The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: The Half Breeds
Chapter: To hide emotion…
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…
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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Well, contempt loves the silence; it thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart
(My Skin, Natalie Merchant)
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Behind Galion stood another servant, one of the prince’s valets, and he motioned the ellon forward.

“Take her away from here.” His tightlipped expression brooked no argument, and the elf walked quickly to where the king and elleth still remained. She jumped when the soft-spoken valet touched her arm, whispering for her to come with him. Shakily, she stood grasping his hand tightly as she found her legs. Thranduil’s eyes remained latched to hers, and she could not move. Heat and passion swirled in his depths, and she could not move. He frightened her, but it was like a moth drawn to a flame. If one came too close they burned.

“Leave. Now.” Galion waved for them to leave. When he spoke both servants quickly made their way to the door. He stopped them, and added though he continued to pierce the king’s back with his stare. “Silence is most becoming…” Laying a hand on the maiden’s shoulder, he gave her a reassuring squeeze. Both, understanding his words, left quietly.

When the door shut, Thranduil sighed irritably, “And what do I owe for the pleasure of your presence?” He stood and faced his long-time servant, and friend, his legs against the side of the bed. Galion’s façade melted its stern expression in favor of tiredness. Dropping his arms limply to his sides, he strode toward the king, the velvet of his robes swishing quietly. His long silver hair was pulled back in a severe plait to the middle of his back, and it swung softly from side to side.

“Sire,” he bowed, taking the king’s hand and kissing the emerald ring that graced the regal knuckles. Straightening, Galion met his lordship’s eyes, liquid azure edged with fire. “I have taken care of the maiden in your bed. She told me everything that transpired between you and Legolas…” Thranduil shoved past him, anger taking over his senses. Galion whirled around to face the king’s retreating figure. “You certainly are a whirl-wind of emotions, my liege.” The icy words pierced his heart. Pausing in his step, Thranduil waited for the other to continue speaking. “She told me that you threaten your son’s life. Physically took out your anger on him.”

Thranduil remained tightlipped.

“Then she mentioned you calling him ‘Gwanwen’. You curse your son because he sees through you.” Thranduil clenched his eyes shut, willing away the stinging salt that threatened them. Galion watched as he balled his hands into fists at his sides. Squeezing them open and shut, the veins and muscles of his arms tensed and relaxed.

“She should watch her tongue,” Thranduil finally replied, his voice quivering with emotion.

Unable to control himself any further, Galion hissed, “No, my lord. It’s you who should watch your tongue.” Closing the distance between them, he dared to grab the king by the shoulder and forced him to face him. “I am the eyes and ears of this cavern you hide in, and I know of your plan to destroy all that remains of him.”

In all the years of his rule, only one had dared to question, to stand up against the king, keeping him in check. Once again, that elf took the liberty. “Where is the benevolent king I once knew?” Pity and sorrow filled the servant’s eyes, as he searched for a flicker of the lost elf inside the king. He found nothing but coldness and death. Sure Thranduil appeared a fiery blaze to those around him, but only Galion knew of the ice that filled the king’s soul. “What happened to that king? The king who trusted? The king who loved, not just physically, but with his heart?”

“He is dead.” Thranduil jerked out of his friend’s grasp.

Pulling back, a contemplative expression crossed Galion’s face as he folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “So I see. I cannot do your bidding then. I refuse your command.” His turquoise eyes sparked as surprise registered on the king’s face, though it was quickly masked with a sneer.

“I am king, yet you dare to refuse me?” The haughty tone would have fazed many, but not Galion. He heard the strain in it.

“You may be king, but you are incredibly stupid…” He caught the king’s wrist before his palm made contact with the valet’s cheek. Blood pumped furiously through his veins, the muscles in his arms flexing, and he tossed the arm down angrily. “You dare to do such a thing! I knew you before you could walk! Thranduil Oropherion, you are mad!” His irises shook with fury. “She must have seen this in you, before even we saw it…”

“I thought I told you to never speak of her!” Thranduil spat, raising his fist threateningly again. Galion didn’t flinch. Pale blue turned to midnight, the darkening of the sky during a storm. He could see the water brimming at the edges of the king’s eyes. And the storm raged before the iron pillar, winds swirling around, trying to force the column to break. But Galion remained solid, staring past the king as Thranduil cursed him, shouted and spat. As so many times before…

When Thranduil finally ran out of words, Galion looked back at the king heaving with each painful breath. “Aye, there is much you wish for us to ‘never speak of’ because you cannot face your own pain. And now the last two you ever allowed yourself to love are gone because you are stubborn. Celegrod has accompanied Legolas.”

This time the surprise remained on Thranduil’s face, drained and stunned to silence. Legolas was gone. Celegrod was gone. Stumbling, he made his way to one of the chairs in front of the fire hearth and stared blindly into the cold ashes.

“My liege, you know he is completely devoted to your son. You know that he went to protect him.” The king nodded. Celegrod was more than a mere guard. He was the brother Legolas never had, and Thranduil loved him as such. Suddenly the air was chilled, and he shivered, clutching his arms around himself. The stone of the walls seemed to tighten around him, suffocating him as he thought about the two ellyn.

“Did you know I offered him the crown after Legolas refused?” Galion heard the tremor in his voice. “Only four have ever dared to refuse me in the millennia I have ruled. You today. Legolas and Celegrod have refused me. And…and…” Thranduil trailed off, seeking comfort in the ashes. Leaning forward, he cradled his face in his hands, covering his eyes. Galion’s warm hand gingerly touched the base of his neck, gently rubbing light, soothing circles with his thumb.

Only one knew of the king’s tears.

“I know,” whispered Galion over his king’s bowed head. “I know.”

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“Valinor?” She whispered, and Ranohtar nodded. Stepping into the light, he approached her side and placed his hand over hers, moving it to rest on the representation of Taniquetil. So fixated on the numerous questions invading her mind, Carniwen did not notice when his other hand brushed against the small of her back.

As she stared at the map, trying to work things out in her own mind, his eyes traced her profile, the knit of her brow in concentration. His hand hovered over her hair, all the strength he could muster holding him back from touching her. When she spoke, he pulled it back into a fist, biting his tongue in anguish.

“Is this why he left in the dead of the night? Is this why he seeks his brother?” Meeting his eyes, she drew in a sharp breath, realizing just how close he stood next to her. A frown turned down the corners of his mouth, his one hand hidden behind his back.

“Yes.” He replied, looking down upon her. The heat and heady scent of his body assaulted her, and she swallowed hard under his evaluating stare. Flashes of their one shared night flitted through his mind. Though his expression remained cold, creamy skin floated before him. Though she was dressed, she was naked in his mind. “Two days,” his whisper barely audible.

“Two days?” She stepped away from him, returning her attention to the maps. “Two days till what?”

“Till Lord Morwë arrives in the jungles of Harad…”

“So four days till he returns, with Nurwë and who knows whom else accompanying…” she added for him. Ranohtar nodded again. She looked up sharply and demanded, “Why’d you show me this?” Her hand rested on the map, covering Taniquetil, obliterating it from her view.

“Because I do not believe you would follow him along this path…”

Carniwen blinked, not sure she understood him. “What are you saying,” she barely whispered. “Why would you think that?” He inched closer, pulling the map out from under her hand so that he could look at it as well.

“Look,” he breathed, his thigh brushing hers as he drew her attention downward again. “Taniquetil is the mountain of the Valar, and home of Ingwë, the Elven High King.” Confused, she traced the peak.

“What does this have to do with us…with me and Morwë?”

“You do not trust him…you do not love him.” His hand covered hers again, his darkness contrasting sharply with her paleness. “You are used as a political pawn…for favors to those he wishes to seal promises of loyalty from…” His fingers wrapped around hers, lifting her knuckles to his lips. Softly they pressed against her warm skin, a shiver slipping down her spine. “As I myself know well of,” his warm breath brushed against the moisture he left behind.

She pulled away from him, hiding the offended hand behind her back as she stepped around to the opposite side of the table. She watched him warily.

The canvas of the tent was dark enough to block out all light from outside, creating a cave inside. Fitting that he reminded her of a jungle cat hiding in a cave. Candlelight cast shadows across his face, and she searched his eyes, desperately trying to read the emotions that flickered in them. But he was unreadable, and it unnerved her.

She felt cornered, her back toward the rear of the tent, he between her and the entrance.

“You seek to seduce me in hopes that I will betray him…with you, you who are his most trusted and second in command.” Her expression was unreadable, and he narrowed his eyes wondering if he had read her wrong. “For some far off land that we are banished from?”

“The last thing I seek to do is seduce you, or anyone else.” Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled deeply. “Lord Morwë trusts no one, not me, not you…not even his own flesh. This…” he indicated the papers between them, “is nothing more than his ego.”

“What about the others? His other commanders, and the ones from the other bands…”

Ranohtar cut her off by holding his palm toward her, replying serenely, “…Do you really think he trusts them enough to show this to them. Of all the elves and peoples surrounding him, only two did he tell of this.” He picked up a letter, and held it so that she could read the signature. “Lord Nurwë and myself. Take a look here…” Once again his voice trailed off, as he pulled out a rolled map from within his cloak. Bending over the table, he unrolled it between them, smoothing it flat and setting candles on the corners to hold it down. It was the same map as the one on the table, but this time a path was clearly drawn in charcoal, beginning in Khand and ending at Taniquetil. She followed his middle finger as it pointed out various places of import along the trail. “This cannot accommodate an army. What he has drawn here…”

“…Is the path of a single being’s journey…” she finished for him. Looking up, she added, “What could he possibly want from Taniquetil? You mentioned his ego…” Carniwen paused and then wondered out loud, “How would he even sail there? Only the Grey Ships can make the journey, all others who have sought Aman have been lost…”

“Or so we have thought for many millennia…” His cryptic words confused her, but he quickly changed the subject. “He seeks revenge, his ego forces him to…” Still her lack of understanding was clearly written on her face. Beautiful she was, beautiful and desirable in all ways, but naïve beyond his comprehension. No, that was wrong, she was not completely naïve. One like her could never be completely innocent in her thinking. Too many men had used her to fulfill fantasy and lust.

Power, she held considerable power, tucked and hidden neatly away between snowy thighs. And his Lord used that power to his advantage. His angular jaw clenched as he willed away such thoughts. ‘Now is not the time…nor the place,’ he chastised himself.

“It still amazes me that after all these years, you still stand beside him…” he whispered out loud.

Both jerked their heads toward the entrance. Voices drifted through the air, a sign of their awakened kin. Swifter than she could have imagined, Ranohtar pulled the marked map from under the candles, rolled it up and tucked it neatly back into his cloak. “But I know you hold him in contempt, as he has told me himself,” his movement around the table, again to her side, was too quick, and he held her firmly next to him. His fingers wrapped around her bicep, and he could feel her life-beat pumping beneath his thumb. His other hand slipped under her tunic, and she shivered as his warm palm hit her bare skin. But touching her was not on his mind.

Thudding, her dagger landed in the middle of the table. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object never before seen by her eyes, as he released her from his grasp.

“Lord Morwë has shared more with me about you than just one night…” Though he no longer touched her, he stood close enough for his hot breath to hit her ear. “You wonder why…” Her eyes darted about nervously, watching the entrance and fearing someone finding them. “…You wonder what I am planning, and why you should trust me.” Lifting the back of his hand to her cheek, he turned her face toward him. Sliding his fingers softly across her cheek, he pressed the soft pad of his forefinger’s tip against her lips. Warm, erratic air swirled around it, bathing his finger and sending a wave of heat through his veins to his loins.

Rooted to the spot, she could neither move, nor speak…nor breathe. Bustling noises invaded the quiet sanctuary of the tent, and it was just they. His eyes, liquid pools of forest green, flickered with the candlelight, and for the first time, she understood the emotion within. This was more than primal lust.

“Tis forbidden…” she whispered hoarsely, recalling Morwë’s last moments with her. ‘Mine. Mine Hwenti whore,’ his words echoed through her head. It was true, she did hold Morwë in contempt; the life he’d created for her filled her with remorse and hatred, but she’d never dared to outright defy him, nor deny him. And never in the years she’d lived here had anyone shown concern for her…not like Ranohtar did now. He’d revealed more emotion in one moment than in millennia of acquaintance.

His hand dropped from her face, and he winced visibly. Wishful thinking on his part…

Turning away from her, he gathered the other maps and letters, rolling them up tightly and binding them with string. He tucked them under his arm and handed the dagger back to her. Gingerly she took it from his hand and replaced it under her tunic.

“I will speak of this in more detail later with you…” All emotion had disappeared from his expression, and the coldness of his voice was a splash of ice water upon her face, but she nodded her consent. “If you will allow me,” Ranohtar pulled back the tent flap and signaled for her to exit before him.

Once outside, she stared at the elves moving around, acting out their daily rituals. Colorful tents dotted the sandy unforgiving landscape, and ellyth and ellyn passed between the dwellings chasing small children, handling the few animals they could afford to support. The diviners had already left to scout out the underground reservoirs of water for the day’s supply. Unlike Ranohtar, most wore light-colored clothing beneath the loose-fitting protective cloaks, and their hair pulled up tightly against their heads to aid in cooling.

She still felt a stranger among these people.

Ranohtar reminded her of his presence by clearing his throat. “If you will excuse me,” he bowed to her politely, once again taking her hand and giving her a quick unemotional kiss on her knuckles. “But I must speak with the others.” He left her standing alone.

She yearned to join the others in the daily duties they performed but knew she would be turned away from them. Their rejection would be with the utmost politeness and respect, but they would not allow her to participate. Her position among them distanced her from creating any true bonds. In truth, she knew everyone’s name, and she had spoken with many on a daily basis. But she was not allowed anything further than that.

Even among the crowd, she was alone. To live surrounded by millennia aged acquaintances…

Watching his lean figure stride away, Carniwen wondered what had caused his sudden exhibition of emotion, and what would happen when Morwë returned to them. Especially what would happen if he found out…