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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 III: Sins of the Past

Gondor, Nórui FA 90

They went to Minas Tirith with that typical sense of elation and reluctance they always felt whenever they travelled to the Guarded City. The elation stemmed from the prospect of being with close kin and kith again. The reluctance came of the need to be circumspect. To pretend they were nothing more than the closest of friends.

Apart from the elven communities still extant in Middle-earth, only a select and trusted handful of mortals knew of their relationship. Aside from the continued human aversion to same-kind lovers there was also the political aspect to deal with. In spite of all his years of selfless service to Gondor, there were still men who saw Legolas as a threat to their own ambitions and would do anything to limit the archer’s influence on Elessar whether directly or through the king’s foster brothers. As such both Elves maintained secrecy regarding their espousal. It was either that or risk a tide of misguided reprisal against Legolas, which in turn would lead to Elrohir forsaking Gondor as well. As neither wished to abandon the realm and its king, both adhered to a policy of discretion when it came to their relationship.

Not that Elrohir took the constraint meekly. He pushed the boundaries of said discretion and flaunted his friendship with the Greenwood prince if not their love. And even then, he frequently tested the limits to which he could show his affection for the golden-maned Elf. As he once pointed out to Legolas when the latter chided him, what was the use of putting up with Men’s absurd notions about elven traditions and practices if they did not occasionally take advantage of them? But even he knew the limits. And observed them albeit grudgingly.

They were soon joined in the City by Gimli who came post-haste from Aglarond to be with his old friends again in so joyous an event. Elladan and Nimeithel followed shortly but not their twins. Elendir and Elros had chosen to spend the summer in Eryn Lasgalen with their uncles, Melthoron and Brethildor. It would most likely be their last opportunity to live for an extended period of time in their mother’s homeland.

The occasion was, for all intents and purposes, supposed to be an exclusive one. The guests were limited to family, good friends and Gondor’s most loyal vassals. But since it was the king’s grandchild in question, the feast could hardly be a small, intimate gathering. Granted, the venue for it was the smaller main hall of the White Tower rather than vast Merethrond. But while the number of guests was not counted in the thousands, neither was it less than a couple of hundreds.

The Elves did not mingle overmuch with the other guests but remained for the most part by the royal couple. However, they did lend their grace and charm when and where needed. Gimli, too, chose to stay by them though he also kept company with many of the human friends he had made over the years.

Legolas smiled amiably as the Prince of Dol Amroth, crossed his path. The Elf-prince fondly recalled the man’s grandfather. He had not allowed the past to get in the way of friendship with Imrahil’s son and successor and had even been amongst the guests when Elphir wed a second time. Elrohir had not been as warm but remained gracious and civil nevertheless. Legolas smothered a grin at the memory of the Elf-knight’s lingering suspicions of Elphir’s intentions but felt gratified just the same that the warrior had been so possessive of his regard.

He looked fondly at Elrohir as the latter sauntered back to him after hearkening to Aragorn’s summons on some matter or another. Beside him, Elladan and Nimeithel were deep in conversation with Gimli about the Dwarf’s latest improvements to Aglarond. He was half listening to their discussion and half keeping an eye on Elrohir when a woman suddenly slipped in front of the Elf-warrior, hindering his progress. Legolas’ breath caught. It was Gilwen.

Elrohir nearly cursed when he was summarily cut off by this woman with whom he had lain but once more than three score years ago. He forced himself to greet her politely though his manner was blatantly less than welcoming or willing. To no avail. Gilwen was either too obtuse or too persistent to take note of his reticence. Elrohir barely stifled the impulse to glower at her. He vexedly complained in silence that she of all folk should be so long-lived and therefore such a constant bother to him.

In Gilwen the elven blood that flowed in the veins of the ruling family of Dol Amroth ran true. Like Eldarion’s wife, Ilien, Gilwen was long-lived and aged only slowly. Though past ninety, she looked little more than a mortal female in her late thirties or early forties. She had grown from a pretty girl into a handsome woman.

Elrohir felt the usual prickle of discomfort whenever he encountered her. It was some seventy years since he had misguidedly spent one night with her. To him it had been but an insignificant tryst designed to assuage the frustration and anger he’d felt at the time. But it was quite apparent that, to her, it had meant much, much more.

Every time they met, she cast covetous eyes upon him, her gaze practically screaming to him how much she longed for his company once more. In a bid to discourage her from hoping for anything more than a polite word from him, Elrohir had taken pains to avoid being alone anywhere with her. But now, he could not evade her lest it be misconstrued as outright rudeness to a lady. Smiling tightly, he courteously responded to her attempts to converse with him but remained ready to escape at the first opportune moment.

Gilwen was babbling to him about how much she had missed talking to him, how she had never forgotten his kindness to her, how she had endured her loveless marriage by recalling that one oh-so-special night with him. Elrohir inwardly winced at her almost girlish delight, so at odds with her more mature appearance. That she still desired him was more than obvious. Thank the Powers that she was married and could not openly act upon that desire unless he reciprocated. And that he was not about to do.

“But all my waiting is done now, my lord,” she was saying, happiness shining in her eyes. “I am no longer fettered. I may act upon my desires at long last.”

Elrohir blinked bemusedly. “How so, my lady?” he asked distractedly.

“Did you not know? My husband passed away two years ago. I am free, my lord!”

Elrohir just managed to smother a gasp of muted horror. There was no mistaking the intent behind her so joyfully uttered announcement. He flicked a glance at his companions all of whom had abruptly fallen silent at her words.

The Elvenlord took in the expectant gaze of the woman opposite him. With an apprehensive sigh, he held her gaze and quietly said,” But I am not, my lady.”

It took her a moment to comprehend his terse answer. Then her eyes widened disbelievingly.

“Nay, it cannot be,” she almost exclaimed. “I have waited so long, this cannot be!” Sudden tears began to trickle down her suddenly ashen cheeks. She began to cry, drawing the attentions of other nearby guests. “Please, tell me this isn’t true.”

“I am sorry, hiril nîn”—my lady—Elrohir replied.

“Who?” she demanded.

Elrohir hesitated. He had no worries that she would not understand his relationship with Legolas. Her family was descended from an Elven foremother after all. But he could not be certain how she would react to the discovery that he had bound himself to the Elf-prince who was still regarded with envy by many nobles in Gondor. There was no guarantee she would hold her tongue and that would only make things uncomfortable for Legolas. In the end, he merely shook his head.

She was sobbing uncontrollably now and guests were beginning to crane their necks to see what the commotion was all about.

“My lady, I think it would be best for you to return to your chamber,” Elrohir softly suggested.

She became aware of the attention she was attracting. Flushing with embarrassment, she scooped up her skirts and hurried from the hall. Only then did the others join the younger twin. Legolas wordlessly placed a comforting hand on his arm.

Other than Legolas, only Elladan knew of his one-night tryst with Gilwen. But Nimeithel and Gimli were perceptive enough to draw their own fairly accurate conclusions as to what may have once passed between the younger twin and the mortal woman. However, they did not try to confirm their suppositions but only joined Legolas and Elladan in silently imparting their succor and understanding to the Elf-knight

The uncomfortable silence was finally broken by Gimli who refused to let the incident mar their merriment. “And you wonder why I refuse to wed!” he gruffly remarked. “‘Tis a dangerous business, love is. And, if I may add, there is such a thing as being too handsome for your own good, my good Elves. Look at the trouble it causes!”

His timely humor lightened the mood considerably. Elrohir smiled faintly. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. He glanced at Legolas apologetically. “I am sorry, Calenlass,” he murmured.

Legolas shook his head. “‘Tis hardly your fault that she desires you,” he softly replied. “You have always been irresistible, melethron.”—lover.

The others laughed while, with darkened mithril eyes, Elrohir promised his golden prince proper recompense for his support after the feast. After a few more jests, most of them at the rueful younger twin’s expense, they were able to put the awkward incident behind them and enjoy the festivities.

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

It was near the midnight hour when Gilwen left her chamber and made her way to the corridor of the royal apartments. She was not yet recovered from the evening’s disappointment.

Even now she did not know what she hoped to accomplish in seeking out Elrohir. But the wild thought had come to her that surely the Elf-lady who owned his heart would not mind if she, Gilwen, stole just a few moments with him. After all, the other had all of eternity to possess the Elf-warrior. Surely she would not begrudge Gilwen the few moments she might hope to share with Elrohir.

The thought grew and took hold in her mind. It drove away her despair and gave her renewed hope. By the time she came to his door she was full of resolve.

She opened the door and slipped into the darkened sitting room. In the bedchamber beyond, golden light flickered from the fire in the hearth. Gathering her robe to her body, she made to approach, thinking to surprise the Elf-lord and mayhap persuade him to let her warm his bed this night.

She crept to the door of the bedchamber and peeped into the room. Strange. No one was there. But clothing lay strewn upon the floor, as if they had been removed hastily and flung down helter-skelter, the owners in a hurry to be rid of them. She heard low voices and realized they emanated from the bathing chamber. Gilwen snuck up to the arched doorway of the bathing chamber and peered in.

The oversized bath was filled with steaming water. Elrohir leaned back against one side of the tub, his eyes closed as he let the warm water soothe his senses. Another Elf took up the opposite end of the bath. It was Prince Legolas.

Gilwen was not appalled to find them together. Shared baths were common among the men of Gondor; many made good use of Minas Tirith’s public baths. And the few who had the luxury of private bathing chambers within their own homes were certainly not averse to sharing theirs with close kith or kin. What she did feel was disappointment anew at not finding the darkling Elf alone.

She was about to retreat in frustration when Legolas partially rose and moved forward to settle himself before Elrohir, an oval of herb-scented soap in his hand. Quietly, gently, he bathed the warrior’s torso, his hands plying the lather over the taut muscles beneath his fingers. Gilwen stopped to watch, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

There was something about the Elf-prince’s actions that disturbed her. It was one thing to scrub the back of one’s bathing companion for after all it was difficult to thoroughly wash what was largely beyond one’s reach. But what Legolas was doing seemed inordinately intimate.

But perhaps she was making too much of the gesture, she chided herself. After all, they were Elves and the Firstborn had many customs that seemed quite strange to Men. She watched as the archer rinsed the lather off the twin’s body. Elrohir remained quite still, his languid smile showing his appreciation of Legolas’ ministrations. Yes, Gilwen assured herself, ‘twas only the prince’s desire to give ease to his friend.

But just as she began to feel her discomfort start to dissipate, Legolas leaned over Elrohir and claimed his mouth in a long, ardent kiss. The flutter in Gilwen’s belly stilled and turned into a dead weight. She hastily stifled a gasp as the blond archer proceeded to let his lips trail over the dark-haired Elf’s glistening throat, shoulders and chest. His hands slipped beneath the water, their intent quite clear when Elrohir sucked his breath in shudderingly then arched visibly into their touch. Gilwen could only stare in shock.

As Elrohir had correctly surmised, Gilwen was not ignorant of the duality of elven nature though she had never felt it in herself. It seemed to be a phenomenon that affected only the men of her family. Nonetheless, she had never witnessed such a pairing before, not even amongst her kinsmen who conducted their affairs with considerable discretion. She was understandably stunned at this first sight of intimacy between two ellyn—male Elves.

Oddly enough, instead of worrying her, it reassured her in her desperate musings. Of a sudden, she thought she understood. He had said he was not free. Was that because he could not deny the Elven prince? Mayhap he was compelled to submit to the other Elf!

With a smirk, Legolas drew back slightly. The Elf-knight’s eyes slowly opened. She watched as Legolas idly turned his back on the Elvenlord; she could not quite hear what he said but his gesture made it clear he had asked the latter to help him wash his back. Elrohir did as he was bid, his hands moving over the archer’s pale back, massaging the sleek muscles as he did. Gilwen felt her assumptions more than validated. Relief in this conclusion mingled with indignation at Legolas for forcing himself upon the twin.

But just then, Elrohir suddenly pulled Legolas backwards to settle between his legs so that the prince sat on the edge of the embrasure with his back flush against the Elf-lord’s chest. Elrohir’s hands snaked around and began to ostensibly soap the archer’s chest and abdomen. But his actions were no more innocent than Legolas’ had been earlier. There was no mistaking the intent of his kneading, stroking, searching fingers as the archer’s breathing quickened and roughened.

One hand purposefully dipped into the water. In the next instant, Legolas gasped and nearly reared up but the warrior pulled him back with his encircling arm and trapped him against his chest. The prince could do little more than writhe in his embrace, breathing raggedly as he did. There was no mistaking what Elrohir was doing to him under cover of the water.

Gilwen froze in horrified disillusionment. In that moment, all her carefully marshaled arguments came tumbling down around her. Elrohir’s desirous expression, his very actions belied all her assumptions about his relationship with Legolas. It announced quite clearly that he owned the woodland prince as much as the prince owned him.

Rooted to the spot, she could only stare as Elrohir coaxed Legolas to slightly rise then pulled him back down onto his lap. The prince’s expression graphically indicated the moment of their bodies’ joining, as did the low, gasping groan that escaped Elrohir. They began to move in counterpoint against each other, feral sounds spilling from their lips. The Elf-knight’s hand vanished beneath the surface of the water again. The renewed underwater assault drove the prince wild.

Legolas was riotously torn between the need to press down onto Elrohir’s impaling length and the urge to buck into his stroking hand. Convulsively gripping the sides of the bath, he half-laughed, half-sobbed helplessly as the Elf-knight intensified his ministrations.

The widow had to clap a hand hard over her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping her lips. Grief threatened to overtake her. Yet she could not move or tear her eyes away from the two Elves.

Elrohir skillfully brought his mate to the very brink of fulfillment. The prince had thrown his head back, his hair spilling about the twin’s shoulder like molten gold. When he knew Legolas was at the end of his endurance, Elrohir wickedly sucked the sensitive flesh where the archer’s neck met his shoulder. Legolas shuddered violently with sudden release, pushed down brutally on the source of his rapture, the warrior’s name emitting hoarsely from his lips. That in turn pushed Elrohir over the edge. He drove up hard into the prince as his own culmination overtook him.

It took a few moments before either Elf could form coherent thought. Finally, Legolas raised himself off Elrohir and sat by his side. With a sated sigh, he laid his fair head upon the twin’s chest. Lazily, Elrohir reached up to stroke the silky locks.

After a few quiet moments, the Elf-knight slipped a finger beneath the prince’s chin and lifted it gently. He smiled as his Greenleaf raised his eyes to meet his. The smile that answered him beckoned. He lightly suckled at the prince’s lips, educing a tender kiss in return.

That more than their earlier coupling reduced Gilwen to despair. She could pretend that their intimacy stemmed from mere lust. After all, Elves were known to be the most passionate race in Middle-earth. But their shared smiles, their gentle kiss, spoke of something much deeper than mere physical desire. Trust. Devotion. Love.

They were murmuring to each other. Gilwen strained to hear what they were saying. Though she was not that fluent in Sindarin she did know enough to understand some words now that it was quiet and she could hear them clearly.

“Melin chen, Calenlass nîn.” I love you, my Greenleaf.

“A im le, Aduial.” And I, you, Twilight.

She backed away, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. It was not fair! She had waited so long for the chance to claim Elrohir. Why had the fates seen fit to give him to the Elven prince instead? Shaking with agony and slowly dawning fury, her first impulse was to get back at the fair archer by letting all Gondor know of his relationship with the Elf-knight. It would effectively make it difficult if not downright impossible for Legolas to return to Minas Tirith; indeed it might even force him to leave Gondor completely and return to his northern realm.

But mounting reason also made her realize that such an outcome would only cause her further pain. For Elrohir would surely choose to stand by his lover even if it meant forsaking Gondor. She would lose the dubious comfort of seeing the Elf-lord even from afar.

Confused, caught between anger and despair, she slipped out the way she had come and fled to the perfidious sanctuary of her lonely room.

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

Legolas slowly opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at the faint morning sunlight that streamed through the window. He stretched with cat-like languidness and made to rise to a sitting position. An arm curled around his waist and pulled him back down against the naked warmth of the body behind him.

“Do not leave me yet,” came the low, huskily spoken request.

The prince smiled and lazily turned over to gaze at his still drowsy Elf-knight.

“I was not,” he murmured. “What made you think I was going to?”

Elrohir shrugged. “Well, you always ensure that we never stay together past dawn while in the City,” he said softly.

“You know why.”

“Mm, aye.” Elrohir frowned. “I long for the day when we can come to Minas Tirith and lie abed together till late without worrying about being seen by the wrong people.”

To his delight and bemusement, Legolas promptly burrowed into his embrace, tucking his flaxen head into the crook of his neck.

“Why not now?” Legolas grinned at the darkling Elf’s surprise. “After last night’s festivities, I doubt anyone will be lucid enough to notice me sneaking back to my room.”

Elrohir mock-scowled. “And here I thought ‘twas my inimitable charm that had persuaded you to stay.”

“But your inimitable charm is the reason I am here in the first place,” Legolas pointed out. He raised his head and smiled rakishly at his spouse. “‘Tis the reason I ended up between the sheets with you long before ‘twas proper,” he teased.

Elrohir had to grin at that. “A golden prince with a golden tongue,” he chuckled. Then he sobered and murmured: “Whatever did I do to win you, Legolas?”

Fine eyebrows rose in unison. “After all these years, do you still ask that?” the archer queried curiously.

“Of course,” Elrohir replied, his eyes growing tender. “I never cease to ask myself how I was fortunate enough to attain a treasure such as you.” He reached up and stroked the prince’s sculpted jaw. “I never want to forget how blessed I am to have gained your love.”

Legolas swallowed hard, moved by his mate’s utterance. “And after all these years, you still fill me with awe at the depth of yours,” he whispered. “And make me wonder what I did to deserve it.”

He kissed the Elf-knight deeply and lingeringly, urgently pressing his body against Elrohir’s tall frame, then moving atop him and nudging the long legs apart that he might rest between them. The kiss grew more heated and intimate until they were gasping needfully against each other’s mouths.

“We may end up lying abed till noon if we do not stop now,” Elrohir warned in between kisses though he did not sound particularly concerned.

“I don’t care,” Legolas thickly replied before engaging him in another passionate caress.

Inflamed by the archer’s uncharacteristic lack of caution, Elrohir rolled them over and proceeded to put the morning to good and most satisfying use.

When Legolas finally emerged from the Elf-warrior’s chamber it was just a few minutes short of the lunch hour. He slipped out, quiet as a wraith, and returned unseen to his own room. Thirty minutes later, he met up with Elrohir in the dining hall. As was their custom, they took the midday meal in the main dining hall of the White Tower instead of joining the King and Queen in the private alcove in the residential pavilion where they had most of their meals. This practice served to blunt any talk that Legolas was too much in the bosom of the royal family.

So well did they conceal their true feelings that no one was the wiser that they’d spent the entire night and morning in each other’s arms. No one that is save one who now bitterly regretted the knowledge.

Gilwen watched them from under heavy, reddened lids. She knew with fresh awareness that behind the friendly banter and seemingly innocent gestures and touches lay passion and devotion the likes of which she had never experienced in all her life.

What she would give to know but a fragment of such bliss even for one brief moment in time. She did not yet realize the lengths to which she would go to achieve such a dream or the depths she would descend to fulfill it.

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

Glossary:

Nórui - Sindarin for June

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

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