Fic name: Under the Stars
Chapter name: 3. Repercussions
Author: Shir'ann (Mearaigh@yahoo.com)
Pairing(s): Legolas/Aragorn,
Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir/Aragorn, Elrond/Glorfindel,
Elladan/Elrohir, more to come
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir/Aragorn foursome, and
other pairings. PWP
Disclaimer: None of the characters are owned by me.
*Sob*. They belong to a wonderful man named Tolkien,
who is very nearly god.
Warning: Incest inside!
Authors Note: Plot? What plot? There's no plot.
Really. Only smut. And lemon. But no plot!

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3. Repercussions

“Elrond!”
Aragorn’s shocked exclamation resounded loudly through
the clearing. It echoed and rebounded through the
trees, seeming to search for only livened flesh to
scar as it ignored the tinkling stream that yet
bubbled merrily, the silent proud stance of the
ancient trees, the heavy quiet that veiled all sound
this dawn . . . and came to rest finally upon the ears
of twin Elves, entwined on the forest floor. The heavy
silence that followed as birds ceased their
early-morning song and the very river seemed to stop
its gentle trickle into the pool was deeper than the
bowels of the earth and more powerful seemingly than
the light of the sun. The startled twins’ heads
whipped up in unison to stare in horror at the form of
their father, standing just beyond the nearest trees.
An expression of curiously mixed dismay and revulsion
was printed clearly on his face as the green shadow
that passed under the leaves coloured his features
darkly.
The Man could only look upon his foster father without
thought. As his gaze travelled to the identical
likenesses of his sons and back to the old Elf no
thought would penetrate the thick layer of numbness
that settled across the Ranger’s mind.
For a moment it seemed that time had stopped, wholly
and completely, for nothing moved, and no noise
sounded to attest of movement further off.
Then Elladan disentwined himself from his brother and
stood, unwrapping gracefully from the ground and
reaching down to help Elrohir up in one fluid
movement. And so they stood, unabashed of their
nakedness before their father’s eyes, proud and tall
in the newly risen dawn. Though not a single word was
given life, Aragorn could see a whole life of words
take form in the thoughts of the Elves as their eyes
contested and father and sons seemed to battle in
defiance of each other for the longest time.
The twins faced Elrond unafraid, identical traces of
stubbornness around their eyes and in the determined
set of their mouths.
As if this advancement spurred the Man to action, he
too rose to his feet, his mind only slightly lessened
of its deadening terror by the fearlessness in his
brothers’ eyes. It released also a flood of thoughts
that had been trapped behind the doors of his
consciousness, and as he slowly unfurled from the
ground a million broken words and ideas reflected
through his mind. No particular order or meaning could
be discerned of the maddening rush but for a single,
achingly clear voice that rose above the rest,
piercing right into his very heart with its strong
voice.
This should not have happened . . .
The Man’s gaze was brought from the twins back to
their father as only the very slightest of movements
brought his head hung low and his shoulders drawn
faintly down in a show of defeat. A quiet sigh
coloured the air for a brief moment before dying away
in the sudden resumption of birdsong and riverflow –
almost as if they had been waiting suspense for the
Elf’s consent to take up their reverent hymns from
afore.
A cool breeze drifted across the Ranger’s face,
lifting his damp hair slightly from his shoulders. He
tilted his head back, closing his eyes, to revel in it
fully. The cold draught caressed the plains of his
face and neck, seeming to whisper quietly to him,
soothing and calming the storm of emotions that welled
up inside him. When Elrond spoke, it was as if Aragorn
waked from a dream, a fleeting escape from reality
brought low by the Elf’s words.
“So it is as I feared.” Elrond’s voice rose not above
a whisper, yet it was clearly heard by all who
listened – for inherent in it was not the note of
power of an ancient Elf-Lord. Instead, it was the
sound of an old and tired Father, immensely saddened
with the force of grief. It was the sound of defeat.
Aragorn’s heart went out to the one standing now out
of the shade of the trees to better see his sons, the
one he had called father sincerely and with great love
for all of his life that he could remember.
If the Lord of Rivendell had shouted – if he had raged
and threatened the brunt of all his power in wrath
upon the shoulder of the three before him – it could
not have torn so the Man’s heart as it did now,
coloured with only one emotion: disappointment.
Elrond sighed, heavily and slowly, as if truly all the
ages he had seen could not have prepared him for his
sons’ betrayal of his trust, before again he spoke,
lifting his head this time to regard his foster son.
“Does anyone else know?”
Aragorn looked to the twins, distraught. Identical
frowns to the one the Ranger bore creased their brows
as their heads turned quickly from Elrond to him, and
a single unspoken word hung heavily in the air between
them. Legolas.
The Elf was well and truly gone, disappeared out of
the mind of the Man for more than a short time as the
horror of his father’s untimely entrance had rendered
all else unimportant. Now all thoughts returned to the
blonde archer as Elrond’s request turned over and
unwound like a coil in Aragorn’s mind.
Does anyone else know?
The Man’s eyes settled in the midst of his confusion
on the younger of the twins. Elladan faced him with
uncertainty written across his face, deeply worried
and strangely . . . angry. His brother’s green eyes
were filled too with something else; a plea – an
unspoken appeal to the Man. Aragorn drowned in the
stare, the Elf’s emotions washing over him like rain
and rendering him unable to do aught but comply to his
brother’s silent prayer.
Say nothing . . . just let it go . . .
No. He could not let it go. Anger rose in him as a
tide, overbearing for the merest instant the certainty
of his agreement. Legolas was the cause. He was the
blame. And he was the only one to not readily accept
the consequences of his actions.
Coward.
Aragorn fumed inside. Let it go? It was the only thing
he could not do. A silent tugging at the very edges of
the Man’s mind brought his eyes up, and it was as if
Elladan’s stare pulled him in, drawing his gaze now as
the Elf often did, and knowing that Aragorn could not
but comply.
Let it go . . . please . . .
The eyes prompted him to, begging as if Elladan’s very
life depended on it. He could still feel Elrond’s gaze
upon him, a razor’s edge of the question that bored
into him like a dagger, but he did not turn to meet
it.
Let it go.
Ever so slowly, a mere slight turning of his head from
side to side bespoke mutely of Aragorn’s denial, at
his brother’s bidding, of Elrond’s words, the Man’s
eyes still fixed firmly on Elladan. The Elf nodded
once, so slightly that almost it was imperceptible,
yet bespeaking volumes of his appreciation.
The Man’s eyes left the Elf in disgust to lay on the
hunched for of Elrond, a mere shadow of grief enclosed
within a binding skin of fatigue. The Lord of the Last
Homely House raised his head to regard the heavens;
the bright rays of the risen sun, the clear blue of
the cloudless sky surrounding it. He did not look at
his sons when he spoke, nor did he give his voice any
direction or purpose – instead it merely floated
numbly upon the gentle breeze, an uncaring sound of
mingled sorrow and disappointment.
“You will end this. It will go no further than the
weakening of the shadows that heralded this very dawn.
This shall be your way.”
A sharp exclamation of breath that had been held
escaped the mouth of Elrohir in a rush, bringing the
Man’s head around quickly to look at him. The
dark-haired Elf stepped forward involuntarily, as if
his feet were dragged by an invisible force. “Father .
. . “ Dismay lay strongly on the melodic tones of his
voice, and his one hand lifted slightly, as if out of
it’s own will, to hover outstretched in a silent plea.
“This will be your way!” Elrond roared, and his voice
was as the sound of doom. The old Elf’s head turned
angrily to his sons, a frown of rage printed across
his features. His tone allowed no argument, and his
breathing became laboured and heavy suddenly.
Elrohir’s hand dropped dully to his side, and he sank
slowly to his knees, defeat in his very movements and
despair on his face.
Aragorn lifted his shocked gaze from the Elf to his
father, glaring now at the Lord for his brash words –
he could not deny them their love! – but no words made
their way to escape from his lips as Elrond turned his
steely gaze upon the Man. It speared through Aragorn,
rooting him to the spot, and seemed to go through him
to envision the very depths of his heart and soul. The
Ranger’s mouth worked silently, but slowly stilled as
the seconds passed and Elrond showed no sign of
abating his intense scrutiny. Aragorn was forced
instead to let his eyes speak his hatred for him.
Out of the corner of his sight the Man saw Elladan
moving forward to kneel next to his brother, his arms
encircling him lovingly and protectively as Elrohir’s
shoulders shook with unspent grief. Unwillingly yet
unerringly the Man’s gaze followed his movements,
taking in the gentle and extremely tender act –
performed with an amount of emotion that almost hurt
the Ranger to see. A single tear slid from a corner of
the younger twin’s emerald green eye, and when he
looked up at Aragorn, his eyes held no life and seemed
dead and without lustre.
The Man could not bear to look. Instead, he tore his
gaze away to again come to rest upon the form of his
father.
Elrond stood unmoved, staring at his sons with disgust
turning up the corners of his lips in a sneer. Anger
immediately filled Aragorn – this was not the fatherly
Elf who had been his caretaker and guardian and mentor
throughout the years. No, this was an unfeeling
creature and aloof, cold and without sympathy. This
was a stranger.
A last shake of the proud head sent locks of hair to
tumble loose from their formal bindings, and Elrond
turned to face the Ranger, his robes rustling softly
above the singing water. A few moments of silence
passed as the two merely stared at each other, and
Aragorn shifted uncomfortably under the old Elf’s
gaze. But he would not break it – he was too proud for
that. At last, when it seemed an eternity had passed
and another Age grown old and to its end, Elrond spoke
once more.
“I had thought you above such things, Estel,” He shook
his head sadly as he looked the Ranger up and down,
his gaze coming to rest again finally on the Man’s
face. Aragorn stood rooted to the spot, exceedingly
aware of his nakedness. “It seems I was mistaken. The
line of Men is weak indeed, if it is so easily mislead
by the foolishly blind.” The last words were spat out
in almost antipathy as he turned his head slightly to
regard his sons.
And with that he turned and was gone, disappeared
through the trees with the grace and silence only an
Elf could master, and Aragorn was left standing naked
in the new sun, a million things he could have said in
reply rushing hurriedly through his mind.
The heavy feeling of numbness that had suffused him in
Elrond’s presents lifted like a veil, and his
movements were freed once more. He shook his head
roughly from side to side, trying desperately to rid
himself of the feeling that all of this had been but a
dream, a horrible nightmare that could be lifted now
with the coming of the dawn. But to no avail – he
failed miserably. The quiet sound of soft sobbing
penetrated through to his consciousness, and he looked
to his brothers. Elrohir had raised up on his knees
and turned, and now lay forward into Elladan’s arms in
a tight embrace. The younger twin’s face was strangely
calm, the only evidence of his grief the singular
tear-track that ran a strikingly pale streak of silver
down his cheek, while Elrohir – always less guarded
with his emotions – cried freely in his arms.
A feeling of immense sadness welled up in the Man. He
did not truly understand the depth of their love for
one another – but what he did understand was that what
was said had been said, and actions could not be
undone. Elrond’s words had been harsh, and
over-demanding. But they were spoken, and his
judgement stood.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he looked upon them,
and suddenly he found his thoughts returning again to
Legolas, all the previous anger returning threefold
now that the consequences had been faced. There was
more than fair share of sorrow for three in this
clearing, and it was only fair that the blond Elf took
his part.
Again the sound of Elladan’s plea reverberated through
his mind.
Let it go . . .
Aragorn smiled to himself. He would say nothing of the
blond Elf’s involvement to his father, and spare
Legolas the wrath of Rivendell’s lord and too the
anger of the King of Mirkwood. But he would not let it
go.



To Be Continued . . .