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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter VI: Awakening

To his surprise, four days into his unexpected camping sojourn with Elladan, Imrahil found himself enjoying the interlude to the fullest. They spent long hours exploring the sprawling, fragrant woods and lush, herb-scented fields of this region of Ithilien. They swam and hiked and climbed wherever the day took them. They sparred with sword and knife until they were happily spent and mock-wrestled until they landed in a merry tangle on the grassy ground. And they lived off the land, hunting occasionally, or fishing now and then in the myriad streams, and feasting at all other times on the bounty of tree and bush and vine.

In this fashion did Imrahil learn about the Elf-lord and his twin’s long ago vengeful errantry in the wake of their mother’s abduction and torment by northern orcs. In this manner did Imrahil recall the days of his own youth, when he made do without the luxuries of home while learning how to survive during the long campaigns against the Enemy.

They became quite close during those four days, the human prince and the Elvenlord. So close that Imrahil could confide some of his deepest musings to Elladan and Elladan in turn revealed much of his millennia-long life that few mortals knew about. So close Imrahil could even inquire about private matters and not be politely but firmly rebuffed.

“How long have Elrohir and Legolas known each other?” he asked the third night as they sat before the fire, finishing off a hearty repast of herb-crusted roast hare, wild berries mixed with assorted nuts and cool honey mead. The memory of the two Elves’ passionate tryst had failed to dim and he found himself more curious than ever about his hosts’ relationship.

Elladan smiled. “If you mean, how long has my brother literally known Legolas, the answer would be from my law-brother’s first day of life.” At Imrahil’s stunned reaction, he chuckled and went on to explain. “We happened to come to Mirkwood with a message from our father to King Thranduil on the very day of Legolas’ birth. But as for being lovers, well, they became so just before Legolas’ one-hundredth year. Elrohir was his first bed-teacher. At Legolas’ insistence I must say.”

Imrahil nearly choked on his mead. “His insistence?” he managed to say. “What did he do? Demand that Elrohir bed him??”

Elladan’s mirth expanded. “Not so baldly put as that,” he snickered. “But, aye, he made quite clear what he desired of Elrohir. My poor brother was verily taken aback at the time to put it mildly.”

“Why?” Imrahil queried, so fascinated that he forgot to be embarrassed by his curiosity. “Was Legolas not to his liking?”

“Do not ever let Legolas hear you suggest that,” Elladan warned grinningly. “But in truth, liking had naught to do with it. They had become good friends by then and Elrohir saw himself as Legolas’ mentor of sorts considering the great difference in their ages. After all, how would you feel if the daughter of one of your counsellors were to approach you and request that you relieve her of her virtue?”

When Imrahil suddenly flushed, Elladan stared at him in surprise. A moment later, he burst out laughing. “You hide a rakehell’s streak behind your noble countenance, O Prince,” he gibed. “And pray tell, did the fair damsel’s sire ever learn of your, er, tutelage?”

Imrahil sighed ruefully. “Nay, thank the Powers,” he said. “Else I might have been forced to duel with my own advisor and he so hopeless with a sword at that.”

“And you all too skilled with yours,” Elladan rejoined wickedly.

Imrahil glared at him then shook his head. “I was very grateful she did not get with child because of my recklessness,” he said. “‘Tis a good thing I realized I was in love with Aerin soon after. She cured me of my roving eye.”

Elladan’s grin subsided to an understanding smile. “As Legolas cured my brother of his,” he said reminiscently. “Though they took long enough to realize there was more to their passion than mere lust. Still, I envy them. ‘Tis not every day that a bond between Elves is established from the birth of one.” His smile turned mischievous as he noted the astonishment in Imrahil’s cobalt eyes. “Aye, it is an interesting story,” he agreed. “Mayhap I will tell you of it one day. But for now, I think I will turn in early.”

Imrahil scowled at being left hanging so summarily. “We always turn in early,” he muttered. But as Elladan had already risen to his feet, still chuckling at his response, he had no choice but to follow suit.

But what he said was true. They did take their rest earlier than their wont when at home, oft rising with the sun as a result. It just seemed the natural thing to do out here in the wild.

Yes, Imrahil found that he was enjoying himself very much. For the first time in years, he felt completely unfettered by the chains of duty and responsibility. He had lived for so long for others he had almost forgotten how to live for himself. It was heartening to heart and soul to be tended for a change in lieu of others’ well being.

Now if only he could rid himself of his uncharacteristic modesty before the Elf. In all his years, he had never felt so shy to uncover himself before another man, whatever the race. His protestations their first evening out had merely been symptoms of his unaccustomed reluctance to be on such intimate terms with Elladan.

In the years before the downfall of Sauron, he had spent as much time on the field as he had at home in Dol Amroth. He had not balked at sleeping in his filthy armor, had oft lived in it for days until presented with the most welcome opportunity to scrub himself clean. And he had been more than willing to do without. What was a night of starkness to a warrior prince after all and one who had also gained quite a reputation with the female population of Belfalas ere he wed his lady?

But all these faded when faced with the prospect of rendering himself stitchless before Elladan or facing a stitchless Elladan for that matter. To this end, he contrived to bathe before or after the Elf-lord to avoid having to strip in front of him. Unfortunately, Elladan was not similarly stricken with such belated decorousness and Imrahil was treated to quite an array of revealing poses that oft reduced him to face-burning discomfiture.

The Elf’s inquisitive perusal of his form did not help matters either. Elladan had a way of raking his tall frame with his pewter eyes that reminded him of a cat regarding its prey. One could not be sure if he intended to merely play with him. Or pounce on him. That puzzled him no end. Why did the Elf-lord think a mere mortal man worth his time and attention?

He did not see himself as the Elf did. He thought the Peredhil exotic for their uniqueness amongst Elves and Men. He had not imagined that an Elf would see him in much the same light. For it was not only the fairness of his face and form that drew interest but also the details of his body. Details that pointed up both his startling similarities to and more subtle differences from the Peredhil

Unlike most mortal males, Imrahil bore no facial hair, a trait his own sons and other kinsmen did not share. His chest and the hollows of his arms were also smooth and free of the growth that usually matted even the limbs of more hirsute men. Only on his groin did he evince his human blood, the chestnut curls surrounding his length thicker than any ellon’s even amongst the Half-elven males of Elrond’s family.

And as the twins had observed years before, he was taller and more lissome in build than a man yet more muscular and broader of shoulders and chest than a pureblooded Elf. The one feature that physically marked him as one bearing elvish blood was the shape of his ears. The one feature that showed him to be altogether human was his tendency to gain color from exposure to the sun and being a redoubtable seaman as well as a prince, that exposure was almost constant. Of course now, during the cooler, less brilliant days of autumn, his golden sheen was muted. But it was present nonetheless. Yet strangely, despite the unrelenting assault of the elements upon him, his flesh remained firm and smooth and unlined. Small wonder that folk, even his own people of Belfalas, looked at him with equal parts appreciation and amazement.

As Elladan looked at him now, discomposing him to the degree that he felt the need to hide himself rather than endure the Elf’s scrutiny. But other than that, the prince deemed the trip and the company most enjoyable and not to be regretted in the least.

The evening of their fourth day, he retired early, a little worn out by a whole day’s worth of riding and an exhilarating chase through the woods after a fleet roebuck. The artful beast had more than proven itself worthy of their skill and mettle.

But after a protracted pursuit, they had finally brought it down and now had enough game for the rest of their sojourn. Elladan had shown him how to keep the meat sound for at least three days with the use of wild herbs that had the virtue of preserving both freshness and flavor.

After helping dress the roebuck and cook a portion of it for their dinner, he had decided he was too tired to linger for small talk after partaking of the meal. He had eaten quickly and sparingly then set about washing the day’s grime from his body. After a soothing soak in the warm spring, he retreated to the tent with the intention of sleeping at once.

But before he lay down upon his pallet, he peeked out once more to see what Elladan was about. The sight that greeted his eyes took his breath away and froze him in unmoving fascination.

The Elf stood in the moonlight, fresh from his own bath, clad in naught but loose long breeches. Though his body gleamed with moisture from his bath, he seemed untroubled by the crisp night air. He was raptly gazing skyward, as if communing with the stars. His raven hair flowed wantonly in the strong breeze, whipping about his shoulders and back. His skin seemed to glow from within giving him an otherworldly appearance. And every defining curve and plane and angle of his upper torso and limbs came into sharp relief in the silvery light.

A single star in the firmament suddenly brightened or so it seemed to the man’s eyes. Its light softly illuminated the Elf eliciting a smile of such beauteous radiance that Imrahil could only gawk in awe. And sparked a sudden flaring of desire so overwhelming, it wrenched the prince out of his daze and drew him back into shocking reality. A reality that included a raging arousal such as he had not had since his unruly adolescence.

He hurriedly withdrew into the deeps of the tent and lay down on his pallet, drawing his blanket about his trembling form. He closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of his unlooked for lust, thinking of anything and everything that might distract him from it. No good. It simply would not fade.

Groaning in frustration, Imrahil knew he had no recourse but to bring himself to release or suffer through a long, sleepless night, which would in turn most surely herald a throbbing headache come morning. Almost desperately, he reached under his blanket and undid the lacing on his sleeping breeches. Biting his lip to stifle any treacherous sounds, he began to stroke himself. It was not something he truly enjoyed. It seemed too much a chore and a clinical one at that, this pleasuring of one’s self to achieve relief when there were no women about to bed.

So absorbed was he in what he was doing that he did not mark the sudden gust of cool air in the tent. He was startled but understandably slow to react when he felt his blanket suddenly pulled off. He gasped in shock when his hips were straddled and another hand insinuated itself under his to supplant it and gripped his shaft. His eyes snapped open to behold Elladan above him. The warrior began to draw his hand up and down his impossibly rigid length. Imrahil moaned and grasped the edges of his pallet almost convulsively.

“What – what are you—?” he stuttered, unable to complete his line of thought, much less his sentence. The Elf’s steady, knowing caresses wrought sensation after pleasurably maddening sensation. “Elladan, please, you must not—!”

“Hush, my fair one,” Elladan whispered. “Let me do this for you.”

Torn between shock and rapture, Imrahil closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the dark beauty of the Elf before him.

Open your eyes!

The command raged through his mind with such seductive force that he could not resist it but did as he was bid. It was the first time he had ever felt the uncanny presence of another in his thoughts and it both unnerved and excited him even further.

As soon as he unclosed his eyes to stare at Elladan, the warrior reached for his own breech-laces and slowly tugged them loose. Imrahil’s mouth went dry as the Elf’s already turgid shaft came into view, formidable even when quiescent, all but breath-stealing when thoroughly aroused. He almost stopped breathing when Elladan began to caress himself as well.

And then, to Imrahil’s amazement, the Elf-lord brought their lengths together and began to stroke them in unison. That swiftly unraveled the prince. His breathing quickly reduced to sobbing pants, Imrahil bucked up instinctively, the movement causing the now profusely slick columns to slide against each other, thereby adding to their joint pleasure.

He barely heard Elladan’s approving groan. His own bit back ecstatic cries hardly registered on him as he came to explosive release. And the sight of their mingled seed decadently coating the Elf’s hands served to lengthen and heighten his rapture.

He felt as drained and spent as a parched field under a blazing sun when he at last ceased to shake from his extended climax. When he could trust himself to speak lucidly at last, he looked at Elladan. The Elf now lay on his side to his right, raised on one arm. He was looking down at him with glittering eyes, his faintly flushed features evidence of his own completion.

“What you did—?” Imrahil haltingly said. “Why?”

Elladan regarded him solemnly. “You needed the relief,” he said.

Imrahil colored at the blunt answer. “I could have done that on my own,” he protested weakly. “There was no need to – to assist me in that manner.”

“Aye, but you would not have enjoyed it as much,” Elladan countered mildly. At Imrahil’s widened eyes, he added: “Surely you know that even amongst your men, ‘tis not uncommon to help a comrade find relief if there are no wenches to tumble.”

Imrahil sighed. “I know,” he said. “But ‘tis not something someone of my station can indulge in. ‘Tis an unspoken prohibition but a powerful one nonetheless. My warriors are leery of touching me in that manner and so have not done so. I have never—” He hesitated then pressed on. “I have never had any man pleasure me thusly.”

Elladan’s eyes gleamed darkly. “There is always a first time,” he quietly pointed out.

Imrahil swallowed hard at the lingering effects of this first time. What could he expect from other “first times”? For he could no longer believe that the trip would end without further incident.

“Why didn’t you…?” He trailed off awkwardly, aware of the delicacy of his question. But Elladan did not balk at answering it.

“Not until you are ripe for it, Imrahil nîn”—my Imrahil—he softly replied. The hitch in the prince’s breath betrayed the latter’s perturbation at being addressed so familiarly and possessively. But Elladan did not desist from voicing his desire. “And I doubt you will remain unready for me much longer,” he drawled suggestively.

That caused Imrahil’s heart to beat rapidly once more. Striving to calm down and cast aside his anxieties, he turned his thoughts to something else.

“Elladan?” When the Elf looked at him inquiringly, he said: “Earlier, when I saw you? You looked as if you were communicating with someone. That star that shone so brightly upon you...?”

Elladan beamed gently. “‘Twas my grandsire, the mariner Eärendil. I trust you have heard of him from the lore your foremother passed down to you?” Imrahil nodded. With a lazy smile at the man, the Elf-lord murmured, “Good night, my prince. Sleep well.”

Imrahil had expected sleep to elude him after what had occurred. But the release he had experienced proved far more potent than any reservations he harbored about his companion’s demeanor. Not to mention something about the way Elladan bid him good night. As compelling as when he had spoken to him in his thoughts. Before he knew it he had slipped into deep, dreamless slumber.

Elladan studied him a while, eyes softening at the seeming innocence repose wrought upon the countenance of this so very comely prince of men. At length, he drew the blanket over Imrahil’s fair form then lay down upon his own pallet. But he did not sleep at once. Instead, his eyes glittered in the dark as he considered his next move. And a small smile curled the corners of his mouth.

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

Glossary:

ellon - male Elf

To be continued...
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate