Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf & Imladris 1 - Meldir: At First Sight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5912 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 2
- 3
- 4
Part III

Nearly a full week passed before Melthoron was able to act on his threat. In the intervening days, the brethren had ample time to discover the benefits of befriending Thranduil’s youngest son. Legolas was not merely friendly; he took the time to show them around his father’s realm. Both brothers enjoyed themselves to the hilt as the delights of the Woodland Realm presented themselves to them whether said delights entailed hunting in the deep woods, baiting the Elvenking’s soon frazzled household or choosing from amongst the numerous Elf-maids bent on getting them between their silken sheets. In this last, Legolas found himself a little out of his depth; he’d never seen such lustfulness in any Elf he knew, not even the strapping warriors of his father’s army.

“You’d think they’d be exhausted by now,” he commented with some admiration to his childhood friends, Sirgon, Mithrael and Heledir, the fifth morning since the arrival of the Rivendell party. “That’s four nights in a row and a different maid each night!”

Heledir, a lusty youth himself, chuckled appreciatively. “At the pace they’re setting there will be precious few maids left in Eryn Galen by the end of their stay,” he mused.

“Precious few maids and a multitude of indignant Elves!” Mithrael, the scholar pointed out. “Can you not restrain them, Legolas?”

“Me? Restrain them?” Legolas snorted. “It would be far easier to whip a horde of Orcs into submission.”

“But you like them very much, don’t you,” Sirgon observed. The son of one of Thranduil’s counsellors, he was a shy, soft-spoken lad.

Legolas nodded, a smile gracing his finely wrought lips. “Aye, that I do,” he said. “Indeed, if they could but stay longer, I would be most pleased.”

Mithrael guffawed. “You would be pleased but methinks there are many who may decide to pass West should your wish come true. Your capacity for mischief has grown twofold under their influence, ernilen—my prince.”

Legolas laughed. “So my father claims,” he admitted. “And Melthoron’s temper has grown ever shorter with every conquest the twins have made. They have bested him in this sport, at least, despite their years.“

“What of his challenge to them?” Sirgon asked curiously.

Legolas shrugged. “I believe Melthoron intends to prove his mastery before the week is out.”

“And will he?” Mithrael queried. “Prove his mastery, I mean. What think you of the twins’ skills in archery?”

Legolas frowned thoughtfully. “I am not certain. One would think them too young to be much of a challenge to a warrior like my brother. But if there is one thing I have learned so far, it is to never underestimate them. You do so at your own peril.”

“Then it shall be a most interesting match,” Heledir said with a grin. “I imagine wagers will be on the high side for this contest.”

“They already are,” Mithrael affirmed.

“And who do they favor?” Legolas inquired.

“‘Tis fairly equal. It seems the twins have gained many admirers.”

“What about you, Legolas?” Sirgon asked. “Who do you favor?”

The prince leaned back with a smile. “I really should support Melthoron,” he murmured. “He is my brother, after all.”

“Then you think he will win?”

The smile grew broader. “I said I should support him,” the prince said impishly. “I didn’t say I would!”

As Legolas had surmised, Melthoron reissued his challenge to the twins two days hence. A fairly large group of Elves showed up to witness the contest. It was a mostly young crowd and a mixed one as both males and maidens jockeyed for the best position from which to watch the competition.

The rules were simple. Melthoron had had the master bowmen of the kingdom set up a series of targets, nine in all, each progressively harder than its predecessor. Alternately taking the first eight tests, he and Brethildor would pit themselves against Elladan and Elrohir respectively

The first targets were dealt with easily enough by all four Elves. Ranging from marks on tree trunks to crab apples balanced on the heads of nervous volunteers to moving targets catapulted high into the air, they were fairly simple for skilled marksmen. And skilled the four were as evidenced by their consistent success in hitting their marks. It soon became plain, however, that Elladan and Elrohir had not been jesting when they’d touted the Lórien Elves’ abilities if they, the Galadhrim’s students, were any indication of the former’s proficiency.

While Brethildor enjoyed the competition for its own sake, the twins’ masterful performance galled Melthoron. It was insupportable that two Elves more than three centuries his junior should be able to match him or his brother, test for test. He gritted his teeth when Elladan took on the eighth challenge after him, hitting the same tiny painted spot on a tree trunk with three arrows in swift succession, then embellished the result by driving a fourth into the very center of the first three. Even Thranduil’s bowmen were seen to drop their jaws at this display by an Elf they’d considered a callow youngster. Their grudging respect and the spectators’ admiration did nothing to appease the Crown Prince’s fast fraying temper.

Nonetheless, he was as smug as could be when they went on to the ninth and last test, which all four of them would have to face. It was daunting to say the least. The archers had strung four strands of fine twine amidst the branches of a towering tree, made taut by heavy metal weights. To these strands they had attached tiny clusters of green grapes. Half concealed in the foliage, blending in with the greenery, they were exceedingly difficult to target accurately. In addition, a strong breeze constantly rustled the twigs and leaves to and fro obscuring the clusters even further.

Melthoron was confident of besting the twins in this last challenge for it was one he and Brethildor had assiduously practiced for many years while training with their father’s archers. He had it on good authority that only the best and most arduously trained bowmen could take on this test. But to his dismay, Brethildor faltered at this last; he only managed to graze the cluster he’d chosen. With an apologetic grin and casual shrug to his brother, he stepped aside to let the Crown Prince take his turn. Melthoron glowered at him, unable to take the setback in stride.

With a discernible swagger, he selected his target, choosing for good effect the smallest cluster of all, which was barely discernable amongst the foliage even to keen elven eyes. The prince’s bow sang and, a moment later, the arrow tore through the exact center of the cluster showering the Elves directly below it with pieces of fruit. He smiled sneeringly at the twins as appreciative applause followed his feat. Top that, his eyes taunted them.

Elladan and Elrohir studied the remaining clusters thoughtfully. When they remained thus for several seconds without moving, Melthoron snickered. “You can concede the match now if ‘tis too difficult for you, pin nith”—young ones—he drawled. “After all, it takes years of practice to achieve this level of mastery. No one will fault you for accepting your limitations.”

Elladan glanced at him, one eyebrow rising in disdain. “We will not concede,” he said clearly. “We will finish the course.”

“And as for limitations, we do not recognize any,” Elrohir added. He looked at Elladan and nodded.

With dizzying speed and precision, they simultaneously fit their arrows to their bows, aimed and let loose. The sharp-tipped missiles flew straight and true. A concerted gasp arose as the arrows struck not the grape clusters but the nearly invisible strands from which they were strung, severing them and causing the fruits and metal weights to plummet down not in a showering of bits and pieces but as projectiles, the grapes exploding upon impact with the ground, the metal weights forming craters in the soil.

For the space of a heartbeat, silence reigned as the stunned spectators took the time to comprehend what the brethren had done. And then, someone began to clap his hands. It was Legolas.

Before long, others followed his lead and thunderous applause acknowledged the twins’ performance. With typical aplomb, the two bowed almost theatrically, eliciting laughter from the crowd. There was not a single pair of eyes present that did not regard Elrond’s sons with either masculine respect or feminine adoration. None but one that is.

Already put out by the attention the twins had received all week long, Melthoron was all the more enraged by this show of mastery by mere Elflings. Especially Elflings he contemptuously regarded as the spawn of noxious Noldor! Crimson with embarrassment, he barely reined in his infamous temper when, in his opinion, Brethildor lowered himself to congratulate them. Scowling, he watched the brethren as they started to walk away in Legolas’ company.

Seeing the Crown Prince’s displeasure, Elrohir paused and looked at him with amusement. “We do not make false threats or empty boasts,” he said with a smirk. He turned his back on Melthoron and moved to catch up with Elladan and Legolas.

The infamous temper snapped. Snarling angrily, Melthoron launched himself at the younger twin, taking him down by his legs. A violent engagement inevitably ensued. To the anxiety of some and the glee of others, the two Elves were soon locked in a feral struggle for primacy. Elrohir’s shock and incredulity at Melthoron’s treacherous assault evolved into a fierce rage as their battle escalated. He would not let this arrogant, foul-mouthed kingling get the better of him!

Fists flew and legs lashed out in unfettered animosity. So furious was their fight that no one, not even their brothers, dared interfere. At length, incensed beyond reason or pity, Elrohir kneed the prince brutally in the groin then threw him off with a savage jerk. Melthoron landed on his belly with winding force. With unthinkable fleetness, Elrohir fell upon him and the prince found himself face shoved into the earth, a knee digging into his back and his arms pinioned effectively behind him.

Elrohir bent low and growled: “That was low even for you, Edhel!”—Elf!

Elladan now swiftly intervened. He placed a calming hand on his twin’s shoulder. “Elrohir,” he simply murmured.

His brother glanced up at him. Abruptly, he moved off the fallen prince and stood up. With nary a glance at the awed spectators, he strode off into the forest, his countenance so fearsome the Wood-elves swiftly cleared a path for him. Elladan and Legolas spared one look for Melthoron before hastening after him.

Legolas was astounded by his friend’s capacity for such fury. He had thought him the more temperate of the twins. Now he realized he still had much to learn about the brethren this lesson notwithstanding. The younger twin’s anger, while slow to kindle, once ignited was a frightening thing to behold.

Elrohir halted at the sound of his name being called. He looked back in time to see his brother and Legolas rapidly approaching. The sight of the youngest prince immediately quelled his anger and guilt swiftly took its place. He looked down, his cheeks burning with shame.

“I am sorry, Legolas,” he said as soon as the two Elves reached him.

Legolas stared at him in surprise. “Why are you apologizing?” he exclaimed. “Melthoron began the fight. You were only defending yourself. In truth, I am surprised you did not maim him.”

Elrohir stared at him in turn. “Maim him?!” he gasped. “You did not actually expect that, did you?”

“But I did,” the archer replied honestly. “Your considerable skill begged such an outcome. I should have liked to see how you would have done it.”

Elladan regarded him with mingled shock and amusement. “For one so fair and fragile-looking, you are a bloodthirsty creature, cunneth,”—princeling—he remarked.

Legolas shrugged. “But of course. I am a Wood-elf.”

The simple statement reminded the twins that the deceptive serenity of Greenwood was just that--deceptive. Thranduil possessed much enchantment of his own but it was nowhere near the levels of power lent by the elven rings wrought by Celebrimbor and now wielded in secret by three Eldarin lords, one of them their own sire. As such, Eryn Galen’s people staved off the evils without by sheer dint of their valor and skill. That meant a more primal, oft brutal reaction to the perils that threatened their realm.

Rivendell was ancient in spirit and steeped in culture and knowledge. Greenwood’s soul was as primitive, mercurial and innocently wise as nature itself.

“Be that as it may, how am I supposed to show myself in your father’s halls tonight?” Elrohir queried anxiously.

“As you always do, meldir.”—friend—“My father may be harsh and quick-tempered at times but he is fair. No one can deny that Melthoron instigated that fight.” Legolas placed a soothing hand on Elrohir’s arm. “Come, you must freshen up. The evening meal is nigh on hand.”

The two princes, Thranduil’s eldest and Elrond’s youngest, presented quite a sight that evening in the dining hall. Elrohir had an ugly bruise on his temple and the backs of his hands where raw with abrasions. But Melthoron was by far the more pitiful of the two sporting as he did a blackened eye, a split lip, a sprained wrist and an obvious limp.

Publicly, Elrond chastised his son for handling their host’s heir so roughly whilst Celebrian decried his violence. Privately, the twins’ parents were puffed up with pride that Elrohir had bested an Elf a few centuries his senior and this following so closely on the heels of the brethren’s splendid performance with their bows. Glorfindel and Erestor were hard-pressed not to express their mirth at the betraying twinkle in their Lord and Lady’s eyes.

Thranduil, on the other hand, gave a stern warning to his quarrelsome son and decided there and then that Melthoron needed more training if he could be trounced by a mere youngling. Ithilwen, on the other hand, was of the opinion that her eldest child had needed the figurative spanking dealt him by Elrohir and so regarded the brawl with creditable equanimity.

The entire incident boosted the twins’ stock even further in the eyes of the Silvan Elves, their elemental natures appreciative of such basic and direct responses to the rigors of life.

To be continued…
- 2
- 3
- 4
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

Greenleaf & Imladris 1 - Meldir: At First Sight