The Wrong Path
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
23
Views:
4,400
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
23
Views:
4,400
Reviews:
6
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.
Chapter 2
Title: The Wrong Path
Author: erviniae
Chapter 2/?
Pairing: Erestor/Ecthelion, Glorfindel
Rating: PG to eventual NC-17
Warning: AU, Angst, M/M
Disclaimer: All belongs to the esteemed Tolkien. I make no profit
in having fun with his wonderful universe.
Summary: Sometimes the wrong path is often the
Right one.
A/N: Erestor is now 118- past the age of Majority.
Feedback: If you would be so kind.
509 First Age, Gondolin
Finishing strapping on his new quiver and bow, Erestor looked around his room as his eyes came to rest upon the basket on the floor in his closet. The basket was filled with various toy balls of many sizes. Lord Ecthelion had indeed replaced his “squished” ball, ten-fold, during the twentieth year of his young life. He had kept them safe all these years. As he had kept his secret desires safe as well.
Nervousness threatened to overcome him as he nearly ran down the steps into the kitchen. Kissing his mother sweetly, he took one bite of the offered breakfast, only to find he could not swallow it. “Forgive me, but I find I cannot eat this morning for excitement of my lessons.” He looked apologetically at his mother.
She smiled brightly at her only child, “worry not my sweet one, enjoy this day and learn well.”
“I shall,” he smiled fondly back.
Almost out the door Erestor cringed at hearing his father’s voice. “Wait my son, let me look at you.” Erestor slowly turned, as his father looked him over, adjusting a strap here and there.
“Go, make me proud,” commanded his father lightly.
“Yes, father,” Erestor bowed his head in respect as he finally left the house to head to his first day of archery training. He had already had his sword training for the last ten years under Lord Glorfindel’s watchful eye. He was not the best swordsman, though he was adequate to hold his own in battle if need be. His studies of mathematics, history and lore were advanced and he worked weekends as a scribe in the great library of the palace. It was an honorable position for one so young. Erestor enjoyed every minute of his time there for he was allowed to read all he desired in his leisure.
The main reason for Erestor’s nervousness this day was due to being under the watchful eye of Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain. For Ecthelion was in charge of the training of new archers. Though he rarely had hands on training with the Elves under his care, he would occasionally make an appearance to see how all progressed in their studies of this form of weaponry. The week before he had been handed the roster of the newest students and upon espying Erestor’s name, he had made a mental note to be there for the first day of training. Smiling to himself, Ecthelion remembered the day five years past when he, due to boredom, had joined Glorfindel in watching the sword training when his eyes were drawn to the willowy dark beauty amidst the larger built warriors in training. His gaze raked over the slender and lithe form of Erestor with a glimmer of appreciation; an appreciation that no male should look at another male with. Glorfindel had noticed the predatory and lustful look in his friend’s eyes until Ecthelion, realizing his obvious staring, looked elsewhere.
Glorfindel knew that his friend had the “unnatural” attraction to males. Oh, Ecthelion did all he could to cover it up. He spent time with many maidens, often lavishing exorbitant gifts on them, always a complete and utter gentleman with them. He dined them, danced with them, sang to them, played his flute for them, so as none ever had a bad word to say about the doting Lord of the Fountain. Rumor among a few of the older lords was that Ecthelion was caught in a reprehensible act with another male when a young adult. The cohort in this delicate situation was a young warrior that was promptly sent to Beleriand, never to be heard from again.
So it was that Ecthelion found himself standing before Erestor. He and his chosen warriors in charge of the actual training had walked back and forth appraising the students gathered before them. Most had that warrior build that was constructed for swords. A few had the long, graceful and lean archer’s build; broad shoulders flowing down to slender hips and long, lean legs. Neither knew it but both were trembling inside at the sight of the other. For ever since that day fifty years ago when Erestor inadvertently stopped the march of the warriors going home, he had fallen in love with the beautiful and vibrant Lord of the Fountain. At first it was an innocent elfling crush that had long since developed into love. A love that he chastised himself for feeling, a love that made him feel foul and depraved.
The welcoming speech was short that was delivered by Lord Ecthelion, explaining what was expected of those standing before him on his training grounds. And as was custom, the lord then stood before each student and gave the warrior greeting. Finally coming to stand before Erestor, Ecthelion and he nodded, hands over hearts, eyes never wavering from the other, sparks flying throughout their bodies, it was torture and blissful excitement in one. Sure that all could feel it too, both looked around and to their relief none saw or cared to show they did.
Two weeks passed without a visit by Ecthelion to the students. Resigned that he may not see his secret desire for some time, Erestor practiced whole-heartedly and indeed excelled at archery like Glorfindel suspected he would do. Notching an arrow, his elbow back and high, his string pulled back to his cheek, Erestor found a silky baritone coming from just behind his right ear. “Your elbow is too high, here let me show you,” Ecthelion said loudly as if appearing from thin air. Startled, Erestor jumped and in releasing his arrow, it fell with a dull thump into the grass.
“Forgive me for startling you,” the dark-haired lord smiled. Standing directly behind Erestor, he slid his hands down Erestor’s arms slowly. His touch sending chills throughout the young Elf’s body. Slender, talented fingers guided his hands to the proper spots on the bow. His right hand glided up Erestor’s right arm to the elbow. That melodious voice was whispering in his ear so close that Ecthelion’s breath caused tendrils of raven hair to move gently next to a perfectly pointed ear. Elbow cradled in the lord of the fountain’s grasp, “release,” was whispered into his ear and the arrow left to find its mark, dead center.
“Excellent!” remarked Ecthelion as he made to move to help another. Before doing so he spoke only for Erestor’s hearing. “You hair smells divinely, beautiful Erestor.” Erestor found those words go straight to the pit of his stomach and to his groin as he let out a tiny whimper. “If I have not misunderstood what it is we are feeling, meet me this evening here, at the moon’s highest peak.”
Finding he could no longer speak, Erestor nodded once as Ecthelion moved to the next archer. Though calm on the surface, there was a war raging inside of the Lord of The Fountain. He knew this was forbidden, he had experienced the wrath such a liaison could occur first hand. But he felt such attraction to Erestor that he could barely breathe, it consumed him, it was a fire he had to douse, a thirst he needed to quench or else he should perish with want and desire. He knew it was so much more than mere lust, for that he could take care of by his own hand, no, this was strong, it overwhelmed all his senses, and it enveloped his very being… it was love.
TBC…..
Author: erviniae
Chapter 2/?
Pairing: Erestor/Ecthelion, Glorfindel
Rating: PG to eventual NC-17
Warning: AU, Angst, M/M
Disclaimer: All belongs to the esteemed Tolkien. I make no profit
in having fun with his wonderful universe.
Summary: Sometimes the wrong path is often the
Right one.
A/N: Erestor is now 118- past the age of Majority.
Feedback: If you would be so kind.
509 First Age, Gondolin
Finishing strapping on his new quiver and bow, Erestor looked around his room as his eyes came to rest upon the basket on the floor in his closet. The basket was filled with various toy balls of many sizes. Lord Ecthelion had indeed replaced his “squished” ball, ten-fold, during the twentieth year of his young life. He had kept them safe all these years. As he had kept his secret desires safe as well.
Nervousness threatened to overcome him as he nearly ran down the steps into the kitchen. Kissing his mother sweetly, he took one bite of the offered breakfast, only to find he could not swallow it. “Forgive me, but I find I cannot eat this morning for excitement of my lessons.” He looked apologetically at his mother.
She smiled brightly at her only child, “worry not my sweet one, enjoy this day and learn well.”
“I shall,” he smiled fondly back.
Almost out the door Erestor cringed at hearing his father’s voice. “Wait my son, let me look at you.” Erestor slowly turned, as his father looked him over, adjusting a strap here and there.
“Go, make me proud,” commanded his father lightly.
“Yes, father,” Erestor bowed his head in respect as he finally left the house to head to his first day of archery training. He had already had his sword training for the last ten years under Lord Glorfindel’s watchful eye. He was not the best swordsman, though he was adequate to hold his own in battle if need be. His studies of mathematics, history and lore were advanced and he worked weekends as a scribe in the great library of the palace. It was an honorable position for one so young. Erestor enjoyed every minute of his time there for he was allowed to read all he desired in his leisure.
The main reason for Erestor’s nervousness this day was due to being under the watchful eye of Lord Ecthelion of the Fountain. For Ecthelion was in charge of the training of new archers. Though he rarely had hands on training with the Elves under his care, he would occasionally make an appearance to see how all progressed in their studies of this form of weaponry. The week before he had been handed the roster of the newest students and upon espying Erestor’s name, he had made a mental note to be there for the first day of training. Smiling to himself, Ecthelion remembered the day five years past when he, due to boredom, had joined Glorfindel in watching the sword training when his eyes were drawn to the willowy dark beauty amidst the larger built warriors in training. His gaze raked over the slender and lithe form of Erestor with a glimmer of appreciation; an appreciation that no male should look at another male with. Glorfindel had noticed the predatory and lustful look in his friend’s eyes until Ecthelion, realizing his obvious staring, looked elsewhere.
Glorfindel knew that his friend had the “unnatural” attraction to males. Oh, Ecthelion did all he could to cover it up. He spent time with many maidens, often lavishing exorbitant gifts on them, always a complete and utter gentleman with them. He dined them, danced with them, sang to them, played his flute for them, so as none ever had a bad word to say about the doting Lord of the Fountain. Rumor among a few of the older lords was that Ecthelion was caught in a reprehensible act with another male when a young adult. The cohort in this delicate situation was a young warrior that was promptly sent to Beleriand, never to be heard from again.
So it was that Ecthelion found himself standing before Erestor. He and his chosen warriors in charge of the actual training had walked back and forth appraising the students gathered before them. Most had that warrior build that was constructed for swords. A few had the long, graceful and lean archer’s build; broad shoulders flowing down to slender hips and long, lean legs. Neither knew it but both were trembling inside at the sight of the other. For ever since that day fifty years ago when Erestor inadvertently stopped the march of the warriors going home, he had fallen in love with the beautiful and vibrant Lord of the Fountain. At first it was an innocent elfling crush that had long since developed into love. A love that he chastised himself for feeling, a love that made him feel foul and depraved.
The welcoming speech was short that was delivered by Lord Ecthelion, explaining what was expected of those standing before him on his training grounds. And as was custom, the lord then stood before each student and gave the warrior greeting. Finally coming to stand before Erestor, Ecthelion and he nodded, hands over hearts, eyes never wavering from the other, sparks flying throughout their bodies, it was torture and blissful excitement in one. Sure that all could feel it too, both looked around and to their relief none saw or cared to show they did.
Two weeks passed without a visit by Ecthelion to the students. Resigned that he may not see his secret desire for some time, Erestor practiced whole-heartedly and indeed excelled at archery like Glorfindel suspected he would do. Notching an arrow, his elbow back and high, his string pulled back to his cheek, Erestor found a silky baritone coming from just behind his right ear. “Your elbow is too high, here let me show you,” Ecthelion said loudly as if appearing from thin air. Startled, Erestor jumped and in releasing his arrow, it fell with a dull thump into the grass.
“Forgive me for startling you,” the dark-haired lord smiled. Standing directly behind Erestor, he slid his hands down Erestor’s arms slowly. His touch sending chills throughout the young Elf’s body. Slender, talented fingers guided his hands to the proper spots on the bow. His right hand glided up Erestor’s right arm to the elbow. That melodious voice was whispering in his ear so close that Ecthelion’s breath caused tendrils of raven hair to move gently next to a perfectly pointed ear. Elbow cradled in the lord of the fountain’s grasp, “release,” was whispered into his ear and the arrow left to find its mark, dead center.
“Excellent!” remarked Ecthelion as he made to move to help another. Before doing so he spoke only for Erestor’s hearing. “You hair smells divinely, beautiful Erestor.” Erestor found those words go straight to the pit of his stomach and to his groin as he let out a tiny whimper. “If I have not misunderstood what it is we are feeling, meet me this evening here, at the moon’s highest peak.”
Finding he could no longer speak, Erestor nodded once as Ecthelion moved to the next archer. Though calm on the surface, there was a war raging inside of the Lord of The Fountain. He knew this was forbidden, he had experienced the wrath such a liaison could occur first hand. But he felt such attraction to Erestor that he could barely breathe, it consumed him, it was a fire he had to douse, a thirst he needed to quench or else he should perish with want and desire. He knew it was so much more than mere lust, for that he could take care of by his own hand, no, this was strong, it overwhelmed all his senses, and it enveloped his very being… it was love.
TBC…..