The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: Half Breed
Chapter: Wine VS Whine…in which Haldir is introduced…
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: sex…slurp…and errant brothers…a grisly revelation…
Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else, Nurwë and Morwë are Tolkien’s
Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish Forth Age (no exact date will be given)
Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.
Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my lack of focus and constantly changing mind…:P)
FEEDBACK - I always accept feedback. If you wish to make a critical analysis, do not hesitate to PM me...I'll read through it and take into consideration your questions and suggestions...Thanks. Just a reminder, I am playing loosely with canon…remember, it is the 4th age and things are changing toward a more human world, and the elves left behind are definitely going to be affected by it…
Archived: Finally…:D www.scribeoz.com , adult-fanfiction.org , www.tongueincheekscribe.com

---
I been up, I been down.
Take my word, my way around.
I ain’t askin’ for much.
I said, lord, take me downtown,
I’m just lookin’ for some tush.
(ZZ-Top, Tush)
---

Haldir sat. Sat very still, nursing a tankard of the worst ale he’d ever drunk. His eyes focused on a disturbing scene, and he wondered just how he was going to survive this one. Sighing, he turned his head to face the opposite wall from the bar. It was dark outside, and the wintry salty air, blowing off the Sea of Rhun and through the window, mingled sweetly with the stench of sweat and body odor of the mortals and other races gathered inside, quite a motley crew of hobbits, humans, dwarves and very few elves. He’d seen a couple of elves here and there, but they were not of any tribe he recognized, dressed barbarically compared to himself and his brothers.

‘Avari perhaps.’ He’d heard of the Avari from the east and south, but he’d never seen one, until now possibly. Long over, the end of the war had signaled the beginning of the Age of Man. He wondered briefly just how many of the Avari would show themselves now…now that so many of the other elves had sailed. It intrigued him to think about these dark brethren.

It did not surprise him that he would see such elves in the land of Dorwinion. The land stood as the center of trade between the dark lands to the east and south, bringing exotic foods and wines to the northern and western lands. He remembered once Celeborn and Galadriel toasting an emissary with a foreign wine, thick and heavy upon their lips, bold and exotic in flavor. Pomegranate? That must have been the fruit his lord had called it. Haldir had never seen a pomegranate till arriving in Dorwinion a month ago, and it shocked him to see the thousands of tiny, juice-surrounded seeds. Understanding the basics of winemaking, he knew that to create such wine could not be easily undertaken.

He had tried to eat one of the fruits but had grown frustrated with sucking each seed and then spitting it out, only to be rewarded with the tiniest hint of flavor. Natives to the region held mouthfuls of the fruit, their jaws constantly working, and spat out slues of the saliva-coated seeds. This evidence could be seen along any of the streets and pedestrian paths. He’d even jumped out of the way for fear of being hit with such a glob.

Sitting alone at a small wooden table, Haldir ran his fingers absentmindedly over the top carved with the hundreds of names of past customers of the tavern.

Clank, clatter. THUD.

The screeching of chairs and the crash of a table invaded his ears. Haldir shut his eyes, shaking his head and laying it on the table in defeat. Breathing deeply he steeled himself for the scene he knew would greet them when they opened. He could hear scuffling and raised voices.

Rumil and Orophin were at it again. They could not be his brothers…his eyes flashed open, silver gliding over the room and its numerous inhabitants as he raised his head. Those two were worse than humans sometimes…

‘Which barmaid is it this time,’ he thought bitterly to himself, scanning the brawling limbs.

Matching silver-crowned heads bobbed somewhere in the vicinity of the beer-hall, and he thought he could see a blonde female cowering behind one of his brothers. Haldir rolled his eyes…

He caught the hand before it could rest on his shoulder and jerked the man around to the side of the table to face the ex-march warden.

“I’d watch myself if I were you, mortal…” His eyes, blue-flecked silver, narrowed, chilling the human and turning him into a stammering fool.

“Y-y-yer,” the unknown man winced as Haldir’s grip tightened on his hand. “Y-y-yer f-f-ferends are causing a b-b-bit of t-trouble…” He swallowed under the elf’s penetrating stare and blurted out, “We don’t want no trouble.”

Haldir flicked his eyes over the smelly human, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the stained apron the pudgy hairy man wore and the filth covering the rest of him. Perhaps this man was the barkeep. His ears hurt from the harsh tones of the human’s speech, not musical like the Elven tongue.

Both glanced over upon hearing the female shriek. Orophin had just slugged one of the humans, and Rumil seemed to be having trouble standing properly. Both seemed to be lucky with their aiming. Not that the three men were having any better luck.

‘Those two are more drunk than any dwarf…’ Haldir pondered again the reason the three of them were in Dorwinion. Celeborn wanted wine. ‘And I have received enough whine from those two to return with full arms…’ he thought in frustration.

Remembering the stuttering human in his grip, Haldir glared at the man.

Shoving his free hand into his belt pouch, Haldir selected five gold coins, pressing them into the man’s paled hand. “Take this, it should be worth your trouble.”

The man’s eyes grew wide and reflected the gold. Pocketing the elven coins, he bowed, mumbling his apologies for bothering the elf. Turning a worried look to the other two elves, he quickly returned to the bar, cowering with a dingy rag and wiping splotchy glasses.

Pulling a cloth from his pouch, Haldir proceeded to wipe the man’s filth off his hand, a look of disdain wrinkling his face.

How many days had they been here? A week? Two Weeks? Nearly a month? Yes, a month, and how much longer did they have to stay…

Stretching his arms over his head, Haldir stood, leaving his tankard virtually untouched, disgusted by the bitter drink. ‘In a place infiltrated with vineyards,’ he thought, ‘you would think they would at least serve a decent cup of ale!’

When he cleared his throat, the brawling group at the other end paused and turned to face the broad sylvan - a disturbing sight to those weaker or cowardly. His elven-made tunic stretched over flexing muscles and the taut tension of his arms and broad chest. Long and double edged, his sword hung at his waist, unnerving Rumil and Orophin’s opponents.

A quiet descended over of the crowded tavern; not even the clinking of glasses was heard.

Grins flashed across the room, and Orophin opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped with Haldir’s upraised palm and a withering expression. Rumil backed down, placing his hand on the barmaid’s shoulder protectively. A twinkle in his eye, the youngest of the three bent to whisper in the woman’s ear. Red creeping to her ears, she giggled and nodded her head enthusiastically.

How could she resist the obscenely tall and lean duo with masculine strength radiating off their very beings, even in the coarse scratchy human-weave cloth they wore? Too easily his brothers had fallen into the snares of the humans, stooping to wear their cloth. Not he, Haldir searched out for the rare elven-weave in the markets, soft and barely perceptible against his skin.

“Aiya!” She squeaked, covering her bottom with her hands, flirty eyes shifting between the brothers. Haldir groaned inwardly at the mischievous grin spreading across Orophin’s lips and his hands suspiciously behind his back.

It was time to end this. They were embarrassing him.

How he wished for another to share his misery, and an image of Legolas’ disapproving smirk caused him to repress a chuckle. NOT the twins, they would have joined in the rowdy behavior, their human blood showing through. But they would have been later reprimanded fully by the stoic Erestor, while a bemused Glorfindel stood near, arms crossed over his chest, obviously holding back a rambunctious laugh. This would of course undermine Erestor’s scolding when the twins finally noticed the slayer’s expression, falling out into their own fit of laughter.

Then, as usual, Erestor would turn red and grumble about the lack of protocol among his brethren, and seek comfort with Haldir and Legolas, venting his annoyances and frustrations on them while downing a bowl of wine. Haldir and Legolas had much in common along that path, trying to understand the excessive lust of their friends.

Haldir stalked across the sawdust-covered floor, daring the bloodied humans to even touch him. The three men threatened the barmaid and his brothers with their eyes before setting the table upright and ordering more drinks. They knew they couldn’t take the two brothers, much less the three together.

Once the men sat down, and it appeared that no more fighting would occur, the bar returned to its previous rowdiness. Orophin and Rumil, unaware of Haldir’s angered expression, continued to flirt shamelessly with the young woman. That is until he laid his hands on their shoulders.

“You can come with me now and peacefully, or I can drag you out by the scruffs of your skinny necks like a couple of shameful drunks…” He hissed, leaning close between their heads. His fingers dug painfully into their collarbones.

A squeak from below his right reminded him of the barmaid.

Without moving his head, he slanted his eyes to acknowledge the woman’s presence. She was terribly short and…he shifted uncomfortably when he noticed just why his brothers wanted her…quite curvy compared to the ellyth he’d known. Blonde curls bouncing, she rocked back and forth on her feet expectantly, other parts of her bouncing quite enticingly as well. She was cute, not beautiful but pretty enough for an evening of enjoyment and…

Haldir cleared his mind, returning to the troublesome duo in front of him.

“I am going to take them out to the street for an adjustment. You may have these two when I am done,” he answered her squeak haughtily, and then yanked the two out the thin swinging doors. He dragged them across the dusty street to a secluded bench, and cursed Dorwinion for being a bustling city even this late at night. Slamming them down onto the splintery wooden bench, he snorted at his brothers’ whiny protests.

“Don’t even start you two!” The growl in his throat brought them quickly to attention, the March Warden of old returning swiftly. Hands on his hips, he glowered down at them…

“Wait! Haldir, can’t we even say something in our defense?” Orophin protested, trying to stand only to be pushed back down again.

Growl.

A month was enough time for the two to create a hoard of silver peredhil. A year’s time and he just knew Lorien would be overrun with spurned lovers and new mothers… Elves didn’t behave this way, casually falling into bed with any female willing to lie on her back, kneel, bend over…alright, they would have done it with a dwarf if they’d found them attractive. Haldir mostly worried about Celeborn’s reaction…

“Come now! Do not be so rigid!” Rumil matched the eldest of the three in expression, though he refrained from standing. “This is exactly why Celeborn sent us here in the first place! Because YOU needed a distraction from the mundane life of a bored March Warden with nothing to do…” He now stood, nose to nose with his brother.

Orophin just watched them nervously, twiddling his thumbs around and around, afraid of a real fight this time…

Feeling victorious due to Haldir’s lack of response, Rumil backed off and smirked, though his tone was softer. “Come now, join us with the maiden, or we can send her to you…” The thought of sharing any female, much less the ‘maiden’ inside, with his brothers made Haldir want to retch, but he held back.

‘Retch is such a strong word,’ he thought to himself. Actually the thought made him blush, and he worked hard to keep the heat from pinking his ears.

“I prefer my companions not to be hired,” Haldir scoffed, motioning for Orophin and Rumil to follow him back to the bar. The younger two, exchanging a knowing-look behind his back, noted that no actual chastising had taken place. Again another mark of their brother’s growing softness.

---

The night was going to last forever.

Blank eyes stared at the crumbly plaster ceiling above him, and Haldir swore that a piece fell on him with each thump from the next room over. A cry, squeak, or moan accented each thump.

The night would never end.

Punching his pillow, Haldir stuffed his face into the stale smelling cloth, hoping to suffocate. Still he could not block the sounds, and he banged his head against the wall above the bed. That didn’t help, and only made his head hurt worse.

So the pillow went over his head, and he clamped the sides tight around his ears. That only increased the feeling of the vibrations.

He could either stay in here and suffer the night through, or he could go confront his lusty brothers.

Neither was appealing. Or he could go find the barkeep, offer him more elven gold and exchange rooms with someone. But he reconsidered that thought. Being at the end of the hall, he only shared a wall with his brothers, and if he moved, he risked sharing several walls with other equally amorous beings.

He would never get any rest, just suffering.

Flinging his pillow across the small room, inadvertently hitting the washbasin that shattered against the planked floor next to the door, Haldir steeled his resolved and decided to confront his brothel-loving brothers.

Throwing the door open, he was to their door in three steps, rapping harshly on the worm-eaten wood. He could hear someone shuffling about inside, though the vocalizing continued at a rapid rate.

He had a difficult time resisting the urge to blush when Rumil answered the door, a satisfied grin broad across the youngest brother’s face and naked as the day he was born. Haldir barely registered being dragged into the room and the door slamming shut.

“So you have finally decided to join us!” Rumil clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, startling Haldir who was trying desperately not to stare at Orophin and the barmaid…and he was failing miserably.

In the middle of the bed, the girl had her head flung back and knelt gripping the headboard, arching her back as she cried out in pleasured yips. Orophin’s thrusts must have been that forceful and pleasurable. On his knees behind her, his hands fisted and tangled in her yellow curls, Orophin caught sight of his brother in the corner of his eyes and turned his head to face Haldir. Panting, he motioned for him to join them, never losing his rhythm.

Haldir completely forgot why he’d knocked on their door in the first place. The heat in the room, the smell of spent seed, feminine musk and sweat, or maybe it was the activities going on before him…whatever it was, Haldir felt himself growing hard and tried to adjust himself discreetly, failing miserably much to Rumil’s amusement.

Orophin had turned his attention back to the female, slamming more harshly into her as he neared his release, his hands now gripping her hips. She cried out moments before him, and both collapsed onto the bed in a heap of shudders and moans.

‘Damned brothers!’ Haldir cursed mentally.

Rolling off the barmaid, Orophin leaned on an elbow, stroking the woman’s hair and still quivering back, eventually working his way down to trace light circles over her rounded backside.

Resting her head on her crossed arms, she also watched the broadest of the three, obviously wondering if that elf was just as exciting and tasty as the other two.

“She is utterly delicious, Haldir,” Rumil whispered behind him, a husky tone in his voice. Slipping across the room, the youngest joined Orophin on the bed, planting a kiss long and deep on the woman’s lips. His hand found its way down between her thighs, teasing and eliciting a throaty moan from the woman clenching her thighs tightly around his wrist.

With the pulsing need in his trousers, Haldir was sorely tempted to join his naked brothers and the minx lying tantalizingly across the bed. Bruised lips smiled demurely at him, and he could not help wondering what they would feel like, hot and moist, wrapped around his…

He remembered why he’d come in here.

“Keep the noise down, I am trying to sleep,” he growled, and then turned on his heel and left the room.

Back in his own room, he slammed the door and locked it, slipped in the split water and shards of porcelain, catching himself against the door. Steady once again, Haldir made his way across the room and collapsed across the bed, burying his face into the bedclothes. Just as he drifted off into reverie, reveling in the now quiet atmosphere, renewed vocalizations rudely awakened him.

This was going to be a long night…especially now with his bothersome erection…

‘Damned brothers.’

----------

The dawn was quiet when Haldir woke.

“Probably because everyone ‘tired’ themselves out last night…” his voice sounded harsh in the quiet room. Standing, he stretched and walked to the shuttered window. Flinging the shutter out with a creaking thrust, he was blinded by the morning sun, and the loud noises of morning activities caused him to cringe. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself a moment to recover.

Thumping noises from the room next to his signal his brothers’ awakened states. He opened one eye, shutting it quickly as it had not adjusted properly to the brightness of the sun. Images of his brothers, heads aching from their hangovers, stumbling about in a naked stupor brought a smile to his lips.

----

“We are leaving.”

“Lord Elf? Did you not find what you were searching for?” The merchant, dressed in gaudily colored robes, hurriedly blocked off the tall sylvan from the west. Stale dust filled the air of the small wine-shop, and that all too familiar scent of unwashed humans. Bottles, of a thousand different glinting colors and shapes, lined racks covering each wall.

Rumil smirked, and Orophin pinched him to hold back the chuckles. Both still seemed quite unsteady on their feet, bringing Haldir much annoyed amusement.

Haldir rolled his eyes and glared at the scraggly human in front of him. Slimy greased hair hung in ratted knots over the man’s shoulder. Haldir folded his arms across his chest and waited for the next offer.

“Perhaps vintages from far away lands…” The bent man’s scrawny fingers and arms spread out in a wide arch, trying to indicate a vast distance. “Wines that taste of mysterious allure…”

Orophin smacked Rumil in the back of the head, drawing the dramatic seller and Haldir’s disapproving looks.

Beady eyes glanced back to Haldir.

“I have not been impressed so far, and the lord of my home would take nothing but the best.”

The man smiled broadly, revealing a disgusting set of greenish-gray teeth. Haldir’s stomach churned, and he turned to leave.

“Wait, Lord Elf!” He called desperately to Haldir’s back, those fingers clawing at the elf’s clothed arm. Rumil and Orophin remained silent, allowing their older brother all the glory of the dealings. “I have a caravan arriving soon. Filled to the brim with wines of Harad and Khand, and kinds even more exotic! Your king…” He mistakenly titled Celeborn with his human ignorance “…he will not be disappointed, and neither will you!”

----

Jostled, Ranohtar shot his eyes open. He was not dead. Brightness blinded him before a hazy shadow loomed before his face. Pinpoints of pain stabbed through his body, and he was greatly confused.

“Papa! Papa! …”

“My daughter!”

“Papa! Papa! … “ The high-pitched voice of a girl carried on in a stream of trilled Easterling, his original tongue…he switched his mind to comprehend.

The shadow loomed closer, he could barely make out the soft rounded features of the black child, broad nose and full wide lips, dark eyes twinkling. The creaking sounds of turning wheels finally distinguished themselves, as did the clinking of liquid filled glass next to his head; he was being carried on a cart of some kind.

“Papa! Papa! The elf-man is awake! Papa!” He shut his eyes when he heard the deeper voice of an older man. The jostling jerked to a stop.

A hand placed itself on his chest, and he heard the murmurings of a sleeping spell. He mentally fought against it. He did not want this human black magic worked on him!

A moan escaped his lips, and he heard the man’s tone fill with pity.

“My daughter, find my poultice I made earlier.” Ranohtar heard the scampering of tiny feet hitting sand to his left. “Elf, please let me work on your wounds.” A leathery hand found his eyes, pulling each one open. He winced against the blinding light again.

Ranohtar opened his mouth to speak, but only strangled moans escaped.

“Do not speak, Elf, for you cannot.”

Water was poured into his parched mouth sticky with something salty, and drained out the sides of his mouth. He licked at his lips, but tasted nothing. His tongue swirled. His tongue…his tongue. Ranohtar’s mind raced in confusion.

His tongue?

//I am taking a trophy…//

Ranohtar’s mind screamed as he succumbed to the human’s magic.

An untold amount of time passed, and the caravan moved on.

Waking again, Ranohtar opened his eyes; this time the sun did not blind him nearly as badly, and his body’s ache had subsided some. Still he was weak and could not move.

Voices drifted to him, in hushed tones. He was not moving, and it seemed that the cart had stopped. Soft, warm air brushed against his ear.

“Master Elf, Papa is taking us to the lands of Dorwinion.” The tiny feminine voice tinkled in his ear. She must not have been aware of his awakened state, her voice purring on in a childish way. He was content to just listen, trying desperately to force his mind to grasp the reality surrounding him. But everything was so hazy. Where was he? Why was he here? Why could he not move?

“He told me to watch over you. When you awake, I am to alert him. Did you know that we have been traveling for all my life? I saw a settlement once, it seemed stifling to be planted…” And on she chattered.

He heard the strains of music. Strumming sounds mixed with exotic lyrics about forest creatures and weeping women. Deep melodious voices of men mingled with the softer voices of women.

The sky was darkening, and he drifted in and out between waking, listening, and sleep.

The husky tones of the women reminded him of passion-strangled moans…

‘Carniwen!’ A flood of recent memories flashed through his mind, short bright snippets of horrifying, even passionate, events.

His limbs thrashed about violently. Alarmed the girl quickly jumped from the cart, shouting for her papa. The same man leaned over him again, the cart creaking as he climbed in beside the elf. Ranohtar made out the sound of brittle straw crunching, and he suddenly felt the itchiness beneath him.

Fingers worked the toggles of his clothing, and he felt his tunic being forced upward. An oath escaped the man’s lips.

Ranohtar could not see what the man saw, but he felt the areas of pain that pierced deep beneath his flesh.

“Daughter…this elf is lucky to have survived as long as he has. His spirit is determined.”

‘What spirit?’ Ranohtar winced; he felt so weak, a heavy weight placed upon his chest.

The man began an in depth examination. “We must find him an elven healer. There is little I can do for him, daughter, except keep him alive for a while.” The music still played loudly in the background, giving privacy to his whispered words of sleep. “He is lucky. His attacker meant for him to bleed to death, slowly…and thus didn’t penetrate anything vital…”

Ranohtar faded out once again.

------

Days had passed since Morwë and Ranohtar had ridden out, and only one had returned.

Carniwen suspected correctly what had happened.

She had not flinched, horror masked behind a façade of indifference, when Morwë had returned and handed her his ‘prize.’ His face had been filled with macabre amusement and sordid hope for some kind of damning reaction from her.

She’d watched when he’d then taken a vial of washing oil and mixed it with sand to scrub the sweat smeared ink off his body. Understanding the implications of the picture, even the symbolism of the dragon creature, Carniwen would not let her grief show. Morwë knew of her treachery, but if she openly admitted it… He’d already shown her his version of mercy by not openly accusing her.

But then he’d secretly executed Ranohtar. And to what purpose? The Kinn-Lai would not have cared about the death of the half-breed, despite the ages of service he’d rendered them. They only saw him as an extension of Morwë, his replaceable lackey. Perhaps it was to protect her; to publicly accuse him would have led to her incrimination.

Too many unanswered questions, and many questions she still did not know to ask, kept her from seeking release from the insanity surrounding her.

The first she sought: what was Morwë’s interest in Taniquetil and Valinor? And why did Ranohtar find it his duty to stop Morwë from seeking a people with whom they’d severed all ties?

Silently in her sleep, whether in the arms and bed of Morwë, Nurwë, or one of the others, Carniwen cursed Ranohtar’s broken promise…

‘You said to trust you to take care of it…and you broke your promise, and now I must do it for you…’