Tale of Two Brothers
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
1,733
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
1,733
Reviews:
9
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.
Tale of Two Brothers, Chp. 21
Title: Tale of Two Brothers, 21/?
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type: FPS, M/M Slash
Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Glorfindel, Erestor/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Larian Elensar
WARNING: This story is rated NC-17 and contains male slash pairings, incest, and explicit sexual content. If you find this offensive, or you are under-age, I strongly suggest you stop now.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of Ton, an, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this…
Feedback: Yes please larienelengasse@yahoo.com
Summary/Notes: Erestor and Glorfindel ride toward Mirkwood, Elladan and Elrohir make for the Gap of Rohan, the Fellowship arrives in Caras Galadhon and Legolas and Orophin are reunited.
Dawn broke and Erestor yawned sleepily. He felt the warm softness of Glorfindel’s tunic against his cheek, and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The warrior’s steady heartbeat and strong chest gave him a sense of comfort as he lay in his arms. He silently berated himself for being foolish enough to leave his safe haven of Imladris while the Nine were about. But he had promised Legolas, and he always honored his promises.
He had not suffered nightmares of Dagorlad since he had come to live under Elrond’s rule. The realm of Imladris offered him a safe haven from the horrible experience that had almost been his last. Glorfindel had reached him just as he fell from the wound that the Witch King inflicted upon him. His fierce warrior friend became his savior when the Witch King fled in the face of his power and bravery. Glorfindel gathered him in his arms and raced back toward the tents, two of his subordinates bravely running interference for him. Erestor vaguely remembered the warrior dragging Lord Elrond back to the tent and holding his hand while his leader administered to him. Two days passed before he wogaingain, weak from an abating fever. Glorfindel sat beside him, bruised and battered, refusing treatment for his own wounds until he knew his friend would recover.
It was then that Erestor knew he loved the warrior, but he allowed centuries to pass before he would admit it. He told himself they were too different. They had almost nothingcommcommon, they did not like the same kind of music, or the same foods; they dressed differently, they carried themselves differently and rarely saw eye to eye on anything. Glorfindel drove him mad with his brash sense of humor and filthy jokes. His lack of decorum was shameful, and the way the warrior kept his chamber was a disgrace. But for all the things that drove Erestor mad, there were so many that he found endearing; his fierce loyalty, his willing to sacrifice all for a cause he knew to be right or for the ones he loved. Glorfindel did not give his heart frivolously; he did not banter words of love about as if they were so much fodder. He was an elf of few words, preferring to use only those that would convey exactly what he was thinking, and if he said he loved you, you could count on that love everyday for the rest of your life. Glorfindel was all that Erestor thought to be good and beautiful in the world, he was his best friend, and the keeper of his heart.
The only other that had touched him that way was Legolas. The Prince was similar in appearance to Glorfindel; both were tall and strong, though Glorfindel was larger in build. Both were unwavering in their loyalty, brave beyond measure, always ready to step in and do the right thing, no matter what the cost to themselves. For all their similarities, there were most definitely differences. Legolas was gentle and patient, a kind and innocent soul from a realm where death and destruction was a nearly daily occurrence. He was proud, but quietly so. He possessed a gentle wisdom that Erestor found remarkable for one so young. Legolas and Erestor were much alike, preferring books and quiet nigby tby the fire to insane contests and wild adventures. They liked the same foods, the same wines, and the same music. While Legolas wore the garb of rriorrior, his appearance was understated, like Erestor’s. The warrior shown with an inner light that did not require elaborate garments.
He felt the warrior stir slightly beneath him, knowing that he would not have been fully asleep, not as long as trouble was near. He blushed when he realized how he had clung to the warrior in the middle of the night like a frightened elfling, but he could not help it, the memory was too near. He heard his great lion yawn and felt him stretch and he slowly sat up, allowing him to move more freely. He looked over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly at his friend and protector.
Glorfindel sat up and smiled, “You look rested. Are you ready for another long day’s ride?”
Erestor nodded. “How far do you think the horses went last night?”
Glorfindel climbed ou the the bedroll. “Not too far, Asfaloth will come when I call.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. “Are you hungry? I have some lembas in my pack. I do not want to light a fire here, the… well, we may be spotted.” He decided not to bring up the Nazgûl again.
Erestor nodded, “Aye, that is wise. Lembas and some water will do fine.”
The two old friends silently shared a brief breakfast together before mounting their horses and riding off again.
* * * *
Legolas sat on the ground, leaning back against a great Mallorn tree; tears flowed from his eyes as he listened to the lament sung by the Galadhrim. Mithrandir had sacrificed his life to save theirs; were it not for that sacrifice, the Balrog would have taken them all. The stories he had heard were true; he had seen much evil in his life, but nothing the likes of what lay inside the depths of Moria.
He felt a kind hand upon his shoulder and looked up into Orophin’s sparkling blue eyes. He and the marchwarden had not spoken before that moment, only acknowledging one another with a friendly smile and nod of the head upon entering Lórien. He had not seen Orophin since that autumn he spent in the Golden Wood so long ago. Orophin sat beside him, placing an arm around his shoulder. “I am sorry, Legolas. Mithrandir’s passing is grievous for all of us.”
Legolas smiled and nodded. “Aye, this world will not be the same without him.”
Orophin asked quietly, “How have you been?”
Legolas nodded and looked up at the night sky. “I have been well, though I have missed you, meldiramin.”
Orophin leaned his head upon the Prince’s shoulder. “Aye, I have missed you as well. I am sorry that things had to happen the way they did. I never wanted to hurt you, Legolas.”
Legolas smiled and placed a hand upon the archer’s strong thigh. “I too am sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, Orophin, you were only honest with me. It is I that hurt you, and for that I have never stopped being sorry.”
Orophin tugged at his sleeve, “Come home with me, Legolas. Sleep in my bed, you look tired.”
Legolas smiled weakly, “I should stay here, with my companions.”
Orophin motioned about them. “They are all asleep, they are safe here. You have a long and difficult journey ahead of you, you need to rest.” He pulled at his arm, “Come, please. I am not asking anything other than you rest.”
He rose from the ground, his limbs felt like lead, he had never been so tired in all his life. He spent that night nestled in Orophin’s arms, and had the first night’s peace since the strange journey began.
* * * *
Elladan and Elrohir rode south, through the foothills of the Misty Mountains and the wilds of Dunland toward the Gap of Rohan. They were meeting with a tribe of Northern Dúnedain that they had ridden with and hunted with in the p Th They knew war was coming and it would fall to them to bring the broken peoples of Arnor together and unite them with their future King. They had not encountered the Nazgûl, and slew the Orcs they encountered as they traveled south, unknowingly clearing a paor Gor Glorfindel and Erestor who were a few days behind them.
It was late in the afternoon when they stopped for the night. They were close to Isengard, and being aware of Saruman’s treachery, slept hidden amongst rocky outcroppings for safety. The Twin Sons of Elrond were feared by Orcs and all evil creatures, their fierceness was known throughout Middle Earth, and Saruman most of all hated them. They would have to be careful until they met up with the Northmen, and they hoped that the White Wizard would be too distracted with Ring lust to bother with them.
Elrohir sat beside his twin, sharpening his arrow points and cleaning his knives. Neither talked much, thinking of what was to come. As darkness fell they curled about one another and took turns staying awake, ever vigilant.
To be continued…
Elvish = English translation
Meldiramin = My friend
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type: FPS, M/M Slash
Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir/Glorfindel, Erestor/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Larian Elensar
WARNING: This story is rated NC-17 and contains male slash pairings, incest, and explicit sexual content. If you find this offensive, or you are under-age, I strongly suggest you stop now.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of Ton, an, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this…
Feedback: Yes please larienelengasse@yahoo.com
Summary/Notes: Erestor and Glorfindel ride toward Mirkwood, Elladan and Elrohir make for the Gap of Rohan, the Fellowship arrives in Caras Galadhon and Legolas and Orophin are reunited.
Dawn broke and Erestor yawned sleepily. He felt the warm softness of Glorfindel’s tunic against his cheek, and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The warrior’s steady heartbeat and strong chest gave him a sense of comfort as he lay in his arms. He silently berated himself for being foolish enough to leave his safe haven of Imladris while the Nine were about. But he had promised Legolas, and he always honored his promises.
He had not suffered nightmares of Dagorlad since he had come to live under Elrond’s rule. The realm of Imladris offered him a safe haven from the horrible experience that had almost been his last. Glorfindel had reached him just as he fell from the wound that the Witch King inflicted upon him. His fierce warrior friend became his savior when the Witch King fled in the face of his power and bravery. Glorfindel gathered him in his arms and raced back toward the tents, two of his subordinates bravely running interference for him. Erestor vaguely remembered the warrior dragging Lord Elrond back to the tent and holding his hand while his leader administered to him. Two days passed before he wogaingain, weak from an abating fever. Glorfindel sat beside him, bruised and battered, refusing treatment for his own wounds until he knew his friend would recover.
It was then that Erestor knew he loved the warrior, but he allowed centuries to pass before he would admit it. He told himself they were too different. They had almost nothingcommcommon, they did not like the same kind of music, or the same foods; they dressed differently, they carried themselves differently and rarely saw eye to eye on anything. Glorfindel drove him mad with his brash sense of humor and filthy jokes. His lack of decorum was shameful, and the way the warrior kept his chamber was a disgrace. But for all the things that drove Erestor mad, there were so many that he found endearing; his fierce loyalty, his willing to sacrifice all for a cause he knew to be right or for the ones he loved. Glorfindel did not give his heart frivolously; he did not banter words of love about as if they were so much fodder. He was an elf of few words, preferring to use only those that would convey exactly what he was thinking, and if he said he loved you, you could count on that love everyday for the rest of your life. Glorfindel was all that Erestor thought to be good and beautiful in the world, he was his best friend, and the keeper of his heart.
The only other that had touched him that way was Legolas. The Prince was similar in appearance to Glorfindel; both were tall and strong, though Glorfindel was larger in build. Both were unwavering in their loyalty, brave beyond measure, always ready to step in and do the right thing, no matter what the cost to themselves. For all their similarities, there were most definitely differences. Legolas was gentle and patient, a kind and innocent soul from a realm where death and destruction was a nearly daily occurrence. He was proud, but quietly so. He possessed a gentle wisdom that Erestor found remarkable for one so young. Legolas and Erestor were much alike, preferring books and quiet nigby tby the fire to insane contests and wild adventures. They liked the same foods, the same wines, and the same music. While Legolas wore the garb of rriorrior, his appearance was understated, like Erestor’s. The warrior shown with an inner light that did not require elaborate garments.
He felt the warrior stir slightly beneath him, knowing that he would not have been fully asleep, not as long as trouble was near. He blushed when he realized how he had clung to the warrior in the middle of the night like a frightened elfling, but he could not help it, the memory was too near. He heard his great lion yawn and felt him stretch and he slowly sat up, allowing him to move more freely. He looked over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly at his friend and protector.
Glorfindel sat up and smiled, “You look rested. Are you ready for another long day’s ride?”
Erestor nodded. “How far do you think the horses went last night?”
Glorfindel climbed ou the the bedroll. “Not too far, Asfaloth will come when I call.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. “Are you hungry? I have some lembas in my pack. I do not want to light a fire here, the… well, we may be spotted.” He decided not to bring up the Nazgûl again.
Erestor nodded, “Aye, that is wise. Lembas and some water will do fine.”
The two old friends silently shared a brief breakfast together before mounting their horses and riding off again.
* * * *
Legolas sat on the ground, leaning back against a great Mallorn tree; tears flowed from his eyes as he listened to the lament sung by the Galadhrim. Mithrandir had sacrificed his life to save theirs; were it not for that sacrifice, the Balrog would have taken them all. The stories he had heard were true; he had seen much evil in his life, but nothing the likes of what lay inside the depths of Moria.
He felt a kind hand upon his shoulder and looked up into Orophin’s sparkling blue eyes. He and the marchwarden had not spoken before that moment, only acknowledging one another with a friendly smile and nod of the head upon entering Lórien. He had not seen Orophin since that autumn he spent in the Golden Wood so long ago. Orophin sat beside him, placing an arm around his shoulder. “I am sorry, Legolas. Mithrandir’s passing is grievous for all of us.”
Legolas smiled and nodded. “Aye, this world will not be the same without him.”
Orophin asked quietly, “How have you been?”
Legolas nodded and looked up at the night sky. “I have been well, though I have missed you, meldiramin.”
Orophin leaned his head upon the Prince’s shoulder. “Aye, I have missed you as well. I am sorry that things had to happen the way they did. I never wanted to hurt you, Legolas.”
Legolas smiled and placed a hand upon the archer’s strong thigh. “I too am sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, Orophin, you were only honest with me. It is I that hurt you, and for that I have never stopped being sorry.”
Orophin tugged at his sleeve, “Come home with me, Legolas. Sleep in my bed, you look tired.”
Legolas smiled weakly, “I should stay here, with my companions.”
Orophin motioned about them. “They are all asleep, they are safe here. You have a long and difficult journey ahead of you, you need to rest.” He pulled at his arm, “Come, please. I am not asking anything other than you rest.”
He rose from the ground, his limbs felt like lead, he had never been so tired in all his life. He spent that night nestled in Orophin’s arms, and had the first night’s peace since the strange journey began.
* * * *
Elladan and Elrohir rode south, through the foothills of the Misty Mountains and the wilds of Dunland toward the Gap of Rohan. They were meeting with a tribe of Northern Dúnedain that they had ridden with and hunted with in the p Th They knew war was coming and it would fall to them to bring the broken peoples of Arnor together and unite them with their future King. They had not encountered the Nazgûl, and slew the Orcs they encountered as they traveled south, unknowingly clearing a paor Gor Glorfindel and Erestor who were a few days behind them.
It was late in the afternoon when they stopped for the night. They were close to Isengard, and being aware of Saruman’s treachery, slept hidden amongst rocky outcroppings for safety. The Twin Sons of Elrond were feared by Orcs and all evil creatures, their fierceness was known throughout Middle Earth, and Saruman most of all hated them. They would have to be careful until they met up with the Northmen, and they hoped that the White Wizard would be too distracted with Ring lust to bother with them.
Elrohir sat beside his twin, sharpening his arrow points and cleaning his knives. Neither talked much, thinking of what was to come. As darkness fell they curled about one another and took turns staying awake, ever vigilant.
To be continued…
Elvish = English translation
Meldiramin = My friend