Title: Married to an Elf Part 1/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel Rating: PG Summary: Erestor is flustered. Genre: Romance Word count: 573 Warnings: None 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 22 Jul 2006 – ‘horizon‘; 23 Oct 2006 – ‘twilight‘ and ‘starlight’; 26 Oct 2006 – ‘jewel‘; 25 Aug 2007 – ‘son’ ************************ “Where is he?!” “Where is whom?” Elrond asked mildly. Erestor stood before him, flustered, and the elf-lord stifled a grin. “You know very well who I mean. That…that…that…” “Glorfindel is in the armoury doing inventory, I believe,” Elrond interrupted, amused to see his normally unflappable advisor decidedly frazzled. “What in all of Mordor is he doing there?” Erestor asked, frustrated. Elrond quirked an eyebrow. “Did you not hear what I said?” “Of course I did! You said he was in the armoury, doing inventory.” “Which, I believe,” Elrond said dryly, “answers your question as to what he is doing.” Erestor paused, taking in what Elrond was saying. “Doing inventory,” he finally said, a frown of displeasure on his face. “Except he is supposed to be having measurements taken for the outfit he is to wear at the ceremony.” Elrond looked at his advisor. “Actually, he was there this morning.” “He was?” The elf-lord nodded. “I suspect, mellonen, that it should be you having your measurements taken.” Erestor swallowed. “Oh.” His face paled. “I think I am late,” he whispered. “I think you are,” Elrond responded gravely. “I suggest you make your way there quickly.” “Yes…yes, of course.” Erestor turned and rushed inside, leaving the elf-lord shaking his head ruefully. “Is something wrong?” Elrond turned and smiled at Legolas. “No; merely amused at the sight of my advisor all a- flutter.” “A rare sight, I take it?” “A rare sight indeed,” Elrond concurred. “But, in a way, reassuring. It means that he has moved even further away from that which has plagued him for so long.” “When is the ceremony to take place?” “Five days’ hence, at twilight.” “An unusual time to have it,” Legolas commented. “It is what both Erestor and Glorfindel wanted. They especially wanted to have the party under ‘starlight and moonlight’, to quote their very words.” His gaze fixed on some point in the horizon, Legolas murmured, “It will be very romantic, and not just for them.” “Oh?” Elrond gave Legolas a knowing grin, and the prince flushed. “Did you have something in mind with a certain minstrel, ernilen?” “Do you mind me courting him?” Legolas asked, a glimmer of worry in his eyes. Elrond smiled reassuringly. “If anything, I am pleased. Lindir has a loving, generous spirit, and he deserves to be cherished. I can not think of a better elf who will do that.” The smile Legolas gave the elf-lord was blinding. “Hannon le, Lord Elrond. I would never have thought I could lose my heart so quickly, but Lindir is such a rare jewel that I feel privileged to love him, and that he loves me in return.” “Being in love is a wonderful feeling, Legolas. I know it all too well. Now, go. I sense you wish to make your own preparations.” Elrond almost laughed as Legolas ran off. He never expected the son of Thranduil to exhibit such behaviour, often being seen as having an air of aloofness that was so reminiscent of his father’s. “Strange, but Legolas’ words echo my thoughts as to what I think of Erestor.” Elrond turned at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice. “Does being in love always make one feel this way?” Thinking back to the time when he first met and courted Celebrían, Elrond smiled. “You may take my word for it, mellonen. Love turns us into gibbering fools, the only time when we are happy to be seen as such.” ************************ Elvish translations: ernilen – my prince hannon le – thank you mellonen – my friend *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: Married to an Elf Part 2/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel Rating: PG Summary: Erestor tries to think of the right words. Genre: Romance Word count: 379 Warnings: None 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 14 Jun 2006 – ‘sleek‘; 17 Sep 2006 – ‘ink‘; 31 Aug 2006 – ‘fur’; 28 Sep 2006 – ‘feather‘; 30 Sep 2006 – ‘pet‘; 9 Oct 2006 – ‘bat’ ************************ Erestor looked down at his ink-stained fingers, courtesy of his spilt ink-well, and sighed. For the good part of two hours he had sat there, trying to write something that expressed his feelings for Glorfindel. He wanted to let his soon-to-be-mate know just how much he meant to the darkling elf, but Erestor was having difficulty in trying to keep it short. At the moment, the words that he had scribbled on the parchment resembled a long, rambling soliloquy that would bore everybody within the first minute of his reading it aloud. With his clean hand he began to stroke the sleek fur of his pet kitten, Aranel, who arched and purred under his ministrations. Ever since Glorfindel had given the kitten to him, she had been the advisor’s constant companion, often lying underneath his desk as he did his work. Sighing, Erestor rose from his chair, and Aranel voiced her displeasure when the darkling elf ceased stroking her. “Díheno nín, pen-dithen,” Erestor murmured as he almost absent- mindedly scratched behind her ear. Walking to the window, he spied a feather lying on the sill. Turning back to the kitten with it in his hand, he put it front of her, then smiled as she began to bat at it with her little paw. ‘If only everything was so easily solved,’ he mused. Returning to the window, Erestor gazed out. One thing he very quickly realised was that he was actually looking forward to binding himself with Glorfindel. If the seneschal came to him this very minute and suggested that they bind themselves that day, he would not hesitate. For so long he had fought against Glorfindel, fought against his feelings for the seneschal, fought against any possible and conceivable thing imaginable, that Erestor felt that the upcoming ceremony would not just be a celebration of their binding, but also a celebration of relegating to the past, once and for all, what happened between him and Gil-galad. Erestor straightened and looked back at his desk, smiling. With a determined step he walked over and sat down before screwing up the parchment that lay there. He knew now *exactly* what he was going to say and, pulling forward a fresh sheet of parchment, he went about his task with unbridled enthusiasm. ************************ Elvish translations: díheno nín – forgive me pen-dithen – little one *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: Married to an Elf Part 3/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel, Lothvaen/? Rating: NC17 Summary: Lothvaen meets his mysterious Galadhel again. Genre: Romance Word count: 796 Warnings: Talk of spanking and sex 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 26 Apr 2006 – ‘thorn’; 29 Aug 2006 – ‘fox‘; 30 Aug 2006 – ‘rescue’; 31 Aug 2006 – ‘rodent’; 1 Sep 2006 – ‘envy‘; 21 Sep 2006 – ‘beast/beastly‘; 2 Oct 2006 – ‘shadow’; 3 Oct 2006 – ‘shimmer’; 8 Oct 2006 – ‘wolf’; 10 Oct 2006 – ‘rival/rivalry’; 12 Oct 2006 – ‘spider’; 26 Aug 2007 – ‘wrath’; 2 Sep 2007 – ‘struggle’ ************************ “Ouch!” Lothvaen sucked his thumb where the thorn had pricked him and glared at the offending object. As much as he loved roses, he had no love for their thorns. He was contemplating where best to hold the stem so he could cut a bloom when a shadow fell over the bush. Looking up, he nearly dropped the knife in shock. “You!” The Galadhel grinned. “Have you missed me?” he asked teasingly, and then laughed as he pretended to reel back in shock at the wrath emanating from the scribe. “Miss you?” Lothvaen spat. “How could I miss someone who did not even have the courtesy to tell me his name, and then disappeared for over a week! Everyone here thinks you are a figment of my imagination.” The scribe turned away, feeling the sudden urge to cry. “Forgive me, pen-velui.” The Galadhel was contrite. “I was asked to join a border patrol; that is why you have not seen me. Please,” the Galadhel beseeched, “will you not turn and look at me?” Slowly Lothvaen turned to face the other elf, unable to hide the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “Ah, pen-velui, I did not mean to make you cry,” the Galadhel said softly. “I think you are a beast,” Lothvaen said petulantly. The Galadhel’s lips twitched. “A beast, hmm? What sort of beast? A spider with a nasty bite? Or mayhap a ravenous wolf, ready to pounce on his unsuspecting victim. But what about the sly and cunning fox? No,” the Galadhel shook his head, “not beastly enough. Nor is a rodent, though the Valar knows I have been nipped more than once by nasty-looking rats during my rare forays to human settlements. Hmm, what other beasts could there be, I wonder?” Lothvaen laughed, giving up the struggle. “All you are being now is rather silly,” he chortled. “Silly?” The Galadhel looked affronted, but then smiled. “Ah, at least I have made you laugh, pen-velui. Does that mean I am forgiven?” Lothvaen smiled coyly, his head to one side. “Possibly.” “Only possibly,” the Galadhel mused. “But not definitely. I must try harder, then. However, there is something I must know, pen-velui. Is there one I must envy? Do I have a rival to your heart, one who waits hidden somewhere to rush to your rescue should I do anything untoward?” Mutely Lothvaen shook his head. The Galadhel gave a brilliant smile. “I am more than glad to know you are unattached, pen- velui, for I dreamt of you while I was away on patrol. And believe me when I say that my dreams were…tantalising. Do you want to know what I dreamt of, pen-velui?” “What?” Lothvaen whispered, his eyes wide. The other elf leant down so close that the scribe could feel the other’s breath on his cheek. “I dreamt I had you over my knee, pen-velui,” the Galadhel said huskily. “Your beautiful buttocks were bare, and I was rubbing them slowly, gently with my hand before I raised it and brought it down hard, leaving a red imprint. But you did not cry out, pen-velui. Instead you moaned so beautifully that I could feel myself shaking with need. I brought my hand down again and again, till your beautiful buttocks were red, while you continued to moan, and then beg, your own member hard and throbbing against my leg. One last slap to your buttocks, and you came, screaming, and I could feel your essence dripping down. And then you said to me: ‘Take me. I want to feel you inside me. Make me yours, claim me.’ So I did, pen-velui. I took you so completely, so thoroughly, and it was the most glorious experience in my life.” Lothvaen’s legs were shaking, and he found himself grasping the other elf’s arms to stay upright. “Touch me.” The Galadhel’s voice was hoarse. “Feel how hard I am for you, how I ache for you.” His hand trembling, Lothvaen touched the obvious bulge in the silver-haired elf’s leggings, and gasped. ‘Valar,’ he thought, ‘he is so big!’ He began to rub gently, fascinated as the Galadhel closed his eyes and thrust his groin into the scribe’s hand. Then the Galadhel reached down and pulled Lothvaen’s hand away, much to the scribe’s disappointment. “Enough.” The other elf’s voice was harsh with need. “Will you come to me tonight, pen- velui? Will you make my dream reality?” “Yes,” Lothvaen whispered. “I will come to you.” The scribe stumbled slightly as the Galadhel moved away, his breathing laboured. “Good. Till tonight, pen-velui.” With a small bow, the Galadhel turned and started to walk away, albeit a little stiffly. “Wait!” Stopping, the Galadhel turned his head. “You still have not told me your name,” Lothvaen said. The Galadhel smiled briefly. “Haldir.” ************************ Elvish translations: pen-velui – lovely one *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*