Vacation
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,036
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,036
Reviews:
16
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.
Part 10
Part 10…
Haldir watched the large blonde elf walk into the arena, taking in the height and the muscles, and widened his stance in preparation, not worried about being defeated in the least. Tossing a cocky smile towards Glorfindel he motioned with a tilt of his head towards the approaching elf and smirked, stating without words his confidence at victory. Receiving a speculatively raised eyebrow in response he turned back to the blonde, forced to tilt his head backwards a fair amount to make eye contact.
Flexing his fingers around the hilt of his sword twice before curling them securely around the metal Haldir waited patiently for the signal to begin, frowning in confusion when his opponent did not assume a similar stance.
“A moment please. Before we begin perhaps you could explain the rules of the match?”
Dead silence met Manwë’s request.
Haldir straightened up. “Standard sparring rules.” Feeling enough had been said he resumed his former position, only to abandon it a moment later at the blonde’s next words.
“Ah, I see. And what would those be exactly?”
A tormented groan emanated from the crowd, which could have only come from Lórien. A cough, followed by a twitter and a muffled laugh.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you, I am completely serious.”
Eyes wide in disbelief Haldir let his sword arm drop, the blunted tip pointing at the ground. Swiveling his head towards the pavilion where Elrond and Erestor sat he waited mutely for someone to take action. Finally Erestor stood and took measures to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Standard sparring rules Master Poldórion are these: Three hits qualify as a victory. Also a sword at the throat or pointing directly at the heart qualifies a victory. And last, an elf may withdraw from the match, thereby forfeiting and the other is awarded the victory by default. Did you wish to forfeit?”
Erestor asked the question as innocently as possible, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown at him from both Lord Elrond and the annoying Almaravarion.
“No. I thank you for the clarification Lord Erestor. I am ready to begin now.”
“Oh how splendid.”
With a nod Erestor seated himself once more, eyes staring directly ahead, as the two elves once more faced off. “So that is your champion, hmmm Almaravarion?”
Sliding his eyes to the side Erestor took in the silent, stiff posture of the tiny elf and allowed himself to smirk. “In all honesty I’m surprised he can hold a sword, let alone wield one. It looks like I should start thinking about what I would like for my prize when I win our wager.”
Lórien bit his lip to keep himself from commenting and watched the match with what he was beginning to realize was trepidation.
If Manwë didn’t win, his entire plan would be ruined.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lindir fought to breath, his eyes affixed in disbelief as the blonde elf from his dream materialized right before his eyes in the middle of the sand pit. Refusing to take his eyes of the blonde from his dream Lindir whispered his question to the elf standing beside him.
“Who is he?”
“His name is Poldórion, he’s a visitor, just arrived yesterday in fact. Did you not see him at the gathering in the Hall last night?”
“No. Not at the gathering.”
Lindir swallowed and felt his knees tremble as the memories of his dream the previous night rose up to tease him. That face, those hands, those lips, that kiss…
“…explain the rules of the match?”
Lindir forgot to breathe at those words, noting somewhere in the back of his mind that the voice was a perfect match to the one in his dream. His dream lover didn’t know how to spar? Lindir felt a pang in his heart as the crowd twittered and snickered at Poldórions expense. /How dare they laugh at his…/ Lindir flushed at his wayward thoughts. His what? He hadn’t even been introduced to the blonde beauty, something he was determined to rectify at the earliest opportunity.
Pushing his fanciful musings away for the moment Lindir focused his total attention at the two combatants in the center of the pit and, along with everyone else, waited for the match to begin.
TBC…
Haldir watched the large blonde elf walk into the arena, taking in the height and the muscles, and widened his stance in preparation, not worried about being defeated in the least. Tossing a cocky smile towards Glorfindel he motioned with a tilt of his head towards the approaching elf and smirked, stating without words his confidence at victory. Receiving a speculatively raised eyebrow in response he turned back to the blonde, forced to tilt his head backwards a fair amount to make eye contact.
Flexing his fingers around the hilt of his sword twice before curling them securely around the metal Haldir waited patiently for the signal to begin, frowning in confusion when his opponent did not assume a similar stance.
“A moment please. Before we begin perhaps you could explain the rules of the match?”
Dead silence met Manwë’s request.
Haldir straightened up. “Standard sparring rules.” Feeling enough had been said he resumed his former position, only to abandon it a moment later at the blonde’s next words.
“Ah, I see. And what would those be exactly?”
A tormented groan emanated from the crowd, which could have only come from Lórien. A cough, followed by a twitter and a muffled laugh.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you, I am completely serious.”
Eyes wide in disbelief Haldir let his sword arm drop, the blunted tip pointing at the ground. Swiveling his head towards the pavilion where Elrond and Erestor sat he waited mutely for someone to take action. Finally Erestor stood and took measures to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Standard sparring rules Master Poldórion are these: Three hits qualify as a victory. Also a sword at the throat or pointing directly at the heart qualifies a victory. And last, an elf may withdraw from the match, thereby forfeiting and the other is awarded the victory by default. Did you wish to forfeit?”
Erestor asked the question as innocently as possible, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown at him from both Lord Elrond and the annoying Almaravarion.
“No. I thank you for the clarification Lord Erestor. I am ready to begin now.”
“Oh how splendid.”
With a nod Erestor seated himself once more, eyes staring directly ahead, as the two elves once more faced off. “So that is your champion, hmmm Almaravarion?”
Sliding his eyes to the side Erestor took in the silent, stiff posture of the tiny elf and allowed himself to smirk. “In all honesty I’m surprised he can hold a sword, let alone wield one. It looks like I should start thinking about what I would like for my prize when I win our wager.”
Lórien bit his lip to keep himself from commenting and watched the match with what he was beginning to realize was trepidation.
If Manwë didn’t win, his entire plan would be ruined.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lindir fought to breath, his eyes affixed in disbelief as the blonde elf from his dream materialized right before his eyes in the middle of the sand pit. Refusing to take his eyes of the blonde from his dream Lindir whispered his question to the elf standing beside him.
“Who is he?”
“His name is Poldórion, he’s a visitor, just arrived yesterday in fact. Did you not see him at the gathering in the Hall last night?”
“No. Not at the gathering.”
Lindir swallowed and felt his knees tremble as the memories of his dream the previous night rose up to tease him. That face, those hands, those lips, that kiss…
“…explain the rules of the match?”
Lindir forgot to breathe at those words, noting somewhere in the back of his mind that the voice was a perfect match to the one in his dream. His dream lover didn’t know how to spar? Lindir felt a pang in his heart as the crowd twittered and snickered at Poldórions expense. /How dare they laugh at his…/ Lindir flushed at his wayward thoughts. His what? He hadn’t even been introduced to the blonde beauty, something he was determined to rectify at the earliest opportunity.
Pushing his fanciful musings away for the moment Lindir focused his total attention at the two combatants in the center of the pit and, along with everyone else, waited for the match to begin.
TBC…