The Half Breeds

Author: Bird
Title: Half Breed
Chapter: Look into my eyes, what do you see?
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: sex…slurp…
Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else, Nurwë and Morwë are Tolkien’s
Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish 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)
FEEDBACK - I always accept feedback. If you wish to make a critical analysis, do not hesitate to PM me...I'll read through it and take into consideration your questions and suggestions...Thanks.
Archived: Finally…:D www.scribeoz.com , adult-fanfiction.org , www.tongueincheekscribe.com

AN:

The Celegrod/Legolas/Thranduil relationship seems a bit SLASHY…that is intentional…BUT this is NOT slash…it’ll all fall into place later…;)

Use of foul language…ai, yes…did the elves use the word ‘fuck’…I don’t think Tolkien had the opportunity to explore the world of Elven curse words…snort…though that would be quite the dictionary…snort… My use of the word ‘fuck’ is as an antonym to ‘making love’ and emotions particular to each…

(1) – quote is directly lifted from ROTK – The Battle of Pelennor Field…p. 150

Html tags - indicate the switch between Carniwen/Ranohtar and Morwe/Saironnisse...

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I need the darkness…
Kiss Goodnight…
Angel sweet and love of my life…
Is it dark enough…
Can you see me…
Do you want me…
Better shut your mouth…
Hold your breath and kiss me now…
Or catch your death…
Oh…I need this…
(Snatches from N. Merchant’s My Skin)
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The wine flowed freely among friends, the sputtering of drunken laughter following every word.

Elladan’s eyes sparkled as he related a rumor that circulated among mortals...

“Stars on our brows! Can you believe it!” He pounded the table loudly, and Elrohir fought to breath in a fit of laughter… “Those mortals hold us so high, that they cannot help turning us into such magical creatures! Come brother, repeat the passage we heard from that ancient and greyed, lonely troubadour regarding our ride from the Paths of the Dead to Pelennor fields.”

Elrohir cleared his throat, making a great show of his recital in a low and dramatic voice...

“...East rode the knights of Dol Amroth driving the enemy before them: troll-men and Variags and orcs that hated the sunlight. South strode Eomer and men fled before his face, and they were caught between the hammer and the anvil. There came Legolas, and Gimli wielding his axe, and Halbarad with the standard, AND Elladan and Elrohir with stars on their brow...” Elrohir paused. “No weapons...just stars, we blinded them to death!”(1) Another round was lost to them...

Celegrod watched as his friend allowed himself to be caught up in the amusement. A small smile cracked at the corners of his mouth, relief surging through his body at Legolas’ ability to relax finally.

“...But consider yourselves lucky...” Glorfindel was speaking. “...There are nasty rumors being spread among the mortals that ARWEN, of all elves, rode Asfaloth to Frodo’s aid from the Nazgul. Imagine YOUR sister riding Asfaloth! She was indeed a brave elleth, and wise beyond her years, but even SHE would never just jump on his back at the spur of the moment…he wouldn’t allow it!” More sputtering ensued… “Besides! It was I who rode out...” The slayer seemed truly perplexed that the story could change so much within a few centuries.

Magnificent and regal in vermilion, though casual in manner, Legolas sat ever aware of Celegrod studying him. He cracked a half-smile, knowing that he’d caught his friend, but Celegrod himself unaware of being caught… Throwing his head back, the prince laughed, the deep rich sound mirroring his father’s, with a hint of melancholy. Even the twins paused momentarily, wondering at the strained tone, the forced laughter. But they quickly brushed it aside...for now.

Celegrod tore his eyes away from Legolas, though his fire-edged golden profile remained etched in his mind. Truly his father’s son all the way around... When he’d refused the king to take Legolas’ place in the line, he’d sworn a new oath privately in his heart, that he would protect the future king from himself. This was what he did now, secretly watching him, following and leading him across Endore. Celegrod sought to find the prince comfort in those he loved as family…more than family.

He brought his own glass to his lips, contemplating the red liquid and its pungent scent. ‘A thousand times better than the bitter wine of Thranduil’s vineyard,’ he thought with amusement. He stifled a chuckle at the king’s failed attempts.

‘To you, my king, and all that implies…’ he silently, bitterly toasted Thranduil, taking a long gulp of the wine, sweet and thick flowing down his throat. Bitter wine, bittersweet memory...

Celegrod shoved his dark thoughts to the side, forcing himself to laugh along with whatever Erestor had said to cause another uproar. Something about not being included in any of the ballads despite his important role in the last war and presence at the Council of Elrond and the Fellowship.

The night was young, and he would enjoy this company, revel in the upcoming trip to Lorien, and forget what he left behind. Looking up he stared at the prince’s golden profile. He’d sworn loyalty to only one, and that was to the future king, though he knew Legolas fought against it...

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Nurwë smiled, and leant down to kiss the elleth, one hand slipping into her dress to cup a breast. Rolling his forehead across hers, he curled one corner of his mouth and looked to his brother.

“Saironnisse will care for you.” The two Haradhrim elves gazed at each other lustfully before he pulled away, taking her hand and placing it in Morwë’s. Firmly she held him, covering his hand with her other one, his wrapped around the former. Nodding his approval, Nurwë whispered in his brother’s ear, “She is no one’s but her own. Do not be afraid.”

Morwë scoffed, he never feared...

Nurwë slipped away removing Morwë’s beast with him. Protesting, the stallion snorted his displeasure, pulling and jerking on the reins, at leaving his master. Hooking his fingers through the sides of the bridle, the Haradhrim whispered a calming spell in the animal’s ear. Finally compliant, it walked away, though with a regretful expression.

Saironnisse dropped Morwë’s hand. Taking several steps back, she began a slow caress of his figure, murmuring small approvals in her visual descent. Around his body she walked, he standing still and turning his head a bit to watch her. Under her gaze, he felt completely naked, despite being fully clothed. Soaked with the humidity, his tunic clung to him, emphasizing broad shoulders and the build of a powerful warrior, hardened by ages of war.

Night sounds filled the air, and Morwë followed her movements, yet feeling a thousand eyes, from beyond the ring of light, boring holes into him. He imagined the bright glowing disks of the nocturnal primates he remembered hunting in the dark. Ring-tailed and small, eyes reflecting in the moon’s rays like lanterns. Hundreds, thousands…maybe even millions of them still populated the jungle, little voyeurs curious at the strangled noises of lovers in the night.

But he was an exhibitionist, and he knew that there would be curious elven eyes mixed in...

“You are so much alike...” She stopped in front of him, raising her head to meet his eyes, her voice low and husky. Reaching up, she tugged the ties of his muslin tunic at his throat. Fascinated by her boldness, the elflord remained still contemplating her business-like manner clouded with urgency...

“So you have had my brother...” He growled, watching her deft fingers trail down his clothed chest. She stopped at the hem, lifting the bottom edge for access to his lacings.

“I am not a whore, if that is what you are thinking...” Saironnisse worked the leather straps, squatting down to eye level with his groin. “I work a different kind of magic than most are used to, though pleasurable as it is, can be terrifying.” Standing again, she held his breeches together, feeling his budding arousal trying to escape her finger cage. “Take off your tunic...”

At her command, he peeled the soggy garment off and over his head, balling and tossing it to the side. A low whistle escaped her lips when his taut form was revealed. With her free hand, Saironnisse raked her nails down his neck and the hard muscles of his chest, to his corded abdomen. Teasingly, she drew soft squiggles on the skin above his breeches. Every spot she touched tingled mercilessly.

“What do you want, my Lord…” It was asked meekly, but the eagerness in her eyes mocked her verbal tone. Curiously he raised his hand and ran a finger down the side of her face, reaching out to touch the wooden beads adorning her hair. Exotic, and so different…a witch Nurwë had called her, then greeted her as a lover.

Grabbing the sides of her head, he crushed her lips to his.

“To ravish you,” he panted, forcing her hand flat against his straining desire and in between their bodies. She squeezed him, eliciting a deep rumbling moan from the back of his throat, a smile on her lips.

“So be it. But remember this, there is a price.”

He silenced her with another kiss, sucking her tongue within his depths. With both hands he stroked down her bare arms, reaching under her short skirt to cup her bare bottom. So perfectly smooth and round, her cheeks fit well in his large hands.

“A price on a gift, how typical of my brother,” he chuckled into her mouth. “And how very intriguing. I am willing to pay. Tell me what it is...”

“I am a witch...”

“As has been said before...”

“And I know of the darkness in your heart and in the hearts of those closest to you…” She pulled back from him, still holding him with her hand. “You will know the price when you see it...”

Morwë scoffed at her cryptic words. “Whatever you say, darling,” and he tasted her again.

Two aching bodies slammed into each other, lips and limbs searching to rediscover forgotten flesh, light against dark. Long forgotten, the bowl of ashes spilt across the floor and blankets, dusting their lower limbs with the powder. Smoke and spice invaded their nostrils, a mixture of their bodies and the extinguished fire.

Carniwen reach up with her hands, tugging at the leather strap holding Ranohtar’s plait together. Freeing his hair, she ran her fingers through the wavy black strands, bruising her lips desperately against his. Teeth clicked against each other, and they could not deepen the kiss enough.

Under the secret of night, denied lovers explored, reacquainted themselves. All his fears disappeared. She wanted him and had wanted him the entire time. Only the errant slashes of moonlight, brave enough to slip past crisscrossing threads, would bear witness to their paramour.

Fingers tripped over skin, unsure of the fine line between reality and dream. Both afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell cast over them, hiding them in shadow and silence...

“You...are...utterly...delicious,” Ranohtar finally panted into her mouth, finding his voice, coarse with passion. “But I wish for more...” His hand cupping one breast, thumbing her pert nipple softly, he eased her on to her back. Looking over her body, he noticed the ash still covering her. “Wait a moment,” he whispered.

Eyes filled with love watched him stand and remove his breeches hurriedly. Kneeling beside her, he dusted her body off with his pants, removing the ash. Finished, he tossed the clothing to the side, and lay beside her, stretching to his full length. Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face to him, and gazed into her eyes. His hard pulsing member pressed against her thigh when he bent to kiss her again, and she reached down to stroke it. Desire pooled and thudded between her thighs at the touch of his hot flesh.

“Ranohtar, I...”

“...Want to fuck you...” Morwë groaned as Saironnisse dragged her tongue over his torso, to his aching shaft, which she still held back. Removing her hand, she knelt before him and pulled his pants down, revealing the evidence of his lust. Proudly it stood, and she could not resist snaking out her tongue to taste his hot flesh before she tugged his breeches off the rest of the way. Rising back up on her knees, her hands kneaded their way up over his firm thighs, and around to grip his backside, bringing him forward to her lips.

Morwë dug his fingers into her scalp, steadying himself as her hot, moist mouth engulfed him, sliding her tongue back and forth over the sensitive tip, gently pulling back skin with her teeth for access to the dripping slit. Throwing his head back, he bucked into her mouth, moaning loudly as she teased him.

“...You will be my undoing...” Ranohtar gasped against her shoulder and pulled her hand from his arousal, wet velvety skin so soft over rock. “Wait, wait, I wish for this to not end too soon...” Planting a kiss upon her forehead, he smiled. “I have waited so long, so many dark nights listening to you bed...him...and the others,” his kisses grew bolder, starting at her ear, nibbling gently on the point. “Torture, pure torture having to listen to you cry out your release to them…” Down her neck, stopping at the hollow of her neck, the tip of his tongue pointed, leaving a wet trail up the length of her throat to her chin.

“I fell asleep dreaming of you, remembering that first night we spent together.” Sliding his eyes down her body, he could not drink enough of her, liquid pools of silver on alabaster, highlighting the planes of her flesh. Carefully he pulled his body up and over hers, his knee pressed between her thighs, easing them apart so he could settle between them. Supporting his weight with his hands, his raven hair formed a dark curtain about their heads.

“Ranohtar,” she finally dared to speak again. “I dreamt of you as well...” Moaning his happiness, he kissed her again. She throbbed with desire and rocked her hips upward to meet his… “I want you…” and pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, splaying her fingers across his back. “In me...now,” her moans music to his ears, flesh against flesh.

“Not yet...” he whispered, rising back up onto his hands and adjusting his legs so that he straddled her pelvis on his knees, his shaft lying across her belly. His hands slid over her arms and to her breasts… urging her moans with his lips wrapping around one nipple, the other pinched and teased by his fingers. With one hand, he pulled her arms above her head, holding them firmly in place by the wrists trying to still her protesting movement.

Their words whispers, hushed tones in the still of the night, for they knew not who or what listened in the night and would give them away.

She ached to reach out and touch him, to drag her own tongue over every crevice and plane of his body, to taste his essence on her lips.

“Stop...” Morwë pulled her away from him and up to her feet. His black eyes dilated with desire and hooded stared into hers. “Take off your dress...now.” Following his command, she slowly pulled it down her body, till she was completely naked in front of him. Drawing a sharp breath, he appreciated her curvaceous form, barely holding back from tossing her to the ground and pounding her into the dirt. “Lie down.”

Saironnisse could not hold back her knowing smile, could not feign shock at his need to control…

“Whatever you do, you must not take your eyes off mine...” She sat down, and laid on her back, spreading her legs wantonly, her smile remaining firmly in place. A long slender finger beckoned him to lie between her thighs.

Slick with the humidity of the air, her body reflected in copper and golden drops the fingers of flames so near to them. He paused, standing over her, casting a shadow that cut through the glowing orange light behind him, framing him with a softly radiant aura, a direct contrast to his predatory expression and sweat dripping in rivulets down his body. Dark tendrils of hair matted to his body, soaked with the jungle heat. But she was no prey, but another predator...

Swiftly he knelt between them, crying out when she lifted her lips up and attacked his erect nipples with her teeth. Lazy she drew circles with her tongue around the small dusky areolas. Morwë arched his back, giving her better access to the erogenous section of his body.

Long and lean, he pressed completely against her, crushing her to the ground. In retaliation for her treatment of his aching nipples, he bit the curve of her shoulder none too gently, and then kissed his way down the length of her arm. He stopped briefly to ponder the dark marking curiously, and then licked it hungrily, seeking to ascertain its flavor.

Leaving a path of tingling kisses from her breast to belly, Ranohtar scooted back till he gazed at the soft triangle of red that stood out so dark against her pale thighs, his large hands gently spreading them further apart. Dipping his head, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, intoxicated by her unforgotten scent. Opening them again, he looked up the expanse of her flesh till their eyes met.

Trust and love radiated from her expression. Carniwen gazed at Ranohtar, his hair mussed and hanging endearingly scraggly around his face. ‘Black silver in the night,’ she thought, noticing the way the moonlight streaked across his tresses. Onyx of the lightest kind, his eyes reflected light unlike the abysses of Morwë.

Swiftly he pulled up to her lips, claiming them one last time before settling back down.

“You are mine.”

As the words left his mouth, Morwë snaked out his tongue, parting her warm flesh with one hand and dipping down to taste her sweet liquid. Fucking her with his tongue, his other hand bruisingly gripped her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh to keep her from wiggling, controlling her thrusts and movements, lapping hungrily at her silky folds.

Carniwen groaned, raising her hips to meet his lips…

“Ran...ohtar,” she panted, rolling her head delirious with passion, her nails digging into his scalp.

“Finer than wine,” his whisper strained with need, his breath causing her throbbing core to tingle, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy. Raising his head, he licked her essence off his lips, relishing her flavor. “Not yet,” he smiled, watching her trembling, the beginnings of her climax. Lifting his body, he stretched over her, weaving his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hands. Slowly he lowered, removing one hand from her hair to part her lower lips so he could enter, the tip of his shaft pressing heavily against her. His lips descended to hers, and she tasted herself on his tongue...

Over anxious, Carniwen bucked, forcing him to enter her, and they cried out in unison as his thickness filled her completely. To lie like this forever, would have been satisfaction enough, and they lay panting, the sensation of finally joining overwhelming them. Her wet warmth was enough in itself to push him over, but he held back on the edge of the cliff.

When they finally caught their breath, Ranohtar caught her face in his hands, her legs wrapped around his waist, and heels digging into his lower back.

“Do not tear your eyes from mine, I wish to watch you drown in release...” And he began to move within her slick depths...

Mad with lust, he quit his assault on her, slithering up her body, ready to end his painful arousal. Positioning himself, Morwë slid inside her, guttural noises escaping his lips as her wet chamber enveloped him in satisfying warmth. And he unleashed his passion...

Hard and rough, Morwë pounded into her, forcing them to move in the dirt an inch each time, a small wide trail forming from her back. Fingers explored his back, and she writhed beneath him, rising to meet each of his forceful thrusts.

Grabbing his face, she pulled his lips down to her, attacking his mouth with fevered desire.

“Look...in...my...eyes,” she barely managed.

His lids flickered open, caught in her rich brown pools…and he recoiled. Ripping himself from her body, unsatisfied, and throwing his body back, he scrambled backwards from her. But she reacted quickly and pounced, straddling his hips and impaling herself on him.

Their movements intensified, their climaxes pushed over the edge, and she gazed into his eyes. But they were not his eyes, not his lips, not his face...a sneer appearing on his mouth.

“MORWË!” She cried when her body exploded with ecstasy, sitting up and shoving Ranohtar mid-release off her body. Confused and aching, he scrambled to her side, cradling her in his arms, and she quaked with terror.

He tried to claw away from Saironnisse riding him wantonly, though she’d clamped his face between her hands forcing him to look her in the eye. All his strength left him, her magic working its way through him…

First he saw Saironnisse, her brown eyes turning gold, the color creeping across her irises. Upon reaching the pupils, the wide black centers morphed to long narrow slits. Bright gold, flecked with hints of her original eye color, she appear a snake. Entranced he could not tear away.

Then he saw them with in her depths, and he was no longer in the jungle, but hovered over Carniwen in another’s body, and he knew who it was.

Morwë roared out at his vision, cursing both his wife and her cursed half-breed lover...

She was on her back, gazing into someone else...by choice, in defiance of him, love radiating in her eyes.

Saironnisse announced her peak by arching her back and vocalizing, pumping his seed from him in hot spurts into her body. Breathing heavily, she inclined her head to watch his angry eyes dart over her, though he was not seeing her...

In one swift motion, Morwe threw her off him, raising himself onto hands and knees, panting and his long hair dragged the ground. Shifting back up onto his knees, resting on his heels, Morwë glared at her. She had crouched into a ball, and an amused sneer curled the corners of her lips.

“Did you not like what you saw...”

“He knows, he saw,” her hands gripped his shoulders painfully, her face pressed into the hard muscles of his chest.

“Hush, it was just a vision...” Ranohtar stroked her hair, snuggling his nose into her tresses, softer than silk…

“I pray that is all it was.”

Lifting her chin with a finger, he brought her eyes to his. “If it was not, Carniwen, trust me to take care of it...” his voice low and deadly in its promise, his eyes reflecting his tone.

“Was that actually happening?” Morwë stood, hurriedly pulling on his clothing, tossing the wrinkled dress to Saironnisse.

“As the moments passed...” She pulled the dress over her head, the thin scratches down her back from the coarse ground stinging as the cloth passed over them. His face purpled with rage when she finally looked back up at him.

“I have been betrayed, truly the price is paid! Find Nurwë...NOW!” He barked at her, stalking toward her threateningly. Calmly she faced him, daring him to harm her, even when he grabbed her bicep, roughly thumbing her snake-mark. “Witch, what is this sorcery you perform!” He hissed disgustedly, “I hope you do not regret what you have started,” and shoved her away from him into the shadow to do his bidding.