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Legolas’ cries echoed throughout the talan, growing louder as his torment increased. He was pinned to the bed by the well-built Marchwarden of Lórien, who stared down at him with a wicked grin.

“Do you yield?” he asked, never stopping his actions.

“Never!” Legolas gasped, writhing as he tried to get away. “Oh Valar, Haldir, please stop!”

“No,” came the simple reply. “First you must yield.”

“I will not!”

Haldir shook his head. “Oh Legolas, you do disappoint me,” he sighed. “I had thought you to be an intelligent elf. It seems, however that we must do things the hard way.”

With that, he moved further down the Princes’ body.

Legolas was horrified.

“Ai! Oh! Oh no! Haldir please, have mercy!”

The warden looked up, smirking.

“Then do you yield?” he asked again.

“Yes, yes, I yield,” the Prince cried out. “Just stop!”

Haldir laughed.

“As you wish!”

Gracefully he moved off of Legolas, a look of triumph on his face as he twirled the arrow in his hand, the long while feathers moving away from Legolas’ most private area.
“You will not disagree again, I take it?” he said to Legolas, who was breathing heavily.

“No,” the prince responded. “You are right. Lórien feathers are far more ticklish!”

The End