Creature Comforts

Creature Comforts.

PART 1
of the
Dutiful Lover
Series

Rating: R18+ or NC-17 depending on the country.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas. L/H. E/L Others less important implied
Fandom:Lord of the Rings “Fellowship”
Series: Dutiful Lover Series.
Warnings:Non-concentual / violence / angst / abuse
Author: Riff Raff
Email: rivulet_cascade@hotmail.com
Archive: Only if you ask nicely.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the characters and sub-plot I merely borrow them in order to please. Don’t sue me I’m broke, my cars a shit
heap and I already sold my soul to the god that is Paul so you won’t get much.
Spoilers:Not if you’ve seen the movie and read the books.
Summary:A ranger’s instincts are little match for the complex being that is his companion.
A/N:This is my first attempt at LoTRslash, so spare me at least some of the critisms that come to our seasoned writers. Some of the places, characters, circumstances and times are wrong but
I’m avidly reading all companions and works for Lord of the Rings and I’m
making every attempt to fix things I get wrong. This is major angst but the
other parts in the series warrant the R18+ rating I’m giving to it overall. Be
kind and reviews are a must have cause they are what give me the encouragement
to continue writing.

Chapter 1


“The council has decided, we the nine will travel through
peril to Mordor. The ring is to be destroyed.”

 

Silently I remain seated in my chair, observing the others
as each leave to the sanctuary of their rooms. The hobbits are weary after
their journey and Gandalf has agreed to escort them to their chambers for fear
they might fall asleep on their feet. I fear the young Frodo has taken upon a
burden that shall see him tire in years more than his age, and although against
my own better judgement, the inclusion of Samwise Gamgee as Frodo’s companion,
may indeed help the hobbit carry the heavy burden. To my left the Dwarf Gimli,
son of Gloin thoughtfully smokes his pipe on the small balcony. His dwarvish
stupidity at the council has no doubt left him silently contemplative of his
earlier actions. However his actions are not the cause for my concern, the son
of the Steward of Gondor, Boromir is already trying my patience. For a man he
has the stubborn countenance of a dwarf and the insolent fury of Smaug the
dragon himself, of which I am surely ashamed to be witness to. He was the first
to rise from the council chamber with no regard for Elrond who by status alone
should be given priority and respect above all others that were here. While
Elrond chose to ignore his insolence I however will not and will take it upon
myself to remind the keeper of Gondor his place while in Elrond’s home. There
is fear among us all, an uncertainty of what will come to pass once we move out
on our quest but this does not ex rud rudeness. While I have witnessed this
fear upon all my companions, there is one that I have not seen but a fli fro from his pristine features since he arrived. I have lived with elves from my
very conception but this wood elf is unlike any I have come across.

 

From my chair in the now empty council chamber I can hear
two melodic voices just outside in the corridor in heated conversation. While
their voices are similarly recognizable as elves they are distinctively
different in timbre and pitch. They speak in an unfamiliar elven language, it’s
syllables those of an older time, seemingly unworthy of the young voices I
here. While the conversation is indistinguishable to my limited knowledge of
the language, I strain to identify those partaking in it. As the conversation continues
a lifetime in Elrond’s care brings to me the identity of one of the parties.
Glorfindel, an elf closer to me than most. Glorfindel was my tutor as a child
and I retract instantly my thought of unworthiness of him to the language that
currently carries his thoughts.

 

I smile silently to myself as the image of Glorfindel
stretches into my thoughts, his majesty of knowledge and lifetime of learning,
a physique reserved for only the elven warriors and a mane of golden locks……I
pause my thoughts as the image instantly dissolves to focus once again on the
wood elf from the realm of Mirkwood.
Like Glorfindel he too sports the golden hair natural to the Sindarian
race. As a messenger for his father, King Thranduil, he has attended the
council and pledges his life to the success of the fellowship. I confess my
time in the wilderness has not allowed for a great conversion with the elves of
Mirkwood but there is one thing that has puzzled me exceedingly based on
Elrond’s teachings to me. As quick as the princeling of Mirkwood was to defend
my honour to Boromir, he was quicker still to pledge his arrow in aid to
Frodo’s quest. Regarding my own identity it surprises me greatly that the elf
knows of my heritage, while I know naught of his, further more I hit oit on
good word that Wood Elves rarely pledge their lives for those of other races as
easily as the princeling has done. If the Last Alliance has taught them one
thing it is caution and the reality of expendability. While it was their own
stubborn fault that so many lives were lost their weariness of engaged battle
for naught but their own protection has been reluctant to say the least.

 

No indeed this Prince Legolas Greenleaf is an extremely
confusing creature and is by no means an ordinary woodland elf.

 

“Do you mean to sit here all night Estel? Are the beds of
Imaldris to soft for a ranger’s liking?”
A voice startles me somewhat from my thoughts. So lost in contemplation
over Legolas I have missed the ending of the conversation outside in the
corridor and have rudely ignored the entrance of another to the chamber.
Glancing up apologetically I relax somewhat to see a familiar friendly face
smiling questioningly down upon me.

 

“Eye’ Glorfindel, one is spoilt in the riches of Imaldris’
hospitality.” Standing from my seat I stretch languidly before stepping easily
into Glorfindel’s embrace. My tutor and I have hardly had time to see each
other, since he had arrived back from watching Rivendell’s boarders. We are
like brothers and his aged wisdom is a comfort in times of unrest. Stepping
back from the embrace he gestures to one of the corridors leading from the
chambers.


”Do you care for a little wine before slumber Estel? That is if you were not
intending to spend the passage of night in that chair of yours.” Glancing back
at the chair upon which I have sat I sigh heavily aware now of just how long I
have been sitting in silent solitude staring at the ghosts of a council now
complete. Nodding in acceptance I follow Glorfindel’s lead through the
passageways towards the kitchens. Apart from the night guards who loyally guard
the entrance to Elrond’s private chambers, not a creature stirs in the deserted
hallways. Moving across the threshold of a corridor we enter into the kitchens.
I smile wistfully to myself as I glance around the room, remembering a time as
a child that I spent learning humility under the instruction of the cooks.
Glorfindel moves from the cupboard bearing two chalices, which he slowly fills
with wine before passing one across to me. Re-corking the bottle of wine I
watch as the eldar elf hitches up his robe and props himself up on the edge of
a preparation surface.

 

“To the safety of the Fellowship.” At my toast we drink in
silence myself unable to contain a smirk at Glorfindel’s casual ease as he
get’s comfy on the bench in front of me. As Elrond’s closest advisor and friend
Glorfindel is the image of noble respectability, yet only to those more
intimately associated with him understand his ease of casualness and
understanding.

 

“There is something bothering you Estel, I see it in your
eyes. Pray tell me what unrests you so.” I sigh heavily and lean back against
the wall as I take another exaggerated sip from my chalice of rose wine. For a
long time I silently consider what has been going through my mind before my
resolve to ask Glorfindel’s advice becomes to strong to deny.

 

“The Mirkwood Prince, Legolas, he is unlike any wood elf I
have come across.” Edging into the conversation I glance cautiously up from the
rim of my chalice to witness Glorfindel’s reaction to my subtle edge into the
topic. For a moment he remains passive before a knowing smile seems to spread
across his features. Glorfindel’s source of amusement in my questioning evades
me somewhat but I remain silent eager to hear his reply.

 

“He is indeed, a pretty creature.” Glorfindel pauses his
eyes sparkling an unfamiliar knowledge that I seem to be missing. “The youngest
son of Thranduil certainly has not escaped the notice of many upon his
arrival.” Glorfindel stares at me a thin calculating eyebrow rising, as
confusion rises in reflection upon my own. Somehow I think my intention of
discussing Legolas’ commitment towards the fellowship has been lost in another
meaning to Glorfindel. When I do not reply Glorfindel sighs heavily and rolls
his eyes, quite unbecoming to a creature who’s race by nature are virtuously
patient. “My dearest Estel, mind your heart if you please. Legolas so I have
been told is betrothed to a young maiden his father has chosen for him. She is
plain so they say but the match will procure alliances between Mirkwood and the
young Maiden’s realm. Kind Thranduil is already refusing other offers of
marriage for his son in favour of this one.” Glorfindel downs the remnants of
his chalice before placing it delicately by his side, leaving me to shake my
head in repute at his ability to swallow great volumes of alcohol in merely a
few moments.


”You mistake my intentions Glorfindel. I merely wished to explore the
princelings background, having seen for myself how unusually different in mind
he is from his pigheaded father.”
Glorfindel laughs at the jest but shakes his head defiantly at my quick
defence of the assumptions he has made.

 

“Nay Aragorn, I see more than just curiosity in his
background. Admittedly he has more sense in matters of governmental affair than
his father but it is not that, which you are curious of. If your tongue were
possibly a snake it would have been slithering on the floor at the very first
sight of the prince.” I am shocked at what Glorfindel has proposed so
preposterously to my face and I instantly glare at him in sincerity. He has
mistaken me completely, and while the comment was made in jest I believe he
thinks that my attentions have turned to Legolas.

 

“It is not true Glorfindel. I am betrothed to Arwen, the
lady holds my heart and none other. I merely have an interest in Mirkwood’s
prince, as his ability to work well with those others in the fellowship depends
on its success. We cannot be divided in this quest we must be trustworthy to
each. I shall not see it fail because Mirkwood’s Prince carries the same grudge
as his father does.” I swallow hard and glance away from Glorfindel suddenly
ashamed by my outburst. It was not right of me to act in such a way, Glorfindel
was only trying to help. For a moment there is silence before Glorfindelps
ps
towards me and places a comforting hand upon my shoulder.

 

“I apologise Estel, I did not mean to taunt you so. If you
say there is not other motive than mere curious interest in the young Prince I
believe it so. I have witnessed your birth Estel and sadly I shall see your
passing as well, you are close to me like a son and I did not mean to hurt you
so.” I sigh heavily and close my eyes in forgiveness to which Glorfindel is
asking. I can hold no ill feelings to a person who knows me so well.

 

“It is fine Glorfindel, I am sorry I did not take the humour
as well as you should have liked. I am only concerned with the quest that is to
come and it seems to have momentarily taken away my good nature.” Glorfindel
smiles at me warmly and nods understandingly before clasping me into an embrace
of which I relish in its protectiveness.

 

“I will detain you no longer then, for you must rest. I bid
you good night Estel and a wisdom through which fear might fall away.” With a
final smile Glorfindel turns and moves to the entrance to the kitchens his robe
swishing around his feet seemingly as if he was floating. Before he leaves he
pauses at the entrance and smiles at me cheekily. “I knew you could not have a
fancy for Legolas, he is far too skinny and his eyes are an unnatural grey,
quite unbecoming.” I groan at the jest and instantly spring after Glorfindel
who it s has has purposely taunted me to gain a rise. He laughs and sprints
light-footed from view leaving me to bounce after him in a game no doubt that
will last until he tires or the sun rises from behind the hills. It is true
that I do not desire Legolas however it must be said that he has aroused my
interest in both his beauty and mind but I will not dwell. My beloved Arwwillwill a wait my return from the quest and with luck I shall come back in one
piece.

 

To Be Continued.