Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4275 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter VIII: Twilight’s Caress

In accordance with Legolas’ wishes, Elrohir always went to the archer’s room as discreetly as was possible for an Elf. By human standards, that meant near invisibility. Tonight was no different.

He traversed the corridor to the guest chambers and slipped into the Elven prince’s room with no one the wiser. Come morning, he would leave and be back in his own apartment without anyone knowing he’d ever left it in the first place.

Legolas came out of the bathing chamber to find him seated on the sill of the large window by the bed, looking down at his lap where his hand rested, half-clenched. Elrohir looked up as he approached and a smile graced his handsome features. It was a smile that was at once tender and loving yet pensive as well, almost heartbreakingly so.

“What is it?” he asked as he came to stand before him.

Elrohir’s eyes gleamed but he said no word. Instead, he put his arms around the archer’s waist and pulled him close, resting his head against the other’s chest. Legolas looked down upon the raven head, raised a hand to cradle the twin close, wondering at his mood.

“Is something wrong?” he queried, stroking the sable tresses, thinking how silky they were to the touch.

“Nay, Calenlass,” came the murmured response.

“Then why so quiet?” Legolas pressed him. “You are not yourself tonight, Elrohir.”

A gentle shake of the head preceded the warrior’s reply. “I have only been thinking about a matter of importance, that is all.”

“And what matter is this?”

A delicious shiver snaked through him when, for an answer, Elrohir turned his face into his chest, nudged his night-robe open and nuzzled his flesh affectionately. A moment, later, he felt the Elf-knight’s warm lips gently sucking a roseate nipple, teasing it into a hard bud. A moan escaped his lips.

Elrohir simply and instinctively knew how to unravel him. With uncanny facility, he consistently elicited this response from the archer.

The twin untied the sash of his robe and slipped the garment off his lithe frame. He then loosened the lacings on the archer’s bed-trousers, allowing the garment to slide down the slender limbs. His hands began to map the slopes and shallows of the prince’s abdomen, loins and thighs. Legolas closed his eyes, trembling as the roving lips and hands wrought sensation upon sensation on his awakening body.

Just when he was wondering when the delightful torment would end, the Elf-knight rose to his feet and sealed their mouths in searing harmony. Without breaking the kiss, Elrohir walked him backwards until the edge of the bed caught at the backs of his knees.

He would have fallen back abruptly but the warrior caught him and deftly lowered him to the bed. He shed his own clothes unhurriedly, wordlessly, regarding the prone prince with an intensity that made Legolas shiver.

He slipped onto the bed, covering the archer with his body, locking their lips once more into a heated duel, beginning a progression of passionate caresses that soon had the golden-haired Elf pleading for mercy.

Legolas was both stunned and moved.

There was a striking tenderness, a purity of emotion in Elrohir’s love-play. Though lost in the wilderness of pleasure the twin led him into, he was still coherent enough to realize that every stroke and kiss and caress was for him. This night, Elrohir was subsuming his own lust, foregoing much of his own pleasure, focusing on bringing the prince to as much bliss as he could endure.

Will he, nill he, Legolas was slowly and lovingly reduced to tremulous helplessness as the Elf-knight assiduously worshipped his body. From the sensitive tips of his ears to the smooth column of his neck; the hard plains of his chest to the taut wash of his belly; the firm slope of his back to the tight cheeks of his bottom; the creamy flesh of his thighs to the delicate skin of his ankles. Not a part of his body was left untouched, unkissed, unmarked.

So complete was Elrohir’s adoration of Legolas’ entirety that when he finally took his almost painfully turgid length into the silky warmth of his mouth, the prince reared wildly, held down only by dint of the warrior’s powerful grip on his hips. In a much shorter time than he was used to, Legolas came to shattering completion the force of which left him flushed, drained and breathless.

And then, to his shock and amazement, Elrohir did it all over again, bringing him to a second and then a third release, until he was weakly begging for a brief respite. It seemed there was such a thing as too much bliss after all.

Only then did Elrohir make a move to ease himself, burying himself deep within his prince, then drawing out this last love-act of the night to its fullest. Slowly, gently, he drove into the archer, taking his time, giving Legolas a chance to recover his breath, tenderly bringing him back to arousal. Pleasure built within them gradually, Elrohir finally allowing himself to let go, Legolas feeling the full reawakening of his being. The rapture continued to spiral with every stroke of their bodies against each other.

As they neared their peak, Elrohir leaned down and brushed his mouth across the prince’s kiss-bruised lips before slipping between them to tease him from within. Of a sudden, pleasure both his and Elrohir’s flooded Legolas’ senses. Akin to what he had experienced in Ithilien their first night together but far more intense and fraught with more than mere physical sensation. And as before, it heightened every rapturous wave that swept through him and over him.

Totally bereft of lucid thought by now, he could only feel, react, shudder his release beneath the warrior’s hard body; he’d never experienced a climax so sweet and mellow yet so profoundly satisfying in his life. And then an inexplicable feeling of joy and fulfillment coursed through him when Elrohir came to his own completion. He’d always derived pleasure from the unique sensation of the twin’s warm seed spilling within him but tonight it seemed twofold as the sensation blended with an emotion he could not quite define. All he knew was that he was utterly contented and curiously serene.

Exhausted yet happy beyond measure, he nestled against Elrohir after the twin drew the covers up over their bodies. He smiled as the Elvenlord wrapped protective arms about him.

Just as sleep claimed him, he heard the Elf-knight’s soft, soothing voice murmur, “Have my love, Calenlass.”

*********

Legolas woke up as was his habit at the break of dawn. But Elrohir had risen even earlier. He was quietly seated on the edge of the bed, already dressed, watching him with a doting smile as he came fully awake. Legolas sat up sleepily and as he did, Elrohir reached out and tucked an unruly rivulet of silver and gold behind his ear. The prince smiled as the gesture recalled to him the sweet fury of the previous night’s loving.

Elrohir’s loving, he realized with a jolt. A sense of wonder rushed through him.

I know he loves me, he thought, but I did not understand the depths of his feelings for me until last night.

“How do you feel?” Elrohir softly queried when he saw the prince’s eyes turn lucid with full awareness.

“Tired,” Legolas admitted. “Satisfied,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Happy I hope?” Elrohir quietly asked.

Legolas drew a deep breath and marveled at how light and free he felt.

“Aye, very,” he sighed. He looked affectionately at the twin. “You were amazing. Thank you, gwador.”

To his disconcertment, Elrohir’s grey eyes clouded over. Puzzled at first, he soon comprehended its cause.

He had called the Elf-knight gwador—sworn brother—instead of melethron, or lover. Considering what had just passed between them, it was ludicrously, almost heartrendingly inadequate. But try as he might, Legolas could not quite bring himself to cross that final bridge. To call Elrohir lover was to irrevocably commit himself to something he still did not think himself ready for.

He looked at Elrohir guiltily, his ocean-hued eyes imploring. “Please, Aduial, I cannot..”

The warrior accepted the renewed rebuff. Disappointment darkened his twilight eyes but not resentment or any hint of recrimination.

He only said: ”I know. Do not force yourself, meleth nîn.”—my love. He uttered the endearment with the ease of one who embraced and savored its meaning.

At once, Legolas stiffened. Just as he could not be more intimate beyond the pet name he had given his friend, so could he not quite accept the same from the twin. Not yet.

Elrohir saw his reaction and understood. Though it stung deeply, he did not show umbrage and vowed not to upset Legolas again with such loving usage. Not until the prince was ready.

“I had better go,” he said. “Will you join us at breakfast?”

Legolas nodded, grateful for the warrior’s silence on his patently unreasonable response. Elrohir half-turned, hesitated, then faced him once more to regard him tentatively. He reached for Legolas’ hand and clasped it tightly. He smiled slightly as he felt the prince return his grip.

“Whatever you decide, I will abide by it,” he softly told him. “I desire only your happiness. I hope you know that.”

He let go of the prince’s hand sliding his over the other’s palm. Legolas glanced down, feeling the sensation of metal against his skin.

A gold band lay on his palm. Its surface was slightly rippled; miniature clouds had been skillfully etched into the gold. Amidst the clouds were tiny crystals but for one, a cunningly cut star-shaped diamond that stood out, larger and brighter than the rest, recalling the manner in which Eärendil outshone all the other stars in the firmament. Legolas recognized the ring with shock.

This was an heirloom of the House of Elrond. Elladan had possessed its twin and had given it to Legolas’ sister, Nimeithel, when they wed. He looked up at Elrohir, confusion and agitation in his eyes.

“Elrohir, you must not give this to me,” he pleaded. “I – we never spoke of – of –”

“Binding to one another?” Elrohir finished for him. “Fear not, Calenlass, I do not give you this ring to force you into a choice or out of any expectations. I will not wrong you in that manner.”

“Then why—?”

“My heart is yours whether you want it or not,” Elrohir explained quietly. "'Tis but a symbol of my love for you, no more.”

“But – but this was wrought as a nuptial ring,” Legolas protested. “It should be gifted upon your intended one, your binding-mate, not—” He broke off, belatedly realizing the import of his objection. “I am sorry, I did not mean—”

He winced as Elrohir averted his face in an obvious attempt to conceal the hurt Legolas had so carelessly inflicted. Remorseful, he leaned forward and curled his arm around the warrior, pulling him closer.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, pressing his face into the warrior’s neck. “I am only so overcome by your gift. I – I am not worthy of it, Elrohir.”

He lifted his head when Elrohir turned back to face him, argent eyes becalmed once more. “You hold my heart, Calenlass,” he murmured. “Who could be more worthy?” His grey eyes flicked to the ring where it lay in the archer’s loosely clenched palm. “You need not wear it. I only ask that you keep it.”

Legolas stared at the beauteous band and swallowed hard. It loomed in his hand, bright and pure and pregnant with meaning. Yet he could not put it away as Elrohir suggested. It begged to be worn; he did not understand why. Drawing a deep breath, he slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand. He glanced up at Elrohir, seeking his reaction.

The twin smiled but there was no elation in his eyes. Legolas realized then that Elrohir truly harbored no expectations. He was giving of himself, wholly and freely; he did not hope for, did not seek to take anything in return. With a murmured word of thanks, he kissed the prince gently, rose from the bed and left the chamber.

In his wake he left a profoundly shaken Elf. As he dazedly went about bathing and dressing, Legolas could not help thinking repeatedly about what had passed between himself and Elrohir. He could not deny the great worth of what had been bestowed upon him, the giver immeasurably more precious than the gift.

The Elf-knight was everything anyone could possibly desire in a spouse. He possessed true nobility, great strength of character, incomparable comeliness and age-old wisdom – there did not seem to be anything to dislike in Elrond’s younger son, not even his flaws; flaws which more oft than not stemmed from his deep-seated convictions.

Mired in confusion over his nascent romantic feelings for Elrohir, Legolas found himself floundering in an arena where he knew next to nothing. All his years of avoidance of anything and everything even remotely connected with love had left him shamefully ignorant of its many shadings. All he recalled were the half-formed notions of his long ago adolescence, notions long since twisted into the fearful beliefs he’d slowly acquired in his later years.

Unbidden, he felt the first breach in the walls of his shielded heart. It was nothing like the mild stirrings he’d known when his regard for Aragorn had deepened. This overwhelmed him, threatened to take him and keep him. To own him.

He visibly trembled as unfamiliar emotions raged through him. With the creeping stealth of a seasoned hunter, the ancient drive to mate awakened in him, taking him completely unawares. He’d thought himself one of the select Edhil who were immune to the binding-call, his long resistance to any emotional entanglement convincing him of the validity of his belief. But now it sang its siren song and he heard it; offered its balming embrace and tempted him to yield. It resounded throughout the whole of his being.

He recoiled from it.

Like the magma of a long dormant volcano suddenly bursting forth, his old fear flared and erupted from its wellspring in the deeps of his consciousness. The resulting panic was as a virulent, blanketing cloud that cast a shadow on the beauty and light of the Elf-knight’s devotion.

Habit, however ill-founded, had long ago overtaken logic and now vociferously reasserted itself, roused by this heady incursion into the previously well-defended bounds of its territory surrounding the archer’s barely touched, unknowing heart. It cried out to beware of love and its fearsome consequences. The loss of freedom. The certitude of turmoil. The inevitability of pain.

For this was an irrational dread that ignored the impossibility of his ever knowing heartbreak at Elrohir’s hands. It had grown not out of painful experience but rather of the absence of it. Imagination had supplied what he lacked in actual knowledge of the caprices of the heart’s yearnings and thus rendered them far more daunting than reality could ever manage.

For the first time, his long friendship with Elrohir became as much a burden as it was a blessing. For the first time, he rued the closeness they had always shared, seeing it as the battering ram that would break down the gates of his resistance. It was one thing for his body to know rapture in a lover’s arms, another thing to yield his spirit to another and open himself to uncertainty and pain.

He rebelled at the very idea. He would not be fettered by anything, would not be chained to anyone. He would not be hemmed in. His promise in the glade in Ithilien all but forgotten, he struggled to rebuild the rampart around his heart.

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

Glossary:

Calenlass - Greenleaf

Aduial - Twilight

Edhil – Elves

To be continued…
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince