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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6313 -:- 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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Chapter II: Reflections

The soothing murmur of the pristine spring and the gentle rustling of reed and leaf and brush were all that broke the quiet of the glade. Elrohir leaned against a slender beech and breathed in the herb-scented air that was characteristic of Ithilien.

It was good to be back in the fairest province of Gondor. Back in Eryn Gael and back with Legolas. In the years since their binding, the Elf-knight had come to call this precious neck of the Ithilien woods his home; one he now missed as dearly as he had once yearned for Imladris. And missed it he had this last sojourn in the north. He had been away for close to four years.

The preceding twelve months had been the longest he’d ever spent away from Legolas in all the years of their espousal. The archer had travelled north thrice in all this time to be with him but this past year that had not been possible and they had endured their separation with much regret and longing. But he had needed the four years in Rivendell to set his affairs in order. He would not be returning to the hidden vale, the place of his birth. Never again.

He and Elladan were finally consigning Imladris to legend. Many of their people were departing for the Havens and taking ship for Valinor. The brethren, however tempted to join them, were still bound to their now mortal sister and foster king-brother. They would wait out the couple’s remaining years in Middle-earth before leaving the Hither Lands forever.

To this end, Elladan had decided to move his family to Gondor for good. He and Nimeithel and their sons, Elendir and Elros, would stay on in Imladris another year before they joined Elrohir and Legolas in Ithilien. Lindir would be with them now that he was formally betrothed to the younger twin, Elros. So would Iorwen and Ailios and many of the Imladrin warriors under Daurin and Enedrion—all remaining with Elladan and Elrohir out of loyalty and friendship.

They would take ship for the Blessed Realm only after the Evenstar’s leave-taking of the world. And that was not too far off in the future.

With the foresight of their kindred, the brethren had already seen the day when their foster brother would take his last breath. Though still hale and youthful looking, Aragorn was nevertheless in his twilight years. As with Rivendell, his reign was drawing to a close and would also pass into legend. And when he joined his fathers beyond the circles of the world, Arwen would not be long in following him. Estel had ever been her reason for lingering and living. He would be her reason for ending.

Elrohir sighed. That had been a constant theme in the past few decades. Death. The loss of friends. The sorrow that came with that loss. It weighed heavily on the immortal comrades left behind.

He recalled Legolas’ grief at the deaths of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took in Minas Tirith, preceded by only a few years by the passing of Éomer King of Rohan. He and Legolas had fortunately been in residence in Ithilien when each of the hobbits had passed from this life. But that had been of little comfort to the distraught archer.

Over the years, he had kept in close contact with all the surviving members of the Company that had set out from Rivendell on the daunting journey to destroy the One Ring. He had mourned Boromir’s untimely death during the Quest for though the man had been misguided in his beliefs, he had been a valiant companion and a true-heart. Gandalf and Frodo’s departure for Aman, and later Sam’s, had not been painful for there had been the promise of reunion one day to succor him.

But Merry and Pippin had been the last of the Halflings Legolas had come to dote upon during the perilous and arduous months of the long dark road to Mordor. Their deaths just a little less than a decade after Sam’s departure had left him deeply bereaved. Now there was only Aragorn and Gimli.

Elrohir knew Legolas dreaded Aragorn’s inevitable loss. The Elven prince was paying the full price of gaining and maintaining deep friendships with mortals. For unlike the Imladrin brethren whose father had fostered Aragorn’s line down through the centuries, he had not had the opportunity to live with and therefore learn to cope with the aging and eventual passing of men. Even more would he have despaired had he been compelled to witness Gimli’s passing. Their friendship had grown ever stronger with the years and Legolas considered the Dwarf his closest non-Elven comrade.

At least, Elrohir and Elladan had been able to allay his fears about yet another grievous loss. They had revealed to him the knowledge they had long kept secret—their grandmother’s true gift to Gimli. Knowing the stubborn Dwarf-lord, they had feared he would as much balk at it as accept it. But Legolas would most likely be able to convince his friend to take the gift and that in turn would spare him the need to bid the Dwarf goodbye. As he been forced to do with yet another good friend.

Most recently, he and Legolas had kept company with Faramir, Steward of Gondor, until his death just eight years ago. That had shocked them both. While his wife Éowyn’s earlier passing had not been unexpected, his had taken them all by surprise. They had thought he would prove as long-lived for it seemed the elven heritage of his family ran true in him. But Faramir had been terribly lonely in the wake of his beloved wife’s death even with his children and grandchildren about him. Sorrow and bereavement had hastened his passing rather than age or illness. He had followed Éowyn soonest rather than do without her love.

Now his son, Boromir, was Prince of Ithilien in his stead. He was not only a worthy Steward to Elessar but a close and steadfast friend of Eldarion’s as well.

Just thinking of Aragorn’s only son and heir brought a smile to Elrohir’s somber countenance. Eldarion and his wife, Ilien, were the proud parents of three handsome sons and two comely daughters. As for his five sisters, the three older princesses, Eleniel, Romenna and Mirewen, were all happily wed and had presented Aragorn and Arwen with lovely and lively grandchildren. The fifth and youngest princess, Gilraen, named after Aragorn’s mother, was a pretty and precocious nine-year-old who bid fair to be as beautiful and feisty as Arwen, while the fourth, Anóriel, was affianced to a prince of Harad, a descendant of the Edain of the Southron realm formerly referred to as Black Númenoreans.

Their betrothal was but the latest evidence of the continued peace and goodwill between Gondor and Harad. The Valar willing, that close alliance would continue long after the last of the Firstborn had left the shores of Middle-earth.

As for Legolas...

Thoughts of his golden prince warmed his heart and balmed his soul. Legolas was his reason for having chosen the path of immortality, his reason for his deep contentment and happiness. His reason for being.

The archer had given himself wholly and devotedly to his Elf-knight. Not a moment passed that they did not feel the bond of their espousal flow between them, surging and ebbing according to distance and circumstances, but never disappearing completely. He had only to reach deep into himself, to his spirit, and he would know the other’s soothing presence and abiding love.

His range of vision was precipitately filled with the archer’s incandescent countenance in that instant and he had to smile. He always enjoyed it when the woodland prince crept up on him and took him unawares. It meant a sudden pushing away of his various concerns and a most welcome invasion of his senses by his fair spouse’s comely visage and enticing scent. Not to mention his sensual attentions.

Legolas leaned in to kiss him gently but thoroughly. For several minutes they remained as they were, their mouths clinging, arms weaving around the other, bodies pressed tightly together. While always reserved about such matters in the presence of others, Legolas had no inhibitions with Elrohir when they were alone together. He had come a long way since those days in Greenwood when the duality of elven nature had been repressed and the ancient path forbidden to the Wood-elves of that forest realm.

He drew back now, blue eyes darkening in need and love. Wordlessly, he raised his hands to undo the ties on Elrohir’s jerkin. Argent eyes as dark with desire, the Elf-knight did likewise for him. Soon they were both unclad and more than ready to love each other in all senses of the word.

The soft, sweet grass of the glade was all the bedding they needed as they sank down together, bodies already molded against each other, mouths caught in a rapturous duel, hands roaming to touch and caress and possess.

Love me, Aduial.

Always.

Legolas hissed in wanton need as Elrohir took him slowly and utterly. In all his years, only the Elf-knight had claimed his body and heart and spirit for his own and he had never regretted his full surrender. In their binding, he had known the bliss that came of giving one’s self to another in love. And Elrohir had returned that love in fullest measure. There was nothing in this world that meant more to the prince than his darkling spouse. He looked forward to an eternity with him in Valinor.

With every measured plunge into his body and every steady stroke of his turgid shaft, exquisite sensation rippled through him, building the heady rapture that portended a shattering climax. He let go of himself, did not attempt to withhold even in part the free-flow of emotion and pleasure that swept across to Elrohir. A like wave of thought and feeling overwhelmed him and he gasped out the warrior’s name. Fighting to keep from coming to completion, he moaned when Elrohir quickened his pace and deepened his thrusts, clutched almost desperately at the warrior’s powerful form as he moved above him.

Let go, Calenlass. Let me see your joy.

The gentle yet heated demand shattered what control the archer may have yet possessed. Crying out sobbingly, he explosively spilled his seed between them even as he instinctively tightened his muscles around the Elf-knight’s piercing length and locked his legs around his waist, drawing him as deeply as possible into his trembling body.

This fiercely passionate response proved Elrohir’s undoing. Shuddering helplessly in the throes of his own completion, he sank hard into his golden mate, groaning as he spent himself in utmost rapture. Shaking hands captured his face, pulled him close for a breath-stealing spate of kisses. Their bodies sated for the moment, they now revelled in the tender fusing of their hearts.

At length, they lay quiet, Elrohir’s head resting upon Legolas’ chest, the archer’s legs still loosely but unyieldingly wound about him, a subtle indication that he did not desire for the warrior to withdraw from him just yet. Elrohir chuckled softly.

“Will you not release me, ernilen?”—my prince?—he softly queried.

“Nay, melethron”—lover—came the whispered reply. “Never.”

Another affectionate laugh. “We cannot stay thusly forever.”

“More’s the pity.” A regretful sigh. “Would that we could stay joined longer. There is a – a wondrous closeness between us when we are coupled. To be one with you in body and heart and spirit... ‘tis a feeling beyond compare. I yearn for it, my Elf-knight. Without cease.”

Elrohir gazed at him in wonder. “You have never told me of this longing before, Legolas,” he quietly said.

“I did not realize until late that ‘twas what I desired,” Legolas admitted, tracing a finger along the warrior’s elegant jaw. “What I longed for.”

The twin’s eyes glittered. “I shall grant your desire as oft as I can,” he promised. “Will the whole of tonight suffice for the present?”

Legolas stared at him. “The whole of tonight? I should very much like to see if you manage that,” he conceded somewhat sceptically.

Elrohir laughed. “You shall, Calenlass,” he teased. “When I am with you, ‘tis remarkably easy to maintain the necessary state of potency your wish demands.”

Legolas colored slightly but he grinned nonetheless, more than used to his mate’s lubricious humor by now.

“Melethen”—my love—“much as I enjoy where I am right now, I do not believe it wise to remain in this position out in the open,” Elrohir mildly reminded him. “Not that I care, but you would should anyone come upon us.”

“No one would dare intrude on us here.”

“In an emergency, someone might.”

Legolas sighed and released his spouse. Elrohir was right, of course. He would be far more discomfited in such a situation than the warrior. It was one thing to be caught in each other’s arms. But to have someone see him still lying beneath Elrohir and... Best not to open himself to something so embarrassing as that. He could never be wantonly oblivious enough to bear it.

The warrior rolled on his back and, drawing Legolas into the curve of his arm, coaxed him to lay his head on his shoulder. Quietly, they talked about events that had unfolded in the preceding year. Of the birth of Aragorn’s newest grandchild by his daughter, Mirewen, just this very month... the creation of Gimli’s latest masterpiece – an exquisite coronet of mithril for Rohan’s King Elfwine... Legolas’ new-found interest in ship-building and his visits to Edhellond for instruction in this worthy craft from Dol Amroth’s master shipwrights... the Woodland Realm’s most recent doings...

“The next time you write Melthoron, you can congratulate him for having found a mate at last,” Elrohir grinned of a sudden.

“He did?” Legolas exclaimed in surprise. “Nimeithel mentioned nothing of this in her last letter.”

“We found out at the same time,” Elrohir explained. “During our last visit to Eryn Lasgalen just before I returned here.”

“Ai, that is so like Melthoron not to inform us,” Legolas muttered. “So, who is the lucky elleth?”—Elf-maid?

“Ellon.” Male Elf.

For a moment, Legolas could only stare at him in shock, mouth agape in unwonted gracelessness.

“Who—?”

“Haldorn.”

“Sweet Eru!” Legolas drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “Haldorn? My father’s most renowned warrior?”

“The very same.”

“But – but he was ever against – as was Melthoron – well, that is until Elladan—”

“You are stuttering, beloved. Slow down and don’t forget to breathe.”

Legolas closed his eyes and pressed his face against Elrohir’s chest for several seconds, trying to restore order to his muddled thoughts. After a while, he looked up again.

“Who would have thought he would take my path?” he said in amazement. “Even after our binding, I know he remained uncomfortable with my choice.”

Elrohir said gently: “Mayhap they could deny their hearts no longer.”

Legolas nodded. “Mayhap. I wish him and Haldorn well.” He shook his head in mingled amusement and bemusement. And then he looked at Elrohir in sudden recollection of something. “Ah, before I forget, did Aragorn send word to you? He and Arwen are holding a feast this June in celebration of the birth of Mirewen’s latest child. Will Elladan and Nimeithel be here?”

“Aye, they will come to Gondor for the occasion then return to Imladris for another year before joining us here for good.”

Legolas gazed at his mate curiously. “Will you miss Imladris?” he murmured.

“As much as you miss Eryn Lasgalen,” Elrohir softly said. “But as I told you before, Legolas, my home is where my heart is. You are my heart and always will be.”

The sapphire eyes gleamed in pleasure. “So you have,” he whispered. “And I will never tire of hearing you say so.” He raised himself slightly and leaned down to kiss his Elf-knight with all the tenderness and fervor of a besotted lover.

The kiss could not remain just so. Not after the prolonged separation they had endured. It was another hour or so before they were at last ready to part their bodies anew. Elrohir smiled and, rising, pulled Legolas to his feet as well.

“Come, my Greenleaf, let us bathe before we go back,” he cooed. “Else every Elf we meet will know what passed between us.” He stroked the archer’s already starting to stain cheeks and laughed softly. “I would not have you use up your life’s worth of blushes. And so prettily do you do so at that.”

“Watch your tongue, Edhel!”—Elf!—Legolas objected indignantly. “I will not have you use that word on me. What am I? A virginal Shireling?”

“Nay, but you could pass for one with your so very charming inhibitions!”

Their spell in the spring was a spirited one, needless to say.

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

Glossary:

Aduial - Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight