This, And My Heart Beside *added ch. 20/part 1*

CHAPTER 7


As the guests began to stream into the banquet hall, the royal family stood just inside are arched doorway, waiting to greet them. Each guest brought with them a gift, knowing that the Prince would not keep it for himself. Years earlier, it had become a tradition that Legolas gave away his begetting day presents to the children of those who worked tirelessly in his father’s service. The concept and decision to do so was his own, and was one that made Thranduil’s heart swell with pride each year. Legolas even insisted on deciding which toy went to which child. He derived greater joy from the heartfelt letters of thanks he received, than he ever could from any gift.

The Mood ood and Ilandros Guards were the last to enter, and they each paid veneration to the King and Queen, and the young guest of honor. The Ilandrian warriors were once again garbed in the uniform of their own land, with a few additions. They no longer wore their hair bound in the same way. Some still wore the low braid that they’d been wearing when they first arr in in Mirkwood; but others wore it pulled up high into a topknot, secured again with colored ribbons and cords that sted ded down, mingling with their dark tresses that fell like dusky curtains across their broad backs and bare arms. Uriong was one of the few who wore his hair unbound. The glossy black lengths spilled across his shoulders and fell to his waist. A wide leather belt encircled his midsection, holding closed an open-front tunic, and on his powerful upper arms he wore ornate copper cuffs.

The Guards of Mirkwood came dressed in the ceremonial uniforms that were reserved for events such as this. Leggings of forest green were tucked into dress boots of the deepest brown, with high-collared tunics to match. Belorfilad had told his warriors to braid or not braid their hair in whatever fashion was the most comfortable for them. Even though they and the Ilandrian Guard were being honored today, he wanted them all to be relaxed and able to enjoy the celebration. The Captain had every intention of enjoying *himself*, too, and he wore his lustrous golden hair in a single braid in the back. It always happened when he bound his hair loosely like this; several rebel strands would escape, spilling across his forehead and curving forward to caress his cheek, and today was no exception. It was the first thing Uriong noticed when all of the Guard had met in the corridor before entering the banquet h and and it had caused his heart to quicken. Several times, as Belorfilad spoke with the warriors under his command, he glanced at the other Captain only to find his sweltering gaze fixed on him, and each time it caused Belorfilad to waver in his speech. The third time he caught Uriong staring, he nearly forgot what he’d been saying. The Captain of Ilandros was watching his lips as he spoke and licking his own enticingly, as if tasting him. A flush of pleasure and self-consciousness swept across his cheeks, and his mind struggled to recall what he had been talking about. He was spared the embarrassment of admitting his loss of concentration though, when King Thranduil noticed them all standing in the corridor and had called out, “Captains! Will you and your soldiers not enter?”

Uriong and his guards filed past the royal family, paying respect to each of them and wishing Legolas a most joyous begetting day. The Mirkwood Guard followed, with the blonde Captain entering last. He greeted the King and Queen and stopped before the Prince.

“It is very gracious of you to share the place of honor with the Guard today, Your Highness,” he smiled.

Legolas gazed up at him gravely. “Why would I *not*, Belorfilad?” he asked. “All the guards deserve to be honored for what they did; *you*, above all.” He meant every word. He’d felt such pride in the Mirkwood Guard for their actions the day Isalith had been injured, that he truly desired to see them recognized. If King Tyrion and Queen Anylinde hadn’t suggested it, *he* would have. The Prince then noticed that Belorfilad held something behind his back, with one hand.

“Well,” the Captain replied, “I thank you just the same. Are you wondering what it is I am holding?” He asked in amusement as he noticed where Legolas’ eyes had fallen.

“Yes,” Legolas said shyly, and he blushed self-consciously.

Belorfilad laughed gently and lowered himself to one knee before his prince. “It is my gift to you, and ‘tis something that you will need to keep for yourself. Your father and I have been talking, and we are in agreement that you are ready to begin archery lessons.” He brought his hand forward and presented Legolas with a quiver full of arrows, and a bow made just for him. The Prince’s eyes widened. He looked at the King questioly, ly, as if he was afraid to believe it.

“*Truly*, adar?” he asked his father incredulously.

Thranduil barely concealed a smile at his son’s amazement. “Yes, my joy,” he replied, “It is time.”

Legolas turned again to Belorfilad. “Thank you,” he smiled tremulously and took the bow and quiver reverently into his small hands.

The Captain smiled and bowed his blonde head, hand over his heart. “You are very welcome, my Prince,” he answered. “These will serve you well until you have grown and are ready to progress to a larger bow. The arrows were crafted by Commander Hil-Gamir. All those used by the Guard are fashioned by his hand; his arrows are the truest.”

Legolas nodded his understanding before suddenly rushing forward to fling his arms around Belorfilad’s broad shoulders and squeeze him tightly. The warrior was once again caught off-guard by the impulsive affection of a grateful child; but he recovered quickly and returned the embrace. He ly lly loved this boy and, as he held his small form in his powerful arms, he silently renewed his vow to protect him with his life, if need be.

“What a wonderful gift, Legolas,” King Tyrion spoke as he approached the group from behind. “And with the capable instruction of Captain Belorfilad, you will soon become as fine an archer as your father.”

“You flatter me, my friend,” Thranduil laughed.

“Not at all,” he replied, smiling. “I only speak the truth; I have seen you in action on the archery range. Most impressive.”

The King of Mirkwood bowed graciously. “Well, I thank you for the kind words. And now, I believe a celebration is in order, is it not?” he smiled at his son. Legolas grinned happily and, after handing his new bow and arrows to one of the servants, took the hands of his mother and father as they made their way to the front of the hall.


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The ceremony to honor and thank the Guards for their quick actions in rescuing Prince Isalith, kicked off the festivities. First, Tyrion and Ande nde spoke to the crowd of their gratitud eac each and every warrior, and of the honor and joy they felt for the privilege of knowing the Elves of Mirkwood. This drew cheers and thunderous applause from the guests. After it died down, the King and Queen of Ilandros asked Belorfilad and Uriong to come forward. When the two Captains stood before them, a member of the Ilandrian Council came forward, carrying a box carved out of oak. He opened it and Tyrion reached inside to draw out a pendant formed from pure silver. He handed it to Uriong, who turned to the crowd.

“My King and Queen intended to present me with a pendant as well, but I respectfully refused it. I was never in any real danger, secured by a rope and held fast by nearly two dozen Guardso, to, there is only one hero in this story,” he turned to the blonde Captain and smiled. “Without thought for his own safety, he did what had to be done to rescue the Prince of another realm, and I have asked for the honor of conferring on him this gift. He held up the pendant for all to see. “On behalf of all Ilandros, and with the eternal gratitude and admiration of its people, I present this token to an Elf with the heart of a lion: Captain Belorfilad of the Royal Guard of Mirkwood.”

Uriong stepped close to the blonde Captain and slipped the cord and pendant over his head. Again, deafening applause broke out, the loudest coming from the members of the Mirkwood Guard, who cheered proudly and heartily for their Captain. He grinned at them and made a dismissive gesture before bowing to the King and Queen of Ilandros, and winking at the young Prince. Isalith beamed happily at him as he appla lou loudly. Belorfilad focused his attention on Uriong then, and smiled. “Thank you, my friend,” he said softly. The raven-haired warrior reached up then, and did what he had been dying to do from the moment he first saw Belorfilad in the corridor outside the hall. Gently, he pushed aside a lock of ivory blonde hair that threatened to fall into Belorfilad’s beautiful eyes. Gods, it was as soft and silken as it looked. The Mirkwood Captain blinked rapidly in surprise and cast his eyes downward before he had the chance to blush again under the searing gaze of Uriong. He looked down at the pendant. It *was* a lion, a beautifully crafted one, and the detail in it was exquisite. Every whisker had been painstakingly etched into the flawless silver. He waofouofoundly touched by the gift, and would treasure it always.

Thranduil then stepped forward to thank the Guards himself, before making a brief speech about the occasion they celebrated that day. He always kept it short to spare Legolas the intense embarrassment he knew his son felt at being the focus of attention, but there were things that needed to be said. The King wanted him to know of the adoration and pride he always instilled in him and his wife. He concluded by saying that when he stepped down from the throne, he could do so knowing that Mirkwood would be under Legolas’ very capable leadership. Clapping his hands together, Thranduil then invited the guests to help themselves to the wonderful feast that had been laid out for them on several rows of long tables.

Thus the celebration commenced, and it was one that would be remembered for many years. The food was excellent, the wine and mead flowed freely, and the Elven musicians outdid themselves. Everyone had such a wonderful time that the celebration lasted from mid-afternoon until after midnight, a first-time occurrence. Many couples danced, including Legolas and his naneth. He had bowed to her formally and politely asked for the honor. She curtsied daintily and thanked him, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her out onto the floor. Because of the difference in their heights, Naniel had to bend her legs slightly to compensate, but it was no hardship for her. She wouldn’t have missed this opportunity for anything. Thranduil could dance like no other Elf she’d ever known, and he’d been teaching Legolas for several years, so her son’s expertise was already evident. But it wasn’t his skill on the dance floor that made her glad he’d asked her. She treasured every moment like this one. Soon he would begin to learn everything he needed to know to rule Mirkwood when his time came, and his free moments would be few and far between. So she locked this one away in her memory, to be enjoyed later. After the number was over, Thranduil had claimed the next dance with her, and Legolas went off to spend time with Isalith, while he still could. They sat cross-legged together under one of the tables, watching the silly adults and their grown-up antics. They leaned against each other, giggling helplessly behind their hands as they watched the flirting and dancing of several Elves who’d obviously indulged in too much wine.

Legolas sobered suddenly and laid his hand gently over his friend’s. “I do not want you to leave, Isalith,” he said.

“Nor do I,” Isalith laid his head on Legolas’ shoulder, “but we will write often and visit one another, will we not? You must come to Ilandros the next time,” he added decisively.

Legolas smiled. “I would like that very much.” They both jumped then, when the cloth that covered the table under which they sat was suddenly lifted up and the faces of four of Mirkwood’s guards peered at them.

“There you are!” one of them cried happily. Legolas recognized the Guard named Hilith, who was fairly new to the ranks ans prs probably the youngest member. The Prince didn’t know him very well; they’d only spoken on several occasions, but Legolas had liked him right away.

Hilith squatted down and smiled. “All this dancing and drinking must be very boring for both of you. There are several hours of daylight left. The Captain said that, if you wish, we could begin to show you some basic archery. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yeshe Phe Princes said in unison, and laughed. They scrambled out from under the table, and the group of Guards waited while Legolas told his mother and father where he and Isalith would be, should anyone be looking for them. They left for the archery range, to be instructed and entertained by the warriors. Hilith showed them a few minor illusions with a coin and told them the story of his encounter with a cave troll when he was much younger, enthralling the Princes. When he felt that he had put them at ease, and earned their trust, he began to show them the principles of archery.

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Shortly after Legolas and Isalith left the banquet hall, Queen Anylinde approached Naniel and Thranduil. She handed the Mirkwood Queen a bottle of wine.

“It is Ilandrian wine,” she explained, “to help you celebrate your son’s begetting day.”

“This is too much, Anylinde,” Naniel protested. “You have already given me a magnificent gift, the perfume.”

Anylinde smiled mysteriously. “I have my reason for giving this to you, aside from friendship. ‘Tis something you both need. Later, you will understand. Please accept it.”

Realizing she couldn’t win this argument, Naniel hugged her. “I do accept it, dear friend. Thank you.” Thranduil leaned down to kiss Anylinde’s cheek, thanking her also.

“Ah,” the Ilandrian Queen said, “I see Uriong has spoken with the musicians.” She smiled in delight, deep dimples appearing on her lovely face.

Both Thranduil and Naniel listened, suddenly realizing that the music in the hall had changed drastically. The haunting, ethereal sounds that had accompanied the celebration so far were now replaced by something more primal. The addition of drums added a sensual, silky beat to the music, and it throbbed with an exotic pulse.

“I hope you do not mind,” Anylinde said apologetically. “It is the music of Ilandros.”

They didn’t mind at all. “Tondeonderful, Anylinde,” Thranduil whispered as he felt the driving beat in every fiber of his body. Naniel felt it profoundly, too. Her husband grasped her hands, pulling her toward the front of the hall. “Dance with me again,” he said huskily. She nodded mutely; nothing could’ve stopped her. As they neared the group of musicians, they noticed that several members of the Ilandrian Council had joined them, playing instruments the King and Queen had never seen before. Their own talented musicians easily followed the lead of the Ilandrians, falling into step with them.

Thranduil turned and gathered his wife into his arms. She molded herself to him, and they began to sway slowly and gently, allowing the music to instruct their bodies. Others joined them, even Elves who hadn’t been dancing before. Uriong had requested a dance from one of the single females, a lovely girl who’d blushed and nodded, taking his hand. He led her out to the floor. Keeping her hand in his, he held it gently against his chest while he placed his other hand on the small of her back.

“I am not sure what to do,” she said shyly.

He smiled. “Do what the music tells you to do. There is no right or wrong way to dance to it. Just close your eyes and feel it.”

She obeyed, and within seconds her body began to move of its own accord. Uriong felt her relax and he pulled her closer, following her lead. He looked across the room to see Belorfilad standing against the wall, watching them. He suddenly wished it was the blonde Captain he held in his arms. Although the Elf maiden was beautiful, he only had eyes for Belorfilad. Uriong smiled at him, and Belorfilad grinned and raised his glass of wine in salute.

After the song was over, the girl thanked Uriong and, excusing herself politely, returned to her group of friends, blushing furiously. She had enjoyed herself thoroughly, but the nearness and dark beauty of the Ilandrian warrior had been almost too much for her. Uriong turned to Belorfilad again and shrugged, smiling good-naturedly. Then a new song began, slower and more sensuous than the last, and Uriong again felt the urge to let it take him into its embrace. He stood on the dance floor, among a small group of other Elves, and closed his eyes as his hips began to undulate; he seemed not to care that he was dancing alone. If he couldn’t dance with the one who had truly captivated him, he would dance for his *benefit*, in the hopes of tempting him. Uriong’s powerful body rippled in time to the music, and as his head fell forward, his black hair tumbled down to cover his face. He then tossed his head, and the raven locks swept backward before cascading across hisuldeulders again, like a waterfall. His eyes were still closed, but his full shapely lips had parted in an expression of near-bliss. Belorfilad hadn’t taken his eyes off him from the moment he first began dancing with the maiden, and he was entranced by the warrior’s movements before, but now he stood riveted to the spot. His mouth became dry, and his blood suddenly felt too warm in his veins. What in the name of Varda was happening to him? He’d *never* felt physically attracted to another male; all of his lovers had been female up to this point. But now he was profoundly aware that his breath was quickening, and his skin tingled at the saculacular sight of Uriong’s slow and erotic gyrations. Others had begun to notice the Ilandrian’s mesmerizing dance, but for Belorfilad there *were* no others in the room. His sight had narrowed until the only thing it held was his friend and tempter. When Uriong‘s hand began to trail an exquisitely languorous path down his chest, the blonde Captain’s breath hitched in his throat and his hand tightened uncontrollably around the glass of wine he held. The raven-haired warrior’s copper skin was bathed in a light sheen of sweat, and Belorfilad was overtaken with the urge to lick it from his broad chest and muscled abdomen. He was losing the battle to control his breathing; his own chest began to heave, and he didn’t need to look down to know that he was as hard as granite. The fact that he was consumed by this intense want for Uriong didn’t bother him; but he was quickly becoming undone, and that was something he didn’t particularly want to be witnessed by the King and Queen, or the warriors under his command.

Uriong had resisted the temptation to open his eyes and look directly into the eyes of the Mirkwood Captain, but he had to know; was he having any effect on Belorfilad, or was he simply wasting his time? He risked it finally, opening his topaz eyes to find that the object of his desire was no longer there. He looked around quickly; Belorfilad was gone. Gods, what had he done? Fearing that he’d utterly destroyed any chance he might’ve had at winning the heart of the beautiful, golden one, he raced through the hall, out into the corridor. Empty. The only thing the hallway held was shadows. His heart sank, and he turned to begin the walk back to his room, when a movement at the outer edge of his vision stopped him. He held his breath, waiting. Belorfilad stepped silently from the shadows along the corridor wall, his eyes unfathomable.

Uriong stepped close to him, unsure what to say. “Belorfilad,” he began hesitantly, “if I have offended you …..”

The blonde warrior clasped Uriong’s shoulders, and drew the Ilandrian Captain against him fiercely, claiming his lips in a scorching kiss. Pulling him back into the shadows, Belorfilad spun him around until his back was against the wall as he continued to ravenously kiss, nibble, and suck his soft full lips.

“Gods, Uriong, what have you done to me?” he whispered between kisses.

Uriong broke off the kiss to look at him gravely. “If you do not want this, my love, please say so *now*. I would not trick you into something you do not want. I will never take advantage of you, nor will I be taken advantage of. For me, there is far too much at stake. This is no game; my heart is in very real danger. So, if this is truly nothing that you want, I beg you, walk away now. For, if you take me into your bed, I am lost forever.”

Belorfilad’s fair brows drew together as his blue eyes drank in every inch of Uriong’s marvelous face. He brought the Ilandrian’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently. “It may take a seductive dance to bring it about, but I *do* come around, eventually. This is no game for me, either. Soon you will return to your homeland and I know for a certainty that you will leave a void. What I mistook for the comraderie and affection of one warrior for another, I now realize is much more than that. Yes,” he said in answer to the question in Uriong’s eyes. “I love you, and you are not the only one who will lose his heart tonight.”

Uriong’s heart nearly burst at those words, and he pressed fiery kisses along the blonde warrior’s neck, moving from one side to the other, covering every inch of the porcelain column. “I love you, Belorfilad,” he whispered feverishly. “Take me somewhere; the garden, the woods, the training field, it matters not, but please just *take* me.”

Belorfilad reluctantly pulled back from Uriong’s wonderful kisses, and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before grasping his hand and leading him swiftly down the corridor. After they had rounded several corners, they came to a closed oaken door. “My private quarters,” the Mirkwood Captain said in reply to Uriong’s questioning eyes. “We will not be disturbed here.” He pushed the door open, and they stepped quickly inside. After closing and barring the door, he turned to the raven-haired beauty. “Where were we?” he smiled affectionately.

“Here,” Uriong replied breathlessly, as he flew into Belorfilad’s arms once again, kissing him hungrily. They slowly backed toward the bed, their lips never losing contact, and when the backs of Uriong’s knees touched it, he sat down, pulling Belorfilad with him. The blonde Elf knelt on the floor and pulled his lover closer. Uriong wrapped his powerful legs around him; if he could’ve melded himself with Belorfilad, he would have.

After several moments, Uriong again broke off their kiss and gazed at the beautiful Captain of Mirkwood. “I want to look at you,” he pleaded. He’d seen Belorfilad semi-clad on the training field, of course, but now he wanted much more. He craved the feel of his warm, alabaster skin beneath his hands. Belorfilad looked at Uriong in surprise, and that charming blush began to spread across his cheekbones again. He smiled shyly.

“Of course, but I wish to do likewise.”

Pleased, Uriong nodded and began to loosen the clasp at the throat of Belorfilad’s tunic. Belorfilad, in turn, moved to loosen the belt around Uriong’s waist, and they set about undressing each other. When all of their clothing had been cast aside, Uriong still sat on the side of the bed, ravenously drinking in the sight of the fair warrior’s stunning body as he stood before him. He was rather slight in build, as were all the Mirkwood Elves, but there was nothing scrawny about him. Every muscle was sculpted and defined, every sinew lean and strong. “Gods, you are breathtaking,” Uriong whispered.

Belorfilad’s knees nearly turned to water at the compliment. “And you, my beautiful Uriong,” he breathed. “You are like a bronze deity.” Uriong pushed himself back and reclined on the bed, with one knee raised, and his hands behind his head. His broad shoulders and chest were corded with muscle, and the flat plane of his abdomen rippled with every breath. It pleased him to be naked in front of Belorfilad. He reveled in the gaze of his lover; he’d never before felt so needed and desired. And when the blonde Captain took him, it was with both tenderness and ferocity that blazed all through the night.

Belorfilad and Uriong made love three times before the morning light, each time more intense than the one before. Their final union ended with Belorfilad behind Uriong, whose knees were spread wide on the bed, his arms outstretched before him, fists clenching the bedclothes. He bit his lower lip in ecstasy, as his ebony hair tumbled forward, covering his arms and fanning out over the white bed. Even in the throes of his passion, Belorfilad couldn’t help but be entranced by the beauty of the contrast between theck tck tresses and the stark white linen beneath him, and he wrapped one arm possessively around his lover’s waist, pulling him closer. With his other hand, he caressed Uriong’s taut back muscles tenderly as he drove into him with powerful thrusts until, with a deep groan, Uriong’s back arched further and he pushed back against Belorfilad even more as his orgasm shuddered through his body. The glorious sight was enough to pull the blonde Elf right along with him. He fell forward and leaned his forehead between the shoulder blades of the Ilandrian warrior as a ragged cry was wrenched from his lips.

They sagged down to lay full length on the bed, their hoarse breathing gradually slowing to normal. Belorfilad gently smoothed Uriong’s hair to one side, and kissed the back of his neck. Uriong smiled and sighed appreciatively.

“Are you quite certain that you have never lain with another male?” he murmured sleepily.

Belorfilad laughed softly. “*Quite* certain, mire nin,” he replied, “although if I had, you would have made me forget every one.”

Delighted by Belorfilad’s words, Uriong sighed again before raising his head and turning his face toward the win window that overlooked one of Mirkwood’s spectacular gardens. He breathed in deeply and looked over his shoulder at Belorfilad’s beautifully peaceful face.

“Jasmine,” Uriong said happily, “do you smell it, Belorfilad?”

The blonde warrior raised his head then, and inhaled the intoxicating scent. “Yes, my love, now that you bring it to my attention. I must be accustomed to it; I rarely take notice.”


“It does not grow in Ilandros,” Uriong explained. “It will forever remind me of you now.”

Belorfilad kissed his ear gently. “As long as *something* reminds you of me,” he whispered.

They slept then, both warriors trying not to think ahead to the day after next, when the Ilandrian party would be returning to their homeland, and Mirkwood would return to its normal routine.

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mire nin: my jewel