The Initiation
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,705
Reviews:
20
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,705
Reviews:
20
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Initiation
Title: The Initiation
Author: Big Smirk
Beta: Mel A and Marie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Legolas/Elrond
Disclaimer: LOTR characters not mine.
Feedback: Gawd yes! bigsmirk4u@yahoo.com
Summary: Legolas has come of age. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, is bestowed with the honor of initiating Legolas into the sexual rituals of the Elves.
The Initiation
Chapter 1 – Exclusion
“Legolas, you have come of age,” Thranduil said proudly as he grasped the shoulders of the son who had grown into maturity gifted with both beauty of character and body. “I am sending you to Rivendel pra practice your shooting skills. Lord Elrond will guide you.”
Carrying his bow and quiver, Legolas mounted one of Mirkwood’s fine horses and set off to Rivendell. He stopped only once to refresh the horse and to gather a handful of wet river reed. Filigreed arches rose before his eyes as Legolas rode across the stone bridge into Rivendell. Elrond and a number of other Elves known to him awaited his arrival. Among them was Elenath, a boyhood friend of Legolas. He watched Legolas’ approach from the tree where he had concealed himself. The sunlight that reached through the leaves cast dappled patterns of light on his long, dark hair. His handsome face bore an expression of glee as he waited for his friend’s return. He sat motionless until Legolas was nearly at the tree.
“What news of Mirkwood?” called Elenath as he released the branch he held back at Legolas’ head height. Legolas smiled as he ducked the familiar greeting and returned the favor by raising his hand to throw the wet handful of river reeds in his friend’s direction. Elenath likewise ducked the greeting before raising his head to see his friend.
As he did so, the mushy ball of river reed hit him squarely in the face. Elenath coughed, clawing the sticky reeds from his face, annoyed with himself for averting his gaze and missing that Legolas had faked his first throw. Still, he was happy to see his friend. He jumped down from the tree and ran to embrace Legolas who had already dismounted. Elenath made a point of pressing his cheek to the other Elf’s. As they parted, both of them had to wipe sticky reed from their faces.
“Enough of this foolishness!” commanded Elrond, failing to hide his own mirth at the antics of the two friends. With a wave of his hand Elrond led Legolas off to the great hall and sent Elenath and the others out into the forest for archery practice. “Come, you must be hungry after your journey.”
---Later That Afternoon---
Legolas joined the other Elves for shooting practice once he had finished eating. A friendly game of flight shooting was in progress. Disregarding accuracy, they shot for distance. It was clear that Elenath would not win the game that day.
“Why do you bother with a bow,” Gildor teased Elenath. “I daresay you could throw it further with your hands!”
“Well if I were tracking YOU in the forest I daresay I would only need throwing distance!” Elenath retorted, reminding Gildor of his mistake in the previous week’s track and evade game.
“Legolas!” Gildor welcomed their fair-haired friend, cutting short the banter that was not going his way.
“Come shoot with us! Save me from the ego of Gildor. His arrow lies thither,” Elenath said, laughing and pointing to the furthest arrow lodged in a tree at the end of the clearing.
Legolas unslung his bow from his back and took out an arrow from his quiver. He fitted it to the bow as he smoothly assumed his shooting stance, drew back the arrow to his ear and released. The arrow flew down the length of the clearing and struck the same tree as Gildor’s. He lowered his bow as he laughed at them both.
“I shall not let either of you use me to win the battle between you. Come, another round!”
The good-natured jibes continued through the next few rounds. After one of the rounds Legolas returned from the end of the clearing with his arrows. Since he had won the round, he’d had to go further down the range to retrieve his arrows. He saw Gildor playfully tickle Elenath on the cheek with the feathered vanes of a white arrow. Legolas caught a snatch of the conversation of the two Elves standing back at the shooting point ahead of him.
“… with these soft feathers I will make the white arrows fly far!”
It made no sense to Legolas. Such weak feathers would surely make such an arrow’s flight as useless as a river reed. He wondered about the white arrows. His own were always crafted from the dark wood of Mirkwood trees. He knew not the origin of the beautiful white arrows that he sometimes saw in the hands of the Elves of Rivendell. He longed to ask the others of the origins and strength of such peculiar parts, but before he could voice his question Gildor announced it was time to return to the great halls.
---Twilight---
The echoes of arrow shot faded from the forests around Rivendell as shooting practice ended for the day. Legolas sat rubbing a soft woolen cloth dipped in boiled linseed oil mixed with a little beeswax over his bow to keep it supple. He discarded the string when he noticed the nocking point was wearing. Satisfied with his work, he put the bow away before returning outside to find company. He would re-string it in the morning. He had overheard his friends hinting at evening fun all during practice, and he was curious to know what they had in mind. As he descended a circling staircase into one of the main gardens he saw a group heading back out into the shadows of the forest cast by the rising moon.
“Why do you return to the forest?” he called after them.
The Elves turned to face the lone one approaching behind them. The one closest to him, Rohrien, still wore his bow and quiver across his back. The quiver was filled with finely crafted white arrows. He was taller and barely a few seasons older than Legolas but shared the same slender grace and strength. He also possessed an intense charisma that drew many Elves into his company. Handing his bow and a white arrow to Legolas he asked, “Can you shoot white arrows?”
Legolas held the beautiful arrow. Its weight and length were the same as the usual brown ones he had always used, but the vanes were much softer, making it more challenging to shoot accurately. At least the vanes of this arrow were stronger than the one he had seen Gildor tease Elenath with. Legolas doubted such an arrow as that could have been shot at all.
Taking the weapons confidently, Legolas asked, “Where would you have me shoot it?”
A bemused smile crossed the faces of the group of Elves. “Oh, say the furthest leaf on that branch thither,” Rohrien said, pointing to a small tree some distance away. “Knock it from its stem,” he added.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Legolas had nocked the arrow, drawn, aimed and released it. The leaf disappeared from its stem with the faintest of sounds.
“You may not come with us,” Rohrien said.
“Yet I hit the mark, did I not?” Legolas protested.
“Nay, you did not,” Rohrien said, taking the bow from Legolas and turning with the other Elves into the forest.
Once again, Legolas stood watching the Elves disappear into the forest without him. He did not understand the riddle of why he was never permitted to go with them. He always hit whatever mark they asked of him. One time he deliberately missed, and still he was not permitted to follow them. Knowing that the answer would elude him this night as it had on all the other occasions, he cleared his mind of disappointment and set off into the forest on his own.
The irresistible moonlit shadows beckoned him to enjoy the night even if it meant by himself. He went to his favorite place in the forests of Rivendell: a small clearing bordered by a large rock that somehow seemed comforting. The warm night air brushed gently over his cheeks.
Wanting to feel more of its gentle touch, he removed his tunic. He delighted in the feel of the breeze across his bare back and chest. He decided to remove his leggings also. He stood motionless for a while, letting the gentle wind dance slowly past him. After a few minutes he lay down on his side on the leaves. One hand supported his head, leaving the other free for his enjoyment.
Legolas’ head rolled back slowly as he caressed himself, the sounds of the forest barely reaching him as he floated within the warmth of his own rhythm. His touch was as gentle and sure on his own flesh as it was with his bow. He knew the ways of both intimately. His body stiffened as he brought himself to his climax. A faint rustle in the nearby leaves marked the landing of his release. He noted with a sigh of disappointment that it was clear once again. Skilled at an early age in moving silently through the forest, Legolas had once followed one of the older males and watched as he pleasured himself. The release had been a glowing, Ithil-white jet, nothing like what Legolas now observed from his own interludes.
He had enjoyed his quiet time alone, but he wondered when he would ever feel the touch of one who had been initiated. He wanted to know when he would be deemed worthy enough to be called to the hidden place in the forest where the rituals whispered in detail only among the initiated would be revealed to him.
TBC
Author: Big Smirk
Beta: Mel A and Marie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Legolas/Elrond
Disclaimer: LOTR characters not mine.
Feedback: Gawd yes! bigsmirk4u@yahoo.com
Summary: Legolas has come of age. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, is bestowed with the honor of initiating Legolas into the sexual rituals of the Elves.
The Initiation
Chapter 1 – Exclusion
“Legolas, you have come of age,” Thranduil said proudly as he grasped the shoulders of the son who had grown into maturity gifted with both beauty of character and body. “I am sending you to Rivendel pra practice your shooting skills. Lord Elrond will guide you.”
Carrying his bow and quiver, Legolas mounted one of Mirkwood’s fine horses and set off to Rivendell. He stopped only once to refresh the horse and to gather a handful of wet river reed. Filigreed arches rose before his eyes as Legolas rode across the stone bridge into Rivendell. Elrond and a number of other Elves known to him awaited his arrival. Among them was Elenath, a boyhood friend of Legolas. He watched Legolas’ approach from the tree where he had concealed himself. The sunlight that reached through the leaves cast dappled patterns of light on his long, dark hair. His handsome face bore an expression of glee as he waited for his friend’s return. He sat motionless until Legolas was nearly at the tree.
“What news of Mirkwood?” called Elenath as he released the branch he held back at Legolas’ head height. Legolas smiled as he ducked the familiar greeting and returned the favor by raising his hand to throw the wet handful of river reeds in his friend’s direction. Elenath likewise ducked the greeting before raising his head to see his friend.
As he did so, the mushy ball of river reed hit him squarely in the face. Elenath coughed, clawing the sticky reeds from his face, annoyed with himself for averting his gaze and missing that Legolas had faked his first throw. Still, he was happy to see his friend. He jumped down from the tree and ran to embrace Legolas who had already dismounted. Elenath made a point of pressing his cheek to the other Elf’s. As they parted, both of them had to wipe sticky reed from their faces.
“Enough of this foolishness!” commanded Elrond, failing to hide his own mirth at the antics of the two friends. With a wave of his hand Elrond led Legolas off to the great hall and sent Elenath and the others out into the forest for archery practice. “Come, you must be hungry after your journey.”
---Later That Afternoon---
Legolas joined the other Elves for shooting practice once he had finished eating. A friendly game of flight shooting was in progress. Disregarding accuracy, they shot for distance. It was clear that Elenath would not win the game that day.
“Why do you bother with a bow,” Gildor teased Elenath. “I daresay you could throw it further with your hands!”
“Well if I were tracking YOU in the forest I daresay I would only need throwing distance!” Elenath retorted, reminding Gildor of his mistake in the previous week’s track and evade game.
“Legolas!” Gildor welcomed their fair-haired friend, cutting short the banter that was not going his way.
“Come shoot with us! Save me from the ego of Gildor. His arrow lies thither,” Elenath said, laughing and pointing to the furthest arrow lodged in a tree at the end of the clearing.
Legolas unslung his bow from his back and took out an arrow from his quiver. He fitted it to the bow as he smoothly assumed his shooting stance, drew back the arrow to his ear and released. The arrow flew down the length of the clearing and struck the same tree as Gildor’s. He lowered his bow as he laughed at them both.
“I shall not let either of you use me to win the battle between you. Come, another round!”
The good-natured jibes continued through the next few rounds. After one of the rounds Legolas returned from the end of the clearing with his arrows. Since he had won the round, he’d had to go further down the range to retrieve his arrows. He saw Gildor playfully tickle Elenath on the cheek with the feathered vanes of a white arrow. Legolas caught a snatch of the conversation of the two Elves standing back at the shooting point ahead of him.
“… with these soft feathers I will make the white arrows fly far!”
It made no sense to Legolas. Such weak feathers would surely make such an arrow’s flight as useless as a river reed. He wondered about the white arrows. His own were always crafted from the dark wood of Mirkwood trees. He knew not the origin of the beautiful white arrows that he sometimes saw in the hands of the Elves of Rivendell. He longed to ask the others of the origins and strength of such peculiar parts, but before he could voice his question Gildor announced it was time to return to the great halls.
---Twilight---
The echoes of arrow shot faded from the forests around Rivendell as shooting practice ended for the day. Legolas sat rubbing a soft woolen cloth dipped in boiled linseed oil mixed with a little beeswax over his bow to keep it supple. He discarded the string when he noticed the nocking point was wearing. Satisfied with his work, he put the bow away before returning outside to find company. He would re-string it in the morning. He had overheard his friends hinting at evening fun all during practice, and he was curious to know what they had in mind. As he descended a circling staircase into one of the main gardens he saw a group heading back out into the shadows of the forest cast by the rising moon.
“Why do you return to the forest?” he called after them.
The Elves turned to face the lone one approaching behind them. The one closest to him, Rohrien, still wore his bow and quiver across his back. The quiver was filled with finely crafted white arrows. He was taller and barely a few seasons older than Legolas but shared the same slender grace and strength. He also possessed an intense charisma that drew many Elves into his company. Handing his bow and a white arrow to Legolas he asked, “Can you shoot white arrows?”
Legolas held the beautiful arrow. Its weight and length were the same as the usual brown ones he had always used, but the vanes were much softer, making it more challenging to shoot accurately. At least the vanes of this arrow were stronger than the one he had seen Gildor tease Elenath with. Legolas doubted such an arrow as that could have been shot at all.
Taking the weapons confidently, Legolas asked, “Where would you have me shoot it?”
A bemused smile crossed the faces of the group of Elves. “Oh, say the furthest leaf on that branch thither,” Rohrien said, pointing to a small tree some distance away. “Knock it from its stem,” he added.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Legolas had nocked the arrow, drawn, aimed and released it. The leaf disappeared from its stem with the faintest of sounds.
“You may not come with us,” Rohrien said.
“Yet I hit the mark, did I not?” Legolas protested.
“Nay, you did not,” Rohrien said, taking the bow from Legolas and turning with the other Elves into the forest.
Once again, Legolas stood watching the Elves disappear into the forest without him. He did not understand the riddle of why he was never permitted to go with them. He always hit whatever mark they asked of him. One time he deliberately missed, and still he was not permitted to follow them. Knowing that the answer would elude him this night as it had on all the other occasions, he cleared his mind of disappointment and set off into the forest on his own.
The irresistible moonlit shadows beckoned him to enjoy the night even if it meant by himself. He went to his favorite place in the forests of Rivendell: a small clearing bordered by a large rock that somehow seemed comforting. The warm night air brushed gently over his cheeks.
Wanting to feel more of its gentle touch, he removed his tunic. He delighted in the feel of the breeze across his bare back and chest. He decided to remove his leggings also. He stood motionless for a while, letting the gentle wind dance slowly past him. After a few minutes he lay down on his side on the leaves. One hand supported his head, leaving the other free for his enjoyment.
Legolas’ head rolled back slowly as he caressed himself, the sounds of the forest barely reaching him as he floated within the warmth of his own rhythm. His touch was as gentle and sure on his own flesh as it was with his bow. He knew the ways of both intimately. His body stiffened as he brought himself to his climax. A faint rustle in the nearby leaves marked the landing of his release. He noted with a sigh of disappointment that it was clear once again. Skilled at an early age in moving silently through the forest, Legolas had once followed one of the older males and watched as he pleasured himself. The release had been a glowing, Ithil-white jet, nothing like what Legolas now observed from his own interludes.
He had enjoyed his quiet time alone, but he wondered when he would ever feel the touch of one who had been initiated. He wanted to know when he would be deemed worthy enough to be called to the hidden place in the forest where the rituals whispered in detail only among the initiated would be revealed to him.
TBC