Rabbit Tales
Chapter 6: Twilight's Tale

Rating: PG
Category: D rama, h/c, at times some angsty and dark bits
Pairing(s): Rabbit/Haldir, Legolas/Gimli (implied)
Warnings: Slash (means: two male Elves in love), Mpreg
Summary: Haldir. Rabbit. Need more information?

Haldir lay on his back, eyes closed. His long, gold hair spilled down into a pool around his face, and his fair skin shone softly with sweat. He shifted slightly, then winced.

“This hurts.”

Rabbit leaned forward and kissed him softly, his own flesh heated and glowing with sweat. “Hush, I will be finished soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Thou art such a baby.”

“I am not.”

It was late spring, and the sun was unusually warm and bright. Rabbit was straddling Haldir’s hips, his broad shoulders bare beneath the day’s heat. He leaned forward, picking up a glass of wine and sipping it. Setting it down once more, he bent to kiss his lover’s collarbone, then picked up the long slender needle. “I told you it would sting a little,” he said as he resumed working on the tattoo.

“’A little’, he says.”

“Hush. I cannot work with you complaining.”

Haldir sighed resignedly as Rabbit meticulously worked on the design. He glanced over at Rhimlan, an Elf who had served under him at Helm’s Deep. The blast that had killed so many had destroyed much of his face, but there was enough left for Haldir to read his expression. Rhimlan thought he was mad.

“Have thee not something to do? A patrol perhaps?”

“No my Lord.” Rhimlan smiled at his commander, the large Mithril-embossed eye patch giving him a roguish look.

“How wouldst thou enjoy being posted in Mirkwood to count Orcs?”

“’Twould be easier here, my Lord, there is but one.”

“OUT!”

Rhimlan rolled his good eye and shuffled off, much like a child who has been told to go clean his room. Haldir glanced down at the design being driven into his flesh.

“What says it?” he asked.

Rabbit continued to work. “’Perverted Hobbit-Fancier.’”

“It had best NOT!”

Rabbit sat back and laughed, and Haldir smiled back at him. He could not help but marvel at how different Rabbit looked when he laughed. He seemed younger, less weighted by the vastness of his own age. He was beautiful, and he loved him.

It had been a strange day for the Elf of Lothlórien. He had spent much of it on a landing over-looking the waterfalls, drinking wine, and getting stuck with a needle. He had long wanted to learn more of his wild lover’s culture, he just hadn’t realized it would be so painful. Rabbit himself seemed not to mind the pain; earlier in the day he had pierced the thin skin about his navel in order to hang a small charm. Haldir had been horrified, but Rabbit had assured him that it was common practice with his folk. Many parts of the body could be pierced, ears, noses, navels, nipples, even penises.

That last statement had been enough to clear the small group of Elves who had come to watch what madness Rabbit was up to. Only Rhimlan had remained, and it seemed he had followed Haldir’s order and actually left. They were alone now on the landing, and the only sound was that of the rushing waterfall.

“Truly, what says it?” He raised his head and tried to get a better look at the delicate and intricate design Rabbit had been working into his white flesh. The strange lines and pictographs encircled his navel. Rabbit reached for his wine once again.

“To be done properly, the illumination should be larger. But it speaks of thy bravery at Helm’s Deep.”

“Being well-nigh decapitated takes no bravery, any fool can do it.”

Rabbit gave him a jaundiced look. “I said it spoke of thy bravery, oh cantankerous one. In honoring the Old Alliance.” Rabbit sipped his wine. “Against all better judgment,” he added.

“Thou were there as well, if I recall rightly.”

“I did not say I was any wiser.” Rabbit sat back and looked at the design. “It suits thee, I think, as does the language of Hathil-Loth-Mahr. Puts me in mind of my wolf, when I put the tale of his first hunt upon his breast. That is how we called one another, by the tales upon us. After Sauron took my people, I lost my name.”

“How so?” asked Haldir softly.

Rabbit studied the needle in his hand. “One has no name, if there are none to call him by it.”

Haldir reached up to touch Rabbit’s face, fingertips gently following the line of his fine jaw. Rabbit turned his head to kiss the hand, then bent once more to finish the tattoo. Haldir closed his eyes and tried to think of something else as his lover repeatedly stuck him with a needle.

Finally, at long last, it was done. Rabbit gently cleaned the area, then bandaged it. “There,” he said softly, “thou hast a new name, to go with the one thou already has.”

He set the needle down and stretched out beside Haldir on the fur-draped landing. Behind him the setting sun shone through his rough black hair, turning his fair skin to gold. Haldir once more reached up to touch his face, then let his fingers trace the fine lines of his throat and down to his collarbone. They came to rest on the stylized and formal-looking picture of the rabbit, which had given his lover his name.

“Thou hast never told me why thee chose a rabbit to represent thyself.”

“’Tis an old tale.”

“Tell me.”

Rabbit smiled. “Once Rabbit was a great hunter, and his people admired him much for the food he brought to his village. Because of his skills and the admiration he was given, he grew very proud, and arrogant. One day while hunting, Rabbit met another. This stranger invited Rabbit to dine with him. He gave Rabbit bread, which Rabbit ate, but did not thank him for. This displeased his new friend, but he said nothing of it. He gave Rabbit meat, and again Rabbit took it, but did not thank him. A third gift he gave him, wine, and still Rabbit did not thank him. Angered at last by such insolence, the friend stood, and revealed himself to be the spirit who had been responsible for all Rabbit’s success as a hunter.

“I have loved thee long,” the spirit said, “And given thee many gifts, and not once hast thou ever shown any gratitude. But now I shall change thee into the most hunted and fearful of creatures, and so thou shall remain until thee learn manners.”

And so he became Rabbit, the hunted, and so he remains to this day, because despite being pursued by all, he is still arrogant, and has not yet learned manners or gratitude.”

“I had not noticed thee were arrogant.”

Rabbit smiled. “I was thinking at the time more upon how alone and hunted I was, but perhaps I could have chosen a different tale to represent myself.” He stroked his hand gently over Haldir’s skin, then lowered his head to kiss his throat. “But perhaps I should tell thee how grateful I am to thee, for sparing me further despair and loneliness. Lest I become a grey hare.”

“That is a trick I would give much to see, but only if thou couldst turn back.”

Rabbit moved closer to Haldir. “Mayhap it would not be so bad, thou knowest what rabbits do best.”

“Aye, chew and relieve themselves.”

Rabbit laughed. “I had something else in mind, but if thou insists…” He nipped sharply at Haldir’s nose.

“Ouch! Fiend! Come here.” He rolled onto his lover’s long body, pinning him down, then kissed him.

Rabbit slowly ran his hands down Haldir, feeling the smooth warm skin, the scars that cut across the small of his back, and the fine hard muscles. He drew one long leg up and draped it across the back of Haldir’s thighs, then the other one.

Haldir stroked Rabbit’s long waist, kissing his throat, then his lips. “So when do I get a chance to try my hand at piercing thee?”

“Was that not what you were planning on doing now?”

“I suppose I could.”

Rabbit nipped his chin, then kissed his lover deeply, arcing his body upwards to touch as much of his lover as possible. The sun sank further, and the red sky that marked its evening departure painted the lovers in a surreal light.

Rabbit pushed Haldir onto his back and straddled him. His eerie green eyes were luminous in the half-light, lidded and shinning. His black hair clung to his collarbone and throat, damp and stringing across his face. Haldir watched the flex of lean muscle beneath heated flesh, the travels of fine beads of sweat, glittering as they licked their way across his body. He reached up to touch him, his hand smearing the droplets. He tipped Rabbit onto his back and kissed him hard, tangling his fingers into the wet black hair.

“My dearest friend,” he whispered, kissing him again, then wincing as he felt Rabbit bite his shoulder.

***---***

They lay on the damp furs, the sun now gone, and the air scented with the late spring forest and their own spent passion. Rabbit lay with his head on Haldir’s stomach, contentedly listening to him breathe. Haldir meanwhile picked up a needle and looked at it.

“Do all your arts involve this little torture device?”

Rabbit stirred with a soft sound, and raised his head. He blinked sleepily. “Most, yes.”

“I should like to learn this.”

“It requires much practice, and a steady hand. As well as a friend who is willing to risk your first attempt.”

Haldir turned the fine needle so it glittered in the moonlight. Then he smiled. “Where do you suppose Rhimlan has gotten to?”