Posted: March 2004
Title: A Midsummer Night's Tryst
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Lindir
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Author's Notes: 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.

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.

*****

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 Fëanor 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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