Part Twelve: The Hart Hunter Loses His Heart
The Year 2953 of the Third Age, deep in the Woodland Realm:
The silence was overwhelming and served to make every sense come alive with anxious dread. Eyes darted in every direction, making a continuous sweep of the shadowed terrain; ears strained for something other than their own footfalls, anything besides the eerie scraping and groaning of the desiccated branches rubbing against one another over their heads; swords were drawn and muscles tensed for combat at any instant. Elladan and Elrohir trod as quietly as Elves can yet still regretted the subtle shifty crumbling and resettling of the thick duff each step initiated. There was no mistaking the sense of being trespassers; the forest was not pleased with their intrusion. Surely the vile trees would alert the residents of Dol Guldur of the interlopers; an ambush would be sprung at any moment.
I am ready, why do they hesitate? Let them come and we will teach them not to bar the way of the Peredhil.
Aye. I feel as though a thousand eyes track our progress and a host lies in wait behind these ghastly trees. What this place requires is a good Dwarven axe or two to cull the evil-hearted hardwoods.
No wonder it is called Mirkwood. More accurate to name it after its counterpart in Beleriand: Taur-Nu-Fuin. I have not seen anything green since leaving the valley of the Anduin.
I have heard from Haldir that the woodland folk do so call it. What kind of Elves can abide the weight of so much hatred and enmity? I wonder if we have more to fear from them than the orcs?
Nay, surely it is not so bad as that. Moriquendi they are but still elf-kind. The silvan folk have never fallen to kinslaying.
An expert on the breed, are you?
The twin Lords of Imladris ceased their internal conversation, each startled to have heard the brisk rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker somewhere amid the dense tree cover. They waited expectantly and the tattoo repeated; the sound reaching them from a fair distance away due east of their position. They shared a look that contained both their assessment and agreement to investigate and strode forward toward the noise, increasing their pace and tightening their grips upon their swords. Even as they walked another series of taps and clicks resounded. Elladan and Elrohir broke into a run, certain the percussions were not examples of common-place avian activity but signals shared between cunning silvan warriors. Where there were warriors there would be battle and the pair were determined to take part.
Yet though their speed was not insignificant, nothing beyond their own breathing and the faint compression of the earth beneath their boots could they detect. Another glance passed between them illustrative of confusion and foreboding yet they ran on. Abruptly, a new set of rapid-fire rhythmic rapping reached their ears, this time much nearer. Instantly they slowed to a stealthy trot. At last another noise made them grin in grim glee; a sharp grunt of anguish followed by a ponderous thud as a body fell to the ground. The combatants had commenced fighting.
Yet it was not any sort of warring they were accustomed to, for there was no clashing of swords, no shouting and clamouring, no calling of orders, no battle cries, nothing denoted the conflict was engaged save the continued shouts of the dying, the heavy concussion of lifeless flesh striking the earth, nevermore to rise. Again they reduced speed and cautiously crept forward as the crashing of fleeing bodies breaking through bracken arose, accompanied by panicked wheezing and whimpering. An orc materialised before them and skidded sharply to a stop, mouth agape and eyes bulging in terror. It turned, intending not to try its luck against their blades but to escape, and the next instant jerked violently and slumped to the ground with a stifled, gurgling yelp. An arrow fletched in bright gold protruded from the back of its neck. The body convulsed a few seconds until a second arrow sank deep into the base of the skull and ended the creature's suffering.
And then the silence returned.
More oppressive than before, the forest seemed burdened by the recent violence.
As if the energy expended to destroy seeks to infiltrate the fibre and grain of the wood. Elrohir shuddered as this thought passed from him to his brother. His sight moved from the dead orc up into the branches. Nothing but the confusing and dizzying labyrinth of interlocking twigs and stems greeted his inspection. The archer who had dispatched the demon did not reveal himself.
Or herself, for it is said that in Mirkwood ellith fight as often as ellyn. Elladan added his internal comment.
The brothers resumed their advance, stepping around the fallen orc, and in little more than a handful of strides came upon the main theatre of the battle. The ground was carpeted with the corpses of a battalion of orcish soldiers, heavily armoured and bearing shields. Some had been archers, their quivers still filled with black-feathered bolts. Most were sword fighters, their crude weapons still clutched in their gnarled paws, unmarked by stain of blood. The attempt at defence had availed them naught, for the talent of the elven archers was such that even the smallest vulnerability in plate and mail had been discovered and penetrated.
I still feel eyes upon us, yet cannot focus on the place where this presence resides. I am glad these forest folk are not as you feared, muindor (brother), else we would be as these hapless foes by now. Elladan was impressed with the silvans' expertise but could not help the uneasy crawling sensation slithering up his spine.
Indeed. Cunning and exceptional skill give them the advantage in this domain. I can envision now why so many silvans perished at Dagorlad. They must have little knowledge of such organised warfare on open ground.
Why do they not come forth? Are we meant to make the initial greeting?
I know as little of their ways as do you. We have not been very thorough in planning how this scheme might be accomplished. I am not so sure our intervention will be tolerated.
Shall we abandon our cause so soon? What of our honour, still blemished by their King's unjust remarks? Would you have that notion of our neglect stand?
Nay, I did not mean to imply that. I have no wish for such a low evaluation of our House to persist among these primitives. I only caution that we need to be wary of the outcome. An arrow can be embedded deeply without bringing death. I dislike the concept of being at the Wood Elves' mercy.
There was no reason to remain at the scene of carnage and so the brothers walked on. They followed a trail visible only to Elven eyes but other than this had no further indication of habitation by anything except the blighted trees. They lost track of the time that passed, too conscious of the unrelenting scrutiny to care.
Gradually, the environment changed and the character of the forest slowly transformed. From a depressing monochrome in shades of grey the scenery began showing hints of colour and wholesome life. After a time, brilliant columns of radiance pierced the gloom where clean, warm, afternoon sunlight streamed through breeches in the canopy. The familiar cacophony of competing bird calls dispelled the weighty quietude and the occasional rustle of wild game moving away from their advance met their hearing. The forest seemed to be thinning and even as the brothers shared this unspoken observation a calm voice called out to them.
"Mae govannen, Hîr o Imladris. Galu-en-Tawar am le." (Well met, Lords of Imladris. The blessings of the Great Wood upon you.)
Elladan and Elrohir stared. The owner of the voice was not an Elf at all. They found their sights trained upon a young human archer, obviously one of the woodsmen that dwelled in Mirkwood's core despite its dangerous reputation. He leaned casually upon a bow nearly as tall in stature as he and was dressed in the same shaded ochre and absinthe displayed by the foliage around him. Had he not spoken the twins would have walked past him without ever noting his presence, so bent was their perception upon the unseen watcher shadowing their trek. The Man was smiling with honest enjoyment at having caught two of the First-born by surprise.
"Mae govannen, adan uin eryn," (Well met, woodsman.) Elladan gave a polite nod and acknowledged the mortal's jesting grin with a rueful one. "You find us at a disadvantage, for we had expected the folk of Thranduil to greet us."
"I am of King Thranduil's realm," the man's brows uplifted in surprise for them not to realise this. "My people and the Wood Elves have been allies since long before my grandmother's grandmother was born. Berkley is my name."
"Verily, Berkeley, you are as canny and clandestine as any silvan," Elrohir smiled. "Yet you are not the one who has been watching us as we strolled along this pathway. Are we not to meet our woodland kin?"
"Aye, you shall indeed!" Berkley laughed heartily at their dismay but failed to reveal the identity of their stalker. "Come, for night falls swiftly over the forest and we are near my village. There you may await the dawn for it is not safe to travel afoot during the darkness of Ithil's hours."
Nothing else could they do without giving offence and thus Elladan and Elrohir found themselves in the colony of the human hunters. It was not what they expected, though in truth they had seldom given thought as to the design of such a settlement. Had they ever done so, the high fortifications would not have surprised them. As it was, they were admitted inside no less than three successive barriers of defence, each more stalwart than the next, each manned by archers and protected by scouts and wardens. The walls were formed of the mighty trunks of felled trees and topped with spikes of iron. A walk permitted the archers to span the entire length of the bulwark and the soldiers stood ready for whatever might attempt invading their territory. All stared in open curiosity as the foreign Elves passed by their posts.
Finally they reached the heart of the colony and Elladan and Elrohir were greeted with much deference and distinction by the elder of the folk, a woman of advanced age, white-haired with keen blue eyes that delved theirs boldly. She informed them that the captain of the Elves assigned to their region had alerted her people of the Imladrians' imminent arrival, begging the woodsmen's hospitality until the morrow. Then, the honoured visitors would be met by this captain and escorted to the King's stronghold to the north.
It was a long night for the Elven Lords.
They were treated with great courtesy, fed a filling meal of venison stew and flat bread, and plied with a very potent liquor that tasted of anise and looked like the Bruinen after a heavy rain: occluded and ominous. They were asked countless questions about the world west of the Misty Mountains and cajoled into telling tales of their many adventures, especially during the Battle of Fornost.
That these isolated people even knew of this struggle surprised the twins, for it had happened so many lives of men gone by. Even more surprising, the brothers learned the tale had been told to the woodsmen by Radagast and the story had become something of a legend. Perhaps the account gave them hope of routing the dark power that marred their lands. All of this Elladan and Elrohir accepted with the grace and cheer normal for their station and rank; indeed, everything about the quaint village and its simple people was delightful to them.
The evening wore on and the mortals retired for sleep, except for the watches manning the palisade and the patrol forming up. That was when trouble started.
Elladan and Elrohir prepared to leave with the patrol, a heavily armed group of fighters with both swords and bows ready for battle. As soon as their plan was understood, the elder had to be called, for the men refused to allow the Elves to join them. She was frightened and apologetic but also adamant and unwavering in her refusal to over-rule her warriors' decision. When pressed, she admitted this was the order of the silvan captain: that the Imladrian Elves were not to be included in the war party.
The twin lords withdrew their demands and said nothing more, perceiving that they had placed the humble Elder in an awkward situation: should they disregard the mandate she and her village would stand in disfavour of their silvan allies for failing to carry out this order. The sons of Elrond had no idea what form the consequences of such action might take. They withdrew apart and watched as the warriors filed out of the village.
Externally they remained aloof and calm yet internally they were outraged. There was no doubt in their minds that this insult was due to the King's lack of respect for them and their battle skills. By the time the first signs of dawn arrived, heralded by a crowing cock and a faint lessening of the dreary darkness, the brothers were ready to challenge the King to a duel in order to prove him wrong and force him to take back his derogatory words.
They watched as the men returned, weary and bearing two wounded. The woodsmen were filthy and stank, a sour odour unlike anything the twins had smelled before. Trained by their father in the healing arts, they offered their aid to the injured. The men were gracious but stated their comrades had been treated and would recover fully. Now Elladan would not hold his tongue, for to be spurned twice was too much.
"A field dressing, however well applied, is no substitute for a thorough examination and treatment to prevent infection. Do you doubt that we are capable of providing such care to humans? I assure you, the finest healers in all of Arda are trained in Imladris by my father and both my brother and I have tended Men, Elves and even Dwarves on occasion."
The poor warrior, Berkley, the same who had met them upon the path, bowed low and gazed from one to the other's angry eyes in dread. "I meant no offence, my Lords. I did not know the plague of our woods had found its way beyond the mountains. The Wood Elves supply us with the anti-venom for such cases, but if you have a more potent one we will gladly administer it."
"Anti-venom?" queried Elrohir. He met his brother's gaze as realisation overtook them both simultaneously. The men had not been fighting orcs but the giant spiders infesting the central portion of the forest. The younger twin let a shallow sigh escape his lungs, for clearly they were the ones in error. Of such injuries we know little. I believe it is for you to admit so, muindor.
Elladan was fully prepared to do just that, for he was never one to hide from his mistakes, but before he could speak another voice joined the discussion.
"Aye, a cure for the poisonous bite of a spider. Do you in fact have such a thing?" the coolly pronounced words were laced with sarcastic contempt and issued from a tall Wood Elf who had seemingly appeared from thin air so noiseless was his approach.
Elladan faced him and gave the warrior an appraising stare before he answered, dipping his head as he did. "Nay, I do not." He turned to Berkley and bowed from the waist. "Your pardon, for I misspoke, believing the injuries taken were from blade or bolt."
"Oh, no apologies to him are required; be at peace," the Elven warrior waved away Elladan's polite words and Berkley's presence with one sweep of his hand through the air, not bothering to temper his smug smile. "Suilad, Elladan and Elrohir, Lords of Imladris. Welcome to Taur-nu-Fuin. I am Inarthan, Mainonnen (First-born and Heir) of Thranduil. Forgive the rugged conditions of the initial night of your stay, but this is the peak of our hunting season. We must destroy as many of the foul arachnids as possible before they mate and lay eggs. I could not spare any of my warriors for your escort to the stronghold."
Inarthan looked down on Elladan, for he was at least a hand's span greater in stature than the twins, his smirky smile intact, leaning upon an ornate and impressively powerful war-bow much as Berkley had done the day before. The Prince of the Forest did not possess the physique of an archer, however, but that of a spear-bearer or lancer: solid and imposing with long well-muscled legs that looked as though he might be able to out-run a horse. His countenance was fair in the manner of all Elven folk with vibrant green eyes, a fine, straight nose, and a strong chin beneath full lips. He reminded the twins of the Teleri people they had met in Mithlond for Inarthan's Sindarin heritage was evident.
Hair the colour of flax fell in one long, thick braid down his back while two smaller plaits at each temple managed any shorted hairs that might get in the way of vision or the bow-string. Dressed in the same hue as the woodsmen, the cut of his garments was more refined and the fabric a fine silk embroidered richly at the neckline and hems. These were somewhat besmeared with evidence of the night's fighting and the same foetid stench clung to the elegant prince.
"No pardon is required," countered Elladan stiffly, "for the woodsmen's hospitality is of the very finest. Seldom are we so royally treated when amid the Rangers in the northern reaches of Eriador."
"Ah, that is well, then. We shall remain here for a bit to recover and wash this vile pollution from our persons before returning to the stronghold. It was a most successful campaign and I think we can safely consider the next generation of spiders to be significantly reduced this time. The King will be pleased and the Elder has ordered a celebratory feast this eve. If you will excuse me?" And without waiting for any answer the mighty prince turned on his heal and strode out through the open gates of the barricade.
Well.
Indeed.
The twins watched him depart with a strong sense of resentment for his haughty attitude and their prejudices were reinforced by this brief encounter, more determined than ever to bring the House of the Sindarin ruler down to a more realistic level. A soft cough garnered their attention and in unison they turned to see Berkley still hovering near, a rather sheepish look haunting his kindly, open visage.
"I beg pardon, my Lords. Inarthan can be a little…"
"Boorish? Conceited? Supercilious?" quipped Elrohir, grinning devilishly.
"Snobbish? Pretentious? Overbearing?" added Elladan with the identical expression transforming his features.
"Aye, and do not forget condescending, domineering and just plain rude," the man laughed, grateful the twins seemed to understand his Liege quite well and held no grudge against the villagers for it.
"I hope the younger son of Thranduil is not as vain," Elladan and his brother shared a look that was nearly predatory in its intensity but kept this hidden from their host.
"Oh, nay, Legolas is nothing at all like Inarthan. If you meet the young Lord, you will never even know he is of the same House, for he lives as one of the regular silvan warriors and nothing in his manner will give him away. You are more likely to find Legolas mucking out the stables or perfecting his archery than observing affairs of state in his father's court," Berkley smiled.
"There is a daughter as well," he elaborated. "Laerross (Summer Rain) is a gracious Lady with all the nobility of her elder brother and none of Inarthan's conceit. She serves as our Queen since her mother's death and her compassion prevents Inarthan from abandoning the woodsmen, for the King is beset by his grief and comes forth from his mountain no more."
"Yet you said the alliance betwixt your people and the Sindarin King has stood for many generations of human-kind. Why does Inarthan seek to end such an allegiance?" asked Elrohir.
"It is not that he wishes to discontinue the treaty between our people, but to honour it in a different way," explained Berkley. "The Shadow deepens and Inarthan wishes to concentrate his efforts on deposing the power in the Dark Tower. He feels too much of his time and resources are devoted to protecting our scattered colonies to achieve that end. He will tell you plainly that if not for this constant patrolling he would rid our forest of the pestilence once and for all.
"Many of our folk agree with him, yet we are not numerous enough to hold off the orcs should the Elves cease to hunt them in favour of assaulting Dol Guldur. Laerross speaks against his plans every time Inarthan seeks to sway the King, and Thranduil heeds her counsel even as he did his wife's. I have heard that it was always Rhûn'waew's (East Wind) desire to safeguard the mortals in her lands."
The twins assimilated this knowledge gratefully, finding Berkley's forthcoming nature quite a benefit to their plans. Elladan said, "That is news both good and ill, for while it is just for the King to keep faith with the ancient covenant, it was not known among our realm that Rhûn'waew had perished."
"I am not surprised. King Thranduil feels this is a private matter and tries to master his sorrow alone. It has been only twenty-five years, less than my own age. Now, as there is to be a feast I would ask your company on a hunt. We would have a boar and a buck to roast, Yavanna willing," replied Berkley.
"That would be most agreeable. I find myself in the mood to kill something," said Elrohir. His brother gave a short bark of laughter to indicate his concurrence and the trio left through the same gate the prince had used just moments ago.
Once beyond the outer perimeter of the settlement, it did not take long to locate signs of both quarries. Berkley and Elrohir elected to pursue the boar, a more aggressive beast inclined to turn and fight than to flee, while Elladan promised to bring back the buck. The hunters parted ways.
Elladan tracked his prey far into the deep cover of the wild woods, mindful of his surroundings and alert for any indication of danger. With the morning fully advanced, he knew there was little risk of running into orcs for the beasts could not abide the brighter light. The buck seemed to be making a circuit of his territory and Elladan found several marker trees where the deer had left his spoor.
Then a surprising sound reached his ears and he halted to listen more carefully. Just on the furthest limit of his hearing, he detected the strains of a fair Elven voice lifted in song. Intrigued, the Imladrian Lord followed this gentle melody and found to his amazement that the deer seemed to be drawn in the same direction. The closer he got the more beautiful the singing became and Elladan found himself wishing to discover this silvan crooner more than he desired to catch his prey. As it turned out, he achieved both goals.
Slowing to ensure his steps were not audible, he crept forward where the sound of the voice mingled with the pleasant accompaniment of softly tumbling water. Quite abruptly the trees parted at the bank of a small brook and he spied the creator of the musical vocalisation. A silvan youth stood naked within the water, bent over upon the lowly task of washing clothing, and sang to alleviate the boredom of the chore. Elladan was awe-struck, spellbound by both the beauty of the graceful form and the lilting quality of the silvan tongue. This was the first Wood Elf he had ever seen and he found the sight most pleasing, his lips uplifting in delight as he scrutinised the nude form before him.
The silvan was male, lean and lithe and small, compact and perfectly proportioned. His back was to the elder twin as he worked upon the laundering. Slender shoulders tapered to a narrow waist above slim hips and a firm rear. The legs attached there were very long and gave the impression of speed and agility. Elladan's eye followed these limbs until they disappeared beneath the water at mid-calf, and then traipsed back up, lingered on the graceful curve of the buttocks, and finally travelled back to the rippling shoulder muscles aiding the scrubbing work of the arms. Above the clavicles, an elegant neck supported a head crowned with hair the colour of the first rays of the sun at dawn, bound up in a solitary plait that trailed in the water it was so lengthy.
Elladan leaned against the tree beside him and simply absorbed the enchantment of this wood sprite's Song of voice and flesh. A motion on the opposite bank caught his eye and he nearly laughed aloud to find the buck caught in the same spell, gazing intently and without fear upon the young Elf.
The deer gave his regal, antlered head a toss and a soft wuffling breath issued from its nostrils. Keen black eyes flickered to Elladan but returned to studying the Wood Elf. The buck set his forelegs into the brook and waded out to greet the silvan singer. The song stopped as the youth laughed and stood straight. He used the soaked garment in his hands to send a showery wave of liquid over the deer, who playfully lowered his antlers but clearly had no intention of charging.
"What are you about, Hîr Aras?" (Lord Deer) said the youth to the hart. "Am I intruding upon your domain? Is my Song sufficient as tribute for my trespass?"
"Nay. Surely this is your domain and your subject but comes to confirm his fealty," Elladan answered from his spot behind the woodland fey. The result was as he desired, for the youth wheeled about in surprise and granted a full frontal view of his body. Hungrily Elladan's eyes documented firm pectorals and small rosy nipples, tightened by the cool environment of the stream, a taut, flat abdomen, and a lovely set of genitals nestled in wet, honey-coloured pubic curls. Elladan guessed the ellon could not be much beyond majority for there was about his carriage and his shape a callow uncertainty that spoke of adult form but newly achieved.
The silvan's features, once Elladan permitted his examination to reach them, made him catch his breath. Seldom did the First-born have cause to complain of their looks, but equally rare was such perfection. Fine boned with high cheeks and a firm chin, the face that greeted him held wide-set blue eyes the exact colour of a cloudless spring sky, opened wide in disbelief and clouded with embarrassment, that quickly dropped as a bright flush of scarlet stained the flawless skin.
"Ai Valar! How you startled me, Hîr! Forgive my nakedness; I had no idea anyone would be coming here this morn," he babbled as he splashed over to the bank in haste to grab up the shirt he had left there. He was having trouble getting it to co-operate with his design of covering himself, for he was dripping wet and the fabric was light and fine. It clung stubbornly about his shoulders as he struggled in vain to draw it down.
All this frantic motion served to make Elladan's smile grow even broader as the activity transformed the graceful form into an erotically inviting display of jiggling penis and testicles. A muffled oath as the youth tried to unbind the fabric where it was bunched up under his arms forced a laugh from the Imladrian's throat and halted the frenetic endeavour.
"Sîdh! There is no need for such commotion on my behalf. Your natural state is no offence to me, pen neth. On the contrary, never have I beheld more pleasing a vision. Here, let me aid you. Tell me, are all the silvan folk so enjoyable to look upon?" Without further ado Elladan strode to the youth, who froze in shock much like the buck still standing in the water, deftly whisked the garment back over the Elf's head and shook it out carefully. "Well, you have made it all wet now. I shall hang it yonder upon a branch to dry." He did this as he spoke and smiled when the naked silvan shut his gaping mouth and swallowed nervously, hands settling low over his belly to cover himself while hoping not to be obvious in doing so.
"Shy? I am surprised over such modesty. Who has taught you to guard such grace and beauty, preventing the rest of the world from admiring the handiwork of Eru and praising Him for such a gift? Here, if it will make you feel less awkward, I will mimic your estate." Thus saying, Elladan sat down and pulled off his boots, rose again, and calmly stripped down.
He made no effort to cover his semi-erect penis and chuckled to find the youth staring slack-jawed once more, gaze travelling up and down and back up slowly, very slowly. Elladan approached him and the silvan backed up, re-entering the stream with a subtle splash. Elladan went right in after him and finally the Elf halted, staring at him from huge round eyes in wary anticipation.
Their presence in the water broke the deer from its stupor; the hart leaped upon the bank and quickly vanished into the brush.
Elladan gave a mental shrug; he could trace the deer's path easily enough once he was better acquainted with the wood sprite. He reached out and gently fitted his fingers beneath the chin, shutting the ruby lips once more. The touch made the Wood Elf jump and indeed the contact was equally electric for him. He felt the tremor of excitement run through the lithe body ere he dropped his hand and his eyes as well, noting with satisfaction the beginnings of a fine erection filling the slender cock between the silvan's thighs.
Almost at once he felt an intense surge of instinctive guardianship race through him as his heart rate accelerated; it was plain this youth was untouched. Elladan's spirit swelled with both desire to possess and protect the ellon; he would open this one's heart before he claimed the virgin body for his own.
Now it was the Peredhel's turn to be jolted by shock. Never had he experienced this sort of reaction for anyone but Elrohir. His brother and he were bound heart and soul and flesh; each completed the other in a way no one else could. Or so I thought until this moment.
Lust and desire and craving to know the delights of another's body, these sensations they shared and many Elves had they bedded, together, to satisfy this end. None of these lovers were more than temporary dalliances. What was pounding through Elladan's veins right this moment was nothing at all like those casual affairs. He wanted this elf for his own, apart from his wanting of Elrohir, and he wanted him all to himself.
"What is your name?" he asked quietly, stepping back a pace to indicate there was nothing to fear from his blatant desire, the tone of his voice soothing and calming.
"Cuthenin," answered the fair youth and smiled, less nervous now for he could see in the stranger's eyes that nothing would be asked of him that he was not ready to give. He let the tension leave him and permitted the thrilling tingle of excited arousal to replace it. If this Elf was not ashamed to show his body's honest reaction then he would not be either.
"Mae govannen. I am…"
"I know who you are. One of the famous Lords of Imladris, great warriors both. Is…is your brother here as well?" As this thought broke through his previous haze of surprise and awakening desire, Cuthenin became nervous again, glancing all around and even up into the branches to look for where his companion's double might be watching, concealed amid the trees.
"Nay, he is far away. Elrohir is hunting for a boar with Berkley in the woods."
"Then you are Elladan."
"I am. Well now, this is a tiresome task you were set upon before I interrupted you." Elladan frowned at the heap of dirty clothing still to be washed and the sodden mass of tunics and leggings and underwear soaking in the shallows. "If you will agree to help me complete my assigned duty for the day, I will aid you in yours." He reached down, quite aware he was presenting a very tempting view of his backside, and took up the cake of soap and one of the tunics.
"Oh! Nay, Hiren! (my Lord) That would not be right. You are a guest among my people and a renowned Lord of the Golodhrim." (Deep Elves - Noldor) Cuthenin snatched the garment away and made a grab for the soap, but Elladan playfully hoisted it out of reach and splashed away, laughing.
"If I am as great a Lord as you say, then I may do as I please. Today it pleases me to wash laundry." He dodged as the silvan came after him and plunged his free hand into the water, sending up a bright curtain of water droplets between them.
Cuthenin laughed and made another try for the soap only to find his wrist caught in the powerful grip of the beguiling Lord from Imladris. He gasped and instinctively pulled back, not knowing that was what Elladan had intended, and succeeded in jerking the virile form flush against his body.
The heat between them stole his breath and the potent fullness pressed into his belly was a sensation both unfamiliar and thoroughly exciting. He found his vision locked upon the parted carmine lips so near to his and unconsciously licked his own as he wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by this Elf. He did not have to ponder it long, for no sooner had he raised his eyes to Elladan's mesmerising grey orbs than the Elf Lord bent and carefully caressed his mouth, a warm, wet tongue cautiously probing between his teeth to briefly taste him before retreating.
It was over too soon and Cuthenin was left with a dreamy smile as Elladan stepped away again and took up a set of leggings from the pile. The silvan watched him work for a minute. "I see that you are determined to have your way," he said and tentatively approached. "What, then, is this duty you must fulfil?"
Elladan looked up and smiled, stopping long enough to break the cake of soap in twain and hand Cuthenin one half. They both resumed their scrubbing as he answered. "I am to bring in a buck for the feast. That is how I found you; your friend led me here. I shall not be able to kill him now, for he has done me such a great service. Thus, you must help me track down another, one I will have no qualms about felling."
"Agreed," said Cuthenin and bestowed the full brilliance of his open smile upon his companion. If he noticed that Elladan ceased all activity, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of this expression, he gave no indication that anything was amiss. He resumed his cheerful song and set to work with renewed fervour.
Present Time, in the gazebo of Meril Thaifn:
"And that is how I met Legolas," said Elladan, his voice subdued and filled with something almost like awe. Erestor and Elrohir's eyes were fixed upon him in rapt attentiveness, enthralled by the tale as if they had been there to see these events unfold, though even for the younger twin this was the story's first hearing. "At the time, however," Elladan continued, "I had no idea that Cuthenin and Legolas Thranduilion were one and the same."
TBC