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

Chapter List
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Warning: explicit sex

CHATER SIX: Symbols of Destiny

Legolas focused his eyes, only to find himself staring at the bare breasts of the elf that had come to him last night - slumbering still, amidst the twisted linen and pillows of his ample bed. He smiled as he leant in and kissed her sweetly upon her full rosy lips, his body beginning to tingle deliciously as it always did when faced with such a lovely sight.

Minu groaned as she cracked her eyes open, only to stare into the lord’s face, just inches from her own. Yet before she could lean in and return the favor, Legolas kissed her ear, down her neck, breathing in harshly as his body began its preparation.

Standing, he pulled her up with him and kissed her hungrily as his hands swept down her back, stopping at her buttocks to knead them hard, pulling her hips forward and grinding his cock into her.

“I want you, hard,” he whispered harshly as he continued his attention down her neck and to her breasts once more.

Minu would not be the one to disappoint him, for her appetite was healthy, especially for this elf – she was always ready for him for he gave such pleasure, enjoyed the same games as she did, he could make her climax with one simple touch.

She kissed him then, before moving away from him, only to lean over the inner balcony railing, lift her light robe and open her legs, showing Legolas exactly what she wanted.

Legolas was already hard, but now, he ached with a passion as he inspected the flesh he was about to pierce. He did not touch her, not yet, he simply looked as he loosened his sleeping pants and took himself in hand, smoothing his hand up and down his rigid cock, savouring the moment in lustful anticipation.

Minu was almost panting, yet she had not once been touched. She knew he was behind her, watching, his body tall and strong, his expression one of command. Her channel pulsated of its own accord and she thought for a moment she would come, just like this.

She felt his closeness then, the heat his body emanated as he stood poised behind her, yet still he did not touch. She was wet, her heart was racing, her breath ragged as she opened her arms and held to the railings, shifting her feet wider as she threw her head back and begged.

“Fuck me, my Lord.”

“Is that what you want, courtesan?” he said in a low, predatory voice.

“Yes, my Lord,” she whispered. “Please, my King.”

Legolas pushed himself up against her splayed buttocks, the first touch of their heated skin. Taking his cock in his hand, he poised it before her, withdrew his hand, and deftly drove hard inside her, sliding in to the hilt, the movement pushing her violently forward, only to steady her with his hands on her hips.

“Is this what you want, courtesan?” he whispered once more, holding perfectly still.

“Yes!” she almost sobbed. He had impaled her hard, his cock filling her completely, for he was well-endowed. She felt his hands rove hungrily up and down her hips and buttocks, around her waist and upwards to her heaving breasts, cupping them as he thrust hard, feeling them shudder against his hands with the movement. He gasped.

“Does your king please you, courtesan?”

She could only sob now, she could feel her orgasm coming yet he would not move, she wanted to cry.

Bending over her now, Legolas bit her around the neck and shoulder blades as he began to move inside her wet flesh.

“Is this what you want?” He whispered again, picking up his pace as he mastered her.

“I come, my Lord – please!”

He groaned in ecstasy at her begging, at the pleasure she was feeling as his balls suddenly felt impossibly big and a tingling began at the base of his thrusting rod.

“Then come, and take my seed,” he whispered harshly.

It was all it took for both of them to spiral into their orgasms, Minu gasping loudly as Legolas groaned his pleasure out in time to the spurts of hot liquid, filling his lover to the brim once more.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Emerging from the bathing room, wrapped in a soft towel, he sauntered into the bed chamber, only to find the room now empty, a piece of parchment upon the rumpled sheets. Picking it up, he read it, and smiled.

“Welcome home.”

Throwing open his wardrobe doors, he chose a formal, calf-length tunic of sky blue, black breeches and equally black, knee-length boots. Into his green sash, he placed his ceremonial dagger, and carefully arranged his hair around the crown his father had gifted him with - it was time for breakfast, and he was hungry.

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

The breakfast room was full, for the noise was much louder than was customary. As he stepped over the threashold however, it died, replaced by the scraping of chairs as all rose for the Forest Lord.

Nodding his head to all, he smiled as he made his way straight to the table that had been designated to the Noldor, who were already there.

“A good morning to you, my friends. I trust you slept well?” he enquired, not sure if they would have procured themselves with a little company, as was customary after a Greenwood feast. Yet he didn’t think they had, for they looked at him rather innocently, no saucy smiles, nothing to suggest a night of passion, he thought. ‘Ah, well, that would soon change, of that he was sure.’

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to a chair at their table.

“Of course, Lord Legolas. Join us, and help us if you will.”

“Of course, what is it, Lord Elladan” he invited, as a plate was placed before him.

“Well, this table – are we to sit here always? And why is it so big?” he asked.

“Ah, so, for lesson number one. Each family or living group is designated a table. They may invite whoever they wish to it, and equally be invited to other tables. It is an honour to be given a larger one, for it is taken for granted that you will have and extend many invitations.”

“I see, I rather like the idea, I must say. It takes away the awkwardness of knowing where to sit,” said Melven, as he helped himself to the eggs and toast.

“And this – granulated substance, what is this, my Lord?” asked Balentar, sticking his spoon into the multi-coloured powder.

“That, Healer Balentar, is pollen. We use it liberally, sprinkle it over anything - it will give a peculiar yet characteristic woodland taste - plus, it is very good for the health, it lends vigor and strength.”

“Ah, then I must document this,” he said, intrigued at the possibilities.

As they ate heartily, Galdithion arrived, looking frankly splendid, thought Legolas, for he wore civilian attire today, instead of his customary Home Guard livery. Elladan looked up to greet his friend, and then looked again, for Galdithion looked striking, he thought, letting his eyes linger a little longer than what propriety dictated.

Legolas smiled into his breakfast plate, as Melven looked fascinated with the ceiling. Balentar, however, was still sifting through the pollen, noting the different coloured balls that it contained.

However, the smile suddenly disappeared from Legolas’ face as a warning came into his mind. He placed his fork on his half-finished plate and stared into nothing, his eyes lighting up from within and setting off that all-too-familiar green mist that collected around his eyes when he was communicating with nature.

It was Galdithion who raised his hand for silence at the table, which was immediately obeyed as each diner began to realize what was happening, Balentar especially, was fascinated by the change in the commander’s stunning green eyes.

After a few moments, Legolas blinked and slowly turned to face his guard.

“The Western Detachment have suffered an ambush, there are two gravely wounded, they are making their way back to us and will arrive in two or three hours. Find Dima, arrange for an escort of three with a healer to meet them along the way – just in case.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Galdithion firmly as he rose, pointed at two field warriors and then making his way to the barracks in search of Dima.

Legolas simply smiled somewhat sadly, for there was no telling how seriously they were injured. He would just have to sit and wait for more news, and so breakfast ran its course, albeit somewhat less jovially, until the king rose, followed by the other occupants of the table.

“I must leave you for now. I will collect you later for dinner, around the twentieth hour. I bid you a good morning.” And with that, he was gone, leaving the others in silent wonder at the green magic they had all just witnessed.

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

Legolas knocked briskly on the doors that led to the king’s inner sanctum. The door was opened, revealing Lainion, his father’s friend and guard. He was a stern yet rather exotic looking elf – his features were somewhat singular, chiseled and hawk-like, his skin a golden brown from life in the outdoors – his face weathered, his jaw strong and commanding. Lainion was dangerous, he knew, for he had taken instruction with him in hand-to-hand combat many years ago. Yet more than this, Lainion was a dear friend to his father, and something of an elder brother to Legolas, who had adored this elf since he was but a small child.

Lainion smiled spartanly as he clasped Legolas’ forearms, before drawing him into a fierce hug, which Legolas returned with equal fervor. He had indeed missed the presence of this quiet, commanding, wise warrior.

“Your father awaits, Legolas. Has something happened?” he asked tentatively, for his brother’s eyes were a misty green, a colour he had recognized since Legolas had been but a child. “Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, and yes Lainion. An incoming detachment carry two wounded. They will take some time to arrive, however. I also need to bring down a chest from my rooms. It is unmistakable, for the carvings on it are as nothing to be seen here in the Greenwood. It is heavy, and contains items that are of extreme worth. Can you arrange for it to be transported here? For the king is anxious to inspect its contents.”

“You have me intrigued, Legolas. I will do as you ask.”

With a simple clap on the shoulder, they parted, Lainion in search of help, and Legolas of his father, who sat at his desk before a tray of fresh juice and sugared chestnuts.

“Ah, my boy, come,” he gestured as he stood to greet his child, he too, noticing his son’s eyes. It had terrified him, that first time it had happened so many years ago. He had ran to the healers with his unwitting son in his arms. It had been Maeron to tell the monarch that there was, apparently, nothing wrong with the child.

Embracing, they moved to the hearth and sat comfortably side by side. “What has happened?”

“A detachment, carrying wounded. I will be interrupted in a few hours time, but until then, I am at your complete disposal.”

Thranduil accepted the succinct report for what it was – Legolas had told him all there was to tell, and so further questioning would, he knew, be pointless.

“So, how was your first night back home?”

“Good, exhausting - I have missed many things, many people, the Evergreen Wood…”

“And are you well, Legolas? And do not pull that mask over your face, my son, show me your feelings, if you will.”

Legolas averted his gaze, before turning back to his father, holding his stare with defiance and pride.

The king’s eyes widened at what he saw then, for anguish and suffering marred his son’s beauty, only for an instant, however - Legolas would not subject his father to any more than was necessary for him to understand, and to comply with his veiled order.

“You love him that much?”

Legolas considered before answering his father’s rhetorical question.

“I do, yet it is not only Glorfindel’s absence that has me melancholy, father. This anguish, this … anxiety you see is ever-present, yet in the Greenwood we learn to temper it, as you know. The drawback to allowing oneself a brief interlude of light-heartedness, is that it brings the suffering to the fore once more upon returning. I must ‘re-acclimatize’ myself to what I must do, inoculate myself as it were – you must not concern yourself, Father.”

“How can I not, my son? For you are the single most important person in my life.” He sighed heavily then, “would that a day may come, when I can watch you frolic in joy, free from this pain and grief.”

“And that day will come, yet not without sacrifice, Father.”

Thranduil simply smiled, for no words could express the sadness that came with protecting their lands, the price his warriors paid to protect the Evergreen Wood, a deed for which they were revered, and so rightly, and so he simply pulled his son close to his side, and encircled him in one, powerful arm, smiling contentedly as he felt his son relax into the crook of his arm.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Lainion with Yavanna’s chest, helped by a panting Galion. They placed it before the hearth, before stepping back and bowing to the two lords, who had not bothered to right themselves, for they were too comfortable where they were.

However, as Thranduil’s eyes came to rest on the chest, he sat up straight, cocking his head to the side as he tried and failed to place the artistry.

“What – what is this, my son?” asked Thranduil, as he stood and began to move around the chest with his gaze riveted on the carvings along the sides.

“Whatever it is, it is heavy, my Lords, as Elbereth is my witness!” exclaimed Galion.

“Thank you, Galion,” said Thranduil, effectively dismissing his loyal housemaster. “Will you join us, Lainion? For Legolas has some trinkets I would have him show us.”

“Oh, well then, of course, I would not miss this, my friend,” said Lainion, somewhat sarcastically, as was his wont, yet also spurred on by his friend’s use of the word ‘trinket,’ for if the chest were anything to go by, there were no trinkets inside it.

Legolas walked over to where the artifact sat, sinking down to his knees as he began his tale, a tale that would have his father and his ‘brother’ intrigued and thoroughly entertained until well into the afternoon.

“It all began in the Lady Celebrian’s gardens…”
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Their first call had been the gates that protected the fortress. Galdithion had first shown them the mechanism, before climbing onto the crenellations to better appreciate the merlons, carved into the likeness of those that had died in the service of their nation. All three had been deeply touched by the workmanship that had gone into them, the extent of detail that could be seen in the expressions on their faces, their clothing, their armbands, even the rings they wore. Elladan had spotted at least five that sported Company armbands – five of those that had gone before, and that were not forgotten.

From the gates, they walked the same path they had done just the day before, when it had been crowded with elves that had obscured the details to the sides of the fortress. Just inside the gates, was a long, two storey building – the healing halls. It was surrounded by its own extensive gardens, where convalescing elves could be seen sitting in comfortable chairs, accompanied by friends and relatives who pampered and spoilt them.

“Would you like to visit the halls, my friends?” asked Galdithion.

“I would be delighted,” answered Elladan, and of course Balentar was hopping from one foot to another, for here is where he would spend most of his time for the next year. Melven simply resigned himself, for he had an innate dislike of healing wings as most warriors did, yet outnumbered as he was, he walked inside together with his companions, listening as Galdithion continued his explanations.

“They were built here, just inside the gates, to afford safety and not oblige the wounded to undergo long, jostling walks into the fortress. There is another healing sector inside the fortress, which is mostly used for the royal family and other dignitaries.”

Balentar immediately spotted Antien, now the Greenwood’s head healer in Maeron’s absence, sitting at a table towards the end of one, long corridor of beds. Antien rose as the group approached, smiling kindly and nodding to his Noldorin colleague, Balentar.

“A good morning to you my Lords, Balentar,” he smiled. “Have you come to visit my humble abode?”

“Just so, Antien. You have already met Balentar of Imladris of course, and this, is Lord Elladan Elrondion, also a healer, as you may know.”

“Indeed, it is an honour to meet the son of the Master Healer, my Lord. I hope to speak with you long on the subject that concerns us both.”

“Aye, let us hope as a healer and not a patient, for he is to join The Company in due time, Antien,” said Galdithion.

Antien’s face dropped visibly as he paled slightly, before checking himself.

“Aye, let it be so.”

As they began the tour, Antien studied the strong profile of this warrior healer, the son of Earendilion, no less. There was no higher paradigm in the healing arts, his ability to heal, his investigations, his discoveries, his integral approach to healing had created its own school, one Antien ascribed to most avidly, indeed he had his own treatise on the subject, and longed to one day converse with the master himself on the subject.

As Antien’s guided tour came to an end, Balentar begged leave to stay and begin his exchange with Antien, for he was bursting with enthusiasm for what he had seen, and the ideas that were bombarding him, and so Galdithion, Elladan and Melven smiled indulgently at the two healers, before leaving the halls, bound for the barracks and a hearty lunch.

However, a commotion interrupted their walk, as the gates were set in motion, and shouting could be heard from the crenellations above.

“The detachment has arrived, they carry wounded,” murmured Galdithion.

As they watched, the gates were not yet fully open as a group of 20 mounted elves thundered into the first courtyard, just behind the walls. They began to dismount in a cloud of dust – their attire a grey-black hue, with darker stains the nature of which the three friends could only guess at. Their faces were grim as they surrounded two horses, whose riders had not yet dismounted. Antien and Balantar stood off to the side, the Sindarin healer shouting orders as his people moved in to take the two wounded elves from the riders that held them firmly in place, in their protective embrace.

One elf shouted his own orders to the patrol, obviously their commander, at which the troops filed inside the healing hall and disappeared from sight.

Galdithion watched it all, for all the times he had seen this, it never ceased to strike a dull but deep pain in his chest. He had seen Legolas ride in like that so many times, clinging to a desperately injured comrade, or carried himself by those that loved him so much – when would it end?

“They are all wounded?” asked Elladan, breaking Galdithion’s inner dialogue.

Turning his head briskly towards Elladan, he answered automatically and somewhat monotonously.

“Probably, yet even if they sport but a scratch, their commander will insist they seek attention, for the danger of poison is great.”

“What happened, do you think?” asked Melven, as he watched the last of the warriors disappear inside.

“Any number of things, Melven. Orcs, Uruks, probably not wargs or wolves from what I have seen, and definitely not spiders,” he explained, as three elves sprinted before them and into the Healing Halls, frantic family members or friends. They were more surprised when Legolas himself strode in the same direction, nodding curtly at them, before disappearing inside the halls.

Galdithion watched the play of emotions over the Noldorin warriors’ faces, yet chose to say nothing as he simply led them away and to the Home Guard Barracks.

“Come, ‘tis lunch time and I would have you meet my men,” he said as jovially as he could manage, for Elladan and Melven’s miens were dour indeed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

As Legolas followed the carriers down the scantly-lit passage ways of the lower levels of the fortress, he reflected on the day’s events.

He had spent the entire day with his father and Lainion, save for a brief visit to the healing halls to ascertain the details of the skirmish. The wounded, although serious, were not in danger of losing their lives. Legolas had then sent his heart-felt thanks to those that had warned him.

As for himself, well, there was nothing left to tell of his stay in Imladris, and both his father and Lainion had been left utterly stupefied before the crown and sword of Aulë. He realized then, that the days of debriefing had finally come to an end, and Legolas knew that now he would be free to return to his duties as commander of the Greenwood militia, back to blessed routine.

Two household elves were now depositing Yavanna’s chest reverently inside the king’s vaults, deep within the belly of the mountain, just as Legolas had requested, for these items were too valuable to be kept in his own quarters. It had been placed next to his mother’s belongings in a somewhat secluded corner. His grandfather’s belongings were close by – his armour, his weapons, the many crowns he had possessed – the style of which was so different to that which the Greenwood had acquired after incorporating the Sylvan and Avari into their midst, for Oropher’s things were clearly Sindarin.

It was cold here, and yet the light the candles cast upon the glittering treasure of the cavern gave a strangely warm feel to the stone vault.

Now alone, he knelt before Oropher’s chest, just as he had done when he was still a child, fascinated by the legend his grandfather had been. Yet today, his eyes strayed to a smaller chest which lay beside it. It was lovely to look at, and clearly feminine. This would be his grandmother’s chest, she who had been queen of the Greenwood during those founding years, Adeniel Legaelariel. He remembered her well, for she had helped to raise him, together with his mother, until she had passed. His grandmother had vowed to stay until Legolas was old enough to begin his warrior training, keeping her promise and finally sailing over two thousand years ago, leaving her son to rule what was then a thriving, peaceful realm.

She had been the one to rekindle the legend of Gondolin in the young elf. From the very beginning she had told Legolas of her own father, Legaelair, scion of the house of the Silver Tree of Gondolin. From that moment, Legolas had been absorbed in her tales of the glorious days, the battles, the fall. Fascinated with this part of his heritage, he had studied, read all there was in the library, and finally, later in life when he became captain, and then commander, he adapted the predominantly Sindarin fighting style to incorporate Gondolidrim philosophy and technique, although more so in his own detachment, The Company.

It was she who had gifted him with Legaelair’s armband and his ceremonial dagger, in the hope that her grandchild would preserve the legacy of Gondolin within the royal family of Greenwood, and Legolas had done just that, wearing it proudly and never forgetting who his great grand-father had been – how fate had played such a pivotal role, for Legaelair had loved Glorfindel as a friend, and – had time permitted, would have done as a lover. Yet destiny had interrupted that possibility, a Balrog had stepped between them, and Legaelair had been left alone, to start anew.

He smiled then, as he shuffled over to the delicate chest and gently pushed open the lid. He remembered her gowns, remembered her as the scent of his grandmother reached his senses. He would see her again, many years in the future, should he ever sail, and the thought brought another fond smile to his lips.

Pushing back the rich fabric of her gowns, he spotted a small black velvet drawbag. He took it in one hand and brought it before him. It was relatively heavy, given how small it was, and Legolas guessed correctly that it contained some kind of adornment.

Pulling the string open, he delved inside and took out the item within.

He stared at it for long moments, his mind not quite registering what now stood between his fingers, his face reflecting his confusion as his head cocked to one side and his brow furrowed, yet he continued to stare at it, trying desperately to understand why he was so confused.

It was an armband, surprisingly similar to Legaelair’s, which Legolas himself wore. It was made of gold, an interlaced braiding he knew was of Gondolidrim design. It was, indeed almost identical, except that where his held the emblem of the House of the Silver Tree, this one…

His skin tingled as the fine hairs on his arms stood on end, for the implications were stunning. This is why he had been so confused when first the piece had been revealed, for the only thing that made this armband different to Legaelair’s, was the emblem of the House of the Golden Flower.

As he knelt there staring at the beautiful object, his mind continued to whirl, for there was something else nagging him. These armbands were symbols of station, similar to the function of a crown. In ancient Gondolin, the lords would not remove them, just as he himself never removed his own armbands denoting his military station. How then, was this here, and not with Glorfindel in Imladris?

He suddenly drew in an audible breath and his eyes watered. Could it be….?

Fifteen minutes later, and Legolas sat in the empty library, staring at an illustration of the fall of Glorfindel of Gondolin, mighty in his armour, his hair in disarray, his face a mask of determination, his mighty sword aloft before his fiery enemy – and there, hugging his bicep, was the bracelet Legolas now held in his numb fingers.
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Arcane Land