Title: The Dawning, 31/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil/Rúmil, and Legolas/Haldir. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between males, incest, PWP, and some angst and romance. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: This is a continuation of what has become a string of fics starting with "The Wager"; the Glorfindel/Erestor bug bit me again after a long respite. Since the string has been written out of sequence, this one follows "The Wager" chronologically. Summary: Thranduil and Rúmil get to know one another more intimately; Lindir has a visitor. Stumbling backward through the talan door, Thranduil quickly worked the clasps on Rúmil's tunic as his young lover consumed his mouth. He had not acted with such abandon since he was not much older than Rúmil. Their hands clutched at each other; mouths consumed each other... it was if it were his first time all over again. Before Rúmil's unexpected, yet graceful, landing in his lap, Thranduil had wondered how worldly the young guardian would be, given his age and shyness. All thoughts of Rúmil's potential innocence were abandoned after that first kiss; this was no naive young elf. Passionate moans intensified, and Thranduil could feel the evidence of Rúmil's heated desire pressing and rubbing up against his own. It was all happening rather fast, even for him, and he found himself becoming caught up in the youthful urgency of it all. "Valar..." Rúmil whispered. "Never have I tasted one so intoxicating. What they say about you is true, my lord." Thranduil chuckled as he quickly pulled Rúmil's tunic from his body. "I am most glad that I am not a disappointment, my young beauty," Thranduil purred in response. "Disappointment?" Rúmil breathed, as the king's hands roamed freely over his bare chest. "How could you ever be such? So beautiful, so powerful..." A smile curved Thranduil's lips as his tunic fell open and Rúmil laid eyes upon his bare chest. He slipped the garment from his shoulders and tossed it upon a chair by the door. Rúmil began pressing soft kisses to his bared flesh, starting at his shoulders then meandering left to right, gradually travelling lower with each soft touch of his mouth. Thranduil closed his eyes and enjoyed the velvety soft caresses of the guardian's lips. It was like being worshipped, and it was not the first time he had experienced such a sensation. Now that they stood at the foot of the marchwarden's bed, the desperateness with which Rúmil had touched him and kissed him was tempered but not satiated. Rúmil seemed to be in awe of him. This was slightly amusing to Thranduil; he never understood why he seemed to inspire this reaction in lovers. As for Rúmil, the king found the young guardian to be an intoxicating combination of strong and soft, ferocious and gentle, thoughtful and brave. He assumed the delicacy with which Rúmil touched him now came from a sense of respect. He was a king, and Rúmil was but a foot soldier, a young guardian of the Galadhrim. This reverence in the heat of passion was a trained response, and he imagined that this young guardian had some experience with being a lover to one of higher social stature. He took two fingers and placed them beneath Rúmil's chin, tilting the marchwarden's head up so that their eyes met. "I am not a fragile creature, my friend," he murmured. "I may be king, but I am also a warrior like you." "I can see and feel your strength," Rúmil answered. "I am also aware of your reputation as a fierce warrior. I suppose I feel that one so great and beautiful should be treated with reverence. My actions earlier were uncouth, born from a desire that has been growing with every moment in your presence. Do not think that I lack passion or enthusiasm for you, my lord." Thranduil smiled and caressed Rúmil's cheek. "Let us have one thing be known between us, Rúmil," Thranduil answered softly. "If you and I are to share a bed, I will not have my lot in life stand as a wall between us. If you and I are to become lovers, then within these walls, when we are alone, I am not a king. I am merely a soldier like you, an elf who counts himself fortunate to have so beautiful and wise a lover. You do not serve me." Rúmil felt his face flush and he smiled. "Is that what we are to become? Lovers?" Thranduil smiled. "I am not in the habit of using others purely for my own satisfaction. Where this relationship goes from this moment will be known to us in time." "Then I am the most fortunate elf in all of Elvendom, my lord," Rúmil answered. "Rúmil." "Yes, my lord?" "You must stop calling me that. I am not your lord, I am your lover." "Then what shall I call you?" "Calling me by my name might be a good beginning." Rúmil smiled again. "Yes, Thranduil." "Excellent. Now, kiss me." Rúmil complied, rising to the balls of his feet and wrapping his arms around his lover's neck. Thranduil lifted him and carried him to the bed as Rúmil wrapped his long legs around his waist. * * * * Lindir walked slowly through the twilit garden. As Ithil began her nightly rise in the eastern sky and Anor retreated to the west, the smell of jasmine and gardenia was beginning to scent the air. This time of year, when spring began to wane and summer was nearly born, was one of his favorite times. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and it felt refreshing after a long day cloistered in the library transcribing contracts and letters. He moved to a low bench to watch Anor's western trek, then looked down at his hands as he slowly rubbed them together. His fingertips were stained with ink and he rubbed absently at a callus that had begun to form on the side of his right forefinger. "More soaking in vinegar," he grumbled to himself. It was the only thing that would remove the dark stains from his fingers. With Lord Elrond away, Erestor's duties were doubled, which meant his own were also. It had been weeks since he had been able to pick up his lyre and practice. "Some almond oil on your hands after the vinegar will keep them soft..." He turned on his bench to see Gildor standing behind him. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked. "Long enough to see you enter the garden, sit down, and talk to yourself," Gildor answered with a smile. "I did not see you when I came in." "No one sees me unless I want them to." "Of course. You are a scout and a warrior, this should not surprise me." Lindir looked at his hands again. "They are frightful," he muttered. Gildor moved to sit beside Lindir and took one of his hands in his own, turning it over gently and caressing the palm and fingers. "I would not say so. My hands are far worse than yours are. See?" Lindir returned the gesture to Gildor, taking the warrior's hands and examining them. They were strong, muscular hands, formed by ages of wielding swords and bows. The only defect he could see was that the skin was a little dry from months spent in the winter elements. "They are only a little dry," Lindir answered, as he began stretching and flexing the fingers. "And perhaps a little stiff..." Gildor smiled as he watched the minstrel massage and work his hands. In truth, it felt very good, for they were stiff from months in the cold and hard work. "How do you know about removing stains?" Lindir continued. "Blood," Gildor answered. "I have often had to remove it after slaughtering yrch and wargs." Lindir felt a tremor run the length of his spine. In the libraries and music rooms of Imladris, he was somewhat sheltered from the goings on of the world. As he held Gildor's hands, hands that had killed orch, warg, man, and elf alike, he was reminded of his own naivete. "Of course," he murmured. They sat for a long time, neither speaking, both watching the sky darken. After several minutes, Lindir realized he was still holding Gildor's hands, and that the guardian and protector of their home had not tried to remove them from his gentle grasp. "How long are you here for?" he asked softly. "Until the start of Laer*," Gildor answered quietly. "My reward for service during a long and bitter Rhîw*." A few more moments passed and Lindir seemed reluctant to release his hands. This made Gildor smile. He had often thought of Lindir as a lovely and talented elf, and he had always taken every opportunity to listen to the minstrel sing when he was at the Last Homely House. Lindir's voice reminded him of happier days in Aman, before the world was darkened and their journey eastward begun. He looked at the minstrel in the growing darkness. Ithil's light was beginning to shine and illuminate the garden, and it cast a silver sheen upon his fair hair. Lindir's eyes scanned the sky, gazing at the stars that twinkled upon the bed of midnight velvet. A smile would quirk the corners of his full lips as the passing gossamer clouds briefly took the shape of birds or rabbit, or another worldly creature. Gildor would have been smiling at those shapes too, were his attention not fully enthrall to Lindir's beauty. Instead, he was content to gaze upon the young minstrel and drink in his loveliness with his eyes, wondering what it must be like to have lived and grown into adulthood without ever knowing violence or death. 'It is why he sings so beautifully,' Gildor mused. 'His songs are full of hope, hope that only one who has been spared pain can know...' This was why he spent months uncounted in the wilds of Middle-earth, to protect those like Lindir, so that they may live their lives in peace and never know the pain of war or death. That made night after night of sleeping upon the frozen ground easier. Lindir took a deep breath, as if waking from reverie and turned his gaze to Gildor. "We will be late for the evening meal," he said softly. Gildor smiled. "Aye. Then we best be getting on our way. Lady Arwen will be cross if we arrive at the table late." Lindir smiled and chuckled. "Aye, she will." He rose from his place on the bench, still holding Gildor's hands. "I need to wash my hands," he murmured. "So do I," Gildor answered as he rose from the bench as well. "Come." Lindir smiled and cocked his head. Gildor nodded and followed, hand in hand with the young minstrel. * * * * Rúmil grasped the smooth birch that made up the headboard of his bed, and arched his back as he groaned aloud. It was not clear which was more maddening, the soft caress of flaxen silk upon his heated and sensitive skin, or the wicked, sinful, luscious mouth that tormented him so. Tongue, teeth, lips... all worked together to bring his passion into a frenzied state that nearly had him weeping with need. Thranduil held his legs apart, the king's strong hands planted firmly on the insides of his bent knees, bearing his most intimate places to his predatory gaze and his skilled mouth. A nip to the inside of his upper thigh caused him to whimper and twitch, his thigh muscles quivering as they strained against his lover's powerful grip. Sweat began to bead upon his skin, and he felt Thranduil's tongue sliding through it, drinking it off him as if it were the sweetest nectar. A string of profane words spilled from his tongue as his lover took the swollen pouch of velvety skin in his mouth, and he arched again, his fingers gripping the smooth birch branches with incredible force. His arousal lay in the juncture of his hip and thigh, ignored and turgid, weeping from the tip. How long he could endure this sensual torment was unknown, but he felt he was rapidly approaching the edge. He gripped the headboard tighter; it was the only thing keeping him grounded as he a Finally, pleading words escaped his lips in a rough whisper, the pulsating in his loins being unbearable. He cried out as his body was breached by his lover's skilled tongue and a hoarse gasp escaped him as Thranduil's hand gripped the base of his rigid length, preventing his release. Tears slipped from his eyes and he bit his lip as his body coiled in on itself, his muscles tightening as his length twitched in his lover's fist. Still that tongue worked him into a frenzy, into a seemingly never ending upward spiral of lust. He cursed again as his long ignored arousal was engulfed by a hot, wet embrace and he whispered pleas to touch his lover. A long, slow lick of the king's tongue preceded the answer to his request, and he plunged his hands into the mass of flaxen silk that began to move up and down along his length. It was not long before the long climb ended and he fell, tumbling with abandon as his climax roared through his body unchecked. A strangled cry left his lips as he spilled himself down his lover's throat, then he collapsed in a boneless heap upon his bed. Each soft kiss, each caress of his lover's tongue along his softening length sent tremors through his body. He could do naught but tremble and whimper until his lover's lips hovered over his own. He forced his eyes open and smiled weakly, reaching up with a trembling hand to caress Thranduil's face. He trembled as the king stretched along the length of his body, his warmth covering him like a blanket. His lover's arousal pressed into his hip and he weakly moved to please him when Thranduil stopped him by placing his hands upon his shoulders and pinning him to the bed. "Ssshhh, my beauty," Thranduil whispered. "Lie still, revel in this feeling. Let me hold you..." Rúmil wrapped his trembling arms around Thranduil's waist and nestled his head against the king's shoulder. "Umhmm..." he murmured sleepily, and he sunk into the warm afterglow of his spent desire, then slowly drifted into reverie. To be continued... * Laer = Sindarin for summer * Rhîw = Sindarin for winter Title: The Dawning, 32/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil/Rúmil, and Legolas/Haldir. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between males, incest, PWP, and some angst and romance. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: This is a continuation of what has become a string of fics starting with "The Wager"; the Glorfindel/Erestor bug bit me again after a long respite. Since the string has been written out of sequence, this one follows "The Wager" chronologically. Summary: Legolas and Haldir have a rough start; Thranduil makes a proposition to Rúmil. Legolas leaned against the trunk of a mallorn, his gaze drifting through the treetops. The White Council had adjourned but nothing felt resolved. Saruman would be withdrawing to Orthanc, that ancient fortress of Gondor. Gandalf would wander east toward Gondor and Rohan, Radagast would return to his home deep in the woods, and the Nazgûl were to remain unchallenged in Dol Guldur. His father had lobbied strenuously for aid to drive the Nazgûl out, and he had been supported by the Lord and Lady of the Wood, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Gandalf, but to no avail. Círdan was reluctant to call in his warriors from the Havens; they were too small in number and would leave his port unprotected. Radagast, too preoccupied with his own thoughts, said nothing, and Saruman flat out refused. They could launch an assault on their own, but without the help of the White Wizard, they would suffer many losses, and most likely fail. So, three days of meetings ended with nothing resolved. He was sure that war was coming. Anor was sinking below the tops of the Misty Mountains and Ithil was rising in the east. The eastern sky seemed to grow darker by the day, and each night Ithil's light was slower in coming to their home. Haldir stood some distance away from the prince, wondering how best to approach him. He had word from Glorfindel that the meetings did not go how the prince had hoped, and the Elda seemed reluctant to provide an introduction given the circumstances. While the skies were fair in the Golden Wood, due in large part to the power of the Lady Galadriel, the skies above the Anduin and Mirkwood were storming, and heavy rains were causing streams to breach their banks; the Anduin was swollen and running dangerously fast. Legolas and his father would need to stay for a few days, until it was safe to cross and return to their home. He feared if he waited for Glorfindel, his opportunity would be lost and he would not have the prince leave without even a conversation. "You watch me," Legolas said quietly. Haldir flinched, not realizing that the prince was aware of his presence. "I was wondering how best to approach you, my lord," he answered softly. Legolas turned slowly, his gaze locking upon Haldir's own. "Have you something to say to me?" he asked quietly. "Aye. I am sorry that things have not gone as you hoped they would. I, for one, would have been honored to fight beside you." Legolas turned his back to Haldir and answered, "Do not speak false to me, captain. I know that you had no desire to go to war outside your borders. Just like you did not desire to admit my father and me into your realm, for you knew we were here to entreat your Lord and Lady for aid." He raised his hand, preventing Haldir from responding. "'Tis no matter, you are not required to fight for anyone other than your own people, and soon, your kindred will be the only elves left, east of the mountains. Of course, your home is under the protection of the Lady Galadriel, and Imladris would gladly ride to your aid should you be of need. So you and yours will be safe, while me and my own will fall under the blade of the Úlairi." Haldir felt his face flush with anger; never had anyone spoken to him thusly. In addition to the anger he felt, he felt shame, for the prince's words were not completely false. But, regardless of his reluctance to be involved in the battles of other elven realms, he did not wish to see his kindred in Mirkwood exterminated. "With all due respect, my lord," he began slowly and deliberately. "I have no wish to see your realm fall under attack, nor suffer the yoke of thralldom to the Dark Lord..." Legolas wheeled around and barked, "No elf of Mirkwood will suffer such a fate! We will all die fighting before such a thing would happen!" "Your manner is impertinent!" Haldir growled. "We are your hosts, my Lord and Lady petitioned on your behalf, and this is how you treat us?" Legolas glared at Haldir then turned his back again, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Haldir stared at the prince's back for several moments, waiting for a response but received none. He began to leave, but thought the better of it, and turned back to Legolas. The prince's head hung down, his shimmering, flaxen hair hiding his face. His strong archer's fingers gripped his elbows and his shoulders slumped. The defeat in his posture caused Haldir's heart to swell with sympathy and he quietly stepped forward and placed his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "Leave me be," the prince said softly. Haldir ignored the request and turned the prince, taking him into his arms and holding him close to his chest. "Let go of me," Legolas said weakly. Again, Haldir ignored him and held him close. After several minutes, he felt the prince's arms wrap around him and he cradled Legolas' head on his shoulder. He said nothing. He merely held Legolas, allowing him to lean against him. A long sigh escaped the prince and he heard him whisper, "Forgive me. I have treated you horribly..." "I understand," Haldir answered. "You are forgiven." "I do not want to lose my home. Each time one of my warriors falls, part of me dies as well..." "I know. I feel the same way." "He is winning. He will take it all. My home, your home... He will not stop until this world is covered in darkness. There will be none left who remember how it once was." "Think not such thoughts, my prince," Haldir answered. After a long pause, he continued tentatively, "Perhaps the time has come for us to leave these lands, to sail into the West and embrace the home of our kind." "This is my home," Legolas answered quietly. "It is the only home I have ever known. I cannot bear to think I have spent most of my life fighting for it only to lose it in the end..." Haldir closed his eyes and sighed. "You will not lose it, my lord. In the end, darkness cannot triumph against light; not when you and those like you continue to fight against it." Legolas pulled back and gazed into Haldir's eyes. He reached up and touched the marchwarden's face. "You are one like me, Haldir. I see it in your eyes. You live for your duty, yet you know there is more..." Haldir swallowed and closed his eyes. He wondered how the prince did it, how he could look into his eyes and see what others did not. He felt Legolas' fingers softly exploring his face, ghosting over his forehead, his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips, and finally his ears. A shuddering sigh escaped him as Legolas' fingertips caressed the curve of his ear, and he found that he was quickly becoming lost in the prince's touch. "I have endured enough disappointment for one day," Legolas murmured near Haldir's lips. "I would not have you disappoint me as well..." "No, my lord," Haldir whispered, the sensual caress of Legolas' fingers upon his ear melting his strength. "Come, my friend," Legolas murmured. "Let us see how many other ways we are alike..." Before Haldir could answer, his mouth was taken by Legolas' lips. A soft moan escaped him and he pulled the prince closer, pressing their bodies together. The kiss set him on fire, he clutched at Legolas with a desperate wanting, wadding the suede of the prince's tunic in his fingers. Legolas own soft moans were driving him mad, as was the sensation of the prince's fingers tangling in his hair. They separated and Legolas took his hand, leading him toward his talan. He followed, aware for the first time of just how helpless he was to the prince's charms. * * * * Thranduil sighed as he sank down into the warm water of the spring. It had been a long and fruitless three days. Were it not for Rúmil's attentions, he would be sorry they had come in the first place. He still believed Saruman to be false, though he had no proof of this. At any rate, the Council was disbanded and Círdan and Elrond would depart in the morning and return to their homes west of the Misty Mountains. The Wizards had already left, and he and Legolas would depart for home as soon as the rains abated. Being so far from his home made him anxious. While he had left his realm in capable hands, hands he trusted, he still felt uneasy about being absent. Each day his woods grew more dangerous and his soldiers came under greater threat. The borders of his lands were shrinking; they drew further to the north with each passing year. Again he wished, as he so often did, that he had sent Legolas into the west with his mother, rather than selfishly keeping his son with him. As he was preoccupied with these dark thoughts, he smelled lilac and heather, and felt the soft, silken ends of his lover's hair brush his ears. He opened his eyes and saw Rúmil leaning over him, a smile curving his lover's lips. "You watch over me," he said softly. "I always will," Rúmil answered. "I am lucky to have such fierce protectors as you and my son." Rúmil smiled. "I doubt you need much protection. You are, no doubt, stronger than me." Thranduil smiled and reached up, caressing Rúmil's cheek with his damp fingertips. "Strength is not what matters most, my young lover...cunning, that is what will keep you alive." Rúmil nodded and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lover's waiting lips. "Join me," Thranduil replied softly. Rúmil nodded and regained his feet, removing his garments and folding them neatly before placing them upon a bench by the spring. He waded into the warm water, then gracefully deposited himself in his lover's lap. He smiled and sighed as their bodies came into contact, the king's warm flesh against his own, his powerful hands coming to rest upon his hips. He liked the feeling of Thranduil's body, its solidity, its power and its size. He loved lying underneath him, feeling the weight of the king's larger form atop his own. While he was, himself, no weakling, he was smaller in size and stature and he found that Thranduil's larger size made him feel safe in a strange way. He combed his lover's hair back behind his elegantly pointed ears with his fingers, and then leaned forward to gently suckle the sparkling gemstone that adorned his kingly lover's earlobe. Many thought that the wearing of gems like this was some heathen, primitive act. The fact that Thranduil's ears and body were pierced and decorated with mithril and sparkling gems was the subject of much hushed gossip. But Rúmil found the king's raw sexuality exciting; it was one of the things that had attracted him to the mysterious Sindar King in the first place. He loved how Thranduil was completely unconcerned and unfazed by the gossip that often surrounded him. Regardless what elves may whisper in privacy of their homes, there was no doubt that this Sindar commanded respect, and got it. Many wondered if the king didn't possess some strange magic, for he brazenly rode into battle and often left the field unscathed, despite the odds against him. While Rúmil had never seen Thranduil in battle, he had heard tales. The king was an awesome sight, inspiring fear in all but the most terrible of foes. All these things, some imagined and constructed, some true, were what drew Rúmil to him. He had been the lover of powerful elves before, and was himself a quiet and dutiful young elf, always mindful of his duty and position. He knew how to act in court, how to defer to his elders without losing respect, and how to attend to a lord's needs and desires without being subservient. Thranduil never asked these things of him, however. Thranduil only asked that he be himself with no pretense. While it was the king's mystique that drew him in, it was his honest and thoughtful nature that held him there. All he could think of was pleasing his lover, for his reward for doing so was all he could wish for. The deep sighs that left his lover's lips, the resonant moans, the flushing of his skin, the sight of him lost in passion was reward in itself. Yet, Thranduil never left him unsatisfied, and his physical reward was the most memorable and wonderful lovemaking he had ever experienced. He felt his lover's hands gently kneading the flesh of his lower back as he slowly continued his ministrations. Soft, deep, quiet moans left Thranduil's lips, his warm breath ghosting over the flesh of his neck. Rúmil paused and whispered, "I do not want you to go..." "I would take you with me," Thranduil answered. "For I am not yet ready to give you up. We still have so much to learn about one another..." "Would you? Really?" Rúmil drew back and held his lover's face in his hands. "You would really take me with you, back to Mirkwood?" Thranduil smiled and pulled Rúmil closer. "Aye, if you would agree to come, and if your Lord and Lady would allow it." "How would Legolas feel about it?" Thranduil smiled and pressed a brief kiss to Rúmil's lips. "What makes me happy makes my son happy, Rúmil. I do think the two of you would get along quite well." Rúmil brought his lips closer to Thranduil's. "I will ask for permission then, to accompany you back to Mirkwood." He pressed a kiss to Thranduil's lips, opening his mouth as his lover's hands traveled into his hair and he yielded to Thranduil's claiming kiss. * * * * Haldir sat in a wide chair, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, watching Legolas sleep. The prince lay upon his stomach, the sheets resting just above the swell of his buttocks, his flaxen hair fanned out across his bare back. He watched the rise and fall of his torso as he breathed and admired the way the starlight caused his skin to glow. While things had not began the way he had hoped, they were certainly finishing as he wanted. Legolas was a wonderful lover, giving as much as he took, as commanding as he was yielding. The prince was everything Haldir had ever wanted in a lover: strong yet gentle, fiery and wise, and passionate, very passionate. It was everything he wanted; yet, something was missing. No doubt, the prince pleased him and he pleased the prince. But it was as if part of Legolas was not really there. He furrowed his brow and mentally chastised himself. Legolas had just come out of three days of Council meetings, none of which had gone the way he hoped. Of course the prince would be distracted. It was not like him to feel this way, to feel so on the edge of irrationality. 'We do not know one another yet,' he thought to himself. 'We have just made a connection. I am expecting too much too soon...' Legolas moaned softly and stirred in his sleep, rolling to his back and reaching across to the place that Haldir had just occupied. He groped at the covers then opened his eyes, sitting up to find his new lover in a chair beside the bed. He smiled sleepily and muttered, "What are you doing over there?" "I was just preparing to leave," Haldir answered. "I do not imagine your father would be too pleased to return and find me here." Legolas frowned. "My father is preoccupied with his own pursuits. Besides, I do not need his approval to take a lover." "Of course, I did not mean to suggest..." "Haldir." "Yes?" "Come here." Haldir smiled and rose from his seat, returning to the bed and the prince's arms. To be continued... Title: The Dawning, 33/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil/Rúmil, and Legolas/Haldir. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between males, incest, PWP, and some angst and romance. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: This is a continuation of what has become a string of fics starting with "The Wager"; the Glorfindel/Erestor bug bit me again after a long respite. Since the string has been written out of sequence, this one follows "The Wager" chronologically. Summary: Erestor misses Glorfindel; Elladan and Elrohir play games; Gildor and Lindir embark on an adventure. Erestor sat up in bed and stretched. He woefully glanced at the empty place next to him and wondered when his lover would return. He rubbed his face with his hands as he yawned and slowly woke, then laid his head upon his arms, which he folded over his bent knees. "They should be on their way soon," he mumbled to himself, "if all went well." The sun shown brightly through the sheer draperies that covered the doors leading to his veranda. He listened to the sound of birds singing; they were on the feeder that Glorfindel made for him for his begetting day present. A smile curved his lips when he thought of his lover and his best friend. No one had done more for him than Glorfindel, except for maybe Elrond. His lover was always thoughtful; he paid close attention to his wants and needs, always observant of what made him happy. The bird feeder was an excellent example. Glorfindel knew he loved birds, and his lover knew that making the feeder for him with his own hands meant more than having it made by an artisan. It was not the most elaborate or most beautiful feeder, but it was sturdy, it survived the occasional raids by the squirrels, and the birds loved it. From early spring to late autumn, he woke to the song of birds, and each morning a smile came to his lips. It was a smile that Glorfindel put there with the giving of this gift. Since the beginning of their relationship, they had stumbled, more than once. They had each strayed from the other, but never for long. Erestor had the feeling that neither of them would stray ever again, for he knew that no one could replace Glorfindel in his heart and he suspected his lover had come to the same conclusion. It was time to be patient; he needed to give Glorfindel time to work out whatever it was that kept him from giving of himself fully. He swore to himself that he would never doubt his lover again. He took a deep breath and sat up again, stretching his arms over his head. He had much to do that day, having given Lindir the day off. He had been working his good friend and assistant to death; Lindir had earned a respite from his duties. He and Elladan would be meeting with some traders from Bree that afternoon to negotiate a trade of wheat for some blackberry brandy that the Bree-landers were famous for. Erestor hoped to obtain enough for a celebration upon his lord's return. He pulled back the covers and slid his feet into his slippers, then made his way into his bathing chamber to prepare for the day's work. * * * * Elladan stared into Elrohir's eyes. His twin's face was just inches from his own, so close that he could feel Elrohir's breath upon his lips. He flexed and coiled his fingers, hearing the silk cord creak softly against his wrists. "Is it too tight?" Elrohir breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "No," Elladan answered. "How much longer?" "I do not know," Elrohir answered. "I... I think I cannot stand it, then I find away to continue..." He moved slightly, rising a small bit then sinking back down again. Elladan clenched his jaw, feeling a desperate moan building within his chest. He breathed in deeply then whispered, "It is well past dawn, getting out of here without being seen will be interesting..." Elrohir laughed softly, causing him to groan quietly in return. "Do you want me to stop?" Elrohir asked. "No..." "What do you want me to do?" Elrohir murmured against the sweat-slickened flesh of his twin's throat. "I am beyond knowing," Elladan whispered. "I could die like this, with you here, with you surrounding me..." "I do not want that," Elrohir purred, his teeth grazing his brother's jugular vein. "Do you not feel as though you are about to burst?" Elladan whispered, his words dissolving into a plaintive moan as Elrohir moved again. "Yes..." Elrohir answered. His arousal pulsated painfully, wept ceaselessly despite the ring that bound it at the base. "Shall I bring an end to it, my brother?" "Please... I cannot go any further, as good as it feels..." Elrohir gripped the top of the tall back of the chair and began rocking, rising, and falling upon his brother's lap with a quickening rhythm. He buried his face in his twin's hair as Elladan leaned his head back, moaning desperately as Elrohir rode out his desire. A plaintive cry escaped Elladan's lips as his body tightened and he spilled himself deep inside Elrohir. Elrohir swallowed his twin's cries, consuming Elladan's mouth with voracious hunger. "Untie me," Elladan growled as Elrohir released his mouth. He gasped as Elrohir rose from his lap and began untying his wrists and ankles. Despite the groaning complaint of his muscles, he grasped his twin's shoulders and pinned him to the rug, descending upon Elrohir's lap with his mouth. Elrohir cried out as he was quickly engulfed in heated, wet suction, and he arched his back against the floor as his brother skillfully worked his length. "Please, Elladan," he groaned. The ring clicked open and he cried out as he emptied himself down his twin's throat. The room was cool as the fire had died out overnight, and the sweat that beaded his skin caused gooseflesh to rise as Elladan licked him clean. Trembling beneath his brother's ministrations, he reached down to caress Elladan's hair with his fingers, and watched as his twin slowly made his way up his torso, depositing kisses along the way. He sighed as Elladan came to rest atop him, his fingers caressing his twin's ears as Elladan's face hovered over his own. "I love you," Elrohir whispered. Elladan smiled. No answer was required of him. He nipped his twin's chin, then nibbled at its soft underside. Elrohir laughed softly, it was a place that was always ticklish. "You are cold," he murmured against the soft flesh of his twin's throat. "Bathe with me..." "Yes," Elrohir answered with a smile. He held out his hands as Elladan rose off his body, and allowed his twin to pull him to his feet and into his arms. "Next time," Elladan playfully grumbled, "we begin this game before we go to sleep... I have a long day ahead of me and terraces to climb without being seen..." Elrohir chuckled and hugged his twin tight. "Agreed... we should bathe quickly so you can return to your room before the gardeners begin their work outside." He followed Elladan into his bathing chamber, smiling at his twin as they prepared the bath. * * * * Lindir looked at himself in the mirror. He turned and checked the fit of his tunic and leggings, then adjusted his braid. He had a few duties to attend to with his fellow musicians after the morning meal, and then he and Gildor were going riding in the forest. Gildor had planned a long ride and picnic lunch, wanting to show Lindir something near the Bruinen. The friendship that had blossomed between them was somewhat of a surprise to Lindir. They had little in common except that they both loved music and they both loved nature. Gildor loved music but had no talent for it; and Lindir loved the artful dance that Gildor performed as he practiced his swordplay, but could never do it himself. He supposed that was what drew them together. In a strange way, each was something the other was not and they somehow, together, made a complete portrait. He spoke to his Lord Erestor about it, for Erestor and Glorfindel's relationship was similar in the regard that they were two very different elves. Erestor had just smiled and said not to over-think it, and to take things as they came each day. He was glad that Erestor was no longer angry with Gildor about the mishap involving Glorfindel; it would be difficult to pursue this path if Erestor did not approve. Lindir did not need Erestor's approval, but the advisor was his best friend, and it was important to Lindir that he like his new friend. Lindir smiled as he left his bedchamber. He looked forward to the afternoon's activities and to getting to know Gildor better. * * * * Gildor sat outside on the veranda adjacent to the main dining hall. The coming of spring weather had inspired the inhabitants of Imladris to venture outside more often. While it was still cool in the mornings, elves were resilient creatures and were not too uncomfortable with the brisk air. Lady Arwen had directed the staff to setup tables and chairs on the veranda outside the dining hall, which was on the eastern side of the house. The stone porch was bathed in Anor's light, surrounded by blossoming fruit trees and dogwood, and the guests would enjoy their morning meal amongst the sounds of birds singing and bees buzzing. Having arrived early, Gildor selected a table near the low stone railing of the terrace and sipped his tea, enjoying the view of the eastern valley with its meadows of tall grass and heather. The valley floor was surrounded by forested hills, which climbed to join steep cliffs capped by snow. As the snow was beginning to melt, the waterfalls, which Imladris was famous for, ran swift, melting snow feeding the upper rivers and cascading in violent white-capped torrents over the edges of the cliffs. The sound of rushing water blended with the sound of birds singing, to create an environment that was full of life. The world was waking after a long slumber. The inhabitants were beginning to arrive, filing by the long banquet table and perusing the various dishes the kitchen staff had prepared. Gildor glanced, now and again, at the open doorway that led into the dining hall, looking for his dining partner. He and Lindir would enjoy the morning meal together before attending to a few errands, and then he planned to show the minstrel the western reaches of Imladris, across the Bruinen. He had been surprised when Lindir had told him he had never ventured west of the valley proper. The minstrel had traveled to Lórien once, in the summer, and had taken the mountain passes before they became too dangerous. Gildor had been surprised again, when he learned that Lindir was a survivor of the attack on Eregion, and had come to Imladris with his parents after the city fell. He had been young then, a small elfling, and he had not left Imladris since his arrival. Lindir's parents had sailed into the West, but he had not accompanied them as he was not yet ready to leave his home in Middle-earth. Lindir did not remember the fall of Eregion or the massacre of the elves there. His life had been one of peace in Imladris, despite the dangerous and violent times of his infancy. Gildor had been touched by Lindir's tale, and he found himself, in the days since hearing it, trying to recall him amongst the thousands of young ones they had saved. As he glanced toward the door again, he saw his dining companion step out onto the veranda. He stood and raised his hand, then smiled as Lindir raised his in return, leaving Erestor's side and coming toward him. A smile curved his lips as he watched Lindir approach; the minstrel was radiant. He was dressed in tan riding pants and boots, a deep auburn tunic, and had his hair pulled into a single, flaxen braid that ended just above his buttocks. Lindir was tall, lithe, and graceful beyond the measure of many of his kindred. He had a voice that raised gooseflesh on Gildor's body and long, agile fingers that worked his lyre with unparalleled skill. Elves far and wide had heard tell of the minstrel's talent. He was widely regarded as the finest musician in Middle-earth. "Good morning, my friend." Gildor greeted him with a smile, taking both of Lindir's elegant hands in his own larger ones. "We will have a beautiful ride this afternoon, if this morning is any indication..." Lindir smiled and leaned in, kissing Gildor once on each cheek. "I am looking forward to it. I have not been riding since last Laer*." He tugged upon Gildor's hands. "Come, cook has prepared many delicious things this morning. Let us get some before they are all picked over." Gildor nodded and followed Lindir to the banquet table. Arwen watched the unlikely pair from her table, which sat upon a raised section of the veranda, underneath a blossoming cherry tree. A smile graced her fair face as she watched Lindir and Gildor together. She could think of no two elves more deserving of one another, except for possibly Glorfindel and Erestor. Lindir would be good for Gildor, she thought, and Gildor good for Lindir. The studious minstrel and scribe needed a life outside Erestor's offices and the music halls, and Gildor had seen all the world. Who better to show Lindir all that he had been missing? And Gildor, that elf had spent the better part of his life wandering the wilds of Middle-earth; he needed something, someone to come home to. He needed someone to call his own, something besides duty to keep him warm at night. "My Lady Arwen." She looked up to see Erestor standing beside her and she smiled. He held out his hand and she took it, rising from her chair and joining the others in the banquet line. Her brothers arrived shortly after Erestor, and kissed her cheeks as they stepped in line behind her and the advisor. She thought to herself that the only thing preventing the morning from being perfect was the absence of her father and mother, and Estel. * * * * To the east, Master Elrond, Lord Glorfindel and their entourage galloped through the Gap of Rohan, followed closely by Lord Círdan, Galdor and the elves from the Grey Havens. Saruman watched from his place in his high tower, his gaze following the elves as his spies followed Gandalf. In Mirkwood and the Vales of the Anduin, dark skies thundered and rain fell in torrents from the sky. In Lórien, a prince slept in the arms of a marchwarden, and a king made love to a young guardian. Among them, the Lady Galadriel gazed into her mirror, looking for answers she was unsure she wished to see. The world was changing... To be continued... * Laer = Sindarin word for summer Title: The Dawning, 34/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil/Rúmil, and Legolas/Haldir. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between males, incest, PWP, and some angst and romance. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: This is a continuation of what has become a string of fics starting with "The Wager"; the Glorfindel/Erestor bug bit me again after a long respite. Since the string has been written out of sequence, this one follows "The Wager" chronologically. Summary: Lindir and Gildor get to know one another; Thranduil sees something that causes some concern. Lindir walked down the long path that led from the main house to the stables; Gildor was waiting for him, leaning up against the doorjamb and pulling on his gloves. He smiled and waived, embracing his friend when he arrived. As he put his arms around Gildor, he noticed the quiver strapped to his back. "What is this?" he asked softly. "I never ride afield without at least carrying my bow," Gildor answered. Lindir furrowed his brow. "Do you anticipate trouble?" Gildor smiled. "No. But I do believe in being prepared for all eventualities." He took Lindir's hand. "Come, there is no need to worry, my friend. I am merely being cautious." Lindir smiled again and nodded, following Gildor into the stables. As he groomed his horse, he watched Gildor loading his large bay gelding with a knapsack that contained something for them to eat later. He wondered to himself how many times he had seen Gildor doing what he was doing in that moment; only those times, the elf lord had been leaving for an extended patrol in the wilderness, not a picnic on a sunny day. His hand moved in slow, soft circles on his mare's back as he gently curried her shedding winter coat. She turned her head and nudged his elbow, as if to remind him to focus on his task, rather than stare at Gildor. Gildor chuckled at the mare's gentle nudging, and Lindir realized he had been caught staring. He blushed a little then mumbled something about cleaning out her hooves. "I did that for you already," Gildor answered. "I hope you don't mind, but I arrived at the barn early and thought I would get her started before you arrived." "Thank you..." Lindir answered, still trying to control the rise of color in his cheeks. "Come," Gildor said with a grin. "Let us depart before too much of the morning is wasted." Lindir smiled shyly then led his mare from her stall and out into the paddock area. They both swung up onto their horses' backs then left the courtyard with a slow jog. * * * * A shuddering sigh left Rúmil's lips as his lover's weight came to rest upon his back. He smiled as Thranduil gently pulled his unbound hair from his neck and deposited gentle kisses at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Ithil was rising, casting her silver glow down through the branches of the tall mellyrn. The waters of the Celebrant flowed gently over pebbles smoothed from ages of the water's caress, creating a soft bubbling sound. Thranduil's hands rested on top of Rúmil's own; their fingers were entwined and Rúmil closed his own, drawing his lover's arms closer around him. He laughed softly as his kingly lover tickled the back of his earlobe with his tongue and he arched his back and squirmed against Thranduil's solid form. Thranduil laughed softly and sultrily as his young guardian squirmed deliciously against him. His length was still embedded in Rúmil's body, the heat caused by their lovemaking warding off the chill of the late spring night. His visit to Lórien, while contentious at times, had been punctuated by moments like these: moments of utter peace and bliss, when all things were reduced to their most simple and pure form. In that moment, he was not a king of a beleaguered land, not a father who feared for his son's safety, nor a weary soldier that had seen too much of battle. In that moment, he was just an elf relaxing in the bed of his lover, taking pleasure and enjoyment from that act that was most pure. His relationship with Rúmil had taken him by surprise. He had fallen into bed with the young guardian as a result of mutual desire. However, now he found himself imagining waking up with this young beauty in his own bed; he found himself imagining keeping Rúmil as his own. Rúmil expressed his desire to go to Mirkwood when Thranduil found his thoughts voiced aloud. He had not intended to tell Rúmil of his desire, yet he had done so nonetheless. His reluctance was not because he did not enjoy Rúmil's company, but because he did not want to see another that he cared for put into harm's way. He had maintained a careful distance from all those who dwelt in his realm, keeping all but his son at arm's length. He could not make decisions about sending an elf into battle if they were too close to him; sending Legolas was nearly more than he could bear. However, Legolas had chosen his own path against his wishes, so there was nothing to be done about that now. As king, he could not spare his own son while sending the sons and daughters of his people out to defend their land; besides, Legolas would never stand for that. All he could do was make decisions as best he could, and fight beside his warriors as often as possible, never asking of them what he was not fully prepared and able to do himself. A shiver ran down his spine as he slipped from Rúmil's welcoming heat, and a long, drawn out sigh signaled his lover's descent into reverie. This caused him to smile; he thought to himself that the predictability with which Rúmil fell asleep after lovemaking could be used to keep time. He could understand it; they both felt safe and calm here, not having to be on constant vigil. Carefully, he disentangled their limbs, no easy feat considering their fingers, arms and legs were wrapped around one another. He rose from the bed and retrieved the robe he had worn to Rúmil's talan, then began his nightly walk back to his own after bestowing a soft kiss upon Rúmil's shoulder. As much as he liked to pretend he was a common elf cavorting with his lover, he was not. He was a king and a guest in this realm, and being seen traipsing back from a late night rendezvous with a guardian was unseemly. He listened to the crickets as he walked the narrow path back toward where his talan was; crossing through the lady's garden, as it was the most inconspicuous route. As he walked across the green grass in his bare feet, he paused. He sensed something but he could not put his finger on it. Something that sounded like a whisper floated into his ears and he turned quickly to find himself facing the fountain. The water in the mithril basin was still, like glass, and he found himself being drawn to it. He sensed another's presence and turned again quickly, to find Galadriel standing behind him, a short distance away. "My lady," he said softly, covering his heart with his hand and bowing his head. "Thranduil," she answered softly. "Stand not on ceremony, my friend. We are equals here." Thranduil smiled and slowly shook his head. "Nay, my lady, I beg to differ. I shall never be your equal." She laughed softly and smiled, holding out her hand to him as she approached. Thranduil took her hand and helped her up the moss covered stone steps that led to the fountain. She stood beside the raised basin and tilted her head slightly, her golden hair falling across one shoulder. "Will you look in my mirror?" she asked. Thranduil gazed at the basin and swallowed. Never had a more potent question been asked of him. He knew the kinds of things that were seen in that mirror and he knew that often there were more questions raised than answers given. When he did not answer, she added, "It calls you, I can see it in your eyes." "Aye, my lady. It does call me; though for reasons I do not know, I am reluctant to answer." Galadriel nodded in a knowing fashion, then answered softly, "But the call not answered is more potent than the call denied." Thranduil sighed and stepped up to the basin, his hands coming to rest upon its rim. "As always, you are correct, my lady," he replied quietly. "I shall look." He gazed into the mirror and waited for the visions to come. The first was one of green fields and two small creatures he had never seen the likes of before; they were walking with packs and sticks. The next vision was not quite so peaceful. It was of his homeland under siege, trees were burning and the sounds of elves, orcs and spiders dying echoed in his mind. Then he saw Legolas fighting in a strange land, the only elf among scores of men and orcs. The Black Gates then appeared in his mind, a vision that was all too fresh in his own memory. Another great war, this one led by men. He saw Glorfindel and Erestor, Celeborn and Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, and Círdan with the warriors from their lands, including some from Mirkwood. It was as though the Last Alliance had been reincarnated. Elves and Men alike were dying by the score as he fought by his son's side. The final vision came to him in a disorienting flash. Suddenly, the images of smoke and rock and death had faded and he was riding in green field, accompanied by Celeborn and Galadriel. Rúmil was there, as were his brothers... then suddenly he gasped, and the vision faded into mist. He stepped back from the mirror and slowly raised his eyes toward Galadriel. The lady had seen what he had seen; yet, her face was as unreadable as clay. "The mirror shows us what has been, what will be, and what could be. Not all you saw will come to pass, but what will and what will not is beyond my divining," she answered. Thranduil nodded. He bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand, then turned and left the garden, the visions he had seen swirling in his mind. * * * * Lindir walked through a grove of trees near the Bruinen; the sound of the roaring current and the wind in the trees lent the place a sense of wildness. He knew Gildor was following close behind, though his companion said nothing. He was safe in Gildor's presence; his friend was among the finest of the warriors who served Elrond. However, that did not blunt the sense of uneasiness he felt. He had felt that way all day, since they had crossed the river further upstream. They had sat in the sun and enjoyed the various delicacies that the cook had prepared, along with a flagon of wine. Then they had wandered into the woods on the west side of the river. Pausing, he leaned against the trunk of a tall spruce, looking up through the branches at the mid-afternoon sky. Gildor stood next to him, just a short distance away, and Lindir found himself feeling ever more grateful for his company. "There is something about this place that I cannot quite describe..." he began. "It makes me feel uneasy...it feels..." "Wild?" Gildor interjected. He turned his gaze to his friend and nodded. "Aye, wild." Gildor took a step closer and smiled reassuringly. "That is because it is. We are outside of Master Elrond's blanket of protection here. These lands are beyond his sphere of influence." "Are there yrch* here?" Lindir asked worriedly. "There once was, and wargs and evil men. However, it has been long since they have dared venture within easy reach of Master Elrond's warriors." He reached up and brushed a strand of silver hair off Lindir's shoulder. "I would not take you into harm's way, my friend." Lindir smiled, even as he felt a shiver run up his spine at the glancing touch of Gildor's hand. "By the Valar, you are a vision, Lindir," Gildor said softly. "The way you look there in the shadows, with Anor's light dancing across your face and hair, your lips so beautifully curved into a smile..." Lindir swallowed and in an uncharacteristic move of boldness, he reached out and grasped Gildor's tunic in his hands, pulling his friend against him. When Gildor gently, yet forcefully clasped his wrists and pulled them over his head, he did not resist. Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, exposing his throat to Gildor's view. Gildor leaned against him, pinning him to the bole of the tree with his weight. Gildor was solid, muscular, like he imagined warriors would be. "Is this what you want? Is this how you like it?" Gildor asked in a husky whisper. "I often find myself in this position," Lindir breathed sultrily. "I cannot say that I find reason to complain..." As Gildor's lips moved over the flesh of his throat, he felt heat rising in his groin and he bent one knee, sliding the inside of his thigh along the outside of the warrior's hip. Soft moans drifted up from deep inside him as tongue was added to lips and gentle nips of teeth were added to tongue. "You are as dangerous as these woods, my fair minstrel," Gildor purred against Lindir's throat. Lindir smiled and rolled his hips forward, pressing his burgeoning desire into Gildor's own. "It has been some time since I have taken a lover," he responded with a smoky whisper. "I may indeed be dangerous..." Gildor chuckled against the flesh of his throat and he wrapped his leg around both of his lover's own. "Make love to me here, in these woods..." Lindir murmured. "Nay, my songbird," Gildor responded. "I will have you in a wide, soft bed, where I can gaze upon your beauty and revel in your soft flesh for hours uncounted..." Lindir smiled as Gildor pulled back and gazed into his eyes. "Then take me home, for I am tired of waiting for what I want." "As you wish," Gildor murmured against his lips before taking his mouth in a searing kiss. Lindir opened to the kiss and Gildor released his wrists, allowing him to plunge his hands into his lover's thick, dark hair. They undulated against one another, mouths questing for dominance before they separated, leaving the wild trees and returning to their home. To be continued... *yrch = Orcs in Sindarin. Title: The Dawning, 35/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elladan/Elrohir, Thranduil/Rúmil, Legolas/Haldir, and Gildor/Lindir. Rating: NC-17 Beta: Alex Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between males, incest, PWP, and some angst and romance. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: Yes please, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: This is a continuation of what has become a string of fics starting with "The Wager"; the Glorfindel/Erestor bug bit me again after a long respite. Since the string has been written out of sequence, this one follows "The Wager" chronologically. Summary: Elladan and Elrohir share a warm spring afternoon, Gildor and Lindir take a new path together. Thranduil mounted the steps to the talan he shared with Legolas, trying to put what he saw in the mirror out of his mind. The feeling that war was coming had been nagging at him for many months, and the visions in the mirror seemed to lend weight to what his intuition had been warning him about. He pushed open the door and closed it softly behind him, then turned and walked toward his bedchamber. Pausing at Legolas' door, he pushed the curtain aside a small bit, just enough to gaze in at his son. Legolas was asleep, as was Haldir. The captain lay upon his stomach, arms folded and hands tucked beneath the pillow upon which his head rested. Legolas lay across Haldir's back, his hands resting upon the marchwarden's arms and his head upon Haldir's shoulder. They looked so peaceful in their reverie, as if neither of them had a care in the world. He smiled as he gazed upon them and imagined that this was much the way he and Rúmil looked just moments ago. Legolas needed this; he needed some time for himself, time to rest and enjoy life instead of battling the dark beasts of Sauron's making. In more than one way, this delay of their return home was turning out to be a good thing. He proceeded into his own chamber quietly, stripping his robe and climbing beneath the covers. A long sigh escaped him as he began the gentle descent into reverie. He would stay abed late that day. * * * * Legolas breathed deeply as he stirred from his dreams. He raised his head and looked around him, then slowly sat up and rubbed his face, pushing the hair back from his eyes. Through the woven screen of willow and birch branches, he could see the outline of his father's form in the bed. He smiled when he thought of the peaceful expression often upon his father's face as he slept; it was something that he saw too little of it seemed. His father's presence had waked him. He always knew when Thranduil was near; he sensed it somehow. Ithil's light still swathed the sky in silver, though he could feel dawn was approaching. He lay back down, curling up against Haldir as his lover mumbled quietly and snuggled back against him. He blinked slowly as reverie called him and fell asleep with a smile curving his lips. * * * * Elrohir stood in the middle of a small field, his arms crossed over his chest as he slowly turned round and round, an approving smile upon his lips as he watched his latest colt canter a small circle around him. "Very good..." he said softly, his deep voice conveying approval to his young colt. "Good boy..." Elladan sat on a rock in the shade of a tree, watching his twin train the yearling. The new crop of foals would be arriving soon and Elrohir liked to take charge of the stable when they were home. Elrohir whistled slowly and softly and the colt transitioned from an easy canter to a trot, his long legs pumping furiously as his big gait seemed to consume the ground. "Easy boy," Elrohir said softly, "Easy now..." The colt slowed and the racing trot became more of an easy, swinging jog as he dropped his nose to the ground. "Good boy... that is my boy..." Elrohir glanced at Elladan and winked, then smiled as his twin winked back. "That big gait will make for an uncomfortable ride long term, brother," Elladan called out. "Aye," Elrohir answered, "but it will make a very impressive sight when parading through the cities we visit..." Elladan chuckled and shook his head, slicing a small piece of apple and eating it off his knife. He looked down into the pitiful expression of one of the stable hounds, who had her head resting upon his knee. "Oh, alright..." he said with a smile, "Here." He sliced off another piece of apple and fed it to the dog. She took the proffered apple gently between her teeth before gobbling it as soon as his hand was clear. Wagging her small nub of a tail, she raised her ears and cocked her head. "You wag what you no longer have," Elladan teased. The dog continued wiggling her nub of a tail and looking at him inquisitively. "Last one," he said softly, feeding her one more bite of apple. "You will have a belly ache if you eat any more." Understanding him, she carefully took the apple slice then laid back down in the shade. He looked up and saw Elrohir approaching, his colt in tow. "She has taken a liking to you," Elrohir said softly. "Aye, that would be because I have food," Elladan responded with a smile. "What happened to her tail?" "It was nearly torn clear off by a small warg," Elrohir answered. She was guarding the summer pasture with the other hounds when the horses were set upon by a small pack of wargs. Between the stallion, the hounds and the herdmasters, the wargs were chased off. Her tail was so badly injured that we had to cut it off to the nub." Elladan gently rubbed the dog's head. "You are a brave girl..." She wagged her nub and nudged his hand with her nose. "What is her name?" Elladan asked. "Hunbrêg*" Elrohir answered. "A fitting name for such a brave beast. Come, Hunbrêg, let us find you some food more suitable for your constitution." The dog leapt in the air next to him then ran ahead for a few steps before pausing to see if he followed. The walk back to the stables proceeded in this manner, with her leaping and spinning, then running and stopping. The dog's gleeful nature made him smile; it was a welcome relief from the endless meetings and documents that required his approval. He did not know how Erestor and his father did it. If he had to spend the rest of his days reading and signing papers, he would go mad. Elrohir had been the smart one, as usual, expressing his desire to train and work with horses rather than work with books. While they were each skilled in both areas, they had been groomed for those things that they expressed more of a talent for. He felt a glancing touch of Elrohir's fingers against his palm and he looked at his twin and smiled. The urge to lean over and kiss him was nearly impossible to deny, but to do so would be too risky there in the daylight and the open fields near the stable. Instead he leaned over, allowing their shoulders to touch, then whispered softly, "I love you." Elrohir smiled and answered, "I love you as well, Elladan." Elladan nodded and then turned his attention to the dog. "Yes, yes, Hunbrêg, I am coming my friend..." He chuckled as she bolted ahead again. As they entered the stable proper, they saw Lindir and Gildor returning from their ride. They watched as their friends returned their horses to their paddocks then quickly grabbed their packs and headed toward the house hand in hand. Elladan raised an eyebrow and glanced at his twin. "It appears they are becoming quite fond of each other, would you not agree?" Elrohir laughed softly, "Fond is one way of describing it. It is springtime after all. I suppose they are feeling the effects of her coming?" Elladan sighed. "They would not be the only ones..." Elrohir chuckled and shook his head. "Well, I must be going back to father's office. I am sure Erestor is waiting most impatiently for me." "Take heart, my brother," Elrohir said with a smile. "Father will be home soon." "See you at the evening gathering?" Elladan asked with a mischievous smile. "Of course," Elrohir answered with a wink. "Until this evening then..." Elrohir bowed his head and smiled as Elladan departed the stable grounds and made for the Last Homely House. * * * * Gildor followed Lindir through the corridors of the auxiliary residence, allowing the minstrel to lead him by the hand. He was familiar with this wing, as it was where Glorfindel's quarters was, his own being in a building down by the barracks. He was rarely at the Last Homely House for any extended period of time, so he preferred to live down amongst the soldiers rather than take up space in the main house that could be used by someone who was here more than he was. After several flights of stairs and a few twists and turns, they arrived at Lindir's door. The minstrel lived on the uppermost floor of the auxiliary wing, his quarters being tucked into a neat little alcove that faced the hills. Lindir opened the door and invited Gildor inside before closing it again and ensuring it was latched. Lindir's quarters were cozy and warm, bathed in the afternoon sun as the windows faced west and south. The room was an odd shape, rather like a slice of pie, as some of the rooms on the top floor were. The ceiling was low in some places, following the roofline of the structure. On one wall stood his bed and two small tables, one on each side of the bed. On the other was a fireplace and an area to wash up and dress. Flanking the fireplace was an armoire and a dressing screen, and a small stand with a washbasin and mirror hanging over it. The southern and western walls were lined with windows, and a doorway that led to a balcony stood on the westernmost side. Near the windows were a small desk and chair, larger stuffed chairs and a small table, and in an area next to the southern windows were a stool and music stand alongside Lindir's harp. The space was comfortable and welcoming, and it felt secluded from the bustling of the main house. He imagined Lindir sitting on his stool, playing his lyre and writing beautiful songs for all the residents of Imladris to enjoy. He watched as Lindir crossed the room and opened the windows, the large framed panes swinging open and letting in the soft afternoon breeze. The view from the windows was remarkable. To the south were a green meadow and sloping hills leading up to the tall trees and the thick almost impenetrable forest that hid the valley from unfriendly eyes. The waterfalls and streams that fed the valley floor could be heard outside. To the west were steep hills dotted with large rocks and tall patches of spruce and pine; beyond those were the Bruinen and the Trollshaws. The scent of pine and fresh heather drifted into the room and it made Gildor smile. While Imladris had the most beautiful gardens anywhere in Middle-earth, it was the scent of the wilderness beyond and the sight of Eru's creations in all their glory that gave Gildor real joy and peace. He preferred the wild, untamed world of Eru's creations to the cultivated and groomed gardens of elves and men. Lindir turned and smiled at Gildor, feeling a flutter in his stomach and a tremor in his hands. His last lover had been Erestor and that had been more than a year ago. While he had found Erestor to be a serious and demanding lover, the advisor was not the strict taskmaster many would imagine him to be. However, Erestor had clearly been in charge, both in bed and in the library, and Lindir had been comfortable with that. Gildor had the reputation for being an assertive lover, and Lindir imagined that things would be much the same with him as they were with Erestor. He walked toward Gildor, taking the warrior's hands upon reaching him and leading him to the bed. He held Gildor's strong hands in his own slender ones, feeling the power in them, imagining how they would feel on his bare flesh. He reached up and began unbuttoning Gildor's tunic, suppressing a small gasp when he slid the garment from his lover's body. Gildor was far larger than he was used to, having had slender lovers, like himself. He ran his hands over the muscles of his chest and shoulders, his fingers splayed wide as he explored this unknown territory. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to one perfectly sculpted pectoral muscle, a small hum of pleasure escaping his lips. Gildor smiled, allowing Lindir to explore at will. Given the rapt attention with which Lindir made his perusal, Gildor imagined the lithe minstrel was not accustomed to laying with elves who wielded swords instead of pens. He remained passive, allowing Lindir's lips and hands to caress and discover as he wished. "Do you like what you see?" he asked seductively. "So strong..." Lindir murmured. "I have never had the opportunity to touch such a form." He looked up into Gildor's eyes and smiled. "Aye, I like it very much." A sharp, staccato rap fell upon his door and he groaned aloud. "Who can that be?" he grumbled. Gildor chuckled and placed his hands upon Lindir's shoulders as the impatient caller rapped upon the door again. "I do not think they will leave until you answer it." Lindir made for the door, grumbling as he went. Gildor casually leaned up against the post of the bed and waited for his young lover to return. Lindir threw the door open and found one of the young apprentices that worked in the library standing before him. He took a deep breath. "Yes?" The youngster stammered, since he had disturbed Lindir. "Par...pardon me, Master Lindir...but...Master Erestor sent me for you. He has an urgent question about some papers you were working on." "Can it not wait until tomorrow?" Lindir asked, struggling to conceal the annoyance in his voice. "Master Erestor sent me for you and bade me tell you it was urgent..." Lindir sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Very well. Run along and tell Master Erestor I will be right there." The youngster nodded and ran back down the corridor. Lindir turned to Gildor. "I am sorry, I..." Gildor waved his hand. "No worries, my friend. I will be here when you return." Lindir pointed directly at Gildor. "Do not leave..." Gildor covered his heart with his hand and bowed his head. "Your wish is my command, my lord." Lindir smiled broadly then rushed out the door. Gildor laughed and crossed the room, depositing himself in a tall, plush chair and closing his eyes, listening to the birds sing outside. To be continued... *Fierce heart (Sindarin) Or at least as close as I can get...