CHAPTER 7
A/N: Two quick notes: (1) Remember, folks, this is M-rated! (2) If anyone wants it, I can give you a site for Sindarin translations. For now, though, aglar means "glorious" and herven means "husband."
Also, I (WyrdSmith) hate the fact that this story has so few reviews. I'm not begging reviews, because I cherish those we do have. I am troubled because I think this is a good story, and I know there are some faithful readers. (And those I didn't reply to yet last chapter, I am really sorry. Got lost in life drama, but I'm back!) The point is, I think the story itself deserves more readers. So, no, I'm not begging reviews – but word of mouth to recommend this story would be a huge gift to the hardworking authors! Thank you, Pikachumomma, for always doing the first draft – this story wouldn't move fast at all without you doing that first bout of heavy-lifting. Send the lady thank-yous, folks!
Thanks for reading. Enjoy!
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STORY TIME
Any person happening upon the scene in the field that evening would have found a strange innocence in the picture presented by the wide-eyed Elven warriors seated busily fletching arrows in the long, sweet grass, gathered at twilight in a half circle around the raven-haired, storytelling Istari and his powerful, golden-haired mate. It did not escape the listening elves' notice that Glorfindel, known far and wide as The Balrog Slayer, was mated to a young man who himself had just related three autobiographical stories in which he had battled and either defeated or befriended several other monstrous beasts. Glorfindel was not present for Marcaunon's tale of the great basilisk, and his absence during that story was both a relief and a worry to some of the more experienced warriors. It was a worry because someone, at some point in the near future, was going to have to ensure that Glorfindel heard the tale intentionally, because the thought of him accidentally overhearing it was enough to make the deadly sword-dancers quail in their boots. It was a relief because, so far, that story featured the youngest Glorfindel's mate had been in any of the harrowing tales of his adventures, and the wise warriors did not wish to be anywhere near the powerful elf when he learned that his beloved mate had fought and killed a monstrous, deadly serpent and a dark wizard at the tender age of twelve years, especially while older, experienced Istari were within the very same building and did nothing. Even for the race of men, twelve years was far too tender an age for such an experience. To an elf, twelve years was barely out of nappies.
On the other hand, Marcaunon's other tales this evening weren't much more comforting; after all, the young man was only twenty years of age now, and thus far had shared with the captivated warriors the tales of the basilisk, of a deadly tournament involving a nesting mother dragon, and was now ending a tale of how the youth had confronted and befriended a giant squid and a race of sea-dwelling warriors as he attempted to train himself for a war that rivaled their own in blood and horror. To an elf, the warriors each felt deep sympathy for Glorfindel, who even when he approached the field tonight had been markedly upset by something involving his mate and the other newcomers. When he joined them during Marcaunon's tale of the dragon's golden egg, Glorfindel's face had been drawn and tense, and the look in his eyes was that of a person who had witnessed his own version of Hell. Judging from how he clung to his mate, Marcaunon had featured prominently in that nightmare. Glorfindel had said nothing, he had simply seated himself behind Marcaunon and wrapped himself around his mate, burying his face in the wild, black hair and holding on as if he was convinced his mate would disappear if he let go for even a moment.
There had been a moment or two when the seated warriors wondered if they should stay or leave, willing to do whichever was most helpful for their Commander. But Marcaunon was calm and simply welcomed his mate's arms around him and his warm presence against his back, as if the warrior's state of mind was expected and understandable. After a quiet moment of comfort, the young man simply launched into another tale and the warriors stayed, a captive audience, while Glorfindel soaked in the presence of his mate. No one really thought overmuch of their Commander's state of mind; it seemed reasonable to assume that the elf had learned something else about his mate's past that was upsetting. Given that the tales the young man considered "lighthearted" involved monstrous, deadly beasts attempting to kill him, it was understandable that anything else to be learned of the Istari and his family would be enough to render a warrior somewhat needy. Any one of the hardened warriors would react the same had they learned their friends or family had endured even one of Marcaunon's lighter adventures. The very idea of having such a tale told about a rare, deeply-treasured truemate…! Frankly, Glorfindel was winning more respect by the simple fact that he had not already wrapped the young Istari in silk and fur and carried him away to the safest place he could find.
"And that, my friends, is why one should never tempt the mer-folk into singing above water, especially around the two Original Marauders who actually have the sensitive hearing of dogs and wolves!" Harry declared with a grin. He briefly raised one hand in a gesture that caused music to burst into the air in a dramatic flourish, then returned to lightly petting the rock-hard arms wrapped around his waist. Glancing at the setting sun, he blinked in surprise. "Well! I'm sure you'd all prefer to just sit here in the grass listening to me prattle on about my childhood, but judging by the deepening shadows I'd say we're missing the hour of the evening meal."
Daugion and the others looked around in surprise, only just now realizing how the hours had passed so rapidly. Some of the elves yelped and ran toward the camp to inspect the still-cooking meat, while the others gathered their newly-charmed quivers and the arrows they had been fletching and rose to their feet. As they left, many of the warriors were adamantly of the opinion that they had no desire to ever see the world of Terra. Others noted that they could not decide if they did, or did not, wish to be around if ever the Marauders met Lord Elrond's twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Add the Devils into that mix, and there was no more need for most to look for good nightmare material.
Andenion, the young (elvishly speaking, anyway) warrior whose damaged quiver had started Harry's latest protection efforts, approached somewhat diffidently. He had relaxed a bit around Marcaunon, but Glorfindel was another story. "Marcaunon? I wish to thank you for repairing Ada's quiver and for the work you did to aid us and help us stay safe. It was kind and generous of you, and I am grateful."
Both Harry and Glory looked up at the embarrassed elf in mild surprise. Harry simply smiled warmly and nodded in acknowledgement, while Glorfindel met the younger warrior's eyes and let his approval show clearly. Seeing this, Andenion stood a little straighter. Turning to leave, he paused briefly and asked, "Would you be willing to share more of your past with us sometime? This was a very enjoyable evening, and I think we actually managed to fletch more arrows in this brief time than we would have normally."
Harry grinned happily as he declared in the manner of one repeating an often-heard statement, "Many hands make light work." He laughed outright at Andenion's puzzled nod and cautious agreement. "That's something my favorite teacher liked to say. She would line us all up in front of plants to be repotted or a field to be weeded, and say those words in answer to anyone's complaints. She was right, too. Awesome lady. Anyway, it fit the possible fletching statistics!... and, sure, I'll be happy to be the bard of the hour again. Maybe next time I'll tell you all about the troll in the bathroom."
Daugion, Landion and Taovin all exchanged meaningful looks, before Daugion asked with dread, "And how old were you during the troll incident, Marcaunon? Fifteen? Sixteen?" When Harry chirped, "Eleven! But I was mature for my age," Glorfindel dropped his head back into Harry's hair with a moan and the standing elves looked very much as if they would gladly have face-palmed if it weren't so undignified. As they turned to depart, Daugion said firmly to the still-seated Istari, "When you tell that story, Glorfindel will be present, agreed? It's bad enough we must relate the story of the basilisk; I will not endanger us further by making us be the ones to tell your mate more of what you consider to be simple, childhood adventures!" Harry chuckled at the retreating warriors, while Glorfindel merely nodded in fervent agreement, his face still buried in the sweet, raven tresses.
Finally, the field was clear except for the two, closely entwined mates. During the storytelling, Glorfindel had divided his concentration. While he had listened somewhat absently to the adventures his beloved told, the majority of his attention had been focused on the steady beating of that precious heart, the reassurance of his regular breathing, the warmth of his silken skin, the tangible evidence that proved to him that Marcaunon was here, in his arms, alive, safe. He needed the proof of Marcaunon's wellbeing more than he needed his own next heartbeat or breath. Sitting here, soaking in the presence of his truemate, had eased Glorfindel's almost frantic anxiety. He could think again, anyway. He could relax, a little. He could make himself let go of his mate for a short while.
He could, but he damn well wouldn't. No, Glorfindel was holding tight, and as far as he was concerned, that was a condition that would not be changing anytime soon.
He had done his best, truly. He knew Marcaunon was innocent and uncertain in regards to intimate matters. Glorfindel understood his fears and had tried to give his smaller mate the time he needed to become accustomed to Glorfindel's touch, sharing instead the pleasures to be found without the full bonding experience. But the pull of the bond had become increasingly insistent, and the long night of nightmares added to the revelations of his mate's horrific past was taking the decision to wait away from him. The time was up; he literally could not delay any longer; he was certain he would lose his mind if he had to try. The appalling, undeniable reality was that Marcaunon's presence now, in his life, in his arms, was sheerest chance. If his beloved had been any less than he was, in any way, Glorfindel's arms would have remained empty and there would have been another funeral – or four – in the Wizarding World of Terra. Glorfindel would at best have only known of his truemate as a fantasy-induced dream, to dissipate with consciousness and fade from memory. The very thought clawed at his soul. Glorfindel needed to claim his mate, he needed the man with a desperation he could not ever recall feeling in all his long years, about anyone or anything. He clung to Marcaunon's lithe form, breathing in the clean scent, calming himself as he prepared to bare his soul to the younger man.
He need not have worried.
Left alone in the field of sweet grass and wildflowers with his beautiful, troubled mate, Harry carefully turned fully in his elf's arms and lovingly met the worried, hazel gaze. Pressing a quiet kiss to the frown line between Glorfindel's golden, winged eyebrows, Harry stretched his long legs out and shifted until he was no longer kneeling in front of Glorfindel but was instead straddling Glory's lap. Seeing the gentle understanding in the brilliant eyes, Glorfindel issued a long, almost-sobbing sigh and dropped his head to rest for a moment on Harry's strong, lightly-muscled chest.
"I'm here, aglar. I am with you, love. I am not leaving you," Harry whispered into the soft, golden waves of his mate's hair. Glorfindel's only response was an almost-desperate tightening of strongly-muscled arms around Harry's waist.
"I'm serious, Glory," Harry stated with fervent tenderness, tilting Glorfindel's face so he could smile reassuringly into the loving eyes and sorrowful gaze. "It may take a while to be able to fully exorcise my own demons, but this demon will never leave you. You'd better just accept it, husband. You are stuck with me forever."
Glorfindel's arms tightened convulsively around Harry as his head raised sharply. He peered intensely into vulnerable green eyes, heart thudding in hope. "Husband, melleth nin? You willingly declare me herven?" He held his breath as he waited, praying that Harry had truly intended the word, that he understood his meaning. Happiness and relief swept through him as shy eyes did not look away from his own as Harry spoke in a near-whisper, "Glory ….my aglar herven… even if you did not want it, I could never in my heart be any less than your herven. If you do not wish a ceremony, I understand; nor will I speak of it if you do not wish it, but you are my forever-mate, Glory. You are my glorious husband. Mi aglar herven."
Joy exploded within Glorfindel, and his slow, brilliant smile and happy, slightly tearful eyes answered Harry perfectly. "If I did not wish it?" Glorfindel repeated incredulously. "Beloved, I would put it on our battle banner and fly it from the heights if you allowed it! 'If I did not wish it', indeed!" he scoffed.
Feeling his own worry disappear within a wave of happiness, Harry welcomed Glorfindel's fierce kiss with equal passion. Opening his mouth willingly to his husband's tender onslaught, he met Glorfindel's eager tongue with his own and engaged in a playful duel with the questing invader. Harry wrapped his arms around Glorfindel's neck, locked in an erotic dance of lips and teeth and tongues, and allowed himself to be swept along in this rising tide of need and passion.
Parting briefly for air, neither could stand even that tiny separation. Long minutes passed as they rewarded and tormented each other with kisses that were almost combat as they nipped and attacked and devoured and plundered. Glorfindel deliriously muttered words of love and devotion between oral assaults, whispering in Elvish of his joy, declaring and demanding that only he, only Marcaunon's husband, would ever kiss him like this, touch him this way, hold him this close, love him this much. Lost in the fog of sensation Glorfindel created, Harry vaguely heard his Glory speak what sounded like a vow in Old Elvish, the language of Glorfindel's own childhood, and knew in his soul that Glorfindel had just sealed them in a bond of truemates and husbands eternal. Although he did not know the words, Harry offered up his magic into the vow and felt that it was accepted, as their truemate bond flared and changed, somehow becoming even more than it already was.
Glorfindel responded to the moment with even greater passion and a slowly-eroding control that was almost tangible. Dropping hard, repeated kisses on Harry's willing mouth, Glorfindel slowly succumbed to the desperation to seal this bond in the oldest and most profound exchange of love. Opening begging eyes to Harry, he whispered, "Beloved, I know I said we could wait…. Aiee! Mi melleth-nin, I need you. Please, aglar, please be ready for me now!"
Flushed and breathless, Harry interrupted, placing his finger on Glory's lips. "I cannot wait, even if you could, beloved. I need you, too. So….ah!...so much!" He tossed his head back in sharp reaction as Glorfindel gripped his ass in large, strong hands and started to rise to carry his beloved mate, his new herven, back to their marriage bed. Scowling in emphatic denial of such a waste of time, Harry wrapped long legs tightly around Glory's waist, and apparated them directly into their bedroom.
Dinner could most certainly wait.
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THE BONDING
They landed in the middle of their bedroom without missing a step, Glorfindel continuing to rise gracefully to his feet with his bright-eyed mate clinging to him in needy desire. He took care to ensure their silencing curtain was tightly closed, then turned the full force of his formidable attention on the raven-haired beauty in his arms. Tightening strong hands on his little mate's perfectly-rounded posterior, he lifted Marcaunon up a bit to claim his lips in a clear statement of ownership, before slowly sliding the young man down the length of his body til his booted feet touched the floor. They stood together a moment, pressed tightly to each other, Marcaunon's fists gripping Glorfindel's tunic as the golden-haired warrior held his gaze in a clear declaration of immense love and intense desire, in his eyes the forthright pledge of a dominant elf to his truemate.
'Forever,' his eyes told the young man. 'I will love you and protect you and want you – forever.'
A strong, calloused finger traced the few tears that escaped welling emerald eyes, and the tenderness of the warrior's touch tracing down his face seemed to sink beneath Marcaunon's skin and settle in his soul. Raising his own hand to wrap around Glorfindel's, emerald eyes locked with hazel in a moment of pure vulnerability. And, for the first time in his entire life, Harry willingly surrendered.
Glorfindel saw it and felt it, the moment his mate turned all control and power over to him. He was humbled at the young man's faith in him, and awed at the resilient spirit that allowed Harry to endure a life such as he had and still have the ability to trust enough to be so very vulnerable. And again, although the warrior would have said it could not have become any greater than it was, Glorfindel felt his love for Harry Potter / Marcaunon Golden Flower / Demon grow yet again. Holding his beloved's beautiful face gently in his hands, Glory pressed a slow, sensual, open-mouthed kiss upon the parted, tempting lips and poured his love, his devotion, his gratitude, his promise, and his protection into the exchange. Feeling his mate's breath catch in a gentle sob and his hands wrap tightly around his own wrists, Glorfindel knew that Harry had understood. This was more than a kiss. It was a vow.
Slowly separating, Glorfindel dropped another swift kiss onto the upturned lips before taking a small step back. With heavy-lidded eyes, he surveyed his flushed little mate, momentarily amused at Marcaunon's adamant dislike of being called 'little.' It was true, for a male of the race of man, Marcaunon was of respectable height and size, thanks to his own efforts and the goblins to whom Glorfindel felt he owed a debt of gratitude. But elves were a tall race, and Glorfindel was tall for an elf. The only people who even rivaled his own height and size were the twins; Marcaunon was easily a head shorter than the elf. Perfect for holding him close and tucking that cherished head beneath his chin, ideally suited to him in every possible way. To Glorfindel, Marcaunon would always be 'his little mate.'
Seeing his young mate standing flushed and aroused in front of him, eyes raised trustingly to meet his own while nervous hands clenched the fabric of his tunic and a shy blush deepened the ivory cheeks to light rose, Glorfindel finally allowed his desire free reign. Reaching out a steady hand, feeling the clarity that normally came to him in moments of battle sweeping his senses, the warrior let his heated hazel gaze slowly drift from his trembling mate's hair down past his clenching fists to his shifting, booted feet. Deliberately maintaining a small, open space between their bodies, he began to unfasten Marcaunon's tunic, one slow button at a time, allowing his fingers to just barely brush the skin beneath. When he reached the last button, he took hold of each side of the open shirt and deliberately parted it, baring the toned stomach and panting chest to his hungry gaze. He followed the path with lusting eyes as he ran a single, questing finger down that glorious skin from throat to navel, delighting in the shivers that accompanied its journey, before pacing a predatory circle around the trembling man. Stopping directly behind his breathless mate, he pressed his warm chest to Marcaunon's back and reached long arms around to grasp the open edges of the tunic and pull it slowly back off the muscled shoulders and down the defined, silver-scarred back, letting the fabric whisper across the sensitive skin and add its own level of sensation to the torment he was sensually inflicting upon his herven. Releasing the tunic to fall and pool at their feet, he pulled the silken hair to the side and lightly blew a torturous breath on the bared neck. Leaning down slightly, the warrior rested his chin on an ivory shoulder, delighting in the light sheen of perspiration that now misted across his mate's skin, and pressed his face into the hollow of Marcaunon's neck and shoulder to breathe lightly of the intoxicating scent and to send his own, warm breath dancing across the shivering skin. He watched in satisfaction as the dusky nipples below his gaze pebbled and darkened without yet being touched, and could feel through the bond that his delectable mate was utterly lost to the sweet seductive war Glorfindel was waging.
Moving his head slightly, Glorfindel pressed his lips to the delicate ear hiding in the raven tresses and lightly growled, a deep, rumbling vibration of desire and dominance that sent responsive shudders through his entranced mate. He placed strong, calloused hands around Marcaunon's waist, still pressed against the beautiful, bared back, and slid long fingers beneath the waistband of the leather pants. He was deeply pleased that there was no intervening fabric to stop his fingers from finding and gently combing the wiry curls that greeted him, and growled again in approval as Marcaunon whimpered. He felt the hard, hot silk of his young mate's erect cock as it twitched against the back of his hands and sought to follow his gentle movements. He smiled against Marcaunon's throat at the distressed whine when he slowly pulled his hands from beneath the leather, and purred soothingly in reassurance. As his sure hands found and began to unbuckle the silver belt, Marcaunon's breath caught and his whole body pushed back against Glorfindel in response. They pressed together, barely breathing, as Glorfindel discarded the belt and opened the leather trousers, baring Marcaunon's erection to the cooler air of the room. Torturously ignoring its needy twitching, Glorfindel passed his long, strong hands in teasing strokes across the skin near his mate's cock before running them down the firm hips and long thighs, delighting in the trembling of the strong muscles of his little mate's legs as he slowly peeled the leather pants down the long, graceful limbs. Kneeling behind Marcaunon, the warrior sensuously rubbed his face against the silky skin of muscled thighs, sending a teasing swipe of tongue into the crease where buttock met thigh, and forced his mate to balance against him as he lifted each foot in turn to remove the distinctive boots and finally, FINALLY, strip the leather pants fully from his shivering, panting beloved.
Slowly rising to his feet, Glorfindel made sure to press against his mate's body during the ascent, to once again stand pressed, fully clothed, against the back and buttocks of the beautifully naked, fully aroused Marcaunon. He again used fabric as a weapon, letting the textures of his clothing rubbing against the silken skin add its own level of sensation to the sensuous torture he was inflicting on Marcaunon. Resting his huge, aching erection against the bared buttocks, Glorfindel lightly thrust at the same moment as he placed strong hands on naked hips and pulled Marcaunon back against him. Letting his long, golden hair fall forward and slide against the goose-pimpled skin, he thrust again, closing his eyes in pleasure, and growled low in his throat in reassurance as his mate's breath caught in a near-sob of need.
Prowling around his mate again, Glorfindel stopped in front of the dazed young man and assessed his condition with deep satisfaction. Marcaunon was exquisite. His ivory skin was flushed and lightly dewed with perspiration, his muscled torso, flat abdomen and long, toned legs could have been crafted by an artist, if not for the intricate, silvery sheen of dozens of scars scattered delicately across the ivory skin. His beautiful manhood was fully engorged, hard and deeply-colored with arousal, standing out proudly from a nest of raven-dark curls. His gembright eyes were dark with desire, lids heavy and cheeks and lips flushed as he panted lightly. Long, silky black hair swirled in wild waves around his shoulders, framing his face and catching the moonlight that poured in the clerestory windows high on the wall. He was perfect. Breathtaking.
"Mine!" Glorfindel purred possessively, suddenly stepping forward to pull Marcaunon into his embrace as he walked the willing young man backward to bed. When the mattress his the back of Marcaunon's knees, Glorfindel did not stop; rather, he used his impressive strength with ease as he continued his young man's backward momentum until Marcaunon was stretched in a long, naked line upon the large bed, the aroused warrior poised above him like a conqueror. Glorfindel pulled Marcaunon's hands up to either side of the black hair, cast across the bedspread in wild disarray, and pressed his mate's hands firmly into the bed as he captured the parted, panting lips in an open-mouthed kiss so passionate that Marcaunon's hips involuntarily thrust upward, seeking the friction his mate cruelly denied him. Ending the kiss by suckling on the plump lower lip that had tormented him all day, Glorfindel rose above Marcaunon and looked at him sternly. "Do not move," the elven warrior commanded. He waited for the emerald eyes to meet his own and for his mate to nod in dazed obedience before he pulled himself off the bed and began to undress.
He took no care to draw out the process, preferring to shed his clothing and return to his nude and aroused mate as expediently as possible. Efficiently removing boots and tunic at the same time, he met Marcaunon's fascinated gaze and watched as he released the waistband of his pants and allowed them to slide to puddle at his feet. He stood tall and muscled, strong legs a pace apart, utterly comfortable in his nakedness. His long, thick cock was fully aroused, proudly displayed for his flushed young mate, twitching in response as heated viridian eyes locked upon it and a pink tongue emerged to moisten the plump lower lip that tempted Glorfindel so. Possessive hazel eyes watched that tongue and his cock twitched again insistently.
Glorfindel waited until the darkening green gaze raised to meet his own, watching his mate's eyes widen in trepidation as they took in the possessive, lustful, heated intent in the powerful warrior's face. As Marcaunon's breath stuttered and he froze in place, shuddering prey to the aroused alpha predator above him, Glorfindel bared his teeth in a smile of satisfied ownership and descended upon his mate like a great mountain cat upon a trembling meal.
He started at Marcaunon's feet. Nipping, nibbling kisses, licking and sucking, moist tongue and sharp, white teeth that teased and tormented across the long, inner arch of graceful feet, up the well-formed calves, moving the responsive limbs to his will and sending shocks of sensation up his mate's body as the backs of his knees were explored, mapping out the strong upper legs and sensitive skin of his inner thighs. The warrior ran his straight, strong nose along the silken length of Marcaunon's weeping cock, allowing his hair to brush across it and make it leap and strain, tantalizing the sensitive skin of the heavy globes nestled beneath, before he continued upwards. Holding his mate's hips down as Marcaunon strained for contact, rolling his hips desperately in a bid for friction, he allowed the now-moaning young man only the continued torture of hot breath and silken hair on his manhood as he continued to map out the beautiful body beneath him. He dipped a hot, moist tongue into the shadowed navel, enjoying the rapid clench of firm stomach muscles, and swirled his tongue across the taut abdomen and sensitive ribs. Lightly licking one tightly pebbled nipple, he brew a hot breath across the moisture and reveled in his mate's startled yelp and breathy moans as he suckled and nibbled and feasted from one nipple to the other across the heaving chest.
All the while, Glorfindel's hands were busy, fully occupied in exploring the moaning, writhing, delectable body of his truemate while he documented the tastes and scents and sounds that he would forevermore identify as mine. He touched Marcaunon everywhere, alternating the delicate touch of a master craftsman with the firm grip of a warrior, never letting his mate settle, never letting a touch become familiar before it changed and morphed and transformed into another, and another, and another. He was ruthlessly employing millennia of sensual experience toward a single goal: the complete, overwhelming seduction of one Istari warrior. His herven.
Finally reaching Marcaunon's mouth, from which panting breaths and shocked whimpers and moans emerged amidst sweet whispers of "Glory! Please! My husband, please!", Glorfindel descended upon the lips of his mate like a thirsting elf in need of quenching. He seized that delicious cavern with his own, fierce kiss, ruthlessly forcing the tender lips wide and plundering the tender interior with devastating skill. Marcaunon's hands were now clenched in his long, golden hair, pulling tightly against the overwhelming attack on his body, and Glorfindel loved it. He felt Marcaunon's long leg wrap around his own and allowed his mate to pull him down upon him with leg and arms and tempting, teasing mouth. Both males moaned in appreciation as the warrior settled his nude, muscular form upon the smaller man, and long minutes were spent lost in the joy of skin on skin, caressing hands and deep, passionate kisses.
Reaching a long arm out unerringly to snag the small jar and towel he had placed on the sidetable that morning, he congratulated himself on that bit of forethought and began once more to slide down Marcaunon's addictive form. Glorfindel journeyed back the way he had begun, descending down his mate's form with nibbling, nipping kisses until he swirled a skilled tongue into the shadowed navel and settled between the twisting, toned thighs. He raised heavy-lidded eyes to Marcaunon's wide-eyed gaze, amused to see that the young man was resting on his bent arms as he watched his golden warrior. Keeping his intent focus upon his desperately aroused but blushingly shy mate, he lowered his face slightly and dropped a gentle kiss upon the butter-soft tip of Marcaunon's cock. It twitched in immediate response and Marcaunon's mouth opened in panting hope. Watching his little mate watch him, Glorfindel finally opened his mouth fully and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, took the heavy cock into his mouth. Marcaunon's helpless, quavering, breathy "Glooorrrryyy..!" went straight to his own cock, and he pushed his hips into the mattress beneath as he concentrated on pleasing his mate. Holding the lean hips down upon the bed with one hand, Glorfindel swirled his tongue around the length of silken flesh in his mouth, bobbing his head, alternately sucking and licking his mate's manhood while cupping and caressing the heavy sac and listening to Marcaunon's desperate whispers and moans. Feeling the round balls begin to tighten and draw up against Marcaunon's body, he firmly tugged them back down and smiled devilishly at his mate's indignant yelp. Releasing the saliva-slick cock from his mouth with a vulgar pop, he smirked up at the scowling emerald eyes, wanting to laugh but restraining himself, and told Marcaunon, "You will not cum until I am deep within you and am cumming, as well - not a moment sooner. Understand?" He stroked the hard length in his hand for emphasis, adding an almost brutal twist near the end of the movement that caused Marcaunon's elbows to unlock and drop him back upon the bed at the added surge of pleasure his mate literally forced out of him. Blinking emerald eyes dazedly at the ceiling, he realized from the sudden, deliberate stillness of that wonderful hand and mouth that Glorfindel was waiting for his answer. Trying to look irritated but sure he only managed to look desperately aroused, he jerkily nodded his head in agreement and then could not help but plead, "Glory, don't stop! Please!"
The heat in his mate's eyes nearly sent him over the edge as the Elven Warrior growled, "Beloved, I wouldn't stop if Sauron himself were at the door." With that, the wicked mouth descended again upon his needy cock and Marcaunon surrendered to the insanely-skilled abilities of his glorious warrior.
Knocking the lid off the ceramic jar, Glorfindel dipped two long fingers into the lightly-scented oil and brought them between his mate's straining thighs. Slowly releasing the hot, wet cock from his mouth, the warrior pointed his tongue and delicately dipped it into the weeping slit at the tip just as he allowed one circling finger to penetrate the twitching, sensitive rosebud between his mate's clenching buttocks. The distraction worked, and his long finger slid into the tight heat of Marcaunon's body with relative ease, blessed in its passage by the reassurance of the bond humming between them. Finger carefully twisting and turning within Marcaunon's body as Glorfindel licked and sucked the straining cock, the warrior had to close his eyes and exert fierce self-control when his raven-haired beauty begged him to hurry. By Mandos, hearing his mate urge Glorfindel to take him NOW in a breathless voice husky with uncontrolled desire was enough to make the warrior cum unassisted! Resisting the siren's call of his mate's pleading voice, Glorfindel took his time adding a second finger, and then the third, carefully stretching the tight passage in preparation for a much larger invasion. He considered adding a fourth finger, knowing that his own, fully-aroused cock was, like Glorfindel, far larger than the average elf, but the desperation in his mate's voice and the spasmodic clenching of his ass around his fingers when they lightly brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves within his mate was too much for even Glorfindel to resist. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his fingers from his mate's body and quickly slicked up his own cock before wiped his hand on the towel. Releasing the frantically-weeping cock from his mouth, Glorfindel rose up over his mate as though he were the avenging angel of the two. Marcaunon was so far gone in his need of his powerful mate that he nearly wept in relief as Glorfindel loomed above him, reaching desperate arms up to the blond warrior and spreading his legs wantonly, uncaring of his dignity.
Capturing the heated, green fire of his herven's gaze, he dropped a strong, wet, open-mouthed kiss upon the beloved lips, a kiss eagerly returned in kind by a moaning, panting Marcaunon. Glorfindel positioned himself at his mate's prepared core, and raised both of Marcaunon's legs up to rest on his strong forearms. It took every bit of his formidable self-control to press his straining, engorged cock carefully into the delicious rosebud of his mate's core, but Glorfindel was rewarded when Marcaunon's body received him as if it, too, knew they belonged together. He closed his eyes in bliss as he sank into the incredibly tight, wondrously hot depths of his beloved's perfect body, feeling his heavy balls resting blissfully against his mate's buttocks, pausing a moment to allow Marcaunon to accept his invasion. It was not long before Marcaunon desperately urged, "Move! Oh, goddess, Glory, please move!" Opening his eyes and looking down into the glazed gaze, he hissed when Marcaunon rolled his hips desperately against him, driving his cock even deeper into that perfect ass, and then obeyed his little lover with a will. Glorfindel moved.
Marcaunon threw his head back and nearly screamed as his fierce, powerful, glorious mate pounded into him, hitting his prostate every time he thrust with devastating accuracy. As his balls once again began to tighten and draw up, he was enraged when Glorfindel clamped a tight hand around the base of his penis and refused to let him cum. The need was building, coiling within him, the pleasure mounting and trebling and spiking and that son-of-a-bitch he was mated to kept his fingers tight around his cock and refused him release! Marcaunon sobbed in ecstatic despair as Glorfindel pounded his prostate with the silk-wrapped length of steel the warrior claimed was his penis, but it couldn't be, because if it were he would have cum already and he, Harry, wouldn't still be spiraling upward into an impossibly high peak of pleasure that kept spiking and climbing.
Glorfindel held tightly to his mate's cock, denying him the orgasm his young mate desperately wanted. He would have laughed, had he the breath, at the furious green glare as it conflicted with the endless stream of pleas and endearments flowing from the perfect mouth. Glorfindel was not new to the bedroom arts; several thousands of years of practice probably qualified him as lethal even here. But he was not trying to kill his little mate, no matter what the young man seemed to think at the moment. He knew what he was doing. This first time together would further cement the truemate bond, and he would not have it be anything less than as powerful and intense and soul-changing as their love itself. Rolling his hips expertly to change his angle of entry just slightly, he managed to still hit his mate's prostate – hard – but at a slightly different angle, refusing to let his mate even get a chance to adapt to the mind-bending spikes of pleasure without ensuring they varied in potency and effect. Tears of ecstacy began to roll down Marcaunon's face, and Glorfindel leaned forward to run a long, loving tongue down the sweaty cheek to taste the sweet tears. He could feel through the bond what his little mate felt; he knew that Marcaunon was not weeping in pain or fear. He felt as his mate did; that together they were driving toward nirvana, one powerful thrust at a time.
Releasing his tight grip on the base of Marcaunon's cock and sitting back on his heels, Glory pulled Marcaunon up into his lap, forcing the young man to straddle him and leaning him back to semi-recline as Glorfindel supported him with impossibly strong arms. The added tension of the posture, their quivering muscles, the sweat pouring from their bodies, and the relentless pounding of Glorfindel's cock as he drove into Marcaunon's ass finally, FINALLY, pushed them both over the dangerously high peak they had climbed together. In time with each other, the ecstasy coiled tighter and tighter, before snapping under the pressure and recoiling violently through their straining bodies. As ecstasy slammed into him, Glorfindel pulled his mate tightly into his arms, pushing him down onto his cock as they clung together. Nearly blacking out at the intensity of his explosive release, Glorfindel's hips spasmed in time with the long, powerful pulses of his agonizing climax deep within his mate's responsive body. Even then, lost in the mindless moments of nearly unendurable pleasure, he protected his mate, holding the young man close as he screamed out his ecstasy to the havens. Welcoming the long, hot ropes of white pleasure that pulsed between their bodies from Marcaunon's now violently-sensitive cock, Glorfindel shuddered along with his mate and held him close as they endured the remaining, shuddering spasms of their joining.
As their bodies finally began to calm from the violence of the storm they had created, Marcaunon collapsed against his mate's chest and wept. The bond between them nearly glowed with vitality, and the young man in his arms was simply overwhelmed by the strength of their love and the power of their bond. Glorfindel's muscles quivered, but he held his young herven close and comforted him with soothing circles on his back by hands that would never be less than strong enough for his beloved. Carefully wiping away the spent seed of his beloved, he tossed the towel to the floor and pressed a gentle kiss upon the swollen lips, tenderly capturing the small sob that emerged from his mate. Surrendering to the fast-encroaching exhaustion, Glorfindel gently pulled Marcaunon down with him, to lie wrapped in his arms, tousled head resting on his chest, whispering promises and endearments to his love and listening to the sobbing breaths slow and even out as sleep descended. Just as his heavy eyelids finally closed for the night, Glorfindel heard Marcaunon whisper, "I love you, Glory." He thought he managed to mumble a reply as he drifted off to sleep.
oooooooooooooooooooo
THE DEVIL SANDWICH
Glorfindel had departed before Legolas had finished asking for the story of how the Demon Team became winged. The Mirkwood Prince understood completely; the Balrog-slayer needed to be with his mate, needed to assure himself that his mate was here and safe and whole. Legolas felt the same need regarding his own mates who, while enduring their own hellish past, when compared to Marcaunon had led wonderful lives. It didn't matter what degree of Hell it had been; each of these remarkable people had led lives of horror and despair, and somehow emerged strong and wonderful and absolutely beautiful.
He did not need to consult the delicate bond that had begun to hum between the three mates for Legolas to know that his Devils were in pain. Dredging up the past had been excruciating for them, and seeing his smiling mates rendered grimfaced and silent made the blond archer want to personally help kill those who had created this pain. As that was not possible – for the moment – he chose to use distraction to help bring his Devils back to themselves and their present happiness. Mentally reviewing the past hour, he focused on a moment when the mood of the Devils and Angel had seemed to lighten momentarily.
Tilting his head to the side curiously, unaware that the twins immediately decided that he was adorable like that, Legolas looked from Fred to George and asked, "What did you mean when you three spoke of how hard Harry - er, Marcaunon – trained? You seemed amused."
George smirked as he pulled their little one's feet into his lap, removing the low boots to begin caressing and rubbing the slender bones and soft skin. He watched with a grin as Legolas tried not to moan in pleasure. "You can call him Harry, beloved. Our original names are for family. Use them if you prefer, or not. As to your question, Harry was a slave driver. He was completely ruthless. When we finally got a spell mastered, he would congratulate us, and then say 'Now, do it another 100 times so that it becomes a reflex and so we can recognize that spell from another."
"Not only that, but we also learned every shield and counter to the one spell, so that we could practice casting it at each other and learning to block and dodge faster. We learned more about every single spell than most of our fellow students learned in total about all of the spells. I'm just thankful he had us learning martial arts long before we actually had to do any serious dueling," Fred added ruefully, toying with their mate's hair. He loved running the long strands through his fingers, it felt like cool silk and shone like moonlight in his hands.
Legolas furrowed his brow, another look that the twins decided was adorable on their little mate. "Why? What does one have to do with the other?" He thought for a moment, then ventured, "Possibly speed? Reflexes?" He felt a burst of pride at the looks of approval on his mates' faces, and resisted the urge to preen a little. It was hard, though; he had precious few memories of someone else being proud of his intellect.
"Exactly so. Because the martial arts training gave us the extra 'oomph' to dodge," George replied, tickling the feet in his lap. He gripped the kicking ankle firmly and gently soothed the twitching foot. Exchanging a glance with Fred, he knew they had both filed away for later exploration the fact that their little mate had very sensitive feet.
Legolas was quiet for a few moments, reflecting on what the twins' past had been like. "Did you celebrate any special days together, after you became a family? Naming days, perhaps?" he asked, remembering the small happy celebrations when he was younger and still allowed to be just Legolas.
Large, reminiscent smiles appeared on the strongly handsome faces. "Oh, yes. Demon made sure that our birthdays were huge celebrations. For a young man raised without a family, he's incredibly good at taking care of one. He had the whole manor decorated festively and all of our favorite foods were prepared - and the amount of gifts he gave us was amazing! Of course, most were practical gifts, like our ceremonial axes and our cloaks, dress robes…!" George chuckled fondly, lightly caressing the fine-boned ankles beneath his hands. He liked to pet Legolas, and Legolas liked to be petted. He'd be willing to bet if Legolas had an animagus form, he would definitely be a cat. He could almost hear their little elf purring under the attention.
Following his twin's thoughts with ease, Fred grinned as he ran caressing hands through the moonlight hair and continued to reminisce. "Harry does wonderful birthday presents. That's when we'd get our best prank material, rare potion ingredients, books, rare candies…. He was even able to sneak Siri and Remy over for the celebrations. We had an early birthday party for him, too, in June. We sort of figured that one or both of the old bastards would sabotage his birthday. Hmmm, I think that was one of the few days we had together before the war ended."
"Not just parties, though. Harry cares for family like no one else ever could or would. Until we met Harry, we were probably the only two people who ever saw the other as individuals, but who also really understood our bond as twins. We weren't just two more freckled redheads. After he tore our old family a new asshole – which they needed, considering the amount of crap they utter - he took us shopping. We had left the Weasley home with nothing. At first, we tried to get second-hand stuff, go on the cheap, you know? So, he just started vanishing all the cheap stuff we picked and throwing in the most expensive items he could find, just to make a point that we were actually worth it. He wouldn't stop until we had gotten anything and everything we really wanted, and a lot of things we had never even thought about but turns out we needed. For the first time, we had new clothes that fit us in body and personalities. He did the same for Luna as well." George shook his head in awe, having to swallow hard against the memory of how it felt to suddenly have so much value to someone other than his twin.
Legolas missed nothing as he watched and noted every little nuance his mates showed. "I don't understand. What did you mean? Your brother showed you more familial love?" Legolas asked. He was bothered by this. Even though his mates had been disowned, it sounded like their childhoods before that event had not been happy either. And he still didn't understand how it wasn't obvious to everyone that there was George, rubbing his feet, and this was clearly Fred, petting his hair. They were so different, his Eredhion and Sidhenidon, but they were the Devils, too, utterly together. How was that complicated? He huffed in frustration and focused back on his mates.
George's jaw was clenched, and he didn't answer, so Fred explained softly, "We were from a large family, one that was not well-off and had very little regard in the community. We had three older brothers and two younger siblings. Our parents praised the older ones for their perfect schooling, successful careers, and such. Our younger ex-siblings were needy children, with Ron whining until he got praise and attention he hadn't earned, and Ginny… well, she was the only girl, and the littlest kid as well. Spoiled rotten; pretty much praised for breathing. But Georgie and I – not so much. Just the twins; flip sides of the same coin, nothing special, mostly a bother. We always had a good sense of humor; it helped us to deal with everything. So once George and I were old enough to understand that we could only rely on each other, we began to distance ourselves from our family. And they let us. Not actually sure they even noticed. While we weren't neglected like Harry, none of them had time for us. The oldest got new things because they were first, or best, or whatever. The youngest got new things because they whined the loudest, or were the precious baby girl… or whatever. But us – nah. We got hand-me-downs from our older brother's hand-me-downs. Leftover stuff for the leftover kids. Our siblings were praised for their accidental magic; it showed they were powerful and talented. When we had accidental magic, it was because we were undisciplined and causing trouble. We were blamed for the things that our younger siblings did wrong, intentionally or accidentally. Like dishes exploding and such. So, we retaliated by pranking. If we were going to get scolded for something, it might as well be our own work," Fred ended with a smirk. It conflicted strongly with the pain in his eyes. Legolas felt his heart clench; this was so wrong! How could his wonderful, utterly original mates have been so overlooked? How was that even possible? How blind did a person have to be to miss them?
George smiled gently at the dark thoughts evident on their little elf's expressive face. The Weasleys were all in the past; their lives now were filled with love and pride. Lifting a slender foot to begin a soothing massage against the delicate arch, he smirked at Legolas' appreciative moan and continued the history lesson. "So, when Harry made us officially his family – actually, even before that! - he praised us. He didn't offer empty compliments, but he really understood and appreciated our new ideas for pranks, he encouraged us in our studies, made sure we had not just what we needed but what he felt we deserved, what would make us happy. He actually cared that we were happy! He hugged us and whispered encouragement whenever things became too hard. He pushed us to do our best, but knew when we needed a break and made sure we took care of ourselves and each other. In some ways, Harry was more like an older brother – maybe even a father to us -than he was our younger brother. He's gone through so much that he can't help but be mature and have this – I don't know, this presence, I guess. For Luna-girl, he definitely was an older brother or father, while we were just her older brothers," George explained, moving away from the tempting ankles and now rubbing Legolas's legs. The elf was nearly boneless with relaxation, but remained focused on learning about his mates.
Relaxing into the petting of his hair and massaging of his legs, Legolas thought for a moment. It sounded a lot like how he felt when Gimli befriended him, melting his well-trained icy defenses with the simple warmth and concern and acceptance the paternal dwarf offered unhesitatingly. Smiling softly, he tilted his head as something occurred to him. "You went to that school, filled with students and teachers. It sounded like it was quite large. I understand that Harry had a horrible situation, but what of you? You had no teachers or mentors on your side at all? Besides those that you had contracted through the goblins, I mean."
Fred and George paused for bit, thinking back before George finally thought of one, "Well, there was Professor Sprout. She was pretty great, actually. She was always letting things slide whenever we did something prankish, so long as our work was done and no one was hurt. Well, no one who didn't deserve to be hurt, that is," he corrected darkly. "And she was the only one I remember who gave detentions and took points from people who gossiped and mocked us, especially after we were disowned." Chuckling at the demanding wiggle of the slim feet in his lap, he resumed his massage, smiling as his elf once again melted against them.
Fred tipped Legolas head back to smile down into the soft blue eyes that looked up at him inquiringly, before dropping a kiss between the finely-shaped eyebrows and resuming his compulsive petting of their elf's addictive hair. "Too bad she didn't have more power at the school; she was one of our favorite teachers. She would always smile and laugh at our pranks. She even sent hints our way for pranks…"
"Yeah she would say something like, 'not that I would think of such a thing, but if I were a prankster, I'd want to know that devil's snare when dried is great for providing an extra oomph in certain potions.' She'd never be looking at us when she did that, always sort of talking to the air in our general vicinity." George laughed fondly as he remembered the vigorous, plump woman.
"I wonder how she is doing…" The twins trailed off together, lost in memories as they continued to pet and pamper their purring elf.
oooooooooooooooooooo
WHERE WOULD I BE WITHOUT LUNA?
Haldir rested his back against the headboard of their bed, his luminous Angel resting peacefully in his arms, her beautiful hair spread across his naked chest in a pale curtain of softest silk. He adored this woman, so new to his life, but fitting within his very soul as if born there. His arms tightened around her, calloused hands caressing the silken skin of her back and hip, as he reflected upon the day and watched his minx sleep.
He felt exhausted, worn out from the highs and lows of a very long, emotional day. From the morning filled with satisfying the aggravating, incredulous questions of the warriors regarding the Lost Tribe, through the feast at Helm's Deep and all that it entailed, to the shocking moment when his mate and her family suddenly sprouted wings and launched them into the sky – and wasn't that a hilarious surprise for them to spring on Haldir and Glorfindel, who had thought they were fully apprised of the plans for the day!-, through fending off his amorous mate in the air and then taking her – repeatedly – once on the ground, only to join his family in the central gathering room for a history lesson so painful he was still shaken by it … ! Valar, he was grateful this day was over, and that his precious, priceless mate lay safely in his arms.
Haldir felt sleep trying to take him, and he fought it back stubbornly. He wanted to remain awake, to guard and protect his Angel and hold her close all through the night. He had a deep fear, irrational though it may be, that he would awake to find it had all been a wonderful dream. Even the thought opened a wound within his heart. Watching Luna sleep off the maelstrom of emotions she had undergone earlier, the Marchwarden of Lothlorien felt desperately vulnerable to the vagaries of fate. It was not lost on him that, had Marcaunon been any less the incredible person he was, he would not have the happiness he had now. His Angel would not be here, none of them would be here. For all he knew, rather than being pulled from battle by his mate and dropped within the protective circle of the newly-arrived Demon Team, he could have simply died on the battlefield at Helm's Deep, slain by some unknown uruk-hai or orc, never to know his beautiful Angel or her remarkable family.
Had Marcaunon been any less, Middle Earth may well have continued its death march into the darkness that is Sauron. But the Demon Team was here, and the Lost Tribe was returning, and Haldir did not even feel he was tempting fate by believing that somehow, everything was going to be all right.
But he still refused to sleep. Tracing a gentle hand over the delicate features of the astonishing woman in his arms, Haldir sent a brief prayer of gratitude to the Valar for bringing her and her family to Arda. Again, it all comes back to Marcaunon. A sneer marred the handsome face as Haldir recalled the details about Luna's own father, and the torments of her school years before Demon. Well, before Harry Potter, he supposed. Thank the Valar, again, for Glorfindel's new mate. He wondered briefly if his beloved would have still turned out as beautiful and playful, serene and deadly, without the man who first called her sister, before his throat clenched in borrowed sorrow and he abruptly abandoned that line of thought, not wishing to think of his life without his mate.
Brushing his hand against her soft cheek, Haldir's eyes slowly closed and his breathing deepened and evened out as he slowly relaxed into sleep – but his arms remained firmly wrapped around the slender figure resting against his chest.
oooooooooooooooooooo
MOONLIGHT MEETING
As the moon rose and the camp slept, except for the few guards posted well away into the trees, four shadowy figures moved silently over the ground til they reached a moonlit meadow redolent with the dewy aroma of tall grass and wildflowers.
The moon watched as a Demon raised his sword confidently, watching the shadows and assessing his opponents. Several paces away, an Angel waited serenely, twin short swords resting tip first in the soft earth. Elsewhere, a pair of smirking Devils swung their axes from long, muscled arms in a practiced battle warm-up.
For a moment, nature itself seemed to hold its breath as the four paused, before time flowed back into normal progression as the four figures moved as one. The weapons met in a four-way clash with a single sound, perfectly timed, and with that they swung into a graceful battle that was as well called a dance. It was fierce, physical, graceful, violent. It was beautifully choreographed and wildly impulsive. Weapons rang as they clashed, whistling through the air with practiced speed and strength. The warriors held nothing back, except their magic. This was not about the magic. It was about the dance.
Fully focused in the vigorous exchange of muscle and metal and skill, they did not notice the small audience that gathered and watched. One by one, Glorfindel, Legolas, and Haldir had awoken to empty arms and beds and come a-hunting their mates. Gimli followed silently, always ready to lend his aid to friends and family. The closest guard heard the ring of metal and came to investigate, as did Daugion, who was the warden on call this night and had been seated by the fire. Slowly, the privileged few gathered to watch an extraordinary demonstration of the battle skills of the Demon Team.
It was an otherworldly dance, with deadly weapons.
They stood in awe as Angel gracefully twirled away from a swinging axe to block a vicious chop from Demon, who in turn ducked a swipe from a lethal axe from the Devils. They watched the Devils skillfully side step each other's blow while stopping attacks from the Demon and Angel. They worked together, and individually, and in pairs, and in every combination imaginable. No words or signals were given, that any of the observers could detect. The four were in such harmony that the sounds of their weapons and the gentle breeze through the grasses with the crickets for accompaniment created a song that only these few were privileged to hear.
Gimli watched the devilish axe-warriors with shining eyes. This was poetry, made lethal.
As the fight came to a graceful end, the audience all smiled in awed appreciation as each of the four held another in a death point, none to survive, none to die this day. With familiar ease, the weapons were withdrawn and placed on the ground. Moving as one, again, each of the four moved forward and closed the circle to embrace and comfort each other.
None of those watching missed the fact that Demon seemed to be the primary comforter of the group, calling forth his magnificent wings to wrap around his family protectively as the Devils each dropped their heads onto one of his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist and one around Luna, who stood with her own arms around Demon's neck. They watched as Demon wrapped strong arms around the Devil's shoulders and placed his own head lovingly atop Luna's fair hair, sheltering and comforting his family. There were no dry eyes as the raven-haired young man whose own life dictated he should not have been able to love, whispered soothingly to his siblings – possibly his children? – and dropped a tender kiss upon each bowed head. The beautiful black feathers rippled in the midnight breeze.
So poignant, and achingly beautiful.
A few moments later, they slowly separated to sit together in the long grass, talking about the past couple of days. Reconnecting with each other since finding their mates and dealing with the stress of sprouting wings, travelling, battle once more and their shared past.
Daugion and the night guard thoughtfully returned to their positions while Gimli and the trio of mates quietly left the meadow, leaving the siblings to care for each other, knowing they needed this time. The four males shared a look of unspoken agreement, conveying wordlessly that what they had seen would remain private and cherished. They separated and returned to their separate rooms, Gimli to settle into sleep while the others patiently awaited their mate's return.
ooooooooooooooooooo
MARAUDERS' HONOR
"Damn it, Remy! They've only been gone for a few days and already this world holds no appeal to us. Without our kids, I really don't want to be here," Sirius Black growled, while Hedwig hooted and hissed in angry agreement. The snowy owl was staring at a wizarding photo of Harry and his siblings.
"I know, Siri, but if we are going to follow, we need to make sure that everything is taken care of. And yes, I agree, we are going to follow. Plus, I think Hedwig is just as annoyed as you are. If she doesn't stop glaring at Harry's painting, it might combust," Remus teased the two tiredly. He wanted his pack back. He missed their children. He and Sirius were actually more brothers than just long-time friends, but they shared the same type of bond as Harry, Luna, Fred and George.
The pain had been bad when Harry forced them into hiding, but the moment they had actually left this world for the other, both Sirius and Remus had been in torment. Hedwig, too, was in emotional pain, feeling the bond of a Familiar stretched unbearably thin. They had made plans to get themselves into Middle Earth, working feverishly with Harry and the kids in the week before they departed, but both had awakened this morning with the overwhelming sense that something had changed. Something big.
Now the urgency to follow their kids into Middle Earth was overwhelming. Their tasks here were nearly done. And although neither had discussed it, Remus suspected that both of them were also experiencing this strange sense of anticipation, as if they were young again and Yule was coming.
Hedwig puffed out her feathers indignantly at Remus's teasing, clearly relaying the message of 'I would never!' before punishing him by eating Remus's food.
Sirius laughed at Remus's look of abused resignation, before taking a sip of his tea and leaning back into his chair, hoping that his pups were alright, and wondering why he had this shivery feeling of excitement that just would not go away.
ooooooooooooooooooo
AN IDEA SPROUTS
Professor Pomona Sprout was attending to her plants, lost in the meditative state that allowed her to do her best thinking.
She was mostly thinking of the Demon Team, wondering if they were alright, hoping that they weren't injured and that they were finally living their lives. If only she knew where they were, she would have gone over and seen for herself, but if there was one thing she knew about Harry Potter it was that if he didn't want them to be found, then no one would find them. Hedwig could have found him, but she was no longer in the owlery. No one noticed when she left, or knew where she had gone.
Her busy hands paused a moment as a thought occurred to her. Wherever he was, Harry would still need money. Maybe the Goblins could pass a message for her. Nodding decisively, Pomona cleaned up her workspace and briskly walked to her rooms, where she began composing a letter for her favorite students. She only wished her own prodigy apprentice had been able to be part of that group. The poor boy would have been so much better off supported by the strength and protection of the Demon Team than subjected to the useless people assigned to befriend him. Her apprentice had never wanted to be part of that evil man's manipulations; he was happiest hiding in her classroom or the greenhouses, working with plants. Then those little backstabbers tried to sink their claws into him. Even though Harry and her student weren't friends, the boy had definitely looked up to and admired Harry Potter. Pomona believed that Harry would have accepted the boy into his heart, perhaps even his family, if only he had overcome his crippling shyness and gained the courage to actually talk to the lad. Maybe things could have been different. They could have been better.
She looked thoughtfully at the letter she was composing and raised wondering eyes to gaze out her window. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'they still can.'