THE JOYS OF A BEARD
by Soledad
Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.
Rating: strong R, for some Elven nastiness.
Warning: This chapter is really, really bad. A lot worse than all the others. This is sappy, smutty badfic of the worst sort. You have been properly warned.
Summary: Now a look at what our favourite pregnant Elf is doing back in Rivendell.
Author's notes: Originally, I hadn't planned to follow Melpomaen's fate any longer, but Finch grew so fond of him that I could not abandon our poor Marty Sam.
Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Nemis for cleaning out the grammatical mess.
INTERLUDE IN RIVENDELL
Anor had hardly risen its golden face above the dull grey horizon when Melpomaen was awakened from his restless sleep by morning sickness. He groaned while staggering onto his feet to reach the shared washroom of the house slaves. Six moons into pregnancy, and he had been sick every single morning so far.
When he returned, weak and miserable, he sank back onto his hard and narrow bed, trembling. He had been living in this bleak, shadowy little hole ever since his enraged master had kicked him out of his bedchamber. Not that this was entirely bad, though. At least the Lord Elrond never came to this lowly part of the Great House, so Melpomaen could not raise his ire. Yet he was lonely and very, very unhappy, craving the touch of his master in vain(1).
He looked down his own body and could understand the displeasure of his master. He had lost much weight, and – save his belly that seemed to swell visibly with every passing day – he had become almost frighteningly thin. No-one in his right mind would desire him now. Not even that little half-high gardener that had taken such good care of him a few times – and most certainly not his master.
Erestor had found a new fancy already – he shared his bed with beautiful young Lindir now, the golden-haired minstrel of the valley, who had had an eye on him for a long time and now jumped at the chance without a second thought.
However, Lindir was not a cruel Elf, though his blunt honesty made him uncomfortable company at times. Yet 'twas him and not Master Erestor who visited Melpomaen occasionally, looking into consider: the pregnant Elf getting some decent food, and even taking care of his more… intimate needs by chance(2).
''I love Erestor,'' he explained with an odd logic that few others could follow yet all accepted, for that was the easiest way, ''therefore I love all that is his. You and the child in your body are his – and you both need to be loved. If he is not able to do so, I shall.''
Melpomaen was grateful beyond measure for the young minstrel's efforts which alone made his fate somewhat bearable. For now that he had lost his privileged status among the house slaves, the others were rather cruel to him, calling him Figwit (which means little rodent(3) in the Elf-speech instead of using his true name and making evil fun of him at every given opportunity. Of course, the freshly-spread news that he was the bastard son of Thranduil of Mirkwood helped the whole matter little(4).
The young Elf sighed and slowly, trying to avoid upsetting his unsteady stomach any more, he began to get dressed. One good thing the morning sickness certainly brought about: he got the chance to have a quick wash without the other slaves harassing him as it had become their custom ever since he has lost his master's favour(5). He put on the dull grey leggings and tunic all the house slaves had to wear, for he had been robbed of all his clothing privileges, too. Despite all that he had done for his master, he was no longer Erestor's favoured pet.
The tears came unasked-for, just as they did every time he thought of his loss. 'Twas not the lowered state that pained him – he had accepted the ups and downs of a slave's life long ago. But having his beloved master turning away from him was more than he was able to bear.
He closed his eyes, trying to will his fëa to leave his body. Even death seemed better than being thrown away like a useless toy. 'Twould be better for the child, too, to die before being tossed into such a cruel world… Melpomaen sank to his knees and succumbed to darkness willingly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He was certain that he had died and gone to Heaven like mortal Men were said to do(6), for when he opened his eyes, he found himself in the bedchamber of his master again. He felt weak yet sated as if he had just spent himself in blissful abandon, more passionately than he had done so for a very long time.
He turned his head and saw, Lindir, curled up on his side, wearing a sweetly innocent smile – and naught else. Yet the huge bed was definitely Erestor's…
''What have you done?'' Melpomaen asked in utter shock. Master Erestor would be furious if he caught them together (and in his own bed, to that). Lindir might come out of it unharmed, but not a disobedient slave who had fallen from grace already.
''I spoke to Erestor,'' Lindir yawned and stretched like a cat, revealing even more soft, creamy(7) skin as the heavy silk sheets slid down his graceful limbs. ''I asked him to share you with me, and he agreed. You have been moved back to his chambers and are to remain here… as long as you prove to be pleasant company.''
Melpomaen understood the true meaning of these words all too well, but he did not mind servicing the young minstrel when he could stay near his beloved master in exchange. Lindir was a reasonable Elf who made their… encounters pleasant enough for him to cope with the new arrangement.
''I fear that shall not be a long time,'' he said, saddening again as the thought came to his mind. ''Soon I shall be too big to give pleasure to any one.''
''Oh, you know not the skills of a minstrel,'' Lindir grinned. ''Roll onto your side and I shall show you that the harp is not the only tool of pleasure I can play. You shall sing for me like a nightingale in no time.''
Melpomaen obeyed, offering his secret garden to those long, skilled fingers that wormed themselves forth to his most hidden depths, sending hot shivers of pleasure through his whole body, eliciting lyrical moans from his lips as they played him like a well-tuned harp, indeed, ere the hot iron of Lindir's plough-share dug up his inmost soil.
From the back of his bedchamber, Erestor watched their slow rocking from hooded eyes. Never had he found Melpomaen more desirable than this, being ridden by his young, golden lover, flushed and moaning wantonly that it sounded like the sweet song of a nightingale, indeed, his thin body swollen with Erestor's child, his breasts becoming softly rounded as his pregnancy advanced. Lindir had been right, Erestor realized. His condition made Melpomaen even more exquisite. As for himself, he had been a fool to toss the young slave out of his bed.
''Make room for me!'' Erestor ordered, switching places with Lindir and sliding home into the well-known, sweet tightness of his slave with practiced ease. Melpomaen's moans became strangled cries as the mighty spear of his master stretched him to his limits. This was Heaven. This was everything he needed. He knew he could not live without Erestor's possessive love any longer.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Somewhat later, when he returned from that hazy place of unlimited passion, he found himself lying between his master and Lindir who both were caressing him gently. He sighed in bliss, hiding his face in the curve of Erestor's neck. He was at home again, where he belonged.
The golden minstrel, though, looked worried.
''I know not whether we are doing the right thing, Erestor,'' he said, rubbing the pregnant Elf's back with his skilled fingers. ''Certainly, 'twas right to get him out of that fetid hole, but I fear what might happen when our Lord catches sight of him. You know he could take him as his own.''
''Nay, I doubt he would,'' replied Erestor, stroking Melpomaen's belly absently. ''Our Lord is Half-Elvin. They have strange habits – the fewest of them would lie with males(8).''
''You are one of them,'' Lindir pointed out, ''yet you follow not their sickening ways. Are you not the kinsman of our Lord?''
''Only from my father's side,'' Erestor shrugged. ''You fret too much. Elrond has only eyes for women.''
''Look at him,'' Lindir pointed with his chin at Melpomaen who had fallen asleep under their ministrations. ''Does he not remind you of a she-Elf as he lies here, with his swollen belly and his softened breasts? Is he not exceedingly beautiful? Do you truly believe that our Lord would be able to resist him, would he catch sight of him like this?''
''Elrond would never take what is mine,'' Erestor dismissed with an impatient gesture.
''Would he not?'' Lindir asked. ''He certainly took the Princess Baraniavasiel(9) from you. According to his chamber servant, the old Erlossëion(10), he promised to marry her himself, as soon as the Ring Quest was over.''
''So that was the true reason why he annulled our betrothal?'' Erestor gritted his teeth. ''He wanted the Princess for himself, did he not? As if it were not enough that the little bitch refused to bond with me for true, he had to take her as his own, too. Mayhap Melpomaen was not so wrong with the wolf-cherry tea, after all. He only chose the wrong person.''
''Erestor!'' Lindir seemed genuinely frightened. ''You cannot be planning what I fear you are planning right now?''
Erestor leaned over his sleeping slave to kiss his young lover.
''We should not speak of this… not now and not here. The only servant I truly trust is Melpomaen, yet we cannot count on him. We shall have to work out a plan very carefully.''
''What plan?'' Lindir asked, near panic. ''Do you want the Princess back?''
''Nay, I never truly wanted her in the first place,'' Erestor answered with a dark, cruel smirk. ''I just wanted the power that would have come with this marriage. But there are other ways to gain power. The One was not the only Great Ring that was made. There still are the Three to consider.''
''One of which our Lord guards like a dragon, the second of which the Evil Bitch of Lórinand is wearing, and the third of which is on its way with a cranky old wizard to be taken by Sauron,'' Lindir replied sarcastically(11).
''There are ways into Lórinand's most secret depths that but few people know, unless they had an ally in the Golden Wood,'' Erestor said softly. ''The entry has its price, of course, but if you gamble boldly, you can lay hand on the Ring of Adamant. Just as you can get Vilya if you know what you have to do.''
''And what about the Ring of Fire?'' Lindir asked. ''How do you intend to take it from Mithrandir?''
''That,'' Erestor admitted, ''is the only weak point of my plan. Nevertheless, we shall work on the other parts first and hope to come up with something when the time is ripe. Which means that you shall have to leave Rivendell, soon.''
''Why?'' Lindir frowned. ''Have you grown tired of me already?''
''Most certainly not!'' Erestor replied indignantly. ''Yet if you are right about Elrond, Melpomaen must be brought to a safe place. Someplace where he can carry out and birth our child unbothered. Rivendell is not such a place any more. And whom can I trust to take good care of him but you?"
Lindir blinked a few times. He loathed to be separated from his newly found lover, yet he understood the reason behind Erestor's decision, regardless of how much it pained him. Melpomaen was with Erestor's child, and after Erestor had accepted that child as his, he also took responsibility for the bearer's safety. Besides, Lindir had fallen for the dark-haired Half-Elvin so deep that he would do anything for him.
''Where do you want me to bring him?'' he asked, his heart bleeding silently.
''There is only one place where he would be safe,'' Erestor answered gravely. ''You will have to take him to Fangorn Forest.''
TBC
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) In case you knew not, male Elves can get extremely horny when pregnant.
(2) See above. Or did you never hear how promiscuous those Rivendell Elves were?
(3) Ummm… no, actually, it does not. But with all that horrible fake Elvish floating through Tolkien ficdom, I won't be surprised if someone believed me. g
(4) This is something I was always wondering about: Why has it became a common opinion in fanon that Elrond and Thranduil hate each other? Personally, I have never seen any evidence of this in canon (though, of course, I don't possess HoME 12 yet), so if anyone could provide any proof, I'd be thankful.
(5) Why are you so surprised? According all that Thranduil badfic I was unfortunate enough to stumble over, 'tis a common sport in Mirkwood Palace to take advantage of helpless young slaves, every time they happen to come around a shadowy corner. Especially on the male ones. Elrond's slaves are only following time-honoured Mirkwood custom.
(6) What do you mean Elves cannot do that? Well *I know* that, too. But I am writing a badfic here, remember? And to quote a common argument against those who would like to read about *Tolkien's* characters and settings: ''Hey, 'tis fanfic, everything can happen!'' very evil grin
(7) This is something that *has* to be said every time a young, nubile Elf is described. Ask me not for the reason. I did not invent the cliché. And silk sheets are obligatory, too.
(8) While Elves, of course, only lie with their females when they want children. What? Have you never read any Elrond stories?
(9) Horny Elf-Bitch. Sorry, my mind seems to be in the gutter lately.
(10) Lying Weasel. shrug I was unable to come up with anything more creative.
(11) For, of course, every single one in Rivendell would know the whereabouts of the pretty little Elven trinkets – and discuss it openly.
