The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: The Half Breeds
Chapter: Morning comes…
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairings: Let’s see, all the normal ones…Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, TWINS/OFC…Thranduil/OFC…Various OMCs/OFCs…etc…
Warnings: Some sexuality…
Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else…
Summary: Most of the Elves have sailed, but there are still quite a few left…Haldir is lonely. Elladan and Elrohir are bored. Legolas wishes to escape his home. Rumil and Orophin wish to find bed partners. The Avari want to be heard…
NOTES: Kinn-Lai, another Avarin word created by Tolkien – the tribe of the Avari in Khand for the purposes of my story…
Ranohtar means Wandering Warrior…(befitting a nomadic Avari…:P)
Hithaeglir – elvish for the Misty Mountains…
Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish/mid Forth Age (no exact date will be given)
Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.
Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my ADD and constantly changing mind…:P)

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Do I have to put the law on you baby
for all the wicked things you do
(Natalie Merchant, Put the Law on You)
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“Anor rises despite us.” Legolas stared blankly at the looming Hithaeglir, piercingly white from the eastern light reflecting off the blankets of snow.

Both riders stood on the edge of Eryn Lasgalen at the beginning of the forest road. Nodding in agreement, Celegrod waited for the prince to steel his resolve. Flitting thoughts of returning graced his mind briefly, but the guard knew that neither would ever give over to their stubbornness.

‘He didn’t try to stop me,’ Legolas thought, blinking away tears though his expression remained hard and focused on the mountains in the west, nothing giving away his turmoil. Silence, except for the morning song of the birds, echoed through the morning air, and soon the calls of other animals joined the birds.

The emotions of an elf could not stop the world from turning.

Shadow still engulfed them since the sun had not risen high enough to defeat the dark of the forest. The light reflecting off the mountains was too weak to reach them from such a far distance. Legolas thought it fitting that it matched the heaviness in his soul. A deep chasm of blackness in his heart kept him from accepting the light his father offered…

After a moment, Legolas willed away his regrets and shifted in his saddle. “Celegrod, where are you leading me?”

“To those who understand you the best…” Celegrod did not look at his companion, but nodded toward the west. “Beyond those mountains, mellon.” Legolas squinted his eyes…

Imladris. Imladris was beyond those mountains. The prince swore under his breath, but Celegrod still heard him and chuckled.

“I trust that it is fond memories you are swearing at…” the guard tilted his head and grinned at Legolas. Shaking his head, a small smile crept across Legolas’ previously scowling features.

“I was just thinking of the last time I was with the twins, at Pelannor Fields.” Both paused for a moment to reflect upon the last war. The Sons of Elrond had aided the now dead king of Gondor. It bewildered and saddened them to think upon their old friend Aragorn. In a war so disastrous, the whole of Arda was changed. Then the life of the one who had fought for so much was gone quicker than candle flame in the wind. That is to an elf of three millennia.

Breaking the silence, Legolas looked over at Celegrod. “Do you think they are still there? Surely they must have gone somewhere. I thought they would’ve become extremely bored by ruling…”

“Last news we had, they had replaced Elrond as the Masters of Rivendell, my lord.”

“I said don’t call me that…”

“My apologies it will not happen again.”

Pressing his heel into the stallion’s flanks, Legolas rode toward the mountains. “I suppose then we should go.” Celegrod followed quietly as the prince walked his horse slowly into the brightening day. He could not help but notice how magnificent and like his father Legolas seemed. Despite all, Legolas glowed, radiating warmth and light…even in the darkness of depression.

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Twitching his nose, Thranduil batted at a piece of fluff that bothered him as he slept. Irritated that it would not leave him, he opened one eye only to be greeted by two dark eyes. Sleep still filled his eyes, thus blurring the features of the being standing over him.

A cry escaped the lips of the person, as he leapt at them. Coming to his senses, Thranduil blinked and felt with his hands the softness of the being beneath him. Unsure if he should be angered or relieved by the presence of the trembling chambermaid whimpering under him, he stared at her coldly.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded. She was fairly young, and he knew her as Legolas’ personal chamber servant. Her name eluded him, and he was fairly certain he’d never bedded her. Ellyth who’d not seen the inside of the king’s chambers were few and far between, and it intrigued him to meet them on the rare occasions he did.

“I-I have come to clean the prince’s chambers, your majesty.” Her small voice wavered.

He could smell her innocence and fear, and it touched him. Softening his gaze, Thranduil rose off the elleth to his haunches beside her, reaching out a hand to help her rise. She shook as she laid her slender palm in his, engulfed by his massive hand. He relished the feel and warmth of her smooth skin.

Aiding her to stand, he reverted to his typical sneer. “Did you always wake my son in such a manner…?”

“I-I am sorry, sire, b-but I was not expecting to find you in Prince Legolas’ bed…” she flushed deeply as she stammered out her explanation.

He dropped her hand and sat on the edge of the bed facing her. “You may continue with your duties then.” Waving his hand nonchalantly for her to go about her business, he leaned upon one elbow, watching her every move. Under his critical eye, the elleth could barely walk. The king was not one to be familiar with, wasn’t that what everyone said? She had heard about his promiscuousness, but in extremely hushed whispers. Was this something he sought from her now…

“Do not fear me. I will not harm you,” he broke into her thoughts. She risked looking at him, scanning over his body briefly. He wore only brown leggings, the rest of him magnificently exposed. Golden waves spilled about his shoulders, and she was horrified that he would behave so casually before her.

But he was not watching her anymore. Instead his attentions were cast about the room, evaluating the sparse and plain decorations and furniture.

“I have no son.” The elleth dropped the book she had lifted to dust the bedside table. Turning, she stared in confusion at the king.

“Y-your majesty?” She gripped the table behind her, trying desperately to steady her already shot nerves. His calmness disturbed her, especially as he swept his free arm in a wide arc indicating the entire room.

“All of this. Have some of the guards come up here and burn it. Tell them to take everything to the courtyard in front of the gates. Burn it till nothing remains but a pile of smoking ashes.” He stood, stretching his arms casually over his head. Still scanning the room as he did so, his eyes alighted upon the gilded mirror across from the bed.

Her mirror, here it hung the only thing of dainty and decorative beauty. Briefly his eyes softened as the forgotten scent of lavender wafted through his senses, a ghost of Legolas’ mother. He could not remember when he had bestowed the gift upon his son, but fury replaced his curiosity. Gwanwen did not deserve it.

His voice dangerously low, he added, walking over to caress the inlaid gems. “Not this. Send Galion to remove it and take it to my chambers.” His fingertips brushed lightly over the winding branches and leaves of precious stones, another flood of memories overwhelming him. Closing his eyes, he became lost in soft alabaster skin and silver hair, and a smile that could calm the fiercest firestorm. It was quickly replaced by screams and deadly silence.

Flashing his eyes open, he spoke over his shoulder to the stunned chambermaid, “Did you ever share Legolas’ bed?” Her mouth fell open, unsure of how to answer such a blunt question. He faced her, searching her eyes for whatever truth he wished to find. Soon his eyes fell upon her figure, taking in her dark hair and indigo eyes. A simple off-white muslin dress adhered to her curves. The simplicity of her appearance was new to him, as he was used to ellyth dressed in silks and sheer gossamer.

“Are you of the Noldor?”

Confusion filled her mind at his sudden subject change.

“My lord?” She let go of the table, side stepping from him as he approached her.

“Your hair and eyes. You remind me of Elrond’s people.” The predator appeared for a brief second before slipping into the lamb’s skin. He mirrored her steps, smiling benevolently down to her. The closer he drew to her, the more she felt like the rabbits her brothers had hunted in their youth. Soon he was so near, she could smell his male scent, the heat radiating off his body causing her to sweat a little.

“M-my l-lord, you mentioned something about not having a son? What did you mean? What has happened to Prince Legolas?” Swiftly she sidestepped away from him and whirled around to face his back, backing away a few feet. His muscles visibly tensed across his shoulders, and the look he gave her when he turned made her breath catch in her throat.

“Do not speak of Gwanwen any more.” He was upon her so swiftly she blinked. Her legs were pressed against the side of the bed, and she had nowhere to go but to sit. Swallowing hard, she averted her eyes from the view of his chiseled abdomen. Strong hands stroked her tresses, and she barely kept herself from trembling, as his fingers grew bolder. Gliding over the skin of her neck, he knelt before her whispering in her ear, “Tell me truthfully, did you bed Legolas?” Tears brimmed in her eyes as he gripped her chin forcing her to look at him.

And there it was, the look of a hungry lion.

As she shook her head negatively, he grinned wickedly and claimed her lips in a bruising kiss. In her surprise, she gasped softly, opening her mouth enough for him to slip his tongue inside. One hand held her chin firmly, the other fisting tightly in her hair.

Forgotten was the maiden who’d stained his sheets with her tears. Forgotten was his disgust from the night before. And he hoped to drown his sorrows for a few hours in the arms of another…again.

She tasted of strawberries.

His tongue swept through her moist cavern, tasting and ravishing. But he could feel her reluctance, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Pulling back he saw the terror filling her eyes. Then he noticed that they were trained on something behind him.

“My lord,” a somber voice floated him, and Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at the figure standing in the doorway.

“Galion.” The king turned back to face the elleth, who now had fresh tears stinging her cheeks. Her face was flushed pink with embarrassment.

The valet bowed respectfully, though his expression was one of steeled displeasure. “How many more murdered hearts do you expect me to sweep under the rug this morning, your majesty?”

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A ray of sunshine peeking through the seams of the tent woke her from fitful slumber. Jumping up, Carniwen took a moment to take in her surroundings. She was still in the tent. Sighing, she looked down at the mat, his side bitterly cold. Shivering despite the warmth of the desert air, she clutched her shoulders and looked around at their few possessions.

Such was the life of the Kinn-Lai, the nomadic elves of Khand. They carried nothing but the clothes on their backs, bedding, their tents and a horse. And their shining, gleaming wicked weapons, each lovingly crafted by the owner.

Carniwen crouched to the floor, feeling around blindly in the rumpled bedclothes. Her hand brushed against warm tooled leather, and she pulled out the sheathed dagger kept hidden beneath her pillow. She knew that Morwe knew she kept it. In fact he silently praised her caution and wariness, even if it was toward him.

Running her fingers over the tooled dragon wrapping itself around the sheath, she gripped it and pulled out the short blade. Yes, they were lovingly made. Carniwen held her breath momentarily as she remembered polishing the sharpened metal for the first time, many years ago, shortly after she’d met Morwë.

A soft rustling outside her tent caused her to stiffen, listening for whomever or whatever lurked nearby.

“My lady, do you plan to stay hidden all day?” Morwë’s second in command, an elf she knew well. Pulling her tunic over her head, she grabbed her brown breeches and fumbled pulling them on. Her fingers deftly laced and tied them. Running her fingers through her hair, she took a breath. With Morwë gone, they would expect her to replace him, or at the very least counsel with his most trusted companions and warriors.

When she pulled the flap open, gripping the dagger behind her back, the sun blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, the dark form of Ranohtar greeted her. Holding her breath, Carniwen could not help staring at him, his muscled and lean form a sight to behold. She suddenly felt foolish under his piercing gaze. Before her stood the warrior, long an acquaintance of hers, in more ways than one. This was an inopportune time for her to think about such things, but his stoic presence always made her want to grab his shoulders and shake him to feeling.

“We have much to discuss.” He gave her a polite but curt bow. Slipping the dagger into the back of her leggings, she stood so that her tunic covered it completely. She reached out with one hand and took his so that he helped her stand.

Ranohtar was dark, hair blacker than night, eyes green like the jungle’s shadow, and skin the color of mahogany. And he dressed in midnight black cotton. But like Morwë, he wore a light-coloured cloak to reflect the sun’s rays. Beneath the fabric of the cloak, she could see the outline of his own weapon.

Sure she would not notice, he allowed himself a moment to caress the forbidden with his own gaze. She was as fair as he was dark, though her hair reflected her name, red as the evening sun. A rare color among elves, it was a constant source of curiosity. She wore the palest shade of green cotton, a pattern of cream woven through.

One was only allowed to taste of her pleasures once, a gift bestowed to seal loyalty. But the taster was always left with a lingering thirst. And his thirst was lusty, as lusty as her curves were. As lusty as his half-breed heart was.

“You may want to wear your protective coat,” he stated flatly, indicating the blazing sun rising boldly in the east. “The wind is picking up as well.” She suddenly noticed the sandy air.

“Of course,” she replied, ducking back in and grabbing the worn floor-sweeping jacket. Standing in front of Ranohtar, she slipped her arms into to the sleeves and hooked the toggles up the front. The thin material was light enough to breathe in the heat, and light-coloured to ward off the warmth of the sun. “Now, what do you wish to discuss with me?” She questioned, shielding her eyes with her palm from the wind blown sands.

“Matters concerning Lord Morwë’s departure.” He began as they walked toward the communal area and tent of their small band. The Kinn-lai were numerous but not tightly knit. Before Carniwen had arrived as the newly bonded of the Lord Morwë, this tribe had already split into countless roving bands. It was true that in times of need they still relied on his guidance, and correspondence was constant. However, she would not have called them kin or friend.

She paused as they neared the larger community tent. The wind flapped the sides, and it still amazed her that in a place where the sun was a permanent fixture, no clouds to give a break to the heat and light, that the wind could be so furious.

Ranohtar pulled back the door flaps of the tent and waited for her to enter before he followed. Several lamps were lit and set upon the two tables at the center of the area. Strewn across them were several maps and letters of correspondence. He signaled for her to go to the tables and review the papers.

Peering down at the parchments, she sifted through them curiously, running her fingertips lightly over the lines of ink. Suddenly Carniwen looked up at him, stunned. Ranohtar blended into the dark shadows of the tent, the dull black eating any light that hit him. Expressionless, he’d just watched her the entire time, waiting for her to ask the expected question.

“Valinor?”