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Alquien
04/22/17 01:23 am
Has anyone heard anything else from Spiced lately?
Ysilme
04/17/17 11:36 am
Big hugs to you, Spiced, I hope you're already a bit better! ***hugs***
Alquien
04/17/17 04:38 am
Hope you are feeling better now Spiced. *hugs*
ziggy
04/16/17 01:40 am
So glad to see you back, Spiced:x
Spiced Wine
04/15/17 09:30 am
Thank you, my loves. I hope you all have a lovely Easter
Yseult
04/15/17 07:22 am
Oh, Spiced! Sending you lots of good thoughts and vibes for a speedy recovery. Hugs!
Gabriel
04/14/17 10:04 am
Hi there, Cheekybeak, great to see there's another Kiwi out there too.
Naledi
04/14/17 08:50 am
Glad you're okay, too, Gabriel!
cheekybeak
04/14/17 08:38 am
Oh! Gabriel, another kiwi. Hi!
Gabriel
04/14/17 04:00 am
Thanks for thinking of us all in nz, Naledi, we're good.
Shout Archive


More Dangerous by Naledi

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Story notes:

This fic is the result of a typo I made when commenting on Ziggy's excellent More Dangerous, Less Wise. That led to a mad conversation in the shoutbox and gave me the idea for this story. Read on at your peril - it features a highly out-of-character Legolas and Thranduil and is not to be taken seriously.

He hadn’t meant to wander off the path; Elrond had warned him about the perils of the Greenwood. But the song had lured him further and further into the trees, through thickets, past gnarled oaks that creaked with age, stumbling over tree roots that writhed across his path and clutched at his ankles. Now he was lost; the song was his only guide.

“Show yourself!” Glorfindel called.

The only reply was a peal of laughter from behind a cluster of beeches just ahead. It was not mocking laughter but the kind that emanates from sheer lightness of heart. Even the trees joined in, rustling their leaves, their laughter washing around him like waves sighing upon the shore. A light touch upon his shoulder made him whip around, only to see an overhanging birch bough rattle its leaves in his face. It tickled his nose before springing back up above his head.

Enough was enough. Clenching his jaw, Glorfindel strode towards the beeches. “Who are you?” he cried.

The haunting voice rose in song once more. It mingled with the whispers of the leaves and formed images in his mind. He saw flashes of green and gold, of sunshine on leaves; a mithril and amber acorn pendant lying upon a muscled chest, daubed with swirls of ochre and woad; kingfisher blue eyes laughing, then narrowing in concentration; an arrow streaking towards a target. Lastly he saw an ancient beech with only a handful of withered brown leaves clinging to its drooping branches. A dead tree? Why was the mysterious Wood-elf showing him that? Then he saw a single green leaf unfurling on a high branch and the vision was accompanied by a sense of grief and loss, overlain with hope.

Then Glorfindel understood the meaning of the images. “A simple name would have sufficed,” he muttered as he approached the beeches.

Drawing a deep breath, he called, “Well met, Legolas Thranduilion. I am—”

“I know who you are, Glorfindel of Gondolin, lately of Imladris.”

It was the same voice that had lured him here, yet it came not from among the beeches, but from right behind him. He whirled around just in time to catch a glimpse of gold as his elusive quarry disappeared behind a wall of sycamores.

Glorfindel hissed in irritation and ran after him. Was this a trap? Elrond’s warning rang in his mind as he searched the trees. More dangerous . . .

Laughter rang out again, this time from the dense canopy overhead. He toyed with the idea of climbing up, but dismissed it. No doubt the infuriating creature would be on the ground or in a different tree a league away by the time he had managed to reach the treetops. He would abandon the chase altogether if only he knew where he was, but he had been led on such a circuitous route that he had no idea how to get back onto the path.

Do not leave the path, Elrond had said. And beware of the Wood-elves; they are not like us. They are more dangerous . . .

“I need a guide,” he called, praying he wouldn’t still be lost come nightfall. “I have a message for your father, the king.”

“Then follow me,” came the reply from just above his left shoulder. “If you can.”

This time when Glorfindel turned he saw Legolas standing on a branch. This was his first full view of the prince and the sight made him draw a sharp breath. He had heard of the beauty of Thranduil’s son, but nothing could have prepared him for the vision that met his eyes. Legolas was wearing nothing but a doeskin wrap that sat low on his hips and fell halfway down to his knees. Just as in the flashes of vision, his body was daubed in swirls of woad and ochre that emphasised the taut muscles of his chest, arms and abdomen. He wore no jewellery apart from twists of what looked like leather around one wrist, a mithril and amber pendant and . . . sweet Elbereth!

Glorfindel’s mouth went dry when he spied the mithril rings that Legolas wore through both nipples. He found himself aching to trace the daubed patterns with his fingertips,  twist those rings and watch the Wood-elf’s blue-green eyes darken in response. He also wondered how the waist-length curtain of pale gold hair would feel. He could almost feel it sliding through his fingers, as heavy and smooth as Khand silk . . .

What did Elrond know? How could an Elf as beautiful as this possibly be dangerous?

Legolas tilted his head to one side, his lips curving in a mocking smile, as though he sensed Glorfindel’s thoughts. Then, with no warning, he made an impossible leap through the air and onto a high branch in a neighbouring tree.

“You need to move fast if you want to keep me in sight,” he called.

Then he was gone.

Glorfindel cursed and ran towards the spot where he had last seen Legolas. A laugh in the distance drew his attention and he looked round just in time to see a flash of gold disappear behind a tree. He rounded the trunk only to see Legolas vault over one low branch and duck under another. How long could the infuriating Wood-elf keep this up?

A long chase ensued. Always, whenever Glorfindel seemed to gain on Legolas, the Wood-elf would leap into the trees. Then Glorfindel would be forced to peer into the boughs until he caught a glimpse of Legolas again.

Elronds words tickled his consciousness. More dangerous . . .

The woods soon became more closely packed. The trees here were not young and straight like they had been at the eaves; their trunks were gnarled and furrowed like an ageing mortal’s face. Boughs, heavy with dark leaves and swathed in moss, swooped down almost to the ground and snarled Glorfindel’s hair. Roots writhed out of the ground to trip him. Before long he was in an area so dense with trees that they blotted out the sun, leaving him in twilight. Nevertheless, he managed to keep Legolas in sight.

Or, rather, Legolas kept within view. For surely in these packed woods the prince could have evaded him easily. He wanted Glorfindel to follow.

More dangerous . . .

Without warning, Glorfindel tore himself from the clutches of another beech and blinked as he stumbled into a bright clearing. Legolas stood at the other side between a pair of towering oaks. They grew so close that their branches and roots twined, forming a narrow archway above Legolas’s head and beneath his feet. His hands rested upon the huge boles. A trail of leaves hung down from each tree, caressing his head, arms and chest. It almost looked deliberate.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Glorfindel muttered to himself. “You’re letting Elrond’s warning put ideas into your head.”

He expected Legolas to turn and run, but instead the Wood-elf smiled a seductive smile that Glorfindel felt in the pit of his belly.

“You have reached one of the gateways to the palace. Follow me.” Then Legolas turned and slipped into the tiny gap between the trunks.

Glorfindel stepped forward, even as Elrond’s words ran through his head once again.

Do not leave the path. And beware of the Wood-elves; they are not like us. They are more dangerous and less . . .

He ignored the voice. All he knew was that he mustn’t let Legolas out of his sight. He wanted him. Needed him. He forced his way into the gateway.

. . . wide.

He jammed his shoulders into the narrow gap. And was held fast. He couldn’t move through into the green space beyond, but neither could he go back. The bark of the trees had a sharp grain that dug into his flesh, threatening to tear into him if he backed any further. He was trapped. At Legolas’s mercy.

But where was Legolas? He scanned the room beyond, all the while struggling to free himself. It seemed to be empty. Made from living trees, the walls were formed from slender birches, woven so tightly that only a few chinks of light seeped through. However, a pale green light streamed in through their arching branches that formed the ceiling. The floor was carpeted with grass and golden leaves. The only non-living item in the room was the man-high stone slab held fast between two intertwined birches on the opposite wall. A doorway, Glorfindel realised. It probably led into the stronghold.

“Welcome to the Greenwood, Glorfindel of Gondolin.”

Glorfindel’s head snapped round to the right and he strained his eyes to pierce the shadows that hid the speaker. The voice had been similar to Legolas’s, but slightly deeper. Older.

A figure stepped out to stand in front of him. Glorfindel caught his breath. It was not Legolas, although so similar he could only be kin. His eyes were the same kingfisher blue, but he was a hand’s breadth taller and his hair a deeper shade of gold. The aura of power that surrounded him told Glorfindel that this could only be the Elvenking himself.

“Well met, Thranduil Oropherion. Forgive me for not bowing but . . .” With a tilt of his head, Glorfindel indicated the oaks that held him fast.

A trace of a smile glinted in Thranduil’s eyes. “I shall forgive you this once. You have a message for me, I believe.”

“In my tunic.” Glorfindel’s arms were pinned to his sides, preventing him from reaching the message himself.

“Allow me, Father.”

Legolas now stepped out of the shadows and moved to face Glorfindel, standing so close that Glorfindel could see the pulse beating in his throat and breathe in his woodsy scent. Despite his predicament, he felt a surge of elation to be so close to this desirable prince. He caught his breath when Legolas, not moving his gaze from Glorfindel’s face, slipped a hand inside his tunic.

“Where have you stowed it?” Legolas asked, his eyes darkening. “Here?”

Glorfindel caught his breath as Legolas’s fingers brushed against his chest. The heat of the Wood-elf’s hands seared him, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“The other side,” he gasped. “In an inside pocket.”

He was forced to bite back a groan when Legolas’s seeking fingers grazed a nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight to his groin. It could have been accidental, but Glorfindel suspected that nothing that had happened since their first encounter had been accidental.

“Ah, I have it.” There was a faint crackle of parchment that Glorfindel could just hear over the pounding of his heart, and then Legolas stepped back and handed the scroll to his father. The rough bark dug more sharply into Glorfindel’s shoulders as his body swayed forward in an attempt to follow Legolas.

Thranduil snapped the blood-red seal and unrolled the letter. His lips curled into a half smile as he read. When he had finished he rolled it back up. “You have done well, my son. I will leave you to complete the spell.” He tossed the scroll to Legolas.  “Try not to make too much noise this time.”

“Spell? What spell?” Glorfindel struggled against the restraining trees.

But Thranduil swept towards the stone door without a backward glance. He muttered a word that Glorfindel couldn’t catch and the door swung silently back. Glorfindel caught a glimpse of gem-studded walls, glinting in torchlight, before Thranduil stepped through and the door closed behind him. Now it was just him and Legolas.

His eyes glinting wickedly, Legolas closed the space between them and reached down to Glorfindel’s belt. Before Glorfindel’s befuddled mind could work out what was happening, Legolas had pulled his knife out and was turning it over in his hands.
“This is fine craftsmanship,” Legolas said, running a finger along the runes that were graven into the flat of the blade. “Forged in Eregion, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll wager it’s sharp.”

There was a blur of movement as Legolas swept the blade close to Glorfindel’s cheek. Before he could even flinch, he saw Legolas hold up a golden braid. He stared at it in dismay, knowing that there must now be a short tuft of hair above his ear, instead of the long, fine braid that proclaimed him a warrior of the House of the Golden Flower. Legolas toyed with it, weaving it through his fingers, caressing it. He sang a soft song in a language Glorfindel didn’t recognise. Slowly, Glorfindel’s resentment eased and his desire was stoked even higher as he longed for Legolas to caress him instead.

As if he read his mind, Legolas slipped the braid into the waistband of his wrap and pressed his body against Glorfindel’s. Then he seized Glorfindel’s mouth in a heated kiss, parting his lips to allow Glorfindel to taste him deeply. For several heartbeats, Glorfindel knew nothing but Legolas’s honey-sweet taste, the sound of his soft moans and the sharp jolts of pleasure as Legolas rubbed his hip against his erection. If he could free himself, nothing would have stopped him from throwing the Wood-elf on his back and taking him there and then.

He groaned at the thought and instantly Legolas broke the kiss and drew back, licking his swollen lips, which curved in a secret smile.

“I think you are wearing too many clothes to fit through the gate. Maybe it would help if I removed them.”

Before Glorfindel could protest, Legolas sliced through the sides of Glorfindel’s leggings, tunic and shirt. The leggings fell to the floor in a heap and Legolas ripped the front of his tunic and shirt free, leaving just tattered cloth where they were trapped between Glorfindel’s shoulders and the trees. Legolas stepped back, his smile broadening as his eyes lit on Glorfindel’s erection. Glorfindel felt no shame, only a growing frustration that he still couldn’t move. His own eyes dropped to where the jutting doeskin revealed that Legolas was just as aroused as he was himself. He strained to squeeze clear of the trees, but to no avail.

“I can see we are going to have to try something else.”

“Anything, just get me out.” So he could do what? Return to Imladris? Claim this maddening Wood-elf as his own? He no longer knew.

Legolas moved to a birch tree beside the stone door. Glorfindel found that he was unable to take his eyes from him, was mesmerised by the play of muscle in his legs and back as he moved. When Legolas reached up into a large knothole in the centre of the birch’s trunk, Glorfindel almost moaned as the doeskin wrap rode up almost to the top of Legolas’s thighs. He yearned to see more and groaned with disappointment when Legolas dropped his arm and turned around. Then his mouth went dry when he saw that Legolas now held a flask of oil.

“This is very useful for easing one out of a tight spot,” said Legolas, drawing near again. He unstoppered the flask and the sharp, sweet scent of bluebells wafted across the room. Pouring a little of the oil into his hands, he ran them over Glorfindel’s shoulders, fingers caressing and teasing him to new heights of longing.

Then Legolas leaned across until his lips were a hairsbreadth from Glorfindel’s ear.  Glorfindel shuddered as the prince’s warm breath tickled the sensitive tip of his ear. “Or it could ease you into one, if that is what you desire.”

With no further warning, Legolas reached down between them and  Glorfindel gasped to feel a slick hand caress his shaft with firm strokes. Unable to help himself, he bucked into the grip, groaning at the intensity of pleasure that pooled in his belly.

Just as quickly as Legolas had started, he stopped and stepped back, leaving Glorfindel thrusting into chill air. He gave a cry of frustration. “Don’t leave me like this!”

“Would you have me, then?” Legolas took a step back and with slow, deliberate movements, he untied the leather thong at his hip. The wrap slipped to the ground, leaving him naked to Glorfindel’s ravenous gaze. Without removing his eyes from Glorfindel’s face, he lay back on the leaves in one fluid, cat-like motion. “It would please me greatly if you did.”

Glorfindel increased his struggles against the trees that trapped him. Sweet Elbereth, he had never seen such perfection of form before. It was sheer torture to see the prospect of bliss spread before him and be unable to take it.

Legolas muttered a few words in what sounded like the same language he had spoken before. Immediately Glorfindel felt the trees that held him move apart. He staggered forward and would have thrown himself upon Legolas, had the prince not put up a hand.

“You may have me, if that is what you wish. Or you are free to leave. You will have no trouble finding the path now.”

Glorfindel took a step closer to Legolas. “Leave? How could I do that?” He knelt down beside Legolas and brushed his jaw with fingers that trembled with desire. “Why would I leave when all I want is right here?” Then with a groan, he lowered himself upon Legolas.

Whether hours or even days passed, he never knew. Time passed in a fugue of pleasure. There was the slide of silken flesh beneath his hands, the gasps and cries from Legolas that drove him to ever greater heights of ecstasy and above all, the joy of thrusting into Legolas’s tight, welcoming heat. When he came to himself, he found that he was sprawled upon the bed of leaves, Legolas sitting next to him, singing as he fiddled with his bracelet.

He moved his head slightly and saw that Elrond’s letter was lying open beside him. The bold, flowing script was easy to read.

My King,

At your bidding, I am sending you Glorfindel. May he serve you as well as I have ever striven to do. He is the last of my household to come into your service. Soon all Middle-earth will be yours.

I remain, as ever, your willing slave,

Elrond


Glorfindel looked up from the letter to see Legolas watching him. With a start, he saw that Legolas was weaving his severed braid into his bracelet. Now he could see that the bracelet was not leather, as he had originally supposed, but was made of braids of many different hues: raven, silver, gold and even russet.

Legolas smiled, a perilous smile. “You chose to stay,” he said, “and now you are mine. You will never escape me now.” He slipped the bracelet back on his wrist.

Glorfindel smiled back, feeling nothing but joy. Why would he want to escape? It was true; he belonged to Legolas now, mind, body and soul. His willing slave.

The End

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