THE HAWK AND THE BLUEBIRD

THE HAWK AND THE BLUEBIRD

A LEGOLAS/ELROHIR PWP


Legolas sat upon a rock in front of the Hornburg. It was three days after the Battle for Helm’s Deep and the resulting journey to Isengard. He was mending and counting his arrows, and while doing so, looked up and regarded Aragorn, who stood a few paces away, speaking to Halbarad and some of the other Dúnedain Rangers. The Men had arrived in Rohan the night before, to offer their future king their assistance.

‘How tired and aged he looks tonight,’ thought the Elf, an expression of sadness like that of the light falling from the face of the pale moon flickering across the wistful countenance of his youthful face.

His glance moved from Aragorn to the Sons of Elrond, who were standing nearby. ‘How odd to see Elladan and Elrohir in this place,’ he thought, ‘for they are fair beyond comparison to anything that exists in these desolate, war-torn lands. That times like these have come upon the peoples of Middle-earth is a thing of horror. Yet we Elves who remain here must be strong. We have taken an Oath to protect our fellow beings in the worst of times, and those times have surely arrived.’

He looked down at the work in his hands, and in so doing missed the glance that Elrohir threw his way. Elrond’s son gazed at the Mirkwood Elf thoughtfully, taking in the pale face, haphazardly-arranged braids, and the dust and dirt encrusted upon his clothing. The dark-haired Elf noticed that Legolas’ hands flew busily about his work, repairing fletchings, tying on new feathers, and straightening shafts where bent.

‘He was made for better places and times than this,’ thought Elrohir, envisioning Legolas in beautiful, flowing robes, sitting under the trees of Rivendell at twilight, harp in hand. Elrohir half-closed his eyes and imagined Legolas singing a soaring melody to an adoring audience sitting at his feet and casting accolades upon him.

Elrohir sighed and turned away. ‘He was bred for a better life, yet he is a skilled and accomplished fighter. Necessity breeds the best warriors, it would seem. He has risen from being the scion of a pampered King in a remote, backwards Woodland realm to becoming one of Estel’s most valuable allies,’ he mused in admiration.

Later that evening the various parties retired inside the castle at Aragorn’s bidding, to rest before making their fateful ride to the Hill of Erech, their intention to take the Paths of the Dead from Dunharrow through the Haunted Mountain to the Stone on the other side. From there they would travel into Mordor where their fate awaited them, and they all expected that it could prove to be their doom.

Elrohir stood poised upon the top stair leading to the upper-level corridors where his bedchamber lay in the Hornburg Castle. His stance was that of a hawk regarding its prey from atop a high stoop. He watched and waited as Legolas appeared on the landing below, saying goodnight to the Dwarf who said he would sleep on the lower level with the hobbit Merry. The prince was dressed in a pale blue tunic and orange-colored doeskin leggings. Elrohir was reminded of a fragile bluebird, whose bright eyes were full of both innocence and wariness.

Legolas resumed his upward climb, carrying his basket full of toiletries, rolled-up towels and a nightshirt, courtesy of the Lady Eowyn. He did not see Elrohir until he was a half-dozen steps away and sensed the Peredhel’s presence. He stopped abruptly, almost dropping the basket when he noticed the manner in which Elrohir was perusing him. With great poise and self-control he managed to keep both his own slender form and the basket from tumbling off of the step.

His startled glance made Elrohir’s thought shift from that of a bluebird to a deer wishing to flee from the presence of a predator such as a wolf or a wildcat. He smiled down upon the Mirkwood prince. “Are you coming with us to seek a bed in the high turret?” Elrohir asked in a friendly voice.

“Yes, I thought I would like to sleep on an upper floor tonight,” said the flaxen-haired Elf, “and the Lady Eowyn has told me that there are baths up here as well. I find I am in need of a wash.”

“You are welcome to come and join us,” Elrohir offered, climbing quickly to the top of the stairs, moving out of the way so that Legolas could ascend the steep flight of steps. “Elladan and I are going to bathe as well. My brother has gone ahead to our room to fetch some things for the bath.”

Legolas smiled at him in acceptance of his offer and stopped at the top of the stairs. He looked first down one corridor and then down the opposite to the end of the hall. There were candles set in black iron sconces all the way down the walls of the grey stone corridors on both sides, and these cast much light upon the cold stone. Legolas was reminded of the caves of his home, lit also by many candles, lending warmth and much light to an otherwise cold, dark space.

“I shall see you then,” said Legolas, and carrying his basket, walked down the hallway to his left. Elrohir made his way down the opposite hallway to his bedchamber to seek Elladan and tell him he was going for a bathe.

Legolas opened the door at the end of the corridor and entered the baths. There was a sweet scent of heather in the steamy room, emanating from large clay bowls set in the corner, which were generally kept full of fresh sprigs of the plant. Heather was all that grew in the way of flora surrounding the castle in these days of war, when no man or woman could be spared for a non-essential task such as gardening. The pool room was otherwise empty.

The Mirkwood prince set down his basket in a corner and began to disrobe. He folded and piled his worn clothes neatly on the floor beside the basket, examining each item for tears and threadbare spots before doing so. When he had disrobed fully, he stretched his slender limbs toward the ceiling and worked a few kinks out of his back. After stretching and yawning for a few moments, he padded to the pool’s edge and sat down, letting his long legs dangle in the tepid water.

Slowly, he lowered himself into the pool with the grace of a cat, and swam out to the centre, ducking his head below the surface and running his hands through his long, luxurious, but definitely dirty strands of hair. He had just realized that he forgot to bring the soap with him when the door opened and Elrohir entered, followed by Elladan and Halbarad, the ranger.

All of them called out greetings to Legolas, who had swum to the opposite end of the pool and floated, submerged to his neck in the cool, unheated water.

He watched as they disrobed, the twins identical in their splendid, well-muscled warriors’ bodies, and the ranger pale, tall and lanky. Legolas noted with curiosity the Man’s body, covered in thick, wiry hair that the Elves lacked, although being peredhil, Elladan and Elrohir had a smattering of hair attractively placed upon their well-shaped torsos.

Although the twins were identical, Legolas found his gaze fixed upon Elrohir, who now approached him along the stony length of the pool’s edge. Their glances met, and both smiled warmly at the other. Legolas swam to the far edge of the baths and raised himself to his elbows on the ridge, until the top half of his torso was above the water’s surface. Elrohir lowered himself into the water and swam to Legolas’ side.

“You are comely,” he said to the Mirkwood prince when he had stopped within a few inches of him.

Legolas raised his eyebrows, feeling anything but that.

“I want you in my bed tonight,” whispered Elrohir suddenly, his breath turned into wisps of smoke by the cold air, but Legolas felt the warmth of his hot breath against his ear.

The prince gave him a wry smile. “You presume much, master Elrohir,” he whispered back.

“Am I presuming incorrectly? That you do not desire to experience the pleasure I can give you?” asked the peredhel in a low voice. “Would you deny a warrior his heart’s desire on the eve of what could be his last battle?”

Legolas turned his face away so that Elrohir would not see the grin of pleasure that curved his lips. “How do you know that we will not survive this battle? And if so, that I may not wish to look back with regret and know that I bonded with you this night and perhaps regret that we sealed our lives together forever?”

“Look at me,” hissed Elrohir, and he reached below water to grasp the blond Elf’s narrow waist, pulling their hips forcibly together while keeping their upper bodies a few inches apart.

A faint flush crept into Legolas’ cheeks. “If you do this for their benefit,” he said, looking down the length of the pool to where Elladan and Halbarad stood close together at the other end, “I don’t believe you will succeed, for they must be aware that your hands lie upon me.” His lashes fluttered involuntarily, but the look of desire in his eyes was at sharp contrast with the shy prettiness of his face, and that caused Elrohir’s already thickened arousal to grow harder.

Through clenched teeth Elrohir addressed his prey. “Unless you wear belt and dagger below-water, I can feel hard evidence that you are excited by my offer.”

Legolas looked up at him with dusky indigo eyes staring from under half-closed lids. “I am most likely wearing my sword, then,” he spoke in a husky voice.

A light of ardor shone in Elrohir’s eyes. “I will need to see evidence of that,” he whispered, and quickly submerged himself.

A few seconds later, Legolas yelped as he felt a firm hand grip his erect member and shortly afterwards he sensed what he believed to be lips brushing the tip, for they were exquisitely soft. A shudder of ecstasy caused him to gasp, his mouth opening wide.

Elladan and Halbarad turned to look at him and then they cast their curious glances around the pool, no doubt looking for Elrohir.

Legolas managed to bring his knee up swiftly in the water, where he felt a satisfying connection with Elrohir’s chin. The dark-haired Elf surfaced quickly, sputtering when his head appeared again above-water.

Legolas grabbed his elbow under the surface and gave him a tug. “Your brother and the ranger have seen us,” he hissed. “They will know what we are playing at when they see the state of us if we climb out now!”

“But I want you! And as soon as you can take your tempting little body down that hallway to my room, I shall have you,” said Elrohir impatiently. “Get out and wrap a towel around your waist. And do not worry if they see you. They will not even notice that I have caught myself such a prize. They are doing the same as we are, and have eyes only for each other as we speak!”

“Have they?” asked Legolas, giving the other two a quick but keen glance. “Elladan and Halbarad have become so close?”

“Aye,” said Elrohir. “We all must snatch what little pleasure we can in the unlikeliest places from the oddest of sources.”

“Well,” said Legolas, “I am surprised.”

“Let us not waste time talking about them,” Elrohir whispered into Legolas’ ear, brushing back a strand of flaxen hair. “Please take your pretty arse up to my room this minute.”

“But what of them?” asked Legolas. “What if they come back to the room while we are—occupied?” he asked.

“I will tell my brother to go to Halbarad’s room instead,” said Elrohir. “He will understand.” His large but gentle hand stroked the soft smoothness of Legolas’ hair.

“But will Halbarad not share a room with some of the other rangers?” asked Legolas, his brow puckering with worry.

Elrohir sighed in exasperation. “My fair Legolas, do not worry about such trivialities. There are plenty of extra rooms in this castle. Now go! I will speak with my brother of the matter. No one shall disturb us.” He licked his lips as he said this, in anticipation of the pleasure that would be sure to follow. The young Elf from Mirkwood was delicious, and the warrior from Imladris could not wait to experience the pleasures that a night with Legolas offered.

Legolas, in an abrupt change of behavior, lifted himself out of the pool and sat on the stony edge that surrounded it. Elrohir stared at his wantonness. His body with its finely cut muscles looked like a godlike alabaster statue. His hair was already half-dry and fell about his gleaming shoulders in a straight, cascading sheet of the palest silk. He parted his lips to let Elrohir see the tip of his pink tongue, and at the same time he parted his thighs, showing his companion the half-hard evidence of his desire.

Before Elrohir’s widening eyes, Legolas reached down with a languid hand and stroked his own member, then released it so that it could rise of its own accord. He leaned back on his elbows to let Elrohir see the full glory of the prize that awaited him. His actions were done casually, but the lustful light shining from his eyes betrayed his intention.

Elrohir gaped and watched the wanton creature, his own member stirring in response. Legolas rose to his feet, seeming not to care that his arousal was clearly evident to all, and marched down the pool’s edge, past Elladan and Halbarad, whose heads were close together in conversation and oblivious to all else. He walked out through the door and down the hallway. He was followed swiftly by Elrohir, himself with an erection that stunned the Elf and Man in the pool, suddenly aware of him as he passed them, and left them shaking their heads and laughing. There was no need for Elrohir to speak with his brother. He would not be interrupted that night.

Legolas fled down the corridor but stopped when he realized that he did not know which one was the door to the twins’ room. He was soon caught up by Elrohir, who clasped him around the waist and flung him, swiftly but not roughly, against the corridor wall. With his hands on the young Elf’s hips, holding him in place, Elrohir crushed his lips against Legolas’, his tongue pressing needily against the soft, yielding flesh. He slid a hand insistently over Legolas’ torso, palpating every inch of the young Elf’s flesh before plunging it down his belly to cup his soft sac, and squeezing it gently. His groping fingers found a nipple, the feel of its erect nub causing an exquisite ache in his loins. He rubbed his hard shaft against Legolas’ thigh. “How I want you,” he breathed into his lover’s neck when his mouth had released the fair Elf’s lips.

Legolas mewled softly, parting his lips to accept Elrohir’s impatient tongue. He bucked his hips in response to Elrohir’s touches, pressing his length in return against his lover’s thigh. He gasped as he felt his lover’s hand release his sac and travel around to his buttocks, giving them an appreciative squeeze before inserting a gently probing finger into the opening in his cleft.

Elrohir’s mouth relinquished his lips and moved to Legolas’ ear, nibbling upon the sensitive tip and ridge.

“Ai!” cried the prince, and could not help but leak a wet trail of juices along Elrohir’s thigh, his member twitching against his lover’s steely flesh.

“Oh, Gods,” groaned the dark-haired Elf, dropping to his knees before the alabaster thighs of his lover. With gentle hands he caressed the beautiful arousal and accompanying sac before plunging his eager mouth around the exquisite length.

“Ai—ee!” cried Legolas, pressing his hands to Elrohir’s shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to push the peredhel back. “Elrohir!” he managed to gasp. “We are out in the open! Please!”

Elrohir reluctantly let the silky member slide out of his mouth. “Ah, Varda, but I want you so badly,” he hissed.

“Get up! Get up!” cried Legolas, hearing voices from the other end of the corridor. “Quickly! Which room is yours?”

Panting, Elrohir rose to his feet with difficulty and pushed open the door on the wall beside them. Legolas fell through it, followed closely by his lover.

“Ah, Legolas,” Elrohir purred into his ear as they both lay upon the floor atop a thick fur rug, the larger, dark-haired Elf on top of the prince. “We have not spoken of love, but I do believe that I love you, Legolas.” He pressed a kiss to his lover’s fine-boned cheek.

Legolas reached up to stroke Elrohir’s glossy black hair. “How can you say you love me? You hardly know me,” he whispered, searching the older Elf’s face with his questioning eyes.

“But I have known you for hundreds of years,” was the answer, and Elrohir pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“But not very well—we almost never see each other,” Legolas stated firmly.

Elrohir sighed. “When I look at you, I know that you were meant to be my mate,” he said, nuzzling his face into the crook between Legolas’ neck and shoulder. “You must feel the same about me. I will not believe you if you say aught else.”

“Truthfully, I do not know,” said Legolas, but he shivered with pleasure beneath Elrohir’s touches.

“Then I shall show you,” said Elrohir. “Come and climb onto the bed.”

Legolas rose to his feet and lay down gracefully on his back on top of the fur-and-blanket-covered bed. Elrohir clambered up beside him and straddled him so that his head faced Legolas’ feet, and his knees straddled the fair Elf’s head.

“Suck me,” he commanded, and positioned himself so that his penis dangled above Legolas’ face. The blond Elf looked up at the rigid member hanging above him and grasped it in his hand, and Elrohir lowered his hips so that the lengthy shaft entered between Legolas’s waiting lips. Elrohir let out a gasp when he felt Legolas’ lips and tongue upon him, stroking and wetting his thick shaft. The wanton Elf was drawing in his cheeks and sucking hard, putting everything into the act, his hands gripping Elrohir’s buttocks, his fingers stroking the deep cleft between them , tickling the sensitive puckered opening.

At the same time, Elrohir, balancing on one hand, grasped Legolas’ stiff member with the other and began to stroke the slender shaft with loving touches, all the while moaning his pleasure at Legolas’ caresses.

“Ai!” Legolas released Elrohir’s length after a loud moan escaped the kneeling Elf’s lips. “I shall come if you continue doing that to me!” he cried. Elrohir continued his rapid strokes upon Legolas’ member until the prone Elf bucked his hips violently, uttered a loud moan, and spilled his fluids all over Elrohir’s hand and his own stomach.

Elrohir gasped when he saw Legolas’ release. “I was close to the brink myself,” he whispered, overcome with lust from watching his lover’s sensual display. He bent down and licked the fluids from Legolas’ glistening abdomen.

“If you truly love me, will you prove it and take me now?” asked the fair-haired prince when his breathing had calmed.

“Tell me you love me first,” said Elrohir, lifting one leg over top of Legolas and turning to face him.

“I cannot say that yet,” said the Mirkwood prince. “But I wish to feel your hardness within me, and then I think I will know.”

“Get up against the wall, then,” said Elrohir firmly, his eyes glittering.

“The wall?” asked Legolas, his eyes wide with anticipation.

“Yes. Place your stomach flat against it.”

“But I don’t—“ he trailed off as Elrohir grasped him around the waist, lifted him up and carried him to the wall where he set him down and pressed his body against it.

“Ai! But you are strong to be able to lift me like that!” cried the smaller Elf.

“Yes, but you are light, melethron,” Elrohir whispered, positioning himself behind his lover. He slathered his fingers with some oil that he picked up from the night-table and caressed Legolas’ buttocks while he slicked the fragrant liquid over their pale surface. Gently, he inserted a finger into the tight opening, and then two, scissoring them until the passageway relaxed and opened wider. Deftly, he crooked a finger and moved it inside the passage until Legolas cried out in ecstasy.

Pressing his upper body heavily against that of the leaning Elf, showing his dominance, Elrohir carefully inserted his erect, jutting penis into Legolas’ opening, sliding it in halfway, and then withdrawing slowly until only the tip remained sheathed. The tight warmth felt delicious against his oiled length. His panting breath turned into groans as he thrust in and out of the trembling Legolas, his muscular torso becoming slick with sweat while he supported himself with his two hands placed flat against the wall on either side of Legolas’ flaxen head.

The young Elf yelped at the initial breach and then began mewling his pleasure. “Oh, yes, Elrohir, yes! More, please, more!” he cried, bucking his hips backward into the larger Elf’s groin, seeking the contact and to keep himself fully sheathed. “Leave it in!” he yelped.

Elrohir stopped and slid his shaft slowly back into Legolas’ passage, stopping when he was fully sheathed.

“I love you,” Legolas sighed, speaking the words in a trembling voice.

“What did you say?” asked a delighted Elrohir, bending his head so that his lips lay upon the sweat-soaked hair at the nape of Legolas’ neck.

“I love you, melethron,” murmured the prince, dropping his head forward so that he might better feel his lover’s lips upon the back of his neck. He shuddered under the exquisite touch, from the feel of the stiff length within his passage to the warmth against his nape.

“Are you sure?” Elrohir’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes,” came the answer, the young Elf’s voice decisively firm.

“Ai, Gods,” said the dark-haired Elf, and began thrusting slowly back and forth, causing Legolas to shiver every time the tip of his penis touched the sensitive spot inside his passage. Soon, Elrohir reached climax and spent his essence into the warm confines of his lover’s walls while uttering a great cry. “Varda! You are mine!” he screamed. When he was spent, he turned Legolas around to face him.

The young Elf was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What is it, pen-neth? Have I hurt you?” Elrohir spoke with concern, stroking the side of Legolas’ face, and staring into the young Elf’s dark blue eyes.

“No,” was the soft reply. “That felt better than I ever imagined it would. I think it’s because I feel our bond. I love you so much, melethron.”

Elrohir turned the smooth face up to his with a finger placed under the pale chin, and kissed him tenderly. When he had released Legolas’ soft lips, he brushed away his tears. “And I love you, my sweet prince,” he said. He embraced his lover with great tenderness. “You may wait as long as you need until you feel ready to complete the bond,” he said. Legolas nodded, looking overwhelmed.

“Elrohir,” said Legolas after a few minutes, raising his head from where it rested against Elrohir’s shoulder.

“Mmm?” asked his lover, fingering the flaxen strands.

“I am feeling dirty still, and I need to retrieve my belongings from the baths. Do you think we could go back there for a proper wash? My hair is filthy, from first the battle, and now it is full of sweat from what we have just done.”

Elrohir laughed. “What do you think made you sweat more? The battle or what we did?” he asked.

Legolas extricated himself from his lover’s grasp and moved toward the door. “Oh this,” he said. “No question. Fighting Orcs takes much less effort.”

Happily chuckling, the two Elves made their way back to the pools.