Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond

Chapter XVI: Assignation

“Minas Tirith is burning.”



Legolas glanced at Aragorn as the Ranger moved away from the ship’s bow to confer with the twins and Halbarad. He had not missed the grim anxiety in the man’s voice. He could well understand his concern. Though they were still many leagues distant from the Guarded City they could see the red glow of fire to the North. It did not help at all that there was scarcely any wind and they were moving much too slowly up the Great River despite the supreme efforts of the oarsmen.



He peered into the dark on either side and made out the other ships and their struggling oars dipping into and rising out of the chill waters. He turned his head and looked about the deck behind him, noting the worried expressions of virtually every man. Even Gimli could not summon his usual blustery optimism. That was not surprising. The Dwarf was likely thinking along the same lines as the others.



All knew how the Grey Company had braved the dreaded Paths of the Dead, driven the enemy before them all the way to Pelargir and there, with the aid of their spectral army, captured the main fleet of Umbar. Heartened, the men of Lebennin, the Ethir and Lamedon had rallied to them. Aragorn had commandeered the ships of the corsairs and the black fleet now passed down Anduin as swiftly as it could to reach the landings at the Harlond, the river-port of the City of the Kings. But they were going against the river’s flow and only a good, strong wind could possibly lend them more speed. Would all their efforts be in vain? Would they reach Minas Tirith too late?



Yet Legolas could not feel so hopeless. He reminded himself that the Rohirrim must even now be converging on the besieged city. Surely the valiant horse-lords would stave off defeat until Aragorn could come to their aid. And then there was Mithrandir. Legolas knew in his heart that the wizard must be in the thick of things and he held to his staunch conviction that when Gandalf was about, evil was still held at bay.



He glanced over his shoulder, seeking Elrohir amongst the many who crowded the deck. But the younger twin had left the immediate vicinity. He was probably roaming the ship with Elladan, giving succor to all who needed to stouten their hearts and strengthen their will. No matter. The archer stood secure in the knowledge of his beloved’s presence. It was the third and most important reason for his confidence and hope.



His hope was justified when at midnight the wind began to pick up. Soon a brisk sea breeze wafted up Anduin and there was a hurried hoisting of sails. The ships now passed down the river rapidly and there was a collective sigh of relief and a shiver of anticipation.



Legolas looked to his side when one of the brethren joined him. He could not quite hide his disappointment when he saw it was Elladan. The older twin smiled at his chagrin.



“Aye, ‘tis my brother you would welcome far more warmly,” he remarked as he stood beside the Elf-prince. “I warrant some things I said still ring harshly in your ears.”



Legolas hesitated then shrugged. “You spoke the truth,” he said with admirable honesty. “Though your timing left much to be desired,” he added wryly.



Elladan snorted in some amusement. “In light of my brother’s happiness and your part in its making, I suppose an apology is in order.” He regarded Legolas solemnly. “And I admit it was hardly fair to have chided you when you were about to embark on so perilous a journey. For that I must beg your pardon.”



Legolas nodded in acknowledgement. “But?” he pressed.



The Elf-warrior chuckled briefly. “I regret my timing as you put it,” he said. “But not what I said. Not any of it.” He looked at Legolas with some asperity. “There are kinder ways to turn away a suitor, ernil daur.”—forest prince. “*Your* manner left much to be desired.”



That elicited a faint if rueful smile from the archer. “Then I had best school myself if I do not wish to have an over-protective older brother snapping at my very heels,” he quipped.



Elladan now grinned at him and he grinned back. “I would lay that quarrel to rest, gwador”—sworn brother—he said, offering a conciliatory hand to the twin.



“Gwanur would be closer to the mark, don’t you think?” Elladan countered, taking the proffered hand. At Legolas’ sudden blush, he pointed out: “I do not believe Elrohir will be content to simply remain your lover. In which case we will be kin and you will be as a brother to me.”



The blush deepened. An unusual sight with the usually unflappable Wood-elf. But a smile of pleasure curved his mouth just the same. “If that should be his desire, I will not gainsay it,” he said.



Elladan now laughed with merriment. “You’ve learned your lesson well!” he commented. He looked to where Aragorn stood with Halbarad and turned to join them. But before he moved off, he said to Legolas: “We shall reach Minas Tirith soon after daybreak and that will be upon us before long. I suggest you make good use of the time ere we must go into battle.” At the archer’s questioning expression, he smiled kindly and added: “Elrohir is below deck. The last cabin to the right.”



With that, he strode away leaving Legolas to gape after him in surprise. The prince took a deep breath and fought the impulse to dash off. It would not do to attract undue attention. The men of Gondor were more learned as a rule than the Rohirrim but much lore had been lost with the passage of the centuries and estrangement from their kindred in the north. They could be as unaccepting of strange traditions as the horse-lords. And so he did his best to walk as nonchalantly as possible to the door leading below deck.



But once he reached the lower level, he cast caution to the wind and raced down the narrow corridor toward the aforementioned cabin. Without pausing for breath, he opened the door and slipped in.



Elrohir stood by the sole berth in the small chamber, clad in little more than his tight long breeches. He had unbound his hair and it now flowed in a satiny stream down his back. He turned his pewter gaze on the patently rapt archer.



“Melethen,” he huskily murmured. My love. He reached out an inviting hand.



Legolas did not need a second beckoning but, hastily bolting the door behind him, hurried to the Elf-knight, tearing at the clasps of his tunic and ties of his shirt as he did. Flinging the garments uncaringly to one side, he all but knocked Elrohir down onto the bunk, peppering the warrior with hungry kisses even as they landed on the thin mattress. They swiftly wrestled off the remainder of their clothing in between the fervent unions of their mouths until nothing but skin separated them.



Legolas looked down at Elrohir in lustful appreciation. “I would have you, my Elf-knight,” he whispered pantingly.



Elrohir gazed up at him with shining eyes. “Then do,” he softly said.



The archer bent to stake his claim on the warrior. “Mine,” he growled just before their lips met.



They had more privacy now than they’d known in the Hornburg but not much more time. And so their coupling was not carried out in leisurely fashion but with all the ferocity and haste of lovers on the possible brink of tragedy and loss. No one could predict what the war’s ending would wreak upon Middle-earth. Or foresee the final tally of its survivors and casualties.



Starved for Elrohir despite their rabid tryst back in Rohan, it was all Legolas could do to keep from ravaging his Elf-knight. Holding on to his threadbare control, he kissed and bit and caressingly mauled virtually every inch of the warrior’s skin within his reach until Elrohir pleaded with him to finish his exquisite torment. The archer glanced up from the delicious exercise of running his tongue along the twin’s shaft and met Elrohir’s near delirious gaze. A roguish twinkle lit his blue eyes.



“Nay, melethron”—lover—he cooed. “This is much too luscious a prize to forego so soon.” And with that saucy rejoinder, clapped his lips around said prize and proceeded to draw upon it with lusty fervor.



Astonished by his golden prince’s audacity, Elrohir could not summon the wherewithal to protest but only strove to stifle his too vociferous expressions of approval and pleasure. They were in the innermost cabin of the ship but sound could still carry through the wooden walls and ceilings. Biting his lip to quell himself, he could only bury his hands in the prince’s fair locks and do as Legolas desired. Which was to thrust up into the archer’s greedy mouth. One thing he could not do and that was to stave off the end for long. Not when Legolas suckled him with such heart-stopping enthusiasm.



He spilled himself fulsomely, crying out sobbingly as Legolas practically drank him down. He lay quite still for a while, attempting to catch his breath after so voracious a milking, astounded by the intensity of his body’s response to the prince’s pleasuring. Rarely had he been reduced to such helpless rapture in all his long years. In his earliest forays soon after his majority, that had not been surprising given the unruly blossoming of his maturing body. But this had been most unexpected. Legolas had always been precocious in bed but it seemed the archer had grown even bolder since his months with the Fellowship.



He opened his eyes when he felt Legolas partly lie atop him, the archer’s arms on either side of him, hands sliding over his to grasp them. A telltale hardness pressed against his groin. Their gazes met. Without a word, he spread himself for his prince.



Legolas sank deep into him with a blissful groan. For several moments, they stayed thus, gazing at each other in mute and mutual adoration. Finally, the archer drew a shuddery breath of delight and dipped his head to capture the younger twin in a blistering kiss. A thrust of his hips and then another and he felt Elrohir arch with pleasure beneath him. Hearing the twin’s rapturous moan Legolas forgot all restraint and drove fiercely into his Elf-knight’s yielding heat.



For the next several heartbeats, the world outside faded into nonexistence. All that mattered was the wondrous symphony of their loving – hands tightly clasped, mouths locked in ravenous desire, hips bucking passionately. As they neared their peaks, Legolas lowered his left hand still joined with Elrohir’s right to reach between them and clutch the Elf-knight’s shaft in a shared grip. Elrohir gasped against the archer’s lips, as pleased with his Greenleaf’s continued brashness as he was amazed.



With a few firm tugs on the almost painfully turgid flesh, Legolas set off a sequence of sensations that inexorably led to their joint undoing. It began with Elrohir first, the pressure in his groin pulsing in indescribable waves of purest pleasure. With a ragged cry he let go and liquid heat dappled their taut bellies an instant later. Legolas moaned in near unbearable rapture when Elrohir’s powerful muscles repeatedly clenched around his delving length. And then he drove one last time into the Elf-knight, shuddering as he spent himself deep within his lover’s silken core, hoarsely calling out his name.



In the languorous aftermath of their joining, they lay entwined, listening to each other’s slowly calming hearts, waiting for their breaths to deepen. After a spell, Legolas lifted his tousled head and tenderly kissed Elrohir’s jaw.



The Elf-knight softly chuckled. “Are you trying to kill me?” he queried mildly, one raven eyebrow rising in question.



Legolas smirked and kissed him again. “Was that not to your liking?” he countered with a smugness that belied the intent of his inquiry.



Elrohir regarded him affectionately and returned the kiss. “Very much in fact,” he smiled. “You are grown ever more brazen, seron vell.”— beloved. “But then you spent much time in Lórien and the Galadhrim are not known for conventional play.”



The archer sniffed at the idea. “I touched none in Lórien,” he said with mock disdain. “I take full credit or blame for my actions.” Seeing Elrohir’s surprise, his eyes softened and he brushed his lips tenderly against the warrior’s mouth. “Two couplings in three months are paltry recompense for four decades of abstinence, Elrohir,” he whispered. “Valar, but I missed this so. I missed you.”



Elrohir stared at him. “You abstained?” he murmured. “I had thought—”



“That ‘twas only you who could abide no other in your bed?” Legolas shook his head. He dropped a kiss on Elrohir’s shoulder then sighed regretfully. “But I know now that you have wholly been mine since my birth. Would that I had desisted from lying with others and remained yours alone.”



But Elrohir smiled and shook his head. “And how would you have known that ‘twas only I who contented you?” he gently pointed out. “I have never begrudged you your explorations, beloved. ‘Twas my share of experiences ere your birth that told me I wanted no other but you. ‘Twas only right for you to know what you truly desired as well.”



His misgivings eased, Legolas beamed gratefully at him. It was then that they noted the growing light in the cabin. Dawn was rapidly encroaching however feeble its glow. The archer grimaced and held even more tightly to his lover. He did not welcome this day’s advent. At least not so soon for it heralded the end of their stolen hours together.



He was about to speak when he tensed and turned his countenance toward the small window, a slight frown creasing his brow.



“Listen,” he said in a hushed voice. “Do your hear them?”



They were passing down a narrow portion of the river and the faint sound of gulls came to them from the near shore. Legolas shivered and burrowed into Elrohir’s arms.



“Aye, I hear them,” Elrohir murmured. “Their calls stir your blood,” he added, recalling the strange light in his lover’s eyes when he first heard their raucous cries at Pelargir. Legolas had almost forgotten that he was in the midst of battle, so mesmerized had he been by the gulls’ wails.



“Do they not stir yours?” Legolas asked pensively.



Elrohir hesitated before answering but Legolas did not mark it, so embroiled was he in the unbidden feelings that surged through him. The warrior finally shook his head. “Not as deeply,” he told the archer. “But then I have heard the song of the sea many a time. It no longer beckons to me as hardily as it did when I first heard it.”



Legolas mulled this over. “And will its call lessen for me as well?” he queried anxiously.



“I do not know,” Elrohir honestly replied. “I wager it must be stronger for those who have never heard it before.”



Legolas sighed then pressed his face against Elrohir’s throat. “Love me, my Elf-knight,” he whispered. “Your song is still the stronger and I would hear it again.”



“As you wish, pen vell.”—dear one.



Legolas closed his eyes in elation as he was rolled over and pressed down into the bed and his mouth claimed in a molten kiss. Not even the sea-longing could compete with the Elf-knight’s hold on his soul. They wasted not a moment of their remaining time together but wrung every last drop of pleasure from their couplings. Soared repeatedly to dizzying heights of passion and rapture, girding their hearts and spirits for the bruising fight to come with their boundless love for each other.



They were just riding out the last waves of their shared ecstasy when a discreet knock on the door drew their attention. “We are approaching the Harlond,” they heard Elladan announce.



“We must go,” Elrohir said, striving to slow his breathing.



“Aye,” Legolas whispered. But he tightened his legs about his Elf-knight, keeping him within a while longer. He drew Elrohir down for one last fervent kiss. Their mouths met in scorching union, full of the promise of an eternity of tomorrows.



They rose from the bunk and swiftly dressed. With steadfast hearts and unwavering spirits, they strode out together to meet whatever awaited them on the fields before the City of the Kings.



To be continued…