Carandol the Runaway

My apologies for the delayed update but I've been flat on my back for a few weeks. Normally, this would be a great pleasure, if exhausting, but with the added joy of suffering from Glandular Fever, it was a nightmare. I'm getting better, but still feel like shite, so while I'm awake.....here's some more.


Carandol The Runaway 1
Part 3 of the “Carandol” Series.
(Part 1 “Carandol the Matchmaker”, Part 2 “Carandol the Novice”)
Author: Sebastian
Email: sebastian.s@btinternet.com
Archive: AdultFanFiction.net. OEAM.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Legolas/Carandol (OMC), and other elves also get theirs…
Genre: Fictional Person Slash. Humour
Warnings: AU, sex, bad language, more sex…even worse language……..
Timeline: Third Age, before the Fellowship.
Disclaimer: I only own Carandol and his machinations. Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. No infringement of copyright is intended. I bow to the master. This offering is written purely for fun and no profit is being made. Sigh…

Summary: Carandol has run off to Lothlórien with Haldir. Has Legolas really done the dirty on Carandol and will our red-head survive the tortures of the Galdhrim’s beauty regime? All this and more…

Translations:

Mâlhwest - powder puff (the closest I could get)
Tara - stiff
Glavrollost – empty babbling
Echiladel – the follower behind
Filegluin – little blue bird
Anghathel – iron broadsword


Chapter 1:

Diary entry…if I kept one…We have almost arrived on the outskirts of Lothlórien, the home of air conditioned apartments, with panoramic views of the forest, and many within short walking distance of certain popular open air leisure facilities, including more yummy elves per acre than any other place on Arda. For this is, of course, the home of the famous chain of ‘Mâlhwest’ (Powder Puff) beauty salons and the subsidiary company of massage parlours, simply called ‘Tara’ (Stiff).

Ununatunately, this is also the home of the nosiest busybody in Middle Earth, her eminent malevolence, the weird sister herself…I give you (and you can keep her), Galadriel…oh, and her terminally bored and frequently inebriated consort, Celeborn…well, wouldn’t you be?

I start to ponder on the dismal prospect of running into some of the elf maids and their sisters, cousins and aunts I enthusiastically, but misguidedly humped last time I was here.

I would make a tally to relieve the tedium but I don’t have enough fingers and toes. Oh, alright… as you are a non-existent diary and no-one is going to read this, I’ll admit it was only half a dozen.

You’re not going to swallow that, eh? Hmmm…Come to think of it, that’s about the last thing I remember saying…

Very well, perhaps it was only three then…all at the same time…

…and, no, that doesn’t count as one!

Haldir interrupts my musings. “The messenger said that our presence was urgently needed, so there must be some sort of major incursion on the Golden Wood,” says Haldir as we approach the line of trees. “Probably orcs,” he adds as we enter the border territory.

Great…I discover Legolas with another, I run off with, reputedly, one of the most lecherous elves in Arda, and now I’m going to pop my clogs without having tasted revenge…or, at least, a few more of Lothlorien’s celebrated dives.

“How are you with a weapon?” asks Haldir, as we cross the borders.

“I can probably hold my own,” I reply.

“Not that kind of weapon,” Haldir smirks.

Oh, pahleeease…are you related to Erestor?

I make a loud snort of derision.

“Well, well, brother, you’re friend farts so loud I could have porked him in the dark!”

“Hello Orophin, meet Carandol,” Haldir says, and turns to me. “This is my younger brother Orophin.”

I smile faintly at the tall elf who has crept up on us and greet him in the customary manner…but only with one finger.

“This one needs some manners,” says Orophin, looking down his nose at me.

“Well, spank me then…” I say, peevishly.

“I’d love to, young one. But I’mmallmally a bit choosy with whom I share my hobbies.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” I retort.

“No,” says Orophin, “you probably couldn’t.”

“Well, this is pleasant,” interrupts Haldir before more damage is done. “So, what was the urgency, Orophin? We met with no bands of orcs on our way here.”

“Orcs? No, there’s no orcs. The Lady missed your….. er…needed your guidance again, Haldir,” says Orophin, giving me a sideways glance. “And there’s going to be a farewell do for her daughter. Celebrian will be returning to Imladris soon.”

Far be it from me to be polite and let that gaffe pass, I turn to Haldir. “Um…when you said you served Lady Galadriel, you meant it literally, then?” I ask.

Haldir gives me a look as if wondering wether or not to lie. He doesn’t bother. “Occasionally,” he says. Then he looks about furtively, almost as if someone could be listening… which of course, is very likely, knowing Galadriel.

We start walking again and Haldir continues. “She is, after all, Lothlórien’s greatest treasure.”

Quite…and should be buried.

“We’ll have to find a guest talan for you, Carandol,” says Haldir, changing the subject, “when Lady Celebrian’s entourage leaves. All the good talans are taken at the moment. Perhaps you can bunk up with us until they go.”

“Us?” I look doubtfully at Orophin.

“Myself, Orophin, and my youngest brother Rumil.”

“Rumil’s still on the southern borders, Haldir. Carandol can have his bed for a couple of days.”

“I expected him back by now,” says Haldir. “Trouble?”

“Drunk.”

* * *

We walk deeper into the Golden Wood until we near Caras Galadhon where our horses are collected for stabling. As we continue on foot we are approached by two immaculately coiffured elves.

“Oh, Haaaldir, dahhling,” says the tall brown-haired one, mincing towards us.

“…dahhling,” says the other, mouse-haired elf, trailing behind.

“Look at the state of you! Where have you been?”

“…have you been?” the mouse repeats.

I think he went before we left camp…

Haldir smiles faintly. “Mirkwood.”

The brown-haired elf tuts in irritation. So does his friend.

The taller elf runs his hands through Haldir’s hair. “We’ll have to give you some hot oil therapy.”

“…some hot oil.”

He’d probably enjoy that if it wasn’t on his scalp…

By now I’m conscious of my head going from side to side as I listen to the inane prattle and refrain while they do some strange things to Haldir’s person.

Haldir glances at me. “This is Glavrollost,” (Empty Babbling) he says, indicating the taller of the two, “and Echiladel,” (The Follower Behind) he adds, nodding towards the mouse. “Of course, they’re just nicknames. We haven’t used their real ones for an age.” Haldir puts his hand in the small of my back. “This is Carandol.”

Glavrollost peers at me. “Oh dear. Turn around.”

“…around.”

“Why?” I ask, puzzled.

“As Haldir’s scalp needs some attention, I shall have to run my hands up yours.”

“…up yours,” repeats Echiladel.

Not bloody likely.

“Look, we’ve been on the road. You can’t expect us to be at our best,” I bleat, with my back towards him.

Glavrollost ignores me and fingers my hair.

“Oh, Caaarandol…such a lasplisplit end!”

“…split end.”

“A what?”

And I’m just about to turn back rather than take the gratuitous rub on my bum, when I feel a tug on my scalp as one of my hairs is pulled out.

“Look at this. You’ll have to come to the salon for a complete work over. Now that the midsummer rush is over, I think we can accommodate you. Just let me know when you’re coming.”

“…you’re coming.”

I look down at my groin out of habit… idiot…this double-act is very disconcerting…

“I have to do Celeborn’s nails this evening but I would like to squeeze one of you in tomorrow, if not both,” Glavrollost says.

“…like to squeeze one…”

I look at Echiladel and he’s grinning as he tries for an innocent expression. Won’t work make…I’ve got you sussed…

As they move away and I turn to look at Haldir, a hand takes a firm chunk of buttock before Glavrollost moves further into the woods, and I swear I hear a naughty giggle beh behind him.

* * *

The brothers’ talan is on the outskirts of Caras Galadhon and is one of the larger, family sized residences.

It is plainly furnished, but spacious and clean and Haldir indicates the washroom before showing me to Rumil’s room. But I’m so exhausted that I just strip off all my clothes, crawl into the bed, kick out something soft and lumpy, and am soon asleep.

I am only semi-conscious when I am awoken by the feel of a warm body spooning up behind me.

Oh, he’s come…he’s here!

An arm snakes itself around my waist and pulls me against him and in my stupor I push back to rest my buttocks on his groin. He is already semi-hard and I wiggle my bottom to rub against his cock. It stirs into life and rests temptingly between my arse cheeks.

“Mmmm…Legolas,” I say, as I push against the body wrapping itself around me and press harder on his stiffening shaft.

Then I hear a giggle.

I turn in his arms and then I realise something.

“You don’t smell right,” I say, surprised.

“Well I had a bath before I…”

“You’re not Legolas?!”

“No…and you’re not my stuffed bunny…but who cares… you feel nice.”

“Take your prick away from my bottom.”

“Why?”

“Because it shouldn’t be there.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be here…but I’m not complaining. You’re all warm and soft…”

“Who are you?” I ask, moving away from him.

“Rumil,” says the voice, and his warm breath brushes my hair.

“Oh, the third brother.”

“And you…?”

“I’m…er… Carandol”

“What’s a Carandol?”

“Me. Are you still drunk?”

“Not very…”

I start to move again, find my back against the wall and try to get out of the bed.

“Don’t go. It’s too late to make up the sofa anyway. I won’t molest you. I usually like to see what I’m getting first.”

“Well… I suppose it is late…”

And I really can’t be bothered to move…but…. if he’s anything like me in the morning he’ll want to… especially if the view is to his liking. “What happens when the dawn comes?”

“I turn into a goblin,” he says sarcastically, then yawns and rolls over.

Just as long as you don’t turn into a fairy…

* * *

“What the…?!”

When I wake, Rumil is looking down at me and giving me the once over and I notice the covers are around my knees.

“Pretty…” he says simply. “And you’re certainly not my rabbit…there’s nothing floppy about you.”

I hoist a blanket up to my chest.

“No…well…I learnt how to stand to attention in the early hours while I was a cadet in Mirkwood.”

“Oooh…privates on parade…! How delicious,” says Rumil, and I have to admit that his grin is infectious.

So is his hand underneath the sheets.

“Er…Rumil, I think you’d better stop that,” I say, unconvincingly.

“Why? You’re a lot more responsive than my other playmates,” he says, running his fingers along my.

“Look, I’m not your bunny.”

“No, but you have something in common.”

“What?”

“You could also do with a really good stuffing.”

Ohhhh noooo….I start to rise… I also try to get out of bed…

Rumil pushes me back down. “Anyway, I didn’t mean one of my toys,” he says and waves his hand at a collection of rather battered-looking cloth animals. “I meant the friends I got drunk with yesterday.”

He leans down over me and softly rubs his lips across mine. He’s poised for an attack on my mouth when the bedroom door opens.

“Rumil, put him down, will you, and get eady for our trip to the Mâlhwest salon.”

I look over Rumil’s shoulder at Orophin who is standing in the doorway smirking.

“Oh goodie,” says Rumil, with a chuckle. “I can’t wait to see what they do with Carandol.”

I can, but I push Rumil off me and crawl from the bed.

Then I remember I’m naked and my abandoned dick is craning its neck in a futile attempt to coerce one of the brothers into a handshake. I turn my back on the older brother and look over my shoulder.

“Mmm,” says Orophin, staring at me thoughtfully. “Perhaps I would like to spank that bottom after all.”

“Don’t you dare,” laughs Rumil, gamely coming to my defense.

“That’s my little brother for you,” says Orophin, shaking his head. “He’s not one of life’s experimentors….” He pauses. “Experiments…yes.”

* * *

The three brothers and myself arrive at a very crowded salon but are reassured that many of the clientelle have been dealt with and are about to leave.

“There’s a troop in from the northern borders,” says Glavrollost, “and they were in a bit of a mess so needed to be handled promptly.”

“…needed to be handled…” echoes Echiladel and moves away to show some clients out.

Funny how he just repeats the words that suit him…

The four of us look around for somewhere to sit.

“There’s only one spare stool,” says Glavrollost, “I’ll bring it over for one of you.”

“That’s alright. Turn it upside-down,” says Rumil grinning, “then we can all make use of it…!”

I grimace as Orophin slaps his younger brother’s head lightly. “Don’t be disgusting Rumil,” he says, but he’s laughing despite himself.

“What do you plan on having done, Carandol?” asks Haldir.

Glavrollost returns with the stool and we all look at it with some distaste. He gives us a puzzled expression then answers Haldir’s question for me.

“I think, nothing up top, but plenty of shape on the bottom.”

“Sounds about right,” says Orophin, and gives me a fleeting look.

This time, I give Orophin the full bird…but he laughs and turns away.

“Ah, I see we have some spaces now. Walk this way,” says Glavrollost, and nances off.

Well, I’m not walking that way…

Bowls of warm water are waiting for us as we move to the empty chairs. I look around the salon at the shelves full of bottles and jars which I presume to be shampoos and preparations for conditioning. As I tend to be one of those elves who view hairdressers in the same light as going to the healers, I’m now getting distinctly anxious.

“Orophin likes you,” says Haldir sitting next to me.

“Yeah, I can tell,” I say, derisively.

“No, really. If he didn’t, you would have been flat on the floor by now. My brother doesn’t take any prisoners.”

“Neither of them do,” I reply, remembering how Rumil pinned me to the bed.

“Rumil? Oh, from what I heard he was just amusing himself, but perhaps you’d better sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Haldir leans over and puts a hand on my thigh.

I jump. I don’t suppose he means the sofa.

“Orophin’s had it hard,” says Haldir confidentially.

“He probably likes it hard,” I say, and lean back as my hair is lifted ready for washing.

“I mean, he’s had some bad relationships.”

I’m not surprised with that attitude, but say nothing as the assistant pours warm water over my head and the pampering begins.

Glavrollost approaches. “I think for your first time, I’d better do you myself,” he says and wraps my head in a thick cloth and moves me to a chair in front of a large mirror.

As he combs out my tresses he babbles on in what I now realise is his own inimitable way.

“So, what do you fancy? Let me see…”

He holds up pieces of hair and plays with them to see the effects.

“Just something plain…but tasteful,” I say, hopefully.

“Oh, my dear, we don’t do plain. I’ll give you a bit of a trim first and then we’ll see.”

“…give you a bit…” says Echiladel, creeping up behind us with various pairs of scissors.

Hmmm…I wondered where he’d gone.

I hear the worrisome sound of clipping and glance with relief at the small deposit of hair on the floor.

“Good. I was worried about the amount you were taking off,” I say.

“Oh, no, Carandol. I won’t be getting it all off now.”

“…getting off now…” says the familiar echo.

You’d better put all those scissors down first.

“I suppose you get all sorts in here, then?” I ask, just to make polite conversation.

“Oh, my daahhling, yes. We even get some of the Rohirrim in occasionally, those that aren’t worried about the rumours, of course.”

“Rumours?” I ask quickly, before the mouse can jump in.

“About the wicked elf witch that lives here.” Glavrollost starts to laugh. “Oh dear, I do wonder where those boys get their ideas. Fancy being worried about Lady Galadriel.”

“Fancy,” I say, and look around me uneasily.

I pull myself together. “Do you get dwarves here too?”

“Certainly. The dwarves usually come to the salon for a chest wax and nasal hair removal. Mind you, the dwarf men don’t bother with that though.”

I grunt in surprise and Echiladel grins at me in the mirror, but remains silent for once.

“Now, then, Carandol, I’ll just give you a quick rub.”

I cross my legs and close my eyes as my scalp is massaged and start to drift away. If Echiladel made any comment, I didn’t hear it.

When I wake, I’m staring at the hairstyle from hell with three intricate braids each side of my head caught into an elaborate back-knot and tied up with a large bright green ribbon.

“Oh, it’s sooo you,” says Glavrollost with enthusiasm.

“Oh, Eru…” I start, but am silenced by the brothers looking down at me.

“Very you,” says Orophin, with a smirk, “I knew they’d find something to suit you.”

“It’s not quite right,” says the youngest brother, thoughtfully.

Thank you, Rumil.

“It should be a dark green ribbon!”

I raise my eyes to the heavens.

“What?” he asks, innocently.

I get up and am ushered to the door, where I pause.

“Was there something else?” asks Glavrollost.

“Well, yes…actually…”

“Ah, of course,” he says. “Something for the weekend?”

* * *

We are greeted on the path back to the talan by a messenger in some haste.

“Haldir, there’s a small party of riders approaching the borders. From their dress, I’d say they were from Mirkwood.”

Yes! At last!

I race through the wood and catch up with the riders as they are dismounting and preparing to hand over their horses. I see Filegluin and two other cadets and then my face drops in disappointment.

“Hello, Fileguin,” I say, and nod at the other cadets. “He hasn’t come then?”

“Greetings, Carandol.”

Filegluin turns and looks me up and down. “No…and just as well…what in Arda have you done with your hair?! And you smell like a Gondorian pansy!”

“Thanks, I’ve missed you too! Why are you here?”

“Thranduil was concerned about you…and I’ve got a letter for you.”

I suppose it was too much to ask that Legolas would be worried. Why should I be surprised? Well, he can shag half of Mirkwood for all I care…

“So, Carandol, why did you run off?” asks Filegluin, as we start to walk towards Caras Galadhon.

I come straight out with it…almost. “I saw Legolas with Anghathel in the stables. They were…you know.”

“Mucking out?”

“No…I…Oh, I can’t bring myself to say it,” I say, miserably.

“Humping the horses?”

“Filegluin!!! That’s revolting!”

“Well, it has to be something serious if you won’t spit it out, Carandol. Come on, you’re driving me crazy.”

“You see…they were…”

“Don’t tell me they were…you know,” says Fileguin, trying to be helpful.

“See? It’s difficult, isn’t it?”

“That’s because they wouldn’t.”

“But I saw them,” I say, feeling even more wretched.

“Oh.”

There’s silence for a moment while Filegluin considers this information. Then he stops walking.

“You’d better read this letter then.”

When I don’t answer, Filegluin sniffs at the scroll. “It’s perfumed,” he says, and smiles at me.

“Really? Why would the king perfume a letter to me?” I ask.

“It’s not from Thranduil, you idiot, it’s from Legolas.”

“Not interested,” I say and make a po face.

“It’s jasmine and gardenia…” says Filegluin trying to tempt me.

“Don’t care.”

“And your name is beautifully written,” he tries again.

“Humph!”

“He was very upset…”

“Don’t believe you.”

“And he’s deperate to see you,” Filegluin continues, laying it on thick.

“You just want to know what he’s written,” I say.

“Of course I do. It’s a love letter!”

“Perv!”

“Stubborn prick!”

“Oh…give it here then,” I say, just in case he takes me seriously and rips it up.
“But I’m not opening it now.”

Filegluin sighs in frustration.

“But I’ll give you details later,” I say, and he perks up. “So, if Legolas was so hurt, why didn’t he come himself?”

“Didn’t I say?” says Filegluin. “Well, just after you left, we got word that a large contingent of orcs was approaching the palace caves from the south. They had to send out three troops to encircle them, led by Gildor, Glorfindel and… Legolas. Because of the orc movements, Thranduil was concerned and sent us after you…and…that’s when Legolas gave me the letter.”

I stare at him in shock.

“I’m sorry, Carandol. I’m sure he’ll be alright,” he says, and puts an arm around me.

“Yes…” I say, in a small voice. Oh, my poor, brave Legolas, fighting all those orcs, and …and…maybe getting hurt…

And then I remember why I’ve run away.

I look at the scroll in my hand. Perhaps the letter contains an explanation for his actions, and entreaties, and apologies and…maybe some sweet words….and some naughty things…and…

My groin starts to tighten at this last thought.

“I…I think I’d like to go and read this now,” I say, trying not to appear too eager.

“Of course,” saysegluegluin, “but don’t leave a mess on the paper!”

* * *

My feelings have gone from hurt to disappointment to anger to fear and now longing as I take the scroll back to the talan and pour myself a large glass of some rich blackberry wine. Then I curl up on the divan to drool over adorable Legolas’ letter.

As I break the prince’s seal I can hardly wait to read the declarations of affection, how he misses me and dreams of me day and night, how he’s so sorry, how he longs for me in his arms…

It’s rather a short scroll…but it’ll be sweet nonetheless. I roll it out properly and gaze at the beautiful handwriting.

Carandol, it begins…Not…my dear Carandol… Oh well, he was probably eager to get it to me… I read on…


“What the fuck are you doing in Lothlórien?”

Legolas

***

TBC…