*Title: The Early Years: A Barbaric Mirkwood Tradition

*Author: Minuial Nuwing

*Contact: minuial_nuwing@...

*Rating: NC-17

*Type: FPS

*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir, and a nearly clueless Legolas

*Warning: EXPLICIT TWINCEST, piercing (non-graphic), irresponsible use of
alcohol, mindless fluff followed by mindless smut, followed by a tiny bit
more fluff…

*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM, Cipher; Others: I would
be honored-Just let me know, please!

*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…

*Beta: No, actually. I keep them too busy with ‘Princes’!

*Summary: The story of Elladan and Elrohir’s mithril nipple rings. An alcohol-saturated PWP from the years before ‘Princes Three’, 

*Note: Stars(*) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis, two
stars(**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.

*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else
belongs to the creator-god of Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his
gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return
them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!

*Author’s note: The original idea for this little piece came from a review
of the first ‘Early Years’ fic in which someone…I think it was Piper…suggested 
a piece about the nipple piercing episode. At the time my respose was 
that the Princes weren’t tumbling then, and I jokingly suggested
a twins-only episode…well, here it is! The bunny wouldn’t go away. So,
thank you, Piper…or forgive me for taking your name in vain if it wasn’t
you! **grin**

A/N 2: Forgive the title…’A Barbaric Taur-na-Fuin Tradition’ just didn’t
have the same ring! 

***********************************

**The Early Years: A Barbaric Mirkwood Tradition**



**…Elladan handed his twin a glass of miruvor with a smirk, and turned to
Legolas, who was eyeing him with a grin. "I am glad I amuse you, ‘Las. What
do you find worth such a smile?"

" I was remembering the night you got this, gwadoren," he answered, lightly
touching the mithril nipple ring that glimmered on the elder twin’s chest.
"I think it rich that the Princes of Imladris were persuaded by drink and
dare to take part in a barbaric Taur-na-Fuin tradition - even if you only had
stomach enough for one," he teased, indicating the pair of gold rings that
graced his own nipples…**

---- Princes Three: The Beginning, Chapter 3

****************************************************************


*Mirkwood 1793 III*


Legolas pulled himself to his full height, his chin lifted haughtily. The
second-born prince of Mirkwood was a regal sight, the effect only slightly
marred by the fact that he was shirtless, and clinging to a tree trunk for
support. “I yare dou,” he repeated tauntingly, a smug smile on his fair
face.

Elrohir cocked his head thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in drunken
concentration. “You yare dou?” he parroted suspiciously. Turning expectantly 
to his equally inebriated twin, the elf-knight asked, “Do we yare dou?”

One ebony eyebrow arched in consideration as Elladan pondered the question,
assisted by another tip of the wine bottle he grasped possessively. “I do
not think so,” he replied cautiously, then reached a firmer decision. “Nay,
I am sure we do not.”

Watching the exchange between his friends confusedly, Legolas suddenly burst
into decidedly un-regal laughter as he realized what had gone awry. “I
don’t *yare dou*,” he chortled, qualifying his earlier remark, “I *dare
you*…I dare you to do it.”

“Do what? Who?” Elladan returned with obvious interest, a predatory grin
beginning to spread across his face.

“Not *that*, certainly, ‘Dan,” the woodland prince replied in exasperation.
“If there is an innocent of edding bage…I mean of *bedding age*… left in
all of Elvendom, ‘tis not due to your lax efforts.” Sighing dramatically,
he pointed at his own chest. “What were we discussing, gwadoren?”

“Oh,” Elladan said, his disappointment apparent. “The rings.”

“Aye, **the rings**,” Legolas agreed with a grin. “Well? Will you accept?
Or are you too squeamish, hmm?”

“It is barbaric, ‘Las,” Elrohir interjected grumpily, folding his arms
protectively across his own bare chest. “Why any elf would do such a
thing…”

“The rings are tradition in Taur-na-Fuin,” Legolas explained 
earnestly. “The left ring is for first bedding, and done after an ellon’s
majority rites. The right ring is for first kill in battle.” Breaking 
into a brilliant grin, he added, “I daresay the two of you qualify for 
both rings.”

Two pairs of grey eyes met and locked, and Legolas huffed impatiently. “It is
impolite to mindspeak…”

“…in public,” Elladan finished with a snicker. “Aye, so we have been told.
Endlessly.” Looking at the prince speculatively, he went on, “We will do
it…and we agree, the two of us qualify for both rings. I will take the
left, ‘Roh the right.”

Legolas shook his head, “But both rings are…”

“We are twins, though, ‘Las,” Elrohir said ingratiatingly. “We have
no need of four rings.”

The woodland prince frowned, struggling to mount an opposition to what
admittedly seemed an reasonable argument.

“A vote,” Elladan announced suddenly. “We shall have a vote.”

Legolas considered the idea briefly, a suspicion that he was, in fact,
being tricked nagging at his wine-blurred mind. “Aye, I suppose that is fair,”
he granted finally. “I say you each need two rings.”

“I say one each,” Elrohir said quickly, glancing at his brother. “What do
you think, ‘Dan?

“One,” Elladan replied promptly. “Definitely one.”

“Very well,” Legolas agreed with little grace, sure he had somehow been
outmaneuvered by his friends, who were grinning broadly. “I wager you will
wish you had agreed to both in a few days, though,” he chuckled
mysteriously, the thought improving his mood greatly.

“Who commits this atrocity, then?” Elrohir asked with a sigh. “I
would have it over ere I am too sober.”

“The left piercing is most oft done by the one who…well, by the ellon who
took part in your majority rites,” Legolas finished quickly, the
spirit-induced flush on his cheeks deepening slightly. “The right is
carried out by your captain, usually after the first engagement.”

The twins’ gazes met again briefly, and matching grins curled their lips.
“He is not here,” they replied together, identical ebony eyebrows arching
wryly.

“Nay, I suppose not,” Legolas agreed resignedly, though he glanced
around as if expecting the unnamed elves to appear magically from the
trees. “I could do it, I suppose.”

“Have you ever done so, ‘Las?” Elladan asked with remarkable calmness,
folding his arms more tightly across his chest.

“Nay, I have not,” Legolas admitted. “But I do know how, in theory,” he
added, his expression brightening thoughtfully.

“Absolutely not, Thranduilion” Elrohir broke in firmly. “You will not
approach my chest with a pointed object, save on the practice field.”

Legolas raised one golden eyebrow in wordless comment, then broke into a
broad grin. “Of course! I have the perfect solution…and we will not even be
waking him at this wicked hour. Come with me, mellynen.” Blue-green eyes
twinkling he added, “And bring the wine.”

********************************

“Are you sure this is a good idea, híren?" the patrol captain asked warily,
taking in the obviously intoxicated trio that had unexpectedly appeared at
the gates. “Your friends are rather drunk…”

“As am I, Nóruigallon,” Legolas replied with a lop-sided grin, passing the
half-empty botttle back to Elladan. “And it will probably seem a dire idea
tomorrow,” he admitted. “But tonight they are willing.”

“Very well, ernilen,” the captain agreed with a sigh. Turning to the
twins, he added, “Sit down, híren. I will be but a moment.”

Returning with a small bowl and what appeared to be a piece torn from a
towel, Nóruigallon looked at the Imladrian elves expectantly. “Who will be
first?" he asked, his gaze moving from one twin to the other.

“I will,” Elladan replied with a sigh. “What shall I do?”

“Can you sit on the wall?" the captain probed cautiously. “It would be
easier, but if you are too…have had a bit too much wine, I mean, it will be
no matter to remain on the floor.”

“I am not **that** drunk,” Elladan insisted petulantly, lifting himself
to sit on the waist high wall that surrounded the guard’s walk across the
massive gates.

Unconvinced, Nóruigallon motioned Elrohir and Legolas to either side of the
seated elf. “Your pardon, ernilen,” he said firmly, taking in all three of
his guests, “But I will not risk Lord Elrond’s heir falling from the gates
on my watch.”

“Which side will you have, then?" the captain asked, as he soaked the
toweling in the clear spirits that filled the bowl.

“Left,” Elladan answered shortly, watching with uneasy interest as his
chest was wiped liberally with the spirit-soaked cloth, causing his nipple
to pebble in the cool air.

“’Tis customary to turn your head, gwadoren,” Legolas said quietly, drawing
Elladan’s attention.

“Aye, it is,” Nóruigallon  agreed, reaching into the bowl. “It will prevent
your reflexes from ruining my work.”

“I do not see why I cannot wa…" Elladan began, his complaint ending in a
wordless hiss as a stabbing pain streaked across his chest.

“There you are, híren,” Nóruigallon announced with a grin, dabbing a final
time with the toweling. “Enjoy.” As an afterthought he added, “I thought
mithril better than gold with your coloring. You can change it as you wish
after a few days.”

Elladan looked down, unaccountably surprised to see a small ring of
mithril gleaming palely against the dusky rose of his nipple, the sharp
point guarded by a tiny frosty ball. Raising his head, Elladan met Elrohir’s 
darkened gaze.

**It is very becoming, tôren. Does it pain you?**

**A bit, rohir nín. It is naught to compare to Ada’s stitches, though.**

**I shall make it better, el nín. Later.**

“Never mind them, Nóruigallon,” Legolas said with a smile. “They have yet to
learn proper manners.”

Turning to Elrohir, he handed over the wine bottle with a grin.
“Your turn, ’Roh.”

****************************************

“It is beautiful here, ‘Las," Elladan confided, looking up at the stars that
twinkled through the rustling leaves.

Legolas stretched luxuriously on the lightweight blankets that covered the
open platform. “’Tis a beautiful night,” he agreed, turning to look at his
friend. “It would be a shame to spend it indoors, I think.”

“Indeed it would,” Elrohir chimed in, rolling to look across his 
twin at Legolas, who had happily claimed the last of the final bottle
of heady Dorwinion wine. Acutely aware of the warm body beside him, Elrohir 
breathed a silent plea to any interested Vala in which the quick and blissful unconciousness of a certain Mirkwood royal figured prominently.

Elladan reached up to touch the mithril ring that glittered against his 
brother’s right nipple, the caress quickly turning into an impersonal
healer’s touch as he became aware of Legolas' curious gaze. “Does it 
hurt, tôren?”

“A bit, aye,” Elrohir answered aloud, suppressing a shudder as Elladan's
fingers ghosted over his skin, the seemingly professional touch belied by
the obsidian glitter of Elladan’s eyes.

**You are wicked, melethen.**

**Mayhap. Will he slip into a peaceful stupor, do you think?**

**Aye, I think so. A shame, really. He is very fair.**

**Elrohir! He is also gwadorem dithen, is he not?**

**True, tôren. And we need no guest tonight, hmm?**

Watching the silent conversation with amused tolerance, Legolas found
himself pondering the bond his friends shared, so different from that of he
and his brothers. His eyelids growing heavy, the prince wondered with
drunken lucidity if they were aware of what a sensual sight they were,
mirror images separated by a mere hands breadth, their gazes locked in such
intimate communication…

“’Las?" Elladan said softly. “Are you awake, gwadoren?”

“Hmm?" Legolas managed, forcing his eyes open with an effort. “Only for a
moment. Maur dú, mellynen.”

“Posto mae, ernilen,” Elladan replied with a smile, moving to cover
the drowsy form with a loosely woven spread. A scant moment later deep,
steady breathing heralded the prince’s slide into sleep.

Stretching out beside his brother, Elladan grinned down into midnight-dark
eyes, where desire wrestled furiously with wine-induced lethargy. “And are
you awake, rohir nín ?" he asked teasingly, lowering his head to lick
languidly at a tempting ear tip.

“I believe I will manage a few more minutes,” Elrohir purred, turning his
head to capture the exploring mouth in a lingering kiss, his tongue tangling
lazily with his lover’s as teeth nipped and nibbled.

Burying his hands in the curtain of ebony hair that fell around him, 
Elladan pulled his twin closer, narrowing the distance between until
their legs tangled, drawing their legging-clad hips tightly together. A
blended growl escaped as both arched into the delicious friction, and they
froze as Legolas stirred restlessly, apparently disturbed by the sounds of
pleasure.

**He has indecent hearing, even for an elf.**

**He does, indeed, rohir nín. We must be nearly silent, I fear.**

**Aye, we must. I suppose glowing is out of the question?**

Elladan snickered softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Aye, melethen, I
daresay glowing is out of the question. I have no wish for an audience.”
When Elrohir raised an eyebrow skeptically, Elladan amended, “Tonight, 
at least. And the glow is private on any night, hmm?”

“It is,” Elrohir agreed with a smile. Pushing Elladan gently over
into the blankets, he whispered, “What would you have then, tôren, if we may
not glow?”

“Your mouth,” Elladan breathed, reaching up to draw his brother
closer as teasing lips settled on his throat.

Feeling a gentle nip, Elladan grabbed his brother's hand, causing Elrohir to
raise his head in surprise. “What is amiss, el nín?" he asked quietly,
concern creasing his brow.

“You should not mark me,” Elladan answered reluctantly. “It would be
difficult to explain in the morning.”

Elrohir nodded soberly, then a dazzling grin spread across his face.

**You are right, ‘Dan. ‘Twould be hard to explain…if anyone could see it.**

Slithering down his brother's body, Elrohir left a trail of wet kisses in
his wake, careful to avoid marking the translucent skin. Pausing at the
unfamiliar nipple adornment, he gingerly extended his tongue, wiggling the
piercing ring gently. Elladan hissed sharply, grabbing a fistful of silken
black hair, yet arched up into the sensation.

Intrigued, Elrohir repeated the movement before drawing back to
look at his brother questioningly. “’Tis a little painful, melethen, but
there is such a pleasant tingle…" Elladan explained breathlessly, his eyes
nearly black with desire.

Reaching the top of his twin’s leggings, Elrohir loosed the lacing, tugging
the leather down to expose his lover’s hardened shaft to the cool air. With
only a teasing lick for the weeping head, he pressed his mouth to the tender
skin where stomach and groin met, biting and sucking a deep red-purple
bruise into the fair skin.

Elladan bit down hard on his own hand, struggling to keep from crying
out in pleasure as his neglected shaft was suddenly engulfed, sliding
smoothly into the wet warmth of Elrohir’s mouth. Groaning despite his best
efforts, he thrust up, panting helplessly as he was swallowed completely,
the rippling throat muscles kneading his aching length rhythmically.

**Wait, rohir nín.**

**For what, melethen?**

**Come up here. I would taste you, also.**

Allowing his brother’s weeping shaft to slide from his mouth, Elrohir slid 
up into a fiery kiss, gasping as nimble fingers opened his leggings and 
curled around his throbbing shaft. Rolling slowly, Elladan forced Elrohir 
onto his back, then lapped gently at the newly pierced nipple, drawing a 
whimpering groan from Elrohir.

Once again, Legolas shifted restlessly, as though disturbed by the
nearly inaudible sounds of pleasure emanating from the twins’ blankets.
Both Elladan and Elrohir stopped moving, struggling to quiet their
labored breathing as the prince settled back into a heavy slumber.
Obsidian-dark eyes met in relief, as the steady sound of the Legolas'
breathing filled the air once again.

Turning his body gracefully, Elladan quickly lowered his head,
running a teasing tongue over Elrohir’s weeping shaft before taking it 
into his mouth, to begin moving in earnest. The elf-knight forced back 
a ragged moan, his head lolling for a moment as he lost himself in 
the sensation.

Focused on pleasuring Elrohir, Elladan nearly shouted when his own
hardened length was drawn back into the slippery heat of his brother’s
mouth, and strong fingers dug into his thighs, pulling him deeper still.
Feeling his own release fast approaching, Elladan grasped his twin’s
hips tightly, swallowing the throbbing length and sucking hard, hollowing
his cheeks even as he felt his own groin tighten forcefully.

Only long years of practice - and a good portion of luck - kept Elrohir 
from being rather unpleasantly bitten as Elladan released convulsively, his 
whimpers and moans thankfully muffled when he swallowed forcefully one last 
time, the firm caress of his throat bringing Elrohir’s completion, as well.

Gasping breathlessly, Elladan crawled back up beside his twin, relacing both
their leggings before curling contentedly into the offered embrace. “Melin
chen, ‘Roh,” he murmured sleepily, the wine and exertions of the night
finally taking their toll.

“Melin chen, tôren,” Elrohir whispered, his eyes already slipping closed.

****************************

Legolas woke just before dawn, stretching with feline-like enjoyment before
sitting up and glancing at his friends. Half expecting the twins to be up
and waiting to tease him about his late rising, he was amazed to
find them still soundly asleep, curled around one another like drowsy
elflings.

He briefly considered waking them in some annoying fashion, only to find he
had not the heart to disturb the peaceful picture thay made. Sighing
ruefully, Legolas carefully laid another blanket over the tangled forms, then
stretched out to watch the sun rise, and wait.


                                
                                 *~*~*~*~*





--Name:
Nóruigallon - fiery hero


--Elvish Translations:

gwadoren - my sworn brother
Taur-na-Fuin - Mirkwood (wood of nightshade)
híren - my lord(s)
ernilen - my prince
el nín - my star
rohir nín - my knight
tôren - my brother
Vala - singular form of Valar
melethen - my love
gwadorem dithen - our sworn little brother
maur dú - good night
mellynen - my friends
posto mae - Sleep/rest well
Melin chen - I love you