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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 26417 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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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AN: This chapter turned out a lot more scarlet than how I originally conceived it. Blame the far-from-innocent images the fanfic100 prompts seem to spawn with embarrassing ease. All I can seem to think of are Elves cavorting au naturel. Such conditions are not conducive to sensible or coherent writing! *sigh* In any case, I hope this chapter pleases.

Chapter XXV

In the years that followed, Elrohir and Legolas lived as they had chosen, residing ten years each turn in their father's realms. There was a price to pay for such a choice and this was alternately parting from their respective families for a decade at a time. It was no easy thing to do for they greatly missed their kin but, for the chance to abide together as mates ought and should, they paid the price with little regret. Of course, circumstances sometimes dictated separations from each other and both diligently saw to their obligations to lords and lands. Fortunately, though such partings were unavoidable, these were more oft than not counted in months rather than years and they were borne with quiet grace and nary a complaint though understandably not with much felicity.

They were not completely bereft of all familial company however. Elladan was not one to be separated from his twin for too long and would come to the Woodland Realm now and then to keep their fraternal bond from fraying. Galvreth likewise would sojourn in Imladris for a summer's visit or mayhap to pass the winter for he had become his youngest brother's favorite sibling. If there was other cause for either's visits it was not mentioned though speculation was rife. Such matters were not bandied about while the outcome of any and all suspicions was still unclear. And in any case, whatever their other reasons, it did not change the fact that they dearly loved their brothers and for the sibling currently far from home one or the other's company was not unwelcome in the least.

The choice not to suffer long partings served the espoused pair and their bond in good stead for their love and devotion strengthened and their understanding of each other deepened. No longer did either hold the other to mistaken perceptions. Both learned the lessons necessary to keep their binding not merely whole but thriving as well. Neither tried to change the other to fit his expectations but in the manner of true lovers accepted each other, flaws and all, with only a gentle chiding now and then when an error became too grievous to stomach. And so the decades marched on and change came oft and again to Middle-earth, both ill and good, and through it all their love endured and served as a link between the elven realms of forest and vale.

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

Mirkwood, ethuil T.A. 1087

The Woodland Realm rarely permitted any of the mannish races within their bounds, untrusting as they were of humans save perhaps for the folk of Esgaroth on the Long Lake to the east with whom they traded. And even so, they treated the Lake-men with cautious civility, preferring to go forth and meet with them rather than welcome them into their forest kingdom.

But the Dúnedain were another matter and indeed one could even say a race apart from other Men for they possessed wisdom, vigor and longevity beyond that which was usually the lot of humans. This was particularly so amongst the scions of their royal house. Or rather the three that now existed in the north, Arnor having been lamentably divided amongst the sons of Eärendur.

Arthedain was the kingdom regarded by the Elves as the purest and least diminished of the northern Dúnedain realms. And still closely allied with the Firstborn unlike the other two, Cardolan and Rhudaur, whose peoples, tainted by corruption or ravaged by attrition, seemed destined for decline and eventually oblivion.

It was the present king of Arthedain, Mallor son of Beleg, who had gained entry into the reclusive forest realm. With him were his queen and sons and several members of his court. It was Mallor's way of keeping in touch with what allies were still left to him, even amongst the wary Silvan folk of the great forest that was now known as Mirkwood.

Elrohir considered the changes in the once wholesome wood. The waxing power of the menacing stronghold of Dol Guldur in the southern reaches of the great forest had precipitated a pestilential blighting of glorious Eryn Galen. Only in the Wood-elves' realm was the rot kept at bay. Yet even here the signs of decay were never far for once one passed the borders of the Woodland Realm, one was engulfed in the stifling environs of the darkened forest.

Black was now the ascendant color beyond the woodland folk's domain, from the plant growth to the beasts to the utter lack of light in some portions of the forest. Elrohir grieved that his kin-by-marriage and their valorous folk should have to dwell in such cloying surroundings. Particularly his beloved Greenleaf.

Legolas belonged in sun-dappled, sweet-scented, verdant woods with the cheerful song of birds and the lively chatter or sonorous calls of friendly forest creatures about him. His radiance was oft a beacon of hope to his people, that was true, but Elrohir wished it did not have to be the case. That it could simply be a source of the delight others derived from the sighting of great beauty and not a means by which to the raise an embattled people's dwindling cheer.

Hearing himself hailed, he came out of his pensive thoughts and saw that Thranduil was beckoning to him to come and assist him in a discussion with Mallor and his eldest son Celepharn. Elrohir swiftly complied with the unspoken request, aware that his kinship with these mortals helped smooth relations between them and their somewhat taciturn Silvan hosts. Joining his law-father in the middle of the delved palace's great hall, he suddenly found himself flanked by two of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Distant cousins of their royal mistress they were beauties in their own right. And they were obviously quite smitten with their king's Half-elven kinsman. And emboldened enough to flirt with him for he was deemed approachable, as the woodland folk were not.

Not a few admiring eyes were drawn to the Elves of Thranduil's court, not least the Elf-king himself and his comely sons. But the great divide between the two races yawned wide and nigh unbridgeable, aided by the princes' cool amiability. They were well mannered beyond reproach but they brooked no further familiarity with their noble selves than the due courtesies exchanged with their guests. In this respect, Elrohir stood out, his inborn affinity for those with whom he shared a common heritage and ancestry enabling him to be warmer and more accommodating than his royal kin-by-law.

Legolas understood this but it did little to minimize his dislike for the two coquettes who prettily sought his mate's attention, coyly plucking at his sleeves or fingering the delicate silver tassels that adorned his burgundy tunic. Apparently, neither was aware of Elrohir's wedded state. The more exclusive elven customs were unheard of amongst the lesser mannish races and only a fraction was known to the more lore-conscious Men of the West. And even then, that knowledge had dissipated with the passage of time and, in these later days, was all but lost save to the most enlightened of the Dúnedain.

The archer's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the pair of fawning maidens. Obviously these two were not of that learned group else they would have recognized the significance of the gold band on Elrohir's right forefinger. Still, he did not allow his feelings to show. His fair countenance was scarcely stirred by even a nascent frown.

He was no longer the impulsive, openly expressive youngling of yore but an Elf of commanding presence, selective reticence and unparalleled grace. He was very much his father's son but far from a mere copy of his august sire. For he was rapidly gaining renown as one of Elfdom's greatest archers and was already a prince and diplomat of no mean skill or courage.

He could be as merry as any Elf in times of joy and prosperity or when his people needed his good cheer to buttress their failing optimism. But he could also be a most maddeningly enigmatic creature whose slow, restrained smile and veiled appraising gaze was known to set many a heart aflutter even amongst the sternest of Thranduil's warriors. With his near perfection of features and form, he had matured into mayhap the comeliest Elf born to Middle-earth.

His surpassing beauty was no surprise for it had been in evidence as early as his childhood. But his deportment many attributed to the influence of his Peredhel spouse who was sprung from a family famed for their adroitness and savvy in the handling of inter-territorial relations, whether political, diplomatic or cultural in nature.

Legolas employed that nuanced manner now, crossing Elrohir's line of vision with an effortless feline grace that was unusual even amongst Elves. And eye catching for any connoisseur of beauty. Especially when said beauty was impeccably clad in a finely embroidered steel blue court tunic of raw silk that played up his fair coloring and further heightened the remote quality that suited his exceptionally fine features so well. If the gesture was designed to draw Elrohir's attention away from his pair of admirers, it succeeded without question. For though the Elf-knight continued to take part in the discussion in which he had been engaged, he was seen to ever so often seek out the golden-haired archer's form. And each time, his eyes kindled and his mouth curved into a soft smile. To those who could read the signs, it was clear the younger twin was thoroughly besotted with his prince.

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

Come evening, Elrohir returned to the apartment he shared with Legolas when they were in residence in Mirkwood. Located in the westernmost wing of the residential pavilion, it was a well-appointed, two level suite of chambers with its own external entrance as well as the requisite door to the main hallway of the wing. It boasted a cozy bedchamber and private bathing room on the upper story and a spacious sitting area on the ground floor. Adjacent to the sitting area was a small cooking nook and dining alcove where the couple could prepare and have simple meals when they were not in the mood for communal dining.

Mounting the curving stairs to the bedchamber, Elrohir wondered where Legolas had taken himself. He had noted his mate's muted displeasure during the afternoon's proceedings but afore he could question him, Legolas slipped away. Elrohir did not know the reason for the archer's mood. Nothing of his expression or demeanor gave away anything of his thoughts. Elrohir could have reached out and touched the latter's mind, a gift the Peredhil had in abundance, but he chose not to. It was an intrusion when uninvited or unwarranted and he would never violate Legolas' right to his privacy of body or thought.

After bathing, he donned bed-trousers then reclined on the bed, a good book in hand, to await the archer's return. A good half-hour passed before he heard the familiar cat-like tread on the stairs outside, just barely discernible to his Half-elven ears and completely undetectable to a human listener.

The door opened and Legolas entered. After a nod of greeting to his darkling spouse he headed for the bathing room, disrobing as he did. Elrohir regarded him curiously, wondering anew what had upset Legolas that he was still in such a reclusive mood. But he did not pressure the Elf-prince for an answer just yet. Legolas could become more tight-lipped if pressed prematurely.

The Silvan blood in him made for a reticence that seemed to contradict the oft-perceived Wood-elven gaiety. What few folk realized was that a merry demeanor could be deceptive and effectively distract one from the pursuit of one's goal. Elves were masters of tactful dissembling but while the Eldar waylaid many an unsuspecting soul with skillful speech, the Wood-elves simply fooled others with their seeming happy-go-lucky ways into thinking them quite innocent of the world without and the events that rocked it. Most realized that they had learned solely what was intended for them to learn only belatedly. The Silvan folk masked their true nature with laughter and song.

Elrohir patiently waited while Legolas bathed, turning over in his mind what course to take to get maximum information out of his spouse with a minimum of rancor to sour the evening. But ere he could decide on any one, the prince emerged from the other room and Elrohir's thoughts promptly hastened down entirely different avenues.

Legolas had not merely washed himself. He had also anointed his body with an herbal oil made by the Elves of Mirkwood. It was the favored lubricant for therapeutic massages for it was light and did not leave a greasy film on the skin yet glided on smoothly for utmost ease of application. It was also edible yet virtually flavorless and possessed of a surprisingly enticing scent. It was a sought after commodity amongst the courtesans of neighboring Esgaroth but for vastly different reasons than what it had originally been created for.

Legolas had put that particular function of the oil to use and most effectively at that. The sheen it left on his skin lent his flesh an even greater luminosity that pointed up each and every curve and plane of his supple, warrior's frame. Coupled with the burnished fall of his hair combed until it shone like molten silver and gold and the martial glide of his stride reminiscent of a cat approaching its prey, he was the very vision of masculine pulchritude.

Elrohir did not wonder that his mouth suddenly turned dry or his pulse began to race as the prince neared him. Legolas was in a perilous mood and that meant passion in their bed beyond its usual measure. He had no cause for complaint.

The book was taken from his hands and replaced with the archer's sleek form and more. With nary a word, Legolas draped himself over Elrohir and forestalled any queries with a spate of searing kisses to the Elf-knight's mouth, throat and chest. He only spared a few moments to divest his spouse of his trousers before entwining their bodies in scalding prelude to the greatest bodily intimacy known to any sentient race.

They made a beautiful pair, arguably the most beauteous of all pairings between ellyn in that age save possibly for one other. The glowing alabaster of Legolas' flesh made for a subtle and wondrous contrast against Elrohir's creamy, sun-kissed skin. The starker difference between the sunshine brightness and midnight hue of their tresses was even more breathtaking to behold when the silken locks mingled even as the lovers' forms melded together. But perhaps most striking of all and of a potency enough to make any Elf's mouth water was the sight of their slim and limber yet astonishingly formidable bodies fiercely locked in passion.

Full physical maturity had bestowed on them forms that were the envy of many for there were few who could match their beauty save for their own sires and brethren. His mixed heritage continued to be evinced in Elrohir's broader shoulders and wider chest and his impressive height, which not all Elves attained, not even among the tall Noldor. His strength was undeniable, visibly evinced as it was for all to see.

Legolas by contrast was of so ethereal a countenance and slender of frame that mortals could be forgiven the mistaken notion that he was as fragile as a moonbeam. But his raiment hid a body and limbs rife with thews so sturdy, he was easily one of the preeminent warriors in the forest kingdom, as renowned amongst the Mirkwood folk as his Imladrin mate for his prowess in the battle-arts.

Embedded deep in the satin confines of Legolas' withy form, Elrohir gazed at him with an appreciation that refused to abate even after their centuries of espousal. No matter how frequently they coupled in all the long years of their blessed partnership, his desire for his woodland prince did not wane. Temper perhaps at intervals given the vicissitudes of life but as he had told Legolas centuries past their passion would never fade. And never was this more evident than when they came together in lust and love, the sweet taste of his mate enflaming him, that lithe body molded against his own enough to banish any and all worries or sorrows afflicting him even if only for the space of their joining. And that was more than many a less fortunate soul could hope for.

He stared at his archer love, mesmerized as always by his beauty which came ever more alive when Legolas was in the throes of ecstasy - eyes bright and vivid, fair skin a-blush with rapture, soft lips parted entrancingly and the tip of a rosy tongue barely peeking through. And framing such comeliness was the wild flaxen spill of glossy locks on the pristine white of the pillow. Ah, it was almost impossible to believe that so exquisite a creature existed. Yet he did and Elrohir knew himself in possession of a priceless gift that he alone could know the pleasures to be gotten from the luminous Elf who lay beneath him, writhing and moaning in bliss as he was repeatedly pierced.

He could never get enough of this sublime rapture, the feeling of tight, moist heat enclosing him. But it was not mere sensation alone that so ensorcelled him for he had known others' bodies afore and none had lifted him to such heights of pleasure as Legolas did. Or welcomed him into his flesh with as much abandon and nigh gutting joy. Verily, every thrust was a plunge into mind-boggling bliss that waxed even greater with the wrap of strong, agile legs about his waist, almost desperately urging him to force himself ever deeper into the lissome body that sheathed him.

Legolas' thoughts resounded in his consciousness. Love me, Elrohir. Own me, fill me! Elrohir could only obey the imperative command though an idea lurked in the recesses of his now turbulent mind that Legolas had a purpose in this nigh feral coupling. He would learn of it later, he promised himself. But for now, he would lose himself in the heated silk that was Legolas' core and the sweet inferno that was their bodies' loving.

Afterwards, lying quiescent and sated, at least for the moment, Elrohir held Legolas close, lazily stroking the tresses that spilled down the prince's back. He studied Legolas' face, rosy with the flush of sexual completion.

“I pray you are shorn of whatever troubled you earlier,” he quietly remarked.

Legolas lifted his tousled head from where it lay upon Elrohir's deliciously muscled chest. The very blandness of his expression was telling though he only said, “I merely wish to ensure that all your needs are always met to your satisfaction.”

Elrohir considered his answer somberly. Studying the archer's face closely, he assayed: “This has to do with the two damsels who sought to keep me company, doesn't it?”

Legolas snorted elegantly. “You mean those two tarts of purportedly noble blood who possess so little in the way of brains they could not recognize a wedding band even when it was being waved right under their noses,” he softly retorted, eliciting a chuckle from Elrohir. He spared a mild glare for his mirthful mate. “I care not if others ogle your graces, Elrohir. That is only to be expected. But I do take exception when they go beyond appreciation and attempt seduction. That is my prerogative and mine alone.”

“Valar, you are such a jealous creature,” Elrohir commented with some amusement.

“You disapprove?”

“Only if your words or manner provoke a brawl.”

Legolas had to smile at the reminder of the scuffle that had marred Rivendell's peace some six summers back. A Bree merchant had come a-visiting in the hopes of establishing trade relations with the Imladrin Elves. He'd made the mistake of bringing his only daughter along with his sons. For the maiden proved of a gamesome disposition and upon clapping her eyes on Elrohir flirted with him so outrageously even her father perforce apologized for her behavior.

Legolas was particularly incensed but he did little more than insult the minx in spectacularly understated fashion, likening her to the ivy that encroached on houses when permitted to flourish unchecked. Unfortunately, he did so in the presence of her brothers who took the subtle affront to their collective heart and, forgetting that they were no match for an Elf despite their numbers, sought to gain an apology by means of their fists. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and the fray was halted ere it escalated into a full-scale donnybrook and the merchant's sons had suffered no more than the blackened eyes, bloodied noses and sprained joints one could expect to acquire in a skirmish with an Elf-warrior.

“There is no cause for jealousy, seron vell”-beloved-Elrohir said. “You very well know I want no other but you. And what is a mere look when 'tis you alone who can touch and taste?”

“If only 'twere mere looks they cast your way,” Legolas replied pointedly. “But they unclothe you with their eyes. Verily, they lick their lips like cats on the prowl. 'Tis not to be borne, Elrohir.”

“And they do not do the same to you?” Elrohir good-naturedly shot back. “A goodly number regard you with far more than simple admiration and would importune you were you more welcoming.” After a moment's pause, he added: “Even some of their men-folk.”

That startled Legolas and he stared at Elrohir with disbelief. “Their men-folk?” he repeated skeptically. “How can that be? 'Tis not their way.”

“Not all humans are of a piece and there are those who are drawn to their own gender or are capable of desiring both as we are. The exigencies of circumstances can also play a role. The Dúnedain have been known to indulge in such liaisons when there are no wenches to tumble or when husbands and lovers are far from home. And it is not an uncommon practice amongst the Easterlings and the Haradrim.”

“Ancient cultures all,” Legolas remarked, his mien thoughtful.

“Ah, so you marked that distinction,” Elrohir said approvingly. “Aye, 'tis the younger races that seem less able to comprehend or accept that just because an inborn proclivity is beyond one's ken does not necessarily make it wrong or fearsome but is simply a fact of nature.”

He ran his finger down the fine curve of Legolas' sculpted cheek. “Believe me, my prince, there are men aplenty who appreciate your beauty and would leap at the chance to sup of it. But I do not think it worth my time to stew over something that I know for certes will come to naught.”

He spoke in jest but saw the error of his judgment when Legolas' eyes flashed disapprovingly. “I mislike your lack of concern, Elf-knight,” he said with some acerbity. “It seems your regard for me is not quite the equal of mine for you that you should be so unruffled by such matters.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes in droll fashion. “Legolas! 'Tis not as of either of us would ever stray,” he reasoned. “My regard for you is no less than yours for me. Rather I would say methinks your trust in me is not equal to mine in you else you would not be wary of phantom interlopers coming between us.” Seeing the archer subside at this piece of logic, he ventured further. “Besides, I have cared little for others' graces since the making of our betrothal. And not at all since we wed. And even were we not wed why would I look elsewhere when you fill my needs most adequately?”

He regretted those last words almost immediately. Eyes kindling dangerously, Legolas straddled him with liquid grace. “Most adequately?” he softly echoed, the silky tenor of his voice belying the steel in his sapphire gaze. “Is that your estimation of my efforts? Well then, I must see to it that you raise it forthwith.”

And forthwith did he set himself to ensuring his mate revised that ill-phrased opinion of his ministrations.

A breathtaking ride and a multitude of heartbeats later, Legolas languidly inquired: “What say you now, bereth?-spouse?

Elrohir shook with laughter. Weakly chuckling, he said: “I say 'twas ludicrous to call your efforts anything but peerless. 'Twas not you that was lacking but rather my poor choice of words. Forgive me, calenlassen”-my green leaf-“I know not what I was thinking.”

With a smug smile, Legolas eased himself off him to lie by his side. Noting his mate's pleasant languor, Elrohir happily sighed. He could not regret Legolas' mercurial moods when the soothing of his prince was typically carried out in this fashion.

After a moment, he slipped out of their bed to fetch them both a drink from the small store of libations they kept at hand in one corner of the room. Filling two cups with a rich, red wine Legolas especially favored, he glanced back to look at the archer. He had to pause in his pouring lest he missed his aim for Legolas in post-coitus reverie was a sight too enthralling to miss.

He watched Legolas lazily caress his groin and thighs before reaching lower to smooth his fingers over the creamy rivulet that trickled from him. Eyes closed, mouth curved into a felicitous smile, the archer was the picture of utter contentment as he idly smeared his mate's seed on his skin. It never failed to astonish Elrohir when he witnessed how much his mate delighted in the evidence of his spending within him. Most likely it was because the prince regarded it as the most intense and intimate testament to their loving and therefore something to be savored to the utmost. Whatever his reason, the image of his wanton enjoyment had the power to awaken Elrohir's lust anew and rouse the urge to have it slaked soonest.

Padding back to the bed, he softly summoned his spouse from his sensual exercise. Legolas slowly opened his eyes. His smile turned sultry at the appreciative gleam he descried in Elrohir's eyes. Raising himself on one elbow, he accepted the cup Elrohir handed him and, locking gazes with his darkling mate, downed the liquor straightly. His legs remained splayed, his knees upraised, his lower body open to Elrohir's riveted regard and more.

The Elf-knight could not ignore so flagrant an invitation. He crept between the archer's outspread thighs, snatched up his empty cup and carelessly tossed it aside along with his.

Lying back, his hair spreading upon the pillow in glimmering abandon, Legolas looked at him with a smirk, his lips moist with the wine he had imbibed. Elrohir leaned down to lick the heady liquor off. With scarcely any preamble, he pushed Legolas' knees back and up and pressed deep into the prince, his passage eased by the copious remains of his previous spendings. He caught Legolas to himself when, with a gasping moan, the archer arched into the abrupt invasion and pulled him upright to rest on his lap so that he slid down completely on the shaft he gloved.

Panting, his form shuddering with barely contained excitement, Legolas buried his hot face in the twin's neck while he awaited his body's adjustment to the girth that more than amply filled it. After a space, he raised his head and met Elrohir's gaze.

“You tempt me at your own peril, lassen vain”-my beautiful leaf-Elrohir softly growled.

Legolas beamed at him beatifically but his eyes glowed darkly with unequivocal lust. “'Tis a peril I cannot do without,” he purred. “Have your fill of me, rochir vorn”-dark knight. “For when you are done, I intend to have my way with you until you plead for mercy.”

He sealed their mouths in blistering union afore Elrohir could reply in unlikely dissent or in all but certain concurrence.

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

Glossary:

ethuil - Sindarin for spring

Peredhel (pl. Peredhil) - Half-elven/Half-elf

ellyn - male Elves

thews - muscles (archaic)

donnybrook - a riotous brawl

ken - a field of knowledge or understanding

To be continued…
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- 27
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Twilight Tales - An Ounce of Kindness