tolkien_slashy_swaps | Rain Song Part I

Title: Rain Song
Author:

naledi_seren
Email: vikingetr@googlemail.com
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Elladan/Glorfindel
Warnings: None
Beta:

minuial_nuwing (thanks also to Min for suggesting the title)
Request: Elladan/Glorfindel; include rain, angst, candle; do not include torture
Summary: A secret from Glorfindel’s past prevents him from accepting Elladan’s love
A/N: Written for Elladansgirl as part of the Ardor in August Slashy Santa exchange.

Part 1

Third Age 1000, Imladris

With a heartfelt sigh, Elladan dropped his sodden pack on the floor of his bedchamber and trudged wearily into the bathing chamber, leaving behind a trail of muddy water on the polished floorboards. Seeing the steam rising from the filled tub, he murmured a fervent prayer of thanks for whichever thoughtful servant had seen his approach and discerned what his first requirement would be. In a matter of moments, his clothes were lying in a soggy heap on the floor and he was immersed up to his chin in blissfully hot water.

It had not stopped raining for the entire duration of his month-long patrol, a miserable affair that had contained little of interest and far too much mud and water. To add insult to injury, the sorry party had plodded back into Imladris, expecting to be greeted with enthusiasm and pampered by their families, only to find the Last Homely House in an uproar caused by the arrival only the week before of a most startling pair. A tall Man, robed in grey and, by his looks, past his prime, and a mysterious golden-haired Elf had crossed the Ford of Bruinen late one evening. On being challenged by the border guards, they had refused to give their names, but demanded to be taken to Elrond at once. There they had been escorted and there they had remained: cloistered for many hours with Elrond in his study. They had been seen only rarely since, as they had spent most of their days since arrival in the library in conference with only Elrond, Erestor and Elrohir for company.

The strangers’ names had not yet been revealed and rumours were rife concerning them. Most were now convinced that the Man was in fact no Man at all, but one of the Istar: Maiar sent to Middle-earth by the Valar to work against the forces of darkness. Many remembered the advent of Curunír, who had blazed into Imladris some years previously, proclaiming himself the head of his order and expecting reverence. This new stranger was, many claimed, so like unto Curunír in appearance that he must be of the very same order. Of the Elf, folk were less sure, but the rumours were even stranger; rumours that Elladan knew to be true, for they had been confirmed by his father.

Elladan closed his eyes and rested his weary head back against the tub as he pondered the brief conversation he had just had with his father, who had beckoned him into the study as he was passing on the way to his own chambers. Promising to give a more thorough account once his son was rested, Elrond had briefly informed Elladan just who the pair were and then sent him off to rest. Elladan did not give much thought to one of the pair: Elrond had confirmed that the Man in grey was indeed one of the Istar and went by the name of Olórin. Although Elladan would be interested to meet him, he was not particularly struck by the Istar’s arrival. He had not been impressed by Curunír, who, although undoubtedly of keen intellect, had been cold and more concerned with booklore than with getting to know any of the Elves and learning from their wisdom. Elladan supposed that Olórin would be of the same ilk and then dismissed him from his thoughts.

No, it was the second stranger that had caught his interest. Elladan cast his mind back to an oft-repeated scene in his childhood. He would be tucked up next to his twin in his parents’ huge bed, listening avidly to the tale his mother read from the huge, leather-bound storybook that she held propped up before them. Whenever it was his turn to choose the tale he would always ask for the same one.

“Tell us about Glorfindel the golden-haired, Nana!” he would beg. “I want to hear how he slew the Balrog and saved our grandsire Eärendil.” Then, as his mother read out the story that was so familiar he would correct her if she accidentally stumbled, he would trace the exquisitely rendered picture with his podgy fingers.

He could see the picture even now, imprinted behind his closed eyelids. The page was bordered with a pattern made from stylised five-petalled golden flowers. In the centre of the page was a fair, dauntless warrior, standing amidst a pool of bright light, his golden hair and scarlet cloak billowing out around him. His shining sword was held up in desperate defiance of the fiery demon that opposed him. To Elladan, Glorfindel had seemed the epitome of heroism. The elder twin had read all the histories where he had been mentioned, avidly drinking in every detail about the golden haired warrior. For as long as he could remember, Elladan had wanted to be a warrior like Glorfindel.

And now, Glorfindel the golden-haired, hero of the First Age, was returned to Middle-earth and was here in Imladris.

Elladan almost laughed at the absurdity of it. A famed warrior, a figure of legend and song, was here under this very roof! Surely he must stand out from all around! How could the border guard have failed to recognise the aura of might and majesty that must surely emanate from so hallowed an Elf?

Feeling a renewed vigour surge through his limbs, Elladan finished his bath and hastened to dry and dress. As ever, when presented with momentous news, he longed to discuss this with his twin. His heartbeat quickened as he remembered that Elrohir had already met Glorfindel and would be able to answer his questions about the fabled warrior. Swiftly fastening his shirt, he strode impatiently out onto the balcony that ran the length of both their chambers, sheltered by the overhanging eaves from the rain that still lashed down.

It was only when the first soft moan drifted out into the night air that Elladan recalled the other item of news his father had imparted to him: Legolas had returned to the valley only that afternoon after a long absence. However pleased his twin would be to see him safely back from a long patrol, he would not be welcome in his chambers just now! Grinning wryly to himself, he retreated to his own chamber and firmly shut the balcony doors. Changing into bed trousers, he resolved to sleep and seek out his brother in the morning.

Sleep, however, proved elusive, thanks mainly to the activities of his brother. Duty to their separate lands kept Elrohir apart from his mate for years at a time, which meant that they made up for lost time with great enthusiasm when they were reunited. True to form, the keening cries and groans that emanated from his twin’s chambers soon reached such a pitch that Elladan could not avoid hearing them. It did not help that Legolas was an extremely vocal lover and the cries of explicit approval left Elladan in little doubt as to what precisely his twin was doing to cause them. A series of disturbingly erotic images played out in his mind’s eye and he found himself uncomfortably close to becoming aroused by the sounds of his own brother’s love-play. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to get out of his comfortable, warm bed and seek peace and quiet elsewhere. He sighed as he listened to the rain drumming on the roof: his usual refuge of the gardens was clearly out of the question. Instead he resolved to take a book down to the Hall of Fire to read there quietly until he judged it safe to return to his quarters.

He was just pushing back the bedclothes with extreme reluctance when the feral cries rose to a crescendo, culminating in a series of incoherent sobs. Then in a roughened voice barely recognisable as belonging to Legolas, his twin’s name was shouted out repeatedly in such an expression of love and joy that Elladan felt tears pricking his eyelids. After that there was silence.

Letting out a shaky breath, Elladan gratefully sank back against the pillows, firmly believing that the pair would soon be sunk into a deep, sated slumber following such strenuous exertions. He pondered his tearful reaction to the evidence of the deep love his twin shared with the woodland prince. It wasn’t that Elladan lacked bed partners: there was no shortage of willing Elves only too eager to tumble into bed with the comely Peredhel twin and Elladan had welcomed them, although his heart had remained untouched. This had not troubled him; if anything, he had pitied his brother for bonding so young and thus bringing upon himself lengthy periods of enforced celibacy before he had fully sampled the sensual delights of a single life.

Of late, however, he had become increasingly dissatisfied with his carnal adventuring and in fact he no longer indulged himself as often as he had in the past. At first he had put this down to the lack of variety of available bed partners, but gradually it had dawned on him that he was lonely. His spirit had started to crave the level of intimacy that Elrohir and Legolas knew: the intimacy only open to bonded mates for whom the act of coupling meant not just a melding of bodies, but a melding of spirits, also.

Now, lying in his lonely bed, listening to the rain, a pang of sorrow gnawed at his innards. Overhearing the passion of Elrohir’s reunion with his mate had reminded him all too sharply of what he felt was lacking in his life but sadly he could see no end to this state of affairs. When he had first awoken to the yearning of his spirit, he had looked upon the other unbound Elves of Imladris with new eyes: did any of them stir a deeper emotion in him? He had soon concluded that no one inspired any such feelings. He had been left railing against the Valar for arousing his urge to bond when the one destined for him had not yet made an appearance in his life. Elladan was not prone to self-pity, but this night, starkly faced with his own loneliness with no hope of ease, he was coming perilously close to it. With a frustrated groan, he turned over, resolved to seek soothing dreams.

As if on cue, at that moment a throaty moan sounded out from next door, quickly succeeded by more. Elladan glared at the wall that separated the two rooms in disbelief. Surely it was not possible to recover so quickly! The ensuing noises quickly disabused him of that notion, so knowing that he was unlikely to get any peace by remaining in his room, he quickly rose from bed and threw on a robe. Snatching up a book, he was about to leave when he spied a large bottle of Dorwinion wine set upon the table beside the door. He had been so set on bathing when he had arrived earlier that he had not noticed it, but he realised it must be a gift from Legolas. Well, that would help pass a lonely night in the Hall of Fire, he reflected. He picked it up together with a goblet and made his way downstairs.

As he had expected, the Hall of Fire lay empty. Or rather, nearly empty. For when he went to seat himself on his favourite couch in front of the blazing fire, he realised that it was already occupied. A golden haired Elf had clearly had the same idea, for he was curled up comfortably on the couch with a book in his hand and a flask of miruvor at his elbow. Elladan had never seen him before and at first supposed that he was a member of Legolas’ retinue. He looked up, startled, as Elladan approached.

“I am sorry,” Elladan exclaimed. “I didn’t realise you were here. I can go elsewhere.”

The strange Elf smiled. “Nay, there is no need for you to go. I would welcome the company.” Then his smile faltered as uncertainty crept into his expression. “That is, unless you would prefer to be alone?”

Elladan dismissed his doubts with a wave of the hand. “As to that, I was merely planning to sit here awhile and enjoy some fine Dorwinion and such an occupation is always improved with company.”

The golden Elf gave a soft chuckle. “Then you and I are in accord. In that case I will gladly welcome both your company and your wine. And perhaps you will consent to share my miruvor?” He stood up gracefully and sketched a slight bow. “We have not yet been properly introduced. I am Glorfindel.”

Elladan was so astonished he nearly dropped the wine. He did not even return the bow, but simply stood there unmoving, his mouth agape, racking his brains for something to say to his lifelong hero who had strolled off the pages of his history books and now stood facing him, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. Now that he came to study him more closely, Elladan could not believe he had mistaken this Elf for one of Thranduil’s realm. He was broader in stature than either the Sindar or Silvan folk and the gilt lustre of his tresses was more akin to the deep gold of Galadriel’s than the paler winter sunshine hue that Legolas shared with his Sindar kin. But Elladan couldn’t deny he felt a slight disappointment in this eagerly anticipated meeting. Although he had to admit Glorfindel was pleasing to look upon, he was hardly the magnificent Balrog slayer of legend that Elladan had always imagined. He looked so – well, normal.

“But you look real!” he blurted, then flushed bright red at the realisation that he had spoken his thought out loud. He groaned and folded up onto the couch, shaking his head ruefully. “I am sorry. I cannot believe I said that!”

Glorfindel merely patted Elladan reassuringly on the shoulder before sitting down beside him. “Do not upset yourself, Elladan. It is better you realise that sooner rather than later. I cannot tell you how uncomfortable I have felt with the folk of Imladris regarding me with awe everywhere I go, as if I was some kind of mythical creature instead of just an ordinary Elf. If you can see me as I really am, I call that an excellent start.” He proffered his glass. “Now, you promised me some wine, did you not?”

Elladan looked at Glorfindel curiously as he opened the bottle. “How did you know that I’m Elladan?”

“I’ve already met Elrohir, so I recognised you straight away. You’re identical to your twin in every way.” He took his now brimming glass back from Elladan and raised his eyebrows in astonished appreciation at his first sip. “I’ve tasted some fine wines in my time, but this beats them all. What is it, did you say? Dorwinion?”

“Aye,” laughed Elladan as Glorfindel eagerly drank the wine. “But do not drink too fast! It is powerful indeed. It is far more potent than other wines.” He took a sip from his own glass and then frowned, puzzled by what Glorfindel had just said. “If you find me and Elrohir identical, how did you know straight away which twin I am?”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to flush. His lips twisted in a wry smile as he answered. “My chambers are on the other side of Elrohir’s from your own. Let us just say that when I got here not long before you yourself arrived, I am certain that he was abed and not likely to emerge for some time.”

Elladan laughed merrily, suddenly feeling more at ease. “Aye, there is never any doubt when my brother’s bond mate is in residence! I should be grateful to Erestor for placing you in those chambers: at least I know I won’t be short of company on the nights I shall feel obliged to pass the time in here!” He raised his glass in a toast: “To friends in adversity!”

“To friends! And to Elrohir and his beauteous bereth: may their bedstead never break!”

Elladan nearly choked on his wine. Aside from his brother and sister, no one in Imladris dared jest with him in such a way. They were all too reserved around him, due to his position as their lord’s son. It was a refreshing change to meet someone who could relax in his company.

He returned the toast with another more ribald one. Soon the drink was flowing and they were laughing merrily, exchanging increasingly bawdy quips and cackling over each other’s wild theories concerning what they thought Elrohir and Legolas had been doing to each other to provoke such intriguing sounds. Before long, the wine bottle was empty and Elladan raided his father’s private supply to replenish their stocks.

“I wonder what it would taste like if we mixed the miruvor and Dorwinion together?” Glorfindel mused as he lay sprawled on the couch, his tunic long discarded and his shirt unfastened, offering a tantalising glimpse of the toned flesh beneath.

“I don’t know. Let’s try it!” Elladan suggested, reaching once more for the bottles.

Looking back on the night, Elladan recognised that this was the point when everything went wrong. Dorwinion was notorious for removing inhibitions and miruvor equally renowned for its warming effect. Combined, they made a powerful brew indeed. Added to that was the fact that they had both been more than a little aroused by the sounds of their neighbours’ love-play and their increasingly lewd conversation had done little to alleviate that. They hadn’t taken more than a few swallows of the heady mixture before Glorfindel cast off his shirt altogether, leaving him in nothing more than a tight pair of breeches that to Elladan’s eyes only served to highlight his exquisitely moulded form. The elder twin’s robe quickly followed. Below that he only wore a loose pair of bed trousers that hung low on his hips. Glorfindel’s eyes avidly took in the taut, lean abdomen on display and followed the fine trail of downy black hair that ran from just below his navel to disappear teasingly beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Elladan was suddenly achingly aware of every sculpted line of Glorfindel’s body, revealed in all its glory in the glowing firelight. He yearned to run his hands over that sleek expanse of skin and feel that hard body pressed against his own. He was all set to put his thoughts into action when Glorfindel moved first. With his sea green eyes locked unwaveringly on Elladan’s grey ones, he deliberately dipped his forefinger into the ruby red liquid in his goblet and with exquisite care, traced the same downy path his eyes had followed only moments before. Elladan groaned as the touch sent bolts of pleasure directly to his groin.

That was the last thing he was aware of with any coherency. Before he could react, he found himself on his back, his bed trousers yanked off and slender fingers, slick with liquor, tracing patterns down his throat, chest, abdomen, thighs and finally his impressively erect member while he writhed with pleasure. When the fingers were replaced by Glorfindel’s lips and tongue, he could hold back no longer and howled out his pleasure, begging Glorfindel to put an end to his torment.

Never had he been so skilfully mastered by a lover before and not since his first bed teacher had he allowed himself to be taken. Yet now, sobbing with delight, Elladan pleaded with Glorfindel, who was removing his own breeches, to hurry, and then wantonly wrapped his legs round the golden Elf’s waist in overt invitation. When Glorfindel finally entered him he ignored the initial burning discomfort and flexed his legs to pull Glorfindel into his body more deeply. Soon Elladan was keening with every thrust, sparks of pleasure sizzling up and down his spine. Then Glorfindel reached between them to stroke him and he knew he could take no more. With a guttural cry, wave after wave of rapture overtook him. Elladan was vaguely aware of Glorfindel’s own hoarse cries of completion and he purred at the exquisite sensation of hot seed spilling deep inside him. Then he let sleep roll over him just as he felt Glorfindel collapse limply on top of him.

***

Elladan prised his eyes open and groaned as the soft grey light of dawn assailed his delicate senses. He gazed around blearily, and hazily wondered who had come into his chambers during the night and rearranged all his furniture. Eventually his eyes focussed on the stack of logs beside the fireplace and his brow furrowed in puzzlement as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. What on Arda were his bed trousers doing, dangling from the top of the pile? Turning his head slightly, his eyes lit on the empty bottles on the table and he groaned again as fragments of memory returned.

He had got drunk with Glorfindel of Gondolin. Glorfindel of Gondolin, the mighty Balrog slayer, had listened to his lewd jests. Glorfindel of Gondolin, the mighty Balrog slayer, returned from death and recently returned to Middle-earth at the express request of the Valar had – as Elladan slowly sat up, the sudden, sharp ache in his backside reminded him in no uncertain terms just what Glorfindel had done. What he had let Glorfindel do to him. Nay, he reminded himself sternly, what he had begged Glorfindel to do to him. He buried his head in his hands and groaned once more.

He was roused by a nudge to his elbow. Looking up, he saw the fabled Elf in question standing before him, fully dressed and holding out a glass of water.

“This will help,” Glorfindel said softly. Then he sat down opposite Elladan and eyed him carefully, an oddly shuttered expression on his face.

His head still in a whirl, Elladan accepted the drink gratefully and swallowed it down.

“Thank you,” he muttered hoarsely.

For the first time he noticed that he was naked, covered only in a soft blanket, which had slipped down around his hips. Blushing furiously he tugged the blanket back up around him and looked around for his robe. He blushed all the harder when it dawned on him that Glorfindel must have covered him up while he lay oblivious, sprawled naked across the couch.

He desperately struggled for the right words to say to carry them through this awkward situation, but nothing came to him. In the end it was Glorfindel who spoke first and by his words, Elladan could tell he had completely misconstrued his silence.

“You are angry with me and I cannot blame you. I took advantage of you and for that I am deeply sorry.” He picked up the robe that Elladan had been seeking and handed it over before continuing, “I hope that you can forgive me and that we can still get on together. But rest assured that I shall never again opportune you in such a manner.” With that he gave a stiff bow and walked away.

“Nay, Glorfindel, it is not so. Wait!” Elladan called after him, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. But Glorfindel had already gone.

Elladan fumbled hastily to retrieve his bed trousers and pull them on, but by the time he had hobbled out of the Hall of Fire, wincing with every step, Glorfindel was nowhere in sight. Realising that he must look a sight, he decided to bathe and change before going to find him. He ruefully hoped that his mind would be less fuzzy by the time they met again.

***

After a much-needed bath laced with soothing oils, Elladan felt greatly refreshed. Now that he had had chance to think things over, he decided not to seek out Glorfindel straight away, but to take more time to reflect carefully on last night’s incident and seek advice from his brother before deciding how best to put matters right. After all, Elrohir had already met Glorfindel and might have a greater insight into how he should approach him. He therefore ordered a light breakfast to be sent up to his chamber, intending to sit out on the balcony, make the most of the late spring sunshine that had finally made an appearance after weeks of rain and eat in peace without the risk of meeting Glorfindel before he had decided what to say to him.

The sight that met his eyes as he carried his breakfast tray outside brought a lump to his throat, so harsh was the contrast with his own awakening that morn. For there, beneath an overhanging bough laden with may blossom, was Elrohir, curled up on a divan. In his arms nestled a very sleepy Legolas, head resting in the crook of his neck, unbound hair spilling in a gleaming cascade, blanketing them both. The fact that they were both still wearing only light bed robes told Elladan that they had only recently arisen from their bed. Elrohir was running his fingers through the golden locks, brushing away the occasional white petal that drifted down from above, singing softly as he did so. Every now and again he would pause to feed his drowsy mate a piece of fruit from the platter that was set beside them.

Elladan hesitated, loath to interrupt such a tender moment between the couple, but before he could retreat indoors, Elrohir looked up and beckoned him over, smiling broadly.

“Elladan, come and join us! When did you get back?”

“Late last night,” Elladan replied, setting down his tray of buttered rolls, honey and mint tea on the table before seating himself opposite the pair. He grinned as Legolas stretched languorously and reached up to clasp his arm in greeting, for his robe gaped open, revealing the mottled marks of the previous night’s loving on his pale skin.

“I would have come to see you, but I could tell you had your hands full,” he quipped with a knowing leer.

“Aye, I was occupied with a rather demanding task,” sighed Elrohir with mock weariness. “But I am pleased to report that it was not too onerous once I got stuck in, even though it took most of the night to complete to my satisfaction.” By the time Elrohir had finished, Elladan was doubled over with laughter, partly due to his brother’s outrageous comments, but also because of the fiery blush on the face of the usually unflappable Wood-elf.

“Ai, I can see I shall have to leave you two alone until we can have a conversation fit to be heard outside an Esgaroth tavern!” Legolas cried, suddenly wide awake and leaping to his feet, although the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his lips belied his irate words. He turned to Elladan.

“Elladan, it’s good to see you again. For your information, if your twin hadn’t dragged me off to his chambers with unseemly haste upon my arrival, before I could even properly greet your parents and your sister, I wouldn’t now have to leave you to deliver the messages and gifts from my father that I was unable to deliver yesterday!”

Elladan laughed heartily at the picture this presented.

“Melethron,” the prince continued, his face softening as he turned back to his spouse, “shall I meet you in the beech grove later? Oh, and be sure to bring food and wine if you’re to have any hope of a resumption of those tasks you were grumbling about!” With that he planted a brief kiss on his mate’s lips, swatted away the hand that groped for his backside and departed for the bathing chamber.

Elrohir watched his departing back, with such a besotted smile on his face that Elladan had to chuckle. Then he recollected his twin’s presence and dragged his enraptured eyes away from Legolas’ retreating form with palpable reluctance.

“Speaking of gifts, did you find the bottle of Dorwinion we left for you in your chambers?”

At the remembrance of the wine and just what had happened with it, Elladan covered his face with his hands, giving a hollow groan. Images of the previous night’s debauchery flitted through his mind: once again he saw himself wantonly offering himself to the Balrog slayer, begging to be taken. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut in a futile attempt to stop the awful visions and groaned again. Elrohir eyed him with frank alarm.

“Elladan, what is it? What has happened?” He hastily scrambled over to his twin’s side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Desperate for comfort, Elladan buried his face against Elrohir’s chest. His next words were muffled against the fabric of his robe. “You don’t know what I’ve done!”

Elrohir rubbed soothing circles on his back. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” he tried to comfort him. Then he continued more briskly, “And you know I’ll find out one way or another, so you might as well tell me now and get it over with.”

Elladan gave a mournful sigh and raised his head. “Aye, I suppose I ought to tell you before you set Arwen on me!” He took a fortifying breath.

“Last night I coupled with Glorfindel on the couch in the Hall of Fire.” He said this so rapidly that it took a while for Elrohir to process what he had just heard.

As soon as Elrohir had worked it out, he froze in shock, his jaw sagging in astonishment. “Glorfindel? But how have you even met him?” Then it was Elrohir’s turn to smirk. “I must congratulate you, brother. That was fast work!”

“Nay, Elrohir, this is no jest. I am afraid I have ruined everything between us!”

At the distress in his twin’s voice, Elrohir sobered immediately and tightened his grip on Elladan’s shoulders. “Forgive me! But surely things cannot be as bad as all that. Tell me what happened.”

And so the whole tale came out. How they had met in the Hall of Fire and enjoyed a convivial drink, the foolish idea to combine the miruvor with the potent Dorwinion - and just where that had led - and finally Glorfindel’s sobering words that morning.

But amongst the retelling of the unfortunate events of the night, Elladan also found himself explaining how he had come to yearn for an end to his meaningless encounters and a closeness such as the one Legolas and Elrohir shared. Moreover, he found himself voicing a thought that only occurred to him as he spoke it: that he had found greater pleasure in Glorfindel’s arms than he had with any other lover.

It was Elrohir who made the vital connection that stunned Elladan.

“You are worried that Glorfindel might be your soul mate and that this drunken coupling has ruined things.”

“What? Nay, how can that be? We have only just met!” Elladan stared at his twin, wide-eyed in astonishment.

Elrohir shrugged. “I knew as soon as I met Legolas that we were meant to be together. Why should it be different for you? And answer me this: when was the last time you let a lover take you?”

“Not since the first,” frowned Elladan, unsure of the point his brother was trying to make. “But I was drunk!”

His twin gave him a level look. “Can you honestly say that’s the first drunken coupling you have ever engaged in?”

Elladan flushed and shook his head. “Nay, that was not the first time, and I will admit that there have been times when I was far more inebriated, yet never have I wavered from my decision to refuse to yield to another.” A pensive, faraway look came into his eyes. “Never before have I felt such a yearning, such a need to be utterly mastered in that way.”

Elrohir hugged his twin closely. “It seems to me that your body and spirit have already decided. Your heart and mind just have to catch up.”

Elladan looked at him doubtfully, not convinced by his brother’s words. But he found to his shock when he searched his soul that there was a new note to its song, one that sang of Glorfindel. He gaped at Elrohir in consternation.

“But we have only just met!” he repeated in bewilderment, more to himself than his twin. Then he winced as he recalled Glorfindel’s chilly words that morning.

“But what of Glorfindel? He was so distant this morning. I am afraid he will always keep me at arm’s length now. He seemed almost haunted, as if he had committed a terrible transgression.”

Elrohir just smiled. “You speak as though he will have a choice in the matter, but when you find the one that Eru has fashioned to be your soul mate there will be no power that can keep you apart. If you are truly meant to be together he will not be able to resist the call of his spirit.” He kissed his twin on the brow. “Be happy, Elladan! If it is true that he is destined for you then this small trouble will be as nothing compared to the incomparable bliss that you will find in joining with your soul mate.”

***

The clash of steel on steel met Elladan’s ears as he strolled down to the training ground. He was itching for a close-fought bout to work off some of the frustration he had been experiencing in the past few weeks, but when he saw who was currently sparring he nearly returned indoors. Glorfindel and Elrohir were battling it out with swords in front of an avid crowd of warriors.

A sharp pain smote his heart as he regarded the pair. Glorfindel looked magnificent, stripped to the waist, his toned torso slick with sweat. He fought with a grace and economy of movement that was breathtaking to watch. It was soon apparent that Elrohir, skilled though he was with the sword, would tire before Glorfindel.

From the look of grim determination on his face, Elladan could see that his twin understood this and had decided to act quickly. With a lightning move, he parried a thrust that was aimed for his throat and stepped under the blow with a deft twist that was intended to bring the tip of his sword under the pommel of Glorfindel’s blade and disarm him. However Glorfindel anticipated the move and with his free hand grasped Elrohir around the waist and grappled him in close to his body, so that he had too little space to complete the move.

As the two stood locked together, chest to chest, each straining for the advantage, Elladan had the strangest sensation of seeing how he and Glorfindel would look joined in passion. He closed his eyes as another stab of pain struck his heart. It had been two months since that drunken night in the Hall of Fire. Two months in which the kernel of desire he had felt for the returned warrior from the start had sprouted into the first green shoots of an abiding love. He no longer saw him as Glorfindel of Gondolin or the Balrog Slayer, but simply as Glorfindel, the Elf who stirred him as no other ever had. He knew there was no turning back for him: Glorfindel was the one his spirit had been waiting for all these years.

There were times when he was convinced Glorfindel felt the same. These were the times when he would catch Glorfindel watching him in an unguarded moment, a look of pure longing in his eyes. And yet despite all the days they were compelled to spend together as captains of the guard, he could never break beneath the veneer of professionalism that Glorfindel used to shield himself. He saw frequent glimpses of the Elf he had encountered on their convivial first meeting, but only when they were in the company of others. The moment they were alone the shutters came down once more and it was as though all the icy wastes of the north stood between them. Try as he might, Elladan could not find a way to close the distance. If ever he attempted to draw Glorfindel into conversation about what had happened between them, the warrior would give a chilly smile and say it was best for all if the incident was forgotten.

Now, as he stood watching his heart’s desire sparing with his twin, he chided himself for having let the matter drop. Deep within himself, he knew that here was the Elf he was supposed to be joined with for eternity.

‘What are you, Elf or mouse?’ he said to himself firmly. Why should he be suffering so when he should be fighting for his love? He squared his shoulders and waited for the end of the sparring session. As soon as it was over, he was going to speak to his love.

The end was not long in coming. Glorfindel managed to shove Elrohir away from him and then when the younger twin closed for the attack once more, managed in a few spare moves to achieve what Elrohir had failed to do: with a deft flick of the wrist he sent his opponent’s sword sailing through the air to land, quivering, point down in the grass some ten paces away.

Elrohir immediately burst out laughing and applauded the move before grasping the victor’s arm in the warrior’s grip. “I should know never to try that move on a master,” he smiled. “I shall have to get you to teach me how to execute it so smoothly.”

“Gladly,” replied Glorfindel courteously. “And perhaps in return you could show me that twisting leap you did earlier? I must confess I thought you had got me then. I’m still not sure how I managed to avoid your sword.”

“Well as to that, I learned it from Legolas. They have a very different fighting technique in the Woodland Realm and I have learned enough of it to throw our warriors off balance from time to time. If you wish it, I will teach you the move, but you would do better to learn it from my mate who is the acknowledged master of such fighting.” As he spoke his eyes strayed to where Legolas stood waiting, glowing with exertion, having just fought a bout of his own. Elrohir’s eyes darkened with lust and he hastily turned back to Glorfindel, a lopsided grin on his face.

“If you will excuse me now, I am needed elsewhere,” he said smoothly and with that he strode over to his mate, took his arm and led him away with a determined glint in his eyes.

Elladan chuckled at his twin’s brazen behaviour, but sobered abruptly when he noticed that the other warriors were also dispersing, leaving just him and Glorfindel. Swallowing nervously, he hastened up to the warrior and took his arm before he too could make his escape.

Glorfindel scarcely registered his presence at first, instead following the departing couple with his eyes.

“Truly, Elrohir is as besotted as if they were but lately bonded,” he mused. “Yet I know they have been mated for centuries.”

“Aye, it is the way with we Peredhil. Once we have given our heart, it is given forever and the flame of our love burns ever bright.”

Glorfindel started as though he only just noticed who was with him. Then he flushed as the implications of Elladan’s words sank in.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, “I must return the gear to the armoury.”

“Nay, please hear me out! I must speak with you.” Elladan cringed inwardly at the pleading tone that had entered his voice. Had he really been reduced to this? He forced himself to steady his breathing and when Glorfindel reluctantly nodded and regarded him with a guarded gaze, he spoke in even tones.

“I would know why you shun my company. The night we had together I don’t regret, despite our inebriation. It was – I have never known such pleasure. And since then I have come to desire your company more than any other.” He drew a fortifying breath. “In short, I have come to – to love you.”

He gazed searchingly into Glorfindel’s face, looking for a sign that the Elf would acknowledge his own feelings. But with a sorrow so crippling it was like being pierced through by a dagger, he saw only the same closed expression Glorfindel had shown him ever since their night together. Glorfindel gently tried to extricate himself from Elladan’s beseeching hold.

“Elladan, I –,”

But at that moment, Glorfindel must have sensed Elladan’s grief, and for a fleeting instant the shutters were removed and his sorrow was mirrored in the returned Elf’s own eyes, together with a look of intense yearning. It was gone almost in the same instant it had appeared, yet Elladan knew he was not mistaken. He knew then that his love was returned, despite Glorfindel’s attempt to disguise it.

“Nay, do not try to hide what you feel!” Elladan cried roughly. “Why deny it when what you truly desire is this?”

With that he grasped Glorfindel by the nape of his neck and pulled the Elf towards him until their lips met. At first Glorfindel was frozen in shock and then to Elladan’s elation, his lips parted and he returned the kiss with ardour. Desire flared between them and Elladan joyously entwined his fingers in the golden tresses that spilled down Glorfindel’s back.

Then almost as soon as it had started, Glorfindel gave an abrupt cry and tore himself from Elladan’s arms. The look in his eyes chilled Elladan to the core, for they were as bleak as icy seas beneath a leaden sky.

“I am sorry if I have misled you,” he began, in tones as dead as his eyes. “But if you knew what I –,” here he caught himself. “It would be better for you if we do not pursue this.”

With that he gave a curt incline of his head and then turned and strode away without once looking back. With every fibre of his being, Elladan wanted to dash after him and beg him to explain himself, but his pride held him back. He would not demean himself any further by begging for what Glorfindel clearly was not willing to give.

Another icy shard of pain seared through his heart and he staggered to his knees. Burying his face in his hands, he let despair overwhelm him.

tbc in the next post