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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 12116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Advent
- 2-Bridging
- 3-Pledges
- 4-Serendipity
- 5-Deepening
- 6-Request
- 7-Bedfellows
- 8-Liaison
- 9-Catalyst
- 10-Tidings
- 11-Profession
- 12-Rift
- 13-Seeking
- 14-Confluence
- 15-Oneness
- 16-Assignation
- 17-Covenant
- 18-Gambit
- 19-Recovery
- 20-Bond
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Six of my stories were nominated for the My Precious Awards (MPA) - Greenleaf & Imladris (Best Elves), An Ounce of Kindness (Best PG), The Mind’s Eye and Deception No More (Best Adult Rated/NC-17) and Hallowed Fate and Sacred Bond (Best Slash). I would like to acknowledge the readers who nominated them whoever they may be - except for Keekercatt, I have no idea who the others are. Thank you so much for deeming my work worth nominating. I already feel like a winner regardless of the outcome.

Chapter IX: Catalyst

Firith TA 2531

After the din of battle cries and furious screams, clashing metal and vociferous neighing, the still aftermath seemed almost unnatural and eerie. Silence did not become the scene of recent carnage. Not when the tortured earth was riven by sharp hooves and heavy feet, the trampled grass stained with black blood and a bonfire steadily burned, fed by the remains of the band of goblins that would plague Middle-earth no more.

Elrohir looked up from his contemplation of the grisly blaze to see Elladan walking toward him with Aravorn, Imladris’ latest fosterling now grown to manhood. Aragost’s son, though only a scant handful of years past his majority, had already seem more action than most men thrice his age. Like all his family, he was dark-haired, grey-eyed and bore the faint traces of his distant kinship to Elrond Half-elven. As he awaited their approach he looked about at the other Rangers. They were mounting their sturdy, rough-haired steeds, their dark cloaks billowing about them in the swiftly waxing evening breeze.

He heard Elladan ask the young man, “Whither will you go now?”

Aravorn replied: “Back west over the mountains. We will meet my father in Fornost then go on to Nenuial. We will winter there with our womenfolk and children.” The brethren nodded, remembering the deserted city of the Dúnedain in the North Downs, once-fair Annúminas by Lake Evendim. “And you? Will you return to Rivendell?”

Elladan glanced at Elrohir. The younger twin’s eyes turned east to the great forest in the distance. He shook his head.

“We will visit Mirkwood first,” the Elf-knight said. “It has been some twenty years since we last set foot in the Woodland Realm.”

The Ranger smiled faintly. Like his father and grandfather before him, he was aware of the singular affair his foster brother conducted with Mirkwood’s youngest prince. It was by no means common knowledge amongst the Dúnedain for not all still recalled the ancient knowledge of elven traditions. But Aravorn’s family, sprung of blessed Eärendil’s seed through Elros, Elrond’s mortal brother, preserved the old lore and therefore knew and understood. And besides, not a few of the line had known such stirrings though none had ever gone beyond fleeting indulgences.

“‘Twas good hunting this season, gwenyn”—twins—Aravorn said. “We were fortunate to have you with us these many months.”

“Send our regards to your father,” Elladan bid him. He clasped the young man’s shoulder in farewell. “Until we meet again, pen neth.”— young one.

Elrohir did the same. “May Elbereth keep you and yours, gwanur.”— brother/kinsman.

They waited for Aravorn and his men to ride away westward before they turned their own steeds east toward Mirkwood. As they steadily traversed the plains, they spoke of the various news, concerns and issues raised by the Rangers during their time with them.

Elladan said, “Did I tell you? Aravorn mentioned that his father means to go to the Riddermark and see for himself what these Rohirrim are like. Mayhap we should do likewise, brother,” he added thoughtfully. “What say we set aside a year or two for this?”

Elrohir shrugged. “‘Tis an interesting proposition. And we may have time to visit Gondor as well.”

“Mmm, aye,” Elladan concurred. He glanced at his brother. “Speaking of Gondor, I wonder how Dol Amroth is doing.”

Elrohir snorted. “By that you mean how is her current prince doing, unwed as he is at present.” He shook his head reprovingly. “Ai, gwaniuar”—older twin—“one day – one day, I swear – this predilection of yours will bring you to grief,” he mused. “Truly, I wish you would stint in your poaching of that family.”

“Poaching!” Elladan repeated somewhat indignantly. “I do not take what is not willingly given, Elrohir.”

“Aye, but you make it difficult for any to deny you,” Elrohir gently said. “None can turn you down even when it would be wiser to do so.”

In spite of the seeming heat of their exchange, naught but affection flowed between them. Elladan broke into a sweet smile, moved as always by his brother’s concern for his well-being.

“Do not worry so over me,” he quietly assured the Elf-knight. “I am not as heedless as all that. Else I would not even be alive today to make this claim.”

Elrohir smiled back. “I know,” he softly replied.

******

Their entry into the great forest did not go unmarked. Even as they travelled down the elven track into the heart of the wood, sentries sent word ahead of their advent. By the time they approached the delved halls of the Wood-elves’ king just before daybreak, Thranduil and his two older sons already awaited them as well as a goodly number of the court.

Their arrival elicited a great amount of curiosity and excitement. As Elrohir had earlier indicated, their last visit to Mirkwood had been the year after their mother had perforce departed Middle-earth for Aman. That sojourn had been brief and grim – a mere three-day stay ere they rode into the wilds to hunt down more of the creatures who had devastated their family’s peace and unity.

They were much changed from the days of yore. Their eyes spoke volumes of the evil and violence they had witnessed in two decades of incessant errantry against orcs, renegade men and trolls. The once open gazes were now guarded and stern. Hardened by their toils, they were no longer as quick to laugh or ready to smile. And when they did smile, it did not always reach their eyes. Where once they had been warm and friendly as a rule, they were now cool and aloof though never less than courteous. Only those closest to their hearts still knew their affectionate regard.

Oddly enough, such remoteness only further underlined their undiminished allure. Perhaps it was that very distance that made them all the more appealing. The enticement of what seemed beyond reach served to spur more interest in them.

And they had never looked so beyond anyone’s reach as they did this early morn. Attired in unrelenting black and gray, their raven locks bound into thick single plaits in the style of the mortals with whom they shared a common heritage, and their tall forms bearing sword and bow and spear, they looked fell and dangerous and beautiful beyond words.

Thranduil graciously welcomed them. And he was quick to discern Elrohir’s disappointment at finding Legolas absent – the archer was on duty on the northern bounds of the kingdom. The Elvenking swiftly assured the brethren that he had already sent word recalling his youngest son home. In the meantime, he bade them to refresh themselves and take their rest.

They gratefully accepted the king’s hospitality and were soon settled in their rooms. But while Elladan emerged later in the day to keep company with Gilfaron and Denilos, Elrohir chose to seclude himself, leaving his chamber only as necessity dictated.

Twenty-two years had passed since he and Elladan chased after the brutes that had taken Celebrían to their noisome lair. Twenty-two years since they had rescued her from the savagery the beasts had dealt her. He it was who had crept into the orc nest after Elladan had lured the greatest number away, slain those who remained and borne away his mother’s scored and battered body, almost unrecognizable after the horrific flogging she had endured, bleeding profusely from the hideous poisoned wound that ran from her right shoulder to halfway down the front of her torso. Any deeper and it would have severed her breast from her body.

He had taken her to Elrond who still waited on the slopes of Caradhras with the three warrior Elves he’d nursed back to some haleness. He would never forget his father’s expression at first sight of his wife’s horrendous state. Would never forget the vision of Elrond tending to her injuries with what limited medical supplies he had, tears streaming down his cheeks in helpless fury, his hands shaking as he threaded a surgical needle that he might at least close the fearsome wound.

The older twin had joined them after tricking his bestial pursuers into blundering over the edge of a sheer drop to their well-deserved deaths. By then Elrond and Elrohir had managed to cleanse Celebrían of much of the gore and filth the Elf-knight had found her besmeared with, the ghastly wound had been sutured and she was unconscious from the sleeping draught her husband had administered to her. Unlike his twin, Elladan did not see his mother’s injuries at their worst and freshest. He did not have memories of her pitiful cries and whimpers as her brutalized body thrummed with more agony during the jolting ride down the mountain. He did not hear Celebrían begging her younger son to end her life and the unbearable pain.

What had followed had deepened the Elf-knight’s anguish. Within a year, Elrond had been forced to send his wife over sea. He had been able to heal her body but not her flagging spirit. In the months between her rescue and departure, life at the Last Homely House had become one continuous nightmare as Celebrían struggled to regain her wholeness only to fail again and again. Watching his mother’s suffering, Elrohir had began to wonder whether he would have served her better had he slain her when she pleaded with him to do so. He still wondered about it to this day.

Soon after Celebrían left they began their questing. Vengeance had driven them at first. No orc was spared once discovered but was slaughtered ere it had a chance to even squeak in surprise. They left in their wakes hundreds of goblin dens and encampments encrusted in the stench of death. The orcs came to loath and fear them even as they strove to ruin them.

After ten years of relentless killing, however, the searing conflagration of vengeance gave way to the steady flame of duty once again. They would not allow another to suffer as their mother had if it was within their power. They would hunt down orcs and trolls and wicked men to keep them from destroying lives and souls. They would guard the innocent and helpless and decimate the minions of evil.

Elladan found some peace in the certitude of the rightness of their goal. But Elrohir, while grateful for the sense of clear purpose this gave him, could not so easily forget what he had seen and heard. A part of him remained steeped in the hatred and revulsion of those first moments after discovering the atrocities done to his mother. A part of him knew exultation when he slew and maimed and crippled. And that was what troubled him no end.

He did not want to hate with mindless fervor or rejoice in the destruction of life however odious that life might be. For what did that make him other than one alike to the very creatures he abhorred?

Evening came and he retreated at once to his chamber after bathing. He was in no mood for company, not even the convivial company of the common baths. He craved solitude as he grappled anon with his fraught thoughts and feelings. He had confided much in Elladan, of course, but he did not wish to burden his twin overmuch and so held back regarding certain matters.

Yet as had happened many times before, peace of mind and heart eluded him. Standing on his balcony, he looked out unseeingly at the shadowed woods, absently noting that the growth was once more dark with the creeping miasma of Dol Guldur.

A sudden image of Legolas amidst such growing blackness flashed through his mind. Unbidden, sorrow washed over him that his golden friend should live in such cloying circumstances. Legolas belonged in sunlit, verdant woods, his wild spirit unfettered by the ever-festering shadow that lay over Mirkwood.

The door opened and he turned with a frown, wondering who dared intrude on him without so much as a by your leave. The frown vanished an instant later.

It was Legolas. He had bathed and dressed in obvious haste for he had donned the hardy breeches he’d worn coming in from the borders and, over this, carelessly thrown on a bathing robe, which hung open for lack of its belt. His shining tresses were damp and unbound and he was barefooted.

“Elrohir!” he softly exclaimed as he entered the chamber, slamming the door shut behind him. Hastening to the Elf-knight, he said: “I came back as soon as I received word of your arrival.”

He caught Elrohir in a hearty embrace, turning his face into the crook of the warrior’s neck. “How do you fare these days, mellonen?”—my friend—he murmured.

Elrohir tightened his hold on the archer, grateful for Legolas’ immediate concern for him. “As well as can be managed in these dark times,” he whispered. “I am glad to be here. To be with you.”

Legolas drew away and anxiously studied his face. He had not missed the note of imminent despair in Elrohir’s voice. “What is wrong, pen vell?” —dear one?—he asked.

Elrohir shrugged as if to dismiss the archer’s worries but Legolas reached up and caught his face in his hands to stare into his eyes. “You cannot hide your distress from me,” he insisted.

Elrohir swallowed hard, unable to deny the plea in the sapphire pools that regarded him so intensely. “I have not been all that hale in spirit,” he admitted morosely.

Legolas scowled. “What ails you?” he demanded. “Tell me, Elrohir.”

Elrohir sighed. “Naneth’s ordeal,” he simply said.

The archer caught his breath in dismay. When he’d last met the twins in Imladris about eleven years ago, he’d believed both reasonably recovered from the trauma of their family’s sundering and the reason for it. He took Elrohir by the hand and led him to the bed. Bidding the warrior to sit down, he tucked in close to his side and slid a comforting arm around his shoulder.

“I spoke with Elladan when I arrived,” he quietly said. “He seems peaceful enough. Why not you?”

Elrohir shook his head. “Elladan did not see what I saw in that den,” he whispered. “He did not feel her agony as I carried her away.” He hesitated. “He did not hear her imploring me to put her to the sword and end her suffering.”

Legolas gasped in shock. “You did not mention this before,” he said. He stared in suspicion at the Elf-knight. “Who else knows of her plea?” When Elrohir remained silent, he gasped again, this time in incredulity. “You told no one? Not even Elladan?”

“I could not,” Elrohir wearily explained. “Once I reveal to him what truly befell Naneth, his rage and sorrow will be equal to mine. I do not care to have the two of us dwelling on this. ‘Tis enough that I alone have learned to take pleasure in killing like a heathen orc. I do not wish to weigh him down with such a burden.”

“Yet you would bear it by yourself!” Legolas said almost angrily. He took hold of himself and gentled his voice. “I esteem your mother greatly for the care she bestowed on me yet I do not love her as you do. I can endure what you refuse to reveal to Elladan. You must let me help you, my Elf-knight. You must unburden your heart else you will break.” He caught Elrohir’s hand in his and cupped the latter’s face with the other, compelling him to return his gaze. “Tell me,” he urged him earnestly.

The need to leaven some of the weight in his weary heart overcame the remains of Elrohir’s reluctance to trouble anyone else with his nightmarish visions. Legolas was not as gifted as he in the silent speech between minds and so, with a shaky sigh, he not only let his thoughts flow but also spoke of his mother’s terrible ordeal. And went on to admit his fear that he was turning into the very thing he sought to cleanse Middle-earth of.

By the time he finished, his cheeks were wet with tears. Sometime during his narration, they had cleaved to each other and he found himself cradled in Legolas’ snug embrace. He laid his head on the archer’s shoulder, feeling a vast sense of relief at having at last shared his raucous feelings with someone.

Legolas glanced down at the warrior’s pale streaked face. He stroked the midnight locks gently. “You are not becoming one of them,” he firmly said. “You act out of rage for the wrong done to you and yours. They kill for its own sake.”

“And I do not?” Elrohir murmured. “I enjoy their terror, Legolas. I feel naught but anger when I run them through or burn them or bludgeon them. The very sight of their dying throes brings me joy.”

“And still that does not make you one of them!” Legolas vehemently insisted. “For you repent of your black thoughts and deeds while they do not.” He felt Elrohir start in surprise and knew his words had hit home. “You care enough to loath what you do,” he softly affirmed. “That makes you different from them, Elrohir.”

The Elf-knight lifted his head to gaze at him searchingly. As the argent eyes regarded him with awakening hope, Legolas found himself marking their beauty anew. Once he noticed this, he noticed other things as well. Such as the allure of the twin’s sinuous lips. And the always enticing scent of his warm skin. And the seductiveness of the hard thews under his clothing. Without warning, desire flared up within him and his loins stirred to strident life.

Legolas felt shame skewer him that he should lust for Elrohir now of all times. The Elf-knight needed his compassion, not his passion. The balming hug of a friend, not the possessive arms of a lover. Yet his desire evidenced itself all too blatantly in the obvious bulge in the crotch of his breeches.

He realized this almost at the same time as Elrohir saw it. Legolas pulled away, cheeks flaming with embarrassment and rue.

“Forgive me, Elrohir,” he stammered. “‘Tis shameful of me to—”

Fingers against his lips silenced him. Elrohir gently drew him close again. “Do not feel shamed,” he whispered. “I want you, too.”

Surprised, Legolas gaped at him. But a moment later, he pulled the twin into a near backbreaking embrace and sealed their mouths together in wanton ferocity. He made short work of the warrior’s shirt and near tore the laces from his trousers; broke away just long enough to hurriedly shed his robe and strip off his breeches.

Elrohir seemed inclined to let him take the lead and so he did, intuitively guessing that the warrior needed to let go. To be mastered that he might forget his brutal mastering of others. With his hunger for the Elf-knight driving him on, Legolas did not balk one whit at complying with his friend’s silent request. He pressed Elrohir down to the bed, eyes glittering with barely restrained desire.

Elrohir groaned, shuddered and writhed as he was deftly and eagerly explored anew. Steadily moving downwards, Legolas suckled at his neck, kissed his chest and laved his nipples while his hands caressed every inch of skin within reach. The warrior ran his fingers through the prince’s pale locks, his breathing growing more uneven with every ardent assault on his flesh.

When moist warmth enclosed his aching length, he could not quite smother a cry of rapture. It had been far too long since he’d known such pleasure. The prince’s enthusiasm multiplied it a hundredfold.

Legolas always performed this service as if he derived enjoyment not only from pleasuring his partner but also from knowing that partner so intimately. But only Elrohir knew with certainty that in his case, it was true. Legolas relished his every sight and taste and touch of the Elf-knight’s body. He was never as zealous in his explorations of his other lovers’ charms, whether ellon or elleth—male Elf or Elf-maid—as he was in uncovering Elrohir’s.

Aflame with the knowledge of Legolas’ singular regard for him, Elrohir was soon overtaken by an undeniable need to sup on the archer’s graces as well.

“Turn around, Legolas!” he commanded hoarsely. “On your side.”

Legolas swiftly shifted his position to present himself to the Elf-knight, resting his head on Elrohir’s hard thigh, and parting his own legs to allow his lover to do the same. He nearly keened when Elrohir brusquely gripped his hip and dragged him forward to engulf his rigid length in the depths of his mouth. Legolas needed to steady himself a few moments as he was drawn upon with such edaciousness that he almost spent himself within seconds of the first suckle. But Elrohir’s own luscious member still lay before him and he was not about to forego having it for his pleasure.

Soon they were both wracked by the throes of rapture as they vigorously serviced each other. Legolas cried out around his delicious mouthful of hot flesh when he felt the pulsing in his groin that rapidly evolved into the explosive spilling of his seed into the Elf-knight’s mouth. So voracious did his suckling turn as he rode out the waves of his release that Elrohir soon came to breath-stealing completion as well, gasping raggedly as Legolas eagerly milked him dry.

Panting erratically after such a draining climax, Elrohir waited for Legolas to crawl back up into his arms. But the prince surprised him by not giving him time to fully recover but pressed their lips together once more. He gasped as his mouth was plundered and he was lured into a sensual duel of lips and tongue and teeth.

Legolas drew away slightly and, breathing hard, echoed what Elrohir had been thinking earlier: “It has been far, far too long. Valar, but I have missed you so, rochiren.”—my knight.

Unlooked for tears pricked Elrohir’s eyes. Why he should be so moved by the archer’s words after so many centuries of intimacy between them, he did not know but it did not change the fact that he was. Mutely, he snaked his hand behind Legolas’ nape and pulled him back down into an even more voracious kiss. At once, the prince set to ravaging him anew. Caught in Legolas’ thrall, Elrohir swiftly and willingly succumbed anew.

Supple fingers played with his nipples, pinching and tweaking them until he was squirming with delight beneath the prince’s withy form. As their members surged back to life, Legolas thrust against him, sliding the hardening columns against each other until they were both gasping into each other’s mouths from the near excruciating ecstasy.

Elrohir felt the archer reach between them to gather the copious fluids of their resurgent passion. He stopped Legolas just as he was about to smear the twin’s shaft with their mingled seed. The archer broke their kiss, eyebrows lifting in question.

“Nay, I would have you take me,” Elrohir whispered. He firmly guided Legolas’ hand to the archer’s member. “Anoint yourself, melethron.”— lover.

Legolas caught his breath as Elrohir compelled him to coat his own length. “Are you certain?” he murmured, his heart thundering at the thought of having the warrior. His teacher and mentor and dearest friend.

“Aye, very certain,” Elrohir said. “Have me, Legolas, master me—” He broke off and drew a shuddery inhalation. “Make me forget, lass vuil.”—dear leaf. “Make me think only of you. Of us.”

Swayed by Elrohir’s fervent need, Legolas complied. Almost holding his breath, he moved between the twin’s thighs. If he still had reservations about what he was about to do, they were quickly swept away when Elrohir lifted his legs and wrapped them around his waist. Swallowing hard at the thought of delving into the Elf-knight’s very core, Legolas pressed his eager shaft home.

‘Twas he who gave a strangled cry as he was sheathed to the hilt. Eyes swimming, he stared at the warrior in joyous disbelief. He had never entertained the thought of taking Elrohir for all the reasons he had given the twin. But this night Elrohir had directly asked it of him, had told him he needed it of him - he could not refuse so heartfelt a plea. And now here he was buried deep in the heated sweetness of the Elf-knight’s formidable body. He had not thought such bliss possible.

“Oh Elbereth,” he whispered as raging desire coursed through him like a molten river. “Eru preserve me.”

His eyes gleamed with unholy brilliance. A wild urge to stake his claim on the warrior struck him then. He began to drive into Elrohir, each thrust as deep as he could make it, the twin’s moans and gasps sending prickles of delight simmering along his skin.

With none of his other partners had it ever felt like this, he thought with astonishment. None had looked as glorious as Elrohir did lying beneath him, his sable hair spread like blackest silk upon the pillow, half-closed eyes gazing up at him with utmost trust, lips parted in tacit invitation to be plundered. None had felt as warm and welcoming – for all the others’ enthusiasm in yielding to him, only this surrender meant the world to him.

All the others, no matter what caring, affection or even love they might profess for the prince, could not avoid being influenced even to the tiniest extent by his lofty ranking in the kingdom. But Legolas knew without a doubt that even had he been but a common border scout or Elf-wright or one of his father’s scullions, Elrohir would still submit to him without hesitation.

This fact, this knowledge sent his lust spiralling to unprecedented heights. Rough cries escaped him with every lunge of his hips, the feel of surprising tightness and wondrous satin softness making him near giddy with felicity. Wanting to see Elrohir lose himself completely to pleasure, he grasped the Elf-knight’s shaft as it pressed against his belly and stroked it hardily.

Elrohir gasped then shuddered helplessly, the simultaneous sensations of being caressed from without and within unravelling him ere long. Coming completely undone, he spent himself into the archer’s covetous hand, calling out Legolas’ name, his features so stunning in rapture, the sight finished the prince with shocking swiftness.

Breathing harshly with the force of his release, Legolas buried himself as deeply as he could, his entire existence in that instant reduced to the ecstasy of wholly claiming his beauteous Elf-knight. As the last of his seed filled his lover, he felt his arms give way and he collapsed onto Elrohir. The twin’s strong arms enclosed him and, with a happy sigh, he nestled his head against Elrohir’s shoulder, curling his arm around his waist and draping his thigh across the warrior’s legs.

The thought came to him that he had discovered something new this night. About himself and about Elrohir. He had practically worshipped Elrohir when he had seen naught but his strength and wisdom. But tonight, he had seen the Elf-knight vulnerable and near despair; in dire need of counsel and reassurance. And he found that he adored Elrohir all the more for having revealed to him his weakness and for possessing the courage to reveal it at all. He tightened his hold on the warrior.

“Hannon le,” Elrohir murmured, gently caressing the archer’s tousled hair. Thank you.

“Whatever for?” Legolas queried, tilting his head slightly to look at him.

“For seeing to my needs,” Elrohir softly replied. “For taking care of me so tenderly.”

Legolas raised himself slightly on his arm and looked at his friend. “I was hardly tender,” he said half teasingly. Then more seriously, he added: “You know I would do anything for you. Besides, I more than answered my own needs.” He lay down once more, pressing his face into Elrohir’s neck. “Especially my need for you, Elf-knight.”

Elrohir caught his breath at the admission. The prince had made similar declarations before in relation to their unique affair. But somehow, it felt different after what had passed between them. He could not quite pinpoint the feeling or the moment it had taken root in his heart. But it was there.

Tonight, it seemed to Elrohir that a line had been crossed. But what that crossing entailed and whether he alone had done so - or Legolas as well - he did not know. Yet.

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

Glossary:

firith – Sindarin for late autumn, roughly October to November

Naneth – Mother

To be continued…
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond