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Fifteen Years	By : Ertia Category: -Multi-Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 14168 -:- 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.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: This is not my garden. I just play in it.

Fifteen Years In Lothlorien
Chapter 4: Princely Pains
Legolas swallowed hard, trying to listen to Siviel's words and focus on the labels on the wine barrels in front of him, but it was extremely difficult when the slender elleth was leaning over the cases, giving him a fine show of her elegant body beneath the trousers she liked wear when working in the cellars.
'Valar, Legolas!', he chastised himself silently. 'She's your fathers wine steward! And married as well!' He found he couldn't help himself. Since his father's decree the day before, every elleth who walked too close to him, every ellon who strode purposefully down the hallway, caught his eye as though to remind him of what he couldn't have. However was he going to get through this day?
"Legolas? Legolas? Did you hear me?" Siviel was standing with her hands on her slender hips, glaring at him.
Legolas gave himself another mental slap for his inappropriate thoughts.
"I am sorry, Siviel. I was...umm..checking these labels."
"Well, take those barrels and move them over there, then help me with this rack." Siviel shook her head, wondering what in Middle Earth could have gotten into the prince. When Thranduil had requested an inventory of the cellars she had been agreeable, especially when she learned of the switched labels. Yet, Legolas was so distracted as to be useless. She could have done it faster on her own.
Legolas moved the barrels and headed back over to Siviel, only to find her bent over, her hair fallen to one side, exposing her neck in the torch-light in a most tantalizing manner. Closing his eyes, he sighed and determinately picked up his quill and pad again. "How many bottles, Siviel?"
By the time they had completed the two cellars, Legolas could not bear it a moment longer. Tucking the quills and their completed inventory papers onto Siviel's desk, he fled with barely a nod of his head, leaving Siviel to frown and mutter as she tried to read his handwriting on the inventory sheets.
Slipping to his room, he closed the door and latched it, at last alone. Swiftly, he stripped off his tunic and trousers, and stretched luxuriously on his bed, the last of the day's sunlight drifting through the high window. Reaching down, he gently ran his fingers across his stomach and hips, feeling his body at last able to respond as it had been aching to all day.
Softly, he traced light fingers across his slowly stiffening erection, teasing the undersid and soothing the soft skin with light traces of his fingertips. He closed his eyes and stretched back, imagining Siviel, leaning against the wine barrels, her hair swaying to the side, her perfect pale skin exposed to his view. In his imagination, she was already naked, stretching back, smiling at him over her shoulder as he moved behind her, leaning close, feeling her soft naked buttocks against his thighs as he pressed forward against her.
His grip tightened, stroking himself more firmly as he gave in to the fantasy he had been holding back all day. Siviel would push back against him, spreading her legs and allowing him access. He would reach for her hips, push himself into her wet heat...

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Legolas snapped out of his reverie, yanking the blanket over his nakedness. "Who is it?"
"It's Mirie! Your father wants special entertainment tonight, and I need your help." She almost sounded worried.
He could barely restrain his snarl. "This instant?"
Her voice was choked. "I've only an hour before supper, Legolas. Please?"
Was she crying? He swore under his breath. "All right. I'll be right there."
"I'll wait." Her voice came back through the door, sounding less as though she was weeping.
Dismayed, Legolas splashed cold water over himself, and willed his uncooperative penis to be still and behave itself as he dressed and took a few deep collecting breaths. Finally, he opened the door to find Mirie standing against the opposite wall, her head down, no hint of her emotions written on her face. "All right. What do you need?"

Legolas was wiled into taking harp, while two other Elves were connived into taking lute and flute. The three practiced together the music that Imliere brought them, while Ferdal and Mirie practiced the intricate dance they planned to perform. Still irritable, Legolas grumbled his way through dinner, snapping at his sister when she asked for the bread and snarling at Plenet, who was attempting to explain something about the growth rates of garden peas.
At last, supper ended, and Thranduil called for the entertainment to start. Legolas took his place at the harp, and nodded to the other musicians. The evening was almost over. At last, he would be able to retire to his room in quiet and take care of the demanding need his body had suddenly decided to burden him with.
That was before the dance. In the afternoon, Ferdal and Mirie had been practicing in their usual clothes, carefully planning out the steps. Now, as the music strains filled the hall with a haunting, longing tune, Mirie stepped out from behind a screen. Her costume, if it could be called a costume, was a delicate green silk that made her eyes glow in the firelight. A halter style top covered her breasts and shoulders, but left her midriff bare. Her filmy skirt barely reached her mid-thighs. Around her neck, her silver collar was decorated with ribbons that hung to her shoulders and swayed with her silvery blond hair as she slithered seductively across the open floor.
As she raised her arms and twirled, her legs flashing out, Legolas nearly missed a chord. When Ferdal appeared, shirtless, in tight black trousers that left none of his anatomy to the imagination, he nearly missed an entire measure. Only Imliere, skillfully weaving the rhythms on her drums, kept him on beat as he watched the two courtesans doing what courtesans do best; seduce.
The dance, which had seemed innocuous in daylight and fully clothed, became seductive, plaintive, almost fierce in its passions in the firelight of the hall. Legolas felt himself growing hard again as Ferdal made a pass around the room, moving close enough that Legolas could smell the musky scent he wore as he whirled past.
The dancers began a flirtation, moving closer together as the rhythm tightened and the music became more intense. Mirie's eyes were dark, almost black, as she moved her body into Ferdal's embrace and was raised, lifted, turned, her toes pointing out as she was gracefully landed and spun. Ferdal's muscles moved smoothly beneath his oiled skin, his face a mask of passion as he seduced Mirie before the court. The dance was sensual, sexual, alive with the raw power of the Courtesans of Mirkwood.

Legolas felt his face flush, frustration growing in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was too aroused and that he was trapped behind the great harp for the rest of the evening. He watched in disbelief as the dancers mock kissed, as Mirie raised one leg to wrap it around Ferdal's slim hips as he dipped her low to the ground, his face nearly against her stomach as her silvery hair glittered in the golden light, and his own oiled body slid smoothly against hers.
Legolas groaned, quickly strumming an extra note to cover the sound he was only half-aware that he had made. He wanted them. Both of them. Either of them. He didn't care. Just then he glanced to his father, who had been watching the dancers intently, a smile on his face. The king chose that moment to glance at his son and, as if recognizing his thoughts, casually raised the knife from beside his plate and making a tiny snipping gesture.
Legolas winced. This was not good at all.
At last, the dance had ended, Mirie and Ferdal took their bows and moved to kneel before the king, awaiting his favor. Legolas tried to find some way out of the hall without attracting attention. The servants entrance was finally clear, and he started to slip out from behind the harp, wishing desperately that he had chosen robes that evening instead of tunic and trousers, when Laiamel bounced down to his side.
"Legolas! Play our song for me!"
Legolas frowned at his little sister. "Not now, Laiamel."
For being over a hundred years old, she still managed an excellent childish pout. "Please?"
"Yes, Legolas, stay and play!" Imliere began to tap the beat to Laiamel's favorite song. There was nothing for it. He was trapped. With envious eyes, he watched his father rise, gesture the court, and then take Ferdal on one arm and Mirie on the other, obviously headed for his rooms. Frowning, he struck the proper notes and began to sing, his sweet voice bringing a smile to his sisters face as she settled at his feet to listen.
At last, he managed to slip away from the hall, his ardor somewhat cooled from the simple songs his sister loved to sing with him. Finally, he made it to his room and opened the door, ready to collapse onto his bed. Stripping off his tunic and trousers he had just turned to the bed when a movement in the shadow of the bed alerted him that he wasn't alone.
Moving closer, his eyes penetrated the darkness and recognized the form there. "Lameldor!"
His brother turned over in sleepy recognition. "Hope you don't mind, Legs. Fellrae isn't feeling well, what with the baby due soon and all. I thought I could stay here tonight. You don't mind, do you?"
Legolas growled as he opened his wardrobe and pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a light sleep shirt. "No. I suppose not. Move over. And leave me some blankets."
"Thanks, Legs." The second eldest Thranduilion tucked the pillow back under his head and soon faded into sleep, leaving his younger brother glaring at him in the darkness. As soon as he was sure Lameldor was sound asleep, he snatched the pillow out from under his head and made himself as comfortable as he could... as comfortable as he could be with the vocal and very clear sounds drifting through the walls from his fathers' bedchamber.

Legolas woke crushed between the wall and Lameldor's back. Even digging the older Elf in the ribs with his elbow was no good. Legolas pushed himself down the bed, and slipped out, shoving the blankets back over his brother.
He dressed quickly and slipped out of the room, pausing in the armory to grab his sword and bow. He needed exercise, anything to help him focus this driving energy that was bringing him closer to madness. As he rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, he ran directly into another Elf.
"Oh! My apologies, Ferdal!" Legolas reached to help the Courtesan to his feet.
Ferdal brushed his hand away, turning his face from Legolas. "No, Prince, it was my fault. I was inattentive."
Legolas gave him a brief bow and moved to step past him, when something in the other Elf's demeanor gave him pause. Ferdal had not met his eye, and was still standing with head down. "Ferdal? Are you well?"
The other Elf squared his shoulders and shook his head, keeping his face averted. "No, Prince. Thank you, but this is not your concern. Good morning."
With a sharp nod of his head, Ferdal strode quickly down the corridor. Legolas watched, feeling somewhat helpless. Recalling the conversation with Mirie, he was fairly certain he knew what was ailing his friend, and yet, he had no words of comfort to offer him. Turning back, he was surprised to see Mirie watching him with eyes of gilded silver that matched the silver threads of the tapestry behind her.
She gave him a courteous nod as he approached her, but her words were a low murmur. "His heart is breaking, Prince. Your father told him this morning that there is no other way, and he must prepare to leave for Lorien."
Legolas sighed, having guessed already the cause of the handsome Elf's sorrow. "Is there no other way, Mirie?"
"The Laws of Exchange are strict, Legolas, and they exist for a reason. Greenwood must send a male courtesan to Lorien this year, and a female to Imladris. Ferdal is the only one." She paused, reaching a gentle hand to touch Legolas' arm. "Unless there is another who is willing to take his place, Ferdal must suffer the separation."

Legolas nodded, his heart sad for his friend. "Is there none other who could go?"
Mirie gazed at him thoughtfully, "There are none who have showed interest in the Courtesanship, My Prince. Times in Greenwood are not as carefree as they once were. It would have to be someone who was willing, and not afraid to commit to fifteen years in Lothlorien, under the Lord and Lady there. Your father has been thinking long and hard on this for days, and has not an answer. He can find no one who meets all of the requirements of a Courtesan."
Legolas looked down at Mirie, and then back to where Ferdal had stood in sorrow. "Tell me, Mirie, just out of curiousity, what exactly are the requirements of a Courtesan?"

Mirie ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall across her eyes before he could see the glimmer of amusement there. "Come, Prince, let us walk in the garden and I shall tell you all I can."

Special Thanks to-

Manitou- For once again being my willing research assistant.

Emmess- Yes, poor poor Legolas. I was feeling rather mean last week.

Algara- Ohhh! Goodie! A typically snide commentary. I am truly honored to have made your shit-list, darling!

Nikkiling- hmmm..not sure how long Legolas can last. Perhaps you should run some experiments and see. :D

Tuxedo Elf- You like it? Really? Don't worry, plenty of slashiness once we get to Lothlorien. Of course, you're welcome to come along... :)

Minuial - :) Yes...poor Legolas. I have so much sympathy for him. hehmmm..heh..haaahahahaaa!..
Sorry, I tried really hard to say that with a straight face!
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Fifteen Years