Little Elf (Prequel to Warrior Elf)

Pairing: Legolas/Haldir
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Possible Non-Con situation, Chan slash (Legolas is 20)
Summary: A lonesome green leaf lingers on, torn from its parent tree. And it drowns in memories.

Note: Although according to popular interpretation that Elves reaches their majority at the age of 40, I'm assuming that they reach their sexual maturity at a younger age than that. Also i'm assuming that the reaching of "majority" means reaching a "marriagable" age.

Little Elf Series Part 5: Drowning

The Elf stood by the balcony with his fair face turned towards the setting sun. Its dying radiance bathed the city with the last glory of its light, and shadows once more forced its way into every corner of his room in the decaying sunlight. It was the same everyday. The same sun rose, coaxing forth a riot of colours from the earth, making flowers bloom right before his eyes. But it was the same. The sun would fade away when it tire and darkness would prevail once more, engulfing his soul with a sense of painful melancholy.

Was this how it felt like to drown? Was this how it felt like, to sink so deeply into the watery abyss, your face turned towards the brightness of the sun above, while you were sucked irresistibly down into the darkness of a bottomless pool? You might cry out for help but the coldness of the waters choke you, making a mockery of your fears and anguish. You might fight and struggle to break through the surface, but it would only serve to drag you further down into that void where the dead dwelled and sorrow reigned.

The sun had set for the Elf. It was gone but no more will it return. And he was lost. Lost in the void where no one could hear his cry of pain. Was this how it felt like to drown? To have the coldness of reality and the darkness of sorrow press themselves upon your heart so that you could not longer remember how to breathe? You choke with your own emotions, wondering if you could ever find salvation. Wondering if there would be a day where you could break away from the chains of this overwhelming darkness. And he was drowning. Drowning in sorrow. Drowning with conflicting emotion and sharp regret. Drowning with the memory of a glorious golden sun, with eyes as green as the trees in Mirkwood…

“You must speak with him,” came the familiar voice by his door. It was the same every night. Every day was as before, repeating itself like a nightmare that one could never awaken from. “You will lose him, if you do nothing to bring him back.”

The voice was soft and laced with sorrow. The Elf flinched inwardly. There was too much sorrow already. He did not know how to face it anymore. He had fought it for too long and at too great a price. Through all the years, he fought to put on a brave front, hiding his pain behind a sneer and his fears behind a smirk. But he would not fight anymore. Let the bleakness and the pain take him if they would. But he could not look at Sorrow in its face and laugh at it again.

The Elf felt a warm hand upon his shoulder. as aas a gesture of comfort and understanding. He turned his head slightly, watching the figure that had come to stand behind him from the corner of his eyes. Dark blue eyes regarded him solemnly and thoughtfully. The grip upon his shoulder tightened slightly.

“He will fade. You must speak to him. You cannot lose him,” the figure murmured and the Elf stared into those eyes, willing them to understand his pain and his fears. The Lord of Rivendell gazed at the King standing before him, studying the calm expression upon those fair features, reading the raging emotions behind those bright blue eyes.

“He is your son, Thranduil. You must go to him before it is too late,” he tried to say again. The Elven King looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He was silent and remained so for a long time. And he remembered a young voice.

“I’m sorry, Adar. I love you! Please, don't! I’m sorry!” the voice was saying. And he saw a vision of his hand striking a figure. Suddenly the vision changed and he saw that same figure bending over his mother. And again he heard the voice saying “Nana. Please…No!”

So he continued to stand there, trying to speak to the voice in his head. Wanted to say that he was sorry too. But he could not. He would rather brave ten thousand Orcs then to listen to the voices in his head. So much pain. So much sorrow. He could not face it again. He could go mad with grief. And so he stood still. Silent and distant as the moon, his eyes were fixed into the inky darkness of the night.

With a sigh, Elrond turned away from him, leaving him to his own dark thoughts…

**********

Right and left. Left and right. It seemed so easy. So easy to walk, moving one feet forward and then the next. But his steps faltered as they reached the barrier of a door and the person behind it. He was so near yet so far. Was that even possible? To be so near physically but emotionally, it was as if a chasm existed in the space between them where each cannot hear the other’s cry of pain? His brows furrowed for a moment before he answered his own question in his mind.

Yes. Such distance between two souls was possible. And he remembered his queen. How she had left because she could not build the bridge between the rift. She could not bear to fehat hat emptiness of space between them and so she had left, leaving him to battle with his secret demons on his own.

He placed a mildly shaking hand upon the door knob. He wondered slightly at the trembling. Took a deep, calming breath. And he entered the room.

It was as if he were looking into a pool. A reflection. A physical manifestation of his emotional turmoil. And he just stared at the figure curled up tightly into itself, as if it wanted to disappear completely. He could hear it. Although it had its back towards him, he could hear it. And its irregular breathing pattern flattened with much effort at the King’s presence. And he wondered briefly if every one did the same whenever he was around. He wondered if everyone fought to keep their emotions in tight control whenever he chanced to see them at their most vulnerable emotionally.

He did not know where to begin. So he continued to stare at its back as it somehow managed to look lost and alone on the huge bed, as it pressed its face into the pillow to muffle its cries. He sat on the edge of the bed but did not reach out to touch the body when it flinched instinctively at the feel of the Elverd’srd’s weight upon the soft mattress.

“It was not your fault,” he said finally, his voice calm, with just a hint of concern. The body trembled violently and slender limbs shook as it buried its face into the palms of its hands. And the King could still hear it. Although the figure tried to stifle the sounds it emitted from its mouth, Thranduil could hear them; those odd hiccups and choked murmurings.

“Legolas?” he ventured once more, not daring to touch his own son for fear of breaking apart. So close yet so far. He could not breathe. Legolas still continued to cry softly. And he did not know how to save themselves; to save themselves from Drowning. He stood up suddenly as he felt his chest constricting. He could not breathe. He had to get out. Now. But his feet refused to move.

He took something out from the pocket of his robes. He stared at the content in his haA beA beautiful Green Leaf. A leaf torn from its parent tree. But it was still as green as the day when it had found its way into Annariel’s hands. And he placed it next to his son on the bed. He stepped away, hesitating. Not wanting to leave although he had no reason to stay. And he waited.

Little Elf pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were red and cheeks wet. His watery gaze fell upon the object next to him. He took it in his hands and pressed it close to his heart. His face crumbled once more – the tears flowing hard and fast like a dam bursting its banks.

“Nana. I love you. Please. No,” he wept. The sound of those tears reverberated in the room, increasing in volume and intensity.

And the King left then, unable to bear the words slipping out from his son’s lips. A mirror. A reflection. Drowning. It was too much. And in the few days that followed, he could only manage to stand outside Legolas’ door, all the while listening to the same words over and over.

“Nana. Please. No.”

**********

Weeks passed, slowly becoming months. And then months bintointo years. Four years had passed since the death of Annariel. Lady Celebrain had long since recovered from the poisoned arrow but she found that she could no longer live in Rivendell, plagued as she was by her cousin’s death and the Elfling’s sorrow. She had wanted to take Legolas with her, but her husband had refused. And so she had left on her to to the Undying lands, to be freed from sorrow, despair and pain.

That had been years ago. But the present seemed as bleak as it had been before.

There were whispers in the wind. Of a leaf so pure, that wanted to fly away and never to return. Wanting and willing itself to fade far from existence. The doors to the chamber housing that leaf remained closed year after year. And behind those doors, Legolas lay upon his bed, not moving and not eating. It had been weeks. But no one had managed to get him to eat anything. He just lay there, motionless, his blue eyes fixed upon the ceiling of his room. And everywhere in Rivendell, Elves despaired.

“It had been nearly a month. But he would not eat anything. He had long since ceased to weep but he would not speak.” Elrond was saying, as he slanted a glance towards his friend. Silence passed between them and the Lord of Rivendell studied the King of Mirkwood, taking in the bleakness that dwelled in the depth of his eyes and the lines of sorrow that lined his youthful face.

That was the look that the Elven King wore whenever he visited Legolas in his chambers. Visited Legolas, and yet, did not really visit him. Seen Legolas and yet did not really see him. It had been four years. But he could only manage to get past the barrier of the door a few times. Only a few times out of the many times that he had journeyed from his room towards his son’s. And in those few times that he had entered the room, he had always been overwhelmed by the raging waves of emotions that sent him stumbling out again, gasping for breath.

“Thranduil. If you know of anyone who might bring him back, you must seek him out,” Elrond said again. He was in despair. There had been so many deaths of late. Too much misery and loss. And he would not allow Thranduil to lose Legolas.

But the Mirkwood King remained silent. And Elrond sighed, leaving his friend to his own troubled thoughts. Thranduil sat there for many minutes, his brows furrowed – deep in thought. And then he walked towards Elrond’s table, taking a piece of unused parchment from one of the drawers. He picked up a quill, the pointed end dripping ink as it hovered over the surface of the yellowed paper. He started to write. Paused. And frowned a little more. And he wrote on as if struck by a sudden inspiration.

That night, a letter was sent out.

It was addressed to an occupant in Lothlorien.

And later still in the night, the King stood outside Legolas’ door; his hand placed upon the door knob that he did not have the strength to turn.

*********

A week crawled by. It was evening, and the sun sat once more as it had always done in Rivendell. And in the distance, he saw the silvery outline of the rising moon. And he smiled a little. Not from joy, but from the knowledge that with each death of a morning, a night would take over. And its gentle magic would ease away the burdens of the day in order to make way for a new morning. A morning with colours and sweet sounds of birds. It was strange that he should think of such thoughts. But he could not help it.

He stood at the window. Watching and waiting. Basking in the soft glow of the moon. Relishing its gentleness and its beauty. The white moon rose higher still and in the horizon, he saw a rider entering the gates of the city. Thranduil watched the moonbeams caressing the rider, as if finding joy in his very presence in this land of sorrow. And then the King turned away from the sight, moving towards his desk. He sat down. And he waited.

**********

“To what do I owe the honour of receiving an invitation from the King of Mirkwood?”

The voice was soft and mocking. The King leaned back upon his chair as he cast a careless look upon the figure standing before him.

“Do not think too much of yourself, Haldir of ‘Lorien. It is not because of my pleasure that I seek you out,” he returned back smoothly, smiling inwardly at the flash of anger that flickered in those grey eyes.

“Then why? Why have you asked me to come?” he pressed on, the mocking smile that he wore quickly fell into a sneer. And the King lifted his hands to silence the Elf.

“I understand that you are like a brother to Legolas,” he began, his keen eyes registering an unnamed emotion that blossomed upon the Elf’s fair features before he carefully put on a mask of indifference once more.

Haldir cocked his head in reply. But his eyes never left the King’s. Wary and watchful. The King hesitated for the barest amount of time before plunging ahead with whatever he had to say.

“He needs you. Go to him,” he said shortly. And Haldir just stared at him.

“And if I do not?” he said. And the expression on his face softened a little. Thranduil stared back at the face that challenged him to reveal emotions that he never thought he had.

“What would you do if I refuse to do as you ask?” Haldir said again, his voice soft and sad.

A pause.

“I would have begged you to,” came the answer.

It was enough.

And so Haldir went.

**********

The room was dark for the candles had sputtered and died sometime in the night and the curtains had been drawn to block out the light. A figure lay curled on its side and unmoving upon the bed, the sheets pulled up to its chin. Haldir knew that his presence was noted although Legolas had his back towards him. And he also knew that Legolas was aware of the identity of his visitor. But the young Elf did not give as much as a sigh to welcome him. And it angered him. Just a little.

“No kind words to welcome an old friend, Legolas?” he said, his voice calm and friendly, belying the tempest in his heart. Where had all the laughter and smiles gone to? It was as if the Legolas he knew had never existed; trapped in this frigid body before him. And he was angered once more. Legolas had always been the embodiment of life itself. He loved life and found joy in the simplest of things. He could even find joy in the gentle, fluttering sounds made by the wings of a butterfly. How had it come to this?

He was greeted with silence. The younger Elf made no show of having heard him. And something in Haldir’s mind snapped. Perhaps it was anger. Perhaps it was fear. He knew not.

With an oath, he started towards the bed and wrenched the sheet away from the body. It startled a response from Legolas and a look of shock flickered briefly in those eyes before his expression turned blank once more.

Haldir threw the covers haphazardly in the corner of a room and clambered onto the bed. He reached out and roughly grabbed those slender shoulders, pulling the younger Elf in an upright position, straddling him as he did.

“She is dead! You cannot bring her back, Little Elf! Killing yourself will not bring her back! Do you hear me?” he hissed, nearly pressing his nose right into Legolas’. His eyes bored into the face before him that was devoid of emotions. And it offended him. It offended him to see a face that had grown so beautiful and so dear to him without any emotions written upon those fair features.

It was an insult because something so precious as Legolas should never be allowed to be sullied nor marred by the horrors that he had experienced. Haldir wished that he could erase all that had happened. He wished for many things. But mostly, he wished to have Legolas back. Laughing out loud without a care in the world and smiling in that endearing half-smile of his.

And so he continued talking to Legolas. Sporadically shaking him, as if willing his words to penetrate through the thick barrier that Legolas had set up for himself. Annariel had said that Legolas was good at hiding. She had not lied because Legolas had hid so well in the depth of his mind that he was in danger of losing himself in the dark abyss and never to return.

Finally those blue eyes gained focus and they stared into Haldir’s, their expression full of sorrow and sufferings. It was the first time Haldir had seen such a look upon the Elf’s face. But it was better than the look of defeat that he had seen a few minutes before. And so, he was glad. His voice lowered into murmurs of comfort as Legolas began to tremble. He tried to enfold Legolas in his embrace, but the Elf pushed him away, reluctant to leave his private world of anguish to return to reality.

“Leave me. Go away!” he choked out, his voice cracking as he did. But Haldir stayed and Legolas began to struggle, his feet snaking out to plant themselves against Haldir’s chest to kick him away.

“You cannot continue like this! You must not do this!” Haldir said, striving to contain the Elf’s frantic movements of panic. And Legolas began to cry, his chest shuddering with every laboured breath he took. He was so weak and exhausted. He did not want to fight anymore, least of all Haldir. He did not want to feel anymore. He did not want to live.

“Let me go! Please!” he cried.

“No!”

“I do not want to feel anymore! I want it to stop!”’

And with that, Legolas managed to escape Haldir’s grasp and he fled towards the far end of the bed, his back pressing against the wooden headboard as he brought his knees to his chest, proceeding to rock to and fro.

“Legolas,” Haldir began but Legolas continued to rock himself. To and fro. Back and forth. Effectively putting a distance between him and Haldir. And anger once more flared in Haldir’s chest, threatening to choke him. Haldir approached the Elf again, his ears picking up the muffled sounds of Legolas’ tears. Legolas shook his head wearily.

“Please. I only ask to be alone. Please,” he whisp and and he broke off, murmuring the words ‘Nana’ and ‘please’ over and over again under his breath. Chanting those very words as if they were a prayer. As if calling her name could bring him closer to her. And Haldir began to feel frightened.

And so he did the only thing he knew how in order to bring Legolas back.

He pried Legolas’ hands away from his face and lowered his lips towards Legolas’ trembling ones, brushing those soft petals in a chaste kiss. Little Elf tried to turn away, his hands clenching into fists as he braced them against Haldir’s chest as if he wanted to push the older Elf away. But Haldir persisted.

Again and again he kissed the young Elf, his tongue tracing the outline of Legolas’ lips, probing a little with his tongue as he tried to gain entrance into the Elf’s mouth. He cupped those cheeks, his thumb grazing the edges of those fine and chiselled cheekbones, deepening the kiss – coaxing those lips apart.

Legolas murmured his protests, trying but failing to turn his face away from Haldir’s onslaught, pushing harder against his firm, unyielding chest. Haldir murmured back, whispering words of love and comfort – taking advantage of Legolas’ protests to dip his tongue into the sweet cavern of the Elf’s mouth.

Haldir’s hand reached around to clasp the Elf’s head, crushing his lips against Legolas’. He could not help himself. What had started as a gesture of comfort turned into something more intense. More intimate. Haldir never realized that kissing another male could result in so much pleasure. And he sighed, his tongue chasing Legolas’ back and forth; first advancing into the depths of Legolas mouth, then retreating when the young Elf tried to push his tongue away and later suckled at the honeyed tip of Legolas’ tongue.

Legolas had his eyes clenched shut. Unable to understand what was happening to him. Unable to understand why he found comfort when Haldir kissed him as he had never been kissed before. Unable to stop himself from feeling. But he did not want to feel. And so he continued to struggle, his head trashing from side to side, trying to avoid Haldir’s warm kisses.

“No. Stop,” Legolas said, squirming away from Haldir. But he could not get free because the Elf’s weight upon his thighs prevented him from doing so.

“Hush, Little Elf. Let me take your pain away,” he murmured back soothingly, clasping the trembling body to his heart, running his hands up and down the slender back. But Legolas trembled more, crying out his protest. And Haldir continued to ignore him. Instead, he pressed light, feathery kisses upon Little Elf’s face, murmuring praises of his perfection and Legolas becamiet iet for he was reminded of the many nights when his Nana would do that to him. Comforting him one night while he lay trembling in her arms.

But this was not Nana. And Haldir proved that by tracing the soft skin at Legolas’ neck, nibbling gently. Tasting and comforting. Haldir was warmth. Haldir was love. And so Legolas sat still, not pushing Haldir away anymore – and yet not encouraging him either. He just sat and accepted whatever offer of comfort Haldir wanted to give him.

But Haldir wanted more. Much more. And he wondered how much Legolas was willing to surrender to him. It frightened him to realize that his train of thoughts were not pure. It frightened him to realize that he did not care that his thoughts were not pure. All he cared was this one Elf, hovering between sanity and insanity: life and death. And he would do anything to bring Legolas back.

With that, he kissed his way down the length of the Elf’s body, marvelling at how much Legolas had grown since the last time he had seen him. Twenty years of age this body had lived to walk the earth and it had experienced too much too soon. And Haldir worshipped it; this body. He worshipped Legolas. His Little Elf.

Legolas sighed, his eyelashes fluttering in his head. His mouth was opened in a small ‘O’ and his lips were slack. Haldir kissed that intimate spot at the junction of Legolas’ thighs, pressing his lips gently upon that slight bulge. Not too hard for there to be any real friction, but just enough for Legolas to feel the warmth of Haldir’s breath through his leggings. And the Elf murmured softly, words lost in a rush of breath while his hands fisted and un-fisted themselves into the locks of Haldir’s hair, as if they could not decide whether to pull the older Elf closer to him or to push him away.

“Love you, Little Elf. Love you so much. Always,” Haldir whispered – too softly for Legolas to hear those words but with enough feelingsecteected into them to make las las sigh once more. Haldir continued to caress Legolas with his mouth, his hot lips stroking and massaging the young Elf. Legolas whimpered a little, shifting his hips restlessly, crying out only occasionally, unconsciously voicing out his need.

But Haldir understood. So he unbuttoned Legolas’ leggings, freeing the young Elf from his constraints. Legolas renewed his protests when Haldir lapped at the smooth flesh, laving the sensitive skin at the head of the young Elf’mbermber. But Haldir persisted, taking the whole of the Elf’s organ into the warmth of his mouth, sucking first and then releasing it to blow cool air over the engorged shaft only to repeat the whole process again.

“Can’t Haldir. I can’t,” moaned Legolas, “Can’t breathe! Can’t…” He trashed around on the bed, pinned between the headboard of the bed and Haldir’s warm body. He could not breathe. He could not escape. And all the while, blood hummed in his veins and roared in his ears. It felt as if he were drowning. But this time, he was drowning in the strange yet wonderful senses that Haldir evoked in him.

“Yes you can, Legolas. Do not be afraid to feel. Trust me,” Haldir said, releasing the Elf’s member long enough to say those words before lavishing his attention upon it once more.

Chest heaving, the young Elf whimpered, sighed, moaned and growled. A symphony of sounds that was sweeter to Haldir’s ears as compared to the chirping of birds at the first light of dawn. And Haldir hungered for more.

Swiftly he removed his own leggings, ignoring Legolas’ cries of dismay at the loss of friction upon his shaft. The young Elf’s eyes were wide as they watched Haldir with a mixture of apprehension and just a touch of desire. But the fear was stronger so Haldir took hold of Legolas’ hand and kissed his fingertips tenderly.

“Love you so much, Little Elf! Let me love you,” he said. And he impaled himself upon Legolas’ turgid member with a hiss of pain as well as intense pleasure. He paused for a moment, trying to get accustomed to Legolas’ size. Although the young Elf was too young to cause any real damage to Haldir’s dry passage, it still hurt for the older Elf had never been with any other male before.

“Love you,” he gritted out amidst his pain and he began to rock himself back and forth. Legolas became delirious with awakened passions. His head was thrown back in wanton desire as he voiced out his pleasure without restraint. It was how Haldir loved Legolas the most – when he was uninhibited in his emotions and so lost in his sense of bliss and wonderment. And Haldir increased his pace.

Legolas joined him in this heathen and yet beautiful dance, their breaths mingling anartsarts beating in quick tempo. It was their first time. A union of two friends, two loves and two bodies. And it was that very night (although none of them realized it) that Haldir belonged to Legolas for he had given all of himself freely to the young Elf.

It did not take long. Legolas gave a final cry before finding his release, shuddering as he did. He made a desperate grab for Haldir as if to prevent himself from being swept away by the stormy waves of passion and Ha hel held on to him tightly. Haldir and Legolas sat still for long minutes, none of them moving. None of them speaking. Waiting till the shivers oozed away from the young Elf’s body like the last remnant of a bad dream.

“Love you, Little Elf. I love you so much,” he whispered into Legolas hair and Legolas wept once more. Only this time, his tears were healing – like fresh blood that flows after an infected wound had been cut open.

“Alas, why do you weep? I am here. It will be alright,” Haldir murmured, rocking Legolas in his arms as how the young Elf’s mother used to do. When Legolas became quiet, Haldir laid him upon the bed and got up to take the discarded blanket from the corner of the room. And then he lay next to Legolas, allowing the young Elf to curl up next to him while he tucked themselves in under the blanket.

They lay next to each other, staring into each other’s face. Haldir stroked Legolas’ hair, lips and eyebrows and Little Elf closed hiss ats at the sensation of having Haldir touching him that way. For a moment, he was at peace with himself.

Many minutes passed without a sound from Legolas and Haldir thought that the Elf had fallen into ap slp slumber. But suddenly, Legolas spoke, his voice clear and sad.

“She lied to me, Haldir.”

“Who?” Haldir asked although he knew who Legolas was referring to.

“Nana. She said I would always be her Little Elf. And yet she left,” he said. A tear slipped out from a corner of his eye. And then another.

A pause.

“I will never leave you, Legolas.”

“Do you promise me this, Haldir?”

“Yes.”

It was another lie. And they both knew it.

Legolas said nothing but snuggled closer to Haldir, burying his face into his friend’s neck. And together, they awaited the awakening of the dawn in the city of Rivendell…

to be continued...

NOTE: I won't be updating Little Elf anytime soon.. the only time when i can write the story is after my exams.. and that'll be in time for Christmas this December..

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