FIC: Bringer of Joy (R) [Imrahil/Rumil] for Talullah Red

[moanahine.livejournal.com]

Title: Bringer of Joy

Author: Kissa aka moanahine
Written for: Talullah Red (Merry Christmas dear and I hope you like the story!)
Pairing: Imrahil/ Rúmil

Warnings: AU, mention of werewolf, secondary character deaths, teeny tiny mention of elf-preg.

Rating: a shy R for some sex and violence
Disclaimer: I do not own any elves or dark handsome men, and to my knowledge none of this is true. This is pure fiction and should be read as such.

Summary: An elf arrives in a strange land and he decides to help the dark lord of this realm.

AN: Alastegiel means “bringer of joy” and Melda means “beloved”. I usually write much more graphically but the mood of the fic simply asked for something lighter.

 

**

 

//…// - thoughts

“…”- speech

 

**

 

Bringer of Joy

 

**

His kind was not destined to die.

 

He would.

 

His brother would be proven right, but he would be dead by then, no more than the faint memory of an insufficient meal for the beasts.

 

They had used treachery to catch him and before he could shoot any of his deadly arrows or draw his daggers, they had clubbed him unconscious, and he had woken with blood dripping in his eyes, pain making his every fiber throb.

 

He tried to move, but found he could not; he wanted to adjust his posture, but it was impossible. Opening his eyes, he took a fearful peek down and had he not been pinned to the tree, he would have fallen to the ground from the shock.

 

The unfortunate elf gazed at the arrows piercing him as if some demented giant had tried to learn to weave or had used him as a pin cushion. Two dozen or more sturdy, thick Orc arrows went through his flesh to sink deeply into the tree’s bark.

 

The young elf wished he wouldn’t have regained consciousness before his end… it would be more painful for him this way. He could not stop the thoughts, reminding him of his happy, safe home, his older brothers, the games he used to play as an elfling… All that would be no more for him, as he felt life dripping from him.

 

His captors would soon unleash the beasts, but not before cutting pieces of him for themselves, like the captain of the Orc party had said: “Fresh steak for dinner, idiots!” They were immune to their own poison.

 

One of them was nearing him with a small axe, muttering some obscenities, and the elf closed his eyes, hoping the Orc was coming to kill him before they began tearing at his flesh.

 

His fine elven hearing picked up the sound of hooves approaching and he assumed more Orcs were joining the company that had caught him.

 

Instead of Orcs, what he saw were men on their horses, storming in onto the resting Orcs and beginning to slaughter them methodically.

 

The men were not armored like soldiers; they were clad in leather and cloaks which blended with the colors of the forest, and on the captain’s jerkin there was a silver embroidered swan, which was also the last thing the elf saw.

 

**

 

The darkness lifted again and the first thing he heard was the sound of a beautiful male voice singing something in a language so ancient not even he could remember what it was.

 

Reluctantly opening his eyes, the elf looked around cautiously and saw the small clearing littered with Orc corpses, soldiers dragging them one by one to a pile in the middle.  

 

The captain of the men approached him, still singing softly, and the elf realized the very sound of the voice had a soothing effect on him, as the arrows piercing him no longer burned his flesh. When the man came even closer, he could see grey eyes from behind the visor, watching him calmly, reassuringly.

 

“It will be alright, little one. Your time is not now.” A low, entrancing voice, different to the one he had used for singing, lulling the elf into a pleasant state where he felt warm and safe.

 

“This will hurt, little one, but I need to take you away from here…” the man added, starting the long and painstaking process of extracting the arrows which pierced the elf’s delicate flesh.

 

Each one of the arrows had a metal head, sharp and dipped in poison. Some had gone straight through the flesh, embedding themselves in the tree bark, while some others had stopped in the elf’s body. It was a miracle the fragile creature was still alive.

 

The captain cut the arrows that were planted in the tree bark right between the elf’s body and the bark, thus getting rid of the metal heads. The elf collapsed in his arms, three arrows still buried in his body. The man knew he had to act fast, or else all of his magic and healer skills would be on no help.

 

He laid the elf down and gave him his suede glove to bite as he tore the creature’s clothes to see the angle of entry and assess the internal damage. Once he was sure the arrows had not gone through any vital organs, he pulled them out swiftly. Tears burst from his eyes as the elf wailed in pain and fainted. Black blood flowed from the wounds.

 

“Sweet one, do not leave yet! Fight with me, help me mend your broken shell!” the man whispered, having lowered his head to bring his forehead in contact with the elf’s.

 

A faint twitch in the seemingly unresponsive body gave him hope and he began to prepare his healer’s tools. His men had made a fire, and he used his sharp, long stiletto, whose blade he reddened in the flames, to cauterize the wounds from within. Tears streaked both the elf’s cheeks and his as well, because he hated having to cause even more pain to the delicate creature. Although the elf was in a very bad state, his beauty shone through, and the man’s heart went out to him, having seen the extent of the ordeal he’d been subjected to.

 

“I am done with hurting you, dear one.” He said, stroking the elf’s face soothingly. “Now I will apply healing salve and dress your wounds. I shall take you to our city and take proper care of you there.”

 

The elf blinked slowly, to show that he understood. He could not bring himself to speak, and he hoped the man would understand.

 

Finally, the man had dressed all of his wounds, but he was thirsty and nauseous from the poison, and he could feel it trying to take over his system. He had to hold on, though, because this man who had rescued him was giving him a chance to live to see his brothers, even if they would tease him mercilessly again.

 

As if knowing what he needed without asking, the man gave him water and a sip of a very strong drink, which worked wonders in taking away his nausea. Now they could travel.

 

**

He woke up feeling warm, being lulled gently. He burrowed closer to the source of the warmth and, upon opening his eyes, he saw he was curled up in the captain’s arms and they were riding slowly, probably towards the man’s city like he had promised.

 

The elf fell asleep once more, feeling protected.

 

When he woke up again, he was in a bed with white sheets and two maids were preparing a bath for him. They helped him undress and settle into the tub, with ever-present consideration for his numerous injuries and in complete silence. The elf was grateful, because he did not feel up to small talk and being in a foreign realm, he barely trusted the captain who had rescued him, let alone anyone else.

 

One of the maids began lathering his hair and rinsed it with chamomile infusion, while the other bathed him. He could tell they were watching him from beneath their lowered lashes, and he understood their curiosity. He was different and he was male, probably unlike the males they were used to.

 

They left, as quiet as they had been when they had first appeared. The elf was left alone again, gingerly trying to comb his hair, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching his body more closely. His wounds were healing at a fast rate, due to his elven nature, but that was only because there had been someone to rescue him, to care for him and give him hope. In the absence of it, the self-healing could not take place. An elf abandoned with nothing to cling to would let himself fade and not fight one bit.

 

He finished braiding his hair and when he grew tired of watching his naked body and the healing wounds, he put his nightshirt on and carefully made his wobbly way to the window, where he sat on the sill and looked outside.

 

What he saw was not a very happy sight. It was as if the entire landscape had been painted by a sad artist, from the grey sky to the fruitless trees and grassless soil. No birdsong broke the silence and no beast, big or small, roamed the ghostly woods around the castle.

 

The earth itself breathed heavily, agonizing, and the elf’s fine senses, attuned to the nature around, felt the immense sadness poisoning the land he was currently in. However, his keen eyesight allowed him to see the desolation only extended to the domain’s boundaries. Outside them, nature was flourishing, but not so much as a butterfly flew over the invisible wall of sorrow.

 

Right then, he heard the door to his room open, and the man who had rescued him entered. The elf looked at him, noticing the man’s face lit up when he smiled at him in greeting, but his eyes stayed cold and sad.

 

“Do you feel better, dear one?” the man spoke softly, as if afraid to scare the elf into falling off the sill. The voice was warm and comforting, and the elf wondered how come such a gentle man could be surrounded by such a shroud of sorrow and not fight it.

 

“Aye, I feel much better, and I find I am alive even after the point when I realized all the chances had deserted me… and for that I am thankful to you, my Lord.” The elf spoke in his melodic, almost child-like pure voice. “To whom do I owe my gratitude, my Lord?”

 

“Ah, please forgive my lack of manners. I am Imrahil of Dol Amroth.” //wretched prince of this cursed realm//

 

Imrahil then moved closer and, seeing the elf made to return to the bed, he helped him by letting him lean on his arm as he walked.

 

When they got to the bed and the elf sat down, he raised clear blue eyes at the man and said:

 

“I am Rúmil, and I serve as an archer in the border patrol of the Golden Wood. My older brother, who is also my captain, sent me on a mission to Gondor and I was on my way back to the Lady Galadriel’s realm when I was caught.”

 

“I am most pleased that I could find you in time, Rúmil.” The man said, happy to finally know the elf’s name. It had been long since he had spoken so much to anyone from outside his realm, and the elf was an enchanting creature to say the least; plus, amazingly, his pain somehow lessened in the presence of the woodland creature.

 

More days passed exactly the same, with the elf slowly but steadily recovering, and the man appearing after sundown to bring the elf dinner and a few moments of conversation. It was during one of these evenings that Rúmil told his rescuer about his brothers and how much he missed them. He also added that usually an elf would wither away if kept from going home for too long. He did not feel a prisoner, but he was aware of the fact his condition did not allow him to travel, let alone fight back if he was attacked again. Rúmil also told Imrahil how welcome he felt and how caring and attentive everyone was… although in this case “everyone” amounted to the two maids who cleaned his room and fixed his baths and Imrahil himself. He did not know where the soldiers had disappeared, because even with his keen hearing, he could not hear the sounds made by other people and their horses in the fortified castle.

 

At Rúmil ’s pleading, and although he had been avoiding breaching the subject as firmly as he could, Imrahil could not refuse the elf and told him his story in few words that left the elf crying and moving closer to wrap the man in his warm arms.

 

Not so long ago, Imrahil began, he had been a young lord who had just been named Prince of Dol Amroth by the Steward of Gondor. He had won many a battle as he had a very strong reason to defend his realm: his beautiful elven bride, Melda, who had left her home and people and had chosen to live with him in that war-stricken zone. Melda’s beauty attracted the attention of a wizard, who sent many plagues upon the Belfalas, and said he would leave the people alone only if the young prince surrendered his beautiful wife to him. Back then, a young and impulsive Imrahil had stood his ground, refusing to send his wife who loved him so much into the claws of the dark wizard. Extreme drought and poverty had hit the land, nothing had grown out of the ground and no animals had bred any young.

 

The people were starving so they all left in search of a better life. Seeing that soon they would be alone in the entire princedom, young Melda secretly left the castle and went to the wizard, pleading with him to give the life back to the land and promising she would stay with him for all time. Elves did not tell lies, so her word should have been taken as a pledge. But the wizard accused her of treachery and kept her prisoner in his fief. Imrahil came to take her back, and the wizard pointed out that she was with child, claiming that it was his. The young prince fought fiercely and managed to kill the wizard, but as he died, the wizard cast a curse on Imrahil… that he should lose all he loved and remain alone, surrounded by shadows, feeding off the flesh of the living without being alive or full-dead himself.

 

At this point in his account, lost in the painful memories, Imrahil felt a warm, delicate touch on his cheek, wiping away a tear he had not realized he had let slip. When he looked up, he saw the elf was holding him, literally wrapped around him, and strangely, this was working wonders. Unfortunately, he would have to leave soon and finish his tale some other time… he had caught a glimpse of the red moon lighting the skies that night and he knew he would start to transform soon.

 

Rúmil sensed the man tensing in his arms, and he held on tighter, kissing the man’s brow. What he had heard so far had helped him make a dramatic decision. He missed his brothers, true, and he wanted to return to the majestic Golden Wood, but first he would do everything in his power to help this man who had given him another chance at life when all had seemed lost. Imrahil had spoken of a curse; that was by no means good news, but curses could be broken…

 

Even if he could not do that for Imrahil, he would make sure guilt and sadness did not weigh so much on the brave prince.

 

“I must go, or I will transform here.” Imrahil said.

 

“Stay, please. I am not afraid of you. If you go out, you might step into one of the traps I saw hidden beneath the dead leaves. Stay and finish your tale, Imrahil.”

 

“I cannot. You are my guest, I cannot let any harm come to you!” the prince protested.

 

“No harm will come to me, I promise you.” Rúmil spoke in all confidence, knowing that no matter what beast Imrahil would turn into, it would still be the prince to some small extent, and he would be safe.

 

Darkness wrapped itself like a snug veil around the scenery and outside it began to snow. Still reluctant but unexplainably trusting the elf, Imrahil sat back down on the bed, watching the moonlight streaming into the room. Rúmil’s hand wrapped itself around his and they waited.

 

As soon as the moon rose to its highest point in the sky and a ray of its light touched Imrahil, he began to change. In front of Rúmil’s astonished eyes, Imrahil turned into a huge, hideous-looking wolf, with red eyes. The elf kept his grip on the man’s hand, now a furry paw, and the wolf looked at the detail briefly, before fixing its rabid eyes on the elf and jumping on him, making them both fall back on the bed, which creaked at the considerable added weight.

 

The wolf’s sharp teeth were less than an inch away from the fragile elven neck, but Rúmil looked up calmly and spoke:

 

“You promised me, Imrahil, finish your story, please.”

 

The beast’s eyes shifted and it pulled back, letting Rúmil sit back up, his small hand never leaving the beast’s furred back and arms.

 

The first sound which left the wolf’s snout was an aborted howl. Then some growling followed, and finally, a hoarse voice which chilled the blood in Rúmil ’s veins.

 

“My wife was indeed carrying my child… it was a little beauty whom we named Alastegiel, because she did bring us joy although we were the only ones to welcome into this world. As time went by, I realized Melda and Alastegiel were fading and I, instead of aging, remained the same. I had spared my wife and daughter from knowing what I turned into on red moonlit nights, and they knew I was away on patrol on those nights, but then shepherds began to disappear, being found slaughtered in the nearby woods, women who came to get water from forest springs never returned to their hearths, children went missing from their cribs in the neighboring villages… a few angry villagers cam to our home and only found Melda and Alastegiel. For once I really was out on patrol. The men saw how different they looked and decided they were the elf witches who were killing their families, and…. When I arrived, all I could find were two charred shapes in a clinging pose. I immediately changed into *this* and caught up with the posse, savagely slaughtering them all. Since then, I live alone, with only these two maids as servants, because they have made their vow to stay in my service forever. The troops you saw me ride with when we came for you are ghosts of men who fought alongside me a long time ago and who had pledged their allegiance… the vow keeps them bound to me even in their death, for as long as I walk this land. And that will be a very long time, since the wizard said the curse shall lift only when something blossoms for me of its own free will. Look around, Rúmil. Nothing does.”

 

“Look within, Imrahil. Look at me and see I do not fear you. In the long time that was given to you, instead of surrendering to the evil, you have learnt the healing ways of the old, you have strived to come to the others’ rescue, even if they took away what you loved most.”

 

“You speak words I do not understand, dear one,” Imrahil gave back, sadly looking down and finding that he was changing back into human form. Amazed, he looked up at Rúmil, his mouth agape.

 

“What are you, elf?” he asked apprehensively, although he could crush the frail and still healing creature with a mere slap.

 

Rúmil smiled kindly, approaching him and caressing his changing face.

 

“I may not be much of a warrior, but I have always been a better seer than most of my kin. And the things I see are not always things that can be touched. I believe now is as good a time as any for us to try and break the curse.”

 

“What will our try entail? I do not want anything to happen to you…”

 

“Oh, nothing bad will happen, trust me. I would bind myself to you and show you what you would not even dare to acknowledge. Our bond has been born the very day you gave me back my hope to live.”

 

“But you have brothers in Lothlórien who miss you and who will want you by their side!”

“They will understand and be happy for me if I am happy. Besides, we can always travel.”

 

“I cannot leave my land…” Imrahil spoke dejectedly.

 

“Maybe not now, but when you are free, you will be able to.”

 

“What you were saying about this being a good time to break the curse, what is it about?”

 

“In the elven realms, tonight we mark Yule… it is a time of happiness and growth, when we celebrate innocence and freedom. Our elflings are asked to prepare a small song or poem and they are rewarded with presents under their tree. Each elfling has his or her tree.”

 

“I honestly hope you are not doing this out of pity or gratitude, Rúmil, for I am already seeing my heart deserting me to rest by you.”

 

“No, I am not doing this out of the reasons you counted…” Rúmil spoke softly, beginning to undress the man. “I am giving you all that I am, to let you see and feel the love which blossoms between us.”

 

Imrahil felt humbled and already he could feel his heart warming up at the elf’s admission of loving him. It was why he had felt so safe and comforted in the elf’s presence, even when Rúmil had been injured and unconscious and he had watched over him. It had been the reason why the wolf he had turned into had not attacked Rúmil, obeying him like a puppy instead. He helped Rúmil remove his clothes and stood in front of the elf, hoping he did not disgust the perfect being.

 

Rúmil quickly discarded his nightshirt and pulled Imrahil back onto the bed, raising a hand to run it through the man’s long dark waves of hair. The poor man seemed too tense, and Rúmil leaned in and stole a peck from the man’s lips, smiling as he heard a harsh intake of breath, then felt lips searching for his. He had never done this before, considering he had been an elfling until recently, but his brothers already had mates and the things mortals always whispered and blushed about were discussed freely back in their home in ‘Lórien.

 

To Imrahil, it did not matter whether the one touching him so pleasantly was male or female, as long as the pleasure and love he felt was like a river of white light in which he was plunged every time, Rúmil kissed him or mapped a new area of his body.

 

The elf could not stop wondering how beautiful Imrahil was, long dark hair contrasting with his pale white skin and sad grey eyes, long body not so much muscled as agile and feline. And, to the elf’s secret relief, this man was not hairy, like his brothers had said men usually were. There was no more hair on Imrahil’s body than on his own, and he sighed contentedly, beginning to kiss all the accessible areas of the man’s body, making his way towards the relatively and not for long inaccessible areas.

 

His own flesh hardening and responding to Rúmil’s touches was surprising to the man, as he had not felt it in many, many years and had almost forgotten what it was like to have fire dripping in his veins instead of blood. Feeling a bit ashamed that all he could do was lie down and let the elf play with him, he shyly began to return the touches, pleasure coursing through him as the elf began to purr under his tentative explorations.

 

“I want you so much, Imrahil… It will all work out beautifully, you will see.” Rúmil spoke, straddling the man’s hips and reaching for the lamp. After removing its glass ornament, he dipped his fingers into the fragrant oil and slowly began to circle the man’s opening, to try and make it as painless as possible, although he knew there would be little if no pain at all in their joining. Amazingly, he was the confident one, and never did he doubt himself or his actions, although this had been the main reason for his brothers teasing him, his lack of confidence in himself. He smiled, thinking that it was the love making him feel like this. It was the same love that made him feel slightly dizzy, as if had drunk a bit too much dorwinion, whenever he was in the same room with the prince.

 

“I hope my wounds do not offend you, my love.” He said, shyly looking down.

 

“If I still had full use of my body, I would kiss each and every one of them, but your touches have robbed me of my control, dear one.”

 

Not wanting to let his confidence wane and judging he was hard enough, seriously doubting he could get any harder without exploding, Rúmil settled in between the man’s legs and steadily, but gently pushed in. The slide was effortless and the man moaned, arching up to get closer to the source of the new, blinding sensation, clinging to the elf with arms and legs.

 

Rúmil kissed him and kissed away his tears as well, loving the man’s responsiveness and lack of reserve. His reward for his efforts to please Imrahil was in the shape of moans, little growls and even mewls. Imrahil’s callused warrior hands felt wonderful clutching his hips in a way that was sure to leave bruises, but all Rúmil  cared about was the bond he could feel beginning to shine and engulf them. Soon they would be able to communicate without words and feel each other’s feelings, and neither of them would be alone again. He let pleasure sweep him away and he held on only to the thought that Imrahil was his from now on.

 

Seeing Rúmil give in to pleasure so unabashedly made something snap inside Imrahil, and somehow he knew what had to be done so their bond would be sealed. He reached for the oil as well, but the elf, looking very panicked, told him to proceed without the added pressure of waiting. Imrahil found he could not disobey his lover and positioned himself hesitantly. He did not have to do much more, as Rúmil pushed back and took him in easily. Never had he felt such a consuming pleasure as when he was fully inside his elf and began to move, watching his lover’s face and kissing him countless times. Even with Melda, it had been a quiet, mellow joining, and he had always had to hold back, but Rúmil kept demanding more and more of him. This time, he knew it, it would be impossible for anyone to separate him from Rúmil, as he belonged to the elf as much as the elf belonged to him.

 

He came with his mate’s name on his lips and passed out from the intensity of it, which gave Rúmil quite a hard time in getting out from under his sleeping prince when it was time for them to rest.

 

When Imrahil woke, he was alone in the bed. Panicked and afraid to find it was merely a bitter dream, he looked around, relieved to find Rúmil standing at the open window, stark naked.

 

Without turning, the elf said:

 

“Good morning, love. Come see your realm today!”

 

Imrahil gathered the sheets around himself and came to stand by his new mate’s side. His jaw slackened when he looked outside and saw a pair of robins playing in the snow on their outer window sill, and down below, bunnies chasing each other and leaving paw-marks in the snow.

 

“The… trees. They are still dead.” He said, thinking this could be some innocent elven magic made to soothe him.

 

“It is winter, silly. It is not the time for them to blossom now, they would die!”

 

//… but there is something burgeoning in here alright.// Imrahil now heard directly the elf’s thought. His eyes became as large as saucers.

 

//I did not think it was true, but apparently it is. We Golden Wood elves are special and we come equipped full-option.//

 

“Gods! Does this mean…?” Imrahil all but shouted.

 

“That you shall hear the word ‘ada’ resound within these walls anew.”

 

**

 

On a sunny meadow in Aman, Melda and Alastegiel watched their husband and father through a pond-mirror.

 

“Do you think ada will find peace and smile now?” the little girl asked.

 

“I think he will, precious one, I think he will… “

 

“Thank you for this gift, mother. Although my tree has long withered and the gift is not something I can wrap and put under a tree here, it is the best gift ever. Thank you!” the little girl said, hugging her mother.

 

“Happy Yule, my child! Now let us go play and see what the other elflings got!”

 

~end~

Comments

[talullahred.livejournal.com]

Dear Kissa,

Thank you so much for crafting such an imaginative tale for me.

I hope you have a great Christmas.

Talullah

[moanahine.livejournal.com]

Dear Talullah,

I sincerely hope you really enjoyed the fic. I loved writing it and if I was in love with Ru before, now Imrahil has captured my heart too :) Writing your fic was a very rewarding and warming experience.

Thank you!

Have a great Christmas, also!

Kissa

[aprilkat.livejournal.com]

Kissa, I enjoyed your style of writing and the imagination that created the stories of these two fantastical beings. It seems that love never dies and that the gift of love can be given in many ways - a very lovely Yuletide message!

[moanahine.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the kind words and wonderful feedback. This is a less popular pairing and I tried my best to make a good story for these adorable characters. I think I managed to give it a gothic-romantic flavor, but I still worried about what my recipient will think :)
All is well now, I hope you have a wonderful celebration :)!

[nefkoee3.livejournal.com]

Can we chat? Go Here dld.bz/chwZG