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.