The Two Swords Go South, Chapter 4
|Beta:||Julie (Thank you!)|
|Disclaimer:||This is a not for profit work of amateur fanfiction and no copyright infringement on any of Tolkien's or New Line's works was intended.|
|Genre and timeline:||LOTR, specifically The Fellowship of the Ring. A mix of both movie and book canon but the character of Conner is definitely AU.|
|Summary:||The further adventures of Conner, squire to Boromir, amongst the elven folk of Imladris, Mirkwood and Lorien.|
These Lórien elves must never have had any direct contact with humans, Conner guessed, or they would not have fallen for his theatrics so completely that they thought his erection was a symptom of heat exhaustion. He did not feel prompted to let the well-meaning ellith know that he was fully conscious, and not at all weakened by the heat, after he heard their plans to treat his noticeable symptom.
If anything, he was feeling nearly chilly in the shade, being naked, and especially after their furious attempts to cool him quickly by washing him all over with dampened cloths. His moist skin reacted nearly instantly, as the gentle shady breezes blew over him, and a scattering of goose-bumps raced across his torso, which frightened the ellith even more. Throughout it all, however, the most overheated part of him grew even hotter from the attention.
They had lifted his hands over his head, with his arms outstretched above him on the cool grass, and bound his wrists together loosely while he remained limp and lifeless. On the inside, however, he was quietly exultant over how absurdly and unexpectedly easy it had been to deceive his fair and, in other respects, wise attendants. As he waited, he wondered if he would be able to tell who was who.
As soon as Conner felt the first elleth tentatively mounting him, he had to fight the urge to react and he sternly ordered himself to stay very still and silent in the same way he imagined a nearly dead soldier would be. A nearly dead one with a raging erection.
The first elleth to help alleviate his symptom, he believed, was Fileg. He thought it was she when he felt slender thighs against his flanks because, somehow, he just knew that she was smaller-boned that her two larger companions. If he had any lingering doubt, while she adjusted herself to fit him inside of her, a lock of fragrant hair brushed across his face and he recognized the scent as if it was a familiar face.
The only elleth's face that he could clearly remember was Brethil's, and all he could see when he tried to summon her image was a stern frown. As Fileg cautiously lowered and raised herself on him, bringing him into herself deeper with each downward movement, he concentrated on the sour-faced elleth instead, to keep from exploding.
He had to remind himself, more than once, that he was supposed to be mostly unconscious, in an effort to stop from either bringing his hands down to touch Fileg, and somehow make her move faster, or to raise his hips, in order to increase her hesitant tempo.
As if they had read his thoughts, he felt one of the ellith put her hand on one of his, gently, as if to prevent him from reaching out.
"His palm feels clammy," he heard Ivreniel say before she was shushed.
It was not possible for Conner to remain mute, however, as the elleth's tight slippery wetness finally engulfed the only real source of his agony and sheathed him to the hilt. To his relief, she figured out by herself that lifting her bottom up and pushing it back down, in a smooth and continuous fashion, without pausing, was beneficial for both of them. Her hands were resting on his flanks and her fingers there dug into his skin almost painfully as she increased the pace.
A lascivious image of the bold elf twin sister riding him this way back in Imladris flashed before his blindfolded eyes, and he could almost see what he could only feel. He tried in vain to dismiss the distracting memory in an effort to remain focused, but he was undone and a series of moans leapt unbidden from his lips.
To his horror, Fileg stopped moving; indeed she froze as if frightened by the noise he made. He groaned now, in real distress, because he wanted very much to push himself up inside of her to continue to completion, but did not dare move.
"I do not believe you are doing it right," hissed Ivreniel while she squeezed and patted his outstretched hands in sympathy. "He is still suffering grievously, let me try."
"Hush," said Brethil. "He will hear you."
"I do not believe so." His limp hands were lifted together and then dropped. "Do you see? He is still quite unconscious."
Meanwhile, Fileg was still immobile on top of him and Conner was growing increasingly frustrated, although he kept quiet.
"Is he… is it?" Brethil began, but did not finish.
"Lift up a little," said Ivreniel.
Conner did not need to see anything to understand what she was referring to, while Fileg rose up enough on his rigid shaft to expose his current condition. She lowered herself again, slowly. Ahhhh, now that was good.
"The poor thing," exclaimed Ivreniel at the sight. In her eagerness to help alleviate Conner's condition, she had climbed up on top of him, from behind, over his shoulders, in order to replace Fileg.
"It is my turn now. Let me try," she was saying and Fileg answered her, but he had heard no more, or did not listen, anyway. At that moment, he realized that he could feel what must have been the inside of one of Ivreniel's naked thighs brushing against the outside of his sword arm. In the commotion, she had removed her leggings while, at the same time, she tried to talk the other elleth into trading places with her. Now he felt soft bare skin right up against his cheek. He inhaled deeply and nearly swooned.
Then the ellith who were sitting on top of him began to struggle over whose turn it was, which was even nicer.
"Both of you remove yourselves this instant!" Brethil's sharp command was effective. The ellith jumped off of him and Conner was in twice as much trouble. His frantic member seemed to hop about on his belly once it had been released, it was that eager for continued attention. To add to his agony, he felt a firm hand grasp it, and he knew who it was that held him.
"It looks in worse shape than it was before, to me," whispered Fileg from nearby, in Sindarin. Her normally lilting voice sounded at the verge of tears. When Brethil's hand stroked Conner swollen manhood lightly, he gasped.
"You are hurting him!" Fileg's cry almost made Conner feel sorry for himself.
"We must be going about this the wrong way," Brethil said. "There is something else that I have heard humans enjoy, which might cure this problem, and that we have not tried yet. Bring me a damp cloth."
Within moments, Conner's erection, painful but sturdy, was wiped clean, evoking more gasping moans from the young squire, which provoked cries of alarm from the ellith. Just when it had gotten to the point where he thought he would have to come right out and ask for help, the tip of his member was covered by something wet, warm, and slippery. A mouth.
"What are you doing?" Ivreniel sounded more curious than shocked. "Does that taste good? Let me try. Brethil, it was my turn next!"
At that moment, Conner's arms, still stretched over his head and tended by Ivreniel, jerked, reflexively, when the mouth covering his hardness began to suckle. He felt his hands being grasped again and he decided to be bolder after Ivreniel drew them onto her lap. Her legs were barely covered by her tunic, and he knew she was naked underneath that, so he took advantage of these facts.
First, he balled his fingers up into tight fists, and Ivreniel reacted immediately by covering his hands with her own, as if to soothe him. Slowly, Conner relaxed his own hands, haltingly, and opened them, jerkily, stretching his fingers out while surreptitiously feeling his way over the unexplored territory beneath his knuckles. He could just slip one finger beneath the hem covering a leg. If the elleth guessed at his furtive motive, she made no mention of it, but she did open her legs a little more.
From the amount of dedication Brethil was paying to his nether regions, Conner assumed she was not watching either Ivreniel or his hands, and what they were doing together. He was able to slip another finger beneath the tunic, and then another, his knuckles encountered the tender inner flesh of the elleth's upper thigh. She made a sound, almost a squeak, but opened her legs wider nonetheless.
It was almost too much for Conner when he finally felt that most exquisite portal of any woman's private anatomy right under his probing fingers. After he pushed his hands deeper between her thighs; she shifted her pelvis upwards, ever so slightly, in order to meet his inquisitive hands. When he realized what he was touching, he had to blow out his breath in a series of sharp puffs to keep what was left of his self-control. Brethil halted, and lifted her head, when she heard him. His slick member plopped out of her mouth.
"Did you bite him?" Fileg asked in Sindarin.
"I… I did not," gasped Brethil, she released Conner as if the touch of his skin burned her fingers and his raging symptom bounced on his belly for a moment before lying there in despair. "I thought that I was being gentle," she added, but she was not quick enough to resume her task.
Conner felt his own hands being hastily brushed away from their lovely secret hiding place as Ivreniel leapt up abruptly and left him. She did not see that his gentler-tied bindings had become loosened during their travels between her knees and how he easily slipped one wrist out from the ropes.
"It is my turn, now!" Her angry voice demanded justice while she tried to sit on top of him again. "You have both failed to help him and I fear that he is on the verge of death because of it!"
As before, delighted, Conner felt the two ellith that straddled him struggling for a moment and then he heard Ivreniel's triumphant shout of satisfaction as she claimed his erection for herself, at last.
"Do be careful with him," whimpered Fileg to Conner's latest personal assistant. "I do not trust that look in your eye, sister." Below, he could feel the elleth positioning the tip of his aching, throbbing length against her moist, inner lips, while using her fingers to spread them further to admit him inside.
"I will be more than careful," boasted the victorious elleth before she enveloped Conner deep within herself, with a sharp squeal of joy, and in one firm downward lunge that took both of their breaths away. He could feel her inner muscles clenching and spasming with pleasure and this sensation was, at last, his final tipping point. He could take no more. He could be neither silent nor still any longer.
With a guttural roar, Conner grasped Ivreniel's waist in both of his hands, to hold her steady, while he bucked up against her and imitated a gushing fountain inside of her. It was a wild frenzied display of pent up and previously unreleased passion that could not be denied or forestalled. All that the elleth who rode his hips could hope to do was to continue to hang on to him for dear life. She did not seem to mind, or try to save herself.
Snorting and grunting in utter ecstasy, Conner paid no heed to the other ellith voices as they called out at him to stop and be still, not until he was completely and thoroughly spent. It was not as if he ever really heard them and obeyed; actually, it was more that he finally collapsed from both exhaustion and relief. It would take some time before they would be able to make him move again.
"Do you think Ivreniel killed him?" Fileg was frantically patting Conner's face as she spoke. His alleged murderer had collapsed on top of his chest and did not speak up in her defense, except to moan. She did, however, eventually slide off of him to lie beside him on the grass, with an arm around his waist and one leg territorially flung over both of his.
"I do not believe that a corpse would be smiling like this," replied Brethil sourly. She knelt beside him, threw Ivreniel's arm off from his body with a notable lack of gentleness, and put her own hand on his chest. "His heart is racing. Sit up, Ivreniel, give him some air!"
"I am alive," croaked Conner. He tried to clear his throat and struggled to think of something to say that would express both his gratitude and lasting love toward all three ellith, however, other needs were more pressing. "Could I have some water, please?"
When Conner felt the water skin being tipped into his mouth, he took it into his own hands to direct the stream and not drown. Either they had not noticed that his wrists were untied, or they did not care enough to restrain him, yet. He flaunted his unbound state by wiping his chin with the back of the same hand that he had touched Ivreniel with, her sweet fragrance lingered there. This revived him better than the drink. With a grunt, he sat up, slowly.
"How are you feeling, squire?" A hand gripped his shoulder to help him sit up, felt his face, his forehead, and then vanished before he could determine whose it was.
"Much better now, thank you, all of you." Conner kept his features solemn and his tone grateful. "I fear that I was near to death, but you have healed me," he added, sincerely, "and I am forever in your debt."
"Someone is approaching," said Brethil, with a tinge of either disappointment or irritation, or possibly both, in her voice. "Cover him," she whispered.
Conner was hurriedly assisted back into his leggings by invisible hands. He obediently lifted his feet at their request and raised his hips from the grass when necessary. Overall he continued to behave like a recovering patient, properly passive with lingering weakness, although the desire to reach out and touch his helpers was nearly irresistible. To some small extent, he felt as if a bond had been forged between them that gave him the right to do so, but he did want to appear too healthy. At least, not yet.
A new elleth voice joined theirs. It was not a stranger; she was the messenger who had been sent ahead that morning into the city to advise the Lord and Lady of Conner's eventual arrival. He could not pretend any more that he was unconscious, and eavesdrop secretly on the conversation, while his fate was discussed.
Instead, he drank leisurely from the skin, tipping his head back now and then to let some of the water wash over his face, neck, and shoulders. He tried to act as if being wet inside and out was his chief concern and their plans for him were no particular significance. What he heard did not make him as happy as he would have thought.
The Lady Galadriel had sent word back to his guardians that the Gondorian squire was indeed expected in Lórien, but his presence in Caras Galadhon was not required and his seizure was unwarranted. He was to be taken back to the Anduin immediately, and put into a boat, without further delay, and sent off to find his way to Rohan. The river was currently being monitored along each bank and there were no signs of any dangers ahead, therefore he was to be allowed to travel both unattended and unmolested.
Although Conner could not follow every word of the Elvish tongue from this messenger elleth, her subtly cheeky tone gave him the impression that she derived personal satisfaction from countermanding the high-and-mighty Brethil. No one spoke after she was finished.
In the following utter silence, even the rustling breezes had stopped, Conner felt vindicated. He wondered if the tall frowning elleth would express any regret over her earlier decision to snatch him away from his Mirkwood guides as some kind of willing but reluctant prisoner, without having asked for proper permission from her superiors, first. In her place, he would have been shaking in his boots.
The urge to lift his blindfold and see Brethil's face at that moment ran through Conner like a tremor. He suppressed the temptation, but beneath the cloth his stubborn eyes were wide open and straining, as if they believed that they could see her if they just worked harder at it.
Would she admit that she had made a mistake? Would she apologize to him? Would she at least take the blindfold off of him now? His heart began to pound with anticipation as it sank in that he was going to be freed any moment now. Free at last to travel down the Anduin to Rohan. Unaccountably, his heart sank a little at the thought. Alone, he would be all alone. His heart sank more.
"As you can very well see," remarked Brethil, in her most no-nonsense manner, "this man is ill, very ill, and can not be moved anywhere at present. He has just suffered through a type of violent fit, or seizure, no doubt brought about by heat exhaustion."
At her words, a surprised and grateful Conner moaned dramatically and slumped over sideways, to help demonstrate the truth of her claim. Instead of the grass, he landed on something soft and yielding. With a cry of alarm, Ivreniel, who broke his fall, pulled his head down onto her lap and stroked his hair.
"We cannot take any chances with his health, let alone allow him to travel anywhere by himself," Brethil was saying. "Not until he has regained his strength."
"His complete strength," added Ivreniel, with an emphasis on the word 'complete', and Fileg sweetly agreed with her. No one said anything about his blindfold and he decided that remaining in a state of near collapse was in his best interest for now, and kept his mouth shut about it. A hand patted his cheek and he smiled. This was going to be fun.
"Is he breathing?" The voice of the messenger came from very close and Conner stopped smiling. "Our Lady," she warned, "will be perturbed with the three of you, if you have killed a Gondorian with your willful insubordination."
"He is merely asleep, I believe," murmured Ivreniel, and, at that moment, Conner was quite sure that he was falling in love with her, instead of Fileg, but it still a close call. "I think he is more tired than sickened."
The elleth shifted about beneath him, making herself more at ease, while finding a more comfortable place in her lap for his head, and added, "Before nightfall, he will need to be transported somewhere safer, and he is very heavy. How will we ever move him up to the flets?"
"We shall use ropes to lift him if we have to," said Brethil, but she did not sound as confident as she normally did. "Over by the creek's bed is a stand of ancient oak with deer-hunting platforms. We shall move him there when it grows dark. Perhaps after a nap, he will be able to walk and climb."
If there was anything that Conner would have done differently than his Galadhrim keepers did, it would have been to send Brethil back to the city instead of the messenger. Although he imagined that she was very beautiful, he never had a chance to either see her face or learn her name. She was dispatched with instructions to tell the Lady of their intentions to help the overheated squire recover before taking him back to the Anduin.
Other than never getting a glimpse of the messenger's face, he had no real complaints about the plan to keep him there, wherever they were, and with the three of them for at least one more night. He was looking forward to it.
Again, Ivreniel repositioned her legs beneath Conner's head, and her hand stopped petting his hair. Instead, she put her arm over his shoulder, as if to protect him, and sweetly asked Brethil to fetch her some more water as she did not want to disturb him. A few moments passed and she laughed.
"You can stop pretending that you are ill," she told him quietly, using the common tongue, while stroking his shoulder and chest. "Go to sleep now. You have earned your rest."
"If you keep touching me that way, fair elleth," Conner answered, "I will never be able to fall asleep."
"Very well," said Ivreniel with a sigh. "Fileg is watching us, although she does not understand what we are saying, and Brethil will be back soon." She returned her hand to his hair. "I will sing you to sleep."
From somewhere close by, Fileg's voice joined Ivreniel's in an uncomplicated yet haunting song about lost golden dreams reflected in a silver mirror, and one bright star. He could make no sense of the lyrics but then this was not the kind of song that needed to make sense, he figured, and the words were not as important as the intent to bring comfort. Eventually, the lullaby had the same effect on him as too much wine would, and he felt irresistibly and effortlessly drawn down towards the embrace of blissful unconsciousness.
With one last restless toss of his head, Conner tried rousing himself from the alluring depths of beckoning slumber that the bewitching elven melody was painting in his thoughts, in order to request that his blindfold be removed.
He forgot what he meant to ask, however, after his head was gently pushed right back down onto Ivreniel's lap. Her fingers ran lightly over his scalp, pushing through his hair, while she continued her song as if nothing had happened. She could do that to him forever.
Whatever it was that he had wanted to ask her could surely wait until later, he decided.
To be continued in Chapter 5
Posted: March 26, 2006
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"Long live Thranduil, great Elf-king of Greenwood!"