Title & Chapter Number: An Unbidden Desire: Part 6/7
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Dimensions_of_Dhvana
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: With the exception of Menelhen, the characters and places in this story are the creation of Tolkien.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Nope
Cast: Elrohir/Thranduil, Legolas/Elladan, Elrohir/Menelhen implied
Timeline: Pre LotR AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: The warriors of Mirkwood fight to save their King.
Notes: There's only one chapter left, and the members of my group have been given the option of voting to decide how this story ends, so hopefully, it won't be too long. Hope you've enjoyed, and as always, feedback would be most welcome!
Part 6
"I'm coming with you."
"No," Elrohir said, shaking his head. "Elladan needs you now."
Menelhen turned to the Rivendell Prince as Elladan was released from his bonds. "Are you injured anywhere beyond these cuts?"
"No," he said, shakily rising to his feet. "I don't think so."
Menelhen looked back at Elrohir. "The King of Mirkwood has just given himself over to a horde or Orcs. Do you think they'll be gentle to him? How long do you think they'll wait before killing him? Elladan's wounds are superficial and can be dealt with later. Thranduil may have a more urgent need for me."
Elrohir searched the Healer's eyes, seeing in them the true reason he would not relent to being left behind, and nodded. "Very well. Let's go."
"Elrohir, wait!" Elladan said, grabbing onto his brother's arm.
Eyes sparking with impatience, Elrohir motioned for half the warriors to start after the Orcs. "What is it?" he snarled.
"Elrohir, I'm sorry."
"Can't this wait?"
"No, it cannot. I need to say this, in case. . ." he swallowed hard, unable to finish. "Just in case. Elrohir, I love you, and I need you to understand that. I only want the best for you."
"Then release me. The best thing for me right now is to reach his side before they kill him. You," he said to two of the remaining Elves, "see to it that he reaches the castle safely."
"No," Elladan said. "That won't be necessary. I can make it on my own. You will need as many Elves as possible to defeat them."
Elrohir looked at him for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. Gesturing to the remaining warriors, they began running after their companions.
Elladan watched his brother disappear into the forest, a heavy feeling in his heart. If anything happened to Elrohir, it would be his fault. He had already devoted his existence to killing Orcs for harming one member of his family. He didn't want to have to spend the rest of his life avenging two of them.
~*~*~*~
The Elves ran swiftly and silently through the woods, quickly catching up with their companions. It wouldn't be long before they reached the Orcs, and their King.
"We couldn't attack before," Elrohir said, his voice low, but loud enough that all the Elves could hear, "not while Elladan was immobilized, or we would have given them too much time to kill him. Now, the situation has changed. Thranduil will be expecting us, and even though he is bound, he will fight. Our first objective will be to free him, and get him armed. Our second, to kill as many Orcs as possible before they kill us. We are Thranduil's warriors, the most formidable fighting force in Middle Earth, and nothing is going to stop us from saving our King."
"We?" a warrior maid asked from his right. "Us? Are you saying you're part of Mirkwood now?"
"Yes," Elrohir answered, his voice hard. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"Not in the least, my Lord," she grinned. "In fact, that was the answer we were hoping to hear."
Elrohir glanced at the faces around him, and was unable to contain his surprise at the support he found there. He caught Menelhen's eye, and the Healer laughed softly.
"You didn't think your relationship with Thranduil had gone unnoticed, did you? All of Mirkwood is aware of what is going on between you, and with the exception of a few who object only because of your parentage, all of Mirkwood approves."
"Our King deserves some happiness, after all he's had to endure," a warrior beside the Healer said, nodding his agreement. "We have fought with you, and we have learned with you, and we think there are few better suited to our King."
"Or better suited to drive him mad," another teased.
"Except for our Healer!" an Elf called out, and all quietly joined in her laughter.
"Now, now," Menelhen said with an airy graciousness, "your acknowledgement is appreciated, but you should know it's not exactly the wisest thing in the world, devoting oneself to irritating a King."
"But you do it so well!"
"Which is why I would have thought you better suited for my role," Elrohir said, and Menelhen gave him a sharp look before he waved the Prince's comment away.
"Too much physical labor-all that training is simply not my style. You're much better suited for that kind of work. Me, I prefer to just sit back and watch."
"Though not all the time, fortunately for us," someone said in a leering voice, and knowing snickers were heard throughout the group.
"Well, one must always have exceptions," Menelhen grinned, and Elrohir turned his gaze away from the Healer. There was a burning in his stomach at the thought of Menelhen's 'exceptions' and he didn't want to hear any more.
"Back to the Orcs," he said, quickly changing the subject. "There are thirty-seven of us, thirty-eight once Thranduil is freed. There are one hundred and fifty of them, which means there are almost four Orcs to every Elf."
"Is that all?" a warrior groaned with mock disappointment, and a rumble of amusement moved through the group.
"They know we are coming for Thranduil, so they will be alert. If they haven't killed him already, that will be their first move." These words sobered the warriors, and they returned to their attitude of obedient attentiveness. "The Orcs will be spread out, but they will still concentrate their numbers around Thranduil. Our best method of rescuing the King will be to locate him and attack there all at once using a wedge formation, archers on the edges, swords in the center."
He paused as the Elves reorganized themselves according to their strengths, himself included. His abilities with a sword had improved greatly since he'd arrived in Mirkwood, but his talent continued to lie with the bow. He moved towards the outside, though remained near the front.
"Once the King is freed, they will have had enough time to realize that we are all of Thranduil's army that is coming for him, and they will think they have won."
Elrohir looked at the Elves around him with hardening eyes. "They will be wrong. We will teach them never to step into Mirkwood again."
The Elves broke into a muted cheer, and that was the last sound they made as they ran through the woods. It didn't take them long to find the Orcs, who were running at full speed as they tried to put as much distance between themselves and 'Thranduil's army' as possible. The Elves moved in a wide path around the end of the column, keeping an eye out for Thranduil.
As predicted, near the center of the column was a large cluster of Orcs, and Elrohir could see a head of pale golden hair towering above the ugly creatures. He gave a sigh of relief, reaching out to squeeze Menelhen's hand and looking towards the King, smiling as he felt some of the tension leave the Healer's body. His face grew serious again as he looked at the other Elves, a question in his eyes.
Were they ready?
Each Elf nodded, raising their weapons.
Elrohir lifted his hand, and waved them forward. The Elves moved in a silent charge towards the Orcs and upon Elrohir's command, they attacked.
Arrows flew through the air, followed immediately by the death screams of Orcs. Thranduil, who had been waiting for just this moment, dropped and kicked the legs out from under his closest guards, including the one holding onto the rope around his neck. He immediately barreled through the Orcs towards his Elves, who rid him of his bonds. Picking up a sword from a fallen Orc, he joined in the fray.
The Elves were almost instantly surrounded by the enemy, those who had been fighting with bows now drawing their blades, as the Orcs were coming in too close and too fast for arrows to be of much use.
For a brief second, Menelhen found himself wishing he'd spent more time practicing with the warriors, instead of simply attending to their wounds. His belief that he'd never be near enough the fighting to have to lift a sword was almost laughable as Orcs flew at him from all sides. The few lessons he'd consented to were enough to keep him alive, but just barely.
Knowing that the Healer was far from being an expert with a sword, Elrohir tried to stay near Menelhen, fighting twice as hard to keep too many Orcs from reaching him.
"When we get back to the castle," he growled, extending to slice off an offending arm that had attempted to attack the Healer, "I'm going to personally train you until you're as good with a sword as I am."
"Personal training sessions with you? Now I have something to live for," Menelhen grinned, making a clumsy, but effective stab into an Orc's abdomen.
"Don't even think you're getting away that easily. I'm sure Thranduil will take a great interest in making sure you know how to fight."
"I'll only cooperate if Thranduil never knows. You'd be depriving me of one of my favorite subjects with which to annoy him, and I simply will not stand for it."
"I'm sure your repertoire of subjects irritating to Thranduil will not be depleted in the slightest if he and I teach you how to defend yourself. And if you prove to be a quick study, maybe you'll get lucky and we'll decide to teach you a few other things as well."
Menelhen gave the Prince a startled glance, but Elrohir was too busy to meet his eyes. Maybe he'd heard the Prince wrong, maybe he'd misinterpreted the sound of his voice, but it sounded to him as if Elrohir has been suggesting. . . of course he wasn't. It was all a mistake. He was putting his own hopes into the Prince's words. Elrohir and Thranduil wouldn't need anyone else. They had each other.
"Menelhen, to your left!" Elrohir snapped, and the Healer blocked the sword swinging at him just in time, but didn't recover in time to miss the next blow.
The Healer swore, clutching his side as he slit the throat of the Orc who'd hurt him.
"Are you all right?" Elrohir asked, panic rising in his veins.
"It's nothing. Glanced off a rib."
"You got lucky," Elrohir growled, relieved that it was nothing more. "Pay attention!"
"I would have been if you hadn't been talking!" he snarled, hacking into the Orcs with renewed viciousness.
"So this is my fault?"
"Yes!"
"Fine! I'll stop talking!"
"No, don't!"
"Now you want me to talk?"
"It's the only thing keeping me from falling apart," Menelhen said, and at looking into the Healer's strained face, Elrohir grew worried. Menelhen wasn't a warrior-he wouldn't be able to last much longer. "Just, pick your subjects a little more carefully."
"For example?"
"Don't talk to me about Thranduil."
"All right," Elrohir shrugged. "What would you like to talk about?"
"We could talk about your brother."
Elrohir swore as a blade grazed his arm.
"Never mind," Menelhen chuckled. "I shall consider that subject off limits. We're running out of interesting topics, aren't we?"
"There's always childhood." Both Elves ducked just in time to miss the swords that swung over their heads, slicing through the exact spots where their necks would have been. Elrohir exchanged glances with Menelhen. "Too dangerous."
The Healer nodded as they both reached up to stab their opponents in the stomach. "Much too dangerous."
"Are you two finished amusing yourselves?" growled a voice from behind, and both Elves grinned.
"Good to hear your visit with the Orcs hasn't daunted your sparkling personality," Menelhen said.
"Good to hear that my time as their prisoner hasn't affected your unseemly humor," Thranduil said, taking over on the Healer's other side.
"Come now, Thranduil," Elrohir said. "You don't really expect us to believe you were ever their prisoner? There isn't a doubt in my mind that you could have left whenever you desired."
"Possibly," he answered with a grim smile, "but then I never would have had the opportunity to see your leadership skills in action."
"And how am I doing?"
"We'll talk later."
Menelhen snorted with amusement, earning him a dirty look from Elrohir, who immediately sought revenge.
"Did you hear that our dear Healer wants to us to teach him how to become a proper warrior?"
Menelhen reached out and stepped on Elrohir's foot. "Oops."
"You two both have a lot to learn about becoming proper warriors," Thranduil said as he sliced the heads off of three Orcs with one stroke. "But fortunately, it seems that everyone here has learned enough to keep themselves alive for one day, and emerge victorious."
Elrohir and Menelhen both stabbed the single remaining Orc in front of them, the paused to look around the battlefield. The only ones left standing were Elves-every Orc had been killed.
"Finally," Menelhen said, handing Elrohir his borrowed sword. "Now, I can attend to my duties, and leave the rest of this ugliness to you."
The Healer made his way to the edge of the woods where he'd left his bag and began organizing the wounded according to the severity of their injuries. It seemed that every Elf there had suffered from a minor cut or two, but there were few serious injuries, and by some miracle, none of the Elves had been killed.
Thranduil and Elrohir finished taking stock of the battlefield, killing what Orcs continued to cling to life, making sure none of the Elves were left behind. Once he determined that everything was under control, Thranduil pulled Elrohir aside.
"You did well," he said softly, pressing a hand to his Princeling's cheek, "as I knew you would. I am proud of you."
The cheek turned a darker shade of pink as Elrohir leaned into his touch. "I did what I had to do, which is anything in the world to keep you safe."
"And I would do the same for you," Thranduil smiled, gently pressing his lips to Elrohir's. The longer they kissed, the more heated their blood grew, and soon they were panting harshly, hands moving with poorly contained hunger across each other's bodies. "Oh, that we were back at the castle. I would throw you onto the bed, and we'd never leave."
Elrohir chuckled, looking up into the icy blue eyes. "Since when have we let location stop us?"
"It is not location, it is duty. I must see my warriors home safely, but then be warned, for you will be at my mercy."
"I look forward to it," he said, claiming another kiss before they allowed themselves to separate. "But first, we must tend to our stubborn Healer."
Thranduil arched an eyebrow and Elrohir nodded to where Menelhen was working furiously to mend the injured Elves, oblivious to the blood that caked his side or that he winced with every move. After watching for a few seconds, the King's face darkened.
"That Elf is going to be the death of me," Thranduil growled, storming towards where the Healer was working. "This time, I swear, he will obey me."
Elrohir gave a smug smile as he hurried to catch up to the King.
Menelhen didn't even look up as they approached, but continued to wrap the arm of the Elf before him.
"Erohir, you're next," he said, sending the warrior on her way. "Let me look at your arm."
"My arm is fine," the Prince said. "It's time you tended to your own wound."
"It's nothing," Menelhen shrugged. "Just a scratch, I told you."
"I am the son of Elrond, one of the greatest Healers the Elves have ever known. I have spent many hours learning at his side, and you truly expect me to believe you?"
"Yes," he said, pushing the Prince's hands away.
"Well I don't," Thranduil snarled. "Let Elrohir look at you."
"My Lord, I can assure you-"
"No, you cannot, not this time, you insolent whelp. I will restrain you myself, if I have to, and I will not be gentle. Cooperate with him, Menelhen, or I will ban you from Mirkwood, and from my sight, forever."
The Healer's silver eyes went wide and he ceased to struggle against Elrohir's prying hands. "As you wish, my Lord," he whispered, turning his gaze to the ground.
The Prince helped Menelhen off with his tunic so that he could better examine the cut in his side. The angry red line wound was outlined by a frothy green substance, and upon seeing it, Elrohir swore.
"Orcs and their damn poison!"
Wordlessly, the Healer picked up a bottle from his bag and handed it to the Elf.
"Thank you," Elrohir nodded. He cleaned the wound, then mixed the contents of the bottle with water to form a thick, gray paste. He spread this over the cut, then wrapped the Healer's side in bandages.
"I wish you would have attended to this earlier," he said, glancing at the Healer, who refused to meet his eyes. "You gave the poison too long to set."
"What do you mean?" the King asked, his eyes narrowing. "Is it serious?"
"If I had waited another half hour, then the poison would have spread too far and too deep. As it is, I will be fine," Menelhen answered coldly.
"By the gods, Menelhen!" Thranduil thundered. "What do you mean by being so careless with your life?"
"What do you care of my life?" he snapped, silver eyes flashing with fury as he pulled his tunic over his head. "Ten minutes ago, you were threatening me with banishment. Clearly, my presence isn't nearly as important as I thought, if you could so easily part with it."
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Menelhen headed off into the woods, leaving an astonished Thranduil to watch him go.
The King turned to Elrohir, eyes filled with confusion. "Has the poison affected his mind?"
Elrohir laughed softly as he shook his head. "No, my Lord. It is not his mind that is affected."
"Then what?" he demanded.
"His heart."
Thranduil stared at his Princeling, then sighed, his eyes growing sad. "He should know that I would never willingly send him away. It was an empty threat, as most of my threats are when aimed at him since he never heeds them anyway. Why take this one seriously?"
"I have an idea," Elrohir said as the Elves began to make their way back towards the castle, "but you should probably ask him."
"I would, if he were here. What do you think is wrong with him?"
"Me."
"Don't be ridiculous," Thranduil said, his voice sharp. "He adores you."
"Not so much as he adores you. Until I came along, he thought that what the two of you had was the closest anyone would ever be able to get to you. You and I became closer than he ever imagined, and I think his heart is beginning to feel it."
"I will not believe it. Menelhen is in love with a maid in Lorien."
"She left," Elrohir said softly, and the King gave him a curious look.
"Left?"
"For Valinor. She asked him to join her, but he told her he wasn't ready to leave yet, and so he remains here, alone, most likely regretting that he didn't cross the sea when he had the chance."
"I never would have allowed him to leave," the King scowled, a storm brewing in his eyes.
"You should tell him."
"Why?" Thranduil asked, growing suspicious of his Princeling. "Why are you encouraging this?"
"Because I love him dearly, and would not see him hurt. Because I love you dearly, and do not like seeing you deny yourself of something you so clearly want." A sly smile curled the Prince's lips. "And because I love myself, and in my selfishness, want nothing more than to have the both of you in my bed."
Thranduil looked into Elrohir's eyes, and chuckled fondly at his beloved. "You're a greedy one, aren't you? Very well then, when we get back to the castle, we will find our stubborn Healer and see if he would consent to join us."
Elrohir grinned at his King. "Do you mean it?"
"You were right," he nodded. "That little imp and I have been dancing around this for years. It's about time we got it out of our systems, and then I'll finally have the upper hand over him."
At those words, Elrohir started to laugh so hard, he actually had to pause a moment to catch his breath. "You? Have the upper hand over Menelhen? I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, my Lord," he gasped, trying to contain his good humor.
After glaring at his Princeling for a few moments, Thranduil gave in and allowed a small smile to cross his face. "I suppose you're right, but Elrohir. . ."
Hearing the seriousness in Thranduil's voice, Elrohir met his King's eyes. "Yes, my Lord?"
"I may be fond of Menelhen, and I know you are as well, but I want you to know that you will always come first in my heart."
Elrohir smiled, taking Thranduil in his arms. "Of course I know that, just as you will always be first in mine."
The King of Mirkwood kissed his Princeling one last time before they again started on their journey home.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil and Elrohir's plans upon their arrival were postponed, however, by the need to see that the injured warriors were made comfortable. After that, Thranduil disappeared to see that his son had made it home safely and was doing well. Elrohir would have joined him, but he had no desire to see Elladan, not yet, and he had no doubt that his brother would be with Legolas.
He returned to Thranduil's quarters-their quarters, now that they no longer had a reason to keep their relationship a secret-dug around for a clean set of clothes, then made his way down to the baths. After seeing to the cut on his arm, he eased his body into the warm water and closed his eyes, allowing the heat to loosen and relax his muscles.
All he needed now was to have Menelhen and Thranduil by his side, and his life would be complete.
Almost as if in answer to his prayers, the sound of footsteps echoed throughout the stone walls surrounding the baths, but these footsteps didn't belong to either of the Elves he desired. He could almost instantly sense his brother's presence, and a bolt of anger flashed through him.
"No!" he said, scurrying out of the water and reaching for a towel. "I don't want to see you."
"Elrohir, we have to talk," Elladan said, walking slowly towards his brother.
"LIAR!" he shouted, then jumped at the resounding echoes, and lowered his voice. "You don't want to talk. You want to command, to tell me what it is I can and cannot do, and I won't allow it. I have found my place in this world, Elladan, and it is with him. I don't care if you approve. I don't even care if you can accept him or not. That is your problem, not mine."
"Then help me! Tell me, explain to me why you've seen fit to give that monster your heart!"
"Don't call him a monster!" Elrohir yelled, advancing on his brother. Grabbing Elladan by the shoulders, he forced the Elf against the wall. "He is not a monster. What he did for you last night should be proof enough of that. He risked his own life to save your undeserving hide, and you still can't understand why I love him? He certainly didn't save you out of any affection towards you. He saved you for me, because he loves me, and he saved you for Legolas, because he loves his son. Is that not enough for you?"
Elladan gazed into his brother's eyes, at the rage causing indigo sparks to burst in the blue-violet irises. His twin had never been that angry before, not with him, and he knew that this wasn't a simple infatuation for his brother. Elrohir's love for Thranduil was real.
"I just don't want you to get hurt," he whispered, and the hands on his shoulders softened as Elrohir released him, taking a step back.
"I won't. Well, I might, a little, occasionally, but that's the way life is. We can't be happy and safe all the time, Elladan."
"But you deserve to be."
"And so do you," he said softly, but as he continued, his voice had an edge to it. "Except for cutting me off like that. I'm still trying to decide what you deserve for doing that, but believe me, brother, it won't be pretty."
Elladan winced and turned away, unable to look in his twin's eyes. "I'm so sorry. I never should have done that. I was just so angry, and you wouldn't listen-and I know, I wouldn't listen-that I thought it would be easier if you just weren't there anymore."
"Easier?" Elrohir said, ripples of the agony he'd had to endure resonating in his voice. He grabbed onto his brother's chin, forcing Elladan to look at him. "Do you know what that felt like? Do you understand what it was I went through?"
"Elrohir, I'm sorry-I was wrong," he said, growing fearful of the expression on his twin's face.
"You put me through more pain than Thranduil ever has, or ever will, all because you wanted to make your life easier, because you didn't approve of him? Feel what I had to go through, and then tell me it was easier!"
Elladan's eyes widened as a blackness descended on him, and he cried out at the excruciating pain that pounded through his mind, his heart. It was as if half his soul had been torn from his body.
It was as he'd always imagined how death would feel.
He slid to the floor, clutching his head. "Elrohir, no! Come back! Please, come back!"
Gods, how long would he make him suffer? How long could they both endure?
And then suddenly, he was there, his twin, his other half, his life. Elladan burst into tears, sobbing with relief that Elrohir hadn't left him, and with the horror of what he'd done.
"I didn't know. Oh, gods, I didn't know! I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please," he cried as Elrohir took him into his arms, stroking the silky black hair, pressing his own damp cheek to Elladan's.
"It's all right. I forgive you, just please, promise me you'll never do that again."
"I promise," he said, holding onto his twin, never wanting to let go. "I love you, Elrohir."
"I love you, too," Elrohir smiled.
The brothers never saw the golden glow that began to spread throughout their bodies, sealing the connection between them, but then, they didn't need to see it. They could feel it, and in feeling it, the twins were made whole once more.
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