Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Summer Lightning	By : Celebdil Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 718 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Every eye in the assembled company was fixed on the two of them, wondering at their sudden animosity. Elu could feel it. The discomfort, the concern. It had always reassured the Teleri that their ruling house was so united in these uncertain times, that Elu had so strong a bond with his brothers and Elmo's children; with Celeborn, their prince.
But the antagonism arcing between them now was palpable. The air pulsed with the threat of battle.
Standing aside, Celeborn allowed Elu to move first into the centre of the clearing. It was a courtesy due and expected from his rank to the king�s. But the ironic tilt of his head was not lost on Elu. It only fuelled his sudden, white-hot rage.
Fury sparked along his nerves, so that almost he began to wonder at his own sanity, because still Celeborn�s beauty staggered him - drew, tempted, taunted him. He shook himself mentally, bringing the long knife to guard position, saluting his partner. My opponent.
The first ripple of notes fell like water on his skin.
***
Wandering alone through the sighing trees, dim in shadow, Celeborn had passed from elation to a mirroring anger. It was not so easy as his berry-picking partner had seemed to imply. 'Go to him', she had said, as if he could simply act on impulse, walk up to Elu and fit himself into the other�s arms, pull him close, lose his senses in the heavy fall of the King�s hair... But he could not.
Elu's love he had owned from birth - he had grown up in its strength. For he was the grandson of Elu's brother, and the bonds of kindred were strong in his family. There, in what should have been happiness, lay the trouble. What would his father, and his grandfather think, what would they feel, if he did this? Betrayed, certainly. Perhaps even outraged. In a private family such dissention could be tolerated. But in the family of the King? No. He had a duty to his people not to do this, not to fracture the unity of their lords, simply because he thirsted for the love of Elu�s strongly muscled body, yearned for the touch of that uncompromising mouth, so often curved in a smile�
Deep in the forest, joy had soured in Celeborn�s heart. Why could he not just be any elf, free to love and live as did all those in this company? Or why did he have to develop this irrational and impossible attraction? And why could he not make it stop?
Enough. It was enough. He stood, lifted his head and set his shoulders. He had dwelt on this long enough. So he could not have what he wanted. Life would go on. Now he needed to change and attend the festivities; he did not want to give Thingol any reason to wonder at his absence, whatever one fleeting expression may or may not have held.
And if he took particular care over his appearance in his preparations, he put it down to the fact that, as prince, he had a duty to present as pleasing an image as possible. As he combed and braided his mithril hair, winding the delicately carven beads, like tiny stars, and a soft, silver feather into its length, he did not allow himself to think he did this for Elu.
When Celeborn arrived at the clearing, the King�s challenge had been the spark to the tinder of his own fury. Elu did not know what he was playing with. He thought himself inassailable, did he? Well Celeborn had practiced this dance alone for hours at a time in the forest. He would not be so simply beaten as Elu might think. He was not a child any more.
No, Celeborn thought, he was no child, for if he had been he would not still feel this painful impulse to reach out as Elu passed, to graze the powerful shoulders with his fingers, to close his eyes and feel the heat of Elu's spirit caress his skin like questing hands.
Drawing a breath, he tightened his grip on the long knife and followed his idol, his enemy, into the centre of the clearing.
Even in the days of the Firstborn's youth, this dance was old - a fusion of hunting and combat and beauty, wrought into a display of skill and grace, a test of body andl. l. That it was dangerouotenotentially deadly, only added to its allure - to the glory of a warrior who could perform it well.
A slip at the wrong moment - timidity or aggression making a block too weak or a blow too hard - and serious injury would result. Minor injury was expected. Rare were those able to tread the complex measures so well they emerged unscathed. For this dance was also a test of mental strength, of control, an exercise in not allowing the ego to rule the mind and heart; the coolness needed not to press an advantage, not to get carried away.
Indeed, this dance was so perilous, such a risk to both participants, that only the weapons teacher of a young Elf was allowed to teach it to the pupil, only the one who had spent most time nurturing and tutoring the youngster was permitted to instruct their pupil in this ultimate expression of Elvish grace and lethal elegance.
Many years ago, Elu had taught it to Celeborn.
Celeborn had learnt well.
For several tense moments, they faced each other across the clearing, breath held against the notes which would herald the beginning of this dangerous measure. Celeborn held his gaze level on Elu�s, not giving any ground under his king�s blazing stare.
The first sweet notes of the harp fell like soft rain into the clearing, mingling with the starlight and the red-gold fire, transforming the very air into rippling layers of sound and colour. Despite his anger Celeborn smiled. The music rang in his soul in the same way that being among trees did, calling him out of himself, to exult.
He turned in a fluid movement to his left, bringing the knife up and round, as Elu mirrored him to the right, doing the same. Blade crossed over his chest, he paused a beat, before sweeping it out and taking the gliding step, led by the music, which took him closer to Elu. Another turn, a lithe leap. He flicked the blade up and caught it in the opposite hand, and they were closer still. The music increased in pace.
Feet light, following the intricate steps, he took a tight, timed spin and turned, bringing his blade out, not needing to look, knowing that Elu�s knife would be there to meet his, directly in the centre of the clearing.
The blades touched edge to edge, combining with the music, making a note which cut to the heart, sharp and pure. The gathered Elves sighed in acknowledgement of dancdancers� skill. It was the best of omens, if that note sounded out in correct time.
Now the music hushed, holding its breath, as the knife edges held steady in a kiss of cold, sharp stone; then slowly, the pressure never changing, each blade slid slowly down the length of the other. The dancer�s locked gazes, fury arcing between them.
The song exploded into the night. They spun apart, faced opposite ends of the clearing. Each flicked his knife up, up into the air, to be deftly caught by the other in a spinning leap. When the blades again came together in a blindingly fast series of thrusts and parries, counterpoint to the fast beat of the music, each now held his opponent's blade. The onlookers hardly dared gasp, else the dancers be distracted and one or the other seriously hurt.
Gathering himself for the leap which would take him over Elu�s low slicing knife, Celeborn felt exhileration take him, felt it begin to sing through him until he almost laughed aloud. He let the music intoxicate him, possess him, dictating his movements, filling him with power.
Thrust forward, arm almost straight but not locked, counter, a light touch, point to point and then out, away. Blades rolled around the wrist, worked up the arm in a careful meld of balance and speed, spinning and glittering in the firelight, while feet picked out a constant rhythm of steps, circling and dancing, close and away.
The tempo built, and Celeborn felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. Here he would have to touch Elu and yet remain focussed. He dared not hold his breath in anticipation, for even such a slight change in the pattern of breathing would upset his timing and he would lose, the dance faltering, failing.
A light shimmer of high notes sounded and Celeborn turned. His shoulders met Elu�s, back to back as their blades danced and shone above their heads. Fire raced down Celeborn�s spine at the touch of Elu�s body; he could feel the movement of Elu�s muscles beneath his tunic and his mind filled with the thought of those muscles moving under his fingers, naked against his skin.
Elu�s shoulders flexed, just in time, warning him. Celeborn again flicked his wrist, turned so that he and Elu were a finger�s width apart and caught Elu�s blade above his head as they exchanged weapons again.
They stepped around each other, each turn and glide in perfect time with the racing music. Coming close they spun their blades in and out, over and under each other�s wrists, until it was impossible to tell who had hold of which time at any given moment, and sometimes, it was neither of them, the slender knives seeming to hang in mid air before being caught by a deft hand.
At times, they were forced to look at each other and Celeborn saw, beneath the still seething anger, a joy in Elu�s eyes to match his own. This dance was a celebration of exhilerating prowess. Its execution was... Was the most powerful aphrodisiac Celeborn could imagine. Even through the total concentration the dance required, he could feel the tension between the two of them. Despirate, powerful need mingled with anger and delight.
The song shifted rythmn. Obedient to its lead, Celeborn circled out in a series of spins and leaps to the edge of the crowd. He flicked out a hand and was given a length of grey silk. Tossing his blade high, he had secured the blindfold over his eyes by the time it fell to his waiting hand.
Darkness descended on him, and the music speeded, deleriously swift.
*****
Surprised by bliss, Elu revelled in this almost combat. It took his breath away, it felt so perfect.
When they stood back to back and exchanged blades, Elu nearly drowned in the press of Celeborn�s body. He could feel the youth's controlled tension, and for a moment he could have sworn Celeborn felt the same shiver of desire down his spine, but no, it could not be.
He moved, fighting to hold to his concentration. The next few patterns were purely reflex, so that his securing the blindfold over his own eyes came as something a shock.
Now the music was a sweetly soaring thing. Stilling, becoming almost motionless, he bared his wrist and held it out, palm up, knife held out wide, an offering to Celeborn�s cut. A moment later, he felt the lightest touch of a blade across his skin, so precise it did not leave even a mark. He let out a breath and turned, bringing his knife up and across, feeling the warmth of Celeborn�s breath on the back of his hand as his blade traced the length of the younger elf�s vulnerable throat. He dared not even shiver� and it was sweet torture
Again, this time reversed, and as Elu felt Celeborn�s blade at his throat he held his breath, but the knife did not falter, tracing lightly the vei Elu Elu�s neck and up under his chin, then he was away, tearing the blindfold from his eyes, laughing with joy.
The end approached. Suddenly, unexpectedly, with the most difficult part over, fury returned. He greeted it with disbelief, stunned that it had not yet been purged. But that was it, perhaps - now the difficulty was eased he had time to look at Celeborn; to see the sheen of sweat that covered the prince�s skin, how his hair, as he moved, floated around him, catching the firelight and throwing it back in a shining wave. His smile, his new serenity - sunk in the sensuous danger of the dance...
Desire overcame Elu's will. How dare Celeborn look so unconcerned, so innocent, so�untouchable.
They came together for the last time. At the light touch of Celeborn�s wrist and shoulder, Elu flinched, knew Celeborn had felt it; the prince�s eyes flickered, and somehow, they were balanced again. Elu�s emotions surged. Fury, chagrin, need and frustration clouded his vision.
Mind in turmoil, Elu chose the more complex of the two options for the conclusion of the dance. It was a mistake, his concentration was utterly gone - his anger drove him to strike fast, hard, out of tempo, and without knowing how it happened, his blade sank deep into Celeborn�s shoulder.
The onlookers� gasp of appreciation turned to shock as the prince spun away and ended, arm across his chest, knife held flat against the length of his arm, blood spreading rapidly across his shoulder, soaking his tunic.
There was utter silence in the clearing. Who would concede the match? Accept blame for the injury, acknowledge that they were not quite perfect. Who had won?
Celeborn smiled, coldly, �My congratulations, my king,� he said quietly, �The dance is yours.� He held Elu�s eyes for a moment longer in the silence, before a storm of noise broke out across the clearing. The crowd, recovering from its awe, surged forward. Elven voices were raised in delighted appreciation and praise for the two warriors.
Celeborn had lost, but he had acquitted himself well, and he would only become more skilled over time. As it was, he outmatched all but the one who stood across from him, gaze locked with his, both of them oblivious to the noise and movement around them. Together in a world made only of the two of them.
Then someone touched Celeborn�s shoulder, slender fingers gently exploring the wound through the ruin of the white tunic. Sudden agony made him wince. Dizziness overtook him, tearing him away from Elu�s compelling gaze. A healer was speaking urgently to him. He nodded, trying to follow the words, aware of Elu�s eyes still on him. The healer pulled him away and he went reluctantly. But he did not look back.
Elu stood immobile, waves of guilt breaking over him. What had he done? How could he have allowed his anger to affect him so? How could he have forfieted even his honour in this damnable obsession of his?
For he knew what none but Celeborn knew. It was not the boy who had lost, but Elu. In that last move, when they touched, and he flinched he had thrown both of them off balance. Celeborn had moved, infinitesimally, so that not even the sharp Elven eyes of those who watched could have caught his compensation, and they haeadieadied. But the end was clear, the king, with that slip, had forfeited the fight, had conceded the dance.
Noticing the failure, Celeborn had smiled wryly, moved back, transferring his weight ready to bring the dance to its conclusion. But Elu, driven by emotion, had stepped into the movement too soon, brought his knife up too soon, Celeborn's surprised attempt at a block only deflecting the blow, not stopping it, as it sliced through the fine suppleness of the white tunic and deep into Celeborn�s right shoulder.
A slight gasp of pain and Celeborn�s eyes darkened as he spun away to finish. His poise making him seem only grazed, barely harmed.
Because of my failure, thought Elu, hating himself. He accepted the congratulations of those around him with loathing, knowing he did not deserve them, and felt again what none of them knew; how deep the wound truly was. All of his pent up longing had driven the point home until it struck against bone.
What generosity of spirit, what love must lie behind Celeborn's gesture, conceding the match to a man he had trusted, even after that trust was betrayed. Handing Elu the glory, even though his role modle, his teacher, had so badly hurt and misused him.
For as long as he could, Elu stood it, smiling, accepting the light touches of those near him, wishing only to go to Celeborn. He had never been more thankful than when the musigan gan again and the crowd drew off to dance. Unobtrusively as possible, he left the clearing, intending to find the young prince, telling himself he wished only to apologise, to try make amends for the failure of his own integrity.
He did not dwell on the image which clamoured in his mind, of stripping back the bloodied white tunic to reveal the warm cream of the skin beneath, of setting his lips to the wound to try to absorb the pain he had inflicted into himself, to feel the beat of Celeborn�s heart as he cradled the injured young Elf to him.
I will make amends, he told himself firmly, That is all.
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Summer Lightning