Vacation
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,039
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
3,039
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Part 13
Part 13…
Erestor choked. On what he wasn’t sure, and couldn’t care less as he wheezed helplessly, staring through watery eyes in disbelief at Glorfindel s prone form. He waved Elrond off, declining any assistance as he gasped and attempted to swallow, rubbing at his throat and clearing it twice. Darting a look at Almaravarion he felt his hackles rise at the cheeky grin that was being directed at him.
Snapping his head back to stare at the two figures in the pit Erestor straightened his spine until his posture was perfectly, some how managing to stiffen even more as he sensed movement from Almaravarion.
Keeping his eyes trained on the two warriors Erestor tried to ignore the blonde as he sauntered, by the gods he didn’t even have to see him move to know he sauntered, over.
“You do realize, Lord Councilor, that Poldórion was restraining himself when he knocked your champion on his ass?”
Erestor heard Elrond start choking. Ah good, at least he wasn’t the only one then.
“He is much stronger than one would be inclined to expect.”
Lórien sent a lopsided smile at Elrond in answer. “I know of no one stronger.”
“Do not tell me you have been training him to defeat Glorfindel?” Erestors tone was sarcastic, but there was a hint of true suspicion beneath it, and perhaps a small amount of concern as well.
“HA!” The bark of laughter was quickly stifled into silent giggles and the small shoulders shook with the force of his amusement. “No, no, nothing so sinister. He’s just… well that strong. I mean look at him.”
All three on the pavilion were already doing just that, watching as the epitome of elven grace, speed and strength came together in battle. Swords swung and met, metal clashed, muscles strained and sweat beaded lightly down brows furrowed in concentration. For all appearances it was an even match, but to the trained eye, one that was used to watching partners spar, critiquing skill and form, another story was being told.
Blow for blow was met and held, but there was an exactness to the movements. Poldó was was holding back, judging his opponent. Staying on the defensive he did not attack in turn, instead testing and weighing the strength of each blow struck before giving back equal measure.
“Why..?”
“He is afraid of causing him an injury.”
Silence met the softly uttered words, for what could be said in response to the obvious?
TBC…
Erestor choked. On what he wasn’t sure, and couldn’t care less as he wheezed helplessly, staring through watery eyes in disbelief at Glorfindel s prone form. He waved Elrond off, declining any assistance as he gasped and attempted to swallow, rubbing at his throat and clearing it twice. Darting a look at Almaravarion he felt his hackles rise at the cheeky grin that was being directed at him.
Snapping his head back to stare at the two figures in the pit Erestor straightened his spine until his posture was perfectly, some how managing to stiffen even more as he sensed movement from Almaravarion.
Keeping his eyes trained on the two warriors Erestor tried to ignore the blonde as he sauntered, by the gods he didn’t even have to see him move to know he sauntered, over.
“You do realize, Lord Councilor, that Poldórion was restraining himself when he knocked your champion on his ass?”
Erestor heard Elrond start choking. Ah good, at least he wasn’t the only one then.
“He is much stronger than one would be inclined to expect.”
Lórien sent a lopsided smile at Elrond in answer. “I know of no one stronger.”
“Do not tell me you have been training him to defeat Glorfindel?” Erestors tone was sarcastic, but there was a hint of true suspicion beneath it, and perhaps a small amount of concern as well.
“HA!” The bark of laughter was quickly stifled into silent giggles and the small shoulders shook with the force of his amusement. “No, no, nothing so sinister. He’s just… well that strong. I mean look at him.”
All three on the pavilion were already doing just that, watching as the epitome of elven grace, speed and strength came together in battle. Swords swung and met, metal clashed, muscles strained and sweat beaded lightly down brows furrowed in concentration. For all appearances it was an even match, but to the trained eye, one that was used to watching partners spar, critiquing skill and form, another story was being told.
Blow for blow was met and held, but there was an exactness to the movements. Poldó was was holding back, judging his opponent. Staying on the defensive he did not attack in turn, instead testing and weighing the strength of each blow struck before giving back equal measure.
“Why..?”
“He is afraid of causing him an injury.”
Silence met the softly uttered words, for what could be said in response to the obvious?
TBC…