only two masters are myself and Lord Glorfindel and indeed I know of only one more, Rumil of Lorien, is that not right Rumil?”

“I am master of the short swords Melven, ‘tis true, but I believe you have missed someone, for…. Ow!”

Rumil glared at his brother, who was staring at him meaningfully. He had obviously missed something, and even though his sibling had proffered him a wicked kick to the shin, he decided to hold his peace, for the moment.

“Melven, we shall all await your performance; in fact I propose that it be the first demonstration to take place, would you agree, prince?” asked Haldir, mischief oozing from every pore of his face. Haldir, and many of the Lorien warriors understood the symbolism of the wood elves, at least part of it, and some had already identified the arm band that the prince wore with no difficulty whatsoever. Haldir had a similar one, but instead of denominating him as grand master in three weapons, his was of one, that of the bow, and master with the long sword.

“Oh aye, once the digestion has been seen to, of course Marchwarden”

“Then ‘tis settled, prince. I hope to be of service to the son of Thranduil” exclaimed Melven, for he truly felt what he said, he believed it, and was truly amazed that others besides his own close-knit circle did not seem to be so sure.

Legolas sat contemplating this warrior for a while as he finished his tea. ‘Yes he is arrogant and indeed ignorant, but he sensed no malice in him. He is devoid of attention, of praise, this is what he seeks. Legolas decided then, that he would not humiliate him as some seemed to want him to do; nay, he would strive to give him an honourable defeat, but defeat him he would.’

Once out on the arena where the display was to take place, the spectators took their positions and awaited Melven and Legolas. Melven arrived first, wielding his short swords in a series of warm up strokes. Legolas meanwhile had moved to stand in front of him, watching as he twirled his knives. Melven was enjoying himself, all eyes were on him and he was in his essence. Galdithion moved over to his prince and with much reverence, handed him his long knives. Taking them by the handle, he began to imitate what Melven was doing, who had now shifted his attention to the prince.

“Now my Prince, shall we begin with a few practice strokes, the basic postures are known to you?”

“Yes, Melven, they are” he said, an amused twinkle in his eye which puzzled Melven for a few seconds before he took up his stance before the prince, inviting him to do the same.

Legolas removed his white tunic, leaving him bare from the waist up, except for the leather strap crossing his chest, and revealing the armband sitting high on his right forearm. There was an audible gasp from some of the spectators, for they had recognised its meaning, but Melven remained blissfully ignorant, thinking they had been momentarily impressed by the prince’s body - ‘well who can blame them, but that tactic will not work with me.’

Poised to start, Melven set off with a series of weak attacks which Legolas blocked equally weakly. This continued for a while, with Legolas imitating Melven’s attack and parry movements, a look of utter boredom on his face.

Melven however, was enjoying himself. ‘Let us take this a little further’ he thought. ‘Let’s see what the prince can do’. With this, he stepped up the intensity of his attacks, although the movements remained the same, predictable and very conventional. Legolas responded likewise, again imitating what Melven was doing. After another ten minutes, Melven held up his blades in a signal to stop.

“That was well-done my prince. I would enjoy sparring with you again during our stay, and perhaps teach you more of the art of the short-swords.” This he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by all.

“I will look forward to sparring with you Melven, thank you for your display”

“It was my pleasure, prince.” He was thoroughly content with himself. As he moved to walk out of the arena, approaching his friends at the base of a large oak. The prince called out to Glorfindel then.

“My lord, I have heard that you are also a master of the short swords, will you not spar with me?”

A cheer went up in the crowd, for they all loved to watch their beloved general in action, and had been sorely disappointed by the match they had just witnessed.

Glorfindel, however, was impressed with the prince’s tactic. He had given Melven an honourable outlet, but he would also show him indirectly that he was wrong. Glorfindel approved and readily agreed to the demonstration, however he was not going to let the prince win if he could help it, he would have to work for that honour.

The spectators on the side-lines had changed their expressions of disappointed disbelief to avid expectation as the prince called on Glorfindel publicly. ‘So that was his ploy. Elegant, indeed,’ mused Haldir, as Glorfindel strode purposefully into the centre of the field.

Now standing in front of each other, the ready stance was struck, and the crowd instantly realised that there was something totally different in this match with regards to the first. Legolas’ technique was different, more deadly intent radiated from him, almost as if before he had not even been trying…

With a shout, Glorfindel crossed blades with the prince, meeting his long knives and causing blue-white sparks to fly as the battle began. Clanging metal, swirling bodies, acrobatics and hand to hand were combined to give the citizens of Imladris the most incredible display of short swords they had ever seen. The intensity of the fight was that of the battle field, the control had to be absolute so as not to inflict serious harm on each other. On they fought, using little known movements, feints, attacks and parries, swirling from one end of the clearing to the next, the crowd so absorbed they would gasp and cheer at each move, jump or stance. The pulse went on, both opponents now working up a sweat, hair in disarray but movements just as precise as they had been from the start.

Feigning right, left and right again, Legolas jumped into the air and side twisted, swirling his blades as he went, throwing Glorfindel off focus, for he could no longer see his opponent’s eyes or blades - and then it happened, Legolas was behind him, one sword laid flat against his shoulder, the other ready to strike. Glorfindel dropped his swords to the side and bowed his head in a sign of defeat. Legolas followed suit, dropping his swords, and, although not a necessary act, bowed equally deeply to Glorfindel. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause and would not be quieted. The two warriors stood looking at each other intensely as the background roar faded away and they sank into each other’s powerful gaze. It was scarcely believable – what they had just done, even for two experienced warriors such as they, but for Glorfindel more so, for he had never exerted himself so in this discipline, he had never fought so well, had not thought he could do what he had just done, and yet he had. He was astounded at himself, as much as he was with the preternatural warrior standing in front of him.

“I have met my match and more, young prince. I am deeply impressed by your skill with the short swords; you are indeed the best I have ever seen, in both of my lives. You fight as one of Gondolin, and you have brought out the best in me.”

“And I have never had a more worthy opponent, Lord Glorfindel. You are the best I have ever seen; you have my deepest respect, my lord.”

A warriors’ clasp seemed wholly inadequate at this point, and both silently agreed as they moved together and hugged each other close. Perhaps it had been the intensity of the match, the lingering adrenaline, but it felt good to just embrace each other. And then, the background roar came back into focus as they both smiled and walked back to the side lines.

Elrond’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Well well. What a display!” Haldir, Erestor, the twins and Mithrandir laughed heartily at this, for it was the second time he had said the very same thing that day.

Of Melven there was no sight.

.....................................................................................................

Elrond had retired to his library sanctuary. He needed to think, iron out the fragments of knowledge that just would not come together and give him the answers he needed. This woodland prince had him flummoxed: he was as beautiful as he was deadly, as astute and cunning as he was goodly and kind. His vision had not been of darkness, but light, however confusing it had been, for his own beloved twin Elros had appeared, smiling with joy. What could that possibly mean? What was the relation between his mortal brother and the prince of Greenwood? He had seen the light of the Valar, two trees, a white blossom upon Legolas’ perfect chest. There was a link and he was missing it. He would seek out Galadriel later and put it to her; she more than most, would be able to decipher the conundrum swirling about in his active mind.

And then there was his attraction to the elf. He had never had better sex than we he had laid with Legolas and Glorfindel, but was that it? Was it simple, wonderful lust? He knew the answer even before he formulated it in his mind, there was something more, he was sure of it, not love perhaps, but a depth of feeling that went way beyond the frontier of sex. He knew that if the time ever came when Glorfindel wished to claim him for his own, he would be much aggrieved.

A knock to the solid oak door brought him cruelly out of his musings, as Mithrandir stepped in and ambled over to his armchair, helping himself to a glass of wine.

“What worries you, Gandalf?” asked Elrond, as he rubbed his face in frustration, walking over to the wizard’s seat and claiming a glass for himself.

“Gandalf, now, is it? I will not bother you for long, Elrond, for I wish to smoke. However, I would discuss something with you.”

“And what would that be? There are so many things we should talk about, and we have many weeks in which to do so, unless you are planning on leaving before the festival ends?”

“Nay, not unless something happens. Nay, ‘tis only that I would enquire as to your intentions with our prince.”

“And why would that concern you, wizard? And then, by ‘intention’ do you mean politically or personally?

“Ah, I will tell you that what concerns me most is your personal interest in him. Do you want him?”

Elrond was scandalized by Mithrandir’s third degree interrogation, and let it be known as he narrowed his sharp grey eyes on the wizard, standing to tower over him.

“I want him and I have had him, as he has had me. Are you worried that I will break his heart? If you are, you are sorely mistaken. He is wise beyond his years, Olorin, and gives of himself freely to those that he desires.”

He stood staring down at the istar, daring him to continue with what he considered downright impertinence.

“You care for him”, stated the wizard calmly, thoroughly surprised, stunned almost, and then strangely glad that this was the case.

“Why is this so important to you, Mithrandir, you have known Legolas for but four days, wherefore this concern for his well-being? You speak as a father would.”

“The young Legolas has made an impression on us all, Elrond, has he not? You know as well as I that he is no ordinary elf, it is something you can see, but also feel, for he emanates power, he is bound to the ending of this age, Elrond, you have seen something of that, have you not? Indeed I am surprised he has not told you something of it himself.”

It was Elrond’s turn to hesitate now, and reflect, for the istar was right, he was not an ordinary elf, and yes, he had seen something of the future, something transcendental, yet unintellegible as of yet. Calming his indignation and focussing himself once more, he decided to confide in Mithrandir, he was sure Legolas would not mind, indeed he was almost positive that anything he could say would be no surprise to the wizard at all.

“Well, now. He spoke to me and Glorfindel when we asked him of a series of episodes that pointed to magic of some kind. We were in Celebrian’s gardens when he suffered an attack of some kind, he fell sick suddenly, swooning almost. He said he needed to get away from the sentinel – the tree we were under, or so we understood. It was then that we decided to ask him of these episodes.”

“And?” encouraged the wizard, “what did he say?” remembering that indeed Legolas had avoided the tree near the luncheon table this very afternoon.

“He told us of his ability to talk to plants and animals – Mithrandir, talk, not communicate, he is also a plant healer, I saw it at the high table yesterday when he thought no one observed him.”

Mithrandir did not look surprised, and Elrond knew he had surmised correctly in that he already knew. However, he continued with the most important part of the tale.

“Finally, at our insistence, he admitted that there was more to the tale, but that the time was not right, and that some things were better witnessed than explained.”

“Indeed”, murmured the wizard, looking off into the distance.

“Well, you set my mind at rest, Elrond, I shall leave you now to your rest; as you say, there will be plenty time for further conjectures. Galadriel will need to be informed at some point you know, there is no avoiding it.”

“I know” sighed Elrond, raking his hand through his hair. “But not today”.

Mithrandir nodded, smiled, and left the library, bound for the public gardens. Pulling out his gnarled pipe. He had, indeed, interrogated the great Elrond, but he had done it with a purpose, for he needed to know what his friend already knew, and what needed to be disclosed. He would not, of course, anticipate any information before Legolas himself felt the time was ripe, but Galadriel was becoming impatient, and that was never a good thing! As he settled himself under a willow, he began to puff idly as he wondered at the wisdom of contacting Radagast, a smoky owl appearing before his bright blue eyes.

...........................................................................

Day passed into dusk, and the citizens and temporary residents of Imladris were either napping in their quarters, or strolling peacefully among the many beautiful gardens at their disposal. All except for Celebrian’s sanctuary, open to but a select few.

Legolas was steeping in the fragrant waters of his generous bath. It had been a good day, and he hoped it would be an even better night. However he was feeling delightfully tired, aware that his muscles had worked that day.

Stepping out of the tub reluctantly, he towelled himself dry, combed through his hair and pulled on a pair of black breeches and a light blue, knee-length tunic which he left open to the chest - he would close it later for the evening meal. Pulling on his boots, he went off in search of the public gardens, hoping to be able to explore the outlying forest area just beyond, where he supposed he would find some solitude.

He stepped out into the lengthening shadows of the garden, moving his hand lightly over the barks and shrubs he passed on his way, tilting his head back and breathing deeply of the fresh, impollute air. He felt relaxed and at peace, he could get used to the feeling, but knew he shouldn’t – it would not last long.

It felt wonderful, this was the first moment he had had to himself and to nature since his arrival almost five days ago. He felt his mind clear, as a wave of peace and comfort washed over him, drowning out the memories of heartache and loss, duty and sacrifice.

Spying a grassy alcove, somewhat sheltered from the rest of the garden, he made his way over to it and sat himself on the soft earth, crossing his legs beneath him and closing his eyes, losing himself for many minutes to the sounds and sensations of the life beneath and around him.

“And what have we here, a forest lord sitting bare-foot on his backside in my gardens. Well, now.”

“Elrond, Glorfindel, come join me. It is a beautiful evening,” he said, still with his back turned and eyes closed.

“Yes”, replied Glorfindel, who had eyes only for the prince, for sitting there, he looked like an exotic plant jutting proudly from the fertile earth.

Both lords sat on either side of the cross-legged Legolas, who now turned his attention to them both, blinking his eyes purposely to accelerate the process of colour regression, for his eyesight worsened when his irises changed colour.

He took in the odd expression that Elrond wore, and had the sudden intuition that the lord felt insecure. Reaching out his hand, he placed it tenderly on the side of Elrond’s face, who closed his eyes and moved in to the gentle touch.

“So beautiful” and with that, Legolas moved in to lightly touch his lips to those of the Peredhel, who now opened his eyes wide, he had not expected Legolas to kiss him. However he could not stop himself from moving into it, deepening it as he caressed the long cascade of his damp golden hair which had been left free to dry.

Elrond revelled in the soft, caring touches. After his talk with Mithrandir, he had realized that he truly did care for this warrior, but that he could never be truly together with him, for he was already bound, and his closest friend was falling irrevocably for the prince, and so he had decided to test the waters – if he was welcomed by both, he would enjoy it for as long as it lasted, until one of them decided that they would no longer suffer his presence.

Glorfindel moved closer to the kissing pair and stroked the other side of the prince’s hair. Elrond seemed to need the reassurance the prince offered him, and he thought he understood why, although they would need to talk of this. But not now, for the sight before him was undoing him rapidly.

Elrond was lost in the sensation. This was not the desperate, lustful madness they had indulged in the night before. This was love and tenderness, hot passion amongst equals. His body was reacting acutely, and then he heard Legolas’ plea, whispered over Elrond’s open mouth, as he raked his archer’s fingers through the healer’s braided locks.

“Touch me.”

Elrond shuffled behind the now kneeling prince, pushing his chest to Legolas’ back and felt how the prince leaned back into him, arms moving out to the side and splaying his long hair over the healer’s shoulder in a gesture of utter surrender.

Glorfindel moved forward then, and took the prince’s lips for himself, this time more passionately, as he began caressing Legolas’ body, from his neck to the base of his abdomen.

Elrond moved his hands around the prince’s chest and began unclasping the silver buttons running down its front, opening each side of the material and slowly baring the magnificent chest to Glorfindel’s avidly awaiting stare.

Just the mere sight was enough to make him groan deep in his throat. He wanted this elf so much, and he was being laid out before him, bared open for his touch, a veritable feast of hard muscle and soft, perfect skin.

Sitting up on his haunches, he began to divest himself, all the while staring into the dark blue eyes of the offering before him. Elrond was now loosening the ties of the prince’s breeches, but not once did he touch him there, his hands simply danced around the swelling groin, opening the cloth and looking expectantly at his general, who was now bare-chested, wearing only his black breeches.

He lowered himself over the half-reclining blond elf, tenderly held from the back by his friend and lover, who was roving his fingers through the silken tresses, worshiping with his fingers.

Glorfindel could hold out no longer, and so he dipped his head and began to suck up the length of the exquisitely carved neck and shoulders. Moving down, he sucked and nipped at the enticing nipples as his hands moved down the sides of the prince’s semi-exposed torso, feeling the overdeveloped deltoids rippling beneath his fevered touch.

Further down he moved until his head hovered over the pulsing sex, still confined but screaming for release.

In one deft movement, he had yanked down the breeches and engulfed the long, hard length in his watering mouth, closing his eyes on the first contact of his tongue with the soft, velvety, iron-hard flesh inside his mouth.

Legolas shifted, moving back into Elrond, as he opened his legs a little wider, letting out a guttural groan of pleasure.

Glorfindel was tasting the prince, from root to tip, and then further down to his balls, swirling his tongue and leaving abundant saliva over the heated muscle.

Legolas was now moaning softly, his body in perpetual but fluid motion as he was licked and sucked mercilessly.

Elrond was beside himself in pleasure, holding the writhing warrior as he was pleasured by his general. But he would wait, for the show was exquisite and he would not cut it short. It was, however, a physical necessity to loosen the confines of his own breeches, for his cock was straining so hard against the fabric, he had become extremely uncomfortable. His open crutch was now pressed firmly against the small of Legolas’ bare back.

A low, raspy groan escaped the blond elf as the warrior took him down his throat.

“Glorfindel, let me feel your cock inside me”

“Yes” he whispered fiercely, as he removed his own breeches and knelt naked before the offering splayed before him.

He then removed the prince’s leggings completely, drinking in the sight of powerful thigh muscles draping to the sides of Elrond’s clothed thighs, totally revealing his rigid cock.

Legolas felt hands from behind, hooking under the backs of his knees, and his legs hoisted up, so that his backside sat on the healer’s thighs, and baring his genitals and rear to the blonde elf before him. It felt so good, so erotic. He was being offered, made vulnerable, and he was enjoying it like a wanton.

Glorfindel, now panting with unspent desire, traced his hands over the taut mounds of the elf’s buttocks, massaging, pulling and pushing.

He was being stretched, opened, held in the arms of the Lord of Imladris. He was in pure bliss. He felt his balls tingling and his cock pulsate as a sudden shock of desire crashed over him. He gasped loud, and followed it with a throaty, long-drawn out moan.

“More, Glorfindel, give me what I desire. Take what you are freely offered”

The warrior had already seen Elrond stretching his right arm out to retrieve a small vile from his tunic pocket, which he deftly tossed to his friend.

Catching it in one hand, he uncorked it, but instead of coating himself, he simply poured the contents over the prince’s genitals, watching as the thick liquid ran down his cock, over his balls and into the crease of his buttocks.

Elrond thrust himself towards the prince, seeking more friction from behind, as Glorfindel pushed his thighs flush with the prince’s upturned backside, taking his cock in hand and bracing himself. He thrust hard, sheathing himself to the hilt, closing his eyes and throwing back his head, a desperate, strangled cry on his exhaled breath.

Legolas was thrust back into Elrond’s protective arms, and his straining erection. He opened his mouth in a silent moan, searching and finding Glorfindel’s eyes as they bored into his own.

And then Glorfindel was thrusting, impaling, groaning and moaning. He could not get himself in any further and yet he wished to. Legolas’ body was thrust backwards and forwards, sideways, in every possible direction, but always feeling the solid form behind him. He was almost there, his cock impossibly hard, he was sure with just one touch he would spill himself wildly.

“Don’t stop, Glorfindel, fuck me,” he moaned.

A harsh intake of breath and he felt the arms holding his knees tense and move even further outwards.

“Take him Glorfindel, take him hard”

He could take no more of this exquisite torture and began his final descent into bliss, taking the prince’s cock in one hand and synchronising his now hard thrusting with his hand.

“Come for me?” he managed to croak as liquid began surging from the base of his cock, making its way aggressively to the tip, seeking release.

A loud keening moan that would not be stopped accompanied the gush of liquid leaving Glorfindel and entering Legolas, Still pumping and thrusting, wailing almost as his seed continued to flow.

Legolas was there, receiving a hard downward thrust to his cock, he arched his back and moaned his pleasure, as liquid escaped him and entered his pulsating channel at the same time. Thrusting into the hand again and again as he spurted over his belly and chest. Elrond moaned with him, thrusting himself against the muscled back, watching the prince’s face as he rode through the powerful orgasm. It was too much for the healer, who came hard against the prince’s buttocks.

And then it was over.

He felt the hand leave his slackening cock, as Glorfindel fell back and out of him, exhausted yet exhilarated.

Legolas twisted his half-naked form to face Elrond, still fully clothed, albeit with his breeches open, and the evidence of his joy staining the front.

They kissed then, and fell into each others’ arms, where all three promptly fell into sated reverie.

...............................................................................

Dinner had been a more informal affair, and spirits were high. There was much talk and healthy debate at the table, and Elrond was glad to see that the Greenwood warriors were mingling with his own troops – that was good, that was more than good, he thought, for they will fight and die together soon.

Glorfindel was also observing the encouraging scene, and then he noticed Melven who was sitting between his friends, obviously trying to pass unnoticed. There were not jokes, snickers or whispered jibes; he was subdued, melancholic almost. Well it served him right, a lesson in humility was exactly what Melven needed, he thought.

Legolas stood then, and walked down the table, taking up a seat in front of the absent-minded Melven. Sensing the movement in front of him, he looked up in shock to contemplate he who sat before him.

“I was impressed by your display with the short-swords today, Melven. You show talent, and you are one of so few that have dared to take up the art”, said Legolas sincerely, as his eyes never left the startled lieutenant. The table had gone quiet, the warriors continuing to eat, but with one eye and one ear on the conversation taking place between Melven and the prince.

“I thought perhaps, that we could mutually benefit from sparring together in the mornings during my stay. Would that please you, lieutenant?” he asked.

Melven was stunned. Of course he had seen the display between this blade master and Glorfindel and he knew himself sorely outmatched, and yet Legolas was offering him redemption, not only from his foolish self, but from the mocking he was receiving from his own peers. He was truly humbled, and he felt curiously liberated for it.

“It would be a great honour”, and he hesitated here – “it would be a great honour to receive instruction from the son of Thranduil.”

Legolas beamed then and offered his forearm in an invitation, which Melven accepted with a smile of his own, clasping forearms and signing what was to be the beginning of a wonderful friendship, against all odds.

THE END

Coming soon: The Protégé III: Protect and Defend
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The Protege II: Training Day