Wards at Work
By Tyellas
Summary: All that two lovers need is a spring night, a quiet place, and a set of wards worthy of Rivendell.
Story Warnings: Slash, Incest, Graphic Sex. Rating NC-17.
Disclaimer: These characters and Middle-Earth are the copyright of the Tolkien estate and this fan fiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright in any way.
Thanks to beta reader Aayesha.
That spring evening was the first one of the year where the night was not chill. The warmth had come early; the chestnut-leaves, still young, allowed much moonlight to dapple the forest floors and pathways of Rivendell. Two lovers had succumbed to the night’s temptations. They agreed that nothing would have been more joyous than to tryst beneath the woven trees and the blessed stars. Yet the nature of their love, beyond forbidden by the heaviest taboo, decreed that any embrace of theirs take place behind a closed door.
So it was that the pair lay down in a room that still kept some of winter’s dust and stuffiness. One of the lovers had flung his clothes, smudged with grass-stains and ticked with straw, pell-mell upon the floor. The other’s clothes, trews folded to hang neatly over a chair, showed that it was two elf-men who trysted together. The garments were far more different than the lovers entwined on the bed. It was on the edge of elvish propriety that they were of the same kind, but beyond the pale that they were the same kin, even twins.
Elrohir drew away from his sibling’s kiss for a moment, to hold his head up and listen, frowning. Nothing unusual came to his ears. Stiff with uncharacteristic worry, he turned his head back to his brother to ask, “You’re certain we will be undisturbed this night?”
“Certain as a mortal’s grave,” Elladan replied. He lay in half-shadow, his sable hair seeming to blend into the lines of his muscles. His long body was further darkened by a touch of virile hair accenting his chest and loins. Even in this dimness, Elladan’s eyes gleamed. “I have cast my wards of secrecy about us anew, that we may love unseen and unsensed. None remain in Middle-Earth with the power to break them; our great kin have gone over Sea.”
Elrohir did not relax. “I know. Of course you’re very good with charms and such. I do not even know how these wards of yours work. But the travelers from Ithilien are due this night, Legolas and whoever comes with him. It increases the likelihood that we will be disturbed.” He gripped his brother’s wrist. “I could bear it, but I love you too much to see you disgraced.” With his free hand, he could not help but palm Elladan’s warm skin, drinking in the touch he craved.
Elladan shifted closer and replied, “And I love you too much to put you to that test. But we will have to do without each other’s lust for the long summer, Elrohir, as we visit our sister and Aragorn at Lake Evendim.”
“With him as King Elessar and her as Queen Evenstar. And with the elves of Ithilien, a noble dwarf, and eleven hobbits riding up from the Shire to be our fellow guests and chaperones,” Elrohir agreed, grumbling. “To say nothing of our impressionable nephew Eldarion. Definitely too much of a risk.”
The gleam of Elladan’s eyes vanished as he bowed his head, hair falling across his face. Deep and plaintive, he asked, “This is our last chance until the autumn. With the changes of this Fourth Age of Arda, my wards are never stronger than in Rivendell, where elvish power still clings. Will you not trust in me tonight?”
“I’ll trust in you. I’ll do more than that in you, do you let me,” Elrohir breathed. He yanked back his own dark hair, the match of his twin’s, and flung himself against his sibling’s surrendered body.
At that hour, in another part of Imladris, a less-preoccupied lord was greeting new visitors to the valley. “The night was so very fair, we thought it a gift from Elbereth, brought to us so that we could end our travels sooner,” laughed Legolas. “So we kept riding along, and here we are!”
“Whatever the hour, you are welcome in Imladris,” said Celeborn, gravely.
Gimli, beside Legolas, stifled a suspicious grunt at Celeborn’s niceties and said, “Where are Elladan and Elrohir? Good fellows, those. Well did they fight in the war!”
Was it possible that Celeborn also stifled a sound of suspicious displeasure? He, too, stayed fair-spoken. “They tend to labor during the day, and rest at night. I remember the Years of the Stars, and I yet keep the hours – and other ways - of my ancient kin, the Grey-Elves. I will send someone to summon them.” Celeborn walked to the side of the hall and had words with an elf-servant, who took off with all speed.
He was a conscientious fellow, so attendant to Celeborn’s word that he did not put down the salver of good red wine he was carrying. It had been meant to refresh the guests. When he realized he was carrying it, he decided to bring it with him, since it would probably reconcile Elrohir to being awoken. He yelped in horror when, with rare clumsiness, another servant opened a door in his face, so that he started and spilled the salver all over him.
They exchanged recriminations and apologies. The other servant asked if there was anything she could do. “Will you see to it that Elladan and Elrohir are found and sent to the Hall of Fire? I daren’t find them when I’m like this. Elrohir will never stop teasing me, and if I don’t get these clothes to soak right away, they are stained forever.”
She nodded. “Was it anything important?”
“No, just protocol. I’m for the baths.” The wine-stained elf hustled off to soak his clothes and wash the sticky wine off his skin.
The other servant stood for a moment. She had no idea where to start looking, on a night like this. It occurred to her that she would look around outside. Perhaps she would run into one of them on the path to where her beloved was waiting. It was a very lovely glade. And she was running late. She tripped off, and felt that her duty had been done by the time she was in a thicket knee-deep in spring niphredil.
Thinking that they had the luxury of an uninterrupted night, Elladan and Elrohir lingered at the first step of lovemaking, kissing and caresses. Their first kiss had been all hungry ferocity, as was their wont. This was the kiss they had met each other with during their long, violent questing against the Orcs, a kiss that was a sensuous shout of triumph that they still lived. Tonight, this first grappling subsided into a firm grip on each other. Elrohir, ever the more tender of the pair, softened first, gentling his mouth to taste his lover’s, urging their press of lips to a softer melding.Elladan acquiesced, parting his lips further with an involuntary shudder down to his entrails. Slowly, he began to slide his loins against Elrohir.
He nearly jumped as Elrohir reached down and grabbed his buttocks, laughing. “Thought I wouldn’t notice if you got a head start on me? You thought wrong! I need a summer’s worth of your mouth, first. Hold still for more!” Elladan went along with this, sweating as he stayed still, save for proffering his mouth once more. Elrohir murmured in appreciation, wordlessly as he enjoyed another consuming kiss, then muttering, “I think you’ll let me have more later…your turn. What do you want, to last you a summer’s worth?”
Elladan reached up and brushed back wayward strands of Elrohir’s hair. Licking his own lips, he murmured, “You know, do you not?”
Elrohir nodded. He peeled himself away to kneel between his brother’s legs, then reached down and grabbed Elladan’s ankles, to lever up his legs and expose his nethers.
In the Hall of Fire, the twins’ absence was making matters awkward. Legolas felt that, with Galadriel absent, the other Elf and the Dwarf were feeling their old enmity rather than new friendship. When the elf-servant did not return, Celeborn finally said, stiffly, “Perhaps one of the Sons of Elrond has gone out to enjoy the night as well, and is hard to find. It is an exceptionally lovely evening. I apologize, and they will certainly greet you with honor in the morning. Your chambers from earlier visits await you.” Legolas and Gimli left eagerly.
Once Celeborn was out of earshot, Gimli muttered. “Remembers more than the Years of the Stars, by the looks of it. There’s one Elf I’ll never take to. What say we –” Suddenly, Gimli’s tirade was broken by a deep yawn. He blinked, surprised.
“What say we fall asleep here and now? Is that what you mean?” said Legolas, lightly.
“No, no. I was going to say, let us find Elrond’s sons and give them fair greeting in courtesy. But by Durin’s crown, I am weary, on a sudden.” Gimli blinked again. “Do not dare taunt me for it, Elf, after running us over country from dawn beyond dusk.”
“I will not. In sooth, I am a-weary, too.” Legolas reached about and felt his own behind. “Weary and sore with it! I wish I had your iron rump. Arod’s son does not have a smooth stride on hilly ground.”
“That’s what you get for letting the Horse-Lords rook you into a trade. But if you too are tired, I can lay my head down without shame.” Gimli yawned richly again. “Linen sheets and horsehair mattresses! I’ll sleep Durin’s sleep tonight. Coming this way?”
“Soon, I will sleep. I feel that if I do not soak first in Rivendell’s great tub, I will rue it come the morn,” Legolas said. Amicably, they went on different paths.
Legolas rambled towards the baths. Being beneath the open sky refreshed him into full awakeness again. He was yet of a mind to find the twins, or at least Elrohir, of whom he was fond. However, he was too proud to present himself way-stained, in case cool, precise Elladan was in his brother’s company. He caught himself. Why should they be by each other’s side in Rivendell? There was no good reason for it. They had been so very close, during the War of the Ring, that it seemed natural to think of them ever together. Once he had freshened – how well he remembered feeling Elladan’s eyes upon him – he would see.
The baths of Rivendell were as luxurious as ever. There was the chamber for clothes; following on it, the chamber with a cold fall for rinsing. Someone had put a set of wine-soaked garments upon the fall’s stones to be rinsed clean. Further along was Rivendell’s greatest luxury, a great bath carved into the living stone. Even without the Ring of Water, Narya, giving its power to Rivendell, this bath was still brimming with mineral water from a deep hot spring. Despite the late hour, there was one other bather. The steamy water was enhanced by a trim elf-man, lifting his long, honey-brown braid away from the pool’s surface.
“Well, hello.” Legolas sauntered into the great-bath chamber.
The other fellow’s eyes widened, and he seated himself with his loins beneath the water. He seemed to grow more flushed amidst the steam. “My lord Legolas,” he said.
Luxurious and slow, Legolas settled into the water himself, trailing his hand on its surface. Suddenly, he felt less tired. “A beautiful night, is it not? Especially within these baths. They seem to grow more miraculous every time I visit them,” he said, glancing frankly at his bath-mate. He nodded at some items along the wall. Smiling, he added. “Once I have soaked, would you birch me? I would be happy to return the favor.” The alacricity with which his bath-mate agreed to this sent all thoughts of his other hosts out of his mind.
“Anh!”
It was one of those moments when neither could say who had made the sound. After writhing on the bed like two landed dolphins, Elrohir had flipped his brother over and sleeked him into kneeling on the bed, his arms stretched out before him. Elrohir’s eyes were now fully adapted to the room’s darkness, and he admired his brother’s enticing lines, the curves of shoulders and waist and arse. His thighs were exactly the same length as Elladan’s, so that when, with savoring slowness, he slid home into Elladan’s nethers, they fitted wherever they touched, elegantly mated.
Elladan jutted back against Elrohir’s loins. “I beg you, again – all the way out, then slide in again,” he pleaded.
“Once more?” asked Elrohir. He repeated the full slide and thrust, which grew easier as Elladan’s body grew hungrier.
Just when Elrohir was ready to settle into a fine rider’s rhythm, Elladan’s riven voice cut the darkness. “Ai, when you spear me, each time it’s like the first time, as blissful and filthy. I – before - I used to think about…” Beneath him, Elladan shuddered. He felt his brother’s flanks hot beneath his hands. “I longed to come to you, when you were in this very room, and beg you to have me here. I thought you’d refuse me, revile me, or that, being so lusty, you would take me hard and hasty. Like you do now.”
Even after so long, this confession, unique to this room, was new to Elrohir. He went still. Then, slowly, he withdrew. As Elladan moaned in protest, he explained. “Nothing is wrong. I need you face to face for this one. So you can talk to me more…”
After Legolas and Gimli had departed, Celeborn stayed in the Great Hall for a moment, tapping his foot. He was cursed sure that the Naugrim had only asked about his grandsons, Elladan and Elrohir, in order to vex him. It would take more than a grumpy dwarf’s unsubtle grumblings to set him against his beloved nephews. Still, the hour was not so very late. He would try to find them himself. Being ancient and respectable, with no thought in his mind of trysting or mischief, he proceeded directly to the nearest chamber where one of them might be found. Despite his regal height, he went barefoot, and was utterly silent when he reached the door he sought.
His own quiet allowed him to prick up his ears. Beyond the door, there was a groan, perhaps a squeak. “Hello? Elladan?” Celeborn reached out and tried the knob of the door, and stepped up to look inside as it opened.
The twins had finally locked together in the difficult position, close enough that they inhaled each other’s sweaty musk with each breath. Elladan’s spine curved, his legs arced back and open to cup his brother’s shoulders between his knees. Being penetrated like this was difficult. The position made his brother’s cock, filling his channel, feel thicker and harder than usual. Elrohir’s knees ached slightly as he worked to stay thrusting deeply into Elladan; if his hips’ stroke was too long, he would slip out, and they would have to start again. The tight, blazing ecstasy they both felt made it worthwhile.
Elladan inhaled deeply and began to murmur again. “A thousand curses, you take me hard.”
Above him, Elrohir bucked, his skin growing hotter. “Give you something…something to remember,” he said. Underneath him, he felt his brother gasp at that, and knew Elladan was close to the peak. He gulped a deep breath and allowed himself to moan all the obscenities he was thinking, pounding away as he did, until the body beneath him was throbbing with him, perfectly. Elrohir ended the filthy tirade by half-shouting, “You’re mine, you belong to me. Say it! Say it!”
All Elladan could manage was “Yours…” before a silent orgasm clenched him.
Then Elrohir shouted in earnest, splashed with his brother’s hot seed, arching back in possessive joy and release.
Celeborn looked into Elladan’s chambers, understanding and sympathetic.
Of course.
The window was open, its glass panes – some of the few in Rivendell - squeaking slightly on their hinges. The night breeze was ruffling the texts laid open on Elladan’s work table, and the spring night poured its freshness and charm into the room. Nobody was there. Celeborn smiled indulgently. Obviously, Elladan had felt the call of his Sindarin blood and, for once, left his dry work to enjoy the night’s beauty.
Celeborn drifted into the chamber. The books, the curtained bed, the glass casement in a stone wall; how much this all reminded him of years gone by, a realm long fallen. Once he had stood before such a casement, open to the spring, and his beloved wife had stood there with him. They were parted, for a brief time. He felt that he was fulfilling the charge she had laid on him, to look after their grandsons. They seemed to be prospering as the lords of Imladris. Better, Elrohir seemed to be remaining chaste and proper, and now Elladan was clearly finding his elvish side, if he had the sense to enjoy such a blessed eve.
The spring night-breeze caressed him again, drawing him back in time to that evening before a casement with his beloved. “Galadriel…”
He sat there for a long time, bewitched in remembrance. By the time he returned to himself, it was nearing dawn, and he slipped away, more than a little embarrassed at losing himself so deeply to a memory.
The spring dawn, pink and golden, began to lighten Elrohir’s bed-chamber. Elladan narrowed his eyes slightly. Pressing against his brother’s warmth, he said, “The night is gone, and we keep our dearest secret yet. See? My wards have held true.”
Grinning, Elrohir ran a finger along the bridge of his brother’s nose and retorted, “They weren’t even tested. Nobody came nigh this building the whole night. A good thing, too, the way you were groaning.”
Elladan sat up. “That is what you say. I hold that you felt shielded, all the same, to be so loose and wild with me.” Their quibble allowed him to slide away from Elrohir without being too wracked by sensual loss.
Elrohir stayed on the bed and watched Elladan arise, enjoying the view. Once Elladan had his trews back on, he said, “Have it your way, if it please you. I think my own wards held just as well.” With that, Elrohir too arose. To make sure he kept the last word, he gave Elladan one last, long kiss. Aware that the day awaited, he pulled on his own clothes. Only then did he shift away the heavy trunk he had placed, the previous night, to block the door.
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