Vacation
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,037
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,037
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 11
Part 11…
The clang of metal on metal followed by the grating noise the swords made as they slid against each other before parting was disconcerting in the silence, even though it had been half expected by the on lookers. Clash. Grate. Whoosh of air. Silence. Clash. Grate. Whoosh of air. Silence. Three times this sequence occurred. And the crowed watched as with each connection of the blade the larger of the two combatants fell back, allowing Haldir to gain ground. It was almost as though Poldórion was afraid to attack more forcefully. A fourth swing and the crowd waited expectantly for the clash, realizing after a heartbeat that a blow had been struck.
Lindir gasped as he watched Poldórion stagger backwards, a look of shock on his face as he brought his right hand up, still clutching his sword, to press protectively against his left shoulder where the blunted steel of Haldirs blade had connected.
A heart beat. Two. And Poldórion was once again facing his opponent, sword at the ready and a look of elation on his face. A look that caused more than one elf to look questioningly at his neighbor. What was there to be happy about? He had just sustained a blow which awarded Haldir the first point, had he not? Perhaps the muted whispers about ‘all brawn and no brain’ were true.
Another clash etaletal on metal, a foot sliding in the sand, an ankle behind a knee and a sword against a throat. Haldir blinked and squinted upwards, the sun blinding him momentarily. He felt the cool blunt edge of the steel blade against his throat, and the sun heated sand against his neck and back.
A body shifted over him and the sword left his neck as a blonde covered head leaned over him to block out the blinding sun. A concerned expression and a pair of worried silver eyes looked down at him.
“Can you stand?”
He’d lost? He, Haldir, one of the finest swordsmen and archers on middle earth had lost to an elf who didn’t even know standard sparring rules? Inconceivable! With a grunt Haldir forced himself to rise from the ground, feeling a large amount of sand accompany him upwards, only to fall towards the ground and conveniently lodge in the backside of his leggings. Perfect, just perfect. After quickly shaking Poldórions proffered hand and muttering a less than gracious “Congratulations” Haldir moved as swiftly from the arena as possible, considering the amount of sand currently chafing his posterior, nodding stiffly to Glorfindel as passed each other. Putting aside his wounded pride he leaned awkwardly against a tree near the arena, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable scratching of sand against his skin he instead focused on the two blonde forms and soothed himself with the knowledge the Glorfindel would soon be making his defeater eat that blasted sand. Feeling his mood brighten Haldir shifted again, gritting his teeth as the sand trickled irritatingly down the backs of his legs. Perfect, just perfect.
TBC…
The clang of metal on metal followed by the grating noise the swords made as they slid against each other before parting was disconcerting in the silence, even though it had been half expected by the on lookers. Clash. Grate. Whoosh of air. Silence. Clash. Grate. Whoosh of air. Silence. Three times this sequence occurred. And the crowed watched as with each connection of the blade the larger of the two combatants fell back, allowing Haldir to gain ground. It was almost as though Poldórion was afraid to attack more forcefully. A fourth swing and the crowd waited expectantly for the clash, realizing after a heartbeat that a blow had been struck.
Lindir gasped as he watched Poldórion stagger backwards, a look of shock on his face as he brought his right hand up, still clutching his sword, to press protectively against his left shoulder where the blunted steel of Haldirs blade had connected.
A heart beat. Two. And Poldórion was once again facing his opponent, sword at the ready and a look of elation on his face. A look that caused more than one elf to look questioningly at his neighbor. What was there to be happy about? He had just sustained a blow which awarded Haldir the first point, had he not? Perhaps the muted whispers about ‘all brawn and no brain’ were true.
Another clash etaletal on metal, a foot sliding in the sand, an ankle behind a knee and a sword against a throat. Haldir blinked and squinted upwards, the sun blinding him momentarily. He felt the cool blunt edge of the steel blade against his throat, and the sun heated sand against his neck and back.
A body shifted over him and the sword left his neck as a blonde covered head leaned over him to block out the blinding sun. A concerned expression and a pair of worried silver eyes looked down at him.
“Can you stand?”
He’d lost? He, Haldir, one of the finest swordsmen and archers on middle earth had lost to an elf who didn’t even know standard sparring rules? Inconceivable! With a grunt Haldir forced himself to rise from the ground, feeling a large amount of sand accompany him upwards, only to fall towards the ground and conveniently lodge in the backside of his leggings. Perfect, just perfect. After quickly shaking Poldórions proffered hand and muttering a less than gracious “Congratulations” Haldir moved as swiftly from the arena as possible, considering the amount of sand currently chafing his posterior, nodding stiffly to Glorfindel as passed each other. Putting aside his wounded pride he leaned awkwardly against a tree near the arena, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable scratching of sand against his skin he instead focused on the two blonde forms and soothed himself with the knowledge the Glorfindel would soon be making his defeater eat that blasted sand. Feeling his mood brighten Haldir shifted again, gritting his teeth as the sand trickled irritatingly down the backs of his legs. Perfect, just perfect.
TBC…