Interlude in Lorien
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-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
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1
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Reviews:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,830
Reviews:
2
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.
Interlude in Lorien
Title: Interlude in Lorien
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Pairing: Legolas/Dinendal, Reference to Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Warning: None
Summary: A grieving and weary Legolas seeks comfort.
Author's Note: Wiffle is a word, even if I did I make it up. It means a soft snore. Written for the LothlorienLovers Group July Challenge. I can’t believe I wrote a Legolas fic!
Legolas waited impatiently for the other seven walkers to fall asleep. Gimli was snoring loudly, as were the hobbits. Finally hearing Aragon and Boromir softly wiffle, he crept from their pavilion, taking his bow and quiver with him.
The silver and crystal pitcher was still under the roots of tree where he had hidden it earlier. He quietly removed the arrows from his quiver and drew out five long and narrow wooden vials. Just a little shorter than his arrows, the vials were made from hollowed out tree limbs, two inches in diameter. They had been carefully dried and sanded, inside and out. Removing the cork from the end of the first vial, he carefully poured the deep red wine into the pitcher. The contents of the next four vials followed the first. The empty vials returned to their secret hiding place in his quiver. Slinging quiver and bow onto his back, Legolas picked up the pitcher and silently set out.
Legolas wasn’t at all sure where he was going. But he knew what he wanted. What he needed. After their dangerous trek through the mines of Moria, the loss of Gandalf, the confrontation with Haldir and his brothers, finally making it to the heart of Lothlorien, and the ordeal of meeting Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, Legolas needed elven companionship and comfort. And he thought he knew just the elf to find it with.
He had managed to find out the elf’s name and that he was not on duty this night. Legolas had watched him leave, his eyes following the tall elf as he disappeared through the trees. Walking through the trees where the elf had disappeared, he stopped and called out softly, “Dinendal?” His eyes searched the trees, and he waited for an answer.
Legolas was just about to walk farther and call again when he heard his name.
“I am here, Legolas. Are you lost?”
Spying the elf leaning over the edge of his talen, high in a tree nearby, Legolas shook his head. “Nay, I am not lost.” He walked to the base of the huge mallorn. “I was looking for you. I need to talk with someone…with another elf. Forgive me for imposing, but I hoped you would not mind my company.”
A rope ladder dropped at his feet, and Legolas sighed in relief. Holding his pitcher of wine in one hand, he grasped the rope with the other and quickly scaled it, leaping easily to the talen. “Thank you, Dinendal,” he said softly.
The other elf motioned for Legolas to follow him into the talen. The talen was open and spacious, with only hanging drapes of cloth separating the different areas. What appeared to be the main living area was strewn with soft rugs, pillows, a few low tables, a long sofa, and two comfortable looking chairs. Legolas could see the end of a large bed in another area and a kitchen and dining table on the opposite side. Smiling at Dinendal, he held out his pitcher and said, “I brought wine. My father’s best second-ager.”
“Where did you carry it?” the Lorien elf asked. I could see you carried no bottles when you arrived.”
Legolas slipped off his bow and quiver and laid them on a table, then showed Dinendal the clever vials he had carried the wine in. “My father insisted I carry some of the wine. I am glad this night that he did. Will you join me in drinking it, Dinendal? Please”
Dinendal nodded, then went to his kitchen for glasses. When he returned, Legolas was sitting on the floor, leaning against some pillows, staring up into the night sky. The Mirkwood elf looked exhausted. “You must be very tired, Legolas. Why did you not stay with the others and rest?”
“Tired, aye. Weary. But I could not rest. I wanted…needed the company of my own kind. You are sure you do not mind?” Legolas looked up at Dinendal, concerned.
“Nay, I do not mind. But why did you seek me out? Surely our Lord or Lady would have provided company and comfort to Thranduil’s son.”
But not the kind of company or comfort he craved, Legolas thought. The company of one caring soul. The comfort of one pair of strong arms holding him. “You remind me of someone. A friend. His hair is dark, where yours is light, but your countenance is like his, as well as your manner.”
“Who is this friend? An elf?” Dinendal asked.
“Aye, an elf. Master Erestor of Imladris. You are much like him, and when I was in Imladris and troubled, I always sought out his company. Fortunately for me, Glorfindel did not mind me seeking out his mate for council or companionship.”
“Then I am honored. Master Erestor is a wise elf.” He could hardly believe this beautiful elf had come to him. He was nothing but a guardian of the woods, and this was Thranduil’s son! It was a wonder he had not already embarrassed himself by stuttering and stammering in the prince’s presence. “Do you wish to tell me what troubles you tonight, Legolas?”
Legolas sipped at his wine. “Please? Will you be my Erestor this night and let me unburden myself?”
Dinendal nodded and sat next to Legolas on the floor. He pulled some pillows over and rested his back against them comfortably with his legs spread out. “You may tell me anything, and if I can help you, I will. You have done and seen much to burden you, my fair prince.” Before he could take another breath, Legolas had thrown himself into the welcoming lap and wrapped his arms around the guardian. The beautiful head with its soft, golden hair lay against his chest. Hesitantly, Dinendal wrapped an arm around Legolas and stroked the soft head.
Legolas sighed and began speaking. He told Dinendal everything, from the loss of Gollum, the Council in Imladris, their journey, the ordeal in Moria, and the loss of Gandalf. Unburdening his soul, he wept, and when the story was finished, he sobbed in Dinendal’s arms. He cried as he was unable to in the company of the Fellowship, and grief and despair poured out of him until Dinendal’s tunic was soaked with it.
Dinendal held the slender elf and his heart broke as Legolas sobbed out his grief, yet rejoiced that the prince could unburden himself finally and find comfort in his company. He stroked Legolas’ back and hair, and let the sorrowing elf cry freely. And when the tears finally stopped, Dinendal lifted the golden head from his chest and dried the tear stained cheeks with his thumbs. Gazing into the pure blue eyes, he was lost, and touched the soft, rosy lips lightly with his own.
Legolas’ eyes flickered shut as Dinendal’s lips touched his, as soft as a butterfly’s wings, and he wanted more of the silkiness that made his limbs tingle. “Again,” he breathed. Moaning as the silky lips covered his, Legolas wound his fingers through Dinendal’s long, soft hair, pulling him closer, begging for more. Running his tongue along Dinendal’s lips, he pleaded for entrance.
Dinendal shivered as their tongues curled together and moaned into Legolas’ mouth. Madness. Absolute madness. Groaning, he deepened the kiss. Sweet madness. Legolas’ hands found their way inside his tunic and slender fingers caressed his chest. Enchanting madness. Tunics ripped. Leggings pulled open. Tongues explored. Tempting madness. Clothes discarded, wine glasses tossed aside, skin licked, nipples and ears sucked, hands curled around hardness, oil spilt. Bewitching madness. Hardness slowly sinking into warm, silky, tightness. Bliss filled screams. Beautiful madness. Hard thrusts. Pounding thrusts. Enticing madness.
Legolas screamed and wrapped his legs tighter around his lover’s waist, arching up as Dinendal pounded into him. Filling him, loving him, driving him insane with more pleasure than he could handle. Wailing a name – his name – his lover’s name – Dinendal’s name, he clawed at the guardian’s back, his fingernails leaving red streaks. Marking him. His teeth sank into Dinendal’s shoulder drawing blood. Sobbing, he laved the bite with his tongue. His pulse pounding in his ears, he couldn’t breathe, only scream, again and again. Loved madness. Loving madness.
Dinendal thrust wildly, screaming Legolas’ name as the prince’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Lover’s madness. Taking madness. Taking him again and again, until all that filled his universe was Legolas. Thrusting madness. Exploding madness. Pulsing madness. Blissful madness.
Deep, peaceful, sated sleep, entwined together. Hearts together. Souls together. Bodies together. Madness no more.
~~~*~~~
Dinendal pinned the leaf broach onto Legolas’ cloak, the words in his mind sinking into his mate’s. ‘Be safe, my love. You take my heart. Come back to me.’
‘We will be together again, beloved. I love you, my Dinendal. I love you, my heart.’
‘I love you, my Legolas.’
~The end.
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Pairing: Legolas/Dinendal, Reference to Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Warning: None
Summary: A grieving and weary Legolas seeks comfort.
Author's Note: Wiffle is a word, even if I did I make it up. It means a soft snore. Written for the LothlorienLovers Group July Challenge. I can’t believe I wrote a Legolas fic!
Legolas waited impatiently for the other seven walkers to fall asleep. Gimli was snoring loudly, as were the hobbits. Finally hearing Aragon and Boromir softly wiffle, he crept from their pavilion, taking his bow and quiver with him.
The silver and crystal pitcher was still under the roots of tree where he had hidden it earlier. He quietly removed the arrows from his quiver and drew out five long and narrow wooden vials. Just a little shorter than his arrows, the vials were made from hollowed out tree limbs, two inches in diameter. They had been carefully dried and sanded, inside and out. Removing the cork from the end of the first vial, he carefully poured the deep red wine into the pitcher. The contents of the next four vials followed the first. The empty vials returned to their secret hiding place in his quiver. Slinging quiver and bow onto his back, Legolas picked up the pitcher and silently set out.
Legolas wasn’t at all sure where he was going. But he knew what he wanted. What he needed. After their dangerous trek through the mines of Moria, the loss of Gandalf, the confrontation with Haldir and his brothers, finally making it to the heart of Lothlorien, and the ordeal of meeting Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, Legolas needed elven companionship and comfort. And he thought he knew just the elf to find it with.
He had managed to find out the elf’s name and that he was not on duty this night. Legolas had watched him leave, his eyes following the tall elf as he disappeared through the trees. Walking through the trees where the elf had disappeared, he stopped and called out softly, “Dinendal?” His eyes searched the trees, and he waited for an answer.
Legolas was just about to walk farther and call again when he heard his name.
“I am here, Legolas. Are you lost?”
Spying the elf leaning over the edge of his talen, high in a tree nearby, Legolas shook his head. “Nay, I am not lost.” He walked to the base of the huge mallorn. “I was looking for you. I need to talk with someone…with another elf. Forgive me for imposing, but I hoped you would not mind my company.”
A rope ladder dropped at his feet, and Legolas sighed in relief. Holding his pitcher of wine in one hand, he grasped the rope with the other and quickly scaled it, leaping easily to the talen. “Thank you, Dinendal,” he said softly.
The other elf motioned for Legolas to follow him into the talen. The talen was open and spacious, with only hanging drapes of cloth separating the different areas. What appeared to be the main living area was strewn with soft rugs, pillows, a few low tables, a long sofa, and two comfortable looking chairs. Legolas could see the end of a large bed in another area and a kitchen and dining table on the opposite side. Smiling at Dinendal, he held out his pitcher and said, “I brought wine. My father’s best second-ager.”
“Where did you carry it?” the Lorien elf asked. I could see you carried no bottles when you arrived.”
Legolas slipped off his bow and quiver and laid them on a table, then showed Dinendal the clever vials he had carried the wine in. “My father insisted I carry some of the wine. I am glad this night that he did. Will you join me in drinking it, Dinendal? Please”
Dinendal nodded, then went to his kitchen for glasses. When he returned, Legolas was sitting on the floor, leaning against some pillows, staring up into the night sky. The Mirkwood elf looked exhausted. “You must be very tired, Legolas. Why did you not stay with the others and rest?”
“Tired, aye. Weary. But I could not rest. I wanted…needed the company of my own kind. You are sure you do not mind?” Legolas looked up at Dinendal, concerned.
“Nay, I do not mind. But why did you seek me out? Surely our Lord or Lady would have provided company and comfort to Thranduil’s son.”
But not the kind of company or comfort he craved, Legolas thought. The company of one caring soul. The comfort of one pair of strong arms holding him. “You remind me of someone. A friend. His hair is dark, where yours is light, but your countenance is like his, as well as your manner.”
“Who is this friend? An elf?” Dinendal asked.
“Aye, an elf. Master Erestor of Imladris. You are much like him, and when I was in Imladris and troubled, I always sought out his company. Fortunately for me, Glorfindel did not mind me seeking out his mate for council or companionship.”
“Then I am honored. Master Erestor is a wise elf.” He could hardly believe this beautiful elf had come to him. He was nothing but a guardian of the woods, and this was Thranduil’s son! It was a wonder he had not already embarrassed himself by stuttering and stammering in the prince’s presence. “Do you wish to tell me what troubles you tonight, Legolas?”
Legolas sipped at his wine. “Please? Will you be my Erestor this night and let me unburden myself?”
Dinendal nodded and sat next to Legolas on the floor. He pulled some pillows over and rested his back against them comfortably with his legs spread out. “You may tell me anything, and if I can help you, I will. You have done and seen much to burden you, my fair prince.” Before he could take another breath, Legolas had thrown himself into the welcoming lap and wrapped his arms around the guardian. The beautiful head with its soft, golden hair lay against his chest. Hesitantly, Dinendal wrapped an arm around Legolas and stroked the soft head.
Legolas sighed and began speaking. He told Dinendal everything, from the loss of Gollum, the Council in Imladris, their journey, the ordeal in Moria, and the loss of Gandalf. Unburdening his soul, he wept, and when the story was finished, he sobbed in Dinendal’s arms. He cried as he was unable to in the company of the Fellowship, and grief and despair poured out of him until Dinendal’s tunic was soaked with it.
Dinendal held the slender elf and his heart broke as Legolas sobbed out his grief, yet rejoiced that the prince could unburden himself finally and find comfort in his company. He stroked Legolas’ back and hair, and let the sorrowing elf cry freely. And when the tears finally stopped, Dinendal lifted the golden head from his chest and dried the tear stained cheeks with his thumbs. Gazing into the pure blue eyes, he was lost, and touched the soft, rosy lips lightly with his own.
Legolas’ eyes flickered shut as Dinendal’s lips touched his, as soft as a butterfly’s wings, and he wanted more of the silkiness that made his limbs tingle. “Again,” he breathed. Moaning as the silky lips covered his, Legolas wound his fingers through Dinendal’s long, soft hair, pulling him closer, begging for more. Running his tongue along Dinendal’s lips, he pleaded for entrance.
Dinendal shivered as their tongues curled together and moaned into Legolas’ mouth. Madness. Absolute madness. Groaning, he deepened the kiss. Sweet madness. Legolas’ hands found their way inside his tunic and slender fingers caressed his chest. Enchanting madness. Tunics ripped. Leggings pulled open. Tongues explored. Tempting madness. Clothes discarded, wine glasses tossed aside, skin licked, nipples and ears sucked, hands curled around hardness, oil spilt. Bewitching madness. Hardness slowly sinking into warm, silky, tightness. Bliss filled screams. Beautiful madness. Hard thrusts. Pounding thrusts. Enticing madness.
Legolas screamed and wrapped his legs tighter around his lover’s waist, arching up as Dinendal pounded into him. Filling him, loving him, driving him insane with more pleasure than he could handle. Wailing a name – his name – his lover’s name – Dinendal’s name, he clawed at the guardian’s back, his fingernails leaving red streaks. Marking him. His teeth sank into Dinendal’s shoulder drawing blood. Sobbing, he laved the bite with his tongue. His pulse pounding in his ears, he couldn’t breathe, only scream, again and again. Loved madness. Loving madness.
Dinendal thrust wildly, screaming Legolas’ name as the prince’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Lover’s madness. Taking madness. Taking him again and again, until all that filled his universe was Legolas. Thrusting madness. Exploding madness. Pulsing madness. Blissful madness.
Deep, peaceful, sated sleep, entwined together. Hearts together. Souls together. Bodies together. Madness no more.
~~~*~~~
Dinendal pinned the leaf broach onto Legolas’ cloak, the words in his mind sinking into his mate’s. ‘Be safe, my love. You take my heart. Come back to me.’
‘We will be together again, beloved. I love you, my Dinendal. I love you, my heart.’
‘I love you, my Legolas.’
~The end.