Title: Betrothal to an Elf Part 10 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel Rating: R Summary: More details emerge about Erestor’s past. Genre: Romance Word count: 592 Warnings: Hints of sexual abuse Beta: Aglarien Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this. Authors Note: The prompts used were 8 Apr 2006 – ‘bed’; 13 Jun 2006 – ‘between’; 7 Jul 2006 – ‘time’; 10 Jul 2006 – ‘regret’; 5 Sep 2006 – ‘warrior’; 17 Sep 2006 – ‘shame’; 25 Oct 2006 – ‘fire/flame’; 7 May 2007 – ‘queer’; 13 May 2007 – ‘zealous’; 21 May 2007 – ‘boast/boastful’; 29 May 2007 – ‘tilt’; 2 June 2007 – ‘obsession’; 6 July 2007 – ‘boil’ ************************ “You need not tell me that I am being foolish, Elrond. I tell myself this over and over.” Erestor stood aside to allow the elf-lord entry. One of the candles had begun to tilt, and Elrond carefully straightened it, its flame barely flickering with the movement. “I confess I find some of your thoughts…queer. Not to mention your use of strange words; that is almost an obsession with you.” “I know,” Erestor said quietly. “Even as an elfling words had a fascination for me; every time I learned a new one I would boast to my parents. My Adar, in particular, became very frustrated with me, and would often tell me he wished I would be as zealous with my weapons training as I was with my words.” The advisor stared at Elrond, his face pale. “I do love Glorfindel, but I can not seem to rid myself of these feelings.” “You are not being a traitor to Gil-galad. If anything, he was a traitor to you.” Elrond smiled mirthlessly at Erestor’s startled look. “I know more about what happened between the two of you than you realise. Gil-galad took great pleasure in telling me the details of what he did.” “You knew?” Erestor whispered in disbelief. “Aye. And believe me when I say that I had no desire to know.” Elrond gazed at his advisor solemnly. “I was angry at Gil-galad for doing what he did, and I was angry at you for allowing him. How I wanted to speak to you, make you somehow understand that you did not deserve the treatment he meted out to you…except I did not know how to approach you. And so to my eternal regret and shame I kept quiet.” With a sigh, Elrond sat down in a chair, and indicated to Erestor to do the same. Once the advisor was seated, Elrond continued, “Gil-galad was my king; I owed him my allegiance. As a warrior, he was formidable, his strategies sound. He cared about his men and was not afraid to show it. But…” “He cared for me, in his own way,” Erestor said quietly. “Yes, I suppose he did,” Elrond said heavily. “But it made my blood boil nevertheless every time he told me his latest tale.” “Then you also know he was rarely gentle with me.” Elrond nodded. “And that he tied you to the bed, that he would penetrate you with various objects, not to mention use a whip on you.” The elven lord shuddered. “He told me that he took particular satisfaction marking you with the whip.” “At least he never drew blood,” Erestor murmured. “Have you mentioned any of this to Glorfindel?” “Only some of it. I have not had the courage to tell him everything.” “Mayhap you should.” Both elves were quiet, and then Elrond asked, “Have you and Glorfindel…?” “Made love?” Erestor finished. “Aye; the night twins returned. Apparently he was under instruction from you to ‘ravage me senseless’. The glare that Erestor gave Elrond made the elf-lord smile a little shamefacedly. “He was so gentle with me that I almost wept. It was nothing like what I had experienced at the hands of Gil-galad.” “Then go and find him, mellonen. Tell him. The time has long passed for you to be keeping secrets from him. More importantly, you must finally let go. Accept that Gil-galad was for all intents and purposes a selfish fool who never understood what love was.” Erestor rose from his chair, resolution on his face. “You are right, Elrond. It is time.” ************************ Elvish translations: Adar – father mellonen – my friend *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: Betrothal to an Elf Part 11 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel Rating: R Summary: Erestor finally tells Glorfindel more. Genre: Romance Word count: 835 Warnings: Sexual abuse Beta: Aglarien Disclaimer: The prompts used were 20 May 2006 – ‘tears’; 21 May 2006 – ‘true’; 24 May 2006 – ‘rose‘; 9 Jun 2006 – ‘red‘; 24 Sep 2006 – ‘skin’; 29 Sep 2006 – ‘call’; 17 Oct 2006 – ‘blood’; 16 June 2007 – ‘jerk’; 20 June 2007 – ‘regal’ ************************ Glorfindel came awake with a jerk. Someone was knocking insistently at his door. The seneschal groaned. His head felt thick and muzzy from having consumed one too many goblets of wine at dinner. “I am coming,” he muttered irritably. ‘Probably the twins,’ he thought as he rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes. Yet, when he opened the door, he was startled to see Erestor standing before him, holding a plate of – wait, was that his favourite sweetmeats? – in his hand. “I need to talk to you. I need to apologise. I need to say so many things to you that I do not know where to start! Here,” the darkling elf thrust the plate towards Glorfindel, “these are for you. The cook would not cease her grumbling until I told her that the fate of true love rested upon these.” “’The fate of true love…?’” Glorfindel’s gaze was disbelieving. “Erestor, you are not making any sense whatsoever. Not to mention my head is pounding, so try and make things as simple and as clear as possible for me to understand. Plus, do you have any idea what time it is?” He stared in confusion at Erestor, and began to wonder whether the elf standing agitatedly in the middle of his room truly was the advisor or an imposter, so odd was his behaviour. “I love you.” “So you keep telling me,” Glorfindel said a little sourly. “However, please understand me when I say that you have rather a strange way of showing it.” “I did not tell you everything that Gil-galad did to me.” “I gathered that. And I suppose you think now is the best time?” Glorfindel placed the sweetmeats on the table. He sat down on a nearby chair and looked at the advisor. In Erestor’s eyes, the seneschal looked almost regal, and for some strange, unknown reason it made him want to drag Glorfindel to his bed and demand that the seneschal make love to him. How Glorfindel could look so beautiful despite the obvious discomfort he was in was probably a question Erestor would never find an answer to, and he shook his head to clear away any unruly thoughts. “Well, Erestor?” “You look so beautiful,” Erestor blurted out, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Glorfindel. The darkling elf looked around the room, and his eyes lit upon an empty wine bottle that the seneschal was using as a candle holder. Picking it up, he blew out the candle before removing it and laying it on the table. Glorfindel watched Erestor’s movements, wondering what the other elf was doing. Erestor caught his gaze. “A bottle was one of Gil-galad’s favourite toys,” he began conversationally. “Favourite toy?” Glorfindel echoed. “For what?” Erestor continued as if he hadn’t heard. “He at least had the courtesy of oiling it before he used it in me.” “In you?” Glorfindel’s face paled. “He inserted bottles into…?” “Aye. The thickest part, might I add. Gil-galad took great pleasure in seeing how far my opening could be stretched. I was never really prepared for it,” Erestor continued in a monotone, “and it would always hurt. But I let him do it because I loved him, and I thought that what he did was because he loved me. Naďve, was I not?” Glorfindel could not reply, only stare at his betrothed, his aching head forgotten. “Gil-galad liked to mark me with a whip. He loved to see the red welts on my skin. At least he was careful not to draw blood, but the sting of the whip would remain with me for days. He would always try and be creative, wanting to leave some sort of ‘design’ on my back, my buttocks, my thighs…any part of my skin that would not be seen by others. You know, of course, about the ring he liked to place around my member, or that he enjoyed tying me to the bed so that I was helpless. One time, he drugged me, tied me to the bed and let others use me while he sat back and watched. But only the once. He told me later that he found he became jealous when he saw them take their pleasure from my body, and that it would not happen again.” “Enough, Erestor.” Glorfindel’s voice was pained. “I do not want to hear any more of Gil- galad’s perversions.” He rose from the chair and took Erestor into his arms. “What he did to you was wrong, melethen,” he whispered into the advisor’s hair. “I will not call you a fool for allowing him to do such things to you, for you were blinded by love. I lay the blame solely at Gil-galad’s door. If he were alive today, he would not be for long, for I would kill him for hurting you and abusing your trust.” Erestor said nothing, and after a moment Glorfindel realised it was because the darkling elf was crying. The seneschal tightened his hold, his own eyes filling with tears. ************************ Elvish translations: melethen – my love. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: Betrothal to an Elf Part 12 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel main pairing, Legolas/Lindir this part Rating: NC17 Summary: Legolas has no idea what has hit him. Genre: Romance Word count: 825 Warnings: Some elf-smut again… Beta: Aglarien Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this. Authors Note: The prompts used were 27 Mar 2006 – ‘water’; 22 Apr 2006 – ‘invitation’; 10 May 2006 – ‘planned‘;19 May 2006 – ‘hard‘; 11 Sep 2006 – ‘lick’; 24 Sep 2006 – ‘touch’; 26 Sep 2006 – ‘fingers’; 14 July 2007 – ‘hunger/hungry’ ************************ “Are you hungry?” “It depends,” Lindir said, lying back in the boat, the sun caressing his face. “Depends on what?” Legolas asked, withdrawing the oars from the water. Lindir opened his eyes, and the prince noted with interest the gleam in the minstrel’s eyes. “On what ‘food’ you have to offer.” A shiver of anticipation ran down Legolas’ spine. However, he feigned ignorance as he said, “Well, I do not know what the cook has made, but I am sure our picnic hamper has many delicacies that, hopefully, would tempt you.” “I was not referring to what the picnic hamper might contain.” Lindir’s voice was low, seductive, and Legolas felt a certain body part begin to stand to attention. “Then what…?” Legolas’ eyes widened as he took in the predatory look the minstrel was giving him. “I think you know,” Lindir whispered, sitting up and drawing closer to the prince. “Surely you are no innocent?” Legolas shook his head, his voice failing him. “Good. For I see something before me that I am *very* hungry for, and am desperate to feast upon.” Lindir almost laughed as Legolas re-applied himself with considerable vigour to rowing the two of them to the small island in the lake. Once they reached it, both jumped out and dragged the boat up onto the shore. Legolas was panting, but he was not sure if it was from the exertion of rowing, or the thought of what Lindir planned to do with him. So he was unprepared for Lindir’s next words. “Shall we have some lunch? I am sure cook has excelled herself, as always.” That said, Lindir reached into the boat and took out the hamper before walking towards a small rocky outcrop right at the shoreline. Legolas stared at the retreating back, stunned. Then his lips curved into a slow smile, his eyes taking in the slim figure, not to mention taut buttocks encased in fitted leggings, as well as the almost sheer tunic that allowed the prince to take in the smooth back. He hardened as he thought of how he would like to run his fingers along the translucent skin, skimming down till they reached those delightful buttocks. Eyes closed, Legolas imagined himself spreading them to reveal the rosy aperture, shuddered at the thought of his tongue moving over the quivering opening. He groaned, his hands fumbling at the lacings of his leggings, his shaft so impossibly hard that he felt that one touch would make him explode. “Let me help you.” Legolas almost yelped in surprise; he was so lost in his fantasy that he was unaware Lindir was standing before him. Before he could even say anything, Lindir’s fingers were successfully doing what his own could not. The minstrel dropped to his knees and eyed with considerable appreciation what was before him. “We are impatient, indeed,” he murmured, inhaling the musky scent. His tongue flicked out to catch the pre-come that was glistening on the tip. Legolas whimpered at the touch, and then his eyes closed in ecstasy as he felt Lindir’s mouth engulf him. With hands fisted in the minstrel’s hair, Legolas allowed himself to drown in the sensations coursing through him, Lindir’s talented mouth bringing him ever closer to the brink. When the minstrel began to hum, Legolas cried out, the vibrations catapulting him over the edge and his seed erupted into the willing throat. Lindir continued to lick the softening member, ensuring that no drop was lost before finally raising his head and gazing at the dazed face above him. “Better?” he asked mischievously. Legolas dropped to his knees. “Better?” he asked incredulously. “Words could not even begin to describe how I feel,” he whispered. “Good, I hope,” Lindir said a little smugly. “Oh, much better than ‘good’, melethen.” Legolas’ gaze had cleared, and he leaned forward and kissed the minstrel, moaning as he tasted himself in Lindir’s mouth. Incredibly, he could feel himself hardening again. “I want you,” he ground out, pressing himself against Lindir’s body. “Then have me. There is oil in the hamper.” The minstrel’s voice was husky with desire. Legolas needed no further invitation. He pulled his tunic over his head, not caring whether he tore anything. His leggings were disposed of, the task made easier as neither elf wore any footwear. Then he reached out towards Lindir and rent the minstrel’s tunic apart before leaning in and latching on to one of the nipples on Lindir’s chest, laving it with his tongue and biting it so that it stood in a hardened peak. Lindir gasped when Legolas began his assault, and then whimpered as his other nipple received the same treatment. “More,” he whispered. Legolas raised his head. “Aye, I will give you more,” he growled. “And I shall ensure that all will see that you belong to me.” The minstrel shivered in anticipation. “Then do it,” his voice giving clear indication that he could not wait. ************************ Elvish translations: melethen – my love *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*