The Battle Plain of Dagorlad
This was no place to celebrate Yule, Elrond thought. He stood with his back to the occupants of the tent, gazing out at the barren wasteland of Dagorlad. It was upon this desolate piece of ground that the Last Alliance of Elves and Men made their camp. Victory had come, and now final plans were being discussed. Elrond winced at an especially loud bellow behind him; plans were being argued over for the culminating march into Mordor.
Three long years to reach this point and yet another high holiday celebrated in this accursed black land. Elrond longed for the peace and comfort of Imladris, the secret valley he had discovered and had barely settled into before his king demanded his presence in battle. Never in the history of Middle-earth had an Alliance like this been constructed. Joining High King Gil-galad was the Elendil, the High King of Arnor and Gondor, Círdan of Mithlond, Amroth of Lorien, and Oropher of Greenwood. Elrond sighed as the volume of voices rose behind him. The problem was, he thought, that there were far too many kings and leaders for one lone tent to hold the ego’s in it.
Elrond glanced back just in time to catch the Greenwood prince’s eye. Thranduil appeared pained at his sire’s posturing, but to give him credit, he kept his face blank. That Oropher’s son was there at all was a great surprise to Elrond. Most rulers would have left their only heirs behind. It also made him wonder just who was ruling Greenwood.
His gaze left the Prince and returned to the outside of the tent. Added to his puzzlement was the presence of the Elf who was seated right outside the entrance. Elrond could not help but wonder about this young Sinda. Oropher had not only brought his heir but Thranduil’s only child and successor as well – young Prince Legolas. The Elf was untried in battle, and in Elrond’s eyes, entirely too precious to be fighting in this war; Oropher was a fool to bring his entire house into this battle against the Dark Lord.
Elrond could not tear his gaze away. Legolas was beautiful, and Elrond knew he was not the only one in camp to think so. Luckily, Thranduil seemed to realize his son’s appeal, and he kept the archer close always, watching with an eagle eye all those who approached. Elrond wondered if Legolas felt stifled by his Ada’s over protectiveness.
The archer was slender, his form still bearing traces of his youth, but the broad shoulders showed promise of filling out nicely. Elrond admired the long, long legs clothed in the tight hunter green of Greenwood, not to mention the tiny waist and small but firm buttocks. Long golden hair, traditional braids in place, framed high cheekbones and full pink lips, but what Elrond enjoyed most were the prince’s sparkling blue eyes. Elrond also liked seeing the blush that stained those cheeks when the younger Elf felt the Peredhel’s eyes upon him.
Legolas still felt the flush of humiliation when his Ada had ordered him to stay outside, but keep insight of the tent at all times. He felt like a child, playing at war, but a child nonetheless.
Thranduil had not wanted his only son to join them in this war. But Oropher had overruled his objections, saying the experience would do Legolas good, and that he wanted a good showing of his blood to the Noldor.
Legolas still felt like a bug under a glass being examined by too-curious eyes. The archer had not until now ever set foot outside Greenwood, nor had he been exposed to any other races of Elves, let alone Man. They were strange and exotic to the inexperienced wood Elf’s eyes, but especially the Peredhel. Legolas could feel Lord Elrond’s eyes upon him, but he was too intimidated to look up.
Of all the exotic creatures on Arda, Lord Elrond had to be the most exciting, Legolas thought. Ever since the King’s Herald’s eyes had fallen on him, Legolas had experienced the strangest sensations. His stomach would jump and a fluttery feeling would take up residence in there. His heart beat faster; he knew this because he had pressed a damp palm over it and felt the wild pounding in his chest. It seemed to beat especially fast when the Lord’s sharp grey gaze was upon him. But most of all was his inability to stop staring at the Peredhel when he could catch the Elf Lord unaware.
Legolas wondered what the powerful Lord saw when he gazed upon him. There seemed to be a fierceness in his eyes when Legolas was brave enough to catch them with his own. To say the King’s Herald was daunting was an understatement; Elrond seemed bigger and more powerful to Legolas than even his own Ada. He wondered if it was Elrond’s Mortal blood that made his shoulders so much broader, or his frame taller? Was it that mixed blood that made Elrond’s skin so bronze, in particular when compared to Legolas’ own snow-white flesh? Legolas might be younger than most of the Elven warriors fighting in the Last Alliance, but he recognized the feelings of desire stirring within him.
Legolas’ thought where interrupted when his grandsire and Ada came storming out of the tent. One glance at Oropher’s furious scowl was enough to get Legolas on his feet and hurrying after them. One last fleeting glance did he shoot back at the Peredhel, flushing slightly when he met an amused grey gaze.
Elrond continued standing at the tent’s open flap, feeling sorry for the fleeing youngster. Oropher’s temper was well known, and he hated that Legolas would be exposed to it.
Gil-galad joined his Herald, also watching the departing royals from Greenwood. He sighed and placed a hand upon Elrond’s shoulder.
“If we did not need Oropher’s archers so badly, I would gladly tell that pompous fool where to go and provide him with detailed directions!”
Gil-galad snorted when his Herald burst out laughing, but after a moment, he had to laugh also; really, humor was the only way to deal with the King of Greenwood. Trying to out-shout the ruler had not worked.
Gil-galad noted where Elrond’s gaze had been trained. He had observed, as he was sure others had, of Elrond’s interest in the youngest Greenwood Prince. Not that he could blame Elrond, Gil-galad thought. Legolas was a beauty, but Thranduil would have Elrond’s head if he dared approach the Prince.
Gil-galad squeezed Elrond’s arm in warning, and when the Peredhel’s gaze swung questioningly to meet his, he nodded his head in the departing party’s direction. “If I have noticed your interest, then you know Thranduil has also. He is not for you, Elrond. His family has little use for us Noldor, and he is young. And Thranduil, it is said, guards him like some rare treasure.” Gil-galad raised a brow and a half smile curled his lips. His gaze again met Elrond’s. “Not that I blame him; he is indeed a jewel, and his bow has proven truly talented.”
Elrond said nothing for a moment, but his eyes went back to the direction the Greenwood contingent had taken. “He is well past his majority,” was all Elrond offered before bowing briefly to his King and departing. Thankfully, Gil-galad noted, in the opposite direction.
Legolas carefully peeked around the corner of the tent. His guards were both standing with their backs to where he was hiding. The distant sounds of singing could be heard as the armies tried to celebrate Yule with festive song and an extra cup of spirits that Gil-galad had ordered for the troops. Now was a perfect time to make good his escape; the guards’ attention was firmly on the celebrating, not on Thranduil’s heir.
Legolas carried his bundle to a small clearing in the rocks that he had discovered. The area offered some privacy and afforded Legolas a place to enjoy the piece of home he brought with him. There were no trees or other growing things here, and for a Wood Elf, nothing could be worse. At least his Ada had warned him of this, but as Legolas uncovered the small Rosemary tree he brought from home, he could not help but think he had been selfish. The little plant was not doing so well.
Legolas had chosen Rosemary for its scent and for its special place in his memories. Happier Yule times had been spent with his family, and always there were the small fragrant trees throughout their home. It was the air, Legolas knew - the little tree needed fresh air, not the poisonous fumes that polluted the air here in Mordor. He looked up at the black sky; the stars even hid here, he thought. But then, as if just for the Elves, Ithil appeared, shining in its full glory. Legolas smiled as the moonlight bathed the small plant.
That was the sight that greeted Elrond, and it took his breath away. The moonlight worshiped the Wood Elf and the tree, and Elrond had to blink, perhaps believing in magic after all. Surely magic was the only explanation of how Legolas had conjured the moon and the plant? For Elrond despaired as well at this barren land they found themselves in, and the sight before him was truly the best of Yule gifts.
Legolas’ smile did not dim as he caught sight of the Elf Lord. He gestured with his head for Elrond to join him, but he did not speak, as if the sound of even fair Elven voices would break the spell and send the light back to hide amidst the black clouds.
Elrond curled his legs under him and sat close to Legolas. He held out the flagon of sweet wine he had carried with him. “You have shared your gifts with me, allow me to share my wine with you,” he whispered.
The brief spark they both felt when their hands touched caused a flush to spread across Legolas’ face, and he raised the wine skin, drinking greedily to quench the sudden thirst he felt.
Elrond did not tear his eyes away from Legolas’ lips wrapped around the wineskin. His gaze hungrily followed as a trickle of the fine red wine spilled from those lips and ran down the archer’s chin. Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, Elrond was leaning forward, his tongue darting out to catch the wine and his tongue followed the trail down Legolas’ throat.
It was the blond’s gasp that had Elrond pulling back. He met the surprised sapphire gaze, his own eyes hot. But Elrond only paused for a moment before leaning forward to capture Legolas’ lips, sweeping his tongue inside and moaning at the taste of Elf and wine.
Legolas trembled like a leaf caught upon the wind. This assault on his senses was too fast and while new, very welcome.
Elrond controlled himself only when trembling hands were laid upon his shoulders. He drew back, berating himself for losing control that way. Grey eyes apologetic, Elrond whispered, “I am sorry Legolas...” He was hushed by a slender finger placed on his lips.
Elrond’s kiss had ignited a storm inside Legolas and the feel of the Elf Lord’s powerful shoulders under his hands sent a spark of heat through his body. In wonder, he stopped the Lord’s apology and somewhat shyly leaning forward, touched his lips to Elrond’s.
Elrond could not have stopped then if the entire Greenwood army threatened. He accepted the shy kiss, then rising, he wordlessly held out a hand to Legolas.
Legolas looked questioningly up into the Lord’s eyes, but Elrond said nothing only smiled gently at the archer. Just as silently, Legolas accepted his hand and rose.
Elrond led Legolas around the back of the camp, effectively avoiding any curious eyes. Slipping into Elrond’s tent, they finally halted, staring at each other, their eyes saying all that needed to be said. Despite his rough warrior garb and larger appearance, Elrond’s touch was gentle as he undressed Legolas. His hands were much more impatient and rough with his own clothes.
Legolas gulped nervously at the sight of the imposing Elf Lord, however, he did not protest as he was borne gently back onto the Lord’s bed. All rational thought deserted him when Elrond’s hard form covered his own slighter body. He eagerly met Elrond’s kiss, and opened his mouth to the Peredhel’s insistent tongue; learning the fine art of kissing left Legolas weak, panting, and hungry for more.
Elrond could not get enough of Legolas’ taste. The more his tongue explored, the harder he became. He knew he needed to go slow; Legolas was counting on him to be a gentle and tender teacher. The young Elf’s shy and untried lips had told Elrond all he needed to know of Legolas’ innocence. His first time deserved nothing else. It had, however, been much too long for Elrond, who unlike his fellow warriors did not partake of the battlefield comfort offered by their companions.
Elrond’s lips finally released Legolas’ and began a journey down the archer’s pale neck, taking care not to leave behind any telltale marks; he nevertheless delved into every inch. Tight, hard, pink nipples beckoned next, and Elrond spent several minutes teasing and sucking those nubs into pebbled hardness, Legolas’ soft cries spurring him on further.
Finally, his tongue trailed down Legolas’ chest, circling the archer’s navel, thrusting his tongue in a rhythm Legolas was too innocent to recognize.
Legolas could only thrash helplessly in Elrond’s tight hold. His body was drawn tight, nerves on fire. He could feel the pool of wetness gathered on his stomach from his leaking shaft and he desperately wanted to touch himself, but all he could do was fist the blankets under him and hold on.
He cried out stuffed a fist between his teeth when his length was taken into a hot moist mouth. He could feel Elrond’s tongue tease up and down, and he was helpless to stop his hips from thrusting up. He did not notice the wet finger that breached his body, but when that finger brushed against something inside him, Legolas bit his knuckles and came fiercely in the Lord’s mouth.
Elrond kept his finger in the clenching channel. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting to hold onto his control. All he wanted to do was thrust himself to the hilt in the archer’s tight and willing body. He fumbled beside his cot for the small bottle of oil he used for his braids. Pulling the cork off with his teeth, he spilled a generous amount on his fingers, rubbing them together to spread the oil.
As Legolas relaxed back onto the bed, Elrond felt the tight passage loosen. Sliding his finger out until just the tip remained inside, he added another finger, the oil easing their thrust back inside. He pushed in and pulled out slowly, stretching Legolas, all the while placing soothing kisses along the archer’s stomach and thighs. By the time Elrond added a third finger ‘Legolas’ hips were rising and moving to meet his fingers.
Elrond ignored the moan of disappointment as he removed his hand. He gathered Legolas’ legs, placing them firmly on his shoulders. Bending Legolas nearly in half, Elrond captured the blond’s lips once more. Breaking the kiss, he whispered, “I promise the pain will be brief,” and before Legolas could question, Elrond thrust home in one long push, filling Legolas completely and taking his cries with his lips.
Legolas’ hands pushed uselessly against the Lord’s broad shoulders. He felt cut in two, stuffed fuller than he could handle. He sobbed into Elrond’s mouth, fighting to relax his tense muscles.
Elrond stayed still, wanting to give Legolas’ body time to adjust. His own body was drenched with sweat and screamed for release, but still he did not move. It was only when the clenching around his shaft eased and the nails biting into his shoulders stopped that Elrond risked a tentative thrust, aiming for Legolas’ pleasure spot.
Legolas almost begged Elrond to stop, not to move, that was until he saw stars and his length grew hard in an instant.
Elrond felt the archer’s renewed arousal and his control shattered. He moaned and pulled back, then slid slowly forward, keeping his thrust slow and easy despite his desire to move more quickly toward completion. Elrond’s arms trembled with strain and he bent again to taste Legolas. They kissed frantically, lips and tongues rushed together in their desire to stay connected.
Legolas tore his mouth free, gasping for breath; he panted ‘more’ into Elrond’s ear.
Elrond almost sighed in relief. He did not know how much longer he could last. He thrusts became rougher, his strokes shorter, and his jabs at Legolas’ prostate fierce. Leaning back, he freed one hand and took the archer’s length, fisting it in time with his thrusts. It was but moments before Legolas’ channel tightened around him and the blond came, shuddering, beneath Elrond. Elrond groaned and plunged inside Legolas twice more before he filled the young Elf with his seed.
He could not stop himself from falling onto the body under him. Legolas wrapped his arms around Elrond’s wet shoulders while they fought to regain breath and willed their hearts to slow their frantic beating. Finally, as the night’s sounds crept through to them, Elrond shifted up onto his elbows, smoothing back pale locks of hair that had clung to Legolas’ cheeks, and pressed light kisses on the glowing face looking up at him. The cerulean eyes were heavy-lidded and sated, and Elrond had never seen a lovelier sight.
The celebration continued outside the tent. Neither approaching battles nor the desolate landscape could truly dampen the Elves joy on that Yule night. None could say what this war would bring, who would be victorious, who would even survive; perhaps that was what made Elrond and Legolas grab what joy they could, while they could.
Legolas smiled up into his lovers silvery eyes. “Happy Yule, my Lord,” he whispered.
Elrond laughed softly and gathered Legolas more tightly in his embrace. He rolled them over until Legolas was atop him. Legolas looked down with amazement, flushing at Elrond’s wicked grin, and growled, “Happy Yule indeed...”