As always, thanks to the very lovely reviewers and to those who have favourited /asked for alerts. Especially freddie, firerosedreamer, nako, terehsa and lotrfn. You make it worth writing this. Thank you!
No beta as my wonderful Anar is working hard on the sequel to Sons of Thunder with me so all mistakkes ae my owwn.
Warning: very mild sexual situation.
Chapter 12: News from the South
'You're lying on my hair,' Miriel murmured into Legolas' neck. Legolas smiled, a little drunk still from the night before, the Feast of Starlight. And he had no idea whatsoever of how he had ended with Miriel in his rooms…he turned his head, feeling warmth on his other side. Or Lossar. But his limbs felt soft and relaxed, sated.
'You're lying on mine too,' Legolas replied comfortably. 'My hair that is.'
'You are both lying on mine,' said Lossar and he smiled slowly, lazily in the way he had that Legolas found so sexually alluring.
Legolas rolled over and kissed Lossar. 'You have lovely hair,' he murmured and drew his fingers through Lossar's black hair.
Miriel shifted so she rested on one elbow above him and her breasts bounced deliciously in front of him. Legolas cupped one in his hand as if weighing it. Then with a smile, he drew her plump nipple into his mouth.
She pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. 'No, not again,' she said, smiling. 'I have to look after the dwarves.'
Lossar laughed. 'You make them sound like pets,' he observed. 'Stay. We can do this again.'
'I cannot. I have to look after Tauriel. One of them flirts with her all the time and I think she likes it.'
'What? A dwarf?' Legolas sat up lazily. 'How can she possibly like a dwarf when she doesn't like me?' But the sting had gone and he smiled as he spoke.
Miriel shot him a look and Lossar laughed loudly. 'Because you, my dear Legolas, are utterly irresistible?' He shoved Legolas in a friendly way and swung his long legs over the side of the bed to sit up. 'You know she likes them short and dark. And you are neither.'
'No,' Miriel twisted Legolas' long hair in her hand and pulled him against her. 'You are tall and fair.' She pulled his head back and kissed him, her hand delved between them both and he gasped. 'And so easily aroused.'
Lossar gave a little moan of desire and leaned back, pulling her head down to his mouth but she shoved them both away. 'Right, I am off,' she said decisively. She rose to her feet and her hair fell around her, her breasts pushed through the golden mass and she pulled it over one shoulder. Both men were staring, stroking themselves and goggle-eyed. She laughed and tossed her head provocatively. 'You both need to put your tongues back in,' she said.
'Happy to,' Lossar leered. Legolas nudged him appreciatively and then rolled his companion over so he lay stretched out on the bed, his cock erect and stiff.
'Are you sure you cannot stay?' Legolas stroked a hand down Lossar's side and then grasped his cock so the other elf arched his back and moved his hips.
Miriel paused. She had her dress in her hand and watched as Legolas pinched Lossar's nipple.
'Come on, Miriel,' Legolas coaxed her. 'Do you not want to see him undone?' His hand stroked down over Lossar's cock and tightened his grip, pumped once, twice.
'Eru, Legolas!' Lossar cried. He threw back his head and shoved himself against Legolas' hand. Miriel licked her lips but did not move.
'Come here,' Legolas held out his hand and Miriel put her hand in his. He guided it to his own cock and bit his lips the moment she touched it. He was very still but his grip on Lossar was tight and the other elf was still pumping against him. Legolas held Miriel's eyes as she stroked her hand lightly over him. She moved closer and then was astride his lap, her arms around his neck and his cock pressed against her belly.
Suddenly she pushed herself away and retreated, shaking her head. 'No!' She declared, her back to them both. 'I will not come back. I am washing, dressing and going to help Tauriel. You two will have to amuse yourselves.'
She opened a door and disappeared inside. There was the sound of running water and then some while later, she re-emerged, dressed and twisting her hair into a thick braid.
She dropped a fond kiss on each of their heads and turned to go. Her hand was on the door handle and she glanced back to see they were already entwined and neither looked up.
'Legolas,' she said, suddenly remembering. 'Are you not supposed to attend your father this morning?' she asked.' You did say something last night about that.'
'Smaug's balls!' He leapt from the bed and grabbed at a shirt, pulling it on over his head and then hopped about on one foot trying to get one leg into the breeches that were tangled with a tunic. He did not know if they were his or Lossar's.
He was dragging on a boot when the door opened and Thalos was there. He stood aside for Miriel and inclined his head as she passed for he was unfailingly courteous and looked at Legolas. An amused, wry smile curled over his mouth.
'Good. You have remembered,' he said.
'Of course I have!' snapped Legolas. He had collapsed on the rumpled bed and was pulling on the other boot now. He stood up quickly and stamped his feet so the boots were properly on now and dragged his fingers through his hair. 'Come on then,' he said to Thalos as if it was Thalos who was delaying them.
'I am not needed, just you.' Thalos' voice was distant and Legolas suddenly snapped a look at him. He took a step closer and came face to face with his brave, handsome brother.
Thalos blinked as if awakening. 'What is it?' he asked, puzzled.
'You.' Legolas reached up and touched his brother's face. He knew; he felt it. A tremor of fear shivered through his bones. 'He has asked you.'
Thalos stared at him for a moment and then gave a brief, proud nod.
Legolas licked his lips nervously. Smaug had asked, no, demanded Thalos. 'It is not yet time,' he said softly, wondering why their father had preempted things.
'Go to Adar,' Thalos said.
Legolas went, anxiously. He remembered when it had been his time and how stupidly excited and proud he had been for he too had felt overlooked, for Anglach. But now he had been to Erebor and understood the gravity of the task, he could not help but worry for Thalos, for had he not been lost himself for a while?
'I will go and find him if he is,' Legolas vowed to himself as he hurried along the corridor to his father's chambers, tucking his shirt into his breeches and smoothing a hand over his hair. 'I will accompany him, not just to the doors of Erebor, but to the mouth of Smaug's lair.' And he shuddered a little with both fear and excitement of seeing the dragon again.
When he said this to Thranduil, the King smiled but brushed his hand over Legolas' cheek, looking into his son's green eyes that were full of fervour and love and courage. 'I would not lose you both,' he said.
Legolas breathed. He would go to Smaug's lair if it meant he protected Thalos, he swore to himself. But he understood now why his father had hesitated to send him; he had not been ready before.
His father's slate green eyes flickered over him with understanding and he said, as if he knew Legolas' resolve, 'If need be, Laersul will go with Thalos and you will keep watch.' Legolas tried hard not to see this as criticism, and bit his lip to stop him from protesting. But when he glanced up his father's slate-green eyes were watching him, heavy with grief, and Legolas was overwhelmed with love for him. He reached out suddenl;y and clasped Thranduil's hands in his.
'I will not let you down, Adar. I will not, I promise,' he said earnestly. And then with all the devotion in his heart, he said, 'I will not let Thalos be lost. I swear on all we hold dear. He will not be lost. I am ready for Smaug this time. I did not understand before, until I saw…' He paused and they shared a moment of complete understanding; the dragon's compelling, haunting song, lifting on the wind, striving ever ever upwards, flapping its great wings against the circles of the world…
'Adar. Don't worry. I will do as you wish,' he said, willing Thranduil to se, to trust. 'We will all come home.'
0o0o
Thranduil stood in sunlight upon the ledge that jutted out from the cliff face, looking over the forest. He merely waited for his oldest son to return, so he could send all three to the dragon, he thought bitterly. His sacrifice to the Wood, to his people. Winter had spread through the trees below him and the dark forest river was visible now through the bare trees. A sharp cry pierced the silence, and he looked up into the pale wintry sky. A hawk had folded its wings and plummeted downwards through the air, like an arrow, towards him.
He waited and then gave a low whistle that brought it to him, landing lightly on the ledge before him. Carefully, Thranduil lifted the bird and smoothed it, soft-handed and gentle for he understood birds and beasts and they came to him, acknowledged his closeness with the Wood. He stilled his own thoughts and let them drift with the bird's, the high canopy of oak, beech, ash and thorn turning and settling for Winter, of the falcon's journey from the South where the trees had already shed their leaves and the fungus and rot crept. He stroked its chest until he felt it settle and then carefully felt its leg; there was the rolled up message, and knowing it would be from Laersul for it had come straight to him and not gone to the news, he gently untied it and carried the bird inside to his study.
There was a perch near his desk for this very purpose and he carefully settled the falcon. Nearby was a plate of food that Galion had left, worried that Thranduil was not eating and, Thranduil guessed, anxious that he was plummeting again into the darkness that did at times beset him. But this was not one of those times. Not yet. He dug his fingers into the rabbit pie and held sticky half cooked meat out to the bird. It looked at him first, cocked its head to one side to regard him warily and then bobbed its head to snatch the gobbet, swallowed it and let out a shrill cry of hunger. He fed it with one hand, absently, and read the note with the other.
It was in Laersul's bold hand, the meaning encrypted in his son's unique code known only to the two of them and to Thalos.
Father, I hardly know how to tell you. The Necromancer has been driven out. The White Council have come and these three days past wrestled with his power and now, suddenly, he is gone. I return as you have bid but will make arrangements for the Bight and our stronghold here to be strengthened on my return. I do not trust this.
Your loving son always,
L
Breathing slowly, Thranduil blinked. He looked down at his hands, clenched over the edge of the table with its maps and clips and scribbled notes marking where his troops were, his sons. How like claws or talons? he thought. Smaug's talon had been iridescent, like a curved blade of an Easterling, perfect, he thought.
The Necromancer driven off by the White Council?
A sneaky sense of resentment wormed its way between his thoughts. Those cowardly Noldor, hiding in their Valley and their Golden Wood, in the Havens. The Three Rings of Power flashing on their hands, he imagined. And the Necromancer fled from his Wood? Something he had not been able to do himself and so many lives lost!
You could not achieve this one feat in all these long years?
Thranduil froze; there was a prickling sensation of Power. He did think that. He had thought it…often. He turned, startled, bit of course, there was no one. He was alone.
You have no Ring.
'I need no ring.' Thranduil said defiantly. To himself. 'I have my sons. My people.'
We fought the long battle, he reminded himself.
And the cost?
The cost was great. He thought of the lives lost; so many. And the White Council just breeze into the Wood and suddenly, it is free of shadow? He did not believe it.
There was silence. In the trees the wind blew and the dry rustle of autumn drifted into his chamber.
And the cost of Peace with the Dragon?
That cost is also great.
Greater?
Thranduil paused. He stared at the map, the dragon scribbled above the Mountain. Erebor. Its fragile eggshells of bones, the dusty air, the stink of sulphur, of dragon.
How long before the Dragon tires of your Peace?
How long indeed?
He pressed his fingers against his eyes. Thorin Oakenshield was in his storerooms, locked up as in a cell. And Thranduil felt far less secure than he should, given that the dwarf could not leave and pursue his quest. And yet…
And yet, there was an intense pressure building, a sense that he should dispatch his Danedh-Amlung without delay and renew the Dragon's peace.
Thranduil knew it was too soon: Smaug would be roused to curiosity and suspicion. His wise and curious child would be lured by the dragon's glorious lore-knowledge and magnificence; and the dragon would be utterly beguiled by the intellect of his sword-bright Thalos.
'But we cannot wait,' he said to no one, to the empty air, to the voice that whispered insidiously, that delved beneath his skin and drank his thoughts, his fears. That had been waiting for him to weaken, for his quiet despair.
Azgarâzir
The word seeped into the air like it could not help itself.
This was what the Orcs of Dol Guldur called him, and the Nazgûl.
There was a strange sensation; he peered through a tunnel like a vortex, or as if he looked through a deep pool in the wood and the trees were sepia and bent inwards. Sudden dislocation made him reel and he flung out his hand to catch at the door jamb.
He took two strides across the room and pierced the air with his gaze.
Nothing…although he thought the air trembled a little as if something had passed.
He waited, still as stone, listening intently, leaning forwards and listening to the Song. There was no question of a disturbance, a ripple across the notes, a discord. He felt it in the Song of his folk, in his friends, his lords, his children. He felt it in himself.
Was this the remnant of the Necromancer? Had he somehow been able to penetrate the Gates? Was his magic strong enough to come here?
For a moment, he considered asking Legolas to listen, for he had the gift of Song more than any close to the stronghold. Or to summon Lathron, the Listener himself for he might come if Thranduil asked it…
He poured wine into a goblet and drank steadily.
It was gone. Silence.
For a moment, Thranduil stared into the emptiness, eyes wide, not seeing the fire, the hearth or the comfort of his own study. Instead he saw devastation; Dagorlad. At first he had thought it was Oropher's cloak, crimson and bloody, ripped and torn upon the spike of ugly iron. Then he had realised the tattered ribbons were not cloth at all but his own father's body split upon a lance, and he had run, shouting, careless, slashing and thrusting his sword, his knife at everything, anything in his path. Until Galion had punched him in the jaw so hard it knocked him to the ground and Lainor had dragged him fighting and kicking.
Lainor. Anglach's father. His friend.
He had lost so many that day. Too many, to Sauron. To the Noldor's unwillingness to engage when clearly the moment had arisen. Their hesitation had cost the Woodland realm dearly, and he did not believe for one single second that the Necromancer had simply abandoned the Wood. That voice that had whispered to him was connected somehow to the Necromancer. And the discontent had arrived with the dwarves. He wished with all his might that Thorin Oakenshield had never set foot in the Wood, and that the evil he brought had perished in the dens of the Orcs in the Hithaeglir.
0o0o
tbc
