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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6315 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter XIX: By Faith Alone

Occasionally, when he had the heart to consider it, Legolas would ponder the irony of his situation. I once led Elrohir on a merry chase, he mused. Refused to acknowledge my feelings for him, hurt him and led him to believe his love hopeless that he nearly died from the grief of it. Now ‘tis I who waits and yearns, wondering when my feelings will be returned.

In his years in Middle-earth, he had witnessed much sorrow wrought by the breaking of great love between two Elves whether by death, enforced separation or other equally painful circumstances. Unwilling to face such misery, he had shut his heart against love, allowing only that which one accorded kith and kin. He had also thought himself incapable of desiring male-kind. Even upon being enlightened about the duality of elven nature, he’d had the temerity to declare that he would not take that road even should the Valar themselves will it.

He still remembered the twins’ half jesting, half serious reactions to his ill-pondered declaration.

Elrohir had cautioned him, saying, “Take care, Legolas. ‘Tis perilous to speak thus. The Powers may very well lead you down that path just to punish you for gainsaying them!”

And Elladan had pointed out that if he met the ‘right’ Elf, “I fear you will not be able to resist his allure for that is also part of our nature!”

Who would have guessed that Elf would be Elrohir? Indeed, who would have thought that Legolas would feel the pull so keenly that even under the delusion that he only did so for friendship’s sake, he would yield to Elrohir’s desire and eventually come to desire Elrohir as well? And who in Arda would have imagined that the younger twin would manage to accomplish the impossible, unlocking the golden prince’s unyielding heart and claiming it for his own?

When Elrond and Thranduil had forged an alliance between their realms, it had been solely for the protection of their people from the perils that beleaguered their borders. Neither had intended that their houses would be bound even more closely through their children. Legolas and Elrohir’s pairing had been the most unlikely of all. Both had shown a preference for female-kind; neither had considered mating with their own, not even Elrohir who had indulged in such affairs during his many years of carnal adventuring.

Yet, whether by the will of the Valar or the exhortations of fate, that which had been deemed unimaginable had come to pass. Best friends and sworn brothers became lovers and binding-mates. Who would have thought the idea anything other than preposterous and, therefore, unattainable?

He was the courageous one, Legolas oft thought. Willing to suffer in silence rather than impose upon me, able to risk ultimate rejection rather than forego the chance of love. I only followed in his footsteps, learning to be strong by emulating him, holding to the path by dint of his indomitable will. ‘Tis no wonder I love him so.

********

Eldamar, lairë FA 234

Legolas walked with his parents in the shining streets of Tirion, feeling pensive despite the merriment around him. It was difficult to share the gladness around him. Not when that which he so desired still eluded him with frustrating constancy.

It was a time of festival in Tirion upon the hill of Túna. Virtually all of neighboring Alqualondë, Artirion, Taur Galen and Maltaurë had emptied as the Teleri, Imladrins, Wood-elves and Galadhrim gathered in the elven city in the pass of the Calacirya.

The Eldar of Valinor were not by any means one united people. At all other times, they tended to keep to their own realms. Thus, the Teleri and most of their Middle-earth kin, the Sindar, seldom left the shores of Eldamar; the Galadhrim were content to roam their golden wood; the Vanyar mostly stayed within sight of Taniquetil’s summit; and the Silvan Elves formerly of Greenwood were pleased to remain within their vast forest’s bounds under their Sindarin king’s rule. Only the Noldor, with their legendary adventurous streak, had spread out across the length and breadth of the Blessed Realm. Their domains stretched from the northern mining colonies with restored Formenos as their base, to the Noldorin capital of Tirion and the small but increasingly important realm of Artirion on Túna, to the westernmost settlements beyond Maltaurë.

Ingwë of the Vanyar was still recognized as High-king of the Eldar but he was by no means an absolute ruler. Finarfin, Olwë, Elrond, Thranduil, and Galadriel and Celeborn were not in any way beholden to him and ruled their own realms with utmost independence. But unity and accord amongst the different elven tribes were achieved by means of a High Council, which Ingwë headed.

The Council had become a necessity with the steady influx of Exiles and Elves from Middle-earth starting in the First Age after the fall of Morgoth. With so many groups of Elves and such varied needs and desires to be answered, the only way to avert active dissension and fractious relations had been to bring their leaders together in a formal organization.

Thus the High Council was born. With the single exception of Mithrandir, it was composed entirely of Elves. Aside from all the rulers of Aman’s elven realms, its membership included sage counsellors, valiant warriors and distinguished scholars and artists. Thus, of Elrond’s people, Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir had been invited to join the Council, as had both his twin sons – Elrohir was taken in as soon as he reached his majority.

Likewise, Legolas, having had the lordship of Eryn Gael, had also been asked to be part of it and oft represented Thranduil when the Elvenking was unable to attend. When the last ship from Middle-earth berthed in the lamp lit quays of Alqualondë, no doubt the Council would be further swelled by the august likes of Círdan the shipwright.

Legolas had served the High Council well from the moment he was inducted into it and consequently was a most respected member. He had navigated the complicated byways of negotiations, diplomatic and otherwise, and weathered the most intricate and sometimes discordant political maneuverings.

The latter had surprised him at first for he had admittedly expected Aman to be something of a perfectly benign haven. But, as he had learned in his century of residence in Eldamar, not even the Blessed Realm was spared the troubles that afflicted less than flawless beings even in so beauteous a people as the Firstborn. They could be as prideful and impatient and foolhardy as any of the other races that walked under the sun. But the one thing that differentiated them from the others was their intrinsic goodness. They could transgress but rarely were their sins born of evil. And of all Arda’s peoples, only they consistently revered the Powers and worshipped the One himself.

Legolas had learned swiftly and ceased to be over troubled by the sometimes turbulent dealings within the Council. But in the last two years, he had stopped attending its weekly meetings. Indeed, he had attempted to resign but had been persuaded by the others to take a temporary leave instead. He had given his numerous duties in the Woodland Realm as his reason but, in truth, it had simply been a way of preventing more painful encounters with Elrohir.

Legolas did not know how much more he could endure. Loneliness was his constant companion now for he had taken to avoiding being with Elrohir overmuch or overlong. Everything had changed irrevocably after the encounter at the cascades. He had not expected it but the sheer effort to retreat from his desire had wounded him far more deeply than he had known at the time.

Where once he had found comfort in their friendship, he now felt anguish. Elrohir’s very presence hurt him more than soothed him. To be close to the Elf-knight and not be able to express his feelings and passions or receive any in return had turned into a torment so excruciating, it oft left him shaking with grief and near-hopelessness.

The few times he did encounter Elrond’s family, he would take his leave as soon as was decently possible. Better to retreat into solitude than to have to cope with Elrohir’s hurt confusion or Elladan’s reproach. But the result was isolation from the comfort of their friendship as well.

He had found great solace in the company of Gimli and the hobbits. The Dwarf’s supportiveness and the hobbits’ unfailing cheer oft boosted his faltering spirits and his foundering hopes. Yet even they could not stave off despair forever. Sooner or late, he would feel the walls of sorrow and loneliness closing in on him once more.

It was in this state of gloom that he let himself be dragged to the celebration. Yet despite his oblivion to the festivities he still attracted a fair amount of attention.

He had donned a delicately embroidered aquamarine tunic over a snowy shirt, the bluish-green garment making his hair shine even more brightly. Such comeliness joined with the maddening aloofness of his demeanor proved a most potent combination. Many eyes were drawn to him and not a few sought to attract his attention. He smiled and was pleasant but his heart was too heavy to do anything more.

They had come straight to the festival from Taur Galen but would be staying the night in Artirion as Elrond’s guests. So far they had not seen the Peredhil lord and his family but that was no problem. As kin-by-marriage, they were free to come and go as they pleased in Elrond’s halls. And frankly, Legolas was somewhat relieved not to have to see Elrohir just yet while in so low a mood.

He was standing by one of the dancing fountains of the city while his parents spoke with friends when he felt eyes upon him. Turning he saw Elrohir across the square with his family and Gimli and the hobbits. The twin was staring at him with an expression Legolas could not quite fathom. Nor did he have the inclination to do so for he was suddenly overcome with anguish so great he could scarcely breathe let alone think.

In an effort to cope with his yearnings, Legolas had attempted to suppress as much of his memories with the darkling Elf-lord as he could. It hurt too much to remember the details of their time together when the other could not and, thus, was unable to share them with him. Better not to dwell on things that only made him dizzy with frustration and might yet bring him to the brink of despair.

But this...! It was as if he was seeing Elrohir for the first time.

The other Elf was clad in sapphire and silver. The same colors he had worn in Minas Tirith the day of Eldarion’s betrothal some two centuries ago. He looked as breathtaking as he had that fateful day. Memories that Legolas had tried to bury flooded his mind; feelings he had sought to repress rose up within him. Shuddering at the onslaught, Legolas knew he could not remain in Tirion surrounded by so much joy when his own heart was shattering and his spirit mourning his loss anew.

He spoke to no one, not even his parents. He raced to the stables, flung himself upon his steed and fled Tirion. Urging on his horse as if a horde of orcs was after him, he swiftly rode to Elrond’s halls.

Reaching the silent house, Legolas went straight to the bedchamber that was always reserved for him, storming past servants, entirely oblivious of their surprise and concern. Sinking down onto his bed, he felt his grief well up inexorably. Until this night he had managed to keep his grief in hand, letting others see only the merest shadow of it. He’d concealed his sorrow so deftly that not even his parents or sister realized the full extent of it. But now he could not keep the sorrow from overtaking him.

He missed the other Elrohir – the Elrohir who had loved him and pursued him and made him his own. The yawning emptiness within him would not close, his wounded spirit refused to heal even here in the Blessed Realm. And seeing the younger twin at the festival had made him feel the loneliness more acutely than ever.

He could not hold it in any longer. He wept as he had not wept in a very long time. I never imagined it could be this painful, he thought in agony. If I cannot find peace in Valinor, where then shall I ever find it?

“Legolas?”

He looked up in shock. Elrohir stood at his door, gazing at him with a pained expression. “What are you doing here?” Legolas managed to utter.

The other Elf entered the room, shutting the door behind him. “I saw you flee,” he said. “I followed you.” He came to Legolas and sat by him. He enclosed the golden-haired Elf in his arms and held him tightly. “Let me help you, Legolas. I cannot bear to see you in such straits,” he murmured.

Legolas fought the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. How to tell Elrohir that his presence only pained him more? He tried to calm down, made an effort to hold back his tears.

He lifted his head and tried to smile. “‘Tis good of you to comfort me,” he said. “I will be all right now. Though I must look like something dredged from the bottom of a Morgul swamp.”

Elrohir slipped his hand under his chin and tilted his face so that he could look upon it. His grey eyes glittered in the dim light. “Nay, you still look as beautiful as you did the day of Eldarion’s betrothal. You wore that same color and I thought it suited you so well.”

Legolas gaped at him in shock. He drew back suddenly, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You-you remember that?” he gasped.

Elrohir reached up and tenderly tucked a wayward gold strand behind Legolas’ ear. “We bound to each other in Ithilien because you refused to wait the requisite year. Arwen was so heavy with child we all feared she would birth in the middle of the Rites.” His voice dropped lower, catching a little as he continued. “‘Twas because of our binding that Gilwen’s potion failed and poisoned me instead.”

The prince stared at him dumbfounded. Part of him wondered if he had finally gone mad in his grief and was only hearing what he wanted to hear. Elrohir saw the fear in his eyes and understood.

He held up his right hand. Legolas swallowed as he espied the gold band with its intertwined leaves and the single emerald on the twin’s index finger. The band he had placed on that finger so many years ago and later entrusted to him while he awaited the return of his memories.

“You are not imagining things, bereth nín.”—my spouse. “When I saw you at the festival, I knew that you were once mine.” He stroked his knuckles across the prince’s fine jaw. “And you will be mine, Legolas,” he whispered. “I think you know that.”

Legolas caught his breath. So had Elrohir declared on Mount Mindolluin all those years ago. Overwhelmed, he finally gave in to his longing to hold the twin in his arms. He nearly sobbed anew when the embrace was returned with equal fervor. His heart lightened, his spirit soared. And suddenly he felt Elrohir’s soul speaking to his own once more in exultant recognition. His pain turned into almost unbearable joy.

“I feared you would never love me again,” he whispered chokingly and felt the grip on him tighten.

“I love you more than ever,” Elrohir replied tenderly. “And I curse my weakness for having been so slow to remember our bond,” he added more heatedly.

“Nay, Aduial, I bless your strength,” Legolas countered, “for how else were you able to persuade Námo to let you return to me so soon?”

“I told you I would go down on my knees and beg if that was what it would take.”

Legolas pulled back and stared at him. “And-and you did?” he said in awe.

“I did. I would have done anything to return to you, Calenlass.”

Legolas had not thought it possible for his feelings for Elrohir to deepen any further. For the proud Elf-knight to prostrate himself before anyone, to humbly plead for anything even of the Valar themselves, was simply inconceivable to any who knew him well. Yet he had done so for love of his forest prince. Whatever I suffered in all these lonely years was well worth it if this be my prize, Legolas thought.

Almost giddy with joy and gratitude, the prince looked at the other Elf and smiled. And the bright smile lit up his face, as it had not done since he left the shores of Middle-earth.

Elrohir sucked in his breath, mesmerized by the beauty of that smile. He cupped Legolas’ face in his hand and kissed him with infinite tenderness. Legolas felt the familiar thrill course through his limbs. It was the same as it had always been. He felt great peace and contentment envelop him.

But as the kiss lengthened and deepened, he found himself hungering for much more. For too long had he suppressed his desire for the twin. For too long had he pretended indifference to his allure. With sudden ferocity, he pulled Elrohir into a tight embrace, pressed breath-claiming kisses upon the other’s mouth.

Elrohir barely managed to draw back for a moment, startled by the prince’s fervor. Even the aborted interlude by the cascades had not educed so much keenness from the fair-haired archer. He tried to speak, his words punctuated by the other’s mind-clouding kisses.

“Legolas! I’ve – never known – you – to be so – enthusiastic!”

Legolas only paused long enough to retort, “I’ve never had to wait so many years before!” ere capturing the twin’s lips again in another flurry of passionate caresses.

He reached for the toggles on Elrohir’s tunic and began to undo them. To his exasperation they proved to be of a particularly uncooperative design. It took forever to unfasten just one elaborate clasp.

Elrohir heard the sound of popping clasps and rending loops and realized that Legolas was forcibly pulling his tunic open, unmindful of the damage done to its fasteners. He jerked back in shock.

“What are you doing?” he gasped.

Legolas acidly replied, “Your tunic is impossible to undo.”

Elrohir gaped at him in amazement as the toggles on his raiment were systematically reduced to useless trim. “You are impatient, Thranduilion,” he commented wryly.

“I am done with waiting!” the archer snapped back.

In the same moment, both Elves recognized the similarity of their conversation to one that had occurred two hundred years ago, only with their roles reversed. Legolas paused for a moment as they grinned at each other and at the memory. But soon the impatient light came back into his eyes. Elrohir hastily grasped his hands.

“There is no need for haste,” he softly reasoned. “We have all eternity before us.”

“But after all my waiting, even eternity is not enough for me,” Legolas pointed out, pulling his hands free and ridding Elrohir’s tunic of its last fastener. “I do not wish to waste even a single moment of time that we have together. Now take off your clothes before I tear them off you!”

Startled and quite overcome by the prince’s peremptory command, Elrohir quickly doffed his garments. With similar haste, Legolas shed his own suddenly cumbersome raiment. But his eyes remained riveted on the warrior, their sapphire depths glittering as long desired flesh was revealed. His appreciative and alarmingly ravenous regard was not lost on Elrohir. His breath quickened and his heart began to beat wildly.

Hardly had he managed to finish undressing when the prince bore him down upon the bed. And then Legolas was kissing him fiercely, holding him flush against his own form so that their forms almost merged together. He wasted no time at all reclaiming virtually every inch of his Elf-knight’s body.

Elrohir laughed then cried out under Legolas’ salacious attentions. It seemed there was no part of his body that was not marked by crimson bruises wrought by the prince’s ardent use of his lips and teeth and tongue. And the knowing hands, so skilled with bow and knife, were proving as lethal to his equilibrium and dignity. He was kissed and nipped and laved, fondled and stroked and clutched with near overwhelming hunger.

For once, the Elf-rider found himself giving thought to whether they could be heard outside the bedchamber as his mate’s lustful assault progressed in intensity. But when Legolas voraciously attacked his throbbing need, he abandoned all thoughts of anything at all save how to survive the almost harrowing rapture he was being subjected to. Caught between exquisite pain and excruciating pleasure, he shuddered and gasped as his golden spouse swiftly brought him to completion then greedily drank him down.

With almost fearsome haste, Legolas wedged himself between Elrohir’s legs. But a moment later, he saw the sudden tension in the other’s eyes and recalled that his mate’s refashioned form was as still untouched. In the slow reformation of his body, had its knowledge of his possession by the archer been restored as well? Forcing himself to slow down, he sought Elrohir’s compliance first.

“Melethron”—lover—“I do not wish to hurt you but I must have you,” he whispered imploringly, eyes near blackened to indigo in his lust. “It has been far too long...”

The tension in the Elf-knight’s eyes gave way to trust. “I am ever yours, Calenlass,” he said in a hushed voice. “Have me as you wish.” He invitingly snaked his legs around the archer’s trim waist.

Legolas groaned at the wanton offer. With joyful, needful tears stinging his eyes, he took what he had so long yearned for and, with one smooth thrust, sank into the silken depths of his mate’s lithe body. Shuddering with barely restrained passion, he began to drive slowly and deeply into Elrohir’s welcoming warmth

Elrohir gasped from the initial shock of that first entry. But the shock soon gave way to remembered ecstasy at their joinings. Just as swiftly he came back to full arousal, which the archer immediately and literally took in hand. With typical lack of inhibition, the Elf-knight not only submitted to the prince’s desire but aided and abetted it as well, pushing eagerly into his binding-mate’s near savage thrusts until they felt the complete and sublime renewal of their bond; shared the precious connection on every level of their beings as the binding-channel opened between them in full and they became one again, heart, body and spirit. Completion overtook them and they both tumbled into a figurative abyss of mind-boggling bliss.

Legolas did not know how often he claimed his Elf-knight in the course of their glorious reunion. He only knew that at long last he could. And did.

Hours later, a group of patently agitated Elves and one scowling Dwarf arrived in the vale. Elrond and Celebrían swept into their halls followed quickly by Thranduil, Ithilwen, Gimli, Elladan and Nimeithel. They had discovered the sudden disappearances of the youngest sons of their houses and, with judicious questioning of a variety of witnesses, had learned that Legolas had departed for Artirion in a frightful hurry. Elrohir had followed him soon after. Every witness had remarked upon the less than calm demeanor of either Elf and that had triggered their respective family’s worries.

What had compelled Legolas to leave Tirion so precipitately and spurred Elrohir to pursue him? Had they quarreled and parted in anger? Mayhap that was why Elrohir had gone after Legolas?

Quick inquiries from the servants yielded the information that the prince had arrived in a bad state. He had been very distraught, sweeping past them, unmindful of their greetings or queries of concern, and practically racing to his chamber. Soon after, Lord Elrohir had suddenly shown up, too, took no more heed of them than the prince had, and headed in the general direction of Legolas’ room. And, yes, he had been quite troubled; they had all noticed the twin’s grim expression.

More alarmed than ever, the party hastened to Legolas’ chamber. At the door, Thranduil listened closely for sounds that might indicate what was happening within. Total silence greeted him. That did it. There were supposed to be two Elves in there, both in a state of disquiet if not downright distress. It was not supposed to be silent!

He glanced at Elrond and saw that the Elvenlord had come to the same conclusion. Without further ado, the Elvenking opened his son’s door and strode into the room, closely followed by the others. They all came to an abrupt stop on the threshold, their eyes wide with shock, mouths gaping in amazement.

The two Elves lay on their sides on the bed, Legolas behind Elrohir, his arm wrapped around the Elf-knight, holding the twin in the curve of his body. Beneath the covers, the others could discern their legs, entwined intimately. They looked utterly spent and utterly peaceful. There was no mistaking what had passed between them earlier.

Of a sudden, Gimli whispered, “Look!” whilst pointing at Elrohir’s right hand where it lay upon the bed. On the index finger was the long-missed gold band the Dwarf himself had forged at Legolas’ request, the symbol of the Elf-rider’s binding to the prince.

Everyone relaxed in relief and happiness. With profound gratitude in their hearts, Thranduil and Ithilwen gazed at their son. A smile of serenity and contentment softened his fair features.

The woodland queen quietly approached the bed, the lady of the vale accompanying her. The two ladies sought to pull the covers over their sons’ forms but Legolas’ arm, as it curled around Elrohir’s body, pinned it down. As gently as possible, Ithilwen raised his arm off the twin to free the covers.

A slight frown marred his brow as, even in slumber, he felt the momentary loss of contact with his spouse. Ithilwen had to smile as Legolas, still asleep, insistently curled his arm once more around Elrohir and drew him even closer than before. She looked up at Celebrían and saw that her smile was mirrored in the other’s countenance. They pulled the covers up and lovingly tucked in their sons then walked back to rejoin the others.

The group departed the bedchamber, their hearts warm and full. Before closing the door behind them, Thranduil and his wife took one last look at the sleeping lovers. Tender smiles lit up their faces.

After so lengthy a wait and much heartache, their Greenleaf had found his reward. His Elf-knight was finally returned to him.

****************

Glossary:

lairë - Quenya for summer

Aduial - Twilight

Thranduilion - son of Thranduil

Calenlass - Greenleaf

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight