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The Protege IV: Lord of the Forests	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is the sole creation of JRR Tolkien. The characters in this story are, therefore, not mine, with the exception of OCs. I make no money with my writing, it is purely for pleasure.

Chapter List
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Mentathiel was found in the company of Amanthor and Lindir, in the gardens where everything would take place. They seemed deep in conversation, but what he had to say could not wait, he knew she would want to know.

“Mentathiel – ‘tis good to see you my lady”, he said as he approached the tall, strangely pale female whose face was devoid of all emotion, a blank parchment she had always seemed to him.

She bowed reverently to her prince, waiting for him to say what he must.

However, it was Amanthor who spoke first.

“My lord, have you come to hear our rehearsals?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Nay Amanthor, alas I have not the time, I wish only to speak with you all regarding the ceremony that will take place.

“Of course, my lord, shall we sit?” he asked although he was already moving towards a tree in a shady spot of the beautiful garden.

Once all four were seated, Legolas began.

“I will tell you something now that you must not disclose to anyone, not even your musicians. Do I have your oaths?” he asked, watching them all carefully.

All nodded mutely, and so the prince continued.

The ‘demonstration’, as it has come to be known, will take place before Lord Elrond’s proclamation. All anyone knows is that it will take the form of a gift.

“What gift?”, asked Lindir hesitantly, his eyes wide with trepidation, for something important was being disclosed, he knew.

“My gift, is to the Peredhel family – I will restore Lady Celebrian’s garden”.

Lindir was suddenly furious. Celebrian had been his most intimate of friends, how he had suffered in the face of her tragedy. He would take no arrogance from anyone, not even this prince.

“But you cannot, it is dead!” blurted Lindir, hurt that Legolas would presume such a thing.

“Peace Lindir, listen to me. I do not jest nor take your lady’s name in vain. It is necessary for me to show my ability and hence justify my new status in the eyes of all, for there are those who doubt. What better way than to show them a creation event, and in the process, bring back that which will bring happiness and hope to your lord, indeed to you too?”

Lindir was struck dumb, he was torn between disbelief and hysteria.

“Lindir, if my lord says he can bring back a garden from the dead, it is so – neither I nor Amanthor doubt his word, and neither should you.” warned Mentathiel, her voice deep and calm, yet full of colourful intonation that was not reflected on her stony face.

Legolas smiled at her, but continued.

“I would ask a favor of you. After it is done, I would be honored if you would compose a spirit song for the lord and his family. Perhaps, Mentathiel, you could pick up on the lady herself, for her presence in the garden is strong, I have felt it myself. I envisage something heart-felt yet inspiring, something that will lift the spirits – what think you?” he asked the spirit singer.

“You place a challenge before me my lord. The gift will be beautiful and memorable, for I know the sad story of the lady of Imladris, a sylvan amongst the Noldor. The words will come to me when the time is right, yet Amanthor and Lindir must compose a basic tune for it, this song cannot be improvised completely. Are you up for the challenge?” she asked the two musicians, eyes twinkling with determination and no small amount of arrogance.

“We are” they both said, looking at one another then, and chuckling, both with mirth and nervousness, for they had just agreed to the impossible – or was it? For here they were, preparing music for an event that would be remembered long into the future. It set his skin tingling when he thought of what exactly he and his friend were composing. This was nothing short of a suite for a crowning, not to mention a creation event, there was no higher honor for a musician, no greater challenge, yet he knew, he felt it in his bones that this music was the culmination of his professional career, for the music – the beauty he was creating together with Amanthor, was simple perfection.

………………………………………………………

Everything had fallen into place. The guests had arrived, preparations had been made, provisions had been received, the final touches to the entertainment were being made, and expectation was high, for tomorrow would be ‘the demonstration’, as it had come to be known.

Legolas sat out in the public gardens, admiring the shimmering, changing colours of dusk, out of sight of the majority of those taking a lazy afternoon stroll, for Imladris was filled to the brim, there were elves everywhere, of all classes and origins, professions and appearances.

Yet Aradan knew his prince well, as did his life-long friends – they knew where to look, and sure enough, there he was.

“Prince Legolas, may we join you?”

“Of course” he said genuinely, for he could speak freely with these elves, be at ease around them.

“How was the briefing Aradan?” asked the prince, smiling as he watching the advisor carefully.

“It was - predictable, I believe. Neither Aerion nor Gildor believed what we told them, and I admit there were a few rather – tense – moments, Gildor is especially skeptical, and rather brutish in his exposition. Too many days in the wild, I believe Mithrandir said. Yet we were able to wrench from both the promise to watch, and then judge. They will believe it when they see it, or so they say.”

Contrary to what his friends had expected. Legolas simply smiled placidly as he looked away into the wild.

“You are not concerned?” asked Henian. “You are not worried that we may provoke a diplomatic incident with this?” he continued. “Legolas, I do not know what it will take to convince them, but I suspect whatever you do will simply not be enough for those two.”

Aradan would not gainsay what the captain had just said, for he had reflected almost exactly what he himself was thinking, this was a potentially explosive situation, one that could undo all the work that had gone into this festival so far.

“Henian and Galdithion, Aradan, Llyn, my dear friends”, he began, a fond gaze accompanying his words, if it was enough to convince Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Lord Glorfindel, and Lord Erestor, it will be enough for them. All I can tell you is that my lady has enhanced by abilities, has granted me access to that which before was, for me, unthinkable. It will be enough, cease your fretting.” He finished in mock scorn.

Aradan heard his prince, a wave of pride washing over him as he marveled at the strong leader he had become.

“The entire Greenwood will be with you tomorrow, my prince. The King is holding a grand celebration after dusk, in honor of the new Lord of the Forests. They wish to honor you, my prince, and avidly await your return home, that they may kiss you, and wish you joy, thank you for your life of service and sacrifice they will know you have pledged.”

He smiled joyously then, as a wave of nostalgia rolled over him, almost feeling the love of his people, his father.

“Thank you, Aradan. Your words bring me joy, as does your company.”

Nodding as he beamed at his lord, Aradan rose and left the clearing, his task fulfilled, the three friends close behind him, leaving Legolas to the solitude he so obviously desired.
…………………………………………………………..

Dusk turned to evening, and Legolas decided it was time to return to the house and dine publically for the last time as Prince Legolas. It would be his first dinner in the presence of the visiting dignitaries and he knew he would be under close scrutiny. Legolas had his own preparations to make before tomorrow – he felt the need to meditate, to attune himself accordingly, calm his nerves, for he knew not what he himself would be capable of tomorrow. He knew only what he wanted to achieve, and had the understanding that he would be able to perform it – yet he had never done anything remotely like this, and the truth was, he was scared, for the first time in many long years, he was simply frightened – of himself.

Approaching the house, he came across various small groups of elves who would stop and stare openly at him as he passed them. He smiled graciously as he had been taught to do, and continued his path into the house, up the stairs and into his quarters. Not a minute had passed before Glorfindel tapped on the door and entered.

Legolas swiveled on his heel, finding himself face to face with the elf he most yearned to see. Moving as close as he could get, he placed a hand behind the blond locks and pulled Glorfindel’s face to his, kissing him passionately, drawing back and smiling joyously.

“Your face, I love your face, lord of Gondolin”.

The warrior beamed at his prince, soon to be lord, king no less. Every day that passed, his heart ached more, his addiction to this elf grew, his need to envelope himself in his scent, his strong, hard body, every day he needed more, suffered more, rejoiced more.

“Are you dining with the lions tonight?” He asked mischievously.

“Oh aye, let us go together, and whatever happens”, and here he turned serious, “stay calm my love, do not be angry on my behalf, do not rise to the bait, if it is tended”.

“I will not, but only because you ask it of me”.

Legolas simply smiled as he began to change for dinner, choosing a simple but elegant outfit of green and blue, his hair however… he sat at the dresser once more, sighing yet again as he looked up to Glorfindel standing behind him, who was smirking down at him, reading his thoughts yet again.

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a long box which he opened and placed in front of Legolas, stepping back to wait for his reaction.

Puzzled, the prince peered into the open container on the dresser in front of him, leaning in close to see what it was that Glorfindel had gifted him, for it was surely that.

The first thing that drew his attention were the various pieces that made up the ensemble. Two long, beautifully carved leaves of gold sat to either side of a single golden flower, inset with miniscule emeralds, sapphire and amethyst. To either side of this central piece, where two longer, golden pieces, the precious metal having been carved and twisted so that they truly were in the semblance of tree roots. Legolas’ eyes shined, for it was an exquisite piece, one that he knew his father would covet. He looked up to Glorfindel’s reflection in the mirror, willing him to dress his hair with this token of his love.

Moving slowly to where his love sat patiently, he picked up the central piece, and used it to clip back the locks of twisted hair. He lifted a large section of straight hair from the side and swirled it back and over the twists, securing it with one of the golden roots, and then repeating the movement with the other side.

Stepping back, he admired his work of art from afar, watching as Legolas admired himself from the front, then the sides. He turned to Glorfindel then, taking up a smaller hand mirror to see the effect from the back. What he saw was stunning, he had never seen a hair decoration such as this, he knew that Glorfindel had engineered it, had designed it especially for him, and he was so very touched.

Standing, me moved over to the legendary warrior, and placed a sole, tender kiss to his lips.

“It is so very beautiful, you are a skilled artist.”

“How can I not be, in love with one such as you?”
………………………………………………………………………………

The two newcomers and their party were already seated, Gildor and Aerion occupying places of honour at the high table, together with the noldorin and sylvan lords.

Gildor had managed to calm himself, partly thanks to a private conversation with Aerion, who had urged him to calm his volatile temper, assuring him that he understood, and indeed felt likewise, but at the same time urging him to use his intelligence. There was nothing to be lost by giving this sylvan prince a chance, yet everything to lose should they not, and then be proved wrong. Gildor had seen the merit of Aerion’s discourse and had conceded the point.

And so they sat, waiting for the prince to appear with no small amount of curiosity.

A scraping of chairs drew everyone’s attention, as the Greenwood elves stood and bowed low, Aradan and Llyn at the high table, mirroring their compatriots. Elrond realized that Legolas’ people were anticipating tomorrow’s events, they were already treating their prince as a king.

The high lords, however, remained seated, dipping their heads in deference as Legolas, accompanied by Glorfindel, accommodated themselves.

It was Glorfindel who took it upon himself to introduce the prince.

“Prince Legolas Thranduilion, may I introduce Lord Gildor Inglorion, leader of the wandering elves of Arda”.

Both inspected each other visually, Legolas perceiving a slight hint of disdain in this elf’s regard, as Gildor himself saw intelligence, power and the most shockingly beauteous visage he had ever regarded. He tried so very hard to cover his emotions, yet Arwen gazed at him knowingly, before she stole a quick glance at the prince, smiling wickedly at him.

Glorfindel was also watching his old friend, marveling at the myriad of expressions that he unwittingly exteriorized. Surprise, admiration, arrogance, discipline, surrender, discipline again. Glorfindel was fascinated, and Aerion understood that Glorfindel was too engrossed in the non-verbal interaction taking place to introduce him, and so he did so himself.

“I am Aerion, Chief Advisor to Lord Cirdan, ‘tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince Legolas”.

Legolas turned his head to the forgotten dignitary and smiled genuinely, feeling instant empathy with this elf, who projected wisdom and goodwill, yet Legolas could tell he was skeptical. However, this did not alter his initial impression. Unknown to the prince, Aerion had had more success in hiding his own reaction, but that did not make it less spectacular than Gildor’s had been.

By all that was holy, this creature was truly a feast to the eyes- in all his long years, he had never seen the likes – yet the elf was discerning, he could tell. He was bright, very bright, for all his relative youth. He thought then, that the body beneath the simple yet elegant attire would surely be fit for the gods themselves.

Celeborn was enjoying himself – again. He watched avidly as the story played out, head swiveling from one player to the other, as an owl would track its prey, a slight smile on his lips, eyes on fire.

Galadriel smiled inwardly, for her husband could be so very adoringly childish, and so for good measure, she subtly squeezed his thigh under the table, telling him in no uncertain terms that he should control his enthusiasm, which of course he did, immediately.

Food began to appear, the serving elves placing exquisite platters of meats, vegetables and bread before the guests. Corks popped and liquid sploshed from the necks of elegant bottles, into the waiting goblets of the elves. Gaerwyn’s face appeared besides Legolas then, surprising the prince, for he seemed out of his element here in the dining room, rather than behind it.

“Gaerwyn”, he acknowledged with a smile.

“My lord”, began the cook, moving as close as he could to the prince, for he wanted to give his message quietly. “Forgive my trespass, only I will not get the chance before tomorrow. I wished only to tell you that I and my family are with you, my lord. We believe, and we rejoice, we have no doubts, for we have seen your heart and we know it to be good and honourable. I hope also, to please you tomorrow with what my humble hands may create.”

Legolas was beaming, not for how Gaerwyn had honoured him with his words, but with love, and those that looked on, had heard nothing yet seen it all as clearly as the words penned in a book. Glorfindel smiled beautifully, so very proud of what he had been gifted, and Gildor saw it, realizing then, what they shared. His ex-lover was besotted, and he knew not whether the notion pleased him, for Glorfindel had been so very difficult to forget.

Dinner progressed until the main course had finished, fruit and liqueurs now lying in its place as conversation flowed, albeit somewhat stiltedly at the head. Legolas, however, was in a world of his own.

“Would you not agree, Prince Legolas?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, returning to the table when he had heard his name, unfortunately he knew neither who had said it, and worse still, what they had said. He knew then, that the only dignified way out f this one was to confess.

“I beg your pardon, my lords, I was a world away”, he said contritely.

“That is understandable”, it was Arwen who spoke then, much to Elrond’s surprise.

“You face a life-changing moment tomorrow, my friend”, she emphasized strangely, smiling enigmatically.

Elladan glanced at his father – the strange interaction between Legolas and his sister was repeating itself, and he wanted to gauge his father’s reaction. And there it was, he too had picked up on it.

“I said”, repeated Aradan kindly, “that the gardens have been so beautifully decorated, would you not agree?”

“I confess I have seen little of it, my lord, but if the ladies Galadriel and Llyniel have had a hand in it, I know it will be spectacular.”

“Indeed”, he replied, somewhat worriedly, for although his prince’s retort had been correct and gallant, it seemed to him that Legolas was retreating into himself.

Sure enough, as time progressed, the quieter and more subdued Legolas became, however no one picked him up on it, and those that were tempted to do so, were subtly reminded by their peers or superiors, that they should leave the prince to his own devices.

Surprisingly, it was Erestor who precipitated the end of the dinner, claiming exhaustion, which was true, and a busy day ahead, which was a nothing short of a blinding understatement. And so chairs were pushed back, as the lords began to leave, Legolas walking passed his bowing subjects, smiling warmly at them as he was accompanied upstairs, and out of sight, followed by the eyes of Arwen and her brothers.

Glorfindel had steered him to Elrond’s chambers, becoming more concerned with every step they took, for the prince moved hesitantly, as if his mind was removed from the movements of his body.

Erestor and Elrond were behind them, watching carefully.

The solid oak door finally closed and Glorfindel relinquished his hold on the prince, who promptly moved over to the balcony and stepped out into the quiet, moonlight night, clutching the railings in his strong hands, willing the soft breeze to soothe him.

Inside, his friends removed their formal robes and circlets, taking off their shoes and unclasping their hair. Erestor moved over to the side board and served a nightcap for them all, taking both his own and Legolas’ out onto the balcony, standing flush with the introspective prince. Glorfindel had sat himself on the chaise long as Elrond moved to the other side of his lover, looking at him as he continued to gaze out into the night.

“You called Arwen your queen”, he began, never one to mince words where his children were concerned.

“Yes”

“Why?” the question was not antagonistic, it was direct. His sons had spoken to him of what had passed in the gardens between them and he honestly did not know what to think. Had it been foresight? Did Legolas believe he would be married to his daughter in the future?

Both Glorfindel and Erestor listened silently, for they had not been privy to the conversation. Glorfindel had visibly stiffened, yet remained silent.

“Because it is what she will be to me, in the future” he repeated, still distant and unperturbed by the lord’s interrogation.

“You will marry my daughter?” he asked then.

“No”. The answer had brought him back to the present – it had been instant and emphatic, and Glorfindel relaxed his body.

“She and I will be friends, the likes of which Elvendom has never seen”, he began, his eyes misting. Elrond knew this was foresight and he held his breath, afraid to move lest he break the spell and spoil the moment. “She is part of my destiny, as I am a part of hers, she will be there the day it is finally done, and I will call her queen, as I will call Glorfindel my king.” His mouth remained slightly open as his head tilted back, the soft breeze playing with the fine hair sitting over his shoulder. It was over, there was no more to tell, yet it had been enough to both please yet mystify Elrond, and had driven Glorfindel to his feet, a single tear leaking from the corner of one eye. Erestor watched the beauty of the moment play out, as the warrior stepped up behind his prince and engulfed him in his arms, rewarded by the blond head resting against his own, yet never once taking his eyes off the forests before him.

“I would stay here”, he began softly, almost whispering, “with you all this night, here on the balcony if I may.”

“You may, sweet Legolas, we will be here if you need us” said Elrond fondly, turning and walking into the room, yet as Erestor turned to follow him, Legolas caught his hand and pulled him close.

“I do not forget you, Erestor, for I love you too, never forget”, he said, kissing him softly. Erestor smiled then, and with a final glance at Glorfindel, followed his lord inside.

Glorfindel sank down on the chaise long, pulling his lover with him, who was still facing the forests, feeling strangely protected before them, his warrior love behind him, he could wish for nothing more, but tomorrow, tomorrow…

Sighing, he turned his head into Glorfindel’s neck. “Take my clothes off”, he implored. “I wish to feel the breeze on my skin.”

Glorfindel smiled as he reached his hands around his strong chest, unclasping the formal tunic, and then the soft undershirt, baring his lover to the night. Moving his hands down to the ties of his breeches, he took a moment to caress his lover’s sex, before pulling open the front and slipping his hand inside, immediately noting the metal bead adorning the straining head.

The prince gasped softly, allowing his lover’s gentle touch, yet wishing more than anything, to be out of his clothes, and so he stood, peeling away the rich cloth, boots and circlet, leaving only the hair adornment Glorfindel had gifted to him. Completely naked, he walked into the room in search of a wrap he knew he had somewhere amongst Elrond’s effects. Both dark elves watched avidly as he turned to them, wrapping his waist and thighs with the soft green silk, hiding yet enhancing his sensuous body. Legolas smiled saucily as he left once more for the balcony, where Glorfindel sat watching, his own shirt had disappeared as he lay naked under the moon.

Elrond turned to Erestor then, and kissed him passionately, Erestor returning it as he began to tug at his lord’s clothes…

Lying back once more into Glorfindel’s body, he felt his lover’s strong hand move between to the folds of his skirt, pushing it aside and resuming his fondling. He sighed softly, feeling his body come alive, his cock tingling as it tightened and stretched in Glorfindel’s hand.

“Sweet lover, pleasure me slowly, make it last.”

Legolas always managed to enflame him with his words, and so he turned his head into the prince’s neck and bit into it as he would a ripe peach, wrenching a gasp from his lover as he moved up to his ear, his hand never leaving the hard, heated cock.

Reaching his hand over to the side, he retrieved a small jar, and momentarily withdrawing his hand from Legolas, he dipped his fingers into the fragrant cream. Legolas smelt it before he saw it, and he hardened even more at the thought of what was to come, and so he sat up on his knees, looking out over the gardens as he opened his knees in a clear invitation for his lover to prepare him, hoisting up his silken skirt.

Glorfindel was rock hard, he would have plunged himself mercilessly into his lover, just as he had in the gardens not long ago, yet tonight was for tenderness, for love and passion, tonight would be different yet just as good, he would make it so, and so with one hand he fondled between the prince’s buttocks, as the other hand held him steady. He slowly slipped a finger inside, coating the object of his desire liberally, inserting as much of the cream as he could.

Glorfindel had finished his preparations, his prince was ready for him - the aromatic cream he had procured days previously was a recipe from Gondolin that very few knew how to produce, and that gave spectacular results - it would give them both great pleasure, he knew. As he moved up behind Legolas, both kneeling, he kissed his lover’s neck again, watching as Legolas touched himself.

Glorfindel almost came where he was, deciding he needed a swig of apple liqueur – he would need all his strength to pleasure his prince all night, as it seemed was his wont. But with stimuli such as this, he knew he would be coming all too soon.

Placing his forearm over the prince’s chest, he pulled him back, positioning himself as he took his cock in hand, and slipped into the creamy passage, a wave of ecstasy washing over him as his prince moaned beautifully.

His hands began to roam over the strong body as his hips began to rock and undulate, producing the delicious sound of cream against moving skin, as it oozed out, over his own cock and balls. It was pure, sensuous bliss as he maintained a slow yet forceful rhythm that had both prince and lord moaning and groaning softly, breathing hard, chests heaving.

Below, under the balcony, a loan elf looked up, enflamed by the sounds of loving. Her body reacted to the exclamations of pleasure, and a wave of desire gripped her as she fell back against a tree, envisioning what the two elves would be doing to each other, for she knew who they were.

Glorfindel’s hand returned to the prince’s cock, brushing over it, finally pushing his lover over the edge as he exhaled sharply, bucking into the hand as he was taken, opening his legs and coming, panting hard as the waves crashed into him. Glorfindel was lost as his prince came hard, his passage pulsating with each wave of ecstasy, milking his own cock as it exploded, gushing into the creamy heat – again and again, until he was dry, and thus they stayed locked together for a while, willing their racing hearts to calm.

…………………………………………………………………..

The moon had set, it was deep night, and he could not sleep. The weight of what was to come was unbearable during those dark hours.

“Elbereth, give me strength” he whispered into the night. “You set such a difficult task before me.”

“One that only you can achieve.”

He jerked awake, for someone had spoken. He realized then, that he was reclining on the chaise longe, next to his lover on the balcony, a blanket draped over him. He had been sleeping, had been dreaming – or had he?

The sun was not far from rising as he walked slowly into the room, slipping on his shirt, breeches and boots once outside so as not to rouse the slumbering lords within. We walked for a while until he came to one of the many natural pools further out in the surrounding lands of the house. The same one the lords had splashed around in not long ago, the day he had received the first message. Removing his clothing once more, he dived silently into the inky water, resurfacing and swimming lazily, before pulling himself onto a rock.

Tilting his head back, he watched as black stained to dark blue. Sunrise was not far off. The forests were well, they were alive as they had never been. They hailed him, comforted him, loved him, protected him as he protected them.

He smiled with reserve as he heaved a great sigh of trepidation, for this day would be one he would never forget, he only hoped he would be able to live up to the expectations the Valar had placed in him.

‘A task only you can achieve’.
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The Protege IV: Lord of the Forests