Feud

Crouched close to the trunk, the Tawarwaith hunkered down in miserable discontent as an icy blast of wind got inside his meagre defence against the cold. Wearing little more than tattered leggings and the hide of a buck complete with head and antlers which rested atop his scalp, he cursed the weather, demanding of Yavanna the reason for such a distinction between seasons. The strange costume was useful as much for camouflage as for warmth, for the rich chestnut colour of the deer's coat helped him blend in against the leafless branches where his pale skin and golden hair were easy to spot.

He needed superior vigilance during winter for the Orcs knew their advantage and pressed hard, hunting him relentlessly. Every stream and pool of clean water was watched; each place where game might be had guarded. Yet for all they viewed him as one, Legolas was not an animal and, in any case, every wild thing had sense enough to plan and provision for the long cold months. He was not less wise than the voiceless creatures of Greenwood. It was while en route to one of these hidden caches that he found his way blocked and by the most unexpected gathering.

The place where his provisions were stored was in one of the ancient rings of oaks, formerly a sacred site and still a safe haven amid the expanding pockets of turned trees dotting the central region of the forest. At the far end of the circle and just behind its largest member stood an immense hollowed oak, its innards carved out by an animal or some blight of evil perhaps, the gaping hole patched over by Legolas using bark and branches gleaned from deceased hardwoods. The carefully concealed opening permitted him to hide the foodstuffs he had worked so hard to collect during summer. Now he had need of the supplies and thus had come to his secluded refuge only to find the clearing filling with dire wolves.

They loped in from the opposite side of the glade, arriving in pairs or threes almost at the same time he reached the perimeter. Frustrated and hungry, he was about to fire an arrow to scare them off when the beasts formed a circle within the space and sat down nearly in unison. Lifting their lupine muzzles skyward the wolves began baying at the moon, their song both mournful and majestic, the tones rising and falling in that eery and mysterious cadence specific to the breed. They seemed to be calling for something or someone, the reverberating chant replete with longing anticipation, or perhaps it was a kind of enchantment, a ritual of magic to mark the first full moon of winter.

Legolas was mesmerised, listening to their voices, learning their song, and just when its meaning began to reach his awareness the first of the transformations occurred. Before his very eyes, two of the wolves changed shape, becoming human in form, male and female, and to one another they turned in both joy and sorrow. Naked under the light of Ithil, they embraced and kissed, speaking now the silent language of love, and coupled there amid the moonlight.

The others changed also yet not all had mates and those lacking partners took upon themselves the duties of the pack, gathering wood and lighting a ring of fires just inside the bounding trees to provide light and warmth. The red and orange flames danced and crackled, lending the writhing bodies atop the snow their colour, and Legolas, knowing he should not be watching, could not tear his eyes away. They were beautiful to see and their passion ignited a hunger of an entirely different nature in his loins. So long had he been alone and he found that he envied them, for though they must wait for this reunion of flesh until the summit of Tilion's monthly journey, yet it was far better than the encounters he endured among his people in the same interval.

"A deer up a tree, now here is a sight to recount to the young pups next summer."

Legolas startled and turned to locate the source of the voice, finding a pair of amused amber eyes regarding him from the base of the oak, their owner a tall, sinewy male sporting shoulder length black and silver hair and nothing else. He was well formed and knew it, standing with his arms crossed over his chest beneath which dark hair peeked, legs planted wide, a proud erection rising between muscular thighs that were equally hairy. Legolas swallowed, not entirely in lustful anticipation, for this was not an elf and he was not so sure what kind of manners these creatures possessed. If this gaur (Wolf-man) tried to force him he would have no choice but to kill it, and that would be a great shame.

"Standing there with mouth agape serves none, wild elf; come down and join us," coaxed the werewolf, his eyes freely wandering over Legolas lean figure beneath the deer-skin cloak. "And do cast off that ridiculous outfit. Does not fool anyone, save Orcs perhaps."

"That is who it is supposed to fool," retorted Legolas. "Why should I come down, gaur? I have no wish to become the main course in your wolvish feast."

The gaur laughed. "A feast of flesh you are, indeed, but not for satisfying the belly. There are other hungers to feed as I suspect you may be aware. Come down; join me."

"Nay, you come up here," Legolas challenged, believing that old yarn regarding dogs being unable to climb trees and feeling quite safe. It was with shock he perceived the triumphant gleam in the gaur's eyes as the beast easily clambered up the trunk. Instinctively, Legolas reached for his dagger and held it out, edging away as the werewolf settled beside him on the branch. "Stay back!" he warned.

"I am unarmed," reminded the wolf-man, extending his hands wide to emphasise the point. "You did invite me, wild elf, and I intend you no harm, though you have hunted my kind on more than one occasion."

"I have not done so with purpose," objected Legolas, horrified to think the wolves he had once tracked and trapped were gaurwaith (were-wolves) instead. Hastily he stowed the knife back in its proper place. "I did not know."

"That is why we assign no blame to you. It was our choice to remain hidden and but for your discovery this night we would have remained so."

"Why? I do not understand you; are you seeking death?"

"Better death on the hunt than the yolk of evil to which the Wraiths would bind us as wargs. There is honour in the hunt. What of you? Are you not seeking death out here alone in these wastes of evil trees and Nazgûl?"

"I am here to undo a great wrong," Legolas said, looking away. He sighed heavily and rose to his feet. "Better that I leave you folk to your time of reunion. My presence here is likely to draw only trouble."

"So noble, so heroic, so self-sacrificing," the gaur intoned and chuckled darkly. "We can take care of ourselves, wild elf. Go if you must, but if you do be honest about it; admit your fear of me."

"I do not fear you," Legolas denied, angry over the mockery and rather unsettled as the creature's eyes again took his measure from crown to feet, even as his own gaze ran the length of the werewolf, pausing at the groin. The gaur rose and he retreated until his back met the bark.

"Perhaps I misspoke. It is not me, as an individual, that you fear. It is what you feel, seeing me, being this close to me, that causes you so much distress. Why is that?" He reached out and gently caressed the wild elf's cheek, smiling as Legolas at first tried to duck the contact and then leaned into it. He bent low to nuzzle against the elf's throat, just there where the jugular was so rapidly pulsing, and dabbed his tongue over the vital vein, inhaling his quarry's fear and arousal. It excited him and he pressed closer, hot erection meeting the coarse hide of the wild elf's leggings.

"There is no need for such dread over what would surely be pleasurable to us both, hmmmm?" he whispered, one hand groping the hardness beneath the elf's simple garment. With the other the gaur dislodged the deer head hood. As it fell back, its weight dragged the rest of the cover away and revealed the smooth, naked chest with its twin points of ruby flesh. The werewolf touched them, pressing against the hard nipples, grinning when this raised a low moan. "What is your name, wild elf?"

"Legolas. What is yours, gaur?" He spoke with difficulty, finding he needed to concentrate on breathing rather than speaking, and cautiously settled his hand around the thick column of rigid flesh so insistently poking his hip.

"Ah! Your touch is like fire!" the werewolf gasped, pivoting into the grip around his shaft and pulling Legolas close to taste his lips. With a triumphant growl he sampled the mouth that opened for him. "I am Celebanc." (Silver Tooth) He retreated only so far as needed to clearly view the elf's blue eyes, so conflicted and yet so eager. Celebanc sighed. "I would not harm you, Legolas. My mate is lost to me, as is yours."

"You know?" Legolas' mind had difficulty encompassing the idea for Celebanc's hand was now inside his leggings, gliding over his penis, cupping his balls. "Nay, I cannot," he groaned and spread his legs wider even as he said this.

"Why? Because of that oath you were made to swear? Look at me. I am not elf-kind; your Law says nothing of my kind and thus nothing is forbidden. Get these deplorable pants off, Legolas." Celebanc was smiling as he nibbled his way up the long pale throat, lapped at the small earlobe, and then, unable to rein in his curiosity, nipped at the scarlet tip protruding from the golden hair. The response was unexpected but entirely gratifying as Legolas cried out aloud and his whole body was shaken, the spasm ending as the slender cock twitched, straining against his hold.

"I do fear this," Legolas admitted, "though I want it and your need excites me. Proud and honourable you may be, but I have no wish to join your kind."

At this the gaur threw back his head and laughed long and loud, the sound taking on more of the wolf's gruff bark than he might wish. "Ai! It does not work like that," he declaimed once he reined in his hilarity. "Not with the First-born in any case. We can turn a mortal, a human, but not an elf. Be at peace, what we would share will not change you."

With that his hand slid down to cup Legolas' jaw, lifting his mouth to claim it, no longer soft in the contact but dominant and insistent. He did not spend long at it, just time enough to establish mastery and then retreat. Now his hands loosened the knotted leather tie securing the leggings and quickly tugged them down. Through all this he kept his eye locked with the immortal's, smiling reassurance and welcoming the elegant fingers that reached out to stroke the hair on his chest.

"Like it?" he asked, the words a low growl of contentment as the digits continued exploring, testing the response of his nipples.

"I have never felt anything similar," whispered Legolas, for the hair was soft and silky. He was pleased to find the dark red flesh nestled within it as responsive as his and ducked his head to lick the nipples, finding the sensation of the short strands against his tongue strange but not offensive.

Celebanc did the same to him, opening the clasps securing the quiver and easing it off, deftly setting the weapon in the crook of a tree limb, laughing and lightly passing his hands down Legolas' spine to settle on the elf''s tight round arse. "Verily are you naked but for the hair on your head and this small thatch of curls." He fingered the mass of golden pubic hair as he spoke and moved on to grip the hard penis again, pumping vigourously. "The wind must be a torment to you."

"The wind has not your skill," panted Legolas, imitating Celebanc's stimulation, eagerly fisting the rigid cock between the gaur's legs. "Valar, you are hard! Has it been long?"

"Aye." The werewolf thrust into his hold forcefully and the motion nearly sent them both toppling backwards into space. Legolas' quick snatch of a jutting limb prevented it and Celebanc found himself crushed tight against the sylvan body. "By Yavanna, how do you folk manage this in the trees? No wonder there are so few elflings."

Legolas laughed, rubbing sinuously against the hairy chest. "I imagine it is done the same way as any other people do."

"Well, I know nothing about the culture of the Wood Elves, but I know what we both need. Turn about and let me take you." Celebanc did not wait for Legolas' reply, taking him at the arms and helping him move, the sensation as his cock dragged against bare buttocks too much to endure without action. Quickly he gripped the slender hips and positioned himself, boring in with a harsh grunt as he breached the taut ring of muscles.

Legolas gasped as the familiar jolt of pain was overprinted by a bright flare of exquisite delight as Celebanc claimed him, the loud slap as their bodies collided exhilarating. He pressed back as the organ retreated, hanging on to the branch bearing his weight, awaiting the return thrust impatiently, calling out as soon as the long cock once more stroked his inner core. "So good," he moaned. "Harder, Celebanc."

The werewolf did not respond verbally, increasing his pace and the pressure of every invasive shove, fucking the wild elf with a frantic, frenzied urgency. It did not take him long to near his peak and as his loins gathered for the climax he reached beneath Legolas and grabbed at his cock, pumping it in time to his motion. Celebanc came with a victorious roar, seed spurting hot and thick deep inside his conquest. He continued to rock against the resilient body as he stroked Legolas to completion, relishing the long cry of ecstasy the wild elf emitted.

He let go and pulled out suddenly, his weight vanishing from Legolas' frame, and the Tawarwaith blinked in confusion, gasping for breath, one hand locked around the tree branch and the other around his cock. It was not yet dawn, moonlight streaming down upon the clearing beneath the oak and Legolas found his eyes focused on the intelligent gaze of a great silver wolf. Maw gaping in a toothy grin, tongue lolling, the beast regarded him with what could only be amusement. Legolas groaned in misery and dropped his forehead to his supporting arm, realising he was alone in the tree. It had only been a dream. Carefully he sat back, finding his position draped over the branch rather unstable, nose wrinkling in disgust at the scent of his semen and the sticky mess coating his fingers. He shook them and wiped the excess against his leggings, which gaped wide.

Silently berating himself for succumbing to so bizarre a fantasy, he tied the leggings shut again and shivered, searching the tree for the deerskin cover, glad he still had his weapons securely about his person. The antlered buck hide was no where to be found and he cursed, realising it must have fallen to the ground, and then startled when the wolf gave forth a long, mournful cry. Legolas leaned cautiously out and peered down at the inspiration for his erotic dream, relieved to find the leering grin gone, replaced by a serious, almost speculative expression.

"What do you want, draug (wolf) ?" he asked.

The animal gave no answer, standing and trotting into the centre of the clearing where it sat again and lifted its muzzle to Ithil. Again the silence was shattered with its lonely call, but this time another voice answered. The rapid barks of the pack calling back to its leader grew ever closer until ten or twelve more wolves loped into the clearing. Legolas held his breath, wondering if his dream was about to prove true, but the beasts were agitated and just as swiftly departed, entering the woods as another sound caught his notice. Right on the wolves tails came the distorted snarling and gnashing of wargs, their mutated cousins, and it was clear a hunt was in progress. The opposing forces clashed and a horrible battle of tearing teeth commenced, the howls and barks and yaps of pain terrible to hear.

All at once, the creatures tumbled in a roiling mass back into the glade, the leaders of the enemy packs locked in vicious combat, biting and ripping at one another, each trying to get at the other's throat as the remainder of the animals circled around them. The warg was bowled over by a fierce pounce and the silver wolf's fang's sank into the foul neck, sawing down to the jugular. A high yelp and a bright spurt of red announced victory but not before the warg's claws managed to rip open the wolf's belly. In minutes both expired and the rest of the beasts set to howling.

Overwhelmed with fury he had no need to define, Legolas rose and began firing on the wargs. One and all he killed them, following after those that fled, and when he was done found tears upon his cheek. He made his way back to the glade and there the wolves remained gathered about their fallen leader, all of them baying a lament into the night. They fell silent as Legolas neared and as one fixed him with their bright canine eyes. He sensed no danger from them and dropped to the ground, joining them beside the silver male. He knelt and gently caressed the thick fur, sighing. Somehow he felt responsible, as though he should have sensed the presence of the wargs and alerted the wolves. His dream had prevented this and attracted the curiosity of the pack leader.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, running his hand over the noble head, settling the tongue back inside, closing the blood stained jaws.

"You did not kill him," spoke a voice at his ear and Legolas cried out, leaping to his feet, arrow nocked instinctively, but the wolves disregarded his threatening stance, merely staring at him patiently.

"Did you…you can speak," he stuttered, addressing the closest, another male with clear blue eyes and a coat of black and grey. Realisation dawned and he hastily put away his weapons, reddening in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I was surprised."

A throaty, growling laugh came from the wolf's grinning jaws. "That is evident, but there is nothing to forgive. We would ask a favour of you, wild elf."

"Speak; if it is within my power it shall be done," Legolas replied, understanding that in some strange way the dream and reality had meshed. He must have spoken with Celebanc before surrendering to exhaustion, lapsing into deep reverie and its typically mortifying result.

"It is not right for him to rot, providing fodder for scavengers. We would see him buried," the wolf said. "He was our leader; he was my father."

"I grieve for your loss." Legolas bowed, hand over his heart, distressed to hear this and eager to do what he could to ease such a burden. "I will make him a fitting grave." He moved to find a branch to aid in the digging but the wolf called him back using a word seldom applied to the sylvan elves any more.

"Wait, Tawarwaith, there is more to say. We are not droeg, as you have already guessed, but gaurwaith. We were Men before we were changed and I would have my father restored to his human shape ere he goes beneath the ground."

"I know not how I can answer your plea," said Legolas, troubled. "I am no wizard."

"A wizard could do not better than you," replied the werewolf. "It is easily done; take his skin."

"What?" Legolas was horrified and stepped back, glancing at the ring of canine faces in dismay. "I would not wish to dishonour Celebanc by mutilating him; the warg has done enough!"

"You know his name?" Now it was the gaur's turn to be amazed. "Then it is even more fitting and he chose you for the task, for we do not give our names easily. You must remove the skin and he will revert to his true form again. Please, if you honour him, do as I say."

Legolas relented and watched in grim fascination as the denuded creature changed into the comely man he had seen in his dream. Dolorous and mystified by his strange connection to Celebanc, he wrapped the body in his deer hide cloak, murmuring what prayers he knew for peace of the spirit. As he dug the grave there in the middle of the glade, he sang a song of mourning and loss and all the wolves joined him, using an eery mix of Sindarin and wolvish to make their dirge. When the funeral was complete and Celebanc's remains covered over, they all stood in silence around the mound for a time. Then the werewolves departed, trotting away in twos and threes, until only the black and silver male remained.

"You will keep the skin and remember Celebanc. You will remember us and hunt us no more," he said and turned to go.

"I will hunt you no more," Legolas answered, "neither shall the woodsmen or any of my people. Your enemies are mine and my friends shall become yours."

"Well said, Tawarwaith," the gaur paused to peer over his shoulder, grinning again, "though our enemies are many and your friends so few." Then he loped away, calling for the pack, and their voices answered their new leader.