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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 V: Farewell to the City of the Kings

Well into the feasting at Merethrond that evening, Legolas continued to wonder about Gilwen and her motives. It was not that he feared exposure at this late date. It would affect him little now that his and Elrohir’s time of abiding in Middle-earth was all but done. But he could not help being curious as to why she had not revealed them when it may have benefited her to do so.

He was just returning to the other Elves’ company after a brief discussion with Boromir when she suddenly accosted him. He looked at her warily. Her eyes were glittering with girlish elation. An incongruous sight in her mature countenance. The signs of her long years had finally begun to show themselves in the stray strands of grey in her dark hair and the slight wrinkles in her once smooth brow and around her mouth.

“Prince Legolas, I beg a moment of your time if you please,” she said.

Legolas acceded courteously. “Of course, my lady,” he replied.

“Am I to understand that you are not accompanying Queen Arwen to Lórien tomorrow?” she asked.

Legolas shook his head. “I am returning to Ithilien. Only her brothers and a small company of warriors are escorting her thence.”

“And a group of her ladies,” Gilwen added.

Legolas was somewhat taken aback. “I was not aware of that,” he admitted.

“My cousin did not deem it proper for Queen Arwen to travel unattended by any save men-at-arms. She insisted that a few women go with her.” Gilwen paused. “I am to be part of Queen Arwen’s retinue.”

A chill ran up Legolas’ spine. Gilwen? To travel with Arwen to Lórien? To be in close proximity to Elrohir for the length of the journey to and fro? He looked hard at the widow, suspicion flaring with every passing second.

“Why have you approached me, hiril?”—lady?—he asked tersely.

“I know of your relationship with the Lord Elrohir,” she said.

“Aye, you made that quite clear this morning.”

“Doubtless you were surprised that I never exposed you.”

“I will not deny that.”

Gilwen smiled faintly. “My reasons were not altogether altruistic,” she honestly said. “If I held my tongue, ‘twas because I had no desire for him to withdraw completely from Gondor.” She locked gazes with the Elf-prince. “I feel about him as you do. I cannot conceive of life without him.”

Legolas’ mouth tightened. “Yet you will have to live your life thusly for his time in Middle-earth is at an end,” he pointed out coolly.

“I am very aware of that, my prince,” Gilwen said. “And ‘tis for that reason I have come to you. Eternity in his company is within your grasp. It is not within mine. I had hoped you would find it in your heart to have pity on me and leave me with enough memories to sustain me in my remaining days.”

Legolas stared at her, appalled at what he suspected she was asking of him. “What is it you desire of me?” he demanded.

“That you permit him to keep me company for the length of the sojourn to and from Lórien,” she calmly answered.

There was no mistaking what she meant. Legolas felt a slow rage burn its way through his very being. But he stifled it and only said quite coldly: “You are bold to ask this of me.”

“You are displeased,” she said. “I cannot blame you. Yet all I request is a brief moment of your eternity together. Surely that is of small consequence to you.”

“In that you are wrong,” Legolas said stiffly. “Elves do not take their vows of fidelity lightly.”

It was Gilwen’s turn to stare. “Vows?” she repeated with consternation. “You are – you are—”

“Bound,” Legolas all but snapped. “He is my binding-mate, my eternal spouse. I am sorry, hiril, but I cannot accommodate your request.”

Gilwen shuddered in shock. It was blatantly apparent that she had not considered the possibility of an espousal between them. It seemed to shake her to the core. It was also obvious that she was cognizant of the inviolability of elven bindings. Else she would not have suggested so outrageous an arrangement, Legolas thought.

But he was soon disabused of that last idea. She suddenly clutched at his hand and said beseechingly: “Have pity on me! One last memory is all I ask. Please, will you not grant it?”

Legolas pried his hand from her grasp and stepped back. He said icily: “We are bound by the laws of our people and in the eyes of the Powers themselves. We are joined not only in our bodies and hearts but in our spirits as well. Even did he wish to grant what you would ask of him, I would not allow it. I will not yield him to you or any other. He is mine and mine alone.”

The widow gasped at the glacial finality of his declaration. Shaking, she spun around to leave. At the last moment, she looked at Legolas again. What he saw in her eyes filled him with cold apprehension.

It was not hate he had glimpsed or loathing. He had seen both in the eyes of others and faced them down with creditable equanimity. No, what he had seen in the depths of her anguished eyes was, to his mind, far more troubling.

He had seen her desperation. Stark, unrelenting desperation.

*********

The feeling of unease did not abate as the evening progressed. So disturbed was he that he requested Elrohir to take his leave of the festivities earlier than usual. To his relief, the warrior acquiesced soonest and they both headed back to their bedchambers with the understanding that this night Legolas would go to the Elf-knight’s apartments. Which he did with alacrity.

Elrohir came out of his bathing chamber to find the Elf-prince already reclining in his bed, under the covers, his clothing tossed hastily over a chair. Shaking his head with a grin, he shrugged off his robe and slid in beside the archer. He regarded his mate’s shining beauty a moment before leaning down to brush his lips against the other’s mouth. He noted the tremor that passed though Legolas’ sleek form.

Moving lower, Elrohir pressed a kiss to the hollow of the archer’s throat then moved his lips up the white column of his neck. Legolas shuddered from the sensation. Of a sudden, he felt a great need to be loved and possessed as he had never done before.

“Melethron”—lover—“take me now,” he pleaded. “Love me as you did the first time you claimed me.”

Elrohir heard the fear in his voice and looked at him in surprise and concern. “What is wrong, Calenlass?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Legolas whispered. “Please, just do as I ask. Love me now.”

He did not give Elrohir time to come up with any response but drew the Elf-rider down into a bruising kiss that drove all coherent thought from the twin’s mind. The prince’s heated thoughts stoked the twin’s mind to even greater desire.

Have me, Twilight. Fill me, ride me, make me cry out your name in joy.

Elrohir sensed his desperation but decided not to question it then. There was time enough for that later. He did as Legolas asked of him and loved his Greenleaf as he had on the night of their first coupling. With all the slow burning tenderness of Legolas’ first yielding to him and all the fierce ardor of his own first taking of his golden prince. It was no difficult matter for him; not when Legolas’ wanton yearning heightened his own lust and deepened his need to be one with his spouse.

He moved down the archer’s lean frame, employing hands and mouth and tongue in a maddening, sensual exploration that left Legolas almost painfully needful. He marked the ivory flesh of the prince’s throat, making him groan with every gentle bite; wickedly nipped at the roseate nipples until they ached deliciously. So inflamed was Legolas that by the time Elrohir engulfed his shaft in the moist warmth of his mouth, he bucked up wildly. And when he felt the warrior’s fingers slide into him even as he was skillfully suckled, he finally surrendered to his pleasure and cried out.

He no longer cared if anyone heard them. This would be their last night in Minas Tirith. Tomorrow, they would depart from the Guarded City for good and wait out Arwen’s passing in Ithilien, in the deeps of the woods of Eryn Gael. Rumor would no longer harm them even should it last a hundred or a thousand years.

He struggled to forget Gilwen’s words and the frightening look in her eyes. Fought to set aside the odd foreboding that had come in the wake of his encounter with the widow.

Elrohir sensed his need to lose control. To be controlled. Foregoing a more leisure pace, he took the prince swiftly and deeply. Burying himself in the silken warmth of the prince’s body, he grasped Legolas’ wrists and pinned them to the headboard. And then he rode him hard, pounding into him with more force than wonted. It drove Legolas near insane with sensation and emotion. Rapture spiralled and expanded and flowed between them as they approached the summit of their loving.

Glimpsing the last vestige of control in his mate’s glistening eyes, the warrior, without releasing the prince’s hands, reached down between them and, with a few, firm strokes of the pale slick shaft, wrenched that last vestige from him. Legolas came totally undone. Filled, ridden, taken, he all but keened the Elf-knight’s name as they both reached completion, his utter bliss more than abundantly evident in the gasping sobs that shook his slender body.

Tears wet his cheeks as he was gathered into his spouse’s balming embrace. He held on tightly, grateful for the unconditional loving of his Twilight. Only when he had calmed down somewhat did Elrohir seek to uncover the source of his earlier unease.

He told him then about his conversation with Gilwen. Of the strange look in the woman’s eyes and the foreboding that had come over him. Elrohir did not scoff at his fears. He had long ago noticed the difference in the way they perceived what was to come.

He and Elladan could glimpse the distant future; had visions of events that might yet take years to occur and persons still to be born many generations down the line. But Legolas’ foresight was more elemental; closer to home one might say. He sensed events that were just around the corner. And they seldom failed to materialize.

He sought to allay his beloved’s anxieties. “Do you wish for me to ask Eldarion to take her out of Arwen’s retinue?” he softly said.

Legolas shook his head. “She would fight such a move and reveal to all what passed between you,” he replied. “I would not have her expose your part in the beginnings of her faithlessness.” He quickly kissed Elrohir when the latter winced at the reminder of that thoughtless night. “I do not desire that your last moments with Eldarion be marred by scandal and rancor.” He hesitated then sighed. “But I admit I am worried about what she may do during your journey.”

“Surely you do not fear that I would lie with her again,” Elrohir whispered. “I am yours alone, melethen.”—my love.

“I know,” Legolas murmured. “I do not fear any weakness on your part at all. Yet I am afraid, Elrohir, of what I cannot say.” He pressed his face against the warrior’s chest, took comfort in the arms that snugly enclosed him. “She is so desperate. The look in her eyes...I have seen it before in others and it always boded ill. She is capable of anything. I can feel it.”

“Capable of what?” Elrohir gently pointed out. “Trying to seduce me? In that she will fail, Calenlass, I can assure you of that. I would sooner pass from this world than betray you.”

“Hush! Do not say that!” Fear limned the archer’s voice anew.

Elrohir sighed and held him even tighter. “Forgive me for distressing you further,” he said quietly. “I only want you to always remember that there is none in all creation that I desire but you. Only you, Legolas, no one else.”

Legolas gazed at him raptly. And then he smiled and the love behind his smile lit up his face so brightly that Elrohir half gasped. He noticed the musing gleam in the archer’s eyes.

“What are you thinking of?” he murmured.

Legolas whispered: “You made me cry out your name in joy.” He lay back and drew the Elf-knight flush against him. “Have me again, Aduial. Love me through this night.”

**********

The early morning light was but a faint glimmer when Legolas awoke the following day. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt the ravages of the night’s couplings. But then he smiled, welcoming the twinges that were evidence of his spouse’s peerless loving.

He looked at Elrohir asleep beside him, sable locks spilling across the pillow, twilight eyes closed in the depths of slumber, sinuous lips slightly parted. His desire flared up anew, this time joined with the undeniable need to possess and prove his ownership of the darkling Elf. He bent down and kissed the warrior, slipping his tongue between his lips, invading the twin’s mouth, waking the other with his heat and passion.

And then he took his Elf-knight as fiercely as the latter had taken him the night before; burrowing into him with hard, driving thrusts that had Elrohir gasping in shocked rapture. There was a rapaciousness to the archer’s demeanor he’d seldom known in all their years as lovers. Not that he protested such treatment; not when it stoked his passion to heights he’d rarely scaled save with his golden prince.

Not when it provided them both with the means by which to endure their parting-to-be however brief. For sooner than Legolas liked, they found themselves before the gate of the Citadel, preparing to go their separate ways, Legolas heading east for Ithilien with Nimeithel, Gimli, Lindir and the warrior Elves while Elrohir and Elladan would go north with the escort of their sister, Arwen. In that riding also were Elladan’s sons, Elendir and Elros. It would be their final service to their father’s only sister; a last gesture of love and respect for their mortal aunt.

Legolas frowned when he spotted Gilwen amongst the ladies-in-waiting in Arwen’s retinue. His fears had been temporarily lulled by his repeated couplings with Elrohir. Now a shadow of them rose once more. He could only silently entreat the Powers to keep his beloved Elf-knight out of harm’s way.

The farewells to Eldarion were heart-wrenching. The brethren had long decided that Aragorn’s passing would mark the end of their sojourns to the City of the Kings. It would be best for everyone to let go of the past including Eldarion. Elladan and Elrohir had taught their nephew all that they could possibly impart to him; all that he would probably need to know. As Aragorn had learned to rule without the benefit of Mithrandir’s counsel all those years ago, so now would Eldarion find his way without his Elf-uncles’ guidance.

Legolas glanced at Arwen who was shrouded in somber grey and black. She did not weep; did not show any outward signs of sorrow at this final leave-taking of family and home. He knew then that she was already preparing to follow Aragorn. Thus her choice to return to the place where they had first plighted their troth. In Lórien, she would feel closest to her departed husband whom she would join before very long.

When they finally moved to mount their steeds, his apprehension nagged more fiercely than ever at Legolas. On impulse, he went to Elrohir and drew him into a tight embrace, uncaring of who saw them. What did it matter? They had said their last farewells to Minas Tirith. People would eventually forget what they had seen. And even if they did not, he and Elrohir would soon be beyond their reach.

“Legolas, I will be back soon,” Elrohir murmured, stroking the golden hair comfortingly.

“I will be waiting,” the archer replied softly. For the first and only time, he kissed the Elf-warrior in full sight of everybody.

Elrohir was smiling when he drew away. He caught Eldarion’s eyes and his smile broadened when he saw his nephew’s astonishment and delight.

“You have given everyone something to talk about for the next decade or so,” he grinned, taking note of the wide eyes and gaping mouths of those around them. He had never cared to conceal their love before and was pleased to finally have it out in the open.

“Let them talk,” Legolas smiled. “I would leave them something to remember us by.”

Elrohir chuckled. “That you certainly have!”

Behind Arwen, Lady Gilwen’s face was frozen with indefinable emotion but neither Elf paid her much heed.

At last, they rode down the long main street to the lowest level of the City and passed through the great gate. There, they parted ways. Legolas held back, allowing the rest to ride ahead. He kept his eyes on Elrohir as the company moved steadily north. He waited.

Just as the company crested the first rise on the Pelennor, Elrohir looked back and raised his hand in farewell. Legolas did likewise. And then he urged his horse forward and followed the others on the road to Ithilien.

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

Glossary:

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

To be continued...
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight