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True Bow (Cuthenin)	By : fremmet Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 9639 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Cuthenin (True-Bow)

by F.E.Morton

UnBeta'd

Disclaimer: just borrowing, the characters and settings are Tolkien's,
the words here are mine. No money earned.

thoughts

(elvish translations)

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ = scene shift

Caer-ar-Pae Peth: Thar Imrath-en-Anduin (Part Twenty: Across the Valley of the Anduin)

A note on the princes' names:

Tû is short for Tûovor (Strength Abundant) = Inarthan (The Beacon), Thranduil's first-born and heir.

Tûr is short for Tûrdangannen (Mastery Confirmed) = Igeredir (The Maker), second-born son.

"I have heard it said, Lord Glorfindel, that you are a master swordsman."

"Just Glorfindel, if you please Ernil Edwen." (Second Prince)

"As you wish. Although why you would choose to deny the nobility of your heritage evades my comprehension."

"I do not seek to deny anything but to emphasise the reality of my new life. I am not a Lord among the House of my people any longer. Those of my lineage still in Middle-earth remain in Lindon with Círdan as their Lord. I am proud of my service to the House of Eärendil."

"Even so, many were not pleased to find you choosing Elrond's House over your own," reminded Galdor.

To this Glorfindel did not respond save to send his friend an admonishing look, for while Galdor's words might be true indeed, the Lord of the Tree surely comprehended the Balrog Slayer's reasons for eschewing the title since his return to Middle-earth.
Glorfindel, Igeredir, and the Sadron thus argued mildly as their horses cantered across the broad plain toward the Anduin's eastern banks and the Old Ford north of the Carrock.

The trio was not alone on the journey out of Mirkwood, for King Thranduil had deployed a full company of seventy-two warriors to ensure the safe passage of the emissaries across the imposing peaks of the Hithaeglir. If they also took time enough to dispatch the vile orcs who had accosted his youngest child, none of soldiers would regret the added chore.

Seldom did the forces of the forest travel beyond the shelter of the ancient trees and yet the mounted archers rode boldly out into the brilliant glare of the noonday sun, heads and shoulders proud, hair lifting and falling to the rhythm of the horses' rumbling advance. The Elves of the Greenwood did not, perhaps, present so stunning a vision of military grandeur and armoured might as would the troops of Imladris or of Lindon, but skill, grace, and fearsome bravery made them no less a sight to behold. They were fey and fair, feral and elegant, wild yet wise and to see them was to experience that most primal of themes within Eru's Symphony. Not the lesser Children of the Stars were they but simpler, not of mind but in manner; purer, both of heart and of intent; unmatched, possessing an untamed, innate strength.

At the head of this impressive column rode Inarthan with his youngest brother at his right, Glorfindel beside the youthful archer, and Igeredir flanking the Vanyarin warrior. Behind them, Galdor's comrades were none other than Sûlchim, Cuthenin's cousin and best friend, and two Sindarin soldiers descended from Inarthan's line. Following these the remaining sixteen sets of cavalry completed the entourage bound for the High Pass, armed and ready for the worst. While all were grimly aware of what awaited in the treacherous mountains, none were notably fearful or wary. Instead, a mood of suppressed mirth and mild excitement abounded such that Legolas wondered what had come over his friends and kinfolk.

Friends and kin indeed! Every Elf here is either from my company or shares my blood, whether on the sylvan or the Sindarin side. This fact made him smile and he shared the warmth of such approbation with the King's heir joyfully, the strange humour of the morn notwithstanding.

The oldest son of Thranduil grinned back at his little brother, noticing the faint bewilderment within the youth's shining eyes, but offered no explanation for the amiable camaraderie. Instead he joined his second brother's mild interrogation of the Imladrian noble. "Aye, that must be so, Lord Galdor, yet I do not believe my sibling meant to bring into discussion a topic so polarising. Glorfindel must defend his call to return to the defence of Eärendil's House while his remaining kin cannot help but bemoan their loss of so judicious a governor."

"Truly spoken, muindor," nodded Igeredir. "It is Glorfindel's prowess I wish to investigate."

"I thought as much. Glorfindel, Tûr alludes to your talent with the blade. Will you speak to it?"

"I know not what to say," replied the veteran swordsman warily, suspicious of the unusually jovial demeanour the princes displayed. There was just a hint of exaggeration underlying their friendly tone, a subtle note of challenge within their innocent words.

While the brothers had ceased being openly hostile following their sire's endorsement, they had not completely warmed to the idea of Legolas becoming Glorfindel's soul-mate. Inarthan had scrutinised him closely throughout the discourse in Thranduil's war room, observing every word he spoke as though expecting to discover hidden revelations. Igeredir had managed to intervene whenever Glorfindel sought to move closer to Cuthenin, blocking them from so much as brushing shoulders.

Some sort of verbal trap is being laid. Yet the First-Age legend could not tell where the spring might be so as to avoid becoming ensnared. "I am no more gifted than many an Elf I have sparred against in Imladris. What prompts this interest; is it because the bow has become the weapon of mastery among the woodland folk?"

"Exactly so!" Sûlchim leaped at this suggestion like a fox upon a hare. "Cuthenin is a good example. He is an expert with the bow but has absolutely no experience whatsoever with sword-play." A merry smile lit his fair face when Glorfindel turned to regard him, while a distinctly mischievous glint shone from his olivine eyes. His cousin's gaze he refused to meet though its weight he could plainly discern.

"I would not say he lacks all familiarity," corrected one of Inarthan's grandsons ere Legolas could voice any retort.

"Nay, but I doubt he has ever done more than practice, and singly at that." This time it was one of Igeredir's many progeny, a lively green-eyed, brunette elleth who spoke.
"What?" Legolas looked behind him in confusion, frowning when his reaction engendered an almost universal display of smug smiles among the Elves.

He did not know what they were up to, but he was sure this conversation had begun with his brothers' clear intent to bait Glorfindel. That was worrisome enough; it was too like the demeaning remarks he had endured from the Noldorin soldiers. Cuthenin doubted he could remain silent should anyone openly insult his Faer Hebron, and the consequences of that he was eager to avoid. This abrupt shift in focus from the Balrog Slayer to him was unsettling. Everyone knew he was not built for the broadsword, everyone knew he was adept as any sylvan with the hunting knife, and everyone knew he was better with daggers than almost anyone save Thranduil himself. Were they now attempting to divert attention from Glorfindel by disparaging Legolas' skill? Uncertain of how to respond, the dialogue proceeded without him.

"Indeed, I can attest to his assiduous dedication to solitary exercises, sword firmly in hand," assured Sûlchim seriously but the devilish smirk had not departed.

"You mean the long knife," countered Legolas, glaring at his friend in dismay, not pleased in the least at the roguish sparkle filling his cousin's gaze, "and I do not just practice alone; I often spar with you, Sûl. My swordsmanship is far superior to yours."

Poorly suppressed snickering met his reply and Cuthenin fumed, aggravated beyond tolerance to think they were poking fun at him, regardless if their gibes spared his Faer Hebron. From childhood he had been the butt of teasing and disparagement of all sorts; he liked it no more now than he had in those tender years. As always, his remarks only encouraged the gaiety.

"Is it?" queried another laughing voice among the troops. "Well, that level of confidence is encouraging."

"Verily, I would not wish to cross my blade with the legendary weapon of Glorfindel of Imladris," averred Inarthan with as much gravity as he could manage through his laughing lips, returning the Balrog Slayer to the farce.

"Perhaps this topic is best left for another venue," suggested Glorfindel firmly, having determined where the Wood Elves planned to take this conversation, even if his intended was completely oblivious to their plot.

"When shall we ever have the opportunity to learn these things?" demanded Igeredir. "Nay, this is the perfect time and place for such discourse. We are all concerned, you see, for how Legolas will fare, lacking in such skills."

"Ai! I need not learn how to wield a sword. My skill with the bow and the long knife will serve well enough," Legolas complained, surprised and hurt to hear his brother's words but even more dumbfounded when a loud spluttering of laughter arose at his remark. He glowered at the Elves over his shoulder but this only seemed to amuse them more.

"Ah, Legolas, you are being misled," Galdor was trying very hard to refrain from this merry-making at his charge's expense.

"Muindor, (brother) you are so naive," Sûlchim managed to chuckle out through his juvenile sniggering. "It is of no consequence; I am certain Glorfindel will be happy to teach you the finer points of handling your sword."

"And his!"

Braying guffaws erupted accompanied by more comments, each one more ribald than the last, leaving Legolas no doubt as to the real subject of their joke.

"Aye, no doubt he knows the most effective grip required to elicit a satisfactory outcome."

"I am sure he can demonstrate how to produce a powerful and deeply penetrating thrust."

"And of course the best strategy to lure your quarry close enough to be impaled."

Legolas' embarrassment was only surpassed by his stunned realisation that every Elf in the company must know his secret. He averted his sight from his companions instantly, staring into the broad, grassy meadow as his face fairly flamed with the heat of his self-conscious abashment.

"What to do if you find yourself impaled."

"Or wish to be!"

"The most sensitive zones to target."

"The proper technique to use when sheathing your sword."

"Far!" (Enough!) Glorfindel's voice boomed out and silenced all the rude rejoinders. He tapped the younger Elf's shoulder and smiled gently once the mortified blue eyes joined his. With a nod toward the open plain, Glorfindel invited his soul-mate's accompaniment and the pair galloped away as the column slowed to a more sedate pace in order to give them the lead.

Asfaloth was the larger steed and many would assume the mighty war horse could easily outstrip the Wood Elf's small, painted mare in a race, but such a notion was inaccurate. The spry woodland equine would be the victor in any such competition and indeed seemed eager to prove it. She pranced and arched her neck, tossing her elegant head, and gave a brief snort through flared nostrils as her keen black eye dared the Balrog Slayer's mount to the match. If not for her rider's stern request she would have galloped with all her strength until she reached the banks, leaving the grey charger to follow behind the long sweeping plume of her chocolate coloured tail. She could feel Legolas' wish to remain beside Asfoloth and so she complied, giving a high, round-backed buck just to emphasise her displeasure.

Glorfindel laughed to see it and met Legolas' disconcerted grimace kindly. "These Greenwood horses are stout-hearted indeed! Few mounts, even among Elrond's most prized stallions, would wish to challenge Asfoloth so. Did I hear you call her Alachas?" (Fearless) He hoped this change of subject would deflect Cuthenin's distress over the lurid allusions to sexual gratification just endured.

"You did. Surely you cannot doubt it is a fitting name, seeing how well she behaves in battle." Cuthenin looked sharply at his intended to determine if the noble warrior was somehow ridiculing his mare. It was bad enough to suffer taunts from his brothers; if Glorfindel joined their game he was not sure he could bear it.

"Oh, I do not dispute that one bit."

There was perhaps a little more emphasis given the words than needed and just the slightest quirk to those firm red lips and Legolas permitted his disappointment to bloom into umbrage. "It is certainly a better name than Asfaloth. What is that supposed to mean anyway?"

The valiant war-horse stamped and laid back his ears as the scornful words reached him.

"What do you think it means?" Glorfindel continued to smile, unperturbed by Cuthenin's ire and Asfoloth's obvious displeasure over the insult. He was indeed deliberately badgering his companion in hopes of providing an outlet for the tension revealed by the archer's rigid frame and frowning face.

"Well it sounds like some sort of Quenya-Sindarin mix-up if you want to know. It could be 'Beside the Foam Flowers'. Or maybe it is purely Sindarin and the best guess I can come up with is 'Impetuous Flowers'."

These interpretations made Glorfindel laugh heartily but the regal stallion did not appreciate being likened to blossoms, either capricious or frothy, and trumpeted a loud whinny of indignant affront before turning to nip the archer's knee. Cuthenin gave an abbreviated shout of peeved pain; Alachas defended her master, sinking her incisors into the charger's shoulder; Asfaloth reared up to demonstrate who was more powerful; and both Elves had to exert considerable effort to separate the horses before an all out combat of hooves and teeth commenced.

"Enough of that, mellon, or I will tell him which one of those guesses was correct." With these words the Balrog Slayer managed to quiet his horse's injured feelings first.

Alachas settled down with a final, victorious snort.

The pair resumed more normal progress at a steady pacing gait and Legolas glanced over his shoulder to check on the troop behind them, bewildered to find that Galdor was not in pursuit. They were now on the edge of his hearing range, the voices of the warriors distorted and only partially intelligible.

He met Glorfindel's gaze, questions in his own, and took a breath before he spoke on the touchy subject they had recently escaped. "How did they come to learn about me, about us? It is clear they know all and I cannot believe my Adar would reveal this."

"I was not privy to the decision so I am unable to enlighten you. I also find it hard to accept that your brothers are so comfortable with my role in your life as to jest with you about it. Yet neither do I believe they would humiliate you among your peers for spite. Perhaps they wanted to tell you but could not figure out another means to do so."

"Oh, you do not know them; they plotted exactly how! They wished to embarrass me and rightly guessed I would make the error of thinking you were the target of their remarks. I shall find a means to pay them back." Cuthenin shared a devious grin with the veteran warrior but for all his grumbling did not really feel overly upset by the foolery at his expense. Rather, he felt pleased, agreeing that they would not taunt him about something so serious unless they were fully supportive. That this affirmation extended beyond his immediate family to include the entire company served to warm his soul, now that the shock of the joke was over. Never would he have imagined he could so thoroughly enjoy being ribbed.

Neither would he have believed he could become so quickly aroused by the images the risqué innuendo raised within his mind. Cuthenin was having difficulty getting beyond the internal vision of Glorfindel giving him explicit instruction in such sword-play and was acutely aware of the tingling throb pulsing through his groin. He could not stop his eyes from hastily sweeping over the Balrog Slayer's crotch to see if there was any indication of a similar problem arising there.

"Ai! I am suddenly glad I have no younger brothers, judging from the expression in your eyes," Glorfindel remarked. He did not miss the furtive inspection racing over his lap and elation coursed through his veins. He turned and looked behind him, noting with pleasure that the column of mounted archers was no longer in ranks, reduced to an ambling crowd collected around the elder sons of Thranduil and the Sadron. He slowed Asfaloth and, as his companion followed suit, urged the horse closer to Cuthenin's mare. When they were near enough for the Vanya's leg to brush against the sylvan's, he leaned in, wrapped an arm across Legolas' shoulders, and ventured to sample the younger Elf's smiling lips. A hush of a breath drifted across Glorfindel's face as Cuthenin gasped out in surprise, brightly shining eyes meeting his when he straightened to observe the response to this impetuous move.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Now it might be wondered why the worthy Guardian had permitted this romantic interlude, having given his word to King Thranduil to oversee the courting of his youngest child. Truly he had no intention of failing in his duty. Galdor sighed in irritation as he watched them draw farther away. Now he would have to go after them, thanks to all this well-intentioned jocularity. "Really, could you not have thought of another way to tell your brother that everyone here understands and no one holds him in low esteem for it?" he demanded of Inarthan as he prepared to follow the retreating couple.

"Of course, but then Glorfindel would not have needed to come to his defence and whisk him away from such vulgar humour," retorted Inarthan.

"We arranged this just so," informed Igeredir. "Adar has the Balrog Slayer fearful to dare even a lecherous look at Legolas, much less indulge in a little harmless 'courting'." Thranduil's second-born now flanked Galdor's steed and the two princes effectively halted the Guardian's departure. The entire cavalry was reduced to a milling herd around them. "We were not exactly encouraging his attentions either, to be truthful. This is the least we can do to make amends."

"Ernil Edwen, let me pass. It is my duty to oversee any 'courtship' and I have personally promised your father to make certain his son's intended behaves with all propriety. You were there to hear it; will you dare disobey your King?" Galdor hoped these strong words would move the Sindarin princes to relent and he was disappointed to hear several scornful snorts from the King's many grandchildren as Igeredir just shrugged while Inarthan laughed outright.

"Adar need never know of it," the King's heir commented nonchalantly. "They are in plain sight and on separate horses. What do you imagine they can do in such a situation?"

It was precisely as these words were uttered that Glorfindel coaxed Asfaloth to sidle close enough to Legolas' mare for the Balrog Slayer to lean in and steal a kiss.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

"Ah, Glorfindel," Legolas sighed, transferring his vision to the smiling lips that had just fondled his. "We must part or Tirn'wador will certainly separate us forcefully."

"Galdor appears to be detained." Glorfindel spared a glance to the heavens and then again to the diminishing figures on horse at their backs. "No hawks are about to swoop upon us and your brothers keep the guard at bay. They are your allies, Cuthenin."
Legolas craned his head to peer beyond the bulk of the Balrog Slayer's muscular arm, still draped over his shoulders, and saw that this was true. The Sadron seemed to have halted completely and was surrounded, arguing with several of the warriors while the elder princes barred the way. The words drifting within auditory range indicated that Galdor was in for a lengthy reply to his inquiries.

With a broad grin the archer passed his arm around the Vanya's waist, using the connection to lever himself up and return his Faer Hebron's embrace, mouth open, willingly petitioning a deeper exploration. Another quick sigh left Legolas' lungs as Glorfindel happily accepted the invitation.

The warm, probing muscle sinuously invaded, avidly tasting him, stroking against his palate and curling curiously around his quivering lingual organ. The sensation was dizzying and Cuthenin's eyes fluttered to a close; he moaned when sudden suction sealed their mouths and he felt his tongue drawn past Glorfindel's teeth. In excited hesitancy, Cuthenin delved into the slick and torrid cavity, learning the unique internal topography concealed behind the strong jaw and sensuous lips of his intended, discovering the singular flavour of Glorfindel, sliding the tip of his tongue beneath his counterpart's fleshy lobe to tickle the tender, connecting tissues at its base. He thrilled, heart rate tripling, when a deep rumble of approval met his ears.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Galdor pressed his lips together in a stern frown as he regarded the couple. "I suppose you are right," he grudgingly admitted, "I will not begrudge them a kiss and some private conversation, for they must learn if the bond will hold or fail. Yet I am surprised by this unexpected alteration of your opinion of the match. Last night you were ready to pummel Glorfindel for taking liberties and today you arrange a flirtatious encounter. When last we spoke you two were staunchly determined to keep Legolas' nature hidden, yet now I find an entire troop of warriors fully informed. How do you explain this?"

"We held council," began the elder prince.

"Without Minya'dar," interposed one of his sons with a conspiratorial smile.

"Right after our meeting in the war room concluded. Legolas' joy in gaining our open support was very moving for me. I did not realise how isolated he must have felt, how fearful of losing our regard. He worked so very hard to earn it," Inarthan went on.

"Both Houses were represented at the meeting: the Swallows and the Beeches," added Sûlchim. "Everyone who wanted to be part of this escort was included."

"I could not ask anyone to join this venture who did not fully support Legolas, regardless of his preference for a mate," continued Inarthan. "I decided to reveal what I knew. The decision was mine alone and if Cuthenin is angry he can take it up with me. Before I could say anything, Sûlchim there blurted out the truth and dared anyone to condemn his cousin, saying those who would do so were unfit to ride with Legolas' company."

"Aye, he was all prepared to duel for his cousin's honour and when no one contested his words you should have seen the look upon his face," laughed the green-eyed elleth of Oropher's House. "It should not have come as such a shock; those gathered for this conference were already Cuthenin's friends and allies."

"We have surmised something like this for many years," added another warrior.

"It is of no consequence; we would never betray our kin."

"It is time this ridiculous notion dies away and I decided that if Adar cannot take the first step then I would. I have," the elder prince spoke with determination, finalising the strong affirmations of his brother's friends and relatives.

"That was a bold decision!" exclaimed Galdor, regarding the oldest prince with open amazement.

"Well, in truth I was compelled to do so at my wife's urging. We met to confer over the selection of warriors for this mission, for she oversees the woodland patrols. She feels quite strongly about the ban, for one of her sisters left Greenwood to live in Mithlond for this very reason," admitted Inarthan.

"We all have friends and relatives who have been forced to leave because of this fear," added Sûlchim.

"Plus, in the middle of this great council, in walked the King, stating the very same thing: that none must go who would oppose Legolas' right to choose for himself who is best suited to become his bond-mate. I swear he must have been concealed within one of Galion's spy-holes," said the second prince with a bemused shake of his head.

"Or the seneschal heard all and informed his Liege. Do you have no reservations about Glorfindel's fitness to become Legolas' chosen love, Igeredir?" asked Galdor.

"I have my doubts, but those are not just cause to keep my brother from this chance for happiness. My eldest law-daughter pointed something out to me that I had not considered. What she said convinced me; Legolas and Glorfindel are fated to be together. Who am I to interfere in their destiny?" the middle-born son remarked fervently. "Glorfindel would give up his life for those he loves; he would die for my brother," concluded Igeredir, his voice a little husky.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Had he heard this, Glorfindel would have heartily agreed with Igeredir, but his attention was focused on the prince's youngest brother. With great delight he permitted Legolas to explore his mouth, enjoying Cuthenin's tentative efforts to perfect his technique in this first step of foreplay. When the prehensile tongue wrapped tight around his and was then withdrawn, sliding in a tantalising tangle toward his teeth, the re-born warrior groaned in excitation.

"You learn rapidly," he remarked, briefly breaking the connection, eyes alight with a flare of exhilaration.

Before Cuthenin could reply, Glorfindel pressed for dominance, using his height to advantage, smothering his less experienced partner with a barrage of kisses from flirtatious and whimsical nibbles and licks to devouring and demanding sorties into the unmapped mouth. Legolas tried to match these manoeuvres but found himself too overwhelmed by the stimulation to do much more than relish the pleasurable encounter.

A series of softly voiced moans were extracted from the sylvan's lungs as Glorfindel discovered that his lover's upper palate was highly responsive to a long, slow, wet caress. Smiling ferally, he used the new-found weakness to distract Cuthenin while his free hand worked with dexterous rapidity to undo the ties and clasps securing the archer's tunic and shirt. In no time he succeeded in pulling the fabric aside, revealing the decorated chest to the warmth of Anor's rays.

"Oh!" Legolas exclaimed, pulling back as a soft breeze unexpectedly caressed his bare skin. He looked down at his body, the harness of the quiver still snugly tight, the material of his clothing thus effectively prevented from falling closed. He inhaled a trembling breath as Glorfindel's hand entered his field of vision and watched as fingertips raced over his stomach and brushed upon his nipples. "Oh," he said a second time, a whispered, drawn out sigh of pleasure riding the crest of a long shiver that arose with a jolt from his heart and worked its way down to his seat.

"Magnificent," Glorfindel spoke with quiet delight and met his lover's gaze with triumphant tenderness. Hungrily his eyes catalogued the sight of the naked expanse of firm flesh, divided and defined by the tri-part leather strapping, rosy buds rising in the heat of passion, yet a more tantalising image he could imagine. He swooped in for another scorching kiss, fingers eagerly stroking and tweaking the tattooed skin, circling the whorls of the heart spiral from the outer rim inward until he found its centre atop a heaving pectoral and flicked it.

Legolas' entire body jerked, the resulting wail muffled, and he clutched at the Balrog Slayer's biceps. With a loud and sloppy pop he disengaged from his mate's commandeering mouth and stared into the deep lapis irises, the expression therein equal parts desire and devotion, lust and love, possessive and yet utterly subdued. No one had ever looked upon him in such a manner. "Glorfindel, I…" His tongue was silenced as it met its match in another soul-delving osculation and Legolas gladly relented, making a fumbling attempt at working lose the closures of the Balrog Slayer's clothes.

Glorfindel felt the hand at his back convulsively clutch his tunic as inexperienced fingers started working on the ties of his garments. He chuckled, the sound absorbed within the mouth so sweet, so tantalising that he could never weary of the unique taste and texture. Yet he was not through with his efforts at unveiling. Intending to remain in control of the agenda, he intensified the amorous assault, engaging in a series of diversionary tactics to keep the sylvan's mind befuddled by titillating sensations.

Retreating from the supple lips, Glorfindel give the lower labial a final lick before moving on to mark the line of the archer's jaw with ten minute bites. The first elicited a dazed whimper and stilled the hand trying to divest him of his shirt; the last ended just beneath the lobe of the left ear which received a swift swipe from his tongue. Pausing there, he whispered, "I would lick every inch of you, here and now, were there no audience but the sun."

The sultry words sent a shudder rippling through Legolas' skin, mouth agape and panting, eyes aglitter. He swallowed hard, passing his tongue over lust-swollen lips as if he meant to make some answer. Before his mind could manage sufficient coherence to reply, the ridges and coves denoting his outer ear were thoroughly swabbed with slick saliva. Now all respiration became suspended as Legolas' eyes expanded in unbelieving shock and he waited, tense and eager, for this favourite among his fantasies to become real.

Fingers found a hold beneath his chin as a thumb pressed down over his mouth to seal it and he understood the command to control his voice just a second before Glorfindel enveloped the throbbing point of the ear within his lips, sucking in as soft taste buds soothed the aroused tip gently. Legolas twitched, struggling to hold in his delight in a sensation only dreamed, and then it was over, his ear both cold and hot from the stimulation as the air of the breeze-blown valley teased the wet cartilage.

"Ai! Bauglir!" (Tormentor!) Cuthenin exhaled in a breathless whisper, finding it supremely difficult to draw sufficient air for anything more than this, and brazenly tipped his head to the side to demand the same for the other ear.

Glorfindel was happy to accommodate this unspoken request and while his mouth enjoyed the exquisite delicacy and his mind rejoiced to know he was the first Elf to ever visit these attentions upon Legolas, his hand drifted sedately downward. His fingers, following the line of the jaw, traipsed adoringly over the thumping pulse in the elegant neck, skimmed over the sharply defined 'V' at the base of the throat, massaged the breastbone. With infinite tenderness he traced the leanly muscled curves of one pectoral up to its sensitive tapered point, took the firm red bud between finger and thumb and gave a solid tug.

Cuthenin's whole body shook and Glorfindel worried he would make the younger Elf come before he achieved his objective. Hastily he plunged his tongue back down the archer's throat to stifle the accompanying shout, transmuting the abrupt cry into a long, lowing groan, and hurried to finish his task. Before he was forced to release Legolas' lips for respiration, Glorfindel had the leggings unlaced.

That broad swordsman's hand burrowed in and met the soft pelt of hair encircling the constrained penis. Cuthenin nearly shrieked, squirming in excitement and trepidation both. "Glorfindel! Daro! Hyn cenitha!" (Stop! They will see!)

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Galdor was silent for a time, considering Igeredir's speech, checking to make sure the Elves being discussed were still within eye reckoning. He was satisfied to note Glorfindel and Legolas had slowed their horses to a lazy stroll and remained arm-in-arm, leaning upon one another, heads bent together. Then he pressed Igeredir for more. "You have spoken strong words regarding your brother and his Faer Hebron, especially as you are not an initiate nor a follower of Pâd-en-Tawar. Now explain what you mean," commanded the noble Sadron.

"Nay, I shall say no more. If it is true then nothing can force Legolas to abandon Glorfindel or vice versa. If it is false, then it is best no word of it ever reaches my brother's ears. I would not have him swayed to remain in a loveless bond because of some romantic notion of unfulfilled fate," growled Thranduil's middle son, angry at himself for having revealed too much.

Now everyone became more serious, for fate and destiny were concepts that demanded much respect among the First-born. That which an Elf must experience, good or ill, was already contained within the chords of the Music; its strains and melodies, harmonies and themes generated long before any of them came into being. None could escape fate and indeed it was believed the highest purpose an Elf might have is to seek out and discover his destiny and live it to its full realisation. In this were the Sindarin and the sylvan elves alike, whether they were followers of the ancient religion or not.

The First Age Elder regarded Thranduil's volatile second child with intense interest. Igeredir, he surmised, was less willing to adhere to Sindarin customs merely to satisfy politics, more likely to argue for passionate reasons than for logical ones, despite his pretence of scorn for the chaos of romance, and freer to speak his mind when it conflicted with his father's. Thus was the birthright of the second-born son, his consolation for not being the heir. More than these musings confirmed such an evaluation in Galdor's mind. He knew the law-daughter of which the second prince spoke for she was from Mithlond. An Elf of mixed Sindarin and Noldorin heritage, her people were among the remnant survivors of Gondolin. The Lord of the Tree raised his brows a fraction and looked again into Igeredir's eyes. No words passed between them but the Sadron was answered.

Galdor sighed as he returned his gaze to Cuthenin and Glorfindel, smiling kindly at the sight. Their horses had completely stalled and were complacently nibbling the grass, determined to take advantage of the interlude. The Balrog Slayer was bent low, curled all around Legolas, obviously exploring the younger Elf's mouth quite thoroughly, one arm still firmly bound across the archer's shoulders holding him tight. Cuthenin's hand gripped the back of his Faer Hebron's tunic with such a taut-fisted hold that it seemed he feared to lose his seat on the mare. Ah well, it is just a kiss. They have earned it.

"First sparring lesson." This and a rather irreverent snicker invaded his generous thoughts and Galdor turned to glare at Sûlchim.

The young sylvan byr paled to be caught out by the Sadron and composed himself at once. "I ask pardon, Hîren," (my Lord) he offered with a respectful dip of his head. "I should not have spoken so crudely."

The Lord of the Tree gave a short nod in acceptance and returned his attention to the courting couple. Galdor's brow creased slightly; Glorfindel's form was rather more animated than kissing could account for and Cuthenin was rigid as a pine tree. A peculiarly garbled sound that might have been the Balrog Slayer's name drifted through the air. Legolas' body suddenly melted into a boneless heap against the older ellon. It was then the Sadron realised that he could not see where the Elves' other hands were. His eyes and his mind both opened wide.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

"Shh," Glorfindel soothed his lover, "they are too far away and behind us; none will see. I will not have them make so light of your long deprivation. It is not amusing that this is a pleasure you have never yet known, and still, I am glad. Forgive my selfish jealousy, but I am pleased to be the first to touch you thus," Glorfindel's voice was low and gruff like the warning growl of a wild wolf.

He broke from Cuthenin's gaze, for at this moment his fingers closed around the rigid, confined shaft. His eyes were transfixed upon the gaping leggings as the slender organ, full and radiating a compelling aroma of musky heat and sex, was drawn forth completely. He smiled, enjoying the sight of the dark maroon tip rising above the encircling palm, and tightened his hold just enough to feel the firm resistance and the answering quiver in the aroused flesh.

Glorfindel raised his sight to Legolas', noting with satisfaction the parted and panting lips, flushed cheeks, and an expression somewhere between panic and ecstasy. He gave the virgin cock a firm stroke, glad he still had the other arm wrapped around the archer's shoulders for the movement nearly made Cuthenin swoon.

Legolas' head dropped back upon his Faer Hebron's arm, eyes squeezed down into frantic creases beneath his wrinkled brow, teeth clamped hard upon his lower lip to prevent exhaling the scream of delight his lungs so longed to express. He could not believe this was happening though every nerve of his body sang with the glory of a pleasure so intense it bordered on delirium.

He both wanted the Vanya warrior to proceed and to cease what he was doing, for Cuthenin was sure they would be caught and his humiliation would be unending should the Sadron or one of his brothers witness the culmination of his arousal. The idea generated a surge of adrenaline that heightened his libido and he involuntarily pressed his pelvis forward to increase the friction, a fractious wail wavering within his larynx as he refused to part his lips.

Watching this reaction, Glorfindel again feared to bring about a climax too soon and released the engorged rod. "Easy," he whispered. "Breathe deeply and try to relax." As he spoke, his hand again delved within the fabric, now slightly damp with sweat, and carefully cupped the tight, full sac with its concealed treasure. Slowly he extracted the twinned globes from the garment's cover, taking Legolas' mouth in a deep and lingering kiss to quiet the expected outburst of startled appreciation, and then removed his hand. Their lips parted with a pleasing sound at the loss of suction and Glorfindel sat back to survey the result of his diligent efforts.

The vision was enough to make him momentarily wonder if he would come as he was, his burning cock restrained painfully against his thigh, without a single touch required. Legolas presented an erotic phantasm brought to life: the juxtaposition of innocence and prurience, fully clothed but naked for all to see, genitals excited and exposed, nipples red and erect, eyes glazed in longing and glittering in anxious anticipation of what was yet to come.

The younger Elf trembled under Glorfindel's ravenous stare, breath entering and leaving his lungs harshly, pulse so rapid the artery in his neck throbbed visibly. He suddenly recalled his Tirn'wador's words: this was no dream under his control. Realising he had just permitted another Elf, someone he hardly knew, to handle him in so intimate a manner, Cuthenin became ashamed and moved to cover himself, his gaze falling and his cheeks flushing darker.

Glorfindel recognised the crestfallen look as soon as it crept into Cuthenin's eyes and swift as a striking viper his hand snatched at the archer's wrist and halted the attempt at modesty. "Nay," he said, his tone both firm and gentle. "Our souls are joined already; do not feel remorse for your natural desires. You are mine and I am yours. We are not beyond the bounds of your creed in this form of gratification. I do not do this on a whim, a mere diversion to grant me momentary delight or to make sport of your innocence. This is for you alone. I will pleasure you, Cuthenin, and you will know what it is like to spill into your lover's hand."

With those words Glorfindel clasped the resilient organ and began to pump in slow, steady strokes. True, he had said the act was solely for Legolas' pleasure, but he could not help the surge of satisfaction this initiation into the carnal delights reserved for lovers evoked. His mate's soft cries and shuddering release would be ample reward.

The reassuring avowal burrowed into Legolas heart and settled, neatly sealing over the long years of guilty self-denial with warm acceptance bounded in love. Cuthenin gave himself into the care of his mate, trusting this Elf with his most basic needs even as he had trusted him to keep safe his soul during òcaul Annaur. He could not remove his sight from Glorfindel's hand holding him, squeezing and working his cock in carefully measured time as if he knew with certainty exactly how Cuthenin liked to be touched.

Every motion was perfectly attuned to hungers his flesh craved beyond his conscious comprehension, borne out by the instinctive response of his rocking hips. Enthralled by the waves of delicious tension building with every pass of those long, elegant fingers over his penis, nothing Legolas' imagination had ever conjured compared to this raw, unadulterated bliss. His heart soared as the vital spiritual connection the two had shared was regained. The echoing note of commitment set his loins afire with an ache so deep and encompassing it felt his entire existence was defined in the moment.

Legolas realised he could not long delay the impending release and when Glorfindel closed his mouth around an ear tip he was simultaneously thrilled and disappointed to recognise the familiar constriction coiling through his abdomen just before the pinnacle was reached, a last effort to prolong the exquisite torment of the climb toward ardent abandon. Then the Balrog Slayer dragged his thumb across the inflamed glans, smearing the slippery secretion around the head, anointing his cock with the seeping seminal fluid, and all his reserve dissolved, sublimated by the heat of his explosive orgasm. His mind disengaged, the distinction between hroa and feä lost, set free from the normal course of reason and thought to flow in surging wonder through the tumult of the exultant flux.

Glorfindel exalted with him, supporting the slender form as tremors of delight raced through muscle and sinew, muted with a kiss the brusque shout of his name before the word could get beyond the archer's lips, shared the astonishment wrought by the open exchange between their mingled souls. The warmth of the semen coating his fingers reached to his very core and the re-born Elf believed he had been granted new life only then. How could he call the long, lonely years without Cuthenin living? It was evident now that he had been waiting all this time, preparing for the day he would find this vital component his being lacked and claim him as his own.

He marvelled at the idea of sharing a complete union and the thought was returned to him from Legolas' mind, franticly overlaid with yearning desire to realise it at once. Of course that was not possible and he soothed their inevitable disappointment with tender kisses interlaced betwixt whispered endearments.

Legolas rested in the Balrog Slayer's secure embrace, eyes half shut as the words of devotion anchored him in ways he had not imagined possible. Always there had been a sense of wariness and isolation encumbering his heart, but this he let fall away, a defence unnecessary in the presence of his Faer Hebron. As he watched, Glorfindel's fingers disappeared inside his mouth. Cuthenin focused hazily on this action, not comprehending at first what Glorfindel was doing. Then understanding bloomed and his eyes widened in shock, for the noble Lord was contentedly cleaning his sticky fingers by consuming Cuthenin's spent seed. He opened his mouth to speak of it and was claimed in a fiery meeting of lips in which the bitter flavour of his vital essence was imparted to his palate.

"Aye," said Glorfindel in answer to the unuttered query plain on Legolas' face, "I like it well."

With a wide grin, he set about reverting his lover's dishevelled aspect to one more indicative of modest decency, enjoying immensely the new experience of putting the sylvan's lax genitals back inside the leggings, knowing now to settle everything gently to the left ere lacing the fabric shut again. Tunic and shirt were drawn back to properly obscure the painted chest, all tied and straightened, and in mere minutes no sign that anything untoward had happened was apparent. Except for his kiss-swollen lips, pink ears, and thoroughly sated expression. Glorfindel gloated and Legolas, unable to dispute it, could only smile.

"Valar, Glorfindel, I have but dreamed yet none of those fancies were near the truth." Cuthenin spoke at last. "What of you? I would not have you go unfulfilled after granting me such a gift."

"Nay, the gift was mine to give and requires nothing in exchange. Besides, I am older and better at managing such desires. I can be patient, though some would have you think otherwise, anticipating our next encounter in the interim."

"Let us make every effort to ensure that is not a lengthy wait," suggested Legolas. He patted Alachas' neck and laughed abruptly as her head rose from the tall grass so she could get him in her sights. "I am truly glad our horses love us so well, for this exquisite experience would not have been possible without their tolerance."

"Aye, we shall have to find some treat to offer them as reward," Glorfindel slapped Asfaloth a sound clap upon the whithers and tousled the fine silver mane, shifting on the stallion's back in order to turn and check on Galdor. The Sadron was still in conference with the others, though the Greenwood's princes appeared to be reorganising the troops and preparing for a more ordered advance.

Just then Galdor gazed directly at Glorfindel, and even with the empty space dividing them he was sure the Balrog Slayer could feel the power of his abundant displeasure. The Sadron urged his horse forward in haste, the elder princes beside him. Glorfindel sighed in mild annoyance but nothing could diminish the joy of coaching Legolas through his first lesson in the erotic pleasures lovers could share.

He met Cuthenin's rueful gaze and shrugged, reaching to take hold of his lover's hand. Together they turned their horses and stood ready, prepared to face whatever censure their impulsive actions had earned.

TBC
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True Bow (Cuthenin)