Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 1/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir Rating: PG Summary: Lothvaen is embarrassed. Genre: Romance Beta(s): Aglarien Warnings: None Word count: 635 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 Aug 2007 – ‘genius’; 28 Oct 2007 – ‘document’ *********************** Celeborn looked down at the elf that lay sprawled inelegantly on the floor and stifled a sigh. “Lothvaen, would you *please* go and take your robes to one of the seamstresses so they can be shortened?” “Diheno nin, híren,” the hapless elf said, feeling more than just a little embarrassed. It was the second time this week that Celeborn’s new scribe had tripped over his robes in his rush to do his lord’s bidding. Celeborn took a final look at Lothvaen before turning away and going back to his desk. “When you have had a chance to pick yourself up from the floor,” he began, not bothering to hide his irritation, “please take this to the messenger so that he may return to Mirkwood. *Preferably* walking, and not running as seems to be your wont. I take it you can do that?” “Yes, híren. Of course, híren,” Lothvaen babbled, struggling to get up off the floor without making more of a fool of himself. “Very well,” Celeborn sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I am not normally so clumsy,” the scribe said apologetically. “I am used to my robes being a little long, but every so often I forget, and I trip.” “Nevertheless, it would be safer if you had them shortened. I do not think Haldir would appreciate if you fell over the side of a talan.” “Oh…I had not thought of that.” Lothvaen’s face paled at the thought. Celeborn looked at the young elf before him, wondering – not for the first time – what it was that Haldir saw in Lothvaen. True, he was proving to be an excellent scribe, but a genius Lothvaen was not. Yet Celeborn had not missed the looks Haldir and Lothvaen gave each other when they thought no one else was looking, and saw between them a genuine bond. He stared down at the document lying on his desk. “On the other hand,” Celeborn decided, “I suggest you visit the seamstresses now with all your robes. I will take this to the messenger myself.” “Are you sure?” Lothvaen asked hesitantly. “Yes, Lothvaen, I am sure,” Celeborn said patiently. “Now go. Haldir returns later this afternoon; I am sure you wish to…prepare for his return,” he said a little dryly, noting with some amusement at how the scribe’s face flushed. “Hannon le, híren,” Lothvaen managed to say. Then the scribe carefully lifted the hem of his robe and left, leaving Celeborn ruefully shaking his head once more. “I still find it hard to fathom that Haldir’s soul-mate is a scribe whose wits seem to be more scattered than the leaves on the ground,” Celeborn seemingly said into the air. “You misjudge him, melethen.” Galadriel glided silently into the room to stand next to her mate, a gentle smile on her face. Celeborn smiled at her in return. “As always, you see much more than I. But I do see that Haldir is happier than I have seen him in a long time, and if Lothvaen is the cause of such happiness, then I am more than content. Our Marchwarden has been alone for far too long.” “He has indeed,” Galadriel said musingly. “But, as with all things, timing has a purpose. There are difficult times ahead, for both of them.” Celeborn’s gaze became concerned. “What have you seen?” he asked quietly. “As you well know, the mirror shows many things, melethen. Even I do not know if what I see will come to pass, for there is always more than one ending. However, I must confess that I have a deep sense of foreboding.” Celeborn took Galadriel’s hand in his and squeezed gently, not knowing what he could say. Meanwhile, the Lady’s gaze was thoughtful as she watched Lothvaen’s careful progress to the talan he shared with Haldir. ************************ Elvish translations: Diheno nin – forgive me hannon le – thank you híren – my lord melethen – my love *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 2/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir Rating: NC17 Summary: Lothvaen welcomes Haldir home. Genre: Romance Beta(s): Aglarien Warnings: Oral sex Word count: 772 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: 5 May 2006 – ‘wave’; 12 Sep 2007 – ‘pouch’; 16 Oct 2007 – ‘wail’; 18 Oct 2007 – ‘limp’ *********************** “You are back!” Lothvaen threw himself into his lover’s arms, making him stumble. Haldir smiled. “I have only been gone a week,” he chided gently. Lothvaen pouted. “But it was a week too long,” he said. The Marchwarden shook his head in amusement before succumbing to the temptation of kissing his lover’s pouting lips. “You know full well I go on patrol, melethen,” he said a few moments later. “I know.” Lothvaen sighed. “But that does not mean I do not miss you.” “I miss you, too, melethen, and it gladdens my heart to know that you are here waiting for me when I return,” Haldir said, at the same time pulling out a small pouch from under his tunic. “Here, I have something for you,” he continued, handing the pouch to Lothvaen. “For me?” Carefully Lothvaen took the pouch from Haldir, almost not quite believing that his lover was giving him a gift. Opening it, the scribe saw a strange reddish-brown stone. He took it out and saw that a hole had been drilled into it, in which a thin leather thong had been threaded through to make a necklace. “Do you like it?” Haldir asked, watching his lover’s fingers stroking the stone and wishing suddenly that those fingers were stroking *him*. “Oh, I do, very much!” Lothvaen exclaimed. “But what is the stone?” “It is called ‘Carnelian’,” Haldir said. “I bought it off a trader who had been passing close to the borders of Lothlórien.” “Will you put it on me?” Lothvaen requested, handing the necklace to Haldir, who immediately fastened it around his lover’s neck, his fingertips gently caressing the skin, making Lothvaen shiver. The scribe turned around, his brown eyes seemingly guileless as he began undoing the fastenings on Haldir’s tunic. Haldir stayed his lover’s hands. “I need a bath, melethen.” “I know. Why do you think I am helping you undress?” Lothvaen said innocently, though Haldir detected an undercurrent of something else in his lover’s voice. “Methinks you have something more in mind than just undressing me for my bath, pen-velui.” “Do I?” Shrugging off Haldir’s hands, Lothvaen’s nimble fingers continued their work, while his face was a study of concentration as one of the fastenings proved to be a little recalcitrant. Haldir allowed his lover to continue. This was, after all, what he looked forward to coming back to. His little scribe was so much a part of his life now that Haldir could no longer imagine it without him. He closed his eyes, allowing Lothvaen the pleasure of continuing to undress him. When the scribe’s hands reached the lacings on Haldir’s leggings, the Galadhel’s breath caught as Lothvaen gently, teasingly, ran his fingers against the erect flesh that was barely being contained. Haldir growled. “Is something wrong?” Haldir nearly whimpered when he looked down at his lover. The all-so innocent tone was belied by the fire in Lothvaen’s eyes as the scribe continued to tease the Marchwarden with his fingers. Keeping his gaze fixed with Haldir’s, Lothvaen slowly began undoing the lacings, only stopping when Haldir’s erection sprang free from its confines. The Galadhel’s legs shook as warm breath ghosted over his erection once, twice, three times. “Daro!” Haldir ground out as his fingers tangled in Lothvaen’s hair and pulled him away. “I will spend myself if you do not cease this torture.” “Is that a problem?” Lothvaen queried, a smile playing upon his lips as he gazed at his lover. Haldir stared down at his little scribe, hunger for his lover more than evident in his eyes. “The bed, pen-velui,” he growled, relaxing his grip slightly. Lothvaen, however, had other ideas. As soon as he felt Haldir’s grip loosening, he took advantage and moved forward to take Haldir’s erection in his mouth. He felt Haldir’s grip tighten again, but the Marchwarden did not pull him away, groaning instead as Lothvaen applied himself assiduously in his task. With almost a wail Haldir came, his heart beating furiously and his breathing ragged as Lothvaen swallowed all that the Galadhel had to offer, leaving him limp, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. Lothvaen released the spent organ and then licked his lips. “I love the way you taste,” he purred, gazing at Haldir. The Marchwarden felt another wave of desire go through him, and he leaned down to practically drag Lothvaen to his feet. “You have a wicked tongue, pen-velui,” Haldir said huskily. The scribe gave an unrepentant grin. “I know,” he said mischievously. “And you would not want it any other way.” Haldir merely growled before claiming his lover’s lips in a searing kiss. ************************ Elvish translations: daro – stop melethen – my love pen-velui – lovely one *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 3/25 Author: Inwë Sáralondë Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir Rating: R Summary: The relationship between Lothvaen and Haldir has another elf wondering. Genre: Romance Beta(s): Aglarien Warnings: Masturbation Word count: 587 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: 1 Oct 2007 – ‘satchel’; 19 Sep 2007 – ‘lash’ *********************** Once again, Caegaran mulled over the more than surprising news that Haldir had brought back with him a lover from Imladris. What was more surprising was that the lover was not another warrior, but a scribe. A *scribe*, of all things: a slim, almost frightened looking thing, all dark hair and large eyes in a pale face. Caegaran snorted in derision. Whatever it was that had attracted Haldir to that skinny little elf surely was not going to last for long – how could it? Yet the Galadhel could not help but be curious as to what exactly it was that had brought the two elves together. There were rumours as to the sort of bed-play the Marchwarden liked to indulge in – could it be that the scribe was a more than willing bed partner? Considering that Caegaran enjoyed in playing little ‘games’ himself, it made the Galadhel want to find out, but he was clever enough to realise that now was not the time to make a move. No, he would wait until the relationship between Haldir and his scribe died a natural death, and then he would make his move. Already Caegaran could feel himself hardening at the thought of having the little dark-haired elf under his submission, his pale skin marked by the lash, begging and crying to be taken. The Galadhel groaned as the images formed in his head, and he quickly undid the lacings to his leggings. Caegaran could almost hear the scribe’s voice in his head as he fisted his erection and rapidly stroked himself to completion, grunting slightly as his seed spilled over his hand. Trying to control his breathing, he grabbed the rag he normally used to clean his bow and quickly wiped away the evidence before stuffing his now lax member back inside his leggings. And not a moment too soon, for another Galadhel appeared and approached him. “How fares it?” Orophin asked as he came nearer. If he could smell anything, he gave no hint, only looking at Caegaran as he waited for an answer. “All is quiet,” Caegaran finally replied. He kept his gaze averted as he hid the rag stained with his release inside his satchel, making a note to dispose of it at the first available opportunity. “Good.” Orophin’s reply was non-committal as he turned his gaze to the trees around him before it settled back on the Galadhel. “What ails you?” he asked abruptly. Startled, Caegaran looked at the younger brother of Haldir. “Ails me?” he echoed. “What should ail me, Captain?” “You seem…flustered,” Orophin said. Caegaran flushed slightly. “You caught me unawares,” he mumbled. “So it seems. Be thankful I was not an orc, Caegaran. Such inattention could cost you your life and the lives of others,” Orophin said severely. “Do not forget we already have a number of injured Geledhil because of the recent incursion by orcs into the Golden Woods; we do not need more.” Caegaran bowed his head and bit his lip. The urge to retaliate and say something was strong, but he knew that Orophin was right. “You are correct,” he admitted. “I will make sure that I remain vigilant from here on in.” “See that you do.” Orophin’s voice was stern. “I will leave this for now, but should it happen again, I will have no hesitation in reporting you.” “Aye, Captain,” Caegaran said, unable to stop the sullenness to creep into his voice. Orophin’s lips thinned slightly, but then he nodded briefly before turning and walking away. ************************ Caegaran was taken from the Council of Elrond website. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*