Dark Council- *added Epilogue*
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,566
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,566
Reviews:
21
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 5: Accusation
CHAPTER 5
Rymir sat in his chambers, lounging languidly in a large plush chair in front of the fireplace. Clad only in a silk robe, he sat sideways, one leg draped over the chair’s arm as he slowly swirled wine around in the goblet he held.
An enticing young Elf slept in Rymir’s bed, exhausted from the demands of the Councilman’s tumultuous style of lovemaking. His near-platinum hair, a striking contrast to Rymir’s, lay across his lovely face as his chest rose and fell slowly in long deep breaths. Rymir ignored him, now that he was sated for the time being. He would allow his young lover to regain his strength briefly, then he would show him the door; it was the ritual with which he ended all his trysts.
The Council member had just reached for more wine, when the heavy wooden door of his chambers swung open with enough force to slam it into the wall behind it. Rymir leapt from his chair, startled, as the Elf in his bed bolted upright, clutching the covers to his chest and blinking rapidly in confusion.
Garand stood in the doorway, dangerous sparks in his golden-green eyes, as he leveled his gaze at Rymir. He stepped over the threshold and began advancing toward the Councilman, when he noticed the young Elf. Seeing his obvious young age, Garand turned to the black-haired Elf, his upper lip curled in disgust.
“Snatching them from their mothers’ arms these days, Rymir?” he asked contemptuously.
Rymir only smirked in response.
The warrior turned again to the youth. “What is your name?” he asked gently.
“Varan, sir”, he replied hesitantly.
“I wish to give you some advice, Varan. Never let this *thing* touch you again. Put as much distance between yourself and him as you can. He will only taint you.” The young Elf glanced uncertainly at Rymir, before snatching up his clothing from the floor at the end of the bed, and pulling them on hastily. Garand stood in front of him to shield him from the gaze of the lascivious Councilman. The young Elf strode quickly to the door, his hand shaking a little as he reached for the handle.
“Varan,” Garand stopped him. When he turned to face him, the warrior smiled kindly. “Stop in the kitchen on your way out, and tell them Garand asks them to give you something to eat before you leave for your home.”
The blonde Elf smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, sir.” Garand nodded and opened the chamber door for him. He left quietly, and Garand closed the door softly behind him, locking and barring it. He turned to face Rymir. The Councilman applauded slowly, a wry smile on his strange, handsome face.
“Bravo Garand, you have rescued an innocent youth from my evil clutches.”
The auburn-haired warrior walked silently toward him.
“Will you assault me?” Rymir asked hesitantly.
Garand stopped mere inches from him and gazed at him evenly. “Give me one good reason why I should *not*,” he said softly.
“Because I bedded some Elfling from the farmland?” the black-haired Councilman asked, incredulous.
“Because you are a treacherous, traitorous enemy of Mirkwood,” the warrior spat. “I know about your part in the demolition of the irrigation pipe, and I know two accomplices aided you.”
Rymir’s pale gray eyes widened for a moment before he recovered himself, and sneered at Garand again.
“And how will you prove this?” he asked.
Garand shrugged. “Most likely, I can *not*, but I will see you answer for it, just the same. How do you live with yourself? Many of Mirkwood’s citizens rely on that water supply. What possible motive could you have for such an act?”
Rymir’s eyes flashed in anger. “You truly cannot guess? Think back, young warrior. Did you honestly think you could reject me in such an insulting manner, and I would simply forget about it?”
It was Garand’s turn to be stunned. “What? You would harm many of your own people, to strike at me for some slight? You have an endless procession of young Elves traipsing in and out of your bed! What difference does it make, if you cannot have *me*?”
“Oh, it makes a difference, my beauty,” Rymir purred. “No one rejects me. And ‘tis not you that I strike at.”
“Who, then?” Garand said impatiently. “Who else could you possibly be …..” he trailed off as realization washed over him. “Thranduil,” he whispered, horrified. Rage then replaced horror, and he grasped Rymir’s robe, swinging him around and flinging him down on the bed violently. The warrior gripped the Councilman’s wrists roughly and pinned him down, driving his knee into Rymir’s chest. “Do not dare to hurt him,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his voice dangerously low.
“How will you stop me? You admittedly have no proof of any wrongdoing on my part. It is your word against mine. I am a respected, long-standing member of the Council, and you are what, the Prince’s friend and the King’s lo Wh Who do you think the Council will believe?”
Garand’s grip on Rymir relaxed as the meaning of the Councilman’s words began to sink in. He slowly backed off the bed, his mind reeling. The implications of Rymir’s threat were overwhelming. The warrior saw clearly what the Council member’s plan was, but by the gods, he would not allow it! He would give his life to defend his love, his aran, if necessary. nev never would he permit this scum, this pestilence, to destroy Thranduil’s good name!
Garand stood over Rymir, who gingerly rubbed his wrists and glared at him.
“This is not over, Rymir,” he said surely. “Not nearly. You have underestimated me and my devotion to the King, and ‘twill be your downfall. You have been warned.” The warrior Elf turned his back on the Councilman and walked with a warrior’s grace out of the chamber, leaving Rymir a little less sure of himself than he’d been several moments ago.
Aran: King
Rymir sat in his chambers, lounging languidly in a large plush chair in front of the fireplace. Clad only in a silk robe, he sat sideways, one leg draped over the chair’s arm as he slowly swirled wine around in the goblet he held.
An enticing young Elf slept in Rymir’s bed, exhausted from the demands of the Councilman’s tumultuous style of lovemaking. His near-platinum hair, a striking contrast to Rymir’s, lay across his lovely face as his chest rose and fell slowly in long deep breaths. Rymir ignored him, now that he was sated for the time being. He would allow his young lover to regain his strength briefly, then he would show him the door; it was the ritual with which he ended all his trysts.
The Council member had just reached for more wine, when the heavy wooden door of his chambers swung open with enough force to slam it into the wall behind it. Rymir leapt from his chair, startled, as the Elf in his bed bolted upright, clutching the covers to his chest and blinking rapidly in confusion.
Garand stood in the doorway, dangerous sparks in his golden-green eyes, as he leveled his gaze at Rymir. He stepped over the threshold and began advancing toward the Councilman, when he noticed the young Elf. Seeing his obvious young age, Garand turned to the black-haired Elf, his upper lip curled in disgust.
“Snatching them from their mothers’ arms these days, Rymir?” he asked contemptuously.
Rymir only smirked in response.
The warrior turned again to the youth. “What is your name?” he asked gently.
“Varan, sir”, he replied hesitantly.
“I wish to give you some advice, Varan. Never let this *thing* touch you again. Put as much distance between yourself and him as you can. He will only taint you.” The young Elf glanced uncertainly at Rymir, before snatching up his clothing from the floor at the end of the bed, and pulling them on hastily. Garand stood in front of him to shield him from the gaze of the lascivious Councilman. The young Elf strode quickly to the door, his hand shaking a little as he reached for the handle.
“Varan,” Garand stopped him. When he turned to face him, the warrior smiled kindly. “Stop in the kitchen on your way out, and tell them Garand asks them to give you something to eat before you leave for your home.”
The blonde Elf smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, sir.” Garand nodded and opened the chamber door for him. He left quietly, and Garand closed the door softly behind him, locking and barring it. He turned to face Rymir. The Councilman applauded slowly, a wry smile on his strange, handsome face.
“Bravo Garand, you have rescued an innocent youth from my evil clutches.”
The auburn-haired warrior walked silently toward him.
“Will you assault me?” Rymir asked hesitantly.
Garand stopped mere inches from him and gazed at him evenly. “Give me one good reason why I should *not*,” he said softly.
“Because I bedded some Elfling from the farmland?” the black-haired Councilman asked, incredulous.
“Because you are a treacherous, traitorous enemy of Mirkwood,” the warrior spat. “I know about your part in the demolition of the irrigation pipe, and I know two accomplices aided you.”
Rymir’s pale gray eyes widened for a moment before he recovered himself, and sneered at Garand again.
“And how will you prove this?” he asked.
Garand shrugged. “Most likely, I can *not*, but I will see you answer for it, just the same. How do you live with yourself? Many of Mirkwood’s citizens rely on that water supply. What possible motive could you have for such an act?”
Rymir’s eyes flashed in anger. “You truly cannot guess? Think back, young warrior. Did you honestly think you could reject me in such an insulting manner, and I would simply forget about it?”
It was Garand’s turn to be stunned. “What? You would harm many of your own people, to strike at me for some slight? You have an endless procession of young Elves traipsing in and out of your bed! What difference does it make, if you cannot have *me*?”
“Oh, it makes a difference, my beauty,” Rymir purred. “No one rejects me. And ‘tis not you that I strike at.”
“Who, then?” Garand said impatiently. “Who else could you possibly be …..” he trailed off as realization washed over him. “Thranduil,” he whispered, horrified. Rage then replaced horror, and he grasped Rymir’s robe, swinging him around and flinging him down on the bed violently. The warrior gripped the Councilman’s wrists roughly and pinned him down, driving his knee into Rymir’s chest. “Do not dare to hurt him,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his voice dangerously low.
“How will you stop me? You admittedly have no proof of any wrongdoing on my part. It is your word against mine. I am a respected, long-standing member of the Council, and you are what, the Prince’s friend and the King’s lo Wh Who do you think the Council will believe?”
Garand’s grip on Rymir relaxed as the meaning of the Councilman’s words began to sink in. He slowly backed off the bed, his mind reeling. The implications of Rymir’s threat were overwhelming. The warrior saw clearly what the Council member’s plan was, but by the gods, he would not allow it! He would give his life to defend his love, his aran, if necessary. nev never would he permit this scum, this pestilence, to destroy Thranduil’s good name!
Garand stood over Rymir, who gingerly rubbed his wrists and glared at him.
“This is not over, Rymir,” he said surely. “Not nearly. You have underestimated me and my devotion to the King, and ‘twill be your downfall. You have been warned.” The warrior Elf turned his back on the Councilman and walked with a warrior’s grace out of the chamber, leaving Rymir a little less sure of himself than he’d been several moments ago.
Aran: King