The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: Half Breed
Chapter: What constitutes a good reason?
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: Sex…self-touching…and a confession.
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…
Archived: Finally…:D www.scribeoz.com , adult-fanfiction.org , www.tongueincheekscribe.com
AN: //TEXT// - this is a flashback of sorts, not meant to be happening at the same time as the rest of the chapter…

Harnhub – Southern Harbor (my own creation, a city to the far south…)

Hunter and Rider – Two terrifying creatures that hunted the elves after the awakening at Cuiviénen…

~~~~~
Lay beside me
Under wicked sky
The black of day
Dark of night
We share this paralyze
The door cracks open
But there’s no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still
(Metallic, The Unforgiven II)
~~~~~

//Finally, Thranduil stood in his throne room, but only after much dragging and cursing from Galion. The enormous chamber filled with the warmth of fire after being frozen for so long now.

A pitiful number of shivering and pale elves stood before him, though their faces remained proud. He knew these elves, the Avari Hwenti of the Forodwaith, also known as the Dragon-people. Skin so white as to be transparent, eyes nearly clear glass, yet hair so dark and filled with a hint of red, some even bolder with completely dark red hair.

Galion stood to his left, and…no one stood to his right. His heir should have stood to the right, standing prepared to greet these intruders to their realm. Galion should have been replaced with his Queen, but she too did not exist.

Thranduil felt odd standing there, his knees suddenly growing weak. It took all his strength not to collapse again. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed the sick that threatened to come up. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back beneath the sheets of his son’s bed, and sleep forever.

He remembered meeting these same elves many years before, when his father was king.

Oropher had stood in the center before the throne, Thranduil’s mother to his left. Tall and proud, haughtily, Thranduil had stood to the right, the proper place for the heir, signifying the importance of his presence.

“Why have you left your wastelands…” He glared down at the figures below him.

“My Lord Thranduil, we seek your sanctuary.” The leader approached, an elleth. “I am Deluluth, and I have been chosen spokesperson for this small band of wanderers.”

“Sanctuary? Why? Have you grown tired of the ice?” He recognized her; she was quite old and had come to Eryn Lasgalen the first time as well, though not as a leader.

She did not rise to his bait. “We have broken away from our tribesmen and brethren, for they seek to play with powers beyond even elven magic.”

He arched an eyebrow, folding his arms and spreading his legs a bit, prepared for whatever she might say.

“Truly, explain.”

“We’ve had correspondence from the south. A plan to attack Valinor in retaliation for an ancient grudge.” Her voice was calm, but deeper than most ellyth. Dressed in snowy white furs and suede tied about her body with leather straps, her boots equally as white, she stood very tall although thicker limbed than normal elves. This was not surprising since the further north one traveled, the thicker bodied the people were. She still exhibited perfect gracefulness.

Her hair hung to her waist, unbound and deep black with the highlights of red in it, a sharp contrast to her clothing and skin. Her glassy eyes stared back at him boldly.

Thranduil took note that not one of the Hwenti present carried any arms, but he suspected that his guards had forced them to remove any and all weapons.

It took a moment for what she’d said to register in his clouded mind.

“Valinor? Someone dares to attack Valinor?” He could not hide his shock. “Even after Sauron was destroyed?”

“Aye my lord, and we do not agree. One ellon expressed his disagreement, and one of the supporters struck him down. Thus we left, my lord.” Thranduil looked to Galion for a hint of the elf’s emotions regarding what she’d just said. Nothing but a blank unemotional stare from the valet.

Thranduil stepped down from the throne’s platform so that he stood just a few feet before the elleth. “We will talk, and you will explain this. None can get to Valinor except through Cirdan and the Grey Havens. What is this madness of which you speak?” His eyes roved over the others behind her, taking in once more their bedraggled appearances. There was no threat in their stances, just exhaustion.

The elleth nodded in agreement, “I know this is confusing to most. But, some of our kindred have made ancient pacts with those more powerful and darker than us. Another way has been found, the proverbial back door to Valinor, and they seek death and destruction…”

Galion silently watched the king and elleth speak back and forth, his questions and her explanations. His mind raced, wondering who could have been so dark, so callous, and so desperate to make a pact with such an evil being.

He took note of Thranduil’s careful mask, hiding the past days of emotion and torment. Galion hid a smile, knowing that no matter what happened now, the king would not fall back again. These elves had come at the right time, giving the king a new purpose…//

-------

Morwë calmly took the world in stride, Nurwë on one side, and Carniwen kneeling submissively beside them.

His fingers itched at his side, fingering the hilt of his sword. It was time, and all he wanted to do was leave. Now. But things were complicated, and he’d lost his best, most skilled warrior.

A twinge of regret knocked at the back of his head for the death of Ranohtar, but at the forefront of his mind, Morwë knew that he could not have kept such a traitor alive.

He would take her with them; show her just how far the insanity went.

A ship was already waiting for them in the harbors of Harnhub, a ship with black sails and dark maiar. Truly, Cirdan would not allow him on one of the white ships, but Cirdan was not the only one with access to Valinor.

Pillows had been arranged inside the common tent, and Morwe, Nurwë, and several others sat cross-legged on the floor. The three Nurwë had brought with him sat next to him, and Ranohtar’s replacement sat smugly next to Morwë. It was no secret that this elf’s position in the group had raised much to his satisfaction since Ranohtar’s fall from grace…

Carniwen sat excluded from the group, hidden by shadows, all except her glassy eyes. Morwë caught her eye several times, smirking triumphantly for only her to see.

Already she knew more than Ranohtar had told her.

Morwë had bound his soul to Melkor, and Nurwë the same.

The others had yet to learn the information, and she wondered that if they had known, would it have made any kind of difference?

Also, this was not their first attempt at Valinor.

“Only the two of us will be sailing. If we return, the attempt was successful.”

Carniwen bowed her head in sorrow, now understanding what Morwë planned. ‘And with the aid of the Vala, could he be stopped?’

Her head jerked up, and for the first time since their bonding, she felt that strange sensation at the back of her mind. He was trying to enter her mind, to speak with her telepathically. How foreign it felt!

‘What do you want…’

‘To tell you that I have been successful before…and that I will succeed again.’

The others present, except for Nurwe, gaped in shock when she stood, revealing her presence to them for the first time. Calmly, she walked forward, staring straight into Morwë’s eyes.

Nurwë flinched with the cracking sound of her palm meeting his brother’s face. He recognized the cold hatred etched in her features, so familiar. But he was even more surprised when Morwë did not react adversely.

She had not grieved, had not allowed tears to fall for Ranohtar. Her anger toward Morwë also did not necessarily give away her distress for the death of her lover. All knew of her conflicting emotions for her husband. Even now in the face of all, she fought between wanting to feel his hands stroking her body and hating him for his obvious evil nature.

Only Nurwë knew of her actions with Ranohtar.

Dark eyes expressed no emotion, despite the reddening of his cheek. Morwë stared back at his wife, seemingly oblivious to the expectant expressions of his guests waiting for him to retaliate equally as violent.

But he’d never hit an elleth in anger. He had ordered the death of ellyth before, but never had he laid a hand on one in such base violence…especially not his own wife.

‘We shall speak later; you should know all, and maybe then you will understand exactly why I seek to finish what I started all those years ago.’

“Carniwen, return to our tent.”

Despite her previous action, she obliged and left the communal tent. Once outside, she paused, kicking at the sand in a private display of emotion. All of her pent up emotions threatened to burst forth.

‘You bastard, I want to know…’

‘GO! Now! I will be with you shortly…’

‘I should kill you...’

‘With what weapon…’

She could hear him mentally chuckling. Her dagger had been missing since the day he and Ranohtar had ridden into the dunes, and she could only guess what he’d done with it.

Not that she was strong enough to overpower him.

-----

A warm bath has healing powers beyond even the most mystical, and Thranduil sank beneath the foaming bubbly waters of his tub. His eyes closed, he could not help drifting between reverie and waking.

‘Selde, if only you stood by my side now. If only Legolas stood to my other, and Celegrod at my feet…’

The refugees had been settled into a section far from the main part of the cavern palace, comfortable but not anywhere near his most royal person. Galion had suggested caution.

The scent of sandalwood and rosemary cleared his mind.

The Hwenti elleth and her ragtag band’s claims were preposterous. Who in their right mind would go against Valinor?

‘Fëanor, his sons…the exiled Noldor.’

And where had such things gotten them?

‘Exile and death, destruction of an entire land now covered in water…’

Thranduil sighed, sinking lower into the waters. The top of the water now even with his bottom lip, and despite the soapy taste, the king blew ripples across the surface. His blonde hair matted against his head and glistened with the water.

For a moment he allowed his mind to wander…

//A knock echoed off the closed door.

‘My lord?’ A female voice was muffled by the heavy wood.

Startled, Thranduil splashed, awaking from his sleeping state.

‘Come in…’

The dark haired elleth slipped in, and he took note of her state of dress, or lack thereof. Arching a golden brow, he smirked as she crossed the floor and knelt beside the tub, her arms lazily resting on the side. Thranduil lifted a finger and touched one of her bouncing dark ringlets.

‘Selde…’

‘Hush my lord…you told me that if I ever desired your company, all I needed to do was knock…’

This was most unexpected. He’d given her that invitation…how long ago, and finally she’d answered. He had not expected her to actually take note or even be interested.

Sitting straighter in the tub, he raised his chest above the water and smiled inwardly at her apparent appreciation of his body. Her eyes darkened to almost black from their cerulean hue, and he covered her hand with his. The warmth and softness of her skin caused his palm to tingle with excitement.

Just as he’d thought, her nearness relaxed him, and for a moment he considered her to be his true soul-mate. Soul-mate…a drop of sadness dripped into his eyes, and Selde immediately noticed.

‘Thranduil…’

‘Hush…join me, please.’ His eyes pleaded with her, and she nodded, standing quickly. His whole world unraveled as she stood, her simple under-shift revealing all the contours and planes of her body, especially where it had gotten wet, and he practically pulled her in still fully dressed with him.

Her laughter rang out loud and boisterous against the stone. Once again he was reminded why he’d sought her among all the others for his companion.

Water splashed out onto the floor, creating a slippery mess of suds, her body displacing a large amount of liquid, that and coupled with the force of his attempt to drag her in with him.

The laughter and play that followed mimicked that of virginal lovers, a refreshing change for both ancient elves. Both forgot all that marred their memories with unpleasantries and found peace in each other’s arms…

Lips found lips, and fingers found soft and rounded contours, and hands found the veins and ridges of muscle…//

Thranduil woke with a start…unaware of where he was; it took him a moment to register the feel of pulsing veins tightly clenched in his fist. The shock he felt caused him to blush. He’d not touched himself in such a manner in…in too many years to count, having opted to take care of such need in a more impersonal manner by dipping his pulsing appendage into…damn, he felt so guilty.

Lifting himself from the water, he shivered when the air hit his heated and wet skin. Stumbling, affected greatly by the heaviness in his heart and between his legs, Thranduil fumbled for the wine bottle always available for his majesty. Wrenching the cork out from the top, he threw his head back and greedily drank the sweet liquid, heather and lavender swirled in the bouquet.

He drank till Selde became a faint memory once again at the back of his mind, or at least he tried. Instead she continued to knock, becoming a pounding headache, and he opened another bottle. If need be, he would call for another from the kitchens…and then the cellars if those bottles did not prove to be enough. Soon enough, he hoped, her knocking would become the pounding of an alcohol induced stupor.

But he knew better than that; Selde would be waiting for him when he recovered, always reminding him of his stupidity. What he’d given up because he could not reconcile between his betraying wife and the lover that completed his soul? He knew. He’d given up any hope he had of rest and peace of mind.

//’Ada, where has Selde gone…’//

Those innocent words of a child still haunted him, and what had he answered his son with?

//’she has gone home, Tithen Lasse…’//

And the elfling had cried, cried harder than Thranduil had anticipated or had thought possible.

And still he had not rejected Malterin, just turned further within himself, building walls between him and all those around him. All except one…

“My lord.”

Galion.

“Come in…”

Relief flooded Thranduil, and he did not move despite his nakedness and the bottle firmly gripped in his hand, and his apparent arousal.

Galion, if it affected him in anyway, did not alter his stoic countenance.

“The Hwenti elleth Deluluth wishes to speak with you…”

----

She had not gone to the tent, a direct disobedience on her part. Instead, Carniwen had dared to wander out into the dunes. Being alone could be dangerous in the desert, but she did not care. Let him come after her if he so desired or wished to speak with her that badly.

She opened her mind to him, declaring her disobedience openly to him…and she felt his calm anger coming back to her. He took the form of a wolf in her mind, a wolf running over sands, through forests…ancient forests from another time and place. It was not her he chased.

But it was her he caught.

Carniwen choked on the mouthful of sand she ate when he pounced her, pressing her into the dunes painfully hard.

“Get off me.” She spit gritty saliva out onto the ground in front of her as he moved his body off hers but still gripping her bicep. They both sat up on the ground.

“I told you to go to the tent, but you did not. Then you openly invited me to chase you out here. Alone.”

She reconsidered the wisdom of her decision. Was she actively seeking Ranohtar’s fate?

His cold eyes did not make her shiver, and she returned the glare.

“You wanted to speak with me privately; where better than out here, far from prying eyes and ears?”

Warmth seeped into his expression and he leered at her. Morwë loosened his grip on her bicep, running his fingers and hand up to her shoulder, pulling down her neckline a bit to expose pale flesh.

“Yes, I did…”

She jerked away, growling her displeasure. “Tell me about Valinor and your pact with Melkor.”

The desire did not leave his eyes. “Why don’t you let me show you? You could experience all from my point-of-view as it actually happened…let us put this marital bond to its proper use…”

Carniwen snorted.

“You scoff.”

“Oh, my lord, I would never do such a thing…” That is as far as she got before his lips pressed against hers.

“I made a pact with Melkor long before I left the Far East. Before I even reached my majority…” His hands were under her tunic before he finished his thought.

Carniwen stiffened under his assault, but he seemed to either not notice or care.

“Nurwë, too. He may be younger than me, but not by much, and we made the contract out of desperation.”

A hot wet tongue slid up her neck to her ear, twirling along her pointed shell.

“In exchange for my unfailing loyalty…”

Teeth bit none too gently, and she cried out.

“…To his dark forces…”

His thumbs found her nipples, and he pushed her back.

“…We received the ability to exact our revenge…”

She was beginning to break down and a moan escaped her lips.

“…On those who left us to the cruelty of a world without light…”

Her eyes turned to him.

“Morwë, who would leave younglings behind?” She was truly surprised, and did not know to what he referred.

His eyes hardened, while his hand found the edge of her leggings.

“…Those who are now lauded as kings…”

The names of the high kings soundlessly left her lips, and he nodded.

“You have been waiting this long to seek your vengeance?”

Her laces were undone before she noticed, and his fingers found their way to her core.

Ranohtar had made it sound so terrible what Morwë sought, but she felt the touch of doubt.

“You know of the Hunter and Rider of lore?”

She nodded, and he paused.

“They were real, and I felt their claws...”

He pulled her pants down over hips, and then removed his own ties, freeing his hard erection. Rearing back, he poised him self at her entrance, waiting for something.

Carniwen saw something akin to sadness flit over his eyes.

“Do you really blame me now for the violence I could not help but learn? Violence so ingrained that to fight it would be to cut off my air supply?”

She couldn’t answer. While part of her understood his pain, another part nagged at her, telling her that there was more…could she so easily explain away and forgive millennia and ages of his violence?

He entered her, and coherent thought left them both.

----

Nurwë, turned voyeur for the moment, watched and listened from a distance. He’d heard the confession from his brother’s own mouth. Goosebumps raised on his skin at the memory.

Sharp claws from a creature so peacefully appearing jumped at his back, and Nurwë turned around. Sweat broke on his brow, and his heart pounded. After a few moments, he was able to breath again.

Realizing that nothing but his own imagination had attacked him, Nurwë berated himself for his foolishness.

But his mind could not escape the memories of the creature, and it took all his strength to keep the visions of his youth at bay. And he lost out.

//At first, everything seemed so calm; the forest peaceful. He’d been told to stay away from the trees, to stay near the waters and the city. But he was curious.

Birds sang out happily, squirrels chattered. How could evil reside in such a place?//

But evil had resided in that forest, and he’d experienced it first hand.

//”Hello child.”

The creature was beautiful, godlike. It shimmered like the stars.

A slender pale hand extended itself, and Nurwë had been entranced, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this one of the Valar or Maiar the elders spoke of? He knew that three of the elders had left with such a creature, but had yet to return…

As his hand touch the creature’s hand, everything changed…//

Nurwë dry-heaved into the sands, recalling in vivid detail the cold scales and talons that had replaced the beautiful creature, a trick, a ploy drawing the young elfling to its clutches. He clutched his stomach and fell to his knees…

//Nurwë screamed, pierced the air with his cries. Those eyes would haunt him forever, those glowing eyes of hell…

He found his legs, found his will to survive, to escape. In a flurry of limbs and dark hair, the elfling recoiled, racing for his life from the darkness of the forest to the darkness of the meadows between him and his home.

He did not think, did not hope that he would make it. He could feel the creature like a wind after him, those razor claws inches from his back; he thought he could feel them tearing at his clothing. Would it kill him here or carrying him away?

He broke from the forest, and it was like passing through a barrier. He tripped and rolled across the short grasses, sure that the creature would be upon him momentarily.

After what seemed an eternity, Nurwë looked up from where he cowered. Voices came from behind him, from the city. They were shouting his name…they were looking for him.

He jerked his head back toward the forest’s edge and saw glowing red eyes peering at him from behind the inky black. Watching as if to say, ‘I dare you…come back, little one. Come back to me; I want to taste your blood...’

That was when Nurwë felt his father’s hand and his brother’s embrace. Words of relief spread over him like a blanket…//

How old had he been during this first encounter, for surely it had not been his last…

The anger Nurwë had repressed for so many years suddenly welled up inside him, and he knew exactly what his brother desired. He’d been somewhat hesitant when Morwë had explained his desires to him in Harad, but now all that was gone.

Not that he’d forgotten his pact, just as damning as his brother’s. No, his conscience had never let him forget, and he had felt almost relieved when he’d heard that Sauron had been banished at the end of the War of the Ring.

Still on his knees, Nurwë gulped for air, trying to will away the taste of his own sick in his mouth. Coherency was returning, and once again he could feel the cool wind of the desert air instead of the warmth of the dark forest.