tolkien_slashy_swaps | Repercussions and Remunerations (2/ 3) Legolas/ Elrohir NC-17

cats.meow83@gmail.com

Title: Repercussions and Remuneration (2/ 3)

Author: Nuinzilien

Receiver: Sildil

Email:

Website: wilwarinien.livejournal.com

Beta: Darkdreamer, Zhie

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Legolas/ Elrohir

Warnings: Obviously, it is slash…

Request: A dreadful mistake/ disaster, followed by comfort/make up smut

Written for the 2006 Slashy Santa Fic Swap - Happy reading!

~ ~ ~

A month’s passing saw Legolas riding through the gates of Edoras. He tossed his reins to the waiting stableboy and made for the door. He turned back, frowned, then smiled as recognition dawned. "Stuck mucking the stalls again, Theoden?"

The boy wrinkled his smudged nose.

~ ~ ~

Legolas smiled as his young companion completely ignored the servant woman and entered the library. The elf-prince flashed her a charming smile, making the old woman blush like a youth. She bowed and left the library, leaving her torch in a nearby wall sconce.

"You should treat your servants with more respect, little prince," Legolas chided gently. "You will be their King one day."

Theoden shrugged. "They are just servants. If they do not perform their duties, we can always get more from the village."

The Eldar prince tsked. "And what is to say they will perform any better? Word travels quickly, and unhappy servants make for an unhappy household. These people will be keeping your floors clean, your fires warm, and your food well prepared. Keeping them happy is in your best interests."

The future king of Rohan shrugged again, wandering through the aisles.

"You do not believe me?" Legolas said. "Mal-treated servants will, if you are very lucky, do as they are told and nothing more. Those treated well might go that extra distance to find the softest wool for your clothes or trade for the higher quality silks for your sheets and supping table."

"What is it you were looking for?" Theoden asked in an abrupt change of subject.

Legolas laughed softly. If his servants could refrain from poisoning him out of frustration, the spoiled little prince had the makings of a fine king. "I need something on traditions."

The young prince looked over his shoulder in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I made a comment that upset someone I care for. I need to know how Men go about making amends. Your parents argue on occasion, do they not?"

Theoden’s eyes rolled. "Constantly. But whenever Mother is particularly angry, Father throws her over his shoulder and they disappear into their sleeping chambers. I suppose he thinks they both need a nap."

Legolas barely kept his snort to himself. He’d be willing to wager that napping wasn’t the ONLY thing the King and his Queen did in their chambers. As amusing as the idea of tossing Elrohir over his shoulder and carting him off for bouts of lusty sex to work out their issues was, Legolas had the feeling it would not go over well. He’d be just as likely to find a boot-knife in his gullet as he would forgiveness.

"I will keep that in mind as a last resort. Any other suggestions?"

"Not immediately, no." Theoden’s fingers ran along the many books in his Father’s library. He grabbed two books, handed one to the waiting elf, and led him over to a nearby window. Legolas sat in the window’ frame and began reading.

His brow wrinkled in confusion "…’And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and, behold, I will destroy them with the earth. Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark, and shalt pitch it within and without with pitch. And this is the fashion which thou shalt make it of: The length of the ark shall be three hundred cubits, the breadth of it fifty cubits, and the height of it thirty cubits.’ – Wait…what and how long is a cubit?"

Theoden looked up from his book with a curious grunt. Legolas waved him off dismissively and went back to his reading. He soon let out a snort of laughter. "Inbreeding?! This Noah repopulated the world through inbreeding?" He looked up and called out to Theoden. "What on Arda do you have me reading?"

Theoden blinked at him. "You wanted something on our traditions. I thought the best place to start would be with the Olive Branch."

Legolas frowned. "The what?"

"The olive branch. I heard my grandfather suggest extending it to his Captain after a quarrel with another soldier. When I asked him about it, he said it was a sign of peace to offer someone the olive branch, one dating all the way back to Noah."

"Alright, I can accept that. But just WHO is Noah?"

Theoden closed his own book. "This is not a very popular idea, but I believe the story of Noah is actually a parable for the Fall of the Numenor and Elendil’s voyage with his sons."

The elf prince cocked his head. "But it says the whole world was destroyed, not just Numenor."

His companion shrugged. "If you think about it, from the writer’s perspective, the whole world WAS destroyed. Numenor itself sank not long after Beleriand went under water. We had not spread much beyond the Ered Luin yet. So, when the greatest race of Men was all but destroyed, and a good portion of the known world relatively just before it…it became a matter of perspective. The jump between ‘the known world’ and ‘the whole world’ was a small one." Theoden grinned. "Do not ask me what they thought happened to you elves…maybe you just float well."

Legolas snorted. "I still fail to see what an olive branch has to do with it."

The boy frowned. "You did not read the entire story?"

"I did, but got a bit hung up on the idea that all of humanity is descended from one Man and his family."

Theoden’s look was dirty. "You missed the point, friend. When the dove returned with the olive branch, it meant land was near and the time of trial nearing an end. Send your lover an olive branch." Here his smile grew mischievous and his eyebrow waggled. "If she accepts, it probably means there will be kissing aplenty…"

Legolas swatted the cheeky boy with his book. "You are entirely too young to be waggling your eyebrow and saying that."

Theoden’s sigh was one of pure childish frustration. "I am not a baby, Legolas. I am eight, you know…and I have five other brothers and sisters."

The Mirkwood prince had a disturbing thought. "What do you know about the begetting of children?"

"Enough," Theoden said in a condescending tone. "A husband kisses his wife in bed. And it must be specifically in bed, otherwise Mother and Father would have a thousand children by now."

Legolas shook his head, laughing. So precocious was this future king of Rohan. //So, an olive branch it is, then…but where do I find one? Father trades for our olives…the Haradhrim from the South!// Shuddering, and deep in thought, he placed his book on the table and left without a word, a puzzled Theoden staring after him.

~ ~ ~

Legolas winced as he dismounted. Evidently, his own skills in healing were not up to Haradhrim-inflicted wounds. He hoped that, despite the current strife between himself and his younger son, Elrond would be willing to take a look at the wound in his thigh. Between his lack of skill and the near constant riding, it had grown infected.

He hoped the stress between himself and Elrohir would soon be over, thanks to Theoden’s olive branch. Knowing his horse would find the stables without his help, Legolas headed to see the healers.

He walked into the room and stifled his groan. //Perfect.//

"Why are you limping?" Elrohir snapped, gray eyes narrowed.

Legolas swallowed his initial response. "I had a run in with a group of Haradi traders."

"Haradi?" Elrohir blinked. "What were you doing that far South?" When the Sindarin prince didn’t answer, the young healer grunted, pulled a knife off of a nearby table, and had split the fabric of Legolas’ leggings in a few swipes.

Legolas was very still. Not that he didn’t trust Elrohir. Even in his current mood, the Peredhel was a healer first, an upset lover next. But the wound was rather high on his thigh, and one misjudged sweep of the knife could spell disaster.

Elrohir stripped away the rough binding and hissed. The wound was deep and improperly cared for, the edges ragged and inflamed. "Idiot." He turned away and began pulling vials out of a nearby chest. "I suppose it never occurred to you to stop in Minas Tirith or Osgiliath for help?"

He turned to see Legolas flush and look away. "Hn. I thought not." Smearing a cool balm over the torn flesh, he placed a sachet of herbs against the wound and bound it tightly. "After all, Men are inherently inferior and have no redeeming skills, do they?"

Legolas’ head shot up "What? I did not say that, Elrohir!"

"Did you not? No, you did not say those exact words, but why not stop in Osgiliath? My father has trained their healers for generations, they could have easily dealt with this." He began pacing, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "You were lucky, Legolas! The wound was deep, barely missing the vein. Had you waited any longer to get treatment, the flesh would have begun to die. Even your fully elven healing abilities would have had difficulties with that. Instead, you ride on like a fool, just because you did not want to be sullied by a Man’s touch!" Elrohir was shaking by then end of his tirade.

"What? No, that is – I didn’t mean – oh, here!" With that, the Mirkwood elf slapped a bundle into the surprised Peredhel’s hand and limped off angrily.

Elrond stepped away from his hiding place against the far wall. "That was not very well handled, my son…" He took the bundle from his baffled child’s hand for a closer look, and chuckled.

"What is it," Elrohir asked.

"An olive tree sapling, and probably the reason he sent a message ahead asking to use one of our carrier doves."

"I don’t understand."

Elrond’s smile grew wistful. "The olive tree was my brother’s favorite. Elros’ temper was an awesome and terrifying thing to behold when roused, much worse than mine. Enemy and ally alike would offer him an olive sapling to beg for clemency. Though I am surprised he went for the whole tree. Most these days will use an olive branch for a peace offering."

"Why the change?

"Honestly, I only heard a severely edited version, so I cannot give much detail. However, I gather an ally had taken too friendly a liking to his lady. Naturally, Elros took exception to it. After several years of angry relations, the ally finally made a bid for peace…by uprooting an ancient olive tree and presenting it to him. By this time, of course, my brother’s temper had cooled – he was always quicker to laughter than anger – He greeted his friend with open arms and suggested that, next time, he should just bring a fallen branch and leave the tree for another to admire." Elrond’s fingers were gentle as they ran across a fragile branch. "Since then, it has been customary to extend and olive branch as a sign of truce." He placed the sapling back into Elrohir’s palm. "It appears as though you have a decision to make, my boy. Do you forgive him, or do you let his misspoken words and your anger ruin something special?" Patting the younger Peredhel on the shoulder, he sauntered out of the room.

Elrohir looked down at the tiny tree in his hand.

~ ~ ~