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Lá Aman	By : megumi Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3512 -:- 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.

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Title: Lá Aman [1/3]

Author: The Greenleaf (The_Greenleaf@cherrycoma.net)

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rape, threesome
AN: Oh gods, forgive me. *hides in a corner* The idea was spawned during a viewing of LotR, and it refused to leave my head. Believe me, I'm not overly fond of bastardizing anyone; I'm actually rather fond of Gimli. And Haldir, too, but you all know that. 9.9; Seeing as how just about everything I write is Haldir-centric... Blame it on the cotton candy and muses. They can do strange things when combined.
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Stupid fucking trees.
Gimli son of Glóin hated trees with a passion, never mind the fact that they were largely responsible for the air he breathed and the food he ate. He hated the height and strength of them, he hated the soft rustles they made when wind danced through branches and foliage alike, he hated the delicate nessness of their leaves. Above all, he hated their beauty. It had been difficult to admit to himself, but Gimli envied the elves. What an experience it must be, he thought, to live in a world that was so alive, full of bright light, fresh air, and green growing things.
The petulant dwarf grumbled softly as he entered a dense patch of mellyrn and settled himself at the base of an exceptionally handsome one. He would not dispense with his facade; he had the honor of his people to think about. Gimli almost laughed aloud at the idea of a dwarf admitting even the smallest bit of liking for an elf or an elf's realm.
Liking for an elf. Gimli reached into his pack for an apple and tore into the fruit viciously; the crisp flesh offered little resistance to sharp teeth and strong jaw muscles. Liking for an elf, the dwarf thought again as he chewed. Therein lay his problem; in dwarvish societies, combining the concept of beautyh thh the concept of an elf was nothing short of blasphemous. From the moment they were born, the Children of Aulë were given the title of "Elves' Bane," and taught to hate the fair firstborn Children of Ilúvatar, for while the final fate of the elves was secure, the fate of the dwarves was not.
However, Gimli concluded, many dwarves had no experience with anything beyond caves, rocks, and other dwarves. A pity, that.
They had never witnessed the deadly grace of an elf in battle, never heard the voices of gods and angels lifted in song and prayer, never accidentally stumbled upon an elf bathing.
No, they had experienced none of this. But Gimli son of Glóin had. He had seen an elf moving through the dance of battle with a deadly grace. He had heard an elf sing, a beautifully clear contralto never heard among the dwarves. He had accidentally stumbled upon an elf bathing, watched as the crystal clear water parted when it connected with golden flesh, coming together again only after it had passed by the glorious creature. Gimli had never seen anything so beautiful, not among any pile of gold or gems, as the long limbs and pale hair, decorated with drops of water that sparkled as truly in the sunlight as any diamond ever could.
"Legolas," Gimli said softly, unaware that the sound had even left his throat. The name, spoken by a being accustomed to Westron and Khuzdul, the harsh and secret language of the dwarves, was uttered without half of the grace an elf would have given it. Even the pronunciation was incorrect, devoid of the inflections and changes in pitch that made it truly elven. Still, despite the dwarf's lack of skill, the word that rolled off of Gimli's tongue was by far more beautiful than any name possessed by a man or a dwarf.
Though it disgusted Gimli, he was physically attracted to Legolas. He was fascinated by the slender body, a body he wished to claim for his own uses. Gimli knew that he had no feelings for the elf beyond those of grudging friendship and lust, but it was the strongest form of lust that he felt, white hot and uncontrollable, driving away the thoughts of friendship. It was lust that started as a burning in the dwarf's stomach before it spread to his loins and finally spiked in his groin, where it consumed him completely.
Gimli grumbled with discontentment as he tried to ignore the growing tightness of his pants. Legolas was not to be had; he and Aragorn had disappeared hours ago. They would not return before morning, Gimli knew, and so he settled down, albeit reluctantly, to sleep. Then, almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, he opened them again. Something, or someone, was prowling nearby, Gimli could sense it.
Had he been fully awake, Gimli might have noticed that the elf who slid gracefully into his field of vision was taller and more muscular than Legolas, moved with a longer stride, wore the clothing of Lothlórien, not that of Mirkwood. However, the half-conscious dwarf saw only an elf with golden hair and a complexion to match, an ethereal being that glowed with light from within and that danced nimbly over the grass and leaves. In Gimli's mind, it had to be Legolas; no other could possibly be so beautiful! The dwarf held perfectly still until the watchful elf passed him by, not daring even to breathe. Then he rose and followed the creature, each footstep carefully placed, so as not to alert the elf to his presence.
For several minutes Gimli saw no sign of the elf, and he feared that Legolas was lost to him yet again. Then, with a suddenness that surprised him, he stumbled into a moonlit clearing. The elf had paused there, his beautiful face turned towards the night sky and the silvery moon. Gimli nodded once to himself; this was quite possibly the only chance he would ever have to be alone with Legolas, to have the elf all to himself. The dwarf stomped loudly towards the elf and tried to suppress his instincts to fight when the elf had an arrow nocked to his bow and drawn fully back before Gimli could even blink.
"Master dwarf," the elf said simply when he recognized Gimli as one of the companions who had entered Lothlórien earlier that day. He lowered the bow and removed the arrow, sliding it neatly back into his quiver. He offered a smile, little compensation in Gimli's mind for the near brush with death. The elf seemed to notice the dwarf's unease, and he was quick to offer a shallow bow and an apology.
"My apologies, I did not know you to be a friend. One can never be too careful, even here in Lothlórien. Besides, I am assigned to protect it, am I not?"
Protect Lothlórien? Gimli was puzzled for a moment; this was not Legolas, then. But it was someone who knew him, obviously, and the elf expected Gimli to know that he was a guard for the forest kingdom's borders. Then things fell into place in the dwarf's mind. This elf, then, was Haldir, brother to Orophin and Rúmil, one of the three that had collected the Company at the border of Lothlórien, for his brothers did not speak Westron. A low rumble of anger shook Gimli's chest; Haldir had been the one to disgrace him! He snarled and faced the elf boldly, and his hand slid towards his axe. Perhaps, in the finding of this one, instead of Legolas, all was not lost.
"You have done damage to my honor, elf," Gimli said coldly as he advanced on Haldir, "and I demand payment for it."
To the dwarf's immense surprise, Haldir merely laughed and tossed back his head. Long golden hair became a rippling sheet of silver in the moonlight, and Gimli knew then what he would exact from Haldir as an honor-price, whether the elf was willing or not. Haldir stopped laughing long enough to look down at Gimli, his arms crossed over his chest.
"That is something you have no right to do, Gimli son of Glóin. You are a guest here, and neither kin nor numbered among the elf-friends. Even if you were, I was following the orders of my Lord and Lady, and so I am not at fault for the bruising of your extensive pride. Therefore, I choose to ignore your improper demand for honor-wergild."
Gimli blinked in shock; how dare the elf deny him! With a roar, he charged Haldir and attempted to knock the elf flat with his axe. Haldir danced out of the way and laughed again, the tone of the laughter a further injury to Gimli's pride. The dwarf charged again, and once again Haldir moved to the side. But this time, Gimli anticipated the move, and he copied the action without hesitation. Haldir gasped in pain and surprise as the blade of Gimli's axe clipped his leg. He felt warmth and sticky wetness as his blood spilled down his leg, and he snarled in rage.
"What you have just done is unforgivable, dwarf, whether you are a visitor in the favor of the Lord and Lady or not. I accept the challenge you have offered me. Let us be done with it here and now."
Haldir lunged towards Gimli and snapped his fine elven scimitar from his belt. He brought the wickedly sharp blade up to parry the forceful blow of Gimli's axe, and jumped over a swipe aimed at his legs mere seconds later. Haldir laughed forcefully, a dry sound completely devoid of humor, and his sword snaked in to open a thin cut on Gimli's arm. He brought the blade to his lips and licked the fluid from the beaten sword edge, and he did not bother to mask his disgust at the taste.
"And thus, the first blood of voluntarily met and rightful confrontation belongs to me, dwarf, though it be shed from a creature of a tainted race. I offer you the chance to yield, the chance to leave with your honor intact."
Not surprisingly, Gimli chose not to accept Haldir's offer. He lunged at the elf and lashed out at the long legs. The move caught Haldir by surprise, and before he could react, the hard wood of Gimli's axe haft collided painfully with shi shins. The blond elf stumbled, shocked by the move's lack of honor, and Gimli took advantage of Haldir's confusion. He swatted the finely crafted blade from his opponent's grip, and tossed his axe aside as an afterthought. He knew that it would be impossible to beat Haldir with blades, unless he constantly tricked the other, for the elf was more skilled than most. Gimli knew also that the chances of catching Haldir off guard like that again were almost zero. His once chance of victory lay in a direct confrontation, a contest of pure physical strength.
"The tables have turned, elf," Gimli growled as he watched Haldir regain control of himself. The tall elf grimaced, for he knew full well what Gimli meant. The dwarf was taking away one of Haldir's advantages, turning the battle to suit his own strengths. The elf would have to be more alert that ever, and he would have to use his agility and speed to their full advantages, if he hoped to defeat the dwarf in hand to hand combat.
"Turned they have been, but they have yet to be upset completely," Haldir retorted as he lowered his body into a defensive crouch. He sprang into the air as Gimli struck at him and twisted his body around in the middle of his flight. He dropped his full weight upon Gimli's back in a move that concentrated the force of Haldir's impact in an area as large as his feet. The dwarf went down quickly, the breath driven from his lungs. Haldir smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Not upset," he confirmed. "Perhaps they shall even be turned again."
It was that moment, wasted in a boast, which was Haldir's undoing. The blond elf had come to rest too close to Gimli, and the dwarf, never one to waste an opportunity, seized Haldir's ankle and pulled. The elf cried out sharply as his feet went out from under him, and he crashed to the ground. Gimli rose to his feet even as Haldir fell, and he struck without hesitation.
Haldir hissed at the stinging blow, and he brought his hand to his face. Blood wet his fingers when he pulled it away, and the elf realized that a ring on Gimli's finger had opened a gash across his cheek. The second that the elf had used to take stock of his injury cost him severely. Gimli took advantage of his momentary dominance, and seized the elf by the shoulders. Haldir lashed out with his foot, but by that point it was far too late. Gimli lifted the elf and threw him, his full weight behind the cast.
Haldir's experience with archery saved his life. Millennia of shooting allowed the elf to quickly gauge where he would land, and with approximately how much force. Thus, he was able to twist his body at the last second, and turn a head-on blow that would have undoubtedly snapped his neck into a glancing one. Still, Haldir was stunned by the impact, and he slid down the trunk of the tree he had collided with to lie defenseless on the ground. His mind barely registered Gimli's approach, but he knew that his last hope was a spell of protection. Haldir weakly drew himself up to face the oncoming dwarf, and he began to chant the spell's incantation, his hands shakily performing the accompanying motions.
"Tavari ar Tavaro, manu min nosse, hosta! Nermi, i laiquamine, Ranaor, i celemine, Úrinkior, i laurinamine, amin yala lle an-!" [*]
The elf could feel the magic begin to swirl around him, but it was not enough. Haldir's hands were too shaky, and his mind was too dulled by the collision with the tree. Gimli slapped him across the face before he could finish the spell, and Haldir's head struck the tree a second time. The guardian of Lothlórien yelped as Gimli drew him roughly away from the tree and threw him onto the ground, for some of Haldir's hair had remained, captured between pieces of bark. To his credit, Haldir struggled as Gimli descended upon him. However, despite the incredible strength and stamina of the elves, it was too much to ask a wounded one to throw off a dwarf in close quarters. Haldir shut his eyes tightly, fully aware of what Gimli wanted from him.
The son of Glóin took a long look at the stunned elf, before he smiled. Haldir would certainly be a worthy wergild, and Gimli wasted no time in claiming his prize. The elf was already recovering from the blows, and Gimli quickly removed Haldir's belt and bound the slender wrists together. A sharp tug snapped the leather belts that bound Haldir's quiver to his back, and the entire contraption, along with Haldir's bow, was tossed carelessly to one side. The guardian's cloak followed, falling to partially hide the weapons. Ironically, the cunning clasp of the cloak worked exactly as it had been designed to. The mechanism released itself if extreme stress was applied, and since the fastest enemies of the elves would be able to, at best, catch only the hem of a billowing cloak, the clasp provided a convenient way to free an elf captured in such a manner.
A cruel twist on his wrists brought Haldir out of his stunned state, and he grit his teeth against the pain. To cry out would be to alert others, something the elf could not afford to do. He was glad that he could not see Gimli's face, for he was positive that the dwarf would be gloating over his victory. Tears leaked from between Haldir's eyelids when he felt the brush of a blade against his skin, followed by a draft of air. Then, even the scraps of fabric that now composed his leggings were taken from him, and Haldir was left bare from the waist down.
Gimli chuckled as Haldir tried to kick him, and he dealt the elf a swift blow to the back. Haldir cried out softly, the pain incapacitating him briefly. That instant was all that Gimli needed, and he forced the elf's legs apart. Large hands grasped the slender hips with bruising force, and Gimli bent to whisper in Haldir's ear.
"Turned thrice and overthrown."
Haldir bit his lip until blood flowed as Gimli shoved cruelly into his body. His arms were pinned between his own back and the dwarf's stomach, and with every thrust daggers of pain shot through the elf's arms and into his shoulders. Yet he did not dare cry out. He could do nothing to implicate Gimli, or anyone else, for that matter, but especially not the dwarf.
Gimli groaned, thoroughly enjoying his revenge. The elf's unwilling body was tight and hot, and the temperature only rose as Haldir suppressed his agony and desire to scream. The dwarf shifted slightly and gripped the already bruised hips tighter, and with each thrust he buried himself fully in the creature below him. He would gladly have drawn the experience out, tortured the elf even more, but he did not dare to do so. If anyone found him, he was lost. Besides, the rising heat and involuntary clenching of muscles were fast driving him over the edge. Gimli sank his teeth into Haldir's shoulder, and he sank his nails into the elf's flesh as he let himself go.
The burn was more than Haldir could take. He took a male elf as his regular partner, but that burn was a sweet one. This was violation and pain, and Haldir screamed as the dwarf's seed set his torn insides on fire. The wave of pain came thrice more before Gimli withdrew. Haldir immediately turned on his side and curled into a ball as the agony of his body became less prominent, overridden by the agony of his mind. At any other time he could have revealed the identity of his violator, but not now. The Company was already breaking, and Haldir could not allow it to fall apart completely because of him. To accuse Gimli would be to forever separate the elves of Lothlórien and the dwarves, foolery in a time when the free peoples needed to be united.
Gimli tugged up his pants and fastened his belt as he looked down at Haldir. The elf had been a fitting honor-price indeed, but now the dwarf needed to bathe the smell of the guardian from his body. The Company would depart in the morning, headed to Mordor and the Crack of Doom, the great rent in which burned the Fire of Doom, the place where the One Ring was forged and the only place where it could be unmade. Gimli turned and left the clearing, intent on preparing for the morrow's departure.
He neither noticed nor acknowledged what he left behind.
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To be continued...
[*]- "Spirits of the woods, departed ghosts of my family, assemble! Spirit of the field, the green one, spirit of the moon, the silver one, spirit of the sun, the golden one, I summon you to-!" [Note: "Tavari ar Tavaro," literally translated, reads "female spirit of the woods and male spirit of the woods." However, it is less awkward to simply translate the phrase as a combination of the forms, "spirits of the woods."]
Or, according to CryKat's character, it means, "The fish run naked on their bicycles, only when I've changed my bean colored underwear."
Let's go with the first translation, hmm?
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Lá Aman