This story is the product of an entertaining afternoon on the Shoutbox, with Spiced Wine, Glorfindel, Naledi, Ziggy, Lifes Pilgrim, Curiouswombat and Speaker to Customers …did I miss anyone?
A huge thanks to by beta, Curiouswombat – you’re a star!
Warning: explicit MM sex
A huge thanks to by beta, Curiouswombat – you’re a star!
Warning: explicit MM sex
Legolas caressed the crisp page, the soft sound of skin gliding over ancient parchment breaking the otherwise absolute silence of Imladris’ famed library. He wistfully traced the outline of a sketch that portrayed his lover, in a different life, a different place, before he had slain a Balrog and been burned. Strange how fire had always been attracted to this lord of Gondolin…
He had found it, finally, and though the story had already been revealed to him verbally, not all had been said, for there were still questions he had not dared to ask, one question in particular that gnawed at him incessantly.
His thirst for the knowledge drove him on and he cast his eyes downwards once more, latching onto the first word and focusing on the tale – of the Sheath of Tumladen …
‘Tis no easy task – to write of that legendary thing. To capture its significance, reveal its story and that of those who had the good fortune – or otherwise, of coming into contact with it. Most that can speak of it are no longer here in Middle-earth, for such is the span of its history - they are dead in battle, or across the sea. Although, I dare say, Glorfindel of Gondolin would have much to say of it…
He had come across it quite by accident as he strolled through the human market. He had seen it there, hanging at the back of a blacksmith’s stall, together with a whole array of daggers, stilettos and short swords. It was filthy, the precious metal almost black, obscuring most of the fine artistry, and yet there could be no doubt about it, there was no mistaking it and he wondered if the human smith had any idea of just what it was that hung there so innocently.
As it turned out, he did not, and Glorfindel had acquired the – object – for a ridiculously low price. He could not believe his great fortune, for this piece was worth all the gems in the vaults of his father-in-law to be – and so much more; its worth was simply incalculable.
However, it was not only its value in gold and gems, but its transcendental significance, its very origins, for this was a masterpiece of Valarian artistry, infused with elven magic, made for a High King of the First Age...Indeed Glorfindel remembered it well, for how could he ever forget?
‘Tis said that it cannot be wielded by any other than by he for whom it had been wrought, even in death. And herein lies the power of the sheath, for it rendered its immortal owner the gift of omniscience. He who dared to use it, would become his vehicle...’
He had cleaned and polished it for, today, he would reveal it for the first time since he had acquired it. He had waited for months, not daring to – yet the pull had been simply irresistible. He had left it on the table in their bedroom, waiting for the right moment, but it had done its work well, and had caught Legolas’ eye – that had been an hour ago…
“What is this? I mean – it looks like some kind of spathe or scabbard, perhaps, yet the tip of the knife would not be protected for the end is open,” he complained, poking his finger through the open end in righteous frustration.
“’Tis not a scabbard, Legolas, at least not in the conventional sense of the word…”
“Well then – perhaps,” he pondered aloud, “perhaps it is a capsule – but for what? Glorfindel, you have me baffled, truly, I have no idea what it is…” said Legolas, now clearly irritated at his own inability to guess at the nature of the strange artifact he turned around incessantly in his strong, archer’s hands.
It was long, spanning from wrist to elbow, an elegantly wrought cylinder that was wider at one end – tapering off to a somewhat rounded tip at the other, until wide enough only for a finger, perhaps. Glorfindel knew his lover had never seen the likes of it, had not the slightest inkling of its use, origin or craftsmanship. It was truly beautiful, for it was made of mithril, and had been exquisitely carved, lovingly created for its intended owner by the master artisan himself.
He smiled wistfully at a long lost memory, before setting his gaze once more on his lover as he studied the object, the cogs of his mind almost visibly whirling in furious circles as he tried and failed to guess what it was that he held in his questing hands.
Turning the wider end to his eyes, Legolas peered into the shaft as if it were a spying glass, his brow furrowing and his exquisite green eyes narrowing at what he found there, for there were four equidistant rings inside, all of the same size, that stopped before the cylinder became too thin, near the other end. If before he had been puzzled, now, he was completely mystified, realized Glorfindel in lazy amusement.
Taking a sip of his wine, Glorfindel settled in for the ensuing spectacle of his lover’s innocent inspection of the legendary object he unwittingly held in his hands, playing as a child would at ‘guess the object’. Stretching himself onto his side, the warrior lord of Gondolin propped his head up with one arm and took his goblet in the other, his eyes roaming over the peerless form of his woodland lover, as he took a generous gulp of the heavy wine.
Legolas plunged his hand into the cylinder at the wider end in obvious frustration, frowning when he could push it no further – he would be feeling the steel of the rings pull at his skin, thought Glorfindel, who gasped softly at the thought, and turning Legolas’ frown deeper. Glorfindel sipped at his wine, trying to hide his growing arousal, for he had no desire as yet, to give away the nature of the object. And so his eyes fed hungrily on Legolas’ hand as it moved suggestively in and out of the cylinder.
‘Any moment now, any moment…’
“Something is definitely meant to be inserted here,” he said, turning the object once more and noting the polished swirls covering the entire surface, for there were even some thicker, vine-like etchings that snaked around the base and part way up the outer barrel, “’tis a truly fascinating article,” he murmured, almost to himself. He seemed unreasonably attracted to it then, and Glorfindel narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on the changes that were taking place in his unwitting lover.
Another soft gasp escaped Glorfindel, who was losing his battle with self-control. Legolas’ eyes moved once more to meet those of his lover, lingering there before understanding alit inside them. Glorfindel realized then, that Legolas was more than aware of his heightened state of arousal, yet there was something akin to irritation on the archer’s face – he was irked, it seemed.
Glorfindel simply looked at him with an expression of such utter intensity, his eyes half-lidded and unusually bright, one hand cupping his clothed groin – ‘it has begun,’ he realized.
“Glorfindel – you are utterly insatiable, you have had me twice this morning and yet you want more, and without a care, nor, I might add, the slightest of intellectual curiosity, for what is undoubtedly some historical artifact of great importance.”
Grinning saucily, Glorfindel proposed a game. “I want you again, I admit - yet I challenge you. If you can deduce the utility of that object in your hands, I will splay myself like an unquenchable adolescent and allow you to pummel me senseless…”
Legolas stared disbelievingly at his lover, and a visible change came over him. His breathing became ragged of a sudden and his head lolled backwards, before returning to the fore, his eyes now gleaming with lust and desire. A distant memory came to Glorfindel’s mind of himself, naked upon the soft grass of a beautiful – nay idyllic glade, begging to be taken, his legs impossibly wide open as he writhed and begged for his king to give him hard, unyielding pleasure… a memory, one that had come unbidden to him.
And so, the pressure was on, for Legolas was now on a mission to solve the perplexing mystery of this ancient artifact and win the enticing dare … one that was now affecting him as much as it was Glorfindel, for danger lay in those gleaming green eyes, danger and power.
Glorfindel slowly unclasped the buttons of his shirt as he watched, baring his chest to his lover, enticingly slowly, sensuously – his seething desire and almost unbearable anticipation now patently clear. It had been many centuries, indeed ages, since he had felt him, yet now, after so long – he would feel it again, suffer it again, surrender himself once more.
Focusing on Legolas once more, Glorfindel watched as he held the artifact up to one ear, as a child would a river shell. He heard nothing, of course, as he moved it away from his ear and shook it a little, checking to see if he could wrangle some kind of sound from it – nothing.
“Damn it all, Noldo -,” said Legolas most uncharacteristically, for his frustration was getting the better of him, and Glorfindel almost regretted having challenged him, almost – he was apprehensive to be sure, for the fire that slowly approached him would not pass him by without burning him once more, the door that was opening would not easily be shut.
And then, it occurred to his lover to hold it up in front of his lips and taste the cool metal upon the tip of his cautious tongue. Legolas smiled as his eyes floated to his lover, who was watching him closely. It was a simple question of making the most of an utterly frustrating situation, it seemed, for the nature of this – thing, continued to elude Legolas, even though he was now shamefully flirting with Glorfindel – perhaps he was beginning to realize, on some lower, subconscious level, that the object did, in fact, resemble – a phallus…
With his eyes fixed on his lover, Glorfindel pulled Legolas’ hand and its contents towards his own mouth and slowly, slid the precious metal into his mouth, showing him in no uncertain terms, that it was, in fact, a penis sheath.
Sliding it equally slowly from his lips, he bent over and unlaced Legolas’ breaches, pulling them down somewhat abruptly. He felt no resistance at all, for the other elf was stunned beyond reaction – eyes wide and mouth half open, for whatever he had been expected, it had obviously not been this.
‘… the magic that was infused into it is powerful indeed – only the strongest of minds could dominate the whirlwind that is unleashed. The pleasure it regales is equal to nothing, and coveted by all…’
“Off – take them off…” whispered Glorfindel fiercely, watching as his lover complied mechanically, divesting himself completely, until he sat naked and half erect beside him, the sheath firmly clasped in one hand, still clearly shocked at the nature of the object. All he could do was turn his eyes upon his lover questioningly.
Bending over quite suddenly, Glorfindel spat upon Legolas’ cock, taking it in one hand and pulling up on it, watching as it began to thicken and lengthen. It was then that he placed the sheath, pushing it down until it would go no further. Legolas gasped as he felt the first and then second ring rub lightly over the soft, iron-hard skin.
“This, is how it works,” explained Glorfindel. “It must be placed when you are still only half grown. Then, you must be worked until you are fully hard, and then - the pleasure begins as you feel first the third and then the fourth ring as you enter them, it feels almost as if it is too tight, but then, as you move – as you move inside your lover, the stimulus becomes almost unbearable,” he finished, as he fisted the sheath that was already locked onto his lover’s now fully erect penis, held only by the pressure of flesh against metal. Glorfindel had, of course, omitted something very important -
Legolas threw his head back and tried to steady his breathing, his body reacting acutely to the heavy metal upon him. He was so hard that his cock had already reached the fourth circle, realized Glorfindel, and he suddenly wondered what it must feel like to wear it. He watched in delight as Legolas looked down on himself in fascination at the metal that jutted out from between his legs - his cock looked simply magnificent.
Glorfindel saw it then, the moment Legolas snapped with a ragged breath, his nostrils flaring as the almost audible hum of pure power infused the room. He saw the arrogance, the need to take and to break, to mould to his iron will. He was afire with the blaze of pure, unadulterated lust and his own eyes flickered wide at the wildness he recognized so well, could never forget.
“Open to your king, Golodh,” ordered the elf that was Legolas, but yet was not - brilliant green eyes meeting blue, fixing on them as they trembled in fear and anticipation. But Legolas cared not, it seemed, and it enflamed Glorfindel even more.
Panting hard now, he startled as he felt cold metal poised against his entrance, splayed as he now was over the bed, his own arms supporting the backs of his knees – holding himself open in wanton need as he knew the king demanded of him.
“You are mine, Glorfindel – to do with as I see fit – to have as I will it and you – will – obey.
Pushing, it was now half-way inside, and Glorfindel was lost to the sensation of metal sliding inside him, the uneven design, grooves and carvings serving only to heighten the already unbearable pleasure.
The king thrust himself inside the warrior once more, his muscled torso flexing, ruthlessly roaring in delight as his victim screamed his exquisite pain – his excruciating pleasure, and his utter surrender as his eyes rolled back until they closed tightly and he struggled to dominate the pain. The sheath had been thrust in to the hilt, without the slightest of concerns; his lover meant to break him and that simply – ignited Glorfindel.
Opening his eyes once more, he met the king’s heavy gaze, watching as he thrusted and grunted, driving himself further inside until his impressively long hair hung in Glorfindel’s face, shielding the king partially from sight.
A raging fire now covered him, commanding as he was forcefully taken, used, subjected, lorded over until it hurt beautifully and he knew he would not last much longer. That was when he saw him…
A blue-black river of silk brushed across his nipples, his burning flesh, undulated preternaturally around his thrusting lover as he was pillaged – again and again. Glorfindel looked up into the king’s eyes but the green had gone, replaced by the diamond brilliance of the silmarils, the light so bright, so utterly beautiful it stole the very air from his lungs and he breathed not. His own eyes roved over the perfect, bone white complexion, the aquiline nose and fine features of one of the two most beauteous elves that Glorfindel had ever known.
He needed to breath and so he heaved a mighty gasp and came as he screamed, yet not once did his eyes leave the beautiful face of the High King, watching in fascination as the brilliant silver light in his eyes darkened until there were flames, and he threw back his head as he came once more.
“You please me well!” whispered the king fiercely, as the flames exploded into a ball of seething raging fire, unstoppable, indomitable, and the king gritted his teeth and came hard and long, and Glorfindel felt tears prick at his eyes and his skin turn cold…
They had collapsed in exhaustion, and it was many minutes before they would speak of it, for it had been intensely pleasurable, yet strangely – unnatural, and Legolas felt incomprehensibly drained. He had been left with a gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach, for although his orgasm had been – spectacular, he had somehow known he had not been himself, had lost control over his words and his acts. He had no idea how to explain his feelings just then. Luckily, it was Glorfindel who spoke first, rolling onto his side to face his lover.
“Aranmanadh, they called it, for it could only be wielded by a king, for his pleasure only,” he began softly, watching as Legolas’ self-pity turned to curiosity and he turned to face his lover.
“It was forged in Valinor, by Lord Aulë himself, a present with but one elf in mind, and when he wrought it, it was bespelled so that every time it was used, the essence of its original owner, be he in Mandos or Valinor, would shine through its wielder, share in his moments of bliss. It is impregnated with him, with his fire and his passion, his power and his arrogance.”
“You mean that I was possessed? Is that why I felt so, strange?”
“You felt and – looked, strange, for indeed you changed, Legolas, and I saw his face once more, the light of the cursed jewels shining from your eyes.”
“You cannot be serious,” he whispered, eyes wide and quivering.
“I am serious, my love. Indeed, wherever he is right now, he would have felt your pleasure just as acutely as you did…”
“You mean he – came?”
“Oh yes, you see it was never meant to leave his possession, yet events unfolded as they did and it was unavoidable.”
“Should I ever die or sail and meet him – I think perhaps I would feel a little – embarrassed,” he said a little ruefully.
“Worry not, for he will not be released lightly, Legolas…”
“What do you mean, why…?” he whispered, his eyes wide with something akin to morbid fascination, with just a hint of worry.
“Mandos guards him well, for he was of that line of extraordinary elves that fell to greed and power, that worshipped beauty over the well-being of their people, that used and abused and debased, and yet gave such great pleasure to those they chose, shone with a magnificence that infused you with their own light and power, irresistible, my love, in spite of it all.
Legolas’ eyes focused on the scene through Imladris’ library window, a lazy smile upon his lovely lips. Such a powerful memory he had of that night, and yet – his question was still unanswered – who, who had it been - had he been in those final moments of brutal passion?
His eyes slipped down to the book once more, in trepidation almost, for he needed to know and yet feared the identity of the one that had possessed his body…
‘Tis no easy task – to write of that, legendary thing. To capture its significance, reveal its story and that of those who had the good fortune – or otherwise, of coming into contact with it. Most that can speak of it are no longer here in Middle-earth, for such is the span of its history. They are dead in battle, or across the sea, although I dare say, Glorfindel of Gondolin would have much to say of it…for he, he was one of the chosen, lover to the greatest king of Elvendom, Fëanor the Magnificent.
Chapter end notes:
Thank you everyone, for inspiring this tale :)
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