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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4698 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Meeting
- 2-Learning
- 3-Restraint
- 4-Coping
- 5-Guile
- 6-Awakening
- 7-Undoing
- 8-Musings
- 9-Sojourn
- 10-Reckoning
- 11-Illumination
- 12-Avowal
- 13-Beloved
- 14-Visitations
- 15-Tryst
- 16-Choice
- 17-Torn
- 18-Resolve
- 19-Voyage
- 20-Fate
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter V: Guile

Rust and bronze carpeted most of the woods of Ithilien, the shedding trees held in autumn’s thrall. The fallen foliage rustled underfoot as Imrahil made his way back to Legolas’ halls. The man walked the paths of the elven colony the woodland prince had founded soon after the War.

A week had passed since his arrival in this southern bastion of the Firstborn.

Before Legolas and the twins departed Emyn Arnen, the archer had extended an invitation to the Belfalas prince to visit the colony. Few mortals had ever set foot in it. Gondor’s royal couple and their children were counted among those few and naturally Faramir and Éowyn. With the passing of time, its mystery and allure only increased. It had been an offer he could not resist.

Now he was glad he had not refused. He had not felt at peace with himself in so long a time. Not even in Emyn Arnen had his sense of loss and uncertainty totally abated. But here, both had receded, leaving him contented with life for the first time since Aerin passed away.

He could not quite put his finger on what it was that had eased his heart and mind. He only knew that it was so. Mayhap, he sometimes thought, it was the Elves’ themselves and their serenity. Even when they were in turmoil from anger or grief or fear, at their very core was the certitude of the innate rightness of their spirits, of the intrinsic purity of their hearts and an inborn trust in their place in the scheme of things. Eternal living had taught them to discern what they could change in life and themselves and that acceptance of what could not be altered was not necessarily a weakness. They no longer grasped fruitlessly at straws as mortals were still wont to do but faced life head on and took all that it offered or flung at them with fortitude and patience.

Imrahil would always be grateful for whatever whim of fate that had led him here. He had at last begun to heal from the loss of his lady and the life he had known with her. He had begun to smile in earnest once more.

Breathing in the cool, fragrant air of this enchanted neck of the wood, he walked back to his hosts’ dwelling.

********

His countenance aglow with delight, Elrohir watched a group of rambunctious Elflings splash about in exuberance in the stream behind the house. He leaned over the balustrade of the narrow terrace just outside Legolas’ study, called from the tedious chore of official correspondence by the happy voices of children at play. He grinned as challenges were issued and accepted, the youngsters still too raw not to know enough when to decline a dare. Soon a half dozen of them were furiously paddling their way upstream while the rest followed more slowly, all the while voicing their excitement and cheer.

As they disappeared from sight, he straightened up. Into a most unchaste embrace as evidenced by the searing press of lips against his neck and the steady pull by limber arms until he was all but molded against a fair archer’s withy frame.

“Have you finally emerged from seclusion, melethron?”—lover?—a purred query warmed his tingling flesh.

Elrohir laughed softly and turned his head to meet Legolas’ dancing eyes. “Not quite,” he murmured. “I was only lured out here by the children’s rather vocal play.”

“Indeed. What may I do to forestall another retreat then?” Legolas cooed. Elrohir caught his breath as the prince pressed against him from behind.

He took a moment to steady his suddenly racing heart. “We are not exactly hidden,” he ventured.

“And not a soul in sight to mark that fact,” Legolas countered, reaching around the Elf-knight’s hips purposefully.

Distracted by the hand that busily unlaced his breeches, Elrohir was slow to react. He hissed as Legolas gained access to what he sought. “What would you have of me?” he whispered at length.

Legolas’ smile was positively feral. “I would have you,” he growled.

A graceful elm grew directly out of the terrace floor on one side. Before Elrohir could think to protest, he found himself backed up against it, Legolas following so closely, a flea would not have found passage between their bodies. A spate of kisses to mouths and throats and readily exposed chests, not to mention a flurry of fevered strokes and clutches to sundry body parts, rendered both quite mute though not exactly noiseless.

Elrohir did not resist when Legolas wordlessly turned him to face the natural pillar. One of the bed-lessons he had taught the archer long ago was that their difference in age was of no matter. It was Legolas’ right to take as much as give, to command as well as submit. Their couplings had been the richer for the equality in their bodies’ years of loving.

Bracing himself against the tree trunk, Elrohir awaited the archer’s sensuous charge. When it came, he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan that tried to escape him; knew that the tension in Legolas’ entrapping arms were as much from his own efforts to still his expressions of pleasure as it was from the rapture that steadily unraveled him. But the battle for silence was a losing one; it always was. Soon, the terrace resounded with the desperately muffled groans and gasps that came with the spiraling of heady joy and the encroachment of rapturous release.

Legolas buried his face in the crook of Elrohir’s neck, the welling of blissful sensation too much to bear, the waxing pressure in his groin too great to withstand. Driving hard one last time into Elrohir’s yielding warmth, he hoarsely uttered his beloved’s name, shuddering his completion into the Elf-knight’s body. Warm cream coated his stroking fingers and he murmured his love and desire into Elrohir’s ear, relishing the telling tremors that wracked his mate’s form. In Elrohir’s total pleasure and his surrender to it did Legolas always find deepest satisfaction. As Elrohir did in his.

The Elf-knight turned slightly in his arms and caught his lips in a liquid caress. He returned the kiss with ardent tenderness, enjoying the oneness of their hearts and spirits in the wake of the joining of their bodies. Neither took note of the red-faced onlooker who had unwittingly proved the belief of a lack of witnesses to their tryst erroneous.

Imrahil hastened away from the terrace, cursing his decision to take a short cut into the house by way of the study. The sight of the two Elves’ impassioned loving had rooted him to the spot as soon as he laid eyes on them. Unable to tear his gaze from his first exposure to a coupling between two ellyn, he had stared at them in mingled shock and fascination until they were done. Only when they turned their whispers to lovers’ intimacies did he find the wherewithal to wrench himself from the scene.

Now he hurried to his room, needful of the cool water in the basin upon the table beneath his window. He could feel the burning in his cheeks and only a good dousing would stamp out the fire therein. So flustered was he that he almost collided with Elladan at the turn into the corridor leading to the guest chambers. Managing to maintain his balance, Elladan helped him regain his. The Elf peered curiously into his face.

“What ails you, Imrahil?” he inquired. “You are as red as a hobbit afloat in a barrel of ale!”

The ridiculous image elicited a wave of laughter from the prince though it did not cool his crimsoned face. He shook his head as he clutched at his waist, trying to still the mirth that had taken him unawares. Finally managing to control his hilarity, he looked at the thoroughly puzzled Elf-lord.

“I am sorry,” he gasped. “But I made the mistake of – of going by the study instead of the front door!”

Elladan stared at him even more perplexed. “If you go on like this, I will believe you guilty of consuming more than a barrel of ale,” he told the man.

“Nay, I have not indulged myself at this hour of the day,” Imrahil protested. “‘Tis only that I never expected your brother to do so. And out on the terrace at that!”

Comprehension dawned on Elladan’s face. “I take it he did not do so alone?” he probed just to ensure he had not misunderstood the prince.

Imrahil snorted. “Would I have been so perturbed if he had?” he said. He sighed and leaned against the wall. “I was so afraid they would see me and think my intrusion deliberate.”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully. “And why would you be afraid?” he remarked. “Unless your intrusion lasted beyond what was seemly however unintentional it may have been.”

That effectively wiped the grin from Imrahil’s face. He colored once more. “I did not mean to watch them,” he muttered and made to move away.

Elladan caught him by the wrist. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to insinuate anything improper in your intentions. I know that if you stayed ‘twas because you had never seen the like before.” He pulled the man back gently. “We are all oft mesmerized by our first sight of anything beyond our ken.”

Imrahil looked at him uneasily. But naught but understanding and sympathy showed in Elladan’s eyes. His pique and embarrassment subsided and he relaxed.

“You will not tell them that I saw them,” he entreated. “I do not care to have them discomfited around me.”

Elladan chuckled. “Even had they seen you and known of your extended perusal, they would not have been the least bit discomposed,” he said. “They are not retiring about such matters and even less are they ashamed of what they share.”

“And you?” The words came out before he could stop them. Imrahil felt his cheeks flame anew.

But the Elf-warrior merely smiled. “I am my brother’s twin,” he said. “There are few things that we do not share. Legolas being one of them,” he added with a snicker.

Imrahil found himself smiling in return. “Aye, that is most apparent,” he said. “You show no interest in him, not even appreciation for his comeliness.”

“And have Elrohir slit my throat?” Elladan retorted with humor. “But truth be told, if there is one area where our tastes diverge, ‘tis in whom we share our beds with.” Ignoring Imrahil’s startled reaction at his frankness, he said: “Elrohir long favored lithe, ethereally wrought Elves even amongst the soldiers of our kindred. ‘Tis no surprise he was drawn so fervently to Legolas. I warrant there is no Elf in Arda as delicate of countenance yet so formidable of form as our woodland prince. I, on the other hand, prefer buxom females and strapping males. I like my meat plain and simple and in generous proportions.”

Imrahil gaped at this last statement. Unbidden, an image of the Elf-lord entwined with a fearsomely endowed warrior unfolded in his mind. He nearly choked as the picture played out in his thoughts. He mentally shook his head, discarding the image before it betrayed its existence on his countenance.

“That is a most apt comparison,” he managed to say lightly. “Still and all, I will be more careful next time. Even if they care not about being seen, I do care about seeing them!”

Elladan chuckled. “Would you join me for a ride this afternoon?” he abruptly asked.

Imrahil thought back to his morning walk and the sweet herb-scented breeze that had so refreshed him. He found himself eager for more of Ithilien’s bracing air.

“Aye, I will join you,” he said.

*********

Hours later, he wondered what he had let himself in for. They had followed a meandering route from the colony, taking so many turns and cuts that Imrahil owned himself quite lost. He would never make it back on his own without Elladan.

He glanced at his companion.

Elladan had said little during their trek and only then to instruct him in the green growth of the wood or point out the habitats of its animal life, most of them new and strange to a man who had spent most of his life by the sea. Imrahil realized that, save for the occasional visit to Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen, he knew little of life beyond his borders. He wondered what it must be like further up north – the climate, the terrain, most of all, the people.

His eyes fell on the cluster of quail slung over the rump of the Elf’s steed. Elladan had surprised him by downing the birds earlier. It had not seemed like the Elf to hunt for mere sport. For there was no need to replenish the larders back home; Legolas’ hunters had just returned from the chase the day before.

He looked up and noted the steady descent of the sun, its fading light deepening the ruddy hues of the once verdant forest. He decided to voice his concern at last.

“‘Twill soon be nightfall,” he said to the Elf. “Should we not be going back?”

Elladan grinned at him. “Afraid of the dark, O Prince?” he teased.

Imrahil snorted. “Nay, but I do not wish to sleep out in the open when I can have a warm bed at my disposal.”

“But what if you must?” Elladan questioned with a suspicious smirk. Before the surprised man could answer, he suddenly reined in his horse and dismounted. “I think this is a good spot to encamp for the night.”

Imrahil stared at him. “Encamp?” he repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Elladan glanced about him speculatively. “I see no better place,” he said. Taking the quail in hand, he looked up at Imrahil. “Do get down from there and make yourself comfortable.”

“Comfortable where?” Imrahil demanded, feeling more and more dazed.

“Why, here of course,” Elladan answered and vanished behind a clump of trees.

Alarmed, Imrahil hurriedly dismounted as well and followed him. And stopped short and stared. Behind the trees was a small clearing with a crystal spring in its midst. A slender waterfall fed it from above. And by the spring was a hardy tent large enough for two tall men to sleep in quite comfortably. A stack of kindling lay waiting before it.

He managed to close his mouth then glared at Elladan. “You asked me to join you for a ride!” he exclaimed.

“Well, what did we just do?” Elladan mildly rejoined. “Fly?”

“But – but I have no extra clothing,” the man desperately said. “I refuse to retire in these clothes and I certainly will not sleep in naught but my skin.”

“That is a goodly thought,” Elladan remarked as if thinking on it. At Imrahil’s appalled reaction, he laughed and reached into the tent. “Here!”

He pulled out a pack and tossed it to the prince. Imrahil opened it cautiously then gasped as he found several days’ worth of his own clothing within. “How—?” he sputtered.

“The servants were kind enough to put that together for me,” Elladan said. “They were more than helpful when they learned we would be camping for a week or so.”

“A week!” Imrahil was too thunderstruck to comment on the servants’ unseemly complicity in the Elf-lord’s machinations.

“Is there an echo around here?” Elladan mused

“But what about food…?” Imrahil’s voice faded away as Elladan pointedly held up the quail. “Well, I am not going to bathe in a cold spring,” he objected. “Mayhap an Elf can withstand the chill but I am but a mere mortal.”

Elladan knelt and dipped his hand into the spring. “Feel it,” he said invitingly.

Wonderingly, Imrahil did. He started as his hand encountered luxuriously heated water. “‘Tis warm!” he said in a hushed voice. “How can this be?”

“Despite appearances, we are not all that far from Mordor and Orodruin,” Elladan explained. “Ithilien is blessed with many springs like this. Heated water from Mt. Doom’s old outlets passes through underground channels and issues into various bodies of water in the region.” He pointed to the lacy waterfall. “But the water from up there is cool and sweet. ‘Twill do for drinking if you do not care for wine. I brought quite a selection by the way.”

Reminded of the warrior’s admittedly admirable duplicity, Imrahil renewed his protests. “Elladan, I will not stay here for a week!” he insisted.

The Elf shrugged negligently and turned his attention to building a fire. “Fine,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Go back then. I am sure you can find your way in the dark.”

If a look could kill, Elladan would undoubtedly have been flayed, skewered and roasted before sundown.

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

Glossary:

ellyn - male Elves

To be continued...
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate