Title & Chapter Number: Lû Vinui 4/10
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Hith a Naur
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Silvara & Ilye
Cast: Erestor/Lothvaen, Glorfindel/Thranduil, Lothvaen/Lindir
Timeline: SA
Spoilers: None
Summary: Lothvaen joins the staff of the House of Elrond in the newly founded valley of Imladris and finds the Chief Councilor to be a challenge worth accepting. Thranduil meets the Balrog-slayer when the Seneschal is sent to Greenwood to aid Oropher and the attraction is instant.
Notes: Lothvaen is a Sindarin name I have given to the fanon character 'Figwit.' 'Figwit' is not an appropriate name for an Elf and the name 'Melpomaen' (a common used name for this fanon character) is an incorrect translation of the name 'Figwit.' 'Lothvaen' means 'clever flower' since 'clever' is another word for 'wit' (Sindarin does not have a word for 'wit') and 'flower' is used in place of 'fig' (since Sindarin does not have a word for 'fig'). A fig is actually a flower, which is why I chose 'flower' for the name.
Lothvaen is referred to as a 'whip.' This does not reflect upon his bedroom proclivities. It is a British political term, a position within Parliament. We also have a similar position in the US as does South Africa. ^^ It just means he has more responsibility and a higher paycheck.
Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age
Lothvaen flew down the corridor on the family floor, heading straight for the staircase. His face was aflame with his shame; he felt dirty. In all his years, with as many lovers as he had taken, he had never once felt so worthless. The Noldo had dropped to his knees before the being he knew he loved, knew he wanted, and he had been rejected as if he had simply put a petition through to build a new home on Imladris soil! His humiliation quickly turned into anger. He had not misinterpreted the looks Erestor had sent his way! The Councilor had melted into his touches and whimpered his need!
He flew up the stairs to the third floor, where both his and Lindir's rooms were located. Lindir was not only an exemplary personal aide, but he was also an accomplished musician. The minstrel would be performing for the Lord of Imladris tonight in honor of the Prince of Greenwood, which would mean Lothvaen would be alone until late. Lothvaen's desire was unabated, though, and he needed release *now*. As he turned the latch to Lindir's door, he prayed the light-haired Elf had not yet left for the main dining hall.
"Lindir?" he called, panting slightly with his frustration.
The resident of the room came out from the bedroom area, clad only in his robe. His pale eyes became dark with worry as he took in the state of his lover. "Lothvaen? Is something not well?"
Lothvaen crossed the small living area to where the elder Elf stood and embraced him roughly, brutally taking his mouth in a searing kiss. Lindir's breath caught in his throat and he had to open his mouth to allow the entry of Lothvaen's insistent tongue. His young love had never been so needy or so out of control before and Lindir felt himself slowly losing what dignity he had. He ground his awakened arousal against Lothvaen's and moaned his need into the hot mouth that demanded all he had to give.
The Whip led the aide into the bedroom, his lips never leaving their counterpart's. Lothvaen's eyes were tightly screwed shut as he pictured dark hair and liquid black eyes, recalled the impassioned cries and tight grip from moments earlier. In the arms of Elrond's trusted secretary, Lothvaen's thoughts centered around Erestor. He quickly removed the robe from Lindir's shoulders and then his own robe, shirt, boots and leggings. He snatched the phial of oil from the bedside table and pushed Lindir back into the mattress.
Their lovemaking had never been so swift. It had always centered on Drawn-out play before the act, so Lindir knew something was terribly wrong with his partner. "Lothvaen?" he asked, his heart fluttering with lust and anticipation.
Lothvaen's hooded and dark eyes met Lindir's wide, clear ones and he smiled a dangerous smile. "Hands and knees, pen-velui," he said, his voice low and commanding.
Lindir shifted his position, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his head on his folded arms. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, but nearly jumped when the cool, slick fingers of his bedmate brushed his tense opening. He willed himself to relax, willed his trepidation to melt away -- this was his friend and lover, after all, and Lothvaen would never hurt him.
Lothvaen quickly inserted his finger, oiling the tight passage liberally, and then slid in a second finger. He prepared his lover quickly, stretching the narrow channel to accommodate his member. He did not, however, prepare Lindir as well as he should have. His anger still simmered just below his arousal and he felt a subtle need to hurt someone. He wanted to hurt Erestor, just as the Noldo had hurt him, but Erestor was now beyond his reach.
He lubricated his cock, withdrew his fingers from Lindir's body, and buried himself to the hilt without warning.
Lindir cried out his pain, feeling as if he had been split apart. He blinked back tears, biting his lip to prevent a sob from escaping. Lothvaen's grip on his hips was painful and he knew he would bruise where each digit dug into his pale skin. Lothvaen did not wait for Lindir to adjust to the size of his lover as he usually did, but set a savage pace. Before Lindir could lose his erection, though, Lothvaen had reached around and gripped his cock in a sure, tight grip.
His vision was clouded with red; the words his employer had said after Lothvaen had given of himself were repeating in his mind. He rode Lindir mercilessly, squeezing and stroking his lover's shaft with ferocious intensity. When his orgasm came, Lothvaen let loose a tortured cry and pumped his seed deep within Lindir's sore buttocks.
Desire and fear warred within Lindir, and the pale-eyed aide let his tears flow shamelessly as the burning heat of Lothvaen's release coated his battered insides. His own release came on the heels of Lothvaen's and he muffled his cries in the pillow as he stained his bed sheets. He face was bright with humiliation, feeling degraded by one he had trusted to be his lover.
Lothvaen gently pulled away from Lindir's trembling body, flinching when he heard the pained hiss that issued from the prone figure. "Lindir?" His voice shook and his heart ached. Lindir had not deserved what Lothvaen had just done to him and he desperately wished to ease the hurts of his lover.
Lindir took several deep breaths and then attempted to sit up. He let out a strangled moan as the movement caused intense pain to spike within him. Lothvaen jumped from the bed and retrieved the wash basin, a soft cloth and some healing salve from Lindir's wardrobe. Lindir had shifted onto his side and curled up, his forehead resting on his knees. Lothvaen felt tears sting his eyes. He gently sat behind his aching lover and dampened the cloth.
The aide sucked in his breath when the cool, soft cloth touched his enflamed, tender skin. "I am sorry, Lindir," came the forlorn voice, full of self-loathing. Lothvaen removed all the oil and his seed from Lindir's opening, silently thankful there was no blood on the rag or his lax member. He opened the tin, took a large amount of the thick cream onto two of his fingers, and slowly soothed the abused area. He tried to be as delicate as possible when he slid those two fingers within Lindir and salved the mistreated passage.
When he was done, Lothvaen washed his own hands and crotch, feeling a much deeper shame than that which Erestor had caused him to feel. In silence and without looking at Lindir's shivering form, Lothvaen dressed and replaced his boots. Finally, he crouched on the floor beside the bed to look into the tear-stained face of his lover. "I--"
"I know," Lindir choked out. "You're sorry." The clear blue eyes moved away from the tormented violet ones. "Please go, Lothvaen. I think I would like to be alone before the feast tonight."
Lothvaen nodded and stood, wishing he could undo the damage he had just caused. Instead, he walked from the room in a daze, not knowing how things could have spiraled so out of his control so quickly. He knew he would never lie with Lindir again; the trust they had was gone. In a few short hours, he had lost his lover and compromised his employer.
He wished he had simply remained in Lindon all those years ago.
~*~*~*~
Imladris, Rhîw - 1920 of the Second Age
Glorfindel stared out over the small practice field, watching his men and the three Greenwood Elves. Thranduil was an amazing archer, and the Seneschal had assigned him the bulk of warriors to train. The other two were given smaller groups, neither having much experience in instructing. The weeks had passed quickly since the Imladrian escort had returned with the Wood Elves and Glorfindel's situation with the Prince had not changed. In fact, it had only worsened.
Glorfindel had demanded that the three from Greenwood join his men in their morning melee training sessions. It was during these sessions that Glorfindel had taken to singling his would-be lover out from the others and demonstrating his point. In other words, he would repeatedly attack the poor archer until he had brought him to his knees and forced the words of yielding from his lips. This did not bring the Balrog-slayer much joy, but it did make his point.
What that point was, Glorfindel was not quite sure.
"Glorfindel?" Erestor's eyes narrowed as he was ignored once more by his friend. He put his hands on his hips and huffed slightly. The blond's eyes were distant as he watched the young Prince training with one of their more accomplished swordsmen. Erestor's temper finally got the best of him and snatched a blade from the rack and swung it at the Seneschal as he snapped, "Must I wield a blade to garner your attention, my Lord Seneschal?"
Glorfindel dodged the swipe, instinct taking over and pulling him from his reverie. He looked with wide eyes at the twinkling light in the Councilor's. "Forgive me, my Lord Councilor. I was... distracted."
Erestor stabbed the blade into the moist ground, chuckling softly. "I could tell."
The two Elf-lords turned when they heard muffled snickering. The whole yard was still, all members of Glorfindel's small army watching them intently, the three archers from Greenwood standing in the front line. The two less experienced warriors were sneering at the dark- haired Noldo and Erestor crossed his arms over his chest.
"Is there something you find amusing, Gondithen?" Glorfindel asked one of the Wood Elves, who quickly sobered and shook his head. "And you, Eruviluion?"
The dark-eyed Elf held his head a little higher and nodded. "You fear the Councilor of Imladris."
Glorfindel chuckled. "And you would too, if you knew what I know."
Erestor allowed his lips to curl into a challenging smirk as the Elf rolled his eyes. "No offense, my Lord," he said, addressing Erestor, "But he is only a scholar -- nothing to shrink from!"
"Would you like to challenge him then, Eruviluion?" Glorfindel looked to Erestor and the Elf-lord nodded his assent if the younger Elf would like to spar.
Eruviluion was about to accept the challenge when Thranduil held up his hand. He was still jealous of the Noldo and wanted this opportunity to embarrass the elder Elf. "I am the more experienced swordsman here, Eruviluion. If there is to be a challenge, I will issue it." He turned to the Councilor. "I challenge you."
"I accept," Erestor said.
Glorfindel silently laughed and motioned for the other warriors to stand back. In the distance he caught sight of Erestor's little pet, Lothvaen. The young Whip had been speaking with Haldir, but their attentions had been drawn to the unusual events on the practice yard. Glorfindel waved a hand to them, thinking that his morning had never seemed so promising.
Lothvaen's heart sped as he took in the predatory look upon his employer's face. "What is happening, my Lord?" he asked when he came into hearing distance.
Glorfindel crossed his arms and leaned against one of the many trees that lined the practice area. "Prince Thranduil feels he can best our Lord Councilor with the blade."
Haldir joined in Glorfindel's amusement, which Lothvaen could not understand. "I am not sure I know why the two of you are so at ease with this. My Lord Erestor is a scholar, not a warrior."
The silver-haired Elf from Doriath shook his head. "You have been his aide for how long, Lothvaen?"
"My Lord, I have assisted Lord Erestor for nigh on three centuries." Lothvaen's puzzled expression made Glorfindel smile wider.
"Then you have learned nothing of your Lord, meldir," Haldir said. "Just hush and watch." He nodded toward the two Elves in the center of a large circle of onlookers.
"Are you sure you wish to do this, pen-neth?" Erestor asked. "I do not wish to humiliate you in front of your infatuation."
Thranduil eyes flashed with anger. "I am very sure, Lord Councilor."
"Very well." Erestor stepped to the side where Glorfindel stood and began to unbutton his robes.
"Do not hurt him, poicaquen," Glorfindel whispered. Lothvaen's eyebrow shot up at the endearment, but he remained silent. He and Erestor had not spoken much since the afternoon in his Lord's bathing chamber. Lothvaen hid his shame behind silence and cold efficiency, whilst Erestor simply ignored him unless he had no other choice but to speak with his aide.
Erestor grinned at the Elda. "You are quite smitten, pen-iaur. I will not injure anything but his pride." Erestor slid his thick, dark robes from his slender form and handed them to Haldir. Beneath his formal attire, the Councilor wore soft-looking trousers and a simple maroon shirt. Lothvaen watched him deftly braid his hair into a single rope and then grasp the sword he had planted before Glorfindel in his right hand.
The change within the Noldo took Lothvaen's breath away. Where there was once a silent, calculating tactician now stood a deadly, dangerous creature of night. Erestor took careful steps toward the armed Sinda and allowed a sneer to cross his fair features. The yard was deathly silent and Lothvaen's lungs burned with his held breath, waiting for the first blow to be struck.
Erestor swung his sword widely and heavily, his eyes watching every muscle in Thranduil's body. The Sinda Prince easily deflected the strike, but that was what the Councilor had wanted. Glorfindel knew Erestor's fighting style as well as he knew his own. His friend was cataloging every action and reaction the younger Elf made. He did not advance on Thranduil, but allowed the Prince take the offensive. Thranduil was quick on his feet, had plenty of power behind his thrusts and lunges, but brute strength was nothing compared to Erestor's millennia of experience.
Lothvaen watched Erestor and Thranduil circle one another, watched the Wood Elf attempt to disarm the elder, but Erestor seemed to expect every move and was ready to counter each maneuver. Lothvaen was impressed with the skill his Lord possessed and wondered where he had acquired the prowess he had with the steel. Erestor once again deflected a blow and it was then that Lothvaen realized Erestor was toying with the young one.
The other two Elf-lords seemed to realize this as well. "Lord Glorfindel," Haldir muttered, "We shall be here all morning if you do not put a stop to this."
Glorfindel nodded. "You are correct, my Lord Haldir." He cleared his throat and called out to his friend. "Any time now, Erestor! I would like to continue with my training session."
Erestor nodded and called back, "Very well, Glorfindel."
Erestor intensified the grip on his sword and swung himself around, throwing all his weight into his weapon. He easily used the momentum to disarm Thranduil, sending the Sinda's blade into the air while the Noldo used the remaining force of his spin to kick Thranduil's legs from beneath him, forcing the Prince onto his back. Erestor danced with fluid grace and before anyone could blink, the Councilor had his blade to Thranduil's throat and the blond's own blade embedded deep within the earth between the Wood Elf's splayed legs.
Glorfindel came forward with Haldir close behind. "He yields, Erestor," he chuckled. Erestor's posture eased and he stepped back from the shocked Sinda. He bowed slightly to Haldir when the Elf handed him his robes back and took the sword from Erestor. Lothvaen watched from his original position while Erestor redressed and released his blue-black locks from the single plait.
Thranduil stood and went to wrench his sword from the ground, but found he could not. Erestor simply smiled a serene, knowing smile at Thranduil. Glorfindel gripped the hilt of the buried blade and yanked, himself slightly impressed with the force Erestor must have used. He handed the sword back to Thranduil, his gaze never leaving the Prince's. "I want to see you in my office," he said solemnly. "Right now. The rest of you, break off in pairs and practice your footwork exercises."
Erestor looked over Haldir's shoulder and saw Lothvaen, looking lost and unsure of what he was to do. Erestor sighed impatiently and called out to the Whip. "Come, Lothvaen. We have wasted enough of our time here. Imladris calls us." He turned sharply, nodding to the two remaining Elf-lords, and began his trek back to his office. He knew Lothvaen was scurrying after him and he silently prayed that the young Elf would spare him from conversation.
"My Lord Erestor?" It seemed, Erestor thought acidly, the Valar were determined to make him pay for humiliating the young Prince in front of his peers and the object of the young Prince's affection.
"Yes, Lothvaen?" he replied in his most annoyed, exasperated tone.
Lothvaen kept his eyes ahead of him and took a deep breath. "My Lord, how is it you have such skills?"
Erestor stopped and looked at his aide quizzically. "Do you think I was born with quill in hand and parchment before me?"
The younger Elf shook his head. "No, my Lord, but..."
Erestor began walking again and shook his head. "I am a warrior, Lothvaen. I was a warrior long before I was a scholar. It is in my blood. I fought alongside the Sons of Feanor and my father in Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I fought with the Noldor from Aman in the War of Wrath. I fought alongside Elrond and Celeborn to defend Eregion, and when that fell, to defend this valley." He turned serious, ebony eyes to the stunned Whip and took hold of the Elf's upper arm, speaking in an even, deadly tone. "I knew how to kill long before I knew how to mitigate."
Looking into the depths of his Lord's eyes, Lothvaen saw a darkness there that frightened him. Erestor, who shone so brightly when Lothvaen looked upon him, dimmed in that moment, standing in the hall before his office. Lothvaen sensed a deep well of anger, of fury, bubbling below the cool indifference that the Councilor showed the world. He knew that the quiet diplomat he knew from his endless days at the desk across from him was just a single, small aspect of who the true Elf was.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil followed Glorfindel into his office near the front of the barracks, his eyes downcast and his face stained with humility. Erestor had beaten him fairly and Thranduil had to admit he saw the scholar in a new, more respected light.
Glorfindel silently sat behind his desk and pulled the duty roster for the next rotation. He checked the names, made some changes and then left a note on the top for his aide to copy it and post the parchment. Then he took a deep breath and focused on the silent, still figure standing before him and watching his feet. He shook his head and stood. "Thranduil." The Sinda looked up and met the gentle eyes of the Elda. "When you are in the Greenwood, you are Prince Thranduil Oropherion, the heir to the throne of the great wood. When you sit at Lord Elrond's table, you are Prince Thranduil, a respected and admired diplomat for your father's court. When you are on that practice field, when you take your blade and bow and mount your horse to join *my* patrol, you are Thranduil -- a warrior under my command and you will act as such. You will *not* challenge a renowned warrior of the First and Second Ages in the hopes of crushing him before your peers." Glorfindel's voice had taken on a hard edge it did not usually possess, but he was furious that the Greenwood archers would wish to injure his friend.
"Yes, my Lord," the younger Elf said softly.
Glorfindel leaned against his desk. "He is not my lover."
Thranduil's eyes flashed with this statement. "So you have told me."
"Yet you do not believe me." Thranduil looked away. "Ernilen, I spoke the truth when I said I had hopes in courting you. I did not lie to you in your father's kingdom. But, there can be no hope for us if you do not trust me. I have given you no reason to believe me untrue, pen-velui." Cupping Thranduil's cheek, Glorfindel smiled reassuringly at the Prince. He quickly removed his hand, though, and returned to his large chair, picking up the weapon's inventory sheet.
Thranduil watched the golden-haired Elf closely and felt a hollow feeling in his chest. He had misjudged both his would-be lover and the esteemed Chief Councilor, and he felt guilty for his untrusting behavior. He wanted Glorfindel; he had since the moment the Elda's lips had touched his in the guest chamber in his father's home. Thranduil quietly removed his sword belt and unlaced his tunic. As he walked around the Seneschal's desk, he removed the plaits from his hair, allowing the long, corn silk locks to fall about his face. "My Lord," he purred.
Glorfindel looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Thranduil slid into his lap, twisting around until he was comfortable. Glorfindel felt himself quickly grow hard beneath the younger Elf's weight and could not restrain the groan that escaped his lips. Thranduil looked down at him from his position and Glorfindel found himself burying his hands into the thick curtain of Thranduil's hair. He drew the Sinda down to him, capturing the slightly parted lips with his own. Glorfindel bit Thranduil's full lower lip slightly and then plundered his mouth with his tongue.
He thoroughly explored the Prince's mouth, swallowing the sighs and impatient moans the Sinda offered. Glorfindel brought his free hand down to slid between the open flaps of Thranduil's tunic and stroked the soft, firm flesh he encountered there. Thranduil broke the kiss to throw his head back and bared his throat to his Lord, hissing when Glorfindel's fingers found his nipple, tugging at the mithril ring piercing his flesh there, and the Elda's teeth found the base of his neck.
"Glorfindel!" he whimpered. He could feel the bruise from Glorfindel's bite darken his pale skin. He looked down into the aqua eyes, now dark with passion and need. "I trust you, my Lord," he whispered before leaning in to kiss the Balrog-slayer once more.
Glorfindel had just drew Thranduil's tongue into his mouth, suckling on the slick muscle and gently grinding their arousals together, when there was a stiff knock at the office door. Thranduil jumped off Glorfindel's lap and turned to face one wall while Glorfindel slid his chair closer to the desk to hide his obvious state of arousal.
"Come!" He felt his features darken with a blush at the statement he had just uttered and glared at Thranduil's back when the Prince snickered.
This was going to be a long day, the Elf-lord thought, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as two of his Sergeants entered the room to give their daily report.
~*~*~*~
English/Elvish:
*Firith : Late Autumn season
*Pen-velui : Lovely one
*Rhîw : Winter season
*Poicaquen : Pure one (Quenya) ]
*Pen-iaur : Ancient one
*Ernilen : My Prince~ Next Chapter ~
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