Of Yngol, Yrch and Tawarwaith

Of Yngol, Yrch and Tawarwaith

Rating: NC-17
Author: Esteliel
Homepage: http://www.loes-valthen.de.vu
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien, I'm just playing with them and will give them back afterwards.
Summary: It was the second time Estel met the young prince, on the day of his eighteenth birthday, that remained foremost in his mind, even after he had won the throne of his forefathers.

Written for the LotR Secret Santa: http://www.livejournal.com/community/lotr_sesa/

Merry Christmas, duathkaimelar! :) I hope you will enjoy this fic - I have always wondered what Aragorn's childhood must have been like, growing up as a human boy among elves, and your request gave me a reason to write it all down. I hope you won't mind that Aragorn is not quite Aragorn yet, but still Estel... ;)

Also, thank you so much for betaing this for me, Pip! :)


-------------------------------------------


The first time Estel ever met an edhel from Taur-e-Ndaedelos, he had no time at all to dwell on the differences between the feral Silvan elves and their learned Noldorin brethren who had brought him up.

Indeed Estel’s foster-father was Elrond Peredhil himself, son of Ëarendil the Mariner, and twin brother of Elros who had been named Tar-Minyatur when he founded the line of kings of ancient Númenor.

Estel had been brought up listening to Elrond’s recollections of Maglor, who in the old tongue was called Makalaurë, and was fluent in both Sindarin and Quenya. Yet now that he was staring at a notched arrow aimed directly at his heart, it seemed that all his learning of elvish history and culture would not avail him, as he was unable to understand the rapidly fired questions of the fey creature before him.

“Please – speak more slowly, I do not understand you!“ he said helplessly, raising his hands away from his sword to show that he was no threat. “Im Estel Elrondion o Imladris.” He spoke slowly himself now, carefully pronouncing the Sindarin that in truth was more his native tongue than the Westron of his people.

The warrior in front of him guffawed and shook his head, grinning at his companions who all of a sudden had silently dropped out from the trees surrounding them. “The human pup thinks he’s edhellen!” he laughed, but he spoke more slowly now, and Estel realized that the language he spoke was indeed Sindarin, yet it sounded heavily accented to his ears and seemed to draw on words and phrases completely unfamiliar to him.

“He claims to be the Peredhil’s pup, but last I saw them, his sons were not edain!”

“Yet he speaks our language like a Noldo.”

One of the Tawarwaith wrinkled his nose. “Every time I hear that accent, I want to throw them into a puddle of mud to finally see them lose their composure. Those stuffy phrases, all those Quenyan mannerisms – it’s all too plain to see that they would love nothing more than to reclaim the accursed kinslayers’ tongue.”

“Peace, gwador, whatever else he is, the pup’s human and thus, no kinslayer, even if he claims kinship to the Noldorin lord,” the fair-haired elf said who was still threatening Estel with an arrow. He gave the bewildered youth another look, but then lowered his bow. “He’s no threat – I would say he has more to fear from our forest than the forest has to fear him. Tell me, pup, what brings a green child to Taur-nu-Fuin? Do they not tell of yngol, yrch, and – most dangerous of all – the uncivilized, barbarious Tawarwaith at your lord father’s court?”

Estel flushed, for he knew without doubt now that he was being made fun of. Yet he had to swallow down the angry words that threatened to escape him, for he did not want to disappoint his father by causing an incident that would further the dissent between the King of the Woodland Realm and his father, the Lord of Imladris.

“I am no child – I am in my fifteenth year, and my brothers have taken me on a journey so I would see more of Middle-earth,” he said quietly, meeting the eyes of the Grey-elf with what he hoped was quiet dignity.

“Fifteen years – why, the lads from Lake-town are finished with their apprenticeships by that age, and mostly wedded to some pert maiden!” one of the elves exclaimed as the others laughed.

Estel’s cheeks reddened even more, yet he still refused to rise to the bait.

“Where are your brothers then? Certainly they have not left you here all alone for some ungol to find you? If what you claim is true, they must be the famed twin sons of the Peredhil lord then, Elladan and Elrohir, who hunt orcs for sport?”

“Yes, those very twins,” two voices said smoothly, as now the dark-haired brethren appeared from behind another tree.

Estel sighed with relief, then scowled when Elladan affectionately ruffled his hair.

“’Tis indeed our little brother you have found – forgive him, we told him not to move away from the horses while we scouted ahead, yet you know how wilful those young mortals can be.”

Estel’s scowl deepened. Somehow, being treated like a child in front of the Sindarin warrior made it even worse than usual.

“I only wanted to fill our water bottles, and there was less mud to cross here to get to the brook. How was I to know that taking ten steps would count as breaching the borders of this realm?”

“How indeed? You could have listened to us,” Elrohir laughed, and then moved forward to clasp the leader of the border guards in a warrior’s embrace. “Greetings, son of Thranduil! It has been far too long since we have had the pleasure of your company, and that of your forest’s yngol!”

The archer laughed but returned the hearty embrace while Estel gave him a wide-eyed look. Thranduil’s son...

“Legolas Thranduilion,” the Sinda said with a little bow, “well met, son of Elrond!”

“Well met, my lord Legolas,” Estel answered and clasped the prince’s arm, his cheeks warming again at the Sinda’s soft laughter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Estel would meet the fey Sindarin warrior again, several decades later, and together they would go against the Dark Lord’s creatures on a quest that should decide the fate of all of Middle-earth. Yet it was the second time Estel met the young prince, on the day of his eighteenth birthday, that remained foremost in his mind, even after he had won the throne of his forefathers.

The day of his majority was something Estel had awaited for a long time. While in most societies of the edain in Middle-earth, a young boy was considered of age when he reached his sixteenth year, and it was indeed not uncommon for a fourteen-year-old girl to be wedded and gotten with child, the immortal edhil held childhood sacred and did not count their children as adults until they reached their fiftieth begetting day. Like mortals, they would then wed and beget children very quickly, yet those first fifty years were for the most part spent with play and song – weapon training and lessons in history and languages only becoming important late in the edhil’s long childhood.

Following that tradition, Estel had been forced to wait until his eighteenth birthday to be acknowledged as an adult, and to be granted all the rights and duties that came with it. In a way, he was grateful, for he knew that Elrond was determined to give him a childhood as peaceful and happy as possible, as his adult years would most probably be filled with battle and bloodshed. Nevertheless, it had been hard for him to wait for this day, especially the last years, as there was another Noldorin tradition that was held high in his foster-father’s house. This tradition forbade young ellyn to give in to their bodies’ desires for intimacy until they reached their day of majority. On that day, their parents would appoint an older, experienced ellon to serve as teacher in the arts of love, and both would spend the night after the celebration of majority together. Of course, if a young ellon had already fallen in love with a maid and was only waiting to come of age to court and wed her, then these two were usually allowed to open the celebration with a dance, but would still retire to their own rooms afterwards, waiting for the night of their wedding to share their bodies.

This was a tradition Estel had to adhere to as well, although this was made harder for him by the simple fact that, had he lived among mortals, he would not only most probably be married by now, with two children and a third on its way, but would have certainly had tumbled a kitchen maid or a serving girl years before.

Still, Estel loved his foster father, and he reasoned that it was not asking too much to adhere to elvish traditions in this. The Lord of Rivendell had given him so much, and all he had asked for in return had been the love of his son. Estel did not want to shame the one who had been forced to first-handedly experience the weakness of men when Isildur refused to destroy the One Ring. For all of his life, Estel had strived to make Elrond proud, and to remain chaste for a few years longer than his body would have liked was not too high a price if it ensured the Lord’s continuing regard and affection.

Now, though, now his waiting would finally find an end, and all the many lonely nights with no company save his fantasies and his hand would at last pay off.

Estel wondered whom Elrond had chosen to be his teacher for the night. He knew that Glorfindel had been appointed as teacher for Elrohir’s celebration of majority, more than two millenia past, while Elladan had spent the night with a lusty minstrel from the Golden Wood – both of whom they had been eyeing hungrily in the months preceding the celebration, they had told him. That was how Estel knew that Elrond would choose carefully, taking his son’s inclinations into consideration as much as his knowledge of the potential teachers’ characters.

Estel halfway hoped that he would have the pleasure of being subjected to Glorfindel’s lessons as well – from Elrohir’s boastful recollections of that first night, Glorfindel was indeed as gifted in the arts of pleasure as he was in the arts of war. On the other hand, he had been in awe of the golden warrior ever since he was old enough to understand his history, how he had given his life to ensure the safety of his king’s family, and how he had been reborn in Aman after his death in Gondolin.

Sometimes, Glorfindel shone so brightly with the purity of his fëa that Estel felt ashamed at besmirching this noble figure with his less than noble thoughts. Still, the Elda had been Elrohir’s teacher, and he had not thought it beneath him at all to teach the son of his lord the art of love...

“Come, Estel, today of all days is not the time to stand brooding in front of this door,” the gentle voice of his foster-father pulled him from his thoughts.

Estel raised his head and gave the Lord of Imladris a bright smile. “Indeed it is not, adar... it is simple curiosity. Certainly you must remember what it is like to wait, and to wonder who has been chosen to be your teacher...”

Elrond laughed. “And who would know it better than I? You do not know how Maglor would tease and torment me and not reveal anything, until the door opened and the High-king himself entered the room!”

Estel laughed as well. He had heard the tale told many times, of how Maglor had tricked his enemy, Gil-galad the High King of the Noldor. Knowing of his fosterling’s infatuation with the son of Fingon, Maglor had taken a great risk in disguising himself to approach his enemy, asking for the honor of the King deflowering his son.

Of course this meant that Elrond did not have the lavish feast amidst Maglor’s people that his twin Elros was being given; their disguise as simple elves, craftsmen from the High King’s vast host, allowed them no more luxuries than renting a room in a tavern. Yet Elrond had what he had wanted ever since he had seen Gil-galad on a reconnoitering mission for the first time, and Maglor had gained another tale to tell around the fire.

“I am certain that you will have chosen as wisely for me as Maglor chose for you, adar,” Estel said, and then could not supress a small, relieved sigh when the Lord strode forward, finally opening the heavy door to the Hall of Fire, and then entered the hall with his fosterling at his side.

For a moment, Estel was almost blinded by the bright gleam of candles and torches, the crystal and silver tableware and the gathered elves bedecked in their finest clothes of silk and velvet, and adorned with gleaming jewels. Then his eyes finally adjusted, and he swallowed, wide-eyed, when his eyes met those of Glorfindel.

It was Glorfindel who had been given the place of honour at his side. That meant that his adar had also chosen Glorfindel to be his teacher this night – like he had hoped and at the same time dreaded he would.

“Are you happy with my choice, Estel?” Elrond asked softly. “He is a good teacher, believe me, he will be patient – but if you truly do not want him, it is no too late to–“

“No, adar, it will be fine,” Estel said and smiled at the one who was his father in all but blood. “Do not worry; I know that he would never harm me. And it is true that I have often admired his fair form. Yet sometimes, he shines so brightly it is a little difficult to look beyond the beloved, self-sacrificing hero...”

Elrond nodded knowingly. “Still, I wager that after this night, that shall be a little easier for you... I know for a fact that Elrohir never complained about my choice.”

Estel gave Elrond a quick smile, but inside he once more felt a nagging doubt. For quite some time he had suspected now that Elrohir felt more for Glorfindel, that he had never been able to forget the glorious golden warrior who had been his teacher, and that this was the reason he had never wedded. To be still without a spouse after two millenia, that was highly unusual even for the immortal edhil, and although it was more understandable in an heir to a realm who might later make an advantageous political ally by a marriage bond, it still was far from normal.

Yet Glorfindel was better than any other alternative, for there were not many who had managed to catch Estel’s eye and would also be seen as fitting from Elrond’s point of view.

Glorfindel was a category entirely to his own – it was simply not possible to not feel at least a modicum of desire if one looked at the valorous warrior lord. Still, Estel’s tastes usually ran more to lithe, sleekly-bodied ellyn, fair of face and sweet of voice and yet deadly with a sword or knife in their hands.

For a moment, Estel saw the fey, wild warrior of Taur-e-Ndaedelos and could not quite suppress a shudder of excitement. What would it have been like to tumble that wild, proud Grey-elf, to possess his slender body and in turn be possessed by him?

But it was not one of the feral Tawarwaith of Taur-e-Ndaedelos that waited for him, but the calm, noble Lord of the Golden Flower. Elrond had obviously thought his shiver of excitement was caused by his desire for Glorfindel, and so led him forward with a proud smile to take his seat next to the warrior, while Elrond remained standing for a moment to greet their guests and laud his fosterling in a short speech.

Then, all too soon, they were feasting on the meal of roast pheasant, wild boar and all the multitude of fishes the Bruinen offered. Estel sat next to Glorfindel, trying his best not to flush while everybody listened to their conversation and tried to embarass them with ribald comments.

Every now and then, Glorfindel would give him a kind, encouraging smile, and when the first part of the celebration finally came to an end, he took Estel’s hands to lead him into the middle of the Hall where they would open the dance.

Estel forced himself to smile back at Glorfindel. He did not know why he felt so strange now, after all he had aways admired the fair warrior, and even lusted after him in recent years. Yet now, all of a sudden, he felt insecure... to be bedded by his childhood hero, it was a good fantasy, but now that it would become reality, it did not feel quite right. Noble Glorfindel would certainly make a good, patient teacher – yet would there be passion? Would there be desire?

But this was not about love, not yet, this was about learning... and he would learn much from Glorfindel, that was certain. For love, though, for love and passion – for that he would have preferred someone like Thranduil’s son, the untamed prince of Mirkwood with his aura of danger and uncaring, wild freedom...

But Legolas he could not have. It was Glorfindel his adar had chosen for him, and with Glorfindel he would now open the dancing and banish all those distracting thoughts from his head.

Estel smiled at Elrond, took Glorfindel’s hand, and just when the minstrels raised their instruments to begin the melody of the opening dance, the door to the Hall of Fire burst open and a group of elves strode in, all fair-haired and bedecked in the colors of Mirkwood.

“Legolas!” Estel breathed when he recognized the leader of the small group, then flushed with embarassment. The prince grinned at him and sauntered towards where they still stood in the middle of the Hall. “Estel o Imladris... I bring greetings from my father, and congratulations.” All of a sudden, his hand was no longer nervously clutching at Glorfindel’s, but resting in Legolas’ hand, and Estel gave the Sinda a disbelieving look.

“As fair as our golden friend is, I fear I cannot leave the honour of teaching you to him... After all, you are the little brother of my friends, and as such, you deserve something special,” Legolas purred. “No offence, Glorfindel!” he added, but Glorfindel only nodded and stepped back with a smile.

“None taken, prince. I can see whom he would rather have as his first teacher,” the Elda said softly, and then nodded at the minstrels to begin with the music while he returned to the table, placating his surprised Lord.

“Thank you for coming, this is... really quite an honour!” Estel finally brought out when Legolas led him into the first steps of the dance. Unlike many of the dances of mortals which Estel had witnessed so far, the dances favoured by the elves of Imladris were intricate arrangements of steps and turns tailored not to a pair, but to an entire court, who would move in complicated figures of circles, rectangles and spirals, their silken robes twirling and twisting around them like colourful clouds.

And so, after the first few steps, Legolas and Estel were joined by other dancers until finally, the entire Hall of Fire was filled with laughing elves who followed the musical directions of the minstrels, the adan and his teacher from Mirkwood at the heart of things.

Estel soon relaxed when the familiar steps took away much of the nervousness that had assailed him as soon as he realized that it was indeed Legolas who had come for him, just as he had dreamed. But eventually, when one dance ended and the next began, Legolas refused to move and only gave him a long look.

“I believe it is time now, Estel... Let me see how the shy adan I once threatened looks now he is all grown up!”

The elves closest to them laughed, but stepped back obligingly to let Estel and his companion escape from their midst. And then, after having bowed in the direction of Elrond, Estel found himself being pulled from the Hall so fast that he did not even have time to think and panic about what would happen next.

“Come!” Legolas said breathlessly. “Your brothers told me where your room is situated... and they took it upon themselves to prepare it!” His silvery, delighted laughter sounded almost like giggling, but Estel could only groan when he thought about what his brothers might have done to his rooms.

“They must truly like you!” Legolas said with a raised brow, once they stood inside the suite of rooms that belonged to Estel. “This is not too bad – at least not where the twins are concerned.”

Estel found himself agreeing with Legolas’ assessment. Indeed, he had suspected far worse – but the twins had padded his bed with numerous cushions, had left an assortment of soft towels, a bowl with warm water and a multitude of scented oils on a table they had moved next to the bed.

There were light, gently moving silken curtains in front of the windows, and new sheets on the bed. A fire had been lit, and there was enough wood to last them for the night – there was even a bottle of Miruvor, the golden cordial of Imladris.

Estel found himself sipping carefully at the goblet Legolas handed him. He had already had wine earlier, and he did not want to drink too much, as he wanted to remember each and every moment of this.

“Come, Estel,” Legolas finally purred as he let himself fall backwards onto the bed, mustering the human with a gaze of unabashed hunger and curiosity. “Let me see if that frightened little colt with its too-long legs has become a young stallion by now, for I fancy a night of hard riding!”

Estel blushed, but no longer tried to hide the desire he felt. “Take a good look then, so you will know what to answer if they ask you tomorrow about who has left you so exhausted!”

Legolas laughed, but when Estel came closer he sat up again to run his hands up and down Estel’s chest. “Mmh... you feel nice. Hard training with your brothers and that resident hero of yours? I definitely approve,” he breathed and then began to open Estel’s robe. Estel sighed and let him, breathing faster when finally, Legolas was able to run his fingers over naked skin. But when the prince reached for the fastenings of the thin leggings, he stayed his hands and instead leaned in to gently touch his lips to those of Legolas.

The prince gave a surprised, soft laugh, but then his lips parted and he sighed, allowing Estel to explore his mouth for a moment before he took over.

Estel had never known that it could be like this – all that he felt, all that he tasted reduced to one person, to the tingling of his tongue as it was caressed, the pressure of soft, moist lips and the so far unimaginable, sweet intimacy of sharing. Sharing so completely that their taste, their very essence mingled and they breathed the same air even when they finally parted.

“Forgive me – I am impatient, I go too fast. I should have done this first, right down there in the Hall so your adar would have seen how I desire you, and that I did not come to play with your heart,” Legolas whispered apologetically.

“Shh – do not apologize.” Estel had to smile when he tried to imagine being watched by his adar while being kissed like this. “He knows you will not hurt me – and if he does not, Glorfindel will tell him. Now come, continue with what you have started. The night is short, and you know that we mortals do not have eternity to spend dreaming of just one kiss.”

“Yes, you are right. I shall give you something more worthwile to dream of, adan,” Legolas said, his fingers already busy with the tight lacing of Estel’s leggings. He grinned mischievously when he found him already hard and eager, wrapping his fingers around the swollen length to see if he could make the youth moan.

And moan Estel did, although only for a moment – then he pushed Legolas back and began to strip the elf, who was still fully dressed. He touched the smooth skin carefully, sighing when he drew his fingertips over the hard, flat planes of his chest. The Sinda was was so lovely to look at, slender and fair like a human maiden, and yet it was so deceptive, for Estel could feel the hard muscles hidden beneath the silk of his skin.

And there was a part of him that was not like a maiden at all…

Now it was Legolas’ turn to moan when Estel began to stroke him, at first slowly and carefully, then faster as he remembered how it felt to be touched like this. And Legolas allowed him to take control now as he relaxed under his hands, writhing slowly beneath him like a large, not quite tamed cat.

Finally though, Estel was pushed back and Legolas moved on top of him, flushed with desire and breathless from pleasure.

“Come, Estel, it is time now,” Legolas said, yet he lingered for another hungry kiss before he took one of the vials of oil from the table. “There... sweet oil, for an even sweeter night. Now relax and let me have you, to make an adult of you in truth... And worry not. I promise, if I harm you by accident I’ll let you harm me in the same way later on, what do you say?”

“Yes!” Estel moaned. “Yes, I think I shall do that, even if you do not harm me. But for now, do not torment me, please – hurry before this night is over!”

Legolas sighed, pleased with the soft sound of pleasure Estel made when he carefully slid one finger into him. He was generous with the oil – a first bedding like this was no place for pain or even discomfort. This was about pleasure, and he soon heard even more moans when he added another finger. Now it was Estel who was writhing, Estel who was breathlessly, hungrily begging for more, and Legolas would never tease him – not on this one, special night.

When he slid into Estel, joining their bodies, there was no pain, only pleasure and the sweetest feeling of rightness, of being together, being one – perfection.

Legolas sighed, and Estel trembled, and then their mouths met again, drinking of each other. There was no awkwardness, no fear or doubt, and Estel dimly thought that he understood now why the Noldor clung to this custom. Never had he imagined it to be like this...

He moaned Legolas’ name, again and again, and was answered with the sweet sound of his own name from the Sinda’s lips. He was breathless, lightheaded, and his heart beat faster and faster, bearing him towards a precipice that was so different from the times he had touched himself that for a moment, he was almost afraid.

But there was no place for fear when all of a sudden, pleasure broke down over him with the force of a storm, taking him away from his room, away from himself even as he arched and gasped, shaking against Legolas’ body.

They clung to each other, both breathless and glistening with sweat, and even Legolas could not hide his awe at the intensity of what they had felt.

“That... was quite an initiation,” he breathed and pressed his lips to Estel’s sweaty hair. “I fear I will have to go back on my promise, for if we do this all night long, I shall awake in the Halls of Mandos, slain by too much pleasure!”

Estel laughed but remained in Legolas’ arms, too exhausted to move for the moment. “Maybe I shall let you sleep then, later on, but only if you promise me all of the next day. And of course – once your strength has returned to you, oh fragile princeling – I think that it is for me to take revenge now, for the harm you have done me. So, once you have recovered, I shall see how you look on your stomach, and then I will show you just how much the youth you once threatened has grown up!”

Legolas laughed softly but curled against Estel, breathing in his scent that was so different, and yet so alluring – unmistakably human, yet lacking all the weaknesses of that race.

“You shall, adan, you shall... I have a feeling that one day, I shall see you fully grown, winning as much glory for yourself as Glorfindel once won, and I promise you, I shall stand by your side that day.”


------------------------------------------------------------
Taur-e-Ndaedelos – Forest of the Great Fear (common Sindarin name for Mirkwood)
Taur-nu-Fuin – Sindarin translation of Mirkwood, less commonly used
edhel (pl. edhil) – elf
edhellen – elvish
Im Estel Elrondion o Imladris – I am Estel, Elrond’s son, from Imladris
adan (pl. edain) – man
gwador – sworn brother
ungol (pl. yngol) – spider
orch (pl. yrch) – orc
Tawarwaith – ‘Forest People’, the Sindarin name for the Silvan elves
ellon (pl. ellyn) – male elf
fëa - soul