Behind the Shadows of the Soul I : In your Eyes

Disclaimer, see previous parts

Archive: www.thecrystal.cjb.net

Thanks to Bev and Dorothy for beta-reading.

Dedicated to my dear Haz.

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Chapter 11: In the Moonlight

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His head was spinning, but he kept dancing, his arm wrapped around the waist of a breathless maiden. Her laugh reverberated in his ear, and in one brief lucid moment, he realized she was drunk. "As I am" he thought to himself.

It mattered little. Tonight was the only night when people allowed themselves this frivolity, for they did not carry on this way any other time. Tonight was the celebration of the beginning of summer. A night suspended in time, when elves were truly alive and celebrated that fact. Long before he was born, this night must have had some religious meaning, but this meaning had been lost with the passing of time. it it was a joyous celebration of life; a night dedicated to wine, miruvor, dance, laughter, seduction...and sex.

He and Elladan would have missed this special event for naught. Wherever their wanderings might lead them, they were always home for this special day. This year, they arrived just in time to see the whole vale come alive. If one concentrated hard enough, the music could be heard for miles around. Those not attending the celebration could enjoy the music nonetheless.

He continued to dance, holding tightly to the slightly drunken maiden. They twirled again and again while he tried desperately not to lose his balance, knowing he was failing miserably. Honestly, he did not care. Who did? Everyone was drunk, and it was not unusual to see couples colliding into one another. Diverting his attention from his steps, he tried to locate Elladan. He had seen him only minutes--or had it been hours-- ago, unabashedly kissing a blushing blonde she-elf while they danced. He saw no trace of his twin, but did see his father, laughing as he sat near the musicians in the company of many notables from the region. Elrohir turned his attention back to the sweet she-elf pressed against his chest, forgetting for the moment his fickle twin who was no doubt devouring his prey in a dark corner of the house.

Grinning, he missed his step and caught up himself with aptness. He was really very drunk, but that did not seem to bother the blushing maiden hanging on his neck. Gathering his wits, he tightened his embrace upon her slender waist and took a closer look at her face. She was tall, with misty hazel eyes. Her features were soft and framed by long locks of brown hair. By Elven standards of beauty, she was pretty though nonetheless common. But in his current state of mind, he found her very attractive and desirable. A rush of heat spread into his loins, making him suddenly shiver, and not from the cold. Bending over her ear, he endeavoured to lick the length of it, lingering at the tip of that very sensitive part of the Elven body. He could feel her shudder, and a smile came to his lips as he seductively whispered in her pointed ear.

“Would you like to find a more private place?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the hand and led her far from the boisterous gathering. As soon as they were out of sight, he crushed their bodies together and captured her delicious lips. The kiss was tumultuous and passionate and she welcomed it without hesitation. Their tongues melted, fighting and caressing, sucking and licking, mimicking the act they were both eager to commit. When they broke apart to catch their breath, Elrohir sensuously whispered, his lips ghosting across hers.

“I think you have not seen the gardens yet. They are the most beautiful part of the house and it is the best place to see the stars.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Elrohir found that he was more drunk than he realized, and had trouble suppressing an outburst of laughter. As soon as they reached the beautiful garden, he felt more stable on his feet. Enfolding the giggling maiden into another embrace, he kissed her deeply. Their walk took them much longer because they stopped every two steps to repeat this act. He kissed her again, caressing the soft skin of her arms and neck, and could feel her shudder with lust as he cupped her breast with his hand, his thumb playing across her stiffened nipple.

Half walking, half kissing, they headed toward the gardens, finally finding themselves in front of the large glazed door. But there, Elrohir’s dulled hearing picked up the musical sound of an Elven voice. Sighing, he turned to lead her to the eastern gardens, inwardly cursing those who had chosen these gardens for an evening conversation. Suddenly, a sense of recognition blazed through the hazy mist in his mind.

Glorfindel.

The voice belonged to his father’s seneschal. With a strong feeling of foreboding, he forgot the maiden that was kissing the nape of his neck, pressing her generous breasts against his back, her hands roaming his chest and thighs, deliberately avoiding swo swo cro crotch. A premonition drove him to assuage his curiosity. Bolder, he went forward to see with whom the Balrog slayer was speaking .

At first, he saw only two golden heads whose hair shone in the flickering light of the torches hanging on the wall. But if his sight failed him, his hearing did not. He had no trouble recognizing to whom the musical laughter belonged. For the second time that night, Elrond's youngest son felt a stab of jealousy in his heart.

Both elves were sitting on the edge of the stone fountain. They were literally gleaming under the light of the stars and Elrohir could not help but find the scene beautiful and very arousing. The were sitting with the listlessness provided by alcohol, their pale skin glowing and reflecting the shadows of the night, in a proximity the twin found strangely intoxicating. Between them, resting on the cold stone, were two empty bottles.

A nervous laughter came to Elrohir’s lips that he quickly mastered. He had never seen his old teacher drunk. Glorfindel was usually the perfect model of virtue and dignity. He could not help but wonder what had happened to his the Glorfindel he k Wa Was it the Prince’s presence that troubled the seneschal thus? If this was the case, the younger twin could not blame him. He had experienced himself the intoxicating effects of his proximity. The dark-haired elf wickedly smiled. He would be more than happy to remind the reborn elf about that particular event.

But the grin quickly faded from his lips when he saw the older elf bending over the Prince of Mirkwood and whispering something in his delicate ear. He could almost make out the light shiver of the younger elf, elicited by Glorfindel’s breath on his warm skin. He did not pick up what had been said, but it must have been very amusing because bewitching laughter could be heard throughout the garden, filling Elrohir’s heart with a new wave of irrepressible lust.
The maiden hanging on his neck stopped her ministrations, seeing that her partner was no longer responsive to her ministrations. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself silenced by the mouth of the younger twin before she had the opportunity to utteringlingle word. Breaking the kiss, he murmured sweetly in her ear.

“Wait a minute. The garden is not empty, but it seems that they are leaving.”

It was a lie, of course. Neither Glorfindel nor the wood elf seemed to have any intention of leaving the garden. Even if they had wanted to, they would have had a difficult time of it since they were drunk. hir hir wanted to watch them, drinking in the sight of the wood elf. He did not know why he acted so. Truth was, he didn't want to know. He slowly released the she-elf after assuring himself she would be silent before he redirected his attention to the pair sitting in the garden.

Glorfindel had pulled from nowhere a small bottle of miruvor and filled their glasses with the clear liquid before giving one of them to his companion. With an unsteady voice, he aske
“W
“What shall we drink to?"

“Don’t mind” came the laconic reply from the Prince, his eyes fixed on the starry sky of Imladris.

With an unperceivable grin, Elrohir acknowledged that the Prince of Mirkwood seemed to have a better resistance than the Elda to the powerful wine. A trait no doubt learned from the dwarves living not far from the borders of Mirkwood.

Deciding not to change the subject until he could think of a proper toast, Glorfindel stared at the glass in his hand as if seeking an idea in the swirling liquid. Licking his lips, he spoke his toast.

“To love?”

The two Imladris elves were not prepared for the monumental laughter that shook the archer’s lithe frame. Vexed that his proposition had not been welcomed, the Elda asked pompously, his ability to express himself somewhat slowed by the effects of the wine he had consumed.

“May I know what you find so ridiculous?”

The Prince’s eyes fell on a distant point, losing their focus as the seneschal’s question brought back long-forgotten memories. Silence fell on the couple in the garden, only troubled by the dull sounds from the feast somewhere in the manor. A bitter smile ghosted his lips.

Love.

What was love for him?

Pain and suffering. Love was an oath, an old promise never to give his heart to anyone. Love was tears. Love was grief. Love was death.

Brushing his eyes as if to wipe away tears and becoming suddenly very serious, the Prince did not answer immediately. Silence filled the gardens for what seemed an eternity. Looking at the blond seneschal and smiling sadly, Legolas spoke in a soft voice.

“You still think love is an ideal…”

“What?” Glorfindel could not help but find that very strange. A voice in his head warned him that he was taking a dangerous path but his drunken mind did not register the caution. “You do not believe in love… How strange and unusual for someone as young as you .”

Ignoring the frown from the other at the mention of his age and forgetting his wish to toast, he sipped the potent drink and continued, trying to sound as serious as possible but failed as he giggled helplessly.

“May I ask what you believe in?”

Seeing that the discussion about the toast was forgotten, the flaxen-haired Prince threw his head back and swallowed the contents of his glass before letting the cup fall upon the green grass.

Hidden and totally mesmerized by the look upon the Mirkwood elf’s face, Elrohir did not hear the sigh from the maiden. His whole attention was on the Prince, upon the feline expression gracing his fair features when he got up. The whole world seemed to have stopped. Nothing mattered, save the splendid beauty in front of his eyes.

“I believe in desire…”

Elrohir felt his breath catch in his throat. Right before his eyes, the Prince changed into something else. He was not just a fair being anymore. This was a predator. Nothing overt, but rather a flicker in the eyes, the wickedness of the smile, and something in his stance. Seemingly unaware of the change, Glorfindel innocently asked,

“Desire?”

Slowly, the wood elf turned to face him, locking eyes with the seneschal before saying innocently,

“Don’t you?”

Elrohir felt his hand clench the wooden doorframe as his breath quickened. He did not like the turn of events at all. He could do naught to stop the slow game of seduction going on between the pair. He would have liked to leave his hiding place, but he could not convince his legs to move. He was trapped. Ignorant of the battle of wills going on behind him, Glorfindel answered the Prince's question.

“I find it sad…”

Reclined upon the cold stone of the fountain, Glorfindel showed no sign of moving as he looked at the elf standing in front of him. He knew what was about to happen, but he ignored the warning in his foggy brain. He felt he should stop this game and behave as the Elven Lord he was, but he couldn't. They had gone too far to go back now. He knew they were both drunk, but his body was screaming in need and he could not ignore it. He was aware that they both sought something different, and tomorrow they would regret this foolish act, but he did not care. He knew he should, but he did not.

Tomorrow would be another day.

Legolas watched the arousing picture the beautiful elf provided. He knew he should not be doing what he was about to do, but it felt too good. Control. It was all about control, and he needed to regain it. He knew this was wrong, that he and Glorfindel were drunk, but he did not want to stop.

It would be too difficult. He saw in those huge blue eyes a reflection of his own desire and need.

These eyes were comforting, asking nothing he could not give, eyes so different from the demanding grey eyes playing in his mind even now. A wave of need ohelmhelmim, im, the need to sweep the image of those grey eyes away and replace it with something else. He needed to feel he was back in control.

“I do not” was the only answer offered by the Prince before he burst into helpless laughter that filled the garden and made the trees sing with him. When he regained control of himself, the fair prince spoke again with no trace of joking in his voice.

“What is more jo tha than the heat in your loins when you first saw one worthy of your attention?

Is there any truer rejoicing than the first touch upon the skin of a lover?”
As he continued to speak, Legolas walked toward Glorfindel, and, like him, Elrohir felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the feral beauty before his eyes. His blood was pounding at his temples, and despite of himself, he felt a new stirring in his groin. The words by the wood elf were increasing his state of arousal, more than the maiden's knowing hands, which weike ike snakes coiling up the length of his legs. Each word, each intonation set his body on fire. He was not listening. He was drowning in an ocean of sensation awakened in him by the Prince. Nothing mattered except those shining eyes, soft red lips and perfect skin.

Lust. He was drowning in a ocean of lust.

But the archer was not aware of his presence, of his desire, or the fire of his senses. He would have given anything to find himself in Glorfindel’s place, to be the object of this sensual game. His breath quickened and he grabbed the wooden doorframe with his right hand, suddenly feeling the need to lean against something.

Step by step, the Prince was approaching the helpless Elda, his words clear and distinct as a water stream running through a green valley. As something ever said and known by heart.

“Do you find sad the kiss announcing more pleasure? Do you find sad the celebration of two bodies acknowledging their needs, giving and taking freely without asking for more, without boundaries, without thinking to the morrow? Bodies that take the present moment. That enjoy it because it will be brief, if not unique?”

The Prince had reached the edge of the fount and was thereafter cowering behind the seneschal of Imladris, speaking softly next to him, his breath caressing the velvety skin of his cheek, sending shivers in the reborn elf’s heart. The words were as a tender lullaby, rocking those who listened to them and let themselves be trapped by their fluid paces. They were spoken so softly that Elrohir would not have heard them without his keen Elven hearing.

“I do not believe in love because it has no place in my life”

That was more than an admission. It was rather a forceful conviction, spoken in a harsher tone that strongly contrasted with the previous lascivious pitch of the Prince’s voice. Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak but was soon silenced by the calm and unhurried voice:

“To answer the question you would surely ask. It has no place in a life full of dangers and threats. It has no place when the attention of each of us is needed, when on the life of one depends lives of many”

A delicate finger put a rebel braid back at its place and, then, languidly caressing the top of a pointed ear, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the elder elf that bit his bottom lip in pleasure. Soon, his mouth took the place of his finger and he kissed slowly the sensitive tip. He asked:

“You have lived for two lives, Balrog-slayer. Tell me, have you not seen many eternal loves dying off, killed by centuries of habit? Have you not seen the despair in the eyes of those witnessing the end of their hopes? Have you not seen the grief in their eyes? If you have not, I have…”

Glorfindel had shut his eyes, leaning in the wood elf’s embrace, floating upon his words, letting a well-n hen heat grab his body.

“I have not your millennia, Glorfindel, but I know that grief is a plague to our race. I have lost as many friends to grief as to the orcs’ weapons. But I have never seen anyone die because of lust and desire. On the contrary, no one is more brilliant, more shining than the one who is possessed by this feeling. Desire does not destroy you. It makes you alive…”

A new silence hovered upon them as Legolas slightly withdrew, breaking all kind of contact with the blond seneschal. Glorfindel’s eyes snapped open at the feel of the loss and swallowed with some difficulties. Then, the golden Prince whispered softly, his voice seductive and voluptuous:

“Let me to show you…”

And then, bending over the seneschal’s shoulder, he kissed gently his full lips. At first, the kiss was soft and gentle, like a feather touch. But, soon, unsatisfied, the Prince sought to deepen the contact and Glorfindel’s lips opened themselves to allow him entry. Their tongues met in a sensual dance, twirling and touching, learning to know each other.

Elrohir’s nails forcefully sank in the wood of the frame, his heart furiously beating in his chest at that sight. He was oblivious of the shooting pain in his hand elicited by his act. He had only eyes for the breath-taking vision of beauty formed by the two golden-haired elves kissing under the blessed light of the stars. The sensual kiss seemed to last forever, as they melted together, long fingers twinned in each other’s flaxen mane. From his place, Elrohir found himself unable to tell who was who. He could only see a twinning of long and powerful limbs, as the two lovers rolled over the ground, lying on the welcoming grass of the garden. He heard the soft sighs and the low moans coming from the embraced couple and anger and jealousy exploded in his heart.

He found again the use of his legs as he slowly slid his trembling hand down the length of the doorframe. He turned away, averting his gaze from the gardens. Without saying a word, he took the maiden's hand in his own and led her to a different place in the house. She followed, wide-eyed, noticing immediately the change in his mood, but said nothing. If Elrohir noticed her expression, he did not acknowledge it. He did not speak nor try to kiss her until they reached the eastern gardens.

This garden was empty, and they had only taken a few steps when he turned, enfolding her into a passionate embrace, devouring her lips with his own. No longer was he tender as he violently kissed her in his unfulfilled arousal. The maiden did not protest and allowed herself to lay back upon the grass. She asked him nothing. Perhaps it was because she did not mind, or did not want to anger him further. Instead, she opened her arms and welcomed him between her thighs, offering herself to him, letting him caress her as she caressed him in return.

Lips crushed against lips in feverish kisses. Tongues fought against each other. Skin touched skin as they frantically embraced.

She was unaware that when he touched her, it was not her female body he saw in his mind's eye writhing in need beneath him. She did not know the he vengefully kissed her lips as he would have liked to kiss another's. She didn't realize that when he filled her with a cry of pleasure and his gray eyes locked with her hazel, the eyes he envisioned were of the deepest blue. As the thrust into her with strength and skill, his mind played images of two naked male bodies, wet with sweat, blond hair soaked, dancing the age-old dance of lovemaking.

If she had known, perhaps she would have rejected him and walked away. But she did not know till the moment orgasm took hold of her body, her back arching in a vain attempt of deeper completion. Floating upon the pleasure coursing through her supple body, she heard well the name her lover cried before heavily collapsing on her.

Legolas.

She closed her eyes as she gathered him in her arms and said nothing. It did not really matter, after all.

*

Anar was high in the sky when a lone rider left the sleeping manor of Imladris, eager to bring back to his father the answer to his request. Urging his horse to go faster, he crossed the plain surrounding the tall construction, quickly reaching the top of the nearest hill. But, then, as if pushed by an unconscious need, he stopped his valianted aed and looked back, memorizing the glorious image of the vale and manor. He felt in his very core something was calling him back, and a feeling of incompletion seized him as a reminder of what might have been. The Prince chased these feelings away, repressing the unwanted emotion deep into his heart. Gently patting the neck of his powerful white stallion, he murmured words of encouragement in Naralod. Soon, the rider and steed disappeared into the shining light of day, ignorant of the pair of identical eyes fixed upon them.

Indeed, in the manor, the twins were looking at the vanishing figures by the window of Elrohir’s room. The elder twin had come in a few minutes earlier to find his beloved brother staring at the lone silhouette moving away. Soundlessly he stepped behind him, encircling his slender waist with his strong arm, nesting his chin in the hollow of his brother’s shoulder. Together they watched the retreating rider until he was only a point of light on the landscape. They remained as such until the silence was broken by Elladan's spoke in a concerned voice.

“He is a Prince…”

Elrohir did not avert his gaze, his face still and straight, his jaw clenched. One of his hands lay on the edge of the window, the other resting on his brother’s arm. Slowly, almost regretfully he replied, his voice devoid of any emotion.

“I know”

Elladan brushed back a wild strand of raven hair that barred his brother's pale features, caressing the velvety skin before letting his hand fall back to Elrohir's waist. Another moment of silence was broken when he spoke again.

“He is beautiful…”

Elrohir suppressed a shudder, but he knew that as close as he was, Elladan felt it. His gaze fixed on the top of the hill where the Prince had disappeared, he answered in the same disembodied voice,

“I know”

Elladan deeply inhaled his brother's scent, so alike his own, yet so different. Elrohir knew what Elladan was going to say, but nonetheless he said it, not wanting to see his beloved brother suffer because of this unattainable hope.

“He is not meant to be yours…”

At these words, Elrohir half closed his eyes and slightly turned to face his brother. He raised his gray eyes toward him and looked into his eyes. He heard what his brother did not say. A prince was supposed to take a wife and have children. He knew this, but it did not quell his desire for the fair being. Resuming his serene contemplation of the vale, he repeated himself.

“I know”

Elladan understood that no more would be spoken on this subject. Nestling again against his brother's neck, his cheek resting on unbraided dark locks, his breath tickled Elrohir's skin as he whispered.

“Good”

Silence befell them again as they hugged themselves tight, still looking out of the window at the vale of their childhood. Memories surfaced, reaffirming in their silent way their childhood oath. Whatever might happen, they would always be there for one another.

The end.

To be continued in 'Behind the Shadows of the Soul: The best foes...'