Hîr o Meril Thaifn [Lord of Rose Pillars]

Part Twelve: The Hart Hunter Loses His Heart

The Year 2953 of the Third Age, deep
in the Woodland Realm:

There was only a stale, dead stillness in the thick, dank air. No
sounds of life invaded the heavy dusky haze beneath the canopy. The
trees were the only things functioning and even these seemed to be
decaying where they stood, rotting from the inside out leaving only the
twisted, black-marred bolls and limbs either drooping in agonised
defeat or upraised in desperation, reaching for any aid beyond the
enveloping darkness poisoning the very soil, water, and light. It was
hard to believe this place was part of the same world that held such
treasures as Imladris, Mithlond, and Lothlorien.

The silence was overwhelming and served to make every sense come alive
with anxious dread. Eyes darted in every direction, making a continuous
sweep of the shadowed terrain; ears strained for something other than
their own footfalls, anything besides the eerie scraping and groaning
of
the desiccated branches rubbing against one another over their heads;
swords were drawn and muscles tensed for combat at any instant. Elladan
and Elrohir trod as quietly as Elves can yet still regretted the subtle
shifty crumbling and resettling of the thick duff each step initiated.
There was no mistaking the sense of being trespassers; the forest was
not pleased with their intrusion. Surely the vile trees would alert the
residents of Dol Guldur of the interlopers; an ambush would be sprung
at any moment.

I am ready, why do they hesitate? Let them come and we will
teach them not to bar the way of the Peredhil.

Aye. I feel as though a thousand eyes track our progress and a host
lies in wait behind these ghastly trees. What this place requires is a
good Dwarven axe or two to cull the evil-hearted hardwoods.

No wonder it is called Mirkwood. More accurate to name it after its
counterpart in Beleriand: Taur-Nu-Fuin. I have not seen anything green
since leaving the valley of the Anduin.

I have heard from Haldir that the woodland folk do so call it. What
kind of Elves can abide the weight of so much hatred and enmity? I
wonder if we have more to fear from them than the orcs?

Nay, surely it is not so bad as that. Moriquendi they are but still
elf-kind. The silvan folk have never fallen to kinslaying.

An expert on the breed, are you?

The twin Lords of Imladris ceased their internal conversation, each
startled to have heard the brisk rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker
somewhere amid the dense tree cover. They waited expectantly and the
tattoo repeated; the sound reaching them from a fair distance away due
east of their position. They shared a look that contained both their
assessment and agreement to investigate and strode forward toward the
noise, increasing their pace and tightening their grips upon their
swords. Even as they walked another series of taps and clicks
resounded. Elladan and Elrohir broke into a run, certain the
percussions were not examples of common-place avian activity but
signals shared between cunning silvan warriors. Where there were
warriors there would be battle and the pair were determined to take
part.

Yet though their speed was not insignificant, nothing beyond their own
breathing and the faint compression of the earth beneath their boots
could they detect. Another glance passed between them illustrative of
confusion and foreboding yet they ran on. Abruptly, a new set of
rapid-fire rhythmic rapping reached their ears, this time much nearer.
Instantly they slowed to a stealthy trot. At last another noise made
them grin in grim glee; a sharp grunt of anguish followed by a
ponderous thud as a body fell to the ground. The combatants had
commenced fighting.

Yet it was not any sort of warring they were accustomed to, for there
was no clashing of swords, no shouting and clamouring, no calling of
orders, no battle cries, nothing denoted the conflict was engaged save
the continued shouts of the dying, the heavy concussion of lifeless
flesh striking the earth, nevermore to rise. Again they reduced speed
and cautiously crept forward as the crashing of fleeing bodies breaking
through bracken arose, accompanied by panicked wheezing and whimpering.
An orc materialised before them and skidded sharply to a stop, mouth
agape and eyes bulging in terror. It turned, intending not to try its
luck against their blades but to escape, and the next instant jerked
violently and slumped to the ground with a stifled, gurgling yelp. An
arrow fletched in bright gold protruded from the back of its neck. The
body convulsed a few seconds until a second arrow sank deep into the
base of the skull and ended the creature's suffering.

And then the silence returned.

More oppressive than before, the forest seemed burdened by the recent
violence.

As if the energy expended to destroy seeks to infiltrate the
fibre and grain of the wood. Elrohir shuddered as this
thought passed from him to his brother. His sight moved from the dead
orc up into the branches. Nothing but the confusing and dizzying
labyrinth of interlocking twigs and stems greeted his inspection. The
archer who had dispatched the demon did not reveal himself.

Or herself, for it is said that in Mirkwood ellith fight as
often as ellyn. Elladan added his internal comment.

The brothers resumed their advance, stepping around the fallen orc, and
in little more than a handful of strides came upon the main theatre of
the battle. The ground was carpeted with the corpses of a battalion of
orcish soldiers, heavily armoured and bearing shields.  Some had
been archers, their quivers still filled with black-feathered bolts.
Most were sword fighters, their crude weapons still clutched in their
gnarled paws, unmarked by stain of blood. The attempt at defence had
availed them naught, for the talent of the elven archers was such that
even the smallest vulnerability in plate and mail had been discovered
and penetrated.

I still feel eyes upon us, yet cannot focus on the place where
this presence resides. I am glad these forest folk are not as you
feared, muindor (brother), else we would be as these hapless foes by
now. Elladan was impressed with the silvans' expertise but could
not help the uneasy
crawling sensation slithering up his spine.

Indeed. Cunning and exceptional skill give them the
advantage in this domain. I can envision now why so many silvans
perished at Dagorlad. They must have little knowledge of such organised
warfare on open ground.

Why do they not come forth? Are we meant to make the initial greeting?

I know as little of their ways as do you. We have not been very
thorough in planning how this scheme might be accomplished. I am not so
sure our intervention will be tolerated.

Shall we abandon our cause so soon? What of our honour, still blemished
by their King's unjust remarks? Would you have that notion of our
neglect stand?

Nay, I did not mean to imply that. I have no wish for such a low
evaluation of our House to persist among these primitives. I only
caution that we need to be wary of the outcome. An arrow can be
embedded deeply without bringing death. I dislike the concept of being
at the Wood
Elves' mercy.

There was no reason to remain at the scene of carnage and so the
brothers walked on. They followed a trail visible only to Elven eyes
but other than this had no further indication of habitation by anything
except the blighted trees. They lost track of the time that passed, too
conscious of the unrelenting scrutiny to care.

Gradually, the
environment changed and the character of the forest slowly transformed.
From a depressing monochrome in shades of grey the scenery began
showing hints of colour and wholesome life. After a time, brilliant
columns of radiance pierced the gloom where clean, warm, afternoon
sunlight streamed
through breeches in the canopy. The familiar cacophony of competing
bird calls dispelled the weighty quietude and the occasional rustle of
wild game moving away from their advance met their hearing. The forest
seemed to be thinning and even as the brothers shared this unspoken
observation a calm voice called out to them.

"Mae govannen, Hîr o Imladris. Galu-en-Tawar am le." (Well met,
Lords of Imladris. The blessings of the Great Wood upon you.)

Elladan and Elrohir stared. The owner of the voice was not an Elf at
all. They found their sights trained upon a young human archer,
obviously one of the woodsmen that dwelled in Mirkwood's core despite
its dangerous reputation. He leaned casually upon a bow nearly as tall
in stature as he and was dressed in the same shaded ochre and absinthe
displayed by the foliage around him. Had he not spoken the twins would
have walked past him without ever noting his presence, so bent was
their perception upon the unseen watcher shadowing their trek. The Man
was smiling with honest enjoyment at having caught two of the
First-born by surprise.

"Mae govannen, adan uin eryn," (Well met, woodsman.) Elladan gave a
polite nod and acknowledged the mortal's jesting grin with a rueful
one. "You find us at a disadvantage, for we had expected the folk of
Thranduil to greet us."

"I am of King Thranduil's realm," the man's brows uplifted in surprise
for them not to realise this. "My people and the Wood Elves have been
allies since long before my grandmother's grandmother was born. Berkley
is my name."

"Verily, Berkeley, you are as canny and clandestine as any silvan," Elrohir smiled.
"Yet you are not the one who has been watching us as we strolled along
this pathway. Are we not to meet our woodland kin?"

"Aye, you shall indeed!" Berkley laughed heartily at their dismay but
failed to reveal the identity of their stalker.
"Come, for night falls swiftly over the forest and we are near my
village. There you may await the dawn for it is not safe to travel
afoot during the darkness of Ithil's hours."

Nothing else could they do without giving offence and thus Elladan and
Elrohir found themselves in the colony of the human hunters. It was not
what they expected, though in truth they had seldom given thought as to
the design of such a settlement. Had they ever done so, the high
fortifications would not have surprised them. As it was, they were
admitted inside no less than three successive barriers of defence, each
more stalwart than the next, each manned by archers and protected by
scouts and wardens. The walls were formed of the mighty trunks of
felled trees and topped with spikes of iron. A walk permitted the
archers to span the entire length of the bulwark and the soldiers stood
ready for whatever might attempt invading their territory. All stared
in open curiosity as the foreign Elves passed by their posts.

Finally they reached the heart of the colony and Elladan and Elrohir
were greeted with much deference and distinction by the elder of the
folk, a woman of advanced age, white-haired with keen blue eyes that
delved theirs boldly. She informed them that the captain of the Elves
assigned to their region had alerted her people of the Imladrians'
imminent arrival, begging the woodsmen's hospitality until the morrow.
Then, the honoured visitors would be met by this captain and escorted
to the King's stronghold to the north.

It was a long night for the Elven Lords.

They were treated with great courtesy, fed a filling meal of venison
stew and flat bread, and plied with a very potent liquor that tasted of
anise and looked like the Bruinen after a heavy rain: occluded and
ominous. They were asked countless questions about the world west of
the Misty Mountains and cajoled into telling tales of their many
adventures, especially during the Battle of Fornost.

That these
isolated people even knew of this struggle surprised the twins, for it
had happened so many lives of men gone by. Even more surprising, the
brothers learned the tale had been told to the woodsmen by Radagast and
the story had become something of a legend. Perhaps the account gave
them hope of routing the dark power that marred their lands. All of
this Elladan and Elrohir accepted with the grace and cheer normal for
their station and rank; indeed, everything about the quaint village and
its simple people was delightful to them.

The evening wore on and the
mortals retired for sleep, except for the watches manning the palisade
and the patrol forming up. That was when trouble started.

Elladan and Elrohir prepared to leave with the patrol, a heavily armed
group of fighters with both swords and bows ready for battle. As soon
as their plan was understood, the elder had to be called, for the men
refused to allow the Elves to join them. She was frightened and
apologetic but also adamant and unwavering in her refusal to over-rule
her warriors' decision. When pressed, she admitted this was the order
of the silvan captain: that the Imladrian Elves were not to be included
in the war party.

The twin lords withdrew their demands and said
nothing more, perceiving that they had placed the humble Elder in an
awkward situation: should they disregard the mandate she and her
village would stand in disfavour of their silvan allies for failing to
carry out this order. The sons of Elrond had no idea what form the
consequences of such action might take. They withdrew apart and watched
as the warriors filed out of the village.

Externally they remained aloof and calm yet internally they were
outraged. There was no doubt in their minds that this insult was due to
the King's lack of respect for them and their battle skills. By the
time the first signs of dawn arrived, heralded by a crowing cock and a
faint lessening of the dreary darkness, the brothers were ready to
challenge the King to a duel in order to prove him wrong and force him
to take back his derogatory words.

They watched as the men returned,
weary and bearing two wounded. The woodsmen were filthy and stank, a
sour odour unlike anything the twins had smelled before. Trained by
their father in the healing arts, they offered their aid to the
injured. The men were gracious but stated their comrades had been
treated and would recover fully. Now Elladan would not hold his tongue,
for to be spurned twice was too much.

"A field dressing, however well applied, is no substitute for a
thorough examination and treatment to prevent infection. Do you doubt
that we are capable of providing such care to humans? I assure you, the
finest healers in all of Arda are trained in Imladris by my father and
both my brother and I have tended Men, Elves and even Dwarves on
occasion."

The poor warrior, Berkley, the same who had met them upon the path,
bowed low and gazed from one to the other's angry eyes in dread. "I
meant no offence, my Lords. I did not know the plague of our woods had
found its way beyond the mountains. The Wood Elves supply us with the
anti-venom for such cases, but if you have a more potent one we will
gladly administer it."

"Anti-venom?" queried Elrohir. He met his brother's gaze as realisation
overtook them both simultaneously. The men had not been fighting orcs
but the giant spiders infesting the central portion of the forest. The
younger twin let a shallow sigh escape his lungs, for clearly they were
the ones in error. Of such injuries we know little. I believe
it is for you to admit so, muindor.

Elladan was fully prepared to do just that, for he was never one to
hide from his mistakes, but before he could speak another voice joined
the discussion.

"Aye, a cure for the poisonous bite of a spider. Do you in fact have
such a thing?" the coolly pronounced words were laced with sarcastic
contempt and issued from a tall Wood Elf who had seemingly appeared
from thin air so noiseless was his approach.

Elladan faced him and gave the warrior an appraising stare before he
answered, dipping his head as he did. "Nay, I do not." He turned to
Berkley and bowed from the waist. "Your pardon, for I misspoke,
believing the injuries taken were from blade or bolt."

"Oh, no apologies to him are required; be at peace," the Elven warrior
waved
away
Elladan's polite words and Berkley's presence with one sweep of his
hand through the air, not bothering to temper his smug smile. "Suilad,
Elladan and Elrohir, Lords of Imladris. Welcome to Taur-nu-Fuin. I am
Inarthan, Mainonnen (First-born and Heir) of Thranduil.
Forgive the rugged conditions of the initial night of your stay, but
this is the peak of our hunting season. We must destroy as many of the
foul arachnids as possible before they mate and lay eggs. I could not
spare any of my warriors for your escort to the stronghold."

Inarthan looked down on Elladan, for he was at least a hand's span
greater in stature than the twins, his smirky smile intact, leaning
upon an ornate and impressively powerful war-bow much as Berkley had
done the day before. The Prince of the Forest did not possess the
physique of an archer, however, but that of a spear-bearer or
lancer: solid and imposing with long well-muscled legs that looked as
though he might be able to out-run a horse. His countenance was fair in
the manner of all Elven folk with vibrant green eyes, a fine, straight
nose, and a strong chin beneath full lips. He reminded the twins of the
Teleri people they had met in Mithlond for Inarthan's Sindarin heritage
was evident.

Hair the colour of flax fell in one long, thick braid down
his back while two smaller plaits at each temple managed any shorted
hairs that might get in the way of vision or the bow-string. Dressed in
the same hue as the woodsmen, the cut of his garments was more refined
and the fabric a fine silk embroidered richly at the neckline and hems.
These were somewhat besmeared with evidence of the night's fighting and
the same foetid stench clung to the elegant prince.

"No pardon is required," countered Elladan stiffly, "for the woodsmen's
hospitality is of the very finest. Seldom are we so royally treated
when amid the Rangers in the northern reaches of Eriador."

"Ah, that is well, then. We shall remain here for a bit to recover and
wash this vile pollution from our persons before returning to the
stronghold. It was a most successful campaign and I think we can safely
consider the next generation of spiders to be significantly reduced
this time. The King will be pleased and the Elder has ordered a
celebratory feast this eve. If you will excuse me?" And without waiting
for any answer the mighty prince turned on his heal and strode out
through the open gates of the barricade.

Well.

Indeed.

The twins watched him depart with a strong sense of resentment for his
haughty attitude and their prejudices were reinforced by this brief
encounter, more determined than ever to bring the House of the Sindarin
ruler down to a more realistic level. A soft cough garnered their
attention and in unison they turned to see Berkley still hovering near,
a rather sheepish look haunting his kindly, open visage.

"I beg pardon, my Lords. Inarthan can be a little…"

"Boorish? Conceited? Supercilious?" quipped Elrohir, grinning
devilishly.

"Snobbish? Pretentious? Overbearing?" added Elladan with the identical
expression transforming his features.

"Aye, and do not forget condescending, domineering and just plain
rude," the man laughed, grateful the twins seemed to understand his
Liege quite well and held no grudge against the villagers for it.

"I hope the younger son of Thranduil is not as vain," Elladan and his
brother shared a look that was nearly predatory in its intensity but
kept this hidden from their host.

"Oh, nay, Legolas is nothing at all like Inarthan. If you meet the
young Lord, you will never even know he is of the same House, for he
lives as one of the regular silvan warriors and nothing in his manner
will give him away. You are more likely to find Legolas mucking out the
stables or perfecting his archery than observing affairs of state in
his father's court," Berkley smiled.

"There is a daughter as well," he elaborated.
"Laerross (Summer Rain) is a gracious Lady with all the nobility of her
elder brother and none of Inarthan's conceit. She serves as our Queen
since her mother's death and her compassion prevents Inarthan from
abandoning the woodsmen, for the King is beset by his grief and comes
forth from his mountain no more."

"Yet you said the alliance betwixt your people and the Sindarin King
has stood for many generations of human-kind. Why does Inarthan seek to
end such an allegiance?" asked Elrohir.

"It is not that he wishes to discontinue the treaty between our people,
but to honour it in a different way," explained Berkley. "The Shadow
deepens and Inarthan wishes to concentrate his efforts on deposing the
power in the Dark Tower. He feels too much of his time and resources
are devoted to protecting our scattered colonies to achieve that end.
He will tell you plainly that if not for this constant patrolling he
would rid our forest of the pestilence once and for all.

"Many of our
folk agree with him, yet we are not numerous enough to hold off the
orcs should the Elves cease to hunt them in favour of assaulting Dol
Guldur. Laerross speaks against his plans every time Inarthan seeks to
sway the King, and Thranduil heeds her counsel even as he did his
wife's. I have heard that it was always Rhûn'waew's (East Wind)
desire to safeguard the mortals in her lands."

The twins assimilated this knowledge gratefully, finding Berkley's
forthcoming nature quite a benefit to their plans. Elladan said, "That
is news both good and ill, for while it is just for the King to keep
faith with the ancient covenant, it was not known among our realm that
Rhûn'waew had perished."

"I am not surprised. King Thranduil feels this is a private matter and
tries to master his sorrow alone. It has been only twenty-five years,
less than my own age. Now, as there is to be a feast I would ask your
company on a hunt. We would have a boar and a buck to roast, Yavanna
willing," replied Berkley.

"That would be most agreeable. I find myself in the mood to kill
something," said Elrohir. His brother gave a short bark of laughter to
indicate his concurrence and the trio left through the same gate the
prince had used just moments ago.

Once beyond the outer perimeter of the settlement, it did not take long
to locate signs of both quarries. Berkley and Elrohir elected to pursue
the boar, a more aggressive beast inclined to turn and fight than to
flee, while Elladan promised to bring back the buck. The hunters parted
ways.

Elladan tracked his prey far into the deep cover of
the wild woods, mindful of his surroundings and alert for any
indication of danger. With the morning fully advanced, he knew there
was little risk of running into orcs for the beasts could not abide the
brighter light. The buck seemed to be making a circuit of his territory
and Elladan found several marker trees where the deer had left his
spoor.

Then a surprising sound reached his ears and he halted to listen
more carefully. Just on the furthest limit of his hearing, he detected
the strains of a fair Elven voice lifted in song. Intrigued, the
Imladrian Lord followed this gentle melody and found to his amazement
that the deer seemed to be drawn in the same direction. The closer he
got the more beautiful the singing became and Elladan found himself
wishing to discover this silvan crooner more than he desired to catch
his prey. As it turned out, he achieved both goals.

Slowing to ensure his steps were not audible, he crept forward where
the sound of the voice mingled with the pleasant accompaniment of
softly tumbling water. Quite abruptly the trees parted at the bank of a
small brook and he spied the creator of the musical vocalisation. A
silvan youth stood naked within the water, bent over upon the
lowly task of washing clothing, and sang to alleviate the boredom of
the chore. Elladan was awe-struck, spellbound by both the beauty of the
graceful form and the lilting quality of the silvan tongue. This was
the first Wood Elf he had ever seen and he found the sight most
pleasing, his lips uplifting in delight as he scrutinised the nude form
before him.

The silvan was male, lean and lithe and small, compact and perfectly
proportioned. His back was to the elder twin as he worked upon the
laundering. Slender shoulders tapered to a narrow waist above slim hips
and a
firm rear. The legs attached there were very long and gave the
impression of speed and agility. Elladan's eye followed these limbs
until they disappeared beneath the water at mid-calf, and then traipsed
back up, lingered on the graceful curve of the buttocks, and
finally travelled back to the rippling shoulder muscles aiding the
scrubbing work of the arms. Above the clavicles, an elegant neck
supported a head crowned with hair the colour of the first rays of the
sun at dawn, bound up in a solitary plait that trailed in the water it
was so lengthy.

Elladan leaned against the tree beside him and simply absorbed the
enchantment of this wood sprite's Song of voice and flesh. A motion on
the opposite bank caught his eye and he nearly laughed aloud to
find the buck caught in the same spell, gazing intently and without
fear upon the young Elf.

The deer gave his regal, antlered head a toss and a soft wuffling
breath issued from its nostrils. Keen black eyes flickered to Elladan
but returned to studying the Wood Elf. The buck set his forelegs into
the brook and waded out to greet the silvan singer. The song stopped as
the youth laughed and stood straight. He used the soaked garment in his
hands to send a showery wave of liquid over the deer, who playfully
lowered his antlers but clearly had no intention of charging.

"What are you about, Hîr Aras?" (Lord Deer) said the youth to the
hart. "Am I intruding upon your domain? Is my Song sufficient as
tribute for my trespass?"

"Nay. Surely this is your domain and your subject but comes to confirm
his fealty," Elladan answered from his spot behind the woodland fey.
The result was as he desired, for the youth wheeled about in surprise
and granted a full frontal view of his body. Hungrily Elladan's eyes
documented firm pectorals and small rosy nipples, tightened by the cool
environment of the stream, a taut, flat abdomen, and a lovely set of
genitals nestled in wet, honey-coloured pubic curls. Elladan
guessed the ellon could not be much beyond majority for there was about
his carriage and his shape a callow uncertainty that spoke of adult
form but newly achieved.

The silvan's features, once Elladan permitted his examination to reach
them, made him catch his breath. Seldom did the First-born have cause
to complain of their looks, but equally rare was such perfection. Fine
boned with high cheeks and a firm chin, the face that greeted him held
wide-set blue eyes the exact colour of a cloudless spring sky, opened
wide in disbelief and clouded with embarrassment, that quickly dropped
as a bright flush of scarlet stained the flawless skin.

"Ai Valar! How you startled me, Hîr! Forgive my nakedness; I had
no idea anyone would be coming here this morn," he babbled as he
splashed over to the bank in haste to grab up the shirt he had left
there. He was having trouble getting it to co-operate with his design
of covering himself, for he was dripping wet and the fabric was light
and fine. It clung stubbornly about his shoulders as he struggled in
vain to draw it down.

All this frantic motion served to make Elladan's smile grow even
broader as the activity transformed the graceful form into an
erotically inviting display of jiggling penis and testicles. A muffled
oath as the youth tried to unbind the fabric where it was bunched up
under his arms forced a laugh from the Imladrian's throat and halted
the frenetic endeavour.

"Sîdh! There is no need for such commotion on my behalf. Your
natural state is no offence to me, pen neth. On the contrary, never
have I beheld more pleasing a vision. Here, let me aid you. Tell me,
are all the silvan folk so enjoyable to look upon?" Without further ado
Elladan strode to the youth, who froze in shock much like the buck
still standing in the water, deftly whisked the garment back over the
Elf's head and shook it out carefully. "Well, you have made it all wet
now. I shall hang it yonder upon a branch to dry." He did this as he
spoke and smiled when the naked silvan shut his gaping mouth and
swallowed nervously, hands settling low over his belly to cover himself
while hoping not to be obvious in doing so.

"Shy? I am surprised over such modesty. Who has taught you to guard
such grace and beauty, preventing the rest of the world from admiring
the handiwork of Eru and praising Him for such a gift? Here, if it will
make you feel less awkward, I will mimic your estate." Thus saying,
Elladan sat down and pulled off his boots, rose again, and calmly
stripped down.

He made no effort to cover his semi-erect penis and
chuckled to find the youth staring slack-jawed once more, gaze
travelling up and down and back up slowly, very slowly. Elladan
approached him and the silvan backed up, re-entering the stream with a
subtle splash. Elladan went right in after him and finally the Elf
halted, staring at him from huge round eyes in wary anticipation.

Their presence in the water broke the deer from its stupor; the hart
leaped upon the bank and quickly vanished into the brush.

Elladan gave a mental shrug; he could trace the deer's path easily
enough once he was better acquainted with the wood sprite. He reached
out and gently fitted his fingers beneath the chin, shutting the ruby
lips once more. The touch made the Wood Elf jump and indeed the contact
was equally electric for him. He felt the tremor of excitement run
through the lithe body ere he dropped his hand and his eyes as well,
noting with satisfaction the beginnings of a fine erection filling the
slender cock between the silvan's thighs.

Almost at once he felt an
intense surge of instinctive guardianship race through him as his heart
rate accelerated; it was plain this youth was untouched. Elladan's
spirit swelled with both desire to possess and protect the ellon; he
would open this one's heart before he claimed the virgin body for his
own.   

Now it was the Peredhel's turn to be jolted by shock. Never had he
experienced this sort of reaction for anyone but Elrohir. His brother
and he were bound heart and soul and flesh; each completed the other in
a way no one else could. Or so I thought until this
moment.

Lust and desire and craving to know the delights of
another's body, these sensations they shared and many Elves had they
bedded, together, to satisfy this end. None of these lovers were more
than temporary dalliances. What was pounding through Elladan's veins
right this moment was nothing at all like those casual affairs. He
wanted this elf for his own, apart from his wanting of Elrohir, and he
wanted him all to himself.

"What is your name?" he asked quietly, stepping back a pace to indicate
there was nothing to fear from his blatant desire, the tone of his
voice soothing and calming.

"Cuthenin," answered the fair youth and smiled, less nervous now for he
could see in the stranger's eyes that nothing would be asked of him
that he was not ready to give. He let the tension leave him and
permitted the thrilling tingle of excited arousal to replace it. If
this Elf was not ashamed to show his body's honest reaction then he
would not be either.

"Mae govannen. I am…"

"I know who you are. One of the famous Lords of Imladris, great
warriors both. Is…is your brother here as well?" As this thought broke
through his previous haze of surprise and awakening desire, Cuthenin
became nervous again, glancing all around and even up into the branches
to look for where his companion's double might be watching, concealed
amid the trees.

"Nay, he is far away. Elrohir is hunting for a boar with Berkley in the
woods."

"Then you are Elladan."

"I am. Well now, this is a tiresome task you were set upon before I
interrupted you." Elladan frowned at the heap of dirty clothing still
to be washed and the sodden mass of tunics and leggings and underwear
soaking in the shallows. "If you will agree to help me complete my
assigned duty for the day, I will aid you in yours." He reached down,
quite aware he was presenting a very tempting view of his backside, and
took up the cake of soap and one of the tunics.

"Oh! Nay, Hiren! (my Lord) That would not be right. You are a guest
among my
people and a renowned Lord of the Golodhrim." (Deep Elves - Noldor)
Cuthenin snatched the
garment away and made a grab for the soap, but Elladan playfully
hoisted it out of reach and splashed away, laughing.

"If I am as great a Lord as you say, then I may do as I please. Today
it pleases me to wash laundry." He dodged as the silvan came after him
and plunged his free hand into the water, sending up a bright curtain
of water droplets between them.

Cuthenin laughed and made another try for the soap only to find his
wrist caught in the powerful grip of the beguiling Lord from Imladris.
He gasped and instinctively pulled back, not knowing that was what
Elladan had intended, and succeeded in jerking the virile form flush
against his body.

The heat between them stole his breath and the potent
fullness pressed into his belly was a sensation both unfamiliar and
thoroughly exciting. He found his vision locked upon the parted
carmine lips so near to his and unconsciously licked his own as he
wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by this Elf. He did not
have to ponder it long, for no sooner had he raised his eyes to
Elladan's mesmerising grey orbs than the Elf Lord bent and carefully
caressed his mouth, a warm, wet tongue cautiously probing
between his teeth to briefly taste him before retreating.

It was over too soon
and Cuthenin was left with a dreamy smile as Elladan stepped away again
and took up a set of leggings from the pile. The silvan watched him
work for a minute. "I see that you are determined to have your way," he
said and
tentatively approached. "What, then, is this duty you must fulfil?"

Elladan looked up and smiled, stopping long enough to break the cake of
soap in twain and hand Cuthenin one half. They both resumed their
scrubbing as he answered. "I am to bring in a buck for the feast. That
is how I found you; your friend led me here. I shall not be able to
kill him now, for he has done me such a great service. Thus, you must
help me track down another, one I will have no qualms about felling."

"Agreed," said Cuthenin and bestowed the full brilliance of his open
smile upon his companion. If he noticed that Elladan ceased all
activity, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of this expression, he gave
no indication that anything was amiss. He resumed his cheerful song and
set to work with renewed fervour.

Present Time, in the gazebo of Meril Thaifn:

"And that is how I met Legolas," said Elladan, his voice subdued and
filled with
something almost like awe. Erestor and Elrohir's eyes were fixed upon
him in rapt attentiveness, enthralled by the tale as if they had been
there to see these events unfold, though even for the younger twin this
was the story's first hearing. "At the time, however, I had no idea
that Cuthenin and Legolas Thranduilion were one and the same."

TBC