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Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER FIVE: Arcane Land

Elladan and Melven were looking most lordly indeed in their finest. Their boots and daggers shone as they reflected the bright orange light of the many lanterns and torches that lit up the otherwise shadowed corridors. Both were dark-haired, their features unmistakably Noldorin, yet Elladan’s hair was pitch black, so black it shone blue. He had placed his mithril circlet around his forehead, letting it sit low, thus keeping his rebellious hair from his strong, noble face. His father would be proud, for too many times had he skipped the protocol of lordship, following his brother’s witty and popular rebuffs regarding what he considered ‘unnecessary primping.’ And he was right, yet Elrohir failed to acknowledge the fact that these symbols of office had an obvious and immediate effect on most, even on oneself, although Elrohir would never admit it. Rulers exploited this natural reaction to state their causes, ensure peace, reassure, or, in some unfortunate cases, impose their unilateral will. Sometimes, being intellectual required understanding the natural reactions of elves, before reasoning comes to the fore.

Melven had also outdone himself, and Elladan marveled once more on his transformation since his foray at Love Lake. His wavy hair shone beautifully, held back only by two discreet braids, bound at the ends by a set of mithril beads his father Hador had gifted him with many years ago, but which he had never felt comfortable wearing. Now, however, they seemed to fit perfectly with this new Melven, and truth be told, the Noldorin warrior had liked his reflection in the mirror that evening, for the first time in many years.

As they rounded the corner, they met a large group of elves, conversing animatedly before a set of mighty oak doors, their numbers extending well down the opposite corridor. The solid wooden entrance was closed and guarded by two imposing Home Guards, their livery immaculate, their faces – a wall of beauteous stone.

Conversation muted somewhat as they appeared, for their appearance was exotic to the Greenwood natives. The severity of their attire, the sheer mass of cloth that covered their bodies they found both strange and alluring. It was Aradan that approached them and drew them into the crowd, greeting them kindly as he reintroduced his cousin Calanon, who was now holding Eruanna’s outstretched hand with the utmost protocol. Elladan raised an eyebrow as he watched the incipient relationship begin to emerge, for it was not only Calanon who flaunted his companion - Eruanna, in all her innocence and inexperience, was a lovely shade of pink, obviously enjoying the attention that was being lavished upon her by the chief councillor’s cousin.

Aradan had explained that Calanon was a botanist, a conservationist charged with the health and reproduction of the forest – a most honorable and noteworthy profession here, especially amongst the Sylvan and Avari. Nevertheless, Elladan would keep abreast of their relationship, for he would brook no poor behavior towards his charge, and neither would Legolas, he wagered.

Balentar was also amongst the waiting crowd, now looking slightly less hunched in his long, formal tunic. He was conversing politely with a tall, pale elf with blonde hair, who gesticulated as he spoke of some topic they both obviously found fascinating.

After a few more minutes of light-hearted banter, it was finally time for Elladan and Melven to step inside, which they did, only to find themselves standing in a place so alien, yet beautiful – it was a sudden, inexplicable truth, for they had not the time to stand and marvel at why they had thought that, for protocol impelled them towards one end of the massive hall. Elladan tried to keep his eyes on the elves he would greet and thank, yet he was conscious of what he passed by, at least to an extent. He knew that this room was enormous, he sensed the colour and glow of candles and lanterns, the smell of incense, the presence of plants and cones, berries – from the corner of his eye, he realized that to his left, the wall there was not of stone, but of wood. What lay behind he could not say, perhaps a balcony of some sorts, yet he dared not look to feed his mind with the information it craved, for he would lose his focus and gawp like a stupefied adolescent. And so once more, he set his eyes on the sight before him, for that too, was worthy of awe.

How striking this Sindarin king was, he thought then. So like his own father - the same air of strength, knowledge and experience hung about him, yet they were, physically very different, except for the lines that denoted the long years of life and all that it had to offer; love, joy, grief and loss, knowledge, empathy, passion… This elf was blond and bold, strong and tall, his clothing – daring, sensuous.

He stood proudly in a long, moss-green velvet skirt, bare, booted legs and a mantle around his shoulders was all that barred Elladan’s sight to the otherwise bare chest of this beautiful monarch. He was adorned most intricately in gold and mithril, his crown, earrings, nipple piercing, the gemmed rings on his hands, the glorious dagger from Beleriand tucked into the waistband of his skirt. If anyone had ever wondered where Legolas had obtained his own stunning features, they would now ask no more, for they were very much alike, except that Legolas was more heavily built, his muscles more defined, his face however was the opposite, for it did not yet reflect the passing of long centuries, for his skin was smooth and pale, and yet there was a pinch around the eyes that Elladan could but guess at the cause of.

Elladan took the lead, primarily for Melven’s benefit, and bowed low to the monarch.

“My Lord King. I am honoured to be invited into your home and to tonight’s celebration.”

Smiling placidly, he nodded, bowing slightly as Elladan’s station required.

“You are most welcome, Prince of Imladris.”

Melven then stepped up to greet the king, as Elladan moved to bow low before the other king. Legolas allowed the formality, but immediately afterwards, took his forearms, clapping them briskly.

“I apologize for not being with you earlier, and as things are, it will be at least midday tomorrow before I can get away.”

“I understand, do not fret, my friend. We are being more than well-attended to. Galion is most efficient.”

“Ah, Galion is… well, Galion!” he chuckled. Elladan observed that some of the tightness of his friend’s face had relaxed somewhat, yet the underlying melancholy had not disappeared. He wondered then, how much of that sadness was for the Lord of Imladris? Or was it all for Glorfindel? He really did not understand the relationship the four of them had struck up – yes he knew that Glorfindel was his primary lover, yet his father did not take lovers lightly, and nor did Erestor. It was not that he disapproved, for how could he? This elf was the single most sensuous being he had ever met; he just hoped that he would not hurt his father, for of that he had had his fill.

As the other guests stepped up to meet the royal family, Elladan allowed himself to finally take in his surroundings. The hall seemed impossibly large, and the stunning architecture took Elladan’s breath away once more. He noticed a carved, second floor balcony, where tables also stood, lit up with their respective candles and lanterns. Everything followed the general aesthetics of the fortress, with its clothed walls and candles in every possible nook and cranny. There was finery everywhere, and the tables had been beautifully decorated with woodland fruits and plants, dried flowers, even miniature trees that had him fascinated.

Yet what really drew Elladan’s attention, was that one entire side of the room was made of wooden panelling, while the rest of the room was stone. This must be another balcony that led outside, he realized then, yet the size of it was more than surprising. Glancing at Melven, he found his friend staring likewise, his mind furiously making conjectures, for there were no adornments here, no tapestries, no flags, wall torches or painted windows.

However, their overt admiration of their surroundings came to a sudden halt as Thranduil strode into the centre of the hall, his very presence demanding silence as all conversation abruptly died, the guests expectant, silence except for the brief swish of velvet upon leather as his skirts settled around him.

“My Lords, Ladies, honoured guests. Tonight, we celebrate the victorious return of our representatives at the Spring Festival in Imladris, a Festival that has brought to the Greenwood so very many agreements and treaties – Our success has been more than satisfactory. We have earned the military alliance of Imladris and Lorien, we have achieved commercial agreements that will benefit us greatly – so many things I would tell you about, yet all in good time. Now, however, we celebrate that success, we celebrate the return of our Crown Prince, now Lord of the Forests, King by the dictates of the Lady Yavanna. We also celebrate the coming of our Noldorin guests, who have come to live amongst us for the next year, to learn and share knowledge in mutual benefit and brotherhood.

To you, people of Elrond, the Sylvans, the Avari and the Sindarin now unveil the Greenwood proper – the Evergreen Wood. You will discover that this land is one of contrasts. You have seen some of the forests before the fortress, fighting for life, fiercely protected by our brave warriors, and now, you will also see why we continue to fight, for in this, arcane land, there is one jewel we cherish above all others…”

As his voice died, a chorus of voices began to strike a single note in different registers, the crescendo growing as the wooden shutters were slowly rolled back upon a system of oiled wheels. As they opened wider and the voices hit their highest volume, Elladan could not avoid the gasp that escaped him, and he was relieved to hear he had not been the only one. For there, revealed in all its absolute, incomprehensible splendor was the Evergreen Wood.

In the now silent hall, the echo of their song still ricocheting off the stone walls, the natives simply stared ahead, the shine of peace and adoration upon their faces, yet both Elladan and Melven had moved forward, slowly, hesitantly, their heads leading the rest of their bodies until they were fully before the platform, for that was what it was, not a balcony, but a mass of flattened rock that formed a semi-circle, guarded around the edges by railings and shrubbery.

It was the same forest of evergreen trees that had taken them so when first they had opened their balcony doors in their rooms, yet this – this panorama was nothing short of breathtaking, for the forest stretched out before and around them, the platform thrusting the observer into the very heart of the forest, giving the impression that one simply hovered over it, rather than standing on solid rock. From their quarters, the forest was somehow distant, yet here, the forest was right there, a fingertip away, embracing the edges of the platform, almost, yet not quite caressing it.

Melven’s eyes were full of tears, not of sadness, but of the sheer sensation of grandeur he was infused with. This was magical, a parcel of Elvendom he had never experienced, and he was stunned that this was so, for this marvel of nature was totally unknown to his kin in Imladris – it seemed impossible somehow, that this - wonder - could be unheard of – anywhere, and yet it was – what a strange, magical and mysterious land this was.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Sometime later, Elladan and Melven were engaged in lively discussion with Barathon and Alastegiel, known to her family and friends as Alaste - Legolas’ cousins, as Thranduil and his son listened. Alaste was a lively soul, young and playful, yet woefully ignorant of the ways of the outside world, the total opposite of her mother, Caladwen. She wanted to travel to Imladris, Lorien, Mithlond, ‘everywhere,’ as she put it, and so Melven and Elladan indulged the royal princess in tales of their home, and of the places they had visited. Needless to say they had made a friend, and acquired an admirer.

Barathon, however, was a totally different character. He was also young, yet certainly not playful, at least not in an entertaining way. He seemed to take every possible opportunity to compare, either his homeland with Imladris, or his skill as opposed to others. Melven thought then, that he himself had been just so, not so long ago – yet it seemed to him that he, at least, had the excuse of age and its foremost danger of monotony and routine. One quick glance at the king, told Melven that he held a certain, distaste, for the ways of his nephew, for he wore a grimace akin to that which is provoked by sucking on a lemon. However, protocol would not allow him to follow his own wishes and send the braggart to Dol Guldûr, and so he plastered a smile onto his face, which by now had Legolas smirking, finally taking pity on his two friends.

“Elladan, Melven, join us?” he asked rhetorically as he rose together with Galdithion, who had been granted leave for the evening. Leading them out onto the spectacular overhang, Legolas looked over his shoulder, noticing the hesitant gait, especially from Melven, who seemed to grow shorter, the nearer he got to the breakers.

“Come closer,” he called back to them as he approached the edge.

They followed the two friends timidly, for there would surely be a fatal drop on the other side - one cup too many or a dizzy spell, an over-zealous dance partner perhaps, and you could find yourself flying free and losing your life even before hitting the tops of the trees. Melven shuddered visibly at the thought.

The ‘prince’ chuckled, as he and Galdithion accommodated themselves upon a bench which looked out over the entire expanse of the forest. They were finally joined by the two Noldo, who sat gingerly on either side of them, yet Melven clung to the bottom of the bench somewhat anxiously. He promised himself he would let go, in a minute…

“Well? What do you think?” asked Legolas.

“I tell you, my friend,” began Elladan, grappling for the words that would adequately describe his feelings, “I am simply in awe of your home, Legolas. But what really takes me back, is that this is unknown, ‘tis not documented, nobody speaks of this – the Evergreen Wood, you call it – how is that possible?” he finished, frowning fiercely as we awaited a reply to the question that had had him perplexed all evening.

“You know,” began Legolas hesitantly, obviously experiencing the same dilemma about how to explain something so complex, “we have been in isolation for so long, my friends. It has been almost two thousand, five hundred years – just two years after my own birth, when last Elrond was here – that is when we first met,” he smirked before continuing. “This forest was young, indeed it was mostly barren foothills, with only a few saplings dotted here and there. The view has always been spectacular over the Lonely Mountain, but nothing comparable to what we have achieved here, in the last two thousand years.”

“But how, Legolas?” asked Melven, “how has it been achieved?”

“We were starting to lose the southernmost parts of the forest, enemy activity began to grow as we were forced further north, here, where we have made our stand. Yet we wanted – nay, needed, to restore what we once had to the south of the forest, for many years ago, that forest was just as splendid as this one. It is still beautiful in some parts, but no longer comparable.”

“And what, exactly, did you do?” insisted Elladan. “I mean, there, for instance, further north, are the dwarves – you have Laketown to the east of you – men. How have you been able to isolate it – keep it safe?”

“They do not come here. The dwarves rarely leave their mountain, except to hunt, but they do not venture here, for they believe it haunted, something we have fomented, I must admit. It is the same for men, only because we are on friendly trading terms with them, we do not foment superstition. We simply tell them it is our garden, off-bounds to any and all, and they have respected that.”

It was Galdithion who continued then.

“The king gave unto the Sylvans and Avari a boon, in exchange for their alliance to the Sindarin king. We call this moment in our history ‘The Great Unification’, for our three nations came together as one. In return, our sire gifted unto the wood dwellers a forest, a forest to create and nurture – with the condition that it be shared by all.”

“However,” continued Legolas, “strict rules were placed on the land. There would be no commercial activity – no agriculture, no felling, no hunting – nothing. Any excursion into the Evergreen Wood must be formally notified to the Home Guard, who would have the authority to grant or decline such visits, should the nature of them be unclear. And so, after more than two thousand years – this is the result of their efforts. This is why they will not sail – unless pain and despair take them, they will not leave this marvel they have created. I will show it to you – when time permits.”

There was silence for a while as Legolas and Galdithion’s words registered in their minds, as they imagined the task that was set to the natives of this land. To others, it would seem more a punishment, yet to them, to be gifted with creating a forest, was a shrewd political maneuver indeed, thought Elladan. One that had worked so well, for he had perceived no racism in this, three-fold culture, indeed their prodigal son was a half-cast, and he wondered then if Thranduil had done that purposefully.

“Legolas, as you rightly say, you have been isolated for many years, yet now that there is no reason to conceal the woods any longer, I would inform my father of this. I would have him send out a party to that purpose. Would that be acceptable?”

“A party?” asked Legolas, intrigued with Elladan’s proposal.

“Legolas, this cannot be left undocumented. I would have him send a historian, an artist, a naturalist, a mapmaker – this at least. We must perpetuate this marvel of nature, my friend, what say you?”

Legolas sat, pondering on his friend’s words. He was right, but he would have to speak to his father.

“You know, technically speaking, I would outrank my father on this point, yet I do not wish to. I will speak to him, however, for you are right. Yet we must ponder the idea a little more before acceding to it.”

Legolas smiled then, as he watched the two Noldor gaze out over the Evergreen Wood, Melven no longer clinging to the bench for dear life.

“You are both generous and wise, Elrondion, as your father is. I am honoured to call you friend” he said as he continued to look into his lover’s son’s eyes.

Elladan turned to him then, surprised by the heart-felt confession of this princely king.

“Nay, but the honour is mine. I would have this land revered by all, for it is beauty untold, Legolas, as are you.”

And he meant it. He did not covet this elf, for the same reason that Legolas did not covet his sister, yet he was beautiful, and his father was so very lucky.

The comfortable silence stretched out, until finally, Galdithion broke the solemn moment, which just happened to coincide with a merry fiddle tune that had the wood elves whooping and cheering inside.

“Now, Elladan, enough on the history of the Greenwood, for your cultural instruction begins, and this dance you must learn – with me!” shouted Galdithion, as he took both his friend’s hands, and pulled him into the hall, where by now, the entire Greenwood was reeling around the room, shouting out their glee as they were hurled around and around, hair of every conceivable colour flying this way and that – even the elvenking was there, in the midst of it all with a lovely brunette, his long velvet mantle swishing around him.

Elladan and Galdithion were lost in the fray then, and Legolas and Melven had but a moment to look at each other, before they too were pulled into the merrymaking, a long, drawn out shout for help escaping Melven, before he was lost in a sea of laughter.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Elladan was exhausted, yet these wood elves looked for all the life of them as if the party had only just begun, their drums and percussion beating out tune after tune, to which they danced and flirted most seductively.

He spotted Barathon with a group of young warriors. They drank as they talked and laughed, yet Barathon had spotted Legolas as he swirled around the room with a lovely female. His gaze was at first somewhat unguarded, and Elladan though he looked sad then, before his features hardened and he smirked, before taking a generous swig of wine and turning back to his circle of friends.

Elladan sighed; he was on his second elderberry liqueur which he had discovered this evening, and was now, thoroughly hooked. Melven was still there, switching partners every dance. He had learned the basic movements quickly, and was now jigging and stomping his feet like a native, thought Elladan fondly.

His eyes strayed to the side then, for he felt the weight of the elven king’s gaze on him.

Yet before the situation could become embarrassing, Thranduil spoke.

“You are pensive, Elrondion,” he said thoughtfully, now staring at the bottom of his cup.

“Yes, and exhausted! Yet you are right, for there have been many things for me to reflect upon, my Lord. Many sights, many new issues to think upon.”

“Melven seems to be quite the success. He seems at home, almost,” said the king in a somewhat far-away tone.”

“Yes. He has changed beyond recognition, my Lord,” he said, as he smiled once more. “This elf was stern and judgmental, yet he was already beginning to change after meeting Legolas, and then dramatically so on his way here. The transformation is stunning.”

“What was the catalyst?”

“Well…eh, we were introduced to a certain place, not a day’s ride from the fortress…”

“Oh, no! You mean to tell me it was Love Lake!” and with that, the venerable, awe-inspiring king of Sindar, Sylvan and Avari alike, burst into guffaws of uncontrollable laughter, reminding him fondly of his grandfather – this elf’s cousin, he reminded himself.

Elladan smiled widely then. For Thranduil had seemed somewhat stern, yet now, he had shown a side that until now, had been hidden from any and all. This was the elf, the father, the companion, and Elladan decided that he liked him, he liked him very much.

“And what of you, Lord Elladan. Why have you come on the exchange programme? What do you hope to learn from us?”

“I wish to be a better warrior, that I may, someday, help to command the troops of my homeland, perhaps even in the joint Elven army that is still but a project. I could think of no better tutor than your son, my Lord.”

“What of Glorfindel? Surely he would teach you well,” said Thranduil, intrigued at the reasons why this son of Elrond would come here.

“’Tis somewhat convoluted, my Lord. Glorfindel is, indeed the best warrior I have ever met, with the exception of Lord Legolas. It is more a question of where, rather than which of the two greatest warriors in Elvendom, my Lord. I need to come into myself alone, without my twin…” he trailed off then, wondering if he had said enough for Thranduil to understand him.

“Yes – your brother is not, then, inclined to the ways of the warrior?”

“He can hold his own, yet you are right, my Lord, I could advance no more in my home environment.”

“You will learn a lot, of that I am sure, you will learn the true nature of darkness, young prince.”

Elladan looked at him oddly, wondering at his words, storing them away for future consideration, for Legolas unwittingly interrupted the conversation, as he walked briskly to the table where Thranduil and Elladan sat in apparently amiable conversation.

He was vibrant, his hair in slight disarray as he plopped himself upon his seat next to his father, taking a gulp from his glass before depositing it noisily upon the wooden table.

“Ah, there is nothing like a Sylvan reel to get the blood up, is that not so, Father?” he said slyly.

“Oh, indeed. And what else is ‘up’ with you, my son?”

“Well, I could not say, for it would not be proper!”

“And what would your Gondolidrim lover think of that?” said the king light-heartedly.

Yet Legolas had sobered immediately at the mention of the one he adored, and Thranduil immediately regretted his words. Elladan, however, astute as he was, interrupted with his own answer.

“He would join the fray, my Lord,” he said, as blithely as he could manage. And it worked, for both father and son laughed heartily, for it was true - he would indeed, join the fray.

And Thranduil was left with the sensation of having met an extraordinary elf – young, yet wise, empathic beyond his experience – and handsome, very, very, handsome.

………………………………………………………………..

Legolas accompanied his friends back to their rooms, before bidding them a fond goodnight, and strolling to his own suite of rooms on the next and last floor up.

It had been prepared for him. Candles shone warmly, the hearth was alight, and a bottle of wine stood on the low table before it. Legolas smiled then, for he knew that Galdithion was standing outside on the balcony, looking out over his forest home that he had missed so much, for Galdithion was Sylvan, and he carried the Evergreen Wood in his heart.

Walking into his bathing chamber, Legolas stripped and donned his loose linen trousers, which sat low under his trim waist. Picking up his comb, he pulled it through his now naked hair as he walked back into the living room and sat before the fire, finding Galdithion already comfortable in an armchair.

“So, what do you think? Will they survive for a year here, in the Greenwood?” asked Galdithion, somewhat solemnly.

“I do not know, Gal. I can see their good intentions. Both have their minds open to new experiences and ideas, Elladan especially, though, yet I must admit that Melven is impressing me with every new turn – we may make a fine warrior of him yet.” He said, as he poured them each a glass of wine.

“And you, Gal - what of you, and Elladan?” he asked, without looking at his friend, for it was the first they had talked on the subject. Galdithion had not even confided in Legolas, yet it was plain to see that the attraction was mutual.

“Am I that transparent, then?” he asked, again somewhat flatly, as if he was no longer in the room with this best friend.

“Not transparent, no, yet to me it seems that way. You are attracted to him, yet you hesitate, you do not make your attraction clear enough to him. Perhaps because you doubt?”

“Perhaps. Yet how could I not? I am not of his station, Legolas, and before you say it doesn’t matter, it does – not to me, but to his people. Like you, his life is not his own, and Imladris will not want to see him cavorting with a lowly captain.”

Legolas sighed deeply, considering his friends words before offering an answer. He was right, of course. Elladan’s life was, at least to an extent, one of service to his people, their opinion mattered, be they right or wrong, fair or unfair – this is the basis of fair politics. But there was more to be considered here, and he shared what he knew with his perplexed friend.

“You know, you are right – to an extent, Gal, yet consider this,” he said, as he sipped at his wine. “Elrond is primarily concerned with the choice his children need to make before he himself sails. ‘Tis the blessing, or the curse, of the Peredhil. Elrond is tormented with one or all of his children cleaving to mortality, and this terrifies him. Should you become a formal suitor to Elladan, I know that Elrond would not only be overjoyed at the prospect of keeping his son with him for eternity, but that he would find a way to make it plausible.”

“But what of his duties? He is the elder son, the heir!”

“But he is not the future leader of Imladris, Galdithion, I do not think this is true. It is Elrohir who will come into that role, he is better suited to it, will enjoy it even. Elladan is a warrior at heart – his metal we will soon test, but he is no politician, my friend, and his father knows him well.”

“Aye,” said the captain, visibly considering this new slant to his predicament. “Perhaps tomorrow I will make my intentions a little more obvious, in private however. If he is to reject me, I would keep my pride intact.”

“Hum, yes. Yet I think Elladan is attracted to you too, my friend, yet neither does he make that obvious – perhaps you are both overly concerned with the reactions of others?”

“Yes, perhaps. Now drink up! ‘Tis time for bed. Your father will be interrogating you again tomorrow, and I know you are tired – nay, that was not a question, my ‘Prince’.”

“Yes, you are right, my dear friend.”

They both stood then, as Legolas saw his guard to the door, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

“Good luck for tomorrow, then.”

Galdithion simply smiled, glad he had confided in his friend. He felt better, as a sparkle of hope had been kindled in his awakening heart. As he sauntered down the corridor and stairs, he began to think of his strategy for tomorrow, passing a most sensuous looking female, who walked with a purpose towards the upper floors of the fortress.

Legolas walked to his bed, turned down the sheet and lay down. As long as he had known Gal, he had only ever seen him dally for but a few days with this or that elf, there had never been any kind of serious relationship. Legolas wondered then, at the depth of Galdithion’s feelings for his lover’s son, however, he could ponder no further, as a knock at his door revealed Minuialwen, dressed most enticingly. She floated over to the bed and held out the earthen jar she held in both hands, watching her prince until he sat himself up and took the jar from her. She stepped back then, loosening her thin shift and letting it slide over her smooth skin until it pooled at her feet, watching her lover’s face as that characteristic, feral glint came to his eyes, and that never failed to prepare her most efficiently.

A few moments later, and he was atop her, parting her thighs and entering her. She was wet and it felt so good, as he took her generous breasts in his hands and kneeded them, burying his face in them as he took both comfort and pleasure from what she gave so freely.

“Welcome home, my Lord,” she gasped as she began to climax.

A throaty gasp was all the answer she received, as she was flooded with his royal seed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

One floor below, Elladan lay awake upon his bed, the balcony doors wide open as the fire crackled and sizzled in the hearth. He thought then that it was akin to sleeping upon a mountain, under the stars, yet with all the comforts a palace had to offer. He was comfortable, relaxed, and hopeful. He knew that his life had taken an important turn, for if he were to accomplish great things, they would start now, with his extended warrior training – and who knew, perhaps he would explore his nascent feelings for Galdithion. He remembered that lovely smile he had directed his way in Imladris, that last day they all sat together, yet since then, there had been no further clear indication of his intentions.

His mind then sat to contemplating what he had left behind, his twin, his father, Erestor and Glorfindel, Cormion, Arwen. He would write soon, tomorrow, perhaps, before his transformation began. He would tell them of his progress so far, of the unexpected marvels he had seen, and especially, he would tell them of the two forests, one dark, one light – two poles that came together to create a land that was beginning to take root in his heart. It fascinated him – this beautiful, strange, arcane land.
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Arcane Land