Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
CHAPTER TWO: Paradise

One more night on the Old Forest Road and they would arrive. Spirits were high as the caravan relaxed the closer they got to the fortress. Here, nothing could happen to them, for Legolas’ army had them within their protective embrace, and so they lowered their defenses and savoured the taste of homecoming, for it was sweet and heady.

Even Aradan, who had taken Balentar and Eruanna under his wing, ventured outside, sitting atop the wagon they had inhabited during the journey, smiling brightly as he encouraged his charges to follow him. Balentar had spent the entire way quaking in his boots, yet Eruanna felt an adventurous streak come to the fore, one she had not known she possessed. And yet she suppressed it, for her parents had instilled on her the need for precaution - too much, she mused, as she looked around her, marveling at the sights and smells that assaulted her senses.

The singing had started after the midday meal, and they would not be stopped. They improvised their words as they sung of Imladris and its beauty, of the Lady of Light and of Elrond Earendilion, but especially of Glorfindel of Gondolin – for he was a warrior, one that had given his life for his people, one that had made that ultimate sacrifice, and that, in the Greenwood, was unsurpassable.

Legolas smiled as he listened to them sing the praises of his lover. ‘Golden-haired Protector’ they called him, or ‘Bright Sacrifice,’ the list went on. Elladan snatched a glance at his friend then, smiling indulgently as the king’s lips turned upwards ever so slightly, his eyes hazing as they turned in on themselves, the lord obviously lost to his memories of times not long past. Elladan wondered then, if he would ever find a love like that. Be that as it may, he would remember to tell Glorfindel that if he ever rode to the Greenwood, he would be received and revered as king no less.

A shrill bird call alerted the commander to the change of the guard. They were now entering the area of the First Unit, and he knew that soon, they would be hailed, as protocol dictated.

Slowing the pace of the caravan, he pulled his horse to a halt and waited for the captain to appear, for the woods had become silent, and Legolas was suddenly puzzled. They were hiding something from him, he knew, yet they seemed to be in cohorts with whoever it was that would appear before them.

A soft thud alerted Elladan and Melven that the unit had arrived, yet what they saw was – unexpected, for there, in front of the caravan, was a warrior. This was no emissary of the Home Guard – this was a field warrior. He was tall and sleek, his muscles well-defined. He wore the leather skirt and vest that Legolas did when on duty - his hair was pulled back harshly from his face, visible only as a thick plait running down his back and the adornments and protection on his arms sat proudly as a testimony to his trophies in war. A mighty bow peaked from over his shoulders and a broad sword crossed it to the other side. His face – an unreadable mask, mirrored by that of Legolas, who had dismounted and was now approaching the daunting elf.

“Hold! State your name and purpose,” ordered the warrior.

“Prince Legolas Thranduilion, I return home to serve once more.”

The warrior smiled warmly then, breaking the spell, as he replied to the words of his commander.

“And I am your humble Captain, my Prince, and you are most welcome home – we have missed you, Hwindohtar.”

Six new thuds revealed Lindohtar- the Bard Warrior, Pengon - Arrow Elf, Ram en ‘Ondo - Wall of Stone, Idhrenohtar - Wise Warrior, Koron en’Naur - Fireball, Nanern - the Tale Teller – his southern detachment, otherwise known as The Company - his warriors; but what were they doing here?

“Form the line!” bellowed the dark warrior, waiting for his six companions to form up behind him.

“Hûr!” yelled the captain, as he began to bang his forearm vambraces together, the warriors behind him mirroring his movements. They chanted in Sylvan, stomped their feet and clapped their biceps, punching the air before them as they shouted together in perfect harmony. Their movements were synchronized, their voices one, their purpose – death to the enemies of the Greenwood.

Elladan and Melven remembered the dance from that first, memorable training day in Imladris- they had shocked and awed those that watched, yet now, seeing it performed so naturally – danced as a greeting to their commander – it made so much more sense.

Once it had finished, the warriors moved in, blocking Legolas from sight, as they clapped the prince’s shoulders, clasping each other’s forearms, embracing each other – for these were the elves that would give their lives the one for the other, that had shared horrors they did not care to speak of with others, that understood each other as no other could.

The Noldorin warriors looked on, and wondered then, what it would be like to be a part of that brotherhood of warriors, that circle of elves that were closer than friends - that would not hesitate to kill in order to preserve each other’s existence, even unto kinslaying. And wasn’t this what all elves strived for? That feeling of belonging, of being loved and loving in return, serving a purpose – wasn’t this what made death more bearable? What made life worth the living?

“Camp at the Great Sequoia, my Lord. There, we will feast and sing and dance before protocol calls you to your father’s presence, and your regal duties once more.”

“We will, Dima. Find us a mighty venison then, for we come in hunger for a bath and hearty food.”

“We will see to it! Welcome home, my Lord. We have missed you much,” said Dimaethor, before disappearing as silently as he had arrived, The Company following him as they were sent off with a cheer from the warriors behind Legolas, for these soldiers were the most revered of all the Greenwood’s ranks. These seven specifically, had been with Legolas since the founding of the Company, the few that had survived through the years. They were all captains by right and favor, yet they repeatedly refused the honor, for it would mean serving in a different detachment, and they would not suffer to be parted from their prince.

Legolas took a few moments to compose himself before turning back to the waiting caravan, and his horse.

Jumping into the saddle in one swift leap, he held his arm high and whipped it forward. “Come, my friends, two more hours and we will be feasting at the Great Sequoia!”

The answering roar startled the Imladrians, who flinched before promptly sitting straight once more atop their chargers, as if nothing at all had happened, sharing an amused grimace at once again being taken by surprise.

And so it was, that they started out on the two hour journey towards the revered sentinel, the Noldor still pondering the arrival of The Company, and how they would fit in with them, if, indeed, they would at all.

“Lord Elladan, why do you suppose they address him as Prince, rather than Sire, or King?” asked Melven.

“I can only assume that it is because he will need his lord father to publically recognize him as such, before he is allowed that title. Aradan mentioned some such thing the day my father proclaimed him king.”

“I see. And what of their nickname for him?” he smirked.

Elladan chuckled as he recalled the name the warrior had addressed Legolas with. ‘Hwindohtar.’

“’Tis fitting indeed! Is this how you envisaged the Greenwood, Melven?” asked Elladan, wondering if he was alone in his surprise.

“Nay, not at all, my Lord. I had imagined it to be far more – basic, rural, if you will. Yet look at these constructions. The flets we see high up in those trees are advanced structures, the engineering necessary to create them at that height is by no means basic, and at least on a par with the Lorien flets. And see there, that pulley system they have for the transport of water and goods – the ropes lie inside those wooden structures – they protect the cables from wear, or attack I presume.”

“You are observant, Melven.”

“Had I not become a warrior, I should have liked to be a planner and builder, ‘tis a hobby I have neglected for years, my Lord.”

“Your skill could come in handy in an army such as this. I will remember your words,” said Elladan, sincerely impressed once again with his lieutenant.

Melven was sincerely pleased with himself for once. He was redeeming himself, slowly but surely he was regaining his pride and dignity, and well it suited him, he thought, as he smiled to himself. Yet he had not said the words to please or to impress, they had simply flowed, as they once had before he had bonded and allowed himself to be misled. He knew that this new environment, away from those that would mould him to their own stereotypes, would make him the elf he wished to be, he just needed to stay strong, and humble, and of course - tame his rebellious mouth.

……………………………………………………………………………

As they continued along the road, the population was becoming steadily denser. Elves walked along the beaten track, transporting baskets, ewers, wood and the likes. They would stop and bow, and then wave, or shout a warrior’s greeting. They seemed happy, these woodland elves – yet what astounded Elladan the most was the fact that many of the ladies carried children. He had never seen so many young ones, together in one place. They toddled behind their mothers, helping with what they could; the younger ones were strapped to their backs or sides with strips of colourful cloth. It was a marvel to behold, and just one glance at Melven told him that he too, had realized how young this population was.

Galdithion watched the play of emotions on his friend’s beautiful face, he knew what he was thinking, for he had had a similar yet opposite first impression of Imladris.

“You marvel at how many young ones you see.”

“I do. The average age of these people is much lower than in my homeland.”

“True,” he began, as Melven turned his ear to listen to Galdithion’s explanation.

“Alas, our mortality rate is equally high. ‘Tis a simple necessity that our women bear as many children as they can,” he said casually.

Melven frowned at the warrior’s comment, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Speak your mind, Melven,” invited Galdithion, catching Elladan’s attention as he also turned to hear his retort.

“It just seemed to me that you spoke words that would sadden the hardest of elves, and yet your tone belied no feeling at all.”

“And why do you think that is?” invited Galdithion, wondering if the warrior could start to think before passing judgement.

“Well, perhaps because this is something you have lived with all your life, ‘tis not surprising to you, yet it is also a daily reminder for you of the high cost you pay to protect your home.”

“You are partially right in that I am not surprised – how could I be? Yet my mind must be guarded from these issues. I must suppress the emotions lest they take me to the deepest darkest pits of Dol Guldûr. All our warriors are trained to do this. It does not mean we feel less, suffer less, cry less. It is a simple technique that allows us to continue doing what we do. You will see my meaning the day you attend the first funeral rites. Can you understand this, my friend?” asked Galdithion in a conciliatory tone.

Melven was horrified that he had done it again. He had shown prejudice once more. He was trying, he truly was, yet his mouth worked faster than his conscious mind. He glanced ahead at Legolas, remembering how he had done that to him not once but twice now.

He turned an appologetic expression on Galdithion then, before extricating himself once more from his ingrained intolerance.

“I ask your forgiveness, Galdithion. I have become most intolerant of late, as your Lord already knows. One of the reasons I came here was – is to learn, to change. I hope you will be more tolerant than I and help me in this task?”

“It would be my honour, Melven,” replied the guard magnanimously, thought Elladan.

Sighing audibly, Melven dipped his head and turned his gaze back to the tree line and the activities within.

Legolas smiled then, catching Elladan’s eyes before looking once more to the road.

Dusk was settling over them when Galdithion cantered forward at Legolas’ behest. Yet he was soon back as he stopped in front of his lord’s horse, wheeling his own around to face him.

“My Lord, everything has been generously disposed. We are to station the wagons here in this clearing, and continue on foot. Our horses will be bathed and fed for us.”

Legolas smiled as he nodded to Galdithion, and turned his attention to the caravan.

“We will station the wagons here, and entrust our animals. We continue on foot to the Great Sequoia. You are free for the evening. I ask only that those travelling on to the fort be ready at the eighth hour to continue our march. To those leaving us here, I thank you, on behalf of my father King Thranduil, for your services during the Spring Festival. You have represented your nation and shown our Noldorin kin that we are worthy allies, that we have much to offer them, as they have to us, and you have made me so very proud to be your Prince, that I may continue to serve you for as long as the Lady permits.”

A cheer went up as the travelers began to dismount horses and wagons, handing them over to the waiting elves with a nod of thanks. However, various elves approached the ‘prince’ then, and simply touched him on the shoulder, the arm, even his hair, before disappearing into the tree line, bound for their homes.

It was a short walk to the Great Sequoia, yet nothing could have prepared the Noldor for the sight that greeted them a short way inside the tree line, for there, stood the mightiest, most majestic tree they had ever seen. Its trunk thicker than any Mellyrn of the Golden Wood. Its roots splayed out in all directions, creating small sheltered areas that had been decked with cushions and blankets, reminiscent of the decoration that had been used on that day of demonstration, and that had proved to be so very popular.

As they walked towards the centre, marked by the massive sentinel, Galdithion held out his arms to stop the Noldor from advancing. Pulling up with an inquisitive glance at the guard, they realized that everyone had indeed stopped, except for Legolas, who continued until he was in front of the imposing trunk. He knelt then, and bowed his head as silence descended over the gathering.

A low rumbling resounded then, startling the newcomers, yet did nothing to immute the Sylvans standing perfectly still.

‘Welcome, Lord of the Forests’, it rumbled, comprehensible only to he who understood.

‘I thank you, Father. I have come to ask permission to feast and rejoice beneath your boughs, if you will grant it.’

‘I will grant it, my King. It is our pleasure to shelter you in this time of joy.’

Standing, he turned and smiled. “Let the feasting begin!” he shouted, as the people cheered, moving to this or that hearth with family or friends. They lit their fires and positioned their hunks of meat from that afternoon’s bountiful hunting foray. They slathered the boar, venison and fowl with oils, herbs and honey, and sure enough, it was not long before the juices began to flow as the meat crackled and hissed into the dancing flames.

Aradan had taken Eruanna and Balentar’s hands, and led them away to a hearth that beckoned to him, his cousin smiling widely as he held out arms.

“Greetings cousin,” said Calanon, hugging him fondly. He looked over Aradan’s shoulder then, and stood transfixed as the background faded into nothing, and he stared into the eyes of his future wife.

………………………………………………………………………..

Dimaethor had appeared before them, bearing a mischievous smile as he ushered the now smaller group to the sidelines, and to a thick trunk the Company had commissioned for themselves, their own hearth now crackling merrily as a variety of meats roasted over it, the smell of which was making Elladan’s mouth water and his stomach rumble, much as the sequoia had, to the mirth of Melven and Legolas.

The warriors stood at their arrival before Legolas simply held out his hand, and they were seated once more. He turned to the Noldor then, gesturing for them to sit, which they did, nodding to their companions around the hearth, who were openly inspecting them.

Dimaethor’s attention, however, had quickly returned to his lord.

“You have changed, my Lord,” began Dima, staring at Legolas’ hair before returning to his brilliant green eyes.

“Aye,” he smiled. “That I have, yet it is a long story, perfect for our first night of patrol, one I am sure Nanern will elaborate on,” he finished, smiling slyly.

“Now,” began Legolas, eager to change the subject. “These warriors are my men; together we make up The Company, as we have come to be known. You, I hope, will become a part of that company soon, and so we shall introduce ourselves to you. I, am Hwindohtar - Twirling Warrior, named for my peculiar fighting style. I was named by Ram en’ Ondo after my second patrol as a lieutenant. However, Lindohtar often tells a different story, for he swears it was he who named me after a night of feasting, when I had indulged myself too much, and struck a strange dance that I myself do not remember!”

They all laughed as Lindohtar spoke next.

“I, am Lindohtar - the Bard Warrior. I was named by Imrathon. My story is not so merry, for I was young and impressionable; it was, perhaps my fourth or fifth foray into the south, when we lost him. I was so saddened that I sang a lament as he passed in my arms. His last words to me were, ‘I name you ‘Lindohtar’, for what better way to die, than to the sound of your sweet voice.’”

The other warriors’ eyes were swimming, as some of them had been there, Legolas included.

“Hûr Imrathon,” he said then, as he was answered by his men, almost as if they saluted one that was present, thought Melven.

Lindohtar busied himself by offering the Noldor and his companions their glasses, filling them with rich, heady wine, as his comrades continued with their introductions.

“I, am Dimaethor – Silent Warrior, lieutenant of the Company, and captain when our Lord is absent. I was named by Pengon - Arrow Elf. I would like to say that he named me for my extraordinary skills at stealth, yet woe this is not so. I too, was young and inexperienced. We were on a stealth mission high in the trees, collecting intelligence on a band of wandering orcs. In my enthusiasm to see the deed done, I leant out too far, and – crashed to the ground, forcing the Company to engage. We overcame, fortunately, but it was my ploughing through the trees that had stuck in Pengon’s mind, and I was thoroughly teased for months after.”

A collective ‘oohh’ went out, as the stories continued, Elladan and Melven now avidly sipping their wine, enthralled with these warriors and their tales.

“I am Ram en’ Ondo, Wall of Stone. I was named by Hwindohtar. During a training session on speed and agility, we were sent around a clearing, to run and cartwheel, summersault and side twist. Now, Hwindo has always excelled in this, and had caught tremendous momentum that he could not control, and promptly crashed into me, thoroughly winding himself.”

They all laughed at the memory of it, for their prince had been on his hands and knees gasping for breath for a good two minutes.

“It took him a while to get his breath back before sitting up and blithely calling me ‘Ram en ‘Ondo.,’ – Wall of Stone.

Again they laughed hard, now joined by Melven and Elladan, who were thoroughly enjoying the themselves as they sipped on the excellent wine that Lindo had served them with.

“I, am Pengon - Arrow Elf, named by Idhrenohtar. Nay! I am not the best archer of the Greenwood – ‘tis that I have been skewered more times than we can count - I have a penchance for attracting black arrows!”

There were collective grimaces as the stories continued.

“I, am Idhrenohtar - Wise Warrior, for I am, indeed wise,” he paused, as his fellows chuckled and jeered.

“However, I was named by Koron en’ Naur, for we each acquired our names for the same incident, and named each other accordingly. We were attacked by black wolves, and so we lit torches to stay them. Unfortunately, my torch caught the hem of Koron en’s cape, which promptly caught fire. I ripped my own cape off and wrapped him in it, patting wildly at his body until the flames had gone. He named me Wise Warrior for sarcasm, but also for saving him from the flames. And of course I named him, for he had looked for all the life of him as a mighty ball of fire!”

They laughed again at the memory. It had not been funny at the time, but it had not taken them long to start the teasing and laughing.

“And I, I am Nanern, Teller of Tales, named by Ram en’. I know not why, my Lords, for I have no skill at story-telling. Now if we talk of warfare, archery and skill with the short swords, I will not say I am not skilled, for I am. I fought a troll with them, bringing it down by the sheer force of my right arm, for it was huge, so huge I could not see its head…”

“So you see,” interrupted Ram en’, “he is indeed, our Tale Teller, for he can spin a yarn so fantastic he would put your wildest dreams to shame!”

The chuckling finally died down as the bottle was passed round again.

“And you, my Lords,” inquired Idhrenohtar, “do you not have warrior names in Imladris?”

“Ah, well, no. Nick names, but nothing that is used exclusively on the battlefield. I am simply Elladan, he is Melven.”

“But that must be remedied!” exclaimed Pengon. “My Lord, you say you will have them patrol with us?”

“Yes, after some briefing and training, they will accompany us for a while.”

“Then worry not, my friends, for you will soon be gifted with a name you deserve!”

“Then please, be kind, my friends, and in return, I will try not to get punctured, set on fire, fall out of mammoth trees or engage headless trolls!” exclaimed Elladan.

And the laughter was back as they opened another bottle.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Idhrenohtar buried his knife into the chunk of sizzling venison, testing its readiness. It was indeed done, and so he carved off a succulent piece and placed it into a large leaf and handed it to his captain before serving the visitors and then the warriors.

Legolas had long given up protesting this deference they paid him, for it had been to no avail, and so now, he simply accepted their respect.

They ate in silence, listening to the woodland songs and percussion that had struck up on the other side of the clearing.

“You must be tired, my Lords,” stated Koron en’.

“Yes, yet pleasantly so in my case,” said Elladan. He did feel tired, but had no intention of sleeping, not with all this wonderous food, drink and partying to be had, he was a Noldor after all - Elrohir would be beside himself if he knew what he was missing, and of course, Elladan would indeed be telling him all about it.

“Perhaps you would care for a bath,” asked Legolas blithely.

“Oh a bath, how wonderful!” exclaimed Melven.

“Oh yes, please!” said Elladan.

“And I trust you have already bathed, my warriors?”

“Oh aye,” they chorused, chuckling as the four elves made their way to the lake.

“My friends, you should know that the bath is public. There will be helpers there at your service.”

“At our service?” asked Elladan.

“Yes,” replied Galdithion. “They have soaps and oils, they will wash your hair, your body, and perform – other services – if you so wish.”

“Er…” said Melven, not quite sure if he was missing something, for Elladan was smirking, and Legolas’ eyebrows had shot to his hairline.

“He means, Melven, that they will offer you company, intimate company, should you wish it.”

“OOOhhh, I seeee,” he exclaimed, feeling somewhat embarrassed for not having understood sooner, yet the thought of indulging in sex with one other than his wife quickly changed his chagrin into lust.

“’Tis not obligatory, Melven,” soothed Legolas. “Just let them service you, and then you either accept or refuse their advances – they will not be angry, but simply move on to the next bather, should he or she take their fancy.”

“Oh,” he said again rather lamely, yet his breeches were beginning to stretch as he thought of the possibilities – it had been so long and he was hard just thinking about it.

Elladan shared a smile with Legolas and Galdithion as they walked purposefully to the shores of the beautiful, tree-lined lake. It was small and shady, yet there were cushions and lanterns in every nook and cranny, naked elves both male and female, sauntering here and there, amongst the rocks, in the water.

Some were washing, others being washed, while others kissed and touched. However, it was on the far banks that Elladan saw the white shining bodies undulating together in various positions. Some over rocks, others on the ground, against tree trunks, or simply standing, as they were pleasured.

Melven stared open-mouthed, as Elladan grinned saucily at what he saw, his own cock reacting more than efficiently to the stimulus.

“For obvious reasons, we call this ‘Love Lake,’” smiled Legolas, as he began to pull off his clothing. No sooner had he reached for the clasps of his leather vest, and he was surrounded by half naked males and females, touching him on the shoulder or taking a lock of his hair. The two Noldorin warriors watched the interaction, noticing how Legolas would nod his head slightly to this and then that elf. Looking back over his shoulder he smiled as he addressed them one more time that evening.

“Have fun, my friends.”

And with that, he was lost in a sea of elves, divesting him of his garments as they ushered him into the cool sweet waters of Love Lake.

It was not long before they too were surrounded, yet the elves were more hesitant with the strangers. Galdithion however, had simply vanished from their side.

Elladan hid his disappointment, and smiled at them as they eased forward a little, one male touching his hair. He was very pretty, and so Elladan nodded at him, at which he beamed beautifully, his full mouth offering Elladan all kinds of lusty possibilities. A woman touched his arm, looking up at him with the raunchiest expression he had ever seen on a elf – and so he nodded again. It was not long before he too, was being ushered to the waters, his clothes slowly but surely disappearing.

Now Melven was no prude, but he was out of practice. He stared hopelessly at them all, for if it was up to him, he would have them all, one after the other.

One elf stepped up to him and cupped his cheek then, wearing the most kindly, loving expression any elf had offered him, and he melted into it, dropping his head and moving into the touch. They all stepped forward then, as if suddenly understanding that this elf need comfort more than most, he was devoid of attention, affection. And so they surrounded him as they whisked him away to the waters, and to paradise.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Arcane Land