Nil Carborundum Illegitimi
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,936
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,936
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Horns of Elfland Faintly Blowing
He knelt before the woman, his position showing his utterly domination. Dressed in the moss greens and earthy browns that the commoners wore in the Summer Lands, he squeezed his eyes shut with terror and waited for the wrath of the Lady to fall upon him. He had been called to see her, and he knew that those asked to personally stand before the Lady often never returned from their meeting.
The woman, who looked both young and beautiful, was dressed in scarlet satins and ebony furs. She raised her long fingered hand, and the young boy was hauled to his feet by burly guards, shaking with nerves and dread. As was custom, he avoided looking into the dark blue eyes that perused him, for without invitation, that act meant death.
"Come here, boy," commanded the Queen, and Arwarn stepped towards her, coming to a halt at the base of the roughly hewn wooden steps. "Child, look me in the eyes, I give you permission."
Still terrified of the grand Lady, who had the power of life and death over his insignificant little existence, he did as she asked. He saw that the Queen was indeed beautiful, but a certain translucency in her white skin and delicate lines about her rosebud mouth gave her actual age as much older than he had thought. Long, shaggy dark hair fell to her waist and was scattered with diamonds and pearls, while her watchful, knowledgeable sapphire eyes looked coolly at him, measuring up the little half-blood that quain fin front of her.
Arwarn, son of one her ladies in waiting, was certainly a py liy little thing, thought the Queen. Pale, as all Elves should be, blessed with those huge green eyes and a certain grace of movement, he would have made a decent courtier if he were a pureblood. Her lover, the Elf King, had expressed his desire to hunt the boy, calling it an abomination that had to be terminated, but she had disagreed. Gently, but firmly, she told her paramour that she had other plans for the little half-breed.
As decreed in the Old Laws of the kingdom, at the end of every seven years those who inhabit the Summer Lands must pay a tithe to the underworld. The boy, for he was fair and expendable, was to be this payment. So decreed the Queen of Elves. After his time at Hogwarts had ended, he would return to his Elven home, serve her for the allotted period of time, and then be sacrificed.
The Queen took Arwarn onto her satin lap and stroked his silver and black hair. Sensing his discomfort she whispered honeyed words into his ear, allowed him to sip the most sweet wine from her chalice, and fed him the tastiest morsels from her golden plate. All around the echoing stone hall there was cheering and rejoicing, and although his mother knew what was to become of her young son, she entered the celebrations with vigour and delight, safe in the knowledge that her position was to be advanced at the expense of her son's life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She turned about her milk white steed,
And took Arwarn up behind.
And aye whenever her bridle rang
Her steed flew swifter than the wind.
Steeleye Span, Thomas the Rhymer
The baying of the wolfhounds chasing t pre prey mixed with the shrill call of the huntsmen's' horns and the laughter of the Queen and her courtiers. They sat astride their mounts, raised upon a small hillock, watching the King of Elves and his pack hunting their unfortunate quarry. Arwarn, his arms gripping around the Queen's waist, saw the happenings and felt slightly sick.
Out in the sweet meadows of the Summer Lands, a naked young woman fled from the teeth of the hounds that hunted her, and as the creatures and the men of the Wild Hunt reached the girl, Arwarn hid his face in the thick fur of the Lady's fox fur cloak.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Your small favourite needs to become tougher, my Lady," said the Lord Gwyn, the Huntsman, as the courtiers and their Queen jogged their horses over the rise where the King and his lords rested. Gwyn ap Nudd, Keeper of the Royal Hounds, orchestrated the Wild Hunt as his position as Master. He blew the golden bugle, he bloodied the younger Elves who were made Warriors if they came in for the kill at the Death. One young boy, a cousin of the king, sported the gore of the dead human woman as warpaint to demonstrate his advance from mere child to adult.
"He is young, Gwyn ap Nudd. It may pain him to see one of the humans slaughtered. He will become more hardened as he grows older. You will see. He will become a credit to his race, won't you boy?!" Her mirth pealed out over the quiet leas.
"He may become a credit to his race, my Lady, but to which are you referring; Elfish or Human?" Lord Gwyn's face contracted in ill-disguised abhorration.
The Queen's eyes hardened. "Gwyn ap Nudd. If you insult this child, you insult me. Apologise or suffer the consequences."
"I plead for your forgiveness, my Lady."
"Not to me, fool! To the boy!"
"I'm so sorry," he spat, and he kicked his horse into a canter to escape the embarrassment of having to apologise to a mere half-breed, who everyone knew was sub-Elfish anyway. Apart from the Queen, and to some extent his mother who he saw rarely, every Elf he associated with managed to slyly belittle him and leave him with no doubt of their contempt for him. Arwarn grew used to this, but it did not mean he shrugged off their insults.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The King of the Elves was nothing like his cultured, sophisticated paramour, who had seen a little of the Muggle world centuries before and had adopted the outdated dress of the Medieval courtesan. Huge, muscular and dressed in little more than leather and skins, he was brutally, violently, handsome. The King also made no effort to disguise his aversion to having a half-human running about with his Queen.
"I should have hunted him to the death and drunk his blood while his heart was still pumping!" Arwarn heard him roar at the Lady. "Like we do with all of these half-breed brats that seem to clutter up the place. Best to cull them rather than nurture him!" The Queen started to speak to the King, her tone reconciliatory, but she spoke too quietly for Arwarn to hear what she was saying. The sound of a crossbow being cocked made him turn.
"Spying are you, you horrible runty half-breed?" hissed Gwyn ap Nudd. "Wanting to take information about the Elves back to your foolish Professor Dumbledore?" The silver bolt pressed dimpled the soft skin on Arwarn' throat. He swallowed very, very carefully.
"I wasn't. I was just..."
"Spying?"
"No!" The Huntsman grimaced.
""What, pray, is happening Lord Gwyn?" asked the haughty voice of the Queen. The Elf fell to his knees. "Trying urdeurder this child yet again? It is beginning to become rather tiresome, sir." Gwyn ap Nudd had already had Arwarn trampled by a herd of fierce Elven horses, and had poisoned the goblet out of which he now drank. Unfortunately, the Royal Taster, a thin, studious elf who wore glasses and knew about something called vintages, drank the wine within the cup, pronounced it a superior Australian Shiraz, and promptly dropped dead.
"Release the boy and put down your weapon, Gwyn ap Nudd." The King, huge even next to his tall paramour, placed a heavy, callused hand onto Arwarn's shoulder. "My Lady has spoken of her distaste for your dangerous antics concerning this special child, so I order you, in the name of the Crown, to cease trying to have him killed."
Gwyn ap Nudd's icy face remained impassive, but his slightly pointed ears turned blood red as the pressure of his anger sought its way out. "I will listen to your advice, my Lord. If there is nothing else you require, I will away with the hounds to the hunting lodge." He was dismissed by a nod from the King. It was at this point that Gwyn ap Nudd understood. If he bided his time, he could hunt this boy, not for his blood but for the excitement of the chase. Down the broad, broad road that lay across the lily leaven they would ride, down the road to wickedness. At the end of that easily trodden path, forced down there by Gwyn ap Nudd and his hounds, the boy would be the tithe from the court of the Summer Land. All for the abject pleasure of the King the Underworld, the one they called Bendigeidfran, Lord of Demons.
The woman, who looked both young and beautiful, was dressed in scarlet satins and ebony furs. She raised her long fingered hand, and the young boy was hauled to his feet by burly guards, shaking with nerves and dread. As was custom, he avoided looking into the dark blue eyes that perused him, for without invitation, that act meant death.
"Come here, boy," commanded the Queen, and Arwarn stepped towards her, coming to a halt at the base of the roughly hewn wooden steps. "Child, look me in the eyes, I give you permission."
Still terrified of the grand Lady, who had the power of life and death over his insignificant little existence, he did as she asked. He saw that the Queen was indeed beautiful, but a certain translucency in her white skin and delicate lines about her rosebud mouth gave her actual age as much older than he had thought. Long, shaggy dark hair fell to her waist and was scattered with diamonds and pearls, while her watchful, knowledgeable sapphire eyes looked coolly at him, measuring up the little half-blood that quain fin front of her.
Arwarn, son of one her ladies in waiting, was certainly a py liy little thing, thought the Queen. Pale, as all Elves should be, blessed with those huge green eyes and a certain grace of movement, he would have made a decent courtier if he were a pureblood. Her lover, the Elf King, had expressed his desire to hunt the boy, calling it an abomination that had to be terminated, but she had disagreed. Gently, but firmly, she told her paramour that she had other plans for the little half-breed.
As decreed in the Old Laws of the kingdom, at the end of every seven years those who inhabit the Summer Lands must pay a tithe to the underworld. The boy, for he was fair and expendable, was to be this payment. So decreed the Queen of Elves. After his time at Hogwarts had ended, he would return to his Elven home, serve her for the allotted period of time, and then be sacrificed.
The Queen took Arwarn onto her satin lap and stroked his silver and black hair. Sensing his discomfort she whispered honeyed words into his ear, allowed him to sip the most sweet wine from her chalice, and fed him the tastiest morsels from her golden plate. All around the echoing stone hall there was cheering and rejoicing, and although his mother knew what was to become of her young son, she entered the celebrations with vigour and delight, safe in the knowledge that her position was to be advanced at the expense of her son's life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She turned about her milk white steed,
And took Arwarn up behind.
And aye whenever her bridle rang
Her steed flew swifter than the wind.
Steeleye Span, Thomas the Rhymer
The baying of the wolfhounds chasing t pre prey mixed with the shrill call of the huntsmen's' horns and the laughter of the Queen and her courtiers. They sat astride their mounts, raised upon a small hillock, watching the King of Elves and his pack hunting their unfortunate quarry. Arwarn, his arms gripping around the Queen's waist, saw the happenings and felt slightly sick.
Out in the sweet meadows of the Summer Lands, a naked young woman fled from the teeth of the hounds that hunted her, and as the creatures and the men of the Wild Hunt reached the girl, Arwarn hid his face in the thick fur of the Lady's fox fur cloak.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Your small favourite needs to become tougher, my Lady," said the Lord Gwyn, the Huntsman, as the courtiers and their Queen jogged their horses over the rise where the King and his lords rested. Gwyn ap Nudd, Keeper of the Royal Hounds, orchestrated the Wild Hunt as his position as Master. He blew the golden bugle, he bloodied the younger Elves who were made Warriors if they came in for the kill at the Death. One young boy, a cousin of the king, sported the gore of the dead human woman as warpaint to demonstrate his advance from mere child to adult.
"He is young, Gwyn ap Nudd. It may pain him to see one of the humans slaughtered. He will become more hardened as he grows older. You will see. He will become a credit to his race, won't you boy?!" Her mirth pealed out over the quiet leas.
"He may become a credit to his race, my Lady, but to which are you referring; Elfish or Human?" Lord Gwyn's face contracted in ill-disguised abhorration.
The Queen's eyes hardened. "Gwyn ap Nudd. If you insult this child, you insult me. Apologise or suffer the consequences."
"I plead for your forgiveness, my Lady."
"Not to me, fool! To the boy!"
"I'm so sorry," he spat, and he kicked his horse into a canter to escape the embarrassment of having to apologise to a mere half-breed, who everyone knew was sub-Elfish anyway. Apart from the Queen, and to some extent his mother who he saw rarely, every Elf he associated with managed to slyly belittle him and leave him with no doubt of their contempt for him. Arwarn grew used to this, but it did not mean he shrugged off their insults.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The King of the Elves was nothing like his cultured, sophisticated paramour, who had seen a little of the Muggle world centuries before and had adopted the outdated dress of the Medieval courtesan. Huge, muscular and dressed in little more than leather and skins, he was brutally, violently, handsome. The King also made no effort to disguise his aversion to having a half-human running about with his Queen.
"I should have hunted him to the death and drunk his blood while his heart was still pumping!" Arwarn heard him roar at the Lady. "Like we do with all of these half-breed brats that seem to clutter up the place. Best to cull them rather than nurture him!" The Queen started to speak to the King, her tone reconciliatory, but she spoke too quietly for Arwarn to hear what she was saying. The sound of a crossbow being cocked made him turn.
"Spying are you, you horrible runty half-breed?" hissed Gwyn ap Nudd. "Wanting to take information about the Elves back to your foolish Professor Dumbledore?" The silver bolt pressed dimpled the soft skin on Arwarn' throat. He swallowed very, very carefully.
"I wasn't. I was just..."
"Spying?"
"No!" The Huntsman grimaced.
""What, pray, is happening Lord Gwyn?" asked the haughty voice of the Queen. The Elf fell to his knees. "Trying urdeurder this child yet again? It is beginning to become rather tiresome, sir." Gwyn ap Nudd had already had Arwarn trampled by a herd of fierce Elven horses, and had poisoned the goblet out of which he now drank. Unfortunately, the Royal Taster, a thin, studious elf who wore glasses and knew about something called vintages, drank the wine within the cup, pronounced it a superior Australian Shiraz, and promptly dropped dead.
"Release the boy and put down your weapon, Gwyn ap Nudd." The King, huge even next to his tall paramour, placed a heavy, callused hand onto Arwarn's shoulder. "My Lady has spoken of her distaste for your dangerous antics concerning this special child, so I order you, in the name of the Crown, to cease trying to have him killed."
Gwyn ap Nudd's icy face remained impassive, but his slightly pointed ears turned blood red as the pressure of his anger sought its way out. "I will listen to your advice, my Lord. If there is nothing else you require, I will away with the hounds to the hunting lodge." He was dismissed by a nod from the King. It was at this point that Gwyn ap Nudd understood. If he bided his time, he could hunt this boy, not for his blood but for the excitement of the chase. Down the broad, broad road that lay across the lily leaven they would ride, down the road to wickedness. At the end of that easily trodden path, forced down there by Gwyn ap Nudd and his hounds, the boy would be the tithe from the court of the Summer Land. All for the abject pleasure of the King the Underworld, the one they called Bendigeidfran, Lord of Demons.