Title & Chapter Number: The Weeping of the Trees (Part 1 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 1/12
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: The Woodland Chronicles
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its inhabitants are Tolkien's, not mine. I'd risk bankruptcy to own Legolas, though. How much would he cost me? Would they give me Haldir as a bonus? Or at least for a reduced price... A girl can dream, right?
Warnings: Incest! Don't like it? Don't read it! Simple. Also: consensual bondage, heavy sap, and angst.
Betas: Jilly! You rock! Yes, you do!
Cast: Elladan/Elrohir, slightly Legolas/Thranduil, Elladan/Elrohir/OC, Elladan/Elrohir/Thranduil implied. Oh, and Haldir's there, too. :-)
Timeline: Third Age, approx. 440 years prior to the Fellowship.
Spoilers: Nope, I don't think so.
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir travel to King Thranduil's court in Mirkwood to attend the feast celebrating Legolas's coming of age. Not only will this event change the young Prince's life forever, but that of several other Elves as well.
Notes: Tolkien is a bit unclear about when Elves come of age. Word on the internet is that it's somewhere between their 50th and 100th year. But I wanted Legolas to be just a bit older, so I allowed myself that freedom. Just think of him as an eighteen-year old, in human years.
Dedicated to Elisa and Jilly. You have both inspired me, in your own way. Thanks!
Chapter 1 - Twin Love
Imladris, May 2580, T.A.
"Elladan! Elrohir!"
The brothers looked up and saw their father standing on his balcony, beckoning to them.
"Please come to my study for a moment!" he called. "I need to have a word with you both." And he disappeared inside without waiting for a reply, his night-blue robe rushing about him.
The twins looked at each other and they lowered their swords, as they had been engaged in a swordfighting practise together when their father had called to them.
"What can it be this time?" Elrohir wondered, grinning.
"I have no idea," Elladan said as he sheathed his sword in its scabbard. "Have you been into any mischief lately?"
"Not me," Elrohir replied as he did the same. "And it concerns us both, or he wouldn't wish for us to come together."
"Hmm." Elladan stepped closer to his younger twin. "I like to come together," he murmured hotly into Elrohir's ear.
Elrohir laughed, but Elladan didn't miss the shiver that ran through his body. "I know you do," Elrohir said. "I, however, can't deny that watching you come alone has some charms of its own."
Elladan brought his hand to Elrohir's chest, which was naked as they had removed their tunics for the fight, and let his fingertips trace his brother's pectorals. "I like it when you watch me," he said slowly. "Let us refresh ourselves and go see what father has in store for us, get it over with; I'll give you something worth watching after that."
"Ah, that sounds good," Elrohir said, cocking his head and throwing his twin a seductive glance he knew would drive Elladan wild.
Ten minutes later, two refreshed and fully dressed Elves stood in front of their father's desk. To their relief, the Lord of Imladris did not wear the stern frown he used when reprimanding his sons. Apparently, this was going to pass off much better than they'd expected.
Elrond eyed his identical sons with a half smile. He was aware of the fact that his sons had become lovers after the departure of their mother, Celebrían, seven decades ago. In the Redhorn Pass, she had been captured by Orcs, who'd tortured her in their dens. Elladan and Elrohir rode out from Imladris to rescue her, but by the time they reached her she had received a poisonous wound. Though Elrond had healed her, she chose not to stay in Middle-earth, and sailed into the West the following year. After this loss, Elladan and Elrohir were filled with hatred of the Orcs, and they began riding out with the Dunédain regularly, tracking down and slaying great numbers of Orcs. Their despair over the loss of their mother and the many months spent together far from home, had led them into each other's arms. Elrond was far from happy with the situation, but his wrath nor his pleas had succeeded in changing the situation. His sons were in love with each other, and though it was frowned upon by many, it was not forbidden by any law for two siblings of the same sex to lay together. Arwen had been more understanding about it, and it was mainly for her sake that Elrond had finally accepted the situation.
"A messenger arrived from Mirkwood this morning," Elrond began, "bringing a letter from Thranduil. It so appears that his only son, Prince Legolas, will be coming of age soon. He will be celebrating his 200th begetting-day on July 27th, and the letter is an invitation, for me or someone of my household, to attend the celebration. Regrettably, I won't be available myself as I have obligations of my own, but I think you will both feel honoured to represent Imladris on my behalf. Am I right?"
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a surprised glance. Their father had never sent them to such an occasion on their own before. They had accompanied him to many a festival or official visit, but they'd never officially represented Imladris without him. The brothers were experienced travellers and they'd ridden under the treetops of Mirkwood several times, but even though they'd lived for 2450 years now, they'd never visited King Thranduil's court before, nor had they ever met the son of Oropher.
"Well?" Elrond said. "There are others I can send if you are not willing to take the responsibility, but I think it is about time you got acquainted with Thranduil and his house. It doesn't happen often that a crown prince of Mirkwood reaches his majority and I know you will do well in representing Imladris."
"We *do* feel honoured, adar," Elladan then said, "and we will carry out your bidding. We will gladly attend the celebration as your representatives." Elrohir nodded his agreement.
"Excellent." Elrond was pleased. "I will send the messenger back with a letter, to announce your attendance. Make sure you are ready to depart in two weeks time; that will give you enough time to travel to Mirkwood. I will see to it that all preparations are being made for your departure."
The brothers bowed their heads.
"Oh, one more thing," Elrond said, and his eyebrows made a slight downward twist, warning the brothers. "Do practise some decency when you're among the Wood-elves. We in Imladris, we have accepted your... relationship by now, but I don't know if Thranduil and his people will be so tolerant."
The twins smirked, but then quickly forced their faces into a more serious expression as they realized that their father was being very serious. "We will make sure not to rebuff anyone, adar," Elladan said.
"Good." Elrond motioned gracefully for the door. "You are dismissed, children."
Elladan and Elrohir simultaneously stepped towards their father's desk and each took one of their father's hands. "Thank you for this opportunity, adar," Elrohir said, "we will not fail you."
"You will be proud to be our father," Elladan promised.
Elrond smiled a little. "I already am," he said. "Now get out of my sight. Your adar has work to do."
Elladan and Elrohir left the room with matching smiles. They spent the remainder of the day talking excitedly about their upcoming trip to Mirkwood, the woodland realm east of the Misty Mountains, where Silvan Elves lived under the rule of King Thranduil, son of Oropher. Thranduil had been ruling Mirkwood since the beginning of the Third Age, since Oropher was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad. For more than 2500 years, Thranduil had ruled his kingdom together with his wife, Queen Arasien, until she had suffered a fate comparable to Celebrían's; a party of warg-riding Orcs had crossed her path, but she had not been as fortunate as Celebrían. Her spirit had already left for the Halls of Mandos by the time she was found. That had been the year 2517, now 63 years ago. She left behind a grief-stricken Thranduil and their under-aged son, Legolas. The twins felt sympathy for both father and son, even though they'd never met them; they knew what it was like to lose a mother, but while *they* had good hopes of seeing Celebrían again someday, Prince Legolas had lost his mother forever. Elladan and Elrohir could only imagine how bitter that would be.
"I must say I am curious after the prince," Elrohir said that night, as he laid off the long velvet robe he'd been wearing during dinner. Elladan was already in bed, sitting naked on the ivory-colored sheets, the intricately carved headboard of the bed behind him. His long, wavy dark hair was unbound and cascaded down his shoulders, and he watched as his identical twin undressed himself.
"Why?" he asked him.
Elrohir grinned at him via the mirror. "If the tales they tell about him are correct, he must be quite a stunning piece of art."
Elladan threw him a mocking smirk. "Truthfully," Elrohir laughed. "Erestor visited Mirkwood three decades ago and he told me that the young prince was quickly becoming a younger reflection of his father."
"Erestor," Elladan said, "has too eager an eye. I hope he kept his hands to himself."
"Of course. Even Erestor knows and respects the fact that royals are supposed to remain celibate until they reach their majority."
"Prince Legolas must be tense with anticipation then, with his majority ceremony coming up!" Elladan laughed. "If he is truly as stunning as they say he is, Elves must be lining up for him." He then added thoughtfully, "So he takes after his father, Erestor said?"
"Apparently so. And that promises something."
Thranduil, according to the tales the twins had heard throughout the years, was one of the most intriguing Elves to grace Middle-earth. Adored by his people, whom he ruled with kindness, he was nothing if not many-sided. A commanding warrior in times of war, who fought with passion and thus inspired his troops to do the same; a kind, compassionate ruler who stood among his people, not above them; and a fiery defender and protector of his realm, to which he was utterly devoted. And with all those magnificent attributes came, so it was said, an outwardly appearance that made hearts beat faster all over Middle-earth. Elladan and Elrohir had heard many accounts being told. Thranduil was tall, taller than most Elves, and had the build of a warrior, combining long limbs and slim hips with delicate but powerful, well-defined muscles. He had thick, wavy blond hair, aquamarine eyes that could change from blue to green and back again along with his mood, and a melodious deep voice. The features of his face were strong, but not hard, and fair. He stood always upright, strong and graceful, and almost never lost his temper, except when injustice had been done. The poor sinner his wrath was pointed at would have to be made of stone not to be affected by Thranduil's reprimand. Then again, as soon as Thranduil was done with the wrong-doer, he would regain his normal calmness effortlessly. Never would he take out his anger on an innocent; Thranduil was, at all times, righteous.
But no matter how devoted Thranduil was to his duties as king, there was one task which, in his eyes, had the top priority: fatherhood. The day Legolas was born, Thranduil had assumed his new role as father with utter dedication and ever since the child's mother had passed away, he had used every spare minute he could find to spend time with his son. During those hours spent with Legolas, Thranduil would shrug off his royal bearing like a cloak and become the kind of father anyone would wish for; he would never fail to reprimand his son when needed and he was anything but indulgent, but as the prince was a rather quiet little lad, especially since the death of his mother, he rarely needed a reprimand and the majority of their time together was spent with laughter and long conversations full of loving jests; for both were gifted with a quick wit, a good sense of humor. To anyone who visited Thranduil's house, it became clear that father and son adored each other.
"But why the interest, brother?" Elladan asked as Elrohir removed his boots. "You are not starting to take after Erestor, are you? The prince is practically a child!" Even though an Elf officially became an adult on his 200th begetting-day, in the eyes of most Elves 200 years was but a heartbeat.
"Oh, not to worry," Elrohir said, "I will keep my hands off him. Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless he doesn't want me to," Elrohir said, grinning mischievously as he slid his black leggings down his legs.
"That is a wicked thing to say, brother," Elladan said, trying to adopt Elrond's disapproving look. "I will have to punish you."
"Ooh." Elrohir now crawled against his twin, taking an upright, leaning position between Elladan's legs so that their faces were at the same height. Both were naked as the day they were born, and Elrohir seductively slung one leg over Elladan's.
"Why?" he purred. "What did I do wrong?"
"That is obvious, I would say."
"Is it?"
"You have fantasies about an elfling you have never even met," Elladan said slowly and he let one hand wander to Elrohir's knee, "while you know very well that you belong to me."
"Hmm," Elrohir said, leaning back a little and simultaneously shifting his hips so that his semi-erect member came into contact with Elladan's inner thigh. "Possessive, are we? Perhaps the prince would like to have the both of us. How do you like that idea?"
Elladan's lips curved up in a dangerous little smile. "I like *that* a lot better," he said. "Now receive your punishment." And he pushed Elrohir onto the bed with playful force, making him lie on his back. Elrohir made an umpf sound as he was brought in this position so suddenly, and it ended in a soft moan when Elladan pulled his legs wide and knelt between them. He leaned forward and caught Elrohir's mouth in a lascivious kiss, laying claim to what was his, and as he did so, rotated his hips and brought their cocks into contact, rubbing them slowly together until both were hard and burning.
"Uhn," Elrohir moaned, lifting his hips in his craving for greater contact. "You know me, brother. You know I like that."
"I do." Elladan ground his hips down harder than before, sending sparks of pleasure through his own body and that of his twin. "I let you watch me this afternoon," he murmured against Elrohir's lips. "Now I want to watch you."
"It shall be as you wish," Elrohir said, "I am at your command."
Elladan rolled off his brother and took a leaning position, his back sinking into the pillows that lay propped up against the headboard of the bed. He pulled Elrohir onto his lap, making him straddle him. "Make yourself come," he commanded hoarsely. "But make sure not to stain the sheets, or me; I will be in need of a lubricant later on." He grinned.
Elrohir took himself in his hand and set to pleasuring himself, breathing quickly with the pleasure of his own strokes, but most of all, Elladan's eyes on him. Elrohir was sure that no creature in Middle-earth was in the possession of eyes more intriguing than Elladan's. Elladan would laugh and say that Elrohir, being his identical twin, had exactly the same eyes, but still... If Elrohir's eyes were as deep as the sea, then Elladan's were as deep, and as mysterious, as the ocean. While Elrohir's eyes always sparkled with humor, Elladan's would glow, flicker, suddenly burn with joy or passion, and just as suddenly grow dim. Not that Elladan was an over-emotional Elf, not at all... he was just the more sensitive of the two, an easier prey to melancholy. Elrohir found himself rather boring compared to his brother. Yes, he was the clown, he always had the jokes that made people laugh; but he was predictable in that role. Elladan was mysterious, unreadable. Not to Elrohir, for he knew his brother better than anyone, but to others. Elladan was passionate. He was the fiercer warrior, battling with a blazing fire that made Orcs shriek with fear when he just set his eyes on them only. He was also the fiercer lover, making love to his brother with an intensity Elrohir had not once experienced with his former partners. Making love to Elladan was like being a log riding on a storming sea; you knew you'd never drown, but the waves could till you so high so unexpectedly and so many times in a row, sweeping you higher and higher, that sometimes you'd forget that all storms come to an end eventually. Elrohir had once told Elladan this, but Elladan had shaken his head and said, "Our lovemaking is a raging sea. You are a log. And I am a drowning person clinging to that log, trusting that you will keep me from drowning until the storm has passed."
That was Elladan. Elladan was uncertain, never sure of himself, never fully content with himself. Especially since the loss of their mother. Elladan was always afraid to disappoint, always afraid to fail. The fact that Elrond disapproved of their love bothered Elladan more than their father would ever know, and Elrohir wondered if Elladan would ever stop feeling guilty, would ever forgive himself for disappointing their father. It was Elladan who brought that edge of despair to the nights they spent together, and even though Elrohir had pledged his eternal love millions of times, screaming, whispering, sobbing and even cursing, the fear of losing Elrohir had been a part of Elladan since their first kiss. It saddened Elrohir, that Elladan didn't have complete faith in his brother's love for him.
After they'd first become lovers, both had tried to fall in love with others. Both had been unsuccessful, but Elrohir had been the first to give up, the first one to accept the situation. It was Elladan he wanted, and Elladan only. Elladan had needed more time, more unsatisfying sex with Elves he didn't particularly care for, until he'd finally come to Elrohir's room one night and made sweet love to him. After that, they'd shared their bodies with no one but each other.
Elrohir hadn't been serious about pursuing the Greenleaf. They were both still appreciative of the beauty that existed outside their bed, and therefore Elrohir had thought that he could safely make that comment. Elladan had joined in the joke, but Elrohir could taste the uncertainty in his brother's words. He regretted saying it, now. Elrohir had always had a thing for blondes, and Elladan knew that as well as he; he shouldn't have hinted at the beauty of the golden prince of Mirkwood, even though it had only been meant as a joke.
Wishing to annul his guilt, Elrohir threw himself more into his little show than he would normally have done. While his right hand still moved over his length the way he liked it best, he let the other walk a sensual path over the rest of his body, touching all those parts of himself he liked to feel Elladan's hands and mouth on. Elladan watched him do it, breathing harder with the eroticism of it, and the lustful glow in his eyes told Elrohir that his efforts were appreciated.
However, when Elrohir felt the approach of release, he brought his hand to his cock again, remembering Elladan's order not to let anything go to waste. His head fell a little back and his eyelids sank half-closed, but he kept Elladan's gaze as he came in his own hands, letting his brother see the bliss of orgasm take over his facial features. "Uuuhnn," he moaned, almost whimpered, drawing the sound out until not one more drop would spill into his waiting, slightly trembling hand.
"That was beautiful," Elladan whispered. "Do you still want me?"
"I do..." Elrohir took Elladan's burning length and teased it between his hands, preparing it for what was to come. Elladan moaned, looking at him from underneath his lashes.
"Now ride me," he said hoarsely.
When Elrohir grasped Elladan's shoulders and shifted on top of him, bringing himself in the right position, Elladan took him by the hips. Firmly. Not wanting to let go. "Forgive me," he whispered as Elrohir took his arousal into his body. "Do you forgive me, Ro?"
Always that question. It was always about forgiveness between them. Forgive me for being your brother. Forgive me for being your lover. Forgive me for loving you more than I'm supposed to. Forgive me for wanting you. Forgive me for enjoying this.
"I forgive you," Elrohir whispered back as he sank into Elladan's waiting lap. He hated to answer that question every time, but it was Elladan's way of dealing with this and that was why he endured it.
They held on to each other, fingers digging desperately in hips and shoulders, as Elrohir moved upon his lover; slowly, seductively at first, but gradually faster and more demandingly. Elladan slightly rotated his hips to meet Elrohir's rhythm, low, grunting moans rising from his chest and spilling over his parted lips. And all the time he kept his eyes on Elrohir. Elladan insisted on that; if they couldn't look each other in the eye while making love, then they'd better end their relationship, rather today than tomorrow.
Elrohir was hard again, and he moved swifter. Elladan effortlessly adjusted his own pace to match the new rhythm, and Elrohir, not for the first time, basked in how good they were together. Still holding on to Elladan's shoulders, he leaned back a little and abandoned himself completely, giving in to the pleasure, letting it overcome him. Louder cries came from him as Elladan was once more sweeping him higher and higher, spiralling him to yet a higher level of pleasure, making Elrohir believe it couldn't get any better, and then doing it again, and again, and again.
Suddenly the wave that had been carrying Elrohir, rising higher and higher under him, gave way, disappeared; for a moment, Elrohir felt like hanging still in the air before beginning the long, free fall down, the thrill of orgasm, his own *and* Elladan's, consuming his body and forcing a cry from his lungs. He knew he wouldn't drown. But it almost felt like it as a tidalwave of bliss swallowed him whole.
That was how it always was between him and Elladan. Their passion, their despair... their desperate passion. It almost killed him; but gods, he wouldn't be able to live without it.
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
