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Fair in Love and War by Alquien

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Story notes:
Written for: Rubyelf, 2012 Slashy Valentine

Beta: A special thank you to IgnobleBard for excellent beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Rating: R

Pairings: An unexpected threesome with Legolas, Éomer and Faramir.
Chapter notes:
The Request:
Rating up to = NC-17

Requested pairing = Any combination of the following: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Eomer, Legolas. Would particularly like to see Eomer or Faramir as one half of the pairing, but not necessary... I'm not terribly picky and will be happy with any pairing of the above.

Story elements = someone waking up in an unfamiliar bed (for any reason you can think of), a happy ending


No one remembered exactly how or when the long standing rivalry between Imladris and Mirkwood – or perhaps more accurately, between Elrond and Thranduil – had started, or why. The lone remaining book that held any clue referred to a long ago sports contest that had been held a mere ten years after Dagorlad. The idea of competitive games sounded innocent enough but it had been abandoned when the spectators had taken the game far more personally than did the athletes, and a riot had erupted in the stands that spilled onto the field and from there quickly extended into the host city as well. It had taken nearly a week and the intervention of armed guards to restore any semblance of order – and even longer to repair the property damage and personal injuries to the populace.

“And that is why we have war games,” concluded Erestor, who took the thin book from Glorfindel’s hand and replaced it on the reserved history shelf.

“It seems the height of absurdity.” Glorfindel shook his bright head in dismay. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to lock them in a room and let them fight it out?”

“It is a very tempting thought,” Erestor admitted, “but if anything should go amiss, the rule of the land would fall to their respective heirs.”

Glorfindel blanched at the idea.

“War games it is.”

[Chapter 1]

“There is no other option available. We must send a spy into Elrond’s camp and see if he can get an idea of their plans. And the spy must dress as a woman because Noldor tend to ignore women; they think women are dumb creatures, useful only for cooking and breeding. Can you believe they have never had a single queen?”

There was a murmur of dismay from the assembled Sindar and Silvan elves, who thought the Noldor must be fools if they believed such heresy. The armies were compromised of men only since the Noldor did not permit their women to take part in the war games, and so the Silvan women were not allowed to take their usual place beside the male soldiers. The Noldor claimed it was because women were too delicate for the hard life demanded of warriors but the Silvans and Sindar were privately convinced it was because women were often fiercer in battle than men.

“Now, we will need one of the younger soldiers, someone who can fit into this clothing.” Thranduil held up a loose cotton skirt and tunic, which had been purchased from a cloth trader who had been carrying some Haradian clothing. “There will be a veil, and this ‘corset’ will be worn underneath.”

“What is the purpose of the corset if it is not seen?” one of the youths asked.

“I am told that the women wear such to enhance their waist; its curve will add to the illusion as well.”

The younger warriors moved forward to gently finger the items, studying the strange cloth and stranger garments. But not one of them made any move to volunteer for such a mission, despite the piercing gaze of their king.

The silence was broken by a sigh from a most unlikely source.

“I will. I will do it.”

All eyes turned as Prince Legolas made his way slowly to the center of the tent. He stopped and bowed deeply in front of his father.

“I will volunteer for this mission, sire.”

“You?! But you hate dressing up at all, Legolas. You always complain that it makes you look like a girl.”

“I am the best choice of all *because* everyone keeps saying that I look like a girl.” Legolas scowled at the other youths, who hurriedly looked away before turning again to his father. “You do want to win, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do but…” Thranduil looked helplessly at Galion, who was studying the disguise and his son with a little too much interest. “Well, don’t you have something to say?” Thranduil asked acerbically.

“I am afraid the prince is right, your majesty. If anyone can get into Elrond’s camp unnoticed in such a disguise, it is he. Or have you forgotten that time when ….?”

“That is quite enough.” Thranduil glared at his butler. Galion knew far too many family secrets and Thranduil didn’t want a full recitation of his own youthful pranks in front of his family, especially Legolas. He turned to face his youngest son. “Legolas, if you had not reached your majority last year, I could forbid you to leave camp. Perhaps I should anyway, even if you are the third son.”


“Oh all right then.” Thranduil gave in but with poor grace. “Galion, you will stay and help with the disguise. Everyone else out. Now!”

Slowly, Legolas made his way toward the Noldor camp. He was guessing that Elrond’s tent would be the largest one near the center and he was more than thankful that the Haradian women covered their faces. He was breathing rather heavily, for the corset was laced tightly – though not as tightly as his father and Galion had wanted, and it was only now that Legolas began to wonder just how the king and his butler knew so much about this style of clothing. When they returned home, he would be sure to sneak into his father’s study and look for some of his older journals.

Right now he had more pressing concerns, and he bit back an oath as he stumbled along. His hair had been freed from his warrior braids, combed out and dampened with rose scented water before being loosely braided to dry in loose, flowing curls. He had not enjoyed the rosewater bath he had to endure and he was convinced that Galion had taken far too much pleasure in his discomfort.

Even worse than all of that was the small pebble that Galion had bound under his foot, causing him to limp.

“Human women are clumsy and awkward compared to elves. You know this, prince Legolas.” Galion had smirked at him. “It would be far stranger if you were not noticed; besides, when the guards see your limp they will think you are seeking a healer. Perhaps even Elrond himself will take pity on such a fair maid.”

“Enough, Galion.” Thranduil scowled at his butler before turning back to his hapless son. “You had best go now. You will have little enough time as it is.”


“I am so glad I could come along,” Faramir said. He looked over at Éomer, who was sharing the large main tent with him while participating in the war games as part of Elrond’s honor guard.

“So am I,” the young Rohirrim replied. “Indeed, I am surprised that we were allowed to participate at all.”

“It was my brother’s doing.” Faramir’s voice held a note of awe; Éomer was not surprised for the eldest son of the Steward had an unmistakable air of authority about him – and he was able to convince his moody father of almost anything. Éomer couldn’t imagine such a strained relationship between parent and child, for he knew that his uncle loved him and his sister as though they were his own children. “He thought we would be happier away, so he told my father it would best if we were elsewhere while the negotiations are in session.”

“A clever move,” Éomer said as Faramir smiled at the compliment to his brother. “So tell me Faramir, what do you know of these ‘war games’?”

“It is a competition of sorts between the Elves.” Faramir shrugged. “It is said that Thranduil and Elrond have always been rivals. I do not know why.”

“Really? That’s odd.” Éomer was studying Faramir. “Well, I suppose we should go to sleep.”

“Yes, we should. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

The young men continued to talk while they prepared for bed, only to find that sleep did not come quickly as they listened to the noises the camp made as the night watch was being set. So they began to talk quietly once more about the coming day.

“So I imagine…” Faramir paused suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes I did.” Éomer whispered. He wished that they were permitted to keep their horses near instead of being picketed toward the far edge of the camp. Roch would have made a better guard than whoever was supposed to be on the job.

The two men nodded at each other and prepared themselves for whatever, or whoever, came through the door.


Legolas could hardly believe his good fortune in being able to slip past the Imladris security unit that were stationed around the camp, despite favoring one foot and the awkwardness of the disguise. He didn’t think much of them; it spoke poorly of Glorfindel’s abilities as general though the final responsibility belonged to Elrond.

‘But,’ he chided himself, ‘I must not become overconfident now. There is always a chance that something might happen.’

He looked around once more to be certain of his bearings and resumed his stealthy progress toward the large central tent. The sight of Elrond’s banner hanging from one of the main poles reassured him that he was on the right path. This part of the camp was more crowded than the perimeter but it offered a chance to pause and study the most unobtrusive route before he continued. He paused for one last moment to catch his breath before opening the tent flap. He stepped inside, and promptly stumbled to his knees. Only then did he realize that the tent he had walked into was occupied by Men.


Faramir and Éomer had hidden themselves at the front of the tent, and watched as the tent flap opened. A tall, slight figure fell into the tent and both men moved to catch the stranger.

“What have we here?” Faramir spoke with a trace of amusement as light from a nearby watch fire briefly illuminated the dark interior of the tent. “I didn’t know that there were women in the camp.”

“She wears the clothing of a woman of Harad.” Éomer said in surprise. “But there are no other guests of the games besides us.”

The two men helped a shaking Legolas to his feet. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the idea of being caught so quickly. How would he ever discover the plans now? He nervously stepped forward only to have his fall broken once more by the men who held him.

“She is lame.” Faramir picked Legolas up easily and carried him toward the bed while Éomer quickly lit a small candle. “I imagine she came looking for help from Lord Elrond.”

At the idea of coming face to face with the formidable Noldor leader, Legolas’ eyes widened and he shrank away from the two men. As he did so, he caught sight of a large open desk at the far side of the tent with maps and papers strewn haphazardly upon it, but there was no chance for him to act. Perhaps later -- *if* he could do so. He didn’t want to engage these two Men who were also probably guests of Elrond. Was there no end to the complications?

“Don’t be afraid, lady.” Éomer said. “We will not harm you. You have nothing to fear.”

But the nearness of the men made Legolas even more nervous as he struggled to balance on the edge of the bed. He knew he could handle them easily, for an Elf’s strength was far superior to that of a Man. He still hoped that he could salvage something from this fiasco, for he had no wish to face his father’s disappointment if he were to return empty-handed. All thought flew from his mind as Éomer lifted his foot and began to pull off the light slipper.

“Do not be afraid,” Éomer spoke in a soft, low tone and Faramir smiled. Éomer seemed to think the lady was the same as a high-strung, skittish young filly.

“He will not hurt you, lady. Neither of us will hurt you.” Faramir started to pull the headdress from Legolas’ head, and when Legolas raised his hands to protect the disguise he promptly fell back on the bed. Ever the gentleman, Faramir pulled him back to a sitting position. “It will be all right. I am sorry, lady. But you will be more comfortable without the cloak and headdress while we check you for injury.” And Faramir removed it without a second thought.

Meantime, Éomer had removed the second slipper and while unwrapping the bandage this action had revealed, the small pebble fell unnoticed to the floor.

“I can feel no cut or bone out of place; perhaps the injury is on the inside of her foot.”

“Should we call Lord Elrond then?” Faramir asked him as he raised his hand to push the lady’s hair back.

“No, let her rest.” Éomer rose and seated himself on the other side of Legolas. “After all…”

“Why, she’s an elf-maid!” Faramir exclaimed as he saw the tip of Legolas’ ear peeking from the heavy waves of his gilt hair.

“Really?” Éomer promptly discovered this for himself as he traced along the ear’s outer edge to its pointed tip. “An elf-maid,” he whispered in awe.

Legolas shuddered, this time in arousal for elven ears were extremely sensitive to touch and often proved to be an erogenous zone. Perhaps there were a few elves that had ears that were insensitive to touch but Legolas wasn’t one of them. He moaned softly and fell back to the bed once more, breathing very hard.

One of the men began running his hand along Legolas’ groin but Legolas knew he was safe from any further discovery as long as they did not undress him fully. From one of the many trunks in the king’s tent, Galion had produced a heavily padded, bizarrely made chastity belt that tucked his genitals underneath him that added to the illusion of femininity.

“She wears a chastity belt.”

Legolas wasn’t sure who spoke but the note of disappointment in his voice was obvious.

“We can take no pleasure with her, but we can still give her pleasure,” the other man said. “And we can take our pleasure with each other, afterward.”

Then the two men began to slowly lick and suck on his ears and within moments Legolas no longer cared what happened as he was overwhelmed by the dual sensations. He lolled passively in Faramir’s arms as the man pulled him to the headboard while Éomer lifted Legolas’ long legs so that he rested fully in the center of the bed. Legolas watched as they settled on either side of him. One of them leaned forward to turn Legolas’ head toward him and promptly began kissing the elf, letting his tongue lick gently at Legolas’ lips while the other man began to rub his beard along the delicate ear. Legolas shivered at the strange feeling, for it tickled. He opened his mouth in order to gasp for air and found that the man had eased his tongue into his mouth. Legolas moaned faintly and shuddered as pleasure overtook him.

When he came to himself once more, Legolas found he had rolled slightly to one side of the large bed and he could see the two men were asleep and wrapped in a tight embrace. Sighing, He shook his head to clear it and felt almost dizzy. Legolas quickly braced himself, hoping that he had not jarred the men awake. But their eyes were tightly closed and their breathing deep and regular, so Legolas carefully eased out of the bed and gathered his things up before making his way to the opened desk. It was full dark now and Legolas dared not risk using a candle. Instead he relied on memory and quickly snatched at a few of the larger parchments which *should* be maps.

As he did so, his fingers brushed against a wax seal. He paused and traced it with a fingertip, frowning at the unfamiliar design. Legolas hesitated only a moment more and quickly added it to the others, tying them into a bundle.

Legolas stood and pulled the cloak tightly around his shoulders before sliding the papers into an inner pocket of the cloak. Securing the slippers to his belt, the Wood-elf prince disappeared out of the tent and into the night.


Thranduil paced restlessly about his tent while Galion cleaned his armor. The war games would start in the morning and both Elven leaders were expected to be active participants even if they were not to be in the forefront.

“I am sure he is fine, Thranduil.” Galion tried to reassure him.

“How do you know, Galion? Anything could happen to him – and it usually does,” said Thranduil in a highly aggrieved tone. “If he has been captured…”

“I am fine, sire.”

“Legolas!” Thranduil whirled at the sound of his son’s voice and gathered him in a tight embrace. “I have been so worried. You are later than I expected.” He sniffed suddenly. “What happened? I smell pipe weed on you.”

“There were Men in the tent, sire,” Legolas said. He prudently decided that any further details of his ‘adventure’ could wait until a time when his father was in a calmer mood. “Here are the maps.”

Thranduil seized the maps so quickly that Legolas feared they would tear. With Galion’s help, Thranduil promptly stretched them out on a nearby table and began to study them, frowning as he did so. Legolas watched his father for a moment before he shrugged to himself and began to try and unlace the corset. It would be wonderful when he could breathe once more. Galion noticed this and walked over to help the young prince to remove the cumbersome disguise.

“These are not their battle plans,” Thranduil exclaimed in annoyance. “I am sorry Legolas but you took the wrong maps.”

“What are they then? They are maps, aren’t they?”

“Well… yes…” Thranduil turned his attention back to the maps as Legolas came to stand beside him. “They seem like patrol rosters…”

“Patrols for Imladris while the others are here at the games.” Thranduil brightened suddenly. “This will work too, Legolas.”

“It will?”

“Now we know who is here and who isn’t. It will take time but we can make educated guesses as to how and where Elrond will deploy his forces.”


And so Thranduil proved to be correct. The games were very close but Mirkwood prevailed and won the prized Dorwinion shipments for the next ten years.

In private, Thranduil gloated and Elrond sulked, which meant all was right with the world once more.



And prais'd be rashness for it—let us know

Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well...

Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2

Chapter end notes:
Please note: This was originally written and posted under my pseudonym "samtyr" and is archived under that name at the slashy santa dot com / eFiction.

Archive: Please do not archive without author's permission.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and the plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.