~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author: AC

Series: Folly of Starlight; prequel to “Kilmessi”

Synopsis: Legolas’ subconscious gets the best – or worst – of him. This borders on PWP, but will be mentioned later in passing.

Pairing(s): Gil-galad/Elrond/Legolas – don’t you wish!

Rating: NC 17

Not mine, no harm intended, the sheep are lying through their teeth! Thanks to Emma for the beta job. Blame Jasta for everything else!!!!!!!

Comments are always cherished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

“Moved by desire and fear
He takes a few steps away

Lifting shadows
Off a dream once broken”

- Dream Theater, “Lifting Shadows Off a Dream”
 

Part 1:

[An evening at Imladris in the Third Age – or so it seems…]

A weighty, forlorn sigh whistled through slightly pouted lips, ricocheting in repetitive echo from the cold stone walls of the balcony. Alone he was, in more than presence. His heart ached in a way few could understand, the longing for a dream which could never be tormenting him, rending his heart with razor sharpness.

Legolas stared westward out over the valley, away from his father’s homeland and toward the Blessed Lands. His eyes caught the golden radiance of Earendil’s nightly voyage, and found himself haunted by the keen vision of his beloved’s father. <<What would you think of me, I  who would come between your son and his hervenn – and his hervess? You are the Star of Hope – have you any hope for me?>>

A deep, amused rumble filled the still evening air, an unwelcome answer to his unspoken questions flowing far too easily from unseen lips. “Foolish child. You did not truly believe Mandos could keep me for an entire age from my sole desire!”

The prince pivoted toward the voice, his blood chilled to the core, uneasily bracing himself to face the threat. Azure hued eyes widened in disbelief; slender lips parted in wordless wonder at the vision that awaited him. There, arrayed in his blue and gold battle garb of the Second Age, his famed helm cradled under one arm, stood Gil-galad himself, in all his expected glory and imagined majesty -- and fire-tempered ire. Legolas was speechless, shocked, and more than slightly terrified, the possessive tone of the High King’s voice all too clear in its intent. “I -- I meant no….” he managed to stammer, fearfully backing away from the imposing figure until his back connected with the far railing. Losing his balance, he teetered slightly backward, leaning over the rail in an unbalanced sway just enough to feel the possibility that he might fall – not an unpleasant possibility in the present situation. His eyes widened farther as the elder elf closed the distance between them with impossible speed and wrapped an arm around the back of his shoulders in support and safety.

“Take care, fair prince. We cannot have you lost to the Halls of Reflection when I have just made my escape.” His eyes narrowed to nearly feral slits, yet the legendary fire of his gaze was barely dimmed. He studied the fearful prince’s features with apparent curiosity, a sly smile finally curling his lips. “Not before I discover just why my Herald finds such enchantment in you.” With that he laid claim to the other’s lips in a bruisingly veracious kiss.

With the very breath swept from him by the unexpected ardor with which he was now faced, Legolas began to protest, but found himself overwhelmed by the power of the other’s embrace, and unexpectedly thrilled at the very same time. He, too, had long been curious about his rival for Elrond’s affections, and somehow it seemed right that they meet on the battlefield of the sensual. A soft purr of contentment escaped from his throat as he ended all hope of rebellion, instead melting into the unworldly power of the High King’s arms.

A loud gasp suddenly filled the night, and the elves turned in their mutual tangle of lips and arms to find an equally astonished Elrond staring at them in utter disbelief, tears of purest joy moistening the corners of his eyes.

“Hervenn,” Elrond whispered, his voice catching in a sharp choke at the end of the single, earnest word.

Legolas stood aside and watched in jealous wonder as the long-separated lovers reunited in a flurry of kisses and excited, hushed words. He would have melted into the floor if he could, not out of embarrassment, but out of an heartfelt wish to not intrude upon such a private moment. For despite his own reasonable apprehension at the unexpected and unexplained return of rightful ruler of Elrond’s heart, Legolas found he somehow shared in his beloved’s joy. If he were to lose all hope of his childish dreams of laying sole claim to the love of the highest of their kind in Middle-earth, at least he could find solace in the unbridled joy of that most deserving heart.

After the passing of some moments, the reunited lovers ceased their private conversation and focused their attention on the prince, the intensity of both elves’ gaze raising the heat of crimson color to the young elf’s cheeks.

“Perhaps ‘tis time you showed me what else you find fair about this child besides the fineness of his face, Hervenn.” Gil-galad spoke in silver-tongued tones, his expression leering in its obviously sexual intent. “I would see what manner of replacement you have found for my bed – and whether or not he is up to the task….”
 

Part 2:
 

In the blink of an eye, Legolas found himself in the familiar, airy space of his beloved’s boudoir, not knowing, nor caring, how he was able to change location seemingly without moving. He felt vulnerable, somehow naked despite the density of his robes, as the High King studied him with smoldering intensity. A shiver snaked down his spine, ripe with anticipation and just a bit of fearful uncertainty. His brow wrinkled in obvious confusion as he suddenly noticed the king’s golden armor had inexplicably been replaced with rich, embroidered robes the hue of the sea. Now he was reminded that although he was a prince of the forest, here was the true king of Middle-earth, and of his lover’s heart.

He turned to face Elrond, hoping to find some manner of explanation awaiting him. Instead, he found more strangeness still. Vanished were the rust-colored robes his lover had worn just a few scant moments before, leaving the sensuous form utterly unveiled and exposed.

The Lord of the Bruinen smiled, apparently comfortable with whatever situation they now found themselves in, reaching out a hand to caress the side of the prince’s fair face. “Malthenel-nin,” he huskily whispered, the sound of the familiar pet name momentarily soothing the younger elf’s nerves.

“I would have my gift unwrapped, Hervenn,” a booming voice commanded from behind the prince. “Now.”

Legolas locked eyes with Elrond, his expression one of hopeful pleading. As much as having the attention of the greatest of their kind focused so keenly upon him was flattering, it was also equal parts fear and doubt.

Without a word, Elrond did as he was ordered, slowly divesting Mirkwood’s heir of his apparel. Each morsel of skin was worshiped in turn with a flurry of tender kisses as it was exposed to the chill of the night air and the fire of Gil-galad’s ever-intent gaze.

That fire seared the prince to the core, made him even more unnerved with the passing of each second. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the familiar touch of his lover, hoping that when he finally opened his eyes that this would prove to be a dream and that they would be mercifully alone. A moan, low and deep, echoed from behind him, assuring him that his wishes were not to be fulfilled.

Deft fingers shucked the tight leggings from the prince’s lower body, allowing his now reflexive hardness to spring free, standing to attention - as should any loyal soldier before his king.

“Does he please you?” a familiar voice sensuously inquired.

The prince opened his eyes, and reluctantly turned around to face his rival, as well as his fears of inadequacy. The High King had shed his own attire, and stood naked and unadorned before them, his hand wrapped tightly around his rather impressive spear of flesh.

“He does,” Gil-galad affirmed huskily. “I can see why you find him alluring.” He strode closer to the prince, cast his gaze upon the slender from head to toe, then smiled leeringly. “But I have waited far too long to claim my most precious prize to allow this -- distraction -- to keep me from what I desire most.” Walking past Legolas, he claimed Elrond’s mouth in an ardent kiss of unmistakable ownership.

The moments turned into a surreal blur, as Gil-galad pressed Elrond onto the bed Legolas had become used to thinking as his – theirs. Elrond willingly lay upon his back and welcomed his rightful mate with a tight embrace and swiftly raised legs.  Powerless, nay unwilling, to intercede, Legolas helplessly stood aside and watched as the High King of the Noldor took his herald – his husband – with passion, possessiveness, and above all else, an all-too-obviously abiding love. Unable to bear the sight of his beloved enjoying such intimate contact with another, Legolas tightly shut his eyes, yet he could not escape the tableau. The sound of flesh upon flesh, wracked breaths, moans of long-denied lust and desire – it overwhelmed the prince within moments. He succumbed to his own aching need, wrapping the fingers of one hand around his attentive flesh and stroking in time with the increasingly staccato, sweet, sharp sounds of Elrond’s breathing.

A sudden, familiar cry of completion echoed in the night, and Legolas knew his beloved had beaten them all to the finish of love’s race. His eyes still shielded from the truth, he instead forced his mind’s eye to picture that it was he who had brought such pleasures to his lord, and reached the peak of his pleasure at the same moment as the High King. A duet of voices, one of the First Age and one of the Third, joined forces for the briefest moment in crying out the name of Earendil’s heir in the throngs of ecstasy.

His breathing slowly calmed, as the tingle reluctantly left his body. Legolas cautiously opened his eyes, hoping the scene had somehow changed, as it seemed to have inexplicably done several times since the High King’s arrival. But to his distress, Gil-galad was still sheathed within Elrond’s body, the rightful lovers sharing soft, intimate words not meant for prying ears.

With a slight scowl, Gil-galad turned his head to acknowledge the prince’s nearby presence, his expression gradually softening as he leeringly studied the younger elf’s flushed form. “There are some things which should only be shared among hervenn, whelping,” he taunted. “I would find out if you are among them.” He shifted back on the bed, sliding out of Elrond’s body and sitting up on his heels. With a wave of his hand he gestured for Legolas to approach the bed. “You miss his embrace, as he does yours. Take you fill now.”

Legolas tentatively walked a few steps toward the bed, then seeing the beseeching in his lover’s eyes hurriedly closed the distance between them, climbing onto the bed and into the other’s awaiting arms. Ignoring the dampness in his hand and his groin, he lay himself head to toe upon his lover’s solid, sweat-glistened form, tangling his fingers possessively through the uncharacteristically mussed locks and claiming his favorite mouth as a richly treasured prize. A sigh of contentment hummed through him at the sensation of Elrond’s fingers likewise locking through his own hair, but the decidedly gruffer touch of another pair of hands around his waist suddenly caught his attention. He found himself lifted off of Elrond, up onto his knees and elbows, the position locked with a firm slap of his buttocks.

“Now let us see how well the steeds of Mirkwood ride.”

Fear flickered through the prince’s widened eyes, but the steadying familiarity of Elrond’s gaze unwaveringly trained on his brought some measure of peace to him. He lost himself in the tender certainty of the other’s mouth, their kiss parted suddenly as Legolas gasped at the sensation of the High King entering him. How the elder elf had managed to ready himself for another onslaught so swiftly was beyond explanation, but indeed he had. The flesh felt as firm of form and generous of girth as it had appeared to the prince’s eyes, and it stole his breath as it slid farther and farther inside him in one fluid motion.

Masterfully Gil-galad established his kingly claim over the mere prince, with little mind for tenderness or leisure. Each stroke nearly agonized the astonished beneficiary, yet was found exquisitely pleasurable all the same. Gil-galad filled Legolas, nearly overfilled him, and before long the reluctant recipient of the High King’s passion found himself screaming in utter ecstasy as his flesh exploded once more, his beloved’s name torn from his lips in a strangled scream….
 
 

Epilogue:

Moaning his beloved’s name, Legolas found himself suddenly in another time, yet the same place, wrapped within the soft, familiar sheets of Elrond’s bed. He found himself tightly clutching a plump pillow, the sheets beneath him moist with the still-warm stain of his release. Wildly his eyes searched the enveloping darkness, the candles long-since extinguished, Ithil’s rays nowhere to be found. He knew he was alone within an instant, the sheets beside him strangely empty and cold.

Disturbed, his feet swiftly found the floor, the guilty thrum of sensual satisfaction still trilling through his flesh. His elven eyes easily adapting to the darkness, he found the sought-for silhouette cast against the darkness of the forest. Softly he padded over to the edge of the stone balcony, sighing in relief. “Our bed is a lonely place this eve,” he forlornly explained, spooning up behind the lord of the valley.

“You were lost in your dreams – I did not wish to disturb you,” Elrond explained guiltily in a sigh of his own.

“You were in my dreams,” Legolas whispered, kissing the back of his lover’s neck. His feelings of comfort were short-lived, confusion creasing the perfection of his forehead. “From whence do dreams come, Ithilas?”

Elrond chuckled softly to himself, raising one of the prince’s hands to his lips for a kiss. “That is a mystery none may solve. Some are gifts from the Lady, or from Lorien’s garden, while others seems torment from the Dark One himself. That is what my nurse would tell me when I was a small child, when I awoke crying from some terrible vision haunting my dreams.”

“Does one’s mind sometimes play tricks upon itself while we take rest?”

“So it seems.” He shifted slightly in Legolas’ tight embrace, craning his neck back to catch a glimpse of the prince’s troubled expression. “You say that I appeared in your dreams – did I do something to displease you within them?”

With a genuine smile of affection, Legolas pressed a kiss upon the other’s cheek. “Never,” he breathlessly whispered. “You bring me naught but joy, whether I be awake or not.” A mischievous smile slowly brightened his ever beauteous face. “Although I would prefer to bring you joy at this moment.”

Understanding his lover’s meaning, Elrond smiled in reply, turning to meet the other’s invitation. Raising a hand to the angular face, he stroked one cheek with the back of his fingers and nodded his eager assent.

Without the superfluous intrusion of words they strolled back to their bed, anticipation increasing with each rapid beat of their synchronized hearts. Whatever shadows of uncertainty remained within the prince’s mind from the dreams of this night were lifted and discarded like the leaves of autumn in the wind – for the moment.
 

The End
 
 

Notes:

On the Sindarin, hervenn = husband, hervass = wife.

If the characters seem a little out of character, remember that this is Legolas’ subconscious working overtime <G>. He is a little obsessed with the idea that Elrond and Gil-galad were formally bound to each other.
 

back