"There, there's one! Quickly, muindor!" Elladan loudly whispered, pointing excitedly at a spot just inches from his brother's toes.
With lightning speed Elrohir plunged his rake down through the water into the sand, striking as if the prey were an aquatic orc of some sort, and at once an explosive PLOP resounded, followed by a bright fountain shooting from the creek's rippled surface while a great volume of muddy grit clouded the pristine flux. Elladan tossed his ebony tresses and made an indignant sound as he was thoroughly soaked, but otherwise waited in motionless suspense to learn the outcome of the attack. Elrohir raised the peculiar tool from the obscuring murk and frowned, for the trawler's tines were empty.
"You missed!" Elladan berated his brother, sloshing over to his side to stare in disbelief at the dripping rake. "How could you let it get away? It was right there at your very feet!"
"I don't know; I was sure I had it. It must have burrowed under the sand or something," Elrohir offered this abashed excuse, staring woefully at the clearing liquid as the gentle current carried the suspended load away and the sand settled back upon the bottom, twinkling in the sun as if to mock the mighty warrior's defeat.
"Give me that thing," demanded the elder twin, snatching away the unfamiliar implement. "You obviously aren't using it correctly. It isn't a sword, you know."
"Fine, see how well you can do, then," retorted Elrohir as he waded carefully away up stream, pant legs rolled high around his knees, sans tunic, shirtsleeves shoved haphazardly past his elbows, loose hair falling in damp tendrils about his face. Now that he was completely drenched, the efforts to spare his clothes seemed absolutely inane. Making certain not to upset the soft bottom with his bare feet, not even the slight displacement elven steps would generate, he leaned forward as he stalked, sharp eyes relentlessly scanning the sandy shallows.
His twin, identically underdressed and over-wet, brandished the fish-snaring contraption before him in a two-fisted grasp as he would a staff. The pair of famed orc hunters moved stealthily through the cheerful little brook, their every motion synchronised and as fluid as the water itself, their every sense absorbed in tracking this unlikely foe. Elladan's brows were drawn down in a severe frown and he adjusted his grip on the rake, uncertain how he should be holding it or what the correct manner of using it truly could be. He'd never seen anything like it, not even on trips to Mithlond where all the Sea Elves were enamoured of fishing in the crashing surf. It resembled nothing so much as a cross between an over-sized fork and a diminutive garden rake with a mesh bag attached for collecting fallen leaves. Yet Lindir had assured him and his brother that this was the proper article to employ when seeking to catch flatfish. While neglecting to give any indication of the means for so doing.
Their conversation with the wizard and the minstrel had not gone well at first, for he and Elrohir had remained staunchly resistant to the notion of welcoming Legolas as a member of the family. Mithrandir had finally had enough of it and ordered them all from his rooms, stating he wished to hear no more 'infantile and judgemental whining' from elves involved in a relationship even the most open-minded people would deem 'sordid and grotesquely inappropriate'. Upon hearing that insulting dismissal, the brothers had stormed from the suite, livid in outrage for while logically they realised those close to them understood, their union was a topic they refused to discuss, precisely to avoid hearing comments like that. Intending to go drown their fury in strong drink at a tavern on the Great East Road just beyond the ford of the Bruinen, Lindir had forestalled their plans with one simple statement: 'You'll never win the Wood Elf this way.'
Elladan grinned darkly, recalling how he and his brother had simultaneously grabbed Lindir by the arms and hoisted him up off the floor, slamming his back against the corridor wall quite forcefully. The minstrel had neither flinched nor blinked and instead used the elevation to land a double-footed kick of immense power against Elrohir's chest. This had sent the younger twin staggering back, gasping for air, and of course had broken the hold Elladan had on the singer as well. In the mere seconds that elapsed as his attention was distracted by his twin's plight, Lindir somehow managed to plant his right fist solidly into Elladan's gut as his left hooked across the elder twin's jaw and sent him reeling. He had crashed into Elrohir and both had collapsed to the floor in a surprised and humiliated heap.
'Don't be daft; I was trained by the sons of Feänor. You can't begin to imagine the fighting moves I've learned and kept secret from you two.' The minstrel had stood smiling down at them in smug and victorious delight, not even offering to help as they staggered back to upright posture. 'Now, if you are prepared to at least pretend to be adults, perhaps we can discuss this unfortunate predicament and the detrimental effect it is having upon Legolas. There is a solution, but not one which temperamental, spoiled elflings can comprehend.'
They had followed him back to his apartment in silence and listened to his counsel. Before he gave it, however, he had demanded the full tale of finding Legolas. Not the story related to Glorfindel and Erestor upon their return, that white-washed version agreed upon by father and sons, but the ugly, gritty, harrowing truth. It had not been so hard to tell as Elladan would have imagined and in fact once begun the story just gushed out along with all the pain and bewildered doubts it encompassed.
Lindir had been neither shocked nor disgusted and instead had been so thoroughly sympathetic that the brothers had gone further and expressed the ensuing desolation between them, confirming aloud for the first time the true nature of their bond. After hearing the singer's non-judgemental reassurances that their hearts could be healed, the twins listened eagerly to his explanation of how this might be achieved, yet with their mounting excitement was mingled concern and scepticism.
Still, here we are, following his suggestion to the letter, stalking the elusive freshwater flounder in the early Imladris dawn.
Elrohir's thought interrupted Elladan's, unbidden but welcomed with much joy; for too long his brother had kept their minds separated. Shaking his head with a distinctly self-effacing sniff, Elladan looked across the shimmering water to meet Elrohir's eyes and smiled. "Do you believe him?"
"Would I be out here wading through the stream, trying to master the dubious skill of flatfish procurement if I did not?" scoffed Elrohir, grinning and tossing his ebony hair identically in bemusement. He eyed his twin with no small degree of chagrin, for once displeased to view himself as others beheld him. "It had better work; we look absolutely ridiculous. If Glorfindel finds out we'll never hear the end of it."
"Aye, and imagine Aragorn's reaction. He'll laugh for an hour then spread the tale among every Ranger camp from here to the Shire. 'Behold the mighty Orc-slayers of Imladris: wet, bedraggled, utterly defeated by a lowly, scaly minute creature of the shallows'," chuckled Elladan, pleased to hear his brother laugh in kind.
He readjusted his hold on the curiously designed rake, settling his grip where patience and skill had worked a comfortable indentation just the right size to fit Legolas' smaller hands, for it was his of course. Lindir had informed them of its existence and where it might be found, having asked the trees within the grounds which among them Legolas most preferred. It was an ancient and massive tulip poplar with a thick, straight trunk, branchless for a good fifteen metres, and climbing the rough, furrowed bark had been a challenge Elladan wouldn't soon forget.
High in its upper limbs, the twins had discovered a neatly organised assortment of handmade gadgets and various nondescript stuff, all carefully arranged within a cleverly concealed cabinet constructed of woven branches and leaves. It seemed a part of the living tree and had they not been told by Lindir what to seek never would they have spotted the cupboard. Inside was a collection of odd items, not unlike those Legolas kept in their father's rooms, comprising mundanely ordinary things, like obsidian arrowheads and stone-working tools, to totally incomprehensible, intricately crafted implements the use for which they could not determine. Among these latter objects had reposed the one currently in their possession.
Elladan had taken it reluctantly, for it seemed to him they were violating the sylvan's most private possessions, articles even Elrond probably didn't know about. He felt like a thief, regardless Lindir's assurance that it was not the sylvan way to begrudge another's use of what was needed as long as it was returned. The elder twin was nearly certain Legolas did not expect anyone in Imladris to have such a need and would not look kindly on such borrowing, especially from him and his brother.
He sighed and shifted his grip again, carrying the strange creation defensively before him like a long knife. "I wish I knew what to do with this bizarre thing. How on Arda am I supposed to capture anything with it?"
"I haven't a clue. The net part I understand, for how else would we get the slimy little creature out of the water, but it's how to get it into the grip of those reedy fingers that escapes me," admitted Elrohir, reaching out to bend the slim, flexible extensions protruding from the end of the wooden handle. They both stopped and inspected the device intently, the third time they had done so.
"Why a rake? If we use it to drag the bottom the flatfish will note the disturbance and flee, yet trying to take it by surprise didn't work either," added Elladan, alluding to his brother's unsuccessful assault upon the water.
"Perhaps if we took the net off the rake could be used to startle the flounder into revealing itself. As soon as it flutters up from the mud to get away, we snatch the net up from the bottom, fish and all!" exclaimed Elrohir.
The brothers' eyes met with determination and conviction; no mindless water creature would get the better of them. They cautiously unwrapped the knotted string mesh, fearful of breaking the tool, and discovered that it was attached to the handle by a two metre strand of twine. This was laced through the holes around the perimeter of the open-work bag at the other end. An experimental tug allowed them to open out the net into a full, flat circle and with identical smirks the brothers shared their enlightenment. They separated, one cautiously setting the net loose in the water a few feet away as the other began dragging the little hand trawler through the sand. Soon, a plume of suspended detritus bloomed behind them, fanning out in the current.
"Elo!" Elrohir pointed as a flapping motion caught his eye. He jerked quickly on the twine and the net closed tight, its sudden weight informing him of their success. "We did it!" with this gleeful shout he hoisted the catch from the water as Elladan splashed over to admire the fine specimen flopping around in the net.
"Aye, a big fat one, too," Elladan was equally proud of their achievement and laughed as he poked the squirming, sand coloured scales. He whisked out his dagger and stabbed it where he hoped its brain would be and the fish went limp. "Should we get another? Aragorn said Legolas isn't eating properly."
"Yes, good idea. If it's truly considered a delicacy among sylvan elves, as Lindir assured us, then he'll consume every bit of it without even thinking of the implications of who supplied it," agreed Elrohir, transferring the fish into a leather pouch hanging from a strap across his shoulder.
"Until it's too late," Elladan finished their conjoined thought as they shared predatory leers and moved on to a new spot that was not disturbed.
It took a little longer to net the second flounder and their patience was tested sorely, for the creatures of the shallows were alert to their presence. Once they had the additional quarry bagged, not quite as large as the first but still not a shameful catch, they moved from the brook and set about preparing the dish according to Lindir's recipe. Being partial neither to eating fish nor to cooking them, the chore was accompanied by much good-natured joking and complaining over the disgusting task of cleaning and boning the meat, the unpleasant smell of the seared flesh, and the effect pungent wild onions and garlic wreaked upon their refined senses.
Through it all they worked in harmony and relaxed, falling back into the familiar pattern of companionable camaraderie they had achieved long centuries past when they'd given in and become soul-mates. With chagrined amazement, the brothers realised they had not enjoyed a morning together like this since their mother's horrific capture by orcs. It occurred to them simultaneously that this was probably because their actions were not centred on alleviating the pain within themselves but rather on Legolas. Their vision locked as the notion dawned between them: mayhap the Wood Elf could heal them as he had their father. Elladan and Elrohir smiled together and completed the meal's preparation in quiet meditation on this concept.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While the twins were thus involved in the unlikely duty of making a traditional sylvan breakfast, Erestor was crawling out from under the blueberry hedge. With as much dignity as someone caught eavesdropping can manage to assemble, the distinguished seneschal straightened his clothing and approached under the disapproving eye of the Wood Elf, finding the gaze trained upon him far removed from the perception of callow inexperience he usually associated with Legolas. That sage and knowing expression was much more disconcerting than being caught at spying and Erestor at last understood what Elrond meant when he spoke about the aspect of 'ancient presence' the youth sometimes revealed.
"Before you say anything, Legolas, allow me to thank you." Erestor did not hesitate to take command of the compromising situation. Not for nothing was he deemed Elrond's cleverest advisor. As expected, the gracious compliment took The Sylvan by surprise and his brows rose, chasing away that daunting glare of censure and disappointment levelled upon the Chief Advisor.
"Thank me for what?" the fair voice demanded, once more revealing his lack of experience regarding intrigue and deception.
"I have suspected some such treachery among the humans but had no idea from which realm it would emerge. Your confrontation with Denethor has revealed the culprit: this servant named, oh what was it, Bergil? Nay, Bertran, that's it."
"What?" Legolas didn't understand at all. What he'd discussed with Denethor had nothing to do with politics and he was sure Erestor must understand this. His eyes narrowed, trying to determine if the Noldorin Lord was mocking him or not.
"Yes, that manservant employed by the Steward is but a spy of Mordor. The evil dwelling there has no wish for these two kingdoms of Men to join forces by marriage between the ruling families. Such ties are stronger than mere treaties on parchment and ink, for the offspring of the union will belong to both lands."
"You expected this?" Legolas was still incredulous, though the advisor's demeanour expressed nothing false and lacked any hint of the contemptuous scorn that usually coloured every word Erestor spoke to him or about him.
"Indeed, I was sure some ploy would be enacted to stop the wedding but the exact particulars were unknown." This was actually true; Erestor had been feeling an uneasy dread ever since the Steward's party arrived. "That is why I am so grateful, you see. Picture how terrible this would be for all involved if this Bertran were permitted to reveal his sordid affair with the Steward's son at the ceremony? The Prince of Dol Amroth would be incensed, furious for such an insult to his daughter, mortified by such an immoral situation, confronted at the altar by her finacé's male paramour.
"Imagine the embarrassment of the Steward; his son's weakness revealed, an inclination disdained by mortals as indecent and unnatural. How could he answer Adrahil's just condemnations? Nay, they would become bitter enemies if this erupted in such a public and scandalous manner. Of course, this would all reflect poorly on Lord Elrond as well, for it was his suggestion to Adrahil that initiated the betrothal in the first place. My kinsman desires to foster stronger ties between the First and Second-born, but this tribulation will create a chasm between our peoples that will be difficult to bridge."
"Ai! I had no idea!" Legolas forgot his own anger over being spied upon and drew closer to Erestor, concern plain on his honest features. "Can you do anything to stop it, Lord Erestor? I won't have Elrond made a fool because of that pompous Man's inability to use discretion regarding his affairs."
Erestor smiled; this was precisely the effect he'd hoped his words would produce. "Fear not, it is in averting such catastrophes that all my training and experience is best deployed. I will detain this Bertran and prevent his tongue from wagging, by removing it if necessary."
"But that won't change anything now!" exclaimed Legolas. "There is something more that even Denethor doesn't realise. The Lady Finduilas saw them."
"Valar! Are you certain?" Erestor stuttered out, though it was obvious Legolas wouldn't suggest this were it not true.
"Aye. She followed her husband-to-be, no doubt intending to make him her mate a day early, for she was completely naked. Completely drunk as well, I may say, but still managed to track him. She noticed two lovers entwined upon the grass but they did not notice her. Curiosity got the better of the fair Lady, but when she realised who the couple was she sobered up quickly enough. She fled in the direction of her rooms."
"Naneth Nastaron!" Erestor hissed out this vile obscenity and barely even took note of the uplifted brows and crimson flush overtaking The Sylvan's burning ears. "That explains her odd behaviour this morn. Why didn't you do something?"
"What exactly might I have done?" Legolas bent an exasperated glare on the harried advisor. "Besides, I was not close by, Lord Erestor, but on the balcony and otherwise engaged." This was said with all the aplomb he could manage, though his deepening blush revealed fully what and who had so engaged the woodland archer.
Erestor made a mental note to stroll through the gardens beneath Elrond's balcony of an evening sometime in the future, enjoying for an instant the lurid vision that flashed across his brain. Long years of life enabled him to put the pleasing image aside for later reference. "Eru's arse, what more?" He paced about after voicing this blasphemy, running his hand through his long black hair as he tried to sort out how to amend the situation.
"I don't want Elrond or Imladris to suffer for these humans' weaknesses," Legolas commented, "but perhaps it is better for the fair Lady of Dol Amroth to know the worst, for it is unlikely that selfish Man will give up his lover for her. Why should she endure such indignity? As for the alliance, mayhap Gondor would not prove so strong if it is beset by traitors from within its own borders. Dol Amroth could always form a confederation with the lands of Lebennin and Lossarnach."
Erestor was pulled from his ruminations by this unexpectedly astute observation from the supposedly ignorant Wood Elf. He sent an appraising examination over the unassuming presence before him, noting for the first time the light of intellect within the cerulean gaze. It was suddenly apparent that Legolas' bold remarks to Denethor were not merely boastful posturing. Somehow he had received something of an education, most likely from Elrond. That made sense, considering his cousin's desire to make Legolas a permanent part of his life. Erestor had a sudden picture of the two lover's entangled on the bed, hot, panting, and sweaty, discussing politics in between their bouts of passionate pleasuring. Mayhap hearing The Sylvan expound on affairs of state enhances Elrond's excitement. The notion struck him as deliriously funny and he struggled to stifle the urge to laugh out loud, ducking his head and coughing to cover the abrupt snort of mirth that exited his nostrils.
"Something wrong, Hîren?" asked Legolas drily, not fooled by the advisor's loss of composure, certain he'd seen amusement fill those dark, compelling eyes. Amusement at his expense, he was equally sure.
"Nothing serious," replied Erestor sharply, again brought up short by a tone he'd never heard in the youth's voice before. That unsettling expression of deep disappointment had returned to the Wood Elf's eyes. He found that he wished to appease this unknown aspect of Legolas' personality and reflected anew on the proposed alliance of the three coastal realms. Arguing such a remedy revealed a lack of wisdom only age could grant but the idea wasn't without merit and it was clear enough that Legolas comprehended those advantages. The Chief Advisor decided to respond without the usual tone of dismissive derision he employed when forced to address The Sylvan directly.
"Those lands would indeed benefit from such an agreement, yet not even that confederation would fare well should Gondor fall to the enemy. Consider this: the alliance Elrond seeks would bring those other human realms into stronger allegiance than before, for they are as proud of their free status as is Dol Amroth. None of them wish to become mere fifes of Gondor, yet neither can they withstand the forces of Mordor and Harad combined.
"If Adrahil unites his blood with Echthelion's, the lesser kingdoms will be more willing to recognise the rule of the next Steward, for they already share kinship with Dol Amroth. The three coastal realms have long practised intermarriage between the ruling Houses and their pact is strong. The time is near when Lebennin and Lossarnach will be asked to risk lands and lives in defence of Minas Tirith and they must perceive in that sacrifice the preservation of their own. They must unite or all will fall, one by one, should Gondor stand alone in the dark days ahead."
Legolas nodded, for this was wise counsel and he understood the trust Elrond placed in the elder statesman. He opened his mouth to express this but all that came forth was a loud, uncouth grumble as his body once more insisted on making its needs foremost. If he had been blushing before he was crimson in humiliation now and turned aside from the expression of vaguely disgusted amusement clouding the advisor's eyes. "Excuse me!" the Wood Elf blurted out. "I beg pardon, Lord; I haven't broken fast as yet but for one bite of fruit."
"Indeed, you must be famished. Please, go and appease your appetite for I know of the life you nurture," Erestor intoned, smiling as Legolas whipped around to gape at him, obviously stunned. "Elrond told me just minutes ago; I offer my congratulations to you for your pregnancy has won my cousin's heart and assured your place in our valley. Now I must tend to the unpleasant business of Denethor's inconstancy and avert the traitor's plot. Namarie, Legolas." With that and a slight nod Erestor turned on his heel, rather ashamed to have caused the swift shadow of hurt and sorrow that suffused the Wood Elf's eyes, and marched back to the house, glancing back once to behold Legolas moving deeper into the grounds.
Legolas was at once furious with Erestor and frustrated with his uncooperative physique. Never before had he voiced his opinions and he was sure the advisor had been impressed that he'd done so with such insight. Of all the times to emit such a ghastly noise! The only thing worse would have been for the sound to emerge from the other end. Yet, his stomach's rude emission had been unplanned while the Noldorin advisor's unkind remarks had been specifically chosen to insult and denigrate both him and his unborn child. Just when it seemed he would treat me at least with as much regard as he grants to Dwarven folk, since I daren't hope to be accorded the rank of an equal. Legolas was dismayed, having no idea how to make Erestor stop, well aware that most of the unpleasant references to his race and status arose due to the seneschal's gossiping. If he could not gain Erestor's respect he would forever be an outsider in Imladris, no matter what Elrond decreed.
His insides churned and groaned anew and Legolas rubbed his belly, the persistent ache painfully acidic, the hunger so overpowering that his senses were affected. He could swear he smelled his favourite dish roasting somewhere nearby and without consciously realising it permitted the enticing aroma to govern his path. By the time the jolly sound of the running brook met his ears, he could hear mingled within the congenial turbulence the muted voices of two elves laughing and talking together. The strong scent of garlic and onion made his mouth water and Legolas was convinced he was not imagining it. A few steps more confirmed his belief. He passed through a stand of junipers and there found the source of the voices and the delicious aromas. Elladan and Elrohir were seated on the bank of the stream, tending a small fire over which the delectable flounder steamed. They paused and looked up at him, shared a gaze, and then stood from the ground, all in perfect unison.
"Aur Maur, Legolas," said Elladan with a friendly wave and a smile.
"We've been waiting for you," added Elrohir, the same expression upon his features.
"Won't you join us?" they chorused together and though Legolas felt it would be wiser to turn and run his stomach and his curiosity both overruled him. Cautiously he approached.
"You like flatfish and shallots?" he asked with no small surprise, eyeing the feast greedily.
"Nay, we despise it," laughed Elladan.
"This is for you, Legolas. Sit, it is plain enough you would like to have some," urged Elrohir, reaching out and taking hold of the sylvan's arm to guide him to their little camp.
"I hope you don't mind that we used your fishing gear," said Elladan apologetically, flanking the Wood Elf and taking his other arm. "Lindir said it would be all right."
"Oh, no, it's fine." Legolas gazed from one to the other, overwhelmed by the friendly timbre in their tone and manner. "You caught and made this meal for me?" He was dumbfounded; they couldn't understand what that would mean to him, could they? If not, why were they so welcoming, so pleased to see him? Never had they done other than frown and scowl and bark at him to get out of their lives. Except that one time when all this trouble started. Legolas' heart gave a tremendous leap and he sucked in a loud breath, eyes going wide and mouth going dry.
As it had been ten years past, instincts he could not control awoke. The pressure of their hands on his arms was warm, strong, and comforting, the scent of their desire, now more prominent than the delectable breakfast, was intoxicating, and the expression of devotion and feral hunger shining from their stormy eyes nothing less than hypnotic. They didn't seem like the haughty noble Lords he knew; they were simply elves, wild and fair and free, hair unfettered, clothes askew and damp from the brook, here and there a scatter of fish scales clinging to skin and cloth winking with the light of Anor. Their presence enveloped him. So near he could hear the paired beating of their hearts, he was caught in their dual auras, captured by that mysterious something they possessed, virile and dynamic personas, just like their father.
He made a choking sort of gasp as this comparison erupted through his thoughts and sought to shake them off. One look in the identical grey depths confirmed they had no intention of permitting that and they simultaneously tightened their grips while murmuring soothing reassurances.
"Aye, we caught the fish for you."
"Come, you should not go so long without nourishment."
"We'll see to it that doesn't happen any more."
"You mustn't neglect yourself; the little one will suffer, too."
His soul cried out in silent despair for these were the very words he needed to hear yet the voice speaking them belonged not to the one who held his heart. He hadn't any defences at hand, however, for his body responded with sensuous resonation, recognising the link he shared with them, and craved more. Dumbly he let them lead him to the fire and sit him down upon the lawn, watching, entranced, as they resumed their places before him. Elladan took up a morsel of the fish and held it out, sidling closer until Legolas felt his knee touch upon his thigh. He transferred his sight from the hand bearing the food to the intense and confident expression adorning the handsome visage.
"Try it; we cooked it just for you," Elladan coaxed, his tone gentle and tender yet subtly salacious. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with Legolas' scent, and brought the succulent, white flesh right up to the woodland archer's lips. He waited patiently, certain of the response this would generate.
Obediently, Legolas opened his mouth and let Elladan feed him, closing his lips over the Noldorin elf's fingers ere he withdrew them. They both shuddered. His heart was pounding and he suddenly felt dizzy, a combination of exhilaration and fear just as he'd experienced all those years ago when first he'd encountered the Lord of Imladris and his sons.
Elladan raised his fingers and licked them, eyes never wavering from the wide blue depths of the astounded sylvan. "Mmmmmm, so good." He let his eyelids flutter shut as he relished the residue left by Legolas' tongue.
Legolas chewed and swallowed slowly, mesmerised by the sight, until Elrohir also drew nigh, bringing to his lips another bite of the flounder. He met the younger twin's compelling stare and once more opened for the nourishing food, now caught in the spell of identical passion mirrored in Elrohir's countenance. He shifted closer to them, longing for the comfort of physical contact, setting a hand on each one's thigh, lightly massaging the strong muscles through the soft leather. A sense of urgency built within him as an emptiness opened in his soul; a sense of something lacking from his spirit made itself known to a nearly painful degree.
When Elrohir withdrew his fingers, he lightly traced Legolas' mouth, a sigh escaping him, his eyes tracking even the slightest movement of facial muscles, thrilling to the bobbing motion of the larynx as the offering was consumed. He could hear how much effort it took for Legolas to breathe and the increasing tempo of his pulse, he could smell the hunger rising in the archer's tense body. He leaned closer and lifted a handful of the golden locks, burying his nose within the yellow tresses. "You are magnificent," he whispered hoarsly.
"Oh," Legolas whimpered, pressing for more contact, panting for air, helpless under the powerful urge awakened on the deserted plains of Eregion ten years ago; awakened and unfulfilled.
"Be at peace; we will protect you," Elrohir murmured, nuzzling the elegant neck and nipping at Legolas earlobe, "you and your elfling." He smiled as another deep shiver worked through the aroused Wood Elf.
While Elrohir had him thus distracted, Elladan carefully loosened the ties of Legolas' shirt with one hand and fed him another morsel of fish with the other. "You will be ours," he whispered, sight locked on hazy blue eyes laced with longing. As he pulled his wet fingers from the sylvan's mouth, he casually slipped them inside the open fabric and caressed the taut peak of a rosy nipple, hard and hot beneath his touch.
The intimate pressure sent a scintillating jolt of pleasure racing unerringly from breast to groin and Legolas' penis twitched in his leggings. "Nay! Daro!" The stimulation awoke him from his stupor and he cried out in alarm and shame, jumping to his feet as he shoved away what seemed a multitude of hands groping and petting him. He was gasping in near sobs, frantic to get free, staring in horror from one to the other as they rose and followed. He shook his head, arms held before him to block further liberties, imploring and warning them at the same time, and turned in panic. With all the speed he could gather he fled from the sons of Elrond, confused and shocked and guilt-ridden, running for the house, running for his beloved. "Nín'ódhel!"
The twins watched him go, flustered and flushed and racked with remorse but satisfied with the outcome of their seduction.
Just as Lindir said it would be.
Aye. Now we must convince Adar.
With this wordless exchange Elladan and Elrohir resumed their places by the brook, certain their father would come storming out of the house to confront them for their trespass upon his mate.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Elsewhere in the Garden, near Aragorn's Rooms ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"That was unbelievably stupid, Den," snarled the heir of Isildur, shaking his head ere he clamped the stem of his pipe between his teeth, shooting a glance at the wizard to judge his assessment of the situation. "You should not have treated with Legolas that way. He seems to me an honourable elf and has every right to demand a formal retraction, you know, and should you refuse he could humiliate you quite thoroughly by challenging you to combat."
"Most regrettable, young steward," intoned the frowning Istar, glowering at the shame-faced Man from beneath his bristling grey eyebrows. "What made you choose to insult him? He's never done anything to you." He drew in a lung-full of smoke from his own briar-wood bowl and blew the resultant vapours in Denethor's face.
"Do you think he will tell her?" Denethor's gaze shifted from one to the other as he worried the hilt of his dagger. Unwilling to face his father with his transgression, he'd sought out those advisors he believed most trustworthy: Thorongil and Gandalf.
"Who, Legolas?" asked Gandalf irritably. "Of course not, dullard! He's an elf and a sylvan at that."
"And that is supposed to signify something to me? I care not for these elves, Noldorin, sylvan or whatever variety they may be. Would that we had never come to this cursed place!" snapped the frightened mortal. He pounded the heavy fist of one hand into the palm of the other, an ugly scowl contorting his features.
"Mind your words," cautioned Aragorn, pointing at his friend with his pipe. "The elves have done you no wrong. The Lord of Imladris wishes only to bolster the stability of the region most beset by Mordor's evil influence. It is this lover of yours who poses a threat to your marriage and the alliance to Dol Amroth, not the Wood Elf."
"Nonsense! Bertran is entirely loyal to me and to my father. He would never seek to betray our interests."
Mithrandir sighed dramatically and rubbed his forehead. "Can you not perceive that not everyone in Gondor has the same view on what those interests are or should be? You must at least consider the possibility that Bertran is a dupe, a well trained pawn set to topple the ruling Stewards by revealing what many would call a weakness in your character. Such upheaval in the governance of Gondor would produce chaos that can serve only one realm, and that is Mordor."
There was a short silence as all three considered this. The Dunedan and the Istar could verily hear the gears turning in the other Man's brain as he digested this insight. Even as they watched, his dark eyes glittered with outrage and his jaw clenched in fury.
"Bertran must be arrested at once," he hissed in low and venomous tones.
"On what grounds?" demanded Aragorn, appalled at this announcement. "There is no evidence that he is guilty of any crime against Gondor or the House of the Stewards. Would you adopt the policies of the Dark Lord?"
"Well what am I to do?" exclaimed the enraged son of the Steward. The flustered mortal paced about and flung his arms up in belligerent despair. "I will not have my father learn of this! I will not be ousted from my rightful place of Lordship before my day has even dawned! I must expose Bertran's treachery before he has the chance to reveal his sordid tale. I have no choice but to restrain him."
"Mayhap the elves could intervene and convince this Man to change his mind," pondered Mithrandir, a rather unpleasant smile upending his lips as he puffed his tobacco into a great fluffy cloud about his head. "Glorfindel can be quite persuasive when he so wishes." He shared a cunning glance at Aragorn who gave a small, noncommittal shrug.
"Would they do this?" asked Denethor, eyes shining with hope as he looked from the wizard to Thorongil.
"Perhaps, if you hadn't behaved so poorly to Legolas. I doubt Elrond will care to intervene on your behalf now," remarked the captain drily. Of course, he was but toying with the Steward's son, in repayment for his crude and insulting behaviour. Legolas needed no more burdens to bear just now and the altercation Denethor had described quite displeased the Ranger on his new friend's behalf. On top of this, Denethor only expressed concern over his possible loss of power and prestige. Not once had he spoken of the hurt that would be done to the fair Lady should the news be made public. His cohort's response to this modest rebuke was surprising and disappointing, for Denethor rounded on him in fury.
"Fine, then. I do not need the aid of these elves to tend my affairs. I will deal with this traitor myself. Bertran shall remain as silent as the grave." His voice shook with cold hatred and his eyes looked murder at the Ranger and the wizard, freezing their hearts and their tongues both so that they could but stare at this brutal revelation. Denethor turned to go while his ire was high enough to carry out this foul deed and nearly fell over in shock to find his way blocked by two unexpected witnesses.
The Lady Finduilas stood framed by sweeping tendrils of sweetly scented wisteria cascading from the shaded arbour abutting the house. Regal and noble, cloaked in the august antiquity of her sylvan heritage, her calm face remained impassive as her eyes, unblurred by tears, gazed in cool appraisal upon the participants in the impromptu council. She came as a Princess of her people, garbed in rich, royal attire with a golden diadem upon her brow from which an array of fine translucent pearls gleamed in mellow splendour. At her side was Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of Imladris, no less a presence of authority and might than her revered Adar and Lord would be. This aura of power superseded even the external beauty for which she was renowned. Yet her light was subdued and this was not accidental, for she would not permit the glory of her essence to detract from Finduilas. Together these Ladies approached and it was for the Men as if Varda and Yavanna walked in their midst, invoking their wordless awe.
Finduilas spoke: "There is no need for you to resort to evil means to manage such a trifle." Her eyes sliced deeply into Denethor's soul as they fell upon him and he could not bear to meet her gaze, finding the grass an easier thing to study. "This morning it was brought to the attention of Lord Erestor that Bertran was spying upon the Lord of the Vale in his own grounds last night, intruding upon his most private moments. When Glorfindel confronted the Man to learn his motives for this crude and lascivious behaviour, the dismal creature denied anything of the sort. The witness against him, however, was unimpeachable; it was clear that the Man was there.
"Steward Echthelion was called forth and together with Lord Elrond the interrogation continued, but Bertran became sullen and refused to admit his wrong, hinting at greater crimes that others should answer for yet never revealing his meaning. While this went on, one of Lord Elrond's staff came forward, bringing evidence of a plot meant to unseat the ruling House of the Stewards, found whilst tidying Bertran's room. Based on that revelation, the valet broke down and confessed at last. He is being detained in one of the cellars, locked in a storage closet, until the rest of the conspirators can be arrested in Minas Tirith where they shall all be brought to trial. It would seem that Gondor owes much to the Lord of Imladris and this anonymous witness."
"Extraordinary!" breathed Gandalf, his brows all wrinkled up in wonderment and admiration for the Lady of Dol Amroth. He puffed out a large smoke ring that settled briefly around Denethor's neck before dissipating.
Denethor gawked at Finduilas, uncomprehending and still fearful of her transformation from frail and weeping maiden to this vision of beauty and strength. Such sons a woman like this would give him! What honour would be his with her at his side! Thinking on his ugly thoughts and words, Denethor was shamed and once more tore his sight away, for such as he should not look upon someone of such pure intent. Little did he merit a wife with such dignity and grace. With a hoarse cry he fell to his knees before her and took up the hem of her gown, kissing it, for he felt his hands unworthy to touch hers, his lips too sullied and dirty to press against those slender, white digits. He kept his face cast down as he drew in a choking breath, attempting to speak what was in his mind without success.
"Come," said Arwen quietly, addressing the others as she held out her hand to Aragorn. "Let us permit these two some privacy in which to express their hearts." Her kindly eyes had not missed the wave of sorrow that swept over her Lady-friend's features as she beheld Denethor's reaction. When Finduilas turned to meet her gaze Arwen poured forth sufficient sisterly support and comfort to bolster the Princess's strength anew. With that silent communication completed, Arwen laid her hand upon Aragorn's arm and together they followed the wizard back inside the house. Yet before the limit of her elven ears was exceeded, she heard Finduilas' words to her husband-to-be:
"Rise, Denethor, and bow no more to me for it is to Arwen you owe this obeisance. I was the witness to Bertran's rendezvous with you and at first it seemed a greater injury than my pride could bear. Then she came to me; I poured out my woe to the Evenstar and she returned great wisdom and the courage to do what is right.
"I will wed you and rule beside you, for what are the concerns of one woman's heart against the protection of all the people whom she loves in this world? Dol Amroth needs this alliance. We will not speak of this indiscreet episode, for I am not yet your wife and cannot demand fidelity to vows as yet unspoken. In future, I hope not to be confronted with your lovers."
"I swear to you; for me there will be no other lover, my Lady, none other than you," Denethor's raspy reply feebly drifted in the air.
"Do not invoke a promise to which you cannot hold," she rebuked him softly. "I am satisfied with my fate as long as you will abide by the terms I have set. Swear to that instead and we will understand one another at last."
"You have my solemn oath, Finduilas. Never shall you be made to face such unseemly behaviour from me again." Denethor's words were limned in tears for he had meant his initial pledge with every atom of his being: as long as she was beside him, he would have no other. As long as she breathed, Denethor would be great and good and noble, a faithful Steward like Mardil of old. Yet it was with both resentment and sorrow that he considered this, for he knew she would never believe him, never trust him, and never, ever love him.
Arwen sighed as a corner was turned and they passed through a heavy oak door, relieved to be at last out of range of the breaking of all Finduilas' hopes for a happy union, and Aragorn patted her arm in comfort.
"You know something of this unexpected outcome, I think," he prompted, smiling with all the love he held in his heart.
Arwen inclined her head gravely. "I do," she said and sighed again but offered no details.
Ahead of them Gandalf suddenly stopped and turned around to look her in the eye. "This mysterious witness to Bertran's purported peeping, or other unsavoury predilections, was that you dear Arwen?" He lifted a brow in challenge as if he doubted she would care to admit this were it the truth, but the Evenstar only laughed, pleased to have something so ridiculous to distract her gloomy thoughts.
"My, my, Gandalf, what a filthy mind you have! Do you really believe I would find the intimate activities of two Men to my taste? Even worse, do you imagine I wander Adaren's gardens in the night, hoping to catch him in the act with Legolas? For shame!"
"What? Oh, you impish elfling!" he blustered out, eyes tremendous in flustered denial, flushing a bright scarlet as the vulgarity of his suggestion hit home. "By chance, I meant, by chance!"
"Oh, of course you did!" Aragorn sang out in mock affront. "You have insulted the Lady Arwen; I believe it is my duty to defend her honour."
"By the stars!" huffed Mithrandir, striding away from the couple just as fast as he could so that his beard and long robes billowed like gale-tattered clouds around him. "Intolerable conduct, no respect for elders these days."
They were all headed to Elrond's office to report what had transpired, Aragorn and Arwen still chuckling over Mithrandir's embarrassment, when Arwen's step halted and she let a small gasp of dismay leave her lips as all merriment faded from her features. Neither the ears of her beloved mortal Man nor those of the revered Maia could detect what her sharper senses had discerned. From the interior of the house drifted the disjointed sound of an agitated voice raised in high distress, divulging a long lament in a language seldom heard in Rivendell. The voice belonged to Legolas, of course, and his excited diatribe fled from his heart in his native Nandorin, for he was too distraught to manage Sindarin. In a fraction of time he was done and silence reigned, for his flight from Lord Elrond's council room was rendered inaudible by the innate lightness of his sylvan nature.
"Arwen?" Aragorn gazed at her worried frown anxiously. His tone brought Gandalf to a halt immediately.
"I don't know what's happened, Estel, only that it isn't good. I heard Legolas speaking with greater volume than I have ever noted before, and the meaning of the words was indecipherable but not his misery."
"Let us make haste, then, for perhaps we can help," urged Mithrandir and resumed his progress with greater speed, the two lovers right behind him.
Their concern was not unwarranted, for while the uneasy truce between Denethor and Finduilas was taking place, a fracture split the newly patched wound in the bond between the Noldorin noble and his woodland archer.
TBC
Lim-dalu Aur: Flat-fish Morning
Mereth od Ened Ethuil: The Celebration of Mid-Spring
Naneth Nastaron: mother f-er
Pethron: narrator
Kwingarô nethrâ: Archer youthful - from a VERY ancient form of elvish
Ech Vrassen: White-hot Spear - lightning
elenille: little stars - sparks - from ancient elvish forms
Ernil o Gladgalan: Prince of Greenwood
Ceryn o Cabor: frog's balls
Minnon?: May I enter?
Lilta Nár: Fire Dance
Cundithen: Little Prince
Tawaro: spirit of the woods, dryad
Padathron Dalt: snail or slug - Slipping Walker
Tulus Iaur: Ancient Poplar
Pen Vrûn: Old One
GLOSSARY
NOTE: AI! I know I promised to get to the nitty-gritty in this chapter, and I did, but it's just way too long to post as a single chapter. So, I am breaking it up; the sections will post in succession rapidly over the next few days. This way you get a little breathing room to get used to the ideas being presented here. I realise that this is going to be controversial; people are VERY protective of the twins! Yet I love them, too, and I don't think I've made them really dark, certainly no worse than Elrond in this tale. At least there is a reason for what is happening, something beyond themselves that they do not control. Yes, they seem rather predatory here but it isn't as bad as it looks on the surface. Trust me, they will find their hearts again; a change is in the wind.
OH, Erestor had a little epiphany didn't he now? That's something I want to expand on in future, once all this intrigue is over with. At least the mortal's conflict has been resolved. I surprised myself, thinking I was going to make Finduilas noble in this tale, but I think she is rather naive here, and guilty of employing a double standard while at the same time exhibiting that 'hell hath no fury' cliche. Yet it is Denethor I pity. It's very sad; Denethor is already convinced he is unforgivable and unloveable. Was the death of Lady Finduilas the slipping of the keystone that supported his chracter? Perhaps, but I think it is equally likely that his resentment of her cold dismissal poisoned him over time. Other changes: the word list at the bottom was getting impossibly long, so from now on all the words will be housed in the Glossary and just the new ones will appear at the end of the chapters. Also, the BONUS chapter can now be accessed from the Chapters Button Bar.
© 09/24/2007 Ellen Robey