Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf & Imladris 3 - Tender Musings	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2453 -:- 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-G&I 3 - Tender Musings
- 1
Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 3 - Tender Musings

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas (eventually)

Rating: PG

Summary: Is there a limit to how deeply one may feel about a friend? Disclaimer: The Elves are Tolkien’s property. Only the story is mine.

Authors Note: One of Webster’s definitions of an interlude is ‘that which takes place between two points in time.’ So this is a short piece bridging With Friends Like These and the upcoming stories. Feedback would be most welcome.

Interlude: Tender Musings

Eryn Galen, ethuil TA 562

The drill yard beside the barracks of the Woodland Realm of Northern Eryn Galen was more crowded than usual as the sound of clashing steel resounded across the open space. But it was not only the uncommonly large number of spectators that caused many a passing Elf to take a second look. It was also the nature of said spectators. A goodly portion of the crowd was female of the distinctly non-martial variety; the majority was obviously more interested in the two warriors currently engaged in swordplay than in the swordplay itself. Such was the attraction of the twin sons of Elrond whenever they visited Greenwood the Great.

The Elf-women twittered and fussed, oohing and aahing at each quicksilver thrust, deft parry or graceful motion. That was not to be wondered at. In the years since they first set foot in the forest kingdom, Elladan and Elrohir had only grown ever more comely both in form and spirit.

Clad in identical sleeveless, open-necked jerkins, long breeches and sturdy boots, their sable tresses bound into thick, single plaits, they called unwitting attention to the majesty of their formidable forms. The brethren were tall and sleekly muscled and more broad of shoulders and solid of limbs than was the rule for the Firstborn. But they were also lean and lissome and as fluid in their movements as any pure-blooded Elf. They were the potent results of their mixed heritage, fatally handsome, dangerously sensual, and all too desirable. With effortless ease, they inspired covetousness in just about every maid present as well as a few males though the latter maintained utmost secrecy and never dared reveal their interest in public.

The twittering rose to a crescendo as the sparring grew more heated. Soon, in the lightning swiftness of their feral ballet, it became near impossible to tell which twin was which. Even the woodland warriors now watched in earnest, noting with understandable fascination the foreign strokes and tactics employed by the brothers as they strove for mastery.

The end of the match came most unexpectedly when Elrohir, in a blur of motion, slipped past Elladan’s defenses and, with shocking fleetness, brought the tip of his blade against his brother’s throat. For a moment, silence descended upon the yard as the two stared at each other, the younger twin with cool triumph, the older with fast dawning recognition of the move that had bested him.

“Well done, Elrohir!” he suddenly laughed. “I had forgotten that old trick.”

Elrohir smirked, lowering his sword and re-sheathing it. “Old but useful nevertheless. And Glorfindel would not appreciate your calling one of his favorite strokes an ‘old trick,’ gwanunigen.“—my twin.

Elladan chuckled. “Aye, he would not. And indeed, old or not, I will own myself careless for having forgotten it. But be warned, brother, I will not be taken by surprise next time.”

“I know you will not,” Elrohir readily agreed. “But, come, enough of this banter. ‘Tis Legolas’ turn to take the field.”

He glanced to his side as a golden-haired figure rapidly approached them. Attired as they were, the youngest prince of Greenwood was breathtaking to behold. Time and experience had wrought changes in the once deceptively delicate Elf and sculpted him into what he had been born to be: a warrior prince of near unparalleled beauty and remarkable strength.

Though not quite as tall and muscled as the brethren, he was a perilous presence just the same and the twittering soon rose once more as interest shifted to the Sindarin prince. But the desire shown was more restrained, as it had not been when trained on Elrond’s sons. For Legolas was not as profligate as his friends and was far more selective in his bedmates. He did not take every Elf-maid he fancied though he had earned a reputation as a skillful lover as well.

He grinned at the twins as he passed them on his way to meet his opponent. Haldorn was one of Thranduil’s best warriors and few had ever gotten the better of him in battle. To engage him in any form of combat was asking for trouble but Legolas was no timid Elfling still seeking to prove his mettle to his betters. He had long passed into the much admired ranks of the kingdom’s redoubtable warriors and did not flinch at the prospect of pitting himself against anyone, not even the most renowned of them.

Both brothers smiled back but Elrohir stayed him with a slight touch on the arm. When Legolas paused, he murmured something to the prince, which elicited a slight nod and a pleased smile. And then they parted and Legolas strode off to face Haldorn.

Elladan watched his brother watch Legolas as the prince tested his skill in knife-play against the famed woodland warrior. There was a strange fire in the younger twin’s argent eyes that kindled more oft than not only in the presence of their friend. He wondered at it anew and thought to give voice to his misgivings.

“You dote on him,” he commented. “I wager you would upend all Middle-earth for his sake.”

“And yours,” Elrohir retorted, turning his head to regard his twin. “I would do anything for those I hold dear, you know that, tôren.”—my brother.

“Aye, we all do,” Elladan smiled fondly, “and treasure such devotion. But your regard for Legolas confounds me now and anon. He gained your hardly-won loyalty and affection in so short a time, I confess it amazed me and continues to do so.”

Elrohir considered the golden-haired prince once more. “There is an innocence in him that I would preserve at all cost,” he admitted.

Elladan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He is no longer untouched, Elrohir. We ensured that ourselves.”

“Nay, I did not mean innocence in that matter,” grinned Elrohir. “I mean, here,” he elucidated, placing a hand upon his chest. “Seldom have I felt such purity of heart in any being. Even were he to know the evils that taint Arda, Manwë forbid, I warrant he would remain untainted by them. I think him incorruptible. Such is the goodness in him.”

Elladan gazed at his brother curiously. “I have never heard you speak with so much esteem of any creature, Elf or mortal, outside of our family.”

The younger twin shrugged. “I had not met any worthy of my praise,” he replied. “I’d come to believe no such one existed.”

His brother frowned slightly. “Beware, gwanneth.”—younger twin. “You begin to speak in the manner of one smitten.”

He was rewarded, to his admitted relief, with a gust of unaffected laughter.

“I? Smitten?” Elrohir chuckled. “As much possibility of that as you falling in love with a troll!”

The older twin screwed his face up in disgust. “You could have chosen a more palatable comparison!” he chided.

Elrohir snickered at the other’s displeasure. He returned his gaze to the Greenwood prince then smiled as Legolas finally nailed his opponent with commendable skill and grace.

“He will be a mighty warrior, gwaniaur”—older twin—he said proudly. “A match for us, I predict. And did you see him at archery yesterday? He will best us one day, Elladan.” His smile was one of anticipation. “I look forward to the coming years in his company. We will not find it dull in the least.”

Elladan smiled as well, his anxiety dissipating for the present. “Aye, that we will not.”

The twins chuckled as a jubilant Legolas hurried to them. In the centuries since they first met, the woodland archer had come to gauge his abilities by the opinions of his friends. He listened avidly to their counsel and basked in their approbation. Today was no exception and he was filled with delight at the open admiration in their grey eyes. They clapped congratulatory hands on his shoulders when he neared them.

“That was splendid, Calenlass,” Elrohir said warmly.

“Aye, ‘twas a peerless display of mastery,” Elladan added.

Legolas beamed at their praise. “I have you to thank,” he said to Elrohir. “Your suggestion was brilliant and helped me at the last. But my swordsmanship still leaves much to be desired. That trick you used on Elladan was incredible. ‘Twas uncommonly fast and daring.”

“It should be,” Elrohir replied. “‘Tis one of Glorfindel’s favorite moves; something that was oft used by the warriors of the House of the Golden Flower in ancient Gondolin.”

“Truly?” Legolas eyes flashed with sapphire flame. “Then you must instruct me in its use, meldiren.”—my friend.

“What, now?” the younger twin laughed.

“We are out here,” Legolas pointed out. “What better time is there?”

“Valar, you are eager. Very well, I will teach you what I know.”

They strode onto the field together, Elrohir already explaining to the prince as they went. Elladan shook his head in amusement. When Legolas got started, there was often no stopping him. No wonder he’d improved so swiftly these past many years.

“Elladan?”

He turned with surprise at the sound of the gravely sweet voice. Legolas’ younger sister, Nimeithel, stood but a few paces behind him. Born belatedly to Thranduil and Ithilwen just eighteen years past, she had her mother’s dark hair, white skin and willowy grace and her father’s strong and striking features cast in a softer, feminine mold.

“How long have you been standing there?” Elladan asked, reaching out a welcoming hand.

The little lass took the proffered hand and stepped to his side. She took a moment to observe her brother spar with her companion’s twin before replying: “I heard you caution Elrohir about seeming to be smitten with Legolas. What did you mean by that?”

Elladan pursed his lips. It had not been his intention that anyone would hear their exchange, much less Legolas’ own sister.

“I was speaking of appearances,” he said.

“Appearances?”

“It would not do for others to think Elrohir’s regard for your brother too...profound.”

“Why?” Nimeithel frowned. “What is wrong with feeling deeply about anyone?”

Elladan studied her thoughtfully. The Elf-princess had always been a solemn child and a perceptive one at that. One could not hope to get away with an outright falsehood. He would have to resort to dissembling instead.

“Your people might mistake such feelings for something unnatural,” he carefully replied. “You know what can happen when folk are confronted with the unexpected; especially when ‘tis also forbidden.”

She nodded. “Elrohir could get hurt.”

“Aye, he could,” Elladan said quietly, thankful she had not marked his use of the term ‘your people.’ “I would not want that to happen to my brother.”

Nimeithel looked at him, her dove grey eyes agleam with understanding. “Then ‘tis good that he does not feel as you thought,” she said. “I would not want him to be hurt either. I would not want either of you to be hurt...ever.”

Elladan smiled gently. Such almost preternatural seriousness in so young an Elf. Yet he knew full well what humor and merriment she was capable of. A fascinating contradiction of traits in Thranduil’s sole daughter, he mused.

“My tutors await me,” Nimeithel sighed. “I must go.” She half-turned to leave then stopped a moment to once more gaze at her brother and Elrohir. “They are very well matched, aren’t they?” she commented.

Elladan glanced at them as well before looking back at her. “Aye, they are.”

She nodded then walked away quickly, her small form soon swallowed up by the crowd on the yard’s perimeter. Elladan watched her go then turned his attention back to the field when he heard a burst of laughter. Elrohir and Legolas were done with their contest and were now standing together, sharing some amusing tale.

They are very well matched indeed, Elladan thought idly as their heads bent close together, their raven and wheaten locks contrasting wonderfully. In that instant, something struck him with heart stopping force and he was hard-pressed not to reveal his sudden disconcertment. They are not only well matched, he realized. They look absolutely perfect together. The very idea took his breath away and he felt alarm mingle with the odd thrill that raced up his spine like a bolt of burning ice.

So taken was he by this unbidden insight, he did not notice that Elrohir and Legolas had ended their exchange and were walking back to rejoin him. As such, Legolas espied the look of wonder on his face before he had a chance to veil it.

“You look as if you just beheld Elbereth herself,” the Elven prince remarked as he and Elrohir neared the older twin.

Even as he spoke, Elladan realized the impossibility of his vision. In Rivendell, yes, or Lórien or Lindon, such an occurrence would be of no consequence save in its political aspects mayhap. But in Eryn Galen... Despite the very rightness he had felt upon seeing them together, it simply could not be. Not unless the Elves of the Woodland Realm chose to walk the ancient path once more and the Powers only knew if and when that might come to pass.

He shook his head and faintly smiled. “Nay, I was not blessed with so lofty a vision,” he replied. “Say rather that I was momentarily touched by a most improbable...whim.”

On that statement, he turned to lead the way back to the royal halls, pleased to leave both his brother and friend to look at each other in patent befuddlement.

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

Glossary:

ethuil - Sindarin for spring

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

The End
- 1
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 3 - Tender Musings