Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Protege	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3382 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. I make no money by writing this story

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Afternoon saw most of the valley dwellers in their own rooms, making their personal preparations for the evening, for expectations were high, Imladris had not staged an event such as this for nigh on an age, and her citizens were delighted, if not a little nervous. It was the perfect scenario for establishing ties, both political and personal, for flirting and merry-making, for promotion and recognition - all these desires and emotions would come together and culminate in the rejoicing of life and the pleasures it had to offer.

Elrond spent it together with Glorfindel and Erestor. They had bathed and were now drying in front of the open balcony, taking advantage of the afternoon Sun. They felt lazy and relaxed, not really feeling like moving just yet. However, Elrond was still a little subdued as was his wont after a vision of the intensity he had suffered just a few hours before. He still needed to ponder on its meaning, for it had not been clear at all, as if the future were only half determined, not yet formed – it never was of course, for he did not believe in fate as such, only in probabilities, yet it seemed to him that something was missing, a turning point perhaps, something that would make that future more feasible. Well, now was not the time, and so, in his attempt to lighten the mood, he steered his friends away from their own internal brooding.

“You know,” said Elrond, “what Legolas said about ‘Carnal Delight’, do you think he participates himself?” he asked blithely.

“Well, he is no prude as far as I can tell”, added Erestor. “I would wager he does - my my, I cannot even think of it”, he tutted, raking his hand through his hair in a somewhat agitated manner.

“You wish to invite him, Elrond?” asked Glorfindel, surprised that his friend would want to open their tight-knit circle after so long.

“I would not take that pleasure from you, my friend, unless you have other thoughts...?” smirked Elrond.

Ah, what to say?, for he wanted nothing more than to get closer to the prince, yet he was not sure about the idea of sharing..., ‘stupid’, he thought then, jealousy is for those in love, and Glorfindel of Gondolin was not in love.

“I am not sure whether he would be amenable to it. Perhaps we should see how the evening progresses – but tell me, now, is my lust for the prince that noticeable? I had thought not,” he retorted in a somewhat overly merry voice.

“Well,” drawled Erestor, “your attraction to him is obvious to us, your close friends; lust now, well, I would not know”, he added, slanting his head back to catch Elrond’s still smirking countenance.

“Well, an elf has needs, does he not, and if the prince is up to it, then fine, and if not, I am sure there will be plenty of fevered wood elves around to choose from, but come now, we have preparations to make!

And with that, Erestor and Glorfindel stood and walked to their respective rooms to prepare for the evening, each lost in his own thoughts once more. Elrond and Erestor were pondering on the hasty retreat that Glorfindel had beaten, and Glorfindel himself thinking that he would do as he had said, he would seek out a willing partner after the celebrations - if Legolas was up to it, better than good, and if not, there would be many willing partners. And then, would he want to share? Of course he would, it is what they had always done, there was no reason not to, was there.

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Elrond’s household staff just could not keep up with the constant requests for hot water. The upper quarters of the house were full, and almost every door stood open as one or various occupants readied themselves for the Gala. They had completely ran out of aromatic oils and scents, petals and soaps, and all the seamstresses were occupied, attending the ladies and lords that would be attending with last-minute alterations to hems, sleeves and clasps. From downstairs, the foreign sounds of musical instruments never before heard in Imladris, were playing scales and tuning their pegs or strings. Singers ran through exercises and the most alluring smells were wafting up from the kitchens – it promised to be a glorious evening the likes of which the Noldor had not celebrated for many years, and brought more than a few nostalgic tears to some.

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Legolas was not vain, not really, no. But he was a prince and a crown one at that. Correct presentation had been drilled into him since we was an elfling. For himself he found it all highly uncomfortable, but he also realised that he was the chief representative of his nation, his culture, and as such, his own personal preferences played no part in what he would wear tonight - not only was he representing the Greenwood, but the forests themselves, nay, there was no room for his own considerations.

Stepping into the steaming water of his bathing chambers, he spent the next hour immersed in the scented herbal waters. He scrubbed his body and washed his hair. Stepping out, he reached for a large bathing towel placed to the side, and wrapped it around his middle. Still dripping from the bath water, he padded into his sleeping chamber. A tentative knock at the door revealed Galdithion and Henian, who smiled slyly at their prince, half naked and dripping.

“Ready to dress Legolas?” drawled Henian.

“Aye, give me a moment to dry off, will you” he said, moving back into the bathing chamber.

Meanwhile, his friends and aids retrieved the formal traditional outfit of the prince of the Greenwood, which had changed dramatically to accommodate his new status but scant years previously, as per his lord father’s orders.

Now there were still nearly two hours before they would be due in the Hall of Fire for the commencement of the festival, but that is how long it would take to get Legolas’ robes and hair ready, for it was all very complex, and highly symbolic.

Re-emerging from the bathing chamber, Legolas had wrapped his generous groin in a tight fitting black cloth. He had rubbed his body in Benach oil, a special forest recipe which left the skin shining but without the greasy finish. This only served to set of the powerful ripples of his muscled torso, thighs and abdomen, and however many times his friends had seen him so, they still could not help but marvel at the magnificent form he cut.

Approaching, he stood before them so that they could begin to robe him.

He stepped into a green, A-shaped underskirt that reached down to his knees but which was slit up the sides to the waist, forming a V at the front and back, revealing his powerful quadriceps when he walked. Next, another longer black velvet skirt was placed, also slit but this time up the sides, allowing the moss green of the underskirt to combine with the black, but which was longer at the back. Galdithion picked up what looked like a reel of black velvet. This he began to wrap around the prince’s torso, tying it off to one side so that a long strip dangled down his right leg. This left his right arm and breast bare, yet his left completely covered. Finally, the black boots that reached up to his knees, mithril leaf patterns covering the top rims. No breeches covered his muscled legs, except for the cloth of the skirts that would only reveal his body when he was in movement. But this was only the beginning…

First, Henian knelt before his prince and placed his ceremonial dagger into the waist which was wrapped in the black velvet. The dagger was slender and curved, encased in an exquisite mithril and gem encrusted sheath, its pattern that of the Silver Tree of Gondolin, Laegaelair’s heirloom.

His bicep bracelet was placed with much reverence, for it signified his station as Lord of the Forests. Then, his forearm bracelet, which signified his military station, and finally his wrist bracelet, showing his status of crown prince of the Greenwood. A small mithril circle crowned with a small emerald was placed through his right nipple, signifying that which had not yet been disclosed.

Brushing out his extraordinarily long golden hair, the crown was placed. This crown made a V shape at the front and back, just like his skirts, and sunk down to the tips of his pointed ears. Gold and mithril swirls were encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. Now, his hair would be worked into the crown, braided into the root-like swirls of metal along the sides of the historical piece. The rest of his hair was loose, reaching down to the waist of his upper tunic, with small metal beads gracing the tips to weigh it down and keep it in place.

His friends steered him in front of the body length mirror for his approval. Well, he had warned Erestor through his friend and healer, had he not? He thought to himself. He had even warned Elrond himself, telling him of his concern regarding the possibility of offending his citizens.

Henian and Galdithion had already prepared themselves, and were the perfect picture of fully-armed woodland warriors, Galdithion especially, for he was the personal guard of the prince, and as such, was required to don special clothing. As with all the warriors, half of his chest was also bare, his forearm displaying a bracelet marking him as master in two arts.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come” bid the prince.

Erestor slipped into the room with the intention of escorting the prince to the halls. However he found himself unable to utter a single word – his mouth made the movements, but his vocal folds had failed him.

Never in his long life had he seen such a thing. Such a vision of sensual, regal beauty, and for the first time in a long while, Erestor gaped – for it was not only the physical beauty that had overloaded his senses, but the sense of unearthliness, wildness, of strength of aura, leadership and compassion – pure power… he felt like weeping, but not in vain was he the chief advisor to Elrond, and successfully reigned himself in, shut his mouth, and bowed low.

Behind Legolas, his two friends and loyal guards shared a knowing smile, and proudly stepped away, behind their charge.

Bowing softly, the prince greeted Erestor, who looked beautiful, he thought, and allowed himself to be led, flanked by his two beloved friends to the Hall of Fire, where soft music, obviously played by Lindir’s musicians, could already be heard.

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Imladris was alive. The long tables were decked in fine linen and silver table ware. Beautiful plants and flowers had been placed along the centre of each table. Delicate goblets and jugs full of fine wines and water were scattered around them. Lords and ladies milled around, greeting each other, old friends embracing.

Galadriel and Celeborn had already been heralded and escorted to seats at the head of the table where Elrond and his sons resided at the very head, with Glorfindel between Elladan and Galadriel, his grandmother.

They talked quietly between themselves, sipping on their goblets of crisp white wine, trying to hide their anticipation, for there had been much talk of the Greenwood elves and their customs, both during and after the Spring Equinox, and then for others it was the first of a series of events that may well change the future, give hope to a brighter future of peace and light, rid at last of the darkness that loomed over the horizon.

Mithrandir had been seated next to where Erestor would be sitting, and was smiling at the congregation, although an air of expectation hung about him, which neither Elrond nor Galadriel had missed, however now was not the time to broach the subject, for the Greenwood had arrived, and the gala began.

The noise abruptly stopped then, and even the music the Imladris bards were playing had waned, for Erestor stood in the doorway, and that could only mean that the Greenwood were to make their entrance.

The tune promptly ended, and the wood elves took their places on the stage, picking up their foreign instruments and placing the massive drums upright, poising them for action, An excited Lindir stood next to Amanthor, who was to direct the numerous forest orchestra.

One drum beat then, followed by a second and a third, all in unison to create a single but powerful slow beat that provided the base for the music that then began to play, for a single fiddler had struck up a solemn tune, which was joined by the strange four-stringed instruments the wood elves held by the strength of their chins, passing a long stick over them to create an almost voice-like sound. After, two flutes and another woodwind instrument struck up a stunning counterpoint that, together with the stringed instruments, created an earthy, atavistic rhythm that struck the very basic chords of existence.

The tune picked up then, turning into a happy melody yet still with a strong percussion and woodwind base. The Greenwood civilians began to parade then, holding their arms out to the side as they entered, nodding and smiling to those they passed, all wearing an identical expression of joy and pride. They did not take their seats though, instead forming a line which ended with the seats of honour, with Lord Elrond and his sons at its pinnacle.

Their attire was light and gauzy, flowing around bare knees and chests, long manes of hair falling freely down their backs, decorated with flowers and berries. They were the picture of natural beauty and joy – an almost puerile disposition floated around them. They were strangely happy in the face of adversity and Elrond could not fathom how they held to light, how they cleaved to goodness when their warriors rode to battle and death on a daily basis, their sons and brothers returned to them dead or gravely wounded.

And then the music finished, giving way to a chorus of voices that emerged from the line of wood elves, who turned to the door as they sang a beautiful herald. The overall effect was nothing short of hair-raising, as tears sprang to the eyes of the Noldor in the face of such alien, and yet beauteous music. The civilians then raised their arms to the door, as Erestor emerged, touched by the music that would accompany his herald – he rose to it and solemnly held his own arms out as he proclaimed the presence of Crown Prince Legolas, of Greenwood the Great.

Erestor stepped to the side then, as Legolas appeared from behind him, flanked by two, fully armed Greenwood warriors in full battle attire. That was surprising enough, but then the eyes of Imladris fell on the Prince, as he slowly began to walk along the line of his people who sang out his presence in beautiful harmony, smiling at them as he slowly passed by.

Elladan looked on in complete astonishment, for the sight before him was nothing short of shocking – it was the kind of situation he knew he would remember throughout his eternal life. He turned then to his brother and knew that he was not alone in this reverence of the moment, for Elrohir stared in open-mouthed shock as the Prince stepped forward.

Glorfindel simply had no words, for the vision before him was wild, beautiful, dangerous, foreign, and so utterly, heart-breakingly perfect, all these words came to his racing mind, and yet he could not describe his feelings – for he had not the words.

Meanwhile, Galadriel looked on, scrutinizing the elf that enjoyed such reverence from his people. How fair he was, how alluring his presence, goodness emanated from him, and yet he had rejected her – in a sense, at least. He was powerful and he was somehow transcendental to the tapestry of the future of Middle Earth, of that she was sure, but the details escaped her.

Walking slowly and gracefully, he set his eyes on those of the lord of Imladris, and ignored the bewildered gazes of those present.

Finally arriving in front of the lord, he extended the formal greeting which was received with equal formality by first Elrond, then his sons, followed by Celeborn, Galadriel, Glorfindel, Erestor and Mithrandir.

Mithrandir smiled at the prince and nodded gently in recognition of his presence, as Legolas allowed himself to be seated between Elrond and Elladan, to the right of the lord.

Any other would have been embarrassed to the extreme, as gazes continued to bore into him, but he had born this his entire life, and was more than accustomed to dealing with it. Galdithion took up his standing position behind his prince’s chair where he would remain for the rest of the evening. He would not be partaking in the festivities; rather he was on duty, a duty he took very seriously indeed.

Elrond stood then, and all stood with him, except Legolas.

“My lords, ladies, friends. Today marks the beginning of one of the most important events between the Elven realms for many years. For it is our hope that ties will be established between us all, but especially with our woodland kin, so long estranged from us. Military, cultural and humanitarian agreements can be reached, improving the well being of all and it is my sincere hope that all this and more will be achieved. We are honoured in the presence of the Crown Prince Legolas, Thranduilion. May your stay with your Noldor kin be enlightening, uplifting and inspiring. Welcome!”

“Welcome!” Chorused almost everyone in the room. Melven sat watching, a smug smile on his lips, his closest friends mirroring his attitude. Politics, it was all baseless words, what counted was the strength of one’s heart and his sword arm.

Now, Legolas stood, as was customary, for the welcome must be acknowledged.

“My lords, ladies, friends and fellow warriors. It is Greenwood’s great pleasure to be present at such an important event, here in beautiful Imladris. Tis my first visit to your valley, and I will say that I am overcome by its beauty, and that of its citizens.”

This earned him a pleased murmur from the crowd.

“Both I and my father, King Thranduil Oropherion, hold great expectations for the outcome of this meeting, and it is our greatest desire to establish relations with our Noldor kin. During our stay, we hope to introduce to you a little of our culture and heritage through the sharing of song and dance, diplomacy and negotiation, and thus forge greater understanding and brotherhood between our peoples that will only serve to benefit us all in our search for a peaceful future, here or elsewhere.

I wish to thank you, Lord Elrond, for agreeing to stage this event, and all of you present, for your gracious welcome this eve. We are indeed honoured to be here. May the blessings of the Valar be with you all.”

And with that he raised his goblet. “To kinship, understanding, love and peace.”

A cheer went up as all took a sip from their goblets.

Sitting down, Legolas received an approving smile and nod from his new-found Istari friend and fellow protégé, Mithrandir the grey

Elrond was bewitched. He had met Thranduil two thousand five hundred years ago on the battlefield, and aye, he was fair. But he was also crude, in an authoritative kind of way. A good king, no doubt, but it seemed to him that he had been a better father. How proud he should be of this ultimate representative. For he had earned the respect and love of the vast majority of the valley with a few, well-chosen words. He was the perfect son, the perfect advisor, diplomat, warrior and representative – it was not that he was not proud of his own sons, but they did have a penchance for living their own lives, pranking and fooling around being high on their list of priorities, as was avenging the passion of their mother. Or was it, perhaps, that he had not been able to observe them in the capacity that Legolas was now fulfilling? He would think on it, for if things went according to plan, there would be a trip to the Greenwood in the future, where the tables would be turned.

Conversation started again, and the music picked up, as platter upon platter began to emerge from the kitchens.

Legolas was prompted by all at the head of the table to try this or that speciality, which he did. He enjoyed it all, except for a delicacy he had been told was extremely rare and of an acquired taste - a river mollusc which had been steamed and served with lemon and butter. The taste was not overly disgusting to him but the texture was altogether too slimy for him. He grimaced but managed to swallow the gelatinous lump, earning himself a teasing laugh from the lords.

“It is an acquired taste my prince, but perhaps you would rather try our mushroom delights? “ Teased Glorfindel.

Legolas looked towards him with an apologetic grin. And then he realized just how much this warrior enticed him. He looked nothing short of magnificent in his Gondolidrim attire, and he was enspelled, for Glorfindel emanated power, strength, and everything he respected. He was also, of course, passing fair and he wondered if he would be agreeable to a little ‘carnal delight’, he would take the warrior’s measure during the evening and take things from there, for he did not dare endanger the wonderful friendship they had struck up in so short a time.

“Ah, that looks mighty fine”, he said, as he helped himself to a rather large brown mushroom filled with, with what? Oh well, he would soon find out, taking a bite out of it.

The eyes of all were upon him yet again, as they had been at breakfast, as he took in the taste of the fungus.

Closing his eyes slowly, he chewed conscientiously, rolling the soft yet fibrous material around his mouth. After a few seconds, he opened his dazzling blue eyes and exclaimed, almost as if annoyed -

“By the Valar, this is exquisite!!!”

All laughed as the prince took the rest of the mushroom into his mouth and chewed on it.

“What are they called? Mushroom delights you say?”

“That is it my prince”, replied Celeborn. “For I had much the same reaction the first time I tried them. I would wager they have made a good cache for they know I devour them”, he said, stuffing one into his own mouth.

“Ah, lord Celeborn, ready your sword, for I see we will be fighting over them before the night is through.”

He laughed then, holding up his arms in defeat, “I dare not, mighty warrior for I have not seen you battle, yet I wager you are hard to beat!”

More chuckles went up as the feast continued well into the evening.

Finally, Legolas exclaimed he was incapable of continuing.

“I can take no more my lords; I will need a full-day’s exercise to work this off. Lord Elrond, if you would allow, I would like to meet your head chef, Gaerwyn, is it?”

Elrond’s eyes lit up in delight. The kitchen staff was rarely thanked for their labour and he thought it a wonderful idea. Bending to the serving elf nearest him, she scuttled off to do his bidding, a wide smile upon her fair face.

A few moments later, a flustered looking elf appeared, flanked by two female elves, smoothing down their dresses and hair as they approached lord Elrond.

As they came before him, Elrond turned to the prince.

“My friends, prince Legolas has requested your presence before us.”

Turning to the prince, the head chef would not look him in the eye, for he felt embarrassed and out of place, his realm was the kitchen, there he was prince, here however, he felt – insufficient.
Picking up on this, Legolas approached the elf and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“What is your name, good chef?”

“Gaerwyn, my prince,” he replied, still looking to the floor.

“And you”, he asked directing his gaze to the lady behind him.

“Brathina, my prince”

“Brathiniel, my prince”

Legolas smiled and looked back to Gaerwyn.

“I wished to commend you publicly for your trials in the kitchens today. It has been long since I have eaten so well, you have a golden touch my friend, a touch that deserves the utmost recognition. Please pass on my fondest regards to all your staff, and my commendation of your art.”

Gaerwyn looked up then and for the first time met the eyes of the prince. He no longer felt embarrassed, but highly honoured, because cooking was an art, he had said so many times, although mostly he was met with laughs and chuckles.

Smiling, he dipped his head and replied.

“My prince, it is a pleasure to cook for you and your kin, your recognition only serves to make us strive to limits we have yet to achieve. We are most honoured.”

“You are an artist, my friend; I look forward to mealtimes during my stay in the valley!”

Soft chuckles filled the room and Gaerwyn and his companions bowed and retreated back into their kitchen sanctuary, goofy smiles upon their satisfied faces.

The prince turned and sat back down, meeting the smiling gazes of those closest to him at the table.

“That was a fine gesture, my prince. I am sure the kitchens will outdo themselves for you after that display”, guffawed Galadriel.

“My lady, good work always deserves praise, as I am sure you will agree. I am delighted with your fare, lord Elrond, tis exquisite indeed. I will need your professional advice as to a diet before I leave your beautiful home, one cannot battle spiders with a pot belly!”

More chuckles resounded and the feast continued. Yet Glorfindel picked up on how natural it had been for this elf to refer to warfare, to the vile, despicable arachnids that infested the deeper areas of the woods to the south. It was plain to him that battle was a daily event in his life.

After the desserts and fine liquors had been consumed, tables had been withdrawn and chairs had been set up in a semicircular pattern around a roaring fire. Legolas sat back in one of them, sipping on his wine and enjoying the company, as he stole a covert glance at the beautiful warrior seated to Elrond’s left.

During a lull in the conversation and dancing, Legolas turned his gaze to one of the plants that had been adorning the centre table. He knew of course, that they would all be replanted after the celebration, but this plant was in distress. Moving his upper body forward, he reached out with his right arm and brushed his fingertips over the drooping leaves.

As Elrond conversed with Celeborn, he caught Legolas’ action from the corner of his eye, although he continued speaking with his long time friend.

Within seconds, when Legolas was once more leaning back in his chair, the leaves began to stand upright, and regained their deep green colour. A wistful smile crossed the prince’s lips as he returned his gaze to the milling crowds. Elrond, having observed the transformation, gazed at the plant a few moments longer, looking up then to the prince, who was not paying attention.

So this is part of his abilities, he is a plant healer, a touch healer of plants. Elrond wondered if anything could be done for Celebrian’s rose garden that had been dead for fifty years, withered without the loving care his partner had indulged on them. Perhaps he would ask Legolas later on in his stay, when he had a little more confidence with the prince, for more than himself he would do it for his sons and daughter, for they missed her so, and spying the withered rose garden was like a painful reminder of her agony and final departure from middle earth.

The music picked up then, and out of nowhere, dozens of elves were swarming the prince, Elladan and Elrohir, inviting them to dance, as they jigged and tapped their feet, creating a cacophony of stomping feet that set the heart aflame, and the adrenalin flowing.

And so the evening passed, with fine wines, dancing, and much merry making. Most of the conversations were revolving around love, romance and sex, for the woodland prince had inspired them, most would not bed down alone tonight, least of all Glorfindel, who had made his vow before the gala had begun.

As the prince continued to dance, Glorfindel could not take his eyes off his swishing skirts, which from time to time would reveal the prince’s powerful thigh muscles. He assumed that he was wearing something under the skirts, but try as he might, he could not get even the briefest glance, the skirt was skilfully designed to entice, but not reveal - clever indeed.

“Glorfindel”

The call of his name had startled him. It was Mithrandir, looking at him closely.

“Aye, Mithrandir”

“No luck then?”

“As to what exactly, my dear wizard?”

“Ah, come now. I have known you since your return. You are drawn to him.”

“As all of Imladris is drawn to him, yes, I do admit it”

“Beautiful, is he not?”

“Mithrandir, what is it you wish to tell me, or warn me of?”

The wizard chuckled then, but held the Balrog slayer’s gaze. “Simply have a care, my friend. He has a purpose; he is more than he appears.

“My intentions are benevolent, Mithrandir.”

“I am sure of it, my friend, for I do not doubt you.”

“And do you doubt Elrond, or Erestor, mayhap?”

“Nay, I do not. I wish you all joy this eve, in whichever shape and form that joy may take. And yet remember, this elf is central to the designs of the Valar; he will play a pivotal role in that which is to come.”

Glorfindel’s answer was short and succinct, and Mithrandir understood it perfectly, however, surprised he was.

“I know”.
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The Protege