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The Protege V: Harvest	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1555 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters, and I make no money with these tales.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER TWO: Mastering Yaavan

The five friends sat under a shady willow, next to a bubbling brook that Arwen had led them to. Opening her basket, she took out a set of glasses yet there was no wine in sight, much to the dismay of her brothers and friends, who had been watching her every move, ‘as dogs do when elven food is to be had,’ thought Arwen.

However, she rose and made her way over to the mossy rocks lining the banks of the stream, and pulled on a concealed cord, retrieving – a bottle of crisp, cool white wine.

Turning back to her friends, she smiled mischievously as she took in the childish expressions of delighted anticipation on the males’ faces.

Elladan took his glass to his lips and drew a generous gulp, feeling the chilled liquid as it flowed down his throat like a silken ribbon.

“Ah, that is good,” he said, as the others tasted the brew, rolling it over their palates, sampling the retro-nasal bouquet.

“Now, what say you, my friends, to the spectacle we have just witnessed?” began Elrohir.

“That was nothing short of amazing, brother. I have never seen the likes. You surely remember our stance training – we never took it seriously, for we did not consider it to be real fighting – we wanted to learn the attacks and parries, defense moves and the likes, stances seemed to be unnecessary - posturing, if you will.”

“When did you realize you were wrong?” enquired Haldir, gulping at his own wine with relish, for the day was warm.

“To be honest? Just now, and that is the truth.”

“And how many times did Glorfindel chide you for your misconceived idea?” asked Galdithion as he relaxed onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, watching the older twin as he spoke.

“Impossible to say, Galdithion”, continued Elladan. “Every time we slacked off, every time we became exasperated because we could not understand what we had done wrong. And yet now, watching Legolas perform them, and then seamlessly change into battle moves, I clearly saw why they were, are – so important, do you see my point?”

“Indeed I do,” he smiled. He thought he may become very good friends with Elladan, for he was humble, in spite of his exalted family and position. And so he beamed beautifully, and was rewarded by the sudden, yet well-hidden surprise on Elladan’s face, which promptly turned into a half-lidded smile.

Arwen smiled to herself, for she did believe that her brother had just felt the first stirrings of desire. Her father would be heartened, she knew, not that she would tell him, not yet, at least.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

It had been Elladan and Haldir who had searched for Glorfindel after their mid-morning refreshments at the brook. They had many questions regarding what they had witnessed, and more than a few requests, for amongst the valley dwellers, they were counted as good warriors, yet more than this, they were vocational warriors – and took every opportunity to be had for learning and improving their skill. Elladan at least tried, when he was not under the influence of his strong-willed twin, Elrohir, who had always been more interested in the arts and sciences. Yes, he was a good warrior, but he was not motivated enough to acquire the kind of skill and discipline Elladan knew was inherent in the Grand Master, and that is what Elladan wanted, yet all too many times he had been roped into his brother’s mischief, had been too weak to pull away from the all-encompassing strength of his sibling’s character. And so, at the end of the day, he had not achieved all that he knew he would, one day be capable of. And so there he sat, in the gardens with his friend Haldir, asking questions and listening attentively to the grand master’s replies, avidly soaking in the wisdom and experience that Glorfindel freely offered.

…………………………………………………………………………..

Dinner was lively, for strangely, it was now that the elves truly began to relax. The magic, the mystery and the wonder of the miracles that had been wrought were too solemn for boisterous celebration, at least it seemed that way to most. Oh, they had partied, but it was not the wild, unrestrained jubilation inherent to the Sylvan culture, and to a lesser extent to the Noldor. Now however, all had come to pass; the Lady’s garden restored, a king reigned once more in Elvendom – a protector chosen by Yavanna herself. Everything had come together to infuse them all with hope, love and joy – the future no longer seemed uncertain to them, for though darkness was rising, so was light, it was here, in Imladris.

Likewise for Legolas, the relief he felt was visible to all, for although he had been rigorously trained to hide that which could make him vulnerable, his life force shone and pulsed with such power that it simply escaped his will; he was happy and it was plain to those who cared to look.

Inevitably, talk at the table had eventually turned to Glorfindel’s relentless sword training session with the lord. They spoke as they chuckled at how Legolas had finally sunk to his knees in a puddle of sweat, chatter that Legolas took with a good-natured grimace, as he piled his plate high with everything the table had to offer. Once more, Elrond looked on in amazement, as Erestor scowled fondly as he would at a growing youth.

He was ravenous, his muscles screaming for fuel, protein, anything to restore his strength, feed the growing muscles in his arms, his legs, his torso, everywhere.

Unbeknown to him, as he began to eat, the band of friends eyed him between bites of their own, soft smiles and restrained giggling giving away their ongoing playfulness at his cost. They noted how his right arm shoveled the food into his mouth with a strange, jerky movement, as if it pained him to do so. He could not sit still, moving constantly from one side to the other, rolling his left then right shoulder, yet on he ate, and drank, for he had been driven to dehydration, left but a shriveled sponge devoid of all liquid, ‘no small thanks to my relentless slave master - sword master,’ he corrected.

Glorfindel, however, was eating his own meal in absolute oblivion, or at least that was the role he played. He knew he had discomforted his lover, but he would not admit to that, not in public. Truth be told, he had been so intent on getting him up to what Glorfindel imagined was his usual standard with a blade, that he had given little thought to anything else. And so he played the fool, looking for all the life of him as if nothing noteworthy had come to pass.

Elrond finally took pity and addressed the lord, yet his attempt to extricate Legolas from the amusing predicament proved - unfortunate.

“Legolas, you seem – uncomfortable…” as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew what he had done, for the head of the table was a sudden chorus of chuckles, his own voice among them, much to his own shock and chagrin.

Legolas stopped eating and froze as the chuckling began. Scowling, he lifted his head and watched them. Yet instead of giving a scathing retort, he surprised them all.

“You – have – no – idea – how much – I – ache!” he enunciated carefully, glaring into Glorfindel’s innocent, round eyes.

And Celeborn was lost in a sea of wheezing and spluttering, taking Gildor down with him as he in turn leant against Glorfindel’s shoulder, unable to keep himself upright.

Now, even Legolas was beaming triumphantly as Glorfindel finally let his true emotions show, smiling somewhat abashedly yet comfortingly at him, as his body was shaken by Gildor’s involuntary spasms of laughter.

As the hilarity died down and utensils were taken up again, Elrond began once more.

“Lord Legolas, I must say that I am familiar with my General’s techniques, yet he does seem to have driven you particularly hard, you will need a hot bath and a massage before the night is through.”

“Lord Elrond, I may need a wheelbarrow before this night is through!”

And the laughter was back full-force, as the band of friends howled and slapped their thighs, and Arwen giggled as she reached for her handkerchief. ‘How wonderful,’ thought Mithrandir as he joined the jolliness. ‘Laugh long and hard, protégé; may it bolster your soul against the toil of tomorrow.’

Dinner had finished, and the guests retired to their own entertainments, still tickled by the amusing events at the table. Yet Elrond had extended his invitation to his lovers and Gildor, as Glorfindel’s close friend. Arriving at the lord’s suite, they made themselves comfortable before the hearth, taking up seats on the low sofas, chairs and cushions, and procuring themselves with drinks.

“So,” began Gildor, “will you be training again tomorrow, Lord Legolas? For I am sorry I missed such a worthy spectacle, by all accounts.”

“Legolas. We are in the informal company of friends, Gildor, just Legolas if you please.”

“Alright, if that is your wish.”

“Yes, I believe we will continue, but that is for Glorfindel to decide, for I commended my adjustment training to him, therefore I will continue until he deems me ready to use Yaavan on the battle field.”

Gildor turned to Glorfindel then, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me see now,” began the general. “We are making good progress. You have to understand however, that there is more to this than adjustment, for the sword is the heaviest I have wielded, and although Legolas is powerfully built, even he needs to build extra strength, for this sword was forged by Aulë for a purpose, and it will be no easy task, believe me.”

“I should like to feel it in my own hands, a sword forged by the master himself…” said Gildor, his eyes far away.

“I would gladly yield her to you, if you wish for a turn with her,” offered Legolas.

“Ah, I would likely make a fool of myself, yet I would be honored, Legolas,” he said. He was genuinely beginning to like this elf. He was honorable and generous; he would be a good ally, and a good friend, he was also the most beautiful paradigm of male beauty he had ever seen. He coveted what Glorfindel seemed to have with him, for he was sure they were lovers, although Glorfindel had said nothing specifically, not that they had had time to talk, indeed this drink was the first informal setting in which he had coincided with his ex-lover.

Legolas reached out for his glass and pulled up abruptly, for his shoulder had protested the movement with a sharp stab that sent pain down to his little finger. Closing his eyes at the unexpected twinge, he trained his body’s reactions before opening them again.

Elrond said nothing, but simply rose to his feet and stood behind the sitting lord.

“Relax back,” he ordered.

Allowing his sore, aching body to caress the back of the soft sofa on which he sat, he felt Elrond begin to touch his shoulder, palpating here and there, feeling for a reaction from his patient. Digging his fingers into the space between arm and shoulder, the elf stiffened and Elrond knew he had found the source of his patient’s discomfort.

“There, you have sprained yourself. You must not use this arm until I have been able to treat you. Keep it in your lap, like so,” he said, as he reached for the extremity and placed it carefully over Legolas’ thigh.

Tilting his head back to catch the healer’s eye, he smiled and nodded his thanks.

“Happened to me when I switched swords,” reminisced Erestor, remembering far into the past when his own weapons master had driven him hard and had sent him home shaking and boneless.

“My arm was trussed up in a slink for a week!”

“I suppose we all have our battles to talk of when it comes to weapons masters,” said Gildor. “I too have been driven to insanity, and even skewered a few times by over-enthusiastic trainees - or masters,” he added, with a side-long glance at his ex-lover.

Glorfindel chuckled. “You make me sound like a rabid demon, my friend. ‘Twas your own fault, for you were not quick or skilled enough to dodge my metal!”

“I was a cadet, you brute. You have always driven your pupils far beyond their abilities, beyond the bounds of all that is reasonable,” he said, taking a long swig of his drink.

Legolas watched the interaction taking place. He knew they were friends, suspected they had been lovers - they had obviously lived through many things in their youth, had obviously shared themselves.

Looking down into his cup, Legolas realized Elrond watched him as he smiled placidly, for he had guessed Legolas’ thoughts.

Erestor moved closer to the Forest Lord as Gildor and Glorfindel continued to reminisce as Legolas watched. Placing a hand on his injured shoulder, he smiled as he began to carefully massage the area, taking care not to hurt him. Legolas closed his eyes, willing his tense muscles to relax under the careful attention of his lover, yet he continued to listen…

“And then, when you fell, I – something snapped and I fought with such intensity, such skill it seemed I was faster, stronger, better than I had ever been, and all your training came to the fore - every move, dodge and trick; I hacked my way to you, bringing them down one by one, until they had all been felled, and I reached you,” finished Gildor. He had been immersed in the memory of that fatidic day he had nearly lost his lover, yet now his eyes were trained on the one he still wanted, after all this time, willing him to see the desire in his eyes.

And Glorfindel did, yet he would have to speak to Gildor, for he could no longer give him what he desired most, what he could see in his pleading eyes – love.

Legolas wondered if Glorfindel would take him to his bed, for he could see that he was, indeed, considering it – he desired this elf, he could see it, and he could not blame him, for he was pleasant to look upon.

Erestor hit upon a sore spot just then, jolting him painfully from his thoughts as he hissed.

“Ai, sweet lover, forgive me!” he said, and then realized he had done so in front of Gildor, who looked at Erestor strangely. He had thought Legolas with Glorfindel, but Erestor had just confused him and Glorfindel saw the danger. He would have to clear up Gildor’s confusion sooner rather than later, lest he believe he still had a chance.

Elrond, ever observant, had gestured to Legolas and Erestor to accompany him, leaving the two elves to say what they must. His healer instincts would not allow him to leave his patient in pain for any longer, and of course it was the perfect excuse to allow the ex-lovers to talk.

Legolas obeyed, rising together with Erestor, and retreating into the lord’s bedchamber.

Gildor turned to Glorfindel then, an expectant expression flitted over his face, but it was promptly wiped away as Glorfindel frowned. He knew that brutal honesty was the only way with Gildor, lest he see the slightest opening and wedge his foot in sideways.

“Gildor, I will not lie to you. I still desire you, want you. But we parted for a reason, my friend, and recent events have turned my emotions inside out. The truth is, that I love Legolas with a passion that is new to me. I know he is my soul mate, although our relationship is fresh. He has professed his love for me too, yet we are both of like minds in the enjoyment of sex. We take others to our beds if we so wish, yet we are clear that we are primary mates, while other lovers may be for a simple night of pleasure, or something more – the something more for us, are Elrond and Erestor…”

He watched Gildor as he processed the information. Glorfindel had left it clear to him that he would never be anything more than a night of pleasure, perhaps a little more, but not what Gildor still wanted, needed even, for no one could take Glorfindel’s place in his heart.

“I have truly lost you, have I not? If I can only be the source of a night’s pleasure to you, I have truly lost you, and it pains me so,” he whispered, his eyes swimming with checked emotion.

“You are wrong, Gildor. I do not take just any elf to my bed – not normally, that is. I take only those most special to me, and you are special to me, you always will be. It is true that I cannot love you as I do my Forest Lord, yet you and I will always be friends, lovers if you so wish it.”

“And Legolas will not censor you, tell you he wants you to himself, for it is what I would do, were I him.”

“And that is why we parted, sweet Gildor.” He held his ex-lover’s gaze, willing him to see the truth in his words – and he did, for he bowed his head and nodded.

………………………………………………..

Glorfindel walked into the bedchamber after bidding goodnight to a pensive Gildor, stopping in the doorway as he watched the scene before him.

Legolas was lying face-down, his bare torso glistening with the oil Elrond had applied to relax the taught, distended muscles. The healer stood to one side, holding one of the lord’s arms high, maneuvering it to the side and back until he had the limb in a position that seemed to Glorfindel to be – painful.

Elrond slowly twisted as Legolas’ face scrunched with the strain, feeling his muscles stretch with the movements.

Elrond let go then, as Legolas gasped loudly.

Slipping out of his formal robe, he straddled the prostrate elf and began to kneed the hard, rigid muscles of his back and shoulders, adding more therapeutic oil to his fingers and working it into the skin, soothing away the pain and distention, eliciting soft moans of relief from the face-down lord.

“Oh, Elrond,” whispered Glorfindel, as he moved closer to the bed, drawing up beside Erestor. “Can you not massage him from the front?”

“Nay, not yet. For now, you watch, and enjoy,” he said, smiling wickedly at the two elves who were staring down at the vulnerable warrior, who remained totally oblivious to their lascivious stares.

Resigned to the dictates of the Master Healer, they sat on the bed and watched the strange technique their Lord was using.

Erestor, however, was curious.

“Well? How did Gildor react – you told him, I take it?” he asked, his eyes not once leaving the healer’s fingers as they sunk into the now pliant, oily flesh.

Glorfindel smiled sparingly as he glanced momentarily at the advisor.

“Well enough, Erestor. Yet he loves me still, I realize. It will not be enough for him to simply be lovers – he is not like Legolas in that regard. He is jealous, and sooner or later that jealousy may be the cause of unhappiness, I fear.”

“And you wish to take him as a lover once more?” asked Elrond as he continued the long, soothing movements up the solidly-built back.

“I do. Yet I wonder at the wisdom of it myself. However, I have made the situation clear to him; there is no room for misunderstanding, Elrond. I will take him to my bed – or ours – and see what the morning brings.”

Meanwhile, Legolas had turned his head to face Glorfindel. He watched him as he finished his musings, a placid smile on his face, his mind wandering lustfully as his eyelids finally drooped, and he fell completely, and profoundly – asleep.

………………………………………………….

The past three days had been spent on the training grounds with Glorfindel, together with almost the entirety of resident warriors, who watched the sessions attentively from beginning to end. Glorfindel drove the lord harder than he had any of them, and that had been hard enough. They supposed that being a king did indeed have its drawbacks, yet they could not overcome their feelings of awe every time they came down to watch and learn. The younger trainees would ask their tutors questions on this or that stance, posture, block or attack, and smaller, improvised sessions could frequently be seen off to the sidelines as teachers demonstrated the moves that had drawn their pupil’s attention. Even Elladan and Haldir had joined up and were trying out the different sequences on each other, watching and then imitating, remembering the details and nuances they had not quite understood, for they would then seek out Glorfindel and ask him to demonstrate them. They were motivated once more, after so many years of routine, now, they wanted more.

One of Glorfindel’s most unusual tactics was to order Legolas to adopt an attack stance and hold it for minutes on end, circling him as he inspected his posture and strength, and if he saw a twinge or the slightest of movements, he would order him to start again.

Legolas had actually lost weight, yet his muscles were more toned than they had ever been, and he was starting to feel better; he still ached, but it was not the crippling sensation of the first days, partly thanks to Elrond’s evening therapies…

Glorfindel had suggested Legolas work the sword into his standard training session, for if he could pull off the aerial work with Yaavan, then he would be ready, and so they stood in the centre of the arena, their daily spectators taking up their places as the session began. Today, however, Mithrandir and Gildor had joined them.

“Legolas, I want you to run through your standard sword-training routine but slowly – we will build up speed later on.”

Nodding, he struck a ready stance with his mighty sword and balanced himself, standing stock still, sword to the front, left arm to the back, palm to the front. His left leg was straight behind him, knee almost scraping the floor. He began to move then, slowly yet precisely, twirling his sword, changing from one hand to the other, limbering up the muscles, turning 180 degrees, then 360 degrees. After five minutes, the movements became more fluid as the characteristic rhythmic nature of his dance began to materialize. He flowed through the space around him, the mighty sword howled and whined as he whirled it over his head, slicing through the air around him. It was time to move on to the third phase. And then he was a whirlwind, for he jumped and twisted, back-flipped then somersaulted, dropped to the ground in a defensive move, only to propel himself upwards and perform a stunning spectacle of aerial acrobatics, so characteristic of his singular fighting style. Under normal circumstances, he would have continued for at least another 10 minutes, yet he was already winded, and so he struck his final stance and bent over to catch his breath.

Standing back up, he realized that Glorfindel watched him, looking at him as if puzzled, his head cocked to the side, his brow furrowed.

Frowning himself now, his eyes wandered to the group of friends and spectators. They too were standing, looking at him with that very same expression, disbelief. He wondered then, if he had simply disappointed them.

Moving over to the pail of water, he dipped the cup into it and drank deeply, yet the silence continued, and he was uncomfortable, something that was not lost on his lover, as he snapped back to himself.

“Legolas,” began Glorfindel hesitantly, catching his arm, “get used to it. You cannot see yourself when you fight, but trust me that what we just witnessed was – incomprehensible.”

The lord set his lips, not quite sure if he was happy with that, yet his friends had joined them now, smiling as they clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him, telling him he had done it, that he had been marvelous, stunning, unbeatable. He finally allowed himself to smile, albeit he knew he was still not up to his usual standard; his stamina had failed him long before it normally would, and so he resolved to continue training, and sparring, until he tired no more.

As they walked back to the house, Legolas turned to his lover, bestowing upon him a beautiful smile.

“Thank you, Glorfindel.”

“You are most welcome, Legolas.”

“I would like to spar from tomorrow, does that sound wise?”

“It does. Perhaps we can include Elladan and Haldir, you know your adjustment training has deeply motivated them, and I know that they will benefit greatly from it, what say you?”

“I say good, Glorfindel. That way there are more styles to counter.”

“Good. Now, can I interest you in a well-deserved aperitif, my Lord?”

“Indeed you may,” he smiled, watching his lover from the corner of his eye, knowing that ‘aperetif’ was in fact a synonym of ‘nightcap’, at least in Imladrian!

Not far behind them, Mithrandir observed, a placid smile gracing his lined face, eyes sparkling with the thought of things still to come, for this was his key player; he had befriended the foremost elves of all nations, gaining their love and respect. He was the greatest of warriors, contained within a body that no one could resist. He was intrepid, bold, a leader of elves, he commanded nature. He would, indeed be a harvester, just as his sword foretold.
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The Protege V: Harvest