Legolas' Seat

by erobey

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Gandalf/Legolas

Summary: Let us pretend that Legolas was a regular messenger from Mirkwood to Imladris, but as yet had not had opportunity to meet Gandalf, though of course he had heard of him! This story takes place just before the Council of Elrond and is a fun tribute to Sir Ian's portrayal of Gandalf and his comments regarding slash fic!

beta'd by Sarah AK

Category: Humour

Disclaimer: All the characters and places were originally created by JRR Tolkien and are the property of his estate.


Chapter One

The gently gusting air was glazed with the faintest mist as the lightly sprinkling waterfall shed its shimmery, sun-gilded flood over the high cliff behind the elegant, colonnaded terraces of The Last Homely House in the valley of the Bruinen. Sheer, white panels of gossamer silk draped the broad, open arches leading to a balustraded balcony attached to a ward of the Healing Wing. The tenuous fabric drifted lazily in and out of the simply appointed, clean, neat comfort of the sunny room beyond the open veranda, coming and going on the breath of the breeze.

The restful sound of the rushing torrent created a peacefully serene backdrop against which splashed the occasional song of a rapturous warbler, overcome by its good fortune to dwell in

such a place amid the fair folk of Rivendell. As understated and omnipresent as the cascading cataracts, the clear, sweet cadence of elven voices, raised in harmonious praise of all of Eru's Making, filled the recesses of every heart and drowned out any hint of discordant thought or sorrowful woes.

It was indeed a most magical and magnificent place.

Seated there, on a chair designed exquisitely to promote comfort, within the pristine perfection of the restful room, Samwise Gamgee wished hard that he had a voice for singing, it felt that wondrous to be among the elves. He sighed a soulful lungful of happiness instead and glanced for the hundredth time in the last hour at Frodo, tucked up tight beneath immaculate, bleached sheets of soft, pliant cotton in the fluffy, down-stuffed bed. The poor Hobbit was at last sleeping in calm and

dreamless repose, his curly brown mop of hair all wild about his ashen cheeks and a gentle half-way smile curving his still too-pale lips.

'Now, now, Sam; don't go and be lookin' at the negatives! His valiant heart is freed from the dread an' dire designs of the Dark Lord, and here we are safe in the care of Elrond Half-elven, no less! I'd say there's lots to be cheery about!' the loyal retainer told himself determinedly. He gave a quick nod to himself and smiled when he looked for the 101st time at his dear Frodo.

"Ah! Excellent mimicry, Gandalf! However long did it take you to master this craft?" the rich, noble voice spoke languidly from the balcony and drew Sam's attention to the mighty Lord slouched in a comfortable lounge facing the unparalleled view of the lush river valley. Sam saw the cause of the exclaimed praise: a wispy bit of pipe smoke shaped in the form of a prancing steed was wafting into the room. Sam opened his mouth in silent amazement as the ephemeral little horse trotted by and vanished into the ceiling.

A deep chuckling chortle rumbled out in response to the Elven Lord's remark, and Gandalf shifted in his chair, scooting it, with an ear-anguishing screech that made the Hobbit wince, closer to the edge of the terrace in order to observe the goings on out in Rivendell below.

"Well, my old friend, it is a difficult skill to learn, but quite enjoyable! I would be happy to procure the necessary supplies and begin your instruction in the art, if you wish!" the wizard said.

"Nay, I think not!" Elrond laughingly replied; his hand lifted as though to ward off the offending habit from his person. He dragged his chair closer, delicately lifting as he pulled to spare himself auditory torment, to see what had captured the Istar's interest.

The emerald expanse of the House's lawns gave way behind the meticulous majesty of marble walls to a glossy, aquamarine sea of waving, windswept grasses in the paddocks where the Lord's horses roamed free. Within this pasture small clumps of grazing mares and their foals ambled about, tearing into the abundant bounty of the thick, tickle-the-knee blades. It was a bucolic scene of unhurried, unburdened leisure.

Such was not the object of the wizard's keen inspection.

Amid this gently rolling ocean of open greenery a single stallion raced as though in flight, as though his hooves barely touched the slender stalks; and the wind of his fleet passage parted the grasses in a wake of billowing turbulence as he darted across the ground. This horse was more wondrously extraordinary than any of the others in the elf-touched valley, a superb specimen of equine strength and beauty.

The gleaming coat was black as ebony, from the tip of the dainty nose to the well-trimmed, vitreous sheen of his pounding hooves, and shone with a luster only loving care and boundless devotion could give. His noble head was carried high, proudly gracing the splendid perfection of the arched neck, from which the long, unbraided onyx-hued mane whipped out in the current produced by his speedy progress. The equine's tail was lifted high behind him, waving out as would a standard upon a battlement, and flowed in long streamers that brushed the upswept tips of green he traversed. This horse was breathtaking.

Upon the back of this uncommon steed was perched an equally rare brand of elf. The eternally youthful creature, in this case truly young among his kind, clung to the stallion's back as though the two were one and the same being. Supple and strong, his lithe frame moved and rippled in conjunction with the steed's pounding pace. His lean arms reached forward and his slender fingers were invisible, buried in the blue-black mane. Long legs gripped firmly round the horse's thrusting whithers and panting ribs. Simply clad in a plain tunic and soft leather leggings, the elf was barefoot and weaponless; an ethereal vision such as had not been seen in Middle-earth since the last of the Vanyar sailed over sea.

He smiled, nay, he fairly beamed, feeling as though the very earth was taking shape beneath the thundering feet of the mighty horse, luxuriating in the sensation of the roiling air flinging his hair out like a banner behind him. The sparkling gold of his unbound locks shimmered and danced in the sun-kissed breeze. His bright and merry laughter floated through the valley, and so filled with joyous abandon and wild freedom was this sound that all the elves of Imladris paused in their singing to rejoice in the carefree, untroubled gladness of the youth.

The elf was utter perfection.

A resplendent contrast they made, a union of night and day, Ithil and Anor, Tilion and Arien. The golden, immortal beauty of the fresh-faced elf shone all the brighter against the stark and inky pitch of the stallion's temporal presence, a brief tableau of the consummate harmony between the finite and the eternal as envisioned by Iluvatar.

Together, the pair easily rivaled the glory and grandeur of Oromë and Nahar.

Upon the balcony, Gandalf let his pipe go out and Elrond smiled a gloating smile of indulgent pride for having so unique a diversion in his Realm.

"Who is that?" the wizard asked quietly, as though unsure if what he beheld was flesh and bone or some vision from another Age.

"Ah, that is Legolas, a messenger from Thranduil's Woodland Realm, and Mirvain with him," replied Elrond with hardly less a sense of awe.

"He has a remarkably fine seat!" Mithrandir commented, admiring the elven youth's equestrian ability.

"Indeed, especially for a Wood Elf! Talent in such areas is rare among the Sylvan Elves," Elrond readily agreed.

"Beautiful!" the Istar exclaimed. "They move together as one, and such passion, such joy lights his fair features!"

"Aye, the two are devoted to each other! Legolas goes to him first whenever he gets here, no matter what tidings, good or ill, he brings from his homeland. Ah, they are coming now, shall we go down to meet them?"

"Oh, by all means!"

"Though, I warn you, Legolas will be a bit embarrassed to make your acquaintance in such a state of undress! He is very self-conscious about his appearance when among his elders!" the Elf Lord laughed softly and Gandalf smiled warmly back as the two rose and made their way inside.

They passed Sam and informed him they would return shortly, asking him to seek them out should Frodo wake. Sam nodded with a strangely lopsided smile and found himself unable to make any words pass his lips.

It was an indisputable fact that Samwise Gamgee was an accomplished gardener; one of the finest groundskeepers ever born in the Shire. If it was green and had roots, the Hobbit could nurture it and bring it to bloom. However, that was the Halfling's sole claim to knowledge regarding nature, and he had no comprehension of animal husbandry. More specifically, Sam knew absolutely nothing of horseback riding or the particular phraseology those bitten by the equestrian bug were wont to use to describe simple, everyday ideas.

Nor was he looking over the balcony railing when Legolas and Mirvain rode in.

It was thus not unexpected that Master Gamgee would fail to understand what the Elf Lord and the Maia were discussing, and hence supplied his own definitions. One could hardly blame the Hobbit for his mistake. How was he to know that one's 'seat' in equestrian terms meant how well one stuck to the horse's back, rather than the rear parts used to so stick?

'Now, now, Sam Gamgee! Don't you be quick to judge!' the scandalized Hobbit tried to calm himself. 'Their ways is not our ways, maybe, as the Gaffer would say, and I've always heard the Wood Elves are wild-like, less civilized than these Rivendell folk. Lord Elrond didn't seem to take offense at all! Don't meddle in the affairs of wizards, Sam!' The dear little man shook his head and tried to reason out what he had heard, and began muttering to himself just as the door opened and his countrymen, Merry and Pippin strode in.

"Hullo, Sam, we've come to sit with Frodo while you go have a bite of luncheon," informed Merry as he approached the bed. He gazed with an expression that rivaled reverence at the sleeping Ringbearer's face and smiled.

"Oh, well, that's right good of you boys, but I couldn't think of leaving Mr. Frodo's side!"

"Nonsense! Frodo will be that peeved if he wakes and learns you starved yourself and got sick from it, just to watch him sleep!" admonished Pip. He frowned through narrowed eyes at his friend and elbowed Merry to get his attention. "Alright, Sam Gamgee, what are you hiding? I know that look, you overheard something important and worrisome and you're keeping it in!"

"Oh! I was not eavesdroppin'!" snapped Sam defensively.

"We never said you did, Old Boy!" Merry smirked. "Must be something very sensitive for you to be so rattled! Out with it!"

"Aye, you know you can trust us to keep quiet if need be," added Pip.

Sam drew a heavy, disconsolate breath as he gazed from one to the other of his friends. "It's just that, well I, I just never thought someone like Gandalf would be thinking about that sort of thing, is all!"

Merry and Pippin looked at each other, ran out to the balcony, and dragged two chairs back inside, scooting them up close to Sam's comfy perch. The Hobbits settled in, folded their hands in their laps, and leaned forward almost hungrily. The only thing they liked better than eight regular meals a day was a nice, juicy helping of gossip, and gossip involving Gandalf was an exceptional diversion from the placid goings on in Imladris.

"Now, Sam, exactly what sort of things is Gandalf thinking about?" demanded Merry and Pip nodded vigorously.

Poor Sam looked from one to the other again, worried. He really wished Mr. Frodo were awake, then he could tell him about it and all would be explained.

"It's probably some sort of mistake," he began, "but I heard Gandalf talking about an elf, about his behind, to be exact!"

Merry and Pippin's mouths popped open and curved up in gleeful leering grins and they shared devilishly glittering glances.

"What elf?"

"Are you sure, Sam?"

"Oh, aye, I'm sure! Elrond was here, too, and agreed this elf, called Legolas, has a very nice arse!"

His two friends gasped and their eyes grew rounder and even more sparkly in their lascivious delight.

"Next Elrond said this Legolas was uncommonly talented in such areas!" Sam added; now that he had started, he found he was quite enjoying himself, relishing his friends' rapt attention to the tale. "And then, well, then Gandalf said as how Legolas and his, um, partner? were moving as one!"

"What? They were watching? Where were they? Did you see, Sam?"

"Bullroarer's balls! What did it look like? Do they even make that look graceful and refined?"

"I never did look! That would be downright indecent! I don't know where they were, but Elrond and Gandalf were out on the balcony when they saw them, um, doing it. And I was that shocked to know the two great men were peeking where they oughtn't!"

"Oh, Sam! All right, never mind that; what happened next?" complained Pip.

"That's it, I guess; except that Legolas is so devoted to his lover that he goes to him the minute he gets to Rivendell, and they just go at it right then and there, wherever Mirvain happens to be!"

Mentally Sam shrugged; it was mostly what he heard and but a small part his imagination. "That comes right from the Lord of Imladris' lips! And they left here so Gandalf can meet Legolas, and the elf still naked in the arms of his lover!"

"What! Where, Sam, where did they go?" hissed Merry desperately.

"I don't think I believe it! What, are they going to, that is, all of them together?" squeaked Pippin.

"I don't know where they all went or what they're getting up to all four of them together!" Sam said in exasperation. "Besides, it's none of our business! We should just leave it alone; wizards and, and?" here Sam had some difficulty finding a suitable word, "mating elves are none of our concern!"

He was starting to feel worried. What if Gandalf found out he had told what he heard? He did not want the wizard's wrath upon him. "You two must promise me here and now not to go sayin' a word about this to anyone else!"

"Sam! We never tell secrets!" scolded Merry, a hurt look in his eyes.

"I don't care; this is serious! Promise!"

"Fine! We promise not to talk about it to anybody but each other!" said Pip, and Merry nodded his agreement.

Sam sighed in relief, and just then the Elf Lord and the Maia walked back through the door, laughing jovially over some small joke. They greeted the Hobbits and checked on Frodo, pronouncing him resting peacefully, and dragged the chairs from which the visitors had jumped up back outside.

"That is just what I needed, Elrond!" Gandalf said as he settled into the seat and retrieved his pipe. "Legolas is a delight! I have never witnessed such dexterity; his hands are so gifted! So good of you to coax him into giving me a demonstration! And such exuberance, it is quite refreshing and I feel renewed!"

"Indeed, one cannot help enjoy being with him!" The Elf Lord stretched out with a contented sigh in the lounge. "Beautiful, intelligent, eager to please, brave, and genuinely true-hearted. And you are quite right, his skill is unmatched in any elven realm, bar none!"

Sam sent an 'I told you' look to his friends and wriggled back smugly in his cozy armchair.

Merry and Pippin exchanged another matched pair of grinning glances.

"Well, Sam, we will just be going now," said Merry. "We'll bring you a nice snack to tide you over 'til dinner!"

"Yes, we need to go and do some exploring," added Pippin. "We'll return later and let you know what we discover."

With these cryptic phrases the Hobbits left their comrades and raced back to their quarters. Once inside and the door safely shut, they broke into raucous laughter and repeated all they had heard, imitating the voices of the great folk quite disrespectfully and making many crude jokes at Legolas' expense. After a prolonged bout of stomach shifting hilarity, the two decided to find the redoubtable Legolas and learn what all the fuss was about.

Merry and Pippin were always true to their word and indeed never revealed a confidence entrusted to their knowledge. It was not really their fault at all that they forgot about the sensitivity of elven hearing. Nor were they aware that their rooms abutted those of Lindir, one of the finest minstrels in Imladris, or that said elf was out resting on his own balcony at the time and heard every bawdy, suggestive, and downright obscene reference to Legolas' seat the two Hobbits shared!

When Merry and Pip decided the kitchens and pantry were the best places to start their search, reasoning that this remarkable elf must have worked up quite an appetite after all the activity in which he had engaged, they did not notice the silent figure of the distraught, shocked singer hastening from the room next door.