Déjà
Vu
By Aussie Lass
Contact Email:
aussielassie@gmail.com
Beta Name: Lizzylicious
Rating: NC17
Main Characters: Erestor/Ithiliel; Legolas/Ithiliel; Glorfindel
Written For: Sivan Shemesh
Original Request: Erestor/OFC, Legolas/the same OFC
Word Count: 3792
Summary: Ithiliel has tough choices to make.
Chapter 1
Ithiliel greeted her tired husband at the door as he entered. “I knew
your meeting was to be long, but I did not expect you gone half the
night.”
“It was a long day,” confirmed Erestor as he tossed a heavy stack of
papers onto the table just inside the door. The door was closed and he
leaned back against it, staring at the floor.
“What happened?” Ithiliel placed her hand on her husband’s cheek to
gain his attention. “What is the matter? Tell me, Erestor.”
Erestor drew her suddenly into an embrace, tucking her head beneath
his chin. “You are so beautiful,” he said, nuzzling the top of her head
and kissing her crown.
“Erestor...”
“Shhh...” The dark haired elf tilted his wife’s chin up and kissed
her deeply. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she barely managed before she found herself
carried off to their bed. Despite his obvious fatigue, Ithiliel was
surprised at how quickly her husband tore off his robes and her dress.
Starting down at the tips of her toes, he kissed his way up her body,
spending extra time halfway. His nose burrowed into the pale golden
curls that kept hidden her secret delights, and she gasped as his tongue
teased her gently.
Soft fingertips traced up along her thighs as he continued to move
upward, his mouth spilling sweet endearments as he covered her skin with
kisses. As his lips touched hers and she tasted her own sweetness, her
gasp was caught in his throat as he slid into her slick passage.
He rose up on the palms of his hands, thrusting deep and slow with
his eyes half-closed and his lips parted slightly. Ithiliel groaned and
spread her legs further apart, sometimes leaving them resting on the
bed, sometimes wrapping them around Erestor’s waist. Her hands were
above her head, tangled in her hair and clutching the pillow.
The funny little flutter rose up in her stomach, and she arched up.
Erestor gritted his teeth and growled, bending his head to kiss her
again as he thrust a little harder. Ithiliel’s muscles clenched, drawing
him in as much as she could as her body trembled delightfully. Erestor’s
release came not long afterwards. They spent a minute or so in the
afterglow before Erestor detangled himself from his wife and cleaned
them up with a rag that was handily kept in a drawer of the nightstand.
As they rested, with Erestor spooned up behind Ithiliel, he lovingly
kissed the back of her neck and massaged her arm and hip. Their legs
were haphazardly crossed over each other, fingers of Erestor’s right
hand entwined with both of her smaller ones. “The coming year is going
to be a difficult one.”
“The council members have been tense, and I have noticed how worried
you and Elrond have been,” said Ithiliel. “It has to do with those
Halflings.”
“In a manner,” he confirmed. “Do not let what I am to tell you
frighten you: One of them has brought the One Ring into Imladris.”
Ithiliel let out a little whimper, and was held tighter by her husband.
“Shhh, we have a plan. The one who brought it here, Frodo, he is going
to take it to be destroyed in the fires which made it.”
Ithiliel tensed. “How can a Hobbit survive such a perilous journey?”
“Estel is going with him. He also has three companions as well, and
there is a man from Gondor, the Steward’s son Boromir.”
“Still, four Halflings and two Men?”
“There is a Dwarf, too, Gimli Gloin-son.”
Ithiliel shifted to turn around in her husband’s arms so that she
faced Erestor. “Surely Lord Elrond is not about to send them out without
a troop of our guards.”
“It was suggested, but the party is large to begin with, and
Mithrandir is to accompany them as well. The last member, indeed, is to
be an Elda.”
Holding her breath, she suddenly clung to her husband. “Not you,” she
said.
“Lord Elrond has yet to decide,” he told her. “There are two other
candidates.”
“But you are among them,” she said as she started to sob.
“I would be an asset to the group. You know that. We must think of
the fate of Middle-earth.” Erestor swallowed hard. “My diplomatic skills
may be of use on the journey, and I am, as you well know, an excellent
archer.”
“I wish right now you were not,” admitted Ithiliel.
“It is possible... there are two others,” he reminded her.
“Glorfindel, of course, has offered to go. If he did, I would assume
command of the army in his absence. In the reverse, he would take my
duties as Chief Counselor if I were to go.”
“Who is the third?”
Erestor paused for some time. “The prince of Greenwood,” he said
finally.
“Legolas?” Ithiliel looked up. “He is here?” Erestor nodded. “How
long has he been here?”
“Barely a day,” said Erestor. “He was a bit apprehensive about being
a potential candidate, but he and Estel are good friends. Estel has
great confidence in him, yet Elrond is not sure he wants such a young
Ellon on the quest.”
“Of the two of you, he is the better archer,” Ithiliel said.
“That may be so, but his skills of negotiation and tactics are not to
par with mine.” Erestor squeezed Ithiliel’s hand before lifting it to
his lips to kiss it. “Promise me, if I do go, that you will sail West
should something happen.”
Closing her eyes, Ithiliel nodded and cuddled close. “If you should
go with them, when would that be?”
“It will take two months to prepare. Elrond means to make his final
decision within a week.”
Chapter Two
The days of the following week dragged endlessly onward, and Ithiliel
waited up each night into the early morning hours for her husband to
return. Each night it was the same, filled with talk of indecision from
the council which led to sweet lovemaking until they were exhausted.
Ithiliel did not leave the security of their suite, not wishing to take
the chance that she might meet Prince Legolas in some hallways or garden
somewhere.
When last she saw him, it was in Mirkwood, Greenwood as once it had
been called before the shadow came. She used to look forward to seeing
him, even so far as going out of her way to time her washing on days he
might chance by, or to take her knitting to the archery fields when he
was due to practice. Her vigilance did not go unnoticed, and soon he was
carrying her basket of clothing while walking beside her or calling her
over to give her a lesson with bow and arrow. This progressed, from
walking beside her to sometimes holding her hand and from giving her
direction to positioning her arms while standing close behind her, so
very, very close behind.
It went so far as a marriage proposal, and a grand engagement
celebration. She was seen as a perfect match, with her cheerful
disposition and demure yet graceful air. Amid the royal family, she
looked as if she belonged: Another fair maiden with blonde tresses and
piercing green eyes. It only seemed proper she marry King Thranduil’s
youngest and most beloved son. She was the only of his future
daughter-in-laws that the King had wholly approved of.
It was upon the Queen’s insistence that Ithiliel attend a negotiation
meeting between Greenwood and Imladris that fate took a decidedly
different turn. Ithiliel politely argued that such meetings would hold
no interest for her, and that her time would be better spent in other
pursuits. The Queen would not take no for an answer; after all, it might
some day be Ithiliel’s duty to attend, and as part of her royal
grooming, she would indeed be there.
Unhappily dressed in her finest and sitting in the balcony with the
rest of the ladies of the court, Ithiliel kept herself awake counting
the stars painted on the walls and later the tiles that made up the
floor. She counted feathers placed in hats and the number of pearls on a
necklace worn by the Queen. As expected, it was all rather boring indeed
until the Greenwood council ceded the floor to the Elves of Rivendell.
When he stood, Ithiliel felt as if all of the air had left her in a
rush, and her head went light as the wings of a million butterflies
seemed to beat in her stomach. As he spoke, his voice smooth and calm,
her skin tingled and her heart pounded. A quick glance about showed her
that no one noticed the change in her. From then on her attention was on
the meeting, though she cared little about the actual reasons for it.
Instead, she was focused on listening to the handsome Elf with the dark
hair and eyes who more than once looked her way.
At the recess for the end of the day, Ithiliel had gone down to the
main chamber to see her betrothed and to secretly catch a closer glimpse
of the Elf from the hidden valley. She was introduced to him by Legolas,
and learned his name was Erestor, and that he had fought in the Great
War Between Ages with Legolas’ late Grandfather. Neither she nor Legolas
had been alive in the Second Age, and to meet an Elf outside of
Greenwood who was so old was a treat in and of itself. To meet one so
wise, so articulate, and so gorgeous... and yet, he seemed not to notice
this himself. His hair was drawn back smartly from his face and dangled
down his back in a braid that was left to unravel at the end. He wore an
under robe that was burgundy and his exterior ones were black with gold
trim, but all Ithiliel could wonder was how he looked without them on.
As she and Legolas took their leave, she could feel the flush in her
cheeks and the yearning of her soul. Legolas steered her into an alcove
behind a tapestry, pinning her against the stone wall. “Who were you so
interested in? Was it the head of the delegation, the one you just met?”
“I know not what you are speaking of, my dear,” she tried, to no
avail.
Legolas moved closer, his body flush with hers. “How can you lie to
me? Every time I looked up to catch your gaze, I saw you staring openly
at the delegation on the other side of the room. Tell me, which one was
it?”
But Ithiliel did not say, and Legolas did not need her to. “Perhaps
you have had too much of the council to return tomorrow,” he decided.
“Perhaps you should take rest until they have gone.”
Ithiliel opened her mouth to protest, but it was sealed over by the
prince’s greedy lips. He did not merely kiss her as they often had
before, but he sought now to claim her, to assert his dominance over
her. She felt her dress being lifted up, but made no sound for they were
still in a public place and she would not be caught in such a state.
Part of her wanted this anyhow; part of her had yearned for something
deeper than the holding of hands and the whispering of romantic words.
Her bloomers were pushed aside just enough for his fingers to reach
within her folds. “You are already wet,” he noted, rubbing his index
finger along her damp slit. She clenched her teeth so as not to moan,
and he smiled. “But were you thinking of me, or someone else?”
“You are my only love,” she said, gasping as he teased her and began
to slide two fingers in. “Wait; that hurts,” she protested with a
whimper.
“Just relax,” he crooned as he began to trace a path, round and
round, dipping in just slightly here and there. At last he thrust his
fingers forward again, and sealed his mouth over hers as he did, his
other hand taking hold of her breast and kneading it. Her hands reached
forward and grasped his biceps, her nails digging into his muscles as he
continued to undo her with his stimulations.
His hand moved to the other breast, and then away. For a few seconds
he tugged at the laces of his leggings until they fell to his knees. He
used his free hand to take hold of her wrist, and broke from their
kissing long enough to spit into her palm, all the while still pumping
his fingers in and out, deeper and deeper into her virgin entrance.
Ithiliel felt her hand being wrapped around his hot, hard erection.
Legolas guided her, moving his hand over hers until she found the rhythm
that made him groan.
Legolas released first, leaving telltale evidence dripping from her
hand. Moments later he was on his knees before her, his tongue replacing
the fingers he had been using. He devoured her, sucking and probing
until she was shuddering and barely able to keep standing, flicking his
tongue quickly as she came, her muscles spasming. Ithiliel kept her
clean hand over her mouth as her orgasm hit, not only for need not to
cry out from the rush, but so that the name of the one she was thinking
of did not slip from her lips.
Chapter Three
For the rest of the time that the delegation spent in Greenwood, she
was forced to stay in her rooms. Meals were brought to her and Legolas
would visit, but she was not to leave. On the final night, a farewell
banquet was held that she was not to attend, but as nearly everyone else
in the kingdom was there, no one was guarding her rooms. Patiently she
waited, until she deemed the party well underway, and then she left her
suite in order to find the rooms of the Elf her body and soul were drawn
to.
She had earlier feigned a headache when Legolas had visited, so she
knew he would not come to see her until the next day. With the
delegation due to leave at dawn, she assumed she would have more than
enough time to fulfill her plans. If, of course, the Imladris counselor
was willing to as well.
Her hand reached for the knob and she hoped her quest was not in
vain. Holding her breath, she slowly opened the door. She froze
immediately, not expecting anyone to be in the room.
Two Elves looked back at her. They were sitting at a table, amid a
sparse amount of packed luggage, looking over some documents. One of
them would have passed for a member of the royal family himself and was
even perhaps related, while the other was the desire of her heart.
“Sorry, I did not know you were expecting anyone,” apologized the
blond, standing up.
“Neither did I, Fin.” Erestor stood as well, and bowed. “It is
Ithiliel, is it not? Please, come in; I believe that was your
intention.”
The golden haired Elf was already rolling the scrolls in haste, a
smirk tugging at his lips. “Well... good night, then,” he said as he
left, giving a little bow to the maiden at the door before disappearing
down the hallway.
Ithiliel still stood in the doorway, and remained there until the
dark one ushered her in and shut the door. “I thought you would be at
the party,” she said finally.
“I thought you would be there as well. I was disappointed that you
were not. My elder brother, Glorfindel, he hates social gatherings, so
we were finishing a bit of business instead.”
“Oh.” Ithiliel looked nervously around. “I am sorry the party was not
any fun.”
“I am not. If it had been, I would have stayed and you would
presumably not have made it anyhow.”
“I was told I was not allowed to go.”
“Oh? Why not?”
Ithiliel looked to the floor. “I am not to have contact with you of
any sort.”
“Ah... yes, I wondered about that.” Erestor came forward a few steps
slowly. “Yet you risked coming here, despite the ban imposed. Why?” When
Ithiliel did not answer, Erestor asked, “Would you like to know why?”
Ithiliel nodded, looking up at him as he approached, closing the gap
between them. The Elda leaned down and tilted her chin upward with two
fingers. Then he kissed her, as deeply as Legolas had before, but from
this kiss came a flood of passion and desire, and a longing rose up in
both of them, so quickly, that come morning they were, in the eyes of
the Valar, husband and wife.
Chapter Four
The next morning, it was Glorfindel who found them and stalled the
party so that Erestor and Ithiliel could sneak out of Greenwood
unnoticed. It nearly led to war, and it did lead to a bad relationship
between Greenwood and Imladris (one which Elrond never let Erestor
forget). All the same, it led to the genuine happiness of two elves, and
to the two of them, that was all that seemed to matter.
Ithiliel had always felt terrible for betraying Legolas, but she knew
she had to betray him in order not to betray her heart. It would have
been miserable, to have married him knowing they were not meant to be
together. She oft wondered if she should have discussed the matter with
him, but she knew all too well that Legolas would not have understood,
and would have done all he could to convince her that her feelings for
Erestor were little more than a passing fancy.
Maybe, she thought now, had she done such a thing and at least faced
him before leaving, she might stand a chance at what she was about to
do. Of course, she had some hope it might work regardless, but that hope
was a mere glimmer.
Negotiations as to who would accompany the fellowship went later into
the night and began earlier each morning. Nothing seemed to be decided,
except that someone had to represent the Eldar. Ithiliel waited on the
eighth night, after her husband had fallen asleep from exhaustion and
then sneaked from the bed. After she donned a robe and a shawl, she left
her home and wandered down the hallway, much as she had once done long
years ago, but this time in search of someone completely different.
Her hands were sweating when she finally reached the guest rooms, and
timidly she knocked upon the door. She knocked again when she received
no answer, and a third time in case she had not been heard.
The door was yanked open. “What?!” demanded a agitated, disheveled
prince, obviously tumbled just from his bed. “Oh. It is you. What do you
want?” he gruffly asked.
Ithiliel tried to vocalize, having practiced her speech all through
the day. Nothing but a squeak came out, and then she began to cry and
became a mess as everything ran together. Her well-planned oration
turned into desperate begging as tears streamed down her face.
“Slow down, I cannot understand a word you are saying,” interrupted
Legolas as he pulled her into the room and shut the door. “Here,” he
said, handing her a cup of water. She drank it, hiccupping as she did
while Legolas rubbed her back. “Now try it again.”
“I came –hiccup!- to ask you –hiccup!- to go instead –hic!- instead
of –hic!- Erestor. Please,” she added with a sniffle.
Legolas sighed heavily, and paced the room, looking at her over his
shoulder from time to time. “You love him?”
“Of course I –hic!- do.”
The prince stopped, placing his hands upon the back of a chair.
“Alright,” he nodded. “I will go, I will convince Elrond that I am the
best choice. But there is a price for what you ask.”
Liptrembling, Ithiliel nodded and started to slip her robe from her
shoulder. Legolas quickly walked to her and pulled it back up. “What?
No, not that. What do you take me for, some sort of ogre?”
“Sorry... I just thought...”
“What I want from you,” said Legolas so that there would be no
mistaking, “is an apology. I really was in love with you, once. I
thought you were in love with me. The least you might have done... was
say good-bye.”
Ithiliel looked up at him, and seeing how lonely and vulnerable he
had become with those words was drawn to tears once more. “I am sorry,
Legolas. I... I just thought you would not understand.”
“We were both young,” he admitted. “Although I might not have
understood then, in time I would have. Had you broken things off, had
you told me in person your feelings, it would have made things all the
more easier, for both of us. You had better go back to your rooms; it is
nearly morning.”
“I will. And thank you, Legolas.” Ithiliel rose up on her toes, and
unexpectedly kissed her ex-lover. To him, it said, ‘I am sorry’, and to
her as he kissed her back, it said, ‘I forgive you’. “If you need
anything while you are here, let me know,” she said.
“Thank you, I will. Good night,” he said as he opened the door to let
her out.
“Good night.”
Ithiliel reached her rooms again just as dawn was breaking. She found
Erestor awake, sitting up in bed with his knees drawn to his chest and
looking forlorn. His eyes became hopeful as she came to the bed. “I
almost... I almost thought you had gone back to him, for a little
while.”
“Darling, how could you think such a thing? I love you, Erestor.” And
Ithiliel proceeded to explain what had happened. “Whatever would make
you think that I had gone back to him.”
“Well... Glorfindel mentioned once that you might get bored of me
someday, and—“
“And I shall have a very stern conversation with my brother-in-law at
breakfast,” promised Ithiliel.
“Breakfast is so very far away...”
“I can smell the griddle cakes and bacon from here.”
“...and this bed is so very, very comfortable...”
“You have a meeting in an hour.”
“...so I think you should come back to bed.”
The two stared at each other, Ithiliel with her hands on her hips,
Erestor with his arms wrapped around his knees, until he reached over
and patted the empty spot beside him. “Please?”
“Ten minutes,” she said as she joined him.
“Ten minutes? It is going to take me a lot longer than ten
minutes...”
