Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Seventeen
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Fifth Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.

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October, Tirion, Aman

A muffled sound broke the silence of the estate as early evening settled upon Tirion. Shrill and emotive, the sounds emanated from behind heavy doors that could not contain the furious assault. Daeron stood in the music room within Thranduil's estate, his fingers moving with unnatural swiftness over the strings of his violin, the horsehair bow having already snapped a few strands in his rage.

After channelling Thranduil, who kept so much bottled inside that it had seemed a forest fire was raging in his mind, Daeron had known this would happen. There was always a price to be paid for using his empathic ability; a residue of harsh emotions was always left within him that needed to be expelled, eradicated. At those times, he turned heavily to his music, typically venting all he felt through his violin, as it was the instrument he felt could convey perfectly the turmoil that swirled beneath the surface of his spirit. Blue eyes clenched shut, he pushed the instrument as far as he knew it could go, his bow and fingers working the delicate wooden structure until part of him feared it would break beneath his onslaught.

Rhovandir slipped into the music room, shutting the door behind him, and watched Daeron. He had known this would come. Thranduil had been withdrawn, sullen, and when Daeron arrived, he had known Thranduil would use the bard. Not intentionally, and not maliciously, but Thranduil had a tendency to not see beyond his immediate need. As the energy built in the room, Rhovandir crossed to Daeron, placing a gentle hand on the bow and pulling the violin itself from Daeron's grip. "That is enough, brother," he murmured, setting aside the abused instrument.

Daeron's body shook with pent up emotion, his hands tightening momentarily on his instrument before relinquishing their hold. "Rhovandir," he acknowledged in a shivering whisper, his eyes still closed. He reached out unconsciously, seeking purchase on the tall form of the Elf who radiated calm and peace in the midst of his tempest. "Don't be angry... Ardaur needed me."

"I am never angry with you for helping those you love, for so few of us are counted among that number," Rhovandir said, keeping his voice pitched low and soothing. After setting aside the instrument, he wrapped his arms around Daeron. "I tried to help him, but he needed more than I could give." He brushed his lips over Daeron's closed eyes. "Now, let me help you."

Letting his eyes flutter open, Daeron gazed up at Rhovandir, conflicted. "He has not been in such a state since the darkening... He rages inside me, all anger and hopeless self-loathing. He's so uncertain, Rhovandir." His voice was tight, his mind scattered as he tried in vain to organize and dispel what was left of the Elvenking's turmoil. "The music isn't enough this time," he said with a shake of his head, his body still quivering. Even the small movements made his physical condition more acute, sending pain simmering through his entire body from his backside, throat, and shoulder.

"He loves one who fears him, and who he believes reviles him," Rhovandir whispered, easing Daeron back to a thick, soft sofa in the corner of the room. "It is difficult for him to love, and even more difficult for him to love one he believes he can never have." Without stopping, he began to unlace Daeron's trousers, exposing the bard's sex to his hands. "Ardaur swallows all his pain, hides it below his cruelty, and it does no one any good. Let us tend to the darkness that lingers, Daeron..."

How many times had Rhovandir cared for him in the aftermath of his sessions with Thranduil? Daeron had lost count over the millennia. The rages he had gone into during the darkening of Mirkwood, following Arasiel's death, had been severe. Even the slightest shadow that was left behind back in those dark days was enough to overwhelm him, but Rhovandir had always been there, a pillar of support, his most trusted friend. "I... don't want to project onto you," he whimpered weakly in protest. It did not always happen, the darkness transferring to another through him instead of dissipating, but the chance of it always unsettled Daeron.

Rhovandir knelt between Daeron's thighs, eyes warm and loving. "I am not like you and Ardaur. Darkness does not frighten me, and it shall never consume my spirit." He leaned in and took Daeron's length into his mouth, working the soft flesh with gentle hands and a bold tongue. He knew Daeron's body as well as he knew his own. Daeron had been his first upon the shores of Cuiviénen, and they had been chosen lovers for time uncounted before the rise of the moon and the coming of the Noldor.

Daeron could do little to dissuade his friend; he knew better than to try. With a shaky sigh, he did his best to relax, though he still felt his body shiver and twitch uncontrollably even as desire sparked within him. Only Rhovandir was allowed to touch him in such a gentle manner, bringing him gradually to arousal with soft caresses in place of the harsher touches he had grown to prefer since his reappearance in Greenwood the Great millennia ago. His hands cradled the dark head between his legs as his body began to respond, sending a shudder through him and a lilting moan past his lips. "Rhovandir..."

A tremor ran the length of Rhovandir's spine, and when he felt Daeron harden fully between his lips, he released him. Grey eyes dark, he watched his friend and moved back to the centre of the floor. He tugged his simple trousers off and turned to rest on his hands and knees, presenting his backside to Daeron. "You may handle me roughly if you desire," he said, giving permission for Daeron to take something not frequently offered. "I have prepared the way for whatever you need of me." Love was in every word he spoke, every action he took, and all he desired was to ease Daeron's darkness.

Whimpering, Daeron pushed himself from his seat, making his way over to Rhovandir with stiff, painful steps. Pulling himself free of his leggings, he dropped to his knees beside Rhovandir, urging the Elf up off his hands. While the wounded part of him screamed to take what was offered swiftly and fall into the relentless passion in which he could lose himself, another part of him showed restraint. It seemed unnatural to use a rough hand with Rhovandir, who had quite firmly denied him such mind-numbing attention in the past. Drawing Rhovandir to him with trembling hands, he pressed several kisses to his lover's lips before delving between them. Trusting absolutely, he let his mind open, Thranduil's fury resurfacing in a mere instant and lending a desperate passion to his movements as he deepened his kiss, dominating Rhovandir's mouth in a rare reversal of their normally preferred roles.

A quiet sound passed Rhovandir's lips, which were already beginning to ache pleasantly, and he submitted to Daeron's dominance without question. His arms wrapped themselves around Daeron's shoulders while their tongues slid against one another with growing fervour. Rhovandir's body remembered Daeron's vividly, despite the long years since their last lovemaking, and it did not take many of Daeron's kisses before Rhovandir was arching his hips against the bard's. "Daeron," he panted between one kiss and the next.

Daeron's breathing was quick, and his eyes had taken on a warm hue with the rising tide of his arousal. "Talk to me... of the early times, before the rising of the moon and sun," he requested with pleading eyes. "Fill my mind with brighter thoughts from our past." With a final, deep kiss, Daeron abandoned Rhovandir's mouth, moving down to the dark-haired Elf's neck and shoulder. He guided Rhovandir back to the wood floor, settling between his dear friend's legs as he continued placing small bites from throat to shoulder.

Rhovandir threaded his fingers through Daeron's hair, his eyes closed and neck arched. He began to speak, his words slow and slurred, but he did as Daeron bid. "Stars as bright as your eyes would shine down on us... while our feet were teased by the salty waters and our fingers sought to learn every crevice of the other. Our first kiss..." Rhovandir laughed, spreading his legs wider. "I recall how sloppy it was... how much we blushed afterwards... Your music was so different, brother... full of mystery and joy. You would sing for any occasion... music old and young at the same time, glorious to hear, like fire in the veins..."

Daeron moaned softly, visions of more joyful times summoned by Rhovandir's voice and the emotions he could sense in his friend. Rhovandir's laugh had a deep, musical quality to it, and it pushed back the darkness in his mind, replacing it slowly with gentle warmth and light. "You sang with me under the eaves of the forest, near the mouth of the river that fed the inner sea. A voice like the haunting mists, lulling, enveloping," he recalled with a smile, his lips moving down the centre of his lover's chest, deviating to the side in order to tease one nipple. "Please, tell me more..." He shifted to the other nipple, his hips beginning a slow rocking rhythm that sent shivers down his spine.

"I never possessed your gift," Rhovandir began, but his words were cut off by a sudden cry, his own hips lifting to meet the languid rhythm of Daeron's. "You could call out the forest animals... cause the trees to sway in time--ah!--" His fingers tightened in Daeron's hair. "The first time we discovered pleasure together... how the song uttered from your lips then was the most beautiful I had ever heard... and it still is..."

The words caused tears to well in Daeron's eyes, and his shuddering breath trailed back up to Rhovandir's lips. "So many things we did together," he whispered, and his voice was thick with emotion, filled with his own love and the tumultuous clamour of Thranduil's negativity. Reaching between Rhovandir's spread legs, he found the Elf's passage already slick and stretched. A whimper fled from his lips as he shifted, raising Rhovandir's legs and positioning himself at the oiled entrance. "Are you with me now, as you were then?"

Old, grey eyes stared up at Daeron, war-roughened hands holding tight to the bard's upper arms. There was nothing but trust in the stormy gaze, and breathlessly, Rhovandir murmured, "I am with you now as I ever have been, brother, and ever will be."

It was with a sustained, sobbing cry that Daeron slid into the confines of Rhovandir, his eyes closed tightly, and his hands gripping his lover's legs for support. The intensity of his love for the strong Elf beneath him overwhelmed his senses, pushing away the destructive negativity that plagued his mind. A subtle change came over his features, harsher lines of strain and repressed anger dissipating from his flushed face. His very spirit seemed to lose a great weight that had burdened him, compacting him and stagnating the water that wished to flow freely. Opening his eyes, he looked down into Rhovandir's, gazing into his lover’s spirit, which rivalled his own in age and experience and surmounted his in wisdom. He smiled weakly through the tears that refused to fall from his eyes, bringing one hand up to cup Rhovandir's face as he set a slow rhythm for them.

After so many years of not yielding to another, Rhovandir found the fullness of Daeron intoxicating. He leaned into the touch at his cheek, pressed his hips down, taking Daeron deeper, and moaned softly. His fingers reached up, brushed at damp eyes. "One so beautiful should never have reason to cry," he panted, each tender thrust pushing him further into the haze of their lovemaking. "I remember the first time you cried... and your kisses tasted like the great sea... the pounding of our hearts, pain and pleasure, tears and love... and it has never changed... never..."

"Tears and love," Daeron echoed, bringing their lips together in a deep kiss. Though each movement of his hips and clenching of his backside brought a spark of pain from his abused body, he could not deny the pleasure of the intimacy he shared with Rhovandir any more than he could deny air to his lungs. His movements built gradually, his thrusts beginning slow and shallow and eventually deepening, until the head of his sex pressed at Rhovandir's guardian muscles before pushing carefully into the slick heat again and again. Musical cries were pulled from his lips and throat, singing through the air of the music room, the acoustics causing his voice to resonate as he clung to his lover.

Rhovandir wrapped his legs around Daeron's waist, drew him closer to his body, and gave himself up entirely to Daeron's keeping. Never did he do something halfway, and when he submitted, he did so completely. His sex throbbed between their bodies, and the loving manner with which Daeron took him was exquisite. It had been too long... too long since he'd felt *anyone's* hands on his body, and even longer since Daeron's. It was like a homecoming; tasting Daeron's lips was almost like tasting those pure, clear waters of their birthplace once more. "Love you, Lëonwë," he groaned into Daeron's mouth, slipping back into the past and the passion they'd once shared without thought or fear.

Only Rhovandir was ever allowed to see Daeron so vulnerable, so loving and gentle in his intimacy. Were it not for Rhovandir's occasional touches, Daeron was sure the Elf he had been so many millennia ago would have faded completely, lost under the deep tides of his convoluted past. Daeron shuddered as his breathing came in harsh gasps, and his movements became erratic. Rhovandir's voice echoed through his ears, the sound of his name vibrating down to the deepest recesses in his soul. Rarely did either of them use their original names, names so submerged in memories from a time before the earliest sundering of the Firstborn. But now, in the arms of the Elf he trusted above any other, the old tongue slipped from his lips like a favourite tune from childhood. "Melanyel, otorno..." Sliding a hand between their bodies, he wrapped his fingers around Rhovandir, pumping his lover's shaft in time with his shaky movements. "I love you... Rávawë..."

Bucking up against Daeron, Rhovandir gasped, stretching his arms out over his head and gripping at the floor. There had only ever been one other so close to Daeron, and that Elf was asleep upstairs, lost in his own misery. It felt wonderful to know they were both under the same roof again, and to feel one of them between his thighs... "Lëo--" He forced his gaze to Daeron, held the icy eyes that saw beyond just his exterior, saw the very Song that encompassed his being. His release built with steady force, as gentle as their rhythm, and he clung to Daeron with his legs, his hands clutching the floor. He was close, his entire body trembling uncontrollably, and a quiet sound of need slipped past his lips.

Heat began to spread throughout Daeron's body, his nerves lighting with the familiar pleasure of being joined with Rhovandir. Daeron had long ago trained himself to be in control of his body, able to delay his release as long as he wished, or until he was ordered to let go by his partner. But this was different; with Rhovandir there were no such expectations, no domineering words spoken to incite his forbearance. With Rhovandir, he was safe, and, as he reached the peak of their passionate coupling, he did not hold back, but let himself be consumed by the love they shared freely. A sustained cry rushed from his throat, and his body bowed in a single, exquisite contraction. All sensation was lost in the blinding light of his climax; all darkness that had plagued him was obliterated, scattered to the wind as if through the rush of air that left his lungs.

Rhovandir selfishly watched Daeron, holding himself back in order to feel the possessive flood of fluid into his body. Daeron twitched within him, and the hand pulled once more, twisting just perfectly when it reached the head of his shaft, and Rhovandir's legs clamped firmly around his lover's body while his seed splashed over his belly. It rocked him, and after a prolonged moment of tension, his body released, his legs slipping weakly to the floor on either side of Daeron. Arms aching, he embraced his friend, his brother by choice if not by blood, and kissed his lips with heartbreaking tenderness. "Melanyel, otorno, melanyel," he breathed raggedly between kisses.

Daeron collapsed into Rhovandir's strong arms, his body overtaken by a series of spasms that shook his slender frame. His dark hair scattered heavily about them both, Daeron gently extracted himself so he could bury his face in the crook of Rhovandir's neck. His sobs were nearly silent in the aftermath of their lovemaking, and he held tightly to his lover, trusting that his dear friend would not let him go. "Hantalë," he whispered brokenly between shuddering breaths, though words could never fully convey the depth of his gratitude and affection.

A smile curved Rhovandir's lips, and he bestowed gentle kisses to Daeron's raven hair. "Nál máratulë," he whispered, his arms tight around Daeron. He did not press for more words, choosing instead to hold Daeron, to continue sweetly kissing hair and skin, not rushing the parting of their bodies. The closeness was as important to Rhovandir as the sex itself. This affection was denied all but him, and occasionally Thranduil, and he never passed the opportunity by to bask in the joy of their intimacy.

After many long minutes, Daeron's quiet sobs faded, and he shifted to rest his head on Rhovandir's chest, his fingers relinquishing their hold in favour of light caresses to the warrior's skin. "Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly, his voice worn to slight roughness from overuse.

"No," Rhovandir purred. "You have never hurt me, Daeron." He would be sore for a day or two to come, but that would pass. "It has just been... quite a while since anyone has shared my body."

Daeron lifted his head, meeting Rhovandir's ancient, grey eyes with his own icy blue, which had regained a bit of their typical shine. "I could tell," he said with a small smirk, teasing gently. "You do not usually choose the receiving end. I was a bit surprised by your offer..."

"I knew Ardaur used you thoroughly," Rhovandir said, unable to keep the grin from his own face. "This is what you needed, not more pain. It is a pleasant ache. One given to me out of love by my brother. Well worth the discomfort."

Purring like a contented kitten atop Rhovandir's chest, Daeron kissed his friend's lips sweetly. "You are always so good to me, otorno. It is more than I deserve." Another kiss was pressed to Rhovandir's lips. "I have missed your company. You and Ardaur were not in Laicanan for the festival."

Rhovandir began to stroke Daeron's hair and closed his eyes. "He waits for Gwindor's return, and I could not leave him to wait alone." A smile twitched Rhovandir's lips. "Our Ardaur is hopelessly in love, Daeron, though he does not know what it is he feels."

Daeron's smile was brilliant, his expression astonished. "Gwindor of Nargothrond... Such an unlikely match! Do you think the young Elf knows of Ardaur's feelings? Do you think he saw beneath the cruelty before he was driven away?" He had to admit, he was very disturbed by Thranduil's actions, but the three of them could speak later about the Elvenking's poor choices.

"He had to have sensed something, but I don't believe he overtly thinks there is love in our wayward charge's heart for him," Rhovandir murmured. "He promised to return, and Gwindor is not the sort to make false promises. He remained despite all Thranduil's efforts to chase him off." He made a distinction between Ardaur and Thranduil, as he always had, for the two were as different as night and day in Rhovandir's opinion. Ardaur was the sweet child he had helped to raise; Thranduil was the cold ruler who had been forced to sacrifice all he was to maintain a dying realm. "I do not know what awaits them when Gwindor returns, though."

"I tried to encourage him to make the effort necessary to keep Gwindor in his presence," Daeron said, nodding his agreement. "Thranduil is unpredictable, however, and I can only speculate upon the choices he now faces." A thoughtful silence fell over the bard, his hands fiddling idly in Rhovandir's hair and brushing along the lines of his neck. Playful curiosity was evident in Daeron's voice when he next spoke. "What is he like, this Elf who has stolen the Elvenking's heart?"

Rhovandir chuckled. "He speaks little, and he smiles even less. His eyes are large, the colour of charcoal, and filled with torment and past hauntings. He is pale with dark hair, crimson to be seen among the locks when the sun hits just right. Gwindor is curious, even though much of what he is curious about terrifies him. He wakes in the night, plagued by nightmares, and he mumbles nonsense in his sleep. A most marvellous cook, Daeron. He is amazing with what he can do with food. I do not believe we have ever eaten so well. Erestor has become a dear friend to him, as have Glorfindel and Elrond." He paused, staring up at the ornately painted ceiling. "Gwindor is well-liked, and many are unhappy with Thranduil for being so cruel to one so innocent."

Daeron let Rhovandir's words paint a vivid picture of Gwindor in his mind, enhancing what he could piece together from Thranduil's broken memories that had washed through him. Rhovandir had an uncanny ability to see all that happened within his friends' lives and perceive all that motivated their actions. Daeron was often surprised by the powers of observation his friend had been gifted with. If Daeron was considered the voice of Laicanan, Rhovandir was certainly the wood's sense of sight. "Thranduil feels cornered... I only hope he does not lash out again when Gwindor returns. Such innocence is difficult to come by, even on these shores... and especially in one who lived through the horrors of the First Age. Innocent Elves are meant to be cherished, not used and then discarded."

"Thranduil is afraid. His heart has been locked away since Lady Arasiel was taken, and he will rail against sharing it until Gwindor gives him no other option but." Rhovandir winced as he sat up, needing to move or become stiff. "I believe Gwindor will be the sunshine desperately missing within the forests of Thranduil's spirit. It is high time someone tamed him." As he drew on his trousers, he glanced at Daeron. "However, there is news besides this you might be interested in, O Wandering Shadow."

Raising an eyebrow, Daeron smirked at the epithet, wincing for a brief moment as he carefully sat up, his legs curled beneath him to pad his abused backside. "And what piece of news is that?"

"Kanafinwë has returned."

"Kanafinwë?" Daeron question, his interest piqued. "He who 'walked alone on the shores with a voice like the Sea'?"

Rhovandir nodded, tying his laces. "One and the same. He returned to Aman perhaps thirty years ago, but he has remained cloistered in Formenos, coming to Tirion only in the company of his brothers."

Daeron's brow furrowed slightly in concentration. "I heard no whisper of his music during my travels. Strange... considering he is one of the Three. I wonder why he finally decided to return..."

"You could seek him out," Rhovandir suggested with a lopsided smile. "It is rumoured Kanafinwë plays for none."

"A great musician always plays for someone," Daeron insisted with a chuckle. "I will admit my curiosity, but you know I do not actively seek my rivals, Rhovandir. It is bad form to issue challenges from my position. I do not wish to appear haughty; I have a bad enough reputation as it is." Although he did not tend to care about his reputation in regards to his sexual lifestyle, Daeron was most serious about his reputation and ethics where his music was concerned. He would do nothing to truly jeopardize his renown in the world of music, as it was one area of his life in which he took great pleasure and a fair amount of pride.

Rhovandir bowed his head in acceptance. "It was merely a suggestion." He stretched, and then groaned, shifting on his feet trying to alleviate the ache in his backside. "How long will you be staying, Daeron? Do you need me to prepare a room or will you sleep with Ardaur?"

Reaching for his own leggings, Daeron rose to his feet as well, emitting his own quiet sound of intense discomfort. "I will be sleeping with Ardaur for the time being, but it is best that you prepare a room just in case." He paused, leaning up slightly to press a lingering kiss on Rhovandir's lips. Pulling away, he smiled. "Have you seen the gift Ardaur has made, sitting on his bedside table?"

Another smirk crossed Rhovandir's lips. "I have. He made it the day he returned from Ílëa Taurë and had me trim his hair." He helped Daeron into his leggings, lacing the fabric before standing. "Now that he is in love, we must work to find you a proper mate," he teased, pulling Daeron towards the door of the music room.

Daeron rolled his eyes, laughing as he followed Rhovandir out of the room. His hand unconsciously went to the pendant around his neck, unclasping it now that he had a clear enough mind to remove it.

Love?

No. Such a beautiful thing was best left to Elves who deserved it, Elves who had not squandered the gift badly enough to have it retracted.

His music would have to be enough... Daeron had convinced himself of that long ago. His music would always be enough.

TBC...

Quenya/English
Melanyel : I love you
Otorno : Brother
Hantalë : Thanks
Nál máratulë : You're welcome