A Twisted Fairytale (1/3)
By Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk) and Ilye (ilye_elf@hithanaur.net)

Rating: R-ish, for amusingly graphic descriptions.
Pairings: Galadriel/Celeborn, Celebrian/Elrond, Arwen/Aragorn (slash pairings mentioned in brief)
Disclaimer: It was Tolkien's, before we mangled it! You can have it back if you still want them, Proffessor. Professor? Oops.
Summary: Not only the one ring gets passed down through the ages! (And the Grammar Dragons go to town with adjectives – please excuse!)
Warnings: Het. Slash. Corruption of innocent…heirlooms.For notes and disclaimers see prologue.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a golden wood where the trees grew tall and in the golden wood where the trees grew tall there lived an Elf. A she-Elf, with hair so golden that she could have outshone the sun.

Now, this she-Elf was in possession of a family heirloom, but it was not a widely renown heirloom for many thought it to be repulsive and disgusting. The golden-haired she-Elf had inherited this heirloom from the queen of an Elven King before she came to live in this beautiful golden wood with her quiet but loving husband.

'Twas a beautiful heirloom. It was long and elegantly carved from the finest wood, and so smooth as not to give splinters. There was a pattern along the length of the wood, of trailing ivy, and a spreading base of mallorn leaves that allowed it to fit neatly into the soft leather harness. One day, the golden-haired she-Elf had taken the heirloom out of its box to care for it, by oiling the leather and smoothing the wood. At that point, her husband happened to walk into her chambers and caught sight of the heirloom as she ran her palm gently along its length.

"My darling," he said, "what is that you have in your hand?"

The golden-haired she-Elf held it up for her husband's perusal. "'Tis an heirloom," quoth she, "That my loving queen hath gifted upon me."

"Then why have I never seen this before?" asked back her husband.

"Because it is only to be used to symbolise the deepest love and devotion possible between a wife and her husband," replied she, with a glint in her eye.

"But my darling!" he cried. "I will love you until the end of the world! I love you to the depths of the seas and the height of the skies! Why did you not think to symbolise this eternal love of ours sooner?"

The lady looked chagrined, although what transpired between herself and her maid-in-waiting seemed ample enough rebuke for such a profound statement of love. Nevertheless, she held her tongue and replied, "Very well, my love. Let us tryst in my chambers this eve, and we shall consummate the deepest joining that can be."

Enrapt with joy and adoration for his beloved bride, the husband kissed his lady deeply and left to prepare himself.

Later that night, the husband returned to his lady's chambers. He was dressed in a trailing robe of pure white, his silver hair flowing about his broad, muscular shoulders. He was as radiant as the moon that lit the sky on this perfect, clear summer's night.

The room was transformed. Candles shimmered on every surface, gauzy fabric had been draped from the beams in the roof of the airy tree-house, and the bed was made with sumptuous satin sheets.

The husband looked around, his breath stolen from his very lips by the sight, for his elusive wife. Then she stepped from the shadows, draped in naught but the same gauze that so mystified her boudoir and with her hands secreted behind her back.

"My love," quoth he, jaw slack and member not so. "I cannot believe how beautiful you look on this, the night of our complete and utter joining."

The lady smiled mysteriously as she sashayed rustlingly up to him. "Your clothes," she purred into his ear, "They are pretty, but completely unnecessary."

Her husband felt his knees tremble as one hand danced up and down his chest, so that quick as a flash his pure white robes had fallen into a foaming puddle at his feet. "Better, my love?" he rasped with a heavy regard of smouldering silver for his bedazzling lady.

She smiled, an enigma of a smile. Then she turned, walked towards the bed, and arranged herself elegantly across it with gauze just covering the most enticing of places.

With jaw and member almost meeting, her husband heeded her beckoning. He joined her on the satiny sheets and lay beside her. Their lips met in a sensuous crush of petal softness - but only for a moment.

With that same enigma of a smile, the lady rolled away and whispered shudder-inducingly into his hear, "Roll onto your front, my love."

He did so, confused but utterly trusting his beloved lady. There was the whisper of gauze being shed, the shhhh of knees across satin, then the delicious, breathtaking press of her soft, lithe, sumptuous body against his back. Long, elegant hands brushed their cool way over his heated skin. Up, up, along his shoulders, and around to his chest where they paused to work their sensual magic. Her smooth lips teased his ear, whilst a long leg slipped between his and nudged his knees apart. So enrapt was he by her delicious caresses that when she stopped, he uttered a cry of animalistic proportions.

"Hush, my love," she whispered into his ear. "I must prepare you now for the joining."

With a softly submissive sigh, he turned his head, contenting himself with the knowledge that if he could not feel her, he could at least watch her. Yet the shock of what he saw was unrivalled.

Leather encircled her willowy waist and lissome thighs, whilst from between her hips the heirloom jutted. It was long, elegant, and yet so very strange that the sight made his mouth go dry. Never before had such a thing on a female been envisioned in his mind! Seeing her loyal husband's apprehension, the she-Elf smiled and reached for his hand. He gave it willingly and extended it towards the heirloom as invited.

So cleverly designed it was! The undulations along its length mirrored the width of his own (not inconsiderable) member, with the leafy base arranged so to bring pleasure to her as well.

Seeing his budding interest, perchance to grow like his excitement, the lady raised a crystalline vial of sweetly-scented oil and trickled it onto his palm. She guided his hand onto the heirloom and encouraged him to coat it, wiggle it and wobble it (which she clearly enjoyed). Yet it was only a moment, it seemed, ere she coaxed his hand away again and instructed him back onto his belly.

Apprehension gripped the loyal husband when that same, sweet-scented oil was then dribbled along the cleft to his most intimate of places. Those long, elegant fingers ensured good coverage, including inside the rosebud entrance to his body that caused him first to squiggle at the burning pain and then to cry out in sheer ecstasy when she found a tiny, secret place inside him.

Yet, when she guided him up onto his knees, terror skewered the loving husband, for the blunt hardness at his guardian ring seemed certain to split him asunder. He had no time to express his discomfort, however, for his golden-haired wife gave one swift push of her hips and forced the wooden heirloom on its searing path inside his unwilling body. His soft cries filled the candlelit boudoir (he was quiet as well as loving, remember), but a finger across his lips silenced him and a purr came in his ear,

"Shh, my love, can you feel the joining? Can you feel the oneness of me, an extension of you?"

"Aye, my darling," he nigh sobbed, "but you are so *large* inside me..."

His lady flexed her supple hips and wrung a gasp from his lips. "I do not complain," she breathed in vibrato.

Her husband took a deep breath and, gradually, found that as she moved, he adjusted, until finally some pleasure could be found for him as well as her, and in the end they both came gaspingly to their completion.

"Ai, my darling," he whispered as she collapsed atop him. The heirloom pressed deep into his insides and her weight was sticky and uncomfortable, but there was one thing he had to ask in order to sate his inquisitiveness. "Wherever did you learn such a thing?"

"Mmm, my love," she replied sleepily through the sumptuous fog of her release. "I learned from the best."

"Who," he gruffly asked, shifting in his discomfort and disconcertion, "might the best be?"

"It was," she mumbled sleepily, pulling the heirloom from his body and moving away, "a favourite of Thingol's, so Melian tells me."

Which left her husband no room to complain, given the preferences of his former king, so he covered them both with the blankets and they both slept soundly 'til morning.

And so it came to be that, with their love sealed in the most powerful of ways, the lord and the lady of the golden wood where the trees grew tall chose to reconsumate their love (very gently and cautiously) in a more conventional manner with the sun's (and the lord's) arising next day. In time a beautiful child was born of the wood, a daughter, sole heir of her father and mother, and she would inherit not simply the wood, but also the heirloom…

But that's another story…