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
- 24
- 25
- 26
Warning: explicit het

Author’s notes: Just wanted to say thanks to Lisse and Naledi for taking the time to review, you already know how much that means.

Chapter 25: A New Life

Dawn brought the aftermath of battle – the grieving had now migrated to the intimacy of each family’s half-ruined houses and flets, what few belongings they had were now strewn over the barren land, broken beyond redemption, a macabre reminder that this – was no longer their home.

Lithaldoren had sought out Legolas and told him of their intention to migrate towards the North-west, close to the borders of the forest and the shores of the Anduin. There were only a few dozen of them left, not enough to continue living here, for they would be incapable of defending themselves, had already been so for some time, and so they had sat together and planned their route towards a new, safer land, where they would start from scratch.

For Legolas, it had been hard to keep up the façade of leadership and discard his own feelings towards this elf – he had been foolish, and it had cost his people their lives, had forced the hand of Sîdhoneth. Yet it was not for him to judge, not now, at least not in his capacity as a leader.

Lithaldoren, however was also fighting to keep up his own strong exterior as the village elder who represented his now, sadly decimated people. Yet the guilt was there, for he had been wrong not to speak up when his people had refused to leave; he should have insisted, yet he had said nothing, and it did not sit well with him at all. He had failed them, and he could only justify this by remembering that they had all failed themselves – it was, however, insufficient to his own eyes, and when the time was right, he would relinquish his leadership to one younger, and less set in his ways, ways forged by the press of darkness and anxiety.

Koron en’ Naur sat preparing their breakfast, as each went about his own business, until they finally come together around the hearth. Hwindo was the last to arrive, in the presence of the village elder, who nodded curtly at them all, failing to look directly at any, noted Rafno. It was Legolas himself who eased the uncomfortable tension as he began to brief his elves.

“Lithaldoren has acquiesced to move north-west. The trek should take us two days, first due north, and then west. We will scout for the best location and then leave in search of Barabor’s position, for they will then be under his protection. From there, we ride home,” said Legolas.

His discourse had been precise and monotonous, his face betraying no emotion at all, yet his veteran warriors knew what he would be thinking then. He would be furious with Lithaldoren, for this situation could have been avoided, had they but listened just six months ago. Not to Legolas, but to the trees that had warned them. They also knew that Legolas would not speak of it here. Perhaps once back at the fortress, with a skin of wine in his hands and a friend at his side.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A day later, they had retrieved their horses and now, the females and children rode upon them in muted wonder, the warriors and other males walking alongside. The journey had been uneventful so far and the terrain had changed dramatically. For the villagers, it was the first time in many years that they had ventured so far north, and they now contemplated the healthy wood in open-mouthed wonder, for they had almost forgotten what it looked like – the absence of darkness. It was winter and the trees were bereft of leaves, and yet they were alive, fertile – and for the first time in many winters, Lithaldoren smiled as the heavy weight upon his heart began to lift, the darkness, slowly, beginning to lighten.

They set up camp in the early evening light. Dima had deployed warriors to procure meat for the pots, and four more to the watch. Lindo sat stoking the nascent fire, sitting in the company of Barathon and Ram en’, with Dima standing a little way off, supervising the movements of the camp.

As Ram en’ turned his head, he spotted Tui’s mother walking towards them. Her eyes searched their circle, not finding the one she sought, and making to turn, before the warrior stood and held out his hand.

“Sister, will you not join us a moment?” he asked softly.

“I search for your commander, brother.”

“He will be back in a moment, if you will but wait with us.”

Yet before she could answer, Barathon spoke, his words low yet perfectly audible.

“Have you come to finish him off then?” he asked, not looking at her as he poked the ground with a twig, hence he was startled when he found her face but inches from his own.

“Nay, I would not ‘finish him off’, edhel, why would I do that?”

Regaining his composure, his mouth moved and the words flowed, even before his brain could register what he was saying, or indeed why he was saying it.

“Because he took your daughter’s life.”

The snap of flesh against flesh resounded around the small glade as she glared into the now round eyes of Barathon.

“He did not take my daughter’s life,” she began, her tone low and dangerous, “they did. He gave her peace, do you not see, you fool?” she spat, yet her eyes were pleading as she now searched the faces of those that sat watching the scene play out. “Do you not see? The Peace Giver simply takes away the pleasure from the enemy, yet at such a cost – not to my daughter for she was already lost, not to me for I had already lost her, but to him – he who takes the life, he who executes, who precipitates the coming of death,” she paused for breath here, the silence absolute as she stared once more into Barathon’s wet eyes. “There is no greater sacrifice – no greater love,” she finished, watching as Barathon’s face met hers, and then he nodded, and when he spoke it was softly, and heart-felt.

“Forgive me,” he said simply.

She held his gaze for a few moments longer, before rising to her feet, turning on her heels and rejoining her kin at their hearths.

Silence reigned a while longer, until Lindo broke it.

“You have a wayward tongue, Barathon. Master it!” he said forcefully.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The following day, they arrived at the banks of the Anduin and spirits lifted visibly once more. They had spent some time washing and swimming in its pure waters, the few children left to them splashed and frolicked as their parents looked on, their hearts warmed at the first real laughter they had heard for a long time. They had then continued their trek until they finally reached the area they had chosen to make their new settlement.

The Company lent their hands to helping the villagers and it was not long before they had constructed three, make-shift flets that would serve to shelter them whilst they constructed their new home. Glammo had added a few touches, such as a pulley system for hoisting water into their homes, and had been well-thanked by the women, often charged with hauling heavy buckets upon their backs. He also engineered a moveable canopy that would cover each platform should the temperature drop or humidity rise. The Company had clapped him upon his strong back in admiration and pride once he had finished, for although the techniques were not unknown to them, Glammo had added his own personal touches that made the systems easy to use, even for the children. It was a lovely enclave, thought Glammo, such a change from that dark, depressing place they had called home for centuries; why they had ever refused to move from the Mirkwood was simply beyond him, but Nanern had explained that you really had to be Avari to understand their deep-rooted connection with nature.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Rafno searched the camp from top to bottom for his friend, but try as he might, he was nowhere in sight.

Finally admitting defeat, he turned to Dima for enlightenment, for he, if any, would know where to find their leader.

“Where is Hwindo?” he asked, somewhat exasperated.

“He is over there, up in that redwood,” said Dima, nodding in the direction of the sentinel, the shadow of a smile upon his lips.

And indeed, just two minutes away, he found him, hanging inexplicably upside down over a thick branch, his legs supporting him from above. It suddenly occurred to Rafno that he looked like a mythical creature, an exotic vampire – beautiful yet fey, defying gravity almost, and then he resisted the urge to giggle at his own, strange imagination. In the elf’s hands was a small knife which he now used to skillfully work the thick bark of the tree. He had completed the braid, the sign of eternity, and was now carving the finishing touches of a delicate bird, poised for flight.

The woman that stood below the tree gazed up at the etchings as they were painstakingly completed, tears pouring from her swollen eyes as she watched the swallow materialize, its wings open, its face alight in joyous anticipation – it seemed to her that this small carving was the greatest of artistic creations, for it was perfect, she thought.

A beautiful face appeared before her then from between the branches, the green eyes kind, the long blonde hair hanging down the trunk, the bruised cheek and forehead set in stubbornness. He had finished and so he scurried down to the forest floor with surprising ease for one of his bulk, she thought, as she watched him approach slowly, cautiously until she met his gaze head on, smiling through her tears as she whispered only for the one before her.

“The swallow has taken flight.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

It had taken a week to ride back to the fortress. A strange week in which the newest members of The Company rode in silent introspection on the event that had taken place in the Mirkwood and then upon the banks of the Anduin, where they had helped to establish a new village.

Paradoxically, it had been Swallow’s mother that had, inadvertently, helped to guide them to understanding the nature of Sîdhoneth, and now, it no longer seemed to be kinslaying to them, but something entirely different, its motivations rooted in the antithesis of that, the worst of all crimes. And yet peace did not come from understanding, and their hearts remained heavy. Even Dima, Ram en’ and Pengon were especially silent and introspective, and it seemed to Rafno that Swallow had somehow wormed her little way into these hardened warriors’ hearts.

When they finally rode in before the customary crowd that greeted them, their mood had been caught instantly. Any smiles the welcoming Greenwood had sported had now disappeared, for something had happened, something dire, and yet there were no wrapped bodies upon the flanks of their horses, no wounded warriors in the arms of their comrades, only blank faces – and yet their eyes gave them away. As Galdithion searched his lover’s face, he saw grief and anxiety. Bandorion was stunned to find shame in the eyes of his son, and a sadness he had only ever seen once, when his mother had left for Aman. And Thranduil… his son was skilled, for he had been taught well, and yet there was something there, in those heart-breakingly beautiful eyes – something that his son failed to mask, but what? What was it that eluded him? wondered the king as he continued to search the face he knew so well.

Suddenly it came to him and his eyes widened slightly, before he controlled his expression. Yes he had seen it, just briefly, a flicker of emotion that was swiftly wiped away. Guilt…, yes, that was what it was, guilt and – self denial. Something had happened in the Mirkwood, and the king would not let it pass, not again.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

After their customary visit to the healing halls, they had all been released and each wandered away, but not before they had squeezed Hindu’s shoulders or touched his hair reverently, only to disappear with their loved ones, and to much needed comfort, yet with one last lingering gaze from Dima, whose eyes had latched on to those of his leader. All was not well, he knew, and so he resolved himself to watching his lord closely for the next few days, for Dimaethor was shrewd, and where others attributed his mood to sadness, he knew better…

Legolas walked slowly back to the fortress amidst the many elves that stopped to bow or smile at him, yet he had not the heart to smile back, and so he picked up his pace until he had reached his own rooms and closed the door firmly behind him.

He visibly jumped however, when Lainion emerged from the bathing chamber, his face as severe and unyielding as usual.

“Bathe, brother. I have procured you with some wine – wash and relax before your father loses his patience.”

Legolas did smile then, for this, his Avari brother, was a rock, one that understood him so well – understood his father so well.

“How much time do I have?” he asked as he shook off his heavy cloak.

“I can hold him off for an hour, perhaps.”

Turning to his brother, he held his gaze as he approached, placing his palm over the strong, lithe chest of the slightly shorter guard and leaning his forehead against his.

“Thank you, brother,” he said, before moving into the bathing chamber.

Lainion watched after him, knowing why he had greeted him that way. He wished for the embrace of his family, to feel protected and loved, and yet he dared not, lest his emotions get the better of him – yes, he knew his brother well.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Galdithion watched his lover as the last vestiges of reverie lifted from his face and his eyes slipped open, focusing on him.

“What a beautiful morning,” whispered Elladan as he smiled up at his lover’s face, placing a hand over his warm cheek.

Galdithion simply smiled down at him, before kissing him, stroking the silky black hair. They had talked for many hours of the events that had taken place on their latest patrol, and Galdithion had listened patiently, his emotions changing from pride to worry, to disbelief and then rage, before finally turning to grief and resignation. How he would keep his hands off Barathon’s neck he knew not, although he was, at least glad that Tui’s mother had slapped the braggart – publically.

Legolas, however, had slept alone, lost to the world as he slumbered well past breakfast. He felt warm and the bedding smelled clean and crisp, he was safe and no duty chased him this morning.

His mind slowly ambled to the surface as he began to recapitulate the events of just yesterday when they had ridden in from the Anduin. Lainion had sheltered him from his father long enough for him to bath and relax, clear his mind and control his emotions. Yet the confrontation had been inevitable, for their ride in had been a sorry affair, the sadness they all felt had simply been all too visible to be hidden from one as empathic as Thranduil.

And yet once he was seated, had eaten and exchanged a brief report of the events, Legolas’ eyes had begun to droop and Thranduil had not had the heart to press him, instead opting to tuck his child into his bed and kiss him upon his scratched forehead, before bidding him rest.

Legolas smiled at the memory as his eyes finally opened to the morning light, and then Swallow’s lovely face came to the fore, promptly wiping it away once more.

A knock at his door told him that it was his father behind it, and so he sat up and bid him enter. Lainion was behind him carrying a tray with breakfast, and Legolas could only smile as his brother set it upon the tousled sheets and left, not before catching his brother’s eyes and nodding encouragingly at him.

Now alone, Thranduil moved to stoke the dying fire as Legolas pulled the tray towards him and ate heartily, his first meal since their return. Once he had finished, he sipped on his tea as he wondered where to begin with the telling, and indeed how much he should tell his father.

“Well then. Will you tell me now, what has your detachment and your regal self so despondent?” asked Thranduil tentatively, for he knew that this conversation was potentially explosive, for if Legolas chose not to tell him in earnest, he would reject any attempts to pry the knowledge into the open.

“Lithaldoren’s village is lost – raised to the ground and half his people brutally slaughtered…”

Thranduil gazed at his son, searching his eyes for the truth, and he found it – at least partially, for there was more.

“And?”

“The forest is much deteriorated, father. The Mirkwood advances from the South-east at an alarming rate. If we are to stop it, we will need at least another detachment in that area, for The Company alone cannot hold it at bay any longer.”

“You will oversee it, then. Create another, specialized unit for the purpose.”

“Aye, of course,” replied Legolas, wondering if that would be enough for his father.

“Legolas…”

He did not answer, simply turned to meet his father’s searching gaze.

“There is nothing new in what you have reported, nothing that merits the mood of your elves, and yours.”

He sighed as he raked an irritated hand through his loose hair. “There was a – a child…”

Thranduil’s head rose then, and then turned slightly to the side as his eyes narrowed.

“We saved her and one other on our last mission there – she, she had worked her way into our hearts – she, she died,” he whispered then, looking away and rising from the bed to avoid his father’s knowing stare, for if he were to look into the king’s eyes then, he would read him like an open book.

Opening his wardrobe door, he selected a set of breeches and a tunic, and quickly dressed himself, yet his father remained, silently waiting for the rest of it – for there was more.

“What would you have me say, father?” he asked somewhat testily then as he sat to pull on his boots.

“The truth, Legolas. How – did she die?”

Legolas stared at his father – who simply would not stop, and yet he had no desire to tell him of what he had done.

Standing, now fully dressed yet with his hair still in disarray, he approached his father, his anger beginning to vie with his control.

“They broke her legs and slit her face open,” he began, watching his father closely, willing him almost to make him stop. “They cut off her arm before they brutalized her, impaled her before her screaming, powerless family – “he said, matching his father’s intense stare.

Yet Thranduil held it, as he asked the question he knew his son was avoiding.

“She did not die…”

Legolas’ nostrils flared and his eyes turned from dangerous to sorrowful, finally breaking their stare and looking down to the floor, before closing his eyes and opening them once more.

“No, thus, she did not die.” It was inevitable now, he could have drawn it out, but his father already suspected.

“She died by my own hand, at the behest of her family,” he murmured, holding his ground as he confessed to his king.

“Sîdhoneth,” said the king.

“Yes,” was all Legolas could say.

“You did your duty, my son, one that very few are capable of doing.”

“My duty!” he suddenly raged then, looking at his father in disbelief. “My duty….” He could not continue, and so he swiveled on his heel, picked up his cloak and weapons and stormed from the room, leaving behind a knowing Thranduil and an anxious brother at the door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Tying his cloak in place, he walked briskly to the archery field where he would spend the next few hours shooting arrow after arrow into the targets, until they were ruined and replaced, only to start once more, and as morning turned to afternoon, Legolas took his place at his friends’ table, not before nodding duteously at his lord king, who returned it cautiously, his face a stony mask that effectively hid his growing worry for the well-being of his son.

Elladan and Melven were not oblivious to the strange interaction between father and son, and of course Galdithion had been briefed of the sad events in the South. It was not difficult to discern the cause of it, and so they simply ate in silence.

Balentar however, had noted the irritated and inflamed fingers and the slight shake of the young lord’s hand as he ate. He spared a glance at Antien, who was now casting a subtle, sideways glance at Legolas, his eyes slightly narrowed. Nay, the Forest Lord was not well, for his mind was taxed, and to healers such as they, it could not be hidden.

“Legolas, Galdithion and I are riding out this afternoon. Will you accompany us?” asked Elladan, his eyes trained on his own food.

“Nay, thank you Elladan. I have – duties to perform here. I will meet with you later, though.”

“Of course,” he said lightly, knowing full well that there were no such duties today, for they were on leave.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

That night, Minu knocked quietly upon his door, waiting patiently until he opened it, finding him clad in nothing but his loose trousers.

“Can I be of assistance, my Lord?” she asked quietly, her eyes smoldering into his, showing him what she had to offer.

Legolas looked at her as he pondered his options. “Yes, you can be of assistance – come to me,” he ordered to which she bowed reverently and followed.

Once inside, Legolas turned to her, his face emotionless, yet his nostrils flared dangerously and Minu was suddenly struck by a thrill of forbidden desire.

“My Lord, you wish to take me?”

“Yes,” was all he said.

“Then have me, my Lord, and calm your heart – use me as you will…” she said, for she knew what he wanted, and she would grant it willingly.

In moments he was before her, grappling with her clothes as he moved her back towards the wall, where he promptly crushed his body against hers, one hand hooking under her flimsy dress and pulling it up past her waist, knowing she would be naked underneath.

Pulling his own breeches down, he took one knee in each hand and hoisted her legs up and then open, pinning her to the wall by the strength of his arms, and thus he rammed into her forcefully, eliciting a mighty gasp from her. He was angry, troubled, she felt his anguish as he began to fuck her harder than he ever had. But for all his aggressiveness, she was lost to bliss, for she felt harnessed and exposed, used forcefully and subjected to his iron will.

He buried his head in the juncture of her shoulder and head as he began to pant hard, taking her to the brink as she felt her knees opened even wider, the muscles in his arms flexing under the strain, his rock-hard cock pumping her, his muscled thighs rubbing against her buttocks…

She could take no more as a low-pitched groan escaped her and she began to orgasm. Feeling her pulsate, Legolas released inside her, pushing himself hard against her again and again, emptying himself completely, until his muscles finally slackened and his hand came up to pull her head against his own neck.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

“Valar, Legolas, you could not harm me, my love. I would have you take me thus every single day, and yet now – if you will permit, let me care for you?”

He pulled back to look at her, his green eyes but inches from her own.

“I am not good company, sweet Minu.”

“I care not, for I do not mean to talk …”
- 24
- 25
- 26
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