Desiring a Body
Summary:
Story Warnings: NC-17, slash, graphic sexual activity.
Disclaimer: These characters and Middle-Earth are the copyright of the Tolkien estate and this fan fiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright in any way.
Thanks to beta reader Aayesha.
Feedback
is welcome to
Tyellas@hotmail.com
"Some say that the Houseless (elvish spirits) desire bodies…the Houseless may plead for shelter, and if it is admitted, then it will seek to enslave its host and use both his will and his body for its own purposes." - J.R.R. Tolkien, writing about Elvish ghosts in Middle-Earth
Returning
to their homes after the War of the Ring, the great company of elves and other
folk camped at Helm's Deep for two days. The first night, Legolas watched
Galadriel and Elrond, their robes trailing, lifting lanterns and walking the
boundaries of their camp. Their soft, rhythmic voices came to him from afar. His
keen eyes saw strange shimmerings clustered in the air around them. Curious,
Legolas left his companions and went to speak to Elladan, the nearest person who
might know what was happening.
"What
do the Wise do about the edges of the camp?" Legolas asked. "Do they speak
to the tree-spirits of Fangorn?"
"No.
They cast wards against the Houseless Ones, wandering elf-spirits. Mortals would
say they were ghosts of the elvish dead." Elladan spoke to him quietly, in a
voice for only elfin ears to hear. "The Housless Ones have powers and desires
of their own. Now that the Elven-Rings are powerless, the Elves have lost some
warding against them, and they are drawn to our living minds. Have you not felt
the spirits?"
Legolas
smiled lightly. "I know of the Houseless, but I am no loremaster like you, to
remember all the tales and names of old. Nor have I felt their touch. Should I
try and sense these spirits?" he asked.
"No!"
said Elladan. "And be wary if they come to you. Some of them are fair, and
bring only visions from their memories. But others are cruel. They spurn the
Halls of Mandos because they fear their fate; kinslayers, elves drawn into evil
and worse. Such there have been in our past. Fair and fearsome alike miss the
bodies that once housed them, and crave the sensations they once knew."
The
pair watched as the two Wise stopped in their walking. Each lifted their lantern
high, and Legolas heard them cry out a word of command: Ega!
Then they returned to the camp without looking back. Legolas saw a few
shimmerings near where the Wise had stood; then the ghost-lights were gone.
"Perhaps
others are troubled. For myself, after the Stone of Erech, I do not fear the
Dead," said Legolas.
Elladan's
look was deep. "Maybe you should, Legolas. Maybe you should."
Legolas
did not remember this conversation until more than two months had passed, on the
last day of October. He had finally parted from Gimli on the dwarf-road near
Mirkwood. Unwilling to leave his friend, he had journeyed further than he needed
to, almost to the edge of Mirkwood's marshes. Faring back towards his home, he
followed one of the streams east into the woods. It was his first time alone in
months, and it struck him deeply. His path seemed wild and weary as evening
fell. The sunset had the melancholy of the last moments of autumn, coming back
to seduce with a warm day before winter set in.
Legolas
walked on beside the stream until the full moon had risen. Where the stream
plunged down to form a small pool, he paused to rest a while, perched on a great
curved rock of black siltstone that loomed above the pool. He watched the
falling water, where fish gleamed and leaped at the evening's insects. Legolas
stripped and dove gracefully into the pool's deeps. After a few turns in the
water, he caught a fish and killed it, swift and kind. Water ran off him like
quicksilver as he climbed back up to the great rock. It was pleasant to sit
there; the stone trapped the heat of the day, it seemed. There, he ate the fish
after the fashion of the simplest wood-elves, slicing it finely, eating the
melting slivers of its clean flesh raw. If Gimli had been there, his friend
would have teased him for it. Legolas smiled at the thought, missing their
banter.
He
still wondered at it that he and Gimli were become such fast friends. And it
seemed even stranger that there were few such friendships between Elves and
Dwarves. The elder kindreds of the world were more akin than they knew. What had
it been like in the ages of the past, before the Sindar Elves and the Dwarves
fought and gained their grudge? Perhaps the elven-smiths of legend had visited
the great dwarf-cities of Nogrod and Belegost, named by the dwarves Tumunzahar
and Gabilgathol. He was surprised at his memory, for he did not remember
learning those names.
Thought
drew him in again. Nogrod, now; what would Nogrod have been like? It seemed to
rise clear in his mind, as if he had walked there with fond eyes. He pictured
great hallways flagged with stone of red and dark yellow in intricate patterns;
copper lanterns on the walls; soaring arches more graceful than those of
Khazad-Dum hewn from the red sandstone of the Nogrod caves. A vision came to him
of a great hall with a hundred forges and a sizzling crucible at its centre,
with a chiming din of smith-work, dwarf-lads pumping bellows, and the folk of
the Stone-Masters singing deep as they forged and carved.
A
fish leapt and slapped into the water below, and Legolas started at the sound.
These were not the paths his mind usually took. Might these new thoughts be
visions from houseless elvish spirits? Kind and sad spirits, he thought, for the
visions were fair, not fearful or cruel. Unlike before, there were no
shimmerings in the trees. The stream seemed to be running quiet and no
night-birds called. "Fair spirits, are you there?" he whispered, feeling a
touch foolish.
One
is, came a foreign
voice, speaking to his mind. And thou hast courage to speak me.
Legolas
shivered deliciously at this new adventure. "I do not fear the Dead! What is
your name, spirit? From where do you spring?"
My
mother named me Lómion, and I walked Beleriand.
"Did
you place the fair vision of Nogrod in me?" he asked.
Yes. I walked there, and my memory I gave thee. I worked much with the Dwarves in my youth, learning smith-craft of them. The Elves had little grudge against them then.
Legolas
peered into the darkness, striving to sense Lómion. The spirit was both present
and remote, as if it held back much. "Did you know of halflings then, too?"
What?
Not
wanting the spirit to withdraw, Legolas hastened to explain. "Periannath.
Another mortal people?"
The
spirit was cool and dismissive. All mortals are less than we of the Eldar.
Perhaps I knew them and did not have that name. Why care you for the Dwarves?
Few Elves do.
"The
finest friend of my life is a Dwarf. It is a curious tale."
Share it with me.
Entranced
by the way thought flew between himself and the unseen presence, Legolas spoke
as if to a present companion. He told the story of his friendship with Gimli, up
to their game that had lightened the dread battle of Helm's Deep.
Such
fierce games I had as well, in my day.
Legolas sensed Lómion opening up further, sharing emotions: glimmers of
defiance, passion, a lust for battle.
Legolas
ventured another question. "Who were your kin, Lómion?"
I
was noble among the Sindar, like you, was Lómion's reply.
"It
is strange how alike we are," Legolas marvelled.
That
is why I revealed myself to thee. I might show thee many more memories of old.
Splendid cities and daring loves.
"Show
me!" Legolas demanded.
Images
whirled through his mind, brighter and clearer than before. As if the memories
were his own, he saw the massive upthrust mountain of Nogrod; then a glorious
white city set amidst the green sward of summer. He saw a tall gate of steel,
with a long metal fence, and heard how it had rung to the touch like a great
harp. Then the spirit's memory slid into his body, recalling of the eager,
leaping heat of a boy's first seduction, then a tender hour consoling a
heartbroken warrior.
"I
liked the last one best," Legolas murmured. "That is a moving vision."
I
will share it with thee more fully.
The
spirit shared the hour of passion in more detail, darkly sensuous and yet
merciful for the riven soldier who had wept in Lómion's arms. Legolas was
roused at the tale. Lómion had done as he would have pleased to, domineering
the elf-man and taking him even as he consoled. "Warriors then were like
warriors now, it seems!" he said, amused.
A
stroke of chill ran down Legolas' spine, and a breeze touched his hair. Fair
elf-man, mithril-silver one. A shame we did not walk together. Fair sport we
might have had. Console me. Let me feel with thee; have pity for the Houseless. The
sensuous breeze brushed low and warm. A fiery vision of lust touched Legolas for
a moment, showing that the spirit could feel his desire if he, clad in a body,
pleased himself
Did
he feel the barest hint of a kiss on his mouth, or was it only his
vision-intoxicated mind? Seduced by the strangeness of it, he murmured, "All
right, spirit."
Legolas
stretched his long body to lay over the curving black rock. The high moon
silvered his skin and hair, even as it made the water in the plunging stream
glitter like glass. He ran his two hands over his chest, stroking and flicking
his nipples. The spirit hovered, yearning.
You
must call me to your flesh; that is the law.
"Then
come to me, Lómion."
The
sense of the spirit vanished from above Legolas. The change was felt in his
body, not his mind. The starting heat of self-passion seemed to double. The feel
of his own hands was as exciting as if they were those of a stranger, but the
sensations that they brought to him showed that he was the one who knew his body
best. He closed his eyes and reached between his legs.
Be
slow. I want to feel everything.
For
the first, he loosely caged his phallus in his hand. The tight, chilled flesh
warmed and slackened. He exhaled deeply. It was a delicious sensation, to feel
himself growing hard and sensitive, filling his own hand. The spirit's
presence heightened the pleasure of it. It was the best of being watched, and
the purest solitude.
What
a passion is in thee - you burn like white birch on a forge.
"'Tis
been a long time," he gasped. "But you will see how patient I am." Legolas
teased himself with the skill he would use to bring a lover to the brink, subtle
caresses that drew sensation up and let it subside, to be roused higher again.
Sliding his grip down his shaft, he pressed hard, so that he felt each vein
pulse. Then he traced upwards and rolled the pad of his thumb across the head,
catching the salty beads of fluid to slicken his hand. He felt Lómion's
pleasure like a shadow in the back of his mind, compelling him and drawing him
down into unrestrained lust.
Legolas
did not feel the hard stone beneath him as he writhed, obeying only magnified,
aching need. Vaguely, he felt that the spirit was less lost than he. Beyond
caring, he arched back with a moan, so lured into his body that he paid no heed
anymore to his mind. He worked his cock hard and fast now, breathing harsh.
"Can you tell I draw close?" he gasped, and the spirit replied.
Yes.
Spend for me, and spend hard. Now!
Arching
his back, Legolas came like a gout of fire. Lust still gripped him, and he drew
again on his phallus, spilling a touch more seed as he shook. "Spent twice,
for both of us," he groaned, and it felt that way, so drained was he. His
pulse hammering, he stretched out upon the stone.
The lassitude of release took him. He kept his eyes closed as he
murmured, luxuriously, "Did my body please you well, Lómion?"
Aye,
kindly one. Well enough that I shall keep it for myself.
Hot
hooks cut at his mind, a vile sensation, and Legolas shouted in pain. Give me
your form - or suffer, the deceitful spirit said.
"NO!" Legolas rocked upright and shook his head to clear it, but the steel in his brain remained. Blazing agony shot down his spine as he resisted. Give over, the spirit whispered.
"Drawn
to my body by pleasure," snarled Legolas, "you'll be riven from me by
pain!" He reached for his knives. As he did, the spirit's evil power cramped
and seared his arms. A lesser elf would have been lost, but Legolas had been one
of the Companions of the Ringbearer, and his mind was strong against horrors.
Swift in instinct, he flung himself off the rock into the stream's pool below.
This was no fine dive. The water smacked him like a wall of stone, then stunned
him with knife-like cold - but a clean cold. The spirit fled his mind as he
let the freezing pool take him.
A
minute later he surfaced, lungs afire, bruised and stung, shocked out of his
sensuous trance. What had Elladan
said? What had the Wise done? "Ega!" shouted Legolas, not knowing the
meaning of the Quenya word of power, but feeling it with all his being; be
gone! A livid light flashed in the trees over the pool, a breeze hissed.
Then the forest about was still.
Shaking
with battle-fury, Legolas stayed braced in the water for several minutes.
Finally, he dipped his hands into the water, cleaning himself in thanks. Clean
water had many virtues, he remembered. At Rivendell, it had downed the undead
Nazgûl. When he staggered out of the pool, he found that the stone on which he
had lain was now cold. Perhaps the spirit had dwelt in the black rock, giving it
its heat. Legolas dressed quickly, shivering at the memory of how the spirit had
tempted him and betrayed him. Had that houseless one been so evil when clad in
flesh? What sins had the treacherous spirit hidden behind the name Lómion?
Dressed,
he fastened his belt and took up his gear. If he began walking now, he would be
at his father's charm-warded gates by noontide the next day. He grasped his
bow at the ready. It was useless against a houseless spirit, but he felt
stronger with it to hand. Then he set off, planning what of Mirkwood's finest
goods he would offer to Rivendell's wise ones, as trade for some books of
lore.
Story
Notes:
Set
immediately after the War of the Ring.
My mother named me Lómion = This is Maeglin from The Silmarillion. He was named Lómion by his mother, Aredhel; the name means "child of twilight."
Warriors then were like warriors now = Maeglin has told an edited version of a slash encounter he had in another story I wrote, Shields.
Clean
water had many virtues = Rivers foiled the Nazgûl twice; Mordor is
notably lacking in fresh water. Throughout Tolkien's works water,
especially streams and rivers, is associated with the will of the good Vala
of water, Ulmo.
Ega
= Quenya command, "be gone." Imperative and very superior in meaning.
Charm-warded gates = It is mentioned in The Hobbit that Thranduil's gates are enchanted.
Please do not repost or reproduce this story without permission. First posted Sept.1, 2002.
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