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astolat's journal. Yes, I did... not quite a vid set to "My Immortal," though. Loki visits Mirkwood.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any copyrighted works. Absolutely no profit is made from this work of fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please don't sue me, as I am terrified of you.
Part 1: Hogwarts
Part 2: Mirkwood
The Misty Mountains were receding behind Loki into the darkness as he came to the edge of Mirkwood. He was still in a sore temper that his latest enterprise had gone awry. Whispers had reached him of a powerful ring hidden deep within the mountains, and he had searched through a series of progressively more disturbingly murky chambers until finally he had found the subterranean lake where Gollum lived. The creature was more than three-quarters mad by now, but when Loki had offered to play a game of riddles with him, he’d seemed overjoyed.
Unfortunately, Loki had severely underestimated his opponent. After two merely friendly rounds, both of which he had purposely lost to make the little monster overconfident, he had suggested a bet: his own helmet for the ring. Gollum had seemed more than a little horrified, but the rules of the game were very clear, and one did not back away from the riddle game without incurring serious consequences.
“You wants my birthday present?” Gollum had said, looking cornered.
“Indeed,” Loki had said smoothly. “You have bested me fairly so far, so I doubt that your precious ring is in danger, though I may well lose my helm.”
Gollum had gazed at the silver helmet, and his eyes were greedy.
“Very well,” Gollum said. “If he guesses the riddle, he gets the ring, but if I guesses his, I gets the hat.”
“Precisely,” Loki had said, rubbing his hands gleefully. “Dragon-gnawed at the root, head in sky and air underfoot, squirrel runs up and down it, harts feed on it, when it shall fall, it will ruin all.”
He had been expecting wailing, maybe pleading, almost certainly threats of violence. The one thing Loki had not expected was laughter.
“Ygdrassil!” Gollum said, laughing and slapping his wizened knee. “We remembers mother. We remembers her telling stories long ago. Hasn’t thought of those in many yearsssss. Pretty hat is mine!”
Loki was furious, but even he was afraid to cheat at this most ancient game, so he laid his helmet in a puddle of mud at Gollum’s bare feet.
“Fine and well done,” Loki said, his voice shaking with suppressed anger, still hardly able to believe that this thing’s mother had been versed in the lore of the universe. “But now you must give me your riddle as well. Perhaps I shall not leave empty handed.”
Gollum rocked back and forth in agitation, obviously trying to think of the hardest riddle he knew. A measure of Loki’s smugness returned, and he tapped his booted foot impatiently.
“I wait, Gollum,” Loki said. “What is your riddle?
Gollum did indeed look piteous now, and if Loki’s heart had been slightly less bent on the ring, a drop of mercy might have been given to the strange, deformed thing. But he had no room for such pleasantries now.
“How many fishes lives in the lake?” Gollum at last said in a rush.
“In this lake?” Loki asked, both because he wanted to make certain there was no question of clarity and because he couldn’t believe the ease of the question.
“Yessss,” Gollum said. “Counts the fishes that lives in the lake.”
Loki shrugged and reached out with his magic to feel the number of beings that lived in the water, but he was immediately baffled. Something was dreadfully wrong with the place. No matter how he tried to focus his power on tracing the fish, they drifted in and out of focus. It was then that he realized the ring was exerting its own influence, clouding his perception. It had no wish to leave here, not yet anyway.
“Many,” he said at last, hoping against hope that the vagueness of his answer would work in his favor.
“Who ever heards of threes being many?” Gollum said with a laugh, and as he said it, the ring, knowing it was no longer in danger, withdrew its power and Loki could clearly sense only three fish in the vast lake. “The precious stays with us!”
Loki had no further desire to speak with the creature. He left without another word, but he cast a spell over his shoulder as he departed. It gave him the cold comfort that the goblin lord would soon wear his old helm and that the ring, though it would never be his own, would leave Gollum someday, preferably to someone whose lack of stature would humiliate him as much as Loki had been today.
And that was how he had come to the edge of Mirkwood, now wrapped in shadows and choosing to remain on the outskirts of the forest rather than summoning the Bifrost to take him home. He hoped rumors of his failure would not reach Asgard, but luck had not been with him so far. Besides, he needed to find a suitable excuse for the loss of his helm, or better yet a replacement. He began to stray into the trees, ignoring the path as the wood had no horror for him that he could not best. In fact he rather hoped for a fight. It might improve his mood.
However, what he eventually saw in one of the forest glades after night had fallen was an entirely different sort of challenge. A group of wood elves, attired in silver and green, were feasting after a hunt. Loki remained close to the shadows, just out of the light from their fires, and watched in silence. The wood elves, unlike their kin in Lorien, were not wholly perfect, and for this reason their realm’s protection missed him, unlike the golden wood which would have expelled him as impure. As he watched, an archery tournament began, and he found he rather enjoyed watching them playfully shooting single leaves off trees at three hundred yards. Their bows were remarkably beautiful: perfect half circles of what looked like pure gold, though they bent with suppleness when pulled taut. The elves’ marksmanship was truly wondrous, but then one more archer came forward, and Loki caught his breath.
This was obviously their prince. His bearing was noble, and his eyes, even from this distance, were as blue as cornflowers. His dark hair rippled behind him, and every movement he made seemed a picture of grace and perfection. In a word, he was beautiful. In what seemed less than a moment he had shot five arrows cleanly through five leaves that were nearly half a mile from the site. Even among the Asgardians, the feat would have been remarkable.
At that, he made a decision that it was time to have a bit of pleasure along with securing his reputation again. A simple spell lengthened his ears, and he came forth into the circle of light, looking for all the world like an elf who had been traveling abroad.
“Welcome, kindred,” said the elf closest to him, though he looked rather surprised.
“I thank you,” Loki said, glancing about. “Have I found the court of Thranduil? I have searched long for my woodland kin.”
“Indeed, you have,” said an elf-maiden beside him, and Loki noted she was quite beautiful. “But come. You have traveled far and have need of food and drink.”
He smiled and took the offered bowl of mead. The hospitality of the elves was legendary, and Loki was very careful to remember all the complicated courtly elvish manners he had studied in the library at home. It was a merry party indeed, but Loki wanted information. He bided his time until he could speak to the elf who had first greeted him.
“Tell me, who is he that shot his bow so well?” Loki asked, gesturing with his flagon at the prince, who was seated at one of the other fires that dotted the clearing.
“That is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood,” the elf said, nodding with some pride. “He is indeed a goodly archer, and his courage is that of a lion, his kindness like the springtime, and his virtue as white as snow.”
Loki barely managed to restrain himself from raising an eyebrow at the last statement. A prince, and one who was obviously wondrously fair, and yet he seemed to be, rather famously, untouched?
Obviously, he needed to seduce this prince.
“I should give thanks to him for the generosity his court has shown me,” he said, bowing politely to the group who had first welcomed him as he set out for the prince’s fire.
“What have we here?” Legolas said, smiling at the new arrival. “From where do you come, traveler?”
“From far to the west,” Loki said, which wasn’t after all entirely untrue; the Misty Mountain were west of there, and he had indeed come from them. “I wish to thank you for your kindness in offering a wandering elf good companionship and fare this night.”
Loki smiled at him, choosing to appear rather bashful, casting his eyes downward so that his long black lashes were in sharp contrast to the white of his skin. When he made as though he barely dared to raise his eyes towards the prince, he was careful that the firelight would make the green of his eyes glow to best advantage. He knew how he looked, and soft sighs from the maidens (oh, how he would love to relieve them of that title) around the circle of elves let him know he had put exactly the right amount of timid charm into his act.
“You must stay with us for at least a few days,” Legolas said, smiling at him, and he sought out Loki’s gaze and held it for just a few moments longer than necessary before looking away with the slightest trace of shyness. It was at that moment Loki changed his mind.
He wasn’t going to seduce Legolas.
He was going to get Legolas to seduce him.
The next several days were a never-ending dance of mindgames and subtle manipulations. As that happened to be Loki’s very favorite sort of dancing, he was entirely in his element. Each morning he arose in his guest chamber, attired himself in the elves’ (and his own) favorite color of green, and spent the day at court, carefully swaying Legolas into believing that he was falling in love with the stranger who had stumbled so gracefully into his father’s home. Loki, no fool, knew precisely what his interest was in the pretty elf prince. It involved a bed, conquest, and nothing more, but he could certainly feign tender feelings so convincingly that he could seduce an angel if he so wished. Granted, he’d never met an angel, but he assumed there would be no problems. There never had been before, save once, and that was a corner of his mind he kept shuttered and dark.
Mirkwood and the Hall of Thranduil were charming in their own way. While the never-ending feasting reminded him a bit too much of home, at least no one became sloppily drunk, and that was a pleasant difference. It was really quite a civilized society, and one he would have loved to plague endlessly. The more orderly a society was, the more it was susceptible to disorder. But the courting of the prince was his true joy.
Loki, or Lakilceleb as he was known here, was enjoying himself tremendously in the role he had assumed, namely that of a very shy, quite virginal elf from afar, one who seemed as guilelessly innocent as a lamb. He had perfected his character so wonderfully, letting a blush spread over his cheek at any attention from the prince or nervously playing with a flower between his fingers when they spoke, that he could have practically danced naked in the great hall and all would have believed that he meant nothing salacious by it. Legolas himself, who Loki didn’t doubt for a moment truly was every bit the innocent, grew daily more entranced with him. They were apt to take long walks together when the moon shone brightly through the branches of the forest, with fewer and fewer courtiers following until at last it was only the two of them, straying perhaps the slightest inch too close together, threading the secret paths of the forest.
It had taken a solid week before Loki had gotten Legolas to broach the topic of attraction. He had been sure to wear a tunic of silver silk embroidered with pale green leaves, making his skin look as smooth as the cloth and deepening his eyes to emerald. His long fingers stroked each other in a movement that showed both how nervous he was supposed to be and spoke of sensuality more persuasively than any words could.
“Tell me, friend,” he said, putting a light tremor in his voice, “is there not a maiden who has taken your heart?”
“Nay, Lakilceleb,” Legolas said. “In over two millennia, I have found no woman who so delights me that I would risk my heart to her.”
“And…,” Loki said, letting his voice trail off before finishing in a rush, as though he feared he would lose courage, “and is there no warrior who would please you?”
Legolas smiled as Loki blushed deeply to the roots of his coal black hair and hung his head as if in deepest embarrassment. Hesitantly, he reached a hand towards Loki’s cheek, then softly stroked it.
“There have been none,” he said softly, and Loki felt the prince’s hand trembling as he lifted his chin so Loki could look into his eyes, and with delight he saw him draw in a breath and add the word, “yet.”
Finally, he thought as he averted his eyes and did a remarkable job of looking pleased and shy all at once, finally he was going to do something, anything. If this never-ending tension didn’t come to fruition soon, he was going to bed Thranduil and have done with it.
But yes, it appeared Legolas had finally found his courage. He moved slowly, as though Loki might startle like a deer. Indeed, he did widen his eyes in pretended panic, though he also barely parted his lips, positioning them perfectly for a kiss.
“You are as fair as starlight,” Legolas whispered. “Will you grant me a kiss, not as a duty to a sovereign, but because you…” he paused, licking his lips as though his mouth had gone dry, “desire it?”
Loki blinked once, letting a breath cross his lips like a ghost, knowing full well that Legolas would feel it against the delicate skin of his throat, and said in a small, trembling voice, “I… I do desire it, so very much.”
And then, thank Odin, the elf finally kissed him. Loki found it had been more than worth the wait. Over two thousand years of repressed drive seemed to break from him all at once, and what he lacked in technique, he more than made up for in sheer willingness. Loki found himself pressed against the trunk of a tree, Legolas’s body molding against his from knee to shoulder. Legolas took hold of Loki’s hair almost too tightly, and his tongue slipped over his lips, thoroughly claiming him as his own. Loki barely managed to restrain himself from taking matters far further immediately, but he remembered he was supposed to be the one being led, not the one leading. When at length Legolas moved from his lips to the length of his jaw, nipping and licking a path to his ear which he then lavished with attention, he did allow himself a rather wanton mewl, or perhaps it would be more honest to admit it was drawn from him whether he allowed it or not.
“Lakilceleb,” Legolas breathed in his ear. “I think… I think you are everything I could possibly desire.”
Loki slid his hands gingerly over Legolas’s back, pretending his own ineptness.
“Shall we…?” Loki whispered, and it was for the best that Legolas’s eyes were closed in bliss so he could not see the wicked grin that passed over his face. “Shall we be lovers, then?”
“You would come to my bed?” Legolas asked, drawing back from him only marginally, and, yes, Loki thought, hardly restraining himself from rolling his eyes, he seemed rather shocked.
“If you,” he paused again, biting his lip with uncertainty, “if you would wish me there, I think I could come to you. But I must warn you, you would be my first.”
Loki had, of course, neglected to mention exactly what Legolas would be his first for. If he recalled correctly, he’d never actually had a male elf whose name began with L during a full moon in April before, so yes, Legolas would be his first. The trick of lying was, of course, to make it entirely true from some vantage point.
“You shall be mine as well,” Legolas said, wrapping an arm around him protectively. “Come. None shall disturb us in my chambers. You need have no fear, my beloved.”
Delicately, he nodded, putting his fingers into Legolas’s offered hand, permitting himself to be led back through the forest, through the halls of the castle, and up to the prince’s chambers, where the door shut most resoundingly behind them.
When morning came, Loki was far more than satisfied. He’d all but ravished the elf, and he’d been quite thoroughly pleasured in return. He had managed what no mortal, elf, dwarf, wizard, or Asgardian had been able to do in twenty centuries: he had deflowered the prince of the wood elves. While he may not have won the ring, this was certainly a prize worth bragging about.
Legolas rolled over, waking at last, and a sleepy smile touched his features.
“Good morning,” he said, moving his hands to play with the curls of Loki’s hair. “Such a very, very good morning.”
“Indeed,” Loki said, kissing him with a great deal more voracity than someone who had been a virgin mere hours before could logically have been said to possess before abruptly standing and pulling his leggings up. “I must be going, though.”
Legolas lay in stunned silence, his face turning pale as the sheets in which he was entwined. He tried to form words twice before he finally managed to ask, “But, why? I thought you might stay, now that we are… now that we have… We were one.”
“Yes, and it was very pleasant,” Loki said, savoring this part of his victory as sweetly as any other, “but neither of us made any promises, now did we, and I always said that I was only a traveler.”
“But,” Legolas managed to squeeze the one word from his mouth, but nothing more came. It was as though Loki had slapped him.
“Now, now, princeling, don’t take it so much to heart. You’re a goodly bit of flesh, and there will be lovers for you aplenty if you want them,” Loki said, carelessly throwing on his tunic.
“But I don’t want them,” Legolas said, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “You are the one I love.”
“Well, now, isn’t that nice,” Loki said as though Legolas had offered him a particularly juicy apple, “and I am sure you will love others as well.”
“You… you don’t love me?” he said, unable to form the words. “But you gave yourself to me! We are bonded together! I won you!”
Loki laughed, and the noise was so far from the beauty of the world of elves that he might as well have doffed the false tips on his ears.
“Oh no, fair prince. I would be the one who won you,” Loki said. “It took a good deal less doing than I thought it would, too. Your ‘virtue white as snow’ was almost too easy to sully.”
Legolas stared in stunned silence, his face a mask of horror. With a shudder, he collapsed to the bed, sobbing in heartbreak.
“Poor, sweet elf,” Loki said, looking at Legolas’s long, dark hair spilling across the pillows.
It reminded him for a moment of someone else, far away. Gently, he stroked Legolas’s hair as he lay face down among the blankets, sweeping it behind his delicate, leaf-shaped ears and pulling it into a long tail. Well, why not leave his mark here, he thought. If it had worked once to turn fair to dark, could it not be the same in reverse? With a murmured enchantment, the color left Legolas’s locks and became like living gold.
“There,” he said. “A parting gift from your first darling. I am quite sure I shall not be your last.”
He finished tying the strings of his boots, and just as he was about to go out the door, he heard Legolas break through his tears and say only one broken word.
“Why?”
Loki turned to look at him as he lay on the bed, still naked, the golden strands of his hair glimmering like sunlight, his eyes pleading for some reason to this madness.
“Why not?” he said with a shrug, and closed the door behind him.
Before he opened the Bifrost, he took not one but two bows of the elves. He mounted both on the new helm the dwarfs made for him, and though many took them for great horns, powerful symbols of virility and strength in battle, only he knew they were tokens of a victory of a much different kind.
astolat's journal. Yes, I did... not quite a vid set to "My Immortal," though. Loki visits Mirkwood.Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any copyrighted works. Absolutely no profit is made from this work of fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please don't sue me, as I am terrified of you.
Part 1: Hogwarts
Part 2: Mirkwood
The Misty Mountains were receding behind Loki into the darkness as he came to the edge of Mirkwood. He was still in a sore temper that his latest enterprise had gone awry. Whispers had reached him of a powerful ring hidden deep within the mountains, and he had searched through a series of progressively more disturbingly murky chambers until finally he had found the subterranean lake where Gollum lived. The creature was more than three-quarters mad by now, but when Loki had offered to play a game of riddles with him, he’d seemed overjoyed.
Unfortunately, Loki had severely underestimated his opponent. After two merely friendly rounds, both of which he had purposely lost to make the little monster overconfident, he had suggested a bet: his own helmet for the ring. Gollum had seemed more than a little horrified, but the rules of the game were very clear, and one did not back away from the riddle game without incurring serious consequences.
“You wants my birthday present?” Gollum had said, looking cornered.
“Indeed,” Loki had said smoothly. “You have bested me fairly so far, so I doubt that your precious ring is in danger, though I may well lose my helm.”
Gollum had gazed at the silver helmet, and his eyes were greedy.
“Very well,” Gollum said. “If he guesses the riddle, he gets the ring, but if I guesses his, I gets the hat.”
“Precisely,” Loki had said, rubbing his hands gleefully. “Dragon-gnawed at the root, head in sky and air underfoot, squirrel runs up and down it, harts feed on it, when it shall fall, it will ruin all.”
He had been expecting wailing, maybe pleading, almost certainly threats of violence. The one thing Loki had not expected was laughter.
“Ygdrassil!” Gollum said, laughing and slapping his wizened knee. “We remembers mother. We remembers her telling stories long ago. Hasn’t thought of those in many yearsssss. Pretty hat is mine!”
Loki was furious, but even he was afraid to cheat at this most ancient game, so he laid his helmet in a puddle of mud at Gollum’s bare feet.
“Fine and well done,” Loki said, his voice shaking with suppressed anger, still hardly able to believe that this thing’s mother had been versed in the lore of the universe. “But now you must give me your riddle as well. Perhaps I shall not leave empty handed.”
Gollum rocked back and forth in agitation, obviously trying to think of the hardest riddle he knew. A measure of Loki’s smugness returned, and he tapped his booted foot impatiently.
“I wait, Gollum,” Loki said. “What is your riddle?
Gollum did indeed look piteous now, and if Loki’s heart had been slightly less bent on the ring, a drop of mercy might have been given to the strange, deformed thing. But he had no room for such pleasantries now.
“How many fishes lives in the lake?” Gollum at last said in a rush.
“In this lake?” Loki asked, both because he wanted to make certain there was no question of clarity and because he couldn’t believe the ease of the question.
“Yessss,” Gollum said. “Counts the fishes that lives in the lake.”
Loki shrugged and reached out with his magic to feel the number of beings that lived in the water, but he was immediately baffled. Something was dreadfully wrong with the place. No matter how he tried to focus his power on tracing the fish, they drifted in and out of focus. It was then that he realized the ring was exerting its own influence, clouding his perception. It had no wish to leave here, not yet anyway.
“Many,” he said at last, hoping against hope that the vagueness of his answer would work in his favor.
“Who ever heards of threes being many?” Gollum said with a laugh, and as he said it, the ring, knowing it was no longer in danger, withdrew its power and Loki could clearly sense only three fish in the vast lake. “The precious stays with us!”
Loki had no further desire to speak with the creature. He left without another word, but he cast a spell over his shoulder as he departed. It gave him the cold comfort that the goblin lord would soon wear his old helm and that the ring, though it would never be his own, would leave Gollum someday, preferably to someone whose lack of stature would humiliate him as much as Loki had been today.
And that was how he had come to the edge of Mirkwood, now wrapped in shadows and choosing to remain on the outskirts of the forest rather than summoning the Bifrost to take him home. He hoped rumors of his failure would not reach Asgard, but luck had not been with him so far. Besides, he needed to find a suitable excuse for the loss of his helm, or better yet a replacement. He began to stray into the trees, ignoring the path as the wood had no horror for him that he could not best. In fact he rather hoped for a fight. It might improve his mood.
However, what he eventually saw in one of the forest glades after night had fallen was an entirely different sort of challenge. A group of wood elves, attired in silver and green, were feasting after a hunt. Loki remained close to the shadows, just out of the light from their fires, and watched in silence. The wood elves, unlike their kin in Lorien, were not wholly perfect, and for this reason their realm’s protection missed him, unlike the golden wood which would have expelled him as impure. As he watched, an archery tournament began, and he found he rather enjoyed watching them playfully shooting single leaves off trees at three hundred yards. Their bows were remarkably beautiful: perfect half circles of what looked like pure gold, though they bent with suppleness when pulled taut. The elves’ marksmanship was truly wondrous, but then one more archer came forward, and Loki caught his breath.
This was obviously their prince. His bearing was noble, and his eyes, even from this distance, were as blue as cornflowers. His dark hair rippled behind him, and every movement he made seemed a picture of grace and perfection. In a word, he was beautiful. In what seemed less than a moment he had shot five arrows cleanly through five leaves that were nearly half a mile from the site. Even among the Asgardians, the feat would have been remarkable.
At that, he made a decision that it was time to have a bit of pleasure along with securing his reputation again. A simple spell lengthened his ears, and he came forth into the circle of light, looking for all the world like an elf who had been traveling abroad.
“Welcome, kindred,” said the elf closest to him, though he looked rather surprised.
“I thank you,” Loki said, glancing about. “Have I found the court of Thranduil? I have searched long for my woodland kin.”
“Indeed, you have,” said an elf-maiden beside him, and Loki noted she was quite beautiful. “But come. You have traveled far and have need of food and drink.”
He smiled and took the offered bowl of mead. The hospitality of the elves was legendary, and Loki was very careful to remember all the complicated courtly elvish manners he had studied in the library at home. It was a merry party indeed, but Loki wanted information. He bided his time until he could speak to the elf who had first greeted him.
“Tell me, who is he that shot his bow so well?” Loki asked, gesturing with his flagon at the prince, who was seated at one of the other fires that dotted the clearing.
“That is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood,” the elf said, nodding with some pride. “He is indeed a goodly archer, and his courage is that of a lion, his kindness like the springtime, and his virtue as white as snow.”
Loki barely managed to restrain himself from raising an eyebrow at the last statement. A prince, and one who was obviously wondrously fair, and yet he seemed to be, rather famously, untouched?
Obviously, he needed to seduce this prince.
“I should give thanks to him for the generosity his court has shown me,” he said, bowing politely to the group who had first welcomed him as he set out for the prince’s fire.
“What have we here?” Legolas said, smiling at the new arrival. “From where do you come, traveler?”
“From far to the west,” Loki said, which wasn’t after all entirely untrue; the Misty Mountain were west of there, and he had indeed come from them. “I wish to thank you for your kindness in offering a wandering elf good companionship and fare this night.”
Loki smiled at him, choosing to appear rather bashful, casting his eyes downward so that his long black lashes were in sharp contrast to the white of his skin. When he made as though he barely dared to raise his eyes towards the prince, he was careful that the firelight would make the green of his eyes glow to best advantage. He knew how he looked, and soft sighs from the maidens (oh, how he would love to relieve them of that title) around the circle of elves let him know he had put exactly the right amount of timid charm into his act.
“You must stay with us for at least a few days,” Legolas said, smiling at him, and he sought out Loki’s gaze and held it for just a few moments longer than necessary before looking away with the slightest trace of shyness. It was at that moment Loki changed his mind.
He wasn’t going to seduce Legolas.
He was going to get Legolas to seduce him.
The next several days were a never-ending dance of mindgames and subtle manipulations. As that happened to be Loki’s very favorite sort of dancing, he was entirely in his element. Each morning he arose in his guest chamber, attired himself in the elves’ (and his own) favorite color of green, and spent the day at court, carefully swaying Legolas into believing that he was falling in love with the stranger who had stumbled so gracefully into his father’s home. Loki, no fool, knew precisely what his interest was in the pretty elf prince. It involved a bed, conquest, and nothing more, but he could certainly feign tender feelings so convincingly that he could seduce an angel if he so wished. Granted, he’d never met an angel, but he assumed there would be no problems. There never had been before, save once, and that was a corner of his mind he kept shuttered and dark.
Mirkwood and the Hall of Thranduil were charming in their own way. While the never-ending feasting reminded him a bit too much of home, at least no one became sloppily drunk, and that was a pleasant difference. It was really quite a civilized society, and one he would have loved to plague endlessly. The more orderly a society was, the more it was susceptible to disorder. But the courting of the prince was his true joy.
Loki, or Lakilceleb as he was known here, was enjoying himself tremendously in the role he had assumed, namely that of a very shy, quite virginal elf from afar, one who seemed as guilelessly innocent as a lamb. He had perfected his character so wonderfully, letting a blush spread over his cheek at any attention from the prince or nervously playing with a flower between his fingers when they spoke, that he could have practically danced naked in the great hall and all would have believed that he meant nothing salacious by it. Legolas himself, who Loki didn’t doubt for a moment truly was every bit the innocent, grew daily more entranced with him. They were apt to take long walks together when the moon shone brightly through the branches of the forest, with fewer and fewer courtiers following until at last it was only the two of them, straying perhaps the slightest inch too close together, threading the secret paths of the forest.
It had taken a solid week before Loki had gotten Legolas to broach the topic of attraction. He had been sure to wear a tunic of silver silk embroidered with pale green leaves, making his skin look as smooth as the cloth and deepening his eyes to emerald. His long fingers stroked each other in a movement that showed both how nervous he was supposed to be and spoke of sensuality more persuasively than any words could.
“Tell me, friend,” he said, putting a light tremor in his voice, “is there not a maiden who has taken your heart?”
“Nay, Lakilceleb,” Legolas said. “In over two millennia, I have found no woman who so delights me that I would risk my heart to her.”
“And…,” Loki said, letting his voice trail off before finishing in a rush, as though he feared he would lose courage, “and is there no warrior who would please you?”
Legolas smiled as Loki blushed deeply to the roots of his coal black hair and hung his head as if in deepest embarrassment. Hesitantly, he reached a hand towards Loki’s cheek, then softly stroked it.
“There have been none,” he said softly, and Loki felt the prince’s hand trembling as he lifted his chin so Loki could look into his eyes, and with delight he saw him draw in a breath and add the word, “yet.”
Finally, he thought as he averted his eyes and did a remarkable job of looking pleased and shy all at once, finally he was going to do something, anything. If this never-ending tension didn’t come to fruition soon, he was going to bed Thranduil and have done with it.
But yes, it appeared Legolas had finally found his courage. He moved slowly, as though Loki might startle like a deer. Indeed, he did widen his eyes in pretended panic, though he also barely parted his lips, positioning them perfectly for a kiss.
“You are as fair as starlight,” Legolas whispered. “Will you grant me a kiss, not as a duty to a sovereign, but because you…” he paused, licking his lips as though his mouth had gone dry, “desire it?”
Loki blinked once, letting a breath cross his lips like a ghost, knowing full well that Legolas would feel it against the delicate skin of his throat, and said in a small, trembling voice, “I… I do desire it, so very much.”
And then, thank Odin, the elf finally kissed him. Loki found it had been more than worth the wait. Over two thousand years of repressed drive seemed to break from him all at once, and what he lacked in technique, he more than made up for in sheer willingness. Loki found himself pressed against the trunk of a tree, Legolas’s body molding against his from knee to shoulder. Legolas took hold of Loki’s hair almost too tightly, and his tongue slipped over his lips, thoroughly claiming him as his own. Loki barely managed to restrain himself from taking matters far further immediately, but he remembered he was supposed to be the one being led, not the one leading. When at length Legolas moved from his lips to the length of his jaw, nipping and licking a path to his ear which he then lavished with attention, he did allow himself a rather wanton mewl, or perhaps it would be more honest to admit it was drawn from him whether he allowed it or not.
“Lakilceleb,” Legolas breathed in his ear. “I think… I think you are everything I could possibly desire.”
Loki slid his hands gingerly over Legolas’s back, pretending his own ineptness.
“Shall we…?” Loki whispered, and it was for the best that Legolas’s eyes were closed in bliss so he could not see the wicked grin that passed over his face. “Shall we be lovers, then?”
“You would come to my bed?” Legolas asked, drawing back from him only marginally, and, yes, Loki thought, hardly restraining himself from rolling his eyes, he seemed rather shocked.
“If you,” he paused again, biting his lip with uncertainty, “if you would wish me there, I think I could come to you. But I must warn you, you would be my first.”
Loki had, of course, neglected to mention exactly what Legolas would be his first for. If he recalled correctly, he’d never actually had a male elf whose name began with L during a full moon in April before, so yes, Legolas would be his first. The trick of lying was, of course, to make it entirely true from some vantage point.
“You shall be mine as well,” Legolas said, wrapping an arm around him protectively. “Come. None shall disturb us in my chambers. You need have no fear, my beloved.”
Delicately, he nodded, putting his fingers into Legolas’s offered hand, permitting himself to be led back through the forest, through the halls of the castle, and up to the prince’s chambers, where the door shut most resoundingly behind them.
When morning came, Loki was far more than satisfied. He’d all but ravished the elf, and he’d been quite thoroughly pleasured in return. He had managed what no mortal, elf, dwarf, wizard, or Asgardian had been able to do in twenty centuries: he had deflowered the prince of the wood elves. While he may not have won the ring, this was certainly a prize worth bragging about.
Legolas rolled over, waking at last, and a sleepy smile touched his features.
“Good morning,” he said, moving his hands to play with the curls of Loki’s hair. “Such a very, very good morning.”
“Indeed,” Loki said, kissing him with a great deal more voracity than someone who had been a virgin mere hours before could logically have been said to possess before abruptly standing and pulling his leggings up. “I must be going, though.”
Legolas lay in stunned silence, his face turning pale as the sheets in which he was entwined. He tried to form words twice before he finally managed to ask, “But, why? I thought you might stay, now that we are… now that we have… We were one.”
“Yes, and it was very pleasant,” Loki said, savoring this part of his victory as sweetly as any other, “but neither of us made any promises, now did we, and I always said that I was only a traveler.”
“But,” Legolas managed to squeeze the one word from his mouth, but nothing more came. It was as though Loki had slapped him.
“Now, now, princeling, don’t take it so much to heart. You’re a goodly bit of flesh, and there will be lovers for you aplenty if you want them,” Loki said, carelessly throwing on his tunic.
“But I don’t want them,” Legolas said, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “You are the one I love.”
“Well, now, isn’t that nice,” Loki said as though Legolas had offered him a particularly juicy apple, “and I am sure you will love others as well.”
“You… you don’t love me?” he said, unable to form the words. “But you gave yourself to me! We are bonded together! I won you!”
Loki laughed, and the noise was so far from the beauty of the world of elves that he might as well have doffed the false tips on his ears.
“Oh no, fair prince. I would be the one who won you,” Loki said. “It took a good deal less doing than I thought it would, too. Your ‘virtue white as snow’ was almost too easy to sully.”
Legolas stared in stunned silence, his face a mask of horror. With a shudder, he collapsed to the bed, sobbing in heartbreak.
“Poor, sweet elf,” Loki said, looking at Legolas’s long, dark hair spilling across the pillows.
It reminded him for a moment of someone else, far away. Gently, he stroked Legolas’s hair as he lay face down among the blankets, sweeping it behind his delicate, leaf-shaped ears and pulling it into a long tail. Well, why not leave his mark here, he thought. If it had worked once to turn fair to dark, could it not be the same in reverse? With a murmured enchantment, the color left Legolas’s locks and became like living gold.
“There,” he said. “A parting gift from your first darling. I am quite sure I shall not be your last.”
He finished tying the strings of his boots, and just as he was about to go out the door, he heard Legolas break through his tears and say only one broken word.
“Why?”
Loki turned to look at him as he lay on the bed, still naked, the golden strands of his hair glimmering like sunlight, his eyes pleading for some reason to this madness.
“Why not?” he said with a shrug, and closed the door behind him.
Before he opened the Bifrost, he took not one but two bows of the elves. He mounted both on the new helm the dwarfs made for him, and though many took them for great horns, powerful symbols of virility and strength in battle, only he knew they were tokens of a victory of a much different kind.
