Nêl-ar-Paenui Peth: Cened Thurin (Part Thirteen:
Secret Seeing)
It was the fifth day of the scouting mission and the trio of elves were
at last entering the foothills of the Hithaeglir, having travelled
south out of Imladris down the valley of the Bruinen at a pace neither
too hurried nor too slow. The goal was not to appear to attract undue attention
while at the same time courting whatever danger might be lurking to
show forth. The warriors understood they were not only meant to gather
reconnaissance but to serve as decoys for the forces of the Dark Lord.
After careful consultation with Erestor, Aragorn, and the twin Lords of
the realm, Elrond and Mithrandir concurred that the journey toward
Mordor must be oblique. The Wraiths knew, and thus their master also, that a Hobbit had carried the Ring into Elrond's
realm. If Elrond refused to sequester the Ring
in Imladris that left Galadriel and the protection of the Golden Wood,
Thranduil and his silvan magic, or Mithlond and a boat for Valinor. Someone must carry it to whatever destination the Elf Lord and his ministers deemed best, yet that did not mean it would be a halfling bearing it away. The Ring-bearer and his companions must seem to
be seeking a safe haven for the dread article, or else a confederate
willing to attempt wielding it.
The decision was made to send out several small forces departing simultaneously in directions that took
them all over the known lands of Middle-earth. In this way, Sauron's spies might be
confused as to who the true Ring-bearer might be. The
scouts bound in these directions must make a convincing show of equal
urgency, reinforcing the ruse that the elves meant to either keep the
Ring and use it or send it to the Valar. When news that
three of the First-born, riding out of the Hidden Vale with some
semblance of subterfuge and heading for Caradhras, reached the minions of
the foul Maia it would suit the purpose of the quest well.
Elrond and Mithrandir hoped
Sauron's interest would be captured by this frenzied activity,
permitting the true mission to get underway unnoticed, the real path
and goal to remain obscured. Their enemies need not know that these were but scouting missions; let them believe the elves were set on establishing the disposition of the Ring now instead of meerly seeking to gather knowledge and spread confusion.
An additional factor had arisen once the wizard had told his tale of
capture and torture in Isengard. Mithrandir needed to gauge the extent
of Saruman's forces before sending Frodo out. He had little doubt that
the turncoat Maia would take the Ring for himself if it could be
managed, for Sauron was of the same breed and what one wizard would do
another might as easily master. Having chosen to aid the cause of
Darkness, a far shorter step would lead Saruman to attempt usurping the
power of the Ring and ruling Middle-earth from Orthanc. The scouts sent
near this former ally's domain would be in greater peril and this very
danger they must seek to draw out, forcing Saruman to show his intent.
It was a delicate balance of safety against subterfuge, for the elves
must seem to be genuinely engaged in this dire errand to transfer the
Ring into more capable hands or safer lands. Thus the pace must be both
fast and stealthy yet not so much so as to go undetected. When the
inevitable skirmishes with Orcs ensued, the scouts must defend
themselves yet allow one or two of the vile enemies to escape death in
order to pass the misinformation on to their masters. Through all this,
the elves must gather what proof of the Nazgûl they could
from signs or direct interrogation, should they manage to seize an Orc
or a Man twisted into the service of Mordor or Isengard.
To this end, one trio of elves was to cross the Misty Mountains through the
Red Horn Pass and ride north through the valley of the Anduin, right
past the black fortress of Dol Guldur. Once on the fringes of the
forest, the riders were to meet with Thranduil's silvan fighters,
seeking word of activity in those regions. If Thranduil was willing to
lend aid then the scheme should work, for this change of direction, away from Lothlorien,
would implicate the Woodland King as a possible protector of the Ring
of Power.
Long had the Sinda Lord ruled his forested home and held back the tide
of black despair that issued from Dol Guldur. The rumour of his wealth
was legendary as was the knowledge that elven magic protected the
stronghold and its subterranean vaults. There the Ring might linger
unto the last Age and not be retrieved by Sauron, for Thranduil would
never abandon his people and no means of overwhelming them had yet been
found. Never would Thranduil choose to use the vile store of dark power
and while the elves were certain of this Sauron could not be. The
Greenwood would become a significant target should her Lord agree to
help.
The hope was that a pair of Athedreinyn would set out for Lorien
immediately upon meeting with the scouts. Dressed in borrowed livery of
Mithlond and Imladris, evil's servants would not realise these were not
the same elves who had set forth from Rivendell. Then the Dark Lord
would have to wonder if the Ring was on its way to Galadriel after all.
Lothlorien and Greenwood must both become the focus of much of Sauron's
attention.
Clothed in woodland garb, the three scouts would then hasten back to
Imladris over the High Pass and present the information they had
gathered.
It was no wonder, given the goals of the task, that the three
emissaries were none other than Glorfindel, Legolas, and Galdor. What
better than to entrust such a formidable challenge to the re-born
warrior sworn to serve the House of Eärendil? Legolas would
provide a safe introduction to the Woodland Realm, and Galdor must go
because it was his place as Tirn'wador to do so. Thus, the Vanya
warrior, the silvan archer, and the Noldo Lord rode out from the
courtyard of the Last Homely House at zenith of the day following the
Council of Elrond. No troubles of any sort crossed their path at first
and indeed the journey was so uneventful as to be suspect. It was as if
all the marauding hordes of evil Men and foul Orcs had fled the fair
lands. Whence they could have gone so quickly was a mystery.
The fifth day found them picking their way along a trail oft-used by
the folk of Imladris but one that was dangerous nonetheless. Their
progress was nearly as unremarkable as on the earlier days and instead
of reassuring the scouts it only made them more edgy. Caradhras was not
renowned for being a kind and gentle climb.
Annûn would be upon them quickly in the diminishing days
heralding the winter solstice and the Vanya's horse had picked up a
stone as the terrain began its transition from rolling hillocks to
jagged cliffs and cramped stony defiles. It would soon be too dark to
see the way clearly through the rugged landscape and none wished a
second horse to end up lame. Thus, with the sun yet above the horizon
the scouts halted in the scant shelter of an overhanging outcrop to
await the passing of Ithil's tour. The elves were not weary nor in need
of rest, yet the steeds could not go indefinitely without sleep.
Now that one was injured, extra time must be spent to heal the equine
of the tender bruise on the underside of the hoof.
Glorfindel was carefully inspecting his stallion's injured foot as
Galdor and Legolas began to murmur the last chant of the Eneg Egleriad.
(Six Praises - a cycle of contemplation and prayer for followers of
Pâd-en-Tawar) The Balrog Slayer admired the low, melodic singing,
the words ever just below the threshold of comprehension, recalling
with fondness how this wondrous sound would echo from the surrounding
cliffs of Gondolin, filling the hidden city with the serene music. He
noted that Galdor drew apart and assumed his formal stance of uplifted
face and opened arms while Legolas worked as he prayed.
The Vanya strained to hear the words of the archer's supplication,
certain these were not the same as those the Sadron was reciting, and
was both pleased and amazed to recognise his name amid the silvan's
softly voiced syllables. This had proved true on every day thus far yet
Glorfindel had not found courage enough to ask for what the Wood Elf
prayed. His attention remained focused keenly on Cuthenin now and he
watched intently as the young warrior attended his chores.
Feeling the eyes of his Faer Hebron upon him, Legolas glanced over and
smiled as he proceeded, neither ceasing his song nor his labours. He
had made a small wood fire and set a swiftly constructed tripod above
it from which to suspend his water skin. Next the messenger took four
of his arrows, lashed them together into a rectangular frame, and onto
this affixed an oilskin cut to fit in such a way that it formed a deep
pouch. He had retrieved this from his pack and took from it also a kit
of assorted herbs and cures necessary for field dressing battle's
legacy.
With the water in the skin now warm but not boiling, Cuthenin unhooked
it from the stand and carried everything over to Glorfindel and
Asfaloth. Into the makeshift bucket he dumped a handful of assorted
herbs known for reducing inflammation and speeding the healing of
strained and bruised muscles. Holding one side out for Glorfindel to
grasp, he held tight to the other and poured in enough water to reach
the horse's pastern (joint above the hoof).
As if on cue, Asfaloth daintily dipped his injured foot into the
healing brew just as Legolas completed the last refrain of his
plainsong prayer.
"He is wise, your steed," Cuthenin could not help smiling at the
equine's sense of timing, "and respectful of Tawar. I may have to ask
Galdor to anoint him." He patted the charcoal grey muzzle that leaned
down to nuzzle his hair in thanks for the soothing soak.
"Nay, do not convert my charger, Cuthenin," replied Glorfindel, only
half jesting. He was still not sure how he felt about the intensity of
the silvan's creed.
"It would not be a conversion but a return to that which every soul
seeks."
"I am not so sure. In Aman, Pâd-en-Tawar is little practised."
"Truly? I cannot understand this, for many byr have been called to
Mandos through violence or grief since the Awakening. Must one's
beliefs be discarded to earn rebirth?" Legolas was not pleased with
this idea at all as his furrowed brow and down-drawn lips attested.
"I know not for certainty, yet I cannot think why that would be so,"
answered Glorfindel. He did not like to say that perhaps those re-born
in Valinor had a broader understanding of truth and had no further need
of religion to account for fearful unknowns. "Mayhap the byr keep apart
from the rest of the population, even as the Wood Elves remain isolated
from their kin in the other elven realms. In that case, it would be
impossible for me to guess at their numbers. Indeed, I knew not any byr
lived among the Greenwood, so secretive are the silvan's ways." While
he spoke, Glorfindel massaged the horse's leg briskly but gently to
stimulate the flow of blood as the rejuvenating medicine was absorbed.
"That is most likely the reason you were not aware of their presence in
Aman," concurred Galdor. He had concluded his evening ritual and
strolled over to where his companions crouched on the ground at the
stallion's feet, each one bathing the afflicted leg with the healing
water. The fact that the pair managed to occasionally brush upon one
another's fingers in the process was not lost on the vigilant
Tirn'wador. This level of contact, however, was acceptable and he did
not speak of the playful interaction. "As you have seen, the ways of
our faith are not easy to follow and many would not understand."
"I have not found it difficult," Legolas disagreed. "Yet I have seen it
is so for those who become initiates later in life. I was raised thus
and cannot comprehend feeling differently about my world."
"You are young; plenty of time for trials of faith to be borne,"
cautioned the Sadron.
"Must I be tried thus? What does it entail? Nanethen did not speak of
this to me."
"I cannot see why Legolas should be required to undergo yet greater
turmoil and strife to prove his dedication to Tawar," interjected
Glorfindel, feeling a surge of protective outrage rise up just as when
he had spied the bruise from Ithil'wath's staff.
"Sîdh," (Peace) urged Galdor. "I did not intend to suggest
Pâd-en-Tawar exacts suffering from its adherents as a sign of
devotion. I was but commenting on the fact that life in these times
brings with it numerous conflicts and confrontations. For many, the
strain of these arduous experiences prompts a sense of abandonment by
the Spirit of the Great Wood. That in turn may lead to resentment and a
withdrawal from the communion of the trees. Some survive such
tribulations with their faith intact, others do not."
"Ah, it is like the elves who have lost respect for the Valar and find
fault with Iluvatar for not guiding his children better," nodded
Glorfindel. "Some folk in Imladris even believe that Iluvatar is but an
invention of the Valar, and that they know nothing more of our true
origins than we do."
"What do you believe, Glorfindel?" asked Legolas. This was something
that had begun to occupy his thoughts more frequently now that the
threat of grieving sickness was removed.
"For me there are few mysteries left, thus the ideas of faith and
belief do not apply. I know the Valar exist for I have met and talked
with them in Aman. They spoke to me of Iluvatar and I see no reason why
they would choose to fabricate this information. At the same time, I
have never felt the presence of this One being overseeing all that
occurs."
"What then guides the course of events and the shape of the Music?"
queried the archer, for this was something he had wondered on yet had
feared to challenge the Greenwood's Sadron for answers, not wishing
others to think Calarlim had failed to instruct him adequately.
Glorfindel hesitated for the last thing he meant was to insult the
archer's faith or seem to undermine the authority of the worthy Sadron
from Mithlond. He glanced from one to the other in the glowing orange
of the setting sun's rays, assessing the serious but open countenances
presented.
"Saes, speak plainly for we understand you are not an initiate. We
respect the choice of every free being in such matters. Neither of us
will condemn you, this I promise," Galdor reassured, guessing what
prompted the Vanya's reticence.
"Aye, I find that your views on other topics have been refreshingly
forthright and have served to clear away confusion and doubt within my
mind. Please do not hold silent now," pleaded Legolas, his free hand,
wet from sluicing the horse's injured foot, spontaneously reaching out
to clasp his Faer Hebron's arm.
Glorfindel did not mind the damp patch spreading over his sleeve and
smiled warmly into the sincere blue eyes. "Very well, I will describe
it as best I can. I feel that Eru did for a time exist as a distinct
entity with which his earliest offshoots communicated."
"Those being the Valar and the host of the Ainur?" asked Galdor.
"Aye. But as the Music began to take shape, the energy for the Making
of it came from this One source. I believe that as time proceeds, each
new thing that unfolds uses more of this energy. Thus, Eru is not a
distinct entity any longer but dispersed among all the creations and
events that have emanated from the Music.
"As for the Valar, it is clear to me that The Powers cannot control
fate, either for good or evil, no matter how often I hear both curses
and entreaties directed to Manwë or to Vairë suggesting the
contrary. The Valar are not truly causative as such. They cannot
generate the Spark Imperishable, for example. They do not even
understand the nature of the Second-born very well. In all things, they
have become observers more than participants."
"That is not so different from my thinking," Legolas spoke. "I feel the
One within the voice of Tawar and view the Valar as components of the
Music, just as we are. They know more of it, maybe, but are not much
better at altering it than I would be."
"Nay, we all change the Music through interactions with others, our
thoughts and feelings, adding in the uniqueness that is each
individual's heart and soul. That is the beauty of it; no matter what
is added, the melody and the harmony adapt and generate an ever more
glorious symphony," Galdor instructed.
"The Valar speak of this also, the glory arising from contention
against the Darkness, yet I do not believe I would be less willing to
appreciate the magnificence of Eru's design had I not witnessed the
destruction of my home and nearly everyone I loved." Glorfindel had
numerous objections to the value of hardship and this point was
foremost in his argument. "Indeed, I asked Námo if the stature
of the Valar was increased after they finally dealt with Melkor at the
end of the First Age. He admitted that he felt no different, except
perhaps greater sorrow for the many still entering his Halls even after
this conflict's conclusion."
"Nay, it is not in individual perception of this effort to overcome
strife that the Music becomes fuller. The Music would be beautiful if
no evil ever attempted to destroy it, that is true, and no doubt we
would all be quite content to be within it, a part of it. Yet we cannot
control the choices of every free being," Galdor countered. "Those that
would unmake the Music think to take its living force and create
something of their own. Who can say what motivates such thought?
"Yet though we are a part of the Music and can affect it, we cannot get
beyond it. No one being can encompass it, not even one of the Valar,
Glorfindel, as you already remarked. Those that would silence the
harmony cannot achieve this eradication, try though they might. In the
trying, many innocents suffer for these destructive whims of the misguided and disturbed, and while the Music is
altered it does not stop. Thus, whether we would wish it or not, these
times of discordant enmity, both personal and collective, will come
upon us.
"The Music changes; this is all the surety we have. Right now its theme
is dark, sombre, foreboding yet within it there is still great beauty.
That intertwined motif of strength, courage, love, and hope will not be
extinguished so long as there are some of us determined to hear it. Let
enough of us pick up on this chorus and it will grow, overwhelming the
dolorous notes, emerging triumphant and victorious. Then will we hear a
new Music, resplendent and filled with joy and wonder," concluded the
Sadron, smiling over the thought of such an outcome.
"Still, within it will be sombre sounds, for I will not forget the
sorrow of losing my friends and Calarlim, just as Glorfindel cannot
forget the destruction of Gondolin. Mayhap some will tend to hear that
solemnity and tune their actions toward it, making it grow stronger. It
is a cycle." Legolas shook his head, finding this all difficult to
comprehend, and completely missed the astonished expressions Galdor and
Glorfindel shared over his observation.
The trio fell quiet as they pondered these things and the task of
treating Asfaloth continued. Before long the water cooled and the
soul-bound elves lifted out the charger's foot, pouring off the water.
Cuthenin scooped out the curative sediment from the bottom of the
oilskin bucket and applied it liberally to the sensitive skin beneath
the thick, fibrous hoof, grinning when Asfaloth snorted in
satisfaction. Then Glorfindel turned the stallion loose and let him
find a spot beside the other horses, watching as he walked gingerly,
keeping the weight off the injury as much as possible.
"Le Hanteän," said Glorfindel, helping Legolas disassemble the
contraption. "I would not have thought to create such a device but it
is obviously a useful skill to have. I shall suggest the procedure for
all my troops."
"It is a standard practice for Greenwood's Athedrainyn. What do you do
when this happens, then, for surely it cannot be the first time?"
Legolas was incredulous to learn such a lack of foresight existed amid
the renowned Imladrian cavalry.
"I would walk him to the nearest stream and bathe the injury there.
Verily, it slows travel and sometimes exposes one to danger, yet no
other treatment have I known of than to refrain from making the
creature bear any burden while the horse's natural defences repair the
damage. In the stables it is different; we have everything required to
speed recovery." Glorfindel explained without rancour. He did not mind
admitting a need for improvement for that was the only way to increase
his warriors' capabilities.
"Speaking of healing," he stretched his left arm over his head and
palpated his side, grimacing where the dull sting of the brand still
ached under the chafing contact with his clothing. "Why is this slight
burn taking so very long to heal up, Galdor? I expected it to be
completely renewed by the next day."
"If it healed so quickly the design would not remain visible," the
Sadron rejoined. "Do you recall the mixture of powdered material in
which I dipped the brand before applying it?"
"I do. I assumed that was sand used to cool the metal enough to lessen
the severity of the wound."
"Nay, that is a caustic substance that causes scalding wounds upon
contact with bare skin. No heat is required. Added to the burned
imprint, it keeps the mark raw long enough for the skin to re-grow in
the pattern of the seal. It also causes a coloration change so that the
finished mark will not be white but a dark brown. It will be another
day or two before it is healed completely." Galdor moved to his pack as
he spoke, retrieving the small jar of salve he had brought along and
offering it to Glorfindel.
With the speed only an exceptional archer possesses, Legolas snatched
the container from his Guardian's palm before his Faer Hebron's hand
was even half the way there.
"Allow me, please. It is the least I can do to soothe the suffering you
endured on my account," he offered boldly, sending a look part demand
and part entreaty to Galdor.
The ancient Sadron raised a brow in combined warning and indulgent
understanding. Legolas yearned for contact with Glorfindel, for the
sensation of mingled souls was both soothing and exhilarating and he
could not help but crave more. Likewise, Glorfindel would feel the
pull, longing for the sense of satisfaction the archer's complete trust
engendered. Any physical contact of skin against skin enabled a limited
replication of the experience. Yet care must be exercised for the
contact invariably incited the desire for more intimacy and these two
had been drawn to one another even before Úcaul Annaur. Galdor
did not wish his ward to consummate this bond until he was certain
theirs was a true desire to remain committed to one another.
Still, there is little they can do with me right here beside
them. The Sadron gave a brief nod of assent and could not
help chuckling over Legolas' brilliant smile in return.
Glorfindel barely had time to register what had just happened before
Legolas fingers were busy unfastening his sword belt. Deftly the silvan
wrapped the leather strap about the hefty scabbard and handed it to the
re-born warrior, eyes very bright and mischievous when they met his.
The Balrog Slayer was actually rather glad to have something for his
hands to do as Cuthenin went to work divesting him of his tunic.
Glorfindel had a strong urge to throw down the weapon and bury his
fingers in the thick golden locks.
Then to trace the outer rim
of those delicately pointed ears which are too tantalisingly level with
my lips.
Unconsciously, each heaved a sigh together as the garment was slipped
from the Vanya's broad shoulders. What to do with it gave them both
pause for a moment until Glorfindel took it from the Wood Elf's grasp
and draped it over his arm. With his unoccupied hand, Glorfindel lifted
the hem of his shirt, struggling to contain a smirk over the
disappointment evident in the younger elf's eyes at this incomplete
undressing. Yet the silvan's Faer Hebron had to take some action to
help defray the rising desire to grab Cuthenin close and finally give
him the kiss they both had been imagining for days that felt more like
years in the wake of their sluggish passing.
With an audibly resolute inhalation, Legolas opened the jar and scooped
out a small amount of the cooling ointment. Carefully he dabbed this
onto the burn, feeling at once the surge of Glorfindel's spirit, so
strong and filled with desire for him, seep into him through the point
of contact. He hoped his Faer Hebron could sense the corresponding
yearning of his feä. A quick glance between them assured Cuthenin
this was so and he smiled, suddenly very proud and possessive, feeling
the familiar outline of his House's seal upon Glorfindel's side. When
next his eyes found the Balrog Slayer's, Legolas was sure his
expression alone would ignite the air between them.
"Much better, thank you, Cuthenin," Glorfindel whispered huskily and
grabbed the silvan's fingers off his skin, covering himself again. It
was becoming too difficult to resist the inclination to encourage those
digits, slick and slippery and warm, to continue exploring. He replaced
his tunic and not until he was buckling his sword back around his hips
was he composed enough to meet the silvan's gaze. He was surprised to
see the playfully roguish gleam dancing through Legolas' blue eyes
rather than displeasure and disappointment.
"My side hurts also, for there are four brands still raw there," his
tone dared Glorfindel to decline the unspoken request while their
vision remained locked. Cuthenin unfastened the harness of his quiver
and bow and let the weapons fall to the ground.
"Legolas," warned Galdor, taking a step toward them.
"Tirn'wador, will you hold these for me, please?" Legolas scooped up
his gear and offered it expectantly and defiantly. His features
resolved into a glorious grin of gratitude when Galdor relented and
took the bow and quiver from him. He did not waste another second,
hastily loosening the tunic and his shirt at the neck before grabbing
both at the hem and peeling them off over his head. These he tossed
carelessly aside before taking Glorfindel's hand and settling the jar
of salve in its palm.
Glorfindel was still gaping, eyes travelling the length of the
decorated torso and finally back to the eager countenance. He gathered
his wits and dipped his fingers into the oily cream, gently smoothing
it over the line of wounds in the scalded tissue, suddenly overwhelmed
with sadness by the pain he felt radiating from Legolas, both physical
and emotional. It was more than he could bear and he took the younger
elf in his arms, gathering him close in a firm embrace, insinuating his
nose deep into the silken tresses. He felt Legolas' corresponding clasp
as strong lithe arms encircled his chest and hugged back hard.
"I am proud of the marks," Legolas whispered, listening intently to the
steady beat of Glorfindel's heart.
"I know. Forgive me, I cannot stop my soul from tearing at any sign of
pain about you," Glorfindel whispered back, feeling the leap in
Cuthenin's chest when his pulse quickened. As one they moved closer
together and realised simultaneously that their hearts were not the
only aspect of their anatomies stirring.
"Glorfindel, perhaps it would be wise to check the trail behind us to
make sure no one can locate our camp." Galdor's voice broke through the
soul-bound elves' deepening communion abruptly and they startled,
separating to gaze upon the elder. "I must ask you to extinguish the
fire before Anor sets, Legolas. It will not do to announce our presence
so plainly."
"Sui pedich, Tirn'wador," Legolas answered obediently and took the
shirt his Guardian held out for him. Before he had finished dressing,
Glorfindel had set off down the path without a word. Legolas sighed and
reached for the tunic, but Galdor stopped him.
"Nay, deal with this, for thus will Glorfindel do. We cannot afford
that sort of distraction. I will be nearby keeping watch but not
watching," the elder intoned and passed a pointed look over the
archer's groin before turning.
"If that is so then why can we not aid one another, Glorfindel and I,"
murmured Legolas in aggravation.
"Could you stop there?" challenged Galdor over his shoulder.
"Who can say? I have never been 'there'," groused the silvan.
"Precisely. Let us not put you to the test, then." Galdor's voice
diminished as he disappeared around the edge of the outcrop and left
Legolas alone.
The archer was not hesitant to take his Tirn'wador's advise, for the fullness plaguing his aroused penis was most uncomfortable and just the idea of Glorfindel engaged in manual stimulation made Cuthenin grow ever harder. Impatiently he stripped down, boots and all, and knelt right where he was by the small fire, hand already busy before his knees touched the gritty ground. His eyes drifted shut and a wavery sigh fled his lungs as he threw his head back, thinking on what it would be like for his Faer Hebron to handle him thus, Glorfindel's long fingers wrapped around his cock, pumping in steady, maddening rhythm, watching him as his ardour peaked.
The memory of their soul-bonding suffused Legolas' inner vision; clutching close to the bare, broad chest of the Balrog Slayer, locked in his Faer Hebron's arms. Glorfindel was solidly muscled and the sensation of warmth within that comforting strength had initiated an immediate physical response in Cuthenin's body. Legolas could hear his thundering heart, feel nipples rigidly pressed against him while his own tingled with the friction of the same pleasurable pressure. The next instant he was back in the oak glade behind Glorfindel's house, reliving the moment when the warrior's lips closed over his left nipple, a hot, wet tongue tasting him for the first time.
Not even realising it, Legolas dragged his fingers across the erect bud in the centre of the heart spiral and cried out softly, his whole body convulsing as he came in a sudden rush of giddy delight. The orgasm left him breathless, simultaneously relieved and disappointed, for he would have preferred to extend the vivid images and prolong the exquisite experience.
Another sigh left him; Legolas stirred to retrieve his water skin and remove the evidence of his quickly spent passion. He dressed hurriedly, keenly aware of eyes upon him; with a great jolt of his heart he wondered if the Vanya warrior had indeed been spying. Cuthenin had to forcefully drive the idea of Glorfindel, coming as he watched Legolas masturbating, from his mind before his body responded with renewed vigour and his efforts would all be for naught. Recalling Galdor's order, he smothered out the fire and settled back on the ground near the horses to wait for his companions' return.
Galdor arrived at the campsite a few minutes later and the Balrog Slayer was not far behind. He sat next to Legolas and smiled at his young soul-mate with a decidedly satisfied and proud gleam in his deep blue eyes. Cuthenin did not doubt their pleasure, though separate, had been harmonious and reciprocal. He blushed, thinking how it would be when they shared that intimacy in reality rather than imagination, and found his desire flared even hotter than before. He managed to suppress a groan of frustration but not his restless fidgiting.
The Sadron, surmising the state his charge was in, wisely forced his way to sit between the two, giving each a kindly yet firmly determined look that forbade any further discussion on the topic of bonding, and diverted their thoughts through talk of Frodo's great burden and the admirable courage displayed by the Hobbit.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully and the soul-bound couple did
nothing more together than repeat the treatment to Asfaloth's leg. By
dawn the stallion was nearly but not fully recovered and so the trio
set off on foot into the heights. After the day's march, the trail had
narrowed and steepened to the point that riding was no longer an option
anyway. Two more days of careful hiking brought them to the high point
of the Red Horn and still nothing plagued them other than the slow pace
and the intensified chill in the lofty air. The three elves stared in
unmitigated revulsion at the distant spike of darkness arising above
the tops of the trees. The tower gave away nothing of its masters,
however, and the scouts began the descent.
Caradhras allowed them passage unscathed and they found the route of
the eastern side unobstructed by rock-fall, snow, or vile enemies. The
ninth day out of Imladris found them winding down the Dimrill Stair
and by the tenth twilight they were camping beside the Gladden mere.
"We are in the open now and sure to face attack before the sun rises,"
Legolas advised. "It is best to draw them out from the trees, for their
sight is sharper than ours in darkness and the light of Ithil will aid
my aim. We must wait and cross the river tomorrow."
"Can we be certain our presence is known?" queried Galdor. "We have
seen nothing indicative of danger."
"You have seen nothing," Legolas corrected. "I, on the other hand,
observed a Daeraew Môr (Great
Night Bird - a Stygian Owl) last night in the Dimrill Dale flying where a crane is more likely to
poach. The night birds do not eat fish and newts from the shallows but
bats on the wing and snakes in the meadows or beneath the trees. It was
a black-faced Daeraew and I recognised her. She betrayed me once before
not so many days ago, for that bird was ever close when Gollum was amid
the trees. My arm ached to bring her down, yet I did not wish her
masters to know we are expecting them."
"Why did you say nothing?" demanded Glorfindel and received a confused
look for answer.
"I did so," insisted Legolas. "I pointed out her shadow as it swept
over us just before Ithil set."
"Aye, that is true. I knew not what you hoped to tell me by that,"
admitted the Balrog Slayer. He should have suspected the woodland
warrior was not drawing notice to the bird for the simple enjoyment of
watching its eerily silent flight.
Further discussion was prevented by the sudden action of Legolas
retrieving his bow and arming it as he dashed forward into the dry
grasses, his eyes darting between the heavens and the tree line. At
first the other two could not tell what he was firing upon, until the
enraged cries of the wounded and dying Orcs' resounded across the
plain. Yet the archer was firing with frantic speed and fully half his
shots were aimed into the sky above, and this bewildered his fellows
even more.
Even more frustrating, the Vanya and the Guardian could not fight what
they could not see. Even as Galdor made to join Legolas, Glorfindel
restrained him.
"Nay, we shall come under fire and he would be forced to protect us for
we have only swords. They must be on the opposite bank. He can little
enough defend himself and should we distract him, he is lost,"
Glorfindel uttered in hoarse tones indicative of what it cost his heart
to speak this truth. They could do nothing but watch and hope.
Then came the high piercing call of a falcon as it wheeled downward out
of the night, resolving quite suddenly from a vague spot of shadow
against the brilliance of the stars into a regal raptor. Now it became
apparent that Legolas was shielding the bird's approach, for his next
arrow streaked through the air and shattered into splinters a black
bolt shot from an Orcish bow. Two more Cuthenin deflected thus and in
between fired upon the fiends now visible crouching in the cover of
darkness, sneaking through the dry grass on the eastern bounds of the
Anduin as they alternately attacked the silvan's position and the
soaring bird. With a final screeching call the falcon landed upon
Legolas' shoulder and in fury he turned his bow upon the Orcs in
earnest, charging forward as he drew and fired so quickly that his
motion was scarcely to be recorded even by elvish eyes.
"Gurth annon; tolo enni, raug thaur, a ristathon cuil edraw!" (I give
death; come to me, vile demons, and I shall rip life from flesh!)
yelled the youngest of Thranduil's sons as he ran.
It was too much for the cowardly vermin. They broke from hiding and ran
for the safety of the pitch coloured air lingering round their masters'
fortress.
"Aye, noro, ylynn nyrn!" (Aye, run, twisted monsters!) shouted
Cuthenin. "Yrn medithai erin firn thaiw!" (The trees will feed upon the
rotten corpses!) He sent his bitter laughter after them, mocking and
taunting their retreat.
By this time Galdor and Glorfindel had recovered from the shock of
these unforeseen actions and joined Legolas. He was nearly to the
western banks of the Great River and the former citizens of Gondolin
were torn between admiration over his skill in archery and anger over
such a reckless single-handed assault. The Balrog Slayer could not
contain his desperate wrath, for his heart was racing in the aftermath
of his terror over the possibility of losing the Wood Elf.
"What were you doing?" he chastised sharply as he caught hold of
Legolas arm. "You were outnumbered and you did not think to consult us
on the best plan to attack them. Do you seek to find your death here in
this valley? That was a foolish risk and an unnecessary one."
"Nay, 'tis not so…" Legolas tried to explain.
"Aye, you cannot go off thus," admonished Galdor, "seeking to satisfy
personal vengeance. How would it be if your were injured or killed?
What words could we bring to your people, to your Adar?" he
concluded more gently.
"Did you forget me so quickly? Does your Faer Hebron mean so little to
you?" ranted Glorfindel, pacing back and forth in front of the
crest-fallen youth. "You would return me to Mandos broken in grief?"
"Nay, nay!" cried Legolas, alarmed and deeply moved at the same time.
He clasped Glorfindel's arms in both his hands to halt the agitated
motion and sought the fiery warrior's gaze. "I would have no such
thing! Hear me, Glorfindel, I was not being careless. I will never take
for granted the state of your heart. If I can spare you any suffering
it shall be so.
"Yet this sortie I needed to make and did so safely, for under the
light of Ithil the creatures were easy to mark. Their aim is not so
good, as you observed, nor is their draw as strong as mine. They knew I
was here and still sought to bring down Êg (Thorn - the falcon's
name). My goal was worthy, for this falcon is my brother's and must
bear news of vital import. I am thinking Igeredir (The Maker) is in
need of aid, for near to us is the dwelling of Beorn's folk."
Glorfindel stared into the pleading indigo eyes, relenting as he heard
this fervent promise from the fair archer's lips. Scarcely did he take
in the remainder of the words for his feä was too relieved to know
that Cuthenin had not disregarded his soul-keeper. A minute more he
searched the unveiled spirit revealed in Legolas' night shrouded gaze
and then pulled the younger warrior against his chest, claiming their
first kiss there beneath the stars on the flood plain of the Anduin.
A muffled cry of surprise arose from the silvan's throat that was
quickly transmuted into a feral moan as his parted lips were delved,
his tongue caressed with the mobile heat of Glorfindel's oral muscle.
He clutched tightly to the Vanya's forearms, dizzy delight weakening
his legs, and relished the strength of the Balrog Slayer's arm as it
encircled his waist and supported his frame.
Êg screeched in annoyance, clenching his talons on the Wood Elf's
shoulder and flapping his great wings about the elves' merged heads. It
was
more effective than any means Galdor might have come up with to part
the lovers, and the elder laughed as the two broke their kiss in
breathless haste to avoid the raptor's sharp beak and sharper claws.
"Hah! Here is a second chaperone and a most formidable one!" said
Galdor, yet he did not have the heart to pull Legolas' hand from
Glorfindel's grasp.
"Enough," groused Glorfindel as he sought to recover his breath. "I am
growing weary of this constant accompaniment, mellonen. (my friend) We
are adults, after all, and share a connection few others can
comprehend."
"I do not deny that, yet everything in its proper time," scolded
Galdor. "What is a year to elf-kind?"
"Ai! To those in courtship it is an Age!" moaned Legolas. "So shall it
seem to me, at least. I know not if I can wait that long to claim you,
Glorfindel."
"I concur. That part about claiming, we did not discuss that. I shall
do the claiming," declared Glorfindel.
"Nay, it is my right according to tradition," replied Legolas simply.
"You are joined to my feä; I lay claim to you."
"How can that be if I am the one safe-guarding your soul? It would be
more accurate to say that I shall lay claim to you."
"You do not wish for me to claim you?"
"I did not say that, yet I am more experience in such areas. I will
take you first and then we…"
"Enough!" exclaimed Galdor. "That is not something you will have to
work out until far in the future."
"He is right," sighed Legolas. "Let us learn what need drives Igeredir
to send Êg into the open at night." He extended his arm and the
raptor obediently sidled down to perch upon his wrist, allowing the
archer to remove the small furled message secured to the bird's leg.
"It is as I expected. My brother's archers and spear-men are in
position
for an assault upon the black fortress. He asks for Beorn's men to join
him.
"Wise Êg spotted me from the heights and decided to enlist me as
well. We must make haste for they plan to attack with the dawn. Come!
We must ride to intercept them and aid in this endeavour!"
With that Legolas returned the scrip to its bearer and released the
falcon to continue its journey to Beorn's compound. The three scouts
whistled for their horses, mounted up, and plunged into the river to
make the crossing.
TBC
Note: My thanks for the readers still with me on this little
journey. This chapter we learn something of Glorfindel's ideas about
religion and faith as we follow the trio on a scouting mission.
Glorfindel gets a scare, the couple share their first kiss under the
watchful supervision of an unlikely chaperone, and Legolas makes a vow
from his heart.
And for all those fans of Legolas/Elrohir/Elladan slash, please have a
look at
"A Feast of the Senses" by
Anarien. That is if you have not already discovered
this fantastic writer. And if you have, make sure to leave a review!
This is beautifully written and so temptingly spicily HOT! Keep a fan
handy. Go to adultfanfiction.net and search for her author page.
Cheers,
Fred
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