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Title: A Midsummer Night's Tryst
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from
the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Archive: LoM, OEAM, Galadhrim.net, AFF.net, Melethryn
Rating: NC-17
Cast: Lindir/Erestor
Summary: Erestor is in charge of the entertainment for wedding night
festivities for the King and Queen of Gondor. Lindir is on hand to
keep the Advisor calm.
A/N: 1) This was written (frantically) for the Lindir list's secret
friend swap for Alaina, who would have been without a fic otherwise.
2) I must give lots of love and kisses to the hubby, Erik, whose sick
sense of humor inspired this frightful romp, and his talent with
Shakespeare that pushed it along.

---

Erestor peered around the room at those assembled. The group had
taken chairs in an approximation of a semicircle (as if drawn by a
drunken Man, he thought) and looked up at him expectantly. He cleared
his throat and attempted a smile, though it appeared more as a grimace
to his audience. "Is all our company here?" he asked, trying to sound
official.

Thranduil crossed his arms, leaning his chair onto the back legs.
"You should call the role according to the script; that way, if anyone
is missing, you can recast the part."

Erestor sighed. Wonderful. Thranduil was going to start this
already. This sort of thing was the reason why the theatre in
Mirkwood consisted mainly of poetry that didn't rhyme and soliloquies
that lasted forty-five minutes and said nothing.

"Very well," the Noldo continued. "Upon this parchment is writ the
names of all those felt fitting enough to participate in the
entertainment for the King and Queen upon the night after the day of
their wedding." There. That should give Thranduil a pause.

To Erestor's dismay, though, the Mirkwood King seemed unfazed.
"First, good Erestor, perhaps you should say what this entertainment
will consist of, then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a
point."

Lindir watched Erestor's eye begin to twitch -- a sure sign that his
lover was becoming annoyed. The minstrel had often wondered how many
of the Dark Lord's minions had seen that twitch before Erestor cleaved
their head in twain. And now, that murderous glare was directed at
Thranduil. Lindir knew he had to intercede, lest Legolas be orphaned
here and now. "The thought, Thranduil Oropherion, is for our humble
company to replay the meeting of the Fellowship with the Lord and Lady
of the Golden Wood. It was a most prodigious meeting, and one that
should be well-remembered, as it was instrumental in bringing this Age
of our world to a fortuitous end."

Now Thranduil did pause. Erestor thought it must have been because of
all the large words in Lindir's statement. Eventually, though, the
big windbag worked out what was being said and galloped ahead. "Ah,
yes. A fabulous idea! Now, friend Erestor, call forth your actors by
the scroll."

Erestor rolled his eyes, but began nonetheless. "Lord Celeborn. As
you were actually present in this scene, we would be honored if you
would portray yourself."

Celeborn nodded. "Not my finest hour, I assure you. But anything to
make my granddaughter smile."

Erestor grinned. He held the script in his hand, after all, penned by
no less than the Lady Galadriel herself. He knew all too well the
rash actions of the former Prince of Doriath. He hid his expression
by looking down into the scroll. The next assignment caused his face
to fall. "Thranduil, King of Mirkwood."

"Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed," the Silvan Lord replied
with a wave of his hand.

"You, my Lord, are set down for the part of Galadriel."

Snickers filled the room at that pronouncement. All eyes turned to
the blond Elf-King, who was staring, open-mouthed, at the Imladris
Advisor. The guffaws and chortles quickly silenced, though, when
Thranduil leapt to his feet, clutching his breast.

"That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: if I do it,
let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will
condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my chief humor is for a
tyrant: I could play FŽanor with spirit, or a part to reduce all to
melancholy and woe."

Thranduil seemed to take the stunned silence as encouragement, and he
pressed on, quoting, "'The raging rocks / And shivering shocks / Shall
break the locks / Of prison gates / And Earendil's star / Shall shine
from afar / And make and mar / The foolish Fates.' Ah, that was a
lofty rhyme! Name the rest of the cast, Master Erestor, I shall
attack this part with a tyrant's ferocity and temper it with a lady's
care."

Erestor was not amused. "Thank you, Lord Thranduil. You can sit down
now."

Thranduil sat gracefully, ladylike, crossing his legs in that precise
way that Galadriel didn't.

The dark-haired Elf turned deliberately away from the prima-donna and
looked toward the only Man in the assemblage. "Lord Faramir, Steward
of Gondor."

"Here, Master Erestor," came the gruff reply.

"Faramir, you must take Frodo as your part."

"Nay, faith, let me not play a Hobbit; I have a beard coming. Why
should I not, for my part, take up the mantle of my departed brother?"

"I am surprised at you, Lord Faramir," Erestor gently chided. "After
all, Frodo is the hero. It is a chance for Faramir, Steward of
Gondor, to show his quality!"

Faramir pointed indignantly at the Noldo. "That was a cheap shot."

Thranduil cried out at that moment. "If Faramir passes up this part,
I shall play Frodo as well! I shall scurry forward on my knees and
speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Oh, the Ring! The burden is too
great for one as small as myself!'"

Lindir feared the return of Erestor's twitch, and stepped in again to
defuse the situation. "No, Lord Thranduil, it is written that you
should play the Lady Galadriel. Faramir, you must portray Frodo."

Thranduil sat down, sighing heavily. "Very well. Proceed."

Erestor looked lovingly upon the fair-haired minstrel, thanking him
with his eyes for the assistance. "Lindir, you shall portray Legolas,
the Woodland Prince, while I shall tackle the part of Aragorn of the
Dunedain. Elladan and Elrohir shall take the parts of the two brave
Hobbits Merry and Pippin, striving to fight for their world in a realm
two sizes too large."

The Peredhil twins shared a strange look between them and then asked,
in unison, as was their annoying wont, "But which shall be Merry, and
which shall be Pippin?"

Faramir smiled. "Perhaps the two of you should decide among
yourselves."

Again, the two spoke together. "Very well. I shall be Merry, and my
brother can be Pippin. No, *I* will be Merry. No, *I* will. Oh,
bollocks."

Lindir rubbed his temples. "I really wish you two wouldn't do that."

Erestor stomped his foot. "I will decide. Elladan," he said,
pointing at Elrohir, "you shall play Merry." He turned to face
Elladan. "And you, Elrohir, will be Pippin. Is that clear?"

Elladan pointed to his brother. "But you just said --" and was
silenced by a firm whack in the back of the head from Rumil, who was
sitting behind them.

"Thank you, Rumil," the Advisor sighed. "If I may continue? Orophin,
you shall play Master Samwise, Frodo's loyal companion and gardener.
Haldir, for you is written the part of Boromir of Gondor."

Haldir threw up his hands. "Why do I always have to be the one that
dies?!"

Orophin stomped on his older brother's instep. "The corpse's brother
is sitting right there!" he hissed.

The Noldo hung his head and counted to ten in Quenya, then in
Sindarin, then in Westron, before he felt composed enough to continue.
"Finally, for you, Rumil, is the part of Gimli the Dwarf."

Rumil nodded. "Do you have the part written out? If so, I pray you
give it me now, for I am slow of study."

Celeborn snorted, "You should be able to improvise, for it is nothing
but roaring, drinking, and the fervent swinging of an axe."

Thranduil, not to be outdone, thrust his hand into the air. "Oh,
please, my Lords, permit me to play the Dwarf as well! I will roar
such that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar so
well that I will make the King say 'Let him roar again, let him roar
again.'"

Erestor grimaced. "And if you should do it too well, you would
frighten the Queen and her ladies, and they would scream terribly.
That would mean the death of us all! Or at least, embarrassment so
great that death would be a welcome release from it."

"I grant you, my friends, if that we should frighten the ladies out of
their wits, they would have no recourse but to disgrace us. But I
will attune my voice so that I will roar as gently as a dove!"

Lindir had to physically step in front of Erestor to keep his lover
from beginning the next Kinslaying. "My Lord Thranduil, you can play
no part but Galadriel; for she is a sweet-faced She-Elf; a proper
She-Elf, as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely and gentle
character. Only you befit such a beguiling part as this."

Thranduil contemplated this a moment, and Erestor was afraid he might
actually see through to the insult that was carefully veiled in the
minstrel's words. Fortunately, though, the old dullard was too
self-assured to perceive the true intent, and at last assented.

Erestor let out a long-held breath. "Very well. Friends, these are
your parts. I pray you, study them well, for we shall have only one
rehearsal this evening before the performance."

The actors took up their scrolls as Erestor handed them out, before
slowly filtering from the room. Thranduil paused by the door, quickly
scanned the scroll he'd been given, rolled the parchment up, and
tossed it aside, muttering, "I'll just improvise something."

Erestor was three paces from the door with murderous rage in his eyes
before Lindir caught his arm. "Stay your hand, meleth, I pray you!"

"That... that glamog will be the death of me!" Erestor wailed,
deliberately using the word for 'orc' that also meant 'uproar' or
'noise'. "Did you hear what he said? He will be the ruin of this
carefully contrived performance!"

"And so what if he is?" Lindir prodded. "What is that to you? You
have known Elessar and Arwen since their respective youth; they hold
you in the highest respect. And, of course, they are both well aware
of Thranduil's reputation, having both attended readings of the King's
poetry."

Erestor's anger drained quickly, partly from the words of his lover,
and partly from the way Lindir was massaging his hand and arm.
"Perhaps you are right."

"I know I am," the minstrel joked. "Come now, this tension helping no
one. Shall I help you relieve it before we practice our lines?"

The Noldo was instantly alert to the subtle innuendo in Lindir's
words. He turned and was instantly enveloped in his lover's tight
embrace. Their lips came together with a feverish intensity as their
hands deftly undid the various ties and buttons that littered their
robes. Before the last articles of clothing hit the floor, Erestor
removed himself from Lindir's grasp long enough to close and bolt the
door to the small audience chamber. He paced slowly back to his
lover, admiring Lindir's gloriously naked form standing before him,
firm and ready to be taken.

"Ah, my beautiful lover," Erestor purred in Lindir's ear as he wrapped
his arms around the minstrel's lithe body from behind. "Shall I bend
you over this chair and relieve these tensions that have you so
worried?"

"Oh, not this chair, I beg you, my Lord. This was the chair that Lord
Thranduil sat upon. I should catch his dreadful melodrama if 'twere
this seat. Lord Celeborn's chair is near as well, I pray you use that
instead."

The dark-haired Elf laughed out loud at the bantering. "Peace, little
bird! I shall have you as I will! Perhaps that will stop your
mouth!" Erestor turned Lindir toward the seat that the Lord of Lorien
had vacated. The fair-haired singer obligingly leaned forward and
gripped the arms of the large chair.

There was, unfortunately, nothing of a suitable nature to aid in the
preparation of his lover's rear passage, so, indecorous as it might
have been, Erestor spat into his palm and spread the salty liquid
across his length. The remaining wetness across his fingers was used
to gently slick Lindir's entrance. With great care and slowness,
Erestor pushed his throbbing arousal forward into the tight sheath
Lindir was presenting to him.

Lindir hissed at the intrusion. Were his body not so comfortable with
Erestor's, the minimal lubrication would not have been enough. The
two Elves had been lovers for some time, though, and Lindir was
accustomed to the size of the Noldo's shaft. After only a few
moments, he nodded his head for Erestor to continue.

As the Advisor began thrusting against the tight channel, the thick
secretions from his desire added to the slickness. Soon, Erestor was
able to move into a quick rhythm, grunting with his need.

Lindir's own moans struck a rich counterpoint with Erestor's rumbling
baritone. The singer moved a hand to his own rod, stroking it with
abandon, matching the thrust of Erestor's length inside him. The
double assault was too much for Lindir, and he howled a final cry of
ecstasy before feeling his seed spilling over his hand and onto the
seat of the ornate chair before him. Scarcely had his release washed
over him when he felt the heat of Erestor's essence pouring into him,
sending his body into a second wave of pleasure.

Erestor wrapped his arms around Lindir's waist, clinging to his lover,
still buried deep inside him. He breathed softly against Lindir's
ear, whispering softly, "Shall we adjourn to our chamber? I think I
may still have some tensions to relieve."

Lindir chuckled as he stood, pushing Erestor playfully away. "Should
we not rehearse our lines? Aragorn and Legolas were, after all, very
pivotal characters. Perhaps we should practice their scene?"

The Advisor pulled on his robe, his eyes glinting mischievously. "No
need, my dear songbird. The scene is very much like what we just
performed. Only with words."

The End
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